Newspaper Page Text
—' ——^ — — ———
BY J. A. TURNER, j
VOLUME 11.
|octo.
[FROM TIIE JOURNAL I>F COMMERCE.]
The Lost Triad.
A DIRGE.
B T ir. 8. COIiTOX.
I.
’* Room for the sleeper! five room! give ye room !”
And sadly tho black-robed train
Swept onward ’mid pomp and funeral gloom,
And bore back the earth-born to earth's dark womb,
To her cold embrace again:—
*' Boom for the sleeper!”—and old and young,
While the tolling bell with its iron tongue
Wearily, woefully, slowly swung,—
Moved over the dusty plain.
11.
It waa the time of the sweet Spring’s prime,
And blossoms were in the wood :
And a soft, low breeze from the golden cliuio
Where flowers bloom fair, and where zephyrs chime
In music o’er field and flood,
Kissed open the rose and the lilly pale,
And its moist wings waved on the fragrant gale
Or gamboled in merry mood,
Till a joy seemed filling all earth and Heaven,
And uuseen spirits, to mortals given,
Were bearers of unknown good.
111.
Was that the season for him to die,
The South'* most nobis son .*
The time appointed for him to lie
In his cluY-eold grave ?—when the broad, bright sky
Was thrilling with voices of melody,
Were his heart’s throbbings done ?
Aye ! a wail was heard from the Laud of the South—
Ye could not but hear it then;
And the whisper crept round from month to mouth
Os dim-eyed Age and fair-browed Youth,
That a king in the world of men,
Whelong hadobeyed his country’s call,
Would be seen no more in the Nation’s Hall,
Nor his voice be known again.
IV.
Ilis form no more on the Senate floor,
* Would command a Senate’s eyes ;
And his eloquent tongue would no longer pour
His wealth of knowledge, his thought’s great store,
A patriot s saerifi .-e,
On the altar of love for his native land ;
But his lips are dumb, and his palsied hand
In death’s cold stillness lies.
V.
They laid him to rest where the tall, dark pines
Os South Carolina wave
Their tremulous leaves to the murmuring winds ;
And a pure white stone o’er the sod reclines,
And points to Lis lowly grave :
Yak's noblest offspring there sleeps his last sleep,
And Calholx will ne'er wake irorn that slumber
deep,
Though around him the zephyrs unceasingly weep,
And the wild winds of winter rave.
********
VI.
41 Boom fortbo sleeper ! —again give room f” —
And tbe silent guardians bore
Tbe stiffened ccrse to the lonely tomb,
'Mid the knell of bel’s, and the wailing boom
Os tbe cannon’s thunder roar;
Aye! they bore him towards the setting sun;
And the qpaseless crash of the minute gun,
And the black flag floating :n vapors dun,
From the fire-ear that rushed before,
Told the gathering crowds, as the dead went by,
That the brightest star in the Western sky
Would be seen in the heavens no more.
VII.
It was the prime of the Summer time,
And the sun in the East began to climb,
All large, and fierce, and red
And his blaring shield o’er the azure field,
As his fiery chariot onward wheeled,
A burning lustre shed; —
The world was still—not a sound was heard—
Js'ot a humming of bee, not a twitter of bird,
In forest, or grove, or glen;
But the green earth slept in the broad white glare,
And a solemn silence reigned everywhere,
By the fields and the homes of men.
VIII.
What hero lay there ?—whose silver hair
On that snow-white brow was laid ?
What grief, in which millions seemed to share,
Thus loaded with sorrow the sultry air,
And a grave-like stillness made ?
O, no more will ye see that gallant form,
That guided the tempest and ruled the storm,
When the rocking Ship of State, „
With wild, tom sail, and with shivered mast,
Drove helplessly on in the shrieking blast
To its dark and fearful fate.
IX.
He hath passed away from the throngs of men,
And Ids image is lost for aye;
But in vain will ye look for his like again
To rise in the perilous day,
And calm the mad crowd’s ignoble rage ;
By words of wisdom their minds assuage,
And be from Youth to hoary Age
Ilis tottering country’s stay.
X.
0, there let him re t, in the land of the West,
Where giant rivera flow,
And great lakes heave their broad, blue breaet,
And wh te Bails come and go.
The hero lies there in his dreamless sleep,
And around him the woodbine and ivy creep,
And birds chant their roundelay ;
And there each breeze stops its wandering,
And linger*# moment on airy wing,
To whisper the name of Clat.
********
XL
‘} Boom for the sleeper! once more give room !”
And the men of Marshfield bore
The mighty dead to hi* last, long home,
On the bleak New England «t-<> re i
And with muffled tread, and uncovered bead,
And sorrowful hearts and sore,
So moved they onnot a word was said,
But their cup of grief ran o’er;
And the thousands that followed were silent all,
And Suit-flowing tears were seen then to tail
From eyes that ne’er wept before.
nii.
pt was the prime of the Autumn time,
A calm October day; , A iff
And * day so fair that frozen rime
the night haTfted away ;-
% SSttWj J>wtmt:—lhWtii to ifitrratart, |o!ito, anil (General fjjisrtflimt).
And how thro' the mild, blue realms of qir
A soft, smoky sunlight tell every where,
And afar in the mellow ray,
Bright streams ran laughingly leaping along.
And their sweet waters joined in a silver song,
Or shouted iu mimic play.
XIII.
Ah ! whose are those features so grand and bold <
And whose that lordly brow ?
If he has gone down to thy dwelling cold,
How mighty, O, Death, art thou!
A King among Kings—a monarch of mind,
Whoso thoughts, like the lightning, .were never
confined
To fetters of human mouldy
But leaped iu broad flashes from Earth tolleaven;
And the oak that long with the storms had striven,
Ye knew wouid fall, all scorched and riven,
Where the crash of his thunder roiled.
XIV.
He spake—and tar nations obeyed his voice,
And tyrants turned pale with tear;
And the friends of Man might ever rejoice
Its fearless tones to hear.
O, shade of the fulien ! O, Genius sublime !
Great Land-mark of Ages, Colussus ot Time !
At last how low he lies!
Night suddenly come, and his day was done,
His sun was set, and no other sun
Illumes the dusky skies
Os the present age, but a gloomy hour
Is upon us, and who, while the dark clouds lower,
Shall say when the morn will rise l
XV.
That heart rests now—it will throb no more
For his God or his native land ;
But ever and aye on that lonely shore,
Where Oeeau lifts up Bis solemn roar,
And his everlasting waters pour
Iu thunders upon the strand,
While the changeful years glide swiftly by,
And soothingly ever the soft winds sigh,
And the stars move round o’er the silent sky,
The stranger, with reverent air,
By one green grave shall long linger alone,
And see, as he looks On that cold, gray stone,
The name of Webster there.
Yale College, 1853.
Utisttltomis.
FROM TIIE WASHINGTON GLOBE.
“ Party Leaders.”
ANDREW JACKSON.
Mr. Baldwin closes his notice of
General Jackson, in his work on Par
ty Leaders, with this remark ;
“ Yet one thing thi.%great man lacked.
He lacked the crowning virtue of mag
nanimity. Generosity towards a person
al or political enemy, and charity for op
posing opinion, vjere not numbered
among virtues in his calendar .”
Magnanimity was the most distin
guished trait in General Jackson’s life.
Greatness of mind, which opened up
to him vast and elevated designs for
the public good—a brave, generous,
and honest heart, which impelled to
the adoption of the most direct, fair
and honorable means of accomplish
ment, make up his public character.
What public enemy, savage or civil
ized, ever accused him of using dis
honorable or foul means? What po
litical enemy of his ever charged him
with intrigue or deception, or treach
ery? His whole course as a public
man was open, bold, and exalted by
the loftiest patriotism—and the public
man was but the'private man acting
in the gaze of the world. The same
fearless, distinguk hed, self-sacrificing
noble nature characterized General
Jackson in all his private transactions,
in which the nation had no concern, as
in those on which its destiny depend
ed. He would risk his life for a friend,
even for a helpless stranger whom he
thought wronged, under the same im
pulsive instinct of justice and duty and
heroic feeling that signalized his pub
lic career.
In meeting such an assumption as
that taken for granted by Mr. Baldwiu,
we shall cite various well authenticated
instances of General Jackson’s magna
nimity, establishing our assertion. It
shall not stand upon opinion but events.
We must do this somewhat at the ex
pense of that good taste and circum
spect prudence which would dissuade
from mingling with General Jackson’s
proud public career, the minor strifes
in which he was involved as an indi
vidual; but the latter more than the.
former identify the man, and it is in
the light of his personal attributes that
he is considerea by Mr. Baldwin in
the passage quoted. It is to the fierce
ness of Jackson in personal contests
that his political rivals and opponents
have given a caste to impress the idea
that he was cruel and revengeful; ana
yet those conflicts of his early days,
almost invariably grew out of his read
iness to risk himself to save others
from oppression. His attaek on Gov.
Sevier, when surrounded by his friends,
sprang from an insult given him iu
consequence of his interposition to save
the public lands from a banditii of
land-robbers who, sought to appropri
ate them under fraudulent pretenses,
and at .the sacrifice alike of bona fide
settlers and the public interests. His
attack on the Government agent, (Dins
more,) on his way home from Natchez,
w th his servants, through the Indian
country, was in resistance to the at
tempt of this leader ,of savage hordes
to levy, by intimidation, the black
EATON'TON, CIA., SATURDAY, MARCH 10, 1855.
| strong hand, and then appealed to - the
Government to relieve the reebler men
from a sort of highway made
to wear the appearance of voluntary
tribute, to escape the Indian hostility,
which was instigated, to appear ap
peased by the agent.
So also of traits which wore more,
the appearance of originating in per
sonal anger; these, too, grew out of
an impulse to resist oppression. The
affair of Patton Anderson furnishes a
remarkable instance of Jackson’s sense
of justice, and a readiness'to take on
himself its vindication, at whatever
hazard. Anderson was a turbulent
brawler, of great prowess, who had in
flamed by some violence, a body of
men who determined to punish him in
their own way, in defiance of law.
Anderson pointed out to General Jack
son, from a booth, where they casual
ly met on some public occasion, the
approach of armed men, whom he
knew to be those who had threatened
to take his life. General Jackson leap
ed upon the table, spread f*ofn one
end of the booth to the other, pulled
out his iron tobacco box, as he clattered
along the table, snapped it in his hand,
making a noise like cocking a pistol,
and with a look of resolute passion in
his/ace, brought the lynching partywto a
stand, at the remote entrance of the
booth, while Anderson escaped at the
other end amidst the consternation.
General Jackson’s mode of taking the
quarrel on himself, in the meantime
brought on a parley, and so it ended.
In this case, the appearance of violent
passion was put on to save a doomed
man from a fate which he had, in some
degree, provoked, and which his pur
suers knew the public would not have
punished.
General Jackson’s conflict with Cot
olonel Benton, grew out of his taking
the part of a young man—then almost
a stranger at Nashville—whom he
thought overborne by the superiority
of the Colonel’s brave and exasperat
ed brother, Jesse Benton. Years after
the bloody scene, the slugs fired into
General Jackson’s shoulder were work
ing through it. He conducted his In
dian campaigns with his arm in a sling.
After the Seminole campaign, as late
as 1817, he was brought almost to the
point of death by the progress of the
lead along his limb. In his second
term of the Presidency, Dr. Harris by
a surgical operation relieved him from
it; but this long-rankling wound, oc
casionally attended with so much pain
and danger, did not rankle in the
mind. Years before General Jackson
was relieved from the effects of the
conflict, the combatants met in Wash
ington —Jackson as Presdent and Ben
ton as Senator— and the two sterue&t
of men, from native magnanimity, for
got their bloody strife; and the first
called the latter to his counsels, and'
the other came with as much confi
dence as if mutual conciliation had led
the way.
Jackson and Adair quarreled upon
the nicest point of honor, involving the
conduct of a portion of the Kentucky
volunteers, whom Adair commanded.
After the vehement crimination and
recrimination in the public prints, r
Jackson gave Adair his defiance on
passing through Nashville. Adair
passed it by, having no inclination to
take the life of one who had rendered the
greatest service to the country. With
out explanations, when the latter came
to Washington, General Jabkson sent
Mr. Barry, his Postmaster General, and
Colonel Johnson, to General Adah, to
say that but for the etiquette of his
station, he would pay him thefirst vis
it; and these veterans met with all the
kindly feeling that had grown up in
their boyhood in. their North Caroli
na school days.
Jackson and Shelby quarreled when
joined in a commission on an Indian
treaty. Jackson carried his point, hav
ing resolved to sign the treaty with or
without his colleague’s assent. No
man had higher courage or was of
firmer purpose than Shelby, but he
saw that what Jackson designed would
be effectuated without his assent, and
he afterwards assented. He could ill
brook the mortification, and on the re
turn journey evinced ill-temper. Yet
Jackson relented —conciliated his stern
antagonist so far as to have him go to
his house and lavish its hospitalities
upon him. Can there be higher proof
of magnanimity in a fiery spirit than
this attempt to appease an angry friend,
who was offended at an honest dis
charge of a public duty ou the part of
one equally entitled with himself to
decide pn it—leaving the final decision
to the superior authority ?
But so far as “ charity to opposing
opinion ” is proof of magnanimity, who
ever gave higher than General Jack
son ?
He. made Mr. McLean Secretory of
the. Treasury, with full knowledge that
he was opposed, not merely to his opin
ions, but all his measures in relation
to the Bank of the United States.—
When he felt it to- be his duty to re
move the deposits, and sell the nation’s
slock in the Bank, as .well' as to de
prive that depraved institution of the
success of the war it waged on the
Government, as to save iU vast i-apiml
ing opinions which every member of
his cabinet (except Mr. Taney,) enter
tained and expressed, and the active
efforts of some of them to defeat his
measures. Such was his kindness for
two of his ministers who thought that
implied responsibility would attach to
them as members of his cabinet, if not
publicly exonerated by the President
himself, that lie agreed, on the applica
tion of a friend, after his Cabinet paper
on the subject was sent to the press,
to alter its terms, and declare on the
face of the paper that he alone “ took
the responxnlity .”
But on this eventful measure, frought
with the fate of his administration—
and, on the failure of which the great
party opposed to him Would have crush
ed under it the proud public reputa
tion he had given his life to earn—he
tolerated with perfect composure oppo
sition, even in his own household.
The artist, Colonel Earle, who livid in
his house, and enjoyed its hospitalities
for years before he left the Hermitage,
who came with him to Washington and
shared in the social elevation and hon
ors of the White House, who returned
with him to the Hermitage, was attend
ed by him in his last illness, and was
buried by the side of the tomb pre
pared for himself, did not hesitate to
express opposition to his vital measure.
The nephew of his good wife, his
private secretary —the same who sided
with Mr. Calhoun when breaking up
his first cabinet—raised his voice with
the multitude of other friends who
cried out against his fixe I purpose.
Major Lewis, another devoted, intimate,
ever cherished friend, opposed him, not.
merely by that influence which his
nearness to the President and his offi
cial station necessarily brought to bear
even as negative opposition, but he
went to the President himself, and took
a stand against it to shake his purpose.
“General,” said Major Lewis to him
on one occasion, know there is a
strong party in the South supporting
you only from the force of circumstan
ces; the leaders are hostile, and if you
remove the deposits, you will afford
them ground to join the opposition,
and take a great body of the people
with them.” “ I know that,” was the
reply, “I will remove the deposits,
and not leave them whore they are
employed to undermine and overthrow
the Government from which they are
derived.” “But,” Major Lewis rejoin
ed, “if the Southern leaders carry a
majority against you, they will pass a
law to restore the deposits; what wiR
you do then?”; “Why, then I will
veto it.” “But, General, they proba
bly may carry it over the veto—what
then?” “I will resign, and retire to
the Hermitage.” And what was the
course of this violent man, who would
brook no opposition towards one from
whom he might have expected support,
but whose honest opinions presented
such obstacles as threatened such fatal
alternatives? Did he persuade a sur
render to his views? No. Did
he paralyze the influence these op
inions exerted by withdrawing his
countenance from his officer who avow
ed them? No. He loved him through
life, grieved bitterly at his removal by
Mr. Folk, against his remonstrauces,
and sent for him as the friend he would
have to close his eyes in death, to mark
to the world his dissent to this pro
scription.
These instances of his toleration of
opinion on a question- involving.all he
held dear, among those who stood
nearest to him, manifest strongly “char
ity for opposing opinion.” A man
without magnanimity might have at
tempted to control, or at least neutral
ize an influence winch, as proceeding
fro ** his cabinet and household friends,
derived its strength from himself. He
did no such thing. He treated those
around him as he treated the venerable
Nat. Macon and hundreds of others
of independent friends, who, from a
distance, apprized him by letter of
their opposition. His correspondence
will show with what indulgent feelings
he received, but with what heroic con
sistency he resisted their protests. He
fought on, but was careful not to strike
down one of those honest friends who
stood most in his way, although he
was sensible that it was “ the last of
his fields,” and 'that if he failed the
glory of his life went down under
eclipse.
Another Shot at the Know Nothings.
Through evil and through good re
port we have battled against the order
of Know Nothings. In the midst of
overwhelming defeat we have hurled
defiance at them, in spite of the warn
ings of friends and the threats of ene
mies, and time has vindicated the wis
dom of our course much sooner than
we anticipated. Know Nothingism is
dead at the South, whatever it may be
at toe North. Gardner and Wilson of
Massachusetts, Pollock of Pennsylva
nia, and last of all, William H. Sew
ard of New York, whom it has elevat
ed to office, are the mill-stones which
have sunk it in the sea of public odium
from which there is no deliverance.—
It is dead, stone, dead; and we rejoice
in its death.
Without pretending to know more
about if than any otlior well informed
citizen, we knew enough about it to
lourtte- fna It was a secret
political organization, controlled by a
grand council located at the North and
under abolition influence, or in other
words a secret oligarchy which pro
posed to take the power out of the
hands Os the people and give it to a
few chosen leaders. If successful, it
would have revolutionized the Ameri
can system, and substituted for our free
institutions the government of Venice.
This was enough to brand the order
with infamy, But when it was an
nounced that the objecUdf this radical
change in our form of government was
to make the accident of birth a polit
ical crime, and a man’s religion a test
of official qualification, we would have
been recreant to the memory of our
fathers and traitor to the land of our
birth, if we had not denounced the or
der as inimical to the liberty and the
best interests of our country. And
now that the tree has brought forth
fruit, and shows Gardner and Wilson,
Pollock and Seward in high political
stations as its idols and representatives,
we feel that we are justified in our
worst fears, and are sorry that we have
not been more efficient in our opposi
tion to the order.
One word in explanation. We are
convinced that good men and true, both
at the North and the South, have been
lured into the lodges of the order by
a misrepresentation of its purposes and
aims. They owe it to themselves and
the country to abandon it at once.
[limes & Sentinel.
FROM TIIE CHILD’S PAPER.
Can Little Children Do Good ?
Yes, my dear litte girl. You cau
do good in various ways; for even
giving a cup of cold water is a kind
act, and the Bible tells us it will not
lose its reward. But it must be done
from right motives, not that you may
boast of it as a deed of charity, or to
obtain a reward, hut that you may
make others happy.
Children seldom have money to give
to the poor and needy, and they are
too young to nurse the sick, but there
are attentions which they can pay the
invalid sufferer far sweeter than the
costliest perfumes, or more valuable to
an aching heart than gold or gems.
A few weeks since I was sitting by
a lady who was wasting with disease,
and soon to close her eyes on every
thing earthty. Though her friends
knew she was willing to depart when
ever her heavenly Father should call
her'home, they were grieved at the
thought of losing this loved one, and
they were all ministering to her relief
and comfort. One friend sent her de
licious calf’s foot jelly, another choice
cordials. Fruit, lemonade, and other
delicacies of various kinds tempted her
appetite, and were refreshing to her
parched mouth and feverish throat;
and she expressed much pleasure at re
ceiving so many proofs of kindness and
affection from her friends.
There was a fresh boquet in a vase
by her side, which contained fragrant
flowers and was arranged with taste.
“ That,” said the dying iady, “is the
most gratifying gift I have received
during my sickness. It was brought
me by a little girl.” She took it in
her trembling hand and inhaled its
sweet odors, and gazed upon the flow
ers until she was too weary to hold it
longer. In a few hours she was in
that bright and happy land where
the “ fields are dressed in living green,”
and the flowers are “never withering.”
Do you not think that little girl was
doing good when she gathered those
buds and blossoms to -relresh the wea
ry, way-worn pilgrim on her journey
home! Is there no little girl who
reads The Child’s Paper who will fol
low her example?
Is there no little boy who can fore
go the pleasure of eating the first ripe
peach, that he may present it to some
sick man who has nw money to buy
such luxuries? Will he not delight
in making the sufferer happy ? If he
bestows even such little kindnesses
with the spirit of his Savior, he will
one day hear that Savoir saying to
him, “ Inasmuch as ye did it unto one
of the least of these my brethren, ye
did it unto me.”
from the temperance banner.
The Issue.
Mit. Editor:— We have thought a
short commuiT ition concerning the
issue it would be prudent to tender to
our adversaries in the coming election,
would at this time be proper.
Great exertions will be made to
alarm the people with an apprehension
that if we succeed we will have what
they choose to call the Maine Law.
Though we do not intend to pass this,
3'et, the provision in it to which our
enemies mainly object, is, we suppose,
in the laws of every civilized people
in the world, to wit: the right of
searching a man’s house in certain oases.
For example, if a man is suspected of
harboring a felon, .or slave, where slave
ry exists, concealing implements for
counterfeiting, or a man’s child, oV sto
len goods, upon such suspicions being
verified as the law directs, a warrant
issues to make search, &c.
Without such a law as this, thieves
could secure ail they could steal anti
get tofhoir own hope or the house of
a fnend. Witlioufc !t murderers, rub
bers, counterfeiters, thieves, &e., could
be protected in their own or their
friends’ houses a week, month, or any
desired length of time^aftilthey could
make a safe escape; and slaves could
be harbored from place to place until
they could be got out of the country.
VV itbout this right of search, the laws
could not be executed, and thieves
and other offenders would carry on
their depredations with impunity. To
make this search by virtue of the
Maine Law, the oaths of thffto credible
persons are required; swearing, in
substance, that they have reasons to
believe and do believe that such a per
son, in such a house or such a place, is
carrying on a business in liquor, pro
hibited by law, &c. This, however, is
not what we are going for.
The law which we believe is more
desired in Georgia than any other, is
one which will effectually put.d° wn
the retail liquor shops. No intelligent
man that is honest, will pretend that
these hot-beds of all evil ever do any
good; nor can he deny that they do
more to corrupt the public manners
and morals, and produce more crime
and misery than any other vice, or
perhaps all others. Therefore, as a
nuisance of the worst caste, they ought
to be suppressed by Jaw. Then let us
have an issue, distinctly, fairly, and
plainly made upon this subject.
The Issue. —Let it be : The Liquor
Shops for the Retail of Liquor ought
to be suppressed by law.
Let temperance men and candidates
every where distinctly and boldly de
clare themselves in favor of suppress
ing this mischievous branch of the
liquor traffic. Let our candidates, par
ticularly, use no timorous equivocation
—no mincing fear-—no shame-faced
ness —no mealy-mouthedness; but pre
sent to our opponents a bold and man
ly front, with a look of consciousness
of right and a confidence of success.
Then let them call upon their oppo
nents to define their position ; and to
declare without equivocation, whether
they are for a continuance or a discon
tinuance of the liquor shops, otherwise
called the doggeries. Listen to no,
harangues intended for evasion. Call
on them to say whether they are for
continuing or for discontinuing the
dram shops. That is the question ; ‘
then force them to an answer—let
them not dodge it.
If they meet us on the issue—liquor
shops or no liquor shops—they that are
sensible know that they will be beaten.
They will, therefore, seek to excite fear
of something not in the issue--some
thing not intended, in order that they
may avoid the issue offered. But let
them again be called back to it and
compelled to meet it, or to show that
they are afraid of it. If this fear be
made manifest to the people, they will
not vote for such candidates—for all
love independence, and no one loves to
vote for a cowardly leader. By this
means the liquor candidates may be
made to feel and act like bugs on a
chunk, both ends of which are the
fire.
Lewis Reneau.
Clark County, Feb. 8.
FROM THE SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN.
Soup as Food, and How to Make It.
In jiour valuable paper of Jan 27th
—a number of which has just fallen
into my hands—l notice an article with
the first part of the above caption,
which has induced me to say some
thing on the same subject. With your
comments on the extracts from The
Country Gentleman I most fully concur,
and your expose of the fallacy of the
reasoning contained in it, if reasoning
it can be called. But not on that, but
on the making of soup I wish here to
say something.
Really good soup is a dish very rare
ly to be met with—not because of the
difficulty of making it, I presume, but
because of ignorance in making it.
There are very few cooks who know
how to make it. The broth water,
made by boiling a little piece of beef,
mutton, chicken, &e. a little while, and
then taking it out and stirring in a lit
tle flour or corn meal, is not soup, and
does not deserve the name. To make
good soup requires much boiling—
some two or three hours, or more. And
it should not be deprived of the meat
when taken to the table, or at least of
all ot it, used In m king it, but the
meat used should be chopped or cut
up very fine when put in the water
to make it, and suffered to remain in
it, or a good portion of the meat. It
should also have the addition of veget
ables, where these can be procured,
which should also be cut up in it when
put on to cook, and a pod or two of
red pepper to season it with, which
makes it much more healthful, partic
ularly iu cold weather. And not any
particular kind of vegetables, or one
kind only at a time, but it will admit
of having almost every sort put in it—
and that too at the same time, or in
the same dish. Generally speaking,
the more you put iu the better—pota
toes, cabbage, onions, carrots, salsify,
shallots, &e., all except beans, sweet
potatoes, and perhaps a few others.
Fruits, as apples, peaches, he., are of!
course excluded, and belong, properly,
to deserts. Tfie reason for thus boil
ing soup so long iu naming it, is to ex
tract fne gelatinous portion the
f "Tew m» c am &
j **-00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE.
NUMBER 10.
meats —a most important and nutri
tious principle—and which gives the
fine, rich afid pecujiar flavor that ren
ders it so palatable and nourishing—
and which the “broth water” we have
spoken of has not. This, as is well
known, is only to be extracted from
meat by long boiling, and by its being
divided into small bits. Hence bones,
from which the flesh has pot been too
closely stripped, make the best soup,
particularly the parts about the joints,
where the ligaments and tendons are,
as these contain the most gelatin. And
the marrow in bones also, add much
to the richness and flavor in soup.
They should be sufficiently broken or
crushed. But the more gelatine the
better the soup. There is also econo
my in the use of bones and bits of
meat not fit for the table, and by
leaving them iti the soup there is no
heed of eating meat separately. These
hints are given, in the hope that they
maj r be beneficial, by
A PHILANTHROPIST.
Paduch, Ky.
Irish Potatoes.
The culture of this standard vegeta
ble is beginning to be appreciated at the
South. Hitherto it has been supposed
to be only adapted to cold climates,
and by many, thought to be a native
of a cold climate. History shows its
origin in South America, and Nothern
culture first brought it to edible notice.
But by judicious management it pro
duces even better here than ih colder
latitudes. The first crop should be
planted this, and the next month. "Wo
have often given our method of plan
ting under straw, and from many
years of experience, will give some
additional hints. We find that where
potatoes are planted thus early under
straw, from the warmth and moisture
below they shoot quickly, and, the
straw being a non-conductor, the tops
arc very liable to be cut off by frost
in March or even in April. To obviate
this, the straw should be well decom
posed, or if fresh straw is used, plant
the same as usual, and cover the
whole straw with a thin coating of
earth; this will prevent the liability ot
the tops to be frost bitten, cause the
straw to decompose quicker, and give
an astonishing yield of large mealy po
tatoes. Leaves from the woods will
answer all the purposes of straw. —
Don’t be afraid of covering too deep ;
pile on the straw and leaves two feet
deep,, and the tops will come through.
It is not like covering them with earth
that deep, for the tuber is not beyond
the influence of light and air, and
moisture will be generated, and be re
tained by the decomposing vegetable
substance. In the vicinity of tan
yards, tan bark may be used in mulch
ing potatoes. First, plant the potatoes
quite shallow, in mellow, rich earth,
and cover the whole surface, six inch
es deep, with tan bark. Sawdust
may also be used in the same manner.
The only objection to using bark and
sawdust is, that they arc slow of de
composition, that they unfitthe ground
for any other crop ; whereas the
ground covered with straw or leaves,
is increased in fertility for any crop
that may be planted afterwards.
When in Mobile, last season, we
learned from a gentleman a very suc
cessful method of raising potatoes.—
This gentleman lived on the river near
the bay, where large quantities of
drift wood and trash had been accu
mulating from the floods. He dug
deep trenches and filled them up with
rotten wood ; in these he planted the
potatoes, and covered them over with
the trash composed of leaves, weeds, &o.
The crop of tubers was enormous, and
of the very best quality. All of our
readers may not nave the means of
planting in tins manner. But there
is many a trash pile with a “gold
mine under. ”
If seed potatoes be an object, we
would advise to cut the tuber once in
two ; cut them at least ten days before
planting, and spread them where tiro
wounds will heal. Next month will
be time enough to plant potatoes in the
ground without mulching. -The hill
system should be abandoned in this
climate —it originated where they wan
ted to give all the heat possible. We
want to keep them as cool as possi
ble. Consequently manure the ground
with well rotted manure, turn it deep
under, making the soil very mellow,
and plant the potatoes in the drills,
leaving the whole surface of the ground
perfectly level. When the droughts
of June come on, the tubers will be
mealy and good; when those planted
in hills will be watery and worthless.
Remember whatever manures are ap
plied to Irish potatoes should be cooL
r [Soil of the South.
Advice to Young Men.
‘‘Be temperate in all things. Shun
every avenue of temptation. J.ouch
not, taste not, handle not,” under any
form, the cup of intoxication. Be em
ployed in some profitable study Or use
ful‘business; for idleness is the fruit
ful parent of vice—the handmaid of
every temptation.
Always precede a lady in going up
Safi's. * *