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The Georgetown news. (Georgetown, El Dorado County, Cal.) 1855-1856, December 06, 1855, Image 1

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VOL. 11.
GEORGETOWN NEWS.
X WEEKLY NEWSPAPER, PUBLISHED E\ EKY THURS
DAY MORNING by
P»latt cfc Sliaw,
Office, Main St., nearly opposite Masonic Hall.
TKJtM m JXVAKIVIU.V I.V AWVA.NGK.
Per one year $.5 00
For six months 3 00
For three months 2 00
Rates of Advertising.
For first insertion of 1 square, or 10 lines. .$3 00
For each subsequent insertion I 50
Libt ral deductions for quarterly advertisements.
BUSINESS CARDS.
Wm. Ewing,
Attorney and Counsellor at Law.
Office at Lower Johutown, El Dorado Co., Cal.
November 12th, 1855. [3-4t*
P RODGER, J. C. Manufacturer of all kinds
of Jewelry, Maiden Lane, Georgetown, two
doors south of J. J. Lewis’ Bowling Saloon.
November Ist, 1855. [2-tf.
Ca-3TfA.l3.gVm. Co.,
(BRANCH OF GRAHAM A CO. GEORGETOWN.)
MAIN STREET, BOTTLE HILL.
Dealers in Groceries, Provisions, Cigars, Li
quors, §-c.
The highest price paid at all times for Gold Dust.
Bottle Hill, April 23d, 1855. [2B-tf
Xj. O. HeyL>-urn,
Justice of the Peace.
OFFICE on Church st.. head of Maiden Lane,
one door south of Bolleu A Ritter’s Gun and
Blacksmith establishment. Office open every day
of the week from 9 to 4 o'clock; Sunday ezcpted.
Georgetown, May 24th, 1855. [32-tf.
DRAGOO, DR- M, J., late of Johntown, would
inform the citizens of Bottle Hill that hav
ing permanently located in that place, he would
respectfully tender to them his professional ser
vices as Surgeon and Physician.
Bottle Hill, Dec. 15 1854. 9-tf
II
AY, DR. F. G., Main street, Georgetown.—
Office opposite Adams & Co.
Oct. 26,1854. 2-tf
WELLS, FARGO & CO., Express Agents,
Gold Dust Shippers, and Bankers, George
town. [See advertisement.] 2-tf
X. O. of O. ZE».
Weiovnto I.otlge, No. 37, Institu
ted, March 22nd, 1855. Meets on
Thursday of each week, at the Ma
sonic Hall, at 7 o’clock, P. M.
Transient Brothers, in good standing, are cor
dially invited to attend.
J. J. LEWIS, N. G.
S. Knox, Sec’y.
A S. of T— Georgetown Division, No. 42.
> f Sons of Temperance, meets every Tues
day evening, at 7 o’clock, in their Hall
on Main street, Georgetown.
All brethren in good standing are invited to at
tend. WM. T. GIBBS, W. P.
J. T. Noel, R. S.
Divine Worship.
Rrv. DAVID McCLURE, of the Presbytery of
San Francisco, preaches every Sabbath morning
and evening in the Town Hall, Georgetown. Ser
vices commencing at o'clock A. M., and 8
P. M. A 1 o, every Sabbath afternoon at Bottle
Hill, at 3 o'clock. Prayer meeting at the Par
sonage on Wednesday evenings.
Public Worship.
There will be preaching at the Town Hall,
every Thursday evening, at 7 o'clock, P. M.; al
so upon every other Sabbath, 8 at o’clock, P. M.
by Rev. R. R. Bkookshiek, of the Methodist E
piscopal Church South.
Public Worship.—At the School House,
Georgetown- Regular appointments of Rev. Jno.
Sharp, of M. E. Church, 10£ A. M. and 7 P. M.,
every Sabbath. Occasional supplies by other
Ministers. Prayer meetings, Wednesday even
ings at 7 P. M. Sabbath School 9J A. M.
California Slap
s
Company IVoticc.
T AGES for Sacramento City,
leave the “Nevada House,” s=Se~SaSs
Georgetown, every morning, at three o'clock, A.
M., and the “ Buckeye Exchange,” Greenwood
Valley, at four o’clock, A. M., arriving in Sacra
mento in time to connect with the steamboats for
Ban Francisco.
J. HAWORTH, Pres. Cal. S. Co.
Per M. A. MERCHANT, Agent
March 28th, 1855. [24-tf.
ACCOMMODATION
Stage Ijin©
POTTLE HILL TO COLOMA.
THE subscriber having extended his Line to
Bottle Hill, will run a four-horse coach dai
ly between the above places, via of Georgetown
and Johntown.
Leaving Bottle Hill at 6| o’clock A. M., arriv
ing at Coloma at 10 o’clock A. M.
Returning, will leave Coloma at 3 o’clock, P
M., arriving at Bottle Hill at 0 o’clock P. M.
Having run a line of stages for the past two
years and a half between Georgetown and Colo
nia.the undersigned feels confident that in ex
lending his line to Bottle Hill, he can offer such
accommodations as to merit the patronage of the
Public. ROBERT ELLIS.
June 27th, 1855. [37-tf.
Books & Stationery.
A Literary Depot, is opened by the umb
Ma ' m Street - Bottle Hill, at whit
HOOKS, MAGAZINES and NEWSPAPERS
«very variety, and of the latest date, can be h
upon application.
JAMISON & CALDWELL.
Bottle Hill, April 18th, 1855. [27-tf.
Turning lathe, —The undersigned be
leave to inform the citizens of Grorgetoi
lOat he is prepared to do all kinds of Turning
v “ e best manner and at the shortest notice. °
n , M. A. WOODSIDE
Gorgetowa, Oct 19,1854. HI
GEORGETOWN, EL DORADO COUNTY, CAL., DEC. 6. 1855.
To tlie Past.
BY WM. CULLEN BUTANT.
Thou unrelenting past!
Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain,
And fetters, sure and fast,
Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign.
h ar in thy realm, withdrawn,
Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom,
And glorious ages, gone,
Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb.
Childhood, with all its mirth,
Youth,manhood, age thht draws us to the ground,
And last, man's life on earth,
Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound.
Thou hast my better years—
Thou hast my earlier friends, the good, the kind,
Yielded to thee with teats—
The venerable form—the exalted mind.
My spirit yearns to bring
The lost ones back—yearns with desire intense
And struggles hard to wring
Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence.
In vain—thy gates deny
All passage, save to those who hence depart;
Nor to the streaming eye
Thou giv’st them back—nor to the broken heart.
In thy abysses hide
Beauty and excellence unknown—to thee
Earth's wonder and her pride
Are gathered, as the waters by the sea;
Labors of good to man,
Unpublished charity, unbroken faith—
Love, that ’midst Grief began.
And grew with years, and faltered not in death.
Full many a mighty name
Lurks in thy depths, unutter'd, unrevered;
With thee are silent fame,
Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappear'd.
Thine for a space are they—
Yet shall thou yield thy treasures up at last,
Thy gates shall yet give way—
Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable past!
All that of good and fair
Has gone into thy womb from earliest time,
Shall then come forth, to wear
The glory and the beauty of its prime.l
They have not perish'd—no!
Kind words, remember'd voices once so sweet,
Smiles, radiant long ago,
And features, the great soul’s apparent seat;
All shall come back, each tie
Of pure affection shall be knit again;
Alone shall evil die,
And sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign.
And then shall I behold
Him, by whose kind paternal side I spring,
And her, who, still and cold,
Fills the next grave—the beautiful and young.
An Indian Execution In Michigan.
The Clinton county (Mich.) Express pub
lishes the following, and vouches for its au
thenticity. It is certainly a curious history:
In differcnf parts of Central Michigan
there are two tribes of Indians, theUttawas
and Chippewas. They are friendly to each
other, and during the hunting season, fre
quently encamp near each other. In the
fall of 18f»3, a party of one tribe built their
cabins on the banks of Maple river, and a
party of the other tribe, about eighty in
number, encamped in what is now the town
of Dallas. It is unnecessary to speak of
their life in these camps—suffice it to say
that the days were spent in hunting, and
the nights in drinking “fire water” and ca
rousing. In one of the revels at the camp
on Maple river, an Indian, maddened by
liquor, killed his squaw, and to conceal the
deed threw her body upon the fire.
Recovering from the stupor of the revel,
he saw the signs of his guilt before him, and
fearing the wrath of his tribe, he fled to
wards the other encampment.
His absence was noticed—the charred
remains of the poor squaw were found, and
the cry for blood was raised. The avengers
were soon upon his track—they pursued him
to the encampment of their neighbors—he
was found, apprehended, and in solemn
council doomed to the death which, in the
stern old Indian code, is reserved for those
only who shed the blood of their kin. It
was a slow, torturing, cruel death. A
hatchet was put in the victim’s hands, he
was led to a largo log that was hollow, and
made to assist in fixing it for his coffin.—
This was done by cutting into it some dis
tance on the top, in two places about the
length of a man apart, then slabbing off,
and digging the hollow until larger, so as
to admit his body. This done, he was ta
ken back and tied fast to a tree. Then they
smoked and drank the “fire water,” and
when evening came, they kindled large fires
around him, at some distance off, but so
that they would shine full upon him. And
now commenced the orgies—they drank to
intoxication—they danced and sang in their
wild Indian manner, chanting the "dirge of
the recreant brave. The arrow was fitted
to the bowstring, and ever and anon with
its shrill twang it sent a missile into the
quivering flesh of the homicide; and to
heighten his misery they cut off his ears and
nose.
Alternately drinking, dancing, bcatin'r
then rude di urns and shooting their arrows
into the victim, the night passed.
The next day’ was spent in sleepin rr and
eating, the victim meanwhile still bound to
the tree. IV hat his reflections were we of
course cannot tell, but he bore his punish
ment as a warrior should.
When night \vas close around it brought
his executiouers to their work again. The
scene of the first night w’as re-enacted, and
so it was the next night, and the next, and
the next, and so on for a week. Seven lone
and weary days did he stand there tortured
with the most cruel torture, before his proud
head droopod upon his breast, and his spirit
left its clayey tenement for the hunting
grounds of the Great Spirit. And when it
did they took the body, wrapped it in a new
clean blanket, and placed it in the log coffin
he had helped to hollow.
They put his hunting knife by his side
that he might have something to defend
himself on the way, his whisky bottle that
he might cheer his spirits with a draught
now and then, and his tobacco and pipe,
that he might smoke. Then they put on
the cover, drove down stakes each side of
the log, and filled up between them with
logs and brush. The murdered squaw was
avenged. The camp was broken up, and
the old stillness and quiet once more reigned
over the forest spot where was consummated
this signal act of retributive justice.
Our informant has visited the spot often
since then; the log is still there with its
cover on; and beneath may still be seen the
skeleton of the victim.
Let no Che-mo-ke-mum call this a deed
of barbarity. It was an act of simple jus
tice; there was a double murder it is true,
but the pale face who sold the lire water
that crazed the poor victim and caused him
to shed the blood of his squaw has them to
answer for in the day of final reckoning.
Milcc Finch and the Hull.
The story of Mike Thick and the bull
would make a cynic laugh. Mike took a
notion to go iu swimming, and he had just
got_ his clothes off when he saw Deacon
Smith’s bull making at him—the bull was
a vicious animal, and had come near killing
two or three persons—Mike felt rather
“jubus.” He didn't want to call; for he was
naked, and the nearest place from whence
assistance could arrive was the meeting
house, which was at the time filled with
worshippers, among whom was the “gal
Mike was paying his devours to.” So he
dodged the bull as the animal came at him,
and managed to catch him by the tail.—
He was dragged round till he was nearly
dead, and when ho could hold no longer, he
made up his mind he had better “holler.”
And now we will let him tell his own story.
So looking at the matter in all its bear
ing. I cum to the conclusion I'd better let
some one know whar I was. So I gin a
yell Ipuder than a locomotive whistle, and
it warn’t long before I seed the Deacon’s
two dogs a coming down as if they war see
ing which could get thar first. T knowed
who they were arter—they’d jine the bull
agin me, I was sartin, for they were orful
wenomous and had a spite agin me. So
says I, old brindlc, as ridin’ is as cheap as
walkin’, I’ll just take a deck passage on
that ar back o’ youru. So I wasn’t very
long getting astride of him; then, if you’d
been thar, you’d have sworn thar warn’t
nothin’ human in that ar mix, the silo flew
so orfuily as the critter and I rolled round
the field—one dog on one side and one the
other tryin’ to clinch my feet. I prayed
and cussed, and cussed and prayed, until I
couldn't tell which I did last —and neither
waru't of no use, they were so orfuily mix
ed up.
Well, I reckon I rid about half an hour
this way, when old brindle thought it were
time to stop to take iu a supply of wind,
and cool off a little. So when we got round
to a tree that stood round thar, he natural
ly halted. So sez I, old boy, you’ll loose
one passenger sartin. So I jist clum up a
branch, kalkelatin’ to roost thar till I starv
ed afore I'd be rid round that away any
longer. I war a makin’ tracks for the top
of the tree, when I heard suthin’ a makin'
an orful buzzin’ overhead. I kinder looked
up, and if thar warn’t—well, thar's no use
a swearhT—but it war the biggest hornet's
nest ever bilt. You'll “gin in” now, 1 reck
on, Mike, ’cause thar’s no help for you. But
an idea struck me then that 1 stood a heap
Defter chance a ridin’ flic bull than whar 1
was. Sez 1, old feller, if you'll hold on, I'll
ride to the next station, anyhow, let that be
whar it will.
So I jist dropped aboard him agin, and
looked aloft to see what 1 had gained by
changin’ quarters, and gentlemen, I'm a liar
if thar warn’t nigh half a bushel of the
stingin’ varmints ready to pitch into me
whenjthe word “go” was gin. Well, I reck
on they got it, for “all hands” started for
our company. Some on 'em hit the dogs;
about a quart struck me, aud the rest char
ged ou brindlc.
This time dogs led off first, dead bent for
old deacon's and as soon as old brindle and
I could get under way we followed, and as
I was only a deck passenger, and nothin’ to
do with steerin’ the craft; I sware if I had,
we shouldn t have run that channel any
how. But, as I said before, the dogs took
the lead—brindle and 1 next, and the hor
nets dre’kly arter. The dogs yellin'—brin
dle bellcrin’, and the hornets buzzin’ and
stingin’.
Well, we had got about two hundred
yards from the house, and the deacon heard
us and cum out. I seed him hold up his
hand and turn white. I reckoned he was
prayin’ then, for he didn’t expect to be call
ed so soon, and it waru’t long neither afore
the whole congregation—men, women aud
children—cum out, and then all hands went
to yellin’. None of ’em had the fust notion
that brindle and I belonged to this world.
I jist turned my head aud passed the hull
congregation. I see the run would soon be
up, for brindle couldn't turn an inch from a
fence that stood dead ahead. Well, we
reached that fence, aud J went ashore over
the whole critter’s head, laudin’ ou t'other
side, and lay there stunned.
It warn’t long afore some of ’em as was
not scared, cum runnin’ to see what I war;
for all hands kalkelated that the bull and I
belonged together. But when brindle walk
ed off by himself, they seed how it war, and
one of said, “Mike Thick has the wus of a
scrimmage once in his life!” Gentlemen,
from that day I dropped the courtin’ busi
ness, and never spoke to a gal siueo, and
when my hunt is up ou this yearth, there
won’t be any more Tincks.and it's all owin’
to Deacon Smith’s brindle bull.
Hoppy as a Clam
A cheerful temper is a natural gift, the
desirability of which cannot be questioned,
but seldom do w c meet with a spirit so thor
oughly saturated with good nature that no
disappointment, no poverty, deprivation or
combination of adverse circumstances can
break it down or overcome its geniality.
Bat yesterday morning a man made his ap
pearance before Justice Brennan, who
seemed to have a perfect fountain of undilu
ted contentment somewhere in his composi
tion, which no depressing influences of care
or accident had been able to exhaust or
adulterate—a typo, a modern edition of
Mark Tapley—a human barrel of jolliness
without hoops ou. lie was arrested for be
ing intoxicated. He gave his name as Get
typhat Take, and said he was a printer and
hailed from “The Gem of Science’' office.-
He is a short man, of a beer-cask figure,
und a face as rubicund as if he slept in a
room with 'f ed curtains. His answers to
the questions of the authorities showed his
contentment under all shades of fortune.—
The Justice being also in a genial humor
was inclined to banter the disiple of Hen
Franklin und accordingly addressed him as
follows:
Judge—Well, Mr. Take, it seems you
have thrown aside the “composing stick,”
and gone to getting drunk for a living. I’m
afraid you’re a “bad case,” and stand in
need of “correcting.” 1 think I shall send
you to “quod.”
These technicalities, which were uttered
in a sort of you-see-I-know-your trade-as
well-as-you-do air, seemed to give Mr. Take
that assurance which printers seldom lack,
but of which the solemnities of a police
court might have temporarily deprived him,
and he answered:
Prisoner—Well, at any rate, Pm‘glad
we’ve no “galleys” in this country, or 1
suppose yo'd put me there, and well “leaded”
at that. But bless you, sir, goiug to jail’s
nothing; the last time I was there I tamed
a rat and taught him to chew tobacco, be
side inventing three new steps for a fancy
hornpipe—it’s a good deal better than set
ting “solid minion,” more than three quar
ters “figure-work,” and getting only a
“price and a half ” for it; Lord bless you,
Squire, I’d a great deal rather go to jail
ten days than not. I've got sick of work
just now, and I'll have a chance to get the
bile off my stomach.”
J seem to take it easy; how
do you propose to employ your time this
trip?
Prisoner—M ell, Corporal, I’m undecided
whether I'll learn to whistle the opera of
the “Bohemian Girl,” practice standing on
my head, or undertake to acquire the ele
gant accomplishment of balancing straws
on my nose; if I could get a cat, I d teach
her to play the fiddle, if I thought the strings
wouldn’t remind her unpleasantly of the in
testinal discords, after her feline body had
been nine times slain.
Judge—Mr. Take, you seem particularly
happy under the circumstances; have you
got a wife?
Prisoner—Xot now. Lieutenant: I had
one, but she run off with a bow-legged cob
ler; I was so glad about it that I sent her
her dresses and a quit-claim deed of her
person, which I signed in capital letters;
she left mo one boy—but he was a “foul
copy*’ not a bit like me; I bound him ’pren
tice to the type-sticking trade, but the Qrst
day he quarreled with the regular “devil,”
tipped over the “bank,” pulled a “form” off
the “imposing stone,” and “pied” five “col
umns;” he dropped the “shooting-stick” into
the “alligator press,” and in the evening he
and another hopeful boy were caught re
hearsing a broadsword-combat with a cou
ple of “column rules;” the “foreman” “bat
tered” him with the “mallet,” and when he
got home to mo he had a “fancy head,” if
there ever was one.
Clerk—Where is he now?
Prisoner—He ran away with a circus,
and the last 1 saw of him he was in the mid
dle of a sawdust ring trying to tie his legs
in a bow-knot round his neck; I’ve been
jollier since then than ever before.
Judge—You seem to be always jolly.
Prisoner-—Bo I am; I laughed when my
father turned me out of doors at eleven
years old, laughed when I broke my arm,
and made funny faces at the doctor when
ho was setting it; the happiest day I ever
spent was one time when I hadn’t but one
shirt and a pair of pants to put on, had
spent all my money, and gone hungry forty
hours. I never was really unhappy but
once in my life, and that was when I fell
down stairs, fractured my collar-bone, and
skinned my leg so badly 1 couldn't get down
on my knees to thank God I hadn't broken
my neck.
The Judge relented, and let Mr. Take
go, and that rotund individual loft the room
trying to whistle and sing at the same time,
and also dance an independent jig with
each leg to a different tune.
Change for Market. — ‘My dear,’ said
an affectionate wife, ‘what shall we have for
dinner to-day?’
‘One of your smiles,’ replied the husband,
‘1 can dine on that every day.’
Jfut 1 can’t,’ replied the wife.
‘Then take this !’ and he gave her a kiss
and left.
lie returned to dinner.
‘This is excellent steak,’ said he—‘what
did you pay for it?’
‘W by, what you gave me this morning,
said his wife.
‘The deuce you did !’ exclaimed he; then
you shall have the money next time you go
to market.
Curiosity.— Looking over other people's
affairs, and overlooking oar own.
Stieing tile Ele}<hanf,
The origin of this now common and ex
pressive phrase is thus described in one of
ear exchanges:
Some years since at one of the Philadel
phia theaters, a pageant was in rehearsal in
which it was necessary to have an elephant.
No elephant was to be had. The ‘wild
beasts’ were all traveling, and the property
man. stage director and manager, almost
had Ills when they thought of it. Days
passed in the hopeless task of endeavoring
to secure one, but at last Yankee ingenuity
triumphed, as, indeed, it always does: and
an elephant was duly made to order, of
wood, skins, paint and varnish. Thus far
the matter was all well, but as yet they had
found no means to make the said combina
tion travel. Here, again, the genius of the
manager, stage director and property man
‘stuck out,’ and two of the ‘supes’ were duly
installed as legs. Ned C- , one of the
true and genuine ‘b’hoys,’ held the responsi
blostation o\fore-legs, and for several nights
he played that heavy part to the entire sat
isfaction of the manager, and the delight of
the audience. The part, however, was a
very tedious one, as the elephant was
obliged to be on the stage for about an
hour, and Ned was rather too fond of the
bottle to remain so lung without ‘wetting
his whistle,’ so he set his wits to work to
find a way to carry a ‘wee drop’ with him.
The eyes of the elephaus being made of two
porter bottles, with the necks in, Ned con
ceived the brilliant idea of tilling them with
•good stuff.’ This he fully carried out, and
elated with his success, willingly undertook
to play tli a fore-legs again.
Night came; the theater was crowded
with the denizens of the Quaker city, the
music played its sweetest strains, the" whis
tle sounded, the curtain rose, and the play
began. Nod and the hind legs marched
upon the stage. The elephant was greeted
with round upon round of applause. The
decorations, the trappings were gorgeous—
the Prince seated on his elephant was
marched round and round the stage. The
fore legs got dry. and withdrew one of the
corks, treated the kind legs, and drank the
health of the audience in a bumper of gen
uine elephant eye whiskey, a brand, by the
way. till then unknown. On went the play
—on went Ned drinking. The concluding
march was to be made—the signal was giv
en, and the fore legs staggered upon the
stage. The conductor pulled the ear of the
elephant to the right—the fore legs stag
gered to the left—the foot-lights obstructed
his way—he raised his feet and stepped—
plump into the orchestra! Down went fore
legs on the leader’s fiddle—over of course
turned the elephant, sending the prince,
closely followed by the hind legs, into the
middle of the pit. The manager stood hor
ror struck—the prince and hind legs lay
confounded—the boxes in convulsions, the
actors choking with laughter. And poor
Ned casting one look, a strange blending of
drunkenness, grief and laughter, at the
scene, tied hastily out of the theater, closely
followed by the leader with the wreck of
his fiddle, performing various cut and thrust
motions in the air. Imagine the scene—
paint it for me, some one, if you can.
The result, reader, can you not picture
it? The curtain dropped on a ‘scene from
behind the scenes!” No more pageant—
no more fore legs, but everybody holding
their sides, music, actors, gallery and bexes
rushed from the theater, shrieking between
every breath, ‘ Have you seen the elephant?’
Tlie Varnith Tree.
The very best Japan varnish is prepared
from the rus vernicifera of Japan, which
prows in great abundance in many parts of
that country, and is likewise cultivated in
many places on account of the great advan
tages derived from it. This varnish, which
oozes out of the tree on being wounded, is
procured from stems that are three years
old. and is received in some proper vessel.
At first sight it is of a lightish color, and
of the consistence of cream, but grows thick
er and black on being exposed to the air.—
It is so transparent when laid pure and un
mixed upon boxes or furniture, that every
vein of the wood may be seen. For the
most part a dark ground is spread under
neath it, which causes it to reflect like a
mirror; and for this purpose recourse is fre
quently had to the tine sludge, which is got
in the trough under a grindstone, or to
ground charcoal; occasionally a red sub
stance is mixed with the varnish, and some
times gold leaf ground very line.
This varnish hardens very much, but will
not endure any blows, cracking and flying
almost like glass though it can stand boiling
-water without any damage. W itli this the
Japanese varnish over the posts of their
doors, and most articles of furniture which
are made of wood. It far exceeds the Chi
nese and Siamese varnish, and the best is
collected about the town of Jassino. It is
cleared from impurities by wringing it
through very fine paper; then about a hun
dredth part of an oil called toi, which is ex
pressed from the fruit of hignonia tomentosa
is added to it, and being put into wooden
vessels, either alone or mixed with native
cinnabar, or some black substance, it is
sold all over Japan. The expressed oil of
the seeds serves for candles. The tree is
said to be equally poisonous as the rims ve
nenata, or American poison tree, commonly
called swamp sumach.
JKaP'An Irishman on arriving in Ameri
ca, took a fancy to the Yankee girls, and
wrote to his wife as follows:
Dear Nora—These melancholy lines are to
inform you that I died yesterday, and 1
hope you are enjoying the same blessing.—
I recommend for you to marry Jemmy O’-
Rourke. and take good care of the children.
From your affectionate husband till death.
A Patent Reaper.
The Detroit Advertiser tells of a team of
bright bay live year old mares, fourteen
hands high, long* low built, sturdy,tough,
strong and smooth, recently matched by S.
I’. W- ,of Calhoun county, Michigan,
for farm service. A better team never set
tled a mould board into green-sward. W.
had sixty-five acres of noble wheat, and ho
bad purchased a new McCormick’s reaper,
to which in the pride of his heart he hitched
the mares, scorning to disgrace his fine crop
and new reaper by contact with anything
in the shape of horse-llesh poorer than his
very best. The marcs were harnessed to
the ‘machine,’ a raw Dutchman who had
never seen a reaper was put on to drive,
and away they went. At the first revolu
tion of the big reel, which they saw over
their blinders, they became impressed with
the idea they were bound ‘to run wid de
masheen,’ and sure enough they did, through
the big wheat-field, in all possible zig-zag
directions, cutting some, breaking down the
balance, and scattering the grain far and
wide behind them. The Dutchman clung
to his seat for a while, yelling ‘wo !’ in nine
teen different dialects, until the truck of the
reaper struck a stone, whereat he bounded
some ten feet into the air, describing a par
abolic curve, with a radius of inconvenient
length,and finally brought up, hull down,
in the middle of the field. The mares kept
on as though Ceres had hired Bacchus for
a car-driver, and was bent on a bust—tho
machinery rattling, the great wheel revolv
ing with fierce velocity, and the knives
gnashing away at the grain like the teeth
of a madman, until the breaking of a swin
gletree ended over the machine, and the
marcs streaked it for the barn, where they
remained at last accounts. The next day,
six remarkably old-fashioned cradles were
observed at -work in that wheat field, and a
notice headed “Patent Reaper for sale,”
was to be seen posted on the front gate I
Uniionored Heroes.— When I see a man
holding faster his uprightness in proportion
as it is assailed; fortifying his religious trust
in proportion as Providence is obscure; ho
ping in the ultimate triumphs of virtue
more surely in proportion to its present af
flictions ; cherishing philanthropy amidst
the discouraging experience of men’s uu
kiudness and unthankfulness; extending to
others a sympathy which his own sufferings
need, but cannot obtain; growing milder
and gentler amidst what tends to exasper
ate and harden; and, through inward prin
ciple, converting the very incitements to
evil into the occasions of a virtue; 1 see an
explanation, and a noble explanation, of tho
present state. 1 see a good production, so
transcendant in its nature as to justify all
the evil and suffering under which it grows
up. I should think the formation of a few
such minds worth all the apparatus of the
world. I should say that this earth, with
its continents and oceans, its seasons and
harvests, and its successive generations,
was a work worthy of God, even were it to
accomplish no other end than the training
and manifestation of the illustrious charac
ters which are scattered through history.—
And when I consider how small a portion
of human virtue is recorded by history, how
superior in dignity, as well as in number,
are the unnoticed, unhonored saints and he
roes of domestic and humble life, I see a light
thrown over the present state which more
than reconciles me to its evils.— [Channing.
Ax Accomplished Blind Man.— The
Journal of Chartres gives an account of a
water-mill, in the hamlet of Olsleme, near
Chartres, built entirely by a blind man,
without cither assistance or advice from
any one. The masonry, carpenter's work,
roofing, stairs, paddle-wheel, cogs,in a word,
all the machinery pertaining to the mill,
has been made, put up, and set in motion
by him alone. He has also, the above jour
nal assorts, made his own furniture. When
the water is low. and the mill does not
work, our blind miller becomes a joiner aud
also a turner, on a lathe of his own inven
tion. aud so he makes ail manner of uten
sils, and pretty toy wind-mills for the juve
niles. He lives quite alone, sweeps his own
room; his mother, who has fifteen children
to care for, lives a mile off, and does not
trouble her head about ‘her blind boy,’ for
‘he earns his bread now,’ she says, ‘and docs
not want her.’ In 1852 this blind miller
was rewarded with a medal by the agricul
tural society of the arrondissement, lor a
machine serving the double purpose of win
nowing corn and separating the beat grains
from the common sort.
A Lady’s Opinion. —The meanest and
most contemptible of mankind may yet find
some human advocate; and male coquettes
have had, it seems, at least one defender.
The poet Campbell says that he once
heard a lady of distinguished beauty and
rank defend Sir Thomas Lawrence from the
charge ol having been guiltv of paying at
tentions to ladies, without intending to fol
low them up by an offer of his hand. A
gentleman remarked that ho thought Sir
Thomas was highly blaracable.
‘No,’replied the lady, who was said to
have lieen herself the temporary object of
the great painter’s attentions; no, not ex
actly—not so much to blame,’ said the lady
musingly.
‘What!’ exclaimed the gentleman—-‘you
astonish me. Not to blame for such cou
duct?’ , ,
‘No, not so much,’ was still the lady a
musing response.
‘Can you rcallv madam,’said the gentleman
ao-ain, ‘defend such behavior as desertion—’
°‘ Why. sir, interrupted the lady, ‘to con
fess the truth, I am firmly of opinion that
the majority of women would rather be
courted and jilted, that nyt courted at all!’
NO. G.

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