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laborers in these fixins saves the very scrap
es of their shoes, and whittles their nails
into the melting-pot. I calculate that one
month’s diggin at the banks of the Sacra
mento would be a better speculation for your
physical force Chartists, than the plunder of
the Bank of England.
Well, here we are in a state of excitement
that beats any camp-meet in I ever sighted.
Young and old oil'we go, leavin our trades
a nd call ins, our stores and families, away to
California like flocks of pigeons. Our Golden
Fever caps your Railway Mania. By the last
account there was to have been the glorious
spectacle of four thousand of our enterprisin
citizens a scratch in and scrapin away in the
Sacramento from ntornin to night, as fast as
so many bears arter wild honey. The com
mon wages of helps is thirteen dollars a-day ;
you may get eight-an J-forty for a bowie
knife, and eighty for a blanket; besides doin
a powerful deal of business with the benight
ed Ingines in printed stuffs and ribbons.
The advantages of this here splendiferous
discovery to our great country will be inesti
mable. I compute that we shall soon see no
such a thing as a cent in all otir model Re
public. We won’t demean ourselves by a
currency of small change under silver. I
contemplate that we are set up with our gold
mines to all eternity, and shall have nothin
to do but lay up our heels, enjoyin our cigars
and mint-juleps for everlastin. In course,
we shall he masters of the whole world, for
gold is the sinners of war, and our pockets
bein chock full on it, will enable us to lick
universal crealion.
The Europeans, and especially you Brit
ishers, will be our slaves and niggars; we
shall chuck our pusses to you and take your
manufaciurs, which you, poor critters, will
come and lay at our feet. We shall leave
you varmints to pro luce, while we only con
sume. We shall be a kinder Aristociacy
among the nations of the airth. We shall
knock our glasses and crockery into an im
mortal smash, anl all eat and drink out of
gold plate. When we go a shootin’ we shall
load our rifles with golden bullets. We shall
roll and waller in gold, like mugs in a swamp,
or the sea-sarpent among the foaming billers.
But you’ll tell me, perhaps, that gold, in the
mean time, may become dirt cheap, and that
we may find ourselves in the end overloaded
with yellow rubbish, and destitute of the rale
wealth of nations, which arter all is the in
dustrial produce. You may pint to the ex
ample of Old Spain in proof of what may
come of gold mines. But don’t you give us
none of vour bark, it won’t cure us ot our
gold fever, nohow. I tell you. You’ll only
rile us, and make us wicked ugly, and pro
voke that dander which, when rtz, is a mix
tur of the airlhquake and the alligator, with
a touch of the lightniu.
A SIMPLE QUESTION ANSWERED.
Papa, what’s an ln-ter-rog-a-to
ry •”
* Father. —“ My dear, an interrogatory is a
very explicit method. used principally in
Chancery procee lings, for obtaining a correct
answer to a simple written question, thus:
4 Whether John Jones, on such a day, and at
such a place, did, should, could, .would,
might, or ought; or whether he didn’t,
shouldn’t, con I lift, wouldn’t, inightn t, or
oughtn’t; or it he didn't, shouldn t, couldn t.
wouldn’t, mighn’t, or oughtn’t, why didn t
he, shouldn’t he, couldn’t he, wouldn’t he,
mightn’t he, or ought nt he; and if not on
such a day, and at such a place, then wheth
er at some other, and what, day and place he
did, should, could, would, might, or ought;
or whether he didn’t, shouldn t, couldn t,
wouldn’t, mightn’t, or oughtn t; or under
some other, and what peculiar, or it not pe
culiar, under some other, and what circum
stances; and if not, why not, or how other
wise, do it ”
From Bad to Worse.— The French must
have some novelty. 1 hey have no sooner
got their Napoleon than they want to change
him. Not pleased with him as a President,
they want to have him as an Kinpeior.
They had better be content with thpir bad bai
gain ; for we can kindly caution h ranee—-
and if it only looks in the Dictionary, it will
see our word is perfectly good -that the ve
ry next thing that follows an Ernpiie, is
Empires
TIME’S UP.
Why should the good time that’s coming,
be only for the “boys !” Why should the
“girls” be excluded! Or why should men
and women not be allowed to have a share
in the good time that is so long in coining .
By the bye, there was no particular date fix
ed for the coming of this good time; but un-
k inr m Y s&s&inFß*
less it makes a little more haste, very few of
the boys will live to see it. The portrait of
the rare old boy who sees the ‘-good time.”
(when it does come,) will be a fine antique
a hundred years hence. He will be the old
est waiter on record.
Sclectcir |JoetriL
—i * *
SONG OF STEAM.
BY C . W . Ctl TTE R .
Harness me down with your iron bands,
Be Sure of your curb and rein,
For I scorn tiie s:re gth of your puny hands,
As the tempest scorns a chain ;
Ilow I laughed as I lay concealed from sight,
For ma ly a countless hour,
At the childish boast of human nrght,
And the pride of human power!
When 1 saw an a my upon the laud,
A navy upon the seas,
Creeping along, a snail-like band,
Or waiting a wayward breeze;
When I marked the peasant faintly reel
With the toil which he f.iiqtly boro
As he turned at the tardy wheel,
Or tugged at the weary oar
When I measured the panting courser’s speed
The flight of the c .inner dove,
As they bore a law, a king’s decree,
Or the lines of impat'e it love ;
I coaid not but think how the world would feel
As these WO ‘C outsTi] pad afar,
When I should be bound to the rushing keel,
Or eh lined to t he fl \ ing car ;
Ha !In! ha ! They found me at last;
They invited me forth at length;
And 1 rushed to my throne with a thunder blast
And laughed in my iro l s're lgtlH
Oh ! then ye saw a tvoadrous eh mgo
< )n the earth and the ocean wide,
Where now my fiery arrives range,
Nor wait for wind or tide.
Hurrah! hurrah ! the winter’s o’er
The mountain’s steeps decline ;
Time— pace have yielded to my power—
The world —the world is mine !
The giant streams of the queenly West,
A .and the Orient floods divine.
The o ean pales where'er I sweep
To hear my strength r joiee,
And the monsters of the bri y deep
Cower t. enabling at my voice,
1 carry the wealth and the lord of earth !
The thoughts o ‘ the God- ike mind ;
Th 3 wind lags after my going forth,
The light ing is 1 ft behind.
In the darksome depilis of the fathomless mine
My tireless arm doth p’ay,
Where the rocks ne'er s iw the sun decline
Or the dawn o‘'t’:e glor'ous day,
I bring earth's glittering jrwels up
From the h'ddfen eaves be’ow,
And I make the fountain granite cup
With a crys.al gush p’erflow !
1 blow the bellows, 1 so ge the steel,
In all the shops of trade ;
I hammer the ore, and turn the wheel.
Where my arms of strength are made.
I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint —
1 carry, I spin, I weave;
And all my doings 1 put in print,
On every Saturday eve.
I’ve no m .sole to weary, no breast to decay,
No bon .“s to be “ laid o i the shelf,”
And soon I intend you may “go ad play,”
WhMe I m mage the worl 1 myself.
But harne-s me down with vour iron bands,
Be sore of your curb-maid rein ;
For l son the strength ohyour puny hands.
As the tempest scorns a chain!
. I *
ABSENCE.
11Y FAN N Y KE M 11L E BU T LEE,
What sha’l I do with all the days and hours
That must be counted ere 1 see thy fare \
How shall 1 charm the interval that lowers
Between this time and that sweet time of grace!
.Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense,
Weary with longing shall 1 flee away.
Into past days and with some fond p.etenefl
Cheat myself to forget the present day ?
Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin
Os casting from me Go I’s great g ft of time;
Shall I, these mi-ts of memoiy locked within
Leave, and forget life's purposes sublime !
Oh ! how or bv whit means may I contrive
T-o bring the hour that brings thee back move near;
How may 1 teach my drooping hope to live
Until that blessed time and thou art hero 1
I’ll te’l thee: for thy sake I will lav hold
Os all good ains, and consecrate to thee,
In worthy d#ed each moment that is told,
While thou, beloved one, art “far from me.
For thee 1 will arouse my thoughts, to try
All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains ;
For thy dear sake, I will walk patiently
Through these long hours, nor call their minutes
pains.
I will this dreary blank of absence make
A noble ta-k-time, and will therein strive
To follow excellence, and to o’ertake
More good than 1 have won since yet I live.
So may this doomed time build up in me
A thousand graces which shall thus be thine ;
So may my love and longing hallowed be,
And thy dear thought and influence divine.
£t Column of ®ol&.
i _
THE GOLDEN AGE.
Away! away ! Over mountains and Prunes,
No more of this toiling and tasking,
Awny ! away ! to the land of the Fairies,
I “W here Gold's to he had for tho asking,
1
The Merchant discardirg his trading and traffic,
Tho Farmer h s plough and his s.ckle,
’ Are oil for the land of our Mason so graphic,
Where Fortune no longer pi oves tickle.
The Mechanic who trusted the work of his hands,
And ne'er dreamt of a spot so bewitching,
Now aboard of some ste .mer. in ecsta y stands,
As his palm for tho *• bright grain” is itching.
And the Laboring man, ns he throws down his tools,
And takes up bis small pack for the “ diggins,”
! Leaving open the question of Right . with the schools ,
To his country, bequeathes—-* Mrs. Higgins
And thus one and all in excitement are tossed,
And they look to that new land of promise,
And but seldom their visio sos Fortune are crossed,
By some told unbeleiver, like Thomas.
; Then awav ! away ! gather up the bright stuff.
; And at hazard of li eto date and it.
For r member at home you have kind friends enough,
Who will willingly help you to sj end it. Z.
| THE STATE OF TIIE MARKET.
“How is your health ?” said wc to a bili
-1 ous looking friend that we met, after missing
him for some time.
“Twenty-three carats fine.”
“Your health?” said we again.
“Worth sixteen dollars an ounce.”
We sftid nothing more, but left him, per
fectly convinced that he was troubled with
the “Callyforny fever.”
“What’sthe juice of United States Stock TANARUS”
i said we to a celebrated Wall street broker
j we jostled against a moment after.
“ Thirteen pounds of pure gold in one
lump!’’
“New York Sixes?”
“Perfectly inexhaustible, and more mines
discovered.’”
We trembled for thq few shares we posses
, sed, and passed on. Presently we came
1 across a famous di vine, who preached every
; Sunday against the greedy thirst of gold and
• mammon. 1
“ That was a noble discourse of your’slast
| Sunday, Doctor. If we remember aright the
1 text was, “It is easier lor a camel to pass
j through the eye of a needle, than for a rich
; men to enter into the kingdom of God f”
“ Establish a mint—establish a mint. I’ve
’ already sent out two sons and four nephews;
i and we’re to share alike !”
“ The text, Doctor—the text.”
“That be -thundered! The standard value
! of doubloons is sixteen dollars. A doubloon
iin an ounce. Thirteen pounds of gold
’ make” —
Wc did not wait to hear the divine’s an
swer, nor was it necessary; he had got the
ijallcr fever.
THE CLIMATE OF EL DORADO.
Here is the last story we have read about
the gold diggings. It is unquestionably true,
| every word of it, as—most of the tales told
iof that coudtry. We eojiy it as a warning
to all who are infected with the prevailing
mania :
1 Dan Marble met a chap from the gold re
gions the other day, who assured him that
i the only way a man can die in that country,
is to cut his own throat.
“ Healthy climate, 1 suppose!” said Dan.
“Healthy ! It amt anything else. Why
‘.stranger you can choose any climate you like
—hot or cold —and that without traveling
j more than fifteen minutes. Just think of that
the next cold morning when you get out of
bed. There’s a mountain there—the Saw
yer Navayday, they call it—with a valley on
j either side of it—the one hot and the other
: cold. Well get on the top of that mountain
with a double-barrelled gun, and you can,
i without movin’ kill summer or winter game,
jest as you will.”
j “-Whatl—have you ever tried it ?”
“ Tried it, often—and should have done
j pretty well, but for one thing.”
“ Well, what was that ?”
“ 1 wanted a dog that would stand both
climates. The last dog I had froze off his
tail while pintin’ on the summer side. He
i didn’t get entirely out of the winter side, you
see. Trew as you live !”
1 ■ i
Du Solle asks:—“ Did the poet refer
i to the California fever when he said,
“ Teach erring man to spurn the nige of gain !”
If so, was it not a singular thing in Gold
smith ?”
Xciuspapcr 2tiialctto.
FLATTERY,
The following graphic passage is going the
rounds of the press, accredited to Dr. Way
land’s University Sermons, by a mistake
which originated with the “Literary
World” and since corrected by that journal.
It is from Mr. Magoon’s capital book en
titled “ Proverbs for the People.”—
[ Ed. S. L. G.
Are Old Birds to be caught with Chasf 1 .
—Many specious maxims have obtained ge
neral credence in the world, which are in
reality false. Among these is the saying
that ‘old birds are not to be caught with
chaff.’ Whereas the fact often is that, ‘the
older the bird, the more he flatters himself
that he is worth catching.’ He is easily
caught, were it worth while: but you have
caught nothing, perhaps, when you have got
him. Chart is too valuable, too precious, to
be expended wastefully; and because you
arc not so silly as to throw powder away, he
conceives himself to be shot-proof. As no
body tries to catch him, he fondly persuades
himself that his own exceeding cunning se
cures him from capture. ‘Take me if you
can,’ chirps he: and goes dodging about the
woods, as though a flock of golden vultures
were in pursuit of him. He is quite safe, —
He has not the felicity of being in peril, The
young condor, pressed even by vulgar appe
tite, will not do him the honor of dining upon
him. Jlis toughness and antiquity are sure
safeguards. Ileis only notcaptured, because
there is nothing captivating about him. But
if, by any chance, h* hath a tail-feather fit
for plucking, or a bone worthy the distinc
tion of being picked, then is your old bird in
imminent danger, for you may catch him
when you like with half a pinch of chaff.—
The tender foxling, not arrived at the maturi
ty of slyness, who never tasted chicken of
his own stealing, shall take him without a
ruffle of his plumage—only by pronouncing
its dingy brown to be rich crimson.
Wliat flocksof old birds flutter about in so
ciety, all sure that they never shall be caged
and all safe until a lure is laid for them! But
; the longer they live, the less chance have
they of avoiding the trap. The older they
grow, the slenderer the means of escape.—
The starched matron is fain to put faith in the
compliment which in her day of youth and
grace she knew to be nonsense. She is row
I only half handsome, and can no longer afford
to think her eyes less brilliant than she is
told they are. She must make uj), by exag
gerating what is left for the loss of what is
gone. She is not now in a condition to call
j a fine remark rank flattery: she is obliged to
believe in self-defence. If her mirror will
not admit of this, she has other resources;
| she has sage counsel, admirable judgment,
perfect knowledge of the world. Admire
these, and with the dignity which you call
Siddonian, she confesses that she is yours.
You have only to convert the compliment of
her beauty at twenty, into tribute to her sa
gacity at fifty-five. Tell her she is not to be
: imposed upon, and you impose ujion her ef
fectually. Admire her penetration and you
1 will not find her impenetrable.
MORAVIAN FUNERAL.
I oncS attended a funeral in a remote vil
lage of Moravians. It was in the depth of
| summer. Every little garden put forth beau
i ty, and every tree was heavy with fresh, cool
! verdure.
It was a Lord’s day afternoon, when a dead
infant was brought into church. The chil
dren of the small congregation w ished to sit
near it. and fixed their eyes upon its placid
brow r , as upon a fair piece of sculpture. The
sermon of the clergyman was to them. It
was a paternal address, humbling itself to
their simplicity, yet lofty, through deep, so
norous tones of their native German. Earn
estly and tenderly they listened, as he told
them how the baby went from its mother's
arms to those of thecomjiassionate Redeemer.
When the worship closed, and the procession
formed, the children, two and two, followed
the mourners, leading each other by the hand,
the little girls clothed in white.
The place of slumber for thedead wasnear
the church, w here they had heard of Jesus.
It w’as a green, beautiful knoll, on which
the sun, drawing towards the west, lingered
with a smile of blessing. The turf had the
richness of velvet; not a weed or a straw’
defaced it. Every swelling mound w’as p!
ted with flowers, and a kind of arotruifn
thyme, thickly clustering, and almost sh
ting over the small horizontal to ob-don -
w'hich recorded only the name and
the deceased. In such a spot, so sweet,
317