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7YOUNG MOTHER, SLEEP !
Young mother, sleep!—His well;
For on the morrow -
A wail of sorrow .
Thy darkened life shall knell.
Sleep! sleep, from care and suffering,
By that little bed,
'Where rests a fair young head—
Thy treasure—Heav*n*s own offering.
Sad dreamer, why that sigh ?
Why dost thou weep
In thy troubled sleep ?
Dost see the spoiler nigh 7
Feel* si thou the breaking '
Of tender ties,
As silent lies
Thy babe, in sleep unwaking 7
Behold that shining band,
Bearing afar
Thy earth*lo»ed star.
To the glorious Spirit-Land!
Young mother, weep no more !
Thy babe *s gone home—
Never to roam
On earth's tempestuous shore!
But when thy tears are streaming,
Kneel thou in prayer !
Oh, look up there !
Where thy lost star is beaming!
l/LVSTtnctville y Jan. 2,1858.
From tbe Boston Banner of Light.
The Tory Preacher and Young Major •
08,
CnUECII DISCIPLINE IN OLDEN TIMES.
“Have paiience, child, and I’ll come Io ibe
point at last. Well, you see, our minister
was a lory, and though he didn’t say so in
plain words, I've no doubt but he believed in
the divine right of kings. At any rate, he
had a great deal to say, about the “powers
that be, being ordained of God,’’ and he
always prayed for our lawful sovereign, as
he termed King George, and that “we might
be his true and loyal subjects. But Salford
was a staunch Republican, and would have
fought thp old King any day, could he have
a chance. So there grew up a moral enmity
between the parson and the young man, and
when the former, with all his dignities, viz:
powdered wig, three cornered hat, and sil
vered buckles, walked the streets, Safford
never bowed, but walked straight along as if
he scorned obedience to one who would bend
the knee to an earthly King. But he still
continued to go to meeting, and would sit as
patiently through the long sermons and loyal,
prayers as good old Deacon Burr himself.
The truth was, this same Deacon had one
daughter, and a prettier girl than Polly Burr
never entered a village church ; or, I might
say, graced a palace. She had a roguish
black eye, and her hair-curled naturally;
you never saw it in paper even in the morn
ing ; and then she was so neat and trim in
her gingham short grown and white petticoat,
and at meeting she looked pretty enough lo
make a young man’s heart ache.
“She was the belle of the village, and at
quillings, and paring-bees, and dances, she
was the life of the company. I had long
had my eyes upon her as the choice of my
heart, but there was so many that went to
see her on Sunday evenings, it was but sel
dom that I could find a chance to speak with
her. But 1 was industrious and prudent,
saving all I could earn that I might have a
pleasant home to offer. The Deacon, too,
favored me, and seeing I was of a steady
turn of mind, often invited me to his house.
But young Safford, it seems, all unbeknown
to the Deacon, loved her also, but he was
such a wild youth, and moreover, so at
sword’s point with the minister, that he never
dared reveal his feelings, save by sundry
little attentions, noticed only by Poliy herself.
Now it happened that the Deacon had, with
great labor, cleared a patch and planted it
with corn. It was growing finely on the
new, rich land, and the young ears were
already formed, and promised a fine harvest,
but for several successive Sundays, (here was
great destruction in the corn field. In vain
he made scare crows and set traps and even
pul one of his old coats on a pole, a sight
that would frighten the worst bov in the vil
lage, for he was the tithing man the terror of
rogues. But the next Sunday the mischief
was repeated, till the patience of the old gen
tleman was nearly worn out. .But he be
longed to a church remarkable for the rigidity
of its tenets and the strictness of its disci
pline ; to have permitted any one to stay at
home to watch a corn field would have been
considered a heinous offence.
“I declare,” said the old deacon one Sun
day after sundown, “we shall lose our corn,
unless we catch those rascally thieves. Who j
knows but they are Indians?" As he spoke '
he accidentally looked at Polly.
She sal in the corner of the great oak
settle which stood before -the fire, watching
the puffing steam from the tea kettle, and
looking somewhat sad.
,‘Wliy t Polly, ’ said the deacon, with more
animation than usual, “among all the rest of
ray troubles lately —l have been bothered
7 wo or three young men who want you
° r 3 ® have a mind to say that who
eVor wt shoot or lake prisoner the thief who
6 p sm y corn > shall have you for a wife.”
,° y looked jip in surprise at- this novel
•° 6 ° l ls P O$ ' n 8 l )ef hand: but her nest
ant there was a roguish twinkle in her
acK eye, and turning to her father she said
bargain, if you please.”
unr/u" ew ver y w ell who would be first
sevn laB whose courage and per
ont IheT W ° l ho most likely to hold
“f» 0U * tee P y° ur promise, father V'
the cbi.-l Q>l l’ ave ' l said- that the deacon of
whopvn. n Ver l a l‘ e ! 80 I say it now—
shall h Wl S ' loot or la ke P r ‘ B °ner the'ihief,
shall have y ou for hig
hired b CODy ‘| rsal ' on was overheard by the
the vilU o 800 n emulated it through
rage. Great was the commotion among
YOU. IV.
the young men of the place.'. As for myself,
I rode far and near ; I.examined the corn
field by night, and devised-.every means in
my power to ascertain the oßender. Indeed,
one. whole night I.watched behind the stump
of an old tree. But there was no avail.
But the very next Sunday, when Parson
Goodman was saying, ‘-‘the ninth head of
my discourse,” the congregation was startled
by the report of a gun. . .
There was a general rising, and great
commotion among the women. Our first
thought was.of Indians or Tories. There
was a rush for, the door, a tumbling over
children and a,screaming of their mothers,
B.ut what was your surprise when fairly
landed upon the green, to see young Saßbrd
dragging with all' his ■ strength a huge bear
that to all appearance had-just breathed her
.last.
“I’ve caught her, deacon I” be' shouted,
“I’ve caught thp rascal at last I” he repeated ;
.“and caught her too, in the very act, you
can see for yourself;” be added, pointing-to
the distended mouth, half filled with yet un
chewed corn. The poor deacon stood mute
with astonishment, for he recollected that,
Jeptha like, he bad made a rash vow.
The minister was the first to break the si
lence. His indignation at beipg disturbed in
his.discourse, and bis anger at such an open
violation of holy lime, were at boiling point.
He exclaimed in his loudest tones :
AGNES.
“Young man, who are you,'that you should
disturb the worship of the sanctuary 1 Know
you that you are breaking the laws ol God
and man. Constable Chapman, arrest this
man and hold him prisoner until further dis
posal,can be made of his person!”
Poor Salford was thunderstruck; he bad
intended no harm, but in bis eagerness to
display his prize, and supposing service over,
he had hastened toward the village. It bad
not once occurred to him that he was a
church member, and as such liable lo cen
sure.
He knew that it was wrong to absent him
self from.meeting, but he thought the offence
would be. pardoned, because of tbe benefit
conferred. Seeing he was about to be taken
prisoner, he at first resisted, but recollecting
that he was in the hands of a legal officer,
he thought best lo submit quietly. His con
finement, however, was short, and another
mode of punishment proposed.
During the week a church meeting was
called, and young Safford cited to appear
thereat, and give reasons why he should not
be excommunicated from church for his high
handed wickedness. The deacon was present,
but Polly was nowhere to be seen. When
her fathet proposed so summarily to dispose
of her hand, her first thought was of Salford,
and knowing his bold and daring spirit, she
felt sure that he would win. Poor girl I She
little thought of such a sad termination of
the affair. To bq excommunicated from
church was, in the eyes of that little commu
nity, a most grievous infliction. Such un
fortunates were considered as losing caste,
and were ranked among pagans and infidels.
Safford pleaded his own cause with all the
eloquence he could command. In vain did
he contend that it was lawful to do good on
the Sabbath day ; he spoke before judges de
termined to condemn.
He was accordingly condemned to be pres
ent on the next Sabbath, when the sentence
would be read. In the meantime the lovers
bad an Interview. Poor Polly could do little
else but weep. Her father said nothing, but
looked- stern and displeased.
“But, you say, Polly,” repealed Safford,
“that if I am not excommunicated, your
father will consent I”
“He cannot help doing so,” she answered ;
“but he thinks the Bible condemns church
members marrying non-professors, and he
would not dare to give his consent to our mar
riage if they turn you out of the church.”
“But I tell you I am not going to leave the
church ; that lory minister will find that he
cannot manage me so easily.”
“But it is already decided,” said Polly ;
“the papers are already made out, and to
morrow it will be read.”
“They will not read it, trust me, Polly
and thus they parted.
Sunday came, and with it the whole con
gregation to meeting. The whole, did I say ?
All except young Safford. But when the
afternoon service was about half over, he
entered his gun loaded with a brace of balls,
bis sword and cartridge-box on his side, and
his knapsack on his back with six day’s pro
visions in it. He marched into a corner and
there took up his position. As soon as the
benediction was pronounced, Parson Good
man began to read the excommunication, but
had not proceeded far when Safford entered
the aisle in his martial array, cocked and
levelled his pistol, exclaiming : “Proceed, if
you dare! Proceed, and you are a dead
man I” The poor man, overwhelmed with
astonishment and fear, shrunk behind his
pulpit, and handed the paper to one of his
deacons. He, trembling from bead lo foot,
endeavored to obey. The same threat was
repeated, and Safford added, “Desist and
march, or you are all dead men ! I will not
leave this house in shame!” Not many
minutes elapsed before the bouse was cleared,
and the faring young, man left its sole occu
pant. He locked the door, put the key in
Ills pocket, and sent them the next day, with
his respects, lo the minister. He thus re
raained a member of the church in “good
and regular standing,” until the day of his
death. Deacon Burr received such evidence
of the perseverance of his self-elected son,
that he dared not to refuse bis consent lo the
marriage.
“And grandpapa, didn’t you feel badly V’
said little Alice.
“There’s your Aunt Sally coming up lbs
THE AGITATOR.
Srtiottfi to tije 3SxttmUm of tije Mvm of jFmtfom an 3? tbt Sjjrcafcr of Qtnltbg Reform.
WHILE THEBE SHALL BE A WKONG UNSIGHTED, AND UNTIL “ MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN” SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE.
WELISBORO, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING. JANUARY 28, 1858,
walk, from the Sewing Society ? she’ll have
a batch of news all fresh from' the manu
factory,”' he “run and meet her.”
Jefferson and Horses.
Jefierson had' but one extravagance. He
would ride fine horses.
“When his saddle horse was led out, if
there was a spot bn him that did not shine
as faultless as a mirror, hb rubbed it with a
white pocket-handkerchief, and if this was
soiled, the groom was reprimanded. His de
cided, preference was for the Virginia race
horse ; he did not ride, and was scarcely
willing to drive any other. Two or three
pages of his farm book are devoted to the
pedigree of his choicer ones. He usually
kept a half a dozen brood mares of high
quality, and we find among Lord Cornwallis,
victorious achievements in Virginia, the car
rying off all his serviceable'brood mares,
and the butchering of their foals! ' Though
Mr- Jefferson was no turfman, and though,
as has been said, he never run but a single
race, he retained the partiality of a Virgin
ian for this sport. He rarely lost an oppor
tunity of witnessing a promising race. When
President of the United Slates, he .was not a
few times seen on the contiguous race cour
ses. As riding horses, he desired not only
powerful but fleet and high mettled animals,
even though the latter quality was obtained
at the expense of a tameless temper.
Until after mid-I.fe he rarely drew rein on
broken ground ; and when in haste, unhesta
lingly dashed through the Ravanna, even
when the usually quiet stream was swollen
into a wide and rapid river by the rain. In
stances of his fearless horsemanship and an
ecdotes of his superb horses, “Cucullen,”
“The General,” “ Wildair,” “ Catatasus,”
“Tarquin,” “Arclurus,” “Diomed,” “Jaco
bim,” “Celer,’’ “Eagle,” &c., are yet rife
in family recollection and tradition. The
fleet, fiery, but gentle tempered Eagle was
the last, and was ridden by him when, he
was so feeble that ho required assistance to
mount him, even from (he terrace side, which
was on a level with the horse’s back,. Yet
this animal was so spirited, that when a
young Mr. Jefierson’s rode him
with a company to meet Lafayette, at his
visit to Moulicello in 1825, the brave old
horse became so ungovernably excited by the
approach of the roll of drum and trumpet—
bounding and caracoling in the air, that the
young rider was fain to fairly turn and retire.
On one occasion, when Mr. Jefferson was
old and decrepit, after the Inst accident to
his wrists, a messenger arrived to inform
him (hat a grandson had met with a disaster,
and lay seriously injured at Charlottsville.
The weather was dark and lowering, night
was setting in, and he was more than usually
feeble. He directed Eagle to be brought to
the door. His family entreated him not to
set out, at least on horseback, at such a time ;
but his order was repeated in a tone which
brooked no further opposition. The moment
he was in the saddle he struck the noble
horse, which bounded forward at full run.
His family held their breath with suspense,
expecting that he would draw bridle at the
“notch,” where the mountain begins to de
scend abruptly. But the clatter of hoofs
from the rocky masses showed them that
the-fearful race was continued. He swept by
the returning messenger, like an hrrow, and
reached Charlottsville in a that, over
such ground, Ihe boldest rider in Virginia
might without suspicion to his courage, have
pronounced appalling.
A correspondent of the Knickerbocker tells
the following story :
“For a cracked lip, or an obstinate sore on
the face there’s nothing like powdered burnt
alum. It cured our little Paul of a sore
down on the corner, where the cherry of his
lips was cleft, though we had to sprinkle i>
on the squirming little victim after he was
sound asleep in his “crib house.”
I wish you could see him, reader. Have
you got an interest m a little bouncing boy
about two and a half years old, two and a
half feet high, and nearly two and a half feet
thick ? Whose “cheeks like lillies dipped in
wine" seem to be bursting with fatness; whose
hazel eyes with their long lashes, are always
flashing with mirth and spirit under a fore
head which has'no shadow on its broad, un
sullied page, but those which are cast there
by his golden curls?
If you have such an interest in such a boy,
hold-on lo it; it’s good stock ; it won’t fluc
tuate, it won’t deteriorate with rumors of war
or the price of cotton ; if you haven’t, invest
as soon as possible. But about the burnt al
um ; it’s good for other things beside cracked
lips; so little Paul thought—at least, so he
said.—lt was thus :
“Rip, (we called him so ‘for short’ although
that is a good and expressive daguerreotype
of his disposition.) Rip and his mamma had
a passage-at-arms which I witnessed over (he
edge of my last “Knick,” the result of which
was, that Master Rip had a “spanking,” duly,
judiciously, and softly administered. Then
it occurred to me that the occasion was a
proper'one for improvement of that “afflictive
dispensation” to the future weal of the young
apostle ; and so I said:
“Paul come here.” .-
“Es, Papa,”
“You are,a naughty boy, sir, to disobey
your mamma, as you did just now.”
“Not do it any more, dee papa. Sure 1
not do it.” t , - - •
“Well, be sure you don’t, for you will
break your mamma’s heart. Just look at her
now; see how sad she is because you were
naughty. I suppose her heart is broken in
two or three places.” ...
“Put burnt alum on poor mamma’s heart,
papa; it-make it well. I sure it will.”
The Shadow of Life.
Wo-a re, like children, who,-walking in a
sunny path, behold their shadow and wonder
at it. So do we, walking in the light of life,
wonder at our shadow—death. Life is the
real, veritable miracle, but we become so ac
customed to the beautiful mystery that we are
only surprised at its absence. ' ■'
And yet, why should we wonder? for Death
also, as Life, is our continual, abiding guest!
He walks with, us, and .sleeps wilh'us, and
break with us our bread. Where we sit and
weep, he stands .beside us; ai d where the
laugh rings out gayly, there, also, is this sol
emn, invisible presence. We go on in our
accustomed ways—we talk, and laugh, and
tell our pleasant Jests; but meanwhile-our
shadows lengthen, as shadows lengthen tow
ards the nightfall, and not far on; whither
our feet hasten, sits a solemn presence, wait
ing for us. Oh! is there no swift, shining
angel,, who will turn aside our feet' into an
other path?—another path, where the grass
may grow again beneath our feet, and not
above our graves? Oh, save us !Oh ! guard
us, angels of pity ! ■
Nay, there is in heaven no angel so strong
that he may turn aside thine errand, O swift,
sure terrible Death! Haste as we will, the
Shadow gains apace upon our laggard steps.
Nay, look not over thy shoulder, poor, breath
less, human fugitive!—even beside thee, in
the race, is he whom thou wouldst have left
behind.
What drug shall we administer unto thee,
O undesired companion!—what herb growing
under the moon, that thou mayst sleep, and
release us but for an hour from thy terrible
vigilance? There is no medicine. The years
come and go, and the seasons, swift, or in
slow, sweet, regretful procession; but this
blank shade—the shadow of the seasons and
the years, the shadow of the world and all
that is therein—this comes, and goes not;
this is forever with us I
But what land is this beyond us, O our
companion?—this immortal land! Is this
the clime we have sought so long and vainly,
whither have fled all those summers of our
youth which we besought with prayers and
tears to stay ? Here may we find again the
lost glory of (hose days, (he bloom and the
song ?
There comelh an answer:—“Out of the
night is the morning born.” Darkness alone
makes visible to our blinded eyes the thou
sand shining, sphered lights which go on
with us in the great world-procession, singing
forever. Even so doth our Father order that
(his Shadow shall open to us the gale of the
land of light.
Unbind then from thy garland, O sad an
gel, the cypress and the willow ! Wear in
stead the violet and the lily, and lead us,
swiftly as thou wilt, into Ihe immortal land
beyond!
Wine Two Hundred Years Old.—The
only, thing in the former city (Bremen) which
we had time lo visit, was the celebrated Raths
keller, or crypt-of the old Hall of Council.—
This is renowned throughout all Germany
for tuns of Rhenish wine, of Ihe most un
doubted antiquity. They are in great vaults,
distinguished by different titles. That of the
“Twelve Apostles” has been immortalized by
Hauff and Heine, but the apostolical wines
are not so fine as those authors would have
us believe. Each cask hears the name of one
of the Apostles; they contain wine of the
vintage of 1718, which has now, I was in
formed, a pungent, acid flavor. That of Ju
das alone, retains a pleasant aroma, and the
sinner, therefore, is in greater demand than
all the saints together. In the “Rose Cellar”
are enormous casks, yet filled with Hoch
heirner (Hock) of the vintage of 1624. For
a couple of centuries it was carefully treas
ured, but the City Fatbersfof Bremen finally
discovered the longer it was keoi the worse
it grew, and sell it to visitors in small bottles
at a moderate price. ~
VVe sat down itv ihe outer cellar, and had
a bottle uncorked. Think of drinking wine
which grew when the Plymouth Colony was
but (bur years old—of the same vintage which
Ariosto might have drunk, and Milton, and
Cromwell, and Wallenstein, and Gustavus
Udolpbus I Shakspeare had been dead but
eight years when the grapes were trodden in
the vats ; and Ben Johnson may have sung
“Drink to me only with thine eyes,” over a
goblet of the golden juice. We filled the
glasses with great solemnity as these thoughts
passed through ourjaind—admired its dark,
smoky color, sniffed up reverently ns musUv,
mummy like odor, and then tasted. Fancy
a mixture of oil and vinegar, flavored with a
small drop of k'reosole ! This as I after
ward recognized,, was the impression made
upon the palate, though my imagination was
too busy at the time lo be aware of it. We
all said, “It is not so bad as I expected,” and
by keeping the face of its age constantly be
fore our eyes, succeeded in emptying the bot
tle. So pungent, however, was the smoky,
oily, aciduous flavor, that it affected my pal
ate for full twenty-four hours afterward, and
everything I ale and everything 1 drank in
that time seemed to be of the vintage of 1634.
—Bayard 2'aylor.
Looking High.—A tall, raw-boned re
cruit was put on drill by a little cock-sparrow
of an officer ; as every order was given him
he would look down to see his commander,
and was often admonished to hold up his head.
Repeated admonitions of this kind at length
had the'effect to induce, the -recruit lo raise
his head at least lo a level with the setting
sun, and the officer : ordered him to keep it
there.
“What, always I’’ inquired raw bone,
“Yes, always!” was the stern reply.
“Then, good-bye, lieutenant; 1 shall nev
er see you again.”
©ommumcations.
Education and the Educator.
BY 3. WALBEIDOE.'
Man is heaven’s crowning work. He has
faculties given.hijn which no other living be
ing possesses. ' He has a soul—an immortal,
intelligent principle, which perceives, com
pares, creates, and seeks for causes and ef
fects, Man’s moral nature distinguishes him
from the brute and renders him’ morally ac
countable for his conduct. , . Accordingly,
when the moral agent Jn the e4ercise of all
bis various powers, does what bq ought to do,
he stands approved. When, injthe exercise
of the same powers.he fails lo( do what he
ought to do, he stands condemned. The ex
tent of his capability is the basisj of his duty ;
and the law of conscience is the' measure of
its fulfilment. Is it reasonable-'to suppose
that the physical, mental or: moral nature
should be set apart and disciplined at the ex
pense of the other two ? Do we want an ed
ucation which is purely physical ? , If we do,
we have examples—lamentable examples,
which go to prove that man left to himself
without proper mental and moral training, a is
a prey to ail the base animal (passions of his
constitution. Ha is at the mercy of every
casual circumstance which has a tendency to
draw him from the path of rectitude. The
march of intellect shows conclusively the ne
cessity of correct mental discipline. The
mind without knowledge is enveloped so dark
ness—all nature appears a mystery for the
power of comprehension slumbers. The loaf
er boasts of his great strength !o( body, and
rejoices greatly that he is not las other men
are. He blesses himself in bis ignorance, and
practices all the vices appertaining to a life of
licentiousness and sin. He is devoid of mor
al principle and seeks the injury of all others,
save his immediate friends, whq are his abet
tors in wickedness and crime; (
The man of fashion displays this ignorance
by attempting to imitate the! nionkey shines
of an ■ itinerant dandy. He idrops the man
and votes his apparel into majesty. He for
gets or has not common sensejto| conceive that
weak minds love flattery.. Levity produces
imbecility, and imbecility, [disgust. What
has man the creature of a moment to be proud
of? He 100 often forgets thptj he liveth not
for himself atone. He. forgets; he has duties
to perform to the society in which he-lives.
He forgets he is forfeiting the (respect of all
good men on account of his! unmitigated in
consistency. He ?brgets he h’is a souj to
save which is of more value th[an all the tin
sel ornaments of his dress, | Men whose
minds are continually occupied with trifles
will never accomplish anything jvery valuable.
They may use emp'y, high -sounding words,
but if the sense is lacking, the| most import
ant requisite is wanting ; they will find when
too late, that they have made [themselves fit
subjects for ridicule and scorn.;
Fashion and folly and volubility of speech
do not constitute a wise man. A man of
sound judgment cannot have! a' great flow of
ideas; because the slighter relations making
no figure in his mind can have no power to
introduce ideas—hence, what some conceive
|o be common sense, is truly nonsense.—
Among the most debased andyyretched ol in
tellective, sensitive and volunjary beings is
the profligate—that unnatural monster of lust,'
who has made himself what he fis—a despised
and worthless outcast of society. He is an
object of pity and at the samejlime an object
of abhorrence. When we look at the poor
abject wretch we feel to sympathise with him
as a member of the human family, but when
we take a retrospective view of his past
wickedness and folly, we despair of reform
and turn away from him jn[ disgust. See
him as he wends his way through the pur
lieus of some distant city jand mark your
man; his situation is a peculiar one; the
bloodshot eye, the flushed countenance, the
unsteady step denote the lowest degree of in
famy and crime. There arp [thousands and
tens of thousands of such abandoned persons
in this country —a country where all are free
and equal, and where labor jcqmmands a rea
sonable compensation. Then! why so much
vice and pride and profligacy |
Simply because man does jnol know him
self. Simply because man[ is not educated
aright,- If this is the case, (you may sav.
.propose a remedy to avoid jajl this evil and
corruption. Society must jnithe first place
be purified. Ignorance, superstition and pred
judice must be driven fromj the field. Edu
cated, refined and virtuous men must control
the thoughts and destinies (oil the masses.—
Unless such a reform is esjaplished, society
must still continue to remain in this sad and
deplorable condition. Ignorance knows noth
ing as it should know. Superstition is as it
was in the dark' ages—a crqWm’ng curse, and
prejudice has darkened the; mind and de
based the affections. There are physical,
mental, and moral giants; [there are qjso
physical, mental, and moral dwarfs. 'But
how seldom do we see a (whole man—one
who is physically, menially, and morally
great. The great ends of all study, of ail
acquirement ate ability and disposition to dis
charge more effectually our! duties as men
and as citizens. Is it possible that those per
sons who rely upon olhersj lb think for them
will ever rise to distinction [in any calling,
will ever fulfil the design of their creation.—
They will invariably haveljjarren intellects,
because their ta'emsate uuimpro'ed. They
will always find the old beaten track of ig
norance and folly their favdrjle resort. And
when they come to leave tjiis world how few
will mourn (heir departure; How few will
drop a sympathizing tear over their last rest
ing place. They have slighted their privile
ges here on (he earth; they have left undone
those things they shouldj have done; they
have failed to improve time in doing
THE TIOGA COUNTY AGITATOR is pub
lished every Thursday Morning, and mailed to sab
scribers at the very reasonable price of Os* Dor
ics per annam, invariably in advance. It is intend
ed to notify every subscriber when the term for
which he has paid shall have expired, by the stamp
—“Time Out,” on the margin of the last paper.
The paper will then be stopped until a further re
mittance be received. By this arrangement no man
can be brought in debt to the printer.
The Agitator is the Official Paper of the Coun
ly, with a large and steadily increasing circulation
reaching into neatly every neighborhood in the
County. It is sent free of postage to any Post-office
within the county limits, and to those living within
the limits.but whose most convenient postoffice may
be in an adjoining County.
NO. XXVI.
Business Cards, not exceeding 3 lines, paper In
eluded,s4 per year.
good ; they have neglected to make a proper
use of (he noble faculties given them by their
Creator ; and finally when they come to die
—they die as they have I'ved—unhonored
and unwept because they have lived for them,
selves alone, unmindful of the high responsj.
biliiies which are enjoined upon them. How
few dn justice to their native powers ! How
few qualify themselves 10 elevate.poor fallen
humanity J How few avoid the fashionable
amusements of the dny and labor to remodel
this miserable fabric of human society ! How
few know their duly to themselves, to iheir
fellows, and to iheir God.. And yet how
many there are whom immorality und sen
suality have slumped with eternal shame!—
How many wilfully slight favorable opportu
nities and oppose intellectual and moral ad
vancement! How manv unthinking wretch
ed mortals live lives of infamy and crime !
Ho>v many, alas ! infer, that fete has de
creed that ihey should live as Ihey now live
—haled and despised noi only by others, but
even by themselves. Would that they could
see themselves as oThers see them! Would
lhai they could reform, and thereby become
more, worthy citizens! Would that they
could dissipate the dark, cloud of ignorance
and prejudice and be able to perceive the
light of intelligence and truth ! Would that
they could see that they who do good in their
day and'generation, infuse, whether they de.-
sign it or not, the effulgence of their example
ipto a multitude of hearts which nature has
Opened for its reception! and thus, with bel
ter and higher results, light them upward te
happiness and glory.
(To he continued.)
Am I Bound to take Coffins? —Mr. G,
a veteran lawyer of Syracuse, used to tell a
story of a client, an impetuous old farmer,
by the name of Merrick, who had a difficulty
with a cabinet maker. As was usual’in such
cases, the matter excited a great deal of in-,
lerest among the neighbors, who severally al
lied themselves with one or the other of the
contending parlies. At length, however, to
the mutual disappointment of the allies, the
principals offered a compromise, by which
Merrick was to take in full of all demands,
the cabinet maker’s note for forty dollars,
at six months, “payable in cabinet ware.”
Lawyer G was called upon to draft
the necessary papers to consummate the set
tlement, which, having been duly executed
and delivered, the client was surprised that
|he matter was fully and amicably arranged,
p saw no more of the parties until about
pix months afier, when one morning, just as
he was opening his office old Merrick rode
furiously up, dismounted, and rushed in, de
fiantly exclaiming ;
“I say, squire, am I bound to take coffins?”
It seems, on the note falling due, the obsti
nate cabinet maker had refused to pay him in
any other way.
Blackstone a Fool. —On a certain occa
sion the counsel took some exception to the
ruling of the Court on.a certain point, and
dispute arose.
“If the Court please,” said the counsel, ‘‘l
wish to refer to this book a moment,” and at
tho same time picked up a law volume.
“There’s no use of your referring to any
book,” exclaimed the Court, angrily, “I have
decided the p’inl.”
“But your Honor”—persisted the attorney.
“Now, 1 don’t want to hear anything on
the subject,” yelled the Court! “I lelf you
again 1 have decided the p’int.”
“I know that,” was the rejoinder; “I’m
satisfied of that—but the volume of Black
stone ; 1 am certain he differs with your Hon
or, and I only meant to show you what a fool
Blackstone was I”
“Ah, indeed I” exclaimed the Court, smil
ing all over, “now you begin to talk.” -
. The Size of Man. —it is a very common
opinion that, ih the early ages of the world,
men in general possessed superior physical
properties, and were of great “r size than at
present. But all the facts and circumstances
which can be brought forward on this sub
ject tend to show ihat the human form has
not degenerated, and that men of the present
age arc of the same salute as at the begin
ning of the world. Thus all the remains of
the human body, the bones, and paiticuiarly
the teeth, which have been found unchanged
iu the most ancient urns and burial places,
demonstrate this clearly. The largest coffin
in the world is that found in (he great pyra
mid of Egypt; and this sarcophagus hardly
exceeds the size of the ordinary coffin, being
six feet and a' half long. That we are not
degenerating from the effects of civilization
is clear, because the savages do not exceed us
in height.
A Costly Candlestick. —Our friend in
K , a sod of ihe Emerald Isle, had occa
sion to visit the South some Mime since.—
When 'be relumed, he remarked to some
friend that the Southern people were very ex
travagant. Upon being asked why so, ha
said that where he staid they bad a candle
stick worth eleven hundred dollars.
“Why, how in the world could it have cost
that much 1” gasped Dan’s friend.
“Oeh, be jabers! it was nothing more than
a big nigger fellow holding' a torch in bis
hand for us to eat by !”■
The Rival Singers. —Two gentlemen
having differed in opinion which was the best
singer, it was agreed t" leave the case to Dr.
Arne, who, having heard them both, observed
to the last gentleman that sung—
“ Sir, without offence, you are the trorst
singer I ever heard in my life.”
“There! there!” exclaimed the other ex
ultingly, “I told you so.”
“Sir,” said the Doctor, H-You must not say
a word, for you can’t sing at all.”
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