OK DOLLAR PER ANNUM, INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
TOWANDA:
gljnrsiiflD fllorninn, 3nne 18, 1857,
' Sftktttb Dotiro.
THE SONG OF THE SUMMER WIND.
J comc from the Southern shores of balm,
From the spice-fields far away ;
1 come with the breath of orange-blooms,
\nd the light of the summer day ;
r kiss the cheek of the fevered child,
And play *ith her sunny brow.
\ soothe the woes of the sorrowing ones,
1 And release their hearts of care'.
| aloft.to the white, white clouds,
The wondering school boy's kite,
And he gazes up till his eyes grow Jim.
With a look of fond delight;
While o'er the brow of the laughing one,
1 tow the auburn curl,
is by the throng, hi the lingering we,
My pathless way I wliiA
I open the cups of the dainty flowers,
By wild wood, field and dell,
And I f*ck the fairies fast asleep
Who hide in the lily's bell.
The tall grass nods as I wander by,
Aud the brook tip-murmnrs with glee.
And jov and gladness spring up in my path,
Wherever my pathway be.
Oh. what could the warrior's banner be,
Were it not for my gentle power-
Aye. dark would he the patriot's hopes,
And darker Liberty's hour ;
But the starry flag of Freedom's land.
Floats gaily along the way,
And the freeman shouts with joyous pride,
A - he views my force to day.
I come with the voice of Hope and Truth
I comc with the good God's love,
And I bring earth's weary ones a taste
Of the joys of that band above ;
" I whisper to them of that inner light—
The love that never dies "
How the soldier of the cross may rest
On the fields of Paradise.
DJ is t tII aitto it s.
A NIGHT AMONG THE WOLVES.
3Y JOHN' G. WHITTIER.
The ganrit old wolf,
Scenting the place of slaughter, with his long
And most offensive howl, aud did ask for food.
" 'Twas a night in January, IT—. We had
been to a fine quilting frolic about two miles
from our settlement of four -or five log houses.
'Twas ratltcr late, altout twelve o'clock, I
should say—when tlie party broke up. There
was uo moon—and a dull grey shadow of haze
hung around the horizon, whße overheard a
few pale and sickly looking stars gave us their
dull light as they shone through a dingy cur
tain. There were six of us iu eonq>any —llarry
Mason and foar of as pretty girls as ever grew
up this side of the Green Mountains. There
were my two sisters, and Harry's sister, and
his sweet lieart, the da'ighter of our next
door neighbor. She v. aa a downright hand
some girl—that Caroline Allen. I never saw
her equal, though I aui no stranger to pretty
faces. She was so pleasant and kind of heart
—so gentle ami sweet jqioketA, and so intelli
gent, besides that everybody loved her. She
had an eye as ble as a hill violet, and her lips
were like a red rose leaf in June. No wonder,
then, that Harry Mason loved—boy though
he was; for we bad neither of us secu our
seventeenth summer.
Our path lay through a thick forest of oak.
with here and there a tall pine raising its dark
full shadow against the sky with an outline
rendered indistinct by darkness. The snow
was deep ; deeper a great deal than it ever
falls of late years ; but the surface was frozen
strongly enough to bear our weight; and we
hurried over the bright pathway with rapid
steps. We had not proceeded far, before a
howl come to our ears We all knew it in a
moment; and I could feel a shudder thrilling
'the arms that were close to my own, as a sud
den cry burst from the lips of us all, "the
wolves ! the wolves !"
Bid you ever see a wild wolf—not one of
yonr caged, broken down, show animals, which
are exhibited for a sixpence a sight, end child
ren half-price ; but a tierce, half starved ranger
of the wintry forest, howling and hurrying
over the suow actually mad with hunger?—
There is no one of God's creatures which has
such a frightful fiendish look, as this animal.
It has the form as well as the spirit of a
demon.
Another and another howl ; and then we
could hear distinctly the quick patter of feet
behind us. We turned right about and look
ed in the direction of the sound. "The wolves
are after us," sai/j Mason, pointing to aline
of dark bodies. And so in fact they were, a
fl'hole troupe of them, howling like BO many
Indiaus iu a pow-row. We had no weapons
°f any kind, and we knew enough of the vile
creatures who followed us, to know that it
B ouid he useless to contend with them. There
,T as not a moment to lose ; the savage beasts
ff ere close ujiou US. TO attempt to tight would
have been a hopeless affair. There was but
one chance of escape, and we instantly seized
upon it. 1
l'o the tree ; let us climb this tree !" I cried,
springing towards a low bougbed aud gnarled
chml * SaW at a £ lauce easily
• Mason sprang lightly in the tree, and
a 'ded in placing the terrified girls in a place
? comparative safety among the thick boughs.
1 was the last on the ground aud the whole
troupe were yelling at my heels before I reach
ed the rest of the company. There was one
foment hard breathing and wild exciama
f"?n am ong us, then a feeling of calm tbank
u aess for our escape. The night was cold
and we soon began to shiver like BO many sa.il
son the top of an iceland whaler. But
iere was no murmurs, no eomplainiug among
or we could distinctly seethe gauut, at
cnuatcd bodies of the wolves beneath us, and
THE BRADFORD REPORTER.
every now and then we could see great glow
ing eyes staring up into the tree where we were
seated. And their yells ; they were loud, and
long, and hideous.
I know not how long we had remaiued in
this situation, for we had uo means of ascer
taining the time when I heard a limb of the
the tree cracking as if beneath the weight of
some of us ; and u moment afterwards a shriek
went through my ears like piercing of a knife.
A light form went down through the naked
branches, with a dull heavy sound upon the
stiff snow.
" Oh, God ?" I am gone I"
It was the voice of Caroline Allen. The
poor girl never spoke agaiu ! There was a
horrid dizziness aud confusion in my brain,
and I spoke not : and I stirred not, for the
whole at the time was like an ugly, unreal
dream. I only remember that there was
smothered groans and dreadful howls under
neath ! It was all over in a moment. Poor
Caroline ! She was literally eaten alive !
t'e wolves had a frightful feast, and they be
came raving mad with the taste of blood.
When I came fully to myself—when the
horfid dream went off—and it lasted but a mo
ment— I struggled to shake of the arms of my
sister whlo'.h were clingiug around me, aud
could I have beared myself, I should have
jumped down amv. ITI S the raving animals. But
when a second thought came over rne, I knew
that any attempt to rcs>7 ;ue wou 'd be useless.
As for poor Mason he waJ w ''d with horror.
He had tried to follow CaraiV ne when she fell
but he could not shake off the ras Phi 3
terrified sister. His youth and consti
tution and frame Were unable to stand the
dreadful trial ; and he stood close by my u'd e
with his hands firmly clenched and his teetn
set closely, gating down on the dark wran
gling creatures below, with the fixed stare of a
maniac. It was indeed a terrible scene.—
Around was the thick, cold night—and below
the ravenous wild beasts were lapping their
bloody jaws, and howling for another victim.
The morning broke at last, and our fright
ful enemies fled at the first advance of daylight
like so many cowardly murderers. We wait
ed until the sun had risen, before we ventured
to crawl f.om our hiding places. We were
chilled through ; every limb was numb and
cold with terror, and poor Mason was deliri
ous, and raged wildly about the things he had
witnessed. There were bloody stains around
the tree, and a few long, black hairs were
trampled iu the suow.
We h*d gone but a little distance, when we
were met by our friends from the settlement,
who had become alarmed at our absence.—
They were shocked at our wild and frightful
appearance and mv brothers have ofteu told
me, that at first we all seemed like so mauy
crazed aud brain sickened creatures. They
assisted us to reach comc ; but Harry Mason
never recovered from the dreadful trial. He
neglected his business, bis studies, and his
friends, anon murmuring to himself about that
dreadful night. He fell to drinking soon after,
and died a miser*Me drunkard before age had
whitened a single hair upon his head.
For my part, [ confess never recovered from
the terrors of the melancholy circumstances
which I have endeavored to describe. The
thought of it has haunted me like my shadow ;
and even now the scene comes at times freshly
before me in my dreams, and I wake up with
something of the same feeling of terror which
I experienced, wheu, more than half a century
since, I passed a night among the wolves.
COLD WATER. —None who have heard Mr.
Gough, the celebrated temperance lecturer, can
forget his brilliant apostrophe to cold water. —
Catching up from the table a tumbler filled with
sparkling crystal, he exclaims ;
" Look at that, ye thirsty ones of the earth !
Behold it ! See its purity ! How it glitters,
as if a mass of liquid gems ! It is a beverage
brewed by the hands of the Almighty himself !
Not in the simmering still, over smoky fires
choked with poisonous gases, and surrounded
by the stench of sickening odors aud rank cor
ruptions, does your Father in Heaven prepare
the precious essence of life, the pure cold wa
ter ; but iu the green glade and grassy dell,
where the red deer wander and the child loves
to play—there God brews it. And down,
down, in the deepest valleys, where the foun
tains murmur and the rills sing,—and high up
the mountain tops, where the naked grauite
glitters like gold in the sun, where the storm
clouds brood and the thunder storms crash, —
and away, far out ou the wide sea, where the
hurricanes howl music and the waves roar the
chorus, sweep the march of God —there he
brews it, that beverage of life—health giving
water ! And every where it is a thing of
beauty—gleaming in the dewdrop ; singing in
the summer rain ; shining in the ice gem, till
the trees all seem turned into living jewels ;
spreading a golden veil over the setting sun
or the white gauze over the midnight moon ;
sporting in the cataracts ; sleeping in the gla
ciers ; dancing in the hail shower ; folding its
bright snow curtains softly about the wintry
world, and waving the many-colored iris, that
seraph's zone of the sky, whose warp is the
rain-drop of earth, whose woof is the sunbeam
of heaven, all checkered over with celestial
flowers by the mystic baud of refraction—still,
always it is beautiful, that blessed life-water !
No poison bubbles on the brink ; its form
brings no sadnesss or murder ; no blood stains
its limpid glass ; broken-hearted wives, pale
widows and starving orphan shed no tears in
its depths; no drunkard's shrieking ghost
froin the grave curses in the words of eternal
despair. Beautiful, pure, blessed, and glorious
—give me forever the sparkling, pure cold wa
ter !
I® A fast man undertook the task of teas
ing an ecceutric preacher. "Do you believe,"
be said "in the story of the Prodigal Son and
the Fatted Calf?" " Yes," said the preacher.
" Well, then, was it a male or female calf
that was killed ?" "A female," promptly re
plied the divine. " How do you know that ?"
'Because (looking the interrogator steadily
iu the face; I see the lualcii alive uow."
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. (VMEARA GOODRICH.
[From the Boston Traveller.]
The Beauchamp Tragedy in Kentucky.
We were led, a short time since, to recall,
in connection with the novel of W. Oilmore
Simms, and review the circumstances connect
ed with the well-nigh forgotten Beauchamp
tragedy, in which everybody in the country
was interested thirty years ago.
On the night of Sunday, the Gth of Novem
ber, 1825, Col. Solomon P. Sharpe, one of the
foremost lawyers in Kentucky, formerly At
torney General of the State, some years ear
lier a member of Congress, and at that time
a leader in the newly elected State Assembly,
was murdered at Frankfort, under circumstan
ces of peculiar atrocity, lie was roused from
his bed by some one knocking at his door,
aud he was there seized by the assassin, who,
after some words, stabbed him to the heart,
almost in sight of his wife, who rushed to his
side, but too late to hear a syllable from hira,
or to learn in any way who was his murderer.
Suspicion soon fell, however, on a young
lawyer named Beauchamp, who was arrested,
tried, and condemned apparently on false evi
dence, but who was yet the real murderer.—
Party animosity, then furiously excited through
out the State by some question relating to the
courts, ascribed the murder to political hatred,
for Sharpe was the leader of his party, and
the idol of the people ; nor was it till after
the trial that the astounding story of Beau
champ's actual crime and his reasons for it
were made public by his own ingenuous con
fession.
Some years before, apparently as early as
1818, Col. Sharpe had seduced Miss Ann
Cooke, a young lady of respectable family,
educated and refined, and as appears from her
subsequent course, of unusual force and severi
ty ,?f character. Proud and intense of feeling,
she withdrew entirely from the society where
she had bf en admired aud courted, and with
her widowed pother, her books and her slaves,
she hid her disgrace in the complete seclusion
of a Kentucky plantation.
It was here that Beauchamp, iu a fa
tal hour for both, sought n? 1 ' oll t urged him
self on her acquaintance, fell nassionately in
love with her, and, led on by his passion, de
voted himself, with barbarous mag.' ian ' m 'ty
to her dreadful thirst for vengeance ou her
betrayer. He cannot have been more than
nineteen years old at this time, aud he haJ
been on the point of commencing the study of
law with Col. Sharpe, when he was repelled
from such a connection by the story of his vil
lainy towards Mis-s Cooke. Generous, though
ungovernable of temper, he looked with aver
sion on a man so stained—regarding hiin as
" no better than a horse thief," as he himself
naively says.
His natural pity for Miss Cooke was strength
ened by the praises bestowed on her beauty
aud wit by a friend of his who had been her
former admirer. He visited her in her self
imprisonment, but she refused to see him ; he
insisted, and she at iast came forth, but she
received him coldly. He pretended a desire
to use her library, and borrowed a book, which
gave him a pretext to call agaiu in a few days,
when he again saw lier. Little by little her
reserve wore off, while his enthusiasm for her
grew into fervent love. He urged his suit and
besought her hand in marriage, which she at
first steadily refused, and only yielded finally
on condition that he should first kill Colonel
Sharpe.
This was in 1821, and in the autumn of that
y sar he went to Frankfort for the express pur
jiose of challenging Sharpe, and of shooting
him if he declined. The two walked out to
gether along the river at Frankfort, and when
they had come to a retired place outside the
town, Beauchamp disclosed to Sharpe in what
relation he stood to Miss Cooke, and asked if
lie would fight him. Sharpe said he could
uot fight in such a cause—he would let him
self be killed rather than doit ; aud falling on
his knees, he implored Beauchamp not to kill
him. The hate of the enraged man turned to
scorn at what he thought the most glaring
cowardice—he struck Sharpe in the face, call
ed him by the most insulting names, and swore
he would cane him in the streets every day till
lie forced hira to a duel. They parted, and
early next morning Sharpe left Frankfort, and
Beauchamp lost his opportunity.
Miss Cooke now resolved to kill her betray
er with her own hand, and together with Beau
champ, she contrived a plot as artful as that
by which Leonore betrays Lothair, to bring
hira to her house, where she could shoot him.
This failed, aud after a long time she gave up
her cherished plan, and left the murder again
to Beauchamp, who, meanwhile, by a sophistry
such as familiarity with a dreadful purpose of
ten produces, had persuaded himself that it
would be right to kill his cuemv, not openly
as he had at first proposed, but by assassina
tion.
Accordingly, after his marriage with Miss
Cooke, in June, 1824, he formed his plans for
the deed. Never was a murder more delibe
rately committed. For more than a year he
was busy making arrangements so that no evi
dence could be brought agaiust him. He eveu
deterred the act till after an election, hoping
that Thoinpsoo who ran for Uoverner against
Desha in 1824, would pardon him if he were
chosen, as he was not. Disappointed in this,
he determined to kill Sharpe at such a time
that his death would seem occasioned by po
litical enmity ; for which reason he chose the
beginning of a session of the Legislature, iu
which, as wc have said, Sharpe was a promi
nent man.
He traveled to Frankfort, as if on business,
lodged at the house of a relative of Col. Sharpe,
and, disguised as a negro, he lurked about the
house of his victim till he made sure he was
within. He then knocked, called hirnto the
door, 6bowed his face, that he might%*e the
agony of knowing who bis murderer was, aud
then stabbed him to the heart. The unfortu
nate mau kuew his assassin, but so sure had
been the blow, that the only words ho spoke
were —" Pray, Mr. Beauchamp," at the same
time striving to throw his arms about his neck;
but no one heard that exclamation, and Beau
champ had the satisfaction of seciDg that no
,R RE®ARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER."
such evidence as this could be brought agaiust
hiin. He lingered near the house till he was
seen by Mrs. Sharpe, then went back to his
lodgings. After having resumed bis own
dress, aud with a tranquil aud satisfied heart,
as he says himself, he lay down to sleep.
In the morning the whole town was in ex
citement at the horrid deed. Bcauchamp's
host suspected him, but bis calm demeanor
died away all suspicion, and he was allowed
to leave Frankfort without molestation. As
he drew near home, his wife, who had been
anxiously awaiting his return,saw him approach
waving a red flag, which had been the tokeu
of success agreed upon between tbem. She
was full of joy, like himself, at the fulfillment
of her just vengeance, as they thought it, and
they talked over all the details of the crime
with a fearful satisfaction.
Beauchamp was soon arrested, as he expect
ed to be, but contrary to his expectations, he
found that all his plaus to destroy evidence
had been fruitless. Circumstances—the fatal
eaves-droppeis—bore too sure witness, and
where a link was wanting in the chaiu of tes
timony, it was easily supplied by exaggeration
or perjury. He was convicted on the 19th of
May, 1826, aud in spite of the doubts of ma
ny eminent lawyers, who maintained that there
was no existing law to punish murder, he was
executed on the 7th of July following. He
had iu vain tried to throw the crime on some
other person, aud to obtain a pardon from
Gov. Desda, who, to be sure, had pardoned
his own son, twice convicted of murder and
robbery.
These details may seem like those of a com
mon murder—too common in these days, un
fortunately—deriving their interest only from
a morbid craving for a knowledge of such
horrors. But there is a deeper reasou why
the atrocities of Beauchamp aud his wife stand
forth iu prominence on the sad calender of j
of crime. The feeling which impelled them j
was an iusatiable thirst for vengeance, it is !
true ; but this finds some excuse in the great-!
uess of their victim's guilt ; while it is exalt- i
ed übove the fury of the ordinary murder bv
the solemn taaaticism which made them regard
it as a duty, and the tenderness of their love
for each other. Nothing can be more touch
ing than the gentleness and revereuce with
which everywhere iu his confession. Beau
champ speaks of his wife ; and she, in turn,
seems to have felt the most enthusiastic affec
tion for hira. He was her chevalier—her
champion, and the champion of iujured virtue
everywhere and in her steady refusal to out
ive him, she shovr'ed the coustancy of a Ro
man matron, and died heroically as Brutus'
Portia, or the more famous Lucretia.
After his conviction she spent mnch time
with him, aud in the hope of dying together
they both took poison, which, however, proved
ineffectual. They were then carefully guard
ed, but in spite of this, on the morning of his
execution, they contrived to stab themselves.
Beauchamp was not mortally wounded, but
his wife lingered only a few hours after his
executiou. As he was carried to the gallows,
too weak to sit on his coffin iu the cart, ac
cording to the barbarous custom, he asked to
be taken to his wife, then lying unconscious
from her wound. He laid his hand on her
face, and sought iu vaiu to make her recog
nise him ; then bidding her the tenderest fare
well, aud bowing to the ladies at the windows
as he passed along the street, lie went ou to
the scaffold.
THE MAELSTROM A MYTH. —In a lecture on
Norway, delivered by Mr. 11. W. WILLIAMS
to the members of the Midland lustitute, the
lecturer gave interesting information as to
some of the phenomena peculiar to that region.
With respect to the Maelstrom, he said that
on the voyage up the coast, when he arrived
at the region which, in maps and charts, is
marked as the position of that phenomenon, he
made inquiries of the Captain of the vessel as
to its existence and locale, but to his surprise
the captain informed him that the English
knew more of its existence thau than the peo
ple of Norway ; that he himself had made
many voyages along the coast, but had seen
no signs of such a phenomenon ; and, alto
gether, he believed it to be a mere invention.
The lecturer expressed his belief that it was a
mere myth, and that its existence was due to
the eddies formed at the mouth of the
numerous fiords, which might be danger
ous to the frail vessels of the Norwegians, but
which a thames waterman could have no fenr
of crossing. Mr. WILLIAMS also gave descrip
tion of the origin of the sea-serpent, which he
attributed to optical delusion, and the pres
ence of rocks in the ocean, which were ob
scured from vision by the rising of the waves
thus producing that, undulating motion said to
be peculiar to the monster.
LOFTY CONDUCT. —In the neighborhood
where I once lived a man and wife were almost
constantly quarreling. During their quar
rels their only child (a boy) was generally
present ; and of course had caught many of his
father's expressions.
One day when the boy had been doing
something wrong, the mother intcuding to chas
tise him, called him, and said.
" Come here sir ; what did you want to do
that for ?"
A The boy complaceutly folded his arms and
imitating his father's manners replied :
" See here, madam, 1 dcu't wish to have any
words with you."
Mr. Sniff coming home late one night
from "meetiug," was met at the door by his
wife. Pretty time of night Mr. Sniff, for you
to come home ; pretty time, three o'clock in
the morning ; you a respectable man iu the
eommuuity , and the father of a family."—
"Tisn't three, it's only one, I heard it strike,
council always sits till one o'clock." "My
souls ? Mr. Sniff, you're drunk ; as true as
I'm alive, you're drunk. It's tnree in the
morning." " I say, Mrs. Sniff, it's one. I
heard it strike one as it came around tlio cor
ner fico or three times?'
What Coal does for a Country.
The Scientific American says ; —There can
be no doubt that the coal beds of England are
the real natural source of its physical wealth.
Without coal it never would have been a
manufacturing country, without it no cotton
factories would ever have been erected, and no
steamships would ever have floated on its wa
ters. It is simply because it has the largest
coal fields in Europe, that it is the greatest
mauufaeturing nation in the world. But it
was very difficult to introduce the use of coal
among the old English people. It was first
used in that eouutry about six centuries ago,
and at that time Englishmen would uot use
the sooty fuel in their houses. It did not suit
the fire places or the domestic habits of the
people ; but it was found well adapted for the
blacksmith and the lime burner. Only the
layers near the surface and in coal fields adja
ceut to rivers, or seas, were first ojieued ; but
when the demand increased, the miners dived
more deeply into the bowels of the earth, and
boldly worked the coal wherever it was to be
found. When the mines became deep the mi
ners were sadly perplexed how to get rid of
the water ; and was not uutil the steam en ;
gine came to their aid that they fully master- •
ed the difficulty. But the prejudices of the
users were as difficult to surmount as the per- j
ils of the miners. A citizen of London was
once tried and executed for burniug sea coal
in opposition to a stringent law passed in res
pect to that subject ; but even long after such
intolerance had passed away, coal was tabooed
in good society. Ladies had a theory that the
black abomination spoiled their complexion ; 1
and it was for a long time a point of etiquette
not to sit in a room warmed by a coal fire, or
to eat meat roasted by such means. Preju
dice, unquestionably, liad much to do with
these objections ; but it was not all prejudice,
for the most total absence of proper arrange- i
ments for a supply of fresh air, and removing
smoke and foul air, rendered the burning coal
a very dirty and disagreeable companion iu a
room. Wood was then the principal fuel used !
in England, and the forest but scantily sup- j
plied the wants of the people. Turf or peat,
was employed in some districts as it still is in
Ireland and the Highlands of Scotland ; but
in all England wood is at present unknown as
a domestic fuel—coal has eutirelv superseded
it.
SNAKES. —Snakes are much abused animals.
As supposed types of the first deceiver, a sort
of religious dread has ever been attached to
them, among Christian people ; aud a few of
the species beiug really venomous, and others
possessing imaginary attributes, far transcend
ing the actual powers of any of the class, it
is uot very wonderful that all the sons and
daughters of Eve should inherit a hearty ha
tred of snakes.
First—What are the venomous snakes ? In
the Uuited States we have the Rattlesnakes,
Copperheads, aud Moccasins. No others—
and, in fact, there are no other poisouous rep
tiles in our country.
The Moccasin is a st uthern species ; and
so is the great Diamond Rattlesnake—the
worst of the species. The Copperhead is a
very bad snake ; fortunately quite rare now.
Robert Keuuicott, who is collecting specimens
in the region of Jonesboro aud Cairo, writes
that he lias just secured a genuine Copperhead
in Illiuois. The Banded Rattlesnake is also
found iu that region, aud he is uot to be des
pised ; as his bile is truly dangerous, though
rarely fatal to man.
But the suake, about cures for whose bite
so much has been said in this paper, is quite a
different customer —not a very agreeable in
mate of one's house, (though we have killed
two fonud iu ours,) aud quite sufficiently ven
omous for the suake's own purpose. Still,
that our prairie Rattlesnake has ever caused
the death of a single human being—whether
" doctored" or not—we have yet to learn.
Aud this brings us to the second question.
Is there any specific antidote for snake poi
son ? Possibly. But who knows it ! Not
we ; and we studied medicine, practised medi
cine, aud believed in medicine for nearly thir
ty years.
Our first ex]>erieuce with suake bites was in
the state of Mississippi, where childreu, and
especially careless negroes, were occasionally
bitten by the "ground rattlesnake" —a small
species of Crotolophorits , much like ours of the
western prairies. We do not remember a case
of bite from any other species ; nor did we
know of a death from snake-bite there, or in
the state of Louisiana, where we tarried seve
ral years.
Since then, a residence of over twenty-one
years in Illinois —with as extensive a country
practice as any other physician—aud in a re
gion aud during a time where aud when rat
tlcsuakes abounded, no death from their bite
has ever coiue to our knowledge. That is, no
death of man, woman, or child—a few small
animals, usually bitteu iu the nose, have died;
and deaths among large animals have beeu re
ported to us, but we never saw a case. Of
huiuau subjects, wc have treated many eases,
and knowu many that had no treatment at all,
or were treated in all ways ; aud the result
was always the same—all recovered ; though
some suffered horribly for a little while. * *
We have but a word to add to this hasty
dissertatiou on snakes. Let every Farmer
bear in niiud that the whole tribe of serpents
arc insect eaters, and the benefactors of their
human prosecutors. Rip up the stomach ot
one, and you will find it stuffed with iusects,
or enlarged by the bodies of the meadow mice.
Except in killing an occasional bird or frog,
nearly all of our snakes are as useful to vege
tation as they are harmless to mankind ; and
it is not only an act of wicked barbarity, but
a species of suidicial folly to destroy them.—
Far better aid in dcterminiugthc species and
their dissemination, as urgen iu the circular is
sued by Robert Kennicott, and show that you
arc above the vulgar prejudice against those
persecuted creations of the Great Author of
of all animal life, who made nothing without
an object, and made for our good.
[l'rairic Farmer, May 21.
VOL. XVIII. NO. 2.
COURTING.
I lon't see why people cannot do their
courting by daylight, thereby saving an extra
of lights, fuel and forenoon naps.— A Break-
I fast-Table Remark.
Whew ! preach that doctrine until your
. heat! is grey, and you are as toothless as a
' new-born babe, and still young folks will "set
op," till the stars grow tired of watching, and
roosters begin to crOw !
There is a Sort of fcs iuation in it, a [ositive
i denial to the contrary notwithstanding. An
| indiscribable, undeniable charm, in being the
; sole occupant of a frout parlor, with nothing
; to molest or make afraid ; the sofa drawn up
! before the shining grate, and the lamp regula
ted to u steady light that will not eclipse the
brightness of eyes, or make parii-nlarly promi
nent, unclassieal, irregular features. There is
something peculiarly pleasing in heor'ng the last
pair of household feet take a bee line depar
! ture for the upper chambers, and feeling that
the ever swinging parlor door will remniu
closed until some one of the party concerned,
choose to open it.
Talk of courting by daylight ! Think of
| laming one's arm by quick, hasty withdrawals
from around a certaiu waist, at the incessaut
ringing of the door-bell, or seeing the puff
| combs and curls fly in every direction, by a
sound of coming footsteps. Imagine proud
lover at the feet of fair lady, pulling forth an
eloquent, long avowal, with extraordinary ex
pressions flitting over his face ; and. at the
same moment, a puzzled little countenance
peering through the foldingdoors, wondering
what makes Mr. M. "pray with his eyes wide
open !" Or, more disagreeable still, have
"mainu'' open the door, without the prelude of
a rnp, of course, jnst at the moment you have
ventured to test the temperature and sweet
ness of her daughter's lips.
And then what time in the day could one
take ? Not in the forenoon, certainly, wheu
mucic teachers and fashionable callers are iu
vogue ; not in the afternoon, when one's sen
ses are stupefied by the eating of a hearty
dinner ; not on Sundays, when every body is
expected to go to church ; not iu church, with
pantomimic gestures that set the occupants of
neighboring pews a staring. No ! there is
but one time, and that the veritable seasou set
in old primitive days—a time and season for
courting. An hour, when you pinch Susie's
fingers to make her tell who she loves best ;
look in Susie's hand to see if her fortune runs
with yours, and see w hat letter of the alpha
bet Is formed by the lines therein ; kiss her
when you please, bug her w hen you please ;
and all this when the old folks are sleeping,
when the sound of footsteps are scatttering iu
the streets, and there is no one on earth so
near Susie as yourseif 1 Them's urn.— Mar
garet 1 'erne.
THE COMET.—A writer in the St. Louis
Republican gives the following information as
to the comet.
1. There are astronomical calculations of the
orbit of the comet, that warraut the predictiou
that it will touch the earth —I made 'em my
self.
2. Science can calculate the orbit of this
eccentric comet no mater how long its period
and 1 predi t unhesitatingly, that the comet
now approaching, will come in contact with the
earth on the 10th of June, about 20 minutes
after 10 o'clock, and the point of contact will
be in the vicinity of a place called Vide Roche
or Carondelet.
4. The nucleus of this comet is very large
and composed of the bisulphurretted carbon
ate of the protoxide of mnganese The tail
is chlorine, and although you cannot see the
stars through it, they will probably be sccu
by many at time of the collision.
PANCAKES —Beat up three eggs and a
quart of milk ; make it into a batter with
Hour, a little salt, a spoouful of ground ginger,
and a little grated lemon peel ; let it be of a
fine thickness and perfectly smooth. Clean
your fryingpan thoroughly, and put into it a
good lump of dripping or butter ; when it is
hot pour in a cupful of batter and let it run
all ever of au equal thickness ; shake the pan
frequently that the batter may not stick, and
when you think it is done on one side, toss it
over ; if you cannot, turn it with a slice ; nud
when both sides are of a nice light brown, lay
it on a dish before the fire ; strew sugar over
it, and so do the rest. They should be eaten
directly, or they will become heavy.
At au exaaii nation of the College of
Surgeons a candidate was asked by Abcrue
thv.
" What would you do if a man was blowu
up with powder ?"
" Wait until he caiue down," he coolly ro-
" True," replied Abernethy, "and supposo
I should kick you for such an impertinent rc
ply, what muscles would I put in motion ?"
" The flexors and extensors of my arm, for
[ would knock you down immediately,"
He received a diploma.
TOF. CONSCIENTIOUS FARJIEII. —A Mr. TJ
to wait upon customers, said : '•John, you
see those bottles there, with their labels ; I
warn you not to drink a drop from one of
them, they are all tilled with poison. Sell all
you can but doi.'i drink yourself."
FRUIT FRITTERS. —Make a batter of flonr,
milk, and eggs, of whatever richness you rill
s're ; stir into it either raspberries, currant,
or any other fruit. —fry in hot lard the aatuu
as pancakes.
tegr Not long since, a youth, oldtr in wit
than in years after lifting c. tei h'scd concern
ing the power of Nature, replied —"31a, I
think there's one thing VAOirc can't do."—
What is it v " <'"<pnred the mother. 4 She
cun'* Bill Jones's mouth any bigger with
out hi.. ears back.'