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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.