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CHANGED.
ST KISS H. U DODD.
Changed, changed ? Yea changed—the bright, en
chanting dreams,
Which o'er my life-path threw their radiant beams,
Han slowly faded out upon my way,
AafoWen mists flee at the noon-tide ray,
Which early hisses from the earth and air.
The dreamy beanty morn has scattered there.
Ye, asdly changed! those visions come no more,
WhMe cheering presence in the days of yore
Wan with me, even in the gloomy night—
Waa to ray shadowed path a beaming light,
A ante precursor of a coming dawn,
for which my weary heart has Waited long.
Weary, how weary has the waiting been,
Bat of the dawning not one ray is seen;
Uo voice bat duty lures me oa the way,
love brings no sunshine, sympathy no ray
To snide my /aiming heart toward the right,
And lone I “walk, by faith and not by sight-”
Yes, life ■> changed, and much I marvel now!
That hope its blinding radiance erst did throw
Over the future, and such visions bring
Ai only from the untaught heart can spring..
Bat now, world-wise, the stern, cold teal I know;
Life's bright ideal laded Tong age!
Yes it fass vanished—naught is’left me now
But a calm seeming for my throbbing brow;
Abiding of the spirit’s restless pain,
Ai memory brings those childhood.hopes again,
Which bnoyed my spirits many a toilsome day,
Dinled—then faded from my life.away.
Sieeneottle, lons.
Wonders of the Human System.
Faley applauds the contrivance by which
everything we eat and drink is made to glide
on us road to the gullet, over the entrance of
ibe wind-pipe, without falling into it. A
little movable lid, the epiglottis, which is
lifted up when we breathe, is pressed down
upon the chink of the air-passage by the
weight of the food and the action of the
muscles in swallowing it. Neither solids nor
fluids, in short, can pass without shutting
down the trap-door as they proceed. But
this is only a part of the safeguard. The
slit at the top of the wind-pipe, which never
closes entirely while we breathe, is endued
with an acute sensibility to the slightest par
ticle of matter. The least thing which
touches the margin of the aperture causes its
sides to come firmly together, and the intru
ding body is stopped at the inlet. It is stopped,
but unless removed, must drop at the next
inspiration into the lungs. To effect its ex
pulsion, the sensibility of the rim at the top
of the wind-pipe actually puts into vehement
action a whole class of muscles placed l lower
than its bottom,and which, compressing the
chest over which they were distributed,
drives out the air with a i force that sweeps
the offending substance before it. The con
vulsive coughing which arises when we are
choked is the energetic Effort of nature for
our relief when anything chances to have
evaded the protective epiglottis. Yet this
properly, to which we are constantly owing
our lives, is confined to a single spot in the
throat. 1 1 does not, as Sir Charles Bell
affirms, belong to the rest of the wind-pipe,
but is limited to the orifice, where alone it is
needed. Admirable, too, it is to observe,
that while thus sensitive to the utmost insig
aificanl atom, it bears without resentment
the atmospheric currents which are inces
umly passing to and fro over its irritable
hp*. “It rejects,” says Paley, “the touch
of a crumb, ora drop of water, with a spasm
which convulses the whole frame; yet, left
'o itself and its proper office, the intromis-
Jiooofair alone, nothing can be so quiet,
“does not even make itself felt ; a man does
not know that he has a trachea. This ca
pacity of producing with such acuteness this
impatience of yet perfect rest and
*a»e when let alone, are properties one would
have thought not likely to reside in the same
subject, i It ia the junction, however, of these
almost inconsistent qualities, in this, as well
as in other delicate parts of the body, that
wo owe our safety and our comfort—our
sa * el y 10 'heir sensibility, our comfort to their
repose.
•Anoiher of ihe examples adduced by Belt
•s inal of the heart. The famous Dr. Har
ne{.elam>nedi at the request of Charles I. a
0 eraan of ihe Montgomery family, who,
0 consequence-of an abscess, bad a fistulas
opening into ihe chest, through which the
fart, c ' ou [ ( l be seen and handled. The great
P jsiologisi was astonished to find it iosea
.l e ’. 'ben brought him,” says he, “to
* ln 8; ‘hat he might behold and touch so
‘•ordinary a thing, and that he might per
the' 6 ** '***' un * ess *hen we touch
1 , ouler s hin, or when he saw our fingers
,, e <* v i, J.this young nobleman knew not
,*etouched the heart.” Yet it is to the
o ir tr We re^er our joysf our sorrows and
it'lt ° nS ’ we speak of a good-hearted,
a true-hearted, and a heart
. m sn. Shielded from physical violence
„j.. ao ou,w °rk of bones, it is not invested
a3ij; BtnSal - ons w hich could have contributed
ben, 0 ® t 0 ' ts . preservation, but while it can
(l -‘, 0n oP 'he fact to its possessor, it unmis
>hs res P°nds to the varied emotions of
•’ anc * 'be geneial consent of
Utes • 15 P ronouac ed the seal of our pleas-
P«r«J ri^ 8 ’ Bym P al bies, hatreds and love.
f fQ ,* b*ve frequently dropped down dead
°t tin 8 , ve ' l * n >ence with which it contracts
M U P° n 'be audden annoucement of
"tainM Dew .* —'*s muscular walls being
direct! lo ° 'b® u P w *rd or downward
of (t. 00 to enable them to return —and one
b*»rt j PurpoBes which this property of Ihe
puta jP'fjbably designed to subserve is to
•brißinJ k U - P ° D 'b® passions through the
Tho h P . ys'eal sensations they excite.
tfi ain ‘ 0 £ a ' n >'s enclosed in a bony
tut Ohftri ,i QUr seniatioDs ere depend-.
r° ‘be nerve*, but even the serves do
I
THE AGITATOR
SefroteO to tfje SSpttttffion of t&e area of iFmOom a«a t&e SprtaO of meultfjs Mtfovm.
WHILE THEBE SHALL BE A WRONG UNSIGHTED, AND UNTIL “MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN” SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE.
VOL. Y.
not give rise to feeling, unless they ere in
connection with the bruin. Xha nervous
chord which, in familiar language, is called
the spinal marrow, ii the channel by wbicb
this communication is kept up to the major
part of them, and when the section of what
■may be termed the great (runkroad for the
conveyance of our sensations is diseased, and
hy the breach in its continuity the nerves
below the disordered part can no longer send
its accustomed intelligence to the brain, the
portion of the b'pdy which thus becomes iso
lated may be burned or hacked, and no moie
pain will result ihan if it belonged to a dead
carcass instead of to a living man. The
brain, therefore,.in subordination to the mind,
is the physical centre of all sensation. Yet,
strange to say, it is itself insensible to the
wounds which are a torture to the skin, and
which wounds alone the brain enables us to
feel. “It is as insensible,” says Sir Charles
Bell, “as the leather of our shoes, and a
piece may be cut off without interrupting the
patient in the sentence that he is uttering.
Because the bone which envelopes it is its
protection against injuries from without, it
has no perception of them when directed
against its own fabric, though it is at the
same lime the sole source of the pain which
those injuries inflict upon the other portions
of the system. But the skull is no defease
against the effects of intemperance, or a
vitiated atmosphere, or 100 great mental toil.
To these consequently the same brain which
has been created insensible to the cut of
the knife, is rendered fully alive, and giddi
ness, headache, and apoplectic oppression
gives ample notice to ui lb stop the evil,
unless we are prepared to pay the penalty.
Spanish Beauty.
The Spanish women are very interesting.
What we associate with the idea of female
beauty is not perhaps, very common in this
country. There are seldom those seraphic
countenances which strike you dumb, or
blind, but faces in abundance which will nev
er pass without commanding admiration.—
Their charms consist in their sensibility.—
Each incident, every word, every person,
touches the fancy of a Spanish lady and, her
expressive features are constantly confuting
the creed of the Moslem. But there is noth
ing quick, harsh, or forced about her. She
is extremely unaffected, and nolat all French.
Her eyes gleam rather than sparkle ; she
speaks with vivacity, but in sweet tones, and
there is in all her carriage, particularly when
she walks, a certain dignified grace which
□ever deserts her, and which is very remark
able.
The general female dress in Spain is of
black silk, a hasquina, and a black silk
shawl, a mantilla, with which they usually
envelop their heads. As they walk along in
this costume on an evening, with their soft,
dark eyes dangerously conspicuous, you wiU
linglv believe in their universal charms,—
They are remarkable for the beauty of their
hair. Of this they are very proud, and in
deed its luxuriance is equalled only by the
attention which they lavish on its culture, I
have seen a young girl of fourteen, whose
hair reached her feet, and was as glossy as
the curl of a Contessa. All the day long,
even the lowest orders are engaged in brush
ing, curling, and arranging it. A fruit wo
man has her hair dressed with as much care
as the Duchess of Ossuna. In the summer
they do not wear their mantilla over their
heads, but show their combs, which are of
verv great size. The fashion of these combs
varies constantly. Every two or three months
you may observe a new form. It is the part
of the costume of which a Spanish woman
is most proud. The moment that a new comb
appears, every servant wench will run to ihe
metier’s with her old one, and thus, at the
cost of a dollar or two, appear the next holi
day in the newest siyle. These combs are
worn at the back of the head. They are of
tortoise shell, and with the very fashionable,
they are white. I sat next to a lady of high
distinction at a bull-fight at Seville. She
was the daughter in law of the Captain Gen
eral of the province, and the most beautiful
Spaniard I ever met with. Her comb was
while and she wore a mantilla of blonde,
without doubt extremely valuable, for it was
very dirty. The effect however, was charm
ing. Her hair was glossy black, her eyes
like an antelope’s, aud all her other feaiures
deliciously soft. She was further adorned,
which is rare in Spain, with a rosy cheek,
for in Spain our heroines are raiher sallow.
But they counteract this slight defect by nev
er appearing until twilight, which calls them
from their bowers, fresh, though languid from
the late siesta.
The only fault of the Spanish beauty is,
that she too soon indulges in thn magnificence
of embonpoint. There are, however, many
exceptions. At seventeen, a Spanish beauty
is poetical. Tall, lithe, and clear and grace
ful as a jennet, who can withstand the sum
mer lightning of her soft and languid glance !
As she dances, if she does not lose her shape,
she resembles Juno raiher than Venus. Ma
jestic she ever is, and if her feet be less
twinkling than in her first boleroo, look on
her hind, and yoa'lh forgive them all.— B.
Ditraeli in Conlarina Fleming,
Nobib Sentiments. —Condemn no man
for not thinking' as you think. Let every
one enjoy the full and free liberty of think
ing for 1 himself. Let every man use his own
judgment, since every man must give an ac
count of himself to God. Abhor every ap
proach, in any kind of degree, to the spirit of
persecution. If you, cannot reason of per
suade a man into the truth, never attempt to
force him into it. If. love will not compel
him, leave him to God, the Judge of all.—
John Wesley.
WELLSBORO, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 18, 1858.
A Volunteer Bull Fight.
I remember once seeing, when at school, a
fight between two bulls. Although I could
not have been more than eight years of age,
I shall never forget the spectacle. It hap
pened in this wise.
Close by the school house—a very unpre
tending edifice it was—ran a deep and rapid
river. Across it had been thrown a high
wooden bridge the hand-railing which time
and the winds and the weather had entirely
destroyed. The land on the opposite sides
"of the stream was owned by different per
sons and farmed by thorn respectively. One
bright summer day—l remember it as it were
yesterday—the hour of noon had arrived,
and a frolicsome, fun-seeking troop of school
boys were let loose for an hour’s recreation.
All at once the bellowing and roaring of
two bulls that had broken out of their enclos
ure on each aide of the river attracted our at
tention. The animls were not yet in sight
of each other, but were approaching along
the highway at a rale of speed which would
cause them to meet near the centre of the
high bridge which I have described, and be
neath which, at some thirty feet, ran the riv
er, between sleep banks. The more daring
of us gathered near the bridge lining it, to see
the anticipating fight. We were not disap
pointed. Nearer and nearer approached the
proud, pawing combaiams. Bashan never
produced two brutes of fiercer aspect. They
lashed their sides with their tails, they tore
the ground with their feet. Occasionally
they kneeled down, trying to gore the earth
with their horns. And as yet they were con
cealed, each Irom the other, by the ascent to
the bridge at either end. Presently, as they
simultaneously ascended the respective abut
ments, they came full in sight of each other.
The roar was mutual and actually tremen
dous. Every urchin of us sprang into the
fields, and ran'. Finding however, that we
were not pursued, we hastily retraced our
steps. There they were, quite as sensibly
employed as some of their human imitators.
Front to front their horns locked, every mus
cle strained, they were fighting as only bulls
can fight. It seemed an even match. Now
one would press back his opponent a few
paces, and presently you would hear quick,
sharp, short steps, and his adversary would
be pressed back in return. The struggling
was hard, was leng, was savage. For a
while neither obtained an advantage.
Hitherto they had been pushing each other
lengthwise of the bridge; suddenly they
began to wheel, and in a moment were facing
each other crosswise. They were at right
angles with the length of the bridge, which
shook, and creaked, and rocked again with
their trampling and their terrible strife. It
was the beasts—l could not tell which one
of them, however made a desperate plunge
forward and pressed his antagonist back,
back, till there was but another step of the
plank behind him and nothing. The moment
was one of intense interest to us juvenile
spectators. Never was the ,amphilhealre of
Rome the scene of a more exciting combat.
Another step backward, yes, the unfortunate
bull was force d to take it! Back he is
pressed and over he goes I
Such a sight I never saw, I probably shall
never see again. Imagine a bull pitched
backward over a bridge and fallen at least
thirty feet over and over I He turned onre
or twice, probably ; I thought he turned
fifty times, there seemed such a confusion of
horns and feet revolving, flying through the
air. But down he went; the water was deep
and he disappeard, leaving a whirlpool of
foam behind him, and making the river undu
late far and wide with the concussion of his
ponderous bulk.
The other bull did not laugh, merely be
cause bulls, as I supposed, could not. But
we laughed and shouted our applause.—
There stood the victor, looking directly down
into the abyss below, into which he had hur
ried his unlucky foe. He stood, however,
but a moment, and then, as if frightened at
the prospect, he retreated, with his head in
the same pugnacious attitude as when in com
bat—and over he too went on the opposite
side of the brige, performing just as many
and as ludicrous somersets as his adversary
had done a minute before. It was scene to
remember; and the performance called forth
immense applause from the group of juvenile
amateurs who witnessed it.
In about five minutes both bulls might be
seen, well sobered by their ducking, dripping
wet, scratching up the steep gravelly banks,
each on his own side of the river. “Those
bulls will never fight any more” said a boy
behind me. His prediction turned out cor.
reel; for two more peaceably disposed bulls
than they were, ever afterwards, could not
have been found.
Great Mistake. — A boy in Illinois, says
the Hawkeye , during the exhibition of North’s
circus, saw a great many side shows-around,
and concluded that he would steal into one of
them. Down upon his knees he got, and com
menced crawling under, when suddenly he
came in contact with the centre poles—and,
upon looking up, he immediately discovered
bis mistake. He had been crawling under a
ynnng lady’s hooped skirls, mistaking them
for the canvass of the show. The little fel
low was badly frightened.
Night Mare. —The way to raise this ani
mal is simple: Fifteen minutes before bed
time, cm up one dozen cold boiled potatoes,
add a few slices of cold boiled cabbage, with
five or six pickled cucumbers. Eat heartily,
and wash.down with a pint of cream ale.—
Undress and jump into bed.. Lie flat on your
back, and in half an hour or thereabout, you
will dream the devil is sitting on your chest,
with the Bunker Hill Monument in his lap.
eommimicatioru-f.
For the Agitator.
Familiar Letters on Geology, Etc.
My Dear Mary ; Will you be so good as
to open Hugh Miller’s “Testimony of the
Rocks” at page 141. You will there find
the bold declaration (bold for that time) of the
youthful Chalmers, made in 1804: “The wri
tings of Moses do not fix the antiquity of the
globe.” The whole ebri slian world was star
tled by the “bold infidelity” of the youog
preacher, and ten thousand pulpits and a thou
sand pens were ready to defend that religion
which had been so daringly attacked in one
of its strongholds.
Men were so accustomed to the old fossil
interpretation, that it had become to them a
pan of self-evident truth, and as much enli
lied to respect as the doqtrine of witchcraft
in the palmy judicial days of Sir Matthew
Hale. It would have been almost infidelity
previous to (hat time to have even examined
the Scriptures to see if there could be any
other than the commonly received interpreta
tion—rather, the universally received inter
pretation. And yet now no scientific or even
intelligent Christian finds in the first chapter
of Genesis, anything to justify the old inter
pretation. The world may have been in ex
istence millions on millions of years for
aught that appears in the Bible of our holy
religion. Nay, more, the intelligent student
of the Bible alone finds it difficult to make
all things in that book plausibly consistent
with the six-thousand-year theory. The old
system of the earth’s chronology has been
entirely discarded. Geological science has
opened to the world a new data from which
to compute the age of the gltibe.
It is lime that when the Christian entered
the bowels of the earth and examined the
record written there by the. finger of God, he
was startled by the new truth revealed, and
being perhaps of weak faith, was ready to ex
claim, “the Bible must be false.” Sadly and
tearfully be was about to relinquish that path
which has been to bis soul an anchor sure
and steadfast, when the angel of his hope
pointed him away from commentaries and
fossilized opinions, to the Bible itself and bid
him “pray and examine.” He did pray and
ejxamine, and a new light sprung up in his
soul; and his Bible was dearer than ever,
and he pressed it closer to his heart, for he
found that He who had written the volume
of nature had written also the volume which
had been the ground-work of his faith.
“Science is the handmaid of religion.”—
The deeper we go down into the earth, or
the higher up among the stars, the stronger
is our faith in the great Creator ; and at every
step we take we are ready to exclaim, “Won
derful ! wonderful are thy works, oh God!”
and to cry out, “ihe book of Nature is in
deed the revelation of Ihe God of Nature !”
Human volumes may have truth written with
in them, but that truth can only be made sure
to our minds by its correspondence with the
book of God. Everything that has been
subject to the care and supervision of man,
may have error ; but the great book of God
never tells an untruth ; in that there have
been no interlineations, or erasures, or addi
tions, or suppressions, or mistranslations.—
It is the record of God’s doings, written by
God himself, with his own materials, and on
tablets of his own manufacture.
Hence, my dear Mary,—and do not be
startled, for the Christian’s Bible, as science
advances, becomes dearer to him, and every
step of science but adds new proof that that
book too is the book of God—hence if the
Bible should be contradicted by God’s great
book of Nature, I should discard the former
and cleave to ihe latter. But science never
shook ihe faith of the intelligent Christian,
for he finds in science itself additional proof
of the divine origin of his religion, though at
times science may point him to errors of in
terpretation, and even errors of translation.
And now, as Dr. Chalmers was a little in
advance of his times when he announced the
new and startling truth that “the writings of
Moses do not fix the antiquity of the globe,”
so 1 may be deemed ahead even of these
times, and may like him be denounced a*
“infidel,” when I announce as my firm be
lief that “the writings of Moses do not fix
the antiquity of the creation of man.”
Read the (bird and fourth lectures in the
“Testimony of the Rocks ” and you will gel
at the line of argument to show that this
globe must have existed more than six thou
sand years, and of the geological evidence of
the immense periods of lime occupied by the
third, fifth and sixth days of the first chapter
of Genesis—the day or period of “grass and
herb and fruit trees”—the period of “winged
fowl, the great monsters, and every living
creature that moves in the waters”—and the
period of “cattle and creeping things and
beasts of the land,” and how Hugh Miller
reconciles these immense periods with the
“days” of creation.
Read carefully the fourth lecture—“ The
Mosaic vision of Creation”-~and read also in
connection with that lecture the prophecies
of Isaiah and Daniel and others, and see how
in all the prophetic visions, days and weeks
and months and even years are made lo rep
resent, not those periods literally, but vastly
longer periods of time. See also how in the
prophetic writings, i name is of use lo signi
fy a whole nation—“ Ephraim is joined lo
his idols, let him alone”—and how in pro
phetic language a name is used to signify,
not only the nation, or race or family, but
the whole duration of that nation, or race or
family f and then take up Genesis and read
the first eleven 'chapters carefully, and ask,
“Is this a veritable record of just sixteen hun
dred fifty-five years from man’s creation to
Noah’s deluge, and of four hundred twenty
eight years from the deluge to the death of
Terab, Abraham’s father, drawn from au-
thentic sources, then existing? or is it a pro
phetic vision, not indeed of the/trfure, bin of
the past —a grand tableau of departed ages
and dynasties, and to be interpreted and un
derstood as all such prophetic visions are to
be interpreted and understood, ; :
I trust before my next letter you will have
carefully read what I have indited to [you,
and such other authors on the same subject
as you may have access to, and Iheni, you
will be prepared, to follow me in my argu
mem to show that Adam and Eve, .Cain and
Abel, and all the generations mentioned in
the fifth chapter were not individuals, but
representative names for long continued traces,
or nations—that Noah and his family were,
not indeed myths, but piophetic represents
lives of the people saved from the destructive
effects of the great deluge ; and that the ge
nealogy of the tenth and eleventh chapters
is the genealogy, not of Gomer and Magog,
Ashur and Sidon and Eber and other individ
uals, but of Gomer and Magog, Ashufr and
Sidon and Eber and others, as representative
races, occupying perhaps vast, may be! some
of them colemporaneous periods; Ihitt the
whole is a prophetic tableau of a oast back
space, cut off, it may be, and circumscribed
with past geological ages only by infinity.
Truly yours, E.
Wellsboro, Nov. 18lh, 1858. i
Western Lawyer’s Plea Against the
Fact.
“Gentleman of the Jury; The Scripture
saith, “Thou shall not killnow, (if you
hang my client you transgress the command
as slick as grease, and as plump as a( goose
egg in a loafer’s face. Gentleman’ rnurder
is murder, whether committed by (twelve
juryman or by an bumble individual like
my client. Gentlemen, I do not deny the
fact of my client having killed a, man, but
is that any reason why you should iloso?
No such thing, gentleman; you may Bring
the prisoner in “guilty the hangman may
do his duty, but will that exonerate you?
No such thing ; in that case you will! all be
murderers. Who among you is prepared
for the brand of Cain to be stamped upon
his brow to-day ? Who, freemen—(who in
this land of liberty and light? Gentlemen,
I will pledge my word, not one of you has
a bowie-knife or a pistol in his p6cke|; No,
gentleman, your pockets are odoriferous with
the perfumes of cigars and tobacco. You
can smoke the tobacco of rectitude in. the
pipe of a peaceful conscience; but hang my
unfortunate client, and the scaly alligators
of remorse will gallop through the internal
principles of animal viscera, until ' thfe spinal
vertebra of your anatomical construction is
turned into a railroad for the grim and gory
goblins of despair. Gentleman, beware of
committing murder! Beware, I say,tpf med
dling with the eternal prerogative! [Gentle
men, I adjure you, by the manumitted ghost
of temporal sanctity, to do no murder,'!- ■ 1 ad
jure you by the name of woman, the ‘main
spring of the licking timepiece of time’s theo
retical transmigration, to do no murder! [ ad
jure you, by the love you have for the escu-'
lent and condimental gusto of our native
pumkin, to do no murder! I adjurelyou, by
the stars set in the flying ensign (of your
emancipaled country, to do no murder! I
adjure you, by the American eagle that
whipped the universal game cock of creation,
and now sits roosting on (he magnetic tele
graph of time’s illustrious transmigration, to
do no no murder! And lastly, gentlemen, if
you ever expect to wear store-made! coats—
if you ever expect free dogs not to| bark at
you—if you ever expect to wear made
of the free hide of the Rocky Mountain buf
falo—and, to sum up all, if you ever expect
to be anything but a set of sneaking,.loafing,
rascally, cut-throated, braided small efads of
humanity, whittled down into indisiinctibility,
acquit my client, and save your cotlnlry.”
The prisoner was acquitted. j
A Little Difficulty in the [ Way.—,
An enterprising traveling agent fop a' well
known Cleveland tomb stone manufactory
lately made a business visit to a small town'
in an adjoining county. Hearing in the vil
lage that a man in a remote part of the town
ship had lost his wife, be lhoughi |he would
go and see him and offer him consolation and
a grave-stone, on his usual reasonable terms.
He started. The road was a frightful one,
but the agent persevered and finally arrived
at the bereaved man’s house. j-Bereaved
man’s hired girl told the agent that the be
reaved man was splitting rails, "oyer’n pas
lur, about two milds.” The indefatigable
agent hitched his horse and started for the
“pastur.” After falling into all manner of
mudholes, scratching himself with briars and'
tumbling over decayed logs, the] agent at
length found the bereaved man. [ln a sub
dued voice he asked the man if he had lost
his wife. The man said he had. ,The agent
was very sorry to hear of it and sympathized
with the man very deeply in his great afflic
tion ; but death, he said, was an insatiate
archer, and shot down all,,both |of high and
low degree. He informed the manj that ‘what
was his loss was her gain,’ and, wjobld be glad
lo sell him a grave stone to mark the spot
where the beloved one slept—marble or com
mon stone as he chose, at prices defying com
petition. The bereaved man said there was
“a little difficulty in the way.” “Havn’t you
lost your wife?” inquired the agent. “Why,
yes I have,’’ said the man, but no! grave stun
ain’t necessary ; you see the critter ain’t
dead. She's scooted with another man /”
The agent retired.— Cleoe. Plairidealer.
Life appears too short to be spent in nurs
ing animosities, or registering wrong.
Many a man’s vices have at -first been
nothing worse (Mtn good qualities! run wild.
Bates of Advertising.
i
>
i
-1
I,
I
Advertisements will be charged 81 per sqnarc of
fourteen lines, for one. or three insertions, and 85
cents (hr every subsequent insertion. All advertise,
menls of less than fourteen lines considered as a
equate. The following rates will be charged for
Quarterly, Half-Yearly and Yearly advertising >-
Square, (14 lines,) . $3 50
SSquares r - . .4 00
J column, .... 10 00 <
column, 18 00
All advertisements not having the number of in*
sort ions marked upon them, will be kept in until or*
dered oot.and charged accordingly.
Posters, Handbills, Bill.and Letter Hesds.'and all
kinds pf Jobbing done in country establishments,
executed neatly and promptly. Justices’, Consta
bles'and other BLANKS, constantly on band and
printed to order.
NO. 16.
TEACHER’S COLUMN.
It is a lamentable fact that but few teachers
succeed well. Many things spring tip which
are a continual source of annoyance. Far
be it from me to attempt a justification of
those teachers who labor-only for the “al
mighty dollar”—those that are laboring only
for the completion of a sinister object, but it
is a fact well known, that many a well mean
ing, and faithful teacher has been forced from
his school, because of difficulties, that existed
before his term began.
How few, that have never assumed the
teacher’s vocation know anything about the
cares, and responsibilities, belonging to it!
By many his office is thought to be one of
idleness and ease. Many think it much easier
to “keep school” than to do anything else,
and think it outrageous that he should receive
as much for “sitting in the house” as for
working out of doors, looking beyond the
fact lhat it may have cost biro years of study
to properly prepare himself for his business !
I said many teachers failed to-give satis
faction, and, though many limes it may be;
through their fault, yet such is not always'
the case. We will, if you please, look into
a district school, on the morning of com
mencement. At the appointed hour, delega
tions pour in from every corner of the district,
and as scholars always carry out the instruc
tions they receive at home, the teacher soon
finds that the good folks of A , have
not always been on the most friendly terms.
Soon he learns, that a deadly feud, has long
existed between the hill folks and the hollow
folks, that the teacher that offends the one is
sure to please the other, that for many and
divers reasons, the people of one end of tha
district have a sore jealousy of the other,
and as the scholars leave home in the morn
ing, they are especially cautioned to see if
the “schoolmaster” is “stuck up”—if he is
not a member of the fraternity of “two and
six aristocracy.” And lastly, though not
leastly, the hill folks caution their young
ideas to keep a sharp look-out and see if the
new teacher is not partial to the hollow,folks,
and to duly report progress, and their chil
dren start for schoSl, more intent upon finding
fault, than upon drinking in the principles
contained in their text books. In every part
of the district the pupils are duly cautioned.
A watch is kept of his every act. Spies in
shape of fifty pupils are upon him continu
ally. If he speaks kindly to the hollow
pupils, the hill folks receive-it as a direct and
pointed insult, and if he in his weakness sees
fit to gently rebuke a self-willed miss of
fifteen, who belongs upon the hill who has
seen fit to willfully break an established rule
of school, because of the act of kindness
exercised towards her rival, in tears she goes
home, and repeats the thrice told tale, that
the new teacher is just like the old ones—
always using partiality—always abusing with
a vengeance those that happen to live in their
particular locality. This is a grievous shame.
It is an outrage 100 heavy to be borne.—
Submission longer, ceases to be a virtue.
Revenge under such circumstances is the
essence of sweetness. After comforting the
deeply outraged child, her lender hearted
parent, by a ten.fold reward of presents L and
hopes of revenge coaxes her once more to
wend her way towards school. On her way
she unfolds her grief to her friends—their
parents are duly informed that there is trouble
in school, and they take sides for, or against
the teacher according 10 their animosities.—
The school begins the next morning, and the
teacher for the first time finds that something
is wrong. Being in profound ignorance of :
the causes l hat have been operating to “spring
such unnumbered woes” upon him, be is
naturally at a loss as to the'cause of the
strange actions which present themselves
before him. The seed which has heen sown
during many preceding terms is now being
ripened into fruit, and Ihe storm which has
been long gathering has reached a culmina
ting point. The school id arranged into two
divisions and before he is aware is placed
between two fires. If he punishes one, the
faction to which he belongs is duly wrathful
and injustice of the teacher is duly re
ported back to Ihe respective families. The
children once more are sent back and told
to resist the insolence of the teacher. Bv
their parents, they are told to lake the lair
into their own hands, that self-defence is the
first law of Nature. Such honest reader, is
no fancy sketch. Any teacher, of a half
dozen terms experience can tell something
like the above from his own personal obser
vation. When we fully consider that every
school iamade up of pupils from twenty
different families—that they are all governed
differently home—that some are brought
up and some come up—that in school these
sixty pupils of opposite training at home, must
be brought subject to one set of rules and
order enforced, when they are taught insub
ordination! at home, and a dozen branches
taught in a single day, under such circum
stances is it singular that but few teachers suc
ceed T In my opinion the success of every
school depends greatly upon the aid and
comfort, given it bv the heads of families.
In order to have a live school, there must be
a hearty co-operation between both parent
and teacher—both must be moved by an ob
ject elevated above neighborhood disturban
ces—both must ’look upon the education of
the young mind as a thing worthy of the best
energies of the human heart—as the secret
to the future happiness and progress of lb*
human race, and as of inestimable value to
the pupils themselves, both now and here
after—in short of both parent and school
master heartily join hand in band, there is
po such thing asTailure, Tixqtuy.
3 months. 6 months. 13 mo's
$4 50 06 00
6 00 8 00
15 00 SO 00
30 00 40 GO
for the AgiUtoc.
School Teaching.