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duty on slave-grown sugar. This arrange
ment Mr. Bull, being fond of sugar, and de
sirous of obtaining the article cheap, subse
quently annulled.
Mr. Bull is persuaded by his economical
advisers that he did not, by so doing, break
faith with his colonists ; but feeling uncom
fortably dubious r, s to this point, he would
be glad to have it settled to. his satisfaction.
He has renounced slave-holding, believing it
to be criminal ; but while he continues to
consume slave-grown sugar, it strikes him
forcibly that he is in the same position as a
receiver of stolen goods. He will feel deeply
grateful to any ingenious person who will
convince him that he is mistaken in this
view.
Mr. Bull desires to enjoy cheap sugar, un
alloyed by the reflection that he is encourag
ing slavery. He wants to be enabled to con
gratulate himself on having abolished slaver}’
wiihout being obliged to reproach himself for
admitting produce of slave labor. He wishes
to revel, at the same time, in sugar and self
,complacency. He seeks, in fact, to be reliev
ed from the disagreeable suspicion that he. is
acting the part of a humbug; and any special
pleader who wi 11 do him this k indness will
be handsomely rewarded.
MORE REPUBLICS.
There seems to he no end to the revolution
ary mania, which threatens even to invade
the vegetable kingdom, and turn it upside
down. The potatoes have already passed
through the terrible ordeal of blighted pros
pects; and so hard was the struggle they
went through, that few came out of it with
out an enormous number of black eyes. —
There was not a member of the potato tribe,
scarcely, that did not find itself the victim of
a very bad spec —and the boldest champions
were found to be worth nothing when their
jackets were thrown off. The carrots were
for a time threatened; and such was their pit
iable condition at one moment, that if they
could have done it, they would have, in des
pair, severed their own carotid arteries, which
would in fact, have been cutting their own
throats. We have lately heard that the par
sley is so sickly as to be confined to its bed,
and that the peas are so very poor that they
can hardly be got to shell out. If this state
of things should continue,,the vegetable king
dom will be completely annihilated in a very
short, space of time.
y—■——■——^—————
iUorking Ulan.
HONOR TO ALL HANDICRAFTS.
BY C. L. WHELER.
Honor to him whose sinew’d arm
Swings tiie ponderous sledge ;
Honor to him whose sturdy hand
Delves at the fruitless hedge; —
To ev’ry toiler who striveth
To beautify the earth,
I3e honor and fame far greater
Than to men of kingly birth !
To toil —it is to fill complete
The Lord of Life’s command,
To crown with golden fruit and grain
The wilds of ev’ry land ;
To rear the mansion and the cot
In city or in glen,
That Peace and Happiness may dwell
Amid the homes of men.
Who makes a blade of grass to grow
Where there grew none before,
Is greater than the demi-god
Whose mantle drips with gore:—
Then plant the spade in desert ground,
And make its treasures spring
To bless the hand and home of him
Who’s nobler than a king !
MECHANICS.
When a mechanic, by his industry or skill,
or by a fortunate combination of circumsta
ces, which confer no honor on himself, emer
ges from obscurity and poverty, and rolls
amid all the luxuries of uncounted wealth, he
often seeks to forget his origin in deference
l o the blind prejudices of society, and the
dictates of a perverted and flattered heart,
worse than cowardly, denies himself to his
great family kindred, and turns up his pam
pered nose at the mere mention of a mechan-
M the facts speak stronger than words. Why
should mechanics, who combine and exhibit
ln ‘heir diversified range, the highest and
plastic energies of genius, on whose
laborious, never-tiring skill, wealth and lux
ury depend, and to whose power pride is sub
servient in its swelling “pomp and circum
stance,” be treated as inferior beings among
tbe mass of humanity 1 Merit should be the
passport to society and consideration; and
the state of society will be artificial and dis
ordered until merit shall be thus respected.—
a ® is ir ia & a si
We will admit that the inferior estimation in
which mechanics are regarded, is to some ex
tent attributable to their own fault. They do
not sufficiently respect themselves. They do
not assert and properly defend their rights.—
Let them, as a class, bestow more attention
on themselves —cultivate a greater dignity
and polish of manners, and attend generally
to those minor accomplishments which con
stitute, in the eye of a correct, not a sickly
taste, the true gentleman. They will thus
commend themselves as the representatives of
that skill and genius which they exhibit in
their various departments, and be respected as
such delegates, unencumbered by factitious
impediments. We think we see in the move
ments of the age a progressive tendency to
their elevation. It is not the Agrarian prin
ciple of equality in spite of dollars and cents!
It is founded on the recognition of the inter
nal man, in whatever guise he may be found
—the valuation of the jewel in the midst of
repulsive incrustation—the discernment of the
true ore, though deeply imbedded in the com
mon earth. It is the test of equality to which
the great Scottish poet alludes—
“ The rank is but the guinea’s stamp,
The man’s the gowd for a’ that.”
The operation of our democratic institutions
is helping on this moral consummation. It is
planting on every side free public libraries,
and other means for the development and im
provement of the mind and heart, and offering
all facilities, in spite of the disparities of ex
ternal advantages, to achieve an equality with
the highest standards of mental and moral ex
cellence. We say then to the mechanic, lift
your eye to the standard, and keep it in view.
Do your part in the movements of the day,
and compel, by your efforts, the recognition
of your just position.— Scientific Am.
VISIT TO A PAPER MILL.
To those of our readers who have never
enjoyed the privilege of visiting a “paper
mill,” a few facts in relation to the process
of manufacturing may not be entirely unin
teresting.
White news-paper is produced from color
ed cotton rags, with about one-third foieign
linen, which are added to impart strength to
the sheet. The foreign rags are imported
from Sicily, Italy, and other portions of Eu
rope. In the place of these Kentucky bag
ging is frequently used; this is obtained from
cotion factories, after is is taken from the
bales which it encloses. The rags are first
assorted by girls, who separate the white
from the mass; these are used for the manu
facture of book paper. The woolens, silks,
and other refuse kinds, are worked into pa
per for wrapping purposes. From the assort
ing apartment, the rags go to the cutter and
duster, which cuts them into fine peices, and
removes all dust and dirt; then they are
placed in large tubs, sufficiently capacious to
contain twenty hogsheads of liquid, or 2,500
lbs. of stock, where they are boiled in lime
water twelve hours to start the color. Two
casks of lime are applied to each tub-full of
rags. The boiling is done by means of steam,
which passes from the engine through tubes
into the tubs. From these vessels they are
removed to the “ washer engine,” where they
are cleansed by washing until the water in
which they are immersed is clear; then chlo
ride of lime, vitriol or alum, are added for
bleaching. These remove the color most ef
fectually, and a few minutes, action produces
a great change in the appearance of the ma
terial. There they remain for about three
hours, being forced through the engine, cut,
and rendered pulpous. They are then empti
ed into large cisterns in the basement, where
they remain twelve hours in the bleaching li
quid. They are then drawn up and placed
in the “beater” engine, where they are beaten
four hours, until reduced to a perfect mass of
pulp, and then emptied into another cistern,
ready to come on to the machine.
The pulpy substance is formed by machin
ery into a continuous sheet of paper, which,
after passing the process of formation, is
dried by the application of steam. The steam
is brought from an engine below by tubes in
to copper cylinders, which are heated thereby;
and over these the paper is passed to the cut
ter, which forms it into sheets of any desira
ble size. Here girls are in constant attend
ance, who receive the paper from the cutting
apparatus, placing it in an even position be
fore them and throwing aside every sheet
bearing the appearance of defect. Thence it
is taken to the foreman, counted into quires
and reams, pressed and bundled for the mar
ket and the printing office, to be rendered an
instrument for the enlightenment, elevation,
and blessing of humanity.— Northern Pioneer.
Remember the saying of Poor Rich
ard, “a penny saved is a penny earned.”
t (General (Pclcctir.
THE SILVER SIXPENCE.
“Do you see here,” said a ragged little
boy to a group of gaily dressed urchins, as
he came up from Market-street wharf, in
Philadelphia, “do you see here, I’ve got a
silver sixpence.”
“ Why,” said Jeremiah Budd, whose fath
er was a wealthy ship-master, “ I have six
dollars to spend on Christmas, and that fel
low is proud of sixpence.”
Theodore heard, and looked thoughtfully
on the ground for a moment; then recollect
ing himself, “ six dollars to spend,” uttered
he, “but sixpence to keep is better than
that!”
Theodore kept his sixpence in his pocket,
carefully wrapped up for several weeks, but
one day his uncle, who kept a fruit shop at
the corner of the alley where he lived, said
to him, “ Theodore, your sixpence won’t
grow in your pocket, you should plant it.”
Theodore understood him better when he
told him he might buy some fruit in the mar
ket with it, and stand in his shop and sell it
out again. He embraced the offer, doubled
his money the first day, and went on until he
had as much fruit to sell as he had room for
in his little corner.
His uncle observing the thrifty, and withal
honest turn of the boy, finally took him into
his store as an assistant, and allowed him to
tratfe sundry specified articles on his own ac
count.
The closest attention to business, the most
careful management of his small funds, and
that run of good luck, as it is called, which
generally runs with those who are saving in
dustrious and prudent, in the course of three
or four years enabled him to go into full part
nership with his uncle, and to extend his bu
siness, and double his former amount.
Having trimmed his sails right at first, it be
came a second nature with Theodore to keep
what sailors call close to the wind; and he
made astonishing head-way now. Soon af
ter he was twenty-one, he was able to buy
out the whole stock of a dry goods merchant,
and got into business on his own account en
tirely. Still he prospered, became an impor
ter, finally changed his business for a whole
sale concern, embarked in the India trade and
at last married a fine girl, whose fortune was
little inferior to his own—and it is said, that
after that occurrence, he was worth not less
than half a million.
Theodore now lived in an elegant mansion
in Arch street, kept his carriage, and had ev
ery thing in handsome style, and yet attended
as usual to his business. That he m ; ght
never lose sight of his fortune, the silver six
pence was blended with the arms on his car
riage ; it formed the arms, the seal with which
he stamped his letters; and he had one of the
coins- -he used to say the very idendical one
he first owned—fastened upon his desk in his
counting room, remembering thus constantly
that, by small means he had risen; he still,
among much well bestowed charity, looked
well to small things and never forgot how to
reckon pence as well as pounds.
Thus smoothly were Theodore’s affairs
going forward, when one sultry summer’s day,
just as he entered his counting ronm, a thin
white person presented himself at the counter
and asked for employment He wore a thread
bare suit of black, an old hat, and his shoes
were almost ready to drop off his feet. “In
what capacity,” said Theodore, “ do you wish
for employment ?”
“In any capacity,” was the reply, “but,
sir,” continued the stranger, wiping a tear
from his eye-with his coat sleeve, “my father
was a merchant, and he brought me up to his
profession ; I should therefore, be glad of em
ployment as a clerk.”
Theodore looked at him closely. He thought
he saw some lineament she remembered.
“What is your name 1 ?” he asked.
The stranger hesitated a moment, hung
down his head, andreplied, “Jeremiah Budd.”
“Ah!” said Theodore, recollecting him in
stantly, “You have got clear of your six dol
lars long ago, I fancy Jeremiah.”
“Yes,” said Jeremiah, with a sigh, “ but
I have not fotgotten the ragged little boy with
his silver sixpence. Had 1 been as careful
of my thousands as he was of his pence, I
should not have been here friendless and pen
nyless this day.”
There was a half triumphant smile on The
odore’s face as he took the hand of his visit
or, which seemed to spring from self-compla
cent feelings, which was excusable because
it rose partly from the consciousness of his
ability to aid one whose imprudence had
caused his misfortune, but who seemed now
to confess his error. He took the applicant
into his employ, and in process of time, re
stored him to a business-doing, active, pru
dent and valuable man.
The lesson taught in this story . -
to need a word of addition. I will as)\ e other
is the needy man who has not spent rr.es*
money foolishly in his life, than would bt
necessary to make him comfortable now 7
1 >
A FRIENDLY BET.
I was dining at Mr. ’s, one of the best
dinner-giving civilians in Calcutta. We had
drank a large portion of 101 l shrob, and were
freely indulging in our hookahs, which bub
bled under the table, and behind our chairs
We had talked over all the local news, and
had canvassed the affair of Europe ; in a
word, we had gone through all the routine of
an Indian dinner, which I can no better des
cribe than by stating it to be a regular strug
gle to forget the misery of the climate, an at
tempt to overcome fatigue and ill health by
luxurious feasting. The ice which I must
confess is one of the best things in Bengal.
had cooled our parched lips; Colonel T
had made several matches for the next races;
and all seemed well pleased, save and except
our entertainer, who was looking sad and
gloomy. The cause of his present sullen
mood was simply this.
A jiseudo wit, a young ensign, just arrived
from Europe, was invited to ’s table. Un
used to the pomposity of rich civilians, and
fancying he could jest before a “senior mer
chant,” he had actually thought fit to com
mence a series of puns, with that easy famil
iarity in which witlings are sometimes pleas
ed to indulge in Great Britain. The host fan
cied his dignity slighted by the overwhelming
volubility of the young soldier; he therefore
ventured to interfere, when lo ! his military
tormentor turned upon him, and uttered half
a-dozen witticisms at the expcnce of the old
civilian. Astounded at the impudence of the
almost boy who thus dared to beard him,
Mr paused for an instant. The ensign
took advantage of the silence, and demanded,
“ Why Mr. ’s’ (his host’s) coat was like
a pine-apple in Hindostaunee?” None dared
to answer, though all saw the point. “Do
you give it up ? Well, thpn, I’ll tell you. —
Because its on an ass !” (aunanass.) Then
jumping up, he declared that he had an en
gagement to fulfil, and went off laughing at
the ill-concealed wrath of his entertainer,
whose interference he chose thus publicly lo
reprove.
Good-humor was again, however, ascend
ing her throne; even Mr. had begun tore
gain his wonted composure; when suddenly
Mr. fell from his chair in a fit. Every
one rose.
“ What’s the matter?” cried L . “Our
host has been seized with apoplexy,” cried
Danvers.
“Not a bit. Its mere epilepsy,” chimed in
Martin. “ Its apoplexy, I tell you,” tartly
replied the first speaker.
“ Its epilepsy, for a hundred gold mohurs.”
“ Done,” shouted Danvers; “ done for a hun
dred.”
“By Heavens, he’s dying!” exclaimed At
kins ; “ he’s turning black in the face. He’s
dying; give him air.”—“Nothe,” saidT ,
the resident at
“He is; he is even now in his death strug
gle.”
“ Pooh, pooh, he’ll get over it. I’ll bet a
!ack of rupees he recovers.” “ Done! done!”
vociferated Atkins.
“What’s the matter?” demanded the young
ensign, who had suddenly re-entered. “ Here’s
out host in a fit, a dangerous fit,” replied Capt.
Somers.
“Untie his neckcloth,” suggested a medical
man present, —“ untie his neckcloth ;he is
choking.”
“ I bar that,” shouted Atkins; “ I’ve bet a
lack he dies. I insist that no one shall toucli
him.” —“What! would you see a man die.
and not try to avert it ?”
“ You’re really very w r rong,” cried T .
who had bet on our entertainer’s recovery,—
“Will you pay half-forfeit, and let the cravat
be undone ?”
“Not I,” said the civilian. “Then no man
present shall touch him!” reiterated Atkins,
putting himself in an attitude as if to keep
assistance off.
“Well, then, let’s see what a boy (as you
were pleased to call me just now) can do.”
In another moment, Atkins was sprawling
on the earth, and the fainting mans neckcloth
suddenly undone. In five minutes more he
was perfectly recovered.
Atkins sent the ensign a challenge, which
his regiment took up, and sent the said At
kins to Coventry. He not only lost his lack
of rupees, but also his best friend ; for our
host, who had hitherto been his benefactor
and patron, never forgave him, but transfer
red his friendship to the young Ensign, who
>s now a Lieutenant-Colonel, thanks to hi
timely interference in preventing the probable
catastrophe of this “ friendly bet.”