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Eastern times. [volume] (Bath, Me.) 1846-1857, August 02, 1855, Image 1

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<f[jt (Eastern tfinui
IS rCBUSHBO EVERY THURSDAY MORNING, BY
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VOL. X.
BATH, THURSDAY MORNING, AUGUST 2, 1855.
NO. 7.
■Hflki
nnd Sob printing,
Having recently made extensive ftddUitUms to «ir f«nre>*
variety of
PMBS3 &A9
JOU3 'T
^:d'T:^r of lh' ®W*Hi Tiroes is DOW propurul >"
MtiSZlSkS" “* n“^V '
Cir:“'"*’ (.MS, C'ni:ilo"i;r^
Sh»p wu*
Li'|m'1'’ Awciiou na.i| Iia„a
\cM *c.
(tT Particular attention paid to
2J3ia©5JSli IPE&IISJ'SfilSr®,,
All work ontrostol to us will Bo iterfafn^i in .. . ,
nmniitT, and a, lou, a, can 4, a&jrdcd. SStai
»ml promptly unsworn! UEO « SlV u™" *
olitical.
LETTER FROM EX-GOV. HUBBARD
To the Committee of Arrangements for the
Democratic Mteting at Searsport.
Gentlemen :—Yours of the 5th, inviting
me to be present and participate in the doings
of a democratic meeting to he holden on the
10th inst., at Searsport, is before me. For
this kind expression ol your good will and con
fidence, please except my thanks. My sym
pathies have been with the democratic party,
and I have never permitted myself to become
estranged from that party, or to depart from
Sts principles and well established usages,
from any sense of personal wrong. Believing
as I most sincerely do, that the party that met
at Augusta on the 21st ult., in convention, is
the true democratic party, that it represents so
far as national questions are concerned the
democratic doctrines which were promulgated
at the first formation of parties under our gov
ernment-doctrines under the auspices of
which the country has been carried through
many a fearful crisis, and which have brought
us to our present standpoint of national pros
perity and grandeur,—doctrines which can
alone preserve and - perpetuate this Union,
whatever of personal interest I have, whatever of
desire for the happiness of my children and of
posterity, should impel me to the support of
that party by all honorable measures that shall
seem best calculated to promote its success
and ensure its ascendency. And what are
these doctrines* may seem a strange question
at this late day. But the mists and fogs grow
ing out of party agitations, and the formative
process of new party agglomerations, render
the question at this moment, perhaps, not in
appropriate, especially as our fusion oppo
nents, at least some of them, claim to be the
true Jeffersonian democracy.
Democratic doctrines are and have been; a
strict, honest and fair construction of the con
stitution of the United States, without any
technical refinements or sublimated moral
speculations,—conceding to every state, slave
or free, the rights possessed, either in territo
ry or otherwise, as an independent sovereignty,
before entering into the Union, and which
were not surrendered by the constitution,—
and securing to each state the grants of power
and principle awarded by that instrument.—
Such is the democratic creed as promulgated
from the beginning, and as such has it been
acted np to with as much consistency as is
compatible with human nature, under the ex
citements of party strife, operated upofi by
individual peculiarities and motives of perso
nal aggrandizement. We ignore no plain pro
vision of the constitution because it does not
compyt with our views of a higher law, or
our speculations of abstract moral right. We
take every provision as it is, and give to each
its due weight and force.
And now what is the national platform ol
the party in power in this state ? 1 say nation
al, for there are acts of special legislation both
state and congressional,which, however impor
tant of themselves, and how much soever agi
tated lor party and selfish purposes, are of
temporary duration cr limited application, and
never should be, as they never can be, made
issues for the basis of parties of a permanently
enduring character.
The qoestion is more easily put than an
swered. Midst a conglomeration of know
nothingism, know-soraethingism, free-soilism,
abolitionism and almost every dther kind of
ism that can be conjured up, what kind of a
platform could be expected in which all these
isms could be represented 1 None has been,
to my knowledge, promulgated, none at least
in which there is any common agreement, or
upon which they are all as a party willing to
stand, excepting in so far as they agree in op
position to the democratic party and to demo
cratic measures, right or wrong.
In the absence of any such platform which
is tangible, I will briefly allude to some of the
measures of this new party, put forth in the
shape of resolutions and acts, as indicating the
attitude assumed by this party in relation to
matters concerning the nation, and also the
spirit of the party itself.
In the first place, by a resolution passed by
the fusion legislative convention last winter,
they distinctly deny to congress the constitu
tional right or power to legislate at all upon
the subject of securing fugitives from service,
if congress have no such power, where can it
lie but with the states severally to comply
with the unmistakable provision of the consti
tution which says that 1 person; held to ser
vice oY labor in one state, escaping into another
state, shall be delivered up on claim of the
party to whom such service or labor may be
due.’ But Mr. Sumner, the author of the idea
embodied in this resolve, while advocating it
on the floor of the ifnited States senate, upon
being asked if he, as a member of the Massa
chusetts legislature would support a law for
carrying out this provision of the constitution,
emphatically replied, ‘ No; never!’ Our
legislature at its last session not only assumed
the same position, but passed a distinct act,
obstructing and throwing every impediment in
the way, so far as they could do so, to the
carrying out of this most plain provision of the
constitution.
Again, certain resolves -were introduced,
towards the close of the session, involving
mainly the ideas of this fusion party concern
ing the question of slavery. In one of these
resolves was the usual clause, denying any
right or intention on the part of its supporters
to interfere with slavery as it now exists in the
states. A debate arose upon it in which the
doctrine was advocated zealously by the lead
ers that it was not only their Tight but their
moral duty and their intention to follow slavery
wherever it existed, and the olause in question
was, on motion, stricken out. Such are a
few of the footprints of the party now in pow
er in this state. Others too numerous to al
lude to here might be pointed out, but enough ;
‘ ex ptdc Hercules. ’
A new and a fearful era has arisen in party
politics. The constitution of these United
States is in danger, repudiated, trampled upon.
Parties have heretofore, with the exception of
Garrisonian abolitionists and southern seces
sionists, observed at least a decent respect for
this saored instrument. They have acknowl
edged it as the Magna Charter of our national
independence, the only bond of our union, the
sole charter of our existence as a nation.
Political contestants on the questions of in
ternal improvements, U. S. Bank, tariff, pub
lic lands, slavery, the rights of foreign emi
grants, (religious rights have never before
been questioned) and the like, have all ack
nowledged the inviolable character of this in
strument, have appealed to it as their guide,
their city of refuge. This new party, fusion,
American, know-nothing, or what not, not
only repudiate its plainest provisions, but
openly and boldly advocate measures clearly
adverse to the known intention of its founders,
to the spirit of its provisions, and the well
settled principles of its ablest expounders. The
alien and sedition acts are dwindled to a shad
ow in comparison to their attacks upon foreign
emigrants—the right of suffrage, freedom of
speech, the right of every person to ‘ worship
God according to the dictates of his own con
science,’ security from ‘ religious tests as a j
qualification for office,’ are to be overawed
and controlled by the secret oaths of a dark
cabal of know-nothings. A republican gov
ernment, the very existence of which depends
upon the intelligence, the freedom of opinion,
and the freedom of action of its members is to
be sustained, and directed by an oath bound
society of midnight conspirators ! !
I cra»e your indulgence, gentlemen, in a
few remarks of a bearing personal to myself.
The fact of my appearing in a democratic con
tention has excited a degree of attention, of
feigned surprise, of animadversions and ol' per
sonal attack ind vituperation altogether dispro
portionate to the occasion or the individual con
cerned. Some gentlemen seem to think they
are constituted my guardians, with a perfect
right to take my character, opinions and ac
tions into their especial keeping. I have
heard of members of churches being excom
municated or disciplined because they asked
for an honorable discharge on the ground of
difference of opinion, but these gentlemen have
not even this sorry excuse for their violence.
I never belonged to_ them,—never asked dis
mission,—never were they authorized by any
act of mine to put me under the ban. Still
they will doubtless continue, agreeably to their
instincts, to pour oet their filih and black
guardism upon me. And fur w hat * Simply
because 1 dared in that convention to state facts
perfectly well known to themselves, and to pre
sent views which had repeatedly been present
ed to them ami to others ever since my connec
tion with the Maine law. I have been charged
by one high functionary of the present dynasty
in his editorial capacity, with swallowing my
own words. 1 shall not copy that gentleman
fur consistency or truthfulness. By another
gentleman in clerical robes, 1 am charged with
‘apologizing for his (my) approval of the Maine
law,’ of 'standing up deliberately in a state
conventiun and lamenting over it,’and that gen
tleman, with all his sanctity and decency, en
dorses me, to quote his language, as a “d—d
fool.’* Had the reverend editor heard what 1
actually did say, I have too high an opinion of
his regard for character, if not for truth, to ,-u, -
pose that fora moment, he would have indulged
in such comments. He would have perceived
that I made no apology for approving the Maine
law, but said that were the thing to be done
again for the hundredth time, I should do it.
True 1 did say that the law at that time did not
meet my views as a proper law upon the sub
ject, and that as a member of either brauch of
the legislature, I would not have voted for it.
This fact both the enemies and the friends of
the law knew at the time, and have ever
known. It has been a matter of no conceal
ment with me, and I challenge contradiction
from any respectable source. In regard to my
views of the law in the main, I said, (what was
stated to some fifteen of its most ardent friends
in the council chamber for consultation some
six months after its passage,) that the object of
the law was a good one, such as met my entire
approbation,—that in order to make it success
ful they must confine it to its object, ‘the sup
pression of drinking houses and tippling shops,’
that public sentiment would bear them out, and
in this direction I would go with them as far
as tbe farthest, even to the carrying out of
the right of search under the same safeguards
and restrictions as is done in the case of stolen
goods. But I said you must place no unnec
essary obstacles, no vexatious -annoyances in
the way of procuring spirit lor such purposes
as you acknowledge to be necessary and sanc
tioned onder this law. You must institute no
system of espionage on the domestic circle, or
the jnst tights of individuals. I expressed the
opinion that the first law did in many respects
do this, in a manner not calculated to promote
its object, but tending strongly to retard its ex
ecution and impede its usefulness. These
faults in the law were distinctly pointed ontby
me to the gentlemen assembled—amendments
were suggested, which met their entire approv
al, but they dared not, they said, move in the
matter, for fear of not being able to control it
according to their wishes.
No allusion was made in my .remarks, (ex
cept by implication,) to the present law, to
Neal Dow, or to any one connected with its
execution. I expressed my regret that it
shonld ever, (unnecessarily and recklessly as I
believe,) have been introduced into’ party poli
tics.
No question of moral reform can ever have
justice done it when mixed up with the sinis
ter motives and the excitement of party leaders.
Most sincerely do 1 regret, gentlemen, that it
should have been deemed necessary to intro
duce this subject inti?the democratig platform
of resolutions for the approaching campaign.
There are other, and higher and more enduring
issues involved in the present political strug
gle, upon which I can most cordially unite
with you. For the unconditional repeal of the
Maine law, 1 do not go, nor du I believe that
any large portion of those with w hom I act, fa
vor it. That it is susceptible of improvement
such.as shall increase its usefulness and effica
cy, I have always and still believe. Now if
certain men can make treason out of this, let
them make the most of it.
There are some who can neither conceive of
or appreciate any motives for parly affiliation |
other than such as grow out of the passions or |
the selfishness^f man. Destitute fur the most
part of any fixed principles for the guidance of
themselves, they can neither recognize or tol
erate consistency of course or independence of
action in others. For the good opinions of
such men, 1 care but little ; their slanders and
blackguardisms I shall pass as the idle wind.
Gentlemen, I regret that I shall net be able
to be with the democracy of Searsport at your
meeting. My time and all the effort my health
will permit, are imperiously necessary to my
family. Though not present in person, [shall
be with you in spirit, and bid you God-speed.
Yours respectfully,
. JOHN HUBBARD.
To Messrs. F. S. Nickerson, C. C. Crary,
K. Eaton, and others, Committee.
Cbc JStorg ftlltr. i
o ^
. Defending tho Homestead;
—OR—
The Judge's Daughter.
AN INCIDENT OF THE REVOLUTION.

In the summer of 1779, during one of the
darkest periods of our revolutionary struggles,
‘in the then small village of S-, in, Penn
sylvania, lived V-, one of the firmest and
truest patriots within the limits of the ‘old
thirteen,’ and deep in the confidence of
Washington. Like most men of his lime and
substance, he had furnished himself with arms
and ammunition, sufficient to arm the 'males
of his household. These consisted of him
self, three sons, and about twenty-five negroes.
The female part of his house consisted of his
wife, one daughter, Catherine, about eighteen
years of age, the heroine of our talc, and sev
eral slaves. In the second story of his dwell
ing house, immediately over the front door,
was a small room, called the ‘armory,’ in
which the arms were deposited, and always
kept ready for immediate use. About the
time at which we introduce our story, the
neighborhood of our village was much an
noyed by the nocturnal prowling and depreda
tions of numerous tories.
It was on a calm, bright, Sabbath afternoon
in the aforesaid summer, when Judge V. and
his family, with the exception of his daughter
Catherine, and an old indisposed female slave,
were attending service in the village church.
Not a breath disturbed the serenity of the at- '
mosphere—not a sound profaned the sacred
stillness of the day ; the times were danger
ous, and Catherine herself and the old female
slave remained in the house until the return of
the family from church. A rap was heard at
the front <Jpor. ‘Surely,’ said Catherine to
the slave, ‘the family have not come home,
church can't be dismissed.’ The rap was re
peated. ‘I will see who it is,’ said Catherine
as she ran up stairs into the armory. On
opening the window and looking down, she
saw six men standing at the front door and on
the opposite side of the street, three of whom
she knew were tories, who formerly resided
in the village. Their names were Van Zant,
Finley, and Sheldon ; the other three were
strangers, but she had reason to believe them
to be of the same political stamp, from the
company in which she found them.
Van Zant was a notorious character, and
the number and enormity of his crimes had
rendered his name infamous in that vicinity.
Not a murder or robbery was committed with
in miles ot-, that he did not get the credit
of planning or executing. .The character of
Finley and Sheldon was also deeply stained
with crime, but Van Zant was a master spirit
in iniquity. The appearance of such charac
ters, under such circumstance, must have been
truly alarming to a young lady of Catherine's
age, if not to any lady young or old. But
Catherine V—— possessed her father’s spirit,
‘the spirit of the times.’ Van Zant was stand
ing on the stoop knocking at the door, while
his companions were talking in a whisper on
the opposite side of the way.
‘Is Judge V- at home I’ asked Van
Zant, when he saw Catherine at the window
above. _
‘ He is not,’ said she.
‘ We hare business of pressing importance
with him, and if you will open the door,’ said
Van Zant, ‘we will-walk in till he returns.’
• No,’ said Catherine, ‘when he went to
church he left particular directions not to have
the doors opened until he and his family re
turned. You had better call when church is
dismissed.’
‘ No, I’ll not,’ returned he, ‘we will enter
now or never.’
‘ Impossible,’ cried she, ‘you cannot enter
until he returns.’
‘ Open the door,’ cried he, ‘or we’ll break
it down, and burn you and the house up to
gether.’ So saying he threw himself with all
the force he possessed, against the door, at the
same time calling upon his companions to as
sist him. The door however, resisted their
efforts^
‘ Do not attempt that again,’ said Catherine,
‘or you are a dead man,’ at the same time pre
senting from the window a heavy horseman’s
pistol ready cocked.
At the sight of this formidable weapon, the
companions of Van Zant who had crossed the
street at his call, retreated,
‘ What!’cried the leader,‘yon cowards!
are you frightened at the threats of a girl V
and again he threw himself violently against
the door. The weapon was immediately dis
charged, and Van Zant fell.
The report was heard at the church, and
males and females at once rushed out to as
certain the cause.
On looking towards the residence of Judge
V-> they perceived five men running at
full speed, to whom the Judge’s negroes and
several others gave chase ; and from an up
per window of his residence a handkerchief
was waving, as if beckoning for aid.
All rushed towards the place, and upon their
arrival, Van Zant was in the agonies of death.
He still retained strength enough to acknowl
edge that they had long contemplated robbing
that house, and had frequently been concealed
in the neighborhood for that purpose, but no
opportunity had offered until that day, when
lying concealed in the woods, they saw the
Judge and his family going to church.
The body of the dead tury was taken and
buried by the sexton of the church, as he had
no relations in that vicinity.
Atiar an absence of Iwo hours or therea
bout, the negroes returned, having succeed
ed in capturing Finley and one of the stran
gers, who were that night confined, and the
next morning at the earnest solicitation of
Judge V-, liberated on llio promise of
amending their lives.
It was in the month of October of the same
year, that Catherine V-was sitting by an
upper back window in her father’s house knit
ting ; though autumn, the weather was mild,
and the window was hoisted about three inch
es. About sixty or seventy feet from the
house was a barn, a huge old-fashioned edi
fice, with upper and lower folding doors ; and
accidentally casting her eye towards the barn,
she saw a small door (on a range with the
front door and window at which she was sit
ting) open and a number of men enter. The
occurrence ot summer immediately presented
itself to her mind, and the fact that her father
and the other males of the family were at work
in a field at some distance from the house, led
her to suspect that that opportunity had been
improved, probably by some of Van Zanl's
triends to plunder, and revenge his death.—
Concealing herselt behind the curtains, she
narrowly watched their movements. She
saw a man’s head slowly rising above the
door, and apparently rcconnoitering the prem
ises ; it was Finley’s. Their object was now
evident. Going to the armory, she selected a
well loaded musket and resumed her place by
the window. Kneeling upon the floor she
laid the muzzle of the weapon upon the win
dow sill, between the window curtains, and
taking deliberate aim, she fired. What effect
she had produced she knew not, but saw sev
eral men hurrying out of the barn by the same
door they ha# entered. The report brought
her father and his workmen to the house, and
on going to the barn, the dead body of Finley
lay on the floor.
Catherine V-afterwards married a cap
tain of the Continental army, and she still
lives, the honored mother of a numerous and
respectable line of descendants. The old
house is also ‘iu the land of the living,’ and
has been the scene of many pranks of the writ
er of this tale, in the hey-dey of mischievous
boyhood.
Lewis and the Rattlesnake.
The family of John Lewis were the first
settlers of ^ugusta, in the state of Virginia,
and consisted of himself, his wife and four
sons, Thomas, William, Andrew, and Charles.
Of these, the first three were born in Ireland,
from whence the family came, and the last
was a native of Virginia.
Lewis was a man ot wealth and station in
the old country, and the cause of his emigra
tion to America was an attempt, on the part
of a man of whom he hired some property, to
eject him therefrom, which led to an affray in
which the noble landlord lost his life. Fear
ing, from the high standing of his antagonist,
the*desperate character of his surviving assail
ants, and the want of evidence to si^tantiatc
his case, that his life would be in danger if he
staid, Lewis fled the country, accompanied by
a party ot his tenantry, and settled in the then
western wilds of Virginia.
The father appears to have been a man of
remarkable force and energy, and all four of
his sons rendered themselves conspicuous for
deeds of daring and determined bravery, during
the early history of Western Virginia, and
that of her infant sisters, Ohio and Kentucky,
which would require volumes to relate.
Charles Lewis, the hero of my present
sketch, was, even in early youth distinguished
for those qualifications which have rendered
the class to which he belonged—the Indian
fighters—so remarkable among men. He was
a young man when the Indians commenced
their attacks upon the settlement of Western
Virginia, but entered the contest with a seal
and courage which out-stripped many of his
older and more boastful compeers. His as
tonishing self-possession and presence of mind
carried him safely through many a gallant ex
ploit, which has rendered his name as famil
iar, and his fame as dear to the descendents
of the early settlers, as household words.—
Cool, calm and collected in the face of danger,
and quick-witted Where others' would be apt
lo.be excited and tremulous, he vjas able to1
grasp on the instant the propitious moment for
action, and render subservient to his own ad
vantage the most trifling Incident.
He was so uofortunale, on one occasion, as
to be taken prisoner by a party of Indians,
while on a hunting excursion. Separated
from his companions, ho was surprised and
surrounded before be was aware of his danger,
and when he did become aware of his critical
situation, he saw how futilo it was to contend,
and how reckless and fatal it must be to him
self, should he kill one of his antagonists. He
knew full well that the blood of his enemy
would be washed out in his own, and that,
too, at the stake, whereas, if he surrendered
peaceably, he stood a chance of being adopted
by the Indians as one of themselves. Revolv
ing these things in his mind, he quietly deliv
ered up his rifle to his enemies, and was led
away by his captors, who rejoiced exceeding
ly over their prisoner. Rare-headed, with his
arms bound tightly behind him, without a
coat, and bare-footed, he was driven forward
some two hundred miles toward the Indian
towns, his inhuman captors urging him on
when he lagged, with their knives, and taunt
ingly reminding him of the trials w hich await
ed him at the end of the journey. Nothing
daunted, however, by their threats and men
aces, he marched on in the weary path which
led him further and further from his friends,
perfectly tractable, so far as his body was con
cerned, but constantly busy in his mind with
schemes of escape. He bided his time, and at
length the wished-for moment came. As the
distance from the while settlements increased,
the vigilance of the Indians relaxed, and his
hopes increased. As the party passed along
the edge of a precipice some twenty feet high,
at the foot o( which ran a mountain torrent,
he, by a powerful effort, broke the cords
which bound his arms, and made the leap.—
The Indians, whose aim was to take him
alive, followed him, and then commenced a
race for life and liberty, which was rendered
the more exciting by the fact that his pursuers
were close u[>on him, and could at any mo
ment have dispatched him. But such was
not their desire, and on, on, he sped, now
buoyed up bv hope, as his recent captors were
' lost to sight, and anon despairing of success
as he crossed an open space which showed
them almost at his heels. At length, taking
advantage of a thicket, through which he
passed, and which hid him from their sight
for a moment, he darted aside and essayed to
leap a fallen tree which lay across his path.
The tangled underbush and reeds which grew
thickly around and almost covered the decay
ing trunk, tripped him as he leaped, and he
fell with considerable force on the opposite
side. For an instant he was so stunned by
fall as to lose his consciousness, but soon re
covered it to find that the Indians were ac
tively searching every nook in his immediate
vicinity, and that he had fallen almost diiect
ly upon a large rattlesnake which had thrown
itself into the deadly coil so near his face that
his fangs were within a few inches of his
nose. Is it possible for the most vivid imag
ination to conceive of a more horrible situa
tion. The pursuit of his now highly exasper
ated and savage enemies, who thirsted for his
re-capture that they might wreak upon him a
fearful revenge, which of itself was a fearful
danger, calculated to thrill the nerves of the
stoutest system, had nuw become a secondary
fear, for death in one of its most terrifying
and soul sickening forms was vibrating on the
tongue, and darling from the eye of the fearful
reptile before him, so near, too, that the vi
bratory motion of hts rattle as it waved to and
fro, caused it to strike his ear. The slightest
movement of a muscle,—a convulsive shudder
—almost the winking of an eyelid, woulfl have
b:en the signal for his death. Yet in the
midst of this terrible danger, his presence of
mind did not leave him, but like a faithful
friend did him good service in his hour of tri
al. Knowing the awful nature of his impend
ing fate, and conscious that the slightest quiv
ering of a nerve would precipitate it, he scarce
ly breathed, and the blood flowed feebly
through his veins, as he lay looking death in
the eye. Surrounded thus by the most ap
palling danger, he was conscious that three
of the Indians had passed over the log behind
which he lay, without observing him and dis
appeared in the dark recesses of the forest.—
Several minutes—which to him were as many
hours—passed in this truly terrifying situa
tion, until the snake, apparently satisfied that
he was dead, loosed his deadly coil, and pass
ing directly over his body, was lost to sight in
the luxuriant growth of weeds which grew up
around the fallen tree. Oh ! what a thrill—
what a revulsion of feeling shook his frame as
he was relieved from his awful situation.—
Tears—tears of joyous gratitude coursed down
his cheeks as-he poured out his heart to ,God
in thankfulness for his escape. ‘ 1 had eaten
nothing,’ said he to his companions after his
return, 1 for many days ; I had no fire arms,
and I run the risk of dying with hunger be
fore 1 could reach the settlements ; but rather
would I have died than have made a meal of
that generous bea6t.’ He was still in immi
nent danger from the Indians who knew that
he hach hidden in .some secluded spot, and
were searching with the utmost zeal every
nook and corner to find him. He was fortu
nate enough, however, to escape them, and
after a weary march through the wilderness,
during which he suffered intensely from
hunger, he reached the settlements. — United
Stales Magazine.
Courage.—True bravery is sedate and in
offensive ; if it refuse to submit to insults, it
offers none ; begins no dispute, enters into no
needlessfuarrels, is above little troublesome
ambition to be distinguished every moment ; it
bears in silence, and replies with modesty,
fearing no enemy * and making none; and is
as much ashamed of insolence as cowardice.—
Ogden. _
To Prevent Sun-Strokes.—A few green
leaves, worn inside of the crown of the hat, it
is said, will secure one against all danger
from sun-stroke. A friend, who tried the ex
periment during one ot the recent warm days,
lound that his head became far less heated
than usual, when protected by two or three
grape leaves. Farmers and others who are
exposed to the scorching rays ot the sun,
should try this method of protecting them
selves.
istclhnj).
A Beautiful and Touching Story.
The ‘Grosvenor,’ an East Indiaraan, home
ward bound, goes ashore on the coast of Caf
fraria. It is resolved that the officers, pas
sengers, and crew, in number one hundred and
thirty-five souls, shall endeavor to penetrate
on foot across trackless deserts infested by
wild beasts and cruel savages, to the Dutch
settlements at the Cape of Good Hope. With
this forlorn object before them, they finally
separate into two parties, never more to meet
on earth.
There is a solitary child among the passen
gers, a little boy seven years old, who has no
relation there ; and when the first parly is
moving away, he cries after some member of
it who has been kind to him. The crying of
a child might be supposed to be a little thing
to men in such great extremity ; but it touch
es them, and he is immediately taken into that
detachment'; frotp which time forth this child
is sublimely made a sacred charge* He is
pushed on a little raft across broad rivers by
the swimming sailors; they carry him by
turns through the deep sand and long grass,
he patiently walking at all other times; they
share with him such putrid fish as they find
to eat; they lie down anti wait for him when
the rough carpenter, who becomes his especial
friend, lags behind. Beset by lions and tigers,
by savages, by thirst and hunger, by death in
a crowd of ghastly shapes, they never—oh,
Father of all mankind, thy name be blessed
for it!—forget this child. The captain stops
exhausted, and his faithful coxswain goes back
and is seen to sit down by his side, and nei
ther of the two shall be any more beheld until
the great last day ; but as the rest go on for
their lives, they take the child with them.—
The carpsnter dies of poisonous berries eaten
in starvation ; and the steward, succeeding to
the command of the party, succeeds to the sa
cred guardianship of the child.
Clod knows all he does for the poor baby.
He cheerfully carries him in his arms when
he himself is weak and ill ; how he feeds him
when he himself is griped with want; how
he folds his ragged jacket around hinij lays
little warm face with a woman’s tenderness,
upon his sunburnt breast, soothes him in his
sufferings, sings to him as he limps along un- '
mindful of his own parched and bleeding feet.
Divided for a few days from the rest, they dig
a grave for their good triend the cooper—these j
two companions alone in the wilderness, and
the time come3 when they are both ill, and
beg their wretched partners in despair, re
duced and few in number now, to wait by them
one day. They wait by them one day ; they
wait by them two days. On the morning of
the third they move very softly about in mak
ing their preparations for the resumption of
their journey, for the child is sleeping by the
fire, and it is agreed that tic shall not be dis
turbed until the last moment. The moment
comes ; the fire is dying—the child is dead.
His faithful friend, the steward, lingers but
a little while behind him. His grief is great.
He staggers on for a few days, lies down in
the wilderness, and dies. But he shall be re- j
united in his immortal spirit—who can doubt
it?—with the child, where he and the poor
| carpenter shall be raised up with the words,
j ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of
> these, ye have done it unto me.’
Escape from Houses on Fire.
Mr. Braidwood, Superintendent of the Lon
dpn Fire Brigade, has published the following
judicious directions to guide persons in escape
ing front houses on fire :
1. Be careful to acquaint yourself with the
best means of exit from the house both at the
top and bottom.
2. On the first alarm, reflect before von act.
If in bed at the time, wrap yourself in a blan
ket or bedside carpet ; open no more doors or
windows than are absolutely necessary, and
shut every door after you.
3. There are always from eight to twelve
inches of pure air close to the ground ; if yoo
cannot, therefore, walk upright through the
smoke, drop on vuur hands and knees and thus
progress. A wetted silk handkerchief, a piece
of flannel, or a worsted stocking dra'wn over
the face, permits breathing, and to a great ex
tent, excludes the smoke.
4. If you can neither make your way up
wards downwards,get into a front room ; if
there is^a family, see that they are' all collected
here, and keep the door closed as much as pos
sible, for remember that smoke always follows
a draft, and fire always rushes after smnke.
5. On no account throw yourself, nr allow
others to throw themselves, from the window.
If no assistance is at hand, and you aro In ex
tremity, tie ihe sheets together, and having
fastened one end to some heavy pieces of furni
ture, let down the women and children one by
one, tying the end uf the line of sheets around
the waist, and lowering them through the win
dow that is over the area. You ran easily let
yourself down after the helpless are saved.
fl. If a woman’s clothes should catch fire,
let her instantly roll herself over and over on
the ground ; if a man be present, let him throw
her down and do the like, and then wrap her
in a rug or coat, or the first woolen thing that
is at hand.
The Cost of War.
England is just beginning to experience
fairly the cost of the war that she has en
gaged in, the burden of which g^pws heavier
with every ilidnth of its continuance, 1 be
question as to who in the end is to bear these
expenses mnst become an important one in the
settlement of the difficulties. Totkey, al
ready bankrupt, cannot pay them, although
they were assumed in her defence, and Rus
sia will have to be greatly reduced before she
can consent to pay for het own humiliation.
Whoever has to pay, the fact is evidbnt from
the statement of the new Chancellor of the
Exchequer that the war is a terrible tai on
the finances of the country. The Budget last
year demanded the round sum of $333,105,
000, of which $247,480,000 were derived from
taxation, and the remainder from Exchequer
bills. This year the low est estimate is $404,*
595,000, and, due allowance being made for
contingencies, the grand total may be swollen
to $131,695,000. The Chancellor demands
extraordinary BourceBof supply, to the amount
of $106,500,000, of which $80,000,000 is
raised by loan and the remainder by increas
ing the income tax 1 per cent., or from 0 to
-7 per cent.; the tax on fea 3d. the pound ;
coffee, Id. ; sugars, 3s. the hundred ; spirits
a heavy tax, and bankers' cheques a stamp
duty of Is. The, additional burden upon pri
vate incomes yields no less a sum than $10,*
000,000, which presumes a gross income en
joyed by the people of the kingdom subject td
taxation, of one thousand millions of dollars.
The stamp on bankers’ cheques is much com
plained of as calculated to embarrass business.
It is calculated to yield $1,000,000 per an
num. Of the expenditures of the last year
the three war items of army, navy, and ord
nance, cost $150,000,000, against $83,500,
000 in 1853. This year the same items arc
estimated to cost $202,260,000, of which
$98,3(0,000 were actually spent the first quar
ter. On the introduction of his statement the
Chancellor gave a brief epitome o» the history
of the public debt ot Great Britain, which
from the small beginning of $50,000,000, in
1702, roso to $G75,000,000 to the close of tho
seven years' war with France, in 17C3 ; to
$1,295,000,000 to the close of the American
war in 1786; and to $4,060,000,000, its high
est point, after the treaty of A'icnna, fn 1815,
at the close of the great continental wars with
Bonaparte. From that time to the Jst Janu
ary last it fell to $3,755,000,000; so that in
a forty years’ peace the reduction was less
than 8 per cent, a year—a fact which, as thd
Chancellor suggested, makes it abundantly
manifest that the decrease must not only stopi
but tho movement be reversed.
Victoria wants to “go a Shopping.’*
It is generally remarked that the Queen iS
enjoying lierselt' very much indeed. She is
nut every evening, and people prelehd that if
j it depended on her she would go about shop*
! ping in Regent street, with Prince Albert to
carry her umbrella or to help in mubing tbo
perambulator. And one of the "hardest re
straints of a female sovereign is Certainly that
which forbids her to go ‘shopping.’ It it all
very well to say that she can have 'sent home’
w hat she likes, and in any quantity sho likes
—still it is not the thing which ladies royal or
others care for. It is the excitement that
mikes slipping delicious to them, the excite
ment in looking fur trimmings or ribbons ‘to
match’a dress or bonnet. The excitement of
censuring the pattern of this, and finding fault
with that of another article. The excitement
of seeing the confusion worse confounded on
the counter, that exertion to find between a
thousand patterns, patiently shown, the one
which should ‘please her taste.’ I can per1
pectly understand that excitement. It is es
sentially womanish. It is the better, or rather
refined part of that feeling which men fond of
drinking are subject to, by prefersiug a glass
of .brandy taken in the public house, to two
glasses taken at home. It is ihig desire for
shopping which the Queen's frequent visits to
the Crystal Palace and some other places of
public resort may be attributed to. Her Maj
esty is but a woman after all, and if appear*
ances may be relied upon, seems to be tired of
being ever and always a Queen. Last Monday
evening she took her husband and two of her
children tn the seventh Concert of the Phil
harmonic Society in Hanover square rooms,
and actually did not use the royal box, but oc
cupied a seat iu front uf the orchestra, as if to
say, ‘please let me enjoy myself at my ease,
and show my dress, as any other lady.’ And
so she diJ, and people were by this occasion
enabled to see that the Princess RoyaV had a
I hair dress a rimperatric, and that ‘Her Maj
esty looks, after all, Wonderfully well.' Tho
concert itself had a guod programme, well but
not brilliantly executed.—Correspondence N.
T. Timesi
. Sam Houston a Duelist.—Judge J. tells a
tile about Sam Houston which is * good en
ough to print.’ During the canvass which re
sulted in Sam's beating Burnett for the Presi
dency of the R*:publifc of Tens, some rather
| harsh terms had passed between the parties,
i when Burnett took occasion to send Houston a
challenge. Previous to its reception, Sam got
| information of the intention of his opponent;
and when Dr. Archer, who w*3 sent by Mr.
1 Burnett to deliver the challenge, was Introdu
ced into Mr. Houston’s ruotUj he found that
, gentleman in bed, groaning, and apparently
' suffering with the most excrutiating pain.
I It was some time before the distinguished
visitor was noticed by the invalid, but finally,
after listening to the reading of the challenge,
Sam groaned out—* Tell him I’ll fight him!—.
when his turn comes. I've seventeen on. mj*
list before him ! when they have been dispoa
1 ed of, this affair of honor shall be settled !
The doctor took his leave, acd was ushered
from the appariment by a deep groaa from the
invalid.—Corpus Christi (Taras) Valley an4
Advertiser.
Png aLlant. The author of ‘Habits and
Men,’ iplates an anecdote of- an old-fashioned
naval captain who committed the offence of
dancing without gloves. The marine hero in
question had stood up to go through a country
dance with a very fine lady, who was shocked
to observe that Us huge warm hands were not
covered according to etiquette. ‘Captain,’
said his fair partner, ‘you are perhaps not
aware that you have not got gloves on.’—
‘Oh, never mind, Ma'am !’ answered the com
mander, ‘never mind ; I can wash my baud*
when wo have done

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