The Lancaster ledger. (Lancaster, S.C.) 1852-1905, June 30, 1852, Image 5
(fmgitml ^nrtrij.
[For the Ledger.
To J. W., of Lancaitar.
" Tia said that absence conquers love,
But, oh! believe it not;
I've tried Jn vain its power to prove,
But thou art not forgot."
Why so long thy silenco keep,
Whilst my poor heart is breaking?
Wilt thou not stir up the fountain deep,
That surety's in tho sleeping ?
Or will you let my heart-strings break,
And see me die with grief?
Or must I soino corroding poison take,
To give my heart relief?
Oh, no ! I know that nnturo did,
Thy bosom fill with worth?
It only lies concealed and hid,
Like precious gems of earth.
And why m>t then search out the fcold
That in thee lies conccnled;
And pay back a debt to her so bold,
That has her love revealed ?
Or will you let your silence provo
A refusal of your hand,
And blast forever my pure love.
And drive mo from the land ?
You cannot thus my heart-strings sear,
And fill me with remorse;
If so, dear J.?this is I?enp Year?
Send on thy watch nml horse.
Indy.
Cain Creek, N. C., June 23, 1852.
[Sf.i.ectep.
A Very Grave Exhortation.
I believe you isn't married, Ned?
Va.. .1 '4 i .1 *
A vsu UW9II i Mll'W Vise IfWCCIS
Vat waits upon that happy state,
Ven man and woman meets.
The busums varm emotions, Ned,
The drops vithin the eyes,
Thenico vash'd things, the darn'd stockingi
And all them tender ties.
You don't know vat it is, Ned,
Vile lying1 in j our bed.
To gaze on careful woman's form.
Vile the breakfast things is spread,
Ven you don't wnnt to get up, Ned;
The kiver feels so nice;
And she says, "Do take another cup,
And this here 'tother slice."
Vile the fire is burning bright, Ned,
And all upon the chair
Your linen and your drawers, Ned,
Is hanging.up to air.
I axes every heart, Ned,
Vot isn't made of steel,
If they can gaze upon that fire,
And not a vanning feel ?
Oh! wery few, indeed, Ned,
Knows von they're truly happy;
Ven the baby is fctch'd in, Ned,
"To kiss its lazy pappy !"
You littlo tency, peucy thing?
Its mammy?turn and eat her;
t ou bossed babe?it was tho tliweot
It conldd't be no thwector.
44 You dod-a-liesscd angel, you?
It pulls its pappy's hair!
Take fingers out of pappy's cup?
Don't cry, then, thwoctest?there !
Oh fie ! to spill all pappy's tea!
You naughty, ducky, dandy,
Owny, deny, roguey poguoy,
Tliweot as sugar candy."
Oh. Ned! there are some moments von
The sternest hearts will quiver.
Just let the Itaby spill your ton,
Vile you're beneath the kiver,
Von little hand within your linir,
The 'tother in your cup;
Don't vonder if we sometimes feel
As we could "cat 'em up."
(Unrips for tljp ^ouug
From the Friend of the Youth.
The New Scholar.
BY MAIlY invixo.
**C.irls! girls! Do you know wo havi
ITOt a new Scholar I"
O ? " ??~
It whs Laura Hurnham, unc of the youn
ger l>oardcra in Misa Stone* seminary
who shoute<l this to n group of her mate
in the yard, just Issforo morning schoo
hours. Thu girls crowded around her lik<
so many ants around a lump of sugar
each asking a different question at tlx
samo moment.
"What is her name T "How large i
she ?" "I)o tell 1 where did she droj
from !" "When did you ?<?? her ?" "T
she coming into school to-day?" "I? sin
green, Laura!" were among the inquiries
The last was the question of Abby Holden
a handsome but pert-looking girl, uearij
a head taller than thove of her age a mum
her. A sort of sarenslie. nlo??<
- - - - r-v"
over her lij*, and in her fine black eye*
marking her at one of the ytruut achoo
girl aperies, "a great tease."
"How you craze a body 1 You mak<
my ears ache I' returned I<aura, preasiiij
both hands over her sun bonnet "I tel
you, I only just had one look at her, as
was coming out of the parlor. "Green?'
well, Miss Abby, you may make np you
own mind about that soon enough, fo
she is coming into school to-day, I sup
pose. She looked more black than greet
to my eyo?what of her dress wasn't oov
ered with dust"
"But her name?what's her name f re
pea ted half a dozen.
"Louise, I hoard Mi* Stone call bet
I don't know the other."
" Not Loiiy f" asked Abby, comical
look that act others laughing. "Louise!"
she repeated to herself in a little mincing
" voice, with no emphasis on the last syllable.
"I wonder whether shell sit next me f
said Alice Crawford, a quiet sort of a
child, with dreamy blue oyca and golden
brown hair.
"No?rneT exclaimed Lain a, "Miss
Stone will fill tin mw uot :<>. :?
-J- ?y U10IT*IVO III
turn.'
"And she'll bo your forty-eleventh friend,
eh P suggested Abby, playing with a
si>ear of grass.
"No?you provoking thing!" answered
Laura, good-liumoredly. "What should
I want of more friends than you P
"Oh, I thought it was about timo for
you to take a new one again?that's all!
It's all of a week sinco you and I cooked
up a crony-ship, and I suspect it is getting
cold by this time l"
"You never was anybody's friend, Abby,"
said Laura, turning away with a re
proachful look and tone.
" Much obliged to you 1 Do you rockon
yourself nobody, then ?"
" I had as lief have a new girl, at any
rate," Laura went on, growing quite crimson
in the face.
Fortunately, the quarrel that was fast
coming 011 was nipped in the bud by the
sharp stroke of the school bell.
"There! thero! nine o'clock !' they cried,
and away they ran to their seats.
A low hum of whispering died away
on the benches, as Miss Stone came in
loading by tho hand a girl about eleven
years old. All the scholars held their
breath, and strained their eyes to look
at her; and some even half rose from their
seats to have a better view of the stranger.
She was dressed in black, as Laura had
said,with a wide tumbled white frill around
her neck ; hair dark brown cut short in
*? her neck, without curling; and a face
CO iVi 1 rl 1 tnnnil on/1 M?rv.l?A/vrv?/v ?% ??
wv .. i^iivviivai nuu ??111 1U) CApression
as you could find anywhere.?
You could not see ft pnrticlo of color in
her checks or lips 519 8ho involuntftrily
hung up behind her teacher, shrinking
back from the gaze of so manv pairs of
blue eyes.
Miss Stone herself did not seem to take
much notico of her bashfuluess, but, almost
]mlling her nlong, pointed to a single
desk at the end of tho school-room.
"There is your seat," sho said. "Your
father wished you to sit alone. It ring
your books to me after I have opened the
schoool, and I will set you at work."
The school was 'opened' by the reading
of a chapter in tho New Testament.?
Each of the girls read a veree. A'ice,
whose seat was nearest to Louise's, finished
hers and then there was a long pause.?
Miss Stone looked up impatiently.
"Whose turn ? Oh, Louise's. T)o you
know how to read in the Testament f
"Louise mftdo a gesture for "Yes,
ma'am."
"Well, read then! Stand up child T
Louise stood up as she was biddep, but it
seemed that sho could not coax her white
trembling lips to do as they were bidden,
for she made cne attempts between a gasp '
and a sob, and then, bursting into tears,
covorod her face with her book, aud shrank 1
down into her seat again.
"The next!" said Miss Stone, pressing 1
her fore-finger tightly on the verso. Ab- 1
bv curled her lins. sliadinrr it. witli Kn.
0 , , o "w MV*
hand, and looked down on the new comer
with a grimaco of contempt, then dropping
her hand, read the verso demurely
and correctly as was proper. Louise
" had not seen her, neither had Mim Stone,
but two-third* of the scholar* had ; and
? they, taking the hint from her, began to
try to despise the bashful stranger in their
hearts. A geogrnphy class was the first
one called up, in which I.ouise had any
part.
"I wonder if she'll find her tongue,
whispered Abhy to Alice, as they were
0 talcing their places in tho class. Alico
looked straight forward at thy black-board;
* for she knew that to whisper in school
, hours were contrary to rule.
? "Louise Stoddard," observed Miss Stone,
1 bending to put her name on the class list.
* The girls looked at each other.
? "Your places, young ladies. Sit up?
right."
"Louise, what i? tho capital of Mainof'
* No answer. Louise turnod whiter than
9 ever. . a $ r>
* "Do yon know, Lou tee 1 Then Ipealt.
e You must say something. If yon do
t not know, say so; if you know, tell me?
, what is the capital of Maine f" "Matwa1
chusetts!" Louise gasped, making on ef1
fort that shook her small frame like a leaf
1 i on a windv dav.
'# ' ^"
s A titter went around the claas. The
1 poor child, seeing what a mistake she <
had inade in her (ear, colored to the root*
d of her h?ir, and did not dare to look tip I
I again. t
1 It was just so in the arithmetic class, <
I where she eet all m a laugh by looking 1
" around with a distressed eye when she <
r was Asked, What tM tildes nine!*!
r and tremulously exclaiming, Msixty-thr?fLn'
The girl i\ a green horn and a duncef
i cried Abby, after the recess bell had nmg, 1
- as soon as she found herself outside of 1
the school-room. I
* "Take dare, Ahby P "Hush! she heard 1
yon P quickly whispered two, near her. I
-, Abby looked half aroupd, saw Louise
hie statue, qxoept for the tears that glassed
(Mr her dark blue eyek, and the dictrcssful
almost agonised expression of her face.
She did not seem able to more, but stood
as though the unkind words had turned
her really into stone.
"What if she did hear me P exclaimed
Abby, a lHtle piqued. M I'll repeat it
agaiu for her benefit, if she stands there
staring at me much longer."
"Oh, AbbyI" said Alice. Come?como
away!"
"flo vnnrsfllf. And rnmfnrf tlm /ito.KoKit
See 1 sbe has gone to her beuch to whimper
away again. I do hate a ninny!"
Very few of the girls wsre so hardhearted
as Abby; but they were, 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 mako her feel at home,
they 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 s:glied, 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 play. "Oh dear! I wish"
Tlio very act of wishing brought a fresh
burst < f grief, aud she dropped 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 sho were an enemy or
a friend.
"Want to go home, hey I" added the
other.
"N-no, ma'am!" stammered Louise,
turning her head away to hide hei tearsprinklcd
cheeks.
"Oh, well, I'll let you have your cry
out," said the other going away and taking
no further notice of her.
The day passed thus. Louise did not
venture to either the dinner or the sup
per tables, but crouched in a corner of
the 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
up their minds that she was very disagreeable
sort of girl, besides being M 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 ngaiust the wall, all in a row.?
Hers was exactly between those of Laura
and Abby.
The girls clustered into a corner 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
bad stayed away. She stole Along to her
bed, and stood leaning against it, as
though uncertain what to do next.
"Well, are you goiug to stand there
all night 1" asked Abby, at last, turning
unldenly upon her. "Because I can tell
jrpu the light will be taken away in five
minutes, wueuier you are dressed or unlrcssed."
Thus warned, Louise commenced hurriedly
untying her clothes; but the girl
came for the light before she had finished,
iihe was too timid to ask for her trunk,
nrhich had not yet been brought up.
"Hie stole along to the window, lifted the
uirtain, and stood unfastening the knots,
jy the light of the moon.
'"I say girls, did you ever hear that 'the
noon was made of green cheese I' or was
t' made green cheese ?' which I" said Abjy
to the others, in a whisper loud enough
jo reach Louise.
"What's the capital of Maine P chuckled
Laura, in another loud whisper.
"Why,'sixty-three,'to be sure! Don't
>rou know it!" said Abby, very complacently
; and all laughed again.
Louise felt as though her head and
jeart were bursting. But she did not
died any more tears. She had 'had her
cry out,' and was wea*y and hopeless to
lo anything but stagger to her bed. As
toon as she ley down in it, however, she
iprung up as though a bee had stung her.
"Why, what's the matter now P inquired
Abby. The others all kept silent
"There's something in my bed!" oxclaimed
the terrified Louise, drawing up
ler feet
A few of the tririi innrlal undsr A?i? I
_ - 0 DOB ?
xmnterpaaes.
"Something is there t Well, you had
>Otier Ko down and take Bp with Mme>
hing, (nr 1 gueee you'll get eemetbing'
dee if Madame Stone hear you talking out
oud here, after hour* P and Abby turned
>ver on her pillow.
Louie* crawled out of her sheets, and
oiling hereelf np u well aa the could,
ilept the night away on the outside of her
>edL In the morning she was suddenly
i wakened fkom a tweet dream by a soaeng
dash of eold water. She started up
ekh a little tdTedm; hot nobody was near
>e* pet the girls wwre all laughing.
' Hepeysi tested weft lest night," o4 ,<
orved Abby. "Cotae, gWa, let ta soo
41
#
what could hare got into her bed," sak
nhe giving a wink to the rest.
Turning down the clothes, they foun<
one or two bunches of burdock burn
atuMr inaf mUaw. r amL* ?? 1 -
n IIV1Q UVUJ0V n? \AJ Imvu IH1L
They tried to"conceal-their laughter; an<
Abby seeming very much astonished, crie
out?
"Dear me! who could have done tliii
How did these come here! Ali<v, d
you know any thing about it? For sh
saw that Alice, who was the only on
that had not laughed, was just on th
point of speaking.
"No, I don't; but I know somcbod
that doetP said Alice, coloring with ar
ger,? unlike her usual gentleness.
"Ah, the tell tale blush betrays th
guilty P said Abby, pointing her fore-fir
ger at her, with a meaning look. "]
was very wrong of you, Alice ! I feel
my duty to report you!"
Alice was quite flustered, and . id nc
reply. The others laughod as thoug
they would kill themselves.
Louise was put into the small classr
that day, with little girls a head belo'
herself. Her teacher loldher she thoug}
she could gel those lessons, at least. SL
hardly seemed to study them, lioweve
but sat with her head on her hand, lool
ing vacantly before her.
Two or threo three weeks passed in tlr
way. Louise became a little less bauhfi
i i t..? -i- - j;J ?A J? .
111 nvr cuujrvcH ; uui buc uiu nut uare to g
near the girls in their play-hours; ft
she was two plainly conscious that the
disliked and despised her. Abby calle
her a coward the second day, nnd sli
never went near the group at play, will
out seeing the game stopped, and liea
ing something muttered about 'dunce,' <
'sneak.'
One day, more unhappy than usun
she had gone down to the spring, all b
herself, to get. a dipper of water. Findin
no one there, she stayed, throwing litt!
pebbles in and amusing herself in variot
ways, until she heard the laughter of tli
girls very near her. She sprang to h<
feet, and met them on the little hill whic
arched up from the spring, liko the sit
of a bowl. Rho passed them withot
speaking. She had walked slowly a fe
stops, whirling a pole which she ha
picked up for a cane, when she heard
terrible scream. She turned, instinctive!
nnd ran down the bill. Tho girls wei
running in all directions like wildfire. A!
by was the hindmost.
"A snake! oh, a snake!' they screan
ed. "Abby trod on a snake!"
Abby screamed louder than before, ju
I I - -
nere, as sne caught a second sight <
the snake, coiling through the grass.Iyouise
saw it, too. Being a country brc
girl, and not in tho least afraid of snake
she dashed in after it. It was a larj,
water adder, and was probably more afrai
of the girls than they wero of it. Louii
soon dispatched it, by the help of h<
stick, and, hanging it across the em
held it up, to call back tho frightene
troop. The girls scarcely dared to a]
proach, oven when they saw their cnem
killed. But by degrees they came nea
touched it with tho stick, and breathe
moro freely. Abby was first nmon
theni.
"If this snake hadn't been killed," sai
she, "we would none of us have ever dart
come to the spring again! I declar
Louise,' and she turned suddenly towai
her, "you are a real heroine, and a rigl
generous girl, and I'll mako friends wit
you!'
She reached out her hand but Louii
drew hers behind her back. Ah, Louis
there was a little of the poison of our fallc
nature, pride, rising in your heart i
that moment! But we can scarcely blare
you for doing, on first impulse, win
many another, older and wiser than yc
would have done.
All would have been lost, and the tw
woukl perhaps have been enemies forevc
f Alioe had not sprung forward as Loui*
half turned away.
"Oh T /uiua atnv with ni (inf "t
exclaimed, catching her in both arms.44We
havn't liked you, I know; and w
have called you names, and laughed i
you; but we are sorry, all sorry; an
won't you forgive us, ami lie friends, nowl
" Fom never have, Alice," said Louis
as her lip quivered.
"But I have," said Abby, coining i
gain to her side. " Look here, Louii
Stoddard, I like you all the better for yoi
spunk. I've c died you a coward, ov<
and over again. I won't say I'm sorr
but I'll tell you what I will do; I wi
leave it to all these girls to say which <
us is the biggett coward ! There will th?
suit you f Shake hands on it, then P
Louise did not refuse again. 8he joine
the party, and all clustered around h<
u they prooeeded to th? school-house.Louise
iMmtd another being by the tim
hay reached the gate. Her clteeke wet
flushed, her eyes were lighted up, and
bright emile made her once pale (ace beat
tiful. Alice walked beaide her quietlj
with Louise's hand in hers, baring fallc
back into her usual calm, sweet moo<
Abby followed , but though Louise ofte
turned to her,'\he did not look on her a
lovingly and trustfully as on the dear git
at her side*
That night, Alice and Louise bad a Ion
eonfsbalatioa at twilight, uader the pee
tree la the garden?a place celebrated V
the eanaah tfHiee Scope's sefrool
1 "Oh, A Bee," said Louise, fervently, "why
didn't you tell me you liked me, that first
1 day, if you really did like me r1 i .
?, "It was wrong not to, I know, Louise,"
?. replied Alice, sadly. "But, somehow,
d Abby Bolden always does make us do
d just as she wants us to. I didn't put the
burdocks in your bed, though I Yon can't ?
i? think I would be so mean as that? T didn't ]
o know anything about them, until Abby t
e pulled down the clothes." c
e "I'll try to forget all that they have 1
e done, and all the three week# past," said 1
Louise, wiping her dyes with her apron. 1
y "But, oh, Alice, I never, never can forget i
i- what happened before that!" <
UUiJ ...... l!- 0)5 1 1 IV 1
urn JVUI MiniiiuiH UIU I (UKCa Alice, '
e softly and tenderly ; for Louise had cov- *
i- ered her eyes, as if to shut, out some liorIt
rid sight. <
it "Oh, Alice I shall almost l>e glad when '
she does die!" sobbed Louise. '
>t Alice sat, silently wondering. t
h "My baby sister died?she went to 1
Heaven, they said?half a year ago; and I
? tho sorrow, and trouble, and sickness, 1
w made my poor mamma crazy. And they ]
it say she never will get well." Louise <
e struggled to say. "They took her?oh, it I
r, was two days only beforo I came here? i
c- they tied her hands, and took her oft* to <
a great stone house, an insane asylum, <
is to shut her up there; because, they said
il she would kill us all if she staid at home. ]
x> She never, never would have hurt me," i
>r sobbed the child. Oh, mamma loved me 1
y so much! and I loved her so much, too.
d Beforo sho was taken bad, we used to be
ie studdying and writing together the whole 1
i- morning. Mamma woul< write, or paint,
r- or practice music, and I would be close 1
)r Ixjsido her, studdying, or sewing, or ta- ]
king lessons of her. I never went to
J, school a day, before I came here; and
iy I never played with any girls. Mamma
C played with mo sometimes, and I nl?v?H
^ . ' i j ?
le with the baby. Oh, I was so happy."
is She leaned her head on Alice's shoulder,
ie relieved by this outpouring of her sad
jr heart's troubles.
h "What did you use to study with your
le mamma?" said Alice,
at "Oh, all the things that you study?
w arithmetic, and geography, und history,
id and French; and all sorts of studies."
a "Why, then you needn't stay in the lity,
tie classes, need you ?"
re "I won't stay there a day longer, said
b- Louise resolutely. "I haven't cared to
study before ; but now I do care. That
u- first day when you were all looking at ine
and laughing, and I was thinking so about
st poor mamma, I couldn't say anything nor
if do anything. I thought I would have to
? stay here, and Ikj unhsopy all my life; he'd
cause my papa is gone to Europe, and he
*, lett me here until his comining back."
je M But you will bo happy nou>, Louise,"
id said Alice, giving her an affectionate kiss,
je "I could cry to think how we plagued you,
?r when you were feeling so dreadfully!"
J, "Never plague another new girl , Alice,"
id said Loniso- "I tell you, the very first
[? scholar that comes here after tne,l'll make
iy friends with her the first day, if I can.
r, You wan,t be jealous if I do, will you
d Alice?"
g "No, indeed ; I'll help you all I can."
Louise kept her resolutions. She rose in
J her classes immediately. She studed w ith i
d such cnercrv as oven t<? rival A KKv in I
classes. That tonnentor was chnnged, so
'<1 far as respected Louise, into an aflV>ctionatc j
" friend. Louise gained influence over her, '
after awhile,greater thau any other girl had
done; because she was the only one who j
te would not bo laughed out of what she
e! thought right to do. She, the timid child
;n beforo, became the courageous, erect, cheer- i
it ful girl, whom every scholar, young and
le old, admired and loved. Her teacher, too,
it loved, praised and rewarded her. (
lU I?uise was also as good as her word, in |
watching over every succeeding "new
r? scholar," If ever she saw Abby Bolden
r? disposed to shoot her arrows of ridicule
** against one, she would give her a laughicg j
hint, such as?
10 "Take care, Abby ! she may kill a make
~ yet !"
r? And Abby would reply? "If she'll kill
l* me, that's sure ! You half did that, you
" know. I havn't been more than half my- j
' self sinee ! But you're a jewel of a girir j
But Louise is no longer a "new scholar," (
and we will leave her among hor school
i" 1 iL .i I . I
innun now, noping uihi nersiory may win
10 some young laughing eyes to look more
lr tenderly than they are wont to do on some !
r other bashful Mem Scholar,
h mmm
>f "Spirit Rappino."?Among the many
it wonder* of the Spirit Rapping*, wo learn
that in a country village, not fifty milea j
d from Cincinnati, a poor fellow had lost
;r his favorite dog. He enquired for Towser,
- and the rapa came,
e Man?" Is your spirit happy ?n
? Dag?" Yea."
a Man?" Are there any coons there?"
i- Do^Ym, but they are twice the !
f, site they are n your country, and I can't
n catch them."
I. This ia said to have actually taken place,
n We have k oa the beet authority.
j
M Hare you ground ad the toola ripkl, aa
I teld you thia morning when t went awayf
? aaid a carpenter to a rather green tad whom
' be had taken for an fpna?M. -All but
B ?*? haotUaw. air replied the ^ promptly;
* I coukUi t get lyilte ali tbogqgp ot?t of thai."
IgrinilturaL
From the Soil of the Sohth.
Irish Potato Slips
Id your April number, page 240,1
loticed d i recti on* for keeping the Irish
wtato sound after digging. Your direcions
are good. My plan is somewhat
liferent, and haa proved very successful,
dix two bushels of charcoal with one
mshols of aire slacked lime for every 60
jushels of potatoes, and sprinkle the
uixturo through the potatoes iranieliatcly
after moving them from the field.?
In this way you may keep them perfectly
tound until the spring.
Inasmuch as seed potatoes are with
lifficulty obtained at any price, I have
jeen planting the Irish potato for the last
hree years by drawing the slips, and find
hat they produce in this way quite as
sell as well as the Yam potato. One
bushel of Irish potatoes planted in this
way, will prodoce moro than two bushels
[limited 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
nfthe 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 wo
dissent. Tho Irish potato is a native of
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 tho Irish
|K>tato a native of the Northern States.
And yot we have been hewers of wood
and drawers of water to the Yankees until
we have forgotten when to dig out our
own fiuuiiws or save mem. necessity
now fore * us to change our system of
agriculture. The original stock of potatoes
has liecomo exhausted. We must renew
it- Draw from your present crop
slips or vines, when from 8 to 10 inches
long ; plant as before described, in good
loose fresh soil; gather your potato apples
or balls, and you will get a fresh start.
By drawing the slips, you get clear of
the parent potato which is diseased. The
potato apple will probably produce several
kinds of potatoes, and a premium of
100 by the Southern Central Agicultural
Society, would probably bring the energy
of our fanners to bear on this subject, and
bring to notice new and improved varieties.
I am satisfied that our people do not appreciate
the value and importance of seed
raised on our own soil and in our own climate.
The Cincinnati Society has offered
such a premium f. >r the best seeding strawIxsrry.
I live in a grape growing, grain raising
and vegetable and fruit country, in sight
of the Catoosa Springs, where my expements
may be seen by calling.
I return my tlmnks to you for the Soil
of the South. It is just such a Periodical
as will promote the agricultural interests
of the South. I hope to add several new
subscribers to your list.
Importance of Personal attention.
It wm one of the wise Ravings of that
great philosopher, Dr. Frank'.in, "If you
want any thing done well, go?if not,
send." There is in this, as in most of his
sayings, a great practical truth, and in its
observance much vexation and disappointment
would be avoided, and much real
gain he realized. In no business is it more
applicable than that of planting ; and in
none are its consequences more disastrous.
Ours is a business which has its times and
its seasons, in which wa must act promptly;
for the opportunity once slighted never
returns. How important that it be well
improved ! The man of case says to his
negro, "go plant the crop," trusting too
often tr his discretion or fidelity. The season
for planting passes?the wheat, or the
oats, come up too thin or too thick?or
either, by turns?here too much have been j
sowed, there too little. The corn, some
how, doesn't come?badly dropped?ten
grains in one hill, none in the next?one
hand covering too deep, another scarcely
hiding it from the sight of the first bird
that passes that way in search of a breakfast.
The Cotton seed dropped in bunches
?here a handful, there a skip. The happy
negro cares not?it is all the same to
him whether it is a good stand or a bad
w? i?l: A *?
mv) j'vf ilajfn, 10 IWRIII^ UUb IUr (-119
approach of the overseer, or is watching
the flight of birds, or perhaps still more
happy in the opportunity of making up
for loss of sleep the night before?nodding
?when his attentions are all needed in
the execution of his work. Tis badly done,
bnt this fatal discovery is never reveled
until the sad story of failure in the coming
up is manifested. It is then too lets?all
the abase and Muster common to such
occasions cannot repair the injury. Days
may be appropriated to re-planting, which
are needed about other work?still the evil
exists, sod the fate of the crop is fixed, end
the km of the year is the consequence?
.11 I? * ?! > ?: " -
mi uir kuumgi iumwi w ^nug. Hie
fenoca are to be repaired?the order ie
given?the negro gone to hia work, and
the ormeer roinaiaa to toko hia ease, or
gaaa to aoak hia pieanre in employment*
more congenial to hfe taate. The work ia
done, and ift u*i-aoa?o*, wheat the crop ia
i. i wwii. m
I
growing, and the work is pressing, sotno > , ^
unmannerly bull, or long nosed old sow, |
takes a fancy that better (are would be '
found inside than outside the inclosure,
and accordingly enters, bidding all their
friends welcome. Then comes a fuss?negroes
and dogs are paraded, the intruders
are ejected, but not until they have
got a taste not soon to be forgotten. Tbia
storm works off in curses upon the negro,
for his unfaithfulness, but never bring*
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 Gpcilcd,
and the crop is lost, all for tjio want of go- ;
ing, instead of sending, to have so dcicato
a task performed. This sort of management
is fun to the grass, also?only hav- 1
ing to lower its head a little, and submit
to a little dusting,and as soon as your back
is turned, to come ur? with oreatnr Knl/t
noss than ever again. The difference between
the labor of good work, and that
which ia alighted, ia very little, but the resuit*
arc vastly different?all for the want
of the master's eye. The mules havo
plowd hard all day, when they are return- ' ]
ed to their stable for rest and food. The ' \
4 1
overseer goes to his supper, and soon to
bed, while he aenda the plowman to do the I
business of feeding and watering. Corn is
thrown in profusion to-niglit, and the poor
anitnal, perhaps upon short allowance the
nigh before, eats a perfect gorge, and in
his fullness and heat from the double
portion of corn in his stomaah,"thirsts for
the the cooling water brook," where ho 4
completes the work of death. Colic coines m
on, and the mule is lost, and the master ?
and all wonder what could have produced '
it. AH for sending and not going. The
cattle go astray, the hogs arc lost, the
meat-house is empty, the provisins wasted,
and a thousand nameless ills ensue, just
because Sambo or Tom tea# $*nt. I am
aware that I am perhaps reading a lecture 1
to those who do not need it. For I would >
fain hope that I have not hit any of the
readers of this journal. If I should have
done so. however, I have no apology to
offer, would admonish aH such to stand
out of the way for the future. I intend
not to offend any of that very worthy and
valuable class of men who are engaged in
the laudable business of overseeing. There
arc among them a* good and faithful men
iia belong to the land. I would do them J
all honor, and propose, hy these castiga 1
ations, to elevate their calling, hy exposing 4
the pretender, and helping, hy the exam- f\
pic of the faithful, improve, or drive from flj
their ranks, all the drones who live only
to pocket their year's salaty, and leave
the interests committed to their care, to fl
take care of themselves. Do not forget
the motto, "If you want any thing well ' I
done, go?if not, send."?Correspondence |
the Soil of the South. I
Fruit Trees. V
There are sixty species of the Feppcr J
tree.
The great Palm or Date tree grows in
Africa to the height of sixty, eighty and
a hundred feet.
The Cinnamon tree is a species of Lauj
rel, and is a native of Ceylon. It grows
to the height of twenty or thirty feet, and
its trunk and branches produce the bark.
The Mah-.ggany tree is a native of Cu- J
ha and Jamaica, and grows .from sixty to J
one hundred feet high, with a deep green M
foliage, orange colored flowers, and fruit
the size of a large egg. ^
The l'ananna of Plaintain is the moat
useful of trees. Its fruit, twelve inches
long and two thick, serves for bread, while I
the leaves serve for cloth and covering ;
the root is perennial, but the stalk is an- j
nual, and grows to fifteen or twenty feet I
high. . 1
A Cheanut tree grew at Tamwork which
was fifty two feet round. It was planted
in the year 800, and in the reign of Ste
phen in 1145, was made a boundary, and , |
called the Great Cheanut Tree. In 1750, J
when at the age of nine hundred and fifty- 1
nine years, it bore nuts which produced I
young trees.
Among the oarliest trees which put
forth their foliage in America, are the 1
Willow, Poplar and Alder; next are the
Bans wood, Horeo-Ohestnut, Oa'c, Beech,
Ash, Walnut and Mulbery, which are not ? ' >
all usually in full leaf before the middle of
June. J
Trees are often found in Lapland and A
Siberia, oonverted into iron ore and aar? I
bonate of onpper. Lignites are petrified ?
trees, in a state between peat and ooals. 1
Goon Sanm.?Farmers ought to hue
osna weir imno as well u tlieir time, and
if any thing tlie first w the moat important ii
of the two. We of the South have been I
too prodigal in this respect, and the cooee- 1
quenoe is, that year after year acre upon
aero is worn ont and thrown aside, until
we begin to see through our woodlands
and find them running short. The only
suggestion we can make is to oiover half
your oleard land, and manure and live off
the other till the cleared lands are bvb't
hack to a fitness (br culture again. If we <
do not begin pertty soon to renovate our j
old dry fields, we wilt have little wise but
dry fields to raise our cotton and grain 1
upon. We want a good deal more of the 1
Northern system of working lan ds infanod * I
among our foaming eoomrotuitiee. 1