I AMERICAN VOLUNTEER. PUBLISHED BTHBT mUHSDAT MOBNINQ BE ' MftU B. Bratton. if tom: ■ SunsoniFTiotf.—Ono Dollar and Fifty Cents, paid in advance t.Two Dollars it paid within tbo yeart and Two Dollars and Fi(Jy Cents, if not paid within.the year. These terms will be rig idly adhered to in every instance.’ No sub scription .discontinued until nil arrearages are paid unless at the. option of tbo Editor. AnvBhTiSKUENTS —Aocoinpaniedby the cash, and not exceeding one square, will bo inserted three times for One Dollar, and twenty-live cents for each additional insertion. Those of agreat ter length in proportion. Jon-PhiNTixa—Such as- Hand-bills, Posting bills,.Pamphlets, Blanks, Labels, &c., &c., exe cuted with accuracy and at the shortest notice. BEYOND THE RIVER. Time is a river, deep and wide; And while aidng its banks we stray, We see our loved ones o’er its tide Sail from its sight away—away. Where are they sped—they who return No more to glad our longing eyes t They’ve passed from life’s contracted bourne To land unseen, unknown, that lies. Beyond the river. ’Tis hid from view j but we may guess How beautiful that land must bo; For gloamings of its loveliness, In visions granted oft we see. The very clouds that o’er it throw Their veil unraised for mortal sight, With gold and purple taintings glow, Deflected froth the glorious light Beyond, the river. And gentle airs, so sweet, so calm, ! Steal sometimes from that viewless sphere, The mourner feels their brcatli of balm; And soothed sorrow dries the tear; And.somctimes listening car may gain Entrancing sound thatTiither floats, The echo of a distant strain, Of harps’ and voice/r blended notes Beyond thorivor. There are our loved ones in their rest; , They’ve crossed Time’s river—now no more They heed the bubblcs-on its breast, ■■ Nor feel the storms that sweep its shore. But there, pure love can live can last—; ' ■ They look for vs there home to share; When we in Turn away have passed, What joyful greetings wait os’/ here Beyond the river. Matrimony is a nut ' For every man’s digestion; When the shell is fairly cracked. Pop! goes the question; Pretty, girls will sigh and blush— Simper jfll they can si Till from out their pouting lips. Pop! goes the answer. • Cupid fans the holy flame— Rankest kind.of arson— When it gains a certain height, Pop! goes the parson. .Quite throughout the honeymoon- Miule of rosy, colors— Into sundry dry goods tills. Pop! go the dollars. When a year hiis shown its tn.il. Round the comer, (may be,) Out upon the happy world,, "Pop! goes a baby. Mother gives it catnip tea. Father gives it brandy. And adown its gastric tube, , Pop !, goes thp candy. Madam lets her husband'scold; She must bo the whippef, And, above the youngster's heels. Pop! goes the slipper. Bachelor, who lives next door. Stands it for a season. But, before the year is out, . Pop! goes his reason. Maiden lady, up the stairs, Stamps each moment faster, Till, from the coiling underneath, Pop! goes the plaster. Dirty, ragged little boy, ’Noath the window lingers; Thumb applied to his nose. Pop ! go the fingers.. All around the neighborhood ‘ Such antics are enacted ; And while mamma is scolding him, “ Pop” goes distracted. MMnneoik THU CAMEL AND THE DROMEDARY. As these valuable animals will undoubtedly be introduced into California in considerable i ,numbers, (the experiments of Lieutenant Beale i’Prqyipg their utility,) and as they will be a very ,great acquisition,, not only in crossing our de serts- but in mountain travelling, and for pack trains, we believe a correct history of them, would bo interesting to our readers, and there fore give them the following from Goldsmith’s Animated Nature; These names (camel and dromedary) do hot make two distinct kinds, but are only given lo a variety of the same animal, which has, how ’ ever, subsisted time immemorial. The princi pal, and perhapa the only sensible, difference by which those two races are distinguished, .consists in this : .that the camel has two bunch es upon his back, whereas the dromedary has , but one ; the latter, also, is neither so large or eo.stfong as the camel. These two races, how ever, produce, with each other* and the raized breed, formed between them is considered the ble ofaU the kmd^" 1 ’ l,?e mo6t in <* efati e a ' Of the two varieties, the dromedary is by far the most numerous, the' camel being scarcely found except in Turkey and the countries of the Levant: while theoiher is found spread overall the.deserts of Arabia, the southern parts of Africa, Persia, Tartary, and a great part of the eastern Indies. , Thus, the one in habits an immense (ract of country, the other, in comparison, is confined to a province; the one inhabits the sultry countries of the torrid zone, the other delights in a warm, but not a burning climate ; neither, however, can subsist Or propagate in. the variable climates toward the north; they seemed formed for those coun tries where shrubs are plenty and water scarce; Ivhere they can travel along the sandy desert ' Without being impeded by rivers, and find food I at expected distances; such a country is Ara - 1 j , 8 ’ a 'l others, seems the most I adapted to the support and production of this i animal. , ; The camel is the most temperate of all ani ®ns « p? n continue to travel several days withou t drinking. In those vast deserts, where the earth is everywhere dry and sandy, where there are neither birds nor beasts, neither in scots nor vegetables, where nothing is to be seen but hills of sand and heaps of stone, there the camel travels, posting forward, without re quiring either drink or pasture, and-is often found six or seven days without lany sustenance whatsoever. Its feet are formed for travelling upon sand, and utterly unilt for moist or marshy places(he inhabitants, therefore, find a most useful assistant in this animal, where no other coulij subsist, and by its means cross those de serts with safety, which would be impassable ajiy other method, of conveyance. An animal, thus formed ipr a. sandy andi de TERMS- Mrt region, cannot be propagated in one of a different nature. Many vain efforts have 'been tried to propagate the camel in Spain ; they have,been transported into America, but have multiplied in neither. It* is true, indeed,'that they may be brought into these countries; and may, perhaps, be found to produce there; but the carc of keeping them is SO 'great, and the accidents to which they are exposed from the changeabiencss of'lho climate are so many, that they cannot answer the cafe of keeping. In a few years, also, they are seen to degenerate; their strength and their patients forsake them; and instead of making the riches, .they become the burden of their keepers. -.-I: ,V. - . But it is very different’ in Arabia, ehd thoso countries where the Mmel is tdraed to useful purposes. . It is there considered’as a sacred animal, without whose help tho natives could neither.’subsist,..traffic, nor travel; its milk makes a part of their nourishment; they feed upon its flesh, particularly when young ; they clothe themselves with its hair, which is seen to moult regularly once a year; and if they fear an invading enemy their camefs serve them tn flight, and in a single day they tiro known to travel above a hundred miles. Thus, by'means of the camel, an Arabian finds safety in his deserts ; all the armies'upon earth might be lost m the pursuit of a flying squadron of this country mourned upon their camels, and taking re uge in solidudes, where nothing interposes to stop their flight, or to force, them to wait the invader. Nothing can be more dreary'than the aspect of these sandy plains thut-scem'en lirely forsaken of life and vegetation: wherever the eye turns, nothing is presented but a sterile and dusty soil, sometimes torn up by tho winds and moving in great waves along, which,. when viewed from an eminence, resembles less the earth than the. ocean ; here and ■ there a few shrubs appear, that only teach us to wish for the grove—that remind us of the shade in these sultry climates, without affording its refresh ment ; the return of morning; which, in other places, carries an idea of cheerfulness, here serves only to.enlighten the endless and dreary waste, and to present the traveller witjvan un finished prospect of his forlorn.situation : yet, in Ihischasin of nature, by the help of his ca. mel, the Arabian finds safety and subsistence, .there are here and there found spotsof verdure which, though remote from each other, are, in a manner, approximated by the labor and in dustry of the camel. Thus these dcserts.which present the stranger with nothing but objects o.t danger and sterility, afford the inhabitant protection, food, and liberty. The Arabian lives independent and tranquil in the midst of ms solitudes ; and, instead of considering the vast solitudes spread around him as a restraint upon his happiness, he is, by experience, taught to regard them as the ramparts of his freedom. Ihe camel is easily instructed in the methods of.takmgup and supporting his burden ; their legs, a few days after they arc produccd.-aro bent under their belly ; they are in this manner loaded, and taught to rise ; their burden is ev cry day thus increased, by insensible degrees, till the animal is capable to support, a weight adequate touts force; the same care is taken in making them patient of hunger and thirst; While other animals receive their food at stated times, the camel is restrained for days together, and these intervals of famine* are increased in proportion as the animal seems capable of sus taining' .them. By this method of education they live five or six days without food or water; i and their stomach is formed most admirably by nature to fit them for long abstinence ; be sides the four stomachs, which all animals have that chew the cud, (and the camel is of the number,) it has a fifth stomach, which serves as 1 a reservoir, toehold *u greater quantity of water than the animal has an immediate occa sion for. It is of a’ sufficient capacity to con- large quantity of water, where the fluid remains without corrupting, or without becom ing adulterated by the other aliments: when the camel finds itself pressed with thirst, it has an easy resource for quenching it; it throws up a quantity of this water, by a simple con traction of the muscles, into the other stomachs, and this serves to macerate its dry and simple food ; in this manner, as it drinks but seldom, it lakes in a large quantity at a time, '•iind travellers, when straitened for water, have been often known to kill their camels for that which they expected to find within them. In lurkey, Persia, Arabia, Barbary, and e'&y pt, their whole commerce is carried bn by means of camels; and ho carriage is more speedy, and none less expensive, in these coun tries. Merchants and travellers unite them selves into a body, furnished'wilh camels, to secure themselves from the insults of the rob bers that infest the , countries in'which they flee. ■ This assemblage is called a caravan, in which the numbers are sometimes known to amount to atiovo ten thousand; and the num ber of camels is often greater than that of the men. Each of these animals is loaded accord ing to his strength, and he is so sensible of it himself, that when his burden is too great, he t emains still upOn-his belly, the posture in which he was laden, refusing -to rise till his burden be lessened or taken away. In genera] the large camels are capable of carrying a thou* I sand weight, and'sometimes twelve hundred.; the dromedary, from six to seven hundred In these trading journeys they travel butslow ly, their stages are generally regulated, and they seldom go above thirty, oral most about five and thirty, miles a • day. Every evening when they arrive at n stage, which is usually some spot of verdure, where water and shrubs are in plenty, they are permitted to feed at lib erty ; they are then seen to eat as much in an hour as will supply them for twenty-four.— They seem to prefer tho coarsest weeds to the softest pasture; the thistle. the netile, tho cas sia. and other prickly vegetables, are their fa vorito food. But their drivers takecareto sup- RsS^Aßxag ttd'r “• “ ,d guides are mtcriy thC ‘ r within a few Ihiles of their baitinlnin^- CO, ? e evening, they sagaciously scent and. increasing their speed, are often to tr0 „u W,lh vivacity to their stage.' 6 “ The patience of this animal is most extraor dinary, and i t is probable that its sufferings are great: for when it is loaded it sends fortlunost lamentable cries, but never offers to resist the tyrant that oppresses it. At the slightest sign it bends its knees and lies upon its belly, suffer ing tiaelf to be loaded in this, position. By this practice the burden is more easily laid upon it than if lifted up while standing. At another sign if rises with its load and the driver getting upon Us back between the panniers, which, like hampers, are placed upon each side, he encour ages tho camel to proceed with his voice and with a song. In this manner tho creature pro <?e«l3 contentedly forward with a slow uneasy walk of about four miles an hour, and when it mes to .ts stage, it lies down to be unloaded ■ftortifal. BY M. RITCHIE. MATRIMONY. to eonsider ‘he camel to be nnH domesticated of all other creatures, and to have more marks of the tyranny of man |mprmted on its lorm. He is of opiln ?hat nature‘• n !li> B |b°i rf0 ”’ ‘° h® found ® state of nature, that the humps on its back, the oallos its, upon.its breasts and its legs, and evem the inwrifoi BY JOHN B. BRATTON." VOL. 44. great reservoir for water, are all marks of long servitude and, domestic constraint. The defor mities he supposes to be perpetuated by gener ation. and what at first was accident at last be. comes nature. However this may be, the humps upon the back grow large in proportion as the animal is well fed. and if examined, they will be found composed of a substance not un like the udder of a cow. t The inhabitants generally leave but one male i to wait on ten females; (lie rest they castrate; '. and though they thus become weaker, they are : more manageable and patient. The female re i oeives the mble in the same position as when these animals are loaded: she goes with young i for about a, year, and like all other great ani mnls, produces but one at a time. The camel’s milk is abundant and nounshing.'and. mixed with water, makes a principal part of the bev erage of the Arabians. These animals begin to engender at three years of ago. and they ordi npnly live from 40 to 50 years. The genital part of the mail resembles that of The bull, but it is placed pointing backwards, so that its' urine scorns to be ejected in the manner of lhe ; female. This, ns well as the dung, and almost every part of this animal is converted to some useful purpose by the keepers. 'Of the urine, sal ammoniac is made ; of the dung, litter for the horses, and fire for the purpose of dressing! their victuals. Thus, this animal alone SecmSi to comprise, within itself a variety of qualities', l any one of which serves to render other quad ra peda_abaoluteiy necessary for' the welfare of man; liketheelephant.it is manageable and : tame; like the horse, it gives the rider seouri- ■ ty; it carries greater burdens than the ox or i the mule, and its milk is furnished in as great abundance as that of the cowt the flesh of the ! young ones is supposed to be as delicate as veal: 1 their hair is more beautiful, and more in request ! that! wool; while even of its very excrements ' no part is useless. i NEW BABY IN THE HODSE. We know.all about it—what all those draw ers and chests were filled up with a miniature wardrobe for-why sister Mary had such'a fashion of blushing and folding her pretty taste* ful work at the bottom of the basket. '• Yes; wgknow nllahoiit it now; the mystery ;s explained ; weVe got a baby; a real blinker mg buna fide baby ; the'intelligcnce of which was-conveyed to me by a round-eyed; wonder stricken urchin, who. was the baby until this morning. “O. sueh a tiny bit of squirm !” he exclaim ed, “no bigger than a dell, and it arn’t got no eyes at all!” • Fast as I hurried home to welcome the little stranger, Tommy was there before me, and with eyes bigger than ever, was standing at nurse s knee, evidently trying to solve the question whether baby’s fists were doubled-up t° hlt him a punch or snub his own nose the wrong way of the world. A bran new. baby! Do you know what its 1 » S "]£? lh<3 heart and home of a. happy family? The mother lying upon the bed of suffering which reduces all women, from the queen to the beggar, to the same common level of humanity ; the mother that we approach so reverently; feelirigthatahumarr SOul "has heed sent froni beaven ma Bor -maternal bosom, arid I that from her hands he who sent it will require a strict account of its guardiunship while pass- / mg its fife through this world of chance-and change. • ■■ ■ _ What a responsibility! I think we are sel dom conscious of it, or if wo were, we, who know to its core'every throb of the great world’s heart, who have lived through its storm and ca(ra, who know how substantial its pleasures, how poignant,its woes—l say, could wo know the responsibility of transplanting to its sun shine and its shade, one single blossom from the garden of God, we should pray to bespared that trust we might so ineffectually fulfill. . But then to see our new baby— Our beautiful mystery ! to see everybody tiptoeing in—every body but Tommy, who never having been ao ciisiomed to walking on eggs; don’t exactly see why he should begin now—to see them »II so gleeful oyer baby, so pitiful over “Mamma— poor mamma,” lying,,there so pale and wan— to see them joking papa, and calling him a “ter rible fellow, ” at which little Tommy is indig nant, and thinks it wouldn’t be well .for Mrs. Grundy to call him such a hard name, What an interest we take in babies-in general; nor that we think thatany thing in that lino could hold a candle with ours: and what jukes we tell about other people’s babies, until our laugh ter warns the nurse, who warns us to be more quiet or leave; lo bo sure, the laughter is gen eraiiy confined to Tommy and I, 1 for mamma only smiles the faintest ghost of a smile; Tom my makes up for it, however, laughing so loud and so long without the remotest idea where the rough-and-tumble somerset can cool off his riierriment, at. the exhibitien of which enormity nurse gives him a different kind of propeller, which sends him crying to the kitchen. Mam ma says “poor Tommy!” and papa immediate ly starts for him. ■ In a few minutes he returns with Tommy and a pair of red eyes, very manfully asserting that papa's.boy wasn't going to have his nose put out of joint for ail the babies in the world ! Then mamma smiles on papa, and papa, when he thinks I don’t see him, smiles on her, and takes her poor, bloodless hand and presses it to his lips, and places it in - his bosom, till poor mo. who don't see him any how, who wouldn’t be hired to see him, and who has lived , long enough in the world to know when to see and when riot to see, choke up the worst kind, make up for my chamber, and have just a magnifi cent cry, only because everything is so affec ting ; the sics: room in its quietude, the helpless little creature in its cradle, and papa and mam ma over their new born affection. Oh, I tell you a man never is a man rtll a bit of humani ty, boneqf his bone, and flesh’of his flesh,' lies helpless in his arms! He never knows himself till the dear one he has ohesen out of the world to walk with him the pilgrimage of iite, lies for the first time before him weak and pale, with this morsel of humanity upon her bosom. The promise they make to their own hearts that no wrong of their doing shall ever give a pang to I k 1 ffentie spirit; that no path of pleasure snail be bright enough to lure their feet from the portals of home: that no word of unkind "viuj avcr B ive P#in t 0 the mother, of their ° .1?' . “tos! (there must be an end to eve ■rythingm this world.) new babies get to beojd stories ; fresh promises fade in the light pffreah £ P ,caau res—and men. Being “inconsistent ev • would require a fresh baby every week or wo, to moke them too the mark of ail the promises they so inconsiderately make ; and as it would be rather inconvenient for us to accom modate ourselves’to such requirements, we must take the will for the deed, and make the most of their repentance for the past, and good resolves for the future, while the motives for I these resolutions last. Babies are a great in l stitution, though; at least, ours Is. ~ tC7" An Irishman; who was troubled with the toothache, determined to have the old ofien* dor extracted ; but their being no dentist near, ho resolved to do the job himself; whereupon he filled the excavation with powder, but being afraid to touch it off, he put a alow match to it, lighted it, and then run to get out of the way!” r—" —:- —; ' 1 ; —-7 — 1 “oun country—mat it at.ways be j|iSiit—rot bight or wrong, our country-. ’’ CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1858.' [From the Christian JSnjuirer.] MARRIAGE. , Marriage and loyo, blenmng into life make, we admit, the true domestic'union. This j S : a truth, but also it is the litfflest truth; and'tbo* the highest truth has, Sts; foots everywhere in common existence, rarely do we see it in tie flower, except in poetry, although we constantly: have it in the tVuit, when \ye have but little at tended to it in the biossom-u. Suppose two peo ple oumo together and do Udt'lovo each other j then they are two liars, twohypocrites, two of the most guilty perjurers wjiloh falsehood and fraud have any toom for, in theirdefinitidns. Suppose there is a mutual ipislake in the case; suppose there was a feeiinjgjvhich they mistook for love: then they had hotfcr cultivate love, or at least such liking as woul{t„ati)l give validity to their union, truth to their home, and the consciousness of honest parentage to their chil dren. Then, as to love itself, it is as hard to define as poetry. But take? it without defini tion; take it as an intuitionfas an instinct, as a sentiment; or ns an idea—itjhas many varieties and forms. Love in ydnfli is not the same thing, in mode at least, thatj lt is in manhood and womanhood. Othello’s love is not Rom eo's ; 3 uliet’s is not .that ofjDesdemona ; nor is that qf the mature husband like that of the bridegroom, or that ot the ajjed like that of the mature-., :And so, wo apprehend, it is with the wife - . The truest husband add wife will hardly care, in the quiet Of their mqst happy moments, to review early letters—not recent ones— yet, in the next week’s separation, they will write as passionately to eachf pther as they often did in thofirst uneasiness bfsabsonco. And so it goes on with years. In yl(ath; the passion of the soul goes into the pasalifflfoftbo senses; in age the passion of the sehsefioei into the pas sion Or the soul; and oid peaplo seem still to think that they;aro in tho h® day of their orig inal ecstacy. • Wo have seem matrimonial Ve nus watch fqf her Benedio’vikdonis of seventy- ) five, as fifteen might have; leaked for twenty; and, having intruded on thejCf; meeting. we ; felt 1 as awkward—almost as muohont ot place— as if it had been an interruption of a youthful lete a-lele. No account is therefore to. be taken of mere moods. ; TVhatis most to bethought of is principle— not changes of the mind, but the mind itself. It is a fair demand, that parties should know their own minds. If both consci ously deceive, they are liars-to each other and to society; if one alone falsifies, then is he or she guilty of a dark crime tpdhtf individual and to society. But whatever may.be deemed on this matter by the inward ,or the spintuapetbics of life, it is certain that there should be an understood rela tion of the sexes. ' Without regulated and or dained, relation of :the. sexes, society must become a vast, system of iconciibinago; for what is the great difference between one tempo rary arrangement and anothef—one for a day,or another that may bo broken }B : a month ? No temporary element .can ho admitted into tho idea of marriage, without bringing it essentially within tho limits of a merelyfeonsiiai cohabita tion, or of a modified prostitution., Wo .do not say that this could ever act nail v bo. the case— we are only referring to a', tendency. During the purest ages of Romo, the A'had not been,so it is said, a divorce for five righturies. In tho worst.days of Rome.iherf Whose , !°"’ e 3. B.ncti|fii^]^stUy.aiid' ti-ntH. But In any fhat marriage is to bo invjoiafoaHd porpdiuol,is the only fdea whfph epn'bonsccrthta ; donVosficlifeV I and ’Just as tho Idea fs inwardly earnest in faith • and outwardly real in duty,*lll7,ome be noble’ and society be groat. Pure mothers are nurses of heroes; and nations degenerate when homes become corrupt. Marriage is no more created by law than is property. Marriage is hot tho contrivance of legislators, it is hot the invention of priests— it is the method of nature; and' though ail legisla tors of all ages, and all priesthoods of all religi ons, should have marked it, with their sanction it Was only assenting to what Primal and Sacred Power had[already constituted. There is dis cipline in it'; there is an influence on ihe heart to those who feel its sanctilyj’ which chastens desire, which checks passion, and which, by purifying sense into aflbetion, by multiplying if into many interests, gives it a ' divino elevation and expansiyeness. But it is in the interior of the soul it does its holiest work, although socie ty has tho best of.its results. The Winter of the Heart. Let it never come upon you. Live so that good angels may. protect you ffom this terrible evil—the winter of tho heart. Let no chilling influence freeze up the foun dations of sympathy and happiness from its depths ; no cold burthen settle over its wither ed hopes, like snow- on the faded flowers: no rude blasts of discontent moan and shriek thro’ its desolate dhambers.. Your life path may lead'you amid trials, which for a time seem utterly to impede your progress, and shut out the very light of heaven from your anxious gaze. ‘ Penury may take the place of ease arid plen ty:, your luxurious, home may be exchanged for a single, lowly room—the soft couch for the B * raw P a l ,ct ' —,he rich viands for the coarse food of the poor. Summer friends may fdrsakeyou, and the unpitying world pass you with scarce a word of compassion. You may bo forced to toil wearily, steadily on, to earn a livelihood : you may encounter fraud and base avarice which' would extort the last farthing, till you well nigh turn-in disgust from your fellow beings. Death may sever the dear ties that bind you to earth, and leave you in fearful darkness.— The noble manly hoy, the solo hope of your declining years, may be taken from you, while your spirit clings to him with a wild tenacity,' which even the of the tomb cannot wholly subdue. But amid all these sorrows, do riot come to the conclusion that nobody was ever so deeply afflicted as you are, and abandon every sweet anticipation of “better days’’ in the future. Do not lose your faith in human excellence because your confidence has been betrayed, nor believe that friendship is only a delusion, and lovo a phnutom which glides away from your grasp. Do not think you are. feted to 1 ho miserable because you are disappointed in your expecta tions, and baffled in your pursuits. Do not de clare that God has forsaken you, when your way is hedged with thorns, or repine sinfully when bo calls your dear ones to the land be yond tho grave. Keep a holy trust in heaven thro’ every trial: bear adversity with fortitude, and look upward in hours of temptation and suffering. When your locks are white, your eyes dim, and your limbs weary; when your stops falter on the verge of Death’s gloomy vale, still retain the (rashness and buoyancy of spirit, which would shield you from the winter of the heart. SP~-‘ Well, Bob, how arc you 7” said a dash lag blade to a poverty-struck poetaster. “ Why, I’ve been troubled a great deal with ;he rheumatics, lately.’’ “ And is how your wife 7” “She’s very rheumatic, too.” “And how is little Dickey 7” “I think ho has got a touch of the family complaint; I think ho is a little rheumatic, too.” “ Dear, mo, well I will call upon you In a day or tivo, ifh'd see how you are; where do you lodge 7” . . “lam almost ashamed to ask you to” our lodgings, for. that is roomattic too Dolmitefr. The Jrt of Leaving Off. ■ was Charlotte Bronte, J believe, who when' she: was urged to write more books* said she thanked God for the ahilityto keep silent when she had nothing to say. I wish her beautiful art wore more appreciable, for-we may-have too much even of good things, but as brevity is the only excellency of common places, it seems a pity that, that quality should so often bo want, mg. There is always a right point, bevond which to precede is dangerous and ridiculous timidity sometimes comes short of it, but conO dence oftener overleaps if, and falls on the other side. Speaking of this good world in which we live, I ,one day. heard a clergyman say, with the sim ple directness of real eloquence—“ And our Fa ther mudo it Unfortunately, however* that conpise statement foiled to satisfy him, and he honied forth the following:—“Tea, my friends, * j omniscient and eternal Jehovah crea ted this mundeme planetary sphere, and that too, without any materials,” I was yesterday a good deal amused in wit nessing the parting of one of those happy pairs who are likely to forget that there is anybody except themselves in' the world. « God bless you, my dear, God bless you;” exclaimed the lover, with a fervence of unction almost pathet ic; and at tho'next moment, becoming aware of my proximity, he adds, “and yon too,” but the n ?ss of. the addenda rendered it perfectly i Many a clover man has lost a sweetheart by saying too much—and so making courtship an impunity a drop more added to the sweet enough makes it nauseating. Familiar handling rubs the bloom from the delicate fruit, and when wo .have said'so much that nothing more can be said,' why we have come.to the end of our tether. Many an author tries to hide his meaningwith a cumbrous:load of. words, as if poverty of thought could be concealed by any such artifice. To say what wo. mean, and there end, is true wisdom, but evenwhen forced to the conclusion that we have nothing more to say, wo cannot cease speaking without first saying wo have nothing more to say.. accomplishment of happily and effectively leaving off should bo placed among arts, I think, and studied as such, so that our writing and speaking might bo less upon the schoolgirl model of “I believe I have nothing more to say at present—l believe I must now draw my letter 1 to a close; as I can think of nothing more to. toll you of at present.” The book called “Last words of Baxter/’ had a remarkable sale, but when, some poor imitator wrote and called it “ More Last Words of Bax ter,” there was no demand for it. living in ilearts. ' ‘ 3 I 3o ** ol to live in hearts than in houses. A change in circumstances or a disobliging land lord may turn one out o( a house to which he has formed many attachments. Removing from place is with many an unavoidable, incident in life. But ane cannot be expelled frbm a true and living heart by his own fault, noryet always by that, for affection clings- tenaciously to its olyects, in spite of ill-desert, but go where he ; will, his homo remains in hearts which have i learned toddve hifh; the roots, of affection'are not torn out and destroyed by such removals, i but .they remain fixed deep in the heart,clinging ,more eager again dnerorvliota! iaa honlo of hfs childhood; or the place of hie happy abode ip life’s springtime, pleasant as if is to sUrvey each familiar spot, the house, the garden, fbe frees planted by himself or by kin dred -now. sleeping in the dust, there is in the warm grasp of.the hand, in the melting of the eye, in the kind and earnest' salutation, in the , tender solicitude for the comfort and pleasure Of his visit, a.delight that no mere local object of nature or art, no beautiful cottage or shady, nil, or quiet grove can possibly bestow. ' To* bei remembered, to be loved, to live in ( hearts, tliat no one solace amid earthly changes | this is a joy above all the pleasures of the i scene and place. We love this spiritual home , feeling—the union of hearts which death can not destroy; for it argues if there be heart-pur- ! ity ns well ns heart affection, as unchangingand imperishable abode in hearts now dear. ' Observation. Tho habit of observation is one of the most valuable in lifo, lls worth can hover be too higb ly estimated, and it is one that can . easily be cumyated. .Never do anything without obser ving that all you do is correct. Do not ever take a walk without haying your eyes and ears open, and always try and remember what you see and hoar. By this means.you will acquire more knowledge than can over bo learned from books, as you will And tho information in ex actly the form you are capable of receiving it, I Bead books and newspapers, above all acquire observing habits, tor they will bo always with you, and ever ready to store your mind with the truths of nature. Stop Him. Tho following specimen of a German adver isement was'recently handed us by a friend: “Rnnned away, strayed .away, orstoledawar, mine big black horse, sixteen hands and six in ches tall; he wash black all over his body put his head and das wash black, too j he had lour leg pehind and two bciore, and when he walked and runned doy followed one afterde Oder. He had two plack ears on his head one plack and de oder brown, and had no eyes on de one side ol his head and couldn’t see any mit do Oder. He had a line pig bead vich hevoro before-him, I and a long dale pehind him, vich I out short de odor day, and it is not now so long ass it vash peforo. It always stays pehirit except ven he valks backward arid den it comes in iront. Any pody vat finds him and brings' him to n o, pays me fife dollars and no questions asked.”' ot7* “This is George the Fourth." said an exhibitor of wax-work, pointing to a slim fig ure., "I thought he was a very stout man.”— “Very likely, but if you’d been here without victuals half as; long as he has, you’d been twice as thin. ” O” /ones has discovered the respective na tures of a distinction and a - difference. He says that ‘‘a little Diflerenco” frequently makes many enemies, while “a little Distinction" at tracts a hast of friends to the one on whom it is conferred. \ tt?” Nothing moves the masses more than the exhibition of deep feeling. . It-speaks a lan guajo which the very humblest can understand and challenges a response Which not even the’ most callous are disposed to withhold. • Youth, enthusiasm, and affection, resem ble three days of spring time; let us not, there fore, complain of their short duration! but on deavor to enjoy them. i soul nooda a certain amount of Intel, foflhi “ n .|°y , f ent i to giTo it strength adequate for the daily struggle in which it is involved fJ£flu° ithor aC T n6r B P eak in > though free from witnesses. Learn to stand more in awe of thyself than of others. • 1 f! 0 n °t dopise all those who have no l virtue bUt lhosewho have hot one redeeming. Good H-bits.—No man 'whether-rich or poor, can make or retain a good and useful po sition in life without the two valuable habits ef. punctuality and" temperance. A Useful Example. History is said to be philosophy teaching by example. Its chief .use, therefore, is to induce nations to avoid, the unfortunate errors and views of others, and to imitate their virtues; in order to escape the consequences of the former, and reap the sweet fruits of the latter. Such is the lesson taught not only by the history of the dead past, but also, and in an equal degree perhaps, by the passing history of the living present. '' If the example of the Republics of antiquity can serve for our instruction, that of the Repub lics, real or fictitious, 1 of our own day may [ prove equally advantageous. It be hoves the people of the United States to look about them and sec whether they can find in the contemporary history of any other nation, anything which may be “profitable for doc trine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness. ” In our search for a warning of national per il, we need look no further than to our neigh bor, Mexico, (now again about to pass through ■ onolher of her constant changes,) who seems to stand close beside us, us a constant reminder of the dreadful evils that beset disseverred, dis* cordant. and belligerent States, rent with civil feuds, and subject to all the terrors of national anarchy.. Like all other States on the American conti nent that had the misfortune' to. be settled by Spaniards, Mexico has been the willing victim ,®f anarchy, misrule, and constant revolution.— "bile under the dominion.of Spain, though suffering great political hardship and oppres sion, she was yet from turbulence, petty tyran ny, and ruinous change from bad to worse.— Since her declaration of independence, her free dom from foreign control has only served to display her utter weakness and her inability to protect herself from foreign invasion and impo sition, and domestic insurrection. The pro tection given her by Spain was indeed “such protection as vultures give to lambs, covering and devouring them;" but even this was no worse, if it washot better, than the gawping cancer of internal strife and confusion that has been consuming her very life ever since she be came nomina'ly free. It is said that Nicaragua has had four hun dred different supreme rulers since her separa tion from Spain. Mexico has presented a like picture of incessant charge. But.an ehiimera tion of her several metamorphoses is not neces sary to furnish us with the warning lesson of lier history. That lesson is written on every page of her unhappy national life, and is-em braced-in two words, instability and discord Should we not humbly study it and strive to profit by it?, \ When unscrupulous, aspiring demagogues would have us leave the wise principles of gov ernment bequeathed to us by our early states man for our everlasting guidance, and which, in spite of the opposition of a frowning world, have brought to a state of Unexampled prosper* ity, let us consider to what .abject misery in ecssant change has brought Mexico and all the other'Spanish Republics ; and let us say to one another, in the, words, ofHolla, “we seek no jVarid least of *ll, ,; such change asdbev WDuld brlng Vs:^^nd J wfien sCclfotOT“sche- | Biers, whoso only hope of'adyancciueht is in po litical confusion and ruin, would arouse us to I -sectional jealousy and bote, let us look again I upon our dismembered neighbors, whose na-1 tional-career began as hopefully as ours, and once more swear (hat “the Union shall bo pre served.— Washington Globe Light and Color. So intimately are allour ideas of things ma terial connected with light, that it is impossible for a human mind to conceive, or form any dis tinct appreciation of- this world, or the heavens of which it forms a . part, and by which it is surrounded, before the issuing of the Almighty mandate: “Let there bo light.” The beauty of the fitness.of all things is in no way more truly appreciated, than vfhen we consider the diffusion and adaptability of this omnipresent, elemental force. Each beam of the pure, color less light of day is composed of three distinct rays, the red, the blue, the yellow, and these and their compounds or complimentary colors from tlie beams that travel from the sun to us in eight minutes. All nature derives its color from these colored rays, and really there is no such thing as actual color, it is only decom posed light. Thus the tender, modest, violet pushing its tidy loveliness from among the coarser plants on some hedge side, is so con .slructed that it absorbs all the rays except the violet one, and that it reflects, and this'reflec tion is the color of the plant; the hardy old red sandstone cliff absorbs- .nil rays but the one shown in its color, and the same is the case with all created things. This fact of all oh jects being really colorless, is easily proved by a simple experiment that may be tried by our juvenile readers any winter's evening. Now then lor the experiment: Collect ns many articles of different.tolofa as you can in a small room, the more glaring the hues, the more astonishing the result; when this is done, putir some alcohol on a plate and throw into it a handful of common salt, light it, and it will burn with a yellow flame, and all the gaudy colors will be gone, nothing but one dead yel low being visible, even the color is taken from the cheeks and dresses of the spectators, all of them appearing a ghastly hue; thus proving that color depends on light and not light on color. —Scientific American . Women AND MarhuoE.—Robert Soutfiey, a chppter_on “Marriage,” delivcrs_himself as follows: “A man may be cheerful and Contented in cclibancy, but I do not'think ho caii ever be happy ; it is an unnatural state, arid the best feelings of his nature are never nailed into no tion. The risks of marriage are far greater on the woman's side: women have so little of the power of choice, that it is not perhaps fair to say they are less likely to rehouse well than wo are; but lam persuaded that they are more frequently deceived in the attachments which they forpi, and their Opinions concerning men are much leas accurate than men*s opinion of their sear. ■ . Now. if a lady were to approach me for having said this, I should reply that.it wason ly another mode of saying there' are more good Wives m the world than, there arc good hus banda, which ! verily believe. • I know nothing which a good and sensible inan is so certain to and, if he looks for it, as good wife. 11 .03^ _ Decapitate the devil and you have vour character—evil. Drop (he **e, n and you have vile; strike out the “t," and you make ill; M vi r M and it is el, which an Englishman will roughen into an uncomfortable locality—hell. Of a truth, the devil is in the word. O' Wordaworth'did nut possess the power of smell, and never but once' did ho have tho satisfaction of enjoying through this faculty the Nature he loved so well. This was by a bed of stocksin fu)l bloom, and. tho enjoyment was like a vjsion of paradise to him. DC?" Many of. us are led by our vices, but a 1 great many of us follow them without any len ding at all. AT $2,00 PER ANNUM NO. U. [ Correspondence of ike London Times '.} The King and Queen of Delhi In Gaptivitr. * , # * * * # We have seen the captive KingJind royal fa mily ; they are in ruinous little rooms in One Of the gates of the palace. The old King looks very frail, and has a blank, Used eye, os pfonij on whom life is fast closing. He certainly is 100 old to bo responsible for anything that has been done.- With his sons much more guilt may lie; some have been shot, as you must haveread ; seine are yet untaken; The young est son we saw looking like 15, they saylo, bold and coarse to look at. lie is the only child 1 of the Queen. -- With her some of our ladies have had a long interview. They found herseated on acommon charpoy (bedstead,) dressed in white cotton clothes, with a few and very trilling. ornaments —all of her grand things 'having been', taked from her, She is described as short and stout, age, with.aroood.anlmated not at atl-pretty, bur haring v'ery'piWn-'r little plump hands. Some 30 females; relatives I and menials, surrounded her. Slid professes the utmost horror of the 3d cavalry, to whom she traces all her misfortunes. She says the King was bejpless to control them, and that When their arrival had placed Delhi in rebellion against us, they were as ready to rob .herds , any one else. She says the mutineers did nib the palace, and that all her jewels were only saved by being buried. She does not seem to blame us for their present captivity ; She Un derstands the necessity for inquiring into guil ty or innocent parties ;' but she did not seem to assert the King’s innocence as much as he* own. She said he had been in the hands of bad people. There appeared lo bo frightful rivdl ries among the women ; it is said she crimirilt ted the sons of the former wives, she being the last. Her sister is represented as much beltei* looking than herself, and has a daughter of liV married to the King’s youngest son, already mentioned,and reputed very bcamiful. Our ladies describe her as having superb largo eyes and a most beautiful little mouth, but her iaee otherwise is too flat and full, bomo of tho women told them they had English women and children indhopalaco afterthe mas sacre, in hope of preserving them, but that tha mutineers demanded them and could hot ho ro sisted. They say the Sepoys complained that tho King was feeding English women daintily While ho only gave them gram for food. Heav en knows il the royitl family bo clean nrhoaft'' ’’ °r *l°?' 1 say nothing sentimental about them, but I pity them. Their religion is quite enough to oxoito our pity;, and if they have been abettors of murders; they ought to to pitied for their sins. If they are as they say innocent of any shore of the rebellion, they are Victims indeed. I tffisf all eiyominations may bo judiciously and fairly conducted. Mr. —is an excellent man—most upriglit mid indefatiga-. bio in discovering the frutli.and withal most tender hearted. He will not spare the guilty nor indict suiForing on the innocent. I Keep good company or none.' I Never be (ate. S. Always speak the truth.. Make few promises. | Live up to youf engagements. Have no Very intimate friends. Keep your secrets if you have any. ■ '' face " y6U Spe4li l ° a P ers “"' lbok him inthe If your hands cannot be usefulk.employed. attend to tho cultivation of youryrairitl. . Good company .and good conversation arc the very smews of Virtue. Good character is above all things else. Never listen to loose and infidel cbnversa tion. ■ “ You had better be poisoned in your blood than m your principles. Your character cannot bo essentially injured i except by your own acts. If any one speak evil of you, let your life bo so virtuous that no one will believe him. Always speak and act as in the presence of God. Drink no, kind of intoxicating liquor. Ever live; misfortune excepted, within your income. Never speak lightly of religion. Make no haste tu bo rich if you would pros* per. ‘ Si 'mall and steady gains give competency with iranquilily of mind. Avoid temptation, through fear you may not withstand it. Never borrow if yon can possibly avoid it* Do not marry until you are able to support a wife. ■ Dj'- Foiv insects live more than a year In their perfect state. Their first state is the eggj then the caltorpiliar, then the Chrysalis or pu pa, and finally the procreative form. But in those changes there ao infinite degrees and vari eties of transition, all of which constitute the Pleasing and very instructive study of etyraolo- tC?" Avarice and vanity are the principal elc. monts ol all evilr * Batter Jiakidj in Winter.. “Winter Bnttei” has no very enviable repufa tioti anywhere, and compared with that made in Juno, seems, an entirely different article. Of course there are reasons for this—let us enume rate some of them. , ' , 1. The character of the food is changed from green and succulent -herbage, to , dry. hay, or more generally cornstalks and Straw. There is ro o V° ry lUtl ° bu,,er In tho latter. ,„ 2- ?™ ,on ia changed from mild andi warm to cold, bleak, and uncomfortable. There is a constant demand for fuel to keep up the animal product' 13 18 nrt * y ttt the expense of the buttes l ..The management of tho milk becomes difficult, If kept m a cellar, and a little above, freezing, the niillc becomes bitter before tho cream rises j if allowed to freeze, tho cream rises at once, blit is injured in quality, and will produce very white butter; : if kept in the kitch en pantry, where very warm during the day and cold at night, if does not rise well, anils antto ho hitter and acid. • Other reasons might bo . mentioned', huf they ! will readily suggest themselves to , the reader. Let us see what can he proposed to remedy the difficulties. ~ 1 , . 1. Feed well—not dry food alone—bnt grain and roots, as a substitute for grass. Oartofa, turnips, beets, cabbages, etc., are all psqflij in keeping up (he quality of the milk,., Lot the!?' fodder ho cut, and some nutntous slops ho.pro vided, if roots are hot to bo'had, and it is well to cut the.fodder in miy .case., ( , 2. comfort of cows should ho carcfiiW a tended to. while they stifler fioni cold aim tilth, or foul air, they cannot yield as good milk as when in warm, clean stables, or In well lit tered and sheltered yards. Water should also be provided—it is tho more, needful-when dry forage is consumed—and it shoUld,beso arrang ed that every animaj cou]d drink at, will.' A supply of Snit is also riecessarj, y ’ I B. It is diffldnlt to get n proper temperatuio for raising cream perfectly in. winter, S,omq butter makers scald their milk When first drawn from tl|o cow—others let it stand twelve hours,’ and thou place the pan containing the milk in a longer one tilled with boiling water—dm}. qllaW ing. it-io. stand, twelve hours longer, dnd the cream raised perfectly. It is Said t(iat,mpro.and bettor butter can be mndo in this way than id anyuolher, . . Churning in winter, as usually. managed,,}* otton a serious operation; The cream stands too long generally— becoming, very Sour and bitter. Or, it is too gold and froths up, (tiling, the churn but producing nd butter, though! churned for hours. flfet.tho create pot'sit near the fire for a few hours before churning, stirring it occasionally, that all may get warm alike,and when it Is at a proper temperature, 55°—feeling a little warm to the linger—the churning will be an easy half-hour’s Job, and tli.o butter, as yel low and hard as (he soason wiil admit of- ■ . . We have lound that cows generally give bet ter mjlk, when fed on well-cured corn., fodder, ! than on second rate hay, and w(th.«a mojsVf pf foots, apples,.or pumpkins, would yield mills of* very fair, quality. ■ Attention to securing a sup- - • ply of proper food for cows, and bettor care of them, Would go far to redeem the name of win ter butter from its present character. llnjiins to Guide Youuj? Men.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers