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Farm, Garden, and Household,
• •ONPtVTEI* nT PUTNAM SIMONTON. Our friends who may have communications, ob ration*, facta, suggestions, or anything of interest, rtaining to this department, are requested to commu , -ate the same to Dr. PutnamSimonton, Searsport, who , prepare the same tor publication, ii of sufficient im jirtance. II»(«EPI.UTUf WI1TEII. List week, we -poke ot several things es ti'.iai to plant life,—as water, air, light, heat, silliness, A ■. The utility of water, the proper Hint an i way ■' applying it, both to the and foinw. w-re then spoken of. Let .- now Miisider some of the other conditions. V. mis mast it as well as drink. This ,-a through their leaves,—hence the im ■ >f frequently washing their foliage, r .-commended last week,—aud by their roots. ; 1 o nice, and to give the fullest perfection, ■ cry tarietv of plants, like animals, requires ! rent kinds of food, each alter Its kind, as „.,as. being swamp plauts, require peat: , : , -las. the child of sandy regions, must have j ..- house and garden plants will do . , i; . m post of one fourth each of fine' 1 g ", garden mould, well rotted barn ma il'..,, and'decayed leaf mould. This should be , prepun-d. if possible, a year before using, and iu a barn cellar or other cool, moist place. L-ght and heat. These are vital conditions! plant life. Of the former you cannot have c.o much. Merely diffused light is of no avail; : without full sun light directly up n them, more or less . ,f the time, they are feeble and worth •ss. Heal is equally essential, but of this you au have too much. The dry. hot air from dose stoves gives at best but a straggling, sick: ■ growth. They will thrive best at a tem . rature where an imals would be only comfort , iy warm. And the heat trout furnaces, though per :n quantity, is often fatal la quality to noth ant and animal iile, when the warming - , rmits, as it frequently does, the .■-'■ape o noxious gases into the rooms, t'.uuts eke people have their enemies; both— they try to make proper use of themselves, as to be of any account in the world,—are ted with hordes of parasites which suck . -.heir life-blood. They,—the drones, loaf - :;d all who prey upon the social body, their turn in some future number, now j <ve speak of plant vermin. These soon destroy me pianis iney miesi. How ' They are so many bloodsuckers. Each has an apparatus by which it bores into the sap vessels, and pumps out the life juices; msing the sickness anu death of plants by starvation. Various methods of ridding plants : these insects are recommended; some, to ■k them off; this is useless;—some, to wash mein in soapsuds, camphor, aloes water, car lie acid. Ac, We have found, after trying ■.cany things, tobacco smoke to be an easy, safe and efficient remedy. For small plants, such as vci Jena;—and no plsnig are so much infest . oy insects—our plan is this : Of any cheap I -licks, like laths, make a thing lesembling a I cane bottomed chair, about as high, and of a j size to slip in and out of a barrel; put seme live j coals into an iron vessel and place it in the bar- j re throw upon the coals a handful of old, dry i tobacco, or remnants of cigars, put in the frame, upon which set the pots, and cover well with cloths or a board. Give them in this way a smart smoking for fifteen minutes, occaslon a.ly rais ug the cov.-r to admit air; afterwards wash them with slightiy warm war . For plants too large for a barrel, irge x, or a ith thrown over them . retain uc smoke, will answer well. All this! - ! 'lie iu . ss time than it takes to describe it, ! and will if; lire repeating every month. But .ants are not only dviug. but grateful beings, and will thaus you ior it. Another, and stiii more troublesome enemy, s worms in the earth at the roots. Tilton’s > Journal of Horticulture for Jau. i»6'J, has this; : ■ -commendation, with which we have had no j experience, but think it may be good : -'The j worms iu the pots may be destroyed by stop-! ping up the holes in the pots with corks, and watering ,'..11; ,u:n.-watcr until it stand* on the , surface. The lime-water may remain for an, Hour, then, on removing the cork, it will pass • :f. The Erne-water may be made by pouring ! JO gallons of water over 10 lbs. of fresh lime. Siif up well, and allow the whole to stand two • r three Jays ; then employ the clear liquor.” House plants—their effect on human healthi . . nsi . sred next week. UEROSEXE. Las. week we spoke ot' the history of kero sene.—its chief localities, especially foreign ones,—the great antiquity of its discovery and use, Jtc; this week, let us consider its origin aaJ nature. In this country, before the discovery ot pe troleum, kerosene was obtained by the distilla tion of bituminous, or soft coals, as gas lor lllumiuating purposes is still obtained; indeed the two are results of the very same process, ! .pendent ou the degree of heat employed. If in this distillation, a high heat as the cherry • i. is employed, the product is illuminating gas ; a lower, or dull red heat, gives a complex, thick, black, greasy fluid, itself a compound of many substances, some of which are kerosene, lubricating oil, paraiine, naptha, &c.; and this ack. pitchy fluid, thus artificially made, is kienticai, in its nature and composition, with 'he natural product, petroleum. These facts, in our opinion, lead, by easy steps, to the solution of that great mystery, hue origin of these vast and Inexhaustible de poslts of petroleum, or rock-oil. If any one wi.l visit the gas works in this, or any other ity, they will sec in miniature the whole thing, t few bushels ol soft coals, distilled by a cer tain degree of heat, give petroleum as certain ly as from au oil spring. The world is but a gigautic gas works, a vast distillery! In its hosom lie, what uutold quantities of these bi tuminous coals! and in the depths beneath, as volcanic Arcs show, is just the requisite heat to change them into the liquid or petroleum state. This, obeying the law of fluids in gen eral, finds its way into subterranean caverns, where it Is tupped and brought out by human appliances, or, by nature’s hand, through rivu le'.s and springs, gushes into the light of day. in support of this view, it may be stated that petroleum, us a general lule, is chiefly found, as shown in a former article, where coal depos its and subterranean heat do, or have co-exist ed ; and if sometimes lound far away from these conditions, it is not a conflict with this view,—any more than seeing the father of riv ers near the Gulf of Mexico, cuntradicts the fact that its birtl. place is TOCO miles away in the RocKy Mountains. Here is another striking fact which supports this view of the origin of petroleum : When the distilling process has extracted from bitu minous coal all its vaporous and liquid ele ments,—all that yield illuminating gas and pe troleum—there remains a hard, black substance called coke, which is identical in nature and composition with hard, or anthracite coal. So anthracite coal—the kind we use for fuel—may be considered natural coke, the remains of the vast body of bituminous coal, which, iu the course of untold ages, in this great distillery of the world, with volcanic heat for its fires, has given up its gas and oil elements to form the rock-oil fluid, as above explained. So, kind reader, remember—and always in gratitude to the great Giver,—that while you sit by your cheerful coal fire reading—these words, we trust—your light, whether gas or kerosene, is only the blood and marrow which nature, science and art, have taken from the very coal that warms you! Ixext week, we shall speak of kerosene,— how made—its uses and abuses—the cause of explosions and how to prevent them—tests for safe kinds—the law punishing for the manufac ture and sale of uusafe kinds &c. BOOK XOT1CEI AXB REV IEW». We have received the Atlantic Monthly for Feb., and ilud this No. to well sustain the pre vious good name of the work, in all those mat ters pertaining to refined taste, solid learning, aud sound principles of ethirs. Indeed, its listof contributors, comprising some threc^loz en of the notables of the country, from II. W. Longfellow to Celia Thaxter, ought to be a suf ficient guarantee of merit. Among the other excellent articles of this No., those with the most attractive titles are, Co-operative House keeping, Consumption in America, Ritualism' ia England, aud Birth of the Solar System. The last named is an elaborate and learned essay on the nature and formation of the solar system; substituting the nebular doctrine of La Place, and of most modern astronomers, that the earth materials, at first existing in the gaseous form, were at length condensed, by the force of attraction aud the loss ot heat, into the solid earth,—the novel and ingenious thc-o- I ry that those earth materials existed originally as "dark particles, intensely cold/’ the world beginning as "a small, dark, cold body,” ob taining all its interna! heat from the shock and friction, from the collision of those "dark, cold substances,”—as percussion gives it from the ii.nt aud steel; that the earth always has grown gradually by the accretion of these substances, aud is still growing, as shown by much meteor- ; ic matter every year attracted to it, thus in di rect ratio iucreasiug the earth's internal heat; aud that so the world is to go on augmenting matter and generating heat in this way. till it melts at last and passes into the gaseous funml i It is, therefore, the nebular theory reversed in order aud way of doing things. How far fu ture discovery will verify this novel theory, time alone will determine; yet one great fact alluded to stands greatly in its favor,—the con stant accumulation of the earth's matter from meteoric sources, many interesting specimens 1 of which we have seen, hereafter to be describ ed in an article in tl. se columns on meteors. This article, which bespeaks high intellect ual culture, will astound the world, we think, ii no: for great truths indubitably established, by he boldness with which it strikes into the old theories of cosmical science. We cannot but think that the nebular theory of creation as hitherto taught, better than any other, ac cords with reason and facts. Yet who, remem bering the world’s history, dares say what is 1 certainly true or false. For along the pathway of lime, a.ike in the physical and spiritual cre ation, how thickly lie strown the wrecks of once loved theories and doctrines, for which countless devotees died martyrs, aud unbeliev ers suffered crucifixion! In the distractions among both material and religious things, it is written that no one now is endued with power from oil high to say, thus saiththe Lord. BHEAH VAHI.Yb Everybody is of the opinion that home-made bread is cheaper, sweeter, and more wholesome than that bought at the baker’s, unless it is badly made. Heavy, close, bitter bread is only too well known in many households where it is home-made; this is not economical, as it can not nourish the eaters as good bread does—and it is. generally speaking, wasted. Let us see if it is not possible to teach how to make bread of all kinds, which shall be good, light, sweet, aud appetizing. Tiie oven plays an important part in this manufacture. There is no doubt that more nutrition is con taiued in brown bread than in white, aud the whiter the bread the less is the nourishment de rived from it. Brown Bread is excellent for; weak digestions, and for many other reasons should be eaten alternately with white bread in all families; moreover, it is less adulterated , than the very white bread when pureiiased from the baker’s. Flour, when kept in store, should be placed in a warm, dry room, as, if at all damp, it will make the bread or cakes for which it is used, heavy. It is safest to put the quantity ol flour you are about to make into bread before the lire, in a large dish or pan, for an hour or two, in order to have it warm and dry for use. Lreat cleanliness is required for making bread —a clean trough or brown earthen pan; very clean hands aud arms, and nice, fresh yeast". The fresher the yeast the less you will require of it. Never leave the dough half made, nor allow it to get cold before it is finished; if you do, it will be heavy. Too small a proportion of yeast will make the dough heavy. If the sponge or the dough be permitted to" over-work itself, it will become sour in warm weather. Do not put it too near the fire, but keep it warm at a gentle and equal degree of heat. Bread baked in tins will be lighter than when made into ordinary loaves, aud is best for toast or sandwiches. Too little water will spoil the bread; too much will make it too slack. If, by aeciaeut, the latter fault is perceptible, make the bread up in tins, aud it will not much mat ter. The proportions given in the receipts may, of course, be modified according to the quantity of bread required. A Receipt Fou Yeast. T wo ounces of hops; four quarts of water; two and a half or three pounds of flour; six or seven boiled potatoes; one pint of brewer’s yeast. Boil the hops in four quarts of water for twenty minutes; strain the water through a hair sieve upon two and a half or three pounds ol' flour—it will seem lumpy, but that is of no consequence; stir it occasionally, and bruise it with a wooden spoon; let it stand till cool, and then keep it in the air of the lire all night. The next day fill a glass bottle with it; then add six or seven boiled potatoes, bruised, and a pint of brewer’s yeast to it; stir it well up, and let it stand till next day; then bottle it for use, rememberiug to take a pint out before you put the potatoes aud the yeast in it. To Knead Bread. After the dough is mixed, flour the hands, and, folding the lingers over the thumb, make what is called a list, and beat and pummel the dough first with one hand, and then the other, on every side; work it thus until it ceases to stick to your hands. Much kneading makes bread whiter and liner; bread can, indeed, scarcely be kneaded too much. 1. To Make Bread. Seven pounds of flour; two quarts of warm water; a large tablespoou fulofsalt; half a gill of yeast. Put the flour into a deep pan, heap it round the sides, leaving a hollow in the centre; put in a quart of warm water, a large spoonful of salt, and half a gill of yeast; have ready three pints more of warm water, and with as much of it as may be neces sary, make the whole into a rather soft dough, kneading it well with both hands. When it is smooth and shining, strew a little flour on it; lay a thickly folded cloth over It, and set it In a warm place by the fire for four or five hours ; then knead it again for a quarter of au hour; cover it over, and set it to rise again; divide it into two or four loaves, and bake it in a quick oven. It will take one hour to bake it if divided into loaves weighing two pounds each, and two hours if the loaves weigh four pounds each. This bread need rise only once, and if made of the best superfine Hour, will be beautifully white and light. In cold weather bread should be mixed in a warm room, and not allowed to become cold while rising. If there is any difficulty as to its rising, set the bowl or pan over boiling water. It is best to mix the bread at night, and cov er it close, in a warm room, should the weath er be cold, till the morning. Of course if the family be large, the quanti ties may be increased or doubled in proportion. -. Another Mode, with Milk—Put seven pounds of Hour into a large basin with two teaspoonful of salt; make a hole in the middle, and then put in a basin four teaspoonfull of yeast; stir it in a pint of milk, lukewarm; put it in the hole of the flour; stir it to make just a thin batter, then strew a little flour over the top; set it by the tire, ancMbvcr it over. Let it stand till next morning, then make it iuto dough; add half a pint more of warm milk, knead it for ten minutes, aud set in a warm place for one hour and a half; then knead it again, and it is ready either for loaves or bricks. Bake from one hour and a half to twro hours, according to the size. [Ituralist Patting his Mark on Her One ot the real old Mayo gentry, six feet four inches high, stout in proportion, rugged as one of his own mountain bulls, and proud as a Breton, had attained the age of forty and was still unmarried. He was a constant visitor at the house of three ladies, not overburdened with money or blood, but the youngest of whom was pos sessed of beauty and skill in retort. Every one said it would be a match ; but years rolled away, and the decisive words were not spoken, though other suitors were warned off by significant hints from the formidable but uudecided Mr. Blake. One evening be called in returning from the fair ot Castlebar, and lie found the ladies were having a few friends, and an impromptu dance. There were some officers lately ar rived from India, whose regiment was at Castlebar, and a certain Captain Graham had Mr. Blake’s lady, as he was generally styled, fast locked in that half embrace the scottischo permits. The captain was an adept at “ building up,” which Irish and a great many other ladies consider a partner's boundeu duty. Blake’s idea of waltzing was as preju diced as Byron's; and he had an ugly scowl on his brow that would have fright ened many men. as the lady passed him with a slight nod ; however the captain on ly pressed his partner the closer. “ I am sure you will like the captain, for dear Mabel’s sake : and we rely on you to make it pleasant for him while here,” said the eldest sister. Mr. Blake was standing with his back to the lire, and drawing from bis pocket a small branding iron used for putting initials on the horns of cattle by the purchaser, he gave the turf a quiet poke, and left the let tered end in the hot ashes. “ ^our honor’s lost her,” whispered Pat Casey, the old servant of the house, as he handed negus rouud ; “the captain’s less ta dious than your honor in love-making.” “ Well, Blake, you’re done,” said Mr. Browne. “ Waited too long, my boy ; and the captain there will carry off the finest girl iu Mayo.” '• By heaven, then, he shall find my mark on her 1” cried Blake ; and, us the waltzers passed, lie drew the brand from the fire and clapped the red hot letters on the shoulder of Miss Mabel, just above the low dress. Ot course there was a deal of screaming and fuss, but the lady recovered sufficiently to become Mrs. Blake, and I hear, never regretted the event which at last compelled her lover to speak his mind. A friend of mine told me, some time since, that he had been staying with the Blakes, and he could aver that Mrs. Blake still wore high dresses on all occasions. People Who are Too Cool. In the February number of the Galaxy, a writer discoursing upon the subject, gives the following illustrations of people whom he thinks were too cool: I have read of peop le who were too calm and complacent. Of such a character, I thing, was the conductor who, when he ran over a mau, said lie never liked to do it, “ because it mussed up the track so.” And speaking of saws, and following this train of thought, I may mention a young mau from the country who went into a hardware store iu New York, and rapped a great buzz saw with his knuckles, remarked, “ 1 had an old dad ripped to pieces with one of them fellers last week.” I think that young man exhibited too little emotion for the oc casion. It showed a lack of filial affection only comparable with that of a boy belong ing to r. primary school in Manchester, N. II., who assured his schoolmates that he would soon be able to indulge iu his favor ite sport on the river with the best of them. “ Father,” said he, “ lias gone to the war, and when he gets killed lam going to have his fish-liue. As cool a person, under the circumstan ces, as ever heard of, was a young noble man, who, in a frightful railway accident, missed his valet. One of the guards come up to him and said : “ My lord, we have found your servant, but he is cut in two.” “ Aw, is her” said the young mau, with a Dundreary drawl, but still with some anxi ety depicted on his countenance, “ will you be gwood enough to see iu which half he has gvvot the key of my carpet bag?” To a sensitive mind his anxiety seems to have been misplaced. The same unconscious ness to the awful aspects of death was ex hibited by a mau iu New Jersey in 1859, who was employed to convey to his friends the body of a Mr. Wilson, who had died about fifty miles from home, of the cholera. On finding the house he knocked at the door and the wife of the deceased opened it. “ Does Mr. Wilson live here?” asked the man. “ Yes/ said the lady, “ but he is not at home to-day.” “ No, I know he ain’t,” said the young man, with a soothing tone of voice, thinking to break the news gently, “ but he will be in a minute, ’cause I’ve got him here dead in my wagon.” There was a still more reprehensible moral obtuseness in the remark of a man who sentenced to be hung, and inquired of the sheriff the night before the appointed day, “ I say,_ Mr. Sheriff, at what hour does this little affair of mine come off?” The Split Cameo. The long pearl-tipped breakers were tumbling and glittering on the bare lapse of yellowish beach ; one or two sails gleam ed tar off in the hazy distance ; a flock of white-winged birds were sailing fleetly along the unshadowed blue of the heavens ;1 a fresh, salty breeze rushed in through the window at which Miriam Leigh was sitting, ' and tossed the golden curls of her little tive.year-old nephew who stood by her side. The child was leaning forward to examine a tinv bunch of trinkets that hung from Miriam’s watch-chain. “What is bioken, Arthur?” “This pretty stoue.” And the boy, holding up the bunch of trinkets, showed her one which was larger then the rest—the fragments of a pink i cameo, without setting of any kind. On 1 its surface was carven a tiny white rose, the leaves and stem of which were evident ly with the missing fragment. Miriam Leigh’s face—it was a pale, gentle looking face, framed in silky, chest nut hair, and lit with dark gray eyes— flushed crimson for a momint. “It has been broken for six years, Ar thur,” she said, addressing the boy, though seeming to address her own thoughts, and speaking in a low, dreamy voice. “It was given me, this fragment here, by a friend —a very dear friend—on leaving me for a long, long journey.” “What a pity,” said Arthur, iu the same grieved voice. “ What is a pity ?” Miriam asked, smil iug faintly ; “that the cameo was broken, or that my friend went away?” “Both,” said Arthur, after a moment’s demure hesitation. Then he added, sud denly, speaking v, itli great childish earnest ness : “Was your friend a lady or a gen tleman, Aunty?” Another flush of the pale, thoughtful face. “Nurse aud Hetty are on the beach yon der, and I think are looking for you, Ar thur. Hadn’t you better go aud join them ?” “But you haveu’t told me, aunty, wheth er it was a lady or a gentleman,” persisted the incorrigible Arthur, looking up curious ly into Miriam’s eyes. “A gentleman, Arthur”—spoken iu scarcely audible tones. “Nurse sees you,” she added, “ aud is beckoning for you to' come.” Arthur obeyed nurse’s signal, audMirri am, left alone in the vacant hotel parlor, leaned her head upon her hand, supporting her elbow upon the window-sill, aud sat thus for ten minutes or longer, musing si lently. At the end of that time, her married sister, Mrs. Quintard, entered the room. Mrs. Quintard, it may be well to state, was a tall, dignified, haudsome woman, who had married prosperously, and execrated senti ment. She seated herself at Miriam’s side and began speaking in rather severe tones : "\V hat sentiment have you been talking to Arthur, Miriam, about that ridiculous cameo which you persist in keeping?” ‘•Did he repeat what I said?” Miriam asked. She spoke calmly now ; there were no i secrets between herself aud sister. "Of course. You know what a gossip that child of miue is. I wish you’d throw that cameo away, Miriam, and make au ef fort to forget that absurd affair, of six year’s standing, with Maitland Morse." "It is no longer au ‘atfair, Julia.” Miri am uttered the words without apparent ef fort, and in a tranquil voice. "Maitland Morse is dead : there can be no doubt of his having been lost at sea. We know positively that the Cleopatra was wrecked.” "But your hopes were not,” said Mrs. Quintard, with au odd mixture of sternness aud humor. ‘‘The Cleopatra left yon a spar to cling to, Miriam, whatever she did for poor Maitland Morse, on going under the sea. Shadowy timber, I must own, however, aud apt to swamp yon one of these days in the daugerous ocean of life-long : celibacy.” ■■ >y ere mere any arrivals mis morning; i Miriam asked, beut upon changing the ! subject. “Yes ; Ogdeu Ilaight came dowu. By-! the-way, Miriam, I think he is very much I taken with you. I trust that”— ‘•Biease don’t ask me to be civil to Ogdeu Haight, Julia,” said Miriam with a little smile of mock weariness. “Anybody else ?” “Yes ; another gentleman, fall, not un handsome, aud ‘bearded like a pard.’ 1 don’t know his name, but lie seems really to be somebody.” “Is it the gentleman who is walking on the beach yonder, with nurse and Hetty and Arthur ?” asked Miriam. She pointed out of tlie window in a certain direction while speaking. “Yes” ; Mrs. Quiutard said. “Arthur and lie seem to be excellentiriendsalready. It' is wonderful what expansibility that child j has.” “There’s such a nice gentleman at the j hotel Aunt Mirry. He builds the beauti fulest iiuuses," said Arthur, stumbling a lit tle over this important superlative. “Builds houses?” Miriam asked, puzzled at the child’s remark. She was upstairs iu her own room uow, putting the iiuishiug touches to her after noon toilet before the glass. “Sandhouses,” Arthur exclaimed patrou iziugly. Here followed several sentences of pane gyric on the gentleman's architectural pow ers, to which Miriam listened absently. Five minutes later, Mrs. Quiutard, Miri am aud Arthur were stauding amid quite an assemblage ot hotel guests, on the wide high piliard piazza of the - House. The occasion for this assemblage was the mo mentarily expected appearance of the pas senger coach from L- Station, in which Mrs. Quintard’s husband was to ar rive from New York. While Miriam, at the earnest request of her match making sister, was really “being civil” to Mr. Ogden Haight, (a nervous lit tle sandy-whiskered bachelor, by the way, whom she especially disliked,) something caught her sleeve rather vigorously, and she looked dowu to discover her little nephew, who was whispering, with great earnest ness. “This is the gentleman, Aunt Mirry. See what a splendid beard lie’s got?” “He toward whom Arthur pointed was standing with his back toward Miriam, and she could therefore observe nothing save the outlines of a stately and commauding ligure. Mr. Ogden Haight happened to proceed at this moment with some very vapid re marks he had been making about the pleas ures of a seashore residence and toward Mr. Ogden Haight, Miriam once more turned her attention. “One’s spirits are tilled with a buoyancy, Miss Leigh, that scarcely anything else can produce, by watching this ever-restless tur bulence of billows and by—’’ At this moment, Miriam’s polite atten tion to her companion’s tine conversational periods, was again interrupted by her in corrigible nephew. He had not pulled her sleeve this time ; he gave something at tached to her dress a violent and dislodging jerk, and wa3 crying out gleefully a moment after. “They match, aunty ! This gentleman's got the other piece of your cameo on his watch-chain.!” Similarly pulled in Miriam’s direction, as Miriam had been pulled in his, the gentle man bent a glance of keen scrutiny upon Arthur’s aunt; and Arthur’s aunt, in her turn, searched his face with wild, devouring eyes, uttered a low, faint sob, when she had at last recognized Maitland Morse, the man for whose death she had mourned five weary years, and would have fallen senseless at his feet, but for the strong arms which caught her. Two hours afterwards they were alone together, and Miriam was listening with— oh, such a blissful-throbbing heart! to all Maitland Morse had to tell. And a wild story it was—a story of shipwreck and aw ful famine at sea, and final landing upon a lonely, half-civilized island in the Pacific, that ships hardly ever touched upon. Here he dwelt during the five years that followed, until deliverance came at last. He had only reached his native soil three days before, and had stopped at the Hotel where they had met, for a single day, on his journey from Boston to New York. This delay in reaching the latter city had been caused by overmastering dread and uncertainty. He feared to discover that Miriam Leigh, if living, was Miriam Leigh no longer. But she is Miriam Morse, now that the lost is found, the dead is alive, and the split cameo is joined. As for Arthur, he vehemently asserts himself to be the briuger-about of Aunt Miriam’s present happiness. x no x nuuuuig w no iuiaumRg, The Boston Traveller of last week pub lished the following particulars of the re cent tragedy in Fitchburg : Further developments in the case of Rob ert D. Fyke and Adelaide Evans, arrested for the poisoning of Mrs. Hannah Fyke, go to show the case to be one of the blackest crimes ou record iu the State of Massachu setts. Mr. Fyke is a man about 40 years of age, rather stout built, of medium height, dark complexion, has a tine black eye, a very intelligent expression of countenance, a keen perception, and is a man of more than ordinary ability. He is a native of Prince Edwards Island. lie formerly re sided in Boston, working at the cabinet maker’s trade, but for the last twelve or fifteen years has lived ia Fitchburg, and has been employed iu Page’s piano manu factory as a veueerer, previous to July last. In August last, after the piano shop was sold and the business changed, he went to Bos ton, engaging iu business with his nephew, on Haverhill street, iu the manufacture ot bed lounges. His family remained in Fitch burg, he visiting the in as often as once a fortnight, and spending the Sabbath with them. Your correspondent can say, from an acquaintance of twelve years, that he has always been considered a sober, honest and industrious man, a good provider for his family, a good neighbor, and a good citizen. Miss Adelaide Evans, who is arrested as accessory, is about twenty-seven years ot age, of very nervous temperament, and is a daughter of Mrs. Fyke by a former hus band. She was educated at the grammar and high schools iu Fitchburg, and has taught school a little in the town. For a year or two past she has been employed in the Fitchburg Sentinel office. Her acquaintan ces have always called her l,odd.” She is a member of the Methodist Episcopal Church, and has lived with her mother, in her step father’s family, since they have resided iu Fitchburg. It is generally believed that Mr. Fyke prepared the poison, and that she administered it in lemonade sometime ou Tuesday. She confesses criminal intimacy with her stepfather, which has been secretly carried on for the last twelve or fifteen years, avid is iu au advanced state of preg nacy. She succeeded until last Wednesday ia deceiving her most intimate acquaintan ces and some physicians as to her real con dition by her uniform and brazen-faced de nial of the truth when told ot the suspicions of others. 15..1, ~ t - i l l. _ c r._ .... ur . . J IH UOIV/IU O T T tk 1 V ■> of the Police Court ou Saturday moruiug, and plead guilty to the charge of criminal intercourse, but not guilty to the charge of potsouing tns wife, The Court adjourned to Thursday next. Both parties are now confined in the jail at Fitchburg. A nephew of Pyke’s called at the jail Saturday after noon, and was allowed to see his uncle a few moments. Pyke sat upon his bed, calmly reading a book. He told his nephew to procure a good coffin for his aunt, and asked who would conduct the funeral. He appears confident of acquittal, and is not aware of the overwhelming evidence against him, relying on the known sagacity ot the girl, aud confiding to her. But the double crime proved too much for her, and before the awful odds against her she broke down and confessed the whole. Had Pyke kept the poisoning business in his own hands the proof of his guilt would be next to an impossibility. But the very skill that his daughter-iu-law had displayed in concealing their guilt for so many years led to undue confidence in her ability to carry out this programme. She expressed a wish when arrested to remain in her room one night more, and said “if she could only stay there one night more she would be all right.” She will doubtless make every possible exertion to take her own life. Mrs. Hannah Pyke, the victim of poison, was married to Mr. Pyke about twenty years since, and was some 25 years older than her husband. She has three children living (two besides the daughter Adelaide.) She has resided in Dedham, Boston and Portsmouth, N. H. LUCK. BY HEN'RV WARD BEECHER The word “hi; k" is too freely bedded in our language, aud belief in the fact express ed by it is too strong to justify an expecta tion that will soon become obsolete. Luck l? an event, good or Lad, which befalls a man iud-pcndently of his own volition. If a man works all day for five dollars, his wa ges is not considered luck. But if he finds live dollars iu the road, that is luck. If a man aims at an accomodation train, but hits an express traiu, which has been delayed a little, he is iu luck. He has secured what he did not plan for. I If the last boat of the season leaves Albany for New York a day sooner than the ship per had calculated, and he loses an oppor tunity of sending his freight, he exclaims, “That is just my luck.’’ Of the fact itself there can be no doubt. Many disappointments befall men which seem to have no relation to their own agen cy. Many pieces of good fortune occur which the recipient did uot plan or look for. But the cause of luck, thus defined, is an other thing. If we could look into men’s minds and render clear those obscure and nebulous thoughts that hover there, it would be found, probably, that very different no tions are entertained about it. .Some be lieve that there are spirits, or sprites, whose power iutercales these events upon the cal endar of Nature. Others seem to believe that in the vast realm of Nature events are floating about like motes in sunbeams, and that men accidentally stumble upon them. Some people believe it to be a crook iu the grain of things, some meu being born aud destined to fulfil some mischievous decrees. I “Do what they will, they can never esc: pe I ill-luck.” W ere some men’s notions anal yzed, I should not wonder if it were found that they still believe luck to be a personal ] being, as Puck, or Ariel, who spent their i time in playing tricks upon men, good or ’ bad, according to their peculiar fancy. But dismissing all these notions, there j are several piece? of genera ! good or ill luck which have much to do with special luck that befalls men. I count it a piece of prime and admirable luck to be boru of parents who had sound physical constitutions, ample brains, well proportioned and balanced, living in moderately prosperous circumstan ces. Next to this, is to be brought up iu simplicity, amoug people kind aud just, and under circumstances which require one to exert himself actively, so that ho shall nev er expect to have anything which he does not himself earn. Lastly, aud as a conse quence of those, it is supreme good luck to have a patieut nature, too proud to do evil, aud not proud enough to take offense at the j common experiences of life ; as contented j as is consistent with enterprise, aud above : all, with unwasting good nature. This last quality—good nature—is per haps the most desirable of all, in so far as happiness is concerned. Every one knows that it is the sugar iu fruit that gives it its palatableness, aud that converts its juice? into wine. Good uature is to human dis positions what sugar is to grapes. A robust aau cheerful nature hardly kuows the ditl'erenoe between good aud bad luck. Some things, which extort piteous complaints of bad luck from his neighbors, befall him without exciting more than a moment’s attention—just as a healthy man does not feel a chilly gust which sets an in valid into shiveis. Ill luck in petty chairs L- only another I name l’or want of foresight, u is llness, poor judgment, clumsy handed • -s, F. ot spring and enterprise. Few men are will ing to say that their own blunders, negative or positive, return upou their own heads. Luck is to them a fortunate word. Luck is a word that hi les a man’s inefficiency from himself, and-saves his pride. Every one of us has lucky aud unlucky days. Too much excitement, late hours late eating, poor sleep, and too little of it, bring on mornings full of depression—blue days, iu which everybody aud everything seems wrong. This is a simple case iu in which respectable dissipation has put the whole instrument bv which man works his brain and nervous system out of adjust ment. His mistakes are no more surpris ing than would be a mechanic’s who worked by false rule, or a chemist’-1 who measur ed by incorrect standards. By and by, rest, diet, aud good habits restore the equilibrium, and then comes a sparkling day of good luck. Halt the la bor produces twice the ordinary results. We meet the very person we desire to see. Everything.goes on rightly, fhe world is propitious ! Judge Goddard, of the Superior Court nf Cumberland County, has recovered a heavy verdict against a railroad company for brutal treatment by one of its servants. The Argus gives the following account of the matter!— Judge Goddard purchased a ticket to Danville Junction and started to visit hi,, family, then residing in Auburn. l’he af ternoon train was verv long aud, as usual, on,- Jacksou was detailed to take the tickets of passengers leaving the train before the regular conductor came through. Judge Goddard, having some business at Fal mouth, stepped out, and upon the request , of Jacksou handed him his ticket. Upon his return Jackson again approached where he was sitting and demanded his ticket, aud, upou Judge Goddard’s replying that he gave it to him when he left the car, told the Judge that he lied, and falling into an un governable passion, committed an assault upon him, shaking his iist3 in his face, threatening to beat his brains out, aud us ing the most profane language, lie con tinued this tor some twenty minutes, when the train approached Cumberland aud he desisted. The company still retain the man in their employ, and indeed have recently promoted him. For this outrage Judge Goddard sued the Graud Trunk Railway Company, and on Monday recovered a ver dict of 64850. Mr. Alexander llobertsou, ot Mechanic cans, l gives the Lewiston Journal his experience in | hen keeping. One llock of 12 hens laid 7170 eggs in one year, which' Were sold for $14(1.40. Paid for grain aud potatoes to feed them, $04. 00. Clear protit, $82.40. Breed, Leghorn, crossed with common fowls. They were in closed in an acre of grass land. A second flock of 70 Bolton Greys and common hens laid 9604 eggs. Sold for $503.88. Cost of keeping, $97.00. This llock had the whole range of the farm. The best kind of fowls for laying are mongrels. A cross with the blue and purple Leghorn is excellent. A Clergyman’s Joke. I was spending the night in a hotel in Freeport, Illinois. After breakfast I went into the sitting room, where I met a pleas ant, chatty, good humored traveller, who like myself, was waiting for the morning train from Galena. We conversed freely and pleasantly on different topics, until see ing two young ladies meet and kiss each other in the street, the conversation turned on kissingjust about the time the train v;a aproaehing. “Come,” said he, taking up his carpet hag, “since we are on so sweet a subject let us have a practical illustration. I’ll make a proposition to you. I’ll agree to ki - the most beautiful lady in the cars from Galena, you being the judge, if you will kiss the next prettiest, I being the judge.” This proposition staggered me a little, and I could hardly tell whether he was iu ear nest or in fun ; but as he would be as deep ly iu it as I could be, I agreed, provided he would do the first kissing, though my heart failed somewhat as I saw fits black eyes fair ly dance with daring. “Yes.” said he, “I’ll try it first. You take the back car, aud go iu from the frout eud, where you can see the faces of the la dies, and you stand t>y the one you think the handsomest, and I’ll come in from be hind and kiss her."’ I had hardly stepped inside the cars when I saw at the tirst glance one of the loveliest looking womeu my eyes ever fell on. A beautiful blonde, with auburn hair, aud £•. bright, sunny face, full of love and sweetness, and radiant an 1 gl >wi-jg as the morning. Any further search was totally unnecessarily. I immediately took my stand iu the aisle by her side. She was looking out uf the window earnes ly, as if expecting some one. The hack door of the car opeped aud in stepped my hotel friend. I pointed my finger to her slyly, never dreaming that lie would dare to carrv out lus pledge, an 1 you may imagine aiy liorror aud amazement when lie stepped up quickly behind her. and stooping over, ki. ed her with a relish that made my "mouth water.” I expected, of course, a shriek of terror, aud then a row generally and a knock-down : hut astonishment succeeded astonishment when I saw her return the kiss with compound interest. Quick as a dash, he turned to me aud said : ‘•Now, sir, it is your turn,” pointing to a hideously ugly, wrinkled old woman, who sat in the seat beiiiud. “Oh, you must excuse me ! you must!-' I exclaimed. "I’m sold this time. I give up. Do tell me whom you have been kissiug. “Well,” said he, “since you are a man of so good taste, a id quick perception, I’ll let you off. "And we all burst into a hearty peal of laughter as lie said. “This is my wife. I have been waiting for her. I knew that it was a safe proposition.” He told the story to his wife, who looked ten-fold sweeter a? she heard it. Before we reached Chicago we exchang ed cards, and 1 discovered that my genial companion was a popular Episcopalian preacher of Chicago, whose name I had frequently heard. Whenever I go to Chi cago I go to hear him, and a heartier, more natural and eloquent preacher is hard to find. He was then a young man ; lit i» uow well known as one of the ablest diviues of the Episcopal denomination in the Wor. [Harper's Weekly. A Word to Boys. Come, boys, and listen a few moments to your uncle. You have now arrived at aa age when you must begin to think about doing something for your selves. The first piece of advice I have for you is, to do every thing well which you undertake. There is but little danger of your being too particular in this respect. A boy who is careful to draw a straight liu-* on his slate, will be very likely to make a straight line through life. There is uo po sition in life in which you will not be called upon to act as exact as possible. Step into the jeweler’s shop, and see how carefu1 the workman must be iu finishing up the article he holds in his hand. Visit the ship-yard, and the man with the broad-ax must learn to hew on a line, or be dismissed. You think of being a clerk. Weil, remember that a mistake there is a little less than crime. I never saw a man who was very particular about his affairs that was not suc cessful. How exact is a military officer in the commaud of a body of men. A clumsy sailor will never rise 10 the command of .. ship. But there is one great danger 'which be sets many young men at the present day. It is the disposition to avoid all solid im provement, and take up with subjects that require no thought, aud which serve as mere warfare with godliness, and whose portion will be that ot the ungodly. As the tree fall eth so shall it lie. We shall reap what w e have sown. “Let my example warn you of the fatal error into which you have tails a,” .-aid the gay Sir Francis Delaval, uea ■ . his life. “Pursqe what is u-etu. I pursue what is useful!” Reader, it you would not want to make your life a curse, present aud eternal, “pursue what is useful.” Geuio C. Scott, who knows a thing o. two about tishiug, tells in the Spirit of the Times the follo wing story of the recent con vention of commissioners in New lork . lu conversation with a tew of the New England Commissioners aud others, lliose velti.s said to have iuquired ot them : "You seem to say a great deal about a ipou C now, I've often heard of a tun, or tuna'. . aud of its great weight aud voracity ; but I never before heard so much said about t!w ■pound’ : what kind of a tisli is it?” One of the Commissioners replied fit is not a fish, but a netwhen another gentleman present "tipped the wink” aud added : “It is for the estuaries ; di i you ever ent one, Mr. Roosevelt ?” “What ?” ■‘An estuasy ?” “Yes, sir, frequently.” “IIow did you like it ?” “It is a very good fish ; I’ve eaten it at Delmonico’s frequently, but I don't think it equal to the Spanish mackerel, especially as a breakfast fish.” The strangers could suppress a laugh no longer, but gave vent to a hearty ha ! hall adding “you’ll do for a New York fisherv commissioner.” A late Judge, whose personal appear auce was as unprepossessing as his legal knowledge was profound aud his intellect keen, interrupted a female witness—“Hum bugged you ! my good woman, what do you mean by that?” said lie, sternly. “Well, my lord,” replied the woman, “I don’t know how to explain it exactly; but if a girl called your lordship a haudsome man. now she would bo humbuggiug you."