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Rockland County Messenger HAVERSTRAW, ROCKLAND COUNTY. THURSDAY, JANUARY 13.1348. KO. 35 AGRICULTURAL. in Consumption of the Tuknip Crop.—lt is generally admitted, that ihe nutrive prop- er erlies of most kinds of vegetables are due to the quantity and quality of the dry matter contained iv them, and that their water, al- -0 though it may serve a useful purpose in fa If- «- ing the stomach, cannot fatten animals by it-1 c , self, or contribute directly to make flesh.— j Hence it would follow, that, from the large proportion of water it contains (about 90 per cent,) the fattening qualities of the turnip must be small. Indeed, experience has shown iv the western counties of Scotland, and it is the opinion of the majority of fanners in this country, that cattle cannot be fattened on turnips alone, and tiial laboring animals fed on roots of any kind, as their chief food, cannot perform their work with ease to them- selves or with economy to their owners. It is also well known, that all animals thrive belter on a mixed diet, than when kept on the same kind of food, let it be ever so nutritious and rich. Store cattle in Great Britain, are now gen- erally allowed turnips—the old system of just keeping them alive, being almost entirely ex- ploded. In those districts, even, where they are fed on straw aud occasionally on coarse hay, with au allowance of turnips, ihey are I ready thrivers when afterwards put to grass, i and also prove more true to the butchers.— This system of feeding from birth has great- ly gained ground, and cattle of the Short- Horu aud other improved breeds, are now brought to the hotelier before they have quite completed their second year. This could nut be done if they had not been well stored and kept on heollhlul food from the beginning. It is recommended that the food forstore- catte should be supplied at regular periods and by the same man. The first thing in the morning, the cribs or racks are to be cleared of the unconsurned straw, which should be thrown into the yard. Fresh straw should then be given them, and their troughs ihor- o ighly cleaned, and replenished with a sup- ply ol turnips finely cut, as young cattle are often incapable of eating a whole turnip on account ol the lender stale oflheir mouths. They should always have in their yard a con- slant supply of clear, fresh water. After they have been furnished with their breakfast, they ought to be kept as quiet as possible, in order that they may chew their cud in peace. The second supply of food should be furnish- ed before they become uneasy and call for it, or betake] themselves to the dirty straw of the yard to allay their hunger. The consumption of the turnip-crop by fat- tening cattle, is vow regarded as of the first importance ; and, ou some farms, in England, by far the greatest proportion, in that man- ner, is disposed of. The cattle, for conven- ience, are generally tied up in stalls ; but sometimes they are turned into one apart- ment, iv lots of 4 or 5 together, each having I a separate trough, fixed against the wall and guarded by a kind of stake, so that only one can approach it at a time. No animal of a restless or quarrelsome disposition is allowed j on any account, to be put with the others, i Many cattle, however, are brought to a high j stale of fatness, which are fed in yards well protected from cold winds, with a shed part- j ly closed and facing the south. As in the case of the store-cattle, those un- j der the operation of fattening should be led regularly and at stated limes-cleaned out at i the same hour every day, and when fed and cleaned, no person should be allowed lo enter < and disturb them. There is a saying in some ; - parts of Scotlund that ' every time a byre of cattle is disturbed, a shilling is lost to the owner.' The greatest care should beobserv- | ed to clean out the troughs every day, as the | food left to decay in them must be particular- ly annoying and disgusting to a poor beast kept lied wit li his nose directly over them — tl When fed on a full supply of turnips, they j h will require little or no watei lo drink. itl It seldom happens that cattle are entirely a fattened on turnips alone, as they would be ti by far too relaxing. Son.c other kinds of food ,'\u25a0 should be giveu them, such as sweet, clean ! \ straw or hay, oil-cake, shorts, ship-stuff, iti crushed corn, Indian meal, &c. When any ' D one of these articles is used in conjunction 'l with turnips, it should be given at a particu- a lar time of day, and the hour by nq moans h changed— there cannot be 100 much regular- c ity in their management. A Jump of rock b salt, sufficiently large not to be taken into c their mouths whole should be constantly kept h within reach of the cattle, as they are ex- ° tremely fond of licking it; besides, it is i< thought to whet their appetites, promote the \ secretion of bile, and, in general, is favorablo ti to their activity and health. It is vow well b understood that turnips, when sliced, afford b great faculties to cattle in devouring their f> food with the least trouble, and render them o less liable to become choked ; for, when a r; beast gets a whole bulb into his mouth, he tl throws hack his head, so lhat the turnip may o drop between the molar teeth, and it often & happens that it rolls into his throat. H Another very important operation and one V which is too often neglected, is the cleaning , sj of the turnips before feeding them out to cat- c tie. This can readily be done by putting n them into a basket and immersing il in a tub, tl or a pond, or stream of water, rolling the c turnips about with a stick. On lifting the o basket out of the water, it will be found that d the turuips will be sufficiently clean. n The feeding of the turnip crop, or rather a {a portion of it, by sheep, where it can be prac- tised, is a very desirable method of consum- ing it. All sheep fed on turnips should also be supplied with hay or straw ; but those un- der the process of fattteniug should be sup- plied with some of the richer kinds of food, such as oil-cake, bean meal, shorts, ship-stuffs Indian meal, crushed corn, doc. A precau- tion, however, must be observed in first giving them rich food, that they be in pretty good j condition before they are put to high feeding and that the rich food be gradually increased j both in quantity and quality. The plan of' feeding in many of the well informed parts of England, is, to supply the sheep daily with j i turnips, in order that they, may have them fresh, and eat them as they come without , eating the dainty bits first When a fresh por- tion is supplied it should be done iv the after- j noon, when the sheep are not so very hungry, j in consequence of which, there will be less | danger of iheir hurting themselves by over- eating. Sheep fed on turnip tops, should nev- er receive them wet, either with rain, dew, or snow.— American Agriculturist. POETRY. Thoughts in a Country Graveyard. Linger here, (J man of sorrow, Turn not from this silent'spot, Linger in the busy morrow.— Scenes like this are soon forgot. Sunbeams stealing out from heaven. Linger here on stone ami sod ; Linger then from morn till even— Stay, for thou art near to God ! Here, amid the silent forest, Old and hoary trees all gray, Rest the richest with the poorest, 'Neath the turfed mound of day. | Mortals vain, bereft of lading, Lie beneath this marbled'tomb, There, the poor, unnotie'd fading, Resteth from his toil-doom. Here, the weary broken hearted Find from all their woes respite, And the links of-kindred parted, Far away iv heaven unite. Here the worldly and ambitious, Here ihe wise, the great, the good, Man most virtuous or most vicious, Serve alike the worm for food. Here, all enmity must perish Fondly nurtured by our pride ; Why should we such follies cherish, . . 1 Rest we not here side by side? Linger here in thoughtful wonder, n See the busy world without Passing heedless, boist'rous, yonder, l Old and young in merry rout. See, oh ! see, how death is reaping s From the wild, unconscious crowd ! s Laughter pealing, wailing, weeping— r E'en the bridal robe's a shroud. c Thus all earthly joys ceasing— b Canst thou wander on with these? l' Stay and learn of life unceasing a When our portioned lime shall cease. ii Know, nil fleeting is, O mortal, V From the cradle to the grave, y' But religion—at whose portal \u25a0 Breaks life's changing, troubled wave. D o She, the one, the never changing, p Stays to guide thee, mortal, where ci Thousands o'er her paths once ranging B Find a blissful home fore'er. v MISCELLANEOUS. \ A Touching Story. BY PROFESSOR WILSON. it j The coffin was let down to the bottom ol _ j the grave, the planks were removed from the , heaped up brink, the first clods had struck i their knell, the quick shovelling was over, y land the long, broad, skilfully cut pieces of c lurfweie aptly joined together, and trimly j laid by the beating spade, so that the newest ti I mound iv the church yard was scarcely dis- f, j tinguished from those that were grown over y jby the undisturbed grass and daisies of a i j luxuriant spring. The burial was scon over, . and the party with one consenting motion ; a having uncovered their heads in decent ret- . erenee of the place and the occasion, were iv beginning to separate and about to leave the a church yard. Here some acquaintances t from distant parts of the parish, who had not . bad an opportunity of addressing each other s iv the house that belonged to the deceased, c nor in the course of the hundred yards that > the little procession had to move from his | bed to his grave, were shaking hands quietly, I but cheerfully, and enquiring after the wel- r fare of each other's families. There a knot i of neighbors were speaking without exagge- a ration, of the respectable character which c the deceased had borne, and mentioning to f one auother tbe little incidents of his life, rj some of them so remote as to be known only to the grey-headed persons of the group. b While a few yards further, removed from the r , spot, were standing together parties who dis- ;- cussed ordinary concerns, altogether uncon- g oected with the funeral; such as the state of i, the market, the promise of the season, or c change of tenants; but still with a sobriety c of manner and voice lhat was insensibly pro- t duced by the influence of the simple ceremo- ny now closed, by the quiet graves around, a and the shadow of the spire and gray walls — - ac- of the house of God. im- Two men yet stood together at the head of ilso the grave with severe and uuimpassioned un- grief. They were brothers—the only sous up- of him who had been buried; and there was od, something in their situation that naturally jffs kept the eyes of many directed upon them au- for a long time, and more intently than would ing have been the case had there beeu nothing )od more observable than the common symptoms i ing jof common sorrow. But these two brothers i ;ed -who were standing at tbe head oflheir fath- l of ' er's grave, had for some years been totally I > of! estranged from each other, and the only I ith j words that had passed them during ail that ;m ; time, had beeu uttered within a few days I >ut ; past during the necessary preparations for '< »r- the old man's funeral. « er- No deep and deadly quarrel was between i ry, | these brothers, and neither of them could < iss | distinctly tell the cause of this unnatural | c ;r- 1 estrangement. Per hays dim jealousies of l < ;v- their father's favor; selfish thoughts that will ! i w, sometimes force themselves into poor men's j t hearts, respecting temporal expectations ;I t _. unaccommodating manners on both sides; r taunting words lhat mean litile when uttered, I 1 but which rangte and fester in remembrance ; ti imagined opposition of interests, that, duly i'J considered, would have been one and the tl same; these and many other causes, slight h when single, but strong when rising up to- j g get her in one baneful hand, had gradually |i< and fatally infected their hearts, till at last \ c they who in youth had been seldom separate, ri and truly attached, now met at market, and tl miserable to say, at church, with dark and ii averted faces, like the different clansmen du- ring a feud. Surely if anything could softened their hearts towards each other, it musrhave been to stand silently side by side, while the earth, I stones, and clods were falling down upon ci their father's coffin. And doubtless theirr w hearts were so softened. Bit pride, thought & it could prevent them from being shown; and Mi these two brothers stood there together, de- °' termiued not to let each other know the mv- c' tual tenderness that in spile of ihem was gushing up in their hearts, aud leaching P' them the unconfessed folly and wickedness l of their causeless quarrel. In A head stone had been prepared, and a ln person came forward to plant it—a plain tr' stone, wilh a sand glass, scull and cross- ct hones, chiseled, and rudely, with a few words P r inscribed. The younger brother regarded ct the operation with a troubled eye, and said, ay loudly enough to be heard by several of the OI\ ' bystanders, William, this is not kind in you er —'you should have told me of this. I loved my father 'as well as you could have loved or him. You were the elder, and it may be, Wi the favorite son ; but 1 have a right in na- — lure to have joined }ou iv ordering this stone, na had I not?' ha During these words the stone was sinking mi into the earth, and many persons who were >ai on thnir way from the grave, returned. For cri a while the elder brother said nothing, for he ue had a consciousness iv heart that he ought '\ to have consulted his fathei's son in desig- g'< nating this last mark of affection and respect lra to his memory; so the stone was planted in a» silence, and now stood erect, decently aud °° simple, among the other ostentatious memo- gn rials of the humble dead. There inscription ry merely gave the name and age of ihedeceas- *,a ed, and told that the stone had been erected sru by his ' aiTeeiionaie sons.' The sight of \H these words seemed to soften the angry man, vv^ and he said, somewhat more mildly—' Yes. nel we are his affectionate sons, and since my name is on the stone, I am satisfied, brother r We have not drawn together kindly of late m} years, and perhaps never may ; but I ac- tur knowledge and respect your worth ; and here an< before our own friends, and before the friends wa of father, with my feet above tiis head, I ex- ' press my willingness lo be on better and oth- De! er terms with you, and if we cannot com- v' s mand our hearts, let us al least bar out all a,l< unkindness.' sm The minister who attended the funeral, Th and had something entrusted to him to say ler publicly before he left the church yard, now —' came forward, aud asked the elder why he d\ spake not regarding the matter.—He saw Wn that there was something of a cold sullen ur' I pride rising up in his heart, that not easily ros ; may auy man hope to dismiss from the chain- ' ro ; her of his heart even the vilest guest, if once S Te , cherished there. With a solemn and almost lne f severe air, he looked on the relenting man, hei and then, changing his countenance into se- ,ur . renity, said gently— nes Behold how good a thing it is, ing And how becoming well, ton Together such as brethren are or I In unity to dwell. uitl The time, the place and this beautiful ex- oft pressiou of a natural sentiment, quite over- for come a heart iv which many kind, if not pro warm affections dwelt; and ihe man thus sun appealed to, bowed down his head and wept, a n ' Give me your hand, brother,'aud it was den given, while a murmur of satisfaction arose low Irom all present, and all hearts felt kindlier had and more humanely towards each other. em As the brothers stood fervently, but com- upo posedly, grasping each other's hands in the call little hollow lhat lay between the grave of and their mother, long since dead, and of their slee father, whose shroud was haply not yet still can from tbe fall of dust to dust, the minister stood T< beside them with a pleasant countenance, the and said—' I must fulfil the promise I made at t to your father on his death bed. I must read we to you a few words which his hand wrote at on an hour when his tongue denied its office, bloi I must not say that you did your duty to your not old father, for did he not often beseech you. thai \ apart from oue another, for your own sakes her as christians, for his sake, and for the sake stre of the mother who bore you, and of him, who ver . died that you might be born ? When the the \u25a0 palsey struck him for the last time, you were of i , both absent —nor was it your fault lhat you wai i were not beside the old man when he died, loot As long as sense continued with him here, I >f did he think of you, and you alone. Tears d weie in his eyes; I saw them there; aud on s his cheeks, too, when no breath came from s his lips. But of this no more. He died y with this pajier iv his hand; and he made j n me know that I was to read it to you over J J his grave. I now obey him : g ' My sons—if yeu will let my bones lie s quiet iv the grave, near thar\lu>t of your s mother, depart not from my burial, till, in - the name of God and Christ, you promise ] v to love one another as you used to do. Dear i I boys, receive my blessing ' t Some turned their heads away to hide j s their tears thai needed not to be hidden— r and. when the brothers had released each ; other from a long and sobbing embrace, i many went up to them, and in a single word j I or two expressed their joy at this perfect rec- I , oncileinent. The brotlieis themselves walk- f j ed away from the churchyard, with the mm I' ister to the Manse. On the following sabrath | they were seen silting, with their families, in ; J the same pew, and it was observed that they ; read out of the same bible, when the minis- ter gave out the text; and that they sung ; j together, taking hold of the psalm book, i The same psalm was sung, (given out at i their own request,) of which one verse had been repeated at their father's grave; a lar- j ger sum than usual was on that Sabbath ' ! Ibund on the plate, for the poor, for love and i ! charity are sisters. And ever after, both dv- I j ring the peace and the troubles of this life, the hearts of the brothers were as one, amd j iv nothing were they divided. I The Tempest. ir BY GEORUE D. PRENTICE. I » n I wag never a man of feeble courage.— t n> There are few scenes either of human or el- v ,i) emental strife, upon which I have not looked I i with a brow of daring. I have stood iv the c ht front of the battle, wheu swotds were gleam- t id ing and circling around me like fiery serpents t. c . of the air—l have sat on the mountain pinna- h v . cle, when the whirlwind was rending its oaks f 13 from their rocky ciilfs, and scattering them ii ig piecemeal to the clouds—l have seen these h , s things with a swelling soul, that knew not, - that r%cked not danger ; but there is some- a a thing iv the thunder's voice tliac makes me a n tremble like a child. I have tried to over- o s . come this unmanly weakness —1 have called | s pride to my aid—l have sought for moral ii d courage in the lesson of philosophy—bul it si ] 5 avails me nothing. At the first low moaning lit c of the distant cloud, my heart shrinks, quiv- a v ers, gasps, and dies within me. d My iuvoluulary dread of thunder had itg_ * d origin in an incident, that occurred when I . } was a boy of ten years. I had a little cousin i- —a g'r' °^ 'he same age with myself, who . had been the constant companion ofiny child- J hood. Strange, that after the lapse of so a many years, thai countenance should be so c familiar to me. I can see the bright young r creature —her large eyes Hashing like a c beautiful gem—her free locks streaming as t in joy upon the rising gale, and her cheek . glowing like a ruby, through a wreath of •_ t transparent snow. Her voice had the melody , and joyousness of a bird's and when she ,- j bounded over the wooded hill or the fresh . green valley, shouting a glad answer lo eve- j ry voice of nature, and clasping her little r . hands in the very ecstacy of young existence, j she looked as if breaking away, like a freed f nightingale, from the earth, and going off' where all things are beautiful aud happy like her. , It vvas a morning in the middle of August. c The little girl had been passing some days at » my father's house, and she was now to re- j . turn home. Her path lay across the fields, . aud I gladly became the companion of her j walk. r i . ca 1 never knew a summer morning more . beautiful and still. Only one little cloud was . visible, and that seemed as pure, and white, | and peaceful, as if it had been the incense c smoke of some burning censor of the skies. The leaves hung silent iv the woods— the wa- r ters in the bay had forgotten their undulations p , —the flowers were bending their heads as if . dreaming of the rainbow and dew, and the . whole atmosphere was of such a soft and lux- i urious sweetness, that it seemed a cloud of , roses, scattered down by the hand of a Peri, . from the far off gardens of Paradise. The , . green earth and the blue sea lay abroad in their boundlessness, and the peaceful sky bent over and blessed them. The little crea- . ture at my side was in a delirium of happi- . \u25a0 ness, and her clear, sweet voice, came ring- r ing upon the air as often as she heard the tones of a favorite bird, or found some strange or lovely flower iv her frolic wanderings. The unbroken and almost supernatural tranquility of the day continued until nearly noon. Then f . for the first time, the indications of an ap- , proaching tempest were manifest. Over the summit of a mountain, at a distance of about a mile, the folds of a dark cloud became sud- denly visible, and al the same instant, a hol- low roar came down upon the winds, as if it °, had been-the sound of waves in a rocky cvv- . em. The, cloud rolled out like a baunerfold \u25a0 upon the air, but still the atmosphere was as calm and the leaves as motionless as before, ] and there was not even a quiver upon the to ( sleeping waters to tell of the coming burri- hei cane. mo To escape the tempest was impossible. As we the only resort, we fled to the oak, that stood roy at the foot of a small rugged precipice. Here , we remained, and gazed almost breathlessly ... on tbe clouds, marshalling themselves like [ bloody giants in the sky. The thunder was not frequent, but every burst was so fearful that the young creature who stood by me shut f her eyes convulsively, clung with desperate strength upon my arm, and shrieked as if her l c very heart would break. A few minutes and °' ' the storm was upon us. During the height ' of its fury, the little girl lifted her finger to- ' wards the precipiece that lowered above us I wei looked up, and an amothysiine flame was sen ere, quivering upon its grey peaks I and theaaxt sars moment the clouds opened, ths rocks totter- lon ed to their foundations, a roar like ths groan rotn of a Universe filed the air, and I felt myself lied j blind and thrown, I knew what whither, ade > How long I remained insensible I cauuot >ver ; tell, but when couciousnesa returned,the *i- joience of the tempest was abated, the roar lie | of the winds dying in the tree tops, sad the our | deep tones of the cloud coming in fainter in murmurs from the Eastern hills, lise J I arose, and looked trembling, and almost ear deliriously, around. She was there—the idol ! of my infant love, strecthed out on the wet ide green earth. Afier a moment of irresolution, ,_ I went up and looked upon her. The hand- ich ; kerchief upon her neck was slightly rent, and ice, • single dark spot upon her bosom told where ord , the pathway ofdeath had been. Al first I cits- ec- ped her to my breast uuh a cry of agony, aud ilk- then laid her down and gazed upon her face in- almost wilh the feeling of calmness. Her ;ith bright dishevelled ringlets clustered sweetly ,in around her brow; thr look of terror had fa- ley ded from her lips, and infant smiles, wars lis- pictured sweetly there ; the red rose tinge up- ng on her cheek was lovely as in life, and as I ik. presed it to my own, th«r*fountain of tsars at were oponed, and 1 wept as if my heart were ad waters. 1 have but a dim recollection of what ar- followed—l only know, that I remained weep- ith ing and motionless till the coming of twilight nd aud lhat I was then taken tenderly by the Iv- baud, and led away where I saw the counte- fe, nance of parents and sister, ud Many years have gone by on the wing of light aud shadow, but the scenes I have por- trayed still come over me, at times, with ter- rible distinctness. The oak yet stands at the base of the precipice, but its limbs are black — and dead, and its hollow trunk, looking up- sl- wards to the sky, as if calling to the clouds ed for drink is au emblem of rapid and noiseless lie decay. A year ago I visited the spot, and the n- thoughts of by-gone years came mournfijly its back 10 me—thoughts of the little innocent a- being who fell by my side, like some beauti- ks ful tiee of Spring, rent up by the whirl-wind m in the midst of its blossoming. But I remem- se bered—and oh ! there was joy in the memory it, —thatj she had gone where no lightning c- slumbers in the folds of the rainbow 3 cloud\ le and where the sunlight waters are broken r- only by the storm-breath of Omnipotencff^ ;d My readers will uuderstand why I ahrte* al in terror from the thunder. Even the Con- it sciousness of security is no relief to me my ig lears have assumed the nature of an instinct, v- and seem, indeed, a part of my existeuce. Drumming out a P^.^T^-i t- l f m^m 1%. ii, ... Maaalttffaus**S fl loin some ol llffH M.'U/'Oy aud make acquaintance with Western raer- . chants in order to induce them to buy goods ofthefirui which employs them. The clerks are called ' Drummers r—The Sunaay^lrrhla---. tells a good story of a waggish merchant, » who played the following trick on one of his neighbors notorious for doing business in this '* way.- He had been waited on by a green - young fellow from the country anxious lo ob- tain a situation: ' 'I don't want any body just now, my young friend,' he said at first. ' Why, I guess, wilh all these ere th ins and heaps of goods, you must find sontefhiik' for a chap like me lo dew, now V j 4 I lell you I don't want any one.' «. ' Why there's nothin' I can't turn my hand lew.' 4 Well tell me what you can do,' said ths import! r a little annoyed at theperseveraucs of his visiter. 4 Wa'al, in the country I can hoe and plough, cut wood aud shake apple trees, ' milk cows and butcher hogs, thrash, tend a cider mill, and then in the way of music, I can drum like thunder.' jj ' Oh ! you can drum ; I know a firm that wants a drummer.' ' • Then I'm the chap; I've practiced at it for four trainings since I was len year old.' * Have you gol your drum here iirthecijy^-—- -4 Yes it is down aboard the stupe Nancy f Captain Uiggius. The importer wrote on a piece of paper | the name of a dry goods firm in Pearl street, well known for the employment of drummers. 'There,' said he, 'get your drum and tfo ' to that place; the owners are famous for j drumming up customers, and you'll suit them fto a hair Don't fail, as soon as you get in to strike np a tune, and go it hard.' The countryman as directed, equipped himself with Ins drum and as soon as he k found ihe store according to the paper, in he \ went, playing' Yankee doodle' in a way to stun a deaf man almost. 4 What do you mean V said one of thr firm as soon as he was able to silence that ' dread- -1 ful drum.' ' Why, Mr.—, that man up there said yon wanted to employ a drummer !' A brief explanation ensued, and tbe whole came out. The Fearl-st. fiim were glad to give the Yankee a $10 bill, and the promise of a situation the first opportunity, to keep his mouth shut.\ The story goes that they have not kept a diummer since f In Dublin, a little ragged child was heard to call from the window of a mean house tv her opposite neighbor—' Please, Mrs. MilWr, mother's best compliments, and if it is fine weather, will go a begging with bar to-mot- The following ss the transcendental for Miss will you lake my arm? 4 Young lady, will you condescend so far to sacrifice your own convenience to ror pleasure as to insert the digitals and pert of the extremity of your contiguous arm through the angular aperture formed by thecrookin of my arm against the perpendicular portion J of ray frame V - The expenses of the Chicago Convent io^P were assessed ou 'h* \' *^^B i irnt rTrlrjfliar - D CO. MaBSSEIfGEB, mblished every Thursday, ERT MARSHALL, l£jftfTCyr\ AlfD PrOP*IETOR. S^l^- Front fit reel. - dollar fifty cents io advance p. M^''\' Hfths one dollar. IpT idrtor must be post paid. DVEaTiaiNG—For one square of 1 WeeaUfbrthe first, and 25 cents U j^e^^very subsequent insertion, if continued less tha three months. For three months, $ 3,50; for months. *6. Yearly advertisers wifl be charge for one square, f 10. JOB PRINTING of ill descriptions printed i the neatest manner and at reasonable rates. af-Mrora. A panel of Grand and Petit Jurors drawn to serv at the next Coanty Court and Court of Sessions, t« be held at tbe Court House in lhe Town of Clarks lown, ia and for the County of Rockland, on thi Eighteenth day of January A. I). 1848. Grand Jurors. Ralph Vanhouten, Haverstraw. -Samuel Snow, Ezra Mead, Mathias Babcock, John I. Stiffern. Benjamin B Smith. Fitzgerald Fraser, Clarkstown. John Springsteen, William Hoeenkamp, Clarkstown. Jacob Polhamus, George P. Feher, eph N. Blauvelt, Charles C. Gilchrist, Abram C. G. Blauvelt, John J. Vanhouten, Resolvent j. Vanhouten Oran*etown. Richard Smith. Jesse Trencher, Orangetown. Cornelias D. Cooper, Henry Hart, Stephen H: Lawrence, David A. Mabie, Edward \Earl John J. Waldron, David D. Smith, Cornelius J. Blauvelt, Cornelias P. Mabie, George W. B. Gedney, John A. Blauvelt, James P. Blauvelt, James H. Hopsoa, Joshua Martin, John T Blauvelt, John D. Cooper, Cornelius Sickles. Harman Huffman. Ramapo. Ramapo. John J. Garaee, Samuel Stokam, Abraham T. Eckerson, Adam Dater Jun. Jacob Felter, - William Johnson, George Jones, John R. Smith, Waller Johnson, Walter Abrams, Gabriel Hill, John Dater, Samuel Gurnee. John (V. Carlottgh, Petit -furors. Garret C. Cooper, Haverstraw. Adolphus Wannamaker, Daniel G. Smith, Stephen Stephens, Robert Knapp Henry Fox, Joseph Demarest, Daniel Secor, Lewis R. Mackey, Peter P. Vanhouten. ASBURY DENOYELLES, Sheriff. LIST Of aLetter*. remaining in the Post Of- fice at Haverstraw Dec. 31st, 1847. AckermanMiss CalherineKnapp Levi Bogsrt Eugene Jr. Knapp Robert Boyce William Kerman Charles Babcock John Kinsey M Camroel Peter Kinsey & Brothers Cashian Lawrence KJass Peter Carew John Leroy James mmm^mmml^AlMUt* ' Bng'n MiSS Bliam Mooley James Cooper David McDonald James Culia Thomas McCabe Patt *\ Cook Isaac McEnroe Thomas Doyle Thomas Meacle William Dickerson v Wilson Morris Henrietta Zlavidsan Rev. William Mulloy James Disbrow John Neigh Mrs. De Camp Mrs. Ann Oconors Michael Prall A A 2 Demarest Samuel Pike William Denyck Mrs. Mary Power John Edwards Mrs. Ann Powell John Ferris Hugh Quick Michael Fagaa Margaret Recan John Frieny Felix Russel Thomas Gerow O. C. 2 Ray bold lames Green Martha A Rutherford William Sears Mrs. E Sutton James 2 Gilmartin John <Srcor Isaac Snedicoi George W Turner Martha Grabea John Tigue Mary Harman William Wells Miss Hog-encamp George 2 Weiant Clarissa Holmes Burrows 3 Weiant W J Irwin James Weaver Isaac 2 Kaapp Henry G Young Jacob I>utcli List. Korber Deti ick Kroupel Jacob Ferdinand Herr D_r The Mails dosebefore one o'clock, on Tues- day*, Thursdays and Saturdays. B_T Bank bills are not receivable in payment for postage?. ID*\- Postage on regular Newspapers must be prepaid quai terlv in advance. SYL-f-aeSTER CLARK, P. M. STOVES!! STOVES!\ iptt English's Stove Warehouse, Mat* Street. liformed tbat a. found lhe best d office sioves a, all of which ousof purchas- . examine them ; a part of his r wood or coal ight, wood or inion for wood ers, for wood. !, do do. wood or coal. js and fixtures, and in fact ev- il. ualiiy, such as low for CASH ENGLISH. GON arm his fellow and vicinity lhe rear of the rs. Ackerman y on his busi- js. He trusts ss to merit a moulds made punctually at- FRENCH.
