Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, March 26, 1856, Image 1
1-177.7477/ 1 4 .. . , , ~..., • ..,. ~ , .... 7 . ~z_itty '...- it ' t t,4/ •• .e,,,. ' .•. . . _.. ~ . . ,-......., • tt, WILLIAM BREWSTER,} EDITORS. SAM. G. WHITTAKER, Original gate J. [FOR TIM lIIINTINEDON JOURNAL.] LOVE-LIGHT OF HONE. Dir ANNA DARLING, Through sunlight and moonlight, Wherever we roam, No light gleams with bright dreams Like the love-light of home. We may glide o'er life's billow, May roam where we will, • But the home shading willow, We pine for it still. The home-blooming roses Seem richest is hue, And the sky o'er our cot or the most beautiful blue— The birds in the roof-trees With sweetest notes sing, Aud our village church bells Most melodiously ring. And greener the turf That our willing feet press, ‘Vhere the elm waves its arms, Home's loved scenes to caress— The fountain is fairer, The rivulet's flow Is fleeter and sweeter Than others enn know, The sad heart rejoices, Go wherc'er we will, To think that home voices Are echoing still ; That loved ones are bending At morn and at even— For us are asemading Petitions to Heaven. Oh, be glad in the love-light or home while ye may ; When life's duties call thee; Thou, too, must away. Through all earth's gay seeming, Wherever ye roam, Ye will find no light gleaming Like the love-light or home. *clat PlOl7l Me w Eugheitel Plow, THE PROGRESS OF SCANDAL. The good people in Tarrytown were thrown in consternation because a strange gentleman had lately taken quarters 'with the Widow Condry—yes, the veritable wo • man who had so often declared thet mcn•wore alike to her since the death of her dear husband." And had she not also shown a most profound respect for Lis me• mory, by wearing the deepest weeds for the space of two full 3.ars, although Mrs. Spi• car would insist upon it she avowed to her 1, that she considered "real handsome deep mourning the most becoming dress one could wear." Now the widow's cap was certainly very becoming to her little round face, and a I stray curl that had been coaxed to peep out ut either side when she stood alone at the mirror, somewhat heightened the effect of the plaited crape do lisse which never look-' ed soiled or turned at the edges, as if it did not like its companionship with flesh and blood. Besides, the widow was never vi sited by any but married gentlemen, with the exception of the bachelor beau, who was a privileged character, and had so of ten declared, in reference to ladies, that he felt like straying in a garden filled with choice flowers, where the gardener sorely puzzled him by permitting him to pluck but one out of the splendid show, when he de. sired a brunch of all to make his boquet complete ; and of course, such a beau would never think of enlisting the affec tions of a widow. 0 no, they always look at the twigs, not the full blown roses on thorny stems ; so that the widow Condry , s having a beau was a singular affair ; but there he sat, at the front window, with nil the ease of one perfectly at home, with his feet extended to the chair beyond him, and a newspaper front which he was culling the choicest c.items," wherewith to enter lain , he widow. The longer the man stayed, the more the people talked ; until by-and-by, when he went to church, and took the head of the pew, and walked out and waited upon his lady, Mrs. Jones said "she never did—she never could—she rely somehow believed they might be married after all;" and when Rhe communicated this to Mrs. Slack, and she told what Mrs. Jones told her—why Mrs. Frost said she had heard that many believed that the widow Condry had been engaged for many months. To be sure it was nobody's business whether the widow were married or not; but it did seem to be a great pity that one should keep so close about such an affair—and "how odd, that a bride should still retain such deep mour ning." When the sewing circle met, that week, the usual reading was omitted—one of•the number hoarse, another had a severe head ache, and a third was exceedingly anxious to finish a piece of work she began at the last meeting. "Well," said Mrs. Cummins, suppose you have heard the news-i-it's out now ;" but she whispered in a low tone to Mrs. Eberly, don't quote Ille. I wouldn't have Mrs. Condry kn )w it for the worl d; but my husband says, it he isn't greatly rms.. taken, he met Mrs. Condry with her gen• tleman last evening, walking very leisure. ly up past clay ponds—just think of it ; where could they have been in that lonely part of the town, and at night ; for"—she whispered still lower, "they do say, people in that vicinity are—well, I may as well say it, as think it—they are no better than they should be." Mrs. Eberly looked over her spec lacier' and knotted her thread, and looked intent ly upon her work but never sewed a stitch and by this time, Mrs. Flint moved her chair up to Mrs. Cummins, and said she, "You may as well tell me as not for 1 see you are terribly amused and astonished a bout something or somebody. ' , Now I live so far up town, that I tell my husband if it wasn't for coming to the circle and staying between meetings, and: going to conference meetings, I never in deed should know what is going on--and 1 at our last Friday evening's conference I couldn't get a chance to ask sister Slade what she and Mrs. Newconib was whisper ing about just as brother Cary finished his beautiful exortation--[ thought he was ve ry excellent ; he rely did seem as if the sperret moved him to utterance about the sins of the church--the vice of scandal, &c. 0, I did so wish sister Carnes had been there, she is such a busy body--not that I think sister Carnes is an unregenor ated woman, 0, no ; but she has such a love of hearing and telling what is new and strange." "Well, for my part," says Mrs. Cum mins, .1 was thinking all the while about brother Evans; You know what a man lie is to put a meaning to every one's conduct. I do declare, I raly think such sins call for a rebuke as much as heavier transgressions .you know the Bible says,.ille that steals nu me my good name, takes that which it enriches him but makes me poor in :ed." .'Sister, that is not gospel truth. I be lie vo Pope says it in his book called Easy Man." "Allow me to correct you, Mrs. Berry —you mean Pope's Essay on Man : hut you arc a little mistaken in the authorship —but I won't tell you the author, lest you should misquote me ; you have the senti ment, and t hat's enough," replied the little Miss Edgerly. "I think the love of scan• dal one of the most destructive of sins." 'O, so do I, and so do I,' was tho gener. al murmur—'but if we only dwelt more upon original sin, and the fall of man, and the good Ilopkinsian doctrine of election, ladies we should be so enlightened by the sperrit we should not need to look twice into our poor degraded natures ;' where upon all the sisters groaned a most cordial assent, and having appeased their doctri nal appetites by a few sage and moving remarks, they resumed the old subject, far dearer to their natural tastes. 'Now,' said Mrs. Flint, 'sister Cm !sings, do tell me what that story is, you and the other sisters are so interested a.. bout. Has tt anything to do.with Jake • Austin 1' .Why no ; what about brother Austin? He hasn't fallen front grace, I trust.' 'I fear he never had any grace in his heart, sister. Haven't you beard about his borrowing that money of my husband, and promising to pay the next day, and when the next day came, ho sailed to Calcutta without saying one word. But dear me, John don't allow me to speak of it. Now for your story, Mrs. Cummings.' <Well, sister, there is strange actions in the widow Condry ; that man whom you saw at church with her last Sabbath has been locked into her house for near a fort night, and folks do begin to talk, as well they may.' 'Well I never,' replied Mrs. Flint, 'l'll wager my life it was that very couple my husband and I met as we were going over to Ethan's to spend the afternoon. He's light complected, aint he ? And wears great huge whiskers, and carries a cane, and walks like a sea•captain.' 'Yes, the very same. Well, then we met 'em yesterday afternoon, but the wi dow had on a green veil and I didn't know her,' 'O, she'll drop, drop, her mourning by degrees. She will soon be clad in gar ments suited to mitigated grief, I'll war rent,' said the stylish Mrs. Singleton. 'What kind of grief, sister?' 'You'll see the article on Mrs. Condry, nretty soon.' And so they wore away the afternoon in guessing and wondering; nd being almost certain, that Mrs. Condry was a different woman from what they had supposed her —and every member told their husband about the agitating topic when she return ed house. By this means the Deacon men tioned it to the Parson, and the Parson " LIBERTY AND UNION, NOW AND FOREVER, ONE AND INSEPARABLE. " HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, MARCH 26, 1856. went himself to the widow to get satisfac tion, as to the whereabouts of the mysteri ous stranger, and the minister's wife told some of the sisters that her husband would send a letter to the next meeting of the Sewing Circle, informing them all the par ticulars elicited by such a visit of inquiry, and we append the letter for the benefit of those similarly situated. It ran thus 'DEAR SISTERS :-A rumor respecting the inexplicable conduct of Mrs. Condry, who is a member of our church, led me to investigate, as it came to be a serious affair in the eyes of many of our worthy brethren and sisters. To the first charge of her having been seen in familiar terms of friendship with a gentleman, I paid no attention; but when I was informed that she had been clandestinely married to said personage, I called upon our worthy friend and obtained the following particulars.' Here the Pastor paused, leaving the members time to adjust their glasses, throw back their cap-strings, mid give diligent at tention when he proceeded. 'I was exceedingly mortified at the ex planation which followed. Airs. Condry, about six weeks since, heard with great joy that her only brother had returned from a foreign voyage, after having been shipwrecked and cast upon a desolate is laud, and his life despaired of, so that she had heard by report of his death, ninny months since. But once more he appeared before her, and her house and hospitality of course attested her affectionate heart, which once more recognised in Capt. Guy, an only brother, to whom I was introduced in this interview. Their visit at the Coy Pounds was to give some needed aid to a poor widow whom the captain formerly knew and whose son perished on board his ill-fated ship. That he took a seat in her pew, and walked with his sister, was no strange event--but that the tongue of scan dal had assailed so fair a character as our beloved sister, was to tile a mortifying reflection. Moreover that it hail its origin in our sewing circle, I deeply regret, and that a similar scandal was there propaga itea - . 3. - - • I. ...r... to acknowledge a debt before sailing to Calcutta I regret inasmuch as Mr. Flint this - day informed me that the money was left with his wife, who delayed the pay ment until her husband's departure, owing to the pressure of his engagements. Now, my dear sisters, I grieve that such infamous tattling should be passed around our Christian circles without a shadow of proof, and on next Sabbath learning, God willing it is my intention to discourse upon .the management of the tongue, selecting for my text, 'Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth,' and I trust you will all be present to hear my exhortations. Your faithful pastor, 0. Since t. Who next spoke after the reading of the above letter, was remembered. You might have heard a pin fall on the carpet so silent was every member, and, when it became necessary to speak, Mr. Cum wings went over to Mrs. Flint to inquire of her how she canto to betray her cociffi. dence whereupon Mrs. Flint laid the blame to Mrs. Jones, and Mrs. Jones to Mrs. Allen, and such a critnination and recrimination as took place very poorly became thosl7ho professed better things. It is needless to say the circle was never so. full afterwards, nor was reading ever again omitted; but a greari — rtany of the la. dies were so ill on the following Sabbath that they were obliged to forego hearing the excellent discourse of their worthy Pastor, but he very unexpectedly repented it at the next conference meeting, and each one made such a personal application of it that they all returned to their own homes without once telling of whom they were thinking, when it was delivered, and a more charitable, lenint, anti-faultfinding, unconscious people, cannot be found than are now the good people in Tarrytown. So we perceive the love of scandal can be arrested, if the specific is seasonably administered. COURTSHIP OP JOHN ADAMS. Some ten years ago 1 spent a college vacation in the town of Weymouth, Nor folk Co., Mass. While there I attended church on Sunday morning at what was called the old Weymouth meeting-house, and heard a sermon from the venerable pas tor, Rev. Jacob Norton. About the same time I made Mr. Norton a visit, and be. !came much interested in the old gentle ! man. I mentioned my agreeble visit to an old lady of the parish whose acquaintance I had made. She Informed me that Mr. Nor ton was ordained their pastor when Ile was about twenty-one years of ago, and that he had been with them nearly forty years. She observed that most of hia parishoners could remember no other pastor; but that she could well remember his predecessor, the Rev. Mr. Smith, and that he and Mr. Norton had officiated for the last forty years. "Mr. Smith," said she, "was an excell lint man, and a very fine preacher; but he had high notions of himself and his family—in other words, he was something of an aristocrat."—.Una day she told me the following anecdote of old Parson Smith and several other persons of distinction. "Mr. Smith had two charming daugh ters. Mary was the name of the eldest ; the other's name I have forgotten. They were admired by the beaux, and envied by the belles of the country round. But while the careful guardians of the parson's family were holding consultation on the subject, it was rumored that two young lawyers, and Mr. Cranch and Mr. Adams I think both of the neighboring town of ' cyincek, were paying their addresses to tio Misses Smith. As every woman and child of a country parish of New England is acquainted with whatever occurs in the ' parson's family, all the circumstances in the courtship soon transpired. Mr. Cranch was of a respectable family of some note, was considered a young tnan of promise, and altogether worthy of the alliance he sought. lle was very accep table to Mr. Smith, and was greeted by himself and family with great respect and cordiality. 110 was received by the eldest laver; and was in fact a young man of great responsibility. He afterwards rose to the dignity of judge of the Court of Common Pleas of Massachusetts. The suitor of the 'other daughter was John Adams, who afterwards became Pres ident of the United States. But el that time, in the opinion of Mr. Smith and family, he gave but slender promise of the distinction to which he afterward ar rived. Ills petitions were scorned by all the family, excepting the young lady to whom his addresses were especially direr. ted. Mr. Smith showed him none of the ordinary ctvilit it's of the house; he •vas not asked to the hospitalities of the table, eVi - ,:;:fia - ifral..cillitt li,sullep - e__w- el •" n1- and mortification to which he was suitell for he was frequently seen shivering in the cold and gnawing the post at parson's door on long winter evenings; in short, it was reported that the parson had inti• mated to him that his ViSIL: were unac ceptable and that he would culler a favor by discontinuing them. Ile told his daughter thatTohn Adams was unworthy of her, that Its father tons an hottest man, a tradesman who had tried to initiate John into the artsof husbandry and shoemaking, but withaq success, and that he had sent hint to collets as last re sort. He liegeed his daughernot to think of making an alliance with u so much beneath her. Miss Smith sal among the ' most dutiful of daughters, lit she saw Mr. Adams through a mediu very dif fetent from that in which her .ther view-; ed him. She would not for t world of. fend or disobey her tather let still John Adams saw something in h eye and man ' nor which seemed to say 'p severe,' and ' on that hint he acted. Mr. Smith, like a good Temkin:nu father, had told that if they married with he would preach each of t' the Sabbath after the joyft that they should have t choosing the text The • eldest daughter Mary a' was united to Mr. Cranel with the approval, the ble benedictions of her hien then said : .!kly dutiful 1 ready to prepare your seri Sunday. What do yot text 1" , 'Dear father said Mary ted the latter part of the fc 'rson and af t is daughters 1 approbation, n a sermon on ocasion, and priv liege of ousal of the ed, and she I n holy bonds ngs, and the , Mr. Smith Id, I am now n for the next elect for the I have setae '-second verse p, 'Mary bath lh shall not be of the tenth chapter of choosen that good part taken away from her." 'Very good, my dame the sermon was proachtm Mr. Adams perseveree once of all opposition. I after, and on a very diffo in resistance to very difl said he; and suit in defi s many years occasioann, n opposition,s : "Sink or Perish, I give ensure.' But different, the lee he had al it of attack— lady—and he citadel must .sual hesitation an unpleasant that resistance pntested point kiblo t as.many a Rive titicl sines that he uttered these v swim, live or die, survivi my heart and hand to thi though the measure w, spirit was the Pam). I ready carried tho main the heart of the yoi knew the surrender of soon follow. After ti and delays thnt attend affair, Mr. Smith, scei was fruitless, yielded t with as much grace as. prudent fatherhae doi that time. Mr Adams was united to the lovely Miss Smith. After the marriage was over, and all things settled in quiet, Mrs. Adams remarked to her father : You preached sister Mary a sermon on the oc casion of her marriage. Wont you preach me one ?" "Yes, my dear girl, said Mr. Smith, choose your text and you shall have your sermon,' "Well, said the daughter, "I'have cho sen the thirty-third verse of the seventh chapter of Luke. 'For John cameowither eating bread nor drinking wine and ye say he hash a devil." The old lady, my informant looked me very archly in the face when she repeated this passage, and observed. "If Mary was the most dutiful daughter, I guess the other had the most wit." I could not ascertain whether the last sermon was ever preached. It may not be inappropriate to remark how well these ladies ju.tihed the preference of the distill- ' guished individuals who had sought them in marriage. Of them it will be hardly be extravagant to say, they were respec tively an honor to their husbands, the boast of their sex, and the pride of New Eng. land. Mrs. Adams in particular—who tram the elevated position in which her husband was placed, was brought before the public eye—was supposed to hold the same elevated rank with the gentle sex that Mr. Adams - did among men, and she is re ported to have rendered her husband much assistance in his multiplied labors of the pels.—*—Life Illustrated. FUNERAL EULOGY, .Redelivered in the Florida HAM of Rep , reventatives, Verbatim.) Ma. SPEAKER :-Sir, our feller citizen Mister Silas Iliggins, who was lately a member of this legislature is dead, and he died yesterday in the forenoon. He had the browncreturs, and was an uncommon individual. His character was good up to the time of his death, and he never lost his voice. He was fifty-six years old, and was taken sick before he died at his boar ding house, where beard can be had at one raru n cle'cl i . i 'Ve was an ingenus creatur, and in the early part of his life had a fa ther and mother. lie was an officer in our State militia since the last war, and was commissioned as leftenant by Genral Washington first President and comman der in chief of the army and navy of the United States, who died at Mt. Vernon deeply lamented by a large number of friends, on the 14th of December 1799 or there nbouts, and was buried after his death with military boners, and several guns was bust in tiring salutes. Sir, Mister Speaker, Genre! Washing ton presided over the great continental sandhedrum and political !meting that for , tned our Constitution ; and he was indeed a great and good man. Ho was lust in war, fust in peace and lust in the hearts of his country, and tho' he was in favor of the United States Banlc, he was a friend of ed ication, and from what he said in his fare• well address I have no doubt he would have voted for the tariff' of MG if he had been alive and hadn't died soluttime beforhund. His death was considered at the time as rather premature on account of its being bro't on by an ordinary cold. Now, Sir, Mister Speaker, such being the character of Genral Washington, I me tion that we ware crapo around the left arm of this Legislature, and adjourn till tomorrow morning as an emblem of our respects for the memory of S. Higgins who is dead, and died of the browncreturs yes terday in the forenoon. She is Dying. She is dying. Hush! she is dying.— The sunlight gleams through the plate glass windows—the room is fragrant with the swee, breath of the southern flowers— large, milk-white African lillies, roses a nightingale would stop to worship, cape jessamines, and camelias, with their glossy leaves. Through the open casement steals the music of playing fountains and the light, tompeied pleasantly by rose curtains of embroidered satin, kindles up gorgeous old paintings with a halo bright as a rain bow. It is es if fresher sunshine were fal ling earthward on the bower of beauty.— The canary sings in his gilded cage—her canary ; and the lark raises his note higher and higher on the perfumed air. Why do you clench your hands till the nails draw the rich, rosy blood through the thin skin 1 Why do you shut your teeth to gether and hiss between one word—'hash!' It's a beautiful home, I'm sure; and that lady, with her head upon your bosom, is fair as any dream vision of the painted.— Eurely nothing can be purer than that broad, high brow ; nothing brighter than those golden ourls. And she loves you, too f Ah ! yes, any one can read that in the violet eyes, raised so tenderly to your own. Ah ! that is it; your young wife loves you. She linked to yours the existence of en angel, when she knelt beside you at the marriage altar, and placed her hand in yours. For twelve long, golden, sunny months an angel walked or sat by your side, or slept in your bosom. You know it ! No mortal woman ever made your heart bow before a purity so divine ! No earthly em brace ever filled your soul with the glory from the stars; no earthly smile ever shone so unchangingly above all such noisome things as your earth worms call care and trouble. She is an angel; and other an gels have been singing to her in the long days of the pleasant June time. ..Hush," you say ; but you cannot shut out the anthem notes of Heaven from those unsealed years ! Louder higher, swell the hymns of the seraphs; and brighter grows the smile on your wif e's lips. She whispers, "Dearest, I'm almost home, and you will come by-and-bye, and I tun going to ask God to bless you! But ! you cannot bear it—you turn away, and • the big tears gather in the eyes. You held her there on your bosom all day—all night ; you are tired But you cannot answer Closer—closer you clasp the slight fair figure; painfully you press your lips to the cold brow. She is dead! What is it to you that the sunshine is bright ? 'What that its cheerful rays fall on the broad land—your lands ? What is it now—now that she can walk on them no more ? And what is death—kr death ? ! Few people knew her ; no nation will raise a monument to her memory ! But she was yours; your all! No, yours and God's ; and your era of joy is over, and she rents on his bosom now m Heaven. They have dug a grave for her. Spring flowers brigh ten over it, and the green grass smiles with daisies and violets. You go there, and sigh, and pray, and ask God if you, too, may come home? and when no answer comes, your proud heart rises up in bitter rto.a .vvi. on your tongue, you pause; for your guardian angel looks down from Heaven, and whis pers-4Huah !" To KEEP JAMS, JELLIES AND PRES EAVES FROM MOULD.—The closet in which sweetmeats are kept should be perfectly dry and cool. If that is the case, and the following recipe used, preserves will keep for years. Cut a round circle of writing paper, the size of the interior of the pot, and one about an inch and a half larger.— Take the white of an egg, and a paste brush, and lay a coating of white of egg over the surface of the smaller circle, and then lay that piece on the top of the jam, with the untouched side of the paper next to the jam. Take the larger piece, and coat that on one side with white of egg,' and let the surface thus coated be the one' turned inward. This circle is to cover the pot ; and the white of egg renders it adhe. sire, and pastes it firmly down all round the edge of the crack. REVOLUTION ANECDOTE.- 44 1t was once in my power to have shot General Wash ington !" said a British soldier to an Ame rican, as they were discussing the event of the great struggle at concluded pence. 'Why did you not shoot him, then?' ask ed the American; , you ought to have done so for the benefit of your countrymen.' 'The death of Washington would not have been for their benefit," replied the Englishman, 'for we depend upon him to treat our prisoners kindly ; and, by hen• ven ! wo would have sooner shot an officer of our own !' KILLED WIWI JIM-A shoemaker at Lowestoft suddenly dropped down dead from excitement at unexpectedly meeting his son in the streets after his return from the Crimea. He had known of his return but came upon him suddenly, and for a while did not know him. The father went home and was about to tell his wife, when ho expired. SALAD OIL —411; baby is sick, my dear.' 'Well, give it castor oil. Dennis bring up the castor oil V 'lt's all gone, sir--not a drop left.' 'Gone ! why, we have not yet opened the bottle.' 'Sure, you have it every day and I have seen you use it myself on your salad.' 'Why, you scoundrel, you don't mean to say that I've been eating castor otl every day during the salad season I" `Sure you have, sir.' 'Did you not see the bottle was labelled castor oil 1' 'Sur. I did, air, and didn't I put it in the castor every day. VOL XXI. NO. 13. tamer's Ghoul ORCHARD The Ground for an orchard should be dry soil, well drained, thoroughly and dce: ly cultivated, Every farmer who kno how to prepare his grounds for a good cro of corn or wheat, will need no direction o this point, When the ground has bee well prepared, planting is a simple matte: Dig a pretty large hole for each tree, an, after examining the roots, and cutting or all that are bruised or damaged in any way fill up the hole with fine good earth so a , to leave the tree only an inch or so deeper in the ground than it was when growin g in the nursery. The collar, or part where the trunk and roots unite, should be only slightly covered with earth. After the hole you have made is sufficiently filled with fine earth, place the tree in it, spread the roots in their natural position, fill in the earth a little.at a time, and pack it in care. fully between the roots. if after the hole is nearly filled, some water is thrown in it will aid to settling the earth firmly around the roots. Even when a tree has been removed from the nursery with great care, a large portion of the fine roots are unavoidably destroyed in the removal; consequently there are not sufficient to sustain the top, and unless the branches are pruned so as to make up for the loss of roots and thus keep up a balance between the branches and the roots, the tree will languish, and perhaps die. It will therefore be of the greatest advantage to prune pretty closely after planting. After your orchard is planted, cover the earth around the trees, two feet or more each way, with coarse manure, chip ma nure, or any convenient material that will keep the earth cool and moist, and prevent the growth of weeds. Soil and Treatment.—Different kinds of fruit require somewhat different soils, as well as different treatment. The Cherry should not be very highly manured, especially the Heart and Bigot man classes, as highly manuring causes a growth so rapid as to endanger bursting of the bark upon the body and main brunches, and also increases the danger of winter- killing. Tho Peach, also, uhhough good for no thing in a turf, or if deprived of good cul tivation and frequent stirring of the soil, is not benefited by any excess of barnyard manure. A simple crop:of wheat, oats, or other sown crop, will almost ruin a Peach orchard; while potatoes, beans, roots, and even corn will not injure the trees, especi ally if not planted too close to them. and ac • companied with light manure. Dwarf Pears, on the contrary, being worked on Quince stooks, require high cul tivation and liberal manuring. The Quince roots being fibrous, and not disposed to go deep or far for nourishment, must have a liberal supply near by, to enable them to' meet the great demand which the Pear in its productive state makes upon the roots, Soils with a considerable proportion of clay, if well cultivated, are consequently well a dapted for these trees. The Plum, also, seems to prefer a sad' soil and will bear liberal manuring. The Pear upon its own roots, that is when worked upon Pear stock, is quite ea sily suited as to soil and manure; but if highly manured, its rampant, suculent growth makes it easy prey to the fire blight if attacked. Deep and thorough stirring of the soil is generally sufficient for theta without much manure, but in poor soils manure will be necessary. The apple is perhaps the most tracta ble of all the fruits, growing upon all soils and struggling along under great difficul- ties; but it will show care and manu ring as soon as any, slid should be liberal ly manured when the soil is not already rich. Grape Vines also delight in being well manured, and will no give the best satis faction without a dry bottom, and abun dance of rich soil. Where the circumstances permit one to choose among Various soils, we should pre fer to plant Pears upon tho most clayey portions. Dwarf Pears on Quince stocks upon clay ; and if any trees are to go in cool and damp situations, plant the Dwarf Pears. Cherries, only upon dry, warm situa. tions, sandy, gravelly, stony or loamy. Peaches do best on sandy loam, gravel ly or stony land, and even upon quite poor sand. Plains., do best on clayey loam. Quinces do beat on rich clayey loam. . _ Grapes, and all the berries and mall fruit, do beat on a strong loans dry and rich,