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down, it was ran into the creek. Something j like a'panic suddenly seized the men, and in a | single moment it was decided to evacuate the block-hhouse. The boat was large enough to take all aboard, and the fort was stripped of pro visions and ammunition and abandoned. The boat was pushed out of the creek, and the cur- i rent carried it slowly out of the neighborhood. The surprise of Callie and Will at suddenly | confronting each other was only equaled by their ! joy and gratitude, and joy and gratitude were almost overpowered by the knowledge that the brave old Carson was no more. They did not knew the particulars of his death, but they knew that the brutal savages had no mercy in their hearts. [Tor The Sunny South.] HIS REPLY. When friendship with a careful hand Counts o’er her gems by memory’s sea. I’ll hold thy pearl from off the strand, And keep it to remember thee. A pearl, a star, a moonlit flower— These are my synonyms of thee; Y’et I would not thy beauty’s dower Should shine for any one but me. For with thy smile to make it bright, My path would seem a rainbow way: Ana could I claim thy love, how light My burdened heart would beat to-day! great and noble soul shining in their dusky depths. Lillie met this dark, handsome stranger frequently at my aunt’s and abroad, until she learned to love him; yes, love him with^the ever to see anything beautiful till I come to Old walk, and up the ten worn steps, and see their Oak. How do you make your flowers grow and images reflected in the same ancient mirror as look so perfect? You must have some secret : they pass the worn hat-rack and open the mas- charm.” sivedoorof the room in which Lina went that „„ , Lina stood on the piazza listening to the chat- day ten years ago, and sat down to read Voltaire strength of her warm, Southern nature; and he, tering of the bright creature, as she flitted about | and wait for Rosamond. In that room to-day j too, professed to love her; but the time atlast ! the garden, admiring each flower in its turn. was another scene, in which the Lina of ten , arrived for him to return home, for he resided “Rosamond, everything is perfect to a happy j years ago acted the part of smiling hostess in i in Florida. With many protestations of love heart like yours. Now, none of those things her graceful, beautiful way, to the company ! and vows of constancy, he left her. For a time, ! yon speak of appear unusually lovely to me, be- gathered at Old Oaks. Only a small company it cause my heart is clouded.” was, consisting of Rosamond and her husband Rosamond stood up and surveyed her friend, and father, and one or two other gentlemen and "■* r ' 1 ' ’ ’ ’*' vim— T ladies. Rosamond’s husband was Dr. Winters, a well- known physician, living in a luxurious home in Charleston, whither he had carried fair Rosa- “ Your heart clouded, Miss Lina? Why, thought yon were as happy as the birds.” “ Yon only thought that because you are as happy as the birds yourself, my little friend ?” The banks of the mighty river have not ech oed the war-whoop for two-score years. The canoe and the flat-boat have given place to the powerful steamer and the capacious barge. Broad fields, thriving cities and populous dis tricts have taken the place of forest and swamp, and most of those of whom I have written w ere years ago laid away to rest forever. Rosamond looked down thoughtfully and | mond to share his home eight years before. Dr. his letters came frequently, but gradually they came less and less often until they altogether ceased. Lillie would ask a hundred times a day, ‘What can be the matter?’ but at last she ceased to ask about him or even to mention his name. A look of unutterable woe and despair settled upon her lovely countenance, dimming the light of her azure eyes, stealing from her [For The Sunny South.] LINA OF OLD OAKS. remembered how often she had wished tliat she Winters found that he bad chosen a jewel whose * cheeks the last vestige of color, making the was a great heiress like Lina, and how happy she had always thought she would be. She was a girl who had been taught the simple lessons of faith from her infancy; she knelt at her bedside daily, and thanked God for life and its blessings. lustre time could not dim, and little Lina had I light, buoyant step grow dull and heavy. My crowned their married joy. Lillie became a changed being; her merry laugh Nine years before, Lina Carrington had gone and gay song were never heard now, as had abroad with her uncle’s family. Coming out been their wont. Oh! how I cursed the author from the shadowy spell of her old home, she : of this sad change in her heart. But that is Lina had closed the eyes of a little dead child as she rodThome^nn’e thonehts fiBed*' her^mind Grayer made her heart pure and happy, and began gradually to feel the infinite wisdom and passed now, and I feel pity for the heart which andshadedh“fine browOld <Sks her home i while her ^end, ^ great heiress, was so faith- j mercy of an All-wise Being beaming upon her at entertains so much perfidy. Drifting down the noble river, the pioneers I was an old place; everything about ’it was old! gening the teachings of faithless infidel- every step. After a year of travel, she felt her “Things went on so for some time when, one und new dangers, but gained new hopes and execept Lina, who was just twenty-two; the house i to bring rest to her soul the li tie simple old nature softened into that something better day hearing a scream from Lillies room I uuu new unu^cio,_uu. b . 1 I ., .. , J • Rosamond lm<l found it m her daily offerings and happier. Then she met Rnthven \\ ulby, a rushed to the spot. There lay my darling in the found . _ found new homes. Peace came, happiness came, and no Kentucky home knew more joy than the one set up by Will Ross and his brave wife Cal lie. Children blessed their declining years and led them gently down the other side of life, and while father and mother rest peacefully beneath the willow, sons and daughters yet live to feel a pride in the State whose honor will remain un tarnished as long as true Kentuckians live. [the end. ] [For The Sunny South.] MOTHER’S LETTERS. was large and old, the grounds surrounding it were very extensive, and the walls enclosing to th>d. < T °d who ever^ them were moss-trrown: the stone stens which .. ‘Rosamond, 1 want hears. ! younger son of the venerable Lord Willby. He them were moss-grown; the stone steps which I , -«o*wnona, * want to make some visits be- was a man of the great-souled type, and his Lina mounted showed distinctly that they were dinner; come in and dress, or we shall be , heart turned to Lina Carrington for the grandeur old, bv the worn places on each one. which the ut r p .. j her nature which he saw shining in ler many feet of Lina’s many ancestors had worn J The lithesome girl came tripping up the ten lovely face. At the end of the season they’spent — - - - - - - worn steps, singing some gay air, but as she i together in London, the two were married. As looked into her friend’s clouded face, her eyes | Lady Willby, Lina came back to her old South- becaine grave. She went to Lina’s side, and ern home. Looking into her face, we can scarcely name of the man who blighted my whole life, threw her arms about her neck. realize the flight of time, for she is as beautiful and killed my pet—my sister— the only legacy “Oh ! my best friend, I wish I could make ' to-day as when we first saw her in the old mir- 1 my mother left me. I was ill many weeks after; there. When she had ascended the ten worn steps, she stopped a moment on the piazza, and looked at some flowers that were blooming in dark, mossy stone jars. She broke one from its stalk and smelled it as she stood there; then half absently floor, dead ! Oh! how can I relate what fol lowed? On raising her lifeless form, a piece of paper was found in her clenched hand. On opening it they found these lines: “Married, on the lltli instant, by the Rev. , Guy Livingston to Rosa Fontaine.” “Guy Livingston! Yes, Belle, that was the BY LOVELADY. placed it in her hair. Her hair was dark and the I as bappy as I do, she said, flower was red; the contrast was prettv, as she ! , The tears sprang to Lina s eyes, and she gently could have seen had she glanced at her tall figure, J 8 lr ^. to a - her fine nale brow nnd dark eves reflected in “ bit down here, Rosamond, and tell me about rrj r _ _ | tlie 0 j ( j mirror with its varnished frame that >' our uiother; I have never heard anything of of gloom so long brooding over it is lifted. Chil- end of this recital, but now she arose with eyes rri.lor alnno which sl.e massed your early childhood; I believe I have heard you dren’s voices ring through its walls, and peace ror, and but for the lovely girl who calls her mama, she might pass for twenty-two again to-day. : ance of those around it.” Old Oaks is a happy home at last. The spell j Belle had been weeping softly long before the for the first time I was allowed to visit Lillie’s grave; it was grass-grown, and had the appear- \o. II. The ultimatum of the hopeful future for many girls is elegant leisure. They plod through school exercises as only the accessories of refined idle- he faceg of Lina . s grantlluo tber; of her sad ness in young ladyhood, and unavoidable do- I . , . ° hung in the corridor along which she passed. The mirror was in truth ancient; it had reflected the figure of Lina’s great-grandmother, in her bridal robes of stiffest brocade; it had imaged mestie duties are reluctantly performed with an indefinite longing for the time when the woman will be mistress of her undivided time. All the great, mystical object of this transitory life is subverted if only you learn the most approved style of living in idleness. We are all depend ent on somebody’s labor for all the good of life, and is it independent ? Is it noble to receive all and give nothing? In the economy of God’s creation, nothing was made for itself alone, and mother and her gloomy-eyed father,—all whom were dead and lying in the old ancestral burial ground, over shadowed by aged oaks. The room that Lina entered was sombre in its tarnished grandeur; the rich carpet and splendid curtains were faded; the great piano was of old- fashioned make, and the pictures which hung from the lofty walls looked from frames of ancient elaborate carving, and had their colors darkened and mellowed by age. It was a strange apart ment to be the sitting-room of a young girl like the great fabric is mightily; tangled when any one Li but its som ,.^'character had already re- ;hXbii^at6?i™« ora wr°i“ r ,Tvt; ff -i'» /»» , *3. , a. • a. at the face, you could discern that there was alone for ourselves, and not degenerate into an ~ n iAi *iAi more than mere gravity in its expression; there unsightly excrescence, what else might have , , H J .. L ’ . b J --- ’ b was gloom and unrest—a questioning, yearning, say your mama died when you were a very little girl.*” “I was eight years old when my old nurse came to me one morning and told me my beau- a f tiful mama was dead; I knew that they thought her ill unto death,'fi*? she often took me beside her on her couch, and told me of the happy ! land to which she was going, and taught me daily my little prayer, which I can never for- J get—it will ever be dear to me. My father says she was very beautiful, and that I am like her, only my eyes are darker, and not so sweet as mama’s were. The servants and the poor peo ple speak of her now as an earthly angel, and all who knew her loved her for her gentleness and kindness. She was one whom the angels had marked as their own, and she went to them without a murmur. Her last words on earth w’ere a prayer for papa and me.” Tears chased each other down the fair, plump flashing and form erect; she bade her good-by, and love sit beside that hearth where Lina made and left the room. an auto-de-fe of the bitter, bad books that bad What was the surprise of Guy Livingston the been the bane of her ancestors, and had well- j next morning to find on his dressing-table a nigh poisoned the spring of her own young life, cold note, releasing him from his engagement j with Belle Clare, and forbidding him ever to [For The Sunny South.] Guy Livingston’s Perfidy. In a cosy parlor of a beautiful residence, situ ated in one of our most thriving Southern vil lages, sat two girls, each engaged in some light fancy work. come into her presence again? Finding himself defeated, but never guessing the real cause of his defeat, this perfidious man left for “ parts unknown.” “Belle,” said Bertha at their next meeting, “if I have wronged Guy Livingston in the least de gree, God forgive me. Perhaps he meant to keep liis troth with you; perhaps his wife is dead. I have done what I thought to be my ■**«* r Qec V ,y T‘ e r 1 £££ ““wo«laKl EtS “ft years, dropped her work m her lap, and sat . , 1 r ... J * K ., . * a. i had adhered to wv former motto: ‘When sorrow gazing out of the open window, seeming to see 1 * nothing, though the landscape spread out before her was worthy the notice of an artist. What is the matter with my ‘ bonnie lassie ?’ ’ 1 l A.T 1 • .1 1 » I ., Wllb i/lUULil HI1U Uliiesi H U Uc'SLlUIlIIll'. yciulllllp, l I ,I • . IT* a. I ll* l If IHU In bile lUUbbCl WHU HIV uumilt* : been a beautiful sprig on the tree of humanity. ; „ i i_i i A „ cheeks ot the girl, and Lina stooped and kissed . A ^ ™ , i *i doubting look that told ot a spirit dissatisfied , . t ■. , t 1 said .bertha Cameron, perceiving the pensive, hrnm t.liA crml p m flip aravp avafv hnrir hoc _ _ _ npr rn htrlp r kkp rhar. h itkIpi hpr mvn pi'Ph . . . . . ’ 1 ° ., L . . . . and seeking—seeking for what it had not found. ^ e , r ;i° ^ K>se Rinded her own eyes. thoughtful expression upon the usually bright Deep in her soul, Lina felt the unrest, the long- ; G . oan 2 dress now ’ dear ’ and we wl11 make ■ countenance of her friend. ing for change, the craving for something to fill 0U T„' 1SI S ’ 11TO , . _ . “Bertha, you have been my friend and con flict strange vacuum which is known to every T . e nex , ‘ a ^, osamom was seven ee , a t fidant since I was a little child, and I have been human soul, but which is felt with so much in- Ll , na 8 ave ll 1 er f book as a hlr } h *i* S lft T ' “ was I thinking how I could best inform you of a secret tensity by such hearts as Lina’s. To the people : thandsomely-bound copy of “Jean Ingelow s with wh fa ich I have bee - trying to burden my From the cradle to the grave, every hour has its allotted work; and the girl who sits with folded hands, disconnecting the opportunity from its duty, is a ruthless destroyer. The ghosts of murdered minutes will rise in judgment to confront and condemn such an one. Womanhood is incomplete without some noble 1 '' Poems.” work. The true test of usefulness is the degree ,, • . ,. .J,, n ®. ’■• “Oh ! now I can read the ‘Songs of Seven’ of regret ocoiorrcl by «.•. »b»e„ce. W i (LSZ I “ »<“" “ 1 >«“i" -4 «» Httfi more comfort we provide for others, the greater | en ® im in ,. ‘ SU ch vast wealth as hers can buv; t ° rned ea g arl J to her favorites, and began to happiness we contribute to our friends, the more . t . y ,* » t . i i r • ’ **him* uor h^cf.inv^H v^r<*»v:* _ 11 _ V i , but Lina s own heart knew how far aw.ay these necessary we make ourselves to those around us, x* i . i ^ , .. J ~ , just in such measure do we accomplish the duty i P leasures soarfid lrou ‘ the 8 ras P of ber assigned us, and in the same proportion do we j W1 . were tbfl butterflies ma(le> mama? ” she lay up treasure to be gathered again. The had a ^ ed one day when a very little girl, and woman who contemplates in life a luxurious I wben mama said , “To flutter among the beau- chair of state in a home where everything and b everybody is to contribute to her comfort and chime her best-loved verses: I wait for my story—the birds cannot sing it, Not one as lie sits on tbe tree; Tbe bells cannot ring it, but long years, ob bring itl Such os I wish it to be 1” “ Do you think, Miss Lina, that the long years pleasure, exacting, m irauni, »my wuai sue ; q ow< , rs mode/, ,," t jo tut' ,‘d '-''.M.ys these strange mysteries had filled 11;’f , or ’ r f ! «P heFsbul Oftentimes she had looked at the even worse, the consciousness with her friends g £ tel oakS) which ve name to her holue( with ot reliet at tier absence. If some very trouble- x* i- , some, idle people I wot of would think for a mo- 21 n D ® S h l lr great ^ t >“ re g ar f. ment and realize that their absence is always W' bark H „f g trunks, and the beau- preferable to their presence, the thought might ^±1.1? \ If ? ' n \ l 1 stimulate them to a little exertion for the pleas- told were . tht! sa “ e 40 tbe treea that her ure of others. I have labored all your life, my dear daughter, to ' Nothing is truer than cue mi.icc uuu,u mmuiiiei . i ,.,, . , . - , i i -ill ■ • i, I wav, she was still wondering whv ! hands and the evil workshop in idle tl „ - - b J brains. tiful flowers, my child,” she went away with an- ever brought anybody’s story such as they other “why?” haunting her,—“Why were the i wished it to bei” were to her; and there was no happiness for t j£X" * >““* of | iSSSSSSSSi°t",Uri»ri“ingVe° In this day of labor-saving machines and finery, 1 know I have been ridiculed for teaching my little girl knitting and patchwork. It is not the sock and the quilt that I value, but when I can interest my darling in any persever ing occupation, and see the nimble little fingers flying to keep pace with the honest purpose, what care I whether it be patchwork or delicate embroidery? My object is accomplished; and far apart from the sum total of the work, I see to herself, “ Will my heart ever be without this unrest ?” Then she would get up and dress in her costly robes and jewels, and go out among the people to hunt change, and be Lina Car rington. the wealthy heiress, the mistress of Old Oaks, and the envied and flattered of all. There was among the people a little girl, just come out among them, to be initiated into their manners and customs. Rosamond Trenholm was “I daue : -I thiol. - , persons really It,, not know what sort of story they do wish long years to bring them.” Rosamond smiled. “ Why, I know now exactly what sort of story I wish the years to bring me; I want to be able to look back through the vista and see a record of my life as pure as that of my mother’s; that is what I am craving to attain.” Lina was silent for a moment, then said: “Rosamond, tell me what books you read to give you such beautiful faith in that other world, which is such a dark mystery to me?” “ Why, my dearest friend, you astonish me. I read, first, my Bible and prayer-book, and then many other religious works which are in papa’s library. I love to read them ^erv often, because I can see mama’s marks all through them, and papa can tell me her views about each of them as I read them.” “And have you ever read Voltaire’s (the great French author) views of your Bible teachings?” t , Vi tUe ! her name, and Lina fancied her; the people said “ Not >' et ; papa says that it is awful, and I am ance; a something is gained^^olav up inTieTv In’s j ®° s r a “ ond was a ve 7 fortunate girl to win favor ! too young to become acquainted with such per- treasury. In the final account it will not be m Ll - Dl -‘ Carrington s eyes, and petted and ressed her with double zeal, because the heiress fancied her, and had invited her to Old Oaks to I spend a great deal of time. Rosamond Tren- I holm was very pretty, and fresh, and innocent, and winsome in her manner, and she won Lina's fancy from the first; her unsophisticated ways w’ere so sweet to see amid the cunning wiles of the people, and then she made Old Oaks very bright with her merriment, and that was change | asked what kind and how much is the sum total of the work, but rather what lesson has been learned by means of the work. Do not understand me to insinuate that all the end of life is manual labor. I insist that a con siderable part of time is profitably spent in real work—muscular exercise is healthful for soul and body—yet God has given us various faculties, win e r 3 f nTT dS , imi ry ement T for Lina, for it was very dull at Old Oaks, except of you in „ M hen I say to you, woifc, labor, be industrious, I wben tbe party and ba f] seasoIi bad come, and it that awful nicious theories just now, but that I may read it, or anything similar, in a few years; but I present to you all the vast fields of physical and mental labor. Just now, I am laboring to im press you with the importance of not considering manual labor in the least degrading. Your hands ? Ah ! yes, what a horror to refined young housekeeper for company. 0 ladies are soiled red hands I know some who : womanll0 od, she consuh re leave all the heavy work of tlieir homes to infirm j tl)H ns mothers rather than spoil their snowy hands. If I could once be convinced that the white, soft hand is the type of a true heart, then I am silenced forever. Until then, I am constrained to remind you that if your mother’s hands were softer and whiter your pathway would have been blockaded with many more stumbling-stones than j-ou have found in it. Don’t abuse your hands, but use them nobly; the hands will per ish, the purpose never dies. The great defect of education or rather, cultivation—now-a-days is, that it tends to degrade good, honest labor; yet, in the sanctum of all true hearts there is a meed of praise for all noble girls not ashamed to lend a helping hand. don’t think I will care ever to read such books; my faith is too priceless to be trifled with, and I think it best not to go into temptation, don't you? Would you read it if you were in my place? - ’ “My dearest Rosamond, listen to me, for I wish my words to impress you through all your years as you have never been impressed before. As you value your soul, which will be required of you in another world, never turn one page of man’s writings—never soil your pure would not be here for some time yet. Lina s parents had both died when she was only fourteen, but she had continued to live on at her old home with a maiden cousin and the When she grew to considered it her duty to open i the house, as her ancestors had always done, and ; till it with company sometimes, and give balls, | and parties, and masquerades, as they had given | them, and then they always interested her, as : they furnished something to hold her thoughts ! for a little while. She was of course a belle, I much sought alter and admired by numberless beaux; but the mask was too thin, and Lina knew full well that her large Southern estates and countless slaves were much more attractive to the people and her beaux than herself; but then, she did not feel this very deeply, for there j niains of a destruction I mean to make. faith with one God-forsaken word that he has written and left behind him to wreck so many as he was wrecked—never, while you value hap piness, or peace, and rest, turn from your Bible to glean one line from infidelity, for, though your faith may be too strong to succumb to its darkness, the very trial is polluting. As I stand before you, child, I would give ten years of my life for your unshaken hope and faith. Old Oaks has not known for many a j’ear, a spirit so pure- hearted as you, Rosamond; for my grandfather added Voltaire’s writings to its library, and since the day he did so, a kind of cloud has rested on all the old place, which was once, they heart and mind, without the knowledge and as sistance of you, my darling, but indeed I find l it an impossibility. Therefore, to condense n great deal in a very few words, I lim engaged.” “ Who is the fortunate being that has won the affections of my little belle?” asked Bertha, showing surprise in both voice and manner at the idea of Belle Clare being engaged, one upon whom—being so much older—she had even ; looked as a mere child, though the sparkling | brunette was in reality eighteen. “ His name is Guy Livingston, the handsomest, riiOftl UVJLItMieui'ltJtl—but, JniTthu, vrhat’o thr i matter? You look as though you had seen a | ghost,” exclaimed Belle, astonished at the strange pallor which had overspread the grave. | sweet faee of her friend at the mention of Guy Livingston’s name. I “ Belle, yon have often heard me speak of my sister Lillie,” said Bertha, struggling to regain | composure. “Yes, yes; but what has that to do with Guy, or your ghastly face ?” “Everything, as you will see if you will draw your chair closer, and lay aside your work.” Belle arising h'ew a low ottoman to the feet i of Bertha, and patiently awaited the eommence- I ment of the explanation. “Belle, my dear, I am about to unfold a part of my heart-history, which has never passed any lips before; no, not even to you have I con fided my secret—but really it was not my secret, but one belonging to my (lead sister.” Bertha had by this time composed herself, and spoke in her own low, gentle voice. “But to make my explanation explicit, you must go back with me to the days of my child hood. My mother died when I was thirteen — Lillie was five; of my father, I have very little recollection. I can never, never, forget that sad, sad night when my mother died. Having been called to her bed-side to receive her parting blessing, she placed her hand, her slim, emacia ted hand, upon my head, and in a weak voice said: ‘Bertha, my darling, to your care I com mit my baby Lillie Be as a mother as well as a sister to her.’ The thin lips moved as if to say more, but the hand resting upon my brow dropped heavily upon the bed, her eyes closed, and drawing me away, they told me my mother had gone to live with God and the bright angels. But for a long while I was inconsolable, and wept bitterly. But grief soon passes away from the heart of a child. Then came the thought of Lillie and the last words of my mother. So, re pressing my own tears, I bent all my energy to the task of comforting her, whose piteous cries after mother were heart-rending. I think if I could have stayed in the old home with my lit tle sister as a companion, I could have borne my loss with greater fortitude; but we went to the busy city to live with an aunt, who was ven’ sleepeth, wake it not.’” “ Bertha, whatever he is now, my heart enter tains not one tender feeling for him. Who could think of the wrong he did to Lillie and not feel a loathing horror of the perpetrator of that wrong? Therefore, Bertha, my kind friend, accept my many thanks and heartfelt gratitude for your timely warning.’ Not many years elapsed before the papers contained the account of Guy Livingston’s death, caused from a blow received while engaged in a drunken brawl. Belle Clare is now happily wedded to a man in every wav worthy of her, but even now she shudders to think of the escape she made, and in her inmost heart blesses her friend and pre server, Bertha Cameron, who. is still living in the beautiful home in which we last saw her—a home left her by her aunt, who has been dead several years. The last knowledge of Guy Livingston’s de serted wife, she was living in one of the busy citi^^^)f Florida, striving to support herself and helpless child by the needle. SCIENCE. was not one among her admirers upon whom she wasted a thought. A servant came in answer to her summons, and Lina directed him to send a carriage for Rosa mond Trenholm, to bring her to Old Oaks. ^ I — • m ‘ v I uunj iu u < c niiu <ui nuut, « uv say, the most beautiful and attractive of homes fashionable, and after providing a governess for to its masters. Rosamond, come to the library ; llSj sbe left us entirely to her care, and took no in one hour from this; I wish you k) see the re- ( further concern of us. By and by, when I was .. eighteen (just your age, Belle), my aunt tried Phosphoric Acid as a Fertilizeii.—The fol lowing extract from a lecture by Dr. E. M. Pen dleton, at the dedication of Moore College, j University of Georgia, will doubtless interest ! all of our intelligent agriculturalists: “It has i been demonstrated that phosphoric acid is the only mineral element needed to be applied to | the worn soils of Georgia to restore them to their pristine fertility. This fact has been so clearly established by a number of experiments, and its rationale is so clear and logical that we have no more doubt of it than of the correct solution of any math- statical problem. Take the leading agricultural products of the country—cotton, corn, wheat, oats, peas, etc. The average per cent, of silica, carried off in their seeds, is only 1(5.0; of lime, 24.2; of chlorine (in peas and cotton, we have no estimate for the cereals) 27.3; of soda, 39.6; of sulphuric acid, 41.3; of potash, ! 50.0; of magnesia, 03.9, and of phosphoric acid, - 85.2. Now, it should be borne in mind that what is left in the stubble and in the roots of the plants is, when decomposed, ready at once for the use of succeeding crops. It is as me chanically tine as it can be made, and mostly in soluble forms. Phosphoric acid is the only one of them all that is likely to go back into insolu ble conditions unfit for plant food. But admit ting all that mineral food left in the debris of plants is available for the forthcoming crops, we have left of silica enough for six crops of seed equal to the one taken oft - ; of lime, more than enough for three crops, and of chlorine not quite enough for three; of soda and sulphu ric acid, enough for one and a third; of potash, nearly enough for two-thirds, while of phos phoric acid there is just enough left for one- sixth of a crop. Is there any wonder then that sulphuric acid is the first mineral ingredient exhausted from a soil, when the available form is slow to be developed, easy to be thrown back into insoluble forms, and when there is seven times as much of this prepared food taken from the soils in the seeds, as is left for future crops in the vegetable matter? Is :t any wonder that when soluble phosphoric acid is applied to worn soils, such wonderful results should be produced without the application of other mineral ingre dients? And when applied even to the richest Satisfied it Wouldn’t.-The other evening I , V waK8 ' , , • T , , b Ihen she sat down to read while waiting for her iAartid*1.1 m ?,l lb? 1 ^ r ® a , ch *P g h k “ d i friend. The book she was reading was bound tnano, ToftMil.! n , A^ time-blackened calf, spotted and defaced. ^ l 1 ..??c‘ k , . T. . ‘ d ’ 1 m' 1 A 1 ! There was one little square spot which looked an old lady from Jasper on her bonnet and set ting her nerves to [day. “ What on earth’s the matter?” she exclaimed. “Oh, the train’s broke in two!” replied a gentleman who sat in the next seat. “ Ugh ! I should say so,” the old lady said, looking at the broken bell-cord. “Did they s’pose such a Lina left her companion and went straight to i to persuade me to take an interest in such amuse- j virgin soils, that it should produce such largely a bbrary ’ cl . os *ng the door behind her. I meats as she delighted in; but finding I was so increased crops? Then whenever a soil has the At the appointed time, Rosamond knocked at . aver se to them, she finally allowed me to follow remains of one crop of vegetable matter upon the library door. A voice bade her come in my ovvn inclination, and having prevailed upon it, minus the seed, there is plenty of all the con- | through the profound stillness that reigned ber to dismiss our governess, I applied myself „tituent in an available condition, except phos- witlnn. Lina stood there pale as death. Point- j to the (to me) pleasant task of instructing Lillie, | phoric acid, to make a good crop, and the suc- ln £ h? the bearth, she said, hoarsely . i f or j cou ]d scarcely bear the child out of my cession continues as long as there is a good sup- I 1 here, Rosamond are the remains ot those sight Lillie was a fragile> tender little thing, j p i y of organic matter. Where this fails, rest accursed teachings which have caused a cloud l — > - —i- ^ -• —u *—•» - * : 1 b - - ’ square spot w’hich looked j ^ccurseu teachings which have caused a cioun i w ho, the doctor said, could never stand a great new and bright; it was where the title had been { f° hang so darkly for years over my stately’ sbo ck—it would be certain death; therefore, I pasted, and had been carelessly torn away a lew home. I have burned the last page of V oltaire, i g narded her with untiring vigilance. When my years back by Lina’s father, who read that same : au< f fhat heap of ashes is all that remains. Ah . j ( ] ar ii ug had gained her sixteenth birthday, my book with as much avidity as Lina now dis- I f would to God that my heart could as easily be , auu t, in honor of the occasion, gave hera party, played. As she scanned its p i^e-, the carriage cleared ot its darkness as my home has been of j Qh ! will I ever forget how beautiful my darling was heard at the gate, and Lina laid her book Cliuse . Now again, child, I solemnly adjure [ looted on that night? Every expression on her and rotation of crops should follow, in order that by weathering, an increase of potash and magnesia might be produced, which would be much cheaper than any attempt to supply the demand with commercial fertilizers. All* this has been demonstrated by us, and the facts, the theorv and the logic, have all resulted from our likeVa^wouT^hold Strain toefther?” StnDg i ?, 11en u l ,on the table ’’ Lehol.l! tlie picture of ! you, as you value all thingsidear, ail things; pure j i ove ly face is as perfectly graven upon my mem- j experiments. Carried out in practice on all the ^1-,. ’ k • \ oltaire stared at you with his name in his own Jioly, nete/% If*3?™*, ° r ^ as ** ^ ^ een on b r night instead ot j farms of Georgia with its beneath We learn that during the past week, within a radius of four or five miles, in Robertson county, live or six tobacco barns have been burned, con taining in the aggregate about 40,000 pounds of tobacco. The fires are said to have been caused by the ignition of gases evolved from the to bacco during the process of drying.—ClarksvUle Chronicle. Don’t bother your head about people who are going about trying to take away your character. Very likely it will do you good. Men are very often like a pair of boots—the more they are blackened, the more they shine. The latest discovery at Pompeii is that of the figure of a woman lighting a fire in the cook- [ stove, while her husband is asleep in bed. ^Nothing of the lost arts about that. handwriting beneath it. Oh! terrible book, given to the world by a terrible man ! Would to God that the last sheet of it had perished, while it lay a heap of manuscript upon tae author’s study-table. How many more souls might have been saved how much more beautiful faith might have lighted the world, had this awful man not left the poisonous trail of a is evil genius behind him. Lina’s soul was > just the one to receive such subtle teachings, but the little lamp of faith and hope was not yet gone out, and often struggled with the eclipsing shadows of doubt; as it did to-day. How different would have been her life, had she gone to that blessed book, which lay always near her, but, alas! covered with dust and neglect “Miss Lina, your pinks are lovely, and these roses—oh! aren’t they exquisite? I don’t seem insulted by reading one line of these infidel teachings!” ******* Old Oaks is ten years older to day than it was when Lina stood over a pile of ashes, and so sol emnly w. rued her young friend. Two children are playing beneath the spreading shades of the broad, green oaks on the lawn—one Lina’s, the other Rosamond’s. The taller, dark-haired girl, with the far-off look in her black, liquid eyes, is Lina’s child, and tlie blue-eyed sprite, with happy, dancing ways, is Rosamond’s little one. They are called Rosamond and Lina too—Lina’s child being Rosamond, and Rosamond’s child Lina. Now the two have chased butterflies until their little feet are weary of the fairy amusement, and the beautiful child-mother, Rosamond, passes her arm around little Lina and draws her toward the house. They walk on up the long two long, bitter years ago. She was dressed pure, simple white, with a sash of blue ribbon and knots of blue—just the shade of her heav enly eyes — nestling among her long golden curls. Oh ! would to God I had never seen that night. Little did I think, while dressing my darling with such pride and care, that that fatal party would be the last she would ever attend. But I must hasten, as it is growing late. Among that gay party gathered in the handsome parlor of my aunt’s residence, was one gentleman who devoted himself exclusively to my sister, en tirely ignoring the presence of the many belles of fashionable society. Belle, he was the hand somest man I ever saw—tall, well-formed, with dark curls clustering around his white, lofty brow, and eyes dark as midnight—eyes which no maiden could resist when he turned their light upon her, with the love of his seemingly- eeonomy of organic matter and of nitrogen, and the application of but one universal element, the amount saved to the farming interest would be incalculable.” Mr. Haetshorne, an Englsli traveler, recently gave the British Association an account of the Weddas, a wild tribe which lives in the interior of Ceylon. These Weddas are about five feet high, live on water and roast monkeys, and are incapable of laughter. Who could laugh on roast monkey and water ? • Mm. Brazza and Marche recently set out from Paris to undertake a five years’ exploration of tropical Africa, under the auspices oC the Society of Geography, aided by a small grant from the French Government. Two letters have been received in London, with maps, from Stanley, the African explorer, J written on the banks of the Victoria N’yanza. r