The North-Carolinian. [volume], May 18, 1839, Image 1

About The North-Carolinian. [volume] (Fayetteville [N.C.]) 1839-1861

Image provided by: University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill Library, Chapel Hill, NC

                
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"CHARACTER IS AS IMPORTANT. TO STATES AS IT IS TO INDIVIDUALS; AND THE GLORY OF THE STATE IS THE COMMON PROPERTY OF ITS CITIZENS."
H. L. HOLMES, Editor aiid Proprietor.
FAYETTEVILLE, SATURDAY, MAY IS, 1839.
-TERMS.
32 50 per annum, if paid In advance ; S3 if paid at
of the year. Advertisements inserted at the fate
of sixty cents per square, for the first, and thirty
cents for each subsequent insertion.
irrjLetters n business connected with this estab
lishment, must be addressed H. L. Holmes, Edi
tor of the North-Carolinian, and in all cases post
paid. MISCELLANEOUS-
THE SISTERS.
"And she will be his bride;
At the altar he'll give her
The love that was too pure
for a heartless deceiver.
The world may think me gay,
" For my feelings I smother,
Oh! thou hast been the cause
Of this anguish, my Mother."
The room was small, but the splendid and
almost oriental style of magnificence with
which it was furnished, left not a doubt that it
was the boudoir of some favorite of fortune:
the carpet so thick and soft, that the heavy
tread of the mailed warrior could not be dis
tinguished from the soft fairy tread of beauty;
the low and velvet covered couches, the large
mirrors, the splendid pictures, whose style be
spoke them from no less masters than Tirian
or Claude; the marble tables, the rich curtains,
all spoke of wealth, taste, and elegance. But
with this splendor there was a certain some
thing, which told the inmate was careless
or indifferent to it all. On a small centre ta
ble of the purest Italian marble, stood a rich
' porcelain vase filled with rare exotics; but
they looked nearly withered books and en
gravings strewed the table, but they too lay
untouched and unopened a guitar and a
harp stood near, but several of the strings of
both were broken. On a beautifully arrang
ed toilet table lay a casket of rich and spark
ling gems the casket was half upset, and
many of the trinkets strewed about in confu
sion. Turn now from this miuutia, and look
at the inhabitant of this apartment, and tell me
if happiness dwells with wealth and splendour.
On a low crimson Ottoman reclined a fair
being who might have been thought to be as
inanimate as the objects around her, except
for the low passionate sob that at times burst
from her bosom, as if her very heart was break
ing; she was even in her sorrow an exquisite
ly beautiful creature: her fairy and perfect
form; the infant like delicacy and purity ofi
her complexion; her head ot Crreeian like dig
nify; the profusion of dark curls; which sha
dowed without concealing the intellectual
loveliness of her pale face, all bespoke her
lovely; she had apparently just returned from a
ball or party, if one could judge by the ele
gance and costliness of her dress, which was
of white silvered crape, confined at the wrists
and waist by bracelets and a girdle of pearls,
with a rich twisted necklace and penuants or
the same; a pearl bandeau, in which was fas
tened, a plume of white feathers, lay on the
floor as if dropped from the head by accident.
"Yes," she exclaimed in a low broken voice,
"she will be his bride, and I what am I a
poor despised creature, looked on with indif
ference, perhaps with hate, by the being I feel
I yet adore he will be happy while I am mis
erable; but I deserve it all. Oh, that I could
die and be at peace," again she wept bitterly.
A low tap was heard at the door, and before
she had time to refuse admittance, a fair
form glided into the room, and in a moment
was locked in her arms. "My own sister,"
"dearest Helen," was all that was uttered by
either for some moments; at length the visitor
rose up from her fervent embrace and seated
herself on a low stool, at the side of the couch,
while her sister, (for such she was) as if over
come again, sunk back in her reclining posi
tion, and gave vent to a fresh burst of tears,
still clasping the baud of the fair intruder in
her own. "Tell me, my own Helen, what
ails you is this my welcome, after months of
separation: am 1 instead of meeting with
your own gladsome smiles to be greeted with
tears. Tell me," she continued: throwing
herself on her knees, and pressing her lips in
the cold forehead, "what can possibly ail you:
are you sick; you caanot be unhappy, surely,
or your own Cecile would long ere this have
known of your griefs and flew to soothe them:
if you are ill, cheer up and smile upon me,
and your own sister shall be your faithful
nurse. With so kind a husband, and all else
yourlheart can desire, you must be happy."
Jtiappy," murmered the lady, while her very
frame seemed shook with the agony those
words called up, "happy never in this world;
my happy days are over, Cecile." She seem
ed quite overcome, and Cecile forbore to an
swer her, lest she should renew sorrows which
she wished to alleviate: she at length insensi
bly sunk into a light slumber, whilst the
young and beautiful being, who seemed by
her bright and radient face never to have
known sorrow, bent over her with the anxiety
of a fond mother, watching her sleeping in
fant, afraid to move lest she should disturb the
the sleeper. She continued in her kneeling
posture, watching the countenance of her sis
ter. "And I thought she was happy no she
is not," thought the gentle girl, a3 she gazed
in painful silence upon the altered features of
Helen. Her moans and inarticulate mur
murs sometimes escaped from her as if her
sleep was far from peaceful; at length, after a
deeper moan, she opened her languid blue
eyes, and they fell upon her gentle nurse; "my
sister," she exclaimed with a mournful smile,
"how good you are thus to watch over me; but
will you not retire, it is late, and in my selfish
ness had forgotten that you have walked far,
aild must fepl ;if imirl W. nn -? ?iof-
1 cannot sleep; wherefore then leave you. 1 1
am miserable, for you are so: let me know
what is the cause of your unhappiness, and if
1 1 cannot relieve, at least your Cecile can weep
I- ..it l 1 1 1
witn you." neien naa risen at me close ot
her sister's remark, and for a minute paced
the room with quick and hurried tread, as if
to escape some painful recollection; at length
seating herseit oy a low window, where the
moon poured her silver rays upon her face,
she said, "The task is a painful one, but to
you I have long wished to speak freely yes,
it will console me to know there is one to
sympathize with me." She pressed her hand
forcibly to her head, as if to still the throbbing
temples, and with a low faltering voice com
menced, "You know I am your senior, by
several years you know, too, how dearly we
have loved, and how bitter were the tears we
shed when I was sent for home from school,
and obliged to be parted from you: all this you
know; but you knew not; that dearly as I lov
ed you, my sorrow was evanescent. I was
going into that gay world, into whose scenes
I had so often entered in my waking as well
as midnight dreams I sighed at our close
confinement to studies, our simple recrea
tions, and our country situation I wanted to
visit the gay balls, parties, theatres, &c. which
I had so often read of: and more than all this,
I earnestly wished to love and to be beloved.
With all these thoughts thronging in my young
heart, can even you wonder that my tears
were soon vanished. You know that I arriv
ed safely at my mother's splendid mansion,
and she received me with a mixture of affec
tion and gratified pride, and prophesied I would
make a brilliant match." I was introduced to
the gay world, and entered with pleasure into
its extravagancies and follies I was styled
beautiful, known to be wealthy, aud was
therefore followed by many admirers, but my
heart remained untouched. Even then, my
heart would oft times pine for your society,
and I would wish myself back, a simple, happy
school girl. So true it is, that pleasures,
however delightful in imagination, lose much
from constant repetition. - I wished for some
thing to love and to be beloved. My mother
was kind and I respected her; but her man
ners were not calculated to gain her children's
love, consequently she was not my confidant.
Unhappy situation when a daughter may not
confide in a mother. Who so suitable a friend,
a guide, an adviser as a mother. You may
remember our friend, Rosa Evelyn, who was
married shortly after I left school, aud for
whom I was bridesmaid; it was at her bpry
home that I first met her cousin, Eugene
Evelyn, that I first knew what love was." A
long silence followed these words, as if they
called up scenes too painfully pleasing for
memory to dwell upon. "Enough, my sister,
to say I was beloved and loved devotedly; a
few happy months flew romd, and then I was
awoke from my dieam of bliss my mother
wns petrified and enraged at the idea of an
alliance destitute of all that she thought made
an alliance desirable; that is, wealth and rank'.
She forbade my again seeiug Eugene. Fear
not, duty led me to obey her; for oh, now
will you believe me when I tell you, that
knowing my fortune to depend entirely upon"
my mother. I dared not, much as I loved,
encounter privations and want of luxuries.
In short, I dreaded poverty (or an approach to
it) as one of the greatest evils in life. I re
ceived from my lover many letters breathing
affection and tenderness, aud conjuring me
to fly with him." "If," he said in one of his
letters, "if, dearest Helen, your mother's re
fusal was grounded on the idea that I was vi
cious or dissipated, 1 would not urge you to
fight; I would strive to convince her of her
error and gain her esteem: but no, she
would sacrifice the peace, the happiness of
her daughter, of me, for what because I po3
sess not wealth. I ask not your fortune: I
have competence, and if faitful love and con
stant endeavor, on my part, to make you hap
py, can make up for the luxuries, the splen-
i s i .
aour ot your nome, men consent, my own
love, to unite your fate to mine." "And yet,
even after I had read these precious lines. I
0
became another's yes, turn not away, sweet
sister; relax not the grasp of those dear hands,
I feel too deeply my own unworthiness, to
bear even your unintentional marks of sorrow.
Wrought upon by habitual fear and respect of
my mother won upon (I blush to own it)
by the splendid presents, the house, the
equipage of Sir William Ethrington, 1 con
sented, in an evil hour, to become his bride;
and now," she added, breathing slowly, as if
the breath came from the very recess of her
heart, "now comes the heart-breaking scene;
I had heard that Eugene had been informed
of my conduct and my marriage; that he felt
that his love had been thrown away upon an
unworthy object, and consequently he felt for
me an utter contempt; so, at least, I was told.
It has now been near a twelve-month since
my marriage, when, partly to gratify my hus
band, and partly to chase away gloomy feelings,
I consented to go to a large party this evening
at Lady Ranehath's. Sir William was forced
to leave me at the door, as he was engaged
elsewhere.
" I entered the brilliant apartments, blazing
with flights aud beauty; I had hardly reached
my seat, when my eye fell unon Eugene
Evelyn; not as I had once heard of him, pale
and dejected, but looking as when I first saw
him, radiant with smiles and health. On his
arm leaned a beautiful delicate girl, whom,
however, at that time I scarcely observed, be
ing so entirely taken up with watching Eu
gene. He did not see me, but continued in
earnest conversation with the lady. As I
stood m a deep recess, I could, unobserved
by any, watch his ever-varying countenance:
and oh, how bitter were my feelings at that
moment. My musical powers, which vour
vol. i. yo. i2
fond affection used to magnify into something
extraordinary, were, even in the gay world, in
requisition; and accordingly I was soon sur
rounded by many urging me to play and sing.
It was in vain that I pleaded indisposition,
and with a heavy heart I at length-consented
to be led into the music room, hoping that I
was not perceived by Eugene. Feeling in a
dull mood, I pitched upon the first song" that
was handed me; it was a low, melancholy
tune, and seemed suited to my feelings. It
ended with the following verse:
Give me, of cold oblivion's wave,
A draught, in sorrow's chalice sad;
My hopes are slumbering in the grave:
Past are the dreams which once could glad!"
Much agitated after singing, I arose, and
was at length permitted to move away, while
a lady took my place at the piano. 'How
haudsome Mr. Evelyn looks,' said a voice
near me. I involuntarily looked up and en
countered the earnest look of Eugene he
bowed and 1 immediately turned my eyes
away; but a conversation that happened near
me, attracted my sole attention. It was about
him who alone I loved. After speaking for
some time highly in his praise, one of the la
dies remarked, 'do you know that it is a posi
tive fact, that he is engaged to be married to
the lady he is with?' Yes, I heard that she
was to be the bride, the blessed bride of my
own Eugene. 1 tainted, aud when I recov
ered it was to find myself supported by him.
whilst the fair girl whom I had seen with him,
was gently bathing my burning brow. Oh!
happy, too happy moment would that I had
died even then; but no, such a blessed lot
was not miue. When he found I had recov
ered, he resigned me to the arms of Lady
Mary Clinton, which I heard was the name
of the lady. He asked me if he should call
my carriage; I gladly assented, and taking his
offered arm was led, more dead than alive, to
the door. As he lifted me in the carriage he
pressed my hand, 'You have my forgiveness,
Helen, I am happy; would that you were so
too.' Never, oh! never, shall I be happy
again, Ji.ugene: my Heart is breaking.' lie
gave me a thrilling look of pity: even yet I
see it! pressed my hand to his lips and clos
ed the door. All else is a blank to me until I
found mvself here." She ceased and leaned
her burning brow on the marble slab, as if to
cool it, while her young sister wept without
restraint. ''I have wearied you almost to
death, my own sweet tJecile, let ns both kneel
now in earnest prayer, even as when we were
children together, and then let us seek a little
rest." l he two fair sisters knelt down, the
one in her single innocence, the other in her
deep unhappiness, and remained long in fer
vent holy prayer. Y hen they arose, though
their eyes were still filled with tears, there was
a holy serenity visible in the features ol both,
lovelv to behold. Thev together laid down
to court a little repose. Tired natureat leugih
sunk exhausted, aud it was late in the day
ere Cecile awoke, and recalled to recollection
the painful, success of the last night. She
arose gently and stood by her sister's side.
"How lovely, how angelic she looks! and
what a sweet smile beams on her features. I
cannot wake her sleep oh, sweet sister: be
at least happy in your dreams." So saying,
she 'stooped over her and pressed her rosy lips
to the pale forehead of a corpse.
When Cecil was recovered from a long,
deep swoon, she found that she had not been
deceived. Helen's gentle frame had sunk
under the pressure of misery; and though she
mourned for her sister, she could not but re
joice that her unhappiness was at an end. It
was midnight, when Cecile went to take a
last look at the lovely remains of her beloved
sister, beautiful even in death. She reposed
upon that couch from whence she was to be
conveyed to the dark and silent tomb! Her
large blue eyes were closen, and the long,
dark lash lay on her fair cheeks; a striking
contrast; a sweet smile yet played round her
lips, which even death has not robbed of their
coral-like hue she looked as placid as a slee,
ing infant. She was buried with pomp and
splendor; and the only tears shed for her in
leal sorrow, were by Cecil and Eugene, who
attended her funeral. As for her husband, he
had always admired her, but love with him
had no existence. He considered a wife as
a necessary appendage, and had chosen out a
beautiful one, only because she was the fash
ion, and was sought by others.
Eugene was in a few months happily mar
ried to Lady Mary Clinton, aud their first girl
was by Lady Mary's request named after the
unfortunate Helen. Cecil also married a
man in every way deserving of her; and un
like her sister, looked only for virtue and
goodness in her choice, and consequently Si
joyed much happiness. But it was long ere
she ceased to think of and regret the mourn
ful lot of one who was led away by the luxu
ries and vanities of this life from peace and
happiness.
ADELE.
We have often been asked why a ship is
called she. We trust the following will
give the reason:
Because they wear caps and bonnets.
Because they are upright when in stays.
Because they are often painted.
Because they are best when employed.
Because they are often saluted.
Because they have prominent breastworks
Because they wear combings.
Because they bend to the breeze.
Because they bring news from abroad.
Because they look best when well rigged.
Because they are often abandoned.
Because their value depends upon their age.
Democratic Banner.
THE AMERICAN HERO.
A SAPPHIC ODE.
Written in the time of the Revolution.
Why should vain mortals tremble at the sight
Of death and destruction in the field of battle,
Where blood and carnage clothe the ground in crim
son, Sounding with death groans!
Death will invade us by the means appointed.
And we must all bow to the king of terrors;
Nor am I anxious, if I am prepared,
What shape he comes in.
Infinite goodness teaches us submission.
Bids us be quiet under all His dealings,
Never repining, but forever praising
God our Creator. -
Well may we praise him; all his ways are perfect;
Though a resplendence, infinitely glowing,
Dazzles in glory, on the sight of mortals,
Struck blind by lustre.
Good is Jehova in bestowing sunshine,
Nor less his goodness in the storm and thunder.
Mercies and judgment both proceed from kindness,
Infinite kindness.
0 then exult that God forever reigneth;
Clouds which around him hinder our perception,
Bind us the stronger to exalt His name, and
Shout louder praises.
Then to the wisdom of my Lord and Master
1 will commit all that I have or wish for,
Sweetly as babes sleep will I give my life up,
When called to yield it.
Now Mars I dare thee, clad in smoky pillars,
Bursting from bomb-she' la, roaring from the can
non, Rattling in grape shot like a storm of hailstones,
Torturing .Ether.
Up the bleak heavens let the spreading flames rise,
Breaking iikeEtna through the smoaky columns,
Lowering like Egypt o'er the falling city,
"Wantonly burnt down.
Let oceans wall on an your fleeting easUes,
Fraught with destruction, horrible to nature;
TKn, with your sails fi l e by .a store of vengeance,
Bear down to battle:
From the dire caverns, made by ghostly miners,
Let the explosion, dreadful as volcanoes,
Heave the broad town, with all its wealth and peo
ple Quick to destruction.
Stil! shall the banner of the King of Heaven
Never advance where I am afraid to follow;
While that precedes me with an open bosom,
War, I defy thee.
Fame and dear freedom lure me on to battle;
While a fell despot, grimmer than a death's head,
Stings me with serpent's fiercer than Meduza's,
To the encounter.
Life for my country and the cause of freedom,
Is but a trifle for a worm to part with; .
And if preserved in so great a contest,
Life is redoubled.
FROM THE SOUTHERN ROSE.
TO .
Though some have praised your lustrous eyes, and
said, how full how bright,
And some your glowing coral lips, and teeth so
pearly white,
'Tis not your beauteous eyes I love, if beauteous
they be,
I praise another, fairer charm, which brighter seems
to me.
Tis not your polished ivory check, like chiselled
marble gleaming,
'Tis not your fragrant scented breath, with spicy
odours teeming,
Nor is it yet your pencilled brows, that arch and
curve with grace,
Or any charm that lurks about and gilds your youth
ful face.
The charm it lies in temper, not fierce, nor rising
soon
But calm, and smooth, and tranquil, as the heaven-
lighting moon,
Tis that, which lengthens lashes, gives lustre to your
eye,
And while you bear this signet, can beauty ever die?
EFFIE.
AGRICULTURAL.
KEEP YOUR LAND RICH.
This is to be done by manuring, by pas
turing and by alternative crops. Cattle and
sheep make manure manure makes grain,
and grass, and roots these in return feed the
family, and make meat, milk and wool; and
meat, milk and wool are virtually money, the
great object of the farmer's ambition, and the
reward ot nis laoors. aiiis is me iarmers
masic chain, which, kept bright by use, is ever
strong and sure; but if broken or suffered to
corrode by neglect, its power and efficiency
are lost.
You possess all the earthly elements of a
good soil clay, sand and lime. It is your
duty to husband and apply t'"e vegetable, and
most essential element of fertility manures.
These are as much the food of your crops, as
your crop3 are food for your cattle, or your
family; and it is as vain to expect to perpetr
ate good crops without manure, as it would be
to expect fat beef and fat mutton, from stinted
pasture or buckwheat straw. We see, then,
that manures are the basis of good husbandry,
whether we have reference to tillage or cattle
farms; and that tillage and cattle reciprocally
benefit each other.
It results from these facts, that a farmer
should till no more land than he can keep dry,
and clean and rich; and that he should keep
no more stock than his crops will feed well,
and that can be made profitable to the farm.
The farmer who makes but thirty bushels of
corn, a dozen bushels of rye, or a ton of hay,
from an acre of land and there are not few
who fall short of this is hardly remunerated
for his labor, but he who gets these measures
from half an acre, and every good farmer
ought at least to do so, realizes a nett product
of one half of the value of his crop, or receives
twice as much for his labor as the first does.
The reason of this is, that the one permits his
acre to become poor, either from not saving
and applying his manure, or from spreading
it and his labor over too much land, or by
cropping it too long, while the other keeps his
land rich, and thereby saves half his labor.
How is this disparity increased, when, instead
of being double, the crop of the good farmer
exceeds that of the bad farmer four-fold, in
cidents that often happen on adjoining farms?
If the latter gets one hundred dollars per an
num for his labor, the former gets four hun
dred dollars for his labor. No inconsiderable
item this, in the aggregate of a man's life, or
in the profit and loss account of a large farm.
So with animals. The food which parsi
mony or indolence, or ill-judged economy
doles out to a beast, and which barely keeps
him two years, would if judiciously fed out,
fatten him in six months; and thereby convert
three quarters of the food into meat, milk and
money, which in the other case, is expended
to keep the animal alive. Time is money, as
well in fatteuing animals and feeding crops,
as in other expenditures of human labor
Pasturing is a means of inducing fertility.
It is computed to add twenty per cent, to the
fertility or a first rate soil. All this is grown
upon the soil. This arises from two causes.
All that is grown upon the soil, is returned to
it in the droppings of the animals which graze
upon' it. And in the second place, when
broken up by the plough, the sward is convert
ed into tillage crops, and has been found to
be enuavalent, in a well set sod, to more than
twew loads of manure on the acre. In this
way sheep husbandry is known to enrich
lands rapidly. But this remark does not ap
ply to meadows where the crop is carried on,
and no equivalent returned to the soil, in the
form of manure. Judge Buel.
SILK CULTURE.
FROM THE CHARLESTON MERCURY.
ON THE INTRODUCTION OF THE
SILK CULTURE.
Messrs. Editors: Will the making of
bilk prove sufficiently profitable to insure its
general introduction, as a branch of agncul
tural labor? This is indeed the basis on
which the success or failure of Silk Culture
must and will depend. It will of course avail
nothing to show, that we possess a climate
and soil every way propitious for making Silk,
and that there will be a ready market for it
when made, if it cannot also be shown that it
will prove a profitable branch of industry.
We may start then with the general, but
well known fact, that all countries that have
cultivated Silk to any extent, have found it an
extensively profitable business. Would China
and Italy countries blessed by nature with a
soil and climate highly favorable to the pro
duction of all the most valuable staples of
agriculture, so long have made Silk the most
extensive staple, had it not been found profi
table? In Jtaly and France, the profits on
labor and capital invested, are estimated from
30 to 100 per cent. It will be more easy and
more to the point, to ascertain what are the
profits of Silk growing in the United States,
from the common Mulberry, and if it can be
shown that Silk can be made profitably from
the common Mulberry, the introduction of the
Morus Multicaulis, or Chinese Mulberry, has
produced a new era in the culture of Silk.
In the Silk Manual, prepared by Richard
Rush, Secretary of the United States, in obe
dience to a Resolution of Congress in 1828,
there is a statement of the prints from an acre
planted with the White Mulberry. ' The esti-
mate is made by lonn ucn, ot xuansneia,
Connecticut, a town where there has proba
bly been more Silk raised than any other in
the Union. Mr. Fitch states, that an acre ot
full grown trees of the common Mulberry,
- . mi ..... in 1L- -f OMI.
1 1-2 rods apart, wui prouuee o ius. oi ou&.
He estimates the labor as follows: For the
first three weeks, one woman, or children
whose services" would be equal to such a per
son. For the next 12 or 14 days, five hands,
or what would be equal to five if done by chil
dren, for picking off the balk and reeling the
Silk. About the same amount or laoor ior
the same time of spinning, the Silk labor to
thft amount of $34; the 40 lbs. of Silk, at the
lowest cash price, would now bring $320.
Labor and board he estimates at $80, spin
ning $34 lnat would leave $206 clear pro
fits on an acre. If the Silk should not be
spun, but only reeled, the labor would cost
m .1 ."t "11 .1 . ft . I df 1
$80, and tne sun in mat state oriugs jpo per
lb. At a silk Meeting held at i. ew urignion,
Pennsylvania, on the 12th February, there
was submitted by Doctor Chamberlain, a
statement from R. L. Baker, in relation to the
gflk business at Economy, Beaver County,
Pennsylvania. Mr. Baker, it appears, was
the business representative of the Socie
ty at Economy, there were exhibited at the
meeting several specimens of Silk manufac
tured from the trees at Economy, such as sew
ing silk, handkerchiefs, ladies dresses, plain
and figured satin, vestings, silk velvet, &c
The samples were afterwards placed in the
hands of Gideon B. Smith, of Baltimore. He
states that they are "pronounced by good
judges first rate goods of their kind, and far
superior in webb and texture to goods usually
imported.'' The estimate does not state the
number of acres on which the trees were
planted, and from which the quantity was
made, there were about 15,000 trees, princi
pally of the White Mulberry; that number of
China Mulberry would have required 3 acres.
The raw s3k made per yaar from the 15,000
trees, was 150 lbs.his is stated to produce
3031 yards of dress silk, worth $1 per yard,
equal to 3031 dollars. The whole expense
of feeding the worms, reeling, spinning, weav
ing dyeing, interest on investment, etc.
$1479 50; this leaves a clear profit of
$1552 50. This was the amount cleared in
1833 certainly a splendid profit. As the
Morus Multicaulis is likely to come into gen
eral use for Silk Culture, it will be'more to
the purpose to ascertain, if possible, the profit
that may be expected from making silk from
it. Its reputation is now so firmly establish
ed by long continued and - rigid experiment,
that there is no ground for doubting its supe
riority; it has been ascertained from experi
ments, that an acre planted in the cuttings of
the Chinese' Mulberry, will feed thte second
year of their growth 600,000 silk worms.
That it requires from 3 to 4000 worms to
make a pound of silk, say 400, the produce
then would be 150 lbs. of silk; this in its raw
state will readily sell for $750. The expense
of making the cocoons, reeling the silk, in
cluding interest on the investment, is estimat
ed not to exceed $2 per pound; this leaves a
clear profit of $450 per acre. At the Annu
al Fair of the American Institute, Mr. J.
Danforth addressed a communication to the
Commitfe on Silk, stating an experiment
which he made last summer in feeding worms.
The experiment was made in East Hartford,
Connecticut. The eighth of an acre of land,
the soil light and sandy, of a quality called
good corn land, was measured off, and set
with tress and roots of ine Morus Multicaulis
of one year's growth. The whole number
was 780, one third were two feet high, one
third one foot stripped of their limbs, and the
remainder roots. Mr. Danforth fed from
these successive lots of worms during the
summer, in all 32,000 worms. The first
hatching was about the first of July, and the
last Lad finished their labors by the lCth of
September, he made from them 9 bushels of
cocoons or 95 lbs. They yielded at the rate
of 1 lb. to the bushel, or 9 lbs. in all. This
is at the rate of 72 lbs. per acre; worth at $5
per lb. $360. The expense of making it, he
says, is estimated not to exceed $2 per IB.;
that leaves a nett profit of $216 per acre, ob
tained from small trees of the previous sea
son's growth. He says, of this experiment
it may be observed, that none of the persons
who took care of the trees, gathered the leaves
or fed the worms, had ever seen a tree or Silk
Worm before; the feeding was only for two
months and ten days; and the crop was all
produced in four months, including the time
of planting the trees, and that the product was
ten hundred and ninety skeins of Silk of forty
yards each.
Does the result of these experiments indi
cate that Silk Culture will prove sufficiently
profitable to establish it as a permanent busi-
" - . I TT.. 1 -1. . .a
uess iu me unitea states or note
ECONOMIST.
DEBATE IX CONGRESS.
SPEECH OF MR. HUBBARD,
Of New Hampshire.
In Senate, February 21, 1839 On the bill
providing for the better security of the pub
lic moneys, and for the punishment of pub
lic defaulters.
Mr. HUBBARD rose and Paid:
Mr. President: The Senator from Mas
sachusetts has presented to the Senate ex
tracts -from various acts of Congress, defining
particularly the duties of certain officers con
nected with the Treasury Department: alle
ging that so express and well defined were
these duties, that it was impossible that there
could have been any defalcation of any custom-house
officer existing, for any considera
ble length of time, without discovery and de
tection at the Department, had there been a
faithful discharge of official duty. The Sena
tor has not, in direct terms, charged upon the
secretary of the T. reasury any such derelic
tion of official duty; but the tenor and general
character of his remarks, if not so designed,
were calculated to make an impression upon
the public mind that the recent defalcations in
New York and elsewhere were to be attributed
to the want of discharging properly and sea
sonably that supervisory power which the head
of the Department was bound, as the Senator
says, to exercise. And the Senator has con
tended that there is no : necessity for further
legislation upon this subject; that we have law
enough; all that is required is greater fidelity
and deligence in the execution of the law.
It is my purpose, Mr. rresideut, to show,
and I trust that I shall be able to show most
conclusively, that the Secretary of the Trea
sury, in the discharge of his appropriate du
ties, could no more have discovered the frauds
which have been practised upon the account
ing officers bv collectors and receivers, than
anv member of this Senate; that with the re
turns of collectors' accounts for settlement he
has nothing to do. Under the laws; of Con
gress the Secretary of the Treasury duld no
without usurpation, ea.eri.i3u any tuunui wisi