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“A poet’s hand and prophet’s fire,
"Struck the wild warbling* oi his lyre.”
TO T HE EARTH.
BV J. F. HOLLIXGS.
My mother! from whose fostering breast
This weak and fleeting substance came,
And where these limbs are doomed to rest
"When thou reclaim'st the dying frame;
Within thy regions lone and deep
What wild and sullen.horror dwells,
And how doth shapeless Mystery keep
His watch beside those viewless cells!
There slumber they, the sons of might—
Titanic forms —thine earliest mould,
Who dared the vollied thunder’s flight,
And cleft the towering hills of old ;
And chiefs who marked the battle bleed
When Time his infant course began;
And they, the Assyrian Hunter’s seed,
The shielded kings, whose prey was mail.
There in its tidcless fury shed
For ever on those steadfast shores,
Bituininious and darkly spread,
The eye enduring ocean roars ;
And mutters, bound and fettered fast,
The earthquake in its sullen ire;
And lurks the power whose sulph’rous blast
Enrobes the rending mount with fire.
Thou hast thy treasures—jewelled caves,
With sanguine rubies richly dight,
And emeralds green as ocean’s waves,
And diamond rocks like veins of light,
And sapphires whose unshaded blue
Seems drank from summer’s cloudless skies,
WVnd opals, as the iris-hue,
Where morn’s deep tinctured glances rise.
Thou hast thy beauties—realms unknown,
Where murmuring music soft and low,
O'er onyx, and the sardine stone,
The bold petrifie waters flow ;
And sparry chambers dimly lit,
And shining groves and fretted bowers,
Where dreamy Suenee loves to sit,
And fancy proves her myriad powers,
Thou hast thine habitants —the horde
Of swarthy gnomesiu vesture bright,
And elves who forge the mystic sword
Anil ebon panoply of night;
And black-winged dicams whose legion sweep
Embattled through the realm of rest;
And Phantasy, dim child of Steep,
The Proteus of the slumbering breast.
Yet not for these thy sacred name
I breathe, and on thy presence call,
For tkon dost boast a higher claim,
Time hallowed al<l and home of all !
Thou pourest forth thy golden birth,
As heaven’s own quickening influence free,
And blessest, in thy bounteous mirth,
The meanest hand that waits on thee.
The shades which mark this fleeting lot,
Man’s trust or pride with thee are vain ;
The weak, the low, thou scornest not,
The feeble limb and captives chain •
"Thou callest, and our feverish woes,
Scared at thy parent voice, depart,
And hushest in thy deep repose
The weary and the worn in heart.
And who shall view thee, even as now,
While fraught with life thy features lie,
With verdure on that sunny brow,
And gladness as a veil on high ;
Nor think of what must briefly bn,
In that stern hour of good or ill,
When thou shalt urge the dread decree,
And whisper to the breast—be still!
stanzasT
. BV K. M. FITZGEIIAI.D.
You ask me, gentle maiden,
For a rhyme, as friendship’s boon,
But my spirit is o’er laden,
My heart is out of tune ;
1 may not breathe a poet’s vow,
My music is a name,
And it seldom breaks its slumber now,
Fc-r beauty or for fame.
Yet there arc some who still can break
The spell that round it clings,
And glearn3 of thought, that yet awake
Bweet murmurings from the strings ;
Bnt then, with something of its old
And long forgotten art,
Oh ! there mingle tones that fall as cold
As midnight on the heart.
I hung it or. a blighted tree
In a dream-remembered land,
Where the waters ripple peacefully
In their beauty to the strand ;
Beside my own lanthe’s bower,
Where I had traced her name,
But from that most ill-oinen’d hour,
It never was the same.
Yet, though its gayer notes be flown,
My spirit doth rejoice,
When 1 deem that visionary tone
The echo of her voice ;
For like the voice of the evening br. ezo,
When the attimnn leaf it stiis,
And a murmuring music is on the trees,
Oh ! just such a voice was hcr’s.
Silent and sad, her tomb is there,
And tny early visions too;
But her spirit is lingering in the air,
And her tears .are in the dew :
And the light of her maidenly mournful eyes
On her bower hath never set,
For it dwells in the stars, andstglcams from
the skies,
C a leaely bosom yet,
TUB MAC<)i\ ADVKUTISEB, AND AGItIUJLTUIAI. AND MERCANTILE INTELLIGENCER.
ALFRED AND ETHELWITHA.
The character of the great and favorite
King Alfred, M. D’Arnaud, the Richardson
of France, contemplates with a degree of en
thusiasm, which bespeaks the goodness of bis
own heart. The following anecdote, which
is mentioned by some of the more ancient
English historians, he hats given in a manner
peculiar to himself; but which, while it diffu
ses a sweeter charm over the whole composi
tion renders it almost untranslatable:
“In Alfred, the most renowned of the Sax
on dynasty in England, with what delight do
we contemplate the benevolent and equitable
man ! He was the worthiest monarch that
ever swayed a sceptre, and nothing w as wan
ting to his glory but to be born in a more en
lightened age, and to have an historian of ge
nius. lie was at once the conqueror, the
legislator, and the great man. He scattered
in England the first seeds of talent, virtue,
love of order, and patriotism.”
The prince so effectually established the
government by justice and salutary laws, that
if, in night time, a vessel of gold had been
left in the highway, the proprietor would have
found it again the next day. Hume, in a few
words, gives this rare panegyric of him, that
“he seems indeed to he the model of that per
fect character, which, under the denomination
of a sage or wise man, philosophers have been
fond of delineating, rather as a fiction of their
imagination, than in the hope of ever seeing
it really existing.”
A single act of justice, however, which we
now proceed to relate, ha3 secured him im
mortal fame; —better far than all Ills feats of
arms,which ages ago, have been forgotten.
The reign of Alfred was in that period (the
ninth century) when sovereigns were only
the first men in their courts. The great lords
that surrounded them enjoyed those privile
ges which were derived from the feudal sys
tem. A private nobleman was admitted into
the company of his master,and lived with him
in the most intimate familiarity. He would
even invite him to his country retreat, which
he called a castle, and entertain him with all
the hospitality of the times.
Alfred was making a tour thiough his do
minions, accompanied by Ethelbert, one of
his general officers, when, the day declining,
lie determined to take up his abode for the
night at the castle of a nobleman, named Al
banac ; —one of those incorruptible men,who
can preserve their integrity in the midst of all
the seductions of opulence and grandeur. He
had followed Alfred in numberless battles,
and had retired, covered with wounds and
and with glory, into the bosom of a family
that adored him. This family was composed
of a wife, who was never mentioned but as an
example of virtue; of two sons who promised
never to disgrace their father’s name ; and of
three daughters of exquisite beauty and un
common merit.
Earl Albanac received his royal master w ith
every demonstration of joy. lie ran to his
consort and children, and hastened to present
them to his sovereign. Alfred was instantly
smitten with their charms; but it was to
Ethelwitha that lie surrendered his heart.—
Beautiful as they were, she eclipsed her sis
ters, as the radiant ruler of the day eclipses
every other star. She appeared like the
young flower that blows in the earliest rays
of the morning sun ; and modesty painted her
cheeks with a rosy hue, that was heightened
in proportion as the king seemed to notice
her.
The supper was prepared, and Albanac was
desirous that the three enchantresses should
participate in the honour of waiting upon Al
lred, who never ceased to contemplate their
charms. Albanac, still flattered with the re
membrance of his military exploits, was im
patient to remind his sovereign of the glorious
victories by which the Danes were driven out
of England; but the king’s attention inces
santly returned to Ethelwitha- He was con
tinually extolling her delicate and easy shape
her rosy mouth, her fair tresses, flowing
gracefully down her shoulders, her alabaster
forehead, and the elegant roundness of her
swanlik neck. Albanac spoke with kind
ling ardour of Hastings and Lef—two famous
Danish Chiefs, whom they had often defeat
ed in battle ; buttiip monarch found no plea
sure in any subject in which the name of
Ethelwitha was left out.
On rising from the table, Ethelwitha was
charged to conduct the king to his apartment;
and from her charming hands he received the
cup of repose.* When Albanac, however,
retired to his consort’s apartment, she could
not refrain from observing his pensive and
gloomy air. “ What distresses you, my dear
Lord?” said she. “Your face overspread with
melancholy, while we arc enjoying an honour
we ought to be proud of ! The King is dear
to us on many accounts ?”
Albanac continued silent.
“You do not speak my Lord!” continued she
“And will you refuse to open your heart to
me ?—you seem greatly agitated ?”
“ I have reason to be so,” replied the carl.
“Did you not observe that the king fixed his
eyes continuuily upon our daughters ? I may
err in my apprehensions—but, if Alfred has
conceived a design to bring dishonour upon
our house! Should he come hither to seek
amusement in our infamy ! My honour—l
am distracted at the idea—l would rather suf
fer an hundred deaths—my whole family
should perish with me !”
The eyes of a vigilant father ware net de
ceived—Alfred indeed loved—most passion
ately loved one of his daughters. Ethelwitha
was the enchanting object that had inspired
the prince with the most violent passion.
“ Ethelbert, my friend,” said he to his com
panion, “it is not a raort .l—it is an angel of
beauty, innocence, and modesty, that we have
seen ! Did you observe her t What joy—
what intoxicating transports must be his who
can obtain the first sigh from this young and
ingenuous heart? Speak, my dear Ethelbert
speak: I am consumed by the flames of love
* Jin flu rvteher, a composition of wine and ho
ney, a kind of hippocras, or medicated wine. In
Ujßt ago, whe they were desirous of rendering
every honour to the strangers admitted into the
castle, a beverage railed k vindu toucher , was
bronght in the evening to them; and this office
was generally performed by the lady or her daugh
ter. This custom is one of the remains of the
most remote antiquity. 1
—whatever it cost me, I must, 1 will be happy.
Could she but love ine !”
“ Can you doubt, my lord,” replied Etlicl
bcrt,“ whether she will meet your tenderness?
King, as well as lover, a hero crowned with ■
laurels, of an age formed to inspire a mutual
ardour ; in a thousand respects you may be
certain of success.”
Early in the morning a servant attended
at the king’s apartment, and requested to
know whether he could be seen.
“Whowould enter at this hour!” answer
ed the monarch with some peevishness.
“ I my lord,” exclaimed a voice, which Al
fred soon recollected ; and lie was instantly
surprised by the appearance of Albanac,hold
ing a drawn sword in one hand, and with the
other leading in his three daughters, who
were in deep mourning, and in an attitude of
the most poignant grief.
“ What do 1 see,” exclaimed the king.—
“ A father whose honor is dearer to him than
life itself,” replied the earl. “My motive
for this intrusion I can soon explain. You
are a king, and I am your subject, but not
your slave. You must be sensible from how
illustriousja house I am descended ;andit now
becomes me to speak my sentiments freely
even to you. I may possibly be deceived:
but I thought, last night, that I saw, on
your grace’s part, a particular attention to my
daughters. If you have conceived the idea
of dishonouring my family, this sword shall
instantly prevent my shame ! I will plunge
it into the bosoms of these unfortunate, but
willing victims. But if a pure and honour
able flame be kindled in your breast ; if an
alliance with my house be not deemed un
worthy of royal ity, choose, name her whom
you would wish to dishonour.”
Alfred was for a moment thunderstruck and
silent, but soon recovering himself, addres
sed Albanac with a magnanimity that dis
played his exalted soul. “ Noble Albanac,”
said he, “you recal Alfred to himself. I might
have gone astray ; nut you teach me my du
ty, and I will obey its dictates. My choice
is fixed. Beautiful Ethelwitha, here is my
hand. Can you accept it ? With pleasure I
place my crown upon your head. I seat vir
tue and beauty upon my throne.”
Ethelwitha threw herself at tho king’s feet:
he raised her and embraced her with transport.
He then embraced Albanac- “Your virtuous
courage,” said be, “ well deserved a recom
pense. I glory in having the noblest man in
my dominions for my father-in-law.”
Ethelwitha was soon afterwards publicly
proclaimed queen: nor did she wait till the
nuptial ceremony was over, to confess to the
enraptured monarch, that she had given her
heart to him the very moment he had entered
lief fathers castle.
The happy pair long participated in the
glory of one of the noblest reigns of which
England can be proud.f
fThis is that Ethewitha, who accompanied
Alfred to his retreat in the Isle of Athehiey, when
he had taken refuge there, till he could again
make war against the Danes.
Alfred had, by his wife, three sons and three
daughters. The eldest son, Edmund, died with
out issue in his father’s life time. The third,
Ethelward, inherited his father’s passion for let
ters, and lived a private life. The second, Ed
ward, succeeded him in his power, and passes
by the appellation of Edward the Elder,being the
first of that name who sat on the English throne.
PAINTING OX GLASS.
Among those works which profess to teach
the art of painting on glass, wc find some in
which directions arc given for staining large
windows in churches and halls; and the oth
ers, which merely contain the process of pro
ducing the paintings sometimes seen in cotta
ges, are carried about the streets for sale, by
the Italians and Jews, representing scriptural
or sporting subjects. These, we believe were
much in vogue sixty years since, as we find
the mode of doing them described in all the
Young Artist’s Assistants of that day; which
! inode has been copied into similar publica
tions up to tho present time. They direct us
to fix a inezzo-tinto print upon the back of a
sheet of glass, and to remove the paper by
wetting and rubbing—leaving the impression
of the print, which is afterwards to be painted
in broad washes, the ink of the print giving
the shadows. The picture being then turned
over, the glazed side then becomes the front,
and the colors first laid on are, of course, near
est to the eye.
The methods by which glass is stained, are
scientific; they require a profound knowledge
of chemistry, and such apparatus, as must
preclude the practice of this, which is the
grandest branch of the art, qs an amusement.
It may he interesting, however, to know the
principle upon which it. is performed. The
glass being, at first, colourless, a drawing is
made upon it, and the painting is laid on with
mineral substances; the vehicle being a vola
tile oil, which soon evaporates. The sheets
of glass are then exposed to a powerful heat,
until tiiey are so far melted that they receive
the colours into their own substances: enamel
painting is done on the same principle. This
is a time of anxiety to the artist; as, with all
possible care, valuable paintings, both in glass
and enamel, are frequently spoiled in the prov
ing, or vitrification. The art seems to have
been lost during several centuries, but it has
of late been successfully revived; and large
windows have been extcuted for churches
and gothic halls, which almost vie with the
fine old specimens in the cathedrals, in point
of colour, while they far excel them in other
respects.
The branch of the art which may be treated
as an accomplishment, is the decoration of
glass flower-stands, lamp shades, and similar
articles, with light and elegant designs.—
Flowers, biids butterflies and pleasing land
scapes, yield an extensive range of subject,
which are suitable to this style of ornamental
painting. The glass may be procured ready
ground. The outline may be sketched in
with a black-lead pencil, which can be wash
ed off' with a sponge when the colours are dry.
The whole of the colours employed must be
transparent, and ground in oil: opaque, or bo
dy colours will not answer the purpose,—
They may be purchased in small bladders, only
requiring to be tempered with line copal or
mastich varnish, and a very little nut oil,
to he ready for use. Blue is produced by
Prussian blue; red, by scarlet or erimson lake;
yellow, by yellow lake or gamboge; green,
by verdigris, or mineral green, or a mixture
of Prussian blue arid gumbogo; purple, by a
mixture of lake and Prussian blue; reddish
brown, by burnt sienna; and the other tints
may be obtained by combinations: for white,
or such parts as are required to be transparent,
without colour, the varnish only should be
employed. Avery chaste and pleasing effect
may be produced by painting the whole de
sign in varnish, without colour. It is an ad
vantage to this style of painting, that hut few
colours arc required; as, from the nature ol
the subjects, and their purpose as ornaments,
brilliancy is more desirable than a nice grada
tion of tints. The work must, of course, be
carefully dried, but may afterwards be clean
ed with a sponge and cold water.
BANK OF ENGLAND.
The business of this great corporation was
originally transacted ot Grocer’s Hall, in the
Poultry. In the year 1732, the first stone of
the present building was laid, on the site of
the house and garden of Sir John Iloublon,
the first Governor; it then only comprised what
now forms the centre, with the court-yard, the
hall, and the bullion-court. The eastern
wing was added in 1770, and the western
wing, with the Lothbury front, were begun in
1780, and finished in 1804.
The building called the Bank is an immense
and very extensive stone edifice, situated a
little to the northwest of Cornhill. The front
is composed of a centre, eighty feet in length,
of the lonic order, on a rustic base: and two
ornamented with a colonade. The
back of the building, which is in Lothbury, is
a high and easy wall of stone, with a gateway
for carriages in the bullion court.
The principal entrance into the Bank is
from Threadneedle street. On the east side
of the entrance m a passage leading to a spa
cious apartment called tho Rotunda, where
the stock-brokers, stock-jobbers, and other
persons, meet for the purpose of transacting
business in the public funds:
Branching out of the Rotunda, arc the va
rious offices appropriated to the management
of each particular stock; in each of these offi
ces, under the several letters of the alphabet,
are arranged the books in which the amount
of every inidridual’s interest in such a fund is
registered.
Here, from the hours of eleven to three, a
crowd of eager money dealers assemble, and
avidity of gain display itself in a variety of
shapes, truly ludicrous to the disinterested
observer. The jostling and crowding of the
jobbers to catch a bargain, frequently exceed
in disorder the scramble at the doors of our
theatres; and so loud and clamorous at times
are the mingled noise of buyers and sellers,
that all distinction of sound is lost in a gener
al uproar.
Besides the Rotunda, and the various
stock offices,there are other apartments of the
Bank deserving of notice. The hall, in which
bank notes are issued and exchanged, and in
which are the drawing offices for public and
private accounts, is a noble room, seventy,
nine feet by forty, and contains a very fine
marble statue of King William 111. the foun
der of the Bank, an admired piece of sculp
ture.
The Bank of England covers an extent of
several acres, and is completely isolated. Its
exterior is not unsuitable to the nature of the
establishment; as it conveys the idea of
strength and security ; but having been erec
ted at different periods, and according to dif
ferent plans, by several architects, it wants
uniformity of design and proportion. In the
interior of the Bank a variety of alterations
and improvements have been made to accom
modate the great increase of business, and of
the paper money and discounting systems,
which required considerable enlargements of
the offices in every department and has led
to the necessary increase of the clerks in 25
years, from 200 to 1100.
This national establishment was first in
corporated by act of parliament, 1694. The
projector of the scheme was Mr. James Pat
erson, a native of Scotland. Their original
capital was 1,200,0001. at various times the
capital had been augmented to 11,686,8001*
But in the year 1816, en considerationoflen
ding government 3,000,0001. they were by
act of parliament permitted to increase their
capital 25 per cent, and which makes their
present capital, or Bank stock, 14,608,5001.
The corporation of the Bank are prohibited
from trading in any sort of goods or merchan
dize whatsoever, but arc to confine the use
of their capital to discounting bills of exchange
and to the buying and selling of gold and sil
ver bullion, with a permission, however,to sell
such goods as are mortgaged or pawned to
them, and not redeemed within three
months after the expiration of the time of
their redemption.
The profits of the Bank arise from their
traffic in bullion, the discounting of bills of
exchange, for bankers, merchants, factors,
and speculators, and the remuneration they
receive from government for managing the
public funds, and for receiving the subscrip
tions on loans and lotteries.
The allowances for managing the public
i funds, is, 'according to act of parliament 3401.
! per million per annum, upon the whole debt,
| whenever its amount shall be 400 millions,
| and not exceding 600 millions of 3001. per
| million upon the amount of the excess of 600
| millions, or of 4501. per million, whenever it
| may exceed 300 millions and not amount to
| 400 millions, for regulating the subscriptions
on the loans contracted by government, they
are paid 8051. 15s. lOd. for every million,
! and for lotteries, that is, for making out and
i issuing the tickets, and paying the prizes,
I they have generally received 10001. for each
j lottery
The hours of business at the Bank, are
! from nine in the morning, till five in the af
ternoon, holidays excepted. Ami any per
son may pass through the Rotunda, and most
of the other apartments.
The direction of the bank is vested in a
governor, deputy-governor, and twenty-four
directors, elected annually at a general court
of the proprietors. Thirteen of the directors,
with the governor, form a court for the man
agement of the business of this institution.
Public Money. —Public money ought to be
touched with the most scrupulous conscious
ness of honor. It is not the produce of riches
only, but the hard earnings of labor A poverty.
“ Other employments and arts serve for the em
bellishment, but Agriculture is necessary for the
support of human life.”
From the Baltimore Patriot.
THE AMERICAN FARMER.
As we anticipated, the late change in the
editorship of this truly excellent Agricultural
paper, has in no respect detracted from its mer
its; but on the contrary, there is an evident im
provement in all its departments, leaving no
room to doubt its continued unrivalled use
fulness to the Agricultural interests of the
country. There is on every page of the Far
mer, under its present management, an evi
dence of untiring industry, application, and
practical acquaintance with the subjects on
which its treats, that should recommend it to
every farmer. Indeed we do not see how any
farmer, in the present state of agriculture,
can possibly dispense with this most valuable
work. We have heard of several gentlemen
declaring they would not be without the Am
erican Farmer for ten times the amount of its
annual subscription. One gentleman, now a
rich planter in North Carolina,said a few weeks
since, that he owed liis success in agricultu
ral pursuits to information derived from its
pages, and he mentioned a single instance as
illustrative of the remark. He had pursued a
particular system of growing wheat, until he
had almost ruined bis land, making at the
same time most miserable crops. But it was
the practice in the whole neighborhood, and
no one thought of the fault being in the mode
of cultivation, but attributed the decline in
crops and impoverishment of land to causes
beyond their control. An article in the A
mcrican Farmer, pointing out the errors of
the practice caught his notice, and he deter
mined to try the experiment; he did so, and
the result has been a complete renovation of
his land, abundant crops, and an independen
cy ; while his neighbors, obstinately adher
ing to the systems their fathers taught them,
and rejecting what they call “book farming,”
still continue to reap their scanty crops from
their starved and impoverished fields. This
gentleman declared that he would not be de
prived of the knowledge he obtained through
the American Farmer for one thousand dol
-1 lars; and that it had already been worth
more than that sum to him. Another gentle
man in Connecticut, and another in Dela
ware expressed the same sentiments. Such
testimony, coming as it does from the three
great divisions of the country, the northern,
middle and southern States—and this, too,
voluntarily made, without concert, and un
solicited by the editor or proprietors, is the
highest tribute that can be paid to the excel
lencies of a public Journal.
We are glad to learn, that many of the old
est and most respectable subscribers to the
Farmer, have expressed their entire approba
tion of the late change of editors, and volun
teered a continuance of their correspondence,
while at the same time many new and valua
ble correspondents have been added to the
list.
In a conversation with the editor, we learn,
that the demand for complete sets of the Far
mer from tiie commencement of its publica
tion, qas been so great that very few, proba
bly not more than a dozen, can now be made
up. This is to be regia tied, as a reprint of
such an immense workm out of the question.
The proprietors, however, have determined to
continue to dispose of them at five dollars a
volume, or fifty five dollars for a complete
set, —the subscription price, while they shall
last; and we would recommend those who
may wish to obtain this valuable work, which
undoubtedly contains the greatest and most
complete body of Agricultural information of
any work now extant, to lose no time in se
curing it. We aro also informed that there
are a superabundance of a few of the volumes,
which will be sold separately.
We have deemed it but just and proper to
say thus much of a publication so deserving,
and we hope our brother editors will join us
in rendering this justice by copying this ar
ticle or taking some other appropriate notice
of the subject of it.
Anew species of oats has been introduced
into Great Britain from Rotterdam, whither
it was imported from a remote district in Chi
na. This species was unknown to Europe
ans till within some three years, and was
produced for the first time in Great Britain
last season. It is said to be more easily pre
pared for food, of a better flavor, and to con
tain more farinaceous matter than the com
mon species of oats. The English crop was
reaped in little more than three months after
sowing, produced well, and is withal remark
ably hardy. One peck of these oats is sta
ted to contain more nutricious food for a horse
than three pecks of common oats.
GARDEN OPERATIONS FOR LADIES.
We would wish every lady who lives in tho
country, not only to be fond of botany, to
collect specimens, dry them between blotting
paper compressed with a bag of hot sand, and
then gum them into a leger indexed according
to the natural system; but we would wish
them to devote a portion of every day, in fa
vourable weather in the open air, and in un
favorable weather under a veranda or in a
greenhouse, to some of the lighter operations
of gardening, for health’s sake, and as means
of adding a zest to their ordinary in-door en
joyments. Cutting out weeds with a light
spade, which does not require stooping ; stir
ring the surface of the earth with a two-prong
ed spud, the prongs of which need not bo
touch larger than those of a carving fork, and
the handle of willow or poplar, or cane not
thicker than a fishing rod; and pruning, with
the sliding shears, siirubs from three to seven
feet high, are operations which do rot re
quire stooping, and which maybe performed
during the hottest weather, by?thc use cf a
broad brimmed straw hat, or other light, broad
brimmed hat of any sort. Thinniog out and j
tying up herbaceous plants and low shrubs
tying up climbers and twiners, and tving the
shoots of trained trees to trellises or tq rails
with eyes, fixed iii walls ; cutting off decay
ed flowers, flower-stems, withered roses, and
dead points of shoots arid leaves; and prun
ing shrubs under three feet high, which re
quire stooping, and are fit operations for
mornings and evenings, and for cloudy wea
ther. Watering is best performed in the
owning; and if any lady wishes to do this in
a masterly manner, she ought to have one of
the rotatory garden engines, fitted up with a
wheel aud handles like a wheelbarrow; and,
hv an operation not too severe for a healthy
young woman, and which would add greatly
to the strength of her constitution and tho
tranquility of her nights, throw the water from
thirty to forty feet in every direction. We
would much rather see ladies at these opera
tions, common to all countries, tiian sec them
shifting and otherwise working with sickly
hot-house plants in pots, which cannot lie done
well without more or less affecting the hands.
'l’he care and watering of neat little alpine
plants in pots, is what most ladies are very
fond of; and one of the principal enjoyments
of city ladies, who know plants only or chief
ly as pictures, consists in performing this op
eration. The plants to be presented to
such amateurs ought to he plants that require
water at least once a day, and that grow fast
to require tying up, and make frequent dead
leaves, to require picking and dressing. The
principle is, something to be taken care
of, and to care for and depend on us; some
thing that requires labour ; the beginning amf
end of all improvement and enjoyment.
Journal of Health.
Tur, Farmers.— Two farmers, who wore
neighbors, had their crops of early peas kill
ed by the frost. One of them came to con
dole with the other on their misfortune.—
“ah!” cried he, “how unfortunate we have
been, neighbor; I have done nothing but fret
ever since: but bless me, you have a fine crop
coming up just now; what are these?”—
“These,” said the other, “why these are what
I sowed directly after my loss.” “What,com
ing up already?” cried the frettcr!” “Yes,
while you were fretting I was working.”—
“What! and don’t you fret when you have a
loss?” “Yes, hut 1 always put it off'until I
have repaired the mischief.” “Lord! why
then you’ve no need to fret at all.” “True,
replied the industrious gardener, “and that’s
the very reason; in truth, it is very pleasant
to have no longer reason to think of misfor
tunes; and it is astonishing how many might
be. repaired by a little alacrity and energy.”
“Mirth, that wrinkled care derides-,
“And Laughter, holding both his sides.”
.tddrrsscd to Mi s Long, a little lady.
Where any tiling abounds, we fuel
That nobody will have it; *
But when there’s little of the kind,
Don’t all the people crave it!
The God of Love’s a little wight,
But beautiful as thought;
Thou too art little —fair ns light.
And every thing in shoit.
O, happy girl ! I think thee so,
For, mark the poet’s song,
Man wants but a little here below
But wants that little Long.
Fee simple, and a simple fee ,
And all the fees entail,
Are nothing when compared to thee,
Thou best of fees —female !
Epigram on a large fleshy person.
All flesh is grass! thus doth the scriptures say-
All grass, when cut, and dried, is turn’d to liay !
Then lo! to thee,when Death his scythe shall take!
Oh! conscience, what a hay-stack thou will make !
Asa timid young lady was passing in the
street, a person observed that she had on a
merino dress ; I thought (replied airother)she
looked very sheepish.”
A certain Hibernian lady had a custom of
saying to a favorite little dog, to make hint
follow her, ‘Come along sir.’ A would be wit.
ty gentleman stepped up to her one day, anil
accosted her with ‘ls it me, madam you called?
‘Oh, no, sir,’ said she, with great composure,
‘it was another puppy I spoke to/
*<!*-
Retort Courteous —“ Hold your tongue for
a fool /” was the polite recommendation of
an Irish husband. “ Sure then you’re going
to spake yourself 2 ” was the equally polite
reply of the wife.
Conundrum. —M ho arc Use most disinte
restedly good? D’ye give it up? The good
for nothing ?
A Yankee Trick. —lt is well known that
in the good old daysof our fathers, when N.
England was truly the land of steady habits,
there would occasionally spring up a volatile
and fun-loving character, whose dispositions
and habits with the upright and conscien
tious bearings of the puritans, formed a strik
ing contrast. There were two farmers of this
cast who lived very near each other ; one was
the owner of some dozen of fine sheep, who,
having a decided antipathy to confinement,
would sometimes trespass on the enclosures
of their master’s neighbor. The other hav
ing caught, them in one of these overt acts,
determined to inflict summary vengeance on
them and their owner. With this intention
he proceeded to catch them, and running his
knife through one of their hind legs, between
the tendon and the bone, immediately above
the knee joint, put the other leg through the
hole. In this condition the woolly flock de
camped, leaving one quarter less tracks than
when they came. The feeder of shcCp kept
his own counsel; and soon after, his neigh*
bor’s hogs having broken or dug into his en
closures, lie took advantage of his opportunity
for retaliating, by cutting their mouths from
car to ear. In this way ihc four footed gran
tors, rather chop-fallen, made their way
their own quarters. The owner ol the swine
soon made his appearance in a great rage,
declaring that his hogs were ruined, and tna
he would have redress. His neighbor mat 0
answer that it was not he who ruined them
“ For,” said he, “ the fact is, friend, I didn
cut open them arp hog’s mouths, but
my sheep running on three legs, the) *•!’ 1
their months a kinchin.”
Fitchburg Gazette-