Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, August 29, 1855, Image 1

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/ t flantillig)in 7paritaL
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masters to keep us posted up in relation to thiS
Did you ever ! No, I never I
Merry an us what a moll I
Don't ho frightened. Johnny, dear ;
Gracious ! how the jackalls yell !
Mother tell are, what's that man
Doing with that pole of his ?
Bless your precious little heart,
Ile's stirring up the beastesses !
Children, don't you go so near,
Heavens there's the Afric COW3CS
What's the matter with the child ?
Why, the monkey's tore his trowses !
Hece's the monstrous elephant,
Fin all a-tremble at the sight ;
See his mighty toothpick, boys,
Wonder if he's fastened tight ?
There's the lion—see his tail !
How he drags it on the floor !
'Sakes alive I I'm awful scared
To hear the horrid critter roar
Here's the monkeys in their cage,
Wide awake you are to see 'mu
Funny, ain't it ? How would you
Like to have a tail, awl be 'mu ?
Johnny, darling, that's the bear
That tore the naughty boy to pieces ;
Horned cattle I—only hear
How the dreadful camel wheezes !
That's the tall giratib, my boy,
Who stoops to hear the morning lark ;
'Twas him who waded Noah's flood,
And scorned the refuge of the ark.
There's the crane—the awkward bird !
Strong his neck is us a whaler's,
A lel his bill is full as long
As ever mot one from a tailor's.
Look I—just see that zebra there,
Standing safe behind the bars ;
Goodness me ! how like a flag,
All except the corner stars.
There's the hell I The birds and beasts
Now are going to be fed,
my little darling, come,
It's time for you to be abed.
Mother, 'tisn't nine o'clock !
You said you need not go before ;
Let us slay is little while—
Want to see the monkeys more.
Cries the showman—turn 'em out ;
Dim the lights I—there, that will du;
Come again tomorrow, boys,
Bring your little sisters, too!
Exit mother, half distraught,
Exit father, muttering "bore
Exit children, blubbering still,
Want to see the monkeys more.
art urchin in a bail fix.--Lattlo boys,
when they come late to school, have to
bringa written excuse explaining the cause
of their tardiness. Sow days since, an
urchin, in a city school, earuc extremely
late, but without the least fear or anxiety
depicted on his countenance. lle hud a
'sense. On handing it to the teacher, it
was opened, and read thus: "Missns----
grhale the bearer for running away."---
The model 'sense was accepted, and the
little fellow was accordingly admonished
in the region of his "sit•dowempons "--
TOM au ium mai:
few years ago I made one of the sev
enty nine passengers on board of the fast
steamer Emily Breton, bound up the Ten
nessee. A pleasant, intelligent go-ahead
captain a good steward, and a social re
fined company made the trip of pleasure,
indeed long shall I remember the saucy
Emily Breton, and her superb living
One lovely summer evening it was whis
pered that we were to have a wedding be
fore the boat reached her destination,—
said whisper started first low and near the
stern, somewhere in the vicinity of the
ladies' cabin, and speedily making its
way to the hall, the bailer, the dock, and
then to the main, like the the snow-ball
rolling down the mountain, gathering size,
from the momentum, as it rolled forward,
until the principles in the interesting scene
were not only pointed out, but the parson
With some scraps of history of each fiction
fact and surmise, all laughed up ingeni
ously, leaving one in that half pleasant
half a:niel slate of suspense and
doubt, that opens the eyes so wide and
strains the drum of the ear so light to all
transpiring around you.
Well, we landed to wood at the mg.
nificent beech bottotn, the tall heavily
leaved trees with silver gray trunks ma.
king a deep, cool shade, while the graSsy
liver, so clear, so true, that invasion only
pointed the false from the real ; wit le cut
ting this charming spot in twain, came
murmuring a crystal spring brook, soarce
ly four spans wide, to loose itself in the
mass of Tennessee waters, they in return
to be alike lost in the boundless sea.
No sooner was the staging out than
there emerged from the ladies' cabin a
fine manly looking fellow, dressed in fault
less taste, intellect beaming in every fea
ture, while over his face perfect happiness
shone like l'horus on the see. Leaning
on his arm, was the most loveable woman
it had ever been my lot to behold, her fine
hazel eyes— telltales that they were—
speaking deep emotion and her expressive
lip quivering with suppressed excitement,
while her dress step and grace, was that
of a queen.
"There they are! That's her! Oh,
how beautiful !" burst from many a lip, as
we instinctively made way to let them pass
to the altar, and where that was we had
about as clear as idea as a transcendalist
generally has of what they are talking
about. But one thing 'fun' ahead, and to
follow in their wake was the way to see it.
As the ladies passed, a gallant arm was
offered to each, and thus we marched out
of the cabin clown stairs, ac Toss the sta
ging, and up the sloping bank. Some fif
ty yards up the brook the pair stopped,
and joining hands they stood with the
clear water between them—bridged it was
by the twinning fingers of love pure as
itself. All was silent, still, until broken
by the minister reading in an impressive
manner : 'And of the rib the Lord took
from man, made he woman and brought
her to man. Adam said and this is bone
of my bone and flesh of my flesh, sho shall
be called woman because she was taken
out of man. Therefore shall a :nun cleave
unto his wife and they shall be one flesh.'
He then closed the good and holy book
and offered a most touching and beautiful
prayer,—not a heart but seemed to feel the
earnest appeal to the throne of grace.—
Then asking the usual questions he pro
nounced them husband and wife.
The bride slowly sinking on her knees,
raised her beautiful face all covered with
tears clasped her hands, and in the moat
touching sweet voice, tremulous with erne-
don, said
~ A nd now, oh, merciful Father, grant
that our lives thus united may peace
fully flow in one, oven, as this rivulet,
until wo reach the river of death, undivi
ded in faith and conduct, and be permit
ted to enjoy thine eternal smiles in th e
land of the pure and blessed."
Every pulse scorned stilled, hoping for
'more of this beautiful drama. Not a word
not a movement front all that throng—all,
all was happiness. Oh, lovely panorama,
how thou art ! The happy man was in
the act of imprinting a kiss upon the smi
ling lips of his magnificent bride, when
the clear tones of a manly voice started all
from their pleasing reveries, and the uni
versal gaze regal on a tall, handsome Ten
nesseoan, whose eagle eye spoke the man
a fit representative of the State where
sleeps a Jackson.
I can't stand it any longer. 1 can't by
—pardon lathes, but I have a proposition
to make on the good faith of a man who
never lies or trifles. I must make it or
die—so here goes; Now I will marry on
this spot to any lady who has the nerve
to face such music. Look at me, and
if you can love me as she loves (pointing
to the bride) I'll promise to be a hus
band to yoti, such a husband as a true
hearted man will make a woman who
cornea trembling under his wing. I say
further, that no spot of shame attaches to
my name, or ever shall, and this arm sup
port and protect the one that will trust it.
Who'll take me I and his eye ran slowly
and steadily over the crowd of handsome
woman around him. His earnest manner
and novel speech had aroused an intense
excitement, all were surprised and deep
sympathy with the fearless, excited orator
when, to the astonishment and delight of
every one, a lawn like, blue•eyed girl
from the flowery banks of Alabama, step
ped to his side and looked conhdently up
to his eyes with her hands on his arm, and
"I am thine."
By this, time his arm was around her
waist, and parting her curls—black as the
raven at midnight—looked steadfastly in
her face for a moment and signed the con
tract with a kiss that all the married la
dies afterwards pronounced to be of the
genuine sort, perfectly satisfactory. Rai
sing his flashing eyes with triumphant ex
pression from the pleasant job, just men
tioned, he said :
'.Where is the parson? Send him here
—on this spot we'll be made one. I never
let such luck pass by writing a minute, so
go ahead," and on that spot where they
first met, were they solemnly united for-
When the words 'what God had join
ed let no man put asunder,' died away a
shout went up that awakened the ech
oes for miles, every hand extend to the
happy, lucky venturesome fellow, and ev
ery lady in the crowd presented the lips
of his trusting wife. For a moment I
instantly recovered my self possession ;
and thrust the weakness from ine, (woman
kissing each other always seemed a waste
of sweetness but they know best.) and
lo7u - gbing, shouting and happy, we all re
turned on board.
Our generous • captain set a splendid
supper, the clerk made out two certificates
they were signed by the parson and see.
enty•four witnesses—five more made nine
you know, men and woman all told every
body signed.
Then we danced, we laughed, we made
children of ourselves. Be that as it may
when the watch was changed at solemn
noon at night, the bluffs on the dark shores
of the river returned only the echo of the
real hoarse coughing of the engine of
the Emily 13raton, for we all slept, and
our dreams vainly tried to vie with the
lovely reality of the evening.
Singular Scene—A Magician Among the
BLITZ, the magician, performed some of
his antics in the presence of the Lunatics,
in the South Boston Hospital, on Friday
last, and the impression produced on the
spectators, in some cases was very curi•
ous and interesting. 'I he females were
the most attracted by the performances, and
nearly all of them paid the most marked
attention. The men were generally grave
—even melancholy, and showed small
signs of mirthful appreciation. One of
the females watched every tuotion of the
conjurer with a most wonderful espres
sion of countenance, never smiling, and
giving her belief that Blitz was the old one
himself. Others were eager and curious:
others were smiling and pleasant ; and
one fat round faced woman laughed bois
-1 terously in her happiness. The signor's
egg bag trick was full of marvel to them.
As the signor was displaying its wonder
ful qualities, one of the stale inmates grave
ly asked to see one of the eggs, and hav
ing as gravely given his opinion that it
was sound, told the audience that the bag
belonged to Mary Queen of Scots.
At the close of the above entertainment
(says the Boston Post,) we asked tho
grave gentleman of the eggs how ho liked
the performances. "I like nothing but
holy things," said he, holding up a little
black, well worn Bible. We told him that
he smiled during the entertainment as if
he enjoyed it. "Yes," said he, quickly.
"William did." William who? was as
ked. "William, the king of Rome—Wil
liam of Orange." A deferential bow ac
knowledged his title, and he proceeded to
inform his hearers that the. Now England
ors were a set of pirates, but that there
was no chance of escaping divine wrath,
as he was assured by the books of Rovela.
tions. Ile was one of the incurable class,
a religious lunatic.
Upon each loving, happy, sorrowing,
human heart is laid, what the poet has ex
pressed to be the "burden of mortality."
To be subject to the infirmities of the
flesh, to feel the spirit's wings borne down
by petty cares and annoyances, to do that
from which all natural qualifications are
averse, these are a pert of that burden
which all must bear.
Love, which is the essence of all happi
ness, wears also on earth the shadow of
mortality. It is a subject to continual
wounds, and would oftimos die of them if
its own prayer availed ; it is subject to mis
conception ; it is rarely fathomed ; it finds
itself In a desert with only a few husks to
feed upon, and would fain in its despair go
back and forget the irrevocable past. Its
burden is too great, and heart and flesh
The happiness whioh comes sometimes
over the spirit bite the joyous rush of the
mountain waterfall, and sometimes like
the smoothly gliding rivulet, has ever blen
ded with it the taint of mortality. Our
eyes revel in the beauty of the summer
landscape, and its sweet influences quiet
and hallow the thoughts, bat there steal in
saddening memories of those whose cies:
eyes once rejoined with ours over nature's
loveliness, and we yearn to hear again the
chastened melody of voices long since
hushed into silence. To the heart once
irreparably wounded, the brightest sun
light has ever after a tinge of sadness.
The face of life is begun with energy,
hope and determination. Fate is advers,
but the soul resolves Oat it shall not yield
and pride and ambition come in to add
strength to resolve. Years roll away,
and the honest endeavor is unblessed, the
overtasked energies are listless, hope itself
recedes into the bosom of portentous cloud,
and flesh and heart fail. To toil on, the
victim of a stern necessity, without change
and without anticipation is the only life be
reft of all its value. it is the slave's cheer
less toil, looking only to a grave.
And can it be that among the varied al
' lonnents of God's providence, there can
be one destiny wholly dark, that He has
left Himself in one human heart without
a witness ? No !if upon ell He has laid
the burden of mortality so unto nil He
offered a hope in heaven.
Dost thou sorrow here for those unto
whom thy heart had grown so lovingly ?
They aro with Him who will receive thee
also, if thou wilt but keep thy feet in the
narrow way of His appointing.
Is the frail temple of thy spirit tortured
with pain ? He has a heavenly body that
ern know no suffering. propared for those
who bear patiently. Art thou o'orweried
with thine almost fruitless toil, and dost
thou long for rest, even though it be in
the repose of the grave. There m rest
prepared for the people of God, and thou
canst become one of that blessed company
if thou wilt strive for the boon.
‘ , llly heart and my flesh fail," said the
kingly Psalmist, 'but God is the strength
of my heart, and my portion forever." He
is then the only tower of strength amid
this surging sea of earthly griefs and trials.
Love may die, friondshi? grow cold, for
tune frown less rarely than smiles, ago
dark and unlovely, mny find us poor, and
forsaken : but the Friend that clinge th do•
ser than a brother, can give all love its
one, can make us rich in Ills grace, and
afford that blessed companionship that ad
:nits none nearer or dearer.
Is there one human heart that needs not
this refuge bearing at times its deep weight
of agony, striving in vain to still its wild
throbs, and breaking under the burden of
its unshedl tears? Who but God can mea
sure its capacity for joy or sorrow ? Who
but Him can deal with it tenderly, accor-
I to its needs, and heal while he probes ?
Serve him and trust in Him on earth,
! though flesh and heart may fail, for the
burden of mortality will soon be rolled off
the spirit, and it shall doubt and sorrow
and grow weary never more.
gentleman.happened to sit at church in a
pew adjoiningone in which a young lady,
for whom he had conceived a sudden and
violent passion, and was desirous of enter
ing into a courtship on the spot ; but the
place not suiting formal declaration the
exigency of the case suggested the follow
ing plan. Ile politely handed the fair la
dy the bible open, with a pin stuck in the
following text-11i1 epistle of John sth—
"And now I beseech thee, fair lady, not as
though I wrote n new commandment unto
thee, but that which we had from tho be
ginning, that we lovo one another." She
returned it, pointing to Ruth, ii, 10th—
" Then she fell on her face and bowed her
self to the ground and sold unto him, why
have I found grace in thine eyes, that
thou should take knowledge of me seeing
I run a stranger 1" He returned the book
pointing to the I Ith verse of the epistle
of John—" Having many things to write
unto you, I would not write wills paper
and ink, but I trust to come nad speak
face to face." Front this interview a mar•
riage took place the ensuing week.
A Romance of Bohemia.
The following poetic incident is told of
a young painter, who was ono of the mon
eyless adventures known in Paris as Bo
hemians :
"This hero had remained in a hotel in
Naples, living one day on a greatcoat, the
next on a pair of pantaloons," sold to a
"One morning the landlord, who saw
that the whole wardrobe must, at this rate
very soon vanish, appeared before his
guest, and said to him."
-.Bare are a hundred frances, go back
to France ; you can remit the money when
you get to Paris."
"The young Bohemian, who was a pain
tor would not accept the money so liberal.
ly offered to him, till he had legitimately
earned U.*: ,
'The . ord had a wife and two
daughters ; the Bohemian immortalized
the whole family on canvas, and included
a scullion into the bargain."
"This accomplished, he took his way to
the steamboat accompanied by the land
lord, now loth to lose him. Happy youth!
The charm that it spreads around is so
great that it melts the heart of Neapolitan
landlords !
"On the packet, our Bohemian met a
handsome young woman, to whom he did
not dare to speak, she appeared so much
of ft lady, such a noble creature !
"Nevertheless he picked up courage
graduaily, and introduced himself to the
proud beauty as a young gentleman trav
eling for instruction but who had unfcr•
tunately left his tutor in the crater of Ye•
"The bait took, and the passage of Mar
selles was delightful. But bad luck would
hare it—the horrible custom house offi
cers began to examine the luggage!
"Our Bohemian tried to steal off; but
he was kept back, his keys were forced
from him and his box opened !
It contained three paving stones!
"The trunk of the beautiful traveler
was next opened."
" , Oh, happiness ! It contained nothing
but oranges."
" , The great lady is herself nothing but a
Bohemian ! Delicious mistake ! exqui
site discovery !"
'✓They started together for Paris and
lived there happily, for an eternity of fif
teen days,"
• • •
"Take Good Care of Mother."
These words fell upon my ears while
seated in the cars, a few days since, just
ready to start on their swift passage from
Fall River to Roston.
I looked up as the speaker entered the
door, and at the same moment heard a re
sponse from a fresh young voice out•
, 0 yes, I will."
The person who had first spoken passed
to her seat, some way behind me, and I
saw her no more.
There was nothing in her appearance to
interest one at a glance, and I doubt whe
ther a more lengthened observation would
have given any impression beyond that of
a good, honest, commonsense sort of face,
yet my thoughts were busy with her all
that two hours's ride. Those simple, but
earnest words, bespoke a heart or love—a
sense of her duty as a child. My heart
warmed to her, and I wondered if she had
learned to love line, who in his dying ago
ny said :
~ Son, behold thy mother."
To the holy John it was enough to say,
"Receive her and treat her as you would
your own mother." That • would insure
all that love could think of, or roverence
command—but would it have been suffi
cient for all?
Are there not many who event to have
no thought of the respect and love due to
"Mother"—men possessed of thousands,
put away from their homes thnt poor, fee
ble parent, whose life has been consumed
in labor for them, to end the weary rem
nant of her days in the parish poor-house.
Daughters even speak too often only of
the care, and nothing of the pleasure of
taking care of mother.' Children, did
you ever think it possible that you might
some day become so cold and ohanged as
to neglect the dear mother you now caress
so fondly ?
You may—these unkind ions and daugh
ters once loved their mother too. Little
by little have they grown so clld, and so
may you unless you try to avoid it. Shell
I tell you how this may be done ? You
must think about it, pray about it, act
about it.
When you are alone at night, ay to re•
collect the many times that day your M
iler has cared for your comfort, and your
heart will swell with gratitude and love ;
and then ask God to help you to try and
return her kindness, mid keep you from
disobey ing her command,
A Battle field.
The grouping of falling men and hor
ses; the many heaped up masw of dead,
moved strangely by the living maimed
among them, showing the points where
the deadly strife had been most severe ;
the commingling of uniforms, of friends
and foes, as both lie scattered on the ground
on which they fell, the groups surrounding
this and that individual sufferer, hearing
his last words, giving to him the last drops
of water which will ever moisten his lips
upon earth ; the strechers borne from va
rious points, each carrying some officer or
private soldier, who has now the startling
feeling forced upon him, "it has come to
this, and yet there may be hope of life ;"
his excited but ovcrworn spirit, half fain
ting as it is, yet dreaming a mixed fever
ish dream of the charge in which ho met
his wound, the thoughts of home that fish
ed upon the hearts as it seemed to commit
that hearts to a moment oblivion of all else,
Then comes the first dawn of the hope
that life may be spared ; the view of hor
rid objects passed, seen with diamond eye;
hope of life growing stronger, hut with it
now a dread of some operation to be un
dergone the sound of guns still heard,
begetting a feverish, impatient desire to
know the result of the battle. Again a
partial waking up at the voice of the sur
geon ; he and his attendants seen as thro'
a mist; the defended feelings of utter week
ness causing all to seem as though they
spoke in whispers ; the still further rou
sing of the mind as the cordial adminis
tered begins to take effect ; the voice of a
comrade or friend laying close by himself
wounded, yet speaking to cheer; the ope
rations borne bravely, and felt the less as
it gives promise of a life just now seem•
ingly lost to hope; through it all fresh
news over arriving from amidst the din of
strife yet raging; all this has a life and
motion and spirit in it which mocks the
real grave horror of the scene.—EßEv. S.
0. 0811ORNII.
"Tongues in Trees."
Nice observers of nature have remarked
the variety of tones yielded by trees when
played upon by the wind. Mrs. Tremens
once asked Sir Walter Scott if he had no•
ticed that every tree gives out its peculiar
sound ? "Yes," said he, "1 have; and I
think something might be done by the
union of poetry and music to imitate those
voices, giving a different measure to the
oak, the pine, the willow, etc. There is a
Highland air of somewhat similar charac
ter, called the "Notes of the Sea Birds."
In Aery Taylor's drama, Edwin the Fair,
there a.e some pleasing lines, where the
wind is feigned to feel the want of a voice,
and to woo the trees to give him one.—
lie applied to several ; but the wanderer
rested with the pine, because her voice
was constant, soft and lowly deep ; and he
welcotned in her a mild memorial of the
ocean wave, his birth place. There is a
fine description of the storm in Goningsby,
where a sylvan language is made to swell
in the disnpasion of the tempest. "The
wind howled; the branches of the forest
stirred, and sent forth sounds like an in
carnation. Soon might be distinguished
the various voices of the mighty trees,
as they expressed their terror or their
agony. The oak roared,the beech shrie
ked, the elm sent forth its long, deep groan
while ever and anon, amid a momentary
pause, the passion of the ash was heard
in moans of thrilling anguish.
HumEnous INCIDENT.--A laughable inci
dent occurred in this country some time
since, the circumstances of which we got
from one acquainted with the transaction.
An old gentleman farmer who had two
handsome daughters, wait so cautious of
his charge, that he would not permit thew
to keep the company of young men; how
ever they adopted the following expedi
ent to enjoy the company of their lovers.
After the old Irian retired to rest, the girls
would hang n sheet out of the window,
and the beau would seize hold of the sheet,
and with the assistance of his lady love,
who tugged lustily above, would thus
gain an entrance; but it so happened that
one evening the girls hung out the sheet
too early, for the old gentleman, by some
ill-wind, was accidentally around the cor
ner, and spying the sheet, could not con
jecture the meaning of its being there;
so be caught hold and endeavored to pull
it down ; the girls above supposing it to
bo one at tl.air beaux, began to hoist, and
did not discover their mistake until the old
mica's head was level with the window sill
when one of them exclaimed. "Oh Lord
'tic dad i" and letting go the sheet sous
came down the old man on the hard
ground, dislocating one shoulder, which
convinced hint that to make .old maids' out
of his daughters was as matter sot so easily
accomplished, and withdrawing all further
opposition ki their keeping company he
was soon a father-in• law
VOL. 20. NO. 35.
*IT fnmer.
When to Bud Trees.
In the month of August, or when the
fall sap flows most freely, depends much
upon the season being early or late. With
a sharp knife cut a perpendicular incision,
about an inch long, in the shoot intended
to be budded, which must (or is best to) be
of the present summer's growth; then, at
the base of the incision, cut a horizontal
gash about three.eighths of an inch in
length ; raise or loosen the bark on each
side carefully; then take a bud off a twig
of this summer's growth, by cutting across
the twig one fourth of an inch below the
bud, of such a length as to fit in the incis
ion prepared for its reception , slip it in
carefully under the raised bark ; press
carefully together, and bind it with a coarbe
woollen string above and below the bud,
to hold the raised sides firmly down upon
the bud ; let it remain so for ;even or eight
days, then cut the string, The next
spring cut the top off the twig about an
inch above where it was budded. 'l'ho
advantages of budding over grafting are
many and obvious—first, if it does not
grow it will not injure trees. It grows fas
ter than grafts, and is much quicker and
more easily done. I have always had the
best success in budding as described above.
Wayne county, Ohio, 1855.
A Curious Fact.
The Magazine of Horticulture, says what
is in common language termed a bulbons
root is by Linnosus, termed the Hybernacle
or Winter Lodge of the young plant. These
bulbs in every respect, resemble buds, ex
cept in being produced under ground, and
include the leaves and flower in miniature,
which are to be expanded in the ensuing
spring. By cautiously cutting, in the ear
ly spring, through the concentric coats du
tulip root, longitudinally from the top to
1 the base, and taking them off successively
the whole flower of the next summer's tu
lip is beautifully seen by the naked eye,,
with its petals, pistil, and stamens ; the
flowers exist in other bulbs, in the.same
manner, but the individual flowers of oth
ers being less they are not so easily dissec
ted, or so conspicuous to the nuked eye.—
In the buds of the Daplme Mezron, and in
those of the Hepatioa„and at the base of
the Osmunda lunaria, a perfect plant of
the future year may be found, complete its
all its parts.
CoLon OF HORSEB.—A proverb says,
good horse cannot be an bad color." Do
inestication appears to have the effect of
multiplying the colors of animals. The
prevailing color of the wild F pecies is the
bay ; but Foster says that among the troops
he saw in Central Asia, the dun and gray
ish brown colors were most frequent. Bell
judges the chestnut to be the most common
in Tartarian districts. Sir Francis Held
states that many of the horses of the Pam
pas are piebald. The black is rarely found
among the Arabians. The leopard-spotted
is said to be frequent in China. With us
(England) it ranges from milk-white to
coal black. Some persons are inclined to
give the preference to the darker colors
from the fact that among animals generally
the lighter the skin the weaker the ener
gy. Load Bacon seems to have entortaih
cl the same idea, when ho asserted white
to be the color of defect.
Hoos.—Give them occasionally a table-
spoonful of a compound, three parts ashes
and one of salt, for each hog, mixed with
their food, and it will destroy the kidney
worms. For costiveness, with which they
arc often afflicted, take copperas, pulver
ised and put in a skillet, and put it Oiler a
quick fire ; it will soon boil ; then stir it
till well mixed, and take it off to cool;
then pulverize it, and give to each hog a
tablespoonful as often as the excrement
shows them to be costive. It can be mixed
with milk or other food.
LIMESTONE—Consists of 563 parts of
lime and 433 parts of carbonic acid making
100. •
In burning, the acid and water escape
in the form of steam; it it then quicklime.
On exposure to the atmosphere, it absorbs
water, slacks, and dissolves in a dry pow
der—ic is then hydrate of limo. In this
state, it should be used in farming to de-
compose vegetation, and neutralize acids
in the soil.
Lieu ON FOWLS.—A teaspoonful of tur-
pentine, to three or four ,1 sweet oil (the
turpentine, would probably take the feath•
ers ofl the poor birds,)—grease them freely
with this, and lot the rural readers know if
the vermin do not “vainose." I have no
doubt the free use of turpentine in hen
houses would rld them and their inmates
of these posts.