For the Agitator. ) X Jjove the Eventide, | sV, MAier Aurora’s beams have charms ’tb true, And raiddlay suns are brilliant too; Yet better than their joy and pride, I love the calm of eventide. The ahrill-Toiced aongster’s waking song, Whose notes the echoing groves prolong. Is dear to me, yet dearer still The notes o 1 evening's whip-poor-will. Night’s sorrow morn doth oft dispel, And phantoms flee at matin bell; Still, day with cank’ring care is rife, Bre evening calm ailsy ltd strife. An inspiration morning brings, A strange enlrancement round it clings; Dot brings not to my spirit tried, Ths soothing power of eventide. I lore to roam at dawn of da r While round my heed the sunbeams play, Yel belter then Sol's golden car. Lore I to watch pale evening's <lai. Though evening emblems life’s decline, Yet, fearful heart, do not repmo, It bodeth not eternal xiiglu— “At eventide it shall be light tjmrtntrtille For the Agitator. RtlM£lllߣB£D. Long years ago, in early June When brooks and birds were in high tune, 1 sate beneath an oak at noon , A gnarled oak of gratefhl shade And at my side, a dark-eyed maid Did listen, and was not afram. Her eyes were moist with pearly tears. She whispered that in later years We would divide our hopes and tears. for years—long years, it was ray dream— An idle, ignis taluus glean. 01 nioonhghv, on a frozen stream I passed that way when years had flea, i could not had the streamlet's bcu— The oak was withered, scro and detu. Ofl as I brash my lochs of grot 1 muse upon that summer day. The shady oak and streamlet's piav G. ’W. &. M AFFECT IS G STOM, From Tht Cayvga Chief. THE TABLES TURNED. “He’s a scoundrel—a base, heartless, un principled scoundrel and deserves to rot in lai. Don’t talk to me about pity and mercy, when ne oweo me twelve hundred dollars, and hasn't been the man to pay a cent of n. Ought to pity him ’ Humph ’’ “iou do wrong, my dear husband, in spea king so harshly of Mr. Milton. He is unfor tunate, it is true, but honest. No man stood higher m this community than he did two years age. “iou certainlv should look more leniently upon the misfortunes of a kind neigh bor and brother in church.’ “\es, a great neighbor and church broth er he is, —break down and cheat me out of my pay, and after waiting on him so long, too. Horn talk to me about broiher. I’ll have him turned out. see if 1 don’t ’ “■Supposing von were to nave bad fortune, anc become poor, would you like to bo denounced as a scoundrel by your neigh- bor? "1 always pav mv debts. An honest man always pays his debts. Cam trust nobody in these times, t never will sign lor a mao again as long as 1 iiv r It was in vain that Mrs. Winson plead with her angrv husband lor the unfortunate debt o She sadlv bowed over her worn, and he passed (o nis stor. William Milton had failed, and the time vil lage was astir with me news of the event, — Those who were before his friends, now re membered lhai Ihev always saw something in 188 man which was not right, —they had ex pected something of me kind before ' lie was ceriainiv a dishonest mat.. And so his old neighbors turned in to give him a kick in his down-hill course A more honorable, high-soulert man than William Milton, never livcg. He was the soul of honot. His heart, hand, home and purse were always open, and many were Iho good deeds on record in his lavor. Nor had ah in his neighborhood forgotten his past goodness. While business men turned to rend him, there were poor people who deser ted him no. Milton was a crushed man. Misfortunes had come itncK upon him, and his strong spirit al last gave way. llis lovely wife bad died, and laying in her grave, with her youn gest-born upon her Ureas.. Ins son, a prom ising child of ten summers, had died a few weeks alter the molbet. Ills shop had caught lire about the same lime, and burned up.— Sickness came on to paralyze me strong arm, and when Milton agau stood on Ins feel, ev erymmg was a wreck. His well-to-do neigh bor* shunned him as though there were con tagion in his presence, ana debts came upon him to finish what sickness had sosweeping ly commence. On me morning of me conversauon al Hie head of this story, no had asked employment as a lournevman, and ueon tauntingly refused, fie now sal m ins Douse, ms great heart swel ling with bitterness and darK with gloom. — lie involuntarily cast nia eye about as if look ing (or a familiar counselor, his lip quiv ered a moment, and a tear dropped from his cheek The wile ana two loved ones had passed away, and hu; one of Ins linle flock was lefl him. While ne was sitting dreamily bv his hearth. the door opened, and a ragged iorm halt cnicred me room, and stood hesi tatingly looking al him. And then by sud den impulse, the bov went up to where Mtl lon was, and pul a paper in his half open palm, quickly disappearing through the door into the street. Milton opened the paper, and a half-dollar dropped upon the floor. Milton reai “iou have clothed and fed the needy ; you have been pood to the widow and the father less Accept me widow's mite in the hour of your trouble The paper trembled in Milton’s hads, and ho bowed his head and wept.. Then lifting his lorm more proudly he arose and si rode restlessly backward and lorward through the root. “No 1 thank God, they are not all against me—not all. The poor remember.” The bankrupt was happier, and had again faith in humamu The creditors made short work with Mil ton’s affairs, for poverty finds little mercy. His household effects did not near pay off the demands against mm. Alter all had gone THE Bctmcfl to of tde o t iFmfcom COBB, STURROCK & CO., YOL. 1. under the hammer,Jibe” remorseless debtor law came in and atltched the body, and the high-souled Milton \jas taken to the debtor’s cell. His frail daughter followed him, and as her pale and vesting features passed through the streets, the light word was bush ed, and (he more feeling yielded a (ear for the fate of the family. It was at the iasliga. lion of Wilson that Milton had been arrested and imprisoned, \fhen his wife told him of the pale faced daughter, and how sad sbo looked as she went to the cell, a sickening, guiliy sensation crept into Wilson’s heart.— Bui he was 100 proud lo acknowledge his wrong. The law was with him, and he would not relax. Six monihs wore away, and iKe case of Milion was seldom spoken of. His daughter sickened and died in jail, and for the first time since his imprisonment, he was taken out —taken out lo attend her funeral. As Wilson looked upon his old neighbor at the grave, he half made up his mind to forgive him his debt. But he feared to retrace ihe step he had taken. Milton had not asked any favors of him, and he had no reason lo ex pect clemency! Had the debtor sued for clemency, ihe merchant would have taken great credit in opening his prison doors. When Milion first came into the village, ihere was an orphan boy, wild, uncared-far, and singularly vicious, ihe dread of all in the neighborhood. For some petty act laid to his charge, he was sent to jail. Milton was jail er and being a keen judge of human nature, soon found the boy had been more sinned against than sinning. Pulling money into the orphan’s hands, and a letter to a friend in New Orleans, Milton unlocked the jail door, and bid his prisoner good-bye. Fifteen years had passed since then. Late one summer afternoon, Milion sat in his cell, his face buried in his hands, and his broken spirit wropped in gloomy thoughts.— The door was slowly opened, and a stranger stood looking upon the prisoner. The slran ger was of noble form and mein, his features swarthy but handsome, and his apparel of Ihe richest material. Milton stirred not suppo sing the jailer stood before him. William Milton /” The prisoner started at the sound of the strange voice, nod looked vacantly upon the visitor, “You have forgotten me, Milton !” “I know you not,” mechanically answeted Milton. With a quick movement, the stranger step ped forward and kneeled upon the floor, and clasped the prisoner's hands, kissing them again and again. “Don’t know me 1 nod yet for fifteen years no waking hour has passed that 1 have not ihouglu of you as my earthly savior. From this same cell you once led me forth, and gave me money and your blessing. I have come a long journey io see and bless my sa vior and weep upon his knee. I am rich. — William Milton —do you hear that? i am men i As you helped the orphan, and open ed his prison doors, so shall the orphan now do by you. I am ‘Ugly Mark'—Mark Douglass .” Milton’s eyes were streaming with tears, for such graiilude and such words had been strangers to him for many a year, Hope, faith, ambition again sprang up in the despair ing debtor’s heart, and he bowed his head upon the broad shoulder of the orphan, and sobbed like a child. Awhile the two lingered and talked in the begrimed cell, and then passed out arm in arm. There was astonishment io the village when they recognized the forgotten William Milton eanmgupon the arm of the distinguished looking stranger. The prisoner’s hair had grown gray in the last years of his imprison ment, and his manly form had lost some of its vigor and fullness. Mark Douglass and Milton entered Wilson’s store, and the former pulled his purse from his pocket, and threw the sum, as agreed up on before he entered the jail, contemptuously upon the counter. Then turning his black eye upon the merchant, he slowly said : “You once sent an orphan to jail when he was guiltless of wrong or of crime. Again you sent an old neighbor to jail for no crime but poverty. They both stand before you.— And should misfortune ever come upon you, James Wilson, may you find others more hu mane and forgiving than you have been.— This is a world of changes, and disease and bad luck may waste you and yours in such an hour as you know not.” A paleness crept over Wilson’s face, and before he could reply, Douglass and Milton had passed from his store. Ten years later, and two of the characters of our story, are again brought together. A change has been wrought in the affairs of James Wilson, the rich village merchant.— Disease has been in his household, and his store and dwelling have been laid in ashes. Financial reverse followed in quick succession, until all lua property was swept away, and he found himself several thousand dollars in debt. Driven m desperation, and struggling to save his falling fortunes, ho attempted to secrete a portion of his means by the aid of a friend. The scheme vy a3 delected, and he arrested on a charge of swindling, and sent lo prison. It was then the ruined man learn ed the bitterness of poverty and desertion. — Not a friend would be his bail. Tho fickle populace turned against him ns quickly as they had against William Milton years before, Ho-complamed of this bitterly—he could not see why all bis old friends should desert him because he was unfortunate—surely that was no crime. So reasoned the man who sent William Milton lo the debtor’s cell. His in tegrity had not passed jho ordeal as unlarn isbed as did that of his early friend. Dark and gloomy vqre the days between WELLSBOROUGH, TIOGA COUNTY* BA, the arrest and the trial. - Wilson bad little to bops from the magnanimity of the prosecu ting attorney, as that official bad been rejec. ted by one of his daughters on account of the attorney’s poverty. From the prisoner’s box, Wilson looked in vain for friends in the sea of faces. He had (osl property and had no friends. To ihe inquiry of the Cottrt who would defend him, Wilson answered that he had re gained none, his face burning os bo answered, for he had no means to employ counsel. One and another of the lawyers in the bar, plead prior engagements and begged to bo excused from acting as Wilson’s counsel at the re quest of the Court. This marked reluctance to defend him stung the prisoner keenly, and he bit his lip until it bled. Any one of Ihe brood, a' month before, would have most ea gely performed any service for the wealthy merchant. At this juncture, a tall and muscular gen tleman strode up to the bar and tendered his services as counsel for the prisoner at the bar. The stranger’s head was grey, but his pres ence was singularly noble and commanding, and his eye full and lustrous. The finely chiseled mouth told its own story of daring, firmness, and iron will. The prosecuting at torney looked a little blank as the distin guished looking gentleman took his seat with in the bar, and answered for his client. The interest ia the audience became intense, for they expected something from so fine a look ing man. And the presence of that person age—his lofty bearing and eagle eye—was already making interest for bis astonished cli ent. The trial proceeded. The counsel for the defence asked few questions of the witnesses, contenting himself with playing with his pen knife, now and then looking upon those who swore “swift.” There was a terror In his very eye, and the swift witnesses quailed as they read its scornful glance. The District Attorney indulged in frequent coarse aggra vated remarks as the testimony proceeded. The plea of the stranger was a most finish ed specimen of logic,jrony, and pathos. The tide of feeling in the people, re-acted under his eloquence, and rus|hed again to the mer chant. A few words, calm, but most fearful ly withering, crushed the prosecuting attor ney’s attempts to wound the unfortunate.— The testimony was picked and torn in a thou sand shreds,[and strong men blushed that they had ever doubted the honesty of (he prisoner. “You are but men,” said he to (he jury, “with the same frail nature of him whose hon or you now have in your hands. You know not your own strength. In prosperity, it is no hard matter to present a clean shccllo the world it is adversity that tests men. The strongest among you, might fall were misfor tunes to come upon you. 1 Misfortune or pov erty, are certainly no crimes, as prosperity is no virtue. Summer weather friends are they who bask in a map’s favor to-day, and when a dark hour comes upon him, turn to heap opprobrium upon his name. As men need mercy at the hands of him who wept over and forgave the sins of men, so lei them re member mercy when judging each other.— Should either of you gentlemen, by any re verse of fortune, ever become poor and a subject for the debtor’s cell, and see your pro fessed friends desert or turn against you, you will experience one of life’s bitterest lessons, and learn how cruel is the had which crush es and brands with shame the name of the poor and unfortunate. God is the avowed friend of such, and men should be careful how (hey are less forgiving than our com mon Father.” The manner of the stranger was intensely thrilling, and carried the multitude for his cli ent. The prosecuting attorney writhed in his scat, and in his plea, blundered continually. He grew feverish and annoyed under the full gaze of his powerful antagonist. The jury returned a verdict of “not guilty” without leaving their seals, and the sheriff was ordered to release the prisoner from cus tody. And what a change in the manner of the people. All were eager to take him by the hand and to congratulate him upon his acquittal. They were friends again I And yet Wilson could not shut out the reflection that had he been convicted, the same men would as heartily approved the verdict, ns now. With n heart too full for utterance, Wilson attempted to thank his strange friend. While he held that individual’s hand and poured out his broken thanks, the sheriff again arrested him for debt. The District Attorney had been foiled in the criminal suit, and now determined to have revenge at last. “Hold a moment,” said the strange coun sel. “How much is claimed of my client?” “Some three thousand dollars,” sneeringly answered the counsel. “Make out your papers, sir, and you can have your money.” The abashed officer proceeded to do so, while the crowd gathered and looked on. The stranger, from a heavy purse, counted out the amount ia bills and gold, and then handed the receipts to the bewildered Wilson! afterwards lifting his hat politely to the people and pass ed away. But the overpowered Wilson could not be loft thus. .Ho followed his deliverer and per sisted in knowing who to bless. “James Wilson 1” replied the stranger in a snd but thrilling tone; “you have fallen as others have fallen. This is a world of chan ges. While visiting the the graves where my loved ones are, I learned of your reverses and tho charge against you. Fifteen years ago there was another poor debtor sent to jail for no crime, and his child died there. You sent him there. He was poor and you oppressed him. He was sick and in prison and you visited him not. Never again Mr. Wilson, A 61TA “ THE AGITATION OF THOUGHT IS TBB BEGINNING OF VIBDOX.” > THURSDAY MORNING, forgot the “golden rule” of the mater you serve, or oppress the poor sad unfortunate.— The debtorr of fifteen year ago.owed you. You now owe him. William Milton has returned good (or oyik Tou Will not bate him as you once did, will you, Mr. Wilson and a sweet smile shone through the (Oar#on the stranger’s face. . - “William Milton 7 God rorgtvache. And you are him.” , , ' “Yes, the once poor debtor,jbut v npw rich man, is bclore you. (Jo home (b ydiir fami ly, Mr. Wilson, and be kind to nil. Wo all need kindness and forgiveness,* 1 While the tears were streaming, fast from Wilson’s face, the stranger passed rapidly away and disappeared. The poor, merchant returned to his hdine a belter and n wiser man. Coals had been heaped upon bis back, and from that day to the close of o long life, James Wilson never forgot to do good. At night and in the morning he invoked blessings ap> on his friend, and in kindly deedetothe poor and needy, endeared himself to all. The tobies were turned lo his good. A Fortunate Kiss. The following little story by Miss Bremer is, taken from Sartain’s Magazine, For its truth and reality she says she will be respon sible ; ‘ fn the University of Upsale, in Sweden, live'd a young student, a lovely youth, with a great love for studies, but without means for pursuing them. Ha was poor and without connections. Still he studied, living in great poverty, but keeping a cheerful heart, and trying not to look at the future, which looked so grimly at him. His good humor, and good qualities made him beloved by bis young comrades. Once he was standing with some of them in the great square of Upsala, prat ling away an hour of leisure, when the atten tion of the young men became arrested by a very young, elegant lady, who at the side of an elderly one, walked slowly over the place. It was the daughter of the Governor of Up land, living in the city, and the lady with her was the governess. She was generally known for her goodness and gentleness of character, and looked upon with admiration by the stu dents. As the young men now stood gazing at her ns she passed on like a graceful vision, one of them exclaimed : “Well, it would be worth something to have a kiss from such a mouth.” The poor student the hero of our story, who was lookinglotently on that pure and angelic face exclaimed as if by inspiration, “Well, 1 think I could have it” “What!’’ cried his friends in a chorus, “are you crazy? Do you know her?” Ace. “Not at all,” he answered ; “but I think she would kiss mo now, i( I asked her.” “What in this place, before all our eyes.” “In this place, before your eyes.” “Freely.” “Freely.” “Well, if she will give you a kiss in (hat manner 1 will give you a thousand dollars,” exclaimed one of the party. “And 11” “And I!” criedsthreo or four others; for it so happened that several rich young men were in the group, and the bets ran high on so improbable an event; the chal lenge was made and received in less time than wc take to relate it. Our hero (my authority tells not whether he was handsome or plain ; I bare toy pe culiar ideas for believing he was rather plain, but singblarly good looking at the same time;) immediately walked off to tbs' young lady,- and said—“(min fraulein) my fortune is in your hand.” She looked at him in astonish ment, but arrested her steps. He proceeded to stale his name and condition, his aspira tion, and related, simply and truly, what bad just passed between him and his companions. The young lady listened attentively, and, when lie ceased to speak, she said, bfushing, but with groat sweetnesas —“If by so little a thing so much good can be effected, it would be foolish for me to refuse your request— and she kissed the young man publicly in the open square. 1 Next day the student was sent for by the Governor. He wanted to see the man who had dared to seek a kiss from his daughter in that way, and whom she had consented to kiss so. He received him with a scrutinizing brow, but oiler an hour’s conversation was so pleased with him (hat he offered him to dine at his table during his studies at Upsala. Our young friend now pursued his studies in a manner which soon made him regarded as the most promising scholar at the University. Three years were now passed since the day of the first kiss, when the young man was allowed to give a second one to'the daughter of the Governor, as his intended bride. Ho became, later one of the greatest schol ars in Sweden, as much respected for his learning as for bis character. His works will endure forever among the work of sci ence ; and from this happy union sprang a family well known-in Sweden even at the present day, and whose wealth of fortune and high position in society are regarded as small things compared with its wealth of goodness and love. Nosb and Lips. —A sharp nose and thin lips ore considered by physiognomislsjcertain signs of a shrewdish disposition. As a crimi nal was once on bis way to tho gallows, a proclamation was made that, if any woman would marry him under the gallows, with the rope around his neck, he would receive par don. “1 will,” cried a cracked voifp from amid the crowd. Tho culprit desired tho ea ger candidate for matrimony to approach the cart, which she did, and he began ter exam ine her countenance. “Nose like a knife,” said he, “lips like wafers 1” "Drive on, hang, man,” •» 'I- I __ Sc .S ' , ■ '" ■ t *, -7 '* i f \u. ij -r.\ PUBLISHERS & PROPHIET CBS, AM'iwwfcw tnif£ft mwr. :oin# of the irarinettfrieiiMs' Ihad Id Cal. coll* Was Major Heath, of iho Brilisli Eight eenths, Ha*«> Celebrated jbr the number of tigwehabad killed,andbo» the reputation ofbeinglhe boldest hunter OB (be Peninsula. Hedfteo-expressed hie wish to show me a tiger hunt, outsit that time I had no expecta tion Of vrimessing the epoit About eix months afterwards, however, we met in the Peninsula, and I enjoyed the long wished for opportunity of witnessing the exciting and dangerous amusement. ft waa a bright sunny morning when we set toward, tb© thicket, m, which after being driven from a surrounding jungle, it was spid a magnificent tiger had taken refuge. Our company consisted of the Mayor, a half djttz en brother officers, and myself, mounted upon elephants, with a numerous train of natives on foot, Whose business it would be to start the game from its retreat. We were all armed with rifles, and were confident of sue* cess. The Major howevr coolly informed us that we must) lake our chances of a spriog’of the animal, who, when forced to abondpn his covert, would most likely single out sotqe one of gs lor his leap. We laughed gaily in re ply, and set out. A long ride through the jungle at last brought us within convenient distance to the thicket, and obeying the Major's instructions, wo looked at the state of our rifles, and then gave orders t|> the native hunters to begin. Hitherto all had been careless gayety on our part, but as danger began in good earnest our laughter was hushed, and we sat eilemly waiting the proceeding of our allies on fool. It was not long that they kept us in suspense. Fairly approaching thef thicket, they set up their wild cries, and, finding this ineffectual, they sent their dogs into the covert, urging them forward whh shouts, and now and then pricking them with their long spears. A hoarse growl, or rather scream from the inmost recess of the covert, at ibis moment, betrayed (he position of the game, and con vinced us that the monster was rising from bis lair. We all stood in expectation,: wait ing for his deadly spring., Bui after a mo mentary rustling in the thicket, all was again stilt as if the animal had risen to reconnoitre bis foe, and convinced of the overpowering number, had sullenly retreated to the most impenetrable part of his fortres. Half an hour succeeded in unavailing attempts to dis lodge him, bat save a deep growl at limes from the centre of his covert, there was no evidence of the monster's neighborhood.” “This will never do,” said the Major at length. “We must scorch the fellow out. Hillo. Here, you villains I why havn’t you began it before?” Tlte thicket was of no very great extent, but apparently utterly impregnable. It was an oversight that the lighting of fires had not been attempted before, out perhaps the native hunters had trusted to their mutual efforts to dislodge the monster. Now, however they set about it with alacrity, and in a short time had completely surrounded the royal beast. A scene of intense interest ensued, which every moment became more exciting. The, .shouts of the men, the heavy tread of the ele phants, the heavy crackling of the ruddy fires, and at intervals the deep growl of the enraged monster, awoke in the mind sensa tions of strange delight not unmingled with a consciousness of imminent danger. As the fires became more fierce, the louder and more frequent growls of the impatient beast warned us that be would soon break from his covert, and forgetting everything but his approaching appearance, we grasped onr rifles, keenly fixed our eyes on the thicket, and breathlessly waited bis desperate ■ spring. The banters meanwhile ceased their shouts, the elephants were silently posted in convenient positions, and nothing for a few minutes was heard but the crackling of the fires, and the now quick and angry voice of (he infuriated monster, until suddenly a roar wai heard; a few short rapid leaps followed in (he covert, and instant ly the huge boast was seen sailing through the air, his tail streaming out behindhand his very hair bristling upon him in his rage. Almost simultaneously the Major shouted, “Look out there! Here he is! A quick eye, boys, and a steady trigger!” But before his warning bad reached us the tijjer had alighted on our elephant, and was clinging within a yard of me to the bleeding side of the beast. For o moment, I confess, I was too startled to do anythiag; that ins tant of bewilderment has almost cost mo my life. The situation of the monster was such that my companions were fearful of firing lest they should hit myself—while native spearsmed, dreading the despair ttf the fero cious animal, would not approach near enough to succor me. A second, however, of be wilderment, followed by another of cool, clear, and thinking, and I placed my rifle almost at the heart of the monster and -fired. But at the very instant a frantic movement on the part of the elephant, jerked the tiger so that he partly slipped off, and I saw with horror, that my ball had only grazed (he upper part of his bead, inflaming him doubly without in the least injuring him. 1 should have bad another rifle, but when I turned to grasp it, I saw (hat in (he frenzied struggle of the ele phant to get rid of the opponent, it had fallen upon the ground. I had no weapon left but my hunting knif, and the huge beast was al ready collecting himself ftr another spring. My very blood seemed to freeze within me, and a cold icy shiver shot through my frame. Destitute of firearms, despairing of succor, without the least (park of hope, I resolved, notwithstanding, to make a desperate resist, once, selling my life as dearly as I could. Airtbis, however, bad not occupied a minute, for the-monster was just recovering himself for his lost spring. But that minute was suf ;i x K& 49. ficrem. Already 1 could (eel his breath upon 1 beheld the. foam upon- his llps- Holding (irmly before oKfaez pectatiefrof <lb feet mor (ilstreggle, f heard nice of%Major,shou('mg, “Li*a»— dowdt" - •Jdtehenlcallyobeying the inltractlo«r,aod myself at fulMeogthon the cushions, ***• nen nwtnew ihe eterpcrtek of (he nfie—thtQ another—and* third echoed la the morning mlr; tho vast monster gave a quick* short movement, struggled so frtmtie ally as (o shake ev« Q the gigantic beast on *hicb } rode, and almost, instantaneously fell beck dead Upon (bo ground. He was a per fect oollaesal, measured fifteen feet from (he tip of hi* snoot to the extremity of the tail* Such-van my.first "tiger hunt in India.* Pbreiwle|y la the Pnlplt. TtarttrotnrWnar. sens* trass fiKXcart, It is eery hard for a minister of ibe-jpw pel, standing before a promiscuous esdwace, to deal with the facts of their minds, end their inward lire*. It is a mefsachofy feet, that men know less about, that whichris lfte very element of their being, than aboat any thing else in the world. I suppose if I were to go among the intelligent men in my con gregation, I could get every variety of mfor aation on subjects connected with (ho daily business affairs of life—upon questions of po litical economy, upon various questions of commerce, facts concerning the atroctore of ships, steam-engines—l could collect any amount of information on all these, and a thousand other hindred subjects. But when I ask them what is inside of themselves, they can tell me of a great manufactory, and explain to mo tho operation and nse of all the machinery in it; but upon the question of the machinery of their own minds, they cannot say a word. la regard to commer cial matters, they know all about them) they have examined them, tltey have compared their ideas on these subjects, and have class ified them. They believe themselves to ba immortal creatures, that (bey have throbbing within them a soul that shall live es long ns God himself shall live; yet, when 1 ask (hen any questions in regard to their inward na ture, their only reply is, “1 don’t know, I don’t know.” They do not know what their reason is; they do not know what is the na ture of their moral powers ; they do not definitely understand Ihe nature or operation of any one faculty of their minds f They understand the nature of the soil of the earth; they know what it is capable of producing ; they know the use of the plough, end all the implements of agriculture ; they know whet to do with a plant that is not thriving, they are skilful to impart to it a fresh life, and make it flourish. But if any plant that ought to grow in the mind is stun ted and does not thrive, they cannot tell how to make that grow. They don’t know what to do to bring it forth. It is difficult for a minister of (he gospel ta set forth the truth intelligibly in respect to its relation to the human mind. I think it is partly because men have not been curious it% respect to themselves, and partly on account of the many bewildering systems of mental philosophy that are in vogue iu oar day. For if there were none of these systems except the old schools of metaphysical philosophy, I would defy any man to obtain by means of them any clear idea about the soul, for at best they ore of but Tittle more value than so many cobwebs. Men may study them, how ever, if they have a taste for them) if anno loves logic ond discussion, let him take ono of the old metaphysical mental philosophies, and he will have means of busying bis mind until he grows tired of such business. But if a man wishes to know practically what he is made up of, a man wishes a knowledge of human nature for definite practical purposes, there is no system which will aid him in ac quiring that knowledge like the system of Phrenology ; not interpreted 100 narrowly or technically, but in its relation to physiol ogy and the structure of the whole body.— And I may say here what I have never said before in the pulpit, that the views of the hu man mind, as they are revealed by Past- NotoGt, are (hose views which have under layed my whole ministry J and if 1 have had any success in bringing the truth of the gos pel to bear practically upon the minds ot men, any success in ihe vigorous application of troths to the wants of the human soul, where they are most needed, I owe it to the clearness which I have gained from this sci ence. And I could not ask for the members of my family, nor of a church, any better preparation for religious indoctrination, than to put them in possession of such a prnct teal knowledge of (he human soul as is given by PaßSKotooy. I have avoided the use of the nomenclature of PuQENOiiOOT in (he pulpit as far as possi ble, because 1 did not wish to soam to be a mere teacher of a philosophical system, white I was a minister of the truihas it is in Christ; but 1 have now been so long with you, that I am justified in making this statement. I may say, in regard to the objections Some times urged against Piibbnologt, its tend ency to materialism and fatalism, that the same objections may bo mode to any other system of mental philosophy. Ido not think that such objections belong to Phrbnoloct any more than to any system of intellectual science which yem catt possibly construct.—■ Men's mere logical and speculative reason will always strand them upon the sands of fatalism or materialism ; and it is the practi cal sense, the consciousness of octnal liber ty, that redeems us from a belief of the one or the other. Such doctrines dwell in the head, but never in the Hands, — Phrenologi cal Journal. The Per —in a hand (hat knows how to use it, is the most powerful weapon known. As the longoe of the obseni, how cheering ! When <he golden lints of virtue guide it, how beautiful! Where self-respect gives it a new vigor, how pleasing! Where honor directs it, how respected ! Where wit sharpens it, ho tr fatal! When scrutiny wields it, how contemptible f ’Tis the weapon of the soul. A Fount Cask.—An old toper, in the Inst stages of dropsy, was told by the physician that nothing would save him but being tap ped. His little son objected to this operation, by saying—“ Father, don’t lei him, for you know there never, was anything in this bou*> that lasted a week, after it was tapped.'’
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