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BY .1011 E G. SASH, 0, terribly proud was Mien Mae Bride, Thu very personification of pride, As she minced along in fashion's tide, Aduwn Broadway—on the proper side— When the golden sun was setting There was pride in the bend she carried so high, Pride in her lip, and pride in her eye, Aud a world of pride in the very sigh That her stately bosom was fretting; A sigh that a pair of elegant feet, Sandalled in satin, should kiss the street— The very same that the vulgnr greet, In common leather not over "neat"— l'or such is the common booting; (And christian tears may well be shed, That even among our gentlemen-bred, The glorious Dey of Morocco is dead, And Day and Martin are reigning instead, On a much inferior footing I) 0, terribly pround was Miss Mac Bride, Proud of her beauty, and proud of her pride, And proud of fifty matters beside, • That wouldn't bare borne dissection; Proud of her wit, and proud of her walk, Proud of her teeth, and proud of her talk, Pround of "knowing cheese from chalk," On a very slight inspection. Proud abroad, and proud at home, Proud wherever she chanced to come— When she was glad, and when she was glum : Proud as the head of a Saracen Over the door of a tippling shop Proud as a Duchess, proud as a fop, "Proud as a boy with a bran new top," Proud beyond comparison 1 It sums a singular thing to say— But her very senses led her astray Respecting all humility; In sooth, her dull auricular drum Could find in humble only a "hum," And heard no sound of "gentle" come, In talking about gontility. What lowly meant, she didn't know, For she always avoided "everything low," With care the most punctilious; And queerer still, the audible sound Of "super-silly" she no'cr had found In the adjective supercillious Tho meaning of mock she never knew, But imagined the phrase had something to do With "Moses," a peddling German Jew, Who, like all hawkers, the country through, Was a "person of no position." And it seemed to her exceedingly plain, If the word was realy known to pertain To a vulgar German, it wasn't germane To a lady of high condition I Even her graces—not her grace, For that was in the "vocative case"— Chilled with the touch of her icy face, Sat very stiffly upon her I She never confessed a favor aloud, Like one of the simple, common crowd, But coldly smiled, and faintly bowed— As who should say: "You do me proud, And do yourself and honor I" t tt . : : ,,:iftingb,oit(Joiiir '..,.tt1, I SEE NO STAR ABOVE THE HORIZON, PROMISING LIMIT TO OUIDE US, BUT THE INTELLIOENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WIIIO PARTY OP TILE UNITED STATES."- [WEBSTEW And yet the pride of Miss Mae Bride, Although it had fifty hobbies to ride, Mad really no foundation ; But like the fabrics that gossips devise— Those single stories that often arise, And grow till they reach a founstory size— Was merely a fancy creation 'Tis a curialus fact as ever was known In human nature, but often shown Alike in castle and cottage, That pride, like pigs of a certain breed, Will manage to live and thrive on "feed" As puor as a pauper's pottage That her wit should never have made her vain, Was—like her face—snfficiently plain; And, as to her musical powers, Although she sang until she was hoarse, And issued notes with a banker's force, They were just such notes as we never endorse For any acquaintance of ours. Her birth, indeed, was uncommonly high— For Miss Mac Bride first opened her eye Through a skylight dim, on the light of the sky; But pride is a curious passion—. And in talking about her wealth and worth, She always forgot to mentions her birth To people of rank and fashion $1 25 1 50 2 50 Of all the notable things on earth, The queerest one is pride of birth, And our "fierce Democracier A. bridge across a hundred years, Without a prop to save it from sneers— Not even a couple of rotten peers— A thing for laughter, {leers and jeers, Is American aristocracy! English nod Irish, French and Spanish, (Amman, Italian, Dutch and Danish, Crossing their viens until they vanish In ono conglomeration So subtle a tangle of blood, indeed, No heraldry.llarvey will ever succeed In finding the circulation. Depend upon it my snobbish friend. Your family friend you can't nseend Without good reason to apprehend You may find it waxed at the farther end By 30111 C plebeian vocation I Or, worse than that, your boasted line May end in a loop of stronger twine That plagued some worthy relation I But Miss Mae Bride to something beside Iler lofty birth to nourish her pride— For rich was the old paternal Mac Bride, According to public rumor! And he lived "up-town" in a splendid square, And kept his daughter on dainty fare, And gave her gems that were rich and rare, And the finest rings and things to wear, And feathers enough to plume her! _1 An honest mechanic was Sohn Mac Bride, As ever an honest calling plied, Or graced an honest duty; For John had worked in his early day, Is "pots and pearls," the legends say— And kept a shop with a rich array Of things in the soap and candle way, In the lower part of the city No "rata avis" was honest John, (That's the Latin for "saLle swan ;") Thought in one of fancy's flashes, A wicked wag, who meant to deride, Called hottest John Mr. Phamix Mac Bride," "Because he rose front his asks Little by little, lie grew to be rich, _ . By saving of candle•euds and Niel'," Till he reached ut last an opulent ni the— No very uncommon affair ; For history quite confirms the law Expressed in the ancient Scottish saw, "A Mickle may come to be main.''* ,lack 1 for many ambitious beaux I She hung their hopes upon her nose, (The figure is quite Iteratiun)— Until from habit the member grew As very a hook as ever eye knew, To the commonest observation. A. thriving tailor begged her hand, But she gave "the fellow" to understand, By a violent manual action, She perfectly .scorned the best of his clan, And reckoned the ninth of any man An exceedingly Vulgar Fraction. Another, whoso sign was a golden boot, \Vas mortified with a bootless suit, In a way that was quite appalling ; For, though a regular suitor by trade, He wasn't the suitor to suit the maid, Who cut him off with the saw—and bade "The cobbler keop to Lis calling." (The muse must let the secret out— There isn't the faintest shadow of doub t That folks who oftenost sneer and flout At "the dirty, low mechanicals." Are they whose sires, by pounding their knees, Or coiling their legs, or trades like these, Contrive to win their children ease From poverty's galling manacles) A rich tobacconist comes and sues, And thinking the lady would scarce refuse A man of his wealth, and liberal views, Began at once with "If you choose— And could you really lovo him"— But the lady spoiled his speech in a huff, With an answer rough and ready enough, To lot him know she was up to snuff, And al together above him. A young attorney, of winning grace, Was scarce allowed to "open his face," Ere Miss Mae Bride had closed his case, With a true judicial celerity ; For the lawyer was poor, and "seedy" to boot, And to say the lady discarded his suit, Is merely a double verity l no last of thoso who come to court, Was a lively bean, of the dapper sort, "Without any visible means of support" HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1854. A crime by no means flagrant In one who wears an elegant coat, But the very point on which they vote A ragged fellow a "vagrant." A courtly fellow was Dapper Jim, Sleek and supple, and tall and trim, And smoth of tongue as neat of limb, And meagre his meagre pocket, You'd say, from the glittering tales he told, That Jim was rocked in a cradle of gold, With fortunes to ruck it Now, Dapper Jim his courtship plied, (I wish the fact could be denied) With an eye to the purse of old Mac Bride, And really "nothing shorter I" For he said to himself, in his greedy lust, "Whenever he dies—as die he must, And yield to leaven his vital trust— He's very sure to "come down with his dust," In behalf of his only daugher." And the very magnificent Miss Mac Bride, Half in love, and half in pride, Quite graciously relented ; And tossed her head, and turning her back— No token of proper pride to lack— To be a bride without the "Mae," With much disdain consented I Alas! that people who've got their box Of cash beneath the best of locks, Secured from all financial shocks, Should stock their fancy stocks, And make a rush upon Wall street rocks, Without the least apology ! Alas the people whose money affairs, Are sound, beyond all need of repairs, Should ever tempt the bulls and bears Of Mammon's fierce zoology. Old John Mac Bride, one fatal day, Became the unresisting prey Of fortune undertakers ; And staking all on a single die, His foundered barque went high and dry Among the brokers and breakers I At his trade again, in the very shop Where, years before, he let it drop, lie follows has ancient calling— Cheerily, too, in poverty's spite, And sleeping quite as sound at night, As, when, ut fortune's giddy height, He used to wake with a dizzy fright, From a dismal dream of flilling. But alas I fur the haughty :Miss Mac it ide, 'Twas such a shock to her precious pride! She couldn't recover, although she tried Her jaded spirits to rally 'Twos a dreadful change in Intirat4 affairs, From a place 'l.7p-town,' to a nook ‘124-stairs, From an Avenue down to an Alley! 'Twos little condolence she had, God wot, From her 'troops of friends,' who hadn't forgot The air she used to borrow ; They had civil phrases enough, but yet 'Twas plain to see that their "deepest regret" Was a different thing from sorrow! They owned it couldn't have well been were° To go from full to empty puree ; To expect a "recursion," and get a reverse, Was•truly a dismal feature ! But it wasn't strange—they whispered—at all! That the Summer of pride should have its Fall, Was quite according to nature And one of those who make a pun, As if it were quite legitimate fun To be blazing away at every one, With a regular, double-loaded gun— Remark'd that moral transgression Always beings retributive stings To candle•makers, as well as kings For "making light of cererns things," Was a very wicked profession And vulgar people—the saucy churls— Inquired shout "the Price of Pearls," And mock'd at her situation ; "She wasn't ruined—they ventured to hope— Because she was poor, she needn't mope— Few people were better off for soap, And that was a consolation I" And to make her cup of woe run over, Her elegant, ardent, plighted lover Was the very first to forsake her; "He quite regretted the step, 'twos true— The lady had pride enough 'for two,' But that alone would never do To quit the butcher and baker ! And now the unhappy Miss Mae Bride— The merest ghost of her early pride— Bewails her lonely position ; Cramp'd in the very narrowest niche, Above the poor, and below the rich— Was ever a worse condition? MORAL. Because you flourish in worldly affairs, Don't be haughty and put on airs, With insolent pride of station I Don't be proud and turn up your nose At poor people in plainer clothes, But learn, for the sake of your mind's repose, That wealth's a bubble, that comes—and goes I And that all proud flesh, wherever it grows, Is subject to irritation. * 'Wickle wi' thrift may chance to be mfr."— Scotch proverb. [We fancy the poet hero al. hales also to Andrew H. Mielde t a worthy to. bacconist, who was recently Mayor of New York.] MS. The Albany Register says: "We lutes raceivd the following. What does it mean 7 " ‘MASSEIi'SUOYEVAR 7" TERISSEY 1" " KOOLEUSEOMVOII?" " 'LLEWYLBAKRAMER." "OSYASTSODUOY ?" Guess it takes a kft•hauded man to find oat, The parentage of a lie is the most difficult of all to trace. It is intle,l a clever lie that knows its own fittizer ( ( "IIiiSCCILIIIO3IIS. Sleep. Sleep is ono of the wisest regulations of Na. ture, to check and-moderate at fixed periods the incessant and impetuous stream of vital consumption. It forms, as it were, stations for our physical and moral existence; and we there by obtain the happiness of being daily re-born, and of passing every morning through a state of annihilation into a new anti refreshed Without this continual change, this incessant renovation, how wretched and insipid would life be; and how depressed our mental es well as physical sensations I The greatest ',Wiese. pher of the present age says, therefore, with justice: "Take ft man hope and sleep. and he will lie the most crotched being on earth ! How unwisely then do those act who imag ine that by taking as little sleep as possible they prolong their existence. Nothing accel erates consumption so much, nothing wastes us so much before the time, and renders us old, as went of sleep. Its physical effects are, that it retards all the vital power, and restores what has been lost in the course of the day; and that it separates from us what is useless and pernicious. It as it were a daily cri sis, during which all secretions are performed in the greatest tranquility, and with the utmost perfection. We must not, however, on this account, be .4iere that too long continued sleep is one of the best means (or preserving life. Long sleep accumulates too great ass abundance of perni cious juices, makes the organs too fluid and unlit tbr nee, and in this mantic: can shorten life also. In a word, no one should sleepless than six: nor more thun eight lmurs. This may be estab lished as a general rule. Tu those who wish to enjoy sound and peace ful repose; and to obtain the whole cud of sleep, I recommend the following observations: First.—The place where oue sleeps must be quiet and obscure. The less our senses are acted upon by external impressions, the Inure perfectly con the soul rest. Unit may see fruits this how improper the custom is of having n candle horning in one's bed•clambcr during the night. Second.—People unqht always to reflect that their bed-elm:her is r. plaee,in which they pm, a great part of their lives; at least, they do not remain in any piace so long in the sank situ ation. It is of the utmost imp:wt.:wee, there fore, that this pinee.koui , ', contain pure, ;:ental air. A. sleeping apartment must, comiegnent ly, be roomy and high ; neither inhabit al nor heated during the day i :tad the windows ought always to be l:ept open. Third.—One should eat little, nod only cold food for supper, always and some hours before going to bed. • Fourth.—When a-bed, one should lie not in a forced or constrained posture, but almost horizontally; the heal excepted, which ought to be a little raised. Nothing is more preju dicial than to lie in bed half sitting. The bo dy then terms an angle; circulation in the stomach is checked, and the spine is always very much compressed. By this custom, one of the principle ends of sleep, a free and unin terrupted circulation of the blood, is defeated; and in infancy and youth, deformity and croak. edne,.s are often consequences. Fifth.— All the cares and burdens of the day must be laid aside with ones clothes; none of' them must be carried to bed with us; and in this respect, one by custom may obtain very great power over their thought. I am acquain ted with no practice more destructive than that of studying in bed, and of reading till one falls asleep. By these means the soul is put into great activity, at a period when everything con spires to allow it perfect rest ; and it is natu ral that the ideas thus excited, should wander and float through the brain during the whole night, It is not enough to sleep physically ; man must sleep also spiritually. Such a dis turbed sleep is as sufficient as its opposite— that is, when our spiritual part sleeps, but not our corporeal; such, for example, as sleep in a jolting carriage on a journey. Sixth;—One circumstance, in particular, I must not hero omit to mention. Many believe that it is entirely the same if ono sleeps these seven hours either in the day or the night time, People give thenuelves up therefore, at night, as long as they think proper, either to study or pleasure, and imagine that they make every thing even when they sleep in the forenoon, those hours which they sat up after midnight, But I must request every one, who regards his health; to beware of so seducing an error. It is certainly not the 6111110, whether one sleeps seven hours by day or by night; and two hours sound sleep before midnight are of more ben efit to the body than four hours in the day.— My reasons arc as follows t That period of twenty-four hours. formed by the regular revolution of our earth, in which all the inhabitants partake, is particularly din anguished in the physical economy of man.— This regular period is apparent in all diseases; and all the other small periods so wonderful in our physical history,. are by it really deter mined. It is, as it were, the unity of our nat ural chronology. Now, it is observed, that the more the end of these periods coincides with the conclusion of tho day, the more is the pul milieu accelerated; mid a feverish state is pro• duced, or the so-called evening fever, to which every man is subject. The accession of new chyle to the blood may, in all probability. con tribute something toward this fluver, though it is not the only cause; tor we find it in sick pen- pie, who have neither eat nor drank. It is more owing, without doubt, to the absence of the sun, and to tl.at revolution in the Minos phut) which is connected with it. This even ing liver is the reason why nervous people find then,selves more lit for labor during the night than clueing the day. To become active they must have en artificial stimulus; and the even. ing fever supplies the place of wine. But ono may easily perceive that this is an unnatural state; and the consequences are the same as those of every simple fever—lassitude, sleep, and a crisis, by the perspiration which takes place during that sleep. It may with propri ety, therefore, be said that al' men every night have n critical perspiration, more perceptible in some and less so to others, by which what ever pernicious particles have been imbibed by our bodies, or created in them during the day, are secreted and removed. This daily crisis, necessary to every man, is particularly requisite for his support; and the proper period slit is when the fever has attained to its high. cot degree, that is, the period when the sun is in the nadir, consequently, midnight. Those who spend the night in labor, and the morning in sleep, lose that time which is most beautiful and the best fitted for labor. Alter every sleep we are renovated in the properest sense of the word ; we are, in the morning, al ways taller than at night; we have then snore pliability, powers and juices; in a word more of the characteristics of youth; while, at night our bodies are drier and more_ exhausted, and the properties of old age then prevail. One therefore, may consider earls day as a sketch, in minature, of human life, in which the morn ing represents youth; noon . , manhood: and evening, old age; and never does man enjoy the sensation of his own existence so purely and in so great perfection as in a beautiful morning. Ile who neglects this period, neg lects the youth of his life. John Wesley in his Old Age. There is no sight more refreshing and instruc• Live than a cheerful, active old man. Let us look upon Wesley in his hale old age. The excellent Alexander Knox met Km a few years before his death, and declared that every hour spent in his company afforded him fresh reason for esteem and veneration. "So fine an old man I never saw. The happiness of his mind beamed forth in his countenance; every look showing how fully he enjoyed "The gay remember - Ince of a life wellspent." In him old age appeared delightful, like au evening without a cloud." It would not have been difficult to identify that old man anywhere, whether in London or any of the cities of his sojourn, or his tray el. Few however, would have judged him to be whittle was, from his external appear. ane, merely. Little of the daring innovator was there in his mien. In some distant part of England, yougtight have seen a man pars Sale'! hits journey resolutely so horseback, and showing by the book in his hand, that he grudged to lose a single moment of time. You might see it man walking with firm step through sonic town and village, giving proof in every motion that he had work to do. Ilis stature was under middle size, his habit of body thin but compact. A clear, smooth fore head, an aquiline nose, as eye of piercing brightness, a complextion of perfect healthful nem, distinguished him among all others. Even his dress was characteristic—the perfec tions of neatness and simplicity, perhaps with a little touch of primness; a narrow, plaited stock, a coat with a small, upright collar—his cloths without any of the usual ornaments of silk velvet—combined with a head as white as snow to give the idea of a man of peculiar private character. Oue book he always carried with him in his journeys besides the Bible. It was his Dairy. Would we learn what view of life the old man takes, we can seem to look over his shoulder on his eighty-sixth birth-day, and read what ho has written. June 28, 1783, ho writes ;' "I this day enter upon my eighty-sixth year. And what cause have I to praise God, as for a thousand spiritual blessings, so for a thou. sand bodily blessings also. How little have I suffered yet from the rush of my numerous years." After mentioning a few marks of the infirmi ty of age, he declares that he feels no such things as weariness either in traveling or preaching. "And I am not conscious of any decay in writing sermons, which I do as readily, and I believe as correctly as ever. "To what cause can I impute this, that I am as I am? First, doubtless, to the power of God lilting me for the work to which I am cal. led, us long as he pleases to continue therein; and next, subordinatly to this, to the prayers of his children. "May we not impute it to inferior means? First. To my constant exercise and change of air? Second. To my neVcr having lost a night's sleep sick or well, on land or sea since I was hors ? Third. To my having sleep at command, so that, whenever I feel myself worn out, I call it and it comes day or night ? Fourth. To my constant preaching at five in the morning for about five years ? Six. To my having had so little sorrow or anxious care ? Even now, though I find pain daily in my eye, or temple or arm, yet it is never violent and seldom lasts many minutes at a time.— Whether or not this is sent to give me war ning that 1" am shortly to quit this tabernacle, I do know, but it is one way or other, I have only to say— "My remnant of days, I spent to his praise, Who died the whole world to redeem, Be it may or few, My days are his doe, And they all aro devoted to him." So it proved three years afterwards. In 1791, March 2d, at the age eightyeight, ho breathed his last, with a hymn of praise on his lips. With the little strength remaining ; he cried out to his friends watching his de• parture—''The best of all is, God is . with or, and could only whisper the first two wads of a favorite psalm—l'll praise, I'll praise." His friends were, !olio linish the lines,thr Wesley's voice was to beWard no more.—Rev. Samuel Osgood. Keep it Before the PSople. The follo;ing remarks, which we find cir• entitling in our exchanges, are true as preach ing, and well worth the consideration of all L Keep it before the people—That, next to the pulpit, the press is the most potent instru meat of good to the church and the world in operation at the present day. 2. Keep it before the people—That the cheapest, casiest,and most interesting medium of conveying to a family information on a vast variety of important subjects, is through the well•stored columns of a judiciously conducted newspaper. 3. Keep it before the people—That the head of a family who refuses to subscribe and pay fur a good paper on account of its cost, "is penny-wise and pound•feolish," as he not only keeps them in ignorance of many things they ought to know, which cannot be acquired in any other way, but he excludes himself from information of practical utility, oftentimes con tained in a single number, which may be worth to him many times as much as the subscription fur the whole year. 4. Keep it before the people—That the pre paration and issue of every somber of a paper is attended with considerable labor and cost, and that it is something more than meannes3 for a man to make a practice of borrowing and reading a paper for which other people have had the honor and honesty to subscribe and pay. 5. Keep it before the people—That every well conducted paper is worth a hundred fold more than what it costs, in its influence on in dividual and public intelligence, morality and religion ; and that they are true patriots who can conscientiously noel liberally support a vigorous and enlightened press. Origin of Various Plants. Every genseman farmer ought to be somo• what acquainted with the origin and history of all ordinary plants and trees, so as to knew their nature, country and condition. Such knowledge, besides being a great source of pleasure, and very desirable, will often enable him to explain phenomena in the habits of nun• ny plants that otherwise would appear explica- Wheat, althonjt considered by some as it native of Sicily, originally came from the central table-land of Thibet, where it exists as a grass, with small mealy seeds. Rye exists wild in Siberia. Banl ,, y exists wild in the mountains of llim alnya. Oats were brought from North Africa. Millet, one species, is a native of India, an other Egypt and Abysinnia. Maize, Indian corn, is of native growth in America. Rice was brought from South Africa, whence it was When to India, and thence to Europe and America. Peas sic of unknown arigin. Peaches are natives of Germany Buckwheat came originally from Siberia:and Tartary. The Garden Bcan from the East Indies. Cabbage grows wild in Scicily and Naples. The poppy was brought from the East. The sunflower from Peru. Hops came to perfection as a wild flower in Germany. Saffron came from Egypt. The onion is also a native of Egypt. Iforsc•radish is from South Europe. Tobacco is a native 01. Virginia, Tobago, and California, Another species bas also been found wild iu Asia. The grasses are mostly native plants, and so are the clovers, except Lucerne, which is a na• tire of Seicily. The gourd is an Eastern plant. The potato is a well known native of Peru and Mexico. Coriander grows wild near the Mediterran• can. Anniso was brought from the Grecian Archi• pehigo. Cuetors EXTRACT EROM A SCOTCIT NEWS. PACER is 1807.—Copy of n painters's bill pre sented to the vestry for work done in a church: To a now pair of hands for Daniel in the lion's den, and a new set of feet for the lion- To cleaning the whale's belly, varnishing Jonah's; face, and mending his left arm. To a new skirt of Joseph's garment. To a sheet•anchor, n jurpmast, and a long boat of Noah's Ark. To giving a blush to the check of Eve, or. presenting the apple to Adam, To painting a now city in the land of Nod. To cleaning the garden of Eden after Ad. am's expulsion. To making a bridle for the Samaritan's home, and mending ono of his legs. To fitting a new handle in Moses' basket and binding bulrushes. To adding more fuel to the fire of Nebuchad nezer's funs co. Received payment, . THE OLBEST BIBLE IN AMERICA.—Dr. J. 11. Witherspoon, of Greensborough, Alab. has a manuscript Bible, which be believes on evi dence of tradition and title page, to be have been written about A.l). 840 or 830, making it over 1000 years old. It is 8 in. broad and 3 in. thick. It is written on parchment, as soft and nearly as thin as satin. The covers are of English oak, and pegs of oak are used to wedge in the thongs of deer-skin that fasten in the leaves. The pages are beautifully illuminated with red black and blue ink letters—very large at the beginning of each book. JESUIT INFLUENCES are at work to destroy the credibility to the statements of Miss Ind, ley, who escaped from the convent at Etnmets burg. tier plain .story, however, cannot be controverted, and it seems proper that legal investigation should take place. Convents are anti•republiean and anti. Christian, and should not be tolerated in this country. VOL. 19. NO. 51. t lamer. He that by the plough would thrive, Him: elf mutt either hold or drive. Agricultural Knowledge. Knowledge is something which too many of our farmers think unnecessary to be coupled with agriculture. They think it only necessary for professional men, that a farmer has neither need nor business with it, and it would be west. ing time nod money in giving agood education to a boy intended for a farmer. Now if knowl edge is useful to a professional man why could it not be to a farmer? Why could notthe latter bens much benefltted by it as the former—and would not it be of the same advantage to him? The time was when agriculture was looked upon as something of little consequence, but that time is past, and it now ranks amongthe first of sciences. Its beauteous noble parts have been brought out before the world by menof talent., and had not such nien taken them in hand, they would have been slumbering in obscurity yet; and we can only sustain it in its present posi tion, and raise it still higher, by acquiring use. ful knowledge ourselves, and by educating our children. For, couple any pursuit with ignor ance sad it sinks—link it with education it will rise. It will never do to think that, if a boy can read in the Testament, scratch a little with the pen, and solve a few questions in the Rule of Three, ho is sufficiently learned for a farmer. He might crowd hinvelf through the world with that ouch, if Nature had been with her tiffs tohitu. But withoutlthetfiekle dame's' assis• tepee, we think he would make little progress. But give him a good education, and he will go through the world honored and respected by it, be a benefit to his noble calling, and an orna• meet to society. We live in an age of improvement, audmust keep up with the march of the same. There are too many who follow in tke footsteps of their fore-fathers, and think nothing can be dune well, sinless it be performed after the fashion of their ancestors. Their modes suited their age, not ours. Fanners arc not alive to their interest as they•should be, and unless knowledge has a more general flow among them, they must remain behind the age. Many farmers cannot afford to give their sons a classical edu cation, but they may all give them a good Eng. lids education ; they have it iu their power to raise the Free School to such a grade as to have all the English branches taught in them. _ . Lei ihtni make their eons acquainted with nii the English branches, and see what a differ ence there will he in the next generation of farmers. We should not only attend to the rising gen eration, but improve ourselves by studying and reading such books and papers as are eulenla to improve us in our noble pursuit. We spend many hours in indolence and foolish conversa tion, which, if spent with useful books, would be of vast use to us. The beauties of agriculture are to an igno• rant man as though they n•ere not, therefore not appreciated by bite. He lives and sees the things grow around hitn—he knows that if he plants a certain kind of seed that it would grow and produce seed; but how it grows, and what it feeds upon he door not care to inquire. "One man there was, and many such you migh t Have met, who never had a dozen thoughts In all his life, and never changed their course; Buttold them o'er, each in its 'enstomed place, From morn till night, from youth till hoary age, Little above the ox that grazed the field, His reason rose ; so weak his memory, The name his mother called him he scarce Remembered; and his judgment so untaught, That what nt evening played along the swamp, Fantastic clad in robe of fiery hue, lie thought the devil in disguise, and fled With grieving heart and winged footsteps home, The word philosophy he never heard, Or science; never heard of liberty, Necessity, or laws of gravitation ; And never had an unbelieving doubt. Beyond his native vale be never looked ; And thought the visual line that girt him round The world's extreme, and thought the silver moon That nightly o'er him led hor virgin host, No broader than his father's shield." How different it is with the enlightened far• mer ; he derives pleasure from everything that grows around him, in watching its growth, in observing what it feeds upon. He knows by examining the soil what kinds of grain aro best adapted to it. Ho understands the philosophy of almost everything around him, and feels ready to exclaim with a celebrated poet : "Happy the man who knows the cause of things." lair Horses should be kept in warm but well ventilated stables. Every horse should have his blanket on at night ; an old piece of rag carpet will answer a good purpose when you are not disposed to incur the expense of a reg ular horse blanket. At any rate have a cov ering of some kind for your horse at night, and use the curry comb freely by day, and with ordinary- attention to his other wants, and you will have the services of a good horse for twenty or twenty-five years, instead of eight or ten, as is generally the case. KILLING Fowt.s.-..0n1y turkeys and geese should be bled to death--the flesh of the chick. en becomes dry and insipid from loss of blood.— The best plan, says the Poultry Chronicle, is to take a blunt stick, such as a child's bat, or a boy's wooden sword, and strike the bird a smart blow on the back of the neck, about the third joint from the head; death follows in moment. giarrlmter of Paris slacked limo, wood ashes, :Ind common salt, combined in due pro portions, nay, after all, at the same or lose cost be more profitable to the fartnerthan 807 manure yet known.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers