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About A Friend of the family. (Savannah, Ga.) 1849-1??? | View Entire Issue (June 22, 1850)
Jtfisrdlnitti. SHAM HAYS AND HIS BULLY RACE. Some forty years ago the mana gers ofa race course near Browns ville on the Monongahela, published notice of a race, one mile heats, on a particular day, lor a purse of one hundred dollars, free for any thing with four legs and hair on. A man it) the neighborhood named Hays, had a bull that he was in the habit oi riding to mill with his bag ot Corn, and he determined to enter him lor the race. He said nothing about it j to nnv one, but he rode him mound the track a number of tim *s on sev eral moonlight nights, until the bull hid the bang of the ground pretty well and would keep the right Course. He rode with spurs, which the bull considered particularly dis agreeable ; so much so, that he al ways bellowed when they were ap plied o his sides. On the morning of the race. Hays came upon the ground ‘on horse back'on his hull. Instead of a sad dle, he hid a dried oxhide, the head part of which, with the horns still on. he had placed on the bull’s rump. He carried a short tin horn ir bis hand. He rode to the judges stand and offered to enter his bull for the race ; but the owners of the horses that were entered objected. Hays appealed to the terms of the notice insisting that his bull bad [four legs and hair on, 1 and that herefore he had a right to enter him. After a good deal of cursin and discussin,” the judges declared themselves compelled to decide that the bull had the right to run, and was entered accordingly. When the time for starting ar rived, the bull and the horses took their places. The horse-racers were out ot humor at being bothered with the bull, and at the burlesque which they supposed was intended but thought that would all be over as soon as the horses started. When the signal was given they did start. Hays gave a blast with his horn and sunk his spurs into the bull’s sides, who bounded of with a terrible bawl at no trilling speed, the dried ox hide flapping up an down and rattling at every jump, maki ga combination of noi ses that had never been heard on a race course before. The horses all flew the track, every one seem ing to be seized with a sudden de termination to take the shortest cut to get out of ihe lied stone country, and not one of them could be brought back in time to save their distance. The purse was given to Ilavs, under a great deal of hard swearing on the part of the owners o{ the horses. A general row en sued, but the fun of the thing put the crowd all on the side of die bull. The horsemen contended diey were swindled out of the pnr-e, and that if it had not been for Hay’s horn and the ox hide, wnich he ought not to have been permitted to bring on the ground, the tiling would not hive turned out as it did. Upon this, H ivs told them that his bull could beat auv of their horses any how, and if tl e/ would put up a hundred dollars against the purse which lie had won, he woul take of the ox hide and leave his tin horn, and run a fair race with them. His offer was accepted and the money staked. They again took their pla ces at the starting post, and the signal was gi r en. Hays gave the bull another touch with his spur, and the hull gave another tremen dous bellow. The horses remem bered the horrible sound and thought all the rest was coming as before. Away they went again, in spite of all the exertions of their riders, while Hays galloped his bull around the track and again won 1 lie money. rr HTi that time they nicknamed him Shu m He afierwards re- Htnved Ohio, but his nickname s uc ■ to him as long as he lived. * Spirit of the Times. The gain ot one is the loss of another,’ is a proverb only true among thieves. t ANECDOTE OF DR. EMMONS. A correspondent of the Western Christian Advocate, gives the fol i lowing anecdote which illustrates at once the character of the Doctor, and the predjudicesof the times : The Doc tor, it is said, was a great lover of sweet sounds, and religious , ly excluded from his meeting house all instrumental music,except a little mahogany-colored wooden pitch pipe of the size of an “eighteen mo” book. A member of his choir had learned to play the bass viol, and, anxious to display his skill, early one Suudav morning most unadvi sedly introduced his big fiddle into the singing gallery. After the first prayer was ended and ilie Doctor began to handle his “Watts,” the boss violer lifted up his profanation, and, trying his strings, instantly ut tracted the Dr.’s attention. lie paused, laid clown his hymnbook, took his sermon from the cushion, and proceeded with his discourse, as if singing was no part of public worship, and finally dismissed the congregation without “note or com merit.” The whole choir was in dignant. They stayed after ‘‘meet ing” and all the girls and young men resolved not to go into the singing seats at all in the afternoon and the elders who did go there, bote the visages of men whose minds were made up. Services began as usual, in the afternoon. The Dr. took bis pbam book in bis hand, looked over bis spectacles at the gallery, and saw only a few there ; but nothing daun ted, read a psalm and sat down. No sound followed, no one stirred ; and the leader looked up in utter unsciousness. After a long and most uneasy silence, the good man bis face somewhat over-flushed, his manner rather stern, rend the psalm again, paused re-read the first verse and pushing up his spectales, look ed interrogatively at the gallery. The leader could bear it no longer, and half rising, said decidedly. “There won’t be anvsinging here this after noon.” “Then there wort tbe any preaching!” said the Doctor, quick as thought ; and taking his cocked hat from its peg, he marched down the pulpit stairs, thro’ the broad aisle and Out ot the house, leaving his congregation utterly astounded. We need not inform our readers that the big fiddle was not used in the singing seats afterwards. A Huckster Outdone. Awav down in the smart village of Cin cinnati, there vegetates a certain hotel keeper, who for cuteness is ‘some,’ you may depend. Having frequently been imposed upon, while supplying bis bountiful lard er, with articles of geese by ihe vide awake buckeye hucksters, he deemed it high time to try if cheat ing was not a game that two could play at. So one morning bright and early, he presented himself be fore one of the numerous farmers’ wagons surrounding the market square, with a— ‘l s-s-sav friend, g-got any g geese *?’ (the poor fellow has got Charles Lamb’s defect of speech.) ‘Yes, fine lot— * ‘W-well, I’ve g-got up at my ho house the al-firedest set of b-b-boys for g-geese you ever did see, and I want to h-h-head em off a few w witlisome tough ones—can’t you pick me out some old h-he fel lows V ‘Well, I don’t know but I might find one or two and so, turning over his pile of poultry, he collect ed some eight or ten geese, whose claims to the title of ‘old he-feliows,’ needed no corroborative fact, but might be pronounced clear and unquestionable. Mine, host eyed tbe progress of i separation with evident satisfac tion. ‘Are those all the tough ones you’ve got V ‘Yes I vow I did not know I had so many.’ ‘Well,’ was the reply, ‘I g-guess 111 take the o*other lot.* An Alligator Story. —There was an alligator who had taken up his abode near a ford, had given a dus ky acquaintance of mine a great deal of vexation, and had occasion ed much loss bv pulling into the water calves, and even cattle, that came down to drink. He told me that one dav being on horseback, he caught the alligator in shallow water a good way from bis accustomed pool; and having his lasso with him, hut attached to the pummel of his saddle, he galloped alter him as he was making for his haunt, and lassoed him round neck, and tried to drag him to a tree off the hank, but his horse was completely overpowered, and brought down on his k iees. He had no remedy left him but to follow the beast and try to get rid of’nis lasso, but it was too fast to the saddle, and he. was dragged right through the pool and out at the oilier side. He tried to cut life lasso with his machete, but it was so blunt be could not cut through the hide thongs, so, nolens volfiis , down stream they all went together’ through pools and shal lows, till he remembered he had a knife in the pocket of his sheepskin and after some trouble in getting at it managed to sever his tow rope. “Never, caballero,” said he, “did j a man take such a journey, some times in the shallows, but the bot tom all large stones and rocks; then splash into deep water’ then deep mud, then stones over again; and • i worse than all, l knew if 1 had gone a very little further, there was a fall of water as high as this rancho, . . i and I to have gone down it without | having even confessed myself. No, senor, there never was nor ever | will be again, such a paseo.”—By am s IVild L>fe in Central America. \ Duration of Life in America. —It is impossible while reading the in scriptions on the tombs in most of the burial-places, not to be pained bv the proofs they aflbrd of the shortness of human life in America. After reading the dates of births and deaths on these marble monu ments, we found, that out of home hundreds of those who lay under the soft and yielding turf, very few had seen more than forty summers and that by far the greatest propor tion had been summoned to their last account before their fifth lustre had been passed. We bad long before ibis remarked how rare a sight an aged man or woman was in America. There are no droop ing forms or decrepid figures,no gray hairs or wrinkled laces; in short, it would appear that age does not, and cannot exist in the busy growth ot this new country. All here is early, active existence, and the voting have enough to do, without beini* obliged to fulfil what would appear to iliem the unprofitable task of “rocking the cradle of declining vears.” There is a link wanting in the chain of human sympathies which connects the rising genera tion with the “long ago” past, when the time worn figure of the octoge narian is never seen “with solemn steps and slow!’ among the robust arid young —the prosperous and un thinking of the world. The Ameri cans, however have no past. The present is theirs; with its daily cares and pleasures; but they have so lit tle to look back upon that they na turally glance a-heap to what is to come. The future is before them, with its compound of vague hopes and fears, and they “guess,” and “calculate,” and “presume,” that it will be a glorious one when the brilliant past of the Old World shall he the only treasure to which it can lay claim. — Hesperos. To the Todies. —Kiel gloves may be cleaned with milk. Husbands may lie subdued by the use of broomsticks. Paint may be re moved from the cheeks by washing in strong ley, and to prevent the skin from becoming rough anoint it afterwards with lamp oil. Monkey jackets, it is said, will not be in fashion this summer. The Paris correspondent of the Allas writes: “The scientific world has been in a stale of commotion during the whole week in consequ ence of the publication of the discov ery of the long sou *ht-fnr secret ot fusion and crystallization of carbon. The tSorbbnne has been crowded tor the last few days lo behold the •/ result of ibis discovery in the shape ot a tolerably-sized diamond of great lustre, which M. Despretz, itie happy discoverer, submits to t he examination of every chemist or savant who chooses to visit him tie declares that so long ago ni last autumn he had succeeded in producing the diamond, but in such minute particles as to be visible only through the microscope, and, tearful of raising irony and suspic ion, he kept the secret until, hv dint ot repealed experiments and great labor, he had completed the one he now offers to public view, f our solar lenses of immense power, aided by the tremendous galvanic pile of the Sorbonne,have been the means of producing the result no.v before us. M. Despretz holds him selt ready to display the experi ment whenever it may be required. The diamond produced is one of the quality known in the east as the black diamond, one single specimen ot which was sold by Prince Ros toff to the late Duke of York for the enormous sum of twelve thous and pounds ?” The Dutch papers record the death of Nestor, a dog who has fol lowed the fifth division ofinfantrv, now in garrison at Maestrieht, in all the ir marches since 1527. He was with their regiment in the last cam paign, and at the siege of Antwerp lost a claw by a shot from a howit zer. Returned to Maestrieht, he spent there the last twenty years ot his life, and died on the 17th of March, in his twenty-fourth year Having lain in state a suitable time he was solemnly interred under the wall of the fortress. Six men car ried him to his resting place* *in a Collin lined with white. A dirge was sung over his remains, and a salvo announced the loss sustained by the regiment; the surviving dogs of the garrison wore on the occasion black collars and white ro settes. ‘i’he hound on whom the seniority has devolved, and who accompanied the corps, is already so dim-sighied that the soldiers of the Bth have finnished him with spectacles, by the aid of which he gravely paces the passages ol the barrack.— Egnlish Penny-a-lincr. Representative Government. —Dr. Cooper, of South Carolina, was the one of the best natufred old gentle men that ever lectured to mischiev ous boys. On one occasion, when lie entered the lecture-room, he found the class all seated with un wonted punctuality, and looking wondrous grave. Mischief, it was the cause, and it. was apparent they were prepared for a burst of laugh ter as t lie old doctor waddled along up to the professor’s chair, lor there sat an old he-goat, bolt upright, lashed in the chair. But they were disappointed of their fun, for, in stead of getting angry and storming at them, he mildly remarked “Aha! young gentlemen ! quite republican, I see, in your tenden cies—fond of a representative gov ernment —elevated one of your own number to the chair hev ! Well, well, it is all right. 1 dare ay the present itjaam’) ant can fill it as well as any of) ‘on. You may slistento his lecture to-day. Good bye ! Don’t feel sheepish about hi” And away he went, without leav ing a single smile behind him. “ Where’s the hoe ?” said a man to his negro servant. “ Wid de harrow ?” “ Where’s the harrow?” “ Wid de hoe.” “ Where are they both ?” “ Bof togedder; does you want to create a fuss wid a poor nigga dis morning?” Sympathy. —A mother, who was in the hgbit of askiti” her children o before they retired at night, what they had done during the day to make others hoppy, found her young twin-daughters silent. The older ones spoke modestly of deeds and dispositions, founded on the golden rule, “ Do unto others as you would they should do unto you.” Still those little bright faces were bowed down in silence. The question was repeated. “I can remember nothing good all this day, dear mother! only one of my school-fellows was happy, because she had gained the head of the class; and I smiled on her, and ran to kiss her. she said 1 was good. This is all, dear mother.” The other spoke sit!l more tim idly. “ A little girl who sat bv me, on the bench at school, had lost a hahv brother; I saw that while she studied her lesson, she hid her face in her book, and cried. I fell sorry, and laid my face on the same hook, and cried with her.— ‘Then she looked up and was com forted, and put her arms round my neck. But Ido not know why she said that I had (.lone her good.” The mother knew how to prize the flrst blossoming of sympathy. tShe said. “Come to mv arms, he loved ones! To rejoice with those who rejoice, and to weep with those who weep, is to obey our blessed Redeemer.” Pulpit Ingenuity. —A preacher in the neighborhood of Blackfriars, London, not undeservedly popu’ar, had just finished an exhortation strongly recommending the support of a very meritorious institution.— The congregation was numerous, and the chapel was crowded to ex cess The discourse being finished the plate was about being handed round to the respective pews, when the preacher made this short ad dress to the congregation : ‘ From the sympathy 1 have witnessed in vour countenances, and the stiict attention you have honored me with, there is one thing I am afraid of, that some of you may be inclined to give too much. Now it is my duty to inform you, that justice, though not so pleasant, should al ways he a prior virtue to gener osit3 r 9 therefore, as you will he wai ted upon in your respective pews, I wish to have it thoroughly under stood, that no person will think of putting anything into the plate who cannot pay his debts.’ 1 need not add that this produced a most over flowing coflection. O To Pi ‘cserve limns through the Sum- j m<r. —A writer in the “Gennessee Farmer” gives the following as his method of curing hams. It is an easy experiment, and deserves a trial by those in curing pork. “Make a number of common cot ton bags a little larger than your hams; after the hams are well smoked, place them in the bags; then get the very best kind of sweet well made hay cut it with a cutting box or knife, and with your hands press it well around the hams in the bags; tie your bags with good strings, put on a card the year to show their age, and hang them up in your garret or some dry room; and my word for it, ifyou let them hang for five years, they will be be better for boiling than on the day you pul them up. 1 have kept them seven years, and have some now that are four years old. This meth od costs hut little, as the bags will last for years. The only loss is the hay, and that the cattle will eat if given to them in the winter. No flies or bugs will trouble the hams if the hay is well pressed around them, the sweating of the hams will be taken up by the bay, and the hay will impart a fine flavor lo the hams.” The other day at the central crim inal court, a prisoner was upon his trial, and at the conclusion of it he was told that the jury had found him guilty. ‘Exactly,’ replied the culptit, that s just my conviction, l^ Improvement of Time. —\y e 10 consider time as a sacred 7/ ‘’ committed to us by God, a „d f employed in his Service. l ts[) Jj also be borne in mind by us k for this cause we must render'." 1 account at the last. In .},* atY . , e use of time we cannot be too dilicr Cnt ‘ we consider that it is precious, (W.! ing, irrecoverable when gone lhat for which we are account Although time is so preciou^ the proper use of which of ‘ much importance to men • are lew things of winch ih„ ‘ more careless and squander u j i more profuse hand. Hours U sometimes pass away without beill productive of any good deed; Uri j° in fact, some men’s lives upp ear ’ as a blank through the misemploy mentof their time. He who minutes and fragments of time pass unemployed, will soon fi n j that he has lost hours one] diy which he can never recall; and h, himself will be deficient in many things which it was once in his pow er to have obtained. I n order tha we may he able properly to i n . prove our time, and to make th e most of every moment, we must re gard order in its distribution. A Juvenile Trick. —ln the villa G of New Bedford, (says the p ro vi_ dence Herald) the boys were in t h e habit of playing at ball. A cross grained old chap, who kopt a crock ery store, was somewhat annoyed by the juvenile sport; and when ever a ball came in bis wav, would seize upon it, take it into his store, and clap it into the sto\e without ceremony. A few days since,hav ing made a prize of one of the offensive articles in question, and adopted his usual course, he soon found he had ‘caught a Tartar.’- A horrible explosion took place— the stove was blown ‘ sky high the store was shattered with the shock—and about forty dollars worth of crockery was clashediu pieces! It is unnecessary to add that the urchins, who had so often been interrupted in tiieir sports by ‘ Soursops,’ had charged their ball with gunpowder, by way of a prac tical hint to the old fellow to let them alone in future. Mercy. —Mercy is goodness in tears. Goodness extendeth a help ing hand to him who cun ulreudy walk ; Mercy to him that is pros trate and cannot rise. Goodness makes good men out of bad men. Goodness puts living man in a beau tiful garden and bids him dress it; Mercy erects the cross and bids dy ing man look and live. Goodness gives to the younger son the por tion of goods that fall to him; Mer cy sees the prodigal a great way oil, and has compassion, and runs, and falls on his neck,and kisses him. — He that makes light of goodness sins: he that makes light of Mercy is doubly damned.— N. Y. Recorder. A friend of ours was telling us not long since, of an acquaintance of his in Alabama, who was no'/ for his mendacity. He related him the following anecdote: Said someone to the liar, “d ----you remember the time the sta- ; fell, many years ago ? ’ “Yes,” said Mendax. “ Well,” remarked the other, have heard it was ail a decep^ r that the stars did not actually “ Don’t 3’ou believe it,” retur- Mendax, with a knowing J “ they fell in my yard as big ‘ goose aiggs. I’ve got one on yet, only the children played v so much they’ve wore the ■ pints off.” “ Bob,” said a tormenting 1! \ . •iff; to a bachelor acquaintance? don’t you get married ? ” “Weilldon’t know; cam 6 ’ I near it once ; just missed it* “ You did ? Let’s bear it-” I “I asked a girl if 1 shoU,< her home from a party one and she said ‘No! ’ if she’d • I yes, I think I should have 1 and married her. That’ s the ■ a rfF’ ■ est I ever came to getting 112 His friend was satisfied*
