VDIO7IIIIII
TOWANDA:
illebnesban Amino, November 22,1848.
[For the Bradford Reporte.]
ORIGIN OF TOWANDA.
The foftow;ng was written from an Indian trailitum which
I had many years ago, from a gentleman who died a few
years since, at a very advanced age ; having resided on the
Winks of the Towanda. for more than sixty years. In the
early parlor his life was well acquainted with the Indians,
could talk and understand their language. He often repeated
16 me the word Towanda with a strong emphasis on the last
0) liable, at the same ume imitating a knit man, which be said
the Indians often did in speaking the word Towanda.
31oxstoe, P♦
Towanda, both noble and ancient thy name,
Thus sprang from a red man, entitled to fame,
A Chief of his tribe, with a most lively mien
Once liv'd on the banks of that lovely stream,
Accustom'd to govern, so mild was his sway .
His subjects were happy and lov'd to obey,
His guests in his wig-wam,,his vension shared;
And when they were weary.the bear-skin prepay d,
Though great in his council. and wise in his talk
He had the misfortune to limpin his walk, •
And thus In the language the Indians possess'd,
Towand; most clearly this limping express'd,
This word often spoken when tir'd of the chase,
145 . /We'll back to Towanda, our Chief to embrace.
As other tribes wandeed in sight of the plain,
There lives the Towanda, would often exclaim,
This name was to each neighboring tribe,
And thus the same name to the creek was appli'd.
Since red men have arandeed, and left us alone,
Those mountains and ?allies to claim as our own,
Forget not the Indian, the cause of the name—
vinues enroll on the records of fame,
'Tis by choice the red men the forests do roam,
As civilizatilm a more darling home,
Then away with your pride, away with disdain,
;Remember the fountain from whence we all came,
While we in our mansions so cheerfully dwell,
Then let not the former our virtues excell,
As long as Towanda continues to Bow,
?day each on its borders its bounty bestow,—
On all that are needy, as did the red Chief
That no one may hunger for the want of relief,
Thus prove ourselves worthy so noble a name,
And civilization still raise it in fame.
(From the Feeneh of Marie Ayearil
THE AGATE.
CON CLCDED
It was nearly midnight when the Marquis and
his faithful servant Guerard entered the subterra-
;lean passage which they had just discovered ; the
heat of the day. lad been overpowering ; and the
humid vapor of the place formed a striking contrast
with the
. temperature without. The torch which
lighted their way permitted them to examine it.—
It was a species of long and narrow conduit ; the
vault of e hich was slightly elevated and the sod
uneven ; it led in a direct line to the neighboring
villa, occupied by M. de Bapaume. The hater
dripped from between the stones, brambles grew
here and there, and their vigorous, growth bore wit
ness to the futility of a soil which its inhabitants
leave at the present day without culture, and which
formerly nourished the masters of the world. The
Marquis' sole fear was that he would find the door
closed by which he hoped to surprise the betrayer
of his wile. They soon reached it and his fears
were well founded; this door was in truth, closed,
' but the weed of which it was triads was so old and
wetmeasen, that at the first effort of the Marquis it
yielded abiselessly, and fell from its rusted hinges.
He now found himself in the vestibule of the house,
and opposite the very matting on which, a few
hours before, he had seen Catanea asleep ; a fact
which. convinced him that the woman was the coo
fidant of the Chevalier's secrets, and that sbe usu
. ally watched in the vestibule to guard against all
• indiscreet and prying visitors. Followed by Goer.
ant, the Marquis ascended at once to Bapaume's
seeping apartment. The latter had not entered it
this evening probably; for the bed wan undisturbed.
" Master," said Guerard, " the Chevalier must
be in the court."
At Messina, the inhabitants whose houses are
not pr vided with inner courts, sleep, in the sum
o, iner t upon terraces, while in the villas around the
city they prefer, and with reason. to pass the night
iii the courts : where the murmuring and coolness
ot the water invite them to repose. M de Bapa
nine fulluwed the usage adopted in Sicily.
'• Ah! he is in the court ! So much :tie better !•'
jai I the Marquis.
4 ,l . "''Ailil he bent his-step. , towards the spot where ac
i, ritnt lied rerealvcd to him the crime which he
cocas about to punish.
'• Remain at the door, Guerard, and watch lest
Catanea surprise us ; it she should chance to ap
• pear keep her away, and above all, see that she
does not utter a cry."
The Chevalier was lying upon a divan near the
fountain. Above his head, suspended from a woo--
den-frame, a curtain of purple stuff fell to , the foot
of the divan, thus preventing the dampness from
reaching M. de Bapaume, who was sunk in pro.
found slumber. The moon was high in the heai
ens, lighting up the handsome face of the young .
Chevalier; its beams seemed to repose upon his
lip which were parted with a smile. The Mar
quis seated himself upon the edge of the divan, and
gazed ktr some time at this man, whom he had so
warmly loved, and for whom but yesterday, he
would have given his fortune and his life; Che
valier made a movement, and murrntified a name,
at which the'injured husband start as if bitten by
a viper. The latter then touched him gently with
his hand. The Chevaler stroke calm as an infant,
and said, without the 'slightest emotion—
" Ah, is it you, Marquis—whist brings you here
so late ?"
" Charles," replied - M. de Fosseret,_" what evil
have I done you during my whole lik4--witatin
jury when has my friendship ever failed you " If
you do not already possess half my fortune, is it
not because you have 'refused it? Your daughter,
Augustine, is she' ot mine Havel not solemnly
promised that if heaven gave me no children she
should be my only heiress, and that, in any case,
l•would endow her richly ? Did I not come here
for your sake*? have t not been your guest ? have
I out killed my wife in your arms, t as I would have
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placed her in the anus of a brother! Well, Men,
look at this agate, this ring, that my faithless-wife
has given you, after you have both betrayed me
Look at these letters, in which she laughs at my
loin and my credulity, in which ate boasts that she
has never felt affection for me, and that she has
given you a first love—a true and undivided love
to you, and you alone."
The Chevalier would have risen, but the hand
of the Marquis held him motionless upon hiscouch ;
he tried to extricate himself from his grasp; he
opened his lips to call for aid; but the Marquis
dropped the'ring which be held in his right hand,
grasped his poignard, ani plunged it to the hilt in
the bosom of the unhappy Chevalier, whose blood
spouted forth in large jets and mingled witkthe
E 31 AEON
ter of the fountain. M. de Bapaume had been
struck by a sure hand : he fell back upon his divan,
and expired without uttering a word.
'• Guerard," said the Marquis, " approach ; it is
finished lam avenged ; a moment later, and my
strength would have failed me."
He collectettthe blood .stained letters, which were/
strewed upon the couch of hie unhappy victimoU-di
direct ..Guemrd to go and fetch *spade. Guerara
obeyed ; Ihey raised some of the marble slabs with
which the court was paved, dug op the light and
friable earth beneath them, and deposited the bo
dy of the Chevalier in the pit; then they replaced
the stones; and washed, in the water of the km
tain,"the bloody clothes which Guerard afterwards
cast into a drain, the grating of which opened upon
the court.
" Ah, mon Dieu !" cried the ,Marquis, "my
agate! I have lost my agate, Guerard r ,
The domestic observed to his master, that the
agate had probably been covered by the loose earth
which they had just removed, and that it was,
doubtless, buried in the tomb of the Chevalier.
" May it ever remain there, accursed talisman
of sheltie and woe !" said the Marquis. " Now,
Guerard, I must take away Au,ustine. How shall
we contrive to convey the child to my house, and
to elude the vigilance of Catanea."
"The Sicilian, probably, is not with the child,"
replied Guerard. "We are not in a country where
young women know not how to profit by the night,
to repair to an amorous rendezvo_s."
They ascended to the chamber occupied by Au
gustine. Catanea was indeed absent ; the Mar
quis gently wrapped the child in the bed-clothes
and raised her iu his arms. The murderer and his
accomplice then retook the secret path which bad
led them to their victinil -- and reached the villa
where Augustine was laid upon a couch, still in a
deep sleep. •
" Hasten now to Messina," said the Marquis to
Guerard, " and hire a vessel, that we may leave
Sicily before break of day."
When he was left alone, the Pitarquis asked him
self what he had yet to do ; he still held in his hand
the bloody poignant, and one of the two culprits
yet remained to be punished; but a scene of mur
der calms anger and blunts hatred. When one has
dipped his hand in the blood of a friend; he has no
longer strength to soil it anew with the blood of a
woman ; the Marquis resolved to leave Messina
• with his god daughter, and to abandon his wile to
her remorse, and to the chances of ketone. The
only 'rime* of his crime was his accomplice, and
whatever suspicions the Marchioness might enter
tain, it was not probable that she would ever ac
cuse him. Besides, after a deed like that commit
ted by the Marquis, something must necessarily be
left to chance ; be had resolved, therefore, to leave
his wife without seeing her, when a chambermaid
entered the apartment bathed in tears.
" Madame isjying," she cried, "and before
breathing her la sigh, she wished to see you once
more."
Agatha, the Marchioness de Fosseret, was, in
truth, at the pont of death.
" Yon know all," she said to her injured hus
band, " and already you are half avenged—in a
few moments you will be so entirely. The fatal
passion to which M. de Bapaume and myself have
yielded, could terminate but in three ways : flight
—this course has been out of our power; your
death—cut ?able as we were this parricidal thought
never entered our minds; or, indeed, that which
happened to day ; for we have never believed tha .
our guilt could long remain secret. Adieu, sir !
In whatever manner you have discovered my guilt,
I die without regret, since I am relieved from the
torment o(deceiving you."
With these words, the Marchioness sank back
upon her bed, and expired without pain—she had
taken poison ! But how had she been madeic
quainted with an event which had occiarred almost
at that very moment?. This the Marquts was una
ble to discover; he questioned the z ehambermaid,
who slept -.in an adjoining cabinet;
,the girt said
that a slight noise had wakened her, and that as
the hastened into Out / Marchioness' ch a mber, she
saw a dark shadow leaving it. It was some mos.
ments after,this. that Madame de Fosseret had sent
for her Inisband. The only way that the Marquis
cottiti explain the matter was, that this dark shadow
•as no one else than Canines. It was necessary,
then, that he should quit Messina on the instant.—
Guerard's return pat an end to his anxiety, for he
brought word that a vessel was about to raise an
chor and set sail for Genoa. The harbor was only
about a half a league distant. M. de Fosseret took
Augustine inkis arms, and the vessel - which fisvor
ed his escape had left the port, had even lost sight
of the historic phew* of Messina, before the young
girl had unclosed her eyes.
From Genoa it was easy for the Marquis to re
enter France, and once in Provence, where he
landed, lie fotind no difficulty in reaching Paris.—
A child of five years is easily deceived, bet it is
necessary to deceive her skitfulty, far at this age
her remembrancess are endured. M. de Fosseret
studied to compose a simple and natural fable,
which might explain to Augustine hi@ sudden de
parture from Sicily, the disappearance of her father,
and the Marchioness. The orphan asked after Ca-
Unica, and often regretted that engraved stone ,lbat
PUBLISHED EVERY_ WEDNESDAY, AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH.
tt RIXIAIIDLICES OP DIMUXCIATIOS rime apt ettarra."
agate, which she-possessed but - or a momenL To I
banish her remembrances, M. de Fosseret confid
ed her to a respectable -dame who was entrusted
with tile .care of several children, and afterwards
placed her in one of the best boarding achools in
Paris. Nothing was spared that could embellish
the life of this child ; Augustine had the best mas
ters, the most enlarged apparel; the Marquis lav
ished gold upon his god-daughter's education, while
he himself lived in obscurity, not in the Marais, a
quarter which he no longer ventured to visit, but in
a little house in the Faubourg du Route.
In the meanwhilegovemment bird succeeded go
vernment, the Directory had given place to the
Consulate, the Consulate to the Empire. It was to.
wards the close of the yer 1806—Augustine was
sixteen. She had become a beautiful and fascinat
ing maiden; her youth fulfilled all the promise:l'o(
her childhood. Tall, well formed, with regular
and intelligent features, she chained every .glance,
pit' formed the sole joy and pride of her god-father.
The latter now left his obscure dwelling, hired a
superb hotel, furnished it magnificently, and gave
festival after festival for the maiden whom he lov
ed even more than if she had been his own child.
When the Chances of conversation led them to speak
of Sicily, he was very careful not to deny his.resi
deace in that country ; be spoke briefly of it, as a
place fatal to his happiness, where he had lost a
wife whom he loved, and his best friend, the Che
valier Charles de Raper:tine, the father of his god
daughter: he acknowledged that he was rich; al
though young, he declared that he forever renoun
ced marriage; and asserted openly that, with the
exception of a legacy to his faithfvl servant Gum ,
ard, he intended to leave all his wealth to Made
moiselle Augustine de Bapanine. Suitors present
ed themselves in alipotlance ; a beautiful girl and a
rich dowry, are twirthinge which were as attractive
under the Empire as they are at the preseht day
M. de For.seret wished to give his god-daughter in
marriage to s s. man who loved her, and, above, all,
to one whom she loved also; this condition was
indispensable.
" I wish," he said, " to.give her all the happi
ness that is in my power. " Women," he added,
are more c onstant than men ; a genuine passion
suffices their_ for life. Aunstine will be subjected
io many tests in the world; I would neither have
her swerve from her duty, nor curse the hour of
her marriage"
He refused soma very advantageous offers,
merely because he irerceived, as he thought, that
they flattered the maiden's pride, rather than satis
fied her head. At last, a young man presented
himself, handsome, well tnade, intelligent, who
had the good fortune to interest Augustine. He
was accepted. Then commenced the preparations
for a magnificent weddingpresent, Mademoiselle
de liapaume rode out every day, in M. de Fusser
et's carriage to visit the shops. In the evening her
intended spouse came to discourse of happy dreams
of. the future with the chosen of his heart. The
rich god-father listened with a smile, and then
spoke of his own psi jet's.
" When you are married, leaf Augustine," be
said, " when your happiness is rendered as secure
as happiness can be rendered to this world, 1 shall
enter the army."
" How ! the army, my god-Father!"
" Yes ; I am still young, I am scamely fortpfive ;
I am strong, vigorous; I wish to sea tremy country,
to enter the army of our great Emperor, and dia.
tinguish myself. it 1 can, by some glorious deeds."
-"
Yoo would leaire us I" said Augustine, with
tears in her eyes.
"If I fall upon the field of boner, where so
many brave . soldiers have expired, you will re
member your old friend ; if I return wounded,
mutilated, I shall have the areas ; and you will wel
come with respect the disabled soldier."
Thus this man who, in his youth, busied him
self only with his personal passion now sought to
shed honor upon his life, by rendering it'tise fat to
his country. It was a thought prompted by iwish
to expiate his past crime.
One day Augustine crossed the Place duCarrou
sel to repair to the Rue du Bac, to the house of
Madame Berlin, when her carriage was stopped
near the sate of, the Tuilleries by a 4rowd of
equipages; a poor woman, who was seated upon
the curb stone, thrust her hand into the door of the
carriage, the window of-vihich was lowered.—
The dark eyes of the medicant were fastened, for
a moment, open the fair face of the young girl,
and, at the same moment, a double cry escaped
these two persons, , between whom it seemed im
possible that there could be any relation.
" Augustine ! Augustine carissimal"
" Cosines! Catanea! Coacknan, stop! Jean,
Jean, descend ! open the dood let this woman
enter!"
In a moment the door was opened, the raendi
cant seated upon the silken cushions of the carriage
and the coachman directed to drive slowly along
the main avenue of the Champs Elyse', that Mad
emoiselle de Bapanme might converse freely with
the singular personage whom she had just encoun
tered. One of the mod remarkable traits of the
people of the south, is that nothing diverts them
.from their passions, neither time nor outward cir
cumstances; they march straight to their aim, and
wire it is once attained, they burst out, as if the
spark which had been 'smouldering in their bo.
semi, were kindled there but that very moment.—
Catanea clasped Augustine m her arms, as she did
eleven years before, in the villk of the C.:eviller
de Bapaume.
"At last I have found thee, my dear child 1"
said the Sicilian. IL They hrienot killed thee,then
as they killed thy. father, the handsome French
man! Alas, thou art beautiful, like him! may
God and Saint Rosalie preserve thee! lre wu his
beauty that destroyed him I"
" His beauty !" replied Augustine, with tears in
her eyes recalled by the sight of Catanea to a
confused remembrance of her father—" his beau
ty!"
de FuWeret had recounted the death of the
Chevalier de Bapaurne as brought about by circum
with which the beauty of the noble emi g rant had
had no concern.
U And where do you live now, my child !" how
did you escape the apwassin! who has adopted and
enriched car
The Sicilian comprehended perfectly the ven
geance which the Marquis had executed against
him who had beguiled his wife, but with the sav
age and vindictive manners of her country, she
took it for granted that the hatred of me injured
husband had embraced the entire family of the
offender, and supposed that M de Foseeret must
have avenged himself upon the child as well as
upon the father.
" Who has adopted' e said Augustine ; "who
has made me rich and happy d Why,l it is the
friend of my father ; it is a mail who loves me
more than my father would love me, perhaps; it is
M. de Fosserei"
On hearing this name Catanea uttered a piercing
cty, and cast herself beck in the carriage.
"M. de Fosaeret !" she cried, " your father's
assassin ! he whom I saw plunge his poignard into
the bosom of the unhappy Chevalier!"
"What say you, Catanea, what say you! M. de
Fosseret, the friend of M. de &pawns, his com
panion, he who has devoted his entire life if edu
cate and enrich One ri
" The Sicilian then related the love of the Che
valier and the Marchioness, of which she i hail been
the confidant and 'go-between ; she described the
scene of the murder, , with which the reader is al
ready acquainted ; she had seen it all ; it was she
who, when the crime had been perpetrated, had
hastened to the Marchioness to warn her that all
was discovered, and to give her the poison which
put an end to her exigence. When she had re
turned the villa of M. de Bapaume, she had look
ed in vain for Augustine, and 'was not a little re
assured as to her fate, on learning that the Marquis
and his domestic had left Messina in a Genoese
vessel, taking with them a young child.
" From that moment," continued the Sicilian,
gazing steadfastly at Augustine, " I have been seek
ing
for you, and God knows how many lands I
have traversed ! I wished to learn if the assassin
afier having murdered the father, had matte way
with the daughter also ; hail this been so, all was
at an end ; if, on the contrary, you still lived, if
heaven had snatched you from the Marques fury,
or had softened his heart, then I wished4o see you
to tell you the truth, to point out the man whom
you should striker to avenge your father's death !
How good is God !" she ridded ; " how great is
Saint Rosalie! I find you by a miracle to-day, and
crime will be punished !''
She half opened the rags which covered her bo
som, and drew out a ribbon of threadbare velvet,
to which was suspended a bag of scarlet cloth;
this bag contained the Marquis's engraved agate,
still stained with the Chevalier's blood. Catanea
placed it in Augustine's hands.
" It is your father's blood," she said 'ober ; " he
wore this jewel. doubless, about his neck; when
be was struck ; I Wad it in the grass which grows
around the fountain."
"The fountain !" cried Augustine, " this agate?"
" Yes, this nate," continued the Sicilian, "which
was a gift from the Marchioness to the Chevalier.
Bat one thing I have never been able to learn;
I have net er been ibis to learn the way in which
the Marquis succeeded in discovering an intrigue
conducted with so much mystery."
" Oh, my God! it was I," said Augustine, "it
was I who toM him all !"
And, past events returning to her memory, she
related to Catanea the story of the key bond on
the stairs, of the agate lost in the fountain, and of
the sudden appearance of the Marquis in the court
of villa.
" Coachman, to the hotel r! she cried, a moment
after.
They returned to the hotel in silence; the young
girl ; with her head concealed in her hands, seemed
sunk in a profound revery.
0 Where is M. de Fosseret asked Mademoi.
selle de Bapaume of the domestic who was wait.
ing in the ante chamber. •
" The Marquis is in the saloon, Mademoi
Augustine, draping the Sicilian with o het
ed, rather than entered, into the saloon.
Fosseret was, alone, standing near the chimt
" Here is) our ring, sir," said Mademoisei
Bapanme to her god-Fattier, reaching him the
" look at the blood with which it is tstained•
know whose. blood, and who spilled it.
remember Catanea I"
It seemed that M. de Fooseret had long since
formed his resolution, in cue of such a discovery.
The only thing that he had to tear was that which
had happened ; be bowed to the maiden euid said—
" It is well, Mademoiselle de Bapatirnb !"
Without adding,' word, be entered his cabinet,
and a moment alter the report of a pistol announced
the fatal resolve which the murderer of the Cheva
lier had put into execution, not doubtleaarom re
morse for his past, crime, but because be, could not
endure the thought of being hated by the young
girl whom he so tenderly loved. M. de ,Foseeret
had made a will which constituted Mademoiselle
de Bapanme his sole heiress. The latter broke DR
the marriage which she was about to conclude, re•
turned to Messina, where she took the veil, and
gave all her wealth to the oonventof Saint Rosalie.
The agate, the possession of ) which had been so
fatal to three persons, forms, at the present day, ...a
part of the treasures of the convent.
THIS glory of a good malt is the tedimory of a
good Conicienee : hare that, and thou wilt have
inward peace in the midst of troubles. •
• What one is in his youth, he is apt to be in his
mature years, in
his old age, on big deathbed s and
know.
Slander is often owing to we want of mental cul
ture, and hardly anything produces greater misery
where it extensively prevails.
FM
ACITNIt'LATION or MAattace.—Among all the la
bors of the farm, tkir f skald stand first; for say
what we may to the contrary, no farmer can culti
rate his farm to profit, who is negligent in supply
ing his rots, root, and trust crops, generally, with
manure Let as cultivate such crops as we may,
devote to them as much labor as we mar. unless
we few! them with a liberal measure, their products
will be meagre and unrequiting; so also will be
the crops that are to follow them in stercessive uw
talkers, as the ground-work of their fell is general
ly laid in the preparation of the ground for corn
and other hoe crops. As to the snurces'whence
the materials are to be drawn to make manure, we
have so often specified them, that it is almist - use
less to repeat them here, and we will only speak
of them in general terms eat, marsh mud, scra
pings of the fano, roads mut yards, -mould crud le :rots
from the woods, the mould from kcal-lancsjence cur-,
seas andfirnce-sides, weeds and grass from the ' mar
she and elsewhere, cons-stafkit,offid of every kind sus
ceptible of being rotted—each and all of these form
materials for making composts, and if gathered
and formed Cato heaps to decompose, will make
excellent manure by next spring. The best dis
'position that could be made - of them, would be to
spread then f over your cow yards and bog pens.
Placed the through the fall and winter, they wouldi
, by spring time forro a body of the most enriching
manure, and be worth, pound for pciind, 'fully as
much, if not more than so much stable manure.
Perhaps there are farmers who, after reading this,
will say. we have no time for such employment—
no hands to be thus employed ! To such we would
say, that your interest would be very semi* pro
truded by appropriating two hands and team for
six weeks in such work—then the force thus: em
ployed, during the period named, would enable
you to make three bushels of cony for every one
you will make if you neglect our advice. To cut.
tivate 'Com without manure, is killing to man and
beast, while it actually robs the farmer', pocket,
finally drives him to sell his homestead and go
among strangers, to encounter, in his age, the hard
chips of a frontier life. No farmer ought to con
sider that he has fulfilled his duty, who does pot,
in the course of the year, make jive double-horse
loads of manure for every cleared acre of land on
his place—that will give him 20 loads to the acre
for his corn, besides . a supply for his potatoes, jtuf
nips, and truck, generally.
Liinsa —ii your land has been long• in culture
without baying been limed, you may. conclude
that it requires it dose of lime. If it be very poor,
IS, 20, or 25 bushels to the acre will be enough for
a first application. Indeed, ten bushels to the acre
will be of essential benefit. 1f you deiie the field
for spring erdture, the lime should be spread as
soon as you can conveniently spare the time to do
so.
If you have lark you may spread on such land
as we have described, about 75 bushels to the pore.
Comport. roe Ltonv Ssrsor LAXD.—Ted double
hone carts loads of clay and ten of barnyard, ma
nure, will do more permanent n'tiod than 20 loads
of manure, without the clay.—The clay and ma
nure should be shovelled well over' so as to incor
porate the one with the other..
Coes Coss rot Mu.ai Cows.—As these contain
a very sensible portion of nutritive matter besides
other substances of value, you should grind them
into cobateal for your mileb cows. To inqtease
their value, add to every peck of cobs a luiut of
meal or half gallon of bran to each mess for a cow,
which should be either boiled or Steamed into slop
for your cows.—The proportions we herein named,
with the addition of cot hay or straw, say a half
bushel at each meal, will not only keep a cow in
good condition, but if she be in milk will increase
its quantity. A cow, besides these slop messes,
should be night and morning served with long food,
as hay, fodder, or straw in suitable quantities, say
ter lbs. at each meal. If such course of treatment
were to be observed towards these generoui crea
tures there would be less falling off in there milk
ing properties through the winter. As to
,fauft in
short milking, we have never lajd it' to the cow,
br - the negle if hr fi -et have ever
Coax .flusis.—These, it cut and mixed with cow
slops, wilt be found an excellent food in winter,
and should be preserved for such purpose,-
CORN &Alas.—These when ect into inch piec
es and mixed with' meal or bran, and boiled or
steamed, make not only a strong, but excellent
food lot milch coos. They should, therefor; be
early cut, hauled in, and preserved from the leath
er. A ton of stalks thus fed will be found equally
as good u a ton or onlinary bay. 1
Room or ALL Htsis.—lf these, we not already
stored away, they should be taken up before be
ing injured by the frost, and put away beyond the
reach of that element. As few cellars ,keep roots
well, it may, perhaps be best to bury them in the
open air, in piles cf, my 50 bushels each. The
spot selected should be a &None—sand should be
strewn between each layer, and when raised a few
feet high, my four, the pile should be covered With
earth horn nine to ten inches thick, in I cone-like
form, so as to cut oft the water. Around each
pile of roots, drains should be *toed, so as to pre
vent the tenter from settling amend them.
blucaCews.—As we have already *treated of
these animals, in connection with corn cols, we
will content ourself with a general remark or two.
Alibis anrs should be moderately -stared, housed,
and bedded, be regularly supplied with good suc
culent food thrice a day, receive fresh water as
often, be curried daily, and salted at least twice a
week. A .mixture of equal parts of limeotely sij
Work fig Movo!ier.
+ - s r
El
Washes and salt
salt
lered.—As the itastures bare , dosobtkiw . bstenn•
smut, the cows should be fed twice a. day : Niied
and morning ) with sorb quantities of hay as win
make op for the defiCieney of the partoreOt be
ing very import t that they be earn' d bug' their
winter quarters in good condition. All that ire
have said 1n emineetion with cows giving - .milk,
will huh? good with regan) toinctif airrs"and heifers.
YOUNG 'STOCK Or ALL 101106.-••••Thet.e Fhonld I be
hoiked tinder gotl warm 'sheds open to the snitth
or east, arid if bedded so much the '-better—they
should receive !lime feeds of good hal
.or tnchlpr
and & small one 431 . grab ; a day—have access to a
yavJ, be Xatereill 'before each meal, and salted
twice a week. the currycomb or a whin) of strew,
if daily applied iroula add much cleanliness, health
and comfort. I
WORICet; 110021 E g ; 31ULE8 AID OVE3ll.—These
animals;as they; contribute . sit largely towards the
comforts and pleasures of the homestead, should
receive kind ireiltnwni from their vomiters., They
shonli be psori‘led With comfortable stabling, will
betkletl stalls, be curried and mbbei down at least
twice a day—.have proper allowances of hay mid
grain, martial; noon, and night, be watered just
before.each meal and hare each an ounce of milt
'three times a week, or an equal quantity of a mix
ture of ad ; flag, sifted hickorrsies and time—eye•
ter shelf lime btst.
It sornetimerhappers that working , horsed and
mules hive diffictrity in urinating. When this oc
curs, if 2ozs. of 'third yarrow beanized in their feti
two or three tithes in succession, a care wil! gen
erally be effected. Should the yarrow not, how
ever, effect a core, give the animal a bolus Com
prised of l oz. df colas soap and 2 drachms of salt--
petre, two mordings in succession, fasting.
As a matter of economy ; alt grain ted to horses
and other stock should bechopt—it goes father by
25 per - ii more acceptable to the animals,
induces themni take on fa , better. is more con
ducive to the pieserration of health:
Suss'. —No one should - Undertake to keep a Hoek
of sheep who does not provids them with goad
shedJing for their winter quarters—straw for bed
ding, Mks. good hay, each, per day, or its equiva
lent in °the' foOd. The sheep should be allowed
the use of'a yard, be watered thrice a day, and
have recoorse to salt daily—pine boughs should be
provided for thin to browse upon weekly—in the
absence of thesis mists: with their salt.
Fivir.noco /Icon—When the mast and nuts of
your woods shell have been consumed, pen up
your hogs to fallen; provide them good• dry warm
apartments in the pen to sleep in, separate from the
part you feed diem in. When yata first take them
up, give each, hog a tea spoonful! of flour of sul
phur in a mess, of meal, daily, for a week. -If you
design to comennce feeding with pumpkins, ap
ples or roots, let them be cooked—they go father
and-are better] for the bogs. Thrice a day give'
them tresh`waler, and once a week give them soap
suds during the first three weeks of their being
penned up. Each pen should be provided with a
lobbing part.. ! Rotten wood, charcoal and ashes
should be genendly in the pen in a trough where
the hogs could eat of it at pleasure.
While you ere - mimed in fawning ycnw hogs do ..
not omit to famish them with plenty of mould,
leaves and weeds to work up into manure for' you,
for of a trutit,they are among the best of the mans
factures of that ankle known. Twenty well sized
hogs would coved half that number of :losde et
earth or mmthl into good iertalizing manure every
ten days and in that time mix it up more aontetely
than the best hand on your farm, and especially
well would they perform that service, it you were
to strew grates of corn over the serfage daily to
induce thern to use their snouts.
As true eccinomy consists-in attending to small
Ls weil as large matters, no provident farmer should
I omit to attend to these hints, and the best and ser
est way to ereore their being attended to, is to per
sonally see that they are done, as the masteespres
eau is a great stimulator of fidelity.
PICKING AND PRESERVING APPLES. — Pick your
apples by hand. When gathered deposit them in
an airy room' to sweat. When they have gone
through this process, wipe them with cloth, care
fully pack them away in barrels, head them up,
and place them in a dry cellar.
DRAINING AND DITCRING.—If you have any mar
shy or wet giounds that you wish to render fit for
tillage, y'ou should improve the present month to
make your ditcher and drains.
CIDER-MAEING —Get through with your cider.
making as speedily as possible, as the apples yield,
more juice rte. thanuthey will a few weeks hence,'
and consequ rly Will make more cider. See that
your casks a nd barrels are thoroughly washed, and
fumigated -with a cloth dipped in , melted brim
stone.
APPLE Bursa Mama—As apple. butter is a
very agreeable sauce for the table, as well as an ar
:lute of sale, attend to having a supply made for
both purposes. Small as the incoras from its sales
may be, it I still be worth attending to; for, as
the world is the aggregation of tau& particles, so
are fortunes be realized only by those who at
tend to fink wellas large sources of wealth. '
MILES C 017 T GlAce.—lisivitig first bad your
granary thoroughly cleaned out, by being scoured
with hot ley, and dried and aired, go to work and
have all you grain thrashed out and stored away.,
At a,period like this, when prices are up one week
and "down ,tie next, every farmer should (amide/
it to be his 4uty,'to place himsslf in a position 'to
avail himself of eveiy.rise in the price Of his great
staple prodlies.
FALL PLOCCHML7AIS Aug clays are improved
by being exposed to the andon of frost, all such
lands shout have the advantage of fall and winter
i it.
ploughing they never should be ploeghed
while in a 't state. ' The furrow•elice • should be
lapped.
ttion, that he
'derable, quan
ler. generous.
secrete milk
will enable
:h so delights
so largely to-
The Tall
and envy
,
=trliaila us
=MI
ill answer a - better purpose thaw
as it is Cheaper, should 'be pre-
Frees are Weakest in their taps,
ways aims at the highest.