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SILAS WEIGHT.
" Some men are born to greatness, some
men achieve greatness, and some men have
their greatness thrust upon them." The
truly great are those who become so by a
a wise choice of opportunities, seconded by
ability, will, and moral principle, without
which conjunction all effort is vain.
What is greatness 1 As understood by
many, it is great capacity, extraordinary
talent, vast intellect, and thus we bestow
this appellation upon a host whose names
will be examples through all time. We say
great, because they have attained proud
positions in the world, and were authors of
results which more or less influence men
and things,at the present. But too much have
we worshipped genius and talent, and too
little have we regarded the better qualities
of the heart in our estimate of character,
ami in the honor we accord to many who
have g place in the history of the past.
Hiiniiig qualities, brilliant achievements,
enlist all our sympathy, and we forget in
their gaud and show, the useful and the
gin id. We judge of those who have gone
before us, as we do of those who are pres
ent with us, and are loth to ascribe great
ness to any character who has not founded
a great empire or won a great battle, or
shed a great sea of blood, or performed
some great act which strikes us with ad
miration and awe.
There is no nation, ancient or modern,
(the fact may be spoken without an idle
boast,) with a history so brief as our own,
that may count so many examples of real,
true greatness. Whatever may be our de
finition, our roll is well filled, and we may
safely challenge any nation to the compar
ison of the last hundred years. In the sen
ate, in the field, in arts and in arms, in lit
erature and in science, our record is full.
In August, 1847. there died suddenly in
his own house, in a little village of less
than a thousand inhabitants in one of the
northern counties of the Empire State, in
the fifty-third year of his life, a man, who
as much as any one of his age and period,
deserved the appellation of great. He was
born to poverty and with his own hand
earned the means to carry him through col
lege. Without patron, or friends, or family
influence, without other aid than his own
indomitable energy and will, he became a
college graduate, a student at law, a coun
try magistrate, a surrogate of the country,
a state senator, Comptroller of the State,
Senator in Congress, and Governor of the |
Empire State. He refused nearly as many
offices as he filled, to wit: a place in the
Cabinet, a Foreign Minister, a Vice Presi
dential nomination, and a Justice of the |
Supreme Court of the United States. This
man was SII.AS WRIGHT.
For four years he was State Senator. It
was during a period when party spirit ran
high, yet his political honesty was never
doubted. As a member of the Court for |
the correction of Errors, he acquired the !
happy gift or faculty of discovering truth, '
though encumbered with error, and that
p wer of clear analysis, which ever after
was a must valuable guide in the arena of
national politics. After a service of four
years in the Senate, he became again the
village lawyer, and though solicited by par
tial friends to remove to the city where a
broader field invited, he refused. But the
Mate of his adoption now sought to do him
further honor. lit; was called in a period
of great monetary disaster to manage her
finances, and though surrounded with difti
i ulties he succeeded. He adhered Btrictly
to a literal construction of State law,avoid
ed in every respect a creation of now state
debts, and in so doing, acquired the epithet
of barn-burner. His term of office as Comp
troller was not finished when the Legisla-,
ture elected him Senator in Congress. He
was now in the zenith of his fame. The
village lawyer had become a member of
the most distinguished political body known
to the American Constitution, and in some
respects, to the world—a loftier position
save one than that occupied by any other
individual—the compeer of the talented and
o-iiiiwued of the Western Continent. How
well he discharged his senatorial duties let
'he journals speak ; let them say too how
'"eral his construction of Constitutional
and how strictly he adhered to the
'hinocratic principle, and shove all let
"in declare how close and compact his
ar gment in debate.
He had served nearly sixteen years as
' "ator in Congress when the great strug
j kctweeu Clay and Polk for the Presi
ency came on. It was felt hy all that the
'te nf New Y'ork would determine the re
* s and it was also felt that Polk could
any it alone. The National Conven
' 'at nominated Folk had turned its
10. O. OOODRICH, Iul>li shcr.
VOLUME XXV.
back on Van Huron, refusnig him a uoinina
politics,—the canal policy, the state debt
the anti-rent question,—matters with which
lie had been disconnected for years were
brought into the canvass, and he was forced
into direct antagonism with many with
whom he had previously acted in concert.
It was a great mistake and so he felt it,but
the party intent on its own salvation only,
forced him into the leadership, and although
he was elected by ten thousand majority,
five thousand greater than Hoik's, yet this
same party selfishness insured his defeat
two years later.
I tion through the machinery of the two
| third rule, in consequence 'of his Texas let
i ter ; and yet, it had to use his friends to
succeed. A nomination to the Vice Presi
dency was therefore given to Mr. Wright.
He refused it promptly, and at length, was
i persuaded to give up his p'ace in the Sen
ate, and receive the nomination for Gover
nor of the state for the sole and only pur
pose of securing it to Mr. Polk This was
;* great sacrifice for Mr. Wright. By ac
' cepting the nomination of Governor he be
| came again mixed up with New York local
This was the glorious era of Democrats
and Whigs, of Barn-burners and Hunkers,
of Locofocos, of Freesoilers, of Hard shells
and Soft shells, of Anti-slavery, Anti-Hum,
and now and then an ancient fossilized An
ti-Mason —there were presses and platforms
and promises and pledges, caucus conven
tions and conferences, oaoh party had an
organization and nearly each man a candi
date. But when a man of known talent
and probity was brought out lor office, it
was often the case that those of different
shades of opinion would unite in his sup
port and thus secure his election. In this
manner Mr. Wright was successful in the
first canvass he made for Governor. But
if such combinations sometimes result in
the choice of the right man, other combi
nations may in that of the wrong one, and
in this way he was defeated in the last. Mr.
Wright lost his election on the second trial
by the anti-rent vote, llis opponent, John
Young, a shrewd, talented man, made fair
promises, and in some counties he received
an overwhelming support. Mr. Wright
had also vetoed the canal bill and as a con
sequence, many Hunkers deserted him.—
That bill, had it become a law, whould have
re-inaugurated the spendthrift policy, and
have enabled thousands to grow fat upon
the public treasure. The State owes him
much for his firmness. It was this selfish
ness of his party which consigned him to
private life, for notwithstanding the anti
rent defection, he would have been success
ful had the Hunkers been faithful.
After his term of Governor had expired,
Mr. Wright retired to his farm of thirty
acres in St. Lawrence county, and there in
the peaceful pursuits of private life forgot
the excitement of political and the tumult
of partizan strife. He plowed and sowed,
and reaped and mowed, and planted and
harrowed. The rising sun found him abroad
in the field—he hoed his row and kept his
swath with his hired man—he harnessed
his team and drew his fuel and cut it for
use, he went to mill and to the blacksmith
shop, to the store and post-office, to train
ings, and meetings, and gatherings of the
people. In fact, he was one of them in all
respects, engaged in the same pursuits, en
joying the same pastime, and sympathizing
in all their interests. What stranger would
recognize in the rather stout, full chested,
full faced, sun-burnt man in frock and trow
ses, leading the field of mowers in a hot
sunny day, Silas Wright, ex-Governor and
ex-Senator, whose great speech had so
charmed him in the reading, and which had
established on a sure basis the true policy
this great Nation?
What faculty of the mind made Silas
Wright the man he undoubtedly was ? It
was the power of ANALYSIS. He could ex
amine and inquire, and from thence there
flowed forth by an irresistable logic the
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth. You could no more dispute his con
clusion than you could the simplest prob
lem in mathematics You were taken by
surprise and convinced against your will.
In the American Senate, where he won his
I great victories, he was assured of a tri
umph upon equal ground. Long before
other minds had found a basis of action,his
had gone over the whole field of inquiry,
and by au almost intuitive analysis had
unburrowed the truth. Other minds there
were, undoubtedly, in some respects, su
perior to bis ; but for correct logic, close
analysis, overwhelming argument, none his
equal. His true position was that of Chief
Justice of the Supreme Court of the United
States.
Once more, —his excellence lay not alone
in his intellect. Silas YVright was an hon
est man—his path lay straight before hiui,
and the end he sought was pure, and just,
lie never descended to the arts of the mere
politician,he despised the low jugglery and
chicanery which constitutes the only stock
in trade of some successful men. Thomas
H. Benton of Missouri, called him the Cato
of America, an appellation well earned and
merited by a long and distinguished career,
which if not as brilliant, was yet as useful
to his country, as that of those who sought,
by questionable ends, mere personal ag
grandisement. It was said of him that he
had refused more offices than he had .filled.
It is certain that when he withdrew from
the national arena to secure his own State
to the Democracy, he stood most prominent,
TOYVANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., APRIL 18, 1865.
yea, foremost on the list of those to whom
the nation would look after the pending
election, for a Presidential candidate. We
may say even more, we may say, and it is
believed, witli truth, that at this very mo
ment Mr. Wright held in his own hands the
means to become the candidate of the par
ty in place of Mr. Polk, and that it was his
chivalrous devotion to Mr. Vanßuren, that
staid their exercise.
But why lengthen out this humble tri- j
bute to the excellence of a good man ?
\\ hy offer it at all ? Alas, personal ambi
tion is the bane of American Statesmen.
It has already shed rivers of blood and di
vided a people, one in origin, in language,
and law, bound to each other by the mem
ories of common dangers, sacrifices and
successes, —now hostile and belligerent.
May those who are yet to stand in our Leg
islate halls, and whose voice will from j
thence go out through our land as conserv
ators of our interests, and guardians of our
liberties, remember him whose example is :
so feebly portrayed in the foregoing sketch, j
and that "An honest man is the noblest
work of God."
co it RESPONDENT;.
NEW OIL TOWN, March 17, 1865.
MR. EDITOR :—ON. FLOWS. To the dream- j
er, language can not express the sweet
ness of these words ; sweeter than happi
ness and life ; these give them that which
will secure happiness and can render life
sweet. The excitement is great. Stocks
rise as spring torrents ; marshy, worthless
lands are worth millions, and the holders !
are mad with realization of dreamy desires. !
Formerly the sleepers waited, yearning ; |
now, sure of all they saw, they blindly fol
low any scheme. Over confident, they are !
ready and eager to stake their all on the j
chance of grasping fabled fortunes.
Among the most eager, most heedless, {
most grasping, is the victim. He has no !
remembrance of being a farmer. Oil flows, !
and all other things vanish from his tliougt*. !
And the fever has passed to the
IRRITABLE STAGE.
The prominent symptom is headache, i
Not the mere throbbing of the nerves of |
the head caused by a diseased stomach,
not the many-formed nervous headache ; i
but the headache, a burning of gas, a burst- i
ing, a throbbing, which increases as the |
victim approaches oil, yet urges him to j
seek it, to smell of it. You notice him with j
on .• of his headaches ; he writes in the ex- I
treme of agony, contorting his countenance, j
Yet he wanders oft' in diseased dreams, for- j
gets all but bis desire. A word on the I
theme calls him and his agonies back. And
again he sleeps.
Daily you will find him when tiiey had an
explosion, looking at the charred timbers of
the derrick where the gas had been, turn
ing every stone and chip to see if any grease
sput or trace of one can be found, smelling
of the fresh mud and sand to know if there
he any prospect of a trace of grease. He
will tell you he found a thin scum on the
pools of water, a strong scent of gas on
the stones and chips,, and that the sand felt
real oily. He often visits his swamp. One
day he saw bubbles rise and he thinks there
is oil. You will see him trudging through
the mud and water, seeking for the bub
bling. Miry bogs are no trouble to him ;
they seem like a soft velvet carpet. And,
after a vain search till darkness, or famish
ing, drives him home, he still knows he saw
the bubbles and smelled the gas ; lie re
turns cheered, confident, dressed in purple,
not desponding, muddy.
And he loves to sit on jutting crags.
Back to the chaotic time when earth was
sundered and the rocks yawned to receive
the liquid, back he wanders and gazes down
upon the tempting deposit of the region
around. To his keener sense of smell, there
are gases rising, thin, subtile gases, yet
gases from the hidden store-house. Dream
leads to longer dreams, sitting, gazing from
the crags.
Old salt wells attract. One of his chief
enjoyments is to visit them, to smell the
gas, to watch the fast following bubbles
rise ; then he is carried off by sleepy fan
cy. lie penetrates to the lakes of fluid
hidden deep down below the rocks, liberates
the golden liquid, and it rises higher, gaz
ing on its graceful curves and showers of
spray, drinking in the searching, irritating
gases, his soul loses itself in the realms of
forgetfulnesß. But Imw keen is his delight
while viewing the real Jiowing oil. He
smells of it, tasts to see if salt be there,
feels, and is happy. How nicely it gushes
fo-th ! Gold, happinesß, and ease, and al
most life itself, gushes forth with the new
found stream.
Tired of seeing the princely treasure so
freely wasted, he follows the winding
stream, stops at each little eddy where the
liquid strives to tarry, examines every
stone on which may be found a trace of the
blood of earth, wanders on till all is ab
sorbed again, and wishes all, and more,
were his. Gaziug on this golden stream,
thought is followed by big thought, and the
brain faints under the weary load. Fancy,
free, carries him into unseen realms, a re
gion yet more airy, where faint sounds of
sirens touching golden shells, lulls the soul
to slumber. When his headaches begin, he
wanders off to one of these new haunts.
And the deep thrill of delight keeps him
till darkness or hunger worn.
This is the sober man. But how trans
formed. Once a steady farmer, now all the
REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER.
past is a dream and his visions are real
| ities. Living on a farm, eatingoi the grain
'he worked night and day to raise, spending
i in stocks the grain he Huld, walking through
his swamp, muddy, tired, hungry, lie is not
a farmer, has forgotten that he ever was.
All things seem different now. He is rich ;
j though walking through mire and over
crags, he walks on velvet; though living
! in the old house (a pile of bricks), it seems
| a palace in the centre of broad domains,
and he is lord of all he sees.
YVe hope to speak of what we gain and
what we lose, in our next. J. G. H.
Camp of sth New York Cavalry, i
WINCHESTER, March 27th 1805. j
DEAR SISTER :—I received your most wel
come letter lust evening, and was very glad
to hear again l'roiu home. You know that
| letters, to a soldier's life, are like stars in a
dark sky, and every mail is watched in a
lever of anxiety. 1 supposed you had
heard of my return from the raid, as I wrote
i home the next day, and furthermore, I do
not think you read the papers much, or you
would have seeu an account of our doings.
YYell we started from here, Feb. 27th, with
Gen. Sheridan, and proceeded with him as
far as Waynesboro', where the fight took
place between Gen. Custer and Gen. Early,
the result ending in the capture of Early's
whole army, wagons, artillery, and every
thing belonging to his command, and he
only " escaped by the skin of his teeth,"
by taking to the mountains. His army
consisted of only about one thousand three
hundred men, which we guarded safely hack
to Winchester. We were four days going
and six coining back, the distance being
one hundred and twenty miles, the road
with the exception of twelve miles was
very good, being a macadamised pike, and
that twelve miles was the worst road I
ever traveled without any exception. The
mud was knee deep to our horses, and you
can imagine how the prisoners looked
wading through this mud. Occassionally
a poor fellow would fall flat ou his face,
and half a dozen men run over him. I felt
sorry for the misguided rascals. They were
mostly well dressed—altogether the best
looking lot of " Johnnies" 1 have ever
seen ; some of them expressed themselves
stiff iSecesh—others said they were glad
they were taken.
Although we had no hand in capturing
the prisoners, we had the satisfaction of
cleaning out some of Kosser'sinen who haft
gathered together with the intention of res
cuing their fellows, and had been following
in our rear all the way from Stanton, every
day ge.tting more men until they had got
three hundred men of all kinds, the most of |
them officers ; and when we arrived at the i
Shenandoah valley, we found we were stir-!
rounded by guerrillas, could see them all
around us, and they attempted to hold the i
river so that we could not cross, but they |
did not do it. While we were crossing the !
prisoners, the robs thought they could drive
the rear guard into the river, and probably
kill or drown them, but the sth N. Y. was
there as rear guard, what there was of us
—ouly about two hundred men -and we
let the Itebs come upon a charge to within
about twenty rods of us, when we gave
them a volley and returned the charge with
such fury that they were obliged to make
good their escape as best they could, not
however without leaving ten men killed and
twenty prisoners. After that they were
contented to let us come on in peace, and
did not bother us any more. There are
some interesting accounts in the papers of
Sheridan's raid. They printed a paper in
Oharlottsville, advertising for " their Jule,
laud my boy Rosser," describing them as
" runaways."
The Johnnies in this valley are terribly
afraid of Sheridan's cavalry, it is a perfect
terror to them Little Custer is the man to
ead them a dash and a yell, and the Rebs
fly before them.
'' Charge, was the Captain's cry,
Theirs not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's hut to <lo or ilie.
As into the jaws of death
Rushed those brave hundreds."
Often I have thought of those words
when going into a light, " Ours but to do
or die," but we think we can see the end ;
when Sherman closes up on Lee's rear there
will be no alternative for him but to sub
mit, and Lee's army once destroyed, the re
bellion is crushed; and ere another cam
pain ends, or before another harvest is
come, the war will be over, and we shall
have an honorable and lasting peace, and
we shall all be sent home to dear friends,
there to enjoy the blessing of one of the
best governments that ever existed on the
face of the earth. And we shall be proud
to know that we have stood by our coun
try and defended the dear old Stars and
Stripes.
YVe have meetings, spelling schools,
prayer meetings, &c\, at the chapel, which
are well attended. The wind to-night is
blowing a perfect hurricane. The weather
has been delightful for the last few days.
The grass is beginning to look quite green,
the leaves are bursting out in the warm
genial sunlight, the air is full of sweet song
of birds, and everything tells us 1 hat spring
has again come to gladden the earth. YY'rite
at your earliest convenience.
Your Affectionate Brother,
L. HUSTON CASE.
No human heart is vacant. It has as in
habitant—either an angel or a devil.
ShUtttil §?ortrjj.
THE PRKSEST.
T>o not crouch to-ihiv, ami worship
The old l'nst, whose life is tied,
Hush your voice to tender reverence ;
Crown'd lie lies, but cold and dead ;
For the Present reigns our Monarch.
With an added weight of hours,
Honor her, for she is mighty!
Honor her, for she is ours!
See the shadows of his heroes
flirt around her cloudy throne ;
And each day the ranks are strengthened
By great hearts to him unknown ;
Noble things the great Past promised.
Holy dreams, both stunge and new ;
But the Present shall fulfil them,
What he promised, she shall do.
She inherits all his treasures,
She is heir to all his fame,
And the light that lightens round her
Is the lustre of his name;
She is wise with all his wisdom,
Living on his grave she stands,
On her brow she bears his laurels,
And his harvests in her hands.
Coward, can she reign and conquer
If we thus her glory dim ?
Let us fight for her as nobly
As our fathers fought for him.
God, who crowns the dying ages,
Bids her rule, and us obey—
Bids us east our lives before her,
With our loving hearts to-day!
OUR L.ITTL.K FRIEND.
Our little friend is in his grave ;
The sod is green with April rain.
We weep for him. What would we have?
To him at least our loss is gain.
We lose the hope of future years—
Our child, our gallant little man ;
But he, the future's pain and tears.
We will be happy if we can.
Or, if not happy, still, content
His peace should solace our despair.
God takes away the gem he lent
To set it with the star-beams fair.
[From the St. James Magazine.]
DOWN A FREIBURG SILVER MINE. !
A whole village of miners exist around
the shaft. The "hands" employed at this
one mine number nearly 1,500. My friend's
" house " seemed to consist of one largish
room, serving as parlor, tap-room, cellar
and bed-room; for behind a curtain was the
" state-bed," and numerous children snored
in all kinds of indescribable contrivances
round the wall. The beer (no fear of that
growing dead which never had a spark of
life) was contained in huge stoneware jars,
uncovered, from whence his wife drew for
us into noggins exactly like " Luther's
drinking-cup "in the Dresden Museum. I
could not forget that his birth place was
not far off ; that, however, " Cliurpriz," or
" Konigovon Ssechs," or " reigning family "
might turn political Papists, these poor mi
ners would be staunch. Yes, there he was
on the wall, "neatly framed and glazed," |
and inscribed in the formal German way,
much as if our immortal bard were entitled !
\V. Shakespeare, Esq., "Mr. Martin Luther." i
Who, looking round at that humble por- ,
trait, could doubt that the poet was ex- '
pressing his countrymen's feelings, when, |
indignant at Luther's bust being shut out
of the Walhall, or German " Westminister j
Abby" for great benefactors of their na
tion, he cried " Der liebt in den Herzen ;
wozn noch in Stein?" —"Why need we a
bust when he lives in our hearts ?"
But return to the miners. They came
dropping in, one or two at a time, till some
dozen were collected, drinking beer and
eating black bread and slices of sugar
sausage. The room, like all German rooms,
was very hot to begin with, and now be
came so insupportable, that 1 wondered
how " mine host's " eldest daughter, (who,
amidst the outstretched bodies of her
brothers and sisters, was washing cups and
passing occasional jokes with the company )
endured the thick Berlin wool jacket in
which the upper part of her ligurc was en
cased. However, by the time I had been
rigged out in full miner's garb, much to my
own satisfaction and to the infinite amuse
ment of the lookers-on, the word was given
to start, and I and my guide stepped out
into the cold, rainy night. We soon reached
the mouth of the shaft, and after a prepar
atory descent into a work-shop, where we
got lanterns fixed to our girdles, we hade
farewell in good earnest to "all beneath
the sun." Oh, that first ladder ! 1 shall
never forget the resigned feeling with
which I stamped down step after step be
hind my guide; the greasy work; the
damp, grave-like air ; above all, the roar
and din from the huge water-wheel and en
gines constantly at work to keep the mine
in anything looking order. Truly, " I heard
the wash of waters, but nothing could I
see"--save vast slimey boards moving
slowly up and down at iny elbows. At
first 1 naturally enough took these collossal
piston-rods for the firm walls of the chim
ney, down which I was creeping. I was
set by one grazing my hip, aud making me
shrink within myself, like the man who saw
the prison walls closing in around him.
After reaching the first landing place all
unpleasant feelings vanished, or were ex
changed for a fear that some miner (we
began to meet them as we got lower down)
might, in his more rapid descent, come un
awares upon my fingers. This was all but
realized in the ascent ; the guide had for
gotten to give the cry which should stop
that flight to all down comers until we had
passed ; and as I blindly worked my way
up, my first intimation of danger was some
clumped foot coming rudely in contact with
my miner's cap.
Of the depth to which I descended 1 can
form no notion. My guide-book Nays the
ladder is from 24 to 30 ells. Of these I
was told there are sixty in the Himmelfurt.
Indeed, my cicerone persuaded me 1 had
gone down forty-two of them. However
this may he, the depth of " Birch wood
shaft" stands in the guide-book as over
1,300 ells ; and the "Murder Mine" is still
deeper. The passages are generally very
i low ; an exceedingly unpleasant stoop had
;to be maintained in traversing them. Gen
! erally the walls were plain gneis, or
per Annum, in Advance.
quartz, oft on discolored with red muddy
water from iron springs ; but here and there
the veins were so rich, that even our dim
lights sufficed for a magic illumination.—
This was especially the case in the " new
vein," the great discovery of the year, suf
ficiently painful to creep through, but re
paying ail by its brilliancy. The gallery
seemed to round almost to the same point
• here our descent had ceased. Going up j
the forty-two ladders was weary, tiring
work. However, we were cheered at each
landing by the " Gluckauf" from parties
of descending miners, to whom we duly re
plied " Maeht gesund Schicht"—"Well
speed thy task for these people have
conventional phrases, which are as indis
pensible as the mixed jargon of French and
English peculiar to certain circles at home.
In ascending I noticed the excellent ven
tilation, managed by trap-doors at the diff
erent landings. There is always an official
moving to see to this. In England
we leave this important duty to mere chil
dren. Tne floors and trap-doors were also
in my eyes admirable preservatives against
what might occur with such very perpen-!
dieular ladders -viz : a fall right through
from top to bottom. After a weary climb
we got within sound of the eternal anti
danger bell, and at length emerged into the
cold rain. When we descended, the chil
dren in the " schools " were singing their
evening hymn, and " mine host's " parlor
was full of grave omnivorous guests ; but !
now all was silent ; the cabaret deserted
by all except one man, who had been some
years among our Cornish Mines, and spoke
a little English—a drunken fellow, who had
wanted to accompany me below, and, foiled
in this, had waited above, in hopes of more
beer—and for one or two more, for whom
the " swipes and sausage " seemed to have
never-ending attractions.
While we were divesting ourselves of our
leathern integuments, I had an opportunity I
of testing the honesty of my guide. It is !
strictly forbidden—l know not why—to sell i
or give away any specimens of the ore; all j
such must be obtained by special permis-!
sion at the Bergmeister's office. We were !
alone in our dressing room, several really !
beautiful peices of fiuor, quartz, and silver j
crystals, ect., were round, but nothing I
could tempt him to let me do more than j
touch them. It was too late to go and j
visit the Amalgam Works or any other
wonders, even had 1 been duly provided '
with permits ; so there remained nothing '
for it but to kill time till the hour for the :
cilwagen's return ; I therefore waited till ;
the change of relays (they have three in j
the twenty-four hours.) This brought a j
crowd of swarthy miners into mine host's I
for " beer, washwasser, and putzen," (beer, i
washing water, and toilet). The English j
speaker now went into his turn, and I was !
left with some eight or ten, all burning to
know whence I came, and why. I told
them the fact, that I was from " aus Ire-;
land and not being strong in geography, j
they shook their heads, till one started "Is
land " (Iceland) as an emendation; and
forthwith I was set down as a countrymen
of the geysers, and doubtless connected
with legends of the iron-working Norse
men, who forged the swords of Rollo and
Harold Haarfager. This was too good to
last, and the murder come out through my j
own folly. Each miner wears a belt, to j
which are attached two curious knives,and j
a lead pencil of most primitive construe- j
tion. This I coveted, and began bargain- j
with one of my friends for the fee simple of I
his property. At once the shrewdest of 1
the party cried out, " Acli Gott, der Her ist
ein Englander," and up went the price of
the belt, and my " little bill" for the beer
and sausages was swelled, doubtless, to
three times its true dimensions. Neverthe
less, 1 got some good information about
the hydraulic apparatus, and was told that,
in spite of it, the mine nearest to this (the
" Prince Elector's level)" could only be
worked to two-thirds its real depth. The j
miners were fine tall fellows, not a bit bent j
by their work ; grave even beyond their :
countrymen of grave Saxon land, never
surprised into anything beyond a length
ened " Wie-eh ?" whereby in their broad
dialect they politely expressed an incred
ulous " No, you don't say so?" The lowest
wages are from three to five uewgroschen
(some five pence to seven pence a day);
men get about seven, and master workmen
up as high as fifteen (i. e., about one shil
ling and ten pence). However, we must
remember that in matters of food, money is
worth nearly twice, and in the considera
tion which it gives the possessor full five
times as much as in England.
WALKING-LEAVES OF AUSTRALIA. —AImost
everybody has heard of the wonderful walk
ing leavos of Australia. For a long time
after the discovery of that great island,
many people really believed that the leaves
of a certain tree, which flourishes there,
could walk about the ground. The story
arose in this way : Some English sailors !
landed upon the coast one day. After j
roaming about un.il they were tired, they
sat down under a tree to rest themselves.
A puff of wind came along, and blew off
a shower of leaves, after turning over and
over in the air, as leaves generally do finally
rested upon the ground. As it was mid
summer, and everything quite green, the
circumstance puzzled the sailors considera
bly.
But their surprise was much greater, as
you may well suppose, when after a short
time, they saw the leaves crawling along
on the ground toward the trunk of the tree.
I They ran at once for their vessels, without
j stopping to examine into the matter at all,
| and set sail away from the land where
everything seemed to be bewitched. One
of the men said that he " expected every
moment to see the trees set to dance a jig."
Subsequent explorations n Australia
have taught us that these walking leaves
are insects They live upon trees. Their
bodies are very thin and flat, their wings
forming large leaf-like oranges. When
they are disturbed their legs are folded
away under their bodies, leaving the shape
exactly like a leaf with its stem all com
plete. They are of bright green color in
the summer, but they gradually change in
the fall, with the leaves, to the brown of
frost-bitten vegetation. When shaken from
the tree, they lie for a few moments upon
the ground as though they were dead, Lut
presently they begin to crawl aloug towards
the tree, which they ascend again. They
rarely use their wings, although they were
pretty well supplied in this respect.
TEE VITAL PBIROIPLE.
What is animal life? This question has
perplexed the world for ages ; and is stdl
in dispute. If the medical faculty could
solve it they would have a key to the origin
of all diseases, and no longer treat us by
guess, as they too frequently do now.—
"The life is in blood," we are told on high
authority ; but the grand problem in medi
cal philosophy is not where is it? but what
is it? The priests of Chaldea and Egypt
consulted the stars upon the subject, but
obtained no answer of any practical value.
The Greeks studied the laws of nature
thoughtfully, but failed to fathom the great
secret. Modern doctors have argued the
point very learnedly and given us a multi
! tude of theories thereupon, but the common
sense of mankind is not entirely satisfied
with an}' of them. Neither the subtile
I logic of the metaphysician nor those of the
| anatomist has been able to determine pos
i itivcly what animal life is.
Pythugoras and most of the ancient sa
ges believed the vital spirit to be invisible
fire. Epicurus—who, by the way was a man
of immense mind, and not, as many sup
pose, a two legged pig who grovelled in the
mire of sensualism—insisted that it was
compounded of heat and gas. Among the
I moderns, John Wesley, Dr. Priestly, Sir
I Humphrey Davy, Abernethy, and many
| others, maintained that electricity or mag
i uetisin is the animating element. The late
Dr. Metcalfe, one of our own distinguished
| men of science, held caloric or latent heat
to be the basis of vitality, and supposed
clectricty its emanation, to be the active vi
tal principle.
That atmospheric heat is intimately con
nected with this principal, is evident from
its influence in the production of innumer
able forms of animal and vegetable exis
tence.
Of the million and a half of animal and
vegetable species which the earth is esti
mated to contain, probably three-fourths
inhabit regions where there is no winter.—
The whole tropical ocean may be said to be
alive, while within the artic circle life is
sparsely scattered, and what there is of it
is comparatively sluggish. Summer in all
latitudes is the nurse, if not the parent, of
myrids of existences, and it is obvious that
if the world were deprived of solar heat,
every living thing would die. We know
that the vital spark has been apparently
extinguished in fish and reptiles by the ac
tion of cold, it can be re-kindled by the ap
plication of heat. Fish that have been fro
zen stiff and remained in that condition for
twelve months, may be thawed back to life.
This feat has been accomplished by a Eu
ropean professor, who is now soliciting per
mission to congeal a few criminals con
demned to death. He says that after keep
ing them under the seal of Jack Frost fur
a year or two, he could warm them up ami
set them agoing again as good as new. 01
course, nobody believes him. It may be
possible to recall a frozen tadpole to life,
but it is beyond the power of science to
summon back to its earthly tabernacle a
departed soul.
The sum and substance of the whole
matter is, that although heat and elictricity
are apparently essential to the development
of animal life and to its revival after tem
porary suspension, its principle is beyond
the scrutiny of man. The laws of life and
motion we may investigate and determine,
but their origin is a civine mystery which
reason cannot penetrate.
THF. DISCOVERER OF AMERICA. —Not long
since, writes a correspondent, Mr. A. the
master of one of the public schools in East
Boston, while making a call in the room of
his assistant, Miss 8., requested the boys
who could tell him who discovered America
to hold up their hands. A large number at
once complied, but, to assist the rest, he
said—
"Don't you remember that adventurous
navigater who had so much trouble with
his crew, who wanted to throw him over
board ?"
Here a small boy held his hand up very
high, and made every effort to attract the
master's eye.
"There," said Mr. A., "that boy knows
who discovered America. See his eyes
snap. Now, for the instruction of the boys
who don't know, you may tell who it was."
"Jonah!" screamed the little fellow, at the
top of his voice.
Mr. A. has not probably examined that
class in history since.
THE SKY AN INIHCATOX OF THF. WEATHER.—
The color of the sky, at particular times,
affords wonderful good guidance. Noi
only does a rosy sunset presage good
weather, and a ruddy sunrise bad weather,
but there are other tints which speak with
equal clearness and ' accuracy. A bright
yellow sky in the evening indicates wind ;
a pale yellow, wet ; a neutral grey color
constitutes a favorable sign in the evening,
and an unfavorable one in the morning.—
The clouds are again full of meaning in
themselves. If their forms are soft, unde
fined, and full feathery, the weather will be
fine ; if their edges are hard, sharp and de
finite, it will be foul. Generally speaking,
and deep unusual hues betoken wind or
rain; while the more quiet and delicate
tints bespeak fair weather. These are
simple maxims ; and yet not so simple
but what the British Board of Trade has
thought fit to publish them for the use of
seafaring.— Scientific American.
HUMAN NATURE. —Some wise man sagely
, remarked,"there is a good deal of human
j nature in man." It crops out occasionlly
in boys. One of the urchins in the School
Ship Massachusetts, who was quite sick,
was visited bj- a kind lady. The little fol
low was suffering acutely, and his visitor
asked hiin if she could do anything for him.
"Yes," replied the patient,"read to me."—
"Will you have a story?" asked the lady.
"No," answered the boy ; "read from the
Bible ; read about Lazarus ;" and the lady
complied. The next day the visit was re
peated, and again the boy asked the lady
to read. "Shall I read from the Bible?" she
inquired. "Oh ! no," was the reply,"l'm
better to-day ; read me a love story
CONTRABAND TOM who has come into Sheri
dan's lines, says the rebels are having a
■ "right smart talk" about arming the colored
i men, and the negroes are talking about it
j themselves, but the blacks are about equally
I divided on the matter. Says Tom—"Bout
! half do colored men tink dey would run di
i reetly over to de Yankees wid de arms in
! der hands, and todder half tink dey would
jiss stand an' fire a few volleys to de rear
j fußt, fore dey run—dat's all de difference."
LADY Caroline Lamb had, in a moment of
passion, knocked down one of her pages
with a stool. The poet Moore, to whom
this story was told, observed. "Oh, noth
ing is more natural for a literary lady to
double down a page." "1 would rather,"
said one of the company, "advise Lady
Caroline to turn over a new leaf,"
"MR. SMITH, you said you boarded at the
Columbian Hotel for six mouths—did you
foot your bill ?" "No, sir, but it amounted
to the same thing—the landlord footed me.'
NUMBER 4(i.