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VI
BT S. B. BOW.
CLEARFIELD, PA, WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1859.
YOL. 6 NO. 14;
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BOTH SIDES.
A man in his carriage was ridicg along,
A gail dressed wife by his side ;
la satins and laces she looked like a quee n,
And he like a king in his pride.
A wood -sawyer stood on the street as they pass'd,
The carriage and couple he eyed :
And said, as he worked his saw on the log, -
"I wish I was rich and could ride."
The man in bis carriage remarked to his wife,
"One thing I would give if I could
I'd give all my wealth for the strength and the
01 the man who saweth the wood." (health.
A pretty young maid with a bundle of work,
Vhose face aj the morning, was fair, .
V'eut tripping along with a smile of delight,
While bumming a lore-breathing air.
?he looked on the carriage the lady she saw.
Arrayed in apparel so fine.
And said in a whisper, "I wish from my heart,
Thoie satins and lacei were inine."
The lady looked out on the maid with her work,
Si fair in a calico dress.
And said. "I'll relinquish position and wealth,
U er beauty and youth to possess."
Thus in thi? world, whatever our lot.
Our minds and onr time we employ
In longing and sighing for what we have not, -.
Ungrateful for what we enjoy.
Vfr welcome the pleasure for which we have sigh' J,
TLe heart has a void in it still.
Growing deeper and wider the longer we lire,
Ifcat nothing but heaven can fill.
I COPYRIGHT SECT1F.D.J
CLEARFIELD COUNTY:
OR. REMINISCENCES OF THE PAST.
About tlie close of the war ol 1S12, the chair
cf one of the Professors in the University of
Pennsylvania becoming vacant, several appli
cants pressed their claims for the situation,
with real. Among others was Dr. William P.
Dewees, a favorite pupil of Dr. Hush of Revo
lutionary memory, then in the prime of life,
in the lull tide of practice, and acknowledged
as the most skillful ami sm'ccessful in Unit
branch to which he had devoted his principal
attention. Ilis claims were set aside. Morti
fied at his defeat ; chagrined at his merits be
ing overlooked, lie abandoned Philadelphia
and took up bis residence in Philipsburg, a
town where stumps then stood as thick as
q'iills upon the freted porenpine, and which,
nifhongh not forming an integral part of our
county, from its situation and the intimate and
Iriendiy relations between her citizens and
urSj geographically is, and politically should
form, a part of this community. Dr. Dewees
I rctised there for about seven years, and ex
tended his practice into this county. He then
returned to Philadelphia, resumed his prac
tice, was elected to the coveted professorship,
and by his valuable standard additions to med
ical literature, and his success as a practition
er and professoi, placed himself at the head of
his profession in this country. Shortly after
he Ieft-Philipsburg, his place was supplied by
Dr. McLeod.
Dr Alexander McLeod was born in Mon
treal, Canada. He was of Scottish parentage,
his father being one of the leading partners in
the Northwest Fur Company, which afterwards
Incaiue incorporated in the Hudson Bay Corn-pan-,
lie was at a very early age sent to New
York to be educated by his uncle, the Kev.
Alex. McLeod, D. D., then an eminent divine.
Among his classmates and intimate friends at
school and college was the liev. Bishop East
burn of Massachusetts. He made rapid pro
gress in !: studies, maiutaiued an honorable
position in bis classes, and completed his col
legiate studies at Columbia college, receiving
the degree of Bachelor of Arts. After leaving
college he went to Philadelphia and became a
pupil of Prof. Samuel Calhoun, of Jefferson
Xc-licai College. Having attended the usual
courses of lectures, the degree of M. D. was
conferred cpon him by the University of Penn
sylvania. Appointed surgeon of an East Tn
diaman, he made a trip to the East Indies, and
whilst abroad the opportunity of visiting Eng
land was offered and embraced. Whilst in
London, he derived considerable advantage
and added to his medical knowledge in walk
ing the London hospitals. On the Doctor's
return to Philadelphia he, through Dr. Dewees,
became acquainted with Hardman Philips,
Esq.,'who had jnst returned from England with
bis bride, an amiable lady cf sterling worth,
and kind, benevolent an christian disposition,
lie was engaged as his family physician by
Mr. Philips, who as a compensation furnished
Lini with a room in his house, a seat at bis
generous board, a horse, and also quite a hand
some income; allowing the Doctor at the
eame time the privilege of extending his prac
tice and making as much outside of Mr. Phil
ip's family as he could. It was iu 1822 Dr.
McLeod accepted this bis first location in
practice; A year and a half passed o'er his
head, and then a wide field of action presented
itself to bini, which tried his endurance, proved
bis devotion to his profession and called in
requisition tils skill. .
1824 was a memorable year in Clearfield
county. Mounds cohering the remains of the
young, the middle aged, and the old, in every
place of sepulture in the county are sad mon-
roents of that period. Along the valley of
the West Branch and on the high lands, an
epidemic dysentery raged like the pestilence.
Whole families were prostrated, aud scarce a
family escaped without losing one or more of
its members. Anxiety and alarm sat on eve
ry countenance. He, alone, who was without
friends aud kindred, mourned not broken
ties. At this time Dr. John P. Iloyt and A.
T. Scbrvvfcr were resident physicians, at their
poet, and with Dr. McLeod, who came oat and
aade his head quarters at Job Packer's tav
ern, untiring in their exertions In allaying the
consternation which had spread through the
community and ministering to the relief of
the afflicted. During the prevalence of the
epidemic these physicians were on the go
day and night in the saddle. For four weeks
Dr. McLeod could not return homel Often
worn out by fatigue, he slept in his saddle ;
and at times, tying his horse out of sight, he
sought a short repose in a barn or by the road
side. For a whole month he was a Nazarite
by compulsion, as he could not find time to
shave.
In 1830 the venerable Dr. Ard, then at the
head of his profession, induced Dr. McLeod
to go to Lewistown and enter into partnership.
He went and, whilst at Lewistown, he receiv
ed the degree of A. M. from Dickinson Col
lege, and had care of an extensive practice ;
but the Juniata fever prostrated him. After a
ted ious and protracted convalescence he went
home with Judge Burnside, where be remain
ed 6 or 8 weeks, when, the Judge going to
Bedford to hold court, he accompanied him
aud remained at the springs that season. On
regaining his health' he reroqved to Pittsburg,
and shortly afterwards to Meadrille. He then
married and continued in the practice of his
profession. A dispensation of Providence
the loss ol his beloved wife and the most of
his children changed the current of his life,
led him to think seriously on religions sub
jects and induced him to prepare for the min
istry. In 1845 he received orders in the E
piscopal Church and went South to get away
Irom the scene of his alOictions. Having of
ficiated in Louisiana and Mississippi he visited
Meadville in 1S49, when he received an invita
tion from several gentlemen of Clearfield Bor
ough to rVhy them a ministerial visit of two or
three weeks. His visit was protracted near
four years, during which time he had charge
as missionary of the Episcopal Missionary So
ciety of Philadelphia of this parish and the
St. Andrews Church was erected. Again af
ter an absence of a short time he was recalled
and is the present incumbent of the parish. "7-
Thoroughly trained in the best medical
school of the day, of bland, courteous man
ners, and winning speech, he inspired confi
dence and hop in his patients which material
ly aided nature in restoring them to health.
He was assiduous in the discharge of his du
ties at the sick bed, and meeting with em mi,
nent success he drew to him the warmest re
girds of those whose sufferings he had allevi
ated or whose families he had visited. Al
though engaged for some years in a holier and
nobler calling, since abandoning the practice
of medicine, the remembrance of his self-abnegation,
and of his devotion in 1824, is vivid
and grateful, and his early friends insist on
his consulting with those now in practice, in
times of danger. In the church his reading is
impressive and faultless, his voice being full,
round and musical. His intimate knowledge
of tlie classics, and his acquaintance with
standard English literature, give him great
command of language, a knowledge of the
shades of meaning of words tho instruments
of argument and enable him to be terse and
comprehensive when requisite, or to amplify
when occasion demands. Few, like him, can
bring themselves down to the level of chil
dren, and, addressing them, attract and rivet
their attention, please and instruct them, whilst
those of maturer years listen with interest to
his plain and forcible remarks. Liberal in his
views, he makes no effort to proselyte, nor ob
trudes bis religious opinions on others, but
dwells in charity with bis neighbors. His door
always has the latch-string out, and when the
threshold is crossed a warm and hospitable re
ception is always extended, and you aie charm
ed with the easy, unprttending marners and
the conversational talent displayed by his
household. He is respected by the remnant of
the last, and beloved by the rising generation.
(TO BE CO-NTINUED.)
A person supposed to be a female, giving
the name of Anna Page, was arrested in Sa
vannah, Ga., on the 21st, wearing very exten
ded hoops. Examination showed that the per
son was a male. He stated that bis name was
Charles Williams. The Savannah Republi
can says he converses with all the action and
delicate-toned voice of a woman. He is an
exquisite counterfeit, and seems up to the aits
of the sex, assumes the female admirably in
his manner and deportment, wears her cl thes
grace-ully, and they are arranged with a ccr
taiu degree of taste wholly inconsistent with
the habits of males. The Mayor sentenced
him to prison for ten days.
Cassius M. Clay made a speech at Coving
ton recently, in which he denounced Slavery
with his accustomed force and bitterness, and
predicted the triumph of the Republican par
ty Te Cincinnati Gazette says that near the
close of his remarks he was interrupted by
some one calling out, "Let him down," "Tar
and feather him," &c. The speaker informed
these parties, in reply, that he was used to that
kind of a tiling, aud he "would like to see it
done." It was not done.
The most singular spit in the world Js that
of the Count de Castel Maria, one of the most
opulent lords of Trevosi. The spit turns 130
roasts at once, and plays 24 tunes, and what
ever it plays corresponds to a eertain degree
of cooking, which is perfectly understood by
the cook. Thus, a leg of mutton, a la Jnglaise,
will be excellent at the twentieth air; a fowl,
a la Flamande, will be juicy at the eighteenth
air, and so on. ,
- Colonel Ben. Shelby, a prominent Kentuc
ky lawyer, is about entering the ministry of
the Baptist Cenrtb.
THE PE0V7D HEART HUMBLED. :
The March night had darkened down upon
the little. New England village of Ashdale.
It was a pretty place in the summer, lying be
tween two hills, on whose summits the ash
trees lifted their arms to the sky, all the long
bright days, as if imploring a benediction, or
spread thtm out lovingly over the white houses
nestled round the one church in the vale be
low. But to-night it wore a different aspect.
A storm was upon the hills. A little snow
and rain were borne upon its wings, but not
much. Chiefly it was the force of the rushing
wind, shaking the leafless ash trees,hustling a
gainst closed windows, swinging the bell in
the old church tower, till it gave forth now
and then a dirge-like peal, as if the dead were
tolling their own requiems. . . .. ;
Many homes there were, where the wild
scene without seemed to heighten, by the
force of contrast, the blessed calm within
homes where smiling infants slept warm and
still, through the twilight, in the soft hush of
mothers' bosoms, and happy children gathered
round the knee of father or grandsire.lo heai
again some simple story ; or tbonghtfui ones
looked into the fire and fashioned from the
embers brave castles in which they ha&. never
come to abide, with ruined windows and black
ened walls, "the twilight of memory over all,
and the silence of death within."
But in one house no stories were told to
gladly listening ears no soft evening hymn
bushed slumbering babes to rest no children's
eager eyes looked into the embers. It was
the stateliest house, by far, in the little vil
lage a lofty mansion, gleaming white in the
trees, with the roof supported by massive pil-
f-lars. Nowhere did tho eveninz fire burn
brighter, but into it looked two old people,
worn and sorrowful, with the shadows of grief
and time upon thvir shrivelled faces two who
had foi gotten long ago their youths' fair cas
tles; who looked back over waste fields of
memory, where not even setting sunrays gild
ed the monuments built to their dead hopes.
They sat silently. $They had sat silently ev
er since the storm gathered, ft? loft', well
furnished room was lighted only by the wood
fire's glow, and in the corners strange shadows
seemed to gather ; beckoning hands and white
brows gleamed spectrally through the dark
ness. Towards them, now andfien, the wife
looked with anxious, searching gaze ; then
turned back again towards the fire, and clasp
ed her hands over the heart that had learned
thro' "many trials the hard lesson of pa'ience.
Ju4ge Howard was a stern, self-conceited
man. In his native town, where he had passed
all his life, none stood higher i J the public es
teem. Towards the poor be was liberal to
wards his neighbors, just and friendly ; yet,
for all that, he was a hard man, whose will was
iron, wbos-Jbabits were granite. His wife had
cm to lc.ow this, even in tier honeymoon.
The knowledge was endorsed by her sul, wait
ing face, her restrained manners. His daugh
ter Caroline, his only chjld, had learned it ear
ly, and her father became to her almost as
much an object of fear as of tenderness.
And yet he loved those two with a"trength
that weaker, more yi lding natures could not
have fathomed. When his cWd was first put
into bis arms ; when her frail, ielpless hands
groped blindly at bis own, hu felt the strong
thrill of a father's love swe'ep over him. For
the moment it swelled his soul, irradiated his
face, hooded his heart, but it did not perma
nentlychango or soften bis nature. As she
grew to womanhood, and her bright head
"lanced in his path, she was'the fairest sight
eaith held, her ringing voice the sweetest mu
sic, lie never gratified her whims, nor always
yielded to her unreasonable wishes.
At length love came to her. She gave her
hand ta one whose father Judge Howard had
hated. James Huntley and he had been young
together, and a feud had arisen between them
which Iiufus Howard's stern nature allowed
him neither to forget nor forgive. He had yet
to learn the lesson, holier than philosophy,
loftier than all the teachings of seers and sa
ges, the lesson our Saviour lived, wrought,
aye, and died to teach, of forgiveness even
for our enemies prayer for those who have
despitefully used us and persecuted us. His
former enemy was dead now, but not so that
Judge's bate. It had been transmitted to the
dead man's heir ; and so he forbade his daugh
ter marrying him, and sternly bade her to
choose between parents and lover. She in
herited her fathers stiong will, and she put
her hand in Kichard Huntley's and went forth
she would not have been her father's child
if she had not without a tear.
From that time, for ten years, her name had
been a forbidden word. Letters she had writ
ten at first during her banishment, but they
had !een sent back unopened, and for years
no voice or token had come to tell whether she
were dead or living. Therefore the mother
looked shudderingly intot.be shadow-haunted
corners in the long twilights, and almost be
lieved she saw there the face for which her
mother's heart had yearned momentarily, all
these years.
Judie Howard loved his wife, too Oh, if
she bad. but known it! every outline of that
sad waning face, every thread of that silver
hair, was dearer to him now than when bridal
roses crowned tho girl-bride be had chosen,
but his lips never soothed away the sadness of
that patient lace.
"It's a terrible night," he said at length,
rousing himself from his long silence. In
the pause after his words you could hear how
the wind shook the house, groaned among tho
trees and sighed along the garden walks.
"Yes, a terrible night," his wife answered,
with a shudder. "God grant that no poor
soul may be out in it, shelterless."
"Amen. I would take in my worst enemy
on such a night as this."
His worst enemy ; but would he have taken
in his own child; "the daughter with his blood
in her veins, fed once at his board, warmed at
his hearth ? If this question crossed his wife's
mind, she gave it no utterance.
"Shall 1 light the candies, Rnfus?" she
asked meekly.
"Yes, it is almost bed time. I had forgot
ten how long we were sitting in the dark.
I will read now, and then we shall be better in
bed."
He drew towards him the Bible, which lay
between the candles she had lighted it had
been his habit, for years, to read a chapter of
it nihtly. Somehow, to-night, the pages
opened at the beautiful, ever new story of the
prodigal son. Judge Howard read it through
calmly, but his hand trembled as ho shut the
Book. --.-...
'Hannah," he began, and then paused as if
bis pride were too strong to permit hirn to
confess himself In the . wroDg. But soon he
proceeded. "Hannah,' I do suppose that was
written for an example to those who should
seek to be numbered with the children of
God. He is our Father, and his arms are
ever open to the wanderer. My heart misgives
me sorely about Caroline. She should not
have disobeyed me, but do I never disobey
God, and where should I be, if He measured
out to me such measure as I hae to her ? Oh,
Hannah, I never felt before how much I need
ed to be forgiven'."
The mother's tears were falling still and
fast she could not aCirWer. There was silence
lor a moment, and then again the Judge said,
restlessly "Hannah !'f and she looked up in
to bis '-'white, moved'facc.
-'Hannah,'could we find her ! Do you think
she lives still our one child ?"
"God knows, my husband. Sometimes I
think that she is dead. I see her face on dark
nights, and it wears a look of heavenly peace.
In the winds I hear a voice that sounds like
be r 8, and she seems trying to tell me she has
found rest. But no, no! her face kindled
she is not dead. I feel it in my soul God
will let us see her once more I am bet moth
er. I shall not die till my kisses have rested
on her cheek, my hand touched her hair; I
believe I have a promise, Iiufus."
s..-L"God grant it, Hannah," and after those
words they both sat silently, again listening
listening listening.
They had not heard the door open, but no
a step sounded in the hall, and the door of
the room where they sat, was softly unclosed
They both started up perhaps they half ex
pected to see Caroline, but it was only their
next neighbor, holding by . tho hand a child.
She pake eagerly, in a half concealed way,
which they did not notice.
"This child came to my house, Judge, but
I hadn't room to keep her, so I brought her
over here. Will you take her in V
"Surely, surely. Come here poor child."
Who had ever heard Judge Howard's voice
so gentle ? The little girl seemed somewhat
re-assured by it. She crept to his knee and
lifted up her face. The Judge bent over her.
Whose were those blue, deep eyes 1 Where
had he seen that peculiar shade of hair, like
the shell ot a ripe chestnut ? Did he not know
those small, sweet features, that wistful mouth,
the delicate chin His hands shook.
"Whose whose child are you ? What is
yournaine "
'Grace," and the child trembled visibly.
"Grace Huntley," said the neighbor's voice,
grown somewhat quivering now. "Grace
Huntley. You cannot help knowing the face,
Judge. It is a copy of the one which belong
ed once to the brightest and prettiest girl in
Ashdale."
The old man he looked very old now, sha
ken by the tempest in his strong heart, as the
wind shook the tree outside drew the rhild
to his bosom with an eager, hungry look. His
arms closed around her as if they would hold
her forever.
"My child, my child ?" burst like a sob
from his lips, aud then he bent over silently.
At first his wife stood by in mute amazement,
her face almost as white as the cap border
which trembled around it. Now the thought
pierced her quick and keen . as the thrust of a
sword. She drew near and looked piteously
into the neighbor's eyes.
"Is she an orphan ? Where is her mother J"
The Judge heard hcr,and lifted up his head.
"Yes," he cried, "where is Caroline ? Have
pity and tell me where is Caroline ?"
Before the woman could answer, an eager
voice called "Here, father, mother, here,"
and from the hall where she bad been lingering
half in fear, Judge Howard's own child came
in. It was to the mother's breast to which
she clung fiist the mother's arms which clasp
ed her with such passionate clinging, and then
she tottered forward, and threw herself down
at her father's feet.
"Forgive me? father," she tried to say, but
the Judge would not hear her. The angel had
troubled, at length, the deep waters of his
soul, and the waves ol" healing overflowed his
heart. He saw now, in its true light, the self
.will and the unforgiving spirit which had been
the sin of his life. He sank upon his knees,
his arms enfolding his daughter and her child,
and his old wife crept to his side, and knelt
beside him, while from bis lips Mrs. 51arsh
heard, as she closed the door, and left the now
united family to themselves, this praj'er :
'Father, forgive us our trespasses, as we
forgive those who trespass against us."
Judge Howard had not uttered it before for
ten years.
Alter that night the Judge's mansion was
not only the stateliest, but the happiest home
in Ashdale. Caroline Huntley had borno as
long as she could, the burden weight on her
heart, nnd when it had grown too heavy to bo
endured, she had started with her child for
home. The stage had set them down that
stormy night in her native village, and the
lorgiveness for which she had scarcely dared
to hope had expanded into welcome.
The old people could . not again spare their
daughter.and they summoned Kichardlluntley
home. A son he proved, of whom any father
might bo proud, and iu after years no shadows
brooded over the peaceful dwelling, where
once more children's feet danced round the
hearth-lire, aud children's fancies built castles
in the embers no shadow,untiI that last dark
ness came which should be
but the night be-
fore which will rise the calm mcrnin? of
eter-
nity.
The editor of the Linn (Mass.) Reporter fur
nishes his readers an interesting account of a
recent visit to Dungeon Rock, and his inter
view with Mr. Marble, who has been engaged
for the last eight 3-ears in this singularly wild
locality, in the wilder attempt to obtain the
treasure of Kidd. the freebooter. ' Guided in
his labors at first by clairvoyants, and latterly
by spiritualists, the deluded man has, with the
assistance of his son, blasted a passage wav,
about eight feet in height and breadth, nearly
a hundred feet in the solid rock
The last !
blast he made developed a fissure at the bottom
an unusual occurrence from which issues a
current ot foul air that will extinguish a flame
held over it. Mr. Marble believes he has less
than ten feet to go to reach tho long sought
cave.
TheChiriqui gold-diggings are "played-out.'
The fruvps hivn hepn itlninil nA .tid . i,
n - - - - -- - ..Huuirtvuj aim n
ue of the gold obtained will only amours
bout $100,000. There is no digging
now. Big cry and little 'wool,,tttte things
I Qtlll lllll T (. -
rr ; let them see
Have your children do
daily, for your person'' "
that it gives yon P1"
CORAL FORMATIONS.
nills have been levelled, valleys filled up
and cities built by the might ot man, and his
works have been justly considered as great and
mifhty productions. But if man has built
proud cities, he may justly feel humbled iu
comparing his works with the little coralino
insects of the sea, who have built islands in
the deep ocean with no other material for their
walls than the matter held in solution by the
waters. Coral is a stony, product of the sea
resembling the productions of the garden, ri
valing trees and shrubs in the gracefulness and
delicacy of their forms. In olden times it was
believed that coral was a petrified vegetable
production, as it was well , known that vegeta
tion could produce stately forests and minute
plants ; and when it was first suggested that it
was the work of little jelly-like animals, by
the naturalist, Peysonnel, in 1751', scientific
men pronounced the idea absurd. It is known
that coral is the stony frames belonging to
coraline insects, and a piece of it may be said
to be composed of millions of their skeletons.
Coral is principally composed of lime ; the in
sects secrete it from the waters of the sea, and
as each generation expires, its successors con
tinue the building until it arises from the o
cean as floral rocks and islands. The opera
tions of these marine insects are principally
confined to the warmer waters of the ocean,
such as in the Gulf of Florida and the Indian
and Pacific oceans. It is remarkable that, at
50 miles back from the sea-coast, in the Caro
linas. as perfect specimens of coral are fre
quently dug from the marl pits as those ob
tained fresh from the sea. The limestone of
New-Jersey and of Missouri give evidence of
their coraline origin, thus aflbriling proof that
many extensive tracks of this country were
once under the waters of the great deep, and
that these little creatures were the builders of
many of the rocks and much of the dry land.
But the coral insects perform another great of
fice beside increasing the boundaries of the
land. It is well known that silica, lime, mag
nesia, alumina, oxyds of iron, and other solu
able impurities, are carried down into the o
cean by the waters from the rivers. The lit
tle coraliues act the part of scavengers of the
sea, as they secrete o ily the impurities and
refuse the silts of sodium, and thus they build
their houses from the very materials which
otherwise would accumulate and render the
ocean waters as bitter as those of the sea of
Sodom. Ths coral , insects and marine shell
fish store away the excess of lime water in the
sea and tend to purify its waters, in the same
manner that trees and vegetation absorb car
bonic acid from the atmosphere and keep it
pure for the welfare of man. It is thus that
the operations of nature are conducted upon
a wise, simple and sublime plan by the great
Author of Creation.
COUNTRY BOYS.
Country boys often feel that their lot is a
hard one. They see city-bred youngsters on
their travels and their sprees at the age of
fourteen; veritable young gentlemen, with a
finished exterior, a segar and a cane. The
young farmer at the same age finds himself
with a hoe in hand, aud a cheap straw hat on
his head, sweating among the hills of corn.
He' is frequently envious of Irs city brother
whisking past him in the cars with kid gloves,
delicate ringlets and plenty of nione;. in his
pocket. Mind your coin, boy ; hue it out
clean ; keep steadily to the labor you have in
hand; do it well, and in tinv your good days
will come too. If you find farming is not
suited to your strength, or circumstances; if
you like mechanism better, or have a capacity
for business, whatever eventually you may
engage in, it is all the same, you have begun
right. The city blades have begun wrong,
and in due time you will see it. Their fathers
and mothers will in the end see it too. Do
not feel envious of the pleasures that a hot
house man enjoys; but remember, not in a
malicious but sober spirit, that such plants
wither early. By the time you have acquired
fixed habits of industry and acquired a cor
responding perfection of mind and body, your
delicately reared cotemporary of the town be
gins to feel the debilitating etfects of idleness
and dissipation. He is not alone to blame for
a weak body and profitless mind ; it is the re
sult of a false system ; but ho cannot escape
from its effect; these he must endure for him
self in his own person. His lather may be a
professional man or a merchant, or he may be
merely rich, the chances are fifty against one
that the son will not replace his father. Such
is the result of well-setlied experience ; busi
ness falls into the hands of those who are
most competent ; it does not descend to heirs.
It is the country boys, after all, who do the
city business. Observing men have often
stated this fact ; and inquire into the origin
of Cincinnati, or Boston, or New York, you
will find it to be so. All external circumstan
ces are in favor of the son or the clerk suc
ceeding to the trade of the old firm : but tho
son seldom, almost never, dies in the position
of a partner of the house. Why is it ? Sim
ply because habitual industry is wanting, ha
bitual indulcnce if not wanting. With all the
external odds against it, the country furnishes
the cities their principal business men. If
intelligent, faithful and persevering, and,
above all, cheerf ul and contented, the chances
are that the lad with the hoe will eventually
do the business of the father ol the lad in
gloves, who is now luxuriating in his travels.
Oijo Farmer. , .
Growth of tue Uxited States. At the ta
king of the first census undei the Federal
Constitution, in 1770, the population of the
United States amounted to 3,929,827.' At in
tervals of ten years the census has been taken
regularly, and the result, at each period
follows: Census ot 1 90. 3.929.827. Ce
of 1800, 5.305.929. Census of 1810, 7.2130.
Census of 1820, 9,038,131. Censn Cen
12,8Go,020. Census or 1840, 17."s ?in
suso! 18"i0. 23.191 KTfi Ti,.- a population.
be taken j 18G0, and wi'1-nited States,' of
within the limits of '
more than 32,000 k f f
mk McClung, the famous Mis.
fee-house ,s,t: . Sorae, time after Colonel
sissip kicking, he saw the recipient of
i,...ration kicking some one else. "What
Vi tha rV.t uio !.;.. r..-j - . . . '
'7 ""f? ' . "mnlt k 3'ou
. .. -
me repiy ; "out Uon't say an V
thing. about it you and I know who to kick '
Mobs pick out their victims with great prtr
dence. Ir Newport, William S. Baity i, as
sailed and his property destroyed, but Cassius
M. Clay is unmolested. - , . .
AN EXCITING INCIDENT. .
Years ago, when I was'a youngster, I became
an assistant of Dr. B.f the superintendent of a"
public insane asylum. " As in all insane asy
lums, some of -the patients were docile and
tractable, and had the freedom of the high
walled garden, while others, being dangerous
in their madness,were confined to their rooms.
Sometimes one. of the laat named gentlemeq'
would get loose, a fact which he usually an
nounced by breaking things generally, upon
which announcement the iocior would repair
to the spot at which he was "elevating the an-r
cient Henry," and advancing upon him with a
steadfast gaze, would march hini olf to his'
room. We had one lnnatic by the name of
Jones, large and strong as" an ostrich.' He had
broken out of his room two or three times,
but bad always gone back docilely when any
of us made our appearance.
The asylnm had a saloon in the centre, with
a door at each end ; and one of the d bora re
quiring fixing once upon a time, a carpenter
was engaged upon it, when in trundled Mr.
Jones, and quietly possessed himself of a long,"
sharp chisel. When the carpenter looked a-,
round the madman gave a. grin and' poke of
the chisel at him ; whereupon the terrified
man of chips scuttled out and' locked' the
door; then, while the enemy was battering a
way at it, he rushed around and locked the
door at the other end.
Having thus caged Jones, he gave the aliirm,
and I, supposing it was an ordinary case which'
I could control, unlocked the door and enter
ed boldly, whereupon he made a rush for mei
and I innocently bolted. The doctor was
sent for. He came reconnoitering through
the key hole, and ascertaining the enemy was
at the other end of the room; he opened the
door and saw at once he could', do Dothing
with the maniac. .
Here was apparently a dilemma a crazy in
dividual, as strong as a bull, perfectly uncon
trolable, and armed with a weapon. To'cap
ture him by force was a difficult and dangerous
undertaking, and to starve, him out would be a'
tedious aflair. The doctor did not hefsitate
long. "Allred," said he, "go down' to the
surgery, and fill the largest syringe with harts
horn, and bring it up."
I caught the idea, rushed down, and brought
back a quart syringe filled with hartshorn, di
luted or I didn't want to kill the man. Then
doctor, cirpenter, and myself formed an army
of invasiou. We threw open the door and en
tered in the following battle array. I, being
the shortest of the three, marched first, hold
ing a chair in front of me b the back, so that
the legs might keep off a rush if our pop-gun
flashed in the pan. Then came the carpenter,
with the syringe resting on my shoulder like
a piece of flying artillery. Finally, in the
rear, in the safest place, like all the great
gprifrals. eaniw Dr. B.
The lunatic sat at. the other end of thehali
on a chair, eyeing iw keenly and savagely.
Slowly, very slowly, we advanced toward him.
The nearer we got the more wicked that chis
el looked, and the handle looked ve-y long.
When we got within a few feet of him. he
jumped up and sprang towards me. Whiz!
spatter ! splash ! went the hartshorn bang into
his countenance down he went like a dog
it would have knocked down a battallion J and
while he was catching his breath we caught
l.ini. Recollections of u Physician.
Dcrabilitt ok Timbkb. The durability of
timber is almost incredible. The following
are a few examples for illustration, Iwdng
Vouched for by Bulfon, Du Ilaniel, Kondelet,
and others :
The piles of a bridge built by Trajan, after
having been driven more than l,Gl)0 yean,
were found to be petrified four inches, the
rest of the wood being in its ordinary condi
tion. The elm-piles under the pers of London
Bridge have been in use more than 700 years,
and are not yet materially decayed.
Beneath the foundation of Savoy place,
London, oak, elm, beach and chesnnt-piles
ami planks, were found in a state of perfect
preservation, after having been there for 650
years.
While taking down the old walls of Tnn
bridge Castle, Kent, there was found, in th
middle of a thick stone wall: a . timber-curb,
which had been enclosed for 700 years. .
Some timbers ol an old bridge were discov
ered while digging for the foundations of a
house at Ditton Park, Windsor, which ancient
records incline us to believe were placed there
prior to the vear 139o
The durability of tiniler
out of the ground
is even greater still. The roof of the basilica
of St. Paul, at Rome, was framed in the year
816. and now, after more than a thousand
years, it is stiil sound : and the original cy
presswood doors of the same building, after
heing in use more than 600 years, were," when
replaced by others of 1 rjss,perfectly free from
rotordecas; the wood retaining its original
o lor. The timber dome of St. Mark, at Venice,
is still good, though more than 850 years old.
The roof of the Jacobin Convent at Paris,
which is of fir, was executed more than 450
years ago. '
Sarah nubbard, a girl ol irreproachable -!tr
acter,aged 19, employed in the officiu"
Cleveland FU.ndealer, attempted ir ni
1 l 1 ",een cjreula-
printer named Moot e, who h:Ilss IItlbb d
ting some slanders about Jitors, and thought
is an orphan without J 'avenging her wrongs
she had no other wSreet, deu.ai.ded an anolo
She met bim m Ms refused, fired her pistol at
gy, and, as tW- failed to take effect, and h
him. Thne pistol from her. She obtained
wren-v pistol,. and a few hours later went to
ar boarding-house, and as h a.
juiviodj me same result. :
fri3i'eTSnn F"ncisco Ttmn publishes a letter
to exe.t himself too much In talk n" V'? W
ing one of mv hand, i .'4 k n' h hM-
.. .1 o"u leuin? him
lid use the fniw, , " " He
Chickens of .1 ift j . s
dan k." " "--eu, caned Ecl?ry
from' abrroeaSe,D? ,n,troced .into thi. A "
covered 1 wi, J: , Ins .1aiof feathers.-', very
J , Iel!1,h i.rl,kethatot MttOU. rf
white, soft and beautiful, and -'
ornaments cn their heads. ' - '--'I
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