BY DAVID OVER.
' - ' PO E T :
From the Boston Courier.
THE COMET.
Yon ear of fire, though veiled by div,
Along that field ot at auiing blue,
tt'iifcl. twilight fol led carte u g: ay,
A world-wide wonder, flew.
Duly in turn each oil) of light,
From out the daikening concave broke:
Fve's glowing herald swam in light.
An I every star awoke.
The Lyre rc-!>truug its burning chords.
Streamed from the Cross its earliest ray,—
Then rose Aitair, more sweet than words
On niu.-ic's soul could say.
Ti.ry, from old time in course the same,
Famili ir set, familiar rise ;
tint what art tliou, wild, lovely flame.
Across the si irtled skii I
Mysterious yet, as when it burs?
Through tile vast void of nitiir? burled.
And shoo!? their shrinking hearts, it first,
The F.i'h- rs of the world.
No curious sigetiic scroll Unseals, —
Vain quest to bullied science given.
It- orbit ages, while it wheels.
The inir.iCie ct Heaven.
in nature's plan thy sphere euknovv.:.
Save that no sphere His order m .rs.
Whose law could guide thy path alone.
Iu realms beyond the stars.
God's minister I We know ro more
Of thee, thy frame, thy mission stiil.
Than he who watched thy flight, of yore,
On the Chaldean Lid.
Yet thus, traiiscendant from thy l.la/e
8.-anis light, to pierce tnix mortal clq i ;
Scarcely a foot on thee eontd ga/e
And say—There is no God !
HYMV
Great Go 1 of nations ; now to thee
Our hymn of gratitude we i ds :
With humble heart, and !■ ding knee.
We otf r thee our song of pr iis.,-.
Thy name we bless, almighty Gol,
For all the kindness timu hast shown
To this lair land the pilgrims trod—
This land v\v lbndlv call our own.
IF re freedom spreads her banner wide,
And casts her soft and hallow'd ray ;
Here thou our fathers' steps didst guide
In safety through their dang'rous way.
We praise thee that the gospel's light
Through all our land its ladiance sheds;
Dispels the shades of error's night,
And heavenly blessings round us .spreads.
Great God, presetva us in thy fear;
In danger still ou; guardian he ;
O, spread thy truth's bright precepts hero ;
Let all the people worship thee.
A M ERIC AN CHARACTER.
The character of the American is slauiped
with many and lold peculiarities. Schooled or
unschooled, he never lacks capacity to accom
plish what he undertakes—whatever is possible
to man. lie has an instinctive ingenuity which
devises uew ways to accomplish everything, his
disposition is to cut loose from the unique and
oustotuaiy. Nothing deiigbts hiui so much as
experiment and hazard, and experiment lie will,
though the price he annihilation. What has
made this Anglo-Saxon so different from his
progeniior, so utterably unconscr votive l No
thing but the force of circumstance-.
"Necessity is the mother of invention," and
of course the inspirer of the inventive, and who
has had more necessity to battle than the Amer
ican? A voluntary pilgrim to the wilderness,
his life lias been moulded aud sttengliciiel,
and his wits sharpened by the vety vicissitudes
of his condition. It i nlniort strange that
such an ordeal has not left him uuoouth and
savage, but instead of this he is the frankest,
most generous, and, if he chooses, the most pol
ished of men. He who has felt peril, want and
suffering, knows how to exercise human sym
pathies. The wilderness, rugged life, and com
parative outward poverty of the American has
ruade him independent, iugenious and noble,
beyond tho measure of riboDs and titles. He
i - boru and bred to think and act for himself
as soon as he is clear of the nursery.
And what giants have grown of bis stock—
men exalted in every art and profession. He
roes, sages and bards, and best of all, hard
working men, proud of their crafts and cal
lings. Energy and endurance are synonymous
with tho Auitriean. These push him to the
outermost verge of things. They unfurl his
sails in iHe remotest seas, and pluck imperial
trophies for him from battle fields. By tho
qualities of his social organism and civilization
he is carnivorous. lie swallows up, and will
coininue to swallow up, whatever comes in con
tacit with him—man or empire. Whoever
closely seans tho aspect of the genus man OD
earth, cannot fatl tm-see tbat the Auglo-Saxou
ti destined to conquer the world-—and the A
merican branch ot the family will get the larger
share of the spoil.
A Weekly Paper, Devoted to Literature, Politics, the Arts, Sciences, Agriculture, &c., dec—Terms: One Dollar and Fifty Cents in Advance.
INDIAN BRIDGE.
KELATRD BY DANIKL WKBSTTR
Many years ago there lived !i man in Oonte
cock by the nauie of Bowen—Peter Bowen—
not a man of largo substance, but still what wc
would call in New Hampshire, "a fore-handed
tuuu." Living on the frontier, lie necessarily
ei-nic much in contact with the iudians—some
times in hostile contact. Fearless, and abound
ing in resources, he had gained a uanie among
them, and there were few of their braves who
would have cared to meet him single-handed.
Not naturally quarrelsome, he had avoided tin
necessary hostilities with the savages, and, in
deed, Lad gained no little of their good will by
unny acts of generosity, for with no people
more than with them, were bravery and libe
rality held in high estimation.
Sabatis aud Plausawa were the two princi- j
pal chiefs of the tribe, the smoke of whose
wigwams arose nearest the settlements of the
English colonists. The first was of a sullen
and vindictive disposition, and when excited by
drink, intractable aud savage. Plausawa was
of a milder temperament, aud felt better
disposed towards the English, lie had iutcr
ctiauged kind offices with them, and warned
them more than once of plots ag .instj-their
safety.
At this time tliero was a truce between the
Indians and the colonists, and both parties had
agreed to punish anv violation of it. If an In
dian should be killed by an Englishman, the
colonists promised to treat it as a capital crime,
and the Indians, on their part, made a corres
ponding stipulation. There was peace between ;
the crowns of Fraucc and England, and their
respective colonies affected to keep it at least
in name
Relying upon this present good under taiid
ing,Sabatis and Plausawa one day made a hunt
ing excursion upon the shores of the Merrimac,
in which they" were very successful. They
were encountered, late in the afternoon, loaded
I with the skins of the animals they hud killed,
by two EuglislituoD, somewhere near Boseaw
cn. Sabatis had procured drink from the set
tlers, always too eager to barter it forjurs,
and was in a quarrelsome humor. Plausawa,
' therefore, eatuicDed these men against any at
tempt to trade with hiru, and advised them to
go home. "There are others of the tribe
. about,*; lie said, '-wfio wquld < support SabaiNU
in any hostile demonstration." As they wo;
departing, Sabatis cried out to them, "we want
rio more of you English here! I have evil in
my heart, and if you do not leave our ten Do
rk, and abandon them forever, we will take
; i sod and life from you. We will drive the
I 1.1: faces into the t:~ Vr*:!*?F Otic of the
! men replied, "there is no fighting uOW between
1 us. English and Indian- ate ail broikrs."—
i They had cot goDo far on their homeward road
before they met Peter Bowen, ar.d telling him
I "f the threats of Sabatis, endeavored to per
* suade him to accompany them home. Bowen
| liughed. "Threatened men," he said, "live
1 long. I would not. prize a life heid at the mer-
I' cy of these savages. I will meet them in
friendship or tight, as best suits them." The
Indians had got into their canoe before heover
| took them, and were going up the river. Bow
jen hailed theui, and urged there to go to his
house, where they would have a frolic aud pass
i the night. After some reluctance on the part
j of Plausawa, they assented, and accompanied
! Bowen to bis house in Oontocock. Bowen had
| had many a deep carouse with the Indians and
understood how to manage them,
j He set before them drinking cups and bot
j ties of rum, and leaving his wife—a woman as
j fearless and courageous as himself—to cntgr
| tain them, went out of she room on pretext of
i going to the well for water. But while he was
•ibscut be drew the charges from their guns,
which they had unsu-peetiugly left behind the
door in tin entry. The uight wore on, aud
; their potations were deep and oft repeated.—
iAt first the Indians wero groatly pleased—
I laughed at Bowen's stories, and called him
brother; but by degrees, as they drank more
I deeply, they began to grow quarrelsome, abu
; seif the English and threatened their extertni
j nation. Boweu affected to treat their throats
as jokes, but had all the while a watchful eye
*on their motions. At last the sun rose and
j the ludians said it was time to go home. They
■ had not drank so much but that they could
walk as well as ever—the rum had only affect
ed their brains. Bowon consented to take his
horse ai.d carry their baggage to the place
I where they had left their cauocs. On the way
: Sabatis proposed to run a race against Boweu
uiouuted; but the latter, judging from Sabatis'
eye and manner that some mischief was intend
ed, at first declined to run, but finally, on
much urgiDg, consented to run, taking howev
ci, good care to let the Indian outrun the
horse. Sabatis seemed much pleased with his
victory, and laughed heartily at Bowen for
owning so sorry an animal. For awhile they
travolled along aftdr this in apparently good
humor, until Sabatis, as they were neariug the
river, tnrned around to Bowen and said, "the
pale face must walk the woods with us"—that
is, go with them as a prisoner. Bowen replied,
; in seeming unconcern, that be could not walk
the woods, for Indians and Englishmen were
now brothers. Whereupon Sabatis proposed
a second race, and that Bowen should uuload
his horse and start a little beforo him, "be
cause," be said, "the horse of the pale face
could not rur. so fast as Sabatis." This Bow-
I en refusod to do, bat consented to start at the
same time. They started, but the horse had
not gone far ahead of the Indian before Bowen
heard a gun snap, and looking around, saw the
smoke and the gun pointed at him. He turn
-1 eel, and buried his tomahawk in the Indian's
| bead. Ho then went back to meet Plausawa,
* who, seeing the fate of his friend, took aim at
i Bowen and fired; his gun flashed. Then he
BEDFORD, PA., FRIDAY. OCTOBER 29, 18-58.
begged Bowen to spare bis life, pleaded his in
nocence of Sabatis' intent, and called to utind
the tunny kind acts he had done to English
men, the lives of many whom his intercession
had saved ; but ali in vain. Bowen knew very
well th it there never would be safety for him
sa long as the friend of Sibitis lived. One
must die, and to secure himself, it was neces
sary to put BJaovtwa to death, and as tite lat
ter turned to fly he struck it is tomahawk into
tiis skull, 'l'he dead bodies he hid under a
small bridge, ever after called Indian Bridge,
where they were discovered the next spriug.
The colonics at this time were desirous of
being ou good terms with the Indians, for
whenever war broke out between them, the lat
ter were always aided by the French in Cana
da. The sudden disappearance of men of
such note as Sabatis and Plausawa, occasioned
the borderers no little alarm; for some time
their deaths were undiscovered, and when the
manner of it became known, serious apprehen
sions were felt of Indian retaliation. Bowen
was arrested and placed iu Exeter jail, and the
Indians were assured that proper puuishmcut
should be iuflicted on him, according to the
terms of the treaty. But the people of the
vieinity assembled hastily aud in large force,
broke into the jail aud released the prisoner.—
In those days killing Indians was no murder,
and in this case, Boweu's Irieuds maintained
that the act was committed iu self-defence; so
perhaps, it might be considered, upon Bowen's
account, without any rebutting circumstances.
The fact that the Indians had large quantities
of furs in their canoes, which Bowcu appropri
ated as opima spolia, threw some suspicion up
on his proceedings. However, be returned
quietly to his home, aud as the French war,
called in Europe the Seven Years' War, soou
after broke out, no further notice was taken of
the act, and Bowon died at a good old age.
But the most extraordinary circumstances at
tending the transaction was its effect up.rn
Buwen's sou —a youth at tlio time of sours
dozen years. Either remorse at the father's
deed, or apprehension of ludiau revenge, kept
his mind iu continual agitation, and he grew up
a reserved, wayward, incomprehensible person.
He shuuned tutereourso with his fellow men,
guarded his house with redoubled bolts, and
slept with his gun beside hiin. Soon after he
had arrived at man's estate, his anticipation of
Indian revenge had become a tnooomauia.—
Ho heard their voices in the sigh of the winds,
t}ie rus l Imp ' ,f k*tf <■ -rt *#?Sfcte ,
thy tread, aud lie saw their dusky faces iu the ,
waving grain. Ho dared not leave his house i
for fear of an ambush, or look out of a win
dow lest a bullet ot the lurking toe should hit
him. Mortal fear sat at his table, pursued
him like a phantom through the day, and in the
deep watches of tho uight startled hiui frour
Jij unwholesome slumbers, This became, uf"
icr a while unendurable, and he at last deter
mined upou an net of seemiog desperation.—
Consulting or informing none of his friends, he
left his home, journeyed into Canada, and sur
rendered himself to the tribe of the murdered
men, as an expiatory sacrifice. The Indians,
barbarous often in the treatment of their cap
tives, seldom maltreated a voluntary prisoner.
They took Bowen into tueir tribe, anu the
mother ol the slaughtered Piausawa adopted
him as her son. He became acquainted with
their customs, joined their expeditions, partici
pated in their fortunes, aud, indeed, became
ore of them. In his old age, however, a de
sire to revisit the scenes of his childhood over
took him, and the Indians interposing no obsta
cle to his wishes, he left them, his ludiau
mother being dead, returned to Coutacoek, aud
died in peaoc among bis kinsfolk aud neighbors,
to whom his adveuturous life furnished a never
failing theme of interesting conversation.
AN ENGLISH LADY'S EXPEHIENCE IN A
MEBICA. — A traveled London lady gives the
following incident, among others, to a circle of
alruiriug friends,on her return from Ameri
ca:
"i was a diuiu' ha board a first-class steam
boat on the Hoeigoh river. The gentleman
next ipe, on ury right, was a southerner, and
the gentleman on my left was a northerner.—
Well, they gets imoa kind of discussion ou the
habbolition question, when some 'igh words
hariz.
"Please to retract, sir,'said the south
erner.
' 'Won't do it,' said the northerner.
''Pray, ma'aaa,'said the southerner, 'will
you 'ave the goodness to lean back in your
ch iirl
' 'With tho greatest pleasure,' said 1, not
knowin' what was a cornin,' when what does
my gentleman do but whips out a 'oss pistil, as
long as my harm, and shoots my left-'and neigh
bor dead ! But that wasn't hall, for the bullet
coruiu' out of the left temple, wounded a lady
in the side. She buttered an 'orrific scream.
"'Pon my word, ma'am,' said the south
erner, 'you needn't make so much uoise about
it, for 1 did it by mistake.'
"'And was justice doue V asked a horrified
listener.
" 'Hinstantly, dear madam,' answered Miss
L . 'The cabin passengers set right to
work and lynched him. They ! ung 7 im in the
lamp-chains, right over the diniu'-table, and
then finished their dessert. But for my part,
it quite spoiled my happatite.' "
"Blast your stiDgy old skin !" said a runner
to a competitor, before a whole depotful of by
standers !
"I knew you when you used to hire your
children to go to bed without their supper, and
after they got to sleep, you'd go up aud steal
their pennies, to hire them with again the next
night."
Girls sometimes put their lips out poutingly,
because they are angry, and sometimes because
| their lips are disposed to meet yours half way.
PRWAMTf.
BY J. I). WILLIAMSON.
It is liiuantuble to look abroad through this j
civilized and enlightened country, and behold j
how widely and how almost universal is the
prevalence of this sin. In the hells of deprav
i'y wItH: fo mar the face of this otharwis"
beautiful earth, the uutne of God may be heard
mingling w:-'h the obscene jest, the vulgar joke,
the riot of debauchery, and the swagger of iu-
I temperance. In the marts of business it is ut
j tered by thoughtless tongues amid tho chatter-
I ings of traoo aud the bargainings of avarice.—
In the fatuity and social circle, in tho solemn i
hall of leg.-dation, aud tho houses called seats
of justice, in the presence of magistrates and
judges, in the warehouses and workshop ; yea,
everywhere save only iu the pulpit, aud .some
times even there, the ho'y name of God ia used
with lightness aud irreverence—showing that
its mention awakens no veneration, aud conse
quently is seldom, if ever associated with the
idea of that a'l-gracious and over-present Be
ing to wtojrii it belongs. \
Nor hi this pi\<cico the less sinful because 1
it is so common. In all its forms and phases 1
it indicates a soul in wbicti the first step in the
religious life has not been taken. It speaks of
a heart hardened and constantly hardening; a
soul which his no positive appreciation of the
idea of fealty or duty to God, and which needs
but the occasion and the temptation to steep it
self in crimes of darker dye. Think not this
a mere cant of the pulpit. It is more than that j
it is a solemn truth. I do not say that such
an one must be an outbreaking offender, or what
the wot'lii cails a decidedly vicious man, so far j
as his outwr J acts are concerned; but Ido say j
that the strongest barriers against the floods of
iniquity are in his case brokeu down. He may j
pass among his fellows for a good man iu the I
main, having but one blemish in his character j
and that may be thought a slight otic, but the
truth is, it u a worm at the root of the tree,
and that tree cannot flourish til! the worm is
removed, lie may be a good husband and tuth- ;
er from the natural lovo he bears to his wife
and chiMren: he may be a good neighbor or
friend from natural kindness of heart; he may
be an honest man in his dealings front the con- ,
viction that honesty is the best policy; he may
be a gn-x! theologian from the perceptions of a
dear and discriminating intellect, aud may
wJJppWv ' _ ly ..
general idea of their respectability and useful
uess. All these things such a in>n may do,
froui one cause aud another; but the fatal effect
is, he will do nothing from a s-use of duty —
nothing because his duty to God requires it
aud yet this is the beginning of virtue.
, How, indeed can the profane m n talk into
nuritv t The admission Of thai word into his
vocabulary is an acknowledgment that there is
something due from hiui to his Creator and if'
anything is due, surely common civility and de
ceut respect for his name may be reckoned
among the debts. But if he refuses these, and
instead thereof uses Gcd's name in jest and
derision, aud in associations to which he would
not degrade tho name of a favorite servant,
much less that of a friend, how dare that man
talk of duty.
Besides all this the vice now under consid
eration is so destitute of an apology, so u'tcr
ly inexcusable, that its causes can be traced to
nothing else than an obliquity of moral vision,
or obtuseness of perception, which cannot or
will not see the right, or which cares not tor ;
the difference between the right ami wrong.— j
It therefore indicates a moral depravity, ticepoy
and more blameworthy than that which is ne
cessary to account for crimes which rank higher
in the catalogue of iniquity. There is no con
stitutional infirmity, uo hope of gam, no rag
ing thirst or appetite claiming satisfaction, uo :
love of honor or praise, no strong temptation J
moving a man to blaspheme tho name of God,
that may be urged in extenuation of the eriutc.
! It 13 but the free and unsolicited outgush of a j
| spirit that loves the wrong for its own sake aud j
I which wautonly insul's the majesty of heaven,
| without even the miserable apology of a pro- :
vocation or a shadow of reason for doing so. j
THE WHITER OF THE HEART.
Lot it never come upon you. Live so that i
good angels may protect you from this terrible
evil—the winter of the heart.
Let no chilling influence freeze up the j
foundations of sympathy and happiness from its
, depths; no cold burthen settle over its wither- j
od hopes, like snow on the faded flowers ; no
' rude blasts of discontent moan and shriek,
through its desolate chambers.
Your life path may lead you amid trials?
which for a time seems utterly to impede your
1 progress, and shut out the very light of heaven j
from your anxious gaze.
Penury may take the place of ease and pieu- j
: ty ; your luxurious home may be exchanged for j
i a single low room, the soft eouch for a siraw j
pallet—tho rich viands for tho coarse food of
j the poor. Summer friends may forsake you,
j und the unpitying world pass you with scarce
ly a word of compassion.
You may be forced to toil wearily, steadily j
on, to earn a livelihood ; you may encounter i
: fraud and base avarice which would extort the
j last farthing, till you well nigh turn in JEgust j
from your fellow beiugs.
Death may sever the dear ties that bind you 1
to the earth and leave you in fearful darkness. |
The noble manly boy, tho solo hope of your de- j
dining years, may be taken from you, while !
| your spirit clings to hint with a wild tenacily
; which even the shadow of the tomb cannot
wholly subdue.
But amid all the sorrows, do not come to
j the conclusion that nobody was ever so deeply
1 nfHicted as you are, and abandon every sweet
anticipation of "better days" iu the unknown J
future.
Do not lose your faith in hum-in excel! .nee i
because your confidence has been betrayed, nor j
believe that friendship is only a delusiou, ami i
iove a bright phantom which glides away from
your grasp.
Do not think you are fated to be miserable
because you are disappointed in your expecta
tions, and baffled iti your pursuits. Do not
declare tuat Go a has forsaken you, when your
way is hedged with thorns, or repine sinfully
when he calls your dear ones to the land be
yond the grave.
Keep a holy trust iu Heaven through every
trial; bear advers y with fortitude, and look
upward in hours of temptation .and suffering.
When your looks are white, your steps falter
on tue verge of Death's gloomy vale, still re- j
tain the freshness aud buoyancy of spirit,
which would shield you from the winter of the
heart.
SOLOMON'S TEMPLF.
Mr. Williams, the editor of the Utiea Her
ald, has reached Palestine in the course of bis
Eastern wanderiugs. The following is an ex
tract from his last ietter describing the "Holy
City."
"There was one "Holy Place' iu Jerusalem
I sought in vain to visit—the site of the Tem
ple of Solomon. It i>, as you know, occupied j
by the principle Mosque of the city—the :
Mosque of Omar. Including ihe enclosure, it •
occupies the whole southwestern portion of the j
city, and appears to be one of the ' most im- ;
posing edifices I have seen in the East.— !
Hitherto strangers have been permitcd to visit
it by paying a modest backsheesh of from five
to fifteen dollars each ; but of late the Mo
hammedans have been "growing no better fast"
in the matter of toleration, and this yeat have
saucily shut the door of the saercd edifice in
the teeth of the whole squad of "Christian
dogs."
"1 attempted to look into the enclosure, but
a Turkish sentinel offered to tuuko me a pre
sent of the contents of a very rusty uiusket,
while an old vagabond who stood Bear sug
gestively drew his finger across bis throat, in
dicating by such suggesturo that in case 1
should enter I should for tie futuio be re
lieved of the bore of carrying a bead upon my
-i—.t . T' ..... have
also placed some sacred edifice or other over
the tomb of David, so that no Christian is per
mitted to see ♦he resting place of the great
Psalmi>t. Ami 1 may heie remark, that there
is no sadder spectacle iu all this curse-stricken
laud than that of Arab-, and, if possible, still
more degraded Turks, lording it over the
sacred city. The ground once pressed by the
feet of Sel- ni >n ; and David, and Christ, now |
echoes to the tread of Moslem, and Janissary, |
and the drivelling Dervish. While the Jew is j
cowering in obscure places, the Moslem struts '
with the air of one who treads ou thrones ; j
while the Christian begs permission to kneel at i
the tomb ef his Saviour, ttie Turk disdainfully j
proclaims himself monarch of all lie surveys.
While the "Holy Sepulchre" is nominally in
the bamls of the Christian, Turkish soldiers j
keep guard at the door, and a Turkish Pacha 1
keeps the key."
'Did thee receive my remittance, Nathan, \
my son?'
'Yes, father.'
'Then, why did thee not buy a new coat?
thy present one is very fragile.'
'Why, the fact is, 1 left all my money at the
bank at New Orleans.'
'Ah, thy economy is certainly commendable,
in what oank?'
'I do not exactly remember iu what hank,
father. 1 know it was a very good one, as it j
bad a scriptural uame. It was —urn —let me |
-oe—it was the Pharaoh bank, I think.'
'Hon, banks are very uusafe, now, and thee j
i had better send for tby money immediately.'
Hon took a coughing spell.
i ~ " "**" ~ I
'Mother wants to know if you will please ;
| lend her your preserving kettle—'cause you j
j know, we wants to preserve.'
'We would with pleasure, boy, but the truth
! is, the last time we loaned it to your mother,
she preserved it so effectually that we have
' never nsed it since.'
'Well, you needn't be so sassy about your ;
1 old kettle. Guess it was full of holes when |
i we borrowed it, and mother wouldn't trouble
I you again, only we seen you bring home a new
j one."
Among the numerous casualties recently de- j
; tailed, the following is very melancholy :
'The young man who recently went on a bri-.
i dal tour with an angel iu book muslin, has late
| returned with a termagant in hoops.
A pcrsou named Owen Moore once left his
creditors somewhat unceremoniously upon which j
a wag wrote
Owen Moore has ruu away
Owin' more than he could pay.
An Indian was lately hung in Texas for the
murder of a child. When on the scaffold be
said he was goiug to Arkausas, and wished the
other Indians to send his gnu to him after he
should get there.
A dissatisfied wife says that her husband is
such a blunderer that he cannot put a new boot
or shoe on without "puttin his foot in it."
Three things that neter agree—two cats
. over one mouse, two wives in one bouse or tw.o
' lovers after one tnaidcu
VOL. 31, NO. 44.
| M.A?SAOTLE Of Fxv K Vol . NO GiaVS IN Sp'AIN ■
j—At Victoria the province of Catalonia, on
tiie 31st ult., as six young of { be a get of
j 2l, 21, If, lb, 12, 10 years, were walking
i homo tiom Mai us cotton mills, which arc sitna
; K,d oear the village of llodas, to Ingaroias,
they were stopped by two miscreants, who
pistol iu hand, obliged them t< tun: i n k t<>
a solitary, place in the r-erraduuwm>d ilr<
they were ordered to sit dowu, and while or.*
wretch kept guard over five, the other 1 0. tb<-
eldest a few paces off and plunged his long
Catalan knife into her thio.it. Hoi dying
shriek was heard by her comp* Lions, who one
by one, were led away and buivhcr"!#. The
youngest of ull, a child of ten jcais, ou re
ceiving a wound iu tbc neck Cell, feigning di-alh,
upou which the assassius, after taking the Ii
j the money the girls had about them went £ in
| the village of liouas where they lived.
The crime was perpetrated at night. The
wounded child remained motionless until day
light, when she crawled to a neighboring farm
house. When the authorities anived at the
seat of crime, they found the th;e eldcs;
girls dead, and two desperately wounded* —
The cause of this bloody act is said to have
been jealousy, erisiug from some display ot
; coquetry at a bail, the preceding Sunday, where
I the prettiest of the girls, the one 21 years of
i age, refused to uance with one of the assassians,
jor to return him a ring, or some other love
token, lie had then looked for an accomplice,
and found one iu a neighbor. The accomplice,
it appears from the deposition of the child,
; would have spared the younger cms, tut the
| other alleging the danger of discovery, in
! sisted upon their completing their butcherfs
! wurk.
HORSK AND A (Joitrst, TIED TOOKTUKU
i THREE W EEKS. — Early in August, Juo. llawie,
| a lad l(i years, living in Voicr.uo, Auiaopr
I county, who had vainly been endeavoring to
j obtain las father's consent to go to Frazer
River, disappeared, taking with him a valuable
horse belonging to the family. It. was sup
posed that he had started for Frazer River,
and so little anxiety was felt in regard to liiiu.
On the 15th of August his body was found iu
the Butte Pitch, a few miles cast of Jackson,
attached by a 'larriat' to a half dead horse."-
From appearances, the hoy, on the night after
leaving Lome, lay down to sleep, with the
horse lied to his person to preveur his t-scape.
The animal, becoming unmanageable through
! nieht. had run off, and
i dragged his master by the rope, until tne ooy s
I life was extinct. Afterwards, the horse had
! continued to graze around, dragging ti.u body
| with it for three weeks. Finally the corps had
1 becu dragged into a ditch where it Lccuue eu-
J tangled, "beyond the horses strength to extricate
i it. In hi.-i efforts to pull loose, the horse had
I cut his aeclt with tnc rope. The bcy'n remains
j were horribly mutilated. Most of Lis limbs
j were broken, and (be flesh rubbed bare from
j the body.
There are various ways of pronouncing the
word tomato, i formerly -poke ir as il spelt
tomato, until after the occurrence which J shall
now relate. Some- years since, while dining
at a hotel in this city. I accosted one of the
colored gemmsn as follows :
'Waiter, hand me the losiaytoes
The negro looked puzzled lor an instant, and
j glanced Lis eye op and down the table, uu fr! it
j lighted upon some potatoes, which he politely
i handed me. I rtj cted the dish, and said,
'I n -red for the lomaytocs !'
•Fes, Sa."he answered, his face assuuriug the
! same puzzled look as Lo glanced over the table
i uuti., seeing a dish of egg-plant, ho brought it
I to yie.
Now, as I am extiemeiy foui of this uolick us
■ vegetable, I helped myself plentifully fo it—
! when, thinking he had discovered what ! at first
I asked for, he leaned down and patronizingly
| whispered in tuy ear—
'We don't cali 'emdal Lure, 6*'. we calls'em
! cgg-p!ctr>fs. '■ .
, 1 will only add tuat when I asked for the
. '^^omtl{tuesses, ,, tbey were immediately handed
| to uu*.
A SHARP BARGAIN-
It was hard to catch 'Old Jack Jones' in a
place too tight for him to get out. Tne follow
ing occured recently at Ccdartown Court.—
There had been a hard frost the night before,
and some of the knowing ones prophesied an
i entire failure of the wheat crcp.
'l've got one hundred acres," sa)s old Jack,
I 'tLat I'll take one hundred dollars for.'
j 'Jack I'll give it, and hand you the money
j in an hour,' said Mitchell.
I Before tho expiration of an hour, a negro
j from the plantation reported the wheat unii:-
: jured, and Mitchell advanced, moueyaiu baud.
'Thank you,' says Jones. 'When will you
| take your wheat away V
'Take it away! Why, as souu as it is ripe.*
I— 'No, you don't, i ,>u luiis. out :t thia week,
j I want to plough up that flylu attd put it in
! corn.
_ .
A Frenchman built a four story house.—
! Being on the roofs of their respective house*
one day, the one on the low house exclaimed
to tho other :
'What for you buibi *o high tart-?'
To which the Frenchman replied, 'l)e ground
is very cheap up here.'
A SPECULATION. —Two brothers went iutoa
speculation. Oue west to Georgia to buy ft
farm, and shook hands with all the farmers and
and children on the route. In about two weeks,
the other followed with an itch ointment and
found a great demand for his remedy
j A miser glows rich by seeming poor: iße ex
travagant man grows poor by seeming licb