of Publication. ~ rnGA COUNTY AGITATOR is pub T“ b V Thursday Morning, and mailed to sub- Jivoed erety ’ reaS oaable price of Ora Doo jjiibcrs at m • nßaT f t ily inadvance. It isintend y,perai}ou ’ 6U !i SC riber when the term for ei to. ” D aid shall have expired, by the stamp T hrch be ira p, on (iIS margin of the last paper. .-“Tine ” be stopped until a farther re- Tiic P a i’ E /_ , ece ived. By this arrangement no man pittance he « del)t [0 tlje printer, c j» he ?iTOR j 8 the Official Paper of the Coun Tut * Ol an d steadily increasing circulation ly, • , • nearly every neighborhood in the reaching 1“ sen t/ree 0/ postage to any Post-office Cookf limits, and to those living within -ilhialMt i mos t convenientpostoffice may the County. bein an>“. >^ Sl not exceeding 5 lines,paper in- FOUND SB AD! j ß! r found her dead „ „™v’p.orai n gintheopon street, cold c^« k rcsting on , the p eai, y * teet 11 iround her spread. led on her lips a quiet smile reposed, A! if in sloop. We s weary dream had closed. She slept the last, last sleep; .eal was on her brow, and she has passed. Turd aid suffering, to her home at laa^ Leaving nu friends to weep, ' 1 ones to come at sunset hours J .pinkie on her bosom trees and flowers. Vo warn i and gentle hand n.uied hers in tenderness, as in the night Che went out gently from this world of light - Into the shadowy land. tardily watcher lingered at her side joker her lasi low murmur when she died. Bat did she die alone ? ~ •. ai on c: One friend kept watch with her, ha- ten tie voice, one loving smile was near ‘ £ The desolate unknown; Out hand of mercy led her o’er Death’s foam, fato the better land, to'friends and homo. SKIPPER GEORGE’S STORY. j jorfHlXO ADVENTURE ON THE COAST OF NEW- FOUND LAND. »You tad the best lookout-in the neighhor- Ijod,” said Mr. Uebree, walking to the spot m which Skipper George had been before stand j,,, m d looking abroad from it. “This tree iiin't grow here,” said he, looking up at the nay trunk glistening in the moonlight. “ITo sir; ’twas set there,” said the fisher- ■ls it a landmark ?” “’lsiir,it may be in a manner; but not for ('ilom on those waters. ’Twas set there when riches was taken aw’y. Riches came agen, lot'mas laved, for ’e’d lamed partly how to nine riches.” He gentleman looked, as the moonlight (honed, interestedly at the speaker: “Another Sort with a lesson in it?” he said. “If it rae cot keeping you out so late, I would ask tct to do me the favor of telling it.” “Ay sir,” said Skipper George. “I said there were many lessons sent us. This one sued nearer to me again than the tother. I hope I've learned somethun by that story! hsiiennen don't heed night hours much; but its hte for you as well, sir. Mebbe ’ee’d plase litralk inside a hit?” he asked, with modest ugency. “It’s a short story, only a heavy one. ‘■Another time perhaps,” said the strange ftatlemen; “not now, if you’ll excuse me; but :i it woldn't be too much trouble I would thank you for it where we are. One hour or another is much the same to me.” At the first words of this answer Skipper George turned a look of surprise at the stranger ad when the latter had finished speaking asked. ‘■B’ce stayvm herahouts, then sir ?” Perhaps he may have thought it strange that one who looked so like a clergyman should be staying for any length of time in the neighbor hood without being better known. “I am a clergyman,” said the gentleman, frankly; “hut not of your church ; and I don't 'eel free until I’m bettor known,” Skipper George apparently wieghed the an swer. He did not urge his invitation; but his open face became clear and kindly as ever. “Then sir,” said he, “ef ’ee’d plase to he seated here, l‘d tell the story. I know it well.” Before leginniug it the fisherman casta look «his house, and then gazed awhile upon the restless waves which here glanced with the ;leam of treacherous eyes, and there were dark u death. "Du'ee mind about ten years ago in New tonndland, sir? began Skipper George, turning hs steady eyes to his hearer, and speaking as if the date or the years since the date had been ]iinftil to him; “the hard year that was when 4er had the ‘rails,’ they called ’em ?” "Vcs; though I was in JEngland at the time, I hew pretty \jell what happened in New foundland. It Was a sad time.” sir, ’twas' a sad time. Many people tn ® er ed; some [wanted food, and mote agen P ( htukea Inspirit, (and that’s bad for a man,) Kd some got lawless like. ’Twas a sad time, ’ Skipper George having lingered thus afore his tale, began it abruptly; “Well sir, J™sonthe sixteenth day of January—a Thur s twas—l was acomun down Backside from 0* Gosh, hau’ling a slide-load o’ timber, an’ youngest son wi’ me. It had abeen a fine -ij, first goun off, (fur a winter’s day,) wi’just iflurry o’ now and agen, and agen, and a deal ■ snow on the ground, lull about afternoon it ‘*£un to blow from about west and by no the, [' lacrc: -way, heavy and thick, an growun - a neran’heavier, an’bitter cold. Oh! ’twas Uet cold! We didn’ say much together, an I. but we got along so fast as ever e could. ’Twos about an hour or two before -; t, mubbe; and George says to me, ‘Let’s ■*'V e , Bather 1’ ’Twas n’ but he could i°- n w *' '*■’ though’twas tumble cold, but’twas somethun else! turned the slide out o’''the way and er . and corned on. ’Twas blowun gales ;', L,er “aotsidc; we could soa’ce keep our j 1 * 1 ' lar( i somethun like a voice—l sup ii“ii, ' f - as o’ voices—an’ I brought into the wind. ’Twas just like beun 1 manner and a craft drivin’ right 55’ ' ra ke, an would ha’ been out o’ sight j e t 'J)” tn a minute. Then I knowed by f' S rj t ‘y' tl,Tls the Minister—(we did n’ have hr,. | t ’ cr< ; ri (t gentleman of our own in they -J l‘' utc i' lvG d over in Sandy Harbor and u s ° all tound the Ba y-) We could Si =t u / t0 ° et * ier > but I was proper glad to ~v , Jr , a “mister’s comfort, ’ee know, h-j'll e sa id, ‘ls anybody out ?' ‘There’s a 1 t A r ° l ° er Hik’s orphans sir, I’m afeared, v.; i e , r ' aiuag wi’ ’em,’ I said. So e’ said, 1.,., , c P “cm !’ ‘Where are your two other Vp.’ 5 t^ ae i E and Maunsell?' ‘Along wi’ brother lij co , t said, ’twas blowun tarrible bard, „ 5 ’ and thick; an’ the Minister turned iff,” a w c corned up, ploddun through the ■i'-ttd *l D T’ and orar tlle nudge. When, we »js f oll e ™ OT . first the mother thought there rr M Us > and so she said, ‘James!’ for ftl; ti rec , En °' v ad over; but she aid there was 'he hem/*? v'* Wtts blinister wi’ us two. i';! f “is pardon, an’ told un our poor °at aguanun, an’ she was on ole punt THE AGITATOR aeboteor to tfyt ZSxttmion oe ttje of iTmOom miO tt>t SgteaQ of mefotrm. ■WHILH TREES SHALL BE A 'WRONG UNEIGHTED, AND UNTIL .'MAN’S-UnTOMANITT TO MAN" SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE. YOL. Y. they'had. We were all standun (for we didn' think d’ nawthin but the boys) when two corned into the door all white wi' snow. 'Xwas n’ they two sir, but ’twas my nevyy Jesse an’ another ‘Haven’t they corned?' ’e said. ‘Dear, what’s keepun they ?' “Jesse had abln out too, wi’ Izik Maffen and Zippity Merchant, an’ they were over to back side o’ Sandy Harbor together; on’y our poor young men were about three parts of a mile further down, mubbe. So when it corned on to blow, Jesse an’ his crew made straight-for Back- Cove an' got in, though they were weak-handed, •for one had hnrted his hand-wrist—and so in about three hours, they got round by land, an’ thought the tother poor fellows would do so well. ‘What can ns do. Uncle George?’ 'e said; for he’s a proper true-hearted man, sir, an’ ’e was a’ mos’ eiyiln. ‘First, we can pray’ said the Minister; an’ so he said a prayer, I make no doubt I was thinkun too much over the poor young fellows; and the wind made a tarriblo great bellowing down the chimney and all round the house, an’ so I was rather aw’y from it more an’ I ought. Then the Minister an’ Jesse an’ I started out. My mistress didn’ want me to go; bnt I conldn’ hide; an’ so, afore we’d made much w’y up harbor agen the wind, an’growinn dark, (though twasn’ snownn,) we met a man comuu from tother side, Abram Frank, An’ ’e said last that was seen of our four was, they were pullun in for Hobbi’s Hole, an’ then somethun seemed to give way like, wi’ one of ’em rowun, an* then they gave over and put her aw’y before the wind, an’ so as long as they could see anything of ’em, one was standun up sculling astarn. (That was my James sir!”) A very long, gently-breathed sigh here made itself heard in the deep hush, and as Mr. De bree turned he saw the sweet face of Skipper George’s daughter turned up to the father, with tears swimming in both eyes and glisten ing on her cheek. She had come up behind, and now possessed herself quietly of her father’s hand. “So we turned back, un’ the Minister wi’ us, (’twas a cruel night to be out in) an’ the wind a’mos* took an’ lifted us, an’ sot us down by the foot o’ the the path over the rudge; hut when we got atop here and it corned athwart, it brought us all down kncelnn, and we could sca’ee get over to the door. The poor mother got up from the cbimley-corner and came for"ard, but she needn’ ask any thin; an’ there was a pretty young thing by the fire, (this girl was a little thing asleep, but there was a pretty young thing there) that never got up nor looked round; ’twas Milley Ecssle, that was troth plight to James. They was to have been mar ried in a week, ef the Lord willed; bed ’twas for ’e’e house we were drawun out an timber. She just rocked herself on the bench. She’s gone, long enough ago, now sir! “So the Minister took the Book and read a , bit. I heard un an’ I didn’t hear un ; for I was aw’y ont upon the stormy waters wi’ the poor young men. Oh, what a night it was t , it’s no use ! blownn and bellovrun an’ freezun,' an’ ice all along shore to leeward! “Well, then sir, about two hours o’ night, there corned a lull, and then there was a push or shake at the door, an’ another —an’ another —an’ another —(so it was we all thought,) and then the door hanged open. ’Twas nawthing but cold blasts corned in, an’ then a lull agen for a second or two. Sol shut" the door; an’ the poor mother broke out acryun’, an’ poor Milley fell over, and slipped right down upon the hearthstone. We had a heavy time of it that night sir; but when the door banged open that time, this child, that was a little thing then, lyun upon the bench sleepnn, made a ■ soart of gurgle like, when the first sound corned to the door, and when the flaws o’ wind corned in she smiled, and smiled agen, and laughed, as ef a body m’y be sayun pooty things to her in d’ytimeJ Jesse sid it, an’ plucked me by the coat-sleeve, and I sid it too. Well sir, night passed: 'ce may be sure we didn’ sleep much, on’y cat naps; and once or twice I failed into a kind of dwall, an’ started, thinkun they was speakuu to me. Mornun corned slow and cold, colder than night. So the neighbors corned in at mom un, and sat by ; and now an’ agen one ’ould say they were fine young men; an’ after a bit another ’d say James was a brave heart, and how he saved* a boat’s crew three years ago, scullen them into Bay Harbor ; an’ so they said how he begun to teach in Sunday-School Sunday before; an’ how brave ’e was; when they sid the last of uh scullun aw’y round the point and over the h’y, for t’other side, or for Belle Isle, or some place to leeward. So they said James 'ould take ’em safe, plase God, an’ we’d hear of ’em some place over the b’y in a d’y or two. Then they said they wondered ef the young men could keep from freezun their hands, an’ said mubbe they wouldn' git touched, for they was all well clothed, an’ James ’ould keep up their spirits, an’ brother Izik’e little George was a merry boy' an’ great play-game for the rest; an’ my Maunsell an’ 'e’es tother cousin John, were steady young men, an’ wouldn’ given up very i easy ; but they were both quiet, and looked up to James, though John was good hit older. ‘‘Wall sir, the day went on, cold, cold, cold, an’ blowun heavy an’ the water black an’ white, wi' while shores, an' an' slob-ice all along; an' more agen, an’ heavier, to leeward, sartenly. We could n’ stir band or foot that day, nor next; hat the Lord’s day came in a softer, an’ we got a good crew an’ a stout punt to sarch for the four poor boys that had been three days a missun, and old Mr. "Williamson, the clerk that is now sir, made a prayer over us before we laved. When we came to put off, they, left me standun ; I make no doubt but Jesse maned to spare me ; but I called un hack for I said, why should I be settun we’ my hands folded, or walking about, looking out over the water, and I may just so well be doun somethun like a father for my sons an’for my brother’s or phans? “We made for Broad Cove; for so we thought the wind ha’ driven the poor young fellows a- Thursday; hut we couldn’-get into Broad Cove, for the slob an’ cakes of ice. The shore looked tarrible cruel 1” Skipper Qeorge sat thoughtful a moment, and then began again. "At Port’gal Cove” he continued, looking over the water, “they did n’ know about e'er a WELLSBORO, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY HORNING. JANUARY 20, 1859. punt, an' no more they did n’ at Broad Cove, nor Holly-Rood; for we staid three days, an’ walked an’ searched all over. An’ so a Thurs day morn agen we corned back home; ’twas cold, but still. So when we corned round Pe terpont Point, (that’s it over at the oatside o’ Blazan Head yonder) every man, almost looked over his shoulder, thinkun mubbe they’d got in; but ’twas n’ so. They hand n’ come, nor they hadn’ been hard from. So my mistress, an’ Hilly, an’ George, an’ I, an’ this maid kneeled down after I’d told ’em how twas, and prayed to the good Lord. “An’ so we waited, an’ did n’ hear from the four poor boys, not for a good many days 1” Skipper George stopped here again for a while. “Awell, sir. then there oomed word over, that some men had abin found at Broad Cove t It -was n’ known who they were; but we knowed. So they got Mr. Werner’s boat, an’ a crew of ’em went round, an’ Skipper ’Enery Bessie, and Skipper Izik Resale (that was Hilly’s father) an’ Skipper Izik Marchant, (’e was n’ Skipper then, however,) but a many friends goes in her —I oonld u’ go that time, sir. “ ’Twas about sun-goun-down, she corned in. Never a word nor a'sound! She looked black seemunly; an’ no colors nor flag. ’Twas they! Sure enough, ’twas they! ■ “A man had sid a punt all covered wi’ ice] an’ hauled her up; an’ when he corned to clear away the ice, there was a man, seemunly, in the for*axd part 1 He called the neighbors, an’, sure enough, there 'e was, an’ another one, along wi’ un; an’ both seemunly a-kneelun an’ leanun over the for’ard th'art. They were the two brothers, John an’ little George, frozen stiff, an’ two arms looked together! They died pr’yun, sir, most likely ; so it seemed. They was good lads, sir, an’ they knowed their God! “So, then, they thought there was n’ no more ” ' The fisherman here made a longer pause, and getting up from hia seat, said “I'll be back, after a bit sir; ” and walking away from Mr. Debree and his daughter, stood for a little while with his back toward them and his head bare. The maiden bent her gentle face upon her knee within her two hands. The moonlight glossed her rich black hair, glanced from her white cap, and gave grace to her bended neck. At the first motion of her father to turn about, she rose to her feet and awaited him. Upon him too—on his head, bared of its hair, above, on his broad, manly front, and on his steady eye—the moonlight fell beautifully. Mr. De btee rose, also, to wait for him. Skipper George came back and took up Iris broken story. “Bumbye, sir, when they corned to the af terpart of the boat, there they found a young man lyun in the storn-sheets, wi’ no coat’ an' his—an’ his—his poor, lovun arm under ‘is brother’s neck; —an’ the tother had the jacket rolled up for a pillow under his head, an' I suppose ’e died there, sleepun upon the jacket, that ‘is brother rolled up for un." The voice of the father was very tender and touching; but he did not give way to tears. “So, sir, that young man had done ‘is part, and sculled ’em safe right along wi' the terrible cruel gale, aw’y over a twenty miles or more, to a safe cove, an’ his hand-wristes were all worn aw’y wi’ workun at the oar; but ’e never thought of a cruel gate of ice right afore the cove; an’ so we made no doubt when ’e found that, in dark night, and, found’e could u’ get through, nor’e could n’ walk over, thcu’e gave bisself up to his God, an’ laid down, an’ put his tired arm round his brother; an’ so there they were, sir, in short after that, (it couldn’ ha, been long,) there was four dead men in their boat, awaitun, outside o’ Broad Cove, full some one ‘Quid come an’ take their poor bodies, an’ strip aw’y the ice from ‘em an' put 'em in the ground, that comes more nat’ral, in a manner, sir! “ —They did n’find e’er lan oar—whatever becomed of 'em but they found their poor guns, an’ the two orphans had their names cut ‘John Barbury,’ George Barbury an’ one of ’em had ‘Pet— ’ ’for Peterport, an’ couldn’ cut no more, for cold an’death. “There was three guns cut; an' one had ‘James Barh—that poor Maunsell must ha’ cut, poor fellow, afore the deadly cold killed un. So the kind people that found the poor boys, they thought James was a respectable young man, an’ when they come to lay 'em out, in the school house, (they were proper kind, sir,) they put a ruffle-shirt on him, o’linen. “So, sir, the Minister corned over an’ buried the dead. Four coffins were laid along the aisle, wi’ a white sheet over every one, because we had n’ palls; James, an’ Maunsell, of George of Izik; an’ we put two brothers in on grave, an' two brothers in another, side, by side, an’ covered them! “There was two thousand at the funeral; an’ when the Minister conldn’ help cryun, so I think a most every one cried, as ef’twas their own; an, so we heard that people that lived on Kelley’s Island hard singun goun by in the dark, like chantun we haves in church. They said ’twas beautiful, oommun up an’ dyun aw’y an’ so, goun aw’y wi’ the wind. It’s very, like, sir ; as Paul an' Silas sang in prison, so they sang in storm 1 “Then Milly, poor thing, that never goed back to ‘er father’s house, took a cold at the funeral, seemnnly, an’ she died in James’ bed a three weeks after! She was out of her mind, too, poor thing!” “After another silence, in which Skipper George gazed upon the restles deep, he said. “I brought home wi’ me the best stick from the timber, and laved the rest, an’ no one ever touched it, an’ there it staid. So next winter sir, my tother poor young man died, in the woods, o’ masles; (thank God 1 we. never had to move in still I lost my fine boys,) an’ the next sixteen day ef January I set up my pillar, as Jacob set his pillar, an’ this is ,my pillar, sir. I said the Lord gived, an’ the Lord have took away; Blessed be'the name of the Lord. All the riches I had I thought ’twas gone." “Yon said riches came again," said Mr. Bebrce, deeply interested and affected. “Ay sir. My maid is gone back to the house. I can’ tell 'eo what she is, sir. There's plenty in the harbor will speak o’ Lucy Bar- bury, sir. I hope ’ee’U excuse me for keepin ’ee so late.” “I thank you, with all my heart, for that beautiful story,” said Mr. Depree, shaking the fisherman’s hand. -“Good night, Skipper George! You -have learned a lesson, indeed, and with God’s grace, it shall do me good.— It’s a noble lesson!” . “The Lord showed me where to find it in my Bible and my Pr’yer book, sir. I wish 'ee a good evenun sir." For the Agitator. SPIRIT STRIVINGS. SIN’CE life’s bright shining flieth. ‘ As a gleam when daylight dieth, And its thrills exhaust their power Ere they hallow on© short hour; Since the spirit hath a measure, -•Deep and large, for untold pleasure. And its longings seem for Heaven, 'Where meet joys alone are given; Since on earth all ties dissever. And, thongh plighted, break forever; While the heart, of hope unheeding. Is neglected, lone and bleeding; Since the wing of mystic fleetnoss Wafts from 1 earth all earth-born sweetness. And the throbs of life and feeling It is fast and faster stealing: ,Oh environed, wildcred spirit! Would thou aught of earth inherit? Then, no longer captive driven, Turn thou hence!—thy home is Heaven. Charlatan, Pcu Meeta Melquovk, COMMUNICATIONS. For the Agitator. Familiar Letters on Geology, Etc. KUMBER EIGHT. Dear Mart ; The infinite variety of hnmnn face and form isi seen everywhere, hut yet each as a general thing, by certain peculiarities which enable yon to refer it to a particular class, or variety. If you go out on the plantations of the South you see almost as much variety of feature as you do at the North, but there are certain characteristics that are common to all, by which you class them all as the Negro race. Those same varieties of the Negro race are permanent varieties, belonging to them in their native land, —not family varie ties, but varieties belonging to particular loca tions, or nations. I once heard a man who was familiar with the African race, say that he oonld give the African locality of the forefath ers ; of any pure, unmixed African by barely seeing him, even if those forefathers had been brought from their native land six generations past. I have no doubt of the truth of his state ment, for he had been familiar with the coast, and knew something of the slave trade. In deed we have ocular demonstration here at the North of those permanent varieties. It is sta ted that the pure-blooded descendants of the first flacks of New England have hardly un dergone any perceptible change, and that this variety of African races can be seen there now as plainly as it could in the beginning. Ton can all over our country pick out from the mass of population, among the descendants of the first European immigrants, the English, the French, the Irish, Scotch and the German; they retain still when not intermarried with other varieties, the fatherland features and form. No later than about seven hundred years af ter the flood, taking the Usher Chronology, there was on the borders of Egypt a nation of pure Negroes having the same features as now ; and we find on Egyptian monuments three thou sand fire hundred years old, representations of a people with features like the Caucasian. If more than three thousand years has made no perceptible change in these features, is it likely that seven hundred years would have changed a race so as to manifest such extreme differ ence as then and now exists between the Negro and Caucasian ?, The Jewish race has not per ceptibly changed since they came up out of Egypt,, more than three thousand three hundred years ago. More than seventeen hundred years ago a colony of Jews settled on the Malabar coast, near ten degrees of north latitude, and yet Dr. Buchanan in his Asiatic Eesearches, stated that they were perfectly Caucasian still, in all their features. Can it be possible that the entire race of woolly-headed Negroes have changed from the white race in so short' a time as four thousand years, or which is far more improbable, in seven hundred years 1 Did the Malays, the Polynes ians, the Australians, the Terra del Fuegians, the Aleutians, the Mongolians, the red Ameri cans, and the Negroes, four thousand years ago, exist as one family of three brothers, children of one father, and all of one complexion, or must wo go still farther back to find this com mon brotherhood ? May we not without doing any violence to the Scriptural account of man’s origin, go back into the almost infinite, certain ly into the unknown past, to find that period of a common brotherhood, and a common parent age ?' Yea, does not ail science crowd us back, perhaps thousands of centuries to the cradle of our existence ?—to the time perhaps when the Pacific was a Continent, and Asia submerged ? —do that time when by the action of the earth upon its axis, the cooling continent formed a band around the earth on each side th|e equator, and man was created to dwell beneath the fierce heat of a vertical sun ?—are we not lost in the mazes of the past when we look back and en deavor to Trace man backwards to the time when God said, “Let us make man in our own image, after our likeness ?” , Another argument in favor of the great an tiquity of man may be drawn from the radical dissimilarity of languages. I know that it will be contended that at the building of the Tower of Babel, when man was dispersed, the langua ges became essentially different. Admitting all that the most radical literalist may contend for, I think that no man will contend that this “confounding of languages at Babel” will ac count for all the differences. If any such there are, I hog leave to say I have no controversy with them, for they are not among those that reason. In a few hundred years I know that words, and languages change, but they retain a similarity to the original. The French, Ital ian and Spanish' are derived mostly from the o)d Latin, and though now very different in many of their features, yet a good Latin schol ar -with a very little practice, can read th;em all: Sol, the snn in Latin, remains sol in Spanish, and becomes solid in French. But in' Greek sun is helios; among the different tribes of New Guinea, it is respectively djanw, orohengeroe, and rera ; on the Arru Islands adjaeent.to New Guinea it is fatal; on the Andaman Islands, whay; among the tribes of Australia it is re spectively, motcan , mays, muri and manily; among the Huaslecaa of Mexico it was a i/utcha; among the Mayas of Yucatan, kin ; \ amjong the Poconchis, kih ; with the Chords, eyeh ; with the Otomis, hiadi; in Mexico proper; iomaXiuh; among the Caribs it is weyu; among the Mor ans, ya ; among the Arawaks it h'adaili; in the old Saxon it is sunna; Gothic, j sonni; German, sonne; Dutch, zoti ; Sanscrit,|s«7iai; Danish, soen; Sclavonic, some; Melcb, tan; Irish, teine. I hr -iave token this one object to whiohjaname must necessarily have been given by all when first looking out upon nature, and which was and is every day the most patent object to the sight, to show the extreme dissimilarity among nations and tribes most remotely related, and. the most manifest similarity in nations and tribes more nearly related, though by ties that were severed thousands of years ago. I might take a thousand other words, and pursue them through the innumerable languages and dia lects now existing with the same result You will observe that the word for sun in the English, Saxon, Gothic, German, Dutch, Dan ish, Sclavonic, Welch and Irish are nearly identical, and show that they came from the same original root; all evidently derived from the ancient Sanscrit, from which it is hardly changed in a period of upwards of three thou sand years. The Italian, Spanish and French, through the Latin, show a relationship to the Sanscrit and cognate words, still morei remote however, but the Greek word for sun bjears not the most distant resemblance. j Among the different tribes of Australia you perceive a relationship but no similarity to the word for sun in the adjacent Arm, and Anda man Islands. Among the tribes of New Guin ea, they have among most of the tribes different words, and different too from their neighbors on the adjacent Islands, jlf you come to the Continent of America, we shall find j among the tribes of both North and South- America the same total dissimilarity among j many, and among others a similarity showing ■; that they are related tribes. j What I have cited above is hut a small part of this vast dissimilarity in the name of the ob-j jeot most prominent to man. lias it all re suit ed in the short space of four thousand years! 1 Among all the nations whose languages have j come down from the ancient Sanscrit it is near ly the same. Over the vast continent; of New, Holland, nearly all the various tribes use the same word. If the Andaman Islanders, and' the Arm Islanders, the Papuans, the AustraJ Hans, the aborigines of the American cohtinentsj the Gothic, and the cognate nations only four thousand years ago looked upon the i'sun and called it by the same name, why, have they all now different names ? and why has there been such a total change among some, and yet among another larger class of nations, no change for the last three thousand years. Others may reconcile it with the fact that four thousand years ago all the dwellers upon earth spoke the same language. I can not. , J [X see Mr. Cobb has headed these cpmmuni- leu cations, “Familiar Letters on Geology” I will endeavor in the two or three more that I may write to make them such. I . Yours truly, ; J. E. i Tot the Agitator, leaves By the Wayside. ‘l'm monstrous glad to see you, Miss Beards ley ! not that I’ve been alone all day—Jane Jenks has been here the heft of the day; but you see I don’t feel much edified by Aer convei:- sation. She spends most of her time lament ing over the sorrow and gloom of this habitable globe and the gossipping propensities of her neighbors. ‘I am well convinced that life is chock full of trouble ; but the best way to do when, the dark clouds come is to grin and bear it. That’s the way I allers do, though I feel awful all the time I’m in tribulation. i I ‘Grin and bear it’ don’t seem to you a very elegant expression. According to my mind it expresses just the idea of a person drying to smile, when ‘grief sits heavy on the heart.’ ‘After all, Miss Beardsley, life is . good and the world is nice, wonderful! The folks are all to blame for the bad. Some let their minds run to fine clothes, parties and popularity. ‘Now I love to see a person well dressed, if they cati afford it, and ‘well-dressed’ has many meanings, I can tell you. But, as I was saying, I like to see the bouse that the soul occupies well kept; just as I love to see the house that the body lives in, kept clean and nice; for no pure, bright spirit will have either out of order. ‘Then, what does one gain by minding folks say about them ? Those who love us will speak well of us. That’s enough —for love cov ers a multitude of faults. If we go hunting up what is said of us we shall find that we are not ourselves, but somebody else—act the goose perhaps, by asking an introduction to our talk ed-about, other self. i ■ ‘lt isn’t best to believe all we hear. Miss Beardsley. People may think they read you right and know as little of our true characters ns we do of the man in the Moon—at whom I have looked, talked and sung ever since I was born. And now, when it seems as if we ought to be pretty well acquainted, I don’t know much about him. I could surmise a'good deal. ‘What have T been reading lately ?. I don’t get time to read much. Sometimes I read the Ledger. I like it—it’s so preclusive— don’t ad mit scribblers who haven’t raised a dust to put out people’s eyes and writ their names in capi tal letters, way upon the highest pillar of fame. ‘There’s Fanny Fern; she tells Bonner not to blush at the pretty things she says of him ; she doesn’t intend to. She needn’t to worry about it, I guess. He is past blushing. Won der if he don’t think Queen Victoria and Euge '.nia are fighting over him for second choice ? ‘See howl astonish ’em!’ says he; .‘don’t I do it up brownj thongh? Ain’tl this Napoleon Rates of Advertising. Advertisements will be charged 81 per square of fourteen lines, for one, or three insertions, and 35 cents for every subsequent insertion. All advertise, menu of : less than fourteen lines considered as a sqaaie. The following rates will be charged lor Quartet!;, Half-Yearly and Yearly advertising;—. 1-1 3 months. 6 months. 13 too's (l4 lines,) - $3 50 84 50 86 00 2 Squares,. - ...4 00 600 800 i column, ... . 10 00(1 16 00 20 00 column, ISQOI, 30 00 40 00 j All advertisements not having the another of in sertions marked npon them, will be kept in nnlil or dered out,and charged accordingly. j 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 printed to order. NO. (25. of the blood-and-thunder Press ? Ain’t I pop ular, though, and didn’t 1 bring down the uni versal Yankee Nation with thatslo,ooo shot? Don’t Edward Everett and the ‘indefatigable Bonner; (and that's me) go up the ladder of im mortality together after this !’ Of course I on ly surmise that Mr. Bonner soys bo. Miss Beards ley. > ‘Then what a time I have keeping other pa pers from stealing my stories—just as Satan, once oh a time, tried to steal some of the good ies of Eden!’—[says Mr. Bonner.] j ‘Good gracious! if there isn’t Peter Snips 1 1 wondjerffhe remembers Mary Dayton I They .sot a storehy each other, hut the women found it out, and then didn’t Mary’s character get in vestigated ? They found that she was lazy and a flirt, besides being no better than she should be. They worried awfully about Peter, lest ha ehouldmarry Mary and never know the luxury of shirt buttons and stocking-heels again, i ‘What become of- Maty ? Well, I don’t ex actly know. There was real grit in that girL The last time I saw her she read to me tbs Goblet of Life, by Longlegs Longfellow.' i ‘How critical you are to-day. Miss Beardsley. ‘How do I like our new minister? Pretty well, thank you. He prays well, sings well and belabors the sinners terribly. I do wish the sinners would go to hear him. You do! ‘WdU, I hope you don’t think any of those hesilked, beribboned and dainty-gloved people who sit on the nice cushions and hear the gos pel preached month in and month out, year in and year out, —I hope you don’t think them to be sinners, Miss Beardsley! j ‘No—the sinners live otberwheres, the sin ners., [■ Go to dirty, dark rooms, where the fa ther is a drunkard and the mother a pale, wea ry creature surrounded with pretty babies—so ■pretty, if the little dears could be scrubbed I And they would be scrubbed, too, if the moth er weren't overworked, poor thing! she has no strength to do what her mother’s heart so aches to do; ‘Then .there are some specifiers of Humanity, who feel and know that rich people, intelligent people, and people who stand with the Respect ables; (whether they deserve to or not) do not care a fig for them—only to call them name s I ‘Aid, Miss Beardsley, does anybody try to do them good ? Rven some of our ministers pass (by on the other side, looting first at their sbinj boots, then at the muddy brogans of tbs miserable sinners, then cry out—‘Repent, ya ‘children of the devil!’—then turn with radiant countenances to take Old Moneybags by tbs hand 1 . They keep the sunshine for the bright places, and the gloom for the dark places, Miss Beardsley. Some of them, I mean. ‘Though clad in rags and despised, are tha poor jnot as sensitive to frowns, to unkind words and neglect as the rich ? He is nothing—no body! 1 So he grows callous and mutters, *1 don't care!’ ‘And. the papers bring us news of another murder, theft, burglary, op suicide ! and wo all' hold!up our hands-and say ‘how dreadful wich cdl’i “'Sou are not going ? Stay to supper. i Sea howjbrightly the sun glances over my tea'-table, as it lingering to partake of its goodies. So—* he is gone, he has been faithful all the day. ‘And if we work faithfully during our day; if wa live rightly, we may depart as calmly as the sunshine.’ IiiWttEXCEVULE, Pa. Splendid Churches.— “ What do they do t Nurture pride, cherish alienations, exclude the poor, and-prejudice the masses. There should Ijo always good taste and arrangements for qomfort; exclude meanness and parsimony ; but things should be so, that the poor and rich should meet together in true Christian 'fellow ship" • j - Christ preached the gospel to the poor, espe cially to the poor. He came among them poor; He-died in poverty. Blessed be God it is an horior to be poor—to live and die so, because Jesus has made the condition honorable by his life! and death. The first speech he made in the synagogue at Nazareth was: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me because he hath anuointed me;to preach the Gospel to the poor; he bath sent me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised." What a message!—what an ap propriate opening speech to make! Can the anpals of antiquity furnish tho productions of anj oratory so sublime 1 ‘‘Boys and girls still learn to read and write, and knit and cypher, which are all very well; but it is more important that children should understand the law of digestion than it is that they should understand the Kule of Three. It is more important that a girl should understand the structure' of her lungs, the properties of air, and the necessities of exercise therein, than that she should understand painting and music, important as they may be. There are ajthousand girls who know how to paint roses on rice paper, where there is one who knows how to paint the roses on her own cheeks, vyhere they surely are more handsome. i The Tekpsichorean- Nausea. — Col. 8., of Montreal, formerly of the Essex county militia, if good-looking, and a famous dancer—patron ises all the country halls, and adores the rosy- Cheeked, unsophisticated country girls. At a late'ball, on the frontier, so one who was pre sent says, the gallant Colonel approached a blushing damsel,'and asked her to waltz, when she replied:—“No, I thank you; I don’t like to waltz, it makes mo puke.” The Colonel 'wilted and retreated. An honest son of Erin, green from his pere grinations, put his head into a lawyers office ;and asked the inmate— \ “An’ what do*you sell here 7” “Blockheads,” replied the limb of the law. . “Och, thin, to be sure,” said Pat, “it must be a good trade, for I see there is but one of them left.” Tost Brown- says, “a woman may learn one useful doctrine from backgammon, which is, not to take up her man till she’s >ui* of him. Aaxi3.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers