THE STAR 0P THE NORTH. It. W. Weaier Proprietor.] VOLUME 3. THE STAB OF THE NORTH J published every Thursday Morning,by R. IV. WEAVER. OFFICE — Up stairs in the New Brick building on the south side of Main street, third square below Market. TERMS TWO Dollars per annum, if paid six months from the time of subscri bing ; two dollars and fifty cents if not paid svithiu the year. No subscription received for a less period than six mouths : no discon tinuance permitted until all arrearages are paid, unless at the option of the editors. ADVERTISEMENTS not exceeding one square will be inserted three times lor one doller,and twenty-five cents for each additionl inser tion. A liberal discount will be made to those who advertise by the year. SIT DOWN, SAD SOUL, 1 Sit down, sad soul, and count The moments flying; Come —tell the sweet amount That's lost by sighing; How many smiles?—a score? Then Hugh, and count no more, For day is dying! Lis down, sad soul, and sleep, And no more measure The flight of Time, nor weep The Toss of leisure; But here, by this lone stream, Lie down with us, and dream Of starry treasure! We dream ; do thou 'he same, We love forever; We laugh, yet few we shame, The gentle, never; S'oy, then, till sorrow dies— Then, hope and happy skies Are thine forever! SCRIPS FROM HISTORY. SAM HOUSTON AT SAN JACINTO. The hope of the brave began to grow dim and dark, and the stars of the revolu tion seemed to be going in gloom, to rise no more. Throe heavy columns of the pam pered soldiery of Mexico, led on by Santa Anna, sopported by Urrea, Cos and Filleso la, had crossed the Rio Grande, and the vul ture flag of the South, threateningly waved on the banks of the Guadaloupe. The heroic Travis, —brave to a fault, and reckless and defiant as he was bravo—at the head of one hundred and thirty spirits fash ioned after himself, occupied the Alamo ) the frontier fortress of Texas. In defiance of the express orders of General Hoti'lon, tho commander-in-chief, he determined, there to await the combination of the lo giona of the despot. Courier after courier reached tbc Alamo, commanding Travis to fall back upon the camp of Houston ; but his undisciplined spirit brooked no control, and each successive courier, bflre back the reply : "Wx WILL NOT ItETItEAT. \\ r E WILL CON QUEER OR DIE !" The shock came 1 Four days and nights of sleepless battle, with unabated fury, rag ed around the doomed wall of the Alamo, and the fifth morning's son shone on a con fused mass of bloody stained ruins and bones, and the smouldering ashes of the in trepid dead. No living Texan was left to tell of his comrades deeds, but the huge pile of Mexican slain, and their ghastly and ga ping wounds told with terrible certainty, that Travis and Bowie and Ctockelt, had fought, and bled, and died, if they had no/ conquered there. The next scene in that tra gic drama, was the massacre of Goliad. The ill-fated Fanning imbued wi.h same spirit of reckless self reliance, which proved the de struction of Travis and Iris command, too long hesitated lo execute the order for re treat, issued by that wise and intrepid man, whose great mir.d conceived, and whose iron will achieved the revolution.—Pressed on every side by a well appointed and over whelming foe, —wihout supplies, and with but very little amunition Fanning sought to fight and retreat contesting and staining ev- 1 cry inch of the ground with the life blood of the (oe. But the power of numbers on one side, ond the want of ammunition on the other, caused Fanning to commit the unpar donable error of trusting to the plighted hon or of a Mexican, even though belted as a sol dier. A capitulation entered into with all the solemnities of chivalric war. was the result —the Texan (lag was hurled, but not in dis grace, for lite terms of capitulation are held by all but barbarious nations, and the faith of a Texan General was pledged that the next due's sun should smile upon the Tex ans, as they returned to their fire side homes. Night passed away, and with the oarly beat pf the morning tiuun, Fanning and his com rades were marched out to the plains of Go liad, to receive thoir release. Unarmed and unsuspecting, they were conducted through the long lines of the Mexican army, drawn up in battle array, until they were swallowed up on every side, by the bristling bayonets of the foe. A signal was given, not of re lease, but of death ! One wild, terrific crash was beard ; a lurid cloud of flame and smoke enveloped the Texans, and ail that was left pf them was their mangled remains, welter jng in their blood. Like the angry howl of the storm, when it first burst upon a southern sea, the wail of death, and the cry of Vengeance, swept over the plains of Texas. The great heart of Houston swelled with grief and indignation; his mild blue eye, which was wont to gleam with gentle kindaoss, blazed like the I,ion' s when battling for his >oung; his expansive brow darkened with the pent up storm with in. and his compressed lips, told a will which nought but destiny could thwart. His jittle army of scarco sixteen hundred men' inspired with a wild chivalry, and imbued BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 1851. with devoted patriotism capable of any sac rifice, save that of submitting to absolute control, burned for vengeance, and deman ded to be led forward against the treacher ous foe. But Houston alike a great soldier, and a statesman, had three months belorn, on the plains of Jan Jacinto, selected the al ter, on which to consecrate the liberty of Texas Contrary to the expectations and wish es of the army, he commenced his retreat, lying waste the country over which he pas sed, and making his movements with such skill a"S to completely bewilder the enemy. His troops uttered loud murmurs against his policy, and in tones of threatening mutiny demanded that a stand should be made at the Colorado, declaring that they would dis band, unlets the foe were given balffe. Hou ston sought to impress upon his troops the tact, that battle upon the Colorado was defeat to Texas—he said to them, "our cause is just; it muM and will triumph ; let '.hose re turn to their homes who are not prepared to make every sacrifice for the good of Texas." The next morning's dawn found less than eight hundred men by the Texan standard, The retreat was oommenced ; the scouts of Houston watched the movements of Santa Anna's troops with eagle vigilance—they be gan to weary, and their line march, com menced to be marked with deserted arms and accoutrements—thair supplies grow short, and the Texans swept before them the wild cattle of the prairie, as they pursued their march of retreat. Houston was with in striking distance of Santa Anna, and Cos was within one day s march of joining the latter. Houston still declined battle, but qui etly took position upon the field of San Ja cinto, the exact spot he had selected three months before, tor his battle-field. One day more, and the columns of Cos and Santa An na, uuiied within a short distance of Hous ton's camp without being aware of its prox imity. His strategy was perfect, and its suc cess complete. The two armies now lay facing each other on the rolling prairie sur. rounded by forests and bayous ; the only means of retreat was on a frail bridge ex tended across a deep bayou. The hour had arrived when the destiny of Texas was to be decided—the blow about to be struck on that field was to determine whether Tex as was to exist as the conquered province of a despot or to take her place among the na t;;,n of the earth as a free and sovereign power. It was on the 21st of April, 1839, when Houston mounted on his war steed, forming his little army ol 700 men, in col umn of attack, and approaching to their ver y front, in few deep toned burning words, he poured into their hearts the lava flame which until then had been pent up in his own noble soul, lie told them that by his order, the bridge had been destroyed—that retreat was impossible—that the field of San Jacinto must be the grave or the biith spot of Texas Independence—that the condition of his army would not justify his risking two battles and hence he had waited until the forces of Santa Anna and Cos were combin ed—the eneiny before them ; to strike was to conquer! And then rapidly arranging his mode of attack, the little army of lie roes, moved forward, masked by the tall prairie grass, until within rifle shot of the foe, when rapidly deploying into line ot bat tle, the electrical voice of Houston was heard rising high and clear above llhe battle line. Now charge my lads! And remember the Ala mo ! Goliad! The very Heavens seemed to echo, that fierce battle shout— Remember the Alamo I Remmember Goliad /" and with the roar of the tornado, and the force to the whirlwind, that little band of heroes, with Housoln at iheir head, hurled themselves up on the foe. Short, desparate and terrific, like die mad crashing of the elements, was that wild, strange and glorious battle. Sev enteen minutes had scarcely elapsen, before eight hundred Mexicans were lying dead and dying on that proud field, and Santa An- tia, the boasled Napoleon of the South, was seeking safety in flight. And from amid the smoke, and mad carnage of battle, was seen to rise from that bloody plain, the star of Liberty 1 the lone star ol Texas 1 Although his leg was badly shattered by s. four ounce copper ball, Houston'still kepi his horse, galloping hither and thither over the field, issuing orders for the care of the wounded, the protection and safe keeping ol the prisoners, and the pursuit of the flying foe. On the 23d of April the second day after tne battle, nearly eight hundred Mexicans, were prisoners in the Texan camp; quiet and calm had succedeed the turmoil ol bat tle, andthe hero of Sau Jacinto was recli ning in his tent, with his shattered leg sup ported on a rough hewn stool, whilo his mind was busily employed in revolving! plans for the future civil government of Tefl an. Suddenly a shout burst from among ihl Mexican prisoners, of "viva, viva, Santa Anna," (live, live Santa Anna,) and under an escort of two Texan soldiers, the fallen Emporer in person approached, disguised in the garb of a common soldier. Santa Anna was immediately taken to Houston's tent who treated him with distin guished kindness and courtesy, assuring him that tho magnamity of tho Texans would prevent any retaliation on a prisoner, for th e breach of faith and butchery at Goatiad. The Mexican General expressed great ad miration for the prowess of the Texan troops, but told Houston that he had violated one of the plainest rules of warfare, in no: at tacking Cos and himself in detail, instead of awaiting their combination. Houston smi led, but made no reply, uutil Santa Anna a gain pressed the remark whoa Houston qui clly told him that it was his habit not to take two bilos at one cherry. Santa Anna eve* after entertained a high admiration for Houston, and often remarked that he was the most remarkable man of the age. General Houston is yet in the full vigor of manhood ; he is six feet four inches in height of light complexion, a deep blue eye, and a remarkably pleasing manner. His bearing is kind, dignified and courteous, and the goodness of his heart is cleurly indicated by 'the sweetness of his stuilo, and the mildness ot his eye. When quite a hoy, lie distin guished himself by daring exploits among the Indians and afterwards served under An drew Jackson, in the Seminole war and at the battle of New Orleans. For many years General Houston was a member of Congress from Tennessee, and was a Governor of that State. He was twice President of the Tex an Republic, and was her first Senator, after the annexation of Texas to the United Slates. All in all, he is truly "the most remarkable man of the age." EARLY FRIENDS. Where are they ? I cannot sit now, as once, upon the edge of the brook, hour after hour, flinging ofi my line and hook to the nibbling roach, and reckon it gieat sport. There is no girl with auburn ringlets to sit beside and play upon tho bank. The hours are shorter than they were then ; and the little joys that furnished boyhood till the heart was full can fill it no longer. Poor Tray is dead, long ago; and he cannot swim into the pools for floating sticks, nor can I sport with him hour after hour and think it happiness. The mound that covers his grave is sunken, and the trees that shaded it are broken and mossy. Little Lilly is growl) into a woman and is married ; and she has another little Lilly, with flaxen hair, she says—looking as she U9ed to look. I dare say the child is pretty but it is not Lilly. She has a boy, too, that she calls Paul—a chubby little rogue—she writes, and as mischievous as ever I was. God bless tho b"' ! Lett, who v '.are liked a ride in the coach that carried me away to pchool —has had a great many rides since then—rough ones, and hard ones, over the road of life. He decs not rake tip the Jeeves for bonfires as he did once ; he lias grown to bo a man, and is fighting his way somewhere in cur western world, to tho short-lived hon ors of time. He was married not long ago , his wife I remember as one of my play mates at my first school ; she was beautiful, but fragile as a leaf. She died within a year of their marriage. Pen was but four years my senior; but this griof has made him ten years o'der. He does not say it, but his eye and figure tell it. The nurse who put the pnrso into my hand that dismal morning is grown a feeble ■ old woman. She was over fifty then ; she may well be seventy now. She did not know my voice when 1 went to her the oth er day, nor did she know my faoCat all. She repealed the name when I told rt her— Paul, Paul, she did not remember any Paul, except a little boy a long while ago—"To whom you gave a purse when he went a way and told liitn to say nothing to Lilly or to Beu ?" "Yes, that Paul," said the old woman, exulting? "do you know him?" And when I told her—"she would nol have believed it!" But she did; and took hold of my Itaud again, (for she was blind) and then smoothed down the plaits of her apron, and jogged her strings, to "look tidy in the presence of a gentleman." And she told me long stories about the old house and how the people came in afterwards; and she called me "sir" sometimes, and some times "Paul." But I asked Iter only to say Paul; she seemed glad for this and taH^t easier; and went on to tell of my old pNO"- mates, and how Re used to ride the pony poor Jacko !—anrThow we gathered nuts such heaping piles; and how we used to play fox and geesSlhrough the long Win* ter evenings; and how my poor mother would smile—but here I asked her to stop. Site could nol have gone on much longer, fo r I believe she loved qm house an belter than she laeejffWr own. Wm As for uncle, the cold, silent mat, who lived with his book in the house on the hill, and who used to frighten me sometimes with his look, he grew very feeble after I left, and almost crazed. The country peo ple said that he was mad ; and Isabel with her sweet heart clung to him, and would lead him out when his step tottered, to the seat in the garden, and read out of the books he loved to hear. some* trews, they told me, she would read bjm Mfts that I had written to Lilly or tb Beu, MPT ask him if ho remembered Paul—who Aaved her from drowning under the tree in the meadow ? But Ire could only shake his head and mutter m." ttvr.g about how old and feeble ho had grown. Thoj wrote the afterwards that he died, and was buried in a far away place, where his wife once lived, and where he now sleeps beside her. Isabel was struck with grief, and came lo live for a lime with Lilly; but when they wrote me last, she had gone back to her old home—where Tray was buried—where we had played together so often, through the long days of summer. I was glad I should find her there when 1 came back. Lilly and Ben were both liv ing nearer to the city when I landed from my long journey over the seas ; but still 1 went to Isabel first Perhaps I had heard so much oftener from the others, that I felt less eager to see them ; or perhaps I wanted to Troth and Right—God and our Country. save my best visits to the last; or perhaps— I did not think it—perhaps I loved Isabel better than them all. So I went into tho country, thinking all the way how she must have changed since I led. She must be now nineteen or twenty, and then her grief must have saddened her face somewhat; but I thought I should like her all the better for that. , Then perhaps she would not laugh and tease me, but would be quieter, and wear a smile—so calm and beautiful a thought. Her figure too must have grown more elegant, and she would have more dignity in her air. I shuddered a little at this: for I thought, she will hardly think so much of me then, perhaps she will have seen those whom she likes a great deal betten Perhaps she will not like me at all; yet I knew very well that 1 should like her. 1 had gone up almost to the house: I had pnssed the stream where we fished oil that day many years before ; and 1 thought that now she had grown to arotanhood ( I should never sit with her thelvAMfcia, and surely never drag her at I did 'ABPof the river, and neveraMMfhcr little hands, and never perhaps kisMer, as I did, when she •at upon my moth^Mfap—oh, no—no—no. I saw where the burled Tray, but the old slab was gone; thoreNvas no ribbon there now. I thought that at least Isabel would have replaced the slab; but it was a wrong thought. 1 remember when I went up to the door—for it flashod upon me tlftt perhaps Label was married. I conld not tell why she should not: but 1 know that it would feel uncomfortable to hear that she had. There was a tall woman who opened the door; she did not know me; but I recog nized her as one of the old servants. I asked her after the house thin king I would surpriso Isabel. flut tered somewhat, thinking she nHHEep in suddenly herself—or perhaps tharsne might have seen me coming up the bill. But then, I thought, she would hardly know me Presently the house-keeper look ing very grave ; she asked if the gentleman wished to see her. The gentleman did wish it, and she sat down on one side of the fire; for it was au tumn, the leaves were tailing, and the November winds were very chilly. Shall I tell her—thought I—who I am and ask atYtr.ee-for f*are*Ml aied , tiA...-(k — g but it was hard for me to call her name; it was very strange but I could not pro nounce it at all. "Who, sir?" said the house keeper, in a voice so earnest, that I rose at once and crossed the room and took her hand :—"You know me," said I, "vou surely remember Paul?" Site started with surprise, but soon recov ered herself, and resumed the same grave manner. 1 thought 1 had committed some mistake, or been in some way the cause flf offence. 1 called her Madam, and asked for Isabel. She turned pale—terribly p?le. ''Bella?" said she. "Yes, Bella." "Sir—Bella is dead." 1 dropped into my chair. I said not a word. The house-keeper—bless her kind heart! —passed noiselessly out. My hands were over my eyes. The winds were sigh ing out side, and the clock ticking mournful ly within. I did not sob, nor weep, nor utter anv sound. The clock ticked mournfully, and the birds were singing ; but I did not bear them any longer; there was a tempest raging with in me that would have drowned the voice of thunder. It broke at length in a long, deep sigh— "Oh God !"—said I. It may have been a prayer—it was not an imprecation. Bella—sweet Bella was dead 1 It seemed as if with her half tlt9 world was dead—ev ery bright face darkened—every sunshine blotted out—every flower withered—every t hope extinguished. I walked out into the air, and stood under the trees whore we ha/1 played togelhor with poor Tray—where Tray lay buried. But it was not Tray I thought of, as I stood there, widt the cold wind playing through my hair, and my eyes filling with tears. How could she die 1 Why was she gone? Was it re uiiyjrue ? Was Isabel indeed dead—in her —buried ? Then why should any bo dy live? What was there to live for, now that Bella was gone? Ah, what a gup is made io the world by the death of those we love! It is no lon gar whole, but a poor half-world that swings uneasy on its own axis, and makes you diz zy with the clatter of its wreck. I The house-keeper told me all—little by little, as I found calmness to listen. She had been dead a month ; Lilly was with her through it all; she died sweetly, without pain, and without fear—what can angels fear? She had spoken often of "Cousin Paul;" she had left a little packet for him, but it was not there; she had given it into Lilly's keeping. Her grave, tho house-keeper told me, was only a little way off" from her home—beside the grave of a brother who died long years before. The" mound was high and fresh. The sods had not closed together, and the dry leaves caught irt the crevices, and gave a ragged and terrible look to thu grave. The next day I laid (hem all smooth—as wo had once laid them on the grave of Tray; I clip ped the long grass, and set a tuft of blue violets at the foot, and watered it with— 'ears. The homestead, the trees, the fields, the meadows—in the windy November, looked dismally. I could not like them a gain ; I liked nothing but the little mound, that I had dressed over Bella's grave. Tbere* she sleeps now—the sleep of death —lk. MarviCt "Rtveriu of a Bachelor." The Victimised Public. IVhat a great gullible simpleton in spite of all the lessons that schoolmaster press or ex perience has taught, is that many pocketed | monster, the Public; and what a host of im pudent and voracious harpies are continual* ly preying upon his simplicity ! on every hand he is victimised. Meat, drink, cloth ing, and even medicine are to him sources of delusion and irauil. Alum and chalk in his bread K aloe leaves in his tea, "devil's dust" in his coat, plaster of Paris in his bon bons, and docken leaves in his tobacco—a "weed within a weed"—are but a tithe of the evils the "discerning public" has to en dure. Nay, so confident have some of his deceivers actually become, that they will in sist to his very fuce that so vitiated has his taste become that he has in reality acquired ,a desire for being "taken in and done for. Like the eels of tho Billingsgate fish-wife he has accorded to these disinterested gentle men, become so accustomed to "skinning') that he rather likes the operation than other wise. At a meeting which was held in London on Monday week for the purpose of devising means to put an eflectual check to the adulteration of coffee, a number of dealers came forward, and in tha most bare faced manner, defended the practice, alleg ing that the mixture was better liked by the public than the genuine product of the bean ! One gentleman present exhibited a sample of stufT occasionally ground with coffee consisting of burnt peas, dog-biscuit, pow dered earth, and other materials too horrid to mention; but this had no effect in check •ng the opposition of certain retail dealers present; ono whom indeed unblushing ly asserted that such compositions rather "improved the strength and palatable prop erties of the infusion." If such revelations do not, and that speedily lead to the adop tion of stringent measures for the suppres sion of the eyil all we can say is, that John [(Bull deserves no better beverage. The ur | chin who picks n pocket, or the individual who palms upon some unwary purchaser a britlania metal spoon on the pretence that is genuine silver, is rightly stigmatised as a rogue, and made to feel the heavy hand ol law. Now, for the life of us, we cannot see what mighty difference there is between such end the individual who, uti- SftrThehmmc of genuine "Mocha," vencfs the deleterious stuff mentioned above. If honest John does not look after such practi ces, and that effectually, he may well ex claim, with the stolidity of a Dogberry! "1 likes to be cheated."— Glasgow Citizen. EPITAPH. Pnilerneath'this stone doth lie, Back to back, my wife and I : More hlest than when.in life's short space We lay like others face tcfoce : ♦'ow free from quarrels, Iree from fear— If she should scold. I Cannot hear. When the last trumn the air shall Jiff, If she gets up, why ril lay still." rr a certain noted physician at Bath, (England.) was lately complaining in a cof fee house in the city, that be had ihr n e very fine daughters, to whom he would giye ten thousand pound each, and yet tnat he could find nobody to marry them. "With your leave, Doctor," said an Irishman, who was present, stepping up and making a very res pectful bow, "I'll tak,e two of them !'' IT A Yankee Pedlar, withjkkf cart, over taking another of his clan on the road, was addressed .• "Hallow, what do you carry?" "Drugs and medicines," was the reply, "fllood," exclaimed the other, "you can go ahead, I carry grave stones " CP Can he whose soul yearns for the immortality of Heaven, ever be given up to despair here ? Beyond tumultuous billows, and over mountains wrapped in gloom, is there not a light sterring to cheer the pilgrim and the wayfarer ? tjjT The love of the beautiful and the true like the dew drop in the heart of the crys- forever clear and liquid in the inmost shrine of mau's being, though all the rest be turned to stone by sorrow and degr adalion. APPROPRIATELY NAMED.— The united whig party in New York, which is composed of "wooly-heads" and "silver-grays," is now called the "Satinet party." Appropriately named, vrey—a streak of wool and a streuk of cotton. CONVERTED.— Martin P. Sweet, of Free port, 111., has boon converted from a Whig stump orator to a Mothodist preaoher; so says the Gazette. A hopeful conversion tru ly which illustrates the truth of the poet when he declared, "the vilest sinner may return ,' CP" One hundred and eighteen locomo tives of the most powerful class, are in con stant employment on the N. Y. and Erie Rail Road. CP Clingman whig and secessionists, has been elected in the Ist District, N. C. by 3000 majority. Dr. Johnson used to say, "He who waits to do a great deal of good at once will never do any," • From the Phrenological Journal. A CHAPTER ON REFORM. DV /• TITUS TOWNBEND. No one will deny the progress of this age in the paths of science and knowledge, but that man's advance is equally rapid towards perfection of character and consequent hap pip ess, few are willing to admit; true—he can produce the countless achievements of art as his handiwork, command the very el ements to his bidding, or measuie the blue distance from star lo star; yet is Le not, with all his works and aspirations, the slave of pride and evil passions, with all his great ness and power, wholly unable to govern himself in the smallest matters relating to his moral and physical being ? To look upon the masses of earth's population is to look upou a condition of toil, suffering, and degradatAn. Ignorance and vice, hand in hand; tutemperar.ee and licentiousness, and human oppression over all, presents to us a picture from which we may wfll start in dis may ! Select, if you will, from the mass, the minds that govern all human action. Our wisest legislators, most profound schol ars, earth's greatest reformers, and art's most talented disciples—even here you will find that deficiency in physical and moral excellence, which alone is sufficient to clog of progress. The tongue of eU oqtAce and the voice of inspiration teach the duty of man to man ; but we look in vain for an unexceptionable example a mong the most godly of our pulpit monkors. If the master-spirits of creation lhus"aek the essei'tial elements of perfection, wo may search the works of human file in vain for peace and happiness. In truth, life is full of suffering. Through an incessant pamper ing of appetite and other animal propensi ties, a constant violation of the laws of na lure, diseases innumerable are entailed upon uo, sapping to the foundation the spring ol life and energy; hence it is that so few, comparatively, arise from the turmoil of the million to eminence and distinction ; that such countless scores drop into the grave be fore their j ears are half told. Selfishness is the nil pervading spirit o: this boasted age of refinement, and mam mon is trie universal god before whose gil ded altar conscience, truth, and all the pu ; rer fueling* of mnnVaaluT' are blindly ssc- , i rificed. Wealth is a passport through life, more potent than knowledge or virtue, and far surpasses charity in the covering of sins. The causes of the present unhappy con dition of the human family, and the reme dies for the social evils that now exist, are matters than which none more important can occupy the intelligent mind; suggesting vol umes of earnest, thoughtful consideration, and a spacious field of action ; yet how few with the moral courage to enter upon the field, and prosecute the noble work of the earth's redemption. The pulpit is given to expounding theoretic hobbies, distorting pure scripture to meet the misconceptions ol sectarian creeds; vilifying opposing sects, and, not unfrequently, directly pampering the pride and folly of an auditory assem bled at fashion's call to compare silks and jewels, and to lounge on soft cuhsions in lively inattention lo all else than fashion's mockery. •*- The jutm, holding the scopter of immense power lor good or evil, is equally blinded by passion, prejudice, and self interest, and al most wholly subservient to the "almighty dollar." Lolly talents, fitted lo inspire the multitude with the noble spirits of truth, love, and justice, are perverted to the vilest of uses, emanating from which society is drugged to enervation with lieentious lore, thrilling illustrations of sickly fiction, teem ing with every device, skilfully woven lo in toxicate and mislead the imagination, to feed vanity, excite passion, pervert pure natural feeling, and fill the mtnd with de sires never to be realized. In like manner our theatres aro given to the gratification of a morbid craving, and to the .perpetuation of human folly—abound ing in pernioious examples and inluencos, and exhibiting those high-wrought, over drawn pictures of life, tinseled with scenes whose only existence spring from man's overtasked and fevered brain. Scenes of blood and revenge, hypocrisy und intrigue, half-attired danciug women, unblushing bias phemy, all alike tujurious to the morals and demoralizing to tho senses. Nor does it re quire deep research to trace out the cause of the evils with which society is afflicted. We conceive that this distempered condi tion may be cured, but by no quack theory, religious revi,val, or—change of cosiuine. Let us look at home for the cause and the remedy. Woman and her offspring ! At the ten derest age should the seeds be sown that, with careful nurture, will riden into a bles sed harvest. Is it not on woman that the 1 task devolves of regenerating the fallen race ! of man ? Is not her receipts and oxample6 the instillation that ever controls his efforts? Woman's influence is the soil in which ' man's destiny is determined for good or ill If the soil is barren or uncongenial, princi pie gives place to corruption and it springs ' forth, like rank weeds, lo contaminate. How shall we find woman of the present day? | Is it with that healthy constitution and self controlling power ol mind fitting her for the important duties of her mission ? On the contrary, shall we not find her, intellectually I and physically, incompetent for her great | task t Her very limited education consists , of a vain show of parlor accomplishments, | her time is occupied in altering the pattern ! [Two Dollars per Annum. NUMBER 34. ol° her dress, disseminating senseless gossip, or pursuing the phantom pleasures of life in the ball rtom, at theaters, or at midnight parties. Her god is Fashion ; and to his ar bitrary and life-destroying decrees, she gives her time with thoughtless devotion—and man ! the "lord of creation," whom she has brought up to kuow no better, deems edu cation unsuited to her province. He is con tent that she should remain at home, knotv nothing, and mind the baby. With ail his wisdom, he has not the penetration to dis cern that the care of the baby is a duty of* more consequence than the ruling of em-" pires; if that duty was properly performed, we should need no laws, no prisons, ntr doctors. It is not to woman alone that we must look for reform ; she is at present incapable of the great effort. Let man see to it tliat woman is better educated, and with the view of the great duties devolving upon her, let woman arise in her dignity, rebel at once against the caprices and domin ion of Fashion, dress healthfully, lake air and exercise, observe temperance in all things, and become nature's peerless co-wor ker iu the grand work ol human elevation I'otnto Hot. An aged farmer, of Butler township, tela led us, a few days since, an experiment tried bjeliim last year, with a view to save his po tatoes. Hearing that to cut off the stalks, when they began to die at the top, indica ing the approach of the disease, would save the potatoe, and not fully satisfied on the subject, he moved off, with a scythe, the top ot a portion of his crop, as toon as be discerned the wiltng of the tops. When he dug his po>a:oes he found those, from which the tops had been moweJ, entirely free from rot, while one-fourth of those whose tops had not been mowed, were rot ted. The old gentleman says his son had put in a crop of potatoes, on shares, on a tjpigh bor's land, and fearing the rof, determined also to mow the tops off. The landlord ob jected, and they agreed to divide the crop as it stood, each take such a portion. The ten ant mowed his portion. When the potatoes were dug lite tenant had a fine crop of good sound potatce?, the landlord's were one fottt'.U rotten. Out iotWlm Oeoigna to mow his potatoes this year if the tops begin to decay before the usual iime.— Wilkesbane Advocate. ANOTHER "ECCENTRIC PARSON."— OId Dr. S. was among the most eccentric geniuses of the 'cloth.' He held forth, many long years since, somewhere in the region of thoJflfe White Mountains, in the Granite Slate. lli<wQf' pulpit window was so situated that from it there was a full view of the Old Monadooek Mountain. One Sabbath, expatiating to his audience on the power of faith, he recited the passage from the New Testament in which it is said, l Jye have faith, as a grain of mustard scetl , ye shall say to this mountain, be ye removed, sc. Then he exclaimed, ',ye, ray hearers, if you had faith as a grain of mustard seed, ami should say to Old Munad nock, be ye removed, it would be"—when pausing, and casting his eye out of the pnl pit window, he shook his head gravely, and continued— "doubtful, my hearers. Old A/ou adnock is tolerably a big you can try it."—Providence Journal. TOBACCO IN PENNSYLVANIA.— The cultiva tion of tobacco has never been carried on to so great an extent in Pennsylvania as at t!iit season. The high prices which goad Pennsylvania tobacco commanded last year has given this impetus to its cultivation, and causeu many persons to engage in it who never before attempted it. The most ex*- 1 travagant rents have been paid for land, to be used for raising tobacco. la' some sec lions of Lancaster couuty, as much as seven ty five dollars per aero has been asked and j Ireely given.—The present indications aro, that the coming crop will not be an average one, and consequently there must bo heavy {losses to the growers. With a few excep tions, all the fields we have seen give poor I promise of a goo 1 yield. We hope, howev er, that the balance of the season will prove more propitious, and that the crop will bo an average one at least.— Pennsylvania Far ' met's Journal. I I GBTTI NO OFF EASY — -One of the States passed an act that no-dog should go at large without a muzzle, ami a man was brough t : up fot infringing the statute. In defence he 1 alleged that his dog had a muzzle. '•How is that V quoth the justice. "O," said the defendant, "the act says no thing where the muzzle shall be placed, and as 1 thought the animal would like the fresh, air, I put it on his tail.' 1 Two Irishmen passing through the wood found a gun. They never having soen any thing ot the kind, thought that it was a mu sical instrument, and determined to practice. .Patrick advised "Jommy" to blow in the muzzle, while he "played on the keys."— ,Tho result was, that, "Jemmy" lost his brains. ty Bl esssd be the deed that teaches men' that doing good always does and must pro. mote their own interest! CF* ' Boy why did you tako an arrtifell of my shingles on Sunday ? "Why sir, mother wanted some kindliDg wood, and I didn't want to sjilit wood on Sundaj."
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers