AMERICAS VOLUNTEER. yDBLISHEp EVERT THURSDAY MORNING, BY John B. Bra» to “* TERMS ‘ • •• - nno Dollar and Fifty Cents, Subscription. Dollarsll paid within tlio '““ho&'and Fifty Cent., if Hot the year- These terms will be rig iSy adhered! to in every instance. No sub scription .discontinued until all arrearages are, paid unless at the option of the. Editor. Advebtisemf.nts— Accompanied by the cash, and riot exceeding one square, will bo inserted throe times for.OnoDollar, and twenty-five cents tor each additional insertion. Those of agroat .ter lcngth in proportion. Job-Pbintino —Such ns Hand-bills, Posting tbllls, Pamphlets, Blanks, Isabels, &c.,&c.,cxo suuted with accuracy and at the shortest notice. THE WIND AND STREAM. BY WILLIAM 0. BRYANT. A Brook came stealing from the ground ; Poll scarcely saw its silvery gleam ' Among the herbs that hung around ‘ The borders of that winding stream, — ' A pretty stream, a placid stream, A softly gliding, bashful stream. A Breeze came wandering from the sky, ■ ■ Light as the whispers of a dream; • He put the o’erbanging grasses, by. And gaily stopped to kiss the stream, The pretty stream, the flattered stream. The shy, yet unreluctant stream. Tho Water ns the Wind passed o’er, Shot upward many a glancing beam, Dimpled and quivered more i>nd more, ' And tripped along a livelier stream,— The flattered stream,tli'o simpering stfeam. Th;c tend, delighted, silly stream. Away tiro airy wandqrcr flew, . TpiWherc the tields with blossoms teem, To sparkling springs and rivers blue, ‘ And. left alone that little stream, — The flattered stream, the cheated stream The sad, forsaken, lonely stream. That careless Wind no more caine back/ - He wanders yet the fields, I deem ; Hut.on its melancholy track , Complaining went tho' little stream, — .The cheated stream, the hopeless stream, v Tho over-murmuring,, moaning stream. WE WERE BOYS TOGETHER. : We prere boys together, . - And never can forget r ; The, sQhool-house hear the leather, , . In childhood where we met,; ■ The humble homo to memory dear, Its sorrows and its joys/ : !. Inhere Woke,the transient smile or tear, IVhch you and T were boys 4 Wo were youths together, And castles binit in air, Tour Juiart was like a feathot, / • And mine weighed down with care ; To yon came wealth with manhood’s prime, • To me it brought alloys— Foreshadowed in the primrose time* When you and I were boys. We’re old men together— The friends we loved of yore, With leaves of autumn.weather, Are gone for evermore; llow blest to age the impulse givefy . The hopo.tltno ne’er destroys— Which led our thoughts from earth to heaven When you and I were boys. ,■ Blim'Bllanmiifl. HARPER’S MILL ■■liwas the eldest son of the proprietor ofHar- iter's Mill.--l am not ashamed jp ownjhabmy . uth'^'i^VamiJlci^—iji'e good' old miller'whose "wßfthnfd^tftoltS^ayh'ttiihvenr'fchhver^blcss;! l ** Weal 111 and fame have bees, inim l , both in my own and foreign countries. At home aiidabi-oad, t have mingled with the highest, and received praise and homage .from the gifted arid intellec tual.; j-tit hcver, when the honors of the world Seemed most to await me. and when the foam jn my cup was sparkling highest and brightest, have t' forgotten that I was the son of '1 liomas Ilarper the miller. My younger brother had begged to remain ivith' thy-father at thP' mill; hut my, father, ■whose business had always been good, ,was hbundantlv able to , give me my choice of my. future lifei and . I eagerly seized upon his con sent to- establish myself at cpllege. I passed through With honor and credit to myseli. and was foytuhate enough.to'obtain asilnalion, — partly as tutoi*. Snd parlly as travelling com panion to a lad from one of the Southern S ales. 1 roamed all over Europe ; saw everything worth--seeing visited ruins, temples, churches: reveled, in -music, paintirig and 'sculpture : and enjoyed alh witll thecntlinsiasin of a young and romantic , traveller. My companion, Philip Loftus/.was a boy of strong natural sense, in termingled with a keen perception of the ludi-, orbus. Everywhere he was well received on account of his never-failing fund of- gopd hu mor, and his talents and acquirements. ; - 1; While absent, 1 had made many drawings of the old mill, which I had delighted to show Philip.as being the beloved and picturesque home, of my ch’ldhood. The scene struck his fancy and he was never tired ot admiring the random sketches which I hud made of its vari ous points of beauty. • “ When we return, Philip,’-' I often said to him, “j'ou shall see the old place'under the softest influence of our summer sky : you shall thep acknowledge that we have seen no place of wilder .interest, or one of more romantic sit uation, in Europe.,” . 1 kept my word : and immediately on our return, after having visited lii.s Southern home, we,.proceeded,to.my father’s .residence. All through the latter part of our journey towards borne; we had - glimpses of such delicious land scapes fls have seldom greeted our eyes in for eign lands, Philip was delighted and when he arrlvcd-in sight of Harper’s Mill, die warmly ■ declared, that he never yet had seen its beauty surpassed. ■ ■ A few days served to strip us of our foreign dandyism, ;and;induct us into the homely ways Of Harper’s Mill. -My, father had nearly given up the entire business of the mill into the hands of my brother, and was now enjoying the green ojd.age of his,well-spent life—waiting patiently to. rejoin my mother, who had long preceded him,to. the-land of the immortals. , ItTmy boyish days, I had held a. tender af fection,fof my-cousin, Ida Harper. Oitr lath ers wore brothers; but while mine had been contented to remain at his rustic mill, Stephen JlnrpcrVambition had led. him into the specu lating ways of the great • city. Here he had prospered;beyond his most ardent hopes, and Ida was now no longer my little playful cousin, but a wealthy, heiress, basking in the noontide eun of wealth arid fashion. . Ott.en as I thought of her and her. little sister Caroline.,l. wondered if, amidst the glitter that surrounded them, the warm sunshine of the heart had not faded away. I resolved as soon as Philip’s visit should terminate, to ascertain -What bad become of Ida’s old affections forme. But while wafting for this, I happened to read the.announcement of Caroline’s marriage in the newspapers, and soon after I heard a detailed account of the same from the lips of one ol my old college friends. ' It Seemed that it was from no very strong preference for each other, and from no very ex aggerated idea of love in any way, that Fred erick Sumner and Caroline Harper came toge ther.' The father of the bridegroom had long held strong business relations with the father of the bride. “Propinquity,” as the lady in some old novel keeps harping upon, did the Whole. They married because they were con- BY JOHN B. BRATTON. VOL. 44. tinually thrown in each other's path, and be cause no onooonipctcd with theni for the heart of cither. Mr. Harper "shelled out, 11 aS young Sumner called it, handsomely. The bride's .clothes and jewels, her plate and furniture, were rill select ed without regard to expense, at thorniest fash ionable establishment, and cost quite ns much .as the elegant house which Sumner’s father transferred' to their, immediate possession.— " Treading the same walks of life,” he said — "standing on the same plane of society, .there was none of those ineffable gauchcries to be en acted, which, always happen where one party is above the other, and -the higher-bred ac quaintance of the one have to,condescend to the low-bred associates of,the other.” I supposed, then, hy what my friend said* that all was smooth and fair in my cousin's loti. No cloud from the ungenial leaden-colored sky of poverty lowered on the young couple. If the bright ’sunshine of the heart and affections was not there, there were- gilded trappings of wealth and fashiori—and the latter are prefei red to the. former. Sp the Christmas holidays my friond-told'me, had found them seitled with all tho appoint ments. privileges, and investments of tho "rich and fashionable. -Parties were given in return, theatre and opera boxes scoured for the season, and all the appliances for a gay, if not an ab solutely dissipated winter bargained for. It was no wonder that, in the style that prevailed, Ihrodghbut the families of Harper and Sumner, one of thorn 'should have forgotien that be, at least, was not born into that magic circle, but came into it by degrees, and ways which he had rather not remember.. Mr. Stephen Harper did not like retrospec tion : he would have said—“ Don’t tell me. what I have been, but tell me what I am now.’’ He did hot even like to.think of his brother, the milieri Harper’s-Mjli'; and still' more sensitive ly would lie flinch from the idea that away off in ah obscure country town there was once a miserable old farm house, with its shattered roof and tumble down chimneys, and empty bafnsand granaries, where lie, Stephen Harper himself First opened his eyes on this changeable world. He did not love to remember that tiis eldest brother, the miller, had impoverished himself to take his widowed mother, and his younger brothers and sisters into his own fam ily ;■ had given Stephen his first start in life, and had given the two, feeble sisters and bed ridden mother that, assistance which Stephenln liis wealth had never thought of sharing with him. . All this was perfectly tnio ; but Stephen Ilarpery Esq., never believed it. He ignored the very, name of Harper’s MiG-still more that of'Harper’s'farm, tile, dilapidated place where he was bom ; and had’ so often told' the story of his being ah only son, and of liis parcnls dy ing in his boyhood, In .easy circumstances,-that all his friends received that version of liis life. ■ - . , ; - Like old Gob- Thornton, who made, himself, the hereof many battles, until he came really to.believe in his own; exploits, Mr. Harper at least began to put faiih in the statements he had. manufactured so often. Alithis, I heard from my friend,‘.and it did not stimulate me at all to’wish for a renewal qfiintcrcour.se with the family of my. uncle. -And yet there was .the; long '.cherished image of my. cousin. Ida- rising fresh,, ajid bright, and beau tiful Jon. my. vision. as I'remembered lieryli tier angel, childhood.. . Suroly v,guyily, X thought, so-tnir .'v-proirfee must u-e tin’s have realized asfiiir a noon. Ida Harper opuld not be very. different to the being I had known hi; my boyhood; I, remembered our last parting.. I ivas at Nioyencrabic age of fifteen, and she was some two years my junior. Ten 3'ears had elapsed, and lior father had grown rich and powerful, while still bore the ap pellation of the miller of Iftrper’s Mill. How would she look at my prqjnmption, .should. I ever dare to address her again as toy little wife?” What though I was nollilug-btn a'poor iulor, and Caroline’ bad married the son of a merchant prince, did that place me in fact upon any p'oipt beneath that on which Frederick Sumner staod? My heart answered no. and I obeyed the im pulse and set out the next morning for town; and in two hours after my arrival I ..was in tiro presence of my cousin Ida. • Dear soul, she had not kept mo whiting one moment : but in the simplest of morning dres ses. had flown oyer the stairs, with the card still in her hand, which I. had sent up by the servant, and on which I had written “ Gilbert Harper, of Harper’s Mill.” She had remem bered me,' then, through all these, long; years, and she now came up, to me with a charfiling frankness, that made me despise myself for the doubts I bad cherished respecting her. Our interview was long and pleasant, and we parted with the promise of speedily meeting again. I contented myself With merely asking after her father and Caroline, thinking I would wait for ■time to develop the way in which they would febeive me. ■ *• I pass over the subsequent interview which I had with Ida. It is enough to say; that bur affections were irrevocably engaged ; bat while the spell which united us seemed to lie drawing closer and closer around us, still the dread came stronger upon us ■ both of the opposition that might be-expeeted from her father. I dreaded it even more*than Ida, for I felt I Could not Ssk her to disobey her father, my heart told me she, with her present feelings, would cling closer to me than ever if his con sent was denied. Time brought me at length into (die presence of Stephen Harper, and I learned instinctively what favor I might expect when my engage ment to his daughter should be made known. — In his behavior towards me in his own house, there was too little of the ceremony duo to a stranger, and too little familiarity which might be expected from a relation- Altogether it was deeply offensive to mo ; and it must be confes sed- that I paid little of that court which lie might reasonably expect from one who aspired to his daughter’s hand. All that I could at present obtaip from Ida, was an assurance of undnmnislicd affection, and a promise of corres pondence ; and with this to console me for the want of her presence, I returned to Harper’s I tried to be content with Ida’s letters, but still there was an uncertainty about my fate which distressed and annoyed me. Sanguine as I was, I could see no prospect of ever iiiar rying her except against her father’s Consent, and this was painful to think of. Restless and discontented, I soon found my way back again to town, where,, with the means which my fa ther supplied me, I established myself in a bu siness which, would leave me half the year to visit Harper’s Mill, or to go abroad, as I might choose. This time I saw more of my uncle ; and cm boldened by what I fondly hoped was increas ing kindness on his part, I almost bluntly ask ed him for the hand of his daughter. He look ed surprised, and briefly answered that any man who would become his son-in-law must show his enterprise by amassing a fortune, as he him self had done. “ And how is .it, Mr. Harper ?” I asked.— “Has nothing else any weight with you ? Do you consider the acquisition of wealth the only good in life ? Are talents, qualifications, per severance, and energy, pf no. account in your estimation ?” • ' Me frowned and bit his lips. "If a man lays claim to all those in reality,” he said, “ he will show that he possesses them, by acquiring the Wealth of which I spoke.” . . “ That may be partly true,.Mr. Harper,” I answered : "but we rend that ‘the race is not al wriyS tp-tho swift, nor llto,battle to the strong.’ Undoubtedly you can remember msny persons •who started with you in the race of life, whom you considered as men of enterprise, who have fainted by the way in pursuit of wealth.” He could not but own the truth of whritl said, although seemingly unwilling to do so. "Even you yourself, Jlr. Harper, may not always en joy tlia. wealth you.have attained.” ’ * He looked daggers at me. “Do not name it,” ho said. “ I have not so lightly laid my plans—no danger of that kind can be appre hended.” I went back to the subject matter of our dis course, and'asked him if I might consider lhal as his ultifririte decision. “ Certainly.” he answered, and we parted. . Slowly but surely, for the next three years my business progressed. .'Everything on which I laid my hands seemed to be. transmuted at once into gold. . It gave me no joy, excepting so far as it assured me that through its means I plight win Ida. Ida, whose beauty had al ready begun to fade under the influence of anx iety and hope deferred. I strove to comfort her with, the hope of my success. She listened with a mournful smile. Her hopes had with ered under long-continued expectation. “ You will marry some one younger than myself. Gilbert,” she would say. “One whose youth lias not beoa'Sacrißccd to a father’s love of gold.” I would try to cheer her then with the hope of brighter days. I had gone home on a visit to Harpcr’sMiil. I walked up to the post office one night', hardly daring'to, hope for a letter from Ida. : The boy at tlie window, awkwardly shuffled ovcr’ajpack age of letters, and said there was none for me : as he put them back again, my eye caught a delicate envelope, which I could not but help hoping.might have come from the Only corres pondent from whom I eared to hear. “ Let pie see that letter, my boy,” I said, as I.pointed to the one in.qucstion. ~ v The hoy muttered, and unwillingly passed over the letter There it was in Ida’s fine I tal ian hand writing, “ Gilbert Harper, Esq., I opened it then and there. The paper seemed : to swim before my eyes, as I read the following words: “Como to me immediately,.dear Gilbert.— We arc in the greatest confusion imaginable— officers in the house. Caroline and my father almost distracted, and I sick at heart witness ing their distress. I.haveu vague feeling, that your presence will restore us to something like peace and order agafni ’ But.comeatall events, and that speedily. lux.” I got the boy at the mill to drive!tne to the station, whence I took the nighttrain, and- at nine o'clock was, in .town, and at the door of my uncle’s house. I rang and asked lor Ida; she came to, ttie door on hearing ray voice, pale .but collected.' ' ‘ “ I am glad yon are conic, Gilbert,” she said, mournfully ;■ “my failier is almost out of his senses, and Carolinels, if possible, still more so. The finnhasTailed, and Frederick says we are all completely ruined' I cip hoi care fornioney, ■yon:well- know;; Gilbert,- but;li, will .btr biird To ; see my father’s gray hairs Steeped in poverty. It was.but too truer.- They were irretrievably ruined. Everything was.brought forward and given up to the creditors; for my uncle though grasping,- was at least not dishonest. A day was appointed-for the sale of their effects, but before it came around I had hurried Idaiind her father down to Harper's Mill, where my father gave them a most cordial welcome. . Back I went, to town-to attend the'sale, at which I purchased Ida’s harp and piano, all the plaie which w as marked with the family name, a few of the most valuable pictures, and my uncle’s favorite,arm chair and writing, desk.—; I procured Frederick Sunnier.a lucrative situa tion, as clerk, and.saw him established, with liis wife and father, at a comfortable boarding house,.an'd then went home to join Ida. Al ready my fai her had begun to love her as a daughter. For herself, she whs' In -raptures with the mill, (he old homestead, and all the scenes'which she bad remembered so well from her childhood. . “ Would you be content to live here always, Ida ?’’ I asked her one night, as we strayed by moonlight down to the old mill. -.-‘.‘l should ask no greater happiness,” site answeted, “than to know I should never again behold the busy town. Hero I could live.and die in peace.” •No more opposition could reasonably lic.ex pected from Mr, Harper ; and, while I pitied his misfortunes, I could not but Teel that they were calculated to make him wiser and better. - In another month, then, Ida, will become' my wife without waiting for any additional.delay to our joy; . The Clouds which had hitherto rested upon our lot, seem to have passed away. The future seems brightening before us : and although wo have waited beyond the glowing period of youth, still I do not despair that, af _ter all, 1 we shall enjoy a lair portion of happi ness. Great Flight of Wild Geese. We believe the extent of the wild-goose emi gration yesterday, surpassed that of any simi lar demonstration on any one day in former years. Flocks of these great birds, stretching out in the form of an inverted V, with the lea, dcr at the point, were passing Southward over this city and the neighboring towns nearly ail day, Monday. One gentleman counted 100 in otic flock, and .he says he saw about h dozen Hocks/ Generally, they flew too high to be shot, "though . their loud and incessant cries could be heard. A-few. shots, were fired at them,.but we believe without effect. These birds often fly all day and night, and traverse vast tracts of country in a brief space of time. Coming from the far North from the Northern shores of Labrador arid the vicinity of Hud son’s Bay, their migration to the shores of the Gulf of Mexico and other Southern points is made in an almost incredjbleshort time. Their flight South is commonly believed to be the har binger, of cold weather, as their . North migra tion early in Spring is hailed as an indication of the breaking up of winter. —Hartford Times, ■Dc.c 1. !. DC? Washington, visiting a lady, in his neighborhood, on leaving the house, a little girl was directed'to Open the door. He turned to the child and said: —“I am sorry, my little dear, to give you so much trouble.” ,“1 wish, sir,” she replied, “it was to let you in.” IE? It was among the loveliest olrstoms of the ancients to bury the young at morning twi light ; lor as they strove to give the softest-in terpretation to death, so they imagined that Aurora, who loved the young, had stolen them to her embrace.' C? I consider the soul of man as the ruin of a glorious pile of building, where, amidst great heaps of rubbish, you mept with noble frag l ments of sculpture, broken pillars and obelisks, find a magnifleonoe in confusion. “OUR COUNTRY—MAT ALWAYS. BE' 111 CARLISLE, PA., Tilt • THE LOST IMI The train from Paris .to ! station of Jolgny, a town i after leaving a few pas-seni The depot, for a moment'll agents and lookers-on, wai hut two individuals. J One of thorn was ah pld| garb of a woll-to-do farmi' ot five-and-twenty,.who sj for some ono to conto ant personage .the old lhan self. “May I presume, sir,” V you are Clement B?” [ “Tes, my good man,” n a haughlinossof manner, | you aro Mr. Martin.’' “At. your service,.sir,” | . “'Well, Mr. Martin,” S the sau c tone, “I began t od to kcop.mb waiting. V boon the best manner in u tody ourself in my good-) • Tbe old man, instead dl IUII upon his breast, as it ducted the new-comer-tot ioned new carriage, to wh ing horso.was harnessed. “Here is your carriage; you will be good enough tho honor of conducting ago.” “That my carriage, s; 1 c WhV I should be taken ( lar.” But a few days before, now put on so many finer in a crockery store in Pa reputation of being a qui fellow. ■ What, then,' ha sudden ana radical transl come, since tlie previoui it may be well understoo an inct)aie of twenty i finds it difficult to retain of a poor clerk. .On th dusting the largo piles ( charge, a letter bad hrri' conveying to .him the st one of his undos, of win as an eccentric and very whomhehadneyer seen chateau in B.urgundy,lel atee to his estate, to thq of. heirs. , ' . •) The lettor-was from a, who desired him to le for Jolgny, the town noi resided, where he wonli old; confidential sorva conducted from the raih the name which the dee 'chateau-and In's estate. Almost driven out ofJiis'senses by such an Unexpected.stroke of fotuno, be bast- ned to obey tbo notary’s dirccfionS) and on bis arrival at Jolgny joined Martinjas wo have seen.. .. dri jolted the queer vehicle in which our heto bad so contemptriouslyjtaken a place, unfit, af ter, a ride of several misAXhc occupants arriv ed at Jdartin ofl'ered the hon ors of tbo Hermitage' Td?the new proprietor, called ail the servants Hid introduced them to .their future master, anWtiicn conducted the,lat ter to his own apartments.;.■; .“This was th’o sleeping chamber of yoitr un cle,” said Martin, as tl &vientercd. a vast apart ment, furnished in (he wtl-fiishidpcfTstyle- “It dity-angpl”.. ' Biir-the nephew, instead of evincingany emo tion. upon hinnrr 1 lar■chamiinr 'of - his henidi IniiVai-JCOK'itjf scorn, and cried i ' V ’ .*>, ■ ' * ' “Upoii iny. word; say libinlCvtnnoU of the.old boyfstaste! very ugly in all ray 'life.” ri vlvoSJrS,! , ■ “Notwitbstandingi sir/’l.^^rad it is the best we bavdlicre content yourself, I .rpaljyi Up ■ ijot you Will find other lodgidgSi” . iaiA^'v.V’.. ■ ■ ‘-MCYivedratuf‘‘rToUAn-ifttdmadipJldb I am such a donkey, I .hope. ; fel lows, do you j.'s o ll. shall sell this old crazy rookery -tit. once, and then bo oil'.” . '. ' y'-.' . “Sell the Hermitage, yotfr uriclo’s favorite, piade of residence ! Impossible!- 'And wojserv,- ahts, who hoped to end ouy- days’ tinder tin's roof,.what is to hecomejof us?’? . , . , ’ “ Mr..Mar'tiri,” retorted tlio.yonfig .man, “let mo have none of yom-Complaints,- X beg.. Get mo sonic dinner, and afterwards you will drive me to the mitaryls.” , v i After having eaten a hearty nical, notwith standing ho found the: ments'insipid and the wines sour, the legatee, sfill accompanied by 'Martin, re-entered th«; carriage, and the two Started off. , . “If I am not nusfiflten,” phsorved Mr. Clem ent, after ah hour’s fide, “wa' passed this spot this morning, arid thiu^-poinlitig to a building —“is the railroad , depot.;l,pi). wo take the cars?” ' 'l. ' “You alone will do so,’? responded his com panion, speaking gravely, and inn manner, which caused; the young map to tremble in spite of himself. “I, sir, am Jrmirunclo, and, happi ly* am hot dead. Having lizard good accounts , of your conduct, I to make you heir of all I possess; hnt, before aqirigso, I wished to knoiv ll yon were really deserving of ray gene rosity; and I had recourse foa stratagem,which has thoroughly exposed your true character to me; Good-bye, Mr Clerafii|t,;rcturn to your shop, and remember that your arrogance and ingratitude have lost you that which wijl never again he placed within you’r, Teach.” , The old man then gave his foolish incpliew a few hundred franca to iridomnify liim for the ex penses ol his trip, took loaveiof ijim at the de pot and returned Ironic. The feelings of tiro yoftng man may be imagined, but, as the yellow covered novels sajv dtlroy cannot be describ ed.” I thinkthis frne story is ftn apt illustration of tbe maxim, “Hover haloo until you are out of tiro Woods.” ' i tying in. Bed with the Head High, It is often a'question among persons, who are unacquainted with the anatomy and physi ology of man, whether lying wUH.th'e head ex alted, or oven with body, was the most wholesome. Most persons, consulting their own case on this’point, arguo in favor of that which they most prefer. Now, although many, delight in bolstering up ; their heads at’ night and sleep soundly Without;injury, yet we declare it to be a dangerous habit. The vessels through which the blood passes from the'heart to the head, are always lessened in their cavities when the head is resting in bed higher than the body : therefore in all diseases attended With fe ver, - the head shoiild be pretty nearly on a level with the body ; and people ought to accustom themselves to sleep thus to avoid danger. (£7* An Irishman was addicted to telling strange stories, said ihe saw a man beheaded with his hands lied behind him, who directly picked up his head and put it on his shoulders in the right place; ’ ;■ ‘lla. ha. ha?; said a . bystander, “how could he pick up his liead.when his hands were tied behind him V ' „ ! ‘And sure, what a purty fool ye are 1 said. Pat, ‘and couldn’t bo pick it up.wid histalhel To ould Nick wid yer botheration 1’ (£7* To know, and to think that wo’ know not, is the highest pitch of merit. Not to know, and to think that we know, is the com mon malady of men. If you are afflicted at this malady, you will not be infected with it. MB lH ’ 1 & fp vA /A ’ [(t—BuT KIGHT Oil WROXS, OUR COUNTRy.” SDAY, DECEMBER 2.4, 1857, anm. yohs stopped at tho ton tile route, and jrs, again went. on. pwdedwith railroad Soon, deserted by all : It is very funny to mark the almost number less methods which the parental Instinct will adopt for its satisfaction- The little is satisfied with a doll,-provided it approaches nearly enough to. her own size to have one of the char acteristics of a baby—provided it ho, something which can be hugged, and will admit of a change of attire. The boy takes to dogs and.horses — something,which bo can,drive and order, about, and. pliy with. Wo know some very estimable maiden ladies who lavish their waste affections upon stump-tailed and red-eyed poodles. The cat is a universal recipient of tenderness, which was meant to bo maternal, and intended for a legitimate object. . Lambs, monkeys, canary birds, crows, parrots, goats, and rabbits, have all boon favored with the ontpeurings of the paternal instinct, so universal iqhuman fialui/e. There comes sooner or later, in tho develop ment of a man, tho wish to keep a horse. Wo do not allude to the requirements of bnsinessf to the exigencies of stage-coaches, express wa gons, emigrant carryalls, and drays—but to something incident to a man’s mental condition. Wo say that this desire to keep a horse comes in the progress of personal development and history. This time is not determined by the data of independent circumstances, for . many men cannot retrain from'koepinga horse, though, they ho as poor as Lazarns. :They will keep a ; horse, and keep him well, though hissUstenarico i may cost as much as that o( their poorly fed i families. It comes npon a man between the age j of .35 and 40, and usually upon those who have .1 given np all idea of ever having-' children, or i having had several, have ceased to have them, ] and there is no longer a baby to enchain- the i attention and demand care. Whether this is i only a coincidence, or a fact legitimately ilius- I trative of our philosophy, it may be bard to do- i termino accurately. ■ ’ The parental instinct wishes for something to feed, something to’ho blanketed, something to make a bed for, something to bo called by a pet name, something to know it as master, -some- i thing dependent, something that will love, some- ( thing that will obey, something to be proud of, i something that belongs to it, ami, through the i fact of possession; becomes pleasant society.— ■ An unappreciative outsider, to bear one of those c horse-smitten men talk to bis animal in the sta ble, would think him daft or dreaming. Ho j deals in terms of tenderness. Ho pats him ns i bb woiild a- ppt child. Ho really loves the crea ture. Ho admires him, combs bis mane, braids his tail or putiMt info pulleys, and really feels ns a personal insult any reflections upon the an imal made bya neighbor; whom bo has bitten or kicked. If this does not make out a clear case, then we are at faultjn the matter. ~ Therefore, when we see a man buying a horse for the first time, and bo doesn’t know why lib does it, We bless him in our hearts, and private ly hope that ho wjll let ns ride after it occasion ally. We know that there is no baby in the bouse, just as weil'as if he bad told us. We blame no man for buying a horse. He cannot help it, without doing violence to bis nature; and lelting.nU bis parental instincts run to waste. It is a kind provision of nature tor keeping alive that within a rimn for which there may .possibly be high' uses some time. It is an excellent thing; too, for the animals themselves; and here again is,a cajiitaljitoyision of nature.. What do tho Morgan and Black Hawk gentlemen care for their children ? “Not a stitnarkec,so iaras we.know.tVliat a blessed thing it"is, then, that they, may become the foster children of men', . the names of their favorites among men:and-sw .Poc.a -j Imofasesj tho General f acksons, (he IToni a olli-: p]oa—l.-jinrlTTJitert -oiriy IxTlavfsJiod tJio lilies hot absorbed in the family. ‘ Buy' a hpreo by all means, when the disposition.comes;'!'; id lor him by the post, ; tling intelligence that i hi'ho had olten heard ■ jtealthy old man, hut i just died'at his • ring Ulemcnt sole leg !' exclusion of many otli- rtrtary in the province, ye Paris immediately, * which this uncle had •hhjnet hy . Martin,' an l*bf the .defunct, and. hidtblhe ‘Hermitage/, haedhad given to the The Toliowin|(.is,from air article by Oliver W, Holmes, in the last'uninber of the North Ame rican Review . ' ' “. II the reader of this paper live another year, .his self-qonscious principle will-have migrated from Its present tenement to that of another, the raw. materials even of which are not yet put to gether.' A portion of that body ol his which is to'he, wjl| ripen in'the corn of this next harvest. Another ;po(iion of his future person ho will furnish, or-others will purchasb for him," headed up in t.he form of certain barrels of potatoes. A third fraptionis yct-to bo gathered in the South, ern rice field. The limbs with which he is then to walk, will be clad with, flesh borrowed from the tenements of many stalls and pastures, now unconscious of their doom. “ The very organs of speech, with'Which he is to talk so wisely, plead so eloquently, or speak so effectively, must first serve his humble brethren to bloat,■ hollow,' and for all the Varied utterance of bristled or feathered barnyard life. [HiS i.h'onos themselves are to a great.exteht iu pow'and not inessc. ~ “ A bag of phosphafo of limo which )io has ordered from Professor Mopes for his' grounds l contains a large part of- that which is to bo ills skeleton. And more than ail this; by far the ■greater part of his body is nothing after all hut water[ the'main substance of his scattered mem bers is to he looked for jn the reservoir, in the running streams, at the hottonyof the well, in the clouds that float over his Head, or diffused among them nil.” The Siamese spend three-fonrths of their ex istence in the water. The first act oh awaken ing is to bathe; they bathe again at 11 o’clock; they bathe again at 8, and bathe again about sunset ; fherCTfSci-rccly an hour in the day when bathers may not be seen in all the crooks, even'tho shallowest and muddiest. Boys go to play in-tho river,.just as.poor English children go to play in the street.!, I once saw a Siamese woman sitting on the lowest step of a landing place, while, by a girdle, she hold in the water her infant of a few months old, splashing and kicking about with evident enjoyment, ff.i-re not these people expert ■ swimmers many lives would bo lost, for the tide flows so swiftly that it needs the gicatest skill and care to prevent boats from running foul of one, another; and, of course, they are frequently upset. : On one occasion our boat (an English built gig) ran down a small native canoe containing a woman and two little children.' In an instaht they , wore all captised and disappeared, We were greatly alarmed, and 0. was on (ho point of jumping in to their rescue, when they bobbed up, and the lady, will; the first breath slip .re covered,,poured forth a round volley of abuse. Tiius relieved in her mind, she coolly righted her canoe—which had been floating bottom'up wards—ladled out some of the water; and .bun dled in iior two children, who had boon mean while composedly swimming round her. regard ing with mingled fear and curiosity the barbari ans who had occasioned the mishap.— Dickens’ Household Words. OCT - Right principles and comfortable moans arc the first, necessities of a great enterprise, hut without apprehensions and tempers, and expedient methods, the most, henefloient pur pose must utterly fail. -[C7” Man may err, and be forgiven; but poor woman, with all his temptation, and but half his strength, is placed beyond the hope of earthly salvation, if she but once be tempted jnto crime. ; ‘O" There arc three modes possible;for the devtlopement of the intellect, of an intellectual being; to know, to will, and’to do. Kccping-a Horse. Our Bodies. Sacks of People.. AT $2,00 PER ANUTJM. *’ . NO. 28. “ Died of Thin Shoes." . "We have seen it stated in an ephemeral news- I paper paragraph, that tiiere is an inacripfion on 1 a tombstone in a New Jersey grave yard, which v runs thus,««; . Died of Thin Shoes.” . As,we.do not put implicit confidence in the t truth of all the paragraphs it is our privilege to i peruse, we ate willing to concede that this may . bo.so or may not bo so. It makes no matter. « Died of thin shoes,” might be the honest and veracious epitaph bn thousands of tombstones that bear a widely different one. The beantiftii and crowded cemeteries, particularly,which are to be found in the vicinage of all our Ame. rican cities, contain scores of victims to thin shoes, lying in their Cold, unwaking sleep.— Our town ladies, as every body understands are considerably more careful about the costliness and elegance, than about the sense or utility of their apparel. IVo meet them on the public street, arrayed as sumptuously and showily as if they were bn the floor of a brilliantball-room, or at a fashionable and gay assembly. One feels an irresistible inclination to stare at the bedizened creatures as they sweep rusf- Ilngly by.' It is vulgar and rude to stare, but howis one to restrain one’s self from haying a peep at the line sights ? But the dainty feet of our dashing, belles are especially sacrificed on the altar, which, alas, is reared in almost every female heart that beats in this latitude. The day may be a moist and rainy one, The pave may be covered with water or chequered with . puddles, or very damp indeed. Yet every lit- ; tie moderately minute, or big fopt.which is cun- ■ ningiy exposed to the entranced vision of the. pedestrians of the. other sex, will be encased in , a delicate gaiter, or slipper, the sole .of which ( is from one sixteenth to one tenth of an inch in . thickness I In such flimsy shoes the.worse than silly young women tramp around, “At all hours of the day, And in all kinds of weather.” ■ They gd out to spend * the evening, whether at a parlor party or a. public entortaimnent, in gossamer pedal attire, such as there would be some excuse tor wearing if they had' to tread on nothing hut a dry and soft-Brussels.carpet, apd would be exposed to no fitful draughts of vari ously tempered air. By-and-by a cold is con tracted, which grows heavier and more alarming as it is. dallied with ajfd disregarded. Con sumption, with all its distresses and terrors fol lows, and there is one mote ebbing life, and one more early grave filled by the victim of thin shoos. There is no fancy sketching about! hi a. It is a fact whieb'a legion of the dons of St. Crispin could attest that American woihbn and particu larly our/young ladies, nre.c'bnstaptly in the bar bit of wearing.shoes so light, ae to ho almost in stantaneously penetrated with water. ■ And we verity believe, that these miserably thin things are, in a great measure, responsible for the.fear ful.inronds, which are yearly made by that fell destroyer, consumption, upon the pranks, of the feminine population of our great cities.. Why can’t our ladies , imitate their .sensible English sisters, and wear stout, substantial’wholesome shoes, when they leave tho- house, even at the risk of never hearing the smothqred.exclamntion,. “Heaven I what-a foot I’ 5 nor the.common place compliments of the ball-room, which arc bestow ed upon the owners of screwed and pinched, but “ tiny, tripping” feett—Boston Joumtth Blind wlfot.yon say Before Children. It is always, well to avoid saying,anything l t]iat iairnproper, but it. is especially so before lipj-f- rjironts. pa .well. as„ptbei'a, ml-fTo/lcn in ianlt. Children nave as many eais" aagi-oiVn'-'ycO-SanSpnnO 'they-uro gtinaraljy: jnore, attentive to. what is said before them. UTiat they hear they are very apt to repeat; and ns they have no discretion and notsuflicientknbw. ledge of the world to disguise anything, it is generally found “ that children and fools speak the truth.” Seo that hoy’s eyes glisten while yon are speaking of a neighbor, in a language that you woidd not have repeated. He does not fully understand what you mean, hut ho will remem ber every word; and it will be strange if ho does not cause you to blush by the repetitin. A gentleman, was in the habit of calling a( a neighbor’s house, and the lady had always ex pressed to him such pleasure ifi seeing him.— One day, just after she had remarked to himJier happiness from his visit, the little boy entered the room. The gentleman took him on his knee, and asked: “ Are yon not glad to soo me, George ?” “ No, sir,” replied the boy. “ Why not, my little man ?” ho continued. “ Because mother don’t want you to come,” ■said George. Here the mother looked daggers at her little son, and bccamo crimson. But ho saw noth, ing. “ Indeed; how 'do'yon know that, George?” “ Because she said yesterday, that she wished that old boro would not call again.” The gentleman’s hat was soon in requisition, and ho left with the impression “great is the truth, it will prevail.” Another child looked sharply info the face of a visitor, and being asked what she meant by it, replied: . «I wanted to soo if you" bad a drop in yonf eye; I have heard mother say that you have, frequently.” A boy onco asked of his father, who it was lived next door to him, and when ho heard the name, inquired if be w:as not a tool. . “No, my.little friend, ho is not a fool, but a very sensible man. But why did you ask the question?” , “ Because,’’ replied the boy, “ mother said the other day that yon wore next door to a fool; and I Wanted to know who lived next door to you.” A Sea-Sick lover. The following letter, purporting to have been found iri a'bottloon a voyage from San Francis co to New York, is supposed to be the bat adieu of a lover at sea to his inamorata at home: “My bailin' Julia: “Wc are goin’ down! At least so the fust mail informs me; very soon ; and that kind gentleman advises me to do my little ohoars before the fatal stroke ends my career oh ycarth. I feel very queer having ot'no brdakfast, and my supper have gone the rong wa. The waves is rollin’ moUntins hi; and orir dying stuard advises pork and molass cs tied to' a string: I feel very sad ;"I should like to takotol hat and go ashoor. The cap tain is very! kind hearted, and I vam so soft shell stummio’d’that he is always orderin’ mo b’low, arid I- feel constantly like cornin’ up.— Oh, if I was ttshoar, I’d never come to sea again, never, never.'' ” ’ Just to plege mo, the’ve been and salted all the waiter. ' This morning I was sick tu my stummiok, and undertook to get a drink. O, youve no idcr how salt it was. I asked the mail what the causo was, and ho sed it was on afckount oLthe pork barrels having leaked. There, now* we’re agoin ! Ihcari|tho caplin say tu a large cohered gentleman :—Yo.ud bet ter light the lamps before you go down—and I pan feel it two. The ship is pitclun, and the salors is.duin up the sales tu take cm ashoar, then knn swim—what kan I do ? I aint ust lu the Klimatc, and the witter is sow damp that it cum into mi bunk last nite. All you'll ever no abput tno will bo this ere bottle, and yon cant rely upon over gettin very sartin, tlio whales is sow thick in .this, longcrtude. . There we’re goin down. Now I must seel the hot—’’ "’i.— . The rest was'ilfegible. A Trne Sportsman. One of the -New York 'Herald’s ents has met in the,Far West with that .great Irish sportsman Sir George Goto; whose hunt ing adventures in the Rooky,.Momitallls»,jcon ducted as they were upon rt gigantic scSTe'Tor the amusement of one man,pr6babfy’cxCeediOg ■anything of the kind ever bcfore attornptod'tm ■ this side the Atlantic. Everything that&spQKlf man could possibly require, in the way of aho'ot ibg, fishing, eating and.drinking, Was prbvided in tho greatest profusion, and alftnlnspoiiedan safety to tho tlieatre of his exploit., j- Somo faint idea maybe formed of magnitude of his equipment when I tell you that' his -ex tensive retinue contained a secretary, aasistdpk secretary, clerk, guide, ;fly-maker, hunters,,■ cooks, &0., &c., In all numbering about .fifty men, with thirty wagons, numerous, saddled horses, dogs, &c., and supplics to correspond- Sir George, remained nearly three years in Ihls connfry, and, with tho exception of one winter, which ho spent near EortXaramic, was entirely secluded from tho,world, and moat assiduously engaged in his favorite sport of hUnting.* " An accurate account of tho amount of game “hug ged” was kept by bis clerk, and durifag one sea son the results were as follows: 122 bears, 5,500 buffaloes, Besides, numerous elk, black-tailed deer and dll-amounl ingto the enormous aggregate of Hireofho.usadd animalsj.nono of which was smnllerthao.theju}- feiopo.. - u. 1 had flic pleasure of meeting this fnodcftl Nimrod in St. Lonis, and was highly Onfortain ed with a narration of his exploits, which .a,! 1 most equal those of Gordon Gumming in Afri ca. ■ ' ■’. ’>■-; ' Ho also showed me his equipment of beauti ful guns of Various patterns and caliibreSj-snit- 1 cd to the destruction of all kinds of gatrie'Atom an'Bhg'isli snipe to a grisly bear, and-ofhong tiiem I observed'the.names of PnidyiManlo)), and other celebrated makers. His outfit Atusj' indeed, hate been most complete. ‘ ' After becoming cloyed with sport- inthß mountains; and killing .every variety of the largest and most formidable animals found.lhere - Sir George proposes (o winter In Texas,.and/, amuse himself in hunting deef and other small game. ,'-t He brings with him a host of trophieS whic|( > ’ ’ ' tor bhs perfbly will furnish him ample vouchers (or hfs gerfor-- manccs. : Some of our worth}- • and ‘ staid OfL’ Ootham will probably think id. a vcryaiDgdiar infatuation for a gentleman po'Ssessing ly estate, with an income .of S2ooiooo per art nnm, to voluntarily withdraw from - nlPsocfeyV and incarcerate himself in the depths of lho wilderness among Savage men and beasts tot three long years, exposed to, all perils, and pri- 1 rations consequent npon such a condition. - ■ ■ ' "I Must Go.” A common word and yet how full ofmcari“ ing. The school bell is ringing, (Bays fha innocent school boy at play, and “I must go'." The hour of labor has come says the-man; of toil, and “t most go.” I have a weighty Case' , on hand, demanding all ray. time and attention, says the professor oflaw; and ‘T must go.’’ Another weary, cheerless, thankless-day-at the sanctum, says thec'di.iai', and vl must go/* as if the universal motto of. the ago is heard, echoed and re-echoed on every aide, by bdth old and young, high; and low .inch and pobt. hap py and miserable. All must-go andall Ore got* 1 mg, yet the restless, heaving, surging: tide of humanity is never gone.. I might, perhaps,. ' introduce this expressive phrase into many scenes of greater length and.morethan .ordina ry interest, but having..other thoughts and, other dbties to.look after, I,- too, must ga, and ; be content with sketching one or two. ; “Tis getting late, says the lover to hislcwed one, ana “I must go,” most bid farewell,.fora lime' to those charmed, blissful^,hdiifs,,.®ice> more'to mingle in tlie cares and pCrjdjjtities of a busy world, and therisiraining Kef fondlytir his,' bosom, and passionately pressing those sweet lips to his ovyn. he is gone, till those - happy days may return, or perchance he may lead, the fair charmer of his life a willing cap live to the matrimonial altar. , . One short twelve month roll round and how changed is the scene. Again,as then, pate .Ink ing-of-emaciated and fragile form' is lying on her dying Couch. The long, weary days and dreary nights have passed avray. The hours’ ;of anguish are now-no more. The insidious ;dfStroypr ; has done his work. Friends near and ' dear arc .around’ bef— a. tender bosband bendß- •- ■over■licrrhnt these caiipat arregt. Urn hand of disease/ or postpone the parting hdur."’ = fitSfk-'! " the angels are whispering, come, come, ahd'*‘l must go;;" countless shining opts in white are 1 waiting.to Welcome me; ‘T must go.” Pare well tilhwe nieet in Heaven ; the -snowy hand falls lifeless, nerveless by h er side—a smile, of ineffable sweetness anti beauty faded on those pallid,.marble-like features, and she is. gone gone for ever. ' And when the last of earth shall come, and Time’with us shall be no more, may Wo hear • The voice of whispering angels, and like-her respond—“l must go.” Society in the fifth Avenue. "I was well aware that no mere political con stitution coold.so far alter humari natufeas to extinguish the essential passions of our being, biit .l was Hardly prepared for such deroliop tp. rank and position as T find rife among our re publican cousins. • The passion is, at (tost, as strong as among Ourselves, only it varies b very little .in form. ; It is almost identi.es! with wtpit wc find stf prevalent.in the parvenu society in our mushroom cities. There is the, same ado ration of the ranks above ns : the same uneasy straining after whofis ‘genteel,’ and not. a.lit tle of the same disdain of the grade below.— There is nothing very odd in this, after'nil, if 1 wo only consider that it is the same poor hu man-naturewhich is playing itsX-intastio tricks hero,as with us. The only drofrthing about it r is the funny contrast all this gentility hunting makes with the theoretical equality and'sim plicity of republican institutions'. But tho : truth of it is, there is no equality in America,, except as'to the elective franchise ; and,that is, : perhaps, the worst quality they could have. “The old ’ families, principally Dutch, in Now York State, are said (o be the most detct« minedly exclusive. "They are called thwKmck erbocker society. -The new, rich folks of New Yprk, again, are called the Fifth avenue socie ty, or, less respectfully, the 'Codfish aristocra cy.’ They revenge themselves for tin* Knicker boker exclusion by excluding all the-lower •World of New York'from their circle. It is quite the old French ’noblesse and the new Par sian aristocracy of thcßrouse. The. glory ..of Fifth avenue is maintained principally -by- a lavish .display of magnificence. Tho.hopses, furniture and ladies’ dresses are of fabulous costliness. Occasionally a magnate of thp ‘Av enue’-trips and comes down; but issoonup again, and nobody is a bit the worse but his creditors, taiclyjllnnlingdon, the forger, fell from this social empyrean ; and now, again, Mri Jacob Lillie’s brilliancy has been quench ed, for a time ; but it is probably a temporary cclipso. I have heard, on good authority, of Mrs. Little having purchased one lace dress for twenty thousand dollars. No wonder that Ja cob failed. “This ertravagnneo in the dealings of Iho men arid the dress of the women is,’ perhaps, a natural consequence of the high profits conse quent on the rapid develppement of the resour ces of the country. The fairy-like growth of wealth may well turn the heads'-of vain men and silly women : men’s imaginations are heat ed, and the whole system of society is fevered with excitcmtnt. But as profits become more moderate, trade will become niore sober, and the whole tone of so'cicty will be healthier.— Then. too. a large class with superior intclli gence and moderate desires will arise, to bo the mainstay of the political fabric.— Sterlme's tet ters. (£7* Were but -human beings always that I which they are in' their best motflerits, then should we know here already on earth it king dom of heaven, of beauty and goodness. The nerve which never relaxes, the eye which never blanches, the thought which never wanders —these are the masters of victory. ~ "