ns oTFSHlcatloa. T roGA COUNTY AQITATOE is published I® u ib j Moniing, sod mailed to subscribers •«£ „« reef " f r t » ' - -DOLLAR- PER S - ANNUM, ■ ~ in «6 'm»ce. It« intended to notify every l r '' ,r,n ', the term for which he basp»id shall <t iucriM r , ,* u , e tamp—“Time Oct,” on the mar- V-V’ eX P Ir fn?t P a per. The paper will then be stopped pn » f l y .jsj remittance, be reoeived- '. By this or ««nl ‘ . man can be ’ brought in debt to the jemwt f rinter ’ , ril oR is the Official Paper of thoGounty, Tt:t f CI 1 d steadily increasing circulation reach vitl'» ’ ar^, r! i*lgT»g«iSjln tinHCouhlyj' tphi^eht ' I? /tlfeeojrfty j-Sri ! m ost convenient post office may be limits, County. i® 9o * not exceeding 5 lifies, 1 paper incln- S“ ! '” CS ; rear aed. v ! ~TuMJtEB LONGINGS. , . ,ar heenis weary'waitlnjj— Vf.uting fertile May— Itaii in" for the pleasant rambles, nil re the fragrant hawthorn If itb the Woodbine allornaltng, Cceal Ibe dewy way. Ah! my heart is weary waiting— flailing fof.tho May. . . . , if,! my heart is sick with'longing, hanging for the May— InD-iog to escape from study, Ju the 3 oung face fair and Teddy,.: And the thousand charms belonging To the summer's day. Ah! my heart is sick with longing, longing for the May. Ah! my heart is sore with sighing, " Sighing fur the May— Sighing for their ?ure returning, _ ffhen the summer beams are burning, hones and flowers that, dead or dying. All the winter toy. Ah! my heart is save with .sighing, Sighing ter the May.' Ah! my heart is pained with throbbing, Throbbing for the May— TUtobbingflr the sea-SldC billows, Ur the irater-wooing willows ; iTbcre, in laughing and in sobbing, Glide the streams away. Ah!, my heart, my hearc'is tbrobbUgfi J Throbbing for the May. ifniling sad. dejected, weary, Waiting for the Slay: spring guns by with' wasted warnings— Moonlit evenings, sunbright mornings— Summer comes, yet dark and dreary I.ifes still ebbs awjiy T .. Man if ever weary/weaiy,' ’ : 1 ' iV ailing for tbe May I' D. F. McCabtut. ‘ 1 1 ' ' ' For the Agftattr. tetters From Over The Kiver. .Van is ever separated {rota that which be :: ,t fears or hoperi for, by running •water, ibn smiles upon the outcast from Euphrates, k- Promised Land lay beyond .Jordan. Hades ■-raid Styx, and Pestiny dwelleth over the Ru irn. I might bring forward still more abun juevidence of the truthof the initial declara :: al.mc, but this will suffice. Andif itwere '.■iiiifd by any, I have only to refer the donbt cl." the fact, that to the entire Christian world, fives lies “over the River.” Bn; do not, gentle and considerate reader, conclude that theJ writer indites this raeitWEden, Canaan, Hades, or’the “Belter lad.'' Xor must it be presumed, from the iOT,n, that a river really flows between us. La T"u know, j s often likened to a river, ora ?t h is a convenient term to express separa . ■■ from another. Whether the 1 ob.s ta le l>! a river, a mountain, or a gulf, matters since the writer, like the river, and the b.jc'uf -ebleu he may write, must ever remain wlwal to von who read. IV people who dwell “Over the River” are ■tv like their neighbors on the opposite shore, ■i'frfights of the entire population worship Idas; nne-foiirth live to eat and sleep, and :e remainin': one-eighth eat -to live, and live" to lake the world better for their having been umbered amoug its citizeg?._-Of course;-ft is -t exactly the right-tiring' it) “folk hhohtrtme’s ; but there is my neighbor over the « who may bo called a representative man ; at if, lie i- the type of a numerous class. Mv neighbor over the way is not very unlike ri s rmon in his outward appearance. When he riks under my window, with bis hands mined imrddown into the depths of bis breeches ins head pitched sidewise and forward,, -His eyes fixed intently upon bis boots —like' ■ sw wrestling with ft difficult problem in arith o—l fane? [ gee in him a genuine downcast ifckee. But when he Jerks out his customary Station, (“wiegehts”) I know, by the accent ai Rhineland had the honor of his nativity. My neighbor has an occupation which I .will -setuion. It is an honest one—an honor-, - one: yet it is not one calculated to develop ksner feelings of. human nature. It suits my , and that is'enough. It suits him be puts much money in his purse. You suspect that tiie individual standing ; wer absolved in deep him of the dilapidated hat, and soiled and tattered pantaloons’; —you might not that that individual was rich in rents -Hank stocks. So is he reported to be, how- He reads hut one newspaper (a German -*) and every day threatens’to stop that one, as he declares, “it is so much alike er- Rfime.” 1 have discovered the nature of M "likeness*' of which he 'complains. He ry re^B }he Markets aod-Stock Boprd trans ttlons‘ wonder my neighbor complains of ktaeoBsS. • u™ - S 3 ra^roa 'i passing directly by my T s door. Almost every hour of the ''-Wj-fimr, a little locomotive, looting very * e 11 t i era °a with a live brand in his teeth, my neighbor’s door. He has an af ton for that restless locomotive. He seems j“his affinity” as the free lovers J- 1 believe he dotes on that fiery thing. f. Mme dajs I puzzled my brain inventing a u , D for *‘' s stran ge love. At last the truth . me trough the medium of vision. Iread side and front its name, in shining "\thus: “UTILITY." Utility! Well, '“isista that names are nothing, after this ? it ’ !? V ' Ti ' c harm. My neighbor never woml ruUE beauty of that little locorop *f ■ r ' C "' er °* J - Serv e ( i its levers and wheels, <G P rec i p i°n of their movements. ■ ' a powerful sight of work, and is st to l ' lln * lorses —says he. Were he mar s.j 1 he would view her from the same M-j-ost, is not devoid bf humor, withal. f Wlt >s entirely unpremeditated—is wit row other points of view than bis own/ laughs. He never’ sees anything to ll - He never could endure mirth. His Ppteciafmn of the line arts is confined to work on our national coins, and the eh telh T olir ' )an ' c d o *- 88, His housekeeper, though not precocious in the tn” lately eubsoribed'for the new 4et% Published in' ‘nntnbers. A fts °. ° ne of the painfully pictorial news got-intb my neighbor’s bouse “sd it lß< ** nce - He picked it; up and ei ti 02 - c °™e cuts with great attfehtiun... ■iullr S Bum^r °f the Pictorial Bible, fie’ s^ c ?“pared the two, first- measuring superfices, pictorce. to a. coppi- TUl'] AGITATOR. SScfrotcar to tije mrunphn of ttjt BLttst o$ Jfvte&om imp tbe Spvcati of jgcnUds Mttotm. THEBE SHALL BH -A, WBONG UNRIQHTBD, AND, UNTIL “MAN’S INHUMANITY, TO MAN? -SHALL • ABASE, AGITATION ■MUSI.-CQNTXNUE. -u.;. m t -iv. haying satisfied himself, jhe turned ;to ine .wondering housekeeper, with .., VLopk 1 dis, (holding up Frank Leslie’s sheet) is two times so big as dis, (pointing to the, Bi ble) and two;.tree, times, 50. ranch picture/' . And then be horrified the-simple -woman- by urging her to stop the "Pictorial Bible”, and take “Pfankßeelie” in its-place., .The poor -WOfnan tried to explain, but all to, no purpose, and my .neighbor went out,muttering about tbe extravagance of women., ■ So much.abo.ut my neighbor. The only apol ogy ,1 have to offer for meddlipg with bis busi ness is, that the things herein related are strict ly, truer . ; Thus endetht the first- letter; f L ( .. 1! . " ; 2-rom Godej’s Lady’s Book, TBS 9ROBEN VASE. Br T. S. ARTHUR, VWhat will father say ?” , This was the frightened exclamation of a lad who,- in playing about his father’s room; had knocked down a beautiful agate vase, and shat tered it into a dozen fragments, it moment before; his eyes were sparkling with pleasure, his. cfieeks glowing with excitement, and his whole air that of conscious enjoyment; now, heatoodpale,shrinking, panting, bis eyes .heavy and his lips quivering. ~ - “What will father say?” Mournful were his tones, as he repeated the words, after a brief silence. Poor boy! how suddenly,.was the, bright sky of his spirit, overclouded. The vase, of rare workmanship, the gift of a friend, and much prized by hi* father, Jay ruined at his fact It was not in the power of human skill to restore it; of that the unhappy lad felt hope lessly conscious. For awhile, he brooded over the shapeless fragments, vainly searching in bis mind for some light; then, as all remained dark and threatening, his feelings sought relief in a.gush of tears, For some minutes, he wept and sobbed bitterly; then be grew calm. Seated in a chair, with his sad face resting on bis hand, and his eyes fixed on the broken varies he regained for a long time, meditating on the new aspect of affairs, and trying to see clearly what it was best for him to do. "No one heard it fall,” said be at length, speaking to himself, mentally; and as he,did so, a feeling of relief was experienced., “If mother bad beard the noise, she would have been here in a minute.” The lad rose up quickly, and, went silently from the room, not that he had made up his mind to deny all.participation in the accident; he only wished to retain the ability to do so. if, on reflection, that course were determined upon. A’o.one was stirring in the passage; the dining room aqd kitchen doors were shut; and away off in the third story of the back building was h.is mother, sewing in the. nursery. So far, all. was safe, and the boy felt still farther teuC'® a - On .one of the 1 n.v •’-r. - * —■■ - uown stairs, he saw his little sister's favorite cat fast asleep. At once, the thought was suggested, that here was a “spapegoat” for him. Pi'll shut pussy up in the room,” said he, with a suddenly formed purpose, “and they’lltbinkshe knocked down the ,vaae.” And with the words, be caught up the cat, and went silently towards bis father’s room; but ere he reached the door, be felt so,disturbed and uncomfortable, such a pressure of guilt for deliberate wrhng, that he let the cot foil from his hand. Singularly enough, the animal, instead of running down stairs, bounded off in another direction, and actually entered the very room where the vase lay broken on the floor “I didn’t put her in there, any bow.” So the boy thought, as be went slowly and. noise lessly down stairs. Still, he didn’t feel right about it. But for bis action in the case, pussy would still be quietly sleeping on the landing. “0 dear! Ojdearl” sighed the unhappy boy, as he sat down upon, the stairs, “what shall I do f Father, will be so angry! Oh, I wish 11 hadn’t gone into his room 1” At this moment the nursery door opened. “John 1 John!” It was the voice of his mother. Instead of answering the call, the lad slipped noiselessly down stairs, ond going into the par lor, took a'book from the- center-table, and, opening it pretended, for a few moments to be reading. “John 1” the mother continued to call. “Here 1 am, mother,”, John, answered, from the parlor door. i “I want you, dear.” John went up to bis mother with a new har den on his already heavy heart. ■' He had pre tended not to hear her first call, and in this had acted unfairly towards-her, and in' a way to diminish bis own self-respect. “Go round to the. trimming-store, and get me a skein of black silk, John.” Not venturing to lift his eyes to his mother’s face, John took,the change that was-reached to him, and turned quickly away. He was gone a good while, so long that his mother became ■ slightly impatient at the delay, and, when he appeared, uttered a few reproving words.— These hurt him a good deal, and prevented the revelation be was about to make. The fact was, his mind had been so exercised in relation to the broken vase that he had partially forgotten bis errand, or rather, the necessity of doing it promptly. On his way'home from the trim ming-store, he sat down on a step, to con over a suggestion which had come to his mind, it was, to «o at once to his mother, and reveal the fact that the vase' was broken, leaving it with her to make the dreaded disclosure to his father, who was of rather a hasty temper, a man who, in too many cases, acted first and reflected af terwards. It, was because of this peculiarity in his. disposition that- Johb whs so much dis tressed. He knew that,'in the first emotions awakened on receiving intelligence of the dis aster, -he would not look at all beyond the fact, or imagine that'there might fac any extenuating circumstances, i And so John came in from the trimming-store prepared to make a clean breast to bis mother; but the displeasure she mani fested in consequence of his delay repelled him, aud bei 1 shrunk, with the air and feeling of a delinquent, from her Down into the parlors he went, feeling wretched in the extreme. "Odear 1 I wish father knew it; Whit will be say? I will tell him as sodn.as he.came.w. WELLSBORO, TIOGrA COM'TT. PA:, T HURSDAY MORNING, MAY 5, 1859. and explain all about it; I would tell him how sorry I feel, and that he may sell my .silver fork and napkin ring, and that he needn't buy" me the gold watch ’ he promised for a birthday present; but it wouldn’t be of any use. ' The moment he 1 earns the vase is broken he will be angry, and soy -he don't want to hear a word from me; and most likely, he’ll drive me to the garret, and not let me coine down for two or three days. O dear, dear 1 I wish I hadn’t gone into his room.- It was wrong; 1 know; but J wanted a book, and; when there, I forgot myself. I,wish father, wouldn’t get so angry when 3do wrong. I want to tell him all about this. I’ll never have any rest until fie knows that X broke the vase; and yet I’m afraid to say a word about it.” Ineouxik. While Bach thoughts were passing through the mind of the unhappy boy, he ■was aroused by the sound of his mother’s voice, who ap peared excited about something. Instinctively, he assigned the cause ■, and lie was right. She had discovered the broken vase. Pale and trembling dobh stood at the bottom of the stair way, and, as he' stood there,' his little sister’s cat came rnshing down and out into the yard, a heavy stick striking the last landing an in stant after she bad.cleared it. The blow, had lit reached, would probably have killed her. How rcbuted'*J6hn felt. Poor'pussy had been discovered in the room, and for his fault, she had come near losing her life. More and more troubled and perplexed was he. Oh, how he yearned to go to his mother and tell her the whole truth ; yet he shrunk from a thought of the consequences which would follow when his impulsive father learned that his cherished vase was broke n, and who bad done the deed. “John 1 John 1” “I’m here, mother,” answered John, in a faint voice. “Where?”, ’ “Down here in the passage.” - “Come up to me; John." John crept'slowly up the stairs. “What has the cat been doing,-mother ?” said he. How his conscience smote him for this duplicity, and bow his trouble increased with the thought that he was widening the gulf which was already between him and an honorable confession of his fault!. He had ever been a truthful boy; he.loved the truth; but, in dread of his father’s anger, he had acted a fasehood. To recede in volved, now, double consequences. He would expose bis duplicity—to him most painful and mortifying—as well as meet the dreaded anger of his father. Ah, if that father—not a hard, harsh, deliberately cruel and unjust man could bare looked into the poor boy’s heart at this moment, he would not only have been affected with the tendcrest pity for him, hut been appalled at the danger to which his own want of self-control was exposing his son. *l ,Woree'‘an^'’v?S'BeY 't f'J£e was widening the gulf still farther. “She has been into your father’s room, and ( knocked down and broken his beautiful vase. llc’U be dreadfully angry about it.” It came instantly to the lip of John to say, “It wasn’t the cat, mother; I broke the vase.” But the visage of his angry father was too’pal pably before him, and he could not utter the words; and so he stood beside his mother, gazing upon the fragments of the vase, in a kind of'stupid dismay. It was in his thought to screen himself by saying harsh things of the cat, but he checked their utteronce. To do so seemed dastardly as well as wicked. An hour went by—how full of suffering! and then after a long nod painful struggle with himself/John came to where bis mother sat sewing, in the nursery, and sitting down on a low chair beside her, leaned his arms upon her lap, and looked up, with sad tearful eyes, into her face. “Why, John, what ails you ?” said his mother, in surprise. “I broke the vase, mother.” How mournful were the poor hoy’s tones I “You, John?" . : , ( He said not a word more, but hid his face on bis mother's lap, and cried bitterly. “How came you to do it, John ashed bis mother, after he had grown calmer. “It was all an accident, indeed it was ; but oh, what will father say ?” “He will be grieved and angry. You should not have gone to his room.” “I went for a book, and intended to have come right out, hut something interested me, and I forgot myself. Oh, what shall I do?” “Yon must tell your father about it as soon as he comes home.” “But he’ll not forgive me. He thought so much, of the vase; it was so beautiful. But he needn’t give me the gold watch for a birthday, present. Couldn’t he buy another vase for the money that would cost? I don’t care anything about the watch. Oh, I’d rather never have a watch or anything else, than that ho should bo angry with me; and be gets so angry and says such dreadful things to me when I’m in fault, and it seems as if I am always doing wrong. Wont you tell him about the vase, mother? 1 1 wish you would. Tell him I didn’t do it on purpose, that I am so sorry, that I’ll try never again in roy life to do anything to offend him.” That mother saw deeper into her boy’s heart than she bad ever seen before. “I have been so tempted to conceal it,” he said. “Father’s anger seemed so dreadful to me, that I thought X could not bear it.” “Nothing ia so hard to hew, my ■son as the burden of ft troubled conscience,” said the mother. “Ob, never forgef this 1” I ~ ‘(You’ll speak to father abopt it, won’t you ?” John asked, entreatingly. • “Perhaps I bad better do so." “Tell him how sorry I am, that it was all an accident, that he needn’t buy me the watch.” ’ The mother's heart was deeply touohed’at the distress of her boy, and she felt it to be her duty to stand lovingly between him and the quick, anger of on impulsive, yet not icruel minded, father. . Evening came, and with it the father’s dread ed. retnm. a a soon as the mother was alone with him, phe said, “Your agate vase is, bro ken.” , ‘,Whatl” Elis face grew instantly crimson. “Broken? Who did it?” 1 • “John? , Where is be?” _g The father was already oh his feet, Resolved under the blind impulse of that moment, to fmnish his son with extreme, severity. , .He had asked no ! explanations ; everything against the poor boy was taken for granted. “It was an accident,” said the mother. “But what business had he to touch the vase!”.was angrily responded. _ . “He was getting a book from the shelf, when it fell from-his hand np6n the vase.” ■ “That’s his story.” . “He’s a truthful boy,” urged the mother. “He’s a meddlesome fellow, always; inter-; fering with matters in which he has no concern. I’ll teach him a lesson'that he’ll not soon for, get.” And he moved towards tbe door; but the mother laid her hand upon his arm. - • “He has been punished enough already,” said she. • . : “Who punished him ? Ton.” .‘"lf you had seen him as I bare seen. him. you would feel pity instead of wrath. Don’t speak a harsh word to him. He is nearly sick now, from dread of meeting your anger. He says you needn’t buy him the gold Watch-for a birthday present, but keep the money for y, new vase. He was strongly terppted to,.conceal, his fault, and he might easily have done so, for I found the cat in your room, and thought that she had done the mischief.” "Did he know that you thought so ?” The father’s voice was softened. . “Yes; and he saw that he could escape with out suspicion; but truth and honesty prevailed over fear. lie came to me of his own accord and confessed all.” For some time, the father remained silent steadily repressing his excited feelings until his own mind was-clear and calm again; then he said, “Tell John to come here; I would like to see him alone.” • “John your father wants you.” How pale the lad grow instantly. “Don’t be afraid," whispered the mother. And yet, his knees smote together, as he went, almost tottering, from sudden weakness, to lis father’s room. Entering, he scarcely dared raise his eyes from the floor. “My son.” Oh, tvhat a load fell suddenly from his heart! The voice was neither loud nor angry, but low, sympathizing, and tender. To have restrained the impulse that instantly, seized him would have been impossible. . “Father! dear fa'ther!” exclaimed the hoy clasping his arms about his neck, I am so sorry 1 It was all an accident. Oh, what shall I do?” "Only be more careful in the future, John;” said the father, as soon as he could command his voice. “The vase is broken, and no grief or regret can mend it. You have told the truth about it; you have shown jpur!jelf..f>p,,fogi§at. How clear and all-penetrating was the light which fell upon the spirit of that nnhappy boy 1 The dark clouds that filled threateningly his sky were instantly dispersed. And was he not strengthened in all his good purposes by this forgiveness of his faults ? He was strength ened. Kijid forgiving words from his father filled him with good impulses; angry- words would have left him under a sense of wrong, all exposed to temptation/and in the darkness of suffering that followed, he might have gained a bias to evil impossible, in all after hfe, to overcome. Impulsive, qnick-to-be-angry, hasty father, shall we warn you, in serious words, against rash judgment of your children ? No ! The picture of life ire bare given needs nothing, more to enforce the lesson it is designed to teach ; and so we leave it with you to do its appropriate jvork. Mrs. Partington, after listening to the read ing of an advertisement for, a young ladies' boarding school, said: “For my part, I can’t deceive what on airth eddication is coming to. When I was young, if a girl only understood rules of distraction, provision, multiplying, replenishing and com mon doniator, and ■ knew all about the rivers and their obituaries, the covenants and domito ries, the provinces npd the umpires, they had eddication enough. But now they have to study bottomy, algierby, and have to demonstrate supposition about sycophants of circuses, tan gents and Diogenese of parallelgramy, to say nothing about the exiles, corostics and abtruse triangles 1” Thus saying, the old lady leaned back in her chair, her knitting work fell in her lap, and for some minutes she seemed in medi tation. Doccuxots not “Greasv.” — The American Agriculfnisi gives the following instruction to prevent doughnuts from absorbing fat while cooking: “After preparing and moulding them just before immersing them jh hot fat plump them into a well-beaten egg.—This will give them a tbiff coating of albumen, 'Which will effectually keep out the grease. Furthermore, this coat ing will retain the moisture, and they will keep much longer in a good condition, and besides can be eaten by persons of delicate, stomachs.” This suggestion is worthy of a trial by such as dislike greasy doughnuts. A Young miss having; accepted the offer of a youth to gallant her home, afterwards- fearing that jokes might be cracked at her-expense, if the fact should become public, dismissed him when about half way, enjoying' his secrecy.— “Don't bo afraid," said he, “of my saying any thing about it, for 1 feel- as much ashamed of it as you do.” ■ ' . We heard a man call another man an ex tortioner the other day for suing him, a 3ay or two before. 1 “Why friend,” replied the man who brought the suit; “I ditHt to oblige you-” -■■■ “To ohjigo mo indeed how so ?” “Wliy to oblige you to pay me.” There are many men who have never gam bled, and many women who have neverflirted. There are many dogs, too, that have never killed their owh. .mutton; yet very .few, that having once began, have ever stopped. ; COMMUNICATIONS . Life. £ | The past never dies, but lives embodied in the present, and sad indeed is onr fate if we dare not look it boldly in the face. It my be that errors and. follies innumerable, may glare upon us from its many thoughtless yesterdays ; hut-we-may-not-hope to escape them by plung ing still deeper into the follies of the present, for by so.doifag, we shall only increase the num ber of pursuing spectres, and arm them with scorpions, insteai.of rods. EacK place of life has its own pleasures, and pains'; its own joys and sorrows, : Childhood, with its unquestioning faith, and gushing love, finds its happiness in pleasures at which matu rer age will smile. But are they not purer and holier'.that those which youth or maturity dan boast? Ah I ia not happy childhood one of the green spots in life’s desert. ", How its memories cling to ua in after years—a word, a tone of voice, n song; or the mere glancing of an eye, will often remind us Of those whom we have loved and mourned, and awaken a thousand as sociations, which we .had deemed r fbraver for gotten. - Bat, at the slightest ring, memory flinggopen the pdrtals of her sacred temple, and there comes trooping forth, a Jong array of the de throned idols of life’s early spring-time, over whelming and -crushing the heart beneath the myriad remembrances which they arouse. For a time we seem to live our chilnhjiod over again, and we are present once more at the gathering of friends, within those old familiar walls, and happy faces smile on ns again as they did of yore; yet little thought we then, how deeply those smiles w'ere sinking in our hearts, recesses. And then come to us again, hut for a .moment, the gay companies who gathered with us ar rOund the loved fireside, delighting us with their songs and mirthfuiness; making oqr youth time a paradise,’ from which the tempests and turmoils of life too soon recalled ns; and which we now remember as another oasis in life’s arid desert. , ...... Mournful indeed are those breakings up, which sever youthful friends, or those more directly endeared by nature’s ties; and send us forth by separate paths, to struggle for a living and at last to fifad a grave. Would not life’s darkest clouds be bordered by a golden fringe, if those who started with us in its early dawn, might linger by our side until its goal was reached? But when the - warm heart-gatherings of our youth are fled, they come no more to cheer us with their presence, save in the countless memo ries of the past. We begin to hold strange sa cred converse with the outer world. The calm, the storm, the quiet eve, the song of birds and breath of flowers, the zephyrs, floating over a tweefl'A.S'‘ , a,.the,silvef streamlets gliding be voice for us. * The brooding quiet of the evening sky, is to the gifted vision, like the first unfolding of the so.ndl of prophesy ; in the glowing ciphers of which, it fain would read its future destiny. Then, the human soul becomes conscious of its god-like nature; and the grandeur of its im mortality ; and looking forth from its vailed sanctuary, bows before the august divinity of nature, and tenders it solemn spirit-woiship. Here ton, is a green spot in life’s desert. We advance farther in the'swollen, tnrbid waters of life, but we-no-longer expect to find.ita calm bright mirror of waves. Earth no longer stretches before us in shadowless beauty, like the paradise of an unfallen world. The friends of our youth are gradually fading from our sight, the manifold cares of life have deprived ,ua of many, and the cold remorseless grave has closed over others. The Eulian music of life is gone and the bright realms of fancy, over which our young thoughts used to soar, on glittering gilded wings, are swiftly passing from our view. The burden begins to weigh heavily upon par shoulders : —our steps become more grave earth’s mosio ‘wears a sadder tone, the dirge steals in upon the dance —the revel is often dis turbed by the requiem; Now we begin to trea sure up the wasted dews of thought, and paus ing on this first gentle upland of life, .we turn a lingering look upon the path we have trodden, and the scenes that we are now forever leaving. The sunshine is followed by a cloud, truth has driven away the mists of fancy, and taught us us to take a more correct, and less Catering es estiinate of the world. Memory too, is pre paring to decorate the niches in her Solemn temple, with the forms so dearly loved, hot-ear ly lost. Again we advance, and as the shadows lengthen, the dreams and memories of the past visit' us less seldom. As the distance which divides us from the past widens, the gathering mist of years settles down upon its peaceful vales and sonny landscape, and the faint light that flickers down upon the slumbering homes of youth, and childhood, though beautiful as an autumn sunset, —is sad as moonlight upon graves. We still tread on, though now, the life chain binds us closely to its stem realities ; the iron has reached our souls; and a feverish and anx ious restlessness for wealth or fame, has en throned itself in our hearts. We feel a proud impulse gurging us to struggle for the wreath of intellectual preeminence. Still, evor os we attempt to soar, we learn the limits of our chain. We may no more' be idle amid the busy throng that is hemming us in, and striving to, out-do us in the race. And such are life’s chan ges,—such the fate of all! ' I A buoyant imaginative youth, a vigorous manhood —a restless maturity—and a deathbed made beautiful by the abiding love of a few true-hearted friends, then a quiet grave In some lonely church-yard. Yes 1 such'is life made , up of moments too often unwisely squandered away by young, hearts who-heeded not their value, and forgot that the brightness of sancti ty, or the clouds of sin would forever pervade ’the whole firmament of their .being. Covington 1859. Meeta MelCrove. “You exhibit a great deal of vanity, madam, in always telling what others think of yon." , “It would certainly be no vanity in yon, sir to tell what the world; thinks'of you.” ■ •, Rates of Advertising, Advertisements will be charged $2 per sqttsrt of 14 lines, one or three 25 cent* for ereiy Au'bseqnenfinscrtioU. ' A£VertTsements of Jess then 14 lines considered as a. square; Thcsubjoined rates will be charged tor Quarter!/, Half-Year]/ and Year!/ ad. vertisementa: , 3 ifo.vrus.. 6 iiosrns. 12 hosts*. Square, - - $2,60 $4,5Q . $6.00 2• . d<v’ - * 4,00 - 6,00 - 8,00 icolumn*. . 6,00 8,00 ■ . * 10,W i do. . - 10,00 16,00 * 20.Q0 . Column,- - is,oo- SO.OO 40-.00 j . v . or^Be , roe ?^ 3 having the number of iDscrtjonf desired parked open, ibent, will be published' nn'ta or derea out and charged accordingly. Posters. Handbills, Bill-Heads, Letter-Heads smdal) binds of Jobbing done in country establishments, «- eouted neatly mid promptly. Justices’, Constables’, and township BLANKS: No ten. Bonds, Deeds, Mort gages. Declarations and other Blanks, constantly on hand, or printed to order. J NO. 40, t Pot the ■ Tbs Inflneilep of Association. - M A man Is know by' the" company ha teepa” ' This saying, has ‘ever shade my earliest recol lection been a favorite maxim impressed both by precept and example upon my mind, and since passing the infantile age it has been deepening and obtaining .a firmer foundation, untH I have learned'that whosoever will, may observe for himself, by casting even a careless glance upon society, as is presented in the ex tended panorama of this life we are daily lead ing, that the mind is moulded and the impress given hy the condition of the morals and culti vation of the finer feelings of our constant asso ciates ; who will question ? ■Written for the Agitator, Many of you no doubt have read and ad mired this view beautifully brought forth in tb* anecdote of the piece Of sweet-cented clay, which being questioned as to its origin replied, “once I was hot a piece of common el ay, bat being casl'in a bed of roses, I was forgotten and became fragrant after lying there, diffusing sweetness and life wheneverl am found,” And thus with animate nature. IVe are but clay ceptible of continual change, and if we associate with those whose every act is pure, whose minds are filled with'a sweetness far exceeding the invigorating fragrance of the “queen of flow ers,” we too sball) become imbued with a purity of thought and feeling which shall spread a loveliness and beauty around our every action, wholy foreign to those who mingle with the base and degraded. It has ever bean thus, and ever will remain the criterion by which a man or woman is known. Little confidence would we have for that disciple of the meek and lowly Jesus, who should choose forbis bosom friends the frequen ters of bar-rooms and billiard saloons. Hw might be so situated by a combination of eir, cumstances that be could not avoid a temporary association, and in such adilema his love of the Master would teach him to treat ail men with true courtesy ; hut in no manner hy word or look to encourage'error. Again, he might seetyfor holy and commendable motives, the fallen ones to point to these the holy and nar row pathway which leads to life eternal, and manifest an earnest zeal and friendly feeling for their interest, but mark that man ; are such his loved ones? are such the ones he delights to unfold his hopes of salvation to ? by no means. Again, does he who seeks the congregation of the profane, who delights in hilarity and bacW analian sports, ever tarn with willing step to, the abode of the profane in heart? neverj until the desires of his heart are changed, “for birds of a feather flock together,”, and in this prov erb is contained the germ of a great truth, for virtue is beauty, and when the pearl is formed in its true slate, it avoids even the appearance of evil. And to those who would we wools sav,~clig o ’’non the bosom of society, not hasty in giving j-se« your associates; be are known by the company they keep. - Stray Hcsbaxd. l —A ‘duels of a wife,’ whose husband went off for a few days to enjoy him self abroad as he could not at home, thus ad vertises him: ‘‘Lost, Strayed or Stouex, —An individual whom I, in an unguarded moment of loneliness, was thoughtless enough to adopt as my hus band. lie is a good looking and feeble indi vidual, knowing enough, however, to go in when it rains, unless some good-looking girl offers her umbrella. Answers to the name of John. Was last seen in company with Julia Harris, walking with his arm around her waist, up the plank road, looking more like a fool, if possible, than ever. Anybody who will catch the poor fellow and bring him carefully hack, so that I may chastise him for running away, will t« asked to stay to tea by Henrietta A. Smith.” Personal. —President Buchanan uses no to bacco. General Cass drinks no “Bourbon"— Senator Douglas uses ivo pepper, and the Post master Genera! eats but two meals a day. S’. P. Willis cuts his own hair, Caleb Cushing shaves himself and wears no beard. Rufus Choate and Henry Ward Beecher are dear lov ers of coffee; E. P. Whipple rarely breakfasts before ten, though he begins business at eight; Edward Everett writes his extemporaneous ad dresses ; Ralph Waldo Emerson often dines at Parker’s, but rarely takes wine; Longfellow smokes a meerschaum. The smallest-sized poet in America is Holmes; the beat looking one i Fields, and the biggest ones Pike, of Arkansas. — Gleason. ~ ■ “Phairert of the phair,” sighed the lover, “phancy my pheeling when I phorseethe phear ful consequences of our pheeling pbrom your phathcr’s phamily. Phew phellows conid hare phaced the music with so much phortitude as I have ; and as phickle phortune phails to smile upon our love, I phind myself, phorced to phorgo the pleasure of becoming yonr husband. Phair Phranoes, pharewell phorever,” “Hold, Phranklin, hold!" screamed Phranoes, “I will phollow yon phorever.” But Phranklin pbled, and Phrances phainted. “The remainder of this Thrilling Narrative will be found in the Kcvj Fork Phledger. A city book visited the Shakers at Lebanon some time ago, and fta he was wandering through the village encountered a stout,hearty specimen cf the sect, and thus addressed him; “Well, Broadbrim, are you much of a Sha ker?” “Nay,”; said , the other, “not overmuch, but I can do a little that way;” • “J should like to see you perform.” “I- can accommodate thee, friend,” said {be other quite coolly, and seized the astonished customer by the collar and' nearly shook him out of bis boot s. ~ ; . Pboobess —“You see, grnndmama, vre per forate; a hole in the apex and a corresponding aperature in the base; and by applying the egg to the lips and forcibly inhaling the breath, the shell is entirely discharged of its contents.” “Bless my soul,” cried the old lady, “what wonderful improvements they do make I Now. in my .young days, we just made ahole in each end and sucked.” . . ! Grace Norton.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers