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Young Farmers---How they may Frac-
doe Economy.
Although we may not approve of some of
the items, such as brush drains, etc., in the
following article, still the general spirit of the
article is in accordance with well ascertained
truths, and it may be read with profit by
many of our readers. We have treated this
subject so often, and in so many phrases, that
we give the following without any farther
comment.
"I am not rich enough to be economical,"
said a. young friend of ours, when we strong
ly recommended to him the profits of a cer
tain improvement. "The want of means
compels me to work constantly to disadvan: ,
tage, and I cannot enjoy the privileges a 4:
profits of my richer neighbors." This is a
difficulty in which many intelligent farmers
have found themselves placed, and from
which they would most gladly be extricated.
Innumerable instances are occurring in their
daily practice, wherg i they could secure golden
results, had they on TS* the lever of capital
placed in theirhands; but as they are now
situated, they seem to themselves like the
man who is digging the earth with his unas
sisted hands, or the one who is compelled to
carry water in an egg shell, while their more
fortunate neighbors are turning up the deep
soil with the most perfect instruments, or
sending streams of refreshment and fertility
over their entire farms. Now, we are not
about to plan a "royal road" of escape from
this difficulty; it must be met and conquered.
If the attack is rightly made, the conquest
will be comparatively easy; if wrongly, it
will be the discouraging and formidable task
of a life-time.
The eager inquiry is now made, what is
the easiest mode of conquest? We answer,
the first and great leading means, is a large
fund of 'thorough and practicle knowledge.—
The man who, by a close observation of re
sults in his own practice and in the experi
ence of others, in connection with the im
mense amount of useful suggestions, (to say
nothing of . distinct practical directions,)
contained in the best publications of the day
possesses, even with a very short purse, a
vast advantage over the short sighted, igno
rant and unobservant capitalist. He will
turn-to advantage, even with his very limited
means, a thousand resources which others
would allow to sleep unemployed forever.
We once had occasion to observe the con
trast in the condition of two young farmers,
one of whom had a four hundred acre farm
"left" to him; the other had but fifty acres,
which he had paid for, in part, by previoindy
laboring on a farm some years, by the month
in summer, and teaching a district school in
winter. The one had. the capital of money
which his own hands had never earned; the
other possessed the more valuable capital of
knowledge and indomitable perseverance.—
The young heir was more interested in riding
about, in parties, balls, and in jaunts to the
city, than in the details of farming, and
knew the contents of the tri-weekly political
newspaper, and of a certain frivolous maga
zine much better than of any agricultural
journal, or of Norton's Elements. His farm
became an exact reflection of his own char
acter. Fences were soon obscured by belts
of alders, blackberries and burdocks, and
buildings showed marks of premature age,
and became dilapidated. There was a3O
acre marsh, which might have been drained,
but it never was. And there was a patch of
Canada thistles which filled one twelve acre
field, and part of another, which he could.
have destroyed in one season, had he known
how others had done. One hundred and
eighty loads of manure, as estimated at any
one time by a neighbor, were allowed to lie
a whole year about his barn,; without applica
tion. cattle were of long-horned,
big-headed, sharp-backed breed. His swine
were the Long-bristled Racers: His profits
in farming may be easily guessed. There
was a general complaint among his neighbors
that his debts were never met within six
months after the appointed pay-day, and
that he endured a, sharp dun - with extraordi
nary patience. It is true, necessity drove
him to retrench his expenses, and the improv
ed examples about him induced him to amend
his practice, but not until his farm was redu
ced to less than half its original size, by por
tions sold off at three different times to sat
isfy mortgages.
Well, what became of the young fifty acre
farmer, we are asked. He has ceased to be
" fifty acre farmer." lie began by exam
ining closely what improvement could be
made, of whatever character and kind, whe
ther cheap or expensive. Among these ho
was compelled to select first the cheap im
provements, or those which promised the larg
est profits for the smallest outlay. One of
these was the draining of a three acre alder
swamp, a large portion of which he did with
his own hands in autumn, between seeding
and husking. Ile had read of Judge Buel's
success with brush drains; he constructed
all the side or secondary channels by filling
them at the bottom with the brushes cut from
the ground,, which enabled him to accomplish
the work at less than half the usual price.—
These brush drains have now stood many
years, and the brush being wholly excluded
from the external air, has not decayed, and
they carry off the little water required, being
numerous, and at regular intervals. Now,
observe the result : The alder swamp would
not have sold originally for five dollars an
acre; it now brings crops of* corn, broom
corn and meadow grass, more than paying
the interest on a hundred and fifty dollars
per acre, besides all expenses. _He' doubled
his manure by drawing, from the most peaty
portion of this drained swamp, large quanti
ties of muck to his farm yard, where it was
kept comparatively dry till wanted, under a
cheap slab and straw shed. By paying a
improve
immensely
sum yearly, he was enabled to
immensely the breed of his cattle, sheep and
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. XIII
EMI
swine, and which he thinks has returned the
money thus expended at least twenty-fold.--
The same keen attention to his business in
other points, enabled him to effect many ad.-
ditional improvements, among which we may
briefly mention a cheap and simple horse
power of his own construction, consisting of
a rope running on the ends of radiating arms,
which enabled him by means of one or two
horses, as necessity required, to thresh his
grain, saw his wood, drive his churn, turn
his grindstone, - and split picket-lath. It is
true, he has now thrown this rude machine
aside for the greatly improved endless chain
power, but it answered his purpose for the
time, before the days of improved machinery.
But among all his outlays for the sake of
economy, there is none which he thinks has
repaid him equal to the subscription money
applied in taking two agricultural periodicals,
costing two dollars and a half yearly, besides
postage, and which, in connection with his
own experience and good judgment, have
been- the chief guides in most of his great im
provements. Ile has been enabled to add
sixty more acres to his land, and the whole
presents a beautiful specimen of neat, finish
ed and profitable farming.
Node of this is fiction. It was gradually
accomplished by years of constant, intelligent
perseverance.
A great loss occurs to the majority of farm
ers from too meagre an expenditure for im
plements—the effective medium for the action
of all the labor. The eagerness to secure
big farms, at the cost of their profitable cul
ture, is a most fruitful source of bad husband
ry. We observe by the last census, that- the
cash value of farms in the Union is over
three thousand million dollars, and the value
of farm implements only a hundred and fifty
millions ; that is, each farm worth three
thousand dollars, has, on an average, only a
hundred and fifty dollars worth of plows,
cultivators, rollers, carts, wagons, harrows,
fanning mills, straw-cutters, root slicers, har
ness, shovels, spades, forks, hoes, horse and
hand rakes, scythes, cradles, axes, hammers,
.sleds, wood saws, hay knives, ox yokes,
chains, &c. &c., to say nothing of reapers,
grain drills and threshing machines, which
may possibly be borrowed br hired.- Instead
of only <,`-:;150, all these cannot be had of good
construction and quality, for much less than
$5OO, leaving a, deficiency of about $350 to
be made up by slip-shod cultivation and by
borrowing. In England, where taxes, poor
rates, rents-and tithes, constitute together an
enormous drawback on the profits of farming,
and where, consequently, every operation
must be performed to the best poaciio
tage, no one need hope for success who does
not possess an amount of capital equal to
acre, - Tor procuring imple- .
ments, animals, seeds, manure and labor.=
" No prudent man," says the Mark Lane Ex- .
press, "ought to rent more than he has that
amount, at least, of available capital to go on
with."
If, therefore, our farmers generally laid
down, at the commencement of their labors,
the great fundamental principle that capital
as well as farms is indispensable to success
—that they might as well undertake to run
a car on a single rail, as to farm with land.
only, or capital—that they must especially
lay in a heavy amount of that most efficient
of all kinds of capital, thorough knowledge
—they need no longer complain that they
have a machine they cannot profitably man
age—a locomotive without fuel, or without a
competent engineer to take charge of its le
vers.—Albany Cultivator.
Ten Rules to be observed in making But-
In making good. butter there are several
nice operations to be gone through with,
which require an eye to cleanliness, fore
thought and experience.
1. On milking clean, fast yet gently, regu
larly twice a day, depends the success of the
dairyman. Bad milkers should not be toler
ated in a herd ; better pay double the price
for good ones.
2. Straining . is quite simple, but it should
be borne in mind that two pans about half
full each will produce fi greater amount of
cream than the same milk if in-but one pan;
the reason of this is the greater surface.
3. Scalding is quite an important feature
in the way of making butter in cool weather ;
the cream rises much quicker, milk keeps
sweet longer, the butter is of a better color,
and churns in one half the time.
4. Skimming should always be done before
the milk becomes loppered ; otherwise much
of the cream turns into whey and is lost.
5. Churning, whether by hand or otherwise,
should occupy fifty minutes.
6. Washing in cold soft water is.one of its
preserving qualities, and should be continued
until it shows no color of the milk by the use
of the ladle; very hard water is highly charg
ed with lime, and must in a measure impart
to it alkaline
. properties.
7; Salting is necessarily done with the best
kind of ground salt; the quantity varies ac
cording to the state it is taken from the ch urn ;
if soft ; more—if hard, less; always taking
taste for the surest•guide.
8: First working, after about twenty-four
hours, is for the purpose of giving it greater
eonapactness.
9. Second working takes place at the time
of packing, and when the butter has dissolv
ed the salt, that the brine may be worked
out:
10. Packing is done with the hands or with
a butter mall ; and when butter is put into
wooden vessels, they should be soaked two or
three days in strong brine before using. -Af
ter each packing, cover the butter with a wet
cloth, and put a layer of salt upon it_; in this
way the salt can easily be removed at any
time, by simply taking hold of the edges of
the cloth.
Butter made in this way will keep any
length of time required.
X)5 - Ho who prays as .he ought, will en
deavor to live as he prays. He that can. live
in sin, and abide in the ordinary duties of
prayer, never prays as he ought. A truly
gracious praying frame is utterly inconsis
tent with the love of or reserve for any son.
lEti
HUNTINGDON, PA., SEPTEMBER 16, 1857.
Stirring the Soil.
Few farmers disbelieve, in fact, in the ad
vantages of thoroughly pulverizing and stir
ring the soil, yet many are so faint in faith
or indolent in practice, as not to show appre
ciation of it. It is a matter which needs no
argument, as every observant man, who has
worked in the soil a half dozen years is per
fectly aware. The finer the particles of
earth, and the looser it is kept by cultivation,
the better will crops requiring open culture,
thrive. In all manipulations of the soil this
is the great object aimed at, and. the more
effectually it is done the better. The Corn
crop would be all the better, if the cultivator
were passed through it once a week until
" knee high." It is an old song among gar
deners, that
"The more we hoe,
The more we grew."
The Gardener's Text Book says :—Hoeing
is of benefit even when there are no weeds
to destroy ; and in fact it should be the ob
ject to keep, rather than to get them. out of
-beds. Hoeing makes the ground sweet, and
open to the atmosphere; whereby the crops
are much sooner brought to maturity, and in
greater perfection. Strange as it may seem,
keeping the surface light and porous, will
prevent the parching effect of drought.—
Thus, in a dry season, a well-tilled
the
suffers less than a field of grain on the op
posite side of the fence.
During the day time,"the loose soil imbibes
heat freely, and transmits it to the most dis
tant rootlets, securing to them that warmth
which is so- essential to a vigorous growth;
but at the approach of evening, when the
temperature of the air falls, a reverse action
takes place, and the heat is radiated or
thrown off quite as rapidly as it was re
ceived. If, on a hot day, you fill a pitcher
with cold water, in a few moments you will
find the outside covered with drops of moist
ure, and it is a common expression that the
"pitcher sweats." Instead, however, of the
drops having been drawn through the pores
of the vessel like perspiration through the
skin, they are drops of vapor condensed
from the surrounding air upon the cold
pitcher. - So with the soil at evening; as
soon as by the radiation of heat it becomes
colder than the atmosphere, that moisture
which we call dew is condensed, and trans
mitted to the roots. The extent of this
beautiful operation is just in proportion to
the looseness of the surface. Thus Cobbet
says, "A man will raise more moisture, with
a hoe or spade, in a day, than he can pour
on the earth out of a waterinz-not in a:
afittertsting nlisttliany.
What is Home Without a Daughter ?
Boys may not lack affection, but they may
lack tenderness. They may not be wanting
in inclination to contribute their quota to the
Paradise of home but they may be wanting
in the ability to carry out their inclination.
The son of a household is like a young and
vigorous sapling—the daughter is like a fra
gile vine.
We know a home which once rejoiced in the
sunny smiles and musical accents of an only
daughter. She was a lovely child—womanly
beyond her years :
"Full of gentleness of calmest hope,
Of sweet and quiet joy !"
The child never breathed who evinced a
more affectionate reverence, a more reveren
tial affection for her parents than did. she.
Instead of waiting fer their commands she an
ticipated them—instead of lingering until
they made known their wishes, she studied
their wishes out. Morning broke not in that
household until she awoke—the night was
not dark until her eyes were closed. How
they loved. her! did her father and her mo
ther ; and: of how many pictures of the fu
ture was she subject.
"It is a fearful thing that Love and Death
dwellin the same world," says Mrs. llemans.
"Fearful!" It is maddening—it is a truth
that is linked with despair.
Suddenly like a thief in the night, there
came a messenger from Heaven for the child
—sayin ,, that the Lord had need of her.—
She meekly bowed her head—and, at mid
night, "went forth to meet the Bridegroom."
The' last minute of the last hour of the,last
day of the last month was hallowed by her
death. She went and. came back no more 1
Years have worn away since then, but still
there is agony in the household whose sun
went down when she departed. The family
circle is incomplete—there is no daughter
there ! The form that once was hers reposes
among the congenial charms of nature and
art ; they have made the place of her rest
beautiful. If the grass grows rank upon her
grave, it is because it is kept wet with tears.
Of a truth, "a home without a girl in it is
only half blest ; it is an orchard without
blossoms, and a spring without song." A
house full of sons is' like Lebanon with its
cedar, but daughtere'by the fireside, are like
roses in Sharon."
KINDNESS.—WouId it not please you to
pick up a string of gold, diamonds and pre
cious stones, as you pass along the street?—
It would make you feel happy for a month to
come. Such happiness you can give to oth
ers. How, do you ask? By dropping sweet
words, kind remarks, and pleasant words, as
you pass along. These are true pearls and
precious stones, which can never be lost—of
which none can deprive you. Speak to that
orphan child. See the diamonds drop from
her cheek: Take the hand of that friendless
boy. Bright pearls flash in his eyes. Smile
on the sad and dejected. A joy suffuses his
cheek more brilliant than the most splendid
precious stones: By the wayside mid the
city's din, and at the fireside of the poor,
drop words and smiles to cheer and bless.—
You will feel happier, when resting on your
pillow at the close of the day, than if you
had picked up a score of perishing diamonds.
The latter fade and crumble in time—the for
mer rows brighter with age, and . produces
happier reflections forever.
-PERSEVERE.--.
BY MARY W. STANLEY GIBSON.
"Weary of life? ali no—but of life's wo;
Weary of its troubles and its cares!
Willing to rest—because so well I know
What draughts the hand of passion still prepares
"So tired.!"
A little child came panting in from play,
the other night, and climbing into its moth
er's lap, laid its head upon her bosom, and
uttered those two words. I saw the fond
young mother brush the golden hair from the
darling's moist forehead, and press her lips
again and again to the flushed cheeks. The
shadows of evening were falling fast around
us, and the birds had already sung themselves
to sleep. Little shoes and stockings were
drawn off and laid aside—little weary feet
bathed and cooled—a little night dress took
the place of the pretty blue frock and white
apron, and the boy was quiet. With a sight
of satisfaction he nestled closer in her arms;
his blue eyes closed, and her cradle 'song
grew lower and lower as his breath came
longer and more regularly through his parted
lips. Happy sleep of childhood ! She arose
and went softly to her own room, to lay him
in his little crib, and I was left alone. Heav
en knows what memory of a time when I,
too, was cradled upon a loving breast—when
the dead mother, whose face I cannot remem
ber, sung to me in the twilight—came over
me as I took up the infant's cry,
"So tired !"
A man of — business—a man whose name is
a bond on Wall street. Why should he lean
his head upon his hand and sigh as the words
fall from his lips ? Tired of his gay and busy
life, of his elegant home, his fair daughters
and his fashionable wife ? Tired of these,
and longing for the little red farm-house up
among the hills of his native home, where he
used to play, a bare-footed, light hearted boy?
Even so, strange as it may seem ! Yet not
so much for the farm house, as for the hap
piness and innocence that staid behind it,
and which he can never hope to find: in his
dusty office, or splendid home.
" So tired !"
Shla has been a loving wife and indulgent
mother. Six strong sons had she reared be
side that cottage hearth, but the grave has
claimed them all but two, and those the
world has taken. The husband of her youth
died long ago; and to day, her sixtieth birth
day, she sits alone in the deserted home
stead. To her boys she is "the old woman,"
to the brilliant wives, "a good old thing, but
so old fashioned ;" to their homes and - their
children almost a stranger. _Her tears fall
.fast as she thinks .of. them, in the distant,eity.
-gayr-prosperotrsi—weafttiynappy; yet
not remembering her on this day, even a line
to say, "Dear mother; I love you." This is
her reward for years of toil, care and anxie
ty. She has outlived her generation, and
when she dies, she will hardly be missed by
those to whom she has given health and
strength, and life itself. Poor, lonely old
woman! Well may the bitter tears fall fast
well may you long, to die I For this is often
the return for love and devotion that has out
watched the stars, and seen the moon grow
pale !
"So tired!"
Yes, turn from the brilliant crowd that
listens eagerly for every word you utter, fair
songstress, and heed what your heart is say
ing. Words of fire may fall from your rapid
pen—your own wild soul may stamp its im
press upon the page before you—the world
may place the crown of laurel upon your
bowed head—but it will be a diadem of
thorns. In the height of triumph—in the
fever of success—thre will come a sudden
pause, and the iron will enter your soul as
you remember that one voice is silent, and
one face still, calm, and cold. Fame, wealth,
success—oh ! what are these to happiness ?
Vanity—vanity all, and the "vexation of
spirit," and you bow your head and weep to
think it should be so I
" So tired I"
Oh! little child, not yet released from thy
mother's care, it would be better for thee to
sleep in the tranquil sleep of death, within
the shelter of her arms, than to tread the
path which we are treading ! There are
sharp thorns hidden among the fairest flow
ers—there are the treacherous quicksands in
the sweetest valleys. God help thee, boy,
for only a hand from heaven can lead thee
safely there. The golden hair will turn to
silver, it may be, and the blue eye will wear
an anxious look, before the painful journey
is half done, and. evil shapes will mock and
mutter when thy heart faileth thee, and thy
steps are faint.
" So tired I"
My boy, cling closer to thy mother's breast!
For a day will surely come when thy lips
will utter these self-same words, and she
will not be beside thee, to hush thee into
forgetfulness of all thy trouble. God help
thee, then,
and lead thee to the only refuge
"where the wicked cease from troubling and
the weary are to rest !"
IVIIITEWASIEING FRUIT TREES.—In some ag
ricultural works, we find the practice of white
washing fruit trees recommended as a pre
ventive of disease. In many sections this
practice has prevailed extensively, yet a
slight examination will satisfy any one that
the fruit orchards thus treated are not in bet
ter condition than those upon which white
wash has not been used. Analogy leads us
to the inference that a clean, healthy skin is
as indispensable to the health and longevity
of trees and plants, as it undoubtedly is in
the case of animals. The functions perforni
ed by the skin of the one, and the bark of the
other, are, in ninny respects, analogous; and
in the case of the latter, it is generally well
known that any prominent, or even tempo
rary obstruction of the cutaneous organs, is
certain to produce disease.—Maine Parader.
Philosophy and fact are with the "]!armor,"
in our opinion.
Words are but little things, but they
strike hard. We wield them so easily that we
aro apt to forget their power. Fitly spoken
they fanlike sunshine, the dew, and fertili
zing rain ;.bnt when unfitly, like the frost,
the hail and the desolatiug tempest.
"So Tired."
Editor and Proprietor.
The Grandeur of Nature
We live peaceably on the surface of: the
earth, while oceans of fire roll beneath our
feet. In the interior of the globe the ever
lasting forge is at work. How dreadful must
an earthquake be, when we are told by Pliny
that twelve cities in Asia Minor were swal
lowed in one night. Not a vestige remained
—they were lost in the tremendous forever !
Millions of beings have been swallowed up
while flying for safety. In the bowels of the
earth Nature performs her wonders at the
same moment that she is firing the heavens
with her lightnings . Her thunders roll above
our heads and bneath our feet, where the
eye of mortal man never penetrated. In the
vast vortex of the volcano the universal forge
empties its melted metals. The roar of Etna
has been the knell of thousands, when, it
poured forth its cataract of fire over one of
the fairest portions of the earth, and swept
into ruins ages of industry. In the reign of
Titus Vespasian, in the year 70, the volcano
of Vesuvius dashed its fiery billows to the
clouds, and buried in burning lava the cities
of Herculaneum, Stabie and Pompeii, which
then flourished near Naples. In the streets
once busy with the hum of industry, and
where the celebrated ancients walked, the
modern philosopher now stands and rumi
nates upon fallen grandeur. While the in
habitants were unmindful of the danger
which awaited . them ; while they were busied
with the plans of wealth and greatness, the
irresistible flood of fire came roaring froni
the mountain, and, shrouded them in eternal
night. Seventeen centinies have rolled over
then), and their lonely habitations and works
remain as their monuments. They were
swept away in the torrent of time—the waves
of ages have settled over them, and art alone
has preserved her memory. Great Nature,
how sublime are all thy works !
A MOTHER'S GRAVE.—Earth has some sa
cred spots, where we feel like loosing the
shoes from our feet, and treading with rever
ence ; where common words of social con
verse seem rude, and friendship's hands have
lingered in each other, where vows have been
plighted, prayers offered, and tears of parting
shed. Oh, how thoughts hover around such
places, and. travel back through unmeasured
space, to visit them. Mit of all the spots on
this green earth none is so sacred as that
where rests, waiting the resurrection, those
we have once loved. and cherished—our 'bro
thers, or our children. Hence, in all ages,
the better part of - mankind have - chosen and
loved spots of the deast ' •.:And,on these spors
4../
.... , 37 :..b5iv0.40ve& •to:-Wanae.ri7af-z ,
‘vontiacvii:o
meditate. But of allpladdi, - eViSii emong *be
charnel houses of the dead, none is so sacred
as a mother's grave.
There sleeps the nurse of our infancy—the
guile of our youth—the counsellor of all our
riper years—our friend when others deserted
us ; she whose heart was a stranger to every
other feeling but love, and who could always
find excuses for us when we could find none
for ourselves. There she sleeps, and we love
the very earth for her sake. With senti
ments like these I turned aside from the gai
tics of life to the narrow habitation of the
dead. I wandered among those who com
menced life with me in hope. Here distinc
tions are now forgotten ; at least by the slum
bers around me. I saw the rich and the
great, who scorned the poor, and shunned
them as if infected by the plague, quietly
sleeping by their side.
The ICltchen. ^
Talk of the parlor with its touch-me-not
elegance—we care nought for it. Let its
covered magnificence riot in darkness, its
red velvet lie in shrouds—its pictures gaze
dimly through crape, its splendid piano stand
dumb in its linen cover—its worsted roses
and pinks, and gill flowers remain unplucked
in dark corners, its carpet bloom unseen.—
Let shutters and double curtains exclude
every ray of light; it is welcome to its dark
ness and its solitude, while we can have the
pleasant, airy, yellow floored, uncarpeted
kitchen.
This is the place for - real enjoyment ; the
kitchen with bright shelves and clean white
tables, white with time. The kitchen with
its comfortable old easy chairs and broad
shining hearth, and crackling, blazing fire.
We do not mean. the kitchen in the great
house, where lazy servants have entire con
trol, and the lady of the house never sets
her foot within.its precincts, but the homely
comfortable kitchen of the well-to-do work
ing man, where the tea-kettles sing together
and the little children prattle around the
mother, while hands set the table for tea.
There may be snow in the gleaming, or
sun arrows lodged in the tops of trees—
there may be city walls about, or blue water
and undulating hills. It matters not—in
such a place, everything smacks of pure
comfort.
Make the kitchen attractive and pleasant
by all means. How absurd to keep one
room in constant state, as it were, for the
pleasure of a chance call, or a few party
going friends. We wish not further evidence
of a bad house-keeper, than to see her par
lor in full dress, her kitchen down at the
heel, and her chambers in confusion. Make
your homt-place the most agreeable, or . if
your many duties allow not time to attend to
them as thoroughly as you wish to its adorn
ment and refinement, throw open the doors
of your best room and let your family enjoy
it. Pray, who should not ?—Boston Cultiza
tor.
Ilanurs.—Like flakes of snow that fall un
perceived upon the earth, the seemly unim
portant events of life succeed one another.—
As the snow gathers so are our habits formed.
No single flake that is added to the pile pro
duces a single action , hut as the tempest
hurls the avalanche down the mountain, and
overwhelms the inhabitant and his habita
tion, so passion, acting upon the elements of
mischief; which pernicious habits have
brought together by imperceptible accumu
lation, may overthrow the edifice of truth and
virtue.
'Try to do good.
. 4. •
That Wilmot is nothing but a tricky po
titian is fully shown by his career. ,The
first we ever heard, of hirii; was an insane
movement to elect Col: .11:, M. Johnston, a
slave-holder, President: This spectdatiori
failed: •
For some time after this he behav,ed Pretty
well, and got to Congress: lie there distin
guished himself by voting for the repeal of
the tariff of '42; for , which nearly all hie,
present supporters denounced WM as a trai
tor to Pennsylvania, and a dengli-f4ad truck
ler to the south. Frightened by their de
nunciations, ho offered his anti:slavery pro
viso, at the instance of the Van Buren s, in
order to defend himself against the accusa
tions of the whi,gs. In 1848 lie pledged him
self to support the nominee of the Baltimore
convention for President, which- pledge he
violated, and supported Van Buren..
The next we heard of him he wits' boring
the legislature for a new judicial district in
his locality, with a view to the Judgeship.—
He begged the democrats to do this, in order
that lie might "get out,
.of polities for a
while" and then conic back afrain to
,the
democratic party. The district was made
for him, he was elected Judge, but he did
not "get out of
• and in 1851 sup
ported. Col. Bigler for Governor. In 1852 ho
was an active supporter of Gen. Pieree. 7 --,
During the know-nothing furor Of 185'4; h 4
professed to be with' that party and wanted
to be its nominee for - United States Senator.
Failing in this he assisted in defeating its
nominee, and then joined with the abolition
ists to get up a "republican" party, and thus
put down the know-nothings. There never -
was an instance in which ho acted with the
whips,,
but he always denotinced theni with
muchbittorriess: „ „
Ile .never stood well with' the democratic
party, and never attained any position in it.
His plotting; drivelling; tricky disposition
is well exemplified by a recent transaction :
To make_people believe lie has' some faith in
his election he resign's' hiS Judgeship, biit
very careful was he not to e . it until Withirc i
less than three Months of the electibn. Had
he resigned three months before, the. people
of the district would have elected ii Judge,
this fall for the term', of ten
. years, , but as
three months do not elapse between his'
resignation and election, the Governer, ap t
points until the second electien; a ye'ar he,nc,er .
So, Mr. Wilmot can be defeated this fall for
Governor and obtain his Judgeship' again in
a year.
This is characteristic of the man. - , His
whole
. political career stamps hith as a Mere
trickster; and his last act establishes the fact
beyond controversy.
Do the people want such a man for Gov
erner ?.• If . they, .take him
,they-may_depeud
they haVe "to pay the piper."—Clintod
Democrat:
NO. V.
. .
A gentleman is not merely a
. person ac
quainted withcertainformS and convention
alities of life; easy and self-possessed. in so
ciety, able, to speak; and act; and move in
the world without ZlNOiyArapess and free
from habits which. are v,ulgar and, in bad:
taste. A gentleman something much be
yond this. At the base of, all:, lns ease and
relinement;,and tact. and: Power, of pleas . ing,
is the same spirit which lies at the root of
every christian virtue.' It is the thoughtful
desire of doit4 in, every i . ustaiTice .othels
as he would that,otherss shetild do unto
_He_ is. _constantly thinkinv • not indeed' how
;he .
sense of pleasing,' but how he caii . ,iS:itow
them respect, how be may avoid: hurting
their feelings: When be „Is,. , society ha
scrupulously asceittq,ns:tll6 position of e v ery
ono with whom he brought in c;giitabt, -
that he may give to each his due honor.--:
He studies hoed he may avoid touching Upon,
any subject which may needlessly hurt, their
feelings—how he may abstain from . any
sion. which may call up a disagreeable ,or of
fensive association:, £ gentleman never al
ludes to; never appears conscious of any per
sonal defect, bodily deformity,' inferiority of
talent, of rank, of reputation, in the persons
in whose society he is placed: He never as-'
sumes any superiority—never ridiculds ,fievei
boasts; never makes a display of I]ds ow'n'
powers, or rank, or advantages ; never in
dulges in habits whiCh May be offensive to
others.
WAIT.-Of course it is very hard to wait..
No matter whether you have to wait in cer
tainty or in doubt; whether for the ledfilm.ent.
of a promise or the arrival of a "shipload of
money," waiting is tedious,', and one feels
that patience is a virtue.' yeun,l,, fiopeful
cannot wait for dinner,' and SpOilg, las, appe
tite,
and digestion with apples and liqatl . 64 - T .
butter. Older grown, he cannot walt.for his'
majority, and borrows.—Tell people to wait;
and they answer that life is all waiting; and
have waited long enough,' wind waiting,
makes fools: Yet waiting is the school
. of
moral strength. The grandest a.ehievenients
have to be waited for. Sc ail minds are al
ways fizzing and leaking ; so viheii the time
comes, they arc foithd either stale or empty.
London, Tintes:' ,
Dr. Franklin in Fugl6.o.l;i the year'
1775, was asked by a nobleman What would
satisfy the _Abaci-leaps?: answered that,
it might be comproniised in ti" .. few "Re's,".
which ho immediately wrote on a piece of
paper—thus:—
Re-call your forces.'
Re-store Castle William:
Re-pair the damages dones'in'Bosten:
Re-peal your unconstitutional acts.
Re-pounce your pretensions to taxes.
Re-fund the dutidS you' have extorted.—•
After this;
Re-quire and
Re-ceive payment foi the destroyed tea'
and with the voluntary grdnts of the Colo;:
nies; and then
Rejoice in a; happy
Re-conciliation. •
zErAvoidins you value the prosperity of
your own souls,- and' your mutual peace and`
comfort, all idle disputings abaft iVorthi - thrite
profit, observing- that "strifes Of words are
not only barren of piofit, but produetiie of
envy, railing and evil surmising."
(There is a gentleman in Boston so po-:
lite that he begs his own' pardon every tiniW
he tumbles down. Being good natured ha
always grants' it. . .
ra3'Never expect to go to' the throtUi. of
grace, without having some stumbling block
thrown in your )vay. Satin hates prayer,
and always tries to hinder it.
);:t.." I say, may little son, where doe's the
right hand road go?"
"Don't know, sir; 'taint been nowhere
since we liied here."
Brown says that though "brevity is
the soul of wit," it is "no joke" to be short
on change. Brown knows.
A Tfickste'r;
Who is a Gentlethan ?