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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.