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jOMiMojrn upcu the Altar of God, .tenia! hostility to every form of Tyranny over the Mind of Man.Ti
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FARRIERS' WORK FQR OCTOBER.
On the Farm.
This is the month, as every good Farmer
knows, in which all our energies should be
put forih, For besides saving that which we
Jiave already made, mur.h must bo done to
laylhe ground work of next year's crops;
and with a view oF bringing its appropriate
labors to the notice of our rea'ders, we will
endeavor briefly to detail tlicm.
A3 opportunity presents itself, all stiff,
clayey grounds intended for spring culture,
should Lc' ploughed up this and the ensuing
month. By ploughing 7 inches deep and
taking furrows 0 inches wide, tho furrows
will be laid at ait angle of about -15 degrees,
the best possible position at which ground
can bo laid to receive the greatest amount of
benefits from tho fertilizing effects of win
are always infinitely better suited to the
purposes of spring culture than if left un
touched. But besides the advantages aris
ing from the mellowing effects of the weath
er, much less work will havo to be done in
the spring when time is valuable.
Gathering of Conn ,
If y.our com is sufficiently hardened, it
E hould bo got in the latter end of this month;
iy so doing you save much from tho rava
ges of crows and those animals that prey
iipon tho cornfields; and in addition to this
you are enabled to turn your stock into
your corn fields at a timo before vegetation
i3 destroyed, and thus by ihe time winter
comes on they are put in good condition to
enter upon the ligors of thai inclement and
pinching season of the year, a tiling that ev
eiy husbandman should have an eye to; for
if at the corHmencemcnt of the foddering
seaspn they be in good plight, tho probabil
ity of Ihejr. going through that trying period
will be infinitely greater. ,
Gathering and Curing Fodder and Tops.
No time should.be lost in gathering your
-blades and topsfiand recollect that as soon
- as they aroltfrf, they should be brought in
from the 'fieuahd placed out of the weath
er, riy protecting them from rain, you
add greatly to their intrinsic value- as pro
vender, besides rendering them much nioio
palatable for your stock of all kinds.
Gathering and Preserving Potatoes,
As soon as your potatoes are fit for dig
ging, take them up) and be sure to put them
away with a3 little exposure to the sun as
possible, and care should be taken to bruise
them us little as possible.
By stirring the earth around your turneps
earlv this month, Vou will add much to
their growth and increase their product.
Reds, Pttrsnips and Carrots.
These roots should all bo taken up and
put away this month. . .
As your Pumpkins ripen; gatlier them
and put them away in a dry warm room.-
It is important that they be housed before
being exposed to the frost of the field.
As you cut your Huekwhcat put it into
sheaves, these must bo sot up in the field,
and uftcr a day or two bring them in and
thresh them out immediately. The sooner
thi3 latter work is done the belter, as the
grain will thresh off much easier and with
a groat deal leS3 loss. After your straw is
threshed stack it away carefully, taking tho
precaution to salt each layer of it. If y.ou
do so, in mid-winter, when your provender
is most wanted, it will afford you an excel
lent resourco for 'your milch cows, as they
will eat it with avidity', and to which it will
prove a highly nutritious food if it has been
Wheat and Rye.
Those who havo not sown their w7icat
and rye should get it inps.early as possible;
but no one should think of sowing either
without first steeping the seed in strong
brine or ey, and rolling it in lime or ashes.
As sooii as the range in which your hogs
may bo running ceases to . bo a pasture, put
them up, and if you design commencing
feeding with pumpkins, boil them, as! by so
doing you not only render them more nu
tritious by concentrating the saccharine mat
ter, but by destroying the vegetable acid,
you deprive them of the power of scourin"
your hogs, a thing always to be avoided if
possible. Once a week while your hogs
are fattening, throw either rotten wood or
charcoal iri to them.. Either will correct
the acidity upoh their stomachs, and keep
them to their appetites.
Com Hush and Shucks'.
These should be stacfied awav with al
ternate layers of hay and straw, and be well
sprinkled with salt. By taking- this precau
tion you will find that their value as winter
food will be greatly enhanced, and that you
cattle will cat them as readi v as thov dn
r hay, and if they be not so nutritious,
they will be found to bo good; strong, sub
stantial winter food.
, i- "-"Tr. .. ..
TowaYdi' the latter end of this month put
away your cabbages : bo sure to do it before
tho frost injures them, and they will keep
much better. Farmer and Gardner.
, . CIDER.
We have been kindly favored by an Eng
ish gentleman with the following process
for making this article in his country which
will undoubtedly be followed with success
Do not take the applc3 off the trees till
they are fully ripe. Gather them in dry
weather, and place them in heaps under
cover. Jjeave them in inese neaps tin tuey
sweat, or some of them are getting rotten.
Then grind them. The pulp should be
placed in clean tubs and not pressed under
two days at least. It should bo turned once
or twice during this time, both to prevent
its heating and to imbibe air. When press
edj strain the liquor and put it into a vat, a
pipo or hogshead with one head out, and a
cock about sixl inches from the bottom, is
the proper vessel. To bach hogshead of
liquor, put a wine glass and a half of sweet
spirits of nitre. This is to cheek fermen
tation. When the cap or crust whic'i rises
to the top begins to crack or break, which
vill be in about 21 hours, rack it oft into a
clean vessel, and be very carelul that none
of the lees get into it. Place the bung very
loosely in the cask, or if it be inclined to
woik much, placo a shingle over tho bung
with a small weight on it. If not, it may
bo bunged down, leaving only a vent peg
very loosely put in. In eight days irom
this it should be carefully racked off again,
and in fifteen days racked off once more,
and then put into the cellar. Beforo each
racking the vessel into which it is put should
bo well fumigated with sulphur, by plung
ing in burning matches, mado of linen or
paper dipped into- niollcd brimstone, and
sprinkled with Caraway and also Lavender
seeds, if they can be procured, and some
nowdered alum. Means must bo taken to
keep the smoke in tho vessels as long as
possible, and to put in the cider whilo it is
The vcasels should also bo woll scaldod
with hot water, and then rinsed out. with
cold, beforo it is used. If a cask is tainted
the cider is lost. The great secret in mak
ing good cider is to Stop the fcrmeiitatlou
COTOTY, PA. SATURDAY, botf OBER 20, iSSSi
a ijuiiitviv aa iioaaioie ; anu mo process
does it most ofteetually : Cider may be
colored, if it bo desired, with burnt sugar,
and it may also bo made to sparkle by put
ting a mile powdered white rosin in the
pulp or po'micc while pressing.
From Chambers' Edinburgh Journal.
. THE UNKNOWN PATNTR1K
One beautiful sitriimer morning, about the
u I nun i .1 if rt . .
j-uai ioou, suverui yomns oi Seville ap
proached the dwelling of tho celebrated
painter Murillo, where they' arrived nearly
at the same lime. After tho usual saluta
tions, they entered the studio. Murillo was
not yet there, and each of the pupils walk
ed up quickly to his easel io examine if the
paint had dried, or perhaps admiro his work
of the previous evening.
Mehdcz with a careless air approached
his easel, when an exclamation of astonish
ment escaped him, and he gazed in mute
surpri.se on his canvass, on which was
roughly sketched a most beautiful head of
the Virgin: but the ei-prssion was so admi
rable, the liners so clear), the contour so
graceful, that compared with the figures by
which it was encircled, it . scented as if
somo heavenly visitant had descended n-
'Ah, what is the matter?" said a rough
voice, I he pupils turnd at tho sound, nnd
all mado a respectful obeisance to the great
'Look, Setior Mrurillo, look!" exclaimed
the youths, as they pointed to the easel of
Who has painted this who has painted
sketched this Viig'm will one day be the
master of us all. Murillo wishes ho had
done it. What a touch! what delicacy!
what skill! Mendez my dear pupili was it
'JNo ecnor," replied Mendez, m a sorrow
'Was it you, then, Isturilz, or Ferdinand,
or Carlos?" !
But they all gave the same reply ris Men
'it could not, however, come here with
out hands," said Murillo, impatiently.
'This is certainly a curious afl'air, gantle-
rncni" observed Murillo, "but we shall soon
learn who is this nightly visitant." "be-
baslian," he continued, addressing a little
mulatto boy about fourteen years old, who
appeared at his call, "did 1 not desire you to
sleep Here every night?"
'Yes, Master,' saidjthe boy with timidtiy.
'And have you. done so?"
'Speak, then! who was here lastnight and
this morning before these gentlemen came?
Speak, slave, or I'll mako you acquainted
with my duiigcon," said Murillo angrily to
the boy, who continued to twist the band of
hi3 trowsors without replying.
'Ah, you don't ehooso to answer me,
said Murillo; pulling his ear.
'No one, master, no one," replied the
trembling Sebastian with eagerness.
'That is false," exclaimed Murillo.
'No olio but me, I swear to you master,"
cried tho mulatto, throwing himself on his
knee3 in the middle of the studio, and hold
ing out his littlcjianda in supplication beforo
'Listen to me," pursued Murillo, "I wish
to know who ha3 sketched this head of the
Virgin, and all tho figures which my pupils
find every morning hore on coming to tho
studio. This night in placo of going to bed,
you shall keep watch; and if by to-morrow
ypu do not discover who tho culprit is, you
shall havo twenty-five strokes with the lash.
You hoar I havo said it; now go and grind
the colors; and you, gentlemen, to work.'
It was night,' and the studio of Murillo,
the most celebrated painter in Seville this
studio, which during tho day was so cheer
ful nnd animated, was now silent as tho
gravo. A single lamp burned upon a mar
ble table, end a young boy vhoee sable hue
harmonize with tho surroulidtng darkness,
but whoso eyes sparkled like diamonds at
midnight, leant against an easel. "Twenty-five
lashes to-morrow if I do not tell who
sketched these figures, and perhaps more
if I do. Oh, my God, come to my aid!"
and tho little mulatto threw himself upon
tho mat which served him for a bed, where
he soon fell fast asleep.
Sebastian awoke at daybreak; it was only
three o'clock, any other boy would probably
have gone to sleep again, not so Sebastian,
who had but three hours he could cali his
uouragc, courage, beuaslian, ho ex
claimed, as he shook himself awake; "three
hours are thine only three hours; then
profit by them; the rest belong to thy mas-
. f ' . r . .1 '
ier siave. juetme at least uo my own
master for three short hours!. To begin)
these figures must bo effaced," and seizing
a brush, he approached the Virgin, which,
vieweu oy ino sou ngnt ol the morning
dawn, appeared more beautiful than ever.
'Efface this!" ho exclaimed, "efface this!
No; I will die first. Efface this thev dare
not neither dare I. No that head she
speaks it seems as if her blood would flow
if I should offer to efface it, and that I
should be her muiderer,
er let me finish it."
No, no, no, rath-
Scarcely had he tittered the3e worda,
when seizing a palette, ho seated himself at
the easel, and was soon lotqlly absorbed in
his occupation. Hour after hour passed un
heeded by Sebastian, who was too much
engrossed by the beautiful creature of his
pencil, which seemed bursting ihto life, to
mark the flight of time "Another touch,"
ho exclaimed; "a soft shade here now tho
mo u ihx Yes, jt h e rc! iLjJpcnsiose .ey.es.
head! what dencacy! . Uh my hcautitul
''and Sebastian forgot the hour, for-
got that ho was a slave, forgot his dreaded
punishment all, all was oblieratcd from the
sob. I of tho youthful artist, who thought of
nothing, saw iiothirig, but his beautiful pic
ture. But who can describe the horror and con
sternation of the unhappy slave, when' on
suddenly turning round, ho beheld the
whole pupils, with his master at their head,
standing beside him?
Sebastian never once dreampt of justify
ing himself, and with his palette in one
hand, and his brushes in the other, he hung
down his head, awaiting in silence the pun
ishment ho believed ho justly merited. For
some moments a dead silence prevailed, for
if Sebastian was confounded at being caught
in tho commission of such a fragrant crime
Murillo and his pupils were not less aslotf
islied at the discovery .they had inade.
Murillo having, with a gesture of the
hand imposed silence on his pupils, who
could hardly restrain themselves from giving
way to their adtniration, approached Sebas
tian, and. coiicealinc his emotion, said in a
cold and severe tone,- while he looked alter
nately from the beautiful head of tho Virgin
to the terrified slavo who stood like a statute
Who is your master, Sebastian?"
'You," replied the boy in a voice scarce
I mean your drawing master," said Mu
rillo. 'You, scnor," again replied the trembling
'It cannot be; I never gave you lessons,"
said the astonished painter.
But you gave them to others, and I listen
ed to them," rejoined tho boy, emboldened
by the .kindness of his master.,
'And you have done better than listen;
you have profitled by them," exclaimed
Murillo, unable longer to conceal his admi
ration. "Gentlemen, do.es this boy merit
punishment, or reward?"
At tho word punishment, Sebastian's
heartbeat quick; tho reward gave him a lit
tle courage, but fearing that his cars deceiv
ed him, he looked with timid and imploring
eyes towards his master. "
(A rxir.nl annnrj" rrlfllVlhe nnnils in
'That is well; but what shall it be?"
Sebastian began to breathe.
'Ten ducats, at least," said Mender,
'Fifteen," cried Ferdinand! -
No," said Gonzalo, "a beautiful new
dress for the next holiday."
'Speak Sebastian," said Murillo, looking
at lii3 slave, whom none of these rewards,
seemed to move, "are these things not to
your taste? Tell mo wriat you wish for; I
am so much pleased with your beautiful
composition, that I will grant you any re
quest you may make. Speak, then! do not
be afraid." ....
'Oh masterj if I dared "and Seba$tian'(
clasping his hands, fell at the feet of his;
master. It was easy to read in the half o
poned lips of the boy, and his sparkling
eyes some devouring thought within which
timidy prevented him from uttering.
With the view of encouraging him, each
of tho pupils suggested some favor for liiiri
Id demand, .,
'Come, tako courage," said Murillo, gai-
'The master is so kind to-day," said For;
dinand, half aloud, "I would risk some
thing; ask your freedom, Sebastian."
At. these words Sebastian uttered a cry of
anguish, and raising his eyes to his master
he exclaimed, in a voice choked with sob3,
"The freedom of my father! tho freedom1
of myfatherl" . :,. t
'And thino also," said Murillo, who) no
longer aple to conceal his emotion, throw
his arms around Sebastian, and pressed hid
to his breast. . .
'Your pencil," shows that you havo tal
ent; your request proves that yoU have a
heart, the artist is complete. Front thib
day consider yourself not only as, my pupil!
ttoire"litOfeapaiuT:iav'eiii3ae a paliSt-"
er. . . i , ,,
Murillo kept his word, and Sebastian Go
mez, better known under the name of tho
Mulatto of Murillo, became one of the most
celebrated painters in Spain. There 'majr
yet be seen iji the caurches of Seville the
celebrated picture which ho had been found
painting by his master; also at St. Anne
admirably done a holy Joseph; which is ex
tremely beautiful; and others of the highesl
A man named Death, still a resident of
this sta,te, formerly lived in this city. Over
the door of his storei was the sign Rectified
Whiskey,' arid directly utijler that, his name
Absalom Death. Ah old lady .front the
countiy, with her son, ii hearty lad twa3 ono
day wending her way through the street iri
a w3ggon when his sign caught her eye. . (
Stop! Rectified, Whiskoy) , Absolute
Death. Thais a fact! , Johny let rac get
out, there is ono honest.man in Cincinati, I
want to see what ho looks like." Ci;j.
A western man being asked1 tho number
of inhabitants in tho town where he lived
some Babylon, Troy, or Palmyra, which
was a wilderness fivo years ago answered.
'whv, about 5000 when I left, but I havo
been absent nearly a month, probably 8000
now. . ....
Somo years ago a noted warrior of the
Pottawattomio tribe presented himself to tho,
Indian agent at Chicago, as one of the chief
men of the village, observing with the cus
tomary simplicity of tho Indians,' that ho
was very good friend to the Americans, and
concluding with a request for a dram of
whiskey. The agent replied, that it was
not his practice to give whiskey to good
men that good men never asked for whis
key, and never drank it when voluntarily
ofiered. That it was bad Indian, only who
demauded whiskey. 'Then,' replied the In
dian quickly,' in broken English, 'mo d rv
Here you little rascal, walk up and acn
count for yourself where have you been?"
"After the girls, father." "Don't you know
better than that? Did you over Uhaw trie
to do so whoa I was aboyt'