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About News & planters' gazette. (Washington, Wilkes County [sic], Ga.) 1840-1844 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 2, 1841)
NEWS & PLANTERS’ GAZETTE. I>. a. COTTI ACi, Editor. ■?io. I.—NEW SERIES] NEWS & PLANTERS GAZETTE. T E H SI s : Published weekly at Three Dollars per annum, if paid at the time of subscribing; or Three Dollars ami Fifty Cents, if not paid till the expi ration of six months. No paper to be discontinued, unless at the option of the Editor, without the settlement of all arrearages. O’ Letters, on business, must he post paid, to insure attention. No communication shall be published, unless me are made acquainted with the name of the author. TO ADVERT IS ER 3. Advertisements, not exceeding one square, first insertion, Seventy-Jive Cents; and for each sub sequent insertion, Fifty Cents. A reduction will be made of twenty-five per cent, to those who advertise by the year. Advertisements not limited when handed in, will be inserted till for bid, and charged accordingly. Sales of Land and Negroes by Executors, Ad ministrators, and Guardians, are required by law, to be advertised, in a public Gazette, sixty days previous to the day of sale. The sales of Personal Property must be adver tised in like manner, forty days. Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must be published forty days. Notice that application will bo made to the Court of Ordinary, for leave to sell Land or Ne groes, must be published weekly for Jour months; notice that application will be made for Letters of Administration, must be published thirty days; and Letters of Dismission, six months. AGENTS. TIIE FOLLOWING GENTLEMEN WILL FORWARD THE NAMES OF ANV WHO MAY WISH TO SUBSCRIBE : ./. T. <j- (1. LI. Woolen, A. D. Statham,Dimhuvg, Mallorysville, D. F. Tatum, Lincoln- Felix G. Edwards, l’e- ton, tersburg, Elbert, O. A. Luckelt, Crawford- G:n. Grier, Raytown, vilie, Taliaferro, IT. Davenport, Lexing- James Bell, Powelton, ton, Hancock, S. J. Bush, Irwington, Wm. B. Nelms, Elber- Wilkinson, ton, Dr. Cain, Cambridge, John A. Simmons, Go- Abbeville District, shen, Lincoln, South Carolina. Mail Arrangements. POST OFFTCE, \ Washington, Ga., January, 1841. ( AUGUSTA MAIL. ARRIVES. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at 5, A. M. CLOSES. Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, at P. M. MILLED!'.EVILLE MAIL. ARRIVES. Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday, at 8, A. M. CLOSES. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at 11, A- M. CAROLINA MAIL. ARRIVES. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at 11, A. M. CLOSES. Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday, at 8, A. M. ATHENS MAIL. ARRIVES. Sunday and Wednesday, at 9, A. M. CLOSES. Sunday and Wednesday, at 9, A. M. ELBERTON MAIL. ARRIVES. CLOSES. Thursday, at 8, P. M. j Thursday, at 8, P. M LINCOLNTON MAIL. ARRIVES. CLOSES. Friday, at 12, M. | Friday, at 12, M. COTTING & BUTLER, ATTORN IPS, HAVE taken an OFFICE over Cozart & Woods Store. March 11,1841. 28 ,1 Sempstress Wanted. A LIBERAL price will bo given for a 1\ SEMPSTRESS of good qualities. Apply at this Office. August 18, 1841. 8t fVir Sale* j u The Subscriber offers for sale, the • 1 premises on the Northeastern corner ol the Square, at present occupied by Mr. R. 11. Vickers, as a Tavern.— Fr..iu .is convenient locality, it is well suited for either a Tavern, private Boarding-house, or a private Residence. Any one disposed to pur chase, can do so upon reasonable terms. JAMES N. WINGFIELD. July 8,1841. 43 For Sale* . jji The Subscriber otiers for sale his place, within one mile of Raytown, iSlilraSP n Taliaferro county, situated on Beaverdam Creek, adjoining James Bruu,,.:, and Messrs. Luckett’s. The im provements are good, with a Gin and Gin House. There are about Three Hundred and Sixty A cres in the Tract, and about 175 Acres of which are woodland. The place is very healthy, and there is a good Spring of Water near the Dwel ling-House. Also. —A Tract of Land in said county, situa ted between Raytown and Washington, on Har den’s Greek, containing One Hundred Acres, adjoining Mr. Joseph Campbell and Mrs. Ran dolph. About 60 Acres of this Tract is Wood land—with some improvements thereon. Any person wishing to purchase the above property can have them on reasonable terms. Apply to TERRENCE ROARK. Raytown, August 18,1841. ts 51 Police* ALL persons indebted to the Estate of MARK . ANTHONY, late of Lincoln county, dec’d, are requested to come forward and make pav ment, and those having demands, are requested to present them in the time prescribed by law, for payment. >MARK S. ANTHONY, Adm’r. ELIZABETH ANTHONY, Adm’x. July 29. 184! H From the (Philadelphia) United Slates. THRILLING POETRY. Os late a great deal of “propergood” poetry has been floating in the newspaper atmosphere ; and some ot it we have published, but not a scrap have we seen for three moons better entitled to the dignity of a place in our paper than the fol lowing. We have no knowledge of the purpose for which the writer intended if, hut in our very humble opinion, it is a prodigiously happy satire on the mawkish sentimentality of some of the scribblers of these latter ages : I saw her hut once, years ago, Ere my brow had grown wrinkled and bent, Ere I’d read about Mr. John Doc, And gaped over Blackstone and Kent, But never, though all but that one Ol boyhood’s bright visions have fled, Has “copy!” or “proof sir!” or dun, Driven that for an hour from my head 1 Around me it hovers, by day and by night, Sunshine of my soul, ever dear— It steals o’er my spirit, as light As the wind in the spring of the year; But, once ! and then—seen evermore— With a hand like the Appenine snow, Away from her father's back door, She was drii ing the hog with a hoc! MSS€EaxA.\i‘]ot;s. TtlE APPARITION. II the belief that the spirits of the dead arc sometimes permitted to revisit tiie earth, be superstition, it seems to me to be that of nature, and not as many other superstitions the result of education. Every nation from the enlightened European to the ignorant African, every age, from that of highly pol ished and civilized Rome, to that of Eng land in her palmiest days, have possessed this belief, and produced almost indubita ble proofs of the appearance of spirits. The strong and fearless mind of Brutus, who dared to stab Caesar in the midst of his Sen ate, and surrounded by his friends, was yet appalled by apparition of his victim, on the eve of the battle of Phillipi. That en lightened man and elegant author Lord Lit tleton, believed himself visited by a spirit, which foretold his death, and it is remark able that he died at the very hour which he had said was predicted to him. Innumera ble instances of this kind are recorded, which physiologists and philosophers have attempted most unsatisfactorily to explain. Even the light of our holy religion has been insufficient to dispel this belief; indeed, the Bible itself affords it encouragement by its record ol supernatural appearances of the departed dead. Reason too, cold and cal culating reason, bus attempted to explain and to argue, hut in vain, and is not reason oittn tound incompetent to the explanation of the most common natural phenomena? Can she inform us from what cause the tree puts forth its leaves in spring ; how the lowly herb of the field grows, blooms and perishes, or can reason unassisted by reve lation, tell us u by, like that herb, man is placed in this world apparently but to live, to continue h\ kind, ml to die? But notwithstanding the dictates of rea son, 1 myself am more than a semi-believer in the doctrines of apparition. There is a certain indefinable feeling of solemnity, not rendered unpleasant by an admixture of exciting fear, which 1 always experience amici the solitude and desolation of those places, which spectral appearances are commonly supposed to haunt, which sends the blood tingling through the veins like a stream ol electricity. This feeling, so far from being disagreeable, is to me almost a luxury, and though often ridiculed for my belief in ghosts, it would require strong ar gument and more convincing proof than 1 have yet known brought against it, to free tne irotn it. The following circumstances have perhaps tended to strengthen my creed on this subject. The autumn and winter of 182-, I spent in c**********. During my residence there, I became acquainted with a singular ly eccentric person, which acquaintance soon ripened into something like intimacy. Distant, reserved, and taciturn, fur beyond any man I ever knew ; there was about him an air of tnelancholly which seldom failed to communicate itself to those in whose company he happened to be, howev er gay and light-hearted they naturally were. No one could he long with him and remark the dreamy &. sorrowful expression of his large black eye without becoming he scarcely knew why, pensive and silent himself. Even children, those democrats of nature, who are accustomed to regard men with little respect to their talents, rich es or rank, would hush their noisy sports at his approach, although they loved him for his uniform kindness towards them. Al though yet in the prime of life, apparently rich, and possessing much knowledge ac quired by reading and travel, he was never a participant of the gaieties common in a large city, and his acquaintance was confi ned to few. He neither sought nor seemed to avoid society, but appeared indifferent to and unobservant of the interest and observa tion he excited. The intimacy which I had with him was rather sought by myself than by him, for he had interested me upon our first introduction, and 1 afterwards felt much curiosity to discover the cause of his re markable and continual despondency. — None appeared to know the cause of this • melancholly. and indeed few knew anv WASHINGTON, (WILKES COUNTY, GA.,) SEPTEMBER 2, ISII. portion of his history or cared to question him concerning it, for there was something about him that seemed to forbid prying in terrogatories. This mystery served to increase my own curiosity, hut politeness restrained mo from direct inquiry, although perhaps our mu tual friendship would have justified it. At length one evening when he was more than usually communicative, and had been con versing of the various countries he had vis ited, he unexpectedly unfolded to me his history: 11 You are doubtless,” said he, “ desirous of knowing the cause that led to my long wanderings in so many and dis tant countries. I have long since perceiv ed tiie curiosity you have felt to learn my story ; and the delicacy with which you have restrained it, now induces me to com municate it freely to you. To few have 1 been led to do this, for i found few who could believe my story, or who believing, could sympathize with me. Some turned away with a smile of incredulity, some in sinuated a disorder of the brain, some call ed me a dreamer, and others talked cold philosophy and reasoned learnedly upon tiie phantasms of the imagination. In you 1 perceive one whose imagination is as vivid as my own, who is no more of a philosopher than myself, and who if incredulous, will at least have tiie delicacy to repress all out ward appearance of incredulity.” “ In explaining to you the cause which led to a remarkable change of disposition in myself, 1 am obliged to enter somewhat into details relating to my family, this I will do briefly as possible : My name is, as you well know, common and respected in the L'nited States, yet I am the last of my family. I claim no kindred with others of the name, and if my blood flows in the veins of any other living creature, 1 know it not. My father was like myself, an only son. descended from the only nobility of our land, a soldier of the revolution. He too had travelled much, and in Italy, as I have learned, married my mother. There was some mystery about that marriage which I was never able to penetrate. There were rumors that he had taken her from a con vent. How true these rumors were, 1 know not; my parents avoided all mention of the subject to me, and 1 never sought her rela tives, although I discovered during my stay in Italy, that her name was one of the no blest in Tuscany. Our damp and varia ble climate was as a slow and deadly poi son to her. The beauty for which she was noted, paled and withered like some deli cate flower transplanted to an uncongenial soil. I was the eldest of her children, and the child of her love ; even after my sister was born she seemed, though ever kind and affectionate to her, to look upon me with a greater share of partiality. Many years elapsed after the birth of my sister, when that of her third child was closely followed by my mother’s death. I was then nine teen and my sister some two years younger, and the loss of my mother fell upon our whole family with an overpowering weight. My father never recovered from the blow ; grief undermined a constitution not natur ally strong, and he too soon lay upon a death bed. The child was a fragile being, 100 frail and feeble to hear the shocks to j which infancy is unavoidably subjected, and when d< atb had marked its father for ! his own, the babe s iife also hung by a flight thread. “Our house was a house of wo. Night after night my sister and myself watched by the bed-side of our dying parent or nurs ed the peevish and helpless child in our arms. It was during one of those painful nights of anxiety and watchfulness that the circumstances occurred which have since influenced the tenor of my life and made me what I uin, a solitary being in the midst of this crowded and busy world. “ I had watched long and anxiously by the bed-side of my father,and my sister, uml had no less anxiously borne with the fret fulness of my infant brother. At length, my father fell into a feverish and unquiet slumber, and thinking it a favorable oppor tunity to seek the necessary rest of which 1 had been (or several nights deprived, 1 retired from his bed-side and sought my own pillow ; but that restlessness which so often follows deprivation of sleep came up on me and I could not rest. I therefore a rosc with the intention of allaying my ex cited feelings in the cool night air. “ On proceeding to the common sitting room of the family, which I expected to find at that time of the night deserted, I was sur prised to find there my sister, sitting in a calm slumber, and still holding in her arms the babe she had nursed so tenderly, whose weak cries the balmy god had, for a time, hushed. Without disturbing her, I walked to the window and opened it, every thing without seemed also sunk in sleep. It was a still summer’s night. Calmly and beau tifully the stars looked down from the pla cid heavens, like openings through which the glory of the upper and better world could be seen, and the fresh dewy night oreeze breathed softly, redolent of flowers. “With my feverish feelings somewhat assuaged, 1 turned from the window, and yet feeling no inclination for sleep, took a volume from the book case and endeavored to fix my attention upon it, hut my thoughts kept wandering against my will to the bed side of my dying father and the future fate of my sleeping sister. “ 1 had continued in this meditative mood for some time when I heard the clock in a distant part of the house strike the first hour of anew day, and I suddenly remem bered that at that very hour, three months before, tny mother ha ! breathed her ’) ■’ PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING. | At the recollection, a feeling of solemnity stole over me, and that unaccountable sen sation of awe, so often felt yet so seldom described, which is said by the Mahometan nations of the East, to be caused by a touch of the invisible wing of Azrael, tiie angel of death, flitting around us. Closing my book, I leaned hack in my chair, and, half in expectation, half in hope of some strange or supernatural appearance fixed my eyes upon the open door near which my sister was sleeping ; tiie lamp was nearly ex hausted of oil, burnt feebly, and the hall be yond the door was in deep darkness. 1 could with difficulty distinguish the outline ot an) r object beyond the immediate circle of tiie table upon which the lamp stood, and my sisters form was scarcely distinguisha ble in the obscurity, though only at a small distance. “All at once, a clear white light appear ed in the hall, brilliant and yet not daz zling ; milder, far milder, than the obtru sive glare of noonday, but illuminating eve ry object in the anti-room as fully ; and shining far into the half-darkened room, in which I was, with an intensity that paled and seemed to extinguish the weak light of tiie lamp. [ seemed at that moment to feel neither surprise and fear, but with blended curiosity and awe T remained seated and gazing with expectation at the strange ap pearance. “ A figure stood for a moment In the door-way and stepped into the apartment, and the room which had before been but partly illuminated became filled with efful gence. That figure was my mother, how changed yet how much the same! Her loose and flowing white garment shone with a brilliancy, similar to, yet more intense titan that which 1 have seen on the surface of the polar snow when tiie Northern Au rora flits across it, and every fold seemed, as her robe waved with her motion, to let fall a shower of silver sparkles. No sign of mortality, no mark of corruption, no trace of the grave appeared on her countenance, it was as fair and-lovely as in her days of life ; the same, but more ineffably beauti ful. The lines of worldly sorrow were gone, and in its place shone joy unuttera ble. “ With a gliding and noiseless step, and with a grace that told of heaven, tile ap pearance approached my sister ; its hand was laid upon her head as if in benediction, and its eyes were turned towards Heaven. Bending over the sleeping babe, it seemed to press its lips with a maternal kiss, and then turning away, it approached me.— Still I felt no sensation of fear, who could have feared in tiie presence of a being so bright, beneficent and beautiful ? Its eyes looked down into mine with an expression of heavenly love, and a smile of blissful and deep affection appeared upon the face. I bent my head before the spirit as it extend < and its hands above me in benediction, and I felt its blessing enter into my very soul. 1 looked up again, the effulgence that had filled the apartment was fading, the out lines of the figure were becoming less dis tinct, the features were growing dim, though the same beatific smile beamed from them ; I became conscious the figure was fast dis appearing. I started from the seat, upon which I had remained fixed, extended my arms ami attempted to embrace it, hut the spun vanished within my grasp. “ 1 awoke as from a ioug s.cep ; I was extended upon the floor, and the fust rays of a summer’s morning were shining through the windows. 1 had fallen in a swoon when my mother vanished, and ltad been senseless for hours. L arose and ap proaohed my sister who was still sleeping, and was about to awake her when some thing in the appearance of the babe in her arms attracted my attention ; I placed my hand upon its brow, it was cold ; I bent my lips to those of the child, it was breathless; the child was dead, its spirit hail passed to its mother’s with the kiss she gave it. “ From that hour I became the man I am. A continual desire again to behold the bright and evanescent vision, I had seen so transiently, took possession of me ; I haunt ed lonely and solitary places ; 1 sat night after night watchful and anxious in tiie same room and in the same place, and with as nearly as possible, the same circumstan ces surrounding mo as on that eventful night. 1 stationed myself at my mothers grave and prayed to he again blessed with the vision, hut never again was it vouchsaf ed to me. “ Two years severed every tie that bound me to home, to country, or to life. My fa ther died soon after, and my sister over pressed with toil and grief, fell into decline and soon followed him. I wandered forth lonely and desolate as you now know me. Scarcely any country or climate on the habitable globe that I have not visited, and in every place the hope and gnawing desire of again seeing the face of my mother’s spirit has followed me. Among the luxu riant foliage of the torrid zone ; ill the depths of tiie cool and clear lake of Swit zerland ; in the glittering ice-cave of Greenland; in scenes of terror or in those of horror, have I sought tiie beautiful appa rition, and obtained nought hut disappoint ment. My treacherous imagination lias shadowed forth grinning and mocking fiends when I would compel it to image tiie hea venly vision that lias lingered and still re mains and will forever remain fixed in my inmost heart. I have returned to my na tive country in desperation, hoping and praying for death, or for tiie gratification of my wishes.” This narrative was so strange, and the aso so r. tbnt ! ’ ir-cc*), nu I he was of the reality of the apparition, I was at a loss in what manner to attempt to disabuse him of his infatuation. At length I ventured to hint a doubt of the real exis tence of such appearances, and endeavored to persuade him that his vision was the ef fect of a vivid and feverish dream. But he instantly adduced so many and so powerful arguments as showed he had well studied his own case, and trained himself to meet and refute every objection. Overwhelmed with his logic and despairing of bringing conviction to his mind, I was silent. In the spring of the same year, botli of us seperately left o“'**’*=****-**= H e departing to the place of his residence in a more nor thern State. But in tiio mean time, the confidence with which he treated me and the respect I had always paid to his pecu liar opinions awl feeling had ripened into the warmest friendship, and accordingly a correspondence was instituted between us which was continued for some months.— At last I received a letter with the post mark oi the place ot 1 1 is residence, sealed with a black seal. With a fearful forebo ding of evil. 1 broke tiie seal. The letter was signed with an unfamiliar name, and proceeded to inform that on the 3d of Au gust (the anniversary of tiie very day on which his mother had appeared to him.) the unhappy R. had committed suicide. The letter enclosed a small slip of paper direct ed to me on which was written : “ 1 have seen her again, she has beckon ed to me to follow.” R. THE BURNING OF THE WORLD. ! It is not a little remarkable that the pre dicted conflagration of the earth, and cir cumstances attending, as is foretold in the ancient Scriptures, are both natural, and have a strict coincidence with scientific pro bability. None but tiie ignorant would conclude, that because the earth had whir led round tiie sun in safely, for some thou sands ofyears, that therefore, it must for ever go on undisturbed. There are princi ples in the atmosphere which engirds tiie globe, of sufficient potency, if properly proportioned, to feed a combustion that would liquify the rocks, and evaporate the seas. The two gases which feed the intense flame of the compound blow pipe, are com ponent parts of the air we breathe. Be sides the combustibility of tiie atmosphere, tiie earth may have central fires, that her mountain ribs may not always imprison. Are not the ancient volcanoes the great ar teries which lead down to this heart of fire. It is computed by French astronomers, that more than fifteen hundred fixed stars have disappeared within three centuries past. La l’lace says, that one of these stars situated in the Northern hemisphere, gave tiie most indisputable evedence of having burned. It was so bright as to he visible to the naked eye at mid-day—“ First of a dazzling white, then reddish yellow, and lastly of an ashy pale color. The confla gration lasted, and was visible sixteen months, when the star forever disappeared. —Free trader. TIIE PHILOSOPHY OF ADVERTIS ING. While talking of this subject with a friend I a few days since, he spoke of being attrac- | ted, while in England, by the advertise ment of a shopman in Leaden Hall street, | which met his eyes in almost every paper. On ing up to London, he determined to visit tiie renowned store, where, to his great surprise, instead of a large and eleiraut es tablishment, he entered a low shabby look ing shop, and before ho could recover I from his astonishment, was waited upon by j an obsequious salesman, and anxious to rc- ! treat front such a disappointment, lie bought ; some trifle or other and was bowed out of the door. This little incident illustrates, in a forci- \ ble manner, the advantages of advertising. ! By sending his name abroad throughout the j country, (and our friend told us he had e- | ven met the notices of this man in America) I by putting on the appearance of great busi- j ness, and by a series of striking advertise- i ments he made his name and store exten- j sively known, and many strangers, on re sorting to London, culled upon him, were suddenly ushered into confined and ill-ar ranged apartments ; hut like our friend, generally bought some slight article to re- ! lieve their embarrassment. In this way | he did a large and lucrative business.— j The advantages of advertising are too much j overlooked by our merchants. Influenced j perhaps my mistaken economy, they resolve j to save the apparently onerous expense, and j think that their business will suffer nothing by it, hut they forget the fact, that in the country, where these advertisements are mostly read, the constant keeping of their names before the public in connection with the respective merchandise they sell, has a tendency to familiarize the people with them, gives a currency and circulation to their business affairs, and often forms the | subject of an evening’s talk, or a dinner! hour canvass. We italicized the word ap parently,because,if the principle holds true here as elsewhere, that ail expenditures is profitable which realizes centum per centum, then we unhesitatingly affirm that tiie money paid for advertising produces a re turn far beyond the utmost ratio of mercan tile profit. The philosophy of advertis ing is evidenced in every profession, and in every profession returns an untold in terest. The briefless Lawyer, bustling a bout the Courts, with a parcel of papers on his desk, and ostentatiously consulting a number of white bound law books ; the ’ Pester rifling h’ther & thither in ptwi.lu; 11. J. Printer. after ideal patients and talking largely of ideal cases, are with many others, buFput-’ suinga system of puffing—a kind of self-ad vertising, and, in most cases, unless abso lutely overdone—succeeds. Asa general rule a show of business produces business ; and let but our mercantile community hangout their banners more frequently oii* the paper walls oftlie press, and they would soon reap the advantage which ‘we hfivc j predicted. Os course, gentlemen, r.c arc ; entirely disinterested in this matter, and on ! ly speak for your especial benefit. • A special edict—Merchants, look to it! PRAIRIE SKETCHES. Trappers Trapped by Crows. —A party of thieving Crow Indians came upon an en campment of trappers, and requested per mission to rest and refresh themselves with the white men. The vagabond Crows had neither horses nor arms, while the trappers had both,and the poor Indians wore admit ted into camp without hesitation. Tito trappers were old and wary followers of their trade, and up to all the subtle tricks and pilfering propensities of their visiters. It was their boast to he superior as well in | cunning as in bravery to any of the red stragglers who occasionally crossed them, and on this visitation they held the. unarmed and ill provided Crows to ho objects fitter far for mirth and ridicule than capable of the slightest harm or mischief. In short, they looked for amusement from the Crews, anil witlithc utmost freedom invited them in to camp. There were ten trappers and just eleven Crows, so that the lute men were in a mi nority of one. The Indians might have been genuine emigrants from Down East by the interesting occupation every man was engaged in, for there was not one of them without a knife and a stick, and they came in among the white hunters, whittling their bits of timber down “ to the little end of nothing” with that same indomitable grav ity so strikingly, peculiarly and proverbial ly characteristic of the true sons of Yankee land— “ Native here and to the manner born ! So far from this singular proceeding ex citing the watchfulness of the white men, they only made it a subject of mirth, and many jests were cracked, and a great deal of loud laughter exploded there in the far prarie solitude, at what the trappers consid ered an innocent and accidental imitation of a simple Eastern custom that lias almost assumed a standard as a national feature. The eleven Crows took the mirth of their white friends all in kindly part, and while tiie sport was going on seemed quite con tented to be laughed at. They, however, in tiie mean time occupied themselves in curiously examining every thing about the camp, and the trapper’s rifles, one after a nother, were handled and admired by the scrutinizing Crows. The horses were grazing loosely around the camp, and these next came in for the In dians’observation. Leaving the rifles of the white men standing against the trees where they found them, tiie eleven Crows went oil'to view the horses while the trap pers remained unsuspectedly lounging up on the grass, each with his loaded rifle with in reach as lie lay. Suddenly there was a rapid and -simulta neous movement among the Crows, and the next instant the whole party were seen to spring upon the trapper’s horses, the odd Crow jumping up behind one of the other ten. Ten rifles with infallible aim, were instantly levelled at the robbers, and ten Crows would inevitably have fallen dead upon tiie grass hut for every one of their ri fles missing fire ! Off went tiie Crows dis appearing across tiie horizon with a rapidi ty that even their sable feathered name sakes could scarcely have excelled, while tiie deceived trappers jumped and stamped upon the grass with rage and fury at finding the priming knocked out of their rifles and the touch holes plugged tightly with the little sticks wiiich the Indians had been whittling! The trick was worthy of gen uine Yankee origin, and the hitherto despi sed Crows were highly respected by the trappers ever after. STATISTICS OF MUSCULA R POWER. Man has the power of imitating almost every motion but that of flight. To effect i these, he iias, in maturity and health, sixty ! hones in his head, sixty in his thighs & legs j sixty-two in his arms and hands, and sixty | seven in his trunk. He has also, 434 mus cles. Ills heart makes sixty-four pulsa tions in a minute ; and therefore 3,840 in an hour, 92,160 in a day. There are also three complete circulations of his blood in the short space of an hour. In respect to the comparative speed of animated beings and of impelled bodie's, it may be remarked tiiat size and construction seem to have lit ! tie influence, nor lias comparative strength: | though one body giving any quantity of ; motion to another is said to lose so much of its own. The sloth is by no means a small animal, and yet it can travel only fifty pa ces in a day ; a worm crawls only five in ches in fifty seconds ; hut a lady-bug can fiv twenty million times its own length in less than an hour. An elk can run a mile and a half in seven minutes ; an antelope : a mile in a minute ; the wild mule of Tar i lary has a speed even greater than that ; an eagle can fly eighteen leagues in an hour ; and a Canary falcon can even reach 250 leagues in the short space of 16 hours. A violent wind travels sixty miles in an hour; sound, one thousand one hundred • and t"otEim’ - h *'*’ r * a spent ‘■ C‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ “ [VOLUME XXVII.
