Decatur Eagle, Volume 1, Number 47, Decatur, Adams County, 1 January 1858 — Page 1

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pHE EAGLE. I ■jItISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING. j K on Main Street, in the old School House, KE square North of J. & P Crabs’ Store. ■ Terms of Subscription : ■u> vear,sl 50, in advance; $1 75, " ithiu ! Bj’ opaper will be discontinued until all ■gesarc paid, except at the option of the ■ ■ Terms of Advertising: three insertions, $1 Ou ■h subsequent insertion, V 5 K: advertisement will be considered less square,; over «ne square will be coun■L charged as two; over two, as three, etc. JOB PRINTING. arc prepared to do all kinds of JOB K in a neat and workmanlike manner, on k,st reasouble terms. Our material for iinpletion of Job-work, being new and of : test styles, we are confident that satisfacBii be given. Law of Newspapers. Subscribers who do not give express notice [contrary, are considered as wishing to &vietheir subscriptions. ■f subscribers order the discontinuance of' Spapers, the publisher may continue to send HS intilall arrearages are paid. neglect or retuse to take their froui the office they are held responsible ■icy have settled the bill and ordered the ; [discontinued. It subscribers remove to other places withLornnngthe publisher, and the paper is E. nt to the former direction, they are held Lsible. ri he Court have decided that refusing of a paper from the office, or removed and [g ituncidled for is rai.UA facie evidence of. itioual fraud. THE PASSIONS. YB 808 BRAMBLE. T! le should prove a soulless flirt ■And turn a careless ear, Ti .11 the vows I’ve made to her; Ils now niy constant fear. I knows that she alone has pow 'r jMy nature thus to move; It reads it in my eyes, my voice And knows that I’m in love. lien others round her flock, I sit In turbulent unrest, llnlecnvy with its thousand stings [Assaults my worried breast—fiifshe smiles on them or frowns More darkly upon me, (mighty demon fills my soul, fl he green-eyed jealousy. heir spoony conduct maddens me—li ve seen it oft of late; — le she looks careless, while 1 burn ■ With never ending hate. ■u there is comfort in the thought ■ If of her I'm bereft—- ■ matter who the victor be; ■ 1 have revenge still left, K- li were my thoughts fear, envy, love, ■ With jealousy and hate; V<' as dear Sue is my wifo ■Revenge will have to wait. ■ ‘ s passions mingle—man is tossed ■From fear to ' ope a while — ■' iivauty yielding, banishes ■His misery with a smile. ■ panted—by an ancient lady—‘a local ■nation and a name.’ I , - ■'erything great is not always good; •W good things are great. ■ female physician in Philadelphia ad-■i-es that it is her particular specialite Bue all diseases of the heart. mind and good heart will intellectual and even beautiful ■ ssion to the face. | .. M . ■o nothing shameful either in the pres- ■ of others or alone—respect yourself ■others will respect you. ■lie patient mule which travels night ■ day, will, in the end, go farther than R Arabian courser. ■itch upon that course of life which is ■ most useful, and custom will render it pmost agreeable. r ~,—, — I ■ l is rumored that genuine impressions notes of the Commercial Bank of ■ ;; icky have been put in circulation, Rd' the signatures forged. ■‘ is said that Gen. Harney is of the . ■>iou that it will require at least 20,000 to conquer the Mormons. ■ — new counterfeit 85 bill on the State of Indiana has made its appearance. I the State Bank of Ohio has resolved hereafter, thirty per cent, of its K'lities on hand in coin, instead of, as twenty per cent, in coin and ■ cent, in New York exchange. richest man in Englund is the MarK®’of Westminister, formerly Earl GrosK w '°r. Hi s property, mostly real estate ■“’’•'dun and in the counties of Cheshire Dorsetshire, is estimated at £21,■>.ooo sterling, equal to 8100,000,000.

THE BOKDEIi HERuINE. BY AN OLD CONTRIBUTOR. Some years ago, before the State of Arkansas was so densely populated as now, [and when the mail from Little Rock to i the western borders was carried on horseback, there lived, a few miles above. Horse-Head, a stout pioneer named Jacob Burnap. His wife Pulley, and one [child, a girl, only nine years old, made up his family. Ilis chief businesss was hunting, and his unerring rifle never failed to supply his board and furnish tome-[ thing over. His nearest neighbor was fifteen miles off, so he was troubled little with paying visitors. It was in early spring that Jacob start- • [ ed down the river with a boat-load of furs and skins. He left-Polly in charge of the premises, and he left with her, too, alight rifle and a brace of pistols. She knew j bow to use that rifle, for never was she i happier than when her husband patted her upon the shoulder and cried, ‘Nobly i done, Poll, my dear! I could nut have [ made a better shot myself.’ And he often had occasion to say this, and with truth, too. Jacob Burnap had been gone four days when, towards evening, a horseman rode i up to the hunter’s door. He was a small, muscular man, some forty years of age, and seemed inured to all sorts of hard- [ [ship. As he sprang from his saddle Pol-. ly made her appearance. I ‘Ah, Polly, once more here,’ the new- [ comer said, as he drew a pair of well-filled i saddle-bags from the back of his beast. ‘Yes, and I’m glad to see you, Morton. Jacob has been gone four davs, and the i time is growing heavy. ‘Jacob gone? When ?’ I ‘Down the river with a load of furs.’ I ‘Oh, ah, yes. Well, you shall have [ the company of Lant Morton for one night at least; so for the next twelve hours you'll I ieel safe.’ ‘Oh, I feel safe enough,’ returned the woman, quickly; only lonesome.’ •Well, then for this evening you sha’n’t . 1 be loanesome.’ Thus speaking Morton threw his saddle and saddle-bags into the cabin, and [ I then led bis horse around to a low shed ( where he made the animal fast and fed | him. After this he returned to the dwel- i I ling and entered, and was soon afterwards discussing the events of the times over an ample supper. Ilis hostess told him all that had transpired in her nciehborhood ! since his last visit, and her visitor gave ' her the news from the eastern valley, [ Lant Morton had been the mail-carrier I upon that route for several years, and [ I not once had he passed to or fro without I spending a night at Jacob Burnap’s. Ini fact, he was about the only regular visitjor at the hunter’s cabin, and though the [ \ interval between his visits were long, yet [he seemed almost a fixture of the place. [ Polly Burnap, still in the bloom of young I womanhood, knew his generous, noble [ character, so she felt free and at home in ; his presence. ‘Those are heavy bags for this route,’ | said the carrier, as he put away his pipe [ and prepared to retire. ‘.And,’ he added, in an under Lone, ‘they contain, some valuable letteis, some fat ones, go- ; i ing to the fort.’ ‘ls it known on the route that your load is so valuable?’ asked Polly. ‘I think not, though it may be. Still.: I am well armed, and 1 fancy ’twould be a tough job for any one to tackle old Lant. ‘A man was robbed on the creek a tew days since.’ •And the robbers have fled,’ added Morton, carelessly, as he drew his mailbags after him. [ There were three apartments in the lower cabine, the main room, where the family lived, then a small pantry and provision room in one corner, and a bedi room in the corner opposite. Beneath [ was a deep cellar. where tl>» r ,«»wivuj were kept in the summer, and where they could be kept equally well in winter, for . frost never entered the deep hole, the hunter had dug. Beside these was the loft, 1 with a tightly-boarded floor, which was reached by a ladder from the pantry; and [in this latter place the mail carrier slept. ■He had dragged his bags up after him, 1 not caring to leave so precious a charge beyond his reach. i Morton went to bed at nine o’clock, as he was tired and sleepy from his haru ' ride. Polly had work to do, having [neglected it while talking with her guest, so when she had seen him safely at rest, in the loft, she drew her basket to the little table where the candle was, and went at work upon some clothing for her child, : who was soundly sleeping in the bed-room i in the corner. . , The old German clock, which living upon the wall, with its great weights and winding-strings all exposed, had struck • ten ere Poll* arose from her work, bbe ■ had just pushed her basket beneath he table, and taken up the candle, when the ) front door was opened, and two men en- ■ tercd. They were in their stockings, then . shoes having been left outside.

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

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA, JAN. 1, 1858.

“ —shl’ uttered the foremost of the intruders. ‘Shreak but one word above a whisper, and you die on the instant!’ Polly recovered from her quick terror. [ and gazed up. She saw two stout, wick-, : ed, ugly-looking men, one of whom held i a cocked pistol towards her. With quick- [ ness of perception, natural to her, she knew that the pistol would not be fired if she held her peace, as that would make more noise than she could make. And further, she recognized in the foremost man a notorious villain, who bore the name of Dick Gallus. She had never seen him before, but the minute descriptions her husband had given her of the man, led her at once to know him, and [ positively, too; for one big scar upon the left cheek was mark enough. ‘Whatseek you, gentlemen?’asked Polly, without betraying the least fear. ‘We have come to see Morton, the mail [ carrier,’ returned Gallus, in a hoarse whisper. ‘Where is he? Don’t speak too loud.’ ‘He is long since asleep. Would it not do as well to see him in the morning? I can find you room for lodging.’ The fair hostess had said this for the purpose of gaining time. She knew very i well that these men had come to rob the ■ carrier, and she was equally sure that [ they would minder him if they could, and, in all probability, put her out of the ! way as well. They had evidently learned ■ of the valuable load he carried, and meant to carry it in his stead. In short, she not only knew the character of the bold ruffians, but she knew their business.— ' Their very warning and threat to her were proof positive. [ ‘Never mind his being asleep. Show [us where he is at once,’ roughly replied | Gallus in answer to Polly’s last remark. ‘But I cau call him, good sirs,’ reasoned [ the woman, calmly, though there was • alarm in her soul. ‘Cail him? Call !’ growled the’ villain, with a fierce oath. ‘You call him and you’ll be called toanoth’r world quick! Show us the way!’ [ The mild eye that could aim an uner-: [ ring bullet at the forest beast did not be- [ [ tray the thoughts of that woman’s soul,' [ nor did a look tell her meaning. She was '. pale, but she did not tremble. , ‘This way, sirs,’ she whispered. And as she spoke, she turned towaids a door which was situated diiectly between the doors of the little bed room land the pantry. She did not open it until both men were close behind her. i ‘Dont’t you hear him breathe?’ she ! whispered. ‘Yes,’ returned both villains. And i they did hear a breathing, but ’twas ol the child close at hand. As they thus answered her she threw [ the door wide open, it opened inward.— The men saw a dark voide, but they pressed forward. In an instant Polly | Burnap leaped back, Gallus was upon the threshold, and his companion close upon his heels. With all her power the noble woman threw herself against the rear ’ man, and on the next moment both the ! robbers lay sprawling upon the cellar-bot- ! tom. This had been the door opening to the deep excavation, and the only means of' egress was by a perpendicular ladder.— Could this be moved, Polly would have i pulled it immediately up, but it was spik- . ed to its place, and she must letit remain.; To close the door would bo useless, for : she had no ready means of fastening it. So she did what she had resolved upon from the first: she sprang to the fire-place, [ and caught her trusty rifle from its becket, and having cocked it, she tuined towards the open door. She heard the i curses of the villains as they searched for the ladder, and she soon knew that one of them had found it. •Back!’ she cried, as she saw a head annear above the threshold. The candle thP table threw but a dim ugm. upon the spot, but it was sufficient. She saw the robber raise a pistol.— There was but one alternative. S/ie could not die. She had a husband, a child-, and [ she had set herself to save the carrier.— I With these thoughts flashing through her I mind, she drew the trigger. A sharp re- [ 1 port went ringing through the house, and its echo was a deep groan from the cellar bottom. Ere the second robber could show liimi self, Morton came rushing into the room with his pistol in each hand. •What is it?’ he cried. ‘There! There!’gasped Polly, pointing to the door-way, where a savage-look-in° face had just presented itself. 3 Lant Morton had been long enough used to danger not to waste time in conjecture when a moment may be life or death. HeNurned, he saw the face, and quick as thought he covered the mark and fired. : ‘Are thete any more? he asked, cock- : ing his second pistol. •No. 1 shot one.’ And as Polly Bur- • nap thus spoke, she sank into a chair, ■ and leaned her head upon the table. ' ‘What! You hurt?’ the carrier ex-

claimed, springing to her side •No, no,’ faintly replied. ‘Only weak. I shall pe better in a little while. Look to the qellar.’ ‘How many were there?’ I ‘Only two. I know 1 killed one.’ ‘And I can swear I killed the other,’ added Morton, as he took up the candle and approached the open door. He listened, but he could hear no sound. Then ! 1 his pistol still in his hand, he 'eartful'y descended the ladder" At the bottom he stepped upon a human body, and having found an easier standingplace, he held down the light, and gazed , arouud. He saw two men, both dead, both shot through the brain, and then he came up. ‘Polly, noble Polly!’ he cried, ‘you | have rid the world of two of the most des-1 ’ perate and cold-blooded scoundrels that ever infested any countrv.’ ‘Do you know them!’ she asked, reviving. ‘Aye, well. Dick Gallus and Red Harmon ’ AV as that other Red Harmony’ ‘Yes, the murderer of Parson and ‘ Nathans.’ ‘Oh! I am glad they were robbers.— But then I knew they were, I knew it, or 1 should not have fired. 1 knew they meant to rob and murder you, and ” i ‘And so you meant to save me,’ remarked the earlier, as Polly hesitated. ‘Yes, yes, I did. Yes, that was it.’ And as soon as the noble woman was sufficiently recovered, she told the whole [story Alorton expressed his thanks as ' best he could; but, after al], the moisture of his sharp gray eye, the changing of his countenance, and the veiy lack of language, told more than words could have done. After due deliberations, it was decided ■ that the bodies should remain where they 1 were till morning. So the cellar door was shut, the front door bolted, and then they prepared once more to retire; but for the rest of the night Morton made his bed upon the floor of the large room. In the morning, just as the carrier was [ dressing, there came a loud rap upon the [ outer door, accompanied by a voice which he knew full well. He hastened to open [ the gap, and gave entrance to Jacob Burnap. The hunter had met a party oftra-l ders at Lewisburg, and disposed of alibis [ skins to them, thus finishing his journey some six days sooner than he had anticipated. Polly was soon upon her husband’s bosom, and when he had told his own [ story, Mortoa gave him an account of the past nijiht’s adventure. Jacob was at first incredulous, but when he had been | dow u and seen the bodies, he was satisfied. ‘Polly, my jewel,’ he said, placing one [ [ arm about her neck,’ I’m proud of you. I . I love you more and more, for every day [ 1 find more to love.’ And then turning: to Alorton, he added—‘What do you think of such a wife?’ ‘Ah, returned the guest, with deep feel- ; ' ings, ‘if poor Lant Alorton had such an: [ one, he woulden’t be a mail-carrier.’ When Alorton left, he was directed to I [ stop at the first settlement, and state to [ ' the officers there what had happened, and I he promised to do so. He once more [ [ blessed the brave woman who had saved his life, and then set out. Late in the ! [ afternoon two officers arrived at thecabin [ ' and when they were shown the dead bodies, they recognized them at once, and proceeded to remove them. And ere a week was passed, whole settlements bless- [ ed the Border Heroine for the work she [ had done. Beautiful Illustration of Life. Bishop Heber, upon departing for In-, [ dia, said in his farewell sermon: ‘Life bears us on like the stream of a mijfhtv uuwn mu mb'hty channel, through the playful mur-. murin'' of the little brook, and tho will- [ ows upon its glassy borders, lhe trees shed their blossoms over our young [ heads; the flowers on the brink seem to , offer themselves to our young hands; we ' are happy in hope and grasp eagerly at . ' the beauties around us; the stream hurries on, and still our hands are empty., Our course in youth and manhood is along a wider, deeper flood, and amid objects more striking and magnificent. We are ' animated by lhe moving picture of enjoymentand industry passing us; we are excited bv our short-lived enjoyments. The stream bears us on, and joys and griefs are left behind us. We may be ship- [ wrecked, but we cannot be delayed; for, rough or smooth, the river hastens towards its home, till the roar of the ocean i is in our ears, and the waves beneath our feet, and the floods are lifted up around us, and we take our leave of earth and its inhabitants, until of our further voyage there is no witness save the Infinite and Eternal.’ Why is the letter “U” the gayest iu the alphabet? ' Because its always in/«n.

Curing faults. I Not once in a hundred times does a man cure himself of a deeply rooted fault’ bv setting himself to watch, waylay, and overthrow it. The battle is generally too I much for him; and he will go struggling uud groaning through life; being, when the end comes, just about at t lie point from which he started. And in the wearing, and vexing, and disheartening conl test, he will most probably 'nave lost pa- 1 lienee, good tempei, chcvifulness, and well uigli fsitli itself. Thus wiii it gtnerI ally happen to him whose eves are forever on himself. A morbid introspection can have no good effect on either heart or lite. i ’Tis a shoking mistake tu desire ‘a deep view of our sinfulness;’ we ought to pray I to be spared all such horrifying and des- ' perate sight; and ‘forgetting the the things that are behind,’ (sins and all,) ‘press for- ■ ward’ in the work of actual, not negative, well doing. We must not sit watching [ at the mouths of caverns for the forthcoming to the monsters lurking there; but be [up and doing with our might what our 1 hands can find to do for the esuse of our Lord. Filling our hands with our Lord’s ' work, and our hearts with love to him and to our brethern, will crowd out and <le- ■ strov our faults more effectually than all the direct fighting of them that we could do in a life-time When men have been a long time deprived of wholesome and nutritious food, they break out with sores and ulcers. What is thv surest cure for these? Would you plaster the sores, and put salve upon the humors? Would you blister, or cup, or leech, or even expend [ your skill in striving to heal the running ulcers? Nay, but I tell you all wonld be vain if you did not feed the sufferer. Do thut— give him plenty of good wholesome food, and your outward application may j be all spared. Food will renew and purify the blood; and pure blood will work the cure. Thus it is with the Christaiu. Love is the blood of his soul; let him be filled with that, and all the sores and ulcers of sin will soon disappear. Let him exerctse himself daily and hourly with sympathy and love for man, as man,', not as a rich man, or a gifted man, or even as a good man; but as a man, the image of God—the immortal being who is to be happy or [ j miserable forever. Let him keep his [ heart ever open, his affections ever warm, and his hands ever active in the good cause, and let him regard his maker as a ( friend near at hand; and leave Him as the most tender of fathers, and the Love of God will cleanse him from all unrighteousness. Don’t be a Bachelor Young man, don’t live a crusty bache- { [ lor, it is not good for you. It will neithI er improve your morals; health, nor your ! beauty. Alarry as soon as you can make [ [ it convenient, and can shape your affairs j to supporta wife. But when you marry [ don’t fall in love with a face instead of a [woman. Remember that common sense ;is a rare virtue, much better than silvei, gold, and fashion. Don’t court and mar[ry crinoline and money bags, simply beI cause it is crinoline or gold in plenty; but I look for sound, practical sense in a worn- j | an first; —that is the touch stone to try her [ [ other qualities by. When you do that, all else comes.— I Your wife that is to be, if she’s full of [ common sense, will grow to your way of thinking and make you grow to hers. — 1 A woman who has womanly love in her heart, will find away to make your love I towards her grow as the years go over you j both. And another thing needs to be [ heeded, and that it a common sense wo- [ [ man is not to be found where fashion in [ sists upon dragging young females into a [ whirl where there issimbly idle gossip and , [ little brain. Young man! don’t stand I looking * l -- .•woman who has [ the distinguished air, the reputation of a flirt and a belle, whose father has heaps [of cash; for it is not impossible that while i you a«v i-e; rn Ur eyes, you may be turning your back upon sum u unobstu- ' sive little damsel who nature has cut as vour other half, and who may be just that pleasant faced, placid tempered' lovea- * ble little creature who will thjnk enough of you to go with you to the end of the j world, and stay by and comfort you when you get gray headed and fidgety. Alarry, young gentlemen, and keep yourselves out of scrapes. Have somethins to live for. A man alone in the world isn’t more than half a man, and the world wants entire men. So mend yourself, and be happy. And you shall have reason to say it was a good thing you resolved to marry, and refused to be a solitary, beer drinking, pipe smoking bachelor, if you succeed as well in your efforts as he who once a young man like you, is now simply old, contented and comfortable. — Life Illustrated. An Irishman once asked the meaning of the word ‘virgin.’ He was told that it ordinarily meant a woman who had never been married. ‘Be lad then, said he, '•me mother is a virgin'.'

VISIONS OF A DYING CHILD. 1 It is difficult to account funtho thoughts and visions of lhe dying, and some have i supposed them to be the creations of an i .veiled fancy, having no substantial basis of truth. But incidents like the following cannot tie explained on such a theory lor a child would have no previous con- [ ceptions of Heaven, on which fancj' could draw for material lor pleasant visions.— i There must be some intimate connection [ between the future wotld and the soul about to fee r.-Ua.uJ. from its earthly tai bernacle. 1 ‘I was greatly pleased’ says Dr. Thomp- ; son, ‘with a little incident a mother gave me the other day. A child lay dying.— Feeling unusual sensations she said: o ‘Mamma, what is the matter with me?’ Mother—‘Aly child you are dying.’ Child—‘Well mamma, what is dying?’ Alother —‘To you dear child, it is going to Heaven.’ Child —‘Where is Heaven?' Alother —‘It is where God is and Christ and the Hole Ghost, and the angels, and. ' the good men made perfect.’ Child —‘But, matqnia-, I am not acquainted with one of those, and 1 do not like, to go alone; won’t you go with me?’ Alother —‘O, Mary, 1 cannot. God has called you only, not me now?’ Turning to her father, she asked the same questions. Then piteously to eath of her brothers and sisters, repeated the [ same interrogatory and received the same response. She then fell into a gentle slumber, from which she awoke in a transport of joy saying: ■ You need not go with me, I can go alone I have been there, and grand-mamma is there, and grand-father is there, and aunt Martha.’ A Good Name. The wise man tells us that a good name [is better than great riches. The truth of this plainly inferrible from the consideration that, when it is once gone, no a- ' mount of money will buy it back. No person however wealthy, can safely dispense with a good name. But, if not the [ rich, how much less the poor. To these it is their all. To be stript of it, is to be ruined in social and business life alike. There is no way in which we may so readily come to an appreciation of our • own good name, as to consider how important character is m others with whom we have to do. If we need professional services, we prefer a lawyer or a physician of good character. So with even our servants. Humble as they are, we [cannot dispense with its safeguards even !in them. But how transcendiintly impor- [ lant is the good name of him or her whom (we desire to use as a confident. Then we ’ realize that such a quality is indispensa-ble--a sine qua non. [ With these considerations before them, [ how can gossips deal lightly with the good name of their neighbors? We can conceive [ how envy and malice might furnish suffi- [ cient motive for the tongue or pen of the slanderer. But for the suffieciency of [ motive to the mere gossiper it is hard to account, especially for people who have : the advantages of education, or experience, and are themselves possessed of a good name. In the whole field of scandal, from the [ most malicious to the most thoughtless gossip, there is nothing but meanness and ‘ folly combined—meanness and folly of the i most despicable and pitiable kind! The hearts of all good men and good women shrink from the very thought of it with ’pain and disgust, as they remember the golden rule, and think of the inestimable [ value of a good name! Early Religious Training.—Devotional feelings should be impressed as [ early as possible on -the infant mind.— i Being fully convinced that they cannot be impressed too soon, and that a child, to feel the full force of the idea of God, j ought never to remember the time when he had no such idea, we would endeavor to impress them by connecting religion that lie'seiVL.?/ sens ‘ble objects; with all his young mind with wonder 6’? a LJ. l s.ect I and thus by deep, strong, and permanent associations, to lay the best foundation for practical devotion in future life. For : he who has early been accustomed to see the Creator in the visible appearance of all around him, to feel his continual presence, and lean upon his daily protection, though his religious ideas may be mixed with many improprieties which bis correcter reason will refine away, has made large advances towards that habitual piety without which religion can scarcely regulate the conduct, and will never warm the . heart. ' We have a span of horses, said the economic, lhe other day, on our farm that support themselves without cost. Why, how is that? exclamed a listener Why you see, one is a saw horse and L the other is a clothes horse. , [ Friends and Fellow Citizens, these lines ate just to fill out the cclum.

NO. 47.