APPLICATION OF THE EVIDENCE-FOSSIL FISHES OF MOUNT BOLCA.1 The one hundred and sixteen species of fishes found in Mount Bolca, embedded in marly limestone and buried under lava, inform us that they were once living and active beings; before those hills were deposited, and when the waters stood over the place where, in the bottom of the sea, the fishes were entombed; the rock that contains their dry skeletons, often entirely perfect, was formed around them, doubtless in the state of a calcareous and argillaceous sediment; this calcareous stratum, being not improbably thrown up by a volcanic heave, first enclosed the fishes, suddenly and without violence. In subsequent periods, it was itself overwhelmed by a submarine eruption of molten volcanic rock, which congealed over the fish-rock, and, this being a very bad conductor of heat, preserved the entombed fossils from injury. Then, again, on the bottom of the sea, the calcareous sediment wrapped around in its soft folds another school of fishes, and again the molten rock flowed over the calcareous marl; and so on in several successions. But this is not all. This remarkable mountain is eighty miles from the Adriatic, the nearest sea, and it rises two thousand feet in elevation above it. It is plain, then, not only that all these deposits were formed successively beneath a great sea,—for the fishes are all marine, but the mountain, with the country to which it appertains, has been elevated by forces existing in the earth it emerged from the surrounding waters, and, ages since, became dry land. TIMOTHY FLINT, 1780-1840. THIS early historian and scene-painter of our Western country was born in Reading, Massachusetts, in 1780, and graduated at Harvard College in 1800. After devoting two years to the study of theology, he became pastor of the Congregational Church in Lunenburg, Massachusetts, where he continued till 1814. His health having become impaired by too sedentary pursuits, he deemed it best to seek a milder climate, and in 1815 became a missionary in the Valley of the Mississippi. After passing a winter at Cincinnati, he journeyed through portions of Ohio, Indiana, and Kentucky, and then took up his abode at St. Charles, Missouri, where he remained nearly three years. In 1822, he removed to New Orleans, and the next year went to Alexandria, on the Red River, where he took harge of a literary institution. Here he began to write his Recollections of Ten 1 Near Verona, in Italy. Years passed in the Valley of the Mississippi, which was published in Boston in 1826, and considered then to be the most important contribution to American geography that had been made. In the following year, he published a novel, entitled Francis Berrian; or, The Mexican Patriot,-a story of romantic adventure with the Camanches, connected with the Mexican struggle for independence. This was followed, in 1828, by Arthur Clenning,-a very hazardous attempt to write another Robinson Crusoe. George Mason, the Young Backwoodsman, followed, but without increasing the author's reputation. The last of his novels was The Shoshonee Valley, published in Cincinnati in 1830, the scene of which was laid among the Indians of Oregon. In 1832, Mr. Flint published, in Boston, Lectures upon Natural History, Geology, Chemistry, the Application of Steam, and Interesting Discoveries in the Arts. In 1834, he removed to Cincinnati, and became the editor of the "Western Monthly Magazine," which he conducted with much ability, writing more or less for every number, for three years. He then removed to Louisiana, being in quite feeble health, and hoping to be benefited by the Southern climate. But he was disappointed, and in May, 1840, he resolved to try again the air of his own New England. But all was of no avail, and he expired at Reading, Massachusetts, August 18, 1840. Mr. Flint will always be known as one of the earliest geographers of our country, whose works, from their clear and beautiful descriptions of scenery, and from their pictures of our Western wilds and prairies before they were trodden by the foot of civilized man, will always maintain a position in our early literature, and be read with interest. INDIAN MOUNDS. At first the eye mistakes these mounds for hills; but when it catches the regularity of their breastworks and ditches, it discovers at once that they are the labors of art and of men. When the evidence of the senses convinces us that human bones moulder in these masses; when you dig about them, and bring to light domestic utensils, and are compelled to believe that the busy tide of life once flowed here; when you see at once that these races were of a very different character from the present generation,— you begin to inquire if any tradition, if any the faintest records, can throw any light upon these habitations of men of another age. Is there no scope, beside these mounds, for imagination and for contemplation of the past? The men, their joys, their sorrows, their bones, are all buried together. But the grand features of nature remain. There is the beautiful prairie over which they "strutted through life's poor play." The forests, the hills, the mounds, lift their heads in unalterable repose, and furnish the same sources of contemplation to us that they did to those generations that have passed away. These mounds must date back to remote depths in the olden time. From the ages of the trees on them, we can trace them back six hundred years, leaving it entirely to the imagination to descend further into the depths of time beyond. And yet, after the rains, the washing, and the crumbling of so many ages, many of them are still twenty-five feet high. Some of them are spread over an extent of acres. I have seen, great and small, I should suppose, a hundred. Though diverse in position and form, they all have a uniform character. They are, for the most part, in rich soils and in conspicuous situations. Those on the Ohio are covered with very large trees. But in the prairie regions, where I have seen the greatest numbers, they are covered with tall grass, and are generally near beaches, which indicate the former courses of the rivers, in the finest situations for present culture; and the greatest population clearly has been in those very positions where the most dense future population will be. FASHION AND RUIN versus INDUSTRY AND INDEPENDENCE. I cannot conceive that mere idlers, male or female, can have respect enough for themselves to be comfortable. I have no conception of a beautiful woman, or a fine man, in whose eye, in whose port, in whose whole expression, this sentiment does not stand embodied :-"I am called by my Creator to duties; I have employment on the earth; my sterner but more enduring pleasures are in discharging my duties." Compare the sedate expression of this sentiment in the countenance of man or woman, when it is known to stand as the index of character and the fact, with the superficial gaudiness of a simple, good-for-nothing belle, who disdains usefulness and employment, whose empire is a ball-room, and whose subjects, dandies as silly and as useless as herself. Who, of the two, has most attractions for a man of sense? The one a helpmate, a fortune in herself, who can aid to procure one if the husband has it not, who can soothe him under the loss of it, and, what is more, aid him to regain it; and the other a painted butterfly, for ornament only during the vernal and sunny months of prosperity, and then not becoming a chrysalis, an inert moth in adversity, but a croaking, repining, ill-tempered termagant, who can only recur to the days of her short-lived triumph, to embitter the misery, and poverty, and hopelessness of a husband, who, like herself, knows not to dig, and is ashamed to beg. We are obliged to avail ourselves of severe language in application to a deep-rooted malady. We want words of power. We need energetic and stern applications. No country ever verged more rapidly towards extravagance and expense. In a young republic, like ours, it is ominous of any thing but good. Men of thought, and virtue, and example, are called upon to look to this evil. Ye patrician families, that croak, and complain, and forebode the downfall of the republic, here is the origin of your evils. Instead of training your son to waste his time, as an idle young gentleman at large; instead of inculcating on your daughter that the incessant tinkling of a harpsichord, or a scornful and ladylike toss of the head, or dexterity in waltzing, are the chief requisites to make her way in life; if you can find no better employment for them, teach him the use of the grubbing-hoe, and her to make up garments for your servants. Train your son and daughter to an employment, to frugality, to hold the high front and to walk the fearless step of independence. When your children have these possessions, you may go down to the grave in peace as regards their temporal fortunes. Western Review, 1835. THE SHORES OF THE OHIO. It was now the middle of November. The weather up to this time had been, with the exception of a couple of days of fog and rain, delightful. The sky has a milder and lighter azure than that of the Northern States. The wide, clean sand-bars stretching for miles together, and now and then a flock of wild geese, swans, or sand-hill cranes, and pelicans, stalking along on them; the infinite varieties of form of the towering bluffs; the new tribes of shrubs and plants on the shores; the exuberant fertility of the soil, evidencing itself in the natural as well as cultivated vegetation; in the height and size of the corn, of itself alone a matter of astonishment to an inhabitant of the Northern States; in the thrifty aspect of the young orchards, literally bending under their fruit; the surprising size and rankness of the weeds, and, in the enclosures where cultivation had been for a while suspended, the matted abundance of every kind of vegetation that ensued,-all these circumstances united to give a novelty and freshness to the scenery. The bottom forests everywhere display the huge sycamore, the king of the Western forest, in all places an interesting tree, but particularly so here, and in Autumn, when you see its white and long branches among its red and yellow fading leaves. You may add, that in all the trees that have been stripped of their leaves, you see them crowned with verdant tufts of the viscus or mistletoe, with its beautiful white berries, and their trunks entwined with grape-vines, some of them in size not much short of the human body. To add to this union of pleasant circumstances, there is a delightful temperature of the air, more easily felt than described. There is something, too, in the gentle and almost imperceptible motion,' as you sit on the deck of the boat, and see 1 This was written, of course, before the age of steamboats. the trees apparently moving by you, and new groups of scenery still opening upon your eye, together with the view of these ancient and magnificent forests which the axe has not yet despoiled, the broad and beautiful river, the earth and the sky, which render such a trip at this season the very element of poetry. THE INDIAN BELLE AND BEAU. As regards the vanity of the Indian, we have not often had the fortune to contemplate a young squaw at her toilet; but, from the studied arrangement of her calico jacket, from the glaring circles of vermilion on her plump and circular face, from the artificial manner in which her hair, of intense black, is clubbed in a coil of the thickness of a man's wrist, from the long time it takes her to complete these arrangements, from the manner in which she minces and ambles, and plays off her prettiest airs, after she has put on all her charms, we should clearly infer that dress and personal ornament occupy the same portion of her thoughts. that they do of the fashionable woman of civilized society. In regions contiguous to the whites, the squaws have generally a calico shirt of the finest colors. A young Indian warrior is notoriously the most thoroughgoing beau in the world. Bond Street and Broadway furnish no subjects that will undergo as much crimping and confinement, to appear in full dress. We are confident that we have observed such a character, constantly occupied with his paints and his pocket-glass, three full hours, laying on his colors, and arranging his tresses, and contemplating, from time to time, with visible satisfaction, the progress of his growing attractions. When he has finished, the proud triumph of irresistible charms is in his eye. The chiefs and warriors, in full dress, have one, two, or three broad clasps of silver about their arms; generally jewels in their ears, and often in their noses; and nothing is more common than to see a thin, circular piece of silver, of the size of a dollar, depending from the nose, a little below the upper lip. Nothing shows more clearly the influence of fashion: this ornament, so painfully inconvenient as it evidently is to them, and so horridly ugly and disfiguring, seems to be the utmost finish of Indian taste. Painted porcupine-quills are twisted in their hair Tails of animals hang from their hair behind. A necklace of bear's or alligator's teeth, or of claws of the bald eagle, hangs loosely down, with an interior and smaller circle of large red beads; or, in default of them, a rosary of red hawthorns surrounds the neck. From the knees to the feet, the legs are ornamented with great numbers of little, perforated, cylindrical pieces of silver or brass, that emit a simultaneous tinkle as the person |