Decatur Eagle, Volume 2, Number 24, Decatur, Adams County, 23 July 1858 — Page 1

Tii ip nip r a r i p ip a p t it i .11. 11l P 111 v/V .I. ULi Hi ri. vJ Jn 111 •

VOL. 2.

THE EAGLE. PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING, BY PHILLIPS & SPENCER, Office, on Main Street, in the old School House, one Square North of J. & P Crabs’ Store. Terms of Subscription : For one year, $1 50, in advance; s.l 75, within the year, and $2 00 after the year has expiled. O’No paper will be discontinued until all arrerages are paid, except at the option of the Publishers. Term* of Advertising: One square, (ten lines) three inserting, $1 00 Each subsequent insertion, 25 (EFNo advertisement will be considered less than one square: over one 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 reasonable terms. Our material for the completion of Job-Work, being new and of the latest styles, and we feel confident that satisfaction can be given. Stray Thoughts. BY W. SEAMAN BEARE. Nellie was a smiling creature, Pure in thought and deed, was she; Nature seem’d her only teacher, Gentle, loving Nellie Lee. Nellie was my guiding spirit, Smiles and tears, alike to me, Were ton sacred to inherit From my constant Nellie Lee. Nellie was the star that twinkled Brightly o’re life’s troubl’d sea, Smooth'd the brow that sorrow wrinkled, Gentle, loving Nellie Lee. Nellie's was the laugh that ever Fill’d my weeping heart with glee; Years have pass'd, but time cau never Steal the smile of Nellie Lee. Nellie, fondly still I linger O’er my childish love for thee; Memory points her time-worn finger To thy grave, pure Nellie Lee. Nellie, in thy home in heaven, Keep a little place for rne— Living, dying, love once given. Ne’er shall leave my Nellie Lee. Nellie, then, when death is clinging Hound my heart,the soul will tlee To our Father, fondly singing Praise to Him, with Nellie Lee. »»-—-•• a Poetry is said to be a ”ift, but it otten proves to be a theft. If a young lady is unable to sport a riding-habit, she should adopt a walking habit. Cream may be frozen by simply putting it into a glass vessel, and then placing the whole in an old bachelor’s bosom. ‘Fathet, I want you to buy mo a gun.’; ‘A gun, Willie? What are you going to do with a gun? ‘O, I’m going to fight Tommy Day; be says Susy Lake likes him Letter than she does me. ‘Wil! you please to hand me the butter before you?’ said a gentleman, blandly, to the man by his side at the table of a fashionable hotel. ‘Waiter, give this man some butter,’ exclamed the latter, rudely. ‘Gooff boy,’ said the gentleman; ‘if I can’t choose my own waiter, I won’t have any ’ A lady, the other day, asked a young gentleman: ‘Sir, is your wife as pretty as you are?’ Not caring to be complimented at the expense of his wife, he, byway of gentle reproof, blusingly replied—■l cannot say about that, Miss, but she lias pretty manners!’ The lady quietly vamosed—no further | intcriogatorics propounded. A love-smitten gentleman, after conversing awhile with a lady on the Interesting topic of matrimony, concluded at last with the emphatic question—'Will you have me?’—‘l am very sorry to disappoint you.’replied the lady, ‘and hope my refusal will not give you pain; but I must answer—no.” ‘Well, well, that will do, madam,’ said her philosophical lover; 'and now suppose we change the subject.’ A few evenings since, a gentleman and his wife, of the city, accompanied by their only child—a bewitching little girl of five summers—attending a pally given at the house of a friend. While on their way to the house, the mother exclaimed —taking the child by hand: ‘Now, Allie, dear, let me impress onething upon your mind. Don’t be rude j with other little girls while at the party.’ ■ ‘And, mother,’ replied the quick-wit-> ted pet, 'let me impress one thing upon* your mind! Don’t you come away ’till' the party’s out.’

HOME COMFORTS. BY SYLVANUS COBB, JR. •Where are you going, George? asked Mrs. Wilson, as her husband arose from the supper-table, and took his hat. ‘Oh—l’m going out,’ was the careless response. ‘But where? ‘What odds does it make, Emma? I shall be back at my usual lime. The young wife hesitated, aud a quick flush overspread hr- face. 'She seemed to have made up her mind to speak plainly upon a Subject which had lain uneasily j upon her heart for some time, and she i could not let the opportunity pass. It, required an effort, but she persevered. ‘Let me tell you what odds it makes to me,’she said, in a kind, but tremulous tone. ‘lf I cannot have your company here at home, I should at least feel much better if I knew where you were.’ ‘But you know that I am safe, Emma, and what more can you ask? ‘I do not know that you are safe, George I know nothing about you when you are away. ‘Pooh! Would you have it that lam not capable of taking care of myself? ‘You put a wrong construction upon my words, George. Love is always anxious when its dearest object is away. If I did not love you as I do, I might not be thus uneasy. When you are at your place of business I never feel thus, be- : cause I know I can seek and find you at any moment; but when you are absent I during these long evenings, I get to won- ; dering where you are. Then I begin to I feel lonesome; and so one thought follows another, until I feel troubled and uneasy. , o—if you would stay with me a portion of your evenings! ‘Aha—l thought that was what you * were aiming at,’ said George, with a 1 playful shake of the head. ‘You would | have me here evenings. •W ell—can you wonder at it?’ returned ■ Emma. ‘I ufcd to be very happy when j you came to spend an evening with me before we were married; and I know I should be very happy in your society now. “Ah,’ said George, with a smile, ‘those were business meetings. We were ari ranging then for the future. I G ® • J •And why not continue so to do, my i husband? lam sure we could be as hap- . py now as ever. If you will remember, jone of our plans was to make a home. ; j ‘And haven’t we got one, Emma?’ j ‘We have a place in which to live,’ | answered the wife, somewhat evasively. I | ‘And it is our home,’ pursued George, i ‘And,’ he added, with a sort of confident flourish, ‘home is the wife’s peculiar province. She has charge of it, and all her work is there; while the duties of the husband call him toother scenes. * ‘Aba—l admit that, so far as certain . | duties are concerned,’ replied Emma.. — * ‘But you must remember that we both, need relaxations from labor; we need i time for social and mental improvement and enjoyment; and what reason have we for this save our evenings? Why should not this be my home evenings, as well as in the daytime and in the night?’ ‘Well —isn’t it? asked George. ‘How can it be if you are not here?— What makes a home for children, if it be not the abode of the parents? What home can a husband have where there is no wife? And—-what real home comforts ■ can a wife enjoy where there is no husband? You do not realize how lonesome lam all alone here during these l>ng evenings. They are the very seasons when 1 am at leasure to enjoy your companionship, and when you would be at leisure to enjoy mine, it it. is worth enjoying. They are the seasons when the happiest hours of home-life might be passed. Come—will you not spend a few of your j | evenings with me? _ j ‘You see enough of me as it is,’ said . | the husband, lightly. j ‘Allow me to be the judge of that, \ George. You would be very lonesome i here, all alone. ‘Not if it. was my place of busines, as | it is of yours,’ returned the young man. ‘You are used to staying hero. All wives belong at home. ‘Just remember, my husband, that, previous to our marriage, I had pleasant society all the time. Os course I remained at home much of my time; but I had: a father and mother there —and I had brothers and sisters there; aud our evenings were happily spent. Finally I gave all up for you.* ’ I left the old home, and sought a home, with my husband. And I now, have I not a right to expect some of your companionship? How would you I jike it to have me away every evening, | while you were obliged to remain here - alone? •Why—l should like it well enough. •Ah—but you would not be willing to | try it. I '‘Yes, I would,’ said George, at a venture. . , I ‘Will vou remain here every evening

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

DECATUR, ADAM COUNTY, INDIANA, JULY 23, 1858,

next week, and let me spend them among my female friends? ‘Certainly I will; end I assure you I shall not be so lonesome as you imagine. With this the husband went out, and was soon i.mong his friends. He was a industrious man, and loved his wife truly; but, like thousands of others, he had contracted a habit of spending his evenings abroad, and thought of no harm. His: only practical idea of home seemed to be, that it was a place which his care of, and where fie could, cat, ’and sleep, as long as he could pay for it. *ln short, he treated it as a sort of pri- | vate boarding-house, of which his wife : was land-lady and if he paid all the bills ihe considered his duty done. His wife* had frequently asked him to stay at home with her, but she had never ventured upon any argument before, and he had no ! conception of how much she missed him. ; She always seemed happy when he came home, and he supposed she could always be so. Monday evening came, and George I Wilson remained true to his promise.— I His wife put on her bonnet and shawl, | and he said he would remain and keep! I house. ‘What will you do while I am gone?’ Emma asked. ‘O—I shall read, and sing, and enjoy myself generally. ‘Very well. I shall be back in good season. The wife went out, and the husband was left alone. He had an interesting book, and he began to read it. He read till eight o’clock, and then he began to yawn, and refer frequently to the d al.. The book did not interest him as usual. Ever and anon he would come to a passage which he knew would please his wile, find instinctively he turned ns though he would read it aloud; but there was no wife to hear it. Al half past eight he arose * from bis chair and began to pace the j floor, and whistle. Then he went and | got his Hute, and performed several ofhis | favorite airs. After this he got a pack of cards, and played a game of ‘High Low Jack,’ with an imaginary partner. Then he walked the flnar, fend whittled again. Finally the clock struck nine, and his wife returned. ‘Weil, George —I am back in good season. How have you enjoyed yourseli? ‘Capitally,’ returnd the husband. ‘I had bo idea it was so late, I hope you I have had a good time. • o—splendid. 1 had no idea how * much enjoyment there was away from i home. Home is a dull place, alter all. I Isn’t it? •Why—no—l can’t say that it is,’ returned George. ‘I rather like it. ‘l’m glad of that,’ retorted Emma, ‘for we shall both enjoy ourselves now. You: shall have a nice comfortable week of it.■ George winced some at this, out he kept his ccntenance, and determined to I stand it out. On the next evening Emma prepared ; i to go away again. •I shall be back iu good season,’ she said. •Where are you going?’ her husband asked. ‘O—I can’t tell exactly. I may go to several places. So George Wilson was left alone again, and he tried to amuse himself as before; but he found it hard work. Ever and j anon he would cast his eyes upon that ; empty chair, and the thought would come, ‘How pleasant it would be if she were here. The clock finally struck nine j and he began to listen tor the step of his wife. Half an hour more slipped by, and he became very nervous and uneasy. ‘I declare,’ he muttered to. himself, after he had listened for some time in vain, * ‘this is too bad. She ought not to stay | out so late! But he happened to remember that he I often remained away much later than that i ;so he concluded that he must make the ' best of it. At fifteen minutes of ten Emma came. ‘A little later, ain’t I?’ she said, lookI ing up at the clock. ‘But I fell in with; * some old friends, and we made a time of, it. How have you enjoyed yourself? j •First rate, returned George, bravely, I ‘I think Home is a great place.’ •Especially when one can have it all to himself,’ added the wife, with a sidelong glance at her husband. But he made no reply. I On the next evening Emma prepared to go out as before; but this time she kissed her husband ere she went, and seemed to hesitate some. •Where do you think of going?’ George I asked, in an undertone. •I may drop in to see Uncle John,’ re- j plied Emma. ‘However, you won’t be; uneasy. Y r ou’ll know I’am safe.’ I ‘o—certainly.’ When the husband was left to bis own I reflections, he began to ponder seriously I upon the subject thus presented for con- j sideration. He could not read—be could i not play—lie could not enjoy himself inj any way, while that chair was empty

In short, he found no real pomiort without ‘in:, n . 1:: .keJSHMB&J..-. tul was not present. ‘I declare,’ he said tiWBBRen, ‘I did not think it would be so lonesome. And lean it be that she feels as I do, when she iis here all alone? It must be so,’ he pursued, thoughtfully. ‘lt is just as she : I says. Before we were married, she was I very happy in her childhood’s home.— Iler parents loved her, and her brothers land ■ sister; loved her, and they did all they could to make her comfortable. After this he walked up and down the | room several times, and then stopped I again and communed with himself: ‘I can’t stand this. I should die in a * ■ week. If Emma were only here, I think * I could amuse myself very well. How lonesome and dreary it is. And onlv | eight o’clock. 1 declare—l’ve a mind to walk down by Unqle John's, and see if she is there. It would be a relief to see I her face. I won’t go in. She shan’t i know yet that I hold out so fantly. George Wilson took another turn across | the room, glancing once more at the clock I | and then took his hat and went out. He ; locked the door after him, and then bent bis stept towards Uncle John’s. It was a beautiful, moonlight night, and the air was keen and bracing. He was walking along, with his eyes bent upon the sidewalk, when he heatd a light step approaching him. He looked up, and—he could not be mistaken—saw his wife.— His first impulse was to avoid her, but she had recognized him. ‘George,’ she said, in surprise, ‘is this you? ‘lt is,’ was the response. ‘And you do not pass your evenings at home? ‘This is the first time I have been out, ! Emma, upon my word, and even now I i have not been absent from the house ten ’ ’ minutes. I merely came out to take the i I fresh air. But where are you going? I ‘I am a going home, George. Will you . go with me?. ‘Certainly,’ returned the husband.— She took his arm, and they walked home in silenoo. When Emma had taken off her things, she sat down in her rocking-chair, and gazed up at the clock. ‘You came home early to-night,’ remarked George. The young wife looked up into her husband’s face, and, with an expression half smiling and half tearful, she answered: I ,1 will confess the truth, George; I have given up the experiment. 1 mani aged to stand it last evening; but I could not bear it through to-night. When I ! thought of you here all alone, I wanted *to be with you. It didn’t seem right. I haven’t enjoyed myself at all. I have no ; home but this. ‘Say vou so,’ cried George, moving his : I seat to his wife’s side, and taking one of j I her hands. ‘Then let me make my confession. I have stood it not a whit bet-' * ter. When I left the house this evening, 1 could bear it no longer. I found that this was no home for me while my sweet ! wife was absent. I thought I would walk I down by Uncle John’s, and see your face, lif possible. I had gazed upon your empty I chair till mv heart ached. He kissed her as he spoke, and then I added, while she reclined her head upon j his arm—‘l have learned a very good lesson.— Your presence here is like the bursting forth of the sun after a storm; and if you love me as I love you —which, oi course, I cannot doubt—my presence may afford I some sunlight for you. At all events, our next experiment shall be to that effect. I will try and see how much Home Comfort we can find while we are both here to enjoy it. Emma was too happy to express her joy in words; but she expressed it nevertheless; and in a manner, too, not be mistaken. I The next evening was spent at home Iby both busband and wife, and it was a season of much enjoyment. In a short * time George began to realize how much , I comfort was to be found in a quiet and {peaceful home; and longer be enjoyed this comfort the more plainly did be see and j * understand the simple truth that it takes i * two to make a happy home, and that if I the wife is one party, the husband must j be the other. True politeness consists not merely in a strict adherence to forms of ceremony: : it consists in exquisite observance of the . I feelings of others, and an invariable re- * 1 sped for those feelings. By this definition it claims alliance with benevolence, I and may sometimes be found as genuine in the cottage as the court. Sam, why am de lawyers ’zactly like I de fishes? I doesn’t meddle wid eny sich subjects, ! Pompy. Why, don’t you see, nigger, kaze dey is so fond of dc-bate. ‘Hay, get along, Jim along Josey’

Jealousy. Jealousy is cruel as the grave —not the j I grave that opens,its deep bosom to receive ; and shelter froaf further storms, the worn and forlorn pilgrim whu ‘rejoices exceedingly and is glad’ when he finds its repose; but cru*d as the grave is when lit yawns and swallows down from the lap of luxury, from the summit of fame ' from the bos«m of love, the desire of many . eyes and hearts. Jealousy is a two headed asp, biting backwards and forwards. | Among the deadly things upon the earth. * I or in the sen, or flying through the deadi ly night air of malarious regions, few are more noxious than is jealously. And of I I all mad passions there is not one that has i a vision more distorted, or a more unrea-1 * sonable fury. To the jealous eye white | looks black, yellow looks green, and the I 1 very sunshine turns deadly lurid. There I i is no innocence, no justice, no generosity * I that is not touched with suspicion, save i just the jealous persons own. i And jealousy is an utter folly; for it : I helps nothing. If your friends love is; : going, or gone, to another, will your ! making yourself hateful and vindictive stay it or bring it back? If it is not leavI ing you, is there no risk in renderingyoutself so unlovely? Commend me to all bereaven bears rather than ton jealous person, especially a jealous woman. There is neither reason nor mercy in her when once thoroughly struck through with this fearful passion. She renders herself altogether repulsive by it—an object more of dread than affection to those who have loved her best And if she regain not her self-command, and return not to her senses, she frequentlv destoys utterly the attachments she I most has prized, Her friend niay indeed refuse to forsake I her; but it will be duty that bids him stay I and never will he be able to forget what j an abject thing she has once appeared. I Bullet not any too rigeroulyjudge the { conduct of a jealous woman or a jealous I man. Remember that the maniac suffers, j To-be-sure, the suffering is from selfishness; often it is without a shadow of a I cause, but still it is sullering, and it is intense. Pity it —bear with it. You may yourself fail into temptation. It is a sorer curse, a more certain and fatal blight to the heart on which it siezesthan it can be to those against whom its spite is hurled. Then, while none should bend too far to the whims of jealousy, all should be patient with its victims; and also should be watchful and careful that it enter not their own heart. The secret. ‘I noticed,’ says Dr. Franklin, ‘a mechanic among others, at work on a house erecting but a little way from my office I who always appeared to be in a merry ; humor, who had a kind word and cheer- * ful stnile, for every one he met. Let the * day be ever so cold, gloomy or sunless, a happy smile danced like a sunbeam on : his cheerful countenance. Meeting him one morning, I asked him to tell me the : secret of his happy flow of spirits. ‘My I secret, doctor’ he replied, ‘is that I have | got one of the best of wives, and when I I go to work she always has a kind word of encouragement for me, and when Igo home she meets me with a smile and a kiss, and then tea is sure to be ready, and she has done so many things through the day to please me, that I cannot find it in my heart to speak an unkind word to any--1 body.’ What an influence, then, hath woman over the heart of man, to soften it and make it the fountain of cheerful and pure emotions! Speak gently, then; a happy smile and a kind word of greeting, after the toils of the day are over, cost nothing, and go far toward making a home happy and peaceful.’ A Novel Duel. —Two youngbloods of I a small village in Kentucky, a short time since, becomina offended at some imaginary >nsult, a challenge was passed and accepted, as both thought nothing but blood could wash out the insult. The I terms on which the challenge was acceptIcd were these: that they should meet at * a doctor’s office, and be bled until one or the other should be satisfied. They accordingly met, and the doctor opened a j vein for them. They bled, until both be- * coming extremely weak and looking extremely weak and lookingas white as I their own linen pronounced themselves . satisfied, and so ended the bloody afl’ir. Did you ever travel in an omnibus, on I a rainy day, windows and doors close, I j eight on a side, limited, of course, to six, | I and among that number two women coy-, i cred with musk? Cleanliness may be said to be the fostermother of love. Beauty indeed most; commonly produces that passion in the ; mind, but cleanliness preserves it. ‘Have you any fish in your basket? asked a person of a fisherman who was I returning home. * ‘Yes, a good ccl,’ was the reply.

NO. 21.

Questions Answered ! The Nebraska Post, under the above caption, says: — A few days since, we received a letter from a friend at. the East, making inquir- * ies in regard to our Territory, from which we clip the fallowing questions, and apl the answers:— ‘What Lind of country do you live in? ‘Mixed and extensive. It is made up i principally of land and water.’ ‘Wlmt kind of weather?’ ‘Long spells of weather are frequeht.— I Our sunshine comes off piincipally during the daytime.’ ‘Have you plenty of water, and Low got?’ ‘A good deal of water scattered about, land generally got iu pails and whiskey.’ I ‘ls it hard?’ ‘Rather so, when you have to go half a mile, and wade iu mud knee-deep to get i at it.’ I ‘What kind of buildings? •Allegoric, lonic, Anti Caloric, log and ; Slabs. The buildings are cbeifly outI doors, and so low between joints that the chimneys all stick out through the roof. ‘What kind of society?’ ‘Good, bad, hateful, indifferent and mixed.’ ‘Any aristocracy? 'Xary one.’ ‘What do your people do for a living, mostly?’ ‘Some work, some laze round, one’s a shrewd business manager, and sevoral drink whiskey.’ ‘ls it cheap living there? ‘Only five cents a glass, and the water thrown iu.’ ‘Any taste for music? ‘Strong. Buzz and bucksaws in tho daytime, and wolf-holwing and cat-fight-ing nights. ‘Any pianos there?’ ‘No, but we have several cow-bells and a tin-pan in every family.’ ‘Any manufacturers?’ ‘Every household. All our children arc home productions.’ ‘What could a genteel famil}’ in moderate circumscances do there for a living? •Work, shave notes, fish, hunt, steal, or, if hard pinched, buy and sell town property.’ ‘Are your people intelligent?’ ‘Some know everything that happens and some things do not. ‘Would they appreciate a well bred family of sons and daughters? ■Certaily. Great on blooded stock; would take them to our next Territorial Fair and exhibit them.’ ‘Dear friend, your questions are answered. Bring on your well-breed stock and make your home with us, Beautiful Answer. ‘A pupil of the Abbe Sicord, gave the following extraordinary answers; ‘What is gratitude?’ ‘Gratitude is the memory of the heart. ‘What is hope? ‘Hope is the blossom ofhappinee.’ ‘What is the difference between hope | and desire? ‘Desire is a tree in leaf, hope is a tree in flower, and enjoyment is a tree in fruit. ‘What is eternity?’ ‘A day without yesterday or to-mor-row—a line that has no end.’ ‘What is time!’ ‘A line that has two ends-a path which begins in the cradle and ends in the tomb. What is God?’ ‘The necessary being, the sun of eternity, the machinist of nature, the eye of justice; the watchmaker of the universe, the soul of the world. ‘Does God reason?’ ‘Man reason because he doubts; He deliberates: He decides. God is omiscient; He never doubts; He therefore never reasons,’ Love of Life. With the exception of a few reprobates and free-thinkers, everybody wishes to go to Heaven; but the most enthusiastic of us all, if he had the choice, would consent to go there as late as posrible. This perverse disposition to extend life beyond that period in which the faculties begin to decay, like that of children, who having eaten the apple, themselves voraciousto devour the parings, is anything but rational; yet so it is, we cling with closer , earnestenss to the rickety tenement as its I dilapidation increases; ami we are never so anxious for a renewal of the leasers at i the very moment when the edifice is ! crumbling about our ears. 0, the Tongue!—The slanderer of ' whichever sex is a pest in any society.— They are a character made up of a com- | binations of vices, tho most prominent of which are, lying, backbiting, idleness, hatred, revenge. No single one, but al- * together these vices are found in their composition, which make them as miserable as they strive to make others. Idleness is burdensome, envy increases to madness, and through lying, revenge is sought. This is but a faint picture illy executed of a community's greatest plague.