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The Printer and the Press.
The Printers! how I love them!
- For what, you'd hardly guess :
Love them for patient, honest toil,
Their fellow men to bless.
They falter not, though oftentimes,
'These poor men go unpaid;
And every line the sheet contains,
Is sent with Out our aid. •
'low ignorant we all should be,
Without them and the Press,
To furnish, for the famished minds,
A "Literary Sless.,?
The Printers and the Press, -
God bless them, day by day,
ror every high and noble thought,
Tey shed around our way.
May wreathes of heavenly love entwino
Tile PRESS INVENTOR'S SOW ' ,
While kn.oWledge spreads from clime to clime,
And truth from pole to polo.
,ei.ect
THE WIPE'S EXPERIMENT
" Ma why don't you dress up ?". asked. lit
tle Nellie Thornton ' as her ,mother finished
brushing the child's hair, and tying her clean
- apron. There was a momentary surprise on
Mrs. Thornton'S face; but she answered care
lessly, "Oh, no one cares how I look."
" Don't
-'Pa love to see you look pretty ?"
persisted the child. The mother did not re
ply, but involuntarily she glanced at her slov
enly attire, the faded arid-worn calico- dress
and dingy apron, both bearing witness to an
intimate acquaintance with the dish-pan and
stove—the slip-shod shoes, and soiled stock
ings=—and she could not help remembering
how she that marning.appeared with uncombed
Lair and prepared her husband's breakfast
before_ he left- home fur the neighboring mar
ket-town. • "Sure enough I" mused she, "how
Ido look 1" And then Memory pointed back
a fevv 'years to a neatly and tastefully-dressed
maiden, sometimes busy-in her father's house,
again mingling with tier young companions,
but -never untidy in her appearance, always
fresh and blooming ; and this she knew, full
well, -was'a picture of - herself, when Charles
Thornton first won her -young heart. - 'She
was- the bride he had taken to his pleasant
home—how had mature life fulfilled the proph
ecy of youth
She was still comely in features, graceful
in -form, but few would call her a handsome
woman; for alas I all other characteristics
were overshadowed by-this repulsive trait--
Yet she loves to see others-neat, and her house
and children- did not - seem t 6 belong to herr
so well kept and- tidy did they look. As a
housekeeper she excelled; and het.- husband
was long in acknowledging to himself the un
welcome fact that he had married an incorri
gible sloven. • -
When, like too many other young wives,
she began to grow negligent in regard to her
dress, he readily excused her in his own mind,
and thoUght "she is
. not 'well," or, "has so,
much to do ;" . and perceiving no abatement
in his kind attentions, she naturally conclu
ded that he was perfectly satisfied. As fain
ily. cares increased and she went into compa
_ny less, she became still more careless of her
personal. appearance, and contented herself
with seeing that nothing Was - lacking which
could contribute to the comfort of her hus
band and children, never supposing that so
trivial a matter as her own apparel could pos
sibly affect their happiness., All this chain
of circumstances hitherto unthought of passed
liefore her, as the little prattler at her - Side
repeated the query , ---" Don't Pa love to -see
you look pretty V"
" Yes, my child," she answered, and her
resolve was taken=shc would try an experi
ment,-and prove whether Mr.. Thornton were
really indifferent on the subject, or not. Giv
ing Nellie a picture-book with which to amuse
herself, she went to her - room mentally ex
claiming: "at any rate, I'll never put on this
rig attin—not, even washing day." She
proCeeded to her - clothes-press and removed
one dress after another—some were ragged,
-others faded, all out of - style, and soiree unfit
to wear—at length she found one which had
long- been laid aside as "too light to wear
about the house." Itwas a nice French print,
- rose colored and white, and she remembered
had once been a favorite with_ her husband.
The old adage "fashions come round in seven:
years," seemed true in this case ; for the dress
- was made in the then prevailing style. •
" Thisis
_just the thing," she thought, and
hastened to perform her toilette., saying to
herself, "I must alter my dark gingham -to
wear 'mornings, and• get it- all ready - before
Charles comes-.home." Then she released
her - long, dark hair from its imprisonment in
-a; most ungraceful twist; and carefully brush
ing its still glossy waves, she plaited it in the
broad braids which Charles used so much to
.admire in the days of her girlhood.
The unwonted task brought back many
'reminiscences of thoseilong vanished years,
and tears glistened in her eyes as she thought
- -of the many changes - Time' had wrought in
those she loved, but she murmured, "What
bath sadnesi like, the change that in ourselves
Ave find ?" In that hour she hasrealized - how
and an 'apparently 'trivial fault had gained
the mastery over her, and imperceptibly had
placed `barrier between her and the one she
best loved on earth. --True, he never chided
,her—never - apparently noticed: her altered
appearance—but she well knew he no longer
urged her going into society, nor did he seem
to eare about receiving-his friends at his own
houSe, although he was a social Man, and
had once
,felt
_proud to introduce his young
wife-to his.large circle of acquaintance.
No* they
_seldom went out together except
: in g to chureh, and even dressinc , for that was
generally too much of an effort for Mrs. Thorn
, ton—she would stay at-home "to keep house,"
after preparing the little ones to accompany
their fattier, and the neighbors soon ceased
expecting her at public worship or in -their
3 months. G months. 12 months.
....$1 5 0 V 00 ss'oo
$1 50
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. XV.
social gatherings—and so, one by one, they
neglected, to call on her, until but very few
of the number continued to exchange friend
ly civilities with her; She had wondered at
this, had felt pained heretofore; now she
clearly saw it was her_ own fault, the veil was
removed from her eyes, - and the mistake of
her life was revealed in its-true enormity. —, v
Sincerely did she repent of her error, calmly
and seriously resolve on future and immediate
amendment.
Meanwhile her hands were not idle, and at
length the metamorphosis was complete. The
bright pink drapery hung gracefully about
her .form, imparting 'an-unusual brilliancy to
her complexion—her best wrought collar was
fastened with a, costly, brooch, her husband's
wedding gift, which had• not seen the light
for many a day. Glancing once more at" her
mirror to be certain her toilette needed no
more finishing touches, she took her sewing,
and returned to the sitting room.
Little Nellie had wearied of her picture
book, and was now playing with the kit
ten. - As Mrs. Thornton - entered she el4ped
her - hands in childish delight,
,exclaiming,
"Oh, Ma, how pretty—pretty I" and funning
to her, kissed her again and again, then drew
her little chair close to her side, and eagerly
watched her as she plied her needle, repair
ing the gingham dress.
Just before it was completed, Nellie's broth
ers came from school, and pausing at the
half-opened door, Willie whispered to Char
lie, "I guess we've got company, for mother's
all dressed up." It was with mingled emo
tions of pleasure and pain that Mrs. Thornton
observed her children were . unusually docile
and obedient; hastening to perform their ac
customed duties without being even reminded.
of them. Children are natural and unaffec
ted lovers of the beautiful, and their intuitive
perceptions will not often suffer from Cranpar
ison with the opinions of mature worldly wis
dom. It was with a new feeling of admira
tion that these children now looked upon their
mother, and seemed to .consider it a privilege
to do something for her: It was "let me get
the,kindlings ;" "I will make the fire •
''' and
"may I fill the tea kettle ?"—ihstead of, as
was sometimes the case, "need Ido it?" .`.`l.
don't want to,"—"why can't Willie ?",
Nellie 'was too small to render much assis
tance, but she often turned from her frolic
with the kitten, to look at her mother, and
utter some childish remark expressive of joy
and love..
At last the clock struck the hour when Mr.
Thornton was expected, and his wife prOeeed
ed to lay the table with unusual care, and to
place thereon several choice viands of which
she knew he was particularly fond.
Meanwhile let us form the acquaintance of
the absent husband and father, whom we find
in a neighboring-town, just completing his
day's trafic. _He is a- fine looking, middle
aged man, with an unmistakable twinkle of
kindly feeling in his 'eye, and the lines of
good humoriplainly traced about his mouth
know at a glance that he is cheerful and
indulgent in his family and are at once pre
possessed in his favor. •
As he is leaving the store, where he has
made the last purchasefor the day, he is ac
costed in a familiar. manner by a tall gentle
man just entering the door. He recognizes
an old friend, and exclaims, " George Mor
ton, is it you ?" The greeting was mutually
cordial—they were friends in boyhood and
early youth, but since, Mr. Morton has been
practising law in a distant city, they seldom
met, and this -is no place to exchange their
many questions and answers. Mr. Thorn
ton's fine span - of horses and light " demo
crat" are standinc , near by, and it needs but
little persuasion Co induce, Mk. Morton to ac
company his friend to his home which he has
never yet visited. The conversation is lively
and spirited ; they recall the feats of their
school - days, and the experiences of after life,
and compare their present position in the
world, with the golden future of which they
used to dream. Mr. Morton isa bachelor,
and very fastidious iu his tastes, as that class
of individuals are prone to be. The recol
lection of this flashes on Mr. Thornton's Mind
as they drive along towards their destina
tion. At once zeal in the dialogue abates,
he becomes thoughtful and silent, and does
not urge his team onward, but seems willing
to afford Mr. Morton an opportunity to admire
the beautiful scenery on either
_hand, the
hills and valleys clad in the fresh verdure of
June, while the lofty mountain-ranges look
blue and dim in the distance. He cannot
help - wondering if they will-find his wife in
the same sorry predicament in which he left
her that morning, and involuntarily shrinks
from introducing so slatternly a personage to
his refined and cultivated friend.
:But it is now too late to retract his polite
invitation—they are nearing the old " home
stead"—one- field more and -his fertile farm
with its well kept fences appears 'in view.—
Yonder is his neat white house, surrounded
with elms and maples. They drive „through
the*large gateway, the-man John comes from
the barn to.put,cnit the horse, and Mr. Thorn
ton _hurries up the walk to the piazza, leav
ing his • friend to follow at his leisure—he
must see his wife . first; and if possible hurry
her out of his_ sight before their visitor en
ters. Ile rushes into the sitting room—words
cannot express his amazement—there sits the
very image of his lovely bride, and a self
conscious blush' mantled her cheek as he
stoops to kiss her with words of joyful- sur,
prise. " Why, Ellen 1" lie has time for no
more—George Morton has followed him, and
he exclaims—" Ha 1 Charley, as lover-like as
ever—hadn't the honey moon set yet?" and
then he is duly presented . to Mrs. Thornton,
who, under the pleasing excitement of the
occasion, appears to better advantage than
usual. •
.Tea is soon upon the table, and the
gentlemen do ample justice to the tempting
repast spread before them. A happy meal
it is to Charles Thornton, who gazes with ad
miring fondness upon his still beautiful wife.
Supper over. Mr. Morton coaxes little Nel
lie to sit on his . lap, but she soon slides down,
and climbing on.her father's knee, whispers,
confidently, " Don't
_mamma look pretty?"—
]Eire kisses her- and answers, " Yes, my_ dar
ling." . '
The evening passed pleasantly and swiftly
„ •
•
7:y.•
„
away, and - Many it half-forgotten smile -of
their life-pilgrimage is recalled by, some way
mark which still ,gleams bright in the dis
tance: They both feel younger and . bettg
for their interview, and determine - never - to
become so like strangers again.. Mr. Mor
ton's soliloquy, - as he retires to the cosy
apartment appropriated to his use, is- -
" Well, this is
,a happy family ! What , a
lucky fellow Charley is—such a handsome
wife and •children"—and she is a good house
keeper, toO! May be f'll settle down some
day myself"---.which pleasingidea that night
mingled., with his visions. The next. morn
ing, Mr. Thornton watched his wife's move
ments with some anxiety—he could not bear
to have her destroy the - favorable impression
which he was certain she had made on his
friend's mind, and yet some irresistible
im
pulse forbade his offerina b any suggestion or
alluding in any way to the delicate subject
so long unmentioned between them. But
MrS. Thornton needed no friendly' advice—
with true womanly tact she perceived the ad
vantage she bad gained.; and, was not at ill
inclined to relinquish it. The dark gingham
dress, linen collar and- snowy apron, formed
an appropriate and becoming morning attire
for a housekeeper, and the table afforded the
guest no occasion for altering his opinion in
regard to the skill or affability of his amia
ble hosreSs. Early in the forenoon, Mr. Mor
ton took leave of his hospitable friends, be
ing called y away by pressing affairs of bust- -
floss.
Mr: and Mrs. Thornton returned to their
accustomed avocations, but it was with re
newed energy, and new sense
_of quiet hap
piness, no less deeply felt because unexpres
sed. A day or two afterwards Mr. Thornton
invited his wife to -accompany him to town,
saying he thought she might like to do some
shopping, and she, with no apparent surprise,
but with heart-felt pleasure, acceded to - the
proposal. The following Sabbath the-village
gossips had ample food for their hungry eyes,
(to be digested at the next Sewing Society,)
in the appearance of Mrs. Thornton at church
clad in plain, but rich costume, an entire
new outfit, which they-could not, deny "made
her look ten years younger."
This was the beginning of the reforni7and
it was the dawning of a brighter day for the
husband and wife of our story. Thus, habits
of such long standing are not conquered hi a
week or a month ; and very often was Mrs.
Thornton tempted, to yield -to their long tol
erated sway, but she fought valliantly against
their influence, and -in time, she vanquished
them. An air of state and elegance, befdre
unknown, now pervaded their dwelling, and
year after year the links of affection which
united . them as a family, grew brighter and
purer, even radiating the holy light of a
Christian home..
But it was not until many years lead pas
sed away, and our little Nellie, now a lovely
maiden, was about to resign her place as pet .
in her father's household, and assume a new
dignity in another home, that her mother im
parted to her the story of her own early er
ror, and earnestly, warned her to, beware of
that • insidious foe to domestic happiness—
disregard of little things—and kissing her
daughter with maternal pride and fondness,
she thanked her for those simple, child like
words, which changed the whole current of
her destiny—'` Don't Pa like to see you look
pretty ?" -
The New Agricultural Wonder
[From the Germantown Telegraph.]
The agricultural discovery of this age, is
plowing by steam,. After what we witnessed
at the Oxford Park on Wednesday lael, we re
gard it as no longer an experiment, but a
fait accompli. The desideratuni is consum
mated. The prairies of the West:and the
plains of the South will be no longer subjec
ted to the delay and the tedious labors of
horse and mule power: Stalls of a hundred
working animals and half as many men to
direct them, will be no longer necessary.---:-
This mammoth agricultor sets aside all these
minature playthings, steps in, and like a
giant among Lilliputians, it strides over the•
broad acres—and seed-time is paved. Far
mers ponder upon the fact, which we saw es
tablished on Wednesday, that when Fawkes'
Steam Plow is in fair operation . upon the
prairies, where there will be little turning to
and fro, five acres per hour, and from forty
to fifty in ten working hours per day, can be
accomplished with ease !—Bat to details :
When we arrived on the ground, the plow
incr.' for the day was over, the engine having
just been withdrawn from the field ; and we
were indebted entirely to the courtesy of Mr.
Fawkes for the opportunity of seeing it in
operation. It was a gratification we scarcely
know how to express, because it gave us oc
ular demonstration of the success of an in
vention, which, first reaching us- from Eng
land where it has for nearly a dozen years
baffled the skill of the best mechanical inge
nuity—must not-only prove. of incalculable
importance tcyour country, .but it attaches to
that country' the honor of being the source of
still another epoch in the practical science of
the world of no less consideration than those
which have preceded it.
The engine•is•of peculiar construction, dif
fering from any application of the power we
ever saw. It is from - twenty to twenty-five
feet in length, and of thirty horse power. - ---
The front part of the machine is guided by
two wheels about one foot in width and three
feet in height, working upon a king-bolt the
same as in a carriage, with room for the
wheels to run under-the fore part, giving it
the power to-turn almost - or quite within its
own length,_ The principal weight of the
machine is "upon a large drum directly under
it near the rear end;•-which is sik feet wide;
and about five or five and a half in diameter,
thus enabling'it to pass over even the worst
portion of land with facility. The gang of
plows, eight in number, each turning a fur
row of fourteen inches in width and six in
depth, is hung -upon shafts extending from
each side at the rear of the machine. The
plows aro arranged at an angle of forty-five
degrees, and can by a. sudden movement he
HUNTINGDON, PA., AUGUST 17, 1859,
Daritty.
-PERSEVERE.-
- ,
dropped for operation, or raised
,a foot above
the surface in an instant. The machine picks
up the plows and proceeds to any part of the
field desired, takes its stand, backs up to the
starting point, drops the plows, and sets to
work very nearly as easily as a pair of horses
can be managed. In the operation there
was no straining or hitching, but the plows
passed through the soil at the rate of five
miles per hour with perfect ease. We meas
ured the space turned over and found it to be
an feet within a few inch*: ! • _
The trial was made up - on a tough timothy
sod of seven years standing;-and although
there had been a shower the day before, the
ground was hard, and in some places turned
over in cakes. The swift, steady movement
of the engine, and the beautiful manner in
which the plows passed throUgh the soil, each
cutting its fourteen inch slice and completely
reversing the surface, was- one, of the most
gratifying sights we ever witnessed, and it
affored the greatest satisfaction to the assem
bled farmers.
The engine is under
,perfect control. It
was run over rough. ground, gullies, &c., and
could _be- made to' pass up a considerable
grade. A portion of the ground in Oxford
Park where it operated, we should judge
to rise some six or seven degrees ; and ,we
are certain that it could overcome a higher
grade. _ -
In a word, we regard this experiment as a
perfect success, destined to revolutionise farm
ing in the West and. South, where it will, in
a few years becoMe as common as the mow
ing and-reaping miichines. It can be opera°
ted at not over ten dollars per day, including
every expense—is adapted to either woocl„or
coal, and when the latter is used, half a ton
per day is sufficient.
Two men only, are required to work it.—
In the West from $3 to $4 50 is the price
charged per acre for plowing ; by this at least
forty acres per day can be accomplished.—
On the many one thousand to ten thousand
acre farms what an immense - saving in cost
and time it will be ! - This power can be ap
plie&to many other agricultural purposes of
nearly equal importance—to harrowing,
(which could come directly after the plows,
in the same operation,)—mowing, reaping,
(think of a.twelve feet swath cut at the rate
of five or six miles an hour, threshing, saw
ing, grinding, &c.. We understand that Mr.
Fawkes has many orders now on hand for
his invention ; -- but no establishment will be
open for their manufacture until the coining
winter, and after he shall _return from the
Western fairs. The cost of this thirty horse
power—the largest size that will be made, is
$3,500, which is very reasonable, and will be
worth five times that amount to thousands cf
Western farmers.
Wo will add before closing this hurried
sketch, that Fawkes is a Lancaster county
man, as was Fulton, their places of nativity
being within a short diAtance of each other.
He is a tall, wiry counfry blacksmith, some
thirty-five year years of age, modest though confi
dent in his manner, possessing a great deal
of native shrewdness and intelligence, with
a large share of that progressive element
which impel Americans " ahead." He had
but very small means at any time, and has ex
pended all he had in the world upon his inven
tion, with some nine or ten thousand "dollars
of a good friend who has stood by him from
the beginning. It was to this friend 4 Phat he
carried the model of his invention in a hand
kerchief, and asked him what he thought of
it. That friend examined it carefully and
told him at once to secure a patent ; he said
he had. not the means, when this friend ad
vanced the necessary amount on the spot.—
And that was the beginning of the begin
ning.
Mr. Fawkes - was born a mechanic. It was
innate, and be could not have resisted the
impulse if lie had tried;-but tried he was
by a very limited education, and still more
limited means, enough to have damped the
ardor of any common man in any of the pur
suits of life requiring both education and
money. But Mr. Fawkes is no common man ;
his unflagging spirit—his indomitable perse
verance—backed by the mechanism within
him—have enabled him to achieve that which
men of the highest social position and of the
Most commanding scientific attainments, have
failed to accomplish.
Success to FaWkes' Steam Plow—to Penn
sylvania soil that produceS a natural growth
of science to astound the world.
IMPORTANT TO WOOL DEALERS.-The fol
lowing is an extract from a communication
of Jacob Haenchen, of Reading, Pa,, who is
vouched for as one who has had great expe
rience in the wool business probably millions
of pound shandled and sorbed by him. Ile
says: -
If wool dealers are purchasing wool without
having a full knowledge of wool, they will
commonly fall short in their calculations,
after their purchase... All those who have
any dealing at.all in the wool, ought to be
acquainted_ with these three distinct points,
namely : they- ought to understand, Ist, the
qualities of wool • 2d, to know or understand
by first sight and handling, on what soil the
sheep have been in-pasture, viz : whether on
sandy places, or on -clay and heavy soil, or
on the mountains—this is the most important
point to know—and 3d, to know which kind
would turn out to be best to their advantage.
After being washed, (with liquor as it is cal
led,) one kind will improve in its quality, the
the other will lose by washing. And where
as a fleece of wool contains from three to six
different qualities I believe, and I am certain
of it, it would be of great advantage to whole
sale dealers to have the wool sorted before
selling, and thus make their prices according
ly; and those engaged in manufacturing wool
en goods ought to observe the one above men
tioned the more yet.
CALMNESS UNDER PROVOCATION.—Socrates
having received a bFow upon the , head, ob
served, " That it would be well if people
knew, when it was necessary to put on a
henal,&!.! On another occason, being attack
ed w opprobrious language, lie calinly-ob
served that, " That man has not been taught
to speak respectfully." Many Christians
ruightlearu from this heathen.
•
, ..
.......
';‘,. ;-"•.'...: .::::.
::'
4-i' ;''.'„.7 • '
I
1., .. . 4Z ,, ,, •
V l' / -,p,,
"A Skeleton-in Every House."
Some time since, an inquiry was made for
the story on which was founded the saying,
-"There is a skeleton in every, house." It is
long since it has been in print,.and it will be
new to many who - are familiar with-the truth
ful and suggestive proverb. It is found in
Waldie's Circulating Library for August 26,
1834, where it was copied from Chambers'
Journal.
A widow of Naples, the Countess Corsini,
had but one remaining son to give her an in
terest in life. lie was remarkable for the _
el
egance of his person, as well' as for every
amiable and graceful-quality. When grown,
this young gentleman was sent to pursue his
studies at the University of Bologna, where
he became one of the most distinguished"
scholars, and gained"the affection of all who.
knew him by his singularly- noble character.
Just as he was completing his studies, and
was about to return to Naples, he was seized
with a dangerous illness, which, notwithstand
ing the efforts of the best physicians- in Bo
logna, brought him in three days to the brink
of the grave. Seeing _he could not survive,
his:only care, so far as this world was con
cerned, was for his mother, and it was his
most anxious wish that some means should
be taken to prevent her' being entirely over
come. He finally resorted to this expedient.
He wrote to his mother informing her of his
illness, but not of its threatening character,
and reqUested that she would send, him a
shirt inade.by the happiest lady in Naples,
or she who appeared most free from the cares
and sorrows of this world, for he had taken a
fandk that by wearing such an article he
should be speedily , cured: The Countess
thought her Son's request rather singular,
but, being loth to refuse him, immediately
set about her inquiry for the happiest lady in
Naples. Her efforts were tedious and diffi
cult i everybody she could think of, or who
was pointed out to her, was found, on search
ing nearer, to have her own share of troub
les. She was at length introduced to one
who not only appeared to have all the ma
terials of worldly bliss, but bore every exter
nal mark of being cheerful and contented in
her situation. This fortunate lady the Colin
tess preferred her request, making the cir
cumstances of the case au excuse for so strange
an application.
" My dear Countess," said the lady, "spare
all apology, for if I were really qualified for
the task, I would gladly -undertake it. But
if you will follow me to another room, I will
prove to you that I am the most miserable
woman in Naples."
"So saying, she led the — Countess to a re
mote chamber, where there was nothing ap
parently but a curtain hung from the ceiling
to the floor. This being drawn aside, she dis
closed, to the horror of her visitor, a skeleton
suspended fi'om a beam.
"0, dreadful I" exclaimed the Countess,
"what means this ?"
The lady regarded her mournfully, and
said, after, a moment's silence :
"This was a youth who hayed me before
my marriage, and with whom I was obliged
to part when my relations compelled me to
marry my present husband. Afterwards we
renewed our acquaintance, and my husband,
in his impatience, at finding him in my pres
ence one day, drew his sword, and ran him
through the heart. lie afterwards caused
his skeleton to be suspended here, and every
night and morning since then has compelled
me to come and view these remains. " To the
world I may bear a cheerful aspect, and seem
possessed of all the comforts of life, but you
may judge if I can really be entitled to the
reputation you - have given me, or am qual
ified to execute your son's commission." •
The COuntess Cursini readily acknowledged
that, her situation was most miserable,' and
retired to her own house.
" Alas !" she said to herself, "no one is ex
empt from the distresses and sorrows of life ;
there is a skeleton in every house."
When she reached home, she found a let
ter inforMing her of the death of her son.—
The terrible news would have overturned her
reason,-or broken her heart, had not the fore
sight of her sont prepared her to feel that oth
ers had sorrows as great as" herown, and by
alleviating them her own were lightened.
A correspondent of the New York Express
furnishes this graphic sketch :
Cairo out-door life seems to me - charming,
and the more I see of it the more I am
charmed with it. What goes on in-doors in
Moslem land, Christian of course can never
know. The fashionable women here are
more muffled up, if possible, than in Turkey,
Syria, or Palestine, and of course all we can
see of them is on horse'or donkey back, cross
legged, in their black Egyptian envelope,
(herbbareh,) through which may be peeping
their low silk pelisses, tied round the. waist
with gold cord and tassels, or a foot of a slip
per, or yellow, or red trowsers. Their faces
are all veiled. Even their ' eyes can hardly
be got at. Alas! even European women score
to catch the Moslem - disease of concealment,
and I begin to forget how a woman looks, I
have not seen a strange one so long.- Never
theless Cairo is alive, and full of fun:, The
.Arab quarrels alone now interest you, if
nothing else. TWo fellows will make more
noise than forty in the United States or Eng
land—and to hear them scold and halloo, you
would think thall, thenext moment, they would
be pitching pen mell into each other's arms,
or upon each other's heads—but all this noise
means little or nothing, . and peace soon re
turns. Never was there a noisier people.—
Then the streets—and what curious . streets
they are, with tumble down houses full of
lattice" work overshadowing them ! Never
ceasing. There is the-lam tam drum, I can
not say much for its music. Here, is a fel
low telling some story or marvelous tale by
it, to the gaping crowd.
Here, are street bards and minstrels ; there,
are ambulatory buffoons. *Here, are street
scribes that do the writing for everybody,
that cant • write—and. who can ? and there;
are interpreters of .dreams. Then comes the
Water seller, with hiszoa.t skin full of muddy
water upon his back, that he has filled from
Editor and Proprietor.
Our-door Life in Cairo
the Nile ; and there, is the vender of sweet-
I meats, brawling, and scolding, and coaxing,
in all the :varied intonations of his peculiar
voice. In a country where it seldom or never
rains—of course, all sorts of life can exist
out of doors. The Arab needs no covering
for his feet, none for his legs—and all he,
wears is something white or blue, in cottore," l
to envelope his shoulders—reaching to his,
knees. House to him is not at all. necessary,
but as a protection from the sun, and then
a mud house does as well as any other—bet
ter perhaps. Everybody then, _ from early
sunrise to sunset, is out of doors. The streets
become impassable almost, save to Cairo ed
ucated donkeys, and Cairo trained men. If
the plague exists, you are certain to.catch it,
from rubbing against everybody you,meet— r
or, the small pox—or—anything Olse : —to ears
polite unmentionable ; and in the school of
entomology, a man becomes a study—a school
to himself, every morning and every night.
The Egyptians are the dirtiest people I ever
saw upon earth, or imagined could be seen.
If the Nile did not overflow them, I know not
what would become of them ; but when it
does, I marvel not -that it fertilizes the soil,
and washes the rich delta belosv; The Nile
washes Egypt—but what can -wash the Nilo
when Egypt is done withit?
NQ t .
4 " I was down on the crick this mornin,"
said Bill Gates, "and I seed any amount of
of coon tracks. I think they're agoin to bo
powerful plenty this season.
"0," replied Tom Coker, "I never beam
tell of the likes -before. - The whole woods is
lined with 'cm. If skins is only a good price
this season, I'll be worth somethm in the_
Spring, 'sure's yOu live, for I've jest got one
of the best coon dogs in all Illinoy."
" You say you never hearn tell o' the like
o' the coons ? • put in Major Brown, an old
veteran who - had. been chewing his tobacco in
silence for the last half hour. "Why, if you'd
a come here forty years ago; like-I did, you'd
a thought that wa,s coonSl I jest tell .you
boys, you couldn't go amiss for 'cm. We
hardly ever • thought of peSterin 'ern much,
for their skins wernt worth a darn wit us—
that-is, we couldn't get enough for 'em to pay
us for the trouble of skinnin.
" I recollect one day I went out a bee-hun-
Wal, arter I'd lumbered about a good
while, got kinder tired, and so I leaned agin
an old tree to rest. Lhadn't much more'n
leaned .up afore somethin' give me one of the
allaredist nips about the seat o' my britches,
I ever got in my life. I jumped about a rod.
and In a runnin, and kept on a runnin for
over a hundred yards ; when think, sez I, its
no use running and I'm snake bit, bitt run
nin won't do enny - good. So I jest stopt and
proceeded to examine the wound. I soon
seed it was no snake bite, for thar's a blood
blister pinched on me about six inches long.
" Think," sez I, "that rather. gits me.—
What in the very deuce could it a bin ? Ar
ter, thinkin' about it awhile, I concluded to
back and look for the critter just for the cu
riosity o' the thing. I went back to the tree,
and.poked the weeds and stuff about; but
darn the thing could I see. Purty soon I sees
the tree has a split a runnin' along up it, and
so I gits tp lookin' at that. Directly I sees
the split open about -.half an inch, and then'
shet up agin ; .then I sees it open and shet,
and ,open shot, right along as regular as a
clock a tickin'. •
"Think," sez I " what in all creation can
this mean ? "1 know'd I'd got pinched in
the split tree, but what in the thunder stas
makin' it do it ? At first, I felt orfully
scared, and thought it must be somethin'
dreadful ; and then agin I thought itAnonn't.
Next I thought about haunts and ghosts; and
about runnin' home And sayin' nothin' about:
it; and then I thought it couldn't be curly on
'em for I'd. never heard o' them pesterin' a
feller right in open daylight: At last the
true blood of my ancestors riz up my veins,
and told me it ad be cowardly for me'to go
home, and not find out what it was.; so I
lumbered for my axe, and swore I'd find out
all about it, or blow up. When I got back;
I let into the tree like blazes, and patty soon
it cum down and smashed into fiinders==and
what do you think ? Why; it Ira:9.ml - rimed
and jammed smack full of coons-from top to
bottom. Yes, sir, - they's - jammed in' so close
that every time they breathed, they made
the split open."
pur Creed.
We believe in small farms and a tbotougli
cultivation.
We believe that soil loves to eat, as well
as its owner, and ought, therefore to be Ina
nured.
We believe in large crops whicli leave the
land better than they found it—making the
farmer and the farm rich at once.
We believe -in going to the bottom. of
things, and, therefore, in deep' plowing, and
enough of it. All the better if with a sub , -
soil plow.
We believe that every farm should own a;
(rood farmer.
hood farmer.
believe that the best fertilizer of any
soil, is a spirit of industry, enterprise and in
telligence—without this, lime and gypsum,
bones and green manure, marl and guano;
will be of little use.
We believe in_ good fences, good barns,
good-farm-houses, good stock, good orchards,
and children enough to gather the fruit.
We believe in a clean kitchen, "a neat wife
in it, a spinning-piano, ,a clean cubboard,
clean_ dairy, .:and a clean conscience.
We firmly disbelieve in farmers that will
not improve ; in farms that grow poorer every
year; in starving cattle; in farmers' boys
turning into clerks
,and merchants; in far
mers' daughters unwilling to work, dad din all farmers ashamed of their vocation, or who,
drink whiskey till honest people are ashamed
of them.—lienry Ward Beecher.
The "price paid for a good newspaper
is like seed sown in the ground---it brings
back a thousand fold in value." Thus- re
marks one who has evidently - investigated
the matter: Some people,. however, .do not
believe it. They think .a dollar and ti half or
two dollars a year, paid for a - paper ; is just
so much paid for a prima necessity. A fam
ily -without newspapers—children brought up
ignorant of the "world:and its vast concerns'
is a family where the light of this "full or
bed" century has not yet penetrated. _ Would
it not he well for such families to be , pointed
out to the missionary, as proper subjects for
their benevolent labors ? •
• 'Ion) Orr.—A poet we wot of, goes on driv
irtg his sense of attachment into the heart of
his loved one by the following tremendous
motive power : "I took a reed and Wrote upon
the sand, 'Agnes, I love thee;' but the wick::
ed waves came rolling o'er the sweet confes
sion and blotted itout ! Fragile reed! change
able sand! rolling waves! I trust ye no more;
but, with a mighty hand, from Norway's for
ests I tear the loftiest pine, and dip it in the
boiling crater of Mount .Etna,' and with- the
flames dripping from the giant pen, I write
upon the blue empyrean of heaven, 'Agnes;
I love thee "
Major Brown's Coo.n Story.