, YTTFI ton WADDELL V « • ♦ * CONSTANS ET LENIS, UT RES EXPOSTULET, ESTO. [Published We®*!*-** AWrtlfc Editors «fc Proprietors. JOS. A. WADDELL, S ----- -- -- --— -~~—-. ,, ■•;■■■ T- , , - ■ "" -~= Tol XXVIir ' ~ ^ STAUNTON?VA~ WEDNESDAY, MAY 1, 1850.___ N0' XX1V' STAUNTON SPECTATOR. TERMS. SO- The “SPECTATOR” ia published once a week, at Two Dollar a a year, if paid in advance, or Two Dollars and Fifty Cents if delayed beyond the expiration of the year. jVo aubecription will be discontinued, but at the option of the , Editors ,{unfit allarrearages "r* paaitl. communications to the f.dilots, by mail, mvslbe post -paid, or they will not be attended to. 90- ADVRRTIS£M£XTS of twelve lines (or less,) inserted three times for one dollar, and twenty-five cents for each aubscifuent continuance Larger advertisements in the same pro/>ortion. A liberal discount made to advertissrs by the year. i rou THE SPECTATOn. "In tho green shadow of thy tree, The stranger finds no rest with thee." Ask why I’m sad ? Ask why at ere The bird flies to its nest; Ask why the weary wanderer Turns to his home for rest. "A* oft on desert plains the doer Pants for remembered springs”— Mo thinks my fainting spirit here, So to the pasr it clings; The past—with all its cherished scenes, Its days of careless mirth ; The past— w hich gave me all that love Can give to brighten earth. The past—in dreams it comes to me ; Each kind, familiar tone Wakes in my soul strange melody . Ami yet 1 am alone. Mono, alone—how shrinks tho heart From the cold stranger’s gaze. Which longs for one familiar face, A smile of other days. Alone ? Ah, no! The birds which sing Their matin song to me— Each token of returning spring— The budding flower and tree : 1'hcsc, these arc friends that speak in tones Of kindliness aud love— They tell me of departed one#. Of brighter lands above. Too much is mine—I’m not alone, The gifts of Goo are here; Tho’ friends, whoso faithful love I own, Are uow uo longer near. While those, with gentle, sweet control, Mv heart with gladness fill, Tho’ n«ne speak comfort to my soul, I can be happy still. C. MISCELLANY. n 1 !,TO.V AND IIIS UAI’QHTEIU. [In Sharpe’s London Magazine, fur 1849, there appear ed a quaint, yet beautiful fiction, purporting to bo “Tho Diary of Mary Powell,” the first wife of the poet Milton. In llio last number of that periodical we notice a short sketch, in the satire style, called “Deborah’s Diary.” De borah was one of the poet’s daughters,and her journal treats of the old age and blindness of Milton, as tho “Diary of Mary Powell” had treated of his youth. Wo quote a por tion of this last sketch, that all who admire delicacy of •bought, and pictures of home scenes sweetly drawn, may have an op|o!!od and his oracles silenced, he in some sort was himself over thrown. And the story goes, that about the time of our Lord’s passion, certayn persons sail ing from Italy to Cy prus, and passing by certayn islands, did iiea.'p a voice calling aloud, Thamus, Thamu3, which was tire name of tho ship's who» lnaking answer to ye u,nseene appellant, was hidden, witef. lie came to Palo das, to tell that the great god Fan was dead; which he doubting to doe, yet for that when he came to 1 alodas, there suddainlie was such a calm of wind that tho ship stood still in ye sea, ho was constrayned to cry aloud that 1’an was dead ; wherewithal!, there were heard snch pite ous shrieks and cries of invisible beings, echoing haunted spring and dale, as no’er smoto human cars before nor since, nymphs and wood-gods, or they that had passed for such, breaking up house and retreating to their own place. I warrant von. there was trouble among tho Sylvan people {hat day—tja*yis» hirsute and eluyon foote{! Fauns. ".Many a time and oft liavo Charles Diodati md I discnst fond legends, such as this, over our winter hearth ; with our cheanuts blackening and crackling on tho hob, and our o’er-ripo pears sputtering In tho fire, while tho wind roared without among tho creaking elms. . . .” Father still hammering on old times, and his owne young Jays, I beganno to frame unto myself an imago of what ho might have thon beeno; piecing it out by help of his pic ture on the wall, but coulde get no cloare apprehension of my mother, she dying soo untimelie. Askt him, was she beautifullc? Ho saylh, Oh, yes, and clouded over o’ tho suddain ; then went over her hoight, size, and colour, etc., dwelt on ye genorals of personal beauty, how it shadowed forth# tho mind, was desirable or dangerous, etc. . On dispersing for tho night, ho noticed, somewhat hurt, Anne’s abrupt departure without kissing his hand, and sayd, •is sho sulky, or unwell ?” In our chamber, loun 1 her alroadie half undrest n reading of her Bible, sayd, “Father tookc your briefe good-nighto mnisso.” She made answer shortlie, “Well, what neede to marvell ? ho cannot put his arm about me without being reminded how mis-shapen I ant.” Poor Nan ! wo had been speaking of faire proportions, and bad thoughtlessly cut her to tho quick; yet father know nth, though ho canaot see, that her face is as that of an an gol. — About one o’ tho clock, was roused (though Anne con tinued sleeping soundly) by hearing fuller give his tliroo signal-taps agaynst tho wall, lialf drest, and with bare feet thrust into alippors, I hastily ran in to him; he cried, “Deb, for the lovo of heaven get pen and paper to sett something down.” I replied, “l.ord, father, you gave me quite a turn; I thought you were ill,” and sett to my task, marvellous ill-conditioned, expecting some crotchet had taken him concerning his will. ’Stead of which, out comes a volley of poetry he had lain a brewing till his brain was like to burst, and soo I in my thin night cotes must needs jot it all down for fearo it sd ooze away before morning. Sure, I thought ho never would got to the end, and really feared at firste lie wa9 crazing a little, but iudeedo all poets doe when ye vein is on ’em.— At length, with a sigh of relief, he says, “That will doc— good night, little maid.” I coublo not help saying, “ ’Tvvas a lucky thing for you father, that step mother was from home;” ho laught, drew me to him, kissed me, and sayd, “Why, your face is quite cold—are your feet unslippered ?” “Unstockinged,” I replycd. “I am quite concerned I know it not sooner,” ho rejoyn ed, in an accent of such kindnesse, that all my vexation melted away, and I o’on protested I did not mind it a bit. “Since it is soo,” quoth he, “I shall yo less mind hav ing recourse to you agayn ; onlio I must insist on your tak ing caro to wrap yourself up more warmly, sinco you need not fearo my being ill.” I bit my lip, and onlio saying good-night, stolo off to my warm bed. — Returning from morning prayers with Anne this fore noon, I found Mary mending a pea with tire utmost© im perturbabilitie, and father with a heat-spot on his cheek, which botraied some iuquiotation. Being prosontlio alone with hitu, “Mary is irretrievably heavy,” sighs he, “she would let the finest thought escape one while she is blow ing her rtoso or brushing up tho cinders. 1 am confident she has beeno writing nonsense oven now—Do run through it for mo, Dob, and lett me hoare what itjis.” I went on, enough to his satisfaction, till coming to “Bring to their sweetnes* noe iobriety.” “Sobriety ?” interrupted ho, “satiety, satiety! the block head ! and that i should live to call a woman soc; sobriety indeede! poor Mary, her wits must havo been wool-gath ering. ‘Bring to their sweetness noe sobriety!’ What meaning could she possibly affix to such folly?” “Sure, father,” sayd I, “here’s enough that sho coublo affix no meaning to, nor I neither, without your condescend ing to oxplayn it—cycle, etnpi cycle, nocturnal rhomb.” “Well, well,” returned ho, beginning to smile, “’twns j unlikely, she should# bo with such discourse delighted.— J Not capable, alas, poor Mary’s oar, of what is high. And yet, thy mother, child, wouldo have stretched up towards truths, though beyond her reach, yet to the inquiring mind offering rich repast. Aud now writo satiety for sobriety, if you lov© mo.” While orasing the obnoxious word, I cried, “Dear father, pray nnswor mo on© quostion—what is a rhomb?” “A rhomb, child?” repeated he,laughing,“why,a par allelogram or quadrangular figure,consisting of parallel hues, with two acute and two obtuse angles, and formed by two equal and right© conos, joyued together at their ba9e! — There, are you anie wiser uow ? No, little maid, ’th best for such as you Net with perplexing thought* To interrupt the *wect of life, from which God hath bid dwell far off all anxious care* Aud not molest us, unless we ourselves Seek them, with perplexing thoughts and notions vain.” Mad a Valentine this morning, though onlie from Ned Phillips, whom mother i9 angry with, for filling my head betimes with such nonsense. Howbeit, I am clu6e on six teen. Mary was out of pationce with father yesterday, who, after keeping her a full hour at Thucydides, sayd, “Well, now we will refresh ourselves with a canto of Ariosto,” which was as much a sealed book to her as (other, llow beit, this morning ho sayd,“Child, 1 have noted your wear incssc in reading tho dead language to me: would to Cod 1 needed not to bo beholden to any, whether bound to mo by blood and affection or not, fur the food that is as needlulle to mu as my daily broad. Novortholono. that l ho nut tur ther wearisome unto thee, 1 have engaged a young (Quaker, named Elwood, to relieve thee ef this portion of thy task, soo that thou mayost have tho more leisure to enjoy the glad sunshine and lair sights I never more shall see.” Mary turned red, and drop! a quiet tear; but, alas, bo know it not. “One part of my children’s burthen, indeed,” ho contin ued, “l cannot, f>r obvious reasons, relieve them of—they must still bo my secretaries,for in them alone can 1 confide. Sue now to your healthfullo exercises and fitting recreations, dear maids, and heaven’s blessing go with you.” Wo kissed his hand and went, but our walk was not merry. _ Wool Growing in our country.—In Secretary Me redith’s report is embodied a statement of Dr. E. 11. Hob bins of Boston, of considerable interest in relation to the val ue of this great staple to the whole nation : “The consumption of wool in the United States is esti mated at ninety millions of ponmls each year. 1 he num ber of sheep in the United States may be reckoned to be from twenty-fivo to thirty millions. The capital invested in sheep husbandry is supposed to be $330,000,000 which is treater by eighteen millions than was invested in 1830 in lands for the cotton culture. The annual aggregate pro duct of sheep husbandry is estimated at 38,004,000. ’ New England Industry —The Bangor Whig states that in the valley of the Blackstono river from Pawtucket ' to Milbury, a distance of 30 miles, there are 115 Cotton i and Woollen factories, besides six largo Machine Shops, I two large Axe factories, and three extensive Scythe works, giving a total of 120 manufactories, Many oftheso arc very extensive, tho largest Woollen Cotton Mill in the i United States being among the number. To Remove Warts.—Wash them with a strong su i lutvun of lVar la oh and let it dry on tho warts. If this 13 ! done two or three times, the warts will disappear OLD ROTHSCHILD. It was not an unvaried Bunsliino with this gentleman. There wero periods when his gigantic capital seemed likely to bo scattered to the four quarters of the globe. Ho had also other sources of apprehension. Threats of murder wero not unfroquenl. On one occasion he was waited on by a stranger, who informed him that a plot had been form ed to take his life ; that tho loans which had made Austria, and his connexion with Governments adverso to tho liberties of Eumpc, had marked him for assassination, and that the mode by which ho was to loso his life was arranged. But though Rothschild smiled outwardly at this and similar threats, they said who knew him best, that bis mind war often troubled by these remembrances, and that they haunt ed him at moments when bo would willingly have forgot ten ,thein. Occasionally his fears took a ludicrous form. T wot...., moustachioed men wero once shown into bis counting- house. Mr. Rothschild bowed ; the visitors bowed ; and their hands wandered first into ono pocket and then into another. I<> tho anxious eye of tho millionaire, they assumod thu form of persons searching fur deadly weapons. No time seem ed allowed for thought; a ledger, without a moment’s warning, was hurled at the intruders; and in a paroxysm of fear, he called for assistance to drive out two customers, who were only feeling in their pockets for letters ot intro duction. There is no duubt that he dreaded assassination greatly. “You must be a happy mao, Mr. Rothschild,” said a gentleman who was sharing tho hospitality of his splendid home, as he glanced at the .superb appointments of the mansion. “Happy—mo happy!” was the reply. “What! happy; when, just as you are going to dine,you have a letter placed, in your band, saying, ‘If you do not send me £500, I will blow your brains out?’ Happy !—me happy !” And tho fact that be frequently slept with loaded pistols by bis ■tide is an indirect evidence of a constant excitement on the sub ject.— Characters of the Slock Exchangei._ Heniiy Cray.—On Friday last Henry Clay was <3 years old, having been born on the 12ih April, 1777. The New York Tribune, referring to tho fact, says :— Ho entered tho National service as a Senator, more than forty-three years ago, and, after many mutations and vicis situdes, is a momber of that body on his 73d birth-day. No other Statesman holding a prominent position has been nearly so long before the public, and tho men who filled the world’s eyo when be came upon the Political 6tage have nearly or quite all passed to their long homo. Napoleon then in the zenith of his power and fame, the most power ful ruler that the world has seen for a thousand years—died a powerless prisoner and exile nearly thirty years ago Alexander of Russia, then a young man recently crowned Emperor, died on a remote frontier of his empire inure than twenty years ago—George III and all his 6ons have been dead ten to twenty years—the Adamses, father and sun, havo passed away, with the Virginia line of Presidents, also Burr, Jackson, Livingston, Marshall, Pickering, Ru fus King, John Randolph, and all tho men with whom Mr. Clay counseled or struggled during the early portion of hi* career. It may with general accuracy be said that, of the mon who in the forum, the Council, or the field were ac tors bolero tho close of tho last century, tho only survivors known to fame are Mottornioh, Wellington, Louis Phil-1 lippe and Henry Clay! And, as tho three former, reared in tho atmosphere ot Aristocracy and Ramc, cvinco tho tendencies and views which that atmosphere naturally gen erates, so Henry Clay still cherishes tho sentiments and sympathies which, thirty years ago, won for him from ad miring thousands the designation of Tut Great Com moner. _ Fnr.E Land in Arkansas.—A writer in tho Fort Smith Herald says: “It may not bo known to the people of the different States, that tho Slate of Aarkansas, by an act of her Legislature, donates, to actual settlers, tho right of tho State to certain forfeited lands; and, that any person wish ing to emigrate to tho State is entitled to 1G0 acres of land for each member of tho family, by making application jo the Auditor of Public Accounts of the State, who will execute under his hand and official seal a deed, conveying all tho right, title, and interest of the Stale therein, on con dition that the person to whom such donation shall be made will regularly and annually pay, or causo to ho paid, tho State and county taxes afterward accruing upon snch lands; and that if the taxes should not be paid, tho lands and im proTomont^tbcreon shall rovort to the State. It is also conditionetfin the said dood, that the party receiving such donation shall reside upon, improve and cultivate, at least three acres of such quarter section or tract of land, or In stead of residing thereon, shall within eighteen months after the date of tho Auditor’s deed, causo to be cleared, fenced, improved, and placed in readiness for cultivation, at loa3t five ncrosofthe tract of land thus donated. Aftur the impovement above mentioned is made, the person to whom the land is deeded may sell or dispose of tho same as his own property. The expense of tho deed for such quarter section is one dollar and twenty fivo cents—the Auditor’s fee for executing the same. The lands yet to bo donated are rich and convenient to navigation. Many, whoso circumstances prevent them from procuring n per manent home for themselves and families in the older States, can procure largo tracts of land in Arkansas for comparative ly nothing. ” _ __ Death by spontaneous combustion.—Tho following extraordinary occurrence is related by the Gazette des Tri buna ux :— “A fe w dave aco. in a tavern near tho Barriere do l’E toilc, a journeyman painter, named Xavier G-, v.ou known fur his intemperate habits, while drinking with some ; comrades, laid a wager that ho would eat a lighted candle, i Ilis bet was taken, and scarcely bad ho introduced the lla | tiling candle into his mouth when he uttered a slight cry, j ' and fell powerless to tho ground. A bluish flame was seen ; to flicker shout his lips, and on an attempt being made to , i offer him assistance, tho bystanders were horror-struck to ! find that ho was burning internally. At the end of bait an ; hour his head and the upper part of his chest were reduced to charcoal. Two medical men were called in, nnd recog nized that Xavier had fallen a victim to spontaneous com bustion. This conflagration of tho human frame is fright fully rapid in its progress; bones, skin and muscle,are all de voured, consumed, and reduced to ashes A handfulof dust on tho spot where the Victim N il is all that remains. Mk. Calhoun.—Mr. Calhoun has left a wife now in Charleston and a family of four sons and two daughters.— His first son, Andrew, is a wealthy planter in Alabama ; second son, is in the Army, and was an aid of q^Bainos; the third son, who was with him when he dSfis a physician ; the youngest son William, is now an under-graduato at College. One of his daughters, An na Maria, is the wife of Mr. Clemsen, our charge d’af faires at Belgium, and tho other has always remained at home, having long been afflicted with a spinal affection. The family are left in affluent circumstances, his property being estimated at $100,000. lie married, in early life, his now bereaved partner, a lady of fortune, a cousin—bcar | inf the same name which he has rendered illustrious. To make good paste, dissolve an ounce of alotn in u ! quart of warm water; when cold, add as much lluur as will make it tho consistence of croam ; then strew into it as much powdered rosin as will stand on a shilling, and two or | three cloves; boil it to a consistence, stirring all the time.— It will keep for twelve months, and when dry may besofi 1 cned with water I {■HETTY WOMEN—NO MORE BEAUTIES. „ 1 have often wondered why there were no profes sed beauties now a days, whilo every past ogo can boast its Helens; our generations may number many pretty faces, but is tho only ono among the thousands already counted, that produces no beauties whose names shall descend impcrishablo to the gen erations yet to come. We cannot open a page of history that does not re cord the fame of some beauty; the bible has its Ra chel—so lovely that twenty years of service was deemed a light foe for her allections; the world was lost for Cleopatra ; the beautiful mistresses of the French kings ruled the world through the hearts of their imperial lovers; even down to the days of George the Fourth, there has always been some lady whose charms have been more powerful thun mon arch and prime ministers. But 1 think the problem may be solved; it is the dilference of dress—costume does it all. Revive the rubbings of by gone ages,and you will revive all the beauty and tho ugliness of those days; for there must have been a good deal of ugliness, otherwise beauty would not have been so forcibly appreciated. Had there been more pretty girls in the days ol Troy, Helen would have had few suitors, and Ilium might have been standing yet. What I mean to say is this —in those times people dressed so unbecomingly,that unless their features were perfect they were literally nothing; all the mirror graces which set off a incili cre person now, were totally unavailaole under that system of costume. For instance, Helen must have worn a loose robe, a broad girdle, bare arms, sandals on her feet, and her hair bound back in those rich, magnificent braids, termed to this day, ‘‘Grecian Pliats.” Rut imagine for a moment all vour acquaintances dressed in this way! would not the majority be frightful? How few faces, how few complexions, could stand that banding back of the thick hair! how few forms would show well beneath the simple robe, without stays or stiffpctticoats! how few feet would be endurable in sandals! how few arms would bear the noon-day sun, and the sharp winds would soon reduce them to the pattern and form of a washerwo man’s ! Perhaps the Jewish costumes of Rebecca and Ra chel may have been a shade better; but here was the same exposure of neck and arms, with the additional disadvantage of a robe that showed a leg encased in hideous boots and hose, and that refused to sweep with Grecian amplitude, round the limbs of the fair: wearers. Cleopatra, who is represented as being both dark : and stout, could wear only the robes of white or purple, the heavy diadem, the string of pearls that were allotted to thegurd ofEgytian princes. How dark and how uncomely must have been the major ity of her countrywomen, may be judged from the sensation she made. The Roman ladies were famed for their stately carriage and somewhat large but noble features; und when to those charms are added those of regularity and delicacy, and beautiful coloring, no doubt their simple pcucoqucttc style of dress was especial ly becoming to them, but without these latter quali fications how gaunt and coarse they must have ap peared. What can be more lovely than the figure of Agrip pina—bending that stately head above the ashes of Germanicus ?—the robe lulls in long sweeping folds, the bare nrin, naked to the shoulder, supports the urn ; the hair braided back, the smooth brow, the magnificent eye, in its large and lofty chamber; not u ribbon, nor the gloamings of a jewel, break the calm outline, or disturb the severe unity. Perhaps among the circle of our acquaintances there are two or three women who would appear to advantage so attired! but, oh! how well for the dumpy and the scraggy “tie: rclrousc,” und the “nessnui,” that they fall upon better days. As we decend the stream of time, tho number of celebrated beauties decrease ; this we may attribute to the increasing knowledge of the urt of dress; in different complexions, bad figures, irregular features, began to have something like fair play shown them; exigencies of persons met with some assistance from costumes, and in the same degree as the plain women were made to appear less plain, were tho beauties less prominent, and the distance between the purtics lessened. Htill wo hear of some so strangely lovely, ns to he known to all the world by the fame of their eyes only ; of those, we may name Edith, of the swan neck; so called from the brilliant whiteness of a skin capablo of resisting tho exposure to Bun and wind,which tanned and freckled into frighlfulncss the queen and lofty ladies of those rude days; Rosa mond tho Fair—so fair that it was said ol her,‘‘none but a jealous and exasperated woman could harm her;” Beatrice Cetici whose beauty mudo ono shud der, so mysterious seems the light in those large un troubled eyes, soon about to close beneath the pres sure of so awful a fate; Lticrczia Borgia, an ungel in face, a demon in heart; Mary, of Scotland, whom “no man ever beheld without love,” and some few others, until we reach that famous trio recorded in the letters of Henry Walpole, as the loveliest wo man of their time, the Misses Gunning One of these the Duchess of Hamilton, was so re nowned for her charms, that her fame spread far and near; insomuch, that, when travelling once from the north to the town, the mob in the places where she rested at nights, assembled round the hotels, nor would they depart until she had appeared on the bal conies to display to them her world famed lace. And there is something strangely sad in the ac count ot the death ot ationiei ur .uc oimlio—unity Covantry, who perished of consumption while in the highest pride of youth and beauty. She is recorded as patiently awaiting her approach of deutli—her looking glass her constant companion—as scarcely ever removing her eyes from the reflection of her own face, and as bewailing only the too eaily ex tinction of a beauty worthy of immortality. At a later time, when the name of some favorite ] beauties arc again recorded, the costume, totally dif ferent. was so hideous, that no one can wear it with impunity—hence the high reputation for beauty of j Pauline Bonapart and Madame Recamicr. The for mer is described as appearing at a party give by her mighty brother, in a tunic ol white muslin, reaching a little below the knees, and commencing far below the shoulders, the waist exceedingly short, and bound with a narrow girdle; sandals clothed the small feet, while a mantle of leopard skin hung round the form of Can ova’s fairest model. And there arc many who can remember the ap pearance of Madame Recamicr in the parks of Lon don, clad in a robe as scanty and as simp!c—her dark hair wreathed around her head ; and fastened with a bodkin to the summit, and a scarlet mantle wrapped around her. Now a days, the toilet of a lady is exactly con ducted upon the principles most becoming to all; few figures look ill in the sweeping robes and lenglh i ened corsage—ample and stately without stiffness; ankles however thick, arc concealed by the long dresses, now the mode. Features, however coarse, can be softened or shaded into something like sym metry, by judicious arrangement of locks, permitted i to be worn in bands or braids or ringlets, just as best 1 suits the face they surround. And while no arbitrary fashion forces the exposure i of a frightful profile, a clumsy arm, a ponderous un i kle, no rule exists to prevent tho reverse of these j being shown. Every lady is at liberty to bring out ** kj -''J [ her own “good points” as sho thinks best, and it is ! eusy to do so, as well as to conceal her weak ones, ! without departing from the fashions that prevail.— True Delta. SENSE AND SENSATION* The greyhound runs by eysight only, and this wo observe as a fact. The carrier pigeon flies his two hundred and fifty miles homeward, by eyesight, viz : from point to point of object which he has marked, but this is only our conjecture. The fierce dragon fly, with twelve thousand lenses in his eyes, darts from angle to angle with the rapidity of a flashing sword, and as rapidly darts back—not turning in the air, but with a clash reversing the action of his four wings—the only known creature that possesses this j faculty. Ilis sight then, both forward and back- ] ward, must be proportionately rapid with his wings, j and instantaneously calculating the distance of ob- j jects, or he would dash himself to pcices. But in 1 what conformation of his eye does this consist? No j one can answer. A cloud of ten thousand gnats \ dances up and down in the sun, the gnats begin so [ closo together that you can hardly sec the minutest' interval between them, yet no one knocks another: headlong upon the grass, breaks a leg or a wing, long | and delicate as they are. Suddenly amidst your admiration of this matchless dance,a peculiarly high shouldered vicious gnat,with long* pale, pendant nose, darts out of the rising and falling cloud, and settling on your cheek inserts a poisonous sting. What pos sesses this little wretch to do this ? Did ho smell your blood in the mazy dance? No one knows.— A four-horse coach comes suddenly upon a flock of geese on a narrow road, and drives straight through the middle of them. A goose was never yet fairly run over, nor a duck. They are under the very wheels and hoofs and yet, somehow, they contrive to flap and wnddle safely off. Habitually stupid, heavy and indolent, they are,nevertheless,equal to a ny emergency. Why does the lone woodpecker, when he descends his tree and goes to drink, stops several times on bis way—listen and look round—j before he takes his draught ? No one knows. How is j it that the species of ant, which taken in battle by other ants to be made slaves, should be the black or the negro ant? No one knows.— The Poor Artist. Romantic Elopement.—An elopement of a very extraordinary character, with a view to matrimonial proceedings, took place in this city, on Monday night last. The parties were a boy named Ward, aged 17, and a woman aged 40, living in the family of one of our elderly physicians, whose residence is in Tem ple street. The young lad had never before enjoy ed any female acquaintance out of his own family,and when he became acquainted with the bewitching creature of fotty, to udiom ho is by this time joined in wedlock, lie was shot through the heart by one of Cupid's sharpest arrows. In short he was dying of love, and the woman persuaded him to save his peace of mind by a flight to New York, for the pur pose of “mingling into one.” “ ’Ti» strange how in things molt remote Lore will some likeness find ; An if an electric chain Were flung upon the mind, Making each pulse in unison Till they but thrill and throb in one.” O Cupid ! Cupid ! Cu-pid ! [AYtc Haven Palladium. A Printer in Love.—1 was lately called upon by the “imp” of the Mirror, who,bye the bye is pro digiously acquainted with the world. “Joe,” said he, “1 this morning did myself the honor to visit a young lady, who lives in the upper part of the town. I took her £!=* in mine and chatted‘pretty sentiments’ to her. 1 thank my ** that she drew my arm around her beautiful waist and laid her golden hatred head upon inv shoulder,listening to my burning eloqucnco. Joe, you may believe me, you cannot find a porsott of the feminine kind, who is a || to my dear girl in amiability of temper. She declared to me—why do you lnugh ?—that she would rather have my heart pierced through with a f than I should forsake her. I have a big notion to marry her before long.” Origin of the Phrase “Brother Jonathan”.—Gen eral Washington placed great confidence in tho good sense and patriotism ofof Jonathan Trumbull, who at an early pe riod of the American revolution, was Governor of tho state of Connecticut. In a certain emorgoncy, when a measure of great importance was under discussion, Washington re marked, “We must consult brother Jonathan on the sub ject.” Tho result of that consultation was favorable, and tho words of the commander-in-chiof passed into a common phrase, applied indiscriminately by officers and men in all cases of difficulty which afterwards occurred during the war. Thus, from the constant uso of the expression “Wo must consult brother Jonathan,” which soon passed from the army to the peoplo at large, tho Americans received from the English that appellation which has stuck as close ly as their “John Bull” to them. Hospital for Cats and Dogs.—Kendall In one of his late letters from Paris, says there is a largo house in the city, fitted up for tire reception of cats, dogs, birds, See., when attacked by disease, and w here they are nursed and physicked according to rule. They have a claas of practi tioners who confine themselves exclusively to the cure of these animals, and fortunes arc made in the way of business, by members of the profession. Ignorance of America.—“Mr. Webster, the great American statesman, is to be tried in N. York, on the 19th of March, for the murder of Judge Par ker.”—London Vapor by iho .V/ugu/u. Till.-* ia nOroe tliail .lillluUUClIlg tho “god-Iiltc” Daniel, on his arrival in England, as the author of the g i ci\t American Dictionary. Verily,the London-! ers don’t know much- at least about these United States. An Irish paper lately gave an uccotint of a duel ' and announced the result of the meeting in these : words : “The one party was wounded severely in j the chest, and the other fired in the air.” Query, who wounded the suflerer ? A short man became uttached to a very tall woman, and somebody said that he had fallen in love with her. “Do you call that falling in love,” said an old bachelor; “it is more like climbing up to it.” & “T his is really the smallest horse I ever saw,” i said a countryman, on viewing a Shetland pony.— “Indade now,” replied his Irish companion, “but Pve seen one as small as two of him.” Epigram, on the Marriage of Mrs. Rugg, a Widow of 60, to Mr. Price, aged 22: My marriage, sure, is very snug; They joined us in a trice, And now ’tis clear that one old Hugo lias fetched a handsome Price. Whoever sincerely endeavors to do all the good be can, will probably do much more than he imagines, or will ever know’ to the day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be made manifest. ££» “What are yon writing such a big band for Pat r” “Why, you see, my grandmother’s dafe, and I’m writing a loud letther to her.” An Irish Schoolmaster wrote the following copy for one of his pupils : “Idleness covcrcth a man with nukedness.” The Ladies.—The only successful lJomtrpatliists. They cure man’s greatest malady of the heart by a ‘•lettlc of the same sort”’ - *F. AGRICULTURAL—SCIENTIFIU our THE USE OV OXEIf, By E. Stabler, Montgomery Co., Maryland, in answer Ur enquiries made by Dr. R. O. B., of Va., through the Plough, Loom and Anvil. Like many others with slender resources, (and in my case with impaired health, from a city life,) I began farming with horses to do my ploughing, andf indeed, the farm work generally. 1 had also a yoke of oxen. With no experience in my new vocation, it was necessary to superintend considerable hauling for building, and it was here I was first made aware of ihe decided advantage of the ox over the horse. The horses were not always true at the jhrtcA, when every effort was required ; and on the oxen we usu ally had to rely at last, to get out of our difficulties. There were other advantages in their use, evident at this early stage of my agricultural education, if not so important, yet quite as apparent. One was the expense of harness, eight to one, at least, ill favor of the ox; and the time saved in gelling to work—we could often yoke up, and get through with a short job, before the horses were harneseed and ready for work. For the first year, I had no other expectation than to buy grain for my family and stock, expecting af terwards, and being determined to use every effort to raise at least enough for my own consumption; but the experience of a year or two fully satisfied my mind, that, without somo change for the better, 1 could not gel along at all. My horses not only con sumed about all the grain they aided in raising, but 1 was compelled to buy more for their especial use and benefit. The farm was entail, and withal very poor, and what with their consumption, farming was found to be a losing concern. But 1 bad to make my living, either off my farm or by my “wits,” for my health forbade a return to the city. The idea ot going in debt was ati alternative not to be entertain- 0 ed for a moment; another alternative, and which ap peared quite as uncongenial to my feelings, was, to remove to tho Jar West, and relinquish every tie of kindred and friends. This I determined never to do, unless to avoid actual want. In 1822 or ’23, 1 resolved to give the plan a fair trial; and with this view, worked the oxen, and took hold of the plough-handles myself, and began in “midsummer” to break up a fallow field for wheat. For a day or two the oxen suffered greatly with the heat, in the middle of tho day—but, by rising with the dawn and resting two or three hours at noon, and also feeding on dry food, I found nearly as much was ploughed by the oxen as with the horses work ed by a hired man, and quite as well done. The horses consuming about one bushel of grain per day, and the oxen none. The horses walked faster, but the oxen turned in less time, and the difference in amount of work was not very material. Tire oxen, though generally slower, will probably be found the most sure, by those who arc placed under similar circumstances. This was a “successful experiment,” in etcry re spect, and lias been carried out to tho letter; sanc tioned also by subsequent experience and practice, for some twenty-five years. For many years there was not a furrow ploughed on the farm except by oxen, which enabled nre to begin, and successfully carry out, a systom of improving my nearly worc out land. This Could not have been effected (at least not by the best management 1 was capable of) by the use of horses alone, in any thing like the same time, or without more capital than was at my disposal. To determine the best mode of working often to the plough, I used both the tongue and the chain ; the latter was found preferable on all accounts. The team turns in less space, and in less time; and by it, the depth is also regulated with more facility, by merely lengthening or shortening the chain. For the use of oxen, the beam should be set rather low er than for horses—14 to 15 inches is the proper height for the former, and 17 to 18 inches for ItoF* ses—the line of draft being lower in the one than the other. Oxen, if properly broken, quite as readily* if not more so, take to and keep the furrow, than horses. We do not think of having either a line or driver, even with a double yoke, and in the plough, except when “breaking in” young cattle—the word of the ploughman, or the motion of the whip, being all sufficient. To judge of tho capabilities of the ox, by tho bad ly used, houseless, over-tasked, and half-fed animals wo sometimes see in the yoke* is doing him great in* justice. Treat the horse in the samo unfeeling man ner, and where would be his high mettle and noble spirit ? he would speedily arrive at a premature olfc ago, valueless to his owner, and a cast-off to feed the earrion crows. That the ox can better stand this harsh usage, is certainly no valid or sufficient reason that he should be subjected to it. Use him with equal care and humanity* and he will just as certain ly. and with more profit, repay it to his owner. I am not aware, nor do I believe, from much ob servation, that the “limestone land” referred to, is any more difficult to plough than mine, which is a stiff clay subsoil. Much that I have examined ia easier to till. In breaking up sward land for corn, we generally work two yoke, and go to the depth of from 7 to 9 inches. Oats usually follow corn, in my rotation, and to render the summer ploughing easier for the following crop of wheat, (it is also better for the oat crop, and freer from weed,) the oat ground is aheays ploughed with the bar-share—the .urn..-..-- ,i- «<•.„. ... ~n,crja| be the season drv, or otherwise. In hauling limestone with oxen, we readily make a trip of five or six miles and back, in half to three fourths of a day; and we have made the trip to Wash ington and back in 24 hours—distance 20 miles— and light loads both ways, resting in the heat of the day, in warm weather. I usually keep two yoke of oxen to one pair of horses, the first cost being generally about the same, but here the parallel ends. It costs much less to keep, and in good order too, the two yoke, than one pair of horses, and they will do more work. The expense, and wear and tear of harness is fully as 8 or 10 to 1 in favor of the oxen ; and for most farm pur poses such as hauling rails, stone, fuel and manure, they are decidedly preferable. We use them exclu sively for hauling hay or grain into the barn. A single yoke will readily go in with a ton to a ton and a half of hay, and at an angle on the bridge of 5° to 6°. They understand the business perfectly—there ts no need ol the whip—at a single word, every mus cle is exerted, and, if necessary,strained to the utmost. Add to the advantages above enumerated, the rel ative value of each team, after some five or six years’ service, under humane and proper treatment, and we find that the horse has depreciated some 33, if not 50 percent., the ox, with a season’s rest, and good pasture, is worth at least his first cost in beef; and will suppose, (but such has not been the case with me.) that the horse has paid as liberally for his keep ing in the mean time. Cure for a Ring Worm.—The Editor of the Plough, Loom and Anvil, furnishes the following re ceipt which he says is infallible for the cureof^Rmg Worm : “Heat a 6hovel to a bright red—cover it with grains of tndian Corn, press them with a cold fiat iron. They will burn to a coal and exude an oil on the sur face of the flat iron, with which rub the ring worm, : and after one or two applications it will be kill as I dead as Julius Cmsar.” 1 M