Decatur Eagle, Volume 1, Number 51, Decatur, Adams County, 29 January 1858 — Page 1

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TH E EAGLE. PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING. Offios, on Main Street, in the old School House, one Square North of J. & P Crabs’ Store. Terms of Subscription : For one year, JI 50, in advance; $1 75, within six months; 00, after the year has expired. IEF No paper will be discontinued until all arreragesare paid, except at the option of the Publisher. Terms of Advertising: One square, three insertions, $1 00 Each subsequent insertion, 25 iU“No advertisement will be considered less than one square; over ene square will 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. I.aiv of Newspapers. 1. Subscribers who do not give expressnotice 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. 3. If subscribers neglect or refuse to take their papers from the < thee they are held responsible till they have settled the bill and ordered the paper discontinued. 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. jr l'he Court have decided that refusing of take a paper from the office, or removed and leaving it uncalled for is fkim.i FACinevidence of intentional fraud T7L.-~.~~ 1 ~: —- DEATH AT SEA. Lie up nearer, brother, nearer, For my limbs are growing cold, And thy presence seemeth dearer. When thy arms around me fold; I am dying, brother, dying; Soon ye'll miss me in your birth, For toy form will soon be lying, ’Neath the ocean's briny surf. Harken to me, brother, harken I have something I would say, Ere the veil my vision darken And I go from hence away, 1 am going, surely going, Hut my hope in God is strong, I am willing, brother, knowing That hedoeth nothing wrong. Tell my father, when you greet him, That in death I prayed for him: Prayed that I may one day meet linn, In a world that s free from sin; Tell my mother, (God assist her. Now that she is growing old,) That her son would glad have kissed her, When his lips grew paleaud cold. Listen, brother, catch each whisper, ’Tis my wife I’d speak of now; Tell—oh, tell her how I missed her, When the fever burned my brow; Tell her, brother, closely listen, Don't forget a single word, That in death my eyes did glisten. With the tears her memory stirred. Tell her she must kiss my children, Like the kiss I last impressed, Hold them as when last I held them — folded closely to my breast, Give them early to their Maker, Putting all her trust in God, And He never will forsake her, For He’s said so in His word. Oh, my children!—Heaven bless then' They were all my life to me; Would I could once more caress them, Ere I sink beneath the sea; 'Twas for them I crossed the ocean, What my hopes were I’ll not tell, But they’ve gained an orphan’s portion, Yet He doeth all things well. Tell my sister I remember, Every kindly parting word, And my heart has been kept tender, Ry the thoughts her memory stirred, Tell them I ne’er reached the haven, Where I sought the "precious dust,” But have gained a port called Heaven Where the gold will never rust. Urge them to secure an entrance, For they’ll find their brother there, Faith in Jesus and repentance, Will secure for each a share; Hark I hear my saviour speaking, 'Tis I know His voice so well, When I’m gone oh, don't be weeping, Brothers here’s my last farewell. Pathetic Incident. —Slavin who was hung recently at St. Johns, N. 8., fortne murder of the McKenzie family confessed that after the elder member of that family had been butchered, a little girl, about three years old, innocently held up her doll and offered it to him if he would not kill her. The little innocent’s offer was refused and the inhuman monster murdered her. Friends.—Our friends always wish us to be something which we are not; it is only our enemies that wish us to remain as we are.

, TWO Ways to save money. A Life Sketch ■ BY SYLVANUB COBB, JR. I The following sketch of real life so | plainly exhibits a lesson which might be profitably followed by many of our people, that we give it to the reader simply ’as it occurred, only concealing the real name of the parties concerned. And as , the story bears its own moral we will not tire you with any ‘reflections. John Poland and Anson Lyman bought i farms ajoining each other. The land bad , formerly been owned by one man who (had carried on the whole, employing a heavy force in the work. When the two friends bought the land it was as equallydivided as possible; and after the line of seperation had been run, those who had worked much on the land declared that they would not give the ‘toss of a copper’ for a choice betwen the two farms. The old buildings were almost useless, so new ,ones were erected, and at the same time both men commenced farming in earnest. \ They were poor, having paid their last pennies for the farms, and being obliged to run some in debt to get stock and tools. In all respect the two men commenced evenly. They were both married, and while Poland had one son and two daughi lers, Lyman bad one daughter and two sons. ‘Look ye. said Lyman, as the two sat together after their farming operations commenced ‘I have set my mark to aim at. I’m determined, if I have my health , to lay up a thousand dollars, clear of everything, in five years. ‘This is rather a short time for such a ! purpose, returned Poland. ‘Not a bit, cried the other, enthusiasJ tically. ‘l'm not going to wear my back-bone away for nothing. I'm going to lay up i money! ‘Sol hope to do, said Poland; ‘but money isn’t the first consideration. ‘What’s the reason it isn’t? asked Lvman. ‘lf you have money you can have everything. Money is the key- that un- . locks all floors—the caru mat auiuits you to all places. O! give me a thousand dollars, and I'll be content!’ i ‘So I must have a thousand dollars,’ remarked Poland; and then the convolution took another turn. j One day a man came along who had I some splendid young cattle. They were lof a pure English breed, or rather across 'between two of the best breeds ever imi ported, and came very high. Poland saw I him passing and hailed him. Our friend , was anxious to grow a fine stock, and he I knew that he must commence in the right way. The owner of the stock said he was ' willing to sell, but he must have bis price, iHo had a fine young pair, male and feI male, two years old, which he would sell for two hundred dollars Poland offered i his note on six months, together with a j bill of sale of the cattle as security. The owner was satisfied, and the bargain was made. The animals were brought home, ■ and Poland was not disappointed in his 'purchase. I 'Phew!, broke from Lyman’s lips, as 'he heard the price which his neighbor had paid for the new stock. 'Two hunI dred dollars for a two-year-old bull and . heifer! Why—what on earth could you have been thinking of Poland? Why—l wouldn’t have given seventy-five dollars for ’em now how. My cows will give as much milk and make as much butter and and cheese. I tell you plainly you’ll ! never see that thousand dollars if you launch out in that way.

•But, mv dear sir, 1 am determined to ' have the best stock I can get, returned Poland, earnestly; ‘for those farmers who have made the most money have made it from stock. I assure you it is one of tbe greatest failings our farmers have that they are content with small, poor cattle, when, by a little trouble and expense, they could have much better. ‘My stock answers my purpose, at any rate, resumed Lyman. ‘I can’t afford to ' pay two hundred dollars for a pair of two-vear-olds, and one o’ them a heifer at that, when for fifty dollars I can buy one ! of the best cows in the country. •You have a right to your own opinions. •Aye—and I’ll have my thousand dolI lars, too, laughed Lyman, as he turned away. It was only a week after this that the canvasser for an agricultural newspaper stopped at Lyman’s house; but the host couldn’t afford to take it. i ‘Hadn’t you better? ventured his wife. ‘No. We take the Villiage Pickin, published right in our own town, an that’s enough. You know what I told you, Dolly, I must have that thousand dol- \ /ar< Then vou won’t take it? said the agent. •No si'r. Can’t afford it. But there’s my neighbor Poland—he’ll take anything that anvbody offers him. i ‘l’vc'callcd on him, sir, and he told

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

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNT!, INDIANA, JAN. 29, 1858.

me I’d better slop here. He said ytu* were taking no agricultural paper. ‘And did he subscribe? ‘Yes—and paid me the money. ‘I tell ye, Dolly, Poland’s thousanl dollars ’ll come out minus;—now yoi mark my words. Dolly Lyman said dothing, for she was troubled at that moment bv the thought’ that her husband was exercising a spirit of penuriousness which looked mean; but she did not say so. c ‘Hallo! what ye doing? cried Lyman, as he saw Poland commencing to run a fence across his field. ‘l’m going to throw out just half of this field iuto pasturing,’ returned Poland. ‘What?’ exclaimed Lyman, hardly able to believe what he had heard. Throw off half of your field? Why—that wonti leave you with more than twenty acres to till.

‘I know it, —and that’s all I want. 1 am determined not to waste my time aid energies in swinging a scythe, over forty acres of land after five-and-twenty tons of hay when I can get forty tons from twenty acres. ‘Crazy as a March hair! muttered Lyman, as he turned away. Ere long Lyman was met by another surprise. He was at the hotel in the villiage one day, and there learned that his neighbor Polaud had engaged all their manure for four years; and that he was to pay for it in wood, and butter, and cheese, and such other articles of prodece ’ I as might be wanted, ‘Dolly, whatrfo you suppose Poland i has been and done now? ‘I don’t know, I’m sure,’ returned the wife, looking up. ‘Well, I’ll tell you:—He’s been and en- , gaged all the manure made at the tavern ; stables for the nextfour years! And he’s got to haul wood, and let his butter and cheese go, to pay for it! On the same day he saw Poland, and I asked him what he meant. ’ ‘I mean to bring my farm up,’ returned | the latter. ‘But I get manure enough for two acres of corn every year, and that’s . enmiffh.’ said Lvman. 1 ‘For you it 1~, c... > { nure more. Our land was well run out when we took it, and in order to get it up to its fullest capacity we must be prodi- ' gal of rich dressing. ‘Well,’ said Lyman, with a sort of pit- [ ying expression,—‘go ahead; but if you I ever see your mouey, let me know, j ‘l’ll give you a good account, never ; fear,’ replied Poland, laughing. ‘I must feed my land if I would have it feed me. We haven’t got land here like those rich alluvial bottoms in the west. My land ■ needs nursing now. But Anson Lyman couldn’t see the use of wasting money in that way. He thought the man who would first cut his tillage land down one half, and then go off and buy such quantity of manure, ; must be little better than foolish. He I wasn’t such a fool, at all events. 1 During the following winter, while Ly--1 roan was cutting and hauling wood to the villiage tor two dollars and a half per cord, 'poor’ Poland was hauling his to Hie tavern to pay for manure which be hadn’t 1 > got yet! I It was on the first day of April that Poland came to see his neighbor. He wanted to borrow a hundred dollars for a year if he could. ■ I ‘What ye going to do with it? asked Ly- ’ ■ man. ’ j ‘I want to make some improvements in II my barn cellar, and also enlarge the ‘ bulding by putting on a tie-up, thus i throwing the cattle out of my main barn. ‘I declare Poland, it’s 100 bad, said

1 Lyman, pityingly. ‘Here I’ve laid up \ over two hundred dollars clear cash, and >; you are worse off than nothing—in debt. By the jingo, John, I don’t want to see '■ you fooling away money so. Your barn - is large enough, as large as mine is with double your land to empty into it. If I lend you a hundred dollars what assur- ■ ance have I that I shall ever see it? I’d rather let it go where I know it is safe, i 1 shouldn’t want to sue you. and I might uot get it without. Your farm is as good , as mine, and you have no more need to be brrowing than I have, —or, you i shouldn’t have. John Poland didn’t say anything about the two animals he had bought a year and a half before, and the calf they had yielded him, for which he had been offered within the week four hundred dollars. He owned that amount of stock I over and above the stock owned by Lyman. He turned the subject of converj sation as quickly as possible, for he wanted to hear no more reasons from his friend for not lending him the money. That afternoon he went over to see the man of whom he had bought this new stock, who lent him the money he need - ed readily. ‘What a fool!’ said Lyman, as he saw thecarpeters at work tearing away one whole side of his neighbor’s barn, preparatory to adding an apartment capa-

hie of accorumodatnig forty-five ‘head of cattle. However, Poland worked on, and tried in va ; n to get his neighbor to listen to some of his advice. ‘Don’t talk to me, cried Lyman, at the end of the second year. 'l’Fe got four hundred dollars at interest. How much you got? ‘A thousand or so, returned the other. ‘Eh? AVhat do you mean? ‘Why, all tbe money I have laid out is on interest. ‘Oho, ah, ha, ha, ha.—and now how much interest have you realized? ‘So far I’ve let it all run at compound interest, pul the interest right in with the principal, and there it lies. ‘Yes, and there it will lie. I don’t believe you can raise fifty dollars now in I cash.

‘You are right, Lvman, I could not i raise it without selling something which 1 do not wish at present to part with. ‘I thought so. But take your own way. Ere long Anson Lyman was astonish- [ ed to find that his neighbor had subscribed for a third paper, besides buying a lot of books for his child r en. ‘What’s the use?’ he said, as he sat in his neighbor’s front room, and saw a large pile of books on the shelf. ‘I want my children to learn to work, not to be spending their time over books. They get schooling enough when our school is open. ‘So I mean that my children shall learn to work, returned Poland: ‘but that shall not prevent them from becoming well educated. I would rather leave them with good health, good characters and well I educated, than with thousands of dollars each, minus the education. ‘Oho! That’s the way you mean to lay up a thousand dollars; to have it in books, and papers, and new tie-ups, and 1 such like. You shall see when the time is up. | ‘We shall, returned Lyman, as he turned towards home. Mr. Lyman had not fully realized how much corn Poland had received from the land he had manured so heavily and so carefully; and on the second year he only •’ ’ - * E’r. n fl ; cr |, hnr hon niiry good luck' with his wheat, getting about ninety bushels from three acres. But ;he had occasion to open his eyes on the I third year. One evening just at sundown, he went over into Poland’s field, where the men were just finishing raking up the threeacre piece where the grain had been the year before, the first piece the present i owner had plowed up and dressed. ‘Been poling some hay on here, said I Lyman, as he saw the huge bunches of hay nearly as thick as they could stand.

‘No, this was all cut from these three acres, returned Poland. Lyman counted the bundles, and then estimated their average weight, and upon reckoning up he found that the land had yielded not far from four tons to the acre! He had just got in the two acres which he had first dressed upon the new farm, and he had obtained short of two tons per acre! He knew that Poland had got ten bushels more of wheat per acre than he had done, and also more corn. He began to think; but yet he would not let his money go for any such ‘experiments' upon h's place. The five years came around, and Anson Lyman went on that day and sold fourteen bushels of corn in order to get fourteen dollars to put with nine hundred and eighty -six dollars which he had at home. ‘Well, Poland, I’ve got the prize! said Lyman, entering the farmer’s barn in the afternoon. It was early spring, just five years from the day on which they bought. ‘l’ve got the thousand dollars; now what have you got? ‘Wei!, I have not far from four hundred dollars in money.

‘Aha, I thought so. ‘But, Anson Lyman, said Poland almost sternly, are your eyes not open yet?’ ‘Opened! What d’ye mean? Well, mean that my farm, to-day, will sell for one thousand dollars more than yours will. Look at my hay-mow.— There are nearly twenty tons of hay; you have not ten. And, mind you, I have five head of cattle more than you have. Next season I shall cut more hay’ from twelve acres, which I have now regenerated, than you will cut upon your whole forty acres; and you know my hay is worth far more a pound than your hay is. I told you I had five more head of cattle than you had. For these five creaures 1 can, within six h ours, take seven hundred dollars cash; but no such money can purchase them of me. ‘Ah, Lyman, you have been saving money, but you have taken it from your farm without returning anything for it. •Never mind, I’ve got my thousand dollars, and I’ve got my farm, as good as it was the day I bought it.’ ‘Not quite, Lyman. ‘How so?

‘You’ve taken off two hundred cords of good wood. ‘Well, so you took off some. ‘Aye, but what I took from my woodlot I put back udon iny field. I did nit take it from the farm. Mr. Lyman went away with new thoughts. Time passed on, and at the end of another five years the eyes of Anson Lyman were wholly opened. Poland had now raised quite a stock of noble cattle Irom his first purchase, and commenced Ito sell to the beef-market. Two hundred dollars was the least any one of them brought when fatted; and one bullock, four years old, brought him three hundred and ten dollars. His twenty-acre field was like a garden, yielding, such as : was mowed, an average of three tons to ; the acre. In short, his whole farm was under the best of training and improve- . ment, and now yielded him back a heavy ! interest upon all that he had expended. During one fall he took over a ihouaand i dollars for stock and produce; and he was I offered five thousand dollars for his place while Lyman could not have found a purchaser at fifteen hundred! ‘Dolly, said Anson Lyman, sinkinginj to a chair. ‘l’ve been a fool!-a fool! I say. ‘Why, Anson, what do you mean? ‘Mean? Look at Poland’s farm. 'I have looked at it from the first, An- ■ son.’ ‘You have? And what have you seen? ‘Why, I saw that John Poland was j making a comfortable home lor himself | and family, and increasing the value of j his farm tenfold. ‘And why didn’t you tell me so? ‘1 did tell you so, husband, and you | said I was a fool. ‘I remember. Well, never mind.— 'Tisn’t too late now On the next morning Mr. Lyman wont 'over to his neighbor’s and frankly said. ‘Poland, you must help me. 1 want to ' learn to be a farmer. ‘I will help you with pleasure, Anson; , and you can begin far more easily than I I did, for you have money. And Lyman commenced. Tbe thousand dollars was nearlv all exnended in i uie work, but In the end he found hiinj self ihe gainer, and his dollars came back to him with interest twice-told. Ho had learned a lesson which many might follow with profit.

A Non Committal Captain. The Salem Register tells the following | good story of old Capt. Ward, who flourished in that municipality in days of I yore:— ! ‘Capt. Ward was an eccentric of the , first water, and one of his peculiarities i was that he never gave the desired ansj wer to a direct question. An amusing i instance of this evasive bftbii is related. | One morning, four of his friends, who were aware of this trait in his character, I observed the captain going to market, and i after some bantering, entered into a bet as to practicability of learning from him i the price he paid for his purchase. They accordingly settled the preliminaries, and i stationing themselves at different points along Essex street, which he must pass I on his way home, awaited his coming.— Very soon the bluff old gentleman made : his appearance with a bunch of pigeons iin his hand. As he approached the first questioner accosted him with: ‘Good morning, captain! What did you give for pigeons, this morning? 'Money,’ said the captain bluntly, as he moved up the street. The second gentlemaft, a little further on, addressed him and asked:

‘How go pigeons this morning, captain? ‘They don't goat all; I carry ’em!' was the equally unsatisfactory reply. Shortly after he met the third, who passed the time of day, and inquired: ‘How much are pigeons a dozen, caplain? ‘Dident get a dozen—only bought half-a dozen! said the old gentleman, gruflly still plodding on his way. Finally, the fourth and last of the conspirators cottoned to the wary old salt observing, in the blandest of tones: ‘A fine lot ofpigansyou have there, captain! what did you get them for? 'To eat, was the pertinent and emphatic rejoinder. Here is a gem from Dickens’ ‘Dombey Jc sou’ that will never grow dim: ‘She died,’ said Polly, ‘and was never seen again, for she was buried in the ground where the trees grow.’ ‘ln the cold ground!’ said the child. ‘No the warm ground replied Polly, ‘where the seeds are turned into flowers; and where good people turn into augels and fly away to Heaven.’ ‘No one would take you for what you are,’ said an old fashioned gentleman to a young would-be dandy, who had moie hair than brains. •V hy? dandy, sharply. ‘Because thev can’t see vour ears!,

BEN EDER’S VISION. BY QEOIIQIA'NA BERBER f. Ben Eber slept, and in his sleep he had a vesion of the pit, and of the lake of fire. Among the ones who suffered there, he saw a man who—more than all others —moved his pity. This miserable being was bound by mighty cords to a monster made of canker-wormsjind tire; and front the flames darted a myriad poisoned fangs, which were hooked; and as they ware withdrawn they brought with them all the interior fibres of their victim.— Bleeding and quivering heartstrings, bare nerves and cords, hung shrinkingly down upon the outside of that agonized body, and were scorched and withered (but never destroyed) by that horrid Hamed; while all the time the cankerworms kept gnawing—gnawing—at them and at the heart of him from whom they had been drawn. His shrieks, and gi'oans and curses, his writhings and struggles were most appalling; and ever and anon the awful fiend said, in low tones, that made the flesh of Ben Ebcr creep with loathing:— ‘Keep thyself calm; be happy; give not way to such foolish excitements—they injure thee.’ Shaking with mortal terror; dying fronr intensity of compassion, Ben Eber cried out:— ‘Oh! miserable man! What could fie do to merit such a doom? It were too hard even for a murderer •Yes,’ said Ben Eber’s guide, we never deliver n murderer tn the power of that demon, yet. he hath many victimes. He multiplieth himself into innumerable demons, and he dealeth fiendishly with all who are given for his portion.’ •Whoare they that are his portion?' a«ked the trembling; Eber, rapidly glancing back along the line of his own sins, ‘They are those who, like yonder wretch, while on earth, took into their hands a human heart, and, after breathing softly upon it and carressing it until it expanded in their clasp, did then with calm,unpitying eye, and cool, steady, practiced hand, draw out, and leave quivering upon tne surracp, n- ftlirt) of thati delicate and sensitive thing; then, smiling at the sight, looked on while the rude foices of the world, armed by their cruel skill with ten-fold power, trod rough-shod over it; who listened, then unmoved afid smiling, to the groans, the cries and pleadings of the helpless, bleeding victims of their infernal deed, saying, softly' with rare refinement of mockery:— "Keep thyself calm, oh, Heart!— be happy— give not way to such foolish ex citcments—they injure thee.’ 'Here they receive their just dues—they are what thou seest. Retnrn to the earth; beware that thou merit not such torture.’ And Ben Eber awoke from his dreatn, ‘which was not all a dream.’ About Chidren’s Temper. Bad temper is oltener the result of unhappy circumstances than of an unhappy organziation; it frequently, however, has a phisical cause, and a peevish child often needs dieting more than correcting. Some children are more prone to show temper than others, and sometimes on account of qualities which are valuable in themselves. For instance, a child of active temperament, sensitive feeling, and eager purpose, is more likely to meet with constantjars and rubs than a dull, passive child; and if he is of an open nature, his inward irritation is immediately shown in hurts of passion. If yua repress these ebullitions by scolding and punishment, you only increase the evil by changiag passion into sulkiness. A cheerful, good tempered tone of your own, a sympathy with his trouble, whenever the trouble has arisen from no ill conduct on his part are the best antidotes; but it would he better still to prevent beforehand, ns much as possible, all sources of annoyance. — Never fear spoiling children by making them too happy. Happiness is ‘.lie atmosphere in wich all good affections grow —the wholesome warmth necessary to make the heartblood circulate healthily and freely; unhappiness the chilling presure which produces here an inflammation there an excrescence, and, worst of all. ‘the mind’s green and yellow sickness—illtemper.’ Knowledge of Life. —He who sets ; out on the journey of life with a profound knowledge of books, but a shallow knowledge of men—with much sense of others, and little of his own—will find himself as completely at a lose in cases of common and constant recurrence as a Dutchman without his pipe, a Frenchman without his mistress, an Italian without his fiddle or an Englishman without his umbrella. ‘I am not afraid of a barrel of cider.’ said a toper to a tempernnee man. ‘I presume not,’ was the reply 'from sour appcsranc, 1 guess a barrel of C'dcr would run at your approach.'

NO. 51.