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*
