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PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY, BY JASTES McCAFFERTY, ntnmu-iiuET, on-osire »ojt orricc. Terms of Paper. —For a single copy, one year, Two Dou.ars: fur six 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 con:inuance—» Twelve lines toconstitute a square. A liberal deduction to yearly adveiiisors. Qp No letters taken from the Post Office unless postage free. Officers Augusta IV. T. A Society. Dr. D4.NIEL HOOK, President. Rev. WM. J. HARD, J “ C. S. DOD. > Vice Presidents HAWKINS HUFF, Esq. } WM. HAINES, Jr. Secretary. L. D. LALLERSTEDT, Treasurer. iE LSL IA IN & £) y § - 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.