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VOL. 18.
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POETICAL.
From the Flog of Our Union,
Times Changes.
DT JOSEPII ff. DUTI.EII
I came when gentle Spring had trod
The garden and the dell,
I saw how her young fairy hand
Had formed the flower's bell!
Just waked to life its blossoms hung
Above the melting snow,
Sweet emblem of young innocence,
Unstained by sin or woe.
Arrayed in robes of brightest green,
The hyacinth was there,
Gazing on heaven with eyei of blue,
And beauty rich and rare.
Again I came—but they were not ;
Those bright ones of a day,
Like human joy, had ceased to be.
And passed from earth away ;
The spring had ripened into bloom,
And summer's kindling breath
fad summoned thousands of bright flowers
Up from the trance of death.
It whispered through the the garden walks,
And o'er the shady dell—
Then rose the swelling buds to life,
As if by magic spell I
The woods assumed their cheerful robes,
Beneath the sky of June,
And living melody gushed forth,
From birds of various tune.
I trod the deep woods in their maze—
I drank the wild birds' lay;
Again T came with autumns breath,
But they had passed away:
The gentle flowers had faded from
The garden's scented bed,
The woods were sore, and from their boughs
Tho choristers had fled.
A blooming maiden trod the halls
Of mirth and revelry—
Her hair was as the golden thread,
Her eyes of violet dye
There came a change—those eyes grew dim;
Those sunny locks were gray:
For time had spread his viewless wings,
And youth had passed away.
I saw a lovely little child,
With cheeks of morning hue,
Like a young rose-bud opening fair,
To sip the silver dew.
A few short years had hurried by,
And on their restless wing
Wafted that bright boy's youth away,
Swift as the dawn of spring.
I stood where Europe's kingly prido
Sits on the golden throne ;
I saw the knights of noble line,
Who rich in purple shone;
Anon, I saw the abbey's aisles
Another sceno display;
Where; on the sculptured marble tomb,
The prostrate warrior lay.
Above, his empty armor hung,
His buckler dint with rust,
His idle sword was in its sheath;
Its master's hand was dust,
His castle walls were ivy-baund ;
Their chambers, once so bright,
Were desolate and silent now,
Save to the birds of night.
The hands who reared—the bards who sung;
The ladies fair and gay,
The conquerors in the tournament,
All, all, had passed away.
sawl that nniversal change
Tho wide earth must endure;
I felt that glory, pride, and fame,
Alike are insecure!
The stream is passing to the sca—
• The temple to decay;
Life is but hastening on to death—
The world shall pass away l
But the Great Spirit who did fling
Creation's flag abroad,
llath changeless worlds where ho will prove
Our Father and our Gon I
FOR HOUSEKEEPERS.
To Clean Combs and Brushes.
We have often wondered at the obviousness
of certain simple recipes, which have in their
discovery saved much trouble and annoyance,
but which we never should have thought of, but
for the kindness of some good natured friend
with a treasury of these bits of household law.
For instance the all important item of cleaning
combs and brushes on which so, much of this
neatness of a lady's toilett depends. Our cor
respondent, "Mrs. L. G." is wrong in saying,
"For you know after one has given one's hair
a thorough cleaning, the brushes need it as
badly."
She should as an invariable rule attend to
this matterfirst, for in any other ease the snore
she uses them the more she may. It is usually
a disagreeable task, we know, with the splat.
tering of soap and water; but we can give her
a more simple rule enough tepid water
to cover the bristles, not the top of the brush,
add a few drops of the spirits of hartshorno, an
ounce of which may be had for sispones, at
any apothecary's; dip the brush several tunes,
shaking out the water carefully, and the mix
tare will act like magic, leaving it clear and
pure, needing only to be dried by a towel; no
robbing is needed. Combs may be done in the
same way without injury—Lady's Book.
fifir Cabbage contains more muselemistain.
ing nutriment than any other vegetable.
Z .N• 1, Ft ii A 011111al
"I SEE NO STAR ABOVE THE nonizoN, PROMISING MOOT TO GUIDE US, BUT TLIE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED IVIIIG PARTY OF TUE UNITED STATES.".
A THRILLING SKETCH.
"Faithful 'Unto Death."
DY J. 'MORTON RANDOLPH.
At the dead of night there was a cry. "Fire,
fire, fire l"
Even in a great city, where thousands are at
hand to render aid, it is a terrible cry at that
hour. But on a lonely plantation how express
ibly awful.
"Fire, fire, fire l" It rang through the wide
halls, and was echoed from the negro quarter
in every variety of tones of horror and alarm.
The mistress of the mansion, waking at the
cry, sprang from bed, and hurriedly began to
dress, gazing around bewildered. For a mo
ment she was conscious only that her husband
was absent. She was recalled to something
like herself by the shrieks of the maid who had
slept in the room, and who, instead of assisting
her toilet, was pointing with terrified gesticula
tions, to the ruddy reflection playing against
the trees in front of the house.
Suddenly, to add to the confusion of the
scene, the chamber door was flung open, and a
crowd of female servants rushed in, flocking
affrightedly together, like a covey pursued by
the sportsman. They closed around Mrs. Stew
art's bed, screaming, weeping, wringing their
hands, and depriving her of what little presence
of mind had been left.
"Oh I misses, we shall be burned to death,
we shall, all of us. The fire has caught the
staircase. The blessed Lord hob mercy upon
us." These, and similar exclamations, filled
the air and distracted her attention.
Meantime the conflagration became more se
rious each minute. Had that terrified group
listened, they could have heard the roar of the
flames in the hall outside, and the' crackling
sound that announced the approach of the fire
to the wood-work near the staircase, warning
them that, if they would save their lives, their
flight must be instant. But they only huddled
the closer together, sobbing, moaning, embra
cing one another frantically.
All at once a man dashed into the room with
agitated face and dress disordered. Thrusting
aside the terrified maids, he hastily approached
his mistress.
"Fly," he cried, breathlessly, "this moment,
or you'll be too late." And glancing rapidly
around the room, he snatched the rich cover
from a centre-table, which stood in the middle
of the apartment, covered with books, pretty
trifles, and flowers in vases. This lie threw
around his mistress, exclaiming, "it will keep
the fire from catching. Come."
The sight of his face had re-assured his mis
tress. Juba, who was about her own age, had
been born in her father's family, and had al
ways exhibited the most devoted attachment
to herself personally. Above all the servants
on the plantation, ho was distinguished for a
strict religious performance of his duties, for
Juba was consistently pious, He was also
shrewd and ready in every emergency, and
Mrs. Stewart felt that he would save her, even
at the peril of his life.
Juba, even while speaking, had seized her
hand and dragged her toward the staircase.—
But now a gust of wind drove such volumes of
thick, black smoke toward them, that she was
almost suffocated, and she paused, unable to
proceed. It was not a time to hesitate, so Ju
ba snatched her in his arms as he would a
child, and dragging the cover entirely over her
face, dashed into the rolling volumes of smoke,
and down the great stair-way.
He was not a moment too soon. Scarcely
had lie reached the bottom, followed by the af
frighted maids, before the passage was closed
entirely by a dense wall of flame. Neither he
nor the female servants, indeed, entirely esca
ped unhurt. But the table cover effectually
protected Mrs. Stewart.
Juba had scarcely, however, placed his mis
tress safely on the lawn, before she started up,
crying "where is the baby! Who has seen the
child? 011 it is in the house yet." And she
would have rushed toward the blazing door
way if she had not been instantly and forcibly
detained.
The servants looked at each other in dismay.
In the suddenness with which the conflagration
had spread, and in the excitement of their mis
tress' danger, nobody had thought of the child.
It was an only one, a boy about two years old,
who slept with his nurse, or "mammy," as she
was called in the household, in a back room in
the upper story. Mrs. Stewart's first thought
on her escape, had been to look for her darling:
and but for this absence of the child might
have been even longer overlooked.
The servants, we say, looked at each other
in dismay. The hall of the house was now all
in a flame, the fire pouring out through the
door-way as from the mouth of a furnace, so
that ingress by that path was impossible. Most
of the second story was also burning, mid the
entire first floor, for the conflagration had bro
ken out there originally. To reach the apart
ment where the nurse, probably paralyzed with
terror, was still with the child, seemed out of
the question entirely. _ . _
But there was one there who determined to
make the attempt. The sight of the mother's
face, and the sounds of her broken moans, as
she sank into the arms of those who restrained
her, exhausted by her struggles to escape, de.
termined Juba to try at least to rescue his
young master.
"I will go, missus," ho said, "don't cry no
more."
He looked around, as he spoke, for some
means of scaling the second story. There was
no ladder, and only one staircase, but the
bough of an ornamental tree, that overshadow
ed the house, fortunately hold out a Means of
access to a bold heart and a strong arm. Not
stopping oven to hear his mistress' thanks, ho
clambered up the tree, ran out on the limb, and
dropping on the roof, disappeared within the
dwelling.
How breathless were the moments that en.
sued. The dames were spreading with fright•
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, JUNE 22, 1853.
ful rapidity. The caves of the building began
to smoke, allowing that the fire within had
reached the roof, and soon after the whole of
them flashed into conflagration. Meantime the
lured clement poured out from the windows,
ran upward, licking the combustible front, and
streamed in a waving, dazzling pyramid high
over the top of the mansion, far into the blue
firmament. Millions of sparks, accompanied
by volumes of rolling smoke, sailed down the
sky before the breeze, completely obscuring the
heavens at intervals, though occasionally this
thick canopy partially blowing aside, the calm
moon was seen, peacefully shining down
through the rent, in strange contrast to the
otherwise terrific scene. The roar of the con
flagration bad now become intensely loud; and,
to add to the horror there began to be heard
the awful sound of timbers falling within the
house.
Mrs. Stewart had watched the fire in silence,
her hands clasped, and lips parted, ever since
Juba had disappeared within the house. Each
moment appeared an age to her. At last the
suspense, thus lengthening out, become intol-
erable.
"Oh I it is in vain," she cried, making a new
effort to rush into the flames, "lie cannot find
my boy. Let me go myself. For the love of
God-"
But at that instant, through the smoke that
almost hid the only window that was not alrea
dy on fire, appeared the faithful Juba, holding
aloft the infant. The flames were all around,
and in a moment more would overtake him.—
He made a rapid gesture for some one to ap
proach.
Four of the males, comprehending his wish,
snatched a blanket and rushed promptly for
ward. The heat was intolerable, but they dis
regarded it, and standing beneath the window,
with the blanket outstretched, they shouted to
Juba to throw the child towards them. Ile
had, however, anticipated them. The infant
fell while they were speaking, was caught safe
ly in the blanket, and was hurried immediately
to Mrs. Stewart, who clasped it to her bosom
with frantic delight. The whole was the work
of less time than we have taken to describe it.
But simultaneously a crash was heard, that
made the very earth tremble beneath the spec
tutors; a huge column of smoke shot up toward
the sky, from where the roof had been; and, as
if propelled from a force pump, a gush of in-
tense flame followed, leaping far up into the
highest heaven.
The crowd, one and all, gasped for breath.
Then came a deep, long-drawn sigh. For the
roof and floors had evidently fallen in; and the
faithful Juba, alas ! was nowhere to be seen.
A dozen persons rushed toward the building,
and until driven bath by the heat, stood close
by the window where he had been latest visible.
They had hoped to find hint there. They had
flattered themselves that there had been time
enough for him to leap.
But it was now plain this had not been the
case. He most probably felt the floor giving
way, before he threw the child, and if so, this
explained the cause of his haste. They said
this to each other, as they fell back.
But there was little time for words. Scarcely
had this thought been exchanged, before there
was another crash, and, with a momentary wa
ving motion, almost the entire building fell in,
so that what had been a stately mansion an
hour before, was now only a shapeless pile of
blazing timbers.
The shouts, the exclamations, the sobbings,
which had filled the air, but the instant before,
ceased again at this appalling spectacle.—
Neighbor looked at neighbor, aghast with hoe.
roe, the lurid light adding a wild, spectral look
to each inquiring face. Then a simultaneous
cry rose from the crowd, that Juba and the old
nurse were burned in the ruins.
But suddenly from out the flame and smoke,
in the direction where the generous slave had
last been seen, what seemed a human figure
began to emerge, crawling painfully on hands
and knees. A human figure, yet crushed al
most out of the shape of humanity, but still
with life in it, for it moved.
And hark! a voice. A full, deep voice com
ing from that mangled body. Whatdid it say?
Not words of pain, reader; but words of joy;
words that you and I may bless God if we can
say when dying.
They were.words such as the martyrs used at
the stake, or among the lions. "Hallelujah !
Hallelujah !" Nothing more. But continually
"Hallelujah ! Hallelujah !"
For was not he a martyr too? He had died
to save his master's child. Oh 1 he was both
a hero and a martyr. And now that he had
"fought the good fight," that the "goal was
won," God gave him strength to forget the ag
ony of his crisped and mangled body, and to
remember only that he was going to bliss ever
lasting.
Thus, over the renewed sobbing of the spec
tators, over the wild shriek of his mistress as
she rushed towards him, over the roar and
crackling of the conflagration, there arose like
a trumpet, the incessant cry, "Hallelujah!—
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!"
One would not,live thought that it was a
poor, maimed, bleeding, dying sufferer that
spoke, bet the happiest and proudest of men.
They reached him, stooped over him, would
have raised him. But, at that moment, he
looked up at his mistress, a triumphant smile
breaking over his face, and thou fell lifeless
back, a "Hallelujah" still trembling on his
tongue.
And so he died. His grave has a marble
tablet, with the words, "faithful unto death."
What nobler motto could there be?
"Got me There."
An examination committee, about to test the
capacities of an individual for school teaching,
put the following questions to him :—
"At what time did France produce her great
est general ?"
"At what period ?" pausing and scratching
his head—"at what—ah you've got me there I"
"Well, was it berore or after Christ?"
"Be•fore or alter Christ. Before or after—
well old hoses, you've got me again!"
MISCELLANEOUS.
Franklin Fund,
Dr. FRANKLIN, in his will, gave to the inha
bitants of the town of Boston one thousand
pounds sterling,to be managed under the diree
tion of the Selectmen, united with the minis
ters of the oldest Episcopalian and Presbyteri
an churches in that town, who are to let out the
same upon interest nt five per cent, per an
num, to such young artificers, under the age of
twenty-five years, as have served an appren
ticeship in said town, and faithfully fulfilled the
duties required in their indentures, HO as to ob
tain a good moral character from at least two
respectable citizens who are willing to become
their sureties in a bond for the repayment of the
money.
Ile directs that the sum loaned to one appli
cant shall not exceed sixty pounds sterling nor
be less than £l5, and be repaid in annual in
stalments of ten per cent, with annual inter
est at five per cent.; that the money returned to
the fund should be releaned; and, not anticipa
ting any losses, he calculates that the £lOOO
would increase in the course of one hundred
years to £131,000, of which he would have the
managers lay out £lOOO,OOO in public works
which may be judged to be of the most general
utility to the inhabitants of Boston, and there
mining £31,000 lie would have continued to
be let out on interest, in the manner above de
scribed, for another term of one hundred years,
at the end of which time he calculates the fund
will be four millions sixty-one thousand pounds,
of which he gives one million sixty-one thous
and to the disposition of the inhabitants of the
town of Boston, and three millions to the gov
ernment of the State.
The legacy was paid to the Selectmen of
Boston in the year 1791, and the loan of £6O
sterling was made to Daniel Tuttle, bricklayer,
on the 3d of May, 1791. This was the usual
sum loaned until 1795, when the amount was
reduced to $2OO, and has so continued ever
since. The whole number of loans has been
about two hundred and seventy,
of which more
than two-thirds have been paid in whole or in
part by sureties.
_ _
During the first twenty years after the mon
ey was received by the town, the whole amount
was not at all times loaned, and a part of it
lay unemployed without interest. There have
been numerous losses, by the failure of the
principals and sureties on the bonds, so that
the Doctor's calculations of the increase of the
fund have signally failed, and it is feared that
his benevolent intention of benefitting young
married mechanics has rarely been realized.
During the last fifteen or twenty years the
applications for loans have been comparative
ly.few, owing probably to the difficulty of ob
taining sureties, and to the well-known fact that
they are frequently called to make up the de
linquencies of their principals. It i s about
sixty-two years since the first loan was made.
In the first third part of that term there were
159 loans; during the second, 90, and during
the third part only 21 loans.
The number of bonds supposed to be good
now belonging to the fund is only six, on
which is due about $BOO. The total amount of
the fund is $54,280 55, of which $53,463 is de
posited on interest, in the office of the Massa
chusetts Hospital Life Inshnrance company,
and in the facings linniwof this eitr.
It is estimated that in 1891, which will be
100 years from the time the bequest was made,
or 38 years from the R resent time, the fund will
accumulate to about $400,000, (say four hun
dred thousand dollars,) predicating the rate of
interest the same as it has averaged the past
twenty years:
It seems that it was Dr. Franklin's opinion
that the $lOOO sterling would produce, at the
expiration of one hundred years, one hundred
and thirty-one thousand pounds sterling cur
rency, equal to 581,640 dollars, valuing the
pound sterling at par; making a difference be
tween the Doctor's calculation and that of the
Committees as to the probable result at the
termination of one hundred years, $181,630
Boston Transcript.
Farming as a Pursuit.
Every rational and reflecting man must ap
preciate the dignified and honorable avocation
of the tiller of the soil. He who would look
with contempt upon the farmer's pursuits is not
worthy the name of man. Agriculture is re
ceiving more attention, perhaps, at the present
time than at any former period. Societies for
its promotion are found in all parts of our coun
try. Science is being called in to aid the de
velopment of this great pursuit. Men of talent
and great practical knowledge are using their
time and influence in spreading information in
regard to the cultivation of the soil. The ne
cessity of farmers having an education is also
beginning to be felt to a considerable extent
throughout our land. This important point
numbers have written upon, but it is of so much
interest that there is need of much more being
said.
How many men,(both farmers and others,)
live a long life an go to their graves with very
little snore knowledge than they had when they
came into the world. The exhaustless field of
knowledge surrounds them on all sides, but
they never taste of its delicious feast. The
pleasures which the cultivation of the mind
confers on them they know nothing of. They
behold our mighty republic stretching from the
Atlantic to the Pacific, and look with wonder
and admiration upon our institutions and the
workings of our government, but of its history
they may be entirely ignorant, or, at most, have
but an Imperfect knowledge. This should not
be. The immortal mind was not framed for
naught. The "noblest work of God" was eel ,
tainly not designed to live as the beasts of the
field, to eat and sleep only, but for a higher and
more exalted sphere. . _
The mind, a; well as the body, was designed
to be exercised and to ho cultivated. It is ev
ery man's duty to do this. We owe it not only
to our Creator, but to our country. In a land
like ours, where every man is a freeman, and
has his part to perform in making the laws by
which his country is governed, how important
it is that be should possess the requisite amount
of knowledge for the faithful performance of
such an important duty. How vastly impor
tant is it that the farmers who compose the
mass of our peole, should more generally
possess this knowledge? And what opportu
nities and advantages they have for intellectu
al improvement. Their occupation necessarily
tends to the development of the physical pow
ers, and the mental faculties should be exerci
sed and cultivated in connection. None can
plead the want of time. Who does not know
that many of our stout learned and illustrious
men might have excused themselves in the
same manner, for they were farmers and labor
men the same as us. Much time is wasted du
ring the year, which might he employed in sto
ring the mind with useful information. Be
sides, that which is of most importance should
lie attended to first. This subject should re
ceive the attention of every reformer and friend
of his country. It seems that the existence of
our free institutions is dependent upon the abil
ity of each citizen to discharge faithfully his
duty. We hope that much more may be said
and written on this subject, until every man
will feel it his duty to fit himself for the res
ponsible position which he occupies as a free
man awl an accountable teing.--Exehottgr.
Our Father.
Often in the morning when wo awaken, we
hear a little childish voice, saying "come Bob
by, let's say our prayer," and then together both
little voices offer up that most beautiful of all
petitions.
"Our Father who art in Heaven."
All over the world, in castle and hall, by the
prince and the peasant, is that most beautiful
prayer repeated—but above all, it sounds sweet
est when lisped by the sunny.ltired child at its
mother's knee. Mark the little bending form
—the hair put softly back, the tinywhite hands
folded, the reverent glance bent towards her,as
though it saw a Saviour in its mother's eyes.
Blessed little children 1 What a dreary
waste, what a wide and fruitless wilderness
would this he without them! How often the
toiling mother wakes almost despairing—there
is no food in the house—her ceasless labor will
hardly buy bread.
---- is'slMioolt7;on the red sun—rising with
sad forebodings,
and knows not how she shall
procure a meal for herlittle ones—sweetly steal
upon her senses the murmuring of infitnt voi
ces. She listens. Her very babes are looking
trustingly towards heaven. They have hushed
their sports, and kneeling together by their
poor couch they say,
"Give us this our daily bread."
Her soul grows strong within her; she knows
God will never forsake her—and with tears she
thanked him that she had ever taught them to
pray.
And are there little children who never say
"Our Flatter I" Are there mothers so lost to
all that is holy and beautiful in Heaven and on
earth, that they put their babes to sleep with-
out teaching them upon whose arm they rest?
When night folds her starry curtains about
them, and the moon looks down, silvering the
meadows and spanklin,g the trees, do they not
tell them who in his goodness made all this
beauty? and how with sweet confidence they
should trust in him.
Eloquent Extract.
The following beautiful comparison is from
the lecttire recently delivered by T. F. Meagher,
on Aus(ralia :
One Fair morning towards the close of the
Rummer, I stood in a field that overlooked the
Hudson. I was struck with the glowing ripe
ness of the fruit whirls waved around me and
broke into an expression of delight. It seem
ed to me the most glorious the earth could
bring forth.
"That seed," said ono who stood by, "came
from Egypt."
It had - been buried in the tombs of Kings—
had lain with the dead three thousand years.
But though wrapped in the shroud, and looked
within the pyramids, it died not- It lived in the
silence—lived in the darkness—lived under the
mighty mass of stone—lived withdeath itself—
and that the dust of kings had been distributed
--that they have been called and moved not—
that the bandages have been removed,and they
opened not their eyes—behold the seed gives
forth life and the fields rejoice in its glory.
And thus it is that the energies,the instincts,
the faith, all the vitalities which have been
crushed elsewhere, have been entombed else.
where, in these virgin soils revive, and that
which seems mortal becomes imperishable.—
And thus it is that reviving here, the seed will
multiply, and borne hack to the ancient lands,
will people the places that aro desolate; and
with the song of the harvest, the wilderness
shall he made glad.
Children of the old world, be of good cheer!
Whilst in the homes—by the Rhine, the
Seine, the Danube and the Arno, the Shannon
and the Suir, in the homes you have left the
wicked seem to prosper, and spurious Senates
provide for the offspring of the tyrant, even to
the third and fourth generations. Freedom
strengthens herself in these lands, and in the
midst of countless hosts, concentrates the pow
er by which the captive shall be redeemed, and
the evil lord dethroned.
This shall be the glory of Australia!—this
shall be the glory of America.
Parting with Emmet.
The evening before his death, while the
workmen were busy with the scaffold a young
lady was ushered into his dungeon. It was
the girl whom he so fondly loved, and who bad
come to bid him her eternal farewell. He was
leaning, in a melancholy mood, against the
window-frame otitis prison, and the heavy
clanking of his irons smote dismally on her
heart. The interview was bitterly affecting,
and melted even the callous soul of the jailor.
As for Emmet himself, he wept and spoke lit
tle; but as he pressed his beloved in silence to
his bosom, his countenance betrayed his emo
tions. In a low voice, half choked by an
guish, lie besought her not to forget him; lie
reminded her of their former happiness, of the
long-past day of their childhood, and concluded
by requesting her sometimes to visit the scenes
where their infancy was spent, and though the
world might repeat his name with scorn, to
to cling to his memory with affection. At this
very instant, the evening bell pealed from the
neighboring church. Emmet started at the
sound I and as ho felt that this was the last
time he should ever hear its dismal echoes, he
folded his beloved still closer to his heart, and
bent over her sinking form with eyes stream
ing with affection. The turnkey entered at the
moment;—ashamed of his weakness, he dash
ed the rising drop from his eye, and a frown
again lowered on his countenance. The man,
meanwhile, approached to tear the lady from
his embraces. Overpowered by his feelings,
he could make no resistance; but he gloomily
released his hold, gave her a little miniature of
himself, and with his parting token of attach.
ment imprinted the last kiss of a dying man
upon her lips. On gaining the door, she turn
ed round, as if to gaze once more on the ob
ject of her widowed love. Ho caught her eye
as she retired; it was but for a moment; the
dungeon door swung back again upon its bin
ges, and as it closed after her, informed her
too surely, that they had met for the last time
on earth.
Danger of Taking Things for Granted.
It was objected to the system of Copernicus,
when first brought forward, that if the earth
turned on its axis, as he represented, a stone
dropped from the summit of a tower would not
full at the foot of it, but a great distance to the
west; in the same manner as a stone dropped
from the mast-head of a ship in fall sail does
not full at the foot of the mast, but at the stern
of the ship. To this it was answered that a
stone, being a part of the earth, obeys the same
laws and moves with it; whereas it is no part
of the ship, of which consequently its motion is
independent. This solution was admitted by
some, but opposed by others: and the contro
versy went on with spirit; nur was it till one
hundred years alter the death of Copernicus
that the experiment being tried, it was ascer
tained that the stone thus dropped from the
head of the mast does full at the foot of it.—
Archbishop IVhaieleg.
p®" "Hello. I env, what did you say your
medicine would mini?"
"Oh I it'll cure everything—heal anything."
"Ah I well, I'll take a bottle. Maybe it'll
heel my boot,; they need it bad enough I"
1 -[WEBBTER.
A French Breakfast.
Mr. Kendall, of the New Orleans Picayune,
who is investigating the qualities of sheep and
wool in the rural districts of France, in a re•
cent letter thus describes a breakfast at Ram.
bouilct:
"I was extremely fortunate, on leaving the
cars, to fall in with a noisy Englishman, half
agent, who knew every wool-grower in the vi
cinity, and every thing in relation to the gov
ernment flock as well. Ho knew, moreover
the best breakfast house in the place—an im
portant mntter one has risen at 6 o'clock in
the morning, and journeyed half a hundred
miles, with an empty stomach—and we accor.
dingly made the best of our way to the Hotel
de Lion d'Or. (why should all hotel lions be
golden, in France and elsewhere?) to find
comfort and sustenance for the inner man. I
do not just now recollect—cannot immediately
call to mind—when or where I ever sat down
to a breakfast I enjoyed more than this one
at Rambouillet. It was sumptuous and most
bountiful. There were fourteen of us who par.
took; all, with the exception of our English
friend and a single companion of mine, French
farmers, from the vicinity—jolly, ruddy, sub
stantial men, of a class I had never met before
in the country—and courteous men withal—
some of them fair drinkers decides. I saw
this because I counted the empty bottles after
the repast, and there were twenty-two of them.
Yet it was a light, ordinary, although pleasant
wine, and served rather to snake our French
friends good natured and gurralous than in
toxicated. •
"I must give you our bill of fare from mem
ory; promising by eaying that I mar have left
out many things; first we had a large pork pie,
cold, well seasoned, and cooked to a turn;
next came veal cutlets, mutton chops, and
stewed kidneys; this course was followed (the
French stow away fish almost anywhere) by
fat and delicious shad; after this I shut down
on the shad) came Ido not exactly recollect
what kind of roasts; these in turn were followed
by a regular course of vegetables; then came
pies, cakes, and pastry doings generally; next
an abundance of apples, raisins,figs, and what
not of kindred nature; and the performance
concluded with rich coffee and delicious French
cream, (they call the latter brandy in some
parts of the States.) And what do you sup
pose our bill was for all this wine, coffee, bran
dy and service included ? Three francs, or not
quite sixty cents of our money! Thinking
there was some mistake, I told the dente de
comploir that I had gone the4ntire breakfast,
from pork pie to brandy; but she said it was
all right—three francs was the only charge. I
would not have sold out my right to the shad
for three times the money, and shall never
think that I paid the woman enough."
Indian. Fun.
One of the earliest sellers around Lake
Champlain, was Col. Edward Raymond. He
understood the character and disposition of the
natives of the forest and lived with them in
harmony: frequently employing them to row
him up find down the lake as he had occasion.
One fellow by the name of Bigbear had his
wigwam at no great distance from the Col.
dwelling, and was often there. The Col. hay.
ing occasion to visit some distant shore of the
Lake employed Bigbear to row him in his ca
noe. On their return they passed near a high,
yet sloping ledge of rocks, on which lay an im
mense number of rattle-snakes asleep .d bask
ing in the sun. The Indian gave a penetrating
look and then inquired :
"Raymun love fun 7"
"Yes," was the reply.
"Well, then Raymuu have fun; mind Indian
and hole a gins."
So he rowed along silent and slow and cut a
crotch stick from a bunch of hazle upon the
bank.
`Steady now, hole a gun, Raymun,' as he
clapped the crotch astride a serpent that was
asleep close to the edge of the water. "Take
'um now, Raymun, hold fast."
The Colonel took hold of the stick keeping
the serpent down while Bigbear tied up a little
sack of powder, putting one end of a slow
match therein.
He then made it fast to the smake's tail,
and then touching fire to the match gave or
ders to "let 'um go" at the same time pushing
off from the shore; the snake liberated, crawled
away to his den. The Indian immediately
stood up and clapped his bands, making as
loud moise as possible, and thus rousing the
serpent who all in a moment disappeared.
'Now look, Raymun, now for fun,' said he
and in about a moment the powder exploded
and there was to be sure, fun alive. The
snakes in thousands covered the rocks, hissing,
rattling, twirling and jumping in every way
aginable. Col. Raymun burst into a loud
laughs that echoed across the lake, pleased alike
at the success of the trick and the ingenuity of
the savage's invention.
An Old Bachelor's Epitaph.
A lady had been teaching the summer school
in a certain town, and a young sprig of the law
paid her some attention, so much that he was
joked about her. He replied, "I shall look
higher for a wife." It came to the lady's ears,
and she meditated a little bit of revenge. An
opportunity soon offered. They were at a party
together, and to redeem her forfeit, she was to
make his epitaph. She gave the following :
Here lies a man who looked so high,
He passed all common damsels bv,
And they who looked as high as he,
Declared his bride they would not be ;
So 'twixt them both he died a barb,
And now has gone to the old scratch.
Pretty Good.
The Western Times tells a story of a "dis
tressed agrieuturist." A farmer popped in
hero on Wednesday last to pay his rent, put
ting on a long face to correspond with the
times. On entering the house he said that
times being so hard, he couldn't raise the mon
ey at all, and dashing a bundle of bank notes
on the table, "there," said he, "that's all I can
pay." The money was taken up and counted
by Mr. N., the landlord, who said, why this is
twice as much as you owe Inc I" "bang'ee,
give it to me again." said the farmer. "Pm
dashed if I ain't took it out of the wrong
pocket!"
A Woxorarttt GOOSE.—The Snow Hill
Shield gives the following description of a
great goose belonging to a gentleman living
near that town. In the first place, he has
three perfect logs and four feet, two of which
are placed in the natural positions, but the
third one is where the fundament is to be
found in other geese, and on the end of it there
are two perfect feet, making it a four-footed
goose. t he next carious fact is, that it pos
sesses two fundaments on each side of its third
leg, and uses each alternately without the least
apparent . inconvenience. It is fourteen months
old, and Its body, neck and head aro much
larger than those of our geese.
CATIDACE, says the Edinburgh Reline, "con
tains more muscle-sustaining nutriment than
any other vegetable whatever. Boiled cabbage
and corned beef make My-two a, good dinners
in 12 mouths as a man can at.
NO. 25.
AGRICULTURAL.
Cows and Calves.
In some districts it may be best economy to
cut the throats of calves as soon as they aro
born, the milk being more valuable converted
into cheese and butter than into veal. Such,
however, is not the case, when veal sells as it
does here, at from 5 to 8 cents per pound, un
less fresh butter commands an unusually high
price. Tho relative prices of the veal and but
ter determine the advantage of one or the oth
er of the courses, and any intelligent farmer
can easily calculate which is best economy for
him.
In fatting calvef for the butcher, they should
he suckeled regularly, have as much milk as
they can take, after they are ten days old; they
should be tied up in a dark, clean stable, and
have a little fresh, clean straw given them eve
ry day. Mach depends on their being kept
clean and quiet. If they are kept clean they
will not be troubled with lice. If they should
he, give them a little sulphur, it will both'puri
fy the blood and rid the lice. In suckling them,
let the strap remain round their necks, and
take them away from the cow as soon as they
have their fill, and do not let them run about.
The rate of increase of a calf depends a good
deal on the breed, and on the food of the mo
ther; when a calf is more than six weeks old it
seldom gets as much milk as it would take, un
less the cow is very well kept. As a general
thing, therefore, it is not profitable to keep fat
ting calves after they are six weeks old.
For rearing calves, of course, a different
treatment is necessary. You must have an
eye to health and the development of muscle,
and not, as in the other case, to the accumu
lation of fut. They should he allowed morn
light and exercise. If fed by hand, after the
first two or three weeks a little fresh skim milk
and linseed ten, might be economically be sub
stituted for a part of the fresh milk. A dairy
man will be paid for a little extra feed and carp
to his cows in the spring. It often happens
that cows are very costive a week or two pre
ceding parturition. A feed of mangel wurtael,
or two pounds of oil cake per day, will be found
of great advantage in such a case. The in
crease of milk will pay for the oil cake, while
the increased health and strength of the cow
will be pure gain, and will tell well in the milk
pail during summer.
We need scarce nay that it is very important
that a cow be milked at all times, but especial
ly immediately after calving. As soon as tho
cow hes calved,we like to take all the milkout of
the udder we can get, previous to letting the
calf sock, and if the udder gets hard or is in
flamed, as is often the case, rub it well with
cold soft water buttermilk, and take out the
milk before the calf is to suck. The calf will
then draw it clear and hunt it well, speedily ef•
fecting a cure. An eminent writer has said
For my part I never saw a man milk a cow
without being impressed with the idea that he
is usurping an Oleo which does not benefit
him. Certainly there are few men that are fitto
milk, or have any thing at all to do with a cow.
We have known cows that would not suffer a
man to milk them without their legs were tied,
yet they would be as quiet as a lamb while a
woman with her soft hands, kind words, and
pacifying manners, performed the operation.—
However unruly and ugly a cow may be, never
heat or kick her; harsh treatment only makes
the temper worse, while kindness will tame
a Tartar.—Cenesee Farmer.
Curenlio—A Remedy.
I propose to introduce the reader to
a new and distinct mode of warfare upon
that mischevions insect, the curculio. i all for
mer warfare, so far as I know, has been pre
dicated upon false opinions concerning its na
ture and habits. It comes out of tho ground
about the commencement of warm weather,
when the plum trees are in blossom or soon af
ter. They aro at this time about the size and
nearly the appearance of a common louse, are
unable to fly, and invariably crawl up the tree
during the fore part of the day, or at any time
sufficiently warm. Here they remain mature,
and do their work of destruction before they
are able to fly.
I am of the opinion that the benefits arising
from white-wash of lime ' is owing to its caustic
properties, in retarding their progress up the
trunk of the tree, and destroying them when
quite young and tender. I propose to make a
ring Of tar around the body of the tree, and by
strict attention destroy them as they crawl up.
Last spring (though too late,) I killed in this
manner upwards of GOO on one tree. Gathered
fhllen plums every day and destroyed them. I
intend to give them especial attention this sea
son, and report. Let every one who owns a
plum tree do likewise,
I am well satisfied that the curculio migrates
slowly; that they increase in favorable situation',
with a rapidity proportionate to the amount of
fruit within their range. That they are adverse
to using their wings, any one may convince him-
self by shaking them from the tree when full
grown; in a short time they will he seen ma
king their way up the trunk of the tree. By
removing a tree to where no plums have over
been grown, a plentiful crop will be had for two
or three years. The tar should be stirred and
renewed every day.—O. T. Hobbs.
Harvesting.
Let us beseech each grower of wheat, and
other small grains, to be timely in their prepa
ration for harvest. They should carefully ex
amine all their implements, see that they have
a full supply, and have them put in the best
possble order. If their supply is not sufficient,
lose no time in procuring new ones to make up
their deficiency, and while they may be making
their purchases, be sure to buy none, that isnot
of first quality, for there are agricultural im
plements thrust into every market that would
be dear at any price, being made like Pindar's
razors, for sale, without the least regard to ser
vie or intrinsic value.
Time of Harvesting.
Wheat should always be harvested Wore it
is dead ripe. When the stock has turned yel
low, and become nrid three or four inches be
low the head, is in our opinion, the propertimo
for cutting wheat, barley, rye or oats ; for from
that time the supply of nutriment from the
earth is arrested in its progress.
Cutting Grasses and Clover for Hay.
Let each be cut when in bloom —after per
mitting it to lie in swarth b or 6 hours com
plete the curing in cocks. Grass or clover thus
cut and cured, makes the beet hay, while the
exhaustion of the soil is not nearly so grate es
when cutting is delayed until after the forma
tion of the seed.
Salting Stook.
Do not omit to salt ieur stock. A mixture
of equal parts of oyeter.aliell lime, ashes and
salt, is better than salt alone, is cheaper and
more beneficial in its effects. lor 2 on. thrice
a week will go far to preserve your stock in
good health.
For your Sheep, you should provide a trough,
under cover; on the bottom of this spread tar,
over the tar, sprinkle salt freely—repeat this
at leavt twice or thrice a Reek.