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’ From the Southern Miscellany.
The Sweet Potato.
* Mr. Han!eilcr —In one of the numbers
pf the “Miscellany,” published about a
year ago, I saxv an article on the culture
of Sweet Potatoes from the pen of Mr.
McKinley, of Oglethorpe county, which
teemed to me to point out the best mode
of raising that article, and I resolved to
test the plan by experiment. Accord
nglv early in season I prepared my
ground bv deep and thorough ploughing,
and continued at every suitable opportu
nity to plough it until the season should
suit for transplanting my slips. This did
not occur until about the 10th of June—
at which lime I set them out. The mode
which I adopted was as follows : l first
laid otT my ground by running furrows
with a bmg wide shovel four feet apart —
then followed each furrow with a long
'scooter, and that by a long coulter. This
.done, a furrow on either side of the cne
laid otf was run in (he same way—first
ihe shovel, then the scooter, then Ihr
.•coulter. The bed so prepared, I smooth
led off with a hoe, leaving it flat on top.
and hut slightly elevated above the sur
rounding surface. In the centre of this,
s fitieen inches apart, I planted my slips,
■they grew off remarkably well, scarcely
jnne dying, Tiie cultivation was sijelias
.1 gave my corn— only there was but two
ploughing* and two hoeings, and I was
careful that not a vine should he covered
up, or broken off.
The soil in which they were planted
was light and sandy—not rich—and the
yield, one hundred anu seventy bushels
i/rom 66-100 of an acre. The potatoes
were Yarns, of the ordinary kind—and
such as I had cultivated in the old way
for several years, and were, on Ihe aver
age, doubly as large as any I had ever
raised before. The yield from the same
quality of land was nearly double.
They were dug soon after the first
rosts, when the vines were partially kill
id and the ground dry, when I found the
oil in which they grew, as light and mcl
ow as the day they were planted. 1
rut them up in a house, 'prepared for'the
rurpose, under my dwelling, covering
hem entirely with dry sand—and none
lave rotted except those which were in
ured in digging, and those only before
hey were housed. lam so much pleased
’ith my success last year that I shall try
le same plan again this—being careful,
s I was then, to select the largest pota
lies for seed, believing that potatoes, as
111 as every other plant, must degencr
s so long as the smallest and most in
ior seed is used in planting. I send
u a specimen of what my potatoes are
w, of the excellence of which you can
Ige by tasting. Yours trulv,
E. L. WITTICH.
Madison, Feb. 29, 1844.
From tiie Southern Planter.
feci of drought prevented by deep tillage.
the Editor of the Southern Planter:
Dear Sir—l made an experiment on a
I all scale during the past season, the
ect of which was to satisfy myself as to
i advantage or disadvantage of close
nting and deep tillage of corn with
erence to its ability to withstand the
:cts of a very dry season. The result
to the first branch of the experiment
s unsatisfactory, while that of the se
id branch was a clear demonstration to
AUGUSTA, GA. SATURDAY, MARCH 9, 1844.
my mind of the great utility of deep til-jf
lage, or subsoil ploughing where the soiijr
will not admit of a deep upturning, in i
enabling the corn to resist the effect cf;t
drought. I selected a square in my gar-I
den through which a trench had been;!
opened the previous season two feet deep i
and about eight feet wide. This trench it
was filled up and levelled with the com- 1
mon surface, and after manuring the
whole broadcast with litter from the firm
pen, it was prepared and planted at the ;
earliest period the season (a late one)!
would permit, at the distance of three;
ieet each way, two rows running through i
the length of the trench, and the whole ;
was thinned to two stalks in the bill. It
grew off finely and was advanced to the J
critical stage of earing when the late
drought occurred. From this the corns
suffered great injury in general, but the!
part which grew over the celery trench'
retained its verdure and freshness during!
the prevalence of the drought, whilst|
nearly every blade <sf the remaining part,
of the square was frequently seen to he!
in a whisp.
I submit the facts of this experiment —
the public may draw their own inferen
ces. Yours respectfully,
Cn. B. Williams.
Turnip Fly. —Lime slightly strewed;
j over turnips (just up) before the dew is
i off the ground in the morning, most es- j
. factually and invariably preserves the|
, crop from the fly, &e.
i ' • i
‘ fyJOB<bIEiLANE<OUB.
>
An Inciileut in the Peninsular War.
, It was at a bloody and critical period
. of the war of the Peninsula, that Morillo,
1 then commanding the lifth Spanish army,
1 about four thousand strong, in conjunction
. with Penne Villcmur, passed down the
Portuguese, frontier to the Lower Guadi
t ana, intending to fall on Seville ns soon
. as Soult should advance to the succor ot
. Badnjos. In the beginning of April, while
j ihe French were disheartened by the sud
s <len news of ihe fall of that city, Penne
Villemur and Morillo, issuing out ofPor
-1 tugnl, crossed the Lower Guadiana and
• seized San Lucar de Mayer. This place
. was ten miles from Seville, which was
. only garrisoned by a Spanish Swiss bat
. tailion in Joseph’s service, aided by “Es
, copeleros ,” and by sick and convalescent
men. The Spaniards soon occupied the
• heights in front of the Triana bridge, and
s attacked the French entrenchments, hop
-3 ing to raise a popular commotion. Bal
ls lasteros, on the other side, had advanced
j with eleven thousand men, intending to
fall on Seville from the left of the Guadal
j quivir.
3 But the hopes entertained by the Span
iards, of being speedily in possession of
s Seville, were cut off by a piece of deceit.
1 False information adroitly given by a
•’ Spaniard in the French, interest led Bal
• lasterous to believe Soult was close at
r hand ; whereupon he immediately return
-3 ed to Ronda ; while Penne Villemur, also
warned that the French would soon se
t turn, retired to Gibraleon.
This disappointment and failure in the
3 execution of a favorite project, cherished
■ for many months, irritated beyond con
trol the naturally severe temper of Morillo.
? It was evening; and the division of the
’ army under him were encamped some
3 hours’ march on their retreat. Prepara
tions might have been seen for a military
■ execution; and a couple of prisoners,
captured in their last skirmish, were ac
cording to the cruel practice of many
’ chiefs m those times, to be put to death.
The captives were guarded by a tile of
5 soldiers, and the executioners, waiting
■jthe word of command to draw up, were
• leaning on their weapons, and talking
1 over the events of the last two days.
Just then, one of the inferior officers.
1 returning to the tent after giving some
order to the men, was interrupted bv a
boy apparently ten years of age, who,
seizing his hand, and speaking in accents
slightly foreign, besought him, with pite
ous entreaties, to procure him admittance
.to the General. The officer found, on
inquiry, that he was tne son of one of the
i prisoners, a soldier distinguished for his
: eminent personal bravery, who had not
> been taken, even when overwhelmed by
i numbers, without giving and receiving
i many severe wounds.
• I his soldier, weary and wounded, and i
■ lnv ’hicible in courage and spirit, for he I
• scorned to ask the clemency of his con- i
• queror, was now to suffer deoth with his <
' companion in misfortune. The terrible
order had been given for Morillo would
not be impeded in his march by prisoners:
he had so hated his country’s enemies, r
that the bravest and most generous among t
ihem could have found no mercy at his c
hands. The prisoner’s little hoy, refits- i
ing to he separated from his father, had t
been suffered by the Spaniards to follow i
him. I
. “You shall see the General, boy, since 1
you wish it,” said the officer in repiy to
l the child’s passionate entreaties, “ but lie '
Swill not grant vour father’s life. San 1
! Lucas ! but these French dogs have given '
us too much trouble already !” 1
They entered the General’s tent; Mo- 1
rillo, by the light of a lamp burning on
the table, was reading a despatch he had 1
just received. Two of his officers stood!
'near him ; there was no one else in the
j tent. The brow of the chief was con
tracted, and his eyes flashed as if what he
read displeased him; and he looked up
with an impatient exclamation as the offi
leer entered with the boy. The child, as
soon as Morillo was pointed out to him.
rushed forward and knelt at his feet.
“ What does this mean ?” demanded the
General.
“ Spare him ! Spare my father!” sob
bed the youthful supplicant.
The officer explained his relationship
to one of the prisoners about to be execu
'lied.
“ Ah ! that reminds me,” said the chief,
looking at his watch: “Pedro nine is
jt he hour. Let them be punctual, and
• have the business soon over.”
Again, with moving entreaties, the
child besought his father’s-life.
“Did thy father send the hither?” ask
ed the General sternly.
“No, senor, he did not.”
• “And how dnrest thou, then—?”
• “My father has done nothing to de
i serve death,” answered the lad. “He is
a prisoner of war.”
“Ila! who taught thee to question my
'justice? answer me!”
“No one, senor; hut brave generals do
“ not always kill their prisoners.”
“I kill whom I choose!” thundered
' Morillo ; “ And I hate the French. Boy,
thy father shall die. I have said it; be-
I gone!”
' The officer made a silent sign to the
' petitioner, to intimate that there was no
hope, that he must begone. But the
hoy’s countenance suddenly changed,
lie walked up to the General, who had
turned away, and placed himself directly
before him, with a look of calm resolution
worthy ot a martyr.
“ Hear me, senor,” said he : “my fa
ther is greyheaded; he is wounded: his
' strength is failing even now, though he
stands up to receive the fire of your men.
lam young, and strong, and well. Let
• l hem shoot me is his place, and let my fa
’ ther go free.
It was impossible to doubt the sinceri
i ty of this offer, for the face of the devo
ted child was kindled with a holy enthu-
I siasrn. A dark flush rushed to the brow
of Morillo, and for -a moment he looked
i on the boy in silence.
“Thou art willing to die,” at length he
said, “lor thy father? Then, to suffer
; pain for him will he nothing. Wilt thou
i lose one of thy ears to save him ?”
“I will,” was the firm reply.
“ Lend me thy sword, Pablo;” and, in
; an instant, at one blow, the General
j I struck off the boy’s ear. The victim!
. wept, hut resisted not; nor raised his
- hand to wipe away the streaming blood.
“ So far, good : wilt thou lose the other
. ear?”
“ I will, to save my father !” answered
the boy, convulsively,
f Morillo’s eyes flashed. The heroism
; of a child compelled even his admiration ;
• hut unmoved from his cruel purpose, he
smote off the other ear with his still reek
ing sword.
There was a dead silence. “ And now,
senor,” said the boy, breathing quickly,
and looking up into the General’s face.
“And now,” answered Moriilo, “de
part. The father of such a child is
DANGEROUS TO SPAIN J HE MUST PAY
THE FORFEIT OF HIS LIFE !”
The maimed child went forth from the
presence of his inhuman foe. Presently
the report of fire-arms announced that he
had witnessed the execution of his fath
er !
Must we blame the cruelty of individu- i
als for such enormities?—or not rather
the relentless spirit of war, that builds up
the glory of its heroes on a scaffolding of
death, and sacrifices daily to the projects j
of amßition the promptings of humanity ? i
[Democratic Review.
The End of Great Men.
Happening to cast my eyes upon some '
miniature portraits, I perceived that the ;
tour personages who occupied the most ;
conspicuous places, were Alexander, Han- i
nibal, Caesaftand Bonaparte. I had seen s
the same unnumbered times before, but t
never did the same sensation arise in my <
bosom, as my mind hastily glanced over !
their several histories.
Alexander, after having climbed the i
dizzy heights of ambition, and with his
temple bound with chaplets dipped in the
blood of countless nations, looked down
upon a conquered world and wept that
there was not another world to conquer,
set a city on fire, and died in a scene of
debauchery.
Hannibal, after having, to the aston
ishment and consternation of Rome, pass
ed the Alps—after having put to flight
the armies of this “ mistress of the world,”
and stripjjcd three bushels of golden rings
from the nngcrsof her slaughtered knights
and made her very foundations quake—
was hated by those who once exultingty
united his name to that of their god, and
called him “Hanni Baal,” and died at
last by poison administered by bis own
hand, unlarnented and unwept in ft for
eign land.
C:esar, after having conquered eight
hundred cities and dyed his garments in
the blood of one million of his foes—after
having pursued to death the only rival he
. had on earth, was miserably assasinated
by those he had considered his nearest
friends, and at the very place, the attain
. ment of which had been the greatest of
his ambition.
Bonaparte, whose mandate Kings anc
Princes obeyed, after having filled the
earth with the terror of his name—after
having deluged Europe with tears anc
blood, and clothod the world with sack
; cloth—closed his days in lonely banish
ment, almost literally exiled from the
world, yet where he could sometimes see
his country’s banner waving o’er the
, deep, but which would not, or could not
bring him aid.
Thus those four men, who, from the
peculiar situation of the ir portraits, swm
ed to stand as representatives of all those
whom the world calls “great”—those four,
, wdio severally made the earth tremble to
, its centre, severally died—one bv intoxi
, cation, the second by suicide, the third
by assassination, and the last in lonely
exile! “How are the mighty fallen!”
Chalmkks.
i
Result of Accident.
Many of the most important discovc
ries in the field of science have heen the
, result- of accident. Two little boys of a
spectacle-maker, in Holland, while their
father was at dinner, chanced to look at
a distant steeple through two eye-glasses,
placed one before another. They found
the steeple brought much nearer the shop
windows. They told their father on his
return, and the circumstance led him to
, a course of experiments, which ended in
the telescope.
Some shipwrecked sailors once collect
( ed some sea-weeds on the sand, and made
. a fire to warm their shivering fingers,
! and cook their scanty meal. When the
fire went out, they found that the alakali
of the sea-weed had combined with the
sand, and formed glass, the basis of al
our discoveries in astronomy, and abso
| lutely necessary to our enjoyment.
. In the days when every astrologer and
every chemist was seeking after the phi
. losopher’s stttic, some monks, carelessly
making up their materials, by accident
invented gunpowder, which has done
much to diminish the barbarities of war.
Sir Isaac Newton’s most important dis
, coveries, concerning light and gravita
[ tion, were the result of accident. His
theory on experiments on light were sug
gested by the soap-bubbles of a child, and
on gravitation, by the fail of an apple as
he sat in the orchard. And it was by*
hastily scratching on a stone,« memo
randum of some articles brought him
from the washerwoman’s, that th« idea
of lithography first presented itself to the
mind of Senefelder.
The Dying Sailor.
The Rev. J. C. Hyatt, superintendent
of the Thames Agency, London, in his ,
report for November, says, a sailor, in i
the west of England, became a new crea
ture, in advanced life, and soon afterward <
was called to die. Two Christian friends,
who had previously known him, and had
marked with pleasure the evidences of his
piety, called to see him. “ Well, dear
brother,” said they, “how is it with
yob ? Have you a good hope ?” “ La>t> !
• [One Dollar a Year.
ahead!” exclaimed the good old man.
They came a second time. “ How are
you now, brother? are your prospects
still bright?” “I’m bounding the
point!” was his reply. Once more they
stood at his bed-side. “Brother, can you
tell us now where your hope is fixed ? Is
Christ precious still ? Is heaven in view ?”
He gathered up his remaining strength,
sat up in his bed, and with his last breath
exclaimed, “Let go the anchor !”—
The Congregational Visitor.
From the National Intelligencer Feb. 29th.
Most Awful ai*t I.amcntabte Catastrophe!
Instantaneous Death, by the bursting of
otic of the large guns on board the
United States Ship Princeton, of Sec
retary Upshur, Secretary Giimer, Com
■ modore Kennon, and Virgil Maxey,
Esq.
In the whole course of our lives, it has
. never fallen to our lot to announce to our
. readers a more shocking calamity-ishock
ing in all its circumstances and concomi
i tants—than that which occurred on
board the United States Ship Princeton,
, yesterday afternoon, whilst under way,
in the river Potomac, fourteen or fifteen
miles below this city.
t Yesterday was a day appointed, by the
, courtesy and hospitality of Capt. Stock
. ton, Commander of the Princeton, for re
ceiving as visiters to his fine ship, (lying
j off Alexandria,) a great number of guests,
t with their families* liberally and numer
ously invited to spend the day on board,
p The day was most favorable, and the
company was large and brilliant, of both
I sexes; Hot less probably in a number than
, four hundred—among whom were the
' President of the United States, the Heads
I of the several Departments, and their
. families. At a proper hour, after the ar
, rival of the expected guests, the vessel
, got under way and proceeded down the
' river, to some distance below Fort Wash
' ington. During the passage down, one
t of the large guns on hoard, (carrying a
ball of 225 pounds) was fired more than
, once, exhibiting the great power and ca
pacity of that formidable weapon of war.
The Ladies had partaken ofa sumptuous
repast; the gentlemen had succeeded
| them at the table, and some of them had
left it; the vessel was on her retur* up
I the river, opposite to the fort, where Capt.
, Stockton consented to fire another shot
, from the same gun, around and near
which, to observe its effects, many per
sons had gathered, though by no means
so many as on similar discharges in the
morning, the ladies who then thronged
’ the deck being on this fatal occasion al
most all between decks, and out of reach
; of harm.
The gun was fired. The explosion
was followed, before the smoke cleared
j away so as to observe its effects, by
shrieks of Woe which announced a dire
! calamity. The gun had burst, at a point
| three or four feet from the breech, and
[ scattered death and desolation around.
1 Mr. Upshur, Secretary of State, Mr. Gil.
mer, so recently placed at the head ofthe
’ Navy, Commodore Kennon, one of its
' gallant officers, Virgil Maxey, lately re
[ turned from a diplomatic residence at
j the Hague, Mr. Gardner, of New York,
formerly a member of the Senate of that
j State, were among the slain. Besides
these, seventeen seamen were wounded,
' several of them badly and probably mor-
I tally. Araftng those stunned by the con
cussion, we learn not all seriously injured,
’ were Capt. Stockton himself; Col. Ben
t ton, of the Senate; Lieut. Hunt, of the
Princeton ; W. D. Robinson, of George
' town. Other persons also were perhaps
more or less injured, of whom, in the hor
ror and confusion of the moment, no cer
’ tain account could be obtained. The
5 above are believed, however, to comprise
j the whole of the persons known to the
public, who were killed or dangerously or
’ seriously hurt. *
The scene upon deck may more easily
be imagined than described. Nor can
the imagination picture to itself the half
of its horrors. Wives, widowed in an in
stant bv the murderous blast! Daugh
ters, smitten with the heart-reading sight
of their father’s lifeless corpse ! The wail
ings of agonized females ! The piteous
grief of the unhurt but heart stricken
spectators 1 The wounded seamen borne
down below ! The silent tears and quiv
ering lips of their brave and honest com,
rades, who tried in vain to subdue or to -
conceal their feelings! What words can
adequately depict a scene like this ?
The bodies of the killed remained on
board the ship last night. They will be
brought to the city this morning.