Si in mrmr fill tit ffiPT : ; "OUR COUNTRY—MAY IT ALWAYS BE RIGHT^BtTi'BIGHT OK WRONG; ODR COUNTRY." 'L. 46. lOAN YOLUNTEEII. HBD EVERY THURSDAY WOIHONO Bf rOUN B. BRATTON. TERMS. rtON.— -One Dollar and Fifty Cents, paid ; Two'Dollars if paid withiti the year; 'ollars and Fifty Gents, if not paid.witbin Those terms will'bo rigidly adhered.to in ice. - .No subscription discontinued until are paid unless at the option of the’ -Accompanied by the casii, and to, square, will , bo inserted, three liar, and twonty-Cyo cents for each m. Those of a.grcator length in -Such as Hand-bins, Posting-bills, Ics. Labels, Ac. Ac.,.executed with the shortest notice. !|Wicnl. 'S ÜBOWISG OLD, JOHN. DY J. Q. A. WOOD. growing old, John 1 aro growing dim, are on bis shoulders laid, weight for him.. , id I are young and bald, i a stalwart man, st .make his load as light os we can. "f fe take tho brunt. John, and the plough, ' • our porridge by the sweat led down bis brow; \rd wo him complain, - .as toil might be, Iwanted e'er a welcome scat h v knee, ' i i ■ when otir boy-strength camo, John, |* sturdy grow each limb,_ \ v us to 1 tho yellow ilOld, . i B^aro iho toil with him; - „ * * went foremost in tho swath, aside tho ; grain> t ''' like the plough that heaves the soil, i ships that'shoor thb main. '■ zMk'r' : .■••• - •■■■.•. (oW.wo must load tho van, John, ' , Throughw.oather foul and fair, i lot tho old man road and dozo, id tilt his easy chair j Wfi hot mind it, John, you.know> ; eve to tell us.o'dr. ic bravo old days of British times, and tho war. , trd you speak of ma’am John 1 is gospel what you say, Rearing for the like 61* us ' is.turncd her head to gray! John, I do remember well hen neighbors called libr vain, whoa her hair was long, and Uko gloaming sheaf of grain. ips wore cherry red, .John, . -ebooks wore round and fair, ; ik& aripßnedpoacb'.tLby unst her wavy hair.. . itep fcll lightly as the leaf mi off the summer tree, lU'day,busy at. the wheel, ... sang to you ami mo. id a buxom arm, John, it wielded well.the rod,, a’cr with wilful step our feet path forbidden trod 5 • » tho heaveu of her oyo g . never looked in vain, vor more bur yielding cry ight down her tears like rain is is long ago,. John, wo aro what wo are, ttlo hood wo, day by day, fading oheek and hair; rhon bonoath her faithful breast tides no longer stir, - ion, John, wo the most shall fool had ho friend liko her 1 there can bo no harm, John, ts speaking softly o'er tossed name of those o'er long 11 welcome us no more. _ jido it not, for why abould’st thou honest tear disown ? , heart ono day will lighter bo, v v Remembering it has flown. 'I ri . . . . • . < r Tes, father’s growing old, John, His eyes aro getting dim, • An<jl mother's treading, softly down deep.descent with him ; and I.aro young and halo, .. And caoh a stalwart man, ; must make their path as smooth, lovol as wo can. • • .. ■L_L_ I Li..... ' ■ >' i .THE ANGEL BRIDE. h* ' Pack! The manosciupt of a late physician. w®®PBh^ nm S —“ l 0 evening of a summer - ;he s W eet hush of nature, unbro iglo sound of busy life, harmonized dully with the oppressive stillness !d the chamber whither my foot lent. It was on the ground floor .■esidenoe in the outskirts of the lts open windows overlook whore taste and beauty reigned second Eden, which, extended iptible delineation to tho very mar :am, where it was bounded by a Vend bk a hedge of low trimmed over which- the eye caught the 9r ? ea they swept on glowing in of:the sunset. the house and stepped lightly ted passage, tapped softly at the chamber of sickness—aye, of doctor,” said the silvery voice > sat at a low couch, partially' 'hito drapery. ‘‘Welcome! the is now in quiet slumber—but ' awake, and one of her first in fer you." ir sweet Lucy now?” ion quiet and apparently com ly. It is her Sabbath, doctor, worshippers, who go up to the i of Zion.” “Oh,” she added, . , 'gut of joy irradiated her fea turssj-.pala vwith long vigils at the bedside of •,sjveet Lucy, ‘‘Oh 1 how full of consolation is the scene I of mortal life and suffering, of ' 7hess, of expiring hope I" dear friend,” I replied, t'your.cup indeed sweetened from on high. . my hopeless care a victim un in after a long and faithful warh i recollection of the sad struggle, inguish vanquished the .fierce tri ponquoror, and the piercing.wail nature, haunt my niemoiy still; this earthly paradise, I \oannot lor Edward .gone, at last, to his it? Oh, how fearful!’’ and the .jjSgfer (81her face and wept; elapsed. I lingered at the qouoh '^;Pf T ;[Engy till she should awake, and taking 'Wiathe'starid a small though, elegant copy I opened the silver clasp,.and I l ?S : S?M au Bh* l the simple inscription on the I fly leaf, “To my Lucy—a parting gift of Clar ence.”, I hod designed to read ajjportion. of the word, but my thoughts were for , a time engrossed. . I had known Lucy May from her infancy, and she was , scarcely less dear to me thohmy own daughter. Indeed they had grown up like twin blossoms, and were together almost every hour of the day. Seventeen summers they both had numbered—though Lucy was some months older ; no brother or sister hod either of them, and hence the intensity of mu tual love. Their thoughts, their afflictions, and their pursuits were in 1 ’ common. • They called ;,rch other “sister,” and their inter course honored the endearing name., ■ And Clarence, the giver of this little volume in my hand—who was he ? . Clarence Hamil ton was the son of my best earthly friend, and a nobler youth, to all the lofty faculties and endowments of the heart and intellect, never rejoiced in the vigor of life and eprly man hood. -To him had Lucy been betrothed for more than a year, and ho was now absent from the village, though we trusted, when each .sun rose, that its sitting would bring him baok'in answer to our cautious summons. Especially had hope and experience grown within oUr hearts on that evening, yet not a word had been spoken oh the subject to the widowed mother of the lovely Lucy. However, she raised her drooping head, and observing the open volume in my hand, she said in .an as sured tone of cheerfulness, “I trust Clarence will.come home this evening.. It is now— “ Clarence,” said the sweet patient, opening her dark eyes and looking eagerly around. Her eye rested bn her mother and myself, and with a slight quiver and a sad smile, she said, “he is . not come.” “No, my darling, ho is not como; but there is more than an hoar to the close of day; and then—” “God grant that ho may come,” said the maiden, and she added ■with energy, “if it be His holy ■ will. Oh, doctor, my kind, dear friend, your Lucy is wearing away fast, is she not?” and then observing the emotion which I attempted to conceal, she said, “but I am bettor today, am I not ? Where, is Ellen—, why does she not'come?” , Her mother turned an enquiring glance at me as I took the thin, white hand of the young girl in mine, and marked the feeble but reg ular. beating Of the ’ pulse. “Shall ’ I send for your daughter, doctor ?” she asked'. ’. ‘ I acquieaoedjifthd in a .few minutes Ellen was sobbing violently; with her face hidden on the bosom of her‘‘sister.” ' , ' “Ellen, my sweet sister,” said Lucy, “your father has told me.lthat. I . must leave—” and her voice falteredV “my own dear mother, and —■” but she did not‘utter the name of her lov er, for at that moment the voice of one of the domestics was distinctly heard saying: ‘.'Heiscomo. My’, Clarence is come. Now God'bloss my dear yonhg lady.”>• ■ • ' Lucy uttered n scream of joy, and clasping Ellou -arouiul the neck, e.Kclaimed-—‘.‘i'c; --Tr ill Heaven, ! thank thee; and then fainted with, excess of happiness. .’.Her swoon was brief. ■ She recovered almost immediately, and her face was radiant with happiness, Clarence Hamilton was still pursuing his studies at a distant college, and the letter which summoned Mr; H. had scarcely inti mated danger of the illness of his betrothed. It had been delayed on the way, and but half the time of its journey had sufficed to bring the eager anxious student to the spot where his heart had shared its affection's, and cen tered its hopes, next to heaven; for Clarence was more than a noble-hearted, high-souled mian; he was the disciple of Jesus Christ; and ho was getting himself to bo an apostle of his holy religion. Ho had nearly completed his course of studios, and was then to be uni- ted to the beautiful Lucy May. ■ Three months before the Sabbath evening of which wo write, Lucy was in ; health, and, with her companion Ellon, was performin her delightful duties as a Sabbath school teacher. Returning homo, she was exposed to a sudden storm, of rain, and took cold. Her constitution, naturally weak, was speedily af fected, ambconsumption, that terrible foe of youth ;and beauty, seized upon her as another victim for its mighty holocaust of death. . At first the type of her disease was mild, but within three weeks it had assumed a fearful character, and now her days were evidently few. For ibis dreadful intelligence Clarence was not prepared. Ho learned; ■ but ho hoped more, and though his heart was heavy, hope kindled a bright smile in his manly face ns he entered the parlor where he had spent so many hours of exquisite happiness, lie hatj alighted from the stage just before it entered the village, and proceeded at once to the resi dence of. Lucy. As Mrs. May entered the room, the smile on his lips faded, for her pale face told a sad tale to his heart. “Clarence, dear Clarence, yob have the welcome of fond hearts.” “ How is Lucy?. Why is your face deadly pale ? Oh, say, is she not dangerously ill ?. toll me”—and a thought of misery entered his heart, “she is—oh, my God, my Father ir heaven, strengthen me—she is dying—even now, dying I" ” ' ' “Nay,' nay, Clarence,” said the mother, soothingly, “Lucy lives, and wo must hope for the.best; but bo not'alarmed if you see, her face paler than, my own. Are you able to bear the sight now.?". There was but little consolation to his fears in the reply of. Mrs. May, Lucy was living, but there was; an anguish in the expression, “ hope for the best;” and he said hurriedly, “ Oh, take me to her at once, now,” and ho pressed Ijis hand on his throbing brow, and sinking on his kness, whilst Mrs. May knelt beside, ho entreated God; in, a voice choked with emotion, for strength to bear the trial to kiss the rod of chastisement, to receive the .bit ter with the sweet; and prayed, that the cup might pass from him,' even as did his roaster in the days of his incarceration and anguish. He arose and with, a.calmer .voice, said: “ I can see her now," At this moment I joined them with Lucy’s earnest request that Clarence should come to her at once. Wo entered the chamber just ns Ellen had partially opened a bliqd, and, the last rays dr sunlight streamed fairly through the room,' and fell for a moment on the white cheek of Lucy, rendering its hue still more snowy. ; | . Alas I Clarence, ns r his earnest eyes met those of his betrothed—her whom ho had left in the very blush of- perfection, .of youthful loveliness—now how changed I VHis heart sank within him, and with a wild sob of anguish ho clasped her pale thin fingers, and kissed her colorless lips, kneeling : the while at the Side of the couch. “Clarence, my- own-Clarence,” said the dear girl, with an effort to rise, which she did, Sorted by his arm. Ho spoke not—he I not, dared nojt speak. ' 1 - ' “Clarence, cheer, up, my beloved.” But her fortitude failed, and all she could do was to bury her face in hdr lover’s bosom and weep. Wo did not attempt to check their grief; nay,'we wept with them, and sorrow for a while, had its luxury of tears unre strained. , ' Clarence at length broke the silence. ’ “ Lucy, my own dear Lucy 1 God forgive me for my own selfish grief/’ and.he added fervently, lifting his eyes to heaven, “ Father give us grace to bear this trouble arightand turning to mc| added, “Doctor, oh! pray that we may have strength to meet this' hour like Christians.” : . When the voice of prayer ceased, all feel ings were calmed, but I deemed it prudent to .leavo the patient to brief repose; and Ellen alone remaining, we retired to the parlor, where Clarence Icarncddrom us more of her illness, of her true condition—for I dared not to delude him with false hopes. ' “ Doctor,” said he, with visible anguish, “is there no hope ?” “Not of recovery, I fear, though she may linger sometime with us, and be better than she is to-day.” / ' “ Then God’s will be done,” said the young man, while holy confidence lighted up his face, now scarcely less pale than that of' his be trothed Lucy. . . Day after day the poor girl lingered, and many sweet hours of conversation did Cla rence and Lucy pass together;' once even she was permitted to spend a few moments in the portico of the house, and os Clarence support ed her, and saw a tint of health overspread hef cheek, hope grew strong in his heart.— But Lucy doubted not that she would die speedily and happy ; this conviction reached her heart ere Clarence came, so that the ag ony of her grief in prospect of separation from him had yielded to the blissful anticipation of heaven, that glorious cli. ie where she would ere long meet those from whom it was more than death to part. “ Dear Lucy,” teid Chrcnce, as they stood gazing on the summer flowers, “.yoii are bet ter, love. May riot our heavenly Father yet spare you to me—to cousin Ellen—to happi ness?” " ' Ah, Clarence, do. not speak of this. It will only end in deeper bitterness. F must fo; Clarence, you must riot mourn even when exchange the bright world for the paradise of immortality.” . ■ , Clarence could Hot answer! hand and draw it close to his throbbing heart; and she resumed, pointing to a bright cluster of amaranths. •. “■See I there, Clarence, is the emblem of the life and joy to.which l am hastening.” Three weeks had passed. It was' the eve ning of the Sabbath. X stood by the couch of Lucy May. Her mother and Ellen sat on cither sideb and Clarence Hamilton supported on a pillow in .hjs arm the.head of a fair girl. Disease had taken the citadel, and awaited its' sur-ondcr to death. The man of God, her pastor from childhood, now entered the room, and.Lucy'groeted .him affectionately ; and ho said, “is rt wcU with thy soul?’ 1 ' i’ . ‘ She answered, in a clear apd sweetly con fiding voice: “It is well! Blessed Redeemer, thou, art my only trust.” Clarence, now bent his head close to. the head of Lucy, and whispered in her car, but so distinctly that wo all hoard: ■ “Lucy, since thou may not bo mine in life, bo mine in death; lot mo follow, you to the grave as my wedded wife, and I shall have blissful consolation of anticipating a re union in heaven.” . the eye of the dying girl lighted up with a sudden joy, as she smiling' answered; “It is well, Clarence; I would fain bear thy name before I die.” Wo were startled at this strange request and answer ; but no heart or lip ventured to oppose it. Lucy then said: “ Mother, dear mother, deny me not my last request; will you and Ellen dress me in a bridal robe ? I will wear it to my tomb 1” Clarence also besought Mrs. May to grant the wish, and she answered: > “As you and Lucy will; but it will be : —” and her heart spoke, “it will bo a mournful bridal.” Lucy now motioned us from the room, and wo retired. Clarence was the first to speak. “ You will not blame mo that I seek even in the arms of death to make her my wife Qh, how much of bliss has crowded into this one anticipation 1 And though indeed it will be a “ sad bridal,” it will sweeten the cup of bitterness which is how pressedto my lips.” Iff a. few moments we re-entered that hal lowed chamber; the light of day had faded. Lucy was arrayed- in a muslin robe which scarcely outrivaled her cheeks in whiteness, save where the hectic, now heightened by ex citement, flushed in. Clarence seated himself by her, and she was raised to a sitting pos ture, and supported her head ,in his arms. — She placed her hand in his, and said, half plaiylully, half sadly, “ J Tis a worthless offer ing, Clarence.” - ' He. pressed it to his favored lips—his face pale and'flushed by turns. The minister arose and stood before them, and, in a few words and simple, united these two lovely be ings in a tie which all felt must-be broken ere another sun would rise. Yet was that tie reg istered and acknowledged in heaven. As the holy man pronounced them one flesh, and lifted up his hands in benediction, Lucy put her feeble arms around Clarence, and, in a low voice, murmured, “ My husband.” ’ _ “ My wife," responded Clarence, and their lips met in a long and sweet embrace. That night, before the last hour, the angel Azraol came as a messenger of peace to the bridal chamber; and, though the new founda tions of earthly bliss had opened in the heart .of'Lucy Hamilton, she repined not at the sum mons,. but, while heavenly joys sat on her fea tures, and her lips murmured, “ peace-rfare woll, husband—mother—-sister —all," her Sure spirit took its flight, and her lifeless bo . y lay in the cmbranco of the woe-stricken Cflarenoe, who still lingers in this weary world, doing his Master’s work, and waiting His will to bo united to his Angel Bkide in Hexv-En/ E7“Mrs. Ann .Wallingford, who, when Anne Robhford, was jnadly beloved by George the Fourth, then Prince of Wales, died lately ,in,London. The Court Circular says she was also asked in marriage by the Duke bf-B—— for hiS son the.Marquis,of C-—-s; while the jPrince of Wales solicited her to bestow her hand upon himself, backing his suit by an of fer of a private marriage, princely settlement, (fee.. The young. jady, wavering .and some what perplexed, between those noble'offers which courted her acceptance, requested La dy Jersey to give her advice how she should act. The CbuntoaS. recommended her not to cpnsnlt her,ho» r t>POh the, occasion, but St. Nicholas, who yyas the, patron saint of virgins. The saint accordingly' appeared to het, but whether when-sleeping or waking history is silent, and decided agairtst both. Boon after,* Miss Rodhforth mot llr, Henry, Wallingford, then the, handsomest man of the day. . A mu tual passion sprang up between them, and in due course they were united, Mr. Walling ford died in 1810, so that his wife survived 1 him for the long term of 40 years. ' | CARLISLE, PA, THURSDAY, JANUARY 19, 1860. In .his very able speech tecently delivered ot Frankfort, Ky., after disoussihg the vari ous topics of the day, Vice -President Breck inridge concluded as follows i . Fellow citizens, I-have uttered these things because I believe wo are standing to day, not in the presence of spectres arid shadows, but in the presence of terrible realities.. There is a mode by which we can have pence—a per manent 'pence—and, that isVby an utter and. absolute surrender, of all obi rights, upon the subject to which I have referred, at the call of this Republican party. lfi,we do. not make this surrender, we ■will' have ho peace'until the Republican party.is.dettasycd, which'can only be done by upon the public mind of the North;' As it is, with out our being aware of it, tilings are getting worse every day. ;Thad alnio'st intended to say that we wore absolutelydissolving, month by month, and year by year. . I see no mode —wiser men than I see. no rhode to .avoid this except to produce a, re-aotiph in the: public mind, and to bring' up sharply in some form the question Can we hot, North find’South, Ijve in peace with our several-State institu tions, after Lie manner of our fathers ? For myself, I yet believe in and"!, have an un bounded hope of the ultimate destiny of our common country. I believe ; a reaction will take place, and I believe that put of this com motion is destined to come far us an ora o' tranquility and peace. Of: Nils' I am quite certain; that this. Commonwealth'of Kentucky will puysue acourse answerable to her char acter and history;- she ,jvill stand bytheTUn ion of ,the States ns longins there is a thread of the Constitution to' Wo know that if madness anil (folly and' fanata cism shall succeed in t .ring down the fairest fabric ever erected to: liberty among men, we know that bur honored State conduct her self. with so much moderation: and prudence, that she shall stand justified for hornets be fore men and in the eye of Heaven. Fellow citizens, I do not propose to detain' you by more extended Observations. ; I have trespassed too far upon your time already. I think, if you will allow mo to say so, that I know something of the tompor and spirit and interests of this people, and,; ns' far as my. humble abilities extend, I propose, in the sphere to which you have devoted me, to serve you with all the fidelity of a grateful heart.—: At all times, and under all cLcumstanoos, I owe my. allegiance to this State, and I am ready and willing ■ anid anxious, to devote whatever faculties of mind and body 1' possess toeerve you, nnd sefvo you with;the unCalcu lating devotion of a man who lhyes the green mountains and smiling.,plairis; l ahe clear :run nag streams id the <" nle of. the State, and oi ' infirmities with all the He pressed her Damascus is the oldest city- in "the world. Tyre and Sidon have.crumbled on'the.shore; Baalbec is in.ruin.; Palmyra is .buried in the sands of the desert; Ninevah, and Babylon hate disappeared from the Tigris and Euphra tes ; Damascus remains what it wfys before the days of Abraham—centre of trade and travel —an island of verdure in a jlesert—:“a. pre destinated capital,” with martial and v sacred associations extending through more than thirty centuries. It was near Damascus that Saul of Tarsus saw the “light from Heaven above the brightness of the, . Bun,” the street which is called Strait, in which it was said, “ho prayoth,” still run-through the city. The caravan comes and goes as it did a thou sand years ago; there dre stijl the sheik, the ass, v , d the water-wheel; the; merchants of Euphrates and the Meditterran still “occupy” these “with the multitude of, their waters.” The city which Mahomet, surveyed from a neighboring height, and was afraid to enter, “because it is given to man to, have but one Earadise, and for his part, he resolved not to ave it in this world,” is to. this flay what Ju lien called “the eye of the. Bast/' as it was in the time of Isaiah, “the head of Syria,” From Damascns came the damson or blue plum, and the delicious apricot of Portugal, called dam aso; damask, our beautiful fabric of. cotton and silk, with vines and flowers raised upon a smooth, bright ground; the Damask rose, introduced into England in the time of Henry VIII ; the Damascus blade, Bo u famous, for its keen edge’ and wonderful.- elasticity, the secret of whose manufacture was . lost when Taniorlano carried off the artists into Persia; and that beautiful art of inlaying wood and steel with silver and gold, a kind :of Mosaic, engraving and sculpture united, called Dam as-keohing, with which boxes, bureaus, swords and. guns are ornamented. It is still a city of flowers and bright waters; the streams from Lebanon, the “rivers of Damascus/* the “river iOf still murmur and. sparkle in the wilderness of “Syrian gardens/* The following curious account of a baboon family is translated from a recent French work, by M. Boitard, for' Goodrich's Illustra ted. Natural’llistory: There have been and still are in,the Mena gerie of the Garden of Plants, Paris,. a num ber of baboons, and four years'ago, a female who had a young ope, furnished one of the most amusing and singular, spectacles I over witnessed. She was placed with it in. a cage, near the one she formerly occupied with others of the same species. The infant baboon was hideously ugly, but she lavished upon'it the most tender caresses. When it was eight days old, the door of communication was opened, and her male entered. The mother, seated in the middle of 1 the cage, held the y9ung heir in her arms, precisely as a. nurse Would do under similar circumstances. The happy father approached , and embraced his i mate with French gallantry upon each side of the face; he then kissed the little one, aud sat i down opposite to the mother, so .that their 1 knees touched each other. . They .then both began to move their lips with rapidity, taking j the young one from each " others arms, as u they were having a most animated , conversa tion concerning it. _The door was again opened, and tie Gaboon friends entered one after ahQthor, each em bracing the mother, who, however, would not allow them to touch the young one. They seated themselves in a circle and moved their lips; as if felicitating, the, happy couple on the arrival of the son and heir, and .perhaps find ing in it a marvellous resemblance to either the father or mother. . This-scene was very much, like-that which often takes place in the human family on similar occasions, except that wo suspect that the felicitations' were more heartfelt and genuine on the parfc.of the' brutes, than on that of their more, favored prototypes. All the baboons wished to cores? the young one; but no sooner did one of thont put for ward his haiid, than a good slap from the mother warned him of his indiscretion# Those who were placed behind her stretched.'their hand out suly, slid it under her armband suc ceeded sometimes, to their groat joy, in touch- An Eloquent .Peroration. An Infant Baboon. ing the little one without the mother perceiv ing it, particularly when she was engaged in conversation. But a smart correction soon taught them that their indiscretion was ob served, and, they quickly retreated. It was evident that the monkey mother, thoroughly acquainted with the-requirements of her po sition, know perfectly well how to divide her attention between her guests and her infant charge. ELEPHANTS. As Pan Rico has a most remarkable ele phant now exhibiting at his. Great Show, whoso wonderful performances have aston ished thousands, a few remarks upon the ani mal may not be out of place here. In some countries, we are told, elephants supply the place of executioners. They are trained, at a given signal, to day hold of the criminal with their trunks, by a strong suc tion; and either dash, him-violently (against the ground, or toss him aloft in tho'hir, until repeated contusions put a period to his life.— Mankind are very prone to’value themselves on their supposed civilization; and yet, by artful practising on the ferocity of inferior an imals, they sometimes teach brutes themselves to be still more brutal. Clumsy as ■ elephants are; they may ho tought.to dance, both singly and in compa nies ; and they move, on these occasions, with singular exactness and order. They are not insensiblo to the harmony of muiiic'; and if properly inured, keep time with their feet, in a, manner which. discovers great powers of judgment. If I. rightly, remember, Bishop Burnet informs us in his travels, that he saw an elephant play at hall, with all the ease and expertnoss of n man. But Plutarch, in his life of Pyrrhus, mentions a much nobler in stance of elephantine understanding and. adroitness; accompanied by such magnani-' irons courage and fidelity, as would have re dounded to the honor of a Sertorious, or of an Alexander. When Pyrrhua stormed the town of Ar ;os, a number of accoutred elephants, according to the custom of those times,. form ed a part of his military apparatu s One of those creatures, perceiving that hie rider wee fallen, invited him, by every effort in his pow er, to remount- But finding soon after, that he, (viz. the rider) was dead of the wounds lie had received ;*the animal, in a transport of grief.and rage, rushed furiously on friends and foes without distinction; and taking up the body with his trunk, made good his re treat, and rescued the remains of his breath less master from further violation. The elephant is tamed chiefly by hunger and by blows; they are said to be extremely fond of pomp, p; tl receive very pleasurable ideas from hie exhibitions of splendor. Thu.' in a circus, surrounded with all the; gaiety of colors, and a crowded house, with music, and the' shouts of the assemblage, an elephant is in his element. " ■ “An elephant of'ouchty ih~Sinm',ls knowif by the rings of gold,, silver, or copper, with which his tusks are adorned. They live to an extreme old ago. It is af firmed that they will reach to one, two, or even three hundred years., . This, of course, only applies to those who live according to nature, and hot these who come under the control, and management of man. Water tbe Stock, Plenty of water is as necessary to the thrift of stock as sufficiency of food. The value of food.itself depends largely upon the water it contains. Were it practicable. to expel 'all moisture from it, there would remain a sub stance possessing nutritive properties, but in such form as to be almost valueless for the consumption of animals. Grass owes its su periority over hay, however well cuied, prin cipally of the .water it contains, making it more readily assimilable by the digestive or gans. Bread is better fitted than grain for man’s stomach, principally because of the wa ter incorporated with the nutritious parts du ring the process of cooking. Audit is gener ally understood that cooking food, that is food which by the application of heat has received a larger proportion of water, is far more valu able than in a raw state. It follows that where the supply of water in the food is di minished, as in the use of straw, hay and grain, the animal will need a more liberal supply of fluid. But it does not generally follow that), they got it. Instead of leaving cattle to obey their instincts, by having wa ter accessible at all times, a largo proportion of farmers stint them to a supply twice a day. Often the animals are compelled to go for wa ter quite a distance from shelter, exposed to driving winds; and tioundoring through drifts, the weaker animals being kept back by the stronger, and the whole hurried away by the impatience of the man or boy in charge. No animal can thrive well with such treatment, Proper Form and Shape of Cattle. If there is one part of the frame, the form of which, more than that of any other, renders the animal valuable, it is the chest. There must ho room enough for the heart to 4 boat, and the lungs to play, or Sufficient blood for the purposes of nutriment and of strength will not be circulated; nor will it thoroughly undergo that vital change which is essential to, thg. proper discharge of every function.— We look therefore, first of all, to the wide and deep girth about the heart and lungs. We must have both; the proportion in which the one or the other may preponderate, will de pend on the service we require from tho ani mal; we can excuse a slight degree of flatness of the sides, for he will bo lighter in the fore hand, and more active ; hut tho grazier must have width as well as depth. And not only about tho heart and lungs, but over the whole ribs, must wo have length and roundness; the hooped, as well as the deep barrel, is es sential ; there must be room for tho capacious paunch, room fin; the materials from which the blood' is to bo. provided. The beast should also' bo ribbed homo; there should he a little space between the ribs and the hips. This seems to be indispensable in tho ox, as it re gards a good healthy constitution, and a pro pensity to’fatten 4 ; but a largeness and drop ping; of the belly is excusable in the cow, or rather, notwithstanding it ■ diminishes the, beauty hf tho animal, it leaves room for tho udder ;'and if it is also accompanied by swel ling milk-veins, it generally indicates her val ue m the dairy. The roundnoss and depth of the barrel, however, is most advantageous in proportion ' as it is found behind the point of tho elbow, more than between the shoulders and logs; or low down between tho legs, rather than up wards towards tho withers ( for it diminishes the heaviness before, and tho comparative bulk of tho coarse parts of the animal, which is always a very,great consideration, Tho loins should bo wide : pf this there can bo no doubt; for they..are the prime parts; they should seem to' extend far along tho back; and 4 although the belly should nothang down, tho flanks should be round and deep. Of thohips it is superfluous to say that, with out being ragged, they should bo largo; found rather than wide, and presenting, when han dled, plenty of muscle and fat. The thighs should be round and long, close together whoil viewed from behind, and the further down they continue to bo so the bettor. The logs short, varying like other paris,'according. to the destination of the animal; but decidedly short, for there is an, almost inseparable con nection between length of log and lightness of carcass, and shortness of leg and propensity to fatten. The bones of the legs, andthey on ly being taken as a sample of the bony struc turo of the frame generally, should be small, but not too small—small enough for the well known accompaniment,—a propensity to fat ten—small enough to please the consumer; but not so small as to indicate delicacy of con stitution, and liability to disease. Last of all the hide—thp most important part of all—thin, but not so thin as to indi cate that the animal can endure no hardship; moveable, mellow, but hot too loose, and par ticularly wolf covered with fine soft hair.' SHALE TREES, &e. There are few objects in the vegetable world really more interesting and beautiful than our noble forest trees. No Country oh earth is more blessed than ours; and none can boast of such a variety of magnificent shade trees. Ho only wlj’o has a knowledge of trees and plants, and who has learned to' appreciate their beauties, can enjoy- the pleasures of the country. People who have not seen,our na tive trees in open airy situations, under good, careful culture, know nothing of their real beauties. An Elm, or a Tulip tree, crowded up in a thicket, with a tall, naked trunk, thir ty or forty feet high, and a mere tuft of leaves on the summit, is a: totally different object from the same tree standing- on a lawn, with a finely, developed form, and luxuriant foli age, Trees, like men, and more than men, show culture and care in the training. The Elm, with its wide spreading and gracefully drooping branches, is one of the most elegant of forest trees. The Oak has al ways been held as the emblem of majesty and strength. It is one of the most magnificent, as it is one of t®'longest lived of the forest tribes, and its timber is valuable for its strength and durability. The Beech tree is truly a fine tree, and wore it not so common, its nobjo appearance would bo 'more general ly appreciated. What tree can be more beautiful than our Horse Chestnut; with its largo and glossy fo liage, and graceful cluster of flowers; or the Scarlet Maple, with its bright and early blos soms and silvery foliage; or the Shad-blow lighting up the woods with its flowers of snowy whiteness; or the Azalias, that will sot the hills in a blaze of bloom; or the ’Kal mia, with its tfumpet-llke flowers; or. the Mountain, Ash, with its flowers in spring and its. scarlet, fruit in autumn;.or, the,,Locust,, with its fragraht pint'blossoms ? Then our noble White-,Pine, Hemlock, Balsams, and Spruce, Hickory; Butternut, and Black Wal nut, &e. ’ Why neglect such treasures, and seek for foreign species, not half so grand and beautiful? We Would by ho moans discour age the introduction and planting of rare and fine exotics; they spuld bo mixed with our native trees to give the plantation ah air of keeping and cultivation; ■ There is, wo are happy to say, a groat taste growing up throughout our, country, and es ' peoially around cities and villages, for plant ing shade and ornamental trees. Thousands aud_ thousands of dollars are annually expend ed in ornamental planting, and whilst rare and costly exotics are gathered from all parts, of the world, our own beautiful trees are neg lected. How much might be added to the appear ance of many, indeed, of most of our farms and country residences, if proper attention wore paid to the planting of shade trees in their ap propriate places. Nothing, in our estimation, contributes so much to the pleasantness of a place as the presence of fine trees, and surely no luxury of half the value can be procured for the same price. The cost of procuring and planting a shade dree is so trifling, that on this score at least, there is no excuse for the frequent omissions of duty in this respect.— We say duty, because the planting of trees, particularly fruit trees, is obligatory upon eve ry one who has enjoyed the labors of his pre decessors in the same direction. Every gen eration is to a great extent dependent upon the one which precedes it, for its supply of fruit and shade. But there is another light in which the planting of fruit and shade trees may bo regarded as a duty. The decrease of insectivorous birds, and the consequent alarm ing increase of destructive insects is in a great measure attributable to the fact that one'by one, the trees that offered a refuge have been cut away, and these useful little follows, pro perly indignant not only at. this decided want of taste, but total disregard of their comfort, have taken up their abode in other sections, never to return until their favorite haunts— trees—are returned to them. Handsome fruit and ornamental trees judiciously planted not only advance the beauty but add greatly to the value of farms. Weulhcr Wisdom. It is interesting to remark that the old say ings of our weather-wise ancestors, and their short maxims, founded on the appearance of the heavens, are recognized, as sound by mod ern science. All the philosophy of the ago fails to explain these phenomena satisfactori ly, but the rules they have suggested are, nev ertheless, true. The colours of tho sky at particular times afford wonderfully good gui dance, Not only does a rosy sunset presage fine weather, ami a ruddy sunrise bad weather, as every child'recollects, but there are other tints which speak with equal olcarno||, and accuracy, A bright yellow sky in the even ing indicates wind; a pale yellow, wot; a ua-i tural gray color constitutes a favorable sign in I the evening, and an unfavorable one in the morning, if their forms are soft, undefined, and feathery, tho weather will bo fine; if their edges are hard,' sharp, and definite, it will bo foul. Generally speaking, any deep unusual hues betoken wind or rain, while the more quiet and delicate tints bespeak fair weather. These are simple maxims, and yet hot so sim- I pie but what the Board of Trade has thought fit to publish them for tho use of seafaring men. . A Veteran Charger. —There is serving jn the 11th Hussars, a'chestnut colored troop horse, riafned Bob, of the remarkable ago of 30 years. By the horse register of the regi ment,- it is seen that this horse joined the 14th Dragoons as a four-year-old, on October 2, 1833, and, was transferred in 1842 to the llth Hussars. Ho embarked for the Crimea in ,1854, and was present in all the actions, in cluding Balaklava, in which that regiment Was engaged, being one of very few horses who survived the exposure of that winter, and is still fit for duty in 1859. It is tq bo hoped that such a horse may never leave his regi ment, whatsoever infirmities may overtake him, ' (ibbronb Cnbfl. £6S* “ That’s a flame of mine," as the bel lows said to the fire." : £@“ The soul of liberty is the lore of law, Says the German philosopher. Klapstock. 't DC?” Danger should be feared when distant and braved when present. ! BIT* Adviced from Sante Fe announce that Lt. Julien May died suddenly of apoplexy, at Teooldto, November 22d. BSS“ Some persons can- bo everywhere at homo; others can sit musingly fit home-and be everywhere. V f , DC?” There is want and suffering in and . around us. Look to it yo’who have pleasant! homes and cheerful firesides. .. "C 7 : DC?” Slanders, issuing, from red arid beauti ful lips, are like foul spiders crajvling fbom; the .blushing heart of a rose. ■:7’-o7: AST*The human.heart, like a featherbed; 1 must be roughly handled, well shaken, and' exposed to a variety of turns,‘to prevent,its becoming hard. O” A. young lady, fond of dancing, traveiv ses in the course of a season about four hunt dred miles. Yet no lady would think of wal king that distance in six'months. 0“ A man recently got married in Ken-, tucky one day and hung himself the next;— No doubt he wanted to try all varieties of; nooses to ace which he liked best. ’ : , ■0“ The following is goodadvico topefsdns visiting offices and other business places i Shut the door, and when you are done talk ing, servo your mouth in the same' Way. v O’ A passer-by asked an Irishman gating upon a funeral procession, who was dead.-: I can’t exactly say; sir, said he, but I belavo its the gentleman in the coffin. • , * O’ The biennial report of the Second Au-- ditor of Virginia estimates the population of that State at 1,648,195. The number of slaves is estimated to be 511,154. ‘ DC?' Henry Meacheri of Dickinson, IVlass.,-. on Saturday evening last a week, in afltbf jealousy, shot his wife dead in the presence of her parents, and then killed himself;.. : O’ Thos. Morgan, a young man frpm Rhode Island, was recently arrested in Richmond, Va., and sent to jail for talking with a negro about John Brown and Harper’s Ferry.. • O’ The value of the apple crop.of,Niagara county, New York, is estimated at a haif.mil-. lion of dollars. Two hundred thousand barf rels have been shipped to the cities. ‘ : '0 .. 0”lt is only in England,and the United States, that the verdict of a jury- must he unanimous, In Yfanceva majority decides; in Prussia, two-thirds, E7*-It is a common saying of :hat the lower order of animals have not the vices of man, yet it is certain that some of the insects are hack-hlters, and all the quadrupeds are tale-bearers. , O’Many persons, when they find them selves in danger of shipwreck in • the voyage of life, throw their darling vices overboard, as other mariners their treasures, only to fish them up again when the storm is over. " \Q~ Four hundred years have elapsed since the invention of printing, yet books aire hot in | circulation all over the globe; while the use of tobacco became universal within fifty years of its discovery. ;■ O?” Envy increases in exact proportion with fame. The man that makes a character makes enemies. A radiant genius calls forth swarms of peevish, biting,[stinging insects, just as the sunshine awakens a wortd of flies. : - O’ It is undoubtedly a duty ,to acquire ri ches, not for the condition which they make, but for the power they confer. The wisdom, however, proper to employ them demands even more earnest and honest endeavor, O* An exchange says that we have a right to' toko'an umbrella or a kiss without per mission wherever we can. Well, but if the umbrella isn’t returned, the fault is ours; if. the kiss isn’t it is the lady’s. O’ A person having occasion'to notify his. doctor to visit his wife, said to him as he was stopping into the chaise: “ Now, doctor,' yoii ! lt drive to kill,' won’t you j” “ Yes, certainly,’’ replied the doctor. . , O” Imaginary evils , soon become real ones,- by indulging in our reflections on them; as he, who in a melancholy fancy sees something like a face on the wall or the wainscot, can by two or three touches with a lead pencil, make it loot visible and agreeing with what ho fancied, 0“ “Well, farmer, you told us your place was a good place for hunting ; now wo have tramped it three hours and found no game.” “Just so. I calculate, ns a general thing, the less game there is, the more hunting you have. 1 ' C 7“ A lato celebrated judge, who.stoop.od very much when walking, had a stone thrown at him one day, which fortunately passed over him without hitting him; Turning to his friend,he remarked: “Had I boon an ujv right judge, that might have caused my death.” O 3 The sea is the largest comctry. and its slumberors sloe]) without a monument. All gravo-yards, in other lands, show some sym bol of distinction between the great and the small; the rich and the poor; but. in that ocean cemetery, the king, the clown, the prince, the. peasant, are all undistinguished;’. I A few nights since, some thieves cp- I torod a female seminary at Wheeling, Vi»i, [administered chloroform to the pupils, and I then deliberately carried off all their jewelry j money and apparel, not forgetting to kiss* aid the pretty girls as they lay reposing iuAkv witching beauty. . - . A Valuable Spring.—-It is stated tWat Col. Drake, of Titusville, Pa., is now punning pil from his spring nt tho rate of nearly 4.barrel an hour for twenty four hours in the day, and 'sometimes that amount is far exceeded; The net profits of this one spring at#i .estimated at over twenty thousand dollars per month.-, K - A little boy residing in Union county,- Ky., had his head blown’off a few days ilgo. He bored a whole in a log and put powder rn it, ramnaing the powder down with a stick.— Ho then laid a coal of fire on ‘the hole, 1 and before ho could get away it exploded, the stick striking him on the head, knocking the upper portion off, and killing him instantly, - r : -O’ A clergyman.of a country village do* sired his clerk to give notice that there would be no service in the evening, :os he was going to officiate for another clergyman'. -The clerk, as soon as the service was ended, called out ; “ I am desired to' give notice that there will bo no service this afternoon, as Mr.——-Vgo ing a fishing with another clergyman,’' NO. 32. ■enr-
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers