USE DOLLAR PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
TOWANDA:
XUarsday Morning, August 29, 1861.
ffltdtb f ßttrj.
ONCE BEFORE.
Alone slie eat beside hei window,
' Hearing only rain drop* pour,
Looking only at the s&ore.
When outside the little ;.sement.
Weeping in a feigned abasement,
l,ove stood knocking—
Knocking at her bolted door.
Blow she swung the little easement
Where the autumn ro-es glowed.
Sweet and sad her deep eyes showed,
And her voice in gentlest measure.
Said aloud-" Nor love, nor pleasure,
Can eomc in here any more—
Never, anymore 1"
" But I've not lve nor pleasure—
-1 am but an orphan baby,
host my mother is, or may Ire
Dead she lies, while I a;n weeping,"
Sobbed the child, his soft life creeping
Softly through the bolted door-
Through the maiden's itoor.
Low -he said, in accents lonely ;
•• Once I let him in before.
Once I opened wide ray door ;
Ever since my life is dreary,
Ail my prayers are vague and weary;
I Once 1 let him in before,
y.jw I'll double lock the door!"
In the rain he stands imploring.
Tears and kisses stor n the door,
Where she let him in before.
Will she never know repenting ?
Will she ever late relenting,
Let rim in as once before ?
Will she double-lock tbe door?
St\t cl l i ® a 1 1 .
My Husband's Child.
A SECOND WISH'S STOKY.
1 bad a little daughter.
And she was given to me.
T<> lead me gently backward.
To the Heart- ill Father - knee.
1 had married a widower. How many times
I had wondered, blame 1. laughed u such ntar
nugis How many lit e> said that 1 would re
main single, if Fate so pleased, to the end ol
i ,; ;e chapter, hut never, never marry one w hose
>t lore hud fteett givttt to another—witoof-
I red me the ashes of a heart A second hand
I;-iiitnt, I had said, was bad enough ; still,
I-. • it a choice between that and freezing one
wear it ; but not a second-hand bus
A: Better freeze than warm oue's being
H.■•lt a fire. I had said all this, and yet
■ wended Hiram Woodbury. When I first
V: him, however, 1 did not know that he had
■w been married.
Our acquaintance came about oddly enough.
I was staying with my old school mate, ELza
ii Simms, now Mrs. Dr Ilenshaw. I had
i there for a week enjoying myself Learti-
It was a pleasant change from the board
:house in the city, where J lived, in three
.ms and a liandbox, with tny guardian and
lis wife, to Lizzie's pleasant aud spacious comt
try house, with the wide, handsomely laid out
pounds around it, and the free range of 101 l
! d back-ground. I had thought, at first,
hat I should become weary of the monotony,
hut taeh day of the seven I had grown more
i:..l mote charmed, until I began to believe
i.yself iu love with nature.
I like tt," I said to Lizzie, throwing my-
Ff down, after a long tnorniug's rautble, in
p easy t-ltair in the sitting room. She look
-1: at tue fondly with litr kind blue eyes.
I knew you would like it. "Look at your
• a the glass, Agatha Raymond. See that
ag, well rounded form, those great black,
• -t eyes—the forehead with more brains
>- eauty —the dark lace with the crimson
[■ flowing through its olive ! Docs it look
' like the face and form of one to becott-
J with confinement, aud sloth and fash
*■ I laughed.
I never had the means to he fashionable,
fflie. My poor five hundred a year has to
-J me food and shelter, besides garments. —
if I had it all to spend in personal adoru
tot, I could only stand iu the outer vestibule
l ''te temple of fashion.''
H you had five thousand a year, instead
1 Ave bnudre-d, fashiou ahd frivolity would
lrVer fid your heart. It is a good, honest,
■e heart ; though it is proud and wayward
f knew it well. I can just see the kiud of
c ' ure J OO °u-'ht to have. You should marry
[ - : in w ''o is a worker, i bold, stong worker
1 str >fe of life—one whom you could si*
} strengthen and he p. You would beat
fc -tlieu. Failing such a husband, you will
*'• '0 make a career fc-r yourself. Some way
world must be better for your living iu it, i
-our heart will know ao peace."
1 iRiJe no answer, but hei words touched a
m "-.record. 1 felt that she had painted
L J | ure w '"ch I needed ; but would it ever i
r,', ) never yet seen a man whom I j
" " J ok up to aud trust entirely—fearing '
earthly so lie was mine. Kind and
Lizzie's husband was, I never could !
J °j\ rr ' ed J hnd never seen the man
I* married. It was not likely, I !
> nt - th I should see him. If not I must
tnT "'J B6 ' l '- What path could open
i-\ ~ W ' lut aild where ? 1 looked listlessly
, e * inflow. A muj was coming up the
i' 4v u,t - v and staiued with travel, carryiug
portmanteau—a man not handsome
leb ex P re ssing d gnity, kindness, and
power the ability to command himself
' fitters.
I asked, beconiug Lizzie to
r s b? er l ' ian Tirana Woodbury, the Doc-
W'fia , riead ' aod certainly the last uiau I ]
0 see to-day. He's always welcome
THE BRADFORD REPORTER.
to Dick, though, and of course that makes hiin
so to me."
I ran up stairs to smooth my tangled hair,
and make my costume a little more presenta
ble, and when I came down Mr. AVoodbury
was engaged in an uuimated conversation with
the Doctor arid Lizzie. He was a tall, pow
erful man of thirty-five, with light brown hair,
bold and somewhat massive features, and eyes
of Saxou blue. I learned afterward, that he
was a remarkable mechanical genius and had
realized a handsome fortune by some of his in
vestments ; also that he was a zealons reform
er, leading the van of every noble work.
I had not kuown Mr. Woodbury four days
before I felt in my heart that here was a man
whom 1 could entirely trust aud reverence, nay,
whom I could entirely love. Still I was proud,
and 1 strove to retuiu my affections in my owu
keeping. I did not feel sure that he was in
terested in ine, but sometimes there seemed a
language in his eyes I dared uot trust myself
to interpret.
By the time be had been there a fortnight,
we kuevv each other better than we could have
done in a year had we met solely in society.—
It was on the fifteenth day after his coming,
that he told me he loved me, aud asked me to
be his wife.
We were alone, silting under a clump-of
pines at the west of the house, where we had
gone to see the July sunset. We had watch
ed the clouds silently as tlu-y changed from
gold aud crimson to the softer shades of rose
and azure, until they were all gone. Theu I
looked up and saw his eyes were looking at
ce very earnestly with a strange teuderuess
iu their depths. As he met my glauce he
spoke :
" I have only known you a short time, Aga
tha, but you are ulready dearer to me than 1
can say. Do you think you could ever love
me well enough to be my wife ?"
" 1 do," I answered, struggling with a
strange sensation of fullness at my heart,which
seemed almost to choke mv utterance.
" God bless you, Agatha. You are whau
my soul -needs."
His words were strong and fervent, and he
gathered tue close in his arms to his heart—
me, an orphan since my earliest recollections,
and realizing, now, for the first time, what it
was to be intensely loved by any human be
ing. We had not talked much about our emoj
tions. I think we both liked best to sit there,
hand clasped in bund, 'feeling how otter wus
the happiness and satisfaction of each other's
presence. At length he said :
" I know that I shall be giving a good mo
ther to my little Laura. 1 should be cruel
were 1 to forget her in my joy."
I conld not divine his meaning. I looked at
• him inquiringly.
" Your liule Laura ?"
; " Yes !my child, my little girl. You knew
of her existence, surt-lv."
| " No."
" I had supposed that the Henshaws had
told you all about nty history. Did you not
know I had been married ? My wife, my Lau
! ra, died five years ago, and my daughter Lau
ra is just five years old."
What could 1 say—l who had said so of
ten that I would wrong no dead woman by
taking from her, Iter husband's love ? I could
j give up Iliram Woodbury, perpiiops, but 1
could give up my life as well. I clutched at
a hope. I asked :
" Did you love her—your wife.'"
" Tenderly—most tenderly."
" And she loved you ?"
" With all her heart."
" She was your first love ?"
" Yes, the love of my youth. But why these
questions, Agatha ? Are yon not satisfied
with the love I pledge to ycu —a love as stroug
and true as man ever gave to woman ?'*
" I must be," I whispered in a voice whose
calmness startled me, it contrasted so strange
ly with '.lie tumult of my heart. " It must be,
1 love yon so well, Heaven help me, that I
have no other choice. And yet I had tho't
to be the first love of the man I married."
" You are my love, Agatha, my dear true
love ! You will be Laura's mother, will you
not ?"
Heaven made me truthful. I did not de
ceive or belie myself iu that hour. I answer
ed honestly.
" I will be Laura's mother, so far as seeing
to all her wants and being kind to her is
cencerned. I will love her if I can. If I can
not you must not blame me. We cannot force
our hearts to love, merely because it is our du
ty. I wa* bom jealous, and it would be hard
for me to forget that you had loved Laura's
mother before you loved me, perhaps better
than you ever could love me."
He* looked at me sadly, yet trustingly still.
" I believe you are belter than your own es
timate, Agatha. At any rate, whatever you
are, I love you."
It was with such an understanding as this,
that we were married, but my wedding day
was not as happy as my girlish hopes had al
ways pictured it. A phantom seemed contin
ually at my side—Hiram's first wife. She
came between his lips aud tniue* aud his foud
est kisses seemed cold.
" How did she look ? I wish I could know."
I asked him this question, as we sat alone
together on our wedding night.
Had he been thinking of her too ? He un
derstood me at ouce. He opened his trunk
aud took from it a miuiature painted on
ivory, and placed it in my hand. Oh, how
lovely she was—just the image to be cherished
in a man's inmost heart ; idealized, wrapped
around with loves idolatry. She looked like
one to die voung, with thatciear, transparent
skin, the brow so white aud the vivid rose
bloom in the cheeks. The eyes were large and
blue, with an innocent, appealing unworldly
look, and the hair in the picture, was dusky
gold. How could he love me, with dark
Pawnee face, and irregular features after that?
I asked him the questiou, I could not help
it.
" I do love yon dear, is not that enough ?
I love yon as tenderly as aoy woman's heart
cao ask."
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. 0. GOODRICH.
I was silent on the subject afterward, for
very shame, but the demou of jealousy made
his lair in my heart, and I am afraid his wick
ed eyes looked out of mine now and then.
For five weeks we were travelling together,
and this our honeymoon was a happy one.
For the most part, my jealousy slumbered,
for there was nothing to arrouse it. Some
times I tormented myself with the fear that
there might have been some charm in the
earlier days of my husband's first marriage
which was wanting now. But his joy was so
evident, his tenderness so constant, that I
had little opportunity for such gloomy
thoughts.
After our bridal night until the day before
we were to go home for the first time, I had
not alluded again to his first wife or his child.
It was while I was packing my trunk prepa
ratory to an early start the next morning, and
he was talking to me of my uew home, thus
I looked up and asked :
" Where is little Laura ?" How has she
passed the time while we were getting acquaint
ed, and those weeks since our marriage?''
I suppose he interpreted the question as a
sign of an awakened interest in his child, for
he bent over me and kissed me before he au
swered.
" Thank you, Agatha. lam glad you think
of Laura sometimes. She has been spending
the summer, so far. at my sister's, but she will
be there to welcome us to morrow. I have
taken cure that she should be taught to love
her new mamma.
It was a beautiful home on the east bank
of the Hudson, to which we went the uext
day. A handsome carriage met us at the
boat landing, and the drive wound from the
river along the ascant of a wooded hill, ev
ery moment revealing new glimpses of hean
tv. A short turn brought us iu sight of a
stately stone mansion,
•' With the battlements high in tbe rush of the air,
And the turrets thereon."
I had not been prepared for so splended a
sight. It was a perfect architectural inspi
ration. The eminence on which it stood
commanded a One view of the river, flashing
in the sunlight. The rocks, lett as Nature
had hewn them out, were gay with climbing
vines, and the air was lull of odorous breath
of sweet s ented flowers.
" I never saw anything half so beautiful,"
I whispered ecstatically to Hiram, who sat
enjoying my snrprise. As the carriage stop
ped a little girl ran out upon the piazza I
think 1 should have known her anywhere,
from her likeue>s to her mother's picture.—
She had the same innocent, appealing blue
eves, the same transparent skin, the same
features, only the gold of the hair was light
er and suuuier than the picture. It lay
about the child's head in light rings, such as
you have seen in paintings of churnbs. My
husband stepped from tbe carriage and only
paused to band me out before tbe little crea
ture was clasped in his arms.
" And is that new mamma ? I heard her
ask as he put her down.
He nodded.
" May I kiss her ?"
" Surely."
She came up to me a little timidly. I ber.t
over her aud received her caress passively,
but the kiss I gave her was a very cold one.
Selfi.-h heart that I was, I could not love
her, for she was her mother's child—a daily
remiuder, so I felt, to her father, of my dead
rival.
I should blush to describe all the incidents
of the year which followed. How patiently
the poor little motherless girl—motherless
still, though I had taken her mother's name
and place—strove to propitiate and please
me. How coid I was to her. I neglected
none of her bodily needs, but to the little
heart which a-ked me for bread I gave only
a stone. Not ouce,in all those twelve months,
did I geather her into my arms and kiss her ;
not once did I bestow on her any voluntary
caress. I wonder, I did not soften to her,
for I was myselt expecting to give welcome
to a little child, who might be left mother
less as she had been. Perhaps this only hard
ened me the more. If my child were so left,
I questioned, would its father love it half as
well as he loved Laura ? She is his idol, I
said bitterly, to myself, his idol, as her mother
was before her ; and I, who give him in spite
of myself such absorbing love, hold only a
second place in his heart. Looking back to
those days I really wonder that he loved me
at all. I had disappointed him so thoroughly.
He had believed rue noble and generous. He
found me selfish and exacting. \et I do not
believe his great, noble heart ever, for a mo
ment, failed towards me in tenderness and
patience. He bore with my waywardness as
one bears with the faults of an irresponsible
child. Perhaps he never lost his faith iu my
regeneration.
I think Laura suffered beyond what I had
supposed a child's capacity for purely meu
tal suffering. The disappointment to her was
most cruel. She had longed all her little
life for a mother to love her as she had seen
other children lovpd. For many weeks before
I came she had been told that she was to
have what she most craved—a new mamma,all
to herself. She had found in me less affection
than she would have received from a govern
ess or a housekeeper. I knew all tliis. I had
uever been deliberately cruel before, but I was
uow. All Laura's gay vivacity was gone.—
She seemed all the time fearful of displeasing
me. She moved and spoke in a slow, quiet
way, that I could see it was exquisitely pain
ful to her father to behold. Ido not know
how it was that his love for me was not ut
terly quenched, his patience all worn out.—
Perhaps he throught that I was not well, and
that the sweet new comer.for wbome we hoped,
wo'd heal my nature of its pride, aud pain,
aud passion.
At last my day of trial dawned. There
were many hour* of terrible suffering, duriDg
which my husband hovered over me almost in
despair, revealing the deapth and fullness of
his love as I had never divined it before. I
lived, but tbe baby they laid on my breast
was dead. No faintest thrill of life shivered
" RESARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANT QUARTER."
those delicate limbs—no pulse fluttered in the
tiny wrist—no heart beat stirrid tbe little
still breast. The delicate blue-veined eyelids
would never lift, the lily bud mouth never
open. This little, cold, dead thing was all.
Where was the soul ? Would they treat it
tenderly in the country of spirits—that soul
so young, so tender, going out into the Infi
nite Dark ? Had God measured out to me
such measures as I had measured, and to my
cry for bread given a stone ? My husband
could not fully share my feelings. He was
disappointed, it is true, but in bis thankfulness
for my spared life he had little room for grief.
It wus not his first child—the loss could not
be to him what it was to me.
I had been ill three days, when one morn
ing, my nurse went ont for a few moments,
leaving the door open. I lay therewith clos
ed eyes, my heart full of bitter, rebellious
grief. I heard little footsteps crossing the
room softly. I knew Laura had come in.—
I did not move, I wished her to think I was
asleep. I felt that 1 could not bear to speak
to her tbeo. She came to the beadside aud
looked at me for a moment, then she knelt
down and murmered a little prayer, whose
words pierced me like a sword.
" O, Father up in heaven, please let dear
new mamma get better, and make her love
little Laura."
1 believe since that hour there may be sud
den conversions—single moments which change
the whole tone and current of life. Mine was
changed then. 1 opeued my eyes, my arms,
my heart.
" Come np here, little daughter," I whis
pered, with such tenderness as she bad uev
er heard in my voice before.
She crept up beside me, and I drew ber to
my bosom—a mother's loving bosom to her
forevermore. For a few moments I wept
over her silently—l could not help it. Then
I told her of my sorrow.
" Laura," I said, " God gave me a little
daughter, and the same hour He gave He
took it from tne. Your mother and my baby
are both in heaven, will yon be my little girl
on earth in place of the dead ?"
Her eyes brightened. She cried eagerly,
plaintively :
" Oii, I love you new mamma, I always
did. Will you love me, too, aud let me be
your little girl.
" Forever, my darling whom God has giv
en me."
When my husband came iri half an hour
afterward, he fouud me asleep with Luura
watching me.
' Now mamma loves me—loves me dearly,'
she whispered joyfully; aud her father's tears
which fell ou her face aud mine awakened
me.
There was never any jealousy in ray soul
afterward. The fulness of Hiram Woodbury's
love satisfied every longing of my heart, aud
Laura was as dear to me as him.
1 sometimes think the institution 7 of child
hood are deeper than the love of the philoso
phers. It was Laurie's childish faith that
" the Heavenly baby," as she always called
iny lost one, hud been given in charge to her
own dead mother, who was nursing it tender
ly, as I nursed her child below. It was a
child's conceit, but it has dwelt pleasantly iu
ray heart.
Laura is growing toward her sweet wotneu.
hood. I have never had another child. Igo
alone, sometimes, to a little grave, where the
blue violets spread their canopy, and weep it
tears which long ago lost their bitterness.—
But even if its tenant could have lived to
bless my arms and heart he could hardly have
been dearer to me than the sweet daughter
of my adoption.
HI NDOO WOMEN. —I once asked a native
Hindoo what he thought a wife ought to know.
Why, said he, in order to be a good wife, she
must know two things. And what are tbev ?
First, she must know the way to the bazaar
to buy what is necessary for the house ; and
secondly, the way from the bazaar home again.
Knowing this she kuows sufficient for a good
wife.
Now it is trne that this man was of the
lower caste, whose wives alone can go out,
yet a similar answer in principle would be
given by high caste men also,whose wives must
never leave their homes.
What do the native females of high caste
do the whole day ? They must not go out;
they can see aud hear nothing beyond the
four walls ; they cannot read ; they have no
books. How do they spend their time ?
Generally they form a little community, con
sisting of the wife, the mother, perhaps grand
mother, the children, perhaps some widowed
sisters. They do the necessary cooking,clean
ing, etc, aud when that is done they chew
betel leaf and areca nut, smake their hookahs,
relate the filthy stories of their gods and god
desses over and over again to each other,
worship the house idol, uot unfrequently have
a quarrel, and when they have nothing else
to do, they sleep, or what is next, and what
none but a Hindoo male or female could do,
sit down on their mats and think—of nothing
To a European this would be impossible, but
to the vacant mind of a Hindoo, particularly
a female, it is an easy thing.— Dr. UUman.
HABIT. —" I trust everything under God,
said Lord Brougham, " to habit, upon which,
in all ages, the lawgiver, as well as the school
master, has mainly placed his reliance ; habit,
which makes everything easy, aud casts all
difficulties upon the deviatiou from a wonted
course—Make soberiety a habit, and intem
perance will be hateful ; make prudence a
habit, and reckless profligacy will be us con
trary to the nature of a child as to any of our
lordships. Give a child a habit of sacredly
regarding the truth, carefully respecting the
property of others, or scrupulously abstaining
from all acts of improvidence which can involve
him in distress, and he will just as likely think
of rusing into an element in which he cannot
breathe, as of lying, cheating or stealing."
The hypocrite steals the most, lies the
most and prays the loudest.
The Esquimaux.
The ordinary routine of the Esquimaux life
in most localities is as follows : Iu the month
of September, the band, consisting of, perhaps
five or six families, moves to some well known
pass, generally some narrow neck of land be
tween two lakes,and there await the southerly
migration of the reindeer. When these ani
mals approach the vicinity, some of the young
men go out gradually drive them towards
the pass, when they are met by other hunters,
who kill as many as they can with the bow and
arrow. The bulk of the herd is forced into
the lake, and there the liers in-wait at tbe
hajacks spear them at leisure. Hunting iu this
way, day after day, as the deer are passing, a
large stock of veuision is generally procured.
As the couutry abouuds in natural ice cellars,
or at least everywhere affords great facilities
for constructing them in the frozen subsoil,
the venison might be kept sweet until the hard
frost sets in, and so preserved throughout the
winter ; but the Esquimaux takes little trouble
in this matter. If more deer are killed in
summer than can be then consumed, part of
the flesh is dried, but later in the season it is
merely laid up iu some cool cleft of a rock,
where wild auimals cannot reach it; and should
it become considerably taiuted before the cold
weather comes ou, it is only the more agreea
ble to the Esquimaux palate.
In the autumn, also, the migratory flocks of
geese and other birds are laid under contribu
tion, and salmon-trout and fish of various
kinds are taken. In this way a winter stock
of provisions is procured, and not a little is
required, as the Esquimax being consumers
of animal food only, get through a surprising
quantity. Iu the autumn, the berries of the
arctic fruit-bearing-plants are eaten, and the
half-digested lichens iu the paunch of the
reindeer are considered to be a treat ; but in
other seasons this people never tastes vegeta
bles, and even in summer animal food is alone
deemed esseutial. Draughts of warm blood
from a newly killed animal, are considered as
contributing greatly to preserve the hunter in
health. No part of the entrails is rejected as
uufit for food ; little cleanliness is shown in the
preparation of the intestines, and when thev
are rendered crisp by frost, they are eaten as
delicacies without further cooking. On parts
of the coast where whales are common, August
and September are devoted to the pursuit of
these animals, deer-huntiug being*also attend
ed to at intervals. The killing of a whale
secures winter feasts aud abundance of oil for
the lamps of a whole village, and there is
great rejoicing. On the return of light, the
winter houses are abandoned for the sea hunt
on the ice, sooner or later, according to the
state of the larder. The party then moves off
seaward, being guided in discovering the
breathing-holes of the seal or walrus by their
dogs. At this time of the year huts are built
of snow for the residence ot the band, and iu
no season is the hunter's skill more tested, the
seal being a very wary animal, with acute
sight, smell and hearing. It is uo match,
however, for the Esquimaux hunter, who,
from the keen blast ty a semi-circular wall of
snow, will sit motionless for hours, watching
for the bubble of air that warns him of the
seal coming up to breathe. And scarcely has
the animal raised its nostrils to the surface
before the harpoon enters in its body.
This sport is not without the danger that
adds to the excitement of success. The line
attached to the point of the harpoon is passed
iu a loop rouuti the hunter's loins, and should
the animal he has struck be a large seal or
walrus, woe betide him if he does not instant
ly plant his feet in the notch cut for the pur
pose iu the ice, aud throw himself in such a
position that the strain on the line is as nearly
as possible brought into the direction of the
length of the spine of his bach and axis of his
lower limbs. A transverse pull from one of
these powerful beasts would double him uo
across the air hole, and perhaps break his
back ; or, if the opening he large, as it often
is when the spring is advanced, he would be
dragged under water and drowned. Accidents
of this kind are but too common. When the
seals come out on the ice to bask in the power
ful rays of a spring sun, the Esquimaux hunter
knows how to approach tbein by imitating
their forms and motions so perfectly that the
poor animals take him for one of their own
species, and are not undeceived until he comes
near enough to thrust his lancc into one. The
principal seal-fishery ends oy the disruption of
the ice, and then the reindeer are again numer
ous on the shores of the Arctic Sea, the birds
are breeding in great flocks, and the annual
routine of occupation, which has beeu briefly
sketched, commences anew.
THE HUMAN FIGURE. —The proportions of
the human figure are stictly mathematical
The whole figure is six times the length of the
foot. Whether the form is slender or plump,
this rule holds good. Any deviation from it
is a departure from the highest beauty of
proportion. The Greeks made all their statues
according to this rule. The face, from the
highest point on the forehead, where the hair
begins, to the chin, is one-tenth of the whole
statue. The hand, from, the wrist to the mid
dle finger, is the same. The chest is one-furth;
and from tbe nipple to the top of the head is
the same. From the top of the chest to the
highqst point of the forehead is a seveuth. If
the length of the face, from the roots of the
hair to the chin, be divided into three equal
parts, the first division terminates at the place
where the eyebrows meet, and the second at
the plaee of the nostrils. The navel is the
central part of the human body ; and if a man
should lie on his back with his arms extended,
the periphery of the circle which might be de
scribed around him, with the navel for its
center, would touch the extremities fo his
hands and feet. The height from the top of
the head is the same as the distance from the
extremity of the fingers when tbe arms are
extended.
BST Do not expect to be truly happy until
your have learned to live honestly, prudently
and without ostentation.
VOL. XXIT. KO. 13.
(Biracational JUpdmcut.
Teachers' Institutes.
The Teachers Institutes tor Bradford Co.,
for the Fall of 1861, will be holdeu at the fol
lowing times and places. Each Institute will
commence on Monday, at 2 o'clock, P. M.,
and close on the following Saturday at 12
noon :
At Athens Borough, Sept. 2d,for the towns
of Athens, Ridgbury, Burlington, Litchfield,
Smithfield, Ulster and Shesheqnin. At Rome,
Sept. 9th, for Rome, Wysox, Herrick, Pike,
Orwell, Warren, Windham, Standing Stone.
Sept. lGth, at Columbia X Roads, for Colom
bia, Wells, South Creek, Springfield, Troy
Armenia, Canton, West Bnrlington. At
Terrytown, Sept. 23d, for Wyalusing, Tusca
rora, Wilmot, Terry, Asylum. At Monroe
ton, Sept. 30th. for Leßoy, Granville, Frank
lin, Albauv, Overton, the Towandas, and
Monroe.
Teachers are respectfully requested to bo
prompt and punctual on the first day. Much
attention will be given to the subject ot'
reading. The State Suderiotendent has re
quired teachers to be inspected,and have their
certificates graded in the " Theory of Teach
ing heucc, special instruction in that depart
ment will be given.
Teachers should bring with them renders of
different kinds, writing paper and pencils,sing
ing books and grammars. It is hoped that
there will be a full attendance at each Insti
tute. The friends of education are invited to
attend as much and as often as they can find
it convenient.
August 15, 1801. C. 11. COBURX.
Teachers' I animations.
The annual examinations of teachers for this
county, will be holder) in accordance with the
following programme. In three or four instances
two townships have been put together, in order
that the inspections may all be held before the
winter schools commence. Examinations will
commence precisely at 10 o'clock a. m., none
will be inspected who do not come in before
11, unless the delay be unavoidable. Each
teacher must bring Sander's fifth Reader, one
sheet of fools cap paper, pen, iDk and led
peneil. All who intend to teach during the
year must come forward and be examined
None will be examined privately unless an
attendance upon the examination was impossi
ble, old—certificates will not be renewed.■-
Directors and others interested, are earnestly
invited to attend.
Oct. 15—Wells & Smith Creek. Bowley School Iloase,
" 16—Columbia. Au-teusville
" 17—Springfield, Centre School House,
" 15—Ridgbury, Pennyville,
" 19—Smithfield, Centre School House,
" 21—Troy A Armenia. Boro' School House,
'• 22—Canton, Corners School House.
" 23—Franklin A LHtoy. Chapel's School House,
" 24—Granville, Taylor's School House,
" 25—Burlington, Boro' School House,
" 26—Monroe, Borough School House,
" 28—Wysox, A Standing Stone, Myersburgh,
" 29—Rome. Boro' School House,
" 30—Orwell, Hill School House,
" 31—Pike. Leßaysville,
Nov. I—Herrick. Landon School House,
" 2—Wyalusing, Merryail,
" 4—Tuscarora, Ackley School House,
" s—Terry & Wilmot, Terrytown,
" 6—Albany A Overton, Browns School Ilonse,
" 7—Towauda, Boro' School House.
" 11—Asylum, Frenchtown Lower House,
" 12—Sheshequin A Ulster, Kinny School House,
" 13—Athens. Boro' School House,
" 14—Litchfield, Centre School House.
" 15—Windham. Kuykendall School House,
•' 16—Warreu, Boweu School House.
Aug. 3.1861. C. li. COBURN.
Superintendent.
Book Study.
There are two ways to arrive at knowledge;
the study of books and observation connected
with thought. For six thousand years men
have been busied in accumulating stores for
the hiro of knowledge. It has been classified
and laid away in books, and it needs but the
toil of study to make it ours. Besides this, it
still remains scattered through the works of
Nature, as abundantly as before one item was
gathered by the busy mind of man.
The same toil that first gleaned, arranged,
classified and recorded it, will yet meet with
the same success.
Which is the course for the student ? Shall
he avail himself of the labors of others, or
shall he collect for himself the truth's and
facts of life and its purposes? Shall he study
or shall he observe and think ?
The study of books, in a practical point of
view, pays the best interest for the investment
of youthful mind. It is well to think. It is
a work—the distinctive trait of manhood.—
But life gives only time to most persons to
learn what to do and how to do it, even with
the aid of books and teachers. Youth is the
tin', and school the plate fo.'the siu'y of
books ; observation and independent thought
belong more :o after and active life. Genius,
or a mind of quick thought and fertile resource,
may be a very good thing for a business man
to have, but it is not at all desirable for a
student to be conscious of. The student must
take sciences as thev are—he must master text
books in thtir details—lie must go over the
grouud hand in hand with the author, examin
ing his meaning, his method and his mode of
expression. One book thoroughly mastered iu
this wav will iaipurt more information to the
mind and strength and breadth to the under
standing, than all the hasty impressions of
youthful genius. Verbal learning is not enough.
The words are not merely to be committed to
the memory, but the principles are to be com
mitted to the understa ding. The exercise of
the thinking powers is not to be disparaged.
There is no danger of thinkiug too much. But
it should not be made a substitute for labo
rious application. Study itself is only a think
ing in harness. It is directing the rniud iu the
course laid down by an author. The eye may
run over the words, or the hand guide the
pencil over the figures and diagrams, but that
of itself is not study. The mind must be
awake and active or the author's meaning is
not gained—only the outliue—the skeleton—
the mere words are laid away like useless lumber
iu the memory.
Mtrryall, Pa. H. K.