Decatur Eagle, Volume 2, Number 51, Decatur, Adams County, 28 January 1859 — Page 1

Tit f n ffi rnMTn “Trr a tvi 1 11 E VLuv rl 1 <J 11 Lu /I v u ai » r . - ■ -— . . —— — —, —

VOL. 9.

THE EAGLE. I PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING, BY PHILLIPS & SPENCER, flfflee, on Mun Street, in the old School Home, 1 one Square North of J. & F Crabs' Store. , Terms of Subscription : i For one year, SI 50, in advance; $1 75, within j tiie year, and $2 00 after the year has expiied, ( KF No paper will be discontinued uni il all srreraxes are paid, except at the option of the Publishers. 1 < Terms of Advertising: ( ofie ••quare, (t< n lines) three insertions, $1 00 Each subsequent insertion, 25 = O'No advertisement will be considered less ■ ’ than one square: over one square will be coun- i 4ed and charged as two; over two, as three, etc. , JOB P RIN TING: < We are prepared to do all kinds of ron-wontt. in a neat and workmanlike manner, an the most I reasonable terms. Our material fortlie comple-1 tion of Job Work, being new and of the latest j stvles, and we feel confide: t that satisfaction can be given. j PRINTERS. Xmong those ranks of human kind, Some go before,and some behind. But mind them well, and you will find Not hindmost is the Printer. The lessons which you had learned at school, That you might not grow up a fool, Had all in scientific rule, Been published by the Printer. How do you Presidents and Kings Govern so many thousand things? ’Tis by the types, the screws and springs, Belonging to the Printer. The farmer and mechanic too. Would sometimes scarce know what to do, Could they get a certain view Os work done by the Printer. The doctor cannot meet the crooks, Os all the cases, till he looks Upon the pages of the books Supplied him by the Printer. The lawyer for wit has passed, But high as he his head may east, He would be but a dunce at last, Were it not for the Printer. Who is it that so neatly tells, The various goods the merchant sells, Inviting all the beaux and belles? Who is it but the Printer. The classes of the human race, Os different size, of different face, Appear in this ami every place How obvious to the Printer! | One sings the base, one sharps and flats, Bedecked with pantaloons and hats. And long-tailed coats and smooth cravats Os this class is the Printer. The other sings the treble sweet. Adorned with frocks and bonnets neat. And look! how beauteous and complete, And lovely to the Printer! ’TistHymen’s will of course you know, These classes should in couples go And since the world will have it so, “So be it,” say's the Printer. There’s not a man below the skies, Who better understands the prize, The charms that grace a lady’s eyes, Than does this very Printer. Young maidens, then, without debate, ’Tis Imped that you'll duly estimate, Before, in fact it is too late, The value of the Printer. How you may knw Good Fathers. It is a good sign and true when you see, amid a little group of bovs, one dart from the rest, and tossing his arms above his head, shout, 'There my father!' ns he runs to m<-et him. You may be sure, no matter what business troubles soever that man may have, that there is a spot iu his heart still fresh and green, which the cares of the world have had no power to dehght. ‘There’s my father!’ With what a pretty pride the little fellow shouts this! He must be indeed a brute, whose fatherly heart does not swell with love, whose eyes do not glisten, who does not, at such a moment, feel amply repaid for that day’s toil, no matter how wearisome. After all, Love is the only thing worth Laving in this world. They who stand over new-made graves tell us so Fame, and money, and ambition dwindle to nothing beside the white, calm brow of, death, though God knows it may be but the youngling of the flock, whose lips iiave , never even learned to sy'lable our name. The Sepoys.—There is unpleasant news horn India. The Sepoys seem to' be to the Brittish what the Spanish Guerillas were to the French in Napoleon’s day. They are always beaten, but never conquered. No matter how many of them fall, there are always plenty more of the same sort left. The climate and the service just suit the sepoys, but are terribly destructive to the Europeans. No wonder the English people are getting tired of the fruitless contest

HUGH MORAN. An Old Tutor’s .Story. BY BYLVANUB COBB, JR. Os course there is a vast difference in the mental capacities of different individ-] tials, but this difference is not always so 1 realas many seem to imagine. Morel people live in ignorance, and sink into their graves unknown, from the lack of I will and purpose than from the want of. mental capabilities. l It is the presence: of a firm fixed purpose, urited with unfaltering perseverance, that makes really I great men; and the thousands who move . along through life indolence and ignor-1 ance professing an admiration for genius| and wandering whv they were not bless-1 ed with som“ of these extraordinary pow-j era of mind, have only their own carelessness and inertness to blame. I have the store of a life in my mind which is to the point, and I will relate it i as I know it, simply concealing the real I names of those concerned for reasons; which will be apparent to the reader. Some five-and thirty years ago I was ; the preceptor of the academy in P . It was an excellent institution and we had I scholars from all parts of the county. — One evening, as I sat in my room alone I heard a light rap at the door, and I bade i the applicant to enter. The door was ■ opened, and I saw a boy, poorly clad, holding his cap in his hand. The season was early winter, and as the cool air came • in through the open door-way, I told the boy to come in and shut the door. I may have spoken rather abruptly, for I ; supposed the fellow only had some ordinary errand to communicate, and I wan- ' ted my time to myself. He gazed at. me ! a moment, wit h a half-frightened look, ; i and then closed the door, but he closed I it between him and me, and I heard him hurrying away. I arose and went into the hall, but he was gone; so I returned to my books, and in a little while the incident passed from my mind. Two or three days afterwards I saw the same bov cross the street, and I asked a man. who stood by my side, If he ' knew him. ‘Who—that fellow?’ said he, with a I sort of contemptuous, pitying tinge in his 1 tone, at the same time pointing to the bov. ■Yes,’ I replied. ‘Do you know him?’ ‘Why—that is Hugh Moran. He lives ! at the poor-house.’ ‘No.’ interposed a third party, who ’ stood at, mv elbow. ‘Mr. Amos Fisher I lias taken him, and I shouldn’t wonder if I he made a prettv good boy.’ I ‘ls he an orphan?’ I asked. ; ‘Rather worse than that,’ said my in j formant. 1 soon learned that the lad was one of : those poor unfortunates, whose birth had j been clouded by shame, and who had hence been a mark for the cold finger of scorn. His mother had sought the almshouse in her ruin and degradation, and there she had died. Her boy had lived ! there until very recently, when Mr. Fish- : er, a kind, upright farmer, had taken ; him, and given him a home in his own family. I became interested in the little ■ fellow at once, and resolved to find out, jon the first favorable opportunity, what j had been his object in calling upon me. llt seemed evident enough that he had j come upon his own account, for, had he, ; been sent by his guardian, he would not I have gone away as he did. Not many days after this I met the boy upon the sidewalk. It was in the ! morning, and I was going to the academy but I s'opped and spoke with him. 1 asked him if he was not the one who came to mv room a few evenings before. He seemed a little frightened, as though fearful that he had done something wrong; but 1 spoke kindly to him, aud managed , to re assure him. •Yes,’ he said. ‘I came, but I did not , dare to stop and disturb you.’ ‘What did you come for?’ I asked. Again he hesitated, but 1 finally learned from him that he came wi h the hope that I could help him to learn something I asked him it he wished to learn, and, for the first time, he answered me quickly and eagerly in the affirmative. I toldhim to come to my room that evening,, and I would talk with him. He promised to come, and we seperated. j About seven o’clock Hugh mad** his : appearance at my doorand this time I. e j entered and took a seat. He was a finelooking boy. with a keen, full eye. F verv soon made him feel that I would bej I his friend, and ere lie had been with me many minutes he had so far overcome his ( diffidence that he could speak without trouble. , , . • , 1 ‘I have never been a bad buy. sir, lie i said when I asked him to tell me what] had’induced him to seek me; ‘but I have been very unfortunate. It wasn t my j fault, sir, and I never could help it I wasn’t born so happy as othor children are A sin which others did come upon me with its painful consequences, and it has bowed me down in shame and sorrow: He stepped here, and covered Lis face | with his hands I hid mv band upon

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

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA, JAN. 28, 1859.

his head, and told him that I knew the story of bis birth, and that I should consider him the more deserving of love and esteem, if he proved worthy of it, on that account. 1 ‘Look upward,’ said T, taking one of, I his hands, ‘for the Being who dwells abort' j us. and who is the Parent of all souls] judges his children by their Lives, and I not by any circumstances of birth. If a halo of glory rests upon the brow in the j hour of death, and the last memories of 'earth are of duties truly and nobly done, lit will matter nothing at all where the I cradle of infancy was rocked. The Son ! of God—the Saviour of Man—was born ■in a Manger, where the beasts of burden l were stalled!’ I never saw so sudden a change, and one so palpable and deep, come over a human face, as had come over his when I ceased speaking. There was a brilliant ■ hopeful light beaming out through bis • tears, and even in the quiver of his lip i there was stern and holy purpose. He ' told me he had been to school some, but ] that the boys laughed him and made sport jof his misfortunes. He dared not resent their insults, for then they would only speak more tauntingly, and sometimes strike home to his heart through his mother’s fall! The memory of one bitter sneer would haunt him through a whole day, and make his heart ache. •I could not hear it,’ he said, and I begged of Mr. Fisher not. to send me to school; and finally, when I had plead very hard, he said if I would study evenings, he would let me try it. o—sir—perhaps you will laugh at me. but I thought—if —at some day —I could be a better and greater man than any of those who have , made sport of me —I should be—be’— •Be what?’ said I, as he hesitated. •Be—happy —not out spite, but happy in mv own success. ‘And did you think I would help you?’ I asked him. •I hoped you would,’ he replied. ‘I thought you looked very kind, and that you would not turn me away. I heard some of the scholars at the academy talking, and when I heard them tell how they loved you, I felt sure that you would be , good to me.’ I fairly began to love the little fellow and as I made the emotion manifest he seemed to feel it at once, for he became more free, and spoke his hopes and aspi- , rations more warmly. I soon comprehended the whole plan he had been drtaming over. He had resolved to be a great man if it lay in his power, and every en<>r<ry of bis soul was bent in that direction. The gibes and of his companions had given him the spur, and his ambition leaped up strong and powerful. I told him I would help him all I could -that he should i have the use of any of my books, and that I would hear as many recitions as he I could properly prepare himself for. He ' caught mv hand and pressed it to his lips and” I think he would have gone down upon his knees isl had not held him up. As soon as he had become somewhat calm, I gave him a book, and asked him to read to me. I was astonished to hear him. for I had few scholars who could read so well. He told me that his mol Iler taught him to read when he was very small, and that he bad read all the I old papers and books he could get hold J of. He knew nothing of grammar, how- ■ ever, and but very little of arithmetic; 'so I gave him a work on grammar, and nne on arithmetic, and marked lessons for him to learn. I felt an interest on two accounts in the , new work I had thns taken upon my hands. First,—l felt a real interest in the boy’s welfare, and meant to help him because I believed that he deserved it. and because I had actually come to love him And, secondly. I had a desire to see how , J fast, and how far, one under his circum- ' stances could go. I saw that he had a j fair intellect —nothing more—no great ■ native points of mental power, nor any brilliant parts. I knew that all he gained would be due to his firm will and peri severance, and I meant to see how the ] poor, unfortunate child of shame and sor- ] I row would fashion a future from the un ' toward circumstances which bad thus far attended him through life. On the n. xt day I met Mr Fisher in i the post-office, and I spoke to him of Hugh's visit to ma. 1 found the old farI mer°ready and willing to help the boy all he could. I ‘He’ll have a goed many leisure hours,’ | he said, and he’d better be studying than to be doing nothing. If you can teach ! him so that he can write and cipher some I and perhaps parse some easy grammar ' pieces, it may be a good thing for him. I could not help smiling at the old, I man’s honest simplicity; but I thanked] ; him tor his promise to help me in the; work, and then left him. On the very next evening Hugh came to my room, and he had committed about! ' six times as much a* I had given him to do; and he had done it But I need not follow him through all] his studies At first I believed that bo

must have been over with the studies before; but when he assured me that he had not, 1 was forced to credit him. He went through with the grammar in one short month, and'before the winter was out he had parsed every word in Pope's Essay on Man, and conquered the myste ries of cube-root, and gone some into al gebra. It presented c curious study to me, and it showed me what an indomitable will and perseverance cart accomplish And tJien to think that be was doing alt this during his leisure hours. Someiimes he did burn his candle rather later tha.i people in that, section were wont to burn theirs; but he lost none of his freshness and vigor, his high hopes keeping him in health and spirits. During the following summer he had not so much time for study, as he was determined not to neglect bis work. But he came to my room twice a week, and his progress was rapid. When winter] came again he took up Latin and Greek;; and here he gave me my greatest sur-! prise. He conquered the rules of grammar and translation in an incredibly' short space of time and began the reading Virgil on New Years Dav, having already got well into the Gieek Testament. But, after all, it is a singleness of pur-; pose, and directness of application, that serve best in the study of the langauges ' The student, with the will to know and understand, can penetrate further into toe misteries of Greek in one month than he who studies because he is expected to study will do in a year Hugh Moran remained with Mr Fisher four years, and at the end of that time I could teach him no more; but he could teach me much. He was a thorough clas-' sical scholar; a mathematician of rare powers; well skilled in chemistry; deeply versed in philosophy and astronomy; and able to expres himself handsomely. ‘o!’ he cried, ‘if I could only talk as I can think!’ ‘Then study to talk,’ I said. ‘But where? I cannot doit here — None, save you, know how I have labored for the past four years; and they shall | not now witness my experimets.’ ‘Stop,’ • said I. ‘You are bound to Mr. Fisher?’ ‘Yes—for three years more —till I am twenty-one. The town bound me to him . when they let me out from the poor house! I ‘But couldn’t we prevail upon him to let you go?’ ‘For what gasped Hugh, catching me by the hand, and gazing into my eve, for he saw a new meaning there. •Wait.’ I told him. That evening I wrote to Daniel Percival, an old lawyer who lived in a neighboring citv, and who 'had been for many years in official postilions which entitled him to the prefix ot 'Honorable;' and to him I stated the case ot my young friend as plainly as I could and asked for his assistance. On the very next week Mr. Percival himself made his appearance at my house, and in the evening Hugh came. After conversing |an hour, the old lawyer expressed a desire to h-ave the yout h go with him to assist him in his office and study law. I saw Mr. Fidier and had a long talk with him. At first he would not listen to the idea of Hugh’s going away. He said I he did’t care anything about the letter of ■ iiidinture—he would throw that up in a moment, but Hugh was like an own son to him. He couldn’t spare him—his wife couldn’t spare him—they couldn't think of it. But when I came to paint the youth’s true powers, and show what he might become in the future, the old man wavered. And when I explained that I Hugh’s hopes and aspirations might all' be crushed if they were nipped now, he : began to ponder. Finally I made him sJe that he had it in his power to set the bov at once upon the road to fame and honor, and he consented to my proposition. So Hugh Moran went with Percival, and I was not disappointed in my expectation. ‘Why,’ wrote the old attorney, a few months afterwards, speaking of Hugh I ‘he will ere long become a perfect cj-clo 1 piedia incarnate of legal facts and princi- I pies He reads Blackstone with the de-1 light of a young miss over a love story, ; and everything worth treasuring up i« thoroughly digested in his mind and then laid away in his memory. I will have him at the bar very soon, believe me.’ During the following Winter notice was given that Hugh Moran would deliver a lecture before the Institute in our place Some had the cool impudence to wonder | if it could be 'our' Hugh—‘Poor House’l Hugh; but such supposition was immediately set down as among the things ini- ; possible. Yet there was a feeling—a sort of presentment—gaining ground among the people that it might be he, as ter all; and when the evening for the beture came the large hall was packed to it« utmost capacity. Hugh Moran arose—a few recognized him at once; but others failed at first to discover, in the polished gentleman who stood before them, the Hugh of their own knowledge. He announced his subject —“The Battle or Life”—and commenced his lecture. For a few moments old memories seemed to come over him with

a whelming force, but he finally started] up—up —up —till he had lifted every! heart Co the shrins of admiration. It was ' a noble theme and he liandh d it with mar-: velous power. He spoke from experience ' and every #ord came burning irura Lisi heart. Wheti he closed there was such a! storm of enthusiasm as was never witnes-I sed in the old hall before; and men, whohad in by-gone times pissed him coldly! hy, now pressed forward for the honor of an aquaintance, An hour later I found him alone in my study. His head was bowed upon his ‘ hands, and his manly cheeks were cove-! red with tears ‘What is it?’ said I. pla- ] cing rnv hand upon his shoulder. ‘I was 1 thinking,’ he replied, gazing np into my, face and wiping his eves. ‘Of what?’ I asked him. ‘Of my mother,’ lie said in a tremulous, musical tone. ‘I could al- | most wished she had lived—l might have ] made her so proud and happy!’ Noble, generous Hugh! Even in that ! first hour of triumph he could not bear to i take all the joy to himself. But he was not alone—other hearts were with him — A simple word brougt his head upon my bosom; and, while he blessed me lor what jl had done for him, he wept outright; and I, who am not easily moved to tears, was a child then. Time passed on, and Hugh ’ took sweet Marv Fisher for a wife. She i had been as a sister to him in times past, and she knew how to love him and appreciate him. And Hugh marched on up the hill, never swerving--never faltering. I He became a bright light in his profession ' —he went to Congress —he became Governor of the State that gave him birth — ] at this present moment he occupies one of the most honorable possitions in the nation And vet I know that Hugh Moran ■possessed no more natural talents than i thousands of those who have, listened : with wonder and admiration to his eloquence, and who have said, to themselves ; that God makes few men with genius like I that. No, no—he had will and energy. ) He had a noble purpose, and he persewr;ed. From a birth of gloom and shadow to a manhood of bright, effulgent honor and renown, he worked liis own way, by steady, hard, persistent labor. And others my do it—if they will! I ‘I V --I I Printing by Caloric. —The Schenectady (N. Y.) Advertiser is printed on a medium Adams’ press, driven by a twelveinch Erricion caloric engine. The en■gine consumes, during five and a half hours—the time required for striking off i theedition—fourteen pounds of anthracite | coal, costing three anil half cents. There h a saving of at least sixty six per cent, in the quantity and cost of fuel for a caloric over that of a steam engine. By the , use of these engines all danger from explosion is avoided —no water being used, ; and there is no occasion for an engineer, ! as they only require to be fed with fuel in the manner of an ordinary stove. Among other ad vantages, besid es the cheapness ' of cost in running theiii, is that of heating ; the room in Cold weather, (hy taking up cold and ejecting heated air,) and that of ; causing on additional rates of insurance. Hoops Subsiding.—Yus—positively! VVe have so often heard that hoops were on the decline wi'hout being able to dis cover anv evedince of the fact, that we began to think them one of the permanent institutions of the country, like universal sufferage and buckwheat cakes. But, no. Seeing is b.-lieveing. With our ] own eyes we have beheld ladies walking i boldly about the streets in a state of col ■lapse. Notmany.it is true, but still ] some. I’ it the late news from France? or, is it the December rains? Will the resolution go on? or, will all the faircoopers who live by constructing the airy i shapes that ladies wear, rise en masse and massacre the daring innovators? Let the January thaw answer What a good Newspaper may Do. Show us an intelligent family of boys , and girls, and we shall show a family I where newspapers are plenty. Nobody who has been without these silent private tutors can know their educating power for good or evil- [low important then tn s'-cure those which tend only to good! Have you never thought of the innumerable topics for discussion which they sugi gest at the breakfast table; the important public measures with which, thus early j our child ren become familiarly acquainted great philanthropic questions of thedav, , to which unconsciously their attention is uwaked, and the general spirit of intel.i---1 gcnce which is evoked by these quiet vis- ; itors? Anything that makes home pleas- ' ant, cheerful and chatty, things the haunts of vice, and the thousand and one avenues of temptation, should certainly be regarded, when we consider its influence on the minds of the young, as a great moral and social blessing. — >ll — I — A drunken fellow carried a bible to pawn for a pint of gin, but the grocer [ would not take it. ’What, the devil.’] said the fellow, ‘will neither my word nor the word of God pass current with you.’

The Dyiug Child The little daughter, ten t ears old, lay ’on her dealh-bed. It was hard parting I with Ui«f pet flower of the hou .eho’d. ; The golden hair, the loveing Hue eyes, ] tiio birti-ltke voice—the truthful, aifec--1 donate, I irge hearted, pious chili); how I could she be given up? Between this 'child and her father there had existed, I not a relationship merelv, but the love of congenial natures. He fill on his knees by his darlings bed-side and wept Litter tears. He strove to s'ay, but could not, ‘They will be dcnel’ it w'as'aconflict between grace and nature, such as he had ] never before experienced. His sobs distturbed the child, who had been lying apparently unconscious. She opened Ler eyes and looked distressed. ‘Papa, dear papa,’ said she at lenght. ‘What, my darling?’ answer her father, striving for composure. Papa,’ she asked in faint broken tones how much—do I cost you every year?’ ‘Hush, dear, be quiet?' he replied iu great agi taliun, for he feared deliiium was I coming on. •But please, papa, how much do I cost 'you?’ To soothe her, he replied, though, with a shaking voice; ‘Well, dearest, perhaps j two hundred dollars. What then, darling?’ ‘Because, papa, I thought—maybe—- : you would lay it out this year in Bibles—for poor cliildirn —to remember me by.’ With what dedicate instinct had the ] dying child touched the springs of com- > fort! A beam of heavenly joy glanced in the father’s heart, the bless of one noble, loveing spirit mingled with its like. Self was forgotten—the sorrow of parting, the lonely future. Naught remained but the mission of love, and a thrill of gratitude that in it he and his beloved were coworkers. ‘1 will, my precious child, 1 he replied, kissing the brow with solemn tender- ] ness. i ‘Yes be nded, after a pause, ‘I will do iit every year as long as 1 live, end ■ ■ thus my Lillian shall yet speak, and draw hundreds and thousands after her to i Heaven.’ The child’s very soul beamed forth in ; a long, loving, smile-gaze into her fathI er’s eyes; and still gazing, she f»dl asleep, j Walking in a few minutes, she spoke in ] a loud, clear voice, and with a lock of |ecstacy: Oh, pnpa fc wliat a sweet sight! The golden gates were opened, and crowds of 'ichildern came pouring out. Oh, such crowds! And lltey run up to me and Call ]me l>y ii name. 1 can’t remember what I it was, but it rneaus ‘Beloved for the : ' ] er’s sake.’ i Site looked upward, her voice died into a whisper, ‘Yes, yes, I come! 1 come!’ and the lovely form lay there un'enanted ; of the lovelier spirit. John L'-e arose from his knees with a •; holy triumph on hi> face. ' ‘Thank God,’ s.iid he, ‘I sm richer by 1 another treasure in heaven!’— MacedonI ian. During a recent trial at Auburn, the ■ ' following occtirri d to vary the monotony ’i ot the proceedings; Among the witnesses I was one, as verdant a specimen of human- ’ li'y ns one would wish to meet wi’h. j After severe cross-examination, the council for the government paused, and then ; putting on a look of severity, nod with an ' ominous shake of the head, exclamed: ' i ‘Mr. Witness, has not an effort been i made to induce you to tell a different sto- ; r - ’’ ‘A different story from what I have : told, sir?' •That is what I mean.’ ‘Yes. sir, several persons have tried to : get. me to tell a different story from wLat I have told, but thev couldn't.’ •Now, sir, upon your oath, I wish to know who those persons are.’ •Waal* I guess you’ve tridc ’bout as i hard as any of ’em.’ The witness was dismissed, while judge, jury and spectators indulged iu a hearty I laugh. j How to be Cheerful —A cheerful life roust be a busy one. And a busy life i cannot well be otherwise than cheerful. Frogs do not croak in running water. And active minds are seldom troubled with * gloomy foreboding. They come up only ; from the stagnant depth ol a spirit uni stirred by generous impulses or the blessed necessities of honest toil. A dispatch from Kansas savs that a quorum of both houses of the Kansas legislature met at Lawrence on the 3 I insl , and passed resolutions lomeetand organize al Lecompton next day- Tliet also I held a caucus for the purpose of fixing a | place to hold the session, nearly nil being ; agreed to adjourn from Lecompton to some other poiut of the territory. Unquestionably men should always throw up bad habits. There are two Wat j however, of throwing up liquors— vuc creditable, tbe other not

NO. 51.