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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. &