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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