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Eastern times. [volume] (Bath, Me.) 1846-1857, May 12, 1853, Image 1

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O.IIcu In north end of Pierce’s Block, third story, cor
. . net of Broad ami Front Sts.
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Prom Arthur's Home Gazette.
* Well, this is a terrible cold night—terrible
cold !’ repeated Howard Ingersoll, as he re
moved his overcoat and wrappers, and en
sconsed himself in a large easy chair, driiwn
up at precisely the proper angle with the Are.
‘God help the poor!’ continued the gentle
man in a tone whose fervor would have done
honor to any member of the Long Parliament;
and he drew his feet into the tastefully em
broidered slippers which loving hands had
placed there in anticipation of his return.
•I know it, Howard, that's just what I said
as I sat here listening ibr the sound of your
footstep in the hall,’ answered Mrs. Ingersoll,
a gentle, dark-eyed woman, as sho stirred up
the glowing* bed of anthracite ; and the light
that waved and glided over the opposite wall
like the great wing of a spirit, gr$w broader
and brighter. ‘I heard the wind moaning and
howling at the windows and shrieking mad
like up and down the street; and I s’posc it
was because l had nothing else to iro, i tell to
thinking of the poor—of helpless mothers with
their little hungry children, and it was more
than I could stand. I crept on tiptoe into the
children's room, and bending over those two
dear little cribs (I had tucked up Charlie and
Ellen myself, and they were sleeping so sweet
ly) I thought maybe some other mother was
bending over her children, and she loving them
just as dearly as 1 did mine, and yet not bed
clothes enough to keep them Warm, and per
haps they went to bed without any supper.—
Poor things! I can’t get over thiuking about
And the lady, whose maternal sympathies
were strongly aroused, dropped the poker on
the rug and lifted her pretty dark eyes to her
husband's face, while two tears of genuine
womanly sympathy twinkled and sparkled in
their travel down her , cheeks.
‘ Why Mary, you are really getting nervous.
What can have put these thoughts into your
head, child? Do, pray dismiss them; they
only make one Jidegty; I put down a good
round sum on the charity list this year, so
you’d better think of the widow’s hearts we’ve
made to sing for joy ; and Howard Ingersoll,
who had a man's usual distaste to tears, drew
his arm around the waist of his pretty wife,
and the sweet upturned brow to his lips, and
that caress carried away the heaviness from her
heart. She drew her chair closer to her hus
band, and the gentleman took his newspaper,
and the lady her novellette the tire danced in
the grate, and the wine brightened on the
wall, and the wind moaned and howled at the
window, and Howard Ingersoll and his wife
dreamed not of ilie want and wretchedness that
almost lay w'ilhin the shadow of their thresh
old. Had they not put their names to the sub
scription list, and said ‘God lielp the poor?’—
Surely they had done their duty.
‘ Mary, is there room fur me, too ? I’m so
cold. 1 can’t bear to wake up mother, and I
know I shall if I get into bed with her ; ain’t it
funny she sleeps so long?’ and the child
speaker drew her lips closely down to the ear
of the other, as if fearful that the sound of her
voice might disturb some one in the apart
Right across the street, so that the light
from Howard Ingersoll’s pleasant parlor came
with faint ghost-fingers into the darkened room,
revealing its utter destitution, stood an old and
dilapidated dwelling. Its huge, ungraceful
shadow mingled with that of its symmetrical
neighbor, and there, face to face, and front to
front, they stood on that fearful night; while
the Great Eyes to whom the darkness and the
day arc alike, looked down steadily, sleepless
ly into the lighted parlor and the darkened
‘ Yes, Lizzie, I can make room, only there
ain’t clothes enough to cover you too; you can
have part of ma’s old cloak, though. Lizzie,
I’m almost burning up—what makes you call
it cold?’
‘Burning up! burning up!’ ejaculated the
other, her surprise getting the belter of her
caution, ‘Why Mary, the water has frozen in
the pitcher; and I feel just like ice all over,
only my hands and feet ache so.’
‘Well, get in quick, Lizzie; there, take
half the pillow, and put your hands in mine.
Oh! how good and cold they feel. Lizzie,
have you said your prayers?’
% Yes, said her sister, hesitatingly. ‘I tried
to, a long time ago, when I stood at the win
dow, watching for the people in the brick
house to light up their parlor; and when the
girl come in with the lamps, just before she
drew the curtains, I could look down and see
almost all that was in.the room. Oh! it
looked so beautiful, with the warm fire danc
ing in the grate. It seemed so cruel that we
couldn't have one too, and there was a little
boy and girl there, Mary, and they looked so
happy as they ran round the room, trying to
catch each other, that I began to feel angry
with them. 1 know it was wicked, but I
could not help it; 1 shut my eyes and tried to
pray, but all the time that pleasant room and
those happy children stood right before me,
and the words came dreadful hard. It didn’t
seem as if God heard them. Don’t you think
• lie’s forgotten us, Mary V
‘Oh! no! no! Lizzie, you know mamma
says God cannot forget any njpre than we can
forget each other; and then He sees us al
ways, for 'he can look right straight down
“ through the darkness. Oh! I wonder if He
don’t feel sorry for us now V
Lizzie tried to answer, but she could not,
for the great sob had been rising and swelling
in fcer throat, until it was too large to be swal
lowed down again.
Thai child s sob in the silence, wrung out
of the little weary, aching heart, what a world
of agony it revealed !
‘ Don’t, Lizzie, don’t!’ said Mary, aad she
put up her little hot hand and stroked her sis
ter’s face and tried to wipe away the tears that
- rolled down the small pale cheeks, with a cor
ner of the oloak ; and finding this of no avail,
----;-:-:- ---- —--- -
' * ' . T, 7 •• ;• ♦" 1 ' ■■ ■ *
r .&*> (St f
. I* ante, ' EC ' . - •
A Journal of Political and General Netws—An Advocate of Equai~Rights.
V0L; VIL_ BATH, MAINE, THURSDAY M0ItNINQ~7mAY1 27l853^ ~~ NO. 47.
she flung her arm around her sister and cried
very softly, but the pillow was very wet with
those child-tears, which the dark,Living eyes
of the angels looked down to see. And
through all this the mother slept on. It was
very singular.
4 Perhaps mamma will be better to-morrow,
sister, she sleeps so long,’ said the sick child,
striving to hush up her tears and find a word
of consolation for the little, heavy heart, that
lay throbbing close to her own.
* Oh ■ I hope she will,’ said Lizzie, in a more
hopeful voice, but it grew sad again as she
asked, ‘But what is to become of us? we have
no food and no fire.’
‘ I’m sure I don’t know,’ answered the little
one ; ‘^am not hungry now, only my throat
is so parched up, and all day long I kept
thinking of the great apples that grew on the
old tree in front of our house. Don’t you re
member it, Lizzie ? And those pretty roses
that used to look in at our chamber window ;
and the spring under the rock, with the mint
that grew all around it. Oh, we were so hap
py, then, and father would take us on his knee,
when the stars looked out of the sky like the
sparkling eyes of little children, and tell us
such pretty stories. Oh, Lizzie, if they hadn’t
buried him under the great willow in the grave
yard, we shouldn’t have been here all alone in
the dark to-night.’ And then both the chil
dren cried again.
‘ Lizzie,’ whispered tlie litilo girl, as she
tried to send back the tears that would come
in spite of her efforts, ‘don’t you remember the
last words father said to us that night he died ;
how he lay there, looking so while and strange,
and then he opened his eyes, and smiled on us
such a sorrowful smile, and said, ‘God will be
your Father, my little fatherless children.—
Love Him, and trust in Him, and lie will
bring yon and mamma to me again in His own
good lime.’ Oh, sister, if we could only go to
Him, now, we shouldn’t be cold or hungry any
more, and you wouldn't have to watch for the
folks in the brick house to light up their par
lor any more, so that we could see each other,
for mamma says it is always light there, and
we shouldn’t cry any mure, for God wipes
away the tears from all eyes, and papa would
come for us at the great golden gales, and be
so glad to see us.’
‘ 1 wish we was there now,’ said Lizzie,,
shivering, and drawing up closer to the sick
child, ‘but 1 shouldn't want to go without you
and mamma. Why, little sister, how dry and
hot your hands feel !’
‘ And my head feels dry and hot, too,’ said
the sick child, as she tossed with the restless
necs of fever on the pallet. ‘Put your hand oc
my forehead, Lizzie, it feels so cool and good.’
‘ Sister,’ said the elder child, after she had
placed her hand on the burning temples, ‘1
mean logo over to the brick hoU3e, to-morrow,
and ask the lady that lives there if she won’t
give us something to eat. I know they’ve got
a great deal more than they want, and we shall
starve if I don’t.’
* Why, Lizzie, that will be begging. What
will mamma say?’ asked her sister, in a tone
of great surprise, mingled with somewhat of
‘ 1 shall not tell mamma until I have done
it,’ answered Lizzie, with that precocious fore
sight which the hot-bed atmosphere of pover
ty and suffering sometimes produces. ‘It is
better to beg than to starve; and, besides, the
lady looks very kind, and speaks very softly.
I don’t believe she wiU refuse me something
fur you and mamma, when I tell her how sick
you both are ; and you know we have not eat
en anything all day, and I am so hungry I can’t
sleep. There, they’ve taken the lights from
the parlor. Oh, dear, how dark it is!’
* Sister,’ said the little invalid, in a faint
voice, for the fever had produced that kind of
dozing exhaustion which fevers generally do,
‘I can't-lalk any more. 'Pry and go to sleep.’
And the two children drew closer to each
other, and the cold and the hot cheeks were
pressed together and the children slept, and
the tears hung heavy on the eyelashea of both,
and the angels bent down pityingly in the
darkness, and kissed them away. And through
all this the mother slept on—it was very singu
It was morning. Soft and clear broke the
winter sunshine into the chamber where lay
Ae sleeping children, and rested, like the ben
edictions of spirits upon the thin, fair cheeks,
and long, golden hair, on the little pallet.—
There was another bed in the opposite corner
of the chamber—some old quilts -were careful
ly laid upon it; and above those quilts, on the
single pillow with which the bed was fur
nished, rested the white, ghastly face of a
woman. The dark hair was parted away from
the gleaming forehead, and the sunshine rested
there, too, with a loving caress on the stark,
stony fentures. It was a very fair face, but
the lines around the mouth, lud the furrows
on the forehead, wrote their history very legi
bly—a history of sharp and terrible suffering.
There was a smile on the white lips—a sweet,
settled smile ; but somehow the sunshine and
the smile looked sadder than anything else.
* Lizzie, Lizzie, wake up, don’t you see it is
morning?’ and the child shook gently the arm
ofher elder sister. Lizzie’s brown eyes slow
ly unclosed, but the sunshine looked so bright
and cheery that her sad little heart was glad
‘ Yes, I see it is morning. IIow do you
feel now, little sister?’ she said, rising up, and
looking with fond anxiety into the soft, blue
oyes that gazed into her own.
‘ 1 don’t feel any befter, Lizzie,’ said the
little girl. ‘It seems as «if my head would
crack open, and I’m so thirsty. Oh, Lizzie, if
I could have some water!’
‘Well, Mary, I’ll get you some at tfi£ well
in the yard, down stairs,’ answered Lizzie, as
she sprang from the bed, and drew on a pair of
very old slippers.
‘Sister, ain’t mother awake yet?’ asked
Mary, rather impatiently.
Lizzie glanced towards the opposite bed.—
The face was turned towaids her, and she saw
the sunshine aitd the strange, settled smile.—
She could not understand it, and she set down
the pitcher which she had taken up, and
walked towards the bed.
1 Mamma, mamma!’ she said, bending down
to the white face, ‘won’t you wake up, for it’s
morning. How long you have slept! Are
you dreaming of home, that makes you smile
so !’
But tho white face did not stir, and the eyes
did not unclose.
‘ Mamma,’ said the child, in 1 louder voice,,
and bringing her face close down to her moth
er 8, ‘don’t you hear me! It’s your own little
Lizzie calls you. Open your eyes and speak
to me; and she laid her cheek against her
mother’s. But the next moment her head was
lifted, and the face on the pillow was not whit
er than the child’s, for a chill—a fearful, par
alyzing chill had crept to her innermost heart, I
and a sydden, terrible thought had darted
through-her brain. She gazed wildly on those
ghastly features, laid her hand on the stony
forehead, and then a shriek of exceeding ago
ny rang through the room; and Mary lifted
up her head, and stared wildly at her sister,
for the fever had mounted to her brain, and the
shriek had bewildered her senses.
Mary, Mary, mamma is dead ! dead ! and
left us here alone,’ ejaculated Lizzie, in a
voice hoarse with agony.
‘Dead, dead !’ repeated Mary, as if trying
to comprehend her sister’s words. ‘Well,
Lizzie, let’s you and 1 die too, and go to her
and she fell buck heavily upon the pillow.
‘No, no, Mary you musn’t die too, and
leave me here all alone,' cried Lizzie, ns she
sprang to the bedside ; but those mild blue
eyes opened nnd rolled vacuntly over her
lace. ‘Oh, what shall I do ? won’t somebody
come und help me?’ cried the child in her
desolation, und then a sudden hope flushed
into the darkness of her heart, and with the
energy of desperation, Bhe rushed from the
room. Down, down the rickety stairs, plung
ed the light form of the little girl; and right
-across the street, to the stone steps of the
•brick house,’ it rushed with the speed of a
Howard Ingersoll and his wife sat with
their two fair children before their iuxurient
ly furnished table; and loving words and
kindly smiles gave to the chocolate a richer
flavor, and to the inuflius a more exquisite
‘And so Charlie, Ellen, you did not hear
the wind Inst night, for sleeping so soundly ;
I hope it was the same with all other little
children,’ and nil the mother was in the
glance which the lady bent upon those bright
young blossoms at her table. Just then the
•street hell’rang; it was a loud, startling peal,
and Mr. and Mrs. Ingersoll put down their
cups, and the children their muflins. A mo
ment after, the door opened, and a child
sprang past the servant, glanced a moment
wildly around the room, and then rushed to
Mrs. Ingersoll’s side. Her long, golden hair
lay in bright, tangled masses around her
white checks; her lips quivered, and there
was a strange depth of agony in the large,
brown eyes which looked up so appealingly
to the lady, as she clasped her hands nnd
'Mamma is dead, and Mary is dying.—
Won’t you come and help us? It’s only
right across the street, ma’am.’
Now, Mrs. Ingersoll had a quick, tender
little heart—one that could <no more hear
an appeal, or witness, untouched, the look
that more plainly than words, spoke its story
of suffering, than it could have offered a stone
to one of iter own children when it asked for
‘Hand me my shawl and bonnet, quick,
Howard. No, I won’t stay for a bonnet.—
Get your hat, and come with me,’ she said,
while the tears sparkled in her dark eyes ;
and’Howard Ingersoll, who had a heart, nnd
a large one too, when it could be found,
turned with wonderful alacrity to fulfil his
wife’s behest.
‘Here, put my shawl around you. It’ll
make you warm, little girl,’ said Ellen Inger
soll, her little round face elongated into an
expression of the deepest sympathy, as she
bustled utvto Lizzie, whose eyes were dol
iowing her mother so eagerly around the
room. ‘And we won’t let your sister die.—
Here, eut them, and you shall carry her some,
too,’ said Charlie, as lie thrust two of the
largest muffins into Lizzie’s hands, his great
black eyes looking large as sauceis, between
sympathy and benevolence. Mrs. Ingersoll
seized her shawl, and her husbnnd his hat,
und smoothing away the bright, tangled hair
from Lizzie's forehead, the lady took her
hand, and the three emerged froth the dwell
ing. A few moments later, the trio were
standing in that chamber of destitution and
death. Mrs. Ingersoll was bending over the
sick child, her hand tightly-clasped by those
little burning fingers, and her tears falling
like rain upon the hot checks, while the lit
tle one was calling her mntutna, nnd telling
her of the pleasant home, with its sparkling
brook and pretty roses, to which they had oil
cotne back again. Lizzie stood by the bed
side of her mother, and there too stood How
ard Ingersoll, and (he child's dark, pathetic
eyes wnndered eagerly from the rigid face of
the dead womap to the gentleman that bent
over her.
'Oh, sir, can't you bring her back to rue,
and little sister? YVliat shall we do without
her ?' asked the child in broken tones.
'I will inks care of you, poor things,’ an
swered the gen deman in a husky voice, and
then turned to his wife, snying, in lower tones,
‘I will go instantly for a physician, Mary.—
The children must be removed to our house.
How they have managed to exist here so long
is a mystery to me/
'And to think it ill happened right icruss
the street, nnd we might 'have saved the life
of that poor woman. Oh ! I shall never for
give myself/ added the lady, with a fresh
burst of tears.
Howard Iugersoll’s orders were always
promptly executed, ki less than an hour
little Mary was lying in one of the pleasant
est chambers of the ‘brick house,’ the long
curtains shutting out the suu-glare, and soft
footfalls filling the room with their muffled
melody, and soft fingers cooling the aching
head } while Lizzie,arrayed in one of Ellen’s
I new worsted druses, and her long, disen
I tangled curls drooping to her waist, sat be
fore that bountiful breakfast table, but the
tears tell fast upon her plate, and Charlie and
Ellen in vain urged her to eat.
The next day there was a grave made in a
pleasant part ot the city cemetery, and the
eyes of a liule girl, which Howard ingersolk
led forward, to look on iho coffin, after it
had been laid in the grave, dropped many
tears on the lid; but when the gentleman
led her away, she said, with a smiles ‘Papa
will be so-glad to see mother.’
‘Lizzie, Lizzie, where am I?’ The voice
was very faiut, and the blue eyes wandered
wonderingly around the room and over the
strange faces about her.
•You’re in the ‘brick houso,’ little sister.—
They brought you and me here ; and they
are so kind to us.’
‘Lizzie, Lizzie, I can’t see you,’ and a
change came ovci the child’s face. 'Hark !
I hear music. Papa—mamma—I am com
ing !’
There was another grave made close by
the mother’s the next day.
It was a week from that dark night when
the mother died, and jus: before the servant
brought in the lights, that five persons sut in
ihe pleasant parlor, of die ‘brick house.’ Mr.
and Mis. Ingersoll, Charlie and Ellen, were
all listening to Lizzie. She was relating, in
.her own pathetic, childish manner, the story
of her long watch at the window, and how
she had seen everything in the parlor before
the curtains were drawn ; and how it made
her almost angry, and how hard it was to say
Iter prayers, for she could see the room just
as well with her eyes shut. Mrs. Ingersoll’s
hnnkerchief was at her eyes, and Charlie nnd
Ellen, with their facyi in her gown, were
sobbing heartily ns the child concluded. Just
then the servant entered with the lights. It
was the signal for supper.
‘And now, Lizzie,’ said Mr. Ingersoll as
they rose up, and he laid his hand caress
ingly on the child’s golden hair, ‘you have
taught your new father a lesson during the
last week. Can you guess what it is? It
contains but four words : Charlie, Ellen,
mother too—do you give it up?’ Mrs. lit*
gersoll smiled through her tears, as she look
ed up in her husband’s luce, and answered:
‘1 too have learned it, never, I trust, to for
got it—it is Right across the street.'
‘That’s it, remember it always, my chil
dren,’ said the gentleman as ho drew his
unn around his wile’s waist, and together they
lelt the parlor, uttd the three children fol
1776 and 1853.
This is a fast age. We live at locomotive
speed. A century ot life is crowded into n
year. The lust seventy years, almost equal
in rapid development of the race, any pre
vious thousand years of the world’s history.
A distinguished writer in the cause of Liber
ty, in the Revolution, when surveying our
country’s future, then attempted to be chock
ed to deulh, by the red hand of british mon
archy, said in effect, ‘Never since the lime ol
Noah, hath a people been placed in our po
sition. The future is lit our hands, and we
have to begin the business of a world anew.'—
Nobly has our country fulfilled this saying
of the prophetic writer of the Revolution.—
Let ’75 and ’53 stand lace to lace lor a mo
ment, and the world will be struck dumb by
the miracle of contrast which they present.
Or, to bring the mutter home more palpably,
suppose Washington risen from his grave,
for a little while, and enthroned on the high
est peak ol the Alleghanies, surveyingas with
a supernatural scope of vision, the Land,
from ocean to ocean, from northern snows to
tlie Gem of the Antilles. What a contrast
to the days of‘70 would meet the gaze of the
great man ! In ’70 the United States con
sisted of thirteen colonics pent up between
the Alleghanies and the Atlantic, with a pop
ulation of barely three millions, struggling
for Jife itself against the most powerful- the
most brutal monarchy of the age.
In 1853, the United States consists ot thir
ty-one great Republics, cemented in indisso
luble union, with a population of twenty-five
millions; her vast territory fronts alike to
ward the rising and the setting sun; the At
lantic and the Pacific arc her eastern and
western boundaries, and as to the northern
nnd southern boundrtes, they are not settled
yet; by no means finished ; Destiny will take
care of them. Washington risen from his
tomb, and surveying the land front its top
most height, need not let his vision he check
ed by either Niagara Falls or the GulfofMex
ico ; tliete is a great deal of United States yet
to come, beyond gulf and cataract. Ntagura
Falls will yet sing the hymn of a republican
continent. Cell up Franklin, ami let him
contrast the industrial resources of‘76 with
‘53. We cun imagine the stare of wonder
which would light up his hearty, good-hu
mored face.
In Ins day, one John Filch, aimed the un
f-xtinguishable laughter of u crowd of mer
chants and oilier respectable people assem
bled on a Philadelphia wharf, tried the ex
periment of propelling a boat by force ol
steam. Jn his day, also, Oliver Evans, anoth
er madman of the Fitch stamp, amid the pity
or contempt of all men ol common sense,
tried to propel a wagon, on the Lancaster
pike, (near Philadelphia,) by the force ol
steam,—succeeded, too,—but was set down
as a mere theorist and dreamer by all practi
cal men. Well, Doctor, look over the land,
now.' The Continent is net-worked with
iron ways. The scream of the Locomotive
is heard everywhere,—it is never silent, from
the Cataract to the Gulf And the Hudson,
the Ohio, the Mississippi, the ocean in the
east, and th6 ocean in the west, send up,
night and day, the smoke of the steamboat to
lieuven ; the very steamboat, Doctor, which
John Filch, in impeded form, tried one day
o# the Delaware river, and in immature, up
on the New York Kolch. From the Aroos
took to the bay of San Francisco, Doctor, the
steam engine,—dumb matter fired into strong,
terrible life, at the command ol science—nev
er restS, not for an hour, nay, not for a mo
ment, out of the twenty-four. Through the
still night you hear its mighty breathings;
its fires rise through the darkness from ocean
to ocean; its iror. tramp is never still upon
iron ways; and upoo river and sea,its hoarse
anthem never dies. But, as if this was not
enough, Doctor, as if steam was not fast
enough for this hurrying age, here comes the
Ericsson, gliding up New York bay, witjj its
new moter, destined to dethrone steam even
as steam annihilated the stage coaches, lum
bering waggons, and snail-like moving band
labor of’76.
Supposing that Franklin has learned noth
ing since his transit to another sphere, (and
if the rapping utterances which the mounte
bank supemoturalistg pm in Franklio’s
mouth be true, he haa sadly gone back in ev
ery respect,) let ua imagine him, risen from
his grave, aod confronted with Nineteenth
Century Ericsson. * liow the great Doctor
would open hie eyes, as he lound himself on
board the Ericsson, gliding down the Bav of
New York, and with the Inventor of the new
moter by his aide, explaining in plain terms
the features of his invention! Put Franklin
and Ericsson side by side, and two centuries
look wonder-struck on each other's face.—
Not the expansion of territory, alone, nor the
increase of population, nor yet the miracu
lous advance of all industrial interests, nor
even yet, the wondrous life, given by sci
ence to dumb machinery, would excite the
surprise of Washington and Franklin, could
they come back into our world. The great
est wonder of nil, would he the great pro
gress which the people—the masses—have
made since the era ol the crossing the Dela
ware. Then, the masses wore a distinctive
dress, which set them apart from the wealthy
class, and wrote serfdom on their very ex
ternals; they were ridden down hy odious
laws gathered Irotn the charnel house of the
Past, such ns Imprisonment for Debt, and
other fragments of the legal Moloch of the
red and black ages;—now, the masses are
men, and not serfs or machines, and they
have risen into lull manhood, with the frag
ments ol many an infernal law, trampled
firmly under foot. Now, the masses know
no such word as ‘Go bock!’ in thoir upward
innrch ; their Future is in the care of a be
nign Destiny, and all-paternal GoJ. It is a
good thought, and full of consolation for ev
ery lover ol his kind, that despite all the
clouds that have lowered upon our country
through the Inst seventy yenrs—despite the
thousand obstacles which have-froin time to
time, blocked the pathway of the People—
yet still, the ‘world does move!’ and the
Destiny of the Country and the People, can
not go back, but must inevitably march on
ward. The next seventy years will tell the
story.—N. Y. Democrat.
tfhe Atmospheric Telegraph.
Iii Boston, the city of notions, they have
now on exhibition an atmospheric telegraph,
which a correspondent of the Tribune thus
explains for (he benefit of those who are not
engineers. Suppose that a cylindrical pump
36 inches in diameter, with a 48 inch stroke,
be connected with a pipe 12 niches in diam
eter and 30 feet long. The capacities of die
pipe and cylinder will be equal. If (he pis
ton then be raised from the bottom ot the
cylinder to the top, the air in the pipe will
have to expand to double ns space to fill both
the pipe and the cylinder,and while the pres
ure without is a whole atmosphere,or 15 lbs.
to the square inch, the re-action within is
only hull an atmosphere, or 7 1-2 lbs. As
every upward sfroke of die piston is sufficient
to reduce one-half the density in 36 feel of
pipe hy making 15 strokes a minute and
working 32 hours, it would ratify to the same
extent the air in 200 miles of pipe. At that
degree of exhaustion, the external pressure
on the piston willlie 7634 lbs. more than the
internal, and ihere^vill be a pressure of one
ninth that, or S48 lbs. available to propel a
load through the pipe. As (he pipe is nearly
level, the resistance from friction is nearly
all that has to be overcome by the propulsion,
and consequently a mail of 20,000 half-ounce
letters would be propelled hy such a force
actiag constantly, with enormous velocity.—
It would, in fact, be shot forward a hundred
miles in a very few minutes, and then, the
serial equilibrium being restored, a resistance
would commence which woulJ gradually de
stroy its momentum. If, instead of* one
pump, many should be employed at once in
exhausting the supposed 200 miles of pipe, it
is plain that the work might be done in a
single hour or lessi One hundred horse pow
er of steam, acting at different points, would
undoubtedly be able in an hour to produce n
propelling force approaching much nearer to
whole atmosphere leaving indeed only air
enough in the pipe to answer the important
purpose ot a re-acting spring or cushion at
the remote end, so as to prevent the mail
fromiieiiig shuttered or reduced to c homo
genous pulp by a too sudden arrival.
Ho fur as the mail itself is concerned, it
will probnhly cost less tractive force to drag
it bodily through n pipe of pretty smooth bore
than to drag it with its proportion of locomo
tive apparatus over a railroad. The amount
of horse-power which would in a given time
drag it Irom Boston to New York, wotdd in
the same tune exhaust a pipe of sufficient
bore to enable ajmosphcric pressure to put it
through iii ten or fifteen minutes. Multiply
ing the horse-power applied to the exhaus
tion will reduce the time consumed in the
same proportion. And in this wny we may
have hourly mails, or half-hourly, with no
greater expense for carrying them than ut
present. As to the wear and tear, that is
another matter. The friction on the bags
might be little morn serious than at present,
yet this difficulty mny be reduced to a trifle.
As the load is constantly in contact with cold
pipes, the heut from the friction will be ab
sorbed nearly as fast as it is generated, and
tftere is little dunger that the mail will take
fire. The apparatus, on a small scale, which
Mr. Richardsou shows at the Exchange, is
very ingeniously constructed, and works pret
tily. But, of course, no model so diminutive
can demonstrate the feasibility of the opera
tion, in large. Neither does an experiment
ot a mile of pipe, three inches in diumetei,
which was successfully put in operation on
the line of the l'rovidenee Railroad, amount
to a demonstration. These experiments,
however, show the nature of the lorce, how
the serial team is to he harnessed, and what
are its good points for the mail service.
Cave in Auburn, N. H.
On (lie east of Massabesicf in the town of
Auburn, is a mysterious cave, known in the
region around us the‘Devil’s Den,’ whose
tecesses have never been fully explored.—
Why it should have received this appellation
we are not informed. It is not alleged that
it is ilie terrestrial habitation of his Satanic
majesty, nor that it is held m his infernal sov
eignly’s possession. Neither has it been sus
pected that the spirit of diabolism has operat
ed to any unusual degree on the people in
that neighborhood. Three men, who were
employed at Londonderry the pnst winter,
recently made a visit to this cave, for the
putpose of gratifying their curiosity, and ex
ploring its recesses. Their nnme6 are Frank
lin R. Moody, George E. Farmer, and James
Patterson. One of the number lias given us
the following account of their labors :
They took a lantern, and went in about 70
feet, as far as they couid in that direction,—»
they there discovered a small oiitice just
large enough lor a man to put his head
through, but could go no fart her. To all ap- .
pearunee there was room epough beyond this
lor » man to stand erect an4 walk about.—
They then returned to the entrance of the
:ave. Not being satisfied with their first ad
venture, they slatted a second time. After
advancing about half the distance before
mentioned, they discovered at the right hand, t
in the ledge, about 7 feet above the main
passage, a place large enough for a man to
enter. Moody went into the hole followed
by Farmer, there was room enough lot both
to stand erect. Beyond this, as we under
stand them, tbs adventurers found another
opening. Their light et that time growing
dim, they again returned to the entrance, and
prepared for a third excursion.
At this lime they proceeded aa before un
til they came to theeecond cliff. When they
-had reached the top of it, they were obliged
to descend backwards about as far as they
ascended—they then came to a passage about
level. Having gone on about two hundred
feet, as near u they could estimate, they
found a hole at the botiom of this passage
just large enough for one man to enter at a
time—they then descended one at a time
some steps formed by nature till they came
to u room iu the ledge about 30 feet square;
they there discovered, on one side of this
room, an openiuf of about 8 feet, where to
all mipearances lli^e bad been some duy a
hot fire. Therr light growing dim, and be
ing pressed for want of fresh air, they were
obliged to make their wny hut without any
father discovery.— Granite Farmer.
Nature’s Works.
There is nothing in all the triumphs of art
which can afford so great and pleasing a varie
ty of contemplation as the works of nature.—
The most magnificent structure of human hands,
adorned with eveiy striking and imposing ar
chitectural ornament, is lost in the grasp of
thought, which it takes in the earth, or the uni
verse. A painting of the human face may be
admired for the delicacy of its coloring, and ils
exquisite artistic excellence, but how far does
it fall short of the real ‘human face divine.’—
Pictures of flowers, of moon-light, ocean bil
lows, storm-clouds, landscapes, burning moun
tains, and many other objects, when finely exe
cuted, are pleasing to look at, but how far do
the realities exceed them in delighting the eye,
exciting the imagination, and arousing the
feelings of the soul! What painted canvas ev
er presented to the eye the bright and changing
hues of the rainbow—or the placid argenlry of
moonbeams falling upon sleeping cities, or hills,
or vales, while the queen of the night glides
peacefully along the firmament of heaven ? or
the bright iris of a western sky at sunset, with
all its rich variety of gorgeous purple, carmine
and gold, streaming through vast structures of
fleecy clouds which look like celestial cities for
the abodes of gods and angels? What work of
man can equal in grandeur the storms and tem
pests of the elements, with their terrific clouds,
their fierce lightnings, and heaven-shaking
thunders? What, the earthquake, that con
vulses our planet almost from pole to pole? —
What thfe sublimity of the storm-lashed ocean,
with its interminable waste of waters, dashing
and foaming as if maddened by a thousand in
vincible furies ?
There is a never failing charm in the gentle
murmur of rivulets, the music or the silence of
groves, in green and sunny hills and sylvan
vales, in the sweet flowers ot spring and sum
mer, and the rich and varigated hues of au
tumn, in floating clouds and azure skies, with
a thousand other scenes and objects in the bound
less regions of nature's works. We have said
nothing of human nature. A great poet and
moralist has said the proper study of mankind
is man. We have passed over that view of the
subject and only pointed to a few objects of the
external world, which expand in panoramic
beauty and glory to please the senses and en
gage the contemplation ol intellectual beings.
This we have done only for the great lesson
they teach of Clod's Omnipotence and goodness.
All learning and knowledge, all things in life
are vain, unless they touch the sacred strings of
human thought and attune them to devotion and
homage to Him who gave them being.—Geor
gia Home Gazelle.
Currants and Gooseberries.
It is to be presumed that not one in a hun
dred understands the simple process of cultiva
ting either currants or gooseberries, although
it has been detailed in all the horticultural
books with which the worlfj abounds. Thous
ands of persons, with every appliance for suc
cess, are still content to live without a plentiful
supply of those delicacies, healthy and cheap
luxuries, merely because they have not thought
of the mutter. They have a few stinted bushes
set in the grass with three-fourths of the stocks
dead, and then wonder why they do not bear in
abundance. .
There is not a more beautiful shrub growing
than the currant, probably propagated ; and the
same may be said of the gooseberry. Cultiva
tors who pay any attention to the subject, nev
er allow the root to make but one slock, or as
the English say, 4 Make them stand on one’—
thus forming a beautiful miniature tree.
To do this, you must take sprouts of last
year's growth, and cut out all the eyes, or buds
in the wood, leaving only two or three in the
top ; then push them about half the length ot
the cutting, into mellow ground, where they
will root, and run up a single stock, forming a
beautiful symmetrical head. If you wish it
higher cut the eyes out again the second year.
1 have one six feet high. This places your
fruit out of the way of hens and prevents the
gooseberry from mildewing, winch often hap
pens when the fruit lies on or near the ground,
and is shaded by a superabundance of leaves
and sprouts. It changes an unsightly bush;
which cumbers and disfigures your garden, in
to an ornamental dwarf tree. The fruit is
larger and ripens belter, and will last on the
bushes, by growing in perfection until late in
the fall.
The mass of people suppose that the roots
make out from the lower buds. It is not so—
they start from between the bark and wood, at
the place where it is cut from the parent wood.
Vermont Chronicle.
“Don’t know Beans.”
An article has gone the rounds in which a
graphic description is given ot some tricks
which the writer tried upon ‘spirits' through
their ‘mediums’ by placing some beans upon
the table, and calling yn the spirits to tell the
number, which they could not do.
‘ Vel, vot of it ?’ Some live men don’t know
beans, as the following will show.
But a few summers ago, a gentleman in the
city of Portland, whose, knowledge of a ship
was superior to that of gardening, planted a
choice specimen of beaus in his garden, which
in due time ‘come up ;’ but to his mortification
he found the identical beans he had planted,
pushed up out of the ground and adhering firm
ly to the young plants. Here was a dilemma.
The gentleman could trim a ship and sail her
to any port in the world, but how to trim these
beans and bring them to maturity was a puz
zler. The heller-half was consulted, and the
twain decided that Madam Nature had, in her
freaks, played a trick upon them, and it was
concluded the beaus had backed up, wrung end
foremost, instead of coming up head foremost,
man fashion. They accordingly pulled them
up and placed the beans in their original posi
Lion in the ground ; but their crop, as might
ae expected, was exceedingly light. Now, is
t strange that spirits don’t know beans.—Lew
stun Farmer.
• ,
A loafer who had his Christmas load on,
fetched op’ against the side of a house which
tad been uewly painted. Shoving himself
dear by a vigorous effort, lie took one glimpse
it his shoulder, another at the house, a third
it his hand, and exclaimed, ‘Well, that was a
careless trick in whoever painted that house, to
leave it standing out all night for people to run
A Faithless Lover.
Rather a singular cast bordering an iha
romantic, bas lately come to light in our
city. A wealthy young man, doing business
in Boston was engaged to be married to* a
very estimable young lady residing in a
neighboring city. Tbs time was appointed
for the wedding; and to render the occasion
more pleasant, a sister of the bride was alee
to be led to the altar, at the same time by a
merchant of one of our seaport cities. The
dresses were prepared lor both, the clergy
man engaged, and everything was ready,
when an intimation readied the father of
the brides, that his intended son-in-law was
not what he should be.
Investigation was made, and it was ascer
tained that the Boston bridegroom bad been
residing stone of our first hotels for many
months with a young Indy as his wife, under
assumed names. Ha had also two other lu
lea to whom he was paying particular M
L™ ' i. ft r°°« M “*• <»«ts I tees me
known, he left for New Orleans. His oaru
mour with whom he had been bring, dressed
herself in male attire and attempted to escape
with him, but was detected and sent heme
to New York where she belongs.
The arrangements for the wedding mf
course were disarranged,and only one of the
sisters married, the disappointed lady acting
as bridesmaid on the occasion. It ia Mjd
that the young man has spent $30,000 with*
in a few months, the money having been be
queathed him by his father.—TravtUvr.
New Piece of Ordnance.
A new piece of ordnance for batteries and
ships ha3 been invented by Robert Armstrong,
lat dragoon guards, Royal Barracks, Dublin.
Its superiority over the old battery guns coit
sists in its being capable of being brought to
bear upon any object within an angle of ninety
degrees without the necessity of moving the car
riage, therefore fewer men will be required to
work it. A ship armed with guns of this des
cription could bring her whole broadside to bear
upon any small object within the angle of nme
ty degrees, without moving a single carriage.
It is particularly adapted for how and stem
chasers. A ship, either pursued or pursuing,
could bring at least two-ibirds of her broadside
to bear upon the enemy without altering her
course one single point, which could not be
done with the ordnance now in use. In the
event of a bombardment, every gun in the
short short space of two minutes could be con
verted into an inverted mortar if required. In
batteries they possess the same advantages over
jhe guns in present use, and at least three or
four men less will be required to work them,
as there will be no lifting to the right or left
with handspikes ; the metal of the gun is all
that is mbved when required to fire cither to
the right ur left. He has also invented a field
piece on the same principle; a battery of which,
when brought into action, will not require to
have their carriages moved about unless a
change of front is actually required, and in
which the sliding scale in the breach is dispen
sed with altogether. It is, we believe, the in
tention to dispose of the invention and models
when convenient, as he, perhaps, may not have
an opportunity of exhibiting them at the Dub
lin crystal palace.— United Service Gazette.
Courting in thk Backwoods. ‘Soon
after the arrival ol Ujhnzy on the banks of
the Thompson River, when he and his pnrty
had hardly pitched their lent, a young back
woodsman came on horseback up to them,
anti said, ‘Which is the daughter ol the Hun
garian General?'—Miss Ujhazy, who spoke
English, osked him what he wanted?—*1
reckon it's time for me to marry was the
reply f“and 1 came to propose to you.’ The
young Indy began to laugh, but her novel
suitor declared that he was in full earnest;
that lie did not live far off, and that he would
ns.-t t her father in every way. But when he
saw that his proposal was not accepted, ho
rode off to his business, without having
alighted from his horse during the conversa
tion. The Hungarians afterwards learned,
that in the backwoods not much time is
wasted in courting young ladies, or paying
them attention beiore marriage. The pio
neer visits a neighbor who has grown up
daughters, and asks, ‘Ilow do you do?1 plac
es himself on a clmir before the rhimney,
chews, spits in the firo, and utters not an
other word ; after n while he takes his leave,
nnd when he has paid a couple of such taci
turn calls, he says, ‘I reckon 1 should marry
you.’ The answer is commonly,‘I have no
objection.’ The couple, without further cer
emony, proceed to the justice of |»eae« and
make their declaration, and when the Meth
odist Missionary happens to come in their
neighborhood, the civil marriage is solem
nized religiously.”
Innoculating Trees. la Kendrick’s
Work on Orcharding, the following obser
vations on innoculating occur:
Innoculation is the operation of transfer
ring any desirable variety of tree upon the
stock of an inferior or wild variety. Tbs
operation is principally practised on small
trees, nnd only during the time the sap flows
freely, and chiefly during the months ol Au
gust and September. Select for the buds
the ripest young twigs of the present year,
and cut off the leaves, leaving the footstalk
entire. Having selected a smooth place in
the stock, make n perpendicular slit down
wnrds, quite through the bark an melt or a
little more in length. Make a cross cut nt
the top of this slit unite through to the wood,
a little slanting' downward; next vyith the
ivory haft of the budding knife, raise the
hark on both sides from top to bottom, being
very careful not to injure in the least the
cambium or sap wood. Next, and with ex
pedition, proceed to tuka off a bud; this is
effected by entering the knife a little more
than half nn inch below the bud or eye,quite
through the hark, and separating the lmrk
from the wood to the same distance above
the eye, always leaving a very thin slip of
wood of about one-third of the length of the
bud; this thin slip of wood occupies the mid
dle section of its length. The bud is lobe
inserted in the stock to the bottom of the
slit, nnd between the bark nnd wood; nnd
the lop of the bud being squared even with
the cross cut, every part, except the eye, is
firmly bound anil covered with strong wet
brnss string or matting.
Meanness.—Though we would have no roan
to be cheated or lose his wits in making a bar
gain, yet when we have seen an opulent per
son beating some poor vender of berries or veg
etables down to the lowest point at wh#h he or
she would choose to sell, rather than carry
them back, the picture has not been so much
ludicrous as serious to us ; and we have felt an
inexpressible disgust at the meanness, the wan*
of all magnanimity and grandeur of soul, that
could exist in one moving in polished circles,
showing many amiable dispositions, and capa
ble, perhaps, of making, the next hour, a rich
present to a relation or friend, though he had
no feeling for a fellow-being.
Cunning Astrologer.—An astrologer ford
told the death of a lady whom Louis XI pas
sionately loved. She did, in faet, die ; and the
King imagined that the prediction of the astrol
oger was the cause of it. He sent for the man,
intending to have him thrown through the win
dow, as a punishment. ‘Tell me, thou who
prelendest to be so clever and learned a man,
what thy fate will be?’ The soothsayer, who
suspected the intrigues of the Prince, and knew
his foible, replied : ‘Sire, 1 foresee that 1 shall
die three days before your Majesty.’ The
King believed him, aad was careluJ of the as
trologer’s life.
There are three kinds of men in this
world, the ‘Wills,’ the ‘WomV/ ami the
‘Can’ts.* The former effect everything, tha
other oppose everything, and the latter foil
in everything. 'I will,'builds our railroads
and steamboats. ‘1 won’t’ don’t believe in
experiments and nonsense,’ while ‘I can't’
?rows weeds for wheat, and commonly end*
• is days in the alow digestion of a court of
Sum for the Boys.—If a newspaper editor
Stops the press to announce,’ what would h«
lo if it was a pound ?—Boston Post, f

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