Terms of Publication. THE TIOGA COUNTY AGITATOE ia published jmrsdiiy Morning, and mailed to eabsnibera S «ry teasonable price of pg. ONE DOLLAR PER ANNUM, , r!ahh i» advance. It ia intended to notify every lao-riber when the term for which he has paid shall Tejpired, by the stamp—“ Tim Out," on the mar • 0 f the lost paper. The paper will then be stopped S®., a farther remittance be received. By this ar gemcnt no man can bo brought in debt to the ' tr nE agitator Is the Official Paper of the Coanty* A a large and steadily increasing- circulation reaoh vwinto every neighborhood.in the County. Itla sent ■ e cfyoit a ge to any Post Office within the county {llii b ut wbosß moBt convenient post office may be •gaaadjoining County. Business Cards, not exceeding 5 lines, paper indn- M & P eryear ’ From the New York Evening Post. A DECEMBER VISION. Close the shutters—draw the curtains—'tis a chill De cember night ; All day long tb© misty fringes on the hill have pained my sight. * All daylong with slnHngspirits, sitting by my window seat, I have listened to the moaning of the south wind, and the beat Of rain upon the window, to the sighing of the fire, ICMIe the muse, impatient, idled with a silent, tuneless lyre. Often, la the solemn pauses of the winter-threat*rung storm, I beheld the visioned rammer, balmy, mellow-tinted, * warm; I beheld a glowing picture of the ever-blessed June, . XbA the florsy-dewisasrsthalmg underneath the rising moon: I beheld a fringe of purple trailing down the western sky, Till it touched the fair horizon, where the twilight shadows lie. Overhead the sky was cloudless, save a filmy haze that lay Like a veil upon the forehead of the stiffening corse of Pay; One by one the starry legions into constellations wheeled, Xill the anna of Heaven were blazoned grandly .on an store field. faded all. A wintry pallor overspread the .starry plain! June, the blue eyed, sad and weeping, fled before the winter rain— fled, affrighted by December and the south wind’s sad refrain. WtlUboro’, Pa. December 5. Ben Johnson’s Description of a Waltz. When ire got to the place, vre found a great large room, os big as a meetin’ house—lighted up with smashin' big lamps, covered all over till, glass hangings. The ladies looked as nice as little angels, their faces as white as if they had been dipped in a flour barrel; such red cheeks I hadn’t seen in all Sleepy Hollow; their arms all covered with gold hands, chains, and shiny beads; such lips yon never see—they looked “come and kiss me” all over; their eyes looked like diamonds; their waists drawn to live size of a pipe stem, and made to look like they were undergoing a regular catting in Rto operation, by tyin’ a string around their bosoms—o Lordy—all covered up in laces and muslins; then rose .again, like. Oh! I don’t know whnt it was like, exceptin’ the breathin’ of a snowywhite goose chucked in a tight-bag, with its breast just out! After the gals and youngsters had walked round and round for a considerable spell, the music struck—and such music! It was a big horn and a little horn, a big Ante and a little flute, a big fiddle and a little fiddle, and such squeakin', squaW, bellowin', groanin', I never heard before; it was like all the cats, pigs and frogs in Christendom had concluded to sing to gether. They call it a German Poker. I’spose it was made by some of them Cincinnati Ger mans, in imitation of the gqualin’ at a pork paekery, and I guess it was a pretty good imi tation. .So soon as the music struck up—suck a sight.' the fellows caught the gals right round tho waist with one hand, and pulled them right smack up in kissin’ order, with the gals bosoms again their bosoms, and the gals' chins restin' cn the fellers’ shoulders. At this the gals be gan to sorter jump and caper like they agoing V)push them away; butthe fellers just caught hold of the other! hand and held it off, and be- S™ to jump and caper too, just like the other gals. 1 swon upon a stock of almanecks, you never soei such a sight in all your born days I There vote some two dozen gals held tight in the anasofthem fellows—they ararin’ and jumpin’ anipushin’ ’em backwards over the room, (as t thought tryin' to getaway from them,)-and “® fel 'ers holdin’ on ’em tighter, and they “taecied the gals, till at last I begun to think me thing was being carried to far .for fun. I v“ n little green in these matters ;■/ and seein’ gals tryin’ harder and harder to get away, “ I thought, and the fellers holdin’ tighter and ‘guter, it was very natural that I should take B™part So my dander kept risin’ higher n . “6™r, till I thought my biler would bust some steam. I bounced right ■ ? m '^' e of the room. “Thunder and dr i, ln^ ' erer yl)ody come herewith shotguns, tk,t 00^ rs an d home knives!” bawled lat (id iT , , ra l To ' ce » “f° r I’H he shot if any on ■ i 3515 1 ’ ' on S'hearded fellows shall impose Eoio’ 1 ij ■ an J w herelam!” and was just a , , P : ' tc h ' n to ’em promiscuously, when my “‘ta,. n ? au § llt .me by the arm, and said, so? th en '' . he cussed,” says I, “if I’ll tlem V'n mm ' m imposed on 1 Look what ftTm’ j TS . are and how the gals are too t, ln * F'tohin’ to get away from ’em 1 Do Ke tl f f C can stan( l still as a mile post and j a s saffer so ? Look I” says I, “there’s tint broken down, ready to give up to so fc: n( I ? otaD S °f a feller 1 Yonder is another w rh T ead has fallen on the bosom of the t'-vj . r ' I tell you I was ashy; I felt like I feta* ' D *° * lem hhe a catamount into a tiou»if } into my merchant’s face, I ioiu»A , e ' wou ld have busted. He lafl, and and laft. il« rC( j‘ ’ 6a Js he, “Ben, that is nothing hut |s!s s ; c . ar yaltz they are dancin’, and them they ar „ ,1 * n g to get away from them fellers; ’as tfJj i' Ca P er m’ to make the fellers hold p!s c ® et ’ Imse they like it. The more the is („ n e f’, e tighter they wish to be squeezed. 4jf, f I' n their heads on the fellers’ bosoms, lj b; cornmotl in this city. They expect 15 te ac Bome these days, and they want cu ®tomed to it, so they won’t be"; a 4; tUrn m’ pale, when the parson tells jit ™ B alute the bride. There is nothin’ “You Usc4 such things.” V“f v my hat,” says I to my mer ‘‘totgi! jj tuck ha that time, I tell you, Hire, i if 8 “ e hrst time I ever seed the like u 6» the tK ? u * * y° u red -war waltz Bttj ' wown but of everything I ever THE AGITATOR YOL. Y; After I had got out of the way and every thing commenced goin’ on again, the mnaie got faster and fester—oh, it was as fast and furions as a nor 1 wester I The gals rated again, the fellows, hugged tighter, and the music makers puffed out a Mowin’. Then the gals and fellers hugged tighter, and spun round like so many tops run mad. The felJew leaned back, and the gals’ fine frocks sailed out and popped into. the air like o» a windy day, the fellers’ coat tails stood outso straight that an egg would not have trolled off; their faces were fixed and as serious as a strment. Around they went; it makes me diiay to think of it. Pop went the coat tails, crash went the music, and pitty-patty, rum dumhle-de-tfaump went the feet of all. By and by, as beautiful a craft as ever you seed in the shape of a woman, laying close up to a long, bean-pole looking feller, came sailing at the rate of fifteen an hour down our way, whilst a fat, dumpy woman and a hump-shouldered beef eatin’ sort of a feller at the same speed went up the other. I seed there was to be some bumpin’, and I naturally trembled for the consequences. Sure enough—caswhallop, they came together, and slapdash the whole of them fell flat right in the middle of the room, carrying along with them everything standing near. Such a mirin’ up of things as then occurred, hain’t occurred before or since old Nosh un loaded his great ark. There was legs and arms, white kids and pcnellas, patent leather and satin gaiters, shoe strings and garters, neck ribbons and guard chains, false curls and whisk ers, women’s bustles and pocket handkerchiefs —all in a pile—the gals kickin’ and squallin’ and the fellers gruntin’ and apologisin’. “Oh, Lordy,” says I—for I was considerably frustrated at the sight—“stop that music, blow out the lights, or all hands shut their eyes until the women folks get unmixed." At this, such a laugh as you never heard. , “Why, Col. Johnson,” says 'my merchant, “that is nothiog. It frequently happens, and is one of the advantages of the red war waltz. If the girls hain’t learned to mix with the world, how can they ever expect to get along ?” “I would rather have ’em mixed a little,” says I; “but that is too much of a good thing. However, let us leave, we’ve seed enough of the sorry in that pile to satisfy me for a week and at that we bid ’em good night, and left; promising to go to the next one, and take a few lessons in the common Polka and Scottish dance. How I came out, may be I may tell you in another letter. Bex Johxswg, or Sleepy Hoi low. M. H. C. CProm tlio Chicago Journal.] A Grain Speculator tells his Experience. Generally speaking, wheat is a very good grain. It shows well in the field and in statis tical reports; it looks well in stacks and in the granaries ; and when well ground, methodical ly kneaded, judiciously baked, and properly browned and buttered into toast, there is no one who will speak more respectfully, not to say enthusiastically, of the vegetable than I will. For I am in the main, a man too well bred to do otherwise. But, as an article of commerce, a medium for speculation, I am em phatically down on the whole institution—Loth ‘Winter’ and ‘Spring;’ the one has proved the ‘winter of my discontent,’ while the other has ‘sprung’ a trap on me like that projected over unwary birds which nibble at the same bait.— These remarks may seem severe, but they drop as naturally from me as the kernels would from a head of wheat that has been well thrashed. As everybody knows, I am ‘the son of poor but respectable parents.’ I started in life with this talismanic maxim for money making: Buy when every one is selling; sell when every one is buying, Well, some few weeks since, wheat, which had been very buoyant, suddenly fell.—- Every one was selling. I bad a little money, and, confiding in my golden rule, ‘pitched in,’ and bought at ‘eighty-five/ Very soon the sta ple commodity dropped to ‘sixty-eight.’ Ifow, thought I, is the tjme to get a ‘marginso mortgaging the first lot, I bought more. And I’ll venture to say that my old mother never prayed so devoutly for her bread to rise, as I did my wheat. But still it dropped! The fault, they said, was in the East—(excuse the pun, if the pun is obvious;) until, as it still kept dropping, I thought it my duty to go into Chicago and put a stop to it. The first greet ing that met me as I stepped into the Tremont, was a telegram on the bulletin board—" Wheat, is flat.’ Wheat probably was flat enough, but this announcement struck me as being rather a sharp truth. At half past eleven o’clock I went down on ‘’Change.’ It is perhaps need less to say that I fonnd things materially changed since 1 had bought. ‘Buyers’ were offering ‘fifty-five;’ everybody appeared to be buying; therefore, following out my aphorism, I sold. The result may be summed up thus ; Two months since I had money and no wheat; subsequently, I had wheat and no money.— Koto, by the mass I have neither 1 The second lot was a poor lot—as poor, in fact, as the sec ond edition of Pharaoh’s tine, since it swal lowed the first. Bat I thought to make a mar gin, and I made it! I think most operators will concur with me in the following conclusion: That to buy at ‘eighty-five’ and sell at ‘fifty five’ will not pay, unless a man does a very large business. That wheat, when it begins to fall, is a long while in reaching the That when it once begins to heat, it very soon becomes too hot to hold. That, after all, the surest way to make money in wheat is to plant it in good soil. And lastly, that a man going into the wheat market with even a very small capital, if he is industrious and perseveres, may very soon succeed in owing more than it is probable he will ever be worth. Saxnr. Os* Friend.— How pleasant a thing it is to have a friend to whom we can unbosom our feelings when the world is harsh to us and dark ness has, settled on the face of nature. The outgushihgs 6f love and tenderness revive and brighten the heavens again. He who has one friend cannot be driven to despair. The world dark as. it may sometimes be, will always con tain one bright spot—it will grow brighter and brighter till the stricken heart partakes of the fulness of joy and is cast down no more. SefcotriJ to tbe IBxttnnitm of tbr of iFmirom antr the Sprrah of healths inform. WHILE THERE SHALL BE A WRONG UNRIQHTED, AND UNTIL “MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN" SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE. WELLSBORO, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY HOMING. FEBRUARY 10, 1859. Colorado Exploring- Expedition Lieutenant Ives, the commandant of the ex pedition for the exploration of the Colorado of the West, has made a preliminary report. He left San Francisco in November, 1857, with materials for building a small iron steamer, which was ready on the 30th of December fol lowing, when his ascension of the river com menced. By the Xlth of March he had got up five hundred miles, beyond which boats could not go. He then proceeded with a pack-mule train to explore the Upper Colorado and its tributaries, visiting the region of the thirty fifth and thirty-sixth parallels, arriving about the Ist of June at Alpnquerque, on the Bio Grande, after traveling about nine hundred miles from where he left his boat. During his exploration the water was unprecedentedly low, so that he tried the navigation of the river at its worst stage. The banks at the month of the Colorado are flat and muddy, and the bars and shoals changeable. For thirty miles up, naviga tion is frequently made dangerous by the strength of the spring tides, which rise and fall twenty-five to thirty feet. This rise is pre ceded by singular tide-waves from four to se ven feet high, which rush up the river with tremendous velocity. The map tides fall only ten feet. Between tide-water and Fort Yuma, the prin cipal obstructions are sand bars, which grow more frequent as you ascend. The channel is very crooked, and consequently changing, with an average depth of about eight feet; yet there are frequent shoals of less than two feet.— These bars and shoals are mostly of soft and loose materials. Below Fort Yuma there are rocks, but numerous snags. The average velo city of the current is two and a half miles an hour, and during the July freshet five to six miles, when the river is ten feet higher than in winter. For one hundred and eighty miles above Fort Yuma, the navigation is in charac ter very similar to that described. During the next one hundred miles, gravelly bars occur frequently, but the channel is better than be low. For the next fifty miles the river bed is coarse gravel and stones, with swift rapids. —Then comes the Black canon, twenty-five miles long, with numerous difficnl rapids— Above this gorge the river is wide and shallow, so that this canon may he considered the head of navigation. There is plenty of wood for fuel along the banks. The examination from the Black canon toward the Utah emigrant road showed that a wagon road might be opened be tween that trail and the head of navigation.— For sixteen miles the country is rather rough; but after that, the remaining twenty-five miles are easy. The navigable part of the river runs nearly north and south. Near the gulf the country is fiat and unbroken, but further north broken in to deep valleys with rugged mountains of vol canic origin. The canons formed by the pass age of the river through the mountains are wonderfully wild and grand. Above the Black canon is a most sterile and barren region, with no trace of vegetation for miles. This is a vast table land, hundreds of miles in breadth, ex tending east to the Sierra Madre, and north into Utah, rising in immense plateaus like suc cessive steps, the most elevated being seven thousand to eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. This sterile and rooky surface op posed insurmountable barriers to traveling in any fixed direction, and the want of water ren dered exploration difficult. West of the Little Colorado, some cedar and pine forests relieved the barrenness; but .eastwards toward the towns of theMoqais Indians, the country is al most a desert. The Indians along the lower part of the river are not very numerous, but idle and inquisitive. The Mohave tribe is the most numerous. They are so systematical and stalwart that they are considered, physically, the finest race upon the continent. The country east of the Colorado, along the thirty-fifth add thirty-six parallels, is almost un inhabited. A few Indians wander over it, but they are a wretched race, living on fish, and occasionally a little corn grown in some dismal ravine. They are exceedingly stupid and ig norant. The Mosquis ore about three thous and in number, and live in tolerably construc ted towns. They have reservoirs to save water, orchards of peach trees, and other fruit; fields of cotton, corn, and melons; sheep and poultry. Men and women labor in the fields, clad in garments of home manufacture. They are an ill-made, shambling race; but perfectly pea ceable and inoffensive. They are sometimes plundered by their neighbors, the warlike Nav ajoes. But little can be said of this country as an agricultural district. In the Mohave valley the atmosphere was balmy and delicious. There were fields of grain in the spring season promising luxurious crops, comfortable houses and granaries overflowing with last year's stores; but whether the country will ever he of value to the whites is doubtful, owing to the difficulty of river navigation. The seasons also are very variable. Crops are frequently lost by frost. Geologically, the soil is bad, it being impaired by excess', oi| alkaline substances.— The same remarks apply even stronger to the rest of the country on the river, and also to the valley of the Little Colorado. The latter region abounds in ruins and vestiges of a for mer population, but is now uninhabited. Altogether, it appears that over this great territory the population has died out, and the country has for ages been growing more and more sterile and difficult for hitman habitation. Along the thirty-fifth parallel there are some bright spots; yet these are subject to seasons of drought so excessive as to render habitation doubtfal. The mineral resources in some places are considerable, promising gold, mer cury, silver, copper, lead, and iron. A copper mine is being worked forty miles above Fort Yuma. Coal, rock-salt, and marble, are also found. In natural history, several new species of fossils, minerals, plants, and animals, were collected. A careful survey of the navigation was made ; and meteorological, tidal, and top ographical observations were made. The work of reducing the notes of this re port are in progress.— The amount of land transportation saved by sending supplies by the Colorado route would be to Salt Lake, seven hundred miles; to Fort Defiance, six hundred miles; and Fort Buchan an, one thousand one hundred miles ; and Lieu tenant Ives sees no reason why the river should not be used as the medium of communication to the greater portion of New Mexico, east California and Utah. —New York Tribune, For the Agitator. “IT WILL ALL BE BIGHT IN THE MOBNING” A little child had shed bitter tears. For the day had been sad and dreary. All foil of trial, and grietj and fears. And he lay on his pillow, weary. At last the blue eyes had ceased to weep. And a smile vras his face adorning, As he whispered softly, “I'll go to sleep; It will all be right in the morning." Oh! we ate “Our Father's" children all, And oar life is fall of crosses, And oar tears ore ever ready to fall, O’er changes, sorrows and losses; Bat the night of death ia drawing near. It may come and give no warning; High live, and labor, and never fear, “It will all be right in the morning/' Virginia. The Confession* of a Norse. I’ni dying, doctor—l find it. You're sure I am dying, ain't yon ?” interrupted she, chan ging her solemn tones for very shrill ones; ‘'you’re quite sure ?” “We are sure of nothing," said I, gravely; “you are very seriously ill.” 'T know,” exclaimed she bitterly, relapsing in to her melancholy phase again ; “that is what all you doctors say; but it means death. Oh, sir, I have been a very, very wicked woman, indeed. I have something—l have three things On my mind which it will do me good, I think, to get disburdened of; they will kill me else, I feel, of their own selves; and, sir, I have not got a soul in the -yrorld to tell them to, only yon.” So this dreadful old person had, indeed, dragged me out of my warm bed for the pur pose of reposing in me a„dangerous confidence, which my own good nature invited. “Do you remember the very stout gentleman, Carna hasses ?” “Four hundred and forty-six ? pleu risy? left convalescent?” inquired I, from memory. “The same, sir. I bled him to death, doctor, at his own house, within the week. His friends paid me by the job, you see, and I was anxious to get it over.” “Good heavens!” cried I; “and to save yourself a little trouble you committed, then, a cruel mur der?” “He went off like a lamb, cried the wretched creature, apologetically. “But there is worse than that: I once gave a young gent four doses of laudanum in one; and you wouldn’t known when he was dead from when he slept; but them was murders, far all that I know.” “They certainly were, miserable woman,” cried I, indignantly; “have you any thing yet more upon your mind“ Hush !” whispered she, pointing towards the door; “she’s listening ; they always does it bless you ; I knows ‘em so well. Once—only once, as I’m a sinful woman—l smotherd a sick man with his pillow; that was for bis money ;he would have died, any way because he had the lockjaw. Now,” added she, with a long-drawn sigh, and after a pause, “I feel somehow better and more comfortable like; thanks to you, sir.” The patient had sunk back from her sitting posture, as if exhausted with this terrible narra tion ; but I read in her yet anxious eyes that she had still something more to say. Presently she again broke silence, and, this time, the em phasis with which she spoke was mingled with a tone of gratitude. She desired to recompense me, I suppose, for my prompt attention and in terest, and delivered herself of this advice, in stead of a fee; “When your time comes, doc tor, and your friends send for the nuss, don’t let them pay her by the job.” The Sea ax Great Depths.— Popular ideas with the regard to sinking of bodies in the sea, have heretofore been vague; for-the reason, perhaps, that the laws which govern this de scent, and which are derived from the well known laws of fluids, have never been fully de fined in their application to the depths of the ocean. Some imagine that ships which foun der at sea sink to a certain depth, and there float about until broken to pieces, or thrown upon some bank beneath the sea; and, indeed, a certain writer in England has published a book sustaining this absurd notion. Others, again, believe that the buoyant force of the water at great depths is enormous, and due to the whole pressure of the column of water above, and that all bodies which are lighter than water at the surface, will, if sunk to the bottom and detached from their sinker, shoot upward with a great velocity ; or, in other words, the density of the water increases di rectly with the depth. These views are erron eous. It is true the pressure increases with the depth, to the amount of 15 pounds upon every square inch for every 34 feet in depth ; but the density Is not thereby sensibly, increased, ow ing to the incompressibility of the water; so that neither the buoyant force, nor the resis tance to the motion of any body, are sensibly increased from the surface to the bottom. At sthe depth of 3,000 fathoms, for instance, the pressure upon » square inch is nearly 8,000 pounds, but the column of 18,000 feet of water is only shortened about GO feet; the density is thus but slightly increased ; but the effect of this enormous pressure upon compressible bod ies, as air, wood, &c, is to condense them into a smaller bulk, by which they may be rendered heavier than water, and will sink of their own weight. A piece of wood cannot float at the bottom of the sea, but a very slight extran eous force will bring it to the surface. — Sill. Jour. Parson Brownlow, of the Knoxville Whig, has learned that there is a dressed flea’s skin in the Baltimore Museum, containing the soul’s of seven delinquent subscribers fb a newspa per ; the consciences of seven "other men who refuged to pay their advertising bills; the “principles” of seven leading democratic poli ticians ; seven bachelors' hearts; and all the remaining sweetness of seventy old maids. The woman that never meddled with her husband’s affairs, has arrived in town. She is an old maid. comimiGATips. Mr. Young : I am very much opliged to Mr. Edwards for the opportunity his Setter of the 27th ult., published in-the last Agitator, affords me for explaining what might appear -to he a philological error. Mr. Edwards is correct in saying that tan is Welch for fire, pnd haul for sun,—l mean correct so far as theimodem use of those words is concerned. I ! Tan has the same root as all the other words for sun which I gave in my letter, was derived from the same source, and was probably in its original meaning used as the namcjfor both fire and sun. In the infancy of many, perhaps most languages, the words denoting sun and fire were synonymous. | In the language of Japan, fi si sun and fire; in that of the Lew Cl a language related to that of Japaji and fire fiee. Among the Carih In wato, and sun wayu, evidently fro| root. In the Maya, an extensive anci« dialect, fire, sun, God, are respec| ku, kin, —all from the same root. can proper, fire is ildl, and God i Welch the present word for fire is haul, and for God dum. In the most extensive dialect )f Papua or New Guinea, the Outanato, the vqord for sun is djaw, and they have no word for God, or rath er that word is used for God, as they look upon the sun as the Supreme Being. T lis word'was probably engra|ted on the Papin,n from the same source from which the Welch derive dim. From the above I derive certain historical facts, or theories, which are strong! y oorroborar ted from other sources. 1. That the Mayas of Mexico America looked upon the sun as th and as the source of their greate and that they -worshipped the sun ; like the Guebres they were fire and adored the sun, the source of a! ing to their belief, as God. i 2. That the Mexicans proper were anciently fire-worshippers the word tlelt file, and Teutl God, having the same root. They lave for sun, tonahliuh, and yet the fact that the word for son and God are not the same does not furnish evidence that the Mexicans did net pay divine honors to the sun. 3. That the Caribs of this Continent looked to the sun as the great source of fi -e, they hav ing nearly the same words for suA and fire.— Whether they ever arrived even up to that state of civilization wherein man may become a sun worshipper, I cannot say, for I do not know what their word for God was. j I 4. That the Japanese, and Lqw Chewnns have the same opinion as to the Source of fire as the Caribs, and were probably Ifire-worship pers. There are two words in Japanese mean ing God—one, sin, oi shin, the ojher kami. — This latter word is applied to inferior deities and deified men, and the former tolhe Supreme God. The word sin is said to hjive been en grafted on the Japanese from India; at all events it looks very much like being derived from the same root as sun, sonne, ite. j ■ 5. That the word tan in Welch is from the same root as sun, sunha, Ac., the J and i being convertible in the different languages, and fur : I nisbes in its radix evidence of the philosophy of the ancient Cymri, or Welch, that the sun was the source of fire, the Fire preeminently it[ self. In the word now used for sun, haul, there is evidence that the Cymri, or Welch, were once fire, or sun worshippers, before they adopted the theology of the ancient Romans or Gre dans, which theology they did ado'pt and prac?! tice previous to their conversion to Christianity! J The word haul is evidently—l mean evident; | ly to a practiced philologist, from the same Sej i raitic root os el or al, the ancient Arabic forj God—the modern Arabic alia, the pel, haal and belus of the Chaldeans and Assyrians. Saul has the oriental meaning of God, or Lord, and , was applied to the sun in its original signifies-! 1 tion as an object of worship. The original, word tan which signified both fire and sun, is retained in the modern Welch for Ifire, and the word haul which anciently, in the" times of sun;, worship signified the sun as God, is retained in ; the modem to signify the sun stripped of bis ) divine honors; and the word duw lerived from ! the Latin dais, or the Greek theos t r zeus is now j applied to deity. i ( The Irish Druids had among their numerous j objects of worship one principal God whom they called Bad, derived doubtless from the ] same word as haul or baal, and this fact strength! | ens the theory that the word haul] was applied ' to the sun as an object of worship. It is not long since, if indeed it is totally now discontin ued, that the Irish celebrated thje "Lha Beat, Tinne,” when sacrifices were offered to Beuli. and the sacred fire was renewed. ,| The word for fire in modern Irish is ieine j more generally spelt linns, but in the ancieoij Irish as well as tan in Welch it [was used for sun. Its application to designate sun is now obsolete. 1 I trust I have made it plain to Mr. Edwards; that tan is, or rather, was the Cymric for sun, and its modern, strongly corroborates that as its ancient use. Language is continually chang ing, and sometimes modern innovations leave hut a faint shadow of former orth igrophy and signification, frequently inducinggross error on the part of ethnologists and philologists; but in tracing the etymology of tan and haul there can hardly be a shadow of doubt. Yours truly,. J. E. \ foij the Agitator. Seminiscences of my School Days. j Maggie Summers was the prettiest girl in ali| the school. Shalt I attempt a description ? I will try, well knowing that I shall, convey but a very faint idea. Imagine to yourself a form of medium height, a trifle too robust to be called, “sylph-like,” a well-shaped head covered with luxuriant brown tresses. The forehead is not remarkable fur its height, but jtbe extreme breadth marks a mind of superior mold.— Laughing blue eyes, brilliant complexion, pearly teeth, and about the mouth there jis such a pe culiar, bewitching expression, you could not help loving Her at a glance. Maggie was a gen-| oral favorite with teachers and students. Even Advertisements will be charged $1 per square of 14 lines, one or three insertions, and 25 cents for every' subsequent insertion. Advertisements of less than 14 lines considered as a square. The subjoined rates will be charged for Quarterly, Half-Yearly and Yearly ad vertiaementa: 3 3IOSTHS* 6 MOSTH3- 12 Square, - - $2,50 $4,50 $6.00 2 ' do. - 4,00 • 6>oo 8,00 i column, - - 6,00 8,00 10,00 i do. - 10,00 15,00 20,00 Column, - - 13,00 • 30,00 40,00 Advertisements not having the number of insertion# desired marked upon them, will be published until or dered out and charged accordingly. Posters, Handbills, Bill-Heads, Letter-Heads and al] ~kinds of Jobbing done in country establishments, ex-- ecaled neatly and promptly. Justices', Constables', and. township BLANKS : Notes, Bonds,Deeds, Mort-. gagea f Declarations and other Blanks, constantly oa hand, or printed to order. k). 28. the crabbed old professor, who was never seen to smile, would relax his sternness when Mag gie addressed him. She was foremost in all our. sports, ring-leader in all the fun, ever on the alert for mischief. Yet Maggie was a stu dent. Her recitations were perfect, and in com positions she excelled. It was a mystery how shejaccomplished so much, for she was seldom seen with a book in her hand. She was ever ready with a warm heart and willing hand to assist ua in our .studies, and most feelingly, would she sympathise with us in all our troubles! She[was always winning prizes, yet she received, them so modestly, almost tearfully, that none of us envied her. But she bad one most invet erate enemy as the sequel will show. For the Agitator. o|ne day at recess, there was a whole bevy, of girls seated under the large old elm in front of the play ground, laughing and talking merrily, andi as usual Maggie was the centre of attrac tion! Presently, Bessie Stanhope came running towards us exclaiming, “Of girls, my gold lock et is gone. It was lying on my table this morn ing when I went to my algebra recitation, aid when I came back it was gone. I have searched my room but I can’t find it, O! what shall I do ?’* said she, bursting into, tears. Bessie was 'but faurteen—an orphan child. The locket was a richly wrought one, containing the miniatures of her parents, beautifully set in jewels. We hadj all seen and admired it. “Don’t feel so bad Bessie, we’ll help you search, and I think we shall find it," said the kind hearted Maggie, rising and affectionately caressing her. We all jrepaired to Bessie’s room and began the search, but soon (.satisfied ourselves that the missing lookel was not there. Bessie was in an agony of grief, for to her it was a priceless me mento. signifies both hew vn, sun is fee idians fire is the some nt Mexican ivelj, haait 3 In the Mesi nitl. In the ian , for sun coaid not have gone without help/' said Jenpie Collins, a bright, Wack-eyed girl, “I propose a more general search," she continued, “Jet each room be searched/' All willingly consented to this proposition, for each was con scious of her own integrity. We began with Jephie’s room ; proceeded up and down the long halts, until each room had undergone the search inglprocess. Maggie's was the last. We did notjexpect to find it here, but judge of our sur prise, on. removing some papers and rubbish on Maggie's table, to find it concealed underneath. “0! I'm so glad we've found it, why .who could have put it there?" exclaimed Maggie innocent ly. I Pure and guileless herself, she was not sus pecting evil in others, and did not at first com prehend the injury that had been done her by a 'secret enemy. “Yes 1 that's the question, whd put-lt there 1 why who can we think put it-there?" replied Jennie significantly. The whojle truth flashed upon Maggie at this cruel speech.. Her bright happy fkce seemed con vulsed with the intensity of her emotions. “1,, thought you were my friends" said she, looking at lis reproachfully, oh! so sorrowfully, “and now, she continued, “to be suspected of any thing so dark/' “What have I done that I should merit such cruel treatment? who can have thus wantonly sought to ruin me?" and burying her face in her hands, she wept bitter ly. j The larger share of the student's were Maggie's warm friends, and looked upon tho affair in its true light, as a plot to darken the fair! fame of our favorite. But as in every school there are a few low minds, ever more ready to bcliere evil than good, hese pretend ed to believe tbc story of the stolen locket*— was changed; she was no longer the light bounding creature of former times.—- she smiled, it was with a subdued, sad dened expression, that made you feel it a mock ery.f Sensitive to a fault, and with a heart over flowing with affection, she could ill brook tho sneering looks and cold words of her school mates. One day Jennie was taken ill. She grew rapidly worse. Physicians pronounced her I dangerous. For! many days there was scarce a hope of her recovery. Maggie, the in jured one, gentle, loving Maggie, was unwear ied jin kind attentions, frequently watching whole nights by the sick bed. With noiseless steplshe glided about the room like an angel of goodness. Xone could smooth the pillows and soothe the sick girl in her delirium »o skilfully as Maggie. After long weeks of ceaseless carej and watching, Jennie was out of danger— wasj slowly convalescing. One morning she saidj to Maggie, who was lovingly arranging her pair and dress,- “I have something I wish to say to you, and yet I have not the courage to commence. Bat it must and shall be said," j she Continued, “though I but teach you to des pise* aye, even to detest me." Maggie listened | with) surprise. “You do not know, that while i you .have been lavishing upon me such a wealth of l(|ve and tendernes, you have been heaping coals of fire upon my head. But could you knoy all I have suffered, and how deeply, how truly I have repented, you could not find it in youij heart to withhold your .forgiveness.— Believe rae, Maggie, I have not known one mo ment's peace since the fatal day I placed the iockpt upon your table." “Oh 1 how could you be s 6 cruel/' exclaimed Maggie, bursting into as she thought of all the anguish this heartless deed had caused her. “but I freely forgive you, even as I hope to be forgiven/'— “I do not merit this," replied Jennie, “I de serve nothing but your scorn and contempt. At our last examination day, I had studied hard and faithfully, and was almost sure of the prize, when you, seemingly without effort, outstripped me. The fiend, envy, took possession of my heart and while with others congratulating you **pon your success, I secretly vowed to be re venged. But alas, it has fallen on my own bead! in., all its bitterness.” Jennie arose from th'atfbed of sickness a better and wiser girl. Middleburf, Jan. 4, 1859. 31 ixsje. and Central i Great Fire, it blessings, ls their God. vorshippers, 1 fire accord- Lean Diet. — A Methodist minister at the West, who lived on a small salary, was greatly troubled to get his quarterly installments. Ha at last told the non-paying trustees that he must have his money, as his family were suffer ingfor the necessaries of life. “Money?” re plied the steward-' “You. preach for money? I thought you preached for the good of souls'." “Soqls!” replied the minister; “I can’t eat souls, and if I could, it would take a thousand suchjas yours to make a meal!” Perfect virtue is to do unwitnessed* what w« should be capable of dv.iqg before all the world. Rates of Advertising.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers