Newspaper Page Text
What though before me Jt Is dark,
Too dark for me to sec f I ask but light for one step more; 'Tis quite enough for mc. Each little humble stop I take, The gloom c'ovrs from lhe next; So, though 'tis very dark beyond, I never am perplexed. And If some times the mist hangs close, So close I fear to stray Patient I wait a little while, And soon it clears away. I would not see my future path, For mercy veils it so; My present steps might harder bo Did I the fu i ure know. It may be that my path is rough, Thorney, and hard, and steep; And, knowing this, my strength might fail Through fear and terror deep. It may be that it winds along A smooth and flowery way; Hut seeing this, I might dispiso The journey of to-day. I'erh ps my path is very short. My Journey nearly done ( And I might tremble nt the thought Of ending It too soon. Or, If I saw a wenry length Of toad that 1 must wend, Fnliitin-:, I'd think, "My feeble powers Will tail me ere the end.'' And so I do not wish fo see My journey or its length ; Assured that, through my father's love. Each step will bring Its strength. Thus step by step I onward go, Not looking far before; Trusting that I shall always have Light for Just "one step more." — Rl itish Messenger. A low, narrow room, the single win dow curtain with coarse white muslin, tlie floor covered by a scanty carpet— somehow, the broad March sunshine brought out every clement of poverty in the abode of the poor widow and her daughter. "Put on a little more coal, Amy," said Mrs. Ardenhaiu shudderingiy, drawing her shawl closer around her frail figure, as she dropped her needle work; "it is bitter cold this morning." Amy obeyed silently, yet she could not help noticing bow nearly the li'tle stockoffucl was exhausted; and remem bering how inadequate their thin purse was to the replenishment thereof, her heart, sank a little. Only a little though, . for Amy was not one of these despond ing kind. No; she wasasunshiny little creature, full of bright, infectious hope fullness—and somehow, in that squalid room she seemed like a fresh rjse blos soming in a sandy desert? She was very pretty, with brown tender eyes, just tlie shade of the heavy braid other hair above —a small, coral, mouth, antl cheek delicately shaded, and as she took up the newspaper you couldn't help noticing what a showy tapered little hand she had, with pink-tipped lingers, and dimples at every joint. "Mamma," she said suddenly, "here's an advertisement tor a governes." "Well, what of it?"asked her mother. "Why, mamma,''hesitated Amy. "yotr know we are very poor, and 1 "should like very much to earn a liltle money." Mrs. Ardonhiim had bowed her face upon her hands, and in an instant Amy was kneeling beside her. "Mamma, darling, don't cry !" she said. "I did not mean to be so foolish, lovo; but it all came back to me at that mo ment—tl c wealth and station we have lost —the poverty to which we are re duced. Oh, Amy, it is too hard 1" "But Lliink, nianuiia!" said Amy, cheerfully, "how delightful it will ob lor me to make all my school accom plishment's help us along in the world. May I try for this situation ? I should like it so much.'' "It you think it best, my child," ac quiesced Mrs. Ardcnham, resignedly. "Then 1 must lose no time," said A- ' my, as she began to arrange her hair and adjust the details of her simple toi let. "How do I look mamma?" She laughed, when at length she was ready to depart. And Mrs. Ardenham's ad miring, affectionate glance brought the roses to her cheeks as she tripped away. For she did look exquisitely pret- I ty; the coarse shawl graceful curves a bout her slender nirm, and the cheap straw hat with its plain black ribbons might have been the most fashionable . of oonncts wit tout a white more be coming. "Darling Amy !" pondered the moth er, as her light footstep died away on i the stairs: "she is a perfect little sun beam in the darkness of ri'y daily exist ence. Her heart lias never ached with the bitter pangs of life's hardest trials!" But Mrs. Andorham was mistaken; Amy had tasted the bitter cup—imy, she had drunk it to the very d:cgs 1 There was a vain of poetic apprecia tion somewhere ill the jumble of fun aud sentiment,good humor and sarcasm that constituted Frank Ashley, as he lay lazily on the sofa playing with two or ' three golden haired children who were. toddling about the room. "I'll tell you what Lizzie" said lie to his sister, who sal embroidering, "you spoil those young imps about as completely as any mamma of my acquaintance." 1 "As if you old n't spoil them ten times worse '." retorted Mrs. Jay, laughing. "IVlien I succeed in obtaining a gover ness, perhaps !h<;y will be put under I some sort of a discipline. But really, Frank, I have always wondered that you have never matried." "Indeed—why." "You would make such a nice, do mestic sort of a husband, you are so fond of home. I know that by that inantcv ring. Miss Koland laid a desperate siege to the rocky citadel of your heart, but I thought you dislike her." 3 "You arc very right," he replied; "sue was Indescribably repellent to me." "Then why——" "Why did I never marry any body else? Well listen, Lizzie, and I'll tell you. 1 was once iv love with one of ' the sweetest girls, 1 believe, that ever walked this earth. It was when I was staying al. Brighton; she, too,was sp.-nd * Ing the winter there. At first! thought t sic- encouraged my suit, but all at once she grew cold ami distant, i determin ed at all hazards to ki.ow my fate, for I felt how wrethed life would be without her. But the very evening that I bad » resolved to submit my suit to her—we were both invited te • party at Miss , Roland's—l learned that she had left the ■ town. Miss Roland told me, not in di rect words, of course, but a.-delicately ] as possible, that it was to avoid my continuous attention*." "And did youcredil this?" asked Mrs. Jay. ■'•Of course," he replied; Miss Roland was one of most her intimate friends. I left Brighton the next day, and iben and tlieie ended all of love that it will ever be my fate to know." As he ceased speuking a servant came in. "If yo.i please ma'am, a lady is be low who says slut has come to apply for tbe situation of gc verncss. Shall I show her up?" Mrs. .lay assented, and the next mo ment Amy Ardciihani entered the room. "You seem very young," was one of the first remarks Mrs. Jay made. "I am eighteen ma'am" said Amy quietly. Frank Ashley, who had been reading the newspaper, glanced quickly up at, 'the tone of her voice, and rose to bis feet. At the same instant Amy's eye met his, and she grew deadly pale. "Amy!" he exclaimed—"Miss Ar denham !" But Amy had fainted. An hoar later, Frank Ashley was an accepted lover, and the young lady who bad promised "to take charge of him was our little Amy. "Tell me about it, Frank," said his sister, when at length be rctur.icd Irani aeconipaning Amy to her humble tene meut—a spot which would soon cease to be home. "We have both been the victims of misrepresentation, Lizzie," said Frank, ■•Miss Roland assured Amy that I was engaged to her. What could Amy do but withdraw?" "Then she loved you all the time?" asked Mrs. Jay. "Ho she says," said her brother. "And instead of my findinga govern ess you obtain a wife !" laughed Mrs. Jay. "Oh, Prank, lam very glad." "THE OLD WOMAN" Once she was "Mother," and it was "Mother, I'm hnr.g.y," "Mothe.-, mend tn v jacket," Mother, put up my dinner,"' and "Mother," with her loving hands would spread the bread and butter, and stow away the luncheon and sew on tbe _i-cat patch, her heart brimming with iitlectibn for the iuipoiious little curly pate that made her so many steps ami nearly distracted her. with his boister ous mirth. Now she is the "old woman;"bttt she did not think it Would ever come to that. She looked on through the future years and saw her boy to manhood grown; and he stood transfigured in the light of her own beautiful love. Never was there a moic nob'e son than he— honored of tlie world, and tile siatl'of lior declining years. A**e, he was her support even then, but she did not know It. She never realized that it was her little boy that »;ave her strength for daily toil—that his slender form was all that upheld her over the brink of a datk despair. She only knew how she loved tbe child, aud felt that amid the mists of age his love would bear her gently through its in lit mities to the dark hall leading lo tbe life beyond. Hut the son has forgotten the mother's tender ministrations now. Adrift from tbe moorings of home, be is cold, selfish, hear; less, aud "Mother"' has no sacred meaning to the proiligal. She is ■•llie old woman," wrinkled, g ra y, lame and blind. Fity her, O grave, aud dry those tears tint Toll down her furowed cheeks. A DAY WITHOUT A NIOHT. One night In July we landed on the shore of a northern" fiord In latitude GO degree north. We ascended a cllft which rose 1,000 feet above the level of the sea. It was late, but still sunlight. The Artie, ocean stretched away iii si lent vastness at our feet. The sound of its waves scarcely reached our airy lookout. Away in the north, the huge old sun swung around along the hori zon like the slow, measured beat of the pendulum in the tall clock in ourgrand fiuher's corner. When both hands came together at 12, midnight, the full round orb hung triumphantly above the wave—a bfldgj of gold running due north spanned the water between us and liitn. There he shone in silent ma jesty, which knew no setting. We in voluntarily took oil'our hats; no word was said. Combine, it you can, the most brilliant sunrise and sunset you ever saw, and its beauties will pale be fore the most gorgeous coloring which now lit up the oceun, heaven and moun tain. In lialf an hour the sun had swung tip-perceptibly on its beat, the colors changed to those of the morning, a fresh breeze rippled over tlie fiord, one songster after another piped up in tin; grove behind us—we had s.id into another day.— Letter from Norway. A GOOD STORT. A gentleman, iv pursuit of a goose for dinner, was attracted by the sight of a plump excised one. "Is that a young one?" said he to a ro sy cheeked lass in attendance. "Yes sir, indeed it is I" "How much do you ask for it ?" asked the gentlemen: "A dollar, sir." '•That is too much, say five eightsand here is your money." "Well, sir, as I would like to get you as a steady customer. I wilt take it." The goose was carried home and roasted ."but found to be so tough as to be uneatable. Tho following day the gentleman ac costed fiefair poulterer : "Did you not tell me that the goose I bought of you was young t" "Yes sir, I did,and it was." "It was not," "Don't yon call mc a young woman? 1 am only nineteen. "Yes l'do." "Well. 1 have heard moteer say, many a time, that it was nearly six weeks younger than me." "CJ* Chapln talks thus beautifully about day : "It has risen upon us Ironi the great depths of eternity, girted around with wonder ; a new creation of light and life, spoken by tho word of God. In itselt one entire and perfect sphere of the sun. Every past gener ation is represented in it; it is the ilowerlng of all history, and in so much ■ it is richer and better than all other days which have preceded it. And it is lor this we are pressed and siirroun ' ded with these, faculties. The sum of our being is concentrated hare and to day is all the time we absolutely have.' \CJ» A colored girl named Betty, Hv i ingat Mr. Doby's thought she would fire oil'an army pistol, the other day, and not let the family know anything about it. She put her band over the muzzle of the pistol to keep the report from being heard, pulled the trigger and shot a ball through her palm. NEWSPAPER PATRONAGE. There appear to be many different ways of understanding the true mcaii i»i _; off newspaper patronage ai It is will ed, and as an interested party we give place to a disquisition on the ■_UuHßt. by 'one who "knows whereof he speaks." It will serve, perhaps, as a minor in which certain parties may "see them selves as others see tliein,"' Many long and Teary years of expe rience in the publishing business has forced the conviction upon its that news paper patronage is a word of in my de finition;, and that a great majority of mankind are cither ignorant of tlie cor rect dellniiioii or are dishonest, in a strict biblical sense ol the word, News paper patronage is composed of us many colon as the rainbow, and is as change able as a chameleon. One man conies in and subscribes for the paper and pays for it in advance,., mil goes home and reads it with the proud satisfaction that it is bis. He li.-iiids in his advertisement, asks the price, pays for it, and goes to his place of business, and reaps the advantages thereof. Another man says, "you may put my name on your books,''and goes off with out saying a word about pay. Time passes on, and you want money, you ask him to pay what is honestly due you. lie tlics into a passion, perhaps pays, perhaps not, and orders his paper stopped. This is called newspaper pat ronage. Another man lias been a subscriber a long time, but lias never paid a cent, and ai last becomes tired of yon and wants a change. He thinks he wants a city paper, lie tells the postmaster lie don't want it, and you'll get a paper marked "refused." But floes he call and pay.' Oh, no !he wants his money to pay for talk city paper, lie will pay Jrotl after awhile,lie says. Bnthe never does unless you sue him. And this, too, is called newspaper patronage. Another man brings in a lift}' cent advertisement and wauts a two dollar notice given it, and If you refuse he goes off mad. And Ibis is called newspaper patronage. Another man lives near you—he does not take the paper—lie don't like the editor—the paper is too small for him— yet, lie goes regularly to his neighbor*! ami read*, it, and finds limit with it. and quarrels with the opinions of tho editor. Occasionally be sees an article he likes, and begs or gives half a dime for the number. This is called newspaper pat ronage. Another man takes two or three city papers and cannot afford lo take a home paper, but he likes it and comes into the ofliee and begs one whenever he is in tow n. This also is called uewspapcr pat ronage. Another man liKes the paper, he takes a copy for himself and family, and pays for it and docs all he can to get new subscribers —be never gt limbics, but al ways has a cheerful word for the editor. If any little item of interest occurs in tlie neighborhood he informs the editor. This is newspaper patronage. Another mail has a pateut and wants you to give it a two dollar notice every week: "it will be of interest to your readers,'' ho says; but, although know ing it will benelit him most ot all, be does not offer to pay for it. This is called newspaper patronage. Another man has taken tho paper several years, but has not paid for it, and conies in with a four or live dollar advertisement, and asks you to insert it for nothing because he is "an old patron of yours." • This is cedled newspaper patronage. Another man—"a young man about town"—no use ofhis taking a paper, lie knows all that is going on. By and by he guts married and hands in tbe notice with "just band me a dozen copies."—- He gets them, and when you mention pay, looks surprised—"you surely do not charge for such things !" And this is called newspaper patronage. Another man (bless you, it does us good to see such a man) comes in and says, "the year for which 1 paid is about to expire, I want to pay for another." lie does so and retires. This is news paper patronage. Now, isn't newspaper patronage a curious thing? And In that great day when the Gentleman in Black gets his dues, as be surely will, how many of the patrons enumerated above will tall to his share ! Now It will be seen that while certain kinds of patronage are the very life and exiscnee ot a newspaper, there are other kinds of patronage that is more destructive than the "deadly night shade." Header ! where do you stand? A MASONIC FIN. A good story is told of a confident In dividual, evidently well 'read up' in the mysteries, who applied at the outer re ception-room of tlie Boston Masonic Lodge for admission. An eminent brother who was quietly sitting there, but who made no sign that he was any body, leqitdSted the stranger to be seat ed, and he would Send in tor proper per sons to examine the credentials ol the visitor. O, it's no matter about that; I'm all right, said the applicant, ma kitic sun dry extraordinary passes with his hands and contortion* of visage. That, may be, but 1 think they always examine strangers who desire, to visit the lodge, said the attending brother. Well, I'm ready for 'em, said tu.; visi tor confidently. Glad to hear It—that is quite an claho raLc breast put you have there, said the other, looking with some interest at a big gilt letter 0., which the. visitor bad conspicuously displayed upon Ins shirt bosom. i Yassa, that's a Masonic pin, replied the weaver, swelling out his breast. Indeed. Letter G—well I suppose you know what that means V O, yes-cerUiinly-letter «--stands for Jerusalem—a sorter headquarters lor us Ma-oils you know. The querist didn't know it, and the applicant, it is almost unnecessary to state, did not see any furllier into th c lodge. — Com Tullctan. COLD IN SPITZBERGIN. No description can give an adequate idea of the intense rigor of the sir months winter otthis part of the world. Stones crack with tbe uoise of thunder; in a crowded hut the breath oi the oc cupants will fall iv flakes of snow; wine and spirits, turn to ice: tlie snow burns like caustic: if iron touches tbe skin it brings the flesh away with it; the soles of your stockings may be burnt off your feet before you feel the slightest warmth from the tire; linen taken out of boiling water instantly stiffens to tbe consisten cy of a wooden board, and heated stones will not prevent the sheets of the bed trom freezing. If these are the effects of the Climate within .air-tight, flre warnied, crowded RtltS.wtiet must they In- among the ("Ark,storm-lashed mouu- Uiu peaks, outside. NO HONEY FOR A THUNDERING ROD. •At a parish meeting in one of the towns in the interior ot Pennsylvania, where a new meeting house had just been erected, the question was agitated ■Hah i c meet to Having a lightning rod put up. Opinions were ircely fitter i changed, and the project seemee to meet . with general favor, until au influential and wealthy old German thus let him • self swing; giving utterance to a rather i novel statement, one not In accordance • with the generally received opinion of • the established laws ol Nature and f Providence: "Now, geutlemens, I tells you vat I i thus. I Links we hash beens to much trouble and cxpensh, and none has gin • tollais more as I to build a church for te • Lord, and next Sunday we gives it to him, and if he will duender down his ■ own house, den 1 says, let him i ounder ,--away—l gives no vote nor monish for i floundering rod !"' i This multum in parvo speech proved a i settler of the question, the enterprise : was abandoned, tho meeting was ad i journed sine die,and the worthy parish 'oners harmonized beautifully over a glass of litter, at trie village inn. TENDERNESS. Let any one endeavor to recall the i image of a fond mother lons, since in Heaven. Her sweet smile and ever clear countenance are brought vividly to recollection. So also is her voice, and blessed Is that parent who is en dowed with a pleasing utterance. What [ Is it that lulls the intant to repose ? It , is no array of mere words. There is no charm to the untaught one in letters. ■ sylables, and sentences- It is the sound vihich strikes its little ear, that soothes and composes it to sleep. A few notes however unskilll'ully arranged, If ut tered in a soft tone, are found to posess a magnetic influence. Think we that this influence is confined to the cradle ? No it'is diffused through every age,and ceases not while the child remains un der the paternal root. Is the boy growing rude in manner, and boistrotts in speech ? I know of no instrument so sure to control these ten dencies as the gentle tones of a mother. She who speaks to her sou harshly does but give to his conduct the sanction of licrown example. . She pours the oil on the already raging flame. A JAPANESE HERO. There is a story current among the Japanese which excites their warmest admiration. It is told of Aidzu, the he ro of the Tycoon's party, and who is deemed by all the native's as the harvest Prince in the Empire : A short time since he was attacked in his own stronghold by a large force ot Satstuna's men. After some days fight ing with uncertain result, the latter il« --manded a truce, that they might go and re Jlenlah their commissariat, as they had come to the end of their provisions, but promising to return and continue the tight. Aidzu replied that there was 110 need for them to retire, as he would supply their wants ; and accordingly sent them a plentiful supply of rice, sufficient for several days. Already a hero in their eyes this act aluost defied them. The effect on his assailants seems to have been prodigious and to have given to the leaders an idea of the in vincibility ot such a man. They lett without striking another blow. THE CANARY BIRD AND THE MIRROR. A pretty incident is related of a ca nary bird. Tl c door of the bird's cage was occasionally left open that lie might enjoy the freedom of the room. One day' he hapcued to lly upon the mantle whereupon was a mirror. Here was anew discovery of the most pro found interest. He ga-.ed long and cu riously In tlie mirror, and came to the conclusion he had found a mate. Go ing back to his cage he selected a seed from the box, and brought in his bill as au offering to the stranger. In vain the canary exerted himself to make his new friend partake, and becoming weary, he stept back a few inches trom the glass md pourd forth his sweetest notes, pausing now and then for a reply.— None came, moody and disheartened he flew back; to his perch and hung his head in shame and sil.iice for the rest of the day : and although the door was repeatedly left open he would not come nut again. NOT MUCH SCARED. An honest old German, who is em ployed in one ol the tobacco manufac tories In New York, was listening re cently to an account from a brother workman of the principles and doc trines of Millerism. Among Other things, he was told that the world was expected to come to an end in two or three months. Remarking that the German was much interested in the matter, the others undertook to victim ize their listener, b) suggesting to him that it was fill! time for him to be ma king preparation. "Yen you dinks it vil coom to an end?' he asked. "Oh probably in about three months," said the joker. "Ho ' veil I no cares for dat !" ex claimed Hans, wi*.h a smile of satisfac tion—"! pe going to Buffalo dis spring?' j_3»» "Ma, Ma, cousin Bill is iv ;the parlor with sister Jane, and he keeps a biting her. "What 1 William biting jour sis ter Jane ?" "Ycs'tn. I seed him do it over so many times. Bite her right on the mouth. And the tarucl gal didn't hol ler a bit, Ma." 1 "Never mind, Ned, I guess he didn't hurt tier much." "Hurt her,ci-acuy .' why she loves It i she tines : cos she kept a letting him, and didn't say nothing but smacked ■ her lips as if it was good she did. 1 1 seed it, all the time through the keyhole. . I'll lire taters at him, now you see if I don't." |C_*" Bayard Taylor says : some o the finest church choirs in Berlin. Dres ■ don, Potsdam and llellle, consists chief :ly of boys. One thing Isa little peculiar —1 have not yet seen a lady in a church tholr. The mysteries is how the music, . mastcrhnanages to get so much aud such a variety of music out of such tinmusl | cal looking heads, yet he does, and it is ; not all sound simply, but harmony of [ the swecti-s; kind—thrilling rapturous • music. And what is more marvelous t those boys voices imitate the most cul . tivated tones of the female voice, giving ! all parts in sweet unison. 1 have seen , choirs from forty to one hundred boys I and behind them aj huge organ, and s when the singing service is commenced, . one is nearly lifted from his feet, as that . hundred voices, youthful choir, accotn , paniedby organaud_cimgregatloil send forth the anthem of praise. 11' AGRICOIfTURE IN WEST NEW JERBEY We take the following Interesting ac« count of Quaker agriculture, lv West Jersey, from the New York World of last Saturday. It will be read by our agricultural friends, especially, with great interest and profit: , Header, if you wish to see a bright and broad example of the best, the truest the soundest agriculture on this conti nent. a system by which the farm and the larmei alike grow rich, go to Phila delphia, cioss the river along which it is built, and take the cars for Salem. For. some miles you will pass through a level ittd not very fertile region, where the growth is white oak and some pine. At the distance of twenty-live or thirty miles southwest from Camden, and five or six from the Delaware river, the traveler come 6 into this magnificent ag ricultural region. On every side, as far as the eye can reach, he sees a suc cession of fields cultivated lor every square foot, aud loaded with the prom ise of harvest. There are great fields of com, in some instances sixty acres lv extent, where the great regal blades of maize are nodding and tossing In the summer wind. On the other side, a wheat Held of ten, fifteen or twenty-five acres in extent has jielded Its golden burden, and between the drills we see :t rank growth ot clover almost conquer ing the stubble, and about to cover tho surface with generous foliage and scar let bloom. At tbe distance of a few rods from the highway we pass larnr bouses: they are about a quarter of a mile apart,"plain, but strong in archi tecture, embowered in trees, and flank ed by a grand array of wheat stacks, apple orchards, and great, affluent barns, wilh outbursts of fodder froiri door and windows, and beneath a well designed yard, paved with a foot or two feet officii, well-rotted manure. These people are no amateurs from the city, who have bought a thirty-thousand dol lar farm in order to get cream to pour over their strawberries, or a place to eat asparagus plants. We drive in and talk with the owner. His plain speech and modest bearing proclaim his lcligiou.— lie has no large words, no boasts, nif ostentations, hut informs us that from yonder field of six acres he took two hundred bushels of wheat. This corn field last yearyielded seventy-five bush els to the acre . He has had no rain lor six wcek3, and will not make so much this year, btft. not less than sixty, he thinks. Yonder clover-field of live acres gave him twelve tons, and this handsome second growth he will turn under next month, and then, after sowing wheat, will dress mr the spring with two hundred pounds per acre of ground bone, or phosphate, or Peruvian guano. We walk over his acres. They came to him from an un cle, except the land on tbe other side of yon timber, which ills wife inherited.— He shows us his hogs, his heirs, his gang plough and his marl pit. Then we drive on through other fields, pass other coun try homes, aud dine with the fortunate owner of a hundred and forty acres of this admirably cultivated region. He commenced poor thirty-live years iigk* as a tenant, when he thought his crop good if an acre yielded him twenty-live bushels of corn or twelve ot wheal. He gave forty-five dollars when he bought several years ago,whcn Folk was Presi dent. Now he would look away from an offer of two hundred. He has no idea of going West. Omaha has i.tf ciiarnis; lie cares nothing for the price of land on the line of the Pacific rail road j nor amid the hills ot fGast Tennessee. And now the reader asks for a reason for all this. Why are these farmers so happy and content? Why do their lauds so steadily appreciate? We an swer that Bu:h success is won euiy where favoring nature has been aided by skill and Industry on the part of nian. These Salem county farmers are proud of their business, and earnest to know the secrets and established rules of successful agriculture. They com pare usnges aud grow wise by mutual instruction. If reduced toacode of n'J merical statement, the outline oi their system would be somewhat as follows: 1. The Quaker fanner of West Jersey has no fancy r.otions, no curious theo ries, no blind devotion tobook-farmiugj He reads the rural literature ol his day, but has judgment to see what is good for him, and what is useless. His sub soil is porous and easily penetrated by the roots ol corn, clover and wheat, therefore he finds no advantage In. ploughing deep. He raises crops of universal value and iv perpetual de mand, hence he spends little time in hunting market and watching for ail extra five cent per bushel. 2. He has a sound and uniform sys tem iv rotation, getting over his fields once in five years with this succession— wheat, corn, potatoes, oats, clover: or, corn} potatoes, potatoes, clover,wheat. In the low places he puts hcrdsgrass aud timo thy on dryer lands. 3. lie adds yearly to the actual value of his acres by putting upon them either marl trom his pitorcompost made from I the growth of roe!aimed marshes. On wheat he puts super-phosphate, unless he gets rank clover with marl and plows that in. 4. Though relieved by kind nature from the necessity of deep tillage, he plows often and keeps his crops clear. 5. He seldom has business away front home. He contracts few debts. He has few wants, and no vices. If this describes a model farmer we can only say that it is no tancy sketch. It the reader would see a broad and elo quent refutation to the standard fling of "Farming don't pay," let him visit this part of New Jersey. Ue will find liere pure legitimate (arming* net a nur sery business, nor a flourishing truck patch. But in every symbol and proof of success, in clear culture, spacious homes, refined society, unsullied honor, , spotless morals, snowy linen and load ed tables, he will see what substantial honors and joys nature has for him whose hands are brown with honest work; who displays thrift, sagacity, and judgment in bis management, and whoso heart is warm with gratitude aud light with contentment. >■». PICKLED BESTS. This vegetable make art eicellcnt pickle, and from the brightness of its color has a very pretty effect in a glass pickle-dish or jar. Wash the best pcr tectly; do not cut ofl any of the tibi ous roots, as this will allow the juice to es cape, and the coloring will be lost. Put into sufficient water to boil it, and when the skin will come oil it will be suffl ; ciently cooked, and may be taken out and laid upon a cloth to cool. Having i rubbed oil the skin, cut the beet into ; thick slices, put into a jar, and pour i over it cold vinegar, with an ounce of - whole black pepper and an equal a ' mount ot ginger, anil let it stand until | quite cohi. i'hc jar should be kept II closely corked.