Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, October 14, 1846, Image 1
•_ i • . : • . . • . ... . _ ~ ' • ' /.' - -' - .....-.12' • . _-4. , . . . . .. ' .•-• . , . . . - . . . .. , • . ....... . .. _ . . . . . , . , . 7 . . . . . , . . . , . • . . . • .. . . . . ... . . , .. . , . . . . , . . THE _ . . . . . . . . . 1 . . • . , . .. . , . , . • ... .• p , . . . .. . .. ... , . . , . . t . . . .. .. , . . .. .. . .. , . ..... . . . . . e ~ . j R' ... ~.: . _ .. J I !.. j ... „ . . . . cragaleM 'CMEO Fll 4 OYSY ,L 55 ED .0, a WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1846 October. ST TEL SATZ WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK. 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.. 3§ltscgcrantoits. 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. The 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. PUBLISHED EVERY WEDESDAY, AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. 0. & H. P. GOODRICH [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. . . . REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM :ANY QUARTER." 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 sun. 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 ter." •• 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 obeisance. .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' eternity," 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 fortune. 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 epistle:. "If you do not quit UER Fit stop your al. lowance."' • 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 ence. 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 vice. 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 , mere. 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 ories.' 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, .(who. 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