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From the American Farmer.
Work for September.
As much of the success of next year's labors
will depend upon the manner in which the work
of this month may be executed, we feel that we
cannot too urgently impress upon our agricultu
ral brethren the necessity of paying particular
attention to every duty now devolving upon them,
and to see that whatever may lie done, shall be
performed in the best possible manner, and that
no delay which can be avoided be permitted to
take place as to the time of its performance.
With this brief introduction, we shall proceed to
point out what ought now to be attended to on
the farm.
Pall Ploughing for Grain ■—Many of you
have doubtless commenced this work. To such
we say, push on with ydur labors until you shall
have completed them. To those who have not
begun, our advice is, to begin without another
day’s delay; and on both we would urge the pro
priety of observing care as to the manner of
ploughing. Let your furrows be ploughed deep,
and the slices so laid as to bury all vegetable mat
ter and pulverize the soil; for believe us, these
are objects of the very first importance.
Seeding Rye. —ln putting in this crop see that
you commit your seed to sod calculated to remu
nerate you for your labor, as it is fruitless to be
# expending your force and time on land too poor
to yield a compensating return. Where the
ground may he really poor, by the application of
a bushel of plaster and two bushels of salt, or
four of ashes, per acre, you may place the soil in
a position to make moderate amends for its lack
ot fertility, as these substances will absorb nutri
ment from the atmosphere, assimilate with it, and
dispense it to the crop, as well as maintain a
healthful moisture throughout the season. Be
sure too, to get your Rye in early, and to sow at
least five pecks to the acre. It is scarcely for us
to remind you, that no land should be seeded be
fore it is finely pulverized by repeated harrow
ings, and that after the seed is in, it should be
again harrowed and finished by rolling.
Seed Wheat. — We last month endeavored to
impress upon you the propriety of early seeding,
and wc will here repeat, that we believe much
danger may be avoided by getting in this grain
much earlier than you have been in the habit of
sowing it. We will sum up our advice in a few
brief rules: Sow early — sow plenty of seed,not
less than two bushels to the acre— soak your seed
in a salt brine or ley, for 12 or 21 hours before
strwing, and as you take it out to sow, dry it in
lime or ashes —if your landhas not been limed or
marled , sow thereon five bushels of lime per acre,
after the seed is in—if your land is nut rich, sow
over each acre a bushel of plaster and two of salt.
Indeed whether rich or not, we think you will
find your interest promoted by sowing the plaster
and salt over it, as we bciieve it would have the
tendency of not only fixing the ammonia in the
soil, but of retaining it in store, to be fed out gra
dually to the growing plants, and of preventing
to a certain extent, the rust.
Sowing of Grass Seed. —All meadows, in
tended to he set in grass seed, should be prepared
and sown as soon in this month as possible. The
soil should be made fine and plenty of seed be
•own. The following proportions will answer:
If Timothy alone, from 1 to 1J peck per acre,
the latter quantity the most eligible one.
If Orchard grass alone, 2 bushels per acre.
If Red Top alone, 1 bushel per acre,
If a mixture of any two of thqge be desirable,
one half the quantity of each should be sown.
The following mixture would make a good
one: 1 bushel of Rye grass, &1 of orchard grass,
to be sown early in this month, and to have 12ibs.
of clover seed per acre sownlhereon next spring
as soon as the seed can lie lightly harrowed in
and rolled without injury to the ground.
Recollect that a light harrow is better than a
bush harrow, as the latter always drags the seed
into irregular masses.
Draining and Ditching. —This month is ad
vantageously suited to such work, and if you
ha«e any arable ground vhat is wet, be sure to
have it drained, as no plants can thrive as they
ought to do in a wet bed.
H eeds, Leaves and Mould. —Can we prevail
upon you to go to work with one of your teams
and a hand or two, and collect some hundreds of
loads of these substances and cover over the yard
in which you intend to keep your stock. By do
ing so now, they will become consolidated by the
time you yard your cattle; and relv upon it, that
they will make every pound of it good manure by
next spring; but if you desire that there shall be
no loss from evaporation of the gem-like liquid,
spread a bushel of plaster or charcoal over the
mass, once in two weeks, from the time you yard
your stock until you cart on your manure in the
spring. Be sure, too, in forming your yard, to
make it in the shape of a basin, so that none of
the rich fertilizing juices may be washed away.
Hogs and Hog Pens— If you have the means
-I of pen-feeding, pen some of your hogs, and pro
vide them with materials to convert into manure
for you.
Salting Stock.--Ta.kc equal parts of salt and
lime, mix them together, and giveto every animal
on your place, twice a week, one gill of the
mixture.
T- t
Preparation for Wither.
With farmers it is important to have all neces
sary preparations for the hard weather that is
approaching. It is as essential to save crops as
to make them, and too often it is the case that
gathering is delayed too long. Coni, after ma
turing, loses daily till housed.
Sweet Potatoes should be put away before
frost, and Irish potatoes are liable to injury after
the cold sets in. Above all things, have prepa
rations to shelter stock of everv kind. iMilch
AUGUSTA WASHINGTONIAN.
A WEEKLY PAPER: DEVOTED TO TEMPERANCE, AGRICULTURE, & MISCELLANEOUS READINGS.
Vol. III.]
cows cannot be kept in good condition without
protection from the pelting storms, and they will
not give half the milk.
An open shelter, with a souther exposure, is
easily constructed and answers an admirable pur
pose. Sheep should have shelters where they
can escape the cold rains, and lie down on dry
places.
Hogs are the better to have protection from
the rain. Care, however, should be taken that
their sheds be kept free from wet straw, corn
husks, or any thing that will produce diseases of
the skin. It is important that their apartments
have all the dust and litter scraped out every few
days.
The secret of having stock in good condition 1
through winter, is to have them fat at the start,
and then commence feeding early, and be sure <
that they have regular attention and are not suf
fered to fall otf. One good animal, well attend
ed, is worth more than two inferior ones neglect
ed. A fat, strong farm horse will do more work 1
than two feeble, poor animals. Keep no more ►
animals than can always be in condition, is the
secret of success, and it is to be regretted few ad
here to this rule.— Tenn. Ag.
~iSi©EL (jjj 5a
The Trapper;
A LEGEND OP THE WEST.
On the shores of the Hudson, in time long
since passed away, an isolated being lived, bear
bearing the name of Nick Wofscy. His solita
ry home was in a valley of the highlands, about
a mile from the river’s bank, and his occupation
consisted in hunting and trapping, and trading
for furs for the Indians. He was tall and gaunt,
with a peculiarly stern and even melancholy ex
pression of feature, and, from his lonely gloomy
habits, seemed to claim no kith nor kindred with
any living creature. The only companion of
his hours was a grizzly deer hound, whose speed
often o’ermatchod the fleetest buck ; and once he
closed with a silver panther, and, despite the
monster’s furious struggles, tore the windpipe,
from his throat. Crouched before the fire in the
log-cabin, he would watch each move and ges
ture of his master, and be as ready as his shadow
to obey the bock and look.
Thus veais had conic and gone, and still found
no change in the trapper’s home.
One day, a party of Indians, of the Penobscot
tribe, approached his dwelling, and proffered
skins, in exchange for the white man’s fire-wa
ter and gunpowder. Among them was a girl of
singular beauty, and with her Nick Wolsey be
came suddenly and deeply enamoured. As he
looked at her full, round, and faltless form, his
eyes flashed with the fire in his veins, and the
volcano of his passion burst through each fibre
of his frame. No sooner was this feeling engen
dered, than he strove to win the tawny-skinned
bcauty---as many a fair one has been won—by
pouring gifts into her lap; and long before a cess
ation of his profuseness took piace, dozens of
strings of beads were twined round her arms and
neck, and rings and baubles of all kinds bediz
ened her person. Then the whiskey-flask was
offered gratuitously to the company, and Nick’s
suit progressed with the brightness and velocity
of a sky-rocket. In a short time a demand was
made for the red man’s daughter, accompanied by
a present of a hatchet and knife to the father,
and a wdling consent obtained.
A chief, whose fiery glance shewed the effects
of the |>otcnt dram, bent his bow, and winged an
arrow perpen licularly to the clouds; and as it
drove into the earth, quivering with the force, di
rected the trapper to remain by the side of the
weepon. Then ho shot for one hundred yards,
in a direct lino, and the expectant bride was con
ducted to the spot where it fell by her father and
friends. A third was driven into the ground, a
few feet from where she stood, and thcchief, who
acted as apriest in the ceremony, addressed Nick
Wolsey, by saying, as he again pointed an arrow
upwards, “ If my white brother would win the
bird, he must catch her ere she gains her nest;”
and drawing his bow, the barbed arrow twanged
from the string, and away rushed the trapper at
the signal. For a brief second, the coquette
seemed resolved to reach the goal which would
have freed her from the plighted troth; hut stop
ping suddenly in her rapid race, she turned upon
her heei, and threw herself, with a ringing laugh,
into Nick’s outstretched arms.
A shout of triumph announced the success of
Nick’s suit; and to all, save one, the completion
appeared to give great satisfaction. This was an
Indian youth, an undeclared lover of the trap
per’s bride. In secret he had worshipped the
idol of his affection, trusting that time would en
able him to gain the prize, and, when his hope
seemed ripening, he saw her thus suddenly lost
to him, and lost forever. ’
“May the great spirit strengthen my arm!’
said he, dashing forwards with all his savage na
ture roused within him; and like a tiger spring
ing upon his prey, he was about burying his knife
between the shoulders of the unsuspecting trap
per, when backwards he went to the earth, as if
a whistling bullet had crashed through his brain,
in the tanged gripe of Nick’s deerhound.
“ Hilloa!” exclaimed the trapper, releasing his
wife from an embrace resembling a grizzly bear’s
tenderness. ‘ Why, what’s this about, ehl’
The drawn knife in the fallen Indian’s grasp,
and his ferocious aspect, quickly revealed the
cause of the dog’s attack, who continued to pin
him to the ground in his torturing hold.
‘Art jealous, man?’ said Nick, laughing, and
bestowing a kick of no gentle force on his pros
trate enemy. ‘ Art jealous V And lifting him
from the earth, after snatching the blade from his
hand, he cuffed him, amid the jibes and the jeers
of his tribe, far away from the scene of his dis
comfiture.
Months rolled away. The maple-leaf wore
the brown tint of seering autumn, and Nick
Wolsey was a rough, but doating father. Upon
returning from examining his traps, late one
evening, he was somewhat astonished, and not
a little vexed, at his wife’s neglecting to meet
him, according to her wonted custom, some short
distance from the log cabin.
* Where is Minamee, I wonder V said he, stri
ding towards the door; and as he reached the
threshold, he stumbled heavily against something
laid across it. Upon stooping to ascertain the
cause, he discovered the lifeless body of his faith
ful deerhound.
1 MinameeI’lie 1 ’lie shouted, with stentorian lungs.
AUGUSTA, GA. SEPTEMBER 14, 1844.
‘ Sea and earth 1 how happened this"? Minamee,
I say!’
‘Hush!’ exclaimed a voice, in a whisper.—
* Hush, you’ll wake my child.’
‘Wake your child!’ repeated lie, hearing his
wile nestling her infant to her bosom, as he threw
open the door. ‘ Wake your—” the sentence
was unfinished. Fell horror petrified him with
the sight that presented itself; his lower jaw
dropped, and his eyes seemed ready to start from
their sockets; the warm blood curdled in his
veins, and the checked pulse ceased its throbbing.
Sitting before the hearth, upon the floor, there
was the young mother, bearing marks of cruel
violence in her gashed features and disordered
dress, and pressing to her breast the headless
trunk of her infant. Pale was her countenance;
and the fixed glassy stare betokened madness in
all its horrid form.
‘ Say,’ screamed the trapper, rushing to the
side of his demented wife— ‘ say how—who has
done this 1’
> ‘ Hush!’ replied Minamee, I Do you not see
he sleeps V
‘ God of heaven '.’—exclaimed he—‘she’s daft
—gone wild—mad!’ and scarcely less so himself,
the strong, hold hunter howled in his misery
For days he was unable tojearn the particulars
of the terrible catastrophe. At length, a change
took place in the benighted reason of his wife;
hut, like the remaining spark in the charred em
hre, it was the last effort of the mind ere death
expunged its miseries.
It appeared that at sunset Minamee was pre
paring to set out to meet her husband, after roll
ing her little charge in a robe of buffalo skin,
and placing him on his bed of straw, when the
long shadow of a man was east suddenly into the
entrance, and as quickly disappeared. ’.The. deer
hound sprung from the door, on which he had
been lying, and, as he leaped to the doorway, fol
lowed by his mistress, the sharp crack of a rifle
was heard, and the noble animal foil dead at her
feet. In an instant afterwards, the form of an
Indian, whom Minamee at once recognized as the
foiled assassin at her marriage, bounded into the
cabin, and, despite the mother’s furious struggles,
clutched herchil'd from his little couch, and bran
dishing his knife with savage yells, severed the
head from its body.
1 There,’ said he, pitching the corpse towards
the frantic mother,' is iny revenge. Blood to the
red man’s wrong, is as water to fire. lam satis
fied. Farewell!’ and turning upon his heel, he
quitted the spot, like one who had accomplished
a noble deed, with a low and haughty foot tall.
The hitherto hapyv and contented home of
the trapper was now desolated. It was a long,
long time since tears had fallen ftorn lS’ick Woi
sey’s eyes; but as he watched the sinking mo
ments of his dying wife, they chased each other
down his furrowed cheeks in streams, and show
ed the floodgates of his heart were open. As the
sun rose, the spirit of Minamee fled.
‘ Revenge !’ exclaimed the tracer, rising from
the side of the dead body of his wife, over which
he had mourned for hours. ‘ I’ll have such ltc
vence!’ continued he, with a convulsive laugh.
‘ The white man’s vengeanccshall at least match
the red.’
Mounting his small but fleet horse, caught
from the wild praric, the trapper turned his head
towards the west, and driving his heels into her
flanks, gallopped, like one reckless of life and
limb, to the valley of the Mohawk. There, as
he anticipated, he found the tribe from whom his
Indian wife had been chosen. Brief was the
horrid talc of his wrongs, and as brief his de
mand for justice,
1 Give me,’ said the trapper,'themurderer, and
let ine deal with him as I list.’
Tile chiefs listened with that seeming apathy
with which they listen to every relation, whether
of good or of evil; and continued to send volumes
of smoke, curling up from their lips, as they sat
in a circle about the fire, without a perceptible
emotion of any kind. At length the elder said,
after a long silence, 1 My white brother says well.
Let it he so. Deal with him as you list. Take
him hence.’
The consent obtained, a howl of savage delight
hurst from the trapper’s breast as he pounced like
a galled tiger upon his victim. ‘You’re mine!’
cried he, clutching the remorseless wretch by the
throat, and lifting him from the earth in his braw
ny grasp like a weak, puny child. * You’re
mine!’ repeated he; ‘and as ye gave no mercy,
none shall he given ye.’
Winding long narrow strips of untanned hide
round the Bhoulders, arms, and wrists of the
prisoner, he hound them tight to his body, and
fixing one end to his rude stirrup, threw himself
upon his horse to retrace his steps at a slow and
leisure pace. The trapper appeared even to se
lect the path with care, so that the prisoner might
not be injured by brake or brier in their progress.
In silence—without one word being spoken in
that long, long night —they continued on through
waste and wild. The unruffled Hudson reflect
ed the clear rays of the moon, bright and unbro
ken as a looking-glass. The refreshing mists
rol'ed along the sides of the highlands in grace
ful folds, and nothing broke on the ear but the
wash ot waters and the melancholy note of the
whip-poor-will. Just as the first tinge of light
streaked the east, the trapper arrived at the door
of his cabin ; and aftersecuring hisprisoner, be
yond the chanceof escape, to the trunk of a pri
meval willow hard by, he at once began the task
ot his unequalled unheard of revenge. With a
hatchet, he cut the long and stout branches from
the willow, and tying them firmly together with
pieces of dried skin, forming a sort of rough,
strong basket, resembling a large cradle. When
this was complete, he threw his helpless captive
into it, at full length, with his face upwards, and,
passing strips of hide through the appertures of
the cradle from his feet to the neck, bound him
fast, that not even a sinew might be moved.—
Then, taking the corpse of his wife—ill-fated
Minamee ! he placed it face to face with his
prisoner. The horrified wretch clenched and
ground Uis teeth as the body pressed upon his;
but no groan escaped his lips. His bloodshot
eyes revealed the anguish of his soul; still he
would not speak. In a few minutes the living
and the dead were lashed together. The breath
ing man and putrid corpse, festering in corrup
tion, were as one. When so much of-the horrid
work was finished, the trapper stood with fold
ed arms, and, with fiendish smile, surveyed the ad
vancement of his task.
‘ And now to complete it,’ said he, lifting the
load lightly in his arms, and placing it long
ways on the back of his horse tethered on
the green Sward. The animal sniffed the air.
and would have plunged from his burthen, had j
not the well-known voice of his master soothed i
and quietted him. Still he stood with fiery eve
balls and dilateel nostrils, ready to flv from his
own shadow, as he felt the offensive stench issu
ing trom the cradle. Girdingitin the same fash
ion as the bodies were bound together, round the
loins, ribs, and neck of the horse, he so contri
ved to fix it, that neither jolt nor jar could move i
it from its firm position.
1 Now, my eagle of the rock,’ said the trapper, j
addressing his horse— ‘ my untamed unicorn, you j
shall, for the first time since yc left the prairie
grass, feel the effects of the lash;’ and taking a
punishing switch in his hand, he struck the ani
mal sharply until wrought to a pitch of fury and
pain, f lakes of foam flew from his mouth,
and streams of perspiration rolled from every
pore in his skin. Leaping in the air, like a
stricken stag, he strove to snap the bond which i
held him, and at length, with one terrific plunge
and cry of terror, broke away with the speed of
thought, and swept through forest, swamp and
wild, with madness in every stride. On, on he
went. The flood passed, the prairie gained ;
still on he went. The noontide sun darted his
rays, unbroken by leaf or bough, upon the flee
ing o'erloadcd steed; but still his gallop was un
slackencd, His skimming shadow became gi
gantic in the falling light; and still he'eontinued
on. The pale mood tipped in the thin fleecy
clouds with her silver light; and yet his speed
was unabated.
’Tissaid—but ever in a whisper—by the hun
ters of the far west, that the horse may be seen
scouring the plains, where the footfall of man is
seldom heard, with his load of the living and the
dead.
The World.
This is n. pretty good world, after all.
To be sure, one geti jostled about con
foundedly, in one way and another, by
the scrambling, eager, mammon-seeking,
selfish people who live in it ; but then, as
our venerable old friend the ’Squiae used
to say—“there is a great deal of fun left
yet,” and every one can get his share of
it, if he keeps his eyes and his heart open,
and his conscience clear. It depends al
together upon how you take it, whether
the world is worth a red cent to vou or not.
If you are looking for perfection in it,
you may as well hang up your fiddle.—
It is a kind of rough-and-tumble affair,
with a great doal of good and some ill
nature mixed up in the skrimmetge.—
Now and then a fellow will trip up your
heels in the rudest manner imaginable,
and if you wish to trip up his in return,
why, the chances are that you will get a
“trip and a twitch” next time. But if
you take it in good part, rub the spot that
is bruised, and push along about your bu
siness, you will find life quite a funny af
fair. When you have occasion to elbow
your way along, as very likely you may
have to do, don’t be very careful to thrust
the sharpest part of your elbow among
your neighbor’s short ribs;—if you do,
ten to one your neighbor has got a sharp
er elbow than you have, and if he gives
you a dicarty poke in the bread-basket,
with it, it will spoil all the fun. And
then if a man tells you he don’t think
you are any great shakes, why, you can
say “ ditto” to him, as school boys do, but
it won’t help the matter. He may be a
very small shake, indeed, but your telling
him so won’t make him feel any better
satisfied with himself or you either.---
Now we all depend upon the good opinion
of ourselves and one another for a great
deal of happiness in life, and so what is
the use of making a man think worse
either of himself or you ? “ Hard words
butter no parsnips,” and if any body
calls you “ no great shakes,” it isn’t
worth while for you to retaliate and call
him a “small potatoe,” nor intimate that
there are but “few of him in a hill.”
“Life is a sea.” So argues the moral
ist. And a rough one, too, if you don’t
know the lay of the rocks. They are
sticking up all around within a hair’s
breadth of the surface; and if you have
not wit enough to steer clear of them,
you are worse off than the “ three wise
men of Gotham” who “ went to sea in a
bowl”—they had sea-room enough, prob
ably, though their vessel was trail. It
isn’t so with you. The bottom of your
craft is frailer than potter’s ware, and
you are close on a lee shore—but if you
mind your helm, you can scoot round a
mong the little eccentricities which are
every where protruding their jagged
points, if you will, just as easy as clam
shells. But if you want to go blunder
ing along in an awkward gondola, and
run foul of every thing, you can do it—
it is the easiest thing in the world—but
then it don't pay. It is just as easy to
“ make a little something” out of life, ns
it is to let it alone; and the man who
goes through it without doing so is a fool.
In short, to bring our homely sayings
to a point, it is the easiest thing in world
to be happy. The world is so full of in
teresting objects placed here for the very
purpose of calling forth our affections,
that all we have to do is to open our
hearts to them, and they will gush in and”
[No. 9.
I gush out, like a spring of living water.
Kind words and generous deeds will win
one s way through life, and reader points
| less the thorns which goad so many to
■ misery and misanthropy.
Christianity.
Christianity, like a child, goes wander
mg over the world. Fearless in its in
nocence, it is not abashed before princes
nor confounded by the wisdom of synods!
Before it the blood-stained warrior
sheathes his sword and plucks the laurel
from his brow, the midnight murderer
turns from h.s purpose, and like the heart
smitten disciple goes out and weeps bit.
terly. It brings liberty to the captive,
jov to the murderer, freedom to the slave
repentance and forgiveness to the sin!
ner, hope to the faint-hearted and assn
ranee to the dying. It enters the hut of
the poor man, and sits down with them
and their children ; it makes them con
tented m the midst of privations and
leaves behind an everlasting blessing.—
It walks through great cities amid all
heir pomp and splendor, their imagina
de pride, and their unutterable misery,
purifying, ennobling, correcting, and-re
deeming angel. It is like the beautiful
companion of childhood, and the com
fortable associate of age. It ennobles
the noble ; gives wisdom to the lovely,
lhe patriot, the poet, and the eloquent
man, all derive their sublime power from
its influence.— Mary Hov.ett.
Colt’s Submarine Destructive Out-Done.
At Brighton, England, on the 20th ult.
Captain Warner made a successful ex
periment with a newly invented explosive
power in blowing up a 300 ton brig, in
presence of Lord Brougham, and an im
mense concourse of spectators. The
problem to be solved by the experiment
was, whether those on board a ship in
chase could use the explosive power to
destroy the pursuing ship. Capt. War
ner was on board the steamer William
V allace, with the brig i n tow, about a
quarter of a mile distant; and after con
siderable delay he was seen to lower
something into the water, and at a given
signal from a committee on the shore a
burst of smoke like vapour—water sent
upwards from the sea, higher than the
masts—-enveloped the ship; the mist
cleared off, and the vessel was seen to
be struck amid-ship, the water showing
through its timbers, its mizen gone by
the board, its mainmast shot away “like
a rocket; it keeled over, its head went
down, and in two minutes and a half from
the explosion, it sank, leaving nothing
but the still standing foremast-head above
water, and all was over. The multitude
were wonder-strickoii at the utter deslruc
tion caused by the something which Capt.
Warner “in the deep bosom of the ocean
buried.” The vfodus operandi is kept a
profound secret for the revealing of which,
with the secret of another destructive
power, called the “ long range,” he asks
the small sum of the English Government
ol 400,000. He professes, with the latter
invention, to be able to sweep the rock
of Gibraltar, demolish Algiers or Toulon,
or destroy a fleet in a heavy sea, all at
the distance of seven miles.
Imposing Funeral Ceremonies.
In Washington City, the several lodges
of the brotherhood of Odd Fellow's be
longing to the District of Columbia,
marched in funeral procession, on Sun
day last, after the remains of their de
parted brother, Past Grand Sire, James
Gettys. No less than ten lodges of the
fraternity formed a part of the procession,
which probably numbered not less than
five hundred members in full regali.
There were also about sixty members of
the order from Baltimore, who attended
the funeral. The founder of the order
of Odd Fellowship in the United States,
Thomas Wildley, Esq. also attended the
funeral.
Cost of Royalty. —-The London cor
respondent of the New York Journal of
Commerce writes:—“lt is said that a
proposition will be submitted for aug
menting the income of tho Queen, on the
score of her increasing family, and that
Her Majesty having become pecuniarily
involved, will seek from her faithful Par
liament a relief from all her difficulties.
Her present debts are stated to be £IOO,-
000. The support of herself, husband
and court. Bull £470,000 a
year, or about $2,210,000.”
WASHIXGTOXIAM
TOTAL ABSTINENCE PLEDGE.
We, whose names are hereunto an
nexed, desirous of forming' a Socirtv for
our mutual benefit, and to guard against
a pernicious practice, which is jojurtesus
to our health, standing am! iamiiies. do
pledge ourselves as Gkhtlemsk: not to
drink any Spirituous or Malt I.icuors.
|| Wine or Cider.