4’dl. VOL. 52. w-sissl: antsy”*" 1 VOLUNTEER, • ** EVERY THURSDAY MORNING BY %V v >/ : JOHN B. BRATTON. - •!' \ ' TERMS: rn9Cßll ' Tl o N *—^* wo Dollars if paid within tho i °dd Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not paid tho year. These terms will bo rigidly -ad- to in every instance. No i’‘iVdoliMnuod until all nrreprages are paid unless at of tho Editor. , , —Accompanied 6y thocAsn, and 1 ■ -not’)Receding one will bo inserted three '.for $2.00. (vnd twenty-five cents foT each 'Additional insertion. Those of a greater length, io . , W^Piuktixg—*•&««?> as Hfmd-bilte,posting-bills - Blanks, fcAbol]?, Ac. Ac., executed with ~ f ; a sdtirapy and at tlfts Shortest notice. ■ ISMtiral. air* of mild retreating hour* , soft embracings float around, ■ pensively maturing flowers > A‘^‘fNs^ '.Her foot prints guide her burial train. iet grains of gold bo scattered o'er parked Summer's flower-lined tomb, fruits delicious, which she,boro ' ; blossoms legacies Qf June ; .spread no dark ppr r entous pall *• her vanquished lovlinoss, Nf she nourished, in their fall, crimson folds her bior to drosj. ■;:- fOTdtobor’s .plaintive broepcs sing ? O-Queen, for you, Vlr^p9® n birds have flown on-startled wing, : 1 hero Sumipor lives as though anew ! , sinking sun, cloud marshaling, those many-colored goens hind rod muses tboftco to string* : ■ THE DEATH OF SUMMER: BY EMZLY B. BENNETT. tettaaim. #ll A FATAL' MISTAKE. <) s a pretty little brown house, with ;, r windows, and fancifully carved while the green plumes of the Alian- brushed softly against the rodf„oa r 3£:trepiuiously anxious to rewind that was its golden prijpo.Atileast such impression conveyed by their unsyU x' murmur to Adrian Morley, as he came I ’ steps, and dexterously fitted his night 1 the paneled rosewood doer. ;quoth Adrian to himself, *it is r to have a home to come to when the • '* op k i»*®vor V ‘i! home-like room is what be entered. i-i&m [ra. Merely, in her delicate little eew ' with rainbow lined avalanche of i---wngfßSivroo(B about liftr, was toying-. With her tr ieedle wlnle her thoughts were far away, r a rosy, brown-eyed little®reature, ’ -S-'ilWWl l red'lips, cheeks round andsmooth be early peuchow, and silky brown hair 'VTIVV i, ;APK bYiar.J'er forehead iri .natural ripples—a L ,rwife-of;y be, but I am miserable.’ lie I Ob, Grace 1 when I should later happiness than to sit down Jr side, night after night, and list piano and look into your eyes, just i do in the courting days. You 'k it so monotonous then. Grace wile—are we less dear to each > Juried to death by this humdrum pouted Grace, ‘and some change will have 1* f ®&y oot bo for tho hotter, Grace / care whether it is or not/ JU.know-what Tory disastrous oir- tor " cumstanccs may ensue from my rioglect of business just now/ 4 That’s just what you men always nay. I don’t believe there’s a word of truth in it/ Adrian was silent for a,moment. lie stood with contracted brow, evidently considering. ‘ I am sorry 1 haven’t made a home a little more pleasant to you. Grace/ / llome/ repeated Mrs. Morely, petulantly. * Anything but a man who is always harping about home; I often wish there wasn’t any such word/ * Would it really add so much to your hap piness to spend a month at Saratoga or New port ?' 4 Oh, Adrian, I should onjoy it so much V Her eyes were Sparkling now and the soft color rope to her cfcee&. 4 Will you take me there, Adrian.?* „ . k ‘ If you insist tspan, ft—but renVembcr that I dop’t at all approve of the arrangement/ ‘Oh i’ll, assume ;&U the. responsibility/ laughed Grace merrily/ 1 And when shall we go?’ 4 When yop please/ 1 1 could be ready by Monday/:....... Al . 4 You are in a great haste to leave tout pleasant home. Grace.; I wish I could sum mon up an equal fervor of enthusiasm/ Grace put her. hand on his,shoulder, and leaned down to.peep archly into his fade. 4 What a darling, old-fashioned fellow ynq are, Adrian 1 I shall spend this summer in trying to make a modern husband of you/ 4 Do yjpu .thiqk the modern article would be preferable f.’Jjmiled Adrian’.. * Ob, infinitely I J .A n d ,now don’t talk to me; I must make out a list pf things to be purchased. Only think.- that ■, I'm really equipping for a summer at the Springs V And she clasped her hands so gleefully, that Adrian had not the heart to damp her. bright anticipations with his.own indefinite misgivings. ■* * * * * * * 4 Tho prettiest woman at tli’6 springs, by all oJda/ 4 Who is she?’ 4 Mrs. Morely, of New York. Nobody ev er hoard of her before, but she flashed into society like a meteor. The young fellows are all infatuated about her, aid not without good reason/ Grace Morley’s cheek flushed with con scious triumph, as she heard those words, half spoken, half whispered, in her stately sweep through the’long piazza from a moon light drhe with tbe most stylish cav alier at the hotel. And she did look very lovely in her dress of deep blue grenad'ne, flouting around her dike azure billow*., with a fleecy white shawl drooping from her shoul ders and the showy plume sf a jaunty little Spanish hat hanging ln«y..-ayer the rippled luxuriance of her,golden brown hull. Yes. Mrs. Morley was a belle at last! and most completely did she enjoy the intoxica ting atmo*phe r e of flattery and adulation that surrounded, her every footstep: 1 of-a-timc4iaye-you had?’ ' Adrian was lounging under tlie gaa-light. in their room with a half read volume in his lap, looking tho very victim of hupoloas eu nui. 4 jj2fh, delightful I But Adrian, how bored youjook !* ‘So more so than than I feel, I am quite certain/ 4 1 wish yoti would try and enjoy yourself a little/ * How V * Play billiards—smoke—do as other'gen tlemen do. Adrian Murley opened his book once more with a tremulousnesss yawn, as Grace began to.;unfasten her hat and brush out the disor dered masses of her luvir. To him Saratoga was nothing more or less than vanity and vexation of spirit; but for Grace’s sake he was patiently willing to be bored. * Don’t you think it is almost time to re turn home, Grace.?’ ‘Adrian, what An idea! I Tot for two weeks yet. The gayest season is yet to come/ * Two weeks !’ sighed poor Adrian. *lb is a long time/ * No time at all/ said Grace, positively ! ‘ It will soon pass/ Alas 1 had Grace Morley but dreamed of the years of anguish and despair that were to hinge Upon those.two weeksJ • As the days passed on she saw-less and less of her husband. He was no longer wear ily awaiting the coming of her footsteps from drive or walk—no longer leaning dreamily ■against the window of the ball room, watch ing her flyingfigdre as she floated by him in waltz or polka; nor did Mrs. Morley regret the gradual change. ‘ J am'do glad he has found some way of amusing Hinlself,'ihe thought. ‘lt was such a nuisance to have him every few minutes, asking if J were not-ready-to go home/ She waft returning : froni an evening stroll, ft night oft tWo subsequently in her prettiest toilette i/f blue silk and White opera cloak, with.ner little hand resting lightly on Mr. Ardenham’s arm, whdn ehd suddenly stopped close to the dense waHof shrubbery tbilt hull Concealed'the brilliant sparkle of lighted win dows and doors of a show building just on the outskirts ofitho grounds. . . *1 have dropped my dan, Mr. Ardenham ; how could I be so careless.?’ * Rest yourself & moment on this rustic seat, Mss. Morley/ said Ardenham gallant ly, “and I will go back for it in half a min ute/ j|& : . ■Frank Ardenham vowing *tbat; Mrs. Morloy’s fan was worth any degree of (trouble that.could by any possibility be be stowed upon it, and Grace waiting his return, mechanically claying with the fastening of her pale blue glove. Suddenly tbo loud, discordant tumult of voices struck upon her ear as a party of men issued from a ligh:ed door beyond the shrub bery In the moonlight she could sec their flushed faces quite plainly—and she involun tarily recoiled’further back into the shadow, although she was aware of being quite invis ible. r ■ ‘ Hush ! what’s that V said one pausing, as a loud fierce shout arose high above ths bed lam of voices within the gambling'house, for ■such Mrs. Morley knew it to be. ‘ It's only Morley/ returned another, de •liberarely biting off the end of a cigar. •* I fancy he’s pretty .well over the bay .to night/ Drunk.iis he,?’ ‘Just that—and playing as it there were an evil spirit at bis elbow. The thousands are slipping out of iris hands like quicksilver to-night.’ ' ‘ I’m very sorry, Mrs. Morley,’ said Mr. Ardenham, coming to her side a second af terward ; 1 but I cannot find the fan any where. 1 will take a second look for it to morrow.’ ‘ It—it is of no consequence,’ said Groce, in a low, strange voice. ‘ Please take me homo, Mr. Ardenham.’ And Frank Ardenham obeyed, marveling much at the sudden change that bad come over his beautiful companion’s spirits. pi~vi "OUR COUNTRY—MAY IT ALWAYS BE RIGHT—BUT RIGHT OR WRONG OUR COUNTRY/' Her adieus, in the parlor were brief enough er6 she hurried up stairs, with her feverish Blood beating like pulses of fire in her veins. She sat down, sick and trembling, under tho white glare ol the gaslight, 1 and tried to real ize the full horror of her situation. Adriaa-Morley, her husband, was a drunk ard and a gambler 1 Was.it all a dream or was it indeed true that she had waked to‘this horrible reality of grief and shame and yet live oh ? As she bowed her head on her hand with a low shivering groan, a new phantom of re morseful agony rose solemnly up before the accusing judgment seat of her open con science. 4 It has been my fault—all my own fault/ she wailed aloud. 4 lf f had rtqt torn him from the homo to which he was bo tenderly attached—if I had not kept him hereto grat ify my own individual vanity, this would never have been! 0 God I the puDiahmeut is greater than I can bear J’ , And she remembered with a sick heart the arguments she had used to win him away frpqi .home —the eagerness with which she had,Resumed all the responsibility of the change.—the very words she had spoken in her reckless folly, 4 I told him that I was miserable at home/, she thought.. * Miserable 1. If I had known tb© meaning of the word. But to-morrow I will beg him oil my bonding knees to return once more—l will tell him low foolish I have been—how triad And,perhaps we may he happy in our quiet..hortio once more. Oh lif I had never left itl’." * One, two, three I’ . . As tho little clock sharply spoke out the hour, Grace M.rlsy started to her feet. 4 What detains him so? What can keep him away from me? I will go "myself and look foV him. She drew tho white opera cloak round, her shoulders, and hurried with trembling limbs towards the door. Bat while her touch was on the handle, it swung rudely open, and a group of men came in bearing something prone .and lifeless In their midst. And Grace Morley, while all -the, blood in her veins seemed frozan into ice, knew, that she was looking into her dead husband’s face! 4 Take care of the lady—she’s fainted/ said a rude voice. 4 Doctor, you had better see to her/ But she had not fainted. White, speech less, powerless as she was, the blessed relief of insensibility had been denied the bereaved wife, she saw and heard with agonizing dis tinctness, nil that passed around her. * His wife I* said the young; surgeon, pity ingly. * I did not know that he was a married man. She should have been prepared lor this. Poor creature—poor crushed creature 1 Lay down the dead man, Somers, and come herd. He ie past help now. Call the women and*, take away that mob of staring men.' — Aa. the. pungent breath of some powerft restorative . crossed,her senses, Grace faint ed in the young surgeon's supporting arms —life and consciousness could not uphold their domain against the great billows of ag* cny.that were sweeping across her.«oal. When she came to her senses the first oto* jeot on which her eyes rested was, the kind lace of the young doctor. With a convulsive effort she strove to start-from ,her.couch., * Gently—gently/ said the young man.— 4 Lie scilil a little longer; you are. hardly strong .enough to rise yet/ ‘ fell raeT’ she gasped with colorles lips, 4 tell me all/ 4 Not yet—you will bo stronger presently/ ‘ I know it all/ she moaned. 4 He’s dead, but how/ The surg?on saw that concealment would be ’in vain:; be bent over her sofa with a pit ying gentleness. . 4 Your husband had lost everything he pos sessed at the gambling table, and in a fit of despair, partially aggravated by the influence of liquor, shot himself through the temples. Your friends have been telegraphed for, ;aud will soon arrive. In the meantime, perfect quiet is what you most need—it may avert the symptoms of brain fever that are impend in s/ Contrary to the dieter’s expectations, Grace neither soreamear nor wept, but lay si lent and voiceless as a statue. 4 She takes it easily/ thought he. Ah, could he have seen into the depth of her bro ken, crushed heart. A. few days afterwards she returned to’th* home she,had been so eager tD abandon, on ly to moiirn with the bitterest' remorse that one fntul mistake had darkened her whole existence with its baneful shadow I A New Way of Doing It —Sharpers, are prolific in inventions, some of which it must bo confessed, are very neat. Here, lor in stance, is the latest:: A day or two .ago a neatly-attired gentle man entered a drug store on Fifch street, and deposited on the counter a couple of bundles, one of which bore the appearance of contain ing diy goods, and the other very palpably a silk hat, and proceededto^electeoinearticles, guided by a penciled lidt which he took from hia ipocket. The 'bill completed, a very pret ty toilet’case attracted his attention, and af ter auhnirihg it for a moment, and asking the price, he remarked fit would make a very neat present to his sister,-and politely requested permission to show it to his mother, whom, he stated, was in the .carriage, a few num bers :abavo. ©f course-the obliging clerk consented, and tho younjjgent, leaving .hie recent unpaid for on the counter, together with bis other parcels, stepped out at the door. A reasonable length of time elapsed, but be did not return, when suspicion being aroused, the bundles were examined. One of them contained an old pair of unmention ables, tho body stuffed with shavings, and the legs wrapped over in artistic style, so ns to make, when enveloped in brown paper, quite a formidable appearance, present pric es considered. It is needless to say that tho hat package was no better, and like tho other, was worth, at a liberal estimate, about three cents a pound leas than nothing. The proprietor jotted down an entry of $2O that night in a hook marked “profit and !<>ss. It was onrthe Dr. side of.tho page.— Cincinnati Times . ■ ID” A teacher in a contraband school ask ed a young darkey what a certain letter of the alphabet was.. The darkey looked at it earnestly .for a short time, and said : “ d know dat well enough by sight, but am bress ed if I can toll it b / name.' He was told be could take the back seat. To love is painful it is true, And not love is painful too ; But, nh 1 it gives the greatest pain To love and not be loved again. ID* The people of the two cities of Pitta and Allegheny are agitating a proposition to consolidate.' CARLISLE, PA.. THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 16,1865. fFrom tho Patriot & Union.] ,4 PLEA FOR-WEEDS. Wo have have never heard of a defender of that down-trodden, much-warred against, but ever alive and prolific class of plants, known under the general term —weeds.— Although not warranted in so doing by the widespread hostility of husbandmen and gardeners the whole tribe, we have often wondered—as nothing is niade in vain— whether weeds, even, have not thcif uapa.-i We know they are a pest to tho thrifty far mer ; that their personel is unsightly, gerer aUy>; that their presence is proof of human indolence and shiftlessnoss, &o. ; but is not much of the prejudice against them due to their bravo conflict with man for their na- tural right to exMtanco and ft share of tho free earth ; are they nob unjnstljr compelled to bear the shortcomings of , indolent rn.cn, by being arbitrarily made typical, of human in dolenoe and ,wa£le-of Ijfe’fc .importunities ? Did we,not pursue, obe idea so much, and were* our battle with, the howling wolf at the door” .not ap fierce, perhaps wo could see beauty in weeds and trace an object in the vigor and persistence with which they ad here to natures unerring laws. We are not competent, botanicnlly, oroth erwiee, to set un a plausible or even respect able defence for the race .of-weeds, nor would wo dare to do so, in tho face of our far mer readers; but wo will be allowed to say a few words in mitigation of the hard lot of some, oven if the whole continue to be the symbol of idleness, ugliness and sin. We are toll that the apple, the peach, the plum, and other fruits, have been brought out of the wild bitterness and unworthiness, by'cultivation and fostering care. The lus cious and mammoth strawberries, blackber ries, &e., which the gardens produce, exhibit the influence of a proper education. Oats once grew wild, and probably others of the cereals. Cotton has been brought to perfec tion through cultivation. Tho tomato was onoe a horticultural curiosity. The tanroot ed vegetables—carrots, parsnips, rad.shos, &c., fflroro once, neglected weeds. Tobacco, though still a weed, and a very, noxious one, too, has shown What a fair chance an open field will do fora weed. Celery was. once only a fragrant encumberer of the ground.— The. almost übiquitous potato—with its end less varieties and .usefulness—at one time was only a low and insignificant bulb. . The bean was once ,n wild climbing plant, with no esculent qualities . appertaining. And thus we might go on to an almost indefinite extent, fastening a truth here, and making a very random assertion there, until we had exceeded the bounds of a very short article. Therefore wo shall say no nor'o on this point, but leave our readers to put what facts they know to what we do not know. This brings ua to another point. As ea culent and nutricious vegetables and fruits have been brought by cultivation from their _n a tLVii_w.i]ilnfias»_ai:s_tlienQ_nD t_athm!a_aaaco p~ tible of similar developement and usefulness ? Tne world of plants evidently is governed hy the same laws of progression as those ruling the world of humanity, and therefore we con clude that the moral and physical worlds are going steadily forward to perfection. This would incite us to say cultivate.but despise not the weeds. powerfu , But the main point we wish to get at wo have jet to come to. Each of the various kinds of “ noxious weeds,” against which an “.irrepressible conflict” is waged by every fplrrper, with every imaginable implement., hao its own peculiar properties—distinct from all others.., Each has within iiself a laboratory or manufactoryspecific production of .oertaiti, qdoro,. oils, juices and solids. One prodticeo a bitter principle, an other an acid, d third a pungent, a fourth a sweet, a fifth a resin, and so.on. They do not come in conflict with .each other, and there is no competition. Though all draw their raw material—earth, air and water— ftoth nature's common store-house, they each manufacture a distinct class of fluids and sol ids. We may take a mass of earth, a vol ume of air, and a measure of water, but combine and manipulate them as we may, we cannot produce the saccharine, nor the acrid, nor the acidulous principle '; nor even can wo secure a trace of the odor or aroma of the various “ pests.” It is therelore.clear ly evident that each plant has an alembic of its own, wherein are combined and distilled those fluids of which no trace can be discov ered in the material with which.it works. Is it not. possible, nay, probable, that there is a grand object in all this ?, May it nob be that the combinations of fluids, gums, and solids which are produced in these wonderful” little manufactures, and buried with their dead bodies in the earth, are intended to pre pare the soil for the existence or better pro duction of other plants .of a higher and more directly useful order? May at .not be that plants of a higher order absorb and apply the result of the weed labors—being unable of themselves to produce from the crude and undeveloped elements the delicate food re quired by them ? Arid, further than all this, may not the “ noxious weeds” draw from the atrrioftphCre many deleterious gases, prejudi cial to animal life, and may they not return to .it fife and health-giving aromas and gases. A summer morning's walk iin the fields or woods, when the dew sparkles on everything and the air is laden with a thousand fragran** cos, would almost make us believers in spite 'hostile husbandmen and dry and duuty sa vans. - (Likely we will bo assured that the tbnu sands of distinct and peculiar odors o( weeds and “ useless” plants arise and are dissipa ted in thin air ; that the fluids and serai fluids sink down and are lost in the petroleio regions ; and that the -solids dissolve and re turn tp the earth only what they had appro priated therefrom, viz; silex. sulphates, phosphates, soda, oxides. &o. This may all he ; nevertheless we shall continue to believe that—“ nothing was made in vain and if our theory of the Usefulness of Weeds shall fail, wo must fall back upon another—that Petroleum is of vegetable (and consequently of Weed) origin. 0“ dosh Billings, being duly sworn, de poses as follows: That some men had ruthor dew a smart thing than tew dew a good one. That backsliding is d. big thing, espeshul ly on the ice. There iz 2 things in this life for which we are never fully prepared, and that iz twins. That ignorance is bliss —ignorance of saw ing wood fur instuns. That men will fail tow be saved, simply be coz they hain’t got nothing to save. That a (email, woman kan’t keep a secret, nor let nobody else keep 1. 'Chat a little laming iz a dangerous thing,' that iz tru az it air coramun.. That it iz better to (ale in a noble enter prize than tew—suokseod in a meonwun. JfVom Judd’s American Agriculturist .] NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS FOR NOVEMBER, November work is that of preparation for tho winter ; fitting stock and their quarters for the cold ae&sdn ; finishing up tho fatten ing of those animals destined for the market, and turning those farni crops which can be disposed of into money, or something else, which will equally contribute to happiness.- Noyeraber is the month of full -granaries, and of thankful hearts. A good Providence has vouchsafed to this country all that we need of tho fruits of tho earth, and a great deal more ; and though sometimes in particu lar sections we may have had larger harvests, yet taking the value of gold and exchange into consideration, an j the prices which are likely to .rule, it. probably that we have pever had a.season of greater agricultural prosperity.,, We have poor to care, for, and early and generous thoughtfulness for them .will provide work for many, and comfort for many more, who, in the proverbial improvi dence of poverty might otherwise suffer from the necessities of life, lose health and pluck, honesty, honor, and pjrhaps life itself. Let us not forget this, among our other Novem ber work. Buildings. —Look well to roofs of all kinds. Stop holes and give a coat of coal tar to those from which the water is not collected for u a e. Stables may be made very warm by boarding up pn the inside and filling straw, hay, or leaves between tho inner and outer boarding. Whenever it is posaible.to prevent the sweep of the air under stable floors, by banking up earth against, the silis cf the buildings, do so, first i ainting the wood-work with gas tar.— Look to the ditches and channels to carry water away from buildings, especially away from the cellar walls of the house or barns, so that there may. be no danger, in, case of heavy rains and melting snows, of the cellars getting full of water.. Butler, —The very high price of b-utter should load to feeding oil-cake, carrots and other roots, corn meal, bran, pumpkins, etc., which, judiciously used, will increase the yield. Beeves fatten rapidly at this season, when the cool air gives them sham appetites.. Pro vide salt and fresh water abundantly. Give them the feeds of grain (ground and cooked, or soaked,) with entire regularity. Keep fat tening cattle warm, and never lot them wor? ry for a meal, or for lack, of regular atton-. tion.- Keep the amount fed, of grain, roots, oil-oake,. etc.,: uniform, or increase it very gradually* Occasional changes of feed, to give a variety, are desirable. ■ . . t.Calves. —Provide shelter and. feed so that there shall be no checkin their steady growth. , ; pcnos. —Feed well so that they may bo milked.longer, and give. this year richer milk than usual, to take advantage of the butter market. , • ■ ; Citterns. —Enough rain falls on the roof of an ordinary dwelling to supply water for all _pimpQse3-o£-Uic-famil ; y r and-n-great'deal7morfr- So too the roof of a common barn tlirna water enough for all the stock It can cover, and all other purposes- is needed is to have cic-terns to hold and store it.,, They should be out of /the reach of severe freezing, arid conveniently situated. At this season clean out cisterns, if the water is low. Protect from loaves which might enter through the eavo spouts, and protect the pumps and pipes from freezing. Corn. —That which Is to bo stored should he left in the ear, and put in narrow open cribs, or spread out on a floor in a dry loft. Feed soft corn before cold weather. Sell ra- ther.than store, except for home use, if good prices are offered. Draining.'— As long as the ground contin ues open, draining may go on. We believe in, deep draining—3£ to 4 feet in ordinary cases. Dig for tiles us narrow as possible,; it i.s less .work. • Pences. —Straighten up exterior fences and put them in such order, that there will bo lit tle to do in. the Spring. Dispense with all inferior fences possible. Before tne ground freezes, make an inspection to know what fencing stuffit is best to get out next winter. Fruit. —The great value of fruit this year will lead to its careful handling. Never roll barrels of apples, always lift them, and avoid pouring them from a basket into a barrel, etc. Grain Fields. —Guard against standing water, or floods from higher ground, which will wash the soil away, or which will bring on gravel, etc., by a good system of surface drains. Well drawn plow furrowa are usu ally sufficient, but on spots whore much wa ter is likely to come, pile stones, or set planks iso as to turn it off. Hogs . —CM ok hi I feed given -to fattening 'nogs. Add occasionally a. few handfuls of charcoal dust. Pork is better fattened rap idly tliun slowly. Horses. —Halter-break colts, coaxing them with sugar, never usinga harsh word to them' Yearlings and 2 year-olds that have run free in pastures during the summer, will need to be handled and halter-broken, for conveni ence, before cold weather outs off the pastur age. Manure. —Put nil materials into Compact heaps with judicious admixtures of muck, vegetable matter or soil, bearing in mind the principle not to mix lime or unleached ashes witli solid or liquid animal excrements, flesh or anything yielding ammonia in its decom position. except perhaps leather. Plowing.— The dry weather which has pre-: vailed during the autumn, will make the ground very hard to plow in many places, •but some fields may be much better plowed now than next Spiring. The benefit of the frost in winter, the fact that the teams are in better 'condition for work, and the greater leisure We have now than in Spring, should Mad us to do all the plowing possible this Sheep. —Let the rams run with ewes for March lambs, not allowing valuable animals to share their attention among too many. Roots. —Dig, add house, or covef-iri pits be fqre hurt, by frosts. Carrots and beets are tCude'rsat. O’ A little boy running along stubbed his toe and fell on the pavement. “ Never mind, my little fellow," said a bystander, “ you won’t feel the pain to-morrow.” “ Then,” answered the little boy, “ I won’t cry to morrow.” JBQy “ Now children,” asked a school in spector, “ who loves all men ?” A little girl, not four years old, and evidently not posted in the catechism, answered quickly, “ All women.’” O’ There is a dandy in Chicago who is so nice that ho greases his boots with the oil of bergamot. lie is first cousin to'the youth who sleeps on a bed made of sponge cake. O” Beautiful is the love and sweet (he kiss of a sister.; but if you haven’t got a sis ter bandy, just try some other feller's sister. Risks of Great Eaters. Great eaters never live long. A voracious appetite, bo far from being a sign of health, is a certain indication of disease. Some dys peptics are always hungry ; feel best when they are eating, but, &s soon as they have eaten, they endure torments so distressing in their nature as to make tho unhappy victim wish for death. The appetite of health is that which inclines moderately to eat when eating time comes, and which, when satisfied, leaves no unpleasant reminders. Multitudes measured their health by the amount they can cat; and, of any ten persons, nine are gratified at in increase of weight, ns if mere hulk were an index of health ; when, in rea lity, any excess of fatness is, in proportion, decisive proof of existing disease; allowing that the absorbents of the system are, too \Voak to discharge their duty; and the ten dency to fatness, to obesity, increases, until ; existence is a burden, and sudden death do ses the history. Particular inquiry will al most unvaryingly elicit the fact that fat per sons, however rubicund and jolly, are never well, and yet they are envied. While great eaters never live to an old ago, and arc never for a single day without some “symptoms,” some feeling sufficiently disagreeable to at tract tho mind’s attention unpleasantly.— Small eaters, those who cat regularly of plain food, usually have no “spare flesh/' are wiry and enduring, and live to an active old age. Remarkable exemplifications of these state-, raents are found in the lives of centenarians of a past ago. Galen, one of tho most distin guished physicians among tho ancients, lived very sparingly after the ago of twenty-eight, and died in his hundred, and fortieth year.— Ketigorn, who never tasted spirits .or.w-ino, and worked hard all his life, reached a ,hun dred and eighty-five years. Jenkins,, a poor Yorkshire fisherman, who lived on the'coars est diet, was one hundred and sixty nine years old when he died- . Old Purr lived to a hundred and fifty-three ; his 'diet being milk, cheese, whey, small beer, and coarse broad The favorite diet of Henry Francisco, who lived to one hundred ,and forty, was tea, bread and butter, nnd;hakpd apples. Ephraim Pratt, Shutesbury, Massachusetts, who died, aged one hundred and seventeen, .lived chiefly on. milk, and oven that, in small quantity;, hia son, Michael*-by similar moans, to ho a hundred and three years old. Father Cull, a Methodist clergyman, jast year, died at the age of a hundred aud five, the main, diet of his life having been 1 salted swine’s flesh (ba con)-and bread made of Indian meal. . - From these statements, nine general read era.out of ton will jump at the.conclusion that milk ia “ healthy,” as are baked apples and bacon. These conclusions d,i not. legiti mately follow. The only inference that can bo safely drawn is from the only fact running through all these.-cases —that plain food ami a life of steady labor tend to a groat ago. As to healthfulneaa and life protracting qualities -Ufjrn.yjrEticle-Qf-dieVJiamod-rrnotliing-oan-be inferred, for no two of the men lived on the same kind of food ; all that can rationally and safely be said is ( eithqr that theyliV.edso long in spite of the -quality of food tlieyato, or that their instinct called for a particular kind of food ; and the gratification of that instinct, instead of its perversion, with a life of steady labor, directly caused healthfulness and great length of days. , We .must, not expect to live long by doing any one iking which an old man did, and omit all others ; but by doing all he did, that is, work steadily as well us eat mainly a particular dieh.— Hall’s Journal of Health. The Little Cu.p of Tears,— There was once a mother and a child, apd the mother •loved this, her only child, with her .whole heart, add thought ah? could not live without it; but the Almighty sent a great sickness among, children, which .seized this little one, who lay.cn.hi®.ajok.bed even to death. Three days and three nights the mother watched, and wept, and prayed by the side of her child, but it died. The, mother, now left alone in the wide world, gave way to the most violent and unspeakable grief i she ate nothing and drank nothing, and wept, wept, wept three long days and three Jung nights without ceasing, calling constantly upon her child. The third night, ns she thus sat, over come with suffering, in the place whore her child had died, her .eyes bathed in tears, and faint from grief, the door softly opened, and the mother started, for befoie her stood her departed child. it had become a heavenly angel, and smil ed sweetly ns innoocnoe, and was beautiful like the blessed. It had in its hand a small enp that was almost running over, se full was it. And the child spoke, “ Gh, dearest mother, weep n i more for mo ; the angel of mourning has collected in this little cup the tear® which you have shed for mo. If for mo you shed but one tear more it will overflow, and I shall have no more rest in the grave, and no joy in heaven. Therefore. 0, dearest mother! weep no more for yorir child, for it is well and happy, and angels are its compan ions.” It then vanished. The mother shed no more tears, that she might not disturb her child’s joy in heaven. An Effective Speech. —During the Revo lutionary war, Gen. Lafayette, being in Bal- .tfniore, was invited to a ball. lie was re quested to dance, hut instead of joining in the amusement, as might have been expected of a Frenchman of twenty-two, ho addressed the ladies thus: "Ladies, you are very handsome; you dance very prettily ; your ball i« very line but my soldiers have no shirts l w This was irresistible. The ball ceased ; the ladies went home and went to work ; and the next day .a largo number of shirts were prepared by the fairest hands of Baltimore lor the gallant defenders of their country. Makrlagb Notices, — A Western paper gives the following notice: c All .notices of marriags, if no bride-cake is cent, will be set up in small type and poked in some outlandish corner of the paper.— Where a handsome cake is sent, it will be put conspicuously in largo letters; when gloves or other bride favors are added, apiece of illustrative poetry will bo given in addi tion. When, however, the editor, attends the ceremony in propria psrsona , and kisses the bride it will have especial notice—very large type, and the most appropriate poetry that can be begged, borrowed, stolen or coined from' the brain editorial. O* A wide-awake minister, who found his congregation going to sleep one morning be fore he had.fairly commenced, alter preach ing a few minutes, suddenly stopped and ox claimed: “ Brethren, this isn’t fair; it isn’t giving a man. a half, a chance. Wait till I get along a piece, and then if I ain’t worth listening to, go to sleep ; bus don’t do it be fore I get commenced ; give a man a chance.’* ggy* The tomb of Daniel Webster has late ly.been opened and the remains found in per fect preservation.’ HOW JOSES POPPED-THE-QUESTION. Too bashful to " pop the quostion”in the nnuftl way, MajoiVJunes persuades his sweat; heart to put op a stocking, which will hold a couple of bushels, on the night that Santa' Claus pays his visits, receiving hor promise, to keep for over what ho gavo her. .In this the gallant and lovelorn Major contrives to' introduce himself at tho “ witching hour of night.” But wo will let the Major speak fjr himself: ... I reniaiifed up till, midnight, and when they wore all gone to hod I softly wont into tho hack gate and wont up to tho porch, am! tliar, shure ouuff, was a groat big nieal bag hanging to tho jico.. It was monstrous un handy to got to it, hut I was determined not to back out. So I set some chairs on tho top of the bench and got hold of tho rope and let myself down in the hag ; hut just as 1 was getting in, the bag swung against tho chairs and down they went with a terrible racket. But nobody didn’t wako up but Miss Stalli, ness* grate big dog, and hero lie cum ripin’ and tnrin’ through tho yard like rath, and round and round he went, tryin’ to find out what was tho matter. I sot down in the bag and didn’t breathe louder than a kitten, for fear he’d find mo out. The wind began to blow ’bmninablo cold, and tbo old bag kept turning around, swinging so as to mako me