VOLUME 58.
NEW SERIES.
THE BEDFORD GAZETTE
IS PUBLISHED EVEHY FRIDAY MORNING BY
BY 25- F. MFYGRS,
At the following terms, to wit:
$1.50 per annum, CASH, in advance.
$2.00 " " if paid within the year.
$2.50 " " if notpaid within the year.
OrF"No subscription taken tor less than six months.
paper discontinued until all arrearages
are paid, unless at the option of the publisher, it
has heen decided by the United States Courts that
the stoppage of a newspaper without the payment
ol arrearages, is prima facie evidence ot fraud and
is a criminal offence.
courts have decided that persons are ac
countable for the subscription price of newspa
pers, if they take them from the post office, wheth
er 'hey subscribe for them, or not.
RATES OF CHARGES FOR ADVER
TISING.
Transient advertisements will be inserted at the
rate of SI.OO per square of ten lines for three inser
tions or less, but for every subsequent insertion,
25 cents per square will be charged in addition.—
lable and figure work double price. Auditor's
notices ten lines and under, SI.OO ; upwards of ten
iines and under tilteen $1.50. Liberal reductions
tn.ile to persons advertising by the year.
From Chambers' Journal.
THE RUINED CHAPEL.
About a mile and a half from Ca&lleton, the
metropolis of the Isle ol Man, there is a bay,
with a small hamlet and pier in it, called Derby
Havi|. ! valked to it lately one fine afternoon
f on. My way lay along the coa-t
uvci which fringed the beach, and
xvhicls he name ot the race-c uirse.—
What"v might have been, it is now so
broken t bumpy that a race on it would
be aster ( chase. It was a lovely day* the
Wind Lad tropped, and I could hear distinctly
the shir ot a parcel of gulls that were
waiki at the edge ot the water where
'•he In ! left long streaks of flat wet
saod. r is formed bv an island now
appro-' • . w artificial causeway.— !
low; a, mi" is edj i by sharp rocks,
who— j ns inward like teeth—sure to
hold las. <> .y ill-fated ship which once they
touch. T.wre are only two buildings on the
Island—one a circular, deserted lort, built bv
an Earl of Derby to help the cause of the S'.u
•rts, but long since unused at least for the pur
poses of defence or refuge. It is squat, circu
lar, and upright. One small turret has been
built on the wall, for the purpose of showing a
light by night and a white mark by day, to the
vessels which "titer fli- harh >r. This gives the
tort a prick-eared appearance, and rr ukea it look
like a Cheshire cheese with a pepper castor
standing upon it. The other of the two build
ings on the Island is not only deserted, but in
ruins. It was a Roman Catholic chapel, and
the ground around it is still u.ed as a burial
place for Romanists. Trie roof of the building
has fallen in. and njthing is left but four walls
which appear as much worn by tn * weather
within as without, showing that very many
years must have passed since they were shield
ed by a roof. The chapel, which is built of
stone, looks as if it had ruined soon afler its e
reclion, and for some cause or another, had nev
er been restored.
There was not a living human creature on |
the Eland but mvsell and an old man who was
crawling in an aimless sort of way among the
rocks, as if he had lost himself cud coald not get :
out. I sat down and watched him. The turf,
was soil, and a great peice of grey rock gave
good rest In my back. He was, as T said, gro
ping slowly about among the sharpest, I arest
i taking shelves ol rock. I wondered what he
could be looking for. Eggs? No: the tide flow- \
• d where he was: no eggs could lie th 're. Sea
weed? No; there was plenty of that on the 1
flat shore; and [ could then see from where I
lay, a horse and catt engaged in canting it a
way to one of the neighboring farms where it
was used as manure. I got quile curious
ab iui my oli man. There he was, with wag
ging head and slow rheumatic limbs, peering
patiently aimit, andivery row and then pick
ing something up. I tie old man was lookmc
for firewood, and there being hardly any trees
on this part ot the Island, went "stickmg" on
the shore. The fuel on his hearth would often
tell strange stories, ifone could hear it speak;
logs, from which the numb fingers of drowning
men had at last relaxed their hold ; oar-blades
which had struck ice in the arctic seas,or stirred
the long grass in some tropical creek ; charred
scraps wiiirh had hissed in the water as they ■
feil from a burning ship in the middle of the
sea ; thin ribs ol Island boats which had put in
and out for many years, till some rough night
they touched the rock, and cracked like eggs.
What a bundle of history the old man tied on
his back at Jast, he and it alike in the last chap
ter ol the tale! As he crept toward me, J
thought of questioning him about the luined
chapel which was there ; perhaps he might
know its his'ory or legend ; so, with a genewil
meteorological preface, I asked what he could
♦ <*ll me about it, and gave him a good cut off a
piece of cavendish I had iri my pocket as a re- i
tamer.
" S:r,' said he, (I leave out the Manx, also
I'is critique on mv essay about the weather,) "I
am growing an old man now, and it is as much
as 1 can do to grt these few sticks ; but I've
seen more things worth picking here than them,
•n my day." „
'• such as wrecks V' I suggested.
"Ay, you are right there, sir. Time was
wr ''' n a poor man might get a chance ; but now
w i .it with your light-houses and life-boats, and
coast-guard and police, when either of Ihem that
owns the wreck get ashore is all right, and av
aricious ol their things; or if so be they don't,
'am t often yau can get much more than the
value of the.se f"vv sticks of a ship not even
when she goes lo pieces. Why, sir," he con
'inue.l, no t j on g tj, Pre was a vessel wreck
ed oil Scarlet , she was loaded with flour (a
rench ship she was,) and that they sold by 1
1 '
j auction."
"An . said I soothingly, "times are chanc
ed. Rut, talking of the past, can you tell ms
how this chapel here came to be pulled down,
j and why they don't keep the pigs lro;n grub
bing among the graves?"
" W *'}"> y<*s," he replied, "I can ; not that I
saw if done myself, but there ain't a house about
here where that tale ain't told on winter even
ings."
Altera little pressing, the old man slowly
swung his bundle of sticks off his back, seated
himself on a stone, fixed his eye on the ruins,
and recited this legend, which I give in tnv
own language :
Many years ago there was a famous priest
who gave np all that he possessed, and came to
teach Christianity in these pa r ts. He was not
a Manksman, though he could talk with the peo
ple in their own tongue. He lived in a poor
house at Derby Haven, but for all that, there
was not a sick or needy person near but what
he helped with medicine ar.d food, as well as
spiritual advice. Along with a kind heait, he
bad a kind face and voice, so that the little chil
j dren wuu'd run out to laugh and kiss his hand
j when they saw him pass. For a long time he
used to get the people together in the winter
evenings in one of the largest rooms in the ham
let, while in the summer lie would preach to
: the fishermen and their families on !he sea-shore.
I After some years of this intercourse, he pro
posed to the men that they should build a small
church on the Island. St. Michael, he said,
had appeared to hirn in a vision, and pointed
out a chapel on a flat space upon the grass close
to the rocks ; he had seen it, he said, quite
plain in his dream ; the light was shining out
of the windows; he had crept up under the
wall, and looked in, and lo ! there he saw him
self kneeling before a beautilul co.-tly altar, and
he recognized the congregation as themselves.
Now, while they were lull of admiration at
this-dream, the good fat her bade them rise
up and follow him to the place where he had
i seemed to see the chapel, and lo ! when
they got there, they found Ihe ground marked
out where the foundations of the chapel now
S stand, and a bolder drawn some distance around
on which that wail was built, which vou can
now trace in the grass, just as it some one had
turned up a furrow on the baie earth, and then
laid a caipet of turf upon it. And when the
men of the place saw the marvel, and how tru-
'V the good father's dream had been from Hea
ven, he bade them kneel do-vn there at once,
while he prayed to St. Michael and all angHs
that these people would not leave off the good
work till they had built a chapel for him. Thus
they were led to oegin, and promised to give a
portion of their time till the little church should
be finished.
I here was an abundance of stone close bv,
and the architecture of the edifice was of the
simplest kind. Fur plain thick walls with a
roof was all that they aimed at. Now, this
cart of the work was comparatively easy ; but
Father Kelly began to be sore perplexed as it
approached completion, how he should furnish
it within, and so fulfil the dream in providing
such a costly altar as he was persuaded he ought
,to liu-Id. The poor people had neither silver
nor gold. They had already offered such as
they had. strong hands, and hours taken from
their rest or work. Night after night, Father
Kelly used to repair t*> the chapel, now rojfed
in, and pray to St. Michael to help him in this
strait. One dark evening, he was there longer
than usual ; he had fallen down with his face
upon the ground before the spot in which he
hoped to put the altar. While thus prostrate
in prayer, and longing for a continuation ot his
former dream, he heard some footsteps close
outside the chapel walls. Having hi" face upon
1 the earth the sound came quite distinctly to his
ear. They stopped, and a voice said, " This is
, the chapel ; let us lay them here; 'tis just the
place for a burial."
" Very well," replied another, " how does
she lie? Here goes, mate, by the northeast
corner."
Then came the sound of digging, and pauses,
as it men were stooping down to lay something
in the ground ; after that, Father K-lly heard
the mould put hack } and some one stamp it down.
Though the church had not been furnished, two
or three funerals had taken place in the grave
yard, one of which he had himself celebrated
only that aftprnoon.
VVhat could be the object ot these strange
night-visitors ? They had not disturbed the
dead they did not remain-long enough foi that;
their work, whatever it was, seemed to be ac
complished in a quarter of an hour, for aft< l r
that time he heard a slapping ot hands, as if
some one were cleaning them ot the dusty earth,
and a voice saying : " There ! that is done ;
and as dead men tell no laies, we may trust the
present company."
" Ay, ay," replied the other, " trust them so
much, I don't think we need wait any longer."
" VVhat ! arn't afraid, man?"
" Not I; but there is a foul weather coming, j
and the sooner we clear off these cursed rocks,
the better."
" Well, come along !"
Then Father Kelly beard Ihem walk down to
wards the water, and presently distinguished the
grating of a boat's keeJ as she was poshed off;
then the double sound of the oars in the row
locks died away and all was still. He got up
from the floor, walked out of the chapel. It
was a mid-summer night. The air was warm
and motionless; clouds, however, had crept
up so plentifully as to cover the sky.—
VVhile he stood there outside the chapel, the
moon, which was aliout a week old, became ob
scured, and the darkness drew close lo his eyes* j
lie could not see a \ ard before him ; he listened !
but heard only the slow wash ot the swell as
the rising tide carried it inlo the clefts among
the rocks, with now and then a liquid flap as a
wave ran into a sudden angle, and fell back
upon itself. This was the only sound, ft was
a night for hearing, too. He lelt for his lan- 1
BEDFORD, PA., FRIDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 25, 1861.
j tern, and got out hi 3 ateel to strike a light.
Having dropped his flint, in groping about to
find it, tie forgot the direction in which he had
stood; and when lie got upon his feet again, al
•ter an unsuccessful search, felt himself so utter
ly at a loss, that, after walking a few steps
j with his hands stretched out before /,im, he d
j lermioed to wait for the morning, rather : an
risk a fall over one of the slippery rocks in his
attempt to return home.
When he had sat there for some time, the
rain began to tall in large though few drops;
these w°ie, however, but the splashes from
| the bucketfuls which were soon poured on
his head. The wind, too, was loose at the
same lime, and rustled on him with such vio
lence, t hat though he dared not search for
shelter lest he should tail over the rock a , he
was glad to sit down on a lanre stone which he
felt at his feet. The of lightning,
however showed nim ihe chapel itself, mot
more than ten yards off. He groped towards
it immediately in the gloom, his hands
stretched out before him, right glad when Inf
felt its rough stones. The wall once found,
he soon discovered the path with his feet, arid
when he got home, was glad to go to rest at
once.
He had not slept many hours, before he was
roused to visit a dying man in one of the nei>h
ooring houses. Hurrying on his clothes, he
hastened to the place, where a crowd was
gathered about the door, many of them drip
ping from the sea. The s*or;n which he hac
seen the evening before had grown into a ter
rible tempest, during which a ship had been
1 driven on the rocks, and utterly wrecked* AH
the crew were drowned but one man, whom
i they dragged out ot the suri and carried to Der
by Haven. He had apparently, however, been
! Saved from death in the water to die on the
: land, tor he was so grievously bruised and cut
Iby the rocks on which he had been thrown,
that life was ready to leave him altogether,
j When father Kelly came in, he found him lv
| ing on the floor, wraped up in such dry clothes
as the people had at hand. He had begged
i them to fetch the priest. His back, he said,
1 was broken, and he knew he could not live an
other hour: so the people fetched Father Kelly,
! as we have seen, and left the two together.
"Father," said the dying man, "will you
i hear ihe confession of a dying man, a inurder
| er ?"
The priest seeing there was no time to lose,
I tils assont,
j side, bent his ear to listen.
Then the man, with strange breaks and
; ramblings in his speech, told him of murders
out in the wide seas, and horible recollections
j of cruelty and rapine.
"We took a Spanish ship some weeks ago,
j added the man, and came here to water being a
| safe place; when I—God forgive my soul !
, I committed my last crime and stole from the
! captain a box of gold he took out of the
'Spaniard.—Another man and 1 weieinthe
| secret. We brought it with us, and buried it
;in the graveyard of a little chapel, intending
to make our escape from the ship on the first
opportunity, find our way over here, recover,
and enjoy the booty we had gut."
"To whom did it belong?" said the priest. *)
''Gad knows," rpplied the man;"to me now
I suppose. Those who owned it can use it no
more, the ship from which the captain took it,
i went down with all on board; we burnt her."
"What was her nv*e ?" asked Father Kelly.
•'Name?" said the dying man. "Tnere take
; the gold, and shrive me; I have confessed!"
Then, without another word he died. The
i people buried him, and gathered up some few
| pieces of timber from the wreck of his ship
hut nothing came ashore to ehow whether she
was laden or not. They never knew her name,
nor, tor a great while, what she *va, the
priest not conceiving himsplt bound to tell thern
even so much of what he had heard in confess- j
ion. Many yean after wards the whole story
| was found in a book which he had left behind
, him when he died.
The words: "Take the golu" haunted the
good father long after the man who died in ut
tering them had been committed to the ground,
i The chapel was finished but not furnisiied; the
fulfilment of the dream was incomplete. Many
| a night the priest lay awake urging with him-
I self tlie lawfulness ola search among the graves
; for Ihe treasure which he had no doubt was
hidden there. Suppose he could find it,
should he credit the pirate's word about the
death of its owner? Could he conscientiously ;
appropriate it, not indeed to his own use, but
|to that of the chapel? He thought of the ter
| rible sentence which fell on those who put un
hallowed fire in their censers: he though' of
ihe accursed thing found in the Jew's tent,
which brought trouble upon the whole people*,
to which he belonged. Then, again it looked
as if the sin attached to the appropriation of
this gold had been punished in the presence ot
the pirates who had taken it. It looked as if
it were rescued from the wo*ld, to oe devoted
to that of the church—snatched fiom the devil
himself, lo be given to St. Michael his chief
enemy.
On the whole he decided upon using the
gold, if he couid find it. He m ust, however
be cautous in the search; he would not trust
the people to look. It might not be there, and
then he would be ashamed. There might be j
more than he thought, and they might be temp- ,
ted to take some; or if not that, be jealous at ■
his retaining the possession himself. He
would search alone. The conversaiion he had
heard outside the chapel while he listened on
the eve of the storm, indicated the spot in j
which he could look.
Having therefore waited for a suitable moon- j
light night, he went very late to Ihe church- !
yard with a spade. There was no one there, j
The shadow of the budding lell upon the like
ly spot; he could work unpei'cieved, even if
some late returning fisherman were to pass by
the way. Halt ashamed ot the enand; he had
not removed many spadefuls of eaith from the
Freedom of Thought and Opinion.
grave he suspected, before he stiuck upon
something hard. Stooping down he felt for it
with his hand- *t was a heavy box. He took it
up, smoothed down the soil, catried it straight
home, d )üble-locked his door, and broke it open.
It contained b:oad shining pieces ot void,
j They made such a heap on his table as he"hau
never seen before. There was moreover, in
the box, a necklace of large pearls. Gold tor
, the chapel, jewels for the Madonna.
The church was furnished, the altar was
ffecked, the image was brought, and round its
neck he hung the string of.fair large pearls.
Father Kelly saw his dream fulfilled, and as
success often produces conviction, he thanked
St. Michael and ail the angels (or having tuin
: ec 1 the roobei's booty into sacred treasure. So
it was written in his book, but he told no one
whence those riches came. Some of the sim
ple folks though! the Virgin herself had brough'
these jewels herself to the father. He how
ever, many a time, while he sat on the rocks
by the chapel looking seaward, and watching
the white vails go by wandered back to the
question whence these riches came and wheth
er, after all they may not hide some afler curse
or other.
I One evening as he sat there a vessel came
1 rouhd the point, and dropped anchor in the
haven. She drew his attention as being unlike
any of the common coasting ships, or even of
1 the traders which ventured on more distant
voyages. She carried more canvas in propor
tion to her hull, and bad her sails furled almost
as soon as she had swung round with the tide.
Presently, a boat came off from her, and was
rowed to the shore, just oenea'h the spot
where he sat. Two men apparently officers,
got out, and walking up to him, begged him
to accompany them back to the ship, as they
said one of their crew was dying, and needed
the offices of a priest. He went without suspi
cion: a ma. who had been with him, and heard
the summons, returned to Derby Haven.
1 lie ghostly summons, however, was a ruse,
this was a sister-ship of the pirates that had
been wrecked here in the storm—now some
monihs ago. The new—comers nad learned
her fate, and had landed in search for tiaces
of treasures she had on board. They had i
much probability, he could tell them whether i
the inhabitants of the village had plundered the
wreck, and also whither any of th" crew sur
vived.
What thev learned from Father Kelly, no
one ri er Knew. nuiiie at air . c n j no .
to the shore, strolled into the chapel, *,,3
doubtless recognized the necklaces as one off
their lost treasure. The next morning the
ship was gone, and the people, searching for
their priest, who had not returned home at
night, found the chapel sacked, and his corpse
set over the al.ar in the place w here the image
■ Madonna had b-en, with a knotted cord like a
necklace t'gbtly twisted around his throat.
Phe superstition of the natives never per
muted them to use the chapel again. It grad
ually became a ruin, the roof fell in, the
storms lashed the walls within as well as with
out until at last it passed into the state in which
it is to-day.
This was the story of the old man. He ad
ded, that even now, whoever struck the walls
and listened could hear a moan within, a noise
like the jingling of money. ' You can try it
yourself," said lie, "and find whether I have
told you the truth."
Accepting this rather fearless challenge of
the old gentleman's I walked with him to the
wall and k.locked, when lo! I suddenly found
that I had awakened myself by striking my
hand upon the stone by which I had set down
to rest, ft was all a dream. I had fallen a
sleep thinking of the chapel, and watching the
old man among the tucks. He wa3 not in
sight how. I was quite alone, and trying to
replace a piece of skin which I had knocked
off the knuckle of my middle finger by rap
ping on a stone. I doubted wether 1 had ask
ed the old man any questions at all ;so I
shook myself,rubbed my eyes, and looked at mv
watch, happily finding that I should not be too
late for dinner if I set off on my return at once.
Directly we sat down, I asked nr.y friend for
the tiue history of the little church, and he
told me there was none. "Now," said I, "thai
remarkable deficiency has been supplied though
me;" and when the cloth was cleared awav, !
we drew round the fire, and I told my host's
i boys and girls the true legend concerning the
ruined chapel on St. Michael's Island.
A TOUCHING INCIDENT OF THE BATTLE FIELD.
—A 1 tter received from Atlanta, Georgia,
gives this incident of the battle at Stone Bridge,
i "A staff officer from Charlestown, engaged
jn the battle ot the 21st of Jul}*, savs:
j "I rode out the day after the battle, t 0 view
the ground, and passed piles of dead in various
positions. Under a large fre I saw a body
lying, very handsomly dressed, with a fancy
sword, and a bandkeichief over the face. It
attracted my curiosity. I stopped, removed
the handkerchief, and saw one of the handsom
est faces I ever met with, of a oov not more
than twelve or fourteen years old. His ap
pearance and dress indicated high social pos
ition; — probably he was a temporary aid to
some general officer. Toasceitain who he was,
I examined his pockets and found a testament,
in which vvas written .
' James Simmons, New York. From his
loving mother. My son, rem mber thy Crea
tor in the days of thy Youth.'
"1 wished very much to take the body away,
but I was six miles from quarters, on horseback,
and it was impossible."
The servant of a Prussian officer one
day met a crony, who inquired of him how he
got along with his fiery master. " Oh, ex
cellently !" answered the servant ; " we live
on very friendly terms—every morning we
dust each other's coats: the only difference
is, he takes his coal off to be dusted, and 1 keep
mine on."
tSljc Schoolmaster 3broai).
EDITED BY SIMON SYNTAX, ESQ.
02r"Friends of education wbo wish to enlighten
the public on the subject of teaching the "young
idea how to shoot," are respectfully requester! to
send communications to the above, care of "Bed
ford Gazette."
SCHOOL ETHICS FOR PARENT AND CHILD.
No. 17.
Pupils s'tould become interested in ihe Teach
er" s instructions. In order to promote the
welfare of th • school as a whole, and the wel
fare of the pupils in particular, they must be in
terested in the teacher's insliaciions. Many
circumstances combine lo render the school a
place of profit and pleasure to both teacher and
pupils. Prominent among these tsailively inter
est manifested in all the school operations.
Without being interested in his work, the teach
er becomes dull and lifeless,.and but little good
is accomplished; and the same is true in the
case of the pupil. A love for trie woik must
be cultivated, in order that an interest may be
engendered and evinced.
.Sometimes pupils, and even those ol riper
years, urge as an argument, that they cannot
become interested in particular studies, whatev
er attention they may pay to ihe instruction of
the teacher. This is wholly an erroneous idea.
All can become interested bv first overcoming
this false notion and then applying themselves
with a will; thus they will not only derive
much greater benefit, but they will encourage
the teacher in his work, and also rouse the com
munity to action. Without endeavoring to be
come interested, they will necessarily be what
too many already are, mere drones i n 'he school
room, doing no good for themselves, and plun
dering the industrsious of the products of their
labor. A constant watcn must be kept by the
teacher lest they engage themselves in mischief
continually.
Of course, this lack of interest is not always
to be attributed to the wrong ideas the pupil
*"..i-R—:.- VO.JI murh ilenends .1 r" ■>
ingenuity of the teacher. The teacher should
present matter that is not found in their text
books, and everything should be presented in
such a manner that the pupil may comprehend.
A great fault ot too many of our teachers is,
that they always present their instructions in
such a manner, that the pupil cannot possibly
understand them eaningof what is said. Long
and unpronounceable words are not the kind to
be used in conversation with children. Teach
ers seem to forget that the child is not more
than human, and that even as a human being,
its mind is not yet ma'ured, and, hence not ca
pable of grasping so much as their own. Much
ot the fault, however, lies with the pupil him
self, and on him devolves the duty of at least
attempting to become interested.
KAPHA.
ANAGRAMS.
Anagrams are formed bv the transposition of
the letters of words, or sentences, or names of
persons, so as to produce a word or sentence of
pertinent or of widely different meaning. This
may be converted into a highly interesting
game for a social circle. A large number of
the alphabet should be procured, and when the
word is selected, should be transposed by the
company. For instance: L"t the word be as
tronomers. These letters rightly placed will
make No more stars. Immediately: I met
my D"lia. Catalogue: Got a clue. Elegant:
Neat leg. Old England: Golden land. Par
ishioners: I hire parsons. Parliament: Par
tial men. Revolution: To love ruin. Peni
tentiary: Nay I repent. Midshipman: Mind
his map. Matrimony: Into my arm. Sweet
heart: There we sat. Presbyterian: Best in
prayer. Telegraphs: Great helps.
On this same subject we find the following
in " Gleanings for the Curious:"
But with still more disordered march advance,
—Nor march it seemed but wild fantastic dance:
The uncouth Auagrams distorted train,
Shifting in double mazes o'er the plain.
Camden, in a chapter in his Remains, on this
Irivolous and now almost obsolete intellectual
exercise, defines Anagrams to be a dissolution of
a name into its letters, as its elements; and a
new connection into words is formed by their
transpositon, if possible, without addition, sub
traction, or change of the letters: and the words
should make a sentence applicable to the per
son or thing named. The anagram is compli
mentary or satirical; and it ma contain some
allusion to an event, or describe some personal
characteristic. Thus, Sir Thomas Wiat bore his
own designation in his name;—Wiat. A Wit.
Astronomers may be made Moon-starers, and
Funeral may be converted into Real Fun.
Sylvester, in dedicating to his sovereign his
translation of Du Bartas, rings the following
loyal change on the name of his liege:—James
Stuart: A Just Master.
Of the poet Waller, the old anagrammatist
said :
His brows need not with Lawrel lo be bound,
Since in his name with Lawttl be is crowned.
WHOLE \l j|HEI. o<J7 6.
AGRICI LTI KAL DEPARTMENT.
WORK FOR OCTOBER.
WINTER SVINACIJ. — The suil for spinach
should bo made very rich. Spinaeh should now
!be growing vigorously, an lit should be wee
ded an I tinned out, leaving the plants to stand
some fonr or five inches apatt in the drills.
Drilling is prelerable to broadcasting, but in
either case the spinach should be kept perlect
iy clean, and a little light litter should be
thrown over tae bed belore the ground is lock
ed up with frost.
SETTING OUT CABBAGE PLANTS. Presuming
that the young plants are sutlicii-ntly advanced
to be picked out, the /allowing directions for'
planting them, so as to stand the winter, are
given Select a piece ol land of a loamy texturp,
and leaving south-eastern exposure. .Make it
very rich with manure, plough or spade it well,
and lav it oil in ridges lunning from east to west,
each ridge being at least Jour inches higher thau
the surrounding surface, and the crown of the
ridge two feet distant l:om the crown of the next
ridge that runs parallel with it. Pr-ss the soil
ol each ridge close and firm, by patting the sides
well with t be back of the spade, ill setting
out the plants, st the on the north side of each
n -gp, and about midway b-Tween the valley
and the crown ol the ridge. The distance? oe
tween the plants should be about six inches, to
allow lor loss by winter killing, and to enable
the !■■' -mediate plants to be cut out in due
season lor early use. About the last week in
November, strew along the lurrows stable ma
nure, or even rough litter, until it reaches to
the shoulder of the plants. Tins, it properiv
donp, will protect the plants sullicientlv through
the winter. In the spring, as soon as the frost
is out ol the ground, break down the ridge, and
make all smooth ; work well around the plants.
Keep the weeds down, an.i cut the ictermeaiato
plants when large enough for use, and leave the
remainder to stand until they head.
CAULIFLOWERS AND BROCCOLI. —Work these
well during the month.
ENDIVES. Htil these carefully with the hoe,
and tie up the plants tor blanching.
ASPARAGUS BEDS.— Clear these oJ the naulm
as soon as it begins to turn yellow. Manure the
beds, sprinkling over '.hem a broadcasting of salt
—work all in, and covee wih long man ure to
the depth of lour inches.
CELERY. —Eaith up the celery al intervals
during the mouth, choosing dry weathes for the
operation.
FUI AIF MEDICIN.T HERBS.—T_•_
medicinal herbs, and put manure around the
roots to protect the tender species through the
winter.
SMALL SALADING. —SmaII saladtng may still
be sown at intervals throughout the month*
choosing for this purpose a warm and well shel
tered border.
RHUBARB. —The seed of the rubarb or pie
plant, may be sown during the early part of the
month.
SHALLOTS, GARLIC, CHEVIS. —PIant out roots
of these.
HORSE R A DISH. —The parted roots of horse
radish, if a bed of this condiment is required
may be set out. The earlier in the month the
work is done the better.
CARROTS, BEETS, PARSNIPS, &.c.—Take up
thpse roots towards the latter part of the month,
choosing dry weather, and carefully store them
away for winter use.
RASPBERRIES, GOOSEBERRIES AND CURRANTS.
—New plantations of these fine fruits may be
set out from the middle to the close of the
month.
STRAWBERRY BEDS. —Clear these and dress
them well with a compost of well rotted manure,
woods earth and ashes.
OUR CHIP BASKET.
Vanity fair contains the following pithy par
agraphs :
Big heads olten belong to big fools.
Not at all new British Neutrality.
Bells that should be well hung— Rebels.
Motto for an army tailor—Let her rip.
The heart of the Andes—Andy Johnson, of
Tenn.
Tar and feathers—T. A. R. Nelson and (Jen.
Pillow.
Great rebellion stimulant—The cottin gin.
Suicidal Goliahs—The chivalry, when floor
ed by their own "slings."
Which summer retreat was the most crowded
this season ? That from Manassas to Washing
ton.
A reckless joke : It is rumored that if Hatter
as Light is restored, the North Carolinians will
be rendered perfectly wreckless.
The ladies who wear red, white and blue ro
settes are rpal patriots, and, therefore, ready
for an engagement.
Why should the watering places furnish the
most men for the Army? Because every one
goes there io recruit.
A Savannah (Ga.) paper says that the the se
cession leaders are as true as steel. That is too
modest by half. They far surpass fsteel —they
are stealers.
The long and snort.— We suppose the war
has carried off all the tall men. At all events,
we never saw so many < short" men atound as
at present.
From the Almanac for the use of Gen.
Lane's Forces in Missouri.—"September
Early in this month look out for General Rains!'
During an examination a medical student
being asked, "when doej mortification ensue!"
he replied, "when you pop the question and
are answered 'no'! "
We have don- everything to bring you over
|to our Federal ground, and we can tell you
if you won't com* over you have got to come
under!"
VOL. 5. NO. 12.