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Middletown transcript. [volume] (Middletown, Del.) 1868-current, August 14, 1869, Image 1

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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'

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