Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, October 14, 1846, Image 1

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cragaleM 'CMEO
Fll 4 OYSY ,L 55 ED .0, a
Solemn, yet beautiful to view,
Month of my heart! _ Thou dawned hers,
With ail and faded leaves to straw
The summer's meltorholy bier.
The mosming of thy winds I hear,
Aithe red sunset dies afsix,
And bars of purple clouds appear,
Obscuring every mast= star.
Then solemn month!' I hear thy voice—
It tells toy soul of other days,
When but to live was to rejoice—
, When earth was lovely to my gaze;
Oh, visions bright—oh, blessed hours,
Where are their living raptures now I
I ask my spirit's wearied 'powers
I ask my pale and fevered brow !
I look to Nature amt behold
My life's dim emblem's rustling round,
In lines of crimson and of gold—
The year's dead honors on the ground;
And sighing with the winds, I feel,
While their low pinions murmur by,
How mach their sweeping tone reveal
Of life and human destiny. o
When Spring's delightful moments shone,
They came in zephyrs from the west,
They bore the wool-lark's melting tone,
They stirred the blue lake's glassy breast ;
Through summer, fainting in the heat,
- They lingered in the forest shade ;
Dot changed and strengthened now, they beat
In storm, o'er mountain, glen and glade.
How like those transports of the breast,
When life is fresh and joy is new,
Soft as the halesores downy nest,
And transient all as Ihey are true;
They stinthe 4eases in ihat bright month,
Which hope about ber forehead twines,
Till grief's hot sighs around it breathe.—
Then pleasure's lip its smiles resigns.
Alas for Time, and Death, and Care,
What gloom about our wiry they Bing!
Like clouds in Autumn's gusty air
The'burial pageant of the spring.
The dreams that each successive year
Seemed 'bathed in hues of brighter pride,
At last like withered leaves appear.
And-sleep inilarkneas side by side..
Beals OUT stocn POUND Cas.e.—Among the
company of a great five dollar ball given at
New Orleans, last spring, in honor of some
public event, was 'on from the country, who
had never before seen anything of the kind up
co so grand a scale. and was totally at a loss
o understand She vidiculous. new fangled
asees, which prevailed. Paying an enor
mous price for a ticket, and having been fasting
some lime in anticipation of the supper, his
shale thoughts were directed to the enjoy
mentin'that line in store for him. He strode
np indilown the saloon -with his hands thrust
mto his pantaloons pockets, accosting every
waiter he encountered with—
Boy, look her : is supper most ready ?"
At last supper was announced, and in rush
ed our hero in advance of every body. and
lilting himself about the centre of the table.
term to beckon every waiter whose eye he
euuld catch, but not one, much to Ms indigna
non. approached 'him until after the ladies had
Seen seated and served, when he was asked
vitether he would take some ham.
"Ham!" exclaimed he. with most profound
iconithment: " do you 'spose. sirrah. 1 can
tafiie dollars worth °I/aim ? Give tar some
cheap and cake and skis -
TEE MECHANICS.-•••" They are . the place
hikers of the world ; not a stick is hewn, not
'none is shaped, in all the lordly dwellings
°Tthe rich, that does not Clare its beauty and
%eta to the mechanic's skill ; the towering
'Pitts, that raise their giddy heights among the
depend upon the mechanic's art and
'length for their symmetry, beauty and fair
ropartion ; there is no article of comfort and
Ventre, but bears the impress of their handy
Cork. How exalted is their calling:—how su-
Vitae is their vocation Who dares to sneer
a fraternity' of honorable men—who
deer to cast odium upon such a patriotic race?
tl!ir path is one of true glory, and it is their
'Ca fault if it does not lead them to the highest
Mei honor and renown."
KM. TROUBLE,—At the first consign-
Dent of Seldlitz powders to the capital of
'Ai. they were brought to the .king in full
"zt, Ind the interprtiter explained their use.
Ner to test their virtues, the king, dissolved
holes blue powders in a goblet of water, and
dunk it off—but with a wry face ; it was evi
(lnt he did not relishir.----.lle- was then told
that it ehould be taken as a. mixture—when he
t%l llutly dissolved the twelve white powders
rviraik'tliern off. ia But the roar that follow 7
! be remembered as long as Delhi stands.
king becamepossessed with idea thit he
% juvenile earthquake inside.
• '
,lak "
It:sta.—Many presuming creatures
1 7 4 01 d the rushlight of reason " against the
i 4et reerelation, affect to disbelieve the New
i t : l etent. because it is not esactly reconcila
. a
their logic. Now their objection eon.
leY argument. f revelation were with
:reach of reason, it would ceile to have
Ealbate of divinfiy. Its very mysteriomysterious
-411111 elevation beyond the reach of philo
v,!t4 acumen, showy its origin. 0. how
alai. aspiring to know everything, to
zpir, his own powers into infinity , and h is
:fled knowledge into omnipotence : at'
, l e Of Deity alone.
[From Chambers' Edinburg Journal.]
The' Gauger's Run.
rauppose there are few who have not heaid
of the demoralization and crimes produced' in
Ireland by illicit distillation. in the present
day there are comparatively few disordeis tram
this cause, as the excise laws have been con
siderably modiEed, and the appetitifor whis
key has become less uncomprornising. Some
years ago, however, the people / in those parts
of the ,country where distilling of spirits was
carried on clandestinely, were at constant war
with the officers of excise„4nd the most fear
ful encounters took place. between them. , In
Donegal, where I resided with my family, we
saw much more of thiethan was at all pleasant,
and on one occasiimwere accidentally involved
in one of these ever occurring quarrels.
It was a very beautiful morning in June and
I was preparing to descend to the breakfast
parlor ,when l'was startled on hearing a noise
at the gate in front of the dwelling. Looking
out to see what was the matter, I observed that
one 'of the domestics was refusing admittance
to a decently dressed mare, who was urgently
antl,anxiously trying to get into my premises.
Hastening to ascertain the cause of the distur
bance, I soon learned that the supplicant for
shelter was an unfortunate excise othcer—or
gauger," as he was called by the 'country
people. •• Oh. for mercy's sake," cried the
distracted than, •• let me into your hoe*, luck
me up somewhere or' anywhere; hide me,
or lam a dead man !" I did not hesitate to
bring him in, and making him sit down, I of-
fered him refreshment, as he appeared exhaus
ted and faint. I begged of him to recover
himself, and to take courage, as there was no
danger. At this moment an immense crowd
of men and boys surrounded my house, and
one of the men came forward to the door and
demanded admission. I opened the window
inquire what he wanted. Ile replied, You
have t got the gauger in your house, sir, and we
must have him out—we want him." •• What
do you want him fur ?" Oh, your rever
ence, begging your honor's pardon, that'S no
business of yours to meddle in; we want lrm,
and must have him." •• That may be, but
can't allow it; he is under ii.y roof; lie has
come laiming my hospitality, and I must and
will give him shelter and protection." Doc
tor, there are two words to that bargain. You
ought to have asked us before ) ou let him in.
And to be plain with you, • we really re
spect you very much—) ou are an h st, good
neighbor, and mind your own business ; and
we would mike the man sore and sorry that
would dare to touch a hair of your head. But
you must give us the gauger. To be at a word
with you, doctor, we must either tear open or
tear dtiwn your house or get him ; for get him
we will."
What was to be done ? I could do nothing.
I had no gun or pistol in the house. '• So,"
says I - buys, you must and will, it seem., do
as you like. But mind I protest against what
are about; but since you must 6.n e ) our no
way. as you are Irishmen, I deinanu far l'; ay
from you. The man inside had ten nouti;es
law of you when he Caine to my house ; let
him not be worse of the shelter I have given
him. Do you now go back to hill yonder, at
the side of the house, and 1 will let loin out at
the hall door, and let the poor fellow have the
start, giving him his ten minutes' law."
I was in hope that by gaining these ten mi
nutes, my man, who was young and healthy,
would be able to reach the river Lennan, which
ran deep and broad, between high and rocky
banks, about a quarter de mile off in front of
the house, and by swimming across, that lie
would effect Vs escape from his pursuers.—
The enemy outside agreed that the proposal
was a fair oue ; at any rate they promised to
abide by it. My refugee seeing the dire ne
cessity of the case, consented to leave his shel
ter. I enlarged him at the hall door ; the mob
true to its pledge, stood on the hill two hun
dred yards distant.
The gauger started off like a deer, and as a
hunted deer be ran hie best. He cleared the
first little rivulet in excellent style, and just as
he was rising the hiUy ridge which divided the
smaller from the broader stream, his pursuers,
broke loose like a pack of hounds in full chase.
The huntsman were all Highlandmen—tall,
louse, active, young. with breath and sinew
strong enough to breast a mountain; men who
many a time and oft o'er bog and brae had run
from the gauger, and now they were after him
with fast foot and full cry. Front the hall door
the whole course of the hunt could be seen ;
they ran helter skeltee down the lawn, rushing
swift and wild ; he. trudging along, trading up
the opposite hill, and straining every nerve to
gain the top. At length he passed the ridge,
and disappearing, rushed down to the Lennan.-
Here, out of breath and no time to strip or
hesitate, he took the water, and boldly made
the plunge Into the foaming river. A bad
`swimmer, out of breath, encumbered with his
clothes, the water rushing dark deep and rapid.
amid surrounding rocks—the poor man strug
gled, and struggled on for life; the enemy
yelled behind him, whilst a watery grave
seemed to encompass him about. Frightened
and exhausted. he had well nigh sunk forever
—another minute and he had been a drowned
man—when his pursuers coming up. two or
three of the.boldest arid best swimmers rushed
into the river and saved him.
The huntsmen now gathered round their
stricken and captive deer. They rolled the
poor'man about until they got the water be Genevv.—Poor fool! grunt away—who
had swallowed out of his stomach ; they dried ' cares ? If Cole could paint you as you look.
his body with their long frieze coats ; twenty grimy and nmpish, we'll be boundto Bay yon
hands were engaged
,in rubbing him into i would never lose your self-respect again. We
warmth. They did everything which humani- can put up with a man of quick passions, who
tv could suggest to bring hini to life. Happi- I can call another a liar one moment and begs
ly our friend had not fallen ipto the cruel his pardon the next, when he his cooled off;
clutches of a party who are more careful of the but. hang us, if we do not detest a'grouty. hog
life of a pig than of a human Creature I No ; • gish disposition. No one can get a decent an
the Donegal mountaineers had a deed to do— I suer from you—not even your old mother. or
but not a deed of death ; they were about ade- I your pretty sweetheart. Away with such a
liberate work—but not a work of blood 7 disposition, or take a trip to Botany Bay,
The moment the poor gauger was restored where you can live and make mouth's at those
to life, (and in order to contribute to and has- I who would pot suffer by you—who have the
ten his recovery, an ample dose of the po- • disposition to return like favors.
. . .
teen " he had come to prosecute 'was poured
down his throat.) they proceeded to tie a ban
dage over his eyes. and mounting him-on a
poney. off they set with their captive over to
the mountains. -
. .
Removing him froii;Olaee to place during
the whole day, through glens and defiles—up
one mountain and, down another—at length,
towards the close ofa summer's evening, they
brought him .'to' the secluded lake of Glen
Veaugh. Here they embarked him in a cur
ragh, or : wicker boat ; and ,after rowing him
op - and down the lake for some hours, they
landed him on a little island, where was a hut,
which had often served as a shelter to the
fowler, as he watched his aim at the wild Wa
ter birds of the lake, and still oftener as the
still house" to the distillery of poteen.—
Here was our captive led, and consigned to
the charge of two trusty men—the bandage was
still carefully kept on his eyes. ) He was well
cared for, and fed on trout, grouse, hares,
chickens, and
. other delicacies of the place and
season ; plenty of poteen, mixed with the pure
water of the lake, as his portion to drink; and
for six weeks he was thus cooped up, as it
were. in the dark, like a fattening fowl. The
period of his strange captivity being now about
to expire, his keepers one morning took him
under the arm and conducted him to a boat in
which they rowed hint up and down from is
land to island. They then brought him to the
main-land, through glen and mountain, till to
wards the close of the day the bewildered but
now liberated gauger finds himself alone on
the high-road to Letterkenny.
,The poor man
returned home that night to his family, who
had given him over, weeks ago. as either mur
dired of gone to America. Yet how changed
he stood before their eyes l—not as a grim
ghost at the door, but as a well fed fat and hap ,
py looking man.
Now it may be asked why all this mad pur
suitdo catch a. gauger, merely to fatten him
and let him loose again? The capture was a
matter of important consequence to the moon-.
taineers. ,A lawless deed It surelvwas. ahnost
unpardonable, seeingth at the result might have
produced serious consequences to the perpe
trators in the district. To repress the system
of illicit distillation in Ireland, amongst other
enactments, there was an act passed as contra
ry to the spirit of the British constitution as to .
the common principles of right and justice—a
law punishing the innocent in substitute for the
guilty ! This law made the townland in which
the still was found, or any part of the process
of distillanou detected, liable to pay a heavy
fine to be levied on all its landholders. The
consequence of this act (now repealed) was,
that the whole north of Ireland was involved
in one common confiscation. It was the fiscal
triumph of the gaugers and informers over
landlords and proprietors. Acting on this anti
social and iniquitous system. the gauger of
the district in question had information to the
amount of £7OOO against several townlands.
These informations were to be brought for
ward at the approaching assizes, and, if ens
tamed, as no doubt they would, the result
would be utter ruin to the people.
With such a prospect before them, and in
the circumstances mentioned, the plot was laid
fur the seizure and forcible abduction of the
revenue Officer. It having been known that.
some time previous to the assizes, the gauger
was to pass through the district mi his way to
the coast, and it being also known that he kept
those informations about his person. the
scheme was therefore to waylay him and keep
him prisoner, in safe custody, out of the way
and out of sight, until the assize were over.—
And well and effectually the plan succeeded!
The crown officer not being forthcoming at the
assizes, the prosecutions, as a matter of course,
fell to the ground, and the people generally
were saved from loss if not ruin. And so end
ed this curious case of revenue law—a law
which, with other legislative abuses. helped to
make Ireland very much what it is.
Industry and Integrity.
There is nothing possible to man which in.
; dustry an .I integrity will not accomplish. The
poor boy of yesterihty—so poor that a dollar
was a miracle in his vision, houseless, shoe
less, and breadless—compelled to wander on
foot from village to village, with his bundle on
his back, in order to procure labor and the
means of subsistence—has become the talented
and honorable young' man of to-day, by the
power of his good right arm, and the potent
influence of his pure principles, firmly held
and perpetually maintained. When poverty
and what the world call disgrace stared him in
the face. lie shuddered not, but pressed onward
and exulted most in high and honorable exer
tion 'in the midst of accumulating disasters and
calamities. Let this young man be cherished,
for he honors his country and dignifies his
race. High blood—if this course not in his
veins, he is a free-born American. and there
fore, a sovereign and a prince. Wealth—
what care he for that, as long as his heart is
pure anti his walk upright—he knows and his
country knows, and his country tells, that the
little finger of an honest and upright man, is
worth more than the whole body of an effeini
nate and dishonest rich man. These are the
men who make the country—who bring to it
whatever of iron sinew and unfailing spirit pos
sesses or desires—who are rapidly rendering
it the mightiest. most powerful, is it is alrea
dy the freest land beneath the circle of the
The Devil'sßridge.
Wales is a country abounding in legendary
traditions. and many of them are of course con
nected with the exploits of his Satanic majesty._
One of these, explanatory of the building of the
Devil's Midge, on the road to Aberys with, is
a gem in its way. We extract it from the
" Wanderings and Pondering. of an Insect Hun
•• Once upon a tone an old woman had a fa
vorite black cow that fed quietly all day and
night on the Cwm Toidder mountains, and came
home every morning and every evening to her
soleness robe milked. Now it happened one
Evening that the cow came not home; so the
old woman was much troubled, and she waited
and waited, but no 'cow came. Seeing the cow
would not come home of herself, the old lady
went to fetch her, and walked up the mountain
and down the mountain,!till she came to the place
where Mynach flows between tivo high rocks,
and there she saw her cow on the.other side of
the river. Thereupon she up a loud- lamentat
iou and howling, for she knew the cow could
not come to her, and that she cold nut go the
cow. There was no way of crossing the river.
and it was a day's journey to go round about.—
In this strait the devil appeared to her.
•• So. so, say's the devil, 'you've lost your
cow, old lady, have you : Well, never mind,
I'll build you a bridge over the river. and you
shall cross it and fetch your cow, if you like. '
Thankee, sir,' said the old woman. •thankee
kindly, sir! I'll be much obliged if you will;'
and she curtsied very low, and made obeisance
with great humility.
• To he sure I says the , devil, 'to be
sure I will !' and he cast a look at lies out of the
corner of his eye. .To be sure I will ; hut the
cow's worth something. I must make a bargain
fin toll. Keep that dog quiet, cant's you !'
Now the devil said this about the dog. because
the old woman had a little rough-haired cut dog.
that bristled up his mane, and kept on growling
and barking at him.
liarkee, old girl ! if I build you a bridge, I'll
have the first that'crossee it. Is it a bargain v.
The old woman was sorcely perplexed when
ehe heard ;his; if she went over for the , cow, she
knew very well she bad sold herself to the devil;
and if the cow came to her, then she lost the
cow. But a lucky thought came to tier, that
she might save both herself and the cow ; at any
rate she would try.
•Bridge. or no bridge ?' said the devil. "Be
quick, old girl ! bridge or no bridge 1' .
"Build-the bridge, sir, if you please,' said the
old woman ; and she made a very respectful
.Ay, ny,' said the devil, .it's very easy to say
build the bridge ; do you agree to the toll ?'
.Yes, sure, sir!' said the old woman.
With that the devil put both his fore-fingers
into his mouth, and gave such a shrill whistle.
that the mountains, woods, and rucks rang again;
the hawks and owls left their hidingplaces, and
flew about, not knowing where they went ; and
one struck another in its flight, and they both
fell together in the 'abyss, and were carried away
by the rushing waters ; the trees tossed and
waved their branches, although there was not a
breath of air. But there was the bridge. sure en
ough,and the devil was sitting in the very middle
of it, smiling away like clock-work, rocking
himself to and fro, and switching his toil with
great satisfaction. Tha old woman shook like
an aspen leaf ; but she took a crust of bread from
her pocket, and showed it to her dog, and threw
it over the bridge, and the dog ran bounding
over for, the bread, and passed the devil where
he sat in the middle.
•• Whip the dog !' said the devil. fur he was
cut to the quick; he had been outwitted by an
old woman ; he did not want the dog, so he did
not try to stop him ; but the moment the dog
had passed him he knew that the bridge was
crossed. and the spell was broken. Ile was
very mortified antevery angry, but he was a gen
tleman, and did not try to hurt the old woman,
fur he knew that his bargain only extended to
the first that crossed; so he rose, and• doffed
his cap politely:to theiold woman.for the keen res
pect the keen; and having done'so, he hung his
tail being much humbled, and walked off.
Mr. Heminway, author of •A Panorama of
North IValeel, appends to his account of this,
transaction the following pious and excellent
remarks: "It must be said that Satan behaved
very honorably in this case, and kept his word,
which is more than men always du."
Potwar A BLESSING.—The Rev. Mr—
. been on a visit to one of his Scotch par
ishioners, who was taken ill, and being about
to take his leave, held out his hand to the ob
ject of his visit, who pressed it affectionately,
and at the same time thanking his pastor fur
his kind solicitude about his sours welfare,
and in conclusion said :
•• God grant ye sir, great abundance of pov
erty here, and a double portion o't through a'
What !" said the astonished clergyman'
" do you wish me to-become poor -t"
Wi' a' me heart, sir," answered the old
map seriously—" y e ken a hundred - times an,
main, have ye tauld me that poverty was a
blessing, an' I'm sure there's mine I could
wish to see better blessed than yourself."
A solemn pause ensued: At leogth the min
ister said, with an sir of touching humility,
which showed he felt the full - force of the cut
ting reproof
Well James, I confess I never thought
seriously on that point until this moment—
poverty cannot be a blessing, it Mat best a mis
LACONIC EPISTLES.—Lard Ilrougham's"son
who is vet a minor..abil etmsripteittly depen-
dant upon his father for his support, has been
noted somewhat of late for, his attention to a
young actress of the French theatre. His fa
ther recently wrote him. the following laconic
"If you do not quit UER Fit stop your al.
• To which the. eon replied : ,
G.lf you do not double I will marry nut."
The son will enjoy a seat in Parliament
when he comes of age.
[From the Cultivator.]
Agriculture as an Occupation.
- _L. TUCMER, Esq.-1 have no apologies to
offer for asking a place in your valuable jour
nal (or a few thoughts upon several subjects
connected with agriculture. It is enough that
you have requested sue to do sJ, and that, after
a delay which may have led you to conclude
had uo intention AA complying with your re
quest, I have found time to commence what I
design as a series of communications, which.
should they prove interesting to 'a portion of
your numecuus reardera, I shalt be happy to
forward, as time and circumstances niky al
low. Ido nut intend to write to please my .
own fancy ; nor merely to amuse those wh o
read, but if possible to benefit. If I can aid
the wavering in the choice of an honorable
business, or encourage the laborer in his toils,
or give any valuable hints to the experienced.
I shall feel richly remunerated for my efforts.
The Brat subject which I wish to present,is the
choice of an employment.
A sentiment Has prevailed, and I fear yet
prevails to an alarming extent,that the practical
farmer occupies a place in society a grade low
er thaii the professional man, the merchant, or
than many other laborers. Many of our youth
have imbibed this sentiment, and have been en
couraged in it by the bond but injudicious pa
rents. Thus nut a few who might otherwise
have been useful members m society,have been
thrown, upon the world, mere pests to the com
munity. I have certainly no antipathies to the
learned professions, the mercantile business.or
mechanical employ went. These areal' neces
sary and—important ; but I insist that agricul
ture is neither less importunt, or less honora
ble or less useful.
The difficulty is not so much in the several
kinds of business, as in the fact, that an undue
porportton of our fellow citizens are engaged
in the former, to the neglect of the latter ; and
more tfian all, that the sentiment which I have
suggested, prevent multitudes Irma engaging
in either. .
From my own observations in life of more
than 45 years, and looking back and following
the history of my early associates, and from a
somewhat extensive acquaintance with the
world,ll am fully of the opinion that that sen
timent is one of the must fruitful sources of idle
ness and aline, of any that can be' named.—
And yei, what multitudes of young men and
guardians act, ur seem to act, under its influ
I knew a man in my early boyhood. who
had a profession, but very little else, (except a
numerous family ) who' was often heard to say
that his sons should never be farmers, let what
would come. These sons are now vagabonds,
except one, who has already come to an un
ninely end. His daughters married gentlemen,
and are both living in abject poverty. This is
only one among the multitudes of cases which
might be mentioned. Still men will pursue the
same path. ,
I know a farmer with two sons—smart, ac
tive lads, enjoying good health, who, nut long
since, rented hie farm, that he and his boys
might live easier. I was inclined to say to that
father, take care, sir, that you train nut those
fine young fellows to idleness, dissipation and
God made man an agriculturist, and while
in a state of innocence. his first business was
to till the ground. And in every age of the
world, some of the greatest and best of men
have been farmers : Job and Abraham were
farmers ; Washington and Jackson were far;
mets—,as also a multitude of worthy names
and noble spirits, who, like thqjn, have blessed
the world with examples of greatneas and hon
orable deeds. And I rejoice to know that ma
ny in our time, of highly cultivated intellect,
and enlarged views, and worldly ciimpeience,
are proud to be ranked among practical far ,
Far better had it been fur the world had the
number been tenfold greater. Far better were
it for the present generation, if, in the choice
of employment, parents and their sons would
view the subject as these have done' ; and let
those sons be directed in their choice to the
nine wise results. Thus, much of the idle
ness and crime which are exerting such a fear
ful influence upon us woup never hare exist
ed. Many of the
.temptations to vice would
have been avoided.
I know a father, engaged in a professicn.
who has an only son, for whose interests he
has ever 'felt the deepest solicitude. When that
son wail°, like many lads of his age, he mani
fested a strong desire to engage as a clerk in a
store. The lather felt that agriculture was an
equally honorable business—notch safer, and
more free from temptation ; yet he did not wish
absolutely to compel to a course averse from
his own choice. Ile therefore engaged a place
for him with a merchant of
. his acquaintance,
to be occupied in a few mend's, on condition
that the son should still persist in his determi
nation. lie then took. the son alone, and in
formed him that he had procured such a plac e:
at the same time pointing out in a kind man
ner the advantages and disadvantages of the
mercantile business and of agrieulture. lie
told him that he was now of an age 'that he
must choose fur himself. That whichever way
he should now decide, he would be aided as
much as practicable—dist that decisMn must
he final, that he might reflect upon the subject
one week, and then let his decision be known.
At the close of a week he decided *. to be a
farmer," to the joy of his father. From that
day onward he has pursuied steadily his coarse
—is now pleasantly 'situated upon a comforta
ble farm, and is proud, at home and abroad, to
he known as a farmer.
Would-it not ho wise Int patty a father and
eon to imitate tins examillto
R. A. A
CALAWAY. Saratoga Co., 1846.
A COQUETTE.—W hen I hear of a vignette's
marriage, says Richter, I am reminded of the
doze's.eustom of marrying Venice to the sea.
which, spite of the ceremony, is as free to all
flags as before.
Mai to Farmers.
A farmer should never undertake to cultivate
more land than he ran do thoroughly ; half
tilled land is growing pourer ; well tilled land
is constantly improving.
A farmer should never keep more cattle, hor
ses or hugs. than he can keep in goof! order ;
an animal in high order the Ist of December,
is already half wintered.
A - farmer should never depend upon his
neighbor for what he can, by. care and good
management, produce on hit own. farm - ; he
should never beg fruit while he can plant trees,
or borrow tools when he can make or buy them.
—a high authority has said the borrower is
servant to the lender.
No farnwr should allow the reproach of a
neglected • education to lie against himself or
family. If " knowledge is power," the com
mencement should be early and deeply laid in
the minds of his children.
A farmer shou!d never use intoxicating li
quors as a drink. If. while undergoing severe
fatigue and the hard labor of the sun:inter, he
would enjoy robust health, let him be. temper
ate in all things.
A fanner should never refuse a fair price for
any - thing he wants to sell. ‘Ve have' known
a wan who had several hundred bushels. of
wheat to dispose of. refuse Bs., because he
wanted Ba. 6d.. and after keeping it sia inorithe
waa glad to.get 6a. for it.
PROF. PARK of Andover, in his recent able
and eloquent • Essay on the Dignity and Im
portance of the Preacher's work," says very
justly :
Where the true preacher is at work. you
will see the fruits of his labor in even roads and
strong walls, and thriving arts, and a whole
some police ; but where the doors of the
Church are left unhinged and the windows bro
ken out, and the pulpit is given up to swallpw's
nests, and the pews to sheep, there you wilt
find a listless yeomanry and ragged farms, thin
schools and crowded bar-rooms. The history
of a church is - often. the history of a town;
when the one flourishes the other feels its in
fluence. More than twenty parishes in New
England might be mentioned, where the settle
ment of a faithful pastor was the prelude to
rapid improvements in agriculture and trade,
the style of building and of dress, the complex
ion of politics, and the whole cast of character.
What one preacher does fora parish,thousands
do for the nation.
To the complaint, that the ministry is ex
pensive, we may reply in the words of Dr.
Smith. The money given for preaching must
be given away. lino! for churches then for more
goals ; if not for houses of prevention, then
fur new houses of correction : and it is as
good economy to support religious teachers as
to support more watchmen and busier hang
men, or to raise new whipping -posts and pill
The preacher's great effect, however, is
produced upon the religious character.. The
specific virtues involved in the great elements
of religion, are the noblest attainments of- the
soul ; they are essential to the harmony be
tween the intellectual and the moral nature,and
without them man can never gain his appro
priate honor and strength.
" Happiness, the first thing which man des
ires, and the love of which is essential to him
as a voluntary agent can be attained through
the influence of such truth only, as is declared
from the pulpit. Nut his own happiness alone
does the minister secure, but that of his neigh
bor also ; not mere animal or intellectual hap
piness, but spiinual ; not for a day or a life,
but for eternity ; not merely eternal, but eter
nally increasing."
Tue EDITOR —Write—keep writing—is the
mein: of an editor. 11 he has no ideas he must
dig for them ; if he has but little time to sr
range them, no matter, the work must he done.
Sickness may come upon him ; went may
stare him in the face, but tie must cogitate
something for the dear public. perhaps in his
darkest moments, be indites a paragraph that
cheers the hearts of thousands. When almost
desponding. his words may put courage into
the hearts of millions.—Win would he an edi
tor? Yet he has much to encourage him. H
he can call no time his own, he is not rusting
4 .
dot. or in unprofitable society. A faithful con
nri,luitor of the publii: press, is a man of great
inguence. No person has more pallier than
hiittself. He instructs tens of thousands and
leads them to virtue , to honor, to happiness.—
Notman will have more to answer for than the
con octor of a corrupt and vascillating press.
Tilt: LAST ASECDOTE.-A letter gives a very
eharacteristic anecdote of General Taylor. = --
The/steamboats purchased for transports upon
the Rio Grande being small. summer craft,
have performed poorly against the strong cur
rent of that ricer, swollen to a torrent by -the
melting of the mountain snows. General Tay
lor tkas blowing tip a quarter master for not
havrng, a supply of rents and munitions at a
particular spot—and the latter excused himself
by showing that he had pushed them off-by
steamboat with the least possible delay. "You
General." concluded he. "it is the tardi
ne4 of the steamboats that is to hlame."—
", By —. then." quoit] the General,
says the letter, when his bark is up. swears
liVit a trooper." ..• I'll hang every shiftless son
of a sun of their officers the moment I lay eves
on them." But, General," said the Quarter
Master, It is not the fault of the officers—
theiretearishonts hay • not sufficient power to
breast the current." " Then, by —, sir. ,
I'll hang the steamboats."
BUPINERS STAND. -A Frenchman. being
about In remove his shop. his laldlord inquir
ed the reason, statimz. at the same time. that
it was ennsidered a very end stand for busi
ness. He replied, with a shrug of the shoul
ders :
• Oh ves. he's very gned stand for de husi
nis. Me state all day, fur nobodee come to
make me more."
mwmama teo