VOL. 18.
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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.,