BY WM. BREWSTER.
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From the Perry County Freeman
The Blue Juniata.
Irl JOIIRDONLOBACH ORANT.
Am—Lilly Dale.
Oh 'tie my delight, on a calm still night,
'Heath the pale moon's gentle beam,
The hours to spend with my lute and friend
By the Blue Juniata's stream.
Oh softly, oh sweetly,
The moments glide; .•
Where the moonbeams lance on the green,
grassy banks
Of the Blue Juniata's tide,
Where the waters meet, making music sweet,
And the evening breeze keeps tune;
Falling sweet on the ear, in its cadence clear,
By the light of the silver moon.
Oh softly, &c.
When the stars cast down, o'er the earth
around
Their lovely gentle beam;
And glitter like gone; set in rich diadems,
Oa tee Blue Juniata's stream.
Oh softly, ke.
Oh there's mnsic there, as in wild career,
The blue waters are gliding along
In their onward way, to the deep, deep sea,
Gushing forth in a wild sweet song.
Oh softly, &c.
Where the violet blue rears its cup to the dew,
And the pale water lilies are seen
Shining fair and bright, in their robes of
White,
By the Blue Juniata's stream.
Oh softly, &c.
Oh 'tie there I would spend, with my lute
and friend—
In the twilight's latest gleam—
A pleasont hour, in a sweet lovely bower,
By the Blue JUiliatiL'd stream.
Oh eoftly,oh sweetly,
The moments glide ;
When the moonbeams dance on the
grassy banks
Of the Blue Juniata's tide.
enTisccitneous.
I'LL TRY.
BY J. P. DURBIN, T. D.
As the sun rose on one of those sweet morn
ings in October which render the early autumn
so delightful on the southern share of the beau
.tifal Ohio, I took my leave of the home of my
- youth, and departed for the village of -',
in the state of-. I had been nppointed
by the - Annual Conference of the M. E.
Church, to preach the gospel to the inhabitants
of that little town. On the evening of the third
day I arrived at the place, and found a home
in a very plain, but truly pious family. After
a lapse of a few weeks, un unpretending but
agreeable matt called on toe, and said "I have
teen raised a Friend; and you know Friends do
not poy for the ministry. But my wife and only
child are members of your church, and I go
with them to the public meetings, as I have
not much prefereuoe and no bigotry. Your
society is weak, and as I do not give money for
the gospel, perhaps it may be some relief to
the church for the to afford you a home in my
house, which I will very gladly do, if it pleases
woo to accept it." I replied, I would answer
in a few days.
Upon inquiry I found he was ono of the
principal merchants in the village, much ro•
specie,' by the people, and that his wife was
one of the excellent of earth. His daughter
was about twelve years of age, a sweet, meek
child, and much liven to her books and her
dentions. I concluded to accept his invita
tion, aria sent hist word accordingly. On Mon
,elan fallowing I removed to my sew abode,
which I found to be quiet and neat, and the
Amity very agreeable. The mother, daughter
and myself worshipped together morning and
evening; but the father made a good apology
by being always at the store. Yet, on all suit
able occasions he manifested his respect for
/igion ; and his public conduct, as it appeared
to me, was irreproachable.
Toward the middle of December he was en•
rayed iu filling his ice-house, which, was in the
yard ia the rear of his dwelling. He was in
the slalom chamber directing the storing away
of the its, which a man slid down on a long
board plank. .A. price of the ice struck him on
tht. tad he nete • iY.:etly and profanely
iluntin bon 7 0 TIM
" I SSE NO STAR ABOVE THE HORIZON, PROMISING LIGIIT TO (MDR Us e BUT THE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED Win* PARTY OP THE UNITED &ATM"— [WERSTSR.
at the man above. As be uttered those im
precations, I looked in and heard him without
his seeing me. If I had witnessed a flash of
lightning 11;3m a clear sky, I could not breve
been more astounded. I bad never dreamed
that he ever uttered an improper word. I felt
confounded and grieved, but passed without
saying a word. It was Saturday afternoon.—
After ten, ns was his custom, he came up to my
room to spend an hour in conversation. The
first proper occasion that offered, I said, "Mr.
did I not bear you swear to-day?"—
"Perhaps you did," he replied, "for I often
swear nod do not know it; it is a bad habit I
have fallen into, and I shall be glad to quit it."
"Suppose you try," said I. After pausing a
moment in xeflection, be said, "well I will."—
But," I replied, "you will not succeed unless
you pray for strength ; the habit is too strong
for you to break without divine Rid." "Why,"
said he, smiling somewhat quisically, "I never
prayed in my life but once ; if that might ho
called prayer when I kneeled down on one knee,
when parson W. visited my family and request.
ed permission to pray with us. I am sure I
cannot pray." "Well," said I, 'limn lam sure
you cannot quit swearing." At this he seemed
surprised and a little grieved; but after a mo
ment's hurried reflection he said, "If yon will
not tell anybody, I will try and pray, and quit
swearing too; and I will come up next Satur
day evening." "Very well," said I.
Next Saturday evening after tea, he came to
my room and seated himself in silence, app.
rently waiting for me to speak to him. But I
determined that he should open the subject,
which Ire did by raising his eyes to mine, and
with a slight disturbed 14111110 saying ' "Well I
told you I could not pray ; I knelt down twice,
and could not utter a word; my tongue was
stiff, and my mind fainted and wavered. I had
no strenght or heart to pray. Besides," said
he, "I have sworn twice since last Saturday;
once when a man forced a barrel on my hand,
and almost broke my finger, as you see,"
(lidding up the wounded limb.) 'Well," said
I "Mr.—, what must be the fearful condi
tion of the man who cannot pray to his heaven.
ly Father?'' At this he seemed sensibly mov
ed, and after some reflection, replied, "I'll try
once more to pray, if youovill not tell any one."
I smiled encouragingly, consented, and he left
my room.
$1 25
1 50
2 50
4 00
On the following Saturday evening he came
to me, sat down and seemed somewhat em
barrassed. At length he said, "I told you I
could not pray--I cannot." But the utterance
of those words gave hint evident distress, amid
afforded me an occasion to press upon him his
utter spirituard'esiitutions, and to explain to
hint his weal, need of divine aid which I insist
ed he would obtain only by prayer. "Then,"
said he, with deep emotion, "rll try again,"
and left the room.
On the following Saturday evening ho sat
clown by me and soil, "I have ceased to swear."
"Then," I replied -then you have Marilee to
pray." "A little," said he; and the tears came
into his eyes ; "but 0 ! how little! how feeble
are my prayers ; "but one thing comes of them;
I begin to feel I am a sinner, and I must be
pardoned." "Then," said I, "you must pray
always and not faint." Putting his hands firm
ly together, and fixing his eyes intently on the
fire he said, "11l try again," and departed.
The following Saturday evening I heard him
approaChing with a lighter and quicker step,
and entering, he said with eagerness, rind yet
with a tinge Of sorrow. • "I have been praying;
yes I tried, and tears came to my relief; and
words followed tears, and I can pray. But I
have no answer to prayer; no peace." "Well,"
said I, "you should not expect en answer un
til you asked faithfully and penitently. Have
you prayed in faith, nothing doubting!'' "0,"
said he, "all sl endeavored to do was to pray.—
Is not this enough ?" "Nu," I replied, "you
must believe as well as pray." Upon hearing
this I found be fell into the same desponding
tune of feeling as when I first spoke to him of
prayer; but I rallied hint by saying, "try to be-
Bea; player will give you confidence, and
conirdeuce will give faith." A new light seem
ed to break in upon him, and he exclaimed,
"I'll try." I let him depart to make the ex
periment another week.
At the close of the next week became to me
and - said, "I do believe ; but only for a minute
at a time, and thou doubts - obtrude; but I'll try
to overcome these, God being my helper." I
sow perceived that he was not far from the
kingdom of Heaven, and exhorted hitn to lay
hold on the hope set before him. "0!" said lie,
"I'll try," and rose to depart. "No, no," said I
"do not go ; I'll help you now," and we kneeled
down to pray. I need not tell the render the
conclusion. In less than six months from the
time 1 heard hint swear in the ice-house he
was a living member of the church of God.—
Oftentimes afterwards I beard him say, "be
hold how great a matter a little fire kindleth."
Amid when any one would complain that he
could not pray, could not believe, could not be.
come religious, he would exclaim "0, .try !
From the depth of the ice-house I began by try-
Mg, in the feeblest manner possible, and lo! I
believe that the "bruised reed he will not break
—the smoking flax he will not quench, until he
sends judgment into victory." Reader say to
thyself—if but in the lisping accents of helpless
infancy—"l'll try," and God will help you.
According to Order.
A country editor received a remittance with
a'request to “send the paper as lcng as the .
money lasted." He indulged in a bit of a
"spree" next week, got broke, and respectfully
announced t.o his suscriber, that according to
his own terms, his subscription was out.
119.-A correspondent sends us a email poem
which, he says 'he compozzod awl himself.'—
We give one verse.
A Sqirel is a prete bard,
Its got n kurle tale,
He stol awl mi daddiz Lien,
ct it on a Isle.
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 1854.
PASSIONAL ZOOLOGY,
Dl' A. TOUSSENEL.
MAN is king of the earth. To his royalty
are attached certain attributes, called the ua•
tural rights of man. The chase is the first of
these rights.
The chase is the first and moet ancient of
the. arts. It is anterior to the kitchen and war.
Humanity owes its first great coat and its first
roast beef to the chase, which is contempora
neous with the day when the advent of misery
closed the Pat•adaisical era on our globe, and
shut upon humanity the gates of the Garden of
Eden; or, to speak more cisarly, it is contem
poraneous with the day when Man fell from
Edenism into the savage state, and had to re
sign himself to gain his bread by the sweat of
his brow. On this day, Man invented the chase,
to try and raise himself from his fall.
The chase is the first-born industry of neces
sity—the first manifestation of the power and
the liberty of man. Through it, he signalized
the act of taking possession of his globe.
The chase—the pivotal industry of the any
age—is, at the same time, the point of depar
ture for social progress, the first bound of
emancipating labor, which, thousands of years
alter is to re-open fur humanity the gates of
happy destinies.
The chase is also the most noble employ
meet of the human faculties:" It is the exer
ciao, par excellence, to make strong men. The
hußter—the destroyer of monsters—is the born
benefactor of humanity, the protector of herds
and harvests, the guardian of the orphan, the
defender of woman, and of all the oppressed.
What made so great the names of Bacchus,
Hercules, and other heroes ? Their passion for
the chase. The history of the heroic ages is
only a treatise on hunting. Humanity, in its
gratitude, attributes the intention of the hunt
to its gods. Olympus is peopled with hunting
gods! The most beautiful, the youngest, the
most adored of all is Apollo, god of the day—
the god of poetry sad the fine arts—the scone
that killed the serpent Python with arrows;
Bacchus, inventor of wine, tamer of tigers, su.
pmerne consoler of afflicted mortals ; Diana, the
modest vestal; the lithe and elegant goddess of
the chase and chastity—Diana, sister of Apol
lo, al.l most beautiful of the imtnortals after
the mother of Love and the Graces—Diann,
who did slot obtain the first prize of beauty at
time great competition on Mount Ida, because
she would not seek it—because tine scruples of
her ferocious tendency would not permit her to
accept the conditions of the progmutme of cx.
amination—because the proud goddess who had
commenced by metamorphosing into a stag the
hunter, Aetteon, guilty of surprising her, amid
her nymphs, in her bathing toilet, could not
decently present herself in a similar costume
to the eyes of the Trojan shepherd.
I beg to be informed here why the Greeks,
who have found it accessory to place three or
four hunters and huntresses of high title in the
senate of the gods. have not even dreamed of
of reserving the smallest place in this august
assemblage fur the patron of fishermen. I
know the Greek mythology too well, and its
habitual generosity, to attribute this conduct
in regard to a pacific industry to a vile and
sordid motive of economy. The gratitude of
mortals did more than decorate the benefactors
of the world with the vain title of gods, and
place them in Olympus. It gave them a place
on the earth in magnificent Pantheons—it co.
secrated to them a salaried worship, and erec
ted altars to those who had ransomed man from
Iris misery and his ignorance. If it fell to the
Greek people to eternize, by admirable monu
ments, the remembrance of benefits and its
own gratittle,„ it is because the Greek people
is the only one that has understood the sanctity
of passion, the work of God, and that has
dared to deify Love, the source of all poetry,
of nil justice, and all religion.
A proof that the gratitude of the people has,
through all times, attached the name of the
hunter, is that the hunter was in all'times, also,
the hero of popular legends on the banks Of
time Eurotns and Cephisus, as on those of Lake
Ontario. The literature of North America—
a country born but yesterday—has scarcely
produced more than one masterpiece and one
type. This masterpiece is a history of the
hunt—this typo is "Leather-stocktng," the
primitive hunter, chaste and religious.
The most adorable weaknesses of time god
desses of Olympus have been due to some
hunter. There are no two interests snore
strictly'connected in history than those of the
hunter and lovely woman, except those of the
chase and of liberty. The goddess of Paphos,
of Cythera, and Gnidus; Venus, who was so
much scandalized for her light conduct, never
had a lover no much to her heart as the hunter
Adonis, whom a formidable wild boar's teak
tore from her tenderness, and over whose
wounds she shed so many tears, that a flower
sprung up thence. The rosy-fingered Aurora—
Aurora, so refractory to the fires of old Titan,
her legitimate husband—compromised herself
scandalously for the hunter Cephalus. The
chaste Diana herself could not resist too well
the charms of bludymion, and more than once
needed the pretext of an eclipse to explain the
irregularities in her service of noctural Mend
nasion. Poetry attests that it is to the justness
of his eye and to his reputation as a skilful
marksman, that the shepherd Paris, the eon of
Prime, owed the remarkable honor of being
chosen by three young hemostat damsels, very
lightly dressed, as sovereign arbiter of au im
portant question.
The chase is the only branch of industry,
where the importance of the function is meas•
ured by talent and capacity—where facetious
criticism is in fashion, and is pitiless, for the
awkardness of misplaced pretehtions. Whence
the self-esteem of the hunter, the sentiment of
personal dignity, the exaltation of courage,
and the contempt of death ? Who more stoi
cally supports torture, and dies better than the
enrage, hardened by the chase to suturing and
privatism 7 The savage of the great lakes, iu
singin; bit itch ton:. , sas persuaded that the I
Manitou awaited to give him a hunting permit
for the spirit foresbi; it has not been calculated
how far the love of the chase enters into the
contempt of death among these brave martyrs.
If so many goddesses and queens have been
seen to marry shepards, it is because shepards
are of the wood of which hunters are made,
and bunters of the wood of which heroes are
made.
If the hunter so often obtains the prize of
honor decreed by beauty, it is because beauty
has not given it to the error of false morality,
and has nobly remained faithful to the voice of
God, , which is passional attraction, and which
scoretly designates to her His elect. God has
conceded to woman the privilege -of making
men happy, only on condition that she choose
them among the worthiest—among warriors,
hunters, and heroes. Love is the focus of
enthusiasm and the generator of glory—the
court of appeal which raises merit front the
unjust condemnations of society. Capital is
its black beast, to humble which makes its
happiness. On the other side, God has placed
within the hearts of heroes supremo attraction
for the happiness of love. Victorious Hercules
has spun, perhaps, a hundred distaffs for the
first kiss of Omphala, and only at a much later
period claimed higher wages.
Moralists have cast much blame upon this
pretended weakness of the noble son of Alcme
ne spinning at a woman's feet. For my own
part, I know of nothing more religious or more
human than this touching myth of the person.
ification of brute force subdued by chartn—
thnn those eternal and delightful stories of
Mars disarmed by Love—of lions that passions
transforms into lambs. God and the human
race have no worse enemies than those proud
moralists who pretend to correct the work
of God, in compressing passions, and who do
it so awkardly, that they never fail to cause its
explosion for the greater misfortune of the
stupid societies that have faith in their doc
trines.
The hunter is the strong mall who claims
only by his right and his arm, who submits to
the yoke of no tyranny—who prefers death to
slavery—who abdicates the enjoyment of none
of his natural rights, but in virtue of a contract
freely consented. It is the man of nature—
the vigorous pioneer, who abominates the
steam-engine mid the repugnant labor of the
furtory. His vast lungs breathe independence
with the air of the mountains and the woods.
The miasm of cities kills him. Liberty, action,
and life in the sunshine, arc his first r.eces•
cities.
It is a holy and noble purl, I repeat, thatthe
Hunter plays in the history of lintnAnity. Shall
I tell whence springs the strong in , rest which
attaches to the person of Robinson Crusoe
This prodigious interest depends on the fact
that the history of the poor shievrecked sailor
represents to us unconsciously Mat of human.
ity, cast, also, by the grand shipwreck of the
fall, on a desolated and uncultivated earth ; of
humanity, in conflict with destitution and lg.
norance, and ransornins itself from its condem•
nation by the chase.
The Hunter goes for more than threc.fourths
in the success of Daniel De Foe's book. Take
from Robinson Crusoe his gun and his powder,
and there is no more romttace.
Lindley Murray.
It is not generally known that this 'prince of
English grammarians' was an American, and
born within the present limits of Lebanon Co.,
Pennsylvania. He was born in the year 1745,
in Swatara, East Hanover township, then Lan
caster, now Lebanon county. His father was
a miller and followed that occupation when
Lindley was born, but afterwards .devoted his
attention to mercantile pursuits, and amassed
a considerable fortune by trading to the West
Indies. Lindley was the eldest of twelve chil
dren, and when about seven years of age was
sent to Philadelphia, that he might have the
benefit of a better education than could he had
at Swatara. He studied law in New York,
and at the age of twenty-two was called to the
bar, where he gathered for himself the reputa.
lion of an 'honest lawyer!
His 'Grammer of the English Language'
who composed in England, in 1794, and pub
lished in the spring of 1795, many millions of
copies of which have been sold. He resided
42 years in England, most of which time he
was an invalid. He composed many other
works besidoshis Grammer. He died is 1829,'
in a village in Yorkshire, being upwards of 80
years of age. He is represented as a Christian
_and philanthropist. He left - legacies to a own
bet, of relatives and friends, and sums of mon
ey to many religious societies. He also direc
ted that the residue of his property, after the
deeense of his wife, (a New York lady, his
beloved and affectionate "Hannah," who had
been his companion for sixty years) should he
devoted to pious and benevolent uses. He
was a Quaker and was interred in the burying
ground of that sect, in the city of York, 'far
from friend and fatherland:—Leb. Ad.
Felling in Love With a Bonnet.
That wasO singular and very amusing cir
cumstance which happened several years ago,
near the town of Northampton, Mass. It will
strike the ladies; we think, as an instance of
"popping the question" under difficulties :
As a party of pleasure were ascending Mt.
Tom, a well dressed man, furnished with
fishing tackle, accosted a lady, one of the par
.ty, who had loitered behind her companions to
enjoy without interruption the beautiful scene
ry which lay along the rich valley of the Con.
necticut.
"Good morning, madam," saki the fisher•
man, touching his hat.
aGood morning, sir," replied the lady, with a
dignity of manner which would hare been
considered perfect at the court of Queen Eliza.
both.
"It is a fine morning," continued the gentle.
man. "I sarr your bonnet at the foot of the
hill : and I thought I should like to marry the
lady who wore that bonnet. It struck my fancy
and I walked up here to ask if you would like
to enter that blessed state with me."
The lady was somewhat startled at the ab
ruptness of this proposition, and her first im
pulse was to hurry on to her companions; but
her dignity and Belf•possession prevailed, and
she quietly turned to the stranger and said—
" This is a very serious proposal to coma
from one whom I have never seen, and one
who has never seen me before."
"Bet I have seen your bonnet." said he,
"and I know you will suit me. I have mon
ey and a good house at the foot of yonder bill;
My wife and children are dead. I ant all
alone. If you outlive me, you shall have all
my property. I just got a new grave stone for
the grave of my wife. for which I gave twenty:
six dollars! I buy all my things for the house
by the quantity. You shall be well provided
forin every thing. I dont think you can do
better."
The lady had seen with of the world—had
held command in the fashionable circles of the
South ; and "the chivalry" had bended the knee
to her beauty and accomplishments, and the
learned to the intelligence and cultivation of
her mind. She bad sailed triumphant and
unconquered everywhere, and to be thus way
laid, and as it were' entrapped into matrimony,
was a thing not to be thought of for a moment.
and so, she raised her form to more than its
usual height, and giving additional dignity to
her head, and bo seed "good-bye" to the fishing
widower, and left him to bestow himself and
his gravestones upon some one else
Strange Life of A Homicide.
A writer in the Thomaston Tnetchnum gives
the following singular biography of James
Hightower, recently convicted of manslaughter
iu that county. Three years in a dungeon, it
seems, is nothing to what he has endured.
About twenty one years ago a young lady of
this section of country, belonging to a respec•
table family became the victim of a vile sedu
cer; the fruit was a boy, who is the subject of
our narrative. His mother, as is the case
usually with those of her sex who are unfortu
nate, married a man of low breeding and in
adverse circumstances; consequently her son
was destined to receive but a limited share of
education or moral training. At a tender age
his character was peculiar, and in some res
pects very extraordinary. When only seven .
years old he was attending a sugar-cane mill ;
by some means bis left arm and hand were
crashed, by which accident he forever lost the
use of Lis hand.
At the age of ten he was bitten by a rattle
snake ; being nearly alone on the place, he
had to call to his aid all the presence of mind
of which lie was master. Fortunately ho used
the proper antidote and thereby saved his life.
, In the short spaco of a few months he was
again bitten by one of the same species of rep.
tiles; by pursuing the same course as hereto
fore, ho was again rescued front the jaws of
death.
Between the age of twelve and fourteen, he
made several attempts to take the life of his
step-father, which shows that he would not be
imposed on. About that age he also snapped,
several times, a loaded musket at a neighbor.
When fourteen years old, he was knocked down
by lightning, and did not recover for some
time. At the age of sixteen he was attacked,
while hunting in the woods, by a very large
panther. The panther 80011 bore him down—
he exhibited great presence of mind by feign
ing death.. The panther then carried hint into
the swamp, covered him with sticks and grass,
after which he took his leave in search of more
prey. Our hero, after the panther's (departure,
arose and made his escape home. lie was
badly torn—two of the jaw teeth were bitten
out, and many wounds inflicted.
But he was not thus to die, for he soon re
covered, and soon after his recovery gave hie
step-father a severe whipping and left him.—
Except another slight shock by lightnint, his
path was smooth until nineteen, when he be
came enamored of a young lady; though figs.
ring in a higher sphere, his superior in
intel
lect and family, yet she was smitten by the boy
of misfortune, and resolved to marry him, not.
withstanding the opposition of her relatives,
who made severe threats against our hero.
But what cared he, who had snceessfully bat
tled against rattlesnakes, panthers, and even
the high powers of Heaven, for the threats of
man? Nothing daunted, he confined to urge
his claims; after finding ull his efforts for a
compromise unavailing, he commenced a de•
termined course. He procured his license,
placed a magistrate at a conspicuous point in
the woods, and proceeded himself on foot to
the house that sheltered her whom he loved—
meoretly forced the door of her chamber, and
conducted her about five miles through the
woods to the place of rendezvous.
Before arriving at the place where the hy
meneal altar had boon temporarily erected,
illuminated.by the blaze of lightwood knots,
and the pale rays of the moon alone, our hero
fell into his former path of bad luck, for he was
bitten by a moccasin snake ; but he was too
well used to snake bites to suffer that occur
rence to retard his progress at such a momen
tous crisis, and like a brave and undaunted
boy, pursued his course, and in accordance
with his anticipations was lawfully married
about 12 or 1 o'clock at night. His moccasin
bite did not long keep him in bed, for he then
possessed a nurse of nuceasing attention. Af
ter his final recovery, he carried his wife to the
home which he had provided for her, hoping
that his cup of misfortune was then full, and
that he would enjoy the bliss attending a mar
ried life.
But ho was not destined long to enjoy that
repose which he so much sought. Ile soon
became entangled in a quarrel with ono Mr.
Wheeler ;the result wog, Wheeler was killed,
and our hero, after a regular trial in a court of
justice, was convicted of manslaughter, and
ue o at the nio, of 20, has goon: !wing hi;
wife, his anticipated bube and his slept home,
to the penitentiary, there to be incarcerated
within its dismal walls for the space of three
years, which to him must seem long, long:—
Who can contemplate his past life and not say,
surely he is the child of misfortune? Have
his misfortunes ended! Alas ! who can tell !
That fact is yet concealed by the dark curtain
of futurity.
Water in which the Body will not Sink.
A San Francisco paper makes the following
interesting extracts from the unpublished jour
nal of Mr. S. N. Carrells°, artist, of his journey
from the Great Salt Lake to Los Angeles,
through the Cajon Pass;
Muddy Ricer Camp, May 30.—We remain.
ed at camp all day yesterday, and at ten this
scorning we were on the road to Cottonwood
Springs, some 20 miles distant, where we will
find water and grass, and then will commence
a journey over another desert of 5.5 miles. We
followed up this little stream for about three
miles, when the road turned a little to the
right; but I was anxious to see the head of
the stream—for, from the appearance of the
surrounding country, I judged it to be very
near. Parley Pratt, several other gentlemen,
and myself continued up the stream, and after
ride of half a mile we came to n large spring,
thirty-five feet wide and forty long, surrounded
by acacias in full bloom. We approached
rthrough an opening, and found it to contain
'the clearest and most delicious water I ever
tasted; the bottom appeared to be not more
than two feet from the surface, and to consist
of white sand. Parley Pratt prepared himself
Ifor a bath, and soon his body divided tlse crys
tal waters. While I was considering whether
I shouts' go in, I heard Mr. Pratt calling to
me that it was impossible to sink, the water
was so buoyant. I hardly believed it, and to
be able to speak certainly, I also undressed
nod jumped in. What was my delight and as
tonishment to find that all my efforts to sink
were futile. I raised my body out of the wa
ter, unit suddenly lowered myself, but I bound
ed upwards as it I had struck a springing
board; I walked about the water up to my
armpits, just the sense as if I had been walking
on dry land. The water, instead or being about
two feet deep, was over fifteen—the length of
the longest test pole we had along. It is pogi
tively impossible for a man to sink over his
head in it; the sand on the banks are very line
and white the temperature of the water is 78
Fahrenheit. I east form no idea as to the cause
of this singular phenomena. Great Salt Lake
also possesses this quality, but this water is I
Perfectly sweet. In the absence of any other
name, I have called it the Buoyant Spring.—
I leave never heard it spoken of ns possessing
this quality, and should like some ono of the
silvans to explain Om cause of buoyancy. We
lingered in the spring for fifteen minutes, when
we dressed and resumed our ride, highly de
lighted and gratified by our exploration. I
made drawings of this spot and surrounding
mountains.
An Incident in a Railroad Car,
The parties are a lady of uncertain age,with
a decided expression of pain on her features,
otherwise quite pretty, her face tied up with a
white handkerchief; and a little man in a
snuffcolered coat and a decidedly woolly style
of countenance. Little man fidgets a while,
and then turns to the dame—
"Be you unit' anything, ma'roa?"
"Yes, air I have the toothache."
"Oh, toothache, have ye—well, I know some
thin' that'll do ye good."
"What is it, sir; I am suffering very much,
and should like to know.
"Well, I forgot the name of it, but most any ,
body knows. Be ye going to New York?" •
"Yes, 1 ant going to New York."
"Ohl well! be ye—well, you know Broad
way! Yes, well you go up Broadway till yen
come to a cross street, I forgit the name of the
street, but you'll know when yen get there;
there's lots of people going up and down
Well, you turn up this street, and, I forgit which
side, but yov'll see; you will see a 'pothecary's
shop—you'll know it when you see it. There's
a good many shops about there, but this is a
largo one. Then you must ask for—well, I
forgit the name—hut it's a powder. The 'poth
ecary he'll know. It's dreafiful strong—strong
as ginger—you must mix the powder—they'll
mix it for you; then you must take—well, I
forgit how much—about a table spoon or a tea
cup or a small bucket full—and put it on here
(laying his band on the pit of his stomach)
just as hot as you can possibly hear it."
" But, sir," said the lady, "I don't see how
that is to help the toothache!"
"Oh! toothache you've got ; well, dear me, I
forgot. To be sure—yes, well—hut I thought
you said stomach.; ache."—New Bedford Me,
eury.
Murder !
A fellow who murdered his wife,without the
least provocation, being asked what could in.
due him to commit such an outrage, made the
following remarkable reply:
Why,the fact is, I am a verry ambitious man,
and having no opportunity to gain fame by fair
means, I thought that I would take this meth.
od; for I saw how, the moment a man commit
led a murder, he becalm) an object of public at
tention; the newspapers were full of him; his
appearance and dress, the color of his eyes
and hair, the most insignificant particulars,
were described, just as if he was n great hero,
and had saved libi country. Then the ladies all
ran after hint, attended his trials, shed tears,
and fainted away; so Itat he had all the Wen.
lions and sympathy of a martyr. Besides all
this, he was pretty sure of being converted at
last, and dying a good Christian; which ho very
likely would not have done, had he been a mor
al man and a peaceable citizen. Thug you see,
that murder is the shortest cut to glory in this
world, and salvation in the next I-- 1 -
Lmfri.
VOL. 19. NO. 39.
Is the Human Stature Diminishing 'I
It is a very common opinion, that in the
early ages of the world men in general pos
sessed superior physical properties, and were
of a greater size than they are at present ; and
this notion of diminished stature and strength
seems to have been just as prevalent in an
cient times as at present. Pliny observes of
the human height. that "the whole race of
mankind is daily becoming smaller," an alarm
ing prospect if it had been true. Homer more
than once makes a very disparaging compari
son between his own degenerate cotomporaries
and the heroes of the Trojan war. But all the
facts and circumstances which can be brought
forward on this subject tend to convince us,
that the human form has not degenerated, and
that men of the present age are of the same
stature as in the beginning of the world. In
the first place, though we read both in sacred
and profane history of giants, yet they were at
the time when they lived esteemed as wonders,
and far above the ordinary proportions of
mankind. All the remains of the human body
(as bones and particularly the teeth) which
have been found unchanged in the most ancient
urns and burial-places, demonstrate this point
clearly. The oldest coffin in the world is that
found in the great pyramid of Egypt; and Mr.
Greaves observes that this sarcophagus hardly
exceeds the size of our ordinary coffins, being
scarcely six feet and atilt' long. From looking
also at the height of mummies which have been
brought to this country, we mutt conclude that
those who inhabited Egypt two or three thous.
and years ago were not superior in size to the
present inhabitants of that country. Lastly,
all the facts, which we can collect from ancient
works of art, from armor, as hetnlets and
breastplate., or fr..na buildings designed for
the abode and accommodation of men, concur
in strengthening the proofs against any decay
in Nature, That man is not degenerated is
stature_ in consequence of the effects of civili
zation is clear; because the inhabitants of
savage countries, as the natives of America,
Africa, Australia, or South Sea Islands, do
not exceed us in size.—Scottish Guard.
Ugly va. Ugly.
In the eastern part of Delaware county, in
this State, there resided a man named B—,
now a justice of peace, and a very sensible man,
but by common consent the ugliest looking in
dividual in the whole country, being long,
gaunt, sallow, and awry, with a gait like a kan
garoo. One day he was a bunting, and on one
of the mountain roads he met a uutn ou foot
and alone, who was longer, gaunter, uglier,
by all odds, than himself. Ile could give the
Squire "fifty" and bent him. Without saying
a word, B—raised his gun and deliberately lev
elled it at the stranger. "For God's sake,
don't shoot," shouted the stranger in great
alarm. "Stranger," replied 8., "I swore ten
years ago that WI ever met a man uglier than
I was, I'd shoot him, and you are the first one
I've seen." The stranger, after a careful sur
vey of his rival, replied, "Wel, if I look any
worse than yon do shoot ; I don't want to live
any longer!"
Fssntox roe LADIES.—ShouId any of our la
dy readers desire to be posted up in reference to
the various changes in the style of dress, we ad
vise them to perus.: the following;—The plaid
style is in favour in Paris for ladies' dresses.—
The size of the square is extraordinary, three
or four plaids forming the skirt of a dress.—
Dress has a decided tendency to the hoop fash
ion worn by our grandmothers ; all the new
robes, Without exception, have in the skirt dress
bands of crinoline, and are -worn over stiffey
starched flounces. Skirts are even made with
whalebone in them, but rows of straw plaits aro
prefferable. Nearly all the dresses alight ma
terials are lined with a very thin but stiff taffe
ta, made expressly for the purpose. Robes of
barge, muslin, silk, or grenadine, am accompa
nied by a peticuat of this stiff tenets of the same
color as the dress, and which is gathered in the
same plaits around the waist. Under the &mu.
ces of the dress is put a flounce of stiff tulle, the
color of the robe.
AllOrT FENCES.-In reply to an inquiry of a
corresponart, the editor of the Massachusetts
Plowmaniives the following interesting facts :
Boards will last a long while when well suppor
ted by posts. See the boards of eighty years
on old barns and oat buildings.
Posts last a deal longer in wet soil than in
dry sandy looms—longer in clay than in the ri .
chest soil. In peat meadows the bottoms of
posts hold out longer than the tops and the rails
On dry soils posts should be charred, and if
the owner would be at the troublo of placing a
few ashes around each post, he would preserve
them twice as long as without ashes. Limo
also is good to preserve wood, though farmers
sometimes use it to hasten the rotting of com
post heaps.:
BREEDING PROM BRADCEd DOWN AND DISEI3
ED MARES.-Tbis LIOt uncommon practice is
one great cause why th,ro are so many horses
of unsound constiutionJ, so ready to break
down or take on di3erce corn over working or
other errors in mm:agetnent. Better to shoot
the old creature, and breed from a young and
perfectly sound mother. The colts will be
worth enough more to cover abundantly the
difference in the cost.
r "Bill, did you ever go to Bea?"
"I guess I did. Last year, for instance, I
went to see a red headed girl; but I only called
once."
" Why so ?"
"Cause her brother had an unpleasant habit
of throwing boot jacks at people.", , '
" Perhaps he was crazy ? '
"No doubt of it; he asked me to take oya•
ters once, and then left me to foot the bill.—
Now, no man in his right mind you know would
do anything so absurd as that."
" Of course not."
}licit Bob, ehfitling " Green grow the ru°"