Decatur Eagle, Volume 3, Number 5, Decatur, Adams County, 11 March 1859 — Page 1

on ■!, n.i irjr _ _ . , THE DECATUR EAGEE.

fflh. 3.

■II E EAGLE. ■ lIS HEO EVERY FRIDAY MORNING, BY ■IILLIPS & SPENCER, fl, 01 IJiia Street, in the old School House, fll, Square Nor .a of J. & P Cribs’ Store, fl Terms of Subscription : ■ on e year, $1 59, in advance; Jtl 75, within fl.j.,l''. and $2 0!) after 1 lie year has expiled, paper will be. discontinued uni 11 all are paid, except at the option of the fl Terms of Advertising; (ten lines) three insertions, $1 99 subsequent insertion, 25 advertisement will lie considered less square: over one square will be conn- i fl'.j charged as two; over two, as three, etc. IjOB PRINTING: are prepared to do all kinds of job-work, f1.,.., t and workmanlike manner, on t he most ®»nahle terms. Our material for the comple-Job-Work, being new and of the. latest fl'[j and we feel confident that satisfaction ■ fl the printer boy. fl aIR . — Old English Gentleman. Bfli sing you a song of a Printer boy fl Whose bright and honored name ■ stands forth in glowing capitals fl Upon the scroll of Fame; fl Who, in the days that tried men’s souls, fl [n Freedom’s darkest, night, fl Stood manfully with Washington fl And battled for the right, fl Bi N Frankltno was that Printer boy fl One of the olden time. fl And ’twits that boy who flew his kite, fl To the thunder-clouds on high, fl And broughtthe forked lightning down, fl from regions of the sky, fl Twas he who caught the fiery horse fl And trained him to the chase, I Till now he’s driven safe by Morse

lute the Printer’s case. Ben Fbanklin Was that Printer boy I I One of the olden time. Lon; shall the world extol his name, The Patriot and the Sago; Who fully justified by faith, Is proved on every page; His form corrected and revised, Is now worked off and pressed; A new edition in the skies, A star among the blest. Ail honor to that Printer boy, One of the olden time. Aral now my brother typos, take Take this lender for your guide; Follow corrected copy, and All errors mark out side; , Be ftngal. chaste and temperate — Stick to the golden rule And you shall shine among the stars In the printing office school. Just imitate that Printer boy, One of the olden time. Upon Seeing a Lady' in Tears. BY CARRIE A. CLARK. Tears upon such a night as this, Tears in the maiden's eye? Ah, wherefore tears? thy virgin brow, Isshadvless as the sky It must be joy, it must be love. That on such eve as this, They come to dim thine eye of light — It must be very bliss. Ah, lady, ’tis the sweetest hour, It is the dewy night, When even violets look up Through tear-drops of delight. And Heaven, dear lady, good and kind, Has given the sametoyou; And therefore in thine eyes of light, Tremble the drops of de w.

Before marrying a lady for her money consider what a terrible incumbrance you will tiud your wife in the event of its being lost. — ... — AB the cases that come before a certain New York judge are actually decided by lot; he is an able and impartial judge, and his name—is Lott. We have generally observed that a mHn bitten by a dog, no matter whether •lie animal is mad or not, is apt to get Oad himself. , If we read the history of bodily disorders, we are astonished that men live; if °f cures, we are still more astonished i that they die. HI 111 There is nothing that requires a strict•r economy than our benevolence. We must husband it carefully if we would do : an y good with it. — » ii— i Remedy for Disappointment in Life. , ■“• Employment is one of the best reme- j d'es for the disappointment of life. Let , even your calamity have the liberal effect | occuping you in some active virtue, so ■ ’hull you in a manner remember others. 1 lL you forget yourself. I

THE GUNIIAKER OF MOSCOW. , A Tale of the Empire under Peter the Great. ; ( CHAMBER I. , Ihe time at which we open our storv is mid winter, and towards the close of : the seventeenth century. Russia is the i scene. [ In the suburbs of Moscow, and very ! ■ near the river Moskwa, stood an humble! cot, which betrayed a neatness of arrangement and show of taste that more than made up for its-smallness of size. Back 1 of the cot was an artisan’s shop, and oth-: er out-buildings. This shop was devoted jto the manufacture of fire-arms, mostly. Some swords, and other edged weapons, were made here upon special applies- j ' tion. The master of this tenement was the hero of our talc, Rurie Nevel. We find , him standing by his forge, watching the ( i white smoke as it curled up towards the ; throat of the chimney. He was a young ! man, not over three-and-twenty, and pos-

J • j- •- - | sensed a frame of more than ordinary sym-' j metry and muscular development. He [ I was not large—not above a medium size • —but a single glance at the swelling chest[ ! the broad shoulders, and the sinewy rid- ! ges of the bare arms, told at once that he [ j was master of great physical power. His! father had been killed in the then late ‘ ! war with the Turks, and the son, leaving' his mother with a sufficiency of sustei nance, went to Spain soon after the be-1 ! reavement. There found work in the I most noted armories; and now, well vet- ‘ sed in the trade, he had returned to bis j native city to follow his calling, and support his mother. i Near by stood a boy—Paul Peepoff—a 1 bright, intelligent lad, some fifteen years i of age, who had bound himself to the gunI maker for the purpose of learning the I art.

Claudia Nevel, Ruric’s mother, was a noble looking woman, and the light of her still handsome countenance was never brighter than when gazing up.on her boy. She had a thankful, loving heart, und a prayerful, hopeful soul. ‘lt. is snowing again, faster than ever,’ remarki d Paul, as he took his seat at the [supper table, in company with the others. ‘Ah,’ returned Ruric, resting his knife a few moments while he bent his ear to tiie voice of the storm ‘I had hoped ’twould snow no more for the present. — i Tlie snow is deep enough now. And how it blows!’ ! ‘Never mind,’ spoke the dame, in a ! trustful, easy tone, ‘it must storm when • it listeth, and we can only thank God that i we have shelter and pray for those who ! have none.’ ‘Anfenl’ responded Ruric, fervently. The meal was at length eaten, and the table set back, and shortly afterwards Paul retired to his bid. Ruric drew his chair close up to the ! fire-place, and leaning against the jam he ! bowed his head in absorbing thought — [ This had become a habit with him of late. I His mother having observed these fits of abstraction, became uneasy and pressed Ruric to tell her what it was over which he was so constantly and so moodly brooIding. Being thus urged, Ruric confessed that it was of Rosalind Valdai (the ori phan daughter of a nobleman, and now I the ward of Olga, the powerful and \ haughty Duke of Tula) he was thinking. ■ Ruric’s father, and the father of Rosalind had been comrades in arms in their youth, and the children had been playmates. But ! when the elder Nevel was slain tn battle, • Ruric was yet a boy, and the widow and her son remained poor and obscure; while I Valdai, more fortunate, had risen to a [high rank, and dying, left Rosalind a title

and a fortune. The young people, however, had not forgotten each oilier. Ruric loved Rosalind with all the fervor of Lis being, and he felt assured that Rosalind returned his . love. As he and his mother sat debating ’the matter on that stormy night, a loud knock upon the outer door startled them ‘ls there any one here?’ the gunmaker i asked, as he opened the door, bowing his ! head and shielding his eyes from the dri- ! vino snow with one hand. • Yes,* returned a voice from the Stygian darkness. ‘ln God’s name let me in or I shall perish.’ ‘Then follow quickly,’ said Rune. — <y[ ere —give me your hand. —There now

come.’ 1.11 11 The youth found the thickly gloved hand —gloved with the softest iur—and having led the invisible applicant into the hall he closed the door, and then led the way to the kitchen. Without speaking. Lurie turned and gazed upon the new comer. The stranger, who was equally desirous of ascertaining what manner of man Ruric was, was a monk—and habited something like one of the Black monks of St. Michael. He was of medium hight, and possessed a rotundity of person which was comical to behold. At length, after warming htmse f by , the fire, the guest asked if he ceuld bo

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

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

accommodated with some sleeping-place, and being answered in the affirmative, Ruric showed him to a chamber and then retired himself The next morning after breakfast, the Monk went with Rurie to his shop, and j examined with much interest the various \ weapons therein. Ruric questioned him closely as to whether he had ever met him before, but the Monk replied evasively, and after saying that in case the gunmaker should ever, in any great emergency, need a friend, that he might apply ' -..him, he took hi* leave. ' Towards the middle of the afternoon, just as Ruric had finished tempering some I parts of a gun-lock, the back door of his shop was opened, and two men entered j ; They we'e young men, dressed in costly | ; furs, and both of them stout and good- | i looking. The gunmaker recognized them ,as the Count Conrad Damanoff and his t friend Stephen Urzen. [ ’I think I speak with Ruric Nevel,’ said i the Count, moving forward. ‘You do,’ returned Ruric, not at all

i surprised by the visit, since people of all classes were in the habit of calling at his place to order arms. ‘You are acquainted with the Lady Ro- [ salind Valdai?’ he said. ‘I am,’ answered Ruric, now beginning to wonder. i ‘Well, sir,’ resumed Damonoff, with much haughtiness, ‘perhaps my business can be quickly and satisfactorily settled, jltis my desire to make the Lady Rosai lind my wife.’ I Ruric Nevel started at these words, and , he clasped his hands to hide their tremui lousness. But he was not lon<- debatin ' a o , upon an answer. , ‘And why have you come tome with i this information?’ he asked. ‘Ruric Nevel, you shall not say that I ; did not make myself fully understood, ■and hence I will explain.’ The Count

. 1 spoke this as speaks a man who feels that !he is doing a very condescending thing, : and in the same tone he proceeded: ‘The Lady Rosalind is of noble parentage and : very wealthy. My own station snd wealth are equal with hers. I love her antwiust have her for my wife. I have been to see . the noble Duke, her guardian, and he objects not to my suit. But he informed me | that there was one impediment, and that > was her love for you. He knows full well . i —as I know, and as all must know—that she could never become your wife; but i vet he is anxious not to interfere too much against her inclinations. So a simple de- | nial from you, to the effect that you can i [ never claim her hand, is all that is necesI sary. I have a paper here all drawn up, \ and all that I require is simply your signature. Here—it is onty a plain, simple avowal on your part that you have no hopes noi thoughts of seeking the hand of the lady in marriage.’ As the Count spoke he drew a paper from the bosom of bis marten doublet, and [having opened it he handed it towards ■ j the gunmaker. But Ruric took it not — He dtew back and gazed the visitor sternIly in the face. [ ‘Sir Count.’ he said, calmly and firmlv ‘you have plainly stated your proposition, and I will as plainly answer. I cannot sign the paper.’ ‘lla!’ gasped Damonoff, in quick passion. ‘Do you refuse?’ ‘Most flatly.’ ‘But you will sign it!’ hissed Damonoff turning pale with rage. ‘Here it is—sign! If you would live—sign!’ ‘Perhaps he cannot write,’ suggested , Urzen, contemptuously. ‘Then he may make his mark,’ rejoined the Count, in the same contemptuous tone. ‘lt might not require much more ugring to induce me to make my mark in a .. .. .11 I.) .. ua •• ’

manner not all agreeable to you, sir, the 11 youth retorted, with his teeth now set, ■ I and the dark veins upon his brow starting I more plainly out. ‘Do you seek a quar- > | rel with me?’ : ‘Seek? —I seek what I will have. Will i i you sign?’ I ‘Once more —No!’ ‘Then, by heavens, you shall know ; [ what it is to thwart such as me! How’s i that?’ [ As these words passed from the Count’s [ lips in a low, hissing whisper, he aimed a blow with his fist at Ruric’s head. The gunmaker had not dreamed of such a dastardly act, and be was not prepared for it. Yet he dodged it. and as tne Count drew

back Ruric delt him a blow upon the brow 1 that felled him to the lloor like a dead f ox. '' ‘Beware. Stephen Urzenl’ he whispered 1 to the Count’s companion, as thatindivid1 ual mada a movement as though h. v would 1 come forward. ‘I am not myself now, 1 and you are safest where you are.’ The man thus addressed viewed the gunmaker a few moments, and he seemed I to conclude that he had better avoid a persona! encounter. I Conrad Damonoff slowly rose to his I feet, and gazed into his antagonist’s face I a few moments in silence. His own face 1

was deathly pale, and his whole frame quivered. ‘Ruric Nevel,’ he said, in a hissing, madened tone; ‘you will hear from me.— I can overlook your plebeian stock.’ And with this he turned away. ‘Paul,* said the gunmaker, turning to his boy, after the men had gone, ‘not a word of this to my mother. Be sure.’ On the following morning, as Ruric was preparing for breakfast, he saw Olga, the Duke, i d s by, and strike off into the Borrodin.o i’i*' ad. Now, thought he, is the time to ch .an Rosalind; Im-.i as sorrn as i he had eaten his breakfast he prepared for I the visit. Redressed well, and no man in Moscow had a nobler look when the I dust of toil was removed from his brow and garb. He took a horse and sledge, and started off for the Kremlin, within which the duke resided. In one of the sumptuously furnished i apartments of the palace of the Duke ol' Lula sat Rosalind Valdai. She was a; ; beautiful girl; molded in perfect form, with ‘ the full flush of health and vigor, and possessing a face of peculiar sweetness and I intelligence. She was only nineteen years j |of age, and she had been ten years an or-[ ■phan. There was nothing of the aristocrat in her look—nothing proud, nothing! i haughty; but gentleness and love were I the true elements of her soul. ■How now, Zenobie?’ asked Rosalind,! as her waiting-maid entered. ‘There is a gentleman below who would I : see you,’ the girl replied. ‘Then tell him I cannot see him,’ said ' Rosalind, trembling. o j ‘But is Ruric Nevel, my mistress.' ‘Ruric!’ exclaimed the fair maiden, starring up, while the rich blood mounted to | her brow and temples. ‘O, lam glad ha j has come. My prayers are surely ans- , wered. Lead him hither, Jenobie.' The girl departed, and ere long afteri wards Ruric entered the apartment. He [ walked quickly to where Rosalind had I arisen to her feel, and taking one of her hands in both his own he pressed it to his lips. It was with difficulty he spoke. But the emotion of his soul becalm at j length, and then he received Rosalind's ! promise that she would never permit her ; hand to be disposed of to another by the i Duke of Tula. Ruric informed her of the [ visit of Count Jamonotf to his shop, its' .purpose and the result. Rosalind was astonished and alarmed. Still, she could not believe that the Duke meant to bestow her hand upon Damonoff. The Duke owed him money, she said, and might > | perhaps be playing with the Count. Ruric started as a new suspicion flashed upon him. Had the Duke sent Da- ( monoff upon that mission on purpose to' , get him into a quarrel. ‘Aye.’ thought ■ the youth to himself, ‘the Duke knows ! that I have taught the sword play, and he ■ ! knows that, the Count would be no match i for me. So he thinks in this subtle manner to make me an instrument for ridding [ ■him of a plague.’ But the youth wasj ! careful not to let Rosalind know of this.— ! ! He thought she would be unhappy if she’ knew that a due] was likely to come off: between himself and the Count. After some minutes of comparative silence, Ruric took leave of Rosalind, and was soon in the open court. Here he en-' I tered his sledge, and then drove to the ! ! barracks in the Khitagorod, where he in- ; quired for a young friend named Orsa, a! lieutenant for the guard. The officer was quickly found, and as he met Ruric his! salutation was warm and cordial. After j the first friendly greetings had passed,, Ruric remarked, 'I may have a meeting with Conrad Count Damonoff. He has sought a quarrel —insulted me most gross-; ly—aimed a blow at my head—and I knocked him down. You can judge as well as 1 what the result must be.’ ‘Most surely he will challenge you,’> cried the officer, excitedly. ‘So I think,’ resumed Ruric, calmly.— i | ‘And now will you serve me in the event?’: ‘With pleasure ’ And thereupon Ruric related all that ! had occurred at the time of the Count’s visit to his shop, and then took his leave. I He reached home just as his mother was spreading the board for dinner. He often went away on business, and she | thought not of asking him any questions. [ On questioning Paul, in the shop, in the afternoon, Ruric, to his great surprise,! learned that the Black Monk had been there during his absence, to purchase a dagger; that he had drawn out of the boy a minute account of the visit of Urzen and and Damonoff, and that he seemed to be I much pleased with Ruric’s conduct. As , they were talking, Urzen called and pre- I sented a challenge from the Count. Rurie [ at once referred him to his friend, and he took his leave. That evening, about eight o’clock, a sledge drove up to Ruric’s door and young Orsa entered, the house. Recalled Ruric aside, and informed him that the arrangements had all been made. .Damonoff is in a hurry,’ he said, ‘and we have appointed the meeting at ten o’-| clock to-morrow forenoon. It will take

place at the bend of the river just beyond the Viska Hill.’ ‘And the weapons?’ a-<ked Ruric. ‘Swords,’ returned Orsa. ‘The Count wiD bring his own, and lie gives you the privilege of selecting su h an one as you choose.’ ‘I thank you, Orsa, for your kindness thus far, and you may rest assured that I shall be prompt.’ •Suppose I call here in the morning for you?’ suggested the visitor. ‘1 should be pleased to have vuu Jo so,’ theTyunrnaker said; and thus it, was arranged. On the following morning Ruric was up betimes* and at the breakfast table not a word of the one all absorbing theme was uttered. After the meal was finished the gunmaker Went out to his shop, and took down from one of the closets a long leathern case, in which were two swords. They were Toledo blades, -and of most exquisite workmanship and finish. Ruric took out the heaviest one, which was a two edged weapen, with a cross hilt of heavily glided metal. He placed the poiui upon the floor .and then, with all his weight he bent the blade til) the pommel touched the. point. The lithe steel spring back to its place with a sharp ! clang, and the texture was not. started.— ! The struck the flat of the blade upon the anvil wi.ii great 'force. ’ T<.e nog wa.. sharp and clear, and the weapon remained unharmed.

‘Bv St. Micheal,’ said the gunmaker to his boy, ‘Moscow does not contain another blade like that. Damascus never saw a better.’ ‘I think you are right, my master,’ the boy returned, who had beheld the trial of the blade with unbounded admiration.— ‘But,’ he added ‘could you not temper a blade like that?’ ‘P-.rhaps, it I had the steel. But I have it not. The steel of these two blades came from India, and was originally in one weapon —a ponderous, two handed affair, belonging to a Bengal chieftain.— The metal possesses all the hardness of of the finest razor, with the elasticity of the most subtle spring. My old master at Toledo gave me these as a momento Were I to mention the sum of money he was once offered for the largest one you would hardly credit it.’ After this Ruric gave Paul a few directions about the work, promising to be back before night. Just then Orsa drove up to the door. Ruric was all ready. His mother was in the kitchen. He want to her with a smile upon bis face. He put bis arms about her and drew her to his bosom. ‘God bless you, my mother—l shall come back.’ He said this, and then he kissed her. He dared stop to speak no more, but opened the door and passed out. ‘Have you a good weapon? asked Orsa as the horse started on. ‘I have,’ Ruric said, quietly; ‘and one which has stood more tests than most swords will bear.’ And after some further remarks he related the peculiar circumstances attending the making of the sword, and his possession of it. At length they struck upon the river; and in half an hour more they reached the appointed spot. The day was beautiful. They had been upon the ground but a few minutes when the other party came in sight around the bend of the river. The monk teas there also As soon as the Count and his second and surgeon had arrived, and the horses had been secured, the lieutenant poposed that they should repair.to an old building which was close nt hand. ‘Aye,’ added Damonoff—‘Let us b ivithis business done, for 1 would be back to dinner. I dine with Olga to-day, and a fair maiden awaits my coming.

‘Notice him not,’ whispered Orsa, who walked close by Ratio’s side. 'That is one of his chief points when engaged in an affair of this kind He hopes to "el you angry, and so unhinge your nerves. ‘Never fear,’ answered the gußtnaker. The party halted when they reached tl.e interior of the rough structure, and the Count threw off his polisse and drew his sword. Ruric followed his example. ‘Sir Count,’ the latter said, as he moved a step forward, 'ere we commence this work I wish all present to understand distinctly bow I stand. You hive sought this quarrel from the first.— Without the least provocation from me yon have insulted me most grossly and this is the climax So, before God and man, be the result upon your own head.' ‘Out. lying knave ’ ‘Hold,’ cried the surgeon, laying his hand heavily upon the Count’s arm.— ■You have no right to speak thus, for you lower you-self when you do it. If you have come to fight, do so honorably.’ An angry reply was upon Damonoff’s lips, but he did not speak it. He turned to his antagonist and said, — ‘Will you measure weapons, sir?— Mine may by a mile the longest. I seek no advantage; and I have one here of the

same length and weight as my own if you wi<h it.’ ‘1 am well satisfied as it is,’ replied Ruric. ‘Then take your ground—Aid yoa ready ?’ ‘I ami’ Tl'.e two swords wire crossed in an instant, with a clear, sharp clang. The above is all of this storv that will be published in our columns. We gives this as n sample. The continuation ofit from where it leaves off here can only bo found in the New York Ledger, the great family paper, for which lire most popu lar writers in the country contribute, and which is for sale at al! stores throughout the city nnd country, where papers are sold. Remember send for the New York Ledger of March 12, tuid in it. you will get the continuation of the story from where it-leaves off here. If you cannot get a copy at any book store, the publisher of the Ledger will mail you a copy on the receipt of five cents. The ledger is mailed to subscribers at S 2 a year, or two cop es for 83. Address y>ur letters to Robert Runner, publisher, 44 Ann street, New York. It is th® handsomest and best, family paper in the country, elegantly illustrated, and characterized by a high moral tones. Its present ciiculation is over four hundred thousand copies, which is the best evidence we can give of its met its.

‘Alabama Joa’-'-lle still Watchu* for hi» True Love. This ancient darkey who eloped with theJu!»on girl from Pont o’ is still at Winsdor. He is the owner of a and a scraggy pony, and perforins odd jobs for whoever desires his services. His cart is generally backed np in front of th* fi rry landing, where he lingers from early in the morning till late nt night watching lor the return of his Desdemona. If his services are required to do a littlo carling l,c is back by the arrival of ths next, ferrv, not knowing when it may ba necessary to cart his fair bride anti her ‘Chis'.’ to his rural cottage. He purchased a pair of cheap overalls the other day, at a store' and as he care- ! fully drew them ov. r a pair of sheep's grey pant*, he remarked to the bystanders, with that air of bashfttlress so becoming n young hnsbai d, that he didn’t want to sile dtse aiore clothes, kas dcy’s de cites d■; darkey git married in, i nw! Yaw! Yaw! His anxiety of the re'urn cf the girl it only equalled by the fear of ler family’* vengeance. lie imagines :«• or three of her brothers are watching to catch him on this side, armed with horse pistols and bowie knives, and that the instant he stt pa foot on Michigan soil, that instant will ba a signa! lor chopping him into mince meat. A man who knows of this, asked the darkey one day to come across t<f Detroit with his cart, and do a hide j>p for Lira. •What’s dat? said jw, star’ng back, ‘does re think dis nigga is a fool? No sal You done koteh him over du ! pointing with his lona, cane brake fingers towards the ‘City 01 the Sumis.* Joe thinks seriou dv of joining the escaped convict Dade, nt Malden. if his 'white hat’ fails to return. D.troit AdvertiserThe Memory or the dead —‘What is the good of it? say those who would beat down all shrines, and statues, and temples, lest in doing homage to the memory of the illustrious dead we verge upon pagan adoration. Many ages ago the eloquent Pericles: in an oralion in loner of ihe hero dvid who f.-ll fighting for the liberties of Greece declared in true and burning words the good of doing honor to ; the memory of the noble dead, it was not 11 hat they—immortal in their deeds—needled temple or column to perpetuate their fame, or reward their virtues, but because ihe living, b” thus spurring emulation of j the good and heroic dead, inspired and . ennobled themselves. Th-ir homage was proof that they were not ungrateful, nor I insensible to the deeds that cousii’ute glory and renown. No wreath is given. I and no monument reared by a nation to i the memory of its dustrinus dead, but it i blossoms with good torthe living through all future time Virtu*’ is encourage I, patriotism kindled, and all that is noble in | our nature inspired to action,by this hojmage to tho greatness and goodness of . our race -V Sr I Past Troubles, — Don't harp on past troubles. Whi nwn see a pale, nervous 1 woman in the midst ol her friends, pre- ! ferring to entertain them with a list, of the racking pains she has suffered, tn a saanI ter in God’s free air and sunshine, wo cannot wonder that the rose returns not Ito her blanched cheek. Why is it to some | these memories are very meat and drink? They consume them—the bitter agony is acted over and over again, the tears thrice shed, the place cherished where such a dreadful thing occurred—the scar fondly petted that tells of the almost fatal knife. They gasp over and yet cling to them.

NO, 5.