'<»¥*3 jJ&fWHK* VOLUME I Mwtct to Science, State*, f«fa a , #MNraic «tt*, Sraqxtm^ Wca* of passing Mm®, jp 0 «»p «3> SBametfie Xntdliamcr, for. to- / NTOBjBJEt I i...;.....v BY S. C. CLISBE, & A. T. BOYNTON. M'GRAWVILLE, CORTLAND COUNTY, .N. Y..-S&$SS»E%0rl&7 From tho Nonpariel. A S1IGHT SKETCH FROM LIFE. BY GRACE GREENWOOD. Throw up the window ! 'Tia a morn for life In ilsmost subtle luxury. The air Is like a breathing from a rarer world ; And the south winii is like a gentle friend, Parting the hair so softly on my brow. It has uome over gardens, and the flowers That kissed it, are betrayed ; for as it parts, With its invisible fingers, my loose hair, I know it has been trifling with the rnse And stooping to the violet. There is joy JFor all God's creatures in it. The wet leaves Are stirring at its touch, and birds are singing As if to breathe were music, and the grass Sends up its modest odor with the dew, Like the small-tribute ofhumanity. The delicious morning which is glowing around me, and which has recalled the ex- quisite description of our most gifted coun. try men, brings also to my mind the recol- lection ofwie as fresh and beautiful, \ in the days that are gone.\ I well remeins ber how the scene of that morning's ex- ceeding loveliness burdened my heart with :a sweet weight,—and how at. last, flinging •aside the dull book which I had been at- tempting to study, I caught my li<jht suiv- bonnett, and bounded out of tho house, which outward bloom and beauty had sud- denly rendered poison-like. I then turned my steps towards a fine old mansion, the home of a very lovely girl, who had been endeared to me by years of conslant and infmate intercourse. Of late there had been formed a nnw lie to bind our hearts— she had become the betrothed of \ one of ours,\ a favorite cousin, and the engage- ment was a joyful event to all concerned. Annie Monro, sweet Annie Moore, how thou glidest before me, in thy soft, etherial should return in the spring. Not one word- of the dread, last parting before them—of the grave, which might \ Rival the bridegroom, and take from his sid6, To repose in its boson, his beautiful bride.\ At length May came around again, and with it returned William Gordon, the young clergyman. He was bowed to the earth by the great and unlocked for afflic- tion which awaited him,—yet meekly drank he the bitter cup, for his God had mingled it. Sweet Annie was passing rapidly from earth-^-growing more and more fragile in form, and angelic in spirit day by day, and poor William became intensely desirous that their union might take place. Annie's friends readily consented, but she, to our surprise, firmly refused to grant the mournful request of her broken hearted lover. One evening he was sitting alone by her side, as she was half reclining on a couch, —the hectic flush was more startlingly bright than usual on her cheek, for she had suffered much that day, and as he thought how very near might be the dark wing of God's dread angel, he took her wasted hand in his, and said never have' I beheld one so exquisitely, so wonderfully beautiful, as that dying girl with her dress of simple white, her one floral ornament, the dewy lustre of her soft blue eye, and the deepened hectic of her cheek! When the ceremony was to be performed, she wished to rise, and as she was too weak to stand alone, I stood ,by her side and supported her. She smiled sad- ly, as she whispered, \ You remember, Grace, I promised you should be my bridesmaid.\ As the beautiful marriage ceremony (that of the English Church,) proceeded, the face of the bride became expressive al- ternately of earthly and of heavenly love, of softness and of sublimity, of the woman and of the angel, till it grew absolutely adorable. At the last, she received the tearful con- gratulations of her friends with a graceful manner, and with the most cheerful smiles playing about her lips. It was morning—a morning born of bloom and beauty—so soft, so glowing, it seemed \ Like a rainbow clasping the sweet earth, And melting in a covenant of love.\ Annie Gordon was lying on her couch by an open window, with her fair head \ Oh, my Annie, let me call you wife, supported on the breast of her husband before you leave me 1 You would not be so utterly lost to me then, for I would know you bearing that sacred name in Heaven. Refuse me not love !\ \Oh William, William, urge me no longer.\ she replied, '' it must not, cannot be. I am the bride of Heaven, you must not be my husband, and hear me my dear- est, you must no longer be near me —your love is precious, but it is earthly, and it comes as a cloud between me and the glo- ries of that upper world, to which I hasten. Your voice, my own, is sweeter to me than the hymns of the angels, heard in my And she, a father's joy, a brother's; pride, the wife of two short weeks, was leaving us now. Every sunbeam which looked into her eyes, saw their violet hue grow paler, and every soft air which kiss- ed her faded lips, bore back a fainter breath on its light pinion. Her doting father knelt in a deep trance of grief at her side—I stood holding one of her hands in mine, while at her feet sat her younger brother, Arthur Moore, weeping with all the uncontrolled passionateness of boy- hood. Annie had lain for some moments appa- A Christian Colony. M>B, Child, in giying the history of a little col. 0 ny of unsophisticated New pngland christians whioli emigrated to, and settled many years since in Michigan, thus touchingly, eloquently and graphically describes their faith, their trials, and tlieir ultimate triumph, over tho selfish and censu- nl, by the power of Iiiudness.— Qneen City. Rich in spiritual culture, this little band started for tho far West. Their inward homeB were bloom, ing gardens, they made their outward in a wilder- ness. They were industrious and frugal, and things prospered under their hands, But soon wolves came near ihe fold, in the shape of reck- less, unprincipled adventurers, believers in force and cunning, who acted according to their creed. The colony of practical Christians spoke of their depredations in terms of gentlest remonstrance, and repaid thorn with unvarying kindness. They went further—they openly annouced, \You may do us what evil you choose, we will reium nothing but gojd.'' Lawyers came into the neighborhood and offered their services to settle disputes, They answered, \ We have no need of you. As neigh- bors, wo receive you in the most friendly spirit; bui for us, your occupation has ceased to exist.\ \What will you do if rascals burn your barns.and steal your harvest ?\ \We will return good for evil. We believe this is the highest truth, and therefore the best expediency.\ When the rascals heard this, they considered it a marvellous good joke, and said and did many provoking things, which to them seemed witty — Bars were taken down in the night, and cows let into the corn-fields. The Christians repaired the damage as well as they could, put. the cows in tho Jaborer brought greater rieheB to my soul than an Eastern merchant laded with pearls. Again I re- peat, money is not wealth. On the History of Printing. ' •;' Theiirst attempts at printing with types can be traced to engravings .on blocks of wood, the honor of the invention, bejng claimed by citizens of three different-pil^es; Harlem, in Holland, and Stragburg and Mentz, jn Germany, .Laurentius Citftor, John Guttemburg, and John Faust, each claiming to be inventors, of the srt> Jiut the most reliable i$form.atiojrt appeal 1 *; to be with ,Gutfemb.acgj wiio' as early as 1442, printed two small books in the cjjy of Mentz, It is remarkable'} hut the jSfst Woman's.Tenderness and love. It has o/ten been remarked that in sick- ness there is no hand like woman's hand j no heart like woman's heart j and there is not. A man's breast may swell with un- utterable sorrow, and apprehension mav iwomfe ^ JO IclJWlljBVac>UUI „, p w „ rend his mmd ; yet place him by the sick ^ k priute 4 i0 f anv note, was the Bible. couch-, and the shadow, rather than light It was printed in L ; tiD) in j^n. Notwfth- of the sad lamp that watches it, let him 1 have to count over the long, dull hours of night, and wait alone, sleepless, the strug-' gle of the gray dawn into the chamber of suffering, let him be appointed to this mins istry, even' for the sake of the brother of his heart, or the father of his being, and his grosser nalure, even where it is most perfect, will tire ; his eyes will close, and his spirit grow impatient of the dreamy task; and though love and anxiety remain undiminished, his mind will own to itself a creeping in of an irresislable selfishness, which indeed he may be ashamed of, and struggle to reject, but which, despite of all his efforts, remains to characterize his na-- t.ure, apd prove in one instance, at least, manly weakness. But gee a mother, a sis- ter, or a wife in his place. The woman feels no weariness. In silence, in s no weariness. In silence, in the debth of night, she dwells, not only pass- j barn\ \and\ at \twilight dmve\t'hem\g\en\tl/ jiorn\^ j \J?*^.?. 0 ^*^ 16 5\\!^,!? U, ™ 8 . may saying, \Neighbor your cows have\ been in mv ' express our meaning, joyou'sly ]^Vv'olulVis^iiko'^rV P ^Vle'sph•i't fmni a'holfer' dreamsof Heaven ! \vVe°must part, now— ! gently insensible, for she looked up yet •' • •* - - ' for every hour renders you dearer, and ! once mol ' e t 0 William, with her own sweet J _ . , J ' . :i- l l clime ! With thy form of lilly-like grace,] tall and fragile,— \ With thy young head's shining bands, And all ils waving curls of gold,\— with thine pyes of softest violet and thy •cheek of delicate rose bloom. \I must think of theo Oh gentlest '. as I knew thee well and long, A young, glad creature, with a lip of song, An eye of radiance and a soul of glee ; Singing sweet snatches of some favorite tune, Or wandering by my side beneath the sky of June \ William Gordon, the lover of Annie Moore, was an exalted, yet a most lovea- ble character,—an embodiment of intellect manliness, faithful affections, and fervent piety. He was a young student of divinity, —had been self-supported, almost, self-edu- cated, and at I he time of the commence- ment of this sketch, was in the expectation of entering upon the ministry in the course of a year. And this man, poor, unknown, and de- voted to a holy calling, was the choice of Annie Moore, the wealthy, the beautiful,' the luxuriously \reared ! \ 'Twas passing strange,\—our worldly ones wondered at and our sewing circles gossipped about the matter, for a month, or two, and then the ruffled tide of our village flowed on as usu- al. But I was on my way to pay Annie a morning visit. William Gordon had call- ed the night before, to bid us adieu, as he was to be absent many months, and I thought his betrothed might need a little cheering up. I found her sitting at her work, as usual and but a slight tremulousness of the voice and a glistening of the long, brown eye- lash, told of the painful parting which had just taken place. \ When will William return ?\ I pres- ently inquired. \ In May—little less than a year.\ « And then V \And then we are to be married—so tiold yourself in readiness to be my brides-. maid.\ The summer passed—a season of earn-] est* untiring and prayerful toil, with the young student, and of patient, hopeful, and sustaining love, on the part of his betroth- ed. Then came the chill autumn, followed by a winter of uncommon severity. Our dear Annie, while on a visit to a dying friend, was exposed to a sudden and fear- ful storm—took cold—ah, does not my reader anticipate the mournful consequen- ces ? Her mother and older sisters had died of consumption, and soon, very soon the seal of death was on her blue-veined brjw, and the very voice of the grave sounding in the hollow cough which shook her fragile frame. We knew that she must die, and she, unlike many consump- tives, knew it also ; yet she was strangely averse to acquainting her absent lover with the fearful truth. She wrote to him that she had been ill— was still suffering from debility ; but that he must not be troubled about it, nor painfully surprised by her changed appearance when he how can I leave you at last !\ With heroic and martyr like calmness spoke the mistaken girl—mistaken, for a pu 'e love, for one worthy, is the holiest and sweetest preparation for His presence who\ is love.\ William Gordon saw her firmness, and that she was weak and trembling from, the excitement of the scene, and *' In close heart shutting up his pain,\ resolved to yield instant and uncomplain- ing obedience to her wishes. He rose up smile, and murmurei \ Pray, once again, my beloved,—it will plume my spirit's wing for its upward flight; but piace your hand upon my heart, that you may know when I am gone!\ And William Gordon lifted his voice in Her ear field, I have fed them well during the day, but i' a . 0 9 llires . a blind mad'V instinct, as from would not keep them all night, lest tho children time to time it Catches the slightest stir or should sutler for their milk.\ | whisper, or the breath ot the now more If this was fun, thev who planned the joke found ' *>\ lo ve ± 011e who] les ulldel ' the hand of no heart to laugh at it! By degrees a visible change \ human affliction. Her steps, as in obedio oame over these troublesome neighbors. They ' ence , to an lm P ulse ° r a sl g\ al >, would no1 ceased to cut off horses' tails and break the legs awaken a mo f e > ' f s ]> e s ! )ea «, her ac- of poultry. Rude boys would say to a younger, cents a ™ a soft echo . <? f \^fl harmony, brother, \ Don't throw that stone. Bill! When \\I 1 delicious to a s.ck man s ear, con- I killed the chicken iast week, did'nl they sendj ^\g a1 1 ' hat SOUnd °ail convey of pity, it to mother, because they theught chicken broth '^mfort and devotion ; and thus night af- would be good for poor Mary? I'should think, J er night she tends him like a creature you would be ashamed to throw stones at their sent [ r ° m a higher world, when all earthly chickens.'' Thus was the evil overcome with, watchfulness has failed j her eye never good, till not one was found to do them wilful in- \ w '»kmg, her mind never palled, her na i print standing the imprpverpent which has ib^en made, the art cannot be considered as.very permanently settled until the year 108, when a method of casting types jn a njo^ild was discovered. The art was first jntro- duced into England in 1471, by W.ifliswn Coxton, ..and in 1500 it was. known in be- tween two and three hundred different pla- ces. The first printing office in this.fioun- try, was at Cambricfge, Massachusetts, in 1639—r-more than two hundred years ago, The first printed newspaper 8ppea,rqd-.in the city of Vienna, in Germany; (although but a few were printed .until 1912, Wihen they first appeared with dates to them.T— 1'he first paper in England was printed du- ring the reign of Elizabeth, in J&8§.> The first .paper in thjta cpjuntry was .prin> ted at Bpston, in 1704* Now, there is not in all Europe, as many newspapers a s there are in the United Slates. , a prayer, all saint-like submission and, Jur y ture, at all other times characterized by .. i _____•• . child-like love. He solemnly and tenderly committed the passing soul of the wife, the daughter, the sister, and the friend, to her Savior and her God, and meekly implored for the stricken mourners, the ministraii\ns calmly, and imprinting on her forehead a! 0 f the blessed Spirit. Suddenly he paused kiss of mingled love and anguish, turned, l —her heart liad, ceased ils beatings ! His and was gone ! Annie buried her face in Ibrow became convulsed and his voice was her thin, white hands, and remained in an 'low and tremulous, as he added, \ She has agony of prayer and grief. Then came I left us, oh, our Father, she is with Thee, vague regrets for the necessity of the sac- ] now!\ rifice she had made. Presently she heard ] \Gone! our Annie dead!\ exclaimed a well known step—William had returned ! J poor Utile Arthur Moore, and springing His calmness had forsaken him, and he ; forward and casting one look on that still face, he stretched his arms upward and cried—\ Oh sister, sister, come back to us, come back !\ We arrayed her in her bridal dress, e ven to the white rosq-bud, twined in her At the end of ten years, the public lands, which | Weakl,ess ' now gaming a superhuman they had chosen for their farms, were advertised , Strength and magnanimity, herself forgot- for sale by auction. According to custom, those | ten > and her sex a,one predominant. who had settled and cultivated the soil, were con- t ' \ sidered to have a right to bid it in at the govern- Bachelorism Unnatural, ment price; which at that time was $1,25 per Men may say what they will, but we acre. But the fever of land speculation then know there can never be a Paradise with- chanced to run unusually high. Adventurers out some daughter of Eve within it ; and from all parts of the country were flocking to the * borne is only a 'place to eat and drink, and auction; and capitalists from Ballimoro, Philidel-. s it and sleep in, without the hallowing phia, Now York and Boston, were sen ding agents I charms, of a woman's presence. Men to buy up western lands. Xo one sjpposed that | may say what they will about the joviali- eustom or equality would be regarded. The fust ' day's sales showed that speculation ran to the ve- ry verge of insanity. Land was eagerly bought in, at seventeen, twenty-five, and thirty dollars an 'jng is experienced, many a vacuum of acw, 2'he Christian colony had small hopes of | heart and thought, many a comfortless ties of their Liberty Halls ; but many a weary, joyless hour passes within them ; many a discontented, peevish, snarling feel The Hammer. The Hammer is the universal emblem of Mechanics: With it fare alike foijgt'd jhe sword of contention, and the ploughshare of peaceful agriculture, the press orthe free, and k the shackles of the slave. The e2o- quenee of the forum has moved • the aV- miesof Greece and Rome to a thousand bat P tie fields, but the eloquence of the ham. mer has covered those fields with victo- ry or defeat. The inspiration of song has kindled high hopes and noble'aspiratipns in bosoms pf brave knights and gentle dame's, but the inspirations of the hammer has strewn the fields with tattered helm and shield, decided not only the fate of chivai- ric combat, but the fate ot thrones, crowns, and kingdoms. The forging of a thunder- bolt tras ascribed by the Greeks as the highest act of Jove's omnipotence, and their mythology beautifully ascribes fp one of their gods the task of presiding at the labors of the forge.—In ancient warfare, the hammer was a powerful weapon; in- dependent of the btade which it formed.— Many a stout skull was broken through the cap and helm by a blow of Vulcan's Wea- pon. The armies of the Crescent would have subdued Europe to the sway of Ma- homet, but, on the plains of France their progress was arrested, and the brave-ariH simple warrior, who saved Ghristenefcfti from the sway of the Mussulman, Sas named Martel— *' the hammer,\—how smt. murmured imploringly : \ If I must leave you to die alone, An- nie, let me fold you once more to my heart before I go—it will givo me strength.\ He knelt on one knee beside her, reach- (golden hair. We laid her to rest by her '\»« «™»S'\ » »»o me mgnesi. cuuivuuon. us (sound, and that does but echo like the knell bulwark nf fhrict^™ rn k . . ed forth his arms, and. sobbing like a child i mother's side, in a lovely rural grave-yard ™*et ™>«° was much greater than the acres al- ! 0 f departed moments that mi„h have been i ,h P wJlh S n ,• n ^ hwn .« M,r *! she leaned upon his bosom. and a few months aftcr/l took her favorite . ™adv .old, ,t exorbitant prices. In view of these ' j oyo ^ if spent in \hee ful comnanioLir t ZT ' \ ^ ^\ . are f °1 ed No word was spoken by that pair, lov J rose-tree from the garden, and planted h\^< ^ »-> prepared their minds for another re- 4nd then, for the one y ddTtohSorto [ H,T^T^S 1 \ 6 ' »d the tmy needle. _ j retaining their farms. As fist settlers they had J rainy day, many a long winter's evening, j pie, how. appropriate, how grand, •*'the J chosen the best lund ; and persevering industry j w hen the ticking of the clock is the only ! hammer.\ The ' hammer, the savior-and ( . • had brought it into the highest, cultivation. Its | sound, and that does but echo like the knell bulwark of Christendom. Th'e hammer-is over her breast. ing and faithful unto death, while' the flood of sorrow swept over their hushed spirits, as the fountains of the soul's great deeps were broken up. Yes, silent, but not tear- less, knelt William Gordon, with his lips pressed against the dear head which lay | going out as a missionary to India. On upon his heart. At last he raised his eyes J the last evening of his stay,\! went with Our Annie had been gone from us a.' f cd ^ a J! imi , la , r P rocess ; But the morning their j without a creature to \welcome him with' year, and tho rose was in its first bloom, when William Gordon came to bid us a Ho long, it might bo a last adieu, was lot was offered for sule, thoy observed, with ^reat ful surprise, that their neighbors were ever busy among the crowd, begging and expostulating' —Don't bid on these lands I These men have bcon working hard on them for ton years. During civilized. Its merry clink points out the abodes of industry—it is a domestic deity, :J! . - i . - . /reat- J either a word or a smile, or a single gleam : presiding over the grandeur pf the mosi : ywhere | of pleasure to brighten the place ; nobody j wealthy and ambitious, as well;as the most „i„ii—'tu consult hi,s tastes and his comfort ; no• \ heavenward, and those lips moved in whis- him to the grave of our lost one. Wc re- la \ tl,at limo l,10 y overdid harm to man or brute pered prayer; he unwound his arms and mained till the grass was glittering with '\' ••'•••»-» ' >~ —-•> <•- ••' TU—ding would have risen, but Annie moved not— dew, and the stars were thick in heayen. she was clinging in his breast ! A smile of Many times turned poor \William to de- joy irradiated his mournful face, and his | part, and returned again. We both had arms once more enfolded her. She looked up and murmured with something of hei' old playful tenderness, more touching than the wildest burst of grief. \ Are you not stronger, dear William V \ Ah, I fear not, my love.\ \ That is strange, for when I felt the strength ebbing from my own heart, I thought it had flowed into yours.\ \ Thank God for the weakness which is lovelier than Strength ! I must never leave you, Annie.\ \ Never.\ The morning of the wedding day had come and I was arraying Annie in her bridal dress, a beautiful muslin, guiltless of ribbons or lace. 1 wished to twine in her hair a small string of pearls, which was once her mother's; but she gently put it from her. \ What, no ornaments V I inquired. ,f None,\ she replied,--\ but yes,—if you will go into my garden, you will find a lovely white rose tree, which William planted when I first knew him—bring me jglowing heart one of its buds, and I will wear it in my hair.\ I have seen brides radiant in healthful bloom-glittering in jewels—dazzling in satins, rich veils and costly wreaths, but remarked a single rose-bud very much like the one Annie wore on her marriage day, and at the second bridal, when she was wedded to the dust—apd when at last William summoned strength to go, he plucked this and placed in his bosom, with many tears. I doubt not that in his distant home, that darkened land, where he is toiling for Christ's sake, that flower is still a cherish- ed momento of his sadly beautiful past, and a touching reminder of a shore to which he hasleneth, an unfading clime, where ever liveth ihe rose of love, in the bloom of immortality—in the sun-light of God's smile. I, too, am afar from her grave, but 1 know almost to a day, when that rose-tree is in ( bloorn. Every morning, I say—an- other bud is unfolding over her rest—how it loads the air with perfume, as it sways to tho passing breeze ! and at evening, how the starlight trembles around it, and how sweetly sleeps the cool dew drop in its O^TThe estate of W. McOlure, of Now Ilarmo. ny, Indiana, valued at noar $51)0,000, and bequea- thed by ' • In trustees, fof tho \ Diffusion of useful knowledge,\ has all bien nqandered. l'hey arc always reucfy to do good for evil. Thoy are a blessing to any neighborhood. It would be a sin and a Bhamo to bid on their lands, Let Ihepi go at the government price. The sale come on ; tho cultivators of the soil offered $1,35, intending to bid higher if necessa- ry. But among ajl that crowd of selfish, reck- less speculators, not one overbid them ! With- out an opposing voice the fair acres returned to them, I do not know a more remarkable in- Blanco of evil overcome with good. The wisest political economy lies foldod up in the maxims of Christ. With delighted reverencp I listened to this un- lettered back woodsman, as he explained his phi- losophy of universal love, \ What would you do, said I, if an idle, thieving vagabond came a- mong you, resolved to stay, but determined not to work ?\ \We should give hirfl food when: hun- gry, shelter when cold, and always treat him as a brother,\ \Would not this process attract such characters ? How would you avoid, being qverrun with thorn ?'' \ Such characters would either re- , form, or not remain with us. We should never spoak an angry word, or refuse to minister to their necossity ; but we should invariably regard them with tho deepest sadneis, as we would a guilty but beloved son. This is harder for tho human suul to boar, than whips or prisons. They could not stand it; I am sure he could not. It would eith- er molt or drive them away. In nine cases out of ton, I believe it would molt them,, 1 ' I felt robuked for my want of faith, ani pqnafc. qucnt shallowness of insight. That hard handed body to prattle to him—'to tell him the gps. sip of the neighborhood, and to link his sympathies and his interests with surroun- people ; nobody to double his joys and to halve his sorrows ; nobody to nurse him tf he be sick, to console him if he be sor- rowful, ; and then, as time creeps on, and age overtakes him, to hear no joyful prat- tle near himi—no dimpled, smiling girls, no stalwart, hopeful boys, in whose youth- ful enjoyment he might be happy again ; and, at last, to leave none behind to lament him. Heigho! Nature will not. suffer her laws to be violated with impunity, and ifature never designed that men should be old bachelors. A GOOD ONE.—An old trick was played oh the sheriff at the present term of the court. He was short of jurors, and made a descent .on the street. He accosted a gentleman, well known in town, with, \I want you in court for & juror/' \Ha replied the man, \speak a little louder.\ The sheriff pitched his voice into a high key, \I want you for a juror.\ \Y'es yes,\ nodding his head very significantly, \it is a very fine day.\ The Sheriff tak.j ing him for a deaf man, bolted. Thewag placed his thumb to his nose, and went through the motions.— Albany Knicker- bocker. ADJOUHNMBN4' QF THE LESISLATORK,—By aoon. current resolution of the two houses, ihe. 15th of DO' oember has been appointed for Ihe adjournment of the Legislature. humble and impoverished. No.t a--stick IS shaped, not a house is raised, a. ship floats) or carriage noils, a Wheel spins, an engine moves, a press speaks, a viol sings, a spade delves, or a flag waves, without ^he ham- mer. Without the hammer civilization would:be: unknown,, and the human species only, as defenceless brutes^r-but, in skillful hands, directed by wisdom, it is an instf.U'*, ment ofpovver, ot greatness, and true ghK ry.— Scientific American. . ! REMAHKASLE INSTANCE, OF CANINE SA> GAOITY.—At the late terrn,of the ,cpurt of corpmon Pleas, at Concord,.N, B,\t*yo \in^ dividual? vrere tried forsettingfire to,ft.courj. ( le of barn? in the ni^hf. During the trialf the following facts carne out in the .(88ti#),Q*f ny. The owner of the harps wasj atfa'ltned by the fire about midnight, and upon; open- ing the doof his dog/leaped out i» n d' v w$.e:j diately took a track and fqlipWefj it, Ho[ $ piece of woods about a hairaftu'le. <hst8|it. He here canie up with twb'mer/, .'p^'ect ^qf ( posted hitrt'self in front pf i'herrj,and; be^aj^ barking very loudly, Hii^pebtiqg thai the bafns had beSn set «« j6'»*» and tlie-. doj^ might hav*e come up with, the perr)etra|oV5| ofthedeed.heitfVMur s$it. ,On reach.ihg the spot Wh^re 'the dog Was, it>yas fobhf| that he had sucWiSededi in popping 0 rie 6F the men—'Who ' was taken 1 anrj\ brajtfhlL back f the othef succeer|ed in eftectWg|i»! esseape, but was subsequently arrestjirJ^' Lawence Caurier, Be Wide awake in a good oa«ie>~K#ep> clear of a bad ome.