MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
(£ ht a t i o n a L 
LANGUAGE. - NO. 2. 
2d. Was language the invention of man i 
or the gift of the Creator ? 
The first human pair, (for I believe the 
Bible account of the creation of man,) as 
well as their descendants, possessed all the 
organs of speech. If language was a hu¬ 
man invention, it must have been invented 
by this pair; for it is wholly incredible, that 
they would, or could, have continued long 
together, possessing organs of speech and 
yet no means of communication but that of 
signs. 
But how would Adam have understood 
tho language and instructions of his Crea¬ 
tor, without having himself a knowledge of 
language ? And how could ho “give names 
to all the beasts of tho field,” without a 
knowledge of language ? And this he did 
before the creation of tho woman. Taking 
this viow of tho subject, then, it is evident 
that man, must have been endowed with 
language from Ike beginning. It was not 
necessary, that it should be a perfect lan¬ 
guage, but only that it should answer their 
then present purposes. So much was ne¬ 
cessary, that man might bo pronounced 
“ goodi. e. complete, perfect. Tho im¬ 
provable character of man would advance 
it as occasion might require; but its origin 
w r as Divine. 
I am well aware that many writers on this 
subject, object to an appeal to Revelation, 
and contend for a philosophical, or philolog¬ 
ical, investigation only. To this I reply, 
1st, that their philosophical arguments are 
liable to very many objections; and 2d, that 
I am giving only my own views on the sub¬ 
ject. If any one desires an examination of 
tho philosophical arguments, it will be 
cheerfully given. 
3d. Into how many branches was language 
divided by the “ Confusion of tongues” at 
the building of Babel ? 
Tho number of languages now called ori¬ 
ginal. is about eighty, while the number of 
branches, or dialects, derived from them, 
amounts to several thousands, (3,364.) [By 
an “original language” is here meant, one 
that cannot be traced to any higher source 
— one that affords no evidence of being de¬ 
rived from any other.] It is not protended 
that eighty is tho exact number produced 
by the “ Confusionsome of tho originals 
may have been lost amidst tho revolutions 
of succeeding ages, or some may have fur¬ 
nished a foundation for others, which, in 
time, may have lost all tra’ces of their ori¬ 
ginal. Neither of these suppositions is very 
probable; and hence we may conjecture, 
that eighty is an approximation to the true 
number produced by the “ Confusion.” 
4th. Whence the great number and vari¬ 
ety of languages now existing in the world? 
Tho permanency of a language depends 
upon circumstances. If written, its char¬ 
acter, when once settled, may bo preserved. 
Such a language will change but little du¬ 
ring any given period of time, provided the 
productions of the press bo freely distrib¬ 
uted, and the-people be a reading people, 
and have full and free intercourse with 
each other. Without this proviso, however, 
changes will gradually show themselves in 
distinct sections of a country using the same 
language. Many of us may recollect when 
our own country furnished an illustration 
of this fact. There was an Eastern, a 
Southern, and a Western, pronunciation, as 
well as a set of words and phrases peculiar 
to each section of tho country, already 
amounting to a provincialism, and laying a 
foundation for a new dialect in each. This 
tendency has been checked by the liberal 
circulation of the productions of the press, 
general intercourse, &c. As a further illus¬ 
tration and proof of the same fact, it may 
be remarked, that tho pronunciation of the 
French language in Canada, differs so ma¬ 
terially from that of tho French in Paris, 
that tho people of the two countries with 
difficulty understand each other. It is in 
this way, too, better than in ang other, that 
we may account for tho different dialects of 
the ancient Greek language. It can hardly 
' be admitted that men whose native language 
was the pure Greek, would have written, 
one in the Attic dialect, another in the Ionic, 
another in the Doric, &c. It is true, tho 
Greeks had a written language, but it was 
not sufficiently diffused among tho people, 
nor in time to prevent the formation of di¬ 
alects in several countries in which their 
language was used. 
In the case of an unwritten language, tho 
change would bo much more rapid and ex¬ 
tensive, from the fact, that distant tribes, 
and remote portions of the same tribe, would 
have little intercourse with each other._ 
This would especially be tho case in the 
early age of tho world, when the number 
of inhabitants was comparatively small, and 
“ tho whole land was before them.” Com¬ 
mercial intercourse did not offer any hin¬ 
drance to tho multiplication of dialects; 
and the people, scattered in colonies in dif¬ 
ferent parts of tho country, and tho world, 
with nothing to hinder their continued mi¬ 
grations, would at each remove leave behind 
them the half-found dialect, to bo divided 
and sub-divided at each succeeding coloni¬ 
zation. The samo cause would continue to 
operate through all succeeding time, modi¬ 
fied at different periods, by revolutions, 
amalgamations, &c.; and hence the great 
number of languages now existing. 
Down East, 1852. H. 
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THEY DON’T KNOW HOW fo WRITE. 
We are wont to judge of the intellectual 
condition of a community by the number of 
persons in it who cannot read and write.— 
If it should be announced that in some 
county of the State there existed not one 
person, over five years of age, who had not 
an acquaintance with the mystic arts of 
reading and writing it would be told of, far 
and near, as highly complimentary to the 
locality. Generally this is correct. But 
the two arts we find, do not always go hand 
in hand. There is a country in Christen¬ 
dom that we wot of, where abide certain and 
sundry men or noted learning, who can read 
like a book.— aye, even make a book,— yet 
do not know how to write. They are han¬ 
dy enough with the pen,—they can use it 
making marks all day long; but the marks 
are no more intelligible after they are made, 
than if children had made them with the 
tips of their little dumpy fingers dipped in 
ink. Out in the back-woods, there are men 
who keep tavern and score down the drinks 
they sell, with a piece of chalk, on the ceil¬ 
ing. They can t write, but they can under¬ 
stand their own rude figuring. But some 
of tho learned men wo treat of, cannot do 
so much as that. Fortunately for the world 
who need their learning, they generally keep 
somo one around, who, by knowing the drift 
of the master’s thoughts, can shrewdly guess 
out an interpretation of his hieroglyphics. 
And others of them, being driven to it by a 
stern necessity, have learned to read those 
ciphers of their own, which, by courtesy, 
are denominated their hand-writing. 
One not acquainted with the habits of lite¬ 
rary men would scarcely believe this true, 
but to our sorrow, we know how susceptible 
of proof it is. Under a press of circum¬ 
stances, we could furnish the names of many 
grave and reverend seniors in our own land 
who have great reputation for wisdom, and i 
oven for book-learning, who do not know 
how to write. There are Doctors of Divini¬ 
ty we could name whose nearest approach 
to writing is as far from decent, as the inar¬ 
ticulate utterances of a dumb man are from 
eloquent talking. We know of men who 
honor the bar, but dishonor their good fath¬ 
ers, by never having learned to write. We 
know of men who, in all other respects 
would honor tho Cabinet of Mr. Pierce, or 
the next best man in tho States, but who 
could not write tho copy, “ Many men of 
many minds,” if by doing it they could 
avert an impending war, or entitle our 
country to tho undisputed possession of 
Cuba. 
It is very unfortunate. It is bad for us 
who might possibly make a good use of their 
writing, if they could possibly write. It is 
bad for those who are influenced by their 
example to neglect this branch of their edu¬ 
cation, thinking that the inability to write 
may be mistaken in them, as in their exem¬ 
plars, for a faculty of making good briefs, 
fine poetry, splendid orations, and excellent 
addresses. 
Writing-masters are not like dentists, ex¬ 
orbitant in their charges. For ten dollars 
and a little patience, even the stiff and 
crooked fingers of middle-aged men might 
be taught to trace legible characters on pa¬ 
per. We appeal to our readers who can 
read, if it is not worth while to try to learn 
to write also. But to “ parents and guar 
dians,” we would respectfully suggest that 
notwithstanding our last very encouraging 
remark, it is better to insist that their chil¬ 
dren learn to write while they are young, 
for when they get old—we are driven to the 
conclusion—they can’t.— JY. Y. Times. 
TRUTH IN CONVERSATION. 
The love of truth is the stimulus to all 
noble conversation. Tho tree which springs 
from it may have a thousand branches, but 
they will bear a golden arid generous fruit¬ 
age. It is the loftiest impulse to inquire— 
willing to communicate ahd more willing to 
receive—contemptuous of petty curiosity, 
but passionate for glorious knowledge.— 
Speech without it is but a babble. Rhetoric 
is more noisy but less useful than the tin¬ 
man’s trade. When the love of truth fires 
up tho passions, puts its lightning in the 
brain, then men may know that a prophet 
is among them. This is the spring of all 
heroism, and clothes tho martyr with a 
a flame that outshines the flame that kills 
him. Compared with this, the emulation of 
argument—the pungencies of sarcasm—the 
pride of logic—the pomp of declamation— 
are as tho sounds of an automaton to the 
voice of a man.— Dewey. 
Other passions have objects to flatter 
them, and seemingly to content and satisfy 
them for a while: there is power in ambi¬ 
tion, and pleasure in luxury, and pelf in 
covetousness; but envy can give nothing but 
vexation. 
Hope is very fallacious, and promises 
what it seldom gives; but its promises are 
more valuble than the gifts of fortune, and 
it seldom frustrates us without assuring us 
of recompensing tho delay by greater boun¬ 
ty- _ _ _ __ 
Children, obey your parents. 
' I ip ;- 
cy--'? SsUy/h "/• ;•<&>,' h< h a .» 
| l ' 1 
MR. CRAIG’S GREAT TELESCOPE. 
T he cut at tho head of this article is a 
faithful representation of the largest refract¬ 
ing telescopo ever constructed. Tho ob¬ 
ject-glass is two feet in diameter, and tho 
focal length seventy-feet. The tube in 
which it is mounted is made of sheet-iron, 
riveted together like a steam-boiler. It is. 
in tho form of' a cigar, is thirteen feet in 
circumference in the largest part, and ta¬ 
pers each way as shown in the cut. 
J his monster telescopo is mounted upon 
a tower of brick, 64 feet in height, 15 feet 
in diameter, and weighing 220 tons. The 
different floors of the tower are loaded, to 
make it as steady as possiblo. and the tele¬ 
scope is suspended by the side of tho tower 
by a chain which runs over the top, and has 
a weight attached to the other end to bal¬ 
ance tho instrument. From this weight a 
rope goes down to a small windlass, by 
which the telescope is raised or lowered at 
pleasure. It can be lowered to the horizon, 
and raised to within ten degrees of perpen¬ 
dicular. 
, To allow of motion horizontally, or in 
right ascension, the top of the tower is so 
constructed as to reyolve; while the lower 
end of the telescopo is connected with a 
small frame, that runs around the tower 
upon a circular railway, at a distance of 52 
feet from its centre. By this means the in¬ 
strument may be pointed to any part of the 
heavens, except a circle of 20 degrees about 
the zenith. 
“ q'he powers of this telescope,” says tho 
London A retvs “are unapproachaablo by all 
others. It separates minute points of light 
so distinctly that its space-penetrating qual¬ 
ifications will render it, as a discovering in¬ 
strument, one of the most superior order. 
It resolves the Milky Way, not simply into 
beautiful and brilliant ‘star-dust, to use 
tho language of astronomers, but actually 
subdivides it into regular constellations. 
“The telescopo is' perfectly achromatic. 
Saturn exhibits itself with milk-light white¬ 
ness. Now that the instrument is adjusted, 
Mr. Craig wishes the planet Venus to be 
examined, for bo hopes to settle the ques¬ 
tion whether she has a satellite or not.” 
So distinct are the mountains and rocks 
on the surface of the moon through this tel¬ 
escope, that if any large buildings, cities, 
I roads, or. forts, existed upon that planet, 
| they would certainly be detected. Poor 
| Luna still appears as seen by Dr. Scoresby 
! through Lord Rossc’s mammoth reflector, 
“like one great ruin of nature.” We may 
expect somo startling disclosures ere long 
from the other side of the water by tho use 
of this gigantic refractor. It is called the 
“ Craig Telescope,” after Rev. Mr. Craig, 
under whose direction, and at whose ex¬ 
pense, it was constructed .—Musical Review. 
SCIENCE ANSWERING SIMPLE QUESTIONS. NATURAL WONDERS OF CALIFORNIA. 
Why is rain water soft ? Because it is 
not impregnated with earth and minerals. 
Why is it more easy to wash with soft 
water than with hard ? Because soft water 
unites freely with soap, and dissolves it in¬ 
stead of decomposing it, as hard water does. 
Why do wood ashes make hard water 
soft ? 1st. Because the carbonic acid of 
wood ashes combines with the sulphate of 
lime in the hard water, and converts it into 
chalk; 2d. Wood ashes converts somo of 
the soluble salts of water into insoluble, and 
throws them down as a sediment, by which 
the water remains more pure. 
Why has rain water such an unpleasant 
smell when it is collected jn a rain water tub 
or tank ? Because it is impregnated with 
decomposed organic matters, washed from 
roofs, trees or the casks in which it is col¬ 
lected. 
Why does water melt salt ? Because very 
minute particles of water insinuate them¬ 
selves into tho pores of the salt, bv capillary 
attraction, and force the crystals apart from 
each other. 
How does blowing hot foods make them 
cool ? It causes tho air which has been 
heated by the food to change more vapidly, 
and give place to fresh cool air. 
Why do ladies fan themselves in hot 
weather ? That fresh particles of air may 
be brought in contact with their face, by the 
action of tho fan ; and as every fresh par¬ 
ticle of air absorbs some heat from the skin, 
this constant change makes them cool. 
Does a fan cool the air ? No, it makes 
the air hotter by imparting to it the heat of 
our face, but cools our face by transferring 
its heat to the air. 
Why is there always a draft through key 
holes and window crevices ? Because tho 
external air, being colder than the air of the 
room we occupy, rushes through tho win¬ 
dow crevices to supply the deficiency caus¬ 
ed by the escapo of warm air up the chim¬ 
ney, &c. 
If you open the lower sash of a window, 
there is more draft than if you open the 
upper sash. Explain the reason of this ? 
If tho lower sash bo open, cold external air 
will rush freely into the room and cause a 
great draft inward ; but if tho upper sash 
be open, the heated air of tho room will 
rush out, and of course there will bo less 
draft inward. 
By which means is a room better venti¬ 
lated. By opening the upper sash, because 
the hot, vitiated air, which always ascends 
toward the ceiling, can escape more easily. 
Why does the wind dry damp linen ? Be¬ 
cause dry wind, like a dry sponge, imbibes 
tho particles of vapor from the surface of 
the linen as fast as they are formed. 
Which is the hottest place in a church or 
chpel ? Tho gallery. 
Why is the gallery of all public places 
hotter than tho lower parts of tho building? 
Because the heated air of the building as¬ 
cends, and all the cold air which can enter 
through the doors and windows, keeps to 
tho floor till it has become heated.— Dr. 
Brewer s Guide to Science. 
Aijout tho ago of 36 the lean man gener¬ 
ally becomes fatter and tho fat man leaner. 
A correspondent of the San Joaquin Re¬ 
publican thus describes a natural curiosity 
in Calaveras : 
Four miles south of Vallecita, on Cayoto 
Creek, are what are called the Natural 
Bridges, two of which span the creek. Im¬ 
agination cannot picture or form any idea 
of tho grandeur of the scene that hero meets 
the eye of the beholder. Volcanic action 
has piled rocks upon rocks and nature ap¬ 
pears to bo in ruins. Whilst gazing, the 
naturalist is lost in conjecture. Under¬ 
neath the labyrinths of arches the eye 
detects imitations of clusters of grapes, 
cherries, and other fruits ; vines, stems, and 
leaves are perfectly imitated; festoons of 
flowers and fretwork moulded in every im¬ 
aginable shape; all of which have been form¬ 
ed when the substance was a molten mass, 
and tho convulsions of nature hurled it to 
its present position. On close examination 
the wonder still increases; the observer be¬ 
holds the natural outline of leaves, vines. 
&c., imprinted on tho solid rock, and the 
interstices expose petrified remains of veg¬ 
etation. 
Near tho Natural Bridges is Cayote Cave, 
a deep semi-circular chasm. The explorer 
is first lowered down perpendicularly one 
hundred feet; he then lights his torch and 
proceeds over shelving rocks, gradually de¬ 
scending, from one hundred and seventy- 
five feet to two hundred feet bolow tho sur¬ 
face, when he arrives at a largo chamber 
called tho cathedral, from tho overhanging 
rocks assuming the appearance of huge 
bells, and when struck two or moro at the 
samo time, produce the varying sound and 
deep melodies, of a full chime. Proceeding 
one hundred feet further, still inclining 
downward from thirty to forty-five degrees, 
wo came to a lake, apparently a large body 
of water, and bottomless, from tho experi¬ 
ments made in throwing rocks. &c. Judg¬ 
ing from tho sound, this chamber must in¬ 
clude many acres of space, but owing to the 
damp air, our lights burnt faintly and were 
finally extinguished, when wo grouped our 
way amidst darkness and uncertainty to the 
mouth of the pit, and were glad to quit tho 
lower for tho upper deck. All the arch¬ 
ways of these subterranean chambers are 
fringed with overhanging masses, of spar, j 
stalactite, and quartz, assuming most fan¬ 
tastic forms. As soon as the dry season 
will permit there will bo another, and I hope 
a moro successful exploration of those sub¬ 
terranean chambers. 
The Arabians havo a saying, it is notgood 
to jest with God. death or devil; for the 
first nether can nor will be mocked ; tho 
second mocks all men one time or another ; 
and tho third puts an eternal sarcasm upon 
those who are too familiar with him. 
When wo have practised good actions 
awhile, they becomo easy; and when they 
are easy, we begin to take pleasure in them; 
when they please us, wo do them frequent¬ 
ly, and by freqnency of acts they grow into 
a habit. 
A man who cannot command his temper, 
his attention, and his countenance, should 
not think of being a man of business. 
CHILDREN IN HEAVEN. 
Is the broad fields of heaven, 
In the immortal bovvers, 
Dwelling by life's clear river, 
Amid undying flowers,— 
Myriads of beauteous spirits, 
Fair children of the earth, 
Linked in bright bands celestial, 
Sing of their human birth. 
They sing of earth and heaven— 1 
Divinest voices rise, 
In thanks and praises unto Him 
Who called them to the skies. 
The golden haired, the blue eyed, 
That lighted up our life, 
And folded were within our hearts, 
From all the world’s rude strife; 
The blessings of our bosoms, 
The stars upon our sky, 
The flowers up-springing in our path, 
Too beautiful to die; 
They are all there in heaven, 
Safe, safe, and sweetly blessed; 
No cloud of sin can shadow 
Their bright and holy rest. 
Lor the Rural New-Yorker. 
ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 
Another sweet bud of innocence lias 
faded ! another little immortal spirit has 
winged its way to tho Paradise of God.— 
Another home is made desolate — a sister 
weeps, brothers mourn, and a widowed 
mother’s heart is well nigh crushed with 
anguish. 
Lovely indeed she was, and the affections 
of many hearts were closely entwined about 
her. Who that ever gazed upon that cliorub 
face and into tho depths of thoso clear, 
largo blue eyes, turned away without being 
charmed into lovo with the little ono so 
pure, so good, so beautiful. 
When my own heart seemed breaking, I 
havo turned to the unselfish lovo of that 
angelic child and found reliof; and, as 
she would so confidingly rest her littlo 
head on my shoulder—her cheek pressed to 
mino, and clasp my neck so lovingly with 
her tiny arms, I havo prayed the gentle 
Shepherd, who so tenderly carries the lambs 
in his bosom, to shield her from sin and sor¬ 
row— to incline early her young heart to 
wisdom, and teach her to “put her little 
hand in his,” and direct her feet into a 
thornless path. 
Marvena ! Marvena ! Thou wort dearly 
lovod and thou art mourned ! But why 
mourn we ? Ho, who doeth all things well, 
hath indeed shielded thy pure spirit from 
tho taint of sin or the touch of sorrow, and 
thy feet shall indeed tread a thornless path, 
for they shall pross tho gold and pearl-pav¬ 
ed streets of tho Heavenly Jerusalem. 
Bereaved mothor, dry thy tears and look 
up, for thy Marvena, the littlo loving angel 
that nestled in thy bosom, lies not in yon¬ 
der dark grave, on which the cold, deep 
snow is heaped, but she has gone to her 
father s arms — up to the Mount of God ; 
and her young voico which had just learned 
to lisp tho holy names of Mother, Sister, 
Brother, is now tunod to tho harmonies of 
Heaven, and on her fair brow sho wears a 
crown of life. - 
January 15, 1853. 
A GOOD MAN'S WISH. 
I freely confess to you that I would ra¬ 
ther, when I am laid in tho grave, some ono 
in his manhood should stand over me and 
say : “ There lies one who was a real friend 
to me and privately warned mo of the dan¬ 
gers of the young; no one knew it, but bo 
aided mo in the time of noed. I owe what 
1 am to him.” Or would rather have some 
widow, with choking utterance, telling her 
children: “There is your friend and mine. 
He visited me in my affliction, and found 
you, my son, an employer, and you, my 
daughter, a happy home in a virtuous fa-, 
mily.” I say, 1 would rather that such per¬ 
sons should stand at tny grave, than to have 
erected over it tho most beautiful sculptur¬ 
ed monument of Parisian or Italian marble. 
The heart's broken utterance of reflections 
of past kindness, and the tears of grateful 
memory shed upon the grave, aro moro 
valuable in my estimation than the most 
costly cenotaph ever reared.— Dr. Sharp. 
GO TO CHURIH. 
It is a duty of parents to seo that their 
children attend tho public worship of Al¬ 
mighty God as much as possiblo, on tho 
Sabbath. Nothing acts more unfavorably 
on tho moral habits and character of an in¬ 
dividual, than habitual abstinence from tho 
House of God. When a man thinks of pur¬ 
chasing an estate, one of the first questions 
asked should bo, “ Aro there in its neighbor¬ 
hood well-conducted churches, whore fami¬ 
lies may onjoy religious instruction and tho 
ordinances of the House of God ?” Wo do 
not act tho part of good parents while wo 
leave our families unprovided in this respect. 
No neighborhood or community can long 
havo a healthy state of morals, unless it has 
an altar erected to the worship of the Ruler 
of tho universe. 
A good man obtaineth favor of the Lord : 
but a man of wicked devices will ho con¬ 
demn. 
Don’t talk ill of your neighbors. 
. i. ....... 
