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A a large and steadily increasing- circulation reaoh
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•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
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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.
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