Decatur Eagle, Volume 1, Number 15, Decatur, Adams County, 22 May 1857 — Page 1

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VOL. 1.

THE DECATUR EAGLE. PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING. Office, on Main Street, in the old School House, one Square North of J. & P Crabs’ Storo. Terms of Subscription : For one year. <I ">•). in advance; fl 75, w ithin six months; $2 00. after the year has expired. O’No paper will be discontinued until all j arrerages are paid, except at the option of thej Publisher. Terms of Advertisings Ono Sqnare, three in.-'ertions, $1 00 Each subsequent insertion, _ 25 j HZNo advertisement will be Considered less I than one square; ever one square will be conn-; ted and charged as two; over two, as three, etc. JOB PRINTING. ; We are prepared to do all kinds of JOB j WORK, in a neat and woikmanlike manner,on the most reasonable terms. Our material for the completion of Job-work, being nev. and of; the latest styles, we are confident that satisfaction can be given. Law of Newspapers. 1. Subscribers who do not _'ivc express notice , to the contrary, are considered as wishing to continue their subscriptions. ■ 2. If subscribers order the discontinuance of their papers, the publisher may continue to send them until all arrearages are paid. I 3. If subscribers neglect or refuse to take their ( papers from the office they are held responsible , till they have -ttl I the bill and ordered the paper discontinued. I 4. If subscribers remove to other places without informing the publisher, and the paper is . still sent to the former direction,they are held responsible. . ' O’Thc Court hive deci'cd that refusing of take a paper from the office, or removed and leaving it uncalled forissaiMA facie evidence of intentional fraud. _______ ■ v»H2SEE !®.'« BY MRS L. H- SIGORXEY. Who watch for Morn? The sufferer’s eye That sleepless marks the hours go by,— The exhausted nurse, before whose .t Long shadows steal, and day seems night,— The sailor-boy, his watch who keeps Ou lonely deck and surging deep"; Thinking amid his weary tread Os home and brother, warm in bed, W=«t by whose side he used to rest, Glad iledglingu of parcnt-uesi. These jov, when, with sandals grey, Steals dimly o’er the dappled way, Ami all impearl’d with dew-drops sheen, Aurora’s sandals print the green; Yet, more than sick, with restless wai’, Or worn-out nurse, witli watchings pal,, Or mournful mariner at sea. Longs the lorn heart, oh friend,Thee, With whom, as in a casket’s breast, Its garner’d happiness doth rest. I’LEASI’”' ' _..;g after pleasures go— They cri, ’-bo, oll ]y t,heirs who work and wait; ..lice a sweetheart, that as all do know, too much love displeases more than hate. He spoils his house and thows his pains away Who, as the sun, veers his windows o er, For should he 'wait, the Light, some time of day, Would come ami set, beside him in hia door. A SCEN E IN A JURY-ROOM. BY SYLVA Nt’S COBB, JR I onco had the extreme felicity of leaving my business to serve upon ‘the Jury.' I plead in all manner of ways for release, but to no effect. I could not swear that I was deaf, or blind, nor yet non compos: but 1 did tell them that I had already formed an opinion. They asked me if my opinion would prevent me from receiving the testimony in good faith, and rendering a verdict according to it. I replied that of course I should weigh the evidence carefully, and be governed by it. I was then informed that I ‘would do.’ The case to be tried was one of Arson then a capital offence —and the prisoner at the bar was a } ■ nng man, named Charles Ambold, whom 1 had known from boyhood, and who was naturally one of the finest youths of the town where he resided. He“hkd a widowed mother, who depended upon him for support; and his circle of friends was large and choice. I was morally certain that lie did not commit the crime, and hence, I am sure, those who were friendly to him got me upon the panntl, and had me retained. The trial commenced and we twelve men took our seats in,the jury-box. I had a very respectable set with me —only there was one man whom I didn’t like to see there. This man was Moulton Warren. He was a dark-faced, sinister-look-ing fellow—at least to me. I knew that young Ambold had one fault. He had recently been addicted to drink, and had been known to visit disreputable houses. It was one of those houses that had been burned, for setting fire to which ho had been apprehended. Now I had often tried to persuade Charles Ambold from the course he was pursuing. He had repeatedly promised me that he would reform, and as repeatedly had he broken away. I had often talked to him of his poor mother, until he had wept like a child, but the ciiect was

J not lasting. There was a power of temptation mure effective than any influence I could wield. He would fall away into . this evil companionship, and for a while his manhood was gone. One or two aban- ’ doned women gained great power over I him, and upon them he wasted much of his substance. And 1 knew that this very mm who was now upon the jury—this Moulton Warren—was the one who had done more than all others to had the poor youth away. It was Warren who bad drunk with him, who had caroused with him, and who had led him away to those more abominable haunts of sin and pollution. I Why was he upon the jury? I could on-1 ly account for it upon the ground thatl Charley still supposed him to be his' friend. The poor scorched insect was > still ignorent of the flame that seared him. He really believed that Moulton Warren j was his friend. The trial commenced. The indictment set forth that Charles Ambold had, ‘with , malice aforethought,’and with all sorts of wicked and felonious intents, set fire to a certain dwelling-house, thereby endangering human life. This dwelling, as I have already intimated, was a low sink of iniquity, where the abandoned of• both sexes where wont to congregate; and where the youthful prisoner had . scent much of his time. The evidence for the prosecution came 1 on, and I was startled. One after anoth- ) cr gave in their testimony, some of them very reluctantly, and I was frightened I whefc I sav. how plainly it all pointed to the prisoner as the guilty party. Several cz. hide witnesses swore that they had heard him threaten to burn the house I down; and others had beard him sny re- ' peatedly that he. wished it were burned ■ down! Then came several witness.- — | tb.ree of them prominent citizens —who saw him lurking about the premises on the night of the lire. With regard to the provocation on the I prisoner’s part for such a deed, it was | proved upon his own admission, that he ) had bcen-ill-trcated there, and that he ' had sworn to have revenge. And futhI 0.-.v.nrn, it was proved that bis salvation u»sv«i ... ’ i,.. 1,, rtnnetuteu upon u " I traction of that house Next came some i testimony stronger still. i The fire had been mi, in a back basement room, where shavings '' nil other stuff for kindling were Enfarancc had been "aitv-d trough a hack window, had been partly pried open with j a stout knife. This basement wall was Ls tiiek, and beneath the sash was found the blade of a knife which had been broken off in trying to raise it (the sash). This blade was recognised as belonging to the prisoner’s knife! A maker of cutlery had made a knife to order for Ambold only a month previous, and he knew the blade at once, and swore to it! But this was not all. The fire had been evidently set first to the shavings which lay upon the stone floor, but piled against a wooden partition. This floor was damp, and some of the outer shav- | ings, even, were not wholly burned up. — ) But’just at the edge, when the tire com- ' mcnced, lay a piece of paper rolled up, ■ and about half burned; and from the mnnj ner in which it lay,’it was very evident that the tire had been set with it. This piece of rolled paper had been ignited by ) a match, a number of which were scattericd around, and as soon as it was on tire lit had been laid upon the floor, with the | burning end just in the shavings. Os ■ course these shavings were in a blaze instently; but the paper torch, being upon the damp stones, had not burned wholly up. And this paper was found to be a part of a letter belonging to the prisoner! A letter which he had received from a friend of his (and a friend of mine) only a week before! That friend had to come forward I and swear that that piece of charred pa- ■ per was a part of a letter he had written 'to the prisoner! This friend’s name was ’ Stephen Grant. ’ He was a young merchant and the letter had been written for the i purpose of inducing Ambold to reform, Stephen tried hard to avoid testifying, for he knew, as did others, that the fire must have been set with that identical 'paper; but he was summoned, and he j could not deny his own chirogiaphy. The case looked dark. Many witnesses were willing to tesify to the prisoner’s good qualities; but not one could swear that he was not dissipated and degraded. That house had been to him, indeed, a 1 region infernal. It’s destruction cried out for bis boldly life; aud its existance had long been eatmg away his soul.— ) Poor Charley! I had before been sure of his innocence; but now I could only I shake my head and pity him! _ 1 Finally he was a»iowed to speak for ' himself. He said he was innocent of the I ■ crime imputed to him. He said that he ■ had threatened to burn that house do-,n I that he lad said about all that had' been sworn to. And, futliermore, was i around the house on the night of the fire , He was not ten rods off when the . flames.

“Our Country’s Good shall ever be our Aim —Willing to Praise and not afraid to Blame.”

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA, MAY 22,1857.

burst forth, and he was one of the first ! to give the alarm. He had uttered oaei jcry of fire when he noticed where the iflames must have origina..d, and the I I thought came to him if he were found .here, he might be suspected of having I set the fire; so he run away. I He also said that three nights before ' . the conflagration, lie had be. n . ebbed in that house. His pockets had been empt- ‘ ted of e. . rytiling in them, and his pocketbook, containing forty dollars in moneyandsome valuable papo,-.-:, hid I oi»>* He had gone there on the night of the fire i to try to persuade them to give him back | his money and papers,—or, at least, to I get Lack what he could. When he got 1 ! there he saw a man go in whom he did I ! not wish to see, so he had hung around,, I waiting for him to depart. He was' i around by the back part of the building. j once, and only once —and that was an • hour before the fire broke out. He knew ■ nothing of it—nothing. He clasped his, l hands, and with his tearless eyes raised ; toward heaven, he called ou God to witness that he was innocent! 1 have told you that I knew him well. , I knew him so well, that from that mo -! ment I knew him to be innocent! I knew ; how free and open it was—ah! how sin- 1 j fully so!—and I knew that there was no 1 ! falsehood in the story lie had told to us‘ I i ‘My boy is mocent! My boy is inno-1 cent!’ j I heard the cry—and I saw an old wo- j [ man sink back into the arms of a male ' I companion. It was his poor mother! Her I heart wps well nigh brken! Yeti saw 1 that all this had but litttle effect upon the j mass of the spectators. The prisoner’s coarse of dissipation—his many threats I against the the very fact of his having been robbed and abused they i were heavy against him. , : The counsel for the prisoner made his ■plea .bic’.- was labored and hard. He i was foolish enough to intimate that if Lis ; client was around at the back part of the 1 house more than once, lie must have been : intoxicated. In short, his plea had bet--1 (er been left cut. The evidence he could ■ not shake, and he did all he could to sup- , ■ Rg?.e evidence, some of it most absurp ■ t’ at M Iton AVarfen engaged that lawI yer for the youthful prisoner! The gov- •! ernment attorney made his plea. It. was • plain, straitforward, and very conclusive. The judge finally gave his charge. — .i He was fair and candid. He reviewed i ■ the evidence carefully, and pointed oat ; 1 such as bore heavily upon the ease. He II told us if there was a lingering doubt in ■ j our minds we must give the prisoner the .' benefit of it. But I could plainly see ; ■ that there was no doubt in his mind. . yy e —the jury—were conducted to our ■ room by an officer, and there locked up, ■ A silence of.some minutes ensued. Moulton Warren was the first to speak; I ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I s’pose there’s no ; need of our bein’ here a great while. Os 1 ; course we all know that the prisoner •' must ’<ive sol fire to the house!’ • j There was something in the manner of ■ that man as he said this which excited ■ 1 my curiosity—l won’t say it was suspicion I ii ien —only curiosity. He spoke with a j forced effort at calmness which I at once perceived. The morel looked at him : I the more I became strangely nervous and ' uneasy. I wondered why he should be ; so anxious to be rid of the case, and have I Ambold convicted. I knew t .the had 1 frequented that evil house, and that he had done much towards tempting Charley ■ to dissipation I knew he wits in that ! house on the night on which the prisoner ' ivas robbed--—for Charley had told me so when I visited him in his cell. I had : then asked the unfortunate youth if he j was sure Warren was his friend. o—he I! was sure of it. He should have bunted : | him up on the night of his robbery, only \ they told him Warren had gone. ■ ' By and bye the fireman proposed that [ we should each take a piece of p.tpar and write down our opinion, and then compare notes. I went to my hat, which I ' had placed upon a table with a number 'of others, and took out a half, sheet of I paper. I had got halt way bacn to tne | table when I found I had made a mistake. , 1 had got part of a letter from another man’s hat. I was about to turn back ; when the name of the writer of the letter ; arrested my attention. I looked more ' closely, and read— ‘Stephen Grant.’ : Next. I. caught this sentence, — ‘And now, dear Charles, if not for your own, yet for your mother’s sake, let inc ' hope you will do better.’ I started as though a shot had struck me. I held in ray hand the other half of the sheet which had been used to tire the burned house! I went to the table and I found that 1 had taken it from Moulton i Warren’s hat! I looked to see if 1 had been observed —and I had not I put the paper back, and then took a piece from my own hat, which w.is of the same pai- j I tern as tile other, and by its sine. I returned to the table and sat down. ’ i Warren was U ■ my side. He bad writ- ! ten his opinion, and took a knife from his

! pocket to cut it out from the large sheet,. I , ‘Let me take your knife a moment, if' ! you please,' i said to him. Without hesitaion he did so. I took it —it was Charlc Ambold’c. knife! The ' large b’ade was gone! With all the pow-' I er I possessed I restrained my deep emo-;' ‘ions, and Laving cut my paper I handed back the knife. Why should he have that knife so held - ' fly about him? I afterwards learned.— He had not worn tkc.se pantaloons before ' rStncu tlr. ' •.\lito? «.’<« irp; -cnl r*-— l --. ; used the knife, probably, without the least ‘ remembrance of the loss it had sustained ■ during a very peculiar piece of work, to ' 1 the excution of which it was made sub-; servient. We talked for some ten minuets, and I ' found that eleven of the jury were bent; upon rendering a verdict of guilty; though , most of them were in favor of recoin- ' mending the prisoner to mercy. Moulton • Warren was decided. He had no mercy at all. Presently I started up and pretended • ico be faint. 1 said I must go out a few i moments. I kicked at the door, and the i • deputy sheriff came. He heard my plea, j ; and let me out. As soon as we had gain- j ;ed a safe distance I told him all. Lu was ; astounded. He went away, and when I he came back lie brought tho district at- ' torney and the sheriff. I told again what! ! I bad seen—l assured them that I j what I had seen—that it was no mere: suspicion. And I explained, too, War-! ren’s manner in the jury-room, bis former I i connection with the prisoner, and his j known character. These officers went away, and at the j end of ten minutes they returned with a. constable added to their number, and this ( constable had a freshly-wnttan instru-1 ment in his hand. The sheriff bade me point out the hat to them as soon as we entered the room. The door of the room was opened, and I pointed them to the hat. The sheriff took it, and asked whose it was. AA 7arren leiped to his feet., and would have seized it, but he was held back. AVord was instantly sent to the judge • that the jury could not agree They' --^v O dpscharged, and then Moulton War-: upon him, and his behavior at once ex-1 • i posed his guilt. The presence of that let- ■ | ter was accounted for by him in a dozen • j different ways within an hour. A new jury was impanelled, and ' Charles Ambold was acqutted. Shortly ! afterwards Warren was tried, and it was 1 plainly proved that he had set fire to the house, and that the woman who kept it was to have been burned up in it, as he, had contrived to lock her into her room j shortly before setting the fire. She had I 1 incurred his displeasure in various ways, j and this was his revenge, Not only she, 1 but two of her girls had suspected him j ’ from the first, but they dared not com- 1 plain, for fear he would not be convicted, I I and won' 1 then be sure to murder them, j ~| The hardened villian confessed hisgui’t { } ! after he had been condemned and then it | ! was that he told how he- happened to be , ' l so careless in regard to the paper and the ■ '' knife. It was be who bad robbed Am- i .bold, and when he took the old letter) ! from his bat to use for a torch in setting I the fire, be did not notice what it was, ' aud even when that'partly-burned half had been exibited in court he had en--1! tirely forgotten that he had torn off the) j other half and put it back in his hat, as) )he must have done. The letter had been ’ | found in Ambold’s pocket-book, and he ) had kept it because in it the youth was warned against his influence. He confessed that he held a slight idea of calling I the writer to an account when it should) | become convenient. With regard to the ) knife, it was as I before stated. He bad ; taken that -also from Ambold’s pocket, ) and put it in his o.vn; and on the night of the fire he used it to pry up the sash with, and when he had broken it, he put it back : in his pocket and and forgot it. Thus was Charley saved—and saved •)from more than an ignominious death, 1 too. He was saved to be a noble, virtuI ous man; and his mother once more took ! ample delight and joy in the love and ) I tender care of her only child. When Charles Ambold knew that Moulten Warren had expiated his crime) upon the gallows, he sat down and pondered rwon his past life. The thought) of his old campanion’s being banged sent | | a strange thrill through his frame. But he was able io trace out, clearly and logically, this terrible result from the course of life the ill-fated man bad pursued.— He shuddered as he remembered how ' 1 far he had gone in the same course himself; and he was able to see the only safe path for any youth. Not only must he shun temptatson —not, onlv keep clear of even the appearance of v i ce —but, above all, must lie shun all) '. ; o companionship. A youth may ] take all the good resolutions thought can, afford, but if he continue one eril com-: panionship he is not tafel

A Lvsr : ;.i; am E. The Paris correspondent of the New York Express writes thus; I have a story to relate to your readers this week, which, though occupying more space than I usually deiote to inci- ' dents, con vers so excellent a moral that i I have yielded to the temptation to give it in full. Yiie train from Paris to Lyons stopped 1 st the station Joij-uy, a lo.v'n upon the route, and again went on after leaving a I° ° i few passengers. The depot for a moment! ; crowded with railroad agents and lookers on, was soou deserted by all but two iudi- ) viduals. ) One of these was an old man dressed in ) the garb of a well-to-do farmer, the other ) a youth of Gve-and-twenty, who seemed to ) ;be waiting for some one to come to meet; ! him. To this personage the old man f: ) nally addressed. ‘May I presum, sir,’ said ) ! he, ‘it you are Clement B.’ ) ‘Yes, my good man,’ replied the youth I I with a haughtiness of manner, ‘and I have i D | no d übt you are Mr. Martin?’ ‘At your service,’ replied the other. ‘Well. Mr. Marlin,’ continued Clement | ; in the same tone, ‘I began to imagine you ' intended to keep me wailing. That would ) I not be the best manner to have insinuated 1 ) yourself in to my good graces.’ ) The old man instead of replying, let his ) head fall upon his breast as if in deep «f ! diction, and conducted the new comer to- ; ) wards a large old fashioned carriage, to { which a rough looking horse was harnes- | sed. ‘Here is your carriage, sir,’ said Maitin. ‘lf you will be good enough to get : n, I will have the honor of conducting I you to the Hermitage.’ ‘That my carriage, sir?’ cried Clement ‘Why, I shall be taken for a travelling ) pedlar!’ Notwithstanding as there seemi“'° ' ’ “ I beside the old man. But not without ex- ! pres Mors of disdain. In another moment the old man seized the reins and the horse started on a clumsy trot. But a few Jays before Mr. Clement 8., who now put on so many grand ai- s, was a simple clerk in a crockery store in ParI is, and possessed the reputation of being I a quiet unpretending little fallow. What I then had brought about this sudden and ! radical transformation? He had become, I since the previous day, a rich man; and it mav be well understood that the posses--1 sor of a:i income of 20,000 francs a year J I . Lind;’ it difficut to retain the modest de-! ) meaner of a poor clerk. On the previous day, while dusting the piles of crockery ) under his charge, a letter had arrived for him by conveying to him the I startling intelligence that one uncles, of whom he had often heard as an eccentric and very wealthy old man, but ) whom he had never seen, had just died at his chauteau in Burgundy, leaving his ; nephew. Clement, sole legatee of his estates, to the exclusion of many other heirs. The letter was from a notary in the province, who desired him to leave Paris imi mediately for Joigny, the town near which : his uncle had resided, where he would be met by Martin, an old and confidential servant of the defunct, and conducted from I the railroad to the ‘Hermitage,’ the name which the deceased had given his chateau I and estate. Almost driven out of his ’ senses by such an unexpected stroke of fortune, he hastened to obey the notary’s directions, and upon his arrival at Joigny joined old Martin as we have seen. Oa jolted the queer vehicle, in which our hero had so contemptuously taken a ! place, until after a ride of several miles, ■ the occupants arrived at their destination. I Martin ottered the honors of the Herrnitage to the new proprietor, called all the ) servants and introduced them to their fu- ) ture master, and then conducted the latter to his apartments. ‘This was the sleepin-chamber of your uncle,’ said Martin, as they entered a vast ! apartment, furnished in old fashioned style i •It a as in this room that he died ten days ago.’ But the nephew instead of evincing any ! emotion upon being shown the chamber )of his benefactor, threw upon all around 1 him a look of scorn, and cried—'Upon

my word, I e...i't say 1 think much of the old boy’s taste! I never saw anything, so frightfully ugly in all my life!’ ‘N .withstanding, sir' replied Martin, it is the best there is here; and if you can- ; not content yourself, 1 do not really know where you will find other lodgings! ! ‘Me live here! You don’t imagine I'm such i. donkey, 1 hope! For us young fellows, d’ye mind, Parisis the only place I T <cr lx —-11 o r . 11 i>Lia will twKctJ Mte and bu off.” ‘Sell the Hermitage, your uncle’s favorite place of residence! Impossible! And we servants, who hope to end our days under the roof—what is to become of us?* ‘Mr. Martin,’retorted the young man, •let me have none of your complaints, I j beg. Get me some dinner, and afterwards you will drive me to the notary’s.’ | After having eaten a hearty meal, not withstanding lie found the meats insipid ) and the wines sour, the legatee, still acI companiud by Martin, re-entered tiie old carriage, and the two again started off. ‘lf 1 am not mistaken,’ observed Mr. Clement, after an hour's ride, ‘we passed this morning, and that—pointing to a ) building—is the railroad depot. Dawe take the cars?’ ‘You alone will do so,' responded his t companion, speaking very gravely, and in a manner which caused the young man to tremble in spite of himself. ‘I, sir, am I your uncle, and, happily, I am not yet dead. Having heard good accounts of your conduct, I had resolved to make you heir of all I p '.;sess; but before doing so I wished to know whether you were really deserving of my generosity, aud I had I recourse to stratagem which has thoroughly exposed your true character to me.— j Good bye, Mr. Clement. Return to your jshop, and remember that your arrogance ■and ingratitude have lost you that which I will never again be placed within your I reach.' The old man then gave Lis foolish, ne- ' I phew a few hundred francs to indemnify ) him for the expenses of his trip, took I leave of him Ait the depot, and returned home. The feelings of the youth may readily’ be imagined, but, as the yellow covered novels say, ‘they cannot be described ’ ‘I am astonisned at your honor's decision?’ said a young lawyer to a judge who had decreed against him. ‘This remark cannot be permitted,’ said the judge, ‘and an apology wilt be necea- ) sary on your part.’ ‘Permit- me said the senior counsel, ‘to : offer on excuse for my young friend: be is | new in these matters, aud when lie has practice as long before your Loner as I have, he will be astonished at nothing!' Two old gentlemen were complimenting each other on their habits of temperance. ■ ‘Did you ever, neighbor,’ said one, ‘seo me with more than I could carry?’ ‘No, indeed,' was the reply,‘not I! But t have '■een you when 1 thought you bad better have gone twice after it!’ In an account of one of the fashionable marriages lately, we read that there was ‘a train of seven bridesmaids.’ Now when we travel on a railway, we should always like to be with ‘a train* of seven bridesmaids' i A lecturer, addressing a largo audience contended, with tiresome prolixity, that art could not improve nature; until one of his hearers, losing all patience, set the room in roar by exclaiming, ‘How would you look without your wig?’ It is strange,’ muttered a young man ; as he staggered home from a supper par- ; ty, ‘how evil communications corrupt good ! manners! I’ve surrounded by tumblers all the evening, and now I’m a turn- ! bier myself.’ A servant to the geologist of a country seminary, in describing to her master how she had stoned a cow out of the yard, said ‘I saw her come in, and threw a specimen at her, and off she went!’ A man once asked a philosopher what course he should take to be revenged on l:is enemy. ‘Become a good man,’ an»« wered the philosopher. _ A gentleman observed to * friend( tXo , b t ls N ~—y - lt resemWed an electrifying machine, ‘lndeed! how so’’ ‘Because the are to shockin".’ A man hearing that a raven would live two hundred years, bought one to test the truth of the assertion.

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