|Previous||1 of 4||Next|
small (250x250 max)
medium (500x500 max)
large ( > 500x500)
^ ifamila N^io0paper; D^t)okit to Politics, iltieccllang, Agriculture, aixif General Jptclligtt»ft> t f . F . & C. H. BALDW IN, P r o p r i e t o r s . HEN RY W A R D , G d i t o r , - T « r a i ! i ~ $ K 2 j p « r iU i iM . VOLUME 2.--N0. 41. LITCHFIELD, (COM.) APKIL 5, WHOLE NO. 93. B u s i n e s s € a x i 3 . T H E O D O R E K E L I jO G C ^ j k t t o r u e y i t C o u n s e l l o r a t L a w , KENT, CONN. 10 HENRY I. PXJLLBR, JLttorney & Counsellor at Law, Aiid Commiulo&er o( Deeds for ¥. State, South Kent, Cotm. G E O R a S W . P E E T , A t to r n e y &. C o u n se llo r a t L aw , Jff^otary Public., In the Office uf William M. BurraD, E»q, South Canaan, Ct. RANDALL & BELDEN, A t to r n e r s & C o u n s e llo r s a t La w , Solieiton In CliaDeerjr, Land Agents, %e. T hey will attend promptly to all business entrusted to their mnnagement. Milmavkie, Wisconsin, Dec. l^ h , 1'8«8. OLIVER A. G. TODD, Attorney & Counsellor at Law, OFFICE next building south of tl>e Mansion House, up stairs. Litchjidd, April 6th. 1848. ly 42 E. W. BLAKE, R i i S i D f i M D E N T I S T . om c e . c o r n e r o f IVortta & E a i t stii. Ulchfield, May 10,1848. ' 46 P. P. HUMPHREY, M. D., P H Y S I C I A N & S U R G E O N , IbHs VUlagt, Oww. TELEG RAPH OFFICE, o r THK Conn. a n d T t. T e lc g r a p ltU n e . Commnnlcatlons sent to aiymits of the Union, O f f ic e a t B a l d w in s ’ V a r ik t t S t o r k , LITCHFIELD, CONN. V. B. PALMER, SUBSCRIPTION m ADVERTISING Is the ONLY AUTHOR4ZEO AGENT of tb e *L ltC b fieM R e p u b l i c a n , in Bos-non, New York, Baltimore and Philadelphia. His fifficerare tlw following: Philadelphia.—N. W. Corner of Third and ChMUniL New York.—Trilnme ^tiildings, opposite the Park. Boston,—No. 50 Sta tc St. BaU 4imon.—S. W.Cor. of Fayette and North Streets. C . M . H O O K E R , RESIDENT DENTIST M AY, in future, be consulted in Litchfield, from the lO th to the 8 0 th of every month. In Woodbury, from the 1st to the lOlh. Litchfield, October 1st, 1848. f io o t a n d S h o e S to r e . HB r t i JA M E S W . WIE.SOW WOULD respectfully inform his friends and Ihe public generally, that he has on hand, <ind is constantly manufacturing a good assortment of BooU and Shoes, warr*ntod equal to »ny •inthistuwn ; which he offers for sale on the most i«asonable terms. .Ml ordeis for work, will be thankfully received, aid promptly and faithfully executed. Repairing done «t«hont notice. He has lately reiMved his estaWi Ament to No. 1 Sooth St—1st doBouth of the Mansion House. * jMchJteld, S o u tl^., Noe. 26,1848. 28 F o r S a l e , TH E Farm, which, for aiany years past Jias tmn T i l lH s owned and occupied by John S. Warner, Esq.— aSaid Farm is situate in the town of -aboot two miles southerly of the center, and about one mile from the N a ^ tu c Railroad, and contains 1 7 6 acres of land, suitably divided into ne^ow, fMtttura, plow and woodland, and is a very desirable •ituation for a Dairy Farmer, whofrequetitlv wish-le «end lik pro4hice 49 New York, and oUier ciiMlteta. The Farm will be sold for less than itsrea! val> «K, as tb«4e«ease of Mr. Warner, makes it noces- •aiy that it ahould be disposed oC Terms of |MiymetH mdte eny. F^r fimiier particulars en- 4««ireof Mrs. WAitirx&, ond» premises, David D. Wamxmsl^ Jo b s C. Lewis, Esq’s. ^lvmoutk,Mttrdi, 1949. 18 B o t d s , P e r i o d i c a l s , & e . f f lR B SobarilHr «antinMK (0 rapplyliy express, X meUjmd otherwiw, all orders for Books, Peri-odicd «.^^»fntTin|;s. Music^&c., addressed to him, at ^56 NasHui stfcet, New Toilc. He furnishes C<UhyM« of fiaundard Woilcs, and the latest wMiiwteM t i the tfipoai whioh, eelections can mtmfkt, ftsd 10 which be will annex the prices at Yhiefa be will supply tiiem. Much time and labor is tlhis saved by purchasers, who are assured that )ie wtllllntriA them at tlie Publishers’ Itmst rates. Ofdere,peetfMiid.aUeBdad tDastwaal,«ith prompt-itwle aiw jSspattfa. , |Qr Liboirianii Teacbers •• ^ Ti^wda, wiQ]^ it conTenlent and to their interest •m lw ilH WILUAM PATTON, 166 Nfusw street, Terk. F d . 2 2 ,1 9 4 s . 36 T h e Song of L ig b tn in g . BY G. W. CtTTTKR-, KBQ. OF COVINGTON, K T . Away, away, through the sightless air Stretch forth ^our iron thread; For I would not dim my sandals feir With the dust you tamely tread; Aye, rear it up on its million piera— Let it reach the world around. And the journey ye make in an hundred years rU clear a t a single bound ! Tho’ I cannot toil like the groaning slave Ye have fettered with iron skill. To feriy .you o\«er the boundless wave, Or grind in the noisy mill; Let him<«ing his giant’s strength and speed; Why, a single shaft of mine Would give that monster a flight, indeed, To depths of the ocean brine. No, no ! I’m the spirit of light and love.; To my unseen hand ’tis given To j}encil the ambient clouds abore, And polish th« stars of heaven. I scatter the golden rays of fire On the horison far below, And deck the skies where storms expire. With my red and dazzling glow. The deepest recesses of -earth are mine^ I traversed its silent core; Around me the starry diamonds shine. And the sparkling fields of ore; And oft 1 leap from my throne on high To the depths of the ocean’s caves, Where the fadeless forests of coral lie, Far under the world of waves. My being is like a lovely tliouglit That dwells in a sinless b reas t; A tone of music that ne’er was caught— A word that was ne’er expressed, I burn in the bright and burnished halls. Where the fountains of sunlight play— Where the curtain of g^ld and opal faUa O’er the scenes of the dying dc^. With a .glance I cleave tlte s'ky in twain, I light it with a glare. When fall the boding drops of rain Through the dark-curtained a i r ; The rook-built towers, the turrets grajr, The piles of a thousand years. Have not the strength of potter’s clay Before my glittering spears. From the Alps’ or the highest Andes’ craig. From the peaks of eternal snow-. The doaziing folds of my fiery flag Gleam o’er the world below; The earthquake heralds my coming power. The avalanche bounds away. And howling storms, a t midnight ’hottr, Proclaim my kingly sway. Ye tremble when my legions come— When my quivering sword leaps omt O'er the fei'lls that ■echo my thunder drum. And rend with my joyous sh o u t; Ye quail on the land or the joyous seas. Ye stand in your fear aghast. To see me burn the stalwart trees. Or shiver the stately wast. ■inTe JiicTc^l^pha or tbe Persia® w^all. The letters of high command. Where the prophet read the tj^rant’s fall. Were traced with my burning ha«d; And oft in fire have I wrote since tnen, What angry Heaven decreed; But the sealed eyes of sinful men Were a.'ll too blind to read. At last the hour of light is here. And kings no more ehall blind, Nor the bigots crush wifh craven fear. The forward march of mind. The words of truth and freedosa’e ray« Are from my pinions hurled. As soon the sun of better days Shall rise upon the world. But away, away, through the sightless air Stretch forth your iron thread ; For I would not soil my sandals fair With the dust ye tamely tre ad ; Aye, rear it upon its million piers— I>et it circle the earth around, A®d the jomrnej ye make in a hundred years 1 wiU clear at a single bound. the two young persons. Without bwng rich, Edward earned, by means of his pencil, what'sufficed to support a family honorably. His lather, Mr. Wersefor-d, an old merchant of the city, had retired from business witli a ifortane increased more than tenfold. This was a rare -example of rapid success in speculations, so rapid, indeed, that few were able to fcHow its progress.— Yet Werseford, of so tla n t snd stern disposition, live d alone in a suburb of London, and without caring what his son was doing left him entirely at liberty. He was one of those accommodating egotists w4io trouble no one, provided they trouble not them— persons of perfect complaisance if you ask nothing of them. Edward, therefore, could, without hindrance, court his pretty Quakeress, well assured that his father would never think of opposing his mariage, The situation of the loving couple was, to all apperance very prosperous ; and honest Toby did not put off the day of their marriage longer than to collect the arrearage of his rents ; he destined this money for the extraordinary ex-enses of the ceremony. For this purpose e went to his country seat, some miles from.Londoji, in order to regulate his affairs. He had passed but one day away from home and as he was about to put up his horse for the night, he perceived at some distance a horseman, w>ko had barred tlie road. He stopped, uncertain whether to go on or turn back. 'Meanwhile the horseman advanced towards him. The Qualter could not even think of escaping; he, therefore, put on a good face, and brought his horse to a walk. In approaching the man who caused his uneasiness. he perceived that he was masked, a grievoTiS augury, wliich was'sotm confirmed. The unknown show-ed a pistol, and directed tne muzzle to the traveler, demanding his purse. The Quaker did not want courage, but calm by character, inoffensive by religion, and even unable, without arms, to resist an armed man, he pulled from his pocket very «ooHy a purse containing twelve guineas. Tho robber took it, counted the pieces, and left the poor devil whi m he had stopped, to pass on, while he put his horse to the trot. But t^e robber, seeing the slight resistance tfcat lie had opposed, and allured by the hope of a second booty, immediately re^cnned honest Toby, placed himself anew in his way, and presenting his pistol as before, cried out to him, Vour watch t" The Quaker, suprised, was nevertheless unmoved. He coolly took his watch from the fob, looked at the hour, and put the costly article into the hand of the robber. J H t s t t l l a n e o u B . The Quaker and the Robber. Translated from the French, BY «U e . The most honest of all Quakers, Toby Simpton, lived at London, in a pleaKntlit* tie dwellme, graced by the presence of his daughter Mary. She was not quite seveo* teea years of ^ e ; was charnungly fair ; had blue eyes, and posessed as much modesty ax beauty, AU the young men of her fatlter’s acquaintance were suitors; all those of li»neighborhood sought to gain her notice —Vain effwts 1 Mary was no coquette ; and, instead of MiJ«ying the effect produced by hot cjhams, siie was vexed 00 account of the manners of all her admirers except one, Edward Westfbrd, a youne artist admitted to the intimacy of the family. A very simple event had caused tbe friendship. A premature death had carried off the Quaker's wife. She was young and beautiful ; and deairing to perpetuate the image of her who was so dear to him, he had caused the artist to come to the bed of death. I t was there that Edward saw the desolate damsel; it was there a serious love first took place, amidst the tears of the one and the pious work of the other. The year which elasped after this epoch, had but strengthened the bond formed under these auspices, and the young man had avpwed to the father both his desire and hope, Xhe excellent Toby had sp reuon what' ever for opposing the mutual Jn^ations of ow, I beseecli thee, permit me to go to my dwelling—my daughter will be uneasy at my absence.” “ A moment,” replied the masked cav-ier, t^e more and more hardened by this docility ; “ swear to me that you have no other sum—” I never «wear,^ said the Quaker. “ Very well. Affirm that you have no other moTiey, and on the faith of an honest robber, incapable of taking by violence from a man who yields with so much grace, 1 will let you continue your journey.” Toby reflected a moment and shook his head. “ W'^at thinkest thou,'’ Said lie mvely “ thou hast discovered that 1 am a Quaker and that 1 will not betray tbe trutb, thowgh at the peril of my life. Thus I declare to to tliee that 1 have under my saddle cloth a sum of two hundred pounds sterling.” “ Two hundred pounds sterling f*’ cried the robber, while his eyes sparkled through his mask. “ But if thou art good as thou art kind,” replied the poor Quaker, “ thou wilt leave me this money. 1 wish to establish my daughter, and this sum is necessary ; for a long time I shall not have a similar sum at my disposal. The dear child loveth her ntended, and it will be to delay this union. Thou hast a heart—thou loved, peradven-tare, and thou would’st not commit this wicked act.” “ Wliat care 1 for your daughter and her lover, and their marriage ? Less talk, and more promptitude of execution 1 1 must have this oooDey,” Toby, with a sigh, lifted the cloth, took a bag heavy enough, and passed it slowly to the masked man. His intention then was to gallop ofi^ “ Stop again, friend Quaker,” said the other laying his hand upon the bridle ; as soon as you arrive, you will denounce me to the magistrates. This is according to order, I must have the advance of the process to-night at least. My mare is feeble and is, besides, fatigued ; your horse, on the contrary, appears vi|orous, for the weight of this bag. does not incommode him. Alight jnd give me your beast *, you may take mine, if you will.” He was very slow in beginning to comply because these cross exigencies were of a nature to raise the choler of the most patient man. The ^ood Toby however, descended, and resignedly took the sorry jade which was left him in exchange. “ It I had known,”* he contented himself in thinking, “ i would have ^ed at the fir§t rencontre jwth this rogiie, and certainly it is not with this courser that lie would have gained in the race.” During this tfmb the masked men^ ironically thanking him for his compliance applied both spurs and disappeared. Before he reached London, Toby had time to reflect on his misfortune, on the chargin «f the two young persons who loved, and whose happiness would be put off. The sura taken from him was irrecoverabel lost Not the least of it could the attdaoious robber be recognised. Meanwhile, as a sudden idea struck him, he stopped. Yes,” said he, “ this mean may succeed. If 1 may peradventure meet him again.—^ Heaven, ne^ doubt, hath willed that he should have been so very imprudent.” Somewhat consoled by, 1 know not what hope, Toby went home without showing any trouble, or saying aught of his adventure. He did not go to the magistrate, but embraced his daughter, who suspected nothing, lay down and slept. His faith was in God. Next day he secretly thought of co-operating with Providence in making research. He let the mare out of the stable where she had passed the night, and threw the bridle over her neck, in hopes that the animal, led by habit, would natura lly go to the house of her master. He therefore sent off the poor beast, which had bee n fasting, to wander at large through the str eets of London, and following her. But he supposed her to have more instinct than she had ; for a long time she went right and left making thousand turns and returns, without aim without direction, sometimes at a stand, then taking a contrary’ course. Toby despaired. My robber,” thought he, “doth not dwell in London. What folly in mo ! instead of going to the magistrate when 1 had tbe Ume, to have suffered myself to be led astray by this wretched animal!” Stop r was the cry on all hands. “ Detain me n o t!” cried the Quaker^ “ 1 intreat you detain me n o t !” And anxiously following with his eye the course of the animal, he saw her rapidly entering the gate of a dwelling in the suburb. “ ’Tis here!” thought the Quaker, rai»ng his eyes towards heaven, in t-hank« to Providence. In reality, in passing by the house, he perceives in the court a domestic who patted the poor beast and conductecUie to the stable. He demanded at once the name of the proprietor of the house. “ What! have you never been in these parts ?” was the answer, “ that you dont know that this is the dwelling of the rich merchant, Wreseford ?” The Quaker stood petrified ! “ Wresford,” repeated the neighbor, who believed that he had not understood him, “ the man who made so rapid a fortune.” “ Excuse me, my friend, excuse me,” replied Toby> ‘ He could not recover from his stupor.— ‘ Weresford, the father of Edward,aman of note, he my robber ?” He believed he was dreaming, and desired to come to himself. Meanwhile many ex-by resolved to investigatiwi this mystery. He entered boldly into the court, and demanded to speak with the proprietor, who had just gone to bed, though it was near midday—a new indication of a night of fatigue 1 The Quaker insisted on being introduced and soon fonnd himself in Weres- (ord’s bed-chamber. He not being used to be thus disturbed, rubbed his eyes, and demanded with some impatience, “ Who are you, sir ? What do yon want with me ?’ The sound of ti'e voice was recognised by T'oby, and thoroghly convinced him.— He tranquilly drew a chair and seated himself at the bedside, his hat on his head. “ Do you remain covered ?” cried the merchant in surprise. “ I am a Quaker,” answered the other with much calmness, " and thou knowest that such is our usage.” At the words of the Quaker, Weresford sat up in bed and eyed the stranger. He doubtless recognised him, for he turned pale. “ Well,” demanded he, stammering, “ what is it—if you please—the—subject that you came ebout ? “ I ask thy allowance for appearing so pressing,” answered Toby ; “ but between friends it matthereth not much, and 1 come without ceremony to ask for the watch that thou borrowed of me yesterday.” . “ The—watch!” “ I value it much; it belonged to my poor wife, and 1 cannot do without it.— My excellent friend, thealderman, would not forgive me, were I to tail for one day to return the jewel to his sister.” The name of an alderman seemed to make some impression tipon Weresford. Without waiting for and answer, Toby conttnued, “ Thou wilt do me the pleasure to return also ten guineas which 1 lent thee at the same time. Nevertheless, if thou art in need of them, I consent to let thee have them for some time, on condition that thou give me a receipt.” The scheme on the Quaker so disconcerted the old inerchant, that he could not deny.the possejssioii of the articles stolen, Ibut not lildhg ft) acknowle^e his crime, he hesitateti ?o tmswer, wlien Toby added. “ I wish ths to participate at the 8p-' proaching marriage of my daughter Mar}'. 1 had reserved the sum of two hundred pounds sterling for the bridal of the espoused, but an accident happened me last nighi on the road to London—I was completely robbed ; and so 1 have come to pray thee to give thy son a portion, which othe/wise i would not hav-e asked «f thee.” “ My son !” “ Y ea. Dost thou not know that he is Mary’s lover i and that ' tis be that is to marry herV” Edward f” exclaimed the merchant, throwing himself from the bed. “ Edwaid Weresford,” mildly replied the Quaker, wliile quietly * taking a pinch ol snuff. “ Come, do thou this thing for him. 1 would ^ not, verily, that he should know aught of what passed last night, and if thou dost not furnish him with the sum that I jH'omised, it will be well for me to tell him how 1 lost it.” Weresford ran to a bureau, and drew out a casket with a tribble lock, opwed it, and returned successively to Toby his purse, his watch, and his bag of mony. Very well,” said the Quaker, as he received them; •* I see that reason to count upon thee,” “ Is this all that you see ?” demanded the merchant, with one of his blunt airs. “ Nay, I yet need someting of Uiy friendship.” “ Speak." “ Thou wilt disinherit thy scm ?” Bow ?” “ Thou wilt disinherit him. 1 see not but that some will say that 1 have speculated on thy fortune.” In finishing these words the Quaker left the chamber^ > ** No,” the children are not answerable ibr the faults of their parents. Mary shall •marry the son of this man, but the stolen money she shall never touch.” W hen he reached the court, he cried out to W wesfiMd, who httd come to the window. “ Ho 1 my dear friend, 4 brought back thy mare return my horse.” iSome minutes afterwards, Toby, well mounted, carrying by the top his bagc^ money, furnished with his watch and purse, reached home at a moderate trot. “ I made a visit to thy father,” said h«> to Edward, whom he now perceived entering with him ; “ 1 believe we shall now agree." Two hours afterwards, Weresford awiv-rived at the house of Toby, and taking him apart, said, “ Honest Quaker, your proceedings have deeply aflected my very soul I You might have dishonored me—dishonored my son ruined me in his estimation, and caused the misfortune of refusing him your daughter. You have shown yourself a man in head and heart I shall not again blush in your presence, Take these papers. Farewell I you nev er see me again.” And he departed. The Quaker, left alone, opened tire papers. They showed obligations of considerable value on the first bankers of London, with a long list of names, and opposite each name, in figures, the sum greater or less in amount. A billet was added, wherein the Q uaker read as follows; “ These are the names of petsons who were robbed; the figures are the sums which ought to be restored i as to-the nron-ey with bankers in my name, let it go to those strangers, but make the restitutions secretly yourself. What remain's will be my legitimate fortune, and your daughter will some day possess my estate.*' The next day Weresford left London, and every body was certain that he had gone to spend his fortune in France. On the day of the marriage, the,Qiiaker brought together a company of merry fHends amongst whom were noticed a number of persons enchanted with the conduct of the robbers of London, who, throug h the interposition of Toby, had made restitution of their lost capital, with interest. Manufacturing in Texas.—The town of New Braunfels is said to be rapi dly improving. It is beautifully situated on the west bank of the Gaudaloupe river, at the foot of the mountains, and posriesses water powers of- the greatest value. Arrangements have been made for the establishment of cotton and woolen factories there within the preisent y«ar. This will be the first enterprise of the kind undertaken in Texas, and we have no'doubt, it will prove em'> inently successful. Already there are two saw and grbt mills in full operation. The surrounding country is rapidly filling up with industrious and respectable settlers, and the recent immigfation from Germany is said to be of the liest class. We know of no town in the interior of our State, whoe^ prospects are more promising. A'O&in Ikmocrai. [ by A cQ i7 n 'r .| Fricadslilpi ’ Tis v«ry iuu-d to ibid a frien In whom we always'catt d^pea^ Sometimes we think this firiend we*T» foV When .trial proves we have him n o t .Apparent friendship somewffliAoilt, To find out all that we do know; Cur secrets thus are all pao^ped out. And then are handed ail at>OTit. Others will act a p«Yt xaore 'bast, And always flatter to the Amjc ; You turn your back, and then yoar is giv’n to-obloquy and shame. A virtuous friend I higlAy prlfee ; A treacheroas one I do despise. All in suspense, I ask around. Where can a real friend be fonad> “ A-nJ what is Friendship but a name. A charm that lulls to ueep, A shade that follows Wet^th Md Fame And leaves tbe wretch 4e ^^p"?” OoJdsmith. Maketiot llieiroTld yourfrietad— tis imptoin alW The direful presage of a shdaiefal f^H. Have ye not Uamed, and are fe «tXl That stern and solemn lYuth will find you ouV And prove that all the friendship of the eartl^ In base and sordid int’rest hath i t a ^ r th ? The -fpiendship of the worfd is vain deceit. And with our Maker enmity complete. ' R<^ect its proffer—upward look—b«;iris«. And seclc for hely friemiahip in the skica. Make Christyoul* FrKfBtl. h a v e a o u ^ iafeWi, Thougli liglitningscaihe, and earthquakesT«nl the sphere. H. W, 0^ Gen. Taylor. accQrduw to th» W. Union, good-humordly the «»arm of office seekers, arQupd o a Tlranday— •• GentlexReQ, ]jttii^i|QUi>ii» to fpve you except my to w4iicn you aw perfectly! wttcoajeA From the Maine Cuhivatw^. im p r o T e m e n t . ^ TWs is a word of very comprelieasivft sig^cation, and when used in reference !• agrioB’ltural matters, ought sllwayt to be understood in its broadest s^ise. Some farmers exhibit a very eomjDenda^ ble spirit—endeavor to cxceJ in fiieir -calling, and are alwaj-s anwous to s » q i^ ia^ struction and kno’vledge; whik otbert manifest the most illiberal fpirit njienly decry every movement which does W t quadrate precisely with their -own views^ or which is not strictly consc^taUMta with the theories and traditionary usages of theiff predecessors df a darker age. TiMy ctf^ p«4iaps, discourse eloquently** iipoa mooted points of no practical importanci^ in fneta]w3;%ics and theologyt and ofian es*> gage in political discussions invdhrih]^ tions too profound foi the ablest statennan; but on agriculture they rarely bestpw a thought. They can plow, plant, reap, apA mow, and this is the ex»etit Ibeir bility; of tho fundamental principles of the TPcicwce, tliey nre as ignorant a rc u i ^ formed, as th o u ^ sucii did not exist. Vkk their dnr«Hi»i(gs, ai>d you wiB fintl tlMiR withdut an agricultural paper ; they pit^ ronize the party aaid sectarian pnblicationa of the day, drink deeply at the bitter fbon-t^' ns of p^emical ■and political ^sputa^ tion, and are ever ready to enlist tlflMff ««*• ergies in the promotion of any entnprisa except that in which they are most n e v if interested «id ttigsgesi It is of little avail to reason or AnuA*- strate with such people. Like Moses Prior-rose in the Vicar of Walcefield, they maka a poor swap at best, and wiH <^d in tlia end, that tmy liavia exdianged for aona-thing te%3 Valuable than tinsel rtpnrtarfest in cases, that which is virtoaUy of in%t4nsic Value and solid'worth. I^rom the Maine CuJtiratok C a r ly Peas* At soon as the bed yoa desigvi for earljf peas is dry enough to be dug well, manur* it moderately; dig it up, with a narrow slice, to the full depth of the spada-^ lat tha raking be thorough; then lay <oW into drills, four tn- five feet wide, to the kind of peas you may pliAll, tVro es deep ; that done, drill in yonr peaa tol-erably thick, draw the earth over then your hoe, and compress the dirt with' tha back of it. ^ When your peas a n yap m few inches high, work them with thahoe— hauling the earth up to the vines, so aa to hill them moderately. In two %eaks more» ^v e them anodier working, increanng tha size of the h ill; this done, stick then, «n4 you need not fear a good and earfy You need not app^hend ^any d a i^ ^ from frost, as the pea is tenamoi of hK and may, with sd ^ y . be put tw f moment the Ifiwt is out oif Uta gvottnd.— Should frost or snow coma after they aM up, they will receiva no ii\|«Ty* . A Vai^cee^ Birtkwright,r—lt is a greal and glorious privitega wa have to GminGMJt when things do noit'go tos%tt«!i,i&te$tie« as waU as in sUtes. « Foirtwna.*’ the phi* lds|)her savs, “ has vt& biMa |«fa<WPeai fiem i anci aver wiHba. Thay utt y « s t|^ 4y. M down to-day; and thay ara up to-day will be dow n ^ ;^y i* ha who is not waaw J ia y ^sappointmant."'— W a r v e t^ T a ^m . . . 44 N^ver 'put off till to-moirOW', shoHJd be doae to-day.”
|Title||Litchfield Republican, 1849-04-05|
|Uniform Title||Litchfield Republican (Litchfield, Conn. : 1847)|
|Subject||Litchfield (Conn.) -- Newspapers|
|Description||Frequency: Daily (Except Sunday); Publication dates: Vol. 7, no. 2358 (Oct. 11, 1855) -v. 21, no. 6546 (Aug. 27, 1868); Notes: Publishers Ruddock & Tibbits, 1866-1868; Published a morning edition in 1865; Weekly eds.: Weekly Democrat (New London, Conn.), 1855-<Feb. 7, 1857>, and: New London Democrat (New London, Conn.), <Feb. 8, 1862>-1868|
|Collection||Newspapers of Connecticut|
|Source - Location||Connecticut State Library microfilm, AN104.N7 S73|
|Relation||Other edition: Weekly Democrat (New London, Conn.); New London Democrat (New London, Conn.: 1861); Preceding title: Daily star (New London, Conn. : 1851); Succeeding title: Daily star (New London, Conn. : 1868)|
|Rights||Digital Image © Connecticut State Library. All rights reserved. Images may be used for personal research or non-profit educational uses without prior permission. For permission to publish or exhibit, see Reproduction and Publication of State Library Collections, http://ctstatelibrary.org/reproduction-publication/|
|Title-Alternative||Issues for July 18, 1867-1868 published as New London daily star|
|CONTENTdm file name||10892.cpd|
^ ifamila N^io0paper; D^t)okit to Politics, iltieccllang, Agriculture, aixif General Jptclligtt»ft>
t f . F . & C. H. BALDW IN, P r o p r i e t o r s . HEN RY W A R D , G d i t o r , - T « r a i ! i ~ $ K 2 j p « r iU i iM .
VOLUME 2.--N0. 41. LITCHFIELD, (COM.) APKIL 5, WHOLE NO. 93.
B u s i n e s s € a x i 3 .
T H E O D O R E K E L I jO G C ^
j k t t o r u e y i t C o u n s e l l o r a t L a w ,
KENT, CONN. 10
HENRY I. PXJLLBR,
JLttorney & Counsellor at Law,
Aiid Commiulo&er o( Deeds for ¥. State,
South Kent, Cotm.
G E O R a S W . P E E T ,
A t to r n e y &. C o u n se llo r a t L aw ,
In the Office uf William M. BurraD, E»q,
South Canaan, Ct.
RANDALL & BELDEN,
A t to r n e r s & C o u n s e llo r s a t La w ,
Solieiton In CliaDeerjr, Land Agents, %e.
T hey will attend promptly to all business entrusted
to their mnnagement.
Milmavkie, Wisconsin, Dec. l^ h , 1'8«8.
OLIVER A. G. TODD,
Attorney & Counsellor at Law,
OFFICE next building south of tl>e Mansion
House, up stairs.
Litchjidd, April 6th. 1848. ly 42
E. W. BLAKE,
R i i S i D f i M D E N T I S T .
om c e . c o r n e r o f IVortta & E a i t stii.
Ulchfield, May 10,1848. ' 46
P. P. HUMPHREY, M. D.,
P H Y S I C I A N & S U R G E O N ,
IbHs VUlagt, Oww.
TELEG RAPH OFFICE,
o r THK
Conn. a n d T t. T e lc g r a p ltU n e .
Commnnlcatlons sent to aiymits of the Union,
O f f ic e a t B a l d w in s ’ V a r ik t t S t o r k ,
V. B. PALMER,
SUBSCRIPTION m ADVERTISING
Is the ONLY AUTHOR4ZEO AGENT of
tb e *L ltC b fieM R e p u b l i c a n , in Bos-non,
New York, Baltimore and Philadelphia. His
fifficerare tlw following:
Philadelphia.—N. W. Corner of Third and
ChMUniL New York.—Trilnme ^tiildings, opposite
the Park. Boston,—No. 50 Sta tc St. BaU
4imon.—S. W.Cor. of Fayette and North Streets.
C . M . H O O K E R ,
AY, in future, be consulted in Litchfield, from
the lO th to the 8 0 th of every month.
In Woodbury, from the 1st to the lOlh.
Litchfield, October 1st, 1848.
f io o t a n d S h o e S to r e .
HB r t i JA M E S W . WIE.SOW
WOULD respectfully inform his friends and
Ihe public generally, that he has on hand,
|CONTENTdm file name||10888.pdfpage|