The New Hampshire gazette and Republican union. [volume], December 28, 1847, Image 1

About The New Hampshire gazette and Republican union. [volume] (Portsmouth, N.H.) 1847-1852

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By WILIAM P. HILL.
THEGAZETTE & UNION
¥ PUBLISHED WEEKLY, AT
No. 31 DANIEL STREET,
PORTSMOUTH, N. H. .
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e e T e L SSi SN S MAR
: POETRY.
"-— S et S ety e ee A —
THE OLD FARM RAKE.
I love it, I love i, and who’ll undertake
To chide me for loving my Old Farm Rake?
5 I have treasured it long as an heir loom to me,
' And e’er kept it safe lest it injured might be,
1 prize it above every thing of its kind,
So precious the implement is to my mind.
Do you ask whyitis? This answer I muke,
"Twas my grandfather’s own ; yes, this old Farm Rake!
How often I've seen him rolling the hay,
WitQ his wrinkled brow, and locks all gray !
Aund T almost worshipped him when he smiled,
And patting my cheek blessed his little grandchild.
But years rolled on and his fire went out.
His energies thmrce went about.
Yet, oft from his reve he awake,
And tell of his prowess with the Old Farm Rake! |
Choice, favorite tool, thou hast seen much repair, ‘
As others are wout for their wear and their tear, |
. Full many a head, aye, stale and bow, 1
Thou hast had, all new as the trath would show, |
' But then, what of that? there sure cannot be
S A possible doubt of thy identity. |
' Thou art still the same, my horse I’ll stake, <
My good, good grandfather’S Old Farm Rake ! ‘
’Tis past! ’tis past ! and his days are done ; |
We all have seen his setting san !
How often, down in yonder field,
This implement I have seen him wield !
Yeé I'm © of the same opinion still.”
And I love it still for my grandfather’s sake ;
1 venerate ever the Old Farm Rake.
[Not from the Knickerbocker.]
THE RAILROAD.
Smashing through the forest,
Rolling down the ridges,
Jumping into ditehes,
Tumbling over bridges !
Passengers are quickly
Lying on their back—
Hang me! if its pleasant, :
: Running off the track !
Men of different notions
As to sudden death,
Here are very quickly,
Lesing all their breath—
Good and wicked people,
Standing in their leather,
On the bloody railroad,
‘ Dying all together !
Pascengers are vainly
Trj ing to get out—
Woman in the doorway 3
Who is very stout—
Gentleman behind
Threatens he will kick her,
Gentleman that’s drunk
Says he'd like to lick-her.
Gentleman in black, i
Standing rather tall. |
QGracious! he is losing |
Legs and boo!s and all ! |
Gentleren in blue |
e Looking rather red, |
- Feeling for his hat, ‘
Cannot find his head !
Stranger on the ground, ‘
Closing up his peepers,
- Hit his bead against
Six or seven ¢ sleepers !'?
In his coat a volume
3 Gives the explanation
> Why he couldn’t jump—-
** Davis’s reveration ! ”?
Fellow lost his fingers,
2 Iland is rather shorter ;
Faith! he is a Phono-
Graphical reporter!
Hang the corporztion !
Paddy says he’ll shoot ’em,
And if he is murdered
He will prosecute ‘em!
Market woman tumbling
Over all her eggs,
Feeling for her basket
Misses both her legs!
Office seeker near her
Falls upon his rump
p Says he must be now
Talking to the stump !
Rather oldish woman,
Letting fall a book,
Asks for a Conductor
With a knowing look—
Clinflg to his coat-tail,
Whispers to a stranger, Y
They are never injured,
I am out of danger !
Fellow from Vermont, .
Turning rather pale, "
S&l{:dixt is’nt pleasant
ing on a rail ! b
Doctor with his booty,
Thinks of making tracks—
Bagging up his bodies,
Asking for his sacks !
! Tumbling over bridges .
Smash the cars tg.m'x! :
3 I will never more
. Go upon a train ! 2
&35 Rather ride a donkey,
e Mamg eI phetband
: me ! if it’s pleasant
- Dying on the rail !
A Goop Locariox.—Gen. Saunders tells a great
“many amusing anecdotes; in that line he is almost a
match for the famouas Col. Sparks, of Lafourche ; bat
did he ever tell you how he got headed, not long since,
in St. Helena parish? After a long ride of some fif
teen miles without passing any settlement, he arrived
at a cabin, and soon walked in, as smiling as a basket
of chips. His welcome was rather cold, but, resolved
on making himself agreeable, he remarked, “ Well, my
friend, you have a charming situation here.”
#:" Yes; ” said the man, “ with a deep swamp on one
«Side, and a hog-wallow flat on t’other »
“ Yon have an excellent neighborhood, I believe,”
+Baid Saunders.
*“ Very; my nighest.neighbor is five miles off, and
sthat’s too -nigh for myfi, dod rot him!”
“ Yon're making a § crop,” said the General, en
“.deavoring to look pleased at a patch of spindling corn
.before the door.
~ “Yes, of crab-fish and huckleberries—them's my
.erop.”
G "pYou have good free-stone water, I suppose. ”
“"Try it, if yon want to puke—try it.”
“ Well, I s’pose, at any rate, you all enjoy health
here?”
Mister,” said the man;, “ x’na{nbe you're makin’
light of me. My wife ther has been grunting these
three years. Tgc- children can’t eat dirt enuff to
kill the worms, and don’t you see I've got the
shakes.”
Old Lafayette was rather disconcerted, but at length
‘he returned to the charge.
“ Well, my friend, if you have neither neighbors, nor
- land, nor water, nor health, in the name of Heaven,
what keeps you here 2 ”
- “Why, stranger, ” said he, “ PINE-ENOTS ARE TOL
“ERABLY HANDY !’
. The General cut stick, but not before the squatter
had promised to vote for him— Not,” said he, “ be
«cause I keers about politics, or believe one half of what
’ou'hve tell'd me, bnt caze neighbor ‘cross Tickfaw,
gw'ine his death feller!”
et et et
. 'One of our ;Cinonngn,,m-zr—-«he Enquirer, if
remember y—said the o T
. éfiéfi’i‘?m d"
. 'Well, Miss,” said a knight of the birchen rod, “can
ping t’* lexed cowrtesy, “I can, but I hate to most
{¥From Noah’s Messenger.]
WASHINGTON,
There seems to be something in the very name of
this illustrious individual, that every American seems
instinctively, as it were, tanght to venerate, inasmuch
as every incident of his life is becoming more and more
interesting as the time gradually is gaining space from
his life time to the present moment. I was seated the
other afternoon, enjoying a cigar, at the Maspeth Hotel,
when a plain, well-dressed elderly man drew a chair to
wards me, and seeing me so much at leisure, evinced a
disposition to enter into a conversation with me ; when
I observed—
‘ Well, friend, it appears from all accounts that our
new President has left us.’ r i
“Yes, sir,so it seems—and on so short notice,’ he
replied.
‘ He was a very aged man—not so old as myself by
several ycars. Was youin this country during the:
Revolution, sir ?’
*Oh, yessir; I was bornin this country, thank
God.’
¢ Then, sir you must have some recollection.’
‘ Yes, but I was too young to enter the service at
that time.’ :
¢ And where were you, sir ?’ A
¢ In Winchester, sir.’
* Oh! then you had an opportunity of knowing con
siderably about the great movements of that day; and
do you recollect the features of Gen. Washington as
perfectly as though it was but yesterday ? and Lafayette
too ? and Harry Pinckney ¥
‘ Yes,’ said he, laughing heartily. ¢ Crosby and my
father were neighbors.’
So saying, I offered him a cigar, which he declined,
and said—
‘lf the landlord has a pipe, I will preferit. I should
like to tcll you, he continued, ‘a little circumstance
which took place between Gen. Washington and my
sclf.’
I observed that T should be delighted to hear it, and
he related the following history of a day in the Gener
al’'s employ :— :
“Well. one morning, father told me to take the black
mare to Sing Sing, and get her shod, and wait till old
rum nose Ben, the blacksmith, shod her. So I stood
at the door of old Ben’s shop, and who should drive
up to the tavern opposite, but Washington in his coach,
and Lafayette with him. They both gotout,and I saw
both pass into the back room, and the landlord follow
ed ; and in a few seconds the landlord beckoned me
from the piazza. I felt frightened at first, and wonder
ed what it meant ; but, thinks I, they want some grog,
and fresh water. I was in my shirt and trowsers, with
out shoes, and on my head an old cocked hat, and my
feet and ankles were not very clean, you may judge.—
I had been hoeing corn in the morning; but I went.
As I approached the square bar, I met the landlord ; he
said :
‘ There are two gentlemrn in the back room who
wish to sce you.”
Unable to smother a laugh, I said—My God! can’t
go! see me,’ at the same time cxhibiting myself and
pointing to my feet.
¢ Come along, I'll go with you.’
So in he went. ;
As I pulled off my hat, the stoutest man says—
¢ Sit down, young man.’
¢ This boy, says the landlord, ‘I am confident, will
do any service you may trust him with to your satisfac
tion,’ and withdrew from the room; and the General
began (for it was Washington himself)—
‘Young man I wish to procure the news-paper
of to-day from New York; can you procure it for
me?’
I hesitated 2 moment and replied—
* I think I can, sir.’ '
‘ Well,” says he to the Marquis, * please inquire of
the landlord if he will furnish a good horse.’
¢ No, no. said I, ‘ I don’t want a horse.’
¢ How will you go, then 7’
‘ In my canoe,’ I said.
The Marquis could not refrain from a downright
laugh, which brought the landlord to the door.
‘Le diable, youll be drowned!’ says the French.
man.
* There is not water enough in North Riverto drown
this child, ’ said I. :
The Marquis and the landlord enjoyed the retort
by a hearty laugh, but the other turned to the win
dow, looked on the river a few seconds and observ
ed—
* The tide serves, and I wish to see you off. What
time will you probably return? :
‘Between seven and eight this afternoon. I re
plied.”
He handed me a gold picce. :
‘ldon’t want half so much; I only want sufficient
to buy some fowls and eggs with, for I am going to
market.’
The General turned to the landlord and said to
him— .
¢ Give him as much change as he wishes,‘ on which
he handcd me about twelve shillings, while I observ
ed—
‘Now I'll run home and get somé clothes on ina
few minutes.’
‘I wish to speak & few words with you before you
start. ’
I shall not be here again until I came from New
York, sir. In fifteen minutes I shall start from the
little stone dock,’ and I pointed to it out of the win
dow.
‘ldesire you to be prudent and keep your own
counsel,’ said the general, ‘and should any mischief
befall you, so tnat you are detained, do not fail to le:
me know all the circnmstances immediately, so that I
may relieve you.’ :
So saying ‘ good bye,” I took my hat, started, and
by the time I started from the dock I saw the carriage
drive off.
I soon reached the city, and went to Claus Vandara’s
in the Bowery, who used to keep the Sourkrout club
house, as it was then called, and where I had often been
with my father, who was an old friend of his. I told
him my errand, and the haste I was in, on account of
the time of tide. '
‘ Well,” said he, ‘here is Hughey Gaines, to-day’s
paper, and here is an English paper which csmt:fi the
British packet last night—take that too; and the soon
er you are off the better ; it is now dead low water.’
soon. Ileft my fowls and eggs with him, and took
the baskets back, but not till the good old Dutchman
had tossed into one a large roll of;hg?bm«l, and
which I began to need very much. As I approached
a ship at anchor in the river. As I stepped into my
canoe,they,walked 10 the place and onc asked—
_ 4To Weekhawk, said L. aea
AND REPUBLICAN UNION.
PORTSMOUTH, N. H, TUESDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 98, 1847,
* Where have you been ?2? ;
‘ To marke: to sell some chickens and eggs,’ I an
swered.
- They said no more, and I made the best of my way
to Sing Sing, with a fine tide and soon arrived there,
just before those I have mentioned, and my heart felt
good to see the carriage drive to the tavern, and both
of them looking for me out of the window. Ifastened
my canoe, but left both baskets, for I knew that fanny
Frenchman would make fun of the ginger bread. As
I entered the house, the landlord was in the bar. 1
saw the back door was open, and the landlord told me
to go in, which I did, and Lafayette shoved it slowly
to.
Washington wasion his feet, and before I could take
off my hat he observed— i %
Well my young friendwhat success?? 0 o
* All good, sir,” I said laughing, as I thrust my
hand into my bosom and pulled out both papers, and
handed them to him,
‘An English paper—where did you get this from ?
said he, as a look of approbation spread over his noble
face.
‘ Sourkrout Hall, sir.’
‘ He reached his hand and took mine saying—
‘l am greatly obliged to you.’
¢ Sourkrout Hall,” said the Frenchman, looking at.
me very significantly.
‘ You've not had your dinner ? said the General.
¢ Not to day, sir.”’
¢ Marquis, please order some, and a dish of tea.’
¢ No, sir, I must go home.’
Washington took out his purse and held five guineas
towards me. I drew back and said,
‘I am an Amcrican, sir, and father would make me
return it right away if he knew it.’ :
~ * Well,” said he, *if I can reward you no other way,
‘bear in mind--that General Washington thanks you;
‘and give my respects to your father, and tell him I
A congratulate him on having such a son; and remember
if at any time during this contest or hereafter, you get
into any difliculity, let me hear from you, and I will re
lieve you if in my power.
As he said this, I thought I saw a tear starting in
his eyes, and Lafayette’s likewise as they both hurried
into the carringe, when the landlord followed to the
steps. While the waiter was closing the door, Lafay
ette said—
‘My God! what a country ! patriots from the com
mander-in-chief down to the ploughman! they deserve
to be free. ’
‘Yes,’ replied the other, ‘and I trust in God they
} will be, and the coach drove off.’
THE FRATRICIDE.
Long ago, when the Turks.were still in quiet pos
session of Greece, he lived in this village with his fath
er and his only sister. The old man was very aged ;
and to the instinctive hatred which the Grecks seem at
all times to have felt towards these their bitter ene
mies, he added all the rancor which a long life of com
pulsive submission to an abhorred ycke and to contin
ued insult could not fail to produce. His son shared
these feelings with all the strength of a fierce, proud
spirit; not so his daughter, the gentle gazelle-eyed
Daphne. Donbtless, like a true Greek, she deplored
her country’s slavery, and her Helenic blood boiled
within her when her father had to crouch before a de
tested tyrant, or sce herself to shrink trembling from |
some fierce Moslem’s gaze ; but the eyes of the young
Achmet, the only son of the village Aga, were very
mild and gentle; they never turned on her but with a
gaze both eloquent and timid—Ais voice at least was
soft and low, and that voice had told har that he loved
her better than any thing on earth ; and Daphne,
though she knew that to love him was to love pgrsecu
tion and misery and death perhaps, yet learned to feel
for him'so deep and passionate a tenderness, that coun
try, father, friends, and home, all lost their hold on her
young heart, and left him reigning there alone.
Not less profound was the attachment felt for her by
the young Moslem ; but carefully, in trembling, did
they conceal it from all eyes, knowing too well that
the disclosure wonld probably insure their mutual des
truction—for Daphne had but to look at that vindictive
old man, and stern, unyielding brother, to feel sure
they never would allow their blood to flow unarrested
in the veins of one allied to their country’s foe.
The young lovers suceeeded, however, in keeping
their attachment secret, till they found means to bring
matters to a crisis. Some suspicions had, it appears,
long rankled in the mind of the son; but the father
himself had never dreamt that a few soft whispered
words had made his child already a renegade to her
country, till one fatal morning, when he called for her
as usual, to bring him his pipe when he rose, and for
the first time was unanswered. When this seemingly
trifling circumstance occurred, her brother, who was
seated beside him, started up as though moved by some
strong impulse, and flew into the inner room, where
she ought to have been, but he found that she was not
there. It required but a moment to complete his
scarch, still ineffectual, round the little garden and
vineyard, whose limits she had never dared to pass be-'
fore ; and he then returned to his father's presence to
announce her disappearance with so perfect a convic
tion of the truth that his furious rage knew no bounds.
He scrupled not to communicate his fears to the father,
and the bitter tidings were as the falling of a thunder
bolt to the wretched old man : with a cry of rage and
horror he bid his son go forth to seek her, and tear her
living or dead from their detested enemy. The infu
riated man required no second bidding ; he dashed
from the house, mounted his horse, and was soon ca
reering through the village seeking the smallest indi
cation of the route the fugitives had taken. This for
some time seemed a vain attempt: Achmet Aga was
known to be absent, but none could tell whither he
had gone : at length a-sufficient clue was given him by
an old woman, who had passed the night on the nlain,
gathering herbs by moonlight, the necessary ingredient
of some infallible remedy. She said that she had been
greatly terrified by a vision which had passed her—ghe
had first seen a whirlwind of dust approaching, and as
she knew, according to a popular superstition in Greece
that each one of these eddies, which the wind some
times raises in fantastic circles along the road, contains
a demon, who wreathes himself in them that he may
dance therein unseen, she crouched behind a bush, and
‘made the sign of the cross incessantly, whilst a huge
black horse, beexing a double burden, flew past her at
a farious pace. - The outraged brotner only paused to
ask in which direction they had gone, and when she
bad pointed o the road which led to Marathon, he van
ished from her wight, sill fuster than the ghostly horse
. When he reauhed the village of Marathon it was al
ready late in the evening ; but he had o diffeulty in
mfimzmmwww
‘and had retired within a Turkish ' tower Wfi
his father, which stood oan isolated position at some
susrounded by high wall, but ths the Greek, young
and active, scaled in & moment, and dropped lightly
and noiselessly within the garden which it enclosed.—
The first sight that met his eyes was his sister, who, in
her fancied security, had come enjoy the cool evening
air, beneath the shade of the mulberry-trees, and was
standing alone, evidently waiting for some companion.
There was one near her, however, whom she dreamt
not of ; her brother silently approached her, and as he
did so, be-nslung the carabine that was strapped rea- |
dy-loaded on his shoulder. At the sound of his foot
steps close to her, Daphne started, and looked round ‘
to meet his fierce eyes, fixed on her with so stern and
resolute & gaze, that in one terrible look she read and |
knew herdoom. The extremity of terror has general
ly the effect of paralysing the faculties altogether ; and
' ase with poor Daphne. She stood as
‘thotgh trar %@dfi*hfi?m’eyesfivetedmvmrmm,»
and mechanically following his every movement with
a sort of dreadful fascination. Vainly would she bave
striven to use her powerless limbs in flight ; her blood
less lips refused even to utter a cry, and some invisible
power seemed to hold her there before Wim, who now
deemed himself but the instrument of her country’s
Just revenge. Calmly, not a muscle of is stern coun
tenance moving, not a moment’s dimness moistened
his angry eye, her brother raised the musket to his
shoulder, adjusted it, took aim, and fired! A few
steps only separated those children of the same parent,
and the shot could not fail ; the ball went straight to
her heart, and with one single groan—but a groan that
was never forgotten by him who heard it—Daphne
fell lifeless to the ground.
He did not wait to look on her: rushing from the
spot, he once more leapt the wall, mounted his horse,
and fled, as men fly who bear with them the kaowl- ,
edge of a deed like this. He rested not till he reached
home, and stood once more by his father's side. Un
consciously to himself, he seemed to have longed for
the old man’s commendation of this atrocious act, as a
‘ relief to the sharp sting which, in spite of every effort,
pierced him now. Ile knew not human nature when
lhe cherished sucha hope. Itis true he had but done !
the old man’s bidding ; but he went forth at the com- i
mand of the patriot ; he returned to tell the father he
had slain his child ! dreadful, therefore, was indeed l
the punishment of the fratricide, for the father cursed i
him with all the energy of his despair, and then turncd !
away to weep and lament. and refuse all food, until he |
dropped and died ; and thus was the miserable man
left alone with so heavy a remorse ; and it has been to
him as the avenger of blood. Tt has tracked his steps
T.fl.nd haunted his pillow, and dried up the sources of |
ijoy and hope within him, till he scems to be daily I
‘growing into the image of the phantom that pursues
him,—Howitt’s Journal. :
THE GAMESTER’S WIFE. i
This rare, because pleasing passage, in the domestic |
history of a gamester (we do not ean the having a
wife too good for him—which must be the case with
all gamesters whose wives are good for anything—but ,
the agreeable surprise which she had prepared for him )
against his downfall) is related by Goldsmith, in his
life of Beau Nash.
At Tunbridge, in the year 1715, Mr. J. Hedges
made a very brilliant appearance ; he had been married |
about two years to a young lady of great beauty and
large fortune ; they had one child, a boy, on whom they
bestowed all that affection which they could spare from
each other. He knew nothing of gaming, nor seemed
to have the least passion for play; but he was unac
quainted with his own heart; he began by degrees to
bet at the table for trifling sums, and his soul took fire
at the prospect of immediate gain. He was soon sur
rounded with sharpers, who with calmness lay in am
bush for his fortune, and coolly took advantage of the
precipitancy of his passions.
His lady perceived the ruin of her family approach
ing, but, at first, without being able to form any scheme
to prevent it. She advised with his brother, who at
that time was possessed of a small fellowship at Cam
bridge. It was easily seen that whatever passion took
the lead in her husband's mind, seemed to be there
fixed unalterably; it was determined, therefore, to let
him pursue fortune, but previously take measures to
prevent the pursnit being fatal.
Accordingly, every night this gentleman was a con
stant attendant at the hazard tables; he understood
neither the arts of sharpers, nor even the allowed
strokes of a connoisseur, yet still he played. The con
sequence is obvious; he lost his estate, his equipage,
his wife’s jewels, and every other moveable that could
be parted with, except a repeating watch. His agony
upon this occasion was inexpressible; he was even
mean enough to ask a gentleman who sat near him to
lend him a few pieces, in order to turn his fortune, bu
this prudent gamester, who plainly saw there were no
expectations of being repaid, refused to lend a farthing,
alleging a former resolution against lending. Hedges
was at last furious with the continuance of ill success,
and pulling out his watch, asked if any person in the
company would set him sixty guineas upon it. The
company were silent; he then demanded fifty ; still no
answer: he sunk to forty, thirty, twenty: finding the
company still without answering, he cried out, ‘By
heaven, it shall never go for less!’ and dashed it
against the floor; at the same time attempting to dash
out his brains against the marble chimney-piece.
This last act of desperation immediately excited the
attention’ef the whole company ; they instantly gather
ed round, and prevented the effects of his passion ; and
after he again became cool, he was permitted to return
‘home, with sullen discontent to his wife. Upon his ]
entering her apartment, she received him with her usu
al tenderness and satisfaction ; while he answered her
caresses with contempt and severity.thgifig disposition be
ing quite altered with his misfortunes. ‘But my dear
Jemmy,’ says his wife, ‘perhaps you don’t know the
news I have to tell ; my mamma’s old uncle is dead,
the messenger is niow in the house, and you know his
estate is settled upon you.’ This account seemed to
increase his agony, and looking angrily at her, he
cried. ¢ There you are in wrong, my dear ; his estate is
‘not settled upon me.’ ¢ I beg your pardon, ’ says she,
I really thought it was, at least you always told me
80.” *No,’ returned he, ‘ as. sure as you and I are to
‘be miserable here, and our - children beggars hereafter,
‘I have sold the reversion of it this day, and have lost
every farthing I got for it at the hazard table.’ * What.
all 1" replied the lady. * Yes, every farthing,’ fesumed
the; and Towe a thousand pounds more than I have
gottopay.” Thus speaking, he took & few frantic
steps across the room. When the lady had a little
enjoyed his perplexity, * No, my dear,” cried she, * you_
have lost but a trifle, and you owe nothing: your
‘brother and I have taken cdre to prevent the effects of
your rashness, and are- M*fi;@mmw
AR TR o 6 asenad S SO
moy, ous spagh, en. my 00, e
L retara:them to yon, from whioms-they wére latelyta:
Wfi»fi@@fi*
future.” Her prudence had the proper effect. He év
er after retained a sense of his former follies, and never
played again even for umnsement.
ENCOUNTER WITH ROBBERSIN
CALIFORNIA. :
~ The hunter (though rarely) has been set upon by
robbers for the sake of the pack of furs he was
carrying on his back to some of the seaport towns
on the coast to dispose of ; but, as the fur hunters
are generally on foot, and, from habit of watching
about for either hostile Indians or wild animals,
they are always on their guard, and as the robbers
well know that they are, to a man, riflemen who
seldom miss their mark, they avoid them. During
my rambles in the wilds and fastnesses of Califor
nia I became acquainted with many of thein, som:
from the back settlensents of thes Uniied Siates,
others from Canada. :
I have hunted for months with them, and witness
ed some conflicts between them and wild animals
in which the utmost daring and recklessness was
exhibited by the hunter. These are not the men
that robbers like to encounter, but 1 have said they
sometimes take a fancy to the valuable pack of furs
which, if they find any facility of obtaining, they
make the attempt. 1t is the very climax of cruelty
to plunder those poor fellows of packs which were
procured only by cutluying for monthsin the depths
of the forest and wilds of the country, and not ur
frequently in the hunting grounds of a tribe of hos
tile Indians.
I once hunted for three months in company with
a hunter well known in California. Inidea he was
wild and imaginative in the extreme ; but, in acts
of daring, &ec., the most cool and philosophic fellow
[ever knew. A commercianto, at St. Francisco,
on whose veracity I know from experience I can
depend, told me the following story of this man,
which will at once illustrate his general character.
This hunter was, some months before 1 had failen
in with him, making the best of his way down the
valley of the Tule Lakes from the interiors, with a
heavy pack of furs on his back, 'his never-erring
rifle in his hand, and his two dogs by his side. He
was joined at the northermost end of the valley by
‘the merchant I have spoken of who was armed on
1y with his sword and pistols. They had scarcely
cleared the valley when a party of robbers galloped
out before them. There were four whites fully
‘armed, and two Indians with the lassos coiled up in
their right hand ‘ready for a throw.’
' The hunter told the merchant, who was on horse
i back, to dismount instantly ¢ and to cover.” For
tunately for them. there was a gooc deal of thicket,
and trunks of large trees that had fallen were
strewed about in a very desirable manner. Be
‘hind those logs the merchant and the hunter quick
1y took up their position, and as they were in the
‘act of doing so, two or three shots were fired after
them without effect. The hunter coolly untied the
pack of fars from his back and laid them beside
him. ¢lt’s my opinion, merchant.’ said he, ¢ that
them varwmints there wants either your saddle-bags,
or my pack, but I reckon they'll get neither.” So
he took up his rifle, fired, and the foremost Indian,
lasso in hand, rolled off his hLorse. Another dis
charge from the rifle and the second Indian fell,
whilst in the act of throwing his lasso at the head
‘and shoulders of the hunter as he raised himself
from behind the log to fire. *Now,’ said the hun
ter, as he re-loaded, laying on his back to avoid the
shots of the robbers, “that’s what I call the best of
the schrimmage, to get them brown thieves with
their lasso out of the way first. See them rascally
whites now jumping over the logs to charge us in
our cover.’
They were fast advaucing, when the rifle again
spoke out, and the foremost fell ; they still came on
to within about thirty yards, another fell, and the
remaining two made a desperate charge up to the
log- The hunter, from long practice, was dexter
ous in reloading his gun. *Now, merchant.’ said
he, ¢is the time for your pop-guns,’ meaning the
pistols, ‘ and don’t be at all nervous. Keep a stea
dy hand, and drop either man or horse. A man of
‘them shan’t escape.’
~ The two remaining robbers were now up with
the log, and fired each a pistol-shot at the hunter,
‘which he escaped by dodging behind a tree close
to, from which he fired with effect. As only one
‘robber was left, he wheeled round his horse with
the intention of galloping off, when #he pistol bul
lets of the merchant shot the horse from under him.
¢ Well done, merchant,’ said the hunter, * you've
stopped that fellow’s gallop.” As soon as the robber
could disentangle himself from the horse, he took
to his heels and ran down a sloping ground as fast
as he could. The hunter drew his tomahawk from
‘his belt and gave chase after him. As he was
‘more of an equestrian than a pedestrian, the nim
‘bleness of the hunter shortened the distance be
tween them, and the last of the robbers fell.
Thus perished this dangerous gang of six by the
single hand of this brave hunter, and, as the *com
ercianto’ informed me, he acted as coolly and de
liberately as if he were shooting tame bullocks for
the market. The affuir was rather advantageous
to the hunter, for, on searching the saddle-bags
and pockets of the robbers, he pulled forth some
doub?oons, and a few dollars, with other valuables
that they had, no doubt, a short time previously
taken from some traveller ; the saddle-bags, arms
and accoutrements of the four white men were
acked up and made fast on the saddles of two
Eorses, the hunter mounted a third, the merchant
mounted another, his horse being shot, and thus
they left the scene of action, the bodies of the rob
bers to the wolves who were howling about them.
and entered St. Francisco in triumph.— Coulter’s
Adventures.
et A ik S
Some years since a young lady, remarkable for
her maturity and good sense, daughter of a distin
guished lawyer and member of Congress from Wor
cester County, was placed at a young ladies’ board
ing school in the neighborhood of this city. Her
unaffected manners, and sprightliness of character,
soon attracted the attention, and won the affections
of many of the young ladies, who were full of their
kind offices, until one day they in(Luired of each
other the occupations of their fathers. Our fair
friend, perceiving the drifts of their inquiries, gave
‘them to understand that her father was a shoemak
‘er; when many of thew were strack with horror
at ixer low and vulgar origin, and a ehanée was M:A
once perceptible in their conduct towards her.—
‘She however, though fully understanding them, re
mained quiet. After a while, the father of th.
fouhg lady visited the school. As he wasa I;);ood
ooking man, and as t‘h:g observed. that the Prin
cipal and otir'ers‘, treated him with great deference
and respect, the scholars were led to enquire of
their instructress who he was, and what was his bu
siness ; and on being told that he was the father of 5
Miss fi;?:nd%tha{he was a member of Congress,
they filled with amazement, and immediately
made the attempt to renew their attentions as for
merly, but 2 was too late; she looked on their con
duct with &Wmnm ‘that they were
obliged ro keep at & respectful distance, while those
‘who had treated her flvfiflwfithontw
to her father’s supposed occupation, were ever af
ter her favorites. May the time soon come when
modest worth shall be a standard of respect, wheth
o she fndividual is ich or poory learned or un
| maker.— Christion Walchman, ~"~ &
B e WA Al
& i bt SV LEE SRS Sl
mew kniow why I should be, for
\‘t\:f“f; o= . e 5 ~fiu,\—:_fr.:r.e 3 —.,"‘; ¥ _:‘J(\_@z‘
VOL. XCIIL—NO. 52,
| Amusixe NAvAL AXECDOTE.—ShortIy befor®
the declaration of the war of 1812 against Great
Britain, Captain——, commanded a ship which
sailed from the United States, to Portsmouth, Eng
land, by the way of the West Indies. A numberfi
| British Naval officers stationed at one of the Wesé
| India Tslands had been ordered home, and took pass
{sagein his ship. Conversation during the voyage
turned frequently upon the prospect of wav bes
l tween the two countries. “If” said the English
i officers, “ war should take place, we should capturd
! every ship in the American navy. It is impossibla
that we should faill” To this accuslomedwnsggfi'
docio of John Bull, the Captain simply. replied,
| “ Gentlemen, you may live to find yourself disap=
peinted. This English spirit of boasting was kept
i during the entire voyage, without, however, distafs
bing friendly feelings. They reached Portsmouth
in safety,sbut had only been in po& a'few weeks
whes! e siwttimg=wews devived thag, Holl byt -4-
ken the English fricate’ Guerrier, commanded b
Captain Dacres. The day after the- reception of
{ the news the old Captain” purchased a white hat,
small clothes, &c. &e., and went to the Navy Yard,
!to which his passengers had been ordered. He
| found them grouped together talking over the seris
| ous news—* Good morning, gentlemen,” said he,
“ have you licard the news?” *Oh yes, we sups=
pose you refer to the victory of Hull ?” ¢ Not at
all, gentlemen—my news is, that Hull has been
broken by a Court Martial I” « Why, Captain are
! vou in earnest,—what do you mean,—we are astonas
|ished indeed !” « Yes,” continued the Captain,
| the ¢ American Congress passed a resolution that
| if an American frigate did net take a British frigate
| in fifteen minutes, the Commander should be cashs
; iered, and you know it took Hull just 17 1-2 min=
utes to take the Guerrier! His audience disper=
! sed as if the riot act had been read, but not wighe
lout showing evident tokens of deep mortification,
As for the Captain, he made it a rule to mount hig
' white hat and shorts and call at the Navy Yard, as
l the news of each successive victory of our gallant
| Navy reached him, to congratulate his former boasts
i ing English Naval frierds.
CircumsTaNTlAL EVIDENCE—A good many
years ago, two elderly maiden ladies of Melford,
who lived by Mystic Pond, as it used to be called,
waited formally upon Justice W—— to enter a
complaint against one John Tanner and others.
Such conduct as Tanner’s they thought abominas
ble, and he ought to be taken care of. It was &
shame, so it was, that two respectable females could
not look out of their windows of a morning without
being shocked at his indecencies. If there was no
law for such outrages, they were very sure there
ought to be one. Such an example as John Tan
ner’s was enough to corrapt the city of London—
they could tolerate it no longer, &ec.
With much difficalty and a world of questioning,
the magistrate at last got from their virginal lips
the specific nature of their grievance. It appear
ed that John Tanner was in the habit of bathing
every morning in the pond on the opposite side to
where the maidens dwelt.
* But ladies,” said the magistrate, *it seems to
me that the pond is at least half a mile wide, and
you do not live very close to the edge of it. Ido
not see how you could identify John Tanner at that
distance ; or indeed, how you could tell whether it
was a man or a beast in the water.”
“ No more we could,” replied cne of the spinsters
“we were in doubt more than a week, and at lasg
Sarah happened to think of sending to borrow Cap
tain Dempsey’s spy-glass, and this made all clear.”
AMERICAN CourTsHlP.—An English paper
gives the following account of the American Court
ships:
You know nothing in the old country of going
ahead. If you only saw one of our young fellows
setting off to pick up a wife, it would wake you up
amazingly. There you would see him perhaps in
a harvest afternoon with his wagon and best tearm.
He arrives at her father’s door—leaps out—starts
right in. Miss is sitting in the corner sewing a
napkin ; father in the other putting a new handle
in his axe.
¢ Good afternoon. Fred,’ say both in return.
‘I say, squire, ’ says Fred, ‘the old lady is in the
kitchen, with a something in ber head she wants to
be telling you of ; you had better start.’
Still cutting away at the handle, the old squire
gets up and leisurely bows himself out of the rcom.
¢ Now forit!’says Fred. ‘I says Miss, it's all
up with me.” -
¢ Up with you,’ says Miss ; * how’s thet 2’
¢ Why,’ says Fred, ¢there aint no fun in natur’
in a feller living by his self in a house as big as a
Shakers’ meeting, and nothing in it barrin plenty
of furniture in the rooms ; the kitchen chock full
of hams and ingin nets; the cellar over the lid
with cider; and nothing else in the universe but
the live stocks out of door.’
¢ Well, what else would you have ?’ says miss;
¢ aint that enough, you goney ?’
‘ Enough,’ says Fred ; ‘no ! there aint a wife in
the lot.’
¢Ay ! that’s queer,’ says Miss, with a blush.
¢ No it aint,’ says Fred, ‘a critter must begin
sometime to be married. I've just taken a thought
that way since the house is fixed. But I have often
thought o’ you, Miss! Oh! there new, my dear,
don’t look flustrated, ’says Fred, in a soothing tone,
¢ T hant got honey words; but I've got a heart, you
may depend, as warm as a cooking-stove.’
¢ Tuts ! your’re bold,’ says Miss.
‘Well, then,’ says Fred, ¢ tut ain’t no. You won't
say that ugly word !’
‘Won’t I'!” says Miss.
¢ Well, then, ’ says Fred, ’ will you say no, when
I ask you right off 2’ ~ :
¢ To be sure I will, and keep my word, too, you
gomerall I’ : -
¢ Then, ’ says Fred, with a solemn voice, ¢ Mary,
my sweet love, will you refuse me?” :
¢No, ’ says she, according to promise.
¢ There you are !’ says Fred, triumphantly.
¢ Taken the bait! So I'll step along and tell
father.’
All was settled right off; and Fred got a pretty
wife the next week to finish the lot. .
BeTTING.—A Georgia negro was riding a nwule
along and came to a bridge, when the mule stop
ped. ‘TI bet you a quarter,” said Jack; Tl
make you go ober dis brilge,’ and with that struck
the mule over the ears, which made him nod his
head suddenly. ¢ You take de bet, den,’ said the
negro, and contrived to get the stubborn mule over
the bridge. *I won dat quarter, any how,’ said
Jack. *But how will you get your money ?* said
a man who had been <lose by, unperceived. *To
morrow, " said Jack, ‘massa gib me a dollar to get
corn, and I takes de quarter cut.’
Cure FOR A CoLp~We live in a hyperborean re.
gion, and one, conséq&entl v, where ®colds” are of fre
quent occurrence, especially at this scason. The fol
lowing learned prescription, therefore, which we take
from an-old black letter volume, published in the year
1408, may be service to some of our readers :— ;
< Putt vour futte in hott water, ; :
As h&uu your thighes. s
Wrapg,your heade up in flannells S
As lowe as your eyes, Ty L 3
Take aquart of runid gruelle, - . . . -
by ‘When, in bedde, as.a dose, e
With a number of four dipee, LA St iy
| i W.uw"’mm"' S b s ‘1 t ks
“ §ir said a marketman to Johnny, you stole &
pagr&f,fl:%;fim mym‘;xw : @.
. “ What do you mean by telling me 18 ¥
ohcks Y oo on e s "W‘
«T mean as I say—you stole the ducks® » =
% No I did’nt steal em-—when I took ’em I wkfi,
just as Ido when I buy things at awctiop.” &
SGO B R S