THE CHRISTIAN SUN.
IN ESSENTIALS, UNITY ;
IN NON-ESSENTIALS, LIBERTY;
IN ALL THINGS, CHARITY.
Volume XXXIII.
SUFFOLK, VA., FRIDAY APRIL 16a 1880.
.Xiiiribt'f 10.
THE MARBLE CROSS.
by franklin w. fish.
A plain whit* atone, a mound of green,
A aimple roae-tree blooming foi^
A name that ia but arldom Beer.;
An age, a date, ia "hat ia there.
Yet underneath ia buried all
A heart’a devotion, true loye’a truat,
A form too early turned to dnat,
And doae beaide the churchyard’a wall,
Where grow the lichen and the moas.
And tiny ferna, ao quaint and arnall,
There stands a lonely marble croai.
An idle brook runs murmuring bv,— l
The woodland’a morn and even Bong—
A passing atranger’a casual sigh,
That never moves the bosom long ;
Perhaps a field-flower kindly thrown
By some young band in lieu of tears,
Through all these long and weary years,
Is all the tribute it has known.
While far away another weeps,
Brooding upon the silent stone.
There were two hearts, but one has flown;
Two buds there w^-e, but one has gone.
The untimely Irost, too early blown,
Blighted the flower it touched upon.
It withered hs the lily dies
At the first chill that autumn gives,
To every geulle thing that lives
And while he looked in dumb surprise
The criinsou fled Iroin closing lips
Love Faded From the aiure eyes,
Though lingering 'till their last eclipse.
Alone he watches still, and waits,
Between the sunset and the daw n,
•Till death shall ope the pearly gates
To all who wander here forlorn.
And in a garden Far above,
Where never Frost can enter in,
Because it knows not grief or sin,
He hopes at last to clasp his love,
To rear the lily on his breast,
To hear the <ooing of the dove.
Oh 1 not for us the Prophet’s eye—
The future's vail we may uot draw—
We can not see the by-and-bye ;
We know the present and uo more,
The cross we bear the Saviour bore,
And though we stagger ’neath the load
W’e lift up Calvary’s stony road,
’Tis heaven opens on before;
And far beyond our doubts and fears,
Above yon bright and glowing star,
And evils that perfection mar,
The cross of Glory shines and nears.
HERE AND THERE.
—The love of beauty oarriesa high
moral quality with it. It is a law
that we should worship God iu beau
ty. Nowhere was it more powerful
than iu the temple. We see it in
Bevelatiou. The love of beauty in
creases in people the idea they have
of the truth.
—The Chicago Interior (Presbyte
rian) says: “Theological students all
have a weakness for getting married.
The young lawyer, physician, mer
chant, mechauic, know better—know
that beefsteak aud potatoes must be
provided for those ‘pearly teeth,’ and
dry-goods for that sylphide form, and
house-rent and firewood. And bo he
is content to labor, and she is willing
to wait for the goldun future, for the
cottage and all its pleasant furniture.
And it is good for both of them. He
has a stimulus for his energies which
is found nowhere else in nature—and
battles upward, not for himself, but
bis heart’s idol. And she learus to
make the most of the products of his
toil. The theological student is too
prone to depend upon congregational
coddle for all these. Young man,
show yourself a man among men, aud
theu you will have something to lay
at the feet of beauty which would
stir the admiration aud homage of a
queen.”
—“The Gentleness of Jesus:”—It
was not the gentleness of a soft, fee
ble, yiuldiu^ nature, afraid to meet
opposition. Wbat were earthly ter
rors or earthly storms to Him f What
were human passions and human con
tradictious to Him T He could face
them all, unmoved iu Hiskiugly calm.
He could quell them all with a touch
or a look if He so willed. Of “the
fear of mau,” He the Creator ot man
knew nothiug. Haughty Pharisees,
cynical Sadducees, furious crowds had
no more of awe and terror for Him
than the fluttering of dry autumu
leaves before the wind. He met the
Pharisee with stern and crushing
truth. He met the Sadducee with
keen and sword-liko power. He met
the surging throug with a royal com
posure before which the hearts of
hundreds quailed. For what could
they do to Him. They were iu His
buuds, not He in theirs. They could
not touch Him till He chose they
should. He was just and holy in His
denunciation of sin. He was unspar
ing in the righteous wrath with which
He dashed aside hollow pictures, byp
ocrit jcal make-believers. And yet He
was gentle, tender, lowly, loving as a
little* child*
THE LOST KEY.
BY BEV. W. S. BAE, A. M.
It was a stormy night in Novem
ber 1863. Tbe wind was cold and
tbe streets ware gleaming with a wa
tery glaie. A tbin dmzliug rain bad
fallen for some hours. Tbe city
traffic did uot seem to suffer. Oxford
street, Hegeut street and tbe Strand
were thronged with tbe masses ol
men aud women hurrying along.
Turning from the great thorough
fares and the indiscriminate mass of
human souls that thronged them,
into one of the innumerable streets
close at hand, our business now Is
with two persons who had reached
the respective ages of thirty-five and
forty, and three young children to
whom the elder persons sustained
the relationship of father and moth
er.
Standing ' for a moment at . the
street corner we saw the man and
woman making for the spirit vault at
the corner of the opposite street
while the three young children hud
die together ou a damp step beyond
the stieet lamp’s reflection The
poor little children crept closer to
gether, and lay in a silent embrace,
until tbe man and woman came out
ot the spirit vault and walked down
the street, the night was dark and
tile man was groggy, and therefore
he stumbled over the children, Who
hud crept down on Ihe llags. “Dess
us, why, what is here !” he exclaimed,
rubbing his eyes. “It’s me, lather,”
answered one of the children. "Why
aie they out at this time of the
night f” asked the man, turning
sharply to the womaj. "1 locked
them out lor lear of tire,” answered
die woman. “Well, get up young
scerS,” said the lather, “and look
alive.” The poor littlo creatures
were benumbed with cold, aud the
youngest began to cry bitterly.
“Don’t cry, Harry, mother will make
a fire,” whispered the woman, as she
searched her pocket for the. key of
the door. “When are we to get in,
Polly T” asked the man. “Did I not
give you the key', William 1” asked
the woman, at the same time gro
ping lor it at her teet.” I thought I
gave it to you when we went into
Marshall’s!” “You didn’t,” was the
answer.
The key was lost, that was eertaiu,
whoever was to blame, and there was
no help for it but to borrow a neigh
bor’s key. “Walker’s key tits our
door,” said James, the eldest boy.
‘•The Walkers never trouble us,”
said the mother. “Try the Wilsons,”
said the father 1 “No, Nelly passed
me the other day without spmiking.’i
There were special reasons for not
troubling the Walkers, but little
Harry who was half dead with cold
lifted his foot iu desperation and en
ded further discussion by kicking at
Walker’s door with all his might.
It opened before his parents had
time to beat a retreat, aud a comely,
smart little woman with a fat baby
in her arms, looked out with a beam
ing smile. “Why it’s Mrs. Watson,”
she exclaimed. “Surely you haven’t
been out in such a night.” “Iudeed
we have,” answered Mrs. Watson as
she backed from the door, “and we
have lost our key.” “Well, come in,
don’t stand out there in the cold.”
“Thauk you, but the children are
here too,” said Mrs. Watson. “Well,
come in, there is room enough for
you all.” “Let us go in mother, I’m
so cold,” cried Harry. “Come along
every one of you,” cried a loud hearty
voice, aud with its last ling Mr.
Walker came forward.
Watson and his wife hung back as
if they were ashamed, but the little
Watsons thought it was like going
into paradise. They seemed to walk
with new life, and could have danced
aud laughed in the cheerful light of a
blazing fire. There was brightness
on the hearthstone, brightness on
the polished walls; brightness aud
joy and beauty seemed to dawn ev
erywhere. Around a well spread ta
ble happy children sat at tbeir even
ing meal. The wild winds blow, and
the rude storm might rage, they were
safely housed, aud guarded from all
that could harm.
“Don’t let us disturb you,” said
Mrs. Watson, observing the family
were at supper. Watson pulled his
hat down over his eyes and slunk be
hind his wife. “Come have a cup of
coffee,” said Mrs. Walker. -“Mother
do let me have a cup of coffee, I am
so cold,” said Harry. “We are going
home directly,” said his mother, turn
ing crimson. “I don’t want to go
home; I like to be here,” sobbed the
poor little fellow. “Your parlor
smokes, I think, Mrs. Watson,” said
M"s. Walker. “It’s not as comforta
ble as yours ma’am,” reapohded Mrs.
Watson. “But it takes, two don’t it,
Kva, to keep the polish bright,”
laughed Mrs, Walker. “To *5
that is as it should be,” returned Kva j
as she buttered a slice ot warm toust
for Harry.
Watson expected tliat if Walker
did opeu, it would be a temperance
lecture, but the subject was not spo
ken of, although Mrs. Walker kept
them waitiug oil the key until the
children had each a cup of warm cof
fee, and with a delicacy which Wat
son fully appreciated, the Walkers
made no display of their temperance
principles.
The borrswed key fitted the lock,
but it had uo magic to transform tiie
home it opened. Its black desolation
looked a hundred times darker by
the contrast of brightness. The fire
was out, aud the hearth was cold;
there was no comfortable corner to
sit down in, aud to add to the clieer
lessuess, several lights were brokeu
in the window.
Watson and his wife looked at
each other, but neither spoke. The
fire would not kindle with damp
sticks, and Harr.v began to cry. "Are
you cold yet, Harry f” asked Ira, "I
want to co back to Walker’s,” sobbed
Harr.v. “Tou don’t lise us, it. seems,
Harry,” said his mother. "It’s so
dark here.” "That’s what Tom said,’’
laughed James. “Tom wouldn’t have
run away from Walker’s house.” said
Ira. “I guess Harry will want to run
away too, when he is bigger,” said
James, ills mother gave a shriek as
if she had burnt lier lingers with a
siuouhieiiug stick. “Get off to bed.
children,” cried Watson, "aud if i
hear any more of that talk l’il thrash
you within an inch of your lives!”
the children rushed away. "That’s
what example does,” said ‘Watson,
thrusting another piece of green
wood into the tire. “Tom has put
the sea into all their heads.” Two
large tears fell from the mother’s
eyes on the hearth stoue.
There was a long silence. "It’s
queer o'ur lire won’t burn,” said Wat
son after some time. “Everything
seems to go against us, Polly.” “The
Walkers seem to have got a rise,”
replied Polly. “Aud I always under
stood that Walker couldn’t touch you
at workmanship.” “Anyway he has
a comfortable fireside to draw him
home,” said Watson. An angry re
tort rose to the wife’s lips, but she
seemed too dispirited to utter it.
and tried the fire again. Watson sat
looking gloomily at the grate. The
bottle was empty and his money
was gone ; he was cold and comfort
less, and Walker’s pleasant home fil
led him with thoughts of bitterness.
He went to bed out of temper, and
dreamed he was Walker, and the
dazzling brightness of his home woke
him. It was the morning sunshine
streaming in through the uncurtain
ed windows. It was again pay day,
and Watson went to his work; but
he could not get that home picture
out of his head. And as he chiselled
and carved, like a master in his art
as he was, he began to think it was a
shame to see Walker so much better
off than he was, and the reason of all
his misery and wretchedness catne
aud stood up before him, an accusing
spirit. “But for strong diink,” it
said, “that heaven of comfort and
blesseduess might bo yours. You
have bauds and brains, and if you
kept your head clear you would be
the foremost man where you stand.”
All day Watson thought and almost
resolved ; but if be bad rnouey in bis
pocket be felt afraid that be couid
not pass Marshall’s spirit store with
out goiug in.
Watson was standing at the door
of the factory waiting for two of bis
l'ellow-workuien, when Walker, who
was returning from bis work came up
and instead of nodding and passing
on as usual, be asked \Yatsou if be
were going home, and intimated that
he would like his company. Marshall,
the spirit merchant was at the door,
hut Watson and Walker passed on.
“Aha,” said Marshall, “Watson will
soon come hick again; this is pay
night.”
l*olly was at home and conscience
had been busy with her all day too.
Walker’s comfortable borne haunted
her. No doubt Mrs. Walker bad ad
vantages she did uot possess. A so
ber husband and plenty of means,
and kind friends and good tempered
children. But Polly seemed to for
get that a large amount of Mrs.
Walker’s comfort was due to her own
good management. Mrs. Polly Wat
sou could not say the same. When
her husband became fond of concert
rooms aud singing saloous, and theu
a hard daiuker, she lost heart and
let things go without a single effort
to prevent the ruiu. And! worse than
all, she too flew ‘-^yie bottle, and
learned to ofl’’ttii her b»s
d^pat fault. Fi
baud
She
m 1 ■
For
straggled. As she looked around she |
asked, ‘*Is it too late now t” 8he
feared it was. In her grief and mis
ery she wished she had drop to
cotillon her. Ana as sue reraemuer
ed that it was pay day, slie thought
with just the faintest degree of pleas
ure that she would be sure to get a
drop iu the evening.
Watson came home perfectly sober
which certainly surprised Polly, and
he, too, was surprised at seeing the
fire burning brightly and the hearth
neat and clean. Only the children
looked pinched and hungry, as
they stood in their old worn gar
ments. It was somewhat strange
that the same feelings had been pas
sing through the minds of husband
and wife, and yet they could not
speak of it to each other.
Watson stood for a moment look
ing at all within the room, and then
put on his hat again. “I wish you
would leave some money, the chil
are hungry,” said Polly.
“Keep up the Are,” said he, and
started down the street. “I fear,”
said Mrs. Walker, “that Watson has
gone olf to Marshall’s, as she saw
him go down the street. “I am sor
ry,” said Walker. “Not much fear
of him going beyond Marshall’s.
Watson did not go beyond Mar
shall’s, he went into a store before he
got so far, and then returned home
with a large basket full of good
things, and asplendid suppertbey all
had. Where is the bottle, wondered
Polly, bat no bottle made its appear
ance. “Had you a glass at Marshall’s
she asked. “Il l had, I would not
have been here now, and you and the
t children would not have had this
supper,” said Watson with a smile.
“Aud look here, Polly, if we cun
make a bargain between us to pass
on the other side, I don’t see why we
can’t be as well off as other people.”
As Watson said this he counted down
uis wages. There’s a good many bro
I ken clays here,’ lie said, “but with
God’s help we will make up the loss
yet.” “I have been thinking of the
Walkers all day,” said Polly, “aud if
you will joiu the Temperauce society,
I will.” “Good,” cried Watson, “I
have been thinking of this, and if it
is not too late, we may catch a ray of
our neighbor’s brightness.
Both were iu earnest, and next
morning they did so. The poor chil
dren w ere almost afraid to believe in
the blessed change; plenty to eat, a
happy home, and on Sunday morning
nice clothes, and with father aud
mother going to church. Watson,
alter a time, became superintendent,
of the Sunday-school and a hopeful
member of the chureii of Christ.
“Oh, if Tom only knew, wouldn’t he
come back from sea,” cried Harry.
“But it was Walket’s key that open
ed the door to a new’ home to us,”
said James. When Harry was say
ing his prayers the mother whisper
ed “Tliauk God for Walker’s key.”
THE CHURCH AND, THE THEATRE.
The theatre gains its power by ap
pealing to some of the strongest pas
sions of our nature. It has existed
in all lands and ages. The worst
charge against it is, that in seeking
to please it caters to the basest ap
petites of irreligious minds; yet, by
a show of respectability, it entices in
many church members, and their
example makes thousands of others
attend.
Is not the church of to-day drifting
iuto this same path—seeking to
please rather thau to save t Does
not this spirit exist in both pulpit
aud pew I The preacher wants a
large congregation ; he draws it from
those who have fed at the theatre all
the week ; aud to please them he too
must be a theological play actor.
We judge a preacher, not by the
quality of his sermon, but by the size
of his congregation; two-thirds of
the people prefer an idle plagiarist
who “draws” to a faithful pastor who
fails to attract large crowds. So, if
the preacher would successfully com
pete with the theatre in popularity,
ho must imitate its actors,—aud this
is the fact that stands back of the
extravagant seusationalism of raauy
ministers.
Shall the . theatre capture the
Church, or shall the Church capture
tho theatre I Thousands of church
members in Brooklyn are giving
their support to the theatre. Its in
fluence in church aud Sabbath school
is greater than we realize. Waves of
worldliness have broken over the
barriers of piety. Our boys are be
ing taught by play-actors who are
not lit for honest people to associate
with. A prominent actress says she
dare not go amoug her fellow-per
formers without a protector, Aud
yet, were it not for the support given
it by the Church, the theatre would
uot, could not, live a week.
The Roman Church adopted heath'
en theatrical ceremonies in order to j
attract the Pagans. Are we not do-!
ing nearly the same thing in intro-|
ducing the stage to the pnlpit, to j
please the worldly t
For years theatres were prohibited
by law in New England. Mothers
wonld have thought their sons were
lost were they seen attending a play.
But now ladies dress for church as
for the opera, and many of onr Sun
day school scholars are in the peni
tentiary. Now religion is burlesqued
on the stage, licentiousness isextolled
and vice of • every sort held up to
the view of the young, as worthy of
their imitation. In such times as
these let us hold last to the good old
Gospel power.
We want not the power that leads
a man to the altar and sends him
away thinking he has done a merito
rious act that will purchase heaven
for him—but the grand old power of
eailier days that made men cry out
in agouy, -‘What shall Ido to be
saved 1” and made them tremble on
the brink of hell until they saw and
accepted a crucified Redeemer.
Permit no longer thoughtlessly
your children to go to the theatre and .
drink iu its moral poison, aud stimu
late their taste for it by seusational
j shows and fandangoes iu the very
| house of God.
Brethren of the Church of God, the j
time has come for us to throw off the |
iucubus of the world, and proclaim (
salvation thorough in the good old j
way of Jesus Christ and Him eruci- j
lied. If we do this, we shall win a;
glorious victory.—Dr. Fulton.
SOMETHING GiVES WAY.
A Christian woman in a town iu
New York desired to obtain a school
house for the purpose of starting a
j Sabbath-school, but was refused by a
! skeptical trustee. Still sbe perse
vered, and asked him again aud
again.
“I tell you, Auut Polly, it is of no
use. Once for all, I say yon cannot
have the school-house for any such
purpose.”
“I think I am going to get it,” said
Aunt Polly.
“I should like to know how, if I do,
not give you the key.”
“I thiuk that the Cord is going to
unlock it.”
“Maybe He will,” said the infidel;
“but I can tell you this; He will not
get the key from me.”
“Well, I am going to pray over it,
and I have found out from experience
that when I keep on praying some
thing always gives way.”
And the next time she came the
hard heart of the infidel gave way,
aud she received the key. More than
this, wheu others opposed tho school
he sustaiued it, aud great good was
done for perishing souls.
“Something gives way.” “Some
times it is a man’s will, and some
times it is the man himself. Some
times there is a revolution, and some
times there is a funeral. When God’s
Spirit inspires a prayer iu a believiug
Christian’s heart, Omnipotence stands
ready to auswer it. “Something
gives way.”
NO TRUE WORK WASTtU.
No trne work since the world be
gan was ever wasted ; no true life
since the world began has ever failed.
Oh, understand those two perverted
words, failure and success, and meas:
ure them by the eternal, not by the
earthly standard. What the world
has regarded as the bitterest failure
has often been in the sight of heaven
the most magnificent success. Wheu
the cap painted withjl^vils, was plac
ed on the brow of Johu iluss, and he
sank dying amid the embers of the
flame—was that a failure ! When
St. Francis Xavier died, cold and
lonely on the bleak and desolate
shore of a heathen laud—was that a
failure t Wheu the frail, worn body
of the apostle of the Gentiles was
dragged by a hook from the arena
and the white sand scattered over the
crimson life-blood of the victim whom
the denso amphitheater despised as
some obscure and nameless Jew—was
that a failure! And when, after
thirty obscure, toilsome, unrecorded
years iu the shop of the village car
penter, One came forth to be pre
eminently the man of sorrows, to
wander from city to city in homeless
labors, and to expire in lonely agony
upon the shameful cross—was that a
failure! Nay, my brethren, it was
the life, it was the death of him who
lived that wo might follow his foot
steps—it was the life, it was the death
of the Son of God.—F. if. Farrar. *
There are beauties of character
which, like the night blooming cereas
are eioeed against the glare and tur
bulence of every-day life, and bloom
ouly in the shade ami solitude and
beneath the quiet stars.
jfarm and j|iresidi?.
PLANTING.
Do not forget the eld adage, “A
jrop well planted is already half
made.” The plowing has beeu done,
»ud now the planting season has
commenced—first the corn, and next
the cotton, peanuts and minor crops.
It is of the highest importance to
plant well. The land must be in good
tilth, for seeds do not germinate well
in tnrf and clods. The harrow should
be freely used on all rough laud be
fore planting begins. A good bar
rowing just before the crop is plant
ed is worth two workings in clod and
turf after it. It makes the surface
smooth and fine, and gives a loose
bed for the seeds to grow in. Put
the land in good tilth before yo»
plant, even though you be delayed
a week or two by the extra work.—
You will find your reward before the
season is over.
Wherever moles and birds are very
troublesome seed coru ought to be
tarred. They will uot destroy it half
so bad when thus treated. Only a
very'little tar is needed. A pint will
smear a bushel of corn, if the coru is
spread upon the ground or the barn
floor and faithfully stirred with a
spade or woodeu paddle made lor the
purpose. The plan is first to work
it over on a floor til well smeared
with the tar, and then sprinkle over
it dry earth or plaster and stir it
again till the grains cease to adhere.
Cotton seed should likewise be rolled
in ashes or lime before planting, and
fewer seeds should he put iu a liifl.
A large number of plants give too
much trouble iu thinning.
All seeds would grow better if the
soil were slightly pressed down upon
them when planted. It is uot much
trouble to do this. A weeding Urn
can be run over the cotton and pea
nut rows as last as one can walk, and
the pressure of the hand upon ibis
instrument would set the soil firmly
: around the seeds, a condition that
; experience has shown to be very fa
vorable to an early and successful
germination of the crop. Better take
pains and time to plant well at first,
lor hasty and poor work at seed time
not only brings a poor harvest bur
entails greater labor during the pe
riod of cultivation. A bad first plant
ing means a-big re-plantiug general
ly, with the period of labor extended
two or three weeks in consequence.—
Rural Messenger.
Mending a Carpet.—My dining
room carpet was only a rag carpet to
begin with; latterly it had become a
ragged one. I was contemplating it
ruefully one day, knowing that the
state of my purse would not allow me
to replace it just yet with a new oue.
I could think of no way to mend it,
but by big patches tacked in place.
In the midst cf my dilemma an ex
perienced old lady entered, who sug
gested"paste instead of tucks. “I have
repeatedly put muslin patches over
carpet with paste,’ said she, ‘and it is
surprising how well it holds.’ i took
the hint. Patches are not, in their
nature, beautiful, yet a patched gar
rneut is decidedly better-looking than
a ragged one, and the same is true ot
a patched carpet, and my patches
were so easily applied and proved so
adhesive, that I rarely sweep the
room without a .mental benediction
upon the one who suggested it.
Shrinkage in Hogs.—A western
farmer, to determine the amount oi
of loss of weight in killing and dress
iug hogs, selected twenty hogs that
had beeu fed iu the average way, on
corn, &e., and weighing about 150
pounds.' The shrinkage iu this ex
perimeut was a tritie over one sev
enth of the live weight. The loss
from the flow of blood in ‘sticking'
was determined in two cases, namely,
8 and 7J pounds. But the breed lias
much to do with all this, .and such
statistics, to be of value, should state
the breed of the auimals.
Charcoal for Fowls.—Au old
turkey raiser gives the following e\
periment: “Four turkeys were fed
on meal, boiled potatoes and oats.—
Four others of the same brood were
also, at the same time, coufiued ii
another pen, and fed daily on tin
same articles, but with oue pint o
very finely pulverized charcoal mixer
with their food—mixed meal ant
boiled potatoes. They had also t
plentiful supply of charcoal iu theii
pen. The eight were killed an tin
Statue day, and there was a different)
of oue and a half pouuds each iu fa
v0r Ot the fowls that had beetj
plied with charcoal, they beins
The fattest,and the meat beiu
superior iu poll
kY ot.”
THE WORK BENCH AND PLOW.
The necessity lor, teftchiug the
yonirg men nf onr Htato trades ef all
kinds, and of bringing them up to be
come practical farmers is thrusting
itself upon the attention of the'
thoughtful, r.very day with a grow
ing force, lliu work bench and the
plow arc the surest means of obtain
ing independence and competence,
and are rising in importance and dig
nity, as education spreads and popu
lation increases. The reason of the
thing is admirably set forth in the
following article fioin the Journal of
Commerce: “One of the great pro
blems of onr day, too little discussed
by those who have the ear of the pub
lic through the press or at the forum,
is to furnish the young men of this
generation with remunerative em
ployment. The professions are all
over-crowded. T ire shop-keepers are
by far too numerous. Ageucies.nf.all
classes are so multiplied that the oc
cupants tread on each other's toes,
and are a bore and nuisance to tiie
public. Clerks out of employment
and willing to serve for a mere pit
tance are to be reckoned by the tens
of thousands. Book-keepers with
their-hungry eyes are reading the'atC
vertising lists in vain hopes of an
opening for their application. Col
lectors, messengers, door-keepers,
watchmen, conductors, and a great
variety of others already expert, seek
ing employment in kindred callings,
are w aitiug anxiously for some cue
to engage them. Every possible form
of service that can be reckoned in the
list of genteel occupations isanxious
j iy sought afier by multitudes who
i have :.o other provision lor their dai
I iy needs. The men who have been
| trying to lir e by their wits must go
j to work at the bench or in the field ;
I of these the soil offers the most ae
| eessihli* and at fires the most remu
I iterative employment. The mass of
he unemployed must seek suste
<:,nce from the 1> som of the mother
I e..itii. Land is cheap, and there is a
: wide area that awaits the tiiier. The
I back may ache, and the skin boater
in the sun, but the bread can be made
j without fear of failure, if the laborer
| will be faithful to his ealiiiig. It
! needs less wisdom and forethought
: than patient industry, and the man
with a common mind may eat his
harvest in peajp."—Ex.
CULTIVATION OF ONE ACRE OF PEANUTS.
Spread forty cart loads (or more
j will not hurt) of woods mould. Fal
low or flush as for corn. Sow broad
cast twenty bushels of agricultural
lime, and harrow in well. Lay off in
furrows with shove! plow three feet
apart. (This is to break the ground
for roots to strike in.) Then, with
single turning plow, run on.each side
of furrow about six inches from it to
make a ridge, open ridge, as for corn
from one and a half to two inches
deep. Drop two shelled kernels
eighteen inches apart. Care should
be taken, in shelling the lints, not to
break tlie thin skin. Cover lightly.
Plant between the 1st and 120th of’
May. The drier the land, the better.
1. Cultivate wheu peas show one
and a half to two inches above ground.
| Side down with single plow its close
| as can be done without cutting roots
, of plants.
2. Weed with hoe as for corn when
necessary.
3. When plants begin to run,
throw earth to them with double
shovel plow, running once on each
side of row.
4. Bun tooth cultivator between
rows, as occasion may require, to
keep down grass.
o. Haul earth to each bunch with
hoe before pens begin to run too
much, and have grass taken from
around the plants by hand, ltun
single plow between rows to drain off
water from the peas.—ReHgious Her
ald.
Kicking Cows.—I have tried all
itho various ways to prevent cows
I from kicking while milking, and have
found none more harmless, easily np
! plied and as effectual as the Dutch or
Holland method, which is to take a
| small rope about four feet long, aud
put it once around both hind legs,
just above the gambrel joints, with a
slip knot; draw tight enough to bring
both legs firmly together; wind the
rope two or three times between tho
legs, around this rope or noose, draw
' ing it tight, aud fasten the rope by a
j half hitch. In North Holland this is
! pract ised on all the cows at every milk
j ing. (They are driven to the milking
d, where stakes are driven