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VOLCANO WEEKLY LEDGER.
volume I.J |,t llolcnno lOcckln CcJigcr, I PCBUSItBt) EVERY RAYt'RDAY, BY [I SPRINGER * DAIMJERFIELD. ■ „.|U N (JEII. E B. DAIXOKBFIEin. I Tor* m s i ■ Year, in advance, *» ■ Month* \ ““ ■ ~ Month*. 2 00 I .Advertising- H Square of U lines. first insertion, ss—each K. iiuent insertion, f I 50. A liberal deduction on the above rates will Kiudu for quarterly and yearly advcrlis.emets. I LEGAL ADVERTISEMENTS Hi be inserted at the following rates;—Two Pol- H per square for the fir't insertion, and One Dol ■ p,. r wjuare for each subsequent insertion. For thr Weekly Lrdger. THE MAN IN THE MOON. UT «IS. BAVTAV. I The man in the moon I Is a funny old coon!— I How he peeps in my window, to-night: j And tries to find out I What I am about ; 1 Cut old chap, you “ can't come it quite! ” I If you wish to know, j Why don't you say so?— I We girls like the men to speak plain. I Well then, this is all— I I shall go to the ball, il And I'm making a dress to go in. I I say, my old fellow, j What a beautiful yellow I Your coat and your neckerchief are! And where in the moon, Did you get pantaloon That shines like a silvery star! Ob, isn't It hard, j I can’t have a yard I Of sick stuff, to border my gown ? I I'll go to the moon, I And steal his pant'loon, I If he don’t send a piece of it down! I I wonder now. if | The old coon has a wife t I He is looking so smiling and bright: I But since I have thought, I I rather think not— I Be stays nut too much of a night I I I'll “ lay me a scad,” I That the jolly old lad R I« pleased wun me twist of my curls ; I And would give all his hair, I If he had me up there, I To show to his moon jilting girls. I Well, well ; he would do I For a beau, it is true ; I But here, 1 do better than that ; I For every one knows I I can have fifty beaux, I Any time •• at the drop of a hat t ” I I made no such strike I In old fashioned I’ike, I Where men in proportion were fewer; I If there I'd a beau, I And be but so-so, ■ 0 was'nt I proud of him, scre ! I There girls kept their mitten, I And used it to put on— I Not to throw in the face ol their beaux!— , I But here they can send it, I And the poor devils stand it, — I And grin, and grow red at the nose! I • • • • I Good night, my old chap ! I I must now take a nap ; I But my window is open to-night. I don't mind a look— So if “ you arc struck,” Look on, if you wish, 'til daylight I II California Coal. —The Stockton Bvs that about thirty miles southwest from Rtockton, near the line of San Joaquin coun kji, a eoal field has been discovered «t the I w id of Corral Hollow : 1 A party of surveyors were engaged to Raminc the Pus, to arcertain the practica- Rlitv ol making a railroad up and through 810B 10 1 ass, when one of the [inrty in driving a ■hike in the hanks of an Arroya struck a coal ■knk. It has a considerable dip into the Bountam, and is located near the dividing ■( ge ; us good a road cun be made from the Bui mine to this place as there is to Calum- R There are at present several persons out ■respecting for new discoveries and to locate ■rc-emption claims From u knowledge of B e hills of the coast range, on the side next the San Joaqutn river, we believe there ■ill bean extensive field of coal discovered B the present wants of the country demand. ■>> the mountains higher up from where the ■'•il was discovered, the coast range exhibits ttuny signs of coal, and the water is strongly Bpregnated with bituminous sulphur and oth ;W whstuuces rather unpalatable. We have B-' u "l that discoveries of coal have been made Bears ago by the hunters, who were there in Bareli ot game. The coal discovered is of a I'-' tb'ht substance; but from the apjicur- ol it, w ill lie of great value in the man- P® l ture of gas, and also useful for the pur of fuel. r B okcn vs. M i n.— Women in all coun »(s are civil, obliging, tender and humane; 8 ) ate ever inclined to be gny and cheerfu 1 , ttM( * Indent, and they do not hesl ■ e 1 , men . 1° perform a generous action, ■ ~ rt ''able, (terhups than men, but in gene m more disinterested, more virtuous and per ■ ,m "K m prc good actions than men. In * xt, ' l,s ive w anderings in foreign dimes, if BL“‘ B ‘> ■ 1 bursty, wet cold or sick,’woman has 8 “Ccn tnendlv to me, mc*t uniformly to An Unexpected Race. In pnc of the large towns of Worcester county, Massachusetts, used to live a clergy man whom wo will call Kidewell. He was of the Baptist persuasion, ami very rigid in his ideas of moral propriety. He had in his em ploy an old negro named Pompey, and if this latter individual was not so strict in his mor als as his master, he was at least a very cun ning dog, and passed in the reverend house hold for a pattern of propriety. F’ompev was a useful servant, and the old clergyman never hesitated to trust him with the most import ant business. Now, it so hapjiened that there were dwelling in and about the town, sundry individuals who had not the fear of the dread ful penalties which Mr. Kidewell preached, about their eyes, for it was the want of these people to congregate on Sabbath evenings upon a level piece of land in the outskirts of the town, and there race horses. This spot was hidden from view by a dense piece of woods, and for a long while the Sunday eve ning races were carried on without detection by the officers, or others who might have stopped them. It also happened that the good old clergyman owned one of the best horses in the country. This horse was one of the old Morgan stmk, w ith a mixture of Ara bian blood in his veins, and it was generally known that few l>easts could pass him on the road. Mr. Kidewell, with a dignity becom ing his calling, stoutly declared that the fleet ness of his horse never afforded him any grat ification, and that for his own part he would as lief have any other. Yet money could not buy his Morgan, nor could any amount of argument persuade him to swap. The church was so near the good clergyman’s dwelling that he always walked to meeting, and his horse was consequently allowed to remain in pasture. Pompey discovered that these races were on the tapis, and he resolved to enter his mas ter’s horse on his own account, for he felt as sured that old Morgan could beat anything iu the shape of horseflesh that could be pro cured in that quarter. So on the very next Sunday evening he hud the bridle under his jacket, went out into the pasture and caught the horse, and then rode off toward the spot where the wicked ones were congregated.— Here he found some dozen assembled, and the race about to commence. Pomj>ey mounted his beast, aud at a signal he started. Old Mor gan entered into the spirit of the thing, and came out two rods ahead of anything. I’om pey won quite a pile, and l>eforc dark he was well initiated in horse-racing. Pompey succeeded in getting home without exciting any suspicious, aud he now longed for the Sabbath afternoon to come, for he was determined to try it again. He did so, and again he won ; and this course of wick edness he followed up for two mouths, making his ap]searancc ujion the racing-grouud every Sunday afternoon as soon as he could after “meeting was out.” Aud during that time Pompey was not the only one that loved ra cing. No, for old Morgan himself hud come to love the excitement of the thing, too, and his every motion when ti|»on the track showed how zealously he entered into the spirit of the game. Hut these tilings were not always to remain a secret. One Sunday a pious deacon beheld tills racing from a distance and straight way went to the parson with the alarming in telligence, The llev. Mr. Kidewell was ut terly shocked. His moral feelings were out raged, and he resolved to put a stop to this wickedness. During the week he made sev eral inquiries, and he learned that this thing had been practiced all summer on every Sab bath afternoon. Ho made his parishioners keep quiet, and on the next Sunday he wot.l 1 make his appearance on the very spot, and catch them in their deeds of iniquity. On the following Sabbath, after dinner, Mr. Kide well ordered i’ompey to bring up old Morgan and put him in the stable. Tne order was obeyed, though not withoulmisgivings ou the part of the faithful negro. As soon as the afternoon services were closed, the two deacons and some others of the members of the church accompanied the minister home, together with their horses. “ It is the most flagrant piece of irrcligion that ever came to my knowledge,” said the indignant clergyman. “ Horse-racing on the Sabbath,” uttered a deacon. “ Dreadful,” echoed a second deacon. Ami so the conversation went on, until they reached the top of a gentle eminence which overlooked the plain where the raring was carried on, and where some dozen horsemen, with a score of lookers-on, were assembled. The sight was one that chilled the good par son to his soul. He remained motionless un til he had made out the whole alarming truth, then turning to his companions, he said: “ Now, my brothers, let us ride down and confront the wicked wretches, and if they w ill down on their knees, and implore (j oil's mer cy, and promise to do so no more, we will not take legal action against them. Oh, that my own land should be desecrated thus !” for it was indeed a portion of bis own farm. As the good clergyman thus sjioke he start ed ou towards the scene. The horses were drawing up for a start as the minister ap proached. and some uf the riders at once re cognized 11 old M. r a i,” though they did not recognize the individual who rode him. *■ Wicked men 1” commenced the parson, as he came near enough for his voice to be heard: " children of sin and shame—” "Come on, old boss,’' cried one of thejock ies, turning towards the minister. “If you are in for the first race you must stir your stumps.” " Alas ! O my wicked—” “All ready!” shouted he who led the af fair, cutting the minister short, and the word for starting was given. Old Morgan knew that word too well, for no sooner d?d it fa!' upoc h" ears, t*;»r be VOLCANO, AMADOR COUNTY, CAL., SATURDAY MORNING, DECEMBER I, 1 855. tuck out his nose. and with one wild snort he started, and the rest of the racers, twelve in numlier, kept him company. \\ ho-o-o-who-oo! wIio*o-o !” yelled the clergyman, togging at the reins with all his might. Hut it was of no avail. Old Morgan had now reached ahead of all competitors, and he came up to the judges' stand three rods ahead, where the petrified deacons were standing with eyes ami mouth wide o|»en. Don’t stop," shouted one of the judges, who now recognized I'arson Uidewell, ami suspected his business, and who knew the se cret of old Morgan’s joining the race. "Don’t 'top,'’ he shouted again ; "it’s a two mile heat this time. Keep right on, parson. Von’rc good for another mile. Now you go—and off it is.” These Inst words were of course known to the horse, and no sooner did Morgan hear them Ilian ho stuck his nose out, and again started off. The poor parson did his utmost to stop the bewitched animal, but it could not be done. The more ho struggled, tugged ami yelled, the faster the animal went, and ere many moments he was again at the start ing pumt, where Morgan now stopped of his own Word. There was a hurried whispering among the jockeys, and a succession of very curious winks and knowing nods seemed to indicate that they understood. “ Upon my soul, parson,’’said one of them, approaching the spot where the minister stilt sat in his saddle, he having not yet sufficient ly recovered his presence of mind to dismount, ’’ Von ride well, parson. We had not looked for this honor.” " Honor, sir !” gasped Uidewell, looking into the speaker’s face. “ Aye—for it is an honor. Yon arc the first clergyman that has ever joined us in our Sabbath evening entertainments.” “1, sir ? I joined you ?’, “ Ha! ha! ha! Oh, you did it well.— Vourgood deacons really think yon were try ing very hard to hold in your horse, but I saw through it. I saw how slyly you put your horse up. Hut 1 don’t blame you for feeling proud of old Morgan, for J should feel so myself if I owned him. Hut you need not fear; 1 will tell all who may a.-k me about it, that you did your best to stop your beast, for 1 would rather stretch the truth a little than have such a jockey as you suffer.” This hud been spoken so loudly that the dea cons had heard every word, and the poor parson was bewildered; but he came to him self, and with a Hushing eye he cried: " Villains, what mean you? why do you thus?” “ Hold on,” interrupted one of the party, and us he sjKikc the rest of the racing men had all mounted their horses; “ hold on a moment, parson; we arc all willing to allow you to carry off' the palm, but we won’t stand your abuse. When we heard that you hail determined to try if your horse would not heat us all, we agreed among ourselves that if you came we would let you in. We have done so, and you have won the race in a two mile heat. Now let that satisfy you. Hy the hokey, you did it well. When you want to try it. again, just send us word and well he ready for you. (Jood bye.” As the jockey thus spoke, he turned his horse's head, and before the astounded preacher could utter a word, the whole par ty had ridden away out of hearing. It was some time lieforc one of the churchmen could s()eak. They knew not what to say. Why should their minister's horse have joined in the race without some permission trom his master? They knew how much he valued the animal; and at length they shook their heads with doubt. “ It’s very strange,” said one. “ Very,” answered the second. " Remarkably,” suggested the third. "On my soul, brethren,” spoke Uidewell, “ I can’t make it out.” The brethren looked at each other, and the deacons shook their heads in a very solemn and impressive manner. So the party rode back to the clergyman's house, hut none of the brethren would enter, nor would they stop at all. Before Monday hud draw n to a close, it w as generally know n that Parson Uidewell raced his horse on the Suhbath, and a meeting of the church was appointed on Thursday. Poor Uidewell was almost crazy with vex ation. Hut before Thursday came, Pompcy found out how matters stood, and he assured his master that he could clear the matter up, and after a day’s search he discovered tne astounding fact that some of those wicked men had I teen in the habit of steal ing old Morgan from the pasture and racing him on Sabbath afternoon. Pompcy, found out this much—but could not Jiiul out who did 11 ! As soon as this became known to the church the members conferred together, and they soon concluded that under such circumstan ces a high mettled horse, would be apt to run away with his rider when he found himself directly upon the track. So parson Uidewell was cleared, but it was a long while before he got over the blow, for many were the wicked wags who delighted to hector him by offering to “ ride a race” with him, to " bet on his head,” to "put him against the world” on a race.— But as Uidewell grew older his heart grew warmer, and finally be could laugh with right good will when he spoke of his unexpected race. hir ' Friend,’' said a jailor "it is very wrong to swear as you do; why do you do it? " “ Because,” replied the prisoner, “ I’ve un derstood that a man may swear out of jail in thirty days, ami I want to see if it can’t be done in fifteen. lam going to set up all n’gb* aH do raj worrt. A Sentimental Fossil. BV FEEL A. BUSTER. "What is your name?"—"My name is Norval on the Grampian hills.” " Whcru iliil you come from?” “ I came from the happy land, Where care is unknown.” " Where are you lodging now? ” —" I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls.” ‘Where are you going to?”—Far, far o’er hill and dell.” “ What is your occupation? ” —“Some love to roam.” “ Are you married?”—“ Long time ago.— Polly put the kettle on.’” " When were you married?” “ ’Twa« twelve o'clock one starlight night 1 ever shall remember.” " How many children have you?” “ There's Doll ami Bet, and Moll and Kate, and ” "What is your wife’s name?”—"o no, 1 never mention it.” " Did your wife oppose your leaving her?” “ Shu wept not when we parted.” " In what condition did you leave her?”— “ A rose-tree in full bearing.” “Is your family provided for?”—“ A little farm, well tilled.” " Did your wife drive you off? ” —“ Oh, sub lime was the warning.” *' What did your wife say to you that in duced you to slop< f ” —“Come rest in this bosom.” " Was your wife good looking?”—“She wore a wreath of roses.” “ Did your wife ever treat you badly?”— “ Oft in a stilly night.” “ When you announced your intention of emigrating, what did your wife say? ” —“ Oh, dear, what can the matter be?” "And what did you reply?”—"Sweet Kitty Clover, don’t bother me so.” "Where did you last see her?”—"Near the lake where drooped the willow.” ' What did she say to you when you were in the act of leaving?”-—"A place in thy memory, dearest.” “Do you still love her?”—“’Tis said that absence conquers lo\e.” “ What are your possessions?”—" The harp that once thro’ Tara’s halls" — “ What do you propose to do with it? "I'll hang my harp on a willow tree.” “ How do you expect to make a living? ” “Rise la tin; morn, Sound tin' born. For Cuba amt lor Oregon.” The Horrors of the Pestilence. A correspondent of the Baltimore Amer ican mentions the following, among the many horrors of the devastating pestilence ut Nor folk and Portsmouth; it is said of the Jews, that on their return from their captivity, their old men wept when they remembered the glorious past, and con trasted it with the sad present. With feel ings akin to these when the families of Nor folk and Portsmouth shall go hack to their homes, when the pestilence shall have depart ed. Oh! God, what a return it will be.— Desolated chambers will be there—vacant chairs w ill be at almost every fireside, and every hoard—familiar voices w ill be heard no more—childless parents will exchange sad greetings, an 1 orphan childr “U will weep in 1 each other’s anus. The congregations of churches will be moving panoramas of funeral drapery, and , the tone of recognition when friend meets friend, will sound as hollow as the first hand ful of earth east upon the coffin. And this last word reminds us of a portion of the ireight of the Louisiana, last night, on her downward trip. There were barrels of bread i and crackers, and boxes of candles and lem * ons, and other things to sustain and cheer life among the stricken ones —and 160 Collins, all for Norfolk and Portsmouth. It was a I lovely night, the moon shone out in mild and subdued beauty, the stars seemed | “ Telling a touching story. Of trie nils long passed to the kingdom of love, Where the soul wears its mantle of glory ! ’’ The boat rode right gallantly over the huge billows of the Chesapeake, but there, ' I adore me, around me, piled in tiers of three or four deep, were those sad, silent, dark ' coffins! My imagination filled each gloomy tenement w ith a corpse, cold pale, ghastly! —flouting, floating. Hunting—on, on, on— where ? Thirty of these were a present from a kind hearted undertaker i.i Baltimore--God bless him lor his generosity—but only think of such a present, a present of thirty coffins! Wit and Humor.— As true wit is founded on differences or resemblances in this ua-1 ture of things, whoever can appreciate dif ferences or resemblances, can appreciate the felicity of the ullus.un, and the force and comprehension of the meaning elicited ; j whereas Waggery, and all its concomitants, being founded on technicalities known to lew; or “tom-foolery,” which many despise; or even some by-gone occurrence, familiar only to the |k.tsuiih present —is, of ucc s ity, lim.- ted and uncertain. Hence, nothing is more common than to hear people say, and say truly, that they “cannot see the joke,” though, it is probable that the jester has labored to produce one. jj*irThere are many good qualities, and valuable ones, too, which hardly deserve the name of virtues. The word virtue was sy nonymous in the old times with valour, and seems to imply contest; not merely passive goodness, but active resistance to evil. 1 wonder sometimes why It is that we so con tinually hear the phrase, “a virtuous woman,’ and scarcely ever that of a “virtuous man,” except in poetry or from the pulpit. Oi?*Mrs Chrisholm call wives and children " GoT? police ” The Humiliation of England. Ttic Corsican vendetta is nearly accomplish ed, for the humiliation of England approach ed its consummation, when Queen Victoria stood reverentially before the tomb of her country’s mortal enemy in the wierd torch light which flickered along the walls of the Invulides. She stood there as the dependent of his nephew, a suppliant to the mercy of the Napoleonic rare, which knows no mercy for its foe, a Queen in name beside an Em peror in fact. l>id the spirit of Sir Hudson Lowe hover around the scene ? Did the laugh of the “old guard,’’ which, according to the German Legend, attends the nightly review of In yetite corporal on the dreary shore of St. Helena, ring scornfully through the sombre walls? No; it was but fancy, but the vengeance of the Napoleons was a reality. The visit of Queen Victoria to Paris was little more than a conqueror's pageant, in which she acted the part of a distinguished eaptive, which could not be endured by iter for a moment, if a single drop of Boadicea's blood remained in the veins of modern royal ty. She was received witli a magnificence which threw her efforts at display on the oc casion nt Napoleon’s visit to London, into the shade, and showed, as Sterne says, that “they do these things better in France but the cheers with which the Emperor was greeted in London, were not bestowed upon the Queen in Paris, and she passed onward to St, Cloud, a spectacle to be gazed at and not a guest to be honored. “ I noticed,” says a correspondent of the London Press, “ that while the Enquirer con versed with the Queen in the Uoyal box at the Opera, a sinister smile, half of sarcasm, parted his lips occasionally and flickered over his inscrutable countenance.” What did that smile mean? It was a faint revelation of the proud thoughts which were swelling within ids heart. It said, St. Helena is avenged. The Parvenoc is the master of the hereditary Sovereign. The triumph of France is almost complete. The houseless wanderer—the madman of former years—the prisoner of Ham—the dependent of Mrs. Howard—the special constable of London—is ruler of France to day, and France is the ruler of England. Craft lias done the work of the sword -but the final retribution—the grand denouement of the drama has not arrived yet —not yet, O, Destiny !—not yet. It advan ces. however, darkly and steadily “us the shadow of the Gnomon.” Gaze on, poor gil ded pup|>ct, at the pantomime on the stage, and dream not of the tragedy which uwuits your country and yourself. So said that smile. Such was the meaning of the faint revelation of the secrets of that hitherto in scrutable countenance. Victoria has returned to England uiuid the congratulations of the London press. But what has she learned during her visit ? That France has a magnificent army on her own soil, while England has scarcely a single sol dier ; that the French people are aroused and invigorated by the Eastern war, while the English arc crushed and depressed; that the birthright of genius is more potent than the birthright of blood; that she is a mere pawn, though 1 (curing n royal crown, on the chess hoard of European polities, in the hands of the most skilful and masterly player of his time. Such is the bitter lesson she must have learned, unless the imbecility of George 111 be inebriated with his crown.— N. O. Delta. Good-byb.—How many emotions cluster arrbund that word ! How full of sadness, ami to us, how full of sorrow it sounds ! It is with us a consecrated word. We heard it once within the year, as we hope never to hear it again. It was in the chamber of death, and the still hour of night's noon.— The curtains to the windows were all closed, the lights were rll shaded, and we stood in the dim and solemn twilight, with others u round the bed of the dying. The damps of death were on her pule young brow, and cold ness was on her lips, ns we kissed her the lust time while living. “Good-bye, my daughter,” we whis(<ered, and “ Good-bye, father,” came faintly from her dying lips.— We know not if she ever spoke more, but “Good-bye” was the last that we ever heard of her own sweet voice. We heard that sorrowful word often and often, us we sit alone, bu»y with the memorys of the past.— We hear it in the silence of the night, in the hours of nervous w akefulness, us we lie upon our bed thinking of the loved and the lost to us. We hear it in our dreams, when her sweet face comes back to us. We hear it when we sit by the side of her grave in the cemetery wl ere she sleeps, alone, with no kindred as yet by her side. She was the hope of our life, the prop to lean on when age should come ujkiu us, and life should be running to its dregs. Tliehojtc and the prop is gone and we care not how soon we go down to sleep deside our darling beneath the shad ow of the trees in the city of the dead.— Albany Register. Cheap Advertising. —lt lias become quite fashionable for dealers to paint their sidewalks, fences, Ac. Some waggish clerk, who finding a business card painted upon a Hag stone, penciled over it, in neat capitals— In memory of, by way of a prefix. ' Upon a certain fence was painted in big, black, attractive letters, Go to Markham's, under which some rival dealer had painted, ll' yi.ii want to be skinned. This beats the quack medicine man who painted up, everywhere, Take llobenaack's Pill, and along came a IracU vender, who stock under it, so os to continue the sense, prvpars t 0 ® re * 'by God- [ NUMBER 6. The Book of Mormon. Parley I). Pratt, one of the lights of the Mormon (.'hurch. has published a book enti tled “ Key of Theology,” in which be gives the following account of the personage called Mormon, from whom Joe Smith’s Book of Mormon takes its name : On the 22d of September, 1827, the angel directed him (Joseph Smith) to a hill a few miles distant, called anciently Cuinorah Around this hill, in the fifth century of the Christian era, had rallied the last remnant of a once powerful and highly polished nation, called the Xophites. Here two hundred and thirty thousand men, women and children, marshalled themselves for a lost defense, in legions of ten thousand each, under their re sjx'etive commanders, at whose head was the renowned Mormon, the general of a hundred battles. And here they received the enemy in untold numbers, and melted away before them till none remained, except a few that fled to the southward, and a few that fell wounded, and were left by the enemy among the unboned dead. Among these latter were General Mormon, and his son and second in command, General Moroni. These were the last prophets of n nation now no more. They held the sacred records, compiled and trans mitted from their fathers from the remotest antiquity. They held the t rim and Tbum min, and the compass of Lehi, which had been prepared by providence to guide a colony from Jerusalem to America. In the hill Cu morah they had deposited all these things.— Here they lay concealed for fourteen hundred years, and here did the angel Moroni direct the young Joseph to behold these sacred things in the sacred deposit, and to receive from those long silent and gloomy archives an abridged record of the whole, and with it the Urim and Thummin. The abridged record thus obtained was engraved in Egyptian char acters, on gold plates, by the hands of the two prophets and Generals—Mormon and Moroni. By the instructions of the angel, and the use of the Urim and Thummin, the youthful Joseph, now a prophet and seer, was enabled to translate the abridgment, or rath er the unsealed portion, which was destined for the present age. A Siomuca.vt Tkith.— Mi»s McDowell, in the lost number o( the Woman's Advocate utters the following bold but significant truth: “ As women are more affected by the prev alence of immorality than men, it is really strange that they do not frown down those vices of men Which are frequently fatal to their own tranquillity. Many a female who would not refuse to din? with a profligate, would think herself foully insulted were she invited to take tea with a courtesan; but the only difference between the two is, one wears pantaloons and the other pantalets—the moral is the same.” AnvtcE to tub Meddlesome. —A corns pomient of the Philadelphia Ledger, who signs his name •• somebody,”asks, “does any body know anybody? Jf they do 1 wish anybody would tell anybody to mind nobody's business but his own. And then everybody would get along much better and feel more pleasant if nobody meddled with nobody's business but his own.” A ery sensible and good advice, but not to be driven into some people with a sledge hammer. The Mekciiastii.e Fishery.—A Xew buryport correspondent, under date of Octo ber 22, writes that a large school of fat mackerel struck in to the eastward of Boon Bland, on the first of last week, and vessels which were near the place filled up in a short time, and returned home. Most of the Bay Chalour fleet which have arrived, after pack ing out, hauled up for the winter, but the re turn of the successful vessels has stimulated them to refit again. The greatest activity is now manifested to get out ns soon as pos sible. 0 10* In Turkey, whenever a man u convict ed of telling a lie, hid house is painted black, to remain so for one mouth. If there were such a law in force in this country, what a gloomy appearance some cities would pre sent ! The reason why man was made after everything else, was because if he had been created first he would have annoyed the Al mighty by endless suggestions of improve ment. ftasr The Assessor’* report gives the total valuation of Boston at two hundred and for ty-two millions, throe hundred and forty-nine thousand two hundred dollars, showing an increase over the valuation last year of fif teen millions three hundred and thirty-six thousand dollars. The rate of taxation has fixed at seven cents on one hundred dollars, a reduction of fifteen cents from lust, year. Tun Ksi.istmk.mt Case.—The several indict ments against Hertz for recuiting troops in the U. S. for the British army, were given to the jury at I’hiludelphia on the morning of the 21th ult., who, in fifteen minutes, return ed a verdict of guilty on all the bills. Three at a Birth.—A lady residing in Happy Valley felicitated her lord on Mon day, by the presentation of three children, tw o boys and a girl. The masculines weigh ed eight pounds apiece, while the daughter weighed seven and a half.— Alia. Doubtful Nomenclature. —The new Rus sian minister to the United States is called Somaiiosofl, my nose off.) An attache of the same legation at Washington, Blow manasoff, (blow my nose off.) Beside which, wc have Col. Kutiiianosolf, (ent my nose off) of the Imperial Guard ; Ma.-hal Fulmauosoff (pull my nose 1 off,) (Sen. Nozbegon (not 3 be gone.) and in my others.— Hotton Journal.