Newspaper Page Text
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VOLUME 11. |
BY C. R. HANLEITER.
\P ® E Y K Y ■
From the German.
HAPPY MOTHER’S SONG.
Look nt me, my pretty boy.
With thy golden ringlets flowing,
Bright blue eyes, and cheeks all glowing;
Was there ever such a one ?
No, I’m sure there can be none.
Look at me, my sweetest boy,
Rosy ns the summer morning.
Sweet as dew the leaves adorning ;
Was there ever such a one ?
No, I’nt sure there can be none.
Look at me, my darling boy ;
No sad naughty child could evrr
Be so loved and lovely—never ;
You may wish for one as fine,
But, good folks, you can't have mine.
Should a merchant come to buy,
Let him ope his golden coffers,
Would I take his richest offers ?
Never—buy where'r he can,
He should not get my pretty man.
®[£ ILI© YU ® Ys\[L[£® o
From Audubou’s Ornithological Biography.
THE PRAIRIE.
On my return from the Upper Mississip
pi, 1 found myself obliged to cross one of
the wide prairies, which, in that potlioti of
the United States, vary the appearance of
the country. The weather was fine—all
around me was as fresh and blooming as if
it had just issued from the bosom of nature.
My knapsack, my gun, and my dog, were
all I bad for baggage and company. But,
although well morcasined, I moved slowly
along, attracted by the brilliancy of the
flowers, and the gambols of the fawnsaround
their dams, to all appearance as thoughtless
of danger as 1 felt myself.
Aly march was of long duration; I saw
the sun sinking beneath the botizon long !
before l could perceive any appearance of
woodland, and nothing in the shape of a
man had I met with that day. The track
which I followed was otdy an old Indian
trace, and as darkness overshadowed the
prairie, I felt some desire to reach at least
a copse, in which I might lie down to test.
The night-hawks were skimming over and
amund me, attracted hy the buzzing wings
of the beetles which form their food, and
the distant howling of wolves gave me some
hope that I should soon arrive at the skiits
of some woodland.
I did so, and almost at the same instant
a fire-light attracted mv eyes. I moved to
wards it, full of confidence that it proceeded
from the camp of some wandering Indians.
1 was mistaken : 1 discovered hy its glare
that it was from the hearth of a small log
cabin, arid that a tall figure passed and re
passed lietween it and me, as busily engaged
in household arrangements.
I reached the spot, and presenting myself
at the door, asked the tall figure, which
proved to be a woman, if I might take shel
ter under her roof for the night. Her voice
was gruff, and her attire negligently thrown
about her. She answered in the affii mo
tive. I walked in, took a wooden stool, and
quietly seated myself hy the fire. The next
object that attracted my notice was a finely
formed young Indian, testing his head be
tween his hands, with his elbow on his
knees. A long how rested against the log
wall near him, while a quantity of arrows
and two or three raccoon skins lay at his
feet. He moved not; he apparently breath
ed not. Accustomed to the habits of the
Indians, and knowing that they pay little
attention to the approach of civilized stran
gers, (a circumstance which in some coun
tries ia considered as evincing the apathy
of their character,) 1 addressed him in
French, a language not unfrequent partially
known to the people in that neighborhood.
He raised his head, pointed to one of his
eyes with his finger, and gave me a signifi
cant glance with the other. His luce was
covered with blood. The fact was, that an
hour before this, as he was in the act of dis
charging an arrow at a raccoon in the top of
.0 tree, the arrow had split upon the cord,
and sprung back with such violence into his
right eye as to destroy it forever.
Feeling hungry, I inquired what sort of
(fare I might expect. Such a thing as a bed
was not to be seen, hut many large untann
-ed bear and buffalo hides lay piled up in a
corner. I drew a fine time-piece from my
Abreast, and told the woman that it was late,
and that I was fatigued. She had espied
my watch, the richness of which seemed to
operate upon her feelings with electric
quickness. She told me that there was
plenty of venison and jerked Buffalo meat,
and that on removing the ashes I should
find a cake. But my watch had struck her
fancy, and her curiosity had to be gratified
by an immediate sight of it. I took off the
gold chain that secured it, from around my
neck, and presented it to her. She was all
ecstacy, spoke of its beauty, asked me its
value, and put the chain round her brawny
neck, saying how happy the possession of
such a watch would make her. Thought
less, and, as l fancied myself, in ao retired
a spot, secure, I paid little attention to her
talk or her movements. I helped my dog
to a good supper of venison, and was not
long in satisfying the demands ot my appe
tite. ~ .
The Indian rose from hie scat, as if m
extreme suffering. He passed aud re-pass-
AJW®®My M®'wsjp3ijp©ir g 4® IP®M4fi®Sp N®wsp
ed me several times, and once pinched me
on the side so violently, that the pain near
ly brought forth an exclamation of anger.
I looked at him. His eye inet mine; hut
his look was so forbidding, that it struck a
chill into the more nervous part of my sys
tem. He again seated himself, drew his
butcher’s knife from his greasy scabbard,
examined its edge, as I would do that of a
razor suspected dull, replaced it, and again
taking his tomakawk from his hack, filled
the pipe of it with tobacco, and sent me ex
pressive glances whenever our hostess
chanced to have her hack towards uv.
Never until that moment had my senses
been awakened to the danger which I now
suspected to be about ir.e. I returned
glance for glance to my companion, and
rested well assured that, whatever enemies
I might have, he was not of their number.
1 asked the woman for my watch, wound
it up, and under pretence of wishing to see
how the weather might probably be on the
morrow, took up my gun and walked out of
the cabin. I slipped a ball into each bar
rel, scraped the edges of my flints, renewed
the primings, and returned to the hut, gave
a favorable account of my observations.—
I took a few bear-skins, made a pallet of
them, and calling my faithful dog to my
side, lay down, with my gun close to my
body, and in a few minutes was, to all ap
pearance, fust asleep.
A short lime had elapsed, when some
voices were heard, and from the corner of
my eyes I saw two athletic youths making
their entrance, bearing a dead stag on a
pole. They disposed of their burden, and
asking-fur whiskey, helped themselves free
ly to it. Observing me and thejwoundecl In
dian, they asked who I was, and why the
devil that rascal (meaning the Indian, who
they knew understood not a word of Eng
lish,) was in the house ? The mother—for
so she proved to be—bade them to speak
less loudly, made mention of my watch,
and took them to a corner, where a conver
sation took place, the purport of which it
required little shrewdness in me to guess.
I tapped my dog gently. He moved his
tail, and with indescribable pleasure I saw
his fine eye alternately fixed ou me and
raised towards the trio in the corner. 1
felt that he perceived danger in my situa
tion. The Indian exchanged a last glance
with me.
The lads had eaten and drunk themselves
into such a condition, that 1 already looked
upon them as /tors du combat; and the fre
quent visits of the whiskey bottle to the ug
ly mouth ot their flam, 1 hoped would soon
reduce her to a like state. Judge of my
astonishment, when 1 saw this incarnate
fiend takea huge cut lying knife, and goto
a grindstone to whet its edge. I saw her
pour the water or. the turning machine, and
watched her working away with her danger
ous instrument until the cold sweat cover
ed every part of my body, in spite of my
deteimiiiutinn to defend myself to the last.
Her task finished, she walked to her reel
ing sons, and said, “ There, that’ll soon set
tle him ! Boys, kill yon , and then for
the watch !”
1 turned, cocked my gun-locks silently,
touched my faithful companion, and lay
ready to start up and shoot the fiist who
might attempt my life. The moment was
fast approaching, and that night might have
been my last in the world, hail not provi
dence made preparations for my rescue. —
All was ready. The infernal hag was ad
vancing slowly, probably contemplating the
best way of despatching me, whilst her
sons should be engaged with the Indian.—
1 was several times oil the eve of rising and
shuffling her on the spot; hut she was not
to be punished thus. The door was sudden
ly opened, and there entered two stout trav
elers, each with a long rifle on his shoulder.
I bounded upon my feet, ami making then:
most heartily welcome, told them how well
it was for me that they should have arrived
at that moment. The tale was told in a
minute. The drunken sons were secured,
and the woman, in spite of her defence and
vociferations, shared the same fate. The
Indian fairly danced with joy, and gave us
to understand that, as he could not sleep
for pain he could watcli over us. You may
suppose that we slept much less than we
talked. The two strangeis gave an ac
count of their once having been themselves
in u somewhat similar situation. Day came,
fair and rosy, and with it the punishment of
our captives.
They were now quite sob< red. Their
feet were unbound, but their arms were still
securely lied. We marched them into the
woods off the road, and having used them
as Rcgulatois were wont to use such delin
quents, we set fire to the cabin, gave all the
skins and implements to the young Indian
warrior, and proceeded, well pleased, to
wards the settlements.
During upwards ol twenty-five years,
when my wanderings extended to all parts
of our country, this was the only time at
which my life was in datigei from my fel
low-creatures. Indeed, so little risk do
travelers lun in the United States, that no
one born here ever dreams of any to be en
countered on the road; and I can only ac
count for this occurrence hy supposing that
the inhabitants of the cabin were not Amer
icans.
Will you believe good-natured reader,
that not many miles from the place where
this adventure happened, and where, fifteen
years ago, no habitation belonging to civil-
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 8, 1843.
tzed man was expected, anil very few ever
seen, large mads are now laid out, cultiva
tion has converted the woods into fertile
fields, taverns have been erected, and much
of what the Americans call comfort, is to
he met with 1 So fast does improvement
proceed in our abundant and free country.
THE UNEXPECTED FRIEND.
“ It must be, my child,” said the poor
widow, wiping away the tears which slowly
trickled down her wasted cheeks. “ There
is no other nsouice. lam too sick to work,
and you cannot, surely, see me anti your
brothers, starve. Try and beg a few shill
ings, and perhaps hy the time that is gone, I
may be better. Go, Henry, my deal ; 1
grieve to send you on such an errand, but it
must he done.”
The hoy, a noble looking little fellow of
about ten years, started up, and throwing
his arms about his mother’s neck, left the
house without a word. He did not hear
ihe groan s os anguish that was uttered by
his parent as the door closed behind him ;
and it was well that he did not. for his lit
tle heart was ready to break without it. It
was a by-street in Philadelphia, and as he
walked to and fro on the sidewalk, looked
firtt at one person aud then at another, as
they passed him, but no tine seemed to look
kindly on him, and the longer he waited,
the faster liia courage dwindled aw ay. and
the more difficult it became to beg. The
tears were running fast down his cheeks,
hut nobody noticed them, or if they did no
body seemed to care ; for although clean,
Henry looked poor and miserable, and it is
common for the poor and miserable to
ciy !
Every body’ seemed in a hurry, and the
poor hoy was quite in despair, when at last
he espied a gentleman who seemed to he
very leisurely taking a walk. He was dress
ed in black, wore a three-cornered hut, and
a face that was as mild and benignant as an
angel’s. Somehow, when Henry lookeJ at
him, he felt all his fears vanish at once, and
instantly approached him. His tears had
been flowing so long, that his eyes were
quite red and swollen, and bis voice trem
bled—but that was with weakness, for he
had not eaten anything for twenty-four
hours. As Henry, with a low faltering
voice, begged for a little charity, the gentle
man stopped, and his kind heart melted w ith
compassion as he looked into the fait coun
tenance of the hoy, and saw the deep blush
which spread over 1 is face, and listened to
the modest, humble tones w hich accompa
nied his petition.
“ You fhi not look like a hoy that has been
accustomed to heg his bread,” said he, kind
ly laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder ;
“ what has driven yon to this step 1”
“ Indeed,” answered Henry, his tears be
ginning to flow afresh, “ indeed I was not
horn in this condition. But the misfortunes
of my father, and the sickness of n:y moth
er, have driven me to the necessity now.’’
“ Who is your father?” inquired the gen
tleman. still more interested.
“ My father was a rich merchant of this
city, hut he became bondsman for a friend,
who sfion after failed, and be was entirely
ruined. He could not live after this Insju
and in one month he diet! of grief, anil l”
death was more dreadful than any other
trouble. My mother, my little brother, and
myself, soon sunk into the lowest depths of
poverty. My mother has. until now, man
aged to support herself and my little broth
er hy bet labor, and I have earned what 1
could hy shovelling snow and other wotk
that 1 could find to do. But, night before
last mother was taken very sick, and she
has since become so much worse that”—
here the tears poured faster than ever—” I
do fear she w ill die. 1 cannot think of any
way in the world to help her. 1 have not
had any work to do for several weeks. I
have not had the courage to go to any of rny
mother’s old acquaintances, and tell them
that she had come to need charity. 1 thought
you looked like a stranger, sir, and some
thing in your lace overcame my shame and
gave me courage to speak to you. O, sir,
do pity my pool mother!”
The tears, and the Bimple and touching
language of the poor hoy, touched a cold
in the breast of the stranger that was ac
customed to frequent vibrations.
“ Where does your mother live, my boy?”
said lie in a husky voice, “is it far from
here ?”
“ She lives in the last house in this street,
sir,” replied Henry. “ You can see it from
here, iu the third block on the left hand
side.”
“ Have you sent for a physician ?”
“ No, sir,” said the hoy sorrowfully, shak
ing his head. “ 1 had no money to pay
neither foi a physician nor for the medi
cine.”
“Here,” said the stranger, drawing some
pieces of silver from his pocket, “ here are
three dollars, take them and run immediate
ly for a physician.”
Henry’s eyes flashed with gratitude—
he received the money with a stammer and
almost inaudible voice, but with a look of
the warmest gratitude, and vanished.
The benevolent stianger immediately
sought the dwelling of the sick widow ; he
entered a little room, in which he could see
nothing hut a few implements ot female la
bor—a miserable table, an old bureau and a
little bed which stood in a corner, on which
the invalid lay. She appeared week, and
almost exhausted : and on the bed at her
feet, sat a little boy, crying as if his heart
would break.
Deeply moved at this sight, the stranger
drew near the bedside of the invalid, and
feigning to he a physician, inquired into the
nature of her disease. The symptoms wete
explained in a very few words, when the
widow, with a deep sigh, added, “ O, sir,
my sickness has a deeper cause, and one
which is beyond the art of the physician to
core. lam a mother—a wretched mother.
I see my children sinking daily deeper in
misery and want, which 1 have no mean* of
relieving. My sickness is of the heart, and
death alone can end my sorrows ; but even
death is dreadful in me, fur U awakens the
thought of the misery into which my chil
dren would he plunged if ” Here emo
tions choked her utterance, and the tears
flowed unrestrained down her cheeks. But
the pretended physician spoke so consoling
to her, and manifested so watm a sympathy
for her condition, that the heart of the poor
woman throbbed with a pleasure that was
unwonted.
“Do not despair,” said the benevolent
stranger, “ think only of recovery and of
preserving life that is so precious to your
children. Can 1 write a prescription here?”
The poor widow took a little prayer book
from the hand of the child wlio eat with
her on the bed, and tearing out a blank leaf,
“ have no other paper,” said she, “ but per
haps this will do.”
The stranger took a pencil from bis pock
et and wrote a few lines upon the paper.
“ This prescription,” said he, “ you will
find ot great service to you. If it is neces
saty, 1 will write you a second. I have
great hopes of your recovery.”
He laid the paper on the table and went
away.
Scarcely had he gone when the elder son
returned.
“ Cheer up, dear mother,” said he. going
to her bedside and affectionately kissing her.
“ See what a kind, benevolent slrangerhas
given us. It will make us rich for several
days. It has enabled us to have a physi
cian, and he will he here in a moment. —
Compose yourself, now, dear mother, and
take courage.”
“ Come nearer, my son,” answered the
mother, looking with pride and affection on
her child, “ Come nearer, that 1 may bless
you. God never forsakes the innocent and
the good ; 0 may He still watch over you
in all your paths! A physician has just
been here. He was a stranger, but he
spoke to me with a kindness and a compas
sion that wete a halm to my heart. When
he went away he left that prescription on
the table; see if you can read it.”
Henry glanced at the paper and started
back—he took it up, and as he read it
through, again and again, a cry of wonder
and astonishment escaped him.
“ What is it, my son ?” exclaimed the
poor widow, trembling with an apprehen
sion of she knew not w hat.
“Ah, read, read, mother! God has
heard us.”
The mother took the paper from the
hand of the son, hut no sootier had she fixed
her eyes upon it, than “ My God I” she ex
claimed, “It is Washington I” and fell
hack, fainting, upon her pillow.
The writing was an obligation from
Washington (for it was indeed he) by which
the widow was to receive the sum of one
hundred dollars, bom his own private pro
perty ; to be doubled in case of necessity.
Meanwhile, the expected physician made
his appearance, and soon awoke the mother
from her fainting fit. The joyful surprise,
together with a good nurse with which the
physician provided her, and a plenty of
wholesome food, soon restored her to perfect
health.
The influence of Washington, who vrsh
ed them more than once, provided for the
widow friends who furnished her with con
stant and profitable employment, and her
sons, when they had arrived at the proper
age, they placed in proper situations, where
they were not only able to support them
selves, but to render the remainder of their
moibei’s life comfortable and happy.
Let the children who rend this story, re
member, when they think of the great and
gooil Washington, that he was not above
entering the dwelling of poverty, and carry
ing joy aid gladness to the hearth of its in
mates. This is no fictitious tale, but it is
one of a thousand incidents which might be
related of him, and which stamp him one of
the best of men.
Vegetable Weather Prophet. —The atten
tion of scientific men has recently been di
rected to a curious discovery of Professor
Stiefel—well known throughout Germany
for his researches in natural science—the
result has been the attainment of a more
accurate knowledge of those changes to
which the atmosphere is subjected than was
possible by the eld method. The instru
ments hitherto'in use have been the thet
monetor and the barometer: hut an unerr
ing standard has been considered a deside
ratum : that is said to have been at last sup
plied in the shape of geranium fruit, the
awns of which are involved and evolved,
hy the dryness or humidity of the atmos
phere, in obedience to laws so regular and
unvarying, that being fixed upon a dial
plate, properly graduated, the change from
one part of the room to the other may be
noted with the greafett accuracy.
mD©© EL L IN Y □
PARENTAL COUNSELS TO A YOUNG MARRIED
COUPLE.
The following is extracted from a letter
written by tlie Hon. C. A. Wickliffe, Post
Master General, to his son Bobeit and his
wife, soon after their mat t inge when they
were on the eve of leaving his pareutal roof
for Kentucky, where the son contemplated
to establish himself in the ptactire flaw.
Washington, March 24th, 1843.
My beloved Children: —You have unit
ed your destiny and pledged yourselves, in
the presence of an all-seeing and merciful
God, to love and cherish each other. In or
der that you may he able to keep your mu
tual vows, 1 conjure you to look and pray
to your Heavenly Father to give you
strength and support. A constant reliance
upon Divine Providence, in all that we do
in this life, is a duty enjoined upon us by
his commands; and the man or woman
who forgets his or her dependence on his
Almighty power may flourish for a season,
but sooner or later their deeds w ill be frown
ed upon.
Much, very much, depends upon your
personal deportment towards each otheT ;
a mutual confidence and habitual kindness
are all important to domestic happiness.—
A respect for each other's opinions should
ever he cherished. The husband who does
not consult his wife in all of his important
concerns, no matter to what relations of life
they pertain, acts foolishly. Her opinion
should he respected and deferred to in all
matters, and particularly those which con
nect themselves with household affairs.
If the wife differs in judgement with her
husband, and maintains her opinion in refer
ence to any matter in which her happiness
is equally conceined with his, no matter
how confident he may be, he should not act
contrary to her wishes.
If he is about to engage in any enterprise,
pecuniary or political, she should he consul
ted ; and in nine cases out of ten, the best
answer he can give to the application to be
come security is, that he will consult his
wife, and if she has no objection, then he
will consent to he hound. If 1 had adopted
thiscourse it would have saved me thousand?.
In the couise of time, incidents will occur
in your family, about which you will natur
ally enteitain a difference of opinion. That
difference should at all times he expressed
with kindness of manner, and feeling, and
marked respect for each other’s judgement.
Never buy what you do not need, and
avoid indebtedness as much as possible.
You will think it strange for me to tell
you, that you should cultivate a fondness
for the society of each other; and never un
der any circumstances give, orseem to give,
a preference to the company of another.
Regular hours are all important to do
mestic comfort, to health and happiness.—
Early rising when in health, contributes to
continue and confirm that health, and is
important to those who depend upon their
exertions for a living. The constitution of
man is best satisfied with eight hours’ re
pose ; and the remainder of the day should
be devoted to the service of our Maker,
“ Remember the Sabbath day ami keep
it holy,” is a divine commandment. I pray
you, my children, learn early its importance.
It was a remark of my venerable mother,
often made to me, that “no good ever came
of Sunday work,” and I have usually found
it to be so. Even if persons do not belong
to any church, a regular attendance upon
divine service chastens the feelings, and
better fits and prepares them for compan
ions.
Avoid, my son, dissipation of all kinds,
and eschew the company of the wild and
evil-disposed, as you would the pestilence.
You have now no fondness for drink, and it
would be a great point gained, if you were
at this eatly period of life never to taste ar
dent spirits or intoxicating drinks.
In your deportment towards your fellow
men, be frank, candid, open hearted, honest
and just in ull your dealings; slid never
permit yourself to do an act which ynm con
science condemns; or which you would not
feel willing should be exposed to the pub
lic view, in all your dealings, whcthei pri
vate, public or official. Take no advantage
of your fellow men in any contract, and
never be tempted by the imps of gain to
withhold from your neighbor that which of
right belongs to him. Never insult a man
intentionally; and if you injure him by word
or deed, in due season andapt manner make
to him amends honoiable. If you respect
the rights of others, you w ill soon learn how
to respect and maintain your own. Never
permit yourself to get out of temper; hut
learn to command that andtoregnlate it. A
fietulunt man is neither agreeable nor use
ill. Be patient in difficulties, and submis
sive under the chastisements of an overruling
Providence. The profession you have se
lected is one of great responsibility; and of
high honor and distinction. In its puisuits
fame may be obtained if honor be consulted.
1 cannot in this letter venture upon nil the
advice and rules necessary to insure respect
for the lawyer; honesty, industry, punctual
ity and fidelity should always be conspic
uous tiaits of his character.
A .prompt attention to business, kindness
and dignity of manner, ore not incompati
ble with a free and frank intercom se w ith
the world.
If you meet with your fellow mao in pov
erty, and unride to psy you for your profee
\* ‘ 1
| NUMBER 37.
W, T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
sional labor, do not refuse on that account
to engage for him. The reflection is enno
bling that one has aided professionally an
honest poor man. Never neglect the cause
of the widow and the fatherless.
1 have, (without meaning to boast) done
much for those thus bereaved, in my pro
fession, without fee or pecuniary rewaid,
and I am none the pooler for it.
One other admonition I give, and enjoia
its strict observance; never use your client’s
money, hut pay it so soon as you collect it,
to the utmost farthing.
That the God of all grace may smile up
on you both, and crown you his, in this and
(he next world, is the prayer of your fond
father, C. A. WICKLIFFE.
Robert and Anna Wickliffe.
How to get rid of a Big Stone without
Pou-dei or a Patent. —A gentleman resid
ing near our city, in a beautiful country res
idence, was desirous of levelling off his
lawn around his house, when much to his
annoyance, his woikmen found a huge rock
so near the surface as to render a removal
of it absolutely necessary. This rock was a
real hardheaded boulder weighing, perhaps,
several tons; if it had been only one fust
lower in the earth, it would not have been
an obstruction to the retailed level of the
lawn, but how to get rid of that foot was a
puzzle; to blast it was impracticable, for
the house was too near. Some knowing
ones advised a burnirg, and then by throw
ing on water to decompose; some thought
hot cider would do the needful; others went
so far as to recommend Brandreth’s Pills
and Moffatt’s Lotions, that might in time
work it off. In the extremity of this per
plexity, a lank, slab-sided Yankee presen
ted himself; and after talking with ‘.he pro
prietor, who was all for lawn (though above
a pun) says he, “ Squire, what w ill yon give
now, if I put that eternal rock out of your
way, or as much on’t as is necessary to se
cure your level t” “ Why,” says the Sqntre,
“ if you can manage to get rid of about one
font ofT the top of that rock without blasting,
and will have it done within a week, l’il
give von—so much.” “ That’s a hard bar
gain,” says Johnathan, “to one of us, hut
m risk it.” Arid he off jacket, unu went
to work with a spade, anil before senset of
that day, he had dug a hole alongside of that
rock deep enough for that purpose, and
then taking a rail for pt y. lie tumbled it fiom
its undei mined bed heels over head into the
pit—where it now lies two feet below the 1
required level. On pocketing the sum
agreed upon, says he, “Squire, I toll’d you
that was a hard bargain for one of us; but
seeing t hat 1 have given you a notion how
to get rid of another such a critter inr ease
you meet one in your lawn, it is almost
equal to a patent right, ain’t it ?” and witlv
that he bowed of! and depaited, leaving the
gratified proprietor in admiration of that
wonderful Down East mother wit. that
seems ever ready to gi apple with and over
come all difficulties, and in all “hard bar
gains,” genet ally manages to keep on the
safe side.
A tall leant*—Crack Shot—Big Ufaali —-
Under this caption, Thorpe, of the Gon--
cordia (La.) Intelligencer, and the author of
“ Tom Owen, the Bee Hunter,” relates tlicu
following anecdote.
Talk about tall hunting—we heard of a
shot the other day, perpetrated hy a friendi
of ours, young in years, hut old and expe
rienced in wood craft, which, as the fellow,
saul who told us, “paralyses with any thing
you’ve ever heain on, stranger.” Our
friend, it will be remembered, is a crack
shot, a perfect Leather Stocking so far as
love of “ still hunting” goes. He would
with pleasure, track a deer half a day at any
time; and eo to turkey hunting, he is equal
to our notable friend “ Stoke Stout.”—
When a tut key gobbles within half a mite
of him, he is just as certain of eating a
piece of the breast as if the gohler was al
ready cooked and carved—so admirable is
he at imitation that the most experienced
and longest bearded of the flock cauuot de
tect his gobbling—thus lured to his fate, be
is necessarily victimized.
The hunter has tried all sorts of game;
w heard, months since, of a splendid shot
of his which killed a noted liear dog a hun
dred and twenty paces— and then there waa.
a noted gruiiicr laid low by his unerring ri
fle ; hut these doings compare not with the
shut mode by him a few days since.
At euily dawn he was equipped fir a
‘ still hunt,’ wondered far and wide, jumped
a big buck hut was not successful in getting
a shot; his misfortune preyed so heavily on
his mind, that he dctei mined not in return
until he had “ slain some meat.” His Keen
eye was arrested, about twelve o’clock, by
the dun bide of an animal seen through the
dense undeigtowth at about ninety yards ;
up went “ Old Knock-nasty,” his fimirite
gun; she was levelled with his usual un
erring aim, a fine sight drawn, and th
shrill crack re-echoed through the swamp
forest—followed by an unrnistakeable low
ing, a sound familial about milk pons; he
stood thuuderstiuck, and might have petn
bed, hut that old L. the stock driver, came
galloping up on his swamp lackey,hallooing
at his topmost voice—
"Eh! eh! mass****, you brought down
de meat dat time—eight hundred pounds—
and de finest, and de fat—fat —fat—fattest
cow you ever did see! Yiock! yockl
yock! —I told ’em you’d do somethin’ dis