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THE DAWSON JOURNAL,
Vol. 11.
STOItYOF A COHITJKTTE.
BY CHARLES BRANTFORD.
My mother wits very angry to hear
I had broken off with George Lytllo
ton I had several admirers in Brnr
ford, but we elected him because lie
cotiid otter mo iho best home; his
father, a thriving solicitor, having
promised to take him into partnership
on our marriage. We lived in a cot
tage in the outskirt of the town, and
to give ip the opportunity of exchang
ing this for one of the linest houses in
Barnlord seemed to my mother a mad
ness.
“Your flirting and coquetting have
driven him frantic,” sho said, the morn
ing after the quarrel; “but I believe
the game is in your own hands yet.—
lie will .come on again, and let this
affair bo n warning to you.”
“It shall boa warning to me to
have nothing more to do with him/’ 1
replied.
* ‘‘l will have none of this romance,”
rejoined my mother. “1 insist that
you receive him when lie comes as if
t otbing had happened, or, at least,
meet him half way.”
“You ask the sacrifice of niv life,
mother,” I returned, goaded into re
volt. “To George Lyttleton 1 can
never be reconciled, lie is not only
tyrannical, but spiteful, and in marry
ing him I should marry misery.”
Here we heard the well-known knock
at the door.
“Now, Alice, you have had your
heroics, and you know wi.at you have
to do,” sai Imy mother, in her steru
est tone.
She had hardly spoken, when George
came in. I never raised my eyes, but
I knew that he looked haggard, and
he made no response to my mother’s
smiles
“I suppose you know all about this
affair, Mrs. Seymour ?” ho said, after
an uncomfortable pause.
“What affair?” replied tnv mother.
“IknnvAlieo has been muttering
aoout something, but l never pay at
tention to lovers’ quarrels ”
' “Well, 1 wanted nothing unreason
able. She it engaged to me, and 1
thought she ought to dance with me
and nobody else; but last night, at
Mrs. Buhnet’s, site danced witii any
body but me. And I acknowledge I
spoke strongly about it. Hut I atn
willing to overlook it now, and go on
as b fore.”
My mother laughed “Tit t : s the
way to settl i UiflrtvnetM,” she said, “so
1 shall 1 avo you to. kiss and be
friends.”
Hut L caught her arm. “Stay,
mother !’’ I said, resolutely. “1 want
you to hear me say that 1 shall never
he Iriettds with Mr. Lyttleton again—
that I contemn and despise him, and
won tier 1 could ever have engaged
myself to him ”
My mother knew that these words
were decisive, and her eye lighted on
mine witn a look that, though it did
not shake my purpose, made my
heart quail At the same moment
George started front his cuir, with a
constrained laugh.
“I tell you what it is !’’ lie cried, “I
atn no longer the best match in Barn
ford. Ihe young squire has come
home, and— ha ! ha ! iia I —don't mind
my laughing, Mis. Seymour—our Mi-:s
hero, has been casting eyes at him,
and culling him handsome, and I do
believe sho is setting her cap to be
mistress at the Hall."
It vt as true that l had conceived
such a project, and tho accusation
brought a glow to ray cheek, which
did not escape my mother. In tacitly
h r face cleared; she drew hors df up,
and turned on George iu her most dig
rifled manner.*
“After such language from you, I
must side with ray daughter, Mr. Lyt
tlclon, and acknowledge that she has
taken a right view of your conduct,”
sho said. ‘‘.Pray, sir, leave my house,
and never enter it again.”
George was thunderstruck. lie had
never dreamt of being given up by nty
mother, and now asked pardon, and I
believe wotrld have gone on his knees
—only I quitted the room. I went up
stairs, and waited till I should be join
ed by my mother, for I felt sure that
she would come to me on George’s de
parture. But I was mistaken He
liad hardly gene when she also leJ
the house, and I remained in sus
pense.
But a load seemed to be taken from
my heart, I was free, and my glass
told ine that I had power to on.dave.
There might be difficulties to over
come ; but on meeting these I should
have my mother’s help, and I already
counted on triumph.
I heard her return, and my heart
beat quicker, as she came straight to
my room.
“I have been to the Hall, Alice,”
she said.
“The Hall!” I echoed, with a con
scious blush.
“Yes. I heard last night that Mrs.
Rush worth wanted a companion and
reader, and I thought that, as you are
now at liberty, the post would suit
you, so I wem about it at once, know
ing tijere would be a hundred appli- 1
cants. I have got it for you, and you '
are to take up your abode there to- j
morrow.”
I could, not help looking at my
mother as the spoke; our eyes met,
but now I did not b.ush, for I saw
in her a hard glauce a worldliness that
made me tremble. I trembled more
when my gazo turned into my own
bosom, and l beheld the same world
liuess there.
All that night this imago was be
fore mo—in my thoughts, and in rnv
snatches of sleep, rising like a ph an
tora,*presenting tny past life as a
blxnk, and my future as an imposture
DAWSON, OA., FRIDAY, MARCH M,
I saw myself uujoving and unloved,
and I thought of a time wln’ti my
youth would bo gone, my beauty with
ered, and I, old and forlorn, would be
in the world without a friend. More
than this, I despised mvselftts much ns
I despised George Lyttleton, and the
tears streamed front my eyes as I felt
what a mean thing I was." Hut where
I had contemplated further deception,
I now sa w a way open for amendment
The situation at tho Hall
would dcliv. r me from the thral
dom of my mother, and I decided to
go there; but far from retaining my
first design, I resolved :o studiously
avoid Mr. Hushworth, and try only to
be servicablo to his mother.
At last the time arrived for starting;
a tly came to the door, and wo set out
my mother and I, for the llall. It
was a gloomy day ; there had been a
good deal of rain, and the road which
wound round the outside of the part
wall, looked dreary. My mother eat
silent, and I was too glad’to he left to
my thoughts, which, though sad, had
a lacinntion for me. By and by we
reached the lodge, whonqp our carri
age swept round a lawn to tho house.
Then my mother broke silence.
‘You don’t, seem wail to-day, Alice,”
she said, “and I should like you to he
looking your best; for much depends
on a lit st appearance. You musn’t
expect this to bo an affair of I came, I
saw, J conquered. It will bo difficult;
and if I had known at first what l
know now, I should hardly have for
warded it. It seems Lady Uharteris
wants Mr. Hushworth for her daught
er Fanny, one of the belles of Hie
county. And the Rushworths are so
proud—another obstacle. I don’t
want to discourage you, and I have
been weighing whether I should tell
you of these things; but it is better
that you should be prepared. And
now good-bye—for I must leave you
at the door.”
My eyes filled with tears, and I felt
impelled to throw myself on her neck,
and teii her my renouncement of the
design and my purposes of amend
ment. Hut u glance at her face told
me how fatal would be the confession
—that instead of approval, it would
invoke derision, and entail on me new
fetters. So I simply bade her adieu,
and entered the house, where I inten
ded to w..rk out iny regeneration
It was a fine old mansion—one ol
the Elizabethan structures, and I found
tnysell iu a large ha'l, where suits of
armor, and trophies of the chase,
placed between family pictures, exhib
ited beta the pursuits and descent of
the owners. 'J he hou-ekeeper, a quaint
dame to a horn 1 had been consigned
by my mother, luce direc ed a servant
to c.nduct rre to the mistress of the
mansion.
Mrs Rishworth was an invalid. Fur
years she had nut left her own rooms,
but she art up, and, as her apartments
opi?n and into each other, was wheclc 1
every day into her boudoir. She had
been a beauty, and preserved the re
mains, with a manner haughty lo scorn;
and of this I felt the effect iu the stare
with which she received me.
I foresaw my post would he a trying
one, but all I anticipated fell short of
the reality; for Mrs. Rushworth’s tem
per was implacable. She could not bo
pleased, because her pleasure was in
finding fault; and having always wor
ri and her attendants till they became
frenzied under the strain and 11 >w in
her face, she hated every ono who ap
proached her from the conviction that
the feeling was mutual. This ban did
not, indeed, ex'end ti ter son—fir him
she ido'iz.d. Alfred Hushworth was
now *25, and bad just taken possession
of bis pa'riraony, aLer spending live
years iu traveling round the worid. 1
had seen him as he was passing through
the town and turned te look at me, and
this fired my ambition. But, under hie
own roof, I found it easy to keep my
resolution of avoiding him ; for he only
appeared in our part of the house at a
certain hour, when he paid his daily
visit to his mother, and then I took care
to be absent.
Thus I got over the first week, trying
all the while to conciliate Mrs. Rush
worth, but with no oilier effect than to
make her more exacting. One morn
ing she desired me to go down to the li
i brary for a book.
J “Yi u will lied it on my sou’s table
by the door,” sho added. “lie said he i
would put it there for uie before he
went out. Now, don’t bo blundering i
with a servuut, but go yourself—though, t
for that matter, you are as. likely to;
blunder as anybody.”
Thus graciously commissioned, I pro
ceed to the library, not without a tre
mor, for it was there that Mr. Rush
worth constantly sa‘, making it a forbid
den precinct to me, even in Bis absence.
I did not wonder that it shoutd bo his
favorito apartment when I entered.—
Lofty and spacious, with bay windows
looking on the grounds, and admitting
a lbod of light, sumptuously furnished
withal, and shelved round with volumes
in every tongue, it afforded a retreat
tempting alike to tho scholar and the
idler. Nor could Iboat a loss to dis
cover his table, even without his moth
er’s directions; for it was marked by
his open desk, and at the coiner I found
tho book, which be mett to turn me
into stone. It was addressed to Mr.
Hushworth, in the hand of Georgb Lyt
tlcton.aud there could be no doubt that
its object was to traduce me. 1 took it ;
np, the seal was broken, so that I could
draw out the inclosure and read it. I
felt irresistibly tempted, aud held the
letter a moment; but then a belter feel
ing prevailed, aud I laid it down. My
eyes rose as I did so, and I beheld Air.
Hushworth ,
“Mrs. Hushworth Bent me for a book |
I stammered, acquiring speech 1 kuow \
not how, ‘and I saw this letter, aud took
it up to be sure that I was not mistaken
in the writing. I beg ji ur pardou fur
tho liberty,”
Mr. Hushworth declined his head.
“1 lear that I haven’t exploited tny
conduct,” I cantiuued, “but.—but tho
tho writer of the letter is my enemy,
and L fear he can have written te you
but tor one object—to slander me.”
“Fray, say no more,” he replied, cav
alierly. “You and dn’t read tho letter,
and I don’t complain of a curiosity
which lho circumstances excuse ”
1 had jjoruo with tho temper of his
mother, never resenting her contumely
however it pained, but my spirit tired at
being treated with such indifference by
a man. It brought back my old pride
of boauty ; I forgot nty good resolutions
and all my difficulties, and thought only
of the moment.
“I trust you will consider that the
circumstances justify a greater curiosity,
sir,’ [ said; tit least l mast ask you
whether that letter does speak of too,
il it does, I beg you will allow mo to
r tad it.”
Heuowlooksmc iu tho face.
“You ask too much,” he replied in
a more serious tone.
“I am sorry you th : ok so, sir ; your
words are a confessi rn that the letter is
about me ; and I oauuot consent to re
main in your house, if I am to stay un
der amputations which are ooueculed
from me.”
“1 wish so Hpare you pain, and pain
to myself. Is it not enough that 1 dis
believe the calumniator?”
“Let me read it, sir,,” I pleaped, lay
ing my band upon the letter.
Agon he inclined his head.
1 waited for no more, but ran through
the letter before I breathed. Here it.
is:j
Sir : I think it a duty to put you on
your guard against Miss Seymour, who
lately entered your establishment; she
has jillod hali tho young men in JJran
ford, and her plotting mother bus plan
ted her at the Hall, with the design of
entrapping you. The young lady fully
enters rate the scheme, arid is determin
ed you sLa.l bo her husband before the
year is out. Take this warning from
One who wishes you well.
I felt the bloo 1 kiave my cheek at
the fir.-t words of the letter, but then it
came back, for I exulted that, whatever
my original design, I had arrived at the
llall with a pure and tu uorablc purpose.
Mr. Hushworth could not misinterpret
my feelings as 1 looked up ; the blush
was not that of shame but of triumph.
“That letti r is written by Mr. George
Lyttleton,” 1 said. “His slanders arc
so conteir ptible that they dou’t even
make indignant.”
Yet as the wends fell from my lips
I remembered that L once entertained
the motives ito ascribed lo me, and this
whi.sp.tr of my eoncicnce set my brain
in a whirl. 1 caught a chair and sank
into it, barely in time to prevent my
failing.
Mr Hushworth was at my side in an
instant; he exhorted rne’to be composed,
to dismibs this slaudrou* letter from my
mind, fecif-respeet told me that 1
must leave Lis house ; and I thought
of the reception I should meet from my
mother; the triumph I should afford to
George Bytderon ; (he tales that would
be spread about Branford, But it would
Le easier to bear all ibis than tbo scorn
I I Alfred ltusbworth.
‘I know not bow to thank you for your
symp-thy, sir,” I said with tears. ‘But
I feel that I must return home.”
My resolution took hi n by surprise,
and he had no time to frame a reply ;
fir here a servant lushed in and an
nounced that his mother had Lecn found
insensible.
I flew up stairs, end in a moment
was in Mrs. Rushworth’s room which I
hardly left (or a fortn’ght afterwards.
Daring that time she hung between life
and den‘h, and more than ouec her son
watched be! with mo, expecting each
mrmeat to be her Inst. But sho ralli
ed, and seemed to shako off with the
fever the evil temper, so that sho now
appreciated my attentions, and always
spoke to me kindly. As for her son,
nothing could bo more considerate that
bis demeanor, aiming as it did to set
me at uise, without obtruding a painful
recollection. He was too succcsslul;
for Lis presence not oDly gave me ia e,
but happiness. The moments flew when
wc were together, aud I counted them
in his absence. In short I loved him.
Nemesis bad entered my bosom ; and
where 1 once thought of being the victor
1 was vanquished.
Often 1 recognize this retribution,
but never mournful—rather with sat
isfaction, indeed ; for it gave me what 1
lacked before—somebody to love ; and
though it was a love unknown and which
would never be requited, yet I felt the
richer for. it, and locked it in my heart
like a secret treasure. 1 must soon re
turn home—for I only d‘ ferred my de
parture till Mrs. Hushworth should be
better, and then this hidden passion,
though it could not but be a sorrow,
would also be a oomfort, for I could
hold by it and rest on it, when every
thing else beside give way.
I had strolled out in the sunset iu
the park, to dwell on the.-c thoughts,
and they so absorbed mo that I did not
notice a figure lurking ancoDg the trees,
and before I looked up, George Lyttle
ton stoo 4 in my path.
“Well, Alice, I think you have play
ed this game out now,” he said, “aud 1
have come to give you another chance.
I shall never marry any girl but you,
aud I am determined that you shall
never marry any one but me ; so let us
try again !’
I made no reply but sought to pass
on.
“Come, you ain’t going that way,’
“dou’t think of it!”
1 turned my back, and thought to re
treat in tho other direction, but he an
ticipated my intention by stizing uie
round the waist.
“You won’t forgive me? you won't
bo friends ?’ lie cried flosoely ; “then \
say so ! give me y mr answer 1”
1 auswarod iu a stream, and was
strugglcing in Lis grip, wben a power
ful arm struck bint to Ihe ground.
“Scondrel! how dare you molest (his
lady ?” exclaimed Alfred Kushwortb.l
“Bog-mo, or I will have you borsewhip
cd into Branlord.’
George Lyttlotoli sneaked away with
out answering a word, uml 1 stood us
speechless.
I had uo voico, because my feelings,
were what my voice could not divulge
nor even express—admiration, grati -
tude and love, love that would brave
anything but discovery. But, after a
moment, 1 murmured my thanks, aud
accepted my deliverer’s escort to the.
house, replying to Lis remarks on tho
way iu tremulous monesylablcs. I took
leave of hiui in the hall, and ran to my
own room
It was a week t.frer this occurrence
that I aunou- cod my intended depar
ture to Mrs. Hushworth. .She was now
in stronger health then before her ill
nes, and we had been out in the car
riage, an exercise site bad not attempt
ed for years. Hut this did not reconcile
her to my going awty, aud she clung to
tnc so, that when I thought how dllf r
ently I should be treuted by my mother,
nty resolution almost faltered. But I.
withstood her tenderness, though with
a choking voice and bursting heart.
That Evening I was taking my tytual
stroll in tho park, now keeping always
in view of the house, when I caught
sight of Mr. Hushworth. 1 had
recurred to my old practice of avoiding
him, so I turned into tho alley of trees
leading in another direction. But I
had not gone far, when I heard a quick
step behind me, and the next moment
Alfred was at my side.
“I am glad to Lavo met you, Miss
Seymour,’ he said, in a voice I thought
troubled. “1 imagined you had given
up your intention of leaving us; but my
mother tells me you still adhere to it.”
“I have no alternative,’ I replied, al
most inuudiblv.
Pardon utc’ he returned, laying his
hand on mine ; ‘there is one—if 1 could
persuade you to cuurider it. You have
become indispcnsiblo to my mother, and
you arc as the light of day to me. Rc
pain here, then, to make us both hap
my—her with a daughter, and me with
the being I admired at our first meeting,
and now devotedly love'.’
I dou’t know how my feet bore me
at that moment ; for the ground seemed
to rise and fall, the trees to whirl, and
the sky to bow down. IBs band bad
twiued around mine, aud scut thrills to
to my heart, which bounded wi.l.ia me.
But even then my mind was made up.
“This must not be ?’ I said. ‘I should
be the worthless creature i have been
called if I consented.”
‘You refuse me, Alice! you whom 1
so love, so adore ! Ah ! why did I tell
you ? why did you forocme to speak be
fore I had a chance of moscss.’
I burst into tears. A word more, and
1 should Lave fallcu on his neck; but
L now felt my weakness, an 1, waving
my baud, which ho had allowed to drop,
1 hurried to tho house. Nor did 1 feel
• safe from myself there. 1 stayed only
to write a note ol farewell to Mrs Rush
worth and then stole out uupcrceivcd,
and made my way home.
I Carno before my mother like a spec
tre.
“What is tho nutter sho cried, scan
ning my pale fioc and staring eyes. ‘lu
Heaven’s name, speak out!’
“I have nollriDg to say mother, ex
cept that I come hack,’ I rcpl cd. Hut
don’t let this Double you, I can get
cut again in the same capaei'y, or as a
governess.’
My mother burst into a frantic Uuah.
‘As a governess !’ sho cried, seizing
me by the t-h raiders and shaking me
violently. ‘You t>b;t!l go out as a bride
and before he is a month older, too ’ l'n
briug George Lyttleton here te-moorovr,
and t ike care how you brhavo to him
Now you can go to bed.”
VVhat a uight of missery I passed—
as if 1 had been a criminal, oa tho eve
of execution ! rather would die, indeed
than give my hand to George Lyttleton.
Never—such was my risdvc—never
would 1 wed any one but Alfred, and
him 1 had refu el. 1 remained in my
room iu the morning, fearing to meet
mV mother, and considering how I could j
escape her toils. She did no: summon
me down, aud, after a time, the servant
came and announced that she had gone
out —on what errand 1 knew too ‘well
llcuco my heart quailed when 1 heard
a carriage stop at the door. Th ,-te was
a siir in the pasasge. I listened till
mv ears throbbed, and then all was qii
et. 1 darted to the stairs, and mot the
servant ascending, but did not heed
what she said. The parlor door stood
open,showing me Mrs. Hushworth with
in, and 1 sprang forward, and sank at
her feet.
“My dear child, why did you leave
me? she said Deeding over, aud press
ing a kiss on tny cheek.
1 looked round and u‘tercd a cry ;
for there stood A’fred, too. lie Bmileil
now, and caught me in his arms.
Aod what my mother throaUcned
came to pass, 1 became a bride before 1
was a mon'lt older—hut the bridegroom
was Alfred Hu-h worth.
Potash Salts you Roots. — At the
late meeting nf the Royal Agricultural
Society, D.\ Ve. I -ker reported ou the j
experiments which were made under bis
direction ou ditf rent farms :
lu uo iesiuuco the u.e of potash salts
for root crojs was found bentfi.ul, and
in some cases crude potash salts some
what diminished the produce. He as
| cribcs this to the cold and wet season,
and the committee suggest that the j
1 same ex; erimonts should bo repeated i
j for a succession of years on light as well j
as heavy laud.
TVo. *5.
ReVoltijio Fokne at am Kxecv
, cion. — Iho St. Vincent Witness eporP
the recent execution of i woman, nam
ed M iry James, for murder. When tb<
chaplain who attended tho wretched wo
man to the scaffold had biildeu her
farewelj. he drew back, hut the move
ment could scarcely nave been perceiv
ol, for the order was given, the droj
1011, and ihe culprit was seen standing
unharmed on the platform—her eyes
from the beginning were very imperf oi
ly bandaged. Looking down she drew
buck further from the trap., and, her
arms being Irec, she removed the pieoi
of muslin with which her eyes were cov
ered. From this time she appeared to
dread the (rap, having seen the danger,
and she could not bo induced to go for
ward.
'J ho provost marshal ihon summon and
the turnkeys, who, with tho tmigman
were eon .trained to use forte to get her
on tho trap-door. The instinct of sell
preservation seemed to nerve her with
streng’h, and a set.ffl ■ ensued on tb<
platform of the gallows for ten minute ,
when she was ui imitoly (ripped up.
a*ri sh? fell heavi'y on one of the large
side beams of the gallows, and rolled -or
tho scaffold, where sho lay motionless.
She was then pushed ovt r on tho trap
door which was pulled, and she fell
through head foremost. She never
made a Btruirglo or movement after she
was thrown down, and many persons
supposed that life was oxtiuct before
she fell through the trap.
Death of a Yovng Child.— Few
things appear so beautiful as a young
child in its shroud. The little innocent
faoe looks so sublimely siutplo and con
fiding ami Ist the cGd terrors of death
—fearless that little mortal has passed
under tho shadow—there is death iu its
purest and sublimist image—no hatred
no hypocrisy, no suspicions, no care for
the morrow ever darken that little face.
Death has come lovingly upon it; there
is nothing cruel or harsh iu its victory.
Tito yearnings of love indeed, cannot be
h isl and; lor the prattle and smile—all
the .little world of thoughts that were
so delightful—are gone forever. Awe,
too will overcast us in its presence fit
'he lovely voyager; for the child has
gone simple and trusting into the pres
ence, of.au all wise Father; and of such,
we know, is the kingdom of Heaven.
Wolves on a Railway. —“A cattle
train on the Kailwav was
stoppeJ,” says the Haris Nord, “two
nights back, between • L' bramout and
Hroix, by the scow. Tho brakesman
was sent forward fur aid to cfear the
line, and while the guard, firemen, en
gine driver, and a customs officer were
engaged in getting the snow lrorn un
der the enginrs, they were alartyd by
fi‘ e wolvo-i, which were attracted, no
doubt, by the scent of oxen and sheep
coop and up in railed carriages. The
men had uo weapons save the fire uten
sils lx lunging to the engine. Thu wolve.-
temained in a semi-circle a few yards
distant looking keenly on. The CDgine
driver lei off the steam and blow the
whistle, and lantern were waved to and
fro, but the savage brutes did not move.
The msn then made ther way, follower
by the wolves, to the guard’s carriage
Three got ia safe, and while the fourth
was on tho step ono of tho animals
sprang on him, but succeeded only in
tearing his coat. They all then made
•an attack, but were beaten off,one being
killed by a blow on tho bead. Twc
hours elapsed before assis anoe arrived
and during that time tho wolves made
•ovcral attempts upon the sheep trucks,
hut tailed to get in. None of the cat
tle were injured.
Y Crazy Lawyer.— A correrpond
ent of the Chicago Republican tells tfii
story of u remarkable lunatic, who goes
every day co the telegraph rffiee, corner
of Broadway aud Liberty street, Mew
Y'ork, to communicate with the I’iori
dont on the condition of tfie cnuntr) -
-he operators tako his dispatch as if
they deemed it as important as ho Jo's.
Twenty years ago ho was one of the
most prumiueut law;era in New York,
had au ample for uue, and was a ripe
-cholar out of his profession. Tie lost
his reason on account of some uufoitu
oato love affair, of a lawyer I til
ing a victim to Lis heart!) squandered
his means, and at list became a mono
manias on the subject of patriotism.
For years ire has deemed it his duty to
confer daily with the President, whoever
he uuy be, upon the condition of the
R I uhlir, and he never la Is to mak
out l.is telegram, accompanied With di
agram and character that no one c»d
uud -rMand, but which he declares the
Chief Executive will c. mpreheud. lie
i supported by his relatives, and if
entirety harmless, and even good Datur
ed at all times. He is in the best of
spirits, in spite of the responsibi’ity he
bears, aud is as thoroughly convinced
that the fate of the country hangs CD
him as if he Were a member of Ctraeret6.
Corn Cobs as Fuel. —Tbe Prairie
Farmer Las been figuring s raie on rais
ing corn and preparing it tor market,
and decides that it is better to shell the
oorn than to sell it ij gross, cod aod all
as the practice farmer* is. By
shelling in a suitable mmhiuc and leav
ing tbe cobs whole, cuu.-ilcrable is saved,
as a ton of whole Cubs : s equal to a ton
of coal for fuel. This is au item worthy |
of consideration in sections where much 1
o irn is grown and fuel is scarce and
uecesfarily dear iu market.
Helping Old lowls.—To Lave the
poulty-yard profitably the fowls should
not be kept until they are old. There
is no objection to presirving a favorite
[cock, as long as he is active and lively,
| but henb after three years will Dot pro
-1 ‘in oo marry eggs a- those of one or
two yeais.
■ Moult lipotl lilt* tiideWHlk*
I stood upon the sidewalk,
And wa otied the busy throng
Os mortals us they passod in ,
Each hurrying along.
Some faces bore the impress
Os vomit and bemity fair,
While a m • had lines of sorrow
And !u;ro«s made lay rare.
E .chYlieriaUed some ambl’len,
Some goal untouched, desired,
Some enimiiHin the future
To which their thoights aapired.
And each was plodding onward,
With throlibieg brow an.! heart,
lu Iho world’s great drama acting
Life’s tlet n and real part.
Aud thus Ihe thought came o’er me,
Must all this Vast arruy
Os youth, of ago, of infancy
From earth noon p res away'—
And trend the solemn portals
Where reigns the monarch Death,
Who batHys iu datk oblivion
Earth’s mortal with his breath.
Oh, yes, it is oblivion
As far as mortal si Jit
Can penetrate the blackness
01 death's still, solemn Dight.
But filth lights up the pathway,
And through i wo behold
Be. ond the narfci* portal
•The stile,a of ati uing gold.
Y- s, alt nuts' pa.s tho portal,
The rich in gilded stats,
M' Stdrnp each gay udhrinqpt
WU'e entering the gate ;
Tii« peasairt stoop fio lower
Than duke or knights j head,
Fur ou a common platform
Is the palace .of the dead.
Earth’s moi tale, worn a td weary,
May each a rost obtain.
And with our blessed Saviour
A heavenly mansion gain :
Aud thus the prayer ascended
While gazing on the throng,
“Lord, thou hast bought them, save them
For they to thee belong.”
Bed Y’ourt Stables.— A horse, re
marks the Rural World, will get tired
of standing and treading on a hard floor,
so will a cow, a sheep, a man. tioft
bed fools ea-y—gives rest. And yet
we negtect the bedding of our stables to
a great ex’ent. lnjuicd limbs and oth
er ailments, especially of the hoof, are
the result often r.f a neglcci here, as has
been clearly enough shown, and as any
man can clearly enough see, if he gives
the subject a moment's thought. Bed
with straw, which is ploLty or sawdust,
or tau batk, or shavings. The drier
these materials are the bettter. Every
Jay remove the moistened bedding and
replace with Such u floor well
bedded, adds grt ally to tho warmth of
a stabte, and thus bcooqie a fodder sav
er. The sm.dl holes and crevices in a
tt tor, with a good bedding upon them,
will I:t little or no cold through, aud
will drain the stable. Rather have a
ground iloor than, naked plank. .
Fattening Geese. —A c r espond—
eut ol it. 11-m l . P-r.u».o‘ C tpntpa •
“1 see a qirslion a-kad as to the best
way of fattening geese, and the reply in
your Gazette givos, iu my opinion, *
very troublesome one 1 uow send ono
which 1 havepur-,u and for the last thirty
years wi:h thegreatir success. Pnt lip
Dree or four geese into 8 darkened house
aud give each bird one pound of oats
daily, thrown ou a pan of water. In
fourteen days they will be found almost
too ’at. Thus each goose is ready for
tho table at art oxpense of ono stone of
ea‘f!, without any other feed. As geeso
pone if left alone, there never must be
less than two left; as oae is taken to .
kill 1 put another up.”
IVodcru I>ie(ioiiary.
W’u'er. A clear, lluid, onco used as
a drink.
Hone tv. An excellent j J*e.
Rural Felicity, Potatoes and tur
nips.
Tongue A 1 i-tie horse that is con
tinually running away.
Dentist. One who fi ids work for his
own teeth by taking cut those of other
people.
My Dear. An expression used by
man and wife at the commencement of a
quarrel
Policeman. A man employed by tho
corporation to sleep in the open air.
Bargain. A luchcrou.-. transaction, in
which each party thinks ho cheated the
other. ■
Doctor, A man who kills you to
day to save you from dying to mor
row.
Author. A dealer in words, who of
ten Kcts paid iu his own coin.
Fricud. A person who will nob as
sist you before he know* your love will
excuse l ira.
Editor. A poor wretch who empties
his brain in order to fill his stomarh
Wealth. The most respectable qual
ity of men.
Bonnet. The female head dress for
the front scats of the opera.
Esquire. Everybody, yet no
body; equal to Colonel.
Jury. Twelve prisoners in a hex to
try one or more at the bar.
Stato’s Evidence. A wretch who is
pard racd for being baser than his com
rades!
Public Abuse. The mud with which
every traveler is spattered ou the road
to dee'ruction.
Modesty. A beautiful fliwer that
fl urishes in secret places.
Lawyer. A learned gentleman who
rescues your estate rreiu yout enemy,
and keeps it himself.
Tee Grave. Au ugly holo in tho
ground which lovers and poets wish
they were id, bat take uncommon means
I:o keep out of
Aloney. The god of the nineteenth
century,
A hopeful young lawyer says that any
young lauy who possesses 'I,OOO sons
ol land presents sufficient grouuds for
attachment.
A man in London lost his life at a
game of poker. His wife held the po
ker.
\Yha» excu-'c have small men or not
paying their debts ? Beosuso .‘hoy aro
always shoit.