OK DOLLAR PER ANNUM, INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. TOWANDA: gljnrsiiflD fllorninn, 3nne 18, 1857, ' Sftktttb Dotiro. THE SONG OF THE SUMMER WIND. J comc from the Southern shores of balm, From the spice-fields far away ; 1 come with the breath of orange-blooms, \nd the light of the summer day ; r kiss the cheek of the fevered child, And play *ith her sunny brow. \ soothe the woes of the sorrowing ones, 1 And release their hearts of care'. | aloft.to the white, white clouds, The wondering school boy's kite, And he gazes up till his eyes grow Jim. With a look of fond delight; While o'er the brow of the laughing one, 1 tow the auburn curl, is by the throng, hi the lingering we, My pathless way I wliiA I open the cups of the dainty flowers, By wild wood, field and dell, And I f*ck the fairies fast asleep Who hide in the lily's bell. The tall grass nods as I wander by, Aud the brook tip-murmnrs with glee. And jov and gladness spring up in my path, Wherever my pathway be. Oh. what could the warrior's banner be, Were it not for my gentle power- Aye. dark would he the patriot's hopes, And darker Liberty's hour ; But the starry flag of Freedom's land. Floats gaily along the way, And the freeman shouts with joyous pride, A - he views my force to day. I come with the voice of Hope and Truth I comc with the good God's love, And I bring earth's weary ones a taste Of the joys of that band above ; " I whisper to them of that inner light— The love that never dies " How the soldier of the cross may rest On the fields of Paradise. DJ is t tII aitto it s. A NIGHT AMONG THE WOLVES. 3Y JOHN' G. WHITTIER. The ganrit old wolf, Scenting the place of slaughter, with his long And most offensive howl, aud did ask for food. " 'Twas a night in January, IT—. We had been to a fine quilting frolic about two miles from our settlement of four -or five log houses. 'Twas ratltcr late, altout twelve o'clock, I should say—when tlie party broke up. There was uo moon—and a dull grey shadow of haze hung around the horizon, whße overheard a few pale and sickly looking stars gave us their dull light as they shone through a dingy cur tain. There were six of us iu eonq>any —llarry Mason and foar of as pretty girls as ever grew up this side of the Green Mountains. There were my two sisters, and Harry's sister, and his sweet lieart, the da'ighter of our next door neighbor. She v. aa a downright hand some girl—that Caroline Allen. I never saw her equal, though I aui no stranger to pretty faces. She was so pleasant and kind of heart —so gentle ami sweet jqioketA, and so intelli gent, besides that everybody loved her. She had an eye as ble as a hill violet, and her lips were like a red rose leaf in June. No wonder, then, that Harry Mason loved—boy though he was; for we bad neither of us secu our seventeenth summer. Our path lay through a thick forest of oak. with here and there a tall pine raising its dark full shadow against the sky with an outline rendered indistinct by darkness. The snow was deep ; deeper a great deal than it ever falls of late years ; but the surface was frozen strongly enough to bear our weight; and we hurried over the bright pathway with rapid steps. We had not proceeded far, before a howl come to our ears We all knew it in a moment; and I could feel a shudder thrilling 'the arms that were close to my own, as a sud den cry burst from the lips of us all, "the wolves ! the wolves !" Bid you ever see a wild wolf—not one of yonr caged, broken down, show animals, which are exhibited for a sixpence a sight, end child ren half-price ; but a tierce, half starved ranger of the wintry forest, howling and hurrying over the suow actually mad with hunger?— There is no one of God's creatures which has such a frightful fiendish look, as this animal. It has the form as well as the spirit of a demon. Another and another howl ; and then we could hear distinctly the quick patter of feet behind us. We turned right about and look ed in the direction of the sound. "The wolves are after us," sai/j Mason, pointing to aline of dark bodies. And so in fact they were, a fl'hole troupe of them, howling like BO many Indiaus iu a pow-row. We had no weapons °f any kind, and we knew enough of the vile creatures who followed us, to know that it B ouid he useless to contend with them. There ,T as not a moment to lose ; the savage beasts ff ere close ujiou US. TO attempt to tight would have been a hopeless affair. There was but one chance of escape, and we instantly seized upon it. 1 l'o the tree ; let us climb this tree !" I cried, springing towards a low bougbed aud gnarled chml * SaW at a £ lauce easily • Mason sprang lightly in the tree, and a 'ded in placing the terrified girls in a place ? comparative safety among the thick boughs. 1 was the last on the ground aud the whole troupe were yelling at my heels before I reach ed the rest of the company. There was one foment hard breathing and wild exciama f"?n am ong us, then a feeling of calm tbank u aess for our escape. The night was cold and we soon began to shiver like BO many sa.il son the top of an iceland whaler. But iere was no murmurs, no eomplainiug among or we could distinctly seethe gauut, at cnuatcd bodies of the wolves beneath us, and THE BRADFORD REPORTER. every now and then we could see great glow ing eyes staring up into the tree where we were seated. And their yells ; they were loud, and long, and hideous. I know not how long we had remaiued in this situation, for we had uo means of ascer taining the time when I heard a limb of the the tree cracking as if beneath the weight of some of us ; and u moment afterwards a shriek went through my ears like piercing of a knife. A light form went down through the naked branches, with a dull heavy sound upon the stiff snow. " Oh, God ?" I am gone I" It was the voice of Caroline Allen. The poor girl never spoke agaiu ! There was a horrid dizziness aud confusion in my brain, and I spoke not : and I stirred not, for the whole at the time was like an ugly, unreal dream. I only remember that there was smothered groans and dreadful howls under neath ! It was all over in a moment. Poor Caroline ! She was literally eaten alive ! t'e wolves had a frightful feast, and they be came raving mad with the taste of blood. When I came fully to myself—when the horfid dream went off—and it lasted but a mo ment— I struggled to shake of the arms of my sister whlo'.h were clingiug around me, aud could I have beared myself, I should have jumped down amv. ITI S the raving animals. But when a second thought came over rne, I knew that any attempt to rcs>7 ;ue wou 'd be useless. As for poor Mason he waJ w ''d with horror. He had tried to follow CaraiV ne when she fell but he could not shake off the ras Phi 3 terrified sister. His youth and consti tution and frame Were unable to stand the dreadful trial ; and he stood close by my u'd e with his hands firmly clenched and his teetn set closely, gating down on the dark wran gling creatures below, with the fixed stare of a maniac. It was indeed a terrible scene.— Around was the thick, cold night—and below the ravenous wild beasts were lapping their bloody jaws, and howling for another victim. The morning broke at last, and our fright ful enemies fled at the first advance of daylight like so many cowardly murderers. We wait ed until the sun had risen, before we ventured to crawl f.om our hiding places. We were chilled through ; every limb was numb and cold with terror, and poor Mason was deliri ous, and raged wildly about the things he had witnessed. There were bloody stains around the tree, and a few long, black hairs were trampled iu the suow. We h*d gone but a little distance, when we were met by our friends from the settlement, who had become alarmed at our absence.— They were shocked at our wild and frightful appearance and mv brothers have ofteu told me, that at first we all seemed like so mauy crazed aud brain sickened creatures. They assisted us to reach comc ; but Harry Mason never recovered from the dreadful trial. He neglected his business, bis studies, and his friends, anon murmuring to himself about that dreadful night. He fell to drinking soon after, and died a miser*Me drunkard before age had whitened a single hair upon his head. For my part, [ confess never recovered from the terrors of the melancholy circumstances which I have endeavored to describe. The thought of it has haunted me like my shadow ; and even now the scene comes at times freshly before me in my dreams, and I wake up with something of the same feeling of terror which I experienced, wheu, more than half a century since, I passed a night among the wolves. COLD WATER. —None who have heard Mr. Gough, the celebrated temperance lecturer, can forget his brilliant apostrophe to cold water. — Catching up from the table a tumbler filled with sparkling crystal, he exclaims ; " Look at that, ye thirsty ones of the earth ! Behold it ! See its purity ! How it glitters, as if a mass of liquid gems ! It is a beverage brewed by the hands of the Almighty himself ! Not in the simmering still, over smoky fires choked with poisonous gases, and surrounded by the stench of sickening odors aud rank cor ruptions, does your Father in Heaven prepare the precious essence of life, the pure cold wa ter ; but iu the green glade and grassy dell, where the red deer wander and the child loves to play—there God brews it. And down, down, in the deepest valleys, where the foun tains murmur and the rills sing,—and high up the mountain tops, where the naked grauite glitters like gold in the sun, where the storm clouds brood and the thunder storms crash, — and away, far out ou the wide sea, where the hurricanes howl music and the waves roar the chorus, sweep the march of God —there he brews it, that beverage of life—health giving water ! And every where it is a thing of beauty—gleaming in the dewdrop ; singing in the summer rain ; shining in the ice gem, till the trees all seem turned into living jewels ; spreading a golden veil over the setting sun or the white gauze over the midnight moon ; sporting in the cataracts ; sleeping in the gla ciers ; dancing in the hail shower ; folding its bright snow curtains softly about the wintry world, and waving the many-colored iris, that seraph's zone of the sky, whose warp is the rain-drop of earth, whose woof is the sunbeam of heaven, all checkered over with celestial flowers by the mystic baud of refraction—still, always it is beautiful, that blessed life-water ! No poison bubbles on the brink ; its form brings no sadnesss or murder ; no blood stains its limpid glass ; broken-hearted wives, pale widows and starving orphan shed no tears in its depths; no drunkard's shrieking ghost froin the grave curses in the words of eternal despair. Beautiful, pure, blessed, and glorious —give me forever the sparkling, pure cold wa ter ! I® A fast man undertook the task of teas ing an ecceutric preacher. "Do you believe," be said "in the story of the Prodigal Son and the Fatted Calf?" " Yes," said the preacher. " Well, then, was it a male or female calf that was killed ?" "A female," promptly re plied the divine. " How do you know that ?" 'Because (looking the interrogator steadily iu the face; I see the lualcii alive uow." PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. (VMEARA GOODRICH. [From the Boston Traveller.] The Beauchamp Tragedy in Kentucky. We were led, a short time since, to recall, in connection with the novel of W. Oilmore Simms, and review the circumstances connect ed with the well-nigh forgotten Beauchamp tragedy, in which everybody in the country was interested thirty years ago. On the night of Sunday, the Gth of Novem ber, 1825, Col. Solomon P. Sharpe, one of the foremost lawyers in Kentucky, formerly At torney General of the State, some years ear lier a member of Congress, and at that time a leader in the newly elected State Assembly, was murdered at Frankfort, under circumstan ces of peculiar atrocity, lie was roused from his bed by some one knocking at his door, aud he was there seized by the assassin, who, after some words, stabbed him to the heart, almost in sight of his wife, who rushed to his side, but too late to hear a syllable from hira, or to learn in any way who was his murderer. Suspicion soon fell, however, on a young lawyer named Beauchamp, who was arrested, tried, and condemned apparently on false evi dence, but who was yet the real murderer.— Party animosity, then furiously excited through out the State by some question relating to the courts, ascribed the murder to political hatred, for Sharpe was the leader of his party, and the idol of the people ; nor was it till after the trial that the astounding story of Beau champ's actual crime and his reasons for it were made public by his own ingenuous con fession. Some years before, apparently as early as 1818, Col. Sharpe had seduced Miss Ann Cooke, a young lady of respectable family, educated and refined, and as appears from her subsequent course, of unusual force and severi ty ,?f character. Proud and intense of feeling, she withdrew entirely from the society where she had bf en admired aud courted, and with her widowed pother, her books and her slaves, she hid her disgrace in the complete seclusion of a Kentucky plantation. It was here that Beauchamp, iu a fa tal hour for both, sought n? 1 ' oll t urged him self on her acquaintance, fell nassionately in love with her, and, led on by his passion, de voted himself, with barbarous mag.' ian ' m 'ty to her dreadful thirst for vengeance ou her betrayer. He cannot have been more than nineteen years old at this time, aud he haJ been on the point of commencing the study of law with Col. Sharpe, when he was repelled from such a connection by the story of his vil lainy towards Mis-s Cooke. Generous, though ungovernable of temper, he looked with aver sion on a man so stained—regarding hiin as " no better than a horse thief," as he himself naively says. His natural pity for Miss Cooke was strength ened by the praises bestowed on her beauty aud wit by a friend of his who had been her former admirer. He visited her in her self imprisonment, but she refused to see him ; he insisted, and she at iast came forth, but she received him coldly. He pretended a desire to use her library, and borrowed a book, which gave him a pretext to call agaiu in a few days, when he again saw lier. Little by little her reserve wore off, while his enthusiasm for her grew into fervent love. He urged his suit and besought her hand in marriage, which she at first steadily refused, and only yielded finally on condition that he should first kill Colonel Sharpe. This was in 1821, and in the autumn of that y sar he went to Frankfort for the express pur jiose of challenging Sharpe, and of shooting him if he declined. The two walked out to gether along the river at Frankfort, and when they had come to a retired place outside the town, Beauchamp disclosed to Sharpe in what relation he stood to Miss Cooke, and asked if lie would fight him. Sharpe said he could uot fight in such a cause—he would let him self be killed rather than doit ; aud falling on his knees, he implored Beauchamp not to kill him. The hate of the enraged man turned to scorn at what he thought the most glaring cowardice—he struck Sharpe in the face, call ed him by the most insulting names, and swore he would cane him in the streets every day till lie forced hira to a duel. They parted, and early next morning Sharpe left Frankfort, and Beauchamp lost his opportunity. Miss Cooke now resolved to kill her betray er with her own hand, and together with Beau champ, she contrived a plot as artful as that by which Leonore betrays Lothair, to bring hira to her house, where she could shoot him. This failed, aud after a long time she gave up her cherished plan, and left the murder again to Beauchamp, who, meanwhile, by a sophistry such as familiarity with a dreadful purpose of ten produces, had persuaded himself that it would be right to kill his cuemv, not openly as he had at first proposed, but by assassina tion. Accordingly, after his marriage with Miss Cooke, in June, 1824, he formed his plans for the deed. Never was a murder more delibe rately committed. For more than a year he was busy making arrangements so that no evi dence could be brought agaiust him. He eveu deterred the act till after an election, hoping that Thoinpsoo who ran for Uoverner against Desha in 1824, would pardon him if he were chosen, as he was not. Disappointed in this, he determined to kill Sharpe at such a time that his death would seem occasioned by po litical enmity ; for which reason he chose the beginning of a session of the Legislature, iu which, as wc have said, Sharpe was a promi nent man. He traveled to Frankfort, as if on business, lodged at the house of a relative of Col. Sharpe, and, disguised as a negro, he lurked about the house of his victim till he made sure he was within. He then knocked, called hirnto the door, 6bowed his face, that he might%*e the agony of knowing who bis murderer was, aud then stabbed him to the heart. The unfortu nate mau kuew his assassin, but so sure had been the blow, that the only words ho spoke were —" Pray, Mr. Beauchamp," at the same time striving to throw his arms about his neck; but no one heard that exclamation, and Beau champ had the satisfaction of seciDg that no ,R RE®ARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER." such evidence as this could be brought agaiust hiin. He lingered near the house till he was seen by Mrs. Sharpe, then went back to his lodgings. After having resumed bis own dress, aud with a tranquil aud satisfied heart, as he says himself, he lay down to sleep. In the morning the whole town was in ex citement at the horrid deed. Bcauchamp's host suspected him, but bis calm demeanor died away all suspicion, and he was allowed to leave Frankfort without molestation. As he drew near home, his wife, who had been anxiously awaiting his return,saw him approach waving a red flag, which had been the tokeu of success agreed upon between tbem. She was full of joy, like himself, at the fulfillment of her just vengeance, as they thought it, and they talked over all the details of the crime with a fearful satisfaction. Beauchamp was soon arrested, as he expect ed to be, but contrary to his expectations, he found that all his plaus to destroy evidence had been fruitless. Circumstances—the fatal eaves-droppeis—bore too sure witness, and where a link was wanting in the chaiu of tes timony, it was easily supplied by exaggeration or perjury. He was convicted on the 19th of May, 1826, aud in spite of the doubts of ma ny eminent lawyers, who maintained that there was no existing law to punish murder, he was executed on the 7th of July following. He had iu vain tried to throw the crime on some other person, aud to obtain a pardon from Gov. Desda, who, to be sure, had pardoned his own son, twice convicted of murder and robbery. These details may seem like those of a com mon murder—too common in these days, un fortunately—deriving their interest only from a morbid craving for a knowledge of such horrors. But there is a deeper reasou why the atrocities of Beauchamp aud his wife stand forth iu prominence on the sad calender of j of crime. The feeling which impelled them j was an iusatiable thirst for vengeance, it is ! true ; but this finds some excuse in the great-! uess of their victim's guilt ; while it is exalt- i ed übove the fury of the ordinary murder bv the solemn taaaticism which made them regard it as a duty, and the tenderness of their love for each other. Nothing can be more touch ing than the gentleness and revereuce with which everywhere iu his confession. Beau champ speaks of his wife ; and she, in turn, seems to have felt the most enthusiastic affec tion for hira. He was her chevalier—her champion, and the champion of iujured virtue everywhere and in her steady refusal to out ive him, she shovr'ed the coustancy of a Ro man matron, and died heroically as Brutus' Portia, or the more famous Lucretia. After his conviction she spent mnch time with him, aud in the hope of dying together they both took poison, which, however, proved ineffectual. They were then carefully guard ed, but in spite of this, on the morning of his execution, they contrived to stab themselves. Beauchamp was not mortally wounded, but his wife lingered only a few hours after his executiou. As he was carried to the gallows, too weak to sit on his coffin iu the cart, ac cording to the barbarous custom, he asked to be taken to his wife, then lying unconscious from her wound. He laid his hand on her face, and sought iu vaiu to make her recog nise him ; then bidding her the tenderest fare well, aud bowing to the ladies at the windows as he passed along the street, lie went ou to the scaffold. THE MAELSTROM A MYTH. —In a lecture on Norway, delivered by Mr. 11. W. WILLIAMS to the members of the Midland lustitute, the lecturer gave interesting information as to some of the phenomena peculiar to that region. With respect to the Maelstrom, he said that on the voyage up the coast, when he arrived at the region which, in maps and charts, is marked as the position of that phenomenon, he made inquiries of the Captain of the vessel as to its existence and locale, but to his surprise the captain informed him that the English knew more of its existence thau than the peo ple of Norway ; that he himself had made many voyages along the coast, but had seen no signs of such a phenomenon ; and, alto gether, he believed it to be a mere invention. The lecturer expressed his belief that it was a mere myth, and that its existence was due to the eddies formed at the mouth of the numerous fiords, which might be danger ous to the frail vessels of the Norwegians, but which a thames waterman could have no fenr of crossing. Mr. WILLIAMS also gave descrip tion of the origin of the sea-serpent, which he attributed to optical delusion, and the pres ence of rocks in the ocean, which were ob scured from vision by the rising of the waves thus producing that, undulating motion said to be peculiar to the monster. LOFTY CONDUCT. —In the neighborhood where I once lived a man and wife were almost constantly quarreling. During their quar rels their only child (a boy) was generally present ; and of course had caught many of his father's expressions. One day when the boy had been doing something wrong, the mother intcuding to chas tise him, called him, and said. " Come here sir ; what did you want to do that for ?" A The boy complaceutly folded his arms and imitating his father's manners replied : " See here, madam, 1 dcu't wish to have any words with you." Mr. Sniff coming home late one night from "meetiug," was met at the door by his wife. Pretty time of night Mr. Sniff, for you to come home ; pretty time, three o'clock in the morning ; you a respectable man iu the eommuuity , and the father of a family."— "Tisn't three, it's only one, I heard it strike, council always sits till one o'clock." "My souls ? Mr. Sniff, you're drunk ; as true as I'm alive, you're drunk. It's tnree in the morning." " I say, Mrs. Sniff, it's one. I heard it strike one as it came around tlio cor ner fico or three times?' What Coal does for a Country. The Scientific American says ; —There can be no doubt that the coal beds of England are the real natural source of its physical wealth. Without coal it never would have been a manufacturing country, without it no cotton factories would ever have been erected, and no steamships would ever have floated on its wa ters. It is simply because it has the largest coal fields in Europe, that it is the greatest mauufaeturing nation in the world. But it was very difficult to introduce the use of coal among the old English people. It was first used in that eouutry about six centuries ago, and at that time Englishmen would uot use the sooty fuel in their houses. It did not suit the fire places or the domestic habits of the people ; but it was found well adapted for the blacksmith and the lime burner. Only the layers near the surface and in coal fields adja ceut to rivers, or seas, were first ojieued ; but when the demand increased, the miners dived more deeply into the bowels of the earth, and boldly worked the coal wherever it was to be found. When the mines became deep the mi ners were sadly perplexed how to get rid of the water ; and was not uutil the steam en ; gine came to their aid that they fully master- • ed the difficulty. But the prejudices of the users were as difficult to surmount as the per- j ils of the miners. A citizen of London was once tried and executed for burniug sea coal in opposition to a stringent law passed in res pect to that subject ; but even long after such intolerance had passed away, coal was tabooed in good society. Ladies had a theory that the black abomination spoiled their complexion ; 1 and it was for a long time a point of etiquette not to sit in a room warmed by a coal fire, or to eat meat roasted by such means. Preju dice, unquestionably, liad much to do with these objections ; but it was not all prejudice, for the most total absence of proper arrange- i ments for a supply of fresh air, and removing smoke and foul air, rendered the burning coal a very dirty and disagreeable companion iu a room. Wood was then the principal fuel used ! in England, and the forest but scantily sup- j plied the wants of the people. Turf or peat, was employed in some districts as it still is in Ireland and the Highlands of Scotland ; but in all England wood is at present unknown as a domestic fuel—coal has eutirelv superseded it. SNAKES. —Snakes are much abused animals. As supposed types of the first deceiver, a sort of religious dread has ever been attached to them, among Christian people ; aud a few of the species beiug really venomous, and others possessing imaginary attributes, far transcend ing the actual powers of any of the class, it is uot very wonderful that all the sons and daughters of Eve should inherit a hearty ha tred of snakes. First—What are the venomous snakes ? In the Uuited States we have the Rattlesnakes, Copperheads, aud Moccasins. No others— and, in fact, there are no other poisouous rep tiles in our country. The Moccasin is a st uthern species ; and so is the great Diamond Rattlesnake—the worst of the species. The Copperhead is a very bad snake ; fortunately quite rare now. Robert Keuuicott, who is collecting specimens in the region of Jonesboro aud Cairo, writes that he lias just secured a genuine Copperhead in Illiuois. The Banded Rattlesnake is also found iu that region, aud he is uot to be des pised ; as his bile is truly dangerous, though rarely fatal to man. But the suake, about cures for whose bite so much has been said in this paper, is quite a different customer —not a very agreeable in mate of one's house, (though we have killed two fonud iu ours,) aud quite sufficiently ven omous for the suake's own purpose. Still, that our prairie Rattlesnake has ever caused the death of a single human being—whether " doctored" or not—we have yet to learn. Aud this brings us to the second question. Is there any specific antidote for snake poi son ? Possibly. But who knows it ! Not we ; and we studied medicine, practised medi cine, aud believed in medicine for nearly thir ty years. Our first ex]>erieuce with suake bites was in the state of Mississippi, where childreu, and especially careless negroes, were occasionally bitten by the "ground rattlesnake" —a small species of Crotolophorits , much like ours of the western prairies. We do not remember a case of bite from any other species ; nor did we know of a death from snake-bite there, or in the state of Louisiana, where we tarried seve ral years. Since then, a residence of over twenty-one years in Illinois —with as extensive a country practice as any other physician—aud in a re gion aud during a time where aud when rat tlcsuakes abounded, no death from their bite has ever coiue to our knowledge. That is, no death of man, woman, or child—a few small animals, usually bitteu iu the nose, have died; and deaths among large animals have beeu re ported to us, but we never saw a case. Of huiuau subjects, wc have treated many eases, and knowu many that had no treatment at all, or were treated in all ways ; aud the result was always the same—all recovered ; though some suffered horribly for a little while. * * We have but a word to add to this hasty dissertatiou on snakes. Let every Farmer bear in niiud that the whole tribe of serpents arc insect eaters, and the benefactors of their human prosecutors. Rip up the stomach ot one, and you will find it stuffed with iusects, or enlarged by the bodies of the meadow mice. Except in killing an occasional bird or frog, nearly all of our snakes are as useful to vege tation as they are harmless to mankind ; and it is not only an act of wicked barbarity, but a species of suidicial folly to destroy them.— Far better aid in dcterminiugthc species and their dissemination, as urgen iu the circular is sued by Robert Kennicott, and show that you arc above the vulgar prejudice against those persecuted creations of the Great Author of of all animal life, who made nothing without an object, and made for our good. [l'rairic Farmer, May 21. VOL. XVIII. NO. 2. COURTING. I lon't see why people cannot do their courting by daylight, thereby saving an extra of lights, fuel and forenoon naps.— A Break- I fast-Table Remark. Whew ! preach that doctrine until your . heat! is grey, and you are as toothless as a ' new-born babe, and still young folks will "set op," till the stars grow tired of watching, and roosters begin to crOw ! There is a Sort of fcs iuation in it, a [ositive i denial to the contrary notwithstanding. An | indiscribable, undeniable charm, in being the ; sole occupant of a frout parlor, with nothing ; to molest or make afraid ; the sofa drawn up ! before the shining grate, and the lamp regula ted to u steady light that will not eclipse the brightness of eyes, or make parii-nlarly promi nent, unclassieal, irregular features. There is something peculiarly pleasing in heor'ng the last pair of household feet take a bee line depar ! ture for the upper chambers, and feeling that the ever swinging parlor door will remniu closed until some one of the party concerned, choose to open it. Talk of courting by daylight ! Think of | laming one's arm by quick, hasty withdrawals from around a certaiu waist, at the incessaut ringing of the door-bell, or seeing the puff | combs and curls fly in every direction, by a sound of coming footsteps. Imagine proud lover at the feet of fair lady, pulling forth an eloquent, long avowal, with extraordinary ex pressions flitting over his face ; and. at the same moment, a puzzled little countenance peering through the foldingdoors, wondering what makes Mr. M. "pray with his eyes wide open !" Or, more disagreeable still, have "mainu'' open the door, without the prelude of a rnp, of course, jnst at the moment you have ventured to test the temperature and sweet ness of her daughter's lips. And then what time in the day could one take ? Not in the forenoon, certainly, wheu mucic teachers and fashionable callers are iu vogue ; not in the afternoon, when one's sen ses are stupefied by the eating of a hearty dinner ; not on Sundays, when every body is expected to go to church ; not iu church, with pantomimic gestures that set the occupants of neighboring pews a staring. No ! there is but one time, and that the veritable seasou set in old primitive days—a time and season for courting. An hour, when you pinch Susie's fingers to make her tell who she loves best ; look in Susie's hand to see if her fortune runs with yours, and see w hat letter of the alpha bet Is formed by the lines therein ; kiss her when you please, bug her w hen you please ; and all this when the old folks are sleeping, when the sound of footsteps are scatttering iu the streets, and there is no one on earth so near Susie as yourseif 1 Them's urn.— Mar garet 1 'erne. THE COMET.—A writer in the St. Louis Republican gives the following information as to the comet. 1. There are astronomical calculations of the orbit of the comet, that warraut the predictiou that it will touch the earth —I made 'em my self. 2. Science can calculate the orbit of this eccentric comet no mater how long its period and 1 predi t unhesitatingly, that the comet now approaching, will come in contact with the earth on the 10th of June, about 20 minutes after 10 o'clock, and the point of contact will be in the vicinity of a place called Vide Roche or Carondelet. 4. The nucleus of this comet is very large and composed of the bisulphurretted carbon ate of the protoxide of mnganese The tail is chlorine, and although you cannot see the stars through it, they will probably be sccu by many at time of the collision. PANCAKES —Beat up three eggs and a quart of milk ; make it into a batter with Hour, a little salt, a spoouful of ground ginger, and a little grated lemon peel ; let it be of a fine thickness and perfectly smooth. Clean your fryingpan thoroughly, and put into it a good lump of dripping or butter ; when it is hot pour in a cupful of batter and let it run all ever of au equal thickness ; shake the pan frequently that the batter may not stick, and when you think it is done on one side, toss it over ; if you cannot, turn it with a slice ; nud when both sides are of a nice light brown, lay it on a dish before the fire ; strew sugar over it, and so do the rest. They should be eaten directly, or they will become heavy. At au exaaii nation of the College of Surgeons a candidate was asked by Abcrue thv. " What would you do if a man was blowu up with powder ?" " Wait until he caiue down," he coolly ro- " True," replied Abernethy, "and supposo I should kick you for such an impertinent rc ply, what muscles would I put in motion ?" " The flexors and extensors of my arm, for [ would knock you down immediately," He received a diploma. TOF. CONSCIENTIOUS FARJIEII. —A Mr. TJ to wait upon customers, said : '•John, you see those bottles there, with their labels ; I warn you not to drink a drop from one of them, they are all tilled with poison. Sell all you can but doi.'i drink yourself." FRUIT FRITTERS. —Make a batter of flonr, milk, and eggs, of whatever richness you rill s're ; stir into it either raspberries, currant, or any other fruit. —fry in hot lard the aatuu as pancakes. tegr Not long since, a youth, oldtr in wit than in years after lifting c. tei h'scd concern ing the power of Nature, replied —"31a, I think there's one thing VAOirc can't do."— What is it v " <'"