HARPER'S

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE

No. LXXXVLL. - AUGUST, 1857. - Vol. XV.

Earth, yield me roots ;
Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate With thy most operant poison.    What have we here ? Gold, yellow, glittering, precious gold."  SHAKESPEARE

THE Gold Region of North Carolina lies west of the Yadkin, and the most important mines are found between that river and the Catawba, in the counties of Rowan, Cabarras, and Mecklenburg.

The following account, furnished by Colonel Barnhardt, is given in Wheeler's History of the State:

"A Sketch of the Discovery and History of the Reed Gold Mine, in Cabarras County, North Carolina, being the. first Gold Mine discovered in the United States." " The first piece of gold found at this mine was in the year 1799, by Conrad Reed, a boy of about twelve years old, a son of John Reed, the proprietor. The discovery was made in an accidental manner. The boy above named, in company with a sister and younger brother, went to a small stream, called Meadow Creek, on Sab­bath day, while their parents were at church, for the purpose of shooting fish with bow and arrow; and while engaged along the bank of the creek, Conrad saw a yel­low substance shin­ing in the water. He went in and picked it up, and found it to be some kind of metal, and carried it home. Mr. Reed examined it, but as gold was unknown in this part of the country at that time, he did not know what kind of  metal it was. The piece was about the size of a small smoothing-iron. Mr. Reed carried the piece of  metal to Concord, and showed it to William Atkinson, a silversmith; but he, not thinking of gold, was unable to say what kind of metal it was.

Mr. Reed kept the piece for several years on his house floor, to lay against the door to keep it from shutting. In the year 1802 he went to market to Fayetteville, and carried the piece of metal with him, and on showing it to a jeweler, the jeweler immediately told him it was gold, and requested Mr. Reed to leave the metal with him, and said he would flux it. Mr. Reed left it, and returned in a short time, and on his return the jeweler showed him a large bar of gold, six or eight inches long. The jeweler then asked Mr. Reed what he would take for the bar. Mr. Reed, not knowing the value of gold, thought he would ask a big price ; and so he asked three dollars and fifty cents. The jeweler paid him his price.

" After returning home, Mr. Reed examined and found gold in the surface along the creek. He then associated Frederick Kisor, James Love, and Martin Phifer with himself, and in the year 1803 they found a piece of gold in the branch that weighed twenty-eight (28) pounds. Numerous pieces were found at this mine weighing from sixteen pounds down to the smallest particles.

" The whole surface along the creek for nearly a mile was very rich in gold.

" The veins of this mine were discovered in the year 1831. They yielded a large quantity of gold. The veins are flint and quartz.

" I do certify that the foregoing is a true statement of the discovery and history of this mine, as given by John Reed and his son Conrad Reed, now both dead."     GEORGE  BARNHARDT, " January, 1848.

At the present day the surface gold is very scarce, and the precious ore is found principal­ly in veins of quartz, bedded in the hardest black slate.

The mines are located in what has been from very early times an opulent and well-peopled dis­trict, the theatre of many import­ant political and military events before and dur­ing our struggle for national in­dependence.

What effect the discovery of gold may have had upon the general prosperity of the region we do not know; but having heard divers and conflicting opinions on the subject, we have dis -

erectly concluded to indulge in no speculations thereon. We will, therefore, resume our nar­rative of the observations and adventures of our heroic traveler, Porte Crayon.

At Salisbury, the seat of justice of Rowan County, he found comfortable quarters at the Rowan House. The first object which attract­ed his attention here was a spry, crockery-col­ored lad, clothed in red linsey, and tipped off with an extraordinary crop of red wool. This youth has an uncommon talent for handing hot cakes, and, according to his own account, is a cross of the Indian and Red Fox.

Salisbury contains about three thousand in­habitants, and is a well-built, flourishing town. Among other notable objects it contains the of­fice where General Jackson studied law, and the houses which, in earlier times, were respectively the head-quarters of Greene and Cornwallis, as pursued %nd pursuing they passed through on the famous retreat across the Dan. In connec­tion with this event, an interesting anecdote is related of Mrs. Elizabeth Steele, one of the strong-minded women of that day, at whose house Greene was entertained the evening of the first of February, 1781.

As he arrived, after a hard day's ride through the rain, he said despondingly to Surgeon Reed that he was fatigued, hungry, and penniless.

It was not long before the distinguished sol­dier was seated at a well-spread table, near a roaring fire, when his hostess entered, the blush of modesty mantling her cheek, the fervor of pa­triotism burning in her eye. " General," said she, "I overheard what you said to Doctor Reed; take these, for you will want them, and I can do without them." So saying, she drew two small bags of specie, the savings of years, from beneath her apron, and placed them beside his plate.

In the lives of those high-mettled dames of the olden time, the daughters, wives, and moth­ers of men, the earnest inquirer might find much to elucidate that befogged question of the pres­ent day, "What are the rights of women?"

Even our modern statesmen and patriots might with benefit peruse the proceedings and resolutions of a simple, earnest people, who ex­pected to stand up to what they Resolved, and did not understand legislating for Buncombe, that world-famous county not having been then established.

In the proceedings of the Committee of Safe­ty for Rowan County in 1774, we find the fol­lowing expressive clause: "Resolved, That the cause of the town of Boston is the common cause of the American Colonies."

From Salisbury Mr. Crayon took the coach for Gold Hill, twenty miles distant. He was accompanied on this journey by a young gentle­man from Massachusetts, \vho, led by a common curiosity, was desirous of visiting the most fa­mous of the North Carolina gold mines. Their road passed through a pleasantly diversified country, budding and blooming under the soft influences of spring. Here and there they re­marked heaps of red earth, broken rocks, de­caying windlasses, and roofless sheds, designat­ing the spots where men had wasted time and money in searching for '' earth's most operant poison."

As the terrapin in the fable won the race by steady perseverance, so the vehicle that conveyed Porte Crayon and his friend at length reached Gold Hill. This famous village contains about twelve hundred inhabitants, the population be­ing altogether made up of persons interested in and depending on the mines. There is cer­tainly nothing in the appearance of the place or its inhabitants to remind one of its auriferous origin, but, on the contrary, a deal of dirt and shabbiness. Our philosophic tourist, however, is rarely satisfied with a superficial view of things if he can find opportunity to dive deeper in search of truth. If this retiring goddess is bo partial to the bottom of a well, possibly she may lie in the bottom of a mine.

"But, Mr. Crayon, how can you say with propriety that truth lies any where ?"

'' Aroynt thee, Punster! P——, you have been reading Shakspeare."

Having presented their credentials to the su­perintendent of the works, the travelers were politely received, and in due time arrangements were made to enable them to visit the subter­ranean streets of Gold Hill. The foreman of the working gangs was sent for and our friends placed under his charge, with instructions to show them every thing. Matthew Moyle was a Cornish man, a handsome, manly specimen of a Briton. With bluff courtesy he addressed our adventurers:

"You wish to see every thing right, gentle­men?"

"We do."

'' Then meet me at the store at eight o'clock this evening, and all things shall be in readiness."

Eight o'clock soon arrived, and all parties were met at the place of rendezvous. Moyle and his assistant, Bill Jenkins, looked brave in their mining costume. This consisted of a coat with short sleeves and tail, and overalls of white duck. A round-topped wide-brimmed hat of indurated felt, protected the head like a helmet. In lieu of crest or plume each wore a lighted candle in front, stuck upon the hat Avith a wad of clay. Crayon and his companion donned similar suits borrowed for their use, and thus accoutred the party proceeded immediately to the mouth of the ladder shaft. This was a square opening lined with heavy timber, and partly occupied by an enormous pump used to clear the mines of water and worked by steam. The "black throat of the shaft was first illuminated by Moyle, who commenced descending a narrow ladder that was nearly perpendicular. Porte Crayon followed next, and then Boston. The ladders were about twenty inches wide, with one side set against the timber lining of the shaft, so that the climber had to manage his elbows to keep from throwing the weight of the body on the other side. Every twenty feet or there­about the ladders terminated on the platforms of the same width, and barely long enough to enable one to turn about to set foot on the next

ladder. In addition, the rounds and platforms were slippery with mud and water. As they reached the bottom of the third or fourth ladder Crayon made a misstep which threw him slight­ly off his balance, when he felt the iron grasp of the foreman on his arm :

^if Steady, man, steady!"

'' Thank you, Sir. But, my friend, how much of this road have we to travel ?"

" Four hundred and twenty-five feet, Sir, to the bottom of the shaft."

"And those faint blue specks that I see below, so deep deep down that they look like stars reflected in the bosom of a calm lake, what are they?"

'' Lights in the miners' hats, who are work­ing below, Sir."

Porte Crayon felt a numbness seize upon his limbs.

'' And are we, then, crawling like flies down the sides of this open shaft, with no foothold but these narrow slippery ladders, and nothing be­tween us and the bottom but four hundred feet of unsubstantial darkness?"

"This is the road we miners travel daily," replied the foreman; " you, gentlemen, wished to see all we had to show, and so I chose this route. There is a safer and an easier way if you prefer it."

Crayon looked in the Yankee's face, but there was no flinching there.

" Not at all," replied he; "I was only asking questions to satisfy my curiosity. Lead on until you reach China ; we'll follow."

Nevertheless after that did our hero remove his slippery buckskin gloves and grip the mud­dy rounds with naked hands for better security; and daintily enough he trod those narrow plat­forms as if he were walking on eggs, and when ever and anon some cheery jest broke out, who knows but it was uttered to scare off an awful consciousness that, returning again and again, would creep numbingly over the senses during the intervals of silence ?

But we can not say properly that they ever moved in silence, for the dull sounds that ac­companied their downward progress were even worse. The voices of the workmen rose from the depths like inarticulate hollow moanings, and the measured strokes of the mighty pump thumped like the awful pulsations of some earth-born giant.

Heated and reeling with fatigue, they at length halted at the two hundred and seventy foot gallery. Here they reposed for a few min­utes, and then leaving the shaft walked some distance into the horizontal opening. At the end they found a couple of negroes boring in the rock with iron sledge and auger. Having satisfied their curiosity here, they returned to the shaft and descended until they reached the three hundred and thirty foot gallery. Here appeared a wild-looking group of miners, twenty or more in number, who had crowded on a nar­row gallery of plank that went round the shaft until it seemed ready to break with their weight. A number of negroes were huddled in the en­trance of an opposite gallery, and among them our friends preferred to bestow themselves for better security.

The miners were congregated here, awaiting the explosion of a number of blasts in the main gallery. The expectancy was not of long dura­tion, for presently our friends felt and heard a stunning crash as if they had been fired out of a Paixhan gun, then came another and another in quick succession. They were soon enveloped in an atmosphere of sulphurous smoke, and as the explosions continued Boston remarked, that in a few minutes he should imagine himself in. the trenches at Sebastopol.

When the blasting was over the men returned to their places, and Moyle, having requested his visitors to remain where they were, went to give some directions to the workmen. During his absence, Boston, with the characteristic sharp­ness of his people, commenced prying about him.

"What the deuce," quoth he, "is in these bags on which we are sitting ?"

" Oh, nothing!" replied Crayon, in a listless tone.

"But the bags are full." persisted the Yan­kee ; " and I guess there must be something in them."

" Salt, perhaps."

" I guess they have no particular use for salt down here."

" Gold dust, maybe," and Crayon yawned.

" I've a mind to see, just to satisfy my curiosity," said Boston, opening his penknife.

He quietly slit one of the canvas bags, and taking out a handful of coarse black grains handed them over to Crayon.

Our hero opened his eyes, and then put a pinch of the substance into his mouth. He sprang up suddenly as if he had been shot at.

"Mind your light! Gunpowder, by Heaven! come, let us leave."

"Wait a minute," said Boston, "until I return the powder and close the bag securely."

And having done this with great sangfroid, he followed Crayon's suggestion.

When the foreman returned, our friends descended to the bottom of the mine without further stoppages. Here they found a number of men at work, with pick and anger, knocking out the glittering ore. The quartz veins are here seen sparkling on every side with golden sheen. At least so it appears; but the guide dispelled the delusion by inform­ing them that this shining substance was only a sulphuret of copper, the gold iu the ore being seldom discernible by the naked eye, except in specimens of ex­traordinary richness. Several of these specimens he found and kindly presented to the visitors.

Having, at length, satisfied their curiosity, and beginning to feel chilled by their long sojourn in these dripping abodes, our friends intimated to their guide that they were disposed to revisit the earth's surface.

The question then arose whether they should reascend the ladders, or go up in the ore bucket. The ladders were more fatiguing, the bucket more dangerous, and several miners counseled against attempting that mode. Moyle, however, encouraged them with the assurance that they did not lose many men that way. Crayon settled the question by the following observation :

" Sometimes it is prudent to be rash. I'm tired; and, paying due respect to the calves of my legs, I have concluded to try the bucket."

The bucket is a strong copper vessel about the size of a whisky barrel, used to carry the ore to the surface. It is drawn up through the shaft on a strong windlass worked by horse-power. The operation is double—an empty bucket descending as the loaded one ascends. One of the risks from ascending in this way is in pass­ing this bucket. Crayon stuck his legs into the brazen chariot, and held the rope above. Moyle stood gallantly upon the brim, balancing himself lightly with one arm akimbo. The signal-cord was jerked, and up they went.

Slowly and steadily they rose. Crayon talked and laughed, occasionally trusting himself with a glance downward, hugging the rope closer as he looked. Moyle steered clear of the descending bucket, and in a short time our hero found himself at the mouth of the shaft. With much care and a little assistance he was safely landed, and the foreman again descended to bring up the Yankee.

As Moyle went down. Crayon, with due pro-caution, looked down into the shaft to watch the proceeding. He saw the star in the miner's helmet gradually diminish until it became a faint blue speck scarcely visible. Then other tiny stars flitted around, and faint, confused sounds rose from the awful depth. At the sig­nal the attendant at the windlass reversed the wheel, and the bucket, with the men, began to ascend.

While Crayon watched the lights, now grow­ing gradually on his sight, he was startled by a stunning, crashing sound that rose from the shaft. The first concussion might have been mistaken for blasting, but the noise continued with increasing violence. The signal-chains rattled violently, and the windlass was imme­diately stopped. Loud calls were heard from the shaft, but it was impossible to distinguish what was said amidst the confused roar.

" Stop the pump!" said Crayon to the ne­gro. " I believe the machinery below has given way."

The negro pulled a signal-rope connected with the engine-house, and presently the long crank that worked the pump was stopped; at the same time the frightful sounds in the shaft ceased. The adventurers in the bucket then resumed their upward journey. When they arrived at the mouth of the shaft Movie nimbly skipped upon the platform. Boston, who was in the bucket, was preparing to land with more precaution ; but the horse, probably excited by the late confusion, disregarding the order to halt, kept on his round. The biicket was drawn up ten or twelve feet above the landing, and its

brim rested on the windlass. Boston, to save his hands from being crushed, was obliged to loose his hold on the rope, and throw his arms over the turning beam. One moment more, one step further, and the bucket, with its occu­pant, would have been whirled over and precip­itated into the yawning abyss from which they had just risen. Moyle looked aghast—the ne­gro attendant yelled an oath of mighty power and sprang toward the horse. The movement would have been unavailing, for the horse was on the further side of his beat; but it appears he understood Mumbo Jumbo, and, at the talismanic word, the brute stood still. Cuffee seized his head and backed him until the bucket descended to the level of the platform, and the Yankee was rescued from his perilous position, altogether less flurried and excited than any of the witnesses.

Crayon then ascertained that his surmise in regard to the hubbub in the shaft was correct. At a point about a hundred and fifty feet from the bottom some of the pump machinery was accidentally diverted from its legitimate busi­ness of lifting water, and got to working among the planks and timbers that lined the shaft, crushing through every thing, and sending a shower of .boards and splinters below. The fracas was appalling, and, but for the prompt stoppage of the machinery, serious damage and loss of life might have been the result.

As they were about to leave Porte Crayon approached the negro.

"Uncle," said he, speaking with evident em­barrassment, "you have been at some trouble on our account—got us safely out of the shaft. I wish to thank you, and to offer you some remuneration in the shape of a present. If, indeed, you, who are continually up to your knees in gold, would condescend to look upon a pitiful piece of silver."

" Silber, Massa?" ejaculated Cmffee, opening his eyes.

" Yes, I take the liberty," continued Crayon, " of offering you a trifle," and, with a sheepish air, he dropped half a dollar into the extended palm.

"In a place where you habitually tread gold under your feet, I am really ashamed to offer you baser metal."

" Silber, Massa,!" said Cuffee, grinning from ear to ear, "why I ain't seed sich a sight sence last Christmas;" and he louted so low that his ragged hat swept the ground.

As the strangers retired the voice was hear-^rl still muttering:

"Think nothin' of silber, eh! I like dat— dat's money. Dese yaller stones ain't no use to us. Silber! ke, he—dem's gemplums sure enough."

Before they parted Crayon formally returned his thanks to the foreman, and delicately hinted at remuneration. The offer met a polite but decided refusal from the manly Englishman.

Altogether the visit to the mine occupied about four hours, and the travelers were suffi-

ciently  fatigued to  appreciate their beds that night.

On the following morning they visited the works accompanied by the '" superintendent, who explained to them in a satisfactory manner the whole process of getting gold. In the first place, the ore taken from the mine is broken with hammers to the size of turnpike stone. It is then subjected to a process of grinding in water, passing through the crushing, drag­ging, and stirring mills, until it is re­duced to an impalpable powder, or, in its wet condition, to a light gray mud, which is washed down, and collects in a large vat below the mills. From this it is carried in wheel-barrows to the cradles. The cradles are eighteen or twenty feet long, formed from the trunks of trees split in twain and scooped out like canoes. They are laid upon parallel timbers with a slight inclination, and fastened to­gether, so that a dozen or more may be moved with the same power. They are closed at the upper end, open at the lower, and at intervals on the in­side are cut with shallow grooves to hold the liquid quicksilver. The golden mud is distributed in the up-

per end of these cradles, a small stream of water turned upon it, and the whole vigorously and continu­ally rocked by machinery. The ground ore is thus carried down by the water, the particles of gold taken up by the quicksilver, and the dross washed out at the lower end, where a blanket is ordinarily kept to prevent the accidental loss of the quicksilver. After each day's performance the quicksilver is tak­en out, squeezed in a clean blanket or bag, and forms a solid lump called the amalgam. This amalgam is baked in a retort, the quicksilver sublimates and runs off into another vessel, while the pure gold remains in the retort.

Although this is the most approved mode yet known of separating the gold from the ore, it is so imperfect that, after the great works have washed the dust three or four times over, private enterprise pays for the privilege of washing the refuse, and several persons make a good living at the business. These private establishments are less complicated and far more picturesque in appearance than the great ones. The only machines necessary there are the cradles and the motive power, half a dozen lively little girls from twelve to

fifteen years of age. This power, if not so re­liable and steady, is far more graceful and en­tertaining than steam machinery. Although the fastidious might find fault with their ap­parel, yet the graceful activity of these bare­footed lasses as they skip and dance over their rolling stage, with elf-locks waving free, cheeks rosy with exercise, and eyes bright with fun, is far more pleasing to the eye of taste than the strained, extravagant, and unnatural postur-ings of your Ellslers and Taglionis that we make such a fuss about, excelling them as the wild rose of nature does the bewired and painted artificial, or—ah !—as the—Crayon suggests— as freckles and dirt excel rouge and tinsel.

As our artist was amusing himself sketching one of these establishments, he observed the children at a neighboring shed apparently in consultation. Presently the tallest one among them approached him, and after hovering around for some time, at length leaned over and addressed him in a whisper:

'' I say, man, when you've done here, please come up our way and give us a touch."

Gold Hill, we were informed, belongs to a Northern company. The works are on a more extensive scale than at any other point in North Carolina. They give employment to about three hundred persons, and seem to be in a highly prosperous condition. The working

of the mines is chiefly under the direction of Englishmen from the mining districts of Corn­wall, and negroes are found to be among the most efficient laborers. All the machinery of the different establishments is worked by steam power except the windlasses for raising the ore, where blind horses are used in preference.

Having stuffed his knapsack with specimens of ore, and enriched his portfolio with several portraits of the miners, Porte Crayon with his companion took the stage and returned to Salis­bury.

'' I pray, come crush a cup of wine, rest you merry." What's this? An invitation to a May-day picnic. The earth has already put on her summer livery, wearing it daintily and fresh like a bran-new gown. The southern breeze blows balmily, all perfumed like a sweet damsel just come from her toilet. The birds sing like fifers, and the meads, bepranked [sic] with flowers, vie in beauty with our fashionable hotel carpets. Woods, breezes, birds, and flowers— all nature joins in the invitation.

At an early hour on the third of May a numerous and brilliant company took the cars at the Salisbury depot in answer to the foregoing invitation. There was broadcloth and beauty in proper proportions, and a profusion of flow­ers, wit, and merriment. The disembarkation at Holtsburg developed still further the inten­tions and resources of the party. Numerous mysterious hampers were transferred from the bag­gage-car to the platform of the station-house, and a brace of Cuffees, bear­ing instruments of mu­sic, made themselves a part of the company.

This couple remind­ed one of Don Quixote and his Squire done in ebony. Alfred, the fiddler, was a lathy, long-armed, knock - kneed black, with a counte­nance that vied in rue­fulness with that of the Knight of La Mancha ; while Simon, the tam­bour-major, was a short, wiry, jolly-faced fellow, who thumped his sheep­skin with a will. Of these, however, more anon.

The idea of '' dancing on the green" is eminently poetical, but quite absurd in practice; the managers of the picnic had therefore wisely determined to take advantage of the springy floor of the Holtsburg station-house. This was pleasantly situated near the silvery Yadkin, in the midst of a beautiful woodland, and a more fitting locality could not have been selected. They were at first somewhat disconcerted at finding the station-house entirely occupied with bales of hay; but this untoward circumstance was so turned to account by the ingenuity and energy of the gentlemen that it was afterward esteemed a lucky hit. The bales were rolled out on the platforms, arranged around the room, and piled up at one end, where they served ad­mirably for tables, seats, couches, galleries, and added greatly to comfort and the appearance of the scene.

The early part of the day passed most agree­ably in rural walks, music, dancing, cards, and conversation. Then the mid-day feast was spread and eaten, of course. Every body pro­nounced every thing delightful, every body was pleased, and every body was quite right. The bright Champagne foamed in o'erflowing bump­ers. The corks flew about like shot in a sharp skirmish. Much store of wit and mirth, which, like the music in the bugle of Munchausen's postillion, had remained congealed by the frost

of ceremony, now broke forth spontaneously, un­der the melting influences of wine. The fid­dler struck up a merrier tune, and even Alfred's rueful visage seemed to catch a gleam of jollity. The tambourine boomed and jangled with re­doubled power as the excited Simon rapped the sounding sheepskin consecutively with knuckles kneepan, pate, and elbow. Alfred's legs and arms worked like the cranks of a grasshopper engine, going at thirty miles an hour. The spirit of the dancers kept pace with the music until the approach of evening warned them to get ready for the train which would bear them back to Salisbury. Things were packed up, and the necks of several bottles of Champagne, discovered among the stuff, were broken off to pass away the time while they waited for the train."

"What a delightful day we've had! How charmingly every thing has passed off! not an incident to mar the enjoyment!"

Just then Alfred appeared on the platform, his trembling knees knocked together, his bosom heaved like a blacksmith's bellows, his face was ashy pale, and his eyes rolled upward with a mingled expression of terror and despair. For some moments he was dumb; but his attitude and accessories told his story—a grief too big for words. In one hand he held an empty bag, and in the other his tuneful friend and companion, the fiddle. But in what a case! splint­ered, smashed, mammocked, bridge and sound­ing-post gone, the tail-piece swinging by the idle strings.

Simon looked on aghast.

" Somebody done sot on her !" he ex­claimed.

Alfred at length spoke: "Da! dat fiddle is done ruinged!" and again relapsed into dumbness, while two big tears gathered in his eyes. The hearts of the spectators were touched, and they crowded round the unhappy negro.

"Why, Alfred," cried one, "it can be mended."

"Never, massa, she'll never sound agin.'"

'' Pass round your hat, Alfred."

That was a woman's voice. God bless the ladies! May their kind hearts never know sor­row !

The hat circulated, and substantial sympathy showered in it so freely that there was present­ly enough to buy two fiddles. A glow of hap­piness overspread the minstrel's face, and as he acknowledged and pocketed the contents of the hat, he glanced again at his mutilated instru­ment.

"I specks I kin mend her up yit."

Now Simon was an interested spectator of these proceedings, and when he saw the turn things had taken he grew thoughtful and began to scratch his head. Anon he disappeared, and after a short time returned with tears in his eyes, uttering groans and lamentations.

"Well, Simon, what has befallen you?"

"Oh, master,"replied Simon, with a tragedy countenance, "I wouldn't a had dis to happen for five dollars; jis look at dis tambourine— busted clean through."

"How did this occur, Simon?" said the gentleman, examining the broken instrument.

"Why, master, I don't know exactly how it come; but I specks somebody put dere foot in it."

" I would not be surprised," returned the ex­aminer, "if some one had put his foot in it. Now, Simon, you perceive the frame of the tambourine is perfectly sound, and the cracked

sheepskin can be easily replaced. Your estimate of five dollars damages is excessive. In my judgment, a judicious expenditure of ten cents will put every thing in statu quo ante bellum. Here is a dime, Simon."

During this discourse the tambour-major looked very sheepish and restive, but habitual deference for the opinions of the dominant race induced him to accept the award without demurrer, only observing, as he joined in the general laugh,

"I mought as well not a-broke it."

Meanwhile one of the company had got hold of the broken tambourine-head, declaring that the events of the day deserved to be written on parchment.

A call was made upon the company for poetical contributions, which was answered by a shower of couplets. A committee appointed to collect and arrange the proceeds reported the following:

VERSES WRITTEN BY A PICNIC PARTY ON THE HEAD OF A BROKEN TAMBOURINE WITH A CORKSCREW.

" Of all the year, the time most dear
Is buxom, blooming, merry May;
In woodland bowers we gather flowers
From morning fair to evening gray.

" Time we beguile with beauty's smile,
And sweetly while the hours away,
Champagne sipping, lightly tripping,
Like lambs skipping in their play.

"Music sounding, mirth abounding.

Old care drowning in the foam
Of sparkling bumper—fill a thumper
And we'll drink to friends at home.

" Pray mind you're work and pop the cork.

Just take a fork if corkscrews fail;
 'Think'st thou, because thou'rt virtuous,
There shall be no more cakes and. ale T

" To ladies eyes 'neath southern skies,

To those we prize on earth most dear,
Another brimming goblet fill—
But, hark! the warning whistle near.

" Drink quick—'tis time to close our rhyme—

To Holtsburg's halls a farewell—hie;
To Yadkin's bowers and fragrant flowers—
Quick—transit gloria mundi—sick."