p jjm iiiih ra m hwimhw. i w tiwqi'n i ii nifi'i-nji pwh!''1 ri ' w ,-iig' " V ' 'B 'ttrt'lf TTtw.TWTyT 1 "i"'T" ' - m iyr-y..r. "" l"1 'P ,'''!" "" .iii.mw i4iiiSfcCi. Vt- -slit.," .--'-: ;,.A.AAiiW,l1iSAUAAasiH rt ttxSMt Aai.tliHMwnw.',i?KWttii-1. rl-mrili rtMn'lX'Vlnll" wilt rf I . I H B MASSER, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. OFFICE, MARKET STREET, OPPOSITE THE POST OFFICE. ;.; EC jFamtls ilctospapcr-DcUtca to JjolMcs, fittcraturc, -fHovalltg, jForrtim ana Domestic iletus, Scfrncc ana the arts, flrtculturr, -fWarbcts, amusements, pc. EW SERIES VOL. 3, NO. 10. SUMJUUY, NOllTIIUMBEItLAND, COUNTY, PA., SATURDAY, JULY 13, 1850 OLD SERIES VOL ; 1 0. ; K (. 49 TEBItIS OF THE AMEBICA1V. THE AMERICAN is rinWinhrd everr Satnntay at TWO hOI.LAKS per annum to be xmid hnlf yearly in ndvance, JSo ITcnnimnninBtiniu or Irtier. on lniirraH relating to tM Xifficfl, to imuro attention, tiurt I POST PAID. ,. .....r)( . . TO CliUUS. Threa copiea to one adilreas, ficven . , , , Da D" 300 lonO 30 00 Five dollara in adrance Will pay fot Ua yeat'aWbMrip Vion to the American. . Tina 9mt of 1 li', ' '" : ' Every auliaeqnent iimertioil, One Squire, 3 niontht, Six montlu, '. n".iiwii!Carrta of Five linca, per annum, Merchant, and other., adrertmn by the ' year, with the privilefra of iimertii.g dif. ' t i1ArtiRRineiita weekly. . tlOO 83 a, in 878 1 61 10 ,300 ( 1000 . jy- Larger Advertiaeraenta, a. per agreement. ATTORNEY AT LAW J SUZIBXTRTT, PA. BuBltiPM .itendcd to in lh Oountiea of Wor buroberland. Union, Lycoming and Columbia. Refer to l P. & A. 1?ovoonT, Lovrait & Babbosi, , SOMKUH . HOIIOB4, Kktkoliu, Mct'Ant"!' & KpcnlKO. 'ioOU & V'0 THE .AS3AXV! TEA COMPANY , No! '130 Grmmuh Street, New lark. rPHE proprietors lire; to mil the attention of 1- connoisseurs in Tea. nml tlie Tirads offamilira to the choice and rare selection of Tens! imported liv them, mid hitherto unknown in this country, which, liv their i'riitirnnce nnd delicacy, coniliincd with virgin purity and strength, produce an infu sion of siirpnssintr richness and flavor. THE TEAS OFFERED ARE '1E FOL LOWING : The Jeddo Bloom, a llhukTca, at $1 00 pcrlh. " Niphon, do 0 5 " " Dinri, do 0 50 " " Osaecn, n C.rccn Tea, 1 00 " Too-tsinn. do 0 75 " " Ticki-tsinn, do 0 50 ' L"d-1 Mixture a compound of the. most rare and choice TeasRrown on the fertile and genial soil of Assnin, i uu With a Mew to encourage the introduction of these matchless Teas, it is tlie. intention of the pro prietors to distribute by lot,amongthc purchasers, n quantity of Tens cipinl to The first years' profits im the sales clu cted. Enoh purchaser will receive enclosed in the puck-0-,'c, a numbered certificate, entitling him to One Chance in the Distribution!!! t"?"VnR Fi nny nn'T ce!ts.V1 l:iid out. A on the receipts amounting, to ijiSO.OOO, the undermentioned parcels of Tea, to the yiiluc often per cent., or Two Thousand Dollars, will be ttiven away us honuscs, according to the follow 1115 SCALE: .- lri.'f "ll His of Tea each r.l ?t Ml lr 111 8jjj 111 1 x ' 1 .. ' .. .fi ' iVHI i i. ,-wm son -J.-,!) ' " SS.MI 11m 4Mfriw.inull. a.lHKilbl 9-2.0IK) Those persons who prefer loivtr priced Teas, can receive their prizes in proportion, or they will be re-piirchnscd fm cash, at a reduction of 10 per cent. J "J- Country A (rents required. Applications to lie addressed (post paid,) to the Company's De pot, as nlmvc. June H, IS.'mW- y?sY sTonEi " A STOCK OF GOODS, At the Sfnre fnrinrrl'i occupied by John Boar, In Harkst Street, Sunbury. fjlHE aubscribcrs rcspertfully inform the pulf i 1. lie that thoy liuve just received, aiul arc now opening A HANDSOME AFWlRTMKNt OF DUY GOODS, (Jonsistinir in part of flttlh, Cnssimcres, Saitnietts, Vtftius, Panta loon Stuff, CoIicops, GinxhaMs. Lawns,' Vcflincx, Flannels, Cavhrks, Linens, Fine Muslins, Ihimlkcrchiefs, Gloves, $c, IIarlxvarc, Qneensware, Dnrr-s ami MtmcisKs. ALSO: A large assortment of Groceries, Fish, Salt and Plaster. Ladies Shoes and Gaiters, Fluid and Fluid Lamps All of which will be sold on th most reasona ble term. Vy Country produce ef all kinds taken in x vhiingeat the "best prices. JOHN BUYERS & CO. Sunbury, April 13.1B50. ly GEEAT ATTRACTION ! ! EW AMI CHEAP GOODS, JOHN W. ITvILING, Market Street, Sunbury, Pa., AS just retcived and opened a large assort ment of superior unci cnoice r ancy and Stuplo Dry Goods, well adapted to the coining sea son, wlucu ne w in sen at me lowest prices, jus stock consists of general assortment of almost all articles of use in the Dry Goods line, consisting in part of Cloths, Casstmtres, Summerluff for ' Clothing and Vesting. Ladle Ureas Roodit Gloves, Hosiery, Laces, Shawls, Muslins, Sheet ings, Tickings, Fine Muslins, Ginghams, Linens, &ei ALSO : A general assortment of GROCERIES, HARDWARE, QUE EN ti ll' ARE, LIQUORS, DRUGS, AND MEDICINES,1 PAINTS ANDDYESTUFFt . and every variety of articles. 7 Country produce of all kinds taken in ex change at the highest market price. Sunbury, April 27( 1850. NEW ARRANGEMENT' .' And Prices neduced. THOMPSON'S Susquehanna Express and Freight tine, IS DOW PREPARED TO FORWARD Cioodfj and Packages, ' ' Daily from Philadelphia to Selinsgrove, Northumberland, Sunbury, Danville, Eloonxbur, Milton, LewU burg, fcVttncy, Williamtport, A c Di RaU Road astj Exruss Casal Boats. NEIV EXPRESS Office S North Third St. Freight Office at CRAIG HELLAS' Corner of Broad aud Clierri) lrtetst Philadelphia. jriie, 1850. tf SELECT POETRY. Afi IRISH MELODY. BT 6. F. ta'cAKTHV. ( Am "Hush the Cat." "Ah, sweet Kitty Neil! tiso up from your wheel J Your nat litlle foot will be weary from ' spinning; Come (rip down with me to the sycamore tree Half the parish is there, and the dance is beginning. The sun is gone down, but the full harvest moon Shines sweetly and cool on the dew-whitened valley, While all the air rings with th soft, loving things Each little bird sings in the green, shaded alley." With a blush and a smile Kitty rose tip the while, Her eye in the glass, as she bound her hair, glancing; 'Tis hard when a young lover sues, So the couldn't but chouse to go olT to the dancing. And now on the green ihe glnd groups are seen, Each gay-hparted lad with the lass of his choosing ; And Pat, without fail leads out sweet Kitty Noil Somehow, when he risked, she ne'er thought of refusing. Now Felix Magee puts his pipes on his knee, And with flourish so free sets each couple in moiion ; With a cheer and a bound, the lads patter the ground The maids move round just like swans on the ocean. Cheeks bright ns the rose feet light as the due's, Now covlv rotiririr, now boltllv advancing ; Search the world all nrouud, from the -sky to the ground No such sight can be found as an Irish lass dancing! Sweet Kate ! who would view your bright eyes of deep blue. Beaming htimidly through their dark lashes so mildly Your fair-turned urra, heaving breast, round ed form Nor feel his heart warm, and his pulses throb wildly 1 Poor Pat feels his heart, r-s ho gazes, depart, Subdued by the mari of such painful yet sweet love ; The sight leaves his'eyo as he cries, with a smb., "Dance Uaht, for my heart it lies under your fed, lore. 3, Select dale. From tlie iJiriy'i Book. THE BROKEN VOW. BY MISS ELIZA A. DUPUY. Twilight was darkening into night, the first aint star of evening gleamed from the far blue Heavens, and the hush and repose of nature seemed too holy tr be broken by the strife of human passions j yet how pain fully did the quiet of that evening scene cotitrast with the passionate grief of a young heart, mourning over its first sorrow. Ellen Sinclair was a newly, wedded bride. She was but seventeen ; the young est daughter of her lather's house, and the spoiled pet of the whole family, her life had passed as one long bright day ot sun shine and Mowers. She had been woed by one she had known from childhood, and with the consent of their mutual friends they were united. The day after their marriage the bridal pair left her father's house for the residence of Mr. Sinclair in one ol the interior coun ties of Virginia. A few happy weeks, passed, when Sinclair proposed to his, bride to visit a gorge in the neighboring nioun tains, from which the rising sun frequently presents the singular spectacle of the loom ing of the mountains the same phenome non which is witnessed in the Straits of Messina, and known by the more poetic name of Eata Morgana, or the castles of the fairy Morgana. Ellen was delighted with the proposed excursion, and snatched every book in the house which afforded any information on the subject. This excursion, which promised so much pleasure, ended in despair and death.. They reached the desired spot, in safety. The morning was favorable to their wishes; the ascending vapors caught the rays of the rising sun and formed themselves into the most gorgeous and fantastic scenes, Ellen was so much absorbed in this wonder ful and magnificent spectacle, that she for sot the caution Sinclair had given her at the moment of mounting her spirited steed He turned from her side an instant to speak to the servant who followed : the move ment startled her horse : the rein was ly ing loose on his neck, and feeling himself free from a guiding hand, he dashed on at full speed. Sinclair and the servant coin followed, but were unable to overtake ber, Fortunately she met a gentleman who sue ceeded ip stopping her perilous career. Sinclair checked bw horse too suddenly. that he might express his thanks to her pre server. The animal reared and tnrew him with great violence.' He was conveyed home in a senseless state, and surgical as sistance hastily summoned, but the force of the tall had inflicted some internal injury which bathed the skill of the physician It was beside his bed, in that calm twi light, that the young wife knelt with scarce a hue of life upon her leatures. "Oh, Ellen, rny beloved, calm yourself this sorrow unmans me," murmured th dying man, passing his hands caressingly over tne Dead wnicn was bowed upon n pillow. A deep suffocated sob was the only re d v to his words. ! is hard to dif," lie continued, "when I was looking forward to years of such tranquil happiness with you, my sweet Ellen j but 'tis the will of Heaven, my best beloved, and we must submit." "Oh, Henry, my own Henry, you must not go down to the cold, cold gravj, where I can see you no more never more hear the tones of your dear voice. Oh, it will break my heart!" was the almost inarticu late reply. "My poor Ellen, this is a hard trial for you, but you are too young to grieve al ways. The thought is torture to me, but even you may love again may wed another ?" and his voice was nearly stilled with painful emotions. "Never, never' Oh, Henry, how can you harrow my soul at this awful moment with such a supposition! Wed another! Give the wreck of my buried affections to another! Oh, no, no! the thought would kill me." "I doubt not you think so now, love; but time works strange changes in this world, of ours. We know not what we may do. I wish to exact no promise from you. The thought is bitterly painful to me, but should your present views change, I do not wish that the reproach of a broken promise should mar your peace of mind." 'Henry, hear me," said Ellen, in a sol emn tone. "Should I ever so forget my faith to your ashes as to lend my ear to the language of love, my heart to the voice of affection for another, may your form, on my bridal evening, come to me and re proach me lor my faithlessness." A bright smile passed over the face of the dying man. lie murmured "Repeat those words again, my Ellen ; they lake from death its sting in heaven you will he all my own. Forgive my sel fishness, dearest ; but I have so loved you, I cannot think that another shall win " His voice ceased to articulate, and again the deep tones of the young mourner thrilled the air with the repetition of those awful words. .As they passed her lips, she felt the hand that clasped hers relax its grasp a faint fluttering consciousness seem ed to hover a moment on his features, and in another instant they wore the calm and passionless repose of death. Ellen Sinclair buried herself in the se lusion of her own abode. A calm and gentle melancholy succeeded the first vio- ence of her grief, but she betrayed no de- re to mingle with the world. C lad in tlie eepest mourning, she was seen nowhere but at church ; and those, wlio looked, at er felt 'deep svinpathv for one so young nd so bitterly bereaved. Vainly had her own parents sought to draw her from her solitude. Two vears passed, nnd after many fruitless efforts they at length suc ceeded in obtaining a promise of a visit from her at the annual re-union of their family at Christinas, for that season is still eld as a festival in many parts of v irgnua. Lllen was once more beneath the roof ol er father, and many and painful were the emotions which struggled in her bosom hen she looked around and remembered that the last time she stood beside her na ive hearth, she was a gay and happy bride. 1 hose who looked on her could not avoid remarking the change which two years had wrotrght in her appearance. The girl just udding into maturity had expanded into the beautiful and self-possessed woman, with a quiet grace of manner, and an air pensive reserve which was extremely captivating. Her parents were worldlv-minded peo ple who could not bear that their fair daughter should pass her life in the solitude to which she had doomed herself. I hey surrounded her with agreeable company, sought to amuse her mind and draw it from the contemplation of the terrible calamity which had destroyed her dawning hopes of happiness, and they succeeded sufficiently to implant in her mind a distaste to the idea of returning to her late abode. Week alter week passed until months, were numbered, and she began to think it her duty to remain with her parents. She was their youngest child, and the only one without ties which severed them in a mea sure from the paternal roof. "Ellen, my darling," said her lather, when she spoke of returning home, "you will not again forsake us; We are old, and you are the only child who is free to re main with us. 'You must live here I cannot think of permitting you to return to that lonely home of yours." "It is lonely," replied Lllen ; "and J lear that, after breaking through my usual habits, 1 shall find it difficult and wearisome to resume them. Yet, my dear father, if I consent to remain, there is one request 1 must make." "What is it, my daughter are we not ever mindful of your wishes ?" "Ah, yes, dear father, more mindlul than deserve. But (and her voice sank to a low agitated whisper,) there must be no looking forward to a second marriage lor me no attempt to alter my views on that subject. I have made a vow to the dead, and it must be held sacred." , "What!" exclaimed her father, "was Sinclair ungenerous enough to exact from vou a promise not to marry again young and inexperienced as you were, too?" "Ah! no, father, wrong him not he Was too kind, too noble. He asked no pro mise I made it voluntarily and as the words left my lips, his spirit departed. Oh, no, my father, nevpr ask me to break that vow it is a hallowed one." "Well, my darling, let it be as you wish. I shall prefer keeping you with us; but at the same time, if you should ever meet with one you can love, and who is worthy of you, it will be very silly to suffer a few word, uttered when you are scarcely con scious of their meaning to prevent you from making the home of an honorable man happy. Why, child, you are only nine teen. Po you suppose that the death of one person, however dear, can . cum your feelings into ice at that sgei , "I must, then, in sincerity of soul pray to be delivered from temptation," said lh young widow, with a faint smile, "for 1 shall never marry again." ' ! ' As time passed on, Mrs. Sinclair could not help acknowledging that she' waft" faf happier than in her mountain solitude. Her spirits w ere no longer wearied ; she no longer felt that life was a burden she would gladly lay down. She needed the excitement of society, and the social and highly cultivated neighborhood in which her father's residence was situated, afforded every facility for its enjoyment. ' The third year of her widowhood was drawing to a close, when she received an invitation to the marriage of a favorite Cou sin, who would take no refusal. Ellen re plied that if the bride would excuse her sombre dress and pensive face she would at tend, and the concession was hailed as an omen of future success in drawing her into that world she was so peculiarly fitted to adorn. There was a motive for these efforts of which Ellen little dreamed. She regularly attended the church near her father's resi dence, and her mother had several times called her attention to a remarkably hand some man who sat in the pew nearly op posite to them ; but she had not remarked that his eyes frequently wandered from his prayer-book to her own fair. face. His height and the turn of his head had re minded her of Sinclair, but there the resem blance ceased. The broad brow, finely chiselled feature?, and clear dark eye of the stranger, were all unlike the youthlul bloom of him who had won her young affections. She frequently heard Mr. Peyton spoken of as a man of distinguished endowments, who had spent several years in the South of Europe with an only and beloved sister, for the benefit of whose health the journey had been vainly undertaken. These cir cumstances had nearly passed from her mind when she was introduced to him at the wedding as the intimate friend of ihe groom. Peyton had fallen in love with hpr from his casual view of her at church, and the eulogiunis of his friend's affianced bride,' who looked on Mrs. Sinclair as a "bright particular star," had deepened the impress sion. The circumstances of her marriage threw a romantic interest around her his tory, and when he looked on the youthful brow with a shade of passive pensiveness that seemed to breathe a hallowed charin over her beauty, he felt that she was the only woman he had ever known before whom his heart could bow to with the homage of affection. .': Yet how speak of love to one who yet wore the deepest mourning who never joined in the mirth of the light hearted! It would seem almost like sacrilege to 'ireathe into her ear the wild pasci n that filled his heart, yet its very hopelessness appeared to add to its fervor. But ere long a new hope dawned on him. Ellen was surrounded by the gay and the joyous of her own age. Her dis position was naturally buoyant ; ner spirits rose ; me cnoru sne nad oenevea torever snapped again thrilled to the touch of joy. When the bonds of grief were once sever ed, the reaction was complete. She still reverenced the memory of her first love, and if her heart had whispered that she could ever be faithless to his ashes, she would have shuddered with superstitious horror at the thought. The possibility of breaking that solemn promise had never occurred to her but time teaches many strange lessons. Peyton lingered in the neighborhood, a constant visitor at Wycombe, but his at tendons were not sufficiently markpd to at tract the observations of others. Her own family were too desirous of the match to hazard the final success of the lover by al luding in any manner to his passion for her. Peyton won his own way slowly but surely The fair widow began uncon sciously to regret the vow which had as cended to heaven with the spirit of ber dead hushand. At length he spoke of love, and she listened with trembling awe to the outpouring of a spirit which was too noble to be Irified with, and too highly apprecia ted to be given up without a pang. He drew from her quivering lips the his tory of her. vow, and divested of every feel ing of superstition himself, he could not conceive that a few words uttered in a mo ment of excited and agonized feelinj should stand between him and his hopes ot happi ness. II did not understand the impressi ble and imaginative temperament of the be ing who listened to his reasoning, willing, nay, anxious to be convinced against tne evidence of her own feelings. Her parents agreed with the lover In his view of the case, and ureed on all sides, her own heart a traitor, Ellen yielded to their wishes and betrothed herself to Pey ton. As the day appointed for her mar riage drew near (he words of her vow ap peared to be ever rinsing in her ears. With restless and fearful spirits she'saW the hour approach which was to witness ber second espousal. . - Preparations were made for a splendid bridal. All the members of her family as sembled beneath the paternal roof, and eve. ry effort was made to divert her mind from dwelling on the phantasy that possessed it. The appointed evening arrived, and the ceremony which made her the bride of another was performed. . several nours passed in dance and song. It was near midnight when Ellen found herself stand ing on the portico, in the brisht moonlight, w ith Pevton bv her side. The gav throng within were still dancing, and the sound of merrv voices mingled with the' burst of music thut swept by on the dewy and fr grant air. Ellen started, as t'eytnn spoke beside her, and for the first time for several hours the recollection' Of her fatal vow in truded on ber mind. "What a glorious night !" she remarked "I never saw the moon shine with greater splendor." ' . ......' '. ." "May it be a happy omen to, us, my fair Ellen," replied Peyton and as he spoke, he turned to a white rose-bush which had wreathed itself around one of the pillars of the portico, and culled several of its half blown flowers. While he was thus employed, Ellen was gazing abstractedly on the fantastic shad ows made by the trees in the yard. Sud denly she grasped the railing for support, and looked with eyes fascinatad with terror on a white shade which seemed to rise from an open space on which the moon's radi ance was poured without obstruction from the surrounding shrubbery. The shadow arose slowly, and gradually assumed the waving outline of a human form wrapped in the garments of the tomb. It approach ed the spot on which she stood, and the features of Henry Sinclair, wearing a look of sad reproach, were distinctly visible to her as the shade glided between herself and her newly wedded lord.' With.a faint cry she would have faflen, had not Peyton turned and sprang forward 1 in nine 10 receive ikt senseless iorm in nis ftrv . " f ' ; ',- Long, long, was it b'?fd'rehe 'recovered from her death-like swoon.' She ihen 're lated what she had seen,: and tlnng 'lo the belief in the reality of the, spectral . visita tion with such tenacity, that reasoning and soothing failed to claim her mind.. Before another day had dawned she was raving in the delirium of a brain fever, and in one Week from her ill-omehed marriage, she was laid beside him whose spirit she be lieved had summoned her to join him. " The incidents on which the foregoing pages are founded are literally true. That the supernatural visitation was the offspring of an overwrought imagination and super stitious mind, a real cause of monomania, there Can be little doubt. The vagaries of an excited imagination are producing results on Mormons and Millerites, quite as inexplicable to sober reason, as the ca tastrophe of the Broken Vow. , DIFFUSION OF LIGHT. ' The clouds obscure a great part of ihe sun's light, but they are never so dense as to ob struct it altogether. The light of the sun, when its strikes upon tilt panicles of mois ture forming the clouilsj is diffused through the whole mass; therefore, the light we re ceive oi cloudy days, instead of coming in parallel rays directly from the sun, is diffused among the vapors it: the air, which has be come u great re?er-.oir of light1, and transmit it to the earth in various directions. Even on the clearest day, a great, portion of the light from the sun is diffused by the vapors of the atmosphere, It is this diffusion of the light that produces the bright appearance of the sky. Were the nir to be perfectly transparent the hky would appear almost black ; because as the rays of light are invisible, except when they stiike directly upon the eye, if there were nothing above us that coohl reflect them, no light could be perceived, and the sun himself would appear like a brilliant orb sunounded by the darkness of night. In a fine dry climate the sky is of much deeper blue than we ever behold at in this country j and at the tops of high mountains, above the misty exhalations of ihe earth, the sky ap pears of a still deeper color. It is to the dif. fusion of light, by tho vapors of the atmos phere, Mhat we am indebted for the twilight that ushets in the day, and cheers its depar ture. In a perfectly transparent atmosphero we should be left in darkness the instant the sun was set, but the clouds and vapors reflect Ihe sun's diffused light longafler ho is below the horizon, and during the summer months spread a genial twilight throughout the night. FALLING or TAtJLF. ROCK. The falling of Table Rork.nl Niagara Falls, on Saturday last, was ah event which has been prognosticated from time immemorial, though the precise period at w hich ihe affair would ,:come off" was not designated. The portion that fell was from 150 to COO feet long and from 30 to '70 feet broad, makinc an ir. regular semi-ciiele, tho general conformation of which is probably well remombeied by those who have been on th ariot. It was the favorite point for observation. '' The noise occasioned by the clash was heard at tho distance of three miles, though many in the village on the American side heard nothing of itj. It is a Very fortunate circumsiunce that the event took place just at dinner time, when most of ilia visitors were at the hotels. No lives were lost. A carriage from which the horses had been detached stood upon the rock, and a boy was seated inside. He felt the rock giving way, and had barely time to get out and rush to the edge that did pot fall before the whole immense mass Was preci pitated into the chasm below. The only thing) therefore, which we are called on edi torally to "deplore," is the loss of the old hack. That can never be recovered. Buf falo Courier. , . Soms Ssts or IIarnem lately ordered in Puru for the Paoha of Egypt's state carriage, are covered with diamonds to the value of some hundred thousand francs. . i 1 . i ' . . '( . . .,,;.: The New Hampshire prisoners who are under arrest fur crimes in other States, not bailable, are allowed many unusual privileges. Twd who are charged with murder attend concerts, lectures, circuses, go rout fwbing, aud walk out morning and evening, attended always.by their keepers, board, at . hotela' sit al., table with other bor.,.. , wi (Horresponbencc. ' ' ' : Koi tha -American. , MANAGEMENT OF FRUIT TREES. . Pkuniho Pruning apple trees in Febru ary, March or April, ought to be abandoned, because wounds made on a tree at this win dy season of the year am apt to crack, and turn black and rot or deoay as soon as the sap begins to flow, for the sap will ooze out of and corrode the lips of the , wounds and run to waste until the leaves are sufficiently expanded to attract all the sap. May prun ing is equally objectionable, for as the tree is then growing more rapidly than in any month of the year, pruning must of course ei ther result in a great waste of sap, the life of the treej or the production of many useless shoots or branches. Look at orchards pruned during those seasonn and you will find thisso. . Every careful observer of trees knows that the wound of a tree or limb of a tree broken by its heavy load offruii in the fruit season or otherwise broken or cut while the tree is full of green foliage always looks white remains sound for a considerable lime while the wound of one bioken in the winter by snow or other wise, in early sprhigalwaystiirn L'ackand in clines to rot or decay. And if trees ought to be primed when the wounded wood will look the whitest and remain the soundest, and of course heal the quickest, as I think all will admit, does not nature herself thus point out the best season of tho year for pruning Most of our trees, and especially fruit trees, have two periods of growth in a season, the first principally in May and June, Rtid the second in August and September. Betweeu these two periods their growth is in a manner quiescent or nearly at a stand, and this, say about the last of June or middle of July when the leaves are fully grown, is decidedly the best season for pruning, . because a cut or wound then made remains white and sound, and being amply protected by tho foliage from the malign influence of the wind and sun, immediately begins to heal as the second growth of the tree cover the lips of the wound, if largeor if small, Ihe trioZe wound often with new wood and bark, and because the flow of the sap is then also so much diminished in force and quantity that but few useless shoots or spray are thrown out of the pruned limbs February, or the fall of the year is said to be the best time for pruning the Peach, Apri cot, Nectarine, Plum, Cherry and Pear tree, but here again I should prefer doing it in the month of July. The best mode of pruning the peach, apticot and nectarine is annually to cut oil' close above a wood bud and at a point about half or midway between the stem of the tree, ami the tip ends of its limbs, all the shoots of the last years growth (if done in the fall or February, and of the ji resent year's growth only if done in July.) all over the top and sides, and even inner branches of the tree, for these trees bear their Fruit only or principally on the spurs on the young shoots of the previous summer's growth; and this system of pruning, called "the shortening-in-sustem'" not only confines the tree to a small space Of giound, but greatly increases the number of its young shoots and of course fruit-bearing spurs or buds, and brings the tree into a rounded beautiful nnd bushy head filled with healthy wood, large dark green foliage, and the largest and finest flavored kind of fruit, but will at the same time keep tho tree healthy and productive for many years, inoi-'lum, merry and rear tree, also bear their fruit on spurs but as tho en me Spurs remain fruitful for ttiuny years these trues require but little pruning. SIanuxe fob Fruit Tueks. Donning says that the apparent decline of our choicest ap ple and pear trees, is nut owing to their aire but to ihe want of that food or nourishment essential to the production of healthy f i ti it, vij! : lime, potash and phosphates, the inorganic elements necessary to the growth of fine fruit ; and be and others nssure us that to light and exhausted soils these elements can only be restored or re-snppicd by new earth and a plentiful use of air-slacked lime, leach ed wood ashes, bone dust, blacksmith cinders, soap-suds, hog dung, refuse wool and woolen cloths, tkins and leather, decomposed carrion, rubbish of old houses and earth that has long beeti under cover, and common manure. Wash fob Fkuit Tkef.s. 7Ji tvning says, "ihnbest wash for the steins and branches of fruit trees is made by dissolving two pounds of fotash in two gallons of water. This is applied wilh a brush at any seasdn, but per haps with most success in the spring. One or at most two applications will rid the stem of trees of the bark louse and render it smooth and glossy It is fat more efficacious than whitewash as a preservative against the at tacks Of insects while it promotes the growth of the tree, and adds to the natural lively color of the bark. The wash of soft sottp is also a' very good one for many purposes, though not equal fot general purposes to the potash wash, it is better fdr old trunks with thick and rigid bark as a portion of it remains upon the surface of the bark for some time and with the action of etery rain Is dissolved and thus penetrates into all the crevices where insects may be lodgedj destroying them and softening the bark itself," Ddwni. ingou Fruits, p. 6C0. A good SWUng ley made of wood ashes and water and applied on some dry clay between the middle ami last of May, is said to b quite as good if not better than lb soap for laio trees wjih. g, rouyhtark. .' . : ...,r. . .. .1 iKtECTS, Worms, &e ON Fkuit I'aEts, ZWnif, Mvt that a half a pek of slacked flake or leached, ashes, Viewed around i 'he dunk uf eawo Pea eft tree about, the close of May in each year, will effectually project l&' ttsa from the ravages of tho peach boier ot peach worm and that a small handfull ; of course salt so applied, has the same effect and that this mound of ashes ot lime acatler' ed over the surface of the ground in October forms one of the beet fertilizers of the peach tree, So removing, the earth for a space of two feet wide and three inches deep around the peach tree soon after its fruit is formed, and filling the hole with charcoal or pulver ized charcoal is also said to produce a sudden renovation of the tree, If languishing, and im prove ihe richness of the fruit & keep it from becoming wormy, and thetree gummy. S0a thin coat of hard soap rubbed into those parts of the tree and roots of the apple, peach and plum trees infested with borers, worms, &c, is also said offectually to destroy those pests. So boring a hole into the heart of the apple and peach tree and filling the hole with flour of sulphur and plugging it up air-tight whha cut from a branch of the same tree, 'will. It is said, In a fuw days destroy all ihe cater pillars on the tree. The Plum tree is natur ally a marine tree and delights in salt. And common coarse salt, say a quart or more to a lull grown tree, strewn on the Surface of the ground around the tree as wide as its branches extend or strong meals or, fish pickle of brine applied in the same way and as a wash to the trunk and Jimbsi of thetree or pulver ized salt and flour of sulphur introduced into the body of thetree by boring into its centre and plugging it up tight with the same kind of wood all or either ot these are said to br a sure means of turning sickly or enfeebled plum trees or trees infested with the curcu lio bug or plum-weevil or that have black warts or knots, an evidence! of diseased sap, into a healthy and productive state Do wil ing thinks that for the destruction of the cur- culio, the wit should be applied when the punctured plums commence dropping from the tree Paving the cround around the l'lnm wilh brick ot round stone not only checks its excessive growth and caliscs It to produce larger and finer fruit, but at the same time effectually prevents the ravages of tho curcii lio which cannot penetrate the earth neat the tree, and obtain a winter habitation among its roots till spring, to re-commence its ra vages. The Plum and Peach tree always becomes the healthiest and most productive when planted in hard trodden yards or in heavy hard soils which have a considerable mixture of clay. ScnAPisc Roiifiii bark op Fuuir Trees, cc. Persons who desire healthy and pro ductive fruit trees cannot pay too much at tenlion'to the bark of their trees, for trees and shrubs which have become enfeebled by age or neglect, or both, can be re-juVenated or made vigorous again by a proper attention to their bark or exterior condition. If you have an old apple tree, for example, that has been on Ihe decline and is worth saving, cut or shavd bff with a sharp knife or drawing knife all the old and rough, and dead or deadish bark On it late in the spring and you will find that you have given thetree much additional vigor. On smaller trees and shrubs, a good scraping with a trowel or hoe and an applica tion or wash as above recommeded will have the samo effect. Those trees and shrubs und 1 may add vines, which are kept the cfrontsC always boar the be.1t because the pores of their skin or bark, like those of the human body, then perform their proper functions with more vigor nnd success. Is not this rational views of tho subject 1 Who has not seen large forest trees whoso Old and exterior bark has through fire in the mountains been partly Or nearly totally . burnt ofl. yet grow more beautifully and vigorously by the next season than before? and hoV ran it be ac counted for except on the principle above stated i Paring off the old bark has been declared by one of the best practical men in Netherlands a never-failing method of great ly improving the size and quality of the fruit on apple and pear treesand vines, and accor ding to Loudon a similar practice prevails in England ns to apple and pear trees and vines. No such debarking or scraping, however, should be done on trees nnd vines whose ex terior rind is green and smooth, for they do not need it aud would be injured by it. It is also well to run a Strong and sharp pointed knife thiough the bark of tho tree fioin its set uf limbs down to theground early In June, as it keeps the tree from becoming "bark bounds'' as it is called snd gives the inner wood an opportunity of expanding. "S "when trees grow In grassy land, a pretty "good way to keep them from being 'sod- 'bound,' is to remove, in the fall, the sod two "or 3 feet aronud the tree, and on this turn "about half a wheelbatrow full of manure; "ihe winter rains and snows will wash the i'strengihof it to the fibrous roots. In the spring "the manure may be scattored about under "the trees, and in lieu of it, substitute leach "od ashes. This, beside being beneficial lo "the tree, prevents the grass from approach I'itig the stem of the tree during the summer ; "and what grass grows over the ashes is easi "ly removed in the fall. Mtlton, Pa. . 1- F. W'OLFINGEH. An Irishman, who was lately reprieved, as be slated, Ihe eight before his execution, and who wished to get rid uf his wife, wroU to ber as follows . '1 was yesterday bangeJ, and d.ied like a hero ; do as 1 did ; and bear it liUa a man.' , HOW apt men w.usrun in, omers what they praotice themselves without sc'.a' plo', Plutarch tells of s wolf, who, per,pii tuto a but whero company ol she phasd's were regaling themselves with a joitol tout-, ton, exclaimed, "what a clamor vaald tbey have raised. if they bad caught mt alstjcfc.a banquet !" J i "'jjnmisj.1 1 .j mi imw ,l-.a,i .1.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers