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.'’