OIE DOLLAR PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. TOWjAJNTDA. : Thursday Morning, October 13,1859. Sckrtcb |3octrg. [Written for Gleason's Pictorial Battle Ship-] A DIRGE FOR THE SUMMER. BY SYBIL I'AKK. Yesterday the bright winged Summer Bowed her fair young head and died, And the flower-bells tolling murmur Funeral dirges by her side. This calm morn our dear departed Lieth cold upon her bier, Royal dahlias crimson-hearted, Were the first sad mourners here. Asters many hned, and glowing. Pansics, and sweet mignonette, Kach are on the dead bestowing Some last token of regret. Like an Eastern queen she sleepeth. Decked with gems and blossoms rare ; Faithfully each true heart keepeth Vigils for the young and fair. All day long the weary sighing Of her breath so faint and low, Told us that our love was dying. Aud our eyelids filled with woe, When from out the azure heaven. One by one the pale stars shone ; Then her last farewell was given, Thcu the summer time was flown. Tears are falling, sadly falling. Like the dropping of the rain. Through the earth a voice is calling, For the dead to wake again ; All our paths with gloom are shaded, And our songs are dirge-like now, Since the golden mi-jt has faded From the Summer's royal brow. Yet again. <> sweet-voiced maiden. l)ur sad lips must breathe farewell. While thy presence, blossom-laden. Lingers over wood and dell. Then we'll smooth the shining tresses From thy gentle brow of snow, And with tears and kind caresses We will leave thee sleeping low. Bfl c: 1c b (L ;i 1 1. A SPIRITUAL SUBPCENA. Some dozen years ago, I passed a couple of early summer mouths iu Devonshire, fishing— changing one picturesque sceue of sport for another, always disbelieving that I should find so fair a place as that last quitted, and al ways having pleasantly to acknowledge myself wrong. There is indeed au almost inexhausti ble treasure of delicious nooks iu that fertile county, which comprehends every element of landscape beauty—coast and inland, hill and valley, moor and woodland—and excels iu nothing more than in its curved rivers. What c'iff like aud full-foliaged banks about their sources, and what rich meadows, sprinkled with unrivaled kiue, as they broaden toward the sea 1 At the close of my tour, I was lodging in a farm house near a branch of the Exe, rather regretful at the thought of so soon having to shoulder mv knapsack and return to native Dorset, uear a certain proviucial towu of wiiich county, and iu a neighborhood with out a tree in sight, or a stream within sound, it was my lot to dwell. We had lately thrown out a bow-w iudow to the drawing-room, there, but why I cannot tell, for there was certainly nothing to see from it What a difference be tween such a spot and my then abode, from the windows of which a score of miles of undu latiug and varied landscape could be discerned with the olel cathedral towers of the capita! city standing grandly against the southern sky ! It is not true that persons who live in pic turesque places do not appreciate them, but only that they require to be made to under stand their good fortune. Michael Courteney, the good man of the farm, and, like all his class, a thorough stay-at-home, could not dis c >ver what I found iu that look out from his house to make such a fuss about ; but his wife, who had once paid a visit to her son when iu business at Birmingham, knew per fectly well. Concerning which sou Robert, by the by, there was a sad tale. He was the ouly child of the good pair, aud one who should have been there at Cowless, the right hau l of bis father and the comfort of his lov ing mother ; but the young man had decided otherwise. He had never taken to farming, but had grieved his father hugely by a hank ering after mechanical studies, which tbe old agriculturist associated almost with the black art itself. Thinking himself to have a gift for the practical sciences, Robert was ap prenticed in Birmingham, and for a time bade fair to acquit himself well. But it had not been farming to which he was in reality averse, eaceful homestead of Cowless oue day ; and ou the next morning, when the house was astir.it was found that Robert had gone away iu the night-time, nor had he since either re turned home or written of his whereabouts. It was a year ago and more by this lime, during which period Mrs Conrteney had growo older than iu the half-doren years before, while the old uian himself, said the farm-peo ple. had altered to the full as much as she, al though, for his part, he had never owned to it. It was not he who told me of the matter, but the good wife, who was fond of me—as my vanity was obliged to confess—mainly be cause I was of the age of her lost lad, and so reminded ber of him. 1 slept in the very • oai which had been her Robert's, and a very comfortable little room it was Here it was, very early one May morning, "ore even the earliest risers of the farm wee THE BRADFORD REPORTER. up, that I was awakeucd by these three words, pronounced close by me iu thedistiuctest tones, " The ferryman waits." So perfectly conscious was I of having been really addressed, that I sat up in my bed at once, and replied : "Well, and what is that to me ?" before the absurdity of the iutimatiou had time to strike me. The snow-white cnr taiDS of the little bed were completely un drawn, so that no person could have been hid den behind them. Although it was not broad daylight, every object was clearly discernable, and through the half-opened window came the cool, delicious summer air, with quickening fragrance, I heard the dog rattle his chain in the yard as he came out of his kennel and shook himself, aud then returned to it lazily, as though it was not time to be up yet. A cock crew, but very unsatisfactorily, leaving off iu the middle of his performance, as though he bad beeu mistaken in the hour. My watch, a more reliable chrouicler, informed me that it wauted a quarter of four o'clock. 1 was not accustomed to be awukcued at such a time as that, and turned myself somewhat indignantly on the piilow, regretful that I had eaten clot ted cream for supper the preceding evening I lay perfectly still, with my eyes shut, eudea voring, since I could not get to sleep again, to account for the peculiar nature of my lale nightmare, as I had made up my mind to con sider it, until the cuckoo clock on the oaken chair outside struck four. The last note of the mechanical bird had scarcely died away, when aguiu, close to the pillow, I heard utter ed, not only with distinctness, but with a most unmistakable earnestness the same piece ofin tormation which had once so startled me al ready, " The ferryman waits." Then I got up and looked under the little bed, and behind it, into the small cupboard where my one change of boots was kept, and where there was room scarcely for anything else. I sounded the wall uearest my bed's head, and tound it solid enough ; it was also au outside wall ; nor from any of the more remote ones could so distinct a summons have come. Then I pushed the wiudow casement fully back, aud thrust my head and bare neck into the morning air. If I was still asleep, 1 was determined to wake myself, and then, if I should hear the mysterious voice again, I wa< determined to obey it. I was not alarmed, uor even disturbed in my mind, although great ly interested. The circumstances of my posi tion precluded any supernatural terror. The auimals in the farm-yard were lying in the tumbled straw close by, and near enough to be startled ut a shoal of mine ; some pigeons were already circling round the dove cot, or pasing, sentinel like, the little platform before their domiciles ; and the souud of the lasher, by whose circling eddies I had so often watch ed for trout, came cheerily aud with inviting tone across the dewy meadows. The whole landscape seemed instinct with new born life ; and to have thoroughly shaken off the solem nity of dreary night. Its surpassing beauty and freshness so entirely took possession of me indeed, that in its contemplation I absolutely forgot the inexplicable occurrence which had brought me to the window. I was wrapped in the endeavor to make out whether those tapering lines, supporting, as it appeared, a mass of Southern clouds, were indeed the pin nacles of the cathedral, when close by my ear, close by, as though the speaker had his lace at the casement likewise, the words were a third time uttered, " The ferryman waits." There was a deeper seriousness in its tone on this occasion, an appeal which seemed to have a touch ot pathos as well as gloom ; but it was the same voice, and one which I shall never forget. I did not hesitate another mo ment, but dressed myself as quickly as I could, and, descending the stairs, took down the vast oakeu door-bar, and let myself out. as I had l>een wont to do when I went betimes a fishing. Then I strode southward along the footpath leading through the fields to where the river ferry was, some three miles off, now doubting now believing, that the ferryman dul wait there at such an unusual hour, and for uie. I made such good use of my legs that it was not five o'clock when I reached the last meadow that hv between me and the stream ; it was higher ground than its neighbor land, and every step I took I was looking eagerly to come in sight of the ferry-honse, which was on the opposite bank, and by no means within hailing distance. At last I did so. and ol>- served, to my astonishment, that the boat was not at its usual moorings. It must needs, therefore, have been already brought over up on my own side. A few steps further brought me into view of it, with the ferryman standing up in the stern leaning on his punt-pole, and looking intently in my direction. He gave a great " halloo " when he recognized me, and I returned it, for we were old acquaintances. " Well, Master Philip," cried he, a I drew .near, " you are not here so very much betimes, after all ; I have been waiting for you nigh upon half an hour.'' •• Waiting for me ?" echoed I I don't koow how that can be, since nobody knew that I was coming ; and, indeed, I didn't know it myself til] and there I stopped myself upon the very verge of confessing myself to have been fooled by a voice. Perhaps the ferryman him self may he concerned in the trick, thought I, and is now taken across out of hours " Well, sir," returned the genius of the river turning his peakless cap hind before, which was his fashion a hen puzzled, and certainly a much more polite one than that common to the brethren of the land, of scratching their heads, " all I can say is as I was ronseo at half past three or so by a frieud of yours, saying as though yon would be waiting me in a little on the north bank." " What friend was that ?" inquired I. "Xy, sir, for that matter I can't say, since I didn't see him, bnt I heard him well enough at all events, and as plain as I now hear TOO. I was asleep when he first called me outside yonder, and could scarcely make any sense of it ; but the second time I was wide awake.and the third time, as I was undoing the window, there ooold be no mistake aboot it "Be ready for Philso Beaton on tbe north bank,'' h? PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH. " REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANT QUARTER." " And how was it you missed seeing my friend ?" inquired I carelessly as I could. "He was iu such a hurry to be gone I reckon that as soon as he heard my window open,and knew he had roused me, he set off. His voice came round the east corner of the cottage as though he went Exeter way. I wouldn't have got up at such a time, and at such a sum mons, for many other folks but you, I do as sure yon, Master Philip." " Thank you," said I, though by no means quite convinced you're a good fellow, and here's five shillings for you And now pnt me across, aud show me the nearest way by which I can get to the city." Now, if by some inscrutable means the fer ryman—who had become the leading figure iu my mind because of the mysterious warning— or any accomplice of his had played mc a trick, or trumped up a story for my further bewilderment, they bad not, I flattered myself very much cause for boasting. I had evinced but slight curiosity about tbe unknown gentle man who had heralded my approach at day light, and I had a real object in my early ris ing—that of reaching the capital city, at least ten miles away. But my own brain was, for all that, a prey to the most conflicting sugges tions, not one of which was of fiual service toward an explauatiou of the events of the morning. There was I, a little after five A. M., with walk before mc of ten, and u walk behind of three good Devou miles, breakfastless, without the least desire to reach the place he wus bound for—and all because ot a couple of roz et-prceterea-nihils, voices without a body be tween them. I consumed the way in mentally reviewing all the tircnmstances of the ca s e again and again, and by no means in a credu lous spirit ; but when I at length arrived at the city upon the hill, I was as far from the solution of the matter as when I started. That the ferryman himself, a simple countryman, should be concerned in any practical joke upon me, a mere fly-fishing acquaintance of a couple of weeks standing, or that such persons as the Courteueys should have permitted the playing of it upon a guest at Cowlcss, was only less astounding than the perfection of the trick it self—if trick it really was. But neither my feelings of anger, when I looked on the matter in that light, nor those of mystery, when I took the more supernatural view of it, in any wise interfered with the gradual growth of ap petite, and when I turned iuto a private room at the B,chop's Head in the High Street, the leading idea in mv mind, after all my cogita tions, was breakfast. If seven aud forty mys terious voices had iuformed me that the ferry man was waiting then, I should have responded: " Then let him wait—at all events, till I eat mv breakfast and sundries." Although Exeter is as picturesque and ven erable a city as any raven conld desire to dwell in, it is not a lively towu by any means, iu a general way. A quiet, saintly, solemn spot, indeed, it is ; excellently adapted for a sinner to pass his last days in—although he would probably find them among the longest in his life—and peculiarly adapted to that end iu its very great benefit of (Episcopal) clergy ; nut for a hale young gentleman of nineteen to find himself therein at nine o'clock on a fine sum mer morning, with nothing to do, and all the day to do it in, was au cmbarrassiug circum stance. "Nothing going on, as usual, I suppose ?" | inquired 1, with a yawn at the waiter, wheu I had finished a vae amenable to reason and to the ties of relationship, as well as not averse to a small pecuniary recom pense, I soon found standing room for myself in the court house, where every seat has been engaged for hours before As I had been in formed, the proceedings were all bnt conclud ed, save some ouimportaut indirect evidence, and the speecu of the prisoner's counsel. This gentleman had been assigned to the accused a> council by the coort, since he had not pro vided himself with any advocate, nor attemp ted to meet the tremendous charge laid against him, except by a simple denial All that had been elicited from him since his apprehension, it seemed, was this: That the toll keeper's wife was mistaken in his identity, but that be bad led a wandering life of late, and ecu.d not pro- duce a persou to prove an alibi-, that he was in Dorsetshire when tbe murder was done, miles away from the scene of its commis-sion ; but at what place oft the particular day iu question —the sth of March—he could not re call to mind. This, taken in connection with strong condemnatory evidence, it was clear, would go sadly against him with the jury, as a lame defeuee indeed; although, as it struck me, who had only gleaned this much from a by stauder, nothing was more natural than that a journeyman carpenter, who was not likely to have kept a diary, should not recollect what plnce he had tramped through upon any par ticular date. Why, where had 1 myself been on the sth of March? thought I. It took me several minutes to remember, and I only did so by recollecting that I had left Dorsetshire on the day foilowiug, partly in consequence of some alterations going ou at home. Dorsetshire, by the by, did the prisoner say ? Why, surely, I have seen that face somewhere before, which was now turned anxiously and htiridly around the court, and now, as if ashamed of meeting so many eyes, concealed in his tremulous bauds Robert Moles! No, I certainly never heard that name, and yet I began to watch the poor fellow with singular interest, begot ten of the increasing conviction that he was not altogether a stranger to me. The evideuce went on and concluded ; tbe council for the prisoner did his best, but his speech was, of neeessity, an appeal of mercy rather thau to justice. All that had been con fided to him by his client was this: that the vojing man was a vagabond, who had deser ted his parents, and run away from his inden tures, and was, so far, deserving of little pity; that he had, however, only been vicious, and not criminal; as for the murder with which he was now charged, the commission of such a hideous outrage had never entered his braiti. "Did the lad look like a murderer? Or did he rather resemble the Prodigal Son, penitent ior his misdeed®, indeed, hut not weighed down bv the blood of a fellow-creature?" All this was powerfully enough expressed, but it was uo evidence; and the jury, without retiring from their box, pronounced the young mau "guilty," amid a silence which seemed to corroborate the verdict. Then the judge pot on the terrible black cap, and solemnly in quired lor the last time whether Robert Moles had any reason to urge why sentence should not lie passed upon him. "My lord," replied the lad, in a singular low, soft voice, which recalled the utterer to my recollection on the instant, "I am wholly innocent of this dreadful crime of which I am accused, although 1 confess I see iu the doom that is about to be passed ujion me a fit re compense for my wickedness and disobedience. 1 was. however, until informed of it by the of ficer who took me into custody, as ignorant of this poor man's existence as of his death." "My lord," I cried, speaking with an ener gy and distinctness that u?tonishcd myself, "this young mau has spoken the truth, as I can testify." There was a trcmendious sensation in the court at this announcement, and it was some minutes bciore I was allowed to take my place iu the witness box The council of the crow n objected to my becoming evidence at that stage of the proceedings at all, and threw him self into the legal question with all the indig nation which he had previously exhibited against the practice of midnight murder ; but eventually the court overruled him, aud I was sworn. I stated that I did not know the prisoner by name, but that I con'd swear to his identi ty. I described how, upon the sth of March lust, the local builder, being in want of hands, had hired the accused to assist in the con struction of a bow-window in the drawing-roum of our house in Dorsetshire. The council for the prosecution, affecting to disbelieve my sudden recollection of the pris oner. here requsled to know whether any par ticular circumstance had recalled'him to my mind, or whether I had only a vague and gen eral recollection of htm. "I had only that," I confessed, "until the prisoner spoke; his voice is peculiar, and I re member very distinctly to have heard him upon the occasion I spoke of : he had the misfortune to tread upon his foot-rule and break it. while at work ujkjii the window, aud 1 overheard him lamenting that occurrence." Here the counsel for the accused reminded the court that a broken foot-rule had been found upon the prisoner's person at tbe time of his apprehension. Within some five minutes, in short, the feel ings of judge, jury and spectators entirely changed ; and the poor young fellow at the bar instead of having sentence of death passed upon him found himself, through my means, set very soon at liberty. He came over to me at the inn to express his sense of my prompt interference, and to beg to know he might show his gratitude. " I am not so mean a fellow as I seem," said he : "and I hope, by God's blessing, to be a credit to the parents to whom I have behaved so ill." " What is your real name?" inquired I,struck by a sudden impulse. " Mr real came," replied the young man, blushing deeply, " is Courteney, and my home where I hope to be to-night.is at Cowley Farm, across the Exe." And so I had not been called so mysteriously at four o'clock in the morning, without a good and sufficient reason, after all. o®* It is well for the soul to have some aim, some object, to which to direct its ener gies ; it brings out their hidden strength, and we can battle life's severest storms if that aim ever be ours, in pursuit of its attainment. fcgy I never knew but one person who in terfered between m3n and wife in their broils with success (said a philosopher) and that was the person who turned to and thrashed them both soundly. We woold educate the whole man— the body, the head the heart . the body to act the head to think, and the heart to feel. Draining Slops from Houses. I shall, without attempting to disparage the judgment or the practice of others, proceed to describe the plan which I have adopted in or der to avoid, on tbe one band, the unsightly and inconvenient accumulation of ice near the kitckeu door iu the winter and on the other, the still more offensive effluvia from the sink gutter in the summer. The water is conduct ed from the w&sh-tiough iuto a draiu beueatb, through a two-inch lead pipe same two and a half feet long and so carved to allow a por tion ot it always to stand full of water which is, of course, displaced by each successive de posite ; thus forbidding the iugress of cold air or the return of noxious gases from the cess pool below. It will be observed that to secure the advantages of this arrangement, the draiu most be carefully closed around the insertion of the pipe. The drain is made of brick with the fall of nearly au inch to the foot, and sufficiently deep under ground to render it se cure from freezing ; it terminates, at a suitable distance from the house, in a pit four by six feet, and five feet deep, walled up to the sur face of the ground and securely covered. As there is considerable amount of waste water from the wash house and kitchen, where there are several in family, this depository will oc casionally require to be pmnped out. I Lave therefore provided it with a cheap pump, so primitive and simple iu its constructiou as to have cost less than two dollars ; and yet so efficacious in its performance as to discharge, with ease to the operator, a hogshead of water per minute. It is made of jfine boards about five iucbes square, with a stationary valve uear the bottom, aud a movable one attached to the piston rod, as iu the cominom pump—the pis ton is worked without a lever. The contents of the cesspool are made to subserve a valuable purpose, both as a reuova tor of the soil and also for irrigation. In the latter relation it is exceedingly useful to the garden ; for in a few minutes a man will throw up enough water to thoroughly irrigate every part of it—thus carrying both moisture and nourishment to the plants at a time w hen they most need it. I have been thus explicit, because I believe this arraguement has mauy palpable advan tages over every plan of conducting the drain age away ou the surface ; and because I have thought that a luck of perspicuity in a com munication on so very commonplace place a subject would detract from the little merit it might otherwise possess. C'., West Grove, Chester county, Pennsylvania — Country Gen tleman. To Cure Hard Pulling Horses — A writer in the London Field thus prescribes a remedy for hard pulling horses ; " Put the curb chain inside the mouth, from hook to hook, instead of out. How or why it acts with such consid erable effect I know not, but at times it utterly puts an end to over-pniling. To stop a run away horse, or render the most pulling brnte quiet and playful with his bit, get a double plain snuffle, rather thick and heavy, the joints rather open, cut an old curb chain in half and let it hang down from the bottomsuoffle joint When he offers to p ill or bolt, instantly mere ly drop your haud : of course the curb chair will drop between his frout teeth, aud should the beast savage it—if any of your correspon dents wish to try the effect ou themselves, they have only to place a nut between their front teeth and try to crack it—they will soon un derstand the vast difference between pleasure and pain. So does the horse, and in a short time he will play with the very thing he before tried to savage, and in the end become from a vicious brute, a playful, good mouthed animal. B*3" The eccentricities of John Randolph of Roauoke, were proverbial. Auioug the greatest geniuses and ablest statesmen of the age in which he lived, he was peculiarly dis tinguished for his practical common sense and plainness of manner and dress. On a certain occasion he was a stage passenger in Virginia, I and reclining on a lounge at a hotel, waiting for a change of teams. A dandily dressed young mau appeared before a mirror, in the same room, and after some time spent in fix i ing his curly hair, and adjusting the frippery i of his wardrobe, Mr. Randolph partly raised | himself, and inquired of him, "is your stage ' ready sir ?" " Blast the stage," retorted the dandy, " I have nothing to do with the stage!" ; " Oh, I tbongnt you was tbe driver," coolly apologized tbe interrogator. i- How ro Steak in Public. —Somebody give? this advice to new beginners. When you mount the stand be puzzled where to put your ' hat. Look round, as though you were quite cool and collected, and suddenly put your hat upon the floor. Turn to the audience, pass i your fiugers through your hair, and say, "Fel , low citizens ;" extend your right hand, put ' your left on your vest, on whichever side hi 1 your private opinion your heart lies, swell out i your chest as though all the goddesses of lib erty in the world had left their respective countries, and bad taken board and lodging in your expansive bosom, aud were now strug gling to find their way out. Repress their generous efforts for a moment, and then burst right out, leading off with a brief eulogy on i the American eagle. The effect will be tre mendous. AVTS ANT> FRrrr TREKS. —Many really sup pose that ants are injurious to fruit trees. This is not so. Those acquainted with their habits know that they visit frnit trees infested with plant lice, both roots and branches. They are attended by ants, which seem to use them as their milk kine They are sought by the ants because of a sweet fluid furnished by these lice which supplies the ants with nutrition. This accounts for their being about fruit trees. Take warning, then, when you see the auts busily ascending and descending in regular succession young fruit trees, or others, and immediately apply atbes or lime to tbem wbea the dew is oc ; also applying one or both about the roots of the trees infested bv taeca VOL. XX. KO. 19. How TO LIVE LCMO —More people die an nually froaj a want of sufßcieut braiu-work than fiom the excess of it. Good health of body and mind depends on each having its full share ot exercise and work, and it would seem from his tory that we can better afford the body to bo in a state of lassitude thau atlow the intellect ual powers to lie dormant. There may be phys ical cause for this, from the fact that much thought induces a temperate life ; but the ex ception to such a rule would be found so enor mous us to show that it was not the only se cret. We are rather inclined to think that the most general rule and the one capable of the broadest application, by which to attain to that great desideratum, " a green old age," is to give the mind full play—to expand the powers of thought by reading and observation and to banish the fear of death, resulting from from an exhausted " knowledge-box." Wo have shown to what ages the old philosophers lived,and many modern ones have been equally long-lived. Galileo and Roger Bacon both lived to 78, Buffon died at 81, Galileo and West were 82, Franklin and llerschel lived to 84, and Newton and Voltaire did not finish their labors until 85. The astronomer Halley was 86 at his decease, and Sir Hans Soane was 93. Michel Angelo nnd Titian, the great masters of art, lived to 96. These, surely, are instances enough to stimulate the individual who wishes to live long, not to forget to culti vate the intellectual faculties and imagination, while he is attending to the physical aids of exercise, cleanliness and temperance. We all think too much of the body and neglect the higher and divinerj>art within us ; we cleanse the temple and adorn its pillars, but we forget that the dweller therein also requires attention and care. GIVE THE Burs A CHANCE. —One of the surest methods of attaching a boy to the farm, is to let him have something upon it for his own. Give him a small plot of ground to cul tivate, allowing him the proceeds for his own use Let him have his steers to break, or his sheep to care for. The ownership of even a fruit tree, planted, pruned,and brought to bear ing by his own hands, wili inspire him with an interest that no mere reward or wages can give. In addition to the cultivation of a taste for farm life, which such a course will cultivate, the practical knowledge gained by the bov will l>e of the highest value. Being interested, he will be more observant, and will thoroughly learn whatever is necessary for his success.— Another and equally important advantage will be the accustoming him early to feel responsi bility. Many young men, though well acqnain ted with all the manual operations of the farm fail utterly when entrusted with the manage ment of an estate, from want of experience in planning for themselves. It is much better that responsibility should be gradually assum ed, than that a young man should be first thrown upon himself on attaiuing his majority. | SPF*K WFII. OF OTHERS. —If the disposition to speak well of others were universally pre valent. the world would become aecmparntive paradise. The opposite disposition is the Pan dora-box, which, when opened, Ells every house with pain and sorrow. How many enmities and heart-burnings flow from this source ! How much happiness is interrupted and destroyed ! Envy, jealousy and the malignant spirit of evil when they find vent by the lips, go forth on their mission like foul fiends, to blast the repu tation and pence of others. Every one has his imperfections ; and in the conduct of the best there will be occasional faults which might j seem to justify animadversion. It is a good rule i however, when there is occasion for fault find -1 ing, to do it privately to the erring one. This may prove salutary. It is a proof of interest in the individual which will generally be taken kindly, if the mauuer of doing it is uot offensive. The common and unchristian rule, on the con i trary. is to proclaim the failings of others to all but themselves. This is unchristian, and shows a despicable heart. FERDrxr, HOUSES. —The practice of regula ting the food of hors s by the amount of wrrk they are required to perform, is a good one.if properly followed. For example, a horse when iyiug comparatively idle, as in winter, should have less solid food thau amid the hard work of spring and summer. Again, if a horse is aboiu to be put to a work of extra labor it is well to fortify him for it with alittleextra feed ing beforehand. Bur the mistake we refer to is the practice of over feeding him an hour or so before putting him to work. If an extra ser vice is required of a horse on any jrticular day, and an extra feed is to be given him, let him have it the evening besorehand, rather than in the morning an hour or two before be ing put to work. Why so? Because, if he is pit to work so soon after eating, hlsfood does not become digested, and he is obliged to carrv about with him a large mass of undigested food which is rather a burden than a help to him If he is well fed iu the evening before the fool is assimilated—changed to flesh and blood— and sends health and vigor through the system. As a general rule, a working horse should bo fed regularly, both as to time and amount. LIGHTNING ROPS. —As we BARE inquiries almost every week about putting up ligbtning rod. we will therefore giTe a general answer to ®II who are in pursuit of such information. In putting up a rod, care muc observed to have all the joints perfectly connected ; for it has frequently happened that the lightning has passed from ill-jointed rous into buildings. The rod should be clamped to the building with brackets of varnished dry wood or gUssinsula tors. and its lower end should always be carried down into damp soil. Care must be exercised that no masses of metal in the building be sit uated Dear the conductor, because if such a mass be greater than that of the rod. the light ning is liable to pass from the latter to the former. The point of the conductor should be carried aboot fourorjEve feet abort the bighes-t chimney, and if it is of iron, it should be one half an inch m G.ametsr for a building lOftat fcigh