Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, August 13, 1845, Image 1

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    LUZIEYB 71,0
Taos Porray.—Tluens are &w, whose memories will
notbe busy, while reading the following beautiful lines.
They are evidently fresh from the heart of one, whose
childhood was blessed with a kind Mother, to direct, his
vouthful steps, and counsel and advise his maturer years.
To such, oh! hog the memory of her, will mingle with
the gratitude that springs up, refreshingly, from the in
most heart. A Mother's loving kindness; who can ever
f o rget it l Her words of tendeness, d ispersing our so? .
tORI and calming our you th ful breas t; her prayer—the
most mitred, holiest, offered to the throne of Heaven—
of which we are the burthen ; and even her voice of gen
tle r eproof ; are all with rut, in after years,
" Engraved on the heart, -
'in rare Paradise colors, that can never depart."
Butwe will let this be told in language that is better (Sr
to express it than prose.
IT nother'l Viite.
My mother's voice! how often creeps
Its cadence on my lonely home!
Like healing seat on wings of sleep,
Or 'detv arum the unconscious flowers.
I might forget her melting prayer,
While pleasure's pulses madly fly ;
But in the still, unbroken air,
Her gentle tones come stealing by—
And years of sin and manhood flee,
And leave me at my mother's knee.
The book of nature, and the print
Of beauty - on the whispering sea,
Give still to me some lineament
Of what I have been taught to be.
My heart is harder, end perhaps -
My manlinest has drunk up tears
And there's a mildew in the lapse
Of a few miserable years—
But nature's book is even yet
With all my mother's lessons writ.
I have been out at even-tide,
Beneath a moonlight sky of spring,
When earth was garnished like a bride,
And night bad on her silver wing—
When bunting buds and growing grass
And waters leaping to the light,
And all that makes the pulses Pass
With wilder fleetness, thronged the night—
When all was beauty, then have I,
With friends on whom my love is flung
Like myrrh on the winds of Araby,
G'azed up where evening's lamp is hung.
And when the beauteous spirit there
Flung over all its golden chain,
My mother's voice came on the sib
Like the light dropping of the rain;
And resting on some silver star
The spirit of a beaded knee,
I've poured the deep and fervent prayer
That our eternity might be •
To rise in heaven like the stars at night,
And tread a living path of light.
Wants sass!. as oust TINIL REsertivo
It is a question of no Small moment with some, where
their bodies shall lie, whets the spirit that animates the
clay has departed. And' there are but few who have ar
rived at the closing of life's journey, without bestowing
some thought upon the situation of their grave.
The Sailor, as be thinks of death, associates with , it
the enveloping of the body in its canvass shiond,-the
booming of the signal gun, and the launching of the ba
ily into the waste of waters, by the mourning shipmates,
and his wish is to lie *here the winds hold their fiercest
revel, and be amid the raging of the mighty seas—his
home through life. The Soldier wishes fur the gallant
death, and the soldier's grave—" the farewell shot," end
the sad, solemn march, with reversed arms. .
There should be blended with our final resting place,
the thoughts of a happy end, and a quiet, peaceful rest ;
and associated with it are flowers, and the song of birds,
and the murmur of gentle waters. They serve to soothe
our spirits, to free our minds from "every cumbering
care," and, as we tread among the graves '.of those who
base been dear to us, to reconcile us to our loss.
It is pleasant to see the grave decorated by the hand
of that affection which is stronger than death. There
is happiness in the thought, that after we shall have pass
ed away, there will be some kind hand to deck our grave,
and a melting eye to drop the tear of remembrance. It
is a tribute moony all the glary and renown of kings and
It is has become the practice in many of the cities, to
build cernetries, upon which no pains *se spared to snake
them beautiful as well as quiet resting placerfor the dead
—and some of them are the most delightful Spots in the
country. Philadelphia has its Laurel Hiß, and Boston
its Mount Auburn, either of which would answer for the
sleeping place of the beautiful, as described in the fol
lowing lines. '
Burial ‘f the Beautiful.
Where shill the dead, and the beautiful sleep!
In the vale where the willow and cypress weer )
Where the wind of the west breathes its softest sigh,
Where the silvery stream is, flowing nigh,
And the pure clear drops of the itising*Tals
Glitter like gems in the bright moon); rays •
Where the sun's warm kmile may never 'dispel '
Night tears o'erthe Corm we well—
la the vale where the sparkling waters Clow;
Where the fairest, earliest violets grow;
Where the sky and the earth are softly fair,
Bury her there--bray her there!
Where shall the dead and the beautiful sleep l
Wheys :wild-towels bloom in Me valley deep
Where the sweet robes of spring may softly rest
purity, over the sleeper's breast ;
Where is heard the voice of the sinless dove,
Bemoaning her absent, truant love ;
Where no column moutlin the sun may glow,
Ts mock the heart that is resting below ;
Where pure hearts are deephtg, foresee b 114;
Where wandering Pai lore to test;
Where the 'sky and the earth are softly fairi
' Bury her there—bury her theM!"
. . ... 4:7 ,, ; .
, B t.
„ ,
.• r r
. ,
,tatius.--An interesting description of thostpperuance,
resources and capabilities of that part of the, U. States
late taken undeivur protection-.. Texas—may be found
in another column. • It is taken from the Washington•
Union—to which paper it wasfumished by a gentleman
who has resided for sometime past in that country.
Practical Hadandry. •
Improvement of 'worn-out and naturally poor
Lands, old fields, 4-c., in the Middle States
I intimated in a late paper in the Cultivator,
(vol. 1, p. 344.) that I would shortly give the
readers of that 'excellent work an answer to the
question how the improvement of the kinds of
lands mentioned in the heading of this article.
could be aocomplised in the cheapest way. 1
now proceed to the fulfillmerit of my promise.
Land is poor or rich from various causes. It
may be poor naturally, from being deprived of
the accumulation of deconiposed organized
matter, by the washings of rain, the overflow
ing of streams, &c., and by its own gravelly
and porous nature, admitting the upward filter
ing of spring water, as is the case in low gra
velly bottoms. It may also be poor from ,the
too large a portion of iron in its composition.
But the most universal cause of poverty of soil
is exhaustion, from the over-cropping, taking
away always and returning nothing, as was so
general the practice in old times, and is too
much the practice now in all the middle states.
In a former paper, I have expressed the opin-
ion that a man may purchase and improve a
piece of this poor or worn-out land cheaper
than will be the 'cost of removal to and purchase
of a piece of land in the West, especially when
the sacrifices incident to such removal are ta
ken into the *account. I most sincerely, be-
lieve in the truth of this proposition. But let
us proceed to the subject—the now, not the
why, the land should be improved.
The first object to be attended to in the im
provement of land, is the grubbing up and
clearing off every tree and shrub that is not
wanted. Let this be done at the beginning.—
Allow no clumps or clusters of bushes or briars,
or single ones either, .to remain in the field.—
The next thing is ditching and draining off all
sunken and boggy places, if such exist. Very
often the simple plough furrow will answer,
but sometimes a deep ditch must be dug. If
it be deep enough, a blind ditch should always
be preferred, so that you may cultivate the
land over the ditch, and also save - your land
the inconvenience of open ditches. Having
grubbed and ditched, and thus drainedithe land,
the next object is to ascertain the quality oldie
soil,•all parts of it. You may find that the
low places you have drained are composed of
hard clay. Some of the upper or higher places
may be too sandy. You will, in such case,
employ your carts in carrying clay to the sandy
parts, and return with sand to the clayey parts,
and be very liberal in your exchanges too.—
You may spread the clay at once, - or allow it
to remain a a winter in cart load's heaps, and
spread it in the spring. The sand may be
spread, of course, at once. All this is merely
getting the land ready. A carpenter builds his
shop, and gets out" his stuff, before he
thinks of •' going to work " at his trade. So
does every other artisan or mechanic. Why
should a farmer not, also, before he goes to
work to make money and a living first get his
shop in order? Having properly grubbed,
drained and mixed the soil, the next thing to
be done-is to ascertain the quality of the whole.
It most probably wants lime to make it com-
Take a handful here and there from the whole
field—say twenty handfuls in all ; mix them
well together. then take a heedful from the
whole mixture, put it upon a shovel, and heat
it red hot, then take it from du, fire and let it
cool, when cold, pulverize into a fine powder,
and pour upon it good cider viegar. Diluted
muriatic acid is best, hot vinegar, if good, will
do. If it foams considerably, you want no
lime in the soil, if it do not foam. you must
then apply lime. Nearly all the laud in the
middle States wants lime, and is benefited by
its application. If it wants no lime, then go
to work as follows : Plough - in the fall with
the deepest working plough you can afford.—
In the spring, sow corn broadcast ; and as soon
as it is as high as you can well turn under with
a good plough and two or three hinge team,
turn it under well, and immediately sow corn
again broadcast. As soon as that is high
enough to turn under, turn that also with a
deep working plough'. Giperally you may
turn under three crops in the same season.—
In the fall, plough deep while turning the last
crop of corn " under, harrow 'and seed with
wheat. However poor your land may have
been, you may be sure of a good crop of wheat
the ensuing harvest. In sowing the corn, about
three to four bushels should be sown to the
acre,.each crop.
If by the trial above described, you snd your
land requires lime, then, before the first plough
ing, apply twenty btishels of slaked lime to.the
acre, broadcast, then plough as before directed,
sow the corn. - and proceed as before, taking
care to sow twenty bushels of lime before
turning under each crop acorn ; sow the lime
on the corn as it stands, and turn corn and
lime all in together. In this way a first rate
soil may. he.made out of the poorest old field
in Maryland or any where else ; and it will be
observed that the only cost" is in the liming and
value of the seed, corn, except the labor,—
Those Who cannot afford to expend sci much
'labor and money the first season, can extend
the time over several seasons. applying say
twenty-or thirty bushels of lime to the acre,
and turning under but one crop of corn, each
The above may be considered a brief sum
mary of the whole "argument ; and it seems to
me, scarcely requires elucidation. Some may
however require explanations. and I therefore
proceed to give them.
A clay soil requires only sand to,malto it .a
good one, so Tar as constitution is concerned;
and sandy soil requires clay only 'to maltelt
good. These two elements of a good soil
generally exist on all farms ; and wherever they
do exist in I, sepailte places, they, should be
combined and mixed, tliat the' May be
it RE134111.3138, OF j?EISitcR6IATION, FROII ANY QUONER.7
made fertile. -If your land be too clayey.•and
you have no sand on your farm, • probably
some neighbor would be glad to exchange some
of his sand for some of your clay,,doing half
the hauling, and
-thus both farms will be bene
fitted at half the labor each. Rely upon it,
there is more to be obtained in the improve-
ment of land by a judicious admixture of soils,
than is generally supposed. Manuring cannot
supply its place, however large the quantity
applied ; and when once made, the effect is
permanent, the benefit perpetual, the improve
ment lasts forever.
Low wet places are not only unproductive,
but they are unhealthy, unseemly and absolute
lose of all the land so situated. If your farm
consists of one hundred acres, and twenty
acres of it is of this low and wet kind, you have
but eighty acres of land. Therefore drain, by
ditching this low land, make it productive, by
adding sand, &c.. where necessary, and you
in•effeet have added twenty acres to your
farm. Dig the trench as in the usual way,
excavating an open ditch, of the proper depth
and capacity to carry off the water ; then lay
in the bottom,of the ditch stones, loosely pack
ed, so thatwater will freely past! between ;hem,
about a foot deep ; then lay upon these loose
stones larger and flat ones, to keep the earth
from filling the interstices ; and then return the
earth thrown out, leveling the whole surface.
Some, instead of stone, lay in the bottom of
the ditch branches and limbs of trees and shrubs,
and cover these with earth; but such blind
ditches are obviously subject to obstruction
from the decay of the wood, and thence from
the caving in of the superincumbent earth.—
Others, in Europe especially, use an arching
of tiles in the ditch instead of stones or brush
wood , but this is too expensive for this coun
try, as yet. NV here atones can be had, a good
blind ditch may be made permanently effec
tive by their use. Next to stone, brushwood
is to be preferred. •
It surely canuot be necessary to say a word
in illustration of the grubbing up of all useless
growths of bushes, trees, &c. Never allow
your fences to be sheltered by bushes or trees
of any kind. They rot the timber, and you
lose all the land they occupy. Head lands,"
as they are called, are just so much deducted
from your measure of acres. Clear out all
such. if you have no other clean place in
your field, let the headlands and fence-corners
be clean.
In ascertaining the precise quality of the
soil, you accomplish precisely what every
otber artisan does when he ascertains his
ability to do a certain job. You find out -whai
the materials you are to work upon are capa
ble of producing. If in that examination, yoq
find your materials deficient in any one neces
sary ingredient—lime, for instance—you, as
other artisans would necessarily and instinctive
ly do, apply lime. If you find it deficient in
vegetable fibre. &c., you apply that substance;
and if you find it deficient in clay or sand, as
either of these preponderate, you apply the one
or the other, as the result of the examination
shall indicate.
Having prepared the soil for the reception
of manure, the cheapest and most efficient me
thod and material for supplying nutritious
principles to the soil is the next matter for
consideration. I believe that corn sown broad
cast, as above directed, is the cheapest, most
efficient and speediest fertilizer. Some, and
very many, suppose that the old plan of clover
laying is the best and cheapest. I differ with
them. You can only turn under a crop of
clover once in two years; you can by an ef
fort, turn under three crops of corn in one
year ; and I believe that each crop of corn
will car& as much nutritious matter into the
soil as each crop of clover can do.
Now, in this system of improvement, you
have only to purchase the lime, if that he ne
cessary ; you can raise the seed corn on some
part of the farm. All the rest of the improve
ment is derived from labor.
Never undertake the improvement of more
land than you are certain you can manage. If
you expend your funds upon too large a sur
face, you will be likely to lose the whole ad
vantage of them. Calculate how much land
you can work well, and confine yourself to
that, and no more. And in all your operations
in agriculture, take care not to undertake too
much. Suppose you can only work ten acres
well in one year: if you undertake twenty
acres, some of it will have injustice done it,
and the result is,obvioes.
Deep ploughing is one of the most efficient
agents in the Improvement of Soils, as it is in
the continuation of good soils. Never omit it.
It may pay you scantily for a year or two ; but
it will ultimately repay you, a hundred fold.—
Without it there cannot be any continued suc
cessful farming, no mattei: what the original
soil may have been. Discard all shallow
working ploughs from your firm, except the
mere Seed and cultivator plougba.,
Some lands will be benefited by 50 bushels
of lifile;i o fhe acre, and by it be rendered suffi
ciently caleariousk others 'May require 100
bushels ; all this is to be found out only by
proper eiperiments, as above indicated. If
the solution Of the soil foams freely in the vine
gar or miiiatic acid, it Wants.uolirne ; if, but
partially, it wants p . roliably . 'fifty bushels to the
acre; if not at all, it may require a hundred
bushels. If it be a red clayey , soil, it wants
more lime, than if it be white. or blue. or yel
low. If you hare no lime, and wood ashes
are at hand, you may accomplish all the ob
jects you aim at by, their application., As
ashes are mostly composed of .different kinds
of lime, besides "their More soluble potash,
from fifty to one' hundred bushels ashes to
the acre, applied lo thi . aime manner is direc
ted for lime.-will have the same effect, ailime,
besides giving' you' advantage , of the petard',
first year. , s
Witere s neitber lime nor ashes are to be oh
tained; plastei:Of Paint; itt'it is called, maY:be
applied, to moat lands ',witliidvantage. 2',The
action of plaster`eiatitipuis s to ,a,sallect of
dispute. My °plain is; that it *reply:serves
the purpose of fixing the; inninonia floating in
,the s atmosphere, and iliat'Aiaolved fitirn,,decay
ing'aniinal matters'," arid this — tie - M*llo to
the uses of the isoil. No matter what its mode
of action. is - bOwever. it certainly is a very
efficient agent in soils generally, and in' the
absence of other still more effective agents, it
should always be ised: or at least tried.
what they will; but,wii know there never can
be a paradise without some daughter of Eve,
within it; and home is.cntiy a place to eat and sit andsleep in, without the hallow
ing charms of a woman's presence. Men may
pay what they please about the jovial freedom
of their Liberty halls, but many a weary joyless
hour passes within them ; many a'discontent
ed,peevish, enarlish feeling is experienced ;
many a vacuum of heart and thought, many a
comfortless rainy day, many along winter eve
ning, when the ticking of the clock is the only
sound, and that does but echo like the knell of
departed moments that might have been joyous
if spent in cheerful companionship. And then
ior the lonely old bachelor to come into his
welling wet and weary; without a creature to
welcome him with either a word or smile, or a
tingle gleam of pleasure to brighten the place ;
nobody to consult his tastes and his comfort,
nob Ody to prattle‘to him, to tell him the gos
sip of the neighborhood, and to link his sym
pathies and his interests with surrounding peo
ple ; nobody to double his joys and halve his
sorrows ;- nobody to nurse him if he is sick,
to console him if he be sorrowful ; and then,
as time creeps on and age overtakes him, to
hear no joyful prattler near him, no dimpled
smiling girls, no: stalwart hopeful, boys, in
whose youth and enjoyment be mightbe young
and happy again ; and at last to leave none be
hind to lament him—heigho !' Nature will not
suffer her laws to be violated with impunity,
and nature never designed that men should. be
old bachelors.
A SECRET.-" How do you do, Mrs. Tome.
have you heard the story about Mrs. Ludy:?"
" Why, no, really, Mrs. Gad, what is it—do
tell ?" "0, I promised not to tell for all the
world ! No, I must never tell on't. I'm
afraid it will git out." " Why, l'll never tell
on't as long as I live, just as true as I live, just
as true as the world; what is it, come, tell."
Now you won't say anything about it, will
you ?" "No I'll never open my head about
it—never. Hope to die this minute." "Well,
if you'll believe me, Mrs. Funday told me last
night, that Mrs. Trot told her that her sister's
husband was told by a person who dreamed it,
that Mrs. Nichens that her grandmother heard
by a letter that she got from her sister's second
husband's brother's step-daughter that it was
repotted by, the captain of a clam boat just ar
rived from 'the Feejee Islands that the mer•
maids about that section wore sharkskin bus
tles stuffed with pickled eels' toes !"
F. xErtasz.—Tbrougliout all nature. want of
motion indicates weakness, corruption, inani
mation and death: Trenck. in his damp prison
leaped about lake a lion in his fetters of seven
ty pounds weight, in order to preserve his
health ; and an illustrious physician observes :
" I know not which is the most necessary to
the support of the human frame; food or mo
tion. Were the exercise of the body attended
to in a corresponding degree with that of the
mind, men of great learning would be more
healthy and vigdrous—ol more general talents
—of more ample practical knowledge ; more
happy in their domestic lives—more enterpris
ing and attached to their duties as men. In
fine, it may with propriety be said that the
highest refinement of the mind, withoUt im
provement of the body. can never present any
thing more than half a human being."
BE CUEERFUL.—Few things are more per
nicious' than to sit and meditate on the aggra.
vation of our afflictions, to study over the
evils, and dwell long on the dark side. It
creates a morbid sensibility, which finds its
food in this very course of conduct, and the
mind may prey upon itself until it eats out its
own vitality. So when we speak of our afflic
tions, to'make them as bad as we can, to dwell
on the dark things, and turn away from all the
circumstances •of mercy which accompany
them, is wicked. h feeds the old and creates
new troubles. We should rather look atthings
as they are. We may deeply feel our afflic
tions. It were wrong not to do so. But they
are always attended with great mercies, and to
overlook these is equally wrong.
A YANKEE LORD.—Lord Lyndhurst, the
present Lord High Chancellor of England, is
a native born Yankee. His father was a por
trait painterin Boston, but not succeeding very
well in business, he went to England, and
took his son with him. Observing a taste in
him for reading and study, he sent his boy to
college. He graduated with honors, studied
law, succeeded in his profession, and became
lo distinguished that his services were called
into requisition by the government; and he
soon workid his way up to the post of Lord
High Chancellor—as high an honor as can be
conferred upon a subject: Hie father'ir name
11 , 28 Copley t, and he is remembered by many
of the old , residents of Boston: - "
Deers ow Roo:vs.-1n , light subsoils. -the
roots oftrees have been found at a depth - of
10 or 12! feet-.roots of the Canada thistle have
bevn , traced.B pr 7 feet .below' the surface.—
Wheat in a rich, mellow soil, will-strike routs
3 feet downwards,i and much further
c horizon
tally. The roots fonts hare beenfiiscovered
18 inches, from the, stern, and, the long, thread
like'roots ,of _grass, still further. :Tko fine
root, of , the , , onion, being white, and easily
traceo,in black soil, have in trenched soil, been
followed two, feet deep.. The importance of a
,mellow soil. Air these,fne roots to ..penetrate,
is obvioue.,
•Tires-Srrrirto;--The Hamilton: .t Ohio In
telligeneer says, that James Bleb:drip. the .
foreman in that office, ,recently, set , eighteen
thousand 'three hSndred four ems in one
'day-commencing *146 beforels:?elpek,li.
quitting - it row intiiitei P . M•
The lEl4ll4olcm . ihallengei SO, printer in the
linfort is,'" try it hand with hurt: -"
"The painful vigil may I never know
That anxious watches o'er a wandering haul."
It was midnight, and she sat leaning her, pale
cheek on her hand. counting the dull ticking
of the Freud' chick, that stood on' the marble
chimney piece, and ever and anon lifting her
weary eye to its dial to Mark the lapse of an•
other hour. 'lt was past midnight, and yeti's
returned not ! She arose.- and taking up her
lamp, whose pale rays alone illuminated 'the
.the solitary chamber, proceeded with a noise
less step to a small inner apartment. The
curtains of his little bed were drawn aside, and
the young mother gazed on her sleeping child!
What a vivid contrast did that glowing cheek
and smiling brow present, as he lay in rosy
slumber, to the faded yet beautiful face that
hangover him in tears ! Will he resemble
his father r was the thought that passed for'a
•moment through her devoted heart, and a sigh
was the only answer !
'Tie his well known knock—and the steps
of the drowsy porter echoed through the.lofty
halt, as with a murmur on his hp, be drew the
massive bolts and admitted his thoughtless
master. " Four o'clock, Willis, is it not r ,
and . lie sprang up the, staircase—another mo
ment he is in her chamber—in her arms !
No reproaches met the mita husband, none
—save those she could not spare him in her
heavy eye, and faded cheek—yet those spoke
to his heart.
" Julia, I have been a wandering husband."
" But you are come now, Charles, and all
is well."
And all was well, for, from that hour
Charles Danvers became an altered man. Had
his wife met him with frowns and sullen tears,
he had become a hardened libertine ; but her
affectionate caresses, the joy that danced in her
eye,' the hectic flush that lit up her pallid cheek
at his approach, were arguments he could not
withstand. Married in early life, while he felt
all the ardor, but not the esteem of love; pos
sessed of a splendid fortune, and having hith
erto had the entire command of his own pleas
ures. Danvers fell into that common error o
newly married men—the dread„of being .con.
trolled. In vain did his parents, who beheld
with sorrow the reproaches and misery he was
heaping up for_himself in after' life, remon
strate. Charles Danvers turned a deaf ear to
advice, and pursued, with companions every
way unworthy of his society, the path of folly,
if not absolute guilt. The tavern, the elhb
room, the race-course, tno oiten left his wife a
solitary mourner, or a midnight watcher.
Thus the first three years of their wedded
life had passed—to him in fevered and restless
pleasure, to he; t blighed hope of unmurmur
ing regret. B this night,erowned the pa
tient forbe7ce of the neglected Julia with
its just rewa d; and give the death blow to the
folly 'in the, bosom of Danvers. Returning
with disgust from the losses of the hazard-ta
ble, her meekness and lolig-sufferine touched
him to the soul ; the film fell from 'his eyes,
and vice, in her own hideous deformity stood
unmasked before him.
Ten years have passed since tint solitary
midnight, when the young matron bent in.tears
over her sleeping boy. Behold her now ! still
in the pride of womanhood, surrounded by
their cherub faces, who are listening ere they
go to rest to her sweet voice, as it pours forth
to the accompaniment of her harp an evening
song of joy and melody ; while a manly form
is bending over the music page to hide the tear
of happiness and triumph that springs from a
swelling bosom, as he contemplaies the inter
eating group. 1 outhful matrons! ye who
watch over a wandering, perhaps an erring
heart—when a reproach trembles on your lips
towards a truant husband, imitate Julia Dail
' vers, and remember though hymen has chains,
like the sword of Harmodius, they may be
covered with flowers ; that unkindness and
irritability do but harden, if not wholly es
trange the heart—manner (as water dropping
on the flinty rock, will in time wear it into soft
ness) seldom fails to reclaim to happiness and
virtue the Truant Husband.
MARKET SCENE.—The following scene is
the beet we have come upon for a season.
A would be fashionable lady; dressed up in
all colors of the rainbow, goes to market fol-
lowed by a negro boy with a basket. Espying
upon a Jerseyman's stall a goose. but not tak
ing parttetilar notice of it, she goes up to the
farmer and asks—'
What's the price of those turkey ?"
Madam those turkey is a goose."
Well what's the ptice of, it ?"
Seventy-five cents, madam."'
Oh, that's too much; I'll give you seven
levies, "(871 c ents.)
"Well, you may take it for that—it's the
last I've got, and I won't haggle - about the
rice." .
GREAT YIELD.—The Chester Republican
says that Jonathan Larkin, of Lower Chiches
ter, in that county, has left with us two,bunch
es of wheat, each the product of a single grain.
,One of these . bunches contains my-seven and
the other forty-two , stalks,.all of which are
_well headed and 611 ed with plunap.graid. We.
threshed . an average head and found , it contain
mined thirty-six grains-,.The wheat is of the
Mediterranean kind, which is fast superzeding
all others with our farmers.
DON'T Gaustnin.—He is a fool that grumbles
at every_
little Mischance. •pui the best foot
forward is an old and giiOd maxim. Don't run
'abatit indlell aCquaintanies that you liairibeen
unfortunate. People don't like to hdve unfor
tunate' in en far *acquaintances'. Add tO a vigor
deti3rmination, a cheerful ispirit; if reverses
come; bear them like a'philottopher and get rid
of them as soon as you can. Poverty is like
a panther.,—look.atit, steadily in.the face and it
. 1, 0113 . , 9 0 . 0 - , . • I .•-•
ference to tbe - detence of. the Lake country, and
:the eatibliehiiient - OCsuitil4e Draval stations. is
- bidag inidelvi c tnirieriodore 'Kerrie and Col.
The Truant Husband
A : Beautiful leteor
'Hope is a beautiful meteor; like the rain- •
bow, it is not only lovely beiause of its Bevan k.
rich and radiant stripes—it is the memorial of
a covenant entered into between man and' his
Maker, telling us we were born for immortali
ty, destined, unless we sepulchre our great
ness, to the highest honor and noblest happi
'ness.. Hope proves man deathless ; tt is the
struggle of the soul breaking looselrom what
.is perishable, and attesting her eternity ; and
when the eye •of the mind is turned upon
Christ delivered for our offences, and raised
"again for 'our justificanon: the unsubstantial
and deceitful character is , taken away kohl
hope. Hope is one of the prime pieces ofthat
armor of proof in which the believer is array
ed ; for Paul tells us to take for an helmet the
hope of salvation. It is not good that a man
hope for wealth, since *, riches profit not in
the day of wrath;" and-it is not good that we
' hope for human honors, since the mean aid
mighty go down to the same burial. But it is
good that he hopeslor saliation. The meteor
then gathers like a golden halo around - his
head ; and as he presses forward in the battle
time, no weapon of the evil one can pierce
through that helmet. It is good, then, that he
hope ; it is good, also, that he quietly wait.—
There is much promised in Scripture to the
waiting upon God. Men wish an immediate
answer to prayer. and think themselves for
gotten unless the reply be instantaneous. It
is a great mistake. The delay is ofteti part
and a great part of the answer." It eiercises
faith, and hope, and patience; and what better
thing can be dime for us , than strengthening
those whose growth shall be proportioned to
the splendors of immortality ; it is good then.
that ye wait. They that wait on the Lord
shall renew their strength : they shall mount
up with wings as eagles; they shall run and
not be weary, and they shall walk and not faint.
—Rev. H. Melvill. •
'Worth makes the Man.
Worth makes the man ! not wealth ! not
dress ! not• parade. You will find more real
manliness. more sound sense, more loveliness
of character, in the humble walks of life. than
was ever dreamed of in the circles of fashion,
or pride of wealth—or Chesterfield rules of
politeness. When a man of sense—no mat
ter how humble has origin, or lowly his occu
pation, may appear in the eyes of the vain and
foppish—is treated with contempt, he will not
soon forget it; but will put forth all the ener
gies of his mind to rise above those who look
down with scorn upon him. By shunningthe
mechanic,- we exert an influence derogatory to
honest labor and make it unfashionable• for
young men to learn trades, , or labor for 'sup.
port. Dad our young women realize that for
all their parents possess, and that for all they
are indebted to the mechanic it would be their
desire to elevate ham and encourage his visits
to their society. while they would treat with
scorn the lazy, the sponger, and the well dress
ed pauper. On looking back, a very few
years our most fastidious ladies can trace their
genealogy from some humble mechanics who
perhaps, in their day were sneered at by the
proud and foolish, while their grandmothers
gladly received them to their bosoms.—Jos.
councilman's lady paving her daughter a visit
at school, and inquiring what progress she
had made in her education, the governess an
" Pretty good, madam; Miss is very atten
tive ; if site wants any thing it itr a capacity,
but for that deficiency you know we must
not blame her."
No, madiin," replied the mother, "bat I
blame you for not having mentioned it before.
for her father, thank fortune, can afford his
daughter a capacity ; and 1 beg she may 4av,e
one immediately, cost what it may.',.
(Mass.) Courier tells a good storrof a mem
ber of the Middlesex bar, who was attending
Court at the time of the burning of the hotel at
Concord. It is said that he rushed up into the
room, and seized a valise which he supposed
was his own. but, after having carried it half
way across tho common, discovered that it-be
longed to another man ; he immediately rush
eti back, retprned the valise to its place. and
bore off hi own in , triumph ! One of his
friends remarked that this was one of the most
remarkable instances of singleness of purpose
that he had ever met with. • .
kind might, do .without . physicians,, if they
. observe the laws of health ; without
soldiers. if they would observe the laws of
christianity ; without lawyers. if they would
keep their tempers ; 'and ferhaps without
preachers, if each one would take care" of his
conscience ; but there is no way k of living with
out farmers, or—editors.
THE FaSTEST YET.—We heard last evening
of a staemboat, built by a Yankee of course.
which - run - so fast that when she burst her
boilers, a short time since, the passengers
were all preserved by her ALIENING FROM UN'.
MEN .-before they could be injured by the
scalding steam. That is the quickest on re
cord. decidedly.
Go Auzat.=-There's nothing like it. you
will never fail so long as you have'your arum
full and your mind betty. Look on the bright
aide—keep up your spirits and as true as you
live you will work your way to wealth and
A Tsactiaa had been explaining to his elms
the, points of compass, and all were drain ,up
front to the north. ,i• Now, what. - is before
you, John . ?" The North, Sir." -•• And
what it behind you, .Tommy is My' cost
tail, Sir," trying to get a glimpse of the same.
, .
• :A cheerful expression of featu - es, frequent
ly conceals the deepest anguish. •
• ,- "