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AUGUSTA WASHINGTONIAN.
VOL. ll.]
Che EEasftCncjtonCnn
WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY
HORNING, BY
JAMBS MeLAFFERTY,
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. i i •
Loams’,
Subsoil Plowing.—We have had
several inquiries as to subsoil plows, the
method of using them, and the advantages
resulting from their employment, and we
propose to throw into one article, the an
swer of these several topics.
There are few things in the march of
agricultural improvement, that have with
in the last few years excited more atten
tion than that method of ameliorating
the soil called subsoil plowing. It is well
known to the farmer, that in ordinary
cases the soil, or that part of the earth
from which the vegetable derives its
nourishment, does not extend in depth
beyond the point penetrated by the plow,
and this, being but a few inches, does not
afford sufficient range for the roots, and
is soon exhausted of its fertilizing proper
ties. Where it is thus shallow, the soil,
and consequently the plants, are more
liable to suffer from drouth, or from ex
cess of surface water, than where the
roots have more room to penetrate, or
where greater facilities are afforded for
the discharge of water. It is to give a
betler seed bed, provide a moie extensive
range for the roots of the cultivated
plants, and guard against excessive
drouth or moisture, that subsoil plowing
has been introduced.
As it is requisite the subsoil plow
should penetrate to a much greater depth
than the common plow, and into earth
that had not before been stirred, it is evi
dent a powerful implement and a strgng
team would be required. This would be
the more necessary, if it was intended to
bring this subsoil earth to the surface, by
reversing the order of position, as is done
when the surface is turned over bv the
common plow. Rut it is not intended or
desired to bring this newly stirred earth
to the surface ; the subsoil plow is used
only to break up this dense compact
earth, and lender it porous and permea
hie, while its comparative position re
inaius unchanged. Still the subsoil plow
must be heavy, strong, and of the best
materials and workmanship, or they will
fail under the hard trials to which they
must be exposed. The first English sub.
soil plows were, however, much heavier,
and consequently more clumsy and un
wieldy than experience has proved to be
necessary; and though those at present
used there, are lighter and better than
formerly, those imported have been found
heavier than was required for the gener
ality of our soils, and thoso that have
been manufactured in this country, have
been of a still lighter and more portable
cast. At first not less than six horses
were deemed necessary to work the sub
uoil plow, and frequently eight were
used; now four are considered sufficient
for all ordinary soils, and three good I
horses will subsoil to the depth of 18
inches any soil of the less dense and ton
acious kind. The worst soils, or those
that require the most force, are clays in
which pebbles are imbedded, or the com
mon hardpan of farmers; and next to
this is pure clay, which is always difficult
to move.
In using the subsoil plow, experience
has shown that the best method, the one
which is the easiest for the team, and!
which moves and breaks up the soil the !
deepest and most effectually, is to pre- i
cede it with a common plow, which will |
invert the sod or surface to the depth off
six or seven inches. In the furrow made
by this plow, and following it, the subsoil ;
plow passes, penetrating the earth to the ;
depth of from twelve to fourteen inches, j!
and breaking up or crumbling the earth
to that depth. A new furrow slice is by '
the common plow turned on the work '
done by the subsoil one, and this process '
is followed until the field is finished. It I
is always better to use a team sufficiently i'
strong to do this work easily, than from (
the want of power, to compel the animals i
used to a constant severe exertion of t
their strength. t
On the first introduction of the subsoil a
plow, it was supposed that it would pre- r
& jFumftH© spajfflxnr: SWmdW to ©rmjpmm©?, 3®tewtUsiMWM
j vent the necessity for draining soils;
J but experience showed that in many ca-!
ses, and particularly on retentive clay I
ones, lying level, and having hut an im
perfect natural drainage, the subsoil
plow aggravated the evil it was in part
intended to remove. It was found that
on such soils, the water falling upon the ,
surface did not flow off as readily as be
fore; the broken up earth retained it in
j greater quantities, and to greater depths,
and the further operations of plowing
and tilling converted it into a quagmire
or rather mortar bed of the worst kind.
On all retentive soils, it has therefore
come to bo considered a settled point in
husbandry, that draining should precede
subsoil plowing, if it is expected to derive
: the greatest advantages from its use. It
is not necessary that the drains should
be as numerous as where this mode of
plowing is not adopted, but should be so
arranged as to accommodate the natural
flow of the water, and of a depth suffi
cient to preserve their coverings from the j
action of the plow. With drains thus ar- i
ranged, the water which sinks into the
soil broken up by the subsoil plow, is not
retained, but passes off readily, giving a
dry, and consequently warm and friable
soil to the depth penetrated by the imple
ment. It is well known that the value
of a soil can usually be determined by its
depth. Subsoil plowing by rendering it
accessible to the ameliorating influences
of the air, and by permitting the descent
:of surface manures for incorporating
with the before sterile earth, secures the
j depth so desirable for the perfect cultiva-
J tion of plants. Many years ago, before
j the subsoil plow was invented, Judge
| Powell of Pensylvania, said that by in
| creasing the depth to which the plow pen
| ctrated, at each course of rotation in
culture he had brought some lands natur
ally shallow, to have a depth of excellent
soil of fourteen inches. Wheat rarely or
never freezes out of soils so well drained,
and so friable as to allow the roots to pen
etrate freely to this depth, and the drain
and the deep plowing combined, have
much lessened this to the English as well
as American wheat grower, the worst dif
ficulty they have to encounter.
In almost every instance where we
have known subsoil plowing tried in this!
country, it has been highly successful, j
and where it has partially failed, it may,
we think, bo mostly attributed to the
cause we have mentioned-—not attending
to a proper drainage of the ground. In
the country generally, we can hardly ex
pect farmers to adopt methods of farm
ing which will add materially to the cost
ot production: distance from market
and cheapness of land combine to pre
vent this ; but in the neighborhood of ci
ties. or the vicinity of good markois,
where it is desireable to give the soil its
greatest degree of productiveness, with
out regard to the expense, the subsoil
plow will be found an important auxili
ary. That its use will continue to spread
as its me. its become known, is scarcely
to be questioned, and on the best culti
vated farms of the interior, the subsoil
plow is now frequently met with.
Subsoil plows of excellent workman
ship, and constructed on the most ap-1
proved principles, are made in great
numbers by the firms of Rugglcs, Nourso
& Co., Worcester, Mass., and Prouty &
Mears, Boston. They are to be found
f at most of the Agricultural implement
I and seed stores of the country, and de*
serve the attention of farmers generally.
Soap Suds for Manure. —There is
no better manure than dirty soap suds ;
and there is not a farm house in the coun
try, but what produces enough of it in
the course of a year, to manure a garden,
two or three times over. Dirty suds, af
ter washing, aro almost universally
thrown into the nearest gutter, to bt
washed away and wasted. Would it no:
be an improvement, and show a laudable
economy in the good woman of the farm
house, to have it conveyed to the garden
to enrich the ground, and make vegeta
bles grow more luxuriantly ? The pot
ash, the grease, and the dirt, all of
which are component parts of soap suds,
are first rate manures, and should always
be applied to make plants grow, and es
pecially when hard times are loudly com
plained of, and sound economy is the
order of the day.— Farmer's Cabinet.
The Cut Worm. —The Germantown i
Telegraph states that Mr. Isaac Newton
of Delaware county, Pa., has discovered i
what is considered a certain remedy for
the ravages of the cut worm. He has I
tried it several seasons, and in all cases t
with entire success. It is simply by i
mixing fino salt ■with plaster, in the pro- a
AUGUSTA, GY. SATURDAY, JUNE 24, 1843.
portion of one quart of salt to four quarts
of plaster, and applying it to the corn
after it has coine up. Care must be ta.
ken not to sprinkle the plant itself with
the mixture.
To DESTROY SLUGS ETON WHEAT.—
jCollect a number of lean ducks; keep
them all day without food, and turn them
into the fields towards evening; each
duck would devour the slugs much fast
er than a man could collect them, and
then get tat for market.— Nashville Ag.
It has been remarked beforo the A me.
rican Institute, that “ the revival of Agri
culture commenced in Flanders, about
seven hundred years ago. There the soil
was little better than white barren sand ;
now its increase is said to be twice as
, great as that in England. The grand
maxim on which the flemish farmer nets,
is, without manure, no corn—without
cattle, no manure—and without root
crops, no cattle.”— lb.
THINGS TO RE REMEMBERED.
Horses should never be put to severe
work on a full stomach. More horses
j are hurt by hard driving after a full feed,
! than by a full feed after hard driving.
If the farmer wishes to have his pork
: ! barrel and meal chest hold out, let him
' | look well to his kitchen garden. Plenty
l of vegetables conduce not more to health
! than to profit.
In laying in a stock of winter fodder
' for animals, let it not be forgotten that a
: little too much is just enough. Starving
j animals at any time is miserable policy.
As you treat your land so it will treat
! you. Feed it with manures liberally,
and it will yield you bread bountifully.
Avoid debt as you would the leprosy.
If you are ever tempted to purchase on
'credit, put it off for three days. You
; need time for reflection.
Never beg fruit, or anything else you
can produce by the expenditure of a little
time or labor. It is as reasonable to cx-
I pect a man to give away the products of
his wheat field, as of his orchard oy fruit
j garden.
| If you keep your sheep and cattle in
| your meadows until June, don’t complain
j next w’inter because you are compelled
1 to purchase hay for your stock.
The man nvho uses good seed, has a
■: good soil, and works it in good season
1 rarely fails of having a good crop to re
: ward his toil
Never forfeit your word. The saying
1 j in truth, of any farmer, “his word is as
; good as his bond,” is worth more to him
than the interest of 810 000 annually.
' —■
I dVJiISvQIEILLAIMItEtOim®,
The following is the graphic account
j which Mr. Fay gives, and we fear, alas,
j it is too true a picture of an
I American Duel. —“ You had better
remain here, my good fellows,” said
Frank, to the boatmen; “lio quiet,
some of us shall want you in half an hour.”
“Ay, ay,sir.”
; But those men were rather to much
! interested in the progress of the little
| drama, to obey. Hastily mooring their
■ boat to a large stone, with eager feet they
I stole noiselessly up after the rest of the
! party, who were too much occupied with
other thoughts to pay them any attention,
and planted themselves close to the scene
iof action, where they could, with an un
disturbed luxury, be spectators of this—
in the nineteenth century !—fashionable,
honorable, oft-repeated, oft-yet-to-be-re
peated scene. We may all have an op.
portunity of tasting like them, the ex
citement which used to give Commodus
and Nero an appetite for breakfast.
‘•Now Lennox.” said Randolph, in a
low voico, his flippant manner entirely
changed, “I understand you to assure
me of your intention to fire to the best of
jyour skill.”
j “Certainly,” said Frank. “I have ■
not come here to play.”
The parties now approached each oth
er, and calm and courteous greetings
were interchanged. The rifles were im
mediately loaded, and the distance mea
sured with deliberate and careful precis
ion. The principals were ordered to
their places and the pieces were handed
to them.
“ Any thing more, my boy ?” whisper
ed Randolph.
“Nothing,” replied Frank, with a
smile. ]
“ When I say three, gentlemen !” said
the business-like voice of Randolph, as all <
receded and left tho opponents planted
upon the groen level lawn erect, silont
and alone. i
t
There was one moment’s pause.—
Randolph advanced to give the signal.
“ One—Two—Three!”
Each pieco was discharged as he
spoke. Frank sprang into the air, and
fell heavily to the ground, like an eagle
which a skillful sportsman has brought
from the clouds, while tho blue smoke
rolled slowly off, curling away upon the
dim morning light, and up through the
green branches. All present rushed to
the spot. The unfortunate young man
lay extended at full length, writhing in
great pain, and absolutely weltering in
gore, which gushed from his breast and
mouth. His eyes were turned inward in
the convulsion of nature’s last appalling
struggle.
Glendinning, from whose faCo horror
had drained every trace of color, stagger
ed forward, and threw himself upon his
knees, with clasped hands, gaping for
breath.
“Frank! Frank!” ho rather shrieked
than said.
But on catching a full view of tho face
he stopped petrified and dumb. It was
death he was looking at. The counten
ance was undergoing a frightful change.
A stream of blood, apparently exhaust
less, continued to flow from the wound
Wilson cut away the clothing in awful
silence. Drops of sweat had burst out
on the forehead of the dying man, who,
with lustreless and broken eyes, sunken
checks, the nose sharpened with the
strain of great agony, was obviously un
dergoing a last crisis.
“Frank! Frank!” gasped Glenden
ning, his hair rising with terror, “speak
to me.”
“ I. I, for”—but he could not proceed.
“Doctor! save him! It’s nothing,”
saidGlendenning. “He’sfainting. See,
see! Doctor, quick! Why don’t you
save him?”
“The lung!” said Wilson in a low
voice. “It has perforated the lung.”
“My mother!” gasped Frank. “Tell
her that—”
He fell back.
“ Now then, cried Whito, “ I hope Col.
onel Nicholson will be satisfied.”
“Poor devil J” muttered tho boatmen,
“his jig’s up.”
“Farewell, noble heart,” cried Ran
dolph, dashing tho quick coming tears
from his eyes.
“Poor young fellow,” said White, look
ing at his watch. “ Now, Glendenning
we must be off.”
“ Dead!” echoed Glendenning.aghast
dripping with cold sweat, and staring at
the outstretched strippling body and rigid
countenanco, which had already assumed
a marble fixedness. “Frank 1 Frank!”
There wa3 no answer. There was no
motion ; and he stood gazing on the dead
face of his friend.
Martha Washington— By Mrs. Si •
gourney. —lt was in tho spring of 1759,
that two gentlemen, attended by a ser
vant, was seen riding through the luxu
riant scenery with which tho county of
New-Kent. in Virginia, abounds. Tho
most striking figure of the group was a
■ tall graceful man, and apparently about
twenty five or twenty-six years of age.
He would have been a model for a statu
ary when Romo was in her best days.
; His companion was an elderly man, in a
plain garb, who, by the familiarity with
which he pointed out surrounding ob.
jects would seem to bo taking his daily
rounds upon his own estate. As they
approached tho avenuo to un antique
mansion, ho placed his hand on the rein
of his companion.
“Nay, Col. Washington, let it never
be said that you passed the house of your
father’s friend without dismounting. I
must insist on tho honor of detaining you
as my guest.”
“Thanks to you, my dear sir, but I
ride in haste, the bearer of dispatches to
our Governor in Williamsburg, which
1 may not brook delay.”
“Is this tho noble steed which was
given you by Braddock on the fatal field
of Monongahela? and this the servant j
which he bequeathed to you at the same j
time ?
Washington answered in the affirma
tive.
“Then, my dear Colonel, thus mount
ed and attended, you may well dine with
me, and by borrowing somewhat of this
fine moonlight, reach Williamsburg ere
his Excellency shall have shaken off his
morning slumbers.
“ Do I understand that I may be ex
cused immediately after dinner?”
“Certainly.”
“ Then, sir, I accept your hospitality;”
and gracefully throwing hirnsqjf from his
chargor, he resigned the rein to his Eng
lish servant, giving at the same time,
strict orders as to the time when he must
be ready with tho horse to pursue their
journey.
“I am rejoiced, Col. Washington,*
said the hospitable old gentleman, “ for
tunately to have met you on my morning
ride; and the more so, ns I have some
guests, who may make tho repast pass
pleasantly, and will not fail to appreciate
our young and valiant soldier.”
Washington bowed his thanks and
was introduced to the company. Vir
ginia's far-famed hospitality was well set
forth in that spacious baronial hall. Pre
cise to his household regulations, tho
social feast had closed at the time tho host
had predicted. Tho servant also was
punctual. He knew the habits of his
master. At the appointed moment, ho
stood with the horses caparisoned at tho
gate; and much did he marvel, as listen
ing to every footstep that paced down tho
avenue, he saw the sun sink in the west,
and yet no master appeared. At length
order came that the horses should be put
up for the night. Wonder upon wonder!
When his business with the Governor
was so urgent! The 6un was high in
the heavens the next day, cro Washing
ton mounted for his journey. No expla
nation was given. But it was rumored
that among the guests was a beautiful
and youthful widow, to whose charms hist
heart had responded. This was further
confirmed bv his tarrying but a brief
space at Williamsburg, retracing his
route with an unusual celerity, and be
coming a frequent visitor at the house of
the late Col. Custis, in the vicinity, where,
the following year, his nuptials were cel
ebrated.
Henceforth, tho lifo of the lady of
Mount Vernon is a part of the history of
her country. In that hallowed retreat
she was found entering into the plans of
Washington, sharing his confidence, and
making his household happy. There,
her only daughter, Martha Custis, died
in the bloom of youth; a few years after,
when tho troubles of the country drew
her husband to the post of commander
in-chief of her armies, she accompanied
him to Boston, and witnessed its siege
and evacuation. For eight years he re
turned no more to enjoy his beloved
residence on the banks of the Potomac.
During his absence she made the most
strenuous efforts to discharge the added
weight of care, and to endure with change
less trust in Heaven, continued anxietv
for one 90 inexpressibly dear. At tho
close of each campaign, she repaired in
compliance to his wishes, to head-quar
ters, where the iadies'of the general offi
cers joined her in forming such society as
diffused a cheering influence over even
the gloom of tho winter of Valley.fbrgo
and Morristown. The opening of every
campaign was the signal of the return of
Lady Washington, (as she was called in
the army,) to her domestic cares at Mount
Vernon. “ I heard,” said she, “ the first
and the last cannon of the revolutionary
war.” The rejoicing which attended tho
surrender cf Cornwallis, in the autumn
of 1791, marked for her a season of the
deepest sorrow. Her only remaining
child, Col. John Custis, the aid-de-camp
of Washington, became during his ardu
ous duties of the siege of Yorktown, the
victim of an epidemic fever, and died at
the age of twenty-seven. He was but a
boy of five at the time of her second mar
riage, and had drawn forth strongly the
affections and regard of her illustrious
husband, who shared her affliction for his
lo6s, and by the tendercst sympathy strove
to alleviate it.
After the close of tho war, a few year 3
were devoted to the enjoyment and em
bellishment of their favorite Mount Ver
non. The peace and returning prosperity
of the country gavo pure and bright in
gredients to their cup of happiness.—
Their mansion was thronged with guests
of distinction, all of whom remarked with
admiration, tho energy of Mrs. Washing
ton, in the complicated duties of a Vir
| ginia housewife, and the eleganco and
'grace with which she presided at her
j nobla board.
Tho Voice of a free nation, conferring
on Gen. Washington the highest offico
in its power to bestow, was not obeyed
without a sacrifice of feeling. It was in
the spring of 1789, that with his lady, he
bade adieu to his tranquil abode, to an
swer the responsibility of the first Presi
dency. In forming his domestic arrange
ment, ho mingled tho simplicity ol it
republic with that dignity which "he felt
was necessary to secure the respect of
oidergovernments. The furniture ofhis
houMv, the livsry cf his servants, th«
[No. 3.