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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.”