ut t ingbut Tj r outi , a
tit 1
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tivqt Vqctqe
THE VOICE OF AUTUMN.
BY W. C. 13YRIM
There comes, from yonder height,
A soft repining sound,
Where forest leaves are bright,
And fall like flakes of light,
To tho ground.
It is the autumn breeze,
That, lightly floating on,
Just skims the weedy lens,
Just stirs the glowing trees,
And is gone.
lie moans by sedgy brook,
And visits with a sigh,
The last pale flowers that look,
From out their sunny nook,
At the sky.
O'er shouting children flies
That light October wind,
And, kissing cheeks and eyes,
Ile leaves their merry cries
Far behind.
And wanders on to make
Tbnt soft uneasy sound,
But distant wood and lake,
Where distant fountains break
From the ground
No bower where maidens dwell
Can win a moment's stay;
Not fair untrodden dell;
He sweeps the upland swell,
And away!
Mournist thou thy homeless state,
Oh soft, repining wind!
That early see lest and late
The rest it is thy fate
Not to find
Not on the mountain's breast,
Not on the ocean's shore,
In all the East and \Vest
The wind that stops to rest
Is no more,
By valleys, woods, and springs,
No wonder thou shouldst grieve
For all the glorious things
Thou touchest with thy wings
And must leave.
Ring Cab.
EtA6T,IHTT trirha.
Among the wondrous sightson earth the vol
cano of Etna will always hold a just pre.etui
sence. Renowned by past and present histo
ry, sublime by its elevation, its form and the
awful secrecy of unknown terrors that he con
cealed within its boosts ; the Sicilian volcano
will always be viewed with the deepeet, the
most solemn awe.
It was with such feelings and with such
thoughts as those, I began to ascend the vol.
cane on the morning of the lith of Islay, 1849.
I had left Catinia on the day before, in order
to visit this wonderful spot. I did sot wish to
glance carelessly upon it—no; for to tee there
wall always something reverend, something al.
most divine in connection with this great mass
of upheaved lava, which lead me to look earn•
estly at its rugged sides. I wished to ascend,
to view from its summit the farest region on
earth, to glance' down into those unfathomable
depths, where fire, fire is all its terror, forever
dwells, forever struggles!
It was with slow steps that I ascended the
cone, after the patient and hardy ponies haul
bYea daminved. I had been an invalid, and
1 SEE NO STAR ABOVE TILE GORIEGN, PROMISING LIGHT TO OMB US, BUT TUB INTELLIGENT, PATIGG T IO I UNITED \VIIIU PARTY OF TILE UNITED STATER."..-IWEEBTEIL
the fatigue of climbing up the steep and rocky
declivity, tnicht well have denoted me. But,
after [natty restings and bultings, I was able to
attain the summit.
The summit! Good heavens 1 can I ever
forget the delirium, the transport of joy which
the boundless prospect there awakened within
me? Can I ever forget the glimpsewhich I
first caught of all the glories and all the hor•
rors of Nature, mingled together in such fear•
ful unison!
Far away on one side spread the fertile
plains, the green meadows and the gentle val
leys of Sicily. There were streams glancing
and lashing the sun, Its they wandered to the
sea, with ten thousand Is.barynthian turnings;
lakes whose glassy surface showed not a ruffle,
nut a ripple; there were terraces upon the
sides of a hundred bills, where vineyards were
planted nod where the trellissed vines pass
along, all green and blooming ; there were
groves of orege trees, amid the dark green fo
liage of which the golden oranges peeped forth
like the (lashes of phospherescent light is a
midnight sea ; there were long avenues of cy
press, of acacias, of noble trees of many kinds,
amid which kingly assemblages at times could
be seen the noble summit of some stately
palm, as it towered on high above the others.
And the sea—the wide, the boundless, the
deep blue Mediterranean—there it spread
away, on the other side, as far as eye could
reach, as fur as thoughts could run—glorious
as
$ 1 25
1 50
"The dashing,
Silver.flashing,
Serges of San Salvador."
But turn aside—and there, beneath, far be
neath, lies an abyss like that of which Milton
has sung in sublimest mortal strains.
I paused upon the brink, and shuddering, I
gazed down—down I The thick and funeral
volumes of tortuously ascending smoke came
seething upward, as from a cauldron. It esca
ped through a myriad crevices in the rocky,
precipitous sides ; it poured forth from behind
projections, and united with the vast mass
which came sublimely upward from the unfath
owed depths.
Here, upon the sandy, rocky edge, where
sulphur, and crumbled lava, and pumice stone
were all mingled together to form a horrid
soil, here I sat and looked down. From the
scene beyond, from that glimpse of earth,
which made it seem like heaven ; from that
vision of all that was most lively and all that
was most overpowering to tarn and gaze into
a volounis owlish depths—what a change I
Involved its a thousand thoughts f sat there
thinkieg,.nly , rlf alone, o lt,tt a sudden grating
struck my our I was storied exceedingly, and
tented around. The place where I had been
sitting was a peninsular projection of the cliff
which formed part of this chasm.
Upon the narrow strip of laud which joined
into the other cliffs upon the isthmus, I saw a
mild looking, middle aged gentleman ap
proach 411 e.
He was dressed in plain black clothes, and
in his hand lie held a light stick.
"I beg your pardon, signor," said he in n po
lite manner, and with great softness of tone,
"I beg your pardon for intruding myself upon
your Campany. But it is not often that I see
any visitor on lila. up."
"3.1 y dear sir I I beg you will make no ex
cuses," I replied. I Was just admiring this
scene below."
"Alt I yes, 'tis a glorious sight."
"Glorious I say, rather a terrible one."
"Terrible, perhaps, to you ; but do not be
surprised if I say that to me it is lovely, abso
lutely lovely I"
And as he spoke a smile of bewitching beau
ty crossed his features."
"I suppose your tastes are different from
those of many people signor. I have not
such feelings. But may I ask it you are often
here I"
"Oh, yes! I live here." he replica, waving
his stick around. •'I live here."
I thought that ho meant me to undersand
that his home was on the mountain, where
very many villas are situated.
"And I should suppose," I continued, "that
you are often on the summit."
"Oh, yes, I am here always."
',Always 1 What a strange fascination it has
for you."
"1 has !it has !" said the gentleman, "Oh I
a fearful!"—and his voice grew low and hol
low—"a terrible fascination I"
I was silent.
'•I will tell you," said he sitting e:osely by
my side, and tuning his eye full towards me
•'1 do not wish to inform any one. Promise'
me that you will not,"
I had not noticed his eyes before, but I saw
now, that within their depths there gleamed a
strange and sinister light.
I promised him, and at the same time un
easily drew back further from the edge.
"Well, then, signor," said he, "I am king
here 1 I rule Mount Etna!"
"Yes I" I answered, a little alarmed at his
words, and attempting to smile.
Yes, lam king here. In no you see the be.
ing who caused the lava to pour forth, and
overwhelm the regions below, I have lived here
for centuries. The spirits of the deep obey
me see I"
He leaped up from the ground. There was
a fearful fire in his eye, his nostrils were dila
ted, his pale thee became as white as marble,
and as bloodless, save that on either cheek
their glowed a deep red spot.
"See l" he shrieked wildly and loudly ; "spir
its of the deep, arise! Ha I—yonder—see them
—they are coming—in cluuds—enrobed in
thunder garments—see l"
I leaped from the ground, I-gazed at him.
Ho threw off his bat wildly, and it lull far
down in the abyss. Ho flung off his coat and
threw it away.
"Signor," said I, in hopes that a mild tone
might wake him calm,—•'Signor, the winds
obey yon. lAA us go !"
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1854.
"Go! Where? Is not this my home? Is
not this my palace? Saw you not my set..
rants? You are my guest!"
Will you nm sit down and tell rue about
your home?" said 1, shuddering.
"No, there are secrets that call never be spo.
lien. Can you understand them? Who are
you, a mortal, that you dare to ask ?"
I walked slowly toward the narrow passage
of land, the bridge. But he saw me, and stood
upon it. I could not go.
"Can this all be pleasantry?" thought I.—
An awful thought passed through me, which
froze my hearts blood.
Pleasantry ! There he stood, my wild com
panion, his eyes blazing, fixed piercingly up
on me, his hands clenched, his mouth foaming;
every sinewin his body worked up. He stood,
screaming, laughing I Oh God I I was alone
with a maniac!
"You are to gu with me."
Where ?'
“There, I have - come to carry you to my
home.” He pointed with a cold, snaky smile,
down toward the unfathomable abyss whence
ascended the terrible column of inky and suf
fucating smoke.
I gazed at hint, fur there was some element
of fascination in his glassy stare, which for.
ccd me, compelled me, to his gaze. There was
a cold smile upon his lips, which were all
bloodless, and disclosed, as they parted, his
mouth and tightly shut teeth.
"There is my home—there; and I come to
take you with me. lla 1 ha 1 how happy you
will be I Come I"
Still I gazed; while my heart throbbed with
slow but terrible pulsation.
He advanced one step towards me..
I looked all around. The spell was broken
which enchained my gaze. I looked all
around; at the blue sky above, at the scorched
earth around or the horrid chasm beneath.—
There was no hope. Oh I could I but leap the
space which seperated me from the main duff!
Could 1 but do it—but 1 could not I there was
no hope.
"What I do you not answer I" he cried, sud
denly lashed into fury by silence, and stamped
his foot in frenzy upon the rock. "Du you not
answer! Then 1 must carry you with me!"
The maniac sprang toward me I"
With all my energies roused into frantic ac
lion; with every sinew braced and muscle con
tracted, I planted my foot backward against a
small angular rock which projected above the
loose, sandy soil, and edeavored to meet the
shock. With u wild scream, which arose ilia
lingly into the air. his eyes all blood-shot, his
mouth foaming, on he cause. He struck me—
his arms surrounded me in a fearful embrace ;
his hot breath (June burningly upon my cheek.
I stood firm ; fur duopair, and all the bitterness
of death, had given no place to fear and timidi
ty, but had bestowed upon me the coolness of
one in an ordinary situation. I threw soy left
arm beneath Isis, my right I passed over his
neck and around upon his back, thus seeking
to press him to death.
It was a moment of horror, such as no mor
tal tongue can tell. A struggle with a mani
ac! To be on a small surface of a rock, while
three thousand feet beneath lay the abyss of
untold horrors! At this hour my heart beats
more forcibly even as I think upon the time.
Thus we stood, breast to breast, face to face
the madman and I—he with his arms encir
cling me. 1 seeking to save myself: He press
ed me toward the edge of the clitt He plunged
his feet deep into the ground ; he laughed
mockingly, and screamed as he tried to de
stroy me. But against that rock my feet were
lirndy braced, and 1 held him tightly, and
sought to hurl him from me. Hurl hint front
tae! as well might the hungry tiger be hurled
front his prey.
Oh the agony of' that struggle I I know nut
how long it was, but to me it seemed like many
hours. The wild eyes of the madman glared
at mine all the time, and I found it impossible
to fault away. His fearful face, all white, all
ghastly, was upturned towards me, as be
shouted in his fiendish, mocking laughter.
"Oh, Heaven! Oh horror! Can this, will
this endure forever?" cried I, in the agony of
my fear. The maniac howled with derisive
shouts. I felt that 1 was growing weaker.—
But he was a 'nonlife ; and would he grow
weaker also? A thousand thoughts fled
through me.
Suddenly the maniac gave ono fearful
plunge. It was with the strength of a giant
that he seined me. He raised me from toy
feet. The rock, the saving rock, I had lost it
—1 was gone. I threw toy hands high into
the air, and toy sermon of terror ascended in
unison with the maniac's mocking yell.
"Dew., I down I to the bottomless pit! To
the home of tire and brimstone I To the end
less horrors of burning lakes!" he screamed
as he gave a bound forward to the edge of the
cliff'.
Inspired by a sudden gift of superhuman
strength, by a partial possession of a mad
man's power, I caught him by the throat, and
even on the very edge, even when in sight of
the abyss, I sprang back ; I bore him to the
ground. Falling heavily upon him, I held his
throat still in a fierce grasp, while his own
arms were wound tightly around my neck, and
his legs around mine. I felt the hot breath
from his open mouth, as my cheek lay pressed
against his thee. I heard them grate harshly,
and drew my bead violently away; as he sought
to seise me with his sharp teeth.
In our frantic struggles on the ground, we
rolled wildly about and the dust from sulphur
and from pumice stone ascended around us in
suffocating clouds. I was half insane. I was
struggling for life. I caught up a handful of
the fine choaking dust, and rubbed it violently
over his open mouth. It went into his nostrils
and lungs. He gave a jerk forward in agony.
Amid the clouds of dart around I could not
see where we were. He held me by the hair
as he sprang—a moment after. and a fearful
force was straining there. Another moment
and I arose—while will and high rose the
shrink of the maniac, as he fell down—down
—down—•into the atrprs.—Kniekarboeker.
I 1; ifictilalltots.
For the .Itiernal,
THE WANDERING JEW.
BY W. W. II ****.
We are not acquainted with any pepnlar
English ballad, on the subject of the Wander
ing Jew; though the adventures of this extra
ordinary being, have afforded themes to the
poets of Europe. France, especially, is rich
in legends, connected with this fabled person
age, songs and sermons equally relate the hor
rors to which "the undying one," was subjected,
and the heritage of wee conjoined to his un
pnralled length of life. They all agree in de
soil:dug hiin as aged and careworn, with a
white beard of immense length; his dress,
though ragged and torn, was said to retain
traces of oriental finery. Ahasuerus, was ' the
name usually given to the Wandering Jew, in
the last century ; but in the Itith and 17th
centiiries, he was known c Isaac Lackedem
or Lackedion; names which point to an An ne
niati ur Greek origin of the story. The lan
guage has been softened and modernized, as it
passed down the strewn of tradition, but the
air possesses the psalmodie character of these
slow and plaintive elmunts which in the mid
dle ages, the relies of martyrs were venerated,
and the sufferings of the saints lamented. We
have preserved in the translation, sonic of the
roughness, which characterizes the original bal
lad particularly in the verses spoken by the
Burgesses to the Wanderer.
Can life with each transaction,
From bright to darkest hue,
Show one of worse condition
Than the poor Wandering Jew.
How horrid is his state;
His wretchedness how great.
One day before the city,
Of Brussels in Brabant,
We saw with fear and pity,
This man of comforts scant ;
And ne'er before our sight,
Was beard so long and white.
His garments torn and streaming,
The winds could not withstand,
And we knee by his seeming;
He come from eastern hind.
A leathern bag before—
He like some workman wore.
We said, "good morrow master,
One lit ileeL•tuent stay,
And tell us the disaster,
Which brought you hi this way,
Come, do not plead excuse,
Nor sympathy refuse?"
Then he replied, "Believe me,
I suffer hitter woe;
Incessant travels grieve me,
There's no rest for me below.
A respite I have never,
But march on, on forever I"
Coale join us good old father,
And drink a cup of ale;
We've come out here together,
On purpose to regale,
And if you'll lie our guest,
We'll give you of the best."
"I cannot take your proffer,
I'm hurried on by fate,
But for your hearty offer,
My gratitude is great ;
ever bear in mind,
Strangers so good and kind
"You seen so very aged,
That looking on with tears,
We find ourselves engaged,
In guessing at your years ;
We ask, if not too bold,
Are you a century old V'
"Years more than eighteen hundred,
Have rolled above my head ;
Since fate has kept me sundeed,
Both from the quick and dead
I was but twelve years old;
When Christ our Lord was born I"
"Are you that man of sorrow,
Of whom our authors write;
Grief comes with every morrow,
And wretchedness at night.
Oh! let us know, are you,
Isaac, the Wandering Jew ?"
"Yes, Isaac Lackedion;
To me ens given fur mune ;
And the proud hill of Zion,
The place of hirth I claim.
Children in me you view,
The hapless Wandering Jew I"
Good Lord ! how sad, how weary ;
This length of life in found,
Now, for the fifth time, hear ye,
I've peed the earth's wide round!
All else to rest have gone,
But I must still live on!
Beyond the broad Atlantic;
I've seen the fever spread,
Where orphans, driven frantic,
Lay dying on the dead
I gnzed with hope, not fear,
But sttll death came not near.
"I have noiome to hide mo ;
Nor wealth can I display,
But unknown powers provide—
Five farthiags every day,
This always is my store,
'Tis never less, nor more.
"We use to think your story,
Was but an idle dream
But when thus wan and hoary,
And broken down you seem—
The sight cannot deceive,
And. we the tee believe:"
'But, you must have offended ;
Most grievously, our God
Whose mercy is extended,
To all on earth, who plod.
Then tell us, for what crime,
You bear his wrath sublime V'
'Twas by my rash behaviour,
I wrought this fearful scathe;
As Christ, our Lord and Saviour,
Was passing on to death.
his mild request I spurti'd,
His gentle pleading scorn'dl"
Beneath the cross when sinking;
He pass'd bel'ore my door,
From the crowd's insults shrinking;
He stepped the threshold o'er,
And made a mild request ;
That I would let him rest.
"Begone l" said I, "thou vile one;
Move on, and meet thy fate,
I know it would defile one,
To suffer thee to wait I
Blasphemer—haste—begone
To death; to death move on."
Then, Jesus turning mildly,
Look'd on my angry brow;
And said, "Thou speakest
For onward, too, must thou
March onward, 'tis thy doom ;
And tarry till I come I"
A secret foe expell'd me;
That instant, from my home,
And shire the doom has held me;
Unceasingly to roam ;
For neither day, nor Hight,
Must check my owward flight:
Farewell! ye pitying strangers,
Fur I must now away;
Ye cannot know the dangers,
Which menace my delay,
Farewell I ye kindly mem
We will never meet again I
A Distressed Crabb.
Several years ago a man named Crabln
petitioned to the Legislature of Massachusetts
to change his name, because his sweetheart
refused to marry hint while he was culled by
so unlovely a cognomen. He was unsuccess•
ful, and the parting interview between him and
his lady.love was sketched in the following
style, which we publish for the fun of it.
Now let us imagine for a moment, what
must be the sad sequel of this ungallant re•
jectiun. Mr. Isaac Crabb goes to visit his del•
einem He knocks at the door with a trembling
hand, and while he is waiting fur it to be ape:.•
ed, he fancies he hears her say,
"If you're Mr. Harrison come in—if you're
Mr. Crab'', stay out I"
He is presently admitted and his mistress,
with a doubtful expression of countenance
says,
"Ant I to address you as Mr. Harrison, or
Mr. oh! oh! I caunot speak the odious
name - or Mr.
"Crabh, madam, my name is still Crabb ;
I'm nary to say it for your sake and mine.—
The Legislature has declined my suit. But
will you also tov dulcinea, persevere in denying
it? Will you— ?"
• 'Tou't slide up to me. I can't bear a crit
ter that goes sideways. Keep your claws off
"Ah cruel I shall I never have the pleasure
of culling you Mrs Crab')? shall no young
Crabbs climb upon our knees to share our aF•
feetions and our kisses?"
"No, ni have no such critters crawling
about me. I'm sure they must be all married
men, or incorrigible old bachelors."
"Whatever they may be, there is no hope
fur them ut all. But why should a mere name
separate two persons whose hearts are firmly
united 2"
"Any other name I could abide—but to
think of sleeping with a —."
••We shall both be Crabbs together."
"Not by a jug full. Havu't I told you often
enough—?"
"Is that your ultimatum then ? Must I re.
cede? Must I retrograde? Must I advance
backwards ?"
"Farewell, then, most lovely cruel woman !
Farewell, most unfeeling legislature! Fare.
well, most prejudiced, unfeeling world ! Fare
well, all my joys and delights of matrimony,
I will drown myself. make my bed in the
deep water, with my fellow Cralibs !"
Then all ye lovers, when ye go
A fishing in the sea,
And find a Crab upon your hook.
Then think-0 think of me.
I died because I was a Crabb,
My love was crabbed, too;
And yet she would not be a Crabb,
For all that I could do.
Ah, crabbed fate, above my bones
There rests no marble slab;
1 lie among the earth and stones,
A pour forgotten ()RABB.
"There were Giants in those Days."
Mr. Tunis Van Pell has now in his posession
a much worn document. containing the weight
of some of the Revolutionary worthies. It is
dated West Point, Aug. 19, 1783.
Gen. Washington weighed 209 lbs.
Gen. Lincoln weighed 224 lbs.
Gen. Knox weighed 280 lbs.
Col. Henry Jackson weighed 238 lbs.
Lieut. Col. Huntington weighed 232 pounds.
Lieut. Col. Cobb weighed 182 lbs.
Lieut. Col. Humphreys weighed 221 pounds.
Lieut. CO. Creaton weighed 196 lbs.
Col. Swift weighed 219 lbs.
Col. Michael Jackson weighed 252 lbs.
Average weight, 214 lbs.
It will be seen by the above list that these
old patriots, "held there own," not withsanding
the hard times they were seven years in get
ting tbrutrih.
A Short Sermon.
Time and tide wait fur no man, neither do!
they hurry themselves. You may run against
time, says a writer, but you can't go ahead of
it or live in advance of it. If you have five
hundred a year, you can't spend a thousand
without paying up the reckoning hereafter.
Economy may stretch a dollar bill, still it is
riot like India rubber; there is a limit to its ;
elasticity, and. like the frog in the fable, if
you swell beyond your means you will collapse \ '
rather suddenly—an event to he deplored by
everybody except the sheriff and auctioneers.
Voyagers on the broad sea of life should imi.
tate their brother mariners on the ocean--
take in sails when clouds be-dim the horizon.
Don't waits till the storm breaks over you;,
take a reef in the household expenditures in
time. Avoid peaches at fifty cents a half
peck, and before you charitably bestow the
"cOld vittles," see if the remains of that joint
of beef wouldn't make a hash for dinner.
See if you havn't got more "*lp" than you
need.—Miss Julia might leave the piano for
an hour, and wash up the dishes, or, by way
of variety, substitute stocking darning for
Berlin wool. 'Many are like the old Dutch
mariners, who, when a calm occurred, lashed
the helm, went below and "turned in." Never
forsake the helm or quit the lookout, or you
will be swamped by the first squall of "hard
times" you encounter, like a "wild oat" bank
ing institution. The red flag will then be hois
ted at your door—a flag oftlistress truly, though
not to bring you succor, but to inform the
world of another victim of vanity.
How to Prosper in Business.
In the first place make up your mind to ac
complish whatever you undertake, decide up
on seine particular employment and persevere
in it. All difficulties are overcome by diligence
and assiduity.
Be not afraid to work with your own hands
and diligently too. 'A cat in gloves catches
no mice.'
Attend to your own business and never trust
it to another.
"A pot that belongs to many' is ill stirred
and worse boiled."
Be frugal. "That which will uut make a pot
will make a pot lid."
Be abstemious. "Who dainties love shall
beggars prove:'
Rise curly.
poultry."
Treat every one with respect and civility,
"Every thing is gained and nothing lust by
courtesy." Good manners insure success.
Never anticipate wealth frt . m tiny other
than labor.
"The sleeping fox catches no
"lie who waits for dead men's shoed may
have to go a lung time barefuot.
If you implicitly follow these precepts, until
ug can !limier you from accumulating wealth.
Sree'The N. Y. Tribune says thatßussia can
still concentrate an army of three hundred
thousand men at a given point, and adds
"And there are people who believe that'
Nicholas will sue for peace it' Sevastopol be
taken! Why Russia has not played one third of
her trumps yet, and the momentary loss of
Sevastopol and of the fleet is hardly !bit at all
by the giant to whom Sevartopol and the fleet
were but a plaything. Russia knows full well
that her decisive action does not lie along the
sea shore or within reach of debarking troops ;
but on the contrary, on the board interior of
the Continent, where massive armies can be
brow ght to act concentrated on one spot, with.
out frittering away their forces in a fruitless
coast defence against evenscent enemies.—
Russia may loose the Crimera, the Caucasus.
Finland, St. Petersburg and all such spends.
ges ; but as long as her body, with Moscow for
its heart, and fortified Poland for its sword-arm,
is untouched she need not give in an iota.
Comma IT OVER 'rue um) .MAN. -'My son,
take thejng and feteh me some beer.'
Give me some money, then father.
My son, to get the beer with money, anybody
can do that: but to get it without money
that's a trick.'
So the boy took the jug, and out he goes,
Shortly he returns,and places the jug before his
father.
`Drink said the son.
`How can I drink when there is no beer in
the jug,' said his &then'
'To drink beer out of a jug, said the son,
where there is beer, anybody can do that; But
to drrnk beer out of a jug, where there is no
beer, that's a trick!'
Who is a Coward,
The man who attacks an other by surprise,
or with a weapon in his band when the other
has none is a coward.
The man who carries a deadly weapon on
or about his person. in his intercourse with an
unarmed society, is a coward.
The man who associates with him, and so
goes with numbers to overpower an individual,
or a smaller or feebler number is a coward.
The man who gives or accepts a challenge
to fight a duel, being so much afraid of public
sentiment that he dares not refuse it, is a cow
ard.
In short, that man is a coward who shapes
his course of action by his tears ; and he alone
is a man of courage who always dares to do
right.
WHAT A WOMAN SHOCI.D BE ALPHABETICAL
IN.-A woman should be atniable, benevolent,
charitable, domestic, economical, forgiving,
generous, honest, industrious, judicious, kind,
loving, modest, neat, obedient, pleasant, quiet,
reflecting, sober, t'uder, urbane, virtuous,
wise, exemplary, yielding, and zealous.
,j An old bacholor geologist was boast.
ing that every rock was as familiar to him as
the alphabet.
A lady declared that she knew of a rock of
which he mu; ioliorntit.
"Noise it, madam," said he.
"It is mai 113%. erutite. er." t'an Isd
VOL. 19. NO. 47.
ifor tamer.
He that by the plough would thrive,
Himself must either hold or drive.
The Basis of Good Farming.
Mr. Isaac Moon, who farms one hundred
and Gay acres of clay loam, with limestone
diffused through it in position (and surely no
better soil could be desired than this) on
clover St. Brighten, Monroe County, N. Y. ,
writes us that his averages per acre, are se
follows;
Indian Corn t 72 busheli, extra yields 80,
00 to 100.
Potatoes: formerly 300 to 409 bushels; l*t
terly 200.
Wheat, (50 acres :) once 25 to 33 and 49
bushels, rarely 69.
Oats, (little sown:) once 489 basin's from
five acres; seed 12 bushels.
Hay : 2 to 3 tons, once 41. tons.
These are large crops ; and we are not sur
prised to learn that Mr. Mona boa built the
Clover at. Seminary,' and endowed a Profes
sorship out of the profits of such farming.
But how he does it, is the important point.
The natural richness of his soil is undoubted;
but a majority of furniers on just such soils do
not obtain half so large crops. Here is his
explanation :
'I never sell straw ; this goes back in some
shape to the land. My barnyard yields me
many hundreds of wagon-loads of manure,
what I fail to get on to my lands in spring of
the year I keep as bask deposits till autumn.
'But Clover and Plaster are the great feral.
leers of the soil of Western New York.
When I sow wheat, oats or barley ; I sow
from ten to twelve pounds of clover to the
acre, and in the spring dress down with two
bushels of plaster to the acre. Any farmer
who will follow this process fur fertilising
need never go to Peru fur Guano. His farm
will never run down. What I have, I have
found profitable. Many neighboring farmers
cultivate largely of Carrots, Beets, and Tar
nips for stock and teams.
Transplanting Trees in Autumn.
"Do youappruveoftall pluntiug?" is a ques
tion asked us every day. Our auswer is, yes,
under these circumstances:
lat. When the ground is of such uatur•
and in such condition that water will not lodge
around the roots of the trees during winter. To
plant trees in holes sunk in stiff, tenacious soils
is a condo motlicd o!' Clem.
2. 'rite tees should I, ;or,
‘.:lv3riably
delicate or haT
be planted in the spring. it it 51 neeessary to
take them up in the fall, they had better be laid
in a dry soil sheltered from the cold, cutting.
winds, and, if necessary protected with bought
of evergreen, or something of that nature.
3d. We du not approve of planting ever•
green trees in the fall, unless the very hardest
sort, and that quite early, say in September or
in the first of October, in time fur the trees t
re-rout, partially, before hard frost; and they
should de sheltered from the sun and wind by a
thick screen of evergreen boughs well secured
around them.
4th Plant trees early, as soon as eircumstan•
ces will permit after the wood in ripe. Du not
wait till the learn fall, but cut theta off', being
careful not to injure the buds. Late plan
ting, however, if well dune, may be equally
suecesful. We transplant any time most coo•
venient,between the first of October and of May.
Last winter, in December, we planted several
hundred of specimen trees, from one to nix
years old, and lust not over two or three in
the whole. Many of the bearing trees, not
withstanding the drool'', have borne and
petted five specimens of fruit.
5. Secure all trees from being blown about
by the winds, and much with half rotten mull.
tire or leaves three or four inches deep.
Asparagus, rhubarb, gooseberries, and cur.
rents, should all he planted in the fall, and as
early as possible.
Also, hardy bulbs, such as hyacinth, tulips liar.
eistus, crocus, crown imperials, and lilies.—
It is alto the best season to tup•dross and ren.
ovate neglected trees of all sorts,—to make new
walks and repair old ones—to lay down turf
and perform such operations as gr ading, drain
ing, trenching, &c., incident to the formation
of new gardens, lawns, &e. Our springs are
short, and hot summer weather very often
comes too soon. It is therefore well to make
good use of every hour between this:titue and
the freezing of the ground.—lbrticultur
Cure for Heaves.
Take some weed commonly called smart
weed, that grown along the roadside, or in the
fields in low places; steep it in boiling water
till the strength is all out, and give the horse
one quart ofthe liquid every day for eight or
ten days. Mix it with bran or shorts if he will
eat it, if not, pour it down him with a bottle.
Give him greet' or cut feed wet up with water
during the operation, and I will warrant a
cure.-llorses with heaves will be troubled
with it about as bad this dry and dusty weath
er, as they will in the spring of the year.
This medicine is so simple, and easy to be
obtained, that some may not think it worth
their white to try it, but simple medicines
many times prove more effectual than those
obtained at a great expense. Now is the
time to secure the weed, and I say to those
interested, try it.—HARVEY ROSECRANTZ.—
Rural N
CORE FOR RINGBONE.—I noticed in the Cul.
tivator fur May 13th, an inquiry for tho cure for
ringbolt° in a cult, and answer, take high
wines of cider or brandy, add saltpetre as much
as will dissolve, and wash the ringbone two or
three times a day. Oue of my neighbors eta
red one of three or four years s'Audiaz. by the
Kir Grp n e qd 61wittr for your iktotig