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April 18
VOL. I.
The Son oi Sorrow.
A FABLE FROM THE SWEDISH.
All lonely,exeduded from Heaven,
Sat Sorrow one day on the strand ;
And mournfully buried in thought,
Form'd a figure of clay-with her hand.
Jove appeared. “What is this ?” he demands.
She replied, “ ’Tis a figure of clay,
Show thy power on the work of my hand ;
Give it life, mighty Father, I pray !”
“Let him live!’’ said the God. “But observe,
As I lend him, he mine must remain.”
“Not so,” Sorrow said, and implored,
“Oh ! let me mv off-pring retain.”
“ ’Tis to me his creation lie owe-.”
“Yes,” said Jove, “hut ’twas I gave him breath.”
Ashe spoke, Earth appears on the scene,
And, observing the image, thus saith:
“Front me—front my liosom he’s tom.
r I demand, then, what’s taken from me.”
“This strife shall be settled,” said Jove ;
“Let Saturn decide ’tween the three.”
This sentence the Judge gave —“To all
He belongs, so let no one eontplain ;
The life, Jove, thou gav'st him, slialt thou,
With his soul, when he dies, take again.
“Thou, Earth, slialt receive back his frame,
At peace in thy lap he’ll recline ;
But during Ills whole troubled life,
He shall surely, O Sorrow, be thine !
“Hi-- features thv look shall reflect,
Thy sigh shall be mixed with his breath ;
Atid he ne'er shall be parted from thee
Until he reposes in death !”
MORAL.
The sentence of Heaven, then, is this ;
And hence Man lies under the sod ;
Though Sorrow possesses hint, living,
He returns both to Earth and to God.
—% ;
What I Saw one Night in India.
The annual inspections and reviews being
over, I had obtained a month’s leave of ab
sence from my regiment, at that time occupy
ing the lonely tort of Chanda, the capitol of
a district of the same name subject to the
Mahrattas, and some eighty-seven miles dis
tant from Nagpore, which was indeed the
nearest station to us where the sight of a
British face or the sound of a British voice
could delight our eye? or ears. Chanda sit
uated amongst jungles, and overlooked by the
remote Goand hills, continued but a short
time to be garrisoned by the Honourable
Company’s troops; prevailing fever made it
unhealthy, and frequent visitations of cholera
of a singularly fatal character led to its evac
uation. But in 1820, when we were sent
there to protect the surrounding country from
the aggressions of migratory bands of ma
rauders—the remnants of the broken-up Pin
daree and Goand armies—prosperous was
that officer deemed who, by any circumstance
apart from death or dishonor, was prevented !
from joining his c irps within the seven miles
of walls that enclosed the old straggling city
and fort of Chanda. The produce of the dis
trict consists principally of lice, millet, pulse,
and some sugar-cane; but the agricultural j
classes possess also large flocks of goats and
sheep; and from the milk of cow and buffa
lo great quantities of ghee, or clarified butter,
are prepared for the market. This ghee,
which, in its best condition, and when fresh,
is white and firm as curd, and perfectly ino
dorous, is far superior to the rancid butter
and lard of European kitchens, and is careful- j
ly packed into huge duhbers, or kegs of liar- I
dened leather, and thus conveyed for sale to !
the towns and villages in the neighborhood, j
Scarcely knowing whither to direct my course,
in the total want of any objects of interest
within a convenient distance, I resolved on
making a shooting excursion towards Nag
porc ; and if wearied of myself and my gun, |
1 decided on remaining at that gay station for i
the full period of my leave. About twelve j
miles from Chanda there was a small village j
called Bassim ; thither, then, I forwarded !
my tent and regimentals over-night, intending j
to ride out there the next morning with two j
comrades, who, like myself, were anxious to j
verify the reports that had reached us of the j
prolific nature of the adjacent jungle in the
provision of game. We accordingly reached
Bassim to breakfast and found it very pretti
ly imbedded in a series of woodland tracts
rather than jungle; nor were our sporting
expectations battled, for M T e found so many
birds—from the pea-fowl that supplied the
fond of our soup at a late dinner, to delicate
floriken and stately bustard—that when, on
the following morning, they bade me “God
speed, ’ I made up mv mind to remain
where I was for another day or two.
The beauty of those woodland tracts, as,
in the diminished glare of a July sun l wan
dered amongst them that afternoon, could not
be surpassed in the whole range of sylvan
scenery. On leaving my tent, pitched in a
little grove of mangoes near the village, I told
my domestics not to expect me before dusk ;
and having ascertained that no tigers lurked
amongst the fastnesses of the near forest —in
which, here and there, large patches of cul
tivated land, redeemed from the jungle, pro
claimed the gradual progress of agriculture—
j I fearlessly plunged into a tract of bush, which
having neither the density of large trees nor
the intricacy of close creeping underwood,
was in nowise sombre or menacing. It was,
in fact, more like the long neglected park of a
gentleman’s residence in some woodland
country; and frequent open glades of grass,
whose verdant hues were becoming renovated
from the ttrst showers after the hot months,
were beautifully, if irregularly, intersected bv
! tiny brooks; rocks of small size, but of
j quaint shape, fantastically covered by para
i site plants, and snug little dells, whence now
; an antelope, and next a hare, and again a
1 scowling, cowardly hyena, darted out. I car
ried a fowling piece, as in duty bound, but
truly I made little use of it at any time, and
on this occasion rather considered it an en
cumbrance, for I felt a greater inclination to
scramble about in search of wild plants and
their fruits and flowers, than to attack the
peaceful inhabitants of the wild wood.
At length, fairly wearied, I flung myself
down beneath a glorious tree of the wild fig,
or Ficus glomerata, in the axilla of whose de
pendent branch grew clusters of crimson j
fruit. Alas! like the apples of the Dead Sea,
they but feasted the eye; for though they :
turned not “to ashes on the lip, I found them
pregnant with “insect life;” they were, in fact,
nests swarming with little black winged flies,
to whom Acheta Domestica, in his charming
“Episodes,” could have assigned a category,
and a name. However, contenting myself
1 with a few ripe jujubes, that grew near me, I
l>e Hoirfljcnt Sentinel.
! drew out my pocket-book, and, in the act of
pressing into it a little unknown flower of ex
quisite beauty, fell fast asleep.
My awakening was not of the most agree
able nature, for I was roused by a painful
blow ot something on the bone of my leg.
At the instant I neither remembered where I
was nor what had led to my situation there ;
but gaining a sitting position, beheld with a
start of terror a harpy-faced creature stooping
I towards me, and fixing a pair of red menac
| ing eyes upon me. Again it struck me with
| its beak, and then I uttered a loud cry, which
had the good effect of infecting my assailant
with my own fears; for it receded, and I saw
what it was. A few paces backward hid j
fluttered a huge bird, one of those ghastly, j
bald-headed vultures of flindoostan, which
are found congregating wherever garbage and
carrion spread out their fetid banquets on the j
face of the land. Peering at me, its fishy
eyes imbedded in red sockets of what seemed
raw flesh, its dingy-white wings extended and
flapping, as if preparatory to attack, it gave a
harsh scream, and, as I imagined, was about
to pounce upon me. Vv hether such was its !
intention, who can say ? However, I seized
my nianton, which lay beside me, and level
ling it at the gluttonous-looking creature,
shot it through the head. It was at any rate
the only bird I had shot that day, and im
mense was the excitement my success seem
ed to create around me. A flock of noisy
green parroquets, and chattering, dark-feath
ered minas from the tree above me, spoke dis
cordant plaudits as they burst from its green
recesses, while two squirrels darted frantical
ly past me with sharp chirrupings, and from a
neighboring bush sneaked out a sly, crouch
ing creature, which I took for a civet cat.
At all events I had now leisure to observe
that a change had crept over the face of the
heavens; the sun was at its setting; I must
have slept more than an hour. I had no
watch, but. the lengthened shadows and the
purple and golden haze which clad the wood
lands, apprised me of a fact that was at least
probable: I might chance to be benighted in
those woods, which, if safe and pleasant for
day pastime, were not enviable for night re
pose. In some hurry and confusion I started
u > a id away, and had walked a considerable
distance straight forward, ere I was aware
that the sun, or rather its declining radiance,
was still in my face, as it had been when l set
out, and that consequently, if I wished to re
turn to Bassim, 1 should not turn my
back upon it. I did so, but got quickly
puzzled, and soon remarked, from the in
creasing size of the timber, that I was get
ting more deeply into the forest, I could dis
tinguish no path, though hitherto there had
been perceivable several of those tiny, well
worn tracks that pierce through and inter
cross each other in most of the jungles near a
town or steading , and which are so aptly
named, in the dialect of the natives, choirr
rust a — that is, chief tracts. Again I turned
back, striving as much as possible to keep the
sun behind me, but. the sudden gleaming of
[lincLoostan fell upon me as I hurried on
through brake and brier, and there was
scarcely a gleam of daylight left to direct me,
when all at once I saw in front of me a little
tank, or lake, I knew not which, on the bor
ders of which arose the dark wall of an edi
fice.
Hurrying tip to it, my disappointment was
at the full, to find it to be the ruins of an old
pagoda, evidently long neglected, and almost
entirely covered in by long trailing lianas. A
solitary idol crumbled in front of it—the
mouldering janitor to the dismantled temple !
No floral offerings of moogra or chrysanthe
mum evinced any recent devotional visitor;
no benzion, no. scented gum, announced sa
credotal presence. As I stood, plunged in re
flections that were not very exhilarating, a
loud growl from the jungle was heard, and at
some distance from where I watched their ad- j
vent, two creatures—a she bear and her cub
—trotted towards the water: I was now fair
ly “in for it!” Should 1 wait their approach,
or take flight in the darkness ? My ammuni
tion was not of a description to protect me
from such assailants if attacked. Meanwhile
they seemed perfectly unconscious of my
proximity, and drank very peaceably of the
water, playing a hundred clumsy antics,
which the increasing obscurity made dimly
visible to rue. At length, however, they re
treated as they had come; and as to my left
the jungle appeared more thin and low, 1 be
gan to look about for a path. None could I
find, and at last I really deemed that the best
thing I could do would be to remain where I
was until the first dense darkness of night re
ceded before the coming stars, and the moon,
which I knew must ere long make its appear
ance.
The front of the pagoda facing the tank
was a heap of ruins; but as I carefully re
connoitred it, I found that to the rear, where
looked upon the jungle, an archway and a
few pillars remained in tolerable repair.
Here, then, I seated myself on a fragment of
stone, and waited with what patience I could
muster for Cynthia and her train. As I sat
there, all the various and strange sounds of
night grew, until I could have guessed the
season by my ear alone, even if I had been
blind. There was no wind, but the whirring
of myriad insect beings, aroused from day
sleep, caused a sort of under sound akin to
air. Musquitos from the woods and the wa
; ter fastened on ray face, and kept my hand
i kerchief in constant play to drive them off.
Night birds —the owl, that ever and anon
hooted by, and then pounced down upon
some shrew-mouse or rat; the rice bird,
snapping its bill as it caught at the fetid
green bugs which careered around ; and pre
sently, deep in the brush, the bark, short and
sharp at first, of a jackal, speedily taken up
by another, and then another, till a whole
pack gave forth the fearful howl, prolonged as
it proceeds, that so often the silent
watcher of the night in India. Hisses, too,
were in my ears; and more than once I fan
cied that a whole legion of snakes was ap
proaching me ; and then from the tank ascen
ded a concert —the harsh and many-toned
voices of a million of frogs, those enormous
bull-frogs whose discordant utterance makes
itself heard for more than a mile in the si
i lence of the night Most welcome sound of
: all came at last the piercing tones of a Rule
: ra horn, and then the beat of tom-toms —for
I knew they must proceed from Bassim.
They were right beyond the tank; but more
light was absolutely necessary to search for it
with any chance of success.
And light, too, I soon had in front of mo ;
but a light so fairy-like, so fleeting, so spirit*
’ ual. that I gazed on it with an admiration the
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, AUGUST 22, 1850.
same spectacle had never failed to excite. At
the foot of a range of bushes I first beheld
what seemed to be a spark of fire, the glitter j
of a gem ; presently there broke out another,
which rose in the air, and thereupon a whole j
iiost of gleaming mote-sized cressets leaped
uj> and down, and whirled the tree-tops, and
twisted in mazy dance through the boughs,!
and gemmed every leaf with all the most daz
zling tints of red, and topaz, and amethyst. j
Oli, those beautiful fire-flies! Yet almost as
suddenly as they had come they vanished;
or, by some mute confederacy, did they but
! put out their body-lamps to reserve their lus- |
tre for some future occasion ? Scarcely had
they disappeared, ere a real star shot out into j
the heavens ; a faint, but no longer dubious i
light, like the first errand of dawn, stole over
the skv, and by and by 1 could see that the !
moon was about to show herself.
At that instant voices from the jungle
struck upon my ear, so near at hand, that I
was on the point of hailing the owners, when
a presentiment—a sense of caution came ov
er me, and 1 remained silent, retiring behind
the pillared archway just, in time to conceal
myself from the comers. They were two
men, in the ordinary costume of respectable
Mahratta travellers, wearing white garments
and turbans, with swords stuck in their belts,
and each bis shield. But their hands were en
gaged in dragging what appeared to me a
dead animal. Within a few yards of me, but
round a corner of the pagoda, to view which
I found it necessary to leave my recess, and
lean across a dismantled fragment of the
building, they halted; and then—for now the
moon was actually up—l saw that their bur
then was no animal, but a dead man. It was
a large and heavy corpse, dressed in rich rai
ment, for I could plainly distinguish the bro
caded trousers, the gold hemmed robes, the
silver-mounted creese in the burnished belt.
Ar.d then one of them spoke in the common
rekhta, or mixed dialect of Hindoostan—at
which 1 rejoiced, for I understood neither
Persian, nor Mahratta, nor Telogos, nor Ta
in u el.
“Take ofF the roomal, (handkerchief,) Ka
hoo; it has done its duty once more —it is
the seventh time, and must therefore be now
discarded. Burn it we must, and place it be
fore the idol of Kalee. This fat unwieldly
hog’s son must be disposed of. Now for his
girdle and turban.”
I saw them untwist a long noose-like piece
of linen from the corpse’s neck, on which the
bald head fell loosely back. He had been
strangled by Thugs, and the Thugs were
close to me! They divested him of his gir
dle, which made a clinking noise as it struck
the ground.
“Do not rip it open, Ivahoo; said he not
that he had a hundred ashrafies of gold, and
four dozens of earrings and noserings about j
his person ? Look to his turban ; they are :
safer where they are.”
They undid the windings of the turban,
from which .1 saw them take many jewels;
which, with the girdle, they stowed away
amongst their garments. I raised my man
ton : a strange desire came over me to kill :
those wretches; hut I remembered that what •
might kill a vulture, might but scratch a man.
Had I slain those murderers of the murdered,
would it still have been murder? Be sure
that it is God’s to punish! And when, many
years thereafter, I saw at Guntvour, in the
Northern Division, no fewer than 100 convic
ted Thugs working in chains, I thought it
was very possible those two men were
amongst them.
Presently one of the men withdrew into
some nook of the ruins, the other- dragged :
the body near to the tank, and I heard him
tell his comrade to fetch the kodali, or pick- j
axe. I could no longer see them, but I heard j
the stroke of the pickaxe, and knew that they i
were digging a grave; and by and by I also j
knew, by the sound of trampling, that they
were pressing the earth compactly over their 1
victim. A crackling noise succeeded, and j
from the bright reflection that shone all
around, I guessed they had lit a fire over the j
grave—their common practice.
A complete silence, that lasted for more
than an hour, convinced me that they had
either departed, or had fallen asleep; and I
was on the point of stealing from my hiding
place, when loud voices in the distance be
yond the tank reached me. I heard the
shouting of men, and amongst the advancing
voices there was one that was familiar and
most welcome to me.
“Sahib azecz! Sahib, kelian hue loom ?”• —
“Master, dear master! where art thou ?”
Yes, sure enough, it was the voice of my
faithful Sooliman ! And then gliding cau
tiously from my retreat, I looked for the
Thugs. They were not visible, but a large
fire lay smouldering near the lake, and some
burnt rags were strewed before the hideous
idol. Were tiie Thugs sleeping in the tem
ple ? I knew not, neither did I care; for
now flashing across the water 1 perceived the
glare of many torches, and with a loud voice
I halted ray servant. In a few moments
thereafter he was at my side, kissing my
hands, and thanking Allah and the Prophet
that I was found.
It may be as well to say that although in
: formation was given to the head man of Bas
sim, as well as to the proper authorities in
high places, as to what I had witnessed, no
discovery of the murderers was made ; nor
any traces of them found in the ruined tem
ple. There was a buried body, and that was
j all.
“That’s jf.st what I Say,”— said Mrs.
Partington, and every ear stopped to hear it
what it was. She was reading to herself that
I “man was bom to trouble as the sparks fly
upwards.” “That’s jest what I say. It
means they are born to trouble the women.
Though some are a great deal more trouble
I than others. I must say that my poor dear
Paul was but very little; and he was so han
dy round the house—could wash potaturs,
peal ingons, ten the children, and do a good
many other cullendary things. Ah, he was
I one among a thousand ! Many men won’t
i tend a child or do any of the like things re
cumbent on a parent Such men ought nev
jerto be blessed with children. Oh! Ido like
jto see a man handy in a family way.” Here
she stopped, as she detected a smile among
her auditors. There was an originality in
her remarks, taken altogether, that pleased
them.
Negko Wit.— A negro once gave the fol
lowing toast: “De Gubemorob do State—he
come in wid berry little opposition: he go out
i wid none at all.”
[From the Correspondence of the N. Y. Courier.]
Scenes in the East.
A WEEK IN JERUSALEM.
I have now been more than a week in Je
rusalem, and have become quite familiar with
all its features. The city is about two miles
square, and is surrounded by a thick wall of
gray limestone, about twenty-five feet in height
built in a Saracenic style. The population
I amounts to about 15,000, of whom one-third
are Christians, one-third Mahometans, and
one-third Jews. The people, except the nu
merous monks and a few resident Europeans,
dress in the Oriental costume, and all the na
tive women, of every religion, go closely veil
ed. The houses are built of stone, and pre
sent externally the same black and tomblike
appearance of all Eastern cities. The streets
are narrow and uneven, and are extremely
slippery, since the stones with which they
were long ago paved, have been worn off’ by
the feet of innumerable pilgrims to a marble
like smoothness. The bazaars are poorly
built, ill supplied and thinly frequented. The
pavements, instead of rattling with wheels or
ringing with hoofs, or echoing with the tramp j
of a busy multitude, hardly lisp with the pe- j
destrian s sandalled step, and the camel’s muf
fled tread. The hum of business and the
voice of merriment is no where heard. A
strange and melancholy stillness reigns over
the “once tumultuous and joyous city.”
Fhe first object ol the stranger’s attention,
of course, is the church of the Holy Sepul
chre. It is closely hemmed in by other build
ings, and tor the first time can hardly be found
without a guide. Its front is of pointed ar
chitecture, but ot a mixed and corrupt style,
and is ornamented by a few bas reliefs much
injured by time. The church is jointly occu
pied by the Roman Catholics, the Greeks,
and the Armenians; and almost daily service
.is periormed in it in one of these rituals. Ad
mission, however, may be obtained at any
time, on the payment of a small fee. The
first object shown to us, on entering, was the j
marble slab said to cover the stone on which ;
the body of our Saviour was anointed for :
burial. This is situated in the vestibule of
the church, and is regarded with great rever
ence. Passing into the body of the building,
we at once recognized the chapel of the Holy
Sepulchre. It is an oblong structure of plain
white marble, some twenty feet in length, ten
broad and twelve high, situated directly under
a lofty dome, through whose open top the
bright blue sky looked lovingly down. The
thick walls ot this chapel are perforated with
two large holes, through which the Armenian
and Greek priests on Easter Sunday miracu
lously receive the fire from Heaven, in the
presence of a pilgrim throng, frantic with ex
citement. The Roman Catholics despise and
denounce the exhibition as a base imposture.
The chapel is divided into two small com
partments, in the first of which are the tombs
ot the heroic Godfrey de Bouillion and his !
brother Baldwin, and in the second the Holy
Sepulchre itself. The exterior of the latter !
is simply a white marble platform, elevated
about twenty inches above the floor, seven 1
feet long and three feet wide. Its upper slab j
is badly cracked through the middle. Around !
it were arranged many vases of flowers, and
above it were dozens of splendid lamps, be- j
longing to the different churches, kept con- I
stantly burning. The priest who attended us !
gave us each a flower, after having first de- J
voutly laid it on the Sepulchre and sprinkled
it with holy water.
Leaving this sacred place, we were after
wards shown the family tomb of Joseph, of i
Arimathea, cut from the solid rock, the stone j
on which our Saviour stood when he was
tried, the pillar to which he was bound, when
flagellated, and the grotto in which the Em
press Helena found the three true crosses. In
the Greek place of worship, which was high
ly gilt, and ornamented with the most tawdry
finery, a marble globe, inserted in the floor,
was pointed out to us as the centre of the
world! Ascending a flight of some twenty
steps cut from the solid rock, we stood on
Calvary. Here was a large chapel, splendid
ly decorated, near the altar of which were
the three identical holes chiseled in the solid
rock, in which the crosses were originally
planted. Hard by was the rock which was
rent! Many other places and objects asso
ciated with the last scenes of the Saviour’s
life, were also exhibited, but were too palpa
bly spurious for sober mention.
After a personal survey of the spot, and
mature consideration of all the evidence, I
confess that I cannot implicitly adopt the
general conclusion of the Protestant world,
that the church of the Holy Sepulchre does
not cover the site of ottr Saviour’s Tomb,
and has usurped its distinction. No argu
ments tending to show that the locality of
this church was anciently as it is now, within
the city walls, have been strong enough, in
my mind, to invalidate, with anything like de
cisive effect, the firm assertion of tradition to
the contrary. But whether this spot was, or
was not, hallowed by the death and burial of
the Incarnate Son of God, the church that is
built upon it is venerable for its extreme an
tiquity, venerable for its awful traditionary
claims, and venerable for having been for
ages the earthly centre, of all Christian love
and reverence, where millions have knelt with
bursting hearts, after enduring battle, and
, toil, and want, and earthly suffering. The
mail who can stand here unmoved, lias a
heart harder than a millstone!
The Mahometan Mosque of Omar occu
; pies the site of the ancient Jewish Temple,
and is surrounded by a lofty massive wall
i which none but Mahometans are allowed to
enter. The Jews have purchased the privi
lege of repairing on Friday afternoons to the
exterior of a very ancient portion of this
wall, there to bewail the fate of their Tem
ple. I was present on one of these occasions,
and a more impressive scene I have seldom
witnessed. I found collected a large num
i ber ot both sexes and all ages and condi
tions. Most of them were seated on the pave
ment, in the shadow of the wall, and were
I engaged either in reciting from the Book of
the Law, or in repeating to themselves pray
: ers and ejaculations. The sorrow of deso
| late hearts was depicted in every countenance.
| Soon they all joined in a dirge of indescriba
j ble mournfulness, after which they rose, and
! leaning against the wall, with their faces in
! wards, they read from the Law, repeated
I another dolorous chant, and then, motionless
and silent, all remained absorbed in their own
1 praj'ers and meditations. The matron and
i the maid, the boy and the grey headed man,
| the rich in sumptuous robes, and the poor in
| filthy rags, all alike seemed oppressed with a
sense ot desolation and burdened with mis
ery. I turned from the spot and left them all
alone with their sorrow, struck as 1 had never
been struck before, by the history and fate of
! the chosen people of God.
The Mount of Olives, situated just east of
| the city, has been my favorite resort, not only
: on account of its intensely interesting his
j torical associations, but as commanding the
’ best of all vieVs of Jerusalem. The city
lies on a shelf, gently sloping towards you,
| and nil its main features are discernable at a
| glance. On the east side of the bits, nearest
I you, is the Mosque of Omar, covered and
I faced throughout with blue porcelain, and
j standing on a broad marble esplanade, in the
midst of an immense area, shaded with trees
and ornamented with praying chapels.
Though the eye perceives but little elevation,
this is Mount Moriah, and the Mosque stands
on the very spot once occupied by the Holy
of Holies. How different is the dull dusky
sane of the false prophet from the Temple of
the living God, that used to glitter there, like
a shrine of beaten gold! High up on the
south side of the city, partly within and
partly without the walls, is Mount Sion. But
in those vile hovels where Jews hide their
wretchedness, and lepers their despair, or in
those terraced and plowed slopes, where the
poor Arab desperately struggles with the
scanty mould for a few grains, who can dis
cover the seat of the royal city, which was
once “beautiful i:i situation, and the joy of
the whole earth ?” Away to the western ex
tremity of this city, is the spot they call
Mount Calvary, and still leading to it, is the
long wav up which the “ Man of Sorrows”
bore his cross.
At the foot ot Olive, directly between you
and the city, is the Garden of Gethsemane,
enclosed by a wall twenty feet in height. It
contains eight olive trees of the greatest an
tiquity, the very scions, it is said, of the trees
which shaded that fearful mysterious passion
of the Messiah. The valley of Jehosaphat
stretched its dismal length above and below
the Garden, entombing in its dark cliff's un
told generations of the sons of Abraham.
“ Slioa’s brook that flowed first by the oracle
of God” is dry and silent now, but the pool
ot Siloam, encased with time-worn stones and
draperied with vines and flowers, still yield its
purt} and sweet waters. Sweeping round the
base ot Sion is seen the deep rugged glen of
Hinnow, where were perpetrated the “dark
idolatries ot alienated Judahoverhanging
it, is traditionary Acaldama, whose scanty
herbage bespeaks the wages of iniquity and
the price of blood.
The closing day is my favorite time for
visiting Olivet. The city at that hour always
wears a sad and almost sepulchral appearance.
Not a voice is heard save the Muezzin’s cry
to prayer, from the distant minaret, and not
a figure is seen except that of some solitary
villager hurrying through the li.-lf shut gates
away to his humble home. The evening breeze
is just beginning to sigh over tiie tombs of
the valleys, and rustle among the hoary olives
around me, and the sun is casting his List dy
ing beams athwart spire and dome, and can
opying the sunken bed of the Dead Sea, with
one vast pavilion of crimson and purple,
and enveloping the whole landscape with a
lurid glow that contrasts most strangely with
the cold grey mass of the city and the deep
shades of the valleys around it. If there is
a spot on earth suited to pensive inusings or
a thoughtful mood, it is the Mount of Olives
at an hour like this. Sigma.
Freancr’s Letters from California.
Reading's Ranciio, ) i
Head of Sacramento Valley, June 10, 1850.
Editors Picayune —Having been prevented
from corresponding with you during the!
greater part of the winter and spring by a !
severe illness, I must try and make up lost
time in some degree during the summer—that
is, as my friend Col. Hewlett would say,
“ barring accidents.”
A few weeks since I left San Francisco for
the purpose of “ prospecting” the Valley of
the Sacramento and its tributaries, and I must
say that I have never roamed over a more
beautiful and attractive country than this
valley, and I have been no less delighted than
surprised at its agricultural and mineral re
sources. I send you a little sketch of its
tributaries, compiled from my own observa
tion, and information acquired from Major
Reading, one of the oldest settlers in the up
per valley. It is a misfortune that the greater
part of the fine lands of the valley below
Stone Creek are subject to occasional over
flow with the first high water in the spring.
At the highest stage of the overflow, the val
ley looks like one vast lake, extending from
the Sierra Nevada to the coast range of
mountains. Above Stone Creek, however,
the valley lands are exempt from overflow, I
| except at some points in the immediate bed j
of the rivers and creeks. The whole valley,
except the spurs of hills leading out from the
mountain ranges, contains as fine a soil as
man ever looked upon for agriculture. The
i face of the country is at this time green and
blooming with most excellent grass, and
along the vicinity of the main water courses
the wild oats, indigenous to the soil, is just
maturing, producing as good a crop of fine
! grain as I have ever seen raised in the old
grain growing States, under the advantages
of the best and most approved cultivation.
There are also many kinds of grass that
yield a grain equal in quantity and quality to
rye; stock are very fond of them, fatten very j
quickly, and stand a great deal of labor when
fed upon them. I do not think there ever
was such a field for the operations of the ag-
I riculturist as is presented in California. All
’ kinds of grain and vegetables yield the most
astonishing crops with comparatively little
, labor, and the market at the door of the far
mer is the best the world ever afforded. Maj.
! Reading, whose hospitality I have been en
j joying for the last few weeks, has now a field \
; of wheat of about thirty acres just opening, i
■ which looks as well as the best crops I have j
ever seen in any of the Western or Middle j
States, and it has not had a drop of water !
upon it since the latter part of March, when !
the winter rains ceased here. Corn is as j
promising as the most walous cultivator could j
desire to see. As to “ garden truck” we have ;
for some time had nothing of this kind to
eat, exeept green peas, beans, lettuce, radish
es, heats, turnips, cabbage, okra, green com,
tomatoes, &c., and I expect shortly to have to
fall back on water-melons and cantelopes,
which will ripen in the course of the uext
ten days or two weeks. Major Reading will
not raise more than four or five hundred wag
on loads off’ of about two acres of land, but
he hopes these will be sufficient for himself
and friends. And strange to say, that with
all the advantages and inducements offered to
’ those who would engage in agriculture - , the
eternal thirst for gold has prevented thou
sands from pursuing a business that would
make them comfortable for the present, and
independent for the future.
The gold region of the head of the Sacra
mento vaJfcy, I may say, is, comparatively,
unbounded. From Cottonwood creek- to the
Sasty Buto, along the coast range, a dis
tance of eighty miles, all the erseks and
tributaries, as you will see marked upon the
sketch, are rich with the precious minerals,
and have been but very littfe worked, partly
on account of their being lately discovered,
and partly on account of the hostile Indians
that inhabit this section. The mines extern!
around the crescent at the head of the valley,
and all along the range of the Sierra Nevada.
But very few parties have attempted to work
the northern part of the latter range of moun
tains, and they have been driven out by the
Indians. After riding through and looking
at the mineral region of this section I speak
of, I think that fifty thousand laborers could
not wash out the placer gold in the next half
century. About two weeks since I was on
a bar of Clear creek, where Major Reading,
about two years ago, with some Indians and
a small portion of white labor, washed out
$19,000 in thirty days.
The great rush of the miners this season
has been to the Trinity river, about one day’s
travel from this point. This was owing to
the extraordinary yield of those mines during
last fall and winter, and there are now some
twelve to fifteen thousand men waiting there
for the waters to fall, when they expect a rid*
harvest.
From all’ that I have seen this season, and
the reliable information f have been able to
collect, I think the fall trade in the mines
will be much brisker than it was last year.
I am not aware what stock there is in San
Francisco, Sacramento city and Stockton,
j and cannot judge whether there will be a
scarcity of supplies or not; but one thing,
however, may be relied on, that the consump
tion will be very great, and the stock in the
mines is limited.
The climate is one of the most agreeable
I have ever been ii>—being entirely free from
the disageeablc winds of San Francisco and
the bays connected with it. Tin thermome
ter ranges, in the valley from GO to 80 deg.
Fahrenheit, and in the mountains and hills
from 70 to 100 deg. Fahrenheit. In the
morning there is invariably a gentle breeze
from the north, which comes down from (be
snow-capped peaks of the coast range and
Sierra Nevada mountains, cool and refresh
ing ; and in the evening, a current of wind
sets in from the south more warm than that
of the morning, but also very agreeable.
The nights are cool enough to sleep com
fortable under a blanket.
The Indians lately have been annoying the
miners very much, and the whole country is
at present completely exposed to their depre
dations; however, it is hard to tell who is
most to blame, the Indians or the whites.
As far as I have been able to inform myself,
most of the difficulties originate as follows:
the miners are continually extending their
explorations into the Indian country. At
first they allow the Indians to be familiar in
their camps, and thus give them the oppor
tunity of stealing axes, hatchets, knives, to
bacco, or other articles of this kind. Some
times the whites detect them and punish them
severely; the Indians retaliate by stealing
horses or oxen ; the whites pursue them to
their villages and fight them, but seldom ever
kill any of the Indians, or inflict any more
punishment than plundering their villages of
their skins, bows and arrows, &c. The In
dians finding they get off so easily become
more hold, and holding the whole white race
responsible for the acts of a few, murder men
and steal oxen and mules and all other pro
perty at every opportunity. Sometimes when
the whites get into a section where the Indians
are very friendly, they are the first aggressors,
by compelling the Indians to labor against
their will, interfere with the squaws, and even
sometimes go so far as to whip the Indians,
if they do not do what is required of them.
This also, after a time, has the effect of mak
ing the Indians very hostile, and is followed
by acts of violence. The Indians of Calf
fomia are different in character and modes of
living from those east of the mountains.
They produce nothing, and rely for food
! upon acorns, seeds, roots and fish. The men
go perfectly naked, and the only wearing
apparel the women have is a most extrava
gant sized bustle. They are not organized
as a nation, hut live in villages, composed of
from ten to twenty lodges, and each is gov
erned by a chief separate from and indepen
dent of others. There is great necessity for
the Government sending some practical man
among them who can control them and keep
them in check; as also a sufficient military
force to prevent the white people from en
croaching on the Indians. If some step of
this kind is not soon taken, I will not be sur
prised if the Indians make some simultaneous
attack on the whites and destroy several
hundred lives, before a stop can be put to their
work of destruction. Within a short time
several men have been shot with arrows, and
a number of horses killed within twenty miles
of this place. In one instance the Indians
barricaded the door of a cabin, and set it on
fire, while some half dozen white men were
asleep inside.
Having visited nearly all the surrounding
country, I will in the course of twelve or
fifteefl days start to intercept the emigrants,
at the Lassen turn off’, as you see marked ou
the sketch. We will pass many populous
Indian tribes, and if I get back with all my
hair, I will write you again, as also before I
start. Freaxek.
Smart. —Master Ik, a remarkably smart
student at Harvard, is another “gentleman by
instinct.” A liberal use of starch and cod oil
have greatly polished him. He once said to
his mother—
“l say, ma’am, where’s Rill ?”
“M y son, don’t let me hear you say Bill
again. You should say William.”
“Well, mother, where’s William?”
“In the yard, feeding the ducks.”
“O 3'es, I see him now. But, mother, what
makes the ducks have such broad, flat wil
liams?”
“Go out with your brother, directly, you—
oh !”—and she fainted.
A witness examined in one of the courts of
Illinois, upon a trial concerning a horse trade,
was asked by the council for the defendant
how the plaintiff - generally rode ?
“He generally rides a straddle, sir.”
“How does he ride in company ?”
“If he has a good horse, he always keeps
up.”
“How does he ride when he is alone?”
“Really, sir, I cannot say, for I never was
in company with him when he rode bv him
self.”
“Yon may stand aside, sir.”
NO. 31.