Huntingdon Journal

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'¦iHi-Jfi fVir'r'fS^ffmif
"I  8BE MO StAK abovk THE HORIZON, PROMlalNO  LIGHT TO GUIDE  US, BUT THE INTKbLiaSNT^ PATRIOTIC, IT.MTED WhIQ PauTT OP  THB  UNITEU StATBS."—fWlBMEB.
VOL. 18.
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1853.
NO. 48.
TERMS :
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ir paid in advance *t,50
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On longer advertisements, whellicr yearly nr transient, a reasonablo deduction will bo mado for prompt pnyment.
[pfDl'Tl^AIL,
A Ftmgent Consideration.
»liSr TRADES—TIlAnCCIN-O KO»E BCT Oril OWX.
Of nil tbc tratlcs lhat men can call
Unploft,saiit nnd nfl'en.sive, TllC Editor's i.s wor,st of all,
For ho is over pensive; Ili.l leaders lend to nothing high—
His "coluinn.s" nre unstable, Antl though t'ne Printers make him "pie,"
Il does not suit hia table.
Tho Ciirpcnter,—lii-i oour.?e ia "plane,"
His "bil" is alwnys near him— Hi! "augur.s" every hour of gain—
He "chisels" nnd nono jeer him. He "-shnvcs"—yet is not elose." llioy s.ty,
The pnlilic pay his "bonrd," sir. Full of wise "saws," he "bores" away,
And so he swells his hoard, sir.
St. Crispin's son—thc man of shoes,
Has "awl" things at control, sir, Ho "waxes" wealthy in hia views,
Bnt ne'er neglects his "solo," sir, His is intleed a "healing" trade.
And -when wc come to casting Thc "toct.al" profiis hc has made.
We find his "enda" nre ''lasting.''
The Tailor, too, gives "fils" to all.
Yet never gets a "basting," His "cabbages," however small,
.¦irc most delieions tasting, nis "goose,' is  heated,—(Imppy prig !)—
Unstinted in his "measure;*' He always plays at "thimblerig,"
And "seems" a man of pleasure.
Thc Fnrmer "reaps" a fortune plump,—
Thongh "harrowed." far from woe. sir, His spftde foiever proves a "trump,"—
His book is " I've-nn-/(OC," sir. However "corned," he docs not slip.—
'I'hough "hnskcy," never "horse," sir, .\nd in a plow-share partnersliip,
He gets llis "share,   of course, air.
Thc Sailor on the giddy mast—
(Comparatively "master,'') Hns many a "bulwork" round him en.?t
To "waive" away disostcr; Kven "shrouds" to him are full of life,
His "ninin-.stay" still is o'er him, .\ gallant and "top-gallnnl" crew
Of "beaux esprils" before him.
The sturdy Irish Inhorer "picks" And "climbs'' to fame;—'lis funny.
He deals wilh none bnt "reg'lar bricks" And so he pockets money.
One friend "sticks'' to him, (mortar 'tis,) *   111 "hodden gray," unbaffled.
He leaves below an honest nnmo When ho ascends tho "scall'old.''
Tho Printer thougli his "cu.se be hard,
Yet "sticks" not at his hnp, sir, 'Tis his t«' "canonize" the bard.
And trim a "Uoman cap," sir, Some go 2.-10,—what ofthat?
lie goes it by the thousand T' A man of "I'orm," and found of''fat,"
Ho lovos the song I noic send.
The Engine driver, ifwc "tmek,''
His outward semblance deeper. Has got some very ''tender'' traits—
He ne'er disUirus the "sleeper," And when you "siv-iteh" him as hc goes.
He "whistles" all the louder: And should you break him on the wheel,
It only makes him prouder.
I launched this skiff ol rhyme upon
'I'lie "Trad# winds'' ofthe mnses, Tiiough pungent sens they've borne it on.
The boal no rudder uses; So "masticate" her meaning once,
And judge not "sternly" ofii— You'll find a freiglit of little puns,
And very little profit.
Dra'wing near to Bod.
Prayer ia the very life breath of true relig¬ ion. It is onc of the first evidences that a man i.s born ngain. "Behold," said the Lord of Saul ; in the day he senl Annanias to him, 'Behold he prayeth.' He had begun to pray, and that was proof enough.
Prayer was the distinguishing mark of the Lord's people in the day thnt there begun to be a seperation betweeii them and the world. 'Then began men to call upou the name ofthe Lord.'
Prayer iathe peculiarity ofall real Christi¬ ans now. They pray; for they all tell God their wants, their feelings, their desires, their fear.1, and mean what they say. The nominal Christian may repeat prayers, and good pray¬ ers, too, but he goes no farther.
Prayer is the turning point in man's soul.— Our mini.stry is unprofitable, nnd our labor is in vain, till you are brought to yonr knees.— Till then we have no hope ahout yon.
I'rayer is one great secret of spiritual pros¬ perity. When there is much private commu¬ nion wilh God, your soul will grow like grass after rain ; when tliere is a liltle, all at a stand still, you will barely keep your sonl alive.— Show ine a growing Christian, a going for¬ ward Christian, a s:trong Christian, a flourish¬ ing (Christian, and sure I am he is one that | speaks often ofthe Lord. He nsks mneh, and he has much. He tells Jesns everything, and so he always knows how to act.
Prayer is the mightiest engine that God has placed in our hands. It is the best weapon to use in every dilliculty, and the surest remedy in every trouble. It is the key that unlocks tho treasury of promises, and the hand that draws forth grace and help in time of need.—- It is tlie silver trumpet Ood commands us to sonnd innil our necessity, an'l it is tho cry he has promised always to attend to, even as a loving mother to the voice of her child.
Prayer is the simplest menns that n man can use in coming to God. It is within reach of nil—the sick, Iho aged, the infirm, the par¬ alytic, the blind, Ihe poor, the unlearned—all can pray. It avails you nothing to plead want of memory, and want of scholarship in Ibis matter. So long as you have a tongue to tell your soul's state, you may and ought lo pray. Tliese words, "Y'e have nol because you ask not," will, lie a fearful condemnation to many in the day of judgemenl.
Christian Intercourse.
^Vbell Christinns make tbeir own progress in the divine life, the spread of Christ s King¬ dom, and the glories lo be revealed In eterni¬ ty, the subject of frecpient conversation with one another, w-e niuy expect a higher stale of piety in the church and more signal displays of divine grace.
AVhen they do this, they -will be looking more to things eternal, than things temporul; their Ihonghts will have more of the Saviour in them than now. From the general conver¬ sation of many Christians, we cannol refrain from the inference, thnl God is nol in their thoughts continually, or much, wliile on their business or mingling with their felloiv-niou.— They talk about their farms aud their inevchan- dise—the weather and the news—while the groat theme remains untouched. And when Christians are nmong tliomselves their di3-_ course too ol'icn savors almost altogether of tbe earthly. How rarely do they open Iheir hearts to one another, and unfold the experi¬ ence ufthe inner life! Tliey inquire kindly about the health of each—how rarely do they ask of tho soul's health 1    In  affliclion,  how
aAS©i\'[rii[i iBiAiDaras.
Holy life.
The beanty of a holy life constitutes the most elotiuent and effective persuasive to religion which one human being can address to another. W'e have many ways of doing good to our fellow-creatures, but lione so effl- cacious as leadin^r a virtuoua, upright, nnd nnd well ordered life. There Is an energy of moral .suasion in a good man's life, passing the bigbest efforts of the orator's genius. The Been, bnt silent beauty of holine-ss speaks more eloquently of God, and duty, than tlie tongues of men and nngels. Let parents remember thia. The besl inheritance a parent ean bo- qccnth a child is a virtuona example, n legacy of hallowed remeinbrancca and as-sociations.— Thc beanty of holiness, beaming through the life ofn loved relative or friend, is more effec- tnnl to strengthen sneh as do stand in virtue's •ways, and raise up those lhat are bowed down, than precept, command, entreaty, or warning. Cliristianity itself, I believe, owes by far the greater part of ita moral power, not to theprecpjTta or parablea of Chriat, but to his own eharnt-ter. 'fhe beauty of that koliness which ia enshrined in the four brief biographies ofthe Man of Nazareth has done more, and will do more, to regeneraU! the world, and bring it to an everlasting righteousness, than all other ageneios put together. It has done more to sprend his religion in tt»e world, thnn all that hatt ever been preached or wriiten on the evidences of Christianity.
¦•' ""^ "  lion oftlie group which vou will find in .Scott's
IQr Silence may be the sullen mood of an nor«l of "Old Mortalitv;" v/hich, bv tho bv, I «vil tempr-r, or thc lolly endurance of a advise vou to reiul.and Ills triumph I'b still m'nrc H^"tyc. I ..oniplH.>v.bcnwc km-w the (Ri",thal as a .oilp
tor he waa aolf-taught. After contemplating Old Mortality, I turned to the right, and came to tho Godfrey monument. Il ia an obelisk, or¬ namented by a ship and a quadrantiaiid marks the grave of Thomas Godfrey, the inventor of the mariner's quadrant. He was born 1704 and died 174V. Ncar the chapel, la the mon¬ ument ofGen. Hugh Mercer, who was killed in the batlle of Princeton. He waa buried In Christ Church graveyard, in Second atrcet, from whence hia remaina were removed in la40, to their preaent reating place. The monument tella the atory ofthe deceased:—"Dedleatcd to the memory of Gen. Hugh Mercer, who fell for the sacred cnuse of human liberty nnd American Independence, in the battle of Princeton. He poured out his blood for a gen¬ erous principle." Gen. Mercer waa a native of Scotland, and an assistant Surgeon in the battle of CuUoden where the Pretender, Prince Charlea Edward, made his last elfort to wrest th'e crown of Great Brilain from the house of Hanover On the cornice of this monument, is sculptured n aword and scabbard, the most perfeet piece of work I have ever seen in mar¬ ble. I next visited the Gothic Chapel; it ia amall, but very neat, and has a large decora¬ tive window of stained glnss. Near the chap¬ el, is the monument of Mnj- Twiggs, oflhe ma¬ rine corps, and hia son, both of whom were kill¬ ed in the Mexican war. The shafl is surround¬ ed by boarding spikes, and thc base la orna¬ mented by an anchor, shield, and coil of rope. On tile brow oflhe hill, is a large granite mon- unient,crected to the memory of Carles Thomp¬ son. He waa long the confidential Secretary of the Continental Congress. Ho w-aa born in Ireland, in 1729, and died in 1824, full of hon¬ ora and of years. The monnnient of Como- dore Hull, Il Is aaid,is meddled after thai in tho the Scipios, at Rome, wilh the addition of the .\merican eagle, perched on the eentre. The inacription reads:—'-Beneath this atone are de- ]iosIted the remaina of Isnnc Hull, Captain In IheNavy oftho Unitet'.Estates." His monument should bave been made of the good old ship, Constitution, familiarly known as Ironsides, for she carried the first .\merican flag that was run u]) to the masthead, above the Union Jaek of old England. Near thia is the tomb of a lady who died in Egypt, which has on il a view of the Pyramids, with Palm trees.
Footways riin through the ground, in every direction, and the spaces are surveyed off in small plots, taking a variety of shapes, squares, half circles, oblong nnd oval, and all are en¬ closed with chains or railing, fastened to mar¬ ble posts at lhe corners: one lot is enclosed en¬ tirely with marble, having dials cut on the four sides of thc massive posls. The lols are kept refreshingly green, nearly all having iron set¬ tees Inside, and the grawa are beautified with flowera nnd evergreens. As I approached the river, the rural character of the aceno was still more sti-iklng; fine old treea cast a solemn shade around the grave of those who ely do they seek to pour out tlicir griefs in I "Calmly rest, their hallowed placo of sleeping, I ear of the  sympathizing  Bruther!    True   „ .ppars on ils bosom, no impress of dread,
Life's haunts still echo to tho sound ol weep ng.
But poftcc hor w-ings, hath folded o'cr the dead. Ilark ! tlirougli the branches, o'cr ai darkly vyroatbing, Ho'w thc winds in whispered music flow. Like spirit-voices, tremulously breathing A ceaseless dirge, for those w-ho sloop below." Xext to the river, thc hill is a natural am¬ phitheatre; w-here the descent ia gradual, ter¬ races have been ent, forming additional walks and ncw burial lots. Part of the hill, however, is a bold rocky blulV, some aixly ""oet above the wnler. On pnrt ofthia blull', a small observa¬ tory ia creeled, from which I had a delightful view ofthe Sciiuylkili, and ita beautiful and characteristie scenery; on the south, is tho bridgo formerly used by the Columbia railroad; on the northwest Is a viaduct of the Rending railroad, nnd tin.- bridge across tho WIssahle- con creek; llicn in the background, the old for¬ est trees, the beautiful flowers, tbe fresh ever¬ greens, and the white tombs half hidden by the creeping ivy, formed such a scene of pictures- ({uc beauty, thut it seemed as if nature and arl were vIeing with each other, in giving a smil¬ ling countenanee, even to Death. Below the observatory, several vaiilla have been built, in the Egyptian style of nrchltcelnrc, with heavy columns and granite walls, as ifthe owners in¬ tonded thnt their remains should keep up an aristocracy even in the grave, nnd not min¬ gle with the common herd; but alrong ns their walls may bc, the tooth of Time can eat through them, and tbe bones of those so care¬ fully pul away, may yel blench on the bill-side. Down a sleep declivity, a tomb has becu cut out of the solid rock,with a heavy Iron door,but no name lofl to tell who is the occupant. On the higliesl ]>oint ofthe rocks, a stono croas has been erected, from which there ia an nb- rupt precipice to the river, resembling, some¬ what, tho rocks at the enve near Carlisle. The bace oftho cross contains the following inscrip¬ tion:
"Stranger; whoso   stops hnvo reached   this soli¬ tude^ "Know, that this lovely   spOt, was dear   to one,
who "Here Ima licard  delighted,   the rustling of tho
trees, "Melodious to tbe gftles of snmmer move,
'Till nil around "Had filled his senses vviih Iramiuility, "And evor soothc.l in spirit, be returned, "A happier, better innu.
Strnnger! Perebance, the stream more lovely to ilii»e oye, "Will gtide ntong, nrhl lo the summer galo "Tho woods movo more-melodious:
Clcnnno thos then, "Tlie woovis and mosses from lUiisletiered stone." I-'nun Ihis I turned to contcinplato tho last resting place nf Jose'ph C, Neal, the ctlebralwl author of the " Charcoal tSketclies." He was "a fellow of infinile jesl, and moal excellent fancy ;" but his heart was strung too Vigh for this wcfld ; IIm> slightest Irfast of adversity cnus¬ ed the atti.iiga to vibrate, irttll at length they snapiiod asunder, nnd the sound ceased forev¬ er. His monuBwmJ is a imirWe roek m ita na¬ ual state; on the top are plnecd an Urn nnd Lyre, beautifully and richly chased; on a^mar- ble tablet fastened to the rock Is tho following Inscription:—Joseph C. Nenl; born 1807, died I84V;—"A tribntc of affeetionitc regret, from thos*-vhn Inved bii>\'cs a  man,   and   admired
thc enr of the sympatli consolntioii can eome only from Jesus: but the word from the mouth of a I'ellow Cbristain, pointing ua unto the balm of our sorrow-, is sweet nnd comforting to tbe soul. Hovv cheer¬ ily the lilllo caravan goes on over the desert! They unite together to defend themselves against enemies ; and when accid-jnt happens to oue, nil readily give aid to tbe sufferer.— How they beguile lhe tediousness of the jour¬ ney, by narration of the dangers through whieh they have escaped and by anticipation of their enjoyments in the cily v.liich closcth their jour¬ ney I When they pass througii the village of the stranger, what is then there that could in¬ duce them to remain? Aru they nol pilgrims? Are not pilgrims fidlow Christinns? Should we not keep In mind 'our pilgrininge,' nnd act as though vve were sojourners 1 And should not our converse be upon the city toward which we nre haslcning? .4.nd should wo not, by our frequent conversations upon our journey slreng¬ then the heart of nil our Icllow travellers, and strive to enlarge our own caravan, nnd reioiee to henr that other companions arc travelilng, like ua, for a city whicb halh foundation, w-hose builder and maker is God.
 iiiijasiiLiAsisijaa^	
From 111.' Carli.slo "Herald."
A Day at Laurel Hill.
PiiiLAPKi.niiA, Oct. 'lit. 1853.
Denr ,S.—Having procured a ticket that would admit mo to Laurel HIU Cemetery, I atarted, about 8 o'clock in the morning, to visit that Interesting spot. Tho walk (about four miles,) was delightful. It was refreshing to get into the country once more, cspecinlly at this season of the year, when the trees are put¬ ting on the rich livery of Autumn. It Is, nt the aame time, tho most appropriate seaaon in which to visit the resting place of tho dead.— Thoughtful Autumn ! The fielda are .shorn of their vendure—the feathereJ songsters no more delight the car; nor the bright flowers, the oye —the sighing wind, as it strips the trees of thcii foliage, wails ii sad requiem for the fall of the leaf, and the withered leafitself speaks vol¬ umes to thc reflective mind. A litlle ivhile ago, It wns attachod to the parent stem, full of life, nud vibrntiiig with erery zcpliyr that plny¬ cd nround It, now—dead, discolored, und trod- den under foot; a fit memento of life.
Laurel Hill, ia nortli of Philadelphia, be¬ tween the Uidge Road and Ihe Schuylkill river. The entrance to the Cemetery ia by a gatewny in the Doric slyle, with Lodgea on ench side. Ascending the first Wighl of stepa. Immediately oppoeile the entrance, you find Thorn's statues of Sir Walter Scott, Old Mortality and his Po¬ ney grouped logetheF; uuder an Onamenlal T«miile. Old Mortality ia seated on u tomb slone, looking up from his work, conversing w-ith Sir Walter, who ia aealed on an uptight head-stone; the patient looking Poney is lean¬ ing, ns il were, ngainsl another tombstone, on whieh Is iwwtibed—John King, 1662. The monument of the slaughtered Presbyicrians, on which old Mortality is at work, has on it several names, one of which ia, "Richard Ca¬ meron, miiiisler of the Gospel." The arlisl, asfully ciubodied in   stone, a dcscriji
has F
llim aa nn author." In R quiet shady nook, nearly conccnied by creeping vines, is the tomb of Maj. Adam Hoopes, 1st Reg't. V. S. Artil¬ lery, a gallant, nceompliafaed, and patriolic sol¬ dier of the Revolution; born at Carlisle, Pa., 1760, and died 1846. He died nfier n long and eventful lifo of 86 years.
As a contrnst, cloae by waa the gravs of an infant, inscribed;—"Not here, but risen and gone.''    Tnking a path to the  right, I found n broken eolumn, erected to the memory ofone "So late in bridal robes arrayed : So soon nppnrded  for the bier I" On the aide ia sculptured a baakot of flowera, Inacrlbod;—Our Knle. "Is ilwell  with thee? and she anawered, it la  well." On the  south side   of the   Cemetery, I found a noble monu¬ ment, raised to the  memory  of three  siatora, who had died iu the bloom of early life : "Gone, ere onc soil was on their hearts—
"While Heaven was ronnd them like a dream; "Ero thoy hnd felt tho spell depnrt,
"Thnt hrcntlied on llower, and sky, and stream.' Il ia an exquisite specimen ofthe Gothic style of archilecture—a minature representation of a chapel; the gronnd is laatefully laid out, and the tomb ia shaded by Cedara of Lebanon. In the snme portion of the Cemetry, a granite ob- ellak has been erecied to the memory of Fri- edlander, tbe founder of the In.5tIlution of the blind. He waa born in Upper Silesia, ir. 1803, and died in 1839, at the early age of 36. In the same enclosure, n richly carved monument is erected to the memory of the chief of the benefactor of the Institulion, William Young Birch, who bequeathed a large estate for the benefit of the blind. He was born in Man-1 cheater, England, in 1764, and died In 1837. Horc, side by side, lie two volunlnry exiles, from their "father-land," who unitod together to carry out the nobleat enter])rlze that ever pnre philanthropy suggcaled, and one such ex¬ ample is enough to refute all tho slanders that were ever put forth by all the Nativo Ameri¬ can demagogues of tbe eounlry.
From a beautifully ornamented enclosure, rises a gmccful shaft of inarble, from wliich I copied tbe following:—Igi repose: Emelie Ste¬ vens, 'Epouae de James Stevens, et mere dea chera enfans, nee le 5 mara, 181G, Decode le I Janvier 1845 :
"There's not an hour of day. or dream by niglit, "But 1 am vvith thee. "There's not a wind, bnt whispers oflby nnme, "There's not a flower that  sleeps  beneath tho
But in its hues ot fragrance tells a talc of thee."
Onc of the most striking monuments ia erec¬ ted to the memory of an infant It is a tem¬ ple, supported by four columns, wilhin which Is thc figure of a lovely child, oflife aize, said to have been done by tho cclobratcd Italian Sculptor, Pettrlch, and is a portrait taken nf ter death. The little innocent face looks ao aimple nnd confiding amidst tho terror.s of death. Fearless the liltio mortnl haa passed alone, under the shadow, into tho presence of his Heavenly Father ; "for auch is the king¬ dom of Heaven." The inscription reads :—In memory of Alfred Theodore Miller, son of Ma¬ thew T. and Caroline Miller—born February 7, 1840 ; died Scpt. 8, 1840 :"
"A hud of henuty, nipped by Death
"Ob, no I np-bometo milder skies,
"Where no rnde wind with icy breath
"May blight a flower of Paradise."
Five little gravea are now grouped together in the enclosure, and five chapleta aro suspen¬ ded within the temple, each bearing the name ofone ofthe ehildrcn. A liltle further on, waa a lomb, with the "pitcher broken at the foun¬ tain," and close by was a pedestal erected to several cliildren ofone family, having a repre¬ sentation of a large Bible on the top, opened at the "Family Register," wilh a record of the births and deaths. But time and ability would both fail mc, in attempting to give you even a faint outline of the beauties ofthis. to me, de¬ lightful spot, though to many, ealling up sad reminisenecs of those once fondly loved. There arc so many beautiful and appropriate Ideas embodied In stone, that It would require a vol¬ ume to describe them. I have only given a few of the most prominent. I could have lin¬ gered for hours around the place, and mused on the many weary oaes, who have at length found that rcsl which the world denied thera. Like children tirod at play, they have sunk to their drcamlesa sleep. "They chaunt no more to the melody ofthe viol, nor revel any longer at the bauquet of wine." How many bright hopes have boon quenched in this "field of God!" How many airy castles hnvc fallen to ruins in the grave! How mnny wnrm licarts have been chilled by the cold marble I Awe may overcast iks when w-e look on Dcalh,but we have this coaaolatlon—we are born fbr a high¬ er destiny Ihan that of earth. Wo may mourn for those who have gone before us, yet ''Earth has no sorrows that Heaven cannol heal;" and that rainbow of promise will never fade  away.
Sadly, I took one last look, over the wide expanse of graves—but not soirowfinlly; for I stood, a stranger. In that "city of the dead," yet, an humble, quiet, graveyard, soon rose up before me, in which I bad friends and.kiudrcd lo claim all my sympathies. No costly eeno- tapli or ciin-e"d mausoleum marks the spot which covers their remains—but there are "tombstones in the Cemetery oftho he.-irt, ja- cred to their memory, until somo friendly hand shall write me mevlo mori over me.   w. m. r.
Hains Oxen.
A correspondent of thc GernTantowii Tele¬ graph thus cotnplimcnla lhe Maine Oxen. Ue calls tbt-in "nfttive oxen." In one sense they aro natives, because they are "born and brought" in Maine; bul they tve. goneraHy speaking' grade amnmis, of Durham or Here¬ ford w- Devon Blood.
The native oxen ofthe North,—especially those of Maine,—are spoken of by traveriers, who luive seen thera on tho farms, and in thc vnst luni ber forests of thai Stale, asa superb Face. Tbey often measure seven and a half feet, and tenras of three and four yokes each, are fi-equ«ntly met with, nrt an ox in which girts less thnn seven. 'Tho nmount of labor nhp.«b t\<tKc iwble-aiivimfflls perform, ia tobe accounted fbr only by the vofji kind and almost paternal nttention they habilually receive from their drivers. In the Inmber swamps, this at¬ tention is perhnps greater than on tho fnrins; bul in ull cases tbey receive unalloyed kindness and when oncc svttomatieally ' brokf. to flir dmnf;bt,' arc n'r-er i.r-Jcrcly v'hipped.
Letter from an Offloe'Seeeker.
To Ihc Edilors ofthe Nalional Inlelligenccr. WASniNOToN, October, 1853. As you have admitted into your columns a letter from a Beggar, and na many peoplo have undoubtedly imagined that he was tho moat miserable man in lliia community, I ask per- miaaion to correcl this erroneous impression.— We have, indeed, followed Iho same trade, and "been friends together;" bul whilo ho haa, after an independeni manner, begged for bread, I have been a servile beggar for office. Ho wrote you because he thought it probable that he could nol long survive, bnt I do the same be¬ cause I have actually numbered ray own daya. The coroner muat not fail in his duly. J have dispatched a messenger, wilh my last shilling, after n bit of thnl famous opinte which I have appointed to be the bnne to all better feelings of my nature, and at the same limo lhe antidote which shall release me from my present sufler¬ ings, and the intervening lime I will devote to the revelation or confeaaion following.
Soven yeara ago I was in the prime and vig¬ or of my life, and the moat auccessful lawyer in one of the pleasantest and most thriving villa¬ ges in tho Wejtorn Reserve of Ohio. I had a wife, devoted and accomplished, and two sweet children, a boy and a girl. Though by no means rich, I was surrounded by comfiirt, and had every reason to be a happy mnn. The wnr with Mexico was then progressing, and I be¬ came fired with a martial spirit. The tears of my w-ife availed nothing, and I departed at thc head of a company of volunteers. I ncquitied myself respectably, and the war ending I re¬ turned to Ohio. As a matter of course I found that uiy place in the courts had heen filled, and my successor a fornruL-ible rival. The glories of Buena Visla had fncinated me, and w-itb the mullitude I thought that Gen. Taylor ought to be the next President. I bought oul, wilh the help of friends, the village newspaper, and became ila editor. I wrote myself almosl to death in hia behalf, and waa every where ap¬ plauded for the good service I had rendered. He was elected, and in due time I was number¬ ed n-ith the countless throng who visited the political Mecca for a amile from Mahomet. A printing ofiice and three hundred doublful sub¬ scribers now constituted my cliief dependance, nnd, deeming myaelf n fit subject for a liltle Government patronage, I left my paper in eharge of a friend, and my family to the enre of Providence, nnd here I am a citizen of Wash¬ ington.
Yes, gentlemen, for nearly seven long yeara have I been hoping agninst hope, and experi¬ enced vicissitudes -which have well-nigh broken my heart, and made me, aa I beiiove, tho most miserable man upon earth. For a few weeks after my arrival here my prospects were briglit, while matters at home were as well as could be expected. .Ml my ready money I had been obliged to bring wilh me lo defray my expen¬ ses, ao that the support of my family waa ob¬ tained upon credit, and Ihe tradesmen in our villngc were very liberal and very kind. Con¬ fident of success, I lived at one of thc big ho¬ tels, nnd was aa intimate with members of Congress, letterwritera, and kindred oflice seek¬ ers, ns if I had been a relalive of one of thc now Cabinet. They enjoyed my dinners, and aa a matter of course their beautifully-written nnmes figured extensively among my creden¬ tials and recommendations. Tvvo months elap¬ sed, and I could count up almost h.-ilf a hundred promises whicii I had received from the De- partmenta, bul still no appointment came.— The first position that I had fixed my mind upon was given to a judge in my comity, and as he was a highly respectable man I could not complain; my second selection amounted to nothing, bccausc the fortunnte incumbent was not to bc removed; and thus, one after the other, did the places I songht elude my gra.sp. Three months were now flown, and my pui-sc was gelling light, and trouble wns staring me steadily in thc face. I thought of my family, read over the alTectionate and hopeful Idlers from my wife, and determined to be an inde¬ pendent man, and return immediately to Ohio; but then a foolish pride interposed; I smother¬ ed my feelings, and resolved to conlinuo my ell'orts. Promises from the Departments were now few and far between, and there w-as a kind of horror in the tonea of the post office clerk who daily snid to ine, when I called npon him. in the mnd belief that I would receive an offi¬ cial comraunicntion, "nothing for you to-day, .sir.'' Whenover these repeated disaiipolntnients were ncconipanicd with a letter from my wife, the sword thnt pierced my spirit seemed lohave two edges. And, oh, tho agony that I nightly endured as I lay upon my bed, and thought of the past and the future—of thc lierc nnd there 1 During this period my dress waa genteel, amJ, as I had resolved to 'hope on, hope over,' I tried to find peace of mind by going inlo so¬ ciety. I did so, through the instrumenlalily of the Representatives of my own and neigbboring States—for they, you know, arc always honor¬ able men. by virlnc of their posiiion—and be¬ came well acquainted wilh thc fashionable cir¬ cles oflhc metropolis. Nighl alter night I at¬ tended large parties, and, though surprised to find myself in sueh splendid compan-y, I was more surprised to see thc atrnnge conglomera¬ tion of characters with which I cnme in con¬ tnct High and low, Whigs and Democrats, Senators nixl letter-writers, clergymen nnd gmmhlers, mon of intelligenco and simpletons, (myself included among the latter,) were nl¬ wnys assembled upon the same platform, and I could only account for the strange mixture by remembering that every nian hailed from some parlicular "district," and that every dis¬ trict hftd n Representative. And yet, good sirs, I w.iuld nol have you understand me as doubl- tBg ihe tx'tetenee of nny high-tontd society in Wa-siVhygton. Better and more genteel society, I verily believe, docs not exist in any land, bul il is not that addicted to largo parlies, and es¬ pecially largc dinners, where are everlastingly endured the same Prench diahes, cooked by the some tnan. (who lives in a large brick honst und k'rp- hit;   earri-i^o,^ r-rved   by the   •vome
act of polite waiters that have for many yenrs psat done so mi-ch to give character to fashion¬ nbic life nt tho seat of Oovernment. If, there¬ fore, you should Imagine that I found consola¬ tion by going into sociely, I can only say that lo my ta.ste ils manifold attractions were ns in¬ sipid ns duat and nshes.
Time flew on, and I wna compelled lo chnnge my lodgings from the firsl-rnte hotel to an ob- senre boarding-house. To my pride thia wns a severe blow, bnt another nnd a far more terri¬ ble onc enme suddenly upon rae, bringing mil¬ dew and blight nnd despair over my spirit, and .idding to the dosolalion.s of my home—it waa the death of my forsaken-wife. Thc letlers whicii cominunicaled thia sorrowful nnw.^ were friendly and minute. They told me that she had long been drooping like ono under a heavy cloud; thnt hcr thoughts clung ever to the nh¬ sent and loved w-ith the devotion of womnn'-s holy nature nnd thc strong desires of a saint; and that, with her children alniost in her arraa, she died perfectly resigned and happy in the prospect of a life where want ia never known, and the good cnn never die. What wero my feelings you can better imagine than I can ue- scribe. I would have attended her burial, but It was too late, and besides I had not the mon¬ ey to bear my expenses home. Slrange aa it may seem in one ao foolish and unworthy, I did my best to provide for my children: bnt when infc-rmed that my house had been closed, and those dear little ones t.iken iuto thc kindly keeping of charitable friends, T became in feel¬ ing more an exile from home than ever; and, ns I sometimea profanely fancied that the curse of Heaven was resting upon me, I desperately and sullenly resolved lo continne in the very eity where so mnny of my hopes bad been wrecked or blasted.
Instead of months, years had now c'apscil( and I wna atill in purauit ofthe poor phantom, olTicc. As my clothes became thread-bare, I waa excluded from the society in which I had temporlly moved; nnd as I picked up an occa- aional dollnr by perlorming unworthy employ¬ ments for the keepers of the common eating houses, I formed nn exiensive acquniiitnnce with the profligate and the dissipated. A niii'li —a kind of fashionable Mephistophelos—to whom I had been introduced in my hf.tteu days (Heaven save tbe mark !) by a member of Congress, now crossed my path; told me he was following hia old vocation, that of inviting strangers into the gaming saloons, nnd intima¬ ted lhat there w-as good luek In store for mc in that dircclion. I yielded to the templations, pledged my last few dollars, and for six coiiso- cutive nights was fortunnte. I pnid my litlle debts, clothed myself niicw, and returned to the gnnilng table. Fortune for three inonths smi¬ led upon me, juat cnougli to lure mo onward to my ruin. I became intimnle wilh gamblers and nccomplishcd in the secvcfs ofthe ''dread¬ ful tr.ide.'' The brilliant lights, thc rich wines, and sumptuous tables, nddcd to my new-born passion, absorbed my entire mind, and my character and my children were alike forgotten. At lhe lime, I could not realize that I was on the road to ruin. I drank to excess, and sel¬ dom made my appearance in the light of day. I was possessed with frenzy, andjcould not rea¬ son; and when in my lucid Intervals I did rea¬ son, it was only to say, '"if I am in thc 'bonds of iniquity,' then arc there many, weli known lo fame, in the same condition." Now and then I remember nne who had reeummonded me for appointment to oflicc, and in ono in¬ stance a person at whose feet I bnd been a beggar for a place. As n matter ofcourse (he lower deep of my downward career was soon attained, nnd for more thnn n year paat I have led lhe life, not of a respectable and independ¬ ent beggnr, but of nn outcast, gnlhering my suslcnnnce from the back doors nnd kitchens of the hotels, sleeping no fwo nights- in thc same plnce, nnd wandering about, with my all of wealth and comfort tied up in n cotlon pock¬ et hnndkcrchicf, w-hich, wilh my slnfl', I cnrry with mc in my hands wherever I go. The man who, not long since, threw himaelf from the Washington Monument, and he who hanged himself on the Virginia side of the Potomac, have both set mc an exnmple which despair has compelled me to follow. Their histories are unknown, but the lesson of my life is now presenied to the wnrli}. 1 iixre no* t?rmlf of my own fate hereafter, but, if God will forgive me, I pray that He will protect my children from evil waya and evil raen, nnd tench them not only to believe, bnt to acl upon these precepts of the Bible which I have neglected from niy youth, viz: ''Put not your trust in Princes; tiiist in God, his wisdom, promises, and poic- cr; as for ihe way ofthe nngoilly he furneth il upside down." Truer words than these neve'' fell frnm the lips of inspiration. And here endeth the record of my bitter experience. I coramond ray body to the coroner and my soul to ils Creator.
Wesderfttl Metihanism in the Eyes of Birds.
A singular provision is made for keeping thc surface oftho bird's eye clean—for wiping the glass of the instrument; as it w-ere, nnd nlso fbr protecting it white rnpidly flying through thc airnnd through the thickets, withoul hin dering the sighl. Birds nre for Ihesc purposes furnished with a bird eyelid—membrane or akin, which is constantly moved ver}- rnpidly over tho eye ball, by two museles pinced In the back ofthe oyes. One nfthe muscles ends in a loop, and is fixed in tho corner of tho mem¬ brane, to pull it backward and forwnrd. If you wish to draw a thing towarda any place "with the least force, yon must pull directly, in the line between the thing and the place; fnit ifvou wiah Iff irarr i« as quickly as poasible, and with the mnsl convenience, and do not re¬ gard Ihe loss of force, you mns* pull it ohtique- lv, by drawing it in two diteetiohs at onte.— •fie ft string to a .stone, and draw it to-wards you with one hand; then make a loop on ano¬ ther string, and, nm-ning tho f^«t through it, draw one string in one band not towards you, but sideways, till hoth strings .are in a straight line: you will sec how much more ensily Ihc stone moves quickly than it did before, when pulled riraight forv-nrd.- . 7f'-w»'"?m'j }Iite^- tcni-r.
Hints to Farmers.
Horace'Oreei.t, Esq., delivored tho Annual Address nt the Agricultural Fair in Indiana, whicii occupies seven columns ofthe Tribune, .Speaking oflhe Farmera, he aays:
But let ua pauao at that word Industry. "By Industry wc thrive," ia an old saw, which ia very well in its place, but the truth contained in proverbs ia so curtly expresaed that it oflcn nii,aleada more than it directs, Induatry is in ¦ deed essential to thiifV, nnd fanners, like other men, oflen need to bc reminded of if. When I note and o'crwhelmed w-lth " bnaine.as which calla him away from home Iwo or tlireo days in each week, and keepa him hanging about tin tavern or store while hia boys are at play nnd his potatoes crying for thc hoe, I know whithor thai fanner is tending, nnd ean guess nbout how long he will havo nny lnnd to mismanage. And I think that, in the average, farmers wnste moro houra thnn mechnnics. They have more idle time—not necessarily; but quite commonly so regarded—through bad weather, severe cold, too much wet Ac. than fiiila to the lot ofalmost any other clnss, and it is very easy to alluro many of them away to shoot at other mena tur kics when they should be growing food for their . But -while many waste preclona honra, quite na much through hcedleaaneaa nnd want of aystem, nnd indolence, I know- another claa.i who slave tliemselvea out of comi'ort and oul of thoughi by inceaaant, excessive drudgery—who are so absorbed in oblaining the means of living that they never furi time to live—who driv» through the day so that their bones ache nnd tlieir minds nre foggy nt night, nnd are so over¬ worked through the week thnt they can neilher worship God nor enjoy the sociely of their funii¬ iles on the Sabbath. These men will often tell on they have no time to rend, wliich is just an rational for the captain of a steamboat to plead a want of time to consult bis compass and chart or keep a reckoning ofhis ship's progress. No lime to rend? Do they not find time to plant and sow. to reap nnd moAv-, nnd even to ent and sleep? If thoy do, Ihen they mny find lime, if they will, to lenrn how In apply their labor to the best advantage aa well ns to qunlify them¬ selves by rest and refreshment for working at all. I venlure the assertion lhat llicro are twen¬ ty thousand farmers in Indiana who would havo been wealthier as well as more useful, mnre res¬ pected and happier men this day, if they had abstracted ten hours per week from labor during all their adult life, and devoted those hours to reading and thought, in pnrt with a view to im¬ provemeni in their own vncnllun, but In pnrl also looking to higher nnd nobler enda thnn even thia. Some men waste the better part of their lives in dLasipation and idleness; bnt this does rot excuse in olhera thc waste of time equiilly precious in mcrc nnimal effort to henp np goods and comforts wliich wc must leave be¬ hind so soon and forever.
—I read very few old books—T can hnrdly find time to master Ihe best new ones; but t have no doubt tbat those who (to read tho verv oldest treatises on Agriculture which have sur¬ vived the ravages of time, will find Cato, or Seneca, or Columella, and whoever may be tho author in hand, talking to the fiirmers of his dny very much ns our fnrmers nrc now general¬ ly tnlked to, and inculcating aiibslantlally tha same truths. "Flow deeper, fertilize more tho¬ roughly, cultivate less land, and " cultivat" it better"—such, I have no donbl hns been tho burden of Agricultural admonition and cxhorla- tion from tho dnya of Homer and Mo.acs. It seems incrediiilo to modern sicpticism that mil¬ lions of Hebrews could hnvo for nges inhabifetl thc narrow and rocky land of Judea; and ifr would be hard to believe, ifwc were ignorant of (he .\grnrian Inw- of Moses, under which, ns populnlion incrensed, the inalienable patrimony of each family became smaller nnd smnller, nnd the cullivation of conrse better nnd bofter— Very few of us arc at all aware of the averago capacity ofan arable ncre, if subjected to tho¬ rough scientific civllurp. Mnny a family offour offive persons hns derived n generous siihsia- tence for yenr nt>cr yenr from a aingle acre.— The stnry ofa fnrnfcr who wna compelled to sell off hnlf his litflc estafe of eight or ten acres, nnd was mosf itgreertbly snrpil'scd by finding thc reward ofhis Inbnr quife ns Inrge aa whert It wits restrieled to' the remaining half as when It was bestowed on thc whole, was very current in Homnn Ule rature two thousand years ago. Why it ia that raen persist in running over mnch land, instead of thoroughly cultivating a little defying not only Science, bul Experience; thc wisdnm oflhc fireside as well as that ofthe labfa'aloi;y, can bc accoitnled for by supposing that men have a nnturnl passion for nnnexation of pride In extended dominion, or else a natural repugnnnce tu following gnod advice. Surely, if Wisdom ever cried in (he streets, sho hns been bnwling herself honrse these twenty-fivo conturlcs ngainst the folly orniaintalning fences and paying tnxes on a Iiundred ncres of lnnd in order to grow a crop that might have been produced frora ten.
HoIIotr Horh Disease.
Seeing in your pnper ofthe .Id utl., nn enqui¬ ry respecting a disease called holloiv horn, tho causo and cure; perhaps, as no descri-j-ilion of the disease is a'lfen, it may be something I am not ncquainted with, yct w-e have a diseasa called the horn nil; thc symploms nre, drop¬ ping ofthe head nnd eara, lying down, turniug the htad over the back, lowards the shoulders, as If in pain in the head. Tbis ] taiuk is n siiinal disease effecting the bi-aias and horns. Cure—Takc a largc taljle spoonful of sulpher, and lard suSieicnt vvhen -warm to make it soft liko paite, pour it on top cf thc bend at tha root of the horns; take a shovel or flat picco of iron, heat it, and hold it over the head soas to Jieat tim paste an* wnrm the top of the head ns much as the be.-t::rt will bear; repeat once irn two or three days, ind bore the horns on tho under aide, two oif three inches from the lload. so as to lot in fresh air—and let the putrid matter out If nn)> is collecled. I have never known this fell, if taken before too far gone.— . I ha-te eured one cow when the top of thn hcnd w,is so full of matter that I openod a place ahove the ear which discharged room than a half pint. This was in the sunimer: the cow was fattened in the fall and killed; tb* head was all right, excepting a placa at ths roots of the boms about as Itriic a: a sinaU rpn^n h-yl. - B:i::t'>n CulH'-atrrr.