You have, in England, but a vague idea
what this Lynching is; how absolutely essential
it is at present, only a life in the hills for
some months could show you. I will describe
to you what I have seen. Picture yourself on
the top of a hill in a pine-forest; the stumps
of felled trees lying round; a wide row of log
and shingled huts on the slopes of the hill,
forming the town. On the hill-top a crowd
of rough-looking men in beards, felt hats, red
flannel shirts, and long boots. They appoint a
president by acclamation, and one of the crowd
getting on a stump, explains that the object of
the meeting is to try certain men for stealing
a purse of gold-dust out of a store in the town.
He says the prisoners are at present in the
hands of the sheriff, and their committal to
the prison at Marysville has been made out
(here a laugh and a growl); but is it the will
of the meeting that men suspected of such
crimes be let loose, &c.? alluding to the distance,
and the notorious laxity in matters of
this kind at Marysville. Guided always by
their president (the Americans are peculiarly
apt in the conduct of public meetings), they
elect a sheriff pro tem., and a committee of
safety, and out steps a splendid sample of the
miner, and is followed by his committee.
They are ordered by the crowd to take the
prisoners out of legal custody, and to produce
them instanter.

Presently they return with the culprits. The
authorities had resisted, says the sheriff, in
reporting progress, and did their duty as they
were sworn; but were overpowered, by which
act the said legal authorities lose nothing of
their popularity. The sheriff then clears a
ring, and the prisoners sit down on the
ground in the midst of their guards, and counsel
are appointed by the meeting, and are
paid one hundred dollars for their services.
The prisoners plead poverty. A jury of six
is sworn. Several jurors named, object; their
pleas are put to the vote, and accepted or
refused. The people's sheriff is ordered to
bring up the witnesses pro and con, and a judge
is appointed; not, however, without some
trouble; for those named who have held commissions
in the States, protest against the
legality of the proceeding, and say they are
sworn to defend the constitution. In the present
instance, a grey-headed old man stands
up, hat in hand, and tells the meeting plainly
that they are doing wrong. So far from
being molested, he is listened to. At last
the president is made judge, and the court
opens.

The trial of the three gold-stealers takes
two days, and they are eventually found
guilty. One of the prisoners, the ex-officer I
spoke of, gets up from the ground and owns
his guilt. He had lost every ounce of the
gold he had acquired by gambling, and then
had drunk to drown thought. While drunk
he was incited by "that man" (pointing to a
fellow prisoner) to rob a box which his tempter
knew of. This the person pointed at stoutly
denies, but while awaiting the execution of
the sentence (thirty-nine lashes) offers to tell
where his share of the money is to be found,
if they will only remit part of his sentence.
The jury re-assemble, and reduce the sentence
accordingly, as regards the first and
second criminal.

Next morning, in rain and wind, the sheriff
leads out his victims; they are tied hand and
foot to a tree and scourged, till, when cast
loose, they lie half fainting, curled up, sick
and moaning. They are hardly allowed to
stay in the town till their wounds heal, and
one dies. The others creep off, and go, I
know not where. I was not, let me add,
present at the execution.

       THE LAST WORDS OF SUMMER.

IT breathes a parting whisper through the meads,
Instinct with love, and fraught with solemn meaning;
A fruitful harvest for our mental needs,
Richer than sheaves which Autumn's hand is
gleaning.

It was a Summer match'd by none before;
It rose upon a World's expectant meeting;
And scattering sunshine from its radiant store,
Smiled upon thousands with a kindly greeting.

And now, just mingling with the shadowy Past,
It speaks of aims to which our efforts tended;
Lest, haply, with excess of light o'ercast,
They fade from view, like rays obscurely blended.

"The triumphs of your Science and your Art
Should not be gazed at as a fleeting wonder;
They teach deep lessons to the human heart,
Stilling the echoes of War's rolling thunder.

"The handicraft of universal Man,
Proving one stock, should wake fraternal feeling;
Should lead from home remoter realms to scan,
With speechless eloquence to Love appealing.

"Thus will the gathering knit you into one,
And tune to concord your once jarring voices;
As yet, the noble scheme is but begun;—
Achieve a work, at which the World rejoices!"

                LIGHT AND AIR.

LIGHT and Air are two good things: two
necessaries of existence to us animals,
possessing eyes and lungs: two of the things
prayed for by sanitary philosophers in the
back streets of London; where, we fear, they
might as well be crying for the moon.

Light and Air, then, being two good things,
what happens when they come together?
Spirit and water combined, says the toper,
are two good things spoiled; and how do
light and air mix? Pick out of Cheapside
the busiest of men, and he will tell
you that he loves the sky-blue in its proper
place, making a sickly joke about his
milk-jug. There is not a Scrub in the whole