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Jet* <^“ r - ■ - "
7yornE ß hand is beckoning us,
Anotlmr band is beckoning us, ■
Another call is given ; .
i„d glows once more with angel’s sleeps
" The P jtll lllat * eac * s to ea ' ,en ' .‘ “
0 half we deemed she needed not .
The changing of her sphere, “ "
To give to heaven a shining one," ”
Who walked an angel here.
Unto oor Father’s will alone . ; •
One thought has reconciled; ...
That He whose love exceedelh ours , .
Hath taken home his child..'
Fold her, 0 Fallur in (bine arms,-' .
And let her henceforth be ' ’
A messenger of love between 1
Our Imman hearts and Thee,
gull let her mild rebukings stand
Between us and the wrong,
And her dear memory serve to make
Our faith in goodness strong. Whittier,
Prom Peterson’s Magazine.
John Clarke and his Fortune.
BY MRS. M. A. DENISON,
‘■Never mind the house, John, wa’ve got
cteo f our own,” whispered John Clarke’s
wile.
Sfie was a rosy little thing, only twenty
jjnm«rs old. How brightly and bewitch
ijjlv she shone —a star amid the sombre
company.
"Bui what in the world has he left me ?”
nattered John Clarke. “I believe he haled
ae —I believe they all hated me.”
“Hush, dear!”
“1 bequeath to John Clarke, my dearly
beloved nephew,” read the grim attorney,
“is a reward for his firmness in resisting
temptation the last two years, and his de
eraiioaiJon to improve in all acceptable
itofs, my one horse shay, which has stood
tony barn over twenty-five years, request
mg that he shall repair it, or cause it to be
repaired in a suitable manner.”
That was all. Some of the people gath
ered there littered, all seemed to enjoy the
CT'usion of the poor young man. His eyes
flashed fire, he trembled excessively ; poor
lisle Jenny fairly cried.
"To think,” she said to herself, “how
ird he has tried to bo good, and that is all
s thought of it !■”
"Wish you joy,” said a red-headed youth,
with a grin, as he came out of the room.
John sprang up to collar the fellow, but a
tilt white hand laid on his coat sleeve re-
mained him.
"Let them triumph, John, it won’t hurt
you,” said Jenny, with her sunny smile;
•'please don't nonce them for my sake.”
"Served him right,” said Susan Spriggs,
the niece of iho old man just dead, and to
whom he had \e(l all his silver, “served him
right for marrying that ignorant goose Jenny
Brazier. 1 suppose he calculated a good deal
on the old gentleman's generosity.’’ Tq
which she added in a whisper that only her
own heart heard, “He might have married
me. Ha had the chance, and I loved him
better than any one else —belter than that
prelly little fool, Jennv Brazier.”
| Now we shall see how deep his goodness
a. said a maiden aunt, through her nose ;
he stopped short in wickedness jest because
be expected a fortune from mv poor, dear
brother. Thanks to mrissev that he left me
fire hundred dollars. Now f can git that new
trpei ; but we’ll see how much of a change
-*te is in John Clarke—he always was an
®pof wickedness.”
‘‘"ell, I guess John Clarke’ll have to be
“■■mealed with- his little ten feet shanty,”
Nibe father of Susan Spriggs to good old
Betwi Joe Hemp.
I ‘" cl l, I reckon he is content —if he ain’t
0 “. 2ll > lo he, with that little jewel of a
B* le isties bright enough to make any four
line ’" was the deacon’s reply.
In:, aw • you’re crazy about that gal.
Ti she ain’t to be compared with my Su-
H? 1, ® usan plays on the forty-piano like
■ «y. and manages a house first-rate.”
I CS3 y» u . neighbor Spriggs, I’d rather
l. ft tn3l lnn ncent, blooming face lo smile
lihh ' V^en wa ked U P of mornings, than
Bwo 6 forty-piano gals you can scare up
■ "IM n ? and llie Indies —fact!”
l-i. , 10 know what you mean !” ex
■ „, e ‘k Spriggs firing up.
» ::D Say ’” replied good ° !d Dea '
al y °ki> Clarke’ll die on the gal-
Bpbefugy mark my ' vord9 >” »a‘d Mr. Spriggs,
Bestir 81 d °* 1D ar ko will make one of our
BtplitdnUn 3ll ' l go to llia ,e g isla,ure yei,”
■ ‘'Doubt,r!” aconJoecom p |aceDl i y . [
ke you do, and that's a pretty
Ul d . U P a y°ung fellow, isn’t it, when
yia “ ls best. No, John Clarke won’t
Bin* ° , olilzen > if you can help it. People
mad do S' are plaguey willin’ to
■t; while he’s a running, I take
S 3 ".fl 6 a ‘ n ’l mad they’re sure lo drive
>jji j? y don t y ou a, ep up to him and
B' le Cot f l '- ®* ad you're right now, and
■tip, ~ aita in you, and if you want any
Htroiijj, p’ lo me and I’ll pul you
o ■ ‘hat’s the way lo do business,
l* *Pngo s# » J
■rei'\l' l, i ho l’ e you’ l ' do it. that’s all ” re-
I"I ho' f lggs ’ aulkily.
■>iy, jf f e , s hall, and I’m bound to, any
Blithe m ava a chance. Fact is, he’s got
Beed a nv ? r f , de w ife that he don’t really
■ * ’
■eft bi m .1* 3 a P"y. then, that brother Jacob
■ " y ou n ,° ne ' horse shay.”
Biter did ee '““S* l at that; old Jacob
B^ Blo M sh° lhlng w ''h°ui a meaning to it.
B®>ny e , p y ma y help him to'be a great
B b>d kit him SCI ' S ’ ’Wok myself if Jacob
B r V j moa fy 'I might a been the ruin
B' ' ! made »m 1 , gB l * ian a one-horsa shay
■ ue a man’s fortin.’”
THE AGITATOR.
ZNfrotcgr to tfle intension of tfce awa of iFmJjom att& tf)t Sgvcafr of f&ealtljg Reform.
WHILE THEBE SHALL BE A WHONG UNSIGHTED, AND UNTIL “Kin’s INHUMANITY TO MAN” SHALL C
vol, y.
- “Well, I’m glad you think' so much of
him; I don’l: ! ’
“No,” muttered Deacon Joe, as his neigh
bor turned away, “but if he had married
your raw-boned darter that plays on the
forty-piano, he’d a bean .all right,land no
mistake.” ,j. .
. “A one-horse:shay !” said the minister,
laughing; “what a fortune-!” -
: ■ And so it went, from mouth: to. mouth.
None ofuhe.relatives—some-already rich i
had offered the poorest man among them—
the.owner of the one-horse shay—a dollar of
Ihe bcqueathmenl left ta him or to her; but
they had rather rejoiced in his disappoint
ment.
The truth is, everybody had prophesied
that John Clarke, a poor, motherless boy,
would come to ruin, and they wanted the
prophecy to prove a true one. He had, in
bis youth, been wild and wayward, and some
what profligate in the early years of jman
hood ; but his old uncle had encouraged him
to reform—held out hopes to which he had
encouraged him to reform—held out hopes
to which he had hitherto been a stranger, and
the love of the sweet young Jenny Brazier
completed, as it seemed, his reformation.
Jenny never appeared so lovely as she did
on that unfortunate day of the reading of the
will, after they had reiurned to the poor little
house that was Jenny’s own.
“No matter, John,’’ she said, cheerfully,
“you will rise in spite of them. I wouldn’t
let them think I was in the the least discour
aged, that will only please them 100 well.
We are doing nicely now, and you know if
they do cut the railroad through our bit of
land, the money will set us up quite comforta
bly ; isn’t home a happy one, if it is small ?
And O ! John, bye and bye !”
An eloquent blush—a glance towards her
work-basket, out of which peeped the most
delicate needlework, told the story —ihat ever
new story of innocence, beauty and helpless,
ness, that brings cares akin lo angels’ work.
For once, John Clarke slopped the gossip’s
mouih. He held his head up manfully—
worked steadily at his trade, and everv step
seemed a sure advance, and an upward one.
Baby was just six months old when the
corporation paid into John Clarke’s hand the
sum of six hundred dollars for the privilege
of laying a track through his.one little field.
“A handsome baby, a beautiful and indus
trious wife, and six hundred dollars,” thought
John, an honest exultation, “well, this is
living!’’
“John,” said his wife, rising from her
work, “look out.”
He did, and saw the one-horse shay
dragged by a stalwart negro.
says as how the old barn is gwine
to be pulljsd down, so he sent your shay,”
said the African.
“Thank him for nothing,” said John, bit
terly ; but a glance at his wife removed the
evil spirit, and a better one smiled out of his
eyes.
“John, you can spare a little money now
to have the old shay fixed up, can’t you ?
You ought to according to the will,” said
Jenny.
“The old trash 1” muttered John.
“But you could at least sell it for what the
repairs would cost,” said Jenny in her win
ning way.
“Yes, I suppose I could.”
“Then I’d have it done, and bless me, I’d
keep ii, too. You’ve got a good horse, and
can have the old shay made quite stylish for
baby and me to ride in. Shan’t we shine?”
“Well, I’ll send it over to Hosmer’s, to
morrow, and see what he will do for it.”
“Look here! Mr. Hosmer wants you
come right over to the shop I” shouted the
carriage-maker's apprentice, at the lop of his
lungs; “old Deacon Joe’s there, an’ says
he’s right down glad—golly, it’s hundreds,
and hundreds, and hundreds, and hun—”
“Slop, boy 1 what in the world does he
mean, Jenny ?” cried John Clarke, putting
the baby in the cradle face downwards.
>“My patience! John, look at that phild—
pr'pcious darling! I’m sure I don’t know,
John ; I’d go right over and see,” said Jen
ny, by sriatches righting the baby, “it’s his
fun 1 suppose.”
“’Taint any fun, I tell ye,” said the boy,
while John hurried on his coat and bat; “my
gracious I guess you’ll say it ain’t fun when
you come to see them ’ere gold things and
the bills.”
This added wings lo John Clarke’s speed,
and in a moment he stood breathless in the
old coachmaker’s shop.
“Wish you joy, my fine feller!” cried
Deacon Joe.
“Look here—what’ll you take for that old
shay ? \ I’ll give you four thousand dollars!”
cried the coachmaker, in great glee.
“Four thousand !” cried John aghast.
“Yes, jest look at it! You’re a rich man,
sir, and by George I'm glad of it; you de
serve lo be.”
The carriage-maker shook his hand heart
>'y-
What do you suppose were the consterna
tion; delighr, gratitude —the wild, wild joy
that filled the heart of Clarke, when he found
the old shay filled with gold and bank bills?
I mean the cushions, the linings, and every
place where they could be placed without in
jury—thieves never would have condescended
to Ihe one horse shay.
Five thousand five hundred dollars in all!
Poor John! or rather, rich John ! his head
was nearly turned. It required all the bal
ance of Jenny’s nice equipoise of character
to keep his ecstatic brain from spinning like
a humming lop. Now he could build two
houses like the one his uncle had bequeathed
to his red-headed cousin, who had wished
him joy when the will was read—the dear
old uncle ! What genuine sorrow he felt as
WELLSBORO, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 30, 1858.
he thought of the many times he had heaped
reproaches upon bis memory !
Imagine, if you can, dear reader, the pe
culiar feelings of those kind friends who had
prpphesisd that John Clarke would come to
grief. At first, Deacon Joe proposed to take
the old shay just as it was—.linings'stripped,
bits of cloth hanging—and upon a tin trumpet
proclaim the good tidings to the whole town,
taking especial pains to,stop before the house
of Mr. Spriggs, and blowing loud enough to
drown all the forty-pianos, in the universe ;
but- that was vetoed by John’s kind little wife.
“La ! they’ll know of it soon enough,”
she said, kissing the baby ; “I wouldn’t hurt
their feelings.
They did know of it, and a few years
after, when John Clarke lived in a big house,
they all voted for him to go to the “legisla
ter,” So much for the old one horse shay.
The Brave Engineer.
At the station to Syracuse, there is assigned
to Mr. Glenn the duty of arranging each day
to which of the engines the several trains are
to be assigned, so that as the hour of depart
ure for each comes, the engine will be in
readiness lo ; take its burthen.
• He was for a number of years an engineer
in active service, distinguished for courage
and for prompt resolution. There are some
instances of this, which by. their incidents
ought not to be omitted from the roll of the
truly brave deeds done by men.
He was at bis bar, his engine careering on
with the speed that only steam’s strength
can give, the road was clear, the busy wheels
kept their regular roll, the huge drivers be
neath his seat made swift circling, and they
who in the cars were borne onward, knew no
obstacle in their journey. Everything moved
on according to the card, and they who were
by the roadside found the car marking by
its passage the moment as accurately as if it
was the hand of a great dial. Suddenly he
discovered a small object near the rail. The
human vision grows sharp beyond the opti
cian’s art in such an instant. The object
moved, assumed form, became only too ap
parent. It was a little girl playing with the
dirt between the rails.
One may in the race pull the blooded horse
to his haunches and in a brief space control
his movement; that springing muscle, has
but a light weight to control; the backward
paddle soon changes the course of the steam
er ; but this huge engine, with its father rush
than roll, ponderous, powerful, in such ear
nest in its motion that it must have great space
of change, how shall this stop before it shall
crush out of all form of life the feeble child?
The play with the soil is of such importance
that the little one does not hear the roar of
the wheels, or if it does, it is the child of a
cabin proximate to the rail, and the sound is
a familiar one —it continues its play, and
nearer by an advance that is the very step of
death, the train comes towards it. Mr. Glenn
determined in a tested accuracy of judgment
that his train could not slop in lime I What
if it was checked, and the speed that was
measuring the mile by the very few minutes,
diminished, the death blow by the swifter
would be the more merciful—destruction was
certain—the little one must meet the force
that would crush it from the record of the
living, and its play went on as if it were at
its mother’s feet.
The brave man read the realilies of the
scene in an instant! He left his bar! The
fireman’sjheart forgot to beat; as for the pas
sengers, they were acting out the every day
scenes of a common-place peaceable journey ;
perhaps the checked speed caused somebody
to lay down his newspaper; of the intense
scene without, he knew nothing.
He left his bar, and walking firmly over
the top of the locomotive over the boiler, past
the smoke stack, he climbed over the front
and down the step like framework of the pi
lot, and grasping that with a desperate
strength, he leaned over I the bars of iron
seemed to glide dizzily away beneath him,
and now the struggle for the child was one
between death and bravery, and as ever in
this mortal lime, the King of Terrors seemed
to have all the might in his skeleton hand.
He leaned over ! he reached forward !—and
at that instant, at that period of lime, (mo
ment is too long a word to express this) as
the cruel edges of the pilot was about to
crush the little one, he, not the locomotive,
struck the child ; if ever there was a bold love
touch this was one; and the child laid be
tween the ties I—and on the fast train darted.
Then down went the brakes, the strong arm
of the brakesman strained the wheel lever
to crowd the delaying surface against the
speed ; then passengers aroused to find the
train coming to a halt, while neither station
nor lank was near; then this brave man trod
his locomotive lop back again, and, as soon
as i he power of t he advance could be subdued,
jumped from his iron step and ran down the
road; the wonder was that agitated limbs
could move so fast, and here—there was the
child, living, unharmed, not a bone broken,
not quite revovered from its astonishment at
the life-giving blow which had turned aside
the dart of death.
Restored to its parents, who thionged
around ils deliverer, Ihe little one too young
to realize that it had quivered on the very
verge of another world, was taken home,
Mr. Glenn returned to his engine, and the
locomotive careered to its graqd progress
with not a stain of blood upon its burnished
metal.
And is not this the record of the deed of
the highest order of bravery, the courage that
saves life?
There is a man that labors under the delu
sion that “Hon,” before a man’s name, stands
for honest.
Politeness Fays.
“Seems to me you treat that ragged little
brat with more politeness than I should,’’ said
a rough looking man to a young shop-keeper
who had just done up three cents’worth of
sugar very neatly, in a brown paper, and tied
it carefully.
. The boy in question had presented a mar
ked physiognomy. From under his rimless
hat projected a wide, full brow, deep spark
ling eyes, and features full of energy and
resolution. His face and hands were scru
pulously clean, but his clothes were poor and
patched, though not as the man bad insin
uated, ragged. His mother was a woman
possessing much force of character—aJiard
working woman who had been reared in
parently boiler circumstances than those that
now surrounded her for she was the wife of
drunkard.
The grocer was busy, and he evidently had
not heard what was said, so tho rough look
ing man remarked again.
“I say, Wyman, you’re one.”
“How queer, Gross ?” asked the grocer,
throwing a scoop of tea into the scales.
“Why you, treat the beggars about here
with as much consideration when they come
with their pennies, as if they bought by the
wholesale.”
“And why shouldn’t 1?” said the grocer,
looking up with his honest eyes wide open
and clear. 1
“O, 1 don’t know; it’s queer, that’s all;
you’re the only man that does it I reckon, in
these parts.’*
“Well, I’ll tdl you,” said Wyman, deli
berately unwinding the spool of cord and
twisting the siring about a package he held in
his hand: “the fact is, if I wasn’t naturally
tender towards the children, 1 should treat
them as Ido from motives of policy. You
see, I'm but a young man, and ihese ‘brats’
as you call them, are growing up fast.—
Many of them, ol little worth as they seem
now, will become men of character and men
of business. Now, I want to retain their
custom,” he said, laughingly ; “their peonies,
in the course of a few years, will turn into
pounds; their three cents’ worth of sugar
will change into orders by the barrel. I
shall have mmy a good customer among the
‘brats;’ besides, I've always found that pol
iteness pays well.”
’“Something in that,” ejaculated the coarse
man, thrusting his hand into his pockets,
“something in that; but I never looked at it
in that light before.”
“The boy who bought the sugar,” contin
ued the grocer, “is one of no ordinary mind,
if I am not mistaken. If his father was
dead, I’d take him with me into the store and
make a man of him—though I reckon na
ture will do better for him than I could ; and
thq far-seeing grocer smilingly handed a
cents’ wonh of pins to a little timid child,
whose lop curl just reached to the counter.
Time verified the prediction of Wyman,
the grocer. There wasn’t a shop in the
place where so much small change was spent
as in his ; for the children loved to go where
they were not afraid of rough actions or rude
speeches. They fell themselves safe while
makiqg their little purchases ; they saw that
their rights were respected ; and U is well
known’ihat on such trifling sales much profii
accrues in the aggregate. Time passed, and
Wyman, the grocer, was Ihe most popular
man in town. His pleasant face at forty
years was greeted everywhere. Young men
_and maidens always patronized Wyman. It
was strange to see the transfofmalion that
took place, so gradually the little diny faced
juveniles shot up into awkward youths learn
ing trades, and then grew to ihe respectable
business men. Wyman enlarged his shop,
and built him a splendid house, “all the fruits
of the children’s pennies,” he often said
laughingly.
“Yes, with him, it paid :o he polite ; it
always pays. It pays the merchant as well
as ithe mechanic, the lawyer as well as the
physician. Urbane manners have been the
means of making many a fortune, while the
cross-grained have wondered why they didn’t
gel along. The roughness that speaks its
mind at all places, boasting itself that it is
only honest, blunt and straight forward,” is a
habit that demoralizes as well as insults.—
Ask any man you chance to see, if he re
members those who treated him with urbani
ty which he was a child and he will recall
his name with a throb of pleasure. Perhaps,
too, he will couple some other names with
the epithet of “old rascal !” and “I’ve never
liked that man—l wouldn’t have dealings
with him.”
It paid the grocer to be polite. The ragged
boy, the drunkard’s son, became a great as
well as a rich man. He established his sad
mother in a handsome residence of her own
arid sent in unlimited orders to the grocer. —
It was his influence that gave Wyman sever
al posts of honor in his native city—for the
town became a thriving city; and when sil
ver hairs, bung on the shoulders of the old
man, and Ihe young Congressman’s name
rang far and wide spoken, by admiring lon
gues, praised by men of wisdom and ster
ling worth, it was no idle boast for him to
say with a smile of triumph, “I told, you so !”
Politeness pays I
■ Of billiards, Jerrould says : “I have seen
mountains of cannon-balls, to be shot away
at churches and into people’s peaceful habi
tations, breaking tftechina and nobody knows
what; but there’s not oneof’em (thinks the
ill-used wife) can do half the mischief of a
billiard-ball. That’s a ball that’s gone thro’
many a wife’s heart, to say nothing of her
children. When once a man is given to
playing billiards,the devil’s always tempting
him with a ball, as he tempted Eve with an
apple.’’
tEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE,
©ommumcation
for th«
Familial Letters on Geology,
My Dear Mary ; Dr Smyth of
ton, gives in his work on the uni
humab races, a most formidable list
who advocate the derivation of alt it e differ
ent varieties from a single pair; some of
them, however, of not muclf weight on such
a subject, whatever they may be in other de
partments. Em among them are the names
of Linnaeus, Buffon, Cuvier, Humbcldt,. Blu
menback, Buckland, Mudie, Lyell, De_Guig
nes, Bachman, Guyol, Mantel, Bickering,
Owen and others, names eminent io the de
partment of natural history, and whose opin
ions coinciding, would seem to be ctnclusive
upon the scientific aspect of the question.—
He also adds the name of Agassiz, at d shows
pretty conclusively that previous to his lec
tures at the South he was of the same opin
ion.
On the other side of the quest on, Dr.
Smyth enumerates a very meager list con
sisting of Vircy St. Vincent, Bartoi, Dr. J.
C. Warren, of Boston, Prof. Gibson, Dr. B.
H. Coals, Desraoulin, Broc, Voltaire, .Lord
Kaimes, Thomas Paine, Burk, Glidion, and
Dr. Nolt of Mobile, to which I wil
Hamilton Smith, Van Amringe, Dr.
Agassiz and Kneeland, the editor
American edition of Hamilton Smith
ural History of the Human Specie
of the names you will see at a glanc
titled to but little credii, while oth
high in the world ol science. To ■
these lists is to be assigned Lord M
who believed that man sprung origini
a race of monkeys, I am unable to di
It is a singular and interesting
when Prof. Agassiz in 1850 defined
tion before the scientific association al
ton, and expressed his belief that Got
at first distinct races of men, and
negro and other races had an origit
from that of the white race, his pos
most promptly and ably met and tl
two eminent naturalists, having ll
dence in a region where the extremes
physically, intellectually and civilly
gregaled. I refer to Drs. Smyth ai
man of Charleston.
Now the main difficulty in the w
those who believe that man sprung
original pair, is the difficulty of ac
for the present extreme varieties o
man race in the, lime allowed. T
menls made use of are scientifically
sive, and must, I think, lead most
adopt the theory of the unity of tl
In science, a miracle is not allowat
the same result could have been
about by the operation of natural I
in God’s operations, a miracle is ne
supposed, and is never made use c
when it becomes necessary for the
of impressing upon the world’s min
greatness and power, and thereby e
iog his authority.
In ihe case of the dispersion of th
race, no such miracle was necessary
sides, science has shown that by nan
men do diverge, and under different
stances of climate, modes of living,
silion on high or low lands, civiliza
these divergencies become permane
ties.
Lawrence refers these permanent
to congenital' beginnings ; others re
to circumstances as above ; but near
mil .that even four thousand two
years is not sufficient on any hyoolh
of a miracle to produce ihe extreme
And yet we have historical evidence
back about thirty-five hundred ye
the difference between the while at
race was at that time substantially
This I believe all writers or nearly r
Nearly all Christian naturalists hi
erto admitted the Usher chronology,
has been the result ? They
pellcd to resort to natural cause Sin i
four thousand years ago, that have
great measure at least, ceased to ej
a miracle, when according to their t
of miracles, none was necessary ;
have been compelled to admit thaj
seemed to contrpdict the Bible. Son
in faith that G,qd would in due time)
all apparent discrepancies, have qu
milted the apparent facts together |
inability to explain. Others, less j
their confidence in God’s word have
themselves to be led astray by the i
skepticism, their faith weakened, aa
end, it may be, silently yielding to Pa
Atheism, or what is as bad, to.a
mystical, without form and uncertajt
There is another class who are v
admit, nay earnestly contend for, j
chronology and construction of the fiji
chapters of the Bible. They are-s
as Van Amringe, Mott, Gliddon, a|t
whom ( might name—men who ri
any faith in the Divine Revelation,]
never examined the Scriptures, excqi
evidence to overthrow their influenc
they find too at this very point a s
gumenl; for if the literal exegesh
chronology is admitted, they have
side virtually nearly the whole arrh
entific deduction.
The same difficulty met thescien
ogisl in the face when the scirince t
was in its infancy. The Bible rec
ken literally, said that the earth wt
in six days. (Science, also the recot
said that the earth was created in si
indefinite and vast in their duration,
fidel wielded this as a powerful
and soma weak-in-faith Christians,
its influence. Science, however, ti
of philology, soon demonstrated I
revelation was true, whether writ!
nc. n.
kgitator.
Etc,
NUMBER SIX,
Charles
y of ihe
f names
add C.
Morton,
of the
’s “Nat
t,” some
;e are en
trs rank
which of
inboddo,
sJly from
ilermine.
act, that
his posh
Charles
-11 created
that' the
ridistinct
lion was
enied by |i
eir resi-j]
of man,j
are con-||
id Bach-ji
nty of all
rom one
counting
' the hu-|
he argu-j
conclu-1
minds to
ie races. 1
:le, when ;
ibrought |
tws, and,'
ter to be |
f r except |
purpose I
d, God’s !
slablish-
i human
, and be-j
ra! laws,
circum
food, pO-;
ion &c.,i
it vane-
vane Mes
ier them
Ly all ad
hundred
;sis.shori’
■arieties.
running
irs, that
d negro
as nowj
admit.
iave hith
md what
i »en com
operation
low in a
s iaf, or 16
own view
; or they
science
r e, strong
reconcile
;ielly ad
with their
jlrong in
5 suffered
of
nd in the
intheisrp,
. religion
n. !
villing to
he literal
rst eleven
such me|n
|nd others
bever had'
[and wljo
)pi to seek
be. Arid
strong ar
s of the
on their
ry of sci-
lific geol
f geology
ird, if ta
s created
d of God,
periods,
The in-
trgumenl,
to
He science
that God’s
ten on the
| Kates of Advertising.
Advertisements will be charged SX pei square or
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cents fclr every subsequent insertion. All advertise,
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Quarterly, Half-Yearly and Yearly advertisings—
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Posters, Handbills, Bill.and Letter Heads.and all
kinds of Jobbing done in country establishments,
executed neatly and promptly. Justices', Consta
bles* and other BLANKS, constantly on hand and
printed to order.
rocksjor in the Bible—that both records har
monised ;-;arid a new and a strong argument
j was thus furnished the Christian. The two
!poinls|are similar, and I have no doubt thor
ough and scientific examination will produce
a result in Ibis last case similar to the result
in thej geological question.
I will endeavor to show in my succeeding
lepers, the evidence that meant)
1 trust it will convince you also, that mao
couldinot have had more than ooe origin,—
that the doctrine of an original creation of
distinct species is a fallacy unsupported by
scientific research,—that the varieties now
existing furnish, not only no evidence of ori
ginal {difference, but evidence to the contrary,
that ajll, from the lowest type of flat-footed,
web-fingered, thick-lipped, flat-skulled and
wooljj-haired negro, to the highest type of
intellectual Caucasian, must have sprung from
one original,—but at the same time that sci
ence {absolutely requires a longer time for
the origination of present varieties than the
; Usher chronology gives. In other wards, I
trust f shall convince you that science in this
instance, as it did in the six geological days
of creation, furnishes another evidence the t
it and revelation, when fully understood,
most isurpnzingly harmonize.
[ Truly yours, J. E.
TEACHER’S COLUMN.
j Uniformity of Text Books.
Altnost every teacher of our Common
Schools has experienced something of the
difficulties which arise ftom the want of a
uniformity of educational text books.
It is a notorious fact, that to every teacher
who yvould classify his pupils, and have them
arranged in accordance with their advance-
this liberal system is a most! serious
hindrance. In some districts you will find,
for instance, all kinds of arithmetic’s from
Dabdll, down to Davies’ latest edition. I
know of certain schools, which have in us*,
at this moment, books, from at least six differ
ent authors of arithmetic’s. Now, every one,
who! has the slightest idea, how a school
should be conducted, know full well, that
suchfa state of facts is an injustice, both to
teacher and scholar. An injustice to the
teacher, because under such a system, it is
impossible for him to have a live school.
Neither can *he classify his pupils as ha
shoufd, and of course, fails to arouse a proper
interest —everything must necessarily fail to
move off as it should, and the people of the
districts wonder why their children do not
learnj, and of course, come to the conclusion
that jhey have not much of a school.
Again, such a system, is a great and last
ing wrong to the scholars themselves. It is
uponjthem that this error falls with the great
est force. He now fails to receive the in
struction that'he should. It lakes no more
time [to explain a principle, to a class of tea
or fifteen than to a single one, and it can bo
seenfat a glance that much more lime can bo
bestowed upon a scholar by having a school
properly classified, than by having them re
cite jnngly/without any regular method of
condjuct.
And in my judgment any system of books
woutjd be far better than a part of so many,
for ajny teacher can use one book, to better
advantage than he can half a dozen, and the
only objection offered against a uniformity
is that parents cannot afford to buy a com
plete, new set of books.. Still this difficulty
can be easily obviated, and if during the
present winter we cannot put it into opera
tinn, is it not well to look a little into the fu
ture!? Let the Directors at one of their
meetings decide upon a system of books, to
go into effect at a stated future period—give
publicity to the books upon which they have
decided, so that parents, who are constantly
buying new books my purchase those select
ed hy the directors. If directors would only
go this far, it would be but a short time, be
forelwe would have a complete uniformity of
bonis, without a farthing of additioal ex
pense. J. B. N.
A Hindoo Sjroßv-. —The following would
be sacriltgtous if relating to white folks, but
as it is it will p f ass :
“tA poor Hindoo having been released from
the’fcares of this world, and from a brawling
wife, presented himself at the gales of Brah
ma’s paradise. “Have you been through
purgatory 7” asked the god. “No, but I have
beep married,” he replied, seriously. Como
in,.jthen, it’s all the same.” At this moment
arrived another man, just defunct, who
begged to go in also. “Softly I softly !
Have you been through purgatory 7” “No ;
bulrwhat of that 7 Did-you not admit, a mo
ment ago, one who had not been there any
'more than 11” “Certainly, but he had been
married.” “Married I—U’ho are you talk
ingj to 7 1 have been married twice!”' “O,
pshaw!" replied Brahma; “get away!
Paradise is not for fools !”
Shall Things.—A beautiful bov Jay dead,
and his heart broken parents were weepin**
over his cold body. Many friends gathered
ropnd wiih words of piiy. Among them was
a poor old woman who had received much
k>pdness from the family. She wiped the
tears from her withered face, and, said to the
mother—“O, ho was so good and kind.—
How few young gentlemen would havecotneT
a«[ he did last winter, in the deep snow, to
split wood for an old woman. How beauii
ful and humble he came at your bidding!”
(“It was not at my bidding,” replied the
mplher, “but at the prompting of his ovvp
noble heart, that he did that thin".”
jGod.no doubt, accepted that Tittle deed,
and the memory of the dear boy remained in
more than one lowly heart when he was laid
irt ibe dust.
For the Agitator.