166 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
entirely from below, is more equable and tem¬ 
perate, which is a groat object. The vapor 
rising from the manure and earth is condensed 
by the cool air passing over the surface of the 
shade, and stands in drops on the inside, and, 
therefore, the plants do not require as frequent 
watering. If the frames or stretches are made 
large, they should be intersected by cross-bars 
about a foot square, to support the cloth. These 
articles are just the thing for bringing forward 
seeds in season for transplanting. — Plough , 
Loom and Anvil. 
Autumnal Forests —A Common Mistake.— 
The beauty of an autumnal forest is a frequent 
theme of remark by travellers and others inte¬ 
rested in Nature. But there is a mistake often 
committed in regard to this matter. It is that 
of attributing the variegated appearance of an 
Autumnal forest, to frost. A young lady said 
to the writer a few days ago, “ the frost begins 
to turn the leaves.” A little less than a year 
ago, in passing amidst the splendid scenery of 
the Green Mountains, between Pittsfield and 
Springfield, where each hill-top seemed like a 
grand bouquet of flowers, a gentleman said, “ the 
work of frost.” A visitor to the Wyoming Lead 
Mines (Pennsylvania) has given the following 
passage: 
“ The varied trees of the forest, touched by 
the frosty fingers of death, were changing their 
countenances before passing away. There was 
standing one clothed in scarlet, every leaf as 
bright and red from its crown to the ground as 
if it had been on fire; another was clad in a 
vesture of gold, and yet another purple; and 
these were mingled with evergreens and parti¬ 
colored trees, making a strange-hued and sur¬ 
passingly beautiful panorama, such as the eye 
took in with new and constantly increasing de¬ 
light.” 
This description itself is beautiful as well as 
the grand scene it sets before us. But the mis¬ 
take, as above signified, is in attributing this 
beauty, this variegated appearance, to frost. It 
is the ripening of the leaves, that gives the 
crimson, golden and other hues, as the blush of 
the peach, the crimson of the plum, the golden 
appearance of the apple, and not the result of 
frost, but of the ripening of the fruit. The 
“frosty” fingers are indeed to these delicate 
classes of vegetables “fingers of death.” At 
their touch, all this beauty, alike in fruit and 
leaf, and flower, disappear.— Boston Recorder, 
Temperance Hygiene. — Dr. Cartwright, of 
New-Orleans, communicates to the Boston Med¬ 
ical Journal some statements covering a space 
of thirty years, concerning the physicians in and 
around Natchez. There were seventeen temper¬ 
ance men among them, their average age 34, of 
whom five have died at the ages of 75, 70, 60, 
60 and 49, averaging 63. The number of deaths 
by the Carlisle Life Tables should have been 
seven. 
On the other hand, every physician of Nat¬ 
chez and its vicinity thirty years ago, whether 
practising or retired, who was in the habit of 
tippling, as the practice of drinking alcoholic 
beverages is called, has long since been num¬ 
bered with the dead! Only two of them, who 
were comparatively temperate, lived to be grey. 
Their average term of life did not exceed 35 
years, and the average term of life of those who 
were in the habit of taking alcholic drinks fre¬ 
quently between meals and in an empty stomach, 
did not reach thirty years. In less than ten 
years after they commenced practice, the most 
of them died, and the whole of them have sub¬ 
sequently fallen, leaving not one behind in the 
city, country, or village, within twenty miles 
around. 
To fill up the places of those who died or re¬ 
tired from the profession, sixty-two medical men 
settled in Natchez and its vicinity between the 
years 1824 and 1835, embracing a period of ten 
years ; not counting those of 1823 already men¬ 
tioned. Of the sixty-two new comers, thirty- 
seven were temperate, and twenty-five used alco¬ 
holic beverages between meals, though not often 
to the extent of producing intoxication. Of the 
thirty-seven who trusted to the hygienic virtues 
of nature’s beverage—plain, unadulterated wa¬ 
ter-nine have died, and twenty-eight are living. 
Of the twenty-five who trusted to the supposed 
hygienic virtues of ardent spirits, all are dead 
except*three, and they have removed to distant 
parts of the State. 
Commercial Value of Honesty. —An old 
trader among the Northern Indians, who had 
some years ago established himself on the Wis- 
seva, tells a good story, with a moral worth 
recollecting, about his first trials of trading with 
his red customers. The Indians, who evidently 
wanted goods, and had both money (which they 
called shune ha) and furs, flocked about his 
store, and examined his goods, but for some time 
bought nothing. Finally, their chief, with a 
large body of his followers, visited him, and ac¬ 
costing him with, “ How do, Thomas? show me 
goods ; I take four yard calico, three coonskins 
for yard, pay you by’m-by—to-morrow;” re¬ 
ceived his goods and left. Next day, he returned 
with his whole band, his blankets stuffed with 
coonskins. “ American man, I pay nowwith 
this he began counting out the skins, until he 
handed him over twelve. Then, after a moment’s 
pause, he offered the trader one more, remark¬ 
ing, as he did it—“ That’s it.” “ I handed it 
back,” said the trader, “ telling him he owed 
me but twelve, and I would not cheat him.” We 
continued to pass it back and forth, each one 
asserting that it belonged to the other. At last 
he appeared to be satisfied, gave me a scrutiniz¬ 
ing look, placed the skin in the folds of his 
blanket, stepped to the door and gave a yell, and 
cried with a loud voice; “ Come, come, and trade 
with the pale face, he no cheat Indian ; his heart 
big.” He then turned to me and said; “ You 
take that skin, I tell Indian no trade with you— 
drive you off like a dog—but now you Indian’s 
friend, and we your’s.” Before sun down I was 
waist deep in furs, and loaded down with cash. 
So I lost nothing by my honesty. 
-♦ ♦ - 
A Short Sermon on Debt. —Owe no man any 
thing. Keep out of debt. Avoid it as much as 
you would war, pestilence, and famine. Hate it 
with a perfect hatred. Abhor it with an entire 
and absolute abhorrence. Dig potatoes, break 
stones, peddle in tin ware, do any thing that is 
honest and useful rather than run into debt. As 
you value comfort, quiet, independence, keep 
out of debt. As you value good digestion, a 
healthy appetite, a placid temper, a smooth pil¬ 
low, pleasant dreams, and happy wakings, keep 
out of debt. Debt is the hardest of all task¬ 
masters, the most cruel of all oppressors. It is 
a millstone about the neck. It is an incubus on 
the heart. It spreads a cloud over the whole 
firmament of man’s being. It eclipses the sun, 
it blots out the stars, it dims and defaces the 
beautiful blue sky. It breaks up the harmony 
of nature, and turns to dissonance all the voices 
of its melody. It furrows the forehead with pre¬ 
mature wrinkles, it plucks the eye of its light, 
it drags the nobleness and kindness out of the 
port and bearing of a man. It takes the soul 
out of his laugh, and all stateliness and freedom 
from his walk. Come not under its accursed 
dominion. Pass by. it as you would pass by a 
leper, or one smitten by plague. Touch it not. 
Taste not of its fruit, for it shall turn to bitter¬ 
ness and ashes on your lips. Finally, I say to 
each and to all, but especially to you young men, 
keep out of debt. 
- 1 •«- 
Crazy People. —MissDix, the philanthropist, 
states that among the hundreds of crazy people 
with whom her sacred missions have brought 
her into companionship, she has not found one 
individual, however fierce and turbulent, that 
could not be calmed by Scripture and prayer, 
uttered in low and gentle tones. The power of 
religious sentiments over those shattered souls 
seems miraculous. The worship of a quiet, 
loving heart, affects them like a voice from Hea¬ 
ven. Tearing and rending, yelping and stamping, 
singing and groaning, gradually subside into 
silence, and they fall on their knees, or gaze up¬ 
wards with clasped hands, as if they saw through 
the opening darkness a golden gleam from their 
Father’s throne of love. 
THE LITTLE STRAW HAT. 
'Tis a dear little bat, and it hangs there still; 
And its voice of the past bids our heart-strings thrill, 
For it seems like a shadow of days passed o'er, 
Of the bright one who that hat once wore. 
'Tis a dear little hat, for each simple braid 
Tells that oft o’er its plaiting those fingers played, 
And many a wreath for its crown hath been twined 
To the grateful taste of his youthful mind. 
Yes; there silent it hangs with its curling front, 
Still as playfully rolled as had been its wont; 
But the golden ringlets which waved below 
Have curled their last clusters long ago. 
Ay, the hat is the same, but it shades|no more 
Those light-blue eyes as in days of yore; 
And the sun-lit smile that danced o’er that brow 
Can but light up our hearts’ sad memories now. 
Sad memories they are ; o’er their quivering strings 
Each breath of the bygone a tremor flings, 
And joys that we fain would waken again, 
In memory are wreathed with a thrill of pain. 
Then recall not the past— though the dimpled hand 
May never again clasp the braided strand, 
Though the breezes no longer may bear the tone 
Of the ringing laughter of childhood’s own.tj 
Ah ! think of him now with a glittering crown 
O’er his heavenly forehead resting down, 
While his fingers stray o’er the golden wire 
That blends with his voice ’mid the cherub choir. 
Ay, I see him now with the holy light 
Pouring broad on his brow with radiance blight, 
And I hear the tones which in heaven have birth; 
Oh, call him not back to this saddened earth 1 
Ladies' Repository. 
-- e«-- 
FREDERICA BREMER ON AMERICAN DIET, &c. 
Miss Bremer, in her recently published work, 
occasionally makes some very just criticisms. 
The following are examples: 
American Diet.— I am becoming more and 
more convinced that the diet here is unwhole¬ 
some, and not suited to the climate, which is 
hot and stimulating. They eat hot bread foi 
breakfast, as well as many fat and heating 
dishes, besides roast pork, sausages, omelets 
and such like. In the evening, especially at all 
suppers, they eat oysters stewed, or as salad, 
and peach-preserve or peach-ice. Oysteis, 
cooked in every possible way, are very much 
eaten by all, and precisely these, and the other 
articles which I have mentioned, are difficult of 
digestion, and highly injurious to weak stom- 
ac hs. 
Dyspepsia. —It is a disagreable, poisonous, 
insidious serpent-like disease —a vampyre 
which approaches man in the dark, and sucks 
away the pith and marrow of body, nerves, and 
even of soul. Half or two-thirds of the people 
in this country suffer, or have suffered, in some 
way from this malady; and I with them. The 
fault lies in the articles of food, in their mode 
of life, and in the manner of warming their 
rooms, all of which would be injurious in any 
climate, but which, in one so hot and exciting 
as this, is downright murder The great quan¬ 
tity of flesh meat and fat, the hot bread, the 
highly-spiced dishes, preserves in an evening, 
oysters, made dishes-we could not beai them 
in Sweden, (we, indeed, will never roast oui 
meat with any thing but good butter.) and 
here thev ought to be put m the Litany—that 
they ought! “and so ought also the “furnaces” 
as they are called, that is, a sort of pipe which 
conveys hot air into a room through an opening 
in the floor or the wall, and by which means 
the room becomes warm, or, as it were boding, 
in five or ten minutes, but with a dry, close, 
unwholesome heat, which always ™e a 
sensation of pain as well as drowsiness m the 
head The small iron stoves which are m use 
here, are not good i they m t» ‘“S, 
