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THE MONEY-DIGGERS.
A TALK OF PENNSYLVANIA.
BY LOCK O. THOMAS..
If thou canst nod, speak top 5
If charnel-houses and our graves must send
Those that we bury back, our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites.— Shaktpeure.
Those of my readers who may have had
occasion to travel what is called the ‘Milford
road,’ which extends through a portion of the
country in the eastern part of the State of
Pennsylvania, have most probably observed
the ruins of a building which many years since
was occupied as a house of public entertain
ment. These are the ruined walls of what
was well known by the appellation of the
‘Haunted Tavern.’
The house many years ago was occupied
by one Michael Hurstman, a clever Boniface
in his manner, and who was particularly atten
tive and obliging to those who honored him
with their patronage. Many of his patrons
consisted of the farmers residing m the vicin
ity, who resorted there after the tolls of the
day, to hold converse together, and to quaff
some of‘Michael’s good ale.’
About the latter part of a fine summer day.
a groupe of farmers and laborers were assem
bled at the tavern. The day had been one of
exceeding beauty, which was particularly fa
vorable to the farmers, as they were at that
period busily engaged in getting in their
grain. Having succeeded in accomplishing
their object, they experienced much satisfac
tion, and with their witty and pleasant sallies
the y made the house resound with laughter,
their good-humored host joining with them in
their mirth-makings.
‘Michael, bring me another pint of ale,’
quoth one of the farmers.
‘Aye, aye, friend,’ responded the landlord,
as he arose to obey the request. He present- !
Jy returned with the liquor, and was handing
it to the farmer, when he became violently
agitated, causing hinTto let the mug fall to I
the ground. His gaze was directed towards
>he road, whither all eyes were now turned,
when a young gentleman was observed ap
proaching the door of the inn.
‘Why, Michael, man, what ails thee? Is
there anything so terrifying iti the appearance i
<d the stranger, or hast thee been seized with ;
the cramp?’ asked one.
‘Speak, Michael,’ was repeated by all.
But Michael stood transfixed with terror, j
He spoke unintelligibly, and ejaculated de
tached sentences, such as‘ ’Tis he! —the form, I
dress —all—’tis he !’
All eyes were now engaged scrutinizing j
the stranger, for their feelings could scarcely i
have been more excited, nor could Michael 1
have presented a greater degree of alarm, had
the ghost ot the murdered Banquo arisen. ;
‘l he stranger had now joined the group, and j
as he gave them a modest and graceful salu- j
tation, Michael became a little composed and !
self-collected.
“This is strange conduct in Michael,’ ex
claimed the fanners.
‘Strange, very strange!’ was repeated,
“bile their gayety was completely silenced.
At length, the stranger spoke—
‘Bray, gentlemen, may 1 inquire the cause
ot this alarm, ns the scene before me inspires i
mo with the impression that I have occasioned
it!’
‘Why, you see, friend Michael here, our I
landlord, seems to have been agitated at the S
sight of you; he can no doubt explain the |
cause.’
‘lndeed,’ responded the young man, ‘may I
inquire sir,’ addressing Michael, ‘why 1 occa- I
sioned this trepidation on your part ?’
‘Y our name ?’ asked Michael in a hurried j
manner.
‘My name!—certainly, if that be any ob
ject, tis at you* disposal. Rodney is my !
name.’
Lre the word had escaped his lips, a death
like paleness overspread the cheek of Michael, ;
and ho was nigh falling to the Hour, as he
grasped forth ‘Rod-ney!’
‘Aye ! is there murder. connected with it, j
that you dwell upon it so emphatically V
‘‘Murder!—no—no, twas merely imagina- ‘
-lon. It reminded me of a circumstance— !
mere dream which I had some years ago. !
Nothing more I assure you. The cause °of j
the excitement which nearly overpowered me j
you must .attribute to that. It bore a similar- I
ity to the present scene. But come, my friends i
cheer up; let not such eccentricities disturb
our jovial meeting. Forget it, for I fear it
lias excited your attention/ and the landlord i
endeavored to assume his former gayoty and |
composure.
‘Excuse me, worthy sir,’cried the stranger, j
‘you have arrested my attention; and, indeed, !
so much so, that I would request of voil a re- ‘
vital ot the incidents connected with your
dream, of which you have made mention/ j
Michael started, changed color, then cast
an anxious glance towards the assembled
group.
‘Aye, aye, Michael, the story! the dream!’ ;
was reiterated among them.
‘Well, my friends, if it ’tis your request, I :
will proceed, and relate as nearly as possible ‘
the circumstances; but as ’tis now* nearly dark,
suppose we retire within.’ lie arose anden- |
tered, to’lowed by his companions, who seat
ed themselves around the table, while he com I
meneed the recital of his dream.
““It is now/ said he, ‘about five years since,
I dreamed that which I am about to relate to
you, and which 1 had almost forgotten, when !
;t was recalled to my memory this evening, I
by the appearance ot this young gentleman.
lam but little, inclined to be troubled by :
dreams, or to believe in the truth of them, but 1
you must he aware of the state of my mind, j
by the agitation which 1 betrayed this eve
ning.
‘Well after retiring to rest upon that occa
sion, and being locked in the embrace of
sleep, I imagined that I was standing at my i
door, watching the wagons passing by the
road, on their way homeward from the city.
M hile thus engaged, methought a young man
approached me. He boro a striking resem
blance to this gentleman, in fact so close was
the resemblance existing between the two,
that I could not better describe his personal
appearace than by requesting you to look up
on our guest here, and, you will behold the
original ot him I saw in my dream/
The stranger started and changed color at |
this particular, and as the narrative proceed
ed his agitation increased.
I welcomed him, and invited him to par
take of the •cheer’ of the house. He inform
ed me that he was making a short journey ;
through the country, and that he would prob
a >1 v stop at my house lor a few days, as his
intention was to make search for some mon
ey, which he had been informed laid buried
somewhere in the neighborhood. I observed I
that he carried a bag evidently laden with I
money. I thought that he remained about a
day at my house, when he started, as he said,
opon his ‘hunting’ expedition. There have
ecu many persons engaged hereabout search
ing t.,r coin supposed to have been buried by
it- notorious Blackbeard and his savage crew,
who- infested the coa*t along the Delaware j
river, and I was, therefore, not surprised that
person should, in common with others, leave
Philadelphia, in search of hidden treasure.
Well, to proceed with my dream, I thought
that I was dozing like in a chair, in this very
room on a Friday night. It seemed to be
unusually late, for on those nights I keep the
house open until a late hour, on account of
the market people passing by. I thought I
was aroused from a revery into which I had
fallen, by a noise near me, and looking up I
beheld a sight which terrified me. It was the
j bleeding figure of the young man who had so
lately left me. I placed my hands before my
eyes to shut out as ’twere this horrible sight.
But the effort seemed useless, I could not
j conctuu trom my view the bleeding stranger.
At length he spoke, and in a tone which
thrilled through my veins with horror. ‘Mich
. ael Hurstn a i, said he, ‘listen to what 1 have
;to impart to thee, for lam in haste. Know,
I Michael, that 1 have been robbed and murder
ed ! My money lies hurried in the corner of
your garden. But I charge you, Michael,
I never disturb it. ’Twill cost you your life,
therefore heed me well. Michael, remem
j ber !’
‘I was too much agitated to look at him
while lie was addressing me, but the last word
ihe uttered even now thrills my sotd. When
I raised my eyes, be was gone. The next
morning when 1 awoke, my dream forcibly re
curred to my mind, and my first impulse was
to proceed to the garden, which 1 did, when I
saw, to my utter astonishment that if present
ed the appearance of being newly dug, by the
fresh c-artb upon the surface.’ 1 was almost
tempted to search for that which I was fool
ish enough to believe might be buried there,
but the dreamy injunction I-had received made
me desist from the attempt. Now. gentle
men, you can realize my feelings, when you
know the cause ot my embarrassment.’
Ihe stranger, who had been in considera
ble agitation during the recital of the dream,
now asked Michael why it was that the name,
of Rodney had startled him.
‘Ah,’replied Michael, I had forgotten t*>
mention that. I thought I inquired of him
bis address, when he informed me that’l
might call him‘Mr. Rodney.” . ■<. ‘ r
‘ls it possible!’ ejaculated the stranger, be
traying emotions which he was unable to re- !
press.
‘*ou may well imagine,’ continued Mich
ael, ‘why I should manifest such perturbation j
of mind, when you informed me that your
name was the same, and the fact of the strik- j
ing resemblance you bore to the figure that j
appeared to me in my dream. But why is it !
you appear so much interested in it V
‘lndeed, sir,’ replied the stranger, in a ‘
mournful tone, ‘your story has interested me |
strangely. \\ hat has passed through my |
mind, the few moments that transpired during j
the narration of the subjec t of your vision J
and the affinity which I bear in relation to it. j
1 will mention at another time.’
‘The young man, having thus spoken, bu
ried bis face in his hands, and remained for
some time apparently absorbed in thought.
‘Strange!’ muttered the farmers one to the
other, as they rose to depart, for the evening
was much advanced.
Michael had recovered some of bis usual
gayety, but a shade of solemnity continued
to enshroud his countenance., until he secured
the doors of the house, and he and the stran- i
ger retired to rest.
It was about the midnight hour, that the
I stranger, whom we have had so frequent oc
casion to introduce to the reader, and whom
we shall now designate by the name of Rod
, ney, was awakened from sleep by the sound
j of voices proceeding apparently from the yard
J adjacent to the inn. lie raised himself up,
j mid listened attentively. Having satisfied
i himself that there were persons engaged in
: conversation at an unusual hour of the night,
Ihe arose and approached the window of his
: chamber. He looked out upon the garden
, beileath—it was a beautiful night. The moon
| which was nearly at the full, shown with ee
j lestial splendor, and illuminated the broad
: face of nature with exquisite grandeur. His
j curiosity having become exbited, Rodney
j raised the window. The sound of voices had
| now decreased into a subdued whisper, and
; he was naturally puzzled as to what was tran
spiring. Presently he heared something like
; a shovel striking a stone. Then an idea of
I die reality rushed upon his mind. The rela
; (ion ot the landlord’s dream had probably
i made an impression upon the minds of some
; of his hearers, and they liad resolved to ascer
tain whether there was anything concealed.
! ‘Superstitious dolts!’ thought Rodney, ‘are
I their minds so pregnant with mysteries, that
! they will believe in a dream ? ” True, I was
myself startled upon hearing it; but ’twas
from other motives than those which have pos
sessed the minds of these men, and impelled
them forward in this silly enterprise. Ah!
had the landlord been aware of the real state
| of my mind, could he have proceeded ?”
Rodney continued to gaze upon the scene
1 beneath him, and presently beheld the figures
; of two men, both of w hom were actively en
! gaged iu digging up the earth in the corner of
the garden. He conjectured that there were
others who might be concealed from view by
the intervening bushes.
Having satisfied himself of the true state of
affairs, he resolved to inform the landlord j
thereof. Hastily attiring himself, he proceed- j
ed to put his resolution into effect, and knoek
ing at the door ot nis chamber, he accompan
ied the action with his voice. ‘.Michael Hurst
man ! arise!’
‘I he noise awakened the landlord, and he
cried out —
‘What do I hear ? That voice again! That
dreaded voice!’
‘Michaelhear me! I have something to
impart to you : something I have just discov
ered. YV ill you arise V
‘Yes,’ returned Michael, who now arose
and cautiously opened his chamber door.
Mby have you risen from your bed this un
seasonable hour ? Something rare, I imagine,
; must be the caugc.’
*Y on are right, my friend. I shall briefly
inform you wherefore. I was awakened by
• the sound ot voices so near that I was sure
they proceeded lrom the garden. I arose and
looking from my window observed two men
busily engaged in digging. I suspect they
are some who heard you relate your dream
last night. Do you not comprehend ?’
‘Aye indeed!’responded Michael, ‘it must
be so. They are searching for treasure, which
they think may be concealed there. Let us
descend instantly, my friend, and watch their
progress.’
So saying they both descended, and mak
ing a circuit ot the garden, they arrived op
posite the spot where the men were digging,
a few yards distant from them, a board fence
only concealing them from the view of the
money-diggers.
The landlord and Rodney had now an op
portunity to contemplate the scene before
them. It seems there were but three persons
upon the spot; two of whom were throwiug
up the fresh earth very rapidly, while the third
was seated upon a rock, surveying with ev
ident satisfaction the work which was rapidly
progressing before him: and if one might judge
from the expression of his countenance, his
mind was anticipating the appearance of coin
—golded, dazzling coin !—so intensly was
his gaze rivited upon every shovelful of earth
that wes cast upon the surface.
They spoke but little, so eager were they in
the endeavor to realize their anticipations.—
M hen they did converse, it was in a low and
hurried tone; while ever and anon they rais
ed their eyes from their work to ascertain
whether they were discovered. The landlord
now informed Rodney that they were all three
noted as daring fellows and frequently set out
at night upon their enterprise of money-dig
ging, the most general place of resort being
on the banks of the Neshamony, where chests
of money and treasure had been disinterred.
“Did you tell Jake Ilellingswe were com
ing here to-night ?” asked one of the diggers
! of trie other.
“Yes, I told him I had a notion of coming
; some night but I didn’t tell him I’d try it so
soon.”
“That’s right,” said he that was seated on
the stone, “for if we find anything, there’s
enough to share it among.”
“Oh, yes,” continued the first speaker,
“you’re ready enough for your share, but you
| aint willing to work for it.”
“Well, what’s the odds ? If I don’t dig, I
j keep the devils oIF of ye—he, he!” display
| ing a formidable pair of pistols.
“Well, if there is anything buried here, it
must be very deep, for we’ve dug most four
j feet.”
“I wonder what’s the reason Michael would
i never suffer himself to hunt here for some
: thing? 1 know if I’d have drempt of buried
i money, I’d had it afore this, spite of man or
j devil!”
“Hallo, what’s that? Ist a stone? Didn’t
! you strike something, Bob ?”
“Why, yes; there’s something there, but
what is it ?”
“Throw it out!’’ said he that was seated;
“aifl let's; see what it is.”
‘A ‘desperate* effort was now made with the
shovel, when something was thrown out which
rolled at the feet of the last speaker.
“Why, damme, if it aint a skull!”
’ v “A skull ?” cried the diggers.
“A skull ?” repeated the two spectators,
with one voice.
“Y es, a ’uman skull. Ugh, I don’t like the
looks of itand he cast it from him.
“Whydiere must be the other part of it;”
•and the diggers cast up a part of a human
skeleton. ; -
“Well, I’ve dug many a spot of ground for
money, but I’ll be cussed if ever I came across
a skeleton afore.”
“What, a skeleton,too?” said Rodney, ad
dressing Michael; “this is strange. Can it be
possible that your dream was prophetic ? I
feel a sudden giddiness—my brain is feverish;
support me, M ic-hcal.”
“The awful sight, no doubt, affects you ;
for I can scarcely retain my senses, in
gazing upon the scene before me. But come,
shall we retire, or shall we appear to those
men, for I perceive they have stopped their
labor?”
“They say dreams go by contraries; and
it seems so in this case. I don’t think it’s
worth while to go on. Shall we stop, Bill ?”
“Well, I think we might as well; fori
’ don’t think we’ll find anything but bones to
, night. Almighty heaven ! what’s that?”
Hearing Michael and Rodney approaching
they threw their implements and fled.
“Let us hasten to the house,” said Rodney,
; “for I can abide this no longer.”
Not anothor word passed between them
I until they entered the house.
| “Now, my friend,” said Michael, “we will
i leave the result of the strange circumstances,
; till to-morrow, when we will endeavor to clear
jit up. Be not troubled in your mind con
j corning it,”
j And they again retired to rest.
Early on the following morning, Michael,
! accompanied by his friend Rodney, repaired
i to the spot which had so lately been produc
: tive of the mysterious scene.
There were the implements for digging,
| carelessly thrown upon the ground, and with
| them the skeleton which had been disinterred.
; It seemed almost as a dream to Michael and
his companion, from which they had not
awakened. They looked upon the skeleton
some time before they spoke, so wrapped
were they in the intensity of their feelings.
\ “At last, my dream is out /” cried the land
i lord; “is there nothing by which we could
; identify the unfortunate individual who has to
all appearances been murdered ?”
They searched about the hole where the
men had been digging, and presently Michael
observed something glistening, which he pick
ed up.
“Here is something which appears to have
been used as a clasp to a pocket-book ; and
here is a name engraved upon it.”
“Ah! What name ?” cried Rodney.
“Edmund Rodney.”
“My brother!” cried the other, snatching
the clasp from the hand of Michael, and gaz
ing with unutterable anguish upon it,
“It is even so! Edmund Rodney was my
; elder brother. He left his home in Philadd
| phia, several years ago, and never returned,
j and thus it proves he has been foully murder
ed. Oh, my friend, how has your dream i
been verified: and how mysteriously it has ■
brought to light this foul murder. Can it be j
possible, that these arc the remains of my long !
lost brother ?” and tears came to the relief ‘of j
the agonized Rodney.
“llow wonderful are the workings of Prov
idence!” Exclaimed Michael ? but his com
panion was .absorbed in grief.
By this time several of the farmers, among j
whom were the actors in the scene which we :
have .attempted to describe, entered the cn- \
i closure. “With apparent curiosity, they in- j
! quired concerning the circumstances. They ■
were briefly informed by the landlord, who !
questioned them about the last night’s busi- j
ness.
Upon being so boldly challenged, the three ■
individuals who had been concerned in it, ;
plead guilty.
Among those present was a man of great ’
notoriety. He was known all around that 1
part of the country by the name of “Crazy i
Nathan.” But it was merely, we believe, on j
account of his eccentric habits that he had j
received the application. He was not known
to have been deranged in his intellect, but the !
strangeness of his character, obtained for him
the title of “Crazy Nathan.” He was known
to be subject to the habit of rambling about !
the country all night, confining himself to
the house during the day time ; and he would
frequently relate occurrences which he had
witnessed during the
“dead of night, when half the world
Is in a lonely, solemn darkucse hung.”
Although the incidents which he would
sometimes relate to the ears of his listeners j
had an air of incredulity about them, yet the
rationality of his mind, and the well-temper
ed words used by him in his narrations would
generally incline liis hearers to credit his as*
sertions.
I his character, whom we have attempted
to describe to our readers, was one of the
number that around the spot where
the skeleton of the murdered one was .ex
humed.
“My friends,” said Michael, “what a scene
is here presented to view'; here in my garden,
all through the agency of a dream, a murder
has been discovered. A circumstance which
has probably been concealed for years has
come to light. And how can we view it?
W hat must we consult in order to obtain a
clue in regard to the perpetration ot this foul
deed ?”
“Facts!” was the replv, and all eyes were
turned upon the speaker.
It was Crazy Nathan.
He appeared unconcious of the notice
which he had occasioned, for his gaze was di
rected towards the ground, in the greatest
simylicity of manner imaginable.
“Who spoke?” inquired Michael.
“It’s only Crazy Nathan.”
“Did you speak, Nathan ?” repeated Mi
chael.
“If you heard me not, there was no occa
sion for speakin,” replied Nathan, relapsing
into his former mood.
“Less attempt at jesting would bo more
suitable for the occasion, Nathan,” replied
Michael, “one’s honor might be questioned.”
“Who dares question my honor?” cried
Nathan, drawing himself up majestically, fold
ing his arms, and fixing his eyes, which dart
ed fire, full upon the landlord. “Is it Michael
Hurstman ? Beware, for thy sake, beware!”
was uttered in a tone which thrilled the nerves
of the bystanders.
The sudden alteration in the manner of
Crazy Nathan surprised the spectators, and
they looked at each other in amazement. —
From the moment that Nathan had first spok
en, Michael’s cheek had become blanched,
and a wildness in his manner was percepti
ble, as he asked hurriedly—
“ What means this? What means Nathan,
in presuming thus?”
Nathan spoke again—“l am not crazy, nor
do I presume, but 1 tell thee, Michael, a- k s ire
as I have a soul to be saved, thou art the
murderer /”
“Villain ! what say you ? Neighbors, will
you listen to a crazy man ? Drive him hence?
I shall go mad!”
Michael’s countenance was almost expres
sive of madness, and he could scarcely refrain
from falling. His lip quivered, and every at
tempt which he made to speak proved abor
tive. Nathan and Rodney conversed togeth
er, while the farmers crowded around Mi
chael, whom they could not persuade them
selves was guilty of the dreadful crime he had
been charged with. They endeavored to ral
ly the sunken energies of the afflicted land
lord, but to no purpose. He appeared to have
become paralyzed, both in body, energy and
in the power of speech. Rodney now ad
dressed the bystanders—
“My friends, I believe the assertion of this
young man to be true, inasmuch as they are
given by a rational mind, and for the great
change it has wrought in the mind, of the ac
cused. The memory of a murdered brother,
whose fate has until now remained a secret,
is still fresh in my mind, and his blood cries
for revenge! We arrest the accused solely
upon the charge of the person who has here
challenged him with the commission of the
guilty deed.”
Michael was now conveyed to the inn, where
lie remained for a time senseless, in charge of
several men. As the story spread around,
numbers repaired to the place, and a warrant
of arrest, on the charge of murder, was issued
against the unhappy Michael.
On the morning of the day on which the
warrant was received, Michael had acquired
a considerable degree of composure of mind,
and conversed calmly with hjs companions
who had officiated to watch him. A cloud
seemed to have settled over his mind. Upon
being questioned concerning the charge pre
ferred against him, he replied—
“ They shall find lam guiltless, and a vic
tim to circumstancial evidence!”
He approached a closet in the room, and
appeared to be searching among some papers,
and his companions were not diverted from
| that opinion until they perceived blood drop
j ping upon the floor. They flew towards him,
when their worst fears were realized, for they
ascertained that he had committed suicide.—
A razor, which he held in his hand, had con
summated the work, and cheated the law of
its victim. Dead he really was, and it was no
matter of surprise that life departed so quick
ly, w-hen the deep wound which he had in
flicted was taken into consideration. The
idea of sending for a surgeon was useless, so
! copious was the effusion of blood, and so firm
ly was the suicide locked in the embrace of
death.
Thus ended the life of Michael Hurstman,
the innkeeper, who had lived in the good es
timation of all who knew’ him, until the cir
cumstances which we have imperfectly narra
ted were brought to light. Yet there are
many individuals who believe Michael, to
have been innocent of the murder. And this
belief is fortified and strengthened, when we
ask why he would, had he been the aggressor,
propagate a tale, and report he had dreamed
it, and such a tale, well calculated to ex
cite cur iosity in the mind of any credulous
person ? And even if he had committed the
murder, and dreamed the circumstances as he
told them, how absurd was it for him to relate
it as he did, in the presence of so numerous
a body, and among them the brother of the
unfortunate victim.
The tavern was never inhabited by human
being after the death of Michael Hurstman,
and it is now’ in a ruinous condition.
The traveller, as he p*sses the roadside,
gazesupon it with curiosity, when he is inform
ed of the incidents connected with its history,
which although many years have passed, since
the walls resounded w ith the jocund peal and
merry laugh still retain for it the appellation
of the “Haunted Inn ”
The Mississippi Patent Plan for Pul- !
ling Teeth.
[From ‘Leaves from the Note-Book of a. Louisi- j
ana Swamp Doctor/just published by L. Hart, I
Philadelphia.]
I had just finished the last volume of Wistar’s ‘
Anatomy, well nigh coming to a period, myself j
weariness at the same time, and with feet brae- |
ed up on the mantle-niece, was hazily surveying
the closed volume which lay on my lap, when
hurried step in the front galery aroused me from
the revery in which I was fast sinking.
Turning my head as the office door opened,
my eyes fell on the well developed proportions
of a huge flatboatman, who entered the rcom
wearing a countenance, the expression of which
would seem to indicate that he had just gone in
to the vinegar manufacture with a promise of
success.
‘Do you pull teeth, young one ?’ said he to
me.
‘Yes, and noses too/ replied I, fingering my
slender moustache, highly indignant at the ju
venile appellation, and bristling up by the side
of the huge Kentuckian, till I looked as large as
a thumb-lancet by the side of an amputating
knife.
‘You needn’t get riled, young doc, I meant no
insult, sartan, for my teeth are too sore to ’low
your boots to jar them as I swallered you down.
I want a tooth pulled, can you manage the job ?
Ouch! criminy, but it hurtsf
‘Yes, sir, I can pull your tooth. Is it an in
cisor, or a dens sapientiae 1 one of the decidua,
ora permanent grinder.
‘lt’s a sizer, I reckon. It’s the largest tooth in my
jaw, anyhow, you can see for yourself,’ and the
Kentuckian, opening the lower half of his face,
disclosed a set of teeth that clearly showed that
his half of the alligator lay above.
‘A molar requires extraction,’ said I, as he laid
his finger on the aching fang.
‘A molar! well,l'll be cus't, but you doctors
have queer names for things! I reckon the
next time I want a money-puss a molear will be
extracted too; ouch! What do you ax for pull
ig teeth, doc ? I want io git rid of the pesky
thing.’
‘A dollar, sir,’ said I, pulling out the case of
instruments and placing a chair for him,
‘A dollar! dollar, h—11! do you think the Ya
zoo Pass is full of kegs of speshy ? I'd see you
smacked under a hogshead af pork’fore I’d give
you a dollar to pull the thing; and picking up his
hat, which he had dashed on the floor on his first
entrance, off’ he started.
Seeing some fun in store, I winked at the rest
of the students, whom the loudness of our con
versation had called from the other rooms of the
capacious office, and requested the subject to re
turn.
“It’s no use, stranger ; I*d squirm all day fust
’fore I’d give you a dollar to pull every tooth in
my head,’said he.
‘Well, Mister, times are hard, and I'll pull your
tooth for a half a dollar,’ said I, determined, if
necessary to give him pay before I would lose
the pulling of his tooth.
‘You'll have to come down a notch lower, doc.
I wants to introduce Kaintuck fashions on a
Southern sile: and upthar, you can get a tooth
pulled and the agur ’scribed fur a quarter.’
Well, but recollect, it’s harder to pull teeth
here than it is in Kentucky.’
‘Don’t care a cuss; dimes is plentyer. I don’t
want to be stingy, though, doc, and I’ll tell you
what I’ll do. I feel sort of bad from eatin’ a
mud-cat yesterday. I’ll gin you a quarter to
pull my tooth, if you’ll throw in a dose of castor
oil.’
‘lt’s a bargain,’ said I. ‘I couldn’t possibly af
ford to do it so low if I didn’t manufacture my
own oil, and pidl teeth on the ‘Mississippi patent
plan,’ without the least pain.’
‘Well, I’se struck a breeze of luck’ sure to get
it ’stracted without hurtin,’ for I ’spected it
would make all things pop, by hoeeake.’ And
‘all things did pop, certain, as the poor devil
found to his sorrow, before the ‘Mississippi pat
ent plan’ was over.
The room in which we were, was the opera
ting one ot the office, where patents were exam
ined, and surgical operations performed. It was
furnished with all the unusual appliances of such
att establishment. It the middle of the room,
securely fastened to the floor by screws, was
a large arm-chair, with head-board and straps,
to confine the body and limbs of the patent
whilst the operator was at work, in such cases
as required it. On either side of the house, driv
en into the wall, where a couple of iron bolts, to
which were fastened blocks and pulleys, used
when reducing old dislocatians, when all milder
means had failed. The chair pulleys, and a
small hand-vice were aparatus intended to be
used by me in the extraction of the Kentuckian’s
tooth, by the ‘Mississippi patent plan.’
The patient watched our operations for I quick
ly let the other students into the plan of the in
tended joke—with great interest, and seemed
hugely tickled at t.ie id aof having his tooth pull
ed without pain fjr a quarter, and adose of cas
tor-oil extra.
Everything being ready, we invited the subjest
to take his seat in the operating chair, telling him
it was necessary, agreeable to our mode of pull
ing teeth, that the body and arms should be per
fectly quiet; that other doctors, who hadn’t
bought the right to use the ‘patent plan,’ used
the pullikins. whilst I operated with the pulleys.
I soon had him immovably strapped to the chair,
hand and foot. Introducing the hand-vice in
his mouth, which, fortunately for me, was a large
one I screwed it fast to the offending tooth, then
connecting it with the first cord of the pulleys,
and intrusting it to the hands of two experienced
assistants, I was ready to commence the extrac
tion. Giving the word, and singing, ‘Lord, re
ceive this sinner’s soul,’ we pulled slowly, so as
to let the full strain come on the neck bones grad
ually.
Though I live till every hair on my head is
all hollow as a dry skull, I shall never forget the
scene.
Clothed in homespun of the copperas hue, im
potent to help himself, his body immovably fixed
to the chair, his neck gradually extending itself, !
like a terrapin’s emerging from its shell, his eyes
twice their natural size, and projected nearly !
out. of their sockets, his mouth widely distended, |
with the vice hidden in its cavity, and the cot- 1
nection of the rope behind his cheeks, giving the
appearance as if we had cast anchor in his stom
ach, and were heaving it slowly home, sat the
Kentuckian, screaming and cursing that we were
pu’ling his head off without moving the tooth, and
that the torment was awful. But I coolly told him
’twasthe usual way the‘Mississippi patent plan’
worked, and directed my assistants to keep up
their steady pull.
I have not yet fully determined, as it was the first
and last experiment, which would have come
first, his head or the tooth, for all at once the rope j
gave way, precipitating, without much order or
arrangement, the assistants into the opposite
corner of the room.
The operating chair not being as securely
i screw’d down as usual, was upturn on the shock
I of the retrograde motion acquired, when the rope
I broke, and landed the Kentuckian on his back
jin the most distant side of the room; as he fell,
he struck the side on his face against the wall,
and out came the vice, with a large tooth in its
tangs. He raged like, one of his indigenous
thunder-storms, and demanded to be released.
Fearing some hostile demonstration when the
j straps were unfastened, we took occasion to cut
them with a long bowie knife. He rose up,
spitting blood and shaking himself, as if he was
anxious to get rid of his clothes. ‘ll—il, Doc, but
she’s a buster! I never seed such a tooth. I
reckon no common fix merits would have fotch
I it; but I tell you, sirree, it hurt awful; I think it
i is the last time the ‘Mississippi Patent Plan’
| gets me in its holt. Here’s a five-dollar Kain
| tuck bill, take your pay and gib us the change.’
! Seeing he was in such good humor, I should
| have spared him, but his meanness disgusted
me, and I thought I would carry the joke a little
further. On examining his mouth, I suddenly
discovered, as was the case, that I had pulled
the wrong tooth, hut I never told him, and he
had too much blood in his mouth to discover it.
‘Curse the luck,’l exclaimed, ‘by Jupiter, I
have lost my bet. I didn’t break the infernal
thing V
‘Lost what V inquired the patient, alternately
| spitting out blood, and cramming in my tobac
| co.
•Why, a fine hat. I bet the old boss that the
j first tooth I pulled on my ‘Mississippi Patent
! Plan,’ I either broke the neck of the patient or
his jaw-bone, and I have done neither.’
Did you never pull a tooth that way before ?
Why, you told me you’d pulled a hundred.’
‘Yes, but th'ey all belonged to dead men.’
‘And if the rope hadn’t gave way, I reckon
there’d bin another dead man’s pulled. Cuss
you, you’d never pulled my tooth if I hadn’t
thought you had plenty ’sperience ; but gin me
mv change, I wants to be gwine to the boat.’
I gave the fellow his change for the five dol
lar bill, deducting the quarter, and the next day,
when endeavoring to pass it, I found we had
both made a mistake. I had pulled the wrong
tooth, and he had given me a counterfeit bill.
The Language ot Animals.
It is often asked why animals have not the
power of speech. This is taking it for granted
that they have it not. From a few facts, how
ever, it is easily proved that, although they may
not have the faculty of articulation, like men, yet
they have a way ot communicating their ideas.
1 hose classes ot animals seem to possess this
power in the most remarkable degree, that live
together in communities or societies, as to them
it would of course be most necessary.
Bees are able to make different sounds by the
means of their feelers, and these sounds convey
different meanings. When they are about to
swarm, scouts are sent out to find a suitable lo
cation; these return, report what they have
seen, a buzzing noise is made, and the whole
swarm start for the place on which the scouts
have fixed. A wasp, which has found some
store of food, has been observed to go to its
nest, and in some way impart such information
to its associates that they have flown to the place
in a body. v
Ants possess this faculty in a still greater de
gree. When they are at work, there is evident
ly a communication between the master-work
men and the laborers. So when an army of
them is moving, the march is conducted with a
regularity that would be impossible unless they
understood each other. At a given signal from
their leaders, they are seen to quicken their pace;
scouts are despatched, reinforcements brought
up, messages sent trom one portion to another,
insomuch that the various movements seem al
most to be directed by human intelligence. An
ant that has found a piece of food too large to be
carried by itself unassisted, will return to its nest,
and bring to its aid several of its comrades. Dr.
Franklin gives us an instance in point. He had
suspended a pot of molasses by a string from
the ceiling, in order to preserve it from the ants.
One of the troublesome visitors had remained on
the spot, and was seen ascending the string, and
betaking itself to its hole. Not many moments
had elapsed before a large company of ants were
discerned making their way to the extremity of
the string; they descended to the pot, ate their
fill, and then gave way to another band of their
hungry fraternity. It would seem, in this case,
that information must have been given by the
first discoverer.
A crow perched on a lofty limb, while its com
panions are feeding, will, by a single caw, which
is at once understood and acted on, give notice
of approaching danger. Indeed the note of
danger is one which all animals seem to under
stand. A hen, by her well known calls, will col
lect her chickens under her wings, as expe
ditiously as a human mother can gather her
children by words. “The swallow,” says an ob
servant naturalist, “that, shrieking, darts in de
vious flight through the air when a hawk appears,
not only calls up the hirundines of the village,
but is instantly understood by every finch and
sparrow, and its warning is attended to.”
Mr. Loudon’s Magazine of Natural History
relates many cases of this communication among
animals, and one of so much to the point that we
cannot resist quoting it.
“An old goose that had been for a fortnight
hatching in a farmer’s kitchen, was perceived on
a sudden to be taken violently ill. She soon af
ter left the nest, and repaired to an out-house,
where there was a young goose of the first year,
which she brought with her into the kitchen.
The young one immediately scrambled into the
old one’s nest, sat, hatched, and afterwards
brought up the brood. The old goose, as soon
as the young goose had taken her place, sat
down by the side of the nest, and soon after
died. As the young goose had never been in
the habit of entering the kitchen before, I know
of no other way of accounting for this fact, than
by supposing that the old one had some way of
communicating her thoughts and anxieties,
which the other was perfectly able to under
stand ”
Cattle have been known to hold a consulta
tion and agree upon a course of action, such as
making a simultaneous attack upon malicious
or ill-natured ones of their number.
A dog, on one occasion received rather hard
treatment from a large and fierce neighbor, soon
after returned to the place where he had received
the injury, with a friend stronger than himself
to avenge the wrong.
These are but a few of the cases on record,
but they suffice to show that animals have some
means of communicating with each other, either
by sounds, expressoin, or gesture. What these
means are, we cannot say; but future discove
ries in science will no doubt make them clear.
\ Lit. American.
The Sage’s Advice to Young Tatmor.
“Go, my son,” said the Eastern sage of Muza
to young Talmor, “go forth into the world, be
wise in the pursuit of knowledge; be wise in
the accumulation of riches; be wise in the
choice of friends; yet little will this avail thee
if thou choosest not wisely the wife of thy bo
som. When the rulers of the people echo thy
sayings, and the trumpets of fame send thy
name abroad among the nations, more beauti
lul will the sun of thy glory set if one bright
cloud reflects its brightness, and sullied forever
will be the splendor of thy rays, if like a dark
spot she casses its surface. Consider this, then,
my son, and look well to her ways whom
thou wouldst love; for little will all else avail
thee if thou choosest not wisely the wife of thy
bosom. See yonder, the maidens of Tinge;
they deck themselves with the gems of Gol
conda and the rose of Cashmero, themselves
more biilliant and beautiful; but all! take them
not to thy bosom; for the gem will grow dim,
and the rose wither, and naught will remain to
thee of all thou didst woo and win. Neither
turn thy self to the proud one who vaunts her
self on having scaned the pages of Vedas, and
fathomed the mysteries of the Holy Temple.
Woman was not born to wield the sceptre, or
direct the council; to reveal the mandates of
Dramas, or expound the sacred verses of Mena.
Rather be it. hers to support thee in grief and
soothe thee in sickness; to hide thy faults and
forgive thy weakness; to rejoice in thy pros
perity and cling to thee in adversity. Reflect,
then, my son, ere thou choosest, and look to her
ways whom thou wouldst make the wife of thy
bosom. A wife ! what a sacred name, what a
responsible office! She must be the unspotted
sanctuary to which wearied man may flee from
the crimes of the world, and feel that no sin
dare enter there. A wife! she must be the
guardian angel of his footsteps on earth, and
guide them to heaven; so firm in virtue, that
should he for a moment waver, she can yield
him support, and replace him upon its firm
foundation; so happy in conscious innocence,
that when from the perplexities of the world he
returns to his home, he may never find a frown
where he sought a smile. Such, my son, seek
est thou in a wife; and reflect well ere thou
choosest. Open not thy bosom to a trifier, re
pose not thy head on the breast which nurseth
envy and folly and vanity; hope not for obedi
ence where passions are untamed, and expect
honor from her who honoreth not her God who
made her. Though thy place be next to the
throne ot princes, and the countenance of roy
alty beam upon thee; though thy riches be as
the pearls ot Omar, and thy name be honored
from the west, little will it avail thee, if dark
ness and disappointment and strife he in thine
own habitation. There must be thine hours of
solitude and sickness, and there must thou die.
Reflect, then, my son, ere thou choosest, and
look well to her ways whom thou wouldst love;
for though thou be wise in all things, little will
it avail thee, if thou choosest not wisely the
wife of thy bosom.”
r , v without a Hope.— The late Joseph
C. Neal, in his limning of “Tribulation Trepid,”
a man without a hope,” thus admirably hits off
that class of people who are never so happy as
when they are miserable.
‘•How are you, Trepid? How do you feel to
day, Mr. Trepid!”
“A great deal worse than I was, thank’e; most
dead I’m obliged to you; I am always worse
than I was, and I don’t think I was ever any
better. I’m very sure, anyhow, I’m not going
to be any better; and for the future, you may
always know that I’m worse, without asking
any questions, for the question makes me worse
if nothing else does.”
HVhy, Trepid, what’s the matter with you?”
j i I tell you in particular; but a great
deal is the matter with rne in general; and that’s
the danger, because we don’t know what it is.
Inats what kills people when they don’t know
v, hat it is; that’s what’s killing me. My great
grandfather died of it, and so will I. The
doctors don’t know, they can’t tell; they say I
am well enough when I am bad enough, so
there s no help'. I’m going off some of those
days, right after my grandfather, dying of no
thing in particular, but ofevery thing in general.
That’s what finishes our folks.”
Sphere and duties of Women.— Two young
ladies whose names are given as Miss Almira
Fraim and Miss Mary Ward, have become reg
ular students in the Medical department of the
Memphis (Term.) Institute.
Awful to think of.— The Warren (R I)
Star announces that a pill machine has been
made in that town, by which a man can turn
out 20:000 pills per day! It may be compared
to the Arsenal at Springfield, or any other man
ufactory for destructive missiles.
Purgatory vs. Matrimont.-— By the way,
the “ghost of the departed” reminds me of
Joe Kelly’s ghost coming to his wife.
“Molly,” says he, “I’m in Purgatory at this
very moment.”
“And what sort of a place is it ?” says
she.
“Faith, it’s a sort of a half way house be
tween you and heaven,” says Joe, “and I
stand it mighty easy after leaving you.”
A full grown Buckeye, in rather an oblivi
ous and “balmy” state, tumbled into a stage
coach one bright morning, beside a traveller
who was in “pursuit of knowledge,” certain
ly at that time “under difficulties.” Alter the
ribbons had been picked up and the “horses”
received notice to start, the traveller remark
ed to the new comer that “Ohio was a fine
country.”
“Ta—hie—aint nothing else!” hiccoughed
the Buckeye.
“Whatis the staple production, sir?”
“Co-or-on!”
“You must raise a large quantity. What
is done with it, sir ?”
“Wher—hie—why, a great de-e-al is used
up for wh—hie—isfey, and some they waste
in making bread!”
Profits of the Pacific Steamers. —&
correspondent of the New York Sun sa\a r
that the steamships running between Panama’
and San Francisco, carry on an average 150*
cabin passengers each way at §OOO each, and
‘250 passengers each way at s3oo'each, and*
250 steerage passengers at $l5O each, thus
realizing $165,000. The expenses do not
exceed 55,700, so that the profits of the voy
age, in passengers alone, is $109,300. Add
to this the freight, say 88,000, and the total
profit amounts to $117,000.
Distressed Agriculturist. —An English
paper tells a story of a “distressed agricultu
rist
“A farmer dropped in here on Wednesday
last, to pay his rent, putting up a long face
to correspond with the times. On entering
the house he told his landlord that times be
ing so bad, he couldn’t raise the money at all;
and, dashing a bundle of bank notes on the
table,—“There,” said he,” that’s all I can pay.”
The money was taken up, and coant and by
Mr. , the landlord, who quickly said—
“ Why, this is twice as much as you owe!”
“Dangee, give it to me again,” said the far
mer, “I’m dashed if I an’t a took it out of the
wrong pocket!”
A Question for tiie School Boy?. —
There is a farmer who owns one hundred
acres ot land, divided into four unequal por
tions, the largest of which is planted in apple
trees; under each tree there are ten sows
with litters of pigs each. Now, how many
little pigs are there in the w-hole lot, and what
will they weigh when pork is worth sll per
barrel ?
Think to-day and Speak to-morrow.—
Avery nice rule, indeed, if one only has time
for it. But in these railroad and telegraph
days, it is not always quite safe to wait till
to-morrow. A vast number of human advan
tages w’ill not stand to be ponered on. Like
goods at an auction,they are rapidly “going,”
and the buyer must “speak quick” or they
are “gone!”
“See here, how long will these locust rai’s
last ?” inquired a traveller of a western
urchin, while riding past a long string of fence
made of this material.
“They’ll last forever!” exclaimed the stranger.
“How do you know that ?”
“Why, my father’s tried it twice, and I guess
I ought to know by this time,” said the lad, very
gravely.
Manufacture of Public Opinion.—lt is esti
mated that in the city of New York there is an
aggregate yearly issue of 03,217,804 news
papers, magazines and reviews; the cost of the
paper for publishing which, alone, amounts to
SOOO,OOO.
Ready.—A little girl meeting a countryman
with a load of slaughtered swine, dropped a
courtesy. The rustic laughed without return
ing the civility.
“What,” said he, “do you courtesy to dead
hogs ?”
“No, sir,” replied the little miss, “I courtesied
to the live one .
Major N , upon being asked if he
was seriously injured by the bursting of the
boiler on board a steamer, replied that he
was not, as he had been blowed up so ma
ny times by his wife, that a mere steamer
had no effect on him whatever.
“Where is the hoe, Sambo?” “Wid do
rake, massa.” “Well, where is the rake ?”
“Why, wid de hoe!” “Well, well—where
are they both?” “Why both together, massa
—you ’pears to be berry ’ticulardis mornin!”
A Shopshire farmer went along with his
son to a tea party. A young female happen
ed to be there, with whom he wished his son
to become acquainted. He told him to go
and speak to her. “What shall I say to her,
feyther?” asked his son. “Why, say soft
things, Johnny.” Johnny, with great sim
plicity, looked her in the face, and said,
“Mashed turnips, Miss.”
Dreadful Caljiity.—The steamer Bello
of the W est,” bound from Cincinnatti to St.
Louis with California emigrants, burst her
boilers on the 23d inst. by which 100 lives
were lost.
The Greenfield (Mass.) Democrat say r s the
following note, verbatim et literatim, was sent
to the presiding Judge of a Court, in that coun
ty, recently:
to the Honorable cort
Sir your juris canter Gree.
forman.
A young and beautiful damsel near Frank
fort, Ky., having two lovers, and not knowing
which to prefer, settled the matter by marry -
ng one and eloping with the other.
Rumor says “that the King of Hanover has
presented a gold goblet, decorated with ants
eggs, to Jenny Lind, —ants’ eggs being deem
ed the favorite food of nightingales .”
Senator Foote.—A Washington letter
in the Baltimore Patriot says it is an on dit in
political circles that Senator Foote is to be
placed on the ticket with General Cass as Vice
for the next Presidential campaign.
Henri Herz in Mexico.—This celebrated:
pianist has finally settled for the rest of his
days in Mexico. The supreme government
of Mexico has established a musical con
servatory, at the head of which Mr. Herz
has been appointed, with a handsome sal
ary.
A New Paper. —Messrs. Ebart, proprie
tors of one the largest paper manufactories in,
Germany, situated at Neustadt Elberswald;.
have just invented an incombustible and im
permeable paper, which they term stone pa
per, and which'is intended especially for roof
ing houses. It is destined to take the place of
titles, over which it has this twofold advan
tage, that it is not fragile,, and is very inex
pensive.