Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, November 23, 1853, Image 1
VOL. 18. TERMS s The "TfuNrmcnost JOURNAL" Is published at the following rates : It paid in advance .1,50 If paid within six months after the time of subscribing 1,75 If paid at the end of the y ear 2,00 And two dollars and filly cents if not pnid till after the expiration of the year. No subscription will be taken for a less period than six months, end no paper will he discontinued, except at the option of the Editor, until all arrearages are pnid. Eubseribers living in distant connties,or in other Etates, will be required to pay invariably in advance. O'N The ahovo terms will be rigidly adhered to ft all cases. RATES OF ADVERTISING. One square of 16 lines or less Fer 1 insertion SQ,SO, For 1 month, $1,25 .4 2 ft 0,75, " 3 " 2.75 3 " 1,00, '• p " ..5,00 . . PROBESSTOEAt CARDS, not exceeding 10 lines, and not changed during the year $4,00 Conn and JOURNAL in advance 5 ,00 Ttustwass CARDS of the same length, not &Jiang.' . . • • • $3,00 . _ CARD and JounNAL, in advance r Short transient ;tdrertisements will be ad mitted into our editorial columns at treble the usual rates. On longer advertisements, whether yearly or transient, n reasonable deduction will be made for prompt payment. , 14)F,VaCt2i , , A Pungent Consideration. WANT TRADES-TRADUCING NONE RUT OUR OWN. Of all the trades that men can call Unpleasant and offensive, The Editor's is worst of all, For he is ever penaire; Ills leaders lead to nothing high— . His "columns" are unstable, And though the Printers make him "pie,' It does not suit his table. The Carpenter,—leis course is "plane," His "bit" is always near hint— Ho "augurs" every hour of gain-- He "chisels" and none jeer him. tic "shaves"—yet is not close," they say, The public pay his "board," sir, Full of wise "saws," he "bores" away, And so he swells his hoard, sir. St. Crispin's son—thc man of shoes, Has "awl" things at control, sir, He "waxes" wealthy in his views, But ne'er neglects his "sole," sir, His is indeed a "healing" trade, And when we come to casting The "Weird" profits he has made, We find his "ends" are "lasting." The Tailor, too, gives "fits" to all, Yet never gets a "basting," Ms "cabbages," however small, Are most delicious tasting. His "goose,' is hented,—(happy prig I). Unstinted in his "measure;' He always plays at "thimblerig," And 'seems" a man of pleasure. The Farmer "reaps" a fortune plump,— Though "harrowed," far from woe. sir, His spade forever proves a "tromp,"— His book is " I've-att./toe," sir, However "corned," he does not slip,— Though "huskey," never "horse," sir, And in a plow•share partnership, He gets his "share," of course, sir. The Sailor on the giddy mast— (Comparatively "master,") Has many a "bulwork" round him east To "waive" away disaster; Even "shrouds" to him are full of life, His "main•stay" still is o'er him, A gallant and "top•gallant" crew Of "beaux esprit.," before him. The sturdy Irish laborer "picks" And "climbs" to fame;—'tis funny, • He deals with none but "reglar bricks" And so he pockets money, One friend "sticks" to him, (mortar 'tis,) lig• In "hodden gray," unbaffled, He leaves below an honest name When he ascends the "seallbld." The Printer though his "euse be hard, Yet "sticks" not at his hap, sir, 'Tis his tel "canonize" the bard, And trim a "Roman cap," sir, Some go 2.4o,—what of that? He goes it by the thousand I" A man of "form,' and found of "fat," He loves the song I now send. The Engine driver, if we "track," His outward semblance deeper. Has got some very "tender" traits— He ne'er disturbs the "sleeper," And when you "switch" him as he goes, He "whistles" all the louder: And should you break him on . the wheel, It only makes him prouder. I launched this akiff of rhyme upon The "Trade winds" of the muses, Though pungent seas they've borne it on, The boat no rudder uses; So "masticate" her meaning once, And judge not "sternly" of it— You'll find a freight of little puns, And very little profit. 6f2D13G1n7 11122DLItilt. Holy Life. The beauty of a holy life constitutes the most eloquent and effective persuasive to religion which one human being can address to another. We have many ways of doing good to our fellow-creatures, but none so efli• cations as lending a virtuous, upright, and and well ordered life, There is an energy of moral suasion in a good man's life, passing the highest efforts of the orator's genius. The seen, but silent beauty of holiness speaks more eloquently of God, and duty, than the tongues of men and angels. Let parents remember this. The beat inheritance a parent can be queath a child is a virtuous example, a legacy of hallowed remembrances and associations:, The beauty of holiness, beaming through the life of a hived relative or friend, is more effec• turd to strengthen such as do stand in virtue's ways, and raise up those that are bowed down, than precept, command, entreaty, or warning. Christianity itself, f believe, owes by fur the greater part of its moral power, not to theprecepts or parables of Christ, but to his own character. The beauty of that holiness which is enshrined in the four brief biographies of the Man of Nazareth has done more, and will do more, to regenerate the world, and hring it to an everlasting - righteousness, than al! other agencies put together. It has done more to spread his religion in the world, than all that has ever been readied or written on the evidences of Christianity. le• Silence may be the sullen mood of an evil temper, or the lofty endurance of n ta:rtyr, iC linvitingbon 7 io/ rant, " I SEE NO STAR ABOVE THE HORIZON ; PROMISING LIGHT TO GUIDE UB, BUT THE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WHIG PARTY OF THE UNITED STATER."....-I[WEI3BTER. Drawing near to God. Prayer is the very life breath of true relig ion. It is one of the first evidences that a man is born again. "Behold," said the Lord of Saul ; in the day he sent Annanias to him, `Behold he prayed': He had begun to pray, and that was proof enough. Prayer was the distißguishing mark of the Lord's people in the day that there begun to be a seperation between them and the world. `Then began men to call upon the name of the Lord.' Prayer is the peculiarity of all real Christi ans now. They pray; for they all tell God their wants, their feelings, their desires, their fears, and mean what they any. The nominal Christian may repeat prayers, and goad pray ers, too, but he goes no farther. Prayer is the turning point in man's soul.— Our ministry is unprofitable, and our labor is in vain, till you are brought to your knees.— Till then we have no hope about you. Prayer is one great secret of spiritual pros perity. When there is much private commu- Mon with God, your soul will grow like grass after rain; when there is n little, all at a stand still, you will barely keep your soul alive.— Show tee a growing Christian, a going for ward Christian, a strong Christian, a flourish ing Christian, and sure I am he is one that speaks often of the Lord. He asks much, and he has much. He tells Jesus everything, and so he always knows how to act. Prayer is the mightiest engine that God has placed in our hands. It is the best weapon to use in every difficulty, and the surest remedy in every trouble. It is the key that unlocks the treasury of promises, and the hand that draws forth grace and help in time of need.— It is the silver trumpet God commands us to sound in all our necessity, and it is the cry be has promised always to attend to, even as a loving mother to the voice of her child. Prayer is the simplest means that a man can use in coming to God. It is within reach of all—the sick, tho aged, the infirm, the par alytic, the blind, the poor, the unlearned—all can pray. It avails you nothing to plead want of memory, and want of scholarship in this matter. So long as you have a tongue to tell your sours state, you may and ought to pray: These words, "Ye have not because you ask not," will, be a fearful condemnation to many in the day of judgement. Christian Intercourse. When Christians make their own progress in the divine life, the spread of Christ a King dom, and the glories to be revealed in eterni ty, the subject of frequent conversation with one another, we may expect a higher state of piety in the church and more signal displays of divine grace. When they do this, they will be looking more to things eternal, than things temporal;'. their thoughts will have more of the Saviour in them than now. From the general conver nation of many Christians, we cannot refrain from the inference, that God is not in their thoughts continually, or much, while on their business or mingling with their fellow-men.— They talk about their farms and their merehan dise—the weather and the news—while the great theme remains untouched. And when Christians are among themselves their dis course too often savors almost altogether of the earthly. How rarely do they open their hearts to one another, and unfold the experi ence of the inner life! They inquire kindly about the health of each—how rarefy do they ask of the sours health I In affliction, how rarely do they seek to pour out their griefs in the ear of the sympathizing Brother! True consolation can come only from Jesus; but the word from the mouth of a fellow Christiiin, pointing us unto the balm of our sorrow, is sweet and comforting to the soul. How cheer ily the little caravan goes on over the desert! They unite together to defend themselves against enemies; and when accident happens to one, all readily give aid to the sufferer.— How they beguile the tediousness of the jour ney, by narration of the dangers through which they have escaped and by anticipation of their enjoyments in the city which eloseth their jou' , ney I When they pass through the village of the stranger, what is then there that could in duce theni to remain? Are they not pilgrims? Are not pilgrims fellow Christians? Should we not keep in mind 'our pilgrimage,' and act as though we were sojourners ? And should not our converse be upon the city toward which we are hastening? And should we not, by our frequent conversations upon our journey siren.. „- then the heart of all our fellow travellers, and strive to enlarge our own caravan, and rejoice to hear that other companions are travelling, like us, for a city which bath foundation, whose builder and maker is God. 0.13.'iC3 - 211aBt.tInt?Jo From the Carlisle "Herald." A Day at Laurel Hill. Oct. 23, 1853. Den• R.—Having procured a ticket that would admit me to Laurel Hill Cemetery, I started, about 8 o'clock in the morning, to visit that interesting spot. The walk (about four miles,) was delightful. It was refreshing to get into the country once more, especially at this season of the year, when the trees are put ting on the rich livery of Autumn. It is, at the same time, the most appropriate season in which to visit the resting place of the dead.— Thoughtful Autumn ! The fields are shorn of their vendure—the feathered songsters no more delight the ear; nor the bright flowers, the eye --the sighing wind, as it strips the trees of their foliage, wails a sad requiem for the fall of the leaf, and the withered leaf itself speaks vol umes to the reflective mind. A little while ago, it was attached to the parent stem, full of life, and vibrating with every zephyr that play ed around it, now—dead, discolored, mid trod. den under foot; a fit memento of life. Laurel Hill, is north of Philadelphia, be tween the Ridge Road and the Schuylkill river. The entrance to the Cemetery is by a gateway in the Doric style, with Lodges on each side. Ascending the first flight of steps, immediately opposite the entrance, you find Thorn's statues of Sir Walter Scott, Old Mortality and his Po ney grouped togetlitrk under an ernemental . Temple. Old Mortality is seated on a tomb stone, looking up from his work, conversing with Sir Walter, who is seated on an upright r head-stone; the patient looking Poney is lean ing, as it were, against another tombstone, on which is inscribed—John King, 1662. The monument of the slaughtered Presbyterians, on which old Mortality is at work, has on it several names, one of which is, "Richard Ca meron, minister of the Gospel." The artist, has successfully embodied in stone, a descrip tion of the group which you will find in Scott's novel of "Old Mortality,' which, by the by, I advise you to read,and his triumph it still mere • , - .en,ph:t., when , we knee• the fe,e',thet Ilk a well, HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1853: for he was self-taught. After contemplating Old Mortality, I turned to the right, and came to the Godfrey monument. It is an obelisk, or namented by a ship and a quadrant,and marks the grave of' Thomas Godfrey, the inventor of the mariner's ,quadrant. He was born 1704- and died 174 r: Near the chapel, is the mon ument of Gen. Hugh Mercer, who was killed in the battle of Princeton. He was buried in Christ Church graveyard, in Second street, from whence his remains were removed in 1,340, to their present resting place. The monument tells the story of the deceased:—"Dedicated to the memory of Gen. Hugh Mercer, who fell for the sacred cause of human liberty and American Independence, in the battle of Princeton. He potqed out his blood for a gen erous principle." Gen. Mercer was a native of Scotland, and an assistant Surgeon in the battle of Culloden where the Pretender, Prince Charles Edward, made his last effort to wrest the crown of Great Britain from the house of Hanover On the cornice of this monument, is sculptured a sword and scabbard, the most perfect piece of work I have ever seen in :mar ble. I next visited the Gothic Chapel; it is small, but very neat, and bas a large decora tive window of stained glass. Near the chap el, is the monument of Maj. Twiggs, of the ma rine corps, and his son, both of whom were kill ed in the Mexican war. The shaft is surround ed by boarding spikes, and the base is orna mented by an anchor, shield, and coil of rope. On tie brow of the hill, is a large granite mon ument,erected to the memory of Caries Thomp son. He was long the confidential Secretary of the Continental Congress. He was born in Ireland, in 1729, and diid in 1824, full of hon ors and of years. The monument of Como dore Hull, it is said,is meddled after that in the the Scipios, at Rome, with the addition of the American eagle, perched on the centre. The inscription reads:—"Beneath this stone are de -1 posited the remains of Isaac Hull, Captain in the Navy of the Unite,: States." His monument should have been made of the good old ship, Constitution, familiarly known as lronsides, for she carried the first Anierican flag that was run up to the masthead, above the Union,.Jack of old England. Near this is the tomb of a lady who died in Egypt, which has on it a view of the Pyramids, with Palm trees. Footways run through the ground, in every direction, and the spaces are surveyed off in small plots, taking a variety of shapes, squares, half circles, oblong and oval, and all are en closed with chains or railing, fastened to mar ble posts at the corners: one lot is enclosed en tirely wills marble, having dials cut on the four sides of the massive posts.. The lots are kept refreshingly green, nearly all having iron set tees inside, and the graces are beautified with flowers and evergreens. As I approached the river, the rural character of the scene was still more striking; fine old trees cast a solemn shade around the grave of those who "Calmly rest, their hallowed place of sleeping, Bears on its bosom, no impress of dread, Life's haunts still echo to the sump of wserdpg, But peace her wings, bath folded o'er the deed. Nark ! through the branches, o'er us' darkly wreathing, Now the winds in whispered music flow, Like spirit-voices, tremulously breathing A ceaseless dirge, for those who sleep below." Next to the river, the hill is a natural am phitheatre; where the descent is gradual, ter races have been cut, forming additional walks and new burial lots. Part of the hill, however, is a bold rocky bluff, some sixty feet above the water. On part of this bluff, a small observa tory is erected, from which I had a delightful view of the Schuylkill, and its beautiful and characteristic scenery; on the south, is the bridge formerly used by the Columbia railroad; on the northwest is a viaduct of the Rending railroad, and the bridge across the Wissaltic con creek; then in the background, the old for est trees, the beautiful flowers, the fresh ever greens, and the white tombs half hidden by the creeping ivy, formed such a scene of pictures que beauty, that it seemed as if nature and art were vioing with each other, in giving a until ling countenance, even to Death. Below the observatory, several vaults have beeu built, its the Egyptian style of architecture, with heavy columns and granite walls, as if the &tiers in tended that their remains should keep up an aristocracy even in the grave, and not min gle with the common herd; but strong as their walls may be, the tooth of Time can eat through them, and the bones of those so care fully put away, may yet blench on the hill-side. Down a steep declivity, a tomb has been cut out of the solid rock,with a heavy iron door,but no name left to tell who is the occupant. On the highest point of the rocks, a stone cross has been erected, from which thorn is an ab rupt precipice to the river, resembling, some what, the rocks at the cave near Carlisle. The bate of the cross contains the following inscrip tion: "Stranger; whose steps have reached this soli "Know, that this lovely spot, was dear to one, who "Here has heard delighted, the rustling of the trees, "Melodious to the gales of summer move, 'Till all around "Ilad filled his senses with tranquility, "And ever soothed in spirit, he returned, "A happier, better into. Stronger I Perchance, the stream more lovely to thine eye, "Will glide along, oral to the summer gale "The woods move more melodioust Cleanse thou then, "The woods end mosses front this lettered stone." From this I turned to contemplate the last resting place of JosOph C. Neal, the celebrated author of the "Charcoal Sh.elches." Ile Was "a fellow of infinite jest, and most excellent fancy ;" but his heart was strung too high fur this world; the slightest blast of adversity cans• ed the striags to vibrate, until at length they snapped asunder, and the sound ceased fore, cr. ills monument is a marble sock ins its us ual state; on the top zero placed an Urn and Lyre, beautifully and richly chased ; on amar ble tablet fastened to the rock is the following inscription :--,Tosepk C.. Neal; born 1807, died 1811; "A tribute of affectionate regret, from lh elan keel him , as A. turn, and admirnd him as an author." In a quiet shady nook, nearly concealed by creeping vines, in the tomb of Maj. Adam Hoopes, Ist Reg't. U. S. Artil. lery, a gallant, accomplished, and patriotic so 1• dier of the Revolution ; born at Carlisle, Pa., 1760, and died 1846. 110 died after a long and eventful life of 86 years. As a contrast, close by was the grave of an infant, inscribed:—"Not here, but risen and gone." Taking a path to the right, I found a broken column, erected to'the memory of one "So late in bridal robes arrayed : So soon apparded for the bier !" On the side is sculptured • basket of flowers, inscribed Our Kate. "Is it well with thee? and she answered, it is well." On the south side of the Cemetery, I found a noble monu ment, raised to the memory of three sisters, who had died in the bloom of early life : "Gone, ere one soil was on their hearts— "White Heaven wee round them like a dream; "Ere they had felt the spell depart, "That brenthed on flower, and sky, and stream' It is an exquisite specimen of the Gothic style of architecture—a minature representation of a chapel ; the ground is tastefully laid out, and the tomb is shaded by Cedars of Lebanon. In the same portion of the Cemetry, a granite ob elisk has been erected to the memory of Fri edlander, the founder of the institution of the blind. He was born in Upper Silesia, in 1803, and died in 1839, at the early age of 3G. In the same enclosure, a richly carved monument is erected to the memory of the chief of the benefactor of the institution, William Young Birch, who bequeathed a large estate for the benefit of the blind. He was born in Man chester, England, in 1764, and died in 1837. Here, side by side, lie two voluntary exiles, from their "father-land," who united together to carry out the noblest enterprise that ever pure philanthropy suggested, and one such ex ample is enough to refute all the slanders that were ever put forth by all the Native Ameri can demagogues of the country. From a beautifully ornamented enclosure, rises a graceful shaft of marble, from which I copied the following :—lgi repose: Emelie Ste vens, 'Epouse de James Stevens, et mere des chers enfa ns, nee le 5 mare, 1816, Decede le Janvier 1845 "There's not an hour of dav, or dream by night, "But I am with thee. "There's not a wind, but whispers of thy name, "There's not a flower that sleeps beneath the moon, But in its hues or fragrance tells a tale of thee." One of the most striking monuments is erec ted to the memory of an infant. It is a tem ple, supported by four columns, within which is the figure of a lovely child, of life size, said to have been done by the celebrated Italian Sculptor, Pettrich, and is a portrait taken af• ter death. The little innocent face looks so simple and confiding amidst the terrors of death. Fearless the little mortal has passed alone, under the shadow, into the presence of his Heavenly Father ; "for such is the king dom of Heaven." The inscription reads :—ln memory of Alfred Theodore Miller, son of Ma thew T. and Caroline Miller—born February 1, 1840; died Sept. 8, 1840 :" "A bud of beauty, nipped by Death "Oh, no! up•bome to milder skies, "Where no rude triad with icy breath "May blight a flower of Paradise." - - Five little graves are now grouped together in the enclosure, and five chaplets are suspen ded within the temple, each bearing the name of one of the children. A little further on, was a tomb, with the "pitcher broken at the faun. lain," and close by was a pedestal erected to several children of one family, having a repre sentation of a large Bible on the top, opened at the "Family Register," with a record of the births and deaths. But time and ability would both fail me, iu attempting to give you even a foist outline of the beauties of this, to me, de lightful spot, though to many, calling up sad rem inisences of those once fondly loved. There are so many beautiful and appropriate ideas embodied in atone, that it would require a vol. nme to describe them. I have only given a few of the most prominent. I could have lin gered for hours around the place, and mused on the many weary ones, who have at length found that rest which the world denied them. Like children tired at play, they have sunk to their dreamless sleep. "They chnunt no more to the melody of the viol, nor revel any longer at the bouquet of wine." How many bright hopes have been quenched in this "field of God!" How many airy castles have fallen to ruins in the grave! How many warm hearts have been chilled by the cold marble! Awe may overcast uswhen we lonic on Peath,but we have this consolation—we are born for a high er destiny than that of earth. We may mourn for those who havegone before us, yet "Earth has no sorrows that Heaves cannot heal ;" and that rainbow of promise will never fade away. Sadly, I took one last look, over the wide expanse of graves—bat not sorrowfully; for I stood, a stranger, in that "city of the dead," yet, an humble, quiet, graveyard, soon rose up before me, in which I had friends and.kiudred to claim all my sympathies. No costly ceno taph or carved mausoleum marks the spot which covers their remains—but there are "tombstones in the Cemetery of the heart, sa cred to their memory, until some friendly hand shall write me meuto mon, over me. W. Al. r. ?Caine Oxen. A correspondent of the Germantown Tele graph thus compliments the Maine Oxen. He calls them "'mitre oxen." In one sense they aro natives, because they are " born and brought" in Maine; but they are, generally speaking' grade animals, of Durham or Here ford or Devon Blood. The native oxen of the North,--especially those of Maine,—are spoken of by travellers, who have seen them on the farms, and in the vast leather forests of that State, as a superb nee. They often measure seven and a half feet, and teams of three and four yokes each, are frequently met with, sod an ox in which gives less the seven. The nmount of labor %shish these noble animals perkwm, is to be accounted for only by the very kind and almost paternal attention they habitually receive from their drivers. in the 'ember swamps, this at tention is perhaps greater than on the farms; but in all cases they receive unalloyed kindness and whey once qttematicsily brolie to dm draurzht,' nrc rMrer severely A-hipped. Letter from an 08foe•8eeeker. To the Editors of the National Intelligeneer. WASHINGTON, October, 1853. • As you have admitted into your columns a letter from a Beggar, and as many people have undoubtedly imagined that be was the most miserable man in this community, I ask per. mission to correct this erroneous impression.— We have, indeed, followed the same trade, and "been friends together;" but while he has, after an independent manner, begged for bread, I have been a servile beggar for office. He wrote you because he thought it probable that he could not long survive, but I do the same be. cause I have actually numbered my own days. The coroner must not fail in his duty. I have dispatched a messenger, with my last shilling, after a bit of that famous opiate which I have appointed to be the bane to all better feelings of my nature, and at the same time the antidote which shall release me from my present suffer ings, and the intervening time I will devote to the revelation or confession following. Seven years ago I was in the prime and vig or of my life, and the most successful lawyer in one of the pleasantest and most thriving villa. gee in the Western Reserve of Ohio. I had a wife, devoted and accomplished, and two sweet children, a boy and a girl. Though by no means rich, I was surrounded by comfort, and had every reason to be a happy man. The war with Mexico was then progressing, and I be came fired with a martial spirit. The tears of my wife availed nothing, and I departed at the head of a company of volunteers. I acquitted myself respectably, and the war ending I re turned to Ohio. As a matter of course I found that my place in the courts had been filled, and my successor a formidable Aral. The glories of Buena Vista had facinated me, and with the multitude I thought that Gen. TAYLOR ought to be the next President. I bought out, with the help of friends, the village newspaper, and became its editor. I wrote myself almost to death in Isis behalf, and was every where tip ' pleaded for the good service I had rendered. He was elected, and in duo time I was number ed with the countless throng who visited the political Mecca for a smile from Mahomet. A printing office and three hundred doubtful sub scribers now constituted my chief dependance, and, deeming myself a fit subject for a little Government patronage, I left my paper in charge of a friend, and my family to the care of Providence, and here I am a citizen of Wash. ington. Yes, gentlemen, for nearly seven long years have I been hoping against hope, and experi enced vicissitudes which have well-nigh broken my heart, and made me, as I believe, the most miserable man upon earth. For a few weeks after my arrival here my prospects were bright, while matters at home were as well as could be expected. All my ready money I had been obliged to bring with me to defray my expen ses, so that the support of my family was ob tained upon credit, and the tradesmen in our village were very liberal and very kind. Con fident of success, I lived at one of the bid ho tels, and was as intimate with members of Congress, letter-writers, and kindred office-seek ers, as if I had been a relative of one of the new Cabinet. They enjoyed my dinners, and as a matter of course their beautifully-written names figured extensively among my creden tials and recommendations. Two months elap sed, and I could count up almost half a hundred Promises which I had received from the De partments, but still no appointment came.— The first position that I had fixed my mind upon was given to a judge in my county, and ns he was a highly respectable mart I could not complain; any second selection amounted to nothing, because the fortunate incumbent was not to be removed; and thus, one after the other, did the places I sought elude my grasp. Three months were now flown, and my purse was getting light, and trouble was staring me steadily in the face. I thought of my family, rend over the affectionate and hopeful letters from my wife, and determined to be an inde pendent man, and return immediately to Ohio; but then a foolish pride interposed; I smother ed my feelings, and resolved to continue my efforts. Promises from the Departments were now few and far between, and there was a kind of horror in the tones of the post office clerk who daily said to me, when I called upon him. in the mad belief that ,I would receive an offi cial communication, unothing for you to-day, sir." Whenever these repented disappointments were accompanied with a letter from my wife, the sword that pierced my spirit seemed to have two edges. 'And, oh, tho agony that I nightly endured as Ilay upon my bed, and thought of the past and the future—of the here and there! During this period my dress was genteel, and, as I had resolved to 'hope on, hope ever,' I tried to find peace of mind by going into so ciety. I did so, through the instrumentality of the Representatives of my own and neighboring States—for they, you know, aro always honor able men, by virtue of their position—and be came well acquainted with the fashionable cir cles of the metropolis. Night after night I at tended large parties, and, though surprised to find myself in such splendid company, I was more surprised to see the strange conglomera tion of characters with which I came in con tact. High and low, Whigs and Democrats, Senators and letter-writers, clergymen and gamblers, men of intelligence and simpletons, (myself included among the latter,) were al ways assembled upon the same platform, and I could only account for the strange mixture by remembering that every man hailed from some particular "district," and that every dis trict had a Representative. And yet, good sirs, I would nothave you understand me as doubt hog the existence of any high.toned society in Washington. Better and snore genteel society, I verily believe, does not exist in any land, but it is not that addicted to large parties, and es pecially large dinners, where are everlastingly endured the same Preach dishes, cooked by the same man. (who lives in a large brick house and^pr•r , l 1 . 7 th, set of polite waiters that have for many years past done so much to give eharacteeto fashion able life at the seat of Government. If, there. fore, you should imagine that I found consola tion by going into society, r can only say that to my taste its manifold attractions were as in sipid as dust and ashes. Time flew on, and I was compelled to change my lodgings from the first-rate hotel to an ob scure boarding-house. To my pride this was a severe blow, but another and a far more terri ble one came suddenly upon me, bringing mil dew and blight and despair over my spirit, and adding to the desolations of my home—it was the death of my forsaken• wife. The letters which communicated this sorrowful news were friendly and minute. They told me that she hnd long been drooping like ono under a heavy cloud; that her thoughts clung ever to the ab sent and loved with the devotion of woman's holy nature and the strong desires of a saint; and that, with her children almost in her arms, she died perfectly resigned and happy in the prospect of a life where want is never known, and the good can never die. What were my feelings you can better imagine than I can de. scribe. I would have attended her burial, but it was too late, and besides I had not the mon ey to bear my expenses home. Strange an it may seem in one so foolish and unworthy, I did my best to provide for my children; but when informed that my house hnd been closed, and those dear little ones taken into the kindly keeping of charitable friends, I became in feel. ing more nn exile from home than ever; and, as I sometimes profanely fancied that the curse of Heaven was resting upon me, I desperately and sullenly resolved to continue in the very city where so many of my hopes had been wrecked or blasted. Instead of months, years bad now elapsed, and I was still in pursuit of the poor phantom, office. As my clothes became thread-bare, I was excluded from the society in which I had temporily moved; and as I picked up an occa sional dollar by performing unworthy employ ments for the keepers of the common eating houses, I formed an extensive acquaintance with the profligate and the dissipated. A malt —a kind of fashionable Mephistopheles—to whom I had been introduced in my BETTEIi days (Heaven save the mark !) by a member of Congress, now crossed my path; told me he was following his old vocation, that of inviting strangers into the gaming saloons, and intima ted that there was good luck in store for me in that direction. I yielded to the temptations, pledged my last few dollars, and for six conse cutive nights was fortunate. I paid my little debts, clothed myself anew, and returned to the gaming table. Fortune for three months smi led upon me, just enough to lure me onward to my ruin. I became intimate with gamblers and accomplished in the secrets of the "dread ful trade." The brilliant lights, the rich wines, and sumptuous tables, added to my new-born passion, absorbed my entire mind, and my character and my children were alike forgotten. At the time, I could not realize that I was on the road to ruin. I drank to excess, and sel dom made my appearance in the light of day. I was possessed with frenzy, andcould not rea son; and when in my lucid intervals I did rea son, it was only to say, "if I am in the 'bonds of iniquity,' then are there many, well known to fame, in the same condition." Now and then I remember one who had recommended me for appointment to office, and in ono in stance a person at whose feet I had been a beggar for a place. As a matter of course the lower deep of my downward career was soon attained, and for more than a year past I have led the life, not of a respectable and independ ent beggar, but of an outcast, gathering my sustenance from the back doors and kitchens of the hotels, sleeping no two nights in the same place, and wandering about, with my all of wealth nod comfort tied up in a cotton pock et handkerchief, which, with my staff, I carry with me in my hands wherever I go. The man who, not long since, threw himself from the Washington Monument, and he who hanged himself on the Virginia side of the Potomac, have both set me an example which despair has compelled me to follow. Their histories are unknown, but the lesson of my life is now presented to the world. Idnre not think of my own fate hereafter, but, if God will forgive me, I pray that He will protect my children from evil ways and evil men, and teach them not only to believe, bat to act upon these precepts of the Bible which I have neglected from my youth, viz: " Put not your trust in ; trust in God, his wisdom, promises, and pow er; as for the way o f the ratgodly he turneth it upside down." Truer words than these never fell from the lips of inspiration. And here endetb the record of my bitter experience. I commend my body to the coroner and my soul to its Creator. Wonderful Mechanism is the Eyes of Birds. A singular provision is made for keeping the surface of the bird's eve dean--for wiping the glass of the instrument; as it were, and also for protecting it while rapidly flying through the air and through the thickets, without hin dering the sight. Birds are for these purposes furnished with a bird eye-lid—membrane or skin, which is constantly moved very rapidly over the eye ball, by two muscles placed in the back of the eyes. One of the muscles ends in a loop, and is fixed in the corner of the mem brane, to pull it backward and forward. If you wish to draw a thing towards any place with the least force, you must pull directly, in the line between the thing and the phi* hut if you wish to draw it as quickly as possible, and with the most convenience, and do not re gard the loss of force, you mast putt it obfiqte ly, by drawing it in two dittetions at ones.— Tie A string to a stone, and draw it towards you with one hand; then make a loop on ano ther string, and, running the first through it, draw one string in one hand not towards you, but sideways, till both strings are in a straight line: you will see how much more easily the atone moves quickly than it did before, when pulled ttraight fbrvard.- • /fr,vf.he.re'sy .Vitert lanfm • NO. 48. Hints to Farmers. HORACIGREELT, Esq., delivered the Annual Address at the Agricultural Fair in Indiana, which occupies seven columns of the Tribune. Speaking of the Farmers, he says: But let us pause at that word Industry. "By Industry we thrive," is an old saw, which is very well in its place, but the truth contained in proverbs is so curtly expressed that it often misleads more than it directs. Industry is in • deed essential to thrift, and farmers, like other men, often need to be reminded slit. When I note and o'erwhelmed with "business which, calls him away from home two or three days in each week, and keeps him hanging about the tavern or store while his boys are at play and his potatoes crying for the hoe, I know whither that fanner is tending, and can guess about how long he will have any land to mismanage. And I think that, in the average, farmers waste more hours than mechanics. They have more idle time—not necessarily; but quite commonly so regarded—through bad weather, severe cold, too much wet Ste. than falls to the lot of almost any other class, and it is very easy to allure many of them away to shoot at other mans ter kies when they should be growing food for their own. But while many waste precious hours, quite as much through heedlessness and want of system, and indolence, I know another class who slave themselves out of comfort and out of thought by incessant, excessive drudgery—who are so absorbed in obtaining the means of living that they never hind time to live—who drive through the day so that their bones ache and their minds are foggy at night, and are so over worked through the week that they can neither worship God nor enjoy the society of their fami lies on the Sabbath. These men will often tell you they have no time to read, which is just as rational for the captain of a steamboat to plead a want of time to consult his compass and chart or keep a reckoning of his ship's progress. No time to read? Do they not find time to plant and sow, to reap and mow, and even to eat and sleep? IT they do, then they may find time, if they will, to learn how to apply their labor to the best advantage as well as to qualify them selves by rest and refreshment for working at all. I venture the assertion that there are teen• ty thousand farmers in Indiana who would have been wealthier as well as more useful, more res pected and happier men this day, if they had abstracted ten hours per week from labor during all their adult life, and devoted those hours to rending and thought, in part with a view to im provement in their On•n mention, but in part also looking to higher and nobler ends than even this. Some men waste the better part of their lives in dissipation and idleness; but this does rot excuse io others the waste of time equally precious in mere animal effort to heap up goods and comforts which we must leave be hind so soon and forever. —I read very few old books—l can hardly find time to master the best new ones; but t have no doubt that those who do read the very oldest treatises on Agriculture which have sur vived the ravages of time, will find Cato, or Seneca, or Columella, and whoever may be the author in hand, talking to the farmers of his day very much as our farmers are now general ly talked to, and inculcating substantially the same truths. "Plow deeper, fertilize more tho roughly, cultivate less land, and "cultivate it better "—such, I have no doubt has been the burden of Agricultural admonition and exhorta tion from the days of Homer and Moses. It seems incredible to modern skepticism that mil lions of Hebrews could have for ages inhabited the narrow and rocky land of Judea; and it would be hard to believe, if we were ignorant of the Agrarian law of Moses, under which, as population increased, the inalienable patrimony of each family became smaller and smaller, and the cultivation of course better and better-- Very few of us are nt all aware of the aterago capacity of an amble acre, if subjected to the rough scientific culture. Many a family of four of five persons has derived n generous subsis tence for year after year from a single acre.— The story ofa farmer who was compelled Lose!! off half his little estate of eight or ten acres ; and was Most agreeably mu-prised by finding the reward of his Tabor quite as large as when it was restricted to the remaining half as when it was bestowed on the whole, was very current in Homan literature two thousand years ago: Why it is that men persist in running over much land, instead of thoroughly cultivating a little defying not only Science, but EXperiencci the wisdom of the fireside as well as that of the laboratoxy, can be accounted for by supposing that men havc a natural passion for annexation of pride in extended dominion, or else a natural repugnance to following good advice. Surely, if Wisdom ever cried in the streets, she has been bawling herself hoarse these twenty-five centuries against the folly. of maintaining fences and paying taxes on a hundred acres of land in order to grows crop that might have bees produced from ten: Hollow Horn Disease'. Seeing in your paper of the 3d ill:, an enqui ry respecting a disease called holloW horn, tho cause and cure; perhaps, as no description of the disease is R isen, it may be something I am not acquainted with, yet we have a disease called the horn nil; the symptoms are, shop ping of the head and ears, lying down, turniug the head over the back, towards the shoulders, as if in pain in the head. This I think is a spinal disease effecting the brains and horns. Cure—Take a large table spoonful of sulpher, and lard sufficient when warm to make it soft like paste, pour it on top of the head at dm root of the horns; taken shovel or flat piece of iron, heat. it, and hold it over the head so as to teat the paste and warm the top of the bead as much as the best will bear; repeat once in or three days, And bore th horns on. the under side, two or three inches front the head. so as to lot in fresh air—and let the putrid matter out if any is collected. I have never known this fail, if taken before too far gone. -- I base cured one cow when the top of the head was so full of matter that I opened a place above the ear which discharged more than a half pint. This was in the summer: the cow was fattened in the fall and killed; the bead was all right, excepting a place at the roots of the horns about as large at a mall speen C0w1..--Baton Cuttirater.