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l>cr. made a simultaneous dash at the un
fortunate cow ar.d endeavored to impede
her career by barking and biting at her
nostrils, dew-lap and ll.mk
It was a fine sight to see these four no
ble hounds chasing away on either si dc of
the animal, while she, every now and
then, stooped low Her head and made a
li.ish at them without pausing in her mad
career. Away she went at a slapping
pace, keeping Hie on the gallop. Fearful
of'hurting the dogs. 1 refrained from firing
for sometime, hut a length got a chance,
e . :.aimed a ball behind her shoulders, hut
it struck her ribs and penetrated no deeper
than the skin. Loading as I rode along. 1
delivered another ball with better success
and she began to abate her speed. The
rest of the party now came up, cheering
and halooing, hut the game had dashed in
to a swamp in which the teeds were high
enough to conceal horses, and huntsmen ;
nevertheless, we pushed through, and
found her on the bank of a muddy pool,
where she stood at bay whilst the dogs
barked cautiously before her. She was
covered with sweat, blood and dirt, and
perfectly furious ; and the moment we ap
proached, she made a rush, trampling over
several of the dogs, and darting madly a
gainst the nearest horseman, caught his
charger on the flank, and steed and rider
rollod together on the ground. The furi
ous assailant stumbled over her prostrate
foes, and was saluted with a discharge of
fire arms, which, however, did not prevent
her from rushing against me in return for
a hall in the shoulder, but I eluded the as
sault, and the animal fell exhausted to the
ground.
Lost m tlic Forest
Resides the dread of wild beasts, the
colonists were long in the greatest appre
hension of losing themselves in the vast
foiest by which they were on every side
enclosed. The country being extremely
level, up to the Darling range of hills,
which is seen extending north and south
about twelve or fourteen miles at the back
of : Jfti rW MT ify 1 ft tfe? till
course. Every row aud then lie comes
upon an impassable swamp, which throws
him out of his track, and causes him infi
nite difficulty before he can get round it,
and then he begins to doubt of his true di
rection. This is certainly, an awkward
predicament: and nothing is so easy as
for inexperienced bushmen to lose their
way. When once a man begins to doubt
whether he is right, he loses all confidence
n himself; he wanders first in one direc
tion and then in another, in the hope of I
ending something to guide him ; and fears ;
lest every step should take him further in- j
to the labyrinth of the forest wilderness, j
I have myself been several times lost for a i
short period, and know how very unpleas- i
ant is the sensation. A common soldier j
sent on a message from Perth, to Ereman
tle, happened to get off the track. Becom
ing alarmed, he tried to recover it, but as
it had made a bend, he walked as far as he
thought its position ought to be, without
success, and then fancied he must have
mistaken the direction, lie therefore di
verged at right angles, and after walking a
short time, recollected that he must now
be going in the wrong direction, as he had
left the path originally on his left hand.—
Accordingly, he turned back again, and
walked so far without perceiving any signs
of the track, that he now fancied he must
be going parallel with it. Had he gone on
a few yards farther, all would have been
right, but he now took a parallel course, j
and after walking for sometime longer, he
again turned back, and walked in another
• iiiection. Now this man had the sea on
one aide of him and the rivet on the other,
at most not more than four miles apart; ‘
yet the dread of having walked back into
the wilderness behind Perth overpowered
his faculties, and be walked for hours in a i
circle of about half a mile in diameter, lie
might have considered that the Darling
Ilills were behind Perth, and must have
brought him up, but reason does not al
ways act freely at these times. At length,
completely exhausted, he sat down at the
foot of a tree, where he remained all night,
expecting death from starvation, from the
natives, or some unknown wild beasts.
The next day he walked again as long
as his strength would allow, but before
night sank down in the extremity of des
pair. It was not until the third day of his
misfortunes, that he was tracked up by a
party sent in search of him, and guided by
friendly natives, who followed his many
devious steps with unerring eyes.
jgfe.y* “My love,” asked a rather shrew
ish spouse of her belter half at the tea-ta
ble, “shall 1 help you to a lari'?”
“ No, my dear, you arc tart enough for
me.”
Men are like bugles,—the more
brass they contain, the further you can
hear them. Ladies are like tulips,—the
more modest and jetiring they appear the
better you love them.
A thief who] broke out of jail in
Ohio the other day, being captured, told
the sheriff that he might have escaped, but
he had conscientious scruples about trav
eling on Sunday!
Tallyrand said that happiness de
pended on a hard heart and a good stomach.
Pv-jy* It is suggested that the question.
“ May a man marry his wife’s sister V’ is
one which can most effectively answered
by the sister herself, when it is popped by
the widower.
One of our Generals residing in
Washington in affluent circumstaces, has
been wise enough to learn his well educat
ed son a trade, and the youth, with all the
true dignity of one of nature's noblemen, is
wielding the axe and jack plane. Mhis's
a noble novelty which merits commenda
tion. “Give a boy a tiade and yon give
turn an estate “
VUIIS > iUS HI & ‘li >
ki
i||f
AGRICULTURAL SCIENCE.
The time has gone by when Agricultu
ral Science was a subject of derision or
neglect by practical farmers. Every one
must rejoice to see the rapid advance
which it is making in the United States. —
Its greatest triumphs have been hitherto in
the old world, and especially in England,
| where it has made a garden spot of the
whole isle, and enabled a mere speck on
; the surface of the waters to support an im
, mensc population. But even in our own
’ country it has achieved its victories, for
; our faimers are every day paying more at
tention to the principles which itdevelopcs,
and applying them with great success in
their cultivation of the soil. This is parti
cularly observable in some of the worn
out lands of our own State, which have
been made to renew their youth, and
though at one time as poor as Job in his
lowest estate, yet it may now he said of
them, as it was of the afflicted patriarch,
that their “latter end is better than'the begin
ing.” We have the authority of one of the
wisest practical farmers of the State for
the opinion, that Virginia, by the advan
tages afforded by practical agricultural sci
ence and the enlightened and presvering
employment of them, is destined not only
to repair her waste places, but make them
equal in fertility and beauty to the virgin
; regions of the Western States.
Agricultural life has everbeen the favor
lie ii.t t. . t. •_ i:f_. .v.
all others, of true dignity, independence,
happiness, comfort and virtue. We re
joice at every step in the progress of hu
man discovery and knowledge which con
\ fers new attractions and benefits upon an
j occupation so essential to the wants of
1 mankind, so elevating and purifying to him
who follows it, and so ennobling in its ef
fects upon the character of a people. — Rich
mond Wing.
CARE OF PRESERVES, &C.
As the weather becomes warm in spring,
preserves, sauces, jellies, &c., are liable to
become sour, if not attended to, unless they
| are composed of a large amount of sugar
lor other preservative. By scalding pre
serves, &c., occasionally, after the weather
becomes warm, and setting them in a cool
place, much may be done to continue them
in a good condition. In some cases, it may
be necessary to add more sugar in order
to keep conserved preparations into sum
mer.
In scalding them great care should be
taken to cover closely before they cool,
and in all cases expose them as little as
possible to the air. Mould is considered a
vegetable substance, of alow or imperfect
order, which is propagated by fine seeds
floating in the atmosphere, that readily
vegetate in numerous subtances that have
a strong tendency to decay, as in various
preparations of fruit, bread, cheese, pump
kin, &C.&C. Heating substances that are
liable to mould, destroys the seeds of
mould, and close covering of vessels pre
vents ther admission. — N E. Far.
Philosophy op Farming. Here is the
secret of good farming. You cannot take \
; from the land more than you restore to it ;
’.. . I
in some shape or other without ruining it,
and so destroy your capital. Different
J soils may require different modes of treat
ment and cropping, but in every variety of
soil these are golden rules to attend to.—
Drain until you find that the water that
! falls from the heavens does not stagnate in
the soil, but runs through it and off’ it free
ly. Turn up and till the land until your,
foot sinks into a loose, powdry loam, that ;
the sun and air readily pass through.— l
Let no weeds occupy a place where a use-’
ful plant could grow'. Collect avery par
ticle of manure that you can, whether
liquid or solid. Let nothing on the farm
go to waste. Put in your crops in that
course which experience has shown to lead
to success in their growth, and to an en
richment not impoverishment, of the land*
(Jive every plant room to spread its roots
: in the soil and its leaves in the air.
Sweet Potatos from the seed. A
writer in the last number of Skinner’s Ag
ricultural Journal, gives the following, as
Ins method of raising sweet jKitatos, and
says, that after satisfactory practice, he
prefers it to any other. He has tried the
’ experiment for three years, and his potatos
have been much superior to those raised in
the usual way. The mode is, at least, a
new one:—
“The yam potato vine blooms in Au
gust; in about a month thereafter they
form a pod : the seed ate then formed of
about the size of sage seed, and of the
same color. The pod should be noticed
and gatherd w hen ripe, or else they will
soon drop. In the spring, at the usual
time of sowing seeds, I sow them in the
same way I sow cabbage seed. They will
not come up quite as soon, but will contin
ue doing so through the spring. The plant
is small and delicate in appearance, and
should be drawn ina wet season, with a
little dirt attached to it, and transplanted.—
The leaf and vine have a different appear
ance from the potato usually, and the po
tato will be found to grow larger and
smoother than usual.”
wiiiaw ©/aSimla
DOGGEREL.
Come gath ‘r round in close array.
And listen to my dittv.
I’ll tell the tale of u tailless Dog,
In fatuous Boston City.
This Dog was of the Terrier breed,
(tlis maker's name was Vail.)
And tho’ he was a peerless Dog,
Alius t he’d lost his tin!!
In Boston too, there lived a man,
liy name Timollieus Baker,
Who oft had wistful eyed this Bog ;
He was a sausage maker.
One day he spied him all alone.
That Dog, without a tail—
Quoth Tim, “ ‘twould be a i aet humane,
Should I that Dog retail.”
While thus he spake, there o’er his mind
Did c*mc a sudden whim,
And calling an apprentice up,
He thus a Idrcssed him :
“Qui k ! hith r bring that curtailed Dog,
Bring him within the door.”
Within the door that Dog was brought,
That Dog was seen no more!
Next morning in the windows strong,
Fresh sausages were seen.
And hungry pas ers, wistfully
Did gate on th m 1 ween.
And purchasers did throng around,
’Till the supply had failed,
Thea was Tim Baker’s conscience eased,
That Dog luid been retailed ’
sanatsis il aim
TALLULAH FALLS.
A correspondent of the Boston Chronotype ,
writing from the “ upper country ” of
Georgia, thus speaks of Tallulah Falls:
‘r..n..i-i , tsi/i
We started from Clarkeeviile at nine o’-
clock A. M., after having done ample jus
tice to a most excellent breakfast at the
Alleghany House, and set our faces to
wards Tallulah. A ride of twelve miles
—very long miles they seemed to us—over
one of the roughest of mountain roads,
brought us to a stand in front of the rude
domicil called, par courtoisie, “Tallulah
Hotel.” This hotel is scarcely more sus
ceptible of description than the Falls from
which it takes its name. My friend Rich
ards, of the Gazelle, facetiously but aptly
defines its style of architecture as the
“ Rough and Ready !” But the urbanity
and genuine good nature of “mine host,”
Mr. J. M. Beale, the excellent viands
which load his table, and, above all, the
fact that, without capital and by his own
unaided industry, he has done all that has
been done here, disarm all criticism. A
commodious and elegantly furnished hotel
is much needed here, and capital could
hardly be better invested than in erecting
one.
From the hotel a short walk brought us
to the verge of the precipice, from which
we looked down upon the “ Serpentine
Fall.” This was our first glimpse of Tal
lulah! Now what can I say? I had
heard and read glowing descriptions of
this wonderful scene, but I was entirely
unprepared for the prospect which there
burst upon my sight! Its vastness, its
sublimity, its granduer, its strange ming
ling of the terrible with the beautiful awed
me into reverent silence.
Let me essay to give you a glimpse of
the scene, in the mass. The Terrora,*
(.signifying in the expressive language of
the Indians, “The Terrible,”) a considera
i hie mountain stream, here rushes madly
i through an immense chasm in the Blue
! Ridge. This awful ravine is six miles in
j length! Its walls, which now rise perpen
dicularly then recline slightly from the
fearful gulf, and anon frightfully overhang
it, are composed of gigantic masses of
i dark granite, and vary from 500 to 1500
.feet in height! The width of the chasm
! varies from 1000 to 2000 feet! In many
| places large trees grow in the crevices and
j on the cliffs, and here and there the rough
I walls of the abyss are tapestried with the
| vines of the ivy, the clematis and themus
cadine, interwoven with grass and flowers.
Imagine yourself standing on one of
I these battlements. You look down at
I least 1000 feet. The large trees which
I skirt the river at the bottom of the ravine,
| seem hut diminutive shrubs. See that
flock of Turkey Buzzards, near the brink
of the river. They appear like insects
crawling about on the rocks. Just above
us the gorge is spanned by a beautiful iris,
below which the Terrora, leaping madly
over a fearful precipice, dashes itself into
foam, and seems no longer a stream of
water, but a cloud of snow white spray.—
This is the cataract of “ Oceana.” Above,
through the trees, we catch a glimpse of
the “Tempesta” fall, which is perhaps the
I grandest of the series.
\Ve will descend by the winding and dis
! ficult path pointed out by our guide, to the
! base of the precipice, and to the very brink
of “ Oceana.” Now, with the thunder of
the cataract sounding in your ears, and the
iris arch spanning the misty cloud above
i you, gaze upon the frowning walls which
| rise on either hand, and confess your own
littleness! O God ! how grand the scene!
How Nature mocks man and his puny
works! We, Bostonians, are accustomed
to look upon Bunker Hill Monument as
quite a tall pile of granite, but three such
monuments, placed one upon the other,
would hardly form a shaft lofty enough to
serve as a ladder wherewith to scale the
‘Tallulah seems to be u corruption of this
name, and is said to c jnvey n better idea of the
round of the name as pronounced by the Indians.
massive walls which here hem in the foam
ing waters of the Tcrrora!
Within the distance of two miles there
are five distinct falls. One of them bears
the beautiful name of Horricon —“Silver
Water,” In a pool just below this fall, I
bathed in the troubled waters of the Terro
ra. A basin further up the stream bears
the name of Hawthorne’s Pool. A Scotch
man of that name was drowned while ba
thing in it, in 1837.
One of the finest views of Tallulah is
from a projecting cliff called, very inappro
priately, the “Devil's Pulpit.” F’rom this
point one gets a glimpse of three falls, “ O
ceana,” “Tempesta,” and “Lodore,” at the
same time. AVc made the “Tempesta De
scent,” stopping to rest awhile at the
“Trysting Rock,” a place whereby
“ hangs a tale.” Just below the “ Tryst
ing Rock,” we met an ascending party of
Athenians , among whom were several la
dies. The fair ones looked fatigued, and
their delicate hands were soiled and cut by
the sharp rocks and thorny bushes which
they were compelled to bring them into
contact, but they bore all with the fortitude
of heroines.
I have simply touched upon a theme on
which volumes might be written without
exhausting it, and yet I must close. I
have no room to speak of the beautiful
j cascades which leap, at two or three
hounds, more than a thousand feet down
the perpendicular sides of the chasm, pre
senting the appearance of narrow hands of
! silver heads, of the “petrified Indian
i Squaw” and her cave, or of them any tra
, ditions, legends and superstitions connect
!ed with the Falls. I may recur to the sub
ject at some future time.
Some who have seen both Niagara and
Tallulah, affirm that the latter is on the
I
whole the grandest scene. On that point
I cannot speak, but I do most confidently
assert that one glimpse of Tallulah is worth
j a voyage across the Atlantic, or a pedes
| trian pilgrimage, from the shores of Boston
| Bay to the southern slopes of the Blue
{ Ridge. Yet, who has heard of Tallulah 1
Original.
“THE SUMMER IS ENDED.”
What a change will a few short weeks
bring over the face of Nature. It seems
but yesterday, when the birds of the forest
were carolling the liveliest summer notes;
but now go forth with me for a brief hour
and take a stroll among the mighty oaks
and by the side of babbling streams, where
Nature reigns supreme—and what a change
is seen. The rustling our footsteps make,
as we trample on the faded glories of sum
mer, chimes with the chirp of a thousand
insects, that utter such mournful notes on
ly when the falling leaf proclaims the dy
ing year. The swamp gum and the ma
jestic poplar, like the dying dolphin, have
assumed their golden hues in which to pre
pare for their winter death.
We seat ourselves on a moss-covcred
rock, overhanging a winding brook. And
behold on its glassy surface a single leaf,
in tiny shape resembling an argosy of the
olden time. It has loosed its frail hold on
the parent stem, ami serves to form one
atom of the countless thousands of its fel
lows, now seeking the bosom of the earth,
from whence they were nourished in the
days of their glory and pride. Sad reflec
tions will find their way to the inmost
chambers of thought. We begin compar
ing man’s life to the seasons. We find he
fulfils his destiny, and is gathered to his
lathers. But some are smitten in life’s
spring-tide, and others are called away in
the bloom of summer's manhood, while
here and there, old age hangs on like the
sere and yellow leaf, until the mid-winter
j blast looses its frail hold of life. Let us
wend our way farther down this crystal
stream. We come to a beetling precipice,
;on whose summit is a spot which scarce
: affords foothold for more than two or three
I persons. Standing in silence on this rocky
, shelf, we listen to the music of Nature, as
, she strings her harp and strikes the dirge
of the departed summer. There is no sound
that greets the ear, but is in unison with
< the decay of Nature. Even the hark of
the squirrel, so cheerful in summer, now
sinks to a low, complaining tone, as though
instinct had taught him to feel and know
the approach of autumn, the forerunner of
dismal winter. At the foot of yonder oak,
one of these lively denizens of the forest
is busily engaged in scratching the earth
away from its roots; and see, he has an
acorn in his mouth, soon to be buried, as
part of the winter store. Since we have
left the crowded haunts of busy life, the
sun has been wheeling his rapid course,
and has but a few degrees to descend be
fore bidding adieu to half a hemisphere.
The great owl of the forest sends forth
his dismal note, and the triumph of night
will soon be complete. “The summer is
ended,” and in the short interval since
spring threw open the chilly gates of win
ter, change has been busy with the earth,
and the men and things therein. Grey
hairs have been planted among the raven
locks of manhood, and sorrow and joy
have striven for the mastery in the human
breast. The biting blast of disappointment
has withered up the hopes of many, ami
the sorrow-stricken hearts of some have
found a resting-place in the silent grave.
Time has not stayed his chariot wheels for
aught of happiness or woe in human life,
but has “ driven fast and furious” to the
grave, that final resting-place of all.
But we turn and wend our steps home
ward, and as night sets in, we reach the
busy haunts of men. and resume our place
iu the great tide of human affairs, which
will be ruffled at our death, no more than
it has been at our brief absence of a few
hours.
Here lies ft tailor dead.
His name was Adam Prim,
He cabbag’d buckram, silk and thread.
Till Satan cabbag’d him-
THE MEN TO MAKE A STATE;
THEIR MAKING AND THEIR MARKS.
This is the title, says the “ Literacy World,’
of an address hy Bishop Doane before
the Trustees, Teachers, and Students of:
Burlington College, on the last anniver- ’
sary of the National Independence. It
is a succession of brief, pithy maxims, \
ringing blows on the anvil, exhibiting
the union of every honorable, manly
quality with true Christianity. These
are its concluding passages :
‘•And for the marks of men that are to
make a State. I see them m the ingenious
boy. He looks right at you, with his dear,
calm eye. The glow that mantles on his !
cheek is of no kin with shame : It is but j
virtue's color, spreading from his heart
You know that boy in absence, as in pres- ‘
ence. The darkness is not dark to him ;
for God’s eye lightens it. He is more!
prompt to own than do a wrong; and read-1
ier for amendment than for either. There
is nothing possible, for which you may not j
count on him ; and nothing good, that is]
not possible, to him. and God.
“ I see them in the earnest boy. His heart
is all a-throb, in all his hand would do.
His keen eye fixes on the page of Homer,
or of Euclid, or of Plato ; and never wa
vers, till it sees right through it, and has
stored its treasures in the light of his clear
mind. His foot has wings for every errand
of benevolence or mercy. And when you
see the bounding ball fly highest, and fall
farthest from the stand, and hear the ring
ing shout that is the signal of its triumph,
you may be sure that it was his strong arm
that gave that ball the blow.
“ I see them in the reverential boy. He
never sits where elders stand. His head is
j never coveied when superiors pass, or when
i his mother's sex is by. He owns in everv
I house, at every hour of prayer, a present
j God. Ingenious, earnest, reverential boys;
j these arc our marks of men to make a State
: 4 * What constitute* a State 1
j Not h'gh-rftised battlements, or labored mou.nl,
Thick walls, or moated gate ;
Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned,
Not bays, and broad-avuiod ports.
Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride ;
Nor starred and spangled courts.
Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to
pride.
No. Men, high minded men.
******
Men. who their duties know:
But know their rights ; and knowing, and ire main
tain ;
Prevent the long aimed blow,
And cru'h the tyrant, while they rend the chain;
These constitute a State.*’
WHAT HAS HE BEEN?
What is that to you ? It is of no con
sequence if he has been one of the most
abandoned of men. He is not so now. —
We care not what evil a man has done,
provided he has heartily repented and now
strives to live an upright, consistent life.
Instead of looking back a dozen ot twenty
years to know what a person is, you should
inquire, “ What is he now I What is his
present character ?” If you find that his re
formation is sincere, and that he laments
his past errors, take him cordially by the
hand and bid him God-speed in his noble
pursuit. We are no friends to those who
would rake up past sins and vices, to con
demn one who is resolved to be upright and
virtuous. Many a person is driven back
to the paths of vice, who might have be
come an ornament to society, but for the
disposition,too common among men,to rake
up and drag to the light, long-forgotten ini
quities. We always admired the reply of
a daughter to her father, who was asked
respecting a young man of her acquaint
ance, “Do you know where he comes
from?” “ No,” replied the girl, “I do not
know where he comes from, but 1 know
where lie is going, and 1 wish to go with
him.” That is right. If we see a person
on the right track— : exerting a good influ
ence; it is sufficient, without inquiring
what has been his character heretofore.—
1 f he has reformed, what more can we de
sire ?—and what benefit will it be to us to
uncover and expose to the light, deeds of
which he is heartily ashamed and of which
he has repented in dust and ashes ?
ARISTOCRACY.
There are men—we blush to call them
men—who turn up their noses at the me
chanic and humble laborer. Being liberal
ly educated as it is called—they look down
with a sort of contempt on those, who in
some cases have contributed to their sup
port. “You need not despise a spinning
wheel,” said an old lady to her pompous
son, one day, “for many a night have I
worked at it to get money to send you to
school.” There are women, too, who will
not touch a needle with their delicate
hands, who laugh at the poor and industri
ous, who learn trades, or work in factoiies,
for a living. “La ! how unrefined they
are,” she says, with a scornful smile, as
she lounges on the sofa, reading the last
pink novel. Weonce knew a lady—shall
we call her a lady?—of this complexion.
She was loudly belaboring a poor, hard
working girl, calling her low and unrefin
ed. “Why,” said she, ‘‘her father was
nothing but a low mechanic.” “ Yes,’ ’ re
marked a woman presant, “her father was
a mechanic. 1 knew him well, for he
lived in the same neighborhood with your
mother, when she went out a washing.”
There, reader, if you had been present, you
would have seen a strange confusion of
face, and heard a vain attempt to utter
something too prickly to coine out. It
stuck in her throat. When we hear men
or women speak lightly of the industrious
part of the community, we feel just like
tracing hack their genealogy. We have
done so in several instances, and you
would be surprised at what we learned.—
The most aristocratic man of our acquaint
ance is the grandson of a wash-woman
It betrays a lack of good sense to condemn
or look with contempt on any virtuos pet
son, however poor he or she may be. The
wise and good respect and love goodness
wherever it is found.
CUBA.
The New Orleans Delta thus discourses
of Cuba :
“The people of that Island, not know
ing the wide gulf which sometimes separ
ates the government and the people, in feel
ing at least, may be discouraged at this un
usual display of rigor towards their sup
posed friends and sympathizers. This is
unfortunate indeed, as it may diminish our
claims to the consideration and credit of
promoting a most laudable, and what we
regard, an enviable enterprise—that which
will eventuate in ridding the most beauti
ful island in the world of the most corrupt
and distasteful government.
Never were people so ripe—so well pre
pared fora revolution as the people of Cu
ba now are. Among the Creoles, the large
majority of the people, there is a perfect
unanimity on the subject. Many too, of
the old Spaniards, men of property and
trade, l.egin to see the advantages which
i such a measure opens to them. Then,
there arc thousands of Americans who
would flock to the standard of revolt.—
1 The regular soldiery of the country, not
: exceeding 15,000, are mere show-soldiers,
who have no fidelity or affection for their
| officers, nor for the cause which they are
I starved and ill treated to uphold. At the
first fire, they will lay down their arms,
ior go over to the enemy. All that the peo
| pie require is a leader, and a nucleus of five
|or ten thousand good fighting men. Such
j a force, and such an enterprise, there was
Ia few months since, a man who was emi
j nently fitted to lead and command. The
fell pestilence which deprived this country
of the eagle-eyed Worth, snatched from
] Cuba one who by his ardor in her cause,
as well as by his brilliant caurageand mil
itary qualities, would have ensured to her
struggle a brilliant result. But the occa
sion will yet produce the man—the Wash
ington—or the Kossuth of Cuba.
AMERICAN CITIES.
Nothing can exceed, perhaps we should
say, equal, the marvellous, growth of ma
ny of our American cities. The “ Home
Journal” says that the number of pe*ple
embraced within the limits and suburbs
of the city of New Y’ork is about half a
million ; and half that number within those
of Philadelphia. “ New Orleans contains
about a hundred and fifty. Boston one
hundred and thirty, and Baltimore one hun
dred and five thousand inhabitants. The
second child born in Cincinnatti, it said, is
still living, and has not reached the middle
age of life, while the city has a population
of a hundred thousand. The population
of St. Louis was one thousand six hund
red in 1810: sixteen thousand in 1840;
forty thousand in 1845: and is probably’
now not less than sixty thousand. Buf
falo contained two thousand Hour hundred
and twelve in 1825: in 1840, twenty-nine
thousand seven hundred and seventy-three ;
and now containsabout forty-five thousand.
In 1828, the population of Lowell was
three thousand five hundred and thirty-two,
it is now more than thirty thousand. Chi
cago, a place scarcely known on the latest
maps, has already reached a population of
eighteen thousand ; and Milwaukie, of
stiil more recent origin, is rivalling it in its
growth and population.”
SOCIETY FOR THE IMPROVEMENT OF THE
CONDITION OF THE LABORING CLASSES.—
At the annual meeting of this society, held
on Thursday, at Wills’s Rooms, Lord Ash
ly stated that arrangements have been
made for the erection of two new model
lodging-houses—one to hold fifty or sixty
unmarried women, in Hatton-garden; and
the other, elsewhere, to be capable of ac
commodating fifty entire families, with a
distinct dwelling for each family. Similar
institutions were springing up in Paris,
Berlin, and other cities on the continent.—
To one in Paris the President of the Re
public subscribed £2OOO. Dr. Southwood
Smith stated, that among the 700 people un
der the care of the Metropolitan Building
Association, the mortality was one-half be
low the average mortality of London : and
among the 500 children, mostly under the
age of five—the most susceptible period of
life—the mortality has been eight times less
than the average. No case of typhus fe
ver or cholera had occured.
An Indian in a Printing Office.—
“ Opinions of the Press’’ (in Sioux.) —A tall,
dark Sioux Indian, led by curiosity into
our office, while we were working off the
outside of the Pioneer , says the Minnesota
Pioneer , after looking on some time in won
der, with his r'.ght hand placed over his
mantle, and his head slowly waving back
ward and forward, gave utterance to some
thing like the following:
Hay her haist’ Wasejou taku wowo
kauraph ray u kee kee; wankon perdo j
Newpag day on kaug reh skneel.” All,
we understand, means in plain English:
“ How ingeniously they work ! They are
wizards ! This writing is not done with
the hand.”—He proceeded by saying to the
interpreter: “This beats the fire-canoe
(steamboat.) By looking at these little
marks we can understand one’s thoughts.
But so it is. The Great Spirit has not
made his children alike. To the white
men he has given power to do what he
pleases; but to us Indians he has given
talent for speaking in council—the power
to run dow the deer and to follow our ene
my to his wigwam. See! This is not
work forewomen.”
Fashions—July 7th, 1639. Ordered,
that “No garment bhall be made with
short sleeves whereby the nakedness of
the arm may be discovered in the wearing
thereof, and such as have garments alrea
dy made with short sleeves, shall not here -
after wear the same, unless they coven
their arms to their wrist with linen, 0 j
otherwise; and that hereafter no person
whatever shall make any garment for w 0
men, or any of their sex, with sleeves
more than half an ell wide in the widest
place thcrof, and so proportionally f or
bigger or smaller persons.”
{EmLIKBUQDIM*
• or’ •- *s^w
. : ■
SUNDAY READINGS, FOR SEPT. 30.
THE DISINTERESTEDNESS OF PAUL.
“ Not seeking mice own profit, but the profit of
many, that they may be saved.” 1 Cor. x. 33.
What a striking example of Christian
philanthopy we have in the life, labors,
privations, and sufferings of Paul! In ev
ery view we take of him, we must admire
him, whether we consider him as a man, a
minister, or an apostle. The text shows
the spirit he had imbibed.
A noble object avowed. Observe
Its important nature. “That they mav
be saved.” He sought their spiritual more
than their temporal welfare; he wished
nothing less than their eternal salvation,
their deliverance from all evil, and enjoy
ment of every good. O, how noble was
this object! how rational, how desirable,
how divine I
Its general extent. “ The profit of ma
ny.” Christian philanthropy knows no
bounds, but the extent of human woe. It
not only leads to earnest desires and efforts
for the salvation of a few, the inmates of a
house, or the inhabitants of a neighbor
hood, but it embraces the whole world in
the arms of its affection and desires. The
wishes of Paul were like the prayers of the
son of Jesse, that the whole earth might be
filled with God’s glory. “True Christian
benevolence,” says Wiiherforce, “contracts
itself to the measure of the smallest, ami
can expand itself to the amplitude of the
largest. It resembles majestic rivers which
are poured from an unfailing source ; silent
and peaceful in their outset, they begin
with dispensing beauty and comfort to ev
ery cottage by which they pass; in their
further progress they fertilize provinces and
enrich kingdoms; at length they pour
themselves into the ocean, where, chan
ging their names, but not their nature, they
visit distant nations and other hemispheres,
and spread throughout the world the ex
pansive tide of their benevolence.”
Self-interest disclaimed. “Not seeking
mine own profit.” We have only to re
view his life to see the truth of his state
ment. He dul not seek temporal emolument
How well could he say, “I seek notyonrs,
but you”! Hear him appealing to the el
ders at Ephesus in his farewell address,
applmisc. lie desired above all thingstobe
great in the sight of the Lord, lie did not
consult icorldly ease. He gave up his tem
poral prospects in life, and was willing to
count all things loss for Christ. What
have been our sacrifices for Christ? We
have a noble example of disinterestedness;
let us imitate it.
[frill, Ulf Hull 3
A Terrible Scene. A letter from Fort
Laramie, to the St. Louis Republican,
j speaking of the graves on the plains, says:
“ Scores have been passed which have
no identity placed over their remains, anJ
have not been enumerated in any catalogue.
The graves, that l saw, had been dug up
‘by the wolves, the bodies dragged to die
surface, and the limbs and fragments scat
tered all around. From this place Med,
J the sickness did not follow’ the trains, so
j far as heard from.”
Opium Lozenges. Travellers in Tur
key carry with them lozenges of opium,
on which is stamped Mash Allah , the gift
of God. — Griffiths.
Adamites. There is said to be anew
association of maniacs, we must suppose
—formed in Bohemia under the title of
“Adamites,” all the male members of
which assume the name of Adam, “bile
the females take that of F.ve. They deny
Ihe immortality of the soul, and are prat’
tical socialists.
Scientific Extinguishment of Fine
i The Astley Collieries, near Manchester
having taken fire, and resisting all efforts
to extinguish it, a chemist, Mr. Guernsey,
proposed to put out the fire by filling die
galleries of the mine with carbonic acid-’
The experiment was tried and was success
ful.
Camels for the Prairies. The R’”
; ton ‘Times anounces that a company is f° r ”
| ming in Boston, to introduce the use 1,1
I camels upon the great prairies of the Med
fej"'Alex. H. Tyler, Esq., late U. S-
Consul at Bahia, Braz.il, arrived at Boston
on Monday, in a vessel from that place
Too Democratic. It is rumored “"*•
the “ Polytechnic School” of Paris is
removed, the Students being too ilemo r, ' !l
ic and inclined occasionlly to disturb ihe
slumbers of the present Government.
Unusual Appearance of the Sea-’
The Gloucester (Mass.) Telegraph *•)■’
the unusual appearance of the seal - " 1
trading the attention of many. I? 1S 0
light greenish color, and appears to be tni *
and dirty. The fishermen are compla' lll j
that fish are scearce, or will not bite, - 1
attribute it to the state of the water, f 1 ,
somathing which has not been vvitnf*-
for many years.
A Freak of Nature. T\voppec |inf