Terms of piiMlcailoiL
TUE TIOGA COUNTY AGITATOR is pub.
.ished every Thursday Morning, and mailed to sub
scribers at the very reasonable price of On* Dot?
■lAi-per annum; invariably in advance. It is inlend
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— u Time Out,'* on'the margin of the last paper.
The paper will then he slopped until a further re
mittance be received. By this arrangement no roan
can be brought In debt to the printer*
Agitato a. i» the Official Pope? of the-Coun
ly, with a large and steadily increasing circulation
reaching into nearly, every neighborhood in the
County.- It is sent free of postage to any Post-office
within live county limits, and to those living witbui
the limits,bat whose mostconvenieot postoffice may
be in an adjoining Coupty*
Business Cards, not exceeding 5 lines, paper in
cluded, §4 per year. . .
PSALM OF LIFE ,
>V H. W. LONGFELLOW
-Tell me not In mournful numbers, -
u Life is but aa empty dream 1?
Tor the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what tbey seem.
Life is real! Life is earnestl
And the grave is not its goal.
“Bust thou art, to dust relumest,**
Was not spoken oi the soul.
Not enjoyment and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
Buf. to act—that epch to-morrow
Find us belter than to-day.
Art is long and time is fleeting.
And our hearts, though strong and brave,
SliU, like muffled drums are beating,
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world’s red fleld of battle—
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not dumb, like driven cattle 2
Be a hero in the strife I
Trust no future, howe'er pleasant.
Let the dead past bury Us dead !
Act—act in the Living Present!
Heart within and God overhead.
Lives of great men all remind os
We can make our lives sublime,
'And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of Time,
Footprints that perhaps another.
Sailing o'er life's solemn 'main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother.
Seeing, shall lake heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing*,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
MY LITTLE BOY.
CHAPTER 1,
I was but a childish mother. I had not
forgotten the merry laugh of my girlhood
when they laid my baby on my breast, and 1
looked upon him more as a ebrious plaything
than as a human soul given into my hands
for its earlbiy training. But my husband—
ah he was grave and wise enougli for both—
mother and child alike.
My husband was many years older than
myself. He had known many a joy and sor
row long before I was born—and on the very
day my nurse was holding me (a helpless,
laughing, crowing baby) out to pick the dai
ses for my birth-day garland, he was bending
•tearfully over the grave of one who had
made his home happy for years—the wife of
his youth and the mother of his children.—
Strange that 1, who had no knowledge of
sorrow, was yet to dispel his, that ha who
had never gazed upon that child’s face of
mine, was one day to lake its owner to its
heart, as the light and joy of his declining
years. 1
Long, long before I met my husband I
knew him well. The name of Arthur Haw
thorne was familiar to me from my earliest
years, and the poems he had written were
among the choicest of my treasures. In my
secret heart I had the wish and hope to meet
him—some day. I would steal one look at
his face—it may be,touch the hhnd that had
penned those beautiful thoughts, and then go
away and .remember him all rny life, while
be forgot me! This was my dream!—how
different the reality!
We met suddenly, unexpectedly, erobarras
ingly! I had looked for a sage—a philoso
pher—a man who had outwitted the passion
of life, and was kind and benevolent to all.
But when I raised my eyes to the handsome
face, and saw it marked with lines of care
and sorrow — when I saw the luxuriant flow,
ing hair, the erect and stalely forehead—and
more than all when I met the glance of those
eyesopfire (could it be an admiring gaze
-that rested upon my girlish face and form t)
my own dropped, my heart beat quick, and I
stood before him. timid, blushing and trem
bling, like a frightened bird.
I, who had scarcely dreamed of love, won
his! I, who knew nothing of the great world
beyond my home, pleased him who had seen
its fairest wiknen ! I, who had no beauty,
no grace, no talent, won liim who had all,
and won him 100 from a throng who were
far more worthy. And yet—were they 1 —
They were lovely—they were weallhy and
fashionable, but they had grown cold and
hard in a long apprenticeship to fashion—
and 1 gave him a heart that was as fresh and
pure as the mountain daises I had loved so
well. They would have given him that love
they could not lavish on thejir diamonds and
‘equipages—l gave him all! To them he
would have been a man—to me he was a God.
Did not my perfect love, my faith, trust and
sincerity, outweigh their more glittering qual
ities 1 Perhaps I felt it then, and here to-day
when the years have made me older, and the
world has made me wiser, I believe it from
roy very heart.
Our home was a liitle paradise beside ihe
eea; a small, low roofed, browo collage, with
a- rustic porch and latticed windows over
grown.with climbing trees. The low mur.
mer of the ocean soothed me into a happy
sleep each night—the sweet song of the swal
low waked me to a happy day each morning.
And here in the pleasant summer time, my
blue-eyed boy was born, and my cup of Joy
was full to running over.
My boy, like all other’s boys, was beauti.
fel. And yet his loveliness made my heart
ache. So frail! so fair! His colorless,
waxen cheek, his slender form and and
melancholy blue eyes, filled me with a thou
sand fears, How often have I bent above
fa, .‘£ as had laid upon my lap, and prayed
wifh all a mother's earnestness that his "life
might be spared. It was a foolish prayer, an
unwise one, but then I could not see it.
My very life seemed wrapped up in that of
ra f -■ With him by me every day I
could not see him fading, and the moaning
sea could Jell no-tales. But now and then a
shadow (main over his fatherVbrow as he
watched ys Ifyat pot even my kisses could
THE AGITATOR
Beboteur to the SEyt«ttU§u of the of iTmbom a«u the of altbs mefovtu
COBB, STURROCK & CO.,
YOL. 3.
quite drive away. I thought him growing
stern and cold but oh, I wronged him !
Never had he loved us both so tenderly be
fore.
. Weeks passed On. My baby’s eyes looked
intelligently inlo..(nihe, and the little rosy lips
smiled whenever I came. But still those little
lisping utterances that thrill the heart, so
deeply were silent, and all my laving lessons
fell on an unheeding ear.
' The shadow on Arthur’s face grew deeper
as he watched my unceasing efforts. At last
the blow came. I had been silling in the
door way with little Ernest in my arms, try
ing to teach him to say “Papa.” His large
blue eyes were fixed upon me with a wishful
expression, but still the lips were mule, and
vexed and disoppointed, I heaved a deep sigh,
and laid him back in hisciadle. Something
in the look my husband gave me startled me.
I went beside him, and put my arms about
his neck.
' “What is it, Arthur?” I cried.
“God help you to bear it, Mary !” he an
swered “Our child is dumb!”
chapter n.
Dumb! Could it be possible? What have
I done that so deep a sorrow should be sent
to chasten me? Other mothers might hear
their children’s voices calling them, but mine
would be forever silent. It was so long a
word! Had it been for weeks, or months, or
even years, I could have borne it ; but to
know that it could never be—that through
childhood, youth and manhood he could never
speak my name—oh I it was ,too much to
bear.
Autumn and winter passed away, and my 1
baby and 1 threw daises at each other on the
lawn before the cottage, while Arthur looked
smilingly from his study window. 1 had not
grown to the great misfortune, only accus
tomed to it, and the mute kisses of my child
were almost as dear to me as his spoken
words could have been.
It was a strange task to leach that soul
how to expand its wings. It was strange to
learn that child his little evening prayer by
sign, and yet as he clasped his small hands,
and raised his sweet blue eyes io Heaven, 1
often wondered if any labored supplication
could have gone more quicky to the Throne
of Grace, It was strange to see him sit si
lently above his playthings, to hear no sound
from him except the plaintive, half stifled cry
he mtered when in pain, to feel the delicate
hands clasping mine when something new
had puzzled him, to see the wishful, observant
look with which he regarded every one who
conversed around him.
No wrong or impure thoughts could over
enter that little breast. He was as one set
apart to show us what an early childhood
should be, as stainless and innocent as when
the Maker’s hand first sent the little spirit
fluttering into its earthly prison. Could I ask
for him happier destiny than this, to pass
through life shielded by my unfailing love,
and safely sheltered by the snowy wings of
the guardian angel ever by his side.
We make idols for ourselves out of clay,
and they are taken from us. I needed the
one lesson more. My little boy- failed slowly
before my eyes, as the summer came on. It
was not so much with him a painful sickness
as the gradual wasting away of the spring of
life. The mission he was -sent to fulfil was
accomplished.
Many days before he was taken I knew" he
must go. I was with him by day andi.by
night. I sang him to sleep, and wet the still
golden curls with tears when he was slumber
ing quietly. Day by day gathered up my
strength for the parting which I knew must
come, and day by day my heart sank within
me, and the blood forsook my cheek if the
slightest change took place.
We sat beside the bed of our boy j the
languid head was resting on my breast, and"
the liny transparent hands lay like two lillies
in the broad palm of Arthur. I sang in a
hushed voicb the songs he loved the best, and
the setting sun sank slowly in the sea.
Cool breezes, the plash of oars, and the
rude songs of sailors down the bay, came
floating in upon us. My darling lay and
listened. I could not see that-his breathing
grew fainter and fainter, and that the lids of
the blue eyes were drooping slowly towards
each other. At last they closed, and think
ing he slept, I laid my weary head upon my
husband’s breat and tried to sleep also. A
strange drowsiness, which was not slumber,
crept over ms. I started from it suddenly,
at last, with an instinctive feeling that all was
not well. Tears fell from my cheeks as I
lifted my head, They fell from the eyes of
Arthur, who had,sat and thought while we
were still.
I bent over my little boy. The little cheek
I had kissed seemed growing cold, and with
suspended breath I listened to hear the beat
ing of his heart. He moved slightly as I
called his name, and then looked up in my
face and smiled a gentle smile.
. It failed soon, as he seemed to be, strug
gling with some terrible pain. His lips were
drawn back, his eyes upturned, and his hand
clinched, 1 could not bear to look at him. 1
turned away and groaned in agony.
“See, it is all over now I” said Arthur, as
he put his arm around my waist and held me
firmly to his heart.
1 looked. My darling raised; his feeble
arms and as he bent my head, tfiey felt heavi
ly, around my neck, his pale lips met mine in
a last kiss. A sudden trembling seized him.
His eyes lit up with a happy light, his cheek
flashed, his half opened lips seemed to speak
for the first time. Did 1 hekr, or dream 1
heard the one word I had vaioly tried to
learn; him I “Mother ?”
I could not tell. For the nest moment the
rosy flush faded, the Ijttle breast-heaved with
WELLSBOUQUGH, TIOW COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING, MAY 14 1851.
one short sigh, and my little boy had left os.
Was that little life in vain ?■ Was no lesson
taught, no lesson learned, in.that' brief year
of companionship with an angel 1 Oh, yes!
a lesion which the mother’s heart can never
farget, while it beats with the love it has felt
for the “Dearer is earth to God for his
sweet sake,” dearer to me, because he loved
its bdauty so.
Many years have passed since my little
boy fell asleep. Other children play around
the door of my cottage, nnd koeel each night
at my knee, to say the prayer be only looked ;
another Ernest, with bright dark eyes and
golden hair goes singing through the house,
but still' my heart is most with him. My
children stand outside that grave and listen
with serious, faces, when 1 tell them of the
little brother who died before they were born,
and then steal away silently and leave me
there beside him.
I have gtown old and careworn; the cheek
he kissed is thin and faded, and the sunny
hair with which he used to- play is streaked
with silver. But my child will know me
when I meet him, and 1 shall bold him to my
heart the same as when he left me, an infant
angel, freed from every taint on earth.
' No barrier then between us, no weak, im
perfect .utterance, nr look of pain,'lor in
Heaven my child will speak, and the first
word I,shall hear him utter there will be the
word that lingered on his lips when he was
dying. He will call me “Mother” there as
well as here. Else I could never have given
him up through ail these weary years, and
fed my heart upon the hope of hearing that
half-uttered word breathed freely when I die.
The Saoramenlo (Cal.) Age publishes the
following singular statement, under the cap
tion of “how our first church was built.”
The history of almost everything presents
curious facts. Were we to say, a correct
history of Sectarianism in Sacramento could
not be written, unless it admitted that gam
blers helped to build the first church, the
statement might appear wicked and absurd,
but this would not impair the truth of an in
cident which occurred before the “big floods”
and before the “big fires.” A preacher ar
rived here among those who unintentionally
contributed toward founding a flourishing
city, and after a while, when persons were
afflicted with a oombinalion of worldly fevers,
such as winning and losing at several popu
lar games, he concluded that nothing would
be so praiseworthy as an endeavor to estab
lish a religious society. He soon discovered
that practical Christianity was not a feature
near so prominent as others, which gosper
rules are not supposed to countenance. But
he persevered and at length found a few who
approved of his plan. Frequent consulta
tions were held, and finally they were deter
mined to erect a church edifice, if money
enough could be obtained for the purpose.—
Those belonging to the little “moral” at once
subscribed all in their power to give, but not
half of the required sum was received. The
old preacher—we should have referred to his
age before—took his subscription paper one
day, and walked towards the Sacramento,
whose waters were not soiled as now by the
gold washers. In passing a crowded, noisy
gambling house, where he saw heaps of trea
sure in “bank,” and many with bags of“dust”
in their hands, a wonderful thought came hur
riedly to him, and not allowing it permission
suddenly to depart, he hastened to stand in
the midst of the reckless gamesters, and to
commence telling them how much-he wished
to build a church, and needed their assistance.
Scarcely had he ceased speaking when large
pieces of gold were thrust into his hands; all
made liberal donations, and in a few minutes
he had collected nearly a thousand dollars.—
Thanking his ‘ friends,” he was about leaving
when one belting at monte called to him in a
loud voice, saying: “Hold on, old feller;
I’m goin’ to bet two hundred on this card, and
if I win, by G , I’ll give ye a clear hun
dred !” The money was staked, the gambler
won, and the promised “clear hundred” was
passed to the minister. This is how our first
church was built—good came of evil ; but
the sequel to this story let thb present and
future tell !
A Hard Swearer. — A good story is told
of n tall, raw-boned fellow, who went into a
market house at Boston—perhaps the Quincy
—and seeing a large ; hog on exhibition, was
mighlly struck with it.
“1 swear,” said he, “that’s a great hog.
I swear I never saw a finer looking one in
my life, I swear what short legs he’s got.
I swear-..—”
“Look here, friend,” said a liittle dry.
looking individual, trotting up, you must not
swear so.”
“1 swear I should like to know why,” said
the hard swearer, with an ominous look.
‘•Because," said the little man, “swearing
is again the law, and I shall have to commit
you !” drawing himself up.
“Are you a Justice of the Peace?” in
quired the swearer.
“Yes, sir,” was the reply.
“Well, I swear,” said the profane one, “I
am more astonished at that than 1 was about
the hog.”
The census of the United Slates shows
that yye have two millions and a half of farm
ers, one hundred thousand merchants, sixty
four thousand masons, and nearly two hun.
dred thousand carpenters. We have fourteen
thousand bakers to make our bread ; twenty
four thousand lawyers to set us by the ears ;
forty thousand doctors to “kill or cure,” and
fifteen hundred editors to keep this motley
mass in order, by the potent power of public
opinion, controlled and manufactured through
the press.— Lchtgk- Rfgis'er, 1
“THE AGITATION OP THOUGHT IS THE BEGINNING OP WISDOM.”
t ‘ ......
Singular Circumstance,
From Putnam's Magazine.
New Defense of Slavery.
The Right Reverened John Heory Hop
hips, D, D., Bishop of the Protestant Episco
pal Church in the diocese of Vermont, has
published a work (Pudney & Russel), in
which he states that he thinks it wrong for
the American citizen to dance the polka, but
perfectly proper foe him to hold his brother
in says, he holds “con
versation parlies’’to~be-inxtgcenl, and equally
so the selling a, child from its mother. H e
says, that Canaan was cursed, and, therefore,
Governor Wise may dispose of black men
and women at the highest rates. The Right
Reverend John Henry Hopkins has written
some four or five hundred pages to show that
the citizens should obey the law; but omits
to state whql his pastoral advice would have
been to mothers wyh babes two years
of age in the latter days of Herod of Judea.
He also does not find room in his prolix dis
quisition upon .the duties of the American
Citizen, which is the title of his book, to in
form his pupil what he is to do when the law
of the land contravenes the plain law of God.
For it is evident that, if a law is to be obeyed,
because it is a law, a regulation to lie, or to
steal, or to deliver up the fugitive, so it be le
gally enacted, has the same authority as one
to collect taxes. But if the discretion of the
ci(i?en or his conscience are ever to interfere,
or, in other words, if there be the individual
and collective tight of rebellion, it would be
oqly complaisaql in a bishop, who writes a
book in which he finds room to discuss the
propriety and morality of dancing, to indi
cate when that right may be asserted. ' The
single point of interest in the American Citi
zen is the elaborate reiteration of the scriptu
ral argument for slavery, which is easily
enough refuted by the younger classes of
Sunday-school girls, and which falls at this
day, and in this country, with peculiar edifi
cation from the lips of a high dignitary in
the church of Him who said, “Do unto others
as .ye would they should do unto you.” Bish
op Hopkins anticipates a millenium when
“the whole world shall behold
fruits of slavery in the regeneration ofAfrica
from her long bondage of barbarism and
idolatry.’’ If it were not so tragical, this
woulff be -too ludicrous. Let this gentleman
consider one question: Even if you knew
that some of the Africans, who should survive
the horrors of the slave,ship, and the lortg,
dreadful, compulsory labor in swamps and
fields, the gradual imbruling of human beings
treated -as canto, with every natural right and
affection out aged—even if you knew some
could survive it all and attain a kind of fond
and ignorant feeling that you would call
Christianity , do you, as a man, not as a Bish
op, believe for one moment that the the trader,
who, paid money for a single one of those
victims, was doing anything but an accursed
act? Do you think that any honest Chris
tian man supposes for o solitary instant that
trader to be any better than a a
servant of God only as all criminals are?—
Of course God will bring good out of it. God
brings good out of everything. Would that
reflection reconcjle Bishop Hopkins to having
his house burnt down and all that was dearest
to him in it? There was one who said, ‘lt
must needs be that offences come; but woe
to him by whom the offence cometh.” With
the usual inconsequence of the south-side of
the slavery discussion, after having made
slavery the instrument of the Christian regen
eration of Africa, the bishop undertakes to
show the inexpediency of slavery. But let
the bishop take comfort. If the Lord has
made slavery right, he will also, in view of
its hold upon the country, make it expedient.
And if it he the Christianizing process for
Africa, what right fibs Bishop Hopkins or
any other pious man to resist the due opera,
lion of that process? Excepting the portion
of the volume we have indicated, which at-;
tracts attention solely by its subject and not 1
at all by the ability with Which it is treated.
The American Citizen is like a series of a
country clergyman’s weekly lectures. -We
do not advise any American who wishes to
improve himself as a man, a Christian, or a
patriot, to leave his South, Tillotson,
Herbert or Jeremy Taylor, and lake to Hop
kins.
The Love of Children.— Tell me not of
the trim, precisely arranged homes where
there is no children—where, as the good
Germans have it, “the fly-traps hang straight
on the wall;” tell me not of the never dis.
lurbed nights and days, of the. tranquil, un
anxious hearts where children are not; I care
not for these things. God sends children for
another purpose than merely to -keep up the
race—to enlarge our hearts, to make us un
selfish and full of kindly sympathies and
affections; to give our souls higher aims, to
call out all our faculties to extend en'erprise
and exertion ; to bring around our firesides
bright faces and happy smiles, and loving
lender hearts. My soul blesses the Great
Father every day, that he has gladdened the
earth with children. —Marv Howilt.
Loveliness. —It is- not your neat dress,
your expensive shawl, or your pretty fingers
that attract the attention of men of sense.
They look beyond these. It is the true love
liness of your nature that wins and continues
to retain the affections of the heart. Young
ladies sadly miss it who labor la improve
their outward looks, while they bestow not a
thought on their mind. (Fools may be won
by the gewgaws and fashionable showy
dresses, but the wise and substantial are nover
caught bv such traps. Lot modesty be your
dress. Use pleasant aqd agreeable language,
and though you may not be courted by the
fop and the sop, the good and truly great will
love to linger in jmur steps.
PUBLISHERS ,& PROPRIETORS,
TWILIGHT HOGS.
The golden' sun has sonic to rest.
His rays are fading frojn (he west.
The singing birds have sought repose
And eVeVbflght star inbeauty glows.
£iwee\ hour is come. ]
Twilight hoar, will* joy I greet thee, J
When the day with evening blends;
gladly, then, my liearl doth meet thee.
When the dew from heaven descends.
In the pleasant twilight hour.
*T was at twilight when the Savior
Sat in sad Gelliscmanc;
Hear him crying—* 1 O, My Father=
he died for vou and me ;
See onr Lord In prayer,
pan we, Ipcfs thb blessed Jesus,
Say 44 Thy will,o Lord. be done! 1 *
When the storms of life assail us,
Can wc trust the Faithful
In the tdflight of the soul
Seeking God in prayer?
Sweet the lime for heart communion
And for songs of praise and love
And we hope for a reunion j
With oar blest loved ones shoved
Pray we, then at twilight hour,
G.od hear our prayer.
Tioga County, Pal Ross.
[The above is a very pretty poem/as d the author, evident*
ly napracticcd, will do well to persevere; but sbo is request*
ed to forward her real name to us, not for publication, but in
to our rule in like cases. Ed. Agitator.]
How we Treat our feet,
bonking, a short lime since, at -a statue
represent ng a Roman lady, my aUepl;on
was attracted to her (eel, on which she wore
shoes nearly resembling .those now in use.
They were=somewhat clumsy, it is true, for
the Roman shoemaker did not possess the
art of our sons of Crispin, of moulding the
upper leather to the shape of the foot r but
.laid it over, tyhere necessary, im a fold, and
so joined in to the sole, which was m this
case at least half-an-itich thick. It was easy
to perceive that the Roman ladies vyere not
more accustomed to pinch their feel than their
waists, and that they were content to let both
retain the shape given to them by nature. 1
could not help contrasting the easy, clumsy
looking Roman shoes with the neat but arti
ficial ly-lbrmed productions of a fashionable
shoemaker. Surely, I thought, corns aqd
bunions must have been unknown in those
days of fooufreedora.
■ And why should we have thege deformities
and inconveniences now 7 Simply because
the shoes are not shape of the feet,
and because we endeavor to confine the latter
in a case which is too small fop them.
As long as the infant remains in arms, the
shape of its foul is preserved ; bui as soon as
it begins to walk, and the assistance of the
shoemaker is called in, it is thought necessa
ry to improve the shape of the foot by forcing
it into shoes which are too narrow for 41. Jn
order, also, to, diminish the apparent breadth
of the foot, the shoe is made to extend in
length full three-fourths of an inch beyond
the toes. The immediate effect of the nar
row shoe is to preSs the toes firmly together;
the ulterior, to change the direction of the
toes and occasion corns and bunions. Let
us cbnsider, now, the change induced in the
shape of the foot by the compression of the
toes.
When the naked (oot is firmly planted on
the ground, as in walking, the toes separate,
especially the first and second, and by ex
tending the base of support, give additional
firmness to the position- The inside line of
the shoe should be nearly a straight line, to*
allow for this expansion of the toes, which,
in a fashionable shoe, is impossible.
Let us now consider the consequences of
the compression of the toes intoAhe small
space provided for them by fashion.
When the toes are pressed together by the
shoe, they not only ride on over the other,
and thus occasion corns and crooked nails,
but the direction of the bone of the great toe
is altered by the ends being forced closer
together; the joint becomes enlarged, and a,
bunion, with its pain and delbrmity, super
venes. The reader who would avoid these
deformities, should rigidly examine the shape
of her own feet, and if the direction of the
first toe is changed, should lose no lime in
endeavoring to restore it to its former posi
tion. In youth or middle age,- when the dis
tortion is not excessive or of long standing,
this may be easily done by placing between
the toes a lump of wool sufficiently thick to
toe to resume its original' position..
By tfShslanily keeping the wool there, and
attending to the shape of the shoe, the toe
will at last recover its proper place, and the
enlargement of the joint will be so apparent,
neither wrtttl increase.' The same ample
means may be adopted to restore the other
toes to their normal shape. If corns should
be formed, the-most effective cure is to be
found in the application of a circular disk of
felted wool or of cotton with a hole in the
middle to receive the corn. This may be
purchased at any chemist’s. It is made to
adhere by brushing one surface of the wool
with a solution of isinglass or similar pre
paration. This relieves the corn by removing
from it the pressure of the shoe ; and, by
persevering in this simple treatment, the corn
will, in lime, entirely disappear.
From these observations it will be seen
that shoes which are cut very low in .the
quarter will spoil the shape of the fool. They
will not keep on without the support of san.
dais, unless they are tolerably tight, and they
cannot be lightened across the toes without
compressing them and impeding the freedom
of movement. Those shoes are best for the
fool which cover the whole of it, and press
equally, but no* excessively, upon every part
of it. The piece of elastic introduced near
the instep was a valuable addition to the
modern shoe. It were w ell if it could bo
carried all the way to the end of the toe.
}n consequence of our qinl-tfeatmcpS-the
Rates of Advertising. .
will be charged 81 per square of
fi urleen lines, for one, or three insertions, and
cents for every subsequent insertion. All advertise,
n eots of less than fourteen lines considered as a
square. The following rales will be charged for
• Quarterly, Half-Yearly and Yearly advertising;—
• 3 months. S mooths. 12 ton's.
X Square, (14-Hnes,) • 82 50 84 50 $6 00
... 2 Squares,. - - > 4 00, 600 800
*2s.'*“ £, column, .... 1000 1500 2000
. 1 column, 1800 30 00 40 00
Ail advertisements not having the number of in.
sertions marked upon them, will be kept ia until or*
dered out, and charged accordingly.
Posters, Handbills, Bill,and Letter Hoads, and all
kinds of Jobbing done in country establishments,
executed neatly and promptly. Justices*, CoostS.
bles* and other BLANKS, constantly on hired and
printed to order.
NO. 42.
nails frequently become deformed and some
times grow imo the flesh. The first care will
lie to preserve them from pressure ; the next
to remedy, the deformity. When the flesh
grows over the nails the' proper course to
to pursue is, instead of culling away the cor
ners, to cut a notch in the centre of the mil,
or to scrape it thin in the middle. Nature,
then, in her efforts to remedy this accidental
defect, promotes the growth of the nail in tie
central thin parts, and thus the extremities,
v'hich ate .imbedded in the flesh, are left to
recover their former position. This simple
and very ingenious plug has been found far
nore efficacious than'removing the nail by a
painful surgical operation.
Turning from the consideration of the toes
u the heels, 1 have to notice another source
qf distortion, and one whicb'it is feared may
increase. 1 allude to the high heels which
are now worn, and which formerly attained
an altitude, of four and a half inches. The
treason why high heels are so injurious isevi
dent. We do not require to be told that
nature, when she finished the limbs support
ing the weight of the body Upon arches, in
tended us to rest io a general way equally,
or when in movement alternately, upon both
ends of the arch, namely, the toes and the
heels. By this means the weight is equally
sustained, and there is no stress upon either
Ijiart in particular. But when the heel is
raised, as in dancing, the equilibrium is dis
turbed, and the weight of the body is lhrown
forward constantly upon the toes. When
tjhese are; thrust fora length of time into
qhoes, which, on the inside, form inclined
planes, especially when the inclination is
great, the sensation is extremely painful, for
tlhe weight of the body is thus made to rest
on itpe toes, the muscles of the instep and
front of the leg are also stretched, while those
qf the calves become permanently contracted.
The high shoe, so thoughtlessly adopted, then
tecomes absolutely essential; for the wearer,
once accustomed to them, cannot do-uitboul
them. Lei all persons of sense, then, abstain
vvhile it is; yet lime from following this very
absurd and unbecoming fashion.. The small
additional iheight which it communicates to
t[he figure does not surely compensate for the
deformity which it induces.
| In conclusion, then, let those who ape de
sirous of preserving the perfect use of their
apd the purity of their form, give their
serious attention to the subject. The reme
dies are in their awn bands, and the results
will amply repay the labor attendant on car
rying out the suggestions I have ventured to
make on this very important subject. j
| Hoqps ;anij High Heels is Cncacn.—
jThe Richmond Whig says : A few Sundays
ago, a modest young gentleman of our ac
quaintance attended the morning service in
pne of our fashionable churches. He was
kindly shown into a luxuriously cushioned
pew, and had hardly settled himself, and ta
ken an observation-of his neighbors, before a
beautiful young lady entered, and with a
graceful waive of the hand preventing our
friend from rising to give her a place, quietly
sunk into the seal mear the end. When a
hymn was given out she skillfully found the
page, and with a sweet smile that set his heart
a thumping, handed her neighbor the book.
The minister raised his hands in prayer, and
the (air girl knelt, and this posture perplexed
her friend to know which most to admire, her
beauty or her devoutness. Presently the
prayer was concluded, and the congregation
resumed their seats. Our friend respectfully
raised his' eyes from lhe fair form he had
been so-earnestly scanning, lest when she
ooked up, she should detect him staring at
per. After a couple of seconds he darted a
fugitive glance at his charmer and was ns,
(onished lo see her still on her knees; ha
jooked closely and saw that she was much
affected, trembling’ in violent agitation, no
doubt from the eloquent power of the preach,
er. Deeply sympathizing, he watched her
plosely. Her emotion became more violent ;
Reaching her hand behind her, she would con,
vulsively grasp her clolhipg, and slrain, as it
tvere, lo rend the brilliant fabric of her dress.
The sight iwas exceedingly painful lo behold,
but he still gazed, like one entranced, with
wonder at|d astonishment. After a minute,
the lady raised her face, heretofore concealed
in and with her hand made an
unmistakeahle beckon lo her friend. He
fpiickly nrioved_along the pew towards her,
and inclined his ear as she evidently wished
lo say something.
I "Please! help me sir,” she whispered, “my
dress has oaught, and I can't get up,” A
brief examination revealed the difficulty ; the
fair girl wore fashionable high,h<teled shoes ;
kneeling upon both knees, these heels of
course stuclLpul at-right angles; and in this
position the highest hoop of the new Tangled
|kirl caught over them, and thus rendered it
Impossible for her to raise herselfpr straight
en her limbs. The more she struggled the
tighter she was hound ; so she was constrain
ed lo call for help. This was immediately,
jf not scientifically rendered ;' and when the
next prayer was made, she merely inclined
herself upon the hack of the front pew
thinking no doubt that she was not in kneel
ing costutae.
Arehimides said, “Give me a lever long
pnough, and with mv own weight I will move
the world.’,’ “Bui,” says Dr. Arnoti, “ho
would have required to move wilh the velocity
of a cannon ball for millions of years, to alter,
[the position of the earth a small part of an
inch. This feat of is', in mathe
matical tru h, performed by every man who
leaps from the ground; for he kicks ihe
world away from hm whenever he rises, and
attracts it again When he fulls.’! Tho vaga
ries of, science are sometimes as attractive as
its truths.
IK
mi