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AUGUSTA WASHINGTONIAN.
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£& Ctirni to statist Skstarogas.
Vol. II.„. No. 9.]
Ch c
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From the Tcnnesse State Agriculturist.
To Preserve Wheat from the Weevil.
As our harvest is coming on, it may
not *be amiss to drop a hint to the numer
ous readers of your excellent Journal, on
(he most effectual method of preserving
our wheat from the weevil. The follow
ing plan l have tried for ten years, and 1
find it never to fail. The wheat when
cut should be shocked in from 12 to 14
sheaves in a shock, and this neatly done,
and covered with 3 sheaves, taken from
that number, and let it remain in the field
for 2 or 3 weeks until it is thoroughly
cured, then take it in, in fair weather
when the dew is off, and thrash and clean
it, immediately ; so that it may not get
damp by lying in a bulk ; then have hogs
heads, of about the size that will hold
from 15 to IB bushels each, or barrels or
goods-boxes will do, hut I prefer hogs
head; then get thick dry bark, and build
fires near the house where you intend to
pul your cle«n wheat about the size of a
half bushel in a round pile, set it on firel
and let it burn nearly down to coals, then
place your hogshead over the fire mouth I
down, then raise one edge about three!
inches to admit the air and let it remain
until the hogshead is so hot you cant bare
your hand on the outside; then let two
hands put a board under the mouth so
that thpv can carry it mouth down to the
place where it is tostand, then turniton
its head and let every little fellow have
his bucket of wheat and fill the hogshead
instantly, so that mine of the steam or
heat may escape in filling; when full, it
need not be covered, it will remain warm
in the centre for several days. In this
way I preserve my wheat every year, and
have now old wheat which is plump and
good as when it was put up last harvest.
I had a wagon load ground a few days
ago. and a gentleman who supped with
me last night said it was remarkably well
tasted and equal to our Cincinnati flour.
Lastly it does not injure the grain at all;
I put up all my seed wheat in the same
way.
Yours truly,
j. BURNS.
It is believed that the eggs of the while
weevil is deposited when the wheat is in
bloom, as the insect always cuts out of
the grain; therefore the process which I
hastily sketch in this letter, kills the egg
in the grain before it hatches.
J. B.
Mulberry Grove, Tenn., July, 1843. .
Important to Farmers.
Hart Massey, Esq., of this village, took
a small portion of the seed corn with
which he planted a field, and soaked it
in a solution of salt nitre, commonly
called saltpetre, and planted five rows
with the seed thus prepared. The five '
rows planted with corn prepared with
saltpetre yielded more than twenty-five
rows planted without any preparation ; '
the five rows were untouched by the
worm, while the remainder of the field !
suffered severely from their depredations.
We should judge that not one kernel
saturated with saltpetre was touched by
the worm, while almost every hill in the
adjoining field suffered severely. No one
who will examine the field can doubt the I
efficacy of the preparation. He will be I
astonished at the striking difference be- i
tween the five rows and the remainder of t
the field. ’ |]
Here is a simple fact which, ifreason- i
ably known, would have saved thousands!- 5
ot dollars to the farmers of this county <
alone in the article of corn. At ail It
events, the experiment should be exten-h
sivelv tested, as the results are deemed j
certain, while the expense is compara-!c
tivcly nothing.—[ Washington Standard. <
AUGUSTA, GA. SATURDAY, AUGUST 5, 1843.
Hints to Farmers.
A farmer should never undertake to
cultivate more land than he can do tho
roughly ; half tilled land is growing
jpoorer; well tilled land is constantly!
; improving.
' A farmer should never keep more cat
i tie, horses, sheep or hogs, than he can
! keep in good order; an animal in high
order the first of December, is already!
half wintered.
A farmer should never depend on hisj
neighbor for what he can, by care and
good management, produce on his own
farm ; he should never beg fruit while)
he can plant trees, or borrow tools whenj
he can make or buy them—-a high autho-i
rity has said a borrower is servant to the
lender.
' A farmer should never be so immersed!
in political matters as to forget to sow;
his wheat, dig his potatoes, and bank
them up in his cellar; nor should he be;
so inattentive to them as to be ignorant;
of those great questions of national andj
state policy which will always agitate,
more or less, a free people.
No farmer should allow the reproach of!
neglected education to lie against him
self or family ; if “ knowledge is power,”
the commencement should be early and
deeply laid in the minds of his children.
A farmer should never use intoxica
ting liquors as a drink ; if, while under
going severe fatigue and the hard labor
of the summer, he would enjoy robust
health, let him be temperate in ail things.
A farmer should never refuse a fair
price for anything he wants to sell ; we
have known a man who lmd several hun
dred bushels of wheat to dispose of, refuse
eight shillings and six pence, and after
keeping his wheat six months, was glad
to get six shillings for it.
[Farmer's Cabinet.
The following extracts, on Cotton Bag
jging, we copy from the Savanah Repub
lican :
Georgia Cotton Eagging.
! “It is more than a year and a half
since, that we had an article on this sub
ject. Lately we referred to it again,
showing statistically, that cotton bagging
enough, and more than enough to supply
this State could be made at Columbus, at
Bto 9 cents per yard. Experience has
proved first, that the cotton bagging is as
strong as the hemp ; and secondly, that
it is as durable, if not more so. In our
first article alluded to, we instanced the
fact, that several years since, when cot
ton bagging was used to some extent, a
boat load was left on the bank of the
Savannah River for two or three weeks.
It had been wet, and lay there until it
could bo removed. A part of it was put
up in cotton bagging—a part in hemp.
When taken aboard again, the hemp bag
ging would tear off by the slightest exer
tion. The cotton was as strong as ever
to all appearance, and the essential oil in
this species of bagging had protected the
cotton in such a manner, that it was not
so much damaged as that put up in the
hemp bagging.
“Taking the ordinary crop of Georgia
cotton, it can be clearly proved that if we
would manufacture our own bagging
within our own borders, the citizens of
this Stale would save more than $350,-
000 per annum, which they now pay for
foreign and Kentucky bagging. * *
“ The article of cotton bagging is now
manufactured in this state, and we are
told that its manufacture is on the in
crease, —but we fear it is not sold so
cheap as it ought to be. When the ma
chinery used for its fabrication is as well
managed, as highly improved and effi
cient as it might be, this bagging should
be furnished at 11 al2 cents per yard a(
,theoutside. We hope the time will soon
come when the citizens of Georgia will
not be compelled to send either down to :
the opposite side of the Globe, to Eng
land, or to Kentucky, for an article .
which can be made at their own doors for )
half the price which they now pay for it.” (
New Cotton Press. I
We have been invited to examine at l
the store of S. H. Fisk, Esq., of this i
town a new Cotton Press, which for neat- I
ness, compactness and beauty of opera- s
tion, exceeds any thing we have yet seen. I
It is the invention of a Mr. Parker, of i
Saccarappa, Maine, and it may fairly be f
said that it needs no improvement or al- s
teration. It applies a pressure of more c
than one hundred tons to a bale of cotton,
without the application of any other £
power than that of the hand, and the f
operation of pressing is performed with- 1
out the least noise or inconvenience. p
■';r ' ■■■a-ap— -r. =■— —
The Press is a species of rectangular
frame, strongly reinforced with iron,
I which rests on one floor of the store and
extends through an aperture fitted to re
ceive it in the floor above. Below are
'two doors on horizontal hinges, which
being closed, form two sides of the box,
!or space into which the bale is finally
'compressed. Here the bagging to re
ceive the cotton is placed, and from
thence it is taken, the doors being opened.
| This box or rectangular space, extends
up to the second floor, and the whole
jspace thus formed, is tilled with cotton
| prior to compression. The efficient pow
jer is composed of two upright wrought
iron screws, moved by an appropriate
system of gearing, to which motion is
communicated by two cranks. The first
movement of the impressing plate under
these screws is comparatively rapid.—
When, however, a great power is wanted,
ia new system of wheels is brought into
| play by a simple side movement of the
jerank or axis, where the process goes on
more slowly. Some fifteen bales of cot
ton per day can be packed in this way.
without the use of steam or water power.
The packages formed by it average near
1 100 lbs. each, and can easily be increased
to 450 or 500 pounds. They are by far
the handsomest we ever saw any where.
The freight charged on them is, to New
York 25 cts. less per bale, and to Liver
pool $1 less than of the solvency packed
round bales.
The invention promises to be one of
great utility. It is extremely simple,
and the only objection to it is the expense,
which we believe is about $350.
[Savannah Republican.
Cure for Mange In Swine.
A correspondent of the Maine Farmer
says : Take raw tobacco, steeped in cold
and strong chamber ley, pour off the clear
liquor, then mix it, equal parts, with lamp
oil, and then rub on the composition. It
is a safe and sovereign remedy for mange,
in all stages and all animals, brute or
human. This ointment, if kept in a tight
bottle, will keep good any length of time,
ft should be well shaken together when
used, for the parts soon separate when
standing.— [Cent. N. Y. Farmer.
Tlie Field of Tippecanoe.
Our windings, however brought us to
a sight mournful and solemn—a coffin in
which rested an Indian babe! This rude
coffin was supported in the crotch of a
large tree, and secured from being dis
placed by the wind, being only a rough
trough dug out with a tomahawk, and in
which was deposited the little one, and
having another similar trough bound
down over the body with strips of papaw.
Sad seemed the dreamless sleep of the
poor innocent so separate from the
graves of its fathers and the children of
its people! Mournful the voice of leaves
whispering over the dead in that sacred
tree! The rattling of naked branches
there in the hoarse winds of winter!—
how desolate! And yet if one after
death could lie amid thick and spicy ever
green branches near the dear friends left
—instead of being locked in the damp
j vault! or trodden like clay in the deep,
deep grave!
But would that be rebellion against the
sentence “dust thou art and to dust thou
shalt return ?”—then let our bodies be
laid in the dark till the morning and the
life! See! what woodland is that yon
der ? That advanced like the apex of a
triangle; and yet as we approach nearer
and nearer, is rising up and has become
an elevated plain ? That is Tippecanoe
Yes! this is Tippecanoe, as it stooc
some twelve years after the battle!—Tip
pecanoe in its primitive and sacred wild- i
ness! unscathed bv the axe, unmarked 1
by rods, unfenced! We are standing i
and walking among the slain warriors!
Can it be that I am he, who but yester- j
day was roused from sleep to aid in “set- ]
ting up the declaration of war against
Great Britain,” to appear as an extra <
and w ho, each subsequent week,
thrilled as I “composed” in the “iron]
stick” accounts of battles by land and i
fights at sea ? —in the days of Maxwell r
rollers and Ramage presses ! and hardy i
pressmen in paper aprons and cloth trow- t
sers? —long before the invasion of petti s
coats and check aprons!
Oh ! ye men and boys of ink and long \
primer!—how our spirits were stirred to i
phrensy and swelled with burnings and c
longings after fame !—w hile like trum- c
peters calling to battle, wc scattered forth s
our papers that woke up the souls of men!
Then I heard of Harrison and Tippeca
noe ; dreamed even by day of a majestic
soldier seated on his charger, and his
drawn sword flashing its lightenings, and
his voice swelling over the din of battle
like the blast of clarion !—and of painted
warriors, like demons, rushing with the
knife and tomahawk upon the white tents
away, away off somewhere in the un
known wilds, —of “shout, and groan and
sabre stroke, and death-shots falling thick
and fast as lightning from the mountain <
cloud!”—And do 1 stand, and without a
dream look on —Tippecanoe! <
Even so! for see, here mouldering are i
trunks of trees that formed the hasty i
rampart! here the scars and seams in the I
trees torn by balls!—ay ! here in this I
narrow circle are skeletons of, let me
count again, yes, of fourteen war horses ! ]
But w’here are the riders ! Here under i
this bench—see the record in the bark! i
we stand on earth over the dead—“ rider I
and horse, friend, foe—in one red burial i
blent!”
What is this! The iron band of a
musket! See I have found a rusty bayo
net ! Was it ever wet with blood?
Perhaps it belonged to the brave soul
about whom the squatter gave us the fol
lowing anecdote:
“A party of United States regulars
were standing there, and with strict order
for none to leave ranks. An Indian 1
crawled behind this large log—it’s pretty
rotten now you sec—and here loading
and fireing he killing four or five of us;
while we daresn’t quit the ranks and kill
him. But one of our chaps said to the
nearest officer—‘Leftenint for Heavens
sake gimme leaf to kill that red devil
ahind the log, I’ll be in the ranks again
in a minute ?’— ‘ My brave fellow,’ said
the officer, ‘daren’t give you leave; I
musnt see you go.’ And with that he
walked offakeepin’ his back towards us,
and when he turned and got back our
soldier was in the ranks; but gentlemen,
his bagnet was bloody, a deep groan from
behind this here old log told the officer
that the bagnit had silenced the rifle and
avenged the fall of our messmates and
comrades.”
If the reader imagine a strip of wood
land, triangular in form, its apex jutting
a kind of promontory into the prairie
whose long grass undulates like the wa
ving of a island sea ; if on one side of
this woody isle he imagines a streamlet
about fifteen feet below and stealing
along through the grass; and on the oth
er side, here a mile and there two miles
across the prarie, other woodlands hiding
in their darkness the Wabash; and if he
imagines that river at intervals gleaming
in the meadow like illuminated parts
merely of the grass lake, he may picture
for himself something like Tippecanoe in
the simplicity of “ uncurled” nature, and
before it was married and .desecrated by
man’s transformations.
The first intimation of the coming bat
tlers our squatter, who was in it, said,
was from the waving grass. A sentinel
hid that night in the darkness of the
woods, was gazing in a kind of dreamy
watchfulness over the prairie, admiring
as many times before, the beauteous wa
ving of its hazy bosom. But never had
it seeme'd so strangely agitated ; a nar
row and strong current was setting rap
idly toward his post; and yet no violent
wind to give the stream that direction.
He became, first curious, soon, suspicious.
Still nothing like danger appeared—no
voice, no sound or footsteps, no whisper.
Yet rapidly and steadily onward sets the
current; its first ripples are breaking at
his feet! He awakes all his senses—but
discovers nothing; he strains his eyes
over the top of the bending grass; and
then—happy thought—he kneels on the
earth and looks intently below the grass.
Then indeed, he saw, not a windmoved i
current, but indian warriors in a stooping i
posture and stealing noiseless towards his !
post —a fatal and treacherous under cur- <
rent in that waving grass! |
The sentinel, sprang to his feet, cried i
out, “ Who comes there?” z
“Pattawatamie !” the answer, as an i
Indian leaped with a yell from the grass, t
and almost in contact with the soldier, s
and then fell back with a death-scream d
as the ball of the sentinel’s piece entered e
the warrior’s heart, and gave thus the v
signal for combat! is
Our men may have slumbered ; for it t
was a time of treaty and truce—but it was o
in armour they lay and with ready weap- n
ons in their hands; and it was to this pre- g
caution of their general, we owe the i
speedy defeat of the Indians; although h
[One Dollar a Year.
i not before they had killed about seventy
of our little army. No one can proba
bly describe the horrors of that night at
tack—at least I shall not attempt it. It
required the coolness and the delibera
tion, and at the same time, the almost
reckless daring and chivalrtc behaviour
of the commander and his noble officers
and associates, to foil such a foe, and at
such a time even with the loss of so
many brav > men of their small number.
That the foe was defeated and driven
off is proof enough to Western men—(if
not to Eastern politicians who do battle
on paper plains)—that all was anticipated
and done by Harrison that was necessa
ry. It would not become a work like
this, which inexperienced folks may not
think is quite as true as other histories,
to meddle with the history of an honest
President; but the writer knows, and on
the best authority, that General Harrison
did that night all that a wise, brave and
benevolent soldier ought to do or could
do, and among other things, that his per
son was exposed in the fiercest and blood
iest fights where balls repeatedly passed
through his clothes and his cap.
We lingered at Tippecanoe till the la
test possible moment!—there was, in the
wilderness of the battle-field—in my in
timate acquaintance with some of its ac
tors —in the living trees, scarred and
hacked with bullet and hatchet, and mark
ed with the names of the dead—in the
wind so melancholy—something so like
embodied trances, that I wandered the
field all over, here standing on a grave,
there resting on a decayed bulwark: now
counting thq scars of trees, now the skel
eton heads of horses; finding in one spot
a remnant of some iron weapon, in anoth
er, the bones of a slain soldier, dragged,
perhaps, by wild beasts from his shallow
grave!—till my young comrades insisted
on our return if we expected to reach our
friend’s house before the darkness of the
night.— Carlton's Seven Years in the
Far West.
Social Intercourse.
We should make it a principle to ex
tend the hand of fellowship to every man
who discharges faithfully his duties and
mantains good order—who manifests a
deep interest in the welfare of general
society—whose deportment is upright,
whose mind is intelligent, without stop
ping to inquire whether he swings a ham
mer or draws a thread. There is noth
ing so distant from all rational claim as
the reluctant, the backward sympathy—
the forced smile—the checked conversa
tion—the hesitating compliance, which
the well off are two apt to manifest to
those a little down, with whom in com
parison of intellect and principles of vir
tue, they frequently sink into insignifi
cance.
Old Age.
Grieve not, reverend age, that beauty
and brilliancy have left thee. Once in a
summers night, the flowers glittered with
dew in the moonbeams; and when day
light drew nigh, they grieved that the
lighfof the moon was gone, and with it
the lustre of the dew drops. They thought
not that after a little while, the sun
would rise upon them, whose full beams
would change those pearls into blazing
dimonds. So shall it be with you, after
a brief moment of darkness.
By a late act of Congress, the widow of
David Williams, one of the captors of
Major Andre, who resides in the town of
Boone, N. H., received about S2OOO.
She is to receive S2OO a year, commenc
ing at the time of her husband’s death,
and the S2OOO was the amount due at
the time the money was drawn.
A Deed of Horror.
The world was enveloped in the sable
robes of midnight, and not a star glisten
ed in the vauled arch above. The winds
howled fiercely, and dismal and murky
clouds flew in rapid succession through
the whirling air, as the glare of the light
ning and crash of the thunder mingled in
at intervals, to render the scene more ter
rific. At this dreadful hour, when half
the world was wrapt in sleep, the fell as
sassin, instigated with the feelings of a
demon, arose from his bed, and proceed
ed stealthily towards his unsuspecting
victim. A pause ! all was dark ; no eye
is near to witness the bloody tragedy—
the bludgeon,is raised; a ghastly smile
of revenge plays upon the face of tin
murderer; the blow is struck ! a strug
gle, a groan, and the largest kindoi
a rat lies dead by the side of the ?rasto
bucket. ■ yy -