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VOLUME 11. | l>Y C, R. HANLEITER. IP © E TT K Y „ Fur the “Southern Miscellany.” DKSIRE TO ROAM. KY CUYLEU W. YCIUK<S -1 long to roam o’er Eastern climes — O'er Falestine ami the Holy Land, Where heroes lived in ancient limes, Arid died among their god-like hand. On the banks of the Euphrates, Where Sin first made blind man to see — Where traveled once Polycrates, I most fondly wish to be. ‘Old Persia, with her fairy tales — Armenia, with her lovely girls— Dark Egypt, with her lowly vales— Arabia, with her sea of pearls — These are the regions fair and wide, Whither fond fancy quickly flies — Flitting along live rivers wide, And even soaring to the skies! ri——■——— l ■*! ■UHMIW.IIg SiEHIOYtEE) TALI§ a THE HARD MAN. “ A man severe he was.” Archibald Merton tvas llie son of an in dustrious and thriving merchant, who, orig inally poor, hod, at first from necessity, and afterwards from habit, become a penu rious man. Prosperous in all his undertak ings, lie believed that poverty was invaria bly the result of idleness, and, consequent ly, felt no sympathy in the wants of others, and was never known to extend his hand in charily to any. Archibald had imbibed and acted upon the erroneous conclusions of his father. Inheriting a handsome fortune at his death, sufficient for the independence of five of his limited wants and views, he still continued plodding on and increasing his store. Two years after ho had succeeded to the business he married—not for love, for that was a sentiment he possessed as little of as be did of charity—no—it was merely a bar gain—and, if like most of his baigains, set tled upon “ Change.” A rich merchant, who had five daughters, ■offered him the choice, and a certain sum ; and when he had made his selection, the lit,ii.ltir wen mn.lo and ct'eptwl, w ith all the coldness and forfnality of a commercial I ransaction. A daughter was the issue—the only is sue ; for the wife died three months after wards, and was buried with all the honors ■usually paid to the wealthy. Archibald grieved exceedingly that his better half had not lived to bring up the child as he was compelled to put the child out to nurse. Notwithstanding his indifference, howev er, the little Maria grew up ; and, when she had attained the age of five, he began to take notice of his only child, and had ex pressed himself rather pleased wuh her win ning ways and artless prattle. His business, however, engaged the larg er portion of his time at the office, and oc cupied much of his thoughts at home, he consequently had little intercourse with the representative of his house. Os late years, too, there lose a competi tion in mercantile affairs, which gradually assumed an air of speculation, that was ve ry distasteful to the old fashioned merchant; but he still persevered, although he found he had not only much to contend with, hut almost anew game to play, in which he not unfrcquently found himself at fault.— Still the reputation of the firm was high in the market, and he commanded, where others were obliged to solicit, ***** Time progressed, and Maria was eigh teen — a pretty, lively, intelligent girl, with more common sense than accomplishments; her great virtue, in the estimation of Archi bald Merton, being Iter strict obedience to his will. He contemplated, however, putting it to the severest test to which a parent can sub mit his child, Having no son to continue his business, ho had “ speculated” upon taking a junior partner, in the shape of a sou-in-law ; and, having compared “notes” with a brother merchant, who had an only son, he propos ed the affair upon conditions, Szc. After mature deliberation, the match was agreed upon, provided the young couple were ready 9rid willing to ratify the agree ment. Archibald on his part smiled at the idea of a demur on the part of his daugh ter; and the introduction took place, the father and son dining with Archibald. Strange to say, the young people appear ed mutually pleased ; for, stranger still they had previously met “ promiscuously” at the house of a mutual friend ; on which occasion young Mr. Belton had been rath er particular in his attentions to Maria, who had been particularly pleased ; for lie was a very fine young fellow, and was quite the observed of all observers ; and Maria had, it must be confessed, a little vanity in her composition, and felt rather gratified at “ carrying him off,” on that occasion, al though she had never seen him since. Qf course shp complied with her parent s request, that she should receive Helton as her affianced husband, without a murmur, although the little rogue did exhibit an ap parent indifference on the occasion, which was naughty, perhaps but pardonable. & iPiimtls : Bcfcotftr to Eitrratuvr, agriculture, iAaccftfiulcs, Strucutiou, jFovcfsu aufc Semester KutciUgrucc, &c. Letters were exchanged by the mer chants, setting forth an agreement, that “one month from the date hereof,” ten thousand pounds should he advanced by each on the day of the marriage of Frederick Belton, Esq., junior, the son of Josiah Bel ton, Esq., to the daughter of Atchibald Merton, &e. The young couple meanwhile passed a delightful time in the interchange of the tenderest sentiments, sanctioned by their parents ; and, unalloyed by any pecuniary considerations, which were left entirely to the discussion of the oriainal contractors, enjoying a felicity that was truly enviable. Mantua makers and milliners were busi ly employed in preparing for the happy event, and Maria was in the anticipation of earthly enjoyment when one week before the proposed nuptials, / ’-iha!d returned from “ Change” an hour before his accus tomed time. There was a cloud upon his brow, that checked the exuberant joy of his child, ami chilled the blood in her veins. “ Girl !” said he throwing his hat upon the sofa, “ that old fool, Belton, has been speculating in hops; they have fallen in the matket, and he is a ruined man—all gone — found hanging in his warehouse!” “ Gracious heaven !” exclaimed Maria, dropping in a chair, and looking like a corpse at the sudden communication of ill tidings, “ poor gentleman !” “ Poor indeed !” exclaimed Archibald bitterly. “ I hold a thousand pouridsof his worthless paper, and his estate will not yield a farthing in the pound.” “Oh sir !” said Maria, “ let us go and comfort Frederick. What roust his feelings be ?” “Frederick ! comfort him ! You do not think of your father you ungrateful gitl.— Can lie pay me my thousand pounds 1 He is a beggar ; think no more on him.” “ Oh sir,” said Maria, “ you are wealthy. This loss cannot, will not affect you. Bid me not forget him whom you lia\e com manded me to love and receive as my hus band.” “ Peace, unfeeling girl !"’ cried Archi bald “ nor dare to mention the son of the man who has robbed and plundered me.— He is a beggar, and no match for the daugh ter of Archibald Merton. Never more shall he cross the threshold of tny door.— Forget him !” Maria did not hear his last command, for she fell ns if stricken hv death upon the floor of the drawing room. Archibald rang the hell, and summoning the servants, left the forlorn and hapless maid to their minis trations, and retreated to his accustomed coffee house, to ascertain if there were any hope of a dividend from the estate of Bel ton. Recovering from her swoon, and finding that her obdurate father had left the house, Maria, attended by her maid, with the bold ness of despair, immediately sought her af flicted lover. Her absence was unobserved ; her obe dience, indeed, was undoubted ; but surely, under the peculiar circumstances of her sit uation, her conduct could not he reprehen ded by the severest moralist, for the love Archibald commanded could not be counter manded at will. A correspondence between the lovers was the natural consequence ; at the end of six weeks Maiia eloped, and married the husband of her father’s choice. Archibald’s anger was deep and inflexi ble ; he uttered no expiession ; hut felt and nourished an unnatural feeling of resent ment against his daughter and her para mour, and lie bitterly denounced the un fortunate, and perhaps what worldly peo ple would call, thoughtless Frederick. Months elapsed, and Archibald heard no thing of his disobedient child ; and poor Maiia, although married to the man of her fathei’s and her own choice was by no means perfectly happy ; for she had been so accustomed to bow religiously to his will in all things, that she consequently experi enced many qualms of conscience at the step she had taken, which ever and anon passed like dark clouds across the sunshine of her existence. Frederick, too, was una ble to obtain any employment, and the little money he possessed was fast dwindling a way ; and, to add to the misfortune of the young couple, Maria promised to become a mother. Too proud and independent to sue for help where he considered it ought naturally to have been proffered, Frederick tried ev ery means in his power to procure means elsewhere before he solicited the assistance of his implacable father-in-law. Stern ne cessity at last compelled him to do that which he deemed a degradation. “ VVliat is your business, sir?” demand ed Archibald, with a chilling indifference, when, by a suit of stratagem, Frederick had obtained an interview. “ I have no business, Mr. Merton ;” re plied Frederick ; “ and indeed no pleasure j in the application I am about to make to you.” “ Then the sooner our conference ends , the better.” “ Not so, sir,” replied Frederick indig nantly, “ and by heavens ! you must and shall hear mo !” and rising abruptly, he locked the door of the apartment. “ Fear nothing, sir; you are Maria’s fa ther and that is sufficient protection for 1 you,” MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, AUGUST 12, 1813. “ I disclaimed and will disinherit the dis obedient girl,” said Archibald. “Listen, sir,” said Frederick. “You sanctioned my addresses to your daughter ; and did all in your power to promote the match ; and had it not been for my father’s misfortunes, you would gladly have ratified the agreement into which you had enter -1 ed.” i “ Well, sir ; hut he failed in his part, and I have every right to letract.” “ You forget, sir, that this was not a mere | contract of bargain and sale—that the affec tions of the parties were involved. You are still a rich man, and Maria isyourchild. I do not ask you to give her the handsome portion you promised on the wedding day J but I do claim some assistence, which will enable me to enter into business, and recov erat least, apa 11 of that connection which my father had by his industry and integrity obtained. He was unfortunate, sir, not guilty. “ Your daughter, too, is in a pre carious state, and requires every comfort ; and if you possess the feeling of u parent, you will afford it to her.” “ You have married the girl, and you must he responsible for your own wilful riess. For my own part, I care not if she applies to the parish ; for the shame will he upon your head lor your rashness. Have you any thing more to say ?” “ Yes, sir,” replied Frederick, “this char itable prayer, that, when you are judged, may you meet with more mercy than you mete out to your own child.” Disgusted with the hard-hearted man, Frederick departed as much in anger as in sorrow at t lie fruitless issue of his interview. Some months after this, Archibald Mer ton was gratified at hearing that Frederick had quitted London. lie was comparative ly happy, and once more pursued his avo cations. Between ’Change and the coffee house, he filled up the day of his existence and increased his fortune. There came, however, a “ lull” in busi ness, and he was miserable, for he required the excitement consequent upon money ma king ; and, like a gambler, becoming des perate,, be made a speculation, and lost a considerable sum. A change came o’er his golden dream, and he was induced by some wealthy mer chants to become a director in one of the bubble companies of the day. The com pany failed : and Merton being an opulent man, he became the mark of attack ; the rest of the “ board” proved men of straw. Action upon action followed, and he was mulcted in a large amount of damages in every case, until the old merchant found himself under the necessity of becoming a bankrupt, to save himself from a prison, and lie did find no one who struck a friendly docket. He obtained liis certificate, hut he was literally a beggar. He had no friends not a soul 011 earth who cared for him for he had in his prospeiity cared for none; and he quitted London, and no one knew whither his steps were bent. ***** Twelve years had elapsed since the un fortunate marriage of Maria and old Merton had no tidings of her fate; for Frederick was as proud as the old merchant was in flexible. ******* It was a beautiful day in May—the haw thorn was in full bloom, and the birds were singing merrily, and filled the air with their sweet melody. All nature smiled at the re turn of summer. A beautiful fair-haired girl was playing with a pet lamb in a meadow adjoining a handsome farm house, where the bailiff - of the lord’s estate resided. A poor old man, with gray hair, and bent double with age and infirmity, walked slow ly up to the style which divided the mea dow from the high road, arid resting his arms upon the upper bar, regaided the child.. He was not long unobserved ; and with all the elasticity and sprightliness of youth, the little creature bounded towards the men dicant. “ Poor old man,” said she, “ you look fatigued—have you walked far ? Shall I bring you a bowl of milk ? Here sit on this bank, and take care of my lamb, will you. I shall he with you presently.” And away ran the joyous little creature to the farm house, and quickly returned with a wooden bowl of milk and a slice of bread. “ Thank you—thank you,” replied the old man and heartily devoured the welcome meal, while the little girl toyed with her pet; and, at last, weary and rosy with exer tion, seated herself at the beggar’s feet—a beautiful picture of innocence ! ” W ho taught your heart charity towards the poor ?” said the old man. “ What do you mean ?” said the artless child. “ Why do vou give me this bread and milk ?” “ Because I thought you were tired, hun gry, and poor,” replied the child ; “ and fa ther won id be so angry if 1 had let you go on without offering you something. Oh ! he is so good, and every body loves him ; and I love him and my mother better than all the world.” “ And are they rich ?” demanded the old man. “ Oh ! no! rich people ride in a carriage you know, and are so proud ; but we have every thing we want, and can always give something away besides. Did you ever see anything like Jessy ? Look how she butts at me ! Sbe is so naughty ; and yet I feed her and wash her everyday. Come here ; do, you thing, and let me cuddle your little woolly neck.” And she entwined her little arm around the lamb’s neck, and hugged it to her. “ Bless you and thank you !” replied the old man, returning the bowl and taking up his staff - . t ” Don’t hurry yourself. lam sure you are tired,” replied the child ; and you may I stop here as long as you like, and sleep in 1 the barn, too, if you please. “ Sleep !” cried the old man, looking up wildly; and then, as if recollecting himself, lie added—“ if 1 may he permitted to rest my weary limbs till morning.” “ Indeed you may ; and you have no oc casion to be frightened, for we have no dogs, for father says they always bark at poor people ; and mother does laugh so when lie says they are faithful, but not char itable, for she is so fond of them. Shall I show you the barn 1 ami depend upon it, I shall he up by five in the morning, and I’ll bring you such a nice mess of hot bread and milk, and some meat, too, if you like it.” “ Thank ye,” murmured the old man as lie arose, and scalding tears rolled down bis furrowed cheeks as lie followed his pretty little prattling guide. ***** True to her promise, the little girl bro’t the weary wanderer liis welcome meal at five o’clock in the morning; and seating herself 011 a truss of straw beside him, talk ed to him like sweet music. He had scarcely finished, when a manly voice, outside the barn, in a laughing tone, said, “Come, let us see the child’s guest; the little rogue wants to engross all the mer it to herself.” The door opened, and in walked the bai liff - and his buxom wife. “ Well, gaffer,” sa : d the hearty young farmer, “ 1 hope you have been well cared for ?” A shriek from liis wife startled him ami frightened the child, who hurst into tears, and rushed to her mother’s side. “ Father !my poor father!” exclaimed Maria, and fell swooning in the arms of Frederick. “‘T “rrtDITIg w ’ * 111 rnrimwiiwn ■iiiiiiwiin YME F& ® M ER a (Ci? 3 We cannot place anything belter un der our Agricultural bead this week, than the following sensible communication from a true Farmer’s wife, to the editois of the “ New York Central Farmer.” We most especially commend it to all out lady read ers, town and country : ECONOMY. Gentlemen —Will you give a place in your columns, to a few desultory thoughts on Economy ? I suppose you are not much troubled with communications from the ladies on this important subject—for 1 believe that we, (as a class,) have paid less attention to it, than the gentlemen of small and reduced fortunes could desite. l)r. Johnson thought it was the duly of every individual to make some improvements in the chart of his life ; to point out the tocks and quicksands where he has suffered loss himself; and 1 suppose it is equally the du ty of him who has sailed on a smooth sea, to leave liis compass and his wake for the direction of future travelers. Observation is worth something as well as experience ; arid when we see the poor debtor sui rounded by a set of clamorous creditors, grasping the last cent which the law allows, we may realise all the evils of mismanagement and extravagance, without partaking of their bitter fruit. My atten tion has been called to this subject, by the failure of several farmers, and as, (in such cases.) whole families are involved in the general wreck. I trust I shall be pardoned if I offer a few suggestions to those wives and daughters, who share proportionally in the weal and woe of the farmers’ life. First, il debts have been contracted, it is for you to save the means and help lay by in store, sufficient to meet those dues. I have always noticed that there was a better state of feeling in those families in which the woman knew something of business matters, than in those in which she is en tirely ignorant of the extent ol her husband’s resources. In the latter ease, it is not un common for her to desire and expect a sim ply of means which il is impossible for him to furnish. The short and decisive refusal, without the why’s and wherefore’s is the end of the matter with him; hut not so v\ith her. She thinks il over, the denial rankles deeper and deeper, till she half believes it was the result of unkiudness alone. Now very likely if she knew all the circumstances of the case, she would not have expected or even asked for what she knew it was impracticable to purchase ; for it must be remembered that we, (a majority of us at least,) are reasonable beings, and of the mi nority, I know there is a class, (though I acknowledge it with shame,) who arc deter mined to gratify the suggestion of a giddy fancy, whether they are able or nor. Many a fanner is injured if not positively ruined, by the enormous amount of bis store bills.— The silk dresses, and satin shawls, the fine kid gloves, and expensive bonnets, with all the corresponding things for table, parlor and chamber, create a style of things too ex pensive for the man who has no income but the ptoducls of a small farm. This passion for dress and fine living, is owing altogeth er to a perverted taste, a false estimate which we place upon appearances. Rus tic attire renders us none the worse, nor gaudy trappings, any better. 1 have noticed, aiso, that the plain farm er’s fare is giving place to the luxuries of the moreopuleut. Instead of tlie products of the farm alone, they feast you with the products of other dimes. Expensive tarts and pies, rich cake and sweetmeats, with the mackerel, shad and steak, which are often bought, createdebts to the gtocernnd butcher, larger than a fat mer, (unless he is a very wealthy one.) ever ought to pay. — My plan is to live plain myself, and give my company the same sort of living. Better indeed to give them the plainest food, and furnish nought but cold water, “ sparkling and bright,” than present them with choice viands, fine Java, and the best of Old Hyson, at the expense of our creditors. Let us not feel willing that others should suffer loss by our excesses. Let ijs not say their gains were obtained by fraud and oppression, and no matter if they do loose. • It is enough for us to seo that ‘.heir demands as far as we are concerned are promptly met. Letusculti vate a high sense of honor, of integrity of purpose, and truthfulness of heart. Let us become like the women of the Old School, simple in our diet, economical in our dress, cheerful in our labor, and patient in suffer ing. Ours is indeed a life of care and la bor, but it is one favorable to the enjoyment of the true happiness, and the cultivation of our moral nature. We need not sigh for the ease and indolence of the fine lady, for could we but feel the languor and ennui that oppresses her, we should sigh again for that healthful labor, that calls us tip at the rising of the sun, and gives us but little respite till the going down of the same.— Now in recommending strict economy, and labor, I do not propose to abridge the comforts of life, but on the other hand to en hance alt its joys. An active employment and simple diet, give vigor and elasticity to the whole system. In fact, they are the (■•seiitia! conditions of its regular and health ful action. Freedom from debt, and a con sciousness of integrity, give satisfaction to the mind, such as the fraudulent debtor can never know. Let it not be understood that we would encourage a mean and avaricious disposi tion, for this we consider still more repre hensible than a careless and prodigal one. Bui between two extremes, there is always a mean, and this is as true in household op erations, as in the problems of Euclid. We may have all the real wants of life, at a small expense, and in a simple way. We are surrounded by every tiling in to render our situation pleasing, comfortable and happy. Heaven smiles propitiously up on our labors, for we have the bright sup, and refreshing showers, without the asking wehave orchards and groves for the plant ing—and clustering roses and honeysuckles for the cultivation. I recollect that we were told in an Agricultural Address, last year, that we must not cultivate flowers in old broken tea-pots and pitchers. Now as we are upon the principles of economy, and “pay as you go,” we think this depends up on circumstances. If it is not convenient to pay a mechanic for a day’s labor in making boxes, we had 1 letter use something else. Who would relinquish some cherished ex otic, because she had nothing hut an old broken pitcher to plant it in ? 1 would rear some lovely plant, or fragrant rose, if I had to beg the dust of the earth to nourish it, and the dews of heaven to water it. If I bad nought but a hovel to shelter me, I should want a vine to creep over it, and sweet flowers to breathe their fragrance a bout it. It. is the love of nature, the love of flowers, that gives us pleasure, and not the love of painted boxes, eai them jars, or china vases. In-relation to funds expended for the ed ucation of children, we have only to say, let them be expended judiciously. Look well to it, that you get the worth of your money, for the country is filled with teachers who care as little for the improvement of your children, as the unfaithful hireling for the improvement of your farm. When we com bine our efforts to educate aright the young, and overcome in them that repugnance to labor, which is so prevalent iri our country, the condition of the farmer will be truly de sirable. And it is for us to render labor pleasing, not we who write, nor we who lecture about it, but for us who woik. Hab its of industry are formed far earlier by ex ample, than by precept, for the child who sees a whole household rise with the dawn and perform their allotted work with cheer fulness and pleasure, will naturally catch the spirit and copy the example of those a round him. But he who dislikes labor may prate about industry, and lecture daily upon its advantages, hut the child, so long as he remains a child, will wonder, (if it is so de sirable,) why father don’t work, and mother too. A drone placed in a community where labor was universal, where it was consider ed honorable,and rendered profitable, would cease to lie a drone ; how much easier then, to learn the child, whose habits are all un formed. There have been foolish fathers among the farmers, who thought their sons must obtain some learned profession, instead of a knowledge of their own noble occupation— and there have been foolish mothers who | NUMBER 20. WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR. have brought up their daughters in idleness and igiinimice. (t least of household affairs,) hoping they would marry wealthy tradesmen, or foitnnate speculators. But we belieTe this lidiculous burlesque upon common sense, is giving place to more rational views atid expectations. But we are digressing from tlie subject upon which we proposed | to write, and also verifying the old proverb, | that when a woman begins to talk* she nev er knows when to slop. So I will add no more, for fear of wearying you and taxing tfie couitesy of our Editors, with too long a communication. Economist. Singular Incident in the life of Washing ton Allston. —The Boston Atlas, after re marking that the strong devotional feelings ofthis late distinguished artist, formed one of the most prominent traits in his beauti ful character, relates the following temarka b!e incident in his life : Not long after his marriage with his first wife, the sister of the late Dr. Channing, he made his second visit to Europe. Alter a residence thereof a little more than a year, his pecuniary wants became very pressing and urgent—more so than at any other pe riod r.f his life. He was even, at times, at a loss for the means of purchasing the ne cessaries of life. On or.e of these occasions, as he himself used to narrate the event, ho was in his studio, reflecting, with a feeling of almost desperation, upon his condition.— His conscience seemed to tell him that he had deserved his afflictions, and drawn them upon himself, by his irreligious neglect of religion, and by want of due gratitude for past favors from Heaven. His heart, all at once, seemed filled with the hope that God would listen to his prayers, if lie would offer up his direct expression of penitence, and ask for divine aid. lie accordingly locked his door, withdrew ato corner of <lie room, threw himself upon his knees, % ond prayed for a loaf of bread for himself and his wife. Y\ bile thus employed, a knock was heard at the door. A feeling of momentary shame at lieing detected in this position, and a feeling of fear least he might have been ob served, induced him to hasten to open the door. A stranger inquires of Mr. Allston. He is anxious to learn who was the fortunate pm chaser of the painting of “the AngeF Uriel,” regarded by the artist, as onu of his master pieces, ond w hich had won the piize at the exhibition of the Academy.-—. He is told that it has not been sold. •• Can it lie possible ? Not sold !—Where is it to’ be had ?” “I ri this very room. Here it fs,” producing the [minting from a corner and wiping off the dust. “Is it for sale 1 Can it be bought !” was the eager interrogatory. “ It is for sale—hut its value has never yet,- to my idea of its worth, been udeqoatcly appreciated—and ! would not part with it.” What is its price ?” “1 have done affix ing any nominal sum. I liavo so far exceed ed my offers. 1 leave it for you to nnrfte the price.” “ Will four hundred pounds be an adoquate"t - ecompense V’ “ It is more than [ have ever asked for it.” “Then tjicr painting is mine.” The stranger introduced himself as the Marquis of Button]—and he became, from that moment, one of the wann est friends of Mr. Allston. By him, Mr, A. was introduced to the society of the nobil ity and gentry —and be became nil ft of the* most favored among the tnsny gifted minds that adorn the ciicle to which he was rhns introduced, but in which he never was fund of appearing often. The instantaneous relief, thus afforded f y the liberality of his noble visiter, was always regarded by Allston, as a direct answer to liis prayer, and it made a deep impiesaion upon his mind. To this event life was ever after wont to attribute the increase of devo tional feelings, w hich become a prominent trait in his character, American Manufactured Silk. —Mr. John W. Gill, piopiieter of a Silk Manufactory at Mount Pleasant, Jefferson co., Ohio, has been exhibiting til Barnutn’s City Hotel, for some days past, a variety of very hand sotn and substantial specimens of American Silks manufactured entirely by himself.— They consist of gloves, cravats, handker chiefs, stockings, scarfs, pieces in the tvelr for ladies’ dresses, of difl'ereut colors, be sides numerous other articles, all of which have been an admirable texture, and ap pear to be of a highly durable quality.—— Mr. G. states that his enterprise has thus far proved sucessful, even beyond his most san guine expectations. Besides the factory, which employs about fifty hands on ati aver age, he has a large Mulberry grove, and an extensive cocoonery, whereby he is enabled to raise a considerable portion of the worm* that supply the raw material. It is sever al years since this enterprise was under taken by Mr. Gill, and at present be has in vested in it about thirty thousand dollars, which yielded, as he states, a very hand some equivalent. Having given ruucli in tention to the business iu its various bran ches, he has also had on opportunity of dis covering the best manner of cultivating th® worm ; to accomplish which, a ventilating opparatus has been invented by him, to fa cilitate the worm in feeding, found Id be of great service. It is simple in construction, saves much labor, and is accounted a highly valuable improvement.— Baltimore Patriot,