THE STAR OF THE NORTH.
H, 11. JACOB¥, PropriAfor.]
VOLUME LI;
©ff BlEjB
I'UBLISHKD F.VKKV WKDNKSDAT BY
IV M. 11. JACOBV,
Office on Alain St., Jrd'Squnn' below Alarkrt,
, TERMS : —Two Dollars per annum if paid
within six months from the lime of subserib
( ing: two dollars and filly cts. if not paid with
in the year. No subscription taken lor a less
'period than six months; no discontinuance
.'permitted nutil all arrearages are paid, un
less at the option of the editor.
The terms of advertising will he ns follows :
One square, twelve lines, three times, $1 00
, Every subsequent insertion, 25
, One square, three months, 3 00
One year, 8 00
iJoclrg.
Written for the Slur.
IIIE LAhT INDIAN.
Yes, ye must pass from eartli;
It needs no hoary sage,
Deep skilled in mystic lure,
Your downfall to presage ;
For years has hist'ry's page
Mourned o'er this stern decree;
But ye must pass awav,
Extinct the race shall be.
Your name ye have implanted
On river and on lake,
And though ye pass unheeded,
Yet will not all forsake ;
The Mississippi rolls
In majesty along,
Niagara's rougher sound
Gives spirit to the song;
The Susquehanna pours
Its music on our ears,
The Ohio murmurs sweet,
Sad songs of lormer years.
These are your monuments,
They never can decay ;
While time itself shall last,
They shall not pass away.
Ages oti ages past,
Ye wandered here alone;
Canoes on every lake,
In every vale a throne.
But now your tribes are lew,
Your warriors are gone,
Your watch fires blaze no mora
Around the council stone.
Farewell, ye pristine race,
Sons of the earth and sky !
Farewell, ye proud and brave,
Who would live free, or die !
The heart must throb with grief,
With pain the bosom swell,
To see ye pass away ! , ,
But—red men, Fare j l 'e well!
lisD JACK er.
hEVEAGED.
I had heard tiie 'celebrated cavalina in
"II Bar diet e di Seoiglia but never, till I
then, had that delighful air been lolly un- 1
'derstood, either by myself or the singer.—
But the Signora Camilla ghve it such ex
pression! 'Hbw well she revealed to the
soul thoughts and sensations hitherto tin
'noticed by artists except herself. Sho was
a beautiful girl, about sixteen, blue eyes,
and a smile at once arch and tender. At
first the Song commences with an avowal
oflove, [ifbfbundly fell, and solemn even
in short, such an avowal as i
we'ekn ifhagiue to proceed from the lips of 1
Spanish maids. Then the infantile play
fulness ol Rosina's disposition resumes its
accustomed sway; for serious reflection,
even when it is the offspring of passion,
can ever be supposed to be long tho ten
ant of the giddy head of sixteen. Alter
wards succeeds the fantastic capriciousness
at sprightly songs. She laughs at her
guardian, exults in the hope of eluding his
vigilance, and thanks to au exalted imag
ination, though portionless and closely
watched, she can sing of happiness and lib-
ertv.
Near me was seated a young Italian,
whose looks never wandered—no, not for
an instant, from the singer. His parted
lips scarcely seemed to' breathe. Tears
>glistened in his eyes, and his pale features
expressed even more than the enthusiasm
of admiration—it was love. When the Car
olina was over, and while the house re
echoed with plaudits, Camilla cast a fur
live glance towards him. It was plain that
his passion was not unreqnitted.
Oh I how I envied his felicity—for he
toiust have been so happy to see thousands
praise the object of his love. He must
have been so happy, on looking round to
tee the eager gaze of admiration ol all pres
ent. And then, a sign from her, unintel
ligible to all save him alone—a glance that
i*tys, as plainly as eye can speak, "This
glory belongs to you, with all Camilla pos
sesses, for Camilla is yours." And then
the recollections Of the scarcely articulated
ptadearmentk— of the embrace in which the
timidity of ldvo first ventured to stamp itself
Oh! how I envied him—l, whom uotib ev
tAt loved— none !
H To the right of the young man was a
RltflUiger, whom the commencement of the
Hjpsra, 1 had more than once inwardly cur
sßL There was in bis dress and manner a
tjjpDlling mixture of affection and want of
at full length on his seat he
SM elbowed his neighbors; whilst the
tnUßrfh expression of his black-lustre eyes
betokening intoxication, and he attracted
the alMMMti<th°se in his immediate vi
cinity, of remark which
he more More than once
he drerk foKß|hpprobation, and calls to
order, but to (MBfe he paid no manner of
attention. Whilapha lover of Camilla was
listening with hcanrand soul to her songs,
he did not preaches of deco
rum ; and was occupied by
Barlillo and the wonhylpasrl, he gently re
pressed the intrusive elbotftvsf the strager.
I know not ol what natute was the' letter's
retort", but I kaw that the face rtf the Italian
was Aushed, and his eyes bloodshot. He
Was, however, silent. Drawing N|fber an
incorrect omen from this instance g| for
bearance, the stranger, in a menacift alii- '
T.LOOMSBURG, COLUFILBIA COUNTY, PA., WEDNESDAY. JULY 27, 1859.
, lude, raised his arm. He was anticipated,
the Italian struck him. " Sortons ," exclaim
ed they both at once. As they were about
to withdraw a cry rose from the house.—
For the first time I saw the young man
shudder, and then hesitate. But the stran
gar turned round to see if he followed, and
he proceeded.
1 can neither express or account for my
interest in the lover of Camilla, but so
great was it that 1 followed to see the ter
mination of the scene. Two men, of rath
er an equivocal appearance, followed the
stranger. The Italian was alone and ever
and anon looked wishfully and anxiously
afound.
" You' Are a stranger: you want a second,
I will stand by you in this affair," said I,
unJvancing.
He extended his hand and shook mine.
1 knew well the despair conveyed by that
presure When the choice ot weapons had
been made, we passed through several
lonely bystreets, and left the city.
.Never had the moonlight appeared to me
so lovely as at that time. The skies were
intensely clear, and the air redolent of the
most voluptuous freshness. There was in
all nature an indefinable irony of repose
and happiness that added to my sadness.—
Arrived at the usual resort for personal en
counters, the stranger, with the utmost tran
quility. proceeded to stripping, tucking up
his sleeves to the elbows, examining his
sharpened foil with the minutest attention,
and throwing himself into an attitude that
would have'Uorie honor to any professor
He smiled. 1 lelt my very blood creep
at that smile. ,At the very first pass the
Italian fell, trasfixed by his adversary's
| weapon. He essayed to speak, but the
gushing blood prevented him. He strove
to make a sign, but the convulsions ol death
rendered the efforts abortive. "Camilla!
Camilla !" I cried. Methought I felt my
'hand'warmly p-essed. The tension of the
nerves was relaxed—his hand was chilled
with the damps of death—his listless limbs
'were stiffened, and all was over.
In the interim, his auversary was quietly
wiping the ensanguined blade, and consult
ing with his coadjutors. "Assist me," said
I, imploringly, "in transporting tlis unhap
py man to some place where he cau find
succor. The assassin eyes his victim with
much the same glance that an experienced
physican bestows on a patient. He felt
' his pulse, and, turning to bis friends, he
! said, "It is time for us to be olf. He is in
!no need of a-sistance. He is a dead man !"
They left me alone beside the corpse. 1
felt exceedingly uneasy. 1 neither knew
the name of tha unfortunate gentleman, nor
to whom 1 should transfer his remains. Up
on looking around, I saw, by the moonlight,
something glitter. It was the clasp of his
pocket-book, which had lallen during the
preparations for combat. It contained a
iiiinature of Camilla, a letter addressed lo
; Signor l'aoli Frienzi. I read it. It was a
love letter—the first he ever received from
| her, dated, in an agitated but evidently
| beautilul hand, on that very day. It is
j scarcely Dossible to concoive the mournful
sensation 1 experienced upon reading the
tender protestations of a young girl, by the
side of the inanimate body of her lover.
Some peasants approached. They were
going to maiket with a wagon. I prevailed
upon them the corpse of Frienzi
to town, and /after having informed the
magistrates of the event of the preceding
night, 1 betook myself lo the dwelling of
Camilla, Pale, but witn the stern resigna
tion of settled despair, she understood, at
1 the outset, the full import of my sad account
Without infelrrupting me, sue listened to my
detail; nor. when 1 had done, did she say a
single word in comment. I sought in her
inflexible features something to identity
her with the Rosina of the evening belore.
' But it was in vain. It was Nemesis em
bodied. She breathed but for revenge.
"His name?" said she, dt length.
"I know not," said I.
"His name?" she repeated, springing lo
wards me ; "what is it ! —I will know it !"
placing a poignard at my breast.
1 seized her arm and turned it aside.
" 1 call heaven to witness," said I, "that
I know not his name "
"Forgive me, ah ! forgive me," said she;
" you, so kind, so generous, you received
his last breath—forgive me." And then
She muttered, "it is itumaterial; 1 shall
know it."
Four years after this occurrence i made a
voyage to Naples. At night i went to the
play. The performance was "The Barber
of Seville." Rosina made her appearance,
and Rosina was Signora Camilla.
I started, and almost tnechancially I look
ed around for Paoli Firenzi. His murderer
was again seated at my side. Camilla
knew him at once, for she broke off in her
cavatina with an exclamation, but she re
covered herself immediately, and never
had I found her in better voice, or her ac-;
tion so perfect.
My heart sickened at the eight of a wo
man singing composedly in the sight of her
lover's assassin. 1 could not withstand this
undeniable proof,'of insensibility. I quilted
the playhouse, and sauntered about the
streets of Naples. As I returned to the The
atre la Seila , the crowd was just issuing
from it.
Suddenly, on turning a corner, a female
who was flying ran against me. She look
ed up—recognised me, and uttering a wild
cry, she exclaimed, "He is avenged !"
and in her crimsoned hands that clasped
mine, I felt a poignard still reeking with
blood
Description Df Italy.
| The following description of Italy and its
governments is taken from the New Orleans
Picayune. It is an excellent account of that
j country and its afiairs at the commencement
I of the present war, and it will be read with
' interest :
j Geographically, tbero is a remarkable
! unity in Italy, for it is a peninsula bounded
by gulfs and seas on three sides and by all
mountains on the north, but practically there
has been no unity in Italy since the days of
the Romans. For nearly a thousand years
the greater part of Italy has been under the
sway of French and German rulers. Those
portions which have not thus been incor
porated with foreign States have been di
vided into smaller' States; and tnere lias
never been a time when there was either
consort or action, a common object, or a
principle or feeling of nationality in Italy.
There are now eight different govern
ments in Italy wholly independent of each
other,and some of tfcem having ancient and
intense animosities towards the other. Of
these there are four in what is known geo
graphically as Upper Italy; three in Central
Italy, and one in the kingdom of Naples,
covering southern Italy and the Island of 1
Sicily.
The kingdom of Sardinia is the most im- j
portant of the Slates of Upper Italy ; yet '
some of its possessions are quite as much
German or French as Italian. It has the j
nearest approach to the constitutional gov- |
ernment ol any country in Europe, and
though a small kingdom, with a population '
only between five and six millions, it has 1
been made by the talents and bravery of the
House of Savoy which rules there, au im
porlaiit'State in Europe.
The next in magnitude and population
are the Austrian provinces, which by the
general name of the kingdom of Lombardy
and Venice. The population exceeds five
millions, and many portions of the territory
have been German dependences for centu
ries—some of ihem, indeed since Charle
mange conquered the ancient Lombards a
thousand years ago. 'lhe Lombard King
dom includes the Duchy of Milan originally
subject to Spain, afterwards ceded to Aus
tria. She renounced it under the compul
sion of the French . Directory to be made
into the < is-Alpine republic '; but it was re
stored to her by the Vienna treaty of 1815.
Mantua and other principalities which make
up the Lombard government have belonged
to Austria for about one hundred and fifty
years. Venice and the Swiss territory of
Grisons were only attached permanently in
1815. The government of these countries
is an absolute military despotism issuiug
from Vienna.
Upper Italy contains besides those two
rival kingdoms of Sardinia and Austrian
Lombardy, two independent governments
in the Duchy of Modena and the Duchy of
Parma. They are each about the size of
one of the largest parishes in this State, but
contain about a half a million of inhabitants
Parma has been successfully ruled by na
tive princes—by French and by Spaniards.
Its rulers from 1730 have been princes of
the House of Spain. Napoleon in 1812 in
corporated two thirds of it into the French
Empire, and gave the other third to Prince
Borgnese the husband of one of his sisters
The Congress of Vienna gave the life estate
of the w hole to Marie Louisa—Nupoleon's
widow—since whose death it has reverted
to the original heir of the Spanish line.
The Duchy of Modena was an ancient
fief of German Europe, and the present
reigning family is Austrian—the heiress of
the old race of Este married an Austrian
Archduke in 1806 and their descendants
now inherit. It is very German in its ideas
The independent Sta'es in Middle Italy
are three—the Grand Duchy of Tuscany,
the States of the Church,and the little Repub
lic o! San Marino. Tuscany too is ruled by
a house of Austrian descent. Originally a
part of the Germau Empire, it became en
larged by the abilities of the Medici to the
Grand Duchy of Tuscany. The grand Duke
is a descedant of Franciß Stephen, Emperor
of Germany, the husband of the great Maria
Therosa, heiress of Austria. Bonaparte
erected it into the kingdom of Etruria, and
subsequently annexed it to the Empire of
France ; in 1815-it was restored to the old
line.
Next to Tuscany are the Stales of the
Church, of which the Pope is the elective
head, holding his temporal power by virtue
of his election as Pope. The Slates are
not large, but they are numerous and pop
ulouse, the population being three millions
in an area of about 17 000 square miles
Thfere are twenty-one provinces, cities,
duchies and districts, some of which have
been under the Papal government almost
since the time of Charlemange, and others
were aided by donation from German and
French monarchies, in middle ages. The
government Was entirely despotic until some
changes were effected after the revo
lutionary struggles of 1848, but the popula
tion is deeply discontented,and the power of
ihe Pope is only maintained by the pres
ence Of the protecling armies of France and
Austria.
There is also in Middle Italy the little
Republic of San Marino—a single Democ
racy of about 8,000 souls—occupying a little
nook in the mountains, about thirty square
miles, Which has kept its separate independ
ence for about fourteen hundred years.
In Southern Italy there is the kingdom of
the twoSicillies, which is cOramonly known
as the kingdom of Naples. The continential
part contains about 32,000 square miles,
and six and a half millions of people. Tho
Truth and Rifht Country. t |
island including that of Sicily, 10 000 square
miles and over two millions of inhabitants
Naples, like the rest of Italy, has become a
dependency first ol one and then another of
the great kingdoms of Europe, with brief
intervals of Ir.denpedence. The first race of
kings was of Norman extraction. The next
was of the Imperial House of Germany.—
The Pope conferred the throne then on
tho House of Anjon of the royal family of
Frunce. A race of Spanish rulers succeed
ed, and for two hundred years Naples was
a constituan! part ol the Spanish monarchy.
About 1795 Charles 111. of Spain gave it to
his third son, the ancestor of the Bombons.
His descendants now reign there, add are
bitterly de'.ested.
We have thu- CY.rii/tts>.fhm over thS list
of tlie Stales into which Italy is now divided.
They have never at any one time been under
one government, or under similar govern
ments. They are all with the exception of
Sardinia, governed absolutely,.and mis gov
erned ; and they are all more or less, in a
state of great discontent, and ripe for any
movement against their rulers, lint there is
no evidence that they have any common
ideas of what sort of government would
belter promote their happiness, or any gen
eral notion of the future except getting rid
of their rulers if they can. Among such di
verse, long separated, incompatible races as
it is, we think in vain to look lor the reali
zation of that dream of enthusiasm, a united
tegenerated, and free Italy.
apiary in July.
Those bee keepers who are so far behind
the times as to destroy llte-Arees with brim
stone, to get the honey, arid who live in
sections of country where but little buck
wheat is raised, will do best to take up their
hives the last of July, as the bees store but
little afterward in such p'aces The best
'pieces of"comb may be selected for the
table; they must be kept in a cool place or
the mothworm will hatch out and spoil
litem. They should also be kept dry, oth
erwise the hor.ey will absorb moisture and
make it thin, and sometimes sour. Honey
that is strained out in warm weather should
be kept dry, and cool if possible After
standing awhile, a thin portion will raise to
the top; remove this carefully, and the re
mainder will he good for cold weather
To keep white honey pure, all surplus box
es containing it should be removed before
the dark honey from buckwheat is mixed
with it. Boxes expreeslj* Vor buckwhehi
honey, may he put on afterward if needed ;
examine them, and if found to be so, drive
out the bees to begin anew, any time before
•he flowers fail. Three weeks after the
first swarm, is the proper thne but it is bet
ter to do it late than not at all. Any stock
that has swarmed out freely, leaving too
few bees to cover the combs properly—
should be closely watched Ipr the first ap
pearance of the moth worm, whose pres
ence is indicated by numerous small black
shining specks like powder, on tiie floor of
the hive. When nothing mire can be done
to save the stores, or the dry combs, for
the bees is best to secure the contents of
the hive at once, before the moth destroys
all Set about the hive at night, shal
low dishes filled with sweetened water;
moths by hundreds will often thus get
drowned ; (hey may be fe<J chickens.
It is unnecessary to watch for a second
swarm from a hive, later than eighteen days
after the first swarm The season must
be very backward, when any swarms issue
later than the middle of July.— Ameiicun
Agriculturist.
A Speech taking Wiugtt.
At the recent session of the General As
sembly of the Presbyterian Church at In
dianapolis, there was a very able discussion
on the seminary question. Among the
speakers was the well known Dr. McMaster.
He spoke from his notes, and as ho pro
ceeded with page after page, he handed his
manuscript to the reporter of the Cincinnati
Gazette, who was at the table near him.—
The scene was so amusing, that we give it
in the words of the reporter himself.
When Dr McMaster made his great speech
on the seminary question in .tlje Presbyte
rian General at Indianapolis, on
Monday afternoon, *ihe reporter of the Ga
zette matle arrangements to get his manu
script as fast as he read it, in order to send
to Cincinnati. The Dr. laid the sheets on
the table before him, as he finished reading
them, and occasionally would pass some
over with "Here Mr. Reporter." At ten
minutes to five (the hour the train leaves)
there was quite a pile lying there,but the re
porter did not like to take them without say--
ing "By your leave ■' He waited lor the Dr.
to pause, till he dared not wait any longer.
It was already five minutes to five, so he
seized the pile of manuscript and started.
Shortly after the Dr. came to "Sixthly."
"Where's my sixthly?" said be. He turn
ed over his manuscript, but no sixthly. At
last, willi a perplexed expression on his
simple, child like face, (for though a very
large man, with a venerable white head,
he has a lace mounted on his bwTboay more
child like than that of Horace Greely.) the
Doctor said, "I wonder if that "reporter has
carried off my sixthly V'
It was hven so. "Sixthly" was alieady j
on the train, bound for Cincinnati, and just !
as the Doctor discovered the fact the whis
tle of the departed train sounded seeming to
say "Got your sp-ee-ch, sp ee-ch, sp-ee-ch."
"Got your sp-ee-ch, sp-ee-ch, sp-ee-ch."— j
The Assembly was convulsed with laughter.
Ladies, before marrying you had better |
destroy old love letters.
Be Polite to All.
"Halloa Limpy, the oars will start in a
minute, hurry up or we shall leave you be
hind !"
The cars were waiting at the station on
one of our Western railroads. The engine
was puffing and blowing; the baggage mas
ter was busy with baggage and checks ; the
men were hurrying to and fro with chests
and valises, packages and trunks. Men,
women and children were rushing for the
cars and hastily securing their seats, while
the locomotive puffed, and snorted, and
blowed.
A man carelessly dressed, was standing
on the platform of the depot. He was look
ing around him, seemingly paid little atten
tion to Wuu4 was passing. It was easy to
see that he was lame. At a glance one
might have supposed that he was a man of
neither wealth nor influence. The conduc
tor of the train gave him a contemptuous
look, atid slapping him familiarly on the
shoulder, he called out:
"Halloa, Limpy, better get aboard or the
cars will leave you behind I"
"Time enough, I reckon," replied the in
dividual so roughly addressed, and he re
tained his seemingly listless position.
Tho last trunk was tumbled into the bag
gage car. "All aboard I" cried the conduc
tor. ''Get on, Limpy," said be as he pass
ed the carelessly dressed lame man.
The lame man made no reply. Just as
the train was slowly moving, away,be step
ped on the platform of the last car, and
walking in, quietly, took a seat. The train
moved on a few miles, when the conductor
appeared at the door of the car wheie our
friend was silting. Passing along he soon
discovered the stranger whotn he had seen
at the station.
"Hand out your money, here "
"I don't pay," replied the lame man very
quietly.
"Don't pay V'
"We'll 6ee about that.
I shall put you out at tho next station !"
and he seized the valise which was ou the
rack over the head of our trieud.
"Better not be so rough, young man," re
turned the stranger.
The conductor feleased the carpet bag for
a moment, and seeing he could do no more
then, lie passed on to collect the tare Irotn
the other passengers. As he stopped at a
seat a few paces off, a gentleman who had
heard the conversation just mentioned;
looked up at the conductor and asked him :
"Do you know to whom you were speak
ing just now 1"
"No, sir."
"That was Peter Warburton, the Presi.
dent of the road."
"Are you sure of that 1" replied the con
ductor, trying to conceal his agitation.
"I know him."
The color rose a little to the young man's
face, but with a strong effort he controlled
himself, and went on collecting his fare as
usual.
Meanwhile Mr. Warburton sat quietly in
his seat. None of those who were near him
could unravel the expression of his counte
nance. nor tell what would be the next
movement in the scene. And he—of what
thought he ? lie had been unkindly taunt
ed with the infirmity which had come per
haps through no lault of his. lie could re
venge himself if he choose. He could tell
the directors tho simple truth, and the young
man would be deprived of his place at once.
Should he do it t And yet, why should he
care? He knew what he was worth. He
knew how hehad risen by his own exertions
to the position ho now held. When a little
orange pedler, he stood by the street cross
ing, and had many a rebulf. He had out
lived those days of hardship; he was re
spected now. Should he care for a stran
ger's roughness or taunt t Those who sat
near him waited curiously to see the end.
Presently the conductor came back
With a steady energy he walked up to Mr.
Warburton's side. He took his books from
his pocket, the bank bills, the tickets which
he had collected, and laid thein in Mr. War
burton's hand.
"I resign my place, sir," he said.
The President looked over the accounts
for a moment, then motioning to the vacant
seat at his side, said :
"Sit down, sir, 1 would like to talk with
you."
As the young man sat down, the Presi
dent turned to him with a face in whlfch
was no angry feeling, and spoke to him in
JtfjMMung friend, I have no revengeful
fee|KtJ gratify in this matter; but yoj a
itWMpiPl very imprudoAt. Your manner,
liaalt been thus to a stranger, would bave
been very injurious to the interests ol the
company. 1 might tell them of this, but i
will not. By doing so 1 should throw you
out of your station, and you might find it
difficult to get another. But in future, re
member to be polite to all you meet. You
cannot judge of a man by the wears,
land even the poorest should be treated with
civility. Take up your books, sir, I shall
Jell no one of what has passed. If yo'u
Bhange your course, nothing which has
■fepened shall injure you. Your station is
still continued. Good morning, sir !"
Be train of cars swept on, as many a
had done before ; but within it a les
son had been given and the"
purport of that lesson ran somewhat thus—
don't judge from appearances.
IN a convention of females, wo have no
doubt but whatever is voted upon is always
carried by a handsome majority.
A Thrilling Incident.
In retiring from Philadelphia, about the
middle of Attgu-t, 1858, the cars were very
crowded, and my companion in the same
seat 1 found out to be a locomotive engin
eer, aid in the course of our conversation,
he madp the remark he hoped he had run
his last trip upon a locomotive. Upon mnk
ing bp.'U to ask his reason, he gave me the
: following story, and since then 1 have found
j it out to be strictly true :
■. Five years since I was running upon the
; New York Central Railroad. My run was
| from B to R .It was the Lightning
| Express Train, and was what its name do
j notes, for it was fast. I have seen her throw
' hjnsix foot driver so p.s to be almost invUi
! bio to the eye. Hut to my story.
About half a mile from the village of 8.,
there is a nice little cottage, but a few feet
from the track. At that time a young mar
ried couple lived there. They had one
child, a little boy about lour years old, a
bright bine eyed, curly headed little chap as
you ever saw. 1 had taken a great deal of
interest in the little fellow and had thrown
candy and oranges to him lmm trie train,
and was sure to see him peeping through
the fence when my train passed.
One sunny afternoon we were behind
time and running last ; we did not stop at
B , and I was to make up one hour be
fore reaching B . We came up at a
tremendous speed, and when sweeping
around the curve, my eye following the
track, not over two hundred feet ahead sat
the little fellow playing with a kitten which
he held in his lap. At the sound of onr ap
proaching he looked and laughed, clapping
his little hands in high glee at the affrighted
kitten as it ran from the track. Quicker
than the lightning that blasts the tall pine
upon the mountain top, I whistled " down
brakes," and reversed my engine, but knew
it was impossible to stop. Nobly did the
old engine try to save htm. The awful
straining and writhing of its iron drivers
told but too plainly of the terrific velocity
we had aMenied. 1 was out of the cab win
dow a<nn|| n on the cowcatcher in a flash.
The little nellow stood still. 1 motioned
him off surf shouted ; his little blue eyes
opened wide with astonishment, and a mer
ry laugh was upon his lips. 1 held .my
breath as we rushed upon him, made a
desperate attempt to catch him, but missed,
and as his little body passed 1 heard the
feehie cry of "Mother," pud the forward
| trucks crushed l|is body to atoms.
I O, God ! that moment! 1 may live, sir,
| '.o be an old man, but the agony of that
I moment I shall never forget.
I The cars stopped some rods from the spot,
I and I ran back as soon as possible. His
1 mother saw the train stop, and a fearful
! foreboding flashed upon her at once. She 1
! came rushing frantically to die spot where
we stood. Never shall I forget the look she
gave as she beheld her first born a shape
less mass. I would have given my whole
evistence to have avoided that moment !
1 have seen death in all its forms upon rail
roads , I have seen men, women and chil
dren mangled and killed—l have seen
all this, but that little innocent boy as he
looked up in my face and killed almost in
I my arth, it unnerved me, and from that day
I made a solemn vow never to run a loco
motive any more.
J That young mother is now in the Utica
Lunatic Asylum. From the hour her boy
: was killed "reason bad left its throne." He
stopped and wiped the tears from his o)es l
1 and said, "You may think it weak in me to
shed tears, bufl cannot help it." "No," I
replied, "but think it noble; and, sir, would
to God every man had a heart as large
;as yours. I have olten thought since,
how lew are those who give one passing
thought to the man of strong nerve and stout j
arm, who guides them through darkness, j
and storms, with the speed of the wind, |
safely to their journey's end. They do not, i
for a moment turn their attention to the iron j
monster that is dragging them forward with '
fearful velocity to meet friends or relations (
j Thev do rot realize that the man who guides j
| the fiery monster holds their precious lives •
| at his command and that the least neg'i- j
gence upon his part would cause sorrow and j
mourning ir. a thousand homes that are J
I now waiting the return of the absent loved
' one.— Cleveland Review.
I A lisping basbtul sort of genius wen', to
I see his sweetheart one night, and being
! rather hard run for matter of conversation,
! said to her after a long pause : "Thall, did
you ever see an owl ? What cuthed big
j eyes they got, han't they, Thall ?"
A sleepy deacon who sometimes engag
ed in popular games, hearing the minister
use the words "shuffle off this mortal coil,"
started up, rubbed bis eyes, and exclaimed,
"Hold on ! it's my deal !"
AN Irishman went to live in Scotland
for a short time and did't liko the country.
"I was sick all the time I was there," says
lie, "and if I had lived there till this time
I'd been dead a year ago."
THE LOVER'S POZLLE— To learn to read
the following, so as to make good sense,
is the mystery :
1 thee read see that me.
Love is down will I'll have
But that and you have you'll
One and up and you if
The editor ol a Minnesota paper says '
that he can generally manage, by hook or
by crook, to get up a pretty e°°d paper-
He does it principally by HOOK.
[Two Dollars per Annum.
NUMBER 29.
| A Flea for Ilcnlth and Floriculture, j
I We are sure our readers will be pleased
with tins extract | r om a volume in press,
| from the pen of the Rev. Henry Ward
j Bepclier. The work is entitled "Plain and
| Pleasant Talk About Fruits, Flowers and
| Farming " The following Plea for Health
| and Floriculture is copied therefrom :
, J?very one knows to what an extent wo.
1 men are afflicted with nervous disorders,
neuralgic affections as they are more softly
, j termed. It is equally well know that for
, ; merly wjten women partook frpm childhood,
. I of out of door labors, and. were,confiued less
. : to heated rooms and exciting studies, they
r ; had comparatively few diso;ders of natere.
! With the progress 6f society, fevers increase
first, because luxurious eating vitiates the
, blood ; dyspepsia'follows next, because the
t stomach instead of being a laboratory, is
. turned into a mere ware house, into which
s everything is packed, from the foundation
i to the roof, by gustatory stevedores, l-ast
i of all comes neuralgic complaints, spring
ing from the muscular enfeeblement and
the nervous excitability of the system.
Late hours at night, and later morning
hours, early applications to books, a steady
training for accomplishment, viz : embroi*
I dery, lace work, painting rice paper, casting
wax-flowers so ingeniously that no mortal
can tell what is meant, lilies looking like
huge goblets, dahlias resembling a battered
cabbage ; those together with practising on
the piano, or something extra is meant, a
little turn, turn, lumming, on the harp, and
a little ting tong on the guitar ; reading "la
dies' books," crying over novels, writing in
albums, and original correspondence with
my ever adored Matilda Euphrosyne; are
the materials, too olten, of a fashionable
education. While all this refinement is
being put on, girls are taught from eight
years old, that the chief end of woman is to
get a bpau, and convert him into a husband.
Therefore, every action must be on purpqje,
must have a distinct object in view. Girls
must not walk fast, that is not lady-like ;
nor run, that wouid be shockingly vulgar;
nor scamper over the fields, merry and free
as the bees or the birds, laughing till the
cheeks are rosy, ar.d romping till the blood
marches merrjly in every vein ; for. says a
prudent mamma, "My dear, do you think
Mr. Lack a-daisy would marry a girl whom
he saw acting so unfashionable V' Thus in
every part of education, those tilings are
pursued, whose tendency is to excite the
brain and nervous system, and for the most
part those things are not "refined" which
would envelope the muscular system, give
a natural fullness to the form, and health
and vigor to every organ cf it. The evil
does not end upon the victim of fashiona
ble education. Her feebleness, and morbid
tastes, and preter-n atural excitability are
transmitted to her children, and to their
children. If it were not for the rural habits
and health of the vast portion of our popu
lation, trained to hearty labor on the soil,
the degeneracy of the race ir. cities would
soon make civilization a curse to the health
of mankind.
Now we have not a word to say against
"accomplishments" when they are real, and
are not purchase ! at the expense of a girl's
constitution. She may dance like Miriam,
paint like Raphael, make wax Iruit till the
birds come and peck at the cunning imita
tion ; sho may play like Orpheus, harping
after Eurydioe (or what will be more to the
purpose, like Eurydice harping after an Or
pheus) she may sing and write poetry to the
moon, and to every star in the heavens, and
every flower on earth,to zephys, to memory,
to friendship, and to whatever is imaginable
in the spheres, or on tho world—if she will,
•u the midst ol these ineffable things remem
ber the most important lacts that health is n
blessing ; that God makes health to depend
j upon exercise, and temperate living in all
j respects ; and that the great object of our
j oxislence, in all respects to ourselves, is a
i virtuous and pious character, and in respect
I to others, the rising and training of a family
I alier such a sort that neither we, nor God,
j shall be ashamed of them..
Now we are not quite so enthusiastic as
| to suppose that floriculture has in it a balm
I for all these mentioned ills. We are very
[ moderate in all expectations,believing only,
| that it may become a very important auxili
ary in maintaining health of body and puri
ty of mind. When once a mind has been
touched witli zeal in floriculture it seldom
forgets its love. If our children were early
made little enthusiasts for the garden, when
■ hey were old they would not deparfrfrom it.
A woman's perception of the beauty of
form, of colors, of arrangement, is natural
ly quicker and truer than that of man's
Why should they admire these only in paint
ing, in dress, and jn furniture? Can human
heart equal what God has made, in variety,
hue, grace, symmetry, order, and delicacy?
A beautiful engraving is often admired by
those who never look ut a natural landscape;
ladies become connoisseurs of "artificials,"
who live in promoximity to real flowers
without a spark of enthusiasm for them.—
We are persuaded that, if parents, insteait
of regarding a disposition to train flowers
as a useless trouble, as a. waste of time, n
pernicious romancing, would inspire tha
love of it, nurture and direct it, would savo
their daughters front filse taste, and all lovo
of meretricious ornament. The most en
thusiastic lovers of nature catch something
of the simplicity and truthfulness of nature.
Now a constant temptation to female vani
ty (if it may be supposed for the sake of
argument to exist) is a display of parson, of
dress, of equippage. In oldeu time,without
entirely hating their beauty, our mothers
used to be proud of their spinning, their
weaving, their wrought apparel for bed and
board.