EDWARD D. HOWARD,
nrailq fournal, DtDobh
fa Jmkn, irnlto,
Itoto, (Bftntatian. local
SnWligrarr, nnHie Jltras
JANUARY 17, 1 855.
ONE DOLLAR AND PXPTT CZ NT
rim AIHCM, I ABTAHCX.
WHOLE NO. 1999.
LAY OF THE LOWLY.
Xohert Nieoll, Scotch poet, it rtmsxksMe for the
anafftctcd simplicity of his versts. He selects homely
themes, but throw into them the loftiest feelings. The
following poess will go home to erery son.
Ve are lowly very lowly,
Misfortane is our crime ;
We hare been trodden under foot
From all recorded time.
A yoke upon our necks is kid,
A harden to endure ;
To suffer is our legacy,
' " The portion of the poor !
We are lowlv very lowly.
And scorn 'd from day to day;
Tet we hare somethinjr of our own
Power cannot take away.
By tyrants we are toil'd to death
By cold and hunger kill'd;
' But peace is in our hearts, it speak
Of duties allfulnll'd!
We are lowly rery lowly.
Nor honse nor land have we,
Bot there's a hentajre for us
While we hare eyes to see.
They cannot hide the lovely stars,
Wonls in creation's hook.
Although they hold their fields and ianea
Corrupted by our look 1
We are lowly rery lowly.
And yet the fairest flowers.
That by the wayside raise their eyes
Thank God they still are ours !
Oars is the streamlet's mellow roice.
- And ours the common dew;
We still dare gaze an hill and plain,
1 And field and meadow too !
We are lowly Tery lowly;
But when thecheerful Spring
Cones forth with flowers upon her feet
To hear the throstle sing.
Although we dare not seek the shade
Where haunt the forest deer.
The wavinsj leaves we still can see
The hymning birds can hear 1
We are lowly rery lowly;
Our hedgerow paths are gone.
Where woodbines laid their fairy hands
The hawthorn's breast upon.
Tet slender mercies still are left.
And heaven doth endnre,
And hears the prayers that upward rise
From the afflicted poor -!
THE OLD BACHELOR'S NEW YEAR.
BY CHARLES GRAHAM HALPINE.
Oh. the Sprint; hath less cf brightness
And the snow a ghastlier whitnesa
' Nor do gammer blossoms quicken.
Nor does Autumn's fruitage thicken.
As it did the acasons sicken
It it growing eoHer. colder,
And I feel that I am older
And my Ituibs are less elastic.
And my fancy not so plastic,
ies, my habits grow monastic.
Tit becoming bleak and bleaker
And my hope are waxing weaker
Care I now for merry dancing.
Or for eyes with passion glancing !
Love is less and lest entrancing
Oh, the days that I have squandered
And the friendships rudely sundered
Every year 1
Of the ties that might have twined me.
Until time to death resigned me,
My inAnnities remind me '
.Every year. "
Sad and sad to look before us
With a heavier shadow o'er at
Every year J
To behold each blottom faded.
And to know we might have made it
An immortal garland braided
Bound the year.
llany a spectral beckoning finger.
Year by year.
Chides me that so long I linger.
Year by year;
Every early coinrad sleeping
In the charch.va.xl. whither, weeping,
. X, alone, unwept, am creeping.
Tear by year.
[From the National Intelligencer.]
A LARCENY ABOVE STAIRS.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH.
It is not at the other watering-places
on the Rhine as at Baden, where the sea
son lasts in all its brilliancy and throng
of visitors until the last days of autumn
force the company home. Baden has
singular good fortune, and its innumera
ble attractions have increased and secured
it popular favor. Elsewhere the compa
ny began to decrease even daily in Sep
tember. As soon as the Count de Cham
bord took his departure, Wisenbadeh was
instantly deserted, and grass will shortly
grow in the large and monumental streets
of that city, which resemble Verstules.
The season lasts a little longer at Ems,
but early in September it is easy to see
that it cannot be of long continuance.
At this early date the circle of visitors is
not renewed : ranks daily become thin-1
ner, and soon that beautiful spot will be
divested of its ornaments as the trees of
their leaves, like them to rejuvinate and
be reanimated next spring.
The story, or rather the true story,
which will shortly be narrated, was com
municated to me as I shall presently re
late, at Ems some years ago. Of all the
watering places on the Rhine, Ems most
resembles Baden by the charms of the
surrounding country, and the choice of
the society, which faithfully returns there
year after year. Besides, Ems has the
reputation of being the diplomatic watering-place.
The most celebrated states-
men gladly give themselves rendezvous'
there to treat secretly about their most
important affairs. M. de Nesselrode fre
quently makes his physician prescribe
their waters to him. M. de Metternich
may, whili taking his morning walk,
come to Ems from his chateau of Job an -nisburg,
situated a few leagues from it,
and in the same Duchy of Nassau. The
chateau of Stolzenfels, belonging to the
king of Purssia, is also placed in the
.neighborhood of Ems, being di-tant fro.n
it only some three leagut.8; and the
Prince, as well as his Ministers, often
ci:ne for a promenade to Ems during the
stay the Prussian Court annually makes
every summer in the Manor so pictur
esquely reconstructed on the banks cf the
There was a great many persons this
year as usual at Ems, and consequently
anecdotes were not wanting. It was easy
to amuse one's self there; young ladies
were in a decided majority; all the Pa
risian ladies who were re'urning from
Wisebaden or going to Baden made a
halt here, where fetes succeeded each
other without interruption. Apart from
this joyous throng, upoa the terrace which
borders the pretty river called the Lalin,
an elderly lady, evidently in ill health,
might be seen there two or three hours
every day, seated in the sunshine, and
breathing the pure and balmy air of the
mountains. This lady, whose physiog
nomy was exceedingly aristocratic, and
whose sufferings excited a great deal of
interest was called the Countess de
M S:ie was known to be very
wealthy, but a certain mystery hung
Among the Parisian sojourners, was a
gentleman, who for the last fifty years,
had been a great deal in fashionable soci
ety, M. de Bel , whose youth flourish
ed somewhere about the vear 1610, and
whose old age is adorned with all the
charms of talents, furnished with many
souvenirs. M. de Bel was struck
with the physiognomy of the Countess de
M . He thought she was an old ac
quaintance, and, taking advantage of that
facility authorized bv the customs of
watering-places, he took the liberty of sa
luting the Countess in a very respectful
manner, and asking her if she had never
lived in Paris.
u Never ?" she replied in a manner
which showed considerable embarrass
ment. The iuquisitive gentleman did not make
another attempt, but he did not give up
as defeated. After searching all the re
cesses of his memory, after revolving all
the incidents of the past, he met the souv-
enir of a history which he at first resolved .'
to keep secret, but some days ago we '.
heard that the Countess de M , who
had just quitted Ems to return to one of !
her chateaux, becoming more indisposed ;
during her homeward journey, had been
obliged to stop at an inn by the roadside,
where she had bieathcd her last. Too
curious himself not to know how to sym
pathize with the inquisitiveness of his fel- !
low men and women, M. de Bel rela- ;
led to us the other evening, upon the ter j
race overlooking the Lahn, and upon the .
very place where the Countess was wont
sit, a history.which is at the same time
retrospective of Parisian society.
was during the most brilliant days of
Empire, at the period when Parisian
society, gathering the scattered remains j
the revolutionary shipwreck, reconsti- j
tuted itself with the elements of the old J
society commingled with the new glories j
and tne new fortunes. 1 he past and the
present met upon the ground of fetes and
pleasures. The former souget to com
pensate themselves for long and cruel
trials ; the latter were jealous and anxious
display their new splendor. Both ri- j
valled each other with enthusiasm, nerve,
and eclat. The fusion of the two aristoc
racies, which the Emperor endeavored to
cement with iutermarriages, was formed
1 J i
a icaa giavcr, auu iijuic cjiiiiaivc tiiau-
ner, in the drawing rooms of the distin
guished foreigners who then abounded in
Paris. In the first rank was Count Dem
idoff, father of the Prince Auuto'e Demi
doff, who married the Princess Iathide,
Cousin of Louis Napoleon, the Emperor
the French, and from whom she was
separated by a ukase of the Czar, his
Count Demidoff possessed an immense
,orlune na " was l lnat loriune mat ne,
tl,e gnson of a simple gunsmith, owed
his nobility, his title, and his position at
Court. His wealth, which he bequeathed
his two sons, principally consisted in
the working of Iron, copper, and gold
mines, situated in the Ural Mountains ;
the mines were his property in fee simple.
" This has been a bad year," said he
one day, my mines have brought me
only eight hundred thousand dollars."
La povre kornme ! The average reve
nue was between one million and one
million two hundred thousand dollars per
annum, wjthout reckoning the returns
from other estates belonging to this mag.
nificent lord' which he had purchased
his economies on the revenues from
Ural Mountains. It must be said
C)unt Demidoff made excellent use of his
colossal fortune ; he founded useful es
tablishments, he encouraged the arts, he
kept one of the most splendid and the
most agreeable houses in Paris. The
Countess aided him a Iniirably to do the
honr rs of the house ; she was a charming
woman, and had a very highly cultivated
In the intimate circle of friends of
DemidofFs house, was a young German
lady called the Baroness Von Schwickel,
who was generally regarded as one of the
most elegant women in Paris. The Coun
tess was exceedingly attached to her, and
friendship often manifested itself by
DemidofFs casket was furnished in pro
to portiorl to the immense fortune of her
husband. Among other recent exhibi
It tioas of her magnificence, she had ap
the peaied at the last ball in the Tuilleries
witn a diadem of emeralds and diamonds
wortn arl hundred thousand dollars,
This diadem had made a great sensation
;n society. The Countess did not wear
services bestowed with great delicacy;
for the Baroness, a widow, and with a
small fortune, would have, unaided by
her opulent friend, a great deal of difficulty
to make a figure, and maintain herself as
a leader in the ranks of fashion. The
Baroness was not only fond of dress, but
she was fond of cards. This was a vice
which then made great ravages among
the fashionables of aristocracy society.
There was a great deal more and a very
different sort of plying then than what we
have now-a-days. The madness of lans
quent, and its fatal excesses, are nothing
in comparison with what was usual in
There were two houses especially
where the aristocratic world played high;
in the mansion of the Duchess de Laynes,
and in the mansion of a Russian lad',
M'me de DiwofT. At midnight, when
the " hells" closed, the bank was estab
lished now in Luynes-house, Rue Saint
Domique, now Rue des Champs-Elysees
in the house now occupied by the Turk
ish Embassy, and then by M'me DiwofT.
Roulette and Trente et Quarante, with
their utensils, their ta'deurt and their
croupiers, were installed in these noble
drawing-rooms; the bank was made up
of same six or eight thousand louis d'or,
and around the tapis vert thronged the ar
ristocratic crowd. The great dignitartes
who were averse to exhibiting themselves
in the public " hells" took revenge of the
exigencies of decorum. Among the pun
ters were the best people of Europe ; M.
de Montrond, Ambassadors, Ministers,
Generals, (who played like bold fightersi
but whom fortune did not always treat as
kindly as victory.) Ladies, too, kept a
large place in this busy gallery, and some
of them adventured, and lost a great deal
more than their means would allow.
There was no playing in the Demidoff
House, but amends were made by danc
jng a great deal. Several balls had been
giVCa during the season, and towards
Lent, a fete was announced which was
to exceed all the others. The elegant
ladies strove to outshine each other, and
er one of them d;sPiaTe(l tliere all
the wealth of their ciskcts. With ad
mirable jrood taste the mistress of the
house alone of all persons present appear
ed very simply attired so as not to eclipse
ner rmests : for no lady, not even the
Imperial Princesses, could have entered
tne jjsts against her, as the Countess de
u nr. her hall she contented herself
with a modest set of Perls, worth at most
some two or three louis d'or. The fete
was magnificent with luxury and elegant
ecaL jhe elite of society, the illustri-
ous men the grand dignitaries of the
Empire, all the celebrated people of
fashion were present. The first quadrille
was danced by M'me Tisconti, M'me
Hamelin, lhe Count-ss Demidoff, and the
Baroness Von Schwickel ; their partners
were Miss de Narbonne, de Sainte Foy,
de Layaupailliere, and de Boisgelin ;
these are the names of the best dancers
of that day. The bill was momentarily
interrupted that a musical performance
might be heard which consisted simply
of two airs sung by Jarat, whose inimit
able talents were then still full of charm
and freshness. After a supper splendidly
served, dancing re-commenced, and the
fete continued until daybread.
The Countess Demidoff returned to
her chamber, and taking off her set of
pearls, gave it to her dressing maid, to
lock up in her casket. This servant sud
denly screamed with fright, and fell
fainting on the carpet. Her mistress ran
to her, to take her up, and asked what
was the matter. Her only reply was to
point in the casket to the vacant compart
ment the place of the hundred thousand
dollar diadem ! The diadem had disap
peared. There was immediately a great bustle
in every part of the house. Qutstions,
searches, brought about no result. The
police were called in and arrested several
of the servants ; then, without losing
time, offended justice began to search
some clue which should dissipate the
mystery, and expose the guilty party.
The m.ws of this event spread rapidly
all over Paris. All of the guests at the
hall hastened to go to the Countess and
present their condolence for her loss.
As her intimate friend, the Baroness Von
Schwickel was one of the first sympathi
zers, she showed a lively interest in this
sad affair, and seemed so much affected
by it, the Countess said smilingly to her,
"Really, my dear, I shall have to console
you, I fear !"
The Countess in truth supported the .
loss of her diadem with a great deal of
philosophy. If the police failed, the
Ural mountains would be sure to return
them to her.
- " I shall never be consoled," said the
Baroness, " until your diamonds are re
turned, and the guilty person (using the
French form la conpnble,) punisoed."
"La eoupaUe!" said the Countess,
"Do you think it was a woman ?"
les certainly. JSone but your
chambermaids entered your chamber
alone during the ball ; and consequently
none but them could have committed the
TO BE COXUIXUED.
HORACE GREELEY'S FIRST DAY IN
The following interesting sketch is from
the forth-coming life of Horace Gbek-
'At sunrise onFiiday, the eighteenth
of August, 1831, Horace Greeley land
ed at White Hall, close to the Battery,
in the City of New York.
New York was, and U a cily of adven
turers. Few of our eminent citizens
were born here. It is a common boa st
among New Yorkers that this great mer
chant and that great millionaire came to
the city a ragged boy, with only three
and sixpence in his pocket and note
look at him ! In a list of one hundred
men who are esteemed the most "sue
cessful" among the citizens of Xejr York
it is probable that seventy-five of the
names would" be those of men who began
their career here i i circumstances that
gave no promise of futher eminence.
But among them all, it is a question
where there was one who on his arriv al
had so little to help, so much to hinder
him, as Horace Greeley.
Of solid cash his stock was ten dollars.
His other property consisted of the
cholhes he wore, the clothes he carried
in his bundle, and the slick with which
he carried it. The clothes he wore need
not be described ; they were those which
had allready astonished the people of!he
Erie. The clothes he carried w?re very
few, and precisely oimilar in cut and I
quality ta the garments which he exhib-
ited to the public. On the violent sup
position that his wardrobe could in any
case have become a saleable commodity,
we may compute thnt he was worth, oa
this'Friday m irning at sunrise, ten dol
lars and seventy-five cents. He had no
friend, no acquaintance here. There
was not a human being upon whom he
had any claim for help and advice. His
appearance was altogether against him
He looked in his round jacket like an
overgrown boy. No one was likely to
observe the engaging beauty of his
face, or the noble round of his brow, un
der that overhanging hat, over that long
and stooping body. He was somewhat
timorous in his intercourse with stran
gers. He would not intrude upon their
attention ; he had cot the faculty of
pushing his way, and proclaiming his
merits and desires. To the art by which
men are conciliated by which unwill
ing men are forced to attend to an un
welcome tale, he was utterly a stranger.
Moreover, he had not neglected to bring
with him any letters of recommendation
or certificate of his skill as a printer. It
had not occured to him that anything of
the kind was necessary, so unacquainted
was he with the life of cites.
His first employment was to find a
boarding house where he could live a
long time on a small sum. Leaving the
green battery on his left hand, he strolled
off into Broad street, and at the corner
of that street and Wall street, he di cover
ed a house that in his eyes had the as
pect of a cheap tavern. He entered the
barroom an 1 asked the price of board.
'I guf-ss we're too high for you, said
the bar-keeper, after bestowing a glance
upon the inquirer.
'Well, how much a week do you
'Yes, that's more than I can afford,'
said Hoi ace, with a laugh at the enor
mous mistake he had made in inquiring
at a house of such pretensions.
He turned up Wall street, and saun-1
tered into Broadway. Seeing no house j
cf en!erainment that seemed at all suit- I
ed to his circumstances, he sought the
water ouce more, and wandered along
the North River, as far as Washington :
market. Boarding houses of the cheap- j
est kind, and drinking houses of the
lowest grade, the former frequented i
chiefly by emigrants, the latter by sail-'
ors, were numerous enough in that j
neighborhood. A house, which com-!
bined the low groggery and the cheap J
boarding house in one establishment,
kept by an Irishman named M'Garlick, j
chanced to be one that first attracted the 1
rover's attention. It looked so mean and !
squalid, lhat he was tempted to enter, j
and again enquire for what sum a man,
could buy a week's shelter and susten-
'Tw. nty-shilliugs,' was the landlord's (
was not aware that nearly all the
printing offices in New York are in the
square mile. He went the entire
'Ah,' said Horace, 'that sounds more
He engaged to board with M'Garlick,
on the instant, and proceeded soon to
test the quality of his fare by taking
breikfast in the besom of his family.
The cheapness of the entertainment
was its Lest recommendation.
.After breakfast Horace performed an
act which I beleived he had never spon
taneously performed before. He bought
some clothes with a view to render him
self more presentable. They were of
the commonest kind, and the garments
were few, but the purchase absorbed
nearly half his capital. Satisfied with
his appearance, he now began the round
of his printing offices, going into all he
could find, and asking for iniployment-
merely asking and going away without
word, as soon as he was refused. In
the course of the morning he found him
self in I he office of the Journal of Com
merce, and he chanced to direct his in
quiry, if they wanted a hand, to the late
David Hale, one of the proprietors of
that paper. Mr. H-d.-, took a survey of
whom had presumed to address him, and
replied in substance as follows :
My opinion is young man, that you're
runaway apprentice, and you'd better
go home to your m.ister.'
Horace ende-ivored to explain his posi
tion and circumstances, but the impetu
ous Haie could be brought to no grac
ious response than, 'Be off about 3 our
business and don't both' r us.'
Horace more amused than indignant
retired and pursued his way to the next
office. All that day he walked the street,
climbed into upper stories, came down
again, ascended other heights, descend
ed, dived into basements traversed pas
sages, groped through labyrinths, ever
asking the same question, and ever re
ceiving the same reply, in various de
grees of civility. 'No,' He walked ten
times as many miles as he needed, for
length of many streets, which any body
could have told him did not contain one
He went homeon Friday evening, very
tired and a little discouraged.
Early on Saturday morning he resum
ed the search, and continued it with en
ergy till evening. But no one wanted a
hand. Business seemed to be at a stand
still, or every office had its full comple
ment of men. On Siturday evening he
was still more fatigued. He resolved to
remain in the city a day or two longer,
and then, if still unsuccessful, to turn
face homeward, and inquire for work ;
the towns through which he passed
Trinurrrt A ieprtfirnrrprl Via waa nnf tic
r . . 0 "J
heartened, and still less alarmed.
The youthful reader should observe
here what a sense of independence, and
what fearlessness dwelt in a man who
had learned the art of living on the mere
necessaries of life. If Horace Greeley
had after another dc.y or two of trial,
chosen to leave the city, he could have
carried with him about four dollars; and
with that sum he could have walked leis
urely, and with an unanxious heart all
way back to his father's house, six
hundred miles, inquiring for work at eve
ry town, and feeling himself to be a free
independent American ci'izen, trav
eling on his own honestly earued means,
undergraded by an obligation, the equal
social r.mk of the best house he pas
sed. Blessed is the younj man who can
walk thirty miles a day and dine conten
tedly on half a pound of crackers! Give
four dollars and sunnier weather,
he can travel and revel like a prince
incognito for forty days.
On Sunday morning, our hero arose,
refreshd,and cheerful. l!e went to church
twice, and spent a happy day. In the
morning he induced a man who lived in
house to accompany him to a small
Universalist church in Pitt-st., near the
Dock, not less than three miles dis
tant fr m M'Garlick s boarding house.
the evening he found his way to a
Unitarian church. Except on one occa
sion, he had never before heard a ser
mon which accorded with his own relig-
opinions; and the pleasure with
which he heard the benignity of the De
asserted and proved by able men was
of the hightest he had enjoyed.
In the afternoon, as if in reward of the
pious way in which he spent the Sunday,
heard news which gave him a faict
of being able to remain in the city,
Irishman, a friend of the landlord,
in the course of the afternoon to
his usual Sunday visit, and became
aquainted with Horace and his fruitless
search for work. He was a shomaker,
btlieve, but he lived in a house which
much frequented by journeymen
printers. From, these he had heard
hands were wanting at Vest s. No.
Chatham-st., and he recommended
new acquaintance to made inimedi-
rpplication at that office,
Accustomed to country hours, and
eager to seize the chance, Horace was
in Chatham-si., by half past five on Mon
day morning. West's printing office was
in the second story, the ground floor be
ing occupied by Mc Elrath & Bangs as
a book-store. They were publishers,
and West was their printer. Neither
store or office was yet opened, and Hor
ace sat down on the steps to wait.
Had Thomas Mc Elra'.h, Esquire hap
pened to pass on an early walk to the
battery that morning, and seen our hero
sitting on those steps, with his red bun
dle on his knee, his pale face supported
on his hands, his attitude expression of
dej'-ction and anxiety, his attire extreme
ly unornaraental, it would not have oc
curred to Thomas Mc Elrath, Esq., as a
probable event, that one day he would
be the partner of that sorry-figure, and
proud of the connection! Nor did Miss
Read, of Philadelphia, when she saw
Benjam n Franklin pass her father
house eating a large roll and carrving
OO af 9
two others under I is arms, see in that
poor wanderer any likeness of her fu
ture husband, the husband that made
her a proud and immortal wife. The
princes of the mind alw.iys remain in
cogni o till they come to the throne, and
doubtless the Co.ning Man, when he
comes, will appe.ir in a strange diguise,
and no man will know him.
It seemed very long before any one
came to wo; k that morning at No. 58.
The steps on which our friend was seat
ed were in the narrow part of Chatham
St., the go-ge through which at morning
and evening the swarthy tide of mechan
ics pour. By six o'clock the stream has
set strongly down-town-ward, and it
gradually swells to a torrent, bright with
tin kettles. Thousands passed by, but
no one stopped ti 1 nearly seven o'clock,
when one of Mr. West's journeymen ar
rived, and finding the door still locked,
he sat down on the steps by Horace
They fell into conversation,
and Horace stated his circumstances,
something of his history, and his need
of employment. Luckily, this journey-;
msmrua Yermonter, and a kind heart-
ed, intelligent man
UO 1UUB.CU UDUO !
ii- ii..i i
vkuuwj may, auu VfA9
struck with the singular candor and art
lessness with which he told his tale. "I
saw," says he, "that he was an honest,
good young man, and being a Vermonter
myself, I determined to help him if I
He did help him. The doors were
opened, the men began to arrive ; Hor
ace and his new found friend ascended ,
to the office, and soon after seven the
work of the day began. It is hardly
UC"'J w aaJ lui" luc "pireaiauce -i
. t .1. .1. t
1 1 . , 1. . I, ret , I
uuisbc, aa jig oah m iuc uuiVU watuug
the coming of the foreman, excited as-
tonishment, and brought upon his friend
a number of satirical observations.
Nothing daunted, however, on the arri-
val of the foreman he stated the case,
and endeavored to interest him enough
in Horace to give him a trial. It hap
pened that the work for which a man
wanted in the office, was the composi
tion of a Poljglot Testament, a kind of
work which is extremely difficult and
tedious. Several men had tried their
hand at it, and in a few days, or a few
hours, givea it up. The foreman looked
at Horace, and Horace looked at the
foreman. Horace saw a handsome man j
(n iW known to the sporting public as
Col. Porter, editor of the Spirit of the
Times.) The foreman beheld a youth
who could go on the stage that minute,
as Ezekiel Homespun, without the alter-
ation of a thread or a hair, and brought
down the house by his "gel'ing up"
alone. He no more believed that Eze
kiel could set up a page of a Polyglot
Testament than th it he could construct
chronometer. However, partly to
oblige Horace's frie:;d, partly because
he was unwilling to wound the feelings
of the applicant by sending him abrupt
ly away, he consented to let him try.
" Fit up a case for him," he said,
"and we'll set if he can do anything."
In a few minutes Horace was at work.
The gentleman to who-e intercession
Horace Greeley owed his first employ
ment in New-York, is now known to all
the dentists of the Union, as the leading
member of a firm which manufactures
annually twelve hundred thousand arti
After Horace had been at work an
hour or two, Mr. Wtst, the "boss" came
into the office. What his feelings were
when he saw his new man may be in
ferred from a little conversation on the
sulject, which took place between him
and the foreman.
"Did you hire that d d fool?",
asked West, with no small irritation.
"Yes ; we must have hands, and he
the best I could get," said the fore
man, justifying his conduct, though he
was leally ailirmed of it.
" Well," said the master, " for God's
sake, pay him off to-nig!it, and let him
about his business."
I The evening came, and much to .the
surprise of both foreman and employer,
the work was found to be well done.
The most searching scrutiny could not
detect a fault. A situation was at once
offered him, acd the verdant Yermonter
was recognized by the craft as ona of its
WHERE CORK COMES FROM.
Cork is nothing more or less than the
bark of evergreen oak, growing princi
pally in Spain, and other countries bord
ering the Mediterranean ; in English
gardens it is only a curiosity. When
the cork-tree is about fifteen years old,
the bark attains a thickness and quality
suitable for manufactu'ng porposes ; and
after stripping, a further growth of eight
years produces a second crop ; and so
on at intervals, for even t n or twelve
crops. The bark U stripped from the
tree, in pieces two inches in thickness
of considerable length, and of such width
as to retain the curved form of the trunk
when it has been stripped. The bark
pealer or cutter, make a slit in the bark
wi.h a knife, perpendicularly from the
top of the trunk to the bottom : he makes
another incission parallel to it, and at
some distance from the former ; and two
shorter horizontal tuts at ti e top and
bottom. For stripping off the piece thus
isolated, he uses a kind of a kuife with
two handles and a curved blade. Some
times after the cuts have been made, he
leaves the tr e to throw off the bark by
the spontaneous action of the vegetition
within the trunk. The det itched pieces
are socked in water, and are placed over
a fire when nearly dry ; They are, in
fact, scorched a little on both sides to
acquire a somewhat mere compact tex
ture by this scorching. In order to get
rid of the curvature, and bring them flat,
they are pressed down with weights
while yet hot.
COMPENSATIONS FOR CRIME IN
THE OLDEN TIME.
r ' J , , . ,
i or the purpose of cteckmg the mul-
, te f . . combaU
whicn jj.g red his rein Kin" Edward
..II- i j - .
of life, making no discrimination between
manslaughter and murder. It appears
that a King's life was valued at thirty
thousand thirstmas, computed to be thir
teen hundred pounds, or about six thou
sand dollars! If any one killed a King,
this was the "damage," by paying which
he was acquitted of guilt. The value of
a prince was one half this sum. By
payment of three thousand dollars, one
might have the privilege of killing a
prince! A bishop or an alderman was
wnrtr. slnnl r,lf .. m.,t, o o v,;n.o
A sheriff was valued at eight hundred
dollars. This was not his salary, but
what his murderer must pay! The hus
bandman, or "creole," was worth only
about fifty dollars. A King was worth
one hundred and twenty common men !
In this singular tariff an archbishop was
worth more than a King. A scale of
prices for wounds and injuries was for
merly in operation. Thus we find in the
early Saxan annals, that a wound an inch
length under the hair, was settled by
payment of one shilling; a wound of like
siz : in the face, two shillings; the loss of
an ear was rated equivalent to thirty
shillings. These estimates applied to all
A good man is influenced by God
himself, and has a kind of divinity with
in him. Seneca.
The firs', step towards virtue is to ab
stain from vice. Nj man has true,
sound sense, who is immoral. Specta
tor. The little value Providence sets on
riches, is seen by the persons on whom
they are general j bestowed. Tattler.
Those who delight to insult the timor
ous and mean, do but swell themselves
up into a more extravagant and remorse
less barbarity. Charon.
He that makes austhi ig his chief
good, wherein virtue, icason and human
ity do not bear a p .rt, can never do the
duties of ither friendship, justice or lib
Wisdom allows nothing to be good,
that will not be so forever; no man to be
happy, Lut he that needs no oth: r happi
ness than what is within himself; no man
be great or powerful, that is not mas
ter of himself. Seneca. . -
The spirit of liberty is not ns multi
tudes imagine, a jealousy of our own
particular rights, but a respect for the
rights of others and' an" unwillingness
that any man, whether high or low sho'd
wronged and trampled under foot.
Channing. ' '
It is chiefly young ladies of narrow un
derstanding who wear shoes too small
What sort of lucifers does a man use to
make light of his troub'es ?
THE OLDEN TIME. For the Farmer.
HEN QUIRIES ANSWERED—JAVA
Messrs. Bateham dt Harris : In reply
to " Hen-quiries," in your paper of Dec
1st, 1S54, 1 will make a few suggestion
As to the construction of s good and
cheap hen-house, I cannot give any reli
able advice ; but as to the best poultry
for laying, raising for sale, hardiness, and
eggs never failing to hatch well, which is
the great difficulty with the blooded chick,
ens, (at least I find it so,) and also what
breed will be likely to sell best two or
three years hence, I can, without any
hesitation, as I have had quite an experi
ence said to have the best and greatest
variety of chickens in this part of Ohio,
consisting of the great Black Java, Brah
ma Pootra, Cochin China, Hamburgh,
Golden and Silver Pheasant, White,
Black, Red and Buff Shanghais, Dork
ings, Polands, together with their crosses,
and among these I give the Java a pref
erence, by a great deal ; yes, they are
one hundred p-;r cent, befsr than either
cf the others mentioned, and all who are
acquainted with them will say the same ;
at least I find it so. '
I purchased my stock of chickens in
New York, S pt. 1", 1853. After I had
purchased the breeds that I knew of, the
chicken grower with whom I was dealing
told me it would never do for me to come
West without the Javas, and gave me the
history of them. I purchased a cock and
pullet two months old, paid pretty high,
as I thought then, and to my astonish
ment she commenced laying in the next
month. I thought it would not do to lose
the eggs, and I set to work and fixed up
a house with a stove in it, and set the
eggs under a China hen, taking care not
to set my Java hen ; I kept her laying.'
She grew finely, and kept fat all the
while. The chickens were hatched in
January following. I raised the whole
broid except one, and it was killed in the
door. They all proved to be pullets, ex
cept oic. The pullets all commenced
laying in May 1954, within a few days
of each other. I wa fearful of setting'
the first laying, but they all hatched well,
and in a few weeks the chickens had
grown almost out of my knowledge.
This fall I exhibited the winter broods
and their summer broods at the Warrea
Co. Agricultural Society, and they re
ceived the first premium over all other
chickens as being the best for all ptu po
ses. P. Drak.
Lebanon Dec., 1854
Lebanon Dec., 1854 LIME WATER IN BAKING BREAD.
In bread-making the vineous fermenta
tion sometimes passes into the acid, thus
rendering the bread sour and disagreea
ble. Liebig has lately performed a seriss
of experiments to improve the preparation
of bread, from which he comes to the con
clusion that the only effective and innocu
lous means of improving the qualities of
wheat and rye bread, is lime water. . In
making dough he ad vises one pint of clear
lime water to be used for every five
pounds of flour. The lims water is first
added to the flour, after which a sufficient
quantity of common water is added tat"
work the whole into good common dough
the leaven being nJxed with water can
be pr pared by stirring some quick lime
in a vessel containing pure- cold water,'
then allowing the sediment to settle- ' The
clear is then to be poured ofT, and kept io,i
bottles for use. ' No care is required res :
specting the quantity of bine to be stirred?
in the water, as it will 'only take up S i
certain quantity cf lime, and uo more. 3
Those who ma saleratuf (bicarboaate efi
soda) in the raising of bread, are recom--!
mended to cease its use, and employ pure!
baker's yeast and a little lime-waier.-
Our bones are composed of ih phosphate. i
of lime, sod ! those who use fine flout r--,
quire for their health s little more lime
than- ia contained in their foodL ' - Creanv
of tartar and carbonate of soda are infoJ
ri or to conimo l yeast for inaftig healthy
bread. Scientific America i - .v:f
To Keep Celkrt. Celciy should be.
taken from the trenches before the ground j
freezes hard. ' If to be kepi in a cellar,'
it should be one kept not much warmer ,
than just above the freezing point. 1
Make a ridge of earth on one side of the 1
cellar, next to forty five degree-. ' Then
proceed to lay the cefery close together 5
in a row. Place about an inch of dirt 1
over the layer of celery,' and then so-"''
other layer," and continue until' aft ts
snug'y stowed away, f There should be
a sufficient quantity of dirt to keep the
roots and stalks from touchingcach other. '
I: may be taken out at any time during '
the w'nter.' Ii may be kept' in 'the open
gr nnd by placing over the 'celery t1V.
cfen't straw or coarse manure to keejt ii
from the "frost. "We prefer the1 former '
plan as the most safe.
Ga3 RToar. The reply of one Mem
her of Cong' ess to the speech of anothirv.
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