Decatur Eagle, Volume 2, Number 29, Decatur, Adams County, 27 August 1858 — Page 1

THE DECATUR EAGLE.

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, $i 50, in advance; $1 75, within the year, and $2 O') after the year has < xpned. UjFNo piper will be discontinued until all arrerasjes are paid, except at the option of the Publishers. Terms of Advertising: One square, (ten lines) three insertions, $1 00 Each subsequent insertion, 25 tLFNo advertisement will be considered less than one square: over one square will be counted and charged as two; over two, as three, etc. JOB PIMNT ING : We are prepared to do all kinds >f job work, in a neat and workmanlike manner,on tl.e most reasonable tertns. Our ,n iterial for the completion of Job Work, L.'intr new and of the latest, styles, mid we feel confide, t that satisfaction can be given. THE Dk'I.NG GIRL'S ADDRESS. BY WILLIE WARE. I’m going to be an angel, mother, And live up in the sky; I’m going to have bright wings, mother. And through the air I’ll fly. I’ll fly to earth sometimes, mother, And softly steal a kiss; Then spread my silver wings, mother, And fly to worlds of bliss. I’ll have no more sharp pains, mother, When I’m in heaven above; Oh! I shall miss the sadly, mother— Miss thy gentle love. But yon will come soon, too, mother, so dwell with me above; And I will sing sweet songs, mother, Sweet songs 1 know you love. We’ll be so very happy, mother, Far from this world of pain; There you will see in glory, mother. Your darling child again. I’ll not be sick np there, mother, But clothed in rainmeut white; I’ll be a lamb of God, mother, In Jesus’ realms of light. Do not weep for me, mother. When I shall breathe my last, For I feel it in my heart, mother. That life is waning fast. Sad when and where I die, mother, And rest in solemn gloom; In yonder quiet grave-yard, mother, In a cold and quiet tomb. Flan* blue forget me-nots, mother, And roses white and red O’er my little grave, dear mother, And a willow at my head. And at the hour of eve, mother, Come to that quiet spat! And know that in that hour, mother, • Thy child forgets thee not. Though thou canst see me not mother, I’ll join thee then and there: And know thy every joy, mother, Thy every pain and care. Good-bye. good bye, dear mother, The angels hover near; Sweet heavenly music, mother, I now distinctly hear. One more warm kiss, dear mother, I see you now no more! But look, look yonder, mother dear. At heaven’s bright happy shore. The angel forms, dear mother, Are beckoning mo away; Good-night, good night, dear mother, I cannot longer stay. . An old lady residing not, far from Exeter was perhaps one of the most brilliant examples of conjugal tenderness that the last century produced. Her husband had long been dying, and at length, on the clergyman of the parish making one of Ids daily visits, he found him dead.— The disconsolate widow, ia giving him an account of her spouse’s la.-1 moments told him her “poor dear man kept groaining and groaning but he could not die; at last,” said she. “I recollected I had got a piece of new tape in the drawer, so I took some of that and lied it as tight as I could around his neck, and then I stopped , his nose with my thumb and finger, and poor! dear! he went oft like a lamb!” Columbus, Kentucky, is a hard place —An old farmer, who had been swindled there, said of it; “If the Angel Gabriel ( happened to light at Columbus, there’ll be no resurrection, for they’ll swindle him out of his trumpet before he can make a single toot. The Woburn Budget thinks there has been considerable “wire pulling” lately between England and the United States-

HIE PCT OF GOLD. Deacon Bancroft, though a very good man in the main, and looked up to with respect hj’ ail the inhabitants of the village of Centerville, was rumored to have, in Yankee parlance, *a pretty sharp eye to the main chance’—a peculiarity from which deacons tire not always exempt. In worldly matters be was decidedly well to do, hav'ng inherited a fine farm from his father, which was gr twing year-' ly more valuable. It might be supposed that under these circumstances, the deacon, who was fully able to do so, would have found a helpmate to share bis house and name. But. the deacon was warv.— ■ Matrimony was to him in. some measure a matler-of-motiey, and it was his firm resolve not to marry unless he could | thereby enhance his worldly prosperity.! Unhappily, the little villiage of Center-I vtlleand the towns tn the immediate vicinity contained few who were qualified' tn this important particular, and of those there weie probably none with whom the ■ deacon’s suit would have prospered. So it happened that year after year passed away, until Deacon Bancroft wain the prime of life—forty-five or thereabouts— and still unmarried, and in ail human probability likely to remain so. Deacon Bancroft’s nearest neighbor was a widow. The widow Wells, who had passed . through one matrimonial experience, was some three or four years younger than . the Deacon Bancroft. She was still quite a homely we man. Unfortunately the late Mr. Wills had not been able to leave het sufficient to make her independent of the world. All she possessed was the '■mall, old-fashioned house in which she lived, i atid a small amount of money, which was insufficient to .support her and a little son iof seven, though liardlv to be classed as ■ ‘productive’ of anything but mischief. I The widow was, therefore, obliged to j take three or four boarders to eke- ou 1 the i ' scanty income, which, of course, imposed ■ ution her considerable labor and anxiety. It is not surprising, then, that under these circumstances she should now and then have bethought herself of a second I marriage as a method of bettering her I condition? Or again, need we esteem it ■ a special wonder, it in her reflections upion this point, she should have cast her eyes upon her neighbor, Deacon Ban croft? The deacon, as we have already said, was in flourishing circumstances. — He would be able to tnantain a wife in I great comfort; and being one of the chief ; personages in the village, could accord j her » prominent social position. Some sagacious person has observed, j however, that it takes two to make a j match, a fact, to be serious!v considered; for in the piesentcase it was exceedingly doubtful whether the worthy deacon, e<’- | er if he had known the favorable opinion of his next neighbor, would have been inclined to propose changing lo r name to Bancroft, unless, indeed, sui'able notice was brought to bear upon him. Here was a chance for finishing One evening, after a day of fa’iguing labor, the widow Wells sat at the fire in the sitting room, with her feet resting on the fender. •If I ever am so situated as not to bn ve to work so hard, ’I shall be happy. It’s a hard life, keepimr boarders. If I was only as well ofl’ as Deacon Bancroft”— S'ill the widow kept up her thinking, and by-and-bv her face brightened up She had an idea, which she resolved to put in'o execution at the very earliest practicable moment. What it was the I reader will discover in the sequel. •Henry.’ said site to her son the next morning, ‘I want you to stop at Deacon Bancroft’s as you go along to school, and I ask him if he will call and see me in the j course of the morning or afternoon, just ns he finds it most convenient.’ Deacon Bancroft was not a little surprised at the summons. However, about eleven o'clock, he called in. The widow had got on the dinner and had leisure to sit. down. She appeared a little embar-l rassed: ‘Henry told me that you would like to' see me,’ he commenced. Yes. Deacon Bancroft, I do, but I am ' very much afraid you will think very strange of it—at least, of what 1 have to. say to you.’ The Deacon very pnlilely promised not; to be surprised, although at the same I time his curiosity was visibly excited. •Suppose,’ said the widow, casting down her eyes—'mind, I am only supposing'he case—suppose a person should | find a pot of gold pieces in their cellar, would the law have a right to touch it, or would it belong to them * The deacon pricked up his ears. •A pot of gold pieces, widow? Why unquestionably, the law would have nothing to do with it. ‘And the one who formerly owned the house coulden’t come forward and claim it, could he, deacon?’ inquired the wid-j ow, further, with apparent anxiety,

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

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY. INDIANA. AUG. 27, 1858.

‘No, madam, certainly not—when the house was disposed ot, ev< tytbing went with it, as a matter of course.’ ‘I am glad to har it, deacon. You won’t thiiik strange of the question, but it happened to occur to my mind, and i thought I would hke to have it satisfied. ‘Certainly, widow, certainly,’ said the deacon, abstractedly. •And deacon, as you are here, I hope you’ll stop to dinner with us. It will be ready punctually at twelve. •Well, no,’ said the deacon, ‘l'm obleeged to ye, but they'll be expecting me at heme. ‘At any rate, deacon,’ said (he widow, ' taking a steaming mince pie from the oven, ‘you won’t object to taking a piece of* my pie; you must know that 1 rather pride myself on my mince pies. The warm pie sent forth such a deli- , cious odor that the deacon was sorely tempted, and altei saying, ‘Well, really.’ with the intention of relusing, he finished' by saying, ‘on the whole, 1 guess 1 will, I as it looks so nice. The wilow was reallj- a good cook, and the deacon ate with much gusto the generous slice the widow cut for him; j and after a little more chatting upon important subjects, withdrew in some tnen- ' tai perplexity. . ‘Was it possible,’ thought he, ‘that the ' widow could really have found a pot of gold in her cellar? She did not say so, Ito be sure, but why should she show so j much, anxiety to know as to the proprietorship of treasure thus found, if she had not happened upon some!’ To be sure. ;so far as his knowledge extended, there was no one who occupied the house would be tn the least likely to lay up such an amount of gold; but Lite house was one hundred and fifty years old, at . the very least, and undoubtedly had , many occupants of which he knew nothI ing. It might be, after all. The widow’s earnest desire to have him think it I was only curiosity, likewise gave addii tional probability to the supposition. , ‘I will wait and watch,’ thought the Ideacon. It so happened that Deacon Bancroft was one of ti e directors in a Saving Ini slitution. situated in the next town, and acordingly used to ride over once or twice a month to attend meetings of the Board. On the next occasion of this kind, widow Wells sent over to know if he could carry herover with him, as she had a litI tie business to attend to there. The request was readily accorded.— Arrived in town, Mrs. Wells requested I to be set down at the bank Ha, hal’ thought the deacon; ‘that means something. I He said no'htng. however, but determined to cotne back, and find out, as he could readily, from the cashier, wl.at , bu-iness she had with the bank. The widow tripped into the rffice, looking very nonchalant. ‘Can vnu give me small bills for a five dollar gold piece?’ she inquired. ‘With pieasvre, ’ wa« the reply. ‘Bv the wav,’ said she, ‘the hank is in qui'e a flourishing condition, is it not?’ ‘None in the State on a better footing, was the prompt response, | ‘Y<'U receive deposits, do you not? ‘Yes. madam, we are receiving them every day. ’Do you receive as high as—as five thousand dollars? ‘No.’ said the cashier, with some surprise: ‘or rather we do not allow interest on so large a sum. One thousand dollars is our limit. Did you know of atty ■ one who ’ ‘lt. is of no consequnce,’ said the widow buriiedlv; ‘I only asked for curiosity — By the way. did you say how much interest you allowed on such deposits as comt within your limit? ‘Five per cent, madam.’ ‘Thank you, ! only asked for curiosity. What a beautiful morning it is!’ And the widow tripped lightly out. — Shortly afterward the deacon entered. ‘How’s business now, Mr. Cashier?’he asked. ‘About as usual. ‘Had any new deposits lately?’ ‘None of any magnitude.’ ‘I brought over a lady this morning who seemed to have business with you •The widow Wells. I ‘Yes.’ ‘Do you know,’ asked the cashier, whether she has money left her lately? ‘None that I knew of,’ said the deacon, ; pricking up his ears. ‘Why? Did she! deposit any?' ‘No; but she inquired whether we re- | ceiveci deposits as high as five thousand dolla r s.’ ‘lndeed!’ ejaculated the deacon. ‘Was that all she came for?’ he inquired a moment afterward. ‘No; she exchanged a gold piece for some bills.’ ‘Hal’ pondered the deacon, reflectively, ‘did she give any reason for inquiring?’ . | •No; ebe said she only asked from curi- j osity.

The deacon left the hank in deep thought. He came to the conclusion that 1 this‘euriosiiy’ only vailed a deeper mo- ' tive. He no longer entertained a doubt j ■ that the widow had actually found h pot of gold in her cellar, and appearances I seemed to indicate that its probable val ue was equal to five thousand dollars.— | The gold piece which she had exchanged ' at the bank appeared to confirm this sto- ' r y‘I rather think,’ said the deacon complacently, ‘I can see ints a millstone ! about as far as most people"—a statement, the literal truth of which I defy ■ any one to question, though, as to the r’ ime fact, of people’s being able to see ' Iron a millstone at all, doubts havw now I ' ■ and then introduced themselves upon my . mind. Next Sunday the widow Wells appealed at church in a new and stylish bonnet, which led to some such remarks as these: •How much vanity some people have, to be sure!’ ‘How a woman that has to keepboarders lor a living, can afford to dash out with such a bonnet is more than I can ! tell! 1 should think she was old enough to know better.’ This last remark was made by a lady just .six months younger than the widow, whose attempts to catch a husband had hitherto proved utterly unavailing. ‘I suppose,’ continued the same young lady, ‘she is trying to catch a second has-, band with her finery. Before I would condescend to such means I’d—l’d drown myself.’ In this amiable speech the young lady had unwittingly hit upon the true motive, The widow was intent upon catching Deacon Bancroft, and she indulged in a costly bonnet, not because she supposed he would be caught with finery, but because this would strengthen in his mind the idea that she had stumbled upon hidden wealth. The widow had calculated shrewdly, I and the display had the effect she anticipated. j Monday afternoon, Deacon Bancroft I found an errand that called him over to j the widow’s. It chanced to be about tea time. He was importuned to stay to tea, 1 and, somewhat to ids surprise, actu ills’ did. The polite widow, who knew the Deacon’s weak point, brought on one her ■ best mince pies, a slice of which her i guest partook of with zest. ‘You’ll take another piece, I know,’ said she, persuasively. ‘Really. I am ashamed,’ said the deacon, and he passed his plate. ‘The fact is,’ he said, apologetically, ‘your pies are so nice I don’t know where to stop.’ ‘ ‘Do you call these nice?’ said the widow, modestly. ‘I only call them common. I can make mince pies, when I set out but this time I don't have; such good luck as usual.’ T shouldn’t want any better,' said the deacon, emphatically. ‘Then I hope it you like them, yen'll dr->p in to tea often. We ought to be more neighborly, Deacon Bencroft.’ Deacon Bancroft assented, and he • meant what he sai l. The fact is, the ; deacon began to think the widow was a very charming woman She was very comely, and she was such an excellent, cook! Besides, lie had no doubt in his. own mind that she was worth a considerable sum of mony. What, objection could there be to her becoming Mrs. Bancroft? He brought this question before her one evening. The widow blushed, professed to be greatly surprised—in fact she had never thought of the thing in her life—but, on the whole, she had thoughthighly of the deacon, and, to cut short the matter, acct pted him. i A month afterwards she was instal--1 led as mistress of the deacon’s large house, somewhat to the surprise of the village people, who could not conceive how she bad brought him over. Some weeks after the ceremony the deacon ventured to inquire about the pot of gold which she had found in the cellar. ‘Pot of gold!’she exclaimed in suprise; ‘1 know of none. ‘But,’ said the deacon disconcerted, ‘vou know you asked me about whether the law could claim it. ‘0 lor! deacon, only asked from curiosity ’ ‘And was that the reason you made inquiries at the batik 9 ’ •Certainly. What else could it be? The deacon wt nt out to the barn, and for about half an hour sat in silent ntedi- ; ration. Al the end of that time, he ejaculated, as a closing consideration. ‘After all she makes good mince pies! It gives me pleasure to state that the union between the deacon and the widow proved a very happy one. although tn the end of his life he never could quite make up his mind about. ‘That Pot ot Gold. Own the money before you lend it; Earn the money before you spend it. As the tree falls, so it. shall lie.

Romance in Real Life. The Bucyrus (Ohio) Journal says that • a man living there lost his wife some ' years ago in Horner. New York, that they ' had a little girl which he gave to a friend ■and left the country. He was gone ten years and returned, but could find no trace ot his child. She ha l two marks by winch he might know her—one toe was gone, and she had a scar on her arm — The man gave her up as lost to him, and finally settled near Bucyrus and married. The rest we give from that paper: I ‘About six weeks ago he happened to pass by the room in his house occupied by a servant gitl, who had resided with ■ him for nearly two years, at a time when I she was about to retire, and, the door being open, he saw her foot. H“ merely ; glanced at it, and happened to notice that the little toe of tl.e right foot wjs missing He thought nothing ol it at the time, but After retiring the idea strucs him that it ; might be the daughter he had searched ' for so long. At first he dismissed the j thought as improbable, but it still forced i itself upon him, until finally he requested ] his wife to goto the room and ascertain whether or not marks ol a scald were up- | on her right arm. ‘She went, and to his immense delight reported that the mark was there. The ; poor man was so positive of her identity, j that the girl was awakened, and in the middle of the right was questioned as to ! her origin, trhe could only tell them that i she did not know her parents, that her earliest recollections were that she had ■ | lived somewhere in the East, with a famt ly named———(naming the family she' ! had been left with by the woman original-' I ly entrusted with her,) and at their' death she was taken charge of bv the overseers of the poor, a place provided for her, and she had come to Bucyrus with a family, and iiad supported herself ; by doing housework since. This tallied so nearly with the already ascertained, facts in the case, that tha next day the father started East with her, and visiting the different points she had named, ascertained, to his great joy, that she whs in truth his daughter. She is an ex i tremely beautiful girl, of gaert natural in ' (eliigence, and, though totally uneducat;ed, is still interesting. She is now al Granville, Objo, receiving an education ' io fit her for the new station si.e has as ; surned in life. A*i lisCiilciit in cite Ours* A correspondent of tl,e Pittsburg Post, writing from the Mountain Home. CresI cent relates the following incident in the ■ cars, alter leaving Pittsburg. As we left the city we observed a small : bov, named Stitt, about twelve years ot age poorly clad, but. very intelligent,; having with him an infant ten months old. tiie child of (its sister, who died a few ’ ■ weeks ago. The lad had brought the infant from lowa City, where the mother : died, and was on the way to Harrisburgh. ! The young uncle had cared lor it and nursed it all the way—a weighty charge for one so young, it would not perhaps ■ been so much remarked, had a young girl been the custodian of the orphan habe ■ but here was a mere boy, putting away I childish things, and assuiuinu all the cares and responsibility of a parent, during a journey of a thousand miles at least. The passengers manifested the greatest I interest in the wayfarer and his charge the ladies especially, in turn relieving the i lad of his burden, a« he appeared to be | almost exhausted wi’h his long journev Such constancy and manliness in one of ! such youthful years is not otten exhibited ; and certainly deserves the name of hero- ‘ i»m. Done’Em Often Somewhere over in Camden, a month ajfo. a mana-'er of a company of intinerenc actors was applied by a lank-legged chap for an engagement. ' The fellow who looked lugubrious enough ' jto have been a shadow of a badly acted Hamlet, stumbled across the stage and unjoining himself, collapsed into a chair. •Well, sir, what’s your line of business? ( queried the manager. ‘Not particular; anything that pays lie answered. ‘Ever been on the stage?’ ‘C'-rtamly; drive the regular mail six months,’ remarked the aspirant,, throwing a quid of dog leg over his right knee, al one and ’.he same time ‘I think cur company is—is full.’ ‘Yeas; I thought they’d be full when I saw ’em swillin’ Seth Smith's rum —yeas very full.’ ‘Do you think you can do the landlord in the Lady of Lvons?’ •Yes, sir ee—l have done all the landlords in Camden.’ Aspirant wasn’t engaged. •\A hose pigs are those, my lad?’ whoy (they belong to that big sow ’ ‘Noli mean who is their master?’ Whoy, that ' little ’un there; he’s a rare 'un to fight ’ ■ A man in New Orleans is so upright in , ! all his dealings that he won’t sit down to eat bis meals-

Affecting Incident —Weare indebted to Mr. L recently returned horn a ukaling voyage, for the followh.g touching narrative: On the home voyage of one of our New York and Liverpool packets, she being crowded with emigrants, that awful scourge, the ship fever, broke out. The carpenter of the vessel, one of nature’s noblemen, and having on board his little .-on, a lad of some twelve summ rs, was ore of the first victims. His shipmates sadly inclosed his hodv in his hammock, and having read over him the burial services, and attached to his feet a grind* , stone, for the purpose of sinking it, committed it to tlie embrace of old ocean.— ; The poor boy, filled with gr es at the loss of b.is natural protector, sprang overboard and before be could be rescued he was beyond the reach of human aid. On the day following the brutal, a larger shark was noticed in the wake of the ship, and as it was almost calm, the sailors Hsketi permission to catch it, which was readily granted by the captain. Having procured a hook anil attached a chain and line and bate with pork, thev cast it ; overboard, and soon iiad tile excited pleasj ure of hooking the monster, and with the aid oftl.e windlass, they hauled the writhing mass on board. As it lay on the j deck in its death struggles, the sailors iieard t» singular rumbling noise, that seemed to proceed from within the dying j captive. Taking a ship ex, they soon cut ; their way into the now dead fish, and to j the r great surprise, found that it had swallowed the carpenter, grindstone and boy, atid that the former, who had swoonjed, had rigged up the grindstone, and, with the assistance of the hoy to turn it, was just grinding his jucknife to cut his way out. A Righteous Decisi >n. — The English lords of tiie bench decided, at Westminister, about a month ago, that it was a ' principle of common law that a counseli lor, in questioning a witness, sl.otrld ad- ■ dress him inordinary tones and in language of respect, such as is employed by one gentleman in conversation with another; that such lawyer has no right to I question the private business or moral | character of a witness any further than it is apparent they absolutely affect his I reliability or touch that ease in hand; and ' that a witness is not bound io answer questions put to ! in in an insultingor bull dog manner If forced to answer by the court, he will have his remedy in ! an action of damages — Exchunge. I heard a ‘s<:rimtnHge‘ lately between tone of our most popular railroad conductor Hn.i a v< ry fast lady; something about i fare or change. The conductor wore a long, roomy, white linen sack coat, with i standing collar and buttoned tip to the chin The lady won the victorv most gloriously bv the following brilliant and j awful destructive charge. ‘You area purty fellow, ain't vou? You are the fust conductor I ever seed agwine al ■ ‘ among a passel ove decent wirnmen so. s in his shuttail! Ain't you ’shamed ovc verself’ We think he was, lor he lek | that car quickly and unbuttoned the shirt tail coat. A young boiv that lives near a railroad j crossing appears to have no occupation except perpetual!) poking her head out of the win low A wag, the other morning. hailed her from the street. Halloo, Mis>!’ ‘What do you want? said she, ; after the first flush of indion tiion at being thus accosted ‘Tlie bell ain’t rung yet.’ was the answer ‘What do you mean? asked Mis«. ‘Why,’ was the reply. ‘that sign says you're to‘lookout’ when the bi 11 I'injis, but vou're looking out ail the time.’ The young lady’s head disappeared with a jerk, an i the window j went down v ith h slam. The Secret—Old ’Squire J , of Addison County. Vi , whs fiimons for blinking to mu ketn b-to r article of cheese th in any ol his igrimi'iui il la-yh- ■ bors, winch occasioin .1 a meichant to inquire ‘how it happened ’ •! d.ink I can o'l you the secret of it,’ « ( id the ’Squire. i‘You ninv have noticed hat when ti e milk stands for awhile in tlie pans, there is a kind of yellow scum that has risen on the top of it. Now some women are so dreadful neat thev skim thi- ail off; bur mv wife ain’t so particular hu’ stirs it all in together, and realv I think these is all tiie better for it.’ It is the oriler of nature that children should complete the education, moral and mental, ot parents, bi making them think what is needed lor the best culture of human beings, and conquer all faults and ; impulses that interfere with their giving this to those dear objects who represent the world to them. An Irishman, making love to a lady of great fortune, told her ‘he could not sleep for dreaming ol her.’ Tne man’who never says nothing to nobody. was married last week to the lady wbo never speaks ill of do one.

NO, 29,