u FREE A3 THE WIND. AND AMERICAN TO THE CORE, BY BY BUCKER SWOQPE. CLEARFIELD, WEDNESDAY, NOV. .14, 185-5: VOL. 2.-N0. 15.-T0TAL, 67. 1 it THE WIFE OF THE INEBRIATE. BY ROBERT T. COSRAD. A lovely thing is the light that joy O'er the young and gentle throw, When the budding heart love fluttercth, As tho humming-bird tho rose : But the grace of grief, o'er beauty thrown, Is a lovelier thing, I ween ; It is the pale moon's holy light, When it silvercth a summery scene. I am thinking of her I saw last night, Of her dark and pci.sive oye, Which molted into angel thoughts, And shone like a star-lit sky ; dreams, Her voice 'twas the voice that we hear in Or the rivulet tones of May ; Eye, voice, and all aro with me now, And never can pass away ! He once her young heart's joy drew near, And he sat him by her side : What was it wrung her gentlo brow? What flushed her timid pride ? His soul issealod to the poison-fiend ; Ilia breath is a breath of flame ; And gibbering heavily there he sat And rocked in his idiot shame. And this, all this, where the world looked on, Amid a stranger throng I Ifolt it would be a joy to die For that gentle being's wrong,? With her quivcrirg lip aud her swimming eye. And her mute and crushed despair, She looked as grief in heaven would look, If grief e'or entered there. How beautiful, thus sorrovr-crowncj, That faultless face and form '. As fair, as pale as the sun-lit cloud When tortured by the storm. Earth, sky. and sea are beautiful, But earth, nor sky, nor sea. Hath aught so sadly eveutly bright, ; Deserted one ! as thee ! i .And thou, the lost! who hast thrown away A gem earth could not buy Proud joys are thiue and cheaply bought ! But go! drink deep and die ! -Ay, churl, to thy diizy revel go, And raise the Bacchant roar; " prink, drink, and die, that thy loathly form ilay blot God's earth no moro ! Woman ! What gloom on thy sinless path Alan's selfish vices fling I Ilia ever the maniac joys of guilt;' Butthino, alas! the sting! How many a gentle heart thus crushed ; How many a form laid low ! 0, the seraphs pause in their hymns of bliss, To weep o'er woman's woo! U - . I DID NOT THINK THAT. One day as Mr. Lawson, a merchant t jilor, stood at his cutting board, a poorly drvssed woman entered his shop, and approaching him, asked" with some embarrassment and ti midity, if he had any work to give out. "What can you do?" asked the tailor, look Ing'coldly upon his visitor. "I can make pantaloons and rests," answer ed the girl. "Have you ever worked for a merchant tai lor I" ho asked. "Yes, sir, I have worked for Mr. Wiipht," replied the girl. 'Has he nothing for you to do ?" 'Xo, not just bow; he has regular hands who alwaya get the preference." "Did yonr work suit him ?" "He never found fault with it." Where do you live ?" "In Cherry street, Xo. ." Mr. Lawson stood and mused for a short time. "I have a vest here," he at length said, ta king a small bundle from the shtlf, "which I want by to-morrow evening at the latest. If yon think you can do it very neatly, and have It done in time, you can take it." "It shall bo done in time," faid tho young 'woman, reaching out eagerly for the bundle. "And remember,! shall expect it well made. f I like your work I will give you more" f'l will endeavor to please yon," returned the young girl. "To-morvow evening, recollect." Yes, sir; I will have it done.'' The girl turned and went quickly away. In a back, room, in the third story of an old liouso in Cherry street, was the home of the poor sewing girl. As she entered, she said in a cheerful Toieo to her sick sister- "Mary, I have get worjc ; it is a vest, and I roust have it done by to-morrow evening." "Can you finish it in time ?" inquired the invalid in a feeble voice. "Oh, yes, easily." It proved to be white Marseilles. As soon as the invalid aaw this, she said, "I'm afraid jou will not be able to got it'done in time, El Jen ; you are not fast with the needle, and be sides, you are Tery far from being well." " "Don't fear in the least, Mary j I will do all J. engaged to do." It was after dark the next night when Ellen finished the garment. She was weary and faint, having taken no food since morning The want of everything, and particularly for herself and sister, made seventy-five cents, the sura she expected to receive for making the vest, a treasure in her imagination. She hurried off with the vest the moment it was finished, saying to her sister, "I will be back as soon as possible, andjring you some cordial, and something for our supper and breakfast." "Here it is half past eight o'clock, and the vest It not Id yet," aaid Mr. Lawson, in a fret ful tone. "I had my doubts about the girl when I gave it to her But she looked so poor, and. seemed so earnest about the work, that I was weak enough to entrust her with the gar ment." At thi3 moment Ellen came in and laid the vest on the counter, where Mr. Law son was standing. She said nothing, neither did he. Taking the vest, he unfolded it in a manner which plainly showed him not to be in a very placid frame of mind. "Goodness!" he ejaculated, turning over the garment, .and looking at the girl. .She shrunk back from the counter and looked frightened. "Wvll, this is a pretty job for one to bring in!" said the tailor in an excited tone of voice; "a pretty job indeed !" at the same time toss ing the vest away from him in angry contempt and walking off to another part of the store. Ellen remained at the counter. At length he said to her, "You needn't stand there, Miss, thinking I am going to pay you for ruining a job. It is bad enough to lose the material and customer. In justice 3-011 should pay me for the vest; but there's io hopo for that; so take yonrs-jlf ofF, and never let me set eyes on you again." Ellen made no reply; she turned round, rais ed hei hand to hsr forehead, and, bursting in to tears, walked slowly away. After Ellen had gene, Mr. Lawson returned to the front part of tho store, and taking up the vest brought it back to where an elderly man was sitting, and holding it towards him, said, by way of apology for the part he hal taken in the little scene. ' That is a beatiti ful article lor a gentleman to wear, isn't it?" The man made no reply, and the tailor alter a pause, added, "I refused to pay her as a mat er of principle. She knew she could not make the garment when she took itawav. She will be more careful how she tries to imposs her self upon customer tailors as a good vest ma ker." "Perhaps," said the elderly gentleman in a mild way, "necessity drove her to undertake a job that required greater skill than she pos sessed. She certainly looked very poor." ' "It was because she appeared so poor end miserable that I was weak enough to place the vest in her hands," replied Mr. Lawson in a less 6-jvere tone of voice." "But it was an im position for her to ask for work-she did not know how to make." ' Mr. Dawson," said the old gentleman, who, was known as a pious and good man, "we should not blame with too much severity the person who, in extreme want, undertakes to perform a piece of work for which she lacks the skill. The fact that a young girl, like tho one who was just here is willing, in her ex tremc poverty, to labor instead of sinking info vice and idleness, shows her to possess trua virtue and integrity of character; and that wc should be willing to encourage, even at some sacrifice. Work is slack now, as you are aware, and there is but little doubt that she had been to many places seeking employment before she came to you. It maybe that sli3 and others are dependent upon the receipt o" the money that was expected to be paid for making the vest you hold in your hand. The expression as she turned away, her lingering steps, her drooping form, and her whole de meanor, had in them a language which told me of all this, and even more." A change came over the tailor's countenance "I didn't think of that," fell in a low tone from his lips. "I did not thiuk you did, brother Lawson," said his monitor i "we are more apt to think of ourselves than others. The girl promised the vest this evening ; and so far a3 that was concerned, she performed her contract. Is the vest made very badly ?" Mr. Lawson took up the garment and exam ined it more closely. "Well, I can't say that it is badly done, but dreadfully soiled and rumpled ; and it is not as neat a job as it should be, nor at all such as I wished it." "All this is very annoying, of course ; but still, we should be willing to make some ex cuse for the short coming of others. The poor girl may have a sick mother to attend to which constantly interrupted her, and under such circumstances, you could barely wonder if the garment come some what soiled from un der her hands. All this may be the cause ; and if so, you could And ft iu your heart to speak unkindly to the poor creature, much less turn her away angrily, and without the money she toiled for so earnestly." "I did r.ot thjr.k of that," was murmered in a low, suppressed tone of voice. Ellen, on returning home, entered the room, and without uttering a word, threw herself on the bed by the side of her sick sister, and bu rying her face in a pillow, endeavored to smother the sobs that came up convulsively in her bosom. Mary asked no questions. She understood the cause of Ellen's agitation. It told her that she had been disappointed in her expec tation of receiving the money for her work. Just at that moment there was a knock at the door, but no voice bid the applicant for admission to enter. It was repeated, but it mtt with no response. Then the latch was lifted, the door swung open, and tho tailor stepped into the room. - The sound of feet aroused the distressed sisters, and Ellen raised herself up, and look ed at Mr. Lawson with a countenance suffused with tears. "I ffelt that I did wrong in speaking to you in the way that I did," said Mr. Lawson, ad vancing toward the bed, and holding out to Ellen the money that she had earned. "Here is the price of the vest. It was better made than I first thought it was. To-morrow I will send you more work. Try to cheer up." Mr. Lawson, finding that his presence was embarrassing, withdrew, leaving the two sis ters so deeply affected that they could not but look at him with thankfulness." Shortly after this they received a basket, in which was a supply of nourishing food, and a sum of money to procuro such articles as might be necessary for the sick sister. Though no one's name was sent with it they were not in doubt as to the individual who sent it. Mr. Lawson was not an unfeeling man, tut, like too many others in the world he . did sot al ways THINK. " PEIMAEY SCHOOLS. BY MRS. LYDIA II. 8IG0CHXEY. Much light on the great subject of Educa tion, has dawned upon the present age. Yet broad wastes arc still unilluminated. "There remaineth yet, very much land to be possess ed." The theorist may have made prosper ous way through the wilderness ofconfiicfing opinions; but the practical teacher seems yet to stand upon Pisgah, exploring a varied and beautiful heritage, not yet fully reclaimed from the heathen. Philosophical writers have laboured to il lustrate the different departments of mind. They have unfolded its chart, and said, "here is a stream, and there is a mountain, and there a valley." But have they told us how the stream may be guided, until it becomes a riv cr? how it may fertilize and gladden itsbanks, until it meets the sea? Ilavo they pointed out among tho rocks, and tangled foliage of th mountain, the sunny spots which are capable of culture or ornament ? Have they instruct ed us, how the volley may be best made rich for the harvest ? how its fruits maybe safely gathered into the garner of eternal lifo ? It is the province of the faithful teacher to entrr the field which the philanthropist has described; to test tho validity of tho precepts, which the sage -has promulgated. And is not this oGlce as honorable as it is responsible ? The Emperor of Russia-has directed the fe males of his family to engage in the work of instruction, and in St. Petersburgh aro sever al schools over which they preside. The Pa cha of Egypt has induced n English lady to take charge of one hundred female pupils at Cairo, and to give countenance to so strange a movement in a Mahomedan realm, where it is doubted whether women have souls, hasplaced his own daughters under her tuition. The King of Greece treats, with respect and con fidence, the lady from our own land, who ed ucates several hundred children at Athens, and causes to be supported at her school a delegation of girls, from the' different provin ces of that classic clime. If the rulers of the Old World, even in some of tho strong holds of despotism, are disjjosed to show honor to teachers, our own country, where a right ed ucation is emphatically the safety and defence of tho people, ought not to be backward in following the example. It is but too Ql ten the case, that primary schools are undervalued, or their interests committed to unskilful hands. The assertion is sometimes made, that "any one will do to keep a school for little children." Any de cayed, ignorant woman, unable otherwise to earn a living, whesa dim eyes fail to guide the needle aright, or from whoso palsied hand, the distaff had fallen, she is pronounced fit to gather around her the freshest, youngest spir its; to spread out, and to inscribe at pleasure, the tenderest, most impressible page of hu man existence. Should this be so? Is he who builds a house inattentive to its foundation? he who would erect a pyramid, careless to give solidity to its base? So, they who aid the mind in its earliest developements, should be qualified wisely and efficiently to use their delegated authority. Primary schools aro assuming more impor tance, in the opinion of the public, as the ne cessity of moral training becomes better un derstood. Intellectual education was former ly considered almost the sole olyect of schools, and the culture of right principles pursued only as far. as they advanced or impeded it.-- Yet is it not rather the true order of thingst to give the highest place to that which regu lates our duty here, and affects our happiness hereafter? If so, Knowledge should be en listed in the service of Virtue, as a powerful ally; for we have too often seen, that when un controlled by such sacred influence it has been placed on the throne, its' tendency is to blind aud wayward, to selfish or criminal courses. If we view the intellect as an instrument by which we arrive at the heart, thoso who edu cate the young should make every science, every lesson, an adjunct in the culture of right dispositions and correct conduct. Under such a system, the pupils who are least advanced in ' age, may prove their most promising subjects; for their hearts ripening soonci than their un derstandings, are more readily reached, more easily modified, less permanently injured by evil habit or example. Formerly, they were held in promiscuous schools, as a sort of hin drance or interruption to the elder classes. To keep their station on a hand bench with their little feet vainly reaching after the floor; to study rtraDge characters; to be occasionally cled to utter unintelligible sounds; to be bid den by nature to move, and by the teacher to sit still, and to be still; to wait with wide-open, wondering eyes, at a mysterious banquet of knowledge, and to find scarcely a crumb fal ling from the table for them, was but too often their portion. Like the children of Israel, in the land of bondage, they could not but "see that they were in evil case." - Yet, as nior. 1 culture gains its true prominence, the "priso ners will be brought forth from the prison houses," and admitted as favoured students of that science which endurvth, when "if there be tongues they shall cease, if there beknowl edge it shall vanish away." Iu bespeaking a due share of attention for those almost infantine pupils, whicw surely in promiscuous schools have been too much, and too long neglected, it may be well to consider the force, and vitality of early impressions. Close observers of character perceive that they may spring up in unexpected forms, through1 every period of future life. When the seed is forgotten, when the hand that sowed it moulders in dust, it may be perfect ing its fruit. With what tenacity do the aged cling to the memories of their early years. Passing events are to them comparatively divested of interest. The hopes and passions, which agitato, young hearts, have grown powerless. They aro pon dering the far-ofi lines of life's first pages, and the atmosphere of age, seems to act like the chemist's art, in restoring the time-worn manuscript. Tell them of the news, tho fash ions, the changes of the day. You win but a divided attention. The heart is elsewhere. The past has taken possession of their whole being. They are with the dead, burying their dead, or causing tho dry bones to be anew covered with living flesh. The voice of their mother in the cradle-hymn, comes back to them, when the car is deaf to the melody of "siDgir.g men and singing women." Tho les sons of their earliest teachers, the scenery of their first school, are vivid before them, when they aro about to pass from the discipline of earth to the rewards of eternity. It is said of the aged Swiss and Germans, in the more anciently tettled parts of Pennsylva nia, that when death approaches, they are heaxd to sjjeak iu tka language learned in infancy, though they had been for years unaccustomed to their use. Teachers of primary schools! havo you ever thought that the words which you utter to the little ones at your feet, the counsels which now they seem so lightly to re gard, may grave themselves as with the point of a diamond, and go with their souls to the judgment ot the Great Day? Have you not, indeed, a dignified vocation, standing as you do next to tho mother, and she next to God ? taking into your Land that which is never to die, and promising to restore it, to those who entrusted it, not only uninjured, but brighter and more precious? Let your own deport ment, your own life, bo the lesson of your young pupils, lie diligent, be conscientious, be prayerful, be yourselves what you require of them to become, and doubt not that the Divine blessing will animate and repay your labours. " j - . DO IT YOTJRSELVE3, BOYS. Do not ask the teacher, or some classmate to solve that hard problem. Do it yourselves. You might as well let them eat your dinner, as "do j our sums" for you. It is iu studying, as in eating; he that does it gets the benefit; and uot he that sees it done. In almost any school, I would give more for what the teach er learns, than for what the best scholar learns simply because the teacher, is compelled to solve all the haid problems, and answer the questions of the la:y boys Do not ask him to parse the dilficult words or assist you in the performance of any of your studies. Do it yourself. Xever mind, though they look as dark as Egypt. Don't ask even a bint from anybody. Try again. Every trial increases your ability, and you will finally succeed by dint of the very wisdom and strength gained in the effort, even though at first the problem was beyond your skill. It is the study and not the answer that really rewards your pains- Look at that boy who has succeeded, after six hours hard study, perhaps; how his large eyes are lit up with proud joy, as he marches to his class. He treads like a conquorer. And well ho may. Last night his lamp burned late, and this morning he waked at dawn. Once or twice he nearly gave up. He had tried his last thought; but a new thought strikes him as he ponders the last process. He tries once more and succeeds; and now mark the air of conscious strength with w hich ho pro nounces his demonstration. His poor, weak schoolmate, who gave up that same problem after his first feint trial, now looks up to him with something of wonder, as a superior being. And he is superior. That problem lies there, a great gulf between those boys who stood yesterday 6ide by side. They will never stand together as equals again. The boy that did it for himself has taken a stride upward, aud what 13 better still, has gained strength to take other and greater ones. The boy who waited to go others do"it,"has lost both strength and courage, and is already looking for some good excuse to give up school and study for ever. Conn. School Journal. C The young lady in Paris, who lately made her fortieth ascent in a balloon, has cer tainly a taste for moving in the upper circles. Tho Last of the Randolph's. A southern correspondent of the Home Jour nal sends the following interesting sketch : "During the summer of 1854 I had some bu siness transactions which called ni3 to the county of Charlotte, in lower Virginia. A mild and lovely Sabbath morning found me seated in one of the comfortably cushioned pews of the village church at the Court House. As it wanted a few minutes to the hour of ser vice, my eye wandered over the large and re spectful looking audience assembled, and was finally attracted by a very eccentric individual who was just entering a rather aged man, tall, of d!rk complexion, long white hair wa ving plentifully over his shoulders, and an equally venerable imard flowing on his breast; His step was active and graceful, his form erect and manly. But his peculiar actions were in striking contrast to his dignified ap pearance. At first I thought him only eccen tric, but a few moments of further observa tion proved to mc that he'was insane. "Immediately on entering the pew he knelt towards the wall, crossed himself, and, appa rently, repeated a prayer. He then sat dow n, drew out a white cambric, delicately perfum ed, wiped his brow, removed his gloves. strok ed his hair and beard, took up his Bible, kiss ed it and read, examined his cane, used lis handkerchief again and all tho time keeping iiiniat-'If iu constant motion. I say all the timo, but, occasionally, lie was passive for a few miuutes his attention apparently aroused by some truths from the minister but these times were rare. His countenance assumed ull kinds of expressions. . Contempt, alarm, plea sure, earnestness, sorrow and anger, flitted a cr'oss it iu rapid succession. It reminded me more of what children call 'making faces' than anything else. "Alter the services were over, I ascertained that this gentleman was no other than the neph ew of John Randolph, of Roanoke. lie calls himself Sir John St. George Randolph, and is sole heir to his celebrated uncle. Randolph, himself, remarked with bitterness, during his last days, that their blood flowed in tho veins of but one single scion, and ho wss deaf, dumb and insane. So much for human greatness. Tho subject of this sketch although physical ly, and now mentally, defective had a mind cultivated in the highest degree. In his youth he was sent to Paris, where, under the protec tion of a celebrated abbe, he received a thoro' education. Having tho cajacity to receive, and the wealth to command, no pains were spared in the improvement of his intellectual faculties. But it was labor lost : for. on re turning to his homa in Virginia, he met with, and loved a young lady, whom he addressed, but was refused, on account of his physical de fects. On becoming aware of the truth he was plunged in the most profound grief, from which he was at last aroused, but insane. "Ho has considerable wealth, which is man aged by his friends ; and,"being harmless, he comes and goes when he pleases, and is grati fied in all his whims. Wrecked as his miud is, he still commands respect; and his peculiar manners do not attiact the attention of his ac quaintances, or excite merriment, as one would suppose." SELFISHNESS. Cod hath written upon the flowers that sweeten the air upon tho breeze that rocks tho flower on the stem upon the rain drop that freshens tho sprig of moss that lifts its head in the desert upon tho ocean that rocks every swimmer in its deep chambers upon evory penciled shell that sleeps in the caverns ! of the deep, no loss than upon the mighty sun j which warms and cheers millions of creatures that live in its light upon his works he,, has ! written "none of U3 liveth for himself.'' J And probably we were wise enough to under- j stand these w orks, we should find that there is j nothing from the cold stone in the earth or 1 the minutest creature" that breathes which J may not, in some way or other, minister to j the happiness of some living creature. We j admire and praise that flower thatbet answers j the end for which it was created, and bestows the most pleasure. We value and praise that j horse, which best answers the end for which it j was created, and the tree that bears fruit tho ! most rich and abundant ; the star that is the most useful in the heavens is the star that we admire the most. AEd is it not reasonable, that mas, to'whom the whole creation, from the flower up to the spangled heavens, all minister man, who has the power of conferring deeper misery or high er happiness, than any being on earth man. ! who can act like God if he will is it not' rea- j sonable that he should live for the noble end j of living, not to himself but for others 1 j Boisterous Pkeachixg. A celebrated di vine, who was remarkable in the first period of bis ministry for a loud and boisterous mode of preaching, suddenly changed his whole man ner, and acdopted a mild and dispassionate mole of delivery. One of his hearers inquired j the reason, an.1 the answer was: "When I was j young I thought it was the thunder that killed ' people but when I grew wise, I found it was j the lightning; so I determined to thunder ess, and lightning more in future." What is a Fkiekd ? Punch says a friend is one who jumps down and puts on the drag, when he finds that you're going down hill too fast. " What a Newspaper docs without a Reward. The result of my observation enables me to Ktal( H a fact, that Jil-,h1i!.fr nf noirsnattra ( ... , : are more poorly rewarded than any other class j of men in the United States who invest an J equal amount of labor, capital and thonght. j They are expected to do more service for lesa ! pay, to stand more sponging and dead bead . ing," to puff and defend more people, and ! sorts of people, without fee or hopo for reward, i than sny other class- I They credit longer and wider; get oftener j cheated ; suliVr more pecuniary loss ; and are j oftener the victims of misplaced confidence ; ! than any other commnnity. People pay a ! printers bill more reluctantly than any other, j It goes harder w tih them to expend a dollar oa ! a valuable newspaper, than ten on a needless j gew-gaw ; yet everybody avails himself of tho service of the editor's and printer's ink. How many professional reputations and fortunes have been erated tnd sustained by the friend ly, though unrequitted pen of the editor? ' j How many embryo towns and cities have been j brought into notice, and puflVd into prosperity by the press ? How many railroads now in successful operation, would have been found ered for the assistance of the "lever that moves the world ; In short vhat branch of Ameri- j can industry, or activity, has uot yet been pro- ruoted, stimulated and defended ly the press? And who lus tendered it more than miserable pittance for its mighty service ? The bazars of fashion and folly, the haunts of appetite and dissipation are thronged with an eager crowd be.tring gold in their palms, and the commodi ties thera vended are sold at enormoua profits, though intrinsically worthless and paid for the scrupulous iunctuality ; while the counting room of the newspaper is tho seat of jewing, trade ordeis and pennies. It is made a point of honor to liquidate a grog bill, but not of dishonor to repudiato a printer's bill. Wattr ford Dispatch. Analysis of Wealth. God ha? been defined ps the "sweat of the poor, and the blood of" the brave!" It is not necessarily wealth. Thousands who have cof fers laden with it are among the most misera ble. Wealth depends not upon thd quantity,. but the quality of our possessions. Its intrin sic characters is measured by tho varieties - of the human taste. Kingdoms for some, mines for others, -books, excitement, and solitude form the goals of differing desires. Power, fame, and even security are sought with the same enthusiasm as wealth. Money is value less beyond its application to our wants our necessities. What was gold or pearls to the man famishing in the desert only a glitter ing mockery. . Hunger asked for fruit, thirst for a clear spring and for these which were wasting in thousands of vallies, the dying trav eller would have givenall the gold in the world. -Wea'th. true wealth, is that potsessioh which satisfies the heart. Palaces and lands may still leave a man miserable. To be satisfied in one's self to feci no aching void to sleep peacefully and wake without pain, regret or remorse, such is wealth. Content and health, are a prouder inheritance than belongs to kings With these tho hardest, pillow becomes soft, the roughest way smooth, the darkest future bright, and their possessor stands upon a man. than whom God has made none nobler free from tho canker which follows power and fame, and independent of the exigencies w hich make and may shiver crowns. .Money, beyond self wants, may be desirable, the necessities and misfortunes of our fellows oftn cast them up on us, an 1 means to relieve them add as keen ly to our joy as theirs. For the promotion of the good, the beautiful, and the true, gold, goods, and lands, are a heritage from hoaven ; but when wrapped in a napkin, and bound to the heart, they congeal human symphaties, and blast hunnn life. ' - To Stop Potatoes Rotting. An experienced agriculturist informs us, that about six years ago, he applied slacked limji to potatoes that were nearly rotten, and that it immediately arrested the decay. Po tatoes that were partly rotten when the lime was applied, remained as they were, the pro gress of the rot being stopped; while potatoes to which the lime was not applied, continued to rot, and were lost.,- Sineo then he hasmado it a constant practice to apply slaked lime to ' his potatoes, as he takes them up. He puts a thin layer of liino upon the floor where the po tatoes are to be laid, and sprinkles some of it over the potatoes about every ten inches, as they are put down. - If c considers this as per-' fectly protecting them from rotting, as he haa never had a rotten potato since he has practis ed it; and ho believes, also, that potatoes thus used, are rpndered better by the action of the lime. Wo advise the farmers to try this plan, as it can easily be done- by them all. ; The Visit Rbxcesedt- Voltaire and Piroa were passing somo time in a cottage. One day Piron wrote on Voltaire's door, "rogue." As soon as Voltaire saw it, he went to see Pi- , ron, who said to him : "What has procured . me the pleasure of seeing you?" j ; , "Sir," replied Voltaire, I saw - yonr nam. upon my door, and Icanietoreturnyour visit.', j Warts. The oil from the ontside $helIof Walnuts or Butternuts, will cure waxts by -a few applications. l I I
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