VOL. 18.
TERMS
The "HUNTINGDON JOURNAL" ie published at
the following yearly rates:
- - -
ill' paid in advance $1,50
If paid within six months after the time of
subscribing, 1,75
If paid atthe en oft h e year ,
dh , . 2,00
And two dollars and fifty 'cents if not paid till
tatter the expiration of the year. No subscription
Will be taken for a less period than six months,
lad no paper will he discontinued, except at the
option of the publisher, until all arrearages are
toid. Subscribers living in distant connties, or in
bther States, will be required to pay invariably in
Whence.
-- ggr Tins alien terms will lie rigidly adhered
to in all cases.
RATES OF ADVERTISING.
One square of sixteen lines or loss
For I insertion $0,50, For 1 month $1,25,
if 0,75, " 3 " 2,75,
it 3 It 1,00, " 6 " 5,00,
PROFS/MORAL CARDS, not exceeding ten
lines, and not changed duri n g the year •• • • 84,00,
Card and Journal, in advance, 5,00,
Busmen Canna of the same length, not chan
ged, 83,00
Card and Journal in advance, 4,00
sr Short, transient advertisements will be7l;:
alined into our editorial columns at treble tho
usual rates.
On longer advertisements. whether yearly or
transient, a reasonable deduction will be made
and aliberal discount allowed for prompt pay
ment.
PON4ER2II..
The Harvest Hymn.
God of the rolling year! to Theo
Our songs shall rise—whose bounty pours
In many a goodly gift, with free
And liberal hand our autumn stores ;
No firstlings of our flock we slay,
No soaring clouds of incense raise—
But on thy hallowed shrine we lay
Our groatful hearts in sacrifice.
Borne on thy breath, the lap of Spring.
Was heaped with many a blooming flower;
And smiling Summer joyed to bring
The sunshine and the gentle shower,
The Autumn's rich luxuriance now,
The ripening seed—the bursting shell,
The golden sheaf, and laden bough,
The fullness of thy bounty tell.
No menial throng, in princely dome,
Here wait a titled lord's behest,
But many a fair and peaceful home
Hath won thy peaceful dove a guest;
No groves of palm our fields adorn—
No myrtle shades or orange bowers—
But rustling meads of golden corn,
And fields of waving grain are ours.
Safe is thy care the landscape o'er,
Our flocks and herds securely stray ;
No tyrant master claims our store—
No ruthless robber rends away,
No fierce volcano's withering shower—
No fell simoon with poisonous breath—
Nor burning sun's, with baneful power,
Awake the fiery plagues of death.
And here shall rise our song to Thee
Where lengthened vales and pastures lie,
And streams go singing wild and free,
Beneath a blue and smiling sky
Where ne'er was reared a mortal throne,
Where crowned oppressors never trod,
Here—at the throne of Heaven alone,
Shall men in reverence bow to Gon.
At Beat.
ET MISS CARRIII L.
"'Tis over," said the gentle nurse,
And smoothing back the tresses brown,
Slowly unclasped the loving arms,
And laid her lifeless treasure down ;
Her hand across the brow she passed,
The dark fringed eye-lids closer pressed,
And with a prayerful voice she said;
"Thank God, the sorrowing child's at rest.
"No smile is on the lip," she said
"But sorrow has a winning grace,
A winning softness in the shade,
It casts upon the fair sweet face;
Oh, she was very, very fair,
And gifted, too," she said, and sighed
That she should perish thus so young,
"Come near, I'll tell you why she diod
She was a gentle, loving child,
A wealthy mother's care and pride,
But left without a kindred heart,
When her dear widowed mother died ;
Her's was a richly gifted soul,
But, oh, so sensitive and shy,
That few had e'er the grace to road
The deep thoughts of her soul-lit eye.
But though reserved with her sweet worth,
Unknown she could not long remain,
And to a heart that asked for love
She gave an answering love again ;
A changing heart was his, the youth
Her deathless love was lavished on,
Not near so gifted nor so true,
He could not fathom half he'd won.
lie know her heart was all his own,
And how that heart was won ho know,
But other forms were bright to him,
And soon another dearer grew.
Last eve they told her he was wed,
And deadly pale her face became;
I thought the drooping eyes had closed,
And nearer drew and called her name.
Her dark eves raised to meet my gaze—
They had a wildness not their own,
And greater strength was in the arms
That were so wildly 'round me thrown ;
Her voice was sadly, strangely sweet,
As round my heart its strains she wove ;
'Leave me no more, dear nurse,' she said,
'l've nothing left but you to love.'
These were all the words she spoke—
No tears she wept—not once she sighed—
But all night long she clung to me,
And now this early morn she died."
The nurse smoothed back the glossy curls,
On the pure brow her lips she pressed,
And with a weeping voice she said,
"Thank God the sorrowing heart's at rest."
Cincinnati, Ohi,, 1.853.
The Memory of the Dead.
It is an exquisite and beautiful thing in our
nature, that when the heart is touched and
softened by some tranquil happiness or affec
tionate feeling, the memory of the dead comes
over it most powerfully and irresistably. It
would almost seem as though our better
thoughts and sympathies were charms, in vir
tue of which, the soul is enabled to hold some
vague and mysterious intercourse with the
spirits of those whom we dearly loved in life.—
Alas, how often and how long may those patient
angels hover around us, watching for the spell
which is so seldom utter vi and se soon forgot
ten.— Dickens.
0tt.171 - "lingDort ';1011171,111
«I BEE NO STAR ABOVE TILE HORIZON, PROMISING LIMIT TO GUIDE US, BUT THE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC), UNITED ITIIIO PARTY OP THE UNITED STATER.".
From the Boston Transcript.
SPEECH OF EDWARD EVERETT.
We learn from the Boston Transcript that at
tho Municipal Celebration of the Fourth at
Boston, the following sentiment was proposed
in honor of the Federal Senate:
4. The Senate of the United States.—When
ever it (Everett) speaks discord and disunion
shall hido their heads.
To this Mr. Everett replied as follows
Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen: I thank you
for the toast which has just been given, and for
the marked kindness with which it has been
received by the company. I deem it a privil
ege to be present on this occasion. We all, I
think, sir, who had the good fortune to he pre
sent at the Old South Church, felt that it was
good to bo there. [Cheers.] We felt that it
was good to pause a while from the hurry of
passing events, and revise our recollections of
the times which tried men's souls. Ido not
know that I have ever attended a celebration
conducted in a more interesting manner. The
solemn prayers that the God of our fathers
would extend his protection to us, the public
reading of the great Declaration which has giv
en immortality to the day; the sweet voices in
the gallery, giving assurance that the sons and
daughters were training up to catch the spirit
and imitate the example of the fathers and
mothers; this all gave uncommon interest to
the exercises. [Much cheering.] It was, also,
I own, sir, particularly pleasing to me to listen
to our young friend on my right, the orator of
the day, who gave us such a treat in his inge
nious, manly, and fervid discourse, in which he
rose very far above the common places of the
occasion, and adorned his great theme with
much original and seasonable illustration. It
was especially gratifying to me, sir, to witness
the brilliant promise he afforded us of adding
new lustre to a name on which two generations
in this community have accumulated their hon
ors. [Great cheering.]
I believe no one, sir, who has attended this
day's exercises, or is now present, will be dis
posed to concur in the opinion which we some
times heOr expressed, that the interest of the
Fourth of July is on the wane; that it is a worn
out, old fashioned affair, which has ceased to
have a significance for us. For my own part,
I value it in no small degree because it is—l
will not say an "old fashioned," but I will say
an ancient and venerable institution; [cheers]
because its annual celebration for 70 years has
already nourished the patriotic feeling of more
than two generations, and amidst the perilous
convulsions of States abroad, and the rapid
march of events at home, has left us one great
theme on which political opinion is united; one
happy day on which party strife is at rest.—
[Great applause.]
I trust, sir, that the Fourth of July will ever
continue to be celebrated as it has been to-day,
understandingly as well as enthusiastically;
because it furnishes at once the most instruc
tive and glorious illustration of the Union of
the two great principles of stability and pro
gress, on which our Independence was origi
nally founded; on which our prosperity, at the
present day, rests as upon its corner-stone; and
by whose cordial alliance and joint working
alone, the great designs of Providence in refer
ence to our beloved country can be fulfilled.—
[Much cheering.]
I am the more desirous, sir, of making this
remark on the present occasion with some em
phasis, because there is, on the part of many
—perhaps of most—persons among us, a dis
position to separate these two great principles
—to take up one to the neglect of the other—
and consequently in effect to do violence to
both. As in all party divisions, so in this; we
throw ourselves passionately into the cause we
have embraced, push its peculiar views beyond
proper limits, overlooking all reasonable qual
ifications, and forget that practical wisdom and
plain common sense are generally found about
half way between the two extremes. [Cheers.]
Accordingly there are and always have been
among us, as in all countries were thought and
speech are free, men who give themselves up,
heart and soul, to the reverence of the past;
they can do justice to no wisdom but the wis
dom of ages; and if an institution is not time
honored it is very apt by them not to be honor
ed at all. They forget that the tall oak was
once an acorn, and that the oldest things bad
a beginning. [Cheers.] This class of men
received a few years ago in England the desig
nation of "conservatives," from their disposition
to maintain things just as they are. Recently,
in this country, they have been called by the
rather unpromising name of "old fogies," the
origin and precise import of which aro un
known to me. [Cheer. and laughter.]
No w, sir, these benighted individuals,
straight laced and stiff necked as they are, err
only in pushing a sound principle to extremes;
in obeying one law of our social nature to the
neglect of another, equally certain and impor
tant. The reverence of the past, adherence to
what is established, may be carried a great
deal too far, but it is not merely an innate
feeling of the human heart, but a direct logical
consequence of the physical and spiritual con
stitution which our Creator has given us.—
[Cheers.] The sacred tie of family which,
reaching backward and forward, binds the
generations of men together, and draws out
the plaintive music of our being from the sol
emn alternation of cradle and grave—the black
and white keys of life's harpsichord—[sensa
tion]—the magical power of language, which
puts spirit in communion with spirit in distant
periods and climes; the grand sympathies of
country which lead the Greek of the present
day to talk of "the victory which we gained
over the barbarians at Marathon—[cheers]—
the mystic tissue of race, woven far bark in the
dark chambers d the past, and which, after
the vicissitudes and migrations of centuries,
wraps up groat nations in its broad mantle—
[cheers]—those significant expressions which
carry volumes of meaning is a word—Fore
father, Parent, Child, Posterity, Native Land;
thcze all teach us net blindly to worship, but
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, JULY 27, 1853.
duly to honor the past, to study the lessons of
experience, to scan the high counsels of man
in his great associations, as those counsels have
been developed in constitutions, in laws, in
maxims, in traditions, in great undoubted prin
ciples of right and wrong, which have been
sanctioned by the general consent of those who
have gone before us; thus tracing in human
institutions some faint reflection of that Divine
wisdom which fashioned the leaf that unfolded
itself six weeks ago in the forest, on the pattern
of the leaf which was bathed in the dews of
Paradise on the morning of creation. [Enthu
siastic cheers.]
These feelings, I say, sir, are just and natu
ral. The principles which prompts them lies
deep in our nature; it gives birth to the dearest
charities of life, and it fortifies some of the
sternest virtues. [Cheers.] But these princi
ples and feelings are not the whole of our na
ture. They are a portion only of those senti
ments which belong to us as men, as patriots,
as Christians. We do not err when we cherish
them, but when we cherish and act on them
exclusively, forgetting that there is another
class of feelings and principles--different tho'gh
not antagonistic—which form another side to
our wonderfully complicated existence.
This is the side to which an opposite class
in the community devotes itself exclusively.—
They are the "men of progress," or, as they
sometimes call themselves, in imitation of sim
ilar designations in most countries of Europe,
"Young America." Either from natural ardor
of temperament, or the fervid spirit of youth, or
impatience caused by constant meditation on
the abuses which accumulate in most human
concerns in the lapse of time, they get to think
that everything, which has existed for a con
siderable time, is an abuse; that consequently
to change is, as a matter of course, to reform
—to innovate, of necessity, an improvement.—
They do not consider that if this notion is car
ried too far it becomes suicidal; it condemns
their own measures, and justifies the next gen
eration in sweeping away THEIR work as re
morselessly as they are disposed to sweep away
the work of their predecessors. [Great cheer
ing.]
Now here again, sir, the error is one of ex
aggeration only. Young America is a very
honest fellow—he means well, but like other
young folks ho is sometimes a little too much
in a hurry. [Laughter and cheers.] He needs
the curb occasionally, as we old ones perhaps
still more frequently need the spur. [Laugh
ter.] There is a principle of progress in the
human mind—in all the works of men's hands
—in all associations and communities, from
the village club to the empire that embraces a
quarter of the human race—in all political in
stitutions—in art, literature and science—and
most especially in all new countries, where it
must, from the nature of the case, be the lend
ing and governing principle. [Great cheers.]
Who can compare the modern world, its condi
tion, its arts, its institutions, with the ancient
world, and doubt this; the daily newspapers,
smoking every morning from a hundred press
es, with a strip of hierglyphics on the side of
an obelisk, perplexing the world with its dubi
ous import, and even that found out within the
last thirty years—the ocean steamer with the
row galley creeping timidly round the shore—
the railways in the United States alone, without
mentioning those of Europe, with those famous
Roman paved roads the Appian and Pr:Onion
paved
way,to which the orator alluded— ihich
our railways exceed tenfold in extent to say
nothing of their superiority in every other res
pect as a means of communication; the printing
press driven by steam, with the scribe's toil
some pen, the electric telegraph, with the mail
coach, the post horse, the pedestrian courier;
and above all, a representative republican
confederacy, extending over a continent with a
federal despotism building a palace on the neck
of a people, or a stormy Grecian democracy,
subsisting its citizens by public largess, all
labor servile, ostracising its good men, insult
ing and oppressing its allies, and renouncing
its own vitals within the circuit of the city
walls to which it was confined—who, I say, can
make this comparison, and doubt that the prin
ciple of Progress is as deeply seated in our na
ture as the principle of conservatism, and that ,
true practical wisdom and high national policy
reside in due mixture and joint action of the
two.
* Now, sir, this was the wisdom of the men of
'76. This is the lesson of the Fourth of July;
this the oracle which speaks to us from the
shrines of this consecrated hall. [Great cheer
ing.] If we study the writings of the men of
that day, we find that they treated the cause of
civil liberty not only as one of justice and right,
of sentiment and feeling, but also as one of
history and tradition, of charters and laws.—
[Cheers.] They not only looked to the future,
but explored the past. They built wisely and
skillfully in such sort, that after times might
extend the stately front of the temple of free
dom, and enlarge its spacious courts, and pile
its stories, arch above arch, gallery above gal
lery, to the heavens. [Great cheers.] But
they dug the foundations deep down to the
eternal rock—the town, the school, the church.
es—these were the four corner-stones on which
they reared the edifice. [Enthusiastic cheers.]
If we look only at one part of their work—if
we see them poring over musty parchments by
the midnight lamp—citing the year books
against writs of assistance--disputing them
selves hoarse about this phrase in the charter
of Charles 1., and that section in a statute of
Edward 111., we should be disposed to class
them with the most bigoted conservatives that
ever threw a drag chain round the limbs of a
young and ardent people. [Cheers.] But gra
cious Heavens! look at them again, when the
triumph sounds the hour of resistance; surrey
the other aspect of their work. [Great cheer.
rag.] See those undaunted patriots in their
obscure caucus gathering, in their town meet
ings, in their provincial assemblies, in their
Continental Congress, breathing defiance to the
Dkithb rodianicut and the 13riti:h throne:
march with their raw militia to the contliet with
the trained veterans of the Seven Years' War;
witness then a group of colonies extemporized
into a confederacy, entering with a calm self
possession into an alliance with the oldest mon
archy of Europe; and occupying as they did, a
narrow belt of territory along the coast, thinly
peopled, partially cleared—hemmed in by the
native savage, by the Alleghenies, by the Ohio
and the lakes—behold them, dilating with the
grandeur of the position, radiant in the pros
pective glories of their career—[ much cheering]
--casting abroad the germs of future indepen
dent States, destined, and at no distant day,
not merely to cover the face of the thirteen
British colonies, but to spread over the territo
ries of France and Spain on this continent—
over Florida and Louisiana—over New Mexico
and California—beyond the Mississippi, be
yond the Rocky Mountains—to unite the At
lantic and the Pacific Oceans, the Artie and
the Torrid zones, in one great net work of con
federate Republican Government. Contem
plate this and you will acknowledge the men
of Seventy-six to have been the boldest men of
progress that the world has ever seen. [Enthu
siastic cheering.]
These are the men whom the Fourth of July
invites us to respect and imitate—the James
Otises and the Warrens, the Franklins and the
Adamses, the Patrick Henrys and the Jere,
sons, and him whom I may not name in the
plural number, brightest of the bright and pur
est of the pure—Washington himself. (Raptur
our cheers.] But let us be sure to imitate
them, (or to strive to do so,) in all their great
principles, in both parts of their noble and
comprehensive policy. [Applause.] Let us
reverence then as they reverenced their prede
cessors—not seeking to build up the future on
the ruins of all that had gone before, nor yet to
bind down the living, breathing, burning pre
sent to the mouldering relics of the dead past
—[cheers]--but deducing the'rule of a bold
and safe progress from the records of a wise
and glorious experience. [Great applause.]
I am trespassing unconscionably, sir, upon
the time of the company. ["Go onl" "Go onl"]
But I will, by your leave, add one further re
flection. We life at an era as eventful, in my
judgment, as that of Seventy-six, though in a
different way. We bare no foreign yoke to
throw off; but in the discharge of the duty de
volved upon us by Providence, we have to car
ry the republican independence which our
fathers achieved, with all the organized insti
tutions of en enlightened community, institu
tions of religion, law, education, charity, art,
and all the thousand graces of the highest cul
ture, beyond the Missouri, beyond the Sierra
Nevada; perhaps in time around the circuit of
the Antilles; perhaps to the Archipelagoes of
the Central Pacific, [Great cheering.]. The
pioneers are on the way; who can tell how fast
they will travel? Who that compares the
North America of 1753, but a century ago, and
numbering but a little over a million of souls
of European origin; or still more, the North
America of 1753, when there was certainly not
a fifth part of this number; who that compares
this with the North America of 1853—its twen
ty-two millions of European origin and its thir
ty-one States, will venture to assign limits to
our growth—will dare to compute the time ta
ble of our railway progress; or lift so much as
a corner of the curtain that hides the crowded
events of the coming century? [Great cheer
ing.] This only we can plainly see—the Old
World is rocking to its foundations, From the
Gulf of Finland to the Yellow Sea, everything
is shaken.
The spirit of the age has gone forth to hold
his great review, and the kings of the earth are
moved to meet him at his coming. [Cheers.]
The band which holds the great powers of Eu
rope together in one political league, is strain
ed to its utmost tension. The catastrophe may
for a while be staved ofT; but to all appearance
they nre hurrying to the verge of one of those
conflicts which, like those of Pharsalia and Ac
tium, affect the condition of States for twice
ten centuries. [Sensation.] The Turkish Em
pire, encamped but for four centuries on the
frontiers of Europe, and the Chinese Monarchy,
contemporary with David and Solomon, arc
alike crumbling. While these events are pas
sing in the Old World, the tide of emigration,
which has no parallel in history, is pouring
westward across the Atlantic, and eastward
across the Pacific, to our shores. The real po
litical vitality of the world seems moving to the
new hemisphere, whose condition and fortunes
it devolves upon us and our children to mould
and regulate. [Great cheering.]
Sir, it is a grand, let me say a solemn
thought, well calculated to still the passions of
the day, and to elevate us above the paltry
strife of parties. [Applause.] It teaches us
that we aro called to the highest, and I do veri
ly believe the most momentous trust that ever
devolved upon one generation of men. Let us
meet it with a corresponding temper and par
pose, with the wisdom of a well instructed ex
perience; with the foresight and preparation
of a glorious future; not on the narrow plat
forms of party policy and temporary expedien
cy but in the broad and comprehensive spirit
of seventy-six, [Great and long continued
cheering.)
Eloquence Expounded.
During an address delivered by a young ore.
tor, in a debating society, the speaker attempt
ed to describe the beauties of nature, and
touching upon the scenes of a thunder storm
he had witnessed once upon a time, his foun
tain of eloquence could no longer withold itself,
and he broke forth in the following strain :
"Why, I tell you, Mr. President, the roaring of
the thunder was heard far and wide, and re.
minded those who heard it of the clattering of
the hoofs of so many wild horses crossing a
bridge over a creek where the little fishes was
seen skipping about from puddle to puddle—
and the lightnings flashed and flashed, every
now and then the whole heavens looked as
though it was lighted up with tallow candles,
and them all 4ntlfferi
Importance of Parental Duties,
Every parent ought to remember that his
children are committed to him, and that all
their interests are put into their hands, and to
train them up to virtue and usefulness, to hab
its of filial and reverential love and obedience
and of fraternal beneficence, is ordinarily the
chief duty required of him, and the chief good
which he can ever accomplish. If he neglects
this duty, he ought not to expect that it will
ever he accomplished. It requires well direc
ted and persevering effort, and therefore neith
er chance nor those destitute of the fountain of
persevering effort, a parent's love, can be ex
pected to perform it. If he fail in his duty to
his children no one will ever supply his defi
ciencies. Generally, where parents neglect
their duties, the children are lords of them
selves—"that heritage of woe;" they become
the associates of evil companions, the victims
of unbridled passions, the slavesof unrestrained
and low propensities, the sources of annoyance
and unhappiness in families and neighborhoods.
Such aro some of the sad consequences of the
neglect of parental duties.
Parents should also remember that child
hood is the seed-time for all good, the season
when every desirable impression is most easily
made ; the time when almost all that can be
done for a child is to be done. They should
remember that the encouragement is veiy
great. For experience abundantly proves that
well-governed children are almost always well
behaved men. The mother of Washington had
learned this lesson from experience. When in
formed of one of the many worthy deeds of her
son, she remarked that it was not any more
than she was well prepared to expect, for,"
said she, "George was always a good buy."
A Model Husband.
Governor Morris, in his will, make a short
time before his death, after settling on his wife
a liberal allowance, says: "And in 'case my
wife should marry, give her six thousand del.
lam more to defray the increased expenditure
which may attend that connnetion."
Now had that been my husband, I would not
have married again if it had almost killed me
to live single. Dear, generous old soul! Pro
viding fisr his wife's little wants that way, after
he.as gone! It makes my eyes as red as a
rabbit's to think of it.
Nol I'd have worn black to the tip of my
nose and kept guard over his dear old ashes the
rest of my mortal pilgrimage. He should have
had a fancy tombstone all carved over with
cherubim and seraphim. I'd have tied a piece
of black crape on the pump handle, and—but
"six thousand dollars" and a new husbandl—
An awful temptation for a lone female; but
then the dear deceased old man I Oh, I would' nt
have done it ; at least, I don't think I would.—
(Hope rcbody would ask me, at any rate!)
What do you suppose possessed the old gen
tleman to be so uncommonly disinterested? It
makes me suspicious. It's my opinion on sec
ond thought, that he was a judge of female
na
ture. Thought if he gave her leave to perpe
trate matrimony, she ?couldn't want to. Shrewd
old Togie I' I'd have put that "six thousand
dollars" in my pocket, and Govorneur Morris,
No. 2, in my affection quicker than a flash of
chain lightning! I'd have obeyed hislast 'will
and testament' to the letter. I'd have been as
happy as a humming bird in a lilly-cup. drowsy
with honey dew—see if I wouldn't.
Fanny Fern.
To Make a Wife Unhappy.
We apprehend that there are many husbands
who will read the following with a blush:
Sec your wife as seldom as possible. If she
is warm hearted and cheerful in temper, or if
after days or weeks of absence she meets you
with a smiling face, and in an affectionate man
ner, be sure to look coolly upon her and answer
with monosyllables. If she force her tears, and
is resolved to look cheerful, sit down and gap
in her presence till she is fully convinced of
your indifference. Never think you have any
thing to do to make her happy—but that her
happiness is to flow from gratifying your capri
ces; and when she bus doneall that woman can
do, be sure you do not appear gratified. Never
take an interest in any of her pursuits; and if
she asks your advice, make her feel that she is
troublesome and impertinent. If she attempts
to rally you good hnmoredly on any of your pe
culiarities, never join in the laugh, but frown
her into silence. If she has faults, (which
without doubt she will have, and perhaps may
be ignorant of,) never attempt with kindness to
correct them. By such a course you will not
fail to make an unhappy wife, and if you have
children, they will not fail to be inoculated with
the example, which they will show in their re
spect to their parents.
The Printer's Commandments.
I. Thou shalt love the printer—for he is the
standard of the country.
11. Thou shalt subscribe to his paper—for
he laboreth much to obtain the news, of which
ye may not remain ignorant.
111. Thou shalt pay him for his paper—for
he laboreth hard to give you the news in due
season.
IV. Thou shalt advertise—that he may be
able to give ye the paper.
V. Thou shalt not visit him, regardless of
his office rules—deranging the papers.
VI. Thou shalt not touch anything that will
give the printer trouble—that ho may not hold
thee guilty.
VII. Thou shalt not read the manuscript in
the hands of the Compositor—fur ho will hold
thee blameful.
VIII. Thou shalt not seek tho news before
it is printed—for ho will give it to you in duo
time.
IX. Thou shalt ask him but fow questions of
things in the office—from it thou shalt toll
nothing.
X. Thou shalt not send abusive and threat•
ening letters to the editor.
The world is JiTive that affords both
acts awl 1.040 a ,, with many emvty comb,
P -•[WEBSTIOR.
A Discovery in Egyptian Antiquities.
Dr. Thomas; in his travels in Egypt, lately
published, says: "Wu saw little else worthy of
note until we arrived at the scene of the ex.
ploration carried on by the French Govern
ment, under the superintendence of Monsieur
M—. The avenue of sphinxes was not to
be seen, as these in ages had been again cover
ed (not deeply) with sand' in order as I under.
stood, to prevent their being stolen until it
should be convenient to convey them to Paris.
We saw but two of the 140 which had been
found, but those were sufficient to form a satis
factory idea of the whole number, since they
are similar, as we were informed, in all essen•
tial respects. This partial disappointment,
however, was far more than compensated by
the opportunity we enjoyed of witnessing the
results of another discovery, by far the most
remarkable that has been made in Egypt, for
many years past. Without the last sfx weeks
or two months, Monsieur M— has opened an
immense subterranian hall, or rather series of
halls or passages communicating with each
other, designed as a place of sepulchre. One
passage is above GOO yards in length. It is
however, not more than 12 or 15 yards in
breadth, and perhaps 10 or 12 in height.
The roof or ceiling of these, perhaps, is form
ed of the natural rock, but the whole was origi
nally encased with an archway of smooth
atones. A large part of these have now fallen
from the effects of time, or from some inten
tional violence offered by man. The latter is
in all probability the true cause of the dilapi.
dation. On one each, but not opposite to each
other,are vast niches or recesses,probably about
twenty-five feet long and fifteen wide, the length
being at right angles to the passge which
they joist—containing huge sarcophagi of
granite designed apparently by the Egyptians
as tombs for sacred hulls. Each sarcophagis con
sists of a single stone about fifteen feet long,
nine feet in width, and the same in height, ex
clusive of the cover, which is also of granite,
and from 21 to 3i feet in thickness. The sides
are rather more than a foot thick. These sar
cophagi resemble in suet great stone chests.—
Externally they are finely polished and inscri
bed with hieroglyphics. About 30 of these
tombs have already been discovered; but what .
is very remarkable, no nummy or body of any
kind has been found in them.
It is probable that they might have been de
signated as honorary sculptures or cenotaphs
of Apis. It is scarcely possible that the bod
ies could have been as completely removed by
the Persians—who no doubt visited and dese
crated those tombs—that no trace or fragment
of them should have been discovered. Upon
the. covers of most all of them, were heaped a
great number of stones. This according to
M. M—, was the Persian mode of express
ing contempt to what they wished Co dishonor
or profane. From this and other circumstan
ces, he concludes that these sepulchral cham
bers were visited by the army of Cambyses.—
They do not, however, appear to have malt
ted, in any instance, the sarcophagi themselves,
these being in a state of admirable preserva
tiion. M. M— told me that more than 50
feet of sand had accumulated over the entrance
to these subterranean halls.—Pp. 59, 60, G 1
and 62.
Study of History.
We have sometimes thought that the study
of history was not sufficiently cultivated in our
schools and academies. Indeed a student
seldom, unless incidentally acquires a more
definite idea of history than ho gleans from
the classics; and a youth whose studies are
confined to the different branches of English
letters, generally leaves school with vague
and unconnected notions of ancient or modern
history.
The advantages which are derived from the
study of history aro immense—but they do
not seem to be properly appreciated. History
has been emphatically termed "the looking
glass of the world." It reflects all the actions
of mankind and brings to our view the act of
distant and receding ages. It gives us a pros.
poet of human affairs—it shows us the tumults,
changes, wars and convulsions of empires—
the politics, religion, virtues, and vices of in
dividuals andna►ions—it furnishes us with pat
terns to imitate and examples to deter.
By studying history, a man may grow wise
at the expense of the studies of other men.—
He may thus visit, without travelling, all the
habitable parts of the globe. He may con
verse with the sages of the olden time.. He
may revel at Babylon with Alexander the
Great, or sip black broth at Lacedmmon with
the pupils of Lycurgus. He may accompany
Atilla the scourge of mankind, on his devasta
ting routes, or look upon Peter of Russia,
while devising plans to improve the condition
of his barberous subjects. He may go forth I
with Columbus to discover a new world—or
join Napoleon and his numerous hosts; in at
tempting to enslave kingdoms. In a word,
familiar acquaintance with history will give a
man a certain knowledge of mankind which
every one should possess. It is an impportant
branch in education, which should not be over•
looked. It will excite to virtue and deter from
vice. It will multiply and enlarge a person's
ideas, and stimulate to noble deeds.—Boseon
Journal.
To take Ink out of Linen.
Printer's and clerk's wives, will learn with
pleasure, that to take a piece of tallow, melt it
and dip the spotted part of the linen into the
melted tallow, the linen may be washed, and
the spots will disappear without injuring the
linen.
Uft..Every man deems that he has precise
ly the trials and temptations which are the
hardest of all for him to bear; but they are so,
because they are the very ones he needs.
M.. Use not evasions when called upon to
do a good action, nor excuse when you are re.
proachcd for doing a bad one.
NO. 30.
The Country.
If you are weary of the world—if life has
gone with Ifou so that you look upon it as a
tedious and hacknied story—if you have labor
ed long and are yet surrounded by want—if
poverty has cut down the best feelings of your
soul—if you have hoped and been disappointed
—if you have trusted and been betrayed—if
some being around whom your very heart
strings were woven has been but yesterday re
turned to the dark earth—go forth from the
rude noise of busy men to the quiet and win.
ning loveliness of a country scene. Look out
of some doll in the midst of a lonely forest
where the green bank, scented with a few wild
flowers, slopes down to a running stream, that
sometimes dashes through a compressed chan
nel, that sometimes dashes through a lovely
lake. The bending willow shall overhang its
surface, and few rocks jut their mossy points
here and there into the rippling water.
When you lie down upon the cool gram, the
birds will alight near you and warble their
sweet notes, and trim their beautiful feathers,
with a confidence which you would deem it sac.
rilege to betray. Above your head, through
the openings in the branches, pieces of blue
sky will gleam upon you with clouds sailing si
lently, and if it be towards evening, and the red
sun is going down to his golden conchhis crim,
son rays will stream through the trees, and fall
upon some venerable oak, or the leaves of a
grove, or the side of a high rock, or bosom of
a glassy stream, lending them all* beauty like
that of a fairy land.
Before you have numbered halter these sim
ple and common things in nature's history,
though there has been tempests of and
gloomy resolutions in your mind, it will pass
away unconsciously; you will be inspired with
a resignation to the will of Providence, singu
larly opposite to your former recklessness and
filled with a softness of grief dearer than the
lightest flush of pleasure.
Good Taste.
The following very happy and equally true
sketch is from the London Quarterly:
" You see this lady turning a cold eye to
the assurances of shop women and the recom
mendation of milliners. She cares not how or
iginal a pattern it may be, if it be ugly, or a
recent shape, if itbe awkward. Whatever rash
ion dictates, she follows her own, and is never
behind it. She wears very beautiful things,
which people generally suppose to be brought
from Paris, but which as often are brought from
the nearest town and made up by her own hand.
Not that her costume is rich or new—on the
contrary, she wears many a cheap dress, but it
is always good. She deals in no gaudy confu
sins of colors, nor does she affect a studied so
briety, but she either enlivens you with a spir
ited contrast or composes you with a judicious
harmony. Not a scrap or tinsel of trumpery ap
pears upon her. She puts no faith in velvet
bands, or gilt buttons, or twisted cords. She is
quite aware, however, that the garnish is as im
portant as the dress; all inner borders ana head
ings arc delicate and fresh, and should anything
peep out which is not intended to be seen, is
quite as much so as that which is. After all,
there is no great art either in her Asshlon or ma
terial. The second simply consists in knowing
the three unities of her dress—her own station
—her own age, and her own points—and no wo
man dresses well who does not. After this, we
need not say that whoever is attracted by cos
tume will not be disappointed by the wearer.
She may not be handsome or accomplished;
but we will answer for her being even temper
ed, well informed, thoroughly sensible--a corn
plete lady. _ _
EnchanteA -Mountain.
They have strange things in Texas,as well as
wicked doings. The following account of a
great natural curiosity in that country, is from
the Texas Telegraph:
"This singular mountain,or hill,is situated on
the head waters of the Sallee—a small tributa
ry of the Colorado, about BO miles from Bas
trop, in a north-westerly direction. It is about
three hundred feet high, and appears to be an
enormous oval rock, partly imbedded in the earth.
When the sun shines, the light is reflected from
its polished surface as from au immense mir
ror, and the whole mountain gloWs with such
a dazzling radiance, that the behold& who views
it even from a distance of four or five miles, is
unable to gaze upon it without experiencing
a painful sensation, similar to that which is
felt when loukiug upon the rising sun. Tho
ascent of the hill is so very gradual that per
sons can easily walk up to the top; but the
rock is so smooth and slippery that those who
make the attempt are compelled to wear moc
mins and stockings instead ofshoes. This fact,
together with the name of the place, Holy
mountain, remind the visitant very forcibly of
the command made to Moses at Mt. Horeb,
"Put off thy shoos from off thy feet." Thu
Camanehes regard this hill with religious vene
ration, and Indian pilgrims frequently assem
ble from the remotest borders of the tribe, to
perform their Paynim rites upon its summit.
A Dandy Answers&
An amusing colloquy came off recently et the
supper table, on board of one of our Eastern
steamers, between a Boston exquisite, reeking
with hair oil and cologne, who was gemming'
the waiters, and otherwise assuming very con
sequential airs, and a raw Jonathan who sat
by his side, dressed in homespun.
Turning to his 'vulgah' friend, the former
pointed his jeweled finger, and said:
"Butter, soh!"
"I see it is," coolly replied Jonathan. '
"Butter, saki, I say!" fiercely repeated the
dandy.
"T know it—very good—a first rate article,"
provokingly reiterated homespun.
"Butter, I tell you I" thundered the exquisite
in still louder tones, pointing with "slow, un
moving finger," like acorn's, and scowling upon
his neighbor as if he would annihilate him.
"\Nell, gosh all Jerusalem, what of it 1" now
yelled the Down Easter, getting his dander up
to turn. "Yer didn't think I wok it for /are',
did rer ?"