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Jktkimt Countn im0^i?a] TERM S-12 a y e a r . “ l-iberty, Fraterniity, apa E^ua,i|ty^» 50 IN ADVANCE. TOLTOIE II. HEEKIMER, WEBNESDAI tOEiitlM, APRIL B7, 1851 lUMBER 84. I-ITBI.ISHED B V E h T WET1NESDA.Y MOENINO At nei*k.imer, .Hcrlt. Co., Bf. Y* ROBERT EARL, | „ C. C. W ITH E RSTINEi B coprtetoss . TERM S.—The Democrat will be left at the residence o f village subscribers at $2,00 a year. Mail subscribers, $2,00 per year, or $1 Sffdn- advance. _ __________ _ Rates of Advertisiag. One square or less, one insertion,.; .$0 50 Each subsequent insertion,............. .. 0 25 One square 3 m onths, ....................... 3 00 One square 6 months, ....................... S bO One square one year, ................. 8 00 EXF'A liberal deduction w ill be made to those whoadvertise by the year. BOOK AND JOB PRINTING In all its branches, executed with neatness and dispatch, and on reasonable terms. w ill be duly recognized by us. SELECT POETRY. KEEP IN STEP. A y ! the world keeps moving forward Like an army marching by; Heardear youou notot thathat heavyeavy footfallootfall y n t h f That resounded to the sky? Some hold spirits bear the banner— Souls of sweetness chant the song— Lips of energy and fervoir Make the timid-hearted strong! Like brave soldiers we march-forward: If you linger or turn hack. You must look to get a jostling While you stand upon the track. Keep in step! My good neighbor, Master Standstill, Gazes on it as it g o es; Not quite sure but he is dreaming In his afternoon’s repose! ‘ ‘ Nothing good,” he says, can issue From this endless moving on; Ancient laws and institutions Are decaying or are gone: We are rushing on to ruin With our mad, netvfangled ways.” While he speaks, a thousand voices, As the heart of one Ujan say- Keep in step! jighhor, will you join ns, urn to “ goodod old ways?*’ Or return to “ go o ike again the fig leaf apror Of old Adam’s ancient daj f become a hardv Briton— Beard the Lion in his lair, ad lie down to dainty slum Wrapped in skin of shaggy bear? ear the hut aojid the forest, Skim the wave in light canoe?— do not like it, ^B^e Rear the hut aojid the fores Skim the wave in ligl Ah, I see you do not like it, I'hen, i f these “ old ways” wont do. Keep in step! Be assured, good Mr. Stand.Still, All-wise Providence designed Aspiration and progression For the yearning human mind; Generations left thgir blessings In the relics of their skill Generations yet are longing For greater glory s till; And the shades of our forefathers A re not jealous o f o u r We but follow where they W e b u t go w h e re th e y d( beckon, Keep in step! One detachment of our army mp upon the hill, lerer in the valley hifoa iGth i May enjoy its own sweet will. This may answer to one watch-word, That maylay echoho to another;nother; ec to a unity and concord They discern thi But in Breast to breast they’re each is brother! marching onward ful way. hinder. —London Paper. r let or stay— Keep in step! body’s, but labored in bis cornfield pa tiently awaiting the result of bis ma chinations. The ne.Yt day Mr. Gusset was seated with the old folks and their “ darter” in the best room o f the Peabody man sion, chatting as pleasantly as may be, when the door opened, and in rushed a very dirty and very' furious Irish wp- “ is i t there ye are. Mister Corneli us?” she screamed, addressing the as tonished Gusset. “ Come out of that, before I fetch ye, ye spalpeen! Is that what ye promised me afore the praste, ye hathen nager. Runnin’ away from me and the childer, forsakin’ yer larful wedded wife, and runnin’ after the Yankee gals, ye infidel.” “ Woman, there must be some mis take here,” stammered Gusset, “ taken all aback” by this charge. “ Divii a bit of mistake ye sarpint.- 0, wira ! wira ! was it for the likes of ye t sacked little Dinnis MfeCarty, who loved the ground I throd on, and all I hain’t secrets'fr^m ye, that Gus- 1 , ----- .-..j * ------- 1 — _ set never-see\ them women afore the day they came stompin’ igto your house bekase ye promised to make a lady of me, ye durty thief of the worruld ! Will ye cpme along to the railroad sta tion, where I left little Patric, because he was too sick vVjd the small pox to come any furder, or will ye wait till I drag ye?” “ Go—go—along,” gasped .Gusset; “ go—and I’ll follow you/’ ' He thought it best to temporize. “ I giv’ ye tin minits,” said the vira go ; “ if ye ain’t there, it’s my cuzzin, Mr. Thaddy Mulgruddery, will be af ter ye, ye thief.” And away went this “ unbidden guest.” Mr. Gusset was yet engaged in stain- mering out a-denial of all knowledge of the virago, when the parlor door again opened, and a little black-eyed, batchet- feced woman, in a flashy silk gown, and a cap with many ribbons perched on the top of her head, invaded the sanctity of the parlor. Is he here?” she cried, in a deci- French accent. Then she added, h a scream, ‘ A h ! mon dieu t U viola ? Zere he is. Traitre mopster ! Vat for you run away .from ffic? two tree year I nevair see you, nevair, ,nd my heart broke ver bad entirely.” “ Wbo are you?” cried Gus|et, his eyes starting out o f his head aaifl shiv ering- from bead to foot, r, < “ He asks me who ,1 api. 0 , ladies ! O, you ver respectable old’ gentilhom- me 1 hear vat he asks I W|i0Ll ato, fZrfide'!' ^ I I’m-yom-vifet” “ I never see you ’fore—s’ help me -Bob !” cried Gusset, energeticallyi Don’t you swear I” said Deacon Peabody, “ ef you do, I’ll kick you into fits, by golly 1 I won’t hev no prolane or vulgar language in my hodSe.” “ O, bless you ! bless you ! respect able old man. Tell him he must come viz me. Tell him I have spake to ze constable. Tell him— sobs choked her utterance. “ It’s a pesky bad business!” said the deacon, chafing with unwonted ire. “ Gusset, you’re a rascal.” “ Take, care, Deacon Peabody, take care!” said the unfortunate shop- icpei fruit, Suke,” said Jonathan, suggest ively. Susan was silent. “ Golang F” exclaimed Jonathan, putting the “ braid” on the black horse. “ Have you any idee where we’re going, Suke?” ,, “ rm going to the village.” ** No you ain’t ; yjju’re goin’ long ’ere “ Where to?” “ Providence. And you don’t come back till you’re Mrs. Doubikins, no fibw you can fix it.” “ How you talk, Jonathan !” “ Darn the old folks!” cried Jona than, putting on the string again. “ Ef I was to leave you with them much longer, they’d be tradin-’ you off on to some city fellur with half a dozen wives, already.” The next day, Mr. and Mrs, Doubi kins were returning home j, in their chaise, Jonathan said confidentially “ May as well tell ye fiow, Suke, for. and blowed him up. I had though.- Cost me ten., dollars, by thunder I I reached ’em what to say, and I expect they done it well. Old Gusset may be a sharp shopkeeper, but if he expects to get aheadof Jonathan Doubikins, he must get up a plaguier sight airlier a ’ mornings !’A “ OiTLY A CHILD.’’ ’ “ Who is buried here ?” 'said I to the sexton. “ Only a child, ma’am.” Only a child ! Oh ! had you been a a mother—bad you nightly pillowed that little golden head—hud you slept the sweeter for that little velvet hand upon your breast—had you waited for the first intelligent glance of those blue eyes—had you wu^hed its slumbers, tracing the i^atures of him who stole your girlish heart away—had you Wept widow’s tears over its unconscious bead^^had your desolate, timid heart gained courage from that little piping Voice, to wrestle with the jostling crown Tor bread—had its loving smiles and prattling words been sweet. recompense for such sad exposure—had the lonely future been brightened by the hope of that young arm to lean up on, that bright eye for guiding star— had you never framed a plan, or known a hope or fear, of which that child was TflE TALE-TELLER. FOILING A RIVAL. “ The critter loves m e! I know she loves me I” said Jonathan DoublkinSj as he sat upon the cornfield ferie'ej med itating on the course of his true love, that was running just as Shakspeare always said it did—rather roughly.— “ If Sukey Peabody has taken a shine to that gavvky, long-shanked, stammer in’, shy critter Gusset, jest ’cause he’s a city fellur, she ain’t the gal I took her for—that’s sartin. No ! it’s the old folks—darn their ugly pictures !-^ Old Miss Peabody was allers a dread ful high-falutia’ critter, full of big no tions, and the old man’s a regular soft head, driven about by his wife just as our old one eyed rooster is drove about by our cantakerours five-toed Dorkin’ hen. But if I don't spile his fun, my name ain’t Jonathan, I’m going down to the city by the railroad next week, and when I come back, wake snakes, that’s all.” The above soliloquy may serve to give the reader some slight idea of the “ lay of the land” iatb e pleasant rus tic village where the shaker resided. Mr. Jonathan Dubikins was a young farmer well to do in the world, and looking out for a wife, and had been paying his addresses to Miss Siisaii Peabody, the only child oJP-*jfteacon El derberry Peabody, of thal^fc' with a fair prospect of success, a city acquaintance of the Peabody’s, one Mr. Gornelius Gusset, who kept a retail dry-goods shop in Hanover street, Bos-^ ton, had suddenly made bis appearance in the field, and had commenced the “ cutting out” game.- Dazzled with of her aspiring mamma, the villi beauty has begun to waver, when old lover determined on a last and bold itroke to foil his rival. He went to the city and returned ; of bis business there he said nothing—n5t even to a pumping maiden aunt who kept house for Mm. He went not near the Ped- *I remarked you was a rascal. Gus set. You’ve gone and married two wives, and that ’ere’s flat burglary, ef I know anything ’beout the Revised Statoots.” “ Two wives !” shrieked the French woman. ^ “ Half a dozen, for aught I know to the contrary I” said the deacon.—^ “ Now you clear out of my IBSuse, go way to the station, and clear out into Boston* 1 won’t hev nothin’ more to do wdth you.” But deacon ! hear me.” “ I don’t want to hear ye, ye sar pint !’’ cried the deacon, stopping his ears with his hands. “ Marryin’ two wives, and cornin’ courtin’ a third.— Go long I clear out !” EVen Mrs. Peabody, wbo was in clined to put in a word for the culprit, Was silenced, Susan turned from him in horror, and in utter despair he fled to the railway station, hotly pursued by the clamorous and indignant French woman. That same afternoon, as Miss Susan Peabody was walking toward the vil lage, she was overtaken by Jonathan Doubikins, dressed in his best, and driving his fast going horse before his Sunday go-to-meeting chaise. He reined up, ahd accosted her. “ Hallo, Suke; get-in and take ride?” “ Don’t keer if I do, Jonathan,” re plied the young lady, accepting the proffered seat. “ I say—you,” said Jonathan, grin ning, “ that ’ere city fellur’s turned out a poodv pup, ain’t be?” “ It’s dreadful, if it’s true,” replied the young lady. “ You bed a narrer escape, ye?” pursued the old lover. “ But he. warn’t never o f no account, any hOw. What do the old folks think abeoutit ?” “ They hain’t said a word sence he cleared out.” “ Forgot that night I rode you home from singing school?” said Jonathan, suddenly branching off. “ No, r hain’t,” replied the young la dy, blushing and smiling at the same “ Remember them apples I gin you ?” “ 0 , yes.” “ Well, they was good—wasn’t they?” “ First rate, Jonathan.” came, and its eye grew dim; and food and rest, and sleep were forgotten in your anxious fears—if you paced the floor hour by hour with that fragile burden, when your very touch seemed to give comfort and healing to that lit tle quivering frame—had the star of hope set at last—then, had you hung over its dying pillow, when the strong breast you should have wept on was in the grave, where your child was hasten ing—had you caught alone its last faint cry for the help you could not give— had its last fluttering sigh breathed out on your breast—Oh 1 could you have said—■“ ’Tis only a child.” F a n n y F ek n . POETRY;' STANZAS. By the side o f the river so c They carried a beautiful child, ’Mid the flags and the bushes, , , In an a rt of bulrushes, . They left him so lonely and wild, . For the ruSians waiJld comeTf he tarried home And murder that infant so dear. By the side o f the river so clear, The ladies were winding their^way, When Pharaoh’s daughter Stepped down to the water, \ To bathe at the close of the day, Before i t w a s dark She opened the ark, . And found a sweet infant was there. pretty, filed him her own, eautiful son. . , And sent for a nurse that was neai Away from the riVer so clear. They carried the beautiful child. T h e y car For his o vn tender mother, His sister and brother, * And then he looked happy and Smiled, His mother so good . \ Did all that she codld To nurse bim and treat him with fcafe. MlSCELLAtt. PROPHETIC H i n t s p OR 1S53. . BY p u n c h ’ s s p e c i a l ASTtbLOGER. JANUARY.—Another New Year!— Something will probably h^pefi befofe long. If it does not son^thing else will. Look around corners as^much as possible ; and don’t go to the end of the world, for fear of falling oirer thfe edge. Begin new undertakings which promise to be profitable. 4 bad month for marrying u shrew. F ebruary . —Give no bills in which February is included, in respect to its being so short. Never pull yoUr sMrt'dol lars so high as to run the risk of being hung by the ears. A\ bad month for- hanging—put it off. Eat as much, as you can. If anybody makes you a handsome present—take it—and fear One of your friends will cut hihi- self shaving—seek not to knew which ; pry not into the secrets pf destiny, M arch . —Never take hold of the po ker by the wrong end. Spring cora- Cut the pearl buttons off your mences. shirts and sow them in the flower-pc»t; not a part- J f thefre wa§_jLaught' else .they will coins Oys,-' on earth left for you to love—IT fiisease Iters.”^ Avoid the vanitiesI of^dress.— T he L aw of L ibel . —The following is the bill introduced in the Senate, by Mr. Taber, from the Judiciary, and or dered to a third reading; § 1,; No reporter, editor, or proprie tor o f any newspaper shall be liable to any prosecution, civil or criminal, for a fair and true report in such newspaper, of any judicial, legislative, or other public ofiicial proceedings, of any state ment, speedy argument or debate in the course of the same, except upon actual proof of malice in making such report, which shall in no case be im plied from the fact of the publication* ^ 2. Nothing in the preceding sec tion containedisbalibeso construed as to protect any such reporter, editor or proprietor, from ah action or indict ment for any libelous comments or re marks superadded to, and interspersed or connected with .such report. § 3. This act shall take effect im- naediately. I n d i a n C o m p o s i t o r s . —His fingers are small, and he picks up his type from the case with a rapidity truly astonishing. I have never seen it equalled in an English printing ofiice. But his day’s work over (and he will get it done, sometimes, in tw-o or three hours,) he is the most indolent and dissipated creature in existence. is never out of debt, and never without a dun at his heels; but he invariably disputes all claims upon him, and never pays un til he does so by some court. I re quired ten of these compositors, and engaged them at exactly double the rate of pay they received in Calcutta. “ Look at the distance,” they would say; “ to be so far off from your fam ilies to whom you must send money, sir!” The compositors said they should require five distributors. In India a compositor never distributes his matter., He would consider it beneath his digni ty, Besides, it seems to soothe his feelings to have some one under him— a human being at bis beck and call— somebody whom he may bully with im- punlity, and strike, if it pleased him.— These native distributors do not know a single word o f English; many cannot tell you the names of the letters ; but they will fill a case as speedily and a| accurately us any European.-—Dic/ce»s’ “ Got a hull orchard of thorn kind e'r Maiisehold TTords, Qt^J Do not go abroad in yOur dressing- gown. * ; A pril , —Lie in bed this month for fear of being made an April fool ofi-r— Many things happen in April.' 4 good month to receive a large legacy in, biit don’t reject a small one. Clouds will gather in the social horizon. You will have a quarrel witli your wife, which will be brought to an amicable conclu sion by means of a shawl. Avoid bon net shops. A bad month to be bank rupt in. M a y . —A merry month. Gather May-dew—(Query t What are you to do with it when you get it ?) You may dance around the May-pole-—^but on no account dance around the North pole', or the South, Get your friends to do bills—it promotes generosity and liber ality, which are virtues. Your hat will blow off—if it be windy enough, and you don’t hold it on. Be obliging; give anybody who asks free permission to run pins into anbody else—innocent amusements ought to be encouraged. J u n e . —A bad month for your house to burn—unless, indeed, it be insured for double its value, or wife be in it,— When you ride in the park, and the boys tell you to go inside the house and draw down the blinds, don’t—it’s not seemly. Make money-—pass ydur bad half crowns. Give your -Clean- picked bones to the poor-^charity cov ers a multitude of sins. If a comet ap pears, let it alone ; and when, it is .tired of appearing it will disappear. If you see a ghost tell it to stay there; and come ,for us and we will go and look at it. J u l y .— Walk about in armor,- for fear of mad dogs. The planetary sys tem this month will go on as usual; distrust anybody who tells you to the contrary. Be a philosopher, and have as few wants as possible—cut off your legs and then you won’t require boots, which you will find to be a saving.— When you sleep in church, do not snore; it is disrespectful to the establishment. If you go to the Opera, and drop a double-barrelled lorgnette from the fifth tier, and it cracks a man’s scull bfe|ow, bring an action against his represdnta* tives for the value of the glass. Make yourself comfortable. August.—-E vents will take place, a^d circumstances will happen; aisp things will cohie tO pass. Beware, therefore, and trust the stars. You may MVe a cold in the head and you may not.-^ Taco is latin for a caudle/must be as they may. Avoid apoplexy, give ho encouragement to rheumatism, and if you are taken ill with typhus fever-, don’t stand it. Drink not physic slow ly, and take chloroform whbn you are having your hair cut, or sitting for yoUr dsfeuerreotype. S eptember . —Go out a ghooting; hut shoot not the moon unless you' find it convenient. A good month for dnnk» ing beer, but avoid salts. Reccollect the wise man sayeth; “ A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.” Be sage—stuffed with sage. The time for ftiaveiling. If you let your mustaches grow, you will > immediately begin to speak French; and. German.- Avoid \~T.-sickness by nevef ceasing eating and inking when at sea. If you see the devil have nothing to do with him; he 'is very far from respectable; ciit him. O ctober . —The harvest is gathered, and The bafnS are full. The best month for brewing. Domestic i^tprms and natural convulsions brewing ak.well as porter. Get all you can out of friends. Make love to pretty women with money. If you go to California take care you don’t' dig up brass for gold. Take he'ed, the world will come to an end some day. Pay your rent if you are obliged—not othenvise. Avoid acci dents o f every description; and don’t jump into a well blindfold. N ovember .— The month for commit ting suicide; avoid it; however, for yoUrself. Make your friends presents of rope; if you give thebi enough, the sage sayeth, “ they will hang them selves.” Fogs are thick ; but Wise men sees through them. If you have fits don’t stand ’em but recommend .them to the tailor. Roads iare muddy, •but the rich ridfeth in cabs. In this month 'youSr hair will grow. Db not be alarmed. Read everylhing that yrill make you laugh.; DECEMBEB.---«Winter commences.— Bills come pbhring in. Trust yet to the stars. Do the Income Tax-r-sO sayeth the moral philosopher.* All flesh is grass—but beCf is not water- cresses, Make moral reflections, and pay no bills. A bad month for paying bills. Give no Christmas dinner; but gO. to some one that does. Receive presents pf turkeys; geese, pickled sal mon, and pod, , with oysters for sauce. Look oiit for Saturn in the ascendant in the hoiisb fifMars; and wheh yOti See a eoriiet with a grCen tail, send an express to. the astronomer royal with a lock o f your hair. K nocking AccoBDiNbTo Youfe Q ual i t y . —The manner of knocking at the door in London, designates the quality of those who .present themselves; one stroke too litflle wonld be to degrade one’s self and ofie too many an usurpa tion or’jgnorahbe. One stroke pnly announces the milkman, the coal man a house servant or a mendicant; It sig nifies,'I should like to enter. Two stroked indicate the p ^ t bOy, the bear- .erof visiting-carfis, Or buy other mes- sengeri_lt,,.^l5noteS:4l^ .iahaste, and. it is^ necessary that I efftefT* Three strokes denote f he master or mistress of the house, or thb^e who or dinarily. frequent it and says in ah im perative tope open. Four strokes rap idly repeated announces a person pf fashion one degree beneath nobility, who has arfiv*ed in a carriage, it sighififes I wish to enter. Four strokes twice re peated lojidly announces my lord, and lady a nabob a Russian prince,-a Ger man baron of some other extraordina ry .personage ; it' signifies T db you much honor by calling upon ^ u . This maimer of knocking is in uni versal practice. A servant who should strike one stroke less than belongs to the rank or pretensions of his master, would be at once dismissed from his service* ' ILLUSIONS OP LIPE. Mat! is never satisfied with his lot.- The heart demands something more, something higher, something better, whatever blessings it inay already en joy. The scriptural Adam and Eve are typical of the human race. The Garden of Eden is ours ; wpbask in its sunshine, its fragrant flowprs are all around us ; plentiful fruits invite us to partake of their riches. Well were it for this physical frame, if we knew of no fruit forbidden us to taste but what is beyond our reach tempts us more, than anything else , and in obtaining it we exile ourselves from paradise. Re morse for our transgression, is the flamfn^' sword that prevents our re- Ohildren are not contented with their young feet which fail to overtake their four footed pets in the chase. They wish to scale the air like birds. Eve ry boy has at some time attempted to fly from a gate post. We remember, when a mere child, we forsook all our toys to look out of our window at night, and weep because we could not grasp a‘star in otir baby fist. Men are al ways trying to fly, and reaching to lay hold of the girdle of Orion and the mane of the Bull. Realities never content us. The present is probably as fine a valley as there is in the whole region of life.— But the woods are nothing hut woods ; ehady, it is true, and green, but quite ordinary. The streams are excellent, but' we would have beds of pearl in place of those AeGeitful pebbles. Ah 1 there must be better woods and sweet er streams beyond the .blue hills yon der. So we travel j but the soft and dreamy future becomes plain and hard reality as we proceed. Those very rocks we tread once looked lovely un- ;der the warm hazo of hope; so shall the charm o f the goodly heights before u& melt away, and sboW us, as we climb, just such ledges, gnarled oaks, chasms, morasses, wild pines, and barren slopes, afe we have passed. It Is not without design that Nature cheats us with these illusions. Contin ually striving for more exquisite beauty and higher happiness, we fulfill a law. It is well that no material paradise is a sufficient paradise for us. In this cir cumstance of his being, the man differs from the animal. The lion in the des ert, the tiger in the jungle, the ape in native woods, has iio aspirjatiou BUTTIlb the soul is upward. Upward forever,— What a mockery would this life be, if the grave were, the end of all things ; if, after chasing the golden butterflies, of iflusion ihrough all our summer days. Death only ihet our embrace; if the actors o f this drama emerged not from behind the scenes in tbeir true charac ters, after the funeral curtain falls upon the last act. T he D ead W ife . —In comparison with the loss of a wife, all other be reavements are trifles. The wife: she who fills so large^ a Space in the do mestic heaven, she who is busied, so un weared, in laboring for the; precioiis ones, around her—-bitter, bitter is the tear that falls on her cold clay. Yoii stand beside her coffin and think of the past. It seems an amber cblored path way, where the sUu shone upon beauti ful flowers, or the stars glittering over head. Fain would the soul linger there. No thorns are remembered j moment, night ____ . ___ _ _ ___ _ above that Sweet clay, save those your: for nineteen days without enjoying any hand may have unwillingly planted.— sleep. At the compiencement of the Her noble, tpnder heart, lies open to ! eighth day his sufferings were so severe your inmost.sight. You think of her j that he implored the authorities to grant « : ,, , . , 'him the blessM opportunity of being strangulated, garroted, guillotined, shot, burned to death, drowned, quartered, blown up with gunpowder, or put to death in any conceivable way which their humanity or ferocity could invent. This will give us some idea of the hor ror o f dying because you cannot go to slepp.” D eath from W ant of S leep , —How long can one live vidthout sleep? This question we have never seen answered. But au authentic communication has been made to a Brittish Societj, whose field of operations is in Asia, descript ive of a punishment which is peculiar to the original code of China. It ap pears from this communication that a Chinese merchant had been convicted of murdering his wife, and was sen tenced to die by bein^ totally deprived of the privilege of going to sleep. This singiildr and painful mode of quitting an earthly existence was carried into execution at Amoy, under the follow ing circumstances: “ The. condemned was placed in pris on under the care of three of the police' guard, who relieved each other every alternate hour, and who prevented the prisoner from falling asleep for a single lived now all gentleness, all beauty arnd pu- ! rity. But she is dead! The dear head that laid upon your bosom, rests in the still iJarkngss, upon a pillow of ; clay.. The hands that have ministered isd . untiring, - are folded, white and cold, beneath .the gloomy portals. The heRrt lies under youf feet. The flow ers she bent over with smiles, bend now over her with tears, shaking the dew from their petals, that the verdure qround her may be kept green and beau- A N ovel B aby J umper .— We never heard of a more eiugular piece of me chanism than that described by a. trav eller from Rplanfi. The Hotels in that cofifitry tiaostly by Jews.--^ They are very large and filthy, and crowded with human beings and ani mals at the same time. In such a Noah’s Ark he saw a cow fastened to a manger, and behind her, they had sus pended from a Waiter in the ceiling a cradle containing an ihfant. The cra dle was also attached by a small cord to the tail of the cow. Every time the COW swung h'ei* tail the cradle was rocked, and thus the infaai was kept silent, with fair less trouble than is now experienced in the use o f a patent baby jumper. ' , , , 1D“ The editor of a New'*fhrk pa per, noticing the marriage of Mr. Hawks to Miss Thomas^ expresses a hope that they will “ raise ,a young brood of Tommy-Hawks.” * Some loneTiachelor editor away out in Missouri, guilty of the follow ing 5 € Why is the heart of a lover like the .sea-serpe0? Because it is a secreter [sea creetur] of great sighs [size]; Dreadful, wasn’t AfiRICDLTURAL. A HINT TO THE PARMER. We may send to England for Dur ham cows ; and to Spain or Saxony for the choicest sheep; we may search the world over for cattle that please the eye, but unless they receive the best care and liberal feeding they will most assuredly deteriorate, and eventually be come as worthless and unworthy of propagation as any of the skeleton breeds that now haunt our rich but neglected pasture-lands. We remem ber an anecdote iff point, and will re late it by way of illustration. A far mer having purchased a cow from a county abounding in the richest pas turage, upon taking her to his own in ferior pastures found that she fell short of the yield which he was informed she had been accustomed to give. He complained to the gentleman of whom he had purchased, that the cow was not one he had bargained for^ hr in other words that she was not what .ishe was “ cracked np to be.” “ Why,” said the seller, “ I sold you my cow, but did not sell you my pasture, too.” The cut froifi an e x c h a n g e ^ ^ i ^ S g f e f -the- reply which a smfewS^pf li^^er, WBoio.We knew nSkhy yea^%*o, hiade to one of his ne^hborsi .’jhe^i^er had obtained somb pigs of a fiia^^iHingsome miles off, and whG becai^e intelligent, was always vfery- successful in his ‘:^rming operations,- particularly surpassing his neighbors in raising pork. Shortly af ter, meeting the old gentleman referred to,^ be says, “ Well, Mr. Sweetser, I’m going to beat you in raising hogs this year, I have got some o f J ------ M—^— ’s breed.” “ A a-ah,” drawled out the old man, “ you’d better get the breed of his ho-og trough Farmer. DEEP PLO-WING* We fiind the followinng statement in the Country Gentleman. It con firms what we have said on this sub ject : The present season of severe drought has most distinctly illustrated the ben efits of deep plowing. We planted a quantity of apple seeds on ground which was last autumn an old pasture, and which was inverted with a double Michigan plow of the largest size, dr^iwa .by three -yoke ,Qfj 9 xe.n„,to the Jptti of i^even and a , fialf inches, av- •age measurement. Dn such soils m this, as commonly plowed, apple seed usually suffer by drought\; but the present season they have continued growing, without the least cheeky through the whole summer, and are now much larger than usual, under or dinary treatment. The Granite Farmer states that fields well tilled only to the depth o f six or seven inches have suffered se verely, while on the other side the crops do hot suffer at all. lu one place was a field of corn, o f yellowish green, and with leaves rolled by thirst; while sep arated only by a single step was anoth er portion at least a foot taller with a deep green, broad, and uncurled leaf.— Yet the manure was the,same. On asking an explanation, he learned that this was the result of the first experi ment in sub-soil plowing .”— (Guernsey Jefferson. HOW T H ^ y USED PLOW. In some parts of Scotland,' in former times, the plows used to be drawn by four horses abreast, and required the assistance of three men. The business of one man was to drive. For that purpose he pUced himself between the middle horses, with his face towards the plow, to guide it straght, and in this position he stepped backwards with the reins in his hand. Another walked be hind the . horses with a decked staff* %vhich he fastened in front of the beam, and by means of it regulated the depth of the furrow by raising or lowering the plow, as occasion required. The plowman followed with hold of the stills ; and in. this formidable and ludi crous manner, they repeated their at tacks on the soil. In harvest, a basket machine was placed on each side ivith forks to keep it in a proper poise. It\ is said that the practice is yet to be met with in Galloway, Many practices existing even at this day in Ireland are still more ridiculous, Mr. Arthur Young tells us, that in Don egal be has actually seen horses plow- ing by the tail!— Fort, Trans. fiI7“ “ Dick, I say, why don’t you turn that buffalo robe t’other side out? —hair side in is the warmest.” “ Bah, Tom, you get out. Do you s?p6se the animal himself didn’t know how to wear his hide? I follow his style.” 117*' “ Hello, I say, what did you say your medicine would aure?” “ Oh! it’ll cure everythiDg—-heal anything.” Ah ! well. I’ll take a bottle. Mabe it’ll heal my boots; they heed it had enough?’^ AT* Fashion is the race of the rich to get away from the poor, who follow as fast as they can. S ale op the L ate M r . W ebster ’ s L ive S tock . —The Boston Courier says:—“ The live stock of the late Hon. Daniel Webster consisting of Cattle pf the Alderney Devonshire, Hereford and Ayrshire breeds sheep horses, &a, was sold at auction by or der of the executors, Wednesday, at Marshfield. Many of the best speci mens were bought in for the use of the farm by James W. Page, Esq., but y et the number sold for removal from the premises-tvaS'large. The buyers were mainly rich experimental farmers and they paid high prices. The horses which were given to Mr. Webster by his New York admirers in 1850 by dol. Thompson. The number of per sons present at the sale was quit# . . a
