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maifiecl with them, while I was closet
ed with the old man; did they have
any cross words ?’'
“None,” said Charley. “Now we
see that they must have known each
other before, as I said.”
“True,” said Mr. Bentley. “It must
be so.”
Then turning to the hunter he
said,
“Caunt, how did you learn this ?”
“Why its rather a long tale—that is
I could make it a long one if I was to
Spin it out as I have known people.—
It’s not my way though to Use more
words than I need to tell a man what
I mean.”
“Ncvef tnind,’* said Mr. Bentley,
“long or short, let’s hear it”
“Here goes then. As to that Will
of old Ramsey’B that you’ve got ”
“The devil!” exclaimed Mr. Bent
ley interrupting the hunter. Gaunt,
are you a wizard or a devil’s imp ?
Do you know* every thing ?”
“’Taint worth while to waste time
with that sort o’ talk” said the hunter
coolly. “I don’t know everything, but
t know a good many things. Will you
listen at me without breaking out that
Way again? Because if you don’t,
why I’ve got no more to say.”
“Say on,” spoke Mr. Bentley.
“That Will, then, as you’ve got, I
Witnessed myself, as you’ll find when
ever that old sinner over the way,
pegs out and you break the seal. I
witnessed it because the old fellow
begged me so hard, and said he want
ed it kept a secret from his sons. I
never heard the Will read though.—
In fact, I went after the lawyer and
fixed the whole matter, as old Ramsey
was so down in * the mouth, said he
did’nt expect to live long, and wanted
to do justice in his Will to some one
he had wronged in the fore part of his
life. My part of the business was
done secret enough, and the boys were
none the worse for it. If the old man
had given me the Will and told me to
give it to you, that would have been
done secret too ; but the old numskull
was afraid to trust me I suppose, al
though I offered to do the business.—
If I had wanted to do him hanm won
der why the devil I couldn’t have told
*he bovs of his making the Will ?
Bad as some smoothfaced rdigious mi
sers and perjurers think me to b-, I
consider my promise., to high or low,
good or bad, as sacred.
As I said, the damned old fool forgot
that he had already trusted me suffi
ciently to give me a chance to ruin
lam. and instead of trusting me to
finish the business, lie undertook to
finish it himself, with you. lie tried
it this evening, as you knew, and a
hell of a business he made of it, Jake
Ramsey is as cunning as any varmint,
and while you were in the room with
that old fool-father of his, lie was at the
door listening to every word you said.
Did you know this ? You do ? Well,
I didn’t know you were so shrewd.
Somehow or other, ever since you
befriended me, and kept me out of jail,
when nobody else would have anything
to do with me, I have felt like doing
you a service. I don’t know why it is
«o —I know its agin’ human natur to
be grateful, but I can’t help wanting
to do something tor you. When I
heard of your first difficulty with the
young Ramseys, I knew that you were
iu some danger, for they are mean,
cowardlf devils, and will kill an ene
my in the dark, without giving him
any chance at all. Well, 1 concluded
I would get thick with them, and get
them to tell me all their secrets. I
knew they were going to attack you
and j'our son that evening, and was in
the thicket at the road-side with my
rifle, and had a bead drawn on the old
man, where your son dropped him so
neatly. I didn’t show myself, because
I did’nt want them to know that I was
your friend.
Well, since the change has come
over the old man, Jake and Joe are
thicker with me than ever ; and you
had’nt been gone from the house more
than an hour, before I knew all about
your having the will, and the sealed
confession of the old man. They said
that this man Fit/Warren was the man
their father had left the most of his
property to, from some crazy notion.
They said they had had enough of you;
besides that if you were killed, every
body knew their feelings toward you
well enough to pet the whole neigh
borhood on them. They said it was
a great piece of good luck that
brought Fitz Warren here just at
the right time, and that they could
put him out of the way without
suspicion, as even ton did not know
that they had anything against him.
JUe fact is they wanted me to under
“the job” as they called it. The
damned hell-hounds ! No!” and the
tall form of the hunter seemed to di
late as lie spoke, “No ! There is blood
upon these hands, it is true, but it was
shed, not for gold, but for revenge /”
told ’em” he said, and his voice re
sumed it# accustomed tone of jeering
levity. ’1 tola ’em I’d see ’em in hell
first —that they might do their own
dirty work.”
,; Ls that all ?*’ asked Mr. Bentley as
the other ceased speaking.
“Yes. What more would you
have ?”
“Why I would have the time and
place where and when they design
to execute their hellish intentions.”
“Now you are too hard Ibr me.”
“Can you give us no clue at all
“None* All I know is, that they
intend to “execute their hellish inten
tions’* as you call it, whenever they
get a fair chance. - ’
“What is to be done Charley ?” ask
ed Ml*. Bentley<
“Why” answered Charley, “get this
Mr. Carlos to go before a magistrate
and make an affidavit, on the strength
of which get a warrant and arrest
those two vagabands.”
“Yes,” said Gaunt, “but I’ll be damn
ed if I go before a magistrate—‘-beg
ging your pardon Mr. 11 amp tom”
“That plan won’t do Charley,” said
Mr. Bentleyi “There are reasons why
it will not, of which you know noth
ing*”
“Is your man game?'' asked Gaunt.
“Yes.”
“Well, the first thing I would do is
to tell him his life is threatened, and
let him arm himself to the teeth.”
“Will that prevent an attack ?” ask
ed Mr. Bentley.
“No. I said that should be the first
step. The next is—”
“It is useless to say what would be
the next. Ido not wish Fitz Warren
to know anything of this. You .sure
ly can think of some plan by which
these men can be frightened out of
their intentious.”
“Well, let me see,” said Gaunt, mu
singly. “I know of but one plan and
that is to carry you and Frank, and
this gentleman here, or any others you
please, and let you overhear these two
RamseyS speaking of their plan, and
then you can come out of your hiding
place, tell them you have learned their
secret, and drive them from the coun
try. They will know then, besides,
that if Fitz Warren is put out of the
way, there will be witnesses to direct
suspicion to them.”
“Perhaps,” said Mr. Bentley, “that
plan may do, though I don’t like it
much. However, it is the best, 1 can
think of now’, and if I think of none
better, I will try it. Let’s all go to
bed.
“Good night gentlemen” said Gaunt,
going toward the door.
“Why are you not going to spend
the night here ?” asked Mr. Bentley.
“Can’t do it—much obliged to you.”
was the reply.
“Where are you going, as late as
this ?”
“That’s my business.”
And the tall hunter strode off through
the dark grove.
“Horace can you tell me who and
what this tall specimen is?”
“Certainly, lie is the son of a Span’
iard, who married an American girl. —
He gets his name and his Spanish ap
pearance from his father, and his en
ergy and most of his good qualities,
from his mother. And of good quali
ties he has more than most people sup
pose. The fact is he is in very bad
odor with most people —almost an out
law, I Know his worth. He would
laydown his life forme, in return for
a service I once rendered him.
He was once a smuggler, and it was
during that part of his career that he
committed the deed of which lie spoke
while here. It is too late to give you
the particulars to-night, but the deed
was one which you or I would have
done under the same circumstances, al
though it was done in cold blood. Af
ter he was broken up from smuggling,
he took to a life in the woods, and
became a very skillful hunter. He
is now about sixty years of age, wiry
and active as lie was at thirty. lie
has seen many ups and downs and is
now as fond of adventure as ever. This
sketch will do till 1 have time to give
you one more extended one; and
now we must get some sleep.”
The next day, Gaunt put into cxe- j
cation the plan, he had laid before Mr.
Bentley. He gave the latter, in com
pany with Hampton and Doctor Stubbs
an opportunity of overhearing Jake
and Joe Ramsey, say in terms that
they' intended to “put Fitz Warren out
of the way and then, coming from
out their concealment, they repeated
their threats, and convinced them that
if FitzWarrcn were found missing,
suspicion would certainly attach itself
to them, and that their evidence would
be sufficient to convict them.
All this was done without the kno ivl
edge of Fitz Warren, If it had been
possible to hang these men for the
threats they had made, Mr. Bentley
would certainly have iuformed Fitz-
Warren of it and allowed him an op
portunity to prosecute them. As this
was out of the question, be concluded
that the plan proposed by Gaunt was
the best calculated to deter them from
attempting to execute their intentions,
and also possessed the advantage of
keeping FitzWarrcn iu ignorance of
their designs against hini, thus saving
him the annoyance and disquietude
| which the most crturapilaus of men
would feci from the knowledge of such
designs,l" A A ' 4 # f/ip ■
But though Mr. Bentley was pretty
well satisfied that lie had averted the
clanger which threatened Fitz Warren,
he lost himself in conjectures concern
ing the mysterious connexion which
seemed to exist between a man so
refined and fastidious as his guest and
such people as the Ramseys* It seem
ed that Fitz Warren and the old man
exerted a mutual effect on each other,
startling and strange. Each seemed
to recognize in the other, a man with
whom lie had had strange or painful
dealings ; while the sons, who did not
seem to recognize FitzWarrens’s fea
tures, were as much affected by his
name as their father had been by his
features. What rendered the matter
still more mysterious was, that the two,
although, it was pretty certain, from
their manner, that they had known
each oilier before, spoke no word of
recognition—although, as Gaunt said,
Fitz Warren was the man to whom
old Ramsey had left the bulk of his
property.
He and his companions went back
to Bent wold in a few days, however,
and lie forgot these mysterious circum
stances, in the duties of hospitality.
TO HE CONTINUED.
i>it mn.
FOR THE INDEPENDENT PRESS.
[No. 23.]
To my two in fant sisters ill
heaven.
My angel sisters, late I stood beside
Your graves, while’grief'upon my bosom preyed.
And did yo look half sadly down, and see
One who with solemn reverence stood and gazed
Upon the spot where side by side ye sleep.
As tears of sorrow trickled down his clieek ?
On cherub wings your infant spirits flew
To join the spirit host Who dwell above,
And strike upon their harps Seraphic strains
Os rapturous joy, and never-ending bliss.
Ye passed away, ere life was known tome,
And on your earthly forms I never gazed.
So when I think of you, sweet angel forms
Their radiant image stamp upon my mind.—
God saw ’twas best to take ye homo to him,
And fill your vacant seats around his throne.
Ye dwell in heaven, and I on earth am left
To brave the storms and byllettings of life.
Jehovah, let thy will not mine be done.
Say cherub sisters do ye mark the grief
That fills your brothers anxious breast,
As lie is forced to journey O’er the sea
Os life with raging storms and tempests rough ?
If 'tisthe will of heaven that ye should leave,
Sometimes, the scenes of biiss and visit earth,
Come to your wayward brother oft and guide
His erring feet along the path that leads
To Joy and Heaven, and everlasting bliss.
Ere many years have run their circling race,
My father will repose his silvered head
Within the tomb, close by your resting place;
And mother too, will sleep erelong, within
The grave where Christ himself once lay.
When I have run with them the race of life.
May I too sleep within the place where ye
Are sleeping now; and when Jehovah comes
To make his jewels, at the last may I
With father, mother, brother, sisters both
Be by your sainted spirits led to join
The blisful throng that rest in peace above.
T urn word. Summer of 48. i.. t.-
Ittmellancoiis.
jLiterary Portraits*
ALEXANDER SMITH —THESQUINT-EYED
I'OET.
I am glad you have applied to me
lor a daguerreotype of Alexander
Smith, because I love him well
enough to say at once that no worthy
daguercotype of him is possible.—
Even a portrait could not be depend
ed upon if it came from the hand of a
comparative stranger. A mere accu
rate description of features would do
him singular injustice ; and anything
more than such sheer statistics is, from
his Seottisli reserve, impossible from
any one with whom he is not intimate.
To chronicle short, dark, curly hair,
a forehead unusually wide but not ve
ry high, blue eyes, a somewhat brown
complexion, a short upper lip, a nose
and mouth of regular dimensions,
might suggest an Antinous. To qual
ify this idea by remarking that the
mouth and chin, though of classic size,
arc by no means beautiful in shape,
and that the azure, eyes exchange the office
\of looking straight (iu other words that
Ihe is squint-eged ), would leave an im
age equally unjust; and yet this is all
that the mere acquaintance could say
of him. I would therefore rather you
get a notion of him as he appears to
me, than give you anything which the
common observer would be likely to
recognize. Imagine a young man
about iivo-and-twenty, of a broad
strongly built figure, approaching with
a lounging thoughtful step. The face
that might not have attracted you in
the street, brightens as we meet into
very sunshine. He sits down, and dur
ing our talk he beams first, one. and then
the other of those blue, clear (squint), liv
ing eyes upon me, each of which in turn
seems to lake up the conversation , with
a force all the greater lor its interval of
rest, and to shine, while employed, with
the combined light of both. Indeed,
this superfluity of life issdeurious that
one fancies a moving inward incandes
cence in the eye, like that active combus
tion which you may see in the mid
light of a candle, and which, through a
telescope, you seem to have seen in a
star. Over the whole lace there pas
ses as many and as delicate hues ofmea
ning as Jj,g|its and shades over a corn
field, or tints upon a breezy sea. And
then 1 would not change the transfig
tired countenance for the physical per
fection of the most classic Apollo. With
me he speaks freely and at length ;
but in ordinary society he has little
■
conversation. With friends or strati-1
gers, however, his manners are alike j
quiet and simple ; and few things have
been better testimony to his innate ex
cellence than the outward equanimity
with which ho bore his rapid rise into
public gaze, or the calm self-respect
with which he suddenly found himself
in ducal castles and in the brilliant sa
loons of an Edinburgh season. ILis
private life is in keeping with these ev
idences of superiorly. The conclu
sions which certain critics have
drawn from some over-colored passa
ges in his writings are strangely in
consistent with the purity of his con
duct, the chastity of his speech, the firm
ness with which he has maintained his
water drinking in face of the banter of
Edinburgh dinner tables, and the lar 1
ger developement of the religious ele
ment in his mind, an element, which,
as I could show you by interesting an
ecdotes, was one of its earliest charac
teristics. But for the sacredness which
sanctuaries good deeds, I could give
such facts of his youth and manhood,
as go far to prove that in the relations
of son, brother, and friend, lie has been
scarcely less eminent than iu that more
brillant character which the world has
already recognized.
GEORGE GIL FI I. LAN.
Os the personal appearance of Apol
lodorus it is difficult to give an ade
quate description. We saw him but
once, and shall not soon forget the ex
cited energy with which his voice
sunk to a tremulous boom, that, if it
did hot remind one of the glorious ca
dences of Christopher North, sugges
ted at least the idea that the speaker
was conscious that it should ; he spoke
of “Carlyle’s burning throne” as “al
ready tottering to its fall,” and pictur
ed the ship of Christianity as riding per
ilously through a sea of not storms. —
The first look, as is often the case, does
suggest the idea —this is a man of geni
us. A vulgar flush (we know other
great men to whom this applies) suffu
sing the visage up to the roots of
what Hogg calls the “golden hair,” dis
appoints the spectator who had expec
ted to see the pale and haggard features
of the laborious student. The nose
would approach the grand, but that it
paTtakes more of the large. The
mouth is firmly set. and is evidently
bent on “speaking great things.” The
eyes, seen through the medium of spec
tacles, arc said by some authorities to
“ glare” as with a preternatural bril
liance, suggesting to the behold
er the “ terrible crystal,” and the
“light that was never seen on sea or
shore.” But the forehead—how shall
We speak of it? —it has not the orbed
majestv of Shakespear, nor the massy
architecture of Sydney Ycndys, nor the
chiseled severity of the Rev. -tones
Brown Robinson, with its grandeur
of outline which a Phidias might en*
w ; it is not so high as that ot Charles
Nil, nor so broad as the front ot Lm
ther, nor so prodigal of bumps as
that of Cromwell. It is altogether dif
i (brent from the brow of Nepoleon, and
lacks the towering elevation of Goe
the ; but it has sonithing which they
had not: it is crowned by a shining ha
lo of most red and spiritual hair, that,
to the rapt eyes of the admiring be
holders, seems transfigured into the am
: brosial locks of Balder —the beautif ul —
i or the flashing tresses of a visitor from
j the stars. —A. Y. Leader.
—
Cuba.
\ The London correspondent of the
| New York Times, who, it is said, has
j good chances of information, writes
j as follows concerning the effect of the
| Spanish revolution upon Mr. Soule s
| negotiations for the purchase of Cuba:
Mr. Soule is on pretty good terms
with Espartero, but he must have al
ready convinced himself that Cuba
will not be sold by the present Gov
ernment. The Duke of Victory lias
had frequent interviews with the
American Minister for the settlement
of the difficulties pending between the
two countries, and has openly express
ed his views, which may be summed up
|in the following terms: The Linited
| States has grounds of complaint against
the late Government of Spain : so had
Spaniards also. The United States
has a long list of grievances against
the Court of Madrid : a still longer list
of greater grievances the Spanish na
tion had to settle with the same
Court. The United States made ener
getic remonstrances against, and re
quired apology for the past, and guar
antees against future injuries ; Span
ish patriots suffering exile, prison and
death by the hands of the perpetrators
of those injuries.
A revolution has now swept away
that brood of malefactors, and a Gov
ernment rules, against which the Uni
ted States cannot have any complaint,
and the members of which have no in
tention to hurt or injure the great Re
public. This Cabinet will do its best
to settle all matters of difference hav
ing a pecuniary character, and as to
questions of national honor and digni
ty, the United States cannot expect
any greater satisfaction than in the
fact that the impeached Government
has been driven out by a popular ri
sing. As to Cuba, in particular there
is no Africanization in view, but no
purchase is likely —the Government be
ing confident that, with an honest and
liberal policy toward the colonies,
they will become more useful and bet
ter satisfied dependencies of the moth
er country than they have been hither
to.
Half Way Rook Si pekstition.—
A Lowell Island correspondent of the
Lowell Courier reminds us of a singu
lar freak of the fishermen of that vi
cinity. He says :
You know “Halt*Way Rock,” so
called from being half-way from Bos
ton to Cape Ann. It is outside of
our Island, is distinguished by a bea
con upon it, and it is in plain sight of
the House. We were drifting about
there yesterday in a sale-boat, search
ing in vain for fish, which lately seem
to have made out for deeper water,
when our attention was attracted by
tw’o outward bound schooners bearing
up to the rock. As they approached.
each sailer threw his penny tipofi the
rock, “for luck,” and then both schoon
ers steered oil* upon their course. It
seems this superstitious practice is gen
erally observed by sailors going
out of Marblehead and Salem,
and its omission is supposed by them
to be sure to bring disaster. The
boys often row oft* the rock to pick up
the pennies, and are usually well re
paid for their trouble. We asked
our skipper if lie believed in it. “To
be sure 1 do,” said lie, “and so would
any one who knew the story of Land
Dick. It is an evil for him who goes
by that rock to sea without leaving his
penny behind.”
eSi/ron and Jflary Chaworth.
G race Greenwood, in her late visit
to England, paid a visit to Newstead
Abbey, the well known residence of
Lord ” Byron. In speaking of the
event she touchingly and beautifully
alludes to the love of the poet for Ma
ry Chaworth, thus:
“ Strangely sorrowful, almost ago
nizingly regretful, were the thoughts
which swept away over my mind, wave
after wave, and shook my heart like a
tempest as I stood in the place where the
young poet passed many hours ot silent
thought, it may be of lonely wretch
edness. I never before so deeply felt
how passing mournful was the; story of
Byron’s first and only love. That Ma
ry Chaworth returned the passion of
her young poet fover f have not a doubt;
but like the Montagues and Capulets,
the houses of Chaworth and Byron
were at feud. Mary had not the
strength and truth of Juliett, and so
they were parted —a sensation by far
more piteous for her, and more fatal to
him than death amid the full summer
brighteness of happy love. This, not
Shakespear’s, was the true-soul oftrag
edy. Might she not have redeemed
even his wayward and erring nature
bv t ie divinity of a pure love and u
steadfast faith ? But it was to be. Ma
ry bestowed her hand upon a man of
whoin little better can be said than he
ranked ‘among the most eminent
sportsmen of the day,’—lived, it is said,
to weep wild tears over the words
which have linked her name in sor
rowful immortality with her lover’s
and died in broken-heartedness at last,
while he, grown reckless, and defiant,
the very core of liis heart turned to
bitter ashes, forgetting his God, and
distrusting and despising his brother,
swept on in his glorious, shameful, sor
• rowlul and stormy career, till the sliad
' ows deepened, and the long night
! closed in.”
The painful romance here alluded to
is well remembered by all who are la
miliar with Byron’slife. That it prey
ed upon a mind by nature sensitive!
and morbid, driving him to fits of ex/
cess, of gloom and bitterness, in wlnejf
tenderness is mixed with disapoiy
merit, and every worthy ambition ca/t
down by agonizing recollections —tint
in deed' it was the undying source to
him of sorrow, none can doubt t/ho
have his writings. AY ho has rjot
ton his own description of his lovc'for
Marv Chaworth, his marriage, am/ its
consequences, in that poem v,,i:ch
Moore characterizes as the “mostni/ui n
ful, as well as picturesque story/ot a
wandering life, that ever came from
the pen and heart of man
<■' change cuino o*er the spirit of iny
The wandertr was returned—l saw hi 11J stand
Before an altar with a gentle bride. ;
Her face was lair, but was not that wnuti made
The starlight- of his boyhood —as he stood!
Even at the altar, o’er his brow there eanJ-
The self same aspect and the quiveriK shock,
That in the antique oratory shook
His bosom in its solitude —and then—
As in that, hour, a moment o’er his face
The tablet of unutterable thoughts
Was traced—and then it faded as it cant,
And he stood calm and quiet, and he spfte
The fitting vows, but beard not his owufwords,
And all things reeled around him—li could sec
Not that which was, nor that which jliould luue
been — L
But the old mansion and the nmistoniu hall,
And the remember’d chambers, and tie place,
The day, the hour, the sunshine and ie shade,
All things pertaining to that place anjhour,
And her who was his destiny, came |tek.
And thrust themselves between 5m and the
light.” I
“ Tliis touching picture, 7 pays
Moore, “agrees closely in piny of its
circumstances, with Lord Ivrons own
prose account of the wedpg, in his
memoranda, in which jo tlescrihes
himself as waking on thc'niorning of
liis marriage with the jnost, melan
choly reflections on seejjg the wed
ding suit spread before jiin. In the
same mood he wandcrcj about the
grounds alone, till he ws summoned
for the ceremony, and fund, for the
first time, on that day, Is bride and
her family, lb' knelt dwn, he repea
ted the words after the jergyman, but
a mist was before {s eyes —his
thoughts were elsewherj; and he was
but awakened by the pngratnlations
of the bystanders to Jim: that he was
married."
—♦ • •
Spiritualism.—Eitljr hundreds of
men and women who have hitherto
been looked up to, illectively, as
persons fitted by natun md education
to instruct their fellow-41 izens in near
ly everything useful—( her these per
sons have become hope! sly insane, or,
unaccountably, have borne apparent
ly un profitably mendaous and wick
ed—or phenomena are itnessed, from
day to day, in the ‘cires” of tin’s ci
ty, of the most startlinpmd confound
ing character. W e arby no means
convinced of the spiuial origin of
the “manifestations”; lithcr are we,
on the other hand, so Hpid as to ac
cuse all the “mediums” f wilful impos
ture. We aekiiowled* the facts, but
know nothing of the eases of them.
The most interesting:!role we ever
witnessed was held at ie ll'sidenee of
Mrs. Anna Leah .Brwnl(late Miss
Kish,) in whose presen *, v|‘ believe,
the rappings were fir. helrd. Mrs.
Brown is now at No. 61. EasUt'iftcenth
Street, near Union Shuarel and her
evening circles are jell alended.—-
With due deference Jo heilspiritual
guests, we cannot hep thinlng that
tho handsome and amble hoiess her
self forms no small dirt of tin attrac
tion of her circles.— A'. Y. Lkdcr.
South Western Virginil— The
Abingdon Virginia)* in an avlle de
voted to the natura advautals and
wonders of Southwestern Irginia
says:—And we have natural liriosi- ;
ties, some oft them grand and wonder
ful. We lnjve heretofore spoken of
the Natural! Bridge of Scott, of which
that of.Koctbridge is a miniature.—
The arch sweeps m a pretty regular
curve two oir three hundred feet across
Stock Creek, leaving a tunnel large
enough to shelter all the elephants in
the jungles of Ceylon, with a carriage
road on the submit, four hundred and
twenty feet above the rapid stream
that tumbles through the tunnel and
washes its base. We have in this
county, a few miles west of us, a per
pendicular fall of water of about one
hundred feet; four or five miles north
of us another stream that falls twice
that distance in three grand consecu
tive leaps; a spring a few miles east of
us that has ebbed and flowed twice in
twenty-four hours since Noah’s flood ;
and a few miles south of us, the Pas
saic Falls in miniature. We have
caves, and cliffs, and gorges, where
perhaps the foot of man has never trod
den, and crags upon which the eagle
perches in safety, and looks at the sun.
The New York Journal of Com
merce says :
“One of Georgia’s fair daughters
has proved to the world that there is
latent power even in the needle and
thread, and that this power was only
to be developed to be admired.—
Messrs. John Williams & Son, of No.
515 Pearl street, have had on exhibi
tion for several days past an exquisite
piece of needle-work, executed by a
young lady in Macon, and which is to
be exhibited next month at the Georgia
State Fair. The subject sketched is
that of the “Surrender of Mary
Queen of Scots to the Confederate
Lords, at Carberry Hill,” in the year
1567, and is treated in such a life-like
manner as to bring all the circumstan
ces of the occa ion vividly before the
mind’s eye. The colors of the en
tire piece are of the most gorgeous
and beautiful desription, and the vari
ous figures have a life and individual
ity rarely if ever before seen in any
similar piece of work. The features of
the fa/e have an expression wonderfully
true to nature, and the whole work re
flects great credit on the fair artist,
who, we are informed, employed five
months’ constant labor in the execu
tion.
Imagination.—A countryman and
fife better half drove in town last Sat
urday morning in a wagon; driving to
s lie door of a store. The man went in
\Jo make some purchases, leaving his
/good lady sitting in the wagon, some
fperson remarked in the hearing of the la
fdy that there was a man just across the
street who had died the night before
with yellow fever. The old lady im
mediately became alarmed, and declar
ed she had the fever. “I’ve got it!
I’ve got it! I know I’ve got it! Oh! I’m
dying, I’m dying.” Out rushed the old
man, and giving her a not very gentle
shake, said “Hush you fool, you; you
luiv’nt got it.” “Yes I have; its a coinin’
now.” Sure .enough, it did come —a reg
ular spell of vomiting. The matter dis
charged a greenish cast, the
old lady to be alack vomit. The
old man, recollecting what
she had brJnklasted on, said, “Why,
old ’oman them's green?..'' The old la
dy could not be persuaded but Yellow
Jack had her fast, until she had taken
one or two heavy doses of Otard, Du
pe v k Co’s best. —Athens Banner.
l_onniltnral.
[No. 2.]
Analysis of Compost
ring.
Gov. Broome, — IPar Sir: Pre
vious to entering upon the separate in
vestigation of the several features of
improvement in plantation economy,
which have grown out of these “Ex
periments in Manuring Cotton,” it may
not be improper,—indeed, I conceive
it to be a parrnount consideration, —
to furnish, in the beginning of this dis
cussion, such an analysis of compost
manure and compost manuring, as
may prove advantageous to and be
clearly comprehended by, the practi
cal farmers and planters of the coun
try. Ido not propose by this to ana
lyze compost manure, as a fertilizer
into its elementary principles, nor do I
intend to tax the patience of the read
ers of this article, by an array, in tab
ular formula, of oxygens, nitrogens,
carbons, and the various forms of lime,
with the relative proportions these ele
ments sustain to each other; tliis is the
work of science, which your professor
of Agricultural Chemistry who will be
along over the country soon, may and
should do; for, while I cannot award
too much merit and praise to such an
alyses and formula, and deprecate, at
the same time, the great want of such
investigations m the plantation States
especially, 1 am sure such subtlety in
the science of Agriculture, is not now
the proper teaching for the practical
man on the held.
-1 desire to show in what consists
rich or poor compost manure; and to
aid the reader in this preliminary in
vestigation, .1 have introduced, in this
number, an article on the subject from
the American Polytechnic Journal , by
Prof. Page. I have shown, in a pre
vious number that this extraordinary
“Experiment in Manuring Cotton”
was made on land, naturally very
poor and sandy, and that the success of
the experiment was dependant mainly
upon the quality and quantity of the
compost manure used, it is true, the
proper regulation of the stalks on the
land had its effect in the success of the
experiment. Those are the conditions
then, mainly upon which we base the
the experiment; no foreign
aid whatever was brought to bear
upon these experiments. The work
from the beginning to the end was
performed by slave labor of only or
dinary intelligence. No imported, ar
tificial, or chemical fertilizer was used
whatever. The compost used wasj
made on the place and taken almost ex
clusively from the horse-stables and
lot. The object I have in view cannot,
perhaps, be better illustrated, under
the usages of the planting States, than
by taking horse-stable compost , as the
staftdard of strength and fertility.-
The horse, as a general thing,- in fed bn
as good grain as his master; he has
generally the best quarters about the
plantation, in the way of stables, &c.,
and there is some, more or less, atten
tion paid to litter for his stall.- Thus
housed, and fed on good corn and oats
and fodder, with just litter enough
from day to day to protect him front
the filth of the excrements falling in
stable, —a most valuable and fertile
compost is made. This compost is ta
ken to the field or garden, spread out
on the land and plowed or spaded in,
and its effect upon the crops, either
field crops or garden vegetables, is-ex
traordinary. But then there arc othe;'
varieties and qualities of stock-yard
compost, constituting by far the great-
er portions of what is too commonly
called good compost manure. The
work stock of the plantation,—mules
horses, and oxen, are fed under imper
fectly protected sheds, too often under
shelters merely in open lots while the
stock cattle and hogs are allowed to
pen in the lanes and roads, and in cow
pens located without any regard to sa
ving or protecting the manure. Stock
thus treated even, make a great deal of
compost, but it lies unprotected;' ew-"
posed all to the sun and leaching effects
of every shower of rain. At the close
of the year this is raked up and put iii
a bulk, and it makes quite a show of
i manure. It is hauled out on the land
i and deposited in heaps of about three
|to four bushels in a place, at the dis
j tance of 150 feet apart. If for corn, a
J handful of this is put on each hill, 4
!by 4 feet: if for cotton, it is drilled
i along the centre furrow on which the
bed is intended to be made, from a
little box holding about a peck, to man
ure from one heap to the other. At the
end of the year, the planter is discour
aged ; his comostp contained just man
ure enough to stimulate a luxuriant
growth, of grass, but it was difficult to
determine whether the corn and cot
ton were benefited or not. lam asked
! a hundred times over, flow is this
S Doctor? my manure does not grow my
j crops like yours. It is inthisconstamt
j ly repeated question, in some form or
I other, that I find an apology for devot.
! mg an article to the subject of the
comparative value of what every body
indiscriminately calls manure. I ask
the gentleman, How was your manure
prepared? He says, I have no stables,
my horses and mules are fed under a
shed in a open lot, and I have it so ar
ranged that when it rains the water
from the higher ground runs through
the lot to sweep off the litter and filth;
my hogs, he says, I feed on the road
side, or just on the side of the hill out
side of the gate: and from the cattle,
I get very little manure: in the spring
and summer I have a small lot fenced
in for them to tread, for turnips; and
after August, they stand in the lane, or
about the lot gate, or bars. 1 have all
these places raked up, and I have
several large pens, he says, of line look
ing manure, enough to go over a hun
dred acre field, by puttinga large hand
ful in each hill. Every body will un
derstand after a while, how it is, that
such a compost heap is not much man
ure.
But there is another consideration
in connection with the preparation of
compost manure, that cannot be too
well understood by those who propose
improving their plantation economy.
It: is the character of the food our slock
feed on and the manner in which they
get it. If we make no provision for
our stock in the way of pasturage, set
with rich, nutritious grass, but rely
exclusively upon the range, we shall
have stock well exercised in floetness
of foot, and with their lean and jaded
carcases, we shall have very trilling
compost. In the planting States the
grasses and pasturage are almost entire
ly neglected. This policy we shall
change ere long. We must improve
and raise our stock of all kinds; this
will induce us to convert our marsh
land, abrupt hill sides, and timber lands,
into pasturage, and with our attention
thus directed, experience will very
soon determine the grasses and their
treatment for our climate and our
soil. I am confident after my stables,
ox-stalls, and cow-houses, and hog
lots, that the main reason why my
compost manure is rich and abounds
in fertility, is that my stock never run
out of enclosure, and in the winter
have good grass for grazing all the
time. The dry litter from the forest,
or any other source, adds but little in
trinsically to the fertility of your com
post heap, but it is valuable*as an ab
sorbent. and in its action mechani
cally on the soil making it loose
and triable. It also enlarges the bulk
of manure, and in that way its equal
and even distribution over the land is
more easily effected.
Many planters say, we cannot make
manure. My overseer, they say, can
not find a moment’s time to rake up
and haul out that which accumulates
in spite of all the means m use to
waste it, and to think of making man
ure is altogether out of the question.—
All this is well understood by the
planting community generally: the
contract with the overseer was 7 to 10
bales of cotton to the hand, and to ac
complish this everything else had to
submit quietly. Overseers are like all
other men, the emphasis of the contract
they rarely neglect. This is not all
we intend to say on the subject of pre
paring compost manure in the proper
place. We have deemed this article
necessary here, that our readers may
know what we mean precisely, when
we speak of manure.
Dr. CLOUD.
Love is a source from which truo
happiness flow, and when it is strength
ened by affection’s tie, like the “Ivy,” it
twines around and fastens itself firmly
to its object. But when the object of
our affections is separated from us,,
we, like the “Morning Glory,” when*
eve appears,.droop in sorrow.
&