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—' ——^ — — ——— 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. * *