740 



THE SOUTHERN PLANTER. 



porters for a supply of the proper mate- 

 rial, which has heretofore been charged 

 with an onerous duty. — U. S. Economist. 



Manuring in the Hill. 



A Sausage Story. — An old friend of 

 ours — one sick and tired of the care and 

 bustle of a city life, has retired into the 

 country, and "gone to farming," as the 

 saying is. His land, albeit well situated 

 and commanding sundry fine prospects, is 

 not so particularly fertile as some we have 

 seen — requiring scientific culture and a 

 liberal system of manuring to induce an 

 abundant yield. So far by way of expla- 

 nation. 



Once upon a time our friend being upon 

 a short visit to New Orleans, was attend- 

 ing an auction sale down town, and as it 

 so happened, they were selling damaged 

 sausages at the time. There were some 

 eight or ten barrels of them, and they 

 were " just going at 50 cents a barrel," 

 when the auctioneer, with all apparent se- 

 riousness, remarked that they were worth 

 more than that to manure land with. Here 

 was an idea. " Sixty-two and a half cents 

 — third and last call — gone !" retorted the 

 auctioneer. " Cash takes them at sixty- 

 two and a half cents per barrel !" 



To have them shipped to his country 

 seat was the immediate work of our friend, 

 and as it was then planting time, and the 

 sausages, to use a common phrase, " were 

 gettingOtio better very fast," to have them 

 safe underground and out of the way was 

 his next movement. He was about to 

 plant a field of several acres of corn — the 

 soil of the piny woods species — so here 

 w r as just the spot for this new experiment 

 in agriculture, this new wrinkle in the sci- 

 ence of geoponics. One " link" of sau- 

 sage being deemed amply sufficient, that 

 amount was placed in each hill, accompa- 

 nied by the usual number of kernels of 

 corn and an occasional pumpkin seed, and 

 all were nicely covered over in the usual 

 style. Now, after premising that several 

 days have occurred since the corn was 

 planted, the sequel of the story shall be 

 told in a dialogue between our friend and 

 $ one of his neighbours. 



Neighbour. — Well, friend, have you 

 planted your corn ? 



Friend. — Yes, several days since. 



JV. Is it up yet ? 



F. Up ! yes : and gone ; the most of 



it. 



JV*. How is that ? 



F. Well, you see, I bought a lot of 

 damaged sausages the other day in New 

 Orleans, a smooth tongue of an auctioneer 

 saying they would make excellent manure 

 if nothing else. I brought the lot over, 

 commenced planting my corn at once, as 

 it was time, planted a sausage in each hill, 

 and — 



JV*. Well, and what ? 



F. And felt satisfied that I had made a 

 good job of it. Some days afterwards I 

 went out to see how the corn was coming 

 on, and a pretty piece of business I have 

 made of trying agricultural experiments. 



JV*. Why, what was the matter ? 



F. Matter ! The first thing I saw be- 

 fore reaching the field was the greatest lot 

 of dogs digging and scratching all over it ! 

 There were my dogs, and your dogs, and 

 all the neighbours' dogs, besides about 

 three hundred strange dogs I never set my 

 eyes on before, and every one was hard at 

 it mining after the buried sausages. Some- 

 how or other, the rascally whelps had 

 scented out the business, and they have 

 dug up every hill by this time. If 1 could 

 set every dog of them on that auctioneer, 

 I'd be satisfied. [Writer unknown.] 



From tlie Boston Cultivvtor. 

 Sociability. 

 It is not enough for us to be wise, but 

 social and friendly also. We have no fac- 

 ulty lavished upon us without design ; even 

 instinct itself is enough to demonstrate 

 this, without the assistance of philosophy. 

 A cold heart, a morose countenance, an 

 indifferent or unbenevolent disposition, 

 though stuffed with all the treasures of 

 erudition, are but a slur upon human na- 

 ture and a burthen to existence. Happi- 

 ness can only inhabit the cheerful mind ; 

 peevishness embitters resolution. It is the 

 sunshine of a benevolent heart which scat- 

 ters the clouds of uneasiness and electri- 

 fies every human principle. Rational 

 mirth and seasonable diversion give life 

 and spring to every enjoyment. Let the 

 austere stoic frown on sociability and eve- 

 ry amusement, yet he will at times lose 

 his morose temper and mingle with the 

 social circle. Nature, when circumscri- 

 bed by austerity, breaks over those bounds 



