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BY W. BLAIR.
"VOLUME 24.
c $ elect
- TO 'A WAVE.
3Y COL. E. D. BAKER.
Dost thou seek a star with thy swelling crest,
X 2) wave, that leavest thy mother's breast?
Post thou leap from the prison's depths be-
jrt scorn of their calm and constant:flow?
,Or art thou seeking some distant land,
To die in murmurs upon the strand?
Fist thou tales to tell of the pearl-lit deep,
Where the wave-whelmed mariner rocks in
sleep?
,Canst thou speak of navies that sunk in
pride.
Ere the roll of their thunder in echo died?
What trophies, what banners are floating
In the shadowy depths of that silent sea?
It were vain to •ask r as thou rollest afar,
Of banner or mariner, ship or star;
It were vain to seek in thy stormy face
Some tale of the sorrowful past to trace ; _
Thou art swelling high ; thou art dashing
free ;
libtv vain - aYe - tlfe — questions we askartlffe:
am a wave. on tlarst
I WI) am av% uiiderrer, driven him thee ;
I too am seeking a distant land,
To be lost and gone ere I reach the strand ;
For the land I seek is a waveless shore,
And they who once reach it shallwander no
Xliutllaurotth
Is this all ? Oh !is this all ?" and the
sputker lifted up her bowed head. The
light of the candle reveals her face; and
«•fiat a fair young face it was ! There
was the white brow of intellect shaded by
tresses of 'duct hair; the sweet mouth ;
and the dear earnest eyes, so unutterably
beautiful.
Many times has Emil m
Vale walked
up and down her ro to-night; her
white hands clasped over ler bosom, try
ing in vain to reconcile herself to what
must be on the morrow •, but the tears
will gather in the large, dark eyes, and
the sweet mouth trembled with grief:—
And why ? Hers is a beautiful home, and
she its only mistress. True, her mother
sleeps in the silent grave ; but a proud
and loving father is still left her. But
it is not this the young girl is dreaming
of now. Her soul is wandering back o
ver the de4l years of the past ; and she
is reading on their snowy scroll, joyous
hopes an Aessed dreams, - written there
in the o' days.
i i
Her memory hovering over the holiest
happy part of her life. It was only two
years ago, when she bad but reached her
seventeenth slimmer, that she first met
Charles Marcus. He was their pastor ;
and l'aithfully he ministered to the peo
ple of his charge. Seldom found in halls
of mirth, he was often found in the halls
of mourning. Was a soul passing from
time into eternity, his deep voice, so pow.
erful in its sublimity, and again so sooth
ing in its low music, was heard in pray
er, or cheering the dyhig pilgrim nearing
the grave.
Sabbath after Sabbath he stood in the
pulpit, a radiant light resting upon his
countenance, proclaiming the word Life;
till he became very dear to his people.—
But in his teachings of heaven, that,sum
mer, he learned, with Emily Vale, a sweet
earth lesson, which neither could forget.—
Thrown in each other's society, with souls
attuned in harmony, was it a wonder
,they loved ? She realized in him all that
,was great and good in man ; and he
thought her the loveliest of women, And
so the bright summer days, so fraught
with bliss to them, wore away and brought
at their close a parting ! For he was
destined to go as a missionary to afar off
, land ; she to await, in her young heart's
love, his return. The parting was full
of bitterness and pain to bath.
"I must do my duty," said Charles.—
"Have you nothing to give me, to keep
in remembrance of you, while I am gone?'
"I would offer you my 'Bible, Charles,
but I know its holy truths are laid up in
your heart, so ,I will give you this,"
she
replied, and a curl of hair dropped into
his hand.
"Bless you darling ?" he whispered. "It
pima be prized .by me as dearly as life."
"Oh, (lades 1" she cried, !glow eau I
give you up ?"
Gazing through tears upon her, he an.
swered, "I know not, Emily, but I may
fall in the °ranks of death on that far-og
short."
"Then you will be lost to me," mur
mured the wcepi,og girl.
"If the soul was not immortal," he said . ,
"if there was no awakening from the
sleep of death, no brigbt heaven beyond
the stars, then, indeed, we might be lost
to each other forever ?" Then folding
her to his bosom, he pressed a last kiss on
her pale cheek, and was gone. But strange
to say, though absent so long, he had
never written ; and now, for months, Em
ily had thought him false. No wonder
her voice rings out so mournfully to-night
"Charles ! Charles ! How I love you !
How I trusted you, as I can never trust
again—you, wbom I deemed so noble,
good and true! How I dreamed of a
glowing future, a peaceful pathway, oh !
so blest, which our feet wont , ' tread to
gether, you c:uidinm me by your earnest
spiritual life to a home in Heaven." And
she burst in tears.
Mu . .
But the apparent treachery of Charles
was not her only grief. A week before
that her father said, "Emily, my child,
Louis Vernon has asked of me your hand."
And when she answered,"l will stay with
you, father, while I live. I esteem .Lou
is, but do not love him ;" he replied,
"Emily, must I tell you all—must I tell
you that I am a bankrupt, that I shall
be ruined unless you marry him He
is very wealthy, he will save me forever."
Then Emily quickly started to her feet.
"I will brave poverty," she cried, "even
I'l I •g• • I I I • a. 1.6 • , ter
tiis trial. My love is buried in a livirg
tomb. Though Charles be false, I love
him still !"
A pallor, like that of death, spread over
the old man's Tace. He did not tell her,
that when he saw his ruin, he intercepted
her letters. But he did say in a hoarse
voice, "I shall be ruined, Emily ! my hon
or, peace, all lost! And when you see your
old father groping about in a prison cell,
the snow of sixty years resting upon his
head, remember, you could have spared
him this bitter trial."
Then Emily sprang towards him.; her
arms were around his neck', and from her
white lips there came a cry—what a cry!
so full of tenderness, and yAt wailing with
despair. __"Fatherl--father=!=L-love—you=!-
Fo your_ sakei will -wed-him."
All this now passes before the young
gir], who 'wanders up and down her room
to-mglit, To-morrow skis to be the wife
of L Vernon. He IN a slight, delicate
ms-n-a-n-d-swid--to-bc-consuinpti - ve, and Imp
py might be the woman who could love
nun and appreciate his dreamy, poetic na
_ture_Emily_knew-his worth ; but ,she-Was-
one that, loving once, could never forget.
After tieasurinsr u in her hea,rtsuch beau-
tiful dreams of the. future, such a holy
love for truth, is it not natural, that in a
voice of touching sadness, she
. would say,
"Is this all '1 Oh ! is this all ?"
idniAt-when-shc-tarned
m that man-to-seek - he,. coodi. What
a night of torture to her! In her great
love ibr her father, sometimes the sacri
fice she was about to make appeared but
naught; and she would Walk up and down,
her soul wrapped in a feverish joy, that
she was doing this for him. But it' as
only for a moment; for into her heart
would steal the bitter thought, "sold, sold
to buy back lost wealth I" Then the scorn
on that young face was pitiful to behold.
The last words that lingered upon her lips
that night, were "Charles ! Charles! how
could you slight such love as mine? How
could you so blight my peace ? Oh, Chas.?"
It was the last time his name was on her
lips for years.
*
Five years have passed. Near the city
of Chester a beautiful home is situated.—
How beautiful it rises there on the green
knoll, in the last flush of the sunset ! The
trees , surrounding it are snowy with blos
somi l':4ifd the sweet perfume glides in at
the operCihndows, where all bespeaks re
finement aind.Juxurv. This is the house
of Louis and , Emil; Vernon.
Louis sits out on the portico, his chair
leaning against the white post, while lit
tle Willie- their child, plays at his feet.—
If Louis Vernon did not realize what he
expected in his married life, he knew be
fore that he was not loved. If the soft
hand of his wife had seldom wandered lov
ingly through his hair, or rested on his
broad white brow, it had never been rais
ed in defiance to his will. If her sweet lips
were pressed to his less often than he wish
ed, they had never spoke one unkind word
to him.
I know not of sad presentiment if hov
ering over his mind ; but he is dreaming
of death. Consumption had made rapid
strides in his delicate constitution. The
earnest, beautiful light in his eye, and the
quick flush proclaim that he was the vic
tim of that fell disease. Yet he is not awed
at the approach of death. He shrinks not
appalled from the coffin and the shroud.—
His eyes are turned from the beautiful
landscape before him to the evening sky,
so dazzling in the flush of the sunset. A
smile, wherein is mingled much of peace
and joy, flits over his countenance.
Emily, who has been wandering in the
garden, beholds this scene. Her Mier
has been dead some two years, and if he
had told her of his deception, and Char
lies' constancy, the old love might have
been blotted out. But Charles, she now
knew, had been true to her ! This was the
thought that followed her through all these
years; yet still sho is attached to her hus
band. It might have been a terrible fear
that smote her heart, when she gazed on
Louis' pale countenance, or perhaps it was
the spiritual radiance resting there, that
filled her soul with a sudden tenderness,
for she went to him and pressed a kiss on
his brow, saying, "Bear Louis ! if th e
years I havespent with you have not been
rife with tumultuous joy, I bless you that
they have been full of peace. I have ever
cherished in my heart a sacred tenderness
for you, Louis ; and your sickness has
rendered you dearer to me than you could
have been in health."
"I have been happy," he dreamily mur
mured.
A week from that evening he slept the
.sleep of death ! and Emily and Willie
•were - alone in the wide world.
In one of the rooms of a large hotel in
; the city of Chester, Charlies Marcus sat,
his head was bent over his hand, where
,lay a long black curl of hair, and tears
were falling on it.
"If the thought that she was false had
not prevented me,"he murmured,"l would
have been here long ago. How I dream
ed of her on that famashore ! And some
times I feared that it was sin ; fbr when I
,wrote my sermons I saw her'eyes! and
when I knelt to pray, her form was before
me! How the sweet voice. of the olden
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time whispered in my heart to-day ! I was
so full of ho .e and_ . s sots! Idi is
murmur ; but my soul will weep over the
beautiful dream, shattered for ever."
He brushed the tears from his dark spir
itual eyes, and passed from the room. As
he was entering the ladies'parlor he heard
the murmur of a name that made his
heart throb wildly: and pausing he listen
ed - to - a - chuversation - between - twola - diesin•
the parlor.
"Poor Emily Vale! you remember her,
Alice ?"
"Yes," was the reply.
"Well," said the other, "she married to .
- • • / her-from-ruin,-when she loved
a young minister, a misonary in a foreign
land. Her husband has been dead a
year, and by the negligence or fraud of
her trustees, all the property has been
lost ; and now she is in the depths of pov
erty. Did you see that sweet child in
here a moment ago? That was Emily's!
and he was asking alms."
Charles waited to hear no more. Turn
ing the corner of one of the streets, he
saw a little child, "Emily's!" he cried, and
hurried on. "What is your name, little
boy ?" he said, kindly. The child looked
up, with a wondering, into that proud,
noble face, and in his sweet voice answer
ed, "Willie Vernon." He was folded to
the minister's heart. "I should have
_known=you-wereher-child T among a-thout --
and, by those lustrous eyes.—Won't you
take me to your mother, darling ?" The
child's voice quivered, "Mamma is very
poor," he. said. "You won't like to go to
our home. I stole away a while ago for
I-thought-C4otl-would wake-somebody-give
a little hoy, like me, something, and He
did !" and the tiny hand opened and there
lay--a-shilling,-given-him-by-the-lady-who
had spoken of Emily in the parlor,
"Take me to her, Willie! take_me_to
her, and you shall never want any more
while I live," said Charles.
The little fellow obeyed, and soon, they
reached his home. Emily, weary and
:drsat_leaning-her-head-on-one-handr
-a-dly d A eataing or *bat might have beeu
and what was now. "Will there no bright
morning ,ever come again ?" she thought
"Will eternity alone brighten my sor
rows ?" There was a step on the stairs; -
the door opened, and a deep voice broke
the stillness. "Come to one, my Emily !"
it said, "come to the heart that has mourn
ed you as lost." That voice, that lofty
form, that smile of uncontrollable peace
and joy were Charles'.
A week later, that old room was deso
late, and the home which had been Lou
is Vernon's, became Charles Marcus'.
Coming up through the green lane, one
June evening, were a group of three.
They paused beneath the shawdow of a
lofty tree,
"The night was very dark, husband,"
said the lady, "but a morning, brighter
than I ever dreamed of has dawned upon
me."
A little curly head was lifted up and
a sweet, childish voice murmured, "I knew
God would be good to us before long
mama."
"No wonder," said the gentleman, with
reverent tenderness, his dark eyes resting
on he little boy, "no wonder, for hath not
the Saviour said, 'Suffer little children to
come unto me, and forbid them nut; for
of such is the kingdom of Heaven."
An Ungrateful_ Railroad.
Jones had heard about a widow who
saved a train of cars from destruction by
warning the engineer, as the train tip
preached, that a certain bridge had been
washed away ; and who has been liberal
ly rewarded, receiving a free pass for life
on nearly all the railroads in the country
and a present from the company of ten
thousand dollars whose train she had
saved; so Jones thought it a profitable
business and concluded he'd try it.
He lived near a railroad bridge, and
he anxiously watched and waited for it
to . wash away, feeling sure it must go
some time. Every rainy night he'got up
and paced the floor by spells, and then
took his umbrella and went out to see if
the bridge was beginning to go ; but it
was no go.
At last he concluded that if an acci
dent would not happen of its own accord
he would make one to order, so he got
up a high bank at the side of the track
one afternoon and rolled a large rock
down on the rails.
It was just a few minutes before the
lightening express was due, and throw
ing off his coat and hat so as to appear
as excited as possible, he went forth to
meet it. -He saw it coming in the dis
tance, so he tied a red cotton handker
cheif to a hoe handle, and waved it .a
bove his head in a wild excited manner
as a signal of danger. But he presented
such a singular appearance that the en
gineeer thought him a crazy man escaped
from a neighboring lunatic asylum, and
so paid no heed to him, and the train
thundered on.
There was a sadden whistle of "down
brakes," a rapid reversion of the engine,
then a terrible crash. The train was
wrecked ; the engineer and fireman in
stantly killed ; the conductor and all the
brakemen dangerously, if not fatally
wounded ; and about ten per cent. of the
passengers horribly mangled.
Jones didn't get a pass for life on the
principal railroads of the country and a
purse of ten thousand dollars, but he got
ten years in the penitentiary for man
slaughter, having been seen by a neigh.
bor when in the act of rolling the big
roek on the track which caused the ca
lamity,
And now he is learning to manufac
ture shoes by the original process, and is
of the opinion that railroads are a curse
to the country.
Jenks says that a paAbroker's office
must be a. loan some place.
Stiokin.g to the Point.
—A-friend-of-minho-was-in-business T
and in need of a clerk, advertised, but out
of the whole number of those who presen
ted themselves, only one shut . the door
tight as he went out of the office. This
one was immediately called back and em
ployed.
A little while afterwards, another friend,
— msful 14 folk
a successful lawyer, advertised as follows:
WANTED.—A young man to • work in an
attorney's office, and also to read law athis.
leisure. :Apply to John Smith, 13 Dunlap
street, B—.
It is the conviction of my friend that
what is most desiied in a lawyer is a cer
tain cool judgment, which holds on to the
main point in . a given case, and allows no
side isssues to warp the mind from its an
chored position. .1 have often heard him
say : "In the end, the lawyer, who, hav
ing hit the nail on the head keeps driving
it in until it is countersunk in the con
viction of both judge and jury, is the lea
der who succeeds best at the bar of jus
' tire. I always select for my students such
young . men as have this quality, and I al
most invariably find it lodged in minds
that are inclined to stick to the point."
On the day following the publication of
the above notice, Mr. Smith had in the
afternoon a dozen applicants in person.—
He bade them wait his pleasure ; when
they were all seated aronncl_him,_he_ad,
ressed them as follows-:
"Before we proceeded to business, my
young friends, I wish to tell you a story."
e course - no - one — o ajeetea tot is. ": na
il' it seemed a little odd in the lawyer, it
was his way.
"On Deacon White's barn," began Mr.
S., there perchel one evening an owl.--
The Deacon was sli , htl • su a erstitions and
not fancing the hooting of the lugubrious
visitant, he took his gun, stole out softly,
got within gun range, leveled his gun at
the omnious intruder, and fired. Now
the barn was old and full of chinks, and
holes,• and it being a very dry time, the
treacherous vaddin_ imtuediatel set fire
y_inside r imd-in—an-instant-th • :•1
tire fabric was in flames.
"Oh dear ! dear !" cried the decon, "how
can I release all my cows, oxen, and year
lings ; and my__sheep_and_horses,_in_ sea
son to save them ?" for the wind was high,
and, as it always happens, it incresing in
freshness as the fire gained in fury.
"Help! help !" he shouted.
"Did the folks hear him in the house ?
asked Alfred. (1 shall call the applicants
by their christian name.)
"Not directly said Mr. Smith. "The
deacon lost no time in getting out the
cattle. He found them frantic with ter
ror, and unmanageable. While engaged
in loosing a stout young, bull, he sudden
ly turned his horns and pierced him. I'm
gored! I'm gored! he exclaimed, in ago
ny, iust as his terror stricken wife came
to the rescue."
"Did he die?"
"He was injured seriously," resumed
Mr. Smith. "Feeling faint, he was oblig
ed to go and lie down, The woman ran
f'or a doctor. When she returned, the
piteous bellowing of the tortured and dy
ing cattle fell on her ears. The thrilling
thought quickly struck her, was her hus
band possibly in the burning ruins? Had
he ventured beyond his strength again,
and fallen a helplez,s victim ?"
"0, my husband ! my husband !"
"Did he answer !" Inquired Charley,
with axious face.
"Was he in the fire?"
"There was no reply," continued Mr.
Smith, "save from the crackling timbers
and moans of the doomed animals. Pres
ently she head the cry of her only son
among the flames.
"Help ! help !" he cried.
The mother's heart was ready to break.
She hastened to rescue her darling boy.
' "Did she save him ?" asked Edwin.
0, I hope she didn't get burned herself'
said Frank. '
"Please tell us, sir, whether they were
burned to death," pleaded Grant..,
"Well," resumed Mr. Smith, the poor
deacon died of his wounds."
"Too bad.; he was a brave man," said
Henry.
"And his son was badly burned."
"0 awful!" exclaimed Isaac.
"And the widow's clothes caught fire,
but, luckily, one of the neighbors, (there
were none living near) arrived at the
scene of destruction just in season to ex
tinguish the flames."
"Good ! good !" exclaimed James. "He
threw the buffalo in the wagon over her
I suppose 2"
"You are right," said Mr. Smith, "And
he released one of the best horses."
"Was he burned at all ?" asked Karl.
"Only a little scorched," said Mr.
Smith.
And so the narrator went on until he
had depicted the consequence in detail of
the sad event.
Then he paused. His audience was si
lent—their sympathies had been deeply
touched. Each one seemed silently pity
ing the poor, afflicted family. But one
boy sat unmoved through the whole sto
ry, and said nothing. And now that the
narrative was finished, and a pause had
come, he deliberately looked into Mr.
Smiths face in a straight forward man
ner, and asked :
"Did he hit the owl ?"
This was the youth that stuck. to the
point, and the one that the lawyer select
ed from the twelve. The story ha,d sim
ply been manulictured for the effbct.
A man and wife in Detroit left their
four-year-old son alone, the other even
ing, though the child brgged them to take
him with them, saying he was afraid of
the wolves and bears. He screamed vio
lently when they left the house, and, on
their return, they found that he had been
made insane by fright. It is feared that
be will be an idiet for the remainder of
11;.' liner
HE DUTY OF LIFE.
Look not mournfully back to the Past,
The present's the hour o duty,
And Life, be it ever so dark,
Has moments of sunshine and beauty
Look up! for the sun is still shining,
Although a black cloud may be there;
emembertb.e-bi n 137
From under the cloud will appear.
Sit not with thy hands) idly folded—
Each one has a duty_ to do. .
And if life has its struggles for others
Why have only plea sures for you?
Seek not to pluck only the roses,
Faint not in the heat of the strife;
But put on the armor of courage,
To fight in the battle of Life
Look 'round on the Highways, and gather,
Not only the flowers so sweet,
But take up the stones that are bruising
Some weary worn traveler's feet ;
Seek out some cool spring in the desert,
And give to the lips that are dry 2—
Speak a kind word of hope or of comfort
To each sorrowing one who goes by.
Pluck a thorn from some poor bleeding
bosom,
Make strong some faint heart for the strife;
Rouse up the weak feet that have fallen—
Ah„this_is_the mission:of_Life-;
Ask - not - if - the - Ivorld - will applaud you—
No matter since duty is done ;
There's One who will better reward ou
With the crown you have faithfully won
An alarming large number of the sons
of tae rich men of New York are at this
•
moment helpless drunkards.
Within five years a well to do farmer
drew - a - quarter - of a million dollars in a
prize lottery. The whole country envied
him his luck, but he has since died from
a style of livikg induced by his good for
tune, and his only son has turned out to
-beirdrimk
•
Young men are they, many of them of
education, of many good qualities, of gen
erous natures, honorable and high mind
ed ; but this demon of drink has taken
such a possession of them that a father's
breaking heart, a mother's tears and sis
ter's agony avail not to draw them from
their deep damnation. Elegant leisure
was their ruin.
The man who married the prettiest girl
of a place is said to be a lucky fellow,and
so of him who draws the highest prize in
a lottery, or by some fortunate turn hull
fairs, dears the gulf' between ant and
wealth in an hour.. And yet the histories
of all time tell us that with a terrible u
niformity and certainly the men who le
come suddenly possessed of unearned mil
lions die in great misery.
The man whose first bet on the race
course,
whose first deal at the card table,
whose first risk at faro, whose maiden lot
tery ticket brings money largely in his
pocket, is a ruined man at the very instant
the World pronounces him "lucky." Any
man, especially any young man,who starts
in life with the conviction that money can
be better made than by earning it, is a
lost man—lost already to society, lost to
his family, lost to himself.
The best way to save a childltom ruin
is to bring him up to "help father." Make
children feel that they must do something
to support the family, to help along; then,
too, feelings arise which are their salva—
tion—those of furectiou and pride ; for
we naturally love those whom we daily
struggle to g ether with for a desired ob
ject, and nothing so improves a child as
to make him feel that he is of consequence,
that he can do something, and that what
he does is appreciated,
In the city of Washington, where, a few
years ago, colored women were bought
and sold under sanction of law, a woman
from African descent has been admitted to
practice at the bar of the Supreme Court
of the District of Columbia. This Court
having amended its rules by striking out
from the qualifications for admission to the
bar the word "male On Tuesday af
ternoon Miss Charlotte L. Ray made her
appearance in the Clerk's office, and, pre
senting a diploma from the Law College
of Howard University, requested a certi
ficate which would entitle her to practice.
Her papers having passed examination,
she was duly sworn and furnished with
the desired document. Miss Ray is a
dusky mulatto, possessing quite an intel
ligent countenance. She has the honor
of being the first lady lawyer in Washing
ton.
SILENT Mrs.—Washington never made
a speech. In the zenith of his fame he
once attempted it, failed, and gave it up
confused and abashed. In framing the
Constitution of the United States, the la
bor was wholly performed in Committee
of the Whole, of'which George Washing
ton was day after day Chairman, and he
made but two speeches during the Con
vention, of a very few words each. The
Convention however, acknowledged the
master spirit and historians affirm that
had it not been, for his personal popular
ity and the thirty words of his first speech
pronouncing it the best that could be u
nited upon, the Constitution would have
been rejected by the people. Thomas
Jefferson never made a speech. He couldnt
do it. Napoleon, whose executive abili
ty is almost without a parellel, said' that
his greatest difficulty was in finding men
of deeds rather than of words. When
asked how he maintained his influence o
ver his superiors in age and experience
when comrnandel-in-chief of an army in
Italy, he said by reserve. The greatness
of a man is not measured by the length
of his speeches and their number.
Why should a sailor know there is a
!thin in the moon. Because he has been
tr-.
uaLMo_tion.
The Indianapolis
late date, says :
For years, decades, and centuries the
mind of man has been exercised in the
search for some principle that might be
applied to machinery which should pro
duce perpetual motion. Lifetimes and for
tunes have been spent in thep_ursuit;_raen_
have gone insane and to prematuregraves,
after wasted lives, in search id this power
they believed to exist somewhere, but just
beyond the - grasp - of mortals; - rewardsin=
numerable have been offered fol. its dis
covery, by States and nations , countless
machines have been invented, tried and
failed, until communities have learned to
look upon the man as a lunatic who would
speculate, much less experiment, upon the
perplexing subject.
There is on exhibition now, at No. 315
East Washington street, this city, a pon
derous machine that seems to possess the
long sought, long-hidden power of inher
ent perpetual motion. We say seems to
possess such power, because it is known
to have been in motion now for some days,
and, it is believed, has not been tampered
with since its completion. This being true,
a brief discription of it may be considered
in place.
The. machine is the invention of J. J.
_.A.nderson,a-machinist-of-thicityrwhcr
has ,been engaged in experimenting for
the last fourteen years, but who has just
succeeded in completing his initial_work.
Tlid - inachinels twenty-two feet long,twelve
feet high, and five wide, weighing with the
platform upon which it rest,s about one
thousand pounds, and costing for its con
struction about $5OO. To give a clear idea
upon paper- of-- this mass of machinery,
would be next to impossible, of course.—
A brief reference to the principle upon
which it is constructed and acts, is all we
vouchsafe.
Eight pounds of ordinary gunshot are
placed in the boxes of an overshot wheel
six feat in diameter, which puts the wheel
- 10 ii . • — nr,ase is a receiver or
the shot after its specific gravity has ac
ted upon the wheel. Running into this re
receiver is an Archimedian screw, connec
ted with the large wheel. - The shot are
picked up by this screw, carried up the
proper elevation and emptied into a hop
per, from which it is conveyed back to
the boxes of the overshot. This completes
the circuit, and so long as the machine is
in motion it will remain unbroken.
Attached to the axle of the overshot is
another large wheel, ten feet in diameter,
resembling the paddle-wheel of a side
wheel steamboat. This is provided with
three series of ladles,attached with a hing,
ranged obliquely across its width. These
ladles are loaded with four-pound blocks,
which with the wheel, as we understand
it; is for the regulation and distribution
of the motive power. Those wheels are
connected by cogs, pinions, shafts, bars,
<Ste., with other parts of the mechanism,
too intricate to admit of explanation here.
Indeed, the whole .contrivance is a syste
matic net work of parts ingeniously placed
to constitute a whole, and he must be a
mechanic and a philosopher who can un
derstand it.
And the object of all this mass of
wheels, belts, shafts, pinions, &c., is to
provide a self-sustaining motive power
capable of running a clock requiring but
eight ounces. The clock is very much
like ordinary tinteper in appearance,
but it, with the reffninder of the machine,
Nvas constructed by Mr. Anderson, assis
ted by Mr..Christian,also an Indianapolis
machinist.
Our reporter asked Mr. Anderson to
point out the utility of the contrivance
other than thatiSf marking time by hours
minutes and seconds, and he answered
that, at present, it had none, but that he
hoped yet to apply the power to machin
ery as a motive power ; that he was still
experimenting and frequently discover
ed new ideas concerning its action. He
had attempted to apply it to two other
purposes, but found that of keeping time
the simplest, and so adopted it.
Perhaps we should have said before
that the large wheel requires about one
week in wkich to make a revolution. An
observers see no motion whatever, except
that of the pendulum of the clock, and
heari no noise, save that of the quick, reg
ular click of the clock, mounted up in
front.
Be it a success or not, the object is
worth a visit, and the inventor entitled
to more than an ordinary degree of cred
it for his skill, ingenuity and persever
ance manifested in this great enterprise.
Should it prove to be, what is now hop
ed for it, the result upon manufacturers,
&c., is difficult to fortell.
Josh Billings says : "When he cum to
think there ain't on the face of the earth
even one bit too much, and that there
haint been, since the daze ov adorn, a
single surplus muskeeter's egg laid by ac 7
ksident, we kan form sum kind ov an idee
how little we know, and what a poor job
we should make ov it runniu the machi
nery ov kreashun. Man iz, a Pool euny
how, and the best of jokei iz he don't seem
tew know it. Bats have a destiny tow fill,
and will bet 4 dollars they fill it better
than we do ours."
A man who was told by a clergyman
to remember Lot's wife, replied that be
had trouble enough with his own, with
out remembering other men's wives.
An officer, at a field-day happened to
be thrown_frcan hts — horse, ancras he lay
sprawling on the ground, said:to a friend
(who ran to his assistauce,) "I thought I
had improved in riding, but /find / hate
fallen of
"Doctor, how can I expand my chest?"
"Br constantly carrying a large heart in
it "
ail and alumor.
ourna , o
Why is a drunkard, hesitating to sign
the pledge, like a-half-converted Hindoo?
Because he is !a doubt whether to give
up the jug or not, (Juggernaut).
n „, )l{l43achelor-itte - ---wetldiug-liaitt ire" -
heartlessness to offer the following toast
"Marriage—The gate through which the
happy lover leaves his enchanted regions--
and returns to earth.
A Western girl who has been well
brought up, knocks down every man that
kisses her, and she is so pretty that halt'
the married and all the single men in
town have black eyes.
A negro who was suspected of surrep
titoUsly meddling with his neighbor's
fruit, being caught in a garden by moon
light, nonplussed his detectors by raising
his eyes, clasping hi 3 hands,and pitiously
exclaiming, "Good Lord ! dis yere darkey
can't go no-wheres to pray any more,
widout being 'sturbed."
A well-dressed and lady-like individual
who was detected in stealing a pair of
silk hose in a Boston store, burst into
en approac
prietors, and
Magnanimously, after quietly censuring
her, he charged her-only-the-regular-price—
of the hose and handed back the change.
Too late he discovered the $2O bill was
a. counterfeit
A landsman once said to a sailor,
"Where did your father . die?' The sailor
replied, "On the sea?" "Where did your
grandfather die?" "On-the-seto-sea. Well;
are you not afraid to follow the sea as a
business, seeing that it has' proved so fa
tal to your ancestors?" "Well," said the
sailor, "and where did your father die?"
"In his bed." "Ard where did Pour
a er ie n . "Astonishing !
and are you not afraid to go to bed, see
ing it ha s proved so fatal to your fathers?"
The wisdom of this world may see force
in these questions.
Mr. S. N. Pike, some time ago, sold an
amphibious Jersey building lot to a Dutch
man. The Dutchman, in turn, ,sold it to
a brother flat speculating Dutchman as
"nice arable land." Dutchman No. 2 went
to look at it,, and found it covered with
salt water, eels and leaping frogs. Ho
came back in a great fury,and sued Dutch
man No. 1 for swindling him. "Did you
sell this land for dry land ?" asked the
Judge of the sharp Dutchman. "Yah I it
vasch goot land," replied the Dutchman,
"But was it dry land, sir ?" "Yah—yah
It vasch goot try land. Yen I sold it to
mine friend it vasch low tide !"
WENT FOR Ifix.—A rough looking
specimen othunoanity was recently prom
enading up Chatham street, New York,
when he came plump upon a Jew, a spec
imen of his race, about whom there could
be no mistake.
Without a word of warning, the rough
knocked him sprawling into the gutter.
Picking himself; and taking his bleeding
nose between his thumb and finger, he
demanded an explanation
"Shut up, or I'll paste you agin," shou
ted the aggressor, approaching him.
"I nefer done nottings mit you, and
what for you masch me in der nose?" ask.
ed Abraham.
"Yes yer hey; . yer Jews crucified the
Saviour, and I have a mind to go for ye
agin."
'But, mine Got, dat vas eighteen hun
dred years ago," said the Jew.
"Well, I don't care if it was, I only
heard of it last night," replied the un
washed, and he went for him again.
Years ago into a wholesale grocery
store in Boston walked a tall muscular
looking, raw-boned man, evidently a fresh
corner from some back town in Maine or
New Hampshire. Accosting the first per
son he met, who happened to be the mer
chant himself, he asked :
"You don't want to hire a man in your
store do you?"
"Well," said the merchant, "I don't
know; what can you do?"
"Do," said the man, "I rather guess I
can turn my hand to almost anything.
What do you want done ?"
"Well—if I was to hire a man it would
be one that could lift well, a strong, wiry
fellow; one for instance that could shoul
der a sack of coffee like that yonder, and
carry it across the store and never lay .it
down."
"Mere now," said our country-men,
"that's just Inc. I can lift anything I
hitch to ; you can't set me. What will
you give a man that can suit you?"
"I tell you," said the merchant, "if you
will shoulder that sack of coffee and carry
it across the store twice and never lay it
down, I will hire you for a year at $lOO
per month."
"Done," said the stranger, and by this
time every clerk in the store had gathered
around mid were waiting to join in the
laugh against the man, who walking up to
the sack, threw it across his shoulder with
perfect ease as it was not extremely heavy
and walking with it twice across the store,
went quietly to a large hook which was
fhstened to the wall, and hanging the sack
upon it turned to the merchant and said;
"There now, it may hang there till
doom's day; I shan't never lay itolown„
What shall I go about mister? Just give
me plenty to do and $lOO a month and
its all right."
The clerks broke into a laugh, but it
was outoof the other sides or their mouths
and the merchant, discomfited yet satisfied
kept his agreement, and to-day the green
countryman is the senior partner in the
'firm and worth half-million dollars.
82,00 PER YEAR
1!' i 'D '
y one o