The Potter journal and news item. (Coudersport, Pa.) 1872-1874, June 20, 1873, Image 1

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    Jno. S. Mann,
I Of'io: m O'mstrd Blotk.)
jno. S. Mann, S. F. Hamilton,
I'rnj>r;*t"r. PMither.
Attorney at Law ami District Attorney,
o * .-n MAIXSt.. (otrrf P"*l Q ce,
Solicits all Moines.- piN t ijnin.-i t > liis profession.
Sjieeia! aii'.-i:!i *s given to collect ions.
• n , nun. AMXWB* b *ss ;
Attorneys at Law and (Onreyaneers,
I' ee;i as proiupt-Y AU.'-'I-CI : .
Ar+Hur H. Katm,
OUT-. LUur*nc AgeM A A'ularr Public
( OrPEPspoltT, I'A.
7 'i:
i Office in Olmsted
Attorney at I -aw and Insurance Agent,
{orrt' F is niiins BLAI-r.)
£? !r j- House,
( . rr.or of SIR OMT and J A V T Streets
■•rv alien* i-n paid to tbf ••onvfnicncc ami
t j-fjno'i staMug ATTACHED.
Lewisv'lie f-?ote!,
( >rner of MAIN and NORTH Streets
it-- (; Stabling attached.
\ ST. ABOVK >E( (>XD, .ver French's store.
i: p; -.t'rjr, Olazlrar. G-a!-ne, ralclw'nlng.
i. ...-ni#htrir, Paper-hangißß, eta, done
w.'b, proirrrness and
dlspi-.r, N in nil ra-es, and
sat; fi<iN-in guar
a si t i e d.
v ;JI"P PAIXTS fcr -ale. 242?-"
V . ,:*-ox 4. S. MAVN
!'T • I F.v< TV
M 'diein- - In<>k-. stationery,
FFLI: 1303 P"-"FIU ?ILS. W'LI PAPER, ££.,
' - M n ■ ' Third St*.,
f ■ :■ .!/• •'!*•! 'UK? Th'rd.)
Snrgical and Mechanical Dentist,
•1 rt guaranteed to give satisfaction.
H. IA. Jcirter k 2 iting Machine,
SIXNEM AHONTNG, Caneron on., Pa.
. . nnjr MACHINES' IND OCN-RI Custom W .rk
* Willi Wli UAIl 1
HDUSP. S i n .
Ornamental. Hcrorattif & .^rrscc
with neatness and dispatch.
" e-ti-'n guaranteed.
' " M l'h HOUSE
■e is 'fnptly attended to.
D. B. NI;I:I'E,
■ ' W agon-maki *.g, BU' ksmithing.
, *' 1 eriage Trimming aud Repatring done {
"*'n : neatae** and durabilirv. ( harer-i
■■ t. 2425-I.V
'-.H-i *tuc.-, et .. finished to order,
111 -*• "iai, style and wortananstup, on
n: 1•• 1 t • fl a: ttn-olTce of ,lorß- i
- 1 Iter will rt**;ve proiupr = tteniiuu. !
itrlEU"ws ITEnvn.
I NVLat the Flowers Said.
A troop of maidens, with faces sweet.
Came brushing the deNv with their flying feet,
Bringing flowers as Friendship's token,
"You would love thein, if you only knew
How we've watched the hollows where thev grew
(Where only the wannest south winds blew*
Till their petals are almost open."
, I he bods were bound in a shining sheaf.
With the glossy, dark magnolia leaf
And a snowy ty of clover,
fresh." I said : but their loving thought
Was dearer than the flowers brought,
And ever with sweeter meaning fraught,
A- 1 eonned the lesson over.
The day had lieen hard and full of care:
XU '.igilt or beauty shone through the air
At. earth vttoo far from Heaven.
At night I "• '•' and r i e room
Was 1 allied in a tender, faint perfume.
Like the spice of Araby's choicest bloom.
< >r breezes from Beulah driven.
Mora broke —that pure and hallowed mora
With its risen C'hirit and the shining forms
Of aiigehs beside His pri-*ou.
My vase of buds—Lo. lieauteous!
Tiie rose- had burst with the early light,
And magnolia blossoms of creamy white.
Like stars, "mid ttieir dark leaves glistened.
Thus our little, careles- defsl- of love
May unfold in beauty and bloom above
Where God's dear sun is shining:
Our human days, that were gray and cold,
May be lovelier with their radiant cliann untold,
iTiii every cloud has a crown of gold
As well as a silver lining."
A Sa<i Story.
"Vat you doin', auntie ?"
"Writing letters,"' responded aun
tie. who, with a bunch of envelopes
and a quire of paper before her, was
very deep in the business indeed.
Then a fat dimple linger stole cauti
ously up, and touched a finished
S pile.
"One. two, three, four, amen!"
counted Tiny, who always cherished
, the belief that "amen" stood for a
full stop, and made use of it accord
"Vat for yon write letters.auntie?''
"Oh, to send to my friends.'" re
plied auntie, Wnding over her work,
and speaking in a voice that seemed
to issue from her eyebrows.
'Vhere i- your tfrL-uds?" persevered
j the child.
'EverywhereC's-iT i auntie, who hap
pened to be writing that word at the
j moment.
i* Does letters go everywhere?'
•Yes." responded auntie, absently.
'Would a letter go to papa?'
'Yes,' said auntie, again, who this
time was in the- very heart of a bril
j liant description, and did not hear.
"How do.-s this letter go?' urged
she again, this time touching auntie's
elbow byway of experiment. This
experiment, so far as auntie was con
cerned, resulted in a bold, upward
stroke, at an acute angle with the
last 'hair line." and she looked up.
really out of patience at last.
•Oh. Tiny," she said, 'what a little i
mis—" but she Stopped suddenly.
There was such a look of appeal in
the soft blue eyes fixed anxiously
upon her. that she could not find it
in her heart to visit any indignation
on that small golden head, so she on
ly kissed the rosy mouth, and said, j
•Auutie is very busy just now, dar
ling. and you mu-t not disturb her.
Another day she w ill talk to you just
as much as ever vou wish, 'llerel'i
• # I
added she, observing the look of oi
appointment that stole over the sun
ny face; 'see, I will make a letter of
you, and send you to papa.'
She took a postage stamp out of
the little drawer and parting the
flossy curls, pa-ted it right in the
center of Tiny's smooth white fore-1
'I don't know how letters goes,'
said the baby girl, chuckling de
lightedly. 'Does they fly!'
'Letters don't 'goes.' said auntie, j
laughing; 'they go through the post
office. Now run along and put your
self in a post-office somewhere and j
j ]>apa will be sure to find you.'
'Oh. ves! 1 know. I saw'd it—the'
- -
p OS '-office—me and papa—one day.
It's down the corner and around the
The clerk at the post-office heard
a piping voice and looking down, saw
a strange sight—a tiny creature, no
more than three years old. it seemed,
with jockey liat awry, its sweeping
plume tangled with golden curl>, a
po>tage stamp shining conspicuous
in the centre of a polished forehead
and wistful blue eyes turned up to
him, gli.-tening with a great hope.
'I want to go to papa," said the
The clerk smiled. 'Where is your
papa? asked lie.
•Gone to God,' said Tiny, sol
i emnly.
i The smile died out. They liad
sent many odd parcels to strange di
, lections through that post-office, but
never one to that address, thought
'I am a letter, and I want to go to
papa," pleaded the child, her yearn
ing eyes still fastened on his fiic-e.
•What is your name," asked the
But at that moment a blustering
business man. bound on some redress
of some grievance, pressed forward
and brushed her aside; she was
drawn into the current of people pass
ing in at one door and out at the
other, and before she could say an
other word, she found herself in the
street again.
There she stood irresolute. Her
heart ached with disappointment;
the passer—by jostled and bewildered
her she began to lie afraid and her
eyes filled with tears. Suddenly
there was a great outcry. The
frightened crowd fled into doorways.
A pair of runaway horses came dash
ing down the street.
The people uu the crossings rushed
on to the sidewalk. No one noticed
'fin unprotected little one standing
there, with blanched face and ees
wild with terror; no one heard a
feeble cry. A great burly boy. with
a basket on his arm. pressed forward
with blind speed, found something in
his pathway and bore it down—then
it was all over. The mad horses
were down the street and far away.
The relieved pedestrians came out of
their places of refuge. Only one did
not "move on."
A little lifeless figure, with wide
open blue eyes, long, soft golden
curls sweeping the curb-atone, and
dimpled hands thrown out—lay
where it hud fallen. The jockey hat
had rolled from her head, it> white
feather was draggled in the dust, but
; the postage stamp still clung to the
-rilling forehead. The crowd looked
on and noted it with curious eyes,
jlt had done its work Weft. Ah. Hie!
the little "letter" had gone safely to
papa and to God!— SL Louis Maya- •
GEORGE Henry Lewes has written
to Mature, complimenting Mr. Spald-;
ing on his paper on "Instinct," in
the F( bruary nunilier of MaemiHan's j
Magazine , and explaining ris own
position on that vexing* question.
Mr. Lewes holds that instinct i-.
lapsed intelligence: that is to say,
that what is now a fixi d and fatal .
action of organi-m, whether in the j
bee, in tbe ant or in the man, was j
formally a tentative and discrimina
tive action. He also attempts to dis
tinguish between instinct and im
pulse, regarding the one as a trans
mitted bent of organism, the other
as an individual experience. He has
I a work in press fully developing
these views.
IN HIS recent paper on the "Cul
ture of Flax in Prehistoric Times,"
Dr. A. Oswald Hc-er, of Switzerland. I
finds the original home of cultivated
flax to have been along the shore- of
the Mediterranean Sea. It is found ;
among the remains of the oldest
pile-dwellings in the Swi— lakes, and 1
i ' i
it is probable that the lake-dwellers
; received the flax plant from Southern
Bov LOST. —Here is a beautiful,
tender thought amplified with all the
feelings of genuine originality, indeed
% . .
so pure aiivl effortless ibat we feel it
i a duty to send it broadcast for the .
"culture ol the mind:"
He had black eyes, with long lashes,
red cheeks and hair almost black and [
curly. He wore a crimson plaid
jacket, with full trowsers buttoned
Ion; bad a habit of whistling and
1 liked to ask questions ; wn- accom
panied by a small black dog. It is
a long time now since he disappeared.
I have a very pleasant house and
much company. My guests say.
•Ah! it is pleasant to be here. Every
thing has such an orderly put-away
look nothing about under foot, no
dirt.' But my eyes are aching for
the sight of whittlings and cut pa
jer on the floor; of tumbling down
cards; of wooden sheep and cattle;
of ]>op guns, bows aiul arrow-s. whips,
tops, go-c. its, blocks r.nd trumpery.
I want to see lxnits a-rigging and
i kites a-ciaking. I want to see crum
1 bles oo the carpet and paste"spilt on
- the kitchen table. I want to see the
t chairs and the table? turned the
: wrong way about. I want to see
candy-making and corn-popping, and
>to find jack-knives fish-hooks
. among my muslins. Yet these things
Used to fret me once. They say,
. how quiet you are here! Ah! one
here may settle his brains and lie at
• i>eaee.' But my ears are aching for
. the pattering of little feet, for a
hearty shout, a shrill whistle a gay
. tra la la, for the crack of whips, for
. the noise of drums, fife* and tin
trumpets. Net these ; -
me nervous once. A manly figure
stands beside me now. He i- taller
than I, has thick whiskers, wears a
frock coat, a bosomed hirt and cra
vat. He has just come from college.
He brings Latin and Greek in lii
countenance and busts of the old
philosophers for tbe sitting room,
lie calls me mother, but A am rather
i unwilling to own him. He avers
that lie is my I>oy ard says he can
prove it. He brings his little boat
to show the red stripe on the sail (it
was the end of the piece) and the
name on the stern, Lucy Lowe, a
little girl of our ueigi bor. who, f-e
--cause of her long curls and pretty,
round face, was the chosen favorite
of my boy. The curls were long
since cut off and she ! •- grown to a
tall, handsome girl. How his face
red ens as he shows me the name on
the l>oat! Oh, 1 see it 11 as plain a
il'it were written in a book! My lit
tle boy is lost and my big boy will
soon lie. Oh, I wish he was a little
tired boy in a long wlii'e night gown
j v o on
lying in his crib, with ne sitting by
holding his hand in mine, pushing
the curls back from his forehead,
watching his eyelids droop and lis
tening to Ins breathing. If I only
; had my little boy agaii . how patient
I would l>e! How m.ich I would
hear ami how little would I fret and
scold! I can never have him back
again! But there are still mmi+er
who have not yet h t their litth
; bov 1 wonder if tiny know they
are living their very b( -t days; that
| now i- the time to really enjoy their
children! I think if I had lieen more
to my little boy I might now Ix
more to ray grown up one.
. o
A Tunnel from Jersey City to New-
A bill w*as introduced Friday, in
j • I
i tho New York Legislature (certain
. !y one huge enough in its scope and :
intention), proj -cd ly Senator Gra- j
iianu providing for a tunnel under
the Hudson river, between New York
city and New Jersey, fir tho purpo-e
of allowing the transportation ol' j
freight and passengers. The Hod
son Tunnel railroad e mipany is the
designation of the corporation au
'horized in this bill, under the super
vision and direction ol three practi- !
cal engineers, who shaH l>e apjxiinted
commissioners for the j urpose, two j
by the Governor and ot by the May
tor. to commence a railway from a
point oOUO feet easter!; of the North
river and between Chambers and
; Fourteenth street, an underground
railway, to run under the bed of the
Hudson river and ceanect with a
-imilar railway on tk Jersey .-ide.
i The railway is to possess all the
Iowers granted under the general ,
railroad law. Notably excellent pro- j
vii< ns of the bill re-qi re the approv-;
al by the Maj or and Common Coun
cil of all the acts of tie commission
ers and the executioi of a bond by :
the company l>efore work is com
! mcT ced. holding the Company re. i
-ponsiMe for any daimge to corpora- :
| tion or property hol lers.— NetcarL.
; Advertiser.
A CORRESPONDENT ot'the American
Saturalist calls attention to the se
conl growth of trees during the same
season. Bome trees make only one
growth. The horse chestnut, for in
stance. as sooa as it completes which,
makes a terminal bud and ceases
growth for the season. The -cales
which form this bud are modified
leaves- If, however, the leaves of
the horse chestnut ae plucked ofl
before this t iTiiin: l bid is quite ma
ture what would be Jud-scales be
come perfect leaves, nd the horse
chestnut goes on a. 1 .v.ake- another
growth often endujg in Howes - in the
; fail of the year, iutcad of the mxt i
i ! spring, as would Ve the case if the
e plant had matured itsfir-t-born leaves
c in tlx- natural way. Other trees nat
e urally come nearly to rest by liiid
.l summer; oi which the Norway and
s sycamore Nuaples are given as fn
- -lances. Ihe leaves are nearly traus
, formed to bud-scales again; but bc-
L fore they quite reach this condition
t they go on to a perfect It-:;f growth
r again and make quite an addition to
i the stem-length before the final grow
r tug season closes. There are vet
i other trees which do not alter the
of the leaves a lout midsum
mer but only produce them closer
■ together on the -tem—that is to say.
r in botanical language, the internodes
i approach. But about this time the
- leaves gradually increase in size and
. the internodai spaces increase in
width. By the fall these leave? are
i very large, usually much larger than
. any produced in the fir-t or spring
cycle of grow th. The apple tree,
i Cottonwood and Carolina poplars are
i named a- instances of this kind of
grow th. Some appear to make three
growths a year. Some pines do this.
When this occurs in the pines the
j cones are borne on the ends of the
first evele or wave of growth, one or
two "tht-r waves following. Some
pines make bnt one of tbe-e yearly
growths. and this explains the divi-:
sion h\ scientists of pines which are 1
terminal-flowered and pines which
have the cones lateral. The writer
gives no explanation of the law- of
these growths. He thinks it i? hard
ly extra nutrition, notwithstanding
it i- the most vigorous shoots which
make the second growths. He con
cludes this from the fact that two
English oak trees about twenty jears
old, side by side, one usually making |
two growths a year and the other
three, have trunks both of about the
i same size.
Tba story of Rod ders.
One of our family pajiers preaches
a strong tvuijicrarice sermon by j
simply telling the story of a woman
who. after struggling with the pre
jternatural strength ol" a loving wife
and mother for years against the de
mon of drink which posse-sed her
1 husband, conquered it and made him
j once more a free man. In his last
j illness brandy was prescribed, which
he was strong enough to u-e onlv as
a medicine; but after his death she
"turned to it in her grief and died
not many months later, a hopeless,'
, helpless drunkard."
i Let u- tell a companion story a
true as this, but of as dilferent a com
plexion as daylight to night. A few
years ago, on any sunny morning, a
heap of filthy rags might be seen I
stretched on some bales of a paper j
warehouse in a neighboring city,
with a strong smell of stale tobacco
and whisky hanging aliout it. Turn- '
jit over (which jou could do as i
though it were a log. any time after'
jlO o'clock in the morning), yon
I would find the swollen, purple face
j of what had once been a handsome
young man, but there was little hope
that the bleared eyes or thick tongue
would give an intelligent answer.
The porters passing by would push i
him aside, but not roughly. The
time had been when he had been a <
jolly, generous young fellow and a <
' favorite in the office. "Young Ilodg-! <
M-rs;" some one would give you hi- :
! history in five minutes: "Taken to!
; rum—no chance—pour devil. StoJteß •
( the proprietor) could not turn him >;
; out to starve, so still ga\e him a!;
nominal salary and suffered him to :
, 1
| hang about the house lest he should i
take to worse courses than drinking." 1
There were hints, too. of a widowed j 1
mother, away off in the country, who !.
had been depending on him and at
sweetheart, a pretty, clinging little <
girl, both of whom long ago he bad
abandoned. But there was nothing i
to be done. The end, through the j i
usual horrors of delirium tremens, t
was apparently not far oil'. 1
One day, as Rodgers was, creeping (
to the nearest bar for his morning
bitters, a whom he barely knew ]
I \ sight, took him by the elbow and i
walked with him into a quieter street, i
"They tell me you are Richard Rodg i
ers' son." he said. "Dick Rodgers 1
was the only friend I had for years. <
and for his sake I'd like to save his i
boy. Are you w iiling forme to try?" ]
i "Oh. you can try," muttered the lad } <
■ with an imbecile laugh. This name
• less friend, nothing daunted, took
him to a chamber in his own house
and put him to !ed. There he and
his sons kept watch and guarded this
poor wretch for months, like a pris
oner, keeping liquor from him and
trying to supply it by medical treat
ment. A physician be employed, but
he was unable to pa\- for a nurse.
Any one who has had to deal with a
victim of mania-a-potu can guess how
difficult and loathsome a task he had
set himself.
Ungrateful enough it was at first,
fir Rodger- struggled against Lis
tormentors w-Ith the ferocity of—ju*t
what he was—a starving animal. As
1 reason loogan to return and his un
natural strength to vanish, he would
beg them in his intervals of reason
I not to fail him. but to work out the
experiment either to succes- or death.
"It is my last chance," h would cry.
"for God's sake be patient." This
friend, with his son, did work it
through all the foul, unmentionable
details, and the end was not death,
but success. "How soon," asked a
friend of Rodgers afterward, "were
you trusted alone?'' "Not for two
years." he answered, laughing. "1
was out of jail but in jail bounds.
Do you remember that lank, muscu
lar young fellow who had a desk be
side me in the office? He toot n
with the condition that he could
leave it to dog me night and day, to
my meals and to my heal. That was
I the son of the man who saved me.
He was taken from a lucrative situa
tion in ord r that lie might become
my jailer. God bless him! How I
used to curse him! 'Can't you trust
Imy honor?' I would cry. 'l'm no
convinced that your honor has not
the consumption.' tiie Scotch-Irish
man would say.' 'We'll put no bur
: dens on it until it ha- rega'ne 1 its
| health."
! "Your friend was a wealthy man,
i no doubt, and so able to give both
t'nae and money to your case?" '.On
i the contrary, he is but tbe owner of •
a small hat store and supports his
family out of that. He is rich or
noble only in the deed and spirit of
friendship." All this was years ago.
Rodgers i- now an industrious, hon
orable man, married to his old love, j
with hi- gray-haired mother by hi
hearth 1 ringing to it the perpetual
benediction of benignant old age.
His friend sells hats—makes no I
speeches nor bruit of any sort in tiie
world. Nobody has recognized in
1!" m a hero. Yet. who for the sake <
of a dead or living friend would go
and do likewise?
A friend says; "I passed a greai
part of my leisure, one summer, in
watching a pair of swallows. After
O 1
much consideration and reflection,
they commenced building their ne-t
under the projecting roof of a barn,
then suddenly stopped, held a sort of
consultation and began a new nest
under the same projection, but in
another place. At fir-t I could not
understand why they did this; but
upon examination I found that over
the first nest there was a space be
tween two boards through which
du-t sifted from the hay that rested
on them. Of course this would in
convenience the young housekeejoer?
and so they c-ho-e a better place.
House sw allows usually leave but 1
one small opening for ingress and
and egress, a necesarv precaution
against storms and wind; but this
pair of swallows found these precau
tionary measures unnecessary, for.
they left the nest quite open. When
the young sw allows had grown large
and strong they often mounted to
the border of the nest to await the
coming of their parents.
It was curious to see the anxious
mother or father drive them from
their dangerous position and hasten
to fill up the openings which tempted
the young family to tbe outer border i
of their dwelling.
"The service rendered to us by this
little bird in destroying gnats, flies,
w asps, beetle-, midges, Ac., is almost
inconceivable. I became so much
interested in my swallows that I
took mite of their ways and doings
day after daj\ I observed that each
swallow flew to the nest with food at
least once in three minutes; then I
calculated that they were on the
8. F. Hamilton,
Pttbli±i ier.
51.75 A YEAR
wing from 4 a. m.. to 8 p. m.,—fif
: teen hour*,—and brought food to
? their young."twenty times an hour,
i making six hundred times, and con
< sequently bad destroy ed that namWr
-of insect*. Xo doubt the parent
I birds had consume;! one hundred
- each, making in the whole eight huu
dred. In a month, twenty-four thou
. sand for the whole family. In the
i first month when the pair were alone
' they must have consumed six thou
sand. Vow, according to my esti
mation, a family of seven swallows
would consume one hundred and two
thousand in the course of one sum
mer. viz., six thousand in the second
half of April and in May. and ninety
-ix thousand in June. July, August
and St ptemlier. Need I -ay that 1
feel that those dear little birds bring
joy, blessing and peace to the houses
under whose roof they build?
dent that recently occurred in this
city, reminds us forcibly of Byron's
eulogy of his dog. wherein he says,
First to welcome and foremost to defer 5."
A family residing near the railroad
i allowed a girl, aged five years, to
| play about the yard to their residence
on pleasant days with a Newfound
land dog. One day the child ran
away.—all children do so.—and in
her wandering al>out was accompa
nied by the dog. who appan ntly ft It
in duty bortud to see that no harm
befell her. It seems that the two
came to a railroad crossing; that a
train was coming, and that it looked a
little dangerous. The dog saw the
danger and quickly seized the little
miss by the skirts of her dress, and,
being the strougerof the two. pulled
her back upon the sidewalk and stood
over her till the train had passed.
The little ini-s scolded aud kicked
j his shins, but he didn't let Eer up
till the danger had passed, when he
trudged on lxrhiud her as though 110-
thing had happened.
Our reporter has obtained from
Mrs. Joseph Knott, an old lady liv
ing in this city, and nearly seventy
i years of age. the follow ing account
of Gaptaiu Jack;
In the year 1851. while living in
Canonville. Douglas countyan In
dian boy came to their house and,
speaking the jargon, dc-ired to live
with them. He was one of the Rogue
Iliver Indians, an.l belonged to the
, tribe then located on Cow Creek.
She noticed that he appeared to be
; an active, keen, shrewd looking boy,
an 1 with the consent of her husband
| took him to raise, with whom he iv
| mained several years. As s>on as
the boy was assured that they in
tended to keep him he insisted on
having a "Boston" name, as he
called it. and wished to be named
after the l>est looking of Mrs. Knott's
children. This being appreciated bv
the mother she decided to name him
after her son—their age*, apparently,
being about the same—and this son
was J. Knott, better known as Jack
Knott, of saloon fame. The boys
grew up together, and many were
the days they -pent in the sports of
chase. On one occasion, after he had
Ijeen with them some time, he became
offended because he w as told to lea\e
the room, and loaded his rifle with
tl.e intention of shooting Levi Knott,
but was discovered in season to pre
vent his designs.
This circumstance led to his ox
pulsion from the family, and from
that until the present time he has
n<4 been seen by them, except in
1855, the year in which he murdered
Mrs. Harris, after which Jack went
to the Goose Lake country. His
mother was a full sister to Rogue
River John, who attempted to seize
the steamer Ccdumbia while she lav
at anchor in the harbor of Crescent
City and also a half sister to the war
chief Sam. of the same tribe and
Chief Joe. who received Ins appella
tion from having fought General Joe
Lane. All of these facts and many
others which we have no space to
mention were recently confirmed bv
Judge Prim of Eastern Oregon, who
communicated these particulars to
Mrs. Knott, stating that the great
Modoc chiettain, Captain Jack, was
the boy she took to raise in 1851—■
Portland (Oregon) Herald.