the r eirig,,b .11ggioter lid: in the . Borough of Allentown gh County, Pa., every Wednesday, by I " { IiAINES & DIEFENDERFER, Is pu, t 00' per annum, payable in advance, and . ' nat . paid until the end of the year.— PTo discontinued - until all arrearagcs arc .•; • • pauf. 11Jr - Orvicu in Iramilton street , e two doors west of the Garman Reformed Church, directly oppo site Moser's Drug Store. 'lij'tetters on business must be iosv PAID, otherwise they will not be attended to. JOB PRINTING. Having recently added a large assortment of felithideiablc and most modern styles of typo, we ate prepared to execute, at short notice, all kind! of Book, Job, and Fancy Printing. . futtirtil. I SPRING. Behold the sweet, the lovely spring, Once more she loth appear, Decked in her verdant robes of green, The lovliest of the year. Stern winter's chilling blast no more Shall shroud the earth with gloom ; From nature's unexhausted store The flowers put forth and bloom. 'the streams and fountains loosed once more From icy fetters free, With foaming speed and deafening roar, Domed onward in their glee. Tim little warbler gaily floats, And sweetly seems to sing; And carol 'bait its joyous notes, To weleotnt gladsome spring. Then welcome, sweet and smiling spring, Whose whisperings seem to say, That winter, on her sable wing, i./nee more has passed away. (E),5 anb (nbo• KnATAN TAERN TO GRAMS., MATRIMONY AND A PARLOR.-0111 Thursday, Mr. Israel Satan was married to Miss Grace Parlor. Mankind are free ; pence shall abound, 'Since Grace by Satan hath been found ; And in full faith that pence is sent, Jsracl by in Grace has pitched his tent. -- No more deserts shall he roam, Ile's got a Parlor for his home. 113"rhe following epitaph may bo found on ti tomb stone in Straffordshire, England : " Beneath'This stone, a lump of clay, Lies Arabella Young ; `Who on the 29th of May, • Began to hold her tongue." 5:7A young gentleman who received a strong hint from a young lady that she wanted a new thimble, sent ouc to her with the following '• I semi a thimble, for fingers nimble, 'hich I hope it will lit when you try it ; It will last you long, if it is half as strong As the hint you gave mo to buy it." la:7A stuttering Vermonter was asked the way to Waterbury. With great politeness he strove to say it was right straight ahead, but in vain. The more ho tried, the more he couldn't. At last, red irithc face, and furious with unavailing exertion, he - burst forth with : " Gug, gug, go long, darn ye, you'll gi•gi git there • afore a k-kin tell you !" OJSmall acts of kindness—how pleasant and desirable do they make life ! Every object is made light by them, and every tear of sor row brushed away. When the heart is sad, atnd despondency sits at the entrance of the soul, a trifling kindness drives despair away, and makes the path cheerful and pleasant. 11:7•OLD GENT.-` Why dont you go to work, and stop picking your nose ?' Bor.—lts my noso ain't it ? and its Fourth of July too. I'll pick thunder 0:;,t of it if I've mind to.' ' '13:7" Sam, why isTourhead like the moon ?" " I don't know, Jim. Give it up." "Because, it is supposed by some to be inhabited. Tall, Yah !'" co-"I say, Bill, Jim's caged for stealing a horse." "Served him right. Why didn't he buy one and not pay for it, like any other gen tleman • 11:7A young lady says she would as soon nestle her noso in. a rat's nest, as allow a man With whiskers to kiss her. Don't try her, lest she may not only break her vow, but 'take a liking for it. 11:7:The lady. who put her floor cloth in the cradle.and scrubbed the floor with her baby, has since joiried the Mormons. (I:7The Buffalo Republican says the woman who had a " fellow feeling in her bosom" has sued him for assault. Poor thing ! (1:7•A gentleman who advertised for a clerk whO could bear " - confinement," was answered by Ono who had lain soven years in jail. 07The chap who courted an ' investigation "declares he'd much rather hug an • affectionate girl. 'Ehem : who wouldn't like that wo wonder 1. [3Crispin says there is no danger of hard times Among' the shoemakers, because every lake 'is solid before it can be got ready for 13)arket: 13:7'What is stronger in death than in life ? An old•yellow legged hen. If you don't believe it, try to dissect one after boiling. D7The worthest people are moat injured by slanders ; as. wo usually find that to be the best fruit which the birds have been pickin g at. • 071 m% it rather and odd fact in natural history, that the softest water is caught when it rains the hardest 1 ' * II:71a girls we love what they aro, in young Men what they promise to be. 11:71t is better to stop 'at a high r•way quin , to run against a low one. :112111.0. that will be angry for anything, will be angry for nothing. /3111g:a R2llllq2R,t el Mttlo . o to Total nub (kind Iltwo, Igiirulturt, emotion, 311oralitti, Imuotnunt, Riaritttg, &t., VOLUME IX. A tapiint gto rq. THE BANDIT'S REVENGE. BY MRS. CURRIER FOR some years during the early part of the eighteenth century the highway from Lycns to Turin was infested with a gang of robbers of a. most bold and desperate character ; and so well organized was the band, and so secret was their place of rendezvous, that the vigilance of both cities failed to discover it. Now and then a troop of gens d'annes, who had been sent in seagh of them, made prisoner of a member of the band ; but the offer of life which was made him on condition that he would betray his com panions, had always been reeeived with the utmost indignity. The last individual who bad suffered previ ous to the time our history commences, was a hid of sixteen years,—a fair-haired, bluo•eycd boy of very delicate form, and features extreme ly beautiful when at repose, for then the look of the bravo, which he could so well assume, was exchangedfor an expression of such deep melancholy, in which, however, there was not a tinge of repentance or fear, that scarcely was there an eye resting on him asle was led .up the fatal scaffold but was moistened with the tear of pity. As to the proof of his guilt, there was no question ; but had he plead innocence, there were many present at his trial who be lieved he might have escaped justice ; and when ho stood on the scaffold, the efficer who had conducted him there felt so much compassion for the boy that he whispered in his ear : " If you aro guiltless of the crime alleged against you, declare your innocence, and you may yet be saved !" " I am not innocent !" exclaimed the youth, " and do you think I will speak falsely to save my life A robber may be a gentleman ; but " Poor boy !" said the attendant; " well, .appeal then to the sympathy of the people, and they will rescue you from this terrible fate !" " Appeal to their sympathy !" said the boy, looking scornfully in the face of his adviser ; and turning to the crowd, he stretched out his slender arm, and shook his white clenched hand in the anxious faces upturned to his, while his sweet-toned voice was proud and defiant. "Do you think, base slaves !" he exclaimed, " that yeti will strike terror into the hearts of my brave and free companions, by taking my life ? They are all before me, every one of them, but you will not see, even in the leader of the noble band, who is my father, the quivering lip or the downcast eye. And think not their number will be diminished by the loss of me ; no ! another will be trained to fill my place ; and if my spirit exists when my body is dead ; and if it possesses the powers it now enjoys, it shag animate my successor in the band of 'brave hearts, and you will see me again ; you shall—" His farther speech was checked by the officer of justice, and the lad suffered the penalty of his crime. Forsome months after the execution nothing was heard of the band of highwaymen, and their robberies afterwards were more unfre quent, and carried on with less boldness than before. At the close of a hot, sultry day in midsum mer, a traveller, apparently much fatigued, and covered with dust, halted at the door of a huin ble peasant dwelling at no great distance from Turin, and asked of the woman who sat in the shade of the poplar, busily engaged in plaiting a straw bat, for a draught of water. The lad who had been sitting near.her, instantly drop ped the old violoncello to which he was attempt ing to fasten a new string, and hastened to supply the stranger's want, while his mother invited the traveller to rest himself on the bench the boy had quitted. The invitation was ac cepted, and as he sat down, the stranger took up the instrument, and drew his fingers across the strings. Is your son fond of music, madame 1" he asked. " Yes, monsieur !" she returned, in very pure French ; " he has a sweet voice, and if we could afford to give him instruction, I think he would become a master of the science. But his father is poor, and Francois will be nothing but a vine-dresser." The boy returned With a pitcher of water, which the traveller drank of very sparingly. " Francois, let monsieur hear you sing !" said his mother. " I dare say he has an ear for music ; see ! ho has put the string to your violin." The lad blushed, but after a little hesitation ho commenced a sprightly , virelay, to which, as soon as he caught the air, tho•stranger played an accompaniment. The fond mother gazed enraptured on her son as the air was concluded ; in her delight at the performance she did not observe how much of the merit of is was duo to the *anger. " Bravo, bravissimo !" exclaimed the travel• 1,031111 T 11011111fil---11. 1 2111218i1l IP1)11121111, A LENTOWN, PA., MARCH 14, 1855. ler. "I dare say de Maestro, himself, would not have done better at your age, my lad !" " Ah, monsieur, you flatter the boy !" said the mother, with a smile of delight. "Not a bit !" said the stranger, " his voice will be the making of him. I wish de Maestro could see the boy !" A slight flush tinged the face of the woman, and she bent ter head again over the work she had for a moment laid aside. " Pietro, the boy's father, does not think de Maestro a great performer !" said the woman. " But," she continued, after a moment's hesi tation, " though he . is a kind husband and father, and is called a good man by all thq neighbors, Pietro is no musician and beside, he is in the employ of the Count d'Enghein." " And why should that influence him in his opinion of do Maestro's abilities ?" asked the stranger. " Ah, do you not know ?" " Years ago I heard him perform several times ; and he enjoyed 'once, I believe, a good reputation ; but I never made inquiry respect ing his private higtory !" said the stranger... " Well, it is an old story now," said the woman ; " it is sixteen years since the count drove him from Lyons. Maestro,—he did not assume the prefix to his name till after his mar riage, was the son of a poor peasant, who lived on the estate of the count's father. His health was delicate when he was young, but he was a very handsome, intelligent lad, and possessed at an early age a remarkable fondness for music ; and the old count was so much pleased with hini that he promised his father ho would give him a thorough musical education. His patron died, however, before the boy had time to make much progress in his studies ; and his son, the present count, who, for seine unknown reason, had always disliked Maestro,. denied what his father had promised him, and advised the peasant to put the boy to work. The lad was proud and irritable, and perhaps ho spoke unadvisedly to the count ; but at any rate, his father was driven from the d'Enghein estate mimetic- so much ash sou, though he bad wife, and a large family of small children.— Nothing was heard of him fur some time, but that his mother and her babe had died from want and expopre. At length the count, who had always shown himself, to some extent, the patron of young artists, invited to his chatead a professor of music ,—I cannot remember now the foreign name by which he was called,— whom he had found at Rome. He had heard him perform once at the Vatican, and the cathe dral of St. Jean being then without a good organist, a great salary iVas offered him if he would accept the situation. • " Never did the great organ of St. Jean breathe forth such melody before, as on that Christmas evening ! Everybody was enchant ed, and the salailoffered the stranger was more than double thy succeeding his first per formance. Through the influence of the count, he was rcceWed into the society of people of rank, and much of his time was passed at the chateau d'Enghein. When the stranger had thought himself sufficiently to possess the good wishes of the people among whom he was, he made known his real name, and his marriage, 1 which had taken place about the time he was introduced to the count in Rome. " The stranger" . was, as you will suppose, Monsar de Maestro ! tiiad his wife was the counts sister. They had been playmates in childhood, and the cruelty of her brother to wards the youth had made the lady's friend ship ripen into love." " Was it a real marriage that existed between them ?" interrupted the traveller, who seemed very much interested in the account. The woman looked timidly about her, and then whispered in a low tone, " It was ! her waiting•woman, who had always enjoyed the confidence of the sweet lady, was a witness of the ceremony, It was Father Jerome, who died so suddenly, and not one of his servants, attired in his master's garments, as the count so clearly proved it to be, who stood at the altar. But who would have believed me ? What am I saying,—but you arc the friend of de Maestro ! My dear mistress would not allow me to make known what I know of The marriage ; she said it would in no way benefit her husband or her self, for the count was determined to ruin him ; it would only involve Pietro,--we had been married a year then,— in difficulty. I would not have cared for that, however, but slie would not allow it ; on her dying bed she begged me not to testify to the legality ofher marriage even if her babe lived, for it might cost him and his father their lives. My dear mistress !" and the woman's tears fell fast over her work, " she had no friend but me, and her husband was far away ; for the count, whose influencexas very great, had so exasperated the populace against him by his story of the wrong done his sister, that he was obliged to escape from -the 'city. She diedipto the great joy of her brother, but he has never prospered since. The Conntess d'Enghein survived her but little more than a year, and it was a strange disease of which she died ; twice has the chateau been robbed, once of the dearest treasure he possessed on earth— his only son, and once was the villa nearly de stroyed by fire. And did you ever think of it, monsieur,—Francois, can you not find some fruit for the stranger ? did you ever observe, monsieur—O, you have long been absent from this neighborhood,—you say ! but you have heard of course of the robberies which have, for, some years passed, been committed between Lyons and Turin. Well, these robberies have always been of the count or her friends ; and —and—l know not why I am saying what I have fly dared think before,—the youth who was executed two years since, as a member of that band of robbers, must have been the boy who was stolen from the count--his own son ! I saw him after the execution, and his face was so like to that of another d'Enghein !" " Has it ever been supposed that de Maestro's friends were the visitors of these evils on the count ?" asked the stranger. " Friends ? he had no friends !" was the reply ; and the woman hurried on, evidently with a desire to evade giving a more direct answer ; " no friends where the count exerts any influence. Ile has hunted hint everywhere, like a wild beast ; it is said he has sometimes been reduced to the utmost want, through the count's means. Nothing has been heard of de Maestro for some years past." " Did you tell me," asked the strangek, " what became _of his child ? It lived, you said !" " No, monsieur, I did not tell you it lived !" returned the woman, quickly. " The report was, that it was dead ; and everybody believed it was*true." " Everybody but you, Louise !" said the stranger. The woman started, but the man lifting, for a moment, his broad-brimmed chapeau from his head, and with it the dark chestnut wig which had hid his own raven hair, and at the same time removing from his face the moustaches that had concealed it, and a line from his cheek that seemed to hm(ve been a frightful scar, but replacing each as soon as he perceived from the changt+, countenance of the woman, that he was recognized, asked eagerly, in a language very different from the patois in which he had before addressed • her, " Louise, does he not live? Is not Francois the son of the Lady Etnilie ?" " He is ! but—but he must not be taken from me ! It would be harder to part with him now than it was with my own dear babe, whose place ho took in my arms, and my heart.— Pietro thinks l itn his own son ; what can I say to my husband Übe is taken away ?" " All your kindness to your mistress and her son is known," said the stranger, " and the boy shall never forget it. You shall see him again, some day. Do not undeceive Pietro, nor any one elSe in regard to the lad ; your in genuity will fail you for the first time if you cannot satisfy him. Thank yon," ho continu ed, as Francois returned with a basket of fruits, " but the day is almost gone, and I can tarry no longer. If you will take the basket on your arm, however, and walk with me a little distance, I shall be well pleased !" • •"'" Go with him, Francois, as far as he wishes you to ! remember, my son, as far as he wishes you to ! But you must return to me again, some time, remember that too, Francois:; when he will allow it, return to me again !" and the woman, unable longer to control her feelings, rushed into the cottage, closing the door after her. Three years had passed away since,, at the command of his supposed mother, Francois had put himself under the control of the individual, who came, ono warm midsummer eve to the door of Pietro's cottage, and asked for a draught of water. But who Ruberto (so was the indi vidual called) was, and why he had taken such interest in him, for notwithstanding he wris dom treated by him with any show of kindness, the youth was convinced that nothing gave his tutor—such was Ruberto to him—so much pleasure as the progress he made in his studies, and his improvement in physical strength,— who he was, and why he had taken such inter est in himself, Francois could not learn. Among the inhabitants of the little hamlet in which his cabin stood, Ruberto was known as Un Fon t but he excited. no fear nor ridi cule among the most timid, or the rudest, for he was always harmless, and the sight of that broad, pale brow, on which the raven hair was shivering, the glance of the deep-set, melancholy black eyes and the low-toned musical voice never called forth any emotion but teat of pity. For some timo after he had taken up his resi dence with the stranger, Francois believed that the epithet applied to him was not, altogether,, inappropriate. The course ho sometimes took to procure his daily bread; more than nnything else, convinced him of the p. rtial insanity of his patron. Ruberto won rise from the piatio,—the principal article iture:which his cabin contained,—wher been play ing in a manner that might have entranced the senses of a much better critic than Francoia,.as entirely as it did his,—the master-pieces of tho greatest artists, altering and improving, so his pupil thought, their finest passages, and some' NUMBER 23 times running into a voluntary, which far ex ceeded in beauty any music he could place be fore lint ; he would rise from the piano, and suspending from his neck by a cord an in strument carried only by the lowest class of street musicians, wou Id start for some neigh boring town, where he would be found gather ing a few sous from a group of lazzaroni, for the performance, in the most wretched manner, of some contemptible ballad. But when Fran cois gently remonstrated with him for the course he was pursuing, offering to labor for the support of Ruberto in return for the in . structiou ho was receiving from him, an ex pression would dart from those dark eyes which only silenced the youth, but would per suade him, for the time, that it was not to a disordered intellect, but a deranged soul, that the eccentricities of his character were attribu table ; and he was convinced, by several cir cumstances, that the extreme poverty of Ruber to was only affected. The longer ho remained with him the more was he assured that the real character and situation in life of his friend Were very different from what they seemed to be:but beyond that the youth could not conjecture ; • for there was never a moment when that face re- I !axed its cold and stern expression ; never, though words of kind approval were sometimes addressed to him, was there a tone which invi ted to familiarity. The other member of Ruberto's family was more unapproachable•than himself, for the old Lunette was deaf and- dumb too, for aught Francois knew. During the three years lie had spent in the house, she had not uttered a word in his hearing ; and she was very unapt in pantomime, for the youth could never make her understand anything, though he sometimes la bored to do so. ' Very soon after taking up his residence with Ruberto, he had been informed that be was not the son of Pietro and Lduise ; but who his pa rents were, and whether they were living or not, he could not learn. His foster-mother whom, at the request of his new guardian, and also he'r own, he had not visited. since leaving her, pretended ignorance of his parentage ; and Ru berto would not be questioned on the subject. Three years had passed away, and a great change had taken place in the personal appear ance and character of Francois. Tho pale, del icate boy, whom the extreme tenderness of his foster-mother had almost spoiled, and a fear of whose discovery by the unscrupulous r ative who might have sought his life, as well a ler notions of his superiority of birth, had caul d to interdict any intercourse between him and the children of her peasant neighbors, and to confine him so entirely to her society that be was timid and awkward,—had become a strong, athletic youth of nineteen, handiome in fea tures, and polite and graceful in his manners ; reserved, and very sensitive from the peculiar position in which he was placed, but proud and self-possessed. His talent for music had been cultivated, but not to the neglect of other stud ies, for Ruberto had showed himself as well oalified for his instructor in other sciences ; as in music. On the etening that he had completed his nineteenth 'year, Francois informed Ruberto that it was his wish to engage in some pursuit by which he might gain a livelihobd without being . dependent on the kind friend who had eared for him so long. Ituberto had been sitting in ono of those gloomy moods in which he had always at times indulged, but which had, of late, seized him more frequently than usual, with his head resting on his hand, and his eyes fixed with a cold, insane expression on his pupil, who, a moment before addressing him; had executed a veay difficult but sweet piece of music.. " From the kindness you have always showed me since I have been with you," said Fran cois, " I venture to hope yqu have already marked out for me a course of 'conduct, and I shall be ready to pursue it as soon as it is de scribed to mc." Rubertoatarted as if the simple words of the youth had been a dagger in his soul, and the look which succeeded that vacant gaze was so wild and agonized, that it seemed to chill the blood in the veins of Francois.; and before he could collect himself sufficiently to ask an ex planation of the sudden emotion, rose stri ped out of the cabin. Francois rose to follow him, but he had hardly advanced a step to wards the door when a hand was laid,heavily on his shoulder; and, ho could hardly credit the evidence of his senses, tho old Lunette stood be • side him, gazing with a clear and bright, but anxious eye, in his face, and whispering in his ear in a low, distinct'tone. . " Francois !" she said, " fly from this place : far—very far from this place, and now—this very night! Fly, if you have the. least regard c k hne ; fly, if life and honor arc dear to you!" I MF' From Ruberto, Ltinetto ? Dues he wish me to leave him 1" "Ileloves you," returned the woman ; ".you cannot dream of the affection he bears you ; but Roberto would gjvo his right hand could he never see you more ; ay, his life, even did ho know yelp were beyond the bounds of Italy and France, never more to return ! 'Obey me, or you will bring a terrible curse on yourself and him. Ask no questions ; henceforth I milt. mute I have always been !" and the old woman, resuming her accustomed look.of stu pidity, retreated to the corner of the apartment where she usually sat, and took up her inter minable straw braiding. The abrupt entrance of an individual—a' butcher from Lyons, and'a distant . connection of Roberto's, so he called himself, prevented Francois from attempting to draw from Lunette an explanation of her words. Merle, so was • the visitor called, was a man about fifty years of age, and in his, personal appearance, and the expression of his features, was something that rendered very probable the story of bis rely-' tionship to Roberto. But the two individuals were'very unlike, too. The black eyes were equally wild and pierce ing, but what was deep melancholy in one, was, in the other, the expression of dark, re vengeful thought ; the voice, and peculiar ac- cent 9f the two were the same ;, but the few words of Ruberto were sweet ifid gentle, as were the tones which, in his hours of better feeling, he made his old piano to breathe ; while the voluble language of Merle was bitter and sarcastic,—his mildeit words seemed but dis sembled oaths. The butcher was not a frequent visitor at the cabin, though he had been there several times since Francois bad become a member of thO family, and the youth had always observed that Roberto, after ono of these visits, had been more than usually silent:and gloomy, and more cold and reserved towards himself. The stranger seemed, from his firit sight of him, to. take a great fancy to Francois, but ho had the most uncommon ways of showing his interest in him. Not unfrequently was his sal utation to the youth the presentation of a.load ed pistol at his breast, or the holding above his head a short, heavy blade,, that he always car ried concealed about his person ; and the ad mirable dexterity with which Francois knocked the weapon from his hand and wound his supple limbs around his strange friend, gave Merle much amusement and satisfaction. Especially was the butcher pleased, when those dark eyes glowered so maliciously on him, and his words were so bitter and taunting, at the perfect self possession of the youth, and the sprightly wit that so easily parried the home thrust, or tho sober rebuke that silenced him.' He had abruptly, it has been said, entered the cabin, and noiselessly, too, at the moment Lunette was resuming her braiding, and glanced with a more than usually frowning eye around the apartment. " And so you have been giving Francois a little friendly advice !" ho said, approaching Lunette, and speaking iu a low, quick tone, as his hand MI rudely on her shoulder. But the venture, though so well made, did not surprise Lunette. Not a muscle of her face mocd ; and the eye which lifted itself to his, was inexpressive of aught but surprise at his sudden appearance. Francois had ahvitys felt an instinctive dislike to Merle ; the sport of the butcher with him- self being about as unitising to him as must be that of grimalkin to the captured mouse ; and his present visit, the youth thought, might have sonic connection with the injunction of Lunette, and the mysterious appearance of Roberto ; and under pretence of seeking the latter, ho left the cabin, and did not return to it till late in the evening, when the visitor might be ex pected to have taken his departure. 'The dwelling was silent, and in darkness, and Francois crept ,noiselessly to his sleeping apartment ; but as lie was preparing himself for his couch, there was a low tap at his door, and on opening) it, the old housekeeper stood be• fore him. y the bright moonlight he saw that she was greatly excited, but with a look imposing silence. slie motioned him to follow her, and then led the way to the cellar of the cabin. " Francois groped his way down the stairs after her, and then Lunette seized his hand a n d drew him forward, ho knew not whither, but through a long, subterranean paSsage, which Opened now and then, he thought; into an area of considerable dimensions. At length they paused, and the woman, first pressing his fin gers tightly to enjoin silence, opened a small aperture in the all before which they stood, and then drew him to the spot through which a ray, of light was gleaming. Francois peered through the aperture, and before his eye was an apartment perhaps sixteen feet square, com fortably finished, and furnished with a large table, on which were viands and drinking ves sels, and around which. were seated a dozen men." The host, to the amazement of Francois, was Roberto, and opposite him sat the butcher from Lyons. All the others wore unknown to ; but they were dark-browed, ferocious looking men, and three of them bore a very striking resemblance to Merle. [CoxcLuncto NEXT WEEK.] Hexer BEES.-A correspondent of a morning - paper says that he has lived three years in the southern portion of Tulare Valley, California, and can state that during the dry season tho leaves of. tlic oak aro Completely loaded down ' with honey, so that it drops from leaf to leaf,. and finally finds its way to the earth in fine, transparent and,crystalized honey. The wil low timber on all of those southern streams ' from tho San Joaquin down to Tejon Pass is loaded down with sugar, .:o that the Indians collect it in large quantities by cutting off the branches, throwing them on a hide and thresh ing it off, then winnovilug out the leaves. There is likewise a smell cane that grows in the mountains adjacent to the Tejon, from which the natives collect lairgeqiiiintitieS of sugar by , merely cutting it and threshing the sugar oft They obtain it in a pure, crystalized state, without any boiling or refining. There is a ' species, of pine that produces sugar in 'small' quantities, but not stillicient to make Wan ject to collect. •
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers