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The Georgetown news. (Georgetown, El Dorado County, Cal.) 1855-1856, December 13, 1855, Image 1

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VOL. 11.
cfi? Sliaw.
Office, Main 3t, nearly opposite Masonic Hall.
For one year > $5 00
For six months 3 00
For three mouths..,. 2 00
Rates of Advertising.
For first insertion of I square, or 10 lines. .$0 00
For each subsequent insertion i :,i)
Liberal deductions for quarterly advertisements.
Attorney and Counsellor at Law.
• Office at Lower Johntown, El Dorado Co., Cal.
November 12th, 1855. [3-4t !
P RODGER, J. C. Manufacturer of all kinds
of Jewelry. Maiden Lane, Georgetown, two
d >ors south of J. J. Lewis' Bowling Saloon.
November Ist, 1555. {2-tf.
Graliem Co,
Dtalers in Groceries , Provisions, Cigars, Li
iqunrs, fyc.
The highest price paid at all-times for Gold Bust.
Bottle Hill, April 23d, 1855. [2B-tf
X*. C - X?.e>y‘fc>TUiirxx,
Justice of the Pence.
OFFICE on Church st., head of Maiden Lan
one door south of 801-len & Hitter's Gun and
Bla ksmith establishment. Office open every day
of the week from 9 to 4 o'clock; Sunday exepted.
Georgetown, May 24tfe, 1855. [32-tf.
DRAGOO, DR. It, 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 Kill. Dec. 15 1*54. 9-tf
AY, I)R. P, G., Main street, Georgetown—
Office opposite Adams & Co.
Oct. 20, 1854. 2-tf
VTTELLS, i ARGO A CO.. Express Agents
V V G old Dust Shippers, and Bankers, George
town. [See advertisement.] 2-tf
x. o. <=>r o.
.-YjttVil-" Memento Lodge, Vo. 37, Tnstitu-
March 22nd, 1855. Meets oi
Thursday of each week, at the Ma
sonic Hall, at 7 o’clock, P. M.
Transient Brothers, in good standing, are cor
d'jlly invited to attend.
J. J. LEWIS, X. G.
S. Knox, Sec’y.
A S. of T.—Georgetown Division, No. 42,
> 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.
Lev. DAVID McCLURE, of the Presbytery of
‘tan Praacisco, preaches every Sabbath morning
ind evening in the Town Hall, Georgetown. Ser
riccs commencing at o’clock A. M., and 8
M. Also, every Sabbath afternoon at Bottle
Hill, at 3 o’clock. Prayer meeting at the Par
•ouage 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, 3 at o'clock, I*. M.
Rov. R. R. Brookshire., of the Methodist E
p'-copal Church South.
Public Worship—At the School House,
Georgetown. Regular appointments of Rev. Jno.
B(i\kp, oi M. E. Church, A. M. and 7 P. M.,
e\ jry Sabbath. Occasional supplies Vy other
Ministers. Prayer meetings, Wednesday even
i igs at 7 P. M. ’ Sabbath School 0] A. M.
Company Idoticc.
STAGES for Sacramento City,
leave the "Nevada Hours.*,"
Georgetown, every morning, at three o’clock, A.
M., and the “ Buckeye Exchange, ’’ Greenwood
Valley, at four o’clock, A. M-. arriving in Sacra
aento in time to connect with the steamboats tor
San Francisco.
J. HAWORTH. Pres. Cal. S. Co.
Per M. A. MERCHANT, Agent.
March 28th, 1855. [24-tf.
Stage Line
r pilE subscriber having extended his Line to
I Buttle Hill, will run a four-horse coach dai
ly L tween the above places, via ot Georgetown
and Johntown.
Leaving Bottle Hill at 61 o'clock A. M., arriv
ing at Coloma at 10 o’clock A. M.
Returning, will leave Coloma at 3 o clock, P.
M arr- ing at Bottle Hill at 6 o’clock P. M.
Having run a line of stages for the past two
year and a half between Georgetown and Colo
nia,th-» undersigned feels confident that in ex
tending his line to Bottle Hill, he can offer such
•ccommudations as to merit the patronage of the
June 27th, 1855. [37-tf.
Books & Stationery.
i I
\ Literary Depot, is opened bv the under
signed, on Main Street. Buttle Hill, at which,
every variety, and of the latest date, can be had
B pon application.
Bottle Hill, April 18th, 1855. [27-tf.
TUIMNG LATHE.—The undersigned b«
leaye to inform the citizens of Grorgeto
’ jidl he is prepared to do all kinds of Turning
,le best maimer and at the shortest notice.
G .rg«towu, Oct 19,1554. i-t
Matt! tp anti Onward.
Man! up and onward, bravely work,
rhe task shall yet be won;
There’s nothing greater on the earth
Than actions nobly done.
There's nothing sweeter than tie werds
That break from toilers’ lips;
And brilliant deeds shall never wear
The cloud of an eclipse.
Then grandly win your own renown—
With earnest work and will.
With dauntless step and working heart,
The climber crowns the hill.
There need not be one cause of pain,
Xo sorrow in the breast;
But all mankind be full of peace,
Like to the sea at rest.
And some might hold its sovereign sway,
And leap with splendid bound,
Till beauties that are daily lost,
Like diamonds, might be found.
And with its mighty harpings till
The world with brightest things;
A s some great landscape thro’ the day
With burst of music rings.
For, Man, thou hast the power to rise,
To carve thyself a name;
To stand, like to a sculptured god,
Throned in the realm of fame;
To break all thy oppressors down,
To banish every wrong;
Stern as a giant for the weak—
A god against the strong.
The battle must be bravely fought,
And conquest be the theme:
When, o'er the darkness of the past,
A truer age shall beam.
And nobler laws and nobler creeds
Shall take the widest span—
A large and universal range—
O'er the heart of every man.
3ly "Wife, and My Theory about "Wives.
Wo do not marry our own wives! We
marry the wives of somebody, of any body
else, and any body or somebody else mar
ries our wives. It may sound very funny
and v’ery silly to say this, but it is the plain,
hard truth, and nine out of ten married men
will, in their secret souls, admit it. I re
peat it, we don't marry our own wives; and
all the lawyers, legislators, judges, jurists,
statesmen, philosophers, physiologists, and
phrenologists on earth can't make us do it,
or devise a way by which we might do it,
it we chose. And I believe we would choose,
for I have a good opinion of human nature.
This is a puzzle lor the spirit-rappers—a
riddle which even the Fourierites cannot
solve. Speculation, ratiocination, imagi
nation—no mental faculty or process will
avail us here. 1 doubt if that “external
apperception at a depth within the penetra
lia of consciousness to which Kant never
descended,” of which Cousin boasts, will
mend the matter. But the reason is very
plain to me. It was not intended for us to
marry our own wives; “God’s last, best gift”
is reserved unto another higher life; else
wise this earthly existence would of itself
be Heaven.
And now you know what I moan by
“wife.” Not merely your wedded spouse
and lawful mother of your children, but that
woman-soul, fashioned by God himself as
the one only partner and complement of
your soul; truly the “better half ” of your
inmost self; with whom you are perfect man,
without whom you are but an unhappy seg
ment, more or less dimly conscious and com
plaining of your incompleteness. You see
I am a believer in the exploded theory of
“matches made in Heaven.” Yes, 1 am;
for I have seen four such matches in my
life, and 1 do not exaggerate when i say
that lor them the millenium was already
come. But I have been lucky; for such
matches are exceedingly rare, most people
never having seen them at all.
Not only do we not marry our own wives,
but frequently we never so much as see
them, or if we do see them, don't know
them. On the other hand, a man may see
his wife and know her to be bis wife, but
his wife may not know him, may never
know him in this life; vice verm, the wife
may know her husband, and never bo known
by the husband, and so on. 1 wish to re
cord ray experience on the subject; and if 1.
do so in a somewhat frivolous style, it must
not be inferred that I am not in earnest;
the inference might be false—“many a true
word is spoken in jest.”
It follows, or may follow, from what has
been said, that we arc all married. Yes,
that is my opinion. Now, in the eye of
the law and of society, I am a bachelor,
with every prospect of remaining a bach
elor; but in point of fact, and in the eye of
reason, I am a married man—just as much
of a married man as Brigham Young is;
the only difference between us being that
his wives are visible, or, to speak philosoph
ically, phenomenal, while my wife is nut,
except, as before said, in the eye of reason
particularly my reason. I say again,
and most emphatically, 1 am a married
man; 1 say so because 1 know my wife, that
is, 1 know her name, and have seen her
twice. I have never been introduced to
her, never spoke a word to her in the whole
course of my life, and never expect to; she
doesn't know me from a side of sole-leather,
probably never heard of me; and if ] wore
to go up to her and tell her she was my
wife (which is the fact), would have me put
in jail or a mad-house. But, poor thing !
that's no fault of hers (she being entirely
ignorant of my theory, and of tiie eve of
reason also), and she is my wife, to the con
trary notwithstanding.
The first time, which was the next to the
last time, 1 ever saw her was about three
years ago—three years ago exactly, next
February. It was in the little town of
riantationtou—a little, old, drowsy town,
situated on the banks of a little muddy
river, with a long, ugly Indian name. The
stage in which I was traveling at the event
ful lime stopped in Plautationton, and the
stage passengers dined there in a rusty old
tavern, with a big worm-eaten porch, and
a gangrenous, cracked bell. I got out of
the stage, feeling very cramped-up and
dirty, and straightway betook myself to a
tin basin (there were half a dozen more ou
the old, hacked-up bench), full of clear, cold
spring-water, by the help of which and a
piece of slippery, turpentine soap, I man
aged to make a very respectable ablution.
My face washed,! applied it for a few min
utes to a long, greasy, ragged, old tow-linen
towel, tiiat hung up on a roller, fastened to
a scabby, old weather-boarding; then I
parted my hair with the half of an old horn
comb that was tied to a string, and smooth
ed it with a little, old. wiry, worn-out hair
brush, that was tied to another string; and
then I was ready for dinner, which was not
yet ready for me. Pending dinner, 1 sat
down in a split-bottomed chair, elevated wv
heels, leaned back, took out my knife, and
commenced paring my nails. 1 had seen
the little ok! town frequently before, and
didn t care to see it again, especially on a
miserable, gummy, cloudy, damp, chilly day
in February; and so conlincd my attention
for sometime to my fingers, of which 1 am
rather proud. Put, fortunately for me, 1
heard an old fellow behind me say, “By
dad's ! she's beautiful;’’ and looking up, saw
the young lady alluded to. 1 wish to
Heaven I had never looked down! She
was standing exactly opposite mo, in the
Iront door of a dried-up wooden store; her
head was turned up the street as if she was
looking for somebody, and her little foot
was patting the sill with the sauciest,
sweetest impatience imaginable. That
young lady was my wife! I didn't know it
then, but 1 know it now.
She was beautiful—bcwitchingly beauti
ful—so beautiful that for a long time 1 did
not know I was looking at her—didn’t
know I was looking at any thing—didn't
know any thing. The joy of her presence
was flowing one uninterrupted stream
through all the avenues of sense, and it was
not until my soul became full to the brim
of her beauty that 1 could say I saw at all.
Whether she was dressed in silk, barege ,
delaine, or calico 1 could never tell, and
never cared; ! remember only her little
bonnet of simple straw—neat, trim, and
vastly becoming, as the bonnets of pretty
women always are. She was young, not
more than eighteen—rather above the me
dium height; ot round and perfect figure;
her hair was golden, and her eyes were
blue: her complexion pure as light itself,
fresh as the dew, and glowing as the dawn.
Site must have felt the many eyes feeding
on her check and brow, for she turned pres
ently, and how instantly the impatient little
foot disappeared, how archly modest the
smile that illumined her lightly-blushing
face! 1 could read her character at a
glance. She was warm, and tender, and
true; good, wise, merry, healthy, happy,
sweet-tempered, willing, patient, loving, ti
dy. thrifty, and sincere, and every thing a
wife ought to be or could be. Why didn’t
1 know she was my wife? Why didn't she
come over and tell me so? Alas! we were
both blind—and she remains so still!
There I sat, drinking my fill of beauty
inhaling bliss at every breath. How little
did she dream of what was going on in my
soul! How could she tell that her radiant
image was effacing ail other images from
my heart, to be itself educed for a time, but
only to reappear in the hallowing and
(•harmful hues of memory—the one solitary
and sufficing idea of my unblessed life! She
saw me gazing at her, but only as she had
seen hundreds gaze before.
A primrose 'mid the tavern’s stir,
A yellow primrose was to her,
And it was nothing more.
I was only a sallow-faced young man, with
a black mustache and a deal ol impudence,
1 didn’t look like her husband a bit; but 1
was her husband for all that—l know 1
Fair reader, let us here moralize a little.
But no; 1 am not good at that, and be
sides, lam too prolix any way. Yet re
member, beautiful maiden, and be watchful
of your looks; for, all unknown to yourself,
you may bo shaping for life, and "perhaps
for life beyond life, the destiny of Rome ill
looking biped who glares at you from the
opposite side of the street!
All the other stage-passengers, and all
the tobacco-spitting loungers about the tav
ern, were gazing at her as well as myself;
she knew it, too—the little rogue ! —and
was pleased, as she ought to have been.—
She ceased to look for that somebody up the
street, who never came, and stole a sweet,
bright glance towards us, as if to say: “1
can’t help being pretty, indeed I can’t. J
am glad you think me so, and you may look
as long as you please; I shan’t charge you
any thing.”
Bless her sweet little soul! Every man
in that porch ought to have bent his knee
in homage to so much beauty and goodness.
But the confounded dinner-bell rang, and
the beasts ju broadcloth rushed to their
food just as any other beasts would have
done. lam ashamed to confess it, but a
most unromantic sense of propriety smote
me the moment 1 heard that accursed bell.
“It is out of the question,” said 1 to myself,
“for you to be staring that young lady out
of countenance; get right up and go to your
dinner. It is true you may never see so
beautiful a face again, but then, you know,
your health is delicate, and it won’t do to
neglect so important a meal as dinner.—
You have a long and wearisome ride before
you; besides, she don't care any thing lor
you, and even if she did, you are in no con
dition to marry.”
Thus did mere animal cravings prevail
against the sweet appeals of beauty; and
thus (us the last clause of my mental argu
mentation abundantly shows) did my mind
unconsciously retuse to entertain the possi
bility of a rejection, and so assert the truth
of the statement 1 have made, namely, that
she was my wife. The world will call this
vanity, but 1 call it intuition or spontane
ous unconscious apperception. With great
reluctance 1 rose up us if to go; she saw that
all except myself bad gone, but still stood
in the front door of that dried up old store,
patting the sill once more with "the tip of
her tiny little slipper. She was so good
site could not refuse to gladden even one
poor mortal with the light of her blessed
countenance. It flashed across my mind
that I might save fifty cents by missing my
dinner; avarice had come to the aid of beau
ty. and i sat down again. But hunger
(yes, miserable human that I am, it was
hunger) defeated them both.
Ah ! if I had only known then as much
as 1 know now, how differently 1 would
have acted. 1 would have dismissed the
contemptible subject of dinner, and, having
summoned a waiter, would have addressed
him thus: "Boy, do you see that old red
trunk in the boot of the stage yonder?—
Well, just take that trunk oil'; I am so
pleased with your lovely village that 1 in
tend to stay here until! get married.” The
young lady on the opposite side of the
street would have heard me; it would have
produced a deep impression onher (and first
impressions, you know, are every thing);
I would have remained in my seat until the
young lady left; I would have eaten my
dinner in peace; afterward 1 would have
donned my new doeskin breeches and my
new black coat; then, by hook and by crook,
I M'ould have procured an introduction to
my wife; and after a while I would have
married her—there's no doubt about it.—
Although 1 was poor, her beauty and her
love would have made me rich; my love lor
her would have acquired a standing in so
ciety—l would have been happy.
But I sold ray wife for a mess of red pot
tage—l went into dinner. When I reached
the door of the dining-room 1 hesitated;
went back to the porch and commenced ga
zing at my wife as before. She saw me,
and gave me a smile; upon my honor she
did. !t was the sweetest smile I ever re
ceived. 1 may have valued smiles before,
but it is certain T never valued one since.
What ever made me return to the dining
room after receiving so great a favor, !
could never remember. It was so fated.—
! did go back to the dining-room, hurried
through my dinner, which had become cold
and indigestible, and hurried back to the
porch. She hud gone!
The stage was waiting for me; 1 jumped
in, and it rattled out of "the little old town.
We had not gone many miles before the con
sequences of hasty eating brought ou a ter
rible attack of dyspepsia. ! became pain
lully aware that 1 had lost ray dinner and
my fifty cents; but 1 did not know I bad
lost my wife —l forgot her! 1 was return
ing, after a long absence, to my native city,
to enter upon a new and untried profession;
and there were a thousand things to occupy
my attention to the exclusion not only of
wives, but even of sweethearts. So I lost
my wife and didn't know it! And so, 1 im
agine, most of us lose our wives.
About a year and a half afterward—that
is, about one year ago —having failed in bu
siness. as an aimless, unmarried—that is,
pbcnominally unmarried—man is very apt
to do; though it doesn’t make much differ
ence if such a man does fail, especially after
he has lost his wife—having failed in busi
ness, 1 say, and having nothing to do, i re
turned to Plautatiouton, not in the stage,
but in the cars, the railroad having been
in the mean time completed. fSo complete
ly had my wife gone out of my mind, that I
Jid not once think of her when I sat down
in the old tavern porch and looked over at
the dried-up little store, in the door of which
1 had seen her patting her foot so prettily.
1 ordered a buggy and drove out to my un
cles, about three miles from town, and
spent many pleasant weeks there during the
hot summer months. Being a young man
of a marriageable age, my relations very
naturally offered to introduce me to the
marriageable ladies of the neighborhood. 1
expressed ray willingness. Which sort did
I faucy; fair or dark, blonde or brunette?—
Fair, by all means; who ever heard of a
sallow man fancying a woman of his own
complexion? Oh! then, 1 ought to have
been here a year ago; there was n young la
dy living in town, a great friend of ours,
perfectly beautiful, and the very best girl
in all the world, who would have suited me
exactly. Ah. who was she? Miss Jenny
So-and-so. Jenny! the very name I want
my wife to have; describe her to me. They
described her. it was the identical young
lady 1 had seen standing in the old store.—
1 became excited, and my pulse rose as I
asked the question—“ Where is she now?”
Oh I she has been married a long time to
i hingamy, and lives now in the city of
Jucksburg, about a hundred miles from
here. My pulse sank; not because 1 knew
she was my wife [that is quite a recent dis
covery,) and 1 had lost her; but for the
good and sufficient reason (which authors
have but lately had the honesty to avow)
that every bachelor feels himself defrauded
when a pretty woman marries. From the
bottom ol my heart 1 wished air. Thingamy
and the city of Jucksburg had been at flic
bottom of the sea before they ever had
heard of the beautiful Miss Jenny. 1 felt
indignant she should have displayed so
much haste to get married; and 1 refused to
be introduced to any body in the neighbor
hood of my uncle’s. “ But whenever conver
sation (as it will often do, in the best ol
families) turned on tlie subject ol young la
dies, my uncle's family were sure lo bring
their favorite Miss Jenny forward as a par
agon of beauty, sweetness, good-breeding,
good every thing. As often as this would
happen an unaccountable depression and
feeling of loneliness and bereavement would
come over me, and lust for hours. 1 can
now account for it—it was the as yet inar
ticulate, unintelligible premonition—a s;>o
cies of spontaneous, unconscious appercep
tion—ol nature, protesting against, and at
the same time preparing me for, the full
consciousness ol the great loss 1 had sus
tained in losing my wife. My uncle had
named a beautiful kitten after her: do you
wonder that i petted Jenny,and fed her and
caressed her every day t remained in the
country? Ido not. lam naturally fond of
cats, and that, they say, is a sign 1 am go
ing to be an old bachelor. AVell, what if it
When the summer was ended, I left ray
uncle's and returned home; still ignorant
that J had lost my wife, and forgetting her
as before. For nearly a year I knocked
about among the young ladies, falling now
a little in love, and then Hilling out again;
charging myself '.villi fickleness and want of
decision of character, and wondering great
ly why I could not fall really in love with
anybody, Hoorlool! 1 didn't know that
there was nobody left to love; 1 was mar
ried and didn't know it. Many a man is
in the same fix.
Things remained in this condition until
about a month ago; when, haring foiled a
second time in business, 1 concluded to
spend another summer at my uncle's. The
cars dropped me at Plantation ton; 1 went
to the same old tavern, sat down in the same
old porch, in the same old split-bottomed
chair, and looked over at the same old store,
and there, by Heaven! stood my wife, in al
most the very spot 1 had first seen her !
She was waiting for her husband, who was
following with the nurse and child. Her
husband was a dark-skinned fellow—almost
as dark as myself, and not very unlike me.
I have since expended some severe thought
on this resemblance between me, the spirit
ual husband, and Thingamy, the phenome
nal husband of my wife, and it is perfectly
plain to my mind that, under the influence
of the same spontaneous, unconscious ap
perception, she was trying her very best to
marry me; in fact, did marry as near me as
she possibly could. How that fact has made
me love her!
The whole party had come down on the
same train with me, and 1 had not known
it. Fate again. They stood opposite me
for some time,apparently resting,and Iliad
the second and last (1 know it will be the
last) long, good look at her. She was great
ly changed. No longer the same buxom,
blooming girl I had seen her years before,
patting her pretty foot against the sill, but
a beautiful woman, infinitely lovelier than
the girl; pale, but beautiful as the bright
fulfillment ol the perfect day is beautiful—
More beautiful than the rosiest hues of the
uncertain dawn; thin, but beautiful as tho't
and loving cares beautify and make delicate
mere matter; older looking, but possessed of
that ineffable charm which only the realiza
tion of woman’s destiny can impart to wo
man. I gazed on her, not with breathless
admiration as at first, but with calm, intel
ligent adoration. Positively, hers was and
is the sweetest human face in all this world.
Nothing, absolutely nothing was wanting
from those pale and gentle features; they
expressed all that a wile and mother ought
to be. And even as I gazed, there came
into my soul that strange pain of vacuity
and deprivation—a numb and formless hurt
—which needed only the light of reflection
to assume the. acuteness of thought, the per
manence of knowledge.
From that day I have known she was my
wife: how 1 knew it and why I knew it, has
been told already, or if not told, never will
be, for it never can be. The knowledge or
conviction, if you prefer to call it so, grows
on me; it increases with the increasing light
of morning, is revealed in the splendor of
high noon, deepens in the pensive summer
twilight, and rises with the tutelary stars.
The winds tell of it to the melancholy trees;
the waters repeat it with their many liquid
voices. It is written in cloudy hieroglyphs
upon the distant sky; it is the shadow
thrown upon the plain of life by the sun of
hope which sinks behind my heart—enlarg
ing and to enlarge, darkening and to in
crease in darkness until the night of death,
it is—bat I am getting absurd.
Shall I remain a bachelor? Dwindle
| down and shrivel up into an old bachelor?
Never! Since J cannot marry my own
wife, I’ll marry the wife of somebody else;
and if 1 could only find the wife of the man
who married my wife, I'd marry her in
spite of fate. And if I could only ride
about in the cars with a plenty of nurses
and children, and Thingamy could see me
and know my theory, 1 should be perfectly
J (ear reader, lake warning by me; study
my theory: it was written for yon. and for
: the whole human race. Try to cultivate
- your spontaneous, unconscious apptre p
tion. And if ever you sit down in an oid
| tavern porch and see a beautiful young lady
on the opposite side of the street.don’t wait
I fer dinner, but go right over and demand
her in marriage. You may be mistaken;
■ she may not be your vile: she may be al
ready married; but no matter, it is your
duty to make the effort. If you don’t, you'll
regret it; you wiil find yourself in my pre
dicament. You may see me any day strug
gling through the weeds of my undo’s wheat
patch, looking like a sheep-killing dog, and
feeling as mean as gar-broth. No wonder;
1 have lost my wife!
5 lie woman who reigns the queen
of the ball-room is very seldom found capa
ble ot being the governess of her own chil
An Act Concerning Kstrny Animals.
The People of the State of California, represent
ed in Senate and Assembly, do cuaei as fol
Section 1. Every person finding any stray
horse, mare, colt, mule, jack or jenny, or
any number of these animals, upon his farm
or premises shall, within live days, if said
animal or animals remain on his farm or
premises, go before some justice of the peace
of his township, ami give under oath a full
description of the marks and brands, color
and kind of such animals, also the time and
all necessary information that will lead to
the cause of said animal or animals coining
to his farm or premises that may have come
to his knowledge; and that the marks and
brands have not been altered since they
came to his farm or premises: Provided, no
animal'Shall be considered an estray, if the
owner is known to the person finding it.
Her. It shall be the duty of the said
justice to record the description as above
required, together with the full information
given by the taker up, and the justice shall,
vv itniii ten days, it the estray animals are
nut before proved by their proper owner,
transmit a lull transcript to the conntv re
corder of his comity, and said recorder shall
record the same in his estray book; said
book shall be subject to examination by all
persons making application to the recorder,
as also the estray books of the justice of the
peace; and any person claiming and proving
said stray animal or animals that have been
posted by this act shall have restitution of
the property so claimed by paying all costa
and such charges as may be awarded to the
taker up by the justice of the peace of his
county, if entitled to compensation under
this act.
Sue. 3. \ny person knowing of any horse,
mare, colt, mule, jack or jenny, or any num
ber of those animals running at large on bis
farm or premises, not knowing the proper
owner, who neglects or refuses to comply
with the requisitions of the foregoing sec
tions, shall be subject to a fine not exceed
ing the value of the stock so neglected to
be posted.
Sec. 4. Xo person shall be allowed any
charges for the taking up of any animals
described in the foregoing sections that lias
taken them into use or allowed it or them
to be used by his consent, but the taker up
shall be allowed to use said animal or ani
mals within their county, and shall only be
accountable for said estray animal or ani
mals when taken out of the county in which
they are posted, either by the taker up or
by any other person with his consent, or
for cruel or harsh treatment; in such cases
the taker up shall be liable to the proper
owner for all damages that may accrue
thereby: Provided, that the taker up of any
horse, mare, mule, jack, or jenny, shall not
be made liable to any action for damages,
by reason of taking either of these animals
out of the county after the expiration of
twelvemonths from the time said animal or
animals were posted, but shall return the
animal or animals to the proper owner or
pay the value thereof when legally proved
and charges paid as hereafter provided.
Sec. 6. Every owner, occupant, or super
intendent of any farm in this state finding
or know iug any stray cattle running on their
farm or having knowledge of any stray
sheep, goats or hogs thereon, without know
ing the proper owner, shall, within three
mouths ot the time ot such knowledge, go
before sonic justice ot the peace of the prop
er township, it said stray animals remain on
his farm as aforesaid, and make oath of the
time ol their coming on the farm, their
marks and brands, if any, and a full and fair
description of such estrays, with such cir
cumstances within his knowledge as may
lead to the cause of their coming to the farm*
it shall be the duty of said justice to record
the same in full in his estray book. Any
person failing- or refusing to comply with
the requisitions of the foregoing section
shall be subject to a fine not exceeding the
value of the stock so neglected to be posted,
recoverable before any court having juris
diction of the same.
Sec. C. The owner of any stray animal
which is legally taken up under the provis
ions of this net shall not be permitted to
take, lead or drive the same from the farm
or possession of the person legally possess
ed of such animal, until proven and charges
paid according to the provisions of this act,
and any person knowingly and wilfully vio
lating the provisions of this section shall bo
subject to ail the penalties that he would be
subject to under the statute law, provided
ho had no claim on said animal.
Sec. T. If any one shall remove any stray
animal from any rancho contrary to the pro
\ Lions ol this act, w ho shall not be the owp
c*i oi tiic same, no shah be oeemed (; uilty of
a grand larceny. b *
r't.r. iii all cases where services are
pei ioi med bj any officer or person under
Hus act, the same fees shall be allowed as
are allowed lor similar services under the
“Act concerning water craft found adrift
anu lost money and property.” All costs
and charges accruing under this act shall
be paid by the person taking up the stray
animal or animals, but shall lie reimbursed
by the owner upon proof and delivery of bia
Passed May Ist, 1851.
Kendall on Royal Beavtv. —Kendall*
of the N. O. Picayune, writes home that
the ladies in waiting upon \ ietoriu at Par
is, were a “distressingly homely set;’ nor
does the profane republican treat royalty
an y better. Listen to his description of the
Princess Royal of England: “She is a fat,
chnbbv, coarse specimen of a girl, a home
ly likeness ot her mother, who never set up
any pretensions to beauty that I am aware?
NO. 7.

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