The Lancaster ledger. (Lancaster, S.C.) 1852-1905, June 30, 1852, Image 4
(Driginnl ^odnj. *
\
[For the Ledger. j.
To J. W., of Lan carter.
u Tia said that absence conquers love,
But, oh! believe it not; c
I've tried Jn vain its power to prove, I
But thou art not forgot."
Why so long thy silenco keep,
Whilst my poor heart is breaking? 4
Wilt thou not stirnn the fVnmtii! n f)nmv
That surety's in the sleeping ? 4
a
Or will you let my heart-strings break,
And see me die with grief? j
Or must I some corroding poison take,
To give my heart relief?
Oh, no ! I know that naturo did, ^
Thy bosom fill with worth? j
It only lies concealed nnd hid,
Like precious gems of earth.
c
And why not then search out the gold
That in theo lies concealed; I
And pay back a debt to her so bold, j
That has her love revealed ?
Or will you let your silence prove c
A refusal of your hand,
And blast forever my pure love, r
And drive me from the land ? s
You cannot thus my heart-strings scar,
And fill me with remorse; c
If .I.,*, i ?.:? i v? ?
.. x?v>m ?. nun IA?|I 1 Wir?
Send on thy tcatch and horse.
I?DY. j|
Cain Creek, N. C., Juno 23, 1852.
~ ? ?' c
[Selected. j
A Very Grave Exhortation. j
I believe you isn't married, Nod ?
You doesn't know the sweets
Vat waits upon that happy state, s
Ven man and woman meets.
The btiRums vortn emotions, Ned, s
The drops vithin the eyes, 1
Tlie nice vash'd things, the darn'd stockings, J
And all them tender ties. g
You don't know vat it is, Ned,
Vile lying in your bed, ^
To gaze on careful woman's form, li
Vile the breakfast things is spread, li
Ven you don't want to get up, Ned; [
The kiver feels so nice; L
And she say9, "Do take another cup,
And this here 'tother slice."
li
Vile the fire is burning bright, Ned, n
And all upon the chnir ^
Your linen and your drawers, Ned,
Is hanging, up to air.
I axes every heart, Ned,
Vot isn't made of steel, ^
it they can gaze upon that fire,
And not a vanning feel ?
o
Oh ! wery few, indeed, Ned, 1,
Knows ven they're truly happy; (
Vcn tliu bahy is fetch'd in, Nod,
"To kiss its lazy pappy !n
You little tency, peney thing?
Its mammy?turn and est her;
\ ou bcascd babe?it was tho thwcct *
Itconldd't be no thweetor.
" You dod-n-bessed angel, yon?
It pulls its poppy's hair!
Take fingers out of poppy's cup?
Don't cry, then, thwcctest?there !
Oh fie ! to spill all pappy's tea! 1
You naughty, ducky, dandy, f<
Owny, dony, roguey poguey, a
Tlnveot us sugar candy." c
Oh, Ned! there are some moments ven
The sternest hearts will quiver,
Just let thu baby spill your tea, '
Vile you're benuath the kiver, t
Von little hand within your hair, li
The 'tother in your cup; e
Don't vender if we sometimes feel
As we could "oat 'em up." _
&tnrit>? fnr fliiv 1
iw il)K ^ UUll^. tl
From the Friend of the Youth. ^
The New Scholar. j,
nv MART IRVING.
V
"fiirls! girls! l)o you know wo have ti
got a now Scholar ?" 1<
It was Laura Ilurnham, one of the youn- ft
gor boarders in Miss Stone* seminary, h
who shouted this to a group of her mate*
in the yar?l, just txiforo morning school 1,
hourw. Tliogirlft crowded around her like 1
so many ant* aronnd ft lump of sugar,
each asking a different question at the ri
ntnw moment.
"What is her name T "How large i?
she 1" "Do tell! where did fche drop e
fromf "When did you see her J" "I* J
she coming into school to-day?" "It she \
green, Laura 1" were nmong the inquiries, n
The last wan the question of Abby Itoldcn, w
a handsome but pert-looking girl, nearly cl
a head taller than those of her age around f<
her. A sort of sarcastic smile played o
over her lipe, and in her fine black eyes,
marking her as one of the genius school p
girl specie*, "a great tease." h
"How you craie a body ! You make o
my ears achel' returned I^aura, pressing a
both hands over her sun-bonnet. "I tell
you, I only just had one look at her, as I ?
was coming out of the parlor. "Green?" a
well, Miss Abby, you may make up your ?
own mina about that aoon enough, for a
aha it coining into achooi to-day, I tuppone.
She looked more black than green a
to my eye?what of her diets wun't e*r- a
ered with duat" tJ
"But her name?whatV hor name T repeated
half a dozen. y
"Louiee, 1 heard Mi? Stone call her, J
I don't know tho other." si
MM *4. 4 *44 4**4-M X It
44 Not Loizy P asked Abby, comical
ook that set others laughing. "Louise T
he repeated to herself in a little mincing
oice, with no emphasis on the last $ylable.
"I wonder whether shell sit next me V
aid Alice Crawford, a quiet sort of a
hild, with dreamy blue eyes and golden
>rown bair.
"No?meP exclaimed Lauia, " Miss
Stone will fill up my seat first?it's in
urn.'
"And she'll bo your forty-eleventh friend,
h ?" suggested Abby, playing with a
l>oar of grass.
"No?you provoking thing!" answered
..aura, good-humoredly. "What should
want of more friends than you P
"Oh, I thought it was about timo for
ou to take a new one again?that's all!
t's all of a week since you and I cooked
ip a crony-ship, and I suspect it is getting
old by this time 1"
"You never was anybody's friend, Al>)y,"
said Laura, turning away with a ro
>roachful look and tone.
"Much obliged to you ! Do you rockin
yourself nobody, then ?"
" I had as lief have a new girl, at any
ate," Laura went on, growing quite crimon
in the face.
Fortunately, the quarrel that was fast
oming on was nipped in the bud by the
harp stroke of the school bell.
"There! there! nine o'clock 1' they cried,
ind away they ran to their seats.
A low hum of whispering died away
m the benches, as Miss Stone came in
cading by tho hand a girl about eleven
oars old. All the scholars held their
>reatli, and strained their eyes to look
it her; and sonic even half rose from their
eats to have a better view of the stranger.
She was dressed in black, as Laura had
aid,with a wide tumbled white frill around
icr neck ; hair dark brown cut short in
icr neck, without curling; and a face
o frightened and wo-begone in its exiression
as you could find anywhere.?
fou could not see a particle of color in
icr cheeks or lips 1VS she involuntarily
mng up behind her teacher, shrinking
ack from the gaze of so manv pairs of
lue eyes.
Miss Stone herself did not seem to take
nucli notice of her hashfulncss, but, alnost
pulling her nlong, pointed to a single
desk at the end of tho echool-room.
"There is your seat," slio said. "Your
ather w ished you to sit alone. It ring
'our books to lue after I have opened the
choool, and I will set you at work."
The school was 'opened' by the reading
e _ -i a? ?- .1 ?
i n cunpier in uio isow Testament.?
iach of the girls read a verse. A'ice,
rhose scat, was nearest to Louise's, finished
lore and then there was a long pause.?
iliss Stone looked up impatiently.
"Whoso turn I Oh, Louise's. Do you
mow how to read in the Testament f
"Louise made a gesture for "Yea,
iia'am."
"Well, read then! Stand vp child P
iOtiiae stood up as she was biddep, but it
coined that she could not coax her white
renibling lips to do ah they were bidden,
^r she made one attempts between a gnsp
nd a sob, and then, bursting into tears,
overod her face with her book, and shrank
lown into her seat again.
"Tlienextr" said Miss Stone, pressing
ier fore finger tightly on the verso. Ab>y
curled her lips, shading it with her
and, and looked down on the new comr
with a grimace of contempt, then droping
her hnnd, read the verso demurely
nd correctly as wan projHjr. Louise
ad not seen her, neitlier had Mitw Stone,
ut two-thirds of the scholar* had ; and
liey, taking the hint from her, began to
ry lo despise the bashful stranger in their
carta. A geography class was the first
no called up, in which Ixniise had any
art.
"I wonder if she'll find her tongue,
rhispered Abby to Alice, as they were
ilcing their places in tho claw. Alice
K>kod straight forward ut tho black-board;
>r she knew that to whisper in echool
ours were contrary to rule.
"Louise Stoddard," observed Miss Stone,
ending to put her name on the class list,
lie girls looked at each other.
"Your places, young ladies. Sit upight."
"Ionise, what is tho capital of Maine!'
No answer. Louise turned whiter than
vcr. r\ , r*~ i
"Do yon know, Louise ? Then apeak.
ou must say something. If yon do
<>t know, say so; if you know, tell mo?
rlitt ie the capital of Maine !** "MansaliUHCtt*!"
Louise gasped, making on ef>rt
that shook her small frame like a leaf
n a windy day.
A titter went around the class. The
oor child, seeing what a mistake she
ad made in her fear, colored to the roots
f her hair, and did not daro to look np
gam.
It was just so in the arithmetic class,
rhero she eet all fc?4jpufh by looking
round with a distressed eye when she
ras asked, * What tttb fobf time* nino!"
nd tremulously exclaiming, "sixty-throe."
"The girl i% a green-bom and dunoeT
ried Abhy, after the roc ess bell bad rang,
a soon as she found herself outside of
J^T- nry
be echool-rooui. j ^
Take dare, At>by P "Hush! abe beard
mi!" quickly whiapered two, near bar.
ibby looked half around, aaar Loui|e
ending noa* a ^indew^jee^iog
bie statne, epgept for the tears that glassed
over her dark blue eyefc, and the distreesful
almost agonised expression of her face.
She did not seem able to more, but stood
as though tixe unkind words had turned
her really into stone.
"What if she did hear met" exclaimed
Abby, * Httle piqued. 441*11 repeat it
again for ber benefit, if she stands there
staring at mo much longer."
"Ob, Abby!" said Alice. Come?oomo
awayl"
"Go yourself and comfort the cry-baby.
See 1 she has gone to her bench to whimper
away again. I do hate a ninny 1"
Very few of the girls were so hardhearted
as Abby; but they wore, without
really knowing it, very much ruled by
her opinion, because they stood in great
fear of her power of raising a laugh against
them. So, instead of going to comfort
little Louise and make her feel at home,
tliey joined in a laugh at her expense,
and went of in a troop, to follow Abby to
the spring.' One or two?Alice for one
?gazed up timidly at the window, but
did not dare to turn and go in, where
Louise sat sobbing with her face leaned
on her atlas.
44 Oh dear I" she trghod, lifting her red
eyes for a moment into the sunshine, which
fell in a golden shower over her head, as
though it longed to cheer her up, and call
her out to nlav. "Oh dear! I wish"
I ^
Tlio very act of wishing brought a fresh
burst < f grief, and she dropjKKl her face
again.
"Homesick, eh, little one ?" asked one
of the larger young ladies, passing by her
desk.
Louise started up in confusion, and
stared timidly at her, as though she did
not know whether she were an enemy or
a friend.
"Want to go home, hey ?" added the
other.
44 N-no, ma'am !" stammered Louise,
turning her head away to hide hei tcarsprinkled
cheeks.
44Oh, well, I'll let you have your cry
out," said the other going away and taking
no further notice of licr.
The day passed thus. Louise did not
venture to either the dinner or the supper
tables, but crouched in a corner of
tlio school-room, looking up into the sky,
when the others were not with her. The
teacher thought that she was sullen, and
and not disposed to become acquainted in
her new home. The scholars had made
irv ?!>*! !.-? -1 1'
,ucn iiiiuua nirti. ou? *r?a very uisagreeable
sort of girl, besides being " green,"
and they didn't care anything about her.
So the poor thing went uncared for until
bed-time, when a servant was sent to show
her to her sleeping place.
She was taken into a large room, where
most of the girls of her age also had their
beds set against the wall, all in a row.?
Ilers was exactly between those of Laura
and Abby.
The girls clustered into a comer to
whisper and giggle, as soon as she came
into the room, and expressed as plainly
as they could without words, that she was
very unwelcome, and they did wish she
hml stayed away. She stole along to her
bed, and stood leaning against it, as
though uncertain what to do next.
"Well, are you going to stand there
all night 1" asked Abby, at last, turning
suddenly upon her. "Because I can tell
you the light will he taken nway in five
minutes, whether you nre dressed or undressed."
Thus warned, Louise commenced bur
riodly untying her clothes; but the girl
oflmo for the light before she had finished.
She wan too timid to ask for her trunk,
which had not yet been brought up.
She stole along to the window, lifted the
curtain, and stood unfastening the knot*,
bytlio light of the moon.
* 1 say girls, did you ever hear that 'the
moon was made of green cheese ?' or was
it' made green cheese ?' which F said Abby
to the others, in a whisper loud enough
to reach Louise.
"What's the capital of Maine F chuckled
Laura, in another loud whisper.
"Why,' sixty-three,' to be sure! Don't
you know itF said Abby, very complacently
; and all laughed again.
Louise felt as though her head and
heart were bursting. But she did not
shed any more tears. She had 'hud her
cry out,' and was wea?y and hopeless to
do anything but stagger to her bed. As
soon as site lay down in it, howerer, she
sprung up as though a bee had stung her.
"Why, what's the matter nowf inquired
Abby. The others all kept silent
"There's something in my bed P exclaimed
tho terrified Louise, drawing up
her feet nr
A few of the girts giggled under their
counterpanes.
"Something is there! Well, you had
better lio down and take np with something,
for I guess you'll get something'
else if Madame Stone hear you talking out
loud here, alter hours P and Abby turned
over on her pillow.
Louise crawled osti of her sheets, and
rolling herself np as well as she could.
slept the tight away on the outside of her
bed. * In the morning she wee suddenly
awakened ftom a sweet dream by a tone*
ing dash of cold water. She started op
With a little teeaa; hot nobody was near
her; yet thegfrie were all laugfaing.i m j
"Hope you reeled well hut night," oh
""tJUSt- ghW. ht ? ?.
0
what could have got into her bed," said
she giving a wink to the rest. <]
Turning down the clothes, they found <]
one or two bunches of burdock burrs,
stuck just where Louise was to have lain, r
They tried to conceah their laughter ; and 1
Abby seeming very much astonished, cried j
out? - t
"Dear me I who could have done this! t
How did these come here? Alico, do 1
you know any thing about it? For she i j
saw that Alim wlin woo l.r
that had not laughed, was just on the (
point of speaking. 1
"No, I don't; but I know somebody 4
that dots P said Alice, coloring with an- i
ger,? unlike her usual gentlencssi
"Ah, the tell tale blush betrays the ?
guilty P said Abby, pointing her fore-fin- <
ger at her, with a meaning look. "It i
was very wrong of you, Alice ! I feel it
my duty to report you P* f
Alice was quite flustered, and did not
reply. The others laughed as though
they would kill themselves.
Louise was put into the small classes
that day, with little girls a head below
herself. Iler teacher told her she thought
she could get those lessons, at least. SLe
hardly seemed to study them, however,
but sat with her head on her hand, looking
vacantly before her.
Two or throe three weeks passed in this
way. Louise became a little less bashful
in her classes; but she did not dare to go
near the girls in their plav-houre; for
she was two plainly conscious that they
disliked and despised her. Abby' called
her a coward the second day, and she
never went near the group at play, without
seeing the game stopped, and hearing
something muttered about 'dunce,' or
4sneak.'
One day, more unhappy than usual,
she had gone down to the spring, all by
herself, to get. a dipper of water. Finding
no one there, she stayed, throwing little
pebbles in and amusing herself in various
ways, until she heard the laughter of the
girls very near her. She sprang to her
feet, and met them on the little hill which
arched up from the spring, like the side
of a bowl. She passod them without
speaking. She had walked slowlv a few
stops, whirling a polo which she had i
picked up for a cane, when she heard a
terrible scream. She turned, instinctively, 1
and ran down the hill. The girls wero
running in all directions like wildfire. Abby
was the hindmost. >
"A snake! oh, a snake !' they screamed.
"Abby trod on a snake!"
Abby screamed louder than before, just
here, as she caught a second sight of
the snake, coiling through the grass.? i
Louise saw it, too. Being a country bred 1
girl, and not in tho least afraid of snakes,
she dashed in after it. It was a large
water adder, and was probably more afraid i
of tho girls than they wero of it Louise '
soon dispatched it, by the help of her
stick, and, hanging it across the end,
hold it up, to call back tho frightened i
troop. The girls scarcely dared to ap- i
proach, even when they saw their enemy 1
killed. But by degrees they came near,
touched it with the stick, and breathed
moro freely. Abby was first amone
o
them.
"If this snake hadn't been killed," said
she, "we would nono of us have ever dared ,
come to the spring again! I declare, ,
l/ouisc,' and she turned suddenly toward
her, "you are a real heroine, and a right
generous girl, and HI mako friends with
you!'
She reached out her hand but Louise
drew her* behind her back. Ah, Louise! i
there was a little of the poison of our fallen
nature, pride, rising in your heart at I
that moment! Hut we can scarcely blame <
you for doing, on first impulse, what !
many another, older and wiser than you
would have done.
All would have been lost, and the two ,
would perhaps have been enemies forever, ,
f Alice had not sprung forward as Louise
half turned away. ]
"Oh, Louise, stay with us?do!" she
exclaimed, catching her in both arras.?
"We havn't liked you, I know; and we
have ealled you names, and laughed at ,
you; bat we are sorry, all sorry; and ]
won't you forgive us, awl be friends, now?" ,
" You never have, Alice," said Louise,
as her lip quivered.
"But / have," said Al>by, coming again
to her side. " Look here, Louise
Btoddard, I like you all the better for your
spunk. I've c tiled you a coward, over
and over again. I wou't say I'm sorry,
but I'll tell you what I will do; I will
leave it to all these girls to say which of
us is the biggtti coward! There will that
suit you f Shake hands on it, then !"
Louise did not refuse again. She joined I
the party, and all clustered around her 1
as tliay proceeded to the school-house.? i
Louise seemed another being by the time
hey reached the gate. Her cheek* were
flushed, her eyes were lighted up, and a
bright mile made ber once pale (ace beautiful.
Alice walked beside her quietly, t
with Louise's hand in here, having fallen <
back into her uraal calm, tweet mood.
Abby followed , but though Louiae often
turned to hurfthe did not look on her so
lovingly and trustfully as on the dear girl
at karsid* I
That night, Ahoe and Louise had a long (
confabulation at twilight, under the pear |
taenta the garden * piece celebrated hi \
the sanguis of Miss Btooe's school
"Oh, Alice," said Louisa, fervently, "why
lidn't you tell me you liked me, that first
lay, if you really did like me!"
"It was wrong not to, I know, Louise,"
eplied Alice, sadly. "But, somehow,
Vbby Bolden always does make us do
ust as she wants us to. I didn't put the
)urdocks in your bed, though 1 You can't
hink I would be so mean as thatf I didn't
mow anything about them, until Abby
mlled down the clothes."
"I'll try to forget all that they have
lone, and all the three weeks past," said
Louise, wiping her dyes with her apron.
'But, oh, Alice, I never, never can forget
vhat happened before that!"
"Did your mamma die ?" asked Alice,
lofllv and tcnderlv : for Louise had <vw.
;red her eyes, as if to shut out some hor-id
sight.
"Oh, Alice I shall almost l>e glad when
die does die 1" sobbed Louise.
Alice sat, silently wondering.
"My baby sister died?she went to
Heaven, they said?half a year ago; and
ho sorrow, and trouble, and sickness,
made my poor mainma crazy. And they
?ay she never will get well." Louise
struggled to say. "They took her?oh, it
sas two days only before I came here?
.hey tied her hands, and took her off to
i great stone house, nil insane asylum,
o shut her up there; because, tlicy said
die would kill us all if she staid at home.
She never, never would have hurt me"
lobbed the child. Oh, mamma loved me
?o much! and I loved her so much, too.
Before sho was taken bad, we used to be
ituddying and writing together the whole
morning. Mamma woul- write, or paint,
>r practice music, and I would be close
lK*ide her, studdying, or sewing, or taking
lessons of her. I never went to
choot h day, before I came here; and
I never played with any girls. Mamma
played with mo sometimes, and I played
with the baby. Oh, I was so happy."
She leaned her head on Alice's shoulder,
relieved by this outpouring of her sad
heart's troubles.
"What did you use to study with your
mamma?" said Alice.
"Oh, all the things that you study?
arithmetic, and geography, und history,
and French; and all sorts of studies."
"Why, then you needn't stay in the little
classes, need you ?"
"1 won't stay there a day longer, said
Louise resolutely. "I haven't cared tc
study before ; but now I do care. That
first day when you were all looking at tin
and laughing, and I was thinking so about
poor mamma, I couldn't say anything not
do anything. I thought I would have tc
stay here, and t>o unhappy all my life; be
cause my papa is gone to Europe, and h<
lett me here until his coinming back."
44 But you will Iki happy now, Louise,"
*aid Alice, giving her an affectionate kiss
141 could cry to think how we plagued you
when you were feeling so dreadfully!"
WNever plague another new girl , Alice/
raid Lonisc- 44I tell you, the very firsl
scholar that comos liere after ine,l'll muki
friends with her the first day, if I can
Vou wan,t be jealous if I do, will yoi
Alice?"
4No, indeed ; I'll help you all I can."
Louise kept her resolutions. She rose ir
her classes immediately. She studed witl
such energy as even to rival Abby in het
classes. That tormentor was changed, sr
far as respected Louise, into an ntfectionati
friend. Louise gained influence over her
after awhile,greater than any other girl luu
done; because she was the only one wh(
would not be laughed out of what sin
thought right to do. She, the timid cbih
before, became the courageous, erect, cheer
ful girl, whom every scholar, young ani
old, admiied and loved. Iler teacher, too
loved, praised and rewarded her. (
i/ouise was also as good as her word, ir
watching over every succeeding "nev
scholar," If ever she saw Abby Bolder
uisposeu 10 shoot her arrows of ridiculi
againat one, alio would give her a laughicj
hint, such a*?
"Take care, Abby ! she may kill a snak
yet r*
And Abby would reply? "If she'll kil
me, tliAt'a sure ! Fou half did that, yot
know. I havn't been more than half my
self since! But you're a jewel of a girl!"
But Louise is no longer a "new scholar;'
and we will leave her among her tchoo
mate* now, hoping that her story may wii
some young laughing eyes to look mon
tenderly than they are wont to do on aom<
other bashful New Scholar.
"Spirit Rappino."?Among the mam
wonders of the Spirit Rappings, wo lean
that in a country village, not fifty milei
from Cincinnati!, a noor follow Ha?1 1o?i
his favorite dog. He enquired for Towsei
and the rape came.
Man?44 Is your spirit happy ?n
Dog?44 Yeo."
Man?44 Are there any coons there!"
Dog?'4 Yea, bat they are twice th<
lite they are n your country, and I can*
catch them."
This iaaaid to hare actually taken place
Wo have k on the beet authorhy.
44 Hare yoa ground ad the toole right,
I told you thle morning when I gent ewsyf
mid a carpenter to a rather groda Ind whon
bo hod taken for on epprmtUa, All ha
thehnrd-eew, replied t^ led protaptly
'IcouhU^Ht^yifOiall, tba?jp ot^t of thai.'
jlgtirsltsial.
From the Soil of the Sohth.
Irish Potato Slips
Id your April number, page 249, I
noticed directions for keeping the Irish
potato sound after digging. Your directions
are good. My plan is somewhat
different, and has proved very successful.
Mix two bushels of charcoal with one
bushels of sire slacked lime for every 50
bushels of potatoes, and sprinkle the
mixture through the potatoes immediately
after moving them from the field.?
In this way you may keep them perfectly
sound until the spring.
Inasmuch as seed potatoes are with
difficulty obtained at any price, I have
been planting the Irish potato for the last
three years by drawing the slips, and find
that they produce in this way quite as
well as well as the Yam potato. One
bushel of Irish potatoes planted in this
way, will produce more than two bushels
planted from the seed. Bed them as you
do the Yam, draw the slip, open a wide
furrow with the plow, and plant them in
it on the horizontal plan, as you do grape
cuttings, leaving from two to four inches
of the top out of the ground.
Mr. Cobbet, in an essay on the Irish
potato crop, written in 1810, predicts that
it will eventually fail. To this opinion we
dissent. The Irish potato is a native ol
America, where it grows wild, and was
transplanted in Europe, where it became
an indispensable article of food, and where
it has been cultivated with great success
under forced culture). Neither is the Irisl
]>otato a native of the Northern States
And yet we have been hewers of woex
A 1 A l
tiiivi Miancia ui wnw.T IAJ Ulti K HIIKOC9 1111
til we have forgotten when to dig out oui
own potatoes or savo them. Necessit)
now fore -a us to change our system o
agriculture. The original stock of potato
es has become exhausted. We must renew
it. Draw from your present crop
slips or vines, when from 8 to 10 inchei
long ; plant as before described, in good
loose fresh soil; gather your potato applet
or balls, and you will get a fresh start
By drawing the slips, you get clenr o
. the parent j>otato which is diseased. Th?
potato apple will probably produce sev
| eral kinds of potatoes, and a premium o
i #100 by the Southern Central Agicultura
L Society, would probably bring the energj
. of our fanners to bear on this subject, am
I bring to notice new and improved varieties
r I am satisfied that our people do not ap
> preciate the value and importance of sect
. raised on our own soil and in our own cli
> mate. The Cincinnati Society has ofleret
such a premium f.>r the best seeding straw
1 l?erry.
I live in a grape growing, grain raising
( and vegetable and fruit country, in sigh
of the Catoosa Springs, where my expe
? iucnts may bo seen by calling.
^ I return my thanks to you for the Soi
, of the South. It is just such a Periodica
as will promote the agricultural interest
O . .1 * ?
( tn uie oouin. i nopo 10 add several nev
subscribers to your list.
i Importance of Personal attention.
f It was one of the wise sayings of tha
) great philosopher, Dr. Franklin, "If yoi
3 want any tiling done well, go?if noi
. j send." There is in this, as in most of hi
] | sayings, a great practical truth, and in it
3 : observance much vexation and disappoint
B ' ment would bo avoided, and much rci
1 | gain tie realized. In no business is it moi
. ; applicable than that of planting ; and i
1 none are its consequences more disastroui
,t Ours is a business which has its times an
its seasons, in which we mast act promptlj
j for the opportunity once slighted nevt
f | returns. How important that it bo we
improved ! The man of ease says to hi
9 negro, "go plant the crop," trusting to
flfton fr A?# - ?
- | v.vv.. ? MI.7VIUUUII Ul IIUCIIIJ A IJU Bt'l
son for planting passes?the wheat, or th
g oats, come up too thin or too thick?
either, by turns?here too much have bee
I sowed, there too little. The corn, some
j how, doesn't come?badly dropped?te
_ ; grains in one hill, none in the next?on
; hand covering too deep, another ecarcel
,' hiding it from the sight of the first bin
j that passes that way in search of a break
fast. The Cotton seed dropped in bunchc
?here a handful, there a skip. The hajpy
negro cares not?it is all the same t
him whether it is a good stand or a ha
one. He, perhaps, is looking out for th
" approach of the overseer, or is watchin
f the flight of birds, or perhaps still moi
i happy in the opportunity of making u
i | for loss of sleep the night before?noddin
t | ?when his attentions are alt needed i
; the execution of hie work. Tie badly don
bnt this fatal diaoovery ie never revele
until the sad etory of failure in the comin
up ie manifested. It is then too late?al
the abuse and bluster common to "He
s occasions cannot repair the injury. Day
t may be appropriated to re-plauting, whici
are needed about other work?still the ev
i. exists, and the fate of the crop is fixed, an<
the loss of the year is the consequenceall
for sending, instead of going. Th
fences are to be repaired?the order i
* given?the negro goee to his work, aa<
( the overseer rem aias.to take hie ease, c
t gam to seek hie pleasure la employment
V mors congenial to his taste. Hie work i
'J dooo, and in wyUoaaos, wfccu the crop i
\ 1
??mmm??
growing, and tho work is pressing, some ?>
unmannerly bull, or long nosed old sow,
takes a fancy that better fare would bo
found inside than outside the inclosure,
and accordingly enters, bidding all their
friends welcome. Then comes a fuss??
negroes and dogs are paraded, the intrud
ere are ejected, but not until they have
got a taste not soon to be forgotten. This
storm works off in curses upon the negro,
for his unfaithfulness, but never brings
back the damage done to the crop. The
cotton is now up, and needs thinning to
, a stand. The negroes are sent, but the
overseer stays. We need hardly sketch
the picture ; you have seen it. The poor
cut worms and the lice have many sins /
laid at their door, for which they will never
have to account. The stand is spoiled,
and the crop is lost, all for tjio want of going,
instead of sending, to have so delcate
a task performed. This sort of management
is fun to the grass, also?only hav,
ing to lower its head a little, and submit
, to a little dusting,and as soon as your back
is turned, to come up with greater boldi
noss than ever again. The difference bei
tween the labor of good work, and that
which is slighted, is very little, but the rei
suits are vastly different?all for the want
, of tho master's eye. Tho mules have
plowd hard all day, when they are returni
cd to their stable for rest and food. Tho
overseer goes to his supper, and soon to
, bed, while ho sends the plowman to do the
f business of feeding and watering. Corn is
, thrown in profusion to-night, and the poor
, animal, perhaps upon short allowance the
5 nigh before, eats a perfect gorge, and in
, his fullness and heat from the double
i portion of corn in his stoinash,"thirsts for
the the cooling water brook," where he
I completes the work of death. Colic ooines
. on, and the mule is lost, and the master
r and all wonder what could have produced
, it. All for sending and not going. Tlio
f cattle go astray, the hogs are lost, tire
. meat-house is empty, the provisins wasted,
. and a thousand nameless ills ensue, just
because Sambo or Tom teas sent. I am
t aware that I am perhaps reading a leeturo
| to those who do not need it. For I would
, fain hope that I have not hit any of tiro
readers of this journal. If I should have
f done so. however, I have no apology to
5 offer, would admonish aN such to stand
. out of the way for the future. I intend
f not to offend any of that very worthy and
I valuable class of men who are engaged in
j the laudable business of overseeing. Thero
j | mc among mem ns goou ami laiiniui men
as belong to the land. I would do them
all honor, and propose, by these castiga
ations, to elevate their calling, by exposing
the pretender, and helping, by the exam- J
pic of the faithful, improve, or drive from
their ranks, all the drones who live only J
to pocket their year's salaty, and leave 1
the interests committed to their care, to 1
take care of themselves. I)o not forget
the motto, "If you want any thing well
done, go?if not, send."?Correspondence
the Soil of the South.
g Fruit Treat.
* There arc sixty species of the Pepper
tree.
The great Palm or Date tree grows in
Africa to the height of sixty, eighty and
a hundred feet
t The Cinnamon tree is a species of Lau'
re!, and is a native of Ceylon. It grows
t? to the height of twenty or thirty feet, and
* its trunk and branches produce the bark.
8 The Mahoggany tree is a native of Cu""
ba and Jamaica, and grows from sixty to
one hundred feet high, with a deep green
e e i * - ...
milage, orange colored nowers, and fruit
n tiie size of a large egg.
Sj The Pananna of Plaintain is the most
useful of trees. Its fruit, twelve inches
' long and two thick, serves for bread, while
ll the leaves serve for cloth and covering;
the root is peiennial, hut the stalk is an18
nual, and grows to fifteen or twenty feet
? high.
e A Chesnut tree grew at Tamwork which
r was fifty two feet round. It was planted
n in the year 800, and in the reign of Ste
phen in 1145, was made a boundary, and
n called the Great Chesnut Tree. In 1759,
e when at the age of nine hundred and fiftyy
nine years, it bore nuts which produced
I young trees.
i:~? * _U!_V ?A
^ uiu um iiuat li vvll WIIICU pUL
* forth their foliage in America, are the
^ Willow, Poplar and Alder; next are the
0 Hans wood, Horse-Chestnut, Oa'c, Beech,
d Ash, Walnut and Mulbery, which are not
e all usually in fuli ieat before the middle of
g June.
? Trees are often found in Lapland and ^
p Silteria, oonverted into iron ore and carg
bonate of oopper. Lignites are petrified
n trees, in a state between peat and ooals.
d Good Sews*.?Farmers onght to hnsm
band their land as well as their time, and 1
II if any thing the first is the most important j
, of tbe two. We of the South have keen 1
too prodigal in this respect, and the eoose'
quenoe in, that year after year acre upon
h acre is worn out and thrown aside, until
j| we begin to see through our woodland*
tj and find them running short. The only
suggestion we can make is to olorer haft
your olenrd land, and manure and line off*
the other till the cleared land* are bvbt
a hack to a fitness tor culture again. If w?
d do not begin pertly soon to renovate our
r old dry flolda, we will have little else but
dry fields to raise our cotton and grain I
upon. We want a good deal more of the
Northern system of working lands infaaod <
a among our farming eoammuatiee.
A