April.
BY M. L. DOW.
We welcome thee. Spring, with ibj soft
• showers,
Tbv pure balm; breath, the bright blooming flower*j
Wo Welcome thee back with the tiesrt’sjoyoo* flow—
Hut tboa brought a* the joys of one year ogoT __
When spring o’ertw last ahetl its soft golden light,
Hid not oor young hearts find a thousand delights
la the bright hopes, which shed o’er oat pathway
their glow.?
Hare thaw hope* been fulfilled, of one year ago?
They blootncd but to fade ’neath the bright sum-
mer sky.
Or by autumn’s fierce blast to wither and die,
Or in winter they perished—Ah, thus were laid
low.
The dear hopea which floor iahed, one brief year
ago!
There hare been weary partings, and many a tear.
To make the heart aad in this one little year;
And many.lpved forma in the grave now lie low,
Who trod by oor aides, one brief year ago.
TllllAlM HHiTITg.
THE BROTHER HUNTERS;
OS
POOR TOM’S FATE.
At the foot of the Oiark Mountains, where,
the rocky slopes extend far in'o the cultivated
settlements, and at no great distance from the
banks ot the Mulberry, which foamed and
roared against the sharp ridges of ice with
which the extraordinary severe winter threat
ened to imprison it, two while hunters walked,
wrapped in their blankets, along the stream,
and seemed to be looking for a place where
they could cross to the other side.
They were two powerful looking fellows
■s they walked on with their rifles on their
shoulders, and the elegantly fringed leggina,
the closely-fitting and carefally soled moc
casins showed that they had assumed the hab
its of the woods, and not of those “land hun--
ters” who, especially at that day, had begun
traversing the western part of the State in
order to find out the most favorably situated
districts, and purchase, or at least lay claim
to them.
“Bill,” one of them at last said, as
ped, "our searching is of no use—you see I
was right; the stream is here too wide for us
to find a tree lying across it, and if I really
went to work with my. little tomahawk, and
felled one of (be nearest plane trees, it would
not be long enough. Besides a heavy storm
is gathering behind us and 1 think we should
not do wrong were we to make arrangements
for passing this night better than the last; it
will be bitterly cold,” '
“It’s very annoying, though,” Bill answer
ed his brother, crossly, “that we should not
reach the ravine over there to-night, for in the
first place, we should find famous quarters
in one of the numerous caves'and then, be
sides, I should have liked to looked fur bears ;
there are sure to be some there. The water’s
too cold for us to swim across, and the storm
will not be a trifling one; so then, to work ;
here are old trees enough lying about, and a
bark roof can be easily made.”
"There are almost too many trees lying
about,” Tom replied, looking all around him,
“and those still standing seem rotten and
ready to■ fall. Ido not much like Ihe thought
of comping here, for you know the story
father told us once about such a place.’’
“Nonsense!" Bill said, laughingly. "Can
we find a better comping place? The little
stream runs along at our feel, there's plenty
of wood close and handy, the young trees
will furnish famous poles, and the bark there
is first rate lor a roof’
Tom made no further objections ; the spol
looked 100 inviting, and they weri l bmh soon
engaged in raising a rouyh shelter for that
night at leasi, which could afford them ref
uge against the collecting storm. Under
such good work was easily accom
plished, and the next half hour found both
under their quickly erected roof, watching
the pieces of meat broiling on the fire,
“It’s strange how cold it bast suddenly
turned," Tom at lenghl broke the silence;
“only look the water in the tin is frozen
quite hard, and the wind has chopped round
to the north east; it blows confoundely sharp
toe ’’
“Let it blow,” Bill yawned, os he wrap,
ped himself closely in the folds of bis blan
ket; “I am tired and want to sleep, Tom,
lay a couple of boughs on the fire before
you turn in, and the one first awake to-mor
row must rouse the other,’'
Mideight was past, and the fire had nearly
expired, but the two brothers slept firmly,
and the icy north wind that howled over the
snow.clad hills into the valley, could not dts
turb their slumber. Heavy masses of clouds
had, however, collected together from various
quarters darkly threatening they brooded
over the rustling forest, and the stately trees
shook and bowed their leafless branches, as
if in timid forebodings of the approaching
storm. A bright flash of lightning suddenly
burst from the black heavens, and a terrific
peal of thunder almost instantaneously full
owed the messenger of destruction. One of
the terrible winter storms was impending, aud
the unchained - hurricane howled and tore
through thhe narro mountain ravines.
“Bill!” cried Tom, springing up in horror,
“Bill, get up ; we dare not lie down ; see how
the old trees quiver; and you hear, there's
one of tern cracking !”
“Hallo!" Bill replied, as he quickly threw
off his blanket, “has it caught us 1 Hi!
Tom, lay hold of the roof; I’m blessed if the
confunded northwester won’t lake it along
withni:.”
His fear was not enlirelv unfounded, for al
the same instant such a furious blast burst
from the opposite valley that it half uncov.
ered their resting-place in a second, and bur,
ning ashes and sparks wore carried far away
into the gloom of night. A lightning flash
again burst forth from the clouds and (he
thunder deadened the sound of the howling
storm. Then it suddenly seemed as if the
whole earth were lorn from its foundations;
far, far away on it came, like the of a
thousand cannons; then nearer and/bearerit
roared, spreading wild and terrible overthrow
and harrowing desolation around.
“Almighty God, a hurricane 1” Tom cried,
starling up in terror, for at the same moment
the storm reached them. The giant 'trunks,
which bad withstood centuries, bowed like
thin twigs, and with one blow, that struck
terror to the hearts of the listeners, the whole
forest was mowed level with the earth by the
hand of the Almighty.
The hurricane raged further and further with
For the Agitator ,
COBB, STURROCK & CO.,
YOL'. 1.
frightful velocity ; for) miles around it over
threw the tall oaks, jand hurled them like
reeds to the ground; for miles around it
marked its path with desolation and destruc
tion ; but silence, grave-like-sileocejfolldwed
in its track, and rested over the widely-scat
tered trees; not' a breath was stirring, and
'the calmness of death, after this horrifying
outbreak of the elements, affected the poor
heart of a mortal with a more agonizing shud
der than it had felt even in the most terrible
fury of the storm.
Bill bad miraculously escaped, without
even the slightest injury; clinging lightly to
an immense tree that had previously fallen;
another oak that had fell across it only serv
ed to save him, as it guarded him from the
other continually fulling branches and small
er trees; but now; as soon as the first most
pressing danger passed, he jumped up and
cried, filled with terror, to h is brother :
“Tom—brother Tom—do answer, Tom.
Great God I has such a terrible end fallen to
your share."
N«! it would have been well for him if
that bad been his lot; he still li'ed, and his
weak voice, at no great distance, struck the
hunter’s attentive ear.
"All-merciful Heavens I” the latter, cried
when he had quickly leaped over a couple of
trees lying in his way, and with a blazing
pine-torch in his hand, stood before him be
sought.
“All-merciful Heavens!” he repeated in
almost maddening egony, and covered his
face with his hands, fur close to him pale as
a corpse, with both his thighs buried beneath
an immense oak, which was shattered from
lop to bottom, lay his Tom, his brother, the
play mate of his youth, the darling of bis
heart.
"It’s very cold” the unhappy man whis
pered, and looked up imploringly to the hun
ter, who apparently incapable of any further
movement, stood near him as if hewn out of
stone—"it’s very cold, Bill; can’t you bring
me a little fire?”
These words broke the charm which seemed
to possess his half unconscious brother.
"Tom, Tom!” he cried, as he threw him
self with groans on the mutilated body of his
dearest companion.
"You hurt me Bill, the latter entreated ;
my arm pains roe, and it is so cold.’’
“Wait, you shall have fire—in a few sec
onds," Bill now cried, as he sprung hastily
up, “lie there a minute longer, and I’ll fetch
you some ashes, and then help you up—only
a moment’s patience {".and in baste be flew
hack to the still burning camp-fire. Ah! he
did nut notice the leauires of the unhappy
man, as he begged him have patience. He
hurriedly collected all the ashes and burning
wood his arms coufS bold—lh6 flames
scorched his hunting-shirt and hands —he did
not notice it, and flew back to his brother's
side, plenty of drift-wood lay around, and in
a few moments a bright, cheering fire flared
tyy the side of the tree, under whose giant
weight the poor fellow lay buried alive.
Dill now regarded with a shudder the ter
rible scene, and madly threw himself on the
tree, which a hundred men could not have
raised, and tried his utmost strength on an
impossibility.
"Bill I” Tom gently begged him, “come
here, come—give me your hand—that’s
right. And’ now, Bill—do yob really love
me ?”
A convulsive grasp of his brother’s hand
answered this question; speak he could nut,
for the tears he had suppressed with difficulty
suffocated every sound.
“Will you do me a service?” Tom implo
red, drawing the unresisting mao closer to
him. .
“A service!” Bill whispered—“a service !
What can you ask that I would not do for
you if it was in my power?”
“You promise m do it ?"
“What is it ?” the hunter asked, in terror.
“Take your rifle," Tom begged, “and pul
an end to my sufferings."
“Tom!" the brother cried, as he sprung
up in horror.
“Put an end to my sufferings,’’ the unhap
py man entreated. Bill! brother! if you
ever loved me prove it now. Do out let me
perish here, slowly and horribly.
“I will save you, if it cost me my life,’!
Bill cried. “I will return with assistance this
very night,”
“That is not possible,” the poor fellow re
plied, sorrowfully shaking bis head. The
next settlement is by the nearest road, at least
fifteen miles from nere j but the road you
would ha veto take to go round therocks and
ravines, is twenty; and if you come back, if
you brought fifty men with you, what help
could they give me? Both my thighs are
shattered, and the nearest doctor lives in Lit
tle Rock, hundreds of miles from here, and
whither we scarce know the direction.—
Bill- will you let me lie here lor days, and af
terwards see me perish miserably?”
“Ask my own life, and you shall have it
with pleasure; but don’t require such a terri
ble thing from me; it must be possible to save
you—l have my tomahawk—l can cut this
tree through—l ean
“Can you cure wounds like these?” Tom
interrupted him, and pointed with his hand to
his thigh. It was a terrible sight, and the
brother fell upon his knees, with a groan,
“1 cannot murder you,” he gently said.
“And do you call that murder ] Oh,
Bill I” he continued, “could you only fancy
the pain I am now suffering, you would take
compassion—would not let me beg ia vain.’’
“1 will give you a rifle—don’t make me
my brother’s murderer,” Bill groaned. ~
“My right arm is also broken; Icdnnol
even if 1 would.” •
“Tom!” the.powerful man fobbed, as he
threw himself by his brother’* side, “what is
it you want of me 1".
m
Bebsttu totbtExtension or tbs Jt Twtbew abb tbs Spctmt et feeattbs Httorm. !
WELLSBOHOUGH, TIOGA COUSPY, PA, THGBSDAY MOKSIKG, APRIL B, 1888.
m
Hi
“TH* AGITATION OF THOUGHT XS TH« JWWtniaaO OF XfISDOM,"
“What did you lately do to Nestor when
the bear had torn him so terribly I"
"I shot him." 1
“lie was your favorite dog.” '
Bill only apswetied with sobs.
“Aod you loved him, more than me?”
Toth now asked, almost-reproachfully.
“Ob ? why did I not heed, your warning,
when we- last night reached this unhappy
spot 1 .why did I not avoid the decayed trees
that threatened us on all sides 1 why—”
“Bill ?" the unhappy man interrupted him,
“do you meap to free me from my torture 1"
“I will!” the poor fellow sobbed..on his
brother’s neck. They held one. another in
cold embracefor a long while, but when Tom
tried to unloose his hold, his brother' only
held him the tighter. Day at length broke in
(he east, and the sun shone on the chaos of
wildly-scattered'trees around.
“Let us part," Tom whispered, “be a
man."
He quickly pushed his brother back, and
he at length stood up.
“Well, then, be it so! I see you're right
it is impossible to save you. I know, 100,
that I should have asked the same of you in
a similar case, and you would not have refu
sed roe. Pray to God for the last time, and
pray too for me, that be may forgive roe the
murder ol my brother.”
Bill tottered away to fetch bis rifle, but he
turned in a few moments with a firm and cer
tain step. With his gun in his left hand ;he
swung himself with his right hand over the
scattered trunks, and soon stood again by the
side of his brother, who looked affectionately
in his face.
“I am ready;” said the latter, with a
smile,” do not tremble, and God reward you
for your kindness—good-bye! He offered,
him his hand as be turned his face away,
“Brother!” the tortured hunter cried, in
agony, and threw himself again on his breast.
Once again they held each other in a close
embrace, till Tom entreated gently, “Do not
delay any longer.” With a hasty bound the
hunter stood on his feet, raised his rifle to his
cheek, and lay the next moment uncoocious
by the side of the brother he had shot. 1
What more ,have I to tell? Shall I de
scribe how he awoke and piled branch upon
branch on his brother’s corpse, so that wolf
and panther might not fasten their greedy
teeth in the beloved remains—how he tottered
awoy, and wrestled with death for many
months in the wild dreams of fever, carefully
nursed by friends?—No! enough of this
sorrowful tale. His brother’s blood-covered
face did not long trouble him in his nightly
dreams, or cause him to spring in terror from
his bed. and try to fly—on an expedition
against some plundering creeks a compas
sionate bullet put an end to his life, and
friends buried him where he fell! But his
memory is still retailed in that neighborhood,
and when a hunter camps at night, and turns
an inquiring glance towards the giant trunks
which menacingly surroqnd him, then a gen
tle prayer of even the roughest and wildest of
the band arises, and whispers, “God pre
serve me from poor Tom’s fate."
AlcoboL
Alcohol is that combustible fluid which ri
ses by the disiilation of the Juices of sweei
fruits ; from (he infusion of malted barley or
other grain: the solutions of sugar, honey
and other substanees that are capable of be
ing converted into sugar after they havb un
dergone that spontaneous change which is
commonly known as fermentation —the vin
ous fermentation. The word alcohol is of
Arabic or Hebrew origin, and signifies sub
tle or attenuated; but although it has for
many ages been used to designate the mate
rial in question, it does not appear to have
become popular; “spirits of wine,” or “spir
its,” being the general interpretation of al
cohol. As alcohol is well known to be de
rived from sugar, malt and grapes, it is gen
erally, though erroneously believed that these
substances contain it. By the hand of Pow
er "a Greek Slave” can be produced, from
a solid mass of marble, chained to a pedestal.
No one will believe that the beautiful form
pre-existed in the marble, and that Power
merely removed the stone veil that enclosed
it I In like manner, when a chemist mani
pulates sugar, barley, or grapes, for the pur
pose of making alcohol, he does not separate
it as a material pre-existing iu the substances
operated on, but merely uses the ingredients
contained therein to create alcohol. It is an'
ascertained fact'thal alcohol can only be made
from sugar, although at first sight it appears
to be made from a variety of things, such as
potatoes, treacle, &c. When it is known
that any materials that contain starch can be
converted into sugar, the mystery of making
alcohol front potatoes becomes solved. More
over, when starch is manipulated in another
way, chemists, can produce from it vinegar,
sugar, alcohol, water, carbonic acid, oxalic
acid, carbonic oxyd gas, lactic acid, and many
other substances ; but it must not be supposed
that these materials hoveony pre-existence in
staretp—no, they have bden created from the
elements composing starch, but not from that
substance itself. The starch is broken up,
and its elements are re-arranged into new
forms. When alcohol is made from barley
we merely complete a change which nature
had begun. Barley contains starch. When
barly is malted the starch becomes sugar;
this we extract by the use of water, and calf
it wort. Fermentation is now set up, and the
sugar is changed into “spirit.” How quickly
this can be turned into acetic acid—that is,
vinegar—is well known to all beer drinkers.
—Septimus Fieste,
The Man that was “transported with bliss”
his returned to bis native land, having
served out his time. Bliss has two years
longer to eervy, .
IT A T
tm
TUI BEST COMPANION ON THE JOCBNBY
“I would not go unattended,” said I, aa I
set out upon the journey of life., “May 1 not
he allowed one attendant t” • i ’
, “Xes r ’’ he replied, Vend one only, A
numbershall appear before you, and you may.
choose one of them. Great .Wisdom i» re*
qmred toaeleoilho moat desirable com pan-
“Grant me. the power,” said I, “to select
one who will prove the beat friend add the
most profitable companion."
I wailed awhile, communing with myself
an the subject, and inwardly praying that 1
might be guided aright. |
Soon a train of attendants appeared, and
one by one they passed before me. First
came one who called himself Ambition. He
was a haughty, aspiring person—full of prom*
isea. He spoke to me of wealth, and fame,
and glory, and me that if I selected him
for my companion, he would lead me to the
highest pinnacle 'of wordly eminence.
“Thou art oat Ambition,” said I;
“thou wouldsl rather be a hindrance to me.
in my onward progress. Pass on thy
way.”
Next came a beautiful creature, full of life
and beauty.
“Thy name!” I asked, while I read her
answer |in every matioa of her youthful
frame. ,
“I am Health,” said she. “Take me for
thy companion. Thou never canst enjoy the
journey without me. I will fill thee with
new life, and thou will weary never with my
company.”
v I sighed as I gazed on -her beautiful form,
and longed for her sweet company. “Thou
art indued most,desirable, O Health,” said
I; “but thou art, not everything. I can have
but one companion.”
Next appeared Wealth, and he promised
much of prosperity and ease and bodily com
fort ; but I let him pass.
Then came Pleasure, with her bight array
of smiles and alluring hopes—full of joy
and fair promises ; but beautiful and tempt
ing as she seemed, I said: “Thou art not for
me.”
“And lo! what a form of perfect loveli
ness I” I exclaimed, as one of the most heav
enly mien appeared before me, with her finger
pointing heavenward.
“Who art thou ?” I cried.
“I am Hope," said she, “and I will cheer
thee in the darkest day, and ever point thee
lo thy jourovy’s end.’’
“S;and aside, Hope, for a mqment,” said
I ; “I cannot easily relinquish my desire
for thy sweet company ; but let rne see who
comes next in the train.”
Another advanced, whose face was irra
diated with goodness. I
“I am Mercy,” said she ; “I will extend a
helping hand to thee in all thy troubles, and
pity thee in all thy weakness.”
“Thou wouldst, indeed, be a most sooth
ing companion; but Mercy, pray,Jbr the
present, wait with Hope. 1 may not yet
quite dismiss either of you."
And now another approaches, with sedate,
though cheerful step.
“1 am Contentment," said she. “Thy
road will never appear long or wearisome to
thee with my company. I can teach thee
submission to all the evils that may await
thee.”
I gazed on her gentle eye, and bade her
take her place with sweet Hope and Mercy.
And nqw another approaches more lovely
ihan any I had heretofore seen. Her down
cast eye was timidly raised to meet my owtr
—her attire was lowly ; and when asked her
name, I bent my ear to catch the sound,—so
low was her sweet voice. .
“1 am Humilty, "said she, and she utter
ed not another word.
“How can you benefit me on the journey
of life 7” said I.
A delicate blush overspread her fair cheek,
as if fearful of speaking her own praises,
while she said : I
“1 will benefit thee in 'a simple may; I
will fill thee with no vain desires ; but I will
teach thee to follow in the footsteps of our
divine Master, who was a pattern of Humil
itj.”
“Stand close by me, sweet Humility,”sajd
I, “while I await another’s approach, ana iu
is one beautiful indeed.” /
A look of heavenly peace was upon her
brow; there were traces of tears upon her
cheek, but withal such an expression of per
fect composure, that it seemed to mess if all
the graces of hope, contentment, mercy, and
humility, were all perfectly combined in
her. i
“l am Patience,” said she.
“Patience 1” I exclaimed, “and such a
lovely aspect I I thought thou -wen an older
person, and less inviting in. thy form. What
service canst thou renjder me 1”
“I dure-not recommend myself," said she;
“but thou wilt discover my virtues as we pur
sue our journey. I will teach thee howto
bear up against any evil that may assail thee,
and to meet, as thuu shmildst, all the joys or
woes that may be allotted thee on thy journey
—and yet will I ever tell t tee of the rest be-
yond.”
“Oh, Patience I” I exclaimed, “thou, and
thou alone, shah be thy companion."
“I hope ihoi^,hast well chosen," said she,
“And, you know, I bring Contentment in ray
train, and Hope and Megjy, 100 ; and Hum*
ility is ever at pay side."
“Oh, lam indeed blessed,” said I. As I
look sweet Patience by the band, she clasped
mp to her heart.
“Will you trust me fully ?” said she. Be
i)ofe a(« t{ie [wq ranuitles fol* oar
* ■■ VI
PATIENCE •
—on-
er urn.
a®:-.'
PUBLISHERS * PROPRIETORS.
journey—the guide book wbieb we mutt con
sult daily to know what js before us, and bow
to overcome obstacles. Without this we are
lost } but with it we need fear no evil. And
here, 100, is ihbglass of faith, through which
we may have glorious visions of the better
country to which we journey. Keep it clear,
and let nothing intervene between your eye.
and the things that may be discernible through
this glass. Many have lost the joysof heav*
en by losing this invaluable treasure”
I received the two gifts from the .hand of
my kind .companion. <;
“Let us not delay,” said she.; * - ,
“I am ready,” said 1; and band in band
we began the journey of life. I cast a look
behind, fancying I beard slight - • footfalls;
and, lot Hope, Contentment, Mercy, and
Humility, were close behind us, and we were
all butane company,.
“These ever follow in my I rain,” said my
companion; “they never leave the. In
choosing what few others would choose thou
bast unexpected attendant blessings.”
Bleep—Dreams—ntauial Decay.
The following passages are from a brief re
view in a London paper, of Sir Benjamin
Brodie’s Psychological Inquiries:
Dreams are next discussed, as also the pro
blem, “what is sleep 1” which our author de
clares Insoluble. The sense of weariness ap
pears Confined to those functions over which
the will has power; all involuntary actions
are continued through our resting as well as
waking hours. Sleep “accumulates the ner
vous force, which is gradually exhausted"
during the day. But these are words only ;
for who can define or explain the nervous
force?” Darwin's axiom, “that the essential
part of sleep is the suspension of volition,”
stilt bolds good, and is accepted as satisfacto
ry. Talking and moving in sleep, though ap
parently phenomena irreconcilable with this
theory, are not so’in reality; for there are de
grees of sleep, and these things only occur
whore the slumber is imperfect. It may be
urged, again, that the mere absence of voli
tion would not produce that insensibility to
sight and sound which is tho characteristic of
the sleeper. But few persons are aware how
much the will is concerned in the reception of
impression on the senses. One who is ab
sorbed in reading or writing will not hear
words addressed to him in the ordinary tone,
though their physical effect on the ear be the
same as usual.
Dreams are inexplicable; Lord Brougham
suggested that they took place only in the mo
mrnlary state of transition front-sleep to Wak
ing. But facts contradict this theory, since
persons will mutter lo themselves, and utter
inarticulate sounds, indicative of dreaming,
at intervals of several minutes. The com
mon puzzloaslo how dreams apparently long
can pass in a moment of lime, presents no
difficulty to the psychologist. Life is not
measured by hours and days, but by the num
ber of new impressions received ; «nd the
limit to those is in . the worldrwilhout us, not
in the constitution of our minds. To a child
whose imagination is constantly excited by
new objects, twelve months seem a much lon
ger period than to a man. As we advance in
life, time flies faster. The butterfly, living
for a single season, may really enjoy a long
er existence than the tortoise whose years
exbeed a century. Even between the busy
and the idle among human beings there ex
ists a similar difference, though less strongly
marked.
It has been usually held that large heads
are more powerful thinking machines than
small ones; and as a general rule, experience
justifies the conclusion. But Newton, Byron
and others, were exceptions to it; and it is
quite certain that a large brain may be ac
companied with the most dense stupidity.
Many remarks scattered through this little
treatise are worth the recollection of all ages
and classes. “The failure of the mind in old
age,” says Sir Benjamin, “is often less the re
sult of natural decay than of disuse.” Am
bition has censed to operate; contentment
brings indolence; indolence decay of mental
power, ennui and sometimes death. Men
have been known to die, literally speaking, of
disease induced by intellectual vacancy. On
the other hand, the amount of possible men
tat labor is far less than many, persons imag
ine. If professional men areenabled to work
twelvq nr fifteen hours daily, that is because
most of their business has become from hab-
At, a mere routine.' From four tosixhours
is probably, the utmost daily period for which
real exertion of the mind can be carried on.
When *ob Tunes, Think Earnestly.
—Of thoughts there are many kinds; there
is desultory dreaming, and wandering
thought; and there is earnest thought, which
is the greater lever of the world. The latter
is such thought as brought to light the im*
mortal “Principle” of Newton j gave us the
Telegraph; brought down the fierce light
ning from the clouds and lamed, and made
good use of it; taught the sun to paint pict
ures superior to those of any mortal; 'con
structed the telescope and microscope, and
blessed us with a knowledge of the elements
and nature ot things through the medium of
chemistry and natural philosophy generally.
Everything great has come from the - work
ings of thought, and those who think the
most, know most of things which make roan
superior to the brutes.
Are there-giants in the-world, who work
and evolve ever-living truths without thought 7
Nay, those who gem eternity, know the hard
thought that blanches the hair,sows wrinkles
in the forehead, dims the eye, and makes ner
vous the hand Thought perfects
raises the agist, the scholar, and the poat
above the mass, and makes co-equal with the
angels. Thought is the moving principle of
the whole universe, for God’s thought
# pdnceptiotj qf jt, T
•fZ f "?z*
' »se#Ailohlllt,:
We «re not ao skilled in lb* mystery of
cogwheels m our friends/Of the, Ledftr, but
have of tho
theoretical if ndtthe practical powbilityof a
Flying, Machine,.. fo .connection with this,
we see the Paris Potrte states that the Acad
emy of Sciences is a good deal interested by
the invention of a flying machine, by Dun
Diego do Selatoaopa.7 T WUb this . machine,
Don DiegoV daugb«r r Rusauta, toss in the
air, some time ego at Madrid, lotbegreat as*
Ipoisboeot of the SpsDiarda,'who«mbat lit*
lie accustomed to tbtasortof miracle. Don
Diego do Salamanca and'his ikaghior an
about to arrive at to sbOwthseSbcUof
bis marvellous" invention. Tbeimaehino is
very simple; ip consists in »'We two foot
long, and one foot wide, adapted ton band of
leather round the waist, buckled behind. —
The two iron rods,, fastened to the case, sup
port a small piece of wood, on wbiob tha
feet repose. The base contains a simple and
ingenious mechanism, similar to that employ'
ed to set an automaton in motion. The me.
ebanism ia worked: by means of a handle.—
It aets in work two large wings, ten feet tong,
made pi very thin caoutchouc, covered with.
leathers; and the., wings may be so worked
os to produce vertical, perpendicular or hori
zontal flying. Tito number of turns given
to iho handle determines the height to which
it is desired to go. The handle hat to be
turned every quarter of a league, to regulate
the distance; the operation of turning lasts a
minute. Horizontal flying ia the most d>o>*
cult; the wings beat the air like the oars of a
boat, or rather as the feet of a swap when it
swims. By means of ibis curious 'machine,
a man can go almost as rapidly as a currier
pigeon, from the Hotel de Villa to the Arc do
Triomphe de I’Gtolie in eight minutes, and ia
half an hour to Versailles. The experiment,
which wilt be made in Peris, will be on »
small scale, and the flights of Don Diego w ill
not extend beyond the department of tlm
Seine, but at a later period he proposed to
KQ. 39.
Beginning with Economy.
Nearly thirty year* ago, a youngster,
some sixteen years of age, a native of N' w
Hampshire, was learning the an of priming
in a small village in Vermoni. His pay was
foriy dollars & year end board. He bad but
one suit of clothes, and these were of coat »c,
home-made cloth, not cut to tit very nicely.
He was studious during his leisure hnurs.aj.d
taking part in a Debating Society, began U
distinguish Himself as well ai,a
able in argument. Crowds attended the de
bater, and on one occasion an associate-sug
gested to him the propriety of furnishing him
self with a suit of clothes. He replied that
be had better wear what he had (ban get inio
debt. That person is now at the head of an
establishment in New York city, got up by
his own ability and industry, that brings in
weekly from three to five thousand dollars.—
The oulsels, to be sure, are considerable ; hut
it is a concern that pays well This it the
N.‘ Y. Tribune office, and Mr. Greeley, tho
editor, is (he person that was so economical
in youth, and so diligent in storing his mind
with knowledge.
There are young men now, who within a
few.years have earned about as many dollars
per month as the above did in a yeer; and
who have s|>em it nearly all in tfrest andoth.
er things. Whether (hey will rise to such
eminence as the one we have named, remain*
to be seen. —Newt Letter.
“0, I have sometimes looked at a bright,
beautiful boy, and my flesh has crept within
me at the thought, (hat there w a bare possi.
bilily he might become a drunkard. I was
once playing with a floe boy in (he city of
Norwich, Connecticut; I was carrying him
to and fro on my back, both of us enjoying
ourselves exceedingly ; for I loved him, and
1 think he loved me. During our play 1 said
to him, “Harry, will ypu go down with me
to the side of that stone wall 1” “O, yea,"
Was his cheerful reply. We went together,
saw a roan lying listlessly there, his face up.
turned ip (be bright blue sky ; (he sunbeams
that cheered and illumed us, lay upon his po
rous, greasy face j the pure morning wind
kissed his parched lips and passed away poi
soned ; the very swine in the Helds looked
more noble than he, for they were fulfilling
the purposes.of their being. As I beheld the
pobr degraded man, and then looked opoirtho
child with his bright brow, his beautiful'ldpe
eyes, his rosy cheeks, and ruby lips—(ho
perfect picture of life, pence and innocence;
as 1 looked upon (he man and then upon the
child, and felt his little hand convulsively
twitching in mine, and saw his little lips grow
while and his eye grow dim gazing upon the
poor drunkard ; then did I pray to God to
give me an ever increasing capacity to hate
with a burning hatred any instrumentality
that could make such a thing of a being ones
as fait at that child. — dough.
A good story is told of a lady in Now
York who was entertaining a party of friends
in a new house, into which she had just moved,
and of which she was quite proud. She had
taken (ham through the various apartments
from kitchen to garret, and expatiated in
glowing terms *upon tho peculiar advantages
of each.
At last she reached the bath room. “Here,"
she said, “you see we have a bathing tub,
here are two faucets, one for hot and, the
oflier for cold water.
“Here is a shower hath, you have only to
step in so, and the water cutties down when
-you pull the siring in this manner,"said she,
suiting the action to the word, and sure enough
it did come down in a perfect torrent, drench,
ing her to the skin, tr is impossible to im.
agios a more complete picture of bewilder,
meot than she presented, at the consequences
of her absent raindedoess.
In spite of the sympathy her friends ex.
pressed, it was.a very hard matter for them
to preserve sober faces. The lady wait
obliged to undergo an entire change of cio
thing, and lament (he ruin of a new gju, { j reM
to say nothing of a cold (or a
fortnight afterwards. We believe abe hasn’t
repeated the experiment. ;
Trx following is from an Ohio paper i—.
“Notice is here By Given that no’ pursed
elite." 1
The Drunkard.
1 Hydropathy.