Decatur Eagle, Volume 1, Number 45, Decatur, Adams County, 18 December 1857 — Page 1

TII B I) EC A I I II E A GI. I

VOL. 1.

TH E EAGLE. — II PVDLTBHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING. n «i ae on Main Street, in the old School Home, one Square North of J. & P Crabs' Store. Terms of Subscription : for one year, $ I 50, in advance; $1 75, within; 'x months; $3 00, after the year has expired (IT No paper will be discontinued until all | trrernges are paid, except at the option of the i Publisher. Terms of Advertising: One square, three insertions, $1 00 Each subsequent insertion, v 5 1 Xj*No advertisement will be consideied less , than one square, over ene square will becoun- ■ ted und charged as two; over two. as three, etc. , JOB PRINTING. We are prepared to do all kinds of JOB ■ WORK, in a neatand workmanlike manner, on I the most reasonble terms. Our material for the completion of Job-work, being new and of the latest styles, we arc- confident that satisfaction can be given. Law of Newspapers. J. Subscribers who do not give express notice to the contrary, are considered as wishing to continue their subscriptions. o If subscribers order the discontinuance of their papers, the publisher may Cbntinueto send - them until all arrearages are paid. 3 If subscribers neglect or refuse to take their papers from the < ffice they are held responsible fill they have settled the bill and ordered the paper discontinued. 4. If subscribers remove io other places without informing the publisher, and the paper is Ht.ill sent to the funner direction,they are held responsible. . T/’The Court have decided that refusing of ; take a paper from the office, or removed and I leaving it uncalled furisraiMA facie evidence of intentional fraud. X-XA " —- ..... ~ Uncle Sam and the Saints. Undoubtedly you’ve heard the cry From Mormonso’er the burdvr; They rant, and try, to defy, And be kept in order. Tankee doodle tell the Saints, To keep great Brigham quiet: Uncle Sam has some complaints — They’d better not deny it. I People now, are rather slow About this thing offightin’. But, when nothing else will do, It’s what they most delight in. 1 an ee doodle wait a bit , Be mindful what ye utter--Old Bick is considerin’ it, And won’t be in a splutter, Cous’n says you’re a wicked set— And so she told her mammy — Living like a pig or cat, To practice poly-gammy. Yankee doodle ain’t ye ’sham’d To act so with the wimmin’; V.'lien you get a morsel tam’d, Your heads may quit aswimmin’. There’s Aunt Kezia had a beau As went out there a tradin', Till he got a wife or two, Her vested rights invadin'. Yankee doodle keep it up— Not if you’re in your senses — Folks are rous’d,and will not stop To wink at such offenses. With what tears she did bewail, When he went there to settle, Guess they’d fill a wcoden pail, Or any how, a kettle. Yankee doodle, O git emit. One wife's enough—if livin’ — Can’t see what ye are about Tobe so many giviu'. Jemima, too, the litte pet, Got awful strung about it; To be a‘Saint’ was best thing yet— She couldn’t live without it. Yankee doodle, O, the rogues, To go about a preachin’; Turning folks quite into hogs, With such borrid teachin’, Out to Utah, she would go, E’en though she got a switchin' — Now she’s wife—sixteenth or so— In some old ranter’s kitchen. Yankee doodle, don’t suppose I The world has gone a foolin'; I Some, I think, might blow their nose Without a Mormon schoolin’I thought as how ye wouldn’t stop Your plaguey ways confonndin , Until yon’d wake old Uncle up, And get a tarnal poundin’, Y’ankee doodle, mind your eye, Excuses cease inventin' — Cannon’s coming by and by— You’d better be repentin’. ’Cause its very far away, Ye talk like none had found you; Deludin’on night and day. The simple souls around you. Yankee doodle, wide awake, A reck'ning day’s a cornin’; Soldiers now are on the track. Out westward they are drummin’. Some folks are nasty any how — Some want but little showin’ — You are bad, and worse,l vow, Thau all things elseagoin'. Yankee doodle mind the tune, And keep your courage handy, You’ll hear smashin’ mighty soon. From Yankee doodle dandy.

WOODMAN’S TEARS I ~ BY CLARA SYDNEY. Charles Woodman’s father was deterI mined that his only son should be brought up a merchant—a merchant, and nothing ■ else. It abated not a jot of the paternal resolution that all the tastes, instincts I and aptitudes of that son were those of an I artist; that he was a dreamer from his 'cradle; and that bis sensitive heart and , beauty-loving eye both looked longingly ' toward art as a profession, and yearned for the freedom to sit at the feet of Nature, bowing to her as the teacher of the i truest and highest art. Such notions i were all fol-de rol—they were well nigh ' I ruination. So thought Charles Wood-' ! man’s father; and, in consistency with! this idea, Charles was discouraged, in ev ! eiy possible way, from indulging in his 1 passionate longing to draw and paint. At one time it was discovered by Mr. ' Woodman that his son had constructed quite a studio for himself, in the garret. A row of empty barrels and a drapery I ;of cast-off coats, pantaloons and dresses, i had been arranged so as to devide the [ sacred corner from the rest of the vast 1 rubbish-room. Behind this scene, Mr | Woodman found his boy hid, amid num- 1 berless curious sketches and pictures, ere-1 ated by the help of charcoal and pounded stones, of various colors. The coarse but well-meaning father burst into one of his most objectionable horse-laughs at the sight before him. This explosion was the first hint of company that reached Charley, who, absorbed in a blissful dream of the beautiful things which he hoped to create, smiling to himself as be drew. At the sound of his father’s laugh, the I I child sprang up in painful confusion.— I Very well he knew that he could expect I neither sympathy nor pity from his sire. | Blushing and trembling, he obeyed the 'order to come out of his nest, and heart- ■ wrung were the tears which he shed as ' his father proceeded at once to demolish ■ his studio. The charcoal and paints j were pitched out at the low window, and ; the pictures gathered to make food for : sport below stairs. j ’Come along down, and stop your whimpering. You may think yourself very lucky not to get a sound hiding to pay for this. So this is the place where you made yourself comfortable whenever you was needed to do anything below.— Well, well—there will be no more of such work.’ Mr. Woodman was great for telling Charley how near he was always coming to being whipped, but as to actually whipping the gentle boy, the Griner would as soon have whipped his wife. But no blows could have cut Charley I more cruelly than did the jest and scoffs I which his mistaken and unappreciating I parents bestowed upon his unfortunate ‘ pictures. Their treatment almost broke I his heart. As soon as ever he could get I possession of the offensive productions, he ' hurried them all out of sight, in the full intention of destroying them. This, however. he had not the resolution to carry ■ through, and he ended the matter by fold ling them carefully up in newspapers, and i hiding them away in the bottom of his jchest. With the closing of the chest-lid lover them, there closed up in the breast ■of Charles the brightest and the fairest ; nook in his young heart: and stifled with;in it were all the most beautiful hopes I and dreams of his imaginative boyhood, i They never again came forth to life of ! action. It was never without a pang that the eye of the boy fell upon those pictures. — In looking for anything in his chest, if his hand accidentally touched them it caustd him to sigh; but never again was he known to touch pencil or paint brush with any idea of making a likeness of anything in the heavens above or in the earth below. . As he grew towards manhood, he exI perienced intense longings for an education—‘areal college education,’ he used to repeat to himself. Studying was his great delight, and he ventured now and then to express his wishes to his father. But that worthy gentleman, having made his own fortune with no more extensive education than the common school afford1 cd, could see no reason on earth why’ his i son should wish to shut himself up for • three or four years among musty books . He ‘poohod’ at the idea so very contemt- , j uously, that poor Charley was fain to ! yield that hope also, and settle down up-. ion the idea of being nothing in the world I that he could enjoy. And so he gave himself to his father's wish, grew up. and became a merchant. His delighted sire furnished him with plentiful stock of goods and a large supply of money —indeed, betore either father orson fairly knew what they were about, nearly the whole for-, lune of the former was invested in a dashing business. Mr. Woodman, Sen., knew as much about mercantile economy as if h« had spent his days in Saturn; and as for Mr. Woodman, Jr., he was about as j well oalculated for that kied of life find

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

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA, DEC. 18, 1857.

i endeavor, as a t ailor is to make steam enIgines. No prophet was needed to fortell j the end of such a merchant’s career.— Three years toll the whole story—with I the hardest sort of labor, and the most l anxious care all things persisted in go-1 ing wrong; and by the time that Charles' Woodman’s house rejoiced in three little , ] children, his health was fast failing, his! i spirits going with it, and his fathei’s for- ■ l tune gone— all gone. As an artist or a i professional man, Charles would, beyond doubt, have distinguished himself, and ] I have become a happy, useful, and inde-! pendent man; but nature was outraged in I him, and when the attempt was made to I force her to work in away for which she I I had, as regarding young Woodman, no’ Cimission, she utterly refused to do so; ’ so all became darkness and confusion. A dreary time it was when old Mr. Wool- 1 , man became aware that all was lost.— ’ Too late, he began to wish that he had ; paid more attention to the wishes and the evident natural bent of his son’s mind.— . Thus it is that wisdom is often learned ; when it is too late. The distress of Charles was deep and wearing—he made few confidants—not' even his wife was fully aware of the extent to which his misfortunes preyed up- 1 jon his mind. It was not so much that’ he was bankrupt, as that the old ago of his father was. through his means, made penniless—or nearly so. " r hat was lobe done? When the creditor.-, were all paid off, there remained just four hundred dollars to our forlorn Charles. ‘A farm,’said his father—‘a nice little farm, so that you and your children may , have al least a home. I After some time a beautiful spot was I discovered which the owner was willing to take his pay in yearly installments oi almost any other way, a bargain was soon made; and in a short time Charles and his family were comfortably settled in their new home. Their few years of pusty, noisy city life had taught them the value of the cool and fragrant quiet of the country; and under its sweet influences . the spirits of Charles Woodman began to revive. He worked away with hands . and heart, and his old father worked with ■ him Mrs. Charles Woodman nut being used to farm life and work, was not altogether pleased with them; and she sometimes made the ears of her gentle-heart-ed husband tingle by reproaching him | with having disappointed all her hopes, and condemning her to be 'shut up’ in r the dull country. Bless the woman! she ! didn’t seem to understand that she was let out into the country; and that thepeo- ’ pie who must stay m cities are the ‘shut up ones. But she was a delicate woman, and had ; never expected to be anything but a plaything for her husband, so that the reality . came hard enough upon her at first. As- , ter the first year, however, her health and strength improved wonderfully, and , with them her courage and good humor. She now took hold with alacrity and in- . k-rest, and there was a great change fur the better in everything in the house and about it. In two or three years Mrs. 1 Woodman was as hearty and happy a far- . mer’s wife as one could wish to see.— She could not have been tempted to go back to the city to live. Things seemed all going right now. The farm was becoming a perfect gem, owing to the good judgment and skill of the elder Woodman, and the industry of Charles. Mr. Wilton—of whom it had been purchased, used to sav jokingly that it was so much bcttei than his place that he was sorry he ever let it go out of his possession. Said he—'lf something could occur to disable you from making your last payment when it comes due, then I could just turn you I out to take possession.’ But Mr. Wiiton was the most obliging of creditors. He had perfect confidence in the honesty of the the Woodmans, and whether the payments were made when due, or not until months afterwards, (as was several times the the case,) it was all one to him. He was a rich man, and had no need, to hurry the matter—he was a patient man, ami Lad no disposition to I do so. What a strange thing it is that such ; good men often have such wicked sons; ‘ and how equally strange that the most ■ worthless parents frequently have really model children. Whether or not the ] Leads of the children their dispositions certainly do not always descend. The yield of the Woodman farm for the lasttwo years had been exceedingly great; and the happy Charles had been able to deposit* large sums of money in the bank. One oily piyment more was to come, and then he would be the of as fine ! a little farm as ever rolled its hills and spread its valleys to the sunshine. But I now a change began to come; the spring was too forward, and alate frost did great damage to vegetation. Then came a long, burning drought, prevailed by grasshoppers and worms—the crops were cut off , —-all nature languished—it was too hot to work, almost too hot to live ’Well,’

said Charles, contentedly, 'we can allord ..*■ io laky our ease, and to lose this yea:— 1 1 thanks, to the bounty which so overflowed ' the years that have gpne before.' !z ' ‘Il those sons of mine were only what, i I wish they were,’ said Mr' Wilton, ‘1 don't know as anything that could occur 11 would very deeply trouble me.’ j i Poor father! Well, the summer the aiytumn traveled on; all outlay, no in- j i cume&lhat year—but Chai les could stand , I it. There was more than enough in bank ( t for that last pay mint, which came due t on tin: 25th ot November—and then, it ! I there,hadn’t been, Charles would not have 1 been aiai med, fur Mr. Wilton would wil- i I hnglj? wait another year. ; I Tjje wpods were all bare; and the win- I ' ter win a if 0 howling dismally , i through them; great fires were roaring in i ; the farm-houses, and sweet cider (for the |; I apples had not failed,) sparkled on every i table; when pleasant, genial Mr Wilton,] after spending several evening hours with ,: his friends, the Woodmans, took a smil- ■ ing leave of them and turned away from , j their door—never, alas!—never more to cross its threshold —never more to clasp 1 the friendly hands r of the inmates of tbal mansion—never more to look upon the I morning sun. The next morning the ! good and well beloved gentleman was found dead in bis bed. He appeared to t have died without pain; for a smile, almost, like life, was upon his lips—his lace was beautiful in the repose of death. The shack of this event was keenly felt ( all through that neighborhood, for Mr. | Wilton was valued by all; but by non was [ his loss more deeply regretted than by j Woodman and his tamily—and with reason, with sore reason, although they dreamed not kou) sore. Down came the sons of Mr. Wilton; some from their city business, some (roin | college. They buri d their father; they I read the will; and they devided the prop- I • erty. One, the eldest, an J most evil of them all, concluded to turn farmer. His | portion was the homestead farm. With I a great oath he swore that his father must , ; O ' have been in his dotage, when he sold lo II • ° I Woodman, for so mere a song, the most ! desirable part of that estate. He vowed . j he wished something might befall Wood- ; ’ man, which should render it impossible; ■for him to make his last and heaviest pay-. I ment, now nearly due. I Such wishes, are very apt, at last, to 'come home to roost: but sometimes they ’ ! are granted to the seeming advantage of ■ J the one who utters them. ' | in the present case —we hastened over ’ the painful facts —the bank which con- ] tained Woodman's money failed, just the j ’ day beture he was to draw it out for young Wilton—and, in consequence of; i tins dire misfortune, the dear home of the ' i wretched Charles, the beaulilul farm so ] long regarded as his own, so long worked for, so well beloved, was greedily seized ; 1 upon bv the villainous Wiiton; and once . ' more was Woodman homeless upon earth . ■ —now really helpless, for he had not, ’ twenty dollars in the world. He had al- j ■ so five small children—one always sick — , 1 and his father to provide for. The latter, upon learning the loss of the farm, sank ; al once into his dotage—he could bear no , more —nor labor any more. Poor Charles ’ I also gave way —he shut himself into his I ' j chamber, and cried bitterly such tears as | ' | fall irorn the eyes of a broken-hearted! ‘ , man. Ail day, and all the night, he staid ' i there; and his nearly distracted wife could ' not bv any means induce him to admit her. ; ' On the secon 1 morning he opened the 1 j door, and she went in but was the hag- ] ; jgard creature, with sunken eyes and grey ] h hair, the husband that three days ago j ■ \ had looked to her so strong, and young, I and beautiful? l ! ‘Oh! Charles! Charles!’she cried. I 'Oh! Charles—my nusband! are you, I II too, going to lose your mind as your poor I ■ I father has? Oh! my dear love, do not\ I i give way to such despair. Why should you? We are all yet spared to each otb- I ]er let us be thankful for that. Come out i ■ to the morning air come, walk with me. i We can hire a cottage, and a bit of land, 1 i and work again; if we only keep our com - 1 age up, we shall not starve. Oh! I know |we shall not Come, come down with me He made no answer, but suffered her to I i lead him from the house, as they passed i the kitchen, he saw his father sitting in , ! his old arm-chair, weeping and wringinghis hands. At. this he groaned deeply; but walked on. Now was the hour of Mrs Woodman’s strength She showed herself able to en- ! dure more than the men on whom she had j hitherto leaned. They were lo leave their] dear home within a tortnight; and it required all her powers of persuasion to stimulate Charles lo the eflort of seeking another bouse. At length a small, low cottage, near the borders of a wood was taken; and with heavy hearts the family moved into i it. One thing was in their favor, they [ had two good cows, several sheep, a couple i of p'g s . and a good many chickens. They | i had also a well stocked cellar and larder, ' and provision ruffHen’ for al! their live 1

slock. I’iiu.i, usM<» Woodman said,! try ing to chetjr Charles. ■ •Poverty in the country is, after all, a verp d;ffe-r«nt thing from poverty in the city.’ They ha.) also every thing for making theirrselves comfortable within doors, and in a little while they became really vi-rv comfortable, Bui the old man failed rap- , idly, and soon he died; nixtw uit the fee-, ble child. Oh! how tliev missed those too. The mother would not show how much she suffered. She iud it foi her. husband’s sake; but after Lis father and bis child, dearest child of all, because of its angelic gentlenesss and love, had gone [ Charles grew more listless and lifeless, he settled down into a heavy-eyed, ab-sent-minded, utterly iuifiicient man.— I Never fretful, never cross, but always dull an! spiritless. Mrs. Woodman had to be j master and mistress too, and she proved herself capable ot filling the double office, j she, ana she only could urge her husband to any exersion; but he always obeyed her instructions. When the spring work came on, she coaxed him into doing it; and she coaxed and pushed him through j the summer, and through the fall; and she coaxed and pushed him through many j summers and many falls; and al last the cottage where they dwelt waspaid for; , and they had a home, although a very I , humble one. Yet they were thankful for ; it, and enjoyed it in peace I The children grew cp finely, and went ■ steadily to school. They were healthy, handsome children, studious and docile; a , great blessing to tlieir hard-working mother, a comfort even to their sad and silent : father. Bui after many years, Charles Woodman was sad no more. He never became the man he had been; bui he be ! came a placed and contented man; thank ful and happy because of his true and no- ] ! ble wife, his good and beautiful children, and his peaceable home. But how was it; with his enemy—the wicked and covetous man who turned him from his delightful and valuable home? Why it was ill with ] tlie man. It had been ill ever since that ; unjust act. There was trouble and wrang- . J ling within his dwelling; his children were

; avenging the wrongs of his lather; and, I as to the ill-gotten tarn-., it seemed that it j was a decree passed above, tiiat it must rain, rain, rain at every and all limes when I anything particularly requiring a hot day, ] was to be done on it. It didn’t happen once nor twice only; but regularly, year - after year, let Wilton time his work as he I would, it rained perpetually when he made : his hay, and when his wheat was down, ; and when Ins corn was down; —all tiiat he ever made off that ill-g tten piece of property, certainly didn’t do him much good i and he soon became the jest of his neighbors, who declared that those plentifully ] lulling rains were ‘the ill used Woodman’s ; tears. There was a blight upon AN ilton’s crops, j a ban upon his house. Not only ‘Woodman’s tears,’ but everything else seemed to fall in judgement upon Inin. It is not ■ safe to pronounce misfortunes to be judge- , ments, even when they fall on very wickled men; for it is not here that settlements I are made, either with the righteous or | the wicked; but, certainly, when a man I has once been guilty of an act like that of Wilton’s, there is great temptation to de- | clare that his subsequent misfortunes aie I‘just upon him,’ —and especially is this temptation felt when the misfortune bears such a very suggestive relation to the fault as was borne to that of Wilton by the yearly falling of ‘Woodman’s tears.’ j ‘Thou shalt not defraud ihy neighbor, neither rob him. Rob not the poor; for the Lord will plead their cause, and spoil the soul of the those ! that spoiled them. Ihe robbery of the wicked shall destroy them.’—Psalms. The New York Sunday Dispatch gives ■ the following funny account of 'How a colored speaker shirked the question;’-— I ‘ln one of the smaller cities of Massachusetts, the colored population held meetings to discuss the propriety of celebrating the anniversary of West India emancipation, August 1. At one of these meetings a conservative gentleman rising and taking part in the discussion. After j two or three of the sisters had .freed dar i mines’ on matters under debate, he sprung ' up in a greatlv excited state, and addressed the audience—‘Feller citizens! Es I’d • a sposed dat de. ladies wood be p’mitted ! to take part in dis yere discussion—(senisalion) —es I’d anode ’at the ladies could jine in dis yere debate—(all eyes turned ion the speaker)--ef I’d beleeved for one moment, feller citizens, dat the female ■ sect wood dar rise deir woice in dis meetin’, I’d—feller citizens—(‘Wot wood you’ve a did, es you’d node it?’shouted two or three of the strong-minded sisters, as the whites of their eyes flashed on the speaker)—l’d—(scratching his wool) — ' ‘l'd a brungmy wife along wid me!' Here the discomtitted orator dropped into his seat, completely exhausted.’ •I go for my man against the world,’ said one politician to another. ‘UnquesI vionably, sir, you go lor Lira against the conntrv ’

•The World ewes mFa l.i» inp*’ was n nnire v igiWnd M’nifmont Uttered, than the one we Kale taken for .be subject of this article: T',c world > owes tor what it engn<>e« jir>d gets. , The S tored BOolrsitys to man, w hat tiTrih _ lias approved, 'Tlioti shall earn thy bread by the sweat of thv brew ’ To thtj voluntary i lie, but pity and scorn. As to , the rulers helping, what nre they hut the j servants of the p>-ople who, if thev help , must first tax the help out of the people s pockets. Suppose universal society were to sii down or run to and fro and I cry, ‘the world owes us a living,’ and i 'let the rulers help ua.’ how Jong would there be government or means of Jiveli- . hood among men/ I But the wickedest thing of all in Conner- ] tmn with this-topic is tJm insole; w..!i which incipent mobs, composed bevon'd *' ■ question somewhat of voluntary idlers I ami of wilfully mischievous men. assail ! the rights of property, and the characters i and safety of its possessors In our coun- ! try there is, as a general rule, no surer sign of industry, enterprise, economy, temperance and intelligence, than the possession of independence or con.pi t< nce. | I’he roads of these are equally open to j all, and thus far the history of our ‘fortunate’ men will show that these who ! have elimed highest began on the ladders lowest round. If many who assail their hard earned and honestly-gotten wealth, had practiced as many severe virtues, the., too, would have found fortune. She is never so coy as to those who neglect the small steps on her safe highway. It is too much the disposition at al! times, and every where, for the poor to cry out | against the rich—though the latter are , the God-appo nted hank against which the former lean in limes of trouble and | distress. But how w-ong to decry the rich, where, as in this country, the poor : of to-day are the rich of to morrow—and vice versa. — .V. Ledger. A Long Ito-id to the Well. j The Auburn Advertiser relates a ‘sioi ry’ respecting the absence ot a well-to-do ' farmer in Springport, near Union Springs, ! which sounds very like an old yarn, but , may be ‘original and true’ for a’ that.— I ‘The fanner,’ says the Advertiser, ‘had | a little altercation with his wife, and whilt conversing with her took up a pail to go alter some water. His longahsence awakened the fears of the wife, who suspectled at once that he had made an end of Ins li f e by throwing himself into the well. | The well was accordingly secarched but I the husband was not found. The frieud- | ly neighbors industriously sought for, but i found no traces of him. Last week, whila his family were at tea, the mi-sing hu-- | band walked into the room with the pail I of water in Ids hand, put it into its usual i place, and -at down to the table as if nothing h*d happened. He had been gone jnst three ye irs after Lis pail of water, i had visited California and Australia, and had ‘turned up’ again with a handsome j little fortune in his pocket.’

Looking lor Happiness. Step into the street and ask the first man you meet what he is thinking about, and if he answers you correctly, it. will be. future happiness, or that which he thinks will promote his happiness So of the thousands who pass you day by day. One inquires- how can 1 accumulate Another —How shall I acquire fame? A third—What shall I do to obtain the good will and respect of mankind? But few indeed —not one in a thousand perhaps--would make the inquiry — Where can I find virtue? how can I obtain religion? where is God and Heaven? Among the countless throng who are searching for happiness, scarcely one is looking in the right place and asking of the correct source The tinsel and glare of the world—its gold and its ambition- urgo people on in the intricate nnd thorny paths of life, un'il thev become disgusted nnd painful declare, there is no happiness here Ah, if they but sought for virtue and Heaven we should hear less complaints, and life, instead of being a wearisome abode, would be the glorious prelude to a blessed and eternal existence. When Dr. Paley was asked why he always kept his horse three miles oft. he replied. ‘For exercise.* ‘But you never ride.’ ‘That is the reason why I keep him at such a distance; for I get all the excercise of the walk.’ Still more ingenious was the logic of the school boy, who being asked if it was not absorb in Homer to describe Vulcan as being a whole day in falling from the clouds tn the earth repli.-d, 'But you forget that Vulcan was lamg.' We fear that it has been too much the habit of the agents, sent by our government to tbe Indian tribes, to treat before treating with them. We have generally observed that a man is not apt t> abuse hit native State, unless ht it • fugitive from her justice

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