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AUGUSTA WASHINGTONIAN. H Vol. II No. 18.] Che ©StasfiCugtontan WILI. BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING, BY JAMES McCAFKERTV, At the low price of one dollar per annum, for a single subscriber, five dollars for a club of ! six, or ten dollars for a club of twelve sub scribers—payment, in advance. All Communications, by mail, addressed to the publisher, must be post paid to receive atten tion. By the rules of the Post-Office Depart s ment. Post masters may fjiank 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 37i; and if monthly 43J cents, for each con tinuance. "Yearly advertisers 10 per ct. discount. i a ©^T&IjfLTM £ o l —__________ Cornstalk Molasses—still better. Our friend, Mr. 11. J. Thompson, call ed on us again last Tuesday, and kindly gave us the results of some further ex periments which he has been making in the manufacture of Cornstalk Molasses. He informs us that late in July he plant ed a number of hills of corn along in the ridges of his potatoe patch where the potatoes were missing, with a view to having late roasting ears. This corn supplied his family with late corn, but I much the larger portion of the ears wore allowed to remain on the stalks until it became hard enough to shell. After he had pulled the fodder from it, he discov ered that there was still much juice in the stalks, and as his mill was ready and he had some leisure time, he determined to try the experiment of making molasses from stalks that had _already yielded a crop of ears. Accordingly he cut up the stalks and stripped the corn from them, which they fed to his hogs—he then ex pressed the juice, from which he succeed ed in making ten gallons of molasses, even better than that which he had man ufactured from the stalks from which the shoots had been removed—thus making his corn yield a double crop—first ma tured corn, then superior molasses. Wc consider this one of the most im portant experiments which it has been our good fortune to report to our Agricul tural friends. If good molasses for table use can be profitably manufactured from stalks upon which the ear has not been permitted to grow, how much more pro fitable to the planter must this new branch of agriculture be, when he is able to make! the same article even after the corn hasi matured. We have said the molasses made from these stalks is superior to the] first. So it is—but Mr. Thompson at tributes this fact to the improvement which his experience has enabled him to make in boiling and purifying the syrup. He says he discovered that there was not the same proportion of saccharine matter in the stalks which had borne the corn, and that it took more of the juice to make the same quantity of molasses than of! those from which he had removed the • ears. The difference in the strength! of the juice was not material, and the | yield was not only sufficient to repay him for his trouble, but would in itself have! been a profitable crop. Wc would askj what planter, who is accustomed to use molasses upon his own table or feed it to his negroes, will now hesitate to con struct a mill, and to-save from the juice of his cornstalks the money he has been heretofore compelled to pay for the arti cle? We would like to give our readers a correct idea of Mr. Thompson’s mill, which is purely domestic construction of his own, after the plan of a common cider-mill, but we do not know that we can do so without the aid of a cut. Two upright pieces ot timber, one foot square, are fixed firmly in the ground, having about four feet clear, which is the height of the mill. Into these upright timbers are firmly mortised two parallel cross pieces, nine by twenty-seven inches, at a sufficient distance apart to allow three cylinders, which are eighteen inches long and twenty-one inches in circumference, to run between them. The gudgeons upon which the cylinders turn are let into the upper and lower parrallel tim bers, the bottom one serving as a dripping 1 board, from which the juice is conveyed i by means of grooves around each cylin- ; aer into a single channel which conducts i it to the reservoir. Upon the middle I ! cylinder is a cog-wheel, by which the i t other two are turned, by means of a lea- < ! ver made fast to the top of the shaflt < which runs from the centre cylinder up > through the cap piece. The cylinders 1 • are smooth and are made to run closer i j together when necessary by wedging up < the movable blocks in which the gudg- 1 - eons are set in the parallel timbers. Mr. t T. informs us that the most troublesome portion of his mill, and the only one , which any common hand would find any - difficulty in making, was the cog-wheel and the mortises in the other cylinders in , which it runs. He found, however, in working the machine, that all this diffi culty might have been avoided, as the as sistance of the cog-wheel is not required, |the pressure of the stalks between the I cylinders being quite sufficient to propell jthem. His practice is to run the stalk [through first when much of the juice is expressed—it is then doubled and passed [between the cylinders again—then two ' [or three are run through together, until all the juice lias been pressed out. The = juice is strained and reduced to molasses by the simple process of boiling. We have been anxious to give all the information on this subject which we ' have been able to derive from Mr. 1 Thompson, in as intelligible a manner as ■ possible, for flic benefit of those who may ‘ make up their minds during the coming - winter to follow his praiseworthy exam ple next season. This must bo our ex ’ cusc for this rather long article. —South Mem Miscellany. t! Ilominer’s Manure* t j The agent of Mr. Bommer was here a 3 few days ago, and had a heap construct - ed in Mr. Russell’s vegetable garden.— jjThe materials arc now rotted, and Mr. ■ Russell invites planters who may feed i[ curiosity on the subject, to call and ex s amine for themselves. i We expressed the fear some weeks ago, i that the process would create a stench so , offensive as to produce sickness. Mr. .|R., however, assures us that this is not | the case ; that ho superintended this, and assisted oftentimes, and that there was . not a more strong or offensive odour than 3] is experienced by being near an ordinary rI manure heap. The offensive odour, he . says, is prevented by the materials used with the water, lime, ashes, &c. Without being sanguine inourexpec i [ tations that this system of making manure . will prove to be of great benefit in the 3 South, we think, nevertheless, that it has )[ sufficient testimony in its favor to render lj it worthy of investigation on the part of .jplanters. As the right for a hundred i acres costs but ten dollars, it would be .'well for a few neighbors in different pla ices to unite in purchasing the said right, . and thus try the experiment, at a trifling ;|expense to each. And if after a fair . trial, it proves to be what its proprietor ; t claims for it, they can then try it on a > larger scale with greater confidence, and , if it should prove a humbug, they will t have the satisfaction of knowing that ; they did not pay very dear lor their expe , riencc.—[ Columbia Planter. Salt anil the Cut Worm. F. J. Betts, Esq., in the Albany Cul tivator, says: “A good deal has been |[said in the agricultural papers about the ! [ effect of common salt as a manure, and J also as a remedy for the cut worm. I ", used it last year, as you will probably re member, sown broadcast, at the rate of ' two bushels per acre, and my field es- ! ' caped the ravages of the worm entirely, although, my immediate neighbors were [ all complaining of its-being uncommonly 1 destructive. Last fall I was planting 1 ' fruit trees in the field which I have this ! year appropriated to Indian corn, and I found the soil literally filled with the cut 1 ; worm. I again sowed salt in the same ( quantity as last year, immediately before ’ 1 plowing the ground this spring, and I 1 1 have not lost a single plant from its rava- ! 1 ges, and I believe, therefore, that there is no doubt that salt is a certain remedy ( for that pest of the agriculturist.” Seasoning Posts and Timber. t Posts should never be put in the ground 1 in a green state, notwithstanding they f will last longest in wet ground. Con- t stant wet from water will not injure them, r but the fermentation of the natural sap c in the wood hastens decay. We ought c also to name in connexion with this, the f importance of suffering the sills of a e house and other building to become dry li AUGUSTA, GA. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 7. 1813. before they are used, [t is true we now! set buildings higher than we formerly did, I and we take smaller timber for sills, and! both these practices to favor the du rability of the timber—yet we are often obliged to put in new sills, on account of the timber being used in an unlit slate. A stick of timber eight ipchcs square, is better for any building, 1 as a sill, than one twelve inches squari.—_Y. Y. Me chanic. \ From Ihe New-York Commercial Advertiser. The Fofty of Crime. Os all deceivers those are most pitiable who deceive themselves; among all kinds of self-deception that is most miserable which leads to violation of divine and human laws. A illustration of this truth is presented in the case of that wretched young man Saunders, whose brief career in villainy, commenced no longer since than Thursday of last week, reached its ignominious closq on the suc ceeding Wednesday. Even to the last he deceived himself—refusing to make restitution of his plunder, ani laying the flattering unction to his sou that after ten or fifteen years of imprisonment he could step at once into the undisturbed enjoyment of iiis stolen thousands, not dearly earned, ho thought, by that en durance of the retribution society exacts from crime. The fool! He did not con sider—perhaps he did not krow—that on every one of the forged checks he can be convicted separately ; that on each con viction the full measure of punishment can be awarded ; and instead of ten or fifteen he may he (jonsigned to the walls of a prison for ninety years, if he should live so long. But apart from this, how exquisitely foolish has been his conduct—how steep ed in fatuity the reasoning by which it has been governed. He looked only to the apparent advantages of his position. The purpose of his crime was confined to his own bosom; he trusted no confeder ate, and could not he betrayed. In soli tude and secrecy his offence against the laws was consummated. The utmost facilities for evasion wasathis command. An unknown and obscure individual, there no probability that his move ments would be noted. He had every reason to suppose that far in the advance of justice he could make good his escape, and enjoy unmolested the rich fruits of his ingenuity. How little lie understood— how unwisely he estimated the tremendu ous power wielded by that mysterious agent which we briefly call police, but which is in fact the concentration of hands, eyes, feet, cunning, experience, knowledge and intellect, belonging to millions of individuals—which is in fact the whole energy of society, capable of being thrown at once upon any given point for any given purpose. 'l'he swift | steamboat, the swifter rail-road car were at his service, to whirl him away from .all danger of detection, pursuit and ap ! prehension; but swifter than either is the long arm of criminal justice, and scarcely Had he reached his imagined point of safety before its resistless clutch was up on him—and his visions of success and enjoyment were scattered like chaff' be fore the wind. And here Charity steps in, with her I beseeching eyes and pleading voice, | whispering that there may be some ex - tenuation for the young man’s crime in the feeling which perhaps urged to its j commission. The poverty of a father, j the wants of brothers and sisters, may have tempted him. Wc will suppose that :t was so: but not the less glaring was his folly. Could he believe that cornpe jtence would have any joys for them, pur chased by his sin, his degradation ? Could he fancy them finding sweetness in luxu ries while he was tasting the hard fare of a prison ? Enjoying ease while he was toiling under the severe eye of a prison task-master ? Feeling the pleas antness of life while he was cut off in the bloom of youth, wasting the flower of his days in privation, disgrace, hopelessness, and worse than all, remorse! Or at the best—supposing him to escape in safety to a foreign land—would all the wealth he could bestow upon thorn compensate for the blush of shame that must suffuse! their cheeks whenever his name was mentioned—the harrowing thought that every eye looked upon them with suspi cion—the melancholy consciousness that for their sake he had made himself an exile and a fugitive ? Nay, could he be lieve that they would consent to receive; J the wages of his sin, or if willing, that |c jthev would be permitted to enjoy them ?|1 ! Putting the best and kindest construction|i upon his motives, he still remains con- victed of the boldest, rankest folly. jl But all criminals arc foolish. They! may devise plans more cunningly andj carry them out more skilfully and suc cessfully than this boy Saunders has done; * they may escape the long and swift arm * !of justice for a long season —perhaps al together—but their wisdom is still follv. ' ‘J *1 £ They pay excessively dear for the whis- . tie. Ever they are tormented by sea of betrayal by an accomplice—of some i indiscretion of their own—of the astutcL and vigilant officer—often thousand ac- 1 1 cidents that may deliver them up to the| ‘ ministers of society’s vengeance. And;' I alternating with this fear they have an ( L abiding scorn and contempt of themselves, perhaps still harder to bear. They may carry a fair seeming before the world, but in their own hearts they know that ) they are scoundrels—false, mean, thiev ’ ish, dishonorable scoundrels. Aye, and ’ there is not one of them who, if ho would c speak out his thoughts truly for once —if > there were some power to make him cast ' the spirit of lying out from his bosom 1 and oft - from his tongue —there is not one ' of them who would not confess also that | they arc fools. The Uutaithfnl Servant, s A noble Duke of Scotland, in one of • his walks, chanced one day to sec a very 1 line cow. Having ascertained to whom ' the animal belonged, he went to the own - or, and offered him a handsome price for 1 her. For a time the latter hesitated, but ' at length accepted it, and promised to 2 drive the cow the next morning. 2 Not finding it convenient to go himself, the farmer sent his hoy to drive the cow. > On approaching the house, the animal ap - pearetl frightened, and refused to proceed. 1 At the time, the Duke happened to he ) walking at a short distance, and the boy, • not knowing who he was, craved his as > sistancc, in his Scotch brogue. “ Heh, mun, come here, an’ gie’a a - han’ wi’ this beast.” 2 The Duke, perceiving the boy’s mis t take, pursued his walk, without appear . ing to understand it. In the mean time, , the cow became still more unmanageable, - upon which the lad, with a tone of ap ' parent distress, cried out, “ Come here, ; mun, and as sure’s anything, I’ll gic ye , the huuf o’ what I get.” s Pleased with the boy’s manner, and es - pecially with his generosity, the Duke • now stepped forward as requested, and s lent a helping hand. I “And now,” said the Duke, as they ' drove the cow forward, “how much do , you think you will get for this job?” ) “ Oh, I dinna ken,” said the boy, “hut; t I’m sure o’ something, for the folk up bye! f at the house are guid to a’ bodies.” i As they approached the house, the t Duke darted by the boy, and, entered by j a private way, called a servant, and put l ting a sovereign into his hand, bid him - give it to the boy that drove the cow. i The Duke now returned to the avenue, r and was soon rejoined by the hoy. f “Well, and how much did you get, my - lad?” inquired the Duke. 1 “A shilling ,” said the boy, “and - there’s half o’t t’ ye.” “ A shilling!” rejoined the Duke, “on rly a shilling! you got more.” , “No I dinna,” said the boy with great - earnestness, “as sure’s death, that’s a’ 1 l get and d’ye no think it plenty ?” 5 “I do not,” said the Duke; “there , must be some mistake, and as I am ac ! quainted with the Duke, if you’ll return 1 t with me, I’ll get you some more money.” • The boy consented, and back they 1 - went. The Duke rang the bell, and or- ! •jdered all the servants to be assembled. . i “Now,” said the Duke to the boy, ( ■ “ point out to me the person that gave j : you the shilling.” s “It was the chap there, wi’ the white I l apron,” said the boy pointing to the butler, j “You villain” said the Duke. The butler fell upon his knees, and t ; confessed the wicked act. , “ Give the boy the sovereign, and im- | : mediately leave my house,” said the Duke. The butler implored. 1 “No,” said the Duke, “you are no \ longer to be trusted. You have been de- c tected in an act of villany, which renders 1 you unfit to serve me. You have lost c your shilling, your situation, and your f character. Go, and henceforth learn i that ‘honesty is the best policy.’” t By this time, the boy discovered to his I ;amazement, his assistant, in the person li [One Dollar a Year. of the Duke ; and the Duke was so do lighted with the sterling worth and hon esty of the boy, that he ordered hi in to bo sent to school, and to be provided lor at his own expense. Voluntary Return to Slavery* Tiie Sandwich (Canada West) Ex press chronicles nn occurrence that took place in that neighborhood on the 21st ult., which may he interesting to our anti jslavcry friends in this vicinity. Three slaves, who had escaped from bondage in the United States, had been working foi* Uomo months past with farmers in the i vicinity of that town. Their owner, for I they are all the property of one man, j having discovered their place of refuge, | sent his nephew to persuade them to re ! turn, and to promise them if they would do so, they should not be sold or punished for their absence. The quondam slaves replied that if their master would himself come and give the assurance, they would return. The master came, and gave the required pledge, and then left them, lest his presence might be considered as co- Jercion. The three men, true to their j pledge, packed up their clothing, and un accompanied by any white man, pro- Iccedcd to Windsor, crossed the river, and I voluntarily went hack to slavery; one of | them observing, as he went on hoard the terry boat, that he never knew what hard work was until he came to Canada. A Gallant old “ Seventy Sixer ” Major Wm. Buchanan, now in his 96th year, has arrived in Washington to make his eighteenth draft of pension allowed him by Government, lie still walks without tottering, and speaks distinctly. He was out with Marion in the Carolina swamps, and belonged to a brigade of horse during the Southern campaign, of which he bears the tokens in the shape of scars. A Self-made Alan. Willis, in one of his letters to the Na tional Intelligencer, thus refers to Albert Pike, of Arkansas : “Albert Pike, the author of the ‘ Hymns to the Gods,’ so much lauded in Blackwood, about two years ago, is now staying at the Astor. Mr. P. resides at Little Rock, in Arkan sas, and is one of the first lawyers, and most respected and influential men of the West. It will not offend him to say, that twelve years ago he parted from mo in Boston, (after contributing these same noble hymns gratuitously to a periodical I then edited.) hound to the West to seek his fortune, with sixteen dollars only in his pocket, and not a friend west of the Hudson. I shook hands with him then with some feeling, for I loved the man; hut I knew his .genius, and predicted to him the success that awaited him. I trust he will give us a chance to niche ; him among the classics, by collecting his ! poems in a volume. Ho is still quite a |young man.” Cunning of a Cobbler. The husband of an old lady in Buck inghamshire, died without making his will, for the want of which very necessa ry precaution his estate would have passed away from his widow, had she not resort ed to the followingexpedient to avert the loss of the property. She concealed the death of her husband, and prevailed upon an old cobbler, her neighbor, who was in person like the deceased, to go to bed at her house, and personate him, in which character it was agreed that he should dictate a will, leaving the widow the estate. An attorney was sent for to draw up the writings; and the widow, in great affliction at the good man’s dan ger, began to ask questions of her pre tended husband, calculated to elicit the answers she desired. The cobbler, groaning aloud, feebly answered, “ I in tend to leave you half my estates, and I think the old shoemaker who lives oppo site, is deserving of the other half, for he jhas always been a good neighbor.” The J widow was thunderstruck at receiving a i reply so different from what she expected, but dared not negative the cobbler’s will for fear of losing the whole of the proper ty, whilst he laughed in his sleeve, ami divided with her the fruits of a project intended for her sole benefit. A bachelor up Queen-street, Pittsburg, Pa., picked up a thimble. He stood a while meditating on the probable beauty of the owner, when he pressed it to his lips, saying, “Oh that it were the fair cheek of the wearer!” Just as he had finished, a big wench looked out of an upper dindow and said, “ Boss* dis please to frow dat fimble of mine in deentry— I jist now drapt it.” The man is said to have fainted'