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Wii.t' Number 19. . ' ! * MILLEDGEVILLE, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, MAY 16, 1871. THE foutkftn §rm«t«\ BY R. A. HAEEISON, OBME & CO. BASCOM MYRICK, Editor. Terms, $2.00 Per Annum in Advance rates of advertising. OG J.OO O 1 I . i 5 r. 2.00 4 | 3.50 5 ! 4.00 4 col I 0.00 4col, 10.00 lcolj 20.00 $2.2a 5.00 7.00 9.00 12.00 15.00 25.00 PO.OO $7.50 12.00 16.00 25.00 28.00 34.00 60.00 80.00 $12.00 18.00 28-00 35.00 40.00 50.00 80.00 120.00 $20. CO 30.00 40.00 60.00 60.00 75.00 120.00 160.00 legal advertising. Ordinary's.—-Citations for letters of administration, guardianship, &c. $ 3 00 Homestead notice...... Applicationtor dism’n from adm n.. 5 UU Application for dism'n of guard’ll 3 50 Application for leave to sell Land 5 00 Notice to Debtors and Creditors.... 3 00 Sales of Land, per square of ten lines 5 1)0 Sale of personal per sq., ten days 1 50 Sheriffs— Each levy of ten lines, 2 50 Mortgage sales of ten lines or less.. 5 00 Tax Collector’s sales, (2 months 5 00 Clerk’s—Foreclosure of mortgage and other monthly’s, per square 1 00 Rstray notices,thirty days 3 00 Sales of Land, by Administrators, Execu tors or Guardians, are required, by law to be held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours of ten in the forenoon and three in the afternoon, at the Court house in the county in which the property is situated. Notice of these sales must be published 40 days previous to the day of sale: Notice for the sale of personal property must be published 10 days previous to sale day. Notice to debtors and creditors, 40 days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell land, 4 weeks. Citations for letters of Administration, Guarlianship, Sec., must be published. 30 j a y S _for dismission from Administration, monthly six months, for dismission from guar dianship, 40 days. Rules for foreclosure of Mortgages must be published monthly far four months—for establishing lost papers, for the full space of three months—for compelling titles from Ex ecutors or Administrators, where bond has been given by the deceased, tbe full space of three months. Application for Homestead to be published twice in the space of ten consecutive days. CHANGE OF SCHEDULE. MACON & AUGUSTA R. B. PASSENGER TRAINS GOING EAST DAILY. Leave Macon at — -...G. a. m. Arrive at Milledgeville 8.14 a. m, “ “.Sparta 9.24 a. m. “ “Warrenton 11,00 a. m. Connect at Camak with up train on Geor gia R. K. for Atlanta. Arrive at Augusta .......1.45 p. m. PASSENGER TRAINS GOING WEST DAILY. Leave Augusta...... 12 00 m. Arrive at Warrenton.. 2.00 p. m. “ “ Sparta 4.20 p. m. .‘ “ Milledgeville —.5.30 p. m. “ “ Macon 7.10 p. m. TRI WEEKLY FREIGHT GOING WEST MONDAY, WED NESDAY AND FRIDAY. Leaves Camak .....6.00 a. m. Arrives at Warrentor, 6.30 a. m “ “Sparta ...9.24 a.m. “ “ Milledgeville 11.20 a. m. “Macon ........3.35 p.m. RETURNING— G O I N G EAST TUESDAY, THURSDAY AND SATURDAY. Leave Macon ....6.00 a. m. Arrive at Milledgeville .10.00 a. m. “ “Sparta 12.00 m, “ “ Warrenton..... : 2 00 p.m. “ “ Camak.........3.00 p. m. Schedule of the Georgia Railroad SUPERINTENDENT’S OFFICE, ) GaohoiA and M. & A. Bailroai, Company, > Augusta, Ga., January 20,1871. j O N and after SUNDAY. January 22d, 1871, the Passenger .Trains will run as lol- lows; day passengee teain, daily, (SUNDAY EXCEPTED.) Leave Augusta at... *— 8.CO A. M “ Atlanta at—... 5.10 A.M. Arrive at Augusta...--. ..-.-.6.30 P. M. “ at Atlanta —-.5.40 P.M. NIGHT PASSENGEE TEAIN. Leave Augusta at .... -- ..8.30 P. M. “ Atlanta at.... ...10,15 P.M. Arrive at Augusta.... ..........6.40 A. M. ' Atlanta—........—7.30 A.M. Both Day and Night Passenger Trains will make close connections at Augusta and Atlan ta with Passenger Trains of Connecting Roads. Passengers from Atlanta, Athens, Washing ton, and Stations on Georgia Eailroad, by ta king the Down Day Passenger Train will mako close connection at Camak with the Ma son Passenger Train, and reach Macon tbe •ame day at7-40, p, m. PLANTERS* HOTEL. Augusta^ <*a. • Tbs only Hotel in the City where Gas is used throughout. JOHN A. GOLDSTEIN. i«acon Slfil) c rt i s c m ente. 0. F. MLLLEX.MX & SOX, MINI! F 1C TUUECSI: SET MUSKS —OF BOOTS AND SHOES. IN BASEMENT OF F.L. GROCE'S SHOE STORE, HOLLINGSWOETH BLOCK MACON, GA. E March 21,1870. 11 3m. 353 P. STRONG. Wholesale and Retail Dealer IN No. 52 SECOND STREET, > MACON, GrA. E March 21, 1871. 11 3m. CROCKETT IRON WORKS, MACON, GA- Build Iron Bailings for Grave Lots and Public Squares, die- Make ITOESE POWER SAW MILLS, GRIST MILLS, Portable Engines, and Iron and Brass Castings of all kinds. 12. CROCKETT. R March 21, 1871. 11 3m. SP0TSW00D HOTEL DEPOT! T. H. HARRIS, Proprietor. M AGO ET, Gr 33 O. T MARK.WALTER’S JL Broad St., Augusta, Ga. MARBLE MONUMENTS, T03IB STONES *C., &C. Marble Mantels and Furnilure-Marble of all kinds Furnished to Order. All work for the Country carefully boxed for shipment, p M’ch 12 ’70 ly. r Feb 1,’71 ly T. W. WHITE, MILLEDGEVILLE, GA, wtt.t. PSACTHS IN THIS AND TH3 ADJOINING! CC7NTISS. E?* Applications for Homestead Exemp tions under the new law, and other business before the Court of Ordinary, will receive proper attention. January 1 1871. ly- STEREOSCOPES VIEWS, _ r ALBUMS, CHEOMOS, FRAMES. E. & H- T. ANTHONY & CO 591 ElOADWAY, N Y- Invite the attention of the Trade to their ex tensive assortment of the above goods, of their own publication, manufacture and. impor tation. , Also, PHOTO LANTERN SLIDES and : i grapiioscopEs. NEW VIEWS OFYO SEMITE. E. & H- T. AWTSOWY & CO 591 Broadway, New-York, Opposite Metropolitan Hotel importers and marufactures OF photographic materials. p March 11, 61 6m. R March 14, 10 6m NATURE’S Free from the Poisonous and Health-destroying Drugs us ed in other Hair Prepara tions. No SUGAR OF LEAD—No LITHARGE—No NITRATE OF SILVER, and is entirely Transparent and clear as crystal, it will not sod the finest fabric—perfectly SAFE, CLEAN .nd EFFICIEN T—desideratums LONG SOUGHT FOR AND FOUND AT LAST! It restores and prevents the Ilair from be coming GrnV, imparls a soft, glossy appear ance, removes Dai draff, is cool and refreshing to the head, checks the Hair from falling off, and restores it to a great extent whan prema turely lost, prevents Headaches, cuies all hu mors, cutaneous eruptions, £^d 'innatural Heat. AS A DRESSING FOR THJS H$IRi IT M THE BEST ARTICLE IN THE MARKET. Dll. G. SMITH, Patentee, Groton Junction, Mass., Prepared on'y by PROCTOR BROTH ERS, Gloucester, Mats. The Genuine is-put up in a pannel bottle, made expressly for it with the uame of the article blown in the glass. Ask your Druggist for Nature'# Hair restora tive, and take no other. For sale in Milledgeville by L. W. HUNT & I C n°Sparta, by A. H. BIRDSONG & CO. p July a ly* RFebaa’TUy. JJtiscellanmis. (The following Story, written by a gifted Southern writer, is entered as a competitor for the $10000 prize offend by Messrs. K. A. Har rison j- Bro., for “7he best original contri bution" furnished their papers, during the pres ent year. MISTRESS ELSIE. CHAPTER XIII. Few know in this good country, blessed by God, what dire distress beset the pathway of the early colo nists. Lack of food, lack ol clothes, in constant danger of assaults from unfiiendly-Indians, and oftentimes afflicted with mortal diseases, which there was no skillful leech to cure. But out of their many trials there rose up tnen—strong of heart and steadfast of purpose—who bravely stood famine and sickness, nor flinch ed when cold ami hardships pressed upon them. In this manuscript, which my poor skill hath put togeth er, I would have all to know that ray husband Anthony, was such a man : Not so full of godliness as he might have been, bat from his youth upward, an honorable man—of whom none ever said aught in disparage ment. When the winter time came, and the cold pinched us, there was talk of a famine; and for whole days togeth er, he would be gone in the forests seeking food. At such times I was left alone with the child, save when Nan Murray made opportunity to come and see how we fared. Often as I went upon my housewife duty, a shadow would darken the door, and looking up I would see one of the savage folk standing within the entrance. Some times their plumes would reach above the door-v\ay, and one or two who came thus, wore tiny green and yellow snakes for or naments, which made me shiver at the sight. They had strange ways, such as pleased me little. So I ever made it convenient to gel between them and the child; nor cared to have them handle him, for fear, in an unguarded moment, they ran away with him, or scalped him in my sight. For though they were, to all appearances, very friendly, there was a growing discontent which made me dread some misfortune would come upon us ere long ; that those keen knives, which we had given them in token of good will, would one day flash on us—making us rue the day that brought us to their country. When they fetched baskets of corn to sell, they made such bargains out of me as pleased them best; and so great was my fear of them, that to be rid of their company, I’d part with all 1 had to spare. One day when Anthony had gone to hunt, as was his custom, I spent my leisure lime with Nan ; and her countenance was so disturbed, I made bold to ask the cause thereof. She hesitated much at first, then said she was plagued with fearful visions, and had seen no less than three ghosts in as many nights ! the which [ begged her not to speak abroad, else they took her for a witch and ducked her in the river. She said she verily believed she had a judg ment on her, for craving to quit that wretched country and go home a gain ; for one ghost she made cerium was her father, since it shook its head as he was given to. do, when any trouble was on hand. Another was her favored brother; but she durst not tell her husband, since he had no faith in anything like that. As for myself, I doubled not she saw them all; and straightway, the very next night, I took to having visions too, and dreamed my uncle came and put his golden chain a- round my neck; at which I knew some evil must be brewing, or 1 had not been so warned. Having my mind filled with all such things, 1 said to Anthony: “Tell me how I must act, and how care best for the child if, peradven ture, aught happen when thou art in the forest ?” “God forbid !” was all he made reply, and began to walk back and forth—stopping ever and anon, to look at young Anthony who was sleeping in his cot beside the fire place. The same night he showed me a paper which he said was of great value—since it treated of certain lands—and bade me keep my eyes upon it: so, without mentioning the matter to any, I §ewed It secure within a small roll and hid it upon my person—though what motive prompted me, I could not tell. No one knoweth how fearful that winter was. How short the corn ran in the store-house, anchbow, by slow degrees, the women grew hol low-eyed and the little children held out their hands for bread. Every week Lhe men went forth to hunt; until at length, it became a fruitless undertaking-—for they never return ed full handed. The cold had driv en every thing away or to the shel ters beyond their reach; and it was common to hear tbe cry, “They have brought nothing!” burst from lips that were wasting tor strengthening food. It so happened that Anthony was successful when others failed; a nd my heart smote me when I saw the eyes that followed him when he brought it home to the child and me. Often he went to the mill to grind the week’s allowance apd the meas ure came back lacking, for he had taken pity on some needy person. “Eat, eat! thou and the child,” he would say, as if he dreaded we had not had enough to satisfy us. “Is he losing flesh, Elsie?” he would in quire of me at another time, feeling the limbs of the child as he spoke, and I always answered “nay, ’tis only ihy fear;” for I had it not in my heart to say otherwise. Pres ently matters grew so much worse that, even he could not provide meat, and, as if our evils came not single, the weather-was bitter cold, with constant falls of snow, which made it hard to keep comfortable in our poor houses. For the greater part I held the child in my arms beside the fire, and Anthony would come in and out—his face well nigh despairing in its look, as he glanced first at one, then at the other of us. Nan came through sleet and snow to find 'out how we did; and often, by her counsels, making our difficul ties lighter. Once she came, and 1 remember it was Christmas-eve. Together we told each other how merrily the bells were ringing in old England to let all Christian peo- pie know the Lord’s nativity was nigh at hand! In our minds we could see the great yule log, the holly branches, and the Christmas cheer; and our eyes were filled with tears— for cold and hunger contrasted sadly with those visionsof fire-side warmth and feasting; but in our desolation, we strove to catch the echo in our hear! s of all the blessed Christmas hymns we had heard, to help us bear our trials, and whilst we talked, An thony came and broke upon us, say ing: “We have heard of a certain spot where game can be killed, and are going; an it please God, to kill e- nough to last this cold spell out!” “Dothmy husband go too?” Nan asked. “To a certainty, mistress.” “Then I’ll go bid him God-speed,” she said, but promised ere she left, to come and bide with me until the hunt was over. “Who brought the news, Antho ny ?” I inquired, the while I made ready bis provision bag. “An Indian lad whom we may trust to know all that he saith,” he answered, more hopefully than I had heard him speak of late. “I like it not,” I said ; but he was so busy putting on his weapons, that he paid no heed; and after he was through, only staid a moment to hold the child, and bid ive take good care of myself and him; and then went off—the sound of his footsteps lost in the heavy yielding snow as lie strode hurriedly to join the other # men. Nan came as she had said she would, and that night we rested in quiet. When Christmas morning rose, the day was bright and clear, and the snow lay spotless on the ground, All day the friendly Ionian* were about the town, and cheered us so much by telling how the game abounded in the spot the men were going to. Some, even to show their good will, brought baskets of corn and dried flesh, as presents; and it seemed that our troubles were soon to be over. The people spoke more cheerily, and the few men left with in the town grew more hopeful for the future. At twilight ail was very still- some Indians yet tarried, going in every nook and corner, to show their friendly spirit—but the greater por tion were gone, seeming well satis fied with their white brothers. The stars came out so thick and bright, it seemed the heavens had been sifted with gold, ’and no breath of danger floated over the little town sleeping among the hills. Nan pleaded that I should sing a Christmas psalm, but tbe few that I knew were of such sorrowful mem ories, that I prayed her to excuse me; so we laid down to rest again. It was the second night since An thony had gone. How long I slept I cannot tell—it must have been until the first cock crowing; but when I waked it was with a sense of horror upon me, and I clasped the child in my arms too terrified to do aught but listen— whilst Nan crept to the door to look out. Framie cries were rending the air, and lights from huge torches made every spot look bright as day, while the Indian war-whoop carried dismay and death befoie it! Sounds of strife—women pleading for mer cy, and the smothered wail of little children commingled togeiher, until the ear was sickened and oppressed. “Anthony, Anthony!” I screamed, “come save the little childand then, as all the scene of blood arose before me, I felt my senses reel, and my utter helplessness was madden* ing. I heard them coming nearer, and still nearer! and I looked with wild despairing eyes at the little face upon my bosom. Full soon would the red blood be streaming from the cleft forehaad and the childish eyes be gazing dull and lifeless at me! The thought was frightful, and I sprang from bed, determined to fly from thence. It did not matter where, so I but lost the sight and sounds of death! And Nan, who hitherto had been upon knees, ran to me ; and when she saw my fran tic purpose, which nothing could dis suade, she wrapped other clothing about me, and with more than hu man strength, partly bore me out in to the small lot beyond our house. There stood a great deal-box there— such as had brought stores from Eng land—and Anthony had used it for packing away our salted provision ; but it had been cast aside as useless, since the scarcity of food ; the snow had drifted over and against if Nan began to clear it awayr and just so soon as she could lift it up, did so, bidding me in whispers “creep un der with the child.” And when I had so done, I could bear her pack ing some snow upon the top, as she had found it. Then she went away and all was still. The foe seemed to be in another quarter of the town. The box was broken in one place, enabling me to see indistinctly out, and high enough for me to sit down on the ground, but so poor a shelter, so weak a refuge, that I would have fled from it had any other spot come to me as belter. 1 had not been there exceeding twenty minutes, when I saw the red glare of the torches coming; and full soon the same dismal cries reached me, growing louder every moment, and more near; whilst the footsteps of those who were fleeing before them, were most distinct. I sat still and wailed for them, certain they would find me—certain that my fate would soon overtake me—and in that most awful hour of sickening suspense, I thought how Anthony would return—perchance laden with provision—and would find the child and me dead, hideous to look up on—and 1 pitied the poor man in his great misery. Directly tbe savages would search our house, and then the small enclosure around it, until they found us where we lay hidden. In my mind I could see them tear tbe child from iny arms—a tree stood just beside our hiding-place, and they might dash him ngaiust it, breaking with one dread blow, the tender limbs so fair to look upon! Of myself I cotrid not think, hut when by straining my eyes 1 saw the savages enter our dwelling and throw open the doors and windows, from which the light streamed, I held the child closer, for I lelt our hour bad come. Added to all else, it was bitter cold aod I leared that we would freeze. They tore open every chest and examined every article, mingling their talk with hideous cries and leaping, and as they finished their search, torches were set about the house, and presently the flames mounted high above the roof, and the little cottage was one mass of light whose warmth reached even we were concealed. Groups of two and three stood watching their work—decked oft’ with flaunting plumes, and frightful with their savage paint and dress. It was not long before I saw them mov ing about, and to my terror, I beheld one coming toward the box! He had received some slight wound, for he staunched it ever and anon, as be came ; and when he reached us, he struck the side of the box with his tomahawk so loudly, that the child started in its sleep. What if he should wake and cry? Our doom would be sealed. 1 heard him lean heavily against it; and then, as though his wound were painful, stretch himself upon the top, and I held my breath, for it seemed that death must come! How could I keep the child still ? How could I smother every souud to ears so trained to catch the faint est ? In my great extremity, I laid him down, and crouching on my knees I clasped his hands in mine and prayed with all my soul and strength to be befriended by the Lord. I had scarcely risen, when two other In dians came up, and from their signs L knew they wished to search the box,—though I could not understand their words—and when their wound ed comrade would not move, their talk was loud and angry, but it did not avail; and to my joy I saw them join a party just arrived and go up on their way in haste as though some news had just reached them. I held the child close up to me, and did my best to shield him from the cold which was intense—and by and by, a kind of numboess stole upon me. Before that, my limbs had seemed like lumps of ice, and with the great est effort 1 had kept from crying out with pain; but a sleepiness had suc ceeded it, and with my last waking thought, I remember that I took my cloak off and folded it over the child— then nothing mote was clear. The fear of death, the dread of the savage who still lay over head, the pity for Anthony, faded like dreams before the sleep which I fell into. (Concluded in our next.) Jh GIRDLE AROUND TBE WOULD. The famous girdle round the world, referred to by “Puck,” will actually be completed next mouth. The line from London to Singapore has just been completed, and will be extended to Hong Kong within the next four weeks. As London is al ready in telegraphic communication with San Francisco, by way of New York, it follows that after communi cation shall be opened between Lon don and Hong Kong, a resident in the latter place will be able to tele graph to San Francisco with about as much rapidity as though there were a line under the Pacific Ocean. Tbe constantly increasing trade be< tween China and our western coast will make the use of the telegraph a necessity to Hong Kong and Cali fornia merchants trading with one another. There will, therefore, be an immediate increase in the business of the Western Union and Atlantic telegraph companies, and we may expect to see earnest opposition, es- i pecially from the latter, to the Pa- ific O cean telegraph scheme. t . » « i Tom,” said a blacksmith to his apprentice, “you have been , with me now three months, and have seen all the different points in our trade. I wish togive you your choice ' of work for awhile.” “Thank’ee, sir.” “Well, now, what part of the bust , ness do yen like best?” “Shuttin’ up ' shop and goin’ (o dinner, sir.” | • is tho Interior of the Earth Solid or r Fluid? 1 AUliongh-the doctrine^that the earth j is a molten sphere, surrounded by a thin crust of solid matter, was once almost > universally taught by geologists, there ; have of late years been brought for- i ward several arguments to tbe contrary, which apparently, are moro in favor of 1 its being a solid, or nearly a solid, mass v throughout; and these arguments are i fully entitled to our consideration, as 1 our object is not to defend any particn- > lar theory, but to arrive, as nearly as we J can, at the truth. I will, therefore, in the first place, proceed to scrutinize all r which has been brought forward in op- , position to the older hypothesis, and t then to consider whether any other ex planation yet advanced is more in ac cordance with the facts of the case. 1 First of all, we are to answer the » question as to whether it is possible for j such a thin crust to remain solid, and not at once to become melted up andab- r sorbed into tbe much greater mass of e molten matter beneath it? This latter s would doubtless bo tbe case, if tbe fluid mass had any means of keeping np its 1 high temperature, independently of the f Amount of heat it actually possessed when it originally assumed the form of ^ an igneous gloVe, The question, how ever, in reality, answers itself in the } negative, since it is evident that no ^ crust could even commence to form on the surface, unless the sphere itself was 1 at the moment actually giving off more t heat, from its outer surface to the sur rounding atmosphere, than it could sup ply from its more central parts, in order 1 to keep the whole in a perfectly flaid 1 condition, so that, when once such a 5 crust, however thin, had formed upon ' the surface, it is self-evident that it 2 could not again become melted np or i reabsorbed into the fluid mass below. j This external process, of solidifica tion due to refrigeration, would then * continue going on from the outside in- » ward, until a thickness of ernst had been j attained sufficient to arrest, or neutral ize (owing to its bad conductibility of 1 heat,) both the cooling action of the snr- 3 rounding air and the loss of more heat from the molten mass within; and thns a j stage would soon be arrived at when * both these actions would so connterbal- l ance one another, that the further cool ing down of the earth could be all but ? arrested; a condition ruling at the pres- ■ ent time, since the earth-surface, at this 1 moment, so far from receiving any, or more than a minute amount of heat from . the interior, appears to depend entirely, ■ as regards its temperature, upon the heat r which it receives from the sun’s rays. j We have next to consider the argu ment that, if the earth’s exterior were 1 in reality only such a thin covering, or l crust, like the shell of an egg, to which . it has often been likened, such a thick ness would be altogether insufficient to 1 give to it that stability which we know 3 it to possess, and that, consequently, it ] could never sustain the enormous weight of its mountain-ranges, such as, for ex ample, the Himalayas of Asia, or tho r Andes of America, which are, as it were, | masses of rock piled up high above its mean surface-level. 1 At first sight, this style of roasoning ’ not only appears plausible, bat even » seems to threaten to npset the entire I hypothesis altogether. It reqnires but little sober consideration, however, to ' prove that it is rather, so to speak, sen- | sational in character than actually foun ded on the facts of the case; for it is only ’ requsito for us to be able to form in onr ■ minds someftangible idea of the relative | proportion which the size of even the highest mountain bears to that of the entire globe itself, to convince us, if sueh • a crust could once form and support its - self, that it could with ease support the ; weight of tbe mountains also. The ’ great Himalayan chain of mountains . rises to a maximum altitude of thirty-one . thousand eight hundred and sixty feet, or six miles above the level of the sea; | and, if the earth could be seen reduced iu scale down to tbe size of an orange, ! to all intents and purposes it would look like an almost smooth ball, since even the highest mountains and deepest val leys upon its surface would present to the eye no greater inequalities in outline than : the little pimples and hollows on the out- I side of the skin of an ordinary orange. If this thin crust of the earth can sap- port itself, it is not at all likely to be crushed in by the, comparatively speak ing, insignificant weight of our greatest mountain-chains; for, in point of fact, it would be quite as unreasonable to maintain such a disposition, as to declare that the Bhell of a hen’s egg would be crushed in~by simply laying a piece of a similar egg-shell upon its outside. That a very thin spheroidal crust, or shell, enclosing a body of liquid matter, 6uch as an ordinary fowl’s egg, does possess in itself an enormous degree of stability and power to resist pressure from without, is easily demonstrated by merely loading a small portion of its surface with weights, as long us it does not give way under them. Even when placed on its side (ffr least strong posi tion,) it is found that a portion of the shell, only one quarter of an inch square will sustain several pounds weight with out showing any symptoma of cither cracking or crushing; or, in other words, this simple experiment indicates that, is the external ernst of the earth were but as thick and strong in proportion as an egg-shell, it woald be folly capable of sustaining masses) equal in volume and weight to many Himalayas, piled np one atop of another, without any danger whatever to its stability.—Extract fruns a Lecture by David Forbes, F. R- S. The inquiry as to where all tbe pins go to, has been satisfactorily answered. The theory now is, that they go Into th« ground and become terra-pins,