Marshall County Democrat, Volume 1, Number 1, Plymouth, Marshall County, 15 November 1855 — Page 1

MARSHALL COUNTY DEMOCRAT.

THE BLESSINGS OF GOVERNMENT, LIKE THE DEWS OF HEAVEN, SHOULD FALL ALIKE UPON THE RICH AND THE POOR.—JACK SON.

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i 4 i 9 V.V i t 1 ß i vi ' V:1 -r

VOL. 1,

Selected Poetry. TO AN ABSENT HUSBAND. Dearest, come home! I cannot bear Thy long protracted stay; So sad and lonley is my heart When thou art far away! I've tried alas! how vainly tried! Thine absence to forget; Yet still I can but think of thee With fondness and regret. As mourns the gentle, cooing dove, In accents desolate, When forced by some unkindly hand Far from her loving mate— So through the chambers of my heart Echoes a mournful tone, Whilst every pulse affections beats, Re-echoes---"I'm alone!" 'Things that are bright when thou art here, Look dark and gloomy now; And nature seems to share my grief, With clouds upon her brow. The bird sings now a sadder song Than e're he sang before; And flowers have lost their sunny hue They once so sweetly wore. To while the weary hours away, That lag with leaden feet, I read thy favorite authors o'er, Their choicest parts repeat; But even books---those voiceless friends, Have lost all charms for me. And fast to cheer my heart, unless I read them, love, with thee.---And Music with her voice so sweet, I've called her to my aid, And soft, and low, with trembling hand, Thy favorite air I've play'd. But ah, those tender notes have stirred Affection's fountains deep, And sadly have I left my song, To think of thee, and weep. Thus gloomy thoughts their dismal shade O'er brightest objects fling; How true it is, a saddening heart Can sadden every thing! Then, dearest come---thy wife's fond heart Still warmly beats for you, A heart whose every throbbing pulse Is faithful, kind, and true. THE CHILD SEER. A STORY OF PIONEER LIFE IN WESTERN NEW YORK.WKSTKRN NEW YORK.

A littl story I am going to tell is a true captain of a company of boys, armed with story of pioneer life in America. It is formidable wooden guns, and fully equipknown to many descendants of the early ped as mimic soldiers. Angus was made

settlers among whom it happened, and I write it in that country. One of the darkest pages in American history is that relating to the sufferings of the inhabitants of Tryon County, New York, during the war of the Revolution,

from the attacks of the Indians and Roy- whom they little suspected. Upon the hill alists, under the Mohawk chief, Brant, and about a mile away, Joseph Brant had postthe more savage Captain Walter Butler.--- ed a large party of his braves, where con-

early in the war, Cherry Valley was selected as a place of refuge and defence for the inhabitants of the smaller and more exposed settlements. Blockhouses were built, fortifications were thrown up, and finally a fort was erected, under the direction of General La Fayette. The inhabitants of the surrounding settlements came in, and lived for several months as in garrison, submitting to strict military regulations. Among the families which took temporary refuge in this fort, was that of Captain Robert Lindsay, formerly a British of- ficer, brave and adventurous, who, only at the entreaty of his wife, had left his farm which stood in a lonely, unprotected situation, several miles from any settlement.---This Captain Lindsay was a reserved, melancholy man, about whom the simple and honest pioneers wondered and speculated not a little. His language and manner bospoke the man of education and breeding. His wife, though a quiet, heroic woman, was evidently a lady by nature and association. Captain Lindsay had a native love of solitude and adventure---the first requisite for pioneer; and for several years no other reason was known for his seeking the wilds, and exposing his tender family to all the perils and privations of a frontier life. But at length an emigrant coming from his native place, in the Highlands of Scotland, brought the story of his exile, which was briefly this; Captain Lindsay, when a somewhat dissipated young man, proud and passionate, had quarrelled with a brother officer, an old friend, at a mess dinner. Both officers had drunk freely, and their difference was aggravated by hotbrained, half-drunken partisans. Insulting words were exchanged, and a duel on the spot was the consequence. Lindsay escaped with a slight wound, but his sword pierced the heart of his friend. He was hurried away to a secure hiding-place, but not before he had learned that in the first matter of dispute he had been in the wrong. Lindsay made all the reparation in his power, by transferring his paternal estate, for the term of his own life-time, to the homeless widow and young daughter of her friend. Then, with his wife's small property, and the price of his commission, he secretly emigrated to America. He left his family in New York, while he went up the Hudson, purchased a small farm, and built a house for their reception. He was accompanied in this expedition by an old family servitor, who, with true Highland fidelity, clung to his unfortunate master with exemplary devotion. Mrs. Lindsay's heart sunk within her when she found that her new home was so far from any settlement---literally in the wilderness; but she understood her husband's misanthropic gloom, almost amounting to melancholy madness and did not murmur. Yet her forest home was very beautiful---a small valley farm, surrounded by densely-wooded hills, dark gorges and mossy dells. The house was a rough, primitive-looking structure, containing but three small apartments and a low chamber, or rather loft. But it was comfortably and securely built; and, overhung by noble trees and overrun by wild vines, was not

unpicturesque. Under the tasteful care of whose fragrance seemed to breathe of home like the sighs of an exile's heart. The family at the period of their taking refuge in the fort at Cherry Valley consisted of three sons and an infant daughter (the last born in America), the man Davie, and a maid servent. Douglas, the elder son, a lad of twelve or thirteen, was a brave high-spirited, somewhat self-willed boy, tall and handsome, and the especial pride of his mother---not alone because he was her first-born, but because he most vividly recalled to her heart her husband in his happy days. Angus, the second son, was a slight, delicate fair-haired boy, possessing a highly sensitive and poetic nature. Unconsciously displaying at times singular and startling intuitions---dreaming uncomprehended dreams, which were sometimes strangly verified, and uttering involuntary prophecies, which time often fulfilled---he was always spoken of as a "strange child," and for all his tender years and sweet pensive face, was regarded with a secret shrinking awe, even by those nearest to him. In truth, the child seemed to be gifted with that weird, mysterious faculty known as second sight. Archie, the youngest son, his father's own darling, was a sturdv, rosv-cheeked, curly-headed boy of five. Etfie was yet at the mother's breast, a little rosy-bud of beauty a fair promise of infinite joy and comfort to her mother's saddened heart. As I have stated, this family took refuge in the fort, in the spring of seventeen hundred and seventv-eight, somewhat against the will of Mr. Lindsay who, as he remained neutral, had little fear of the Indians and also of his eldest son, who fancied there was something cowardly in flying from their forest-home before it had been attacked. The latter, however, was soon reconciled by the opportunity afforded him, for the first time for several rears, of associating with lads of his owa ae, of whom there were a goodly number at the fort and settlement. The sports and exercises of the men and vouth were entirely of a military character; and Douglas, who had inherited material tiste from a long line of warlike ancestors, and who had been instructed bv his father in militarv rules and evolutions, soon became the lieutenant ; but this was a piece of favoritism, the child having little taste or talent for the profession of arms, One bright May morning, as these young amateur fighters were parading on the -rreen before the fort, thev had spectators cealed by the thick wood, they were look ing down on the settlement. It had been his intention to attack the fort that night, but this grand parade of light infantry deceived him. At that distance, he mistook the boys for men, and deceided to defer his attick till he could ascertain, by his scouts, the exact strength of the place. In the meantime he moved his party northward a few miles, to a point on the road leading from Cherry Valley to the Mohawk River, where he concealed them behind rocks and trees. At this spot the road passed through a thick growth of evergreen, forming a perpetual twilight, and wound along a precipice a hundred and fifty feet high, over which plunged a small stream in a cascade, called by the Indians Tekaharawa. Brant had doubtless received information that an American officer had ridden down from Fort l'lain, on the Mohawk River, in the morning, to visit the fort, and might be expected to return before night. This officer had come to inform the garrison that a regiment of militia would arrive the next day, and take up their quarters at Cherry Valley. His name was Lieutenant Woodville; he was a young man of fortune gay,gallant, handsome and daring. Ie was dressed in a rich suit of velvet, wore a plumed hat and a jewelhilted sword, and let his dark, waving hair grow to eavalierish length. He rode a fullblooded English horse, which he managed with ease. This Lieutenant Woodville lingered so long at the settlement that his friends tried to jn-rsuade him to remain all night ; bat he laughed, and, as he mounted, flung down his portmanteau to one of them, saying, "I will call for that to-morrow." When it was nearly sunset the little garrison came into the court-yard to watch his departure. Among the spectitors were the boy-soldiers whose parade of the morning had daunted even the terrible Brant. Foremost stood the doughty Douglas, and by his side the timid Angus, gazing with childish curiosity on the dashing young officer, and marking with wondering delight his smiling mastery ovci his Steed. Suddenly the boy passed his hand over his eyes, grew marble-while and rigid for an instant, then shuddered, and burst into tears. IJefort; he could questioned, he had quitted his brothes, rushed forward, atid was clinging to the lieutenant's knee ; crying, in a tone of the most passionate entreaty, "Oh, sir, ye maun stay here to-night here, wIhth a' is safe ! Dintia gang; they'll kill V! Oh dinn.'i frilir!" j - - .inn . . iiw, my iitiHT Mil. n im it rvin me .. gently asked the officer, looking down into the delicate face of the boy, struck by its agonized expression. "The Indians. They're watin' for you in yon dark, awfu place by the falls," replied Angus, in a tone of solemnity. "And how do you know all this, my little man?". asked the officer smiling. "I hae seen them," said Angus, in a low, hoarse tone, casting down his eyes and trembling visibly. "Seen them! When?" "Just noo, I k:iv them a as weel a I

unpicturcsque. Under tne tasteiui care oi Mrs. Liudsay, a little garden soon sprung up around it where, among many strange Dlants. bloomed a few familiar flowers,

PLYMOUTH, IND. NOVEMBER 15. 1855.

see you ond the lave. It's the guid God, r may be, that sends the vision to save you frae death. So ye maun heep the warning, and not put your life in peril by riding up there, where they're waiiin' for ye in the, gloaming." "What is the matter with this child?" exclaimed Lieutenant Woodville, turning to a friend in the little crowd. The man, for answer, merely touched his forehead significantly. "Indeed ! So young!" replied the officer. Then, laying his hand gently, on the head of the boy, and smiling pityingly into his wild, beseeching eyes he said. "But indeed I must go, prophet of evil. Indians, or no Indians, a soldier must obey orders, you know. Come, dry up your tears, and I will bring you a pretty plume for your shoulder-cap when I return. Adieu, friends, until to-morrow." Saying this, he bent to loosen Angus's hands from the stirrup; but the child clung conclusively, shrieking out his warnings and entreaties, until his father broke through the crowd, and bore him forcibly away. Lieutenant Woodville galloped off with gay words of farewell ; but as some noticed, with an unusual shadow on his handsome face. Mrs. Lindsay took Angus in her arms, and strove to sooth him, in her quiet loving way. Yet the child would not be comforted. He hid his face in her bosom, sobbing and shuddering, but saving nothing for several minutes. Then he shrieked out. "There! There! Oh, mither, they hae killed him ! I hae scon him ft' frae his horse. I see him noo, lyin amang the briars, wi' the red bluid rinning frae his head, down on to his brw soldier coat. Oh, mithir, I could nae help it; he would nae believe the vision !" After this, the repose of a sad certainty seemed to come upon the child, and, sobbing more and more softly, he fell asleep ; U..A . A Ait A! A - Ä" 1 I . ..A A 11T 1 I out noi uiiui wie reium oi iieuienani oouville's horse, with an empty saddle stained with blood, had brought terrible confirmation of the vision. Js'ext morning the body of the unfortunate young officer was found in the dark pass near the falls of Tekaharawa. He had been shot and scalped by Brant himself. As may be supposed this tragic verification of Angus Lindsay's prophecy excited surprise and speculation, and caused the child to be regarded with a strange interest, which, though not unfriendly, had in it too much of superstitious dread to be altogether kindly. lhe boy instinctively shrank from it, and grew more sad and reserved day by day. öome regarded the prediction as naturally resulting from the omnipresent fear of sav ages common to settlers children diking more vivid form in the imagination of a nervous and sickly boy, and the f ite of Lieutenant Woodville as merely a remarkable coincidence. But more shook their heads with solemn meaning, deelarin" the lad a young wizard, and went so fir as to intimate that the real wizard was the lad's father, whose haughty and melancholy reserve w.as little understood by the honest settlers, and that poor little Angus was his victim : the one possessed. The expression of this feeling not in words, but in a sort of distrustful avoidance made Mrs. Lindsay consent to the proposition of her husband to return to their home for the harvest. Several families were venturing on this venturing on this hazardous step, encouraged by the temporary tranquillity of the country, and thinking that their savage enemies had quenched their blood-thirst at Wyoming thus rather taking courage than warning by that fearful massacre. The Lindsays found their home as they had left it three months before; nothin"had been molested ; they all speedily fell into their old in-door and out-door duties and amusements. iinu w p.isseu a lew .1 I r 1 e .i i a t i weeks of quiet happiness. Captain Lind- . . 1 11 1 . . say anu nis man always took their arms l l i i . i A 1 with them to the harvest fields, which were in sight of the house. The two elder sons usually worked with their father. On the last day of the harvest when little remained to be done, the boys asked permission to go to the stream, about two miles away, to angle for trout. In his moody abstractions of fearlessness, Captain Lindsey consented, and the boys set out in high glee. Little 'Archie, who was also with his father for that day, begged to be taken with them, but the lads did not want to be encumbered and hurried away. Just as they were passing from the clearing into a little cow-path leading through the woods to the creek, Angus looked back and saw the child standing by his father, in tears, gazing wistful ly after his elder brother. "Ah, Douglas exclaimed he, "let us tak' Archie wi' us. See how the puir bairn is : ureetinjr. "No, no ; he'll only frighten the trout and we canna -wait. Come awa.' The lads reached the creek in safety, crept stealthily along its shaded banks, selecting their place in silence, and flung their bate upon the water. Douglas seemed to enjoy the sport keenly, but Angus was remorseful for having said nay, to his little brother's entrn.ty. "Oh, Doughs!" lie exclaimed, at last, I canna' forget Archie's teaifulfice. I'm sae sorry we left him !" "Dinna fash yer head about Archie, but mind yer fish!" replied Douglas impatiently. Angus was silent for another half hour. Then lie suddenly gave a short, quick cry, made a stirt forward, and peered anxiously down intothe water. "What noo?" said Douglas, petulantly, for the cry and movement had scared a fine trout that seemed just about to take his hook. "Oh, brother," answered Angus, trembling, "I ha', seen 'Archie's bonnio. f u?o in the burn, and it had sic a pale, frightened look. I doubt "something awfu' has happened! Let us gang hämo." Douglas laughed as he replied, "It's yer own face ye saw in tho burn, and no Archie's. How could it be his, when he's miist two mileM awa?"

I dinna ken, DoutMas. replied Angus

humblr, "but I maun tC .eve u was -atchie's face. There it comes aga! And father's and Davie's! Oh, brother, ? the Indians !" Shrieking out these words, the poor boy staggered backwards and fainted. Douglas, though a good deal alarmed, had sufficient presence of mind to apply nature's remedy, fortunately near at hand ; and under a copious sprinkling of cold water, Angus speedily revived. Douglas no, longer resisted his entreaties, but silently gathered up their fishing tackle, and taking up their string of trout, set out for home, walking slowly and supporting the trembling steps of his brother. As they neared the borders of the clearing, where they were to come in sight of the harvestfields and their home, Angus absolutely shook, and even the cheek of the bold douglas grew white. The first sight which met their eyes, on this emerging from the wood, was their house in flames, with a party of fiendish savages dancing and howling around it. The boys shrank back into the wood ; and crouching down together beneath a thick growth of underbrush, lay sobbing and shuddering in their grief and terror. At length Angus gave a start and whispored joyfully. "Oh, I've seen mither, and wee Effie, and Jenny an they're a safe hid awa' in the bushes, like us." "But do you see father, Archie, and auld David?" "asked Douglas, believing at last, in the second-sight of his young brother. "Xo, no;" replied Angus, mournfully, "I canna see then ony mair. They maun be a' dead, Douglas." "I'll no believe that," said the elder brother, proudly, "Father, and Davy both naatneir guns wi tnem. uavyis no a tal fighter, and ye ken a braver soldier could . . f . . . . . - . no te lound in a' the world than father." They lay thus, talking in fearful whispers, and weeping silentlj', until the shouts of the savages died away, and silence fell with the twilight over the little valley. Then, slowly and cautiously they crept from their hiding-place, and stole thro' the harvest-fields to the spot where they had left their father and little brother and Davy. And they were all there dead. They appeared to have fallen together faithful old Davie lay across his master's knees, which he seemed embracing in death. Little Archie had evidently lingered longest alive ; his flesh was yet soft and slightly warm and he had crept to his father's arms, and I lay partly across his breast. All, even to the sinless baby, had been tomahawked. Yet bathed in blood as they were, the poor boys could not believe them dead, but clasped their stiffened hands" and kissed their lips, felt for their heart-beats, and called them by their names in every accent of love and sorrow. At last, finding all their frenzied -.Torts vain, they abandoned themselves utterly to grief. lhe moon rose upon them, thus weeping wildly over their murdered father and brother stained with their blood .and shuddering with their death-chill. Never did the moon look on a more desolate group. Captain Lindsay's brow seemed more awfully stern in- its light, and his unclosed eyes shone with an icy gleam. Archie's still tearful face showed most piteously sad; while the agonized faces of the two young mourners, now bent over their dead, now lifted despairingly toward heaven, seemed to have grown strangely old in that time of terror, and horror, and bitter grieving. Thus, the hours wore on ; and, at last, from bitter exhaustion, they slept the living and the dead. They were awakened by the warm sunlight, and the birds who sang ; how strange it seemed ! as gaily .as ever, in the neighboring wood. The bovs raised their heads 1 1 i 1 i a ä ai i r "'- w, viii ii .mo uz oiiici au late. i,k i i i i. i V ;m.l llien on the .Ie;nl. in the hl-mL- cn.is.il. " t " " " ""' I I 'V V. V I i P less anguish of renewed grief. Douglas was the first to speak, "Come brother," he said, in a calm tone, "we maun be men noo, let us gaug back to the fort; may be we shall lind mither there, wi' Jenny and the bairnie. 'gin you're sure ye saw them a in your vision. "But we canna' leave these here to their lane said Angus. "We maun leave them here, we are no big enough to hurry them, but we'll cover them over wi' leaves, and the branches of the pjnes, and when we get to the fort, we'll ask the soldiers to come and make graves for them. Come wi me. Angus dear." Angus took Douglas' hand and rose ; but soon staggard and fell, murmuring, "Oh, brother, I'm sair faint and ill. "i think I am dying. Stay wi' me a little while, and then ye may cover us a' up together and gang awa." "Dinna say sic sorrowfu' things, Anus: yer no dying, puir laddie ; yer but fainting wi' hunger, and I the same," said Douglas, in a tone of hopeless despondency. Just at the moment his eye fell on a small hand-basket, in which the laborers were accustomed to take their luncheon to the harvest-field. It was now lying' where the dead had left it, against a pile of wheatsheaves, and was found to contain some fragments of bread and meat, of which the' parUw k. Somewhat refreshed, the boys set out about their melancholy duty. They did not attempt to move the bod ies from the positions in which they had found them; they left little Archie on his father's breast, and faithful old D avie with his face hid against his master's knees. Douglas took outhis pocket-knife to sever a lock of hair from his father's and his little brother's heads for mementoes. "Oh ! dinna tak' that lock, Douglas," said Angus, with a shudder : "did ye na seethe blood on it?" Alas ! it was difficult to find a lock on the head of either father or child not darkened and stiffened with gore. When they had taken tho last look, tho last kiss, and had completed their mound of boughs and leaves, the two children kndt

EIT15, 1855.

beside it and prayed. Surely the God of the fatherless was near them. Better in His sight, their pious care of the dead, than tne pompous funeral obsequies ; sweeter to Him the simple prayer they sobbed into his ear, than the grandest requiem. It was nearly noon when the boys left the little valley, and took their way toward the fort. They had first visited the ruins of their house, and searched around them and the garden diligently, but vainly, for any trace of their mother, and nurse, and sister. From a tree in the little orchard they filled their baskets with apples, and set forth. They had advanced but a mile or two on the dark, winding forest path, when they heard before them the sound of footsteps and voices. In their sudden terror, thinking only of savages, they fled into the thickest recesses of the woods. When their alarm had passfcd and they sought to regain the path, they found to their grief and dismay that they had lost it. Still they kept on apparently at random but angel-guided, it seemed in the direction of the fort. Yet night come upon them in the dense, gloomy wood, and, at last, very weary and sorrowful, they sank down ; murmured their broken prayers, and clasped in each other's arms fell into a chill and troubled sleep. Douglas was awakened in the early morning, by a touch on his shoulder. He sprang to his feet, and confronted Brant ! Behind the chief stood a small band of savage attendants, eagerly eyeing the young "palefaces," as though their fingers itched to be among their curls. "Who are you?" asked the warrior sternly. "I am Douglas Lindsay ; and this is my brother, Angus Lindsay." "Is Captain Lindsay your father?" "He was our father," replied Douglas with a passionate burst of tears; "but ye ken weel enough we hae no father noo, sin' ye've murdered him. Ay, and puir auld Davie, and the wee bairn Archie, ye divils ?" "No, boy," replied Brant, in a not ungentle tone, "We did not murder your father. I am sorry to hear he has been killed. He was a brave man, and never took part with the rebels. I promised him my protection. It must have been some of Captain Butler's men ; they are about now. I would have risked my life to have saved his. I will protect his children. Where were you going?" "To the fort," put in little Angus eagerly. "May be we shall find mithir, and Kliie, and Jennie a' there. Oh! Mister Thayendenaga, tik' us to the fort, if it's no' too far, for we hae lost our way." Brant who was an educated man, and

had little of the Indian in his appearance j from Oold and storm One cold, stormy day or speech smiled U hear himself address- ,i . e ,ntn 0 t u , , r i T i ,m the winter of 184C-0, I sat by a warm ed by his pompous Indian name (a stroke . . of policy on the lad's part) he replied: fire feeling rather uncomfortable as I thought "That is easy to do. Cherry Valley is just ! of a bam that needed a little repairing, that over the hill; only a little way off. Let i I intended some time ago should have been , J 9 1 us go. . , ,. done on the first fine day; but it had not baying this, and briefly commanding Ins . . . .

. l i ., warrior s to remain where they were, until J . . ' he should return an order received in sul len silence by the savages, who glared ferociously on their lost prey the chief strode forward through the forest, followed by the two boys. When they reached the brow of the hill overlooking the settlement, he paused and said, "I had better not go any further. I will wait here till I see you safe. Good buy ! Tell your brothe, that Brant did not kill her brave husband. Say he's sorry about it go." The children sought to express their thanks, but he waved them away, and stood with folded arms under the shade of a gigantic oak, watching them as they desended flic hill. ' Mrs. Lindsay's story is soon told. On the day of the massacre she heard the firing in the harvest-field, and from the windows of the houe witnessed the brief struirirle, of her husband and Davie with their fixs. The fearful sight at first benumbed every faculty but one cry from her baby roused her from her stupor of grief and terror. She snatched the infant from the cradle, and rushed with it into the woods followed bv Jenny, the maid. The two women concealed themselves so effectually in the thick underbrush that they remained undiscovered, though the shouts of the savages came to their ears with horrible distinctness, and even the blaze of their burning home reddened the sunlight that struggled through the thick foliage above them. When at length the party left the little valley, it passed wi.hin a few yards of the fugitives. Oh ! how fervently the mother thanked God that her baby slept tranquilly on her bosom, and by no cry betrayed their hiding place! They did not venture to leave their leafy sanctuary until evening. They were on the side of the clearing opposite the hearvest-fields, and near the road leading to Cherry Valley. This they found, and set out at once for the settlement, which they reached in safety about midnight, and were kindly received at one of the fortified houses. The next day a party of brave men, moved by the passionate entreaties of the two women, set out on what was thought a hopel?ss search for CapUiin Lindsay, his sons and servant. They reached the har-vest-field in safety, found there the bodies as they had Ijven left, hastily buried them, and, after vainly seeking for the missing boys, returned to Cherry Valley, taking a dread certainty and a faint hope to the afflicted wife and mother. Prostrated by her fearful beieavment, yet not wholly despairing, worn w ith cruel anxieties and fatigues, Mrs. Lindsay at last slept, watched over by her faithful nurse. She awoke in the early morning, raised herself eagerly from her pillow, looked around and then sank back in tears. "Oh, Jenny," said she, "I hae had sic a blessed dream ! I dreamed I saw my twa boys only twa, noo, Jenny my brave Douglas and the bonnie Angus coming over the hill wi' the sunrise. But they'll no' come any mair they are a' taken fra me a but this Ave bit barnie," she murmured, pressiyg her babe to her bosom, and sprinkling its brow with the bitter baptism of h r fears. For some minute h' lav

thus, weeping with all that fresh realization of sorrow and desolation which comes with the first awakening fromdeep after a "great bereavement. Then she arose and tottered away from the bed, saying "Lif- the widow Jenny, I maun look on the hill of my dream." Jenny obeyed, and supported her mistress, as she looked out on the lovely landscape, kindling in the light of an August morning. "Ah, Jenny, she said, "it is a' I dreamed the yellow corn on the hill side, and the dark pines above the soft blue of the sky the clouds a' rosy and golden, and the glory of the sunlight spread a' abroad like the smiles o' the Lord on this wicked and waeful world. And look! look ! Oh, mercifu' God there are the bairns." This history, fortunately, has nothing to do with the terrible massacres and burnings, which a few months later, desolated Cherry Valley and the neighboring settlements. Mrs. Lindsay and her children were then safe in the city of New York. Immediatly on the close of the war they returned to their friends in Scotland. Among the Highlands, Angus Lindsay lost his delicacy of health, with it, gradually his mysterious faculty ; yet he was ever singularly sensitive, thoughtful and maginative ; and when he grew into manhood, though not recognized as a seer or a prophet he was accorded a title which comprehended the greatest attributes of both Poet. Mrs. Lindsay returned to the family esstate with her children ; but the widow of her husband's friend was not deprived of her sad sanctuary, to which she had finally a dearer, if not a more sacred right, as the home of her daughter, the wife of Douglas Lindsay.

Preparation for Winter. Messrs. Editors: Having received so much benefit myself, by being reminded in the Genesee Farmer, occasionally, of the importance of preparing for winter, I may be pardoned for endeavoring to do to others the same kindness I have so freely received. I always intended, as of course others do, to be fully prepared for every emergency, as much as possible ; but, somehow or other, always happened to be a little behind, and had to work in very unpleasant weather, which with a little forethought might have been done easier and better before. Then, ofien on account of the unpleasantness of out-door work, many things remained entirely undone, and much loss was the con- ! sequence, and perhaps suffering to animals been done, and the snow was covering my hay mow, and the barn looked like a snow palace inside—the stable that was not quite as I knew it ought to be, and might very well have been. As I observed, I felt rather uncomfortable at these thoughts, and took up the Genesee Farmer to read a little and forgot my bad feelings, when the first thing that attracted my attention was an article headed "Prepare for Winter." I laid down the paper and really felt cross at being reproved in that way, and said something about it being very easy to write, but those that wrote such fine things didn't do any letter than those of whom they were finding fault, with many more things of this character that lam not now foolish enough to repeat. But, afier a time my good sense began to show me the truth of the matter, and in a little while I thought it was about right. In about an hour I had resolved to go to work at the stible at once, in spite of the wind and the snow. bY I put on my thick coat and mittens, called the boys to my assistance, (who wondered what new streak had taken me,) got hammer and nails and boards, and fixed up the stible in pretty good order in about two or three hours. Next day went at the barn, repaired it in every place where repairs were needed, or where an improvement could be made, shoveled out the snow, and then sat down to enjoy my reading, feeling, I can assure you, more like a man than Iliad felt before in many a day, comfortable in body and mind. I have endeavored since to keep a little ahead of the times and seasons, and find great benefit from the practice. Now, brother farmers, if you profit by my example, it will add to you honor and happiness. (hnescc Farmer. Stkppkd Out. Lijjht thoughts of death seem epidemic in the south. Jokes are heard in the funeral cortege, as in - the holi day processions as bells sound alike for deaths or marriages. A yearly visitor in New York p;ave a case in point just now. Messrs. L. k L. wore both subscribers to a periodical be collected for, and some two years since ho called at their well known and familiar oflice : "Is Mr. L. within ?" No, sir; he has stepped out." Indeed ; hut his partner will do as well." "Hut he has stepped out, too, sir." "Then, with your permission, I'll wait for one or the other." "If you stop for either, you must stay till doomsday, for both have been buried these six weeks." Tho old acquaintance left in silence, and at night recorded tho sad fact so coldly told with like moisture in his eve with vhieh he n.'irnded it juM now.

NO. 1.

The Slavery Qnestion Onr Platform. It seems to us that to every intelligent gentleman, who has been at all accustomed to watching the working of our political system, it must oe quite clear what ground the Democratic party, and indeed the whole country, must henceforth occupy in regard to the question of Slavery in the Territorier. Men may differ, as they do in fact di Ter as Democrats at the time differed concerning the propriety of the repeal of the Missouri Compromise, but that has become a qu?stion of the past The repeal has been consummated. That issue has ceased to have any vitality, except what grows out of a desire in some quarters, to punish somebody for their action concerning it The question now is, not as to pat, but future action. What policy shall hereafter prevail in relation to the sub ject of Slavery, in the organization and govern ment of new Territories? Shall Congress undertake to legislate for the Territories and determine whether the relation of master and slave shall therein be tolerated? Orthall the people of the Territories be left free to settle this matter for themselves? These are the two alternatives presented for our selection and decision. Can any well imformed politician or statesman entertain the least doubt concerning the conclusion to which the .American people will arrive? Think what we may of the past, agitate as demagogues may to gain a partizan adantage for the present, does any one fail clearly to perceive the line of policy which the country will adopt for the future? We presume not We should impugn the intelligence of the reader to suppose otherwise. The great principle of non-interttntion w ill prevail. It has already been established and is in active operation. It is in entire harmony w ith our political system, which clusters around the central government only such powers as are neceary to maintain a common nationality, and leaves to local legislation the formation or modification of domestic institutions, and fhe general control of the interests and action of society and individuals, so far as they are the subjects of govermental regulation. Slavery must follow the general rule, and the people of the Territories, as do the people of the States, must determine in view of their own interests and responsibilities, whether it shall exist among them. Upon this broad principle the Democratic party of the Union can stand. It furnishes a platform upon which Democrats of the North and Democrats of the South can meet in harmony and unite in support of the great doctrines of re publican government and in advocacy of measures of national concern, leaving each free to act w ith the people of his Territory or State, according to his views of its domestic government, in disposing of the question 'f slavery and all other local ques tions arising therein. The idea of a restoration of the Missouri Compromise is entirely speculative and visionary. There is not the slightest probability of its accomplishment, and those politicians who attempt to maintain such an issue, if they are sincere, if indeed they arc more than mere demagogues seeking partizan or personal advantage at the expense of dangerous excitement, exhibit little discernment and forecast as to the probable current of popular opinion, and little know ledge of the philosophy and true theory of our institution.-. The idea, also, of refusing to admit new slave States, in case where, after full and fair opportunity for deliberation and action, unaw ed by external dictation or control, the people of a Territory have unmistakably decided to tolerate tdavery, Is utterly untenable, and there is net the fclightest probability that it will ever be carried into section. The people about to become a State have the same right to shape this, as all other features of their constitution, and if Congress can rightfully control this, it can all others. For ourselves we stand, and we hardly trench upon the ground of prophesy in predicting the clearly foreshadowed result, that the Democratic party, and the country will stand upon the broadest principle of submission of this whole subject to the action of the people of the States and Territories. Thus slavery becomes a local instead of a national matter. Tims Congress ceases to be the tribunal for its discussion; thr national government is divorced from it, and the country is relieved from a dangerous and otherwise constantly recurring agitation. There are two extremes which meet in repudiat ing this wholesome doctrine of popular sovereignty. The one believes it is the duty of the national government to carry slaver)- into the Territories and protect it there. The -ther holds to the creed that the same power should prohibit its cntraiK" and zealously exclude it. The very fact that these theories are conflicting and necessarily bring thr sections of the Union into hostility to each other ought to raise the prcsumtion of their unsoundness, and that some other principle more m accordance w ith our political pystcm is applicable to the question. The great preponderance of conservative opinion among men both at the south at.J the north, w ill be to the harmonizing and democratic doctrine of investing the people of the States and Territories with the attribute of gc'f government in rofpect to this, as well as all other domestic matter1. Such arc the views which we entertain upon thi subject, and which this journal, under its jTesent and former conductors has uniformly istaincd. We believe they are approved by the great mass of the democrats of the State, with steadily increasing unanimity and emphasis of opinion, and upon them the Democrats of New York will be content to stand side by wde with their brethren of the w hole Union. Albany Argut. . Anti-Scuatciuno Machine. The Yankee who invented the "Patent Hen Persuader," has found bis match in another who has brought out 9.T1 invention called the tlJoto)t Xcver J"rilhij Garcin Preserver or Ihn Walker" It consists of a small instrument, something lika a spur, only considerable longer, which is attached to the part of the hen's leg, pointing at an angle of 15 decrees towards the ground. When the hen, with this instrument on her legs, enters the garden in the spring after the seeds, she puts her toot forward to scratch, the "walkers" catche in the ground and forced her forward; and thus she is walked, in her efforts to scratch, entirety out of the garden. The Oswego Palladium says an agency has been ojk ntvl ... Oswego for thesale of these machines. It must 'x' about Oswego, even for tors. o V, . ' . itiTHe who often changes h soup in a basket. iT Immoderate pleasures sh existence more thananv remedies csr !ng it. 9