AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
247 
a most courteous and friendly bow, welcomed 
them to his house, and invited them to walk in 
and sit down. They were ushered into the 
parlor, where two or three young ladies were 
employed at needle-work, presented with much 
form, and treated with abundance of bewitching 
smiles. An inner door was now opened, and 
Mr. Bowdoin conducted them into the drawing¬ 
room, where two elderly ladies were sitting. 
Here a still more ceremonious introduction took 
place. The ladies were all kindness—the lads 
were requested to be seated—a bell was rung— 
a servant appeared—cake, wine, and fruit were 
ordered by Mr. B. On the return of the servant, 
Mr. B. rose, filled the wine glasses, and handed 
them round, most kindly pressing the young¬ 
sters, and insisting on their partaking of the 
good things—entertaining his reluctant guests 
all the while with declarations of his great hap¬ 
piness at the honor done him by their visit- 
inquiring their views as to the war then raging 
in Europe—what they thought of the growing- 
power oi Bonaparte—what part they supposed 
the Archduke Charles would take in the poli¬ 
tical ferment of the day, etc., etc. 
This amusing scene lasted nearly an hour, the 
ladies and the good Mr. B. appearing to vie wi th 
each other in attentions to the now conscience- 
stricken marauders. At length Mr. B. pulled 
out his watch, and said, “ My good young 
friends, I regret that I have an appointment. I 
should have been happy to prolong this visit. I 
hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again. 
Meantime, my boys, at any time when you will 
favor me with a call, the garden and orchard are 
entirely at your service, and my man James has 
orders to help you to any fruit you may desire.” 
With these words the boys were dismissed, with 
many bows and shakes of the hand. “Oh,” 
said my good old friend, “ ’twas the severest pun¬ 
ishment I ever got , and I never rohhed an or¬ 
chard since."—Boston Transcript. 
A Young Hero. —In the Madison (Ind.) Daily 
Argus, Dec. 1, we find the following account of 
the martyrdom of an American boy — a youth 
of whom our nation may be proud — who died 
because he would not tell a lie: 
A case of moral heroism exceeding that im¬ 
puted to Knud Iverson, occurred in Marquette 
County, in this State, a little over a year ago, 
the facts of which were established by judicial 
investigation, and were related to us by Judge 
Larabee, who presided at the trial. 
_ A beautiful, fair-haired, blue-eyed boy, about 
nine years of age, was taken from the Orphan 
Asylum in Milwaukee, and adopted by a re¬ 
spectable farmer of Marquette, a professor of 
religion, and a member of the Baptist persuasion. 
A girl, a little older than the boy, was also 
adopted into the same family. Soon after these 
children were installed in their new home, the 
boy discovered criminal conduct on the part of 
his new mother, which he mentioned to the little 
girl, and it thereby came to the ears of the 
woman ; she indignantly denied the story to the 
satisfaction of her husband, and insisted that 
the boy should be whipped until he confessed 
the falsehood. The man—poor, weak bigot— 
impelled by a sense of religious duty, proceeded 
to the task assigned him, by procuring a bundle 
of rods, stripping the child naked, and suspend¬ 
ing him by a cord to the rafters of the house, 
and whipping him at intervals for over two 
hours, till the blood ran through the floor, mak¬ 
ing a pool upon the floor below; stopping only 
to rest and interrogate the boy, and getting no 
other reply than “Pa, I told the truth — I can¬ 
not tell a lie;” the woman all the time urging 
him to “ do his duty.” The poor little hero, at 
length released from his torture, throw his arms 
around the neck of his tormentor, kissed him, 
and said, “Pa, I am so cold,” and died. It ap¬ 
peared in evidence, upon the trial of this man 
and woman for murder, that the child did tell 
the truth, and suffered death by slow torture 
rather than tell a lie. The age of heroism and 
of martyrdom will not have passed till mothers 
cease to instil holy precepts into the mind of 
their infant offspring. The man and woman 
who murdered this angel child are now in the 
penitentiary at Waupun, to which they were 
sentenced for ten years. 
THE BABY'S COMPLAINT. 
Now, I suppose you think, because you 
never see me do any thing but feed and sleep, 
that I have a very nice time of it. Let me tell 
you that you are mistaken, and that I am tor¬ 
mented half to death, though I never say any 
thing about it. How should you like every 
morning to have your nose washed up, instead 
of down ? How should you like to have a pin 
put through your dress into jmur skin, and 
have to bear it all day till your clothes were 
taken off at night? How should you like to be 
held so near the fire that your eyes were half 
scorched out of your head, while your nurse 
was reading a novel? How should you like to 
have a great fly light on your nose, and not 
know how to take aim at him, with your little, 
fat, useless fingers ? How should you like to be 
left alone in the room to lake a nap, and have a 
great pussy jump into your cradle, and sit star¬ 
ing you with her great green eyes, till you were 
all of a tremble? How should you like to reach 
out your hand for the pretty bright candle, and 
find out that it was way across the room, instead 
of close by ? How should you like to tire you- 
self out crawling way across the carpet, to pick 
up a pretty button or pin, and have it snatched 
away, as soon as you begin to enjoy it. I tell 
you it is enough to ruin any baby’s temper. 
How should you like to have your mamma stay 
at a party and you as hungry as a little cub, 
and be left to the mercy of a nurse who trotted 
you up and down till every bone in your body 
ached ? How should you like, when your 
mamma dressed you up all pretty to take the 
nice, fresh air, to spend the afternoon with your 
nurse in some smoky kitchen, while she gossips 
with one of her cronies ? How should you like 
to submit to have your toes tickled by all the 
little children who insisted upon “ seeing baby’s 
feet ?” How should you like to have a dreadful 
pain under the apron, and have every body call 
you “a little cross thing,” when you couldn’t 
speak to tell what was the matter with you? 
IIow should you like to crawl to the top of the 
stairs, (just to look about a little,) and pitch 
heels over head from top to the bottom ? 
Oh I can tell you it is no joke to be a baby ! 
such a thinking as we keep up! and if we try 
to find out any thing we are sure to get out- 
brains knocked in the attempt. It is very try¬ 
ing to a sensible baby, who is in a hurry to 
know every thing, and can’t wait to grow up. 
Future Housekeepers. —We some times catch 
ourselves wondering how many of the young- 
women whom we meet with, are to perform the 
part of housekeepers, when the young men who 
eye them so admiringly have persuaded them to 
become their wives. 
We listen to those young ladies of whom we 
speak, and hear them not only acknowledging 
but boasting of their ignorance of all household 
duties, as if nothing would so lower them in the 
esteem of their friends as the confession of an 
ability to bake bread and pies, or cook a piece of 
meat, or a disposition to engage in any useful 
employment. Speaking from our youthful re¬ 
collection, we are free to say that taper fingers, 
and lily white hands arc very pretty to look at 
with a young man’s eyes, and we have known 
the artless innocence of practical knowledge 
displayed by a young Miss to appear rather in¬ 
teresting than otherwise. But we have lived 
long enough to learn that life is full of rugged 
experiences, that the most loving, romantic and 
delicate people must live on cooked or other¬ 
wise prepared food, and in homes kept clean 
and tidy by industrious hands. And for all the 
practical purposes of married life, it is generally 
found that for the husband to sit and gaze at a 
wife’s taper fingers, or for a wife to be looked at 
and admired, does not make the pot boil or put 
the smallest piece of food in the pot. — Writer 
Unlcnown 
-• • ♦- 
Wife, Mistress, Lady. —Who marries for 
love takes a wife, who marries for consideration 
takes a lady. You are loved by your wife, re¬ 
garded by your mistress, tolerated by your lady. 
You have a wife for yourself, a mistress for your 
house and its friends, a lady for the world. 
Your wife will agree with you, your mistress-will 
accommodate you, your lady will manage you. 
Your wife will take care of your household, 
your mistress of your house, your lady of ap¬ 
pearances. If you are sick, your wife will 
nurse you, your mistress will visit you, your 
lady will inquire after your health. You take 
a walk with your wife, a ride with your mis¬ 
tress, and join parties with your lady. Your 
wife will share your grief, your mistress your 
money, and your lady your debts. If you are 
dead, your wife will shed tears, your mistress 
lament, and your lady wear mourning. 
- » — ■ — 
The following recipe is furnished in answer 
to a special request, by one of the best house¬ 
keepers in our acquaintance, and we think it 
will be found worth a whole year’s subscription, 
especially to all our lady subscribers, of whom 
our books show not a few. “Mrs.” and “Miss,” 
are by no means uncommon prefixes to the 
names on the wrappers of our papers. This by 
the way; here is the 
recipe for washing. 
Take half a pound brown soap, cut into small 
pieces, and dissolve in one quart of water; while 
warm add two tablespoonfuls of turpentine and 
the same quantity of alcohol. 
Prepare the clothes by soaking over night in 
tepid water, (cold will answer butis not as good.) 
Wring them out, shake well open, lay them in 
the tub with the most soiled parts uppermost. 
Have ready a kettle of boiling water, to which 
add the above mixture in the proportion of 
one tea-cup-ful to each tub, (if the clothes are 
much soiled add a little more,) and pour over 
the clothes; cover them with the ironing blanket, 
or some other heavy covering, and let them re¬ 
main until cold enough to wash out; throw them 
from this into the first rinse ; blue and hang out. 
Should the water become cold before all are 
washed, heat again. All colored clothes may be 
washed in the suds, but not flannels as the tur¬ 
pentine shrinks them. Our girl puts her clothes 
scalding before breakfast, and lets them remain 
until all her house work is done, by which time 
they are cold enough to wash. 
- ♦ »--« - 
Baked hams. — Most persons boil hams. It is 
much better baked, if baked right. Soak it for 
an hour in clean water and wipe it dry, next 
spread it all over with thin batter, and then put 
into a deep dish with sticks under it, to keep 
it out of the gravy. When it is fully done, take 
off the skin and batter crusted upon the flesh 
side, and set it away to cool. You will find it 
very delicious, but too rich for dyspeptics. 
- © © - 
A good Sentiment. —“ I am rich enough,” says 
Pope to Swift, “ and can afford to give away a 
hundred pounds a year. I would not crawl upon 
the earth without doing a little good. I will en¬ 
joy the pleasure of giving what I give, by giv¬ 
ing it alive, and seeing another enjoy it. When 
I die,” he added, “ I should be ashamed to leave 
enough for a monument, if there was a wanting 
friend above ground.” 
“ Illustrated with Cuts,” said a young ur¬ 
chin, as he drew his pocket-knife across theleaves 
of his grammar ; “ Illustrated with cuts,” reite¬ 
rated the schoolmaster, as he drew his cane 
across the back of the young urchin. 
