Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, July 04, 1855, Image 1

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‘IIUNTINGDON Jou rorm." is published at
is following rates
If paid in advance $1,50
If paid within six months niter the time of
. , .
If paid at the end of the year 2,00
And two dollars amblifty cents if not paid till
after the expiration of the year. No subscription
will be taken for a less period than six months,
and no paper will be discontinued, except at the
option of tin Editor, until all erreerages ere paid.
Subscribers living in distent connties,or in other
States, will be required to pay invariably in
The above term will be rigidly adhered
to in all eases.
Will he charged at the folloiviag rates:
I insertion. 2 do. 2 do.
Six linos or 111.1 $ 25 $ 37} $ 50
()nevi:tore, (IC line,) 50 75 100
Two " (32 ") 100 150. 200
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Business men micerti4ng by the Quarter, unit
Year or Vent, will he churged the following rates:
:Imo. 6 mo. 12 mo.
(Me square, 93 00 $5 00 $8 00
Two squares, 500 Bon 12 00
Three squares, 750 10 00 15 00
Four squares, 900 14 . 00 23 60
Five squnres, I 5 00 25 00 28 00
Tun spinrcs, 95 00 40 00 60 00
Business Cants mot exceeding six lines, one
year, $4.00.
JOB dVOfl :
4 Oiect handbills, 30 espies w• less,
Ci C. it It CC •
13 r..ttpcs, fonl,:rap or les ;, per sink goye,
" .101' 1 00
Exli, cliargeg will be mwle fur heavy
Or All letters on bminess must be roar r.utu
to secure attention., tt!-11
The Law of Newspapers.
I. Subscribers who do not girc' notice to
the contritry,lo.o Vonsitl(ol,l as 101401:1 10 continue
their subscription.
2. If subscribers Orel, the discoid ;nuance gi their
noespapers, the publisher Mall COllllOllO to send 11010
until all arfcaragcs are paid.
. . . .
a. subseriber3 lie9leet or refitse la take their
a..wspepera . freeo The qllitTA in which they are direr
r, are h,/,1 1 . 1 , , , M51 71 / 1 1+1,1/ 11 MCI/ /Wide Settled
!heir hills and them diseanlinta el.
, 0 ether platys trithord
e, had the nror,paptes are sent
lion, they tie,: held responsibk.
.1. If subserib, r.
ot;wming the 'odd,
dimmer dirte
:I. mason.: who v 0116110.; to ',wire or bike the
2 41pre . from the ialiee, are to he roosah red as sub
scriber.; n e t as such, equally responsible fbr subserip
lion, as if they had 0471ered their names entered *Ton
the publishers books.
0. The Courts hare also repeoledly decided that
.1 1 'ost Mader who neglects to perjure his duly o/
Weary oradomble notice as required by the regula
tions 4 the Post 011 ice Deportment, if i/o Hey
led 4 a person to lake fawn the 'gee, newspapers
addets,ed to hint, watery the Post Master liable 1k
the publisher fiw the subwription price.
&L I^ POATMASTFAtS are required by law
lo notify publishers by letter when their publi•
ealions are ransed or not called fur liv persons
to whom they are sent, and to give the reason
of such refusal, if known. It is also their duty
to frank all such letters. We will thank post.
masters to keep us posted up in relation to this
ma i ter. :
.... 1
Ci tCt * l O Ctril•
Instal board in Yankee-land,
We hail the Pumpkin Pie,
Where plenty crowns the frugal board,
And freedom's torches fly ;
I Oiriom treat, with brown, burnt face,
New England's dish of yore;
With thankful hearts, 110 stinted grace,
We sing its merits o'er.
Old Scotia's son, far famed in song,
For daring feat and deed,
May sing of Haggis loud and long,
And on its richness feed.
And Fuglan's bard, bravo Saxon chief',
A noble piper old,
May chant in praise of Roasted Beef,
In swelling measures hold.
Saint Patrick's merry, roving child,
A guest he every land I
If Pratoas yield,' then Pat is wild,
With open heart and hand,
The Dutchman, with no fear of gout,
In quietude and ease,
Love; most his Pipe and dish of Kraut,
llis Buttermilk and Cheese.
liui hero beneath bright freedom's sky,
that, valor won, our famous Pumpkin 190.
From morn 'till setting BIM
hannork, pastry, pork, and greens,
tht week days kt. us dine :
.o n Sundays bless the Pot °Team,
N myitio - us, rich nod fin,
1 not fading ;wily to "tho land of Ilia bal,"
Whoro ILo spirit of God shall his woutlors ra
veal ;
Ahere the glimpses of glory that fill round
me now,
•Thall ilim() like the sunbeams, my shadowless
lam fading aulty 'llar bind of the forth"
Where the angels the rine, dill., shell newel;
Where the ellgriel, sill wcary and fueling in
Shull nisi. in a of tilispeftkable bliss
My sandals are ladled by the dust 00 the way,
And my spirit {lath 'nCitth the heat or
.the day ;
lint weary, desponding, I've luck it lu the home
That ever bouts Bethlehem's star on its dome.
11111 fading away to "the land of the teal."
*hero the bloom kola the heart there's no EM
MY to steal.— •
Where 2 . surrettuded by pleasures and fountains
of Wu, .
1 shall look back unmoved on the sorrows of
i 001) BUTT En.--Butter, produced from
feeding corn fodder, cut when green, is
harder, yellower, and worth wore by the
pound, than when the cows are red on
hay. Cori) fodder; if cut when green, and
well cured, is the best for etch cows ex
rept carrot,. Cora•, ipr fodder should be
drilled in the, rate of three anti n halt
elert Cate.
'Poor woman ! What n thousand pities
it is for her !' said Mrs. Grimes, with feel
ing; wonder how she stands it. If my
husband were to act so, it would kill me.'
could never stand it in the world,'
ndded Mrs. Pius. 'lt is a dreadful situa
tion for a woman to be placed in. Mr.
Larkin used to be one of the best men, and
took the best possible care of his family.
For years there was not a happier woman
in the town than his wife, but now it
makes one's heart ache to look at her.—
Oh ! it must be one of the most heart-rend
ing things in the world to have a drunken
'Well, all I've got to say,' spoke up Mrs.
Peters, with warmth, 'is, that I don't pity
her much.'
'Why, Mrs. Pcters ! Flow can you talk
so ?'
'Well, I don't. Any wman who will
live with a drunken husband, don't deserve
pity. Why don't she leave him
, That is easier said than done, him. Pe•
should think it a great deal easier to
leave titan to live wills a drunken brute,
and have her life tormented out of her.—
If my husband were to do so, I reckon he
and I would part before many hours.'
Now, Mrs. Peter's husband was a most
excellent man— r a sober man withal, and
his wife tenderly attached to him. In re
gard to his ever becoming a drunkard, she
had as little fear of his running oil and
leaving her. Still, when sho made the
!act remark, she looked towards him (for
lie wee present) with a stern and signifi
cant expression of her countenance. This
was not really meant for him, but for the
imaginary individualshe supposed as bear
ing the relation towards her of a drunken
'You would, would you Mr. Peters re
plied to this warmly expressed resolution
uttered by his wife.
'Yes, that I would 1' half laughingly
and half seriously retorted Mrs. Peters.
'You don't knos what you are talking
about,' spoke Mrs. Grimes.
.Indeed, then, I do ! I consider any
woman a fool who will live with a drunk
en husband. For my part, I have not a
speck of syinpathy for the wives of drunk.
ards—l mean those who beggar and abuse
them. i‘kre disgusting brutes—the Very
sight of whom ought to turn a woman's
'You were never placed in such a situ
ation, and therefore are not competent to
decide how far a woman who continues to
live within husband is or is not to blame.—
For my part, I am inclined to think that,
in most cases, to live with a husband un•
der these circumstances is the least of the
two evils.'
'Phis was said by Mrs. Pitts.
think you are right there,' resumed
Mr. Peters. 'A woman feels towards her
own husband, the father of her children,
and the man who in life's spring time won
her best and purest affections, very differ
ently from what dhe does towards another
man. She knows all his good finalities,
and remembers how tenderly he has loved
her, and he would still love ber, but for
the mad infatuation front which he feels it
impossible to break away. The hope that
he will reform never leaves her. When
she looks at her children, though abused
and neglected, she cannot but hope for
their father. And this keeps her up.'
4,lny woman is a Fool to feed herself up
with such fancies. There is only one
true remedy, and that is separation.—
That's what I would do. Don't tell me
about the hope of reforming. It's all non
scone. You would not catch me breaking
my heart after that fashion for any man.—
Not I !' said Mrs. Peters.
The more Mrs. Grimes and Mrs. Pitts,
and otheropresont, argued their side of
the question, the more pertinaciously did
She maintain the proposition she assumed,
until Mr. Peters could not help feeling
seine little hurt—ho being her h , shand,
and the only one who could possit ly hold
tho relation towards whom all her indig
nation was directed—under the mgina
ry possibility of his becoming a tipdler.
Altar a while the subject was (hopped,
and at the close of the evening, the itiends
separated and went to their homes.
it was, perhaps; two months from the
period at which this conversation occurred,
that Mr. Peters left home early in the even
ing, to attend a political meeting. l'olitics
at the time running high, and hard cider
flowing as freely as water. lie was in the
habit of attending such meetings, and of
partaking of his portion of the cider, and
at times sameildivl; stronger, but as he was
a sober man of strong good sense and firm
principle, the thought of his ever parta-
king too freely, never crossed the mind of
his wife.
Regular in his habits, lie was rarely out
after ten o'clock, on any occasion. But
this time ten came, and eleven, but he was
still away. This was a circumstance so
unusual, that his wife could not help feel-
ing a degree of uneasiness. She went to
the door and listened for him, after the
clock struck eleven, and stood there for'
some time, expecting every moment to
hear the sound of his footsteps in the dis
tance. But she waited in vain, and at
last re entered the house with a troubled
At last the clock struck twelve, nod al
most at the same time she heard her hus
band at the door, endeavoring to open it
with a dead latch key. In this he was not
successful, for seine cause, and thinking
she might have turned the key on him,
she went to the door and trying the key,
she found she had not locked it.
As she lifted the latch, the door was
thrown suddenly against her, and her hus
band came staggering in. As he passed
her, he struck against the wall of the pas
sage—rebounded—struck the other side,
and then fell heavily upon the floor.
The dreadful truth instantly flashed up
on her. He was drunk. For a moment
her heart ceased to beat, her head reeled,
and she had to !ma against the wall to
keep from falling. Then all the tender
emotions of her heart rushed into activity.
With almost superhuman strength she
raised him up, although a large man, and
supported him with her arm until she got
him up stairs, and laid him upon the bed.
By this time he seemed perfectly stupid,
and only mumbled incoherent replies to
the frequent and tender importunities of
his wife.
After some time she got him undressed
and is bed. But he,grew more and more
stupid every moment.
.0h ! what if he should die !". the poor
wife moaned anxiously, while the tears
that had at first gushed out still continued
to flow freely. She also washed his face
with cold water, and tried various means
to arouso him from the lethargy of drunk
enness. But all to no purpose.
At last, despairing of success, she laid
down beside him in tears, threw her arms
around his neck, and laid her face tender
ly against his. She had laid thus for about
five minutes, when her husband called her
name in a whisper.
'Oh, how eagerly did she listen, after
her response to his call.
If my husVand were to do so.'
As he said this in a whisper, but a very
impressive one, ho looked her steadily in
the face, with a roguish twinkle of the
eyes, and a quivering of the lips, the
muscles of which, could with difficulty be
restrained from wreathing those expres
sive organs into a merry smile.
Mrs. Peters understood the whole scene
in a moment, and boxed her husband's ears
soundly on the spot, for joy, while ho
laughed until his sides ached as bad as his
In all after discussion upon the various
unfortunate relations of man and wife,
Mrs. Peters was very careful how she de
clared her course of action, were she pla
ced under similar circumstances. If in
any case, she was led unthinkingly to dp
so, the remark of her husband, made with
a peculiar inflection of the voice, 'Oh,
yes ! If my husband were to do so,"—had
the happiest eflbct imaginable, and instant
ly put an end to the unprofitable discus
e t e,,,,,,,No....m.vasmourmaxwammugsmar...
I was a witness to events of a less peace
ful character. Ond day when I went out
to my woodpile, or rather to my pile of
stumps, I observed two large ants, the one
red, the other larger, nearly half an inch
long, and black, fiercely contending with
one another. Having once got hold they
never let go, but struggled and rolled on
the chips incessantly. Looking farther, I
was surprised to find that the chips were
covered with such combatants, that it was
not a thulium but a tcllum, a war betweet;
two races of ants, the red always pitted
against the black, and frequently two red
ones to one black. The legions of these
Myrmidons covered all the hills and vales
in my wood yard, and the ground was al
ready strewn with the dead and dying,
both red and black. It was the only bat
tle-field which I have ever witnessed, the
only battle-field I ever trod while the hat
tie was raging ; internecine war ; the red
republicans on the ono hand, an I the black
impe.rialists on the rah,. tin side
they were engaged in deadly combat, yet
without any noise that I could hear, and
human soldiers never fought so resolutely
I watched a couple that were locked in
each other's embraces, in a little sunny val
ley amid the chips, now at noonday pre
pared to fight till the sun went down, or
life went out. The smaller red champion
had fastened himself like a vice to his ad
versary's front, and through all the tum
bling on that field, never for an instant
ceased to gnaw at one of his feelers near
the root, having already caused the other
to go by the board ; while the stronger
black ono dashed him from side to side,
and, as I saw on looking nearer, had alrea
dy divested him of several otitis members.
fought with more pertinacity than bull
dogs. Neither manifested the least dispo
sition to retreat. It was evident that their
battle-cry was conquer or die. In the
meanwhile there came along a single red
ant on the the hill-side of this valley, evi
dently full of excitement, who either had
despatched his foe, or had not yet taken
part in the battle ; probably tho latter, for
he had lost none of his limbs ; whose mo
ther had charged him to return with his
shield or upon it. Or perhaps he was
I some Achilles, who had nourished his
wrath apart, and had now come to avenge
or rescue his Patroclus. He saw this un
equal combat from afar,—for the blacks
were nearly twice the size of"ths red—he
drew near wish rapid pace till he stood on
his guard within half an inch of the com
batants ; then watching his opportunity,
ho sprang upon the black warrior, and
commenced his operation near the root of
his right fore leg, leaving the foe to select
among his own members ; and so there
were three united for life, as if a new kind
of attraction had been invented which put
all other locks and cements to a shame. I
should not have wondered by- this time to
find that they had their respediive musical
bands stationed on some eminent chip, and
playing their national airs the while, to
excite the slow and cheer the dying com
batants. I v. , myself e.7ci:ccl somewhat
even as if they had been men. The more
you think of it, the less is the difference.
And certainly there is no fight recorded in
Concord history, at least, if in the history
of America, that will bear a moment's
comparison with this, whether for the num
bets engaged in it, or for the patriotism
and heroism displayed. For numbers and
for carnage it was an Austerlitz or Dres
den. Concord Fight 1 Two killed on the
patriots, side, and Luther Blanchard
wounded ? Why here every ant was a
Buttrick,—"Fire ! for God's sake fire !
and thousands shared the fate of Davis
and Homer. There was not one hireling
there. I have no doubt that it was a prin
ciple they fought for, as much as our an
cestors, end not to avoid a three penny
tax on their tea; and the results of this
tattle will be as important anl memorable
to those whom it concerns as those of the
battle of Bunker Bill, at least.
I took up the chip on which the three
I have particularly described were strug.
gling, carried it into my house and placed
it under a tumbler on my windoiv-sill in
order to see the issue. Holding a micro
scope to the first mentioned red ant, I saw
that though he was assiduously gnawing
, at the nere fore-leg of his enemy, having
severed his . remaining feeler, his own
breast was all torn away, exposing what
vitals he had there to the jaws of the
black warrior, whose breast-plate was ap
parently too thick for him to pierce ; and
the dark carbuncles of the sufferers oyes
shone with ferocity such as war only can
extite. They struggled half an hour lon
ger under the tumbler, and when I looked
again the black soldier had severed the
heads of his foes from their bodies, and
their still living bodies were hanging on
either side of him like ghastly trophies nt,
his saddle bow, still apparently, as firmly
fastened as ever and he was endeavoring
with feeble struggles, being without feel
ers and with only the remnant of a leg,
and I know not how many other wounds,
to divest himself of them ; which at length
after half nn hour or more, ho accomplish
ed. I raised the glass, and ho went off
over the window-sill in that cripplecl o state.
Whether lie finally survived that combat,
and spent the remainder of his days in
Caine Hotel des lnvalides, I do not know ;
but I thought that his industry would not
be worth much thereafter. I never lear
ned which party was victorious, nor the
cause of the war; but I felt for the rest of
that day as if I had lay feelings excited
and harrowed by witnessing the struggle,
the ferocity and carnage, of a human bat
tle before my door.— Thorrates lye in
lLr ll'oodc
- r The hie of 111.111 is n colitactcd
Seimon on " De Sheep."
"De lubly anamilo, de sheep, spoken ob
in de tex am konsidered won ob de mcx
inosent an' abused fellers seen in de spel
lin's book. He am a full-bludded wully
heel, an' alters sticks to de party. In lack,
you seldom see dem soperated de wun
from do odder, for do poet says slat
"Sheep of a mu I
All flock to one skool,"
An' Bats a fack ; for I nebber seed eny class
ob de community stick tegedder so klose
as dese fellers, not even de Cluackers or de
Jews, an' dey tillers does roller dere lend
ers wid do same blind devotion dot do pot
ytishuos do dere different feeders ; an' to
splain pis kuharity, I'll tell you little anic•
!tote dat happened to okkur to me a berry
long time ago : One day, when I was yon•
ger dan I am now, and fibbed on my good
old massa's plantashun, afore de great leb.
,beler, Deft, hum long an' horrid him offto
de berrin ground, I war a gwane to Into corn
in de feeld, an' I trowel my hoe ober my
sholder, an' started. In gettin' to de kora
feeld I had to cross a pastor lot whar a hole
flock ob sheep war a gratin.' When I
jumped ober de fence (ley set up a terable
blattin', dat sound like a Icamp-meetin, an'
dey all run to de oder side oh de lot, jis
whar I a-g Wane. Well, de sun had got
up a good while afore brexfuss dat morn•
in' an' he make illy shedder on de gross'
look twice as big as me, an' •my hoe.han•
file's shad& r look as long as a well-sweep.
Well, when dese foolish sheep seed me a
kummin' towards 'em.•do olc ue.ram rush
ed past me, an' when loom to de shadder
ob de hoe-handel he jumped four feet high
to gil ober it, an' ef ebery sheep in de hole
flock war'nt fool enuf to do de same ling, I
hope I may nebber hab my sallery raised
to a libbin' pint. IWI d full I swet like a
race boss to see de sheep jump, and den I
tort dar am odder fools in dis world 'sides
dem, dot mistake de shadder for de sub.
stance, ebery day.
"De oldest ram airi ginerly de feeder ob
de flock, an' he allers looks in de face like
a man newly shabed an' powdered. Yon
will know Mr. Rex by his horn, aldo he
can't conwediently blow it. lle wares it
more for ornament dan use. Ile moss oi
lers lab too, an' dey am sitewated on de
hed, jis like dey tun on a good many sheep's
hefts found 'mong mankind.'
Serenading a Young Lady.
In my young clays, says the editor of
an exchange paper, I was extravagantly
fond of attending parties, and was some•
what celebrated for playing tho flute ;
hence, it was generally expected when an
invitation was extended, that my flute was
to accompany me.
I visited a splendid party one evening,
and was called upon to favor the company
with a tune on the flute. I, of course, Ml
' mediately complied with the request.—
The company appedred to be delighted,
but more particu lady ro, was a young la
dy, who raised her hands, and exclaimed
that it was beautiful, &c. I, of course,
was highly flattered, and immediately for•
med a resolution to serenade the young la
dy on the following bight. Previous to
leaving the party, I made inquiry respec
ling her residence. I started the next
night, in company with several young
friends, and arrived at the lady's residence
but made a most glorious mistake by get
ting under the window of an old Quaker.
'Now, boys,' said I, 'behold the senti
mentality of this young Indy the moment
I strike up the Last Rose of Summer."
I struck up, but the window remained
closed. The boys smiled.
'Oh !' said I, that's nothing; it would
not be in good taste to open thu window on
the first air.'
I next struck up on "Old Robin Gray."
Still the window remained closed. The
boys snickered, and I felt somewhat
, Once more, boys,' said T, 'and she must
I struck ap ngsin—.My love is like the
red, red rose.' Stid there was no demon
'Boys,' said 1, she's a humbug.' Let
us sing , Ilmno sweet Heine,' and if that
don't bring her, wo will give her up.'
We struck up, and ILR we liniShed the
last line the window was raised.
, That's the ticket, boys,' said 1,1 knew
we could fetch her.'
But instead of the beautiful young lady,
it turned out to be the old Quaker, its his
night cap and dressing gown.
'Friend,' said he, thee was singing of
thy sweet home—and if I recollect right,
thee said them was no place like home ;--
why don't thee go to thy home ? Thee
is not wanted here—thee nor any thy par.
ty. Farewell
We and oilt hot, went tutor
The Shadow of Death.
Wo have rarely met with apything more
beautiful than the following, which we
find in an exchange paper :
"All that liv oust dio,
Massing through Naturo to Eternity.
Men seldom think of the great event of
death until the dark shadows fall across
their own path, hiding fomver from their
eyes the faces of the loved one whose liv
ing smile was the sunlight of their exis
tence. Death is the great antagonism of
life, and the cold thought of the tomb, is the
skeleton at all our feasts. We do not want
to go through the dark valley altho' its
passage may lead to paradise; and with
Charles Lamb, we do not wish to lie down
in the mouldy grave, even with kings and
princes for our bell fellows. But the fact
of nature is inexorable. There is no ap.'
peal or reprieve from the law that dooms
us to dust. We flourish and fade like the
leaves of the forest : and the fairest flower
that blooms and withers in a day, has not a
frailer hold on life than the mightiest mon.
arch that has ever shook the earth by his
footsteps. Generations of men appear and
vanish like the grass, and the countless
multitude that swarms the world today
will to-morrow disappear like the footprint
on the shore.
"Soon as the rising tide shell beat.
Each trace will vanish from the sand."
In the beautiful drama of lon, the in•
stirict of immortality so eloquently uttered
by the death devLtod Greek, finds a deep
response in every thoughtful soul. When
about to yield his young existence as a
sacrifice to fate, his betrothed Clemanthe
asked if they shall not meet again, to which
he replies:
have asked that dreadful question of
the hills that look eternal ; of the flowing
streams that flow forever ; of the stars a
mong whose fields of azure my raised spir
it bath walked in glory. All were dumb.
But whiie I gaze upon their living face, I
feel there's something in the love which
mantles through its beauty that cannot
wholly perish. \Vo shall meet again,
The Love otl, Trne Woman
Oh ! the priceless value of the love of a
true woman ! Gold cannot purchase a
gem so precious! Titles and honors con
fer upon the heart no such serene happi
ness. In our darkest moments, when dis
appointment and ingratitude, with corrod
ing care, gather around, and even the gaunt
form of poverty menaces with skeleton
finger, it gloams around the soul with an
angel's smile. 'Time cannot mar the bril
liancy, distance but strengthens its influ
ence, bolts and bars cannot limit its pro
gress, it follows the prisoner into his dark
cell, and sweetens the home morsel that
appeases his hunger, and in the silence of
midnight it plays around his heart, and in
his dreams he folds to his bosom the form
of her who loves on still, though the world
has turned coldly front him. The couch
made by the hand of a loved one, is soft
to the weary limbs of the sick ssllkrer,
and the potion administered by the hand
of a loved one loses half its bitterness.—
The pi llowearefully adjusted by her brings
repose to the fevered brain, and her words
of kind encouragement revive the sinking
spirit. It would almost seem that God,
compassionnting woman's first frailty, had
planted this jewel in her breast, whose
heaven-like influence should cast into for
getfulness man's remembrance of the Full,
by building up in'his heart another Eden,
where perennial flowers forever bloom,
and crystal wz;ters gush from exhaustless
What about a youngster's dress is he
more proud of than his pockets ? Does
his mother forget to insert a pocket in his
apron she is quickly reminded of it and
obtains nq peace until the omission is sup
plied. What mother ever finished her
boy's first pantaloons without a pocket on
either side ? And with his legs encased
in the little cloth tubes, as he struts off,
where are his hands has his 'nether
lost her thimble, where can she find it 9
Is anything ever suffered to lie loose on
the floor, small enough to go in his pock
, et? And at a later stage of life; when the
world'S goods begin to attract his atten
tion, and that decidedly human nature
commences stealing over hint, end his
pockets are larger, and he has more of
them, are they less used ? Let the follow
ing exposition answer : A mother in a
neighboring village says she emptied her
hopeful son's pockets the other day, and
the following articles were brought to
light : Sixteen marbles, one top, an oyster
shell, two pieces of brick, one doughnut, a
piece of curry comb, ono paint brush, three
wax ends, a handful of corks, a chisel,
two broken knives, a skate strap, three
buckles, two ptinwrs, five hen's egt; , and
VOL. 20. N O. 27.
Ifor #le farmer.
BUCIpVIIBAT.—Few crops can be turned
to better account on a poor, light, gravelly
soil, than buckwheat. It possesses a client.
action on the soil by which the coarse par
ticle are disintegrated, rendered finer, and
the soil is thereby improved. Pure inor
ganic earth—that is, earth unmixed with
animal or vegetable matter—is produced
by the disintegration, or pulverizing of
rocks. Silex, or sand, is the oxide, or rust
of cilicum ;or to make it more familiar, it
is pulverized quartz, Clay is produced
by the decomposition of feldspar. Now
all the quartz and feldspar in the world,
while existing in the form of rocks, will
not produce a blade of grass.; it is only de
composed, or pulverized ; and the finer
the particles, the better the soil.
If a soil, then, is coarse, the object of
the farmer should be to pulverize it which
can only be done by some chemical:appli
cation, or the growing of some crop which
has that chemical power. Buckwheat,
by a process yet undiscovered, has that
power, and the longer it is cultivated, on a
given piece of ground, the finer will be the
particles of the soil. It injures land for
corn, but leaves it in fine order for pota
toes, and is the best c.rop to kill out buSh
e4, wild grass, and mellow greensward.—
To fit the land for the next succeeding
crop, in rotation, blow in a cry• - of buck.
wheat in blossoms.
As a food for man, except in small quan
tities, we could not recommend it, as cakes
made from it though light when hot, and
heavy as cold liver when cold. A con•
stint use of it has a tendency also, to pro.
duce cutaneous diseases ; but boiled pots.
toes apples or pumpkins, it is first rate for
hogs. IV hen ground, it is excellent for
milk cows. Fed raw, or left standing in
the field, it is great for Shanghais (they
being allowed to harvest for themselves.)
The blossoms aflord material for the very
best honey, and at a season of the year
when other flowers arc gone.
It should 'never be given, in any form,
to horses, as it bloats rather than fattens
them —Ohio Farmer.
HOME-MADE GUANO.-S. B. Halliday,
of Providence, Rhode Island, has a process
by which he can convert the fish that
swarm our coast every season into an arti
cle like Guano, at less than half the cost
of the Peruvian article, and Professor Hare.
of Philadelphia, thinks it equally as vallia
ble. Mr. Halliday says .
"I am able to say very confidently that
this product can be afforded at $25 per tot
and pay the manufacturer more than 50
per cent. The oil (according to Drs Jack.
son and Hare) being almost valueless for
fertilizing purposes, it is first taken from,
the fish, and then converted int ) Guano.
The first cost of the fish is about $2 per
ten, and containing nearly 3 per cent of
oil ; the oil will pay for the fish and nearly
for the labor in manufacturing. By my
own experhaents I thoroughly demonstra
ted rendering of fish into guano. I then
consulted Dr. Hare, of Philadelphia, who,
I ascertained, had experimented extensive •
ly and successfully. I obtained from him
his processes, and have received consider
able instruction from him on the subject.—
I have also consulted Dr. Jackson more re•
contly. These gentlemen, and all with
whom I have consulted, agree as to the
great value of this great fertilizer." •
LIMN FOR THE WHEAT Minoz.—lt iSre.
ported among the weevil doctors, that sla.
Iced lime, sown upon the standing grain,
will prove a sure remedy for this great
modern enemy of our wheat crops. We
have a good deal more faith in this than in
the chloroform remedy lately proposed
and tried with so much ridiculous gravity
by some of ourscientific magnates at Wash•
ington. The test with lime is easily tried,
and in view of the importance of the sub
ject, we hope farmers will give it a fair
trial, nt the time the wheat is. most expo
sed to the attacks of the midge, which will
be about the time the grain is ready to sef,
rind while the berry is coming in milk.—
Let us have tho everiments. A bushel
of slaked lime is said to be sufficient for
an acre.
DIFFEIiENCE.-A black luau once
came to Philadelphia and attended church.
lie went into a good pew, nod the next
neighbor tusked the man who owned it,
why he put a nigger into his pew.
'\Vhy, sir, he's a Hayden.'
;can't help that ; he's black.'
'Why, sir, he's a correspondent et wine.'
‘Can't help that ; he's black.'
'I k's worth a million of dollars !'
'lntroduce tne.'
Sgr NIA.' hAv thr ,titt