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't, NO. 31. MIDDLETOWN, NEW CASTLE COUNTY, DELAWARE, SATURDAY MORNING, AUGUST 1, 1874. VOL. VII. Relent $oetrg. The Original "Beautiful Snow. ii Th« Omaha Republican gives the fol lowing history of the origin of this pro duction, which the London Spectator has pronounced to bo tho finest poom over During the early part of the war, one dark Saturday night, in midwinter, there died in th« " Commer cial Hospital, n in Cincinnati, a young woman, over whose head only two-and twenty summers had passed. She had once been possessed of an enviable share of beauty, and had been, sho herself says, ** flattered and sought for the charms of the face;" but, alas, upon her fair brow was writteu that terrible word—prostitute. Ouce the pride of respectable parents, her first wrong step was the small beginning of the " same old story over again," which has been the early history of thousands. Highly educated and accomplished in manners, she might have shone in the beat of society. But the evil hour that proved her ruin was the door from child hood, and haviug spent a young life in disgrace and shame, the poor friendless one died the melancholy death of a broken hearted outcast. Among her personal «fleets was found, in manuscript, 14 The Beautiful Snow," which was immediately carried to Euos B. Reed, a gentleman of culture and literary tastes, who was at that time editor of the National Union .— ln the columns of that paper, on the morn ing of the day following the girl's death, tbe poem appeared in print for the first time. When the paper containing the poem came out on Sunday morning the body of the victim had not yet received burial. The attention of Thos. Buchanan lleed, one of the first American poets was so taken with their stirring pathos that he immediately followed the corpse to its final resting-place. Such are the plain facts concerning her whose " Beautiful Snow " shall long be remembered as one of tho brightest gems in American literature. written iu " America. O, the snow, the beautifuLsnow 1 Filling the sky anil the earth below ; Over the housetops, over the street, Over the heads of the people you meet, Dancing, Flirting, Skipping nlotig ; Beautiful snow ! it enn do nothing wrong ; Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek, Clinging to lips in frolicsome freak ; Beautiful snow from heaven above, angel, geutlo as love ! Pure as O, the snow, the beautiful snow I How the flakes gather as they go Whirling about in their maddening fun It plays in its glee with every one— Chasing Laughing, Hurrying by, It lights on the face, and it sparkles in the eye; And playful dogs, with a hark aud a bound, Snap at the crystals that «*ddy around : The town is alive and its heart in a glow To welcome the coming of the beautiful snow. How wildly the crowd goes swaying along, Hailing each other with humor aud song I How the gay sleds like meteors Hush by, Bright for the moment, then lost to the eye? Hinging, Swinging, Over the crust of the beautiful snow— Snow so As to mi To be trampled feet, Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street. Dashing thej go hen it falls from the sky, regret to see it lie and tracked by the thousand Once I was pure like the snow, but I fell— Fell like the snow Hakes from heaven to hell; Fell to be trampled as filth in the street; Fell to be scoOcd, to be spit on und beat ; Pleading, Cursing, Dreading to die ; Selling my soul to whoever would buy ; Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread ; Hating the living, and fearing the dead— Merciful God 1 Have I fallen so low ? And yet I was once like the beautiful snow. Once 1 was fair as the beautiful snow, eye like its crystal, a heart like its glow; Once I was loved for my innocent grace, Flattered and sought for the charms of the face. Father, With Mother, Sister, all, God and myself I have lost by my fall ! The veriest wretch that goes shivering by Will make a wide sweep lest 1 wander too nigh ; For all that is There's nothing us pure as the beautiful snow. I k or above How sträng« it should be that this beautiful snow a sinner with nowhere to go 1 hen night comes Should fall How strange it should be agaiu If the snow hi brain I Fainting, id tho ice struck my desperate Freezing. Dying alone, Too wicked for prayer, too weak for a moan To be heard in the crazy town, Gone mad in the joy of the snow coming down, To be and to die in my terrible woe, With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow. Helpless and foal as the trampled snow ; Siuner, despair not ! Christ sloojKjth low To rescue the soul that is lost in siti, Aad raise it to fife and enjoyment again. Groaning, Bleeding Dying for thee, The Crucified hung on the accursed tree: llis accents of mercy lull soft Is there mercy for me ? W ill he heed my prayer? O, God, in the stream that for sinners did How, Wash me, and 1 shall be whiter than snow. thine ear : JSelcd j§tori). LEAVING THE FARM. A Story for Young Wives. " It is nothing but work, work, work, from morning till night. A farm life is a perfect slave's life, and for my part I am siek and tired of it." And tbe face of the woman standing in the dairy-room of the farm house grew darker and more dissatisfied, ss one after another the rolls of golden butter came to perfection under the touch of her quiek, skilful Huger«. She was a handsome woman of two-and twenty, with wavy, brown hair, soarlet lips, and a charming face that looked as if made for smiles and dimples. Whon Gil bert Drew married her, three years before, people said he made a sad mistake—that this dainty girl, with her graces and ac complishments, would never be fit for a farmer's wife, and would have no idea of thrift and economy. But thus far in her matrimonial career she had not fulfilled the prophecy of the gossips. Blest with perfect health and an active temperament, she took readily to household duties and, with the help of a stout girl duriug the summer months, managed affairs easily and skillfully at the farm house. The farm itself, Gilbert's wedding gift from Grandfathor Drew, was large, fertile and situated in a pleasant valley, and if well worked and tended would yield any man a comfortable living and something over for a r|iny day. The house was roomy and pleasant, fitted for oomfort as well as convenience. To Gilbert Drew this place seamed the very paradise of homes. He lived his young wife with an absorbing affedtion ; he took pride in his fine, well-stocked farm and comfortable sur roundings, and was perhaps as thoroughly content with his lot iu life as it is possible for any man to be. But of late a feeling of dissatisfaction bad been creeping into the heart of his wife ; and, like many a mistaken mortal, she failed to appreciate tho real and solid comforts that she every day enjoyed, and coveted the fuir forbid den fruit that seemed just beyond her reach. A few months previous to the opening of our story she visited an old scbool-frieud Whose home was in the city. She attended Iseveral parties, visited the opera and other places of amusement, and rode in the putk on sunny afternoons ; and the gayety and glitter of those few weeks so completely turned the head of the coun try-bred woman, that the visit which her husband expected would prove a recrea tion to her, only served to make her rest less aud dissatisfied with her life. Ever since then she had been considering the possibility of inducing Gilbert to give up larming and jemove to the city ; but as yet she had not broached tho subject to him, aud she had felt reluctant to de so, for, knowing how much ho was attached to his present I home, sha was well aware that a knewh-dge of her feelings would shock and pain him. But on this partic ular morning dhe was even more discon tented than usual, and as he cam, whist ling up the path and to tho room where she was working, she made no effort to hide liar tcarsj hut met him with such a gloomy, pouting face that he stopped, sur prised and wondering, ill the doorway. " Why, Alice! what is the matter?" ho asked, quickly. " I am tired of this everlasting house work," she answered gloomily. Gilbert Drew went forward then, and drawing his young wife to hiui said ten derly : " Don't cry, Alice. I did not know that you were workiug so hard ; you should have told me before, have a better girl, or you ean get little Nanuie Briggs up bore to help Susan, if that will suit you." " 1 den t wijut any more help. If we must live iu this out-of-the-way pince, I may as well bo a kitchen maid as anything else. But I don't want to live on a farm, and I wish tliuj you would sell out aud go to the city." " Sell tho farm and go to the city !— Do you mean that, Alice ? " " Vas, I moun it. What is the uso of our slaviug ourselves to death here, wheu we might live so much easier aud happier iu the city ? " " I am not Sure of that. The farm af fords us a comfortable living, und if should sell it and ge away, I am afraid we might see the ijay when we would he glad to come back." " I am sure that I never should. In the city you coyld get in some business that would occupy only a part of your time, and when you are at liberty we could go out and enjoy ourselves and see something of tie world, instead of being cooped up in tqis lonesome place." " Ob, Alice, I am so sorry to hear you talk in this way. I thought you were contented and flippy here." He was sur prised and deeply grieved, and Alice knew it ; but she had pondered this matter too long to givo it I up easily now, and she brought forward every argument that she could devise to coovinoe him that she was right, and Gilbert Drew went back to the field that morning with a sadder heart than he had caitried for many a day. After that Alice gave him no peace.— She had set her heart on leaving the farm, and she was constantly picturing to him tho easy care-free life she imagined they might live in the city. Gilbert was fur from sharing her views on tho subject ; but bo loved heir too well to be unmindful of her pleasure, and finding that aho would be satisfied with nothing less, he finally yielded 4o her wishes. Having an opportunity to dispose of his farm and stock for a good price, he did so, and an other spring time found our country friends safely spttled in city quarters.— They purchased a handsome house in a fashionable locality, and Gilbert obtained the position of çlerk in a dry good« estab lishment. Through friendly influences they gained admittance to an aristocratic oirole. composed mostly of people with wealth and leisure at their disposal.— Alios, with her lovely face and easy grace ful manners, became quite a belle, and her time was completely occupied in sbop ping, returning the calls of her fashiona Wc will we in of ly by iu in a bla friands and visiting plaees af amuse ment. Gilbert grew used to finding the house closed aud still, and hearing the servant girl say that her mistress had goBe out. He was naturally social, and was always glad to bave a few friends in of an evening and a cosy little supper ; but he took no interest iu the gay aociety iu which Alice delighted, and large parties midnight revelries were utterly distaste ful to him. Ho was occupied at the stors only during the day, aDd evening after evening he sat alone, while his wife and passed away the hours at some brilliant gathering, listening to words of flattery, and forgetting her womanhood and her truth, inasmuch as she forgot to care for the interests of her home aDd the happi uess of tbe man she had promised to love and honor. She had a natural fondness for dress ; but in her oountry home, asso ciating with people whoso means were sim ilar to her own, she had never indulged in any unwarranted extravagance, and had oousidered herself well dressed in an al paca or a frash muslin. But now sho had everything about her to stimulate and arouse tbe desire for finery, and as tho ladies with whom she associated wore jew els and fine laoes, sho naturally coveted the same, and was fretful and unhappy if denied them. Gilbert indulged her in everything that he could possibly afford ; but his salary was not large, aod sadly he realized that instead of gaining in proper ty, as he had hoped to do, he was falling behind at a fearful rate. He grew morbid aud unhappy, and the home that had blossomed with the flowers of lovo and peace lost its charm for both of them. Coming home one night about a year after their removal to the city, Gilbert weut up to his wife's room and found her before the mirror, giving the finishing touches to an elegant toilet. She looked very lovely stauding there in her robe of azure silk, with its overdress ef misty lace caught up here and there with silver grasses. But the sight of her beauty ex cited no pride in her husband's heart, aud with a keen pang he thought how ouce the souod of his footstep lmd brought her to meet bim with welcoming kisses and fond words. "Are you going out again ta-night, Alice?" he asked, sadly. "Yes; this is the evening of Mrs. Hil dreth's reception, and I eould not think of staying away. "See, isn't my new dress becoming ?" she asked, turning to him with an animated face. "Yes, Alice, you look very lovely, but you used to look better to mu in a shilling ealico than you do to-night iu all your finery. Oh, how happy we were in our old home. It seems to me that if we were back there now, just as we used to be, I should be the happiest man alive!" "How can you be so absurd?" said Alice, almost in anger. I thought you were getting over those foolish notions.— You have bceu out lately more than usual uud I did hope you had given up moping aud would try aud enjoy yourself." " I have not been out expecting to find enjoyment. I ouly go out because it is so silent aud lonesome hero. I wish you would stay at homo sometimes, Alice," he went on, pleadingly; "I want your coinpauy so much." a not going to be forever tied up at home, for auybody," she retorted, "and if you are lonesome there is nothing to hin der you from going out aud enjoyiug your self, if you ouly wuuld. Good night; Mrs. Clinton's carriage is waiting for me at the door ;" and gathering up her silkeu skirts she ran lightly down the stairs, leaving her husband to p alone, or follow her advice and seek amusement abroad. " I his evening • Never had Alice looked more radiantly beautiful than sho did that night, and nev er had she received more attention. It may be that her conscience troubled her, und she was trying to drown its voice ; at least she was gayer than usual, and her vivacity and sparkling wit kept her con stantly surrounded by an admiring circle. Late iu tbe evening as she was sitting in a crimson-backed easy chair, languidly listening to the insipid talk of Mr. St. Ce cil, oue of her newest admirers, the host ess came to her, saying that there was a boy below asking for Mrs. Drew. Won deriug what it could mean, Alice excused hersolf, and following Mrs. Hildreth,found a little colored boy who went on errands for them sometimes. " What is the matter, Theodore?" she asked in alarm. " Bridget 6ent me to 'form you dat mas sa Drew is sick, and sho wished you'd come homo 'mediate," said the boy with alacrity. The hostess erdered a servant to bring out the carriage ; and Alice, without wait iug to bid her friends adieu, hurried on her outer wrappings, and was soon whirl ing swiftly away from th« seen« of gayety. Gilbert ill, perhaps dying. The thought struck terror to her heart, and in an ag ony of self-reproach she remembered the unkind words she had spoken to him at partiug With whitening lips she sent up to Heaven a silent prayer that he would live that she might havo space to aik his forgiveness and atone for her heart less conduot. When she reached home the door was opened for her by the servant girl, who said, in answer to her anxious inquiries, that her master was better aud was sleeping then. He went out, ah« said, immediately after her mistress, and earn« home about an hour before, looking very strange, and D«t appearing in the least like himself. Two men camo with him, but when she asked them go for the doctor they said " it was nothing—he would be all right in tho morning." But •he was frightened, and so sent for her mistress. Aliee went to tho room where her hus band was, and found him lying on the sofa, apparently bim she laid her hand upon his face and tried to rouse him. He looked up at her with a stupid stare, and, for the first time in his life, answered her harshly and un kindly. She had not the least suspicion of the truth, and thinking that his mind andering talked ly and soothingly, but he answered only with bitter, taunting words, and by-and by bis breath came to her, taintod with the fumes of strong driuk. Then, sud denly, the truth flashed to her mind. Her husband was druuk 1 Drunk 1 he whose life bad always boon a model of upright ness, and upon whose purity she would have staked her soul! What an ending for her night of pleasure 1 She was not a heartless woman, and in spite of all her waywardness she truly loved her husband. For months she bad been beside herself with vanity and excitement, and the de sire for admiration and homage had over come every other consideration. But that night, as she saw her husband lying there iu bis degradation, and realised that this was the harvest of her own sowing, her eyes opened and she saw the folly of her course in its true light. She never once thought of blamiug her husband. Free from the evil influences that had held her in thrall, she was generous and ready to sec and own her faults, and shuddoringly she admitted to herself that her own dis content and wrong-doing, and that alone, had been tho cause of her husband's down Back and forth across her chamber she paced, sick at heart with the destiny she had brought upon herself. From that night Gilbert Drew's course was downward. There was a set of dis sipated fellows who had beeD trying to in duce him to join their number, and, hav ing once got him under thoir influence, they did not give him up Whenever ho appeared in the street they were constant ly meeting him and inviting him into drinking saloons and holding the tempt ing cup to his lips. And he heeded them and in a few short months fell from his high position down, down to tho lovol of a common drunkard. It was Alice's turn to watch and wait now, and what long, lonely vigils she kept. She went no more into society, aud the calls of her fashiona ble friends wero unreturned and tho invi tations thay sent hsr declined, till in a short time they loft her to herself. Sho grew wan aud hollow-eyed, and nano ean know how much of agony and remorse she suffered. Still she never complained, but, feeling that her sufferings were meritsd, she grew patient iu her grief and loneli ness. in ed ha asleep. Going up to must be w to him tender fall. Finally, for two whole days Gilbert was absent from home ; then there camo to Alice a letter directed in his hand-writing With treuibliug bauds she broke the seul and read : I lmvo left the city, er see me again. W aud the house in which wc have id "Ai.ir ill beggars, probably il bo sold in a week. c had quite years ago nice little fortune of it—you by your extravagance, and I by dissipa tion. Had you been contented away from this e might he happy now. But I will not lay all the blame on you. Wo have both done wrong. It was the mistake of our ? ever left the old farm. As it is, I am a drunken bloat, and you will bo better otf without me. Good-bye, Alice. God knows 1 loved you The worst hud come, at last, and with a face white and rigid as a corpse, Aliee staggered baek to the sofa, and lay there for a long time in a state of unconscious ness. But tho future must be met, and after the first shock was over, she roused herself uud tried to answer the question, " how f " It was necessary that she should find something to do without de lay, or sho would bo homeless aud starv ing aud alter several ineffectual attempts at something better, she was obliged to accept the only work that offered itself, and that was plain sowing that paid her but small returns. She hired a little room in a tenement house, and tho struggle for daily bread began. It was a sad aud des olate life sho led then. Sho never went out except to tho store for work, and she seldom spoke to any one but her employ er, unless it was now aud then a kind word to a bcggar-ekild. In her room, at its one window that looked out on bnre, bleak walls, she sat and stitched day after day, while her form grow thinuer, her faco paler, and hope died out of her heart. In this way tho timo passed on, and weeks lengthened into months and months into years; still uo tidings came of hor absent husband. The third winter that came to Alice in her humbled home seemed to her colder and drearier than any that had passed be fore. Th« long confinement began to tell upon her health, and at last she was real ly ill. She had never been able to earn anything more than was necessary for her daily expenses; aud now, with tho pros pect of aickoess staring her in the faco, she often shuddered as she thought what the future might have in store for her. One morning, not beiDg able to work, she was sitting by her scauty fire thiuking of these things. The memory that had haunted her all these years came to her then—tho memory of the first throe years of her married life, that had been so bright and happy. She thought of the pleasant home sne had thon enjoyed, with its cozy rooms, well-laden tables and generous fires, but more than all else she thought of the rich love that had crowned her.— "If I had back my home and my husband I should kuow how to prize thorn now," she murmured ; "but I am so lonely aud miBerablo hero." ,but we have •liste lives tin GlI.nF.KT.' A tempest of tears and sobs shook her slight form, and slipping from her ohair down upon her knoes, she prayed to her Heavenly Father fop patience and submis sion, just as she bad doué so many times in these later years. While she knelt there the door opened, but she was not eonssious of aDy presence save her awn in the room, till some one knelt bÿ ber sida, and a voice her name. and met the face of her husband—not as she remembered having last seen it, bloat ed and red with the effects of strong drink, but tender, refined and loving as it had been five years before. ''Thank God!—Thank God!" only those words and she was folded to her husband's heart, and her tired soul, for getting its desolation, drifted baek to the haven of rest once more. Later, when they wars calm, he told how he had fought with the tempter in the years sinoe they had parted, and how ha had come back then, master of him self, to ask her to begin life anew with him. leigh if bis is he the and into ed ing, not any It viug as Why taut, had U heat mes, , to ed were e . after U*. tt He who an who not it. can I and can and no. to you Try bad an for "The feline rule always is to appear unevnoctedlv "Ilow .ianv traeie sight, have been witnessed bv lhe sta ues .f tho metro w nessedby tho metro P " At Antonerolv's foot.tens the cats fled Hll,,V u" s ,fter mews wi h the tor, unear erTes %ud neighborhoods, back streets, our These words sum un the whole of tho ef Feline War at the one ! did quivering with emotion ep She looked up quickly th oke on, " Let us go back," said Alios, "to our old home. We shall be happier there." So they went hack as she wished, and rented the farm they had once owned, and began at the foot of the ladder. But they had contentment in their hearts, and with that even poverty is sweet. Many years have passed since then, aod Gilbert is a fine, hale old gentleman, and Alice a happy rnatroD, tho mother of no ble sons and bloomiDg daughters. Years of labor have brought them prosperity, and the home of their ancestors is theirs onco more ; and there they will pass the remainder of their days, both of them per fectly satisfied with their oue experiment at " Leaving the Farm." Fictor Nogo. London Punch is publishing a burlesque on Victor Hugo's last story „ in which the following amusing imitation of his epigram matic style is given. The hero is suppos ed to le iu the streets of London at night: "Autoneroly muttered to himself 'Ileihol'and passed along the deserted streets. "He seemed to be treading on the silent tombs of the nameless and the forgotten. "lie heard tho march of cats through tho darkucss. "They rushed to an attack with loud cries, springing up suddenly from every quarter—areas, roofs, balconies, lamp posta, gutters, lanes, passages, courts, alleys aud thoroughfares. "They flew up the trees in th« squares, and scurried madly round the cresoents. "All their habits were nocturnal. "They live in purr-lieus. "It is a quarrel of localities ; of family agniiitjt family ; tabby against tortoise shell, pussy-cat against pussy-cat. "All our attempts, our movements in legislation and in education, our encyclo pedias, our philosophers, our geuiua, our glories, all fail before the Cats. "Could its youth be trained? '•The Cat's cradle has ever beou a puz zle. "They love blind-alloys. Strange blind - noss ! "A colossal scuffle, a jangling of Tit urns, an immeasurable rebellion, without strategy, without plan, chivalric and sav age,appearing like fantastic black shadows, tails of the past, devastation of glass, the destruction of flower-pots in back yards, the ruin of squares, the terror of invalids try " —such is the sleeploss warfare, the un reasoning effort of the Puss-cat. "Antonoroly passed on among the vanishing shadows." To Girls. —My pretty little dears, you are no more fit for matrimony than a pul let is to look after a family of fourteen children. The truth is, my dears, general ly speaking you need more liberty and less fashionable restraint; more kitchen and less parlor; more exercise and less sofa ; more making puddings and lei6 piano ; more frank nous and less mock modesty. I like a buxom, bright eyed, rosy cheeked, bouncing lass—one who can darn stockings, make her own frocks, mend trousers, command a regiment of pots, and shoot a wild duck as well as the Duchess of Marlboro' or tho Queen of Spain—and be a lady withal in the draw ing room. But as for your pining, mop ing, screwed-up, wasp-waisted, putty faced, music-murdering, novol-devouring daughters of fashion and idleness, with your consumption-soled shoes and silk stockings, you won't do for wives «nd mothers.— Mrs. Ellis' Lecture. he he is When the boote are taken »ff, fill them full with dry oate. Thie grain hns a great fondness for damp, aud will rapidly absorb every vestige of it from the wet leather. As it takes up the moisture it swells and fills tho boot with > tightly-filled last.keep ing its form good, and drying the leather without hardening it. Id the morning, shake out the oats and hang them in a bag near the fire to dry, ready for the next wet night, draw on the boots and go happi ly about ths day's work.-.lmcn'con Ayri culturiit. Buying a Practice. " He is but a landscape paintor," as Tennyson sings in " The Lord of Bur leigh " ; but onoe he was a physician, and, if his knowledge ef medicine was equal to bis knowledge of art, he was a very good physician. He wus younger then than he is now, and he is not old, and he was greener—greener then any spring foliage he ever painted, and spring foliage, by the way, is a specialty of hie. City born and bred, he made a short summer visit into the oountry, and, while there, beard incidentally of a country doctor who wish ed to sell his practice. He was hesitat ing, was our young friend, about his final choice of a profession, having failed to procure any but poor patients, who could not pay, aDd having also failed to paiDt any but poor pictures, which would not sell. It was an even thing with him whether he became a starving artist or remained . star- .. viug physician. He was earning no money >>le as either, nor w.s he likely to, in the city y Why net try the countrj ? It. iahabi taut, were honest, and simple-minded, he '' had somewhere read, and what, with the U . , lL j heat of the sun, aud other novel peculiar u _£1 »• » I mes, they wero, be thought, more liable , • » J .. .» j • ° c * to sickness than the denizens of a crowd- . ed city. Certainly the children were, for tb were the, not perpetually eating green ,ed fruit? Yes, lie would try the country, if, e . » » • • , J J ' after looking luto tho practice that was to F U*. » r I U r • • * 4 disposed of, he eould see a living in it " tt n i .» ]. He called upon the disposing practitioner, who was but a little older than himself an affable, good-natured young fellow, though rathe? verdaut, he thought. The verdaut one was willing to » vamoose the ranch.," as ho remarked, "for, between ourselves, there is a lady iu California '? who i. attached to me, though you would 8 not thiuk it, perhaps." "But about your practice ?" " I won't my anything about 4 it. But to-morrow, if you like, ?ay to morrow forenoon, I'll harness up, and you ou can see for yourself. It is not sickly now, r B I must tell yon. but it's going to be soon, especially among children and old folks. " Men like you and I might live forever here of only they have no such men. Pleut, of money though. M, horse remember, the house of every patient in the neighborhood, ^ and stops of himself at their doors. You can jot down the number as we jog along, U and decide whether you'll buy i. out or 1Q a i J . .. no. Aud now supposse we adjourn to the L, tavern (are you stopping there ?) and have something cool. I'm thirsty, ' and want " to smoke Mustn't smoke in my office, a you know. Ilere's.a cigar,you can smoke, Try it." They adjourned to the tavern, ^ bad something cool, smoked, and came to ln an agreement regarding the sum te be paid for the practice, past, present, aud future ,n„ ,i.„ n«t tho nair drove 1 ue uext torenoon tho pair drove through the town, or rather the country doctor did, and wa, a considerable time about ., M oft6n dM tho noble nninla l *h»t drew the buggy stop. " Why, Doc- j tor, nearly every person in the town must ! have been under your hands," remarked our delighted cit, keeping a mental tally ef the stoppages. " \ es,— suppose so,— at one time Sr another. "Get up!" It was a constant "get up!" to the horse, who appeared to remember his master's practice belter than his master did. P It was purchased at once for a good round sum in cash, and that very after noon tho retired practitioner proceeded to the station, accompanied by two or three P ueqaaiutanees who were enjoying some- * thing hugely. "Best thing out!" said one "Beats all," replied another; "eh, Doe. ?" " Toi loi," he answered coolly. ' The train stopped, leok him on, and went screaming away with its precious freight —that affable, good-uatured, verdant youDg person, who was going to Califor nia. where he had a tender attachment! Hays passed, and uo patieuts. More days passed, aud still no patients! What did it mean? Mean?—it meant that there was no practice there ! The coun try M. D. had borrowed the horse of the milkman ! That's all ! " Only this, and nothing more."— " Etchings Scribner's fur August. A sheep-stealer who had long escaped conviction, was recoutly caught in the very act, and civilly asked what excuse he had to offer. His answer was ant. He had to admit that lie killed the sheep, but | he added, with some indignation, "And if another attacks me io that way, see if I Uon't kill it too !" " Will you have some strawberries?" asked a lady of her guest. "Yes, madam, yes; I eat strawberries with euthusiasui." "Do tell! Well, wo haveu't anything but cream and sugar for 'em this evening said the matter-of-fact hostess. Meditation is the life of the soul ; action is the soul of meditutiou ; honor is the re ward of action ; so meditate that thou mayest do, so do that thou mayost pur chase honor; for which purchase, give God the glory. The Chiucse havo a saying that an un lucky word dropped from the tongue can not be drawn back by a coach and six horses. Tbe true Christian is like an anagram. Read him up or down, right or left, aDd he always bears the Dame of his Master. It is not until wo have passed through th» furnac» that w» are made to know how much dross was in our composition. Agricultural. ..... , , , , .. K '8 bt ? e&ra . a «°' 1 t ) , uroha . sed of a >>le firm five hundred apple trees, three y e4r8 old ' P laB,e . d tb ? lB *°<* «round. ,ak, "« 1 « re ?,'. P*!" 8 , ,n 86 t,n 8 theu, ' TI ,B '' »oil loam " land and quite stony The foUo "; B « T"?' af,er P lant, " S ' 1 '"™ d over the soil all but one acre, to make the . " T «.t • , 4 . 4 . , experiment. I think the acre not turned ^ . , .. - was equal, if not better, than the reet of . A . tb ? orobard ' \ be fi , rst * e4r 00 tbc . ,n . V#r - ,ed * 8d - 1 P lanted P° t4toe8 WI . tb cl#4B CBltur8 ' *° maDU 1 re ' 1 . r . b ,° 8c80Dd y ear 1 planted corn, with a licht coat of manure, F 4 . ! . b , , s*y ten loads to tho acre, fresh manure " y , f A ' . spread on the furrows. At the saute time F . . , » - tb ° acre ten load, of manure ns a,uleh around the trees, also leaving the dec4y °" tbe 6 r , uuud \ BOt * uow '"8 . Tblrd J e4r ' P»««*» P otato „ c8 , on ,b * eultlv4t8d part; tourtb, corn; fifth pota '? r8 \ 8lx,b ' cor " ! 8e . veBlb - P 0tat0e8 » 8 'g btb ' oat c a ' , wltb a t0 c ' BT8r 0U tba aara . of " od S r0UBd ' . 1 S a . Te ,be tree8 4 , lBulob \' , f ever J ke P l tho8e . P ruBed al,ke ™ bll:b f erü ot tbe , 8a, . u ® var.et.ea as ou c , uUl "' Cd T* , 0, 1 '"w- tZ r B e8ul18 ' ° Q tbo8 f e 1 bad c , u ' tlTa , ted ^ 1 bad B P eolmeB, ." f a PP le8 . ,be tb,rd y ear " tor •"*«*• "', th 4 bue v, f" r °" 8 * r f ow « h of " ood - ° D ' be acr,J Bot t ' lled ' n ,° fru1 '' aad " ot . u,ucb g^wth. Seventh year P lant ' n B on P or " UD of ' ot ' ^ bad 4 bu . e cr0 P 0 a PP es - etery reo a,akin 8 4 T, «° 80 "" 8 rowtb of " uud ,' ,nd U lsnuw oue °' tbc b"**' J 0 ""« arcbard8 1Q i5arat0 «'' 1 couu 'y- lbo , lru " un tbu acre not cultivated are only about one L, . , , , , tuu ! th 48 lar 8" 48 tbe oll T' louk ,cruhb J'' " ,tb ^ 1,t,le ,r , u " " Q a ' tcr 8eUlD «' r 4 ? d , wbat °V P them were inferior to the others. During ^ bo ^ y™« I ( suffered no slock to run ln ' b8 lot, neither did I mow the gra.s tbe ^ but let 11 fal1 4nd ^ ou S round 0,ur * J e , ar , Perb . 4 P 8 80m " will say those trees where I cultivated will overbear themselves aud decay, but I have . r , . . J , , , B0 f o 4 " ° f f th4, ' 48 I have watched the progress of trees treated iu ho same mau »er for over thirty years. Iu my opinion. j ^ B ' 4, ' P Unt,D * out 110 0,cburd sl,ould ! br8t ,4ke lbu greatest pains m pla.mng, and atter that, keep the cleanest culture ^ tor Hie trees, it uo treuteu inistnnn ner, I think those who set an orchard will B0 . t uia bo it " success, tblrt > J 84 ! 8 1 * 4 '«- e . d m pr ° ereS3 °/v P ' P • true f: from ' be " b,ta Mountains of New Hampshire to the western borders of low«, and 1 see so much tardiness ,n tlie eultt v4t,UB tf tbat 1 * 0 , uM *»ko to P r8Bcb 4 aor 1 ,,,ou tu »ovtn-e.ghths of the * ar,nc * r9 as as 110 l . s ' ta,1C0 iav .® mentioned. But perhaps it would avail noth.ug, as many farmersi a.lvacato that ' r8ts '" ust bo . d ' 8,urbud 4, , ,be ™ nt u ''. 8ettlUg üut '- ( - ur - Juurnal °J t lc THE PLOW. God speed the plowshare ! Tell me not Disgrace attends llie toil Of those who plow the dark green sod, Or till the fruitful soil. Why should the honest plowman shrink From mingling in the van Of learning and of wisdom, since 'Tis mind that makes the man? God speed the plowshare, and tho hands That till the fruitful earth, For there is in this world so wide, No gern like honest worth. And though the haiids are dark with toil, And flushed the manly brow, It matters not, for God will bless The labors of the plow. Boot Crops in Apple Orchards. V the last Salt as Maxi: ns —Various experi ments have been made by M. Peligot and others in Europe, to test the value of salt as manure. The following summing up seems to have been arrived at : Salt should never be applied other than in u pulvioua, stato, and never employed on impervious, cold and humid soils. The best manner to use it, is to combine it with other ma nures, a dose of *2U0 weight to the aero being sufficient. When selected to de stroy insects, it should be applied before sunrise. In the case of cereals, salt strengthens the stems aud causes the ears to fill better, and favors the dissolution ..... ... | »•smulation of the phosphates and m1 lcate *' acls vigorously on potatoes and cau be detected in their ashes to the ex tent of one-half of one per cent. Aspara gus is a veritable glutton in the presence of salt. A dose of 300 weight per acre acts without fail on beets, injuring its value for sugar purposes, but euh&uciug it for the feeding of cuttle. Colza has us marked a predilection for salt as asparagus, and in Holland, where the culture of peas is so exteusive, salt is something like a necessity. Mixed with hay in the propor tion of a quarter of a pound to 100 weight, the fodder is rendered more appetizing ; but the best way to feod it to auimuls is t« allow them to enjoy it in tho form of rock salt. It is calculated that a horse appro priates daily one-tenth of an ounce of salt, un ox one-half that quantity, and a sheep and a pig one-half that required by an ox. How' to Trbat Ovkrhïated Ani mals. —The Secretary of the Pennsylva nia Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals recommends the following preparation for animals suffering from be ing overheated. To ono pint of wstnr put an ounce of chloride of ammonia, one ounce of sweet spirits of nitre, on* drachm of tinotnre of aconite ; give a teaspoonful every hour or two.