VOL. 18. TERMS : The 910(n:401)0N JOUILNAL" is published at the following rates t If paid in advance 81,50 If paid within six months niter the time of subscribing If paid at the end of the • • And two dollars and fifty cents if not paid till alter the expiration of the year. No subscription will be taken for a less period than Mx months, and no paper will be discontinued, except nt the option of the Editor, until all arrearagcs nre paid. Subscribers living in distant counties,or in other States, will be required to pay invariably in advance. ir The aboye terms will be rightly adhered to in all cases. RATES OF ADVERTISING. One aquarc of IG lines or less For I insertion $0,50, For I month, $1,25 •,e ‘c 0,75, " 3 " 2,75 11 3 11 1,00, ‘. 6 " 5,00 PRO.9SIOEAL Canna, not exceeding 10 lines, and not changed during the year $4,00 CA. and JOURNAL in advance 5,00 11E81.88 Campo of the sonic length, not changed Cann and JOURNAL, in advance 4,00 tom' Short transient advertisements will he --- ad mitted into our editorial columns at treble the usual rates. On longer advertisements, whether yearly nr transient, a rensonable deduction will be made fur prompt payment. POgifEKAIL. It is a Shame: I really think it is a shame A woman can't propose, Instead of waiting the caprice, Of obstinate young beaux; Our foolish custom ne'er allows, A timid maid to choose, But she must listen to man's choice, Then take him or refuse. They tell us that when leap year comes This privilege we have, But 'tis an idle tale, I vow— We're nothing but man's slave, I wish some one else would make a law, To take effect direct. That man should henceforth, sit and wait, And women should select. Why, if a woman now declines, If asked some time or other, And thus lets one proposal slip, She ne'er might get another; But man can poke his nose around, And pick where he's inclined to, • Or he can let the matter pass, Just as he has a mind to. 0 ! Censure not the Heart. BY IIICIL&RD STORKS WILLIS. ID I censure not the heart that loves, However strange a choice we see, Each gentle spirit knows its mate, Tho' hid front us the tie may be! When mortals meet, their spirits hold Communion in the silent nir: And trust, and doubt, and love, and hate, Invisibly are wakened there O! let them freely love that can! Our mortal loves will soon be o'er, We cannot know what earthly bliss Survives—upon a heavenly shore Pull many a fragile, tender joy, Was made for this poor world alone; And wether found, or failed of, here, In after-life will ne'er be known ! EMME6I2rEI2CAM. From Putnam's Magazine. American Ladies. There is no complaint more common than that of the intense dulness of our ordinary so ciety. This is so well understood, that no one is surprised at hearing an invitation spoken of as an infliction, and the acceptance of it na a thing to be eluded by any and every social art and fiction. We venture to say that ours is the only country under the sun where this is the case. And the reason is but too obvious; it is. that as a general thing, unless there are people hired to amuse in some was, there is ab solutely nothing expected at a social gathering hut dress and display, for whirls not every one has means or inclination. Nobody goes into company intending to contribute in the small est degree to the pleasure of others, and so the whole thing is vitiated and hollow. There will be many of Mrs. Potiphar's balls this winter! Would we might live to see the end of them. Do we mean, then, to say that American wo men, as they are, are not accomraplished ? Let us summon all our courage—nay, all our benevolence, and confess that that is just what we do wean.' (We have thrust sticks into a hornet's nest be tore now, on purpose to pull it down and get at some lovely pears that were growing above.) We do say—and let our un happy bachelorhood take the blame if we are wrong—that American ladies, spite of thou. sand-collar boarding-schools and immensely mustached teachers of everything, arc not prac tically furnished forth with the knowledge and skill for which their parents have paid so touch; do not carry with them into their married homes, habits which demand the exercise of talent, taste and perseverance, with the single object of pleasing those with whom they live, and snaking home the centre and natural then tre of their best graces. We do say, and with a deeper sorrow than the subject may seem to some to warrant, Oust music, dancing and French are the only aceomplishraents, techni cally so called, cultivated to any consider able extent, and that the first of these is so eh tirely perverted from its divine uses, that no young lady plays in company for the sole pur pose of giving pleasure, or without an idea of competition or display. "No young lady !" we hear some indignant voice exclaim; alas 1 dear reader, have patience--if there be exceptions, they are too few to be considered. Ask any aplended singer of your acquaintance to sing nh old-fashioned song, ono popular twenty or thirty yesse ago, and not yet "revived" by some musical prodigy in public, and you will be convinced. Ask your daughter to play for year country cousin, and see if she will play any but the most difficult music, such as is mere confusion -to uninstructed ears. Request the young lady who sang very sweetly last ev ening in a company where there wore only or dinary performers, to oblige you again to-night, h hoc her rival at Mmitartt s has. mon. (-4141, . ~ , • tilltittiltibiOrt LU1 4 :11,,Ca. lit ‘. I SEE NO STAR ABOVE TILE HORIZON, PROMISING LIGHT TO GUIDE US, BUT THE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WHIG PARTY OP TUB UNITED STATES."-[WEISSTEII. ished the room. But this is a little aside from our theme. What we ought rather to say is, see how large a proportion of the fifty married Indies of your acquaintance who have had a musical education, play and sing at all, after two or three years' housekeeping. Music is no longer a home accomplishment, a family treas ure, a life-long joy. There is a delusion about it, which an ideal woman will see through and live down. J3ut enough. Dancing is not worth many words. It is, properly, the joyous expression of youthful hi larity and strength, and dies a natural death as sober hours. creep on, and the muscles have enough to do otherwise. Let it take care of itself, under the sweet guidance of delicacy and grace. We have no quarrel with it, so long as it keeps its place. The study of the French language is, in most cases, a mere mania of the day, in many a spending of time and money without intelli gent end or aim, since it finishes with the school days and never had any intended use as a key to French literature. If here we Kenn to make rash assertions again, we desire to be put to a test similar to the .one proposed jest now. Ask the six most intelligent mar ried ladies of your friend, how many French authors they have read in the original since they left school. Would we then discourage the study? Far from it; we would only con tinue it through life; we would never under take it without meaning to do so. The only other feasible object of so much toil would be the chance of Marrying one of our numerous foreign ambassadors or charges, who would cer tainly be made much more respectable in the eyes of people abroad if even their wives had this indispensable competency for the position. As to drawing, that lovely home-talent, in the exercise of which British ladies so general ly excel, how Mall a proportion of ours wino know anything about it. A lady artist is al most a insane naturcc among us, and even a tolerable skill in sketching from nature is ex tremely rare. Of all the educated American women we know, and that includes a goodly number, encountered in the course of our wan derings, there are not six who can make a drawing they are willing or ought to he willing to show. Why is this 1 Let us nut enter on the ungracious exposition. Let the ladies ans wer the question for themselves. We have said enough about what are popu larly called accomplishments, and shall par sue the topic no further at present. But our ideal American woman is but half indicated as yet. We have implied her outline by contrast and comparison; let us now be a little more direct. Having confessed that neither the grub nor the butterfly is to our taste, we would further observe that an enlightened and ele gant woman gives her own character to her oc cupations. As she fells, believes and is, so will her work be, in kitchen or parlor. 'Diet shrewd beauty, Lady Mary Wortley Montague, a dukes daughter, saw this and said it, a hund red years ago. "Healer tine cltambre," she says, (we quote from memory,) "ce neat pas 'rambler WIC chantbre; c'est evince tut endroit os ,)'attends anon anti. Ordonner an cover," etc. The thing is what we make it. One of the great dutch painters represents the Holy Family after a courageous fashion: Joseph plaining at a carpenter's bench, with shavings falling all about him; Mary, with a basket of family mending, plying the needle industriously; and the Saviour, a youth of four teen, meekly sweeping the floor with a broom. More could hardly have been done fur the dig nity of household labour. --- Wesllall, --- &ra;;Us we hope, not shock anybody by saying that, to our thinking, our la dies of fortune show bad taste by their studi ous avoidance of those household occupations which their sisters without fortune are in duty bound to practise daily. This brings these oc cupations—necessary for the comfort nnd hap piness of every human family, from the palace to the hut, and therefore proper objects to every one having a human heart and sympa thies—into disrepute and contempt. We con tend that domesticity is the honor and glory of a woman, whatever her fortune and abilities; and that when she performs all its duties by means of hirelings, she is untrue to herself and her birthright. Nature's revenge is severe enough, for the loss of real pleasure and inter est is incalculable, and there is no computing the ennui, inanity and ill health that come of the error. But the punishment is seldom re cognised as such, certain as it is. The lady becomes "nervous," and accuses her cruel stars; or "dyspeptic," and talks of her stomach till she turns every one's else; or. consumptive, and goes down to the grave in the prime of life by what is called a "mysterious dispensa tion." But she never believes, nor can you persuade her, that the dulness and monotony of an objectless and wasted life has anything to do with these sad results. She would laugh at you, if she could yet laugh, should you tell her that the woman who, with no choice in the matter, flies from the needle to the churn, from the broom to the pie -board, and from put ting the children to bed to knitting stockings for them, is far happier and better off, and would be still more blessed if, in addition, she had the cultivation, the taste, and the aben daat means thrown away upon her idle sister, without losing her own activity and the habit of various employment. "Want of time" is much talked of, as if from the•shorttiess of life we could wisely attempt but little. But this is a great error. The complaint is oftenest made by the idle and in efficient. It has been proved a thousand times that these who have most to do have the most effective leisure—i.e., that they are the people to apply to if you needmid unexpectedly. Our working hours are carefully reckoned by the clock; those that slip by unprofitably, do so un recorded. There is time for the highest culti vation and the highest usefulness; those who doubt, accuse Ptovidence, as if powers were meant to run to waste. The languor of too much rest is not repose, bat imbecility; the in ter7als of intense action ate 3,cet; and full of HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1853. life and promise. The excitements of a true woman's life, under favourable circumstances, are gentle, but they are incessant. She has no occasion for severe labour, she has no ex. ruse for wilful idleness. Our ideal woman will not think idleness lady•likc. Tho ideal American woman—would that her time were come l—will govern her chile dren, which certainly the American woman of today does not. We will venture to any that so many utterly uncurbed children are not to be found anywhere as in the United States; perfect nuisances to everybody who is unhappy enongh to come in contact with them—an ex pression perhaps suggested by the fact that we arc still black and blue from the kicks of a lit tle boy whom his mamma very complacently allowed to assault us repeatedly during a long stage-ride this last summer. We should per haps have been more indignant if the good lady had not been kept in countenance by all the American mothers we encountered during a pretty long tour. It is hardly possible to ex aggerate in describing the behaviour of Ameri can children to their parents, their nurses, their unhappy teachers—and why is this so lit tle noticed? In conversation it is a never failing topic especially among travellers, who experience its effects in every steamer, ear and carriage. Ask our teachers to what extent parents aid them in the goverment of children. If they dare, they will tell you sad stories. Now, begging pardon of all the dear, good women of our acquaintance who allow their children to treat them with disrespect, there is pitiable' weakness in this, and our ideal wo man will put it to shame by the firmness with which she will insist on her rights, and the ten derness with which she will grant her children theirs. She will not, for The sake of seeming amiable, let them grow up in unchecked inso lence, which in the end, she is as unwilling tb. bear as other people. She will neither be the tyrant of her children, nor allow them to lord it over her; she will not harass them by incess ant governing, nor permit them to despise pro per restraints. Our Father. Often in the morning, when we awaken. we hear a little childish voice saying "come Bob by, let's say our prayers," and then together both little voices offer that most beautiful of all petitions— " Our Father, which art in Heaven." All over the world, in castle and hall, by the nrinee and by the peasant, is that most beauti ful prayer repeated—but above all it sounds sweetest when lisped by the sunnv.haired child at its mother's knee. Mark the little bending form—the hair put softly back, the white hand folded, the reverent glance bent towards her's as though it saw a Saviour in its mother's eyes. Blessed little child I What a dreary waste. what a wild and fruitless wilderness would this world be without them I How often the toiling mother wakes almost despairing— there is no lima in the house—her ceaseless labor will hardly buy bread. As she looks upon the red sun—rising with the sad forebodings, and knows not how to procure a meal for her little ones—sweetly up on her vines comes the murmuring of infant voices. She listens. Her very babes are looking trustfully towards heaven. They have hushed their sports, and kneeling together by their pure couch, they say— " Give us this day our daily bread." Her soul grows strong within her; she knows God will never forsake her—and with tears she thanks him that she ever taught them how to pray. And are there little children who never say "Our Father?" Are there mothers so lost to all that is holy and beautiful in Heaven and on earth, that they put their babes to Sleep with teaching them on whose arm they rest? When night folds her starry curtain about them, and the moon looks down, silvering the meadows and spangling the trees, do they not tell them who, m His goodness, made all this beauty, and how with sweet confidence they should trust in Him? We turn shudderi ugly from the picture of a prayerless mother. Parent, if your children have never repeated "Our Father" at their nightly orisons, teach them now. When you are lying in your silent graves, the memory of that little sentence, "lead us not into tempta tion," may bear them safely through a world of danger. A Hint to men of Talent. When a man gets into the newspapers, or in to current literature, the public may as well despair of ever knowing anything about him. What lifetime would be long enough, for exam. plc, to disinter the man, Napoleon Bonaparte, from the bottom of the Alexandrian Library, under which lie now lies buried, and place lion before mankind in a clear, true, certain nar rative ? Who knows whether Napolean 111. is a popular man with the French nation or not? The conservative letter-writers all say he is; the liberal letter-writers all say he is not. And to come nearer home, how many American citi zens are competent to speak with perfect cer tainty, respecting the characters of Andrew Jackson, Henry Clay, Daniel Webster? They are hidden behind vast clouds of incenso and other kinds of smoke. Our public men; in these ' days of universal type, seem to write their ve• ry private letters with one ey e on the paper, and the other on posterity.' Of our remoter heroes, Franklin is the only man who is gener ally and intimately known; because w e p ossess Franklin's autibiography—that most deligtful, because most honest of American books. With regard to W18111'1E:TO , : it only at extreme ly • • t is Fere intervals, by reading countless books, and listening to many verbal narratives, that we can really get our eye upon king, and see precisely what manner of man ho was. There is no personage of American history of whom less is accurately known to the general public, than the man, George Washington. B 7 and by, when men of genius cease writing faction, and devote themselves to the elueidation of what is true, all this will be otherwise. Then the Jaeksons, Clays, Weboters, WasliingtOns, and Putnama of history, will stand out upon the living page as clearly as do now the Skim poles, the Warrington, the Leather-stockings, the Piekwicks of fiction. Think of this, young men of letters.—Home Journat. 111EnteT THE DEVlL.—qt's quite too bad of ye, Darby, to bay that,your wife is worse than the devil.' `An% plum, your reverence, I can prove it by the Holy Seriptures—l can Ly the powers. Didn't your reverence in the sermon yesterday tell us if we resisted the devil, he'd Ilco from uz? 1 ,7, r , if I r_aa flies at me.' The Charms of Manner. "To move with easy, though with measured pace, Awl show tm part of study hut the grace." "So gently blending courtesy and art, That wisdom's lips seem formed of friendship's heart." There is nothing so well calculated to touch,and win, as a graceful manner. It serves to embellish and beautify the outward man, and in some degree to adorn and dignify, not only the social but the intellectual character. What polish is to the diamond, manner is to the individual. It heightens the value and the charm. One of easy manner, always quiet, graceful and self-possessed—always bland, courteous end captivating, cannot fail to se cure friends, and make afavorable impression. What indeed is more delightful in youth than a manner which at once acknowledges respect for age, indicates modesty and discretion, and at the same time is free from the awkward and uncouch air, which too often defaces and dis figures. A polished manner is essential to ev ery true gentleman. He must not only under stand and be able to govern himself, but he must appreciate the feelings, the circumstan ces and the position of others. It is moreover, quite an easy task to be affable and courteous, when once the habit is permitted to grow, and thus become identified with character. In the course of an Address that was recently deliver. ed at the Anniversary of the State Normal School at Albany, Dr. Horatio Potter conten ded that manner should be a leading feature in education. He described it as the 'outward expression of the mind, not merely of its know,- edge or strength of reason, but of the degree to which it had been softened and humanized by culture, and of the point which it occupied in the scale between barbarism and perfect civ ilization.' And this is emphatically true.— How often we are carried away by the force of first impressions! A single look will some times linger in the soul for years. We may have heard of on individual again and again, have become familiar with his heart and char acter, by letter or through lhe representations of others, and have formed a sort of friendship or attachment and yet much of this may be dissipated at a single interview, through the awkward, nab appropos, uneasy and ungrace ful manner. Who cannot point out some young gentleman of his acquaintance, who is perpet ually blundering into difficulties, dialemas, and awkward predicaments, simply in conse quence of an abrupt, brusque, uncouth and in elegant manner! He can neither stand at ease, walk with grace, nor speak with elegance—and this, too, despite the fact that his heart may be good, his mind may be well informed and his acquaintance with the world comparatively extensive. It is either his misfortune or his fault to be awkward in manner, and this will often prove a stumblieg block in life, and cope- Melly among the fair daughters of Eve, who in such matters, are so observing, so critical, and so satirical. These latter qualities are, we are aware, unjust and ungenerous under the cir cumstances, for some of the noblest hearts that ever animated the human frame, are to be found within awkward forms, and associa ted with ungainly figures. Better, too, have the principle than the manner—better the heart within than the form without. Nevertheless both are desirable, and hence we argue in fa. vor of a manner that combines ease, grace, courtesy and self-possession—one that expres ses by its every movement a proper apprecia tion for the taste, the feelings, and even the prejudices and passions of others. Who, for example, that is properly cultivated can ad mire the course, the rude and the violent—the blustering, the insolent, the reckless and the bold? The manner is in some sense the min. ror of the mind. It pictures and represents the thoughts and emotions within. It indi cates not only the condition of the intellect, but the spirit of courtesy and propriety. It is, enys Dr. Pottei, 'through the manner, mote than almost any other way, that we continually impress and influence favorably or unfavora bly, those who are about us. We cannot al ways be engaged in expressive action. But even when we are silent, even when we are not in action, there is something in our air and manner, which expresses what is elevated or what is low, what is humane and bonignat, nor what is course and harsh.' Let usnot be misun derstood. We would not check or restrain the gushings of a guiless heart or the overflowings of a joyful spirit. Still there is a wided ifference be. tween the buistrous and the frank, between the affected and the genial, between the heart that is cultivated and exults because it is rough.— Affectation moreover, should be carefully gam , tied against. It is an error of little minds. It is a weakness rather than a polish; and yet it is too often mistaken by those who indulge ins It fur the latter. The charm of manner con sists in its simplicity, its ease and its grace.— It not only becomes but it adorns. It not only beautifies, but it subdues and wins. Take two persons for example, who nro equal in other respects, let them he of similar positions in life—equal in fortune, equal in good looks, and like in disposition. But let them differ broad ly and distinctly in manner, and the contrast will strike every beholder. There are indeed many who cannot enter n room, where half a dozen individuals male and female, are asseni. bled—without displaying some awkwardness, perpetrating some blunder, or uttering some mistimed remark. The difficulty with many of such is, that they cannot command or con trol themselves. They become excited and confused, and this excitement of the mind ex tends to the manner and the tongue, and indu ces them very often to render themselves ridic ulous. Once in such a dialerna they go from bad to worse, and in an effort to escape, they get themselves the more involved. How im portant then, the study of manner! And yet it is neglected, almost universally, while some of our teachers are themselves anything but models in this respect. The idea of ease , and grace in personal depertmem seems sever to have entered their minds. They forget 016 first impression is often - made . through the eye and hence an awkwerd boy may be ruined be f.re 11:' I.e: en erte:tun;t:. t's men. tal qualities. Acorn:ding to an old aphorism, 'manner maketh a man.' We arc not dispos e ed to go so far, but it is quite certain, neverthe• less, that an easy, graceful, polished • manner, has often been the pioneer to position, power and fortune. Death of a Conscientious Miser. An old Dutchman named Shemin, who lived in one of the wretchedest hovels that stand in the rear of Sheriff street, and whose apparent poverty and manifest sufferings from a dread ful case of hernia had long excited the sympa thy of his humane neighbors, died of asthma and a complication or other diseases. He was well known to be of a very obstinate and ec- centric disposition; and although he had been confined to his bed for some weeks, he not only rejected all medical aid, but persisted to the last in his habit of sleeping in the whole of his wardrobe, which consisted chiefly of a pair of , breeches, that at some remote era had been constructed of blue velvet, and a sailor's jack et, and a freize overcoat; all of which exhibited accumulated proofs of the old man's attach ment. He sent for Mr. Van Duerson, a res pectable countryman of his, residing in the neighborhood, who had given him charitable relief, and privately requested hint to make his will. To this gentleman's great surprise, he bequeathed various sums of money, amounting altogether to $3700, to children and grandchil• dren, residing in New York and Albany, and confidentially informed him where his property was deposited. He then related to Mr. Van Duerson the following remarkable facts in his history : He stated that about twenty-five years ago, he was a porter to a mercantile house in Ham burg, and having been long in its employ, was frequently entrusted with ponbiderahle sums of money for conveyance to other establishments. In an hour of evil influence he was induced to violate his trust, and absconded to this country with a large sum. Having arrived, he invest• ed the greeter part of it in the purchase of two houses, which adjoined each other, and which, before he had effected an insurance on them, were burnt to the ground. Considering this a judgment of heaven upon his dishonesty, he determined to devote the remainder of his life to a severe course of industry and parsimony, with the single object in view of making full restitution to the persons whom he'had injured, or to their descendants. He adopted another name, and with the means he had left, commenced business in this city, as a tobaconist; and, although his trade was a retail one, and had suffered a heavy loss by fire, he had succeeded five years since in acquiring sufficient property to accomplish his just and elevated purpose. He then, accord ingly, sold his stock in trade, and was preparing to transmit the necessary amount to Hamburg, where the mercantile firm ho had defrauded still continues, when he ascertained that it had a branch establishment or agency counting house at Philadelphia. Thither ho went and paid the sum of $ll,OOO, being equivalent to the original sum he had embezzled, with a cer tain rate of interest. The latter, however, was generously returned to him by the sun of one of the partners, and this, together with some surplus money, he has bequeathed, as above stated. For the last five years he has lived in utter obscurity, and in severe accordance with his long-formed habits of parsimony. His execu tor, Mr. Van Duerson, found the above named sure of $3700, principally in doubloons, 'curl °lndy concealed in a certain private department of the tenacious breeches before specified; and it was ascertained that the old man's case of hernia was a case of something far less objee tionable. The remainder of his money was found under the patches of his jacket, with the exception of a 6111011 sum in shillings and six pences, discovered in an old snuff jar, which seems to have been the depository of his cur rent funds.—Albany paper. Process of Digestion. Few persons are aware what articles of food are most readily digested, For the benefit of those who have not made the subject a study, we append the following table, exhibiting the result of a large number of experiments made by Dr. Beaumont, on Alexis St. Martin, a Ca nadian, whose stomach was ruptured and ex posed by the bursting of a gun. After recov ering from the injury i an opening was left, through which Dr. Beaumont introduced food of different kinds, and as the interior of the stomach could be distinctly seen, the Doctor was thus enabled to witness the whole of the digestive process, and ascertain the exact time required to digest any articles of food thttt may be introduced: 11. 1 , 5. Sour Apples were found to digest in 2 50 Sweet Apples, 1 30 Roast Beef, 3 30 Fried Beef, 4 001 Old, bard, and salted boiled Beef, 4 15 Wheat Bread, fresh, 3 30 Butter, 3 30 Cabbage, raw, 2 30 Cabbage, boiled, 4 30 Sponge Cake. 2 30 Catfish, fried, 3 30 Old Cheese, 3 30 Chickens, 2 45 Green Corn, 3 45 Apple Dumplings, 3 00 Goose and Lamb, 2 30 Beef's Liver, 3 00 Boiled Milk, 2 00 Oysters Raw, 2 55 Oysters Roasted, 3 15 Oysters Stewed, 3 35 Park Roasted, 6 10 Pork Boiled; 4 30 Eggs, hard boiled, 3 30 Eggs, soft boiled, 3 00 Potatoes, boiled, 3 40 i l Potatoes, baked, 2 30 Rice, boiled, 1 00 Yarkey, roasted or boiled, 2 30 Turnips, 3 30 Vent boiled, • 4 00 Veal, fried,4 30 V. A Wag recently appended to the last of market regulations in Cincinnati. ''No ling 11•22 r r Talbot's Tunneling Maohine. The successful operation of this ponderous mechanical engine has at length demonstrated the feasibility of excavating rock and tunnel ing through mountains by means of machinery. The slow and expensive process of perforating by means of the drill and blast will soon bo done away with forever, the dangerous force of, gunpowder being superseded by the equally resisCess but more manageable agency of steam. Mr. 'Talbot's invention, unlike that ern played fruitlessly upon the Home tunnel, en tirely dispenses with the blast—the whole ex cavation, seventeen feet iu aiameter, being made simply by cutting and crushing the rock. The cutting tool, as in the ease of the Iloosac machine, is the well-known invention of Charles Wilson, which has long beets employed to ad vantage both in this city and elsewhere, in the business of dressing stone for building purpo ses. This, however, is the first instance, it is believed, in which it has been successfully ap plied to boring or excavating. Mr. Wilson's invention consists \ simply of a rottiting disc of steel, with its periphery or cutting edge prop erly adapted to cut away the surface of stone by rolling against it. Mr. Talbot's machine applies sets or series of these rotating discs to the surface of a rock or mountain, in such a manner that they describe in their action a seg. moist of a circle from the centre to the circum ference of the tunnel to be excavated,in combine lion with a slow motion around said centre; while, at the same time, the entire machine which carries the cutters advances forward in the di rection of the axis of the tunnel, in order to keep the cutters to thei rework as the face of the rock is cut away by the operation of the machine. The' distinctive peculiarity of the invention is the simple but very ingenious me thod by which these several motions are so combined as to cause the different sets of cut ters to act In succession on the entire surface of the proposed excavation. A machine embodying the features of this invention, and constructed for the purpose of experimentally testing its value, has just been erected upon the line of the Harlem railway, about seven miles distant from the city. It was built by Messrs. Woodruff & Beach, ma chinist., at Hartford, Connecticut, under the immediate supervision of the inventor. It is composed entirely of iron, and weighs, exclu sive of the steam-engine and boiler employed to operate it; upwards ofseventy tons. Through the courtesy of the proprietors we witnessed its operations a day or two since, and were out snitch gratified by the successful issue of its conflict with the rock as by the wonderful in genuity and mechanical skill displayed in its contrivance and construction.. The rock to which it is applied, in point of texture and compact solidity, scarcely yields precedence to the hardest granite. It is therefore admirably adapted to test the power and capacity of the machine. Tho position of the rock was such that the machine approached it, of necessity, in the first instance, in an oblique direction.— Its face, too, was inclined from an exact per pendicular, the base projecting forward several feet further than the summit. At first, there. fore, the sectors, or arms which carry the cut. tors, did not at all strike upon the surface to be cut, and the machine accordingly operated at disadvantage, the opposition being but par. tial and the strain unequal. So massive, how ever, was the structure that the shock was scarcely perceptible, and the Nage arms seemed to advance through the opposing rock with o motion as facile and regular as that of their neighbors, whiclt played unresisted in the air above. Slowly but steadily and unflinchingly the cutters described their curve; the great thee plate, seventeen feet in diameter, revolved; and the machine advanced. throwing out and draw ing in its arms, like the claws and feelers of an immense iron lobster, at every motion grail. pling with the everlasting reek, and crumbling successive inches of it into dust. It was a spectacle to be contemplated in silent admira tion, almost with awe and wonder. The machine has now advanced about twen ty feet beyond the point where it originally struck the rock at its base, and is already op erating with all its cutters upon the entire sur face to be cut away. It goes forward from five to six inches per hour. Only lone men are re quired in operating it, two of whom are em ployed exclusively upon the stearn.engine by which it is propelled; and there would appear to be no reason why the work should be sus pended day or night, save at occasional inter vals for the purpose of sharpening the cutters. The immense importance and value of such an invention readily suggests itself to the mind. In all the various departments of civil engineer ing its want is felt, and the beat mechanical talent of the land has long been seeking for a solution of the problem it so fully elucidates. Thepublic ark indebted for its development to Cuss. T. Snet.ros, Esq., who has been identi fied with atone-cutting machinery from its in. coup—N. Y Journal of Commerce. Dignity of an Indian Chief. Wo duuht if the annals of ancient history furnish a reply surpassing in eloquence and grandeur the following, from an untutored sa, age: A 3 Tecumseh proudly approached, General Harrison rose to receive the Chiet; and point ing to a bench prepared for the purpose, said— " Your white futher requests you to bo seat ed." Tecumseh east upon the American General a look of unmitigated scorn and indignation. "You toy father?" said he. "No! the sun," pointing to that luminary in the heavens, "is my father The earth," pointing to the ground, "is my mother! And," throwing himself em the ground, "1 will rest nowhere but on her bosom r Ser . The following in one of the toasts gives at the celebration of the Fourth of July out Wert: "Jtneriruu youth—May their ulatifion NO. 49. Collision and Miraculous Escape. About 6 o'clock, Wednesday evening, the Express train from Buffalo came in collision with a tree blown across the track, three.quar ters of a mile east of Springfield, a station twenty-five miles west of Eric. The severe gale from the Lake had torn up a hemlock two feet in diameter, and cast it angularly over the track. The tree struck the rails about twenty feet from its roots. The evening was dark and stormy. The accident occurred in the woods, which rendered objects less distinct. The train had been delayed some hour and a half at Erie, waiting for the arrival of the Buffalo train. When the collision happened it was moving at the velocity of forty miles per hour. The crash was awful. The tree, two feet in diameter, was broken in three places and shin ered as if struck by a thunderbolt. The loco. motive Was smashed to pieces and destroyed. It turned over and over three times. Tho boiler was broken, letting the steam and scald. log water out, to add to the alarm and danger. The tender and two baggage cars were hurled upon the locomotive, and smashed into ono common wreck. The first three passenger cars, filled with people, were dashed upon the ruins of the bag gage cars and engine. They were badly bro ken and turned bottom side up. The last three cars of the train were not thrown from the track, nor very badly disabled. The horror and confusion of the scene were indescribable. The train had over four hun dred passengers. The shock hurled them from their seats and piled them up among seats in terrible confusion. This collision occurred before the engineer had time to whistle down breaks, let off steam, reverse the motion, or even jump for his out, life. Ile was pitched out head foremost into the ditch among the limbs. The fireman followed suit, and the baggage masters piled after them, all of whom received severe flesh bruises, but, strange to say, escaped instant death, and managed to crawl from under the ruins of broken cars and fragments of smashed baggage. $3 ut more miraculous still, none of the passengers were killed or even had broken bones. Many re ceived slight injuries, and all were more or less shocked and scared. The train made three or four rebounds and advances, after striking the tree, before it came to a halt, each of which added "confusion worse confounded" to the general crash and panic among the passengers. The screams, yells, and shouts that filled the night air, after the accident, were horrible. The men behaved with less coolness and presence of mind, in ma ny cases, than the women. Immediately after the smash the conductor and breakman started for Springfield station to stop the express train going east, which would be due in a few minutes, and make no stop at that point. They barely succeded in reaching the station and holding up a red light before the train come thundering along. Had it not been stopped, in a minute more another and more terrible collision would have happen ed. This train left its passengers at Spring• 601 d, and took on those of the wrecked train, and proceeded hack to this city yesterday mor ning.— Ciere/a nd Democrat. Poetry. What could ho more beautiful than tho fol. lowing, from the pen of George D. Prentice, who himself blends more of the pathos and fire of poetry, than any other lining writer. "What is poetry? A smile, a tear, a glory. a longing after the things of Eternity. It lives in all created existence—in man and every ob ject that surrounds hitn. There is poetry in the gentle influences of love and affliction, in the quiet breedings of the soul over the memo ries or early years, and in the thoughts of glo ry that chain our spirits to the gates of Para dise. There is poetry in the harmonies of Ns tare. It glitters in the wave, the rainbow, the lightning, and the star—its cadence is heard in the thunder and the cataract—its softer tones gurgle sweetly up from the thousand voice harps of wind, and rivulets, and forest—the cloud and the sky go floating over us to the music of its melodies—and its ministers to Heaven from the mountains of the earth, and the nntrodden shrines of the Ocean. There's not a moonlit ray that comes down upon stream or hill, not a breeze calling from its blue airthrone to the birds of the summer valleys, or sounding through midnight rains its low and mournful dirge over the perishing flower of Spring, not a cloud bathing itself like an angel-vision in the rosy gushes of Autumn twilight, nor a rock glowing in the yellow star• light as if dreaming of the Eden land, but is full of the beautiful influences of Poetry, Earth and Heaven, are quickened by its spirit, and the hearings of the great deep in tempest and in calm, are but its secret and mysterious breathings." The Dead. How seldom do we think of the dead I Alt though we set around the sonic hearth where they once sat, and read from the same voltune they so loved to peruse, yet we not often think of them. Oh how the heart throbs with wild and uncontrollable emotions, as we stand be side the dying friend we dearly love ! W. wildly strive, but all in vain, to prolong the precious life; we follow iu deepest anguish down to the dark flowing river; the spirit of the loved one passes onward alone—and we are left to Anger on the shores of time. We think, as we behold the inanimate form consigned to the cold grave, and hear the damp earth rattle over it, that we will never forget the life scones of the departed—that their memory will al ways remain fresh is our heart, and almost wonder that the busy multitude can move on so briskly around us. But the sun shines as brightly as ever on the new made grave. Na. tore looks as gay and smiling, and the birds sing All merily as before. Again wri mingle wills the busy, jostling throng, Weeks and mouths roll on—we visit the graves less fre quently-=and gradually cease Co think of the lost ones, save when souse sweet voice or incl.. dent of bygone days recalls them to our mem ory. The feelings of bitter anguish and be reavement aro soon worn off by the accumula. tins/ cares and pleasures of life. Thus we iis, turn, must ere long, pass away, and be row* , human life.,
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