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a lie most perfect Government would be that which, emanating directly from the People, Governs least —Costs least—Dispenses Justice to all, arid confers Privileges on None. —BENTHAM,
VOL. Lj DR. W.M. GREEN-EDITOR.
AMEF.XCAN D3MOOEAT. •
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Sales of PERSONAL PROPERTY, must be advertised in
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Notice that application wffl he made to the Court of Ordi
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Sales of NEGROES, must be made at public auction, on
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gale, at the place of public sales in the county where the let*
t ers testamentary, of Administration or Guardianship, shall
have been granted, SIXTY DAYS notice being previously
given in one of the public gazettes of this State, and at the door
of the Court-House, where such sales are to beheld.
Notice for leave to sell NEGROES, must be published for
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thereon by the Court.
All business of this nature, will receive prompt attention, at
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REMITTANCES BY MAIL.— “A Postmaster may en
close money in a letter to the publisher of a newspaper, to
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COMMUNICATIONS addressed to the Editoii Post
Paid.
POETRY.
POEM.
PROM TIIF. SPANISH liF JOHOR MANRKIUE.
There is, however, one beautiful poein by Jorge
Manrique, on the death of his father, so immeasura
bly superior to.the rest, that it appears the produc
tion of another age. It is surpassed hy nothing
which we arc acquainted with, in the Spanish lan
guage, except thfa odes of Louis de Leon. The flow
of the verse, and the fine antique air of the whole,
are inimitable; but we shall endeavor to present, in
an English shape, some of the opening sta»/.as, ob
serving, as nearly as possible, the peculiarities ot the
versification. — Kd. ltcvicw.
O ! let the soul its slumber break,
Arouse its senses and awake,
To see how soon
Life, with its glories, glides stray.
And the stern footstep of decay
Comes stealing on.
How pleasure, like the passing wind,
Hows hy, and leaves us nought behind
But grief at last;
llow still our present happiness
Seems, to the wayward fancy, hss
Than what is past.
And while we eye the rolling tide,
Down which our flying minutes glide
Away so fast-.
Let us the present hour employ,
And deem each future dream of joy
Already past.
Let no vain hope deceive the min 1—
Iso happier let us hope to find
To-morrow than to-day.
Our golden dreams of yore were bright,
Like them the present shall delight—
Like them decay.
Our lives like hasting streams must be,
That into one cngulphing sea
Are doomed to fall:
The Sea of Death, whose waves roll on,
O’er king and kingdom, crown and throne,
t And swallow all,
Alike the river’s lordly tide,
Alike the humble riv’h ts glide
To that sad wave ;
Death levels poverty and pride,
And rich and poor sleep side hy si le
Within the grave.
Our birth is but a starting place,
Life is the running of the race,
And death the goal:
There all our steps at last are brought,
77ml jiath alone, of all unsought,
Is found of all.
Say, then, how poor ami little worth,
Are all those glittering toys of earth
That lure us here;
Dreams of a sleep that Meath must break,
Alas ! before it bids us wake,
Ye disappear.
Long ore the damps of death can blight
The cheek’s pure glow of red and.white
Hath passed away
Youth smiled, and all was heav’nly fair;
Age came, and laid his linger there,
And where are they 1
Where are the strength that mocked decay,
The step that rose so light and gay,
Tho heart’s blithe tone !
The strength is gone, the step is slow,
And joy grows weariness and woe
When age comes on.
A Genius. —lt is said that Judge Sto
ry has a son about 23 years of age, who
is a beautiful sculptor, paints superbly,
is a poet of more than ordinary promise,
plays exquisitely on a number of musi
cal instruments, is familiar with a num
ber of languages, practices somewhat ex
tensively at the bar, and is about to pub
lish a legal work of great value and acute
ness.
DEMOCRATIC BANNER TREE TRADE; LOW DUTIES; NO DEBT; SEPARATION TROIW BANKS; ECONOMY; RETRENCHMENT;
AND A STRICT ADHERENCE TO THE CONSTITUTION.—.#. C. C.11.M101.Y.
Randolph in London.
Very shortly after Mr. Randolph’s ar
rival iii London, a splendid ball was giv
en under the immediate patronage of
Cieorge the Fourth and the principal no
bility, lor the benefit of the poor Irish
peasantry of Munster and Connaught,
who were suffering from the effects of
famine, attended as usual by disease. It
was a magnificent affair, and, under the
potent spell of royalty, every person of
rank and note in and near the metropol
is, attended. Upwards of three thousand
guineas were paid over to the charity
fund, as the net profit of the fashionable
exhibition of philanthropy. Randolph
attended, glad of the opportunity to give
his mite, and to behold at the same time,
the congregated aristocracy of Great
| Britain.
“It was cheap, sir, very cheap,” said
he to me—“actors and,actresses innu
merable, and all dressed out most gorg
eously. There were jewels enough
there, sir, to make new crowns for all
the monarchs of Europe ! And I, too,
republican as I am, must needs go in a
court dress ! Well, sir, don’t imagine
that I was so foolish as to purchase a
i new suit, at a cost of twenty-five or thir
!ty guineas. Oh, no ! I have not studied
London life for nothing. 1 had been
told, sir, that many a noble would ap
pear at the ball that night with jewels
hired for the occasion; and I took the
hint, sir, and hired a full court dress for
five guineas. When I beheld myself in
the glass, I laughed at the oddity of my
appearance, and congratulated myself
that I was three thousand miles from the
| Charlotte Court-1 louse. Had I played
(lie harlequin there, sir, I think my next
| election would he doubtful. I stole into
the room with rather a nervous walk, and
was about selecting a very quiet position
I in a corner, when your countryman,
} Lord Castlereagh, seeing my embarrass
| merit, came forward, and with an air of
the most finished politeness, insisted up
|on being my chaperon. For one hour,
| sir, he devoted himself to me, and point
: ed out all persons of notoriety in the
| crowd as they passed us in review. Such
was the fascination of his manners, I for
got, for the moment, that I was speaking
to the man who had sold his country’s
independence and his own ; who had
lent his aid to a licentious monarch to
destroy his queen, who, if guilty, might
I point to her husband’s conduct as the
cause of her fall. But, sir, I was spell
; bound for that hour, for never did I meet
(a more accomplished gentleman; and
yet he is a deceitful politician, whose
character none can admire. An Irish
tory, sir, I never could abide.”
Randolph and myself little thought,
whilst we were discussing the noble
lord’s character, that in one short month
from that time, he would,unbidden, rush
into the presence of his Creator, with all
his sins and frailties on his head ! I re
member well the horror I felt when I
heard of his awful death ; and I reverted
at once to iiis calm and dignified appear
ance and noble hearing, as I had seen
him so recently in the House of Com
mons. If his political sins were great,
most fearful was the retribution.
Miss Edgeworth and Randolph met
together for the first time at the breakfast
table of a very distinguished Irish mem
ber of Parliament, (new a peer of the
realm.) It occurred the week before my
arrival in London, and I lost that literar
ary treat. The gentleman to whom I
refer, told me that it was an actual feast,
such as he had rarely enjoyed before. To
use his own words :
“Spark, produced spark, and for three
hours they kept up the fire, until it end
ed in a perfect blaze of wit, humor, and
repartee. It appeared to me that Mr.
Randolph was more intimately acquaint
ed with Miss Edgeworth’s works than
she was herself. He frequently quoted
passages where her memory was at fault,
and he brought forward every chrracter
ofanynotein all her productions; but,
what most astonished us, was his inti
mate knowledge of Ireland. Lad.y T.
and myself did nothing but listen, and 1
was really vexed when some public bu
siness called me away.”
One morning 1 was sitting with Ran
dolph, when lie showed me a most friend
ly note he had received from Miss Edge
worth just before she left town, inviting
him to pay her a visit in Ireland. After
1 had read it, I said to him—
‘‘l think, Mr. Randolph, as yoti have
enjoyed so much of her society, and as 1
have been so unfortunate as to have mis
sed her, you might give me that note as
a keepsake.”
“Give you that note, !’’ exclaimed
he with great emphasis ; “I would not
part with it for half my estate.”
We were going into the city one day
in a carriage, to make some calls, and
just as we entered one of the most crowd
ed parts of Fleet street, Randolph sud
denly called to the driver to stop, and
turning to me, said—
“ There goes a great philanthropist, sir,
to whom I must positively introduce you;
he is one of the best men in the world,
and is about to reform all mankind b\
the aid of parallelograms, and by a
knowledge of ‘circumstances.’”
JVtACON, WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1843.
We descended from the carriage, and
in two minutes time I became well ac
quainted with that most communicative
of human beings, the celebrated Robert
Owen, of New Lanark. In the course
of our short street conversation, he asked
me where I resided. I replied, in New
York. He took a memorandum of it,
which did not excite any special obserD
ation; but, judge of my surprise next
morning, upon pouring over the Times,
at the breakfast table, to see my naqje
and residence at full length in Mr. Ow
en’s advertisement, as one of the manag
ers of his new society for the Reforma
tion of mankind ! I showed it to Ran
dolph, who laughed heartily, and told
me that he had served him in the same
way.'
In the course of the morning Mr. Ow
en paid us a visit, and 1 immediately ob
jected to being placed in so prominent a
position, and the more especially as I
was then entirely ignorant of his system.
With perfect self-possession and good
humor, he replied:
“My dear sir, we are all the children
of circumstances ; and I knew, from the
first glance I had of you, that you were
fond ot' good company. Look "at my ad
vertisement, sir. Does it not contain the
names of the greatest and best men in
the country, and surely your character
will not suffer by coming into close con
tact with such men ?”
I ascertained afterwards that several
of my distinguished fellow-managers had
been introduced into the advertisement
in a similar way; but Mr. Owen was so
exceedingly good natured and kind in
his manners that it was impossible to get
angry with him. We, therefore, laughed
at our accidental notoriety, and the more,
as we were never called upon, whilst in
London, either to attend a meeting, or,
what is more remarkable, to pay any
money !
At this time. Mr. Owen had not openly
avowed his infidel opinions, and, as his
motives appeared to be purely philanthro
pic, he had the countenance of many good
and pious men. My father invited him
to pay a visit to Ireland, supposing that
some of his practical views might be ad
vantageously adopted amongst the peas
antry in the agricultural districts. lie
accepted the invitation and catuc to Lim
erick before my departure for America.
Avery pious lady in the county of Clare;
distinguished for her benevolence, in the
course of conversation with Mr. Owen,
discovered his heterodoxy on religious
subjects, and on his departure from her
house she presented him with a Bible,
telling him at the same time that before
his plans could receive her sanction ho
must study this book, and acknowledge
the truth of its contents. A few days af
terwards, at a public meeting in Limer
ick, called at his request for the purpose
of developing his doctrine of Circnmstan
stances, a Roman Catholic Priest ques
tioned him very closely, and finally forc
ed him to admit that he entirely discard
ed the Bible as a part of his system.—
This gave the death blow to his labors in
Ireland, and the religious world thence
forth were cautious how tfcey gave coun
tenance to any of his schemes.
He came to America, as is well known,
and 1 saw a good deal of him whenever
he visited New York. Some oT my rend
ers will probably recollect his first public
meeting at the City Hotel, where he told
the audience (a highly respectable and
intellectual one) that a belief in the doc
trine of rewards and punishments was
the cause of all the misery at present in
the world, and that no reformation could
take place until we became convinced
that man was altogether the creature of
circumstances. He predicted that in two
years from that time the city of New York
wouid be deserted ; that grass would be
growing in the streets ; that the people
would fiock into his communities, where
all things were to be held in common !
The audience were amused at his absu
dities, which they very good-naturedly
applauded and laughed at by turns.
Legal Interest.
The following table, exhibiting the
legal rates of interest allowed in the dif
ferent States and. Territories within the
Government of the United States, and
the punishment inflicted for usury by
each State, may prove of service as a
matter of reference.
Maine. — G per cent. Punishment for
usury forfeit of the usury.
New Hampshire. —G per cent. For
feit of three times the amount unlawfully
taken.
Vermont. —6 per cent. Recovery in
an action, with costs.
Massachusetts.—6 percent. Forfeit
of threefold the usury.
Rhode Island. —6 per cent. Forfeit
of the usury and interest on the debt.
Connecticut. —6 per cent. Forfeit of
the whole debt.
New York. —7 per cent. Usurious
contracts void.
New Jersey. —7 per cent. Forfeit of
the whole debt.
Pennsylvania. —6 per cent. Forfeit
of the whole debt.
Delaware. —6, andontobaco contracts
8 per cent. Usurious contracts void.
Maryland. —6, and on tobacco con
tracts 8 per cent. Usurious contracts
' void.
I T itginia. —Bper cent. Forfeit double
the usury taken.
North Carolim. —G per cent. Con
tracts for usury void—forfeit double the
usury.
South Car/lina. —7 per cent. For
feit of interest and premium taken, with
cost to debtors.
Georgia. —S per cent. , Forfeit three
times the usury, mid contracts void.
Alabama.— B per cent. Forfeit of in
terest and usury.
Mississippi. —B per cent. By con
tract as high as 10. Usury recoverable
in an action for debt.
Louisiana. —s per cent. Bank in
terest G, and conventional as high as 18
—beyond that, contracts void.
Kentucky. —G per cent. Usury may
be recoverable with costs.
Ohio.— G per cent. Usuriouseontracts
void.
•Indiana. —G per cent. On written
agreement may go as high as 10. Pen
alty, of usury a line of double the excess.
Illinois. —G per cent. Penalty, three
fold the amount of the whole interest.
Missouri. —o, and by agreement as
high as 10 per cent.—beyond that, for
feiture of the whole interest due and usu
ry taken.
Michigan. —7 per cent. Forieit of
the usury taken and one fourth of the
debt.
Arkansas. —G per cent. By agree
ment, any rate not exceeding Kb A
mount of usury recoverable but contracts
void.
District of Columbia. —G per cent. —
Usurious contracts void.
Florida. —B per cent. Forfeit of in
terest and excess in case of usury.
Wisconsin. —7 per cent. By agree
ment, uot over 12. Forfeit, treble the
excess.
lowa. —Tiic same ns in Wisconsin.
On debts or Judgments in favor of the
United States, interest is computed at the
rate of G per cent, per annum.
An Escape Irom an Elephant.
On the fourth day’ he saw, through
some tall trees, with but little brushwood
growing under them, in the direction he
was about to take, three elephants quietly
feeding, one of them very much smaller
than the others. The latter, quickly per
ceiving him, though he tried to conceal
himself, first went towards the two old
ones, and then, turning suddenly round,
ran, as if in playq after him. He, there
fore, made off as fast as he could, looking
on every side in hopes of seeing some
tree which he could ascend ; but not one
presented itself fit for his purpose, none
of their branches being low enough for
him to grasp. Thus running, and not
being, in his haste, sufficiently cautious,
down he fell, just before his young and
frolicsome pursuer, which stopped short
upon seeing him lying cn the ground,
stared at him for a moment, then ap
proached nearer, touched him with its
trunk, turned him gently over and over
before him; and felt and smelt him, again
and again. All this time the terrified
weight’s greatest fear was, that the in
quisitive beast would put his large and
seemingly heavy foot upon him, (for he
was more than half grown,) and thus
finish him at once, as a kitten would put
a mouse out of pain when tired of play
ing with it. Neither of the old ones hav
ing, however, as yet come up, or taking
any notice of their hopeful’s amusement,
but, on the contrary, continued feeding
about two hundred yards off, upon the
leaves of a free, it struck the poor fellow,
who had in some measure recovered his
senses, that the best thing he could do
was, to spring up suddenly and shout as
loudly as he possibly could, and endea
vor to make off’. His doing so complete
ly startled the young elephant, and sent
it back, bellowing, towards the others,
when all three of them rushed after him,
breaking and bending the smaller trees
and brushwood, as.well as every thing
else that obstructed their course. Fear
lending him speed, he was soon able to
leave them behind; and, after a long
run, arriving, completely exhausted and
out of breaih, at the place where, the
evenTng before, he had procured the co
coa nuts ; he there, without loss of time,
and still impressed with the terror which
his rencontre with the elephants had oc
casioned, got tip into a tree,and remained
tn it for some minutes, until he felt that
he was again able to continue his labori
ous journey.— Cambell's Excursions
in Ceylon.
The Sea Elephant/
Tt is curious to remark, says Mr. Wed
dell, in the account of his voyage towards
the South Pole, that the sea elephant,
when lying on the shore, and threatened
with‘death, will often make no effort to
escape into the water, but lie still and
shed tears, only raising his head to look
at the assailant, and though very timid,
will writ with composure the club or
lance which is to take his life. Inclose
contact every human effort would be of
little avail for the destruction of this ani
mal unwieldly as it is, were it to rush
forward and exert the power of its jaws ;
for this, indeed, is so enormous, that, in
the agony of death, stones are ground to
powder, within its teeth.— Sat. Cour.
From the Saturday Courier.
M K AMI AL BEKTW AND.
Ilis reception in this City—Brief Account
of liis Military < areer.
This has been a gala week in our city
among the French residents. The dis
tinguished Old Soldier Bertrand, lias
been welcomed with the warmest enthu
siasm.
Monday morning, he received the con
gratulations of thousands, who called up
on him, at Independence Hall, and seat
ed as he was in the very room where
was declared tin; Declaration of Ameri
can Independence, fee could not but
think of the great difference to mankind
from the results of the French Revolu
tion and that which accompanied the vir
tuous liberty of the United States of A
merica.
In the evening of Monday, the French
gentlemen gave the Marshal a Banquet
at Jone’s Hotel. The Baron d’Hauter
ive, the French Consul, presided upon
the occasion, assisted by Messrs. Picot,
Nancredn, Latour and Chaperon. It Was
altogether a grand affair: and the senti
ments complimentary to France and to
our own country, were received with
unbounded applause, showing a good
feeling between the people of the two
countries.
Bertrand has been a soldier from his
youth. Before the star of Napoleon rose
over the troubled nations of Europe, he
was a soldier of Franco. Afterwards he
became a part of the Corsican’s destiny,
lie was with him on the Danube, and
made a roaci over it for his conquering
army. He fought at the battle of Lut
zen, and followed Napoleon in his victo
rious campaigns, till Marmont’s treason
sent him to Elba. He shared bis year’s
exile, and was at his right hand when he
again entered Paris amid the shouts of
the people. Me went with him at last to
the fatal field of Waterloo, and saw there
the mighty drama end. We never hear
the name of Bertrand mentioned, without
thinking of his last effort to save Bona
parte at the close of that dreadful battle.
When victory had again and again been
within his grasp, and again and again
been snatched from it, and Blucher had
at length affected a junction with the al
lied forces, Napoleon, ns a last desperate
effort, fell on the utlconquered Imperial
Guards.
When about half way to' the eriemy’s
line, lie stopped, and addressed them, tel
ling them of the trust he committed to
them. The cry of “Vive le Empereur”
that replied, was heard all over the field
of battie; and under Ney they defiled
before him, and marched with a firm and
steady step, aiid in dead silence on the
foe. Bertrand remained behind with
him, and watched the brave fellows as
cend the eminence, and move undaunt
edly forward to settle the fate of Bona
parte, France and Europe. This guard
of 1500 had never been vanquished ; and
the allied forces saw with awe the troops
that had been the terror of Europe, move
steadily down upon their centre. The
fire suddenly abated. But the pause was
only momentary. Every cannon seemed
to open n't once, and whole ranks were
swept away. But that unconquerable
guard knew tlie eye of their chieftain was
upon them, and with stem, unshaken
front,.continued to advance. They press
ed on through blood and slaughter, car
rying every thing before them,'till they
penetrated within the enemy’s line. Ber
trand stood beside Napoleon, and watch
ed this terrific strife, on which such aw
fit! results rested, and on the approach of
that fearless guard, that nothing seemed
able to check, until they reached within
fifty yards of where Wellington stood.
A volley then opened on them that noth
ing could resist. They reeled and stag
gered to the shock, and turned and lied
in confusion. Napoleon seeing his in
vincible guard routed and cut to pieces,
gnashed liis teeth with mge, and instant
ly resolved torallvthefugitivesin person,
and lead themon to one more desperate ef
orf. doubtless with tlie purpose of retriev
ing his loss, or dying on tlie field of bat
tle. In this critical situation, Bertrand,
with Drouet, threw himself before him,
and besought him, with an opportunity
that would not lie denied, to forbenr.—
They told him how much the safety of
France and the army depended on his
life ; and at last persutided him to desist.
Dccoster says that Napoleon then turned
to Bertrand, and said, a Jt is finished !”
and gallopped oiFwith hissnite. Through
that long and terrible night Bertrand lied
by his side, while the thunder of artillery
came at intervals on the midnight air,
telling them what a bloody field and ru
ined hopes lay behind. But Bertrand’s
affection never faltered. It remained the
same when, without a crown, helpless
and poor, Bonaparte passed to the rock
that was to be his tomb. Bonaparte
should have been prouder of that affec
tion than of liis hundred victories. It
was worth tlie loss of a crown to know
that he could bind so closely to him such
a faithful and devoted heart.
We do not wonder, then, that the old
Marshal is welcomed everywhere in our
country with the greatest enthusiasm.
Let any think what they may of the
character of Napoleon—all men admire
bravery, honor and faithful affection.
Bertrand was Napoleon’s friend till the
last hour of his life, and now that his I
{ NO. 27.
ashes have been conducted in triumph
to his devoted France, Bertrand sees in
that act of popular enthusiasm, that in
truth and reality Napoleon Bonaparte
was the greatest star, in the eyes of his
country, that ever rose for their glory and
admiration. And the enthusiastic man
ner with which Napoleon’s devoted,
friend has been received and honored in
our land, is a proof, we think, that the
fate of Napoleon has tiever been regard
ed by the American people as advancing
the honor or gallantry of the Englislf
Nation.
Audubon,
Nf.w York, Nov. 7, 1843.
To day, I met a most singular friend
ns I was coming down Broadway. Let
mo describe him, liefore I tell you his
name. He was a tall, gaunt man, some
what bowed with age, with a sharp aqui
line nose, and an eye of the color and
penetrating brilliancy of that of a hawk
His hair which was its white as that of a
Polar bear, hung in long festoons down
upon his' neck, and his beard no less
white, quite covered the whole of his
chest, liis dress consisted of a long gray
frock coat closely buttoned, green leg
gings, and a strong pair of cowhide boots.
To look into the face of the man, you
would say, that he was at least eighty
years of age, yet when you saw him mo
ving with the swiftness and agility of a
deer along tlie pavement, you could not
have thought him more than thirty.
All the little boys around and even the
grown children were attracted by his ap
pearance. “It must be some fanatic,”
said one, “who has just come out of his
long fast.” “Certainly,” said another,
‘he looks to me like a venerable apostle.’
“What a glorious and venerable beard !”
exclaimed a third, ‘and such eyesP shout
ed a fourth. As I knew the stranger ve
ry well, I was disposed to laugh at tho
vague conjectures of the populace. A
well dressed person, observing perhaps
that 1 looked at the phenomenon more
intelligently than the rest of them, polite
ly stepped towards me, and askeu if I
knew who that strange creature was. “I
do,” said I, “and am happy again to sec
one of the most remarkable men that this
country has ever produced. That old
figure,” I continued, “has had a wide and
wonderful experience. He has slept in
the cane-brakes of Kentucky with the
wildcat; he has dined at the tables of
the proudest nobles of Europe. He has
been lost for days in the sand barrens of
Florida, ho has been followed with en
thusiasm hy the crowds of the Parisian
saloons. In the solitary huts by the far
side of the Rocky Mountains he is well
known, and lie has been the companion
ot Professor Wilson, Buckland, Lucieii
Bonaparte and Cuvier.”
“Who the devil is he then ?” asked my
chance companion, growing impatient
and puzzled under my grandiloquent but
rather vague description. Why, I re
sumed, “lie is a person, familiar with all
the birds of the air and the beasts of the
field; one who has taken the portrait of
all of them m their native beauty, with ti
fidelity and splendor that will do him
eternal honor ; whose praises the oriole
and the wren will sing long after such
feeble things .as you and 1 shall have
been forgotten even by our own descend
ants. In short, said l, seeing the fellow
get more restless, he is Mr. John James
Audubon, the Naturalist.” “Oh !” utter. <1
tho genius, 1 <fc turned short upon his heels.'
New Method of Grafting Apple Trees.
A correspondent of tlie Farmer’s Gn
zette sends the following: “Plant tlie
seed in rows at a suitable distance from
each other, arid the hills say about five
feet apart in each row. But one tree
should be suffered to grow in a place.'
Now when the tree is sufficiently grown,
in the spring of the second or third yen ,
any quantity of fruit may be grafted into'
it in the following manner: First, bend
the tree over, and obtain for it a firm
resting place, either on a block or a boa. • i
resting on the knee, (after it has been cl -
vested of its branches,) and with a stout
sharp pointed knife, pierce holes directly
through the centre of the tree, about fiu;
inches apart, into which the scions an*
to be introduced—leaving about two or
three,buds. A trench is then to be dug,
in a direct lino between the trees, about
four inches deep, and the whole tree
bent and buried, leaving the top of the
scions above the ground. In this con
dition, the scions become uniformly thrii -
ty young frees, supported and nourished
from the buried tree, from which issue,
in dttc time, root* frcin its entire length.
The second year from this operation, the
whole parent tree may be dug up, the
new growth sawn apart, and transplant
ed. It will thus be seen that if the tree
is five feet in height, ten or twelve young
trees, of whatever quality is chosen, may
be obtained in this way, whereas, by the
ordinary method of grafting, there could
be but one, provided the graft lived. The
young scion will bear fruit, thus trans
planted, in the same time it would had i :
been grafted into a tree fifteen years* old
I know not whether this process is
new among your agricultural communi
ty at the North ; but I have repeated!;
witnessed it in Georgia or Alabama, and
I have been informed ty some of the best
horticulturists in these States, that it is*
always successful.”