The Sierra citizen. [volume], February 11, 1854, Image 1

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Vol. i.
THE SIERRA CITIZEN.
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ifllegtaDy.
BY CALVIN B. MCDONALD.
I stood upon the mountain’s brow
Where many a tall ancestral tree,
With giant trunk and leafy bough
Was bending to the wild wind free.
There Nature's solemn voice was heard
Adown the dark and lonesome glen,
While many a little minstrel bird
There answered to his mate again;
While silvery clouds each other chase
Athwart the sky's deep azure space.
I gazed o’er my boyhood's home,
The peaceful vale where I was born;
Where erst my wayward feet did roam—
Where calmly passed my life’s sweet
morn :
And to my heart, each hill aud dell,
And bounding brook, and forest tree
Had many a tale of joy to tell
Sweet as the Angel’s minstrelsy
And where yon weeping willows wave
I’ve knelt upon my mothers grave.
J 1) e d)J10 o to’3 So o.
BY WASHINGTON IRVING.
Di king my residence in the country. I used
frequently to attend at the old village
'church, which stood in a country tilled with
ancient families, and contained within its
cold And silent aisles the congregated dust
of many noble generations. Its shadowy
aisles, its mouldering monuments, its dark
oaken panneling, all reverend with the
.gloom of departed years, seemed to fit it
for the haunt, of solemn meditation. A
Sunday, too. in the country, is so holy in its
repose*; such a pensive quiet reigns over the
face of nature that every restless passion is
charmed down, and we feel all the natural
religion of the soul gently springing up with
'US —“
‘•Sweet day—-so pure,so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky!”
I do not pretend to be what is called a
devout man; but there are feelings that visit
me in a country church, amid the beautiful
serenity of nature, which I experience no
where else; and if not a more religious, I
think I am a better man on Sunday than on
any other day of the seven,
•hut in this church I fell myself continnally
’tbrftwn back upon the world by the frigidity
and pomp of the poor worms around me.—
The only being that seemed thoroughly to
feel the humble and prostrate piety of a true
Christian was a poor decrepit old woman,
bending under the weight ot years and in
firmities. She bore the traces of somthing
better than abject poverty. The lingerings
of decent pride were visible in her appear
ance. Her dress, though humble in the
•extreme, was scrupulously clean. Some
trivial respect, too, had been awarded her
for she did not take her seat among the
village poor but sat alone on the steps of
the altar. She seemed te have survived
all love, all friendship, all society; and to
have nothing left her but the hopes of Hea
ven. When 1 saw her feebly rising and bend
ing her aged form in prayer, habitually
conning ber prayer book, which her
and fa'ling eyes would not per
mit her to read, but which she evidently
knew by heart —1 felt persuaded that the
faltering voice of that poor woman arose to
heaven far above the responses of the clerk,
the swell of the organ, or chanting of the
choir.
I am fond of loitering about country
churches, and this was so delightfully situa
ted that it frequently attracted me. I stood
on a knoll, around which a stream made a
beautiful bend, and then wound its way
through alengreach of soft meadow scenery.
“The church was surrounded by yew trees
•which seemed almost coeval with itself. Its
tall Gothic spire shot up lightly from among
them, with rooks ami crows generally wheel
ing about it. I was seated there one still,
sunnv morning, watching two laborers who
were digging a grave. Thej had chosen one
of the most remote and neglected corners of
the church yard; where, from the number of
namelessgravcsaround.it aould appear that
the indigent and friendless were huddled
into the earth. I was told that the new
made grave was for the only sou ot a pooi
widow. . . ~ .. ..
While I was meditating on the distinc
tions of worldly rank, which extend thus
down into the very dust, the toll of the bell
Announced the approach ot the funeral.
They were the obsequies of povetry, with
which pride had nothing to do. A coffin ot
the plainest materials, without pall or other
-covering, was borne by some of the villagers.
The sexton walked before with an air of
.cool inditference. There were no mock
mourners in the trappings of affected woe.
hut there was one real mourner who feebly
tottered after the corpse. It was the aged
mother of the deceased —the poor old wo
man whom I had seen seated on the steps
of the altar. She was supported by an
humble friend, who was endeavoring te
comfort her. A few of the neighboring poor
bad joined the train, and some of the chil
dren of the vilage were runiug hand in hand,
now shouting with unthinking mirth, and
now pausing to gaze,with childish curiosity,
on the grief of the mourner.
As the funeral train approached the
grave, the parson issued from the church
porch arrayed in a surplice, with prayer
book in hand, and attended by the clerk.—
The service, however, was a mere act of
The deceased had been destitute
Fierro CitUcu
and the survivor was pennyless. It was
shuffled through, therefore, in form, but
coldly and unfeelingly. The well-fed priest
moved but a few steps from the church
door —his voice could scarcely be heard at
the grave; and never did I hear the funeral
sevice, that sublime and touching ceremony,
turned into such a frigid mummery of words.
I approached the grave. The coffin was
placed on the ground. On it was inscribed
the name and age of the deceased —“ George
Somers, aged 2(i years.” The poor mother
had been assisted to kneel at the head of it.
Her withered hands were clasped as if in
prayer, but I Could perceive by a feeble
rocking of the body, and a convlsive motion
of the lips, that she was gazing on the last
relics Of her sou with the yearning of a
mothers heart.
The service being ended, preparations
were being made to deposit the coffin in the
earth. There was that bustling stir which
breaks so harshly on the feelings of grief
and affection; directions given in the cold
tones of business; the striking of spades in
to sand and gravel; which, at the grave of
those we love, is, of all sounds, the most
withering. The bustle around seemed to
waken the mother from a wretched reverie.
She raised her glazed eyes, and looked
about with a faint wildness. As the men
approached with cords to lower the coffin
into the grave, she wrung her hands and
broke into an agony of grief. The poor
woman who attended her took her by the
arm, endeavoring to raise her from the
earth, and to whisper something like con
solation:
“Nay, now, —nay, now—don’t take it so
sorely to heart.”
She could only shake her head, and wring
her bands, as one not to be comforted.
As they lowered the body into the earth,
the creaking of the cords seemed to ago
nize her; but when, on some accidental ob
struction, there was a jostling of the cof
fin, all the tenderness of the mother burst
forth; as if aney harm could come to him
who was far beyond the reach of worldly
suffering.
I could see no more—my heart swelled
into my throat—-myeyes filled with tears—
J felt as if I were acting a barbarous part
standing by and gazing idly on this scene of
maternal anguish. I wandered to another
part of the churchyard, where I remained
until the funeral train had dispersed.
When I saw the mother slowly and painfully
quitting the grave, leaving behind her the
remains of all that was dear to her on earth,
and returning to silence and destitution, my
heart ached for her. What, thought I, are
the distresses of the rich? they have friends
to sooth, pleasures to beguile, a world to
divert and dissipate their griefs. What are
the sorrows of the young? Their growing
minds soon close above the world—their
elastic spirits soon rise beneath the pressure;
their green and ductile affections soon
twine around new objects. But the sorrows
of the poor, who have no outward appliances
to sooth—the sorrows of the aged, with
whom life at best is but a wintry day, and
who can look for no after-growth of joy—
the sorrows of a widow, aged, solitary,
destitute, mourning over an only son, the
last solace of her years; these are indeed
sorrows which make us feel the impotence
of consolation.
It was some time before I left the church
yard. On my way homeward, I met with
the woman who had acted as comforter;
she was just returning from accompanying
the mother to her lonely habitation, and
I drew from her some particulars connect
ed with the affecting scene 1 had witnessed.
The parents of the deceased had resided
in the villrge from childhood. They had
inhabited one of the neatest cottages, and
by various rural occupations, and the assis
tance of a small gaden, had supported them
selves creditably and comfortable, and led
a happy and blameless life. They had one
son, who had grown up to be the staff and
pride of their age.
“ O, sir!” said the good woman, “he was
such a likely lad, so sweetly tempered, so
kind to every one round him. so dutiful to
his parents! It did one’s heart good to see
him of a Sunday, dressed out in his best, so
tall, so straight, so cheery supporting his
old mother to church, for she was always
fonder of leaning on George’s arm than on
her goodman's; and poor soul, she might
well be proud of him, for a finer lad there
was not in the country round.”
Unfortunately, the son was tempted, du
ring a year of scarcity and agricultural
hardship, to enter into one of the smal craft
that plied on a neighboring river. He had
not been long in this employ, when he was
entrapped by a press gang and carried off to
sea. His parents received tidings of seizure
but beyond that they could learn nothing.
It was the loss of their main prop. The
father who was already infirm grew heart
less and melancholy and sunk into his grave.
The widow, left lonely in her age and fee
bleness, could no longer support herself,
and came upon the parish. Still there was
a kind feeling towards her throughout the
village, ami a corNillli rfsjv-ct. as Doing one
of the oldest inhabitants. As no one applk d
for the cottage in which she had passed
so many happy days, she was permitted to
remain in it, where she lived solitary and
almost helpless. The few wants of nature
were chiefly suplied from the scanty pro
ductions of her little garden, which the
neighbors would now aud then cultivate
for her. It was but a few days before the
time at which these circumstances were tyld
mo. that she was gathering some vegetables
for her repast, when she heard the cottage
door which faced the garden sudde ily open.
A stranger came out. and seemed to be
looking eagerly and wildfy around. He
was dressed in seaman's clothes,was emacia
ted aud ghastly pale, and bore the air of
one broken by sickness and hardships. He
saw her and hastened towards her, but his
steps were faint and faltering; he sank on
his knee before her, and sobbed like a
child. The poor woman gazed upon him
with a vacant and wandering eye.
“O, my dear, dear mother! don t yon
know your son! your poor boy George?
It was, indeed, the wreck of her oncm*
noble lad, who. shattered by words, bf
sickness, and foreign imprisonment, had at
length dragged his wasted limbs homeward,
to repose among the scenes of his childhood.
I will not attempt to deail the particu
lars of such a meeting, where joy and sor
row were so blended ; still he was alive—he
was home—he might yet live to comfort
and cherish her old age! Nature, however,
was exhausted in him: and if any thing hat
Downieville, Sierra County, Saturday, February 11,1854.
been wanting to finish the work of fate, the
desolation of his native cottage would have
been sufficient. He stretched himself on the
pallet, on which his widowed mother had
passed many a sleepless night, and never
rose from it again.
The villagers, when they heard that
George Somers had returned, crowded to
see him, ottering every comfort and assist
ance that their humble means afforded. He
was too weak, however, to talk; he could
only look his thanks; His mother was his
constant attendant ; and he seemed unwil
ling to be helped by any other band.
There is something in sickness that breaks
down the pride of manhood, that softens
the heart, aud brings it back to the feelings
of infancy. Who that has languished, even
in advanced life, in sickness and despond
ency—who that has pined on a weary bed,
in the neglect aud lonelines of a foreign
land, but has though on the mother, that
looked on his childhood, that smoothed his
pillow and adminstered to his helplessness?
O! there is an enduring tenderness in the
love of a mother to a son. that transcends
all other affections of the heart. It is
neither to be chiled by selfishness nor daunt
ed by danger, nor weakened by worthless
ness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will
sacrifice every comfort to his convenience;
she will surrender every pleasure to his en
joyment; she will glory in his fame, and
exult in his prosperty; and, if adversity
overtake him, he will be the dearer to her
by misfortune; and if disgrace settle upon
his name, she will still love and cherish
him; aud if all the world beside cast him
off, she will be all the world to him.
Poor George Somers had known well
what it was to be in sickness and have none
to sooth—lonely and in prison, aud none to
visit him. He could not endure his mother
from his sight; if she moved away, his eye
would follow her. She would sit for hours
by his side, watching him as he slept.—
Sometimes he would start from a feverish
dream.and look anxiously up until he saw her
venerable form bending over him; when he
would take her hand, lay it on his bosom
and fall asleep with the tranquillity of a
child. In this way he died.
My first impulse, on hearing this humble
of affliction, was to visit the cottage
of the mourner, and administer pecuniary
assistance, and if possible comfort. 1 found
however on enquiry, that the good feelings
of the villagers had prompted them to do
every thing that the case admitted; and as
the poor know best how to console each
other’s sorrows, 1 did not venture to in
trude. 4
The next Sunday I was at the village
church; when , to my surprise, 1 saw the
old woman tottering down the aisle to her
accustomed seat on the steps of the altar.
She had made* and effort to put on something
like mourning for her son; and nothing
could be more touching than this strugle
between pious affection and utter poverty;
a black riband or so, a faded black hand
kerchief, and one or two more such humble
attempts to express by outward signs that
grief which passes show. When 1 looked
round upon the stored monuments, the state
ly hatchments; the marble pomp, with
which grandeur mourned magnificently over
departured pride; and turning to this poor
widow bowed down by age and sorrow at
the altar pf her God, and offering up tiic
prayers and praises of a pious, though a
broken heart, I felt that this living monu
ment of real grief was worth them all.
I related her story to some of the wealthy
members’ of the congregation, and they
were moved by it. They exerted them
selves to render her situation more pom
fotable, and to lighten her afflictions. It
was, however, but smoothing a few steps to
the grave. In the course of a Sunday or
two after, she was missed from her usual
seat at church, and before I left the neigh
Uorhood. I heard with a feeling of satisfac
tion. that she had quietly breathed her last,
and gone to rejoin those she loved in that
world where sorrow is never known and
friends are never parted.
The “Merry Times” of Charles the
Second. —Sir Harry Vane, who had fur
nished the evidence against Strafford, and
was one of the most staunch of the Repub
licans, was also tried, found guilty, and or
dered for execution. When he came upon
the scaffold on Tower Hill, after conducting
his own defence with great power, his notes
of what he had meant to say to the people
were torn away from him. and the drums
and trumpets were ordered to sound lusti
ly'and drown his voice ; for. the people had
been so much impressed by what the Regi
cides had calmly said with their last breath,
that it was the custom now, to have the
drums and trumpets always under the scaf
fold. ready to strike up. Vane said no
more than this: “It is a bau cause which
cannot bear the words of a dying man,”
and bravely died.
These merry scenes were succeeded by
another, perhaps even merrier. On the an
niversary of the late King’s death, the
bodies of Oliver Cromwell,lretoa, and flrnd
shaw. were torn out of their graves in
Westminster Ablxy, dragged to Tyburn,
hanged there on a gallows all day long, and
then beheaded. Imagine the head of Oli
ver Cromwell set upon a pole to be stared
at by a brutal crowd, not one of whom
would have dared to look the living Oliver
in the face for half a moment! Think, af
ter you have read this reign, what England
was under Oliver Cromwell, who was torn
out of his grave—and under this merry mon
arch, who sold it. like a merry Judas, over
aud over again.
Of course, the remains of Oliver's wife
and daughter were not to be spared either,
though they had lieen most excellent wo
men." The base clergy of that time gave
up their bodies, which were buried in the
Abbey, and, to the eternal disgrace of
England, they were thrown into a pit. to
gether with the mouldering bones of Pym,
and of the brave and bold old Admiral
Blake.— Dickens' "Child's History of Eng
land:’ 1
gsW- Philadelphia is not without its curi
osities. The Sun copies two signs it has
discovered there. One is painted in
italics, and reads thus:
“Shirtt Retailed Here,' 1
This, we take it, is the benefit of bache
lors. The other reads—
“ Hands Wanted to work on Bosoms
For whose benefit is that ?—Portland
Transcript.
Convention at Gibsonville.
NEW COUNTY MOVEMENT.
The Convention met at the Pioneer
Hotel, Gibsonville, pursuant to notice, on
the Ist day of Feb. 1854, and on motion
of Col. Johnson, J. B. Pittman, Esq., of
Gibsonville, was elected President, aud
Peter A an Clief, Esq., of St. Louis, and
W. S. Benham, Esq., of Gibsonville, were
elected Secretaries.
The President appointed C. A. Keyser,
Fsq., of Gibsonville, J. 11. Marshall, Esq.,
of St. Louis, and J. S. Wood, Esq., of
Poker Flat, a committee ou credentials,
who reported the following delegates in
attendance:
Pine Grove —J. W. Downer, S. S. Clapp,
W. W. Witherow, Win, Davidson, and Jesse
Smith.
St. Louis —J. H. Marshall, Peter Van
Clief, D. T. Berry, A. K. Gage, R. D. Hill, J.
L. Evelin. R. R. Johnson, and N. B. Edson.
Poker Flat — J. S. Wood, Lloyd Frazell,
Griffith Wells, B, F.Bumgarduer, Adolphus
Waite, and Geo. Stark.
Gibsonville —P. 0. Hundley, W. S. Ben
ham, G. W. Paine, Alfred Helm, N. C. Cun
ningham, J. B. Pittman, C. A. Keyser, E.
Twombley, and A. E. Balicock.
Chandlerville —R. M. Johnson, and
Martin Beardsley.
Wulskv Diggings —Win. Tolls and J.
Moore.
Slate Creek —Col. E. Hayden.
City of ‘7(i—Dr. A. Jump.
On motion, the delegates present were
empowered to cast the full vote of the
precincts represented. •
On motion, it was resolved that a com
mittee of one from each precinct be se
lected to report to the evening session a
petition to be presented to the Legislature,
specifying the boundaries aud name of the
proposed County.
The following gentlemen were selected
as such committee:
St. Louis —R. R. Johnson; Gibsonville —
W. S. Benham; Pine Grove —S. S. Clapp;
Chandlerville —R. M. Johnson; Seventy
Six —Dr. A. Jump; Poker Flat —Lloyd
Frazell; Whisky Diggings —J. Moore ;
Slate Creek —Col. E. Hayden.
The Convention then adjourned till 6
o'clock P. M.
evening session.
The committee reported the following
petition, which was received aud adopted
by the Convention:
To the Honorable, the Legislature of the
State of California , Greeting:
We, your petitioners, residents in portions
ot Sierra, Butte, and Yuba counties, iusaid
State, would humbly represent to your
Honorable body: That under the present
organization and local position of the above
named counties, that we your petitioners,
inhabiting portions of each, find it very
inconvenient, owing to the distance to the
shire towns or county seats of the above
named counties, and also to the natural
ruggedness and unevenness of the roads,
to attend for the discharge of our civil du
ties at the county scats of the above named
counties: We your petitioners would fur
ther represent to your Honorable body that,
owing to the groat increase in population,
the developments in mineral and other
sources of wealth, therefore, we hum
bly ask your Honorable body to grant the
formation of a new county to be known and
designated as Summit county, out of por
tions of the above named counties, the lines
to be established and run as follows: Com
mencing at a point two miles south from
Poker Flat in Sierra county, and running
due east to the present boundary line be
tween the State of California and Utah Ter
ritory ; thence along said line to the inter
section of the present boundary line be
tween Butte aud Shasta counties; then
following said line to the intersection of
meridian one hundred and twenty one west
longitude ; then following said meridian
south to the intersection of the present
boundary line of Sierra and Yuba counties;
thence northward or southward (as the
case may be) with the last mentioned boun
dary until by running due east it will inter
sect or strike the point of beginning.
And as in duty bound your petitioners
will ever pray «tc., Ac.
P. O. Hundley Esq., then offered the
following resolutions, which after some
discussion were separately adopted:
Resolved , That this Convention now pro
ceed to ballot for two persons to whom shall
be entrusted the presentation of the memo
rials, and to whom shall be furnished funds
sufficient to defray the expenses incurred
thereby.
Resolved, That if on the first ballot there
shall be no choice the Convention proceed
to a second ballot, first dropping all names
except the four highest; if no choice on the
second ballot, they proceed to a third, first
dropping all names except the three highest.
Resolved , That no candidate be declared
elected unless he shall have received a ma
jority of all the votes cast.
Resolved, That each precinct shall cast
their vote according as the majority of dele
gates from each precinct shall determine.
Chas. A. Keyser, of Gibsonville, and
John H. Marshall, of St. Louis, were then
duly elected as delegates to attend the ses
sion of the Legislature and present the
memorials.
N. C. Cunningham Esq., then offered
the following resolution, which was
I adopted.
Resolved, That a financial Committee be
elected, consisting of one member from each
district, whose duty it shall be to collect
the funds for defraying the expenses of the
delegates to attend the session of the Leg
islature, and direct the disbursement of
such funds in such manner as shall best, in
the judgment of said committee, attain the
.establishment of a new county—said com
mittee to raise said funds on or before the
20th day of Feb. hist., and meet at St.
Louis ou the said 20th day of February,
and give final direction for the* disbursement
of said funds, and any other matters con
nected with this object, as shall seem to
them proper or necessary.
In pursuance of the foregoing resolution
the following gentlemen were elected as
Financial Committee;
St. Louis—- L. O Preston; Onion Valley.
Joe Davis; Poker Flat —Lloyd Frazell;
Pine Grove —B. W. Sheppard; Gibsonvil/c-
W. W. Bramard; Hop .ins ’ Creek— Judge
Fillinghast; Indian Valley Trough
ten; Rush Creek Singer; American
Valley —H. J. Bradley; Chandlerville —C.
Lee; Whisky Diggings —11. A. Pryor;
Grass Valley —W. Hardy; Jtfancineia —
W. S. Kellogg; Rabbit Creek Rhode
haver; Port Wine —Geo. Tregaskis; Span
ish Flat —H. Brown; A'e/san Creek —A. D.
McDonald; American House Whi
ting; Lexington House —A. Lefevre; Sev
enty Six —P. Glick; Canon Creek —B. F<
Bumgardner.
The Secretary was instructed to inform
the different members of the committee of
their election and duties.
The Convention directed that the pro
ceedings be published in the (i Gibsonville
Trumpet fy St, Louis News," “ Ihe Sierm
Citizen," and “Butte Record.” 3
After giving a vote of thanks to the
Proprietors of the “Pioneer,” and the offi
cers, the Convention adjourned, sine die.
J. B. Pittman, President.
P. Yan Clief, ) c .
Wr, t, > Secretaries.
. b. Benham, J
Under Ground. — A correspondent of
the Union Democrat says, that the deepest
hole in California is at Weaverville,
'Trinity county, sunk by a Mr. Sites. The
shaft was commenced in 1851; the opera
tions are thus described.
“The shaft is about five feet in diameter,
and thus far a trifle over seven hundred
feet deep. At about the depth of one
hundred and fifty feet they came to water,
which troubled them for some time.—
Finally they came below the spring, and at
the distance of two hundred and twenty
feet came to foul air, where Mr. Sites came
near loosing his life. This difficulty, how
ever, was obvdated byfbuilding a small clay
furnace upon the top. ojfiihe ground, and
attaching a hose or veatreuor to it, which
was lowered to the bottom, hhen, by keep
ing a tire burning above in the furnace,
the air below' became perfectly pure and
healthy. The plan has been continued to
this time.
“The windlass w r as worked over one year
by hand, but now' the dirt and rock is
raised by horse power. No blasting has
been done since the commencement of the
work—all having been operated on by the
best ami sharpest picks—and in many in
stances single boulders have been penetrated
through 20 feet in thickness. The most
singular of all is, that the color of the gold
is to be found through the entire mass of
rock and the various strata which have
been perforated, from the top to the bottom
thus far.”
Mount Vernon.
In the House of Representatives of the
United States, a bill has been introduced
authorizing the Secretary of the Interior
to purchase Mount Vernon for the Gov
ernment. Considerable discussion arose
ou this proposition, and reasons were as
signed by some of the representatives for
voting against inch a mark of respect to
the Father of his County. But the fact
should be remembered, that the people of
this country are constantly making pil
grimages to this sacred spot, aud thousands
it is said visit Mount Vernon every year,
which fact would seem to afford some
ground for the Government purchasing it
for the present and future generations.—
Perhaps the refusal of the House to lay
the bill on the table is an index of their
favorable disposition to pass it. Mr. Gcr
rit Smith tried to get the floor on this
question for the purpose, as the members
suppose, of moving the exclusion of slavery
from the farm on its purchase by the
Government. This is quite unnecessary,
as the farm alone, without the slaves, is
proposed to be sold to the United States.
In the House subsequently, however, the
resolution authorizing the Secretary of the
Interior to purchase Mount Vernon was
laid upon the table.
We have had occasion many times to
observe, that almost every small town has
its peculiar ‘characters,’ whose eccentrici
ties are the ‘joint-stock’ of fun to a!I its
inhabitants. Of such was ‘poor Tom B ar
low,’ thus depicted by ‘lgnotcs,’ a very
welcome correspondent: ‘lnnocent soul!
gone from these parts to the far west, or
perchance into a region still more remote,
whose immigrants out-number those of
California and Australia—thou hadst little
wealth when here: Heaven give thee large
store wherever thou art! Tom, one dismal
November morning, came down the creek,
and was saluted by a neighbor. The rain
descending on Tom’s ancient ram-beaver,
and drenching vhat -helm to storm imper
meable,’ the dripping from its patient
rim to the patient shoulders below had no
power to disturb Tom’s good-nature. He
talked of moving to the Wabash, as ‘folks
said there was lots of good land out there.’
ThedPwas only one condition —‘efhe could
sell his property.’ ‘Why, Tom,’ said his
neighbor, ‘what on earth have you got to
dispose of r' Let your millionaires read
Tom’s estimate of what makes ‘property’
and blush —‘ I’ve gu-gu-got au axe, *a
fu-fu-fishiu’-pole, an’ a h-h-hominy-mor
tar I— Knickerbocker.
How to tell a Teacher.
A gentleman from Swampville, State of
New York, was telling how many different
occupations he had attempted. Among
others he had tried school teaching.
“How long did you teach ?” asked a by
stander.
“Wal, I didn't teach long; that is, I only
went to hire out!”
‘•Did you hire out ?”
“Wal, I didn't hire Out; I only ipent to
hire out?”
“Why did you give it up ?”
“Wal, I give it up, for some reason of
’author. You see, I traveled into a dis
trict and inquired for the trustees. Some
body said Mr. Snickles was the man 1 want
ed to see. So I found Mr. Snickles—named
my objick in introducing myself, and asked
him what he thought about letting me try
my luck with the big boys and unruly gals
in the district. He wanted to know if I
raaly thought myself cap’ble, and I told
him I wouldn't mind his asking me a few
easy questions in ’ri thine tic and 'gography,
or showing my handwriting. But he said
no. never mind; he could tell a good teacher
by his gait.”
“Let me see you walk off a little ways,”
says he, “and I can tell,” says he, “jib's
well’s I’d heerd you examined,” says he.
“He sot in the door as he spoke, and I
thought he looked a little skittish ; but I
was considerable frustrated, and didn't
mind much ; so I turned about and walked
off as smart as I know’d how. He said
he'd tell me when to stop, so 1 kep’ on till
I thought I'd gone ’bout fur enough—theil
I s'pected s’thing was to pay, and looked
round. Wal, the door was shet and
Snickles was gone ?”
“Did you go back ?”
“Wal, no, I didn’t go back.”
“Did you apply for another school ?”
Wal, no, 1 didn't apply for another
school,” said the gentleman from Swamp
ville. “I rather judged my appearance was
against me.”
“Doctor ,” said a man to a physician,
“my daughter had a tit this morning, and
continued for half an hour without know
ledge or understanding.” “Oh.” replied the
doctor, “never mind that, many people
continue so all their lives.”
pS" A Boston paper thinks that stealing
a minister’s coat while preaching, and the
sexton’s hat while waiting upon a stranger
into the church, is running rascality into
the ground.
fsif* There is a young lady in the upper
i part of New York so modest that she will
not undress until a newspaper her mother
subscribes to. is removed from the room.—
The name of the paper is the— Observer.
The fellow who “carried out a pro
ject" was obliged to bring it back again.
Woman’s Rights Asserted. —The Stam
ford Advocate contains the following spirit
ed advertisement :
To the Public —Whereas, my husband,
Edward H. Jones, has falsely advertised that
I have left his bed and board, and that he
will pay no debts of my contracting, &c.,
this is to inform the public that the afore
said Edward 11. Jones had neither bed nor
board for me to leave, he having been
living at the expense of my father; and
further, under pretence of procuring money
to pay his way to Birmingham, Connecticut,
he borrowed a dollar of my father, and
with that paid for his lying advertisement
of me, and even after this dastardly act, he
took all the money I had and borrowed
every cent in my mother's possession, and
left the town. For the past three months
he has been kept from nakedness and starva
tion by the exertions of myself and rela
tives ; he squandered in dissipation all the
money his inborn laziness would allow him
to earn. The scamp need not have adver
tised that he would not pay debts of my
contracting, for the public well know that
he would not even pay his own. He is a
lazy, ungrateful, loading scoundrel ; not
content with living at the expense of my
relatives and borrowing their money he
publishes an outrageous lie. His bed and
board, indeed ! If left to himself his bed
would be nothing but a board ; and I should
not be much surprised if the bed he dies on
were made of boards, with a strong cross
beam overhead. Sarah A. Jones.
It is clear from the above that Sarah can
find her own way through the world with
out any help-meet, and the wonder is that
she should ever have embarked in the same
boat with Edward. She knows what are
“women’s rights,” and “knowing, dare
maintain.”— J\'ew Haven Palladium.
The Harper Brothers.— The New York
Times gives the following account of the
small beginning of what was but a few days
since the greatest publishing house in the’
world :
“The establishment of the Harpers was
founded by James Harper, the eldest of the
four brothers who now constitute the firm.
He came to this city in 1810, a lad fifteen
years old. and served an apprenticeship of
six years.with Paul & Thomas, the leading
printers of that day. His brother Johns
soon followed him, and learned his trade
with Mr. Seymour, a printer on John street.
In 1817, with the small capital James hail
saved, the brothers opened a small book
and job office in Dover street. The first
book they printed was “Seneca's Morals ;”
the second was an edition of the “Methodist
Catechism.” The first book they published
on their own account was “Locke's Essay
on the Human Understanding.”
They toiled with unremitting industry,
and maintained the highest character for
enterprise ami integrity. In 1820 the third
brother. Joseph Wesley, joined them, and
six years later, Fletcher liecame a member
of the firm. From that time until now they
have carried on the publishing business
with a degree of well-directed energy,
which has few parallels. They removed to
Cliff street about the year 1820, and have
added one building after another to their
establishment as the demands of their
business required. The amount of books
they have issued is almost incalculable.—
For the last few years they have published,
on an average, twenty-five thousand vol
umes? a minute for ten hours a day ; and
from three to four thousand persons have
obtained a livelihood from their employ
ment.”
The duel which was to come off at
Beoecia has turned out a fizzle.
*O. l.