A D ND 133 A KiKIEN
_FL
BY D. A. & C. H. BUEHLER
VOLUME XXIILI
The End of Life.
""fie lived all the number of his years, and they
wens three score and ten."
An old man sat by the window,
For the spring wee drawing near,
And the corpse of the dead old winter
Had gone to the tomb of the year!
The sunlight soft and unclouded;?
Streamed in o'er the oaken floor,
And fretted with gold dark pannels,
Quaintly carved in the ancient door.
The hands of the old men trembled,
His beard was frosted and thin,
And chill as the heart of Decemlter,
Was the heart that was trembling within
Like embers halt quenched end dying,
On a desolate hearth at night,
Ilurnt the ashes of life in his bosom.
As he sat in the spring's clear light.
Be looked on the young hurls
And a tear o ' er hia wrinkles strayed ;
Ile thought of the wife of his bosom.
Who slept in the valley's green shade;
Me thought how her steps had faltered,
Midway on the journey el Ida ;
And how lin deat h s bosom she rested,
When weary and worn with strife.
The forms of the innocent children
She nightly had folded in prayer,
And laid on the soft lap of slumber,
With tender and motherly rare,
Rose up in the old men's Vision- -
lie saw that one tired and slept,
Like a lamb by the side of its mother.
Where a willow leaned over and wept
One son had wandered from virtue ;
The father lit spirit hail yearned
To grant him forgiveneita and blessing',
But the prodigal never,returned
Another had wedded with mammon,
And woraltiped the prince of this world ;
And one neeth the crowi had enliated,
And fought where its banner unfurled.
A daughter, the fairest and dearest,
In lovelinea■ walked by his aide,
Nor envied the lot of her sisters,
Who dazzled in in beauty and prido.
Her voice was his heart's sweetest music.
When from the blest volume she read,
That brightens the valley of shadows
And smooths down the path to the dead
For all his affliction and sorrow,
For all his misgivings and
grief—
For the night of doubting and darkness.
He fouiul in its pages relief
His life hail been checkered with sadness
And as it drew near Loa close,
He longed for that home of the weary,
The land of immortal repose!
The old man sat by the window,
As the sun dropped low in the sky ;
His sfirit, with silent rejoicing,
Went up to the mansions on high.
Another green hillock in summer,
RPM' , ell the baptism ol dew,
And down in the dust of the valley,
Ile rests by the tender and true.
THE BLOODY LIND
SIY TINS AUTHOR OF ''l 0.1) IRON RI DES
OFF A I.F.Y.
"There is blood On your hand, John,"
said a tall, masculine looking woman, in a
home spun dress, as she swept up the
hearth of the solitary farm house, in the
interior of England, at the close of a cold
December's day, in the year 18—
The person thus addressed was an iron
faced farmer, of about the middle size, with .
dark eyes peering underneath a pair o f
tibriggy eye-brows. Ills cheek was flushed,
as though old age had been coursing lilt e
wild in through his swollen veins, and his
brawny Lauds, as he looked at the clot of
fresh blood that stained them, seemed to
have been made for a descendant of Cain.
"There is blood," said Browt, for that
was the farmer's name, "but it is all off
now ; bring me my supper." The wife—
for such was the first speaker—looked him
lung and anxiously in the face. horrid
visions seemed to be floating before har
cyos, and murder almost escaped from hex.
eompressed lips.
"Why, what in the name of nature ails
the woman ?" said Brown endeavoring by
an ill-eowtriwod laugh to silence her fears,
"If people go where' sheep are slaughtered
they must expeet to get bloody."
"The blood of Blimp was not on your
- hand," said the wife firmly. "There was
a melancholy man ou the hill to-day. Ho
had money and a valuable watch. He off
ered me a piece of gold for directing him
to the next village, and set his -watch by
our clock. Have you seen the atm ngcr,
John ?"
The iron features of the hardened hus
band now contracted into a foal •ful scowl.
"Woman," said ho, "what hay re I to do
with travellers on the hill-si do? Mind
your own affairs." Then '"cl ranging his I
tone to a sort of a whine, he said, "Give
me my food, Meg, lam cold a Lad hungry,
I cannot joke with you any h Inger."
"Joke with me ?" said th a poor wife,
with a countenance agonized with horror,
God grant that it may prove a joke."
The supper was now plac sad upon the
table." The farmer ate his f cod in silence
and then wont-to. In . a . few moments
he was lost ins terrible sleep.
Having seen that evorythin g was quiet,
the good wife put on her ho( sled cloak, and
went ant upon the lawn. I t was a cold
and cheerless evening, and t he hills seem
ed to be turno ittto_pizq I",,*(lows, before
the wand of mg enchanter, v ad the waving
*treetops seemed like the bosom of tli4
midnight deep. The bleak wind howled
sadly amid the elm-trees by • the way-side,
and the bay of the distant r rateh-dog came
echoing upli the vale. Tb e unhappy wife
followed the track of her lu laband about a
mile. She wail now stud( al by a deep
,
groan., &mining • narrowly the hill-side,
elm perceived a place where some persons
had apparantly struggled , to tether, in the
snow ditift, sad a little dist woo beyond,
she beheld the melancholy M ringer, whom
she had directed on his co stray, several
hours previous, lying on the ground with
a dreadful wound on his pallid forehead.—
Brown's wife was a strong and resolute
woman, yet she trembled as she raised the
wounded man and wiped the blood from
his eyes. Finding that life was not ex
tinct she bore him upon her shoulders to
her dwelling. Having laid him down in
the passage, she opened the kitchen door
where Brown was sleeping. His thick,
heavy breathing gave evidence that the
sleep of drunkenness was upon him. She
then carried the stranger through the kitch
en to a little bed-room where she general
ly retired when the abuses of her brutal
nnpanion became insupportable. As the
head of the wounded man brushed by the
face of Brown, his hand instinctively
grasped the bed-clothes and carried them
over his head. Ilaving• staunched the
wound—the bleeding of which h a d been
checked by the coagulating blood, the poor
wife dressed it in a wanner well approved
of by medical then, gave her patient a com
posing draught and then returned to her
I ;wilt by the kitchen fire.
The fanner now began to be himself.—
Ile moved like a wounded snake in his un
quiet sleep. Ile opened his eyes and glar
ed wildly around him. "There is no blood
upon my hand," said he. "Meg, it was
all a joke, ha ! ha! a devilish good joke."
As he said this, conscience felt the gnaw
ing of the worm that, never dies, and a
shiver along the limbs of Brown told but
too plainly that he had sealed in blood a
bond conveying to regions of everlasting
fire his miserable soul. The fumes of the
debauch rose like a mist upon his brain,
and he slept again. II is wife now paid the
stranger another visit, and finding q
working as it, should, retired to her deso
late couch.
Morning came, and the sobered farmer
arose from his pillow of remorse. Ilis face
was haggard, his eyes bloodshot, and his
hair, like that of the furies, seemed chang
ed into serpents.
Ile said but little, and went out imme
diately after breakfast. I lis wife saw hint
go up the hill-side. She knew that he
had gone to bury the body, and she rejoic
ed to think that he would labor in vain.—
Noon, and night, and morning came, but
no husband approached the farm house.
Weeks rolled on, and John Brown was no
more seen on the hill-side, or in his home
ly dwelling. Ilis whistle was hushed for
the moor, and his foot-fall awoke not to
the echo of the forest way.
The stranger in the meanwhile recover
ed, and a justice of the peace was sent for
and an affidavit was made of the facts of
the ease.
The tnunlentum wretch was described
with fearful correctness—all but the face.
That was concealed by the slouched hat
and could not be described. The wite
!inmate(' again. With a woman's wit, she
::poke but little of her husband's absence,
zind she alluded to it as au übsence of
short duration, with her advice and con
sent.
The stranger proved to be a nobleman of
wealth, he endeavored to cheer the g loomy
shades of the woman's heart, but it was a
vain attempt. There was no cure for
blighted woman's love, no peace for a rifled
heart. Cod alone can be the widow's
husband. Clod alone can gladden the wid
ow's heart.
"You shall never want, Meg," said the
nobleman, us be sat by the farmer's wife,
a few evenings after he teas able to walk.
"I must go to London ; business of impor
tance urges me there. When you are in
distress, one hint of the fact to me will
produce instant relief."
A carriage with the Earl's coronet now
drove up to the cottage door. The wife
said nothing; she seemed to be lost in un
fathomable mystery.
you accompany me, my faithful
nurse ?" said the stranger, as he prepared
to depart from the dwelling of charitable
love.
"Nav, sir." said the wife, "I cannot
thus suddenly leave the spot of my early
hope. Here, sir, I was born ; here I was
, married ; on yonder green hillock I danced
'way the sorrows of childhood ; in yonder
Church, whose spire now gleams in the
sun, I gave my guilty spirit up to God.--
On yonder plain sleep my children ; beside
the old oak rests father and mother, the
first-born ; and the last upon the catalogue
of life. Here, sir, I have limited in joy
and wept in sorrow ; here will I die."
Entreaties and prayers were all in vain.
She withstood every kindness of her
guest, and finally accepted only a reasona
ble charge for his board. As the Earl was
about to take a seat in his carriage, the
deserted woman approached him.
"Stranger sliest,' said she with much
feeling, "I have done you good service."
- "Yotelutve, " said he, while a tear of
gratitude"stole down his cheek.
"Will you do me one favor in return T"
said she.
"Most certainly I will," said the Earl.
"Then write on a piece of vellum what
I shall dictate," said she with a hurried
voice.
He took his pen and wrote in plain
characters as follows:
Circumstances have convinced me that an at
tempt was made to murder me on the night of the
10th of December, 18—, on Stone Hill, Lincoln
shire, and that it would have been successful had
ft nat been for the kind interference ofJohn Brown
and his wife of Hopedale.
This paPistis left as a slight memorial of an event
which time can never efface from my memory.
Joan EARL
or—
She read it over and over, after he had
1490 it. "Ii will do," she said % "Now
."
grateful Earl sprang into his seat.
Ho ew his purse into her bosom.—
"Farewell," said he in a husky tone, and
away rattled his carriage with the swift
nee' of the.wind. The coronet flashed in
the aunbeani, and the vehicle with its out
riders was lost in the winding forest way.
•
• • i s, ! a
Ten years rolled away, and the wife of
John Brown suddenly disappeared from
Hopedale, and then the farm house, like a
deserted thing, stood solitary and silent,
amid the smiles of autumn. A middle•
sized dranger s - with a sailor's jacket and
tarpaulin on. and a bundle dangling at the
end of a club Over his shoulder, rested be.
GETTYSBURG, PA. FRIDAY EVENING, JUNE2S, 1852.
side the door of Hopedale. The stranger,
though somewhat intoxicated. appeared
very sad. He looked at the wasted door
way. He gazed upon the cold barren
heath. He ea* the planks worn by the
foot of the thrifty house-wife, and marked I
a portion of her dress in the broken pane
of the kitchen window. The nail where
the good man's hat hung for years, was
there with a circle of unamoked paint.—
il
The cane hung sadly the corner, but the
music of I the singing ethoed not there.—
The stranger raised his hand to his eyes,
but what caused him to start like a fright
ened bird 1 "11 is bloody again," said
, he, with a look of horror. "0, that I
I could wipe out that foul—that terrible
!stain from memory. Ha! it is on my
hand as fresh as when I murdered that
poor, melancholy stranger. God of heav
en, I cannot wipe it out !'"l'lie stranger
had cut his hand wiili a piece of broken
glass, and a clot of fresh blood was on it
in reality. lie felt not the pain of the
wound in his horror; and satisfied that
heaven had marked him in his own terri
ble way, he wiped otr the blood and turn
ed to depart.
' The sherd was beside him, and lie was
i
' arrested for an attempt to murder. lie
preserved a sullen silence. Ile followed
the officer to his carriage and was soon on
his way to London. The prison received
its victim ; and the gay world smiled us
brightly as before.
A * 0 5 5 *
The day of trial came. John Brown,
who had taken another name, was tried
as Samuel Jones, and the case brought to-
gether a vast concourse of people of both
sexes. The prisoner was soon placed at
the bar. The jury was duly empanneled.
The advocate of the crown was in his
place. The prisoner's counsel was be
side him, and the judge wits upon the
bench.
Brown, as he entered the dock, had
been so much agitated by the dread reali
ty of his guilt, and the prospect of speedy
punishment, that he had not cast his e) es
upon the judge. lie now looked cau
tiously at him. He saw the keen eye of
the judge fixed upon him, and started hack
with horror.
"0, God !" said ho, with a loud voice,
while the sweat rolled down his chalk-like
face. "It is the murdered man ! Ha! he
has come to judge the guilty. See there
is the forehead scarred. Alt, it was
devilish'blow. Back, back I say ; let the
dead man look his fill. There's blood
upon my hand ; see there, thou unquiet
spirit ; that hand was reeking in thy gore ;
'twas merciless, when thou criedst out;
he merciless now in thy turn, thou man of
the spirit land."
Here the prisoner fainted and fell upon
the door. A great sensation was reused in
t he court by this strange circumstance, and it
was not until "order" had been shouted for
some time, that it was suffered to go on.—
it appears that Brown's neighbors all con
sidered him guilty of the crime of endeav
oring to murder the individual named in
the beginning of this narrative, and who
was now the presiding judge of the Old
Bally. 'flue affidavit was kept in green
remembrance, especially by one farmer in
the neighborhood of Hopedale, who had
appropriated Brown's farm to his own
use, and who constantly watched for the
murderer's return, for he knew human na
ture so well, 1113 to be certain that nt; wretch
can be so callous as to forget the spot sa
cred to childhood's innocence, and early
love. The robber seeks his home, the
murderer seeks the shade of his once hap
py valley.
The unfortunate man, ignorant of his
wife's actions. and unconscious of the
certificates in her possession, ignorant of
her existence even, after a long cruise in
the navy of England, returned to view the
pleasent homestead, the green valley, the
quiet hill-side, and the sunken graves of
his parents and children. He had mat
the argus-eyed speculator on his way.—
The old.affidavit hung like the sword of
Damocles over his head, and the informer
saw the poor, broken-hearted sailor born
away to London and, he trusted, to a felon's
grave. Such is human nature. Man
carlessly jeeds upon the fruits that hang
over the church-yard wall, and gathers
roses from the sacred plains—" Where
once the life's blood warm and wet dim
med the glittering bayonet."
The trial proceeded ; the evidence was
strong, and the jury, without quitting their
seats, pronounced the prisoner at the bar,
"Guilty."
"Guilty !" said Brown, rising to his
feet, "can it be ? Ah ! I tnust die a felon's
death, and my poor lost wife. Olt, that
pang. How her tender endearments now
rise up in judgement against me ; her
soft words, how they thunder upon my
gloomy soul. Her smiles of beauty and
innocence—great God how they sear my
heart; must 1 then die without her forgive.
ness ? Oh, the thought of torture, ay, tor.
ture as dreadful as that experienced by
the vilest of the damned."
Here the prisoner became unmanned,
and burying his face in his fettered hands,
wept like a child. The strong passion of
grief shook his limbs, and rattled his
chains with terrible Uistinctuess. A short
silence ensued, and then the judge put on
his black cap, and prepared to pronounce
that awful sentence wich can never be ut
tered without awakening the dormant sen
sibilities of the most degraded—which
none, in fact, but the condemned, ever
hear without a flood of tears. •
"Prisoner at the bar," said the judge,
"stand up." Brown arose. "What have
you to say why sentence of death should
not he pronounced against you 1" continued
the judge. A slight rustling noise was
now heard at the bar c and a female in wid.
ow's weeds leaned her head'over to speak
to the prisoner.
"Stand back, woman." said a self-suft•
eient tip4itaff, who, like some of our eon.
stables, imagined the old adage, "necessi.
ty, &a." 4
The woman drew back her veil, and
looking' the judge in the face, *kid, silasy
it please your' worship to permit we
to aid my husband in his but extrem
ity?"
The Earl thought he knew the face and
“FEARLEBB AND FREE.”
the tone of voice, and therefore cotillion&
ed the officer to place the wife boOde her
husband.
"Meg," said Brown, while the team
streamed down his face, haggard with
guilt, "it is very kind of you to visit
me thus. Can you forgive your hus
band I"
"John," said the meek-eyed wonian, as
she raised her countenance of angelic
sweetness to heaven, "I was forgiven by
the Son of God—l can: and do forgive
you."
The wretched prisoner fell on his wife's
neck, and the minions of criminal law,
with faces like tanned leather, and hearts
like paving stones before the Egyptian
tombs, stood pity-struck and waited for the
end of this extraordinary scene.
"Woman," at length said the judge,
while a tear rested in his eye, "it is my
dreadful lot to pass the sentence of the
law upon the prisoner; You had better
retire."
The wife started, and looking the Judge
lull in the face, said, "John, Earl of —, do
you recollect the parchmeut scroll you
gave me at Hopedale ?" handing at the
same time a pieceof vellum to a constable,
who passed it up to his honor.
"My nohle-hearted, long lost nurse !"
said the judge, with a look of joy. "Well
do I recollect you and youriast request ;
hut in this case, the law must take its
course. I will, however, recommend the
prisoner to mercy."
"Mercy !" exclaimed Brown, "who
Wks of mercy ? There is blood upon
my hand !"
"Silence !" said the judge. "Remand
the prisoner."
The court adjourned. and the prisoner,
guarded by a throng of soldiers and tip
staves, moved off to his cell—his wife fol
lowing the judge to his chamber. The
next day a pardon for John Brown passed
the seals, and the beginning of the week
saw the husband and his noblelpirited
wife at Hopedale, with the judge for a
welcome guest. Years of peace and joy
ous plenty rolled on. Long and fervently
did the pardoned criminal pray for for
giveness ; and at last, in God's own time,
the bloody stain upon his hand was wash
ed away by the blood of him who died on
Calvary, that man might lied at least a
glorious rest in the realms of matchless
beauty, and of never dying love. The
farmer of Hopedale for many years was
considered the exemplar of the country a
round, and at last, when he died, which
was shortly after Its wife had departed for
another rest, lie was placed in the saute
grave with lier, and over their bones a
marble cenotaph was raised, upon which
was inscribed in lasting letters :
"They loved in We—
in death they weie hot divided."
The farm-house at Hopedale has fallen
in ruins. 'rho gray owl hoots ...upon its
moss-topped chimney, the snako rustles in
the grass by the door sill, and the cricket
whistles in the oven. At evening. the
truant and licfated ploughboy shuns the
spots for many a whitudioered loon, if you
can believe him, has seen John Brown
upon the hill side, at the hour 01 dusk.
with a clot of blood upon his hand and
murdered traveller at his feet.
nappy Illotneti.
Let it be our object to multiply the num
ber of virtues and happy homes. The
domestic hearth is the seed-plot of a no
ble and flourimhing commonwealth. All
laws are vicious, all tendencies are to be
deprecated, which increase the difficulty
of diffusing through every rank the refined
and holy influences which arc cherished
by the domestic affections. Reckless
speculations among capitalists, disturbing
the steady and uniform course of employ
ment, and its sure counterpart, improvi
dence and debauchery among workmen—
are the deadliest foes of the household
virtues. lit how small a compass lie all
the elements of man's truest happiness, if
society were only conducted in a rational
and moderate spirit, and its members of
every class could be restrained from vi
cious indulgence and pursuit of phantoms.
A marriage contracted with thoughtfulness,
and cemented by a pure" and faithful love,
when a fixed position is gained in the
world, and a small fund has accumulated—
hard work and frugal habits St the com
mencement of life, to meet In time the
possible demands of a future family—a
:dwelling comlOrtably furnished, clean,
,night, salubrious, anti sweet—children
well trained, and early sent to school—a
small collection of good books on the
shelves—a few blossoming plants on the
windows—sonic well-selected engravings
on the walls—a piano, it,may be, a violin
or a flute to accompany the family concert
—home made happy in the evening by
cheerful tasks and mutual improvement,
exchanged at times for conrersations of
friend and neighbor of kindled taste and
congenial manners—these are conditions.
of existence within the reach of every one
who will seek them—reseorees of the
purest happiness, lost, to thousands, be
cause a wrong direction is even to their
taste and energies, and they',,roam abroad
in pursuit of interest ma] enjoyment
which they might create in riah abundance
at home. 'rills is no roma tie visionary
picture. It is a sober, accesible posstbil
ity, suck as even now, untie. the pressure
!of many adverse circumstames, is realis
ed in the homes of not ,•' working
men, who . have learned •• of extract
ing competence from 1 teens, and
maintaining genuine ri ity in an
humble station ' —Tayb Ulan, Rs
pacts of Faith and hut ; ,
CoNviarso i.on. ABSO the Crimi
nal term of tho Women try Court
of Common Pleas in st Worces
ter, (Mass.) Samuel Ss was con
victed mist charge of set ire •to mid
burning down the house ais father in
lit ii
Petersham, 10, April lei . The motive
for •
. the deed , was , that is, father was
"bout ta me . again, a he did not de ,
Ora to hey •. •mother-io ',6' ' H Al
aanfatOnd t o "h e ' Penile My fo , . ,
moil, alter all; did not prove his ("thee m
marrying again: . i • •
to youth heed the admobitions of the
From the Flag of our llama
"Stranger Has It Lit V'
We have often thought that to a person
who saw a train of ears in motion for the
first time, the sight must be the most mi
raculous and astounding. As Jack Down
ing once said, "'twas so queer to see a hull
lot of wagins chock full of people and
things agoin' off at that ere speed, and no
hoes to draw 'em." A genius of the sort
referred to, lately made his experimental
trip. He was a green horn, a genuine
backwoodsman, who feared nothing in the
shape of man or beast, but anything that
he could not understand puzzled him even
more than it did, perhaps, the ordinary
run of his fellows. Well, he came to
Cartersville, a short time since, for the
purpose of taking his first railroad trip.—
He'd hearn tell on 'em, but didn't be
lieve, he said, hall the nonsense folks said
about 'em. = When the cars arrived at the
place, our hero was there patiently wait
ing, and much excited and elated in an
ticipating his intended ride. As the cars
approached lie stood gazing with wonder
and awe, at the engine puffing and smok
ing. Following the example of the oth
ers, as soon as the cars stopped he hurried
aboard, with his saddle hags on his arms.
and seated himself near a window. Then
looking around at the passengers. mani
festly much surprised, he put his head out
at the window to see "the critter start."—
While in this position, watching with much
anxiety, the whiatld sounded. Our hero,
I much surprised and evidently a little alarm
ed, drew back his head with a motion
that might be called a jerk. and turning to
a gentleman sitting near him, said;
"Well, stranger, did you ever hear such
a snort as that I"
The engine," suggested the other.
"Well, 1 don't know what it is—but
hello how she goes !"
"Guess you are not acquainted with
railroad traveling I"
"Hang it. no! haint they run away?—
Creation how it jerks !"
"It's all sale enough, you may rely, the
care are starting."
"That's all ; well stranger, I shit Eileen!.
you know, but kinder surprised like, that's
all." said the mountain boy, half ashamed.
"•I golly. stranger, did you hear that ere
snort? It beats dad's jackass, and lie's a
roarer, no mistake. Whew, how it does
putt, sounethin' bustin', I'm sure !"
"0. fudge, it's all right," said the other,
settling himself for a nap.
"I swow ! I don't see how you can
sleep, darned of I do!" -
"Nothing like getting used to it." said
the other. "You've heard of the eels that
had been skinned so many times they rath
er liked it, and used to come ashore every
few days to get their hide taken off, haint
you ?"
"You're gassin', stranger."
The hell rang, the engine moved on,
away went the cars at rapid speed, and
helore our hero had recoverd front the
shock which the "snort" produced. the
cars were moving slowly over Etowah
Bridge. Discovering a change in its gait.
he popped his head out at the window
again, "to see how it moved," saw that he
was some distance from the earth, and
supposing the "critter," was flying swoon
ed, and fell from his seat speechless.—
Several gentlemen sitting near, caught
hold of him, raised him up, shook him
and rubbed him until he revived a little.
"'Phis man k crazy," suggested some
of the bystanders sagely.
"No, he's not." answered he who had
before spoken, "he's frightened."
"Frightened r
"Yes, scared half to death,"
"Aboutmliatr
"The cars ; he never was in a train be
fore; he told me so."
A hearty laugh rang through those a
bout the half fainting man, which had the
effect to arouse him to consciousness, or
at least to partially do so, for his breath
began to come and go more regularly, and
at last lie opened his eyes, as large as
saucers. and seeing several gentlemen who
had just come to his assistance about him,
he looked up most beseechingly In the
face of ono of them and said:
"Stranger, has It lit ?"
A GOOD RR &sot. —A country peda
gogue had two pupils, to one of whom lie
was pattial, and to the other severe. One
morning it happened that these two boys
were. late, and were called up to account for
it. "Please, sir," said the favorite, "I was a
dreamire that Iwns twin' to Califerny, and
I!thought the school-bell was the steamboat
bell, as I was goin' in." "Very well,"
said the master, glad of any pretext to ex
cuse his favorite "and now, sir," turning
to the other. "what have you to say I"
"Please, sir," said the puzzled boy, "I—l
toss wailing to see Tom Or."
Pops.—W hen Pope was one evening at
Burton's coffee-house, in company with
Swift Arbuthnot, and others, pouring over
a manuscript of the Greek Aristophanes,
they found one sentence which they could
not comprehend. As they talked pretty
loud, a young officer. who stood by the
fire, heard the conversation, and begged
permission to look at the passage. •Oh;
said Pope,. sarcastically, •bv all means ;
pray let the young gentlemen look at it.
The officer took up the book, and remark
ed that there only wanted a note of interro
gation to make the whole
.And pray, sir,' asked Pope, who was a
little, deformed man, and who was evident
ly piqued at being outdone by a soldier,
'what is a note of interrogation 1 'Ante
of interrogation,' replied the youth, with a
look of the uttermost oontempt,".is a little
crooked thing that asks questions.
In the days when Connecticut was large
ly engaged in breeding mules for the South
ern market, one morning. Tracy. who,was
as shrewd a Yankee as ever whittled a
shingle or sold a clock, stood with* South
Carolinian. on the steps of the Capitol,
when a drove of mules passed by oo their
southern journey;
"TrikeYt" said the Carolinish.'Sliere goes
a company of your constituents."
"Yes.. was the dry retort. "they are
iloutuless going'to South ,Carolina to teach
school." - •• -
Awnotlns . Scripture,
A worthy deacon in the town of
was remarkable for the facility with which
he quoted Sellout* on all occasions.
Thedivine Word assayer at his tongue's
end, and all the triviaVietwell'as itapbrtant
occurrences of life, furnished *maim" for
quoting the language of the Bible. What
is better, however, the exemplary • 'man's!.
ways made his quotations the standard
of action. One hot day he was engaged
in mowing with hie hired man, who was
leading off, the deacon following ill hie
swath, conning his .apt quotations, when
the man suddenly sprang from - his place,
leaving the swath just in time to escape a
wasp's nest.
"What is the matter I" hurriedly inquir
ed the deacon.
"Wasps , l" was thi3 laconic reply.
"Pooh !"-said the deacon, "the wicked
flee when no man ptirsueth, but the righte
ous are as bold as a lion-l" and taking the
workmen's swath, he moved but a step,
when a swarm of brisk insects settled a
' bout his ears, and he was forced to, re
treat, with many a painful sting, and in.
great discomfiture.
"A ha 1" shouted the other with a chuckle,
"the prudent man foreseeth the evil, and
hideth himself, but the simple pass on,
and are punished."
• The good deacon had found his equal
in making application of the sacred writ
ings, and thereafter was not known to
quote-Scripture in _a _mowing_ firW._
The humorous Dean Swift whose an
tipathy to fishing was well known, having
been askod by a child what a fishing rod
1130811J—
"It means, my dear," sahrhe, "only a
long pole with a worm at one end and a
fool at the other."
"Well. mother, the foundations of the
great deep are broken up at last s ;l'
"What do you mean, Tommy ?"
"My trousers have got a hole in them,
that's what I mean."
A mane true wealth hereafter is the
good he does in_ this world to his fellow
men. When he dies, people will say
"What property has he left behind him 1"
But-the angels who examine hint in the
grave will ask, "What good deeds hest
thou sent before ihee ?".
"Yoti'vE destroyed my peace • of mind
Bets," said a desponding lover to a tru
ant lass. "It can't do you much harm,
John, 'twas an amazing small piece you
had, any way," was the quick reply.
A little lawyer appearing as evidence at
one of our courts, was asked by the gigantic
counsellor, what profession he was of, and
having replied that he was an attorney—
'You a lawyer l' said Brief, 'why, 1. can
put you in my pocket.'
'Very likely you may,' rejoined the
other, 'and if you do, you will have more
law in your pocket than in your head.'
A roan who married a Miss Take, after
having courted Miss Lloyd, was told by a
friend that it was reported he was married
to Miss Lloyd. "It was a Miss Take, I
assure you," he replied.
GEN SCOTT ' S RELMION.—We have
received some hilt a dozen letters inquir
ing whether Gen. Scott is or is not a Ro
man Catholic, and intimating, that the an-'I
ewer will materially effect his vote, should
he be nominated at Baltimore, says the
New York Tribune, and to which it replies
in the following excellent wpirit : We beg
leave to answer all at once that we don's
know to what religious denomination Gen.
Scott is attached ; and if we did know we
should not say in reply to any such appli
cations as we have received. That Gen.
Scott is an honest, conscientious, God
fearing, law-abiding man. is abundantly
known ; further than this, we hold that no
man has a right to inquire, with a slew to
the vote he is to cast for President. We
knew and detested men who electioneered
against John Q. Adams because he was a
Unitarian ; we know that the Chief Jus
tice of the United States is a zealous Ro
man Catholic, but we never heard anybody
intimate that his integrity or fitness for his
high station was at all affected by that cir
cumstance. Gen. Scott, we have under
stood, is an Episcopalian ; but we never in
quired what church he attended. and nev
er shall inquire. it will he a sad day for
our country when any considerable nuni
ber of votes for President can be influtote
ed, one way or enother, by the religious
profession of the rival candidate?.
A VALUABLE BANK BILL.—W hat would
he the sensation of an indiv kind avenstom
ed to handling one dollar shinplasters, to
receive a bank bill forene million sterling!
The Bank of England. it appears, issued
lour notes of that denomination, and after
these four were printed the plates were
destroyed. Of these impressions the
Rothschilds have one, the law 3[E, Comte
had another, the Bank retains the third,
and 'Mr. Samuel Rodgers. the poet and
banker, now decorates his parlor with
the fourth, suspended in a gold frame.
VeRDICT IN A GANDLINO CAelt.—•-An
interesting case was decided in the New
York Superior Court, on Thursday. It
was the case of John Taylor vs. Shirlock
Hillman, to recover $3600 paid by Tay
lor to Hillman for a gambling debt. This
is one of the instances where ruin great
and immediate has been brought un by a
propensity for gambling. Taylor got with
his wife $7OOO ; he borrowed 81000. and
by gambling failed for $15,000; lost art
extensive comb establishment, and is cart
man in New York, earning $1 per day.—
Verdict for plaintiff in the full amount
claimed.
MINIUM ON ♦ CHARON OF SWINDLING.
—A man representing himself as a secret
agent of the post office department has
been arrested at Chamberaburg, Pa., charg.
ad with obtaining money under false pre
tences from the Rea. Mr. Black. It ap
pears be lately paid 6.oflicial" 'Mite to the
post masters at Carlisle, Columbia and
Wriglaiiille, and after seeing that all was
right, it is alleged, borrowed small sums
of money, and suddenly took his departure
for some other locality.
TWO DOLLARS PER ANNR/L
fIiTriEBER 15.
giffricutturat.
gIINITATION OF DOSSUTIC ANIXAZar.--It
is often important for farmers to know the
exact length of time that the different do.
mead° animals go with their young. The
following contains the times of those whiah
moat concern him, as near as we can as
certain them :—Mare, 11 months;
fennet.
11 .months; Cow, 8 months; Goat, 4i
months ; Ewe, 5 months ; Sow. 4 monthrt;,
Bitch, 2 months; Cat, eight weeks; Rab
bit, 4} weeks; Rat, 51 weeks; Moose, 41
weeks ; Guinea Pig, 3 weeks. Period of
indubation of domestic f0w15...-Swan,,
weeks ; Turkey, 4 weeks ; Goose. 4 weeks;
Duck, 4 weeks ;.Pea Hen, 4 weeks ; Guin
ea Hen, 8 weeks,; Common Hen, 3 weeks;
Pigeon, 2 weeks.—Granite Farmer,
Liquid and Solid Manure.--Charlea
Alexander, a careful and accurate fanner
in Scotland, found that while 14 head , of
cattle would make six loads of solid man
ure, the liquid would - saturate seven loads
of loam, rendering it of equal value. He
had repeated the experiment for ten years.
and found the saturated earth fully equal
to the best putrescent manure. Haw ma.
ny dqllars' worth are thus lost annually by
each of the million of farmers of tide comp.
try f And what is the aggregate loss, in
the whole country taken together , I
Peach Worm.—Boiling water. says the
Horticulturslist, is a most excellent app.
cation in the spring of the year * , for dirk
eased and feeble_pesch trees, and is scene
Main remedy for the peach worm. — A nor
respondent very effectually excluded the
peach worm by digging a basin *retied the
root of the trunk, forming a cavity a foot
in widtn and four inches deep,. and then
pouring into the basin very thick white.
I ;ivash, made of fresh lime, and suffered 10
stand one day before applying.
.
Bugs on Afeltens.--Bags may be kept
from melons, cucumbers, and squashes..
by setting boxesoser em.,rti tri.tert.ln.
cites high, and open at both ends. Rtige
fly from vine to vine in oSorixontai'direa.
tion, hence the boxes are generally in
struction, and they pass by them:
said that these framer whir milli net drawq
over them answer as good a pot*. - toe
forwarding early vegetation as frames cor•
ered with glass. -
~ •
Gapes in Chicken*.—Mig with their,
food every day a small quantity 'of
gar, which has stood a few days'in an iNts.
vessel ; or iryou prefer it, vinegar iniegeh
iron filings have been dissolved. This
is a certain preventative of a trotiblesorde
and often fatal disease. Young chickens
should never be allowed to rad' out .in
damp or wet weather. If they are: apt
kept dry and warm, many are `almost tin&
to die.--Germantoten Tdegraph.
,
How TO SKIN A Csur.--ttly Memoir's
as follows, as I do as much of my work es
I can myself, and in as short a time as
possible :—First, I secure the calf as soon
as the finishing stroke is given him, .by
means of a pin put in at the over the
small of his back, and thus keep hitt' to
the place till heist done stirring. Then
having 'a horse ready harnessed, I rip the
skin with a knife, and after removing the
skin a little round the leg, strip it-down
with the force of my hand, completing it
by driving my foot down between themip
armed skin and leg. Then first removing
with the knife the inside corners of the
skin, drive it circa smartly as before.—
When the skin is removed in ihe same
manner from the other leg, a small chain
is secured to it, and to this site horse is
fastened. The legs being then secured
by mains of another cliin, the skin is at
once stripped off by the horse. A. skin
thus taken is free from csts...4l/bim.y
Cul
tivator.
Talc Cuacutto.—h is comforitt4oo
,
hear of any plan- for destroying the cur
culio, and i' would he' a teal blessing . to
find a complete remedy for its depirfdal.
tions. A -correspondent of the Paton
Journal says, take cotton battiog, put these
circles six to twelve inches apart *Mod
your plum trees. He caught sixty in the
first circle in twenty-four haunt; in the
second circle but few had been caughtt in
the third circle scarcely one got so
He found this a sure preventative, amigos
lots of tine plums last year, for' the first
time for many years. He further recom
mends keeping the gro and free from wind.
falls, as they. contain the maggot, which
goes in the ground to mature itself.
AMOUNT OF FOOD REQIIIRIND xi Mn..
MALE.—Of hay, an ox repo Tres two pet
per cent. a day of his live weight. That
is, if the ox weighs 2000 pounds, he re
quires 40 pounds of hay. If he is. work ,
tog, he will take two and a half per cent.
A milch cow should have three per cent. of
her weight, as she, is proportionably light
er than the ox, and part ot the substance
of her food guest) form milk. A famen
ing ox may be fed fire percent. when half
Mt, and afterward four per cent. This is
independent of other food. A grown
sheep will take three and 11 third per cent
of its weighi in hay, to keep WOW stare
condition. Animals in a grawintstato ter
quire most loud, and It is very poor aeon.
uniy to stint thera.-7he Plow.
—.—
FOOD ran SICK' MiilltALEl..—Thil
icon relerinary Journal stateit. that' an
excellent diet for lick- animale v ie inn ply
scalded shorts. NV hen.a florae has taken
cold, with discharges from the nostrils, the
mash may be pot into the manger while
hot, with a view of steaming the nasal pas
sages. • •
CtIOKED CATTLE.--/1 correspondent of
the Massachnsetts Ploughman says
Warm a small quantity of 110, and inix
it with a small quantitF or gurapplider.
and, pour , into the throat. I once prepired
second duso but had no occasion to use
it.".
A ten acre field, costing tifty,dullars per
acre, and ditched. Immured, and improved
at fifty dollars more, so u to give, double
crops, is much store valuable and MOP'
ble than twenty some unimproved , coll
lag the sane money.
Why are !Wier, stela like ea 6444 ,
lion railway!' Beellitsu ey Ivo 16161**
fare.
,~ ~ ...
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