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K Vol. II No. 42]
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From the Agiiculturist.
Hot Beds.
Few limners or gardeners have sufii
f Hiently considered the importance of hot
beds. They may be made with little cost
And will last at least ten years.
[ The beds may be made on the surface
ll' unrotted stable manure —horse litter
best, fresh leaves or tan bark. Lay
it the beds for single frames four feet
id a half, or for double ones nine feet,
aul the manure to the place, and lay it
i neatly and regularly with a fork, till
e bed is three feet deep, inclining to the
n. He certain to beat it down closely.
;t it remain ten day, or till the fiery
rticles have evaporated by fermenta
>n. Then put on the frames and place
out six inches of mould for the seeds.
:ie frames are better when made ofee
r, and they should be twenty inches
at one end and about twelve at the
her. Sash may be constructed sous to
st but little. Any plain carpenter can
the work, and the glazing may be per
rmed by any one. He careful that the
sh have support in the middle to pre
nt breakage of glass. Place the glass
jt as the fermentation passes its most;
olent stage. When leaves are used,
ns should be made round the beds to
id them to their place. Some degree
attention and practical information
II be requisite to regulate the heat suit
le to the Vegetation of seeds and
owth of plants. The beds should have
:ertain portion of air daily. Thcgard
er must exercise his good sense in this
In most seasons, the first oS, February
early enough for putting on the glass,
d the seeds should be sown in a few
ys. When the sowing is done, water
ntly, and be sure not to suffer the beds
w freeze. Hay, fodder or mats afford a
" good protection in very cold weather. In
'easant days take off the glass and let in
1 thosun possible.
Cabbages, radishes, lettuce, tomatoes,
lery and cumbers, in this way may be
ady for putting out as early as April—
me seasons sooner.
To Preserve Peach Trees.
Scratch away the earth from the tree,
any time after the first of November,
d you will generally find a jelly exub
g from that portion of the tree that is
rrounded by the earth, and frequently
im.thc large roots. All the parts that
e injured should remain naked until as
• the frost are over in the spring, then
sy should be lightly covered. In an
chard that is cultivated with the plough,
careful not to plough so close to the
es as to throw the loose earth around '
3m ; it covers the egg of an insect that 1
netrates the bark, put at the surface, or (
rhaps a little below the surface—and if '
£»ou eover the egg it is hatched, and a
orrH ' S P roduced that destroys the trees
5 mT bUt by eXposin S the tree and upper or
roots, the cold destroys the eggs, or
insects, if they are hatched, and the trees
lire preserved. This is the result of my
<|bservation. — lb. j. g.
| aV *
Cultivation of Fruit.
The following is an extract from a
■pry excellent agricultural address, de
■ivered in October last, by Rev. Charles
Kittredge of Westboro’ before the
Agricultural Society Westboro’ and
■lcimty -.—New England Wash.
'■ m 4l there is yet another source of
r profit to the agriculturalist too often over
looked and neglected ; I refer to the pro
duction of fruit. I refer to it now simp
ly as a source of pecuniary profit, or a
means of wealth. Good fruit is an ar
ticle which never wants a market; and
1 the demand will doubtless increase, for
many years, at least with the supply. :
. There is nothing, perhaps, produced with i
so little labor and expense, which, at the
same time, yields so abundant a reward, i
1 There is asingle tree in this town, reared ;
by the hand of one of your members, i
which, though not yet ten years old, pro- i
duced, the last year, four barrels of prime
, winter fruit. These were sold for not
■ less than $1,50 per barrel; paying an
interest at six per cent, on SIOO. One,
hundred such trees might be set upon ani
*;acre of ground. The original cost of the
trees we will suppose to be SIOO, or one
dollar each, and the value of the land
SIOO. During the first ten years after
their setting, we will suppose that the
trees pay the annual interest on their |
original cost, together with the expense
of cultivation, which is probably far be
low their actual yield. The land during
' this period, is equally valuable for culti
vation as before the setting of the trees,
and may reasonably be supposed to pay
its own interest. In ten years, then,
.junder proper management, we have one
I hundred trees in bearing state like the
l one above referred to, which, with the
land they cover, have cost S2OO. Now
, deducting two hundred percent, from the
r yield of the sample tree for unfruitful
i years, and causes of unproductiveness,
l and SSO per annum for expense of culti-
Jvation, and #l2 interest on the original
j cost, there remains a neat profit of $l3B
I per annum on a single acre, which is equal
, to the interest at six percent, of $2,500!
Or in other words a single acre of land
. in this state is worth $2,500 !
Take another fact: In an adjoining
, town I have occasionally passed a row of
quince trees set along by the garden wall,
. some six or eight rods in length. These
, bushes for several years have been worth
Jto the owner some SOOO or S7OO ; that is,
;they have paid an annual interest at six;
, per cent. on that sum. More than six
. 1 hundred trees of the same kind might be
. judiciously set upon an aero of ground,
which yielding at the same rate would
, give the owner the pretty little sum of
i #1.200 per annum ! Hut deducting one
half for unfruitful trees, and half of the
, remainder fur expense of cultivation and
. causes of unproductiveness, and there re
, mains still the handsome profit of S3OO
. on a single acre, or an interest at six per
I cent, on $5,000 I If these estimates be
, sound, and 1 see not why they are not
, so, where, I ask, is the highway to wealth,
j if the agriculturalist has not found it?”
t .... r '■■■*.■ *■- ~ '' -- -r
Washington Allston.
In Campbell’s Semi-monthly Maga
-1 zinc, for March, we find a short sketch
of Allston’s character and works, from
[ s the London Athenaeum. We cannot give
our readers a better conception of the
mind of this distinguished man and ar
tist, than by extracting a few of the beau
tiful and laconic sentences, which, Mrs.
Jameson says, he had hung around his
walls on fragments of paper, stuck up
with a wafer or pin, to serve as texts for
reflection before he began his days work.
— South. Chronicle.
‘‘Reputation isbutasynonymeof popu
larity: dependent on suffrage, to be in
creased or diminished at the will of the
voters. It is the creature, so to speak, of! i
its particular age, or rather of a particu- I
lar stateot society; consequently,dying I
with that which sustained it. Hence we I
can scarcely go over a page of history j
that we do not, as in a church-yard, tread; 1
upon some buried reputation. ' But fameL
cannot be voted down, having its imme- i
diate foundation in the essential. It is
the eternal shadow of excellence, from
which it can never be separated ; nor is
it ever made visible but in the light of an
intellect kindled with that of its author.
It is that light which projects the shadow
which is seen of the multitude, to be
wondered at and reverenced, even while
so little comprehended as to be often con
founded with the substance—the sub
stance being admitted from the shadow,
as a matter of faith. It is the economy
Providence to provide sucn lights: like
rising and setting stars, they follow each
other through successive ages: and thus
the monumental form of Genius stands
for ever relieved against its own imper
ishable shadow.”
•'vV
AUGUSTA, GA. SATURDAY, MARCH 23, 1844.
“ Fame does not depend on the will ofl
any man, but reputation maybe given or
taken away. Fame is the sympathy of!
kindred intellects, and sympathy is not a
subject of willing: while reputation,
having its source in the popular voice, is
a sentence which may either be utter or
suppressed at pleasure. Reputation, be
ing essentially contemporaneous, is al
ways at the mercy of the envious and the
ignorant. Hut Fame, whose very birth is
posthumous, and which is only known to
exist by the echo of its footsteps through j
congenial minds, can neither be increased
nor diminished by any degree of will.”
“ What light is in the natural world,
such is fame in the intellectual: both re
quiring an atmosphere in order to become
! perceptible. Hence the fame of Michael
Angelo is, to some minds, a nonentity;
even as the sun itself would be invisible
in vacuo.”
“ Fame has no necessary conjunction
with praise; it may exist without the
breath of a word; it is a recognition of
excellence which must be felt, but need
not bo spoken. Even the envious must
feel it: feel it, and hate it in silence.”
“I cannot believe, that any man who
deserved fame, ever labored for it; that
is, directly. For as Fame is bat the con
tingent of excellence, it would be like an
attempt to project a shadow, before its
substance was obtained. Many, howev
er, have so fancied. ‘ I write, I paint for
fame,’ has often been repeated : it should
have been, ‘ I write, I paint for Reputa
tion.’ AH anxiety, therefore, about Fame,
should be placed to the account of repu
tation.”
There is an essential meanness in the
wish to get the better of any one. The
only competition worthy a wise man, is
with himself.
“ It is a hard matter for a man to lie all
; over, Nature having provided king’s evi
dence in almost every member. The
, hand will sometimes act as a vane, to
show which way the wind blows, when
i every feature is set the other way : the
, knees smite together, and sound the alarm
|of fear under a fierce countenance : the
legs shake with anger, when all above is
: calm.”
“ Mako no man you idol! For the
_ best man must have faults, and his faults
will usually become yours, in addition to
your own. This is as true in art, as mor
als.”
“ There is one thing which no man,
however generously disposed, can give,
but which every one, however poor, is
bound to pay. This is Praise. He can
not give it, because it is not his own ;
since what is dependent for its very exis
tence on something in another, can nev
er become to him a possession ; nor can
he justly withhold it, when the presence
of merit claims it as a consequence. As
praise, then, cannot be made a gift , so.
neither, when not his due, can any man
receive it: he may think he docs, but he
receives only words; for desert being the
essential, condition of praise, there can
be no reality in the one without the oth
er. This is no fanciful statement: for
though praise may be withheld by the ig
norant or envious, it cannot be but that,
in the course of time, an existing merit
will, on some one, produce its effects; in
asmuch as the existence of any cause
without its effect, is an impossibility. A
fearful truth lies at the bottom of this, an
irreversible justice for the weal or woof
him who confirms or violates it.”
A Mother’s Tears.
There is a touching sweetness in a
mother’s tears when they fall upon the
face of her dying babe, which no eye can
behold without imbibing its influence.
Upon such hallowed ground the foot of
profanity dares not approach. Infidelity
I itself is silent, and forbears its scoffings.
I And here, woman displays not her weak- i
I ness, but her strength ; it is that strength
* - -7 -- vv. vwgWJ
of attachment which can never to its full
intensity be realized. It is parennial. de
pendant on no climate, no changes ; but
alike in storm or sunshine; it knows no
shadow of turning. A father when he
sees his child going down to the dark
valley, will weep when the shadow of
death has fully come over him ; and as
the last parting knell falls on his ear he
may say, “ I go down to the grave of my
son in mourning.” But the hurry of
business draws him away; the tear is
wiped from his eye, and if when he turns
from his fireside, the vacancy in the fam
ily circle reminds him of his loss the
succeeding day blunts the poignancy of
his grief, until at length it finds no per
manent seat in his heart. Not so with
’jher who has borne and nourished the ten
der blossom. It lives in the heart where
'it was first entwined in the dreaming
hours of night. She sees its playful mirth
or hears its plaintive cries: she seeks it
in the morning, and goes to the grave to
; weep there.
The Young Greek Girl.
A young Greek girl, whose lover, smit
-1 ten with the plague, was conveyed to the
1 temporary hospital at the seven towers,
'I had no sooner ascertained whether they
1 had carried him, than without saying a
word to her parents, who would, she
well knew, have opposed her design, she
left her home, and presented herself at
the portal of the infected fortress, as a
nurse of the young Greek, who had been
received there on the previous day. In
vain did the governor, imagining from
her youth, and the calm and collected
manner in which she offered herself up
as an almost certain victim to the pesti.
lencc, that she was not aware of her dan
' ger, endeavoring to dissuade her from her
project. She was immoveable, and was
ultimately permitted to approach the bed
side of the dying sufferer.
Not a tear, not a murmur escaped her,
as she took her place beside his pillow and
entered upon her desperate office. In the
paroxysms of his madness, as the poison
was feeding upon his strength and grap
pling at his brain, he spoke of her fondly
. —he talked to her—he stretched forth his
I hand to clasp her—and he thrust her
from him when he yelled out in his ago
ny, and his limbs writhed beneath the
’ torture of the passing spasm.
And she bore it all unshrinkingly; and
_ even amid her misery she felt a thrill of
joy as she discovered that pain and mad
ness had alike failed to blot her image
’ from his memory. But there were mo
ments less fearful than these, in which
' reason resumed her temporary sway, and
the devoted girl was pressed to the fever
• ed bosom of her fatal lover, and in these,
' brief as they were, she felt that she was
1 overpaid tor all.
! But the struggle of even youth and
1 strength against the most painful of all
! diseases could not last long. The pa.
s tient expired in the arms of his devoted
mistress, and as he breathed his last, be
; queathed to her at once his dying smile
5 and the foul poison which was coursing
) through his veins. She saw him laid in
■ his narrow grave; and then she turned
away with the conviction that she too was
, plague-smitten.
, She did not return home; but stood a
i few paces from one of the companions of
■ her youth, and made her bear to her aged
; parents her blessings and her prayer.
■ This done she fled to the mountains and
■ sought a solitary spot wherein to die.
i None knew how long she lingered, for she
! was never seen again in life; but her
i body was found a tew days afterwards be
. ncath a ledger of earth, in a double up
i position, as though the spasm was a bitter
! one.
: She who had sacrificed herself to soothe
i the last hours of him whom she loved, per
ished alone, miserably, in the wild soli
• tude of the Asian hills ; and her almost
Roman virtue has met with no other
, record than the brief one in which I have
here attempted to perpetuate the memory
of her devotion and her fate.
Advice to Young Ladies. —Addison
' says, “ I have found that men who are
• really most fond of the society of ladies,
who cherish lor them a high respect, are
seldom the most popular with the sex.
Men of great assurance whose tongues
are lightly hung, who make words supply
the place of ideas, and place compliment
in the room of sentiment, are the favor
ites. A true respect for woman leads to
respectful action toward them; and re
spectful is usually distant action; and
this great distance is mistaken by them
for neglect, or want of interest.”
Recipe for Good Humor. —Rise be
times in the morning, and go early to
rest, that the body may be preserved in
health ; let your first reflections be—how
short are the hours before you, if devoted
to business, study, social employment, or (
other rational recreation ; and then find
time, if you can, to indulge in spleen and |
ill humor.
Mount JEtna. —The number of lives
lost in consequence of the late eruptions 1
is stated at 143. Most of the victims t
were foreigners,including many English 1
men, who were attracted to the spot by I
curiosity, to witness this phenomenon of '
nature. The damages done to the fields,
vineyards, and cattle, is estimated at a
million and a half of ducats. i
[One Dollar a Year.
The Bride.
The writings of Washington Irving
I abound in pictures, which, for delicacy,
i taste, and truth are not surpassed by any
writings in the English language. The
i following is an exquisite passage from a
chapter in his Bracebridge Hall:
“I know no sight more charming and
touching than that of a young and timid
bride, in her robes of virgin white, led up
, trembling to the altar. When I thus be
hold a lovely girl in the tenderness of her
years, forsaking the house of her father,
and the home of her childhood—and, with
the implicit confidence, and the sween
self-abandonment which belong to wo
man, giving up all the world for the man
of her choice; when I hear her in the
i good old language of the ritual, yielding
i herself to his for 4 better or for worse, for
1 richer, for poorer, in sickness and in
i health, to love, honor, and obey, till death
■us do part’—it brings to mind the beauti
■ till and affecting devotion of Ruth,
■ 4 Whither thou goest I will go, and where
i thou lodgest I will lodge; thy people shall
■ be my people, and thy God my God.’ ”
, Teeth.
1 Mrs. Child says that the careful remo
; val of substances between the teeth,
i rinsing the mouth after meals, and a bit
. of charcoal held in the mouth, will al
r ways cure a bad breath. Charcoal used
s as a dentifrice (that is, rubbed on in pow
r der with a brush,) is apt to injure the
• enamel; but a lump of it held in the
3 mouth two or three times a week and
slowly chewed, has a wonderful power to
1 preserve the teeth and purify the breath,
f The action is purely chemical. It coun
teracts the acid arising from a disordered
? stomach, or food decaying around the
. gums, and it is this acid which destroys
i the teeth- She adds: “A friend of ours
1 had, when about twenty years o e age, a
. front tooth that turned black, gradually
, crumbled, and broke off piece-m&al. By
s frequently chewing charcoal, the^progress
of docay was not only arrested, but na
-1 turewas set vigorously to work to restore
1 the breach, and the crumbled portion
. grew again, till the whole tooth was sound
las before. Every one knows that char
- coal is an antiputrescent. It thus tend 9
j to preserve the teeth, and to sweeten the
r breath.”
i ~——*
A Good One.
3 A very good widow lady, who was look
ed up to by the congregation to which
, she belonged as an example of piety,
[ contrived to bring her conscience to
I terms for one little indulgence. She
loved porter, and one day just as she was
j receiving a half dozen bottles from the
man who usuallly brought her the com
j sorting beverage, she perceived (O hor
r ror!) two of the grave elders of the
church approach her door. She ran the
, man out the back way, and put the bot
r ties under the bed. The weather was
hot, and while conversing with her sage
3 friends, pop went one of the corks.
“ Dear me,” exclaimed the good lady,
„ “ there goes that bed cord; it snapped
t yesterday just the same way; I must
r have a new rope provided.”
3 In a few moments, pop went another,
followed by the peculiar hiss of the es
caping liquor. The rope would’nt do
again, but the good lady was not at a
i loss.
3 “ Dear me,” says she, “ that black cat
, of mine must be at some mischief there.
3 S’cat 1”
• Another bottle popped off, and the por
s ter came stealing out from under the bed
’ curtains.
t “O, dear me,” said she, “Ihad'for
■ got, it’s the yeast !—Here Prudence!
) come take away these bottles of yeast /”
■ — N. O. Picayune.
i A graduate of Cambridge gave anoth
er the lie, and a challenge followed.—
The mathematical tutor of his college,
the late Mr. V , heard of the dispute
and sent for the youth, who told him he
must fight— 4 Why V said the mathema
tician. 4 He gave me the lie.’ ‘Very
well let him prove it; if he prove it, you
did lie ; and if he does not prove, he lies.
Why should you shoot one another ? Let
him prove it.’
Self Defence.— -The Seamstresses of
Rochester, N. Y., who have been obliged
to work for less than living remuneration,
have formed an association for their mu
tual benefit. They have opened a room
where they receive work.
The trial of the famous Mrs. Gilmour,
at Edinburg, has resulted in her acquittal.