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▲ucwsTA WAsrafmearxjjr. ...^'M<ww\>^vwvw^wwwv>vw»w»«>wwv»w»»»»v>vw>www'vw\vw\w»wi t >ww»vw > vi«>v>v»Miv'wv.vw<«v»«»v»vvw>»>-iwit>i»^w^.>^« M .-i->ri-r r-| ,r r v»ri.. 111 ,J,J ~_ , j © j?simE® spsjpw?: DsfciiW to VOL. It] ’3 ■■ ■',- " " r " : ' ,: ■■■ ■■ Ipiit CBTasMnfltoiifait irrr.l, BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY HORNING, BY JAMES McCAFFERTY, At the low price cf one dollar pf>r annum, for « single subscriber, five dollars for a club of *ix, or ten dollars for a club of twelve sub scribers—pay!neni, in advance. Ail Communications, by mail, addressed to the publisher, must be post paid to receive atten tion. By the rules of the Past-Office Depart ment, Post masters may frank subscription money for Newspapers. Advertisements will be inserted at the follow ing reduced rates For one square, not ex ceeding twelve lines, 50 cents for the first insertion, and twenty-five cents for each con tinuance, if published weekly ; if semi-monthly 375; and if monthly 43f cents, tor each con tinuance. Yearly advertisers 10 per ct. discount. 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