Decatur Eagle, Volume 1, Number 41, Decatur, Adams County, 20 November 1857 — Page 1

TII E !i Er Us t H I: iti I I!7

VOL. J.

THE DECATUR EAGLE. published every Friday morning. Offloe. oa Main Straot, in ths old School House, ono Square North of J. & P Crabs' Store. Terms of Subscription : For one year, $1 50, in advance; $1 75, v.ithin aix months; $2 00, after the year has expired. JT No paper will be discontinued until all arreragcs are paid, except at the option of the Publisher. Terms of Advertising: One square, three insertions, fl 00 Each subsequent insertion, 25 I_FNo advertisement will be considered less than one square; over sue square “ill be counted and charged as two; over two, as three, etc. JOB PRINTING. We are prepared to do all kinds of JOB WORK, in a neat and workmanlike manner, on the most, reasonble terms. Our material for the completion of Job-work, being new and of the latest styles, we are confident that satisfaction can be given. Law of Newspapers. 1. Subscribers whodo not give express notice to the contrary, are considered as wishing to i continue their subscriptions. 2. If subscribers order the discontinuance of their papers, the publisher may continueto send them until all arrearages are paid. 3. If .subscriber) negb-ct or refuse to take their papers from the office they are held responsibly till they have settled the bill;, nd ordered the paper discontinued. 4. If subscribers remove to other places without informing the publisher, and the pap. r is still sent to the (ormer direction, they are held responsible. (Lj*Tlie Court have decided that refusing of take a paper from the office, or removed and leaving it uncalled forisruiiiA faciievidence of intentional fraud. Happy Homes. Let it be our object to mutiply the num - , her of virtuous and happy homes. The ' domestic hearth is the seed-plot of a no-1 bie and flourishing commonwealth. All; Jaws are vicious, all tendencies are to be ; deprecated which increase the difficulty of diffusing through every rank '.lie re- : fined and holy influences which are eher- j ished by the domestic affections. Ruckles speculations amongcapitaltist, disturbing the steady and uniform course of employment, and its sure counterpart, im;;r • idence and debauchery among workin .—are the deadliest foes of the house-i hold virtues. In how small a compass ; lie ail the elements of man’s truest happiness, if society were only conJuot-d m ■» rational and moderate spirit, and its members of every class could be restrained from vicious indulgence and the pursuit of phantoms A marriage contracted ■with thoughtfulness, and cr merited by pure and faithful love when a fixed position is gained in the world, and a small fund has been accumulated —hard woik and frugal habits at the commencement of domestic life, to meet in time the possible demands of a future family—a dwelling comfortably furnished, clean, bright, salubrious, and sweet—children well trained and early sent to school —a small collection of good books on the shelves—a few blossoming plants in the window some well-selected engravings on the j walls—a piano, it may be, a violin or a flute to accompany the family concert — home made happy in the evening by cheer- i ful tasks and mutual improvement, ex- ; changed al times Lr the conversation ot friend and neighbor of kindred taste and congenial manners —those arc conditous of existence within the reach of every one will seek them—resources of the purest happiness lost to thousands, because a wrong direction is given to their tastes and energies, and they roam abroad in pursuit oi interest and enjoyment, which thev might create in rich abundance at home. This is no romantic, visionary picture—it is a sober, accessibility, such iu even now, under the pressure of many ' nd verse circumstances, is realized in the homes of not a few working-men who' have learnt the art of extracting competence from narrow means, and maintaining genuine respectability in a humble station.

Good Nature —ln true Good Nature, there is neither the acrimony of spleen,; nor the sullenness of malice. , It is neither clamorous nor fretful; neither easy to be offended; nor impatient to revenge.— It is a tender sensibility, a participation' of the pains and pleasures of others; ana is, therefore, a forcible and constant' motive to communicate happiness and alleviate misery . I Good Nature, therefore, if intellectual excellence can not atone lor the want oi n , must be admitted as the highest personal , merit. If without it Wisdom is not kind; without it Folly must be bruti.l. L'„y therefore, be once more repeated: lhe quality most essential to conjugal fehcuy is Good Nature.’ And, surely, what ever accidental difference there may happen to be in the conceptions or judgement ot a husband and wife, if neither can give pain or pleasure without feeling it themselves, it is easy to see which sensation they will. concur to produce. Corn is offered at twenty-three cents a bushel by the farmers along the Wabash Valley, deliverable at their own expense in Vincennes, Ind.

THE BETRAYED; OR, The Puritan’s Revenge. On a fine moonlight night, just previous to the restoration of Charles 11., a' young m«n of gentlemanly appearance ’ was walking rapidly toward the viiliage of Charing; his dress denoted that he was of the sect of the Puritans. It was Edward Marston, a widower with one child, whose household was under the directi . ,t h ; - sistei Giace. He i.ui proceeded for some time in his i solitary walk, when a hand was laid upon j I bis shoulder. He started and turned: it I was his uncle Marlin. I ‘Uncle,’ he exclaimed, ‘what brings you here at such an Lour?’ ‘To tell thee that the Commons of England and Monk have betrayed their trust, and recalled Charles Stuart to the throne of his father.’ ; ‘I have heard as much. England is ! now no place for us. You and my late! . father sat rs judges on the tyrant’s trial.' ‘Edward,’ said his relative, ‘thou art! but lukewarm. But the Lord hath re-! proved thee. Hath He not smitten thee' iu thy affections?’ ‘He hath!’groaned his nephew, with glance at his mourning garments. \Si,. I loved is in her gravel’ ‘And my sister,’ added the old man, ; bitterly, 'the child of her who bore thee is dishonored!’ ‘What mean you?’ ■That William Clayton even now is in her chamber, despite my warring. Thou wouldst shelter him and the proud fool f , his brother. Like a serpent be has stung I you'.’ ■I must have proof of this.’ ‘Thou shall watch with me,’ said the i old man, sadlv, ‘and be convinced of the dishonor of thy blood. Drawing their swords, they concealed! themselves behind a portion of the garden wail, from whence they could see the ! window of Grace’s apartment. Grace Marsttn was a lovely as creature ' to look upon as earth could boast- She had won the heart of the young royalist, who was her brother’s friend and guest, aad, yielding to his solicitations, had j weakly consented to a secret marriage.— j Thf*rn mitflit l.nvo lumn- •’•■ ■ ( —imprudence in the act, but no dishonor.; Unfortunately his nightly visits to h< r chamber were discovered by her uncle Martin, a jealous puritan, and the slotm was ready to break. ‘He Comes!’ whispered the old man to J his companion. ‘Now are you convinced.' , ‘Lu oo fata ! I’ As the adventurous husband descended fi om the window of the mansion—for he , and bis brother were lodged in a pavilion in the garden —both uncle and nephuew ! attacked him. They would listen in their blind fury to no explanation, and the j young man must have fallen bcneatu their ■ united efforts, had not the clashing of their , swords brought his brother Richard to his ; assistance. In a few minutes the tables! were fatally turned —Edward Marston , i was dying. No sooner did the young man preceive I the condition of bis friend than he knelt' behind him, and attempted to raise him I from the ground. ‘False friend!’groaned the dying man. j ,Not so, Edward —I am true to thee. . Grace,’ he whispered, ‘is my wife!’ A glisfaction overspread the ; countenan ■ die puritan, as he fi ll up - j on the swaru a corpse. But no explanation could Appease the | wrath of Martin. Over the body of his nephew he vowed a deep revenge! Time will show how be fulfilled it. As guardian of bis niece, he instantly prevented ' all possibility of her communicating with iier husband, whom ha branded as her I brother’s murderer, and affected to dis- ; believe her marriage. i Poor Grace was truly wretched! I Richared and William returned toLon- : don. where they assisted in the restoration .of the king, after several vain attempts to ! see Grace Marston. In the gay court of the licentious monarch, the brothers moved with eclat— alternately the comI panions of Charles’s pleasure and c ;| n-. i cils, honor and appointments were lavish- ; i ed upon them with an inconciderate hand;; both rose to high military command.-— , iAt length, when time had sufficiently es--1 faced the memory of Grace, William again ; began to indulge in thoughts of love. — I Ellen Digby, the only daughter of a ! staunch royalist, was the object c-r Lu I choice The court and its gay allurements were abandoned for marriage and i retirement. Nine months after the of Edward, William and his young bride ' arrived at his brother’s seat, Tyler Hill, near Canterbury. Grace, who, since the death of her brother, had given up her mind entirely to the guidance of Martin and the preacher Newhght, heard oi their arrival, if not without emotion, at least I without a tear. , ‘Wait!’ exclaimed her uncle. 1 nave , engendering here what shall work retn- , bution: they have trampled upon us, but we will turn and rend them.

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

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA, NOV. 20, 1857.

V, ithin the year the bride presented her ! husband with a son—fortune seemed to' ■ smile upon its birth; the young stranger ' was not only heir to his father’s and grind* I father’s estates, but to the fair earldom which Charles had just conferred unon I Sir Richard Clayton, who heard of the birth of his nephew with unmixed satisfaction. Meanwhile, Martin and Grace had disposed of all their property in Kent and a light vessel was secretly engaged to carry them to their future destination;! one night they ." lenly disappeared, and ; ’ were never again seen'in that part t>l j I country. Great was the consternationpin ; lL" following morning, when it was discovered that the young heir of the Claytons’ had been carried off, no one could tell bow. In vain did the distracted parents offer rewards; messengers were dis- | patched into different parts of England, j but in vain, every clue seemed lost, and I the search was at last abandoned as bopeI less. William, with his broken-hearted wife, return-d to London, to forget, ifpSssible, in the dissination of the capita!, the grief which preyed upon Lis heait.— Nearly twenty years rolled on without the least intelligence of the. lost heir, when 1 the earl and his brother were appointed to attend the Duke of Monmouth against tl.e covenanters in Scotland whose success had at first embarrassed the government. , Before the royal army they were everywhere defeated; from Edinburgh they were pursued to Dumbarton, and driven from that stronghold to defiles difficult of ar- | cess on the opposite banks of the Clyde. ; ‘I have a strong presentiment., William exclaimed bis brother, as they mounted j their horses to lead the party sent to dis- j lodge the enemy from their last defence; I in al! our encounters I have been singled out by an old man and his sons—at least from their being always together and j lighting in concert I esteem them as such -something tells me that to-day they will j be successful!’ William laughed at the earl’s augury, I and placed himself at the head of his troop The royal forces were again sue- | c< ssiul, and the covenanters completely dispersed The earl, after the engage-; m< nt, rode a short distance from file field ! io observe the direction the fugitivi s had ine e <?itt' V lh':fll r.ntf "YheTwo ’ y whose perseverance in tracking him he had before observed du-nng the day. ‘So!’ < xclaimed the old man, ‘we have met at lust! The Lord hath given thee to me!’ The earl recognized in the speaker bis old enemy, Martin; and aware of Lis determined* character, prepared for his defence. Time, which had spared the strength of Martin, had unnerved the arm of his antogonfit. He was no lunger the light, active soldier who once brought him to his feet. A few blows decided the contest; the swor 1 oft! <’ carl broke short, he was unhorsed, and stood unarmed at his mercy. ‘Advance, boys!’ cried the old man, i ‘and strike!’ They hesitated. ‘Do you pause? Edward. Reuben—- ; for this you have been reared—will you spare the murderer of your father?’ I ‘We cannot’ —exclaimed the young ! men both at once—‘we cannot become assassins! Give him a weapon, and singly we will attack him; otherwise he is scatheless for us.’ ‘Rebellious fools!’ shrieked the old man, passionately; ‘ha! the bloodhounds .ire upon us? Nay, then, my own arm! Proud raan —thy hour is come; one prayer for mercy is allowed thee! ‘Slave!’ answered the earl, misconceiving him: ‘I offer no supplication to such as thee! lam prepared ’ The puritan grasped his weapon, and passed it twice through the body of his enemy, who fill bravely, without one si tr h.* No sooner was the deed accomplished, than y>e royalists, headed by William, reached the spot. ‘Harm them not!’ he exclaimed to the exasperated soldiers. ‘ I ake them ai.ve —fit example shall be made!’ The men disarmed theii prisoners, and, r ii - the body oftheir late commander, proceeded with solemn steps once more ! towards the castle of Dumparton. i Notwithstanding the evidence of a j wounded officer who had witnessed the fate of the earl, the young men, though innocent of any participation in his crime, j were condemned to die with Martin.— The guard were already drawn up in the I castle-yard, waiting for their commander i to give the signal from the window, when j a woman, deeply veiled, rushed imo the apartment. ‘What would you?’ exclaimed the new I Earl of Clayton. •Mercy!’ replied the female, sinking unon her knees; ‘mercy for the two wretched youths who wait but your word to meet their Maker! •It cannot be,’ replied the earl. ample is necessarv: and I have sutiereu to severely from their malice to feel disto Dicrcy. , ■ ‘They must be saved, or your soul ana

Imine will have to answer it. As you would not press a sleepless pillow, as you would wish to die in peace, postpone the execution of those youths!’ •Woman, it may not be. The men wait but my signal.’ ■Give it, proud man]’exclaimed the female:‘bnt learn that the volley which consigns my humble nephew to the grave carries with it the fate of ’ ‘l’ll hear no more,’ cried the earl, impatiently rising, and waving liis’banker- ; chief. ‘My brother is avenged!’ ‘And mine!’ exclaimed the woman, frantically, as the report echoed through the castle. ‘William, what have you done? ‘Ha! my name! Who art thou?’ She slowly raised her veil. •Heaven! Grace Marston! Those youths?’ ‘One was my murdered Edward’s boy; the other ’ ‘Speak!’exclaimed the stricken earl.— ‘lf ’Lis as I suspect —one look—one word will kill me!’ ‘Was the lost heir of the race of Clayton!’ replied Grace. The believed father—bereaved by liis own act —heard no more; but fell, broken hearted, at the feet of the puritan sister.

CONFIDEKtB THE BiSIS OF LoVF.—Fol- I low the holy power oi Love tiirongli all I its human phases, and we find it always , typifying the attributes of the great orig-1 inal whence it sprang, and in all the walks ! and relations of life, under every variety j of sociid condition and circumstances prov- ; ino itself to be the link, the trolden chain of an obligation to which all mankind pay loving homage. View it in relation Io the various ties that bring back to earth . the presumed airs of antique Paradise, | and what do we behold but husband and! wife clinging to each other iu fond confi- , den. c, parent to child, friend, to friend, and, in all the manifold operations that ; turound us in dazziiiig splendor, ninn supportin'; man, and though apparently opposed, making up a common cause that! ecmeuts tiic bond by which communities, are held together, knils nation tu nation, I and in the great ultimate result demonstrates that wilh ‘one touch of nature the whole world is kin? Take the dearest , T'iix? rnftl Ira’i ; S\' Hi pitmy, | love and support which adds such a frag- I rance to the blossoms that hang on the tree of time, and proves. ‘The woman’s cause is man’s—they rise ! or sink Together, dwarf’d or godlike, bond or i ° free—’ but faith in one another, a calm, unruff- ■ led belief that ‘marriage, like the useful I bee, builds a house, and gathers sweetnest from every flower, and sends out colonies and feeds the world, and om ys I kings-, and keeps order, and exercises ' many virtues, and promotes the interest j of mankind, and is that state of good I things to which God hath designed the present constitution of the world?’ Prevalence of Biiavty.—Amid all the deformity of this world there is much beauty. It greets us at our entrance into it, even before we have power to appreciate it, as in a mother’s smile, itself the expression of perhaps tlie deepest emotion of which our moral nature is capable; j and a father’s joy, which is awakened by the new fact of our individual existence. I A happy constitution it is, that to the ' child, the mother always looks beautiful, . unless she violates some precept of that j decalogue of affections which the finger | of God has inscribed on tho ‘fleshly tablets of the heart? Thus it is, that love I and beauty (not in their romantic sense) are inseparably associated in certain forms of our existence. But it is not alone iu the exercise of; the higher and deeper affections of hu j manily, that we are to seek for the beautiful. The material world that surrounds ! us overflows with it. Take, lor instance, ■ the. early dawn of a summer’s day, that: period of the morning which precedes the outbursting of the -plendors of the Min;' or select, if you please, the hour of ‘dewy eve? when that same luminary has‘bath- j ed his burning axel’ in the deep water of the Pacific. Could mortal pencil ever' approach execution of such panoramic i scenes of beauty? All, all is original.— 1 , All else is copy. Everywhere the difference between the finite and the infinite I meets the mind of man. Now, the simple purpose of lighting the world might have I been accompliscd without so lavish a disi play of, we had almost said, kaleidoscopic beauty. But God delights in benevolence ! as well as in beauty, physical, intellectual land spiritual. Hence, the union of beauty I and goodness, in so many of his individu- ‘ al acts and fixed constitutions. Armorial Bearings.—lt is rather a ' sad fact that the ancestors of a great many men who boast of their coats ot arms, had jno coats to either lheir arms or their m&CaS* ' The weather is clear and pleasant.

A Bobber Befriended. A young man was stopped in a little street in one of the cities of France—his purse or hislife was demanded. A courageous and sensible heart soon distinguishes between the voice of the unfortunate wretch whom misery drags to ciime, and lhat ofthe villiai; whose wickedness prompts him to it. T. e young man felt that it was au unfortunate person, whom he ought to save. ‘What do you ask, miserable creature; what do you ask?’ said he, in an imposing tone to his aggressor. ‘Nothin;', sir,’ answered a sobbing 1 voice; ‘1 ask nothing of you.’ ‘AVho are you? what do yon do?’ ‘I am a poor man, a journej man shoemaker, without means of supporting my wife and four children.’ ‘I do not know whether you speak the trulh. Where do you live?’ ‘ln such a street, at a Lakers house. ‘Vve shall see—lead the way.’ The shoemaker, awed by bis firmness, led him to his abode as he would have led him to rhe bottom of a dungeon. They arrived at the baker’s There was nene but a woman in the shop. ‘Madam, do you know this man?’ ‘Yes, sir; he is a poor journeyman Shoemaker who livee in the fifth, story, an.! who has much difficulty in sustaining bis numerous famiiy.’ ‘How can you let him want bread?’ Sir, we are young people, newly established; we cannot give much; my husband does not wish me t<» irive more than twen-ty-five cents credit io this man.’ •Give him two loaves of bread. Take these two loaves and mount to your room. The Shoemaker obeys, as much agitated as if he were about to commit some, crime, but a very different kind of troub-1 le. Thev en er. The wife and children ' eagerly take the food which is offered ; ...1’.... - ..V J •»*.*.» 4MSO OV4. 11 VWV He goes out, after giving two louis to tl.e ■ baker’s wife, with orders to supply the family with bread according to their wants Some days after he returns to see the children, to whom lie has given a second life, and tells their father to follow him. He oonduc'.s his poor protege into a shop well furnished with tools, and ail the necessary materials for working at his trade. ‘Would you be contented and happy if this shop were yours.’ 'Ah, sir, but alas!' ‘What?’ ‘I have not the freeman’s right®, and its costs' — •Take me to the syndic jury.’ The license was bought, and the Shoemaker placed in his shop. The author of so fine nn act of humanity was a young man about twenty-seven years oi l. It is calculated that the establisbmen of this work-man cost him ftom three to four thousand livres, liis name is not known, and useless researches have been wade to discover him. ‘Say Mr. Postmaster, and r- there iver a lether here for Dennis O’Flaherty?’ •I believe there is,’ replied the P. M., stepping back and producing the letter. ‘And will ye be so kind as to rude it for me, seein’ I had the misfortune to be ediceted to rade tiiver a bit?’ ‘To be sure,’ said the accommodating postmaster. He then opened and read the epistle, which was from the ‘ould counthry,’concerning his relations there, Arc. When he bed finished, Dennis observed: •And what would you be axin’ for postage on that lether?’ ‘Fiity cents.’ ‘And it’s chape enuff, yer honor: but ;as 1 niver think of axin’ ye to thrust me just kape the lether lor pay- And say, misther, If I’d call in one of these days, . would ye write an answer for it?’ ■— »> Magistrate—What has brought you here? Prisoner —Two policemen, your honor. Then I suppose liquor had suraeihing to do with it? Yes, sir, they were both drunk.

‘Are those bells ringing for fire?’ inquired Simon ot Tiberius. : ‘No, indeed,’ answered Tibe; ‘they have got plenty of fire, and the bells are now ringing for water? A Dutchman thus describes New York jers: ’Fine people, says he;d«y go about i der streets all day, scheatin tach oder, and dry call dat pusiness?

want of Confidence. A little Frenchman loaned a merchant I five thousand dollars when times were good. He called at the conn ting-house ; a few days since, in a state of agitaliou I not easily described. ‘How do you do?’inquired the mer- | chant. I 'Fick—very sick', replied the monsieur. ‘What i- the matter?’ I ‘De times i- de matter.’ ‘JUetmes — what disease is tbal?’ De tnalaide what break all de merehaftlß ver much.’ 1 - Ah—the tim-s, eh?—well, they are bad, very bad, sure enough; but bow do I thev effect you?’ •Vy, monsieur, I lose de confidence.’ I ‘ln whom?' Tn everybody.’ •Not in me, 1 hope?' ‘Purdonnez moi, monsieur; but I d<? i not know who to trust at present, when all de marchants break several times, all to pi eces? ‘Then I presume you want yonr money. ‘Oui, monsieur, 1 starve lor want of I'argent.’ i ‘Can’t you do without it?’ 'Nu, monsieur; I must Lave him.’ ‘You must?’ ‘Oui monsieur,’ said little dimity breeches, turning pale wilh apprehension for the siitcty of his money. ■And you can’t do will.out it?’ ‘No, monsieur; not von other leetie moment longare.’ The merciiant reached his bank-book, drew a cheek on the good old Commercial for the amount, and handed it to his visitor. _ ‘Vat is dis, monsieur?’ ‘A check for five thousand dollars with ! (he interest.’ TsiiZio??/’ said the Frenchman, with i i.mazi-ment. ‘Certainly.’ ‘Have you de I'argenl in de bank?’ •A' is.’ ■And is it ptirfait.ment convenient to pay lie sum? Tu ioubledly. What astonishes you’’ ‘V v, dal you have ghim in dees limes. 'Oh, ves, and I have plenty mote. I owe nothing that I cannot pay ala too■Monsieur,'you shall do hie oho ieeus tarot, eh?’ With all my heart? •Veil, Monsieur, you shall keeprfeTat' getit for me some little year longer. ‘Why, 1 thought you wanted it.’ 'Toutau contraire. I no vant de I'argent —1 vant de grand conlidenee. Suppose you no got do money, den 1 vant him ver much; suppose you got him, deni no vant at all. Rows prenex, ch?’ After some further conference, the little Frenchman prevailed upon the merchant to retain the money, and left tho countinff-house with a light heart, and a countenance very different from the one he wore when he enterred. His confidence was restored, find although he did stand in need of the money, he wished to know that his property was in safe hands. This little sketch has a moral, if the reader has sagacity enough to find it.

Our Opinions of Ourselves*

The opinion which a man entertains of himself ought to be distinguished as it relates to persons or to things. To think highly of ourselves in comparison with others, to assume by our own authority that precedence which none is willing to to grant, must be always invidious and offensive; but to rate our powers high in proportion to things and imagine ourselves i equal to great undertakings, while wo leave others in possession of the sntns ' abilities, cannot, with equal justice, provoke ce.rlie. It must be confessed, that self-love rnav dispose us to decide too hastily in our own favor; but who is hurt by the mistake? If we ate incited by this vain opinion to attempt more than we cati perform, ours is the labor, and ours is the disgrace. But he that dares to think well of himself, will not always prove to be mistaken; and the good effects of his confidence will then appear in great attempts and great performances. If he snould not fully complete his design, lie will at least advance it so far as to leave an easier task i for him that succeeds him; and even though he should wholly fail, he will fail ! with honor. But from the opposite error, from torpid desp.mdriicv. can come no advantage, |it is the frost of the soul, which binds up I all its powers, and congeals life in perpetual sterility, llu that has no hopes of success will make no attempts; and where nothing is attempted, nothing can be done. Returning Emigrants —The clippership Dreadnauglit sailed from New York on Saturday for Liverpool, with three hundred and forty passengers—the largest number e et taken ~ a sailing vessel from thi? country to Europe.

NO. 41.