From the Emancipator.
THE SONG OF THE HOE.
BY REV. M. TRAFTON.
With sinews weary anil worn,
With tears that ever flow,
A woman stands in tow-cloth rags,
Plying her mattock and hoe,
Dig! dig! dig!
In weariness, weeping and woe,
And still with ,1 heart with sorrow big,
She sang the "Song of the Hoe."
Work work work !
While the master is sunning himself,
And work! work! work!
While the wretch is counting his pelf:
It's, 0 to be a slave .
A slave under an Arab's hand,
Where woman has never a soul to save,
If this is a Christian land.
And work ! work ! work !
With an infant strapped to the hip,
Work! work! work!
With the crack of the driver's whip.
Plant and hill and pick,
And pick, and hill, and plant,
'Till I almost sleep with bowing low,
And murmur liberty's chant.
0! men, with sisters dear!
0! men, with mothers and wives!
It is not cotton you're wearing out,
But human beings' lives.
Dig! dig! dig!
In sorrow, and sickness, and want;
Digging at once with a feeble hand,
A grave and a hole for a plant.
"A grave!" I long for a grave !
There is rest from this weary task:
0! glad should I ho would death appear;
I would smile at his hideous mask,
It seems so like a friend !
Because of my bitter grief;
0 God! that this life might end,
That death might bring relief!
Work, work, work,
My labor never flags;
And what are my wages? a bed of earth,
A quart of corn, and rngs!
To be robbed of my children dear,
To hear them cry in vain;
To see my husband sold like a brute,
Marched off in the clanking chain.
Dig, dig, dig,
From dawn till the stars aro bright.
Dig, dig, dig,
No hope to make labor light.
Hill and plant and pick,
Pick and plant and hill;
'Till the heart is faint and the blood's on fire,
And the lash cuts to the quick.
Work, work, work,
Through winter, dreary and lone,
And work, work, work,
When spring and summer are come;
While the birds, on a free, light wing,
Seem to mock mo with freedom's song,
While smarting still from the stinging lash,
My unpaid toil prolong.
0 but to breathe the breath
Of northern breezes sweet,
With God's blue heavens above my head,
And Canada under my feet!
0 for the start of a day
Of the bloodhounds so cruel and fleet!
Swift as the wind would I speed away,
My brethren in freedom to greet.
0 for one short hour,
0 for one resting day,
No moment to feel love's soothing power;
No moment to rest or pray.
A little weeping would ease my heart,
But tears away I dash;
My tears must stop, for every drop
Calls down the merciless lash.
With sinews weary and worn,
With eyes red with tears' hot flow,
Columbia's daughter, in tow-cloth rags,
Still she plies her heavy slave hoe.
Dig, dig, dig,
In weariness, weeping and woe,
And still with a heart with sorrow big,
She sang this "Song of the Hoe."
Trover Devths for Seeds. Durgcr's Economy
of Farming, (recently translated from the German
, t-.t i n e...:i. ,.e v,.. VnA cioto
Uy me rfccV. -Li. uiuiui, ui Aim, nimcr
the following as the result of an experimental tri
al with Indian Corn, to determine the proper
depth at which seeds should be put. That which
was planted at the ueptn oi
No. 1 1 inch, came up in
1 1-2 " "
8 1-2 days.
The Nos. 8, 9, and 11, were dug up after twenty-two
days, and it was found that No. 8 had an
inch more to grow to reach the surface of the
earth. Nos. 9 and 11 had just sprouted, but tvere
hort, and three inches below the surface. No 10
:ame nn in seventeen davs and a half: but the ten
der leaf remained only six days green, and with
ered. There is no experiment wlncli snows more
clearly the advantage of shallow planting in a soil
not too loose, and trodden down, than tins. J he
more shallow the seed was covered with earth,
the more rapidly the sprout made its appearance,
and stronger afterwards was the stalk. The deep
er the seed lay, the longer u remained before it
name to the surface. Four indies was too deep
for the maize, and must therefore be tor yet smal
ler grain kernels.
"Did he ever hear from them, sister?" ! esteemed these great duties when time and oppor-
" Yes, he heard from them once. Their cruel tunity were freely offered under a mother's eye.
master had not found any one to buy them, and the j Let not young ladies look upon these duties as
little boy who grieved so much for his father, was menial or of slight importance. A household can
dead." Lot be well ordered and happy, unless they are
" Poor little fellow, and he never saw his father faithfully and intelligently understood. Let no
again!" woman ever imagine mat a husband' s comtort, en-
'' No, never! I cannot think of that night vyith- ijoyment or prosperity depends upon the smiles and
out feeling sad. I had often heard of such things, ! ornaments of his parlor. It is skilful and judicious
but I had never before seen any one in so deep dis
tress. "But come, Ellen, you look sorry; I am sure
my dear little sister will never take young birds
from their mother again, and she will pity and
help thee poor mothers and fathers who are rob
bed of their children." Youth's Visiter.
management in the kitchen which does so much
toward making home pleasant and prospects brght.
Let every young Judy who expects to become a
wife (and who does not?) look well to these things
before she leaves the maternal care. Let her re
member, that to become truly a 'help meet,' im
plies prudence, sagacity, experience in domestic
duties; and let no one enter into that important St
most interesting relation with untried powers and
DG Independence op the Farmer. Of nil
the conditions of men and I have mingled with
every variety I believe in truth that none is so
independent as that ot an industrious, frugal and
sober fanner; none affords more the means of con
tentment and substantial enjoyment; none where
the education has not been neglected, presents
better opportunities for moral and intellectual im
provement; none cans more lou.uy lor religious
gratitude;' none is suited to give a more lovely and
deeper impression of the goodness of God. Some
years since in the most rugged parts of N. Hamp
shire, among its craggy elitts, and rude and nolo
mountains, I was travelling on horse back, and
came suddenly upon a moss covered cottage in the
very bosom of' a valley, where the brave settler
had planted himself on a few acres of land which
alone seemed capable of cultivation. Every thing
about the residence bespoke industry and
My First Loaf.
BY MRS. H. C. K.
An emergency at last came in my domestic ar
rangements, for which I was wholly unprepared,
despite the admonitory warnings of all good house
keepers, to be prepared when such do occur, as oc
cur they must, in these days of help-wanting. An
excellent girl had gone, and her place was suppli
ed by one who I felt, when I beheld her, could
never answer that description which had induced
me to engage her. She stood demurely before me,
awaiting her newjnstructious.
'You can inal(csome bread, Nancy sift some
flour and set it rising.'
'How shall I i, lake it? That never was my
work before, but you will tell me lio.v, ma'am, nud
I can learn quick,' was the reply: ami the anxious
yet willing expression of her face, bespoke a tea
chable spirit, as il did also an inexperienced band.
Heavily did that answer fall upon my ear, 'how
shall I make it?' Yes, that was the question, how?
What a world of experience and power did that,
little word coiupivlieud ! I remembered my moth
er talked much a'.i nit selling the sponge, placing it
in a warm situation, baking it when it was just
enough raised; these snatches of information I well
remembered, hut the right quantity, quality and
number of ingredients, with the jusl how they
should be put together, was the still unanswered
question. There stood Nancy. ' Upon the whole,'
said 1, after a moment's thoughtful pause, ' as
there is so much that is more important to do, wo
Being fatigued, I stopped to ask refreshment for will put tins matter oti and try baiter's bread,
my horse. A hale young girl of about fifteen, M & It thankful for the respite,
bareheaded and barefooted, but perfectly courte- Days missed on.
nn. with ll th ruddiiipss of Helm, and nil the I 'Cannot Nancy make bread?' asked my 1km-
nimbleness and vigor of Diana, went immediately j band at last, ' I am getting quite tired of baker',
r. n 1.1 '. . I - 1 .. . i .. lu'omt
tor an attnrui oi nav, ami a measure or oars lor my ..
i ,i ' . i .!, ...i.i i..u Si li r
a a a in it LTTJRA L.
From the Cultivator.
Experiment in Wheat.
Messrs. Editors The following novel
teresting experiment which I find in the
Times of the 9th of September, 1843, having late
ly been made at Lheam, in Surrey, deserves a
place in your valuable journal. A. Walsh.
Lansingburgh. Nov. 18, 1843.
In July 1842, Mr. A. Palmer put one grain of
wheat in a common garden pot. In August the
same was divided into four plants, which in three
weeks were again dividod into 12 phmts. lu Sep
tember these 12 plants were divided into 32 which
in November were divieed into 50 plants, and then
placed in open ground. In July, 1843, 12 of the
plants failed, but the remaining 38 were healthy.
On the 19th of August they were cut down, and
counted 1,972 stems, wiih an average of 50 grains
to a Btem, giving an increase of 98,000!
Now sir, if this be a practicable measure of
planting wheat, it follows that most of the grain
now used for seed, may be saved, and will infinite
ly more than cover the extra expense of sowing,
as the wheat plants can be raised by the laborer
in his garden, his wife and children being emploj
ed in dividing and transplanting them.
I have enclosed one of the stems as a sample.
You will find it rather above six feet long, and
tout in proportion. Henrj Pownall.
Spring-grove, Sept. 9, 1843.
horse, and then spread the table with a cloth as
white as the snow drift, and a bowl of pure milk
and brown bread for his rider. I never enjoyed a
I offered the family pay for their hospitality ; but
they steadily refused, saying that I was welcome;
I was not willing thus to tax their kindness, anil
therefore took out a piece of money to give to one
of the children that stood near. "No," said the
parents, " he must not take it; we have no use for
money." " Heaven be praised," said I, "that I
have found people without avarice. I will not
corrupt you;" and giving them a hearty thank ot
tering, wished thoimio.rs blessing tools my leave.
Now here were these humble people, with a home,
which, if it were burned down to-day, their neigh
bors would build for them to-morrow with cloth
ing made from their own flocks by I heir own hands;
with bread enough, beef, pork, butter, cheese,
milk, poultry, eggs, &c, in abundance; a good
school six months in the yer.r, where the children
learn more because they know the value of time,
than those who are driven to school every day in
the week, and every week in the year; with a plain
religious meeting on Sunday, where, without os
tentation or parade, thev meet their neighbors to
exchange friendly salutations, to heai words of
good moral counsel, and to worship God in the
most simple, but not the less acceptable form; and
above all, here were hearts at peace with each oth
er; full of hospitality tj the passing stranger, un
caiikered by avarice, ami undisturbed by ambition.
Where upon earth, in a humble condition, shall
we look for a more beautiful example of true inde
pendence, for a brighter picture of the true phil
osophy ot hie ?
A True Narrative.
Transplanting Trees. Do it before the leaf
buds come out. Jim. Jig.-
Grafting Wax. 3 parts beeswax, 3 of rosin and
1 part tallow. After it is applied to the graft, cov
er with, a strong ootton bandage. lb.
it was a cold, bleats night, mother and 1 were
sitting in the back parlor, waiting for father to come
home to lea. 1 he bell rang, and a friend entered
the room. lie asked if father was at home. He
said he had brought some one to see him who was
in trouble, and wished to ask his advice. Mother
told him to bring the person in and wait, as .she
expected Father would be home very soon. He
stepped into the hall, and returned with a colored
man, who looked to be about 50 years old.
He was poorly clothed, and appeared tobc in
great want. Mother asked what was the matter,
for she began to suspect that hi; was one of those
poor people who rim off from slavery. Our friend
said he had better tell his own story. Ho began
as well as his tears and sobs would suffer him to
speak, to tell us that he was a freeman, that bis
wife and children were slaves, but that they bad
always li veil with him in a little cottage he hud
built for thorn near their master's plantation.
They worked for their master, while he took care
of the little farm he :A rented'. He hv got a
written promise from the owner of his family that
he. would sell them to him when he should have
raised several hundred dollars.
"What!" exclaimed Ellen, "sell the man his
own wife and children?"
" Yes, Ellen, and he did much more than that.
The poor black man thought it a great privilege to
be permitted to buy them, but jusl two nights be
fore, .while ho was from homo on some business.
his wife and eight children were taken from their
house, hurried down the river, and put on board a
boat that tmr) stopped tor ihein
" He reached home soon after ttiej i,,l boon ta
ken nway, and followed them to the boat. The
cupt tin permitted him to get aboard, and ho had
come as fur us ho could with them, lb; thought
perhaps he should find some one here to help hfm.
1'hey were now at the wharf, and he had but a few
hours to see what could lie done. Before noon
next day, they would be on tiieir way to the far
South; "and oh!" said the poor man, "how can
I give them up? Last night," he continued, "when
we had all laid down on the deck to sleep, my lit
tlest boy, that I love the best of all my children,
crept close to me, put his arms around my neck &
said, " Oh, father, how can I live if they take me
away from you ?"
" The poor man wept so while he told his story
that he could scarcely speak."
" You must be telling me this story, sister said
Ellen as they do in the story books. It is not all
true, is it?"
" Yes, Ellen, it is all true; I saw the man my
self, and mother will, tell you much more about
him than 1 can. He went back home to try if he
could not sell his horse and cow and corn for mo
flby to buy thein back, but when lie got there he
found his stock driven off, his corn-field destroyed
by the neighbor's cattle, and almost every thing
taken from his house. Mother knows many more
She shall make some; but this is beautiful ba
ker's bread, George. I don't know but it is nicer
than any home inadorbread I ever ate,' I replied,
in a most recommendatory tone, taking another
slice, which I did not want.
There is nothing like good home made bread,
such as my mother used to make.'
lo the first part ot this remark I did not mate
rially object, inasmuch as it was seriously my o-
pimon; but when lie suggested an equality with
his mother's bread, than which nothing in his
estimation ever excelled, I felt a sad shrinking' of
the heart at my own conscious inability of attain
May you be blessed with just such an appetite
as you had when, a boy, you ate your mother's
bread,' was my inward benediction, as he arose
to return to his afternoon business. Sometimes I
thought of confessing our dilemma. Had it been
the first week of our marriage, it had all been well;
he would have snii'nd c.t my inex perience; but we
had unfortunately been married some time; and
however lovely inefficiency and want of skill may
appear in a lady love or a bride, it assumes quite
a different aspect when not to know is inexcusable
ignorance. ' Oh, I can't do that,' could no longer
be viewed in the light of maiden timidity, or del
icate helplessness; besides, it savored too little of
' bis mother,' who was a pattern housekeeper.
But the bread must be made. ' I will begin with
pearlash bread; that I am sure will be easiest and
much less trouble.' So upon pearlash bread I was
With what deep and earnest interest did I pre
pare my flour, millc, salt, and pearlash. With
what anxiety did 1 mix these important ingredi
ents together. 'I will have pearlash enough,'
thought I. ' I am determined it shall be light, ' and
another spoonful was quickly added. The bread
was made; the pans wore ready, the fire kindled,
and at last it was satisfactorily deposited in the
well heated oven. I took my seat beside the
stove to watch its progress. How anxious was I
to see it rise. How readily did I remember the
round plump aspect of my mother's loaves. Time
passed, and despite my watchful inspection and
ardent wishes, it was flat! flat! flat! It grew
beautifully brown, but there it lay, so demure, so
Dinner came and my husband walked in, w ith
a friend or two to dine, as, m the hospitality of
Ins heart, he often did. I extended a welcome
hand, but I am sure my burnt face and disquieted
look were tell tales of a heart not particularly glad
to see them.
We sat down at table; the mackerel was well
i... i .i, . ., ii i I., i
nun.;,., mi: )uiiinn;.- en none, ami i lie nutter was
melted, but the bread the bread ! the article n-
bove all, which my husband considered indispen
sable to be good it was handed round lie took a
slice; it certainly did not resemble bread, thick
ly studded as it, was with little brown spots of un
dissolved pearlash; and then how it tasted' a
strange mixture of salt and bitter, wlii. li w.w nl.
Ui.ntl.iii. .,..1.., i.i . nr.. i... i , ...
uk, in i imi,;ui,iiin'. iuy iiusiiaiKi looKed sur
prised and mortified, and how did not I feel? Is
there no other,' ho looked .significantly at me.
I shook my head, while he involuntarily remov
ed the unpalatabl.e slice far from his plate. How
little did 1 enjoy the society of my agreeable
guests, llow distant did I wish them; any where
but at my own table.
'Had you not better attend to the bread making
A Puzzle A Soliloquy.
How shall I he a popular preacher! A
problem, that, in these days! To be popular, a
preacher must be eloquent, for without eloquence,
the piety of John, or the zeal and knowledge, ami
integrity of Paul would make no preacher popular
But how shall I be eloquent? To bark elo
quently, at scare crows, for any length of time, is
a task that very few men have a talent for, espe
cially if they be men of common sense. To aim a
haft at anything except scarecrows, would be to
grapple Willi some oi tne actual sinsoi tne people,
as they actually exist. To do this would be be
coming a fanatic a disorganize!' a disturber of
the peace of churches! A worse heresy than the
ick of eloquence itself.
And then, the task of contriving and dressing up
these same scare crows to be shot at from the
pulpit, as an eloquent preacher must needs shoot.
How shall the effigy of straw bo made to resemble
a reality, so much as to Keep the preacher and
his audience in countenance while shooting at it;
without creating the suspicion that it is in very
deed some one of the most monstrous unsightly re
alities that the fanatics are forever tilting at. But
tiie breath of such a suspicion would brand a
preacher as a fanatic, at once.
To be eloquent, a preacher must, moreover,
contrive to be in earnest, about something; at any
rato he must appeur to be, or his attempted elo-
quoncp will flag. But the moment he begins to be
in earnest, that moment he falls under suspicion of
fanaticism, the sin of all sins, in a preacher.
There was my class-mate, the Rev. M. P
who was settled in the city of U , a few years
since. Surely Mr. P was the very model of
a popular preacher, if any man could be. He had
the reputation of being exceedingly eloquent.
Me was a prudent man withal, and prudence,
equally with elo pienep, (rarely united,) is iudis-
pcnsihle to the preacher that would be popular.
Yet with both of them, Mr. P. failed to succeed!
The moment he began to be pointed enough to be
interesting, ami earnest enough to be eloquent,
that moment his remarks v ere thought personal,
and he was suspected of an inclination to aboli
tionism! 'Twas even hinted there might be (lon
ger of his exchanging with Rev. Mr. G. of the
neighboring village of W , (a sufficiently elo
quent preacher by the bye but so imprudent as to
have identified himself with "the niggers!") To
quell these alarms in bis congregation, Mr. P
very quietly lowered the tone of his preaching.
till all were satisfied that the good man had meant
nothing in particular in his preaching, only to be
eloquent, and so the congregation became quiet.
But who would have thought it? In two or three
years it was w hispered by lawyer and judge
, that Mr. P ws.s nut sufficiently interest
ing tacked variety exhibited no originality
was hot eloquent. And rumor has it that the pul
pit of Mr. P. is about to become vacant again.
Alas! who shall succeed if Mr. P. could not?
llow shall 1 be a popular preacher?
From the Philadelphia Forum.
The Insane Mourner.
BY F. B. GitAHAM.
Twilight possesses charms for the lover of soli
tude if a communion with one's own thoughts
may be considered solitude and I have ever made
it the period of my lonely rambles. On one occa
sion, not many years since,l was led (I know not
why) to the door of a cottage in a very small street
in our city, where resided au elderly widow. A
daughter and sister-in law comprised her little
fireside circle. Considering myself privileged by
a slight acquaintance, I entered; for the furmali-'
ties of the fashionable are not observed by the
humble, though honest poor, and friends are ejer
heartily welcome to a place at their firesides. It
was early in autumn, but the weather was not cold,
and a few embers blazed upon the hearth. The
matron of the tenement infoimed me that her wid
owed sister in law had not returned from her eve
ning visit to the grave of her husband who had
been brought home a corpse but a few days previ
ous and she requested me to remain a short time.
The presence of a friend is ever a consolation to
the bereaved, for gloomy is the dwelling from
which death has but recently taken a loved one.
I had not sat long before the, young widow en
tered. She was beautiful, even though sorrow
had driven from her cheeks the flush of the rose.
But a few months had elapsed since she had given
her affections unreservedly to the man she now
A strange '.vildness beamed from her
Collecting a Bill. A gentleman from New
York who had been tarrying in Boston for the pur
pose of collecting some money due him in thatcit
v, was about returning home, when he found that
one bill of S'100 had been overlooked. His land
lord, w ho knew the debtor, thought it a doubtful
ease; but added, that it it was collectable at all, a
Mil Yankee, then dunning a person in another part
of the room, would annoy it outot the man. (Jai
ling him up, therefore, he introdured him to the
creditor, who showed bun the account.
"Wall, 'squire, 'taint much use trying, I guess
1 know that critter, it on might as well try to
squeeze ile out 'o Bunker Hill monument, as to
fry to collect a debt out 'o him. Hut any how
what II you give, 'sposm 1 do try.'"
"Well, sir, the bill is 100. I'll give you yes,
I'll give you half, if you collect it."
"Agreed," replied the collector: "there's no
harm in trying, any how."
Some time after, the creditor happened to be in
Boston, and in walking up 'Fremont street, encoun
tered his enterprising friend.
"Look here! 1 had consider'bln luck with that
bill o' your'n. You see I stuck to him like pitch
to a pine plauk, but for the first week or two it
was nt no use, nor. a nit. ue was always snort, or
cUc be was'nt at home; and I coidd'nt get no sort
of satisfaction. By and by, says I, after goingsix
tecn times, I'll fix ye: so I sot down on his door
step, and set all day and part of the evening, and
began agin early next morning, and about ten o'
clock he gin in. lie paid me my half, and I gave
him up the note!" Sal. Courier.
a piteous smile placed upon hercounte--
naive, as she sat down by my side, a victim oj in
sanity. " 1 thought you would come," said she, gazing
wildly into my face " they said you hail dieil in a
distant land, but I did not believe it. Why our
you stay so long? Did you not want to see me?1
But you are here and 1 will not reprove you. Oh'
I'm happy now. Why don't you speak tome?
Have you forgotten me. Oh why did you go away
and leave me ?"
She paused, and cast her eyes towards the firer
as though musing. A tear trembled for a moment
on her eyelid, and then fell. Presently she again'
wazed at me, and continued, in the same touching'
" Come closer to the fire, my husband it Is
cold very cold ! You do not know tne now you
do not remember your Clara; but I am happy now
oh, yes, 1 am very happy because you are w:tn
i. 'ii ... r. i. . ..
mo. i on WHI not. leave me again i Know you.
Thus incoherently did she talk, and no ono an
swered or attempted to lure her from lierddusion.
I looked upon- her, and my heart swelled with sor
row at the sight of a wreck so beautiful and lovelv.
I have seen the tall oak of the forest torn from the
ground by the whirlwind, without a sigh; but I
have wept when the fragrant rose was riven from
its tender stem bv the Autumn winds. 1 have ga
zed upon the remains of a friend I loved, have
wept over his coffin, and turned away to forget
him; bat when I contemplated the shattered mind
of the being before me when I viewed that once
beautiful flower, now lovely even in its pallid
bloom contending with the storms of afflction,
and in danger of being prostrated to the earth col
orless and lifeless, my feelings were entirely over
come I could not weep, for the very fountains of
sorrow were dried up by the excess of sympathy.
1 could endure the pain of so melancholy a specta
cle no longer, and in the midst of her incohcren
cies I arose to depart. When I opened the door
she caught hold of my arm.
"You are not going again, said she, how can.
you go? Ob, do not leave me now I must tic
company you, for if you go alou", you will bevor
return ! know you will not. I have had a die- mi
an awful dream, and if you go away 1 shall net
see you again I know I shall not. Oh, will you.
not stay with me?"
I tore myself from her determined grasp, hur
ried back to my lodgings, and never saw her after
wards. To this very day do I meditate upon the strange
incidents of that night, and frequently do I awake
from a dreamy, sleep, imagining that I again hear
her voice begging her husband not to leave her!
Poor thing, her troubles soon ceased; and though
her Henry never came back to relieve her disor
dered mind, she was soon called to join him in k
The old lady of the cottage still dwells there,
and to all her visitors repeat's the sad tale I have
just related. She says tint oft at twilight she im
agines that the spirit of the lovely Clara returns to
ller fire-side; and the whistling of the winds she
construes into plaintive moans of grief.
I have since frequently set it; that chimney cor
ner and reflected upon the mysteries of the femalo
heart so confiding so tender so lovely, even
amid the withering blasts of adversity. Although
a tender bloom, it'is unfading; for when riven by
sorrow7, it never fails to bestow its fragrance.
" Earth's blossoms thrive not in the shade,
Unhlest by gentle showers from heaven
But that sweet flower by kindness made
To bud and bloom, will never fade,
And freely are its oidors given."
I he Degrading habit of Swearing. It is not
easy to perceive wh.it honor or credit is connected
with swearing! JJoes any man receive a promo
tion, because he is a notable blusterer? Or does
any man advance to dignity, because he is expert
in profane swearing? No. Low must be the char
acter., which such impertinence will not degrade.
Inexcusable, therefore, must be the practice which
has neither reason nor passion to support it. The
drunkard has his cups; the lecher his mistress: the
yourself, wary,' ami ue, as soon as we vciC8Iltjrjs, ,js IUVetige; the ambitious man his prefc
li linn anil iirtf lpnVfi t lat most imnnrtmil nni-h .-.C: . .1 ' 1 . 1
. . . ...ii..
cooking to such niiscinoie, inexperienced hands."
ineio was u decision in ins gentle tone, which I
well knew meant to give me no choice in the mat
ter, and I saw that be little imagined the ' misera
ble inexperienced hands,' upon w hich he laid such
neither more nor less than mv
own; nn l it did not attorn me much consolation,
that he expected teller things than all this of me.'
I went aw ay am! wept heartily and humbly, with
this pitiful lamentiHioii, ' what 'shall I do?' "There
stooil the piano. VVhat availeth all the time, tal
ent and industry which had been spent in learning
u few tunes? It aided not an iota to the real
comforts of my luusehold. Handsome worsted
work adorned our Minor, uii that I could recall
an hundredth partit the time spent with an em
broidery needle, aifl re-pass, in thoroughly and
skilfully acquiring tfc important arts of housewif
ery. From that rmnient I resolved to study into
my domestic duties iot lightly and loosely, as if
film! ... !
i.iji nno bin in mams, easny gotten over, but J
resolved to know AoAo become a skilful, econom
ical, thrifty housekejier. Upon success in this,
how much of family Welfare and family happiness
depend. When I havf cut my sweet, light, whole
some loaves, there stii lingers a sad remembrance
of the pain, the aiKiify, nay, the mortification of
my first efforts; whli ft ono to advise, and no one
to, aid, me." MineWas'n long and wearisome pro
bation in bread maling, and all because I lightly
inents; tne miser ins gold; nut the common swear
er has nothing; he is a fool at large, sells his soul
for nought, and drudges the service of the devil
gratis. Swearing is void of all plea.
(X3"A bit of a wag on board of a steamboat from
Norfolk, being not a little disquieted in his slum
bers by some fellow lodgers who seemed to dispute
his claim to the birth, called out,
"Bring me the way bill."
"What for, inassa?"
"I want to see if these bed bugs put down
their names for this birth before I ilid-if not, I
want 'em turned out."
The Methodists. A Washington correspondents
of the Philadelphia Gazette says that there has.
been in that city a decision of the Methodist Con--ference,
denouncing all ministers of that denomi--nation
who have slaves, and that it has caused con
siderable excitement. It is said such a course ean--not
fail to injure the Methodist churches of tb
South. He adds, however, "They are right,,
and they arc determined to go 'ahead.'
The Unkindesl Cut of Jill. The English
nil t ho t i 1 111. nnl'innr nf nuii (" . . 1 1 1 Wotnrn t.r nv
manners and customs, giving us tlio hardest kind
of hints for some of our eccentricities, but. the cru
ellest cut we have recently received is with njack
kidfe decidedly n "cut direct." Some Sheffield
cutler has deluged the market with huge clumsy
jank-knives, marked American Gentleman's Pocket
Companion!" indicating that such are the delicate
Business Enough. The Grand Jury at Con
cord, N. II., returned week before last one hundred,
and eighty-seven indictments. This does not speak
well for the morality of New Hampshire. The
are indictments were for assault and battery with, in-
rent 10 commit rape paes-jig counterfeit money
lar.-en against towns for neglect to keep ro'ads
in repair for keeping bowling al'eys, and' for re
tailing spirituous liquors without license.
A Travelling Mesmerizf.ii having said .he
was ready to.uiwer anvnuestion that micht hn as
ked him, a Keutuckian desired to know "how
. ' , r Mv... .. .v iiiv in iimiii; fti.M nun, u jveutucKian ucsireu to Know "how
instruments carried in the pockets of the elite of ,Uch it cost per week to 'paster' Nebuchadnezzar
iiiiinuc lailll. x 110 uikuh-iu Hiilll is ceriillUIV OUI'imr thn t 111a ho ivna nnr nn irrnaa
harp upon the American blades this time.
More about Leite.i Carrying. George P.
Fisher and Calvin Case were held to bail on Fri
day in this city in the sum of $500 each,hy the U.
S. Marshal for this district, as agents for the tran
smission of letters in violation of law, by Lysan
der Spooner's American Letter Mail Co.
In the seven distilleries in New-York City, there
is a daily consumption about 3.800 bushels of grain,
which at 69 cts. amounts to $0,222 dollars daily
or 318,064, a year Between the 14th and 26ih
of February last, 203,400 gallons of spirits were
inparted from abroad, and consigned to 32 difl'er
ent houses in this city.
(J5-The Legislature of Maine has abolished Mil
itia trainings. The enrollment and organization
will be continued as heretofore.
Fearful Leap. On Thursday night of last
week, a lady in Fair Haven, Conn, became alarm
ed during her slumbers, and leaped out of the sec
ond stcry window of her sleeping.room ! Strange
as it may appear, not a limb was broken, nor was
she seriously injured !
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