AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
317 
woman as she yieled her sea f , and the evi¬ 
dent consternation of the broad-cloth indi- 
viuals, who were manifestly put to shame- 
all were to me irresistably interesting and 
instructive. One of the same broad-cloth 
wearers, apparently overcome with confu¬ 
sion, got up and left the car, and Raphael’s 
angel took his vacant seat. 
Well done, Raphael’s angel! 
A Dog’s Affection for his Master. —Mr. 
O. M. Hopkins, late of Scottsburg, who died 
in January last, had a small and sprightly 
terrier, named “ Nig,” of which he was very 
fond. After the death of his master. Nig 
grew melancholy. Nothing the family could 
do seemed to amuse him. He could not be 
enticed from the side of his mistress, but 
would follow her about everywhere, grave 
and sedate, as though actually thinking of 
his dead master. One day a closet contain¬ 
ing his master’s clothing was opened. No 
sooner did Nig discover the garments, than 
he frisked about almost frantic with delight, 
evidently expecting his master to appear. 
When the poor animal discovered his error, 
he testified his disappointment by piteous 
and mournful howlings. 
In May last poor Nig grew more melan¬ 
choly than ever. All attempts to induce 
him to leave the house were unavailing, 
until one day his mistress went to visit the 
grave of her husband. Then followed, and 
on arriving at the mound commenced digging 
and moaning, testifying his grief in the most 
affecting manner. From that time he could 
not be enticed to leave the grave, but stayed 
day and night till he starved to death. He 
was found there, stretched on the earth, cold 
and stiff. 
This is an affecting but beautiful story ; 
the man who can read it without a tear in 
the corner of his eye, is not to be envied.— 
Dansville Herald. 
THE CORAL. 
Can a child do as much as an insect 1 — 
“ Why yes,” exclaims every young reader, 
“ and more too.” Let us see. Imagine that 
you and I are sailing in a vessel on the- South 
seas. How beatifully we glide along ! But 
what is that yonder, rising above the billows, 
like a painted highland? Now it sparkles in 
the rays of the sun like a rock of silver, and 
now r it assumes different colors, variegated 
in the most charming manner. Red, golden, 
silvery hues, all blend together in delightful 
richness. Nearer and nearer we come to 
the attractive object, all the while appearing 
more beautiful and brilliant: when lo, we 
discover it is the splendid work of insects, so 
small that we can not see them with the na¬ 
ked eye. Yes, the little coral insect threw 
up those many colored reefs, a little at a 
time, until we have this magnificent sight. 
And just over there, beyond that line of 
reefs, you see that little island, covered with 
tall palm trees so geen and slender. The 
foundation of that island, now a fit habitation 
for men, was laid by the same little coral in¬ 
sect. 
Myriads of them worked away, year after 
year, until a huge bed of coral became the 
foundation of the island; then the soil accu¬ 
mulated, seeds were dropped, and the trees 
grew as they are now seen. 
This is what some insects do towards 
making this world a habitation for mankind. 
They make Islands. God not create 
them to be useless in this world, where there 
is so much to be done. Their work amounts 
lo something. 
Would you not be useful as the little co¬ 
ral insect? You can not build islands, but 
you can help the people who live upon them, 
and those who live in other parts of the 
earth. A cent is a small gift, but one hun¬ 
dred of them make a dollar. A grain of sand 
is very minute, but enough of them will make 
a mountain. 
So the little which one child can do may 
seem too small to be counted, but perhaps 
twenty of these little ones are equal to the 
work of a full grown man or woman. Try 
then, to be useful. 
Every body can do something. If the co¬ 
ral insect works so hard for others, ought 
you to be idle ? 
A few days since a gentleman who was en 
route for New-York, got out at a station, 
leaving his “better half” sole occupant of 
the seat; returning, and finding a good-look¬ 
ing gentleman occupying his seat, and mak¬ 
ing himself sociable with his traveling com¬ 
panion, politely requested the stranger to give 
him his seat. “ Your seat, sir ?” said the 
stranger ; “ I don't know that you have any 
betterclaim to it than I have.” “ Very well 
sir,” replied our friend, “if you will keep it, 
allow me to introduce you to my wife.” 
The stranger looked blank, and made very 
hasty tracks for the next car. 
The Weeping Willow. —I presume that it 
is known to few that, for the weeping wil¬ 
lows that hang their pensive boughs beauti¬ 
fully over the hallowed graves of the dead, 
England and America are indebted to the 
distinguished Lady Mary Montague. It is 
said that while at Constantinople, whose 
husband at that time occupied the embassy, 
she sent, in a basket of figs, home to her in¬ 
timate friend, the poet Pope, a sprig of the 
Asiatic willow. He set it out in his garden, 
and from that twig has come all the weeping 
willows in England and America. 
Lady Mary Montague was born about the 
year 1690, in Nottinghamshire, England ; she 
was one of the finest and most accomplished 
scholars of her age; was cotemporary and 
on terms of intimacy with Hannah More, 
Addison, Pope, Steele, Bishop, Burnet, &c. ; 
was the wife of the accomplished Charles 
Montague for nearly fifty years; at the court 
of George I. lor some four years; resided 
upwards of twenty years in Italy and its 
neighborhood ; lived to the advanced age of 
seventy-three, and died August 21, 1762. 
To Lady Mary, also, it is said, belongs the 
honor of introducing inoculation for the 
small-pox, a practice which has annually 
saved many lives.—R. H. Howard, in New 
England Farmer. 
Change. —Change is the disguise time puts 
on, lest we grow weary of him. Even while 
we are complaining of change, he is prepar¬ 
ing some new surprise for us ; and if we 
did but know it, of many a man it would be 
said, as of one of old, “ he went out and 
hanged himself,” were it not that Time turns 
life into a masquerade. 
Sometimes he is a youth with a garland of 
flowers; sometimes a matron in cloth of gold ; 
sometimes a #arrior in the midst of the fields 
he has won ; sometimes his footsteps are 
like the chime of bells ; sometimes his tones 
are very like a knell. 
We picture Time a poor old man, wings 
depending from his shoulders, a scythe in his 
hand, and frost in his bosom. And when we 
think of him, drifting snows, and tolling 
bells, and withered leaves, and the bearded 
grain, with the flowers that grow between, 
he has reaped and bound together many a 
time and oft—all form part of the picture. 
But time never sat for his portrait, and this 
is not like him. Time is not old—he is as 
young as the last hope ; he is not cruel, when 
he mosses over the inscriptions that would 
ever remind us of the loved and lost. 
Time has a new wardrobe for each year. 
Refer to the old letters you have written, 
if you would see what wondrous changes 
heart and life are ever putting on. But they 
come so gently and so gradually we scarcely 
perceive them. What transition more won¬ 
derful than when the boy of sunny brow and 
sunny locks bounds into stern heavy-tread¬ 
ing manhood, or when the girl, all feeling, 
all hope, all song, becomes the thoughtful 
woman, or the watchful, loving matron. 
Change is the beautiful livery of Time, and 
there are but two things beneath the stars 
that never wear it—true friends and true 
hearts. 
Fighting on Equal Terms. — I will tell you 
a little incident that occurred in Georgia 
many years ago. Judge T. a celebrated 
duelist, who had lost his leg, and who was 
known to be a dead shot, challenged Col. D. 
a gentleman of great humor and attainments. 
The friends tried to prevent the meeting, but 
to no effect. The parties met on the ground, 
when Col. D. was asked if he was ready. 
“ No,” he replied. 
“ What are you waiting for then ?” inquired 
Judge T.’s second. 
“ Why, sir,” said Col. D., “I have sent 
my boy into the woods to hunt a bee gum to 
put my leg in, for I dont ’intend to give the 
Judge any advantage over me. You see he 
has a wooden leg !” 
The whole party roared with laughter, 
and the thing was so ridiculous that it broke 
up the fight. Col. D. was afterwards told it 
would sink his reputation. 
“ Well,” he replied, “ it can’t sink me low¬ 
er than a bullet can.” 
“ But,” urged his friends, “ the papers will 
be filled about you.” 
“ Well,” said he, “ I would rather fill fifty 
papers than one coffin.” 
No one ever troubled the Col. after that. 
Stwkk 
REMARKS. 
New-Yoric, Wednesday, July 25. 
All grades of flour have sensibly declined 
during the past week—even the “ Extra 
Genesee ;” which, on account of its scarci¬ 
ty, has held its own for a long time, has now 
taken a downward turn. The decline on the 
different grades has been from 37i to 75 cts. 
per bbl. Were there no “ combination,” 
such as was alluded to last week, the com¬ 
ing week would give a fair criterion for 
judging of future prices; but those having 
considerable quantities of old flour on hand, 
will make a desperate effort to keep up at 
least a show of high prices as long as possi¬ 
ble. In all probability those who get their 
grain into market within three weeks will 
be the more fortunate ones. South of the 
latitude 42°, the wheat crop is mostly se¬ 
cured ; and while nearly every locality has 
produced at least an average crop, a large 
area has given much beyond the usual yield. 
It is also to be remembered that wheat 
growers generally, stimulated by the high 
prices, sowed more acres than in former 
years, which will go far to swell the aggre¬ 
gate production. These considerations, to¬ 
gether with the continuous pouring in of 
favorable reports from almost every section 
of the country, lead us to the inevitable con¬ 
clusion that when the wheat market is fairly 
opened, prices will sink much below their 
present mark. We do not write for specu 
