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farm, Garden, and Household.
(OM'U'TED BY 1‘LTNAM SIMONTON. »j-our friends who may hare communications, ob ’tions, facts, suggestions, or anything of interest, al,ling to this department, arc requested to comma die same to Ur. l'utnam Simonton, Searsport, who prepar. the same lor publication, it of sufficient ini j .irtauee, I.HEETIVO. till: KKAOEItS OK IMIS PKPABTMENT : -sying our first v ords to the many friends -so hope often to meet in these columns, - no word will more include, or better press the great variety of topics upon which, . al a t lute each week, we propose to treat, ,n that dear, old familiar word iiomk. How reaching its import; for whatsoever wo ’.-ether to compel the soil to yield its , rous fruits, the «ea its treasures, and the trous arts and sciences their beneficent i.- their ultimate object and meaning are homo. ,, . the multitudinous ideas thus sug -, r first great duty shall he towards real business by which we all subsist, .triculture first in the order of time and i ocs, among the employments of men. who would uot be a benefactor? And a philosopher has well said that he who ,-s two blades of grass lo grow where ou on. grew before, is a benefactor ot his race, erefove, so far us we may he able, to show , producer how to produce more with less ex ,uir- ot means shall be our first care; and second, though scarcely less important than first, to show the consumer howto con .-, if-,, with a hnjir amount of pleasure and ,i profit. : the former, the agricultural producer, be ■ : Uic ideas of soil,—its origin, nature, and .•.inns lo plant life,—plants,—their nature, a , menus of growth, involving ordinary itrm pi “duriion, gardening, flower aud fruit sing v. animal iife also—relating to and stock raising. To the producers Aiming the mechanical, maritime, and ■ -ssinnal imiustries, it shall be our endeav ■liug, iu their aid, the vast help which ieuecs and the arts tire constantly be v, on the world. be equally numerous class of consum , consider how to employ these various ..i ts so as t-nxtract their true essence aud au, —t vitality lo tills belongs Hie great ;,'t> rood; its why, whence aud what,—its .my, quantity, proper proportion, &c. Cloth es quantity, quality, supply, make up, &c. it and light; their nature aud origin,—uses 1 id uses;—this will include the great ques • of heat and light-giving substances. Health i-. es warming, ventilation, bathing, cloth \crcise, amusements, medication, &c : ui!.s for mental, moral and social imrove : 11' books aud their contents,—what und sv ■ read. Architecture; its styles and util ■ s Political economy, which instructs alike producer aud consumer as to all the great cclples of the exchange of values,—how u. when to sell and to buy ; especially as to great absorbing question, the true relation capital to labor, so that each, so necessary a .lie other, shall receive Its just reward. In i , our work Is to try to bring from the great ,rc house of knowledge whatever from our wu best experience and reading, and the sug -tioiis oi others, may seem likely to improve ondition and enlarge the happiness of man. 11i-i in a work so last, so myriad iu forms, •a a eg ' very fibre and interest of society, itile n ust be the work any single person Jn a work, therefore, undertaken more a- publu , than Horn personal Interest, the . are invited to participate and assist in uus doing its own work; aud contributions a suggestion, properly belonging to this de irtment, to he sent lo the editor at Searsport, . i respectfully solicited, and will receive due ; r and consideration. And it is not so lijch great facts and discoveries, one in an me. thut the world is waiting lor, as many lit • ones, each of which, if not Itself so, may lead to something great. For the humblest pi'luim beneath our feet, or the despised thistle the way side, may contain or suggest germs : truth, which, followed out whither they id. may change the destiny of the world, i ue rising and falling of the teakettle cover by we steam withlu, led to the invention of steam itchiuery, and all its wondrous results; tue eivering ol a frog's limbs to the discovery of -h.vauism, almost the best of whose glories is me electric telegraphand its wonderful achieve aieuts ; aud when iu mid ocean his crew were disheartened and mutinous, bits of worthless sea weed, like a divine hand, beckoned Colum ■js onward iu faith and hope toa New World! rniiT I at article below on scions, which we take .■in that excellent paper—the Maine Farmer— ■ accords with our own experience and ob ■ i vation, that we feel it a duty to eall the ut •■•ation of our readers to it. For a very large i i cent, of tlie failures in grafting undoubted ly comes from winter killed scions. Yet in my mlgmeut, it is still better, where circumstances permit, lo cut them the same hour they are to set. Early in May, two years ago, a neigh r took from our apple trees over a hundred 1 ions, and had them set the same day in young decs, the whole tree tops being removed,— oat all of them except about 5 per cent., took biely, urn! have made a rapid and vigorous growth This, however, is not convenient where scions are to cotnc from a distance; hence the necessity in this ease of early eut tlng. A not less important matter, the kind and uility of the fruit With what care do most people select the articles of their wardrobe, which, with the fleeting year, is to pass away forever; how much more should we use with fruit trees, which are to endure for ages. Yet many seem lo think uo mutter whal a tree bears, ir whether it supplies the conditions for bear ing at all. And so Important do we d< cm the subject both to the fruit producer and the consumer, uot only as a great source of money profit lo lie former, but as one of the greatest promot ers of health and happiness to all,—that we in tend, Irom time to lime, to devote considerable attention to topics of this kind;—how trees in general grow, the conditions of their growth, as location, soil, dressing, pruning, & aud> we would earnestly ask all who have this so much needed information to communicate it, either directly, ill short articles, to these col umns, or indirectly to tlie manager of them; — especially as to the best kinds of the various fruits, ranging through the seasons from Uu> 1 arliest to the latest varieties; their eating qualities, their hardiness, their relative pro ductiveness, their particular management, &e. For ft is iu this collective wisdom of the peo ple that we must look fur that knowledge which „ "hall improve and bless the world. Mkssrs. Enrroits:—I have noticed iu the Farmer recently, an article on cuttiug scions; uutl Icurlng that some of your readers may not take sullleieiit wamiug lroui that article, and act according to its advice, 1 therefore head this letter, Out your Scions now t” Too many fruit trees have been injured by setting iu them frost-bitten scions, to let this warning pass un heeded. Three years ago the present month, I cut a sufficient quantity of scions to graft twenty small sized trees; I inserted the cut end of each one iu a potato, wrapped them up in old woolen cloths, and put them in the cel lar, in a moist place. These 1 had set iu the spring, and they all lived, with but two or three exceptions, and those were not waxed proper ly when set. Last February (after the coldest of the month) I cut about as many more, and set them in the spring, in the same orchard; and although 1 took great pains in setting them, nearly one half did not grow. Upon examina tion of the slocks from whence they were cut, I found many of them had winter-killed before cutting; and I think this is one great reason why there has been so much complaint about scions failing to grow The severe cold of this mouth and next, with the changes of the weather, is too much for a young twig to bear in many localities in our State, and even in most any orchard in Maine. There will be some trees more exposed to winds and cold than others, and on sneli trees the tip ends of the young twigs often perish in winter. “Take time by the forelock," is an old maxim, but it is not dead yet; therefore, to all those who would make sure of good scions, I repeat it, “Cut them notr." C. Buttbiifikiji SlF'NKY, Jan. (Itli, lSlitl. RE1 i EW8. We have received l’utnam’s Monthly Mag azine for Feb. Like its predecessors, it is an excellent No. Among its many able aitides is one on that great social problem now intensely agitating the country and the world,—“Work, Wages, Combinations,” &c., In which are treat ed at length “comnmnism,” “trades unions,” “mutual stores,” “legal hours of labor,” &c.,— finding in them far less for the amelioration and profits of labor than in correct ideas of economy, and the rigid practice of them. To all who would have correct information on this great subject, this article alone is worth the price for a year, which is £4.00 for one—less for a greater number of subscribers. As this magazine is not much known in tins vicinity, it is perhaps due to our readers to state that, in our judgment, it stands high in the front ranks of this sort of publications in our country; having among its contributors such celebrities as Bayard Taylor, Motley, E. E. Hale, and others, and is devoted to “litera ture, science, art, and national interests.” Yet it is not so much a work for the million, as for that smaller class who prefer solid aud endur ing matter to that which is pleasing without being useful. It is of that kind whence the good Vicar of Wakefield selected his wife,— choosing her, as he says, as she chose the stuff for her wedding robes, not for show, “but for such qualities as would wear well.” How to Make a Cranberry 1’ie. There are various ways. Some make them open, like a custard or squash pie. This is good, but uot so good as to cover like an apple pie. Do not stew the berries as some do betore baking, but slit each berry with a knife. This will pre serve the freshness of the fruit, which is quite ail important thing. A coffee-cupful of berries, and an equal quantity of white sugar, will make a medium sized pie. Those who like a sweet |iie should have more sugar; also more berries, if desired. Hake as usual. A little flour sifted over the fruitgives it a thicker con sistence. One tiling should not be forgotten— add a small teacuplul of water. We will give the receipt in short. One coffee-cupful of sliL berries ; the same quantity of white sugar; half the quantity of water, with a little flour added or uot. This is one of the very best pies for variety, in the course of cookery. It is good-looking as well as good eating. [Cultivator and Country Gen tleman. Very Hard and Durable Cements. Th. Schwartze, a civil engineer in Lelpsic, recom mends the following methods of making two very hard and durable cements 1. Mix together thoroughly 4 to j parts dry powdered clay, 2 pairs line rust-free iron ill iugs, 1 part black oxide of manganese, 1-2 part common salt, and 1-2 part borax: powder the whole as iluely as possible, and stir with water to a thick jelly. It must be very quickly used. Dry the cemented parts at first by a low heat, afterwards slowly increasing to an incipient red heat. Thus treated this cement becomes very hard and glossy, resisting perfectly well boiling water or a strong red heat. 2. Mix equal parts by weight of line, sifted, black oxide of manganese powder and Iluely powdered zinc white; stir the mixture with soluble glass to the fluid paste, and use very quickly. This cement is as hard and durable, as No. 1. Bones and Fowls. Bones usually have at tached to them a quantity of flesh aud fat, which render them valable. The fat enables the fowls to resist the cold; the llesh gives them muscle aud material for the formation of eggs; the carbonate of lime furnishes egg shells; and the phosphate yields materials for bones and for the tissues. A boy can, in a few minutes, chop up with a hatchet all the lesser bones that come from the table, and we regard them as very valuable. If we were to start a poultry establishment on a large scale, we should certainly make arrangements to pro cure all the fresh bones possible. It would not be dilticult to devise a machine that would crack them into fragments the size of large beans, and we should get paid twice; llrst through the chickens, and secondly through the improved character of the manure. [Farmer’s Home Journal. Liquid Glue. Three parts of glue, broken into small pieces, should be covered with eight parts of water, and left to staud for several hours; oue half pint of ehloriiydric acid and three fourths part of sulphide of zinc must then be added, aud the whole exposed to a temperature of 175 to 200 degrees during ten or twelve hours. Let it settle, and it will be found to retain its fluid form, and be a most useful agent for joining purposes. [Austrian Paper. A grindstone should not be exposed to the weather, as it not only injures the woodwork, but the sun’s rays harden the stone so much, in time, as to render it almost useless; neither should It stand in water in which it runs, as the part remaining in the water softens so much that it wears unequally aud “ out of true." A good story is told of McKean Buchan an, the tragedian, who is said to be one of the finest “poker” players in the world. While in Australia a few years since, Mr. Buchanan had a thrifty, speculative agent, who took the money at the door and gen erally kept it. The tragedian couldn’t well afford to dispense with this shrewd man’s services for so trifling a matter, so ho art fully inoculated the speculative agent with a mania for this game of poker, which is said to be extremely fascinating, and w hen the agent had captured all the money at night Mr. Buchanan would skilfully and unfailingly win it all away from him during the day. In this manner Mr. Buchanan redressed wrong, killed time and introduced this singular and attractive game into the most remote corners of the civilized globe. A maideu lady while in company the oth er evening, alluded to her infant smartness, stalling that she went aloue when six mouths old. A malicious wag present re marked ; “\es, and you have been going ever since. Under the Ice. CHAPTER i. There was no braver guide, or more skill ful hunter, that ever set foot upon the Met terhoru, or crawled over the dangerous gla ciers of Monte Rosa, than Ulric Peterson, j lie was a man of immense strength and great daring; and had often tracked the wilderness of snow when those who followed the same calling willingly remained in their cottages in the well protected villages. He laughed at his companions, when they talked j of danger ; and made light of the fears of his good wife, when she trembled at the howling of the tierce winds, or the avalanche of snow, that now and then swept down with irresistible force, upon the little chalets. With well-spiked shoes, a stout alpenstock, confidence in himself, and a firm and fervent trust in God, he avowed that a man was as safe upon the topmost cliffs of the cloud piercing Matterhorn as in the brook (bread ed valley of Tourmauches. But the timid heart of womanhood could not look upon the matter in the same light, although her trust iu the good Lord was equally strong, and so, when she saw him take down his trusty rifle, powder-horn, and heavily-shod iron staff, one morning, she clung to him and begged him not to go upon the mountains. “There is every sign of a storm,” she said. “You know how terrible they arc. We have food enough in the cottage. Do stay at home with the little ones.” “That would I, wife,” was the reply, “If 1 had not seen an ibex as I was coming home, yesterday evening. He was a stout old fellow with huge horns ; and I fancied he was almost laughing at me as 1 crept around the cliff upon which he was stand ing-” “But, Ulric, think ot the storm that is certainly coming.” “I have been in many an one, and care nothin": fur them. I love the free whistling of the wind upon the mountain tops, and the whirling of the feathery snow. So, good wife, get me something to cat. I must be off before the day dawns.” With a heavy sigh the ivomau did lie had requested ; and with his foud kiss stili lingering upon her lips, she saw him climb the mountain side, until a turn in the path hid him from her view. Then she sunk upon her knees, by the bedside of her still slumbering children, and committed him into the keeping of that God who had thus far preserved him in the midst of every dan ger. Meantime Ulric hastened onward with a light foot. It was still dark in the valley ; j but far above him he could see the white peaks glittering in the dim light of the morning, aud the fast paling stars. Higher aud higher he climbed ; and soon the sun ' arose, shedding its rays of rosy gold upon the icy piles, and making them flash as il builded of myriad diamonds. To a stranger it would have been a dazzling sight ; to the ■ brave hunter, it had lost something of its J charm by familiarity, aud he pressed on ward aud upward. The road grew more ; rough aud difficult. lie was obliged to pick his way, to clamber up steep crags ; but at last he reached the edge of a large glacier. He sat down aud rested tor a little time, satisfied his hunger, examined his shoes aud the point of his alpenstock, and again set bravely forth, leapiug the yawning chasms, and guardingagainst the treacherous cracks. A wall of polished ice arose before him, aud he knew that he would have to scale it, before he could get within shot of the coveted game. With great difficulty it was accomplished; aud, finding the tracks of the ibex, he followed them, until, suddenly turning a ragged point, he found himself j within easy shot, and in an instant the re- j port of his rifle had awakened the echoes of the mountain. Witli the “thud” of the bullet, the beast sprang forward ; but its tail was drooped, its head hanging heavily down, its gait slow, and step uncertain. He knew that the whizzing lead had reached its mark ; that the animal would soon die ; and he paused to reload his rifle before he fol lowed him. “1 will surprise my good wife,” he thought, “by returning sooner than she expected ; aud I will have a hearty laugh at the cowards who dared not venture from their snug cottages for fear of a storm.” With a smile upon his lips, he hastened to where the ibex was laying, aud raised it in his arms. Then, with a cry of horror, 1 3 felt his footing give way, and hunter aud game w'ero swallowed up in a crevasse of almost unfathomable depth. The thin cov ering of ice had been sufficiently strong to bear the weight of the beast; but that o Ulric added, had shivered it as if it had been an egg shell.’' Down, down. Hunter ar.d ibex, through the debris of snow and ice, lyiug there for a thousand years. He fancied that the bot tom would never be reached. The most profound darkness enveloped him ; his hands could clutch nothing but dampness, but chilling Hakes. Fortunately the carcass of the beast was beueath him. Yet, for all that safeguard, he lay for a long time in sensible. When consciousness returned, another day had dawued, and its golden glories had found their way even to the bottom of the yawning grave in which he was lying. He thought upon the utter help lessness of his situation ; that he must per ish from cold aud hunger ; of the lingering tortures lie must endure, before death came to put an end to his misery; and every nerve in his body quivered with horror. He looked around to see if there was uot some possible cbauce or escape. Uu either side smooth ice walls arose, emitting a bluish steel glitter. lie felt that he was buried alive. “O, God ! Why was I not instantly killed?” he exclaimed, in the agony of despair, aud then, as better thoughts swayed him, he thanked the Al mighty, with whom uothiug is impossible, for his safety thus far, aud prayed to him for guidance aud deliverance. CHAPTER It. Ilis next thought was of his gun. When it was found that he did not return, his neighbors would certainly search for him, aud by tiring the gun he could attract their attention. Vain hope! Search as he would, he could tiud uothiug of it. Even if he had discovered it, it would have been useless, for his powder-horn was gone as well. Over aud over he turned the snow—down deep ho dug into it until his hands burned like fire, aud great drops of perspiration rolled from his forehead—until his arms grew stiff and sore, and he was forced to give up the useless labor from sheer ex haustiou. With his back against the f'rozet prison walls, lie looked aloft, aud saw the great vulture sailing upon its immense aud tireless wings, around the mouth of the chasm ; aud the strong man shuddered, as he shook his list defiantly, aud murmured with his hoarse voice, “Your time has not como yet!” He thought of his happy home, aud his dear wife and children, and then, naturally, for he was faint and hungry, he thought of the food his wife had prepared for him. Having eaten of the bread and goat’s milk cheese, aud drank of the bottle of wine (which strange to say had remained unbroken,) he reasoned that it would be cowardly to die without an effort; and he remembered the goodness of God, aud more fervently implored llis help. Then a bold idea came to him. Why might he not cut liis way through the solid ice ? He had a hatchet, such as his class never travel with out. Ah ! but he was forgetful that the ice might be hundreds of feet thick, and they were of excessive hardness and would soon render blunt both hatchet and knife. The bright hope that had been bora within him was darkened by no such shadow. For the time being he knew that he was safe. He was accustomed to the cold, was warmly clad, could use the skin of the ibex, in case of need, and its flesh would drive away the wolves of starvation for many a day. A brief rest aud he began his labors faithfully till darkness forced him to stop. A night of uneasy rest, a breakfast of the raw flesh of the ibex, and he resumed his labors. Another day of toil, aud he again stretched himself upon the skin of the beast, wrapping it around him as much as possible, and slept long and heavily, although there had been a sudden fall in the temperature, aud it was now excessively cold. For four days he toiled thus, his only food the raw and frozen flesh of the ibex; for four nights he slept within the hole he had cut away in the thick ice-walls, closing up the eutrauee, and thus obtaining partial shelter from the chilling blasts. And once he heard the tiring of guns, aud his heart beat wildly within him. He dropped his dulled hatchet, crawled to the center of the chasm, aud shouted with all his remaining strength—shouted until his strained voice was reduced to the very ghost ot a iioarse whisper, lie knew that lii.s friends were iu search of him ; imagined lie could hear his name called ; could do nothing to attract their atteutiou ; aud, as the firing grew fainter, aud further aud fur ther away, Hung himself down, weeping aud wringing his hands. The last plank to which ho had clung had been shivered! His neighbors aud friends had come—aud gone. They would never search that part of the mountain agaiu. None would ever know of his fate. He was buried iu an icy tomb, until the last trump should sound, and hot flashes of flames dissolve the frost-work around him. With his mind trembling upon the verge of madness, overpowered by sorrow, crushed by bitter agony, be fell back insensible, and lay for a long time upon the cold, damp snow, that must be his winding sheet. The black vulture flapped bis wings above him, and lie knew nothing of it. But after the hunter’s consciousness returned., though he was far too much crushed in body and soul, to resume lii.s labors, be crept into the little cavern lie had excavated (would it not be to him a tomb?) and gave passionate vent to his griefs. For many weary hours noth ing passed bis lips ; aud with achiug head and fevered brain, with trembling limbs and convulsive sobs, lie prayed for deliverance, if by no other baud, at least by the skeleton one of death. , It was rayless, sunless, staraless dark ness iu the ice-cavern, when the springs of his life agaiu became capable of action. lie was ravenously hungry, aud arose to satisfy his hunger with a portion of the ibex he had left remaining outside in the chasm. He felt around, but could discover no outlet. Had he been frozen iu,—shut out from God’s blessed sunshine forever? Nothing but smooth ice met his burning and blistered lingers. Then, after an hour's search, he found a soft spot, and instantly solved she mystery. He knew there must have been a heavy fall of snow in the night, and that it had drifted into, and blocked up the open ing ; and with the strength of despair, he soon dug through. It was still snowing heavily ; the flakes fell like great feathers around ; aud lie drew the remuant of the carcass of the ibex into the cave, aud made another rude meal. Aud thus refreshed, a new hope was horn withiu him ; and again the ice-walls resounded with the blows of his little hatchet. But it was slow work, aud much of the lime was taken up iu clear ing the chips from the little grotto. a week passed—a week oi the most se vere toil aud terrible anxiety—aud yet he was not disheartened. His trust in God hail returned ; and love for his wile and de pendent children, kept alive his often sink ing heart. lie was yet in hopes of reaching the upper air—of seeing his dear ones again. Hut even as he was thinking thus, with something of his old time cheerfulness, a new anxiety took possession of aud nearly overpowered him. The carcass of the ibex, that had been the innocent cause of all his trouble, was picked almost to the bones. CHAPTER III. With dire starvation staring him in the face, lie bowed his head aud W’ept like a child. Starvation—that is dreadful, even in thought! Starvation—that has in it more of horror than a thousand other deaths! lie could almost see it silently approaching, aud for a time despair alone had possession of him. Then his trust in the Supreme Being returned, aud he com mitted himself, unto His holy keeping. “ Heavenly Father !” he murmured from between his parched and blackened lips: “ It is thy hand that hast sustained me so far—hast saved me from all danger. Thou givest food to the young ravens, aud mark est even the fall of the tiny sparrow. None but thou caust hear or help me. Hear my prayer ! Save me. O God ! Save me !” Something ot sweet consolation came with the utterance of the words, and he laid down to sleep more tranquilly than he had done for many previous nights. Yet, it was only to be awakened by a new fear. It needed no seer to tell him that the fohu, or hot wind, was sweeping over the glaciers and snow fields oi the high Alps ; and that the rain was falling in tor rents aud the enormous blocks of ice melt ing, as by the touch of fire. The cavern he had dug by infinite labor, was almost breast-deepjwith water, and it was rushing in with all the swiftness of a mountain tot - rent. Instantly he was wet to the skin, and stood almost paralyzed with terror. Then he breasted his way out into the chasm, but it was only to return again as quickly as possible. Never cataract raged more liercely than the surging water there. Cut ting little niches in the ice wall, lie climbed beyond the reach of the water, and trem bling awaited his fate. The waves rose rapidly, higher and higher, he had climbed until his head rested against the top of the little cave—could go no further. And yet, the waters rolled upward around him. They reached his waist—surged higher to his breast—crept up to his throat, aud des pite all his efforts, began to trickle into his mouth. In another moment he would be strangled by them ; his held would be torn away and his body dashed hither and thith er against the sharp points of the ice. “O, God! Save me ! Save me!” burst from him in the terrible agony of the instant— the moment of time that lay between him and death. A noise like thunder—-a shivering crash —resounded through the chasm. It ap peared as if the very foundations of the world were tottering beneath him. Now, indeed, he felt that his end had come. No ! terror was changed to rapture. The water rushed out of the cavern with the most amazing velocity; he could descend aud stand upon the bottom without fear. How this had been accomplished he was forced to wait, until morning, to determine ; aud with the first beams, he saw a great fissure had been opened, through which the im prisoned waters had found their way to the valley below. This unlooked for preserva tion again inspired him with confidence— rendered more firm his trust in God. Through that tunnel he saw his way to freedom. It was small to be sure, but he could enlarge it; aud he worked diligently, until his strength utterly failed. The ibex was entirely devoured. He had spilt the bones and sucked out the marrow ; he had gnawed them over and over agaiu to ap pease his hunger. For two days he had not tasted a morsel of food. The hatchet slipped from his hand when lie endeavored to striae a uiow, auu ue was lorceu iu abandon the undertaking. There was noth ing left for him now but to die. Another day passed and no help came. He lay crouched in the corner wishing that the end would come aud that swiftly. His eyes were already filmed and his heart beat faintly. Then, a strange noise aroused him. He looked aloft and saw a chamois vaiuly striving to defend itself from the at tacks of two old vultures that were strik ing at it with wing aud beak. It was an unequal contest; aud, at length, the animal driven to desperation, attempted to leap the broad chasm. The effort was a uoble one, but it failed of success. The chamois missed its footing, and fell, bruised aud helpless, at the very feet of the starving man. In an instant, his knife was plunged into its throat, aud the warm blood was drained by his eager lips. This gave him new life, and renewed his labor. It was almost a herculean task. More than once he fell fainting beside it. But hope was very strong within him. Still, lie would have utterly failed, had not heaven assisted him. Again, the fohu was busy at its work of destruction ; again '.he windows of heaven were opened ; anil the “ rains descended, aud the floods came,” and accomplished more in a single night than his hands could have done iu months. With the moru.ug light, ho crawled through the now large tunnel; but when he reached the outer end found, to his horror, that he was on the top of a mighty precipice. His blood boiled ; his brain seemed on fire ; his heart beat as il it would break through ribs aud flesh. He was if possible, more desperately im prisoned than before. How was he to get down? Through his bewildered mind sud deuly flashed the thought of the skin of the ibex and the chamois, aud he was not long in making a rope of them. He then cut a deep hole in the ice, drove down his alpen stock, fastened one end to it, and, swinging himself off, reached the bottom iu safety. With a cry of joy and a prayer of thank fulness, he hastened along the well kuown path ; aud when the bell ot the little chap el, that reared its gilded cross iu the Mat ter valley, was tolling for the evening prayers, lie staggered like a drunken man into the very midst of the astonished worshipers, even as the voice of the good priest was repeating “ God is everywhere with me; aud everywhere, even in the threatening dangers his voice speaks to me iu tones of comfort, and says, 4 Call upon me in the days of trouble, aud 1 will de liver thee, and thou shalt glorify me !’ ”— staggering toward the altar, to kueel at it, he fell fainting into the arms of his wife, who again nursed him to health strength and manhood. Tue Gloue a Vast Gasometer, lu Erie Pa., there is a large manufactory cl workers in brass, where the machinery is driven and the buildings lighted by the gas from an unproductive oil well. For more than two years the proprietors have brought the gas by means of three-inch iron pipe from an unsuccessful oil well 1200 feet distaut from the manufactory, and used it as fuel for their boilers and as lights for their works. The flow, it is stated, has never stopped, never changed in amount of pressure ; the gas is of good lighting prop erties, and when at night or on Sunday the works are stopped the gas is still supplied, and at night is lighted at the mouth of a pipe of two or two aud a half inches diame ter, situated near the top of the main build ing. This light is sufficient to illuminate several streets and squares in every direc tion, and the escaping gas makes a noise as of escaping steam,that maybe heard at a long distauce, while the gas flame is not less than four or five feet high. These facts have been cited as strong proofs of the the ory that the interior of the earth is filled with condensed gas, under a heavy press ure. The solid crust of the earth, it is estimated, is thirty miles thick, or one two huudred and sixtieth part of the diameter. As the average rate of increased tempera ture is one degree Fahrenheit for every foot of descent beneath the surface of the earth, a point would soon be reached where the most refractory metals can only exist in the form of vapor. Hence, the globe may be considered as a vast gas-holder. How does a butcher express his affec tion? By sendiog a tender line. The School in which Roger’s Assassin Graduated. The following is an extract from an ar ticle iu the New York Times of Friday on the Rogers murder: The Rogers murder is undoubtedly the work of that band of young outlows known as the ‘Nineteenth street Gang,’ and is the legitimate fruit of the reckless hardihood of mere boys that sufficed to subject an en tire neighborhood and over-awe the police. No city but New York could have produced such a gang as this, and certainly no other * would have tolerated it, ns this was for years. The gang infested the northwestern sec tion of the city, with its trysting place, originally at Tom Cavanaugh’s, in Twen tieth street, between Seventh and Eighth | avenues, afterward at McNeil’s iu Nine teenth street, between Sixth and Seventh ' avenues, and lastly at Ready’s in Seventh avenue, near Seventeenth street. It was composed of boys born in the neighbor hood, and it would almost seem born thieves, for with many of them their crimes began while they were still mere ehilereu. Then they were sneaks, hanging around area doors and unguarded tills, waiting for an opportunity to steel. As they grew older they advanced upon the scale of : crime, and while many remained only thieves, some gained distinction as burg lars, and others were'noted as highway robbers. But, either as the one or the oth er, no more daring or blundering gang of | outlaws ever laid tribute upon a people. They were all of the lowest type of crim inals ; and have frequently evinced an amazing lack of sense iu the perpetration of their crimes and their proceedings after ward. They have waylaid men who have not had a dollar upon their persons, and they have committed burglary upon retail shops which were almost certain to contain nothing worth carrying away. They have i kept about them a key which was die sole proceeds of a highway robbery, and they ! have neglected to throw away a marked j penny which was almost the only result of | a laborious burglary ; and iu the one case ] and the other the trifle which any intelli ! gent thief would have east from him on the t instant led to their detection. ’Ihey had abundant will to become great criminals, and lacked only the sense required to make them as dangerous to banks as they were to solitary wanderers and the tills of retail shops. Prominent m the gaug in its palmiest j days was Jolm Ward, Charley Munday, Jim Tolland, Jimmy Logan, Rats Riely, Wm. Edwards, Patty Smith, Jimmy Con nors, Jim Gallagher, Jack Smith, Georgy Carson, George Price, Johnson the Kid, Jack Snell, Sam Noody, Terry Quinn, Dave Deguau and Natsy Kerrigan. Under tlie lead of these young desperadoes, very few of them then being oves 20 years of age, the gaug some five years ago held ab solute and almost unquestioned control of an entire section of the city. The police almost universally shrunk from them and with good reason, for oue of their chief amusements was to combine upon a ‘cop’ —as they call the blue-coated guardians of the peace—and send him bleeding and dis abled to his station house. Often indeed, when their power was uu-j disputed, they have labored hard in carry-: 1 ing huge stoues to the tops of houses, only 'to let them fall upon the heads of uusus- j peeling ‘cops’ passing beneath. There was . I only oue othccrof whom they were afraid, | and, as a corollory, only one who was no! ! afraid of them That was Gambling, then j attached to the Twenty-ninth Preciut, who | was on the Nineteuth street heat for some i time. The outlaws tried their usual tac j tics upon him at first, but unsuccessfully. When attacked he always turned upon them no matter what the odds, and oue or more of them were sure of a thorough clubbing before the encounter ended. They often shot at him hut happened never to hit him, auu iiieir me was always reiiuuea. 1 nese daily and nightly lights served only to af | ford a little excitement to the gang, hut in j no wise weakened their power. At last their lawlessness culminated in the murder of a policeman under most hein ous circumstances. One night in the slim mer of 1800, a number of them were en gaged in ravishing a woman in McCuue’s cooper shop, in .Seventh avenue, near Seven teenth street. The cries of the victim at tracted the attention of Officer Walker, ol the Twenty-ninth 1‘reciut, who rushed in to rescue her from the clutches of the mis creants, but met his death on the threshold of the shop being shot by one of the gang aud instantly killed. Johnny Ward, one of those engaged in the affair, was arrested as the principal in the murder and many others were held for weeks as witnesses. This startling event had the effect of disorgan izing the baud tor a time, aud of inciting the authorties to determined efforts for its complete suppression. Ward was sent to Siug .Sing for life, and at short intervals after the murder of Walker many others ot the gang were arrested lor various robber ies aud other offences, aud were 'put away’ at Siug Sing or sent to Rlaekwell’s Island. Snell and Moody obtained seven years each, but the general term was between two and three years. Thus ouly the remnant ot the gang was left upon the scene of its exploits, but these were true to their instincts and their teachings ; they were forced by habit aud necessity to steal, aud doing it more buuglingly than even of old this remnant rapidly loll into the clutches of the police and were successively sent to prison. To ward the latter part of 1807 the gang was thus effectually suppressed aud had become almost a tradition. Hut during the last half ot 1808 it showed frequently symptoms that it had been scotched aud not killed. Outrages became alarmingly frequent in the Sixteenth aud Twentieth Wards, aud the gang was being reunited aud becoming again aggressive, when it was again shat tered by the Rogers assassination. A NEW VERSION OV THE MURDER. The Rev. W. T. Euyard, a warm person al friend of the late Mr. Rogers, publishes I the following card in reference to the trag- ■ edy, showing conclusively that the murder was a predetermined affair, instead of be ing merely the result of Mr. Rogers’ resist ance to the robbery committed : The facts are these :—It was the duty ot one of the servants to sweep the hesement hall and front area every morning. On the morning of the sad occurrence she was late. I Mr. Rogers went up stairs to ascertain the cause of her delay* She complained of not feeling well. With liis characteristic kind ness of heart, he tdhl her to lie down aw*hile aud he would see thut her work was attend ed to. He thought he would do It himself. It was something he had never done be fore, aud on this occasion only to relieve his indisposed servant. He had gone as far as the top of the area steps. He was in side of his courtyard, and not upon the sidewalk. Ilis attention was first attract ed by hearing some remark in which the words ‘old inau’ were used. The remark was not addressed to him. He looked up, as one naturally would engaged in sweep ing, aud saw two men walking slowly. One was taking off his overcoat, which he have to file other, who ran across the street with it. This movement, however singular, did not create any suspicion in the mind of Mr. Rogers. He heard the one on the opposite side say, ‘Don’t Jim; you had better not.’ All this occupied but a moment or two. The other immediately made a da»h at him with a kuile, coming through the gate aud in the yard. It would seem from this that murder as well as robbery was iuteuded from the beginning. This attack was made at his head, aud the hat of the unfortunate man was cut in several places. Mr. Rogers naturally threw up his hands to ward off the blows. His assailant then quickly grappled him, aud in the struggle that ensued succeeded in ob taining the possession of his pocket-book, which lie thurst in the breast pocket of his flannel sack. Mr. Rogers became exhaust ed in the struggle, and :or a moment ceased his resistance. It' was then that the assas sin cut his watchguard and thurst the watch into the same breast pocket. Iu the account which, you copy from the New York Times it is stated that the mas sive chain attracted the eye of'the assail ant. Mr. Rogers wore no massive chain. He had worn for years, aud did on this oc casion, a very plain hair chaiu, with a small gold slide. It was by no means conspicu ous. A massive gold chain would not have been easily cut. The act seemed to tire Mr. Rogers anew, aud lie again seized hold of his assailant, hoping to detain him until assistance came, crying with what little strength he had left, “Murder!” aud “ Watch !” It was then that the fatal wound was given. Lhe coat was torn troin the murderer iu his struggle to escape after the stabbing took place. Mr. Rogers kept the piece of garment iu his baud until he reached his parlor, aud told those who gathered about him they would tiud his pocket-book and watch in it. He had secured his property, but lost his life. The time of the occur rence was a little before seven o’clock. These are the facts as they were stated to me by my unfortunate friend a few hours before he died. They were given iu answer to inquiries which were made with a view of learning from his own lips all the circumstauces as near as he could remem ber them. No word was addressed to Mr. Rogers by his assailant. There was therefore no quarrel previous to the assault. The ut tack was made iu his courtyard and with out any provocation Tfio Twitcholl Hurdor Case This was a remarkable case. The per son murdered was a Mrs. Hill, tin; mother of Twite-hell’s wife. Both, mother aud daughter had led adventurous lives. Mrs. Hill for many years kept a house of bad repute iu Washington. It was splendidly furnished, aud a gambling apartment was attached. She accumul tted wealth, and attempted to bring up her daughter, a beau tiful girl, in a respectable manner. But the influences of the mother’s establish ment reached the child, and as she grew up, she look not ouly one, but a good many •‘false steps.” Her mother seut her to Sab bath school and church, and attended reg ularly herself, beiug piously iueliued aud devout iu her worship, while carrying on her establishment of death aud hell. Final ly a man named Martin married the beau tiful but erring daughter, hoping to reform her. But he could not tame the passions which had for some time been let loose. This marriage resulted iu a divorce. The mother sold out her effects iu Wash ington, went to Philadelphia, purchased au elegaut mansion, joined or regularly aud devoutly attended church, aud behaved her self like a good woman. She won the love of a rich old miser named Hill, who mar ried her, not knowing of her former career. The daughter came to Philadelphia, but was uot admitted into Hill’s family. She seduced a youug merchant, a married man, and lived with him unblushingly, to tin great unhappiness of his wife ind family. After wasting his property, -lie got sick of him and shuttled him off, taking a phy sician of good standing in his place, fin physician Mipponen tier iu\ iriousiy mr awhile, till the assoc'utioa became notori ous aud infamous, when he broke oil the connection. The mother then supported her erring daughter, without permitting llill to know it. Iu a short time, however, the daughter made au alliance with George S. Twitched, au elderly man, who placed his wife iu a lunatic asylum, and took this depraved beauty to his home iu South Jer sey as a housekeeper. Twitched and his housekeeper conspired to bring a wealthy dentist into a black-mailing scheme. The dentist had made advances to the gay ser pent, but he discovered the plot aud explod ed it. Young Twitched, sou of the old master of the “housekeeper,” then appeared in the play, lie seduced the beautiful housekeep er, now about twenty-five years of age, away from bis aged lather, much to the au noyance of the old man, who attempted to save the fair one by boarding her out in a respectable family, but it was of no avail. Young Twitched married her. Soon after his alliance, llill, the miser husband of the mother, died, leaving his wife quite wealthy. She played tlie part of a first-class saint, giving liberally to chari ties, churches, &c. A few mouths since, of a Sunday night, the widow Hill was murdered in her own house, aud the place was was robbed of a large sum of money. The daughter was arrested as the insti gator of die crime, and her hasbaud was also charged with the act. A curious chain of evideuce was introduced, and has result ed in finding Twitched guilty of murder. The lilBi.E. There is no lesson book like the blfile. You will find that part of it was wriiten by a shepherd, aud part by a sol dier ; part by kings, aud part by fishermen; part by a herdsman on Judah's hills. You will see that some parts come straight from Heav en in dreams of the night—now on the golden couch of a palace, and now lu a bare cold pris on cell, like Haul's. And though you live to be old—this Is the wonder—you will never once open that book without coming to something i hat seems quite new