Newspaper Page Text
F. R. FILDES, Editor.
VOL. VIII.
WE AMBITIOBSYOCNG MAL
XN ORIENTAL legend.
Abou ben Adhem was n magician who
lived long before the flood In New Jer
sey. He wasn't such a magician as
Signor Blitz, or that amusing Ueller,
who have the good taste to have their
jokes and witticisms manufactured to
Order, at so much per witticism, and
which Ileller gets off as well as he ploys
the piano—which is saying a geod deal
!or his witticism. Not any such. Abou
was a magician who had tho power .to
actually do things, instead of making
believe he did them —one who could look
dowii into futurity, and back into the
Jiast, and conld tell fortunes without the
aid of the magic pebble, which is always
a present from the Emperor of China
He was an eminent magician, and was
highly respected by all who knew him.
He was a director of tbo Camden aDd
Amboy railroad, and of course had been
a member of the New Jcraey Legislature,
and had money enough to get into the
Senate of the United Slates from that
State, but he did not want to, for he bad
a spile at the members ho would have to
buy, and did not care to make them
rich.
ben Adbem was sitting one
tnorning iu front of his tent, gazing on
the untold herds of oxen, cows, steers,
camels, antelopes, jaguars, and horses,
which were grazing in his fields that
were spread out before him, musing on
the vanity of human affairs and wonder
ing Whether his last venture in \Ve6t
Virginia oil stocks w> uld add to his hum
ble store, or lay hitn out as badly as did
his Pensylvanian speculation, when there
appeared before him a young man cf pre-
Enaacaaing appearance and good address,
lit whose travel-stained habiliments be
spoke a long, long distance traveled.
'Do I stand before Abou ben Adhcm,
the magician, whoso fame hr.a extend
ed CTeu unto the Northern Counties
where 1 do dwell, and whose name all
men do pronounce With fear, respect, and
awe, and such?’ lemarkcd the ingenious
youth.
‘I am Abou ben Adhem,’ answered the
biigiual, modestly. ‘What wouldst thou
Ivith me?’
‘Mighty man,’ said he bowing, as is
the custom ot the Orientals, three times,
illl l.ia nose clave the duM, or rather
sand, that being what they have in New
Jersey. ‘I bavo walked many weary
miles.’
•Why didn't yon take the cars?’ shriek
fed Abou, Ilia eyes flashing fire, ‘how dare
yon, a native of New Jersey, defraud the
Camden and Amboy by walking?’
‘Mighty Abou,’ said this ingenious
youth humbly, "I am not a Director, nor
the son, nor cveu the cousin, of a Diieo
tor, therefore am not a dead-head Mon
ev 1 had not; and when the conductor
came around, and I told him so, lie laugh
ed me to scorn, and he and two brake
man dropped me gently ofi tho hind end
bf the train. And so l walked hither to
Crave a boon.”
‘Speak on.’
‘1 have wasted my life thus far selling
goods iu a countiy storr; but I have a
soul which loaths cal c<>, and soars above
mackerel aid molasses. I would be
great. All things are easy to thee—put
me, I pray thee, in a way to achieve
tame.'
‘Fame! My son, you are to be pit.
ied. Take my advice, go home to your
Calico and molasses, and be content with
yonr lot. t'ame is unsatisfactory, and a
delusion. He is the happiest who knows
the least and is the least known. The
wise man hates tiimself, because the
wisest of them have only senso enough
to appreciate what cons urn ate asses they
are—which is not a cheering reflection,
by any manner of means. lam power
ful and mighty; lown the cattle upon a
thousand bills, and half the stock of the
Camden and Amboy; I have bccu in the
Legislatuie, and have enjoyed all that
belongs to a legitimate New Jersey am
ldtion; yet, it is hollow! hollow! Mc
thinks 1 woo’d like to exchange all these
f r a gross ignorance ai.d be a negro,
wbo is made happy by the undisputed
hossesSion of a warm fence corner, and
a bottle of whisky that can be procured
lor a sixpence. Into what line does your
Rmbition lead you? Wooldat thou be a
poet, politiciau, conqueror, or a conduc
tor du our Railroad?’
‘Mighty Abou, I would be a poletic'an.
J would uiix in public afiairs, and
leave a name to posterity.’
•Posterity 1’ said Abou bitterly—
‘‘Would being Governor fill your ambi-
tion?’
‘Governor! Good Ucavensl That’s
feigker than my wildest hopes reach.’
‘Are you a young man of ordinary in
telligence? Did yonr parents take iheir
county newspaper?’
•Yes, great prophet.’
‘llow many Governors of New Jersey
can you name over to me?'
“All of tbcm, mighty prophet. There’s
Governor Parker, who is governor now,
and before him was—that is—what’s his
na me—governor —'
‘Young man you ace what fame is. In';
two years more you will forget the name
of the present governor. If toproperly
write the biography of General Grant,
at this time, will take five volnmes, in
twenty years one volume will do for all
the Generals of that unpleasantness, and
in three hundred there will be a couple
oi lines in an encyclopedia iu which his
name will-be spolled wrong, aud he will
Ibe put down as having been born in
New York instead of Ohio. But go thy
ways; thou shall bo all thou wisest in
politics; thy wish is granted.’
And Abou passed his magic wand—
| which was a hickory cane, gold mounted
i —three times over his head, and said
I something iuJArabic, which it isn’t worth
j while to reproduce.
[The author of this Legend is modest,
' and does not wish to air his learning.
!It makes other authors look small and
' feel badly ]
The young man’s whole appearance
was Changed. His voice doubled op,
his eyes sunk bark Into h’S head, his
eyebrows became bnahy, his lips became
thick, and his abdomen increased in size,
lie departed, and Abou wa* alone.
Five years elapaed, and again the
young man stood before him.
‘Weill’ said Abotl.
'Mighty prophet,’said the ambition#
youth, ‘thy work wag well done. I
have been member ot the Legislature,
and finally Governor, and still further
promotion is before me. But I am not
satisfied. I see men wield power with
money, which I can't with politics, and
they seem to feel in that a happiness
which I cannot in my pursuits. Mighty
Abou, make mo a money king; such a|man
as Sir Morton l’eto was; or Commodore
Vanderbilt, or Stewart, or any of those
fellows.’
Abou laughed sardonically. ‘Go!’
said he, waving his wand ofer him three
times. “Again 1 grant thee thy insane
request. Go! aud bother me no more.’
And the young man again changed
His eyes turned to cold gray; his head
became narrow and long; his lip# thin
and bloodless; his fingers long and con
stantly shut, etc.
Five years rolled by again, and the
young man again stood before him.
‘Well!’ said Abou.
‘Mighty Abou, I have realised all that
I hope for, aud more. Every thing I
touched prospered with me. I went into
stock raising,; my cows took premiums
at the State Fair; i married the only
child of a retired physician, whose sands
of life had nearly run out, and he was
accommodating enough to die a month
therestter; I was elected Treasurer of a
Life Insurance Company; I speculated
in oil stocks and always sold out when
they wore at 200; I bought oil lands, and
my wells were always flowing; I was ap
pointed executor of no less than nine
latge estates, the heirs of which bring
always female infants; I speculated in;
silver, in gold, and in railroads; I busted 1
the Chicago .wheat operators, and am to ;
day counted the coming man iu New I
York; but—’
‘But what? Art thon not satisfied?’
‘Satisfied? Alas, no I After all; what
is wealth? What are stocks, and lands,
and tenements? Nothing. My soul
yearns tor something higher.’
‘What wouldst thou be? I have giv
en thee everything thou hast asked for.
What is the next whim?’
‘I would he famous in literature. I
would write for the newspapers and
magazines. I would have my name on
the dead wal’s in big letters, and in
many colors. Iwould have tho populace
say: ‘There goes the author of— say,
'Trie Rival Plug Uglies.’ I would—but
you know what 1 would.’
‘Again I gratify thee,’ said the com
plaisant Abou, and he passed hi* wand
ovfer his head four times,—it taking one
more pass to transform hitn into a liter
ary man than it doe# for anything else,
—and he Went out from the presence in
a seedy black coat, with an expansive
forobcad and dreamy bluo eyes, and a
turnover collar, Hinukiog a Uicroclianm
in an abstracted manner.
Five years rolled around, and again
the young man, —that is to say, ho was
not so young now as he wan at tho be
ginning, by fifteen years,—appeared.
‘VVhatl’ said Abou, you hero again?
What wouldst thou now? Three times
havejl given thee means to make thyself
happy, as thou supposed. Art thon
satisfied? or does thy yearning soul still
yearn? Speak! or forever hohj thy
peace.'
•Mighfy Abou! Iwould crave some
thing, hut 1 know not what. I have
beeu successful in literature. I have
made myself a name and fame I have
won distinction and Worn it. My poi ms
are pronounced sweet; my plays are act
ed and draw houses; my novels are read
from Greenland’s icy mountains, to In
dia’s coral strand; and my History of
America is a text book. But what of it?
Each step I took, I felt an inward dis
aatislaction with what I left behind.
My increase ci knowledge Was just suffi
cicnt to show me what an egregious ass
I had been; and if I gained a step ia ap
preciation of the beautiful, it was pois
oned with the thought that there were
heights I could not climb, and depths I
could not sound, I piuedfor immortality;
, and once, methoagtit, I had attained it,
and I would cease my labors, and rest
'on my laurels; and, for a week, I quit
I P e f?6' n g away. The public promptly
forgot there had ever been such a per
son. The bill poster went forth, and
I over the posters which had my narms ou
them, be pasted others, announcing a
; new name, and I was buried. VV hat,
i thoaght I, is fame, when it’s at the mer
cy of a hill sticker? And, while in the
zenith ot my glory, it was gilded misery.
II opened letters by the bushel from the
Lord knows whom, inviting me to lect
| ure lor the benefit of the Lord knows
1 what. I spent ene halt of my time in
sending autographs to my aduiireie; and
HERE SHALL THE PRESS THE PEOPLE’S RIGHTS MAINTAIN, UNAVv'ED iff PEAR AND UNBRIBED BY GAIN.
QUITMAN, GEO., FEBRUARY 7, 1873.
the other half and all my money, in send
ing photographs to people who bavo
shoved them out ol their albums, long
since, to make room for tho next indi
vidual that curao after me. And that is
fame!’
And the young man stamped his feet,
and tore several largo handsful of hair
out of his head, which lit) should not
have done, as his severe labors and bad
habits had made him already bald.
Then Abou spoke up, and said:
'My eon, I knew, invariably in ad
vance what would be tho result of all
theso favors I have granted thee.
Wealth, political preferment, arid liter
ary fame, are three of the most unsatis
factory styles of lunacy mankind is af
flicted with. Had 1 been angry with
yen, I should have married you to a wo
man’s rights lecturer; but I chose, rath
er, to let you run your course. All
mankind, my son, is on a road which
begins with the cradle and ends with the
grave. Flitting before us is a parcel ol
butterflies which observing them from
the youth end of the road, are beautiful
insects. We siriVo to catch them, and
do so, alas! the minute we pass them,
and turn to look at what we have, we
are somewhat disgusted to find that on
the other side they are of that dull bolot
with which farmers, in the more barbar-
ous parts cf Pennsylvania, paint their
houses. If our foresight was 8R good as
our hindsight, we would not go for them;
lint it is uot. I havo lived something
over four thousand years, owing to my
being a prophet, aud have seen the folly
of such things. Wealth!—it is good
just as far as yon Can make use of it.
Politics!—l never saw but one man who
ever saw any good in it. He says ho
liked it because, next to counterfeiting
and bigamy.—two pursuits lie doted on
—there was in it the greatest room for
developing the dormant rascality which
is in every man. Aud literary time!—
my young friend, bottled mootlshine is
granite for solidity besides it. My old
friend, Shakspeare, was supposed Jto he
entitled to a permanent place in the
memory of mat), and here up comes a
woman and a man writing books prov
ing that it was not Shukspeaic, but
some other fellow that wiotc his plays
aud things.
'Again, under this head. Tho fame
which men strive alter, and yearn after,
is not the satisfactory kind after yon get
it. Ila man, from the love of his kind,
forms a desire so „do something for his
associates in misery, does a big thing,
the world applauds, and that is good,
verily. The eminent Swiss, Winkelreid,
when he rushed upon the Austrian
spears, snd remarked, ‘Make way for
liberty, he cried,’ had no idea that school
children would declaim it all over Now
Jersey, as they have done ever since, or
he would not have done it probably.
Winkelreid was not going for posterity
much; but it was ti e Swiss of that iden
tical day for whom he took into his bow
els more spears than were comfortable.
Had ho thought of posterity, and waited,
before making his grand rush, till he
could decide upon appropriate last words
which would sound well in history, he
would either have changed his iniud, or
lost the opportunity. So it was with the
other Swiss, William Toll, and others
which I would name only 1 have not got I
far enough into the encyclopedia. ]
Aaron Burr tried to make fame; and Bon
aparte wes working to establish a repu
lation, but they were both scooped and j
died miserably; a warning to ail after ;
them. If I should desire fame, T should j
do a big thing and die immediately,
with neatness and dispatch, while I was
feeling good over it, for that feeling i*
always the last.
‘Young man, I disenchant thecF and
Abou passed his rod three times over hi*
head backwards. “Yon are again the
identical youth yon were on that beau
tiful spring morning fifteen years ago.
Go homo to Sussex county; aud get into
that little store again. Never hanker
after tame any more. Go to s nging
schools, play checßers, and che w dog-log
tobacco; marry a red headed girl weigh
ing 180 avoirdupois; take your country
paper; be a Squire; have not iest? tbain
ten children, half of them like you and
half like their mother; and finally when
your time comes, when tho grim messen
ger taps you on the shoulder, lio down
like a man, gather up your feed, and
thank the Lord that your lot was cast
in New Jersey, a country from which a
man can go without regret,—perfectly
sure that Whatever other world he finds,
[bo cannot get into a worse one. Go my
son! Draw molasses, and bo bappyl”
And the young man turned away sor
rowfully, and Abou ben Adhem went ?»
to his breakfast.
■HIE END or THE I/O END.
[Note by the Author. —Tno foregoing j
Legend has given me much trouble, but
if a general reading of it will keep—
One young man from ruining himself
in oil speculation;
One young man from making a nui
sance ot himself by pnixirig in politics;
and
One young man from iinagiumg tnat
he is a poet.
My object will have been attained;
and, upon proof thereof, certified to by
three credible witnesses, 1 shall he ready
to die happy.]
THE END OK THESAUTHORS N TE.
With most men life is like batk-gam
meu ball skill aud halt luck.— Holmes.
Haunted School llousr.
In Newbnryport fMass.) they have a
school-house that the school committee
have been forced to advertise as closed
to visitors, becaude curious crowds wait
ed within and without to see the myste
rious form of a ghost boy, who had been
seen trotting around there for more than
a year, seen frequently by the teacher—
who is not a spiritualist— And by most
of tho whole silty pupils, who are too
young (primary scholars) to mystify
and deceive the pcoplo.
The school-house is a one story build
ing, that would to the last place in town
for a spirit fruits ahy happy abode to
wish to renew its childhood in. There
is an entry to the building, where is a
flight of stairs to'tho attic, and a window
looking into the school room. The
teacher’s desk brought her back to that
window where the pupils told her a
strango hoy was playing liis tricks,
sometimes putting his head up to the
glass; and othef times looking in: They
described him, and when seeu he has al
ways been in the same dress aud appear
ance. To verify statements, she chang
ed her seat to taco the window, and by
and by the face appeared—Jack Frost
upon the window-pane.
No doubt but it was really a boy, she
took her “ruler,” the emblem of her au
thority, and mado for tho entry, and
thero she found him standing quietly in
tho. corner—one of tho prettiest faces she
had ever soon, and needing a kiss more
than a blow. His body dressed in plain
i white clothes, boro the appearance of
just passed tho first doCatlfe of years.
His hair was almost white-—bis eyes a
sweet blue. She advanced to him and
then he dodged to the attic stair. She
followed—is now near enough to take
hold ofhim —reached for him, but lio is
not there. lie seemed to sink through
the stairs, and where she would grasp
his person her baud struck the floor, lie
wuh gone.
The police thought they could capture
him. They arrested a lad as the author
I of all this commotion the town through,
and he had his choico to confess or take
his chance for the reform school. It
i was not only tho old witchcraft but tho
old test. ‘Throw lief into tho river,’
said they ot old times, ‘and we shall find
out whether or not she be a witch. II in
nocent she will drown; if she swims wa’il
hang.' The boy partially confessed; hut
he was not punished, because his teacher
and ail the pupils and his parents knew
that he was not the straugO boy who
looked in at the window, and the face
continued to reappear when he was a
way.
Next a carpenter was sent t& nail up
the passage to the attic, but if ‘love
laughs at locks,' mufch more do ghosts.
The little tow-head even mado more
noieo than before. He turned the attic
into a carpenter’s shop where he, too,
sawed aud pounded and nailed; and,
as if to demonstrate the futility of hu
man force to shut him out, he put his
head down through tho ventilator find
took a survey of the school. Some ol
the children have been frightened, and
one day one of them fainted; but few of
them are excited about it. The teacher
has spoken to him, hut he only laughed
ftom his happy face. The children look
ed at him, whom not one of them ever
saw hefofc; and ho returns their glances
with lovo in his soft; mild eyes; but as
yet he has not told them who he ia,
whence he came, or what his mission.
This comes nearest td a real ghoßt—a
day light ghost—of anything they have
had iu that city for years.
Hemlock Sweats in Mr.NfN<JiTl's.—The
Freeport (III.) Bulletin of a late date
publishes the following letter written by
a gentleman iu Michigan to a friend in
Freeport:
I only write to fell you what will save
every case of "cerebro-spina! meniugo
lin.” It is the same cpidefaic that raged
in this State in the winters of 1847 and
’4B, which broke up onr Legislature, and
which carried to the grave every one it
touched until she old-fashioned hemlock
sweats were adopted, after which every
case was saved.
Our pcoplo sent about twenty-five
miles and procured hemlock boughs, and
they sent tor it from all parts ol the
State. There was a company hfirc call
ed the “Hook and Ladder Company,'
that for weeks did nothing night and
day but go from house to house giving
hemlock sweatß, and it saved every case.
Thorough sweating might do, hot there
is no mistake about hemlock sweats be
ing a specific.
Treatment or Broken Legs.— I hey
havo anew way of treating tho broken
legs of horses which ought to be gener
ally known. A valuable horse in Hurt
ford, Conn., had his leg broken a short
time since. The leg was carefully set
by an experienced surgeon, and was cov
ersd thickly with plaster. When the
plaster “set,” or hardened, it kept the '
limb as immovable as if it had been
made of iron; Thus treated, a broken
leg, it is asserted, will' knit together in
i a brief time, aud become as good as ev
er.
j Boarding-house chicken soup can be
, made, if is Baid, by hanging a ben up in
| bUD so that her shadow shall fall into
1 a potot salt water. The only trouble
I is that ou a cloudy day the soup is li-bls
to 1 e weak.
New Married Men—Wliat they
hare to Come to.
1. Just married ; destined to linger in
clover, new-mown hay, and such herb
age, from nine to twelve months. Then—
2. Some black, rascally, stormy night
you are turned out in the streets and
ponds aud mill tacos, or afnid snow eigh
teen inches deep, and drifting like blaz
es, and told to run for a doctor. When
you get home again, eight chances to
ten a little rod looking thing, about {he
size of a big merino potato awaits you.
They call it a baby ; and packed up with
it you will find the first leal squalls of
married life—yon can bet on tl at.
3. Paregoric, and soothing syrup, and
catnip tea, and long flannel, and diaper
stuff', and baby colic—they will come
along to ; in fact, they will become just
as much at home in the house as dinner.
Then—
4. One of these nights, in
“The wee sma’ hoius ayont the twal,”
you will turn out again. Barefoot, and
icy, disconsolate sense of dam pm eM about
you, only a cotton shirt or such a mat
ter between you and (lie distressed
openess ot a cane-scat chair, you will
distractedly rock that baby back and
forth, and bob him up and down, sing
ing, meanwhile with a voice like a wild
ox in a slaughter yard,
“Tlils tiling ia playing out, Mary,
Rock o’bye baby, oa a tree-top.
or some such melody. And all the time
that baby ye'ls. Oh, doesn’t ho yell I
while Mary Ann, up to her nose under
the warm bed covers, to help out every
now and then impatiently puts in just
at the wrong place, ‘Why don’t you trot
hitn faster, Samuel?
And you trot him—oh how yon do
trot him! If you could only trot his
wind out so far that lto never conld get
any of it back again, or break his back,
or neck; or something, you would lie im
measurably happy. But, no. The lit
tle innocent seems tougher than an In
dia rubber car spring.
Just as you are about giving up, con
cluding that you must freeze, that there
will certainly have to be a funeral in the
house inside of thirty-six hours, baby
wilts from sheer exhaustion, and then,
with teeth chattering like a McComrick
reaper, you crawl in by [Mary Ann and
try to sleep again.
sth. Gradually you glide away into
a tangled masio of ice, camomile, more
ice, skating weather, steam whistle
voiced babies, jockey club, sleigh rides,
crinoline immense us the old beli at Mu ft
cow, Indian ambuscades, snow storms,
and forty other cqu'ully cheerful things,
suddenly—
-6 A snort, a thrash, a wild throwing
upward of little arms and legs, and then,
keen and shrill, comes that terrible 'ah
-waahl’ again. 1 guess you wake up
don’t you?
‘Get the paregoric and a teaspoon,
quick!’ said Mary Ann, in a sharp, stac
cato tone, and don’t you got it?'
In just three-eights of a second you
aro a Grecian herd out there on the floor,
dropping paregoric in a teaspoon.
Hurry! Gracious little Peter describ
ing diabolical carves with all the arms
and leg# he’s got, and screaming one
hundred pounds to the square inch, and
Mary Atm rearing around there in the
lied making a rocking chair of her back,
and yelling, ‘By, by (),’ like a wild Com
anche on the war path. Oh, no; cir
cumstances aro not such as to make you
hurry any.
And then to think that as days and
perhaps years roll on, there has g’ot to
be more and more yet of such distressed
work.
Nice, ain’t it?
A colored female preacher is making
Macon lively. In one ol her street ser
mon# she thus relates her experience :
‘I started to go rigtit toheben, De deb
il started at my heels, and hs followed
me ebefy step ob de way. When Igo
to North C'liny, he was dar; and when 1
went through Missouri and N w York,
ho was stili dar. I was afecre Ito look
around for seer I’d see him, and he’d
lead me down to hell. He followed me
ebery step ob de way right t>de gate
ob beben, and when dey opened de door
to let me in he git) one big howl aud lef
me, and I walked right in. Oh, my
frens, it was de most beautifulest I • !>-
er saw. Ebery thing was gold, and dey
brought me a gold biblo, and you je#
ought to hear me read. Here I don’t
know de A 15 0; but up dar I could read
]is like a preacher. I conld read every
’wot d, and did nothing but sit undei du
shade ob a June apple tree a id read my
gold bible every day. I tell do gospel
truth, ebery word 1 say; I seen h-bcu
t,,i I done been dar, and red do gold bi
b!o through.’
Some Ons. Says: Have yo t ever no-j
ticed how badly boys write at the bot- i
tom of the pages iu their copy-books?;
There is the copy at the top, and in the
fust line they look at that; in the second
line they copy their own imitation; and
the writing grows worse and worse as it
descend- tho page. Now the apostles
followed Christ; the first fathers imitated
the apostles; tho next lathers copied the
first lathers; and #<> tt.e standard of ho
liness tel! dreadfully; and now we are
apt to follow the very lies and dregs of
1 Cnristiauity; aud we think if we are
about as good as oar poor, imperfect min
isters or leaders in the Church that we
1 shall do well and deserve praise.
[52,00 per Annum
NO. G
Ttie Farmer’s Vocation Perpetual.
Wc need not fear that the human race
will ever cease to have a delight in tlio
cultivation of land—thy raising of grain
and fruits—in planting trees. Men al
ways did delight iti the pleasure of ag
riculture. It has been the chosen pur
suit of the ablest aud wisest men of all
ages. The pleasures of the husband
man have been the thetne of poets and
orators in every laugnage and in every
land. These pleasures, Cicero tells us,
are not checked by any old age, and
make the nearest approach lb the life of
a wise'man. And he tells ua that Ho
mer introduces Laertes, soothing the re
gret which he felt for his abb, by tilling
the land and manuring it. Marcus Cu
rius, after he had triumphed over the
Somnitcs, over the Sabines, ovor Pyr
rhus, spent the closing period of his ex
istence in ngricultiiral pursuits. Ciu
cinnatlis was at the plow when it waa
announced that ho was made Oictaton
'God Almighty,’ says Lord Bao in, ‘first
planted a garden; aud indeed it is tho
purest of pleasures; it is tho greatest
refreshment to the spirits of .niiini with
out which buildings aud palaces life but
gross handiworks.’ Addison says a
garden was the habitation of our first
parents before the fall. It is naturally
apt to fill the miiid with calmness and
tranquility, and to lay all its turbulent
passions at rest. The Philosopher B >l
- was never so happy, Pope tells
us, as when among the hay-makers on
his farm. dud not alone ia the refine
ments of rural life will there be an inter
est. Farmers hold the world together..
There may bo years when they seem of
less consequence. Trade or manufacts
urea may allure some of them for a time.
But there will ever be latent in every
man’s breast a hope to end his (lays bn
a farm.
Denominational Oxen.
A gentleman traveling iu Texas mot
on tho road a wugou drawn by four oi
en, driven by a countryman, who, in ad
dition to the skillful flourish and crack
of whip, was vociferously encouraging
his horned horses after this fushiop i—
'Haw, Presbyterian I Gee, Baptist I
VVlioa, Presbyterian I Get up, Methodist!’
The traveler stopped the driver, remark
ing to him that lie had strange names
for his oxen; he would like to kuow why
lie thus called them. Said the driver,
‘I ca'l this ox Presbyterian because he
is a true blue and never fails, pulls ififo’
difficulties, arid holds out in the end ; be
sides he knows more than tho rest. I
call this one Baptist, because he ia ali
ways after water, and seems as though
he’d never drink enough ; then again he
wont eat with the others. 1 call this one
Episcopalian, because he has a mighty
way of bolding his head up, und if tho
yoke gels tight, he tries to kick clear of
the traces. I call this ox Methodist, be
cause he puffs and blows and bellows as
ho goes along, aud you’d think he Whs
pulling all creation, but ho don’t fidll k
pound, unless you continually stir nfiii
up.”
Corn is the cheapest and best food for
fowls, if wo lire to uamo one article.
They like it better than any other grain,
and it probably must always be tho
main dependence in this country in keep
ing pon'try. But (here must bo vnrn-j
ty. Ileus arc as omnivorous, perhaps,
as any other animal in the world, man
excepted. They even exceed swine in
this respect. We all tuow how dis
tasteful a uniform diet is to oursclfes.
The’appetite, both in man and brutes, is
determined by tho varying state of the
system, and a kind of food that is craved
at one time is rejected at another.
Wheat, buck wheat jand oats must ha»o
a place on the diet list. The iattef are
best ground. Wheat-bread is excellent.
Hens soon tire of cooked grain, but it
should be fed part of the time. Every
day in tho year when fowls do not have
access to grass, fresh vegetable food
should be allowed, aud a small
of meat when there is no insect forage.
Corn should preponderate for growing,
chickens, because tho r cheapest, and for
fattening fowls, but for layers wheat
should occupy a prominent placo.
A Washington correspondent announ
ces that lemonade is provided for thirsty
Congressmen in the cloak-room of tho
House, and adds: "There is a man who
squeezes Congtcskional Ifrmons all day
long, and he is paid a Salary under some
head—stationery, I believe—a graceful
allusion to the onmoviiig qualities of the
drink he predates, and the lemons aud
etrgnfr are paid for as fuel and gas.”
It is a fact not generally known, per;-,
haps, that t 1 e young State of Nevada
legaTA s gambling, aud exacts a license
Irotu card-sharpers and swindlers. H
» officially stated, iu a late State doptn
mont, that the treasury of the State is,
annually enriched by about $15,000 from
the granting of gamblers’ licenses. Ef
forts are now being made lor a reform
in the matter, by procuring legislation
| to make gambling illegal, aud there is a
| strong probability of that result bcfiig
attained. _
I A Parisian paper recommends die 10l-
I lowing method for the preservation of
! eggs: Dissolve four ounces of bCo’s wax
lin eight ounces of olive oil; iu this put
I the tip of the finger and auuoiut the egg
all around- The oil will immediately be
absorbed by the shell and the pores fill
ledup by tho wax. If kept in a cuol
' place, the eggs, after two years, will l#
1 as good as it fresh laid.