New Tears Greeting.
The sands run out —once.mote I sing
The requiem of the dying year,
Awhile the hours on joyous wing
Bear both a cradle and a bier.
The Old Year’s pulse beats faint and slow.
A winter damp is on hib brow ;
A rosy babe twelve months ago,
But spent with age and dying now.
We will yield him up to the cold embrace
Of a wintry night and a snowy shroud;
He has labored well, he has run his race,
His sun has set in a wintry clqud 1
He has left his record of grief and cheer,
The future of Mao to mo.ld and leaven ;
And his throne descends to the new-born year
Young Eiohtben-hokdred-kifty-bbven.
Eighteen Hundred Fifty-Seven 1 —
,Sinless child as yet we know you ;•
But your page shall not be stainless
When Old Time shall overthrow you.
Deeds of wrong and deeds of kindness
On your tablets shall be graven,—
Yours may be the bloody record
Of the tvranl and the craven.
See! the dark scud of the tempest
Sweeps the moral sky above you,—
Bearing omen of a trial
Which with blood and fire shall prove you,
Sinless year, pm on your armor!
Mighty is the task before you ;
For the age is in its travail
And a sword dependeth o’er you.
' Broken is ihe peace of Freedom
And its harp is nil unstrung;
Sad, insulted, bruised and bleeding,
By a bosomed adder slung.
From the distant Wes', unceasing,
On the pinions of the gale,
Comes a mighty sob of Sorrow—
Comes a wild and anguished wail.
O, ye men who boast of springing
From the loins of patriot sires !
From the loins of men who kindled
On these altars Freedom’s fires, —
Will ye fold your arms supinely 7
Will ye shut your eyes to sleep,
„Suffering blight, without a protest,
O'er these sacred plains to sweep?
Ye remelnber Saratoga !
Ye remember Bunker Hill!—
Where your sires so sternly gathered
Great of hea_rt and stout of will ;
Are their noble deeds forgotten,
And the trials that beset,
Day by day, those winter soldiers—
Are those men remembered yet ?
Ye remember. Then remember
Freedom bleedeth now, as then!
Wrong has drenched the plains of Kansas
With the blood ol noble men.
Wrong and Outrage stalk at noonday
In her cities and her towns,
While her Spartan band is winning
Martyr graves and martyr crowns.
Clothed with fire, a giant specter
Standeth in our senate hall,
And with blazing finger wrilelh
Words of warning on Ihe wall i
Freely Med Columbia's martyrs ,
Recreant children, yet in vain,
While there echoes in her borders
Groan of slave or clank of chain!
Heirs of dear and biood-houghi Freedom 1
Children of the martyred dead!
Dare we falter in our duty
When our sires so nobly led 1
Shall the awful curse of Bondage
Fasten on our nation’s prime.
And our children blush to own us
in the record of our time!
Times fifty-two have I come to you
Within the twelvemonth past,
With the paper fresh from the clanging press
Faithful from first to last.
Whether sun or storm, or cold or warm—
In every kind of weather,
I have served you well, as all can tell—
At an awful waste of leather!
And now I ask, since I’ve done my task,
Reward as a faithful waiter,
And joy to you the New-Year through,
And success to THE AGITATOR.
Sketch of the Heavens at NrenT. —
We are at this time (says the Albany Tran
script) favored with a conple of evening stars
■ —Jupiter and Venus; indeed, a third may be
added, namely, Mars. Nor is it the first lime,
according to heathen mythology, that those
ancient divinities, now called planets, have
spent the evening together. Venus appears
«l present only a brief lime after the selling
of the sun. Her visit, however, will be grad
ually prolonged to a later hour. But Jupiter
will shine for some weeks the greater part of
the night, going to bed at the same time with
the gambler, debauchee and street picaroon ;
Mars will remain somewhal longer. While
on the subject of the heavens, we may as well
mention that they contain at no other time
splendors equal to those which now every
evening illuminate the sky, particularly its
eastern portion. More fixed stars of the first
magnitude are congregated along a bright
belt from Capella in the North to Sirius, the
most magnificent of ail in the South, than
any other equal space can boast. First in
ihe splendid procession advance the Pleiades,
tnen follow close Hyades. Immediately, Orion
burs! upon the sight, flanked by Capella in
the Wagoner and the Twins on the left, and
Ihe lightning-flashing Sirius low down in the
Southern horizon, with Procyon between.—
Besides these, lighjs of less note supply the
intervals along the' brilliant fields, and en
hance .the sublimity of these burning orbs,
while Jupiter is glowing with his severe white
beams in the western sky, and Fomelhaut
shining dully down South, by this Venus,
with her yellow ray, has retired to repose,
and left her old paramour, red-handed Mara,
to spend the rest of the night in company
with other celestial beauties. But all the glo
ries of the heavens are not monopolized by
the constellations in the East. A lair, Vega,
the Swan, and the Great Bear, stillikeep their
lamps blazing in the West, though aJI, except
ing the lasi, with fading lustre. The Great
Bear, perhaps the most remarkable of the
constellations, rises but never sets, shining
uninterruptedly every night in the year, as
he pursued forever round the pole by the dogs
of Bootes.
Good. —The Sleighing.
THE
BtUottU to tije Extension o'
COBB, ’STURROCK & CO.,
VOL. 3.
Me. Coib : The following lines were frond ozr the floor of
the Session Boom of tho Presbyterian church of this place,
after tho audience were dismissed in the evening. Whether
original or selected, we cannot tell. Bat they are beautiful
wo think, and appropriate, both to the season of year, and
the discourse delivered in the chnrch in thd afternoon. “The
time la .short" the years of our lives are gliding by like shad*
ows. “We take no note of time,” but u What shall be the
rod." SESSION.
The hours arc viewless Angels,
That still go gliding by.
And boar each minute’s record up,
To Him who sits on high.
And we who walk among them,
As one by one depart,
See not that ther are hovering
Forever round our hearts.
Like summer bees that hover
Around the idle flowers,
Tlioy gather every act and thought
Those viewless Angol hours.
Tiie poison or the nectar,
Tho hearts deep flower cups yield,
A sample still they gather swift,
And leave us in the field.
And some flit by on pinions
Of joyous gold and blue.
And some flag on with drooping wings
Of sorrow’s darker hue.
And still they steal the record
And bear It far away;
Their mission flight, by day or night
No magic power cun stay.
And as wc spend each minute
Tliat God to ns hath given,
The deeds ore known before His throne,
The tale is told in heaven,
These bees, like hours, wo see not,
Nor hear their noiseless wings,
Wo only-fool too oft when flown
That they have left their stings.
go teach me. Heavenly Father,
To meet each flying hour,
That ft» they go they may not show
My heart a poison flower,
go, when death brings Its shadow,
The hours that Unger last
Shall bear ray hopes on angel wing,
Unfettered by the Par.
For the Agitator,
"A POME"
Oil! I saw her out one evening,
In a splendid dress of blue,
And a tasty polka jacket
Of a very different Jmo,
And a trifling little bonnet, tliat was evidently new.
So I watched the glancing twinkle
Of her pretty little feet .
And her tasty little ank
Twas so very small and neat—
And she rather seemed to know it, as»he wriggled up the street
She looked so demure and modest,
With such splendid hair find eyes;
And the sweetest little bodire
Buttoned up so snag and .nice,
Tliat he who looked upon hei once, wo’d look upon her twice.
And I wondered if a body
Who should wed with her perhaps,
Might be taken fora noddy,
Or theduckicst of chops— Tcaps.
And how much ’two’d cost him yearly forher bonnets mufw and
Then I thought upon the weather,
And the crib Ih which I slept,
Butting this and that together®*B
- a wonder that I wept,
Thinking on the frosty weather and the crib In which I slept!
Wellsdoro, Dec. 26. UODKUT SLED, Esq.
Select itftfmUanj). .
Go Backßose; You’re too Little to Come.
There were ihree of us—Kale, Annette,
and myself—and we were going into the old
wood,to hunt strawberries. Oh! it was such
a delicious day in June, xim oi«i<> - B ,mi
the air was fairly vocal with their melody,
and all the green trees nodded their heads in
approbation. The very brook seemed to
have caught the inspiration, and keeping lime
to a quickstep of the fairies.
Annette Summers and I, had been invited
to spend the half-holiday with our schoolmate,
Kale Harrington, Deacon Harrington’s old.
fashioned, brown house fronted towards the
South, Behind it stretched a broad green
meadow, and still farther back was a densely
wooded acclivity, famous for flowers and ber
ries, in the geography of every child in Rye
field. I used to love to 100k 1 at Deacon Har
rington’s old brown house, even in these ear
ly days when I had not a single well-defined
notion of artistic taste in my curly head. I
know now that it combined, in an eminent
degree, the element ol the picturesque. The
low roof, which sloped backwards nearly to
the ground, was grey with moss. Ivy crept
about the windows, and over the rustic porch
had twined climbing roses, along with heavy
clusters of trumpet creeper. ,
There was a rude seat at the doorway,
made of the little boughs of the while birch,
twisted together in fantastic fashion, and here
grand-mother Harrington was wont to sit,
with her grey woolen knitting work. Oh*!
what a treat we used to think it to spend a
half-holiday with Kate Harrington.
“ I wish I were you, Kale,” exclaimed An
nette, after we had spent half the long sum
mer afternoon chasing butterflies, and ar
ranging a vegetable baby house with holly
hocks, fur ladies’ parsols, and teapots manu
factured out of veritable poppypods. “I wish I
were you and then I could be happy all day
long, with nothing to trouble me.”
“You could, could you?” and Kate’s
cheeks .flushed, as she pul away from them
her heavy bands ol black hair—-“you think
so, and that’s all you know about it. I have
a thousand things to vox 'me. There’s Rose,
for instance. Mother expects me to be con
stantly taking care of her, and she is the
greatest little torment you ever saw.. By the
way, girls, let’s start after those strawberries
in the wood, now she’s is out of sight for a
moment, so she won’t tease to go with us I”
We were just about half way across the
meadow, when we heard as wee J voice, cry
ing:—
“ P’ease, sister Kate; Rose wonts to go
loo."
I turned round, 1 remember, and thought
bow beautiful wan the little creature coming
toward us. She wae very unlike her sister
Kale. Kate wos a brunette, but the little
white-robed figure-tripping acrossthemeadow,
had a pale, spiritual face, and long curls of
golden hair fell to her liny .waist..,* There was
a flush on her cheek, and a look of eager
beseeching interest, in her large blue eyes;
and she stretched fyer dimpled> «rms;'to
wards us, and kppt crying in her earnest
ness:— <
“P’ease, girls, wait for Rose.” .
• A look of Vexation-crossed Kate’s face and
she called out ip a tone of extreme irritabil
ity
WBILSBOKOUGH, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THUESDAY MOENING. JANUAEY 8. 1857.
“Go back, Rose; you’re 100 little to come.
Go back! go back 1”
Kate always had a way ofbeiog minded,
and the little one put her fingers to her eyes,
and silently turned toward the house. We
hurried'on in the direction of the wood, with
out giving a single glance backward. 1 think
Kate’s reproached her for her selfishness, and
I know my own pleasure was spoiled for the
aAernoon. We found plenty of strawberries
red and ripe, among their bed of leaves.—
werelittle'blue-eyed blossoms, too, that
kept reminding me of Rose, and I was not
sorry when the sunset shadows lengthened,
and we turned to go home.
We had gone down the hill out of the
wood, and crossed several roads of the mea
dow-land, when Kale said, in a hoarse whis
per:—“See there, girls, what is that white
thing by thee brook T Do you see ill”
We saw it, and hurried toward if. It was
Rose. At first' we thought she was dead.—
Scarcely seemed the faintest breath to steal
from her parted lips, and the pulsations of her
heart were so weak, you could scarcely feel
them. She was in a kind of trance-like sleep,
It was some lime before we succeeded in
waking her, and then her limbs seemed chill
ed and stiffened by (he subtle dampness of
the meadow-land atmosphere. She could not
stand. How many times the little dailing
hod begged us to “makea chair for her,”
wjth our hands, and we had answered, that
we couldn’t slop. We made one now. She
twined her dimpled arms about our hecks,
and held on very light, but she didn’t speak
except once, and ihen she only said, “ Ain’t
1 most big enough, sister Kate I”
Mrs. Harrington met us at the door with
a wild look of alarm. “ Good heavens, Kate!”
she exclaimed; ‘Uvhal’s the matter with
Rose ?”' And taking her from our arms, she
discovered that her clothes were almost satur
ated with moisture, “ Kate, child, why
don’t you speak I Has Rose been in the
water
“ No, ma'am; but she went into the mea
dow, and got to sleep, and we found her
there sleeping.” * * *■ *
Oh, there were anxious hearts in Deacon
Harrington’s brown house that night. Very
tenderly was the suffering little Rose cradled
on her mother’s breast, but not once did she
speak coherently. Her cheeks burned and
her eyes sparkled with fever i her dimpled
arms were tossed about her head, and every
little while, between her moans she stretch
ed out her hands towards some imaginary
object, and said, “ P’ease, sister Kale, isn’t
Rose most big enough I"
Three days passed—days of‘lncessant
watching and weariness—and toward even
ing the little- Rose opened her blue eyes, after
a restless slumber; She seemed much better,
ana .no . j W»n.U v .Jin to the
kind physician bending over her. ’* r
“ I cannot say she’s belter, madam. God
knows I wish I could; but Rose must die be
fore midnight!” and ’the tears stood in glitter
ing drops oh the good man’s cheeks.
The mother’s great grief was not noisy.—
She quietly lifted her darling from the bed and
sat down with her in her arms. Kate stood
by, sobbing, as if already the brand ofjCain
wereuponher brow; ' 1
“ P’ease, mamma,” said the little one at
length —“ am I big enough to go to heaven]"
“ Yes, darling," was the tearful answer.—
“ Jesus loves little children.” 1
“ And, mamma, do you s’poso he’ll forgive
me for silting down in'the meadow to watch
Kate, when you told me I mustn’t never stay
there]”
“ Yes, my pel, the good Saviour will for
give you for anything, if you are only sorry ;
but Rose doesn’t want to go to heaven and
leave motherj does she ]”
“ i heard somebody say I must go, when I
was asleep, mother; a beautiful lady, with
oh! such while, shining wings, and she
stretched out her arms to take me, but I
didn’t go. I woke up just to kiss )ou and sis
ter once more. P'ease kiss me Kate. ’llle
Rose won’t never be naughty any more up
in heaven, and I’ll grow big be,ore you
come, Katy, so I can play with you up
there 1”
There were tears, sighs, a funeral, and a
little coffin. The rosebud opened its petals
on the bosom of Jesus. The little earth-flower
was “ big enough for heaven I” ■■
From tho New York Independent.
While travelling not long ago in one of the
southwestern counties in Virginia, ihe follow
ing thrilling incident look place., Starting
in the stage coach, soon after breakfast, the
morning being a delightful one ih the latter
part of the month' ofMay.l look my seal
bn the box. by the;side Of,the driver, and
behind me, on lop, was seated a bright, intel
ligent-looking, .mulatto boy, apparently, of
eighteen or juneleen -years of,age., -After
being on'the ' road .a few minutes, I .turned
about and asked him'where he. was, going.—
He replied he was going down & few nrifetsto
live with Master.--rw, wboikept the plage
house at the west stand ; that be had Jived
with him the.last summer, and'his master
had sent him down to live with him I becom
ing season. . < if'-
Turning from the. boy the driver remarked
to me in an under tone,..“ the. boy is de
ceived | Lam taking-him down to (he! slave
pen, a'Jew milbs anywhere slaves iare kept
preparatory to being sent to Louisiana; this
deception is practised ;1q get him from his
home and mother without creating., a distur
bance on the place; I ' > .‘ -
Shortly after we drew pear the place,where
the boy supposed he was to stop; he began
Ib gather up* preparatory (o leavipgthelslage,
the few articles lie hadi brought away from
his home. The driver said to biro.: in/a de
cided tone of voice, “ You are not to got off
i
AGITATOR,
m &vw at tfmfcom of
“TUB AGITATION OP THOUGHT IS THE BEGINNING OP WISDOM.”
A Scene in Virginia.
tho stage here,” The boy, in Astonishment,
replied; “Yes, I is; I’s got a letter for
Master —, I's going to live there this
summer."
By this lime we had reached the house,
and Master ■ - making his appearance,
John (for that was the boy,) delivered his
teller and appealed to Master to de.
liver him from the command of the driver,—
The master made no reply, as this kind of
deception was no new thing to him. After
reading the letter and folding it up, he was
about putting if in his pocket, when it flashed
on the mind of the boy that he was sold and
was bound for the slave-pen. He exclaimed,
in bgony, “ Tell me Master, if I’se sold ?”
No reply was made. He exclaimed again,
“ Tell me if I’se soldi” This last appeal
brought the following response : “ Yes, John,
you are sold.”
The boy threw himself back on the top of
Ihe stage, and rolling in agony, sent up such
a wail of woo as no one in ihe stage could
endure; even the hotel keeper walked away
in shame, and the driver hurried into’ his
box and drove off in haste, to drown the
noise of his cry. ‘ .
The passengers were deeply moved by ihe
distress of the boy, and tried in various ways
to soothe his wounded and crushed spirit, but
his agony was beyond the reach of their
sympathy; ’ I
When his agony had somewhat abated, he
exclaimed, t‘ Oh, if they had only left me
bid jny mother good bye. They have lied
to me ! They have lied to me 1 If they
had a’ told me, I was sold and I could a’, bid
my mother good-bye, I’d a gone without
making them trouble, hard as il is,” By
this time we had passed onsomp.two or three
miles since leaving the last stand; when
drawing near to a pretty thick wood, the boy
became tranquil. Wailing till we had en
tered woods a few rods, he darted from the
lop of the stage.and rnn into the woods, as
agile as a deer, no doubt with the feeling that
it was for his life. The driver instantly
dropped his reins and pursued the boy,—
Proving himself no mutch, he returned, ex
claiming, “ You sec, 1 have done what I
could to catch him.”
He mounted his box and drove on a mile
or so, when he teined up his horses to a
house, and calling to the keeper, asked,
“ Where ate your sons?” He replied, they
left home this morning lo hunt a negro, pod
would not be home before night. The dri
ver said to him that Mr. ■■ ■ had sent
hi& boy John on the stage that morning lo bo
delivered at the pen,.and that he bad-jumped
from the top of the stage and taken to the
woods. His reply was j “We will hunt
him for you to-mcirrow." The driver said
he wished only lo notify him of his being in
the woods.
i'-WAdfilhe inquiry, “ How
long have you driven slage'otHnuy 4 n,
He replied, “ About fifteen years.” “Do
you frequently take negroes down to the slave
pen?” “ Yes, frequently, ’’ ■ What will
become of this boy, John 1” He replied,
“ He will skulk about the woods until ho is
nearly starved, and will some night make his
way up to his master’s house, and in about
two weeks 1 shall bring him down again to
the slave-pea in hand-cuffs.” After a pause,
even ’this driver, feeling the degradation ib
being the instrnmebt of such .misery, broke
out ift the exclamation: “This is a cursed
business; but in this case this is pot the
worst feature in if The man who sold him
is his own father.”
Almost MißACptous Escape—A Heroic
Rescue.— The Fulton Patriot gives an ac
count of an incident that occurred in the town
of Granby, in that county, a few days,ago,
which ia n striking illustration of parental
devotion and heroism.
On the 10th ult. the wife of Mr. J. H.Suy
dam, was brought to the door of her own
house by the piercing ory of one of their lit
tle ones, and on going to the well, saw it sink
ing in the water, eighteen feet below the sur
face of the ground. ■ Thb hired girl was in
stantly sent for the nearest man, (the father
beingfrom homo at that lime;) the mother
stepped her foot over the curb, for the pur
pose of descending, but ort reflecting that her
own life was in jeopardy, she tviihdretv it
again, and stood hatching the struggles of
her prattling boy. But, as he came up the
last lime, and threw himself on his back, he
looked up at his mother, “ Ma, can’t you.
help me?” the mother waited no longer'for
help, but in an Instant descended into the well,
and caught the little boy by the airm and held
him out of'the water.
Her little son, four years and a half old
went inlo the hobse, emptied the water out of
the pail, hooked it on ihe pole, and lowered
it by the sweep, which, was 'nearly- heavy
enough to raise a pail of ' Thisjirov.
ing of no usej ijie moihor lhouglit the must
either drop the child or drown.herself. Mak
ing a desperate effort, she climbed up the
sljppery stones, until, she waSj.tiear, i.k'q 'jop,
when she rajspcj lii|n.bodily, oyer her bead,
when Pranky, lying down on,the platform,
naught" his. little- brother by the . arm, and
cried out «i’vegol- him; ma,. Jive got himH’
Thus the litlle suflbrer was rescuedapraa time
before help arrived, ' -
Wuatjs 'OoMi.NU I .—! f Buchanan Ipelected
we arocerlaih.to have ihe pdnhission of
1. Kansas ap a Slave (3(aie.
,2. Kfioaragua',as Stale.
2. Cuba,as a Slagd Slated . , .
4., Another Slave Stale (rpm, Texas.
9i, , jrhe J ho.ir n,o(ale.
, 6. The f. v .:i - ...- j<
„ Do pyogtampne
(iV. H.) Amfricap- ; i.-■ ‘
We dp i.andi in the language, of Patrick
Henry, we ,«ay, *f let it com /''-r-Squatler
Sovereign. .. -
Such is human nature thaUwJjenever we
read the lives of distinguished men, there is
commonly an almost instinctive desire to
know something of the Women they have
chosen to shore with them the trials and hon
ors of their career. Now, whereas the ‘Mem
orabilia’ of Socrates has been faithfully re
corded by an admiring disciple —we propose
to give a brief memorabilia of his “better
half,” the renowned Xantippe. True, we
have opt, like our illustrious rival, Xenophon,
been under the tuition, or enjoyed the con
versation of the subject of our reminiscence.
Therefore our observation will necessarily
lose that credence which might be claimed
by one personally conversant with the life
and lime of our Lady. Consequently we
shall reason somewhat from historical facts,
slightly from analogy, and shall not scruple
lightly to lax our imagination.
Xantippe is a celebrated woman on sever
al accounts. First as being the wife of Soc
rates —enough to immortalize the name of
an angel. Perhaps her fame, like the moon’s
light, is owed more to her revolution in the
orbit of the intellectual sun of Athens, than
to any intrinsic or characteristic merit of her
own.* Secondly, she is'said to have been
remarkable for her obstinate perseverance in
maintaining what she considered the “ ihe
inalienable rights of Woman,”—which cir
cumstance ought, in the eyes of some at the
present day, to entitle her to canon'zition as
a saint; being the first apostle of “ Women’s
Rights” whose name is recorded in ancient
history. Again, she has the reputation of
being a model scold—one of the real classic
al stump —who has stood the test of time. —
We think that her name has unjustly been
made to designate a distinct class among her
sex. It is not our belief that scolds, like po
ets, are born so, but like orators, are made
by circumstances. Some are doubtless more
easily converted than others, according as
they possess the “ vim spiritus.”
The times are happily changed in their
views of woman. Men have found that a
haughty, overbearing temper is not the most
rational methed of correcting faults, and that
the ducking stool is not'always the stool of
repentance. And Woman is rapidly rising,
not by any efforts of mokern viragoes and
disappointed old maids, but by Ihe quiet in
fluence of rxamplo and truth, to that rank
among intelligent beings to which their gen
tle virtues, their refined sensibilities and the
delicate structure of their minds entitle them.
Lillie is kaowu of her birth, family, or ed
ucation. It was not the fashion of those
limes to make much mention of. women, how
ever distinguished by birth, genius or leartff
.‘-p' Weje we disposed to speculate, we
might conjSClimr ,!.-. neraon was attrac
tive, because Socrates was an' aomi™. 0 f
a finely proportioned form and a beautiful
face, which he regarded as the index of a
mind possessed, or at least susceptible of
great moral beauty.
We learn that Socrates supported himself
for some time by his chisel, and must have
been daily in the habit of studying the m'osl
perfect models of the human form ; while he
would naturally' he inclined to admire that
most which presented ihe fairest proportions
—and when beneath his chisel he beheld—
-11 The mortal and the marhle still at strife.
And timidly expanding into life,"
—his habits of thought would lead him to
meditate upon' the connection between mind
npd matter and the influence which the body
exerts over the intellect and the son), If he
chose his wife Upon this principle, he must
have sought a fair form and a lovely face, —
and Xanlippe’s charms must have been of no
ordinary kind. But alaS I for erring human
reason, il accounts are true, he found his
sweet companion a sad exception to the rule;
and if he still continued to believe in his own
theory,, he must have considered it at least
very dangerous in practice.
If he was not particularly fortunate ia his
choice, wo cannot therefore accuse him of a
wqnt of (llscernmenl, for no man was better
ncquainlpif wi(h.human nature than he. “He
was eminently, qualified,” says Xenophon,
“to peneirale into men’s characters.” He
was in fact a . pragliqal philosopher, visiting
.the busy haunts of mea as well as the places
of retirement. He was heard in the streets
and public sqiipres, in (he marls and in ihe
temples, exposing the errors and denouncing
the vices of his countrymen.; and, convers
ing with the groal.and lowly, >vith the rich
and the pour, he exhorted them to t|io prac
tice of virtue as the'only basis of happiness.
While he labored, to improve, the public or
private morals, we aro told he neglected no
means of oorreeting Ihe faults, of-his own
character,which he,admitted were numerous
>To this end we imagine he united himself, to
the intractable Xrfmippe, at least he turned
'her'perverseness tosorne account; (or said
he to one of his friends, “in accustoming
'myself to bear patiently the ill humor ol
Xantippe at Home, I acquire habits, of rood-,
erationi’ hod learn lolrent; when abroad, the
infirmiiies bf men’with indulgence/’
It wqpld seem then, judging from analogy,
1 Ihdt band 1 as a sort of philds
’stdhd,' that [flight convert Ihe dross
of his own rialureThlo pin'd gold,’-‘-an exper
indent tyljich'iflhny'have btienjfbrccd to try,
but. which few Woflld jiave the courage to
make;" Thal'she was a Woman of perverse
'disposition and violent ipmpe>, wp jiave seen
,ijiat V%cr,a(es, himsplf admitted £ ‘ and' wb
shall certainly not flare to apolOgiseTor these
asperities., . Yet, we fpel inclined’id defend
(ler. because, while.all. (he censurable pans
of Xanlippe’a conduci am carefully exposed,
(hp laucjable tjaija pt hep ttjiarqclpf ofp. en-
PUBLISHERS & PROPRIETORS.
Communication#,
Xantippe.
tirely overlooked; —a too common thiag in
treating of human character.
It is evident that with the Bute attention
Socrates paid his domesiic affairs, the mother
of hie children must have possessed an un.
common degree of industry, activity and pru.-
dence in the management of her household,
or his moderate fortune would not have been
sufficient for the education of her children
and the support of bis family. It is a re.
markable fact that, though almost constantly
engaged in instructing Athenian youths, he
never received any remuneration, nor would
he accept a farthing on any account for hie
public labors. At one time, and while at
the heighth of bis popularity as the great
philosophic;teacher of Athens, his.whole ef.
fects—personal and real—amounted only I*
the paltry sum of twenty dollars I In fact,
Mrs. Socrates not only had charge of her
own household, but received into her family
and watched over with a mother’s love, the
daughters of (he noble Aristides the Just,
after his banishment to a distant land by his
misguided countrymen. And according ta
Xenophon, Socrates himself allows her mt.
ny domesiic virtues and bore testimony to
her unceasing maternal care, and to the ten.
der solicitude which, under all circumstances
she manifested for her children. The home,
ly but truthful lines of a poet of the 15lh ceu.
tury completely characterize her virtues :
NO. 24.
For Tho Agitator.
“An honest, prudent wife toat the,
And wat always inclined
A tender mother facto be,
And to her neighbors kind."
A prudent wife and a true mother, though
she do not all times control her temper, de
serves charily for her faults and credit for
whatever good qualities she possesses.
An Important Invention—Hew
Machine for Grinding Saws.
Elmira ta destined to be well represented
in the Patent Office Reports for 1856. Al
ready seven of her citizens are on the list
of patentees, as follows:
E. Andrews Machine for Grinding Saws,
W. B. Hatch Murble-Sawing Machine.
Chas. VV. Hacked Improved Hand Stamp.
A.Wyckloff Tube-Boring Machine.
Levi Averill Improved Lime Kiln.
Jno. Henderson Improved Hone Shoe.
C. B. Horton Buckwheat Holier.
|On Tuesday lost a patent was issued toE,
Andrews, (a young and enterprising saw
manufacturer of this place,) for the first
named machine ; and as we think it an in
vention of more than ordinary importance,
we propose to give it a somewhat extended
notice. We do not design to describe the in
vention in full at this time, as we could not
do it satisfactorily without an engraving.—•
We will simply state, however, that a large
grinding stone is placed in a perpendidulnp
position, upon sliding ways, in front of the
saw to be grqund, and is made to traverse,
forward end backward, from the centre lo ilia
edge of the saw —the traverse motion of the
stone being decreased as it moves to the edge,
allowing the stone to dwell longer where the
saw is placed upon a mandrel, arranged in a
pivot and sliding-box, which allow it to be
presented to the action of the stone in such
a way that the pressure of the stone upon
the face of the saw is increased as it traver
ses to the edge—thus causing a circular saw
lo be ground on a true taper, by leaving it
thickest at the centre. The stone is also
arranged so as to use but a portion of its
grinding surface at a time, and to wear its
face round instead of flat. The stone, by
this means, is prevented from becoming
glazed over, and thus constantly retain; p;
sharp cutting surface.
The inventor claims for his machine that
it is the only one yet introduced that wil)
grind saws upon a correct principle. It does
OPt simply grind a saw, but also renders ic
unequalled in quality, Heretofore lumber
men have raised objections to the use of cir
cular saws, because of their thickness, that
they wasted lumber, required great power to,
run them, and made poor work from the un
steadiness with whiqh they run. To remove
these objections id the main object of Mr.
Andrews’ machine. We have been shown
several saws that were. ground by his ma
chine, and have the assurance of their owners
that they are devoid of all the objections,
urged against other circular saws. The saw/
is ground on a taper from the centre to the
edge—leaving the middle quite thick and Ibo
edge thin. This strengthens the saw, make;
it light on the rim, causes it to run steadier
th|an the common saw, and produces better
work. Being thin on the edge, it cuts but
one-eighth of an inch saw-kerf where the.
ordinary saw would cut about three-eights.
A saw manufactured in this way, can be run,
with much le'ss power, and will save lo its
owner 250 feet of timber in every 100 Q,
sawed, and yet give to him the same thick-,
ness of stuff. This, at $25 per thousand*
feel, makes a clear gain of $6 25 on, every
-1.000 feet reslit. lo sawing shingles, a gain,
of one-eighth per cent, in material is made—.
that is, out of the material ordinary shingle,
snws make 8,000 shingles, these saws make.
9.000 of the same thickness, which iaa sav-.
ing of about 84 50 per Week, allowing a,
machine lo saw only 0,000 shingles per day'.
This machine is also adapted to grind gan&
cross cut, hand and other saws, and to inrt-.
prove their quality. It has been thoroughly
lesled- by the inventor during tho past three,
months, at the Saw Manufacturing establish,
menl of Messrs. Andrews, BdUsaoe & Co„
in this village,'and must eventually prove,
very valuable to him, as it'is the only ma-.
chine for grinding saws on the taper
that has yet been invented. Saws- ground
by. this: machine are now in usy in~a Duqaber
of mills iu this vicinity, anti give, genefalj
satisfaction.
U is a popular delusion to think that an
editor is a public bellows, bound to puff
everything and everybody that wapla to sea
him;
A lady told her husband she read the “ Art
af Love”, on purpose to he agreeable to him,
‘*l had" tether have love without ari,V re
plied he. (
'The man who ".'fchpt at random” did pel
hit ir—he has since .lent h& rifle to the youth
yho aitirted at immortality.
In Florida they put'thieves in the pillory,
and pelt them with rotten eggi. Ever
they are “ |n bad odor,' 1 ,
H. B. E,
From tbo Flmlra Advertiser.