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JtgSllOlljllLTliiMßS.
Root Culture.
Tub cultivation of roots is one of the
‘modern improvements in agricultural sci
once; they double the amount of pro
vender and treble the amount of manure,
and afford a healthy and succulent food
t that is eagerly sought after by cattle.
They meliorate their condition, and
would serve to soften the rigors of win
ter in the peculiar satisfaction which cat
tle manifest after feeding, and anxiety to
obtain them. One acre of roots, will
yield green food enough to winter as
many animals as four acres of grass
Would do, estimating the yield to be from
one and a half to two tons per acre.
The revolutions in husbandry that have
followed the introduction of root culture,
have been of a permanent character, and
which it would be impolitic to dispense
'with ; for while it has materially aided
in perfecting the system of agriculture in
those countries where it has been longest
known, is apparent that to its influence
we owe a more perfect one in our own.
Germany has long felt the importance of
the turnip; and the beet culture of
France now furnishes annually one hund
red million pounds of sugar for human
consumption; while the refuse of the
beet gives the French the best of beef and
mutton, a luxury it is said but seldom
enjoyed before the introduction of the
sugar-beet. Again, the culture of the
carrot occupies a large share of the atten
tion of the people of Flanders, a people
known extensively for the skilful man
agement of their agricultural concerns.
Their husbandry too, enjoys a more ele
vated reputation for profitableness, than
that of any other country. In Great
Britain, the introduction of root culture
is considered as important to husbandry,
as tho application of steam to the manu
facturing art. The praise of English
beef is due to the turnip, a luxury highly
extolled, and of which John Bull vaun
tingly boasts. In confirmation of what
is here said, the following remarks from
the New Edinburgh Encyclopedia, are
offered:—‘‘The introduction of turnips
into the husbandry of Britain, occasion
ed one of thoso revolutions in rural art,
which are constantly occurring among
husbandmen ; and though the revolution
came on with slow and gradup.l steps, yet
it may now be viewed as completely and
thoroughly established. Before the in
troduction of this root, it was impossible
to cultivate light soils successfully, or to
devise suitable rotations for cropping
them with advantage. It was also a dif
ficult task to support live stock through
the winter and spring months; and as
for feeding and fatting cattle and sheep
for market during these inclement sea
son 3, the practice was hardly thought of,
and still more rarely attempted, unless
when a full stock of hay was provided,
which only happened in a few instances.
The benefits derived from turnip husband
ry, are therefore of great magnitude:
light soils are now cultivated with profit
and facility; abundance of food is pro
vided for man and beast; the earth is
turned to the uses for which it is physi
cally calculated; and by being suitable
cleaned with this preparatory crop, a bed
is provided for grass-seeds, wherein they
flourish and prosper with greater vigor
than after any other preparation.”—Far
mer's Cabinet.
A Curioc3 Experiment, well worth
the Attention of every Farmer.— i
Joseph Cooper, Esq., of New Jersey, i
planted in his garden fourteen grains of i
wheat that were brought from the Cape 1
Os Good Hope, in the ship Empress of
China, Capt John Green, in 1785—sev- s
en grains of which were lost by some ac- I
cident; the produce of the remaining 1
seven grains he sowed in the fall of 1786, ]
at the same time, and in the same field, i
that he sowed his common wheat, but 1
carefully kept them apart; ~by which ex
periment he found that the Cape wheat
came to perfection at least ten days ear
lier than the wheat of this country, and
its quality excelled any thing of the sort
introduced amongst us. After threshing
and cleansing, he measured it, and found!
one bushel and five eighths of a bushel,
which weighed 106 J pounds avoirdupois
weight, which is something more than
sixty-four pounds seven ounces per bush
el. One thousand grains of wheat ta
ken promiscuously, (without picking the
largest.) weighed thirty-three penny
weight Troy ; from which data we find j
the whole quantity to amount to 874,433
grains, and a number contained in a j
bushel, Winchester measure, to contain j
538,116 grains—an increase almost be
yond conception.
Apple Orchard. —Mr. B. Gray, of
Tewksbury has perhaps the best apple
orchard in the town—a part of the land
high and ledgv—then declines to a flat
surface, on which the water would likely
settle and stand in wet weather for a
short time. Mr. G. on part of this land j
dug large holes, filled them up to within
18 inches of the surface, and then cover
ed them with loam, and set his trees up
on this bedding of rocks covered with
loam, and has found this method advan
tageous. The Hon. John Wetles inform
ed him that many years ago he made a
similar experiment under like circum
stances, and had obtained more thrifty
and better trees—that stones thus under
laid facilitated the escape of water in wet
weather, while in time of drought they
impart water to the surrounding earth
which they absorb in wet weather.— -N.
E. Farmer.
Garden.
We pity the man that has no garden.
For ourselves we had rather bo deprived
of almost any earthly good. Home
would lose half its charms if destitute of
this enchanting spot. Deprive an Eng
lish cottage of its “little garden neatly
planned before,” and you destroy at once
those fine associations which cluster
round it and invest it with so many inno
cent delights and peaceful scenes. A
house without a garden—then a home
not half as happy as it might be. It was
the curse of Adam to be driven from a
garden and to lose its pleasures with the
smiles of his Creator! To say nothing
of its rich and luscious products—the
cool, refreshing salad, the juicy melon,
the fragrant strawberry, the purple plum,
the delicious grape, and other fruits so
grateful to the palate, so conducive to
the health—the garden exerts a most sal
utary influence on the heart. We here
behold, in our morning and our evening
walks, the silent, yet wonderful opera
tions of the finger of God—the mysteri
ous transformation of cold, inanimate
and sluggish earth, iflto living and most
delicately wrought and painted buds and
leaves, stems and fruits and flowers. —
How favorable to meditation at eventide
a walk amid the fragrance and the beau
ties of the garden. What sweet and se
cret sympathies with nature in “ her vis
ible forms.” What harmony between
the soul and the gentle influences—the
smile and eloquence of beauty from every
living thing.
Our Saviour loved a garden. Geth
semane was the scene of one of the most
touching incidents of his life on earth.
O garden of Olives, thou dear honored spot,
The fame of thy wonders shall ne’er be forgot;
The theme most transporting to seraphs above—
Tho triumph of sorrow, the triumi h of love.
[ Watcktower.
The Mother’s Reward.
I saw a little cloud rising in the west
ern horizon. In a sow moments it spread
over the expanse of heaven, and watered
the earth with a genial shower. I saw a
little rivulet start from a mountain, wind
ing its way through the valley and mea
dow, receiving each tributary rill which
it met in its course, till it became a
mighty stream, bearing on its bosom the
merchandise of many nations, and the
various productions of the adjacent coun
try. The dews descended, the sun rose
upon it; it started into life. In a little
time it spread its branches and became a
shelter from the heat, “ and the fowls of
heaven lodged in its branches.”
I saw a little smiling boy stand by the
side of his mother, and heard him repeat *
from her lips one of the sweet songs of
Zion. I saw him kneel at her feet, and
pray that Jesus would bless bis dear pa
rents, the world of mankind, and keep
him from temptation. In a litttle time i
AUGUSTA, GA. SATURDAY, JULY 8, 1843.
I saw him with the bock 3 of the classics i
under his arm, walking along, busied in !
deep thought. I went iilto a Sabbath j
school, and heard him saying to a little!
group that surrounded him, “ Suffer little
children to come unto me.” In a few
; months, I went into the-sanctuary, and
heard him reasoning of “ righteousness,
and temperance, and judgment to come.”
I looked, and saw that same mother, at
whose feet he had knelt, and from whose
lips he had learned to lisp the name of
Immanuel. Her hair was whitened with
the frosts of \vinter, and on her cheek
! was many a furrow; but meekness sat
!on her brow, and heaven beamed in her
| dim eye glistening with a tear; and I
j thought I saw in that tear the moving of
a mother’s heart, while she reverted td
days gone by, when this Boanerges was
first dawning into life, hanging on her
lips listening to the voice of instruction,
and inquiring in child-like simplicity, the
way t<s be good; and I said—This is the
rich harvest of a mother’s toil; these are
the goodly sheaves of that precious seed
j which probably was sown in weeping;
! and your grey hairs shall not be “ brought
down with sorrow to the grave,” but, in
the bower of rest, you shall look down on
him who “will arise and call you bless
ed,” and finally greet you where hope is
swallowed up in fruition, and prayer in
praise.
A Ta’e.
Not many years ago a Polish lady of
plebeian birth, but of exceeding beauty
and accomplishments, won the affection
of a nobleman, who having her consent,
solicited her from her father in marriage,
and was refused. We may easily imag
ine the astonishment of the nobleman.
‘Am I not,’ said he, of sufficient rank
to aspire to your daughter’s hand V
‘You are undoubtedly of the best
blood in Poland.’
‘And my fortune and reputation—are
they not—
‘Your estate is magnifieient, and your
conduct is irreproachable.’
‘ Then having your daughter’s consent,
how should I expect a refusal ?*
‘This, sir, the father replied, is my on
ly child, and her happiness the chief con
cern of my life. All the possessions of
fortune are precarious; what fortune
gives at her caprice she takes away. I
see no security for the indepence and
comfortable living of a wife but one—in
a word lam resolved that no one shall
be the husband of my daughter, who is
not at the same time, master of a trade!
The nobleman bowed and retired si
lently. A year or two after the father
was standing at the door and saw ap
proaching his house waggons laden with
baskets, and at the head of the cavalcade
a person in the dress of a basket maker—
and who do you suppose it was? The
former suiter to his daughter—the noble
man turned basket maker. He was now
master of a trade and brought the wares
made with his own hands for inspection,
and a certificate from his employer in
testimony of his skill—The condition
being fulfilled, no farther obstacle was
opposed to the Marriage. But tho story
is cot yet done; the Revolution came;
fortunes were plundered, and Lords were
scattered as chaff before the four winds
of Heaven. Kings became beggars;
some of them teachers, and the noble
Pole supported his wife and her father in
the affirmitics of age, by his basket mak
ing industry.
Tho Hartfort Deaf and Dumb Institu
tion has had under instruction during the
year, according to the 27th annual Re
portjust published, 123 pupils—of whom
24 were beneficiaries of Maine, 14 of
New Hampshire, 13 of Vermont, 24 of
Massachusetts, 17 of Connecticut, 3 of
South Carolina, 2 of Georgia, and the re
mainder 21 in number, were committed
to the care of the institution by piivate
individuals. The aggregate is below the
usual average. The funds of the institu
tion now amounts to considerably more
than §200,006. The anrtual charge to
the pupils for board and tution, is one
hundred dollars.— Patriot and Eagle.
The Choice.— A Quaker, residing in
Paris’, was waited on by four workmen,
in order to make their compliments, and
ask for their usual new year’s gifts.”
“Well, my friend,” said the Quaker
“here are your gifts; choose fifteen
francs or a Bible.”
* “I don’t know how to read,” said the ;
first, “so I take the fifteen francs.”
“I can read,” said the second, “ but I j
have pressing wants.” He took the fif-'
teen francs. Tho third also made the 1
same choice. He now cams to the ’
| fourth, a lad of about thirteen or fourteen.
! The quaker looked at him with an air of
I goodness.
“Will you, too, take these three pieces,
which you may attain at any time by la
bor and industry ?”
“As you say the bock is good, I will
take it, and read it to my mother,” re
plied the boy. He took the Bible, open
ed it, and found between the leaves a
gold piece of forty francs.
The others hung down their heads, and
the quaker told them he was sorry they
had not made a better choice,
Daniel Webster, at Hunker Hll’.
We subjoin several extracts from the
recent oration of Mr. Webster, pronoun
( ced at Bunker Hill. The celebration
. was one of the most extraordinary which
has ever taken place in our country.—
■ From all accounts, not less than 150,000
persons must have participated in it.
What an occasion—what an assemblage
—and what an orator. Those who have
ever had the good fortune to hear Mr.
; Webster speak, can easily* imagine what
i a powerful impression must have been
produced upon the crowd by the weighty
1 thought which he presented, enforced as
it was by his commanding, monument
like form, the deep tones of his full, rich
j. voice, and his energetic delivery.
p “Yes, Bunker Hill Monument iscom
( pleted. Here it stands. Fortunate in
the natural eminence on which it is
placed, higher infinitely in its object and
! its purpose—behold it rise over the land
and over the sea, and visible this monu
. ment to 300,000 of the citizens of Mas
sachusetts. There it stands —a memorial
.j of the past—a monitor to the present and
to all succeeding generations of men. I
( have spoken of its purpose. If it had
been for any purpose than the creator of
, art, the granite of which it is composed,
would have continued to sleep on its na
tive bed. But it has a purpose, and that
’ purpose gives it dignity, and causes us
to look upon it with awe. That purpose
it is which enrobes it with a moral gran
■ deur—that purpose it is which seems to
invest it with the attributes of an august,
intellectual personage. It is itself the
great orator of this occasion. (Great
cheering.
It is not from my lips, nor could it be
from any human lips that that strain of
eloquence is to flow, most competent to
utter the emotions of this multitude.
The potent speaker stands motionless
before you. (Hero the speaker paused,
and with outstretched arms, looked up
ward to the summit of the solemn pile,
and the vast assemblage joined in one
loud and long shout of enthusiastic ap
plause.) It is a plain shaft; it bears no
inscription, fronting the rising sun, from
which the future antiquarian shall be
employed to wipe away tho dust; nor
does the rising sua awaken strains of
music on its summit; but there it stands,
and at the rising of the sun, and at the
setting of the sun, and amid the blazo of
noon-day, and in tho milder effulgence
of lunar light, there it stands. It looks—
;it speaks—it acts to the full comprehen
sion of every American mind, and to the
awakening of the highest enthusiasm in
every true American heart. (Great ap
plause.) Its silent but awful utterance —
the deep pathos with which as we look
upon it, it brings before us the 17th of
June, 1775, and the consequences result
ing from the events of that day to us, to
our country, and to the world—conse
quences which must continue “to gain
influence” on the destinies of mankind
to the end of time—surpasses all that the
study of the closet or even the inspiration
of genius could produce. To-day—to
day it speaks to us. The future auditors
will be the successive generations of men.
As they shall rise up before us and gather
round its base, its speech will be of
courage and patriotism—of religion and
liberty—of good government —of the
renown of those who have sacrificed
themselves to the good of their country.”
The sentiments expressed in the fol
lowing extract must command a hearty
response from the breast of every patriot.
Would that such a feeling were engraven :
upon the heart of every American— j
would that it were instilled into every
youthful mind that it might “grow with j
j their growth and strengthen with their ,
j strength.”
“From the broad savannahs of the ,
! South—from the far regions of the West
' —and the thousands of Eastern origin
[No. 5.
who cultivate the rich and fertile valley
of the Genesee and live along - the margin
of our ocean lakes—from the mountain*
of Pennsylvania—from the thronged and
crowded cities of the coast—welcome l
Wherever else you may he strangers, you
are all at home here. (Most enthusias
tic cheers—the ladies on the glacis waved
their handkerchiefs.) Ytu have a glori
ous ancestry of liberty—you bring with
you names such as are found on the roll*
of Lexington, and Concord, and Bunker
Hill. You como here to this shrino of
liberty, near the family altars where your
young lips were first taught to lisp the
name of God—near the temples of pub
lic worship where you received the first
lessons of devotion-near the halls and
colleges where you received your educa
tion. You cam© here, some of yon, to
be embraced once more by a Revolution?
ary father—to receive, perhaps, another
and a last blessing, bestowed in love and
tears, of an aged mother who has survived
thus long to behold and enjoy your pros
perity and happiness. If those family
recollections—if those tender associa
tions of early life have brought you
with something of extraordinary alacri
ty, and given from you to us, and from
U 9 to you, something of a peculiar end
hearty greeting, it ha 9 extended to every
American from every and any spot, Vfhp
have come up here this day, to tread this
sacred field with American feelings, and
who respire with pleasure an atmosphere
redolent of the sentiments of 1775,
(Cheers.) In the seventeen millions of
happy people who compose our American
community, there is not one man who
has not an interest in that structure!, just
as there is not one who has not a deop
and abiding interest in the events which
it has designed to commemorate. Th©
respectability, I may say the sublimity
of the occasion, depends entirely on its
nationality. It is all—all American.
Its sentiment is comprehensive enough
to embrace the whole American family,
from North to South, from East to West {
and it will stand, I hope, for ever, em
blematic of that Union which connects
us together. And woe betide the man
who comes up here to-day tvith senti
ments any less than wholly American.
(Cheers.) Woe betide the man wito
shall venture to stand here with the strife
of local jealousies, local feelings, or local
enmities burning in his bosom.
“ All our happiness and all our glory
depend on our union. (Cheers.) That
monument itself, in all that is commend
able in its sentiment and character, de
pends upon union. (Cheers.) Ido not
mean to 9ay that it would not keep its
position if the States were rent asunder
by faction or violence. I do not mean
that the heaving earth would move it
from its base, and that it would actually
totter to its fall, if dismemberment should
be the affliction of our land, and I cannot
say that it would mingle its own frag,
meats with those of a broken Constitu
tion. But in tho happening of euch
events, who is there that could dare to
look up to it ? (Great sensation.) Who
is there that from beneath such a load of
mortification and shame as would over
whelm him could approach to behold it 7
Who is there that would not expect his
eye-balls to be seared bv the intensity of
its silent reproof? (Great applause.)
For my part, I say, that if it be a misfor
tune, designed by Providence for me to
live to see such a time, I will look at it
no more—l will avert my eyes from it
forever. (Great applause.)”
The following are his closing re
marks t
w I would cheerfully pat the question
to-day to the intelligent men of all Eu
rope—l would say to the intelligent of
the whole world—what character of tho
century stands cut in the relief of history,
mo6t pure, most respectable, most sub
lime—and I doubt not that by a suffrage
approaching to unanimity, the answer
would be Washington. (Cheering.)
That monument itself is not an unfit
emblem of his character, by its upright
ness, its solidity, its durability. (Long
continued applause.) His public virtues
and public principles were as firm and
fixed as the earth on which that structure
rests—his personal motives as pure aa
the serene Heavens in which its summit
is lost. (Great applause.) But, indeed,
it is not an adequate emblem. Towering
far above this column that our hands
have built, behold not by the citizens of
a single city or a single State, but by ell
the families of man, ascends the colcesal
grandeur of the character and life of
Washington. (Enthusiastic applause.)
In all ita constituent pirfr—ia all its