AMEIRICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
11 
boys. When the sale seemed to flag, they 
would fill up with fresh specimens, and one 
of them would come rushing in from the tel¬ 
egraph office—“ Train only got to Little 
Falls.” “ Little Falls !” exclaim a score of 
westward-going passengers, “ it won’t be 
here for an hour.” At that they turned dis¬ 
consolately to the apples again. By and by, 
in plumps another boy. “ Express train 
only just reached Syracuse ; just come from 
telegraph.” This was a clap upon us east¬ 
ward-going passengers—going, but not gone; 
and we sighed, and remarked, and comforted 
ourselves with apples! 
Men gathered into groups and talked, at 
first produce, then politics, then they told 
stories as long as their memory held out ; 
and then each would saunter up and down 
the room, with hands in pockets, or behind 
their back. Newspapers, of which a few 
were present, were read through—advertise¬ 
ments and all. One great comfort was in 
going to the ticket office window and peer¬ 
ing in—for questions were out of the ques¬ 
tion—the ticket-master lying in a corner, 
snoozing. At length he got up and shut his 
window. This was a great misfortune. 
Men now would walk up and look very sol¬ 
emnly at it, as if to be sure that it was shut, 
and then go to the door or window, as if 
determined to look out of something. At 
last, some one pulled a sliver from the wood 
and began to whittle. In a few moments 
another followed suit, and before long half a 
dozenjjwere contentedly whittling. I envied 
them. They seemed at last consoled. 
I envied that fat man in the corner, who 
had sat without winking, certainly without a 
single motion that I could notice, for a full 
hour. He seemed entirely occupied in 
breathing. I envied that old farmer that fell 
asleep sitting bolt upright, but gradually,like 
an apple roasting before a good old-fashioned 
fire, slept himself down to a heap. I envied 
the imperturbable contentof that plump coun¬ 
try girl who stood before the glass combing 
her hair with a five-toothed comb, and divid¬ 
ing, and smoothing, and placing it as if she 
were in a summer afternoon chamber all 
alone, fixing for a visit from her “ intended.” 
The boys were the only utterly cheerful and 
happy set. Their sales over, they amused 
themselves with all manner of boyish tricks. 
Giving each other a sly nip, giving a chock¬ 
ing pull at each other’s tippet, knocking off 
each other’s caps, or crushing them down 
over the eyes, snapping apple seeds, or 
throwing cores, and all manner of monkey 
pranks. 
We read all the show-bills, all the railroad 
placards, all the time-tables, all the adver¬ 
tisements, and studied all the veracious rail¬ 
road maps, on which ramshorn railroads 
were made to flow on in straight lines or 
very gradual curves, while competing roads 
were laid down in all their vicious sinuosi¬ 
ties. 
When I said that the boys were the only 
happy ones, I must except the happy old 
lady in the corner knitting. She has two 
younger women by her, and the three are talk¬ 
ing and working just as placidly and contend- 
edly as if in the great kitchen at home. Ah! 
blessed be knitting! Whoever saw a person 
other than quiet and peaceful that knits. If 
anger breaks out, the knitting is laid aside. 
When the needles begin again,] you may be 
sure that it is all right within. 
At length the five hours w ere accomplished; 
the train came thundering up with a double 
team of engines. The crowd poured forth 
eagerly, and in a few moments we were 
dashing off toward Albany, which we reached 
at 10 o’clock on Saturday night—too late for 
any train to New-York that night, thus 
escaping a night ride, and an article from 
the Norwich Examiner about the sin of 
Saturday-night violations of Sunday—weari¬ 
some and sleepy experiences both would 
have been. H. W. Beecher. 
N. Y. Independent. 
ANEREW JACKSON. 
Fitz Green LIalleck, in his ode to Burns, 
unconsciously portrays the character of An¬ 
drew Jackson,thus : 
Strong sense, deep feeling, passions strong, 
A hate of tyrant and of knave, 
A love of right, a scorn of wrong, 
Of coward and of slave. 
A kind, true heart, a spirit high, 
That could not tear and would not bow, 
Were written in his manly eye, 
And on his manly brow. 
LOVE.—LADIES READ IT. 
Dare I ventnre on this hackneyed theme 
—a thing which has been exhausted by the 
poet and the novelist ? I dare ! not to fol¬ 
low in the train of those who have preceded 
me and launch a shaft at the blindfold 
cherub, but, as the champion, the defender 
of the mischievous boy—to show where lies 
the fault, to unveil the cause why his arrows 
are poisoned, and why the rose he offers are 
sometimes so thickly beset with thorns. 
Frown not, fair readers ! to you are attribut¬ 
able all the misdeeds of the wily god. Did 
woman feel the responsibility of the station 
she holds in society—did she feel how much 
she is the arbitress of man’s destinies on 
earth, nay, even beyond it, how different 
would she act! Instead of dispensing her 
smiles equally on the worthy and unworthy, 
she would show by her discountenance of 
vice, how hateful it was to her ; no matter 
how talentad a man was, how graceful in 
his manners, or pleasing in person, unless 
virtue was the guiding star of his conduct, 
she should banish him from her presence, as 
being unworthy of breathing the same air 
with her; she would shrink from his society 
as she would shun a noxious reptile. Is such 
the case 1 No. No matter what a man’s 
vices, if he is handsome, brilliant in conver¬ 
sation, and versed in the arts of flattery, all 
the smiles and attentions are lavished on 
him that ought to be bestowed only on the 
virtuous; while the man who is endowed 
with every good quality that can render him 
estimable, if wanting in the showy acquire¬ 
ments of society, is treated with the utmost 
indifference; thus giving rise to the too gen¬ 
erally received opinion that, the worse a man 
is, the more agreeable he is to woman. Can 
it then be wondered at, that, to meet her in 
society, win her affections by a thousand 
nameless attentions, and slight them when 
won, is the pastime of an hour to those 
honeyed flatterers, those destroyers of 
women’s happiness, who, like a gilded ser¬ 
pent, captivates but to annihilate. Were 
they regarded as the pests of society, instead 
of being treated as its ornaments, the race 
would disappear.— Empson. 
A Yankee Taken in. —An ingenious down 
easter, who has invented a new kind of 
“ Love-Letter Ink,” which he has been sel¬ 
ling as a safeguard against all actions for 
breach of promise of marriage, in so much 
as it entirely fades from the paper in two 
months after dates, was recently “ done 
brown ” by a brother down-easter, who pur¬ 
chased a hundred boxes of the article, and 
gave him his note for ninety days. At the 
expiration of the time, the ink inventor 
called for payment, but, on unfolding the 
scrip, found nothing but a piece of blank pa¬ 
per. The note had been written with his 
own ink. 
Faith has a]_quiet*breast. 
THE AL P S 
My first view of the Alps was at Berne. I 
had taken a walk towards evening to the 
“Engischo Promenade,” as it is called, a 
mile or so from the city. Thence a fine 
view of the city is obtained, with its tower¬ 
ing cathedral steeple, and the ambergris col¬ 
ored Aar, winding around it, as almost to 
insulate it completely from the main land. I 
had seated myself, taking a cup of coffee, 
and bread, and honey, was observing the 
people and the scenery, and occasionally 
casting my eyes in the direction of 
some huge white clouds, which seemed 
to hang heavily on the eastern hori¬ 
zon. The thought occurred to me if those 
clouds were but mountains, how magnificent 
would they be—they would be beyond all 
conception or all description ; they would 
satisfy the most intense yearnings of the 
imagination ; they would fill forever that 
great desire of the mind to feel, if only once, 
an impression of the purely sublime. I lis¬ 
tened to the music for half an hour, saunter¬ 
ing around under the trees, and then strayed 
along the promenade a little further on, away 
from the crowd; but my eye still continued 
from time to time, to fasten itself involun¬ 
tarily in the direction of those white clouds. 
They were the most unchangeble clouds I 
had ever seen; and the impression gradual¬ 
ly grew upon me that there was something 
unnaturally hard and angular in their outline. 
Can these, then, be mountains 1 I confess 
this thought, as it first darted into my mind, 
occasioned a kind of trembling and sinking 
through my whole frame. Is it possible that 
these clouds in heaven, so white, so ethereal, 
so high above other clouds, that these are 
mountains 1 
Two peasants were coming along at the 
time—their coats and scythes under their 
arms. I walked up to them and said, “Will 
you tell me if those clouds are really clouds 
or mountains 1” They looked at me with 
some astonishment for an instant, either at 
the energy of the action or the singularity 
of the question, and then, with a bow, an¬ 
swered : 
“ Mountains, sir, to your service.” 
And there they were, indeed, the Alps— 
the high Alps—like the imperishable white 
pillars of God’s throne, piercing into heaven, 
incrusted with a pure marble of snow, and 
faintly tinged with a ruby light, as if it were 
the smile of the Almighty. I had seen 
enough. I felt silent, and bowed before the 
greatness of the works of God .—Letter in 
the Providence Journal. 
Characteristic. —The following notice of 
a “ run upon a bank,” which we clip from the 
N. Y. Post, is not only amusing, but char¬ 
acteristic of the African and Anglo-American 
races. The scene occurred at one of the 
Six-penny Savings Banks of this city : 
“ Among the swarm of people bringing in 
deposits of all conceivable values, ranging 
from five cents as high as $22, we noticed a 
stout colored man, who walked up to a desk, 
inquiring with the air of a millionaire, ‘ Is the 
President of the bank ini’ ‘ Here I am at 
your service, sir.’ ‘ I should like,’ says the 
applicant, ‘to make a draft on you to-morrow, 
if the Bank is prepared for it.’ ‘Anything to 
accommodate you, my friend,’ said the Presi¬ 
dent ; ‘how much may your draft be?’ 
‘ Well, sir,’ said the sable visitor, drawing 
himself up, coughing and looking as sternly 
important as if his words were destined to 
produce a crash in the finances of the uni¬ 
verse. ‘ About nine cents !’ ‘ You shall 
certainly have it,’ answered the accommo¬ 
dating functionary, not at all bewildered at 
the announcement, 1 there is a balance of 
twenty-one cents to your account—call 
again.’ And the colored man makes room 
for the next call.” 
