lE= E AMSmcakVolunteer. IbStisiinß every xncßabit fibil&lMl Hi (fottii Bi Braltoh. TERMS. SnßflOßiPiios. —One Dollar and Fifty Cents, «Aid in advance j Two Dollars it paid within the tear' And Two Dollal-s and Fitly Cents, if not oald within the year. Those terms will be rig idly adhered to in every instance. No Sub scription discontinued until-all arrearages are «4ld unless at the option of the Editor. " ADV EBTi3ESiF.MTS —AccompaniedbythooASU, arid not exceeding ode square, will bo inserted three times for One Dollar, and twenty-five cents for each additional insertion. Those of agroat ter length in proportion. • Job-Printing —Such a& Hand-bills, Posting bills, Pamphlets, Blanks, Labels, &0., &0., oxo cti'ted with accuracy and at the shortest notice. fforfifflL THE COIMTBY LASSIE. Shg blossomed in the country, . where rosy summer flings Her rosy arms around the earth, And brightest blessings bring; Health was her sole inheritance, , And grace her only dower; I never dreamed the wild wood Contained so sweet a Sower. Far distant from the city, Apd inland from the lea, my lastSo bloomed in goodness, , as pure as good could be; She caught her dewy freshness From hill and mountain bower, 1 never dreamed the wild wood Contained so sweet a flower. the rainbow must have lent her Some of its any grace; The wild rose parted with a blush That nestled on her tace; Tim sunbeams got entangled in the long waves ot her hair, Or she ne’er bad grown to bo . , So modest and so fair. The.early birds have taught .her The joyous matin song, And some of their soft innocence, • She’s been with them so long. And for her now, if need be, I’d part with wealth and power; I never dreamed.the wild wood Contained so sweet d flower. THE UNSEEN BATTLE-FIELD. There is an unseen battle-field, In every .human breast, Where two opposing forces moot, And whore they seldom rest. . That field is veiled from mortal sight, ’Tis only seen by one .Who knows alone where, victory lies, When each day’s fight is done. One. army clusters strong and fierce, Their, chief of demon form; .His brow is like thq thunder-cloud. His voice the bursting storms His captains, Pride, and Lust, and Hate, Whole troops watch night and day. Swift to detect the weakest point, : And thirsting for the liny, Contending with this mighty force . Is but a little band; Yet there with an, unquailing front, Those'warriors firmly stand 1 Their leader is of God-like form, Of countenance serene; ■ And glowing on his naked breast A naked cross is seen. His.captains, Faith, and Hope, and Love, Point to to that Wondrous sign; j And gazing on it, all receive Strength from a source divine. They feel it speaks a glorious truth, A truth as great as sure. That to be victors they must loam To love, confide, enduio. That faith sublime, in wildest-jafrife, - , Imparts a holy calm; For every deadly blow a shield. For every wound a balm. And when they win the battle-field, Past toil is quite forgot; The plain where carnage once had reigned, Becomes a hallowed spot: A spot whore flowers of joy and peace Spring from tho fertile sod. And breathe the perfume of their praise Oh every breeze —to God. J&wellamoia INTELLECT IN RAGS. ,BV VAIIA MONTROSE. PART I. Tt was a black, wintry day. Heavy snow drifts lay piled up in the streets ol New York, arid the whole appearance of the city was cold and dismal. . Seated upon the stone steps of, one of the large dwellings of Fifth Avenue, was a boy, ap parently thirteen years of ago. He was literal ly clothed in rags, and his hands were blue, and his teeth chattered with cold. Lying upon his knee was a piece of newspaper he had pick ed up m the street, and be was trying to read the words upon it. He had been occupied thus for some time, when two little girls, clod in silk and fiirs, came towards him. The eldest one was about twelve years old, and so beautiful that the boy raised his eyes, and fixed them upon her in undisguised admiration. JThe child of wealth stopped before him, and turning to her companion, said : • “ Marian, just see this fellow on my steps! ■ —boy, what are you doing there ?” ‘ I am trying to read- upon this little bit of paper,” answered,the boy. ; The girl laughed derisively, and said: , ‘‘Well, truly! I have heard of intellect in rags. Marian, and here it isperspnifled.’’ Marian’s soft hazel eyes filled with tears, as She replied: “ Oh, Louise do not talk so ; you know what Miss Fannie teaches us .in school. “ The rich* bnd the poor meet together, and the Lord is the maker of therii ail.”, Louise laughed again, and said to the boy: •• Get up from here; you shall not sit on my steps, you are too ragged and di-ty.” The boy arose, and a deep blush crimsoned is face. Howas walking away, when Marian Said i ll Don’t go, little boy, you are too cold: come into my house and get warm. Oh, do come,” She continued as she hesitated ; and he followed her into a largo kitchen, where a bright fire Was shedding its genial warmth around, ‘ Well, Miss Marian, who are you bringing here now ?’ asked the servant woman. A poor boy who is almost perished; you "Will let him get warm, will you not, Rachel ?’ “ Oh, yes, ho shall get warm; sit hero, little Boy,” and Rachel pushed a chair in front of the stove; she then gave him a piece of bread and meat. Marian watched these arrangements, and then glided from the room. When,she returned she bad a primer, with the first' rudiments of spel ,Hng and reading. Going to the boy she said 1 Little boy, here is a book that.you can learn /to read from better than a piece of paper. Do you know your letters?’ "Some of them, but not all. I.never had anybody to teach mo. I.Just learned myself; bat oh, I want.to read so badly.” Marian sat down beside him, and began teaching him his letters. She was so busily oc cupied in this work that she did not sco her mother enter the room, nor hear Rachel explain about the boy; and she know not that her moth er stood some time behind them, listening to her. Inwriinm BY JOHN B. BRATTON. YOL. 45. - noble child teaching the beggar boy his letters. There were but few ho had not leanicd him self, and it was not long before Marian had the satisfaction of hearing him repeat the alphabet. When he rose to go he thanked Rachel for her kindness, and offered Marian her book. “No, I do not want it,” she said, ‘I have given it*to you to learn to read from. Won’t you tell me your name ?” ■ • Jimmie,’ he replied. 1 ' ‘I. will not forget you,. Jimmie, and you must always repaember Marian Hays,’ was the girl’s farbwcll. : Louisa Gardiner and Marian Hays were play mates and friends. Their dwellingsjoined. and almost every hour of the day they were togeth er for they attended the same school. These two children were very differently dispositioned and very differently brought up. Louise was proud and haughty. Poverty, m her eyes, was a disgrace and a crime, and she' thought noth ing 100 severe for the poor to suffer. These views she learned from her mother.- Mrs. Gar diner moved in one exclusive circle—the bon ton of New York. Without the precincts of this she never ventured, for all others were beneath her. Louise was taught to with no children except those of her mother’s friends, and was growing up believing herself better even than they. 1 .'.The teaching, which Marian Hays received was totally different from this. Mrs. Hays was acknowledged by Mrs. Gardiner as one of ber particular friends; yet, though, she moved among that circle, she was far from being of them. Her doctrine was the text her little daughter had used r ‘ The rich and the poor meet together, and the Lord is the maker of them alb’ . This she taught them all. This she taught Marian, that there was no distinc tion as to wealth dud position; that the dis tinction was in worth, and worth alone. She taught her to reverence age, and to pity the poor and destitute; and that ‘ pleasant words were as honey-comb, sweet to the foul;’ a lit tle word of kindness was better than money.,— Marian learned the lesson well, and was ever ready to dispense her gentle words to all, wheth er they were wealthy and influential, or ragged and indigent as the boy she had that'cold morn ing befriended. , • PART 11. A gay, brilliant, throng was assembled in the city of .Washington. Congress was in session, and the hotels were crowded with strangers.— It was an evening party. The brilliantly ligh ted rooms were filled with youth and beauty. . Standing near one of the doors: were two young ladies busy conversing together., The elder of the two suddenly exclaimed “ Oh, Marian, have you seen Mr. Hamilton, the new Congressman from W. ?” . “No, 1 have not, but I have heard a great deal about him.” ' *' 6h! I want tosee him so badly. Mrs. N. -—, is going to introduce him to us. I wish she would make haste, I have no patience.” “ Don't speak so, Louise, T wish you would not be so trifling ,” said Marian.. ■ A singular smile played around the mouth of a tail, handsome 1 gentleman; sianditfg near the girls; and as he passed them, he scanded them both closely. In a short time Mrs. N ; name ,up with Mr. Hamilton, the.new member, and presented Him to Miss. Gardiner and Miss Hays.. As they wore conversing together. Mr. Hamilton said:' . .. “ Ladies, we have met before!” : Both Louise and Marian declared their igno rance of the fact. - “It has been long years ago, yet I have not forgotten it, not a single sentence uttered du-' ring that meeting. I will quote one text that may recall it to your memory—“ The rich and the poor meet together, and the Lord is the ma ker of them all.” The rich blood tinged the cheek of Marian, but Louise declared herself as ignorant as . be fore. Mr. Hamilton glanced for a moment at Marian ; then turn ing to Louise, he said: Long years ago. a little boy, ragged and dirty, seated himself upon the steps of a stately dwelling on Fifth,Avenue, New,York, and was there busily engaged trying to read a bit of pa per, when attention was attracted by two little girls richly dressed. The eldest of the two particularly attracted him for she was beauti ful as an angel; but as they came near to him, she lifted up her hand and exclaimed: “ Boy, what are yon doing there ?” ,“ The boy answered that he was trying to, read. • The child of afflueriee derided him, rind said that she had heard of intellect in rags, and he wap the very personification of it. Her com panion's answer was, that “ the rich and the poor meet together, and the Lord is tho maker of them all.” The elder girl drove'the boy from the steps: but the younger one took him into her own dwelling, and warmed and fed him there! When they parted, the little girl said, “You must not fprgct Marian Hays.” And, Miss Hays, he never has forgotten' her. That ragged, dirty boy, is now before you, ladies, as Mr. Hamilton, tho member of Congress; and allow me, Miss Gardiner, to tender you my thanks for your kind treatment of that boy.” Overwhelmed- with confusion, Louise knew not what to say or dm : — : In pity for her, Mr. Hamilton rose, arid turn ing to Marian, said: “ I will see you' again, Miss Hays,” and left them. Louise would not stay in the city, where she daily met Mr. Hamilton, and in a few days re lurhed to New York, leaving' Marian, with the consciousness of having done nothing to bo ashamed of, and enjoying the society of distin guished Congressmen. Marian and Mr. Hamilton were walking to gether one evening, when tho latter • drew from his bosom an old well-worn primer and handed it to Marian. “ From this,” he said, “ the man who is so distinguished here, first. learned to . road. Do you recognize the book 1” • ‘ Marian trembled, and did not raise her eyes, when sho saw that well remembered hook.— Mr. Hamilton took her hand and said: “ Marian, Jimmie has never forgotten you.— Since the day you were so kind to him, and gave him this book, bis life has had one great aim, and that was to attain to greatness, and in after years to meet that ministering angel who was the sweetner of his days of poverty. — When I left your house with this book, I re turned ten times happier to my humble home, and went assiduously to work to learn to read. My mother was an invalid, and ere long I learn ed well enough to read to her. When my mother died I found good friends, and was adopted by a gentleman in W. As his sou I have been educated. A year ago ho died and left his properly to me. Of all the plec«;.nt memories' of my boyhood, the one connected with you is the dearest. I have kept this pri mer next, to my heart, and dwelt upon the hour of again meeting the giver. I have mpt her.— I see all that my imagination pictured, and I ask if the dear hamf that gave this book- can not be mine forever ?” Louise felt deeper grieved than ever when Marian told her sno was to becoine the wife of Mr. Hamilton, the poor boy whom sho once spurned so much-from the door, and derisively called “ intellect in rags.” But she had learn ed a severe lesson, and - one that changed the whole current of her life. For a while sii(j shunned Mr. Hamilton ; but by persevering kindness ho made her feel easy in his presence, and she was the acknowledged friend of the Congressman and his noble wife. Years have passed since then, and Louise is training up a family of little ones; but she is teaching them not to despise intellect in rags, but tp be guided by Marian’s text—-“ The rich and the poor meet together, and the lord is the maker of them.all.” HOW THE DEAD BY YELLOW’ FEVER ARE BURIED. A New Orleans correspondent of- the Mem phis Inquirer givis the following mournful picture of the burial of the yellow fever vic tims : The yellow fever has been specially virulent and fatal, and some who were thought to be long since acclimated have been attacked and some of them have fallen victims. Wc hope it has reach I its climax and will now, steadily, decline—though we know not the end. Some four, hundred died last week; This sounds alarming, but it is small compared with 1853, when 300 died in a single day. Your readers will inquire what do we do with all these dead ? where do we bury them ? There are in the city and its environs fourtc-n cemeteries. Some five of these arc in tbe midst of tho city, surrounded by closely built and densely populated streets. Owing to tho pecu liarity of the soil, th burial places are pecur liar. We cannot dig.more than two or three feet below the surface without coming to water —so that most, of the dead arc buried above ground. These grounds arc regularly laid off in squares, and walks raised and covered with shells. The squares are built up with vaults and monuments—many of them very splendid, and very expensive, or ting thousands of dol lars. There are it great variety of models and devices, many of them of rare and exquisite beauty. Around these tombs are beautiful evergreens, intermixed with fair and fragrant flowers, which grow with so much luxuriance in our rich soil.and sunny clime, The cemeteries below Canal and above Esp landc street called the French burying grounds are regarded as the most interesting as exhibi tions of sculpture, where grief records its woe or pride in imperishable marblo. , i Around these cemeteries are walls ten feet high and eight or ton feet thick. These are pierced with threedr four rows of tombs about two and d-haiffeet square, rising in tiers one above the other, and has the appearance of pigeon holes fprJettera in the post office,though on a much larger scale’. These are perfectly closed with slabs and pir-.tight cement, except at one end. This is open for the insertion of a coffin. The burial seivice at the grave is per formed thus: The procession moves from the hearse to the wall, where a certain one of the vaults has been previously selected—say No. 250, (they are all numbered.) The coffin is about two-thirds in serted, and the service, whatever may be its character, is then attended tothis over, a m. ,foh) w hammers, begins his, work. The family and friends Stand uncovered till the mason is done,' when the date and names are written, on the smooth, Soft; plaster spread over the brick, and the company depart and leave tho sleeper to his last and lonely bed! ■ One gets used to scenes like this, bnt at first it seems so business-lilfe and mechanical, so like any other labor, any other piece of mason ry, and contrasts strongly with the burial on the hill side, where the turf is green, aiid the old trees spread their broad green boughs, and and the little birds in summer lime sing requi ems, and the lone winds of winter time murmur solemn dirges o’er the dead. The city authori ties are discouraging interraentsjn the cemete ries in the crowded portions of jhe city. Some three miles from tho city, about midway from tho river to the lake, there is a low. ridge of land known as tho Metairie Ridge. Hero the city authorities arc laying out, among the live oaks,a public-.park—and here there is a famous race course—and hero most of our city's dead are to, sleep, their last sleep ! What 'strange uses! There are quite a number of cemeteries laid out here, and here already thousands “are at rest.” In these cemeteries are rich and beauti ful tombs and monuments, some of them pri vate, and some the property of benevolent as sociations. On this ridge many are buried in graves dug in shallow ground, but they often fill with water so rapidly, that the coffin has to be held down until mud enough can be thrown on it to hold it at the.bottom of the grave. .Thus thousands of the poor are committed— “earth to earth.” ‘ Our feelings at first may rc volt’ from this; but why 1 What does it mat ter how the dust returns tp dust ? Whether it sinks, herieath the' grirgling wave—withers on burning sands, sleeps in sculptured vaults—or like our lowly dead, in the marshes o,f the great river 1 The grand question <3, whither has the immortal spirit-fied? to ‘fairer worlds bn high,’ or to “outer darkness, where there is weeping, wailing,.and gnashing of teeth.” Fattening Hogs and their Manure. . To give hogs a.start, when first put .up for fattening, there is in my opinion no better food that good, ripe pumpkins, boiled'and steamed with a moiety of potatoes, and the whole well seasoned with meal scalded and mixed with milk. There is a sweetness in the boiled pump kin which is very attractive to hlSvpigship. In deed, all the trouble with this kind of food is, that it is difficult to get enough to supply their wants. Tho writer has fed to a pen of 20, two kettles, of GO gallons, per day, for two weeks. I think to commence on this even preferable to hard corn.. While upon this subject, allow me just to suggest bow large an amount of good fertilizing matter is usually thrown away in feeding our pork. . The common-course is to have an en closed pen for the swine to eat and sleep in,and all the manure made usually goes into, an un covered baok yard—probably a real mud bole, where the manure made from feeding a large quantity of grain, is allowed to beleached and evaporated by the rains and sun; and when we come to get out this valuable compound the next season to apply .to our soil, .wo find it like the Irishman’s flea—not there. Now, wo talk about the value of swine’s, manure, aud with truth, for it is indeed supposed to be more fer tilizing than, that of any other animal. This being so, why not endeavor to save it and not actually throw it away in the manner described? If no better remedy presents, just make a tem porary cover to the hog yard, of rough boards, or auy thing that will keep out water, and just supply the pigs with plenty of material to work up—muck, turf* straw, weeds, leaves, or in deed almost anything of a decaying vegetable nature, and the thing is done—when perchance the next season you will find that instead' of five loads of leached manure, you will have just four limes the amount, and o better article at’ that. . ' . ■ Now, brother farmers, is this mere theory, and as such, unworthy of a trial—hot worth the time and expense ? Wo all know “the more manure, the better crops," and will not a course of this kind tend to enhance the manure heap ? . ,*>• ‘ “0U& COUNTRY—MAT IT ALWAYS BE ' WGirt—SltJT iiitjlil ttH WRONG, OUR OOUNTRT.” CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, OCTOBER, 7, 1858. Mr. Bones, of the firm of Fossil, Bones & 00., was ono of those remarkable money making men whose uninterrupted success in trade has been the wonder, and afforded the mat. <ial for the go ip of the town for seven years. Being of familiar turn of mind, he was frequently in terrogated on the subject, aml'lnvariably gave as the secret of bis success, that be minded bis own business. , ; t. A gentleman met Mr. Bones ,on the Assam pink Bridge. He was gazing intently on the. dashing, foaming waters-ns. they fell over the dam. Ho was evidently in"'a brown study. Our friend ventured to disturb jus cogitations. “Mr. Bones, tell me how to make a thousand dollars.” Mr. B. continued looking intently at the wa ter. At last he ventur: ’. a reply. “Do you see that dam, vny^nend.” “Certainly I do.” “Well, here you may learn the secret of ma king money.. The 1 water would waste away and be of no practical use to .anybody but for the dam. That dam turns it to good.account, makes it perform Some useful purposes, and then suffers it to'pass along. -That large paper mill is kept in constant motion by the simple economy. Many mouths are fed by the manu facture of paper, and intelligence is scattered broadcast over the land on the-sheets that are' daily turned out; and in the different processes through which it passes money is made.. So it is in the living of hundreds of people. They get enough of money. It passes through their hands every day, and at the year’s end they are no better off.' What is thO reason ? They want a dam. Their expendituree,aro increasing and no practical good is attained. They want them dammed up, so that nothing will pass thro"gh their bands wilh- ut bringing some th! back—without accomplishing some useful purpose. Dam up your expenses and you will soon have enough occasionally.to spare a little, just like that dam. Look at it, my friend!” — Trenton True 'American.. „ A Minister’s Walk, nnd Conversation. The editor of the North Carolina Presbytcri np, who is at the Virginia Springs, has heard a good story of Speaker Orr and the Rev. Dr. W. of Lexington. Not long since, the story goes, they were both at the Warm-Springs, and met in a public room of the hotel.. They had been sitting with other, company, and after a‘ while the Doctor arose and walked across tho room with the usual limp in h't: gate. Mr. Orr im mediately recognized him, and asked him if he were not the Chaplain at C. e U-;'vor tty of Vir ginia at such a time, naming the year. The Doctor replied that he was.,, “I was there,” said Mr. Orr, “ a student at the University, find I knew you by your limp.” “ Well;” said the Doctor, “it s ,ms my limping 1 o a deeper impressionbn you than my ,preaching.”. The joke placed Mr. Orr in an .awkward ptedioa- • ment, and most men would have been unable to extricate then-selves, bat he replied with ready ] wit: “ Ah, Doctor, it is thr highest compli ment we can lfhown''By nis tcnfeTalhbr Chap by his conver sation.” , • ’ One of the most remarkable facts in the his-i toryof Christ is, that he left no writings be hind him, and the only, record there is of his; writing anything is in the case where “he stooped down and with his finger wrote upon the ground.” What he wrote then and there, no one-knows; though perhaps the most plau sible conjecture is, that ho wrote the answer to the question, whether tho woman taken in the act'of adultery should be stoned? “He that is.without sin amongst you, let him cast a stone at her.” Reader, did this strange fact ever oc cur to you, that the greatest reformer that ever lived—professedly the divine teacher sent of God to reveal his truth, to the world—whose teachings have survived the wreck of-nges, and now commands the credence; the respect, and the most profound admiration of the enlighten ed world, and who is claimed as the “ author and finisher” of the great system of faith and practice, has left behind him no sentence of his writings, and those unknown characters writ ten with his finger in the sand, constitute the sum total of all his writings of which there is any account ? Is there, or has there ever been, since the in-, vemion of letters, or even rude hieroglyphics or any such thing, a system of religion whose founder did not take special pains to reduce his teachings to wrjting, and thus give them the exact and permanent form ? It bos long been known that the moon re?, volvcs on its axis in the same time m which it revolves round the crrth, and that it conse quently always presents nearly the same side towards. the earth, while the opposite side is never seen from our globe.' No bodies of water nor clouds can be seen on the moon, by the aid of the most powerful telescope, nor is the appa rent direction of stars close to its edge changed: by refraction i as would bo the case if an atmos phere enveloped the -Moon. ; . Hence it, has. been, inferred by Whewell, the reputed author of. a late work entitled “ of Plurality of Worlds,” that the moun has no atmosphere dr watcr, and consequently, no inhabitants. , , ' This inference is shown to be inconclusive by a recent discovery of Hcnscl, whose study of the moon, continued for many years, has established the fact that the cen tre ’of gravity of the moon, instead of being , like that of the earth, at the centre of the figure, is, beyond that centre, and farther from the side next to the earth than it is from the other side by. seventy-four miles. The nearer side of the moon therefore, is a vast "expanded protuber ance or mountain, seventy miles high ; and any fluid, whether air or water, would flow down wards, from the nearer to" the farther side of the moon, ■ where, for aught we know, intelligent living beings may. exist. The nearer side of the moon cannot bo inhabited, at least by be ings to whoso existence; air ■ and water are es sential, as is the case with all terrestrial ani mals. ' ‘ The late celebrated . mathematician, Mr. Gauss, proposed as a means of settling the ques tion whether the moon’is inhabited, that a huge monument should bo erected on the steppes of Siberia, as a-signal to the inhabitants of the moon, in the hope that they might be induced to erect a similar signakto apprise us of their existence. The discovery of Hensel shows that such an experiment could be attended with no success, inasmuch as the inhabitants .of. the moon, if there be any, being on the farther side could never see a monument on the earth . It may, not be uninteresting. to add, that it has been discovered, within, a few years, by means of long ■ continued hourly observations with the barometer, that the moon exerts an ap preciable, influence on the'pressure of the at mosphere : and also by means of long continual magnetic observations,-that it exerts an influ ence on tho declination of. the magnetic needle. Somebody says, “it’s tho last ostrich lea ther that breaks tho husbands hack.” Poor souls! isn’t it rather tho last glass of rum > A Story with a Moral. Christ not a Writer. Is the Moon Inhabited ? 11 oluntccr. WONDERS OF GEOLOGY. The following extracts are taken from “The Old Red Sandstone,” one of the great works of the late Hugh Miller, the Scottish Geologist: Aqueous Life.— ln middle autumn, at the close of the .herring season, when then the fish have just spawned, and the congregated masses are breaking up on shallow and skerry, and dispersing by myraids over the- deeper seas, they rise at times to tho.surface by a movement so simultaneous, that for miles and miles around the skiff of the fisherman, nothing may be seen but the bright glitter of scales, as if the entire face of the deep were a blue rope spatigled with silver. I have watched them at sunrise at such seasons on the middle of the Moray Fiith, when, far as the eye could reach, the surface had been iuffled by the splash of fins, as if a light brs:yi swept over it, and then the red light.has flashed in gleams of an instant on the millions and tens of millions that were leaping around me, a handbreadth into the air, thick as hail-stones in a thunder shower. The amaz ing amount of life which the scene included,” has imparted to' it an indescribable interest.— On most occasions the inhabitants of ocean are seen but by scores and hundred; for in'look ing down into their green twilight haunts, we find the view bounded by a few yards, or at most a few fathoms ; and we can but calculate on the unseen, myraids of the surrounding ex panse by the seen few, that occupy the narrow space visible. Here, however, it was not the, few. but the myraids that were seen —the in numerable and inconceivable whole—all palpa ble to the sight as a flock on a hill-side ; or, at le-st, if all was not palpable, it was only be cause sense had its limits in the lighter ns well as in the denser medium—that the multitudi nous distracts it, and the distant eludes it, and the far horizon bounds it. If the scene spoke not of infinity in the Senseis which Deity com prehends.it, it spoke of it at least the only sense in which man can comprehend it. Now, we are much in the habit of ,thinking of such amazing multiplicity of being—when we think of it at all—with reference to but the, latter 'mes of .the world’s history. Wt think of the remote past as a time of -comparative solitude. We forget that the now uninhabited desert was once a populous city. Is the reader prepared to realize, in connection with the Low er Old Red Sandstone —the second period of vertebrated existence—seems as amazingly fer tile in life as the scene just' .described-oceans ■■ thoroughly occupied with beings ns bur friths aud estuaries when ■ the herrings congregate mo i. abundantly on our coasts ? There are ev idences too sure to bo disputed (hat such must have been the case. I have seen the ichthyo lite beds, where washed bare in the line of the strata, ns thickly covered with oblong, spindle shaped nodules as'l have ever seen a fishing bank covered with herrings; . and have ascer tained that every individual nodule had its nu cleus of animal matter—that it was a stone cof fin in miniature, holding enclosed its organic I mr,' sof bitumen or bone—its winged, or ena -1 moiled, or thom-coyercd ichtbyohto , . I At this period, of our history, some terrible I catastrophe involved in sudden destruction the -■ *ihli of an aredofc least a humired uiiro.s .lVam boundary to boundary, perhaps much more. The ?; ' q platform in Orkneys ns at Cromarty, is. strewn thick with remains, which 'exhibit unequivocally thomarks of violent death.’ The j figures are contorted, contracted, curved,- the (ail in many instances is bent round to (behead, (he spines stick out; the th’S arc spread to : the fall, as in fi ii that die in convulsions. Tho Ptherichihys. shows its a. ms extended at their stillest ankle', as if prepared for an enemy. The ntitudes of all the iohthyolite on this plat form are attitudes of fear, anger and pain.— The remains, too, appear to have suffered noth ing from tho after attacks of predaceous fishes; none such seem to have survived. Tito record is ono of destruction at once wildly spread and total, so far at it extended. Mhoro are proofs that, whatever may have been the cause of the catwtrophe, it must have taken place in a sea unusually still. The scales when scattered by some slight undulation j arc scattered to the dis tance of only a few indies, and still exhibit their enamel entire, and their peculiar fineness of edge. . The spines, oven when separated, re tain their original needle-like Sharpness of point. Rays, welt nigh ns slender ns horse hairs, are enclosed unbroken in tho mass. Whole ichthy olifes occur, in which not.only all the pails sur vive, but oven tho expression which the stiff and threatening attitude conveyed when tho last struggle was over. Destruction must havo come in the calm, and it must have been el the kind by which the calm was nothing disturbed. In what could it havo originated ? By what quiet but potent agency of destruction were the innu merable existence of an immeneo area annihi lated at once, and yet the medium in which they had lived left undisturbed? Conjecture lacks footing in grappling with the enigma, and expiates in uncertainty over all the known phe nomenon of death. Medical Quacks and Imposters. It is a lamentable fact that people generally are ever ready to avail themselves, when sick, of the adiftfce of quacks and imposters. Almost every itinerating humbug that comes along— cither of the old country or our own—gets some anxious deluded patient in his clutches, and a'-; ier fleecing him to the utmost farthing suddenly decamps for other parts to' pursue still further his swindling operations. How long will peo ple suffer themselves to be thus cheated and deceived ? How much longer will they consent to fiavo ‘Dr; So and so, recently from England;’ or Professor somebody else, formerly of some State Penitentiary,practice upon ther credulity, and finally run ou with their pocket books and contents '( Itinerant quack humbuggery in medicine is perhaps more prevalent than in any other pro fession or calling. Persons, when sick or. dis eased, are ready and anxious to try almost any thing they may hear of, that will be likely in the smallest degree to afford them relict. Hence these multiplied impositions. If. people would consult a physician of known respectability and standing, one of their own fellow citizens, who has made medicine and thq human system the study of His life, they would be more likely to have their health restored and their money saved; .while they would at the same time, greatly con tribute towards driving all pretending charac ters from their assumed calling, to some honest trade or business for a livelihood. It should bo observed (is a general rule, ap plicable in all cases and without exception,that a physician of note or skill is never compelled to travelfrom place to place, hanging his shin gle on the nearest tree or fence, in order to ob tain practice. His reputation and fame may travel, but he is permanently located some where, supported by the confidence and patron age which his ability and knowledge are sure to bring him. O’ On Friday morning, as Judge Amansa J. Parker, Democratic candidate for Governor, entered the Lecture Room of the Albany Law School, of which he is a professor, the whole class rose and gave three hearty cheers. The Governor that is to be responded most aappity. O' A philosophical traveller appears to bo speculating upon the ago of the Mississipi river. We wonder if a man’could tell the age of tho Father of waters as jo.ckics do that of a horse — by looking at the snags In his mouth. ’ AT §2,00 PER ANNUM The Woodpecker's Dill and Tongue. “‘The woodpecker laps the hollow beach tree.’ Tap, tap, tap, rap, rap, rap. How it echoes through-the still woods, said a little boy strolling in the woods, and every now and then hearing the tap, tap, tap, rap. rap. rap, of the hard working little bird. “ What’s he do ing it (or, I wonder?” He is getting his breakfast. He lives bn the worms and insects which inhabit old trees. — First he taps at the tree to find out if it’s hol low ; then he drills a hole in it, rap, rap. rap, tiulil he comes to the worms, when he darts his long tongue Into their snug nest, and hooks them into his mouth. There is the bill, hard and sharp, which , he raps and drills with. — There is Ins .long tongup, with, a sharp bony thorn at the end of it, covered with something like teeth turned backward to keep fast hold Of the worms. It is three or four inches long, and is a tool well made for his work ; is ?— Woodpeckers would make great havoc Willi the worms which infest, and destroy fruit tree's, if we would invite them to. bur gardens, and pot frighten them off with our fowling pieces. Besides getting iiis breakfast with bis bill, he builds his nest, with it in tho same way ; that is, bo bores out a hole in the soft, rotten wood, lines it with a blanket of moss, and the mother bird lays her tggs, “ The woodpeck er’s mouth is certainly a very curious tool, ex-, nelly filled for the work it lias to do. Did r lhe woodpecker invent it himself, do you suppose, as men invent their tools ?” “ No, no, ’ tho little bOy answers. “ God himself contrived it. He makes nil the different mouths his creatures have; nnd Oh, they are so different.'”- I am sure we can say with good king David, “ 0 Lord, bow manifold are thy works ! in wisdom hast thou iiiqdjj them all” — Child's Paper. The Crops in the-West; One of our subscribers, an Exeter farmer,who emigrated to the West n year or two ago,writes to us as follows from Delaware co.,lovjp, under date of Sept. 11,1858: “I will give some information about the crops here in the Westi which'may bo interest ing to you. We had a very wet season all sum mer; but we have tine weather now. The crops are very light in lowa, and, ns far as we can iearn, they failed all over the Western States. In Indiana, Illinois, "Wisconsin and Minnesota, the crops were all blighted and rusted. I have seen some fields where the wheat was all killed by the rust before it came. rinto heads, The most of the wheat and oats was not worth har vesting, and a’great many farmers did not har vest theirs at all. Some turned their cattle.in, and others left it rot., There is still a prospect for hard times. The new crop, what there is of it, is not good for flour. I have seen where they have been threshing wheat, the one-half was not worth any thing; the grains were mouldy and shrunk. There is not much old wheat in the country. Corn lo'oks tolerably well, but I heard some say that; it was sickly too ; that there was sick grains among it,mom-' dy like, wheat. ’ Potatoes will , yield about half ■ a c(op. I learn thafjn Wisconsin there arc no ; potatoes at all —they are all rotted, I i '*‘But this is a great country for melons and I garden truck. I have raised cantelopcs that measured 24 inches round, and weighed over 10 lbs.', and radishes that measured 18 inches round, and weighed .15 Jbs. I should like to send 'you some lor a specimen, if I had the chance to do so. If Cumberland county can beat this, she is welcome to do it. I I All O’er True Talc. A few afternoons since, in walking down Ap p'ollo street, our .attention was arrested, by an bumble, procession passing.slowly up to Lalay otto Cemetery. It was one carriage only, and its occupants were a decently dressed man and woman—evidently husband and wife—holding between them a diminutive white coffin—that of a child afiout three. years old; Both looked pale and oare-worp; the woman weeping silent.' ly—the man, however,With a stern expression about the brow, eyes and mouth,' that showed what efforts lie was milking to retain his compo sure. Two days after, about the same hour, wo again saw tho snmo sad procession—the same mourners—only those tivo afflicted beings—and resting on their laps a tiny cotlin, evidently that of a babe. . ■ Tho woman this time had a haggard expres sion—a blink stare, a bewildered look. She evidently saw nothing of what passed around her. She was in all likelihood unconscious ol even tho extent ol her own bereavement. Tho misery she bad undergone hud ovorbiirthcncd her mental faculties; they were strained almost heyon'd endurance. She had no tears to shod ; life was evidently indifferent to her. The man on the other hand, appeared to be overwhelmed with’ grief. Gone the firm coni pfcssiiioof the lips, tho almost fierce-gaze-of the eyes, the fixed frown of (ho.brows. Tho father bent down on the little white hox that seemed almost a toy; so small was it. .His arms were stretched over it, his face leaned on it; it seemed ns if ho wore trying to grasp and hold to his bosom, and drag from tho tomb, tho cold form of his babe.. It was, doubtless, the darling of the house ho ilius embraced; it was'perhaps, too, the last of the little ones of tho house. . How desolate must bo the hearth whore little children were and,where they are no more.— None but parents can realize tho pang such a loss inflicts: and, alas! how many parents have reajized that bitter pang this season.— N. O. Picayune. Or.n BAcnELcms. —An exchange says: “If onr Maker thought it wrong for Adam to live single, when there was not a' wolnan upon the earth, how criminally guilty arc old bachelors, with the world full of pretty girls !” The Savannah News meets tho railing, acou- sation: . “Ever since the clays,of Aclanf, old bache lors have been the biilt of everybody’s ridicule. We protest Against it. There is a vast difler ence between Adam and the old bachelors of otir day. Adam could ujfonl to marry—many bachelors nowa days can’t. VVhat with crin oline. five hundred dollar shawls, diamond bracelets, and pin money, it is no small under taking at this'ago of the world. Eve had ho choice—it was Adam or nobody. She had no chance tp gef up a flirtation, for there was no one to flirt with. Seeing no other means of tantalizing her husband —a feminine peculiarity from that day to this—she got hifti intb a scrape by-eating the forbidden fruit. “Old bachelors arc criminally guilty,” arc they 1 Givo."old bachelors” the same chance Adam, had, and ouf-word for it, a majority of them would put on matrimony in no lime.” And then the Columbus Inquirer clinches the matter-: • “Thera’s our sentiments, to a fraction. And it is oor opinion, further, that if some married men were restricted to the same attractions and temptations that Adam had, there would be fewer applications to put off matrimony when oftcO assumed. ■ 0, for the good days of Adam and Eve!" . rn7*Ari English prize tighter, who. tilled Ms Ilian in a “ring light,” has been tried, com'ie tod of manslaughter, and sent to prison athurd labor'.' 1 i Girls; be Cahtioos. lowing paragraph, like tnaby others good, wo find floating around without t mailers but littlo though, who the uuinor may bo for it some very excel lent advice which wo commend to all our young lady readers—especially those who contemplate matrimony. , . . “ Girls, beware o( transient young men— never sutler tho address of strangersrecollect one good, steady former’s boy or industrious mechanic is worth more than all tho floating i trash in tho world. Tho allurements of a dan dy-jack, with a gold chain about his neck, n Walking stick in his paw, some honest tailors coat on his back, and a brainless, though fancy ■ skull, can never make tip tho loss of a kind far ther’s home, a good inother’s council, and tho society of brothers.,and sisters;'their affection lasts while that of such a man is lost at the wane of tho honey-moon. Girls beware, take hoed lest yo should fall into tho “ snare of. tho fow. icr,” too many have already been, taken from a kind father’s homo and a good mother’s coun cil, and,made tho victim of poverty and crime; brought to slmmc and disgrace and then thrown upon their own resources, to live their few. re maining days in grief And sorrow; while (fip brainless skull is milking its circuit .around liib world, bringing to his ignoble will all that may bo allured by .his deceitful snares,' many a fair one the shame of his artful-villainy.” NO. 17. Friend Taylor, of tlip Chicago Journal, beau tifully explains'the sadhess which sccms.'to come upon humanity in the "melancholy days’.’ of tho “ sore and yellow leaf,” —tho. descend ing of .tho year. ~ . ... - “ But you do not feel quite soihorry,(hotfgh. ns you did in leafy -Juno, when yiiu- wete as {risky, it not as innocent as a lamb. The truth is, you have not drank so much oxygon; of laid. Tho loaves, many of them, are beginning to . close up tho season’s business; they liberato more carbonic acid, and yield less of Nature'S 1 true “be joyful.’? • Tho'thonghtlnl sadness that Autumn induces is not altogether the spiritual.effect men like to fancy it; it is rather because their rations bf drink lire diminished, than that they are listen, iirg to Nature’s preaching. , . ; So a man needs a great stack of cheerfblneSll for Autumn use,; laid away liko'thp marrow in his bones for a time of need. ■ Show, us. a wo man who is as merry in tho “melancholy days” when the hoarse winds have caught, cold, : and tho withered loaves rustle about sprinkled with frost and .the bare grape vino that shingled the arbor with.green, looks like an anaconda trying to swallow a summer-hopse; who is 113 incvi-y then as when there is a sweet south wind and a hank of violets to make love to, and wo will show you a woman that will gracefully bend to rplaforluno like a flower to .tiro wind,, and when the blast is gone by, will stand as erect and as lovely as before.’’ D’laraeli, speaking of the society of roflno’d and charming women, says :. “ It is an acquaintance which, when habiTua. ted, exercise a great influence over the tone of the mind, even if it does not produce any micro violent effects. It refines.the taste quickens the perception, and gives as it were, a grace and flexibility to the. intellect.” Somewhere else, tile writer remarks, that men are as mnch stim ulated to’mental effort by the sympathy of the gentler sox, as by th e desire Of power and lame. Women are more disposed to appreciate any in. lelloctunl superiority Ilian inch, or at least, they are as often .captivated by the noble manifestly tionsof genius, as by the fascinations of man ners and (he charms of person. And Sidney Smith'says: “Among men of sense and liberal politeness, a woman who has successfully cultivated her mind, without di minishing the gentleness and propriety of her manners, is always sure to moot with a respect and attention bordering upon enthusiasm;” Again, another writer observes that, “of all other views a man, in time, grows yred, blit in the countenance of women there is a variety which sets weariness at defiance! ‘The diyiho. rigid of.beauty,’ says Junius, ‘is the only di- Ivlno right a man can acknowledge; and not a pretty woman the only ; tyrant ho not" author, izod to resist.’ ” ■ Xt is.bettor for you to.pass nri evening once or twice A week In a Indy’s drawing-room, oven though tho conversation is slow, and you know the girl’s song by heart, than iu.a club, tavern or (he. pit of a theatre. . All. amusements of. youth to which virtuous women afo not admit ted, rolyon it, nro dclitorious in their nature. All, men who avoid female society have’dull perceptions, and are stupid, or have gross tastes and revolt against what is pure. Your club swaggerers, who are sucking the biitts of billiard cues all night, call female society insipid. Poe try is insipid to,a pokedbeauty has no charms, to.a blind man; music does not please a poor boast who docs not know one tuno Irom anoth er ; and rs a true epicure is hardly over fired of • water sanohy and brown bread and butter, I confess I can sit fora whole night talking .to,a well-regulated, kindly woman, about hor-girl coming out, or her boy at Bton, linddike tho evening’s entertainment. Ono of tho greatest benefits a man may derive from women’s socie ty Is, that ho is bound to bo respectful to" them. The habit is of great good to your moral man, depend upon jt. Our education makes of us tho most eminently selfish men in tile-world.— Wo fight for ourselves, we.push.'for'ourselves, we yawn fcfr ourselves, wo light our pipes, and and say - wo won’t go out; wo prefer ourselves and our ease; and tho gieatest good that,comes to a man from.a woman’s society is, that bo has to think ofspmcbodybesides himself,'s6mcbody to whom he is bound to bo constantly attentive and respectful. ' ' A Wide CirAnAOTKR. —At the Supremo Court of Vermont, Mrs. Sarah A. Mott was divorced from her husband, Mr. Darwin Mott. The lint, land Herald gives the following biography of this worthy, which for pith is rarely equalled : Wo know that man —Darwit Mott. Ho Vapid to St. Albany with a long face, a. silver-hep (led cane, and “Kev.” prefixed ■ to his .name. \Ho preached ono faith a' liny months ago, and s\uH' denly changed it. Ho preached and went t> hunting tho same’ day'. He, preached on "tem perance, (and the people were astonished. at Ids stolen lectures and feigned liOheSty,) and got drunk. Ho lectured to-the young ladies, and played the adulterer. He kept a bad school—edited a reckless paper—stole money, and charged the theft upon tho servant girl got the offleo o( Deputy Inspector—got drbnlf upon smuggled liquor—took ono shirt—anoth er mafi’s wife and n bundle of manuscript ser mons, and run away from bis own’wife, bis pa,- per .and a crowd of creditors.” A McniTEn Alfred: W. Johnson, of Me., in a speech a short time since, paid the present administration the following deserved compliment: “ I cannot close.without saying that I have entire conlidenco in the ability, integrity and, patriotism ot the present national executive. I know the administration- of James Buchanan has been bitterly assailed by' many at .lire north turd'by the extremists at the south. I know that our ultra men hero Say that the adfiiinistral tioh lias accomplished nothing so far lor tiro good of the nation. , I point them with pridoJo' the suppression of filibustering nt the extreme south;-tiro crushing out of rebellion: in Utah, without bloodshed ; the sending of a (loot into' the gnlt to sustain our national honor and to punish insults to otrr national flag in sotrlirigtlie question of tire right of search. I point to tho new systems of economy introduced into thpi politic service. I point to the admirable foreign policy oftho administration, and I challenge' objections IVom the opposition.” ’ O” Crinoline on the street, or crinoline off the sidewalk, or crinoline of the barrel hoojl order, certainly can never bo popular, bitt there are creatures that approve of crinoline, hooped with whalebone, because it stimulales'the whale fishery, aids manufacture, and display's afilties to a delirious extent in going up stairs: jy Bishop Doano, of New Jersey, has for bidden Kcv. Air. Carden, of Philadelphia, front again entering an Episcopal pulpit in New Jer sey. The cause- of oflenoo consisted in Mr- Carden calling on some Methodist ministers to. assist him in the administration of Communion sci'vico. l '.'.h“t A Kcw .Thought. About Women. Fn/Inencc of Female Society.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers