TERMS OF THE GLOBE. Per annum in advance Six months Three months A failure to notify a discontinuance at the expiriation of the term subscribed for will be considered a new engage ment. TERMS OF ADVERTISING. 1 insertion. 2 do. 3 do. Four linos or less,— $ 25 $ 37 1 4 $ 50 One square, (12 liues,) 50 75 1 00 Two squares, 1 00 1 50 2 00 Three squares, Over three - week and less than three months, 25 cents per square for each insertion. Six lines or A, One square,.... Two squares,.. Three squares, Four squares,.. Half a column, Ono c01umn,.... Professional and Business Cards not exceeding four lines, one year, $3 00 Administrators' and Executors' Notices, Advertisements not marked with the number of inser tions desirtl, will be continued till forbid and charged ac cording to these terms. 'Jett Jnetr . Ve find the following beautiful poem in' a late number of the "Waverley Magazine." It was written by a young law student of this THE vic , rrttrs ItESOLUTION. Whilst my.spirit, sad and blighted, And a heart almost benighted, Brood, d, by my taper, lighted, O'er that blighting curse of youth— O'er the WINE that almost made mo Think that life would soon evade me, Like the friends who had betrayed me, For the sin they taught, forsooth— Sin my waywardness had led me Cherish, and successful wed me— Wed me to a licit in youth ! Ali! saw-1 saw so plainly The first cup and oh! how vainly Did I strive. and strived •I sanely, To avert that first dire sup. But the fate that placed me here thus, With its blandishments to cheer thus, Whispered, whispered in my ear, thus, '• Swallow! drink it! drink it up!" Thus invited, thus appealed to, With no Future dark revealed to My blind sight, I drank the cup! hater still 7 saw—how keenly! Moments spent before serenely Few had grown, alas! unseemly To the gaze of men more pure. el I halted not, nor listened 'To the tearful eyes that glisten-el Volumes, whilst they still were moistened, That a youth so premature Thus should throw away his brightness, And of fears make mocking lightness While the Demon's work was sure. Time sped on, and Time it bound me, And the wine its spectres round me Threw, until the Demon found me Waking to a 'woeful truth— Truth that like a very earthquake Pierced my soul through. made my frame ~hake Like the tempest 'mem; the canebrake, Or the storms of iLdb forsooth! Ah! the SiCiCrICS.3 and the sorrow That would rv,t, begone the morrow, On the morrow of my youth! Now, my taper growing dimmer, Threw a sickly. ghostly glimmer, (Fur I watched those fainting freaks well.) (For my paper and the wall ; Then the present and the morrow Rushed upon me but to harrow; With a load of blighting sorrow My sick spirit to enthrall. Then. Ilelzhar.zar-like, I wandered, And Belzhazzardike 1 pondered, O'er the chadows on the wall. No interpreter revealed then: : No mysterious thing had sealed them; I, myself. so well could read them That I sought no other aid. Each ono spoke a separate mes-a!re; Each one bore a separate presage; _VI re-called to Inc a le-s; nee Buticet~,unat tom; Erth:Lo_mww•-*- - a v ith x t . . And ally iriends 'gall to deplore me, Thus each separate bilatlO "Youth; thy innocence bath left thee•; Alcohol it \Va., bz.reft thee Of thy pure and pristine glory,. And thy many Yirtneq stole! Wine it was that caused thy mother And thy hoping. anxious brother, • With their tears almost to smother Out your Boarded wretched scud ! 0! for their sakes, show them quickly, Though thy effort be but weakly. Thou cutest quit the daeLeing bowl!" “Friends who once did flock around thee. Friends who willing would have crowned thee, With a wreath of purest laurels, Crowned thy broad and not All have fled—yea, all have fled thee; 'Willing hands that would have led thee, Now avoid, as though they dread thee, Dread a youth as proud as thuu. Then, for thy sake—thou ca nst do it— Break the charm that binds thee to it; Crush the bowl, oh! do it now! "Fair, expectant faces met thee, Nothing had they to regret thee; All their hearts could wish thou vast then— Glory was within thy grasp. But that Demon, cursed forever, Took the sway and thus did sever Moments that can conic back never, hopes thou wert about to clasp! 0! forsake the howl—forsake it, Nevermore thy lips partake it, For it stingeth like an asp!" Then forever, cried I, starting, Let this be our final parting, Nor again come with thy sinarting To my sad and wounded heart! Ilere's my vow—great God, record it ! Angels write it as I word it! WINE, I hate it—curse, discard it! Front it 7IMV forever part! Hear my vow, great Gad, I feel it; Angels, with thy tears, oh! seal it— Shield me from the Demon's dart I Ali 1 too well I know the 01,11. Of that hydra-headed devil! new be puts man on a level With the filthiest of brute -IJow he's wreathed with smiling flowers, How ambrosial ttre his showers, And how swiftly fly his hours, But how bitter is his fruit ! lklay he yet be swiftly hurried Into hell and deeply buried, There, forevermore to rot! Queer Employment We heard -a pretty good story the other day,-which we think merits a, wider circula tion than it has yet got. The story runs that some honest faced Hoosier went into a fancy store in Cincinnati, in hunt of a situation: The proprietor, or head clerk, was sitting in the counting room, with his feet elevated, contemplating human life through the soften ing influence of cigar smoke. Our Hoosier friend addressed him modest ly, as follows : " Do you want to hire a hand about your establishment ?" The clerk looked up indifferently, but see ing his customer, concluded to have a little fun out of him, so he answered very briskly, at the same time pulling out a large and costly handkerchief, and blowing his nose on it. "Yes, sir; whftt sort of a situation do you want ?" "Well, I'm not particular. I'm out of work, and almost anything R•i11 do me for awhile." " Yes, I can give you a situation if it will suit you." "What is it? What's to be done, and what do you give ?" " Well, I want bands to chew rags into paper, apd if you are willing to set in you may begin at once." " Good as wheat I Hand over your rags." " Here, take this handkerchief and com mence with it." The Hoosier saw the " sell," and quietly putting the handkerchief into' his pocket, re marked, as he turned to go out : " When I get i t chawed, stranger, fetch it back !" 1 50 EEO 3 months. 6 months. 12 months. ...$1 50 - $3 00 $5 00 3 00 5 00 7 00 5 00 B 00 10 00 7 00 10 00 15 00 9 00 13 00 12 00 16 00 20 00 30 00 $1 50 3 00 WILLIAM LEWIS, .20 00 24 00 .50 00 VOL. XV. IDE a .cJtct -:.t.u.ty. WORTH VERSUS WEALTH "What an elegant girl !" This was the inward exclamation of Harry Stephens, as a gaily dressed young lady pas sed by his office window, one balmy May morning. Very gracefully was the mantilla folded about her pretty person,.and very grace fully and daintily her light feet pressed the gravelled sidewalk ; yet there was an air of haughtiness in the carriage of her head, and in the flash of her cold blue eyes, which was not quite so pleasant to the searching glance of the young lawyer. He had spoken truly. Helen Fowler was an elegant girl, in face, form and mind ; but, as often happens; that meagre word elegant described her thoroughly. Underneath her calm elegmce there was nothing deeper— nothing to be unfolded, flower-like bythe sun shine of friendship or love. Her education was elegant, not varied nor profound. She could speak the French language excellently, she could dance enchantingly, and playgrace fully all the fashionable music of the day.— In manners she was faultless; in conversation the quickness of her wit generally concealed the shallowness of her brain. He'r brain was shallow, and her heart, too ; yet she was an elegant girl, and the only daughter of the richest man in the flourishing village of Wes ton. She had scarcely turned the corner, when another young form appeared,Yand another light footstep sounded beneath Harry's win dow. But this - .figure, though dressed with neatness and grace, was not so airily robed as that of the heiress who had preceded• her, nor did she bear herself with such an air of conscious beauty. But just as she passed the window she looked up, and eyes of such deep, rare loveliness met Harry's earnest gaze, that his book fell from his grasp unheeded, and he watched her retreating form until she was out of sight. "Helen Fowler is certainly an elegant girl," he said, as lie paced up and down his office floor, "hut Agnes Bryan is something more. Helen is rich, proud and graceful ; Agnes is poor in worldly wealth, simple in manners, yet rich in graces of the heart and intellect. Helen would shine in the loftiest station to which I could ever attain ; Agnes would be a household angel to the rich m nor the poor man. At wlioh '4liiine shall 1 bow—that of wealt!! or vs- ?"t. • questi m, will inform :Ile ;Tatter that Hen ry Stephens had lately located himself in Weston; and being now established in busi- ness, and able to have - a home of his own, he was looking about him in search of a wife. Two only of the village girls had yet found a favored place in his thoughts—though, if the truth were told, a great many were-ready to smile upon him. These two, Helen Fowler and Agnes Bryan, he had met several times at the social gatherings of the village, and he admired both. He had called once at the house of each, when he was charmed by the animation and wit of one, and by the unaf fected sweetness of the other. Both received him graciously, for in the eyes of both he had found favor. Though one acknowledged this to herself boldly, the other felt the admiration which she would not confess. Helen liked him because he belonged to an aristocratic family, and possessed a pleasing and polished manner; Agnes, in listening to his eloquent and varied conversation, had discovered that there was a chord in his soul and in hers which vibrated to one and the same harmony. After both graceful forms had disappear ed, Harry suddenly remembered that he was invited to a social party that evening, where he would undoubtedly meet the two who had lately occupied solarge a space in his thoughts ; for Helen Fowler being the belle of the vil lage, Was always invited, and he knew that Mrs. Temple who gave the party, was a warm friend to Agnes. "I will choose to-night," said he, whether I shall offer my suit at the feet of the beauti ful heiress, or at the heart of the lowly but lovely music teacher." At night, if Harry Stephens had been gif ted with a pair of magic spectacles, making brick walls and closed hlinds transparent be might have seen Helen Fowler in her dres sing room, standing irresolute amid a profu sion of silks, laces and jewelry. From one rich robe she turned to another, saying softly to herself: "I wish I knew which are his favorite col ors. I thought he looked admiringly at this purple ; blue is more becoming. I must look as beautiful as I can to-night, for when we were at Mrs. Gray's he actually talked an hour with that nobody, Agnes Bryan." . And with the• same magic glasses, Harry might have seen Agnes Bryan giving the last music lesson . of the day to a stupid pupil, who either could not or would not understand the spirit of a simple waltz which she was prac ticing, but persisted in drumminn. b it forth as if it were a march for the battle field. But at last the tried pupil was dismissed, and Agnes, weary, but light-hearted, went to pre pare for the party. "When you are ready, come and read to me a said her invalid mother. "I will," replied Agnes, cheerfully ; "you know it never takes me long to dress." And in a few moments she came down, dressed in a delicate flesh colored muslin, her dark hair falling in simple ringlets, requiring neither wreath nor gem to enhance her quite loveliness. "I hope that he will be there," was the thought that flitted through her mind as she took up a book and began to read aloud. When Harry entered Mrs. Temple's parlor, he found Helen already there, and looking more brilliant than he had ever seen her be fore. The glances of her bright eyes quickly attracted him to her, and for a whole hour he yielded himself to the spell of her fascinations. She was beginning to think her triumph sure, when Harry, on turning suddenly, met the clear soft glance of Agnes Bryan's dark eyes. He bowed smilingly, and by an irresistible impulse would have approached, but a quick word from Helen chained hint again. " Do you know Miss Bryan ?" he asked af- , "4- ter listening a few moments to her gay sallies, which had suddenly grown stupid. " Miss Bryan ?" she repeated. "No, I believe she gives music lessons to my little brother, but I have no acquaintance with her." " There is a great deal of character in her face," he continued. " Indeed ! Do you think so ?" said the proud beauty, with a slight, very slight look of scorn at the object of their conversation. " Shs makes a very good music teacher, I am told." The tone and look had met escaped the quick observation of Harry, and he went on rather roguishly "And do you not know that it takes quali ties of a very high order to make a music teacher.? There must be patience, quickness of perception, firmness, enthusiasm for the art; all these ,I can discover in Miss Bryan's face. Do you not see firmness in her well formed mouth, enthusiasm in her large "0, do not go on, Mr. Stephens!" said Helen, interrupting him with a forced laugh. " I am no physiognomist. But you were asking me to play something, a little while ago: I have- just remembered something which I' am sure you will like." She seated herself , at the instrument, and as her white fingers glanced over" the- keys, he could not help smiling at her jealousy of Agnes. In the meantime, Agnes drew near, and stood a quiet listener, with the group which now surrounded the piano. Helen played with brilliancy and almost faultless grace of execution ; but Harry looked in vain for that enthusiasm which he had predicted in the calm'eyes of Agnes Bryan. She felt that he did. not perceive until a few minutes later, that Helen played as well as one could, who had not soul enough to comprehend more than the mechanical part of music. "Miss Bryan, you must favor us now," he said, when Helen, looking quite radiant with the consciousness of the admiration she must have excited, rose from the piano. Agnes hesitated a single moment, then blushing, seated herself at the instrument. What a, touch succeeded the rattle and dash of Miss Fowler's performance The very fragrance of music breathed through the silent room, for, as the first low, floating accents melted again to liquid flowing har mony, and stillness fell over all, and they listened with hushed hearts to the voice of the trae melody. Harry felt the difference ?;_. 4-tv.i. _an djel t .2 • lying deep down in the character of both. She rose quietly, and before he could thank her, she had glided away. He paused a mo ment seeking her with his eyes, and then the ringing voice of Helen called him to another part of the room. " We are talking about a woman's rights. I don't believe in them. I don't think it be longs to women to earn money," she said, gaily. "Do you, Mr. Stephens?" " I think she has a perfect right to earn it, if she needs it," he replied ; " and I must confess, I prefer to seo young ladies who -are not wealthy, engaged in some profitable em ployment, rather than living idly at home:: " Oh, it does not look weir!" said she, toss ing her pretty head. "I prefer to see them contented with their lot, for it looks avari cious in a woman to earn money." "Is there avarice in trying to help oneself, rather than to be a burden ?" asked Agnes Bryan, who, unseen by Harry, had stood near, and whom these cold words had stung, perhaps not unintentionally. "Is there ava rice in choosing industry and independence to idleness and want ?" Miss Fowler's eyes flashed for a moment haughtily on Agnes, but Harry prevented her from replying. "I agree with Miss Bryan," said he.— " The true object of life, both to male and female, is improvement, and we all know that this is never to be gained by idleness." " Perhaps Miss Bryan would not only wish to work with the men, but to vote with them?" said Helen. "No," said Agnes, answering the sarcas tic tone with one of calm sweetness, " I think that a true woman's influence is worth more than her vote." Helen answered only with a look of dis dain, and she turned haughtily away, leav ing the argument unfinished. Harry's first impulse was to follow her, but he paused.— In that moment of his indecision two pic tures rose vividly before his imagination.— One was a home made splendid by the pres ence and the wealth of an heiress; a home of fashion and brilliancy. The reigning queen of all this magnificence was an elegant woman, an ornament on the table and in the drawing-room of her house—a star in the so ciety which flutte*-admiringly around her. The picture dazzled, but he turned away, and turning, saw another vision. He saw a home with a fireside in it—with a deep, holy, quiet heart, reigning and diffu sing brightness there. Tie saw a noble, wo manly-mind, unfolding into more perfect richness, year after year, and a spirit blend ing more and more harmoniously with his own. Fate held before him, in that moment; a golden bubble and a pure pearl, and whis pored, "Which shall I give you—wealth or worth ?" Good angels helped him, and he chose the peril. Years after, I saw Harry in his borne, and found his vision more than realized. He bad risen to eminence in the city to which ho had removed, but Agnes was still the flower of his home and his heart. DES.- "I wish I was a ghost, blamed if I don't," said a poor covy, the other night, as ho was soliloquizing in the cold. "They goes wherever they please, toll free ; they don't owe nobody nothin', and that's comfort.— Who ever heard tell of a man who had a bill against a ghost. Nobody. They never buy hats and - vitals, nor has to saw wood nor run arrants, as I do." AEU-. We have never yet met with the man, woman or child too degraded for the voice of kindness to reach the heart and to lead to confession of guilt, and desire for amendment. -PERSEVERE.-- HUNTINGDON, PA., AUGUST 24, 1859 k Arkinsaw 'Wonders Arkinsaw "'Seats the world for black bars, putty wimmin, and big timber. Stranger, I've seen trees there that would take a man a week to walk round 'ern. A fellow started once to walk through one that was hollow.— lle take any vittels with him and he starved on his way. I was goin' up tie Mississippi once, in One of them country boats, when we met a big Arkinsaw cypress floating down. I tell you, stranger, it was a whopper. The Cappen run his boat 'long side, and fastened the rope to it. Off she started, snortin' and puffin , but, didn't budge a peg. The Cappen ripped around and hollowed out "fire up below there you lubberly rascals." The wheel clattered away, and the blaze rolled out of the chim ney, but the log was actually carryin' us down stream. Directly up comes a feller in a red shirt, and says he— " Cappen, you are strainin' the engine mitily." " Cut loose and let her go then," says the Cappen. When they cut the ropes, dod burn me, stranger, if the boat didn't jump . clear outer the water. We run a little ways, but the engine was rely so exhausted, that we had just to stop. Nearly day, there comes along a fine steamer, we hailed her, got aboard, and there was that same log hitched along side. We wooded offo' that cypress all the way to Memphis. Black bars are bigger, plcntier and more cunnin' in Arkinsaw, than anywhere else.— The he's have a way of standin' on their hind legs and makin' a mark with their paws on the bark of some certain trees, generally sassafras. It's a kind a reckord they keep, and I 'spose it's a groat satisfaction to an old he bar to have the highest mark on the tree. I war layin' hid one day close to the tree wiiere the bar wur in the habit of makin' their mark, waitin' for one of 'em to come along, for I tell you, I was mity hungry for bar meat. Pirectly I heard a noise close to me, and lookin around, dad burn me, stranger, of thar wasn't a small bar walkin straight on his hind legs, with a big chunk in his arms. I could o' shot him easy, but I was mighty cu rious to see what lie was gain to do with that tlor chunk. lie carried it right to the tree wh -23 the marks were, stood it on the end against it, and then gitten on the top of it rea !had away up t . 113 tree, and math; a big f2.:1,14F- , got down, moved the chunk away Ofifrom tree, and you never seen such 'caperin as he cut up. lle looked up at his mark, and then he would lay down and roll over in the leaves, laughing out-right, just like a person ; no doubt tickled at the way somebody would be fooled. There was somethin so human about it that I actually hadn't the heart to shoot him. Just to show you how cunniu bars are, I'll tell you a circumstance what happened to me up in Arkinsaw. You see, one fall before I gathered my corn, I kept missin it outer the field, and I knew the bars were taken it, for I could see their tracks. But what seemed mighty curious, I never could find whar they eat it—nary cob nowhar about. One mornin airly I happened around the field, and there I saw an old she bar and two cubs just come outer the patch, welkin' off with their arms full o' corn. I was determined to find out what they did with so much corn, and fuller ed along after '•em without makin any noise. Well, after goin nearly a mile I saw 'ern stop, and—stranger, what do you think—thar wur a pen full o' hogs, and the bars were feedin 'em. You see that fall the hogs were so poor, on account of havin no mast, that the bars had actually built a rail pen, got hogs in it, and were fattenin 'em with the corn. Dod burn' my hat of it ain't a fact." More Wonderful than Mammoth Cave. Dr. D. L. Talbot, in commencing a series of articles for the Fort Wayne Times in re: Bard to the Wyandotte Cave, makes the fol lowing comparison between Wyandotte and Mammoth Caves :—Wyandotte Cave, one of the most extensive and remarkable in the world, is situated in Crawford county, Indi ana, about twenty-five miles below New Al bany, on Blue River. I have called it a re markable cave. The Mammoth Cave of Icen tacky has hitherto been designated as the greatest known cave in the ,world. It may startle your scientific readers to bear me as sert the fact, that there is one stalagmite alone in Wyandotte Cave more massive than all the stalagmites and stalactites in Mammoth Cave put together. This cave I have survey ed and mapped a distance of twenty miles in length, and there are numerous avenues. I have never penetrated to their end, although I have visited the cave for scientific and other purposes, over a dozen different times, spend ing on one visit four days and nights within its darksorne halls. The Mammoth Cave is distinguished more for its vastness than its beauty ; the Wyandotte for its great extent, its Mammoth hall, its lofty ceiling, reaching frequently to the height of 267 feet, and es pecially for its numerous and natural foun tains, which almost continually meet the eye in every direction. A portion of this cave has been known and visited for over forty years. This portion is about three miles in length, and is termed the Old Cave. In 1850 a new door from within the old cave was dis covered, which extended the caves united to about twelve miles in. extent. In 1853, a still newer discovery of ingress was acciden tally made, which has added eight or ten miles thereto, and disclosed a plan of formation more extensive and more beautiful than here tofore known. The cave contains every kind of formation peculiar to the Mammoth and other caves, besides some very peculiar and unique formations found only in Wyandotte Cave. ECT° We may as well attempt to bring pleasure out of pain, as to unite indulgence in sin with the enjoyment of happiness. He who seldom thinks of heaven is not likely to get there ; as the way to hit a mark is to keep the eye fixed upon it. N .',..' 1011:;:-.:..- ~ , 1,4-,..-: • - ,6,: 1 I 1 oL's7. - 4 1 , / (4,14. • N.- - 4,- Can any one tell how it is, that during these hard times, when every merchant, manufacturer and mechanic is doing his utmost to keep his nose above water, our nu merous drinking saloons are well sustained, and even new ones starting ? Can any one tell why men, who absolutely cannot pay small bills, can always find plenty of money to buy liquor and treat when hap pening among friends ? Can any one tell how young men who dodge their washer woman and are always behind with their landlords, can play bil liards day and night, and are always ready for a game of " poker" or " seven-up ?" Can any one tell how lawyers who have no cases, and doctors who have no practice, manage to make the ends meet, or meet the ends ? Can any one tell how men live and sup port their families, who have no income and do not work, and-why others who arc indus trious, and constantly employed, half starve? Can any one tell how it is that a man who is too poor to pay three cents a week for a good weekly paper, is able to pay fifteen cents a- day for tobacco and cigars, to say nothing of an occasional drink? Can any one tell what interest we have in asking these questions which we know no one can answer? THE' PLEASURES OF LABOR.—There is a false notion in the world respecting employment. Thousands imagine that, if they could live in idleness, they would be perfectly happy. This is a great mistake. Every industrious man and woman knows that nothing is as tiresome as being unemployed. During some seasons of the year we have holidays, and it is pleasing on these occasions to see the op erative enjoy himself; but we have generally found that, after two or three days' recrea tion the diligent mechanic or - laborer be comes quite unhappy. Often he sighs over the wretchedness of being idle. The foot is, we are made to labor; and our health, comfort and happiness depend upon our exertion.— Whether we look at our bodies or examine our minds, everything tells us that our Crea tor intended that we should be active. Hands, feet, eyes, and mental powers show that we were born to be busy. If we had been made to be idle a very large portion of our bodily and mental faculties would be redundant. -( ! (1 ;_, r In writing on the cultivation of wheat, we are oppressed with the conviction of the ut ter impossibility of giving specific directions adapted to the various soils and circumstan ces of our numerous readers. We can dis cuss only general principles, leaving their ap plication to the common sense and experience of intelligent farmers. It is, too, impossible to disconnect the cul tivation of wheat from the cultivation of oth er crops. Wheat can be grown on some soils year after year, without any intervening crop. But while we must abandon the old idea of the absolute necessity of rotation of crops, there is abundant evidence of its importance in in creasing the productiveness of the soil ;—in fact, in the present state of agricultural sci ence, much of our success depends on judi cious rotation. We are too apt to forget the influence of any particular crop and its effect on such crops as arc to follow. For instance, a crop of timothy hay may yield considerable immediate profit, while a crop of clover, de pastured by sheep, may. yield very little if any direct return ' • yet, taking into considera tion the effect on the following crops, the clo ver may be the most profitable in the end: Wheat on many farms is the nmin drop— the cream—the flower—the ultimate aim of the farmer. All his operations hear on this one object. We cannot isolate wheat culture, and give a good article on the suidect, with out taking into consideration other farming operations. In anew country, where the soil abounds in the food of wheat, we may turn up the rich earth and scatter the seed, anti cipating a good return of the "staff of life ;" but as agricultOre advances, its operations become more and more complex, and he who would become a successful wheat grower must enrich the soil—must grow crops which im poverish the soil bnt little, and which, when fed to animals, produce rich manure. The direct application of manure to wheat is riot generally advisable in this country ; it is apt to produce too much straw. It is - better to manure preceding crops, or at least apply the manure so that it will be thoroughly de composed and incorporated with the soil.— Or perhaps we shall better convey our mean ing by saying that it should be so applied that 'the soil will have time to digest it, to render it part and parcel of the soil itself., It may thus not only furnish proper food for the plants, but also aid in developing the el ements lying latent in the soil. • Summer-fal lows and lime have probably this effect to a considerable extent, In this section, since the advent of the midge, the principle aim of the wheat grower is to get an early crop. It is now generally admitted that if we could get our wheat from five to ten days earlier, we should pretty much escape the injurious attacks of the midge and mildew. To do this, we must make the soil rich in appropriate food, sow early and of early varieties, and avoid all low, late land, and such as is not naturally or artificially un derdrained. Sow a less breadth of land, and expend more care and labor in its prepara tion. In England, wheat is generally sown on clover sod plowed up just previous to sowing. Here the practice does not answer. Wheat is sown much earlier here than in England, and pasture land turned up and sown imme diately is generally so dry. that the seed fails to germinate. It is foiind, too t that in this way the wheat is smothered with grass and weeds, the next summer. We must prepare a good seed-bed, or what old JETHRO Teta, quaintly termed a good pasture for the plants to feed in. The soil must be made mellow and moist by the free use of the plow or cul Editor and Proprietor. Can Any One Tell ? Cultivation of Wheat tivator. On heavy soils, there is no better preparation for wheat than a good. sunpner, fallow Wheat likes a firm, compact soil ; and if left somewhat rough and cloddy, it is none the worse. It is easy to make the surface too fine and smooth for wheat, The best English wheat growers seldom plow deep for wheat. This may arise from the fact that they usual, ly manure their wheat, or else feed ,off the previous crop of clover with fattening sheep, which not unfrequently have a pound of oil cake per head each day. It is not consider ed desirable to bury this manure to deep.—. We have seen a crop of wheat that would av, erage forty-five bushels per acre obtained fronx a clover sod so treated that was not plowed more than three inches deep. The method adopted is to plow deep, in the autumn, for turnips, once in four years '• but not to plow deep either for wheat or barley. There may be exceptions to. this, but such is the rule. We cannot too frequently repeat the incon= trovertible fact that freedom from stagnant water is an indispensable condition of a good wheat soil. If the laud is wet, cold and sour, a good crop of wheat, however well it may have been put in, need not be expected. If you must sow such land, plow it into, high narrow ridges—say twelve feet wide—with a gentle slope from the crown to the dead fur row on each side, so that the surface water can readily pass off. Harrow lengthwise, and form open drains through the lowest parts, to carry off the water. On more porous or gravelly soils, the ridges may be wider and flatter ; but it is always advisable to clean out the furrows with a plow after sowing, so that the water can pass off more readily. How seldom do we see a wheat field on which the water does not lie on some portions, present ing a sheet of ice during the winter and ear ly spring, and bare spots or light and late, crops in the summer, but which might easily be removed by a few surface drains. If you cannot afford to underdrain, do not_ neglect at least surface drainage. True; it is very in, adequate, but it is better than nothing, In regard to the .time of-sowing ; there is much difference of opinion. If we sow too early, there is increased danger from the a- tacks of the Hessian fly, which deposits its egg on the - young 'plants in: the fall ; and if we sow late, the probability is that the midge (which deposits its eggs in the grain when in flower) will destroy it. Five years ago, in this section, many farmers sowed their wheat the last week in August, and it was much in- NO, 9. jured -by the Hessian fly. From the Ist to the 10th of September is now considered the safest time. As we go south, the. wheat is sown later. A recent writer in the ralley Fanner, recommends sowing a strip of one or two acres of wheat about the middle of August, so as to be well advanced when the bulk of the crop is to he sown, and then turn ing this strip under with the plow after the rest is sown, and re-sowing it immediately. We have always been in favor of rather thick seeding. A few years since, _Hewitt Davis and oilier English writers contended that by dibbling in the seed a foot apart, one peck to the acre was amply sufficient.— That good crops were obtained in this way, there can he doubt; but still it was found that those who practiced such thin seeding frequently had sevehd acres where the crop, was destroyed or much injured. I' We do not need - to sow as thickly in this country as in England, owing perhaps to the. goit'f 67 ; Vat 1,71 d R -yod 1243r.e. \V must more than would be absolutely necessary pro vided everything was favorable, in order to. insure plants enough under all circumstances, whether favorable or otherwise. Is it not true, too, that wheat thin on the ground is apt to be to late ? In this section we should not sow less than two bushels per acre broad cast, or one and three-fourths bushels with. the drill In regard to drilling, we do not think the advantages are so decided or so numerous as is generally claimed. A standard English author, arid a practical farmer of great expe rience, asserts that unless wheat is hoed there is little, if any advantage in sowinc , it in drills. This may be so in England ; ,but in this country, where we have not unfrequent ly very dry weather about the time wheat is sown, there is one advantage in drilling which should not be overlooked—it deposits the seed evenly and below the dry surface soil, and thus insures immediate and more regular germination. There are no better wheat growers in the United States than John Johnston and Robert J. Swan, of Seneca county, N. Y. Their farms adjoin are both thoroughly underdrained ; both sumnor-fal lowed in the best manner. In 1856, a drouth set in at the time of wheat sowing, in Sep tember. Nr. Swan sowed his wheat drill; Mr. Johnston, broadcast. Mr. Swan's. drilled wheat came up thickly, and grew lux urihntly, while Mr. Johnston's was thin, and he found that "none of the seed vegetated except that deepest in the ground ;" and he is of the opinion that bad he sown with the drill, he would have gained, "in all proba bility, .500 or 000 bushels of wheat." This, from such a man, is strong testimony in favor of drilling—when the soil is dry at the time of sowing. John Johnston finds that a. barrel of salt per acrd has a decidedly good effect on wheat on his soil—increasing the growth and the early maturity of the crop. The good effect of the salt is probably owing to its increas ing the solubility of the double silicate of alumina and ammonia in the soil; and of course the salt would have little effect on such poor soils as do not contain this or sim- ilar substances. It does not follow, there fore, that salt will in all cases be benc- fiend on wheat. But it can do no harm, and every farmer might readily test the matter for himself. Mr. J. sowed the salt at the time of - seeding, but agrees with us in think ing that if sown earlier it would be better.— Genesee Farmer. PIGS AND PIG TROUGHS.-W. J. Pe ttec says, in the Boston, Cultivator: "If pigs are troublesome, by getting into the trough and thus rendering their food unpalatable, a rem edy is found in nailing slats an inch wide across the trough, leaving a space of from four to six inches, according to the si7.e of the animal. This will be found to have the desired effect, and also will do away with the crowding and fighting so common among pigs when eating." Mirxrca rN SirmccE.—At the Farmers? Club at West-Cornwall, Connecticut, one of the members observed that no talking should be allowed while milking was going on.— Another said he had discharged a man be- cause he would talk and interrupt the milk ing in his dairy, and in three days the in 7 crease of milk was equal to the man's wage?. Many facts go to prove, or at least to render it probable, that there is nothing new which has once been told. IkZ'-If virtue is its own reward there will be persons who will have little enough.
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