Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, March 26, 1856, Image 1

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Original gate J.
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.
PlOl7l Me w Eugheitel Plow,
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
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
.'Sister, that is not gospel truth. I be
lie vo Pope says it in his book called Easy
"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
'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
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
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
"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
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
"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.
.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
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
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 !"
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
'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
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 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-
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
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
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
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,