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s ♦ 4 - *"*% ■ vfi r 3M K S ? - d & sS« fc/' P i\i ucM i/| r 1 "Hr t jflpij f? r & ■,r 'll' $ A.x tt • 1 it nilil ' ' l' tûÉSî li #4 (I KK£a SSS Aw/' \W/ ym /y J 9 ^4 3Ü? MIDDLETOWN, NEW CASTLE COUNTY, DELAWARE, SATURDAY MORNING, AUGUST 14, 18C9. NO. 33. VOL. 2. ENOCH L. HARLAN, »21 MARKET STREET, Formerly of the Finn of Harlan tf? Bro. DKALKK IN FINE GROCERIES, PROVISIONS, Foreign Fruits, DOMESTIC FRUITS, GUNNING MATERIAL, Fishing Tackle, WOODEK WAKE, SAyLT, OILS, Teas, &c. W E are prepared to supply buyers from the country with tho above goods at the low est pticog. Our sWk.enre tried will recommend itself, as great care fear been used in its selection. We rtipeefltully solicit an examination. ENOCH L. IIABLAN, Formerly of the firm of Harlan Sc Bro. Wilmington, Del. .jyrOrders by mail promptly filled, and goods delivered at any Depot, Steamboat or Express Office free of charge. May 22—3inos. NEW STOVE, TIN, AND HOUSE-FURNISHING STORE. TIIOMAS II. BOTIIWEM. Respectfully announces to the Fublic that he has removed his Store to his NEW BUILDING, of Main Street,4 Buildings West of Toivu Hall, Middletown, Delaware. Where he has constantly on hand, and is prepared to manufacture all kinds of tin ware, At Short Notice. ORDERS for HOOFING & SPOUTING Respectfully Solicited aud Promptly attended to ,/JjtTOVES, JAPANNED WARE, TIN WARE, &e. &c. Constantly on hand and at the Lowest Cash Tices. Mr. R. E. Knighton, well known skilful workman, is our and will give his personal attention to the business. as a Foreman The following Cook Stoves are sale and recommended to the Public : THF IST ATIOTs A IG, ( Niagara Improved, ) THE TIMES, THE CHARM, TIIE CONTINENTAL, AND THF PRIZE. The first named is guaranteed to give perfect satisfaction, and it is believed the others will also. The following Parlor Stoves arc offered to the Public, and believ ed to be equal to any other Stoves in the market ; THE UNION AIR-TIGHT, on THE GEM, THE DIAL, ELM BASE, BOQUET BASE, and THE BRILLIANT. Orders will be received and promptly filled for any kind of Stove that may be desired. Prompt attention to business, moderate prices, competent workmen, and a deter mination to please, may at all timos bo ex pected by thoso who may favor him with .their custom. May 1—ly Wu. A. It A ISIS, H. McCoy. McCOY & RAISIN, .General Commission Merchants, 73 SOUTH STREET, Otposite Corn Exchange, ?»• BALTIMORE, W E refer to tho following among our patrons in Kent county Maryland : Judge Jos. A. Wickes. Hon. Win. Welch, William B. Wilmer, Jervis Spencer, Juno 19— y Hon. Snmucl Comogys, George D. 8. Handy, George T. HoUydfty, .Samuel A. Deck. Dr PEACHES ! ! T HE subicribcr lias made arrangements to buy PEACHES at the Middletown Station' dur ing the season, and will furnish Baskets fur slop ing of same, thus saving the Growers who have no Baskets the oxpense of purchasing nt present high prices. Give him a call liofuro disposing of your fruit elsowhero. E. T. EVANS, Agent for W. II. AVnnser, of New York. June 26—tf jlcled poetry. on in to as IiOVK AND TIME. He asked her for lier hand when she \Yus very young and fair. The summer in he •ft blue eye, Its sunlight Hut she was proud, and hade him win »Some meed ot gold and fame, ilc to seek, Before he e ■ love's lier guerdon kiss to claim. And so from love and her he turned, The better both to meet, The way he took was strewn with shards, That cut his pilgrim feet ; But upward still, till through the years That stole his life away, Fame's sunshine fell at last upon One great, and rich, und gray. Ah, little of time's change they recked, Who parted long ago ! And love may not he bid and becked To tarry and to go. Afar she weeps who bade him climb— »She knows as well as he The prize he spent his life to win No guerdon now can be. HOW I BECAME A BENEDICT. A STOltY FOR OLD BACHELORS. Yes, I'm a married man at last ! That's my wife sitting over there in the great rocking-chair, that slender delicate crea ture, with the soft, creamy face, and lus trous, golden hair ; aud that queer little thing in her lap, over which she coos so tenderly, is my son and heir, Chancellor Trowbridge, Jr. Heavens! what a feel ing of importance it gives a fellow to know that his naino will live after his body is under tho sods! I never knew what it was to be a man before ; I'm one now, every inch of me, as Lear was every inch a king. A woman-batcr! That's what I've been called all my life, and the cognomen was not misapplied. I did hate women, aud excluded myself from their society, aud railed and sneered at their frailties until - Well, until that little woman yonder glorified tho whole feminine gen der for me! I'm a changed man. I can't pass a hit of female apparel in a shop win dow, a water-fall, or a knot of ribbon, without a tender thrill at my heart. I'm an old fool, that's about the amount of it ! No matter, fill up your meerschaum, my wife docs not object to smoko—sensible women never do ! Twenty years ago ! Bless my soul, what a long way to look back ! Such a misty, winding road, cut across at every turn by the grass green graves of dead friends and blighted hopes ! Ah, me! I would not go back aud tread it all over Ill, it 1 could ! Twenty years ago I met with my first disappointment, and it made me a misanthrope, a woman-hater! I was a young stripling, then, just sixteen, the sole idol and comfort of an overfoml moth cr. We lived all alone in a little nest of a cottage, just out from the city ; and mother did tho housework, and managed the small dairy, from which wo derived our support, while I attended the academy. She was bent on making a groat man uf me, poor, fond mother ! She confidently believed that I possessed any amount of undeveloped talent, and denied herself a thousand little comforts, in order to se cure for mo tho advantages necessary' to bring it into action. Looking back upon those days now, it affords mo a kind of melancholy satisfaction to know that she went to lier eternal rest, happily uncon scious that all her unselfish labor bad been spent for nought; still fancying, in the egotism of her love, that "her hoy," as slio called mo, would one day cover him self with the lustre of great deeds. I shared her belief, then ; and when my sixteenth year, and my academical course both culminated at once, and poor mother expeuded tho hoardings of an entiro year to purchase me a new cloth suit, I thought my fortune made. Asa matter of course, the noxt step to bo taken was matrimony. By way of beginning, I set myself to work to get up a poem, and to bo dedica ted to the fair one of my choice, Miss Jessie Weaver. Tho composition con sumed a round week. Day after day I shut myself iu my bed-ohamber, and rack ed my brains over rhyming syllables, while poor mother drovo the cows to and fro, and even brought the water to oool her milk-pans. At last it was finished, and elaborately copied ousoented, rose-oolorcd paper. There wore some two dozen ver sos, I think, containing swashy sentiment, and morbid melancholy, sufficient to stock a regiment of ordinary novels ; but sitting on the stone steps of tho dairy, with her butter-paddlo in her hand, mother listened while I read them to her in a confident, declamatory stylo, her loving eyes full of subdued exultation. " I always thought so! I always thought you'd make a great man, my boy," she said, proudly. I sent the poem to Jessie, with no doubt whatever in regard to its reoeption. I held too ItigU an opinion of her good sense to believo, for an instant, that she would fail to appreciate it ; and she didn't, as her gay laugh and dancing eyes attes ted at our next meeting. " You'll bo famous by-and-by, Chan cy," sho called after me over the garden gate ; "a second Byron." I stroked my sprouting mustache with scrcno self-complacency, running my eyo over tbo rich moadow-lands, and alluvial fields, surrounding her father's stately mansion. Sho was an only child, and would inherit all this wealth. I had made up my mind to propose to her on a I next visit; and it would bo the proper thing to make her a present on such an occasion. There was a gay, ruby-brooch on exhi bition in one of tho shop-windows, and this 1 had set my heart ; but the price twenty-five dollars. IIow should I ever manage to got it? I made known desires and intentions to mother on return home. She looked serious and thoughtful for a moment, then she arose, going to the corner cupboard, took down the blue china bowl, in which she always kept ttio proceeds of her butter pats. I can seeher now, with her slight ligure, and pale, worn face, as she stood the glow of the firelight, counting over heaps of silver picecs she had poured upon the table. " Only twenty-seven dollars," she said, with a suppressed sigh, as she returned surplus two dollars to the bowl ; "but take it my boy, and welcome !" I took it, aud bought tho brooch for Jessie. " Isn't it splendid, mother?" I said, a evenings after, as I was giving the finishing touches to my toilet, preparatory the all-important visit. "She'll be sure to tako it, won't she ?" " To be sure she will, my boy," she re plied fondly, fluttering round me polish ing the bright brass buttons on my blue cloth coat with the corner of her apron, and twisting my well-oiled locks over her thin, labor-worn fingers; "and she'll take you, too, if she's not devoid of ap preciation." My heart swelled with gratified vanity I put the glittering toy ill my pocket, and started. She followed mo out, and down to tho garden-gate. " Good-by, my boy," she called, as I hurried through. Something in her voice made me look back, and I noticed that her face had a strange, white look, and her eyes were running over with tears. " What is it, mother?" I asked, turn ing aud taking her hand. " Nothing, nothing at all, my dear. Only this new joy won't make you quite forget me, will it, Chancy ?" " Oh! mother, no!" 1 cried, throwing my arms round her neck, and kissing her white checks. " I shall never love any one else as I lovo you." " My darling, my pride," she murmur ed. " No mother ever had such a son— you never caused me a moment's sorrow, Chancy." " I'm glad of it, mother. " Good-by, my boy !" I left lier standing there in the autumn nt up to Squire Weaver's, ious ; I found Jessie g to her guitar, she said There, sit down Good-bye !" dusk, The fates were pnq alone in the parlor sm you, Chaney " 'Ti care lessly, as 1 entered. while L sing to you." I obeyed reluctantly enough, for I was a fever of imputieuee, To this day I have no idea of what she sang ; hut the instant she finished I was at her side. " Jessie," I said, unfolding the soented paper that contained the brooch, "here's present I've brought, you, and-" But she cut short my declaration, which had " cut and dried" weeks beforehand, with a scream of delight, " For me, Chaney?" she cried, as the glittering toy flashed on lier sight;'tis the very thing l wanted. You dear, dar ling hoy—how shall I oyer thank you ?" aud seizing me round tl;o neck, sho gave mo a hearty kiss. The touch of her rod lips fired my blood like wine, and set my brain in a whirl of excitement. In a breath I was on my knees before her, pouring out my love, and the hopes l had cherished, in fren zied accents. At first she stood amazed; then, as the full senso of what I was say ing dawned upon her, site broke into a gay laugh, "Oh, Chaney! you silly, silly boy !" slio cried, " you are too amusing. I gave you credit for more sense than this. Get up, child, and stop this foolish nonsense. I'm to be married in two weeks to Mr. Dunbar." What I said or did, how I got out of the house, I never knew. I found myself in the meadows, making my way down to tho river. A dull pain throbbed through both heart and brain, and one strong, irresisti ble impulse impelled me on. My moth er's loving watebfuluess bad hitherto kept my life from all care and sorrow ; and I shrank from pain, and only thought of ridding myself of it. The great autumn moon was just up as I reached the brink, pouring down her silver splendor on the turbid, foaming 'waters. I sat down be neath the shadow of a drooping willow, listening to the multitudinous gurgle of tho waves, aud the moaning rustle of the branches overhead. Mother's cattle-bells tinkled softly just below, and a solitary bird, a nightingale, perhaps, sang mourn fully from a neighboring^ thicket. All these sights and sounds were as familiar as my own identity ; and I felt an infinite pity for myself, looking upon and listening to them for tho last time—for tho last time it surely was ; after the cruel blow I had reoeived lifo was out of the question. One plunge into thoso dark waters would end all! And then, when Jessio heard of my sad fate, sho would repent of what she had done, and love me when it was too late. even fanpied how my funeral would be conducted, after tny body was fourni, aud actually suffered a good deal from fear that there would not bo an appropriate ep itaph written for my tombstono. If I bad only hod a scrap of paper and a pencil, I should have composed and loft quo myself; but not having these requisites, I had to resign myself to my fate. Divesting my self of tho new blue-cloth coat, aud haug ing it very carefully anil conspicuously on (lie branch of a tree, 1 prepared to make the fatal plunge, But at that instant my mother's face, wan and pallid, and full of beseeching love, seemed looking up from the moonlit waters. A keen pang shot through my heart. ITmv would she bear my loss, she who bad always loved mo so. I could not do this deed without even bid ding her farewell—I could not break my mother's heart! Snatching down my coat, I struck across the meadows at a rapid pace. At the cottage gate I paused, chill ed to the very soul by a feeling of awe and dread. The moonlight streamed down. There sat my mother in hoc low sewing chair ; I could sec her wan and white face plainly. I opened the gate, and went up the gravol-wallc with suppressed stops. She might bo asleep, I thought—and she was, that quiet, dreamless sleep that knows no waking. She was dead. Two or three days after her funeral, our old pastor came duwn to see me. "Well, Chancy, my lad," he said, after a few moments' comforting conversation, "what do you propose doing in the way of making a living ?" " I am undecided, sir—I haven't thought much about it. I've been writing a good deal of late, and I thought, per haps-" But he out mo short by a gesture. "No, my lad, no! Give that up, it isn't your vocation. Follow in your good mother's footsteps—stick to your dairy, and you'll make a man of yourself." I was cut to tho very heart, but, some how, his woids stuck to me. The more I thought of them tho more I was convinced of their sense ; and after awhile I made up my mind to take his advice. I threw away my pens and paper, and took to my moth er's old occupation, driving tho cows, and making butter-pats for market. It was a solitary life, yet I soon grow to love it. Twenty years after I found myself a rich man, the proprietor of the great Pearl Val ley Dairy, and tho owner of Walnut llill Farm. j ! I had ample moans, so I gratified my lovo for travel. I wandered all over Eu rope, launched my bark upon the waters of the Nile, and sat beneath the shadow of tho Pyramids; returning home again, sun-burned aud foot-sore, with a weary, loveless heart, I shut myself up, having no intercourse with my fellow-men, only in my business relations, and regarding woman-kind with a bitter feeling of hate and distrust. One sunny autumn afternoon— I have a vivid remembrance of it even to this day —it was early in October, and the sun light, streaming down upon tiie great wal nut-trees in front of njy dwelling, i glinting through tho tawny ehostnutlca\ seemed to have a peculiar warmth and brightness. L lay on a little hillside, just beyond tho house, half-buried iu yellow broom-sedge, listening to tho distaut roar of the pines, aud watching, by turps, the blue smoke curling up from ' my meers chaum, and the busy village-folk down be low me. There was a fair, or something of the kind, on foot, and an unusual hustle prevailed. After awhile, I noticed a trim, girlish figure, wearing a brown robe, and a jaun ty little hat, coming up from the town in the direction of Walnut llill. 1 watched her with a feeling of interest, in spite of myself; and when she actually turned in to tho laue that led up to my door, I felt my heart palpitating like a hoy's. Could it bo possible that any woman would have the audacity to force herself into my house, to beard the lion in bis den ? On she came, her brown veil and streaming rib bons fluttering in tho wind, her little gai tcr-boots beating a brisk tattoo oil the gravel. I lay quite still till she passed mo, then rising on my elbow, I watched her covertly. On she went, straight up to my house, up tho front stops, and then, bang! went the knocker. I heard the door open, and knowing that slio had been admitted, I arose, and sauntered up my self, thoroughly vexed at the tremulous eagerness I felt to know who and what she was. She rose from her seat as I entered, saluting me with a pretty little how. "Excuse me, sir," she said; "hut you arc Mr. Chancellor Trowbridge, 1 believe, and I am Jessie Dunbar." The silvery voice, the familiar face, the name, aud some glittering ornament in her bosom, all struck mo at the same moment. I felt my head spinning around like a top ; but I managed to ask her to ho seated again, and as she complied, I satisfied my self in regard to tho ornament she wore. It was my ruby-brooch, the one for which I had given tho hard-earned proceeds of poor mother's butter-pats—I could have sworn to that. What could it mean ? tnd "Wo are bolding a fair, Mr. Trow bridgo," sho began, "for the benefit of the soldiers' orphans ; every one is giving us something, and I've eoiuo up to see if you won't help us. You will I am sure." "No, Miss," I answered, assuming a sternness I did not foci ; "'tis a principle with mo, never to encourage such institu tions." "Sir!" patting her dainty foot impati ently against tho carpet, "uot encourage feeding the orphans of dead soldiers—do you moan that?" Her clear, dove-like eyes embarrassed me with their steady gaze. I arose and took out my pocket-book. "IIow much sfiall I give you Miss Dun bar? "What you can afford, sir." I handed her a fifty-dollar bill. Her eyes gladdened so, they fairly dazzled me. "Oh, Mr. Trowbridge!" sho cried, "I did not expect this. You are so good, so generous !" She took out a delicate little purse, and crammed it in, then she turned to go. "Good-bye, Mr. Trowbridgo !" she said, pausing in the door-way, aud holding out her hand. "I thank you very much, indeed; but won't you come down to the fair to morrow night? Dleascdo, Mr. Trowbridgo. I did not promise lier, but I went, nev ertheless; and after the fair was over, I attended Jessie home. My old sweetheart, grown into a buxom matron, met me in the hall. "At last, Chancy," slio said, grasping both my hands; hut you've been an un friendly, old curmudgeon all these years, and we may thank Jessie for luring you out of your den, I suppose. She's won her bet by it, too. You see, the girls were all here, laying plans for the fair, aud they got to talking about you ; and young Dr. Snyder offered to bet twenty-five dollars that none of them had tho courage to go up to Walnut Hill and ask you for a dona tion. But Jessie made tho venture, and now that you have come out of your seclu sion, do bo sociable, Chaney, for tho sake of our old friendship." I took her at her word. Almost every evening after that found me at Mr. Dun bar's pleasant home. And one spring night, when tho air was sweet with balm, and tho moonlight soft and mellow, aud the great apple-tree, beneath which we sat, was white with fraggrant bloom, I made the same proposal to Jessie that I had made to lier mother twenty years before, not on my knees, however, but sitting by her side, with her little hand iu mine. "I loved your mother years ago, Jes sie," I said; "but I was a silly hoy then. I am a man now, and I love you as no man ever loves hut once. Do you think you can ho my wife?" "I think I can, Mr. Trowbridge," sbe answered, simply! "and I'll do my best to make you a good one. I've thought of you a great deal all my life, aud loved you, I believe, even before I ever knew you. Mother used tell about you when I was a girl; and I always thought it was wrong in her to take your poem and your brooch, and then laugh at you ; though, of course, it was right for her to like papa. But I've always felt very sorry for you; it must haye been terrible when you went home and found your mother dead. I'vo got tho poem, and the ruby-brooch you gave mother ; and I am very glad you love me so much, Mr. Trowbridge. Yes, I'll be your wife, and I'll try to make your life so j Imppy, that you'll never remember the sor ! rowing past." So 1 married tho daughter of my old sweetheart; and there she sits in the great wood rocking-chair, before tho Ida fire ; and that little tiling on her lap is my son and heir, Chancellor Trowbridgo, Jr. And in regard to myself, Chancellor Trow bridge, Sr., I am the happiest man that over the sun shines on.— Fctçrson's Muga - sine. Useful llcclpes, Tiik CritUAXT Worm.—A correspond ent at Worcester, Mass. writes to tho Country Gentleman, June 11th : "l'leaso say to your readers who are troubled with currant worms, that I clear ed them all out last year by one application of k sJc!m m ill;, applied with a syringe. Worms, they say, breathe through their skins die. stop the breathing holes and they Milk does that ; perhaps molasses and water, say equal parts, would accom plish tho same result—so would thin glue or gum water, but as tho milk left mo without subjects to experiment ou, I did not try the latter as remedies. Tomato Catsup.— Tako ripe tomatoes and scald them just sufficient to allow you to take oil' the skin ; then let them stand for a day, covered with salt; strain them thoroughly to remove the seeds. Then to every two quarts add three ounces of cloves, two of black pepper, two nutmegs, and a very little Cayenne pepper, with a little salt. Bo'll the liquor for half an hour, and then let It cool and settle. Add a pint of the best cider vinegar, after which bottle it, corking and sealing it tightly. Keep it always in a cool place. Tomato Wine.— Take any quantity of ripe tomatoes, wash and press from them the juice, strain, and to every gallon add four pounds (avoirdupois) crushed sugar ; let it stand until it is done fermenting, keeping the cask filled with fresh juice and sugar, as above. When done fermen ting, draw off, without agitation,-and bot tle. Will ho prime in six to twelve months. The yellow tomato makes a white wine with yellow tinge ; the red a dark colored wine, of course. Worth Tryino. —A Bbiladelhpia paper says that an eminent surgeon of that city had his horses washed in the morning with water in which one or two sliced onions had been steeped, lie found that tbo flies kept at a respectable distance, while no harm was done to tho animals. A sepa rate bucket or vessel other than that used to water tho horses, would be necessary, and great relief would be obtained at small cost. ; A correspondent of tho Rural World advises the application of pine—not coal— tar to a brittle hoof, assorting that ho has frequently applied it to hard, dry and cracked hoofs with good success. It ap pears to penctrato and soften tho hoof, gives it a bright and clean look, also clo ses tho cracks. Apply onco or twice a month. Si-RtaiiT-or-iiAND—Declining a matri monial offer. laustem Maryland nmi Delaware. From Frenchtown, at the head of Elk river, a, tributary of the Chesapeake Day, to Delaware City, on the bay of that name, the distance, as the crow flics, is betweeu 15 and 20 miles. This is the narrowest part of the isthmus, which connects with Pennsylvania the great, peninsula formed an, by tiie waters of the Delaware, the Allan- sal tie Ocean and the Chesapeake Bay. This peninsula includes within its limits nearly the whole State of Delaware, the eight counties of Maryland, called the Pastern a Shore, and the counties of Accomac and North Hampton, belonging to Virginia, li y a glance at the map it will he seen that there is not a spot in all this favored re gion more than live miles from transpor- on tatiou, by water or rail, to the great cities of Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York and Boston. With a climate tempered by the surrounding waters, the inexhaustible sup plies of fertilizing material in the shape of shells, fish and sea grass, arc furnished by these same waters, the remarkable facili- a ties furnished by three railroads aud by water for reaching the very best markets, all show the inevitable and enviable dcsti ny of this peninsula is, to become at no distant day, the fruit and vegetable mar- an kotof the great cities of the seaboard, F arming will give way to horticulture, and the land be devoted to the more pofitable production of fruits and vegetables, all of which can be delivered upon the market by the safe cheap, and rapid transportation alForded by the steamboat and rail ear. As ^ most people have but an imperfect idea of £° the enormous profits of this branch of ag riculturc, we will give some of the results arrived at, not in New England, the West or other distant points, but in this very pc ninsula of which we are now writing, These data are furnished the Cultivator by Mr. Henry T. Williams, whose authority no one will dispute. Of apples, ho tells an us the trees will come into bearing two years earlier than at the North, and that for early summer apples the prices are al- u0 most fabulous. The fruit from a seven year old tree lias been sold for seven dol lars, and thirty dollars has been tho yield of a twelve year old tree. Dear trees conic as carly into bearing; all kinds succeed to admiration and are troubled with iiq di- : scase, worms, or leaf blight whatever. Au orchard of four hundred dwarf pear trees, ; only four years old, averaged lust fall one basket per tree and from one tree three ! baskets. All were sent to Now York, and averaged s;x dollars per basket or twenty four hundred dollars for the entire acre. Peaches, which form the largest orchard late (Delaw , whether j. Some idea of the magui product of Ci. occding profit; or large farms this production may be gained from tho fact that last year the entire crop scut to market, by railroad and by water, reached the figures of a million aud a hun dred and eight thousand baskets by rail, and sovett hundred and fifty thousand by water. J. B. Fenimorc, of New Castlp Comi ty, sold from an orchard of a hundred acres (ten thousand trccs)in four consecu tive years eighty-seven thousand dollars worth of peaches. Iu another instance an orchard of less than two thousand trees yielded in one season four thousand dollars nut profit. Another orchard, near Dover, which I myself visited iu crop time, yields from seventy acres a profit of ten thousand dol lars yearly—the purchasers buying the crop on the trees. There are other instan ces where a place of forty acres yields two thousand dollars per year ; one of three aud a half acres yields five hundred dol lars per year ; one of five acres, thirteen hundred dollars; one of twenty acres yield ing fruit to the amount of forty-three hun dred dollars annually ; and one of five acres, also, where the income from the peaches is greater than from the remain der of the entire farm of three hundred and fifty acres. At Mi'lford between eight and nine thousand dollars have been clear ed iu three seasons from twenty-five hun dred trees. ) a on small •ow O tnd is to bo of Strawberries and all other berries pro mise a prolific and profitable crop. Straw berries shipped in small quantities to New York brought' from a dollar to a dollar and twenty-five cents per quart. Tho price gradually declined to seventy-five, fifty, and finally forty cents, which was the lowest price obtained. One-third of an acre near Dover netted six hundred and eighty dol lars. Three acres netted two thousand dollars. Four acres at Smyrna brought four thousaud dollars, the purchaser doing his own picking. Bickers can pick till three or five o'clock (afternoon,) put their fruit on an express train, and it is on tho stalls of tho New York markets before six tho next morning, sweet, fresh and unin jured. It is safe to say, for a series of years to come twenty-five cents per quart will be as low as prices will go. With good cul tivation five hundred and a thousand dol lars an aero will bo common results for Delaware. Cherries are exceedingly early. From gilt dollars worth have iscaso lias yet afflicted to a single Moreljo ei^ been taken. welWii this tree here. Apricots and plums will pay to raise, and to hire a man to do nothing else but pick over the trees every day and keep them free from disease or insects. James Lord, of Camden, in 1807, had a small aprioot tree, six years old, that boro four bushels of fruit. Tho first bushel was sent to a commission merchant of New York, who gave him a dollar per quart ; had tho en tire fruit been carefully picked and keted, the tree would nave yielded ; ; drei! and twenty-eight dollar? a ntar a huu Extraor dinary results are accomplished in végéta-. blcs. One grower told the writer that from three-fourths of an aere, without ma-_ »urc, lie had taken two hundred and sev-. enty-tive bushels of Irish potatoes. As an instance of the superiority of tho. climate for horticulture, a,crop ot potatoes an, l cabbage has been taken from tho sal »c ground, between tlie frosts of Spring;, and Autumn. Sweet potatoes yield ihren hundred bushels or a hundred, barrels andf upwards per acre. Early potatoes brin£ a dollar to a dollar and fifty. çents per bushel ; and there arc many farmers who clear every year the value of the land de voted to potatoes. e saw one farm, of Dvo hundred acres, leased with buildings, on Ibe half share plan, which netted tho. tenant, over his ospenscs for his own nor tion, the good sum of ten thousand dollars^ and tho produce was solely grass, corn*, potatoes and wheat. Tomatoes will eventually bp a big thing, One grower sold in Boston the crop from, a single acre for sevcii^ hundred dollars, Another sold the crop for an acre to a can-., ning establishment for four hundred dol-~ receiving but twenty-five cents per basket. Near Camden, a man cultivated an acre an ^ 11 half, on half shares, sold the same at twenty-five cents per basket aud han ded the owner two hundred and seventy-five^ dollars, or a hundred dollars more than the land was worth. Such results arc re markable, but are not safe enough to form estimates upon for large culture, hour or ^ ve hundred bushels can be considered a £° 0< i yield per acre, lire first shipments, realize, perhaps, five dollars per crate ; then tk.e price falls steadily to a dollar and the majority over fifty cents, I Imre * s 110 reason why all kinds of veg-.. ctables may not be grown iu Delaware, and successfully supply New lork twa weeks curlier t|ian they now do. llhubarb. an ^ asparagus will pay finely. Cucum-. bers, beets, lettuce, spinach, cabbages*, cauliflowers, egg plants, ouious all will u0 well. Now, there is no possible reason why alt these results should not be attained on the. Eastern Sfiore of Maryland, quite as well, as in Delaware; the two sections arc divi ded by a mere imaginary line, and tkey : both form a part ot the same, peninsula, The Maryland connues are ne«cWatcd m. ; every conceivable direction by navigable waters, and in all the wealth of the wa-. . ... ! tcrs * n oysters, terrapins, and crabs, dtey have decidedly the advantage Qt tlicif neighbor, Delaware. Though chemical analyst! has provcq; the wheat of Eastern Maryland to be the, best ever exhibited on tho London Corn. Exchange, the fanners there must event-, ually become horticulturists in view of tho enormous profits to be derived from that. ultvtro. To estimate the brunch of a prospective value of their lands after this is done, is beyond our arithemic. In En-, gland the fee simple of land is valued at twenty-five year's rent—that is, an acreia estimated to bo worth twenty-five times its. yearly rent ; apply this rule to lands pro ducing a net annual revenue of from two to four hundred dollars an aero, aud sur rounded by viators abounding in all the. luxuries for tho table, apd a faint idea may bo formed of tho value to which the Eas tern Shore lands must attain. For safety and profit we can conceive of no invest ment of money to compare with tho lauds of Eastern Maryland. The foregoing remarks will apply with more or less pertinouey to all the tide wa ter country of Maryland and Virginia.——. Turf, Full! anil Furvi . Tho Sue? Canal will be opened through-, out to navigation the 17th of November, 1801), with the depth of water eight me tres. On the apeasion of the inauguration merchant vessels, and those belonging to. various Governments, presenting thern- selvcs at the two extremities of the canal—•. namely at 'Port Said' aud 'Suez' on tho 17th, 18th, 10th and 20th of November, will be exempt from all dues. Fron» No-, vember 21, conformably with Article 17 of the Act of Concession, the rate of pas sage through tiie canal will be fixed at ten francs a bead fur passengers, and per ton according to the legal tounago measure of the respective nations. The administra tion will publish, shortly, regulations fer tile navigation of the canal, comprising rates of pilotage, towage, &c. &c. Tho following notice was pasted on a large box, which passed over one of our great through lines of railroad, a few days since: "Baggage-smashers are requested to handle this box with care, as it contains nitro-glycerine, Greek fire, gun cotton, and two live gorillas!" The box was not broken. A London clergyman advertises that ho will "lend" bis weekly sermons for half a crown a apiece, or four for 10s., warren ted " original, earnest, and evangelical." Under the bead of "Broken Euglish," a Baris paper places such Londoners as mashed up by railway cotisons, or financially come to grief. I *****U A If you and your sweetheart vote upon tbo marriage question, you for it, and s1iq against it, don't flatter yourself gs to its being a tie. Many people think themselves perfectly virtuous, because, being well-fed, they have no temptation to vice. They don't distinguish between virtue and victuals. What is the difference between a watch maker and a jailor? The one sells watchçs, and the other watches cells. f'