Decatur Eagle, Volume 2, Number 17, Decatur, Adams County, 4 June 1858 — Page 1

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■VOL. 2.

THE EAGLE. I KVf.RY FRIDAY MORNING, BY j PHILLIPS & SPENCER, Qflae, on Main B:ro«t, in ths old School House, ono Square North of J. & P Crabs' Store. Terms of Subscription : ;?9flone year, $1 59, in advance; $1 75, within i the year, atrd $9 09 after the year has expiled. paper will be discontinued until all i ■■jgerr.ges a * S l ‘‘ e °P l ’ 0U Terms of Advertising: Oneisqusre, (ten lines, three iasertioM, $1 00 Each subsequent insertion. 25 EFNu advertisement will be considered less than one square: over one square will be coun- ■ ted 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 reasonable terms. Our material for the completion of Job-Work, being new and of the latest I styles, and we feel confident that satisfaction : can be itiven I-— — L ' A HOME FOR ALL. by mrs. l n siuoc.ney. d ever? miin went untohis own house." Jons vii , 53d. be king unto his palace proud Oft ileturneth from the throne — s.tTi.e noble to his castle hoar, fl he peasant to his cottage dour, ak The monk to clositer lone. .adhe soldier hasteth to his camp, I The Bailor dares lhe deeps. ■T lie traveler spreads his tent at night ■ 'l'hat fl icks the forest-green with w hite, t And ’neath its shelter sleeps. EThe grr-.'ul.iud banter scoops a cell Bmeath incumbent snows, ft The son of Afric to his kraal, ft The Li lian t.> his wigwam frail With k.;m--l:!te roof tree goes. i | 7he ea<He knows his eyrivd clifF, The lion loves his lair, [ The heaver builds his lodge of rest, fl I’oX’S have holes, and birds their nests. Where dwell the houseless?—Where? f There i« a mansion free ?<. nil. Whence none are turn’d away, f Even those who ne’er hi.d home before, [ Are welcome through its unlock’d door To enter in, and stay. ■ No fee of gold lhe lodgers pay. In that sepulchral bower; J’ But “dust to dust.," on forehead white Doth give . rich applicant the right Os mastership and po.v r. Nogogeous robes the inmates wear, No pain: lags deck the wail, T hath no revelry by night. Nocasement fair with taper’d light, No downy couch, or hearth stone bright. Yet, —’t is the home for all. 9 ~xx~— -—: — : : —z ——r 11 - — What is t’ne best line to lead a man g with? Crino-line. And the best line io lead a woman I with is mascu-line. When one loves the twilights better S than the noons, it is evidence that he is s near one bis two childhoods—either the ft first or the second. A very little boy, who at night had ■ been repeating the Lord’s Prayer, was I observed to be in very deep thought. — t After meditating a very long time, he I asked: ‘Mamma, is the daily bread buti icred?’ - Vert Truk. — A quarrel is like a spark, ’ which cannot be produced without a flint f as well as a steel, either of them mav I hammer on wood forever, no fire will j follow. A leading member of the Presbyterian I chuch at New Brighton, Pa., who is distinguished for bis self-complacency and for’his patronage of religion and the church,, commenced a prayer at a revival meeting the other day in these words:— 'Oh, Lord! we would not assume to dictate to Thee, but would only offer a few suggestions!' Printer's Toasts.—‘The Press —it expresses truth, re-presses error, im-pres-*es knowledge, de-presses tyranny, and op-presses none.’ ’Woman—the fairest work of creation —the edition being extensive, let no man be without a copy.’ ‘Babies—miniature editions of human’ty, issued periodically, and displayed in small caps.' An Upright Judge —’l do think,’ says a late English writer on law, 'that there is not in nature a more glorious, beavemy sight than an upright, patient, knowing judge sitting in judgment. If rod ever made man after his own image, tnink he must have made him in that character.’

I THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON. I A Revolutionary Reminiscence. BY EMERSON BENNETT. — The following story was told, a number of years ago, by an old Revolutionary soldier, to his children, and grandchildren, as they sat around lhe festive board of a Thanksgiving dinner. The writer, then quite a youth, was present —though not as a relative —and heard it, and treas : tired it up in Lis memory, and now gives it to the public, a« neatly as he can remember, in the language of the veteran, suppressing only the names of the parties introduced, which for various reasons he i does not wish here to state. The 19tb of April, 1775, (began the aged narrator.) was a day long to be re-* membered, not only by myself, but by all who take a pride in our glorious insti- I tutions The ever-to-be-remembered morning dawned bright and beautiful, the sun rising in ealm glory, as if it were not to witness 'he bloody opening of that great drama, upon which the eves of the whole I civilized world were instinctively turned, and whose closing scenes have left us a: I free and independent nation. 1 was at that lime about two-and-twen-ty years of age, and was in lhe employ of Mr. S****, of Lincoln, as a farm hand. 1 had gone down to the field alone, about the usuil hour; but had not been there ; long, when Mr. IS**** came hurrying down, and in an excited tone, said: “David, there are great things going' on: and the time has now arrived whet; we must either take a bohl stand and defend our rights with our lives, or tamely submit like cowards to British oppression 1 asked him what he meant, and he replied: “A messenger has just passed by here, on his way to alarm the country, who says that a large body of British troops, on their march from Boston to Concord, passed through Lexington early this morning, and, without provocation, fired upon the milita and citizens, killing and wounding quite a number.’ I He further said that great alarm prevailed throughout the country round i about—that the bells had been rung and the. drums bent to arms, that men were {everywhere leaving their work and hur ' rvmg to the field of action, and asked me 1 if I was willing to take a part in lhe coming struggle. “Yes,’ 1 replied, 'if matters Lave come to such a pass, 1 would rather be on the i field of battle than here ’ "Then quit your work at once,’ he isaid; 'take your gun, and go and do your duty; for if you feel as I do, you would much rather die a freeman than live a shiv e.’ Accordingly I left the field, and hur ried to lhe iiouse, where 1 equipped myself as well as I could, only being delayed some half an Lour in running a few extra bullets, my powderhorn having for-| tunately been filled a few days before.— i Then putting up some provisions, for 1 did not know when I should return I bade Mr. S****and his family good-bye, and I tol l them, it they never saw me again, 1 hoped at least they would hear a good account of me. I had not gone far, when I me.tr horseman riding at full speed. I asked him the news, and he sung out, without stopping his horse: “A large body of British troops, after shooting down several men in Lexington, 1 have marched upon Concord, to distroy i the town. Hurry on, for every man is wanted!’ He said something more, but this was ■ ; all I caught —for his horse, being on the i run, had carried him beyond my hearing I then struck across the fields to the Concord road, running most of the way; ■ and when I came in sight of the roaJ, I saw many persons hurrying up from every direction, each man bringing with him his gun and whatever else he thought needful —sometimes alone like myself but mostly in parties of two, three and four—seldom more. Soon after 1 got into the Concord road, I met a couple of men, partly uniformed, hurrying towards Lexington. I stopped and asked them the news; and one replied, very excitedly: “Dreadful times, friend! dieadful times' A large body of British infantry and grenadiers have marched on to Concord to destroy the place, which they are doing at this minute.’ -•Then why are you not there to defend it?’ inquired I. “Because lhe citizens and militia are at present too few to cope with the British; and we, with many others, have been dispatched by Colonel B****. to act as scouts, alarm the counlry, and get full reports of the doings below.' I then asked them if they thought 1 could he of any service at Concord; and ■ they answered tnat I had better go and see'for myself; but that everybody was, greatly alarmed, and so far there was no unity of action

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

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA, JUNE 4, 1858.

After this I did not hurry as before, bnt walked on quickly, keeping a sharp ■ look-out, and wondering to myself how ' the affair was going to terminate. Not ' thinking it exactly prudent to approach ' the village by the road, and not caring to be mixed up with other parties, 1 once more turned off into the fields, and t aking a kind of roundabout course, ascended some high ground, whence I could get a paitial view of the place, and from some idea of what was going on. It was little I could see, however, save a dense smoke rising from the center of the place, aud here and there a glimps of British soldiers, and some of our own ■ volunteers, as they marched in companies to take diffeient positions. In an open I lot, just back of the village, stood quite I a collection ot women and children; and :on wljat now is called Burying-ground Hill, were a number of British officers, ■ apparantly surveying the place tlnough' their glesses; while, from every direction, j I could see citizens hurrying up, but more in bodies than before, to join their eoun- | trymen, and, if necessary, assist in rebel- ' ling the invaders. i As I thus stood looking, I heard the report of guns, hut apparently only some j three or four. Next 1 heard a single dis- j charge, and thi n what appeared to be a volley. This was followed by loud cries, ■ and another volley, and for r few minutes by rapid and continual discharges, by which I knew that an action had fairly; commenced on both sides. j While 1 stood hesitat’ng, not knowing in what manner it was best for me to act '.lie tiring ceased; and soon after, to my great joy, I saw lhe head of the column of British infantry filing down lhe road. 1 now hurried round to the rear of the ; evacuating forces, and, on entering the j village, found some hundreds of our men ■ collected on the common, almost without! order, companies apparently being disbanded, and the greatest excitement and indignation prevailing. Some halfadoz ; en or more had been killed and wounded ■ on both sides, and a considerable amount; . of properly had been destroyed by the en■emy; but the latter, having suddenly become alarmed at the determined action and the rapidly increasing numbers of the citizens, had beat a full retreat, leaving two of their dead wherejthey feel filing down the road in fine military or-' der, with strong flanking parties thrown; out on either side, their splendid uniforms ‘ and burnished arms glitteringin the bright sunshine, and making an imposing ishow. ; But thinking only of their dastardly I and wan’on acts, and that they were only ! vulnerable men like themselves, the ex cited crowd speedily resolved to follow and harrass them. “Let us have revenge for our comrades shot down in cold blood!’ ; "Aye, let us follow and shoot them down injthe samejway! exclaimed another. “Who is to lead us?’ asked a third. I “We want no leader!'shouted a foui th. “Let every man do his duty by himself, ' and shoot the scoundrels whenever he can reach them. With thi.; the people set up a wild shout; of approval; and immediately the crowd i began to scatter, most of them taking the j direction of the retreating army, following with the majority. On coming up within bullet range of the rear guard, we opened upon them a ; ‘ general fire, and saw some five or six of them drop from the ranks. They immediately replied with a volley, hitting four ' of our party and killing two, one of whom , fell dead beside me. Upon this we im- ' mediately scattered, leaping the fences; and taking to the fields, each man acting for himself. Loading my gun, I ran for- ! ward; and getting under cover of some bushes, I selected my man, and fired again—the otheis generally acting in the same manner. Thus, without concert, and without i any regular leader, we began a mode of warfare best suited to our circumstances ' and condition; and which, during that long, hot day—and it was uncommonly hot for the season —cost many a soldier, the very flower of the British army, his life. I shall make no attempt to give you a detailed account of that day’s fightjin fact, Ido not think I could if I would; for lam getting well advanced in years ! now, and my memory is beginning to fail me. Indeed, so far as I was concerned, it would only be a repetition of loading, getting anew position, firing, and keeping out of the way of the flanking parties, I which did all in their power to protect the main body—runingdown. shooting, and bayonetting the provincials whenever thev could. Our men completely lined the'way of the retreating army—fired from every bush, house, fence, or covert, and even the open fields, and sometimes mantained a running fight, where the harrassed enemy had a good opportunity for pursuit. j From being in the rear, I gradually made my wav beyond the head of the advanced column: and having secreted'

rayself behind a large rock, I was waiting for,them to come up to Certain aim. i when suddenly two soldiers, who had been j thrown forward as scouts, approached me ; unperceived. The first intimation I had of their presence .were two shots, fired at a distance of less than twenty yards, one ball passing through my hat, and tlieolh-1 er through the fleshy part of my left arm, the scar of which I still retain. By the time I had got upon my feet, they were in the act of rushing upon me , with their.bayonets, one a couple of feet or sc ip advance of the other. There was nb«Wfiie't& be lost; and taking a rapid sight at the foremost, I pulled the trigger; but from some cause, my gun for the first time that day missed fire. I was now situated, with the rock beI hind me, that it was impossible for me to escape; and as my foes came bounding' forward, with loud yells an bitter curses, ! I thought my last hour had come. As ' quick as lightning I cocked my gun again, (and again pulled the trigger, with the ; muzzle almost touching the breast of the nearest. I i This time, thank heaven! the piece did I its du'", and lodged the contents in the ; very heart of my foe, who fell back dead without even a groan. The next moment the bayonet of his companion passed ; through my side, with so much force ns to drive nae back against t'.ie rock, inflicting a severe and dangerous wound, and holding me completely in l.is power. For a few moments I struggled to ex tricate myself, but rapidly grew weak and faint, when, finding me sinking to ' the earth, the soldier withdrew his weapon, and made another quick thrust. In his haste, he missed me nearly altogether, but passed his bayonet through my ! clothes, where it became momentarily en- ; tangled. I Throwing down my gun and seizing ‘ his, I now feebly attempted to foil his fell intent; but being the stronger of the two, i and himself unwounded, be fairly tore the weapon from my grasp; and another mo i ment would certainly have been my last, ' had not kind Providence come to my aid.; ‘As, fairly foaming with wrath,, he drew baek for the fatal lunge, a bullet passed tlnough his head, and he fell dead at mv very side. I had only time to sec ; a friendly form hurrying up to me, when ( ; I fainted and knew no more. When I recovered consciousness, 1 found myself lying upon a bed, in the j house of a Samaritan, and learned that the British had been met at Lexington by I I a large reinforcement, and had effected ; their retreat to Charlestown, being followI ed to the very Neck by some of our men, ' and suffering continual losses all the way. I also learned that my good host was the friend who had so providentially come to mv rescue. Being a little distance be- ' hind me, he had heard the firing, and had hurried up just in time to save me. i i Taking up my apparently lifeless form, ; he had born me back anil secreted me in some bushes, standing guard by me till lhe enemy had passed; and then, with the , aid of some fiiends, had carried me to . • Lis own house, about half a mile distant. Here, under the best of care, 1 remained for several weeks; and just as I had once more begun to get abroad in the fresh air, news came of the glorious battle of Bun- ; ker’s Hill, and filled me with new vigor; and life. A few days after, though still far from complete recovery, I joined the army at Cambridge, and once more took an active part in that great and righteous contest, whose glorious results, my .iiildreu, we all now enjoyed. Formation of Character. —Guard against self-sufficiency and vanity. This temper is an effectual barrier to high intellectual improvements. Frequently reflect upon the small extent and imperfection oi our attainments on the vast regions of science that are yet unexplored by you; on the ter. thousand books that! you have never read or seen, or of which perhaps you have not even heard. Remember too the lofty attainments that have been made by some profound scholars both of ancient and modern days.— Read in early life, a few well-selected bi-1 ' ographies of men who were distinguished for their general knowl«-dge. Read the; lives of Demosthenes, of Newton, of Miltton, of Locke, of Hale, of Addison, of: Haller, of Doddridge, of Johson, and of other accomplished and illustrious scholars. Observe the ardent attachment and intense industry with which they cultivated science, and the astonishing acquirements which they made—their high valuation of time and careful improvement of it; compare your habits and attainments with theirs—not to repose in sluggish despondency, but to rouse yourself from apathy and sloth, to a noble emulation of rising to an equality with; them. It was by no secret magic that these mighty scholars attained to distinction and fame; it was by patient, per | severing, untiring industry. The mart who "saw the joke,’ it is said used n spy glm*.

THE ERRING DAUGHTER. BY AUGUSTA HERBERT. “But, moth,er, w/ty may I not marry Charles Hastings? Ido think it's cruel of you to refuse your consent, when you know how much I think of him. I'm sure you don't seem a bit like my own kind mother. AY hat does make you so set against Charley?’ “1 have not the least ill-will towards i Charles; far from it, lam very anxious to see the young man prosperous and Kappy, But he is not a man,who could make my daughter happy. She has taken a feverish fancy for his handsome ■ face and his large sea! ring, and I have no doubt that she sincerely believes that ' her lieart will break as she bids him a fi- ■ 1 nal farewell—as her lover; but, Alice, ; your mot!,er has lived more years than you have, and has seen many broken hearts healed, many floods of tears dried, ; and you will certainly see the day in; ! which you will thank me for forbiddifiii this union, and breaking off your iutimn • cy with the young man in question. You i . did very wrong not to apprise me longago of what was going on. It. might have saved you both much disappointment.’ “But mother, what have you against Charles?’ “I have already told you that he has not been properly brought up. He lias no education, nor has he the force of ambition now to seek for one. He has a violent and unreasonable temper, and many ill-bred and most ungentlcmanly ways In short, he is not by nature or by education such a personas could possibly satisfy the heart of a refined and sensitive woman, such as / hope my daughter is becoming. Submit to your mother’s judgment, my child. Has she not always guided you in the path of peace and happiness?’ Allie knew that she had so guided her, but in her present mood she didn’t want to say so. She therefore muttered some i ; ungracious thing about people who have married to suit themselves always being so unreasonable when other folks wanted ; to do the same thing. The mother took no notice of this be- , havior, thinking that Allie would, of herself, soon see how ungrateful and disrespectful she had appeared, and come I J and ask forgiveness. This had been from ; childhood her usual course; but Allie was changed by the blind passion that; ; had taken full possession of her. Mrs. ; Heath had no adequate idea of the; strength of her daughter’s feeling for I . Charles Hastings. If she been aware of the absolute control that by magnetism or some other means, the reckless thought ' attractive-looking young man had acquired over Allie, she would have felt like ; hastening with her from the circle of his ; I paneful influence. As it was, she did i : not worry at all. She felt grieved for the sorrow which her daughter felt, but consoled herself by the aid that it would soon ’ pass. Her child had never disobliged her, and she did not dream that she ever would do so. What, then, was her astonishment as well as alarm and distress, when Allie was one morning missing from her home. Her bed had not been touchi ed. Upon her pillow was a note directed to Mrs. Heath. Hutriedly tearing it open, the grief-streck parent read that her only child, her darling daughter, who, in her imagination, had been incapable ■of such wickedness, had deserted her toelope with Charles Hastings. They would be back, the note said, as soon as they were married, and mother must try and forgive them. She was so good, they were sure that she would forgive them I when she knew that thev were really man and wife, and so ought to love each other. Mrs. Heath sat down and had a battle with herself. When she arose, it was with a determination to make the best of a bad affair. She set the servants imme- ; diately to work to fit up a chamber for the young couple, for she at once understood that she was to have them both to take care of. As for Charles Hastings ever earning his own living, much less that ofiiis wife, she was not so sanguine as to admit such a thought for a moment. When the bride and groom arrived — which they did before night—they found their pleasant chamber ready for them, a ; good supper awaiting them, and a kind, though very pale mother to receive them; but she wept when she wished them joy, and her tears were not turned into rainbows by the usual bridal smiles ‘Don't cry, old lady,’ said Hastings, in what he meant for a gentle and conciliating manner. ‘lt was rather sneakish to steal Allie away by night; but then you know you wouldn’t give her up, and I’m sure I wouldn’t! give her up, nor she me, so ’twas the only thing we could do; but don’t let us think any more about it. You see wc are safe back again, and I am per- : fectiy willing to let Allie live with you as long as you want her. Bo what is there to cry for after nil?' All.e blushed 'Tin','-■;> during thi-

—— — —— . ._. - ■ N £ i speech, the first one of such a fainalier tone that Charles had ever addressed to Mrs Heath. That lady replied to 'the remarks of bes ; son-in-law only by request,ng him and his wife to set down to supper. Twenty hours of uninterrupted intercourse with Hastings had not made him any more interesting and attractive in the opinion of Allie. Sad to relate, now that she had him. in spite of mother, fate and nil ths world, he did not stem, by many degrees, so desirable an object as Lu Lad seemed the day before. Already she was begining to see him with her mother's eyes—already she was begining to fee! that her : mother’s prophecy would prove true. And it was not two years—it was hard* ly a year and a half—before there was a. : divorce by mutual consent. Charles be 4 ing exasperated beyond ail control by Allie’s exhortations to go io work, to find some—almost any honest—business, to try and be somebody And Allie was eL-gusted to loathing by Charles’ want of all lhe elements of soul which go to make the true man. j Bitterly, bitterly was the foolish disobedience of the erring daughter punished and deeply did she repent. Her mother ■ tried every tuteans in her power to improve . Charles, and create harmony between , him and his wife; but finding all effort wor<e than useless, she finally gave up to I their desire for a divorce, thinking wisely that people who Jive together but to render each other miserable, had far better ; be apart. There are unpleasant memories now be- ; tween the mother aud thedaugher, butno hard feelings. They live once more in peace, il not in perfect happiness. And it is whispered that Allie is learning now, in a practical way, that there is a vast difference between the blind and fiery infatuation which some call love, and the deep and lender truth of the real, heaven born passion Daughters, tiust tl-.e heart of your mother. It is truest and best of the hearts of eat th. i,, n, Jealousy. Avarice, ambition, terror, may hava mercy; but there isonepassion lurks within: lhe human breast whose very instinct is murder. Once lodged within the heart ■ for life it rules—ascendant and alone! it sports in the solitude like an antic fiendl I It pants for blood, and rivers will not sato its thirst. Minds strongest in worth and valor stoop to meanness and disgrace be- ; fore it. The meanest soul—the Weakest —it can give courage to, beyond the da- ; ring of despair! What is the sting which no balm can assuage? What is the wound that death alone can heal? Whose is the sword that, when once drawn, the scab- | bard must be cast away for ever? When is it that man has no ear but for tlid tale that falls like tnolten lead upon his ear; no eye but for the plucked-out heart of him he hates; no hand but for that clutch —that one last clutch—that grasps his dagger? Who is it that has been wise, yet now will cast away reason; was kind and pitiful, yet now mimics the humanity of the wild dog? Who is it hews his foe to pieces—writes ‘Acquittal’ on his tomb—and dies? That wretch is Jealous!— Pity him, whate’er his crimes. The ' gamester, whose last piece is lost—the merchant, whose whole risk the sea has ; swallowed up—the child whose air bubble has burst—may each .create a baublu like the former! But he whose treasure wan in woman’s love; who trusted, as man once trusts, and was deceived!—that hope once gone!—weep—search—rave—despair—seek thyself blind—thero is again no finding—no restoring it! Tapped too Low.—Mose is a good judge of human nature, and, in desenb- ; ing men and things, makes use of manv ; quite original figures of speech, some ot which are more remarkable for force than fur grace or elegence. Somebody, on one occasion, was praising a young lawyer as “ad ish smart fellow,’ and asked Mose if he didn’t think he was about the tongueist man in the country ? “Yes,’ said Mose, "smart talking man, , but tapped too low.' “What do you mean by that, Mose?’ “Why,just this—ifyou tap a barrel of cider too near the bottom, it always runs eniptin.e. That man was tapped too low.’ Moral Beauty.—What is the beauty of nature but a beauty clothed with mo r al associations? \\ hat is lhe highest beauty of literature poetry, fiction and tbe fine arts, but a moral beauty genius has bodied forth (or the admiration of the world? and what arc those qualities of lhe human character which are treasured up in the memory and heart of nations—the objects of universal reverence and exultation, lhe themes of celebration, of eloquence, and the festal of song, the enshrined idols ofadmiraton and love? Arc they not patriotism, heroism, philanthropy, disinterestedness, magnanimity, martyrdom? -for the last twenfv-four hour*.

NO. 17.