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Volcano weekly ledger. (Volcano, Amador County, Cal.) 1855-1857, December 01, 1855, Image 1

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn93051027/1855-12-01/ed-1/seq-1/

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|,t llolcnno lOcckln CcJigcr,
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.
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.
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
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
“ 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
" 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
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
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
“ 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
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.
"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
" 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-
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
“ 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
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.

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