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PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY, BY JAMES MAFFERTY, MACINTOSH-STREET, OPPOSITE TOST OFFICE- Terms of Paper. —For a single copy, one year, Two Dollars: for su:copies, Ten Dollars; for thirteen copies, Twen ty Dollars, payable in advance. Advertisements will be inserted at 50 cents per square for the first insertion, and 25 cents for each continuance — Twelve lines toconstitute a square. A liberal deduction to yearly adveitisers. rj* No letters taken from the Post Office unless postage free. Officers Augusta W. T. A Society. I Dr. JOS. A. EVE, President. Dr. DANIEL HOOK, i ! Rev. WM. J. HARD, > Vice Presidents i HAWKINS HUFF, Esq. ) W-'l. HAINES, Jr. Secretary. L. D. LALLERSTEDT, Treasurer. Managers: James Harper. E. E. Scofield, Rev. C. S. Dod, James Godby, John Milledge, If ini £ We believe that a pound of fine Ma-j rino wool may be raised in that part of; the south suitable for keeping sheep, as cheaply as three pounds of cotton can be grown. The former would be worth 40 cents on the plantatjpn at the lowest, the latter not to exceed 12 cents, which makes a difference in favor of wool growing of more than 300 per ct. But we hear the planters say, well, when we get to raising wool, the price of j that must fall too. Suppose it does ? It will still be a profitable business even at 20 cents per pound; for sheep will on rich your lands and fit them for other j good crops, while cotton impoverishes them. Yet so long as we import wool, j (which wo still continue to do.) there is i little prospect of its becoming lower; | and when we have supplied ourselves, we can then look abroad lor a market. Great Britain imports nearly, it not quite, 50,000,000 lbs. annually, and France a considerable quantity. Here,; then, is a chance ot a market tor a long time ; for wc only raise now about three fifths of what Great Britain alone im ports, and it would be years belorc we could reach the production of 50,000,- 000. In the meanwhile it must be re collected that our own consumption is rapidlv on the increase. Space forbids our pursuing this subject any further in this No., but we intend to revert to the general subject of growing wool in our next. — American Agriculturalist. X. E. flutter Making. Wc extract from the Report of State ments, presented by the Committee of the Essex Agricultural Society, on the Dairy, such portions as will be most in teresting to our readers: “ The Committee on the Dairy, in pre senting their Report, would remark that the first prerequisite in making good but ter is to have good cows. Cases have occurred where a cow has been kept for years with several othets and their milk j put together, on using it separately, it was found that butter could not be made from it. The kind and quantity of salt used, is of much consequence. The Liverpool hag salt should be rejected ; it contains , impurities, and will not preserve butter, j Rock salt perfectly pulverized, and three fourths of an ounce used to a pound of. butter, will preserve it well. Process of making Butter by some of those who gained the Society's premiums. j By George W. Dodge. —The milk is strained into tin pans, where it stands from thirty-six to forty-eight hours, when I it is skimmed and the cream put into tin pails, standing on the bottom of a cool cellar. A little salt is added to the cream which is frequently stirred. We churn twice a week. AA hen the butter comes, the butter-milk is thoroughly worked out, and the butter salted with an ounce to the pound. After twenty-four hours it is j again worked and weighed. By Mrs. Abi Worchester. —The cream was churned twice a week, then the but ter was washed in cold water. One ounce ‘ of fine butter salt was used to one pound of butter, and well worked in After it had remained twenty-four hours, it was worked over and packed down solid in a stone pot and covered with strong brine. By Paul Pillsbury. —The milk is strained into tin pans and stands thirty six hours. The cream is then taken off and put into a tin firkin, and kept until it is ready to be churned, which is twice a week. The butter is well rinsed in cold water and then sailed with one ounce of salt to a pound of butter. In about twenty-four hours it is worked again und packed down and kept on the bottom of the cellar, covered with fine salt. The feed of the cows was a common pasture. Value of the Willow. The importance of the willow to man has been recognised from the earliest age, and baskets made from willow trees, were probably among the first of human manufactures, in countries where these trees abound. The Romans used the twigs for binding their vines and tying AUSUSTA WASiNGTQMFi WEEKLY PAPER: DEVOTED TO TEMPERANCE, AGRICULTURE, & MISCELLANEOUS READINGS. Vol. Hl.] their reeds in bundles, and made all sorts of baskets of them. “ A crop of willow,” ! says an ancient writer, “ was considered j so valuable in the time of Cato, that he j ranked the salitum, or willow field next i in value to the vineyard and the garden.” j In France, the leaves, whether in a green or dried state, are considered the very best food for cows and goats, and horses l in some places are fed entirely upon them, from the end of August till Novein- j I her. Horses so fed, it is stated, will trav- ] jel twenty leagues a day without being fatigued. The bark of the willow and also the leaves, are astringent, and the; bark of the most sort may he employed ; in tanning. AA’iil some one, curious in j j such matters, test the value of the wil- j low, either as provender for cattle, or in tanning, and give us the result of his ex ‘ pei ience ?—Madison Miscellany. A Good Compost. —For sandy land ! take 10 loads of stable or barn-yard ma nure, 5 loads of clay, 10 bushels of ashes, \ \ and 20 bushels of lime, mix the whole j well together, let it remain in pile a few ! days, turn it over, when it will be fit to apply to the land. The above quantity will make a better ! dressing for an acre of land than twenty, ;or even twenty-five loads of stable or barn-yard manure alone, and will last i longer. Lot any one who inny doubt, j try it, and they will he convinced of the truth of what wc say.— Am. Farmer. i The Mother and her Dying Son. The mother breathed deeply when she saw herself alone with her son. She | folded her hands, and raised her eyes to I heaven with an expression which through the whole of the foregoing day had been j foreign to them. It was no longer rest- j less, almost murmuring anxiety; it was a ; mournful, vet at the same time. rWp ; perfi_-:i, nay, K-ving resignation, j ! She bent over her son. and spoke in a ; low voice out of the depths of her affec tionate heart. “ Go, my sweet hoy, go! I will no longer hold thee back, since it is painful to thee ! May the deliverer come ! Thy mother will no longer contend with him to retain thee ! Slay he come and make an end of thy sufferings! I—will then be satisfied! Go then, my first born, my summer-child; and it there may never more coinc a summer to the heart lof thy mother —still go! that thou may cst have rest! Did I make thy cradle sweet, my child! so would I not embitter by my lamentations thy death-bed!— Blessed be thou. Blessed be He also i who gave thee to me and who now takes j thee from me to a better home! Some time my son, I shall come to thee, go thou beforehand my child. Thou art i weary, so weary! Thy last wandering was heavy to thee ! now thou wilt rest, i Come, thou good deliverer, come thou beloved death, and give rest to his heart; but easily, easily. Let him not suffer ; more ; let him not endure more. Never : did lie give care to his parents —” At this moment Ilcnrick opened his eyes and fixed them calmly and full of expression, on his mother. “Thank God!” said he, “ I feel no more pain.” “Thanks and praise be given to God, my child,” said she. Mother and son looked on each other | with deep and cheerful love, they under stood each other perfectly. “ When I am no more,” said he, with j a faint and broken voice, “ then—tell it ■ Gabriello prudently; she has such ten der feeling—and she is not strong. Do not tell it to her on a day—when it is ; cold and dull—but —on a day—when the sun shines warm —when all things look bright and kindly—then, tell it her—that • I am gone first to greet her—and tell her j from me—that it is not difficult to die ! —that there is a sun on the other side”— He ceased, hut with a loving smile on ; his lips, and his eyes closed their lids as j from very weariness. Presently afterwards he spoke again, hut in a very low voice. “Sing me something mother,” said he, “ I shall sleep more calmly, ‘They knock, I come!’ ” These words are the beginning of a song which Henrik had himself written and set to music some time before, during a night of suffering. The genius of poetry seemed to have deserted him during the latter part of his illness; this was painful to him, but his mind remained the same, and the spirit AUGUSTA, GA. FEBRUARY 22, 1845. of poetry lived in the hymn which his; mother now at his request, sang in a trembling voice: They knock! I come! yet cr* on the way To the night of the grave I am pressing, Thou Angel of Death give ise yet one lay— One hymn of thanksgiving and praise. Oh ! thanks for life, and thanks too for death, The bound of all trouble and sighing; How bitter I yet sweet, ’tis to yield our breath When thine is the heart of the dying! By our paths of trial thou plantest still Thy lillics of consolation. But the loveliest of all to do thy will— Be it done with resignation! Farewell, lovely earth, on whose bosom 1 lay ; Farewell all ye dear friends,mourning! Farewell, and forgive all tin faults of uiy days: My heart now in death is burning! “It is burning!” repeated Henrik, in j a voice of suffering. “It is terrible!! Mother! mother!” said he, looking at her with a restless glance. “ Your mother is here,” said she, bend ing over him. “ Ah ! then all is right,” said he again calmly. “Sing, mv mother,” added lie, closing his eyes, “I am weary.” She sang. We part! but in patting our steps wc bend Alone towards that glorious morrow, Where triend no more shall part from friend, Where none knoweth heart-ache or sorrow ! Farewell! all is dark to my failing sight, Young loved forms from my faint gaze rending, ’Tis dark, but oh ! far beyond iiie night, I see light o’er the darkness ascending! “Oh if you only knew how serene it is! It is divine!” said the dying one, ; as he stretched forth his arms, and then ' dropped them again. A change passed over the countenance 'of the young man; death had touched i his heart gently, and its pulsations ceas jed. At the same moment, a wonderful inspiration animated Ihf- mother; l. ■ | eyes beamed brightly, and never before hud her voice so beautiful, so clear a tone as while she sang: Thoucallest, O Father! with glad accord 1 come! Ye dear ones wc sever ! Now the pang is past! now behold 1 the Lord ; Praise be thine,O Eternal, forever! From the National Intelligencer. Engraving—lmportant Discovery* New York, Jan. 30, 1845. Considerable sensation has been pro duced among our engravers hv the news i of a discovery, which is not only likely to affect their interests, to a great extent, hut which, if generally made known, Jinust lead to consequences affecting the ' paper currency of the civilized world, the importance of which it is hardly pos sible to exagerate. lam indebted to Mr. Chapman, the well known artist, for an account of the invention, and a specimen jof a plan produced through its agency. The discovery consists in a process by which an elaborate line engraving of any size may he so accurately copied that there shall be no perceptible difference ; between the original and the copy by which an engraving on steel or copper may be produced from an impression of the print—original plate never having been seen by the copyist—and the copied engraving being capable of yielding from ten to twenty thousand impressions.— The producer will undertake to supply a Bank of England note so exactly copied that the persons who signed and issued it should not be able to swear which was the original and which the copy. From the specimen in my possession, obtained by this process, and which is copied from a proof engraving of the Saviour, from the burin of M. Blanchard, from the painting of Delaroche, I should infer that these claims on the part of the discoverer could be fully substantiated. The most delicate touches are transfer red with perfect fidelity, and this after upwards of four thousand impressions from the duplicated plate had been taken. The London publisher of the engraving submitted one of these copies, together with a proof of the original plate, to several artists, painters, and epgravers; and the opinion at which they arrived was, that, although it was not difficult to distinguish the original from the copy, they were so thoroughly alike that any person of practiced eye might suppose the two to be from the same plate, the one being taken with greater care than the other; they were precisely the same, line for line, and touch for touch; and this example completely establishes the principle. They considered the inven tion the most wonderful and the most unaccountable that had been made in modern times in connection with art. Many guesses have been made as to the mode by which this marvellous pro cess is effected, but as yet without result, i The process does not even infer a ne cessity of requiring the print delivered as a model, which is returned unscathed.— The inventor is an Englishman and an j engraver by profession. He has taken j out no patent, neither does he think it j expedient to do so, inasmuch as, if he j does, any unprincipled person may at once adopt it, with little probability of the i inventor being able to prove that his pro- j cess has been the medium by which the | print has been produced. A friend of j the author of the invention says with j justice, “There is no knowing to what j j extensive changes in legislation it may j I conduce; for, if any printed or written document can be forged with so much ease and certainty to defy any detection, the consequences may he more apalling than we care to anticipate.” The invention embraces the capacity j to reproduce any form of letter press, or any quality of print, drawing, or litho graph, in an unlimited quantity, in an incovceivably space of time. For in stance, from a single copy of the Intelli gencer plates might he produced in twen ty minutes from which impressions could he worked oft’ with the ordinary rapidity of the steam press. The finest and ra rest engravings may he reprinted ad in finitum ; bank notes may he reproduced in sac similie, without the slightest differ ence; and last, though not least, books may be reprinted, as from steerotypes, in unlimited quantity. Indeed, the various mechanical and other interests nft’ected by this remarkable discovery have not yet been half enumerated. Hok i>i <<o¥ti ics Ttftvf, been made. Many of the most important discove ries in (he field of science have been the j result of accident. Two little sons ofj a spectacle, maker in Holland, while their 1 father was at dinner chanced to look at j a distant steeple through two glasses, one ; placed before the oilier. They found the steeple brought much nearer the shop window. They told their lather on his return, and the circumstance led to a course of experiments which ended in the invention of the telescope. Some shipwrecked sailors collected some seaweeds oil 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 alkali of the seaweed had combined with sand, and formed glass, the basis of all our dis coveries in astronomy, and absolutely necessary to our enjoyment. In the days when astrologers and every chemist were seeking after the philoso pher’s stone, some monks, in making up their materials, by accident invented gun powder, which has done so much to dis miss the barbarities of war. Sir Isaac Newton’s most important discoveries, concerning light and gravita tion, were the result of accident. His theory and experiment on light were sug ' gested by the soap bubbles blow’n by a child, and the principle of gravitation, by the fall of an apple as he sat in an or chard ; and it was in hastily stratching on a stone memorandum some articles brought him by a wash woman, that the idea of lithography first presented itself to the mind of Stenefelder. Children take Notice. Nothing escapes the notice of a child ; Dot even a change in the countenance, or in the intonations of the voice. They very early learn to know, by the looks of the parent, or by the tone used, when it is necessary to obey, and when they may with impunity continue their diso bedience. It is a great mistake, in the government ot many, that they raise the voice, when insisting upon obedience to a command —the child wiil always wait until the elevated tone assure him that it will be perilous to refuse. A mother overheard the following re markable, certainly, instructive conver sation, between her hoy and girl, the for mer of whom was the oldest. They were making a disturbance in the entry, while she was conversing with a lady in an adjoining room. In her ordinary tone of voice she requested them to be still. ‘Mother said we must be still,’said the little girl. ‘O, well,’ said the little boy, * sho don’t care ; she won’t punish us,’- — and they began to play again. I Be still, WASHINGTONIAN TOTAL ABSTINENCE PLEDGE* We, whose names are hereunto an* nexed, desirous of forming a Society for our mutual benefit, and to guard against a pernicious practice, which is injurious to our health, standing and families, do pledge ourselves as Genti.emen, not to drink any Spirituous or Malt Liquors ft ine or Cider. [N t O. 32 children,’ said the mother again in the same tone of voice. This time the lit* tie girl stopped; but the little boy com menced again by saying, ‘ don’t be afraid —she never punishes ns without she speaks louder.’ It was a very good les son to the mother. Lpon consideration she found, that the observation of the lit tle fellow was true, that when she really meant what she said, she elevated the pitch of her voice. It is on this account that the parent is often obliged to repeat the command several times before the child obeys ; the child is waiting to learn from the coun tenance or tone, whether the word must be obeyed, or whether it may be evaded. Let the request be clearly stated, but in the usual tone of voice, and without repetition. This course, if habitually toilowed, will secure the immediate obe dience of the child; save the parents unnecessary and aggravating repetitions ; learn the child to be calm and soft in his manners, rather than boisterous and pas sionate—and convince the child the com mand is reasonable, and not the result of caprice or anger. A littl« boy, seven years old, in the ab scence of his parents, carelessly broke a valuable dish. When his father return ed at evening, he told him what he had ; done, and said he was very sorry, and would not do so again, and asked his fa* ! tlier to forgive him. This his father cheerfully did, and told the child he loved him, and did not mind the loss of the dish because he had told the truth about it. The next morning one of the fami ly asked the little boy if he had told his father what he had done the day before. ‘Oil, yes,’said he,‘and father forgave mo, and I knew he would, for the Bible says, *• he that confesseth and forsaketh his sins shall find mercy.”’ 13aily Rising. Fort ch»i when. “ Not yet, Ellen, oh ! not yet—it is tan soon—l shall be up by breakfast-time, and that will do, you know.” Poor Lou ise ! She could not resolve to leave her soft pillow, even when she knew that she was doing wrong to indulge in so idle an habit. Just the evening before, she had been deploring the loss of time which it occasioned her, and she had re solved to overcome it at once. Ellen promised her to waken her very early the next morning, for she had a long lesson to learn before school. And besides, Ellen had told her of some beautiful (lowers in a neighboring field, which she wished very much to gather. All this could bo easily done before breakfast, if she could only keep her good resolution. But, alas ! poor Louise. Her bad habit was too strong for her good resolutions, and while Ellen, with a light step, has tened to gather the bright flowers and re turned in good time with her cheeks as fresh and blooming as they, she lay do zing on her pillow, and when at last she was tempted to rise, her pale cheeks and swollen eves told a sad tale of wasted health and energy. After breakfast she sat down yawning to her lessons, while the bright and cheerful Ellen, with health blooming on her cheek, and sparkling in her eye, easily accomplished her task, and throughout the day felt in the easy and cheerful performance of her duty, the healthful and invigorating effects of early rising.— Youth's Visitor. Important Decision in Chancery- On Tuesday last, Vice Chancellor, Wm. T. McCoun, of this city, made a decision relative to a father’s privileges over his own family, which is so averse to the generally supposed common law rights of man, that a general publicity of it may be the means of saving mill ions of dollars which otherwise might be fruitlessly wasted in investigating the subject. The Vice Chancellor decided and made an order accordingly, “that the father of two children, one seven and the other nine years of age, should not remove either of them out of the juris diction of this Court, (the city of New York) and that the mother have the right to visit and look to them at all times” du ring the pending of a suit in this Court brought by the father for a divorce from his wife; and in this case the father on ly desired to place the children at a res pectable boarding school a short distance trom the city.—iV. Y. Tribune.. A Philosopher being asked" by what means he had acquired so much knowl edge, replied, “By not being prevented by pride, from asking question* when 1 was ignorant.”