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For the Washingtonian
THE ONE KIND WORD:
A Story of more Truth than Poetry.
BY JOHN FRANC. SIARKEY.
I.
JJy own bright land ! My own bright
land, never did the ivy cling around the
oak like my heart clingeth to thee ; nev
er was Indye fair adored by love-lorn
swain as thou art by me. Alt, I have
roamed in other lands and viewed bright
scenes in other climes, yet
eye revelled in the beauty they display
ed, or mine ear drank the soft accents of
strange tongues, whose breathings mur
mured with sweet music, my mind would
wander back far over the blue waves,
and dwell among my own sunny hills
and seem to listen to sounds lisped by
lips that made them enchanting; for
there is something in the human heart
that clings around old familiar places,
and the very mention of their names
conjure up a thousand delightful recollec
tions. Ah, me! I would sooner far, listen
to the sweet notes of the mocking bird thril
ling his soft melody, beneath a summer’s
bright moon-lit sky, than to hear the
warbling of the song-celebrated night
inhale amid his Eastern bowers. And
is it not a mere fancy when they tell me
that our own dear Saxon tongue hath no
music in it, and that it falls harshly on
the ear? Alt! it is sweeter far for me
to bend mine ear to its eloquent and im
passioned breathings, than to hear the
light lilting accents of the gay Parisian,
or the more musically modulated tones
of the degenerate Italian. And there
arc noble hearts beneath my own sunny
sky, that throb with pure and benevolent
feeling, and it is this that endears it to
me more than all besides. And the tale
I tell is of noble hearts, and if thou wilt
lend thine ear, gentle stranger, I will re
late their history.
11.
There is a city that reposes on our
Southern plains with whose beauty few
of her sisters can vie—not that there is
any thing so strikingly picturesque in her
position that it would command the adnii
ration of the artist’s eye, but because there
is an air of neatness and regularity in her
fine and spacious streets, and her well
proportioned and handsome buildings.
A noble and beautiful river crouches at
her feet, as it rolls its tribute of golden
waters to mingle with the blue Atlantic;
and on the opposite shore rises the sunny
hills of a Sister State, and when the
joyous spring has robed them in her vest
ments of living green, they horizon the
eye with a delightful prospect; and oft
in summer time will the lover and his
mistress stray at eventide to enjoy the
beauty of the bright moonlight, and lis
ten to the song of the mocking bird as
his melody floats upon the balmy air,
or to join in the dance when a thousand
lamps are gleaming from the trees, and 1
joyous music is stealing over the waters,
mingled with the happy and merrry
laughter of young light hearts. At such
times a gloom will steal over the brow of
the good old German who dtvelleth there;
for memory will then waft him back to
boyhood’s glad days, wfien he, too, could
wind in the mazy waltz or trip lightly
in the well-timed reel, on the banks of the
luxuriant Rhine, when the vintage was
gathered in. Ah, me, a glorious place
in summer time is Shultz’s hill, and a
fine and pleasant city is our Georgian
Augusta.
Ml.
A liveried servant was reining up a pair
us high-mettled horses which were at-
AUGUSTA WASHINGTONIAN.
A WEEKLY PAPER: DEVOTED TO TEMPERANCE, AGRICULTURE, & MISCELLANEOUS READINGS.
Vol. III.]
taclied to a richly mounted carriage, at
the door of a fine mansion in one of the
principal streets of the city, seeming
somewhat impatient of delay, when a
lady attended by her daughter, a girl of
l ten or twelve years of age, issued from
the house and advanced towards theear
; riage.
“ Charles,” said the lady, with a soft
low voice ns the footman unfolded the
steps, “ wo shall visit the Factory to day.”
“ Yes ma’am.” said Charles as he touch
ed his hat, and in a minute the horses
were measuring the ground at a quick
1 pace, leaving the city in their roar; and
it was not long before the temple of in
dustry rose to their view, and the whir
ring of the machinery as it drove the
shuttles to and fro, told them that they
would have an opportunity of witnessing
how much the genius of mechanism had
done to abridge the labors of man, in
ministering to his necessities. When
the carriage halted at the gate, the su-
I perintendent advanced towards them
and making a polite bow, handed them
down, and when lie had learned the de
sire of the lady to witness the process of
weaving, he escorted them to the interior
of the building, where the hum of a mul
tiplicity of spindles as they revolved
with a rapidity which rendered their
motion scarcely visible, and the rapid
plyings of the shuttles displayed to them
the mechanical ingenuity by which the
great staple was converted into weara
ble fabric. Seated in rows at their
looms, were a large number of girls with
bright and sparkling eyes, and whose
cheeks were rolled with the roseate tinge
of health, which mantled them with a
loveliness unseen on the pale and milk
and-water complexions of the luxurious
hoarding school miss. Happiness and
contentment seemed to possess them, for
every lip was pnrted with a smile, that
told a heart at ease and contented with
the lot in which they [tad been cast. —
The lady was highly pleased as she pass
ed from girl to girl, saying some pleasant
things to each, and praising each in her
turn, which was repaid by a crimson
blush of modesty and a thankful look.
After having wandered among the looms
until her curiosity was gratified, her nt
tention was arrested by a sound of a dif
ferent kind from that made by the looms,
and on inquiry, she was told that it was
caused by a turning lathe, which stood
in a little room apart from the main
building. The lady had never seen a
turner at work, and expressed a desire to
witness the operation, and she was shown
into the room where she beheld a boy
some fourteen or fifteen years of age at
work, and as he held his chisel skilfully
on the revolving wood a shower of sha
vings circled over his head to the ground.
His little shop had the appearance of
neatness a Her, and every chisel was
in its proper place, and every tool and
implement were nicely sharpened, and
ready for use. The boy made a low
bow as the lady entered, and continued
his work. The eye of the visitor spar
kled with pleasure as she gazed on the
little fellow, who had a fine open face and
a high broad forehead; beneath which
! flashed a pair of deep blue eyes, whose
glance had a mingled expression of stern
ness and benevolence. “My little fel
low,” said the lady, putting her hand
upon his head, as he finished the piece of
wood at which he had been working,
“you seem to be very expert at your
trade, and this is a very neat piece of
work you have just finished.” As the
lady spoke, a smile of grateful feeling
diffused itself over the boy’s face.—
“Now it seems to me that one so young
as you are, and has such an industrious
disposition and so much taste for order
and neatness as I observe around your
little shop, might make any thing he
chose of himself, for it is apparent to mo
that you desire to make yourself a useful
man when you grow up.” “ Ah, lady,
AUGUSTA, GA. APRIL 19, 1845.
you speak very kind to me,” replied the
boy, “ and 1 feel that you must be a good
lady. Few ever speak to tnc like you
do.” “Yes, little boy,” said Clara, as
she held her mother’s hand ; ‘ mamma is
a very kind lady and a very good one,
| too.” The boy smiled on the little girl. 1
jas she spoke. “Now,” said the lady,
j * l I want you to make me a pair of drum
sticks for my little son, and my pretty
Clara shall take them to him.” The
boy bowed, and fixing a' piece of wood
in the lathe, in a short time he comple
ted a very handsome pair of sticks and
| presented them to his visitor. “ Let me
' reward you for your trouble,” said the
! lady, unclasping her purse, “for I am
I very much pleased with the skillfulness
lof your work.” “No, no;” said the
■ boy, putting back her hand, while a no
■ ble expression lit his countenance, “do
not oflbr me money, I don’t want it. Let
| this sweet little girl take them to your
; son as a present from mej and I feel hap
py that it is in my power to make him
one; your kindness will more than re
ward me for the little labor 1 have be
s stowed upon them. And it gives me
• pleasure to serve those who are good and
kind.” “You are a noble little fellow,”
I said the lady, “and I shall not forget
• you if I ever can serve you in any way.
! Now daughter, thank the kind little boy
i for your brother, and accept the drum
: sticks from him.” The boy presented
the sticks to the girl, who received them
1 with a courtesy, and then giving him her
tiny little hand, she bade him farewell,
■ and promised to come and see him again.
“Mother,” said little Clara, ns the
carriage whirled away from the factory,
“that is a very clever boy, and I would
i like to have him for a brotherj I think
we would be so good to one another, nnd
live together so happily. Ho has got
such a kind way of speaking, and he
looks so noble and honest, that I cant
help loving him. I wish all the boys
were like him, and would talk so mildly
and sensibly ns he does.” “Yes, child,
he is a noble little fellow,” said the
mother, and she smiled with satisfaction
on her daughter, when she discovered the
feelings of benevolence that were work
ing in her bosom.
IV.
Years, long years bad rolled away
since the lady had wandered among the
looms at the factory, wdien a party of
pleasure were strolling on the green hills
which rise opposite the city, enjoying the
beauty of a bright, moonlit summer’s
night; every heart there was joyous and
happy, and every eye sparkled with plea
sure, save one who lingered behind the
rest, with a downcast and melancholy
feeling. There was a fair and lovely
girl leaning on his arm, and their’con
versation was broken with long inter
vals; yet it would have attracted the no
tice even of the careless, to have gazed
on his bland and open countenance
which seemed to invite one to read the
secret feelings of his soul, for his thoughts
were pure and lofty, and nought but
nobleness and innocence were mirrored
there. “You seem rather sad to-night,
Lucius,” said the lady, breaking a long
silence; “melancholy lias waved her
dark pinion over your soul.” “I am sad
to-night, lady,” returned her compan
ion, “ for I feel that I have reached the
Rubicon of my hopes, and like the Ro
man, I am pausing ere I make the
plunge.” “You speak ambiguously,”
said his companion, “I do not compre
hend you.” “I shall leave the city in a
few days,” said he, “and this, perhaps,
is the last time we shall meet.” “ Why,
Lucius, when did you decide on that
step?” inquired the lady, startlingly.—
“ A few days since,” returned her com
panion, “and it grieves me to think that
when I am gone there is not one who
will regret my absence.” The lady
was silent. “Let me tell you a story,”
said the young man, continuing; there
was a boy once, who had been reared in
indigence and poverty. Want was bis
companion in his younger days, and
adversity was the path he trod. Placed
among strangers when quite a youth, he
was taught to earn his bread by the
sweat of his brow, and received from
them in return, a pittance which they
dealt out with no lavish hand. Strug
gling however against all these, he braved
the stern front of adversity, and moved
onward in his toil; chance threw a gentle
stranger in his way—and she spake kind
words to him, which sunk deep into his
heart and lingered in his ear, like the
echo of a sweet melody, and the remem
brance of her lie cherished in his lonely
hours. That stranger had a daughter,
whose angel-like face, although then but
a child, revealed to him a being with a
noble and benevolent heart, and among
the mossy dells and woodlands where he
roved in his leisure hours, her name is
carved on many a tree. She was the
star that guided his little bark through
the troubled waters of youth’s ocean,
and yet even like a star, lie knew her to
be high beyond his reach ; he saw her
hut once, but that once was sufficient to
impress her image on his soul forever.
The words which that stranger spoke to
him made him a man in feeling if not in
years, and the spirit of his dream was
changed ; using them for his watchword,
he still went onward, and by constant
perseverance and industry he rose above
the companions of his toil, and amassing
a little fortune, ho at length won the
smiles ot his employers; and that boy.
although but an humble operative, is
now controlling a very heavy manufac
turing interest in our country. lie came
to Augusta, and fortune smiled upon
him again, for at an assembly one even
ing, he heard the name lie had treasured
in his heart pronounced, and he sought
and obtained an introduction as a stran
ger; and ofltimes lie roamed in compa
ny with the little girl he had loyed in his
boyish days, and sighed to know if her
heart thrilled with feelings kindred to his
own. It remains for me to say that I
am that boy, and the little girl is leaning
on his arm ; and now Clara, tell me if
my hopes are to he crushed, or my dream
realized ?” and the young man paused.
“I am delighted to behold in you, Lu
cius, the little factory boy, and as far as
I am concerned,” said the lady, with a
generous warmth, “here is my hand, for
I never forgot you, though years have,
passed since we met 1 ” Nor was the no
ble hearted mother adverse to the claim
of the little turner, for lie plead her
promise; but joining their hands, she
breathed a prayer for their prosperity.
We will leave Clara and Lucius to float
down the stream of time, rejoicing in
their union, while we pause to tell you,
gentle, or ferocious render, that a word of
kindness spoken with a feeling heart,
will often nerve a young bosom to gain
the highest point of its ambition.
Liebig when a Hoy.
Liebig was distinguished at school as
“booby,” the only talent then cultivated
in the german schools being verbal mem
ory. On one occasion, being sneeriugly
asked by the master what he proposed to
become, since he was so bad a scholar,
and answering that he would become a;
chemist, the whole school burst into a j
laugli of derision. Not long ago Liebig j
saw his old school master who feelingly
lamented his own former blindness. The
only boy in the same school whoever dis
puted with Liebig the station of “booby,”
was one who never could learn bis less
ons by heart, but was continually compo
sing music, and writing it down by
steal!h, in school. The same individual j
Liebig lately found at Vienna, distin
guished as a composer and conductor o(
the Imperial Opera-house, I think his
name is Reuling. It is to be hoped that
a more rational system of school instruc
tion is gaining ground. Can any thing
be more absurd or deteslable than a sys
tem which made Walter Scott and Justus
Liebig *boob.jes” at school, and so effec*
WASiriNGTOXIAS
TOTAL ABSTINENCE PLEDGE,
We, whose names are hereunto an
nexed, desirous of forming a Sorii ty for
our mutual benefit, and to guard against
a pernicious practice, which is injurious
to our health, standing and families, do
pledge ourselves as Gknti.pmen. not to
drink any Spirituous or Malt I.iguers,
Wine or Cider.
[No. 40
; tually concealed their natural talents
I that, for example, Liebig was often Icc
j lured before the whole school on his being
| sure to cause misery and broken hearta
,lo his parents, while he was all the time
I conscious, as the above anecdote proves,
; of the possession of talents similar in kind
|to those he has since displayed.—Phre
-1 nological Journal.
Novel Occurrer.ce. —At Newport, Delaware,
onllie 18t!i inst.,an hour and a half belore tho
i h°ur of high water, the tide receded rapidly, the
j water in the Delaware falling about ten inches
when it should have hecn rising,
: T[r3£
From the Farmer's Cabinet
Cultivation of Fruit.
Soil. — The hard gravelly soil of the
; eastern States, the sandy soil of New
Jersey, the clay soil of Pennsylvania,
and tho rich alluvial bottoms of the
west, all produce an abundance of the
; different varieties of fruit when proper
; attention is given to tho trees. Mr.
Phinney, of Lexington, Massachusetts,
has ditched and drained one of his
swamps, and has now on it a luxuriant
orchard of apple-trees. Tlic great point
is to have a dry soil. If it is not suffi
ciently rich, make it so; no man should
expect to have fine crops of any thing un.
less his soil is rich.
Setting out trees. —ls by exposure tho
roots have become dry, immerse them in
water for twenty or thirty hours previ
ously to setling them out. Prepare a
compost ns follows: take three bushels
of rick soil, or three bushels of swamp
muck would he better, one bushel night
soil, one bushel fine charcoal—if char
coal is plenty, three or four bushels is to
he preferred—one bushel slaked lime,
one bushel of unleached, or two bushels
of leached wood ashes, .and one peck of
•salt Mix the above well together.
Dig the holes three feet across and
two feet deep, keeping the lop soil by it
self, fill in a portion of the bottom soil until
nearly ready for the tree, then fill in half
a bushel of the compost and set in the
tree.spreading out the roots to their nat
ural position, and fill in the topsoil, gen
tly shaking the tree two or three limes
to settle the soil around the roots. The
tree should bo set the same depth in
the orchard that it stood in the nursery.
Leave the soil a little hollowing about
; ihe tree to catch and retain the rain wa*
- Icr. Put around each tree half a peck
of fine charcoal, nnd half a peck of
slaked lime. With these precautions,
neither peach or any other fruit-trees
will he infested with worms at the roots,
provided they have suitable after-cul
ture. For many of the above sugges
tions the writer is indebted to R. L. Pell,
Esq., of Pelham, Ulster county, New
York.
Culture ofiOrchards.— The soil around
the trees should be kept loose, cither by
spading, digging with a mattock, or by
ploughing. If a crop is put in the or
chard, nothing should he planted or sow
ed within five feet of the trees, as tho
nourishment taken up bv the crop is so
much taken from the growth of the trees.
After the lime and charcoal have laid
around the trees one year, spread them
around the trees in a circle of ten feet
in diameter. This should he done in
the spring, when the soil is cultivated, and
a fresh supply of charcoal and lime is
applied.
When the trees have been set out three
or four years, the soil should be enrich
ed with a compost of manure, swamp
muck and ashes. Early every spring
the trunks of the trees should be washed
with ley, strong soap-suds, or thin soft
soap. Apply either of these with a
whitewash brush as high as a man can
reach. When the trees grow rapidly,
iheir growth will he increased by slitting
the outer bark the whole length from
the ground up to the limbs. This gives
the trees room to expand. As soon as
(he trees blossom, throw over them lime
perfectly slaked —this should be done
while the dew is on.
To render old and. barren orchards
thrifty and productive. — Early in the
spring plough the entire orchard and en
rich it with a compost of manure, swamp
muck, lime, and chip manure. Scrape
off all the old hark with a deck scraper,
or a hoe ground sharp. Apply then soft
soap or strong soap-suds on the trunks
and limbs as high as a man can roach.
While tho trees are in full bloom, throw
over them a good supply of fine slaked
lime. B. G. Boswell.