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THE STAR OF THE NORTH.
H, 11. JACOB¥, PropriAfor.] VOLUME LI; ©ff BlEjB I'UBLISHKD F.VKKV WKDNKSDAT BY IV M. 11. JACOBV, Office on Alain St., Jrd'Squnn' below Alarkrt, , TERMS : —Two Dollars per annum if paid within six months from the lime of subserib ( ing: two dollars and filly cts. if not paid with in the year. No subscription taken lor a less 'period than six months; no discontinuance .'permitted nutil all arrearages are paid, un less at the option of the editor. The terms of advertising will he ns follows : One square, twelve lines, three times, $1 00 , Every subsequent insertion, 25 , One square, three months, 3 00 One year, 8 00 iJoclrg. Written for the Slur. IIIE LAhT INDIAN. Yes, ye must pass from eartli; It needs no hoary sage, Deep skilled in mystic lure, Your downfall to presage ; For years has hist'ry's page Mourned o'er this stern decree; But ye must pass awav, Extinct the race shall be. Your name ye have implanted On river and on lake, And though ye pass unheeded, Yet will not all forsake ; The Mississippi rolls In majesty along, Niagara's rougher sound Gives spirit to the song; The Susquehanna pours Its music on our ears, The Ohio murmurs sweet, Sad songs of lormer years. These are your monuments, They never can decay ; While time itself shall last, They shall not pass away. Ages oti ages past, Ye wandered here alone; Canoes on every lake, In every vale a throne. But now your tribes are lew, Your warriors are gone, Your watch fires blaze no mora Around the council stone. Farewell, ye pristine race, Sons of the earth and sky ! Farewell, ye proud and brave, Who would live free, or die ! The heart must throb with grief, With pain the bosom swell, To see ye pass away ! , , But—red men, Fare j l 'e well! lisD JACK er. hEVEAGED. I had heard tiie 'celebrated cavalina in "II Bar diet e di Seoiglia but never, till I then, had that delighful air been lolly un- 1 'derstood, either by myself or the singer.— But the Signora Camilla ghve it such ex pression! 'Hbw well she revealed to the soul thoughts and sensations hitherto tin 'noticed by artists except herself. Sho was a beautiful girl, about sixteen, blue eyes, and a smile at once arch and tender. At first the Song commences with an avowal oflove, [ifbfbundly fell, and solemn even in short, such an avowal as i we'ekn ifhagiue to proceed from the lips of 1 Spanish maids. Then the infantile play fulness ol Rosina's disposition resumes its accustomed sway; for serious reflection, even when it is the offspring of passion, can ever be supposed to be long tho ten ant of the giddy head of sixteen. Alter wards succeeds the fantastic capriciousness at sprightly songs. She laughs at her guardian, exults in the hope of eluding his vigilance, and thanks to au exalted imag ination, though portionless and closely watched, she can sing of happiness and lib- ertv. Near me was seated a young Italian, whose looks never wandered—no, not for an instant, from the singer. His parted lips scarcely seemed to' breathe. Tears >glistened in his eyes, and his pale features expressed even more than the enthusiasm of admiration—it was love. When the Car olina was over, and while the house re echoed with plaudits, Camilla cast a fur live glance towards him. It was plain that his passion was not unreqnitted. Oh I how I envied his felicity—for he toiust have been so happy to see thousands praise the object of his love. He must have been so happy, on looking round to tee the eager gaze of admiration ol all pres ent. And then, a sign from her, unintel ligible to all save him alone—a glance that i*tys, as plainly as eye can speak, "This glory belongs to you, with all Camilla pos sesses, for Camilla is yours." And then the recollections Of the scarcely articulated ptadearmentk— of the embrace in which the timidity of ldvo first ventured to stamp itself Oh! how I envied him—l, whom uotib ev tAt loved— none ! H To the right of the young man was a RltflUiger, whom the commencement of the Hjpsra, 1 had more than once inwardly cur sßL There was in bis dress and manner a tjjpDlling mixture of affection and want of at full length on his seat he SM elbowed his neighbors; whilst the tnUßrfh expression of his black-lustre eyes betokening intoxication, and he attracted the alMMMti<th°se in his immediate vi cinity, of remark which he more More than once he drerk foKß|hpprobation, and calls to order, but to (MBfe he paid no manner of attention. Whilapha lover of Camilla was listening with hcanrand soul to her songs, he did not preaches of deco rum ; and was occupied by Barlillo and the wonhylpasrl, he gently re pressed the intrusive elbotftvsf the strager. I know not ol what natute was the' letter's retort", but I kaw that the face rtf the Italian was Aushed, and his eyes bloodshot. He Was, however, silent. Drawing N|fber an incorrect omen from this instance g| for bearance, the stranger, in a menacift alii- ' T.LOOMSBURG, COLUFILBIA COUNTY, PA., WEDNESDAY. JULY 27, 1859. , lude, raised his arm. He was anticipated, the Italian struck him. " Sortons ," exclaim ed they both at once. As they were about to withdraw a cry rose from the house.— For the first time I saw the young man shudder, and then hesitate. But the stran gar turned round to see if he followed, and he proceeded. 1 can neither express or account for my interest in the lover of Camilla, but so great was it that 1 followed to see the ter mination of the scene. Two men, of rath er an equivocal appearance, followed the stranger. The Italian was alone and ever and anon looked wishfully and anxiously afound. " You' Are a stranger: you want a second, I will stand by you in this affair," said I, unJvancing. He extended his hand and shook mine. 1 knew well the despair conveyed by that presure When the choice ot weapons had been made, we passed through several lonely bystreets, and left the city. .Never had the moonlight appeared to me so lovely as at that time. The skies were intensely clear, and the air redolent of the most voluptuous freshness. There was in all nature an indefinable irony of repose and happiness that added to my sadness.— Arrived at the usual resort for personal en counters, the stranger, with the utmost tran quility. proceeded to stripping, tucking up his sleeves to the elbows, examining his sharpened foil with the minutest attention, and throwing himself into an attitude that would have'Uorie honor to any professor He smiled. 1 lelt my very blood creep at that smile. ,At the very first pass the Italian fell, trasfixed by his adversary's | weapon. He essayed to speak, but the gushing blood prevented him. He strove to make a sign, but the convulsions ol death rendered the efforts abortive. "Camilla! Camilla !" I cried. Methought I felt my 'hand'warmly p-essed. The tension of the nerves was relaxed—his hand was chilled with the damps of death—his listless limbs 'were stiffened, and all was over. In the interim, his auversary was quietly wiping the ensanguined blade, and consult ing with his coadjutors. "Assist me," said I, imploringly, "in transporting tlis unhap py man to some place where he cau find succor. The assassin eyes his victim with much the same glance that an experienced physican bestows on a patient. He felt ' his pulse, and, turning to bis friends, he ! said, "It is time for us to be olf. He is in !no need of a-sistance. He is a dead man !" They left me alone beside the corpse. 1 felt exceedingly uneasy. 1 neither knew the name of tha unfortunate gentleman, nor to whom 1 should transfer his remains. Up on looking around, I saw, by the moonlight, something glitter. It was the clasp of his pocket-book, which had lallen during the preparations for combat. It contained a iiiinature of Camilla, a letter addressed lo ; Signor l'aoli Frienzi. I read it. It was a love letter—the first he ever received from | her, dated, in an agitated but evidently | beautilul hand, on that very day. It is j scarcely Dossible to concoive the mournful sensation 1 experienced upon reading the tender protestations of a young girl, by the side of the inanimate body of her lover. Some peasants approached. They were going to maiket with a wagon. I prevailed upon them the corpse of Frienzi to town, and /after having informed the magistrates of the event of the preceding night, 1 betook myself lo the dwelling of Camilla, Pale, but witn the stern resigna tion of settled despair, she understood, at 1 the outset, the full import of my sad account Without infelrrupting me, sue listened to my detail; nor. when 1 had done, did she say a single word in comment. I sought in her inflexible features something to identity her with the Rosina of the evening belore. ' But it was in vain. It was Nemesis em bodied. She breathed but for revenge. "His name?" said she, dt length. "I know not," said I. "His name?" she repeated, springing lo wards me ; "what is it ! —I will know it !" placing a poignard at my breast. 1 seized her arm and turned it aside. " 1 call heaven to witness," said I, "that I know not his name " "Forgive me, ah ! forgive me," said she; " you, so kind, so generous, you received his last breath—forgive me." And then She muttered, "it is itumaterial; 1 shall know it." Four years after this occurrence i made a voyage to Naples. At night i went to the play. The performance was "The Barber of Seville." Rosina made her appearance, and Rosina was Signora Camilla. I started, and almost tnechancially I look ed around for Paoli Firenzi. His murderer was again seated at my side. Camilla knew him at once, for she broke off in her cavatina with an exclamation, but she re covered herself immediately, and never had I found her in better voice, or her ac-; tion so perfect. My heart sickened at the eight of a wo man singing composedly in the sight of her lover's assassin. 1 could not withstand this undeniable proof,'of insensibility. I quilted the playhouse, and sauntered about the streets of Naples. As I returned to the The atre la Seila , the crowd was just issuing from it. Suddenly, on turning a corner, a female who was flying ran against me. She look ed up—recognised me, and uttering a wild cry, she exclaimed, "He is avenged !" and in her crimsoned hands that clasped mine, I felt a poignard still reeking with blood Description Df Italy. | The following description of Italy and its governments is taken from the New Orleans Picayune. It is an excellent account of that j country and its afiairs at the commencement I of the present war, and it will be read with ' interest : j Geographically, tbero is a remarkable ! unity in Italy, for it is a peninsula bounded by gulfs and seas on three sides and by all mountains on the north, but practically there has been no unity in Italy since the days of the Romans. For nearly a thousand years the greater part of Italy has been under the sway of French and German rulers. Those portions which have not thus been incor porated with foreign States have been di vided into smaller' States; and tnere lias never been a time when there was either consort or action, a common object, or a principle or feeling of nationality in Italy. There are now eight different govern ments in Italy wholly independent of each other,and some of tfcem having ancient and intense animosities towards the other. Of these there are four in what is known geo graphically as Upper Italy; three in Central Italy, and one in the kingdom of Naples, covering southern Italy and the Island of 1 Sicily. The kingdom of Sardinia is the most im- j portant of the Slates of Upper Italy ; yet ' some of its possessions are quite as much German or French as Italian. It has the j nearest approach to the constitutional gov- | ernment ol any country in Europe, and though a small kingdom, with a population ' only between five and six millions, it has 1 been made by the talents and bravery of the House of Savoy which rules there, au im porlaiit'State in Europe. The next in magnitude and population are the Austrian provinces, which by the general name of the kingdom of Lombardy and Venice. The population exceeds five millions, and many portions of the territory have been German dependences for centu ries—some of ihem, indeed since Charle mange conquered the ancient Lombards a thousand years ago. 'lhe Lombard King dom includes the Duchy of Milan originally subject to Spain, afterwards ceded to Aus tria. She renounced it under the compul sion of the French . Directory to be made into the < is-Alpine republic '; but it was re stored to her by the Vienna treaty of 1815. Mantua and other principalities which make up the Lombard government have belonged to Austria for about one hundred and fifty years. Venice and the Swiss territory of Grisons were only attached permanently in 1815. The government of these countries is an absolute military despotism issuiug from Vienna. Upper Italy contains besides those two rival kingdoms of Sardinia and Austrian Lombardy, two independent governments in the Duchy of Modena and the Duchy of Parma. They are each about the size of one of the largest parishes in this State, but contain about a half a million of inhabitants Parma has been successfully ruled by na tive princes—by French and by Spaniards. Its rulers from 1730 have been princes of the House of Spain. Napoleon in 1812 in corporated two thirds of it into the French Empire, and gave the other third to Prince Borgnese the husband of one of his sisters The Congress of Vienna gave the life estate of the w hole to Marie Louisa—Nupoleon's widow—since whose death it has reverted to the original heir of the Spanish line. The Duchy of Modena was an ancient fief of German Europe, and the present reigning family is Austrian—the heiress of the old race of Este married an Austrian Archduke in 1806 and their descendants now inherit. It is very German in its ideas The independent Sta'es in Middle Italy are three—the Grand Duchy of Tuscany, the States of the Church,and the little Repub lic o! San Marino. Tuscany too is ruled by a house of Austrian descent. Originally a part of the Germau Empire, it became en larged by the abilities of the Medici to the Grand Duchy of Tuscany. The grand Duke is a descedant of Franciß Stephen, Emperor of Germany, the husband of the great Maria Therosa, heiress of Austria. Bonaparte erected it into the kingdom of Etruria, and subsequently annexed it to the Empire of France ; in 1815-it was restored to the old line. Next to Tuscany are the Stales of the Church, of which the Pope is the elective head, holding his temporal power by virtue of his election as Pope. The Slates are not large, but they are numerous and pop ulouse, the population being three millions in an area of about 17 000 square miles Thfere are twenty-one provinces, cities, duchies and districts, some of which have been under the Papal government almost since the time of Charlemange, and others were aided by donation from German and French monarchies, in middle ages. The government Was entirely despotic until some changes were effected after the revo lutionary struggles of 1848, but the popula tion is deeply discontented,and the power of ihe Pope is only maintained by the pres ence Of the protecling armies of France and Austria. There is also in Middle Italy the little Republic of San Marino—a single Democ racy of about 8,000 souls—occupying a little nook in the mountains, about thirty square miles, Which has kept its separate independ ence for about fourteen hundred years. In Southern Italy there is the kingdom of the twoSicillies, which is cOramonly known as the kingdom of Naples. The continential part contains about 32,000 square miles, and six and a half millions of people. Tho Truth and Rifht Country. t | island including that of Sicily, 10 000 square miles and over two millions of inhabitants Naples, like the rest of Italy, has become a dependency first ol one and then another of the great kingdoms of Europe, with brief intervals of Ir.denpedence. The first race of kings was of Norman extraction. The next was of the Imperial House of Germany.— The Pope conferred the throne then on tho House of Anjon of the royal family of Frunce. A race of Spanish rulers succeed ed, and for two hundred years Naples was a constituan! part ol the Spanish monarchy. About 1795 Charles 111. of Spain gave it to his third son, the ancestor of the Bombons. His descendants now reign there, add are bitterly de'.ested. We have thu- CY.rii/tts>.fhm over thS list of tlie Stales into which Italy is now divided. They have never at any one time been under one government, or under similar govern ments. They are all with the exception of Sardinia, governed absolutely,.and mis gov erned ; and they are all more or less, in a state of great discontent, and ripe for any movement against their rulers, lint there is no evidence that they have any common ideas of what sort of government would belter promote their happiness, or any gen eral notion of the future except getting rid of their rulers if they can. Among such di verse, long separated, incompatible races as it is, we think in vain to look lor the reali zation of that dream of enthusiasm, a united tegenerated, and free Italy. apiary in July. Those bee keepers who are so far behind the times as to destroy llte-Arees with brim stone, to get the honey, arid who live in sections of country where but little buck wheat is raised, will do best to take up their hives the last of July, as the bees store but little afterward in such p'aces The best 'pieces of"comb may be selected for the table; they must be kept in a cool place or the mothworm will hatch out and spoil litem. They should also be kept dry, oth erwise the hor.ey will absorb moisture and make it thin, and sometimes sour. Honey that is strained out in warm weather should be kept dry, and cool if possible After standing awhile, a thin portion will raise to the top; remove this carefully, and the re mainder will he good for cold weather To keep white honey pure, all surplus box es containing it should be removed before the dark honey from buckwheat is mixed with it. Boxes expreeslj* Vor buckwhehi honey, may he put on afterward if needed ; examine them, and if found to be so, drive out the bees to begin anew, any time before •he flowers fail. Three weeks after the first swarm, is the proper thne but it is bet ter to do it late than not at all. Any stock that has swarmed out freely, leaving too few bees to cover the combs properly— should be closely watched Ipr the first ap pearance of the moth worm, whose pres ence is indicated by numerous small black shining specks like powder, on tiie floor of the hive. When nothing mire can be done to save the stores, or the dry combs, for the bees is best to secure the contents of the hive at once, before the moth destroys all Set about the hive at night, shal low dishes filled with sweetened water; moths by hundreds will often thus get drowned ; (hey may be fe<J chickens. It is unnecessary to watch for a second swarm from a hive, later than eighteen days after the first swarm The season must be very backward, when any swarms issue later than the middle of July.— Ameiicun Agriculturist. A Speech taking Wiugtt. At the recent session of the General As sembly of the Presbyterian Church at In dianapolis, there was a very able discussion on the seminary question. Among the speakers was the well known Dr. McMaster. He spoke from his notes, and as ho pro ceeded with page after page, he handed his manuscript to the reporter of the Cincinnati Gazette, who was at the table near him.— The scene was so amusing, that we give it in the words of the reporter himself. When Dr McMaster made his great speech on the seminary question in .tlje Presbyte rian General at Indianapolis, on Monday afternoon, *ihe reporter of the Ga zette matle arrangements to get his manu script as fast as he read it, in order to send to Cincinnati. The Dr. laid the sheets on the table before him, as he finished reading them, and occasionally would pass some over with "Here Mr. Reporter." At ten minutes to five (the hour the train leaves) there was quite a pile lying there,but the re porter did not like to take them without say-- ing "By your leave ■' He waited lor the Dr. to pause, till he dared not wait any longer. It was already five minutes to five, so he seized the pile of manuscript and started. Shortly after the Dr. came to "Sixthly." "Where's my sixthly?" said be. He turn ed over his manuscript, but no sixthly. At last, willi a perplexed expression on his simple, child like face, (for though a very large man, with a venerable white head, he has a lace mounted on his bwTboay more child like than that of Horace Greely.) the Doctor said, "I wonder if that "reporter has carried off my sixthly V' It was hven so. "Sixthly" was alieady j on the train, bound for Cincinnati, and just ! as the Doctor discovered the fact the whis tle of the departed train sounded seeming to say "Got your sp-ee-ch, sp ee-ch, sp-ee-ch." "Got your sp-ee-ch, sp-ee-ch, sp-ee-ch."— j The Assembly was convulsed with laughter. Ladies, before marrying you had better | destroy old love letters. Be Polite to All. "Halloa Limpy, the oars will start in a minute, hurry up or we shall leave you be hind !" The cars were waiting at the station on one of our Western railroads. The engine was puffing and blowing; the baggage mas ter was busy with baggage and checks ; the men were hurrying to and fro with chests and valises, packages and trunks. Men, women and children were rushing for the cars and hastily securing their seats, while the locomotive puffed, and snorted, and blowed. A man carelessly dressed, was standing on the platform of the depot. He was look ing around him, seemingly paid little atten tion to Wuu4 was passing. It was easy to see that he was lame. At a glance one might have supposed that he was a man of neither wealth nor influence. The conduc tor of the train gave him a contemptuous look, atid slapping him familiarly on the shoulder, he called out: "Halloa, Limpy, better get aboard or the cars will leave you behind I" "Time enough, I reckon," replied the in dividual so roughly addressed, and he re tained his seemingly listless position. Tho last trunk was tumbled into the bag gage car. "All aboard I" cried the conduc tor. ''Get on, Limpy," said be as he pass ed the carelessly dressed lame man. The lame man made no reply. Just as the train was slowly moving, away,be step ped on the platform of the last car, and walking in, quietly, took a seat. The train moved on a few miles, when the conductor appeared at the door of the car wheie our friend was silting. Passing along he soon discovered the stranger whotn he had seen at the station. "Hand out your money, here " "I don't pay," replied the lame man very quietly. "Don't pay V' "We'll 6ee about that. I shall put you out at tho next station !" and he seized the valise which was ou the rack over the head of our trieud. "Better not be so rough, young man," re turned the stranger. The conductor feleased the carpet bag for a moment, and seeing he could do no more then, lie passed on to collect the tare Irotn the other passengers. As he stopped at a seat a few paces off, a gentleman who had heard the conversation just mentioned; looked up at the conductor and asked him : "Do you know to whom you were speak ing just now 1" "No, sir." "That was Peter Warburton, the Presi. dent of the road." "Are you sure of that 1" replied the con ductor, trying to conceal his agitation. "I know him." The color rose a little to the young man's face, but with a strong effort he controlled himself, and went on collecting his fare as usual. Meanwhile Mr. Warburton sat quietly in his seat. None of those who were near him could unravel the expression of his counte nance. nor tell what would be the next movement in the scene. And he—of what thought he ? lie had been unkindly taunt ed with the infirmity which had come per haps through no lault of his. lie could re venge himself if he choose. He could tell the directors tho simple truth, and the young man would be deprived of his place at once. Should he do it t And yet, why should he care? He knew what he was worth. He knew how hehad risen by his own exertions to the position ho now held. When a little orange pedler, he stood by the street cross ing, and had many a rebulf. He had out lived those days of hardship; he was re spected now. Should he care for a stran ger's roughness or taunt t Those who sat near him waited curiously to see the end. Presently the conductor came back With a steady energy he walked up to Mr. Warburton's side. He took his books from his pocket, the bank bills, the tickets which he had collected, and laid thein in Mr. War burton's hand. "I resign my place, sir," he said. The President looked over the accounts for a moment, then motioning to the vacant seat at his side, said : "Sit down, sir, 1 would like to talk with you." As the young man sat down, the Presi dent turned to him with a face in whlfch was no angry feeling, and spoke to him in JtfjMMung friend, I have no revengeful fee|KtJ gratify in this matter; but yoj a itWMpiPl very imprudoAt. Your manner, liaalt been thus to a stranger, would bave been very injurious to the interests ol the company. 1 might tell them of this, but i will not. By doing so 1 should throw you out of your station, and you might find it difficult to get another. But in future, re member to be polite to all you meet. You cannot judge of a man by the wears, land even the poorest should be treated with civility. Take up your books, sir, I shall Jell no one of what has passed. If yo'u Bhange your course, nothing which has ■fepened shall injure you. Your station is still continued. Good morning, sir !" Be train of cars swept on, as many a had done before ; but within it a les son had been given and the" purport of that lesson ran somewhat thus— don't judge from appearances. IN a convention of females, wo have no doubt but whatever is voted upon is always carried by a handsome majority. A Thrilling Incident. In retiring from Philadelphia, about the middle of Attgu-t, 1858, the cars were very crowded, and my companion in the same seat 1 found out to be a locomotive engin eer, aid in the course of our conversation, he madp the remark he hoped he had run his last trip upon a locomotive. Upon mnk ing bp.'U to ask his reason, he gave me the : following story, and since then 1 have found j it out to be strictly true : ■. Five years since I was running upon the ; New York Central Railroad. My run was | from B to R .It was the Lightning | Express Train, and was what its name do j notes, for it was fast. I have seen her throw ' hjnsix foot driver so p.s to be almost invUi ! bio to the eye. Hut to my story. About half a mile from the village of 8., there is a nice little cottage, but a few feet from the track. At that time a young mar ried couple lived there. They had one child, a little boy about lour years old, a bright bine eyed, curly headed little chap as you ever saw. 1 had taken a great deal of interest in the little fellow and had thrown candy and oranges to him lmm trie train, and was sure to see him peeping through the fence when my train passed. One sunny afternoon we were behind time and running last ; we did not stop at B , and I was to make up one hour be fore reaching B . We came up at a tremendous speed, and when sweeping around the curve, my eye following the track, not over two hundred feet ahead sat the little fellow playing with a kitten which he held in his lap. At the sound of onr ap proaching he looked and laughed, clapping his little hands in high glee at the affrighted kitten as it ran from the track. Quicker than the lightning that blasts the tall pine upon the mountain top, I whistled " down brakes," and reversed my engine, but knew it was impossible to stop. Nobly did the old engine try to save htm. The awful straining and writhing of its iron drivers told but too plainly of the terrific velocity we had aMenied. 1 was out of the cab win dow a<nn|| n on the cowcatcher in a flash. The little nellow stood still. 1 motioned him off surf shouted ; his little blue eyes opened wide with astonishment, and a mer ry laugh was upon his lips. 1 held .my breath as we rushed upon him, made a desperate attempt to catch him, but missed, and as his little body passed 1 heard the feehie cry of "Mother," pud the forward | trucks crushed l|is body to atoms. I O, God ! that moment! 1 may live, sir, | '.o be an old man, but the agony of that I moment I shall never forget. I The cars stopped some rods from the spot, I and I ran back as soon as possible. His 1 mother saw the train stop, and a fearful ! foreboding flashed upon her at once. She 1 ! came rushing frantically to die spot where we stood. Never shall I forget the look she gave as she beheld her first born a shape less mass. I would have given my whole evistence to have avoided that moment ! 1 have seen death in all its forms upon rail roads , I have seen men, women and chil dren mangled and killed—l have seen all this, but that little innocent boy as he looked up in my face and killed almost in I my arth, it unnerved me, and from that day I made a solemn vow never to run a loco motive any more. J That young mother is now in the Utica Lunatic Asylum. From the hour her boy : was killed "reason bad left its throne." He stopped and wiped the tears from his o)es l 1 and said, "You may think it weak in me to shed tears, bufl cannot help it." "No," I replied, "but think it noble; and, sir, would to God every man had a heart as large ;as yours. I have olten thought since, how lew are those who give one passing thought to the man of strong nerve and stout j arm, who guides them through darkness, j and storms, with the speed of the wind, | safely to their journey's end. They do not, i for a moment turn their attention to the iron j monster that is dragging them forward with ' fearful velocity to meet friends or relations ( j Thev do rot realize that the man who guides j | the fiery monster holds their precious lives • | at his command and that the least neg'i- j gence upon his part would cause sorrow and j mourning ir. a thousand homes that are J I now waiting the return of the absent loved ' one.— Cleveland Review. I A lisping basbtul sort of genius wen', to I see his sweetheart one night, and being ! rather hard run for matter of conversation, ! said to her after a long pause : "Thall, did you ever see an owl ? What cuthed big j eyes they got, han't they, Thall ?" A sleepy deacon who sometimes engag ed in popular games, hearing the minister use the words "shuffle off this mortal coil," started up, rubbed bis eyes, and exclaimed, "Hold on ! it's my deal !" AN Irishman went to live in Scotland for a short time and did't liko the country. "I was sick all the time I was there," says lie, "and if I had lived there till this time I'd been dead a year ago." THE LOVER'S POZLLE— To learn to read the following, so as to make good sense, is the mystery : 1 thee read see that me. Love is down will I'll have But that and you have you'll One and up and you if The editor ol a Minnesota paper says ' that he can generally manage, by hook or by crook, to get up a pretty e°°d paper- He does it principally by HOOK. [Two Dollars per Annum. NUMBER 29. | A Flea for Ilcnlth and Floriculture, j I We are sure our readers will be pleased with tins extract | r om a volume in press, | from the pen of the Rev. Henry Ward j Bepclier. The work is entitled "Plain and | Pleasant Talk About Fruits, Flowers and | Farming " The following Plea for Health | and Floriculture is copied therefrom : , J?very one knows to what an extent wo. 1 men are afflicted with nervous disorders, neuralgic affections as they are more softly , j termed. It is equally well know that for , ; merly wjten women partook frpm childhood, . I of out of door labors, and. were,confiued less . : to heated rooms and exciting studies, they r ; had comparatively few diso;ders of natere. ! With the progress 6f society, fevers increase first, because luxurious eating vitiates the , blood ; dyspepsia'follows next, because the t stomach instead of being a laboratory, is . turned into a mere ware house, into which s everything is packed, from the foundation i to the roof, by gustatory stevedores, l-ast i of all comes neuralgic complaints, spring ing from the muscular enfeeblement and the nervous excitability of the system. Late hours at night, and later morning hours, early applications to books, a steady training for accomplishment, viz : embroi* I dery, lace work, painting rice paper, casting wax-flowers so ingeniously that no mortal can tell what is meant, lilies looking like huge goblets, dahlias resembling a battered cabbage ; those together with practising on the piano, or something extra is meant, a little turn, turn, lumming, on the harp, and a little ting tong on the guitar ; reading "la dies' books," crying over novels, writing in albums, and original correspondence with my ever adored Matilda Euphrosyne; are the materials, too olten, of a fashionable education. While all this refinement is being put on, girls are taught from eight years old, that the chief end of woman is to get a bpau, and convert him into a husband. Therefore, every action must be on purpqje, must have a distinct object in view. Girls must not walk fast, that is not lady-like ; nor run, that wouid be shockingly vulgar; nor scamper over the fields, merry and free as the bees or the birds, laughing till the cheeks are rosy, ar.d romping till the blood marches merrjly in every vein ; for. says a prudent mamma, "My dear, do you think Mr. Lack a-daisy would marry a girl whom he saw acting so unfashionable V' Thus in every part of education, those tilings are pursued, whose tendency is to excite the brain and nervous system, and for the most part those things are not "refined" which would envelope the muscular system, give a natural fullness to the form, and health and vigor to every organ cf it. The evil does not end upon the victim of fashiona ble education. Her feebleness, and morbid tastes, and preter-n atural excitability are transmitted to her children, and to their children. If it were not for the rural habits and health of the vast portion of our popu lation, trained to hearty labor on the soil, the degeneracy of the race ir. cities would soon make civilization a curse to the health of mankind. Now we have not a word to say against "accomplishments" when they are real, and are not purchase ! at the expense of a girl's constitution. She may dance like Miriam, paint like Raphael, make wax Iruit till the birds come and peck at the cunning imita tion ; sho may play like Orpheus, harping after Eurydioe (or what will be more to the purpose, like Eurydice harping after an Or pheus) she may sing and write poetry to the moon, and to every star in the heavens, and every flower on earth,to zephys, to memory, to friendship, and to whatever is imaginable in the spheres, or on tho world—if she will, •u the midst ol these ineffable things remem ber the most important lacts that health is n blessing ; that God makes health to depend j upon exercise, and temperate living in all j respects ; and that the great object of our j oxislence, in all respects to ourselves, is a i virtuous and pious character, and in respect I to others, the rising and training of a family I alier such a sort that neither we, nor God, j shall be ashamed of them.. Now we are not quite so enthusiastic as | to suppose that floriculture has in it a balm I for all these mentioned ills. We are very [ moderate in all expectations,believing only, | that it may become a very important auxili ary in maintaining health of body and puri ty of mind. When once a mind has been touched witli zeal in floriculture it seldom forgets its love. If our children were early made little enthusiasts for the garden, when ■ hey were old they would not deparfrfrom it. A woman's perception of the beauty of form, of colors, of arrangement, is natural ly quicker and truer than that of man's Why should they admire these only in paint ing, in dress, and jn furniture? Can human heart equal what God has made, in variety, hue, grace, symmetry, order, and delicacy? A beautiful engraving is often admired by those who never look ut a natural landscape; ladies become connoisseurs of "artificials," who live in promoximity to real flowers without a spark of enthusiasm for them.— We are persuaded that, if parents, insteait of regarding a disposition to train flowers as a useless trouble, as a. waste of time, n pernicious romancing, would inspire tha love of it, nurture and direct it, would savo their daughters front filse taste, and all lovo of meretricious ornament. The most en thusiastic lovers of nature catch something of the simplicity and truthfulness of nature. Now a constant temptation to female vani ty (if it may be supposed for the sake of argument to exist) is a display of parson, of dress, of equippage. In oldeu time,without entirely hating their beauty, our mothers used to be proud of their spinning, their weaving, their wrought apparel for bed and board.