cyLirova vnu. UOWAIS7IDAIB \S'EDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 1847 A Dream of Sommer. Ili JOHN B. WEITTIZIII Bland as the morning breath of Jane The south-west breeze. play; And, through it haze, the winter noon Seems warm sa summer's clay. The f now-plumed Angel of the North Has dropped his icy spear; Again the mossy earth looks forth, Again the streams gush clear. The fnz his hill side cell forsakes, The muskrat leaves his nook, Tie bluebird in the meadow breaks Is singing With the hrook. Bear up, 0 Mother Nature I" cry Bird, breeze, and stre-amlet tree, - •Our. winter voices prophesy Of summer days to thee!" Se, in those sir inters of the soul. By barter blasts and drear O'erstriept from Memory's frozen pole, Will sunny days appear. - Revising Hope and Faith, they show The soul its living powers, And how beneath the winter's snow Lie germs of summer Bowers The Night is Mother of the Day, The Winter of the Spring, • And ever upon old Decay 'rho greeiveSt mosses cling. . Elthind the cloud the starlight lurks, Through showers the sunbeams fall; For tiod, who loveth all His works, Has left His Hoye with all ! [From the New York Observer.] 'AWAITS on the Antiquities of Egypt. BY MR. GLIDDON 1392E1:11E liVnen the funeral pyre wasyutsand the last valediction was over, men toulea lasting adieu viler*. friends, little expecting the curiosity of 3 futiak,age should comment upon their ashes; nod having no old experience of the duration of these relics had no opinion of such after con siderations."—Sir Thomas Brown. .lr. Gliddod was occupied during his third Lecture tar explaining the origin and means of lire preservation of dead bodies not only hu man but animal among the Ancient Egyptians —a custom. and art which preceded all history —which was interwoven with a variety of polincal and moral considerations more par tici:laq with ins relations to the dark land of the Sacred River and his belief of a Resurrec tion in the mystic and perpetual atnenthi.— Transformed, as we are, fo a new world, speak ing a new language, separated by total revola tens, and by the lapse of 1500 years from the time of the nearest formation' of mummies, it is difficult fur us to imagine the scenes of Eas tern mranniificalion and I shall be, satisfied if we glean some new ideas or new fact in this Vast' hut obscure region of inquiry. ,Ihrect your eyes to the mummy shells inca ses here present, one Olthem containing a hu man littdy in a perfect state of preservation, for which I am indebted to a gentleman of Pita dephia. (the eighteen mummies which I have ordered from Egypt not havinr, yet arrived.) Phis celfin contains the body of a large man. The Hierogly pines on the easeare in the plain, not in the best style, and inform us that he heed lone; after the 18th Dynasty. some six or tenet,. hinulred years B. C. This is one of shut are termed t h e second elasi ill mummies. His name and office are given: Pelesis or a priest or devotee to Isis. Here on the other esis anottp-randil,ffer,iiil% ornament , d case, and Iroui the legend or inscription we "dittover t. at ttie tenant was a idlest of Amon or Ani mal. one of the great Gods of Ezypt whose imply was at Thebes. and also that fits tooth- " liar a sing , r al the Temple. ai.d the signs 101 , 1,k that he was dellleilleni et death to AntllllS (or placed under his care) who was the guar -61,1..1 the ile.of. The dale is uneertaiii. but Frain the ellow color within, it e. inferred to b, [...Vert' than the I.lher• . 11)e coffin is wwod Most (-monolitlt in n.e in the fliellistae of the d e ad. Many aural mummies were then exhibited. a Calf of 110.11.11 A pis. a,Saered Rain—the Cat—ho ram hair—Crocodiles and the egg of the Cro `,7'l""• his. Oa I, Jackal'. Hawks, snakes, . arcs, spreirnens of shoes, papyrus, fruits. and the heads of Idols. &e.. &e. The wort mummy is derived from the Arabs who call the embalmed bodies of the LO pans rnoomirt. This term came to us in the lim e of the Crusades and for a long time mummies were used in medicine. [Those Vh,, are curious in such matters may• consult the works 01 sir Thomas Brown.] The word rat e it Ir. supposed originally lrom moom in Aiatile signify ing bitumen which was—largely :oil ethi.aloo - ng. It was observed that our rd c„gjn probably came from the Semitic ittffe n a winding sheet in which the Mahome t4aus enclus te t (heir-dead, not using a coffin like The oldest sarcophagus known is in the gnash museum and supposed to be of 3000 !ears duration. The learned l i ecturer pro ceeded to speak of the peculiar geographical ( enure s of Egs pt, a land for 300 miles of coast. 0 rucks, alluvium and river. In upper FgYP I there is Intl- nr no rain, and the population de. Pend.upo n the annual inundations of the Nile °, give richness and fertility to their valley.— ° the earliest age they probably buried in the 'and, but animals and even the swelling rivers !would disinter the bodies ; and the y would ntutal.ly seek , as tools were brought into use, inure secure tombs and sepulchres for their ead.. The Western side of the Nile with its rocky I ' l4 4 ordPil them the convenience and sect]• 't they desired. There was also another rea• NI for the choice of this region. The West THE BRADFORD REPORTER as being the point of the setting sun was view ed by the early nations as the place of the dead. It was sacred .among the Jews as the Ereb of of Genesis i. 1. whence the Erebus of the Greek and the Mongrel of the Arabians who derive their names from the same root, be cause a people west of the Chaldean. Hence also the name of the Berber tribes west of Egy pt the Barbara of the hieroglyphics—hence Barbary and our word Barbarian. Tile Ereb was the land , of shades. were the sun went down.; callt4 by the Egyptians Enient, who therefore gave the name of Atuenthi to the fu ture unknown state of the dead. The Orien tals generally buried and still bury their dead in the direction of East and West. Mr. Gliddon then proceeded to offer an in genious explananon of the origin of the pecu liarities of Egyptian architecture, by supposing that a race of Asiatic shepherds coming to the banlis of the Nile, must have depended in great measure upon the lotus root, the papyrus, and the date palm for a subsistence,—that the pa pyrus also supplied them with clothing, mats. ropes, sandals and boa* and thus became one of the earliest elements in civilization. Final ly it was used for paper. an event in their pro gress of almost equal utility with the discovery to modern nations of the art of printing. The lotus bean was long a principal article of food,. and its flowers most sacred. While both the lotus and papyrus were almost extinct in Egypt, the date palm, most valuable (or many purposes, was still abundant. Out of these ma terials the shepherds it must be behieved. con structed their first rude dwellings, and finally. in their periods of civilization and grandeur. adorned with them the proud columns and • monuments of their greatness. Mr. Gliddon's fourth lecture was delivered before a highly intelligent and deeply interes ted audience on Monday evening. It was evi dent from what had been said in the previous lecture, that the preservation of mummies might be traced to an exceedingly remote age, prior to that of those vast excavations and giant mon uments in which they were subsequently pre served. Of this early period Egyptian Histd ry gives us no account. In Chinese History alone do we find some records of primeval et vilizat,m, and even of a period when the cus tom of burying the dead was unknown ; the duty of worshipping parrentsg was enjoined by edict, and as a consequence that of entombing or burying their remains with respect. It may be conjectured that similar was the progress of humanity in Egypt. and that the offensive state of the dead very early suggested the propriety of hiding them from sight. and that they were. enemies and friends, interred even before the Nomadic race pitched their tents on the !clanks of the Nile. It must be supposed that the postu lation had increased to 2 or 3.000.000 before the Dike of Menet', or the Pyramid was con structed. the first a work for reclaiming the land, and the last of a magnitude not to be un dertaken without a surplus population. Dur ing this period the Valley of the Nile became extended, and in the outer part sandy by ab rasions of silex and other materials brought by the winds from the hill, the Etesian being par ticularly powerful, and by repeated inunda tions of the river, the bad of the Nile, like that of our own Mississippi. btraine elevated.— Some large pillars of sand BUM remained to at ,test the mighty changes during past time on the globe. Burial in the sand then would na turally suggest itself as the earliest mode and the preservation of bodies by the heat and dry= ness of the atmosphere and the salt of nitre, cotton:on salt and alum, which abounded in sand el Egypt, suggested an artificial mode for the preservation of outlier, which at a later pe riod and fur greater security were consigned We sepulchres utthe rock. Indeed it has been ascertained by modern science Ow a solution of the very salts found in the sands of Egypt are the very best of all ele ments fur the preservation of bodies. When, therefore, they excavated the rocks and formed tombs. the E f ly pttaus brought neuron trorn their I key. tt rapped the bodies maturated with their I salts in duals, and dried them in ovens. and in a seventy days they were in a state to he transferred to their beds ut final repose.—• Tins simple view of muminiticatinn has never belore been submitted to the American public. tr•uee tins art to circumstances connected with the valicy ol the Nile. -Egypt is the same now in A. 1). 1847. in t a main leatures, as B. C. 4000. I. have seen animal bodies cast nut 1 : on the said,.. or hung in the atmosphere. pre served without corruption. Ah this matter of mummification was under the control of the Egyptian priesthood. Each temple had its ar rangements for embalming, and the priests mo nopolized the whole profits, from those of the physician who- despatched the patient to that of the undertaker who muminied him, - and the sexton who buried him. [Here the audience were directed to hieroglyphical.representations of funerals, where bodies were either borne on the shoulders of men, in boats, or drawn by oxen to the places of sepulture.] These draw ings might possibly have some mythological reference, but generally. in the opinion of the lecturer. were records of literal facts. The dead were' conveyed to the tombs not only from the cities, but from great distances in the country. This embalming is mentioned in Scripture in reference to the bodies of Jacob and Joseph. , As most of the tombs were West of the Nile, so Thebes and Memphis containet probably one half the mummies of Egypt. The art as prefected and connected with the tombs, was coeval with the first Pyramid, long prior to Moses. or the 18th or 18th century before Christ. In the long lapse 3500 or possibly of 5000 years during which the art of mummifi cation prevailed in Egypt, for it is brought down to A. P. 650, and is mentioned particu larly by St. • Augustine. (who states that the Egyptians beliesed in a resurrection and there fore reverence and embalm the bodies of the dead.) it may be interesting to form an • esti mate of the number of mummies which must have been consigned to the !sepulchres. Reduc ing the period to 8000 years, s,nd supposing PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, 'PA., BY E. S. GOODRICH & SON. E= " REGARDLESS OY DENUNCIATION PROM ANY QUARTER." the average population of Egypt. during that time; to bays been 5,000,000, and the duration of a generation 33 years—the lowest possible estimate would be 450.000.000, and we may safely, I think, put it down at 500.000.000, a number of bodies which. if we estimate the length of the mummy at five and a half feet in length, and in depth and width at a foot and a hall, would from a compact mass half a mile in measurement on each square side, and it the bodies were laid lengthwise in succession, they would extend more than twelve times around The globe. And if the construction of tombs was to be regarded as a test of civilization, no nation had claims to compare with the Egyptians. He had himself visited a tomb built 600 years be fore Christ. which had a gallery of 862 feet, and _covered an area, under ground. of one acre and a quarter. The use of sulphuric acid and. soap had both been cited as tests of civilization among a people, but that of mummification was certainly superior to either of these : and this art was anciently much extended from Egypt. since mummies are brought from the tombs of Iduinsea, and found in a sitting posture (in which the dead were compelled to die,) among the degenerate race of the Canary Wands. The cost of mummification varied according to the three orders or classes, and was estima ted by the Greeks at $l2OO for a body of the first class, 8300 for the second, and 820 for the third. The great body probably belong to the second class, though considering the large number of children, the cost must have fallen below that average. Yet estimating the cost at 820 for each body. the annual expense of mummification must have been some $3,330,- 000, all of which must have passed into the hands of the priests. They also derived a large revenue from the sepulchres and from the linen cloth in which the dead were wrapped. The expense of this fine linen in which the dead were enveloped was enormous. The mummy was swathed, with the nicest skill. in strips of this cloth varying in width from a few inches to a foot. Some mummies were found wrapped in 46 rolls and with 350 square yards of truth. Estimating the dev mortality among the Egyptian population at 274, and the cloth used for each at but three square yards, the an nual consumption of linen for the dead would be 2,700.000 yards, which must cost, at the lowest possible calculation 8660,000. Willis manufacture of linen cloth the priesthood held a monopoly. They owned the land on which the flax was raised. The vast enclosures around their temples were the manufactories, and the women who wrought were in their em ploy. Nor need we wonder that this gigantic Hierarchy labored to sustain a creed which in duced the other classes tn regard the embalm ing of the dead body as , the essential means of securing eternal repose for the soul in the celes tial regions. The tombs were owned by the priesthood and subject to a rent, and what was a singular custom, a debtor was obliged to give the mummies of his ancestors in pledge for the payment of his debts, and if he died insolvent his heirs or next blood relations, became re sponsible. A JUVENILE YANKEE Tares.—All the village of New Bedford, (says the Providence Herald,) the boys were in the hebit of playing at ball. A cross-grained old chap, who kept a crockery store was somewhat annoyed by the juvenile sports; and whenever a ball came in his way would seize upon it, take it into his store, and clap it into the stove without ceremony - . A few days since, having made a prize of one of the offensive articles in question, and adopted his usual course, he soon found he had "caught a Tartar." A horrible explosion took place— the stove was blown " sky high," the store was shattered with the shock—and about forty dol lars worth of crockery was dashed in pieces ! It is unnecessary to add. that the urchins who had so often been interrupted in their sports by • soursops " had charged their ball with gun powder, by way of a practical hint to the old fellow to let them: alone in future. DO RIGITT.—Have courage to do right.— What should we care for the boisterous laugh. the scornful look, the pointed finger. or the pro fane jest ! Would they who treat you with in differenee when they observe your upright vir tue and tinhentling integrity, lift a finger to re move a difficulty from your path, that indiscre tion or imprudence had reaped 1 No. They pass by on the other side. When a man has brought himself to the threshold of the grave by intemperance. how many of hut old corn. panione call to see him Not one. Remem ber, they who would, now turn up their noses and curl up their lips at your strict rectitude, are not your friends. Have courage to do right and you cannot fail to reap the glorious rewards of an honest, upright life. WHOM TO LOOK TO.—There are six sort of people at whose hands you need ' not expect much kindness. Thesorilid narrow-milli,- edl think of nobody hut themselves—the lazy will not take the trouble to help you—the busy have not time to think of you—the over-grown rich man is above minding any one who needs his assistance—the poor and unhappy have neither spirit or ahility..—and the good natured fool, however willing, is not capable of serving you. DON'T UNDNIUTAND GREER.—Doctor John son, one day disputing with Macklin. illustra ted his subject by a Greek quotation. "I don't understand Greek." quoth Macklin. " A man that argues should understand all languages ;" pompously retorted the lexicographer. 6. Very well,' replied Macklin. and immediately gave him a quotation from the Irish. Cottuttnausts.—Why is a kitten in a closet like a half hand-kerchief 1 Because it's catty corned. . . Why may carpenters reasonably believe there is no such thing as stone I Because they never saw it Why must your nose necessarily be in the middle of your face t Because it's the scen• ter! [From the New York Emporion3.) A Legend of the Chesapeake• MY ROBERT F. OREELT It was during the year 1742, at midnight, that a strange and terrible scene took place up on the far-famed Chesapeake. An immense ampitheatre, formed by the curviture of a rangeof undulating hills,sloped gradually down to the river, and on the summit of every crag and frowning peak for many miles around a signal fire was gleaming. • Within this immense ampitheatre just de scribed. some -fifty or sixty trees bad been thrown- together in a large pile. and set on fire: while around it danced, to a strange. wild kind of music, thousand figures, ecarcelt less dark than the night itself. Each brandished his toma hawk, or some Indian weapon equally datiger ous ; and as the fire burned the more brightly,the passions of those wild Optutored beings, get ting beyond control, found a vent in yells and cries of the most horriblit olescription. An old farmer stood at door. surrounded by his little ones. and gated anxiously out into the calm but murky air of night: " 1 doubt there's mischief brewing, wife," he remarked to his better half, while the fires instead of diminishing, increase both in volume and number, until the sky seemed one blaze of living light. " The red-skins don't make such a grand " pow wow" as this (or nothing.— I've half a mind to rouse our neighbor's wife." " Arouse thyself good man." retorted his wife, who was one of those women who imagine their own opinions of greater weight than those of their husbands. " The Indians are only gathering in their usual way to cele brate some of their numerous festivals. Cone in. and close the door. Would you have your children abed with colds ?" " Have your own way," said the farmer, " and God grant that my suspicions may prove groundless." Within the same settlement, klovely girl of sixteen summers, was at the same moment parting with her lover. To morrow was to be their wedding day. and both lingered at the threshold, loth to part, although they knew that but a few hours would elapse ere they would be united to part no more in life. See yon strange light, dearest Edith," the young man exclaimed, and as he spoke he pointed out to his betrothed a single peak, on which a signal fire was brightly gleaming.— " What can this sight betoken 1" "'Tic a welcome omen of our approaching nuptials," replied the bride, in tones as low and musical as the running of some forest rivu let : " Why, what a sad, grave face a lover to wear. I'm not going to part with thee, Willie, dear !" Ah ! Edith—to you this sight may be a blissful omen, but to me it has a far different import. I know the Indian character well, beloved, and I am sure, they would not take all this trouble withouttan object. See, as 1 live, the hills around us are all in a blaze I" tt Whythou foolish swain," said Edith, with a silvery laugh. " Nay, hie thee homeward, 'trs an evil thing to be out late. So good night !" And a pair of the prettiest lips man ever saw, were presented to those of the young forester. " Good-night ! God bless thee, Edith !" The young man maintained his position un til the slight form of the beautiful maiden was lost to his view, and then, shouldering his rifle. he turned on his heel, and took his way, to wards the barriers. The light notice by Wil liam-Oakleigh had not passed unobserved by those having charge of the gate, and after a few moments conversation, lie induced several young men like himself, to saddle their horses and follow him. Well, judging from appearance, how matters were situated, Oakleigh, knowing the slender resources of the settlement to which he belong. ed, had formed the hasty determination to ride , with all speed to the nearest colony for the purpose of ohtaini, , g a reinforcement to_ r .refet an attack, should one be made. i. We shall have to ride hard boy e;" said putting spurs to his horse. The fires are increasing; and hark ! heard you that yell ?" _ A dead silence ettsuetf on the part of the horsemen, and the wild yells of the savages, mingled with this distant bratitig of the In dian drum, came p ainly on the breeze of the night. o.lkleigh had conjectured but too truly.— They had, indeed no time to tvaste.- The fires hail at length subsided. Those of the settlers who had noted these singular want festations betook themselves once more to their beds, and silence again reigned supreme over the little settlement. Edith had 'gone to her own apartment. A per;ect little sanctuary it was; with flowers in all the windows, and tapestry worked by the delicate hands of the' maiden herself. A few books. indicating the turn of her mind, were packed closely together 'llion a little row of shelves, hung by a cord again. the wall, and a small book of prayer lay on the table. She has drawn from her breast—that spot less abiding place of gentleness and purity—a small miniature, and is gazing anxiously upon it, as if it were a living thing. " Dear Willie," she murmurs-,-" dear, dear Willie ! wrong of me to tease thee as 1 do, but to-morrow I shall be thine, and thou may'et do with me, e'en as thou likest." " Hark ! what a strange noise, it cannot be the wind, for the moon is still shining brightly." Edith rose, and threw open the lattice.— Again it rises. Nearer. She strains every nerve to listen, and the beatings-of her heart are distinctly audible. Tramp! tramp, a heavy, dull sound, as if numerous footsteps progre-sing o'er well trod den ground. It came from all sides. the north. the south, the east, the west. The earth vi brated ! .; Willie !" murmured the maiden almost un consciously. Even in danger her thoughts ran upon him. Even while she stood thus, listening at her casement, a thousand horrible yells tided the I air ; the war-whoop of the savages ! The .k again became a blaze with light, and brands of fire, Avelings, were hurled With trresista ble force into the settlement. The inhabitants were quickly aroused, how ever, and manfully, right manfully did they they oppose their dark invaders. Yet scarce ly one of the beseiged bad a doubt of the re sult of the struggle. It was evident that a league had been formed among the different tribes who'peopled the region lying about ihe Chesapeake for many miles, and if they could not succeed in repelling them until day-light their chance was hopeless. Poor Edith ! how her heart throbbed ! Not for her own safety, so much as fur that of her lover. Why did tie stay away thus long : She knew that he would not neglect her flit.. un less disabled by accident. Had he been slain in endeavoring to reach her?—such were the thoughts which flitted in rapid succession through her bewildered brain: 1 - A moment's silence succeed the first on slaught. Then rose another cry, and the set tlers came running towards the block-house, their last resort in cases of attack. While Edith was listening, the door of her apartment flew open, and two gaunt savages seized with a vice-like grasp those delicate arms, and were dragging her away. Most of the settlers had by this time found shelter in the block-house. but many of both sexes had been killed. In the midst of the affray,‘ a kind Of palan quin was borne along toward the block-house. It was the form of an aged Indian, whose locks were bleached by the snows of seventy winters. It was Epecatinaugh—the successor of Puw hatan, and the must implacable enemy of the English. '• Burn—kill—destroy I" exclaimed the old Chieftain, in his native dialect. Spare none —neither man nor woman—mother or sun ! let all share the common fate !" le:Another desperate attempt was now wade Kifree the block-house, while Edith's cap to'fri were leading her farther and farther Irom the bloody scene. Almost dead with 'er ror she submitted to be dragged rather than conducted towards an open spot where others of her sex had been congregated, expecting each moment to share their tortures. But hold a cry of a daft'-rent description is heard from beyond. and a large body of horsemen are dim ly discernable emerging from the shadow of the woods. At their head rode a number of well attired cavaliers. and foremost among them all, Sir William Berkely, the Governor. They are playing whip and spur,. and every moment is lessening the distance between the new coolers and the besieging party. Arrived within gun-shot of the scene, a deadly fire is poured f:om the ranks of the former, and a hundred painted Indians bate the dust. ' Edith's captors are increasing their speed. the last faint hope has left her—two tomahawks are already uplifted above her—her eyes are closed—she is praying—when suddenly there comes the clatter of horses' hoofs--a rush—a dozen well directed blowS. Huzza ! Edith's captors are writhing in the agonies of death upon the ground, and she— why, does she stare so wildly William Oakleigh has out galloped all the rest and is bearing her upon his.own saddle to a place of safety. The incidents narrated in this-little sketch are purely traditional. Sir William Berkely met and repulsed the Indians. and slew or took captive many of their greatest warrors. Among the latter was the old 'Chieftain Epeeanangh. He was the great reliance of all the tribes around the Chesapeake ; and when he was ta ken the ardor of his subjects died away, and the whites were left comparatively unmolested. He died in captivity, retaining to the last his hatred fur the Eng ish. Death of Children. Our Saviour has said "Suffer little children to' come unto me. and forbid them not, for of *ittA is the kingdom of heaven ;" and it is evi dent he desires they should come unto him.— ‘S"e'e him almost daily calling the little ones to himself—the parents mounting the los. , of a be loved child. that like a sweet hod had just be gun to open its sweetness. when the hand of death plucked it , _fro ii them, that u might go to Jesus, and blooin- an all the radiance of His glorious presence. The way nia3' sometimes appear dark and mysterious. and the reason with difficulty be assigned, why the dear one should he taken, when the few flowers of earth were strewn in its path, and the first vines of affection were just springing forth, entwining their tendrils around our hearts, and just at the moment when it seemed that the whole soul was absorbed in the dear object, the first-horn was snitched from your fond embrace. Suddenly rendered insensible, it lingered a few hours. and its pure spirit soared far above earth's cold vanities, which would so soon have blighted its joyous affections, had not the slender thread of life been thus early severed. Were I asked for a reason, said-a man of God, why the Savior cal led your child. I should say, He loved her, He war.ted another voice to swell the sympho ny of heaven„anuther hand to sweep the strings of a golden harp among the redeemed. The babe that once nestled in your bosom is now enfolded in the arms of its Savior, and realizes the graciousness of Flint who has. " suffered her to come unto Him." Bereaved mother, your child is in Heaven, farfrom the temptations and allurement of this vain world. She has but none to her happy home before you a part of youretlf is trans planted there, another cord has been severed that bound you to earth, and now draws you to your Redeemer. Soon you will meet her, and join your loved one in those angelic strains that now absorb her affections. Then why should you weep 1 why should you sigh for her re turn to you I You surely cannot be so fish, so. cruel as to call her back to earth, if you could—to leave the presence otk her Redeemer. to lay aside the harp that joist 'vibrated to her ~' ~ ~Lf`~ ~"a touch in notea of joyous praise, or to cheek that sot g of glory and of triumph which she had warmed, or to leave Heaven with all its brightness, and come•tiack to Mingle in all the vii rows and anguish of this dark world ! Oh. no ; mrthinks I nee her angel form hovering around you now, and hear her say, •-• Dearest mother, do not weep for me, dry your 'tears, and let not another pang pierce your bosom, for lam : happy now. I used to be happy with you, but now I can minister to you, and ant twice happy, in the presence of my Savior.— God is here. Jesus is here, all the saints are here, your hide girl is here. and you will be here ton. I cannot le tee these blessed abodes, hut I will.watt at the heavenle gates to meet you,whent Jesus calls you. Oh then, how hap- py shall we be, in that one j.iyous meeting when we shall part no wore• and when God shall wipe all tears from your eyes" forever ; and you, my dear grand-parents. do not mourn the loss of y our idolized one. A little while, and you will share my joys. As fast as time ran move,you are hastening home. The sorrow of earth will very soon he over, and the pearly gates will then he open to receive you ; and we shall, in one united family. range the streets of the New-Jerusalem, and praise the Lamb forever. A. Kindly Word. ' Han thy brother !godly erred, In the path of vice and ainl speak to him a kindly word, H you would to virtue win, When he sees the inward pain, Which thy tearful e)es reveal— Listen to love's melting stra . in— It will turn his heart of steel,_ Words of kindness I 0, bow sweet! Nothing has such wonders wrought; To meek virtue's golden seat Scores of wanderers they have brought. ll'estrrn Rt serve It is a matter, of frequent inquiry why a por tion of Northern Obi. is call ii the irestent Reserve." or Connecticut Western Reserve." The fullorving, which we find in an exchange paper, will satisfy the curiosity of all in quirers. - ; •• The original charter of the State of Con necticut was granted by Charles 11. in 1662.. The charter defined the limits of the State as follows :—From the south line of ;Massachu setts on the N. to Long Island Sound on the S., and from the Narragansett river on the E. to the South Sea on the W. It will be seen by reference to the map that those boundaries would enclose, nut only what is now the State .of Connecticut. but also the State of New York and New Jersey. nearly one half of Pennsyl vania—all of the northern portions of the States of Ohio. Indiana and Ifknots-53nd a goodly part of the northern territories of lowa, Afissou ri and Oregon. 'l'hi re was a clause in the charter, however, which excepted froth its operations such portions as were then occupi ed by prior soil , rs. The exception excluded such parts of New Jersey a were wuhin the prescribed limits. A dispute ensued between New York and Connecticut as to the bounda ries betvieen these States ; it was settled by the King. in 1664. who decided that the Ma roneck river should be the western boundary of Connecticut. "For nearly a century thereafter, Connecti- . rwt neglected to claim or settle any par ;of her territory west of New York, and a charter be ing granted to William Penn, in 1681, enibrac ing all that part of the same which hes within the present State of Pennsylvania, a dispute ultimately arose between the two colonies as to the right of possession in the disputed terri tory. Both colonies sold the same land, and each guarantied to the purchasers undisturbed possession. This excited innumerable quar rels, and resort was often had to force of arms to expel the intruder. In 1770. the Legislature of Connecticut transmitted to England certain questions re eperting her title to lands west of New York. The answers were favorable 19 her claims, and determined 'he colony to maintain them. The revolutionary war happening son after. super seded further proceedings until after its close. In 1781. the two States agreed to appoint commie-toners to deterimne the dispute. An act of Congress was passed granting to these commisioners full potter to act in the final set tlement of this long pending controvet-y. The enifinitssioners met at Trenton. in November. 1785: lifter a full hearing (lithe matter in ques tion they decided that Connecticut hail no right lo the latids in di-pre. Here the mailer. so far as Penns% lvalsia was N - WI med. rested. "The state of Connect feint, notwithstanding, still laid claim to all lands lying West of . pe - nn. sylvattia. an I extending to the Mississippi ri ver. To avoid future troubles. however, the Legislantre agreed no cede all these lands to Congress. with the exception of a tract of one hundred and twenty . titiles in length lying iin inediamly west of the west line of Pennsylva nia. The cession was accepted. and was Con sider d to be an indirect acknowledgment that her claims were well founded. "This tract is known the Western Re serve, and includes•the counties of Ashtabula. Trumbull, Piwage, Geatiga, Cuyahoga. Medi na. Lorrain, Huron, Fri... Lake and Summit. A part of this tract - . (500.000 acres, known as the "Fire Lands.") was g-anted by t he State to the inhabitants of New London. Fairfield and Norwalk, whose property had been de stricired by fire he the fir fish troops during the revo l kit io n qry wsr. The remainder was sold by the State i l l Connecticut in 1795, and the money arising from the sale appropriated to the purpose of constituting a perpetual fund for the support of schools in the State. .. Tttt 13100 EST STrF.R YET.—Daniel Wunder killed a Fteer for new ,year'F, six years k , hl. rais ed by William Gill, near eirrle''t ill, Ohio, which weig.hpri int font, 3.60 lha. The nett beef wecaheil 2 6S-I Ihs., which is said by the Cincinnati Chronicle to he 295 lbs. heavier than any other beef on record.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers