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VOL. 111. NO. fl 3.
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JI ISE ELL A LOI S.
From the Georgia Constitutionalist.
BASCOMBE AND POST BOY. i
A writer in the American Turf Register '
and Sporting Magazine for Oct., having
attempted to reverse the position of these
celebrated horses in the estimation, by pla
cing Post Boy first and Bascombe second,
it is an net ofsheer justice to expose the er
rors of the writer and the sophistry of his
reasoning. “Render unto C<v>ar the things
which sire Cafsar’s,’ Bascombe fairly van
quished the champion of the northern turf,
an<! in doing so, made sis I consider, the
best 4 mile race which his ever been run
in the United States, not excepting even
the great match even between Henry and
Eclipse. The average time ofthe two first
heats between Eclipse and Henry was 7 43.
The average time of Post Boy and Bas- ' .
combe was 7 50. No one who is a judge .
of si track will dispute, that a horse could t (
hsive’been run each mile 2 l-2s. quicker in i
the condition of the track at the Eclipse |
anti Henry race, than could have been done |
when Bascombe and Post Boy made their |
rnn. Assuming this to be correct, it would |
bring down the time of Bascombe to 7 40. |
The weight w hich Henry carried was lieav- i
ier than is now placed upon horses of the
same age, but any difference on that score (
was more than counterbalanced by st very
high wind which prevailed on'lhe day of
Bascombe’s race. If tlien Ibe correct in my I
calculation!,, [and I feel very certain that 1
am] Post Boy has not only transcended
the best effort of his celebrated sire, but far
surpasses) himself on any former occasion,
aud I do believe outstripped every living ]
horse in America excepting his conqucrer
John Bascombe.
The writer states that Post Boy challen
ged Bascomhe’to run on the Island this fa
at an odds ofsl 1,000 to SIO,OOO, and that
the proposition was declined and met by a
counter proposition to this effect: By a
fiction, to assume that Bascombe was in Al
abama, and to give or take 4000 to make }
a race for $20,000, either in the union j
course or on that ot' Augusta Georgia.—
Now, sir, Col. Crowell assumed t*o such
fiction. He knew very well that it would i
suit his business much better to train his'
horse where he could keep an eye on his as- j
fairs at home, at thu same time, and for this
convenience h was willing to pay a differ
ence ol S2OOO, or bet a difference of 4000.
On the other hand, had Post Boy made
ihe match to run on the Island he would
have hail the sum ol S2OOO, to compensate,
jn part, that extra expense which he v o dd
incur and d mage which his business al '
home might sustain in consequence of his
absence. \V,is this fiction? It is prepos-I
terous to call it so, Now, sir, it was this:
Col. Crowell if you will make a match for
SIO,OOO, and give us a chance to retrieve
the lost reputation ofourhorse, we will give
you SSOO to pay your expenses at the As
tor housy tiiis summer, and as to the injury
your plantation affairs might sustain at hom<
von must settle that in the best way you
can. Was this, sir, a fair proposition ? Was
jt such an one as would naturally come from
those who were, as liny now pretend, con
fident of success on a second trial.’* How,
will it compare with Col. Crowell's pro
position t<> give or lake? As the writer says,
Bascombe was there at Post Boy’s side ami
that his presence there was no fiction, for
they felt that he was there, 'True,sir, and
he would have had to take as many steps
to get to Georgia as Post Roy, would havt
to drink the same water, breath the same
air, aud in every respect would have been
upon an equal footing, Then you may en
quire why the friends ofPost Boy were w ill
ing to match him in New York and not in
Georgia, or w hen they were so eager to bet
11,000 to 10,000, they could not be urged
into a bet 0f524,000 to 20,000. it may
be accounted for in this way and I can ac
count for it in no other. It was very well
understood that the difference between Bas-
CQtnbe and Post Boy was not very great,
®ud that although Bascombe fairly beat
him, still there was a chance that Bascombe
luight break down in his training, and pay
forfeit, or he might be out of fix, and be
of flJwtw©
defeated, mid thus by accident, yield to
Post B<jy, were willing to risk a grant deal
for the mere chanee of relrcviug a lost rep
,• utntion. Why, sir, the owners oi Post Boy
would not have hail to go a dollar in the
, race. ( hagrin would have stimulated
some to take a share of the bet, aud the
interests of life Turf, the Taverns, Kc.—
would have taken the balance. This®lnav
account to you for their unwillingness to
run for $20,000 nt Baltimore, only 200
miles from Post Boy’s stable, when it was
800 miles from Bascomb’s.
“1 he writer says that many in the South
may content themselves with the simple
event that Bascombe has won the race.”
We are not so simple as that either. When
we find, sir that we have eclipsed the great
est effort ot I'm present day, that we have
driven the northern champion to make
time that hit friends themselves had scarce
ly dare imagine, we are assured that we
have something more substantial to rest
uponjtl an tl;e|tnere fact of winning the race.
No v, sir, I will show you the inconsisten
cy of the writer: "He tells us in one breath
that they would not make the match to run
over any other ground than the Long Is
land Course, because they wanted to test
the character of the two horses on the same
ground where they had been defeated, in
order that the variation ofthe ground, Bcc.
might not be a subject of controversy, in
1 the next breath he informs us that l’o-t Boy
! followed Bascombe to Trenton—was here
j no variation of ground ? While he was in
j pursuit of Bascombe, why did he not fol
low on as far as Baltimore, where the
friends of Bascombe would have backed
j him to an unlimited ex ent? Where Post
Boy would have hail a chance (by
I catching Bascombe lame, sick, or off his
foot) ot mending his shattered reputation,
! and that chance would have cost him but
s2s—whereas by following on as far as
i Baltimore, this chance might perchance
I have cost them $20,000.
The write) goes on to say, that Bascombe ,
I has never won a race of three mile heats in
less than fix minutes. This is an error.— ‘
He ran it in less time over the La Fayette
Course last December. He then goes on
to say be ran a single four mile heat in 7 44
over the finest track on the face ofthe earth.
Now, sir, I say unequivocally, that it is '
not so, and I will put the friends of Post
Boy to the test. The writer states that he j
ran his four mile heat at Trenton 1 47.
Now, sir, I will procure for him a bet ofi
five thousand dollars, that Post Boy can
not run over the La Fayette Course a sin
gle turn on any one day in .May or June
next, with Ids appropriate weights, in the I
time laid down for his fourth mile, say Im.
475. I will pledge myself to procure the
sum ofssooo on the issue, and if they de
sire it, 1 do not doubt being able to procure
the sum of $25,000. Jn dry weather a
bou' two thirds of the ground is very firm,
but the balance is very heavy from having
been sanded. The shape ol it is unfavora
ble, some ofthe turns being short. Another
proof that it is not very favorable to time is, |
that no horse lias eVer yet moved arotid it
in less than 1 50, even with our favorable
w eights w hich the writer speaks of. The
best time, 2 miles, that has been made w;;g
3 50, and the best 4 miles was Baseombe’s I
7 44, which stands 12s. better than Bay
Maria’s time the same week, and to have
saved her life she could not have made the
time which she had made six months previ
ously, in her race with Post Boy on the Is
land with only two more pounds weight
upon her back. According to the best cal
culation I can make, a horse is able to make ■
as good time on the Union Course in June, !
with New York weights, as he can make
over the La Fayette Course in April, with
our weights. In one breath he wishes us
to belive that Bascombe is no great scratch :
after all; in the next, when he remembers '
that he cannot lower Bascombe without i
bringing Post Boy down with him,he wish- '
es us to believe that lie is a wonderful ani- j
trial, but that Post Boy is a little more so.
He informs us that Post Boy ran his firtt 1
■ mile in 2m. 2s. and under circumstances
j which induced his friends to believe that be ;
c hi Id not have performed it in any quicker
tunc. This is rather too severe a tax upon
our creduiity, though it may be very satis
factory to those who wish to believe it. In ■
the first ph.ee, we arc in the habit of believ
ing that every horse can run his first mile '
q iickvr th in the second, second quicker '
j than i lie third, and so on. Now, as the
| first mile took 2m. 2s. and as the whole
j distance was done in 7 49, it follows that I
ionic part ofthe ground was done in less !
time. Now if contrary to all formerexpe
rience. Po t Boy increases his speed with
his distance, he had better banter the world
foreig n mile heats against horse flesh, and
if he will continue to 30 miles, he can
banter the very lightning from the heavens.
Neither docs th s w> iter’s statement corres
pond with the manner of running Post
Boy in previous races. He (as 1 am inform
< d always ran a waiting race, and whoa he
ran at the Union Course, made his run
from the north corner in the last mile.—
I hi. was the game that he expected to play
up o.i Bascombe, i n I would have carried
'' into execution had not the managers of
B scombe [w ho had suffered before from
he north corner] kej t Post Boy so busy
hat when he got there the brush w as gone.
I will close this communication, already
too lengthy, with the declaration, that J
have no interest whatever in John Bas
combe, that I ditl not bet a cent on the is
sue ofthe race between him and Post Boy;
that I have no sectional feeling in the mat
ter, and that I am prompted in my vindica
tion of lli<.' former, purely from a love of
justice. I challenge the writer in the Turf
Register to make the same declaration.—
I hope that I am wrong, but the whole ten
or of the artice referred to, looks to me
like an interested attempt to booster the fal
'en fortunes of a powerful horst*, who stands
now on the Turf second only to John Bas
ci mbe. 'There is where he ought to stand
iHILLEDUEVILLE, LiEORGIA, THE USD AY AOVEIHKER I<>, 1636.
at tin* present, and there let him remain until
fairly promoted.
PHILO JUSTICE.
\\ henever Post Boy outruns his own aud
Baseombe’s time, he may banter with a
show el reason. 1 twill not have so much
the appearance of a chance game, where
there would be a great gain am' little loss.
AN EC DOTES O F ~NAtUOLdZoN.
In the beginning of his consulate he of
ten used to escape from the Tulkries dis
guised in a big great coat and a large
round hat, so that even the soldiers did not
know him, and go early in the morning to
Gen. Sebastian's lodgings, awaken him,
ami walk arm inarm along the Boulevards.
In one of tlic.-e morning walks, Bonaparte
wishing to make a handsome present to his
b loved Josephine, slop; e l before a large
store ot precious curiosities. They found
a chambermaid cleaning tl;e store, went in,
and asked for the master of the house.—
1 tic servant aiisweied in a dry tone, that
there was no master ol the house, looking
w itb a suspicious eye upon the tw o intru
ders, whom she thought might be a pair of
rogues who had entered the store so early,
truly with no very favorable exterior, their
boots and great coats covered with mud.
She ran quickly into a bed-room where
iwo young clerks slept, and awakened them
in haste, whilst the two strangers looked
upon each other and smiled. One of the
young men came hastily and half clothed
from bis room, aud asked their pleasure.
Bonaparte’s eyes fell upon two large and
beautiful transparent vases of* an exquisite
workmanship, whilst Sebastian spoke with
the clerk, who sent immediately lor the
mistress ot the store, w hen Bonaparte in
his abrupt and peremptory manner, asked
the price of these vases—the widow meas
ured him from foot to bead and said dryly,
* that their price was beyond his reach—
‘This may be, madaine, said Bonaparte
irritated, but still in a moderate tone, 'but
■ 1 think it would not cost you much to an
swer the question.’ ‘ Ten thousand francs,
i sir,’ answered the lady in a dry tone. ‘Well,
madaine, is that your Io vest fixed price.’
' ‘ Yes, sir, I have but one price, as every
I one of my customers know.’ ‘Well, ma
dame, I think I shall buy them; be so
I good as to placethem aside, so that nobody
else may take them.' ‘But, sir,’ said the
astonished lady, ‘how then? 1 shall say
I they are sold, but—but ’ • What hid,
madaine ? said Bonoparte, growing warm.
—Sebastian gave him a hint, ami said,
‘ Madame is right ; she does not know’ us,
and ot course is not to lie blamed for asking
at least something by which she might be
assured that we were in earnest.’ Ile hand
ed her at the same moment a bank note ol
one thousand francs. The widow, still '
more astonished, received the note, turned '
and re-turned it, and handed it to the clerk,
directing him in a whisper to go toa neigh
bor’s and see if it was not a forged one,
and then addressing herself to the two Gran
gers, said, with the Parisian gracefulness so
characteristic of all these female shop- '
keepers—'Gentlemen, 1 ask your pardon; '
you appear to be fine and well-bred gen- '
tiemen, but God knows, since that Corsican
has been at the bead of our government
we are overrun with rogues and vagabonds,
who have even attempted to commit forge- '
ries (which was true) and, therefore, 1 have I
sent to my neighbor’s who is an agent dc\
change (a broken) and who understands his
business well.’ ‘But how then, madaine,
I thought Bonaparte was a good French
man,’said the consul, ‘and although born
in Corsica, that lie had never ceased to be
a Frenchman!’ ‘Yes, yes.’ answered the
merchant, smiling, he has been a good
Frenchman, because lie was too greatly
interested to be otherwise.’ Sebastiani '
saw that Bonapart began to grow warm,
and interrupted the loquacious lady by ask
ing her ‘what she had now to say of the
first consul if he had not crushed anarchy,
re-established order, put France in a flour
ishing state ?’ ‘Yes, lie tias so well re-es
tablished order that we have nowinstead of]
laws, bayonets—instead of liberty, slavery, j
and a legion of miserable spies, who de
nouuce and arrest every one who dares to '
speak against him or his adherents,’ &tc. I
This woman was ofan exalted character !
very handsome and bold, and astonished
both ny her vehemence and the facility
I with which she talked to them. Bonaparte
: could not resist interrupting her in saying;
j ‘but, madaine, you forget yourself by
j touching these very delicate political mat-
■ ters, in which you cannot have the least
I concern, being obliged often to deal with
the first consul’s fl iends and adherents; and
dwe should belong to them, what then,
madaine?—would you not fear to be ai
rested i' ‘1 fear to be arrested !’ said she,
laughing loud ; ‘you, gentlemen, could not
denounce a poor widow who has five little
children to provide for? No, certainly no,
1 have nothing to fear from you 7 you ap
pear to be too honest and good, genthnen
to wish to ruin a poor woman because she
used with freedom the only gift of God,
her tongue, which the usurper lias left her.
On leaving the store, Bonaparte told
her he would send the money, and for the
two vases. In walking out they took a
hackney coach, and stopped at a short dis
tance from the Tuileries, in the rite d 'I
Lchclle. Bonaparte, although not well
treated by this spirited lady, was, neverthe
-1 less, the first who said that he liked her
(rankness, buttbat the deserved aome good
lesson for the future. As soon as he arri
ved at I ulleries, lie sent Gen. Lasneswith
one of his carriages in search of the widow,
with a polite invitation to come immediaie
ly with him to see the gentlemen who had
bought the vases, as they wished to speak
with her upon other purchases, and to pay
her what they owed. 'The unsuspecting
lady seeing a gentleman dad in citizens
clothes and an elegant, but plain coach,
was soon ready to go, and off theyw’ent at
full speed. ()n the road she enquired ve-|
ry anxiously after the names of these gen-
ther tlosenfry- entr t*arty.
1 ilemen—if he (Lasnesl was their friend,
and many otlu r questions w hich Lasnes
was expressly prohibited from answering.
I But what was her perplexity when she
alighted at the great stsircase of the Tuile
i ries, aud saw that she Ind to deal with one
ofthe generals attnclMd to the consul. She
exclaimed at various intervals. ‘Oh, mon
dieu, what w ill become as me if these gen
tlemen should denounce me to the consul.’
Lasnes who although a very rough soldier
was nevertheless humane, and of a good
heart, assured her, as will as he could, that
not the least harm was intended against
her. But what was lisr terror when the
first consul’s cabinet opened, and she re
cognized in him the stranger to whom she
bad spoken so freely. She was readv to
faint, and fell upon her knees and wept bit
terly, humbly asking pardon. Bonaparte
himself was moved, helped her up, led her
to a chair, and requested her to be quiet
aud composed. These kind words resto
red her spirits, and she was ab!e to listen to
the following friendly words ‘Madame*
you have been a little imprud'tit in speak
ing so freely of me to strangers; happily
for you these words have not been heard
by Fanche or one of his agents, you would
not have come off so easily. Let this be a
warning to you for the future. Heic is
your money, and give this (20,(00 francs)
to your children, and say to them, that
if the mother is not my friend, I wish at least
the children might be !’ It was by such
means that he made himself popular. Com
pare him now with Louis Phillippe and
his popularity.
Napoleon was accustomed, says a recent
writer, in the London Mirror, to wear a
coat of mail under his clothes, and which
he Very rarely went without. On his de
parture for Belgium, he thought it best to
guard against those dangers with which be
was threatened, having aL Europe leagued
against him, by every means in his power.
Hi', accordingly, sent for a clever w orkman
and asked him if he thought himself com
petent to make a coat ofmail, of such a tex
ture that no weapons whatever could pene
trate. On the artificer answering in the
affirmative, Bonaparte agreed to give him
18,000 francs, the sum asked. On the day I
fixed, the man brought his work to the ;
palace. Napoleon quickly examined it,
and ordered the workman to put it on him- I
self. 'The man obejed. Napoleon then
took two pistols, saying, 'We shall now |
see if this coat ofmail is ol the text' re yon i
promised me.’ He fired the first at his
breast: the cuirass resisted. ‘Turn round.’
I he man obeyed; the second ball struck
his back, and w ith the same result. The poor
artificer half dead with fright, thought
these trials would be sufficient, hut he was
mistaken in his calculation. Bonaparte
next armed himself with a long fowling
piece, and imide the same experiment on the
shoulders, back, and breast of the poor
trembling patient. Happily the cuirass
resisted, and saved the inventor from so
cruel a trial. ‘How much am 1 to pay
you,’ said Napoleon, ‘alter this noble ex
ploit ?’ ‘ Eighteen thou sand francs,”
stamim r'd out the frightened artificer, al
most deprived of his senses.—‘No such
thing, sir,’ replied Napoleon, ‘ I shall give
you thirty-six thousand ;’ and gave an or
der on Ins treasurer for that amount.
Napoleon, in his campaign against Prus
sia, having found al Potsdam the sword of
Frederick the Great, the belt which this i
monarch wore during the seven years’'
war, and the grand insiguas of his orders,
exclaimed, on taking possession of these
trophies, ‘I prefer them to all the treasuries
ofthe King of Prussia; I will send them
to my veterans of the campaigns of Hano
ver: the governor of the Invalides will
guard them as a certificate of the victories
ol the grand army, and of the revenge
which was taken for the disasters at Ros
huch.”
Among the other costly relics belonging
to one of the richest convents in Valladolid,
there was a brick ol massive gold, of near
ly one foot in length by an inch thick,
which contained a thorn, said to be from
the crown which Christ wore on the cross.
It was presented to Napoleon by one of
his generals, and he received it; but, Ic
king out the thorn, ‘'There,’ said he, ‘ give
that back to the monks—l keep the brick.’
THE ROMANTIC GIRL.
Miss Martha Hunter or as she choose to
be called, Kate was a romantic girl. 1 had
known l.er amidst society. 1 had seen her
when a train of admirers, bowed to the
shrine of her beauty. Every thing in her
persi nal appearance va; exqu.s.lely hand
some, her every maen r fascinating. It was
sometimns even said of her, that she had
“Grace in every stop--Ileav, u in her eye—
In every gesture, uiguityami love.’’
But what mostly pleased my young gen
ius was, that Kale was a roinauiic girl.
Her lather lives on the bank of Hiwas
see river, in the midst of the most danger
ous aud warlike part ofthe Cherokee Indi
ans. Once a solitary spot—(save that ev
ery member of the Col’s, family were a host
within themselves—(but now iiow changed,
and which change, is the occasion of my
siory.) Kate was surrounded by a niagni
iicient mountaneotts country. She was
daily accustomed to loo|> on one ofthe most
invitinglaiidscapes—the most grand water
tails, aud woodland wild flowers, of which
the most bew itching variety ; all v. hich per
haps contributed to her romantic disposi
tion. Still we have sometime thought that
she sought lop the sweets of society, llenc.
perhaps, her hearty welcome of her visit
ors, led hither by the story pf her paarms;
hence her willingness to cqiiducl him t<
tue most romantic situations, of this most
romantic country—the perpendicular aim
rugged dills, denominated by her, the Io
ver’s leap, as being one of the most lilting
places, to determine the existence of one.
who has become inconsolable from being
i crossed, in this strongest of .al) huim q pas
ious.
I am going to tell you reader, of my vis
it to her lather’s, in the summer of 1830.
My road lay over the towering mountains
ofthe Blue Ridge. As is so common in
this country, I travelled through a drench
ing rain. J Jul what of the inclemency of
iheckments ? It was wholly disregarded. I
was visiting the house of my old friend ;
with feverished anxiety too —for I had heard
ofthe mountain health and agility of Kate,
had been changed into a destroying fever;
and perhaps even then, she whom I
had last seen, so gay, was struggling with
the grim monster, who spares neither youth
nor beauty.
Within ten miles of the place, I was met
by three men dressed, in the American u
niforni. Their tale was soon told. They
were soldiers stationed at Camp Hunting
ton, under the command of Gen. W. ■■ I.
It needed only for them to know that my
destitiatii n was thither, and they readily be
came my escort. Here reader my story
commences. In front of the large family
mansion, which two months before had pre
senteil a picture of solitude—a hermitage
fora family, who could not have found en
joyment, save in their intellectual endow
ments-lay the “Soldiers tented field.” A
busy camp. Six hundred horsemen in full
parade. The hoarse voice of officers, drill
ing them in the different evolutions of mod
ern tactics. But why stop to describe a
military parade; or why attempt to give
you my reductions at the change. The
hermitage had become the soldier’s tent.—
I was i i trout ofthe mansion of Col. Hun
t r. I was i» the beautiful How er garden of
the romantic Kale. But 1 met her mH
there. There freshly grew the thousand
.plants ol her collection, in every bed of
tulips, and in the weaving of the rose and
other vines around 'he summer houses, you
might see the work of her gentle hand.—
But in one corner stood the head quarters
id the commanding General, ami through
the walks paraded the proud orderly and o
ther sentinels. The private family man
sion seemed to he converted into a fort.—
Yes ; for through it moved the richly uui
iornicd officers of the United Stales Army,
in the parlour nor at the piano, did I see
the lovely Kate. She was laid of a fever
under the care ol the Surgeon General oil
the Army.
One or two faces only I recognized.—
1 hey bote no command. They were not
oi our people, I had known them as mem
bers of the church—as missionaries ofthe
alter, as interpreters between the ministers
ol God and the Cherokees. From their
manly bearing 1 would have supposed that,
in the s niiuels language, “a/Z is ii'cll." —
But mH so. 1 conversed with them as in
days of yore. I learned that they were
prisoners. “Great God thought I, “and
Inis it come to this ?’ Aud w here is your mis
sionarics r” I enquired. “Your minister ?”
“The commander has thought it best to re
move him from the country.”
1 lorebore an’ expression of opinion. 1
knew that the crisis had arrived when the
Cherokees must be removed, 1 heard the
arguments, the cogent and inc powerful ar
guments of Judge 11 g, the head of he
Indian bureau, with the stubborn Cher
okee. The propriety, the advantages, the
necessity, of his people going from among
the whites. 1 saw that no one conclusion
obtained even the silent assent of the sul
len Cherokee. “Ah sir!” said he necessi
ty leaves us n • choice; your government
leavesit not with us to determine. An ex
position of the General’s course convinced
me of the necessity, and entire propriety of
the measure.
The Cherokees bad been called on to
give their assent, to the treaty made by their
Chiefs, with the United Stales Goverment.
lis justice the v would not acknowledge; its
terms 'hey sullenly refused to accept. Their
council with the General, they had dissol
ved in disorder. Some had in consequence
been made prisoners, An order had been
issued that all should surrender their arms
to the commander. And now reader, comes
the affecting part of my st»ry.
I saw approaching tfie Genera’ls quarters
a white flag borce by an aged Cherokee
chief, his silvery locks atid furrowed copper
cheeks, plainly denoted that he had seen
theday when his people were more power
ful—when no order from the “pale face”
c nld enforce obedience on their part, lu
his eye still gleamed the same unsubdued
spirit. But every other feature was evi
dently cowered. His very step seemed to
mourn over a mighty people fallen. His
ling was unfurled from a native oaken sap
nling ofhis forest. The tipper end bend
i ig, s nnewliat the firm ofabow, as ifindi
ciiing the brokin spirit ofhis people. But
w hat a spectacle followed ! Fifty of his
ribe came up after him, in single file, their
uaial procession They followed, the one
st aigl.t afu r another. Their exes bent to
t te ground ; they seemed not observe the
p trading se ititiels, nor the anxious specta
t rs. Bm they carried w ith them other dis
tinctive marks of inoin ning. They marched
wit i “arms reversed.”
The 11.ig being planted over the Gener
al’s quarters, they al| proceeded without a
word to surrender to him their arms. Thev
wou'd obey the order yrliichdeprived them
of the means of killing game; their yery
sui sistence, in sullen silence. And as sul
lenly would they have departed. (A tear
had ihhv gathered into my own eye, w hich
leeched me into t)ie belief, that 1 saw it in
Tiie humane General had yet something
to offer them in exchange for their gnus.
It w s an oiler oased, upon the very princi
ples of the treaiy, which had forced this
ncce!sitv. 'That w illing or utiwilling, thev
would give them tha which is better,
‘•True,’’ said, “the Government has
made it my duty to enforce the treaty.
Some ofyotire people have manifested a
hostile di-position, it is therefore pcces
sary, that I should dep.tjye you of your
arms, least in a mad moment, you might
be seduced tv strike a blow, yyhiclj would
be the destruction of your people. If you
remain peaceable, they will shorty be re
stored. Here is ten thousand rations in de
pot. Meat, Corn, Tobacco. Accept them
in lieu for your guns. The Government
gives them in terms of the treaty.”
“My people have plenty—they need
them not—they will go away w lien the go
vernment say so—but they want not the
governments provisions,” said the chief and
they marched away.
“They are the Chrowse Indians,”* ex
claimed a s veet and well known voice from
the sick room of Kate.
The truth of a secret flashed across my
mind. 1 approached and felt the flag. It
was ofthe finest lawn. It was emhroided
with most elegant taste.
Kate is a romantic girl even in sickness,
thought I. Her hand has been, unseen, in
this thrilling display. The officers knew it
not. Let it pass. She is a Romantic Girl.
•One ofthe Cherokee Townships.
SHARK FIGHT.
The following curious description of a
“Shark Fight,” in the vicinity of Calcut
ta, is extremely interesting. It is related
by an eye witness, and is entitled to perfect
credence: “1 chanced Io be on the spot,
when this display of coolness and courage
took place: and had 1 not witnessed it, 1
confess 1 should have been sceptical in be
lieving what, nevertheles is plain matter of
fact. 1 was walking on the bank of the ri
ver, when some up country boats were de
livering their cargoes. A considerable
number of Coolies, were employed on shore
in the work, all of whom 1 observed run
ning in the apparent trepidation, from the
edge of the w ater —returnig as if eager,
yet afraid, to approach some object, and re
tie t ug 1 hastened to the spot to
ascertain the matter, when I preceived a
huge monster of a shark, sailing along now
near the surface of ihe w ater, and now sink
ing down apparently in pursuit of bis prey.
At this moment a native, on thy Cboppah
roof of one ofthe boats, with a rope in his
hand w hich he was slowly coiling tip, sur
veyed the sharks motions, with a look that
evidently indicated that he had a serious
intention of encountering him in his ow n
element. Holding the rope, on wli'wli lie
made a sort of running knot, in one hand,
and stretching out the other arm, as if al
ready in the act of swimming, he stood in
an attitude truly picturesque, waiting the
n-appearance of the shark. At about six
oi eight yards from the boat, the animal
rose near the surface, when the native in
stantly plunged into the vater, a short dis
tance from the very jaws ofthe monster.
The shark immediately turned round and
swam slowly towards the man, who in his
turn nothing daunted, struck out the i.rm
that was nt litirrty, and approached bis
foe. When within a loot or two of the
shark, the native dived beneath him, the
animal g-iing down almost at the same in
stant. The bold assailant in this most fright
lid contest soon r»appeared on the opposite
side of the shark, swimming fearlessly with
the hand at liberty, and holding the rope
behind his back with the oilier. The shark
which had also by this lime made his ap
pearance, again immediately swam towards
him, and while the animal was apparently
in the act of lifting himself over the low er
part ofthe native’s body that he might seize
upon liis prey, the man making a strong
effort, tlnew himself tq perpcmliculaily, and
went down with his feet foremost, the shark
followed simultaneously that 1 was fully im
pressed with (he idea that they had gone
down grappling together. As iaras I could
judge they remained nearly twenty seconds
out of sight, while 1 stood in breathless anx
iety, and 1 may add horror, waiting the re
sult of this fearful encounter. Suddenly
the native imide his appearance holding up
both his hands over his head, and calling
out with a voice that proclaimed the victory
he had won while underneath th<? wave,
“lan—tan!” The people in the boat
were all prepared : the rope was instantly
drawn tight, and the struggling victiiu,
lashing she water in his wrath, was dragged
to the shore and despatched.
When measured l;is length was found to
be six feet nine inches: his girth at the
greatest three feet seven inches. The na
tive who achieved this intrepid and dexter
ous exploit, bore no other m«rks id his fin
ny enemy than a cut on the left arm, evi
dently received from coming in coptact
with the tail, or some of tl;e fins ofthe an
imal. It did not occur to me to ask if this
was the first shark fight in which he had
been engaged; but from the preparations
aud the ready assistance he receive I from
his companions tn the boats I should sup
pose he has more (han once displayed the
same courage and dexterity which so much
astonished me. The scene was altogether
one 1 shall never forget. The nejghbor
iiopd of the combatants to the shore, for
they were only a few yards from it; ena
bled me to see what I have attempted to de
scribe, to the greatest advantage.
WIFE LOST.
Scene on a Steamboat—An actual oc
currence.
‘‘Which is tl:e (captain of'this boat ?” in
quired a tall athletic man, as he came up
from the gentleman’s < abin with gr< at pre
cipitancy.
“That gentleinan yonder,” spill a by
stander.
“Are you the captain, sir?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where is my xyife ?”
“Indeed 1 don’t know, sir—l have not
seen her, licit 1 know.”
“Now ctipttiiii this i.< too bad. I come
on board this boat last and paid you
six dollars passage |i>r myself and wife—
and 1 should like to know wheie my wife
has been put.”
“Have you beta in the ladjes cabin ?”
“Yes—but slip is not-tliere.” ;
I'IKLIStJI ft BY p. l. l<tOltlA»<>fV
A IIOLE NO.
“Shall I have the pleasure of the lai y S
name, sir?”
“Mrs, Mirah Smilh, the wife of Jerome
V. Smith, your humble servant.”
“Mary, (to the chambermaid) is
Mirah Smith in the ladies’ ettbin r”
“No, sir—l’ve enquired, and she is po(
there.”
“There —I told you so,” said Air Smith
in much uneasiness.
“Captain,” spid a wag standing by, (sup
pose John should ring the bell all through
the boat, and say —Mrs A)ira(> Smith,
who came on board last night, cannot be
found.”
“Thai’s a good idea,* echoed a hundred
voices a| once,
So J hn—a cream colored [ucon, with
an eye like lago’s—set his bell a going cry.
ing aloud at every interim—“ Lost Mis,
Mirah Smith. Any person who knows
where she is, will please hapd her up to tins
captain’s Office, for the benefit of her dis
consolate husband.’
John baw led through the boat, some
what to the amusement of tjie passengers
and finally reached the upper deck, when
in passing the slate rooms in a sort of des
peration for his want of success, he raised
his voice to the stentorian pitch pf a Ki;m
'J IIF BOOK AGENT.”
As the sun was setting after one of lhp»e
hot dry and sultry days in July, when the
thermometer rose to 90, a tall lantern jawed,
gamble shank’ fellow entered the xillagts
in theokl cqinmonwcahli of Massa
chusetts. He was dressed in the pccplinp
custom of a yankee backwoodsman—hav
ing on his head a squirre. skin cap, aud pn
his feel a pair <>( doubled soled cow-hide
boots, which would laugh out of counte
nance a Kamschaikian winter. Op his
arm was carefully folded a |jutter-nut color-J
ed frock coat and in bis hand was an extra
shirt and dickey, tied up in a cotton hand
kerchief. On liis entrance into the village
he inquired sos the clergyman, and on be
ing told wherp he might be found, started
posthaste for his residence. Arriving at
his house, be found him enjoying the cup]
ofthe twilight in his garden.* Stepping
the fence lie inquired if the Rev. Mr.—
:iv<d in the m-igbborhood? The clergy
man told him that he did, and that be was
the individual to whom he alluded.
'1 ain dreadful deaf,’ said the fellow;
you must raise your voice, iq: 1 can’t Im ar
a word you say.’ The clergyman pm l.js
lips to his ear, ami repeated the dechirmimt
that he was the person fin whom he enqui
red, and asked liim the object pf his call
'Tis bin an awful hot day,’ said the Irajel
ler,’ but it grows a little cooler as thp sun
goes dow n.’ The clergymai) again enqui
red liis business at the tqp ofhis lungs.
thank you a thousand times’ said the
stranger. ‘J reckoned to have got tn
the tavern by jundown, but I hav’nt, and
as I’m prodigjously tuckered out, I'll stay,
aud thank ye into the bargain,’ f< {lowing
the clergyman in the house. The clergy?
man handed him a chair, qud after lay jug
dow n his coat in a corner of the room jnid
fanning himself awhile with his cap, !.«
took his seat. The clergyman, in a loud
voice asked him to what part of the comi
(ry he was travelling? ‘Any thing that
comes handy,’ lie replied ‘l’ ln a former
when at home, and not mut.li used to nick
nacks- I can eat any thing hut cold pprk
aud cabbage, and that | nevgr could rat,
since I Was a boy—but don’t pm yourselves
out ol the way at all about supper.’ The
clergyman inquired agqjin if l Jtt was fronj
Vermont.
‘ I’m getting subscribers,’ fora lahiablp
book; it is the works of John Bunyan or
Jonathan Bimyaii,—l don’t remember cx 3
actly which ; but J’d see,’ pulling out h’is
prospectus and handing it tp the clergy
man. Ihe clergyman, after looking at
it, handed it back, and remarked that he
did mH wish to subscribe. ‘Q yes,’ lie re
plied, many folks don’t keep such thing? iy
their houses,’ pulling out jiis pen and ink
and offering it to the clergyman, '{'he
clergyman raised his voice to the hignrjt
key, and said he must be excused from sub
scribing. ‘Justus well,’ said tjie agent, 'I
w rite the natnes of half my subscribers
myself,’entering the tiame of the clergy
man in bis book.
The clergyman, despairing of making
the fellow hear any thing, concluded t»>
get rid of l|it» the easiest way he could.
He therefore furnished him with a good
supper and bed. Ju the morning told
him, in as loud a voice as he >vas master of,
that he did not want the wink; and should
not take it. ‘Don’t give yourself any un
easiness about it,’ said the agent. ‘1 never
forget subscribers, and especially ministers
—you shall have it in due time. Thanking
him for his kindness hud hospitalitv, and
bidding him good morning,, lie trudged off
as last as his legs could can v him.
About a moiitli after, at the ministry tq
aneighboiiiig town, he was i« a little
surprised to tni el his old guest, the deaf
b>ok agcqt. He was dressed much in
s ime manner as before ; but was seated py
a box, the forepart oi a one horse wagop,
draw n by a horse that would require stall
feeding to make much of’a show. Com
ing up with him, be jumped out ofhis
MRigon,shook him cordially by the hand,
aud said he was going directly tp his house
with his books. Tlie clergyman said lie
must be excused from them, as |ie had a
set already pn hand. ‘No matte? said the
agent,’ '1 am going right by your house,
and can leave the books ami take the mer
ney o! your wife, ‘he getting hj® W!, g”P
and dtivingofl. The clergyman, fearigg
his family might lake the books in bis ab
sence, put about for home, anil arrives)
just as the agent was driving up. Seeing
the clergyman had returned lie said fyot|
came back for fear of fain, I‘spose: ant)
it does look us though we were going ",
have a long storm, taking the bopjis frtww
his box and carrying them into (It? bottfi
The clergyman told him qs loud as h
