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J WHEN J WOULD DIB.
BY JIEETA MELQROVK.
1 would not die in Winter,
When snows are falling round;
They would so coldly cover
My new made, frozen mound.
Friends could not bend above me, \
And with affection’s care,
Plant violets blue upon my grave,
Or scatter roses there.
J would not die in Spring time,
When tuneful birds are near.
And rare and thrilling madrigals
Fall on the listening ear.
Oh no! for then my life is sweet;
I dearly love to trace,
The impress of God’s migbty works
In nature’s changing face.
1 would not die in Summer,
When flowers are blooming round, r
And the bending grain stands thickly I
Upon the thirsty ground. ;;
When harvest fields are ripening-ftst,
And harvest songs are heard, }
Richer than rarest, joyful notes
01 sweetest singing birds.
Rat in sad, sober Anthran,
When leaves are brown and sere;
When the deep winds breathe a requiem
For the waning, passing year.
When bright things fade from earth away
Without one murmuring sigh ;
I too would lay mo quiet down.
And calmly, peaceful die.
Covington, Fa,
The Grand mistake.
Every person who has at any time passed
upTchoupitoulas street, near St. Mary’s mar
lei, sa>s the N. O. Picayune , must have ob
served ihe pair of tall steamboat chimneys,
elevated over the door in front of Ldng, Al
drich & Smith’s sheet iron and stove estab
lishment. The other night two drunken flat
iaatmen came round the corner of St. Jo
seph’s street, arm in arm with a wide lurch,
and brought up against a fence.
“Halloa! halloa I halloa!” said one of
our hero staring with all his eyes at the chim
nejs across ihe street—“ Simon my boy, stick
her in fast for shore, or we’ll be run over—
halloa! there ahead! stranger, give her a
lick back—you’ll be over us !”
Simon rolled up his eyes, and thought the
siats were sparks from the chimneys, while
the fire doors below remained closed. He
happened to be grasping a loose board of the
fete, and thinking it was his oar, he com
menced rowing with an energy peculiar to
men when terror-stricken in drink.
'■Slop! stop! stop ! Simon,” said the other
again. “Keep cool ! keep cool! darn me, 1
believe she’s only wooding after all 1”
Without any joke at all, the two boatmen
were confusedly blue, with but the fainfest
glimmering of sense left, and just sight suffi
cient to see and know the steamboat chim
neys towering with llieir broad while tops
right in from of them. As if to complete the
illusion, a large steamboal came puffing down
ihe tiver, close in shore, at the moment, with
a loud i chult! ichuh ! ickuh ! that at once
confirmed ihe lerrors of the benighted navi
gators.
“Look out there,” bellowed Simon, with
Asperate and shrieking energy of tone. —
“Back her, stranger! hack her! or by thun
der you’ll be over us !”
They both now pulled off their coals in
rapid haste, and went lo work at the loose
tends, rowing away at them ready to break
far backs or strain their shoulder blades.
“What in reason’s name are you doing
fare men I' 1 said an astnnished passer-by,
who slopped to observe ihese extraordinary
pioceedmgs.
“Lead a hand!” roared Simon and his com-
PWion and his companion wilh one vnice ;
all-fired wrath, dont you see the steamboat
n Ebl over us ? There by thunder the thing’s
B ’Jt—here we no !”
i ® k,
, * section ol ihe old fence had been sway
wnh their united efforts —a motion which
E )' imagined was the rocking of the flat-
WJI m the steamboat swell—and now gave
ra y with.a crash, falling inward and pilch-
D 8 the two bacchanalians into a puddle of
a| ertn a lumber yard. There our inforra
-0 elt them, to find their way out as soon
*!, ere damp and cold enough lo gel
1 /hey were thoroughly convinced
fair boat was smashed, and that they
on« or l^e bale back parlor of Davy
7 s ’ h , ' < l-i Tor ihe last words they uttered,
~m-v S ra sped hands in the puddle-were,
Hfzekiah ; good bye, Hezekiah.”
ood bye, Simon—good bye.”
Eic°" BCE ' —There is in every human
ire'f 5 J rav|n 8 f° r home-felt pleasures, a de
“ady Co[ nniunion and interchange of
So . on Wll b En me kindred spirit, who (eels
in our thoughts and feelings
i,j e *" e w p r ld beside, and for this, the
n ' verse offers no substitute ; yet
ri nc J are ffnod, by education, habits and
nd 10 e njoy connubial happiness !
log man y do not consider that in choos
a]ovmpfloer bf 0 > rational and durable
U o f ° can onl y bo expected, with a per
b;litie3'.' f 6 a “ e ’ similarity of tastes and
Bd er ,.J ? v 'ffnous principles and of good
retty facj 10 ® - They are captivated with a
Hn ae 1 °S r neable person, and winning
U ’ or , vv bal is equally common in mod
cr Se . , * ll ' 1 'b o shining qualities of the
Hi c jl ; ® nJer looks, and tales of first love,
?d : ih P „V e[l ° n ! y firsl fbffy.) nre exchan
ito m ‘ &nc y ‘boy are in love, and rush
adfj n j ’’ l ™ on y. like the horse-into battle,
B bonds nf’ W j en '* ‘ s 100 l a,e > ‘hat ‘be silk
ilk at . w "i° c b are iron bands, fastened
'ound! Afi lee ' ! l * lat B lva _ the sharpest
icome wen Sr r 8 S * lort acquaintance, they
■im.’: ry °. eac h other. The force of
's gold apnea- 8 ' 0 ?-,'® Cxhausled > and gb'lter-
Mhe eDiov P ml , p e m,r y clay, but a clog
Etil ° ,J stoad i" l °- lhose who travel no this
toa u to conjugal felicity.
THE AGITATOR
Debotcir to t&e 3Zxitnnion of t&e &ttn of JFmtrow t&e Spread of ©calt&fi Reform* 1
WHILE THESE SHALL BE A WHONO UNSIGHTED, AND UNTIL “ MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN” SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE.
YOL. V.
Taste in Dress,
Yesterday we stood looking at a flower
bed, into which some really exquisite roses,
besides pansies, mignonette, English daises,
verbenas, and olhe‘r blossoms, had been trans
planted. Kate, our Irish cook, and a beauli
ful girl, by the way, was hanging out the
Monday’s washing to dry, over a plat of rich
new grass,green and velvety, and delightful
to the eyes and feet. She sympathized wiih
our admiration of the grass, and the delicate,
soul-enchanting roses ; “but this,” said she,
“is the puniest flower of them all, ( think
and she pointed out a sprig of the scarlet
bloom of the fish geranium. It was the gay
est, and therefore handsomest to her—she re
quired not the yearning holiness of the lily,
nor the grace and love inspiring perfumes of
the roses and pansies. We would not give
one half-expanded rose-bud, with the blush
diffusing itself outward from its odorous
heart, for a basket-full of fish-geraniums.
But which of us was right ? Often, when
we have been thinking upon dress, as a sub
ject for study, to be cultivated as a fine art,
we have gone to nature, who is the mother of
iarl, fot lessons. We have seen that she min
gles all colors with effects which are truly
harmonious ; and why should we be more
arbitrary than she in her adornment of the
flowers, when we would prescribe the hues
and combinations for a lady’s toilette ? The
“puritan pansy” puts on a yellow vest with
its purple velvet robe ; the queenly tulips are
gorgeous with streaks of red and yellow, gay
enough for an Indian squaw; the florist la
bors Tor rainbow effects in his pet dahlias;
the poppy daunts her scarlet looped petticoat,
and the peony shakes out her dozen of crim
son jupes; the morning-glory Irims her blue
robe with a scarf of pink; while one and
all, without exception, find a mantle of green
becoming. Nature tries all kinds of experi
ments with the materials at her command,
and her success is always certain. If nothing
in nature is ugly, then is nothing in art ugly
when it simply copies nature; and it cannot
truly be said (though it is often asserted)
that good taste limits the colors of the toilette,
and (bat drab, or black, or white, slightly
relieved by some trimming in harmony, not
in contrast, is ihe only really elegant cos
tume. If a dahlia can look well in purple,
black, and yellow, then why not a lady 1 If
a maiden fastens ihe flounces of her azure
ball-dress with pink garlands, she is only
copying Ihe pattern of the morning-glories—
and would she ask to be more modest and
tasteful than ihey ?
Still, there seems lo be such a thing as the
correspondence of attire with the complexion
height, style, and years. The fragile lily of
the valley does not depend from a mullen
stock, nor is the superb japonica nestled
amid the moss and grass with the violet.
Therefore ladies may well' and profoundly
study, which of all the various patterns and
hues best assimilate with the character of
each ; and therefore it is that we enter our
protest against the blind adoption of any and
every color and shape which fashion may
dictate. Upon the brow of fashion is written,
change ; she is a chameleon ; yet there is
no woman (almost none) but will pronounce
her beautiful, whatever aspect she assumes ;
and the aspect is hideous and ludicrous. The
woman who adored her elegance in large
bonnets, coat-sleeves, and slender skirts, now
turn from the memory with uplifted hands.
The name of fashion is caprice, and of her
followers is folly. It is well that nature
knows her own mind better; else, some sea
sons we should have all the flowers of the
garden, regardless of what was intended for
them, dressed up in the queenly bell-shaped
robe and snowy trail of the calla ; again we
should have the hollyhock and peonies all
squeezed into dainty ladyslippers ; and anon,
the violets and primroses smothered in the
mantle of the dahlias.
Let word come over from Paris that green
is lo be worn by Mistress Fashion, and
straight way every sallow-face woman be
comes “sickbed o’er wilh the pale cast” of
jaundice. O let the mandate be blue, and no
face is so florid but that it can afford a deeper
tint for the sake of being in the fashion.—
No woman is 100 short for plaids or too tall
for stripes,.when they are fashionable—nor
too thick for short waists, nor too thin for
long ones.
It is imposible to arrive at any fixed stand
ard of taste in dress; for it is a curious fact
that, what our eyes have become accustomed
10, that we regard as becoming. Most new
fashion displease when first seen, and become
more charming as wo grow familiar with
them—we regret to change; yet after the
change is made, it grows more beautiful than
the last. Studying the art of dress is like ga
zing into a whirlpool of bubbling waters—
the longer it is continued, the more confused
we grow. We would only suggest, that
,>vhile fashion is not neglected entirely, prop
riety, bdeomingness, style, and place, be also
respected. —A Lady in Cosmopolitan Art
Journal.
Beadtifui.. —“Callous indeed must be the
heart of him who can stand by a little grave
side and not have the holiest emotions of his
soul awakened by thoughts of that purity and
joy which belong alone to God and Heaven ;
for the mule preacher at his feet tells of life
ended without a strain ; and sure if this be
vouchsafed to mortality, how much purer
and holier must be the spiritual land enlight
ened by the aun of infinite goodness, whence
emanated the soul of that brief sojournment
among us?”
A letolaller the other day, asked a neigh
bor if he were not inclined to the temperance
society, when he replied : “Yes, for when he
saw liquor his mouth watered.”
WELLSBORO., TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING. OCTOBER 7, 1858.
A Scrap for Lovers of Molasses.
VVe copy the following from a long and in
teresting article entitled, “Rambles in Suroi
am,” which appeared in the last number of
Leslie's Magazine;
“W-e went to the boiling-house,' and saw
the molasses dipped out of the cistern and
put into barrels. The molasses that runs
from the sugar barrels is conducted by a gut
ter into the cistern, which is under ground
and swarms with roaches and rats, many of
whom are found dead in the molasses, by
which they are preserved from putrefaction.
I could not help thinking that the country
would be an elysium for Chioiameo, for they
might feast here on their favorite dish—rats
abundantly, and molasses cured rats into the
bargain. I do not know if the molasses
which is imported inlo this country is used
for anything else besides distilling rum. It
is certainly not fit for table use, for beside
the above mentioned abominations, it is han
dled by the negroes in such a filthy manner,
that a description of it will disgust everybody
with.the same. The molasses is dipped out
of the cislern with large copper spoons, to
which are attached long handles, but when
the majority is removed, these spoons cannot
be employed any more, on account of the
quantity of sugar which has settled at or near
the bottom, imparting a great toughness to
Ihe molasses. Some negroes have to gel
down into it, dipping it out with large gourds,
and it reaches often over their knees. Clean
liness is not to be observed, and their feel
and legs are generally covered with jiggers
and other sores. If our delicate ladies and
gentlemen only had an idea of the manner
in which our imported niceties are bandied,
they would surely abstain from the use of
them. I once saw a dog fall into a copper
in which cane juice was boiling intensely ; he
was nearly done when the negroes succeeded
in getting him out. It happens sometimes
that a negro who sits on the mason work into
which the coppers are imbedded, slips inlo
the foaming syrup, while dozing, and is
boiled to death instantly. In neither case is
the syrup thrown away, for it will granulate
all the same, and nobody is the wiser for it.
Earthquake Panic In London.
There were (in 1750) wild prophecies and
alarming convulsions of nature such as
England had yet little known. The first
days in February were as sultry as the hot
test days in June; thunder and lightning
were frequent; and on the eighth of the
month the first shock of an earthquake was
fell throughout London and Westminster.
On the same day in the next month the in
habitants were awakened from their slumbers
by their pillows rising, the bells ringing, and
a strange rumbling as of carriage wheels.
It was said that Sir Isaac Newton had fore
told that there would be a great change at
this lime, and had expressed a wish that he
could live to see the phenomenon. As the
second shock had occurred exactly a month
after the first, it was affirmed that earth
quakes were now to be periodical in Eng
land ; and a mad life-guardsman prophesied
that the next shock, which was punctually to
take place on the Bth of April, would swal
low up the metropolis. The panic now be
came general. On the day before that of
the anticipated calamity, the roads were
crowded with the carriages of the fashiona
ble and the wealthy, hastening out of the de
voted capital. Seven hundred and thirty
coaches passed Hyde Park Corner that
morning. Women made themselves flannel
wrappers, which they called earthquake
gowns, in order to sit up all night in the open
air. Not a bed could be procured in Wind
sor. All the lanes and fields in neigh
borhood of London were blocked up with
carriages, carts and other vehicles, full of
people of all ranks, waiting with trembling
anxiety until the dreadful hour had passed.
They then returned, laughing and exulting to
town, to resume, as though their lives would
never terminate, the same pleasures and the
same occupations in which they had for one
moment been disturbed. —Life and Time of
Edmund Burke.
Tears. —There is a sacredness in teats-
They are not the mark of weakness, but
power. They speak more eloquence than
ten thousand tongues. They are the messa
ges of overwhelming grief, of deep contri
tion, of unspeakable love. If there were
wanting any argument to prove that man
were not mortal, I would look for it in the
strong conclusive emotions of the breast,
when the soul has been deeply agitated;
when the fountain ol feeling is rising, and
when tears are gushing forth in crystal
streams. O, speak not harshly of the strick
en one—weeping in silence! Break not the
solemnity by rude laughter, or intrusive foot
steps. Despise not woman’s tears —they are
what make her'an angel. Scoff not if the
stern heart of manhood is sometimes melted
in sympathy—they are what help to elevate
him above the brute. I love to see tears of
affliction. They are painful tokens, but
still most holy. There is pleasure in tears
an awful pleasure. If there were none no
earth to shed a tear for me, I should loth to
live ; and if no one might weep over my
grave, I could never die in peace.
“I wish to procure the Biography of Pol
lock,” said a student to the bookseller at the
corner of Water street, Boston,—“We do
not- have it sir,” was the reply.—“ Can you
inform me where I can obtain it ?”—“I can
not, sir; but 1 dure say you will find it in
tho “Course of Time.”
The best action we never recompense and
the worst are seldom chastised.
The Salt Lake of Utah.
Like a blue tinted mirror reflecting the
sunshine, we remarked the lake about seventy
five miles to tbe northwest. It is now about
seventy miles long from north lo south, and
thirty miles wide from east to west. It once
filled, and most probably formed Ihe entire
“great basin,” as it is termed, extending 500
miles from north to south, and 850 miles
from east to west, hemmed in by the Sierra
Nevada mountains on the east and the Goose
Creek and Humboldt ranges on the west.—
Mountains were then jagged islands, ravines
and strait, weeping hollows and gulf and
shores of this vast and silent sea. It has
shrunk nway to its present dimensions, and
is the immense reservoir inlo which all the
streams and rivers of the “basin” pour their
melted sorrows.
It has no apparent outlet, although grad
ually diminishing, apparently more rapidly
than can be accounted for by mere evapora
tion.
Ma'ny fla's, blackened with an incrustation
of dazzling salt crystals, were covered with
water when the Mormons first went there,
and their flat boat was pushed easily over
long stretches of now baking and cracked
soil. Its bottom is very flat, however, and a
very slight increase of water would again
submerge miles of now exposed surface.—
The density of Ihe water varies necessarily
in different season from quantities of fresh
water pouring down into it. It averages
from 1.16 lo 1.18 of specific gravity. It is
Ihe strongest natural brine in the word hold
ing in solution over 32 per cent of different
salts.
Its dark, sluggish waves forcibly recall the
Dead Sea to the mind of the gazer, and
were it not that this is 400 feet above, and
that lies 1000 feet below the level of the
ocean, and this is completely locked in by
abrupt and surrounded mountains, while that
rolls over the “Cities of the plain,” it would
baeasy to fancy ones self in Palestine, and
in that scene of human corruption and Di
vine vengeance. The water is extremely
buoyant, and it occasions a singular feeling
to be unable to sink in it, and very difficult
to swim through it. Its water produces
immediale strangulation, excessive smarting
in the eyes, nostrils and ears, and on com
ing out convert even negroes into crystalized
white.
Numerous salt boilers are erected on the
shores ; from four quarts of water they obtain
nearly one gallon of clear dry salt. Nature
in her great labralory, however, produces
thousands of bushels of coarse crystals, and
deposits them on the shore. Teams and
wagons come from from the cities and shovel
it up, and it sells often as high as fifty cents
per 100 pounds.
Oliver Cromwell’s Head.
A correspondent, of the New York Ex
press, who is now traveling in England, has
seen the head of the Great Protector, of
which he gives the following description :
“Before leaving England, I had an op
portunity of seeing a great.curiosity, a relic
of antiquity, which few Englishmen have
seen. You will be surprised, and perhaps
incredulous, when I say I have seen the
head of Oliver Cromwell—not the mere
skull, but the head entire, and in a state of
remarkable preservation. Its history is au
thentic, and there is a verbal and historical
evidence to place the thing beyond cavil.
Cromwell died at Ha-pnplon Court in 1658,
giving the strongest evidence of his religious
convictions, and of his sincerity as a Chris
tian. After an imposing funeral pageant, the
body having been embalmed, he was buried
at Westminster Abbey. On the restoration
of the Stuarts, he was taken up and hung at
Tyburn. Afterward his head was cut off, a
pike driven up through the neck and skull,
and exposed on Westminster Hall. It re
mained there a long while, until, by some vi
olence, the pike was broken, and the head
thrown down. It was picked up by a soldier
and concealed, and afterward conveyed to
some friend, who kept it carefully for years.
Through a succession of families, which can
easily be traced, it has come into the.pos
session of ihe daughter of Hon. Mr. Wilkin
son, ex-member of Parliament from Buck
ingham and Broomley. It was at the resi
dence of this gentleman that I saw the head ;
and his daughter,-a lady of fine manners and
great culture, exhibited it to Rev. Mr. Verrell,
the pastor of the Bromley Dissenting Chapel,
and myself.
“This head of Cromwell is almost entire.
The fiesh is black and sunken, but the fea
tures are nearly perfect, the hair is still re
maining, and even the large wart over one of
the eyes—such being a distinctive maik on
his face—is yet perfectly visible.”
A priest of Basse Bretagne, finding his du
ties somewhat arduous, particularly the num
ber of his confessing penitents, said from the
pulpit one Sunday.
“Brethren, to avoid confusion at the con
fessional this week, I will on Monday con
fess the liars, on Tuesday the thieves, Wed
nesday the gamblers, Thursday the drunk
ards, Friday the women of bad life, and Sat
urday the libertines.”
Strange to relate, nobody come that week
to confess their sins.
He that is proud of his riches is a fool;
because if he is exalted above h<s neighbors
because be hath more gold, bow much more
inferior is be to a gold mine?'How much
mnst he give place to a chain of pearls or a
knot of diamonds;
Whatever you may choose to give away
always .be sure to keep your temper.
Communications,
Tor The
Social Intercourse- -Fashlonab!
“Nora, I think I’ll go out calling]this eve
ning. I owe several calls, and it’s best to
keep up these matters ; it will soon be the
season for parlies you know.’’ • J-J.
“Good morning, Mrs. H4|ch.” , jj
“Ah, Mrs. Bond, good evening dejighled to
see you. Walk imo the parlor.” ,ji
Mrs. B.—“ What a lovely day ijhis has
been I" j{
Mrs. H.—“ Well, yes, ralljer tpo sunny
though for my taste.’’ j ! I
Mrs. B,—“Have youf'called on the new
comers, across the street ?” : i
Mrs. H.—“No, not yet | I did {tot know
whether they would be recognized bj {the first
society. lam rather shy of strangers.”
Mrs. B. — “No need of being is j in this
case. I have not called yet, but M -s. New
man said she did, a week ago.” . :
Mrs. H,—“Mrs. Newman! indesd! then
they must bo somebodies.'' ; I
Mrs. B.—"Oh ! yes, and Mrs. N. hays that
Mrs. Tracy is very pretty, and veryjinlellec
tual she thought, but extremely fashionable.
She dresses very richly, and her horise is el
egantly furnished ; velvet carpels, imirrors,
rosewood and damask furniture, <Ssci They
keep two girls, and altogether live jin good
style. She is a member of oar chifrich, too.”
Mrs. H.—" Really ! you surprise ,me; we
must call on her soon but you are? not go
ing ?” j |j
Mrs. B.—“Oh! I must indeed!;l;l have
several other calls to make, and I have made
such a long slay here.” (Jusrten tr|(hules.)
Afternoon Visits.— " How d’ye;do, Miss
Pike? I declare I'm real glad to| see you ;
I’ve been awful lonesome all day. |Qur men
folks are changin’ works this week,: and they
go away just after breakfast, and Ijdon’t see'
nothin’ of ’em again till chore timeil Take
off your things, do;' you’ve brought-your
work I see ; that’s right ; we will have a real
sociable visit. I never could see fpfithe life
of me what good it did the town folks, to go
kiting round, up and down street', 'making
calls they say, stay about fifteen minutes and
then off. Now, when I have company I like
to have them come early and stay to:lsupper.
Don’t you?” | :!
Mrs. Pike.—“ Yes indeed ! I don’t like the
town folks’ way of visitin’, and between you
and me and the post, ’taint many of their
ways Ido like. How do you get along with
your work this Summer?” . Ij
Mrs. Baker.—Oh ! middlin’; I miss Nan
cy terribly though.” ' l \ &
Mrs. P.—“ Well why don’t you her
at home?—l would.” ;j, 1 '
Mrs. B.—“ May be you would andjmay be
you wouldn’t. Wail till Selina Jaiie gels
growed up and you’ll see how ’tis. iYbu see,
Nancy she wants a sight of clothes, and
books and a great many notions.; hNow I
never had ’em, and she needn’t to, arid if she
must have ’em she must work for ’em; that’s
all. Her father says so too; andjfells her
and Bill that we must lay up, for oldlage.—
Nancy and Bill say sometimes, that if we
had given ’em a better chance forschopl, and
books and papers, they would have, made it
all up to us ; but “a bird in the handjik worth
two in the bush, ’ and I tell you whai, Mrs.
Pike, I’ve worked, and dug and slaved too
hard for what I’ve got, to throw it atyay on
them lazy editors and book writers.il Why
don’t they go to work' ?” : :*
Mrs. P.—Just so I say ; I always Isel my
face against much book don’t
feed you, nor keep you warm. Made! many
cheeses yet ?” . j j,‘- ■
Mrs. B.—“ Yes, quite a lot, myiedws do
first-rale this year.” | |t
Mrs. P.—“ Mine don’t—’pears to.ipje they
fail of their milk every day.” i |j
Mrs. B.—jP’raps they ain’t milked quite
dry —l am very careful always to )mllk my
cows very dry.” (A pause.) . fl|
Mrs Baker.—“ Have you heerd abnfut Su
san Dike and Jim Clark?” ' |j
Mrs. P.—“ No—what of ’em.” ' j'j
Mrs. B.—“ Why mercy sakes alivej! they
drove off together yesterday and were gone
all day, and most every one thinks thqy went
to Elder Snow’s to be married, without her
folks knowin’ a breath about it.” t ,j-
Mrs. P.—“ You don’t say ! Suke Dike was
always up to something.” . i;
Mrs. Miss Pike, don’t; for the
land’s salre say / said they was married;
they might have only gone lo meetthj;, you
know ; but Miss Sims said lhaf Sukd’s bon
net was trimmed wiih white, and Jim had on
a bran new coat, and both of ’em word while
gloves !” ' ! ij
Mrs. P. —“Well! I’ll give up. Offcourse
I won’t tell any one what you said; ‘J.Whal
for a school marm have you got this:Sum
mer ?” ; it
Mrs. B.—-.“Oh! not much of a ohp.j' She
haint got no government at all ! the .children
act like all possesst; whisperin’and tarryin’
on in school and rompin’ and tearin’lround
at morning. Why its gettin’ so that a body
can’t go past some of them young With
out genin’ sassed or cussed.’’ . ; f
Airs. P.—“Do tell! why, how long &as she
kept ?” - ; 1|
Mrs. B.—“More’n two weeks, and its high
lime she did belter, and made those jplaguey
scholars do belter too.” ■ ii
Mrs. P.—“ Well—our school marm is made
of quite different stuff. She licks and pounds
the children awfully.” , |
Mrs. B.—“ Gracious! you look lidt right
out, didn’t you ?” - -Ii
Mrs. P. —“I guess I did, and I’yellheard
mote’n'one of the neighbors say, if lste laid
a finger on their children, she’d walk tout of
her school io double quick time. Speak in’
of neighbors, how do you like yourn' It Miss
Harris, I mean—” ;
| Bates of Advertising.
I Advertisements witi be charged SZ per square
fourteen lines, tor one, or three insertions, and 2>. •
cents for every subsequent insertion. All advertise*
ments of less titan fourteen tines considered as a
sqnate. The following rales will bo cjtarged lor
Quarterly, Half-Yearly and Yearly advertising:—'
1 3 months, 6 months. 12 ino’O
Square, (14 lines,) . $2 50 $4 SO 86 0(1
2Squares,- ... 4 00 6 00 8 00
J column, .... 10 00 15 00 20 00
column,- . . . -18 00 30 00 40 00
All advertisements not having the number of in
sertions marked upon them, will be kept in until or.
dcred oat, and charged accordingly.
Fosters, Handbills, Bill,and Better Heads,and all
kinds of Jobbing done in country establishments,
executed neatly and promptly. Justices’, Consta
bles’and other BLANKS,constantly on hand and
printed to order.
NU 10.
Mrs. B. —“Oh don't talk 1 she don’t neigh
bor much with anybody. She’aagreal read
er, and I guess she feels cather stuck up
because she’s been to school more’n lhe rest
of us. She’s mighty-' delicate too; cant do
her own work, and keeps it great girl a slallin’
and slasbin’ round, wastin’ as much as her
wages come to, Til be ibound. They say to
be sure, ihat the doclots say, Miss Harris is
realty, alive, and has got to be careful, but
she rides out more’n twicsvlo my once, and
I’ll bet one half of her sickness is hysterics,
and t’other half laziness.”
iiAgitntor.
ie Calls.
“Massy sakes I if ’taint four o'clock. I
must go and get lea.”
After Tea.— Mrs, P.—“ Well, Miss Ba
ker, I must be agoin.”
Mrs. B.—“Oh ! not-yet, must you V*
Mrs. P,—“Yes, I guess I must. We have
ten cows to milk, and the men folks think it’s
a dreadful thing if f aim rapnd at milkin’ time.
Let’s see, have I got all my work. Here’s
my knillin’, and my measurin’ slocking, and
ihat skein of blue yarn. (1 didn’t knit up alt
I had wound, alter all.) Well do come over
to our house just as soon as you can.”
Mrs. B.—“I shall, before harvesting. Good
night.” ,
Verily, social intercourse is a “grea'l in
stitution.” Aunt Betsy.
Decay in Fruit Trees.
We have often heard the practice recom
mended of driving nails into- decaying fruit
trees to restore their vigor. But we have
never seen the result set forth so strikingly
as in the following from the Southern Plan
ter :
A singular fact and one worthy of being re
corded, was mentioned to us a few da\s since
by Alexander duke of Albermarle. lie sta
led that whilst at a neighbor’s bis attention
was called to a peach orchard, every tree in
which had been totally destroyed, by the ra
vages of the worm, with the exception of
three, and these were the most thrifty and
.flourishing peach trees he ever saw. The
only cause of their superority known to his
host was an experiment made in consequence
of observing that those parts of worm ealio"
limber into which nails were driven were Gen
erally sound. When his trees were about a
year old, he bad selected three of them, and
driven a ten penny nail through the body, as
near the ground as possible. Whilst the
balance of his orchard had gradually failed
and Anally yielded entirely to the ravages of
the worms, those three selected at random,
treated in precisely the same manner, with
the exception of the nailing, had always been
vigorous and healthy, furnishing him with
the greatest profusion of the most luscious
fruit. It is supposed that the salt of iron
afforded by the nail is offensive to the worm,
whilst it is harmless, or perhaps even bene
ficial to the tree.
A chemical writer upon this subject says ;
“The oxydation or rusting of the iron by the
sap, evolves ammonia, which as the sap rises
will of course impregnate every part of the
foliage, and piove 100 severe a dose for the
delicate palate of intruding insect.” This
writer recommends driving half a dozen nails
into the trunk.. Several experiments of this
kind have resulted successfully.
“Asking Pa.” —l am not pleased with n
paragraph which I read, to-day, in a pnphr
of extensive influence and high moral lone.
This exceptionable paragraph plainly inti
mates that if “pa” refuses bis consent to his
daughter’s marrying the man she loves, then
she is justified in marrying without this “con
sent,” at any sacrifice ! I
Is that girl capable of securing to hus
band a life of happiness, who can so far for
get or ignore her moral obligations to her pa
rent as to outrage his feelings when he is
most solicitous for her welfare?
She who fails to see her duty to her father
will soon lose keenness of vision in reference
to her husband’s happiness, if the circum
stances which effect his happines conflict with
her inclinations. No matter what the civil
law says about it, her obligations to re»ard
her parent’s feelings is as binding now ns it
was ten years previous. And the man who
could counsel the violation of those feelings,
lover though he be, is not a]safe depository
for woman’s heart.
We have known many act on the sug
gestions which this paragraph gives, and in
after life either domestic bitterness and dis
trust turned their lives to gall, or trial and
misfortune quenched the fire of their hearth,
till they wished the grave to cover their woes.
Then they cried in agony, “Thy judgment is
just—thy laws, O God, are righteous !”
Then they remembered their sin, and their
advice was—“ Wait: if it is good for you to
marry that one, your father will after a time
see it and consent. But never marry in opi
position to his expressed wish.” Girls, lis
ten I Be not deceived.
Memory.—Overbnrthen not thy memory
to make so faithful a servant a slave. Rf.
member Allas was weary. Have as much
reason as a camel, so rise when thou hn.-l
thy full load. Memory, like a purse, if it
be over full that it cannot shut, all will drop
out of it. Take heed of a gluttonous cu
riosity to feed on many things, lest the gree
diness of the appetite of thy memory spoil
the digestion thereof. Spoil not thy memory
with thine own jealousy, nor make it by sus
pecting it. How canst thou find'that true
which thou wilt not trust ? Marshal thy no.
lions into a handsome method. One will
carry twice more weight, thrust and picked
up io bundles, than when it lies Hgtotyqrdjy
flapping about bis shoulders,
Second thoughts arc the adopted chtldreq
of experience, r