Newspaper Page Text
Si JSrrklt) amilq Stanal, Stmfob ia fmfom, lmlto, riftrafarr, (gyration, local Satrlligrarr, anb fjyt 3lnns of fyt Datj.
TERMS: OWE DOLL4.B ANB rXPTT CS2CTS ru antcm, im avascb. VOL. 39, NO. 3 7. WARREN, TRUMBULL COUNTY, OHIO, WEDNESDAY MAY 2, 1855. WHOLE NO. 2013- PUBLISHED Br HAP GOOD & ADAMS, curiae a lock. Poetry. From the Louisville Times. RETURN OF SPRING. I knew by the song that the blue-birds sing J I know by the streamlet's roiee. That the rose-wreathed forms of the relret Spring, O'er the aplaods now rejoice ; I know by the scent of the primrose pale By the riolet's azure eye, - Chat the sprite of Spring has been in the rale. That the Winter has said Good-bye." . I know by the hum of the be that lies To he sweet-leafed maple there. That the bads hare opened their dewy eyes At the kiss of the warm south air ; I know by the trout, as he all day plays On the rocks beneath the mill. That the gentle foot of Spring now strays. Warm and soft o'er stream and hill. And I know by the boblink's early song. As it echoes clear and wild ; By the wind as they sport in glee along. That the Queen of Spring has smiled : 1 know by the dogwood's gorgeous bloom ; . By the crabtree's gorgeous dress ; By the hawthorn's delightful rich perfume, That they're felt Spring's caress. I know by the coo of the timid dore. At the morning's sunny glow, That Spring has come with a wreath of love. Where long lay the hidden snow. I know by the breath of a thousand Bowers ; , "By the glad song of the brooks. That Spring ha come with her sun and showers, . - O'er the wild wood's quiet nooks. And I know by the J oung lamb's careless play On the mountain's grassy side. That Spring new has spread her mantle gay O'er the wild wood far and wide. I know the sky as it bends there Its soft ether reil of light. That Spring has spread a bright robe of lova O'er the mountain's far bine height. I know by the song that the field lark sings, - As he mounts up from his nest. And flutters aloft on his airy wings. With dew on hi golden breast. Thai Spring ha come with her thousand dyes, ' On the wild landscape to dwell, . And scatter warm sunbeams down from the skies, Orer field, and wood, and deU. I know by the breeze that comes from the south At hush of the pleasant day ; . I know by the notes that are trembling forth From the pe-wit on the spray, That the Goddess of Spring has come again In her dress of blue and gold ; In Bowers and birds on the meadow and plain Their orgies of thankfulness hold. - FLOWERS. BY MRS. E. OAKES SMITH. Bach leaflet is a tiny scroll Inscribed with holy truth, A lesson that around the heart - Rhniild keen the dew of youth. ; Bright missals from angelic throngs In erery by-way left, ' How were the earth of glory shorn . Were it of flowers bereft! . ' They tremble on the Alpine heights. The fissured rock they press. The desert wild with heat and sand, Shares, too, their blessedness ; And wherese'er the weary heart Turns in its dim despair, . The meek-eyed blossom upward looks, Inriting it to prayer. BY MRS. E. OAKES SMITH. Choice Miscellany. From Wolfert's Roost. THE ORDEAL. BY WASHINGTON IRVING. The world is growing older and wiser. Its institutions vary with its years and mark its growing wisdom ; and none more so than its modes of investigating truth, and ascertaining guilt or inno cence. In its nonage, when man was yet a fallible being and doubted the ac curacy of his own intellect, appeals were made to heaven in dark and doubtful cases of atrocious accusation. The accused was required to plunge his hand in boiling oil, or to walk across red-hot plough-shares, or to maintain his innocence in armed fight and listed field, in person or by champion. If he passed these ordeals unscathed, he stood ac quitted, and the result was regarded as a verdict from on high. It is somewhat remarkable that, in the gallant age of chivalry, the gentler sex should have been most frequently the subjects of these rude trials and per ilous ordeals ; and that, too, when as sailed in their most delicate and vulner able part their hoc or. In the present very old and enlight ened age of the viorld, when the human intellect is perfectly competent to the management of its own concerns, and seeds no special interposition of heaven in its affairs, the trial by jury has su perseded these superhuman ordeals ; and the unanimity of twelve discordant minds is necessary to constitute a verdict. Such a unanimity would, at first sight, appear also to require a miracle from heaven; but it is produced by a simple device of human ingenuity. The twelve jurors are locked up in their box, there to fast uutil abstinence shall have so clarified their intellects that the whole jarring panel can discern the truth, and concur in a unanimous decision. One point is certain, that truth is one, and is immutable until the jurors all agree, they cannot all be right. It is not our intention, however, to discuss this great judicial point, or to question the avowed superiority of the mode of investigating truth, adopted in this antiquated and very sagacious era. It is our object merely to exhibit to the curious reader, one of the most memora ble cases of judicial combat we find in the annals of Spain. It occurred at the bright commencement of the reign. a of so A to a to in go in take and in the youthful, and, as yet, glori- ous days of Roderick the Goth ; who subsequently tarnished his fame at home by his misdeeds, and finally, lost his kingdom and his life on the banks of the Guadalete, in that disastrous battle which gave up Spain a conquest to the Moors The following is the story : There was, once upon a time, a cer tain duke of Lorraine, who was acknow ledged throughout his domains to be one of the wisest princes that ever lived. In fact, there was no one measure adopted by him that did not astonish his privy counselors and gentlemen in attendance; and he said such witty' things, and made such sensible speeches, that the jaws of his high chamberlain were wellnigh dis located from laughing with delight at one, and gaping with wonder at the other. This very witty and exceedingly wise potentate lived for half a century in sin gle blessedness ; at length his courtiers began to think it a great pity so wise and wealthy a prince should not have a child after his own likeness, to inherit his talents and domains ; so they urged him most respectfully to marry, for the good of his estate, and the welfare of his subjects. He turned their advice over in his mind some four or five years, and then sent forth emissaries to summon to his court all the beautiful maidens in the land, who were ambitious of sharing a ducal crown. The court was soon crowd ed with beauties of all styles and com plexions, from among whom he chose one in the earliest budding of her charms, and acknowledged by all the gentlemen to be unparalleled for grace and lovel ness. The courtiers extolled' the duke to tho skies for making such a choice, and considered it another proof of his great wisdom. "The duke, said they, "is .waxing a little too old ; the damsel, on the other hand, is a little too young ; one is lacking in years, the other has a superabundance ; thus a want on one side, is balanced by an excess on the other, and the result is a well-assorted marriage." Th rlnl-o, ng is. -often the case ewith wise men who marry rather late, and take damsels rather youthful to their bosoms, became dotingly fond of his wife, and very properly indulged her in all things. He was, consequently, cried up by his subjects .in general, and by the ladies in particular, as a pattern for hus bands ; and, in the end, from the won derful docility with which he submitted be reined and checked, acquired the amiable and enviable appellation of Duke Philbert the wife-ridden. There was only one thing that disturb the conjugal felicity of this paragon husbands though a considerable time elapsed after his marriage, there was still no prospect of an ht ir. The good duke left no means untried to propitiate Heaven. He made vows and pilgrim ages, he fasted and he prayed, but all to no purpose, ihe courtiers were all as tonished at the circumstance. They could not account for it. While the meanest peasant in the country had sturdy brats by dozens, without putting up a prayer, the duke wore himself to skin and b one with penances and fastings, yet seemed farther off from his object than ever. At length the worthy prince fell dan gerously ill, and felt his end approach ing. He looked sorrowfully and dubi ously upon his young and tender spouse, who hung over him with tears and sob- uings. --.ias j rata ne, tears are 6oon dried from youthful eyes, and sor row lies lightly on a youthful heart. In little while thou wilt forget in the arms another husband him who loved thee tenderly." "Never! never!" cried the duchess. "Never will I cleave to another ! Alas, that my lord should think me capable ol such inconstancy 1" The worthy and wife-ridden duke was soothed by her assurances ; for he could not brook the thought of giving her up, even after he should be dead. Still he wished to have some pi . ige of her endu ring constancy. "Far be it from me, my dearest wife," said he, " to control thee through life. year and a day of strict fidelity will appease my troubled spirit. Promise remain faithful to my memory for a year and a day, and I will die in peace." The duchess made a solemn vow to that effect, but the uxorious feelings of the duke were not yet satisfied. "Safe bind, safe find," thought he ; so he made will, bequeathing to her all his do mains, on condition o( her rcniainingtrue him for a year and a day after his de cease ; but, should it appear that, with that time, she had in anywise lapsed from her fidelity, the inherilance should to his nephew, the lord of a neighbor ing territory. Having made his will, the good duke died and was buried. Scarcely was he his tomb, when his nephew came to possession, thinking, as his uncle as a had died without issue, the domains would be devised to him of course. He was in a furious passion, when the will was pro duced, and the young widow declared inheritor of the dukedom. As he was a violent, high-Landed man, and one of the sturdiest knights in the land, fears were entertained that he might attempt to seize on the territories by force. He had, however, two bachelor uncles for bosom counselors swaggering, rakehelly old cavaliers, who, having led loose and riot ous lives, prided themselves upon know ing the world, and deeply experienced in human nature. "Prithee, man, be of good cheer," said they, " the duchess is a young and buxom widow. She has just buried our brother, who, God rest his soul ! was somewhat too much given to praying and fasting, and kept his pretty wife always tied to his girdle. She is now like a bird from a cage. Think you she will keep her vow? Pooh, pooh impossible ! Take our words for it we know mankind, and above all, womankind. She cannot hold out for that length of time, it is not in woman hood it is not in widowhood we know it, and that's enough. Keep a sharp look-out upon the widow, therefore, and within the twelvemonth you will catch her tripping and then the dukedom is your own." The nephew was pleased with this counsel, and immediately placed spies round the duchess, and bribed several of her servants to keep watch upon her, so that she could not take a single step, even from one apartment of her palace to an other, without being observed. Never was a young and beautiful widow exposed to so terrible an ordeal. The duchess was aware of the watch thus kept upon her. Though confident of her own rectitude, she knew that it is not enough for a woman to be virtuous she must be above the reach of slander. For the whole term of her probation, therefore, she proclaimed a strict non-intercourse wiih the other sex. She had females for cabinet ministers and cham berlains, through whom she transacted all her public and private concerns ; and it is said that never were the affairs of tHe dukedom so adroitly administered. All males were rigorously excluded from the palace ; she never went out of its precincts, and whenever she mqyed about its courts and gardens, she sur rounded herself with a body-guard of young maids of honor, commanded by dames renowned for discretion. She slept in a bed without curtains, placed in the centre of a room, illuminated by in numerable wax tapers. Four ancient spinsters, virtuous as Virginia, perfect dragons of watchfulness, who only slept during the daytime, kept vigils through out the night, seated in the four corners of the room on stools, without backs or arms, and with seats cut in checkers of the hardest wood, to keep them from dozing. Thus wisely and warily did the young duchess conduct herself for twelve long months, and slander almost bit her tongue off in despair, at finding no room even for asuimise. Never was ordeal more bur densome, or more enduringly sustained. The year passed away. The last, odd day arrived, and a long, long day it was. It was the twenty-first of June, the long est day in the year. It seemed as if it would never come to an end. A thou sand times did the duchess and hsr ladies wAtch the san from the windows of the palace, as he slowly climbed the vault of heaven, and seemed still more slowly to roll down. They could not help express ing their wonder, now and then, why the duke should have tagged this super numerary day to the end of the year, as if thiee hundred and sixty-five days were not sufficient to. try and task the fidelity of any woman. It is the last grain that turns the scale the last drop that overflows the goblet and the last moment of delay that exhausts the pa tience. By the time the sun sank below the horizon, the duchess was in a fidget that passed all bounds, and, though sev eral hours were yet to pass before the day regularly expired, she could not have remained those hours in durance to gain a royal crown, much less a ducal coronet. So she gave orders, and her palfrey, magnificently caparisoned, was brought into the court-yard of the castle, with palfreys for all her ladies in attend ance. In this way she sallied forth, just the sun "had gone down. It was a mission of piety a pilgrim cavalcade to convent at the foot of a neighboring mountain to return thanks to the blessed Virgin, for having sustained her through this fearful ordeal. The orisons performed, the duchess and her ladies returned, ambling gently along the border of a forest. It was about that mellow hour of twilight when night and day are mingled, and all ob jects are indistinct. Suddenly, some monstrous animal sprung from out a thiokat, with fearful bowlings. The fe a up a If to for pie and ries sage The to bat, go was male body guard was thrown into confu sion ana nea ainerect ways. It was some time before they recovered from their panic, and gathered once more to gether ; but the duchess was not to be found. The greatest anxiety was felt for her safety. The hazy mist of twilight had prevented their distinguishing per fectly the animal which had affrighted them. Some thought it a wolf, others a bear, others a wild man of the woods. For upwards of an hour did they be leaguer the forest, without daring to ven ture in, and were on the point of giving up the duchess as torn to pieces and de voured, when, to their great joy, they be held her advancing in the gloom, sup ported by a stately cavalier. He was a stranger knight, whom no body knew. It was impossible to dis tinguish his countenance in the dark ; but all the ladies agreed that he was of noble presence and captivating address. He had rescued the duchess from the very fangs of the monster, which, he as sured the ladies, was neither a wolf, nor bear, nor yet a wild man of the woods, but a veritable fiery dragon, a species of monster peculiarly hostile to beautiful females in the days of chivalry, and which all the efforts of the knight-errantry had not been able to extirpate. The ladies crossed themselves when they heard of the danger from which they had escaped, and could not enough admire the gallantry of the cavalier. The duchess would fain have prevailed on her deliverer to accompany her to her courr, but he had no time to spare, being a knight-errant, who had many adventures on hand, and many distressed damsels and afflicted widows to rescue and relieve in various parts of the coun try. Taking a respectful leave, there fore, he pursued his wayfaring, and the duchess and her train returned to the palace. Throughout the whole way, the ladies were unwearied in chanting the praises of the stranger knight ; nay, many of them would willingly have in curred the danger of the dragon to have enjoyed the happy deliveiance of the duchess. As to the latter, she rode pen sively along, but said nothing. No sooner was the adventure of the wood made public, than a whirlwind was raised about the ears of the beauti ful duchess. The blustering nephew of the duke went about, armed to the teeth, with a swaggering uncle at each shoul der, ready to back him, and swore the duchess had forfeited her domain. It was in vain that she called all the saints, and angels, and her ladies in attendance into the bargain, to witness that she had passed a year and a day of immaculate fidelity. One fatal hour remained to be accounted for ; and into the space of one little hour sins enough may be conjured by evil tongues, to blast the fame of whole life of virtue. The two graceless uncles, who had seen the world, were ever ready to bol ster the matter through, and as they were brawny, broad-shouldered warriors and veterans in brawl as well as debauch, they had great sway with the multitude. any one pretended to assert the inno cence of the duchess, they interrupted him with a loud ha ! ha ! of derision. 'A pretty story, truly," would they cry, "about a wolf and a dragon, and young widow rescued in the dark by a sturdy varlet, who dares not show his face in the daylight. You may tell that those who do not know human nature ; our parts, we know the sex, and that's enough." If, however, the other repeated his as sertion, they would suddenly knit their brows, swell, look hist, and put their hands upon their swords. As few peo like to fight in a cause that does not touch their own interests, the nephew the uncles were suffered to have their own way, and dieted. swagger uncontra- The matter was at length referred to tribunal composed of all the dignita of the dukedom, and many and re peated consultations were held. The character of the duchess, throughout the ear was as bright and spotless as the moon in a cloudless night ; one fatal our of darkness alone intervened to eclipse its brightness. Finding human sagacity incapable of dispelling the mys tery, it was determined to leave the ques tion to Heaven ; or, in other words, to decide it by the ordeal of the sword a tribunul in the age of chivalry. nephew and two bully uncles were maintain their accusation in listed com and six months were allowed to the duchess to provide herself with three champions, to meet them in the field. Should she fail in this, or should her champions be vanquished, her honor would be considered as attainted, her fidelity asforfeit, and her dukedom would to the nephew as a matter of right. With this determination the duchess fain to comply. Proclamations were accordingly. made, and heralds sent to various parts ; but day after day, week after week, and month after month, elapsed, without any champion appearing to assert her loyalty throughout that darksome hour. The fair widow was te duced to despair, when tidings reached her of grand tournaments to be held at Toledo, in celebration of the nuptials of Don Roderick, the last of the Gothic kings, with the Morisco princess Exilona. As a last resort, the duchess repaired to the Spanish court, to implore the gal lantry of the assembled chivalry. The ancient city of Toledo was a scene of gorgeous revelry on the event of the royal nuptials. The youthful king, brave, ardent, nnd magnificent, and his lovely bride, beaming with all the radiant beau ty of the east, were hailed with shouts and acclamations wherever Ihey appear ed. Their nobles vied with each other in the luxury of their attire, their pranc ing steeds, and splendid retinues ; and the haughty dames of the court appeared in a blaze of jewels. In the midst of all this pageantry, the beautiful, but afflicted Dutchess of Lor raine made her approach to the throne. She was dressed in black, and closely veiled ; four duennas, of the most staid and severe aspect, and six beautiful demoiselles, formed her1 female attend ants. She was guarded by several very ancient, withered, and gray-headed cav aliers ; and her train was borne by one of the most deformed and diminutive dwarfs in existence. . Advancing to the foot of the throne, she knelt down, and throwing up her veil, revealed a countenance so beautiful that half the courtiers present were ready to renounce wives and mistresses, and devote themselves to her service ; but when she made known that she came in quest of champions to defend her fame, every cavalier pressed forward to offer his arm and sword, without inquiring into the merits of the case ; for it seemed clear that so beauteous a lady could have done nothing but what was right ; and that, at any rate, she ought to be cham pioned in following the bent of her bu rners, whether right or wrong. Encouraged by such gallant zeal, the duchess suffered herself to be raised from the ground, and related the whole story of her distress. When she concluded, the king remained for some time silent, charmed by the music of het voice. Al length : "As I hope for salvation, most beautiful duchess," said he, " were I not a sovereign king, and bound in duty to my kingdom, I myself would put a lance in rest to vindicate your cause ; as it is, I here give full permission to my knights, and promise lists and a fair field, and that the contest shall take place before the walls of Toledo, in presence of my assembled couit." As soon as the pleasure of the king was known, there was a strife among the cavaliers present, for the honor of the contest. It was decided by lot, and the successful candidates were objects of great envy, for every one was ambitious of finding favor in the eyes of the beau tiful widow. Missives were sent, summoning the nephew and his two uncles to Toledo, to maintain their accusation, and a day was appointed for the combat. When the day arrived, all Toledo was in commo tion at an early hour. The lists had been prepared in the usual place, just without the walls, at the foot of the rug ged rocks on which the city is built, and on that beautiful meadow along the Ta-, gus, known by the name of the king's . garden. ' The populace had already as sembled, each one eager to secure a fa vorable place : the balconies were filled with the ladies of the court, clad in their richest attire, and bands of youthful knights, splendidly armed and decorated with their ladies' devices, were managing their superbly caparisoned steeds about the field. The king at length came forth in state, accompanied by the queen Exilona. They took their seats in a raised balcony, under a canopy of rich dama&k ; and at the sight of them, the people rent the air with acclamations. The nephew and his uncles now rode into the field, armed cap-a-pie, and fol lowed by a train of cavaliers of their own roystering cast, great swearers and cn rousers, arrant swashbucklers, wit i clank ing armor and jingling spurs. When the people of Toledo beheld the daunting and disco urtPous appearance of these knights, they were more anxious than ever for the success of the gentle duchess ; but, at the same time, the sturdy and stalwart frames of theso warriors, showed that whoever won the victory from them, must do it at the cost of many a bitter blow. As the nephew and his riotous crew rode in at one side of the field, the fair widow appeared at the other, with ber suite of grave grayheaded couriers, her ancient duennas and dainty demoiselles, ind the little dwarf toiling along under he weight of her train. Every one made way for her as she passed, and blessed her beautiful face, and prayed for success to her cause. She took ber seat in a lower balcony, not far from the sovereigns; and her pale face, set off by her mourning wesds, was as the moon shining forth from among the couds of night. The trumpet sounded for the combat. The warriors were just entering the lists, when a stranger knight, armed in panoply, and followed by two pages and an esquire, came galloping into the field, and, riding up to the loyal balcony, claimed the com bat as a matter of right. "In me," cried he, "behold the cavalier who had the happiness to rescue the beau tiful duchess from the peril of the forest, and the misfortune to bring on her this grievous, calumny. It was bat recently, in the course of my errantry, that tidings of her wrongs have reached my ears, and I have urged hither at all speed, to stand forth in her vindication." No sooner did the duchess hear the ac cents of the knight, than she recognised his voice, and joined her prayers with his that he might enter the lists. The diffi culty was, to determine which of the three champions already appointed should yield his place, each insisting on the honor of the combat. The stranger knight would have settled the point, by taking the whole contest upon himself ; but this the other knights would not permit. It was at length drtermined, as before, by lot, and the cavalier who lost the chance retired murmuring and disconsolate. The trumpets again sounded the lists were opened. The arrogant nephew and his two drawcansir uncles appeared so completely cased in steel, that they and their steeds were like moving masses of iron. When they understood the stranger knight to be the same that had rescued the duchess from her peril, they greeted him with the most boisterous derision --u no: sir nnigni 01 me uragoo, sa id they, "you who pretend to champion fair widows in the dark, come on and vindi cate your deeds of darkness in the open day." The only reply of the cavalier was to put lance in rest, and brace himself for the encounter. Needless is it to relate the particulars of a battle, which was like so many hundred combats that have been said and sung in prose and verse. Who is there but must have foreseen the event of a contest, where Heaven had to decide on the guilt or innocence of the most beautiful and immaculate of widows ? The sagacious reader, deeply read in this kind of judicial combats, can imagine the encounter of the graceless nephew and the stranger knight. He sees their concussion, man to man, and horse to horse, in mad career, and sir Graceless hurled to the ground, and slain. He will not wonder that the assaults of the braw ny uncles were less successful in their rude encounter; but he will picture to himselt the stout stranger spurring to their rescue, in the very critical moment ; he will see him transfixing one with his lance, and cleaving the other to the chin with a back stroke of his sword, thus leaving the trio of accusers dead upo.i the field, and establishing the immaculate fidelity of the duchess, and her title to the dukedom, beyond the shadow of a doubt. The air rang with acclamations; no thing was heard but praises of the beauty and virtue of the duchess, and of the prow. ess of the stranger knight ; but the public loy was still more increased when the champion raised his visor, and revealed the countenance of one of the bravest cavaliers of Spain, renowned for his gal. lanlry in the service of her sex, and who had been round the world in quest of sim ilar adventures. That worthy knight, however, was se verely wounded, and remained for a long time ill of his wounds. The lovely duch ess. grateful for having twice owed her protection to his arm, attended him daily during his illness ; and finally rewarded his gallantry with her hand. The king would fain have had the knight establish his title to such high advance ment by farther deeds of arms ; but his courtiers declared that he already merited the lady, by thus vindicating ber fame and fortune in a deadly combat to outrance; and the lady herself hinted that she was perfectly satisfied of his prowess in arms, from the proofs she had received in his Achievement in the forest. Their nuptials were celebrated with great magnificence. The present hus band of the duchess did not pray and fast like his predecessor, Puilibert, the wife ridden ; yet he found greater favor in the eyes of Heaven, for their union was bles sed with a numerous progeny the daugh ters chaste and beauteous as I heir mother; the sons stout and valiant as their sire, and renowned like him, for relieving dis consolate damsels and desolate widows. It has been humanely given to Mem bers of Congress to admiie their own speeches, or else they never could speech- fy so much as they do ! THE DIGNITY OF MECHANICS. In one of his letters, the Rev. Dr. Ad dams said "SL Paul was a mechanic a maker of tenta from goat's hair; and in the lecturer's opinion he was a model mechanic. He was.not only a thorough workman at his trade, bat was a scholar a perfect master, not only of his native Hebrew, but of three foreign tongues, a knowledge of which he obtained by a close application to study La his leisure hours while serving his apprenticeship. It was the custom, not confined to the poor classes, but was also practiced by the wealthy; and it was a comman prov erb among them, that if a father did not teach his son a mechanical occupation, he taught him to steal. This custom was a wise one ; and if the fathers of the present day would imitate the example, their wrinkled cheeks would not so often blush for the helplessness, and not un frequently criminal conduct of their off spring. Even if a father intended his son for one of the professions it would be an incalculable benefit to that son to in struct him in some branch of mechanic ism. His education would not only be more complete and healthy,, but he might at some future time, in case of failure in his profession, find his trade very convenient as a means of earning his bread ; and he must necessarily be the more competent in mechanical skill from a professional education. An ed ucated mechanic waa a model mechanic, while an uneducated mechanic waa mere ly a mechanic working under another's brain. Let the rich and the proud ho longer look upon mechanicism as degra ding to him who adopts a branch of it as his calling. It is a noble calling as noble as the indolence and inactivity of wealth is ignoble." NOVEL Rsa80B TOR DxCUXtSO A Challenge. The New York Times states that on Tuesday a flare-up oc curred in Brooklyn, which resulted in Col. Jack, a lawyer, challenging a pro fessional brother, named Schoonmaker. and that the latter declined accepting the invitation, "unless the Colonel would fatten himself up sufficiently to be a mark to shoot at." Col. J. has not yet indicated his intention to accede to the request A Goner. The Van Buren, ( Arkan sas,) Intelligencer of the 30th nit., says : It has been mathematically proven and practically demonstrated, that the Arkansas river will no more be fit for : navigation. The banks have fallen in to such an extent as to widen the head of the river immeasurably, requiring a larger volume of water than usually comes down on ordinary rises, to furnish its thirsty bars and fill up the bed. The only dependence now is the railroad. RrinnNG to RrBBOi. The New-York Lift Illustrated says : The latest folly enjoined by the goddess of fashion upon her abject devotees, the ladies of this enlightened metropolis, is the wearing of bonnet-ribboru four feet long. The bon- nets, meanwhile, continue to recede from public observation. They have long been invisible to the naked eye of the wearer ; and they now threaten to run entirely to ribbon. Bra law recently passed in Michigan, married woman may receive, bay. sell, devise, mortgage, fec, her real and personal property, without the consent of her husband, and also sue and be sued, without joining her husband in the suit in either case. So, the identity of the woman, as an individual, is begin ing to be fairly recognised. To seize opportunity by the forelock is a familiar piece of advice : We lately saw in an old book of wisdom, the fact upon which it is founded, vis : that "Op portunity has long hair in front and short behind." Too many, then, fancy that he wears a cue, but find out their mistake when they try to catch it. Ose pound of gold may be drawn in to a wire that would extend round the globe. So one good deed may be felt through all time and even extend its con- sequences into eternity. Though done in the first flush of youth, it may gild the last hours of a long life, and form the only bright spot in it. 'Nature is ever busy, by the silent operation of her own forces, endeavoring to cure disease. Her medicines are, air. warmth, food, water, exercise, and sleep. Their use is directed by instinct, and (hat man is most worthy the name of a physician, who most reveres its unerring law." Love, the toothache, smoke, a cough. and a tight boot, are things which can not possibly be kept secret very long. The Cleveland Leader says there is not less than 1,500.000 barrels of surplus flour, now in the West. Hope there U no mistake about it. THE DIGNITY OF MECHANICS. For the Farmer. STARCH AND SUGAR. The two great articles of nourishment in food, are starch and sugar. - In the selection of seed, then, get the varieties that possess moat of these substances. Ia selecting com to drill in for fodder, the sweet corn is the best, as it contains far more saccharine matter.. Cattle like k far better, and it affords more nourishment. A larger crop may be raised by dri fog in the large Southern corn, or gourd seed, but it. will not supply an equal amount of saccharine, or nourishing matter, ; . Different fields may be sowed at differ ent periods, from the middle of May to the first of June ; and thus, if a drouth, or other cause, injures one field, or piece of land, there is a chance for the ethers. An experienced gambler never would risk all on one throw of the dice. Let us leant wisdom even from him, and not risk all on a single crop, or on the time of plant ing or sowing the same crop. Some sea sons, early sowed . wheat, early planted potatoes, and early planted corn do the bestin other seasons, the later planted and sowed plants do the best. It is wis dom to provide for these uncertainties, by owing and planting at intervals, so as to meet every , variety of season. Ohio Farmer. : . . PLANT EARLY. If the spring is cold, and backward, we often hear the farmers say, "corn is bette out of the ground, than in iu" ' , Well, now, friends, you were never more mistaken in your li'es. If the frost is out of the ground, and the weather warm enough to sprout it, corn bad better be in the ground. It may be kept back, likaa talentrl step-son, but its energise are accumulating, and as soon as a favor able opportunity offers, its' latent powers will show themselves , i; While the top is kept down by the chill air, its roots, protected by the earth, are spreading, and striking deep, which wil enable it to stand the heat and drought of mid-summer. ; I Corn tope will not grow much while the thermometer is below seventy degrees, but' the root will, so that they become disproportioned to the top. . Corn planted later, will often overtake it in growth, bat the early planted will ripen at least two weeks earlier than the late planted, and having so much root, ia not so much in jured by the drought. For a good, full crop, corn should be planted so as to glaze before the middle of September. You may as well under take to ripen water-melons by moonshine, as corn by the bleak winds of October. Ohio' Former. 1 u ' STARVATION PRICES. It is scarcely to be expected that ano ther year can witness such abundant crops in Great Britain, as the past; and when we consider the vast number of men taken from the ranks of the producers in Eu rope to those of consumers merely, as well as the vast fields from which England formerly exported so much of her bread. stuffs, and to which the war now gives her no access, it is evident that present high prices must continue. Indeed, un less the state of things is much changed in our own land, they are but the precur sors of still higher prices, if sot of aa absolute famine. And unless we raise far more than- we did last year, we shall not be able to live ourselves on the pro ducts of our own wide lands ; aside from the fact that there must be an immense drain upon us for the foreign market. Our present reserves of breadstuffs are very light indeed, it would seem scarce ly large enough to carry us through till next harvest. This matter is worthy the attention of agriculturists. '.. No man need fear to grow juet at muck at &e possibly can. Every acre ahould be employed, and in the best way. You cannot fill your granaries too full ; you cannot reduce prices, with all you can put into the market next year, mcch, if at all, below what they are at present ; it will indeed require every grain you can produce to prevent their raising to a de gree that will be equivalent to famine. Country Gentleman. " Whatever a man sows that shall he also reap," is no less true in a moral than in an agricultural sense. The things that are grown spring from a germ. The char, acter of the germ determines the charac ter of the product to be reapt from its sowing. - To Clean Paut. Smear a piece of flannel in common whiting, mixed to the consistency of common paste, in warm water. Rub the surface to be cleaned quite briskly, and wash off with pure cold water. Grease spots will in this wsy ke almost instantly removed, as well as other filth, and the paint will retaia its brilliaa ey and beauty unimpaired.