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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
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