332 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
ANECDOTE OF WASHINGTON. 
When Stuart was painting Washington’s 
portrait, he was rallied one day by the Gen¬ 
eral for his slow work. The painter pro¬ 
tested that the picture could not advance 
until the canvas was dry, and that there 
must be some delay. Upon arriving the 
next morning, Stuart turned his canvas and 
discovered to his great horror, the picture 
was spoiled. 
“ General,” said he, “ somebody has held 
the picture to the fire.” 
Washington summoned his negro valet 
Sam, and demanded of him, in great indigna¬ 
tion, who had dared to touch the portrait. 
The trembling Sam, replied, that chancing 
to overhear Washington’s expression of im¬ 
patience at the slowness of the work, and the 
response of the artist that it must be dry 
before it could go on, he had ventured to put 
the canvas before the fire. Washington, 
with great anger, dismissed him, and told 
him not to show his face again. 
But the next day, after Stuart had arrived 
and was preparing to work, Washington rang 
the bell, and sent for Sam. He came in 
abashed and trembling. The President drew 
a new silver watch from his pocket, and 
said : 
“ Come here, Sam. Take this watch, and 
whenever you look at it, remember that your 
master, in a moment of passion, said to you 
what he now regrets, and that he was not 
ashamed to confess that he had done so.” 
ENDURING AFFECTION. 
The following interesting incident, is from 
an article by “ W.,” a correspondent of the 
Journal of Commerce : 
There is a memory of the old church in 
which we worshipped, yesterday, connected 
with this old man who will be buried to¬ 
morrow, that seemed to me very touching 
when I heard it related last night. Sixty 
years ago, there was a voice in the choir that 
thrilled his heart every Sunday morning, so 
that he listened to it more than the words 
ofthe'song. He was astout, strongman, and 
yet he was a child in the presence of that 
country maiden, and beloved her with ex¬ 
ceeding joy. He served her father, not so 
long as Jacob for Leah, yet with no less de¬ 
votion, and for a while with no more success. 
One day the farmer’s family had gone to visit 
a friend, some ten miles distant, and not 
having room in their wagon, they had re¬ 
turned, leaving Lucy to be sent for. And 
toward evening, the old man, the young man 
I should say—how strange this tale of his 
youth seems to me who have always known 
him as old—the young man was sent for her, 
and having taken her into the wagon with 
him, started in return. 
Five miles of the road were accomplished, 
when the gloom of a tempest surrounded 
them, and a storm burst on them with terri¬ 
ble fury. There was no better shelter for a 
mile, save the old church, that stood alone on 
the hill, and thither he urged his horse, with 
‘difficulty and no small danger. 
They reached the door, which was never 
closed—for the house of God, in those days, 
was always open—and the girl found shelter, 
while he secured the horse in safety under 
the shed, and returned to her. 
He had never told her of his love, and now 
was a fair opportunity. In the wild flashes 
of the lightning, the little church gleamed 
out on the valleys that it overlooked, like a 
silent, calm mother, to keep all safe in the war 
of the elements. No one who caught sight 
of it that night, dreamed that it was occu¬ 
pied ; but there were two hearts in it that 
commenced to beat in unison that night at the 
altar where they pledged their love to each 
other. They were not afraid, not terrified, 
though the tempest was fearful, and though 
every window gleamed luridly in the con¬ 
stant flashes of the lightning. With arms 
folded around each other, they knelt there 
still. It was a holy night, to which in after 
years their souls recurred with never ceas¬ 
ing joy. 
Yes—sneer—laugh—blaspheme that holy 
love, poor miserable dogs of the world’s 
whipping, who have never felt the blessed¬ 
ness of pure, warm, woman’s love, but know 
that during the sixty years of Sabbaths that 
man worshipped God at the same altar, he 
never forgot, that night, nor failed to thank 
God for that tempest. 
And to-morrow when they carry him into 
the church again, and lay him down prone 
at the altar foot, whereby he knelt with the 
maiden he loved so long ago, if his old bones 
revive not at the blessed touch, if his old 
heart thrill not with the remembered love, if 
his old cheek grow not warm with the balmy 
breath, if his old eyes smile not with the old 
love, if he be there still, calm, dead, yet I tell 
you there is an altar, a church, a land, where 
they two will be kneeling together to-mor¬ 
row, where their eyes will be radiant with 
love, where their lips will be eloquent with 
rapturous song ! “ Again and yet again,” 
saith Joe Willis, looking over my shoulder 
as I wrote—“ I thank my God for the immor¬ 
tality of our love.” 
SAGACITY OF AN ELEPHANT. 
We passed an elephant working on the 
road, and it was most interesting to watch 
the half reasoning brute ; he was tearing out 
large roots from the ground by means of a 
chain and hook, fastened round his neck 
with a species of collar. He pulled like a 
man or rather like a number of men, with a 
succession of steady halls, throwing his 
whole weight into it, and almost going down 
on his knees, turning round every now and 
then to see what progress he was making 
Really the instinct displayed by the elephant 
in its domestic state is little short of reason 
in its fullest sense. There is no doubt they 
do think and also act upon experience and 
memory, and their capacity seems to in¬ 
crease in an extraordinary degree from their 
intercourse with man. The remarkable 
nicety and trouble they take in squaring 
and arranging the blocks of hewn stone 
when building a bridge is incredible, unless 
seen ; they place them with as much skill as 
any mason, and will return two or three 
times to give the finishing touches when 
they think the work is not quite perfect. 
They retire a few yards and consider what 
they have effected, and you almost fancy 
you can detect them turning their sagacious 
old noddles on one side, and shutting one 
eye in a knowing manner, to detect any ir¬ 
regularity in the arrangement. 
During the last war, a Quaker was on 
board an American ship engaged in close 
combat with an enemy. He preserved his 
peace principles calmly until he saw a stout 
Briton climbing up the vessel by a rope 
which hung overboard. Seizing a hatchet, 
the Quaker looked over the side of the ship 
and remarked : “ Friend, if thee wants that 
piece of rope, thee may have it,” when suit¬ 
ing the action to the word, he cut off the 
rope and down went the poor fellow to his 
long -watery home! 
A married lady found her two sons quar¬ 
relling, and in hopes of putting an end to 
their differences, uttered the following :— 
“ You young rascals, if you don’t desist di¬ 
rectly, I’ll tell both your fathers.” 
OLIVE OIL FOR SNAKE BITES 
Some months since you published interest¬ 
ing art icles on the subject of poisonous snake 
bites. I concur in the opinion'you expressed 
that the best known remedy for such a seda¬ 
tive poison is whiskey or other alcoholic 
stimulant—drank to intoxication in most 
cases. 
Another remedy : Apply (when practica¬ 
ble) around the wounded limb a ligature to 
retard the flow of the poison with the blood 
toward the heart, give the patient a table 
spoonful of pure olive oil every half hour 
until relieved, commencing as soon as pos¬ 
sible after the infliction of the bite; at the 
same time oil is to be rubbed on and about 
the surface of the wound. An intelligent 
physician informs me that during his resi¬ 
dence on the Brazos River for many years, 
he used this remedy with uniform success. 
During one year five or six of his own 
slaves were bitten by what he believes to 
have been poisonous serpents, such as moc¬ 
casins, rattlesnakes, cotton-mouths, &c., 
and were promptly relieved by the olive oil. 
The toe of a negro girl, bitten by a cotton 
mouth serpent, (such is the popular name) 
sloughed off the day after the bite—the olive 
oil relieved her. In short, he says he has 
never known the remedy to fail. I give the 
information for what it is worth. Let the 
unfortunate try it, if no better remedy is at 
hand. Lacon. 
Galveston, Texas. [Scientific American. 
Shrimping. —The greatest parsimony in 
the matter of names, occurred a few years 
ago in a country village of our acquain¬ 
tance. A woman quite noted for skrimping 
her husband as well as her children, having 
given birth to a child some two or three 
winter months before, was called on by a 
neighbor one winter day, and the conversa¬ 
tion between the two women naturally 
enough turned upon domestic matters.— 
Among other things the name of the infant 
was asked. The mother at once replied— 
“Oh, la! Mrs. C., we haven’t given it any 
name yet. I kind o’ thought I would wait 
and see if it would winter through.” 
How to find One’s Relations. —An old 
man named Raddleburn, in New-York, be¬ 
coming apprehensive that he had not a single 
relation in the world, published an advertise¬ 
ment desiring that all who could claim kin¬ 
dred with the Raddleburn family should come 
forward, as there was a fortune of $150,000 
to be divided among them ; and in less than 
24 hours he was visited by no less than six 
aunts, nineteen uncles, twenty-nine nephews, 
ninety-four nieces, and one hundred and sev¬ 
enty-five cousins. 
Politeness. —While the rain poured in 
torrents, the umbrella of a gentleman struck 
the hat of another standing on the sidewalk, 
and knocked it into the gutter, where it filled 
with water. The person picked up his hat 
and coolly said : 
“ What do you ask for that ?” 
“I ask your pardon,” replied the gent-— 
which so well suited the owner of the wet 
beaver that no further parley was necessary. 
How to Prove a Lover. —In order to try 
your lover’s affection for you, take an op¬ 
portunity of dancing some evening continu¬ 
ally with somebody else, or of otherwise 
flirting, while, in the meantime, you snub 
and slight him. If this conduct does not 
destroy his regard for you, he loves you in¬ 
deed sincerely ; but he is a fool; and Jdon’t 
you have him. 
