Decatur Eagle, Volume 3, Number 1, Decatur, Adams County, 11 February 1859 — Page 1

THE LIECAT UR OGLU

VOL. 3,

THE EAGLE. FffBLtSHED EVERY FRIOAF MOBNIN'O, BY PHILLIPS & SPENCER, Office, on Miia Street, in the old School House, oao Square North of J& P Crabs' Store. - Terms of Subscription : for one year, $1 50, in advance; $1 75, within i the rear, and $2 O') after the year line expned. Ij’No piper will he discontinued until all! arrernsrea are paid, except at the option of the | Publishers. Terms of Advertising: !>ne square, (ten lines) three insertions, SI 00 Each subsequent insertion, 25 CNo advertisement will be considered less than one square: over one square will be conn- ' ted and charged as two; over two, as three,etc. [ JOB PRINTING: We are prepared to do all kinds of job-work, j n a neat and workmanlike manner, on the most I reasonable terms. Our m iterial fertile comple-' tion of Job-Work, being new and of the latest) »tjdes, and we feel confident that satisfaction ean be given. A GERMAN LEGEND. Art thou sleeping, O my mother; Outworn with grief at last? To speak to thee, sweet mother, From the grave yaid have I past. I cannot rest in quiet, Though my grave is dark and still; For a cold air creeps around me, And my shroud is dark chill.’ Up rose that mother lonely, The ghost dream in her brain— With the spirit sight she seeth Her little child again. i A vapory flame, like moonlight When mulled by a cloud, Wraps the baby as she standeth By the bedside, in her shroud, Creep, darling, to tny bosom, And lay thine heart on mine; Its throbbing blood shall warm thee; I’ll give my life for thine.’ Oh! never more, sweet mother; May I lie upon thv breast; But from my grave I come to crave That thou wilt give merest. “Allday and night so dreary. Thy tearssoak through the mould, And on my shroud come trickling— They make me damp and chill. Oh! great love, self-denying! The mother hides her woes Within her aching bosom, To give her child repose. Soft fades that cold, pale vapor. As boreal lights at night; And the little babe so fades away; From the mother s straining sight. And ever through the lone night That mother watched in vain For the spirit of the lost one, To stand by her again. And ever when the grief-drops From her fountain In art rise, She crushed them ere thev trickled In tear ruin from her eyes. And ever, when the wailing Os sighes rose in her breast. She choked it back—to break her heart But not her loved one's rest. How to Tell a Lawyer. — A few days since, a gentleman, being beyond the limist of his neighborhood, inquired of a pert negro who was travelling the road it it led toa certain place. Cuffee gave the required information, but seemed anxious to know who the stranger was as well as his occupation. For the fun of the thing, the traveller concluded to humor Ebony * little, and the following dialogue ensued: ‘My name is , and as to the business I follow, if you can guess it Irom my appearance: can’t you see that I am a timber-cutter?’ ‘No, boss, you not timber-cutter.' ‘An overseer, then.' ‘No, sir, you no look like one.’ ‘What say you to mv being a doctor?* 'Don’t think so, boss; dey don’t ride in sulkey.’ ‘Well, how do you think I will do for a preacher?’ ‘I sorter specs you is dat, sir.’ ‘Pshaw! Cuffee, you are a greater fool than I took you for. Don’t I look mure like a lawyer than anything else?’ ‘No sir you don’t dat.’ ‘Why, Cuffee?’ ‘Why, now, you tee, boss, I’se bin Tidin’ wid you for more’n a mile, an’ you ham’t cussed any’ and a lawyer always cusses.’— Charleston Courier. *]n Sweden a man whois seen four times drunk is deprived of a vote at election!' lu this country a man who gets drunk is entitled to vole early and lain and, as many limes as he pleases. On election day he is considered a good fellow and is treated with great consideration. This is the difference between Sweden and the United States.— St. Paul Times,

BORDER SUFFERINGS. BY EMMERSON BENNETT. Great nt times were the sufferings of the early pioneers of the great West, even when unmolested by savages. Settled far hack in the wilderness, with miles and leagues sometimes dividing them from their nearest neighbors, they could not even hope to be exempt from the miseries attendant upon tlie want of the necessaries of life; and their sufferings at times, through sickness and death, or the failure of their crops, or all together, became of the most distressing character. A young man of the name of Watson hod located some lands on the Huron river, not far from Lake Erie, in what is! now Erie county, in the State of Ohio.— His purchase was distant from at>v settlement; and building him a cabin in the

thick woods, he in an evil moment remo- ! Ved his family thither, consisting of a [ young and delicate wife and two children. ! the elder of the latter being a little boy of i three or so years, and the younger an infant at the breast. They took up their abode in their newhome early in the Spring, and the enerIge'ic husband and father at once set vig- j oruU.-dy to work, clearing his lands and [ preparing the soil for the crop which he , looked forward too to sustain himself and | I beloved ones through the ensuing cold, : and dreary winter. By dint of great labor, he succeeded in | clearing and planting a patch of corn and I vegetables; and then, with nervous anxie- j I ty, he watched the growing crop, on which ; lin a comparative degree it may be said, . I his hopes depended of saving those he I loved from the pangs of starvation during ' the dreary months when the earth should i be covered with ice and snow. To the fond wife and loving mother, i there was no pleasure in observing the wearing labors ot her husband; and when toward autumn, she perceived the heavy steo, sallow cheek, and almost lusterless eye of him who Was naturally blessed with great vigor, vivacity and cheerfulI ness. it was with a painfully sad foreboI ding ot what was to follow. •My dear Edward,’ she said to him one I day, ‘you flo not complain —you even deI ny that you are ill—but you cannot deIceive me. You are not well. Rest, I bta-ech you, from your too laborious toil,

and get back the life and strength you seem to have lost!’ ‘Il is nothing. Mary—it ie nothing!’ returned the husband, with a wan smile, as he threw an arm around his found wile and kissed her. ‘I may not fee] exactly as • well as I liavedone in my life—but what of that? It is noih'ng to alarm yourself 1 about, and spings more from anxiety than ' labor. If mv c<>rn crop should only turn i out well, and I could see it well harves [ ted, and thus be certain we should not ' want for bread, you would soon see me ' as bright as evir.’ ‘But what are the prospects of a good ’ [crop, Edward?’ inquired the wile, with some anxiety. ‘Ah! there is the trouble, Mary. This | cold, wet weather we have had, has check- : led the proper filling of the ears; and in : I going over the field to day, I found but i [ little io encourage me.’ | ‘Gi od henvens!’ cried the other, gras- i ping her husband’s arm and looking anx-

iouslv into his half-averted face; ‘it will i ; not be a total failure. Edward?’ ‘No, no —not a total failure, Mary —no not so bad as that. I think perhaps we shall have enough to carry us safely through the winter if we are prudent.’ As the husband said this, in that as- , sumed tone of cheerfulness which is some times used to allay the fears of another, but for that very reason seldom carries , with it the weight of sincerity, the anxious wife who was not deceived, clasped her hands and exclaimed: ‘Oh! my dear husband and sweet, innocent hltle babes! what will become of u>? ( —what will become us? Heaven help us! ( ; Oh. that I was back in my native hnd — ' my eastern home! for there we should not starve, even at the worst.’ Mr. Watson used every argument he ■ 'could think of to calm and console his | wife, and at last, after a passionate burst ; of tears, she seemed to grow composed, i

' and apparently reconciled to her hard fortune. ‘We shall not starve, Mary—there is no j danger of that, even should the crop be •an entire failure,’ pursued the hu-b ind. ■ encouraging]v; ‘for I have a good rifle and plenty of amunition, and the forest abounds with game ’ | ‘Nay, Edward,’ she replied, ‘don’t seek [to raise my spirits by such remarks—for [ ! sickness would be next to starvation—and well you know we could not live on meat and retain our health—to say nothing of the dangers you would encounter in hunting for game, and the miseries I should suffer in watching in tremulous apprehen- ■ sion for your safe return.’ Time passed on. and many weary, anxious days, and troubled, almost sleepless ] 'nights, were spent by that fond father '

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

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA, FEB, 11. 1859.

and loving mo'lier in thinkin" of the futu>e. of themselves an I the helpl»ss tin|,.| innoc.-nts under their charge. But for ; , tune frowned; and notwithstanding they . daily, almost hourly, sent up pleading ; prayers to Heaven for health, protection and deliverance, they saw their hopes blasted and withered one by one. Dav by day Mr. Watson found his i health failing: l.is children fell ill; his wife I grew disheartened and di.«pairing; and to ;crown all, he discovered, with an almost 1 ‘ breaking heart, that his crops would not i yield sufficient to support his family one’ I fourth of the winter. And here he was'." j in the deep lonely wilderness—afar from any civilized settlement—alar from any j human being who could act the part of a friend —himself and children suffering for want of timely medical aid and the thou sand little nourishing comforts lobe found '.only in the settlements, and with his wife

, breaking down under her ceaseless anxiety and almost constant vigils. I 3 At last overtasked and exauste.i nature ' .suddenly gave out, and Mr. Watson be- I ! came prostrate with a raging and deli-j rious fever; and when his poor wife beiieid him stretched out upon their rude i pallet, and heard him pray even in his j IdeUrium, for the salvation of herself and ’ children, it seemed as if her swelling heart ; must burst—as if her very life was being [Stranggled out of her with each gasping breath she drew. ‘Oh, God! if he should die!’ she groaned, as with a wild burst of maturnal fondness she clasped her little ailing ones to her breast, and gazed upon them with an I expression which partially revealed the [ terror of the thought—unspeakable an I gnish of her soul. ‘Oh, God! if he should die!’ she repeated, clasping her temples ‘And he will die—mv heart too truly forebodes it—for here, in this awful forest/ I have no means to save him! Pray, little Edward!’ she cried, appealing to the child; ‘pray, rnv dear little boy, for your sick father—that God in his mercy will spare him to us, or take us with him! — You are sick too, dear one, and may die; but pray to the good God to spare yo’ir father; for if he is taken from us. I fear your poor, heart broken mother will go mad and leave you Io perish!’ The little boj’ was old enough to under stand his motherland kneeling on the! earthen floor of that gloomy cabin, he

feebly clasped his tiny hands, and sent up! a° pure, as earnest, and as acceptable a prayer to the Throne of Grace, as “ver ascended from the gorgeous temple of more pretentious worship. And bv his | side, with his infant sister clasped to her ; heart, kneeled his agoniz-d mother, pray- [ ing with every sense and every faculty, that Gjd woul I spire the partner of her] b >som, the father of her children. Sincere prayer seldom if ever fails to fortify the soul against impending misfor | tune aini calamitv; for G<>d’s secret answer to the heail-telt petition, is to the troubled spirit what t'ue reviving dew is te the drooping flower. Mrs Watson arose from her appeal to Heaven for mercy, with renewed vigor j, and strength, if not with increased hope, i, She felt as if Heaven had heard her —as ■ > if angels were with her; ami the «weet!, principle of resignation seemed to diffuse ( itself through her whole being, till she , found she could say, even from the depths

ul her distress: 'Thv will. 0 Lord, not mine, be done! '.el the afflictions which may come upon me, be sanctified to thy good!’ Then she began the painful task of watching hv her husband —of doing all that her limited means would permii for his restoration to reason, if not to health We need not dwell upon the painful seem s that followed — nor detail the tearful effects of that malady which lorced the spirit of that fond husband and father beyond the world ot lime, and left that poor, devoted wife and mother alone with her helpless babes in the great, dark forest. surrounded by wild beasts and savages, and unprotected against death in ah the worst and most hideous forms tn which it visits humanity. No! it is enough to say, that that fond husband and father lingered, suffered and died—died in the arms of that hopeless, almost frantic wife and mother—but died blessing her ami

praying for her with the last glimmer of i reason that came back, as if for the par--1 ting interview, while he yet walked in the Dark Valiev of the Shadow of Death The wearv, agonizing weeks and months which followed we will not attempt to describe Tiie devotion anil fortitude exI hihited bv that poor, widowed helpless ' mothei, no pen could depict. At last, thank God. through the deep snow that covered the earth, a hunter’s steps were led to the door of the poor widow. All without was cold and silent, and Utt lonely cabin had about it an air of solitude and desertion. The hardy hunter paused and looked about him; and then influen- [ ced hy asortof mysterious dread, he slowly approached the door, and rapped upon it with the breech of his rifle. Hear-1 in" a feeble voice bidding him enter, be

pushed open the ?oor. and there, in the jgliim, beheld a sight that, hardened as ! he was to border sufferings, sent a strange thrill through liia strong nerves. Upon the hearth, over a few dying embers, sat a p ile, grief worn and emaciated mother, bolding in her shivering arms a punny, sickly looking infant, while from a mass of rags and skins, piled upon what had once been a decent bed, he caught the sound of stifled breathings aud groans of pain. ! ‘Merciful Heaven! what is the matter here? exclaimed the hunter, fairly aghast .at the wr-tcliedness which met his view. The poor woman raised her head and looked steadily at the in tn of the forest, with her large wild, hollow eves; and then bursting suddenly into tears, she wept long and convulsively at the sight of another human being. •Speak, good woman,’ said the hunter.

-i" •••• , in as kind and gentle a tone as his rough j nature would allow, ‘and tell me the mea- ' ning of all I seel’ •It means misery,—oh, God! it means] misery!’ cried the wretched mother in I answer, as soon as she could recover her voice, 'On the bed yonder is my poor little Edward, perhaps even now br.-ath-ing his last —mv little babe here is so sick I cannot lay it down—l am myself in the agonies of starvation — and my dear, dear husband lies buried yonder by the side o! our cabin!’ And then, with another and wilder burst of anguish, she added: 'Oh, that I was back in my native land, where 1 could throw myself into the arms of tny beloved mother, and die, if die 1 must, upon her sacred breast?’ The oi l hunter—grim, bronzed, stalwart and hardened — unused as he was o the meliing mood — was so moved at this scene of distress, that in spite of himselt 1 the big tears of sympathy began to course each other adown his weather beaten face ‘God help you. poor woman!’ he cried; ‘don't take on bo! don’t despaii! I’ll fetch you assistance soon Keep up—cheer up you shall all be saved yet! Here, lake i all 1 got in mv wallet, and make the best !en’t;eat and live while I hurry to the nearest settlement for help. Only stand it out one night more, and you shall see I friends to-morrow, if I’m left among the I living till then.’ He hurriedly emptied the contents of his rude wallet into her lap, speaking the

while the most consoling and cheering i words at bis command; and then, replenishing the fire, and bidding her a hurried farewell, he instantly set off on a run over the frozen snow. Mrs. Watson lived, almost on hope itself. through another dreary night of suf fi ring; and the next day, true to the pro I mise of the hunter, her feverish <-yes w< re !greeted with a sight of sympathizing triends, who saved her and her children, by their ministering care, from an untimely death; and she siibsequen'ly had the saddened joy of sobbing forth her griefs and troubles on her own dear mother's ! breast. This revelation of suffering and misery, given from life only faintly shadows forth some few of the terrible facts which belong to the unwritten history of that brave and hardy band of men ar d women who first planted their homes in the great wilderness of the mighty West.

! Gettino over a Difficulty —A class! which graduated not over a thousand 1 years ago. embraced among its members [one Tom Eiliot an incorrigible wag who 1 was not rioted for any particular and mar ked attention to his studies. M ithema- ’! tics was a particular obj-ct of Tom’s dis-1 regard, and (his c iwsed him an occasional 1 jeu d esprit with the dry professor of con- - ics. On one occasion, the professor, du1 ring the recitation, asked Tom to explair, the horizontal parallax of the sun. Tom ' replied: '! •! don’t know how.’ •But.,’ said the professor, ‘suppose you were appointed bv the Government to ascertain it. what would you do?’ I ‘l’d resign,’ gravely responded Tom, ' amid the convulsive laughter of the class, and even the professor actually perpetra- , [ ted a grin. A gentleman offered a horse six months ago to a triend for three hundred dollars ‘l’ll buy him.’ said the friend, ‘with these conditions: 1 shall pay you two hundred cash, and owe you the rest.’ i The offer wis accepted, but tight times roming on, the seller called upon the purchaser fi>r the odd hundred. ‘I shan’t pav you.’ said he, ‘for it would be a violation of contract. I agreed to pav two hundred cash and owe you one hundred, and if I paid that, the bargain would be broken.’ It is believed that the father of man1 kind never reproached his wife hut once ' for the unhappy cause of their expulsion from Paradise. She bitterly and reckless-. ily responded, ‘I don’t care A dam!' He, I never agtin mentioned the subject.

JtatUer Enthusiastic. The following story is acknowledged to be a ‘good ’uu’ but we believe it has not found its way into the papers to any great extent. A few years since, some roguish boys in a town not a thousand miles from the capital of New Hampshire, persuaded Joseph N , or as he was gen-rally called, ‘Joe,’ to attend Sunday School.— Joe was an overgrown, half-witted pro lane lad, and the boys anticipated considerable fun; but the various questions propounded to him were so readily and correctly answered that no on' could for a moment, suppose that he was not versed in theological lore. Joe was duly ushered in and placed on a settee in front of one where his friends were seated, and recitation commenced. Theteached first questioned the class on their regular lessons afterwards turned to Joe. ‘My. friend, who made the world we inhabit?’ •Eli!’ said Joe, turning up his eyes like an expiring calf. ‘Who made the world we inhabit?’ Just as he was probably about to give the answer, one of the boys seated behind him, inserted a pin into his (Joe’s) pan's, about nine inches below the ornamental buttons on his coat. 'God Almighty!’ answered Joe in an elevated tone, and, at the same time rising to his feet. ‘This is correct,’ replied the teacher, 'but i is not necessary that you should ; rise in answering; a sitting posture is just as well.’ Joe was seated and the catechism proceeded. •Who died to save the world!’ The pin was again inserted, and Joe replied: 'Jesus Christ!’ in a louder tone than before, again rising from his seat. ‘That is also correct; but do not manifest so much feeling; do be a little more reserved in your manner,’ said the teach er in an expostulating tone. After Joe had calmed down, the exam- ! ation went on •What will be the doom of all wicked [men’’ was the subject now upforconsid I eration, and, as the pin was again ‘stuck I in.' Joe thundered out, with a still higher i elevation of his body, 'Hetland Duninai lion!’ ‘Mv young friend,’ said the instructor, ;'you give th- true answer to all the questions, but while you are here we wish [you to be more mild in your words. Do, if you can, restrain your enthusiasm, and give a less extended scope to your feelings:

Bvron Bramwell and the Doctor — I Baron Bramwell’s pleasantries, during; the last assize fortnight at Liverpool, have ; tended toenliven many a dull and stupid case. During one trail a barrister re-1 quested that a paiticular witness (a mu!• ■ ical gentleman) should be allowed to leave (the court, as he had a pa’ient who was ! dangerously ill, snd whom it was most (desirable that he should visit. ‘That is ; certainly a reasonable excuse,’ said his lordship, ‘but I tnu>t have it on oath from the gen'h-man himself ’ Upon this the, medicine man rose, and in a pathetic tone remarked, ‘ll’s not only one patient, my | lord, but a great many; (here is a great ; deal of sickness abroad just now.’ ‘Ah, : then,’ replied the judge, with a slight mischievous twinkle of the eye, ‘your excuse : is a g.-n -ral one, and von cannot be liberated ' The witness, suprised and crestfali len, sank into his seat, and the case went i on.— Loudon Star. — A Poser—A story is toll of a lit'le| boy in Virginia, by the Knickerbocker Long before he had learned the alphabet his parents had made him familiar with the narrative portions of the Bible, toj ! look at. the pictures. Coming to the piclure of‘Daniel in the Lion's den.’ he gaz i ■ed at it a few minutes silently, then running to his mother, book in hand, he broke forth in an indignant tone: | ‘Mother, this Bihledon’’. tell the truth.’ , ‘Why, my child, what makes you say so?’ ‘Whv, mother, didn’t you real to me [that when Daniel was thrown into the | den God shut the lions’ mouths? And see here, they are wide open!’ The boy believed the picture, which he could see’ rather than the text he could not read. — I g A week or two ago, dining the visit nf a gentleman st a farm-house, not a hun--1 dred mil. s distant, a voung 1 idv signified her admiration of a g‘ld watch which he exhibited, and upon his saving that he valued it very higly she remarked: ‘I suppose it is a relic.’ •No,’ said he, ‘it is onlv a patent lever.’ A quack doc’or. advertising his mode of cure, publishes that 'salvation is not necessary.’ It is not the first time an eye ! has been lost in salivation. i With dandies, the most unfashionable clothes are those that are paid for.

The Art of Pleasing. A modest and virtuous young man. on first going into society, is api. to be sorely perpli xed upon the question, how t«i make himself agreeable to ladies lie need not be ashamed of his perplexity. Washington Irving, in one of bis early sketches confesses that a will dressed lady was an object perfectly ‘awful’ to his young imagination. We were once acquainted with a gentleman of distinction in public life, the father of several accomplished d.iughteis, who could not, even to his fiftieth year, enter a drawing-room ladies were present, without painfi’’ baTrassment. It is certainly a good sign in a young man to stand in some awe of the beautiful sex. A person of coarse and vulgar mind, who thinks more of himselt than his best friends think of him, and who knows little the worth of a good woman’s heart, rushes fearlessly in where an Irving or an Addison would fear tn tread.

How well we remember a little incident of our early days, which helped u* to overcome our bashful dread of the society of ladies! Seated by the side of ft beautiful girl of seventeen, and overwhelmed with a consciousness of our inabi’ity to say anything to her which she would care to hvar, we chanced to observe that she, too was trembling with i mbarrasm«-nt. What a cmniorting discovery! We felt as a coward feels when ' he fin is that his enemy is more completely terror stricken than himself. Addressing ourselves to the task of diverting our ! fair acquaintance, we soon forget our own [ fears in sympathy with hers. Bear this in mind, young g-mleman, who blush . and stammer in the company of ladies: ■ The giria are as much afraid of you as ' you are of them! You arc awkward in your manners, l you think. If you think so, it is likely ■ that your fair triend thinks otherwise; for 1 lie really ill-bred fellows that we have known have, never suspected their ill'breeding. And, after all, what isgoqdbreedir.g but habitual good nature? The I simple fact that you wish to please is a i proof that you possess, or will soon acquire, the powel to do so. The good I heart ami well informed mind will soon I give grace to the demeanor, or will so abundantly atone for the want of it, that its absence will never be no iced Besides the girls —that is, the most of | them —like a man who is simple in his [manners. piovided they see that there is ' 'ubstance and worth i n him. Graceful manners hi. 1 ready wit are good so far as ■they go. But be sure of this, 0 bashful, blushing youth, that, both in the society : of ladies and of men, you will pass, in the 'long run. for what juu arc worth —nu more —no less. The art of pleasing, ! therefore, is nothing more than the art [of becoming an honest, Itind, intelligent, I and higliminded man. Such a m in, be [ he graceful as Chrsteifield or awkward as Caliban, all worthy women trust and love.

The Yankee and the Quaker. Some years ago a vnung N. w Englander found himself in the back part of Pennsylvania, ashore as to the means ol living. In his strait he applied toa wealthy Quaker in the neighborhom) for h< Ip. ‘I will furnish thee with work and will pay thee for it friend,’ said the Quaker, but it is not mv custom to give alms to ; any one able to labor, like thee.' Well, that’s all I want,’ said the Yankee: ‘of course, I am willing to work.’ ‘What can thee do, friend?’ ‘I will do anything to get a little money ! to help me out of my difficulties * •Wed there in an axe. Thee may pound on that log with the head of thu axe, and if thee i< diligent nnd faithful I will pav thee a dollar a day. •Agreed; I’d as soon do that as most anything else.* And so the youth went to work and ’ pounded lustily with the head of the axe [ upon the log After a pause he stopped to get breath, then went at it again. But alter an hour he stopped threw down the ' ax- impatiently, and walked away, sayj * n lf : •I’ll be hanged if I’d cut wood without [ seeing the chips flv!’—A’. Y Sun. A green sprig from the emerald isle entering a boot .and shoe shop to purchase a pair of brogans. AHi r overhauling his stock in trade without being able to suit his customer, the shopkeeper hinted that he would make him a pair to order. ‘An what’li yer ax to make a good pair of ’em?' was the query. The price was named: the Irishman demured but after a ’batin’ down.’ the thing was a trade— Paddy was about leaving when the other [ caiied after him a-king; ‘But what size shall I make them, sir?* ‘Och,’ cried paddy, promptly, ‘never mind about the size, at all—-make them as large as ye cunvanemly can for the money.’ A society favorable to discouraging the use of Tobacco, has bicuformed in Burks Co , Pa.

NO. 1.