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" ETERNAL HOSTILITY TO EVERY FORM OP OPPRESSION OYER THE MIND OR BODY OP HAN.'Wimuo*.
LOUIS 0. COWAN, Editor and Proprietor. B1DDEF0RD, MAINE, FRIDAY, DECEMBER 11,1857 VOLUME 2III—NUMBER 60 UNION AXD EASTERN JOURNAL til I'llOI «»t> ItlTIII JlXUtl ll ptMIlM »T**Jr ^iiPtr.ll Ma. I, CfWnl Block, oj»p.»«.l* lh» Bt4dr IIoiim. Tuw-|i,w i^r tuuua, ur |1,M II withinIkm »niU<fr* lk» Uaaa •( aubacribinf. Mugl* *u|4a* 4 MMi. V. B. >'alm t«, lb* tro.-rican M*w*pap«r A«*nt, la lb* «nIj %«thnm*d a*»ot t>f thi* |>«prr la lb* elllaa of W Tuft, Button au4 Philadelphia, anJ ltd sly Ma I>>c<r*l i» I*k- t4f*rtlH«nu >ikI wHMrlpduti at ttw mm ralaaatr*«|ulr*«lby *«. Ilit uiltn ar* fir» York Trl'Hin» UalMinft ( tfvW«« ,*ch >llajr't Halkl lag i X. W. cwrn»t TMr4 imi CWil. DUt tlKtl. JIMl> T. CLKAVCtt. Friairr. Tbe Mlowmd «lanxa« are hu ntracl from a reveal Friar »\*m lh« Uuivcpmi jr o! Oxford, by It**. Wui Ah ■ mjny a lime we look on at a rill BigtiU Up to I lie aky .»» Jacob did o( old, L<«>k tonkin* up lo the eternal light*, To spell their line* iu gold. l)u! nvveruioiv, a* lo IW Hebrew toy, Karh on hia way lb« augvla walk abroad ; And iinwrm.in> w» hup, with 4wful joy, Tlx* auJiMe voice ol" Ood. Yet, lo pure ejea, the ladder tlill ia art, An I augi-l vt«itaula *li'l i .nne aud go, >1 my bruht HH.-**rn^er« »r« moving )«l Frviu lb« dark world Mow. TUo'u, lliat arv red cruaa d Fail ha outtpradiag wing*, IV.iyeraof tbe Cknteli, aft* keep ug lin»e aud 11 \ »l— Ilrart.wialie*, uirfkmc Iwea-like imiruiumr*. 'il.eir ll*¥**r«, tuc K'febailat— Spini* (led, tbionsh «uU«riug tendered mrel For il»<*e lii/.'i maaaiooa—liotu lh« uurvry du»* III ig 1*1 lube* that t luub up with lUeir »-l«y eold leel, Uato th« gnlJr.i door. Tli'w are I lie ii)e*»eiigi-r»l lorevrr weu<li.ig Fn>iue.trlU lo h<-»vt'ii,lli.ti l.ulii alone m «y K*«tu, I Ttiw ar«- Ilia naji'tn of our Ood, aweudiug I'jii'ii ifie J*on w4 Man. Jacob's Ladder. Slgritulttirul. Is this anybody's Pic'.are? There's neighbor 8 lie's con tent with Iiis rami, and believes that draining in 1 too costly to U» practiced and will not jny tut a protection to stock, lie leaves a dilapi dated fenco in front of his dwelling, backed by a row of scraggy peach trees, Hi* wood yard is the spacv in front of hit house, con sisting of an nntightly pilo of green logs, to bo cut up as occasion requires. His turn ! the roof decayed and ragged, with the boards here and there missing frotu the siden; an open jard, where all winter a herd of lowing . cattle, may be seen, pinched with cold, and ' trampling their fodder under feet. His farm ing implements! they are few and simple, (io into the Mad, and there by the fence— where they are carefully placed when not iu use—you will see them. An old wagon' with un older box stand* there, ready to drop to pieces by its own weight, a three cornered drag rests confidingly against it, while a lit tle way off is the plow, which, by the wtar and tear it has been subjected to, might be referred to any age since Methuselah. Neigh- ^ bor S believe* that one plow will answer for all purpose*, and all soils, and thinks new inventions in this line humbug*. In | the spring ho yokes a pair of poor half starved oxen, that have lain out to freeze in the open yard last winter, hitches thetu to his plow, and proceeis to spring plowing. He usual ly gets into his field by letting down the fence; an easy task, by the way, for the corners ure all down, or thrown this way and that, till he cannot easily uiake it worse i He nsually begins in wet weather, as his' team is too light to plow when it is dry— He plows shallow, for his team is not strong enough to plow deep, lie don't subsoil, it would take unother team. When harvest comes, ho wonders wliy his field yields but half a cropf Such are the men—I will not ray fanners ! who disgrac* the pursuit of agriculture.— Hut their number is lessening. Stupid in deed must lie the mau who in this ago docs not improve. Kvcry appliance that science and art can bring, is placed in the hand of the fanner, lie has but to signify his wauts and the inventor is ready to devote years in his service. He but asks and he receive*.-— The leaven is working, and the farmer for intelligence stands equal to the heat. If he don not, then hr is to blame. If ho will not read and think, if he will not strive to improve, then he merit* contempt, and should bo degraded not only by other }>ro fuasions, but by all true farmers, as a re proach on the honor of their culling.—Ohio CV/ira,tor. Herds and Flocks. Among the employment* of the farmer* during the scuson of consumption, set over . ugainst that of production, is that of feeding and taking cure of the various kind* of do mestic animal*. No duty of hushandme » requires more akill and careful attcution than that of rightly dispensiug forage, root* tuber* and grains to their cattle, sheep, borwe*, swine und poultry. How to exchange thuM for muscle, milk, egg*, work, travel and growth»is a problem of no ensy solution. To place feed before animal* requires no great amount of skill. But to use it au as to derive the greatest j>oa*ible goo*f from ita consumption, demands much knowledge, the result of careful experience and observation. In the Northern States, and more esfee ially in Now Kngland, bay, grain and roots are all costly products, and therefore, must be skillfully and economically expended or disposed of, or else they will not pay the cost of raising. The statements, showing tho cost, kind and weight of food consumed by the milch cowa on the State Farm at Wcstboro', by John Br<wks, and Moses Newell, member* of the Board of Agriculture, and published in the Keport of the Secretary of the Board, lor 1854>, may bo profitably studied and prac ticed by farmers, who deaiiw lo profit from such, carefully made and rvgistered, experi ments and result* Similar experiments should bo made by farmers in different jurU of the State, and these to which attention ii invited should also be tested. Not only the feeling of animal*, but their shelter ami protection from the severity of the season demand due care and attention. Cattle and horse* require warm and well ventilated stables. Thin ia both a matter of | contort to th« animals and economy to their owner*. Cows and oxen for milk and work should be warmly housed during the winter, not permitted to stand out during the day, exposed to wind and stonu, but should, un | lew the water is brought into the barn, as is done in sume cases, be turued out to drink < and a* soon after as possible put in the stable again. This is fur from being the general practice, judging from observation. Many farmers turn their cuttle in the Tard, early in the morning, where they usually remain until uear sundown, and sometimes till after no matter what the weather is. It would be much better to le« then stand in the stable, though not fed, than to re> main out exposed to the cold, piercing win ter winds. It is a well established fact, that cattle kept warmly housed during cold weath er, will not only eat much less than H ex posed ns indicated, but look much better.— Cold consumes both muscle und tut. ••The merciful man rcg.irde th the life o( lii» beast,'' mid an old Oriental writer many ccnturiw ago. Such always stv that their aniuiuLt are kept warm aud comfortable not low titan . well fed. Those who have not already done •o, should Kitten up the cracks uMut their »tah|<w and keep out the cold und snow.. This will sure tons of good hay, besides mak ing your cattle look sleeker than they will if you set at nought this suggestion. The kiiuo euro should bo extended to nil other domestic* animals. Taking euro of cattlo, sheep and horses should rective the j daily overnight of the owner ; for no other' iiinn or class of men can feel the samo inter, est in theiu that he does. Trust not, then, tho feeling and tending of your herds nni i tlock» to hireling*, cxclu*ive]y , for through ignorance and luck of interest they will both j »uflcr and depreciate in value. In order to prosper, every man must give hi* attention to hi* own husiine**. And ol none is this more emphatically true tluin of tanning — Through j-ersonul neglect or want of knowl edge in tho affair* of rural economy many a ; gentleman farmer lias waited a good estate and iMine to nought, fiuaneially speaking. liusines* is dull the prteent season, thus aflording ample opportunity to do what there i* done well. It is hoped that farmer* will givo tho subject of tending and feeding their herd* and (locks all the attention nnd *kill they can command. It is a subject worthy of their timo and* tudy. It cost* no small 1 sum to rnako a cow, a yoke of oxen, a sheep, I a hot*', or a full grown swiuo. lleuce the importance of pro[>erly feeding and tend ing them. Scientific investigations have demonstra ted that a considerable portion of tho feed eonsumed by warm-blooded amuial* is ex* hausted in keeping up the natural heat, by a process very similar to combustion. Hence as already stated, aud tho reason is obvious, j animal* warmly boused eut less, a* the stove in a clow room will consume less fuel in or der to maintain a certain temperature. The accumulation of fat is favonfblc to the j re •ervation of animal heat. It is important to those engaged in fattening cuttle to under-j stanp tho importance of houi«ing— and,1 whether yards, stalls or boxes are bc*t for thus purpose. A really good sv*tein of housing coinhincs i the following conditions, saysau experienced writer : — 1st, Facilities for supplying food, water, litter, aud for removing dung with the ut* most economy of timo und labor. lid. Complete freedom from disturbance. lid, A moderate and equal degree of warmth. 4th, A constant supply of pure air. 5th, Opportunity for the cattlo's having a slight degree of exercise ; and Oth, The production of manure of the best quality. It is stated, that cattle fed for tho butcher will thrive better in a dark, than light stable; because more contented. Yard*, if properly sheltered, are mid to be tatter than stalls or boxes, for growing young stock ; for such require more exercise than fattening animals I or milch cows. It is also very important to feed regular- ■ It ; henco certain lioura should be llxixl up* on for feeding, and thuu should bo regularly' observed by the lu-rd-unun. The right time, and place, with feed of good <|uality and of sufficient quantity will make a sleek looking herd,—one tliat it is a pl«*sure to feed,—■' and profitable to own ; for money than in vested yield* good dividend*. Stock-breed-. ing and stock-feeding and tending require much knowledge, combined with skill and j wisdom, the result of much experience and eurvful observation* l<et these lw in daily ! exercise, end the fruit will lie visible. The Chief Aim in Farming. We believe the chief aim in good farming to be the improvement of the toil until it j reaches the point where maximum crop* aru i produced at the least expense. Wise hue | Uimlry regard* the farm simply Ma machine I for turning out crops. The machine is the matter of first importance. This is alwav* I to be kept in good running order, and its 1 efficiency is to be increased by all economical method*. The man who farms upon thi* system will never sacrifice- soil for a great crop. Hi* aim U to have every crop takco off, leaving the land in a letter erudition than he found it. lie aims in ever} wyrk. ing of the soil to increase its depth, and to add to it more elements of fertility than be removes in the crops, and to make the crops . not only pay for themselves, but to pay for the improvement of the acre* upon whioh they are grown. In carrying out this aim. so as to realise these result*, a man shows his skill as a cul tivator. It is a comparatively easy thing for any one, who has money, to improve the * soil so that it shall produce crops paying for the labor of growing them, and the interest | oa two or three hundred dollars an acre.— [ SUbb manure enough, well plowed in, will do this. But it ia altogether another nut ter to make this improvement paj for itself. 1 Yet it ia a possible thing to do thia, and there are fanner? akillful enough to accorn ' pliah thia result, and thia we hold to be the | tr o aim in the cultivation of tho aoil. \ All good furming, then- uiuat look to a permanent occupation of the aoil. Econom ical improvements cannot bo made in a sin gle jear. The moat judicioua improvement*, those which finally, par the largest profits, require several year* to bring in their lull return*. It is a matter of great impor i tance that our funuing population should not on 1 j be settled, but that they should feel nettled, and plan all their operations up on the farm as if they expected to sjwnd all their days upon it. Here to a Un acre lot now in moving, eat ting ten tons of hay, worth one hundred dol* luis. It has in it aome stumps, more bould ers, some brush by the wall, and a few wet places, growing nothing but sour gruwvn and Bags. It can be cleared of all obstructions, be underdruined, subsoiled and manured, so a* to produco three tons of hay to the acre, for the nun ot my one thousand dollars. It will not pay the present occupant to do this the coining year, if he is going to sell out the vear following. Hut he may accomplish j all this economically in tlve years, furnish ; profitable employment for his help, introduce' the mowing machine, and cut mow (odder; upon the field than he now cut* upon the whole farm. Ho may get crops enough from the field during the firo yeurs to pay for all the improvement!), leaving the increased val ue of tlie land, certainly not 1cm than u hun dred dollars an acre, as the reward of his skill in husbandry. This is an illustration of what a farmer's, aim idiould 1m, and a good example of the, kind of improvements that arc needed upon most Turnis, at least upon the sculurd. The fields want to ho cleared of reeks, the swales f n««d deep underdrains cut through them,: with smaller side drains running into them i at right nnglc* ; old wall want removing,, and the field enlarging to ten or twenty i acres ; the whole surface needs to be thor ouglily worked and manured, c<» as to pro duce maximum crop, lly thi* thorough method, horso labor may bo substituted for i that of man, so as too save full one half ol the present expense of raising and harvesting1 the crops. In smooth laud, nearly all the planting aud hoeing can bo done by a horse; all the mowing, reaping, cradling and rak ing can b} done by the same method. The mun who will lay his plans wisely to improve his soil, rnakiug this his chief ob ject, and who will judiciously expend his capital in the improvement* wo lave indica ted, is in a fair way to gain a competence.! Thik kind ot farming, in the long run, will1 puy uuiply, and wo believe more surely titan any other businew.—American Agriculturist, j Klisfrllaiirotis. f'um Ciamtiri' fockil Mutt/lam*. THE VALE OF MANOR. A TALK. In consetjucnco of some of those civil nud domestic broil* wliicli «listurt»o«l the rei<;ii of tin* beauteous Mary of Scotland, lier ill-tated husband found it convenient to retire, for h time, to the cattle ot Smith* lield, in Tweeddalc, where, with a small retinue, he occupied himself in the pleas-1 ure* of the chase, and other *|>ort* of the country. I lis rcsideuee here was render-; cd very uncomfortable by the predatory I npirit which infested the Borders ami which, according to a historian of the I period, was partaken of in no email degree bv the inhabitants of Tweed dale thein-j selves. The castle w/iich served as a' habitation to Parnlcy stood on the side i of a hill immediately adjoining the an* cient burgh of I'eeble*, and was then a place of considerable strength, though I not a stone now remains to tell its site. Here, then, dwelt the young king when the circumstance* occurred which we art*I alsjut to relate, as the voice of tradition j brought them to our knowledge. The vale of Manor, situated a few miles; to the west of the town of l'reeblca, is one of the mwt pleasant of the mam glens w hich send in their tributary w aters to the Tweed. For those w ho love the richlv-cnitivatcd field, and the smooth* shaven lawn, the Yale of Manor has few charms ; but to tho«M> * bo art- admirer* of nature in her wilder aspects, who de light iu the bold and heath-clad hill, and iu the clear, rock-born streamlet, it in a scene full of beauty and interest. Though at the present day, only a solitary tree raise* it* lonclv head here und there on the steep declivities, the vale at one time uiK|Ue»tionaUy formed a part of the track called the Forest, iu the matted wood* of whieh the Scottish monarch* hunted the wild boar and the wolf, a.* w ell as a game of le** terrible character. Hut, like Yar row, Manor now present* only "the grace of forest charms decayed, and pastoral melancholly," Whatever other changes the vale may have undcrgouc, its little mill remains in nearly the same situation which it occu* pied three hundred years ago. We do not mean to aver, that the same tenement in which Andrew Tod drew from his ncighl>or* the dues of inulturc i* still ex istent ; the hand of Time lias long since J crumbled the old wall* into dust; but nearly in the same spot does the stream j of the Manor still whirl round a noisy [ clapper, as it did in the d£ys of Queen I Man*. Many an occupant, t»>o ha* l>eeii ; resolved into dust, undistinguisliaMc from that of the stone wall* which be iuliabit I e»l, siuee the time of tlu* personage we , have named. Andrew Toil, the miller of Kirkton, as the plaeo was denominated, wa*, at the time of thi* eventful story, n ' man considerably above sixty year* ol | age, but still rosy in complexion, and un* 1 broken in bodily health. Time had slight* l|v thinucd and whiteucd hi* temple*, but be merited still the epithet often bestow ed on tlmso of his trade, of "a jolly mill er." Andrew bore a high charactcr foi • honesty—a character which, without au 1 tithesis, was not, in his times, often be stowed on those of Iiih trade; and tko Kirktun miller had obtained, through hi* | honesty aud industry, sufficient of tlio goods of this world to make him com fortable iu it I lift family for thrco gen eration* had been occnpants of the mill of Kjrkton, and Andrew's greatest auibi j tion was to be succeeded in it by his jkjs I territy. He had married early in life, but for many years had been unblessed ! with a family, until hi* wife brought him 1 a daughter, and died giving birth to her. 1 The miller's whole auectious were thus thrown ui»on one object, and the little Mary Tod was in u fair way, it might seem of being from infancy a spoiled child; for her fathers love was more like doting than ordinary jiarental affection. Hut circumstances fortunately intervened,; which rendered Mary Tod, at the age of eighteen, not onlpr far from bciug a spoil} ecf child, but a girl of tnanneni and intel ligence far above the ordinary maidens of her rank. What these circumstances were, it is necessary that we should ex plain. | In tlio preceding reign—namely, tnal of James V.— the ancient church fust iH'gan to loose it* hold on the respect of the Scottish people. In thin reign, at least, tin1 tir*t oj>en defectioiiH wore made to tlio reformed doctrines. The Catho lic*, however were »till in possession of power, and the king himself could not stand out against tbcni, or defend the re former* from their enmity. 1 fence those who ojkmiIv professed the new doctriiu* were in many instance* obliged to fly,and to hide themselves for the preservation of their lives. One of them* fugitives, a worthy priest who had attached himself to the new light, had found shelter in the little retired Vale of Manoi'. lien' he applied himself to the trnching of the rural population around ; and such was his utility, and tlw n'spcct which his, learning and manners acquired, that lie, spent his days in safctv while the hour of • danger lasted, and when the reformed religion came to be openly professed by; the country, continued still insfructing the youth of the little vale. His place of refuge had been the cot of a poor widow, whose hn-band had died about' the period of the good priest's arrival, and1 had left her with an infant bov to pro vide for as best she might. The small pittance which the priest could afford to licr, together with the produce of a little plot of land, constituted the whole of her revenue, licr son, Edward llurni't, wasi the favorite pupil of the refugee: and well did his progress and attainments re pay the care bestowed on liiiu. The I miller's fair daughter, also, had Ihmjii,' from her childhood almost, the objcct of, the good priest's instructions; nor was this care thrown away on an unfruitful | soil. Kdwurd and Mary were thus often; together when children; and, as they grcw in years they still continued to re ceive jointly the lessons of the priest.— Hut whether this arose altogether from a | desire of learning is matter of doubt ;| and in this dubitation our readers will f most probably l»o inclined to join, after perusing what follows. It wan a clear ana mcjuuini evening in j •ammor, when Mary Tod left tlic <Ioor of her father's comfortable straw-thatched! dwelling, an* 1 directed her step* to the, side of a little stream of the Manor. .She | was neatly dressed, in apparel of her own npiiinitig; ami though it was evi dently not her holliday suit, yet* every thing was arranged with sncli rare as tokened some purpose in her mind of ap pearing to the host advantage where she was going. As the tripped lightly along the bank of the stream, her comely face! and handsome form made herap|>car like the rural genius of the place. Mary's! thoughts however, were tilled entirely with object* of a sublunary and mortal, character; and though she was prettv enough for the deity of the stream to fall in love with her, as used to be the case with streams in the days of Homer, she would not, we believe, have broken the tnjxte which she had made with an earth ly lover for the (lowing treses of Nep tune himself. After a walk of some) length, Marv turned into a little glen which ncnt in its tribute of waters to the' Manor, and casting an anxious gaze j around for some moment*, seated heraelf at the foit of a solitary mountain ash, or as she herself would have called it, a roman tree. Here she did not sit long alone, though quite long enough for the i slightest pout imaginable to gather on | her pretty lip, before she was joined by the person for w hom she waited. This • was a slender but well-knit young man, i dressed in the usual attire of a peasant, but iMHMtiinc, fioin Ills tine intolloctiml' face, as if that were not hi* proper habit-1 b«. "IH> you keep a' jour sweetheart* wait ing lor you thin gait T" said Mary, start ing to her feet when her lover eaine for ward. "They would need to like you woe I, else they wadna tryste to meet you a second time." "And so you do like mo weel, Man*," mud the youth, slipping, with a very in sufficient repulse, his nrni around the maiden's waist: "at least you should do ' it, Mary, for you know how truly, how deeply, 1 love yon." "It does not seem sae, Edward," replied the miller's (laughter, not yet altogether1 pleased, and prolwhlv indulging a little; in that strange peculiarity of lovers which leads them, in tlio absence of auy great eanse of offence, to make the most of any j little one that occur*, for the mere pleas ure of asking or l>eing asked forgiveness. In tlio present instance, however, when her lover informed Marv that his delay wa» caused principally by a slight illness of his mother all the poutiug disappeared at once, and the pair, restored to tho con fiding touo which marked their feeling* with respect to each other, began to speak of their situation and prospects.— In explanation of these, we may inform the reader, that the miller had set hi* heart on having for a son-in-law a ponton familiarly known as Will Elliot, of I'astle hill, whose five manners and show of sub stance had taken Andrew Tod's fancy.— Castlehill was a small but strong tower, or kce|s with a considerable piece of land attached to it, and situated at • distance of a uiilo or little more from the mill of Kirkton. Elliot, who was tenant of this |4acc, was a man about thirty-fire years of age, of a roving, swaggering manner^ t 4 ' ' and Uriah, on all ocrjutions, of his moooy. lie had not been many year* a resident in the Vale of Manor, and, it wa* sup posed, had brought a great deal of wealth with him, a* it was plain that the small farm which ho had now occupied eould not maintain his expenditure. Ilo kept »tot of Hno hohes, and plenty of servants about him; and, by being a good cus 1 turner to the miller, and spending whole <la)'s about thu mill lounging and jesting with him, he had found the way, as we •aid, to Andrew's good graces; and when he opened a propdjsal for a marriage, the miller was not averse to it "He's a Tovintj kiiul o' cliield,'' thought Andrew Tod, "but Mary wad mak onybodv into a good husband." The news or Klliot having opened iiih addresses to her with her father » consent, Wbre told by Mary to Edward Burnet at the tmting rowan-tree. "O Mary," said the lover, NI ayo thought something like this would happen. V our father is a rich ninn, and has a little o' the pride that ever gang* alang wi' riches. But you must promise me," continued lie, speak ing with great carnestuess—"you must promise me Marv, w hatever becomes o' mysci' that vou never will tnk Will Klliot as yonr husband, lie is a bad man, aud wad toon break n heart like yours." Ob serving thatthcyoung maiden only smiled at this he repeated with great earnest ness : 4,Do not think that it u inorely jealoiwv on my part, Mary. Klliot in a had limn, and it will l»u seen and known, may bf, some day before his death yet. Vou must promise me, .Marv,not to think o' him." Man*, notwithstanding his vehemence, could not help smiling still, but she laid her hand on iiis arm at the same time, and said with seriousness: "Have 1 not gi'en my troth, Kdward, to you ! Are you gaun to desert me, that you tell mo what I am to do regarding other men I They'll be a' alike to ine then," said she; with simple feeling. Ilurnet's reply to this was Mich as might be cxpected from a lover so to Irj addressed. lint what more pas>ed at this intciview it does not seem to us necessary to repeat; sufliceit to say, that after a short time they separated, Mary having lir>t assured her lover of her con fidence that her father would not hurry her into a match against her will. Leaving Mary to wend her way to her iiIkmIc, let lift beg tlio render to accom pany UN t(» Castlehill, the dwelling of the husband whom the miller had chosen for his daughter. The keep of CasUclull was situated on an eminence, formed l»y the rounded angle of u hill, projecting into the Yale ot Manor, and the tower thus commanded a view l>oth up and down the whole strath. The interior of the house had exceedingly littlo accom modation ; but in those days the wliolo household, master and servants, mingled so freely together, that less room was necessary. This apnea rod to he nartieu-j larly the case with the household of Castlehill; for in a large room, on the j evening in question, the master Will Klliot, not only Nit at one board, but np peared to bo on terms, in every respect, of pcrfuct equality, with his dcjiondenK Hulf a doxen men, dressed ns farm ser \ autH, occupied places at tho table and 1 wero at this time plying lustily nt some nh» which stood in ilngons before tin-ill. | "11a, my lads," said Klliot, "is it not bet-: ter roving by night here, where we are never suspected, than risking our necks every niglit, as we did in Teriotdale 1" "I am no mic sure, Will Elliot, but | hoiiic o' the neighbors will soon suited us. The last raid we took o'er the hill to Da wick wan by glide moonlight, and 11 urn mucklc mista en if what Turn took for :i ghost wasim the liviti* l»ody o' Ned Burnet, coming up frae seeing the mil ler's daughter." "Curse the brat!" said Klliot; "I'll .jHiil his wooing for him. Hut, lads d'ye think it was light enough for him to ken us, if it was he f Some of the men said no, others said vem so that their mnnter, or rather their leader, could not come to any decision on the subject. "Never mind," said he, at last; "I can tell you of something new, Munething better than lifting a sheep or two; for there's nvc risk at iho selling o' them, when ane wants a micklc hard cash. Ha* any o' you noticed the gen tleman that hunts alone sometimes al»out the hills r "1 saw a gentleman wp a green hunt ing dress" replied tho man who spoke before, "but there was a servant wi'him." "lie is oftener alone, though," said Kl liot, "and that man, lads is a prize, lie must Imj one o' the rich young nobles tha Hrc staying wi' the young king at Smitht Held Castle, for 1 saw him |>ay a bov for pointing out his road, out' o a large purse tilled wi' tho queen's l>est coin. That purse must be ours—ay, though wo should gie his neck a twist for it. Prink to our success, lads." More conversation of tbe name nature | passed between the outlaw—for such wu* \ iiis true diameter—and hi» midnight fol lowers ; hut it i* not csscutial to our juir pose to repent all that took place. Hie re*tilt of the consultation wia, that two or three ol the men, and tlio outlaw among them, should severally post them selves, a* much disguised as possible, at those parts of tlio hunting-track where they were likeliest to meet with the ob ject of their cupidity. A few days after this* during which nothing of interest occurred to Mary, her lover, or any other of the personages of this true tale, a gentleman, answering the description given by the outlaws fol lower, in so far as regarded the drew, which was a green hunting-coat, was paw ing slowly along tlio heights that over looked the Yalo of Manor. The stranger was tall and finely formed, and ercry point of his attire was In a rich and ex pensive style. Ho was armed only with a coMftu df cktinr, or short hunting sword, and appeared from hip slow, lin gering pace, to be awaiting the oncoming of a companion, or attendant He had just ronch^l the tide of a copn of undcr wood, when a man sprang from its cover, and placing on the stranger's arm a pow erful and muscular grasp, demanded roughly the sorreoder of his pone. But the hauter was in the prime of his youth, and exerting his strength, he shook off at once the hold of Our mend Wil) Elliot, •ml drawing his sword, stood in hi* de fense. This required a moment's time, during which the outlaw, before proceed ing further, gave a shrill call on a whistle suspended from his nock. He then turn ed with his drawn sword upon the hun ter, for to do Elliot justice, ho was afraid of no single man. The sword of the stranger was a shoit one, hut in the two minutes' contest which ensued, the ouU law found that he had to do with n mas ter of fencc. One of Elliott's followers, who heard the call, came up ut that mo ment, and the stranger, who saw him ap proaching, almost gave up his life as lost In order to defend himself to tho lust, ho changed his position so ffur a* to gut his back to one of tho strong copso biiohes. Hut help was at hand when least expect ed. Scarcely had the outlaw's follower interposed a single hlow, when a strong arm leveled him to the earth from behind with u cudgel. The outlaw turned half round at tho unforeseen stroke which db prived him of his assistant, and ou seeing whence the aid caiue, bounded into the copse from which he had issued, and was out of sight in nn instant. The hunter, whose blood was heated with the encoun ter, would have pursued him, but his preserver detained him almost by force. "It wad bo nn act of madness, sir, to pur sue him. I ken him, as well asthn* man lying senseless ut our feet, in spite o® their disguises. They arc a part o' a gang, and their companions will not be far off. Let us quit this place, sir, as fast as wo can." i Hie struugur saw the proprioty of fol lowing this advice, and tho two rapidly left the spot, where tho outlaw's follower still lay without signs of life. Tlic nearest nnd safest refuge to which Kdward Jturnet, who was thu stranger's deliverer, could eonduct tlie gentleman, ww the mill of Kirkton. On their way j thither, the stranger inquired into thu name nnd circumstance* of hi» compan ion, and assured liim that the service hoi had done would not l»e forgotten. lie also learned on whoiu'Buniut h suspicion* fell as the authors of the outrage—sus picions which he concurred with Kdward hi thinking it would l»e improper to men tion without further continuation. On reaching the miller's house, nnd detailing what had occurred, old Ami row congrat ulated the stranger 011 his escape, and praised Ivdwnrd for his mnidiucv. "It maun liae Keen some o' the same forest gang that cleared the Pawick barn the other night/' *ai«! the miller, speaking of the perpetrators of thu attack. M Within this year or twa, they seem niver to be out o' Tweeddnle a single night; deil l»e in their skins!" 1 .Man* Tod also praised her lover; but her praises were confined to kind and admiring looks, which spoke her mean ing, however, so openly, that the strauger read them evidently with h» much cum its the object of them did. The miller pressed the stranger to remain nt the mill nil night; but his visitor declined the kind offer, and only requested the, protection of some of Andrew * sturdy as-1 sistauts in the mill as far as the town of Preebles. This was readily granted, tho* the miller would have been better pleas ed had the visitor stayed. The truth is, that Andrew was not a little curious to know who the stranger might be; but a certain'dignity in the hitter's demeanor, | ami the richness of his apparel struck the ! miller with an indefinable feeling of re-' spcct,and placed aguurd on his lips. The! stranger requested Kdward also to accom- \ pauy him to the burgh town—a request' which was at once assented toby the young man, but which the hunter read in Mary's countenance to Ik* not nt all agreeable to her. The miller's fair daughter proba bly thought that her lover had faccd enough of danger nnd shown enough of manliness for one day. lint the stranger hnd a certain purpoao to serve, nnd, in dis regard of the damsel's uneasiness, not on ly took Kdward with him, but detained him all night, as tho miller's tnen reported, who had been dismissed by the stranger,: with a handsome remuneration, a short way from the town of Preebles, and who carried a message from Kdward to his mother, to prevent any anxiety on his no count. Hut neither wan Mary Tod nor anv utlx>r long in wonder or unea*i nuss on tltiit subject. At nu early hour ou tlie following day, a party of horsemen, above twenty in number, halted for a short time at the mill of Kirkton, on their way up the Vale of Manor. At their head rode the stranger of the preceding day, and by hi* side Mary Tod observed her lover on foot acting, apparently, as a guide to the party. While the stranger convened with the miller, Edward took the opportunity of stealing for a moment into tln» hnu«*, and of exclaiming to the anxiou* Mary what was going ou, nnd why he had been detained all night from his home. The millers daughter was surprised nt the hope and joy which sparkled in her lov er'* countenance, but hit explanation of the cause speedily raised sympathetic emotions in tier own breast. *'It is the young king, Mary—Darnlev himscl", that was attacked yestreen; and if I am right in thinking, a* 1 took an oath to the best of uiv belief last night at Smithficld Cat tle, tliat it was Will KUiot that played the villain trick, I am a made man, Mary. The term o'Castlehill, which you ken is the king's land, will be mine. Xae fears o' Andrew refusing hi* consent then, my ain Man*, and 1 will l>e the happic*t man •live, wi the be*t wife in Tweeddale.— But they arc moving on to rummage the reviving villain's keen, sac I maum away to lead them." And in a minute or two, before the miller* daughter could recover from the surprise so iar as to get a worn an's look at the gallant and princely form of Darnlev, the party had moved on to their deati nation. It is unnecessary to detail all that passed at their examination of the keep of CastlchilL The outlaw himself con* seious in all likelihood of having been known to Burnet at tho time of hi* as sault on l>arnley, had absconded; nor was he ever taken, or heard of again in the Vale of Manor. Full evidence, how ever, of hi* guilt was found, for the poor wretch who had joined him in the pre vious day's attack, had crawled home on recovering hie sense*, and waa discovered on hia pallet in a state of great suffering. He made a oonfession o( the whole affair, and revealed as much of other dteds 'as sufficed to Itaniith the rot of Elliot* fol lower* from the kingdom, and gave au explanation of many mysterious robber iea that had in the eoune of several yean annoyed and alarmed the country side. Thin was Bnmet not only the succorerol the king in the time of need, but his do toctiou of Elliot's misdemeanors turned out also a mo«t important serviot to the whole district We have little more to add, than that Darnley performed his promise to Ed ward, and oestowed on him the farm of Cattlchill, in which tho young man led no lonely life; for such was Andrew Tod's thankfulness at tho narrow escape he had mado from matching his ouly child with n robber, that it was generally believed he would havegiven her to Kdward, though the Intter hrnf remained poor as before. As it was, however, to havo *aved a king, and to bo possessed of a Hum, wore no disadvanUgua. Tho young long dancod at the wedding of Edward and Mary, whieli took place on tho day on which the bridegroom entered into the lands and house cf Castlcliill, and, hencefor ward, the tower, which had been aden of midnight revelries, became the home of a happy and thriving family, ono of the junior members of which, to the great satisfaction of Andrew Tod, who lived long enough to see it, became the miller of Kirkton on the manor. A Chapter on Matrimony. A young lady out Wort, in a communica tion to thu Sandusky Regiiter upon tho nub ject or matrimony, soys: It ia a mourn In 1 fact that thia world ia full of men who want to marry, but dare not. Deny thia, oa tome will, ft ia never theless true, aa we can Tcry easily ahow. In thia town for instance, there aro aome thirty or forty young m*n, well to do in tho way ofbiuineM and aalarim, and yet refuao to take the »tep which they all want to take, but do not. Why ? The large majority of them hare anlariea runging from fire hundred to seven hundred dollars n year. Now, the Unit queation to be aaked by anv sane man ia can I properly aupport u wife if I take one? Then he counts the coat of living oa thu woman of hie preference would wiah, ami lo! ho find*, to hia amazement, that hi« income ia vastly too amall to aupport oven a modeft modern establishment; und. aomowhat mad. dened by the reflection, he plungca into labor and oareii with an assiduity that takea away hia hculth eventually, in hopea of attaining an income that shall enable him to marry and liave a homo of hia own. And thia ia the aecret of tho hard, unending toil of the young men of to day, who nro foat approach ing thirty yeara of age—thia ia the roaaon of ao many disappointed men and waiting wo men, deny or hide it aa you may. But, aaya some good woman, you do ua injuatico ; for any woman who truly lovea a man will adapt hersrlf to hia circumatancea with the greatest pleaaure. Bat what man of any MiMiircnoM, or high acnao of honor, would take a woman from eaay circumatan cea, and a pleaaant and wril-furnished home, to adorn hia four little roorae, and to do hia housework, aa the iirat principle* of econo my would demand of him ? Few will do it, for though the woman eignifloe her willing ness to talc* up with auch experience, we aro all auch creatures of circumatancea that then) wouid bo complaining on her part, eventu ally, and aickn^aafrom overexertion, unhap pinesa from many care*—all of which would ronder marriage anything elao than pleaaant. And ao the joung very wiaely think—pre ferring a few yeara of aingle lonelineaa, in order to obtain money enough to aupport a modcat kind of houee of between twelve and and fifteen hundred dollar* per year expense, rather than to placo a modeatly-educatod woman into the houaoof six hundred a year, where hIio must do her own houaework. Now, what ia the remedy? Plainly that women muat fit themaelvea to be auch wirea aa tho young men muat hare. Kiao the young men muat fit themaulvnt to bo auch liuabunda na the women want, und apend the very choicest yeara of their lifo in the dismal drudgery of a ceaseless toil, breaking down health, happinesa, energy, only to give them aelvea up to matrimony when tho beat of their manhood is gone. The women muat chooao for themaelvea which it shall lie, for the matter ia solely to their lianda. Let mothers aay to their daughter*, put on that calico gown ; go into tho kitchen and pre pare dinner ; take charge of thia houaehold, and fit youreelf to become a wifo and moth er. Lot the young women chocrfully consent to auch acrvico ; and, instead of lavishing all thought, and time, and money upon tho ad ornment of tho body, aeek to aoeuatom the mind to proper tastes. Ihcn there will bo no longer complaint that young men "can't afford to marry,'' and we shall have beau tiful, modest iioua.s all around ua. andi women will liave loving huabanda, and life, once more, having something of the truthful' neaa and virtue which it had in tho daya of; our bleared fathcra and mothers, when itj was woman'a ambition to become the head, of the houae, and the mother of noble child-1 MB* y»r Itt L'ntm *r Journal. Klamatii CorxTr.Ca u, ) Nov. 1st, 1837. f Mk. Editor: Thinking, j»orli«|»* thai n few lines from a Ridddeford Factory J lloy, oven though traccd among the hill* I and gulches of the Sierra Nevada*, might not bo devoid of intercut to the readers of tho Journal, 1 have seized upon n few moment!* of leisure, for the purpose of contributing for the benefit of the read em of the Journal in general, and fellow cotton boys in particular, a few of my ideas of the mineral, agricultural, and po litical resource* of this comer of Uncle Sam's potato ]>alch. I have now been three years upon this *ido of the bark bone of the American continent; and by a close application to hard reading, hard thinking, and much harder mining,(with out being at all egotistical,) fancy that 1 have acquired a pretty thorough knowl edge of tho various odds and ends which make up the golden State of California,' a State, which, in my humble opinion, is destined ere long, to become one of the brightest stars in tho constellation of our glorious confederacy. Notwithstanding the predictions of J. 0. Bennett to the contrary, lam well aware that ilk thought by many intelligent persons in the eaat ern States, and not withoat somoshow of reason, thai tho gold mines of California an nearly exhausted, and will toon be not worth working, and adduce as an ar guraent to substantiate this theory, the (idling off of tlio /old shipments from this to the Eastern States. Now allow me to inform these "would be wisa" croak ing financiers, that this is all M in their oye, Betty Martin,*' and that their groat I grandchildren will know no more al>out the date of the exhaustion of the Califor nia gold mines, than their humble selves; which is just about as much as they know about the date of the day of the resur rection or any other untold event. The grand secret of the whole affair is, that we have come to the conclusion that wo had letter raise our own pork and Ihh-C than to drive it two thousand mile*, over lofty mountains and sandy deserts; that we had better raise our own Hour, beans, &cn manufacture our own picks and shov els, keep our money M home than to send it to the Eastern States for the pur chase of those articles, and have them shippod around Cape Horn at an expense double the original cost. Added to these drawbacks ii|K>ii tin* shipment of tlio material wealth of the* country to the Atlantic States itt another, which in ot more practical U'licfit to the country, than all others combined. I »ur iug the first three yean* of the California gold excitement, men of "every age, color, rank and condition," Hocked en mat*' to the shores oft 'alifornia leaving behind their wives and families to be supported by oc casional remittances of draughts upon the various banking houses of Sau Fran* cisco. lint ait the resources of tho coun try began to be more fully developed, when the industrious minors saw the many thousand acres of rich alluvial soil which tho country |H)a»caficd, uncultivated, and uninhabited, save by tho numerous herds of wild hontw and cattle, as undo* inesticated as the elk, or the buffalo; many of tlicm liegan to contemplate wheth er it were better these numerous valley* "ip*o facto," fo many paradises should remain in "statu quo," or become the happy home of thousands of happy fam ilies. And having decided in favor of tho latter, accordingly vamosed tho dig gings for the rauchc, shortly thereafter to vaiuose the State, to soon return with that extra rib, the scarcity of which has been serious impediments to both social and moral advauccmcut in California. Therefore tlie very rca*>n« which \ ou assigned to Hii|>|>ort the theory that the natural resource* of i 'alitornia, arc f.i*t Upcoming exhausted, arc an abotract fruiu those causes which more than all other conduec to the welfare of the country.— And in spite of all the prognostication* of financiering physicians, that we are f:u>t Kinking into a state of baukruptcy and min, one has only to take a casual obser vation, to *ee the many internal improve Hu nts which aro programing throughout the whole length and breadth of the State, to »ec the many fino villages, pith their nearly painted *choolhouscs and tall church spires, their stately brick store* houses, wherein are Mored the product* of every clime, where only a few years ago were only a few log cabin* and can vass grog*ho|M, to see new wagon roads opened among the mountain*, to see the ■mail gaited mule teams surrender their freight to the fcwift irooliorse, among val ley* to seo the many hundred well tilled farms, where not many years »ince, the rank thistle n«xlde<l in the wind, and Uic wild fox dug hi* hole un*carcd. Yet the cry it, that California i* over done, that her present apparent prospcri ty i* but an evanescent illusion, which must shortly Ik.- dispelled, mid like "Ad dison's valctudcnnriiui, who went on whimpering that he wa* dying of con sumption, till ho wan shamed into silencc by hi* own corpulence ;" it is destined to be so until the Pacific railroad in con structed, which will give a froth impulse to our iinmcnso commercial rewjurcen^ind more fully develop the mineml and agri cultural wealth of the count!}', and that era in the history or the North American Republic, will probably date from the same period of ita first republican admin istration l shaking of the Pacific railroad, remind* me of the last presidential elec tion, also of tho state public feeling ip regard to the road during the w inter and spring following; from the prolonged howl which tho California press and ora tors rawed over the inaction of Congrca*, upon that measure, one would hardly have supposed that the State had only a few month* previous given tho anti-rail road candidate for the presidency a plu rality of twenty thousand vote*. Yet their inconsistency was generally tho sin of ignorance, and therefore pardonable. I suppose that they voted about as con sistently as could havo been expected from a lot of drunken Irish, Dutch and Mis sou riant. "Aadlsl Ike poor lidlss whose ualutored atad, Boos Ood la the storm,sod kesra kin la ike wtad." Whore is be I Like hi* kinsmen upon the Atlantic slopes of the Rocky moun tains, he is fast disappearing before tho tide of civilisation; too indolent to work, too contemacioos to be instructed even the ftnt rudiments of ait or science; ho still ekes out a miserable existence, view ing with dignified contempt and rankling aaimodty,the encroachments of the white tun npon his natural, jiahiritsniwtd