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Eastern times. [volume] (Bath, Me.) 1846-1857, April 24, 1856, Image 1

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(K[je (Bastrrn (Kimts
FOBLISIIKI) EVERY TFfCUSDAY MORNIU9, BY
JOHN ABBOTT,
Editor mad FdlilltheY.
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C|t §Hurg Cellcr. i
From the Philadelphia American Courier.
PRESENTIMENT:
OH,
The Triple Warning.
Reading lately in Harper’s Magaaine, a
Very interesting story, entitled ‘The Knocker,’
on the subject of supernatural premonition of
coming evil, I was forcibly remiuded of a
most extraordinary incident which happened
many years ago in a branch of my fatner’s
family. For the truth of the narrative 1 can
Touch, as it was related by a person of ur.;
questionable veracity, who had the facts from
the lady's own lips.
Mr. James Kettell was, 1 believe, a second ,
or third cousin of my fattier, a country gentle
man of ample fortune, good family and liberal
education, residing on his own estate, abont
Forty or fifty miles from the city of Dublin.
His wife was his equal in all respects, intelli
gent, well informed, and possessing a strength
of character that raised her above all suspicion
of harboring in her breast any of the vulgar
superstitious prejudices of her country, in fa
vor of ‘ehosts.’ ‘spirits' or ‘banshees.’
Mr. Kettell had been married but a short ,
time when business ot importance called him
to the city, and his wife decided on accompa
nying him. These were not the days of,
steamboats or railroads, and the journey was
rather a formidable one, owing to the state of
the roads and the season of the year, it being
near Christmas. They made the greater part
of the way in their own carriage, and the re
mainder they intended to accomplish by means
of the canal boat, a common method of travel
ing at the time, Late in the evening they ar
rived at the inn of the village whence they
were to take the boat at four o’clock next |
morning. A good snpper was speedily placed
before the hungry travelers, and having par
taken of it and being very much fatigued, they
retired to rest soon after, first giving the land
lord strict injunctions to call them precisely at
half-past three. Mrs. Kettell, being very
weary, was soon fast asleep, but she did not
enjoy her rest long. Scarcely had she slum
bered two hours ere she awoke in a state of
the most painful agitation and terror, calling
aloud on her husband to save her. The latter
anxiously inquired what was the matter!
‘Oh! James.’she replied, in a trembling
voice, ‘thank God, it was only a dream ! but
oh !’ she continued, with a shudder, and press
ing her hand on her heart to still its throbbing,
‘what a frightful dream 1 have had ; reality
itself could hardly be more horrible. 1 dream
ed that a lock on the canal had burst, and that
we and all on board were drowning, struggling
with and beating against the black surging
waters—their roaring is still in my ears, min
gled with the shrieks of the dying, and their
agonizing cries for help.'
‘ l pon my word, my dear, returned her
husband, ‘if those in your dream screamed out
as loudly as you did just now, I don’t wonder
that your fancy is so vividly impressed ; but
come now,’ he added, ‘try and compose your
self to sleep again, and think no more of these
terrible fancies; most likely you have had the
nightmare, caused no doubt by eating too
hearty a supper, combined with unusual fa
tigue.’
Mrs. Kettell endeavored to follow her hus
band's advice, and after some time she fell in
to a slumber.
She was not destined, however, to enjoy
her repose lung. A second time she wakened
up in a stale of even greater terror than before,
caused by a recurrence of the frightful dream.
Her hushand, seeing her distress, tried every
means to soothe her agitation ; and Mrs. Ket
tell, making a strong effort to subdue her emo
tion, once more lay down to rest.
Vain was the hope of repose. A third time
was she roused from s'umber by a repetition |
of the dreadful dream, with all its harrowing
details.
« My dear husband,’ she now said, ‘it is
useless for you to try and reason with me ; 1
cannot conquer the dreadful conviction lhat
this thrice-repeated dream forebodes some ter
rible calamity, and is sent as a warning. Oh !
do not, I pray you, persist in continuing the
journey, for,* she continued, bursting into
tears, ‘1 have a strong presentiment, such as I
never bad before, that something terrible will
happen ; in short, that this horrible dream will
be realized.’
* Mary, my dear,’ replied her husband,
gravely, ‘I am surprised that you should yield
to such foolish, superstitious fears ; but since
you feel so reluctant to proceed, you had bet
ter return home in the morning with the car
riage. As to myself, 1 must go on to Dublin,
for ray business is important, and will admit
of no delay : but relieve yonr mind of anxiety
on my account. I pledge yon my word that I
■hall take the precaution of getting out and
walking every lock ; in so doing f shall be ex
empt from all danger, if any such fatality as
you anticipate should occur. You know well
that when I make a promise, I keep it, so yon
must not be in the least uneasy about me ; and
furthermore, the moment f arrive at my jour
ney’s end, I shall write to inform you of my
safety.’
So it was arranged. Mr. Kettell proceeded
on hia way to the city, and Mrs. Kettell re
turned home early next morning.
The servante were not a little surprised at
the unexpected arrival of their mistresa, bat
the plea of sudden indisposition was sufficient
to account for it; nor was the plea a mere
pretext, for fatigue of body and violent agita
tion of mind had made her really unwell.
Mrs. Kettell passed the day in a state of
nervous inquietude, and looked forward with
apprehension to the approach of evening, fear
ing a renewal of the previous night's horrors.
Overcome with weariness and many conflict
ing emotions, however, she retired early to
rest, and slept well.
„ -»n— -i
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♦ 5i
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^ feuntal af political anir Enteral ^bbatale af (Spal |T
VOL- X._ , BATH, THURSDAY MORNING, APRIL 24, 1856 ;■ no. 45.
Early next day she despatched a servant to
the post-office lor the expected letter, with
which he soon returned. An audible excla
mation of gratitude burst from her lips as she
recognized the well-known handwriting, and,
with eagerness, she tore the letter open.—
Alas ! her presentiment proved but too true.
The first few words told the dreadful tale :
* Dear Mary,’ (it began) ‘you have been
a true prophet! your fatal dream has been
fearfully realized—the doomed boat has sunk
beneath the waters, and every soul on board
at the time perished. Of the passengers, three
only escaped, myself and two others—one a
scoundrel that did not deserve preservation ;
but if possessed of any feeling or reflection,
one might be led to hope that his wonderful
escape would lead him to repentance—but of
this anon, for the particulars of this sad catas
trophe you must wait till my return. In the
meantime I subscribe myself as ever,
Yours, &c., -.
P. S. I shall, please Uod, be home next
Thursday.’
On the appointed day, Mr. Kettell returned
home, and in his first leisure moments related
to his wife the particulars of the shocking ca
lamity to which they both would have fallen
victims, had it not been for the warning dream.
‘ On my entering the boat," said Mr. Ket
tell, 1 found it lull ot passengers—a motley
group they appeared by the dim lamp-light—
some dozing, others yawning, all lying in ev
ery variety of attitude, and many grumbling at
the cold raw air, and the tedious progress they
were making. On looking around I was glad
to recoguize young Murray as a travelling
companion. Among the crowd 1 noticed, es
pecially, an old and very respectable looking
gentleman in black, and a little farther off, a
very foppish, conceited-looking young man,
who seemed rather forward and officious in his
manners. After we had proceeded some dis
tance, the old gentleman drew out of his fob a
very magnificent gold watch, and having look
ed at the hour and made some remarks on the
time and weather, laid his arms on the table,
and placing his head above them, soon gave
evidence, by his stertorous breathing, that he
was fast asleep. Meantime we pursued our
dreary journey, varied only by Murray and
myself getting out and walking every luck.
Some lime after the old gentleman dropped
asleep, the young man began to yawn and pro
test it was shockingly tiresome, with nothing
to relieve the dull tedium of the way.
‘ Come,' said lie, starting up, as if a bright
thought had suddenly struck him, ‘1 tell you
what, we'll have some fun ; I’ll pl«y a trick
on my old uncle,* pointing at the same time to
the sleeping old gentleman.
So saying, he glided noiselessly beside him,
and gently inserting his hand into the old
man's pocket, dexterously drew out his watch
and transferred it to his own.
* You'll see presently,’ he added, laughing,
‘what a precious row the old fellow will kick
up when he awakes and misses his chronome
ter. Ciracious ! how ho will storm ! llis
conceit will be somewhat lowered I fancy,' he
chuckled, 'for he prides himself on being as
watchful tfs a cat. Not a word, ladies and
gentlemen,’ he continued, buttoning op his
coat, and making a gesture of silence.’
The old gentleman slumbered on, and we
pursued our monotonous way, my mind in the
meantime not being quite free from certain
misgivings as to the uncle and nephew, though
why, I cannot say, as none ot the company
seemed to have any doubts as to their rela
tionship. As we drew near the last lock but
one, a sudden lurch of the boat woke up the
old gentleman. Looking round on his fellow
passengers, and remarking that day was be
ginning to break, he put his hand to his pock
et to draw out his watch, w hen, casting a look
of blank astonishment and dismay on the com
pany, he exclaimed aloud, that he had been
robbed ! his watch was gone ' and swore that
no one should leave the boat till it wag found.
The women began to titter, and the men to
nod and wink at each other. After a while,
however, one of the passengers, thinking ‘the
joke’ had gone far enough, addressed the old
gentleman, saying,
‘ Come, come, sir, don't be angry, it was
only a jest; your nephew—’
• My nephew,’ thundered the old man, ‘I
have no nephew here, sir ; what is the mean
ing of all this impertinence?’
Here some of the passengers rushed on
deck to seek the pretended nephew, but it is
needless to say that the villain was gone !
‘ Well,’ exclaimed Murray, ‘that is the
neatest trick 1 ever saw played.’
‘ The audacious scoundrel,’ broke forth the
old gentleman, ‘I’ll make it a dear trick to
him. We are now near Dublin, and I shall
set the police after him the moment I arrive.
I'll have him caught.’
By this time we naa nearea me iock, ana
Murray and I, as usual, got out to walk. L’p
to this time I had not mentioned a word about
your dream. But now I exclaimed, ‘What a
laugh I shall have at Mary for her supersti
tious fears,’ and 1 then related the occurrence
! to Murray as we walked along, adding, as I
finished the narration—‘And here we are just
at our journey’s end.’
* Take care,’ observed my friend, smiling:
‘remember the moral to one ol ^Esop’s fables
—Don’t halloo till you are out of the wood.’
Gracious God ! scarcely had the words es
caped his lips, ere a most terrific noise of
crashing timbers and roaring waters, mingled
with the most unearthly shrieks, burst upon
our ears. We suddenly turned round—and—
oh ! Merciful Father ! the boat was gone—it
and every soul on board were sunk beneath
the foaming waters ! The awful catastrophe
was indeed the exact realization of yonr terri
ble dream. Never while 1 retain memory,
shall I forget the dreadful scene, and never, 1
trust, shall I cease to remember, with fervent
gratitude, our wonderful escape.'
IflistcIIant).
From the San Francisco Holden Era.
A SHORT PATENT SERMON.
BY DOW, JR.
I can’t tell you exactly where else to find
my text than at the head of this sermon.—
These are the words :
l wandered, one morning, in youth’s early hours.
In a garden all sparkling with dew-drops and flowers j
There was beauty and sweetness around and above,
And my wild heart was throbbing with rapturous love.
I paused ’neath a rose-tree, all blooming ami fair,
To pluck a bright bud to entwine in my hair,
Hut e’en as l grasped ft trom off the frail spray,
Its bright petals murmured—“Phasing away !”
Mr Hearers :—In our daily walks, or
wherever we may happen to wander,—wheth
er through crowded mart3,over flowery fields,
or amid the gray old forests—we behold upon
every side a thousand truthful emblems of the
frailty of all things pertaining to this transi
tory sphere : y^t their monition, ‘here to-day
and gone to-morrow,’ is as little heeded by us,
momentary monads, as a cow cares for the
warning notice at a rail-road crossing—‘Look
Out For The Engine When The Hell Rings !’
Evanescent mortals; all the furniture, fix
ings, utensils, and other moveables, animate
and inanimate, belonging to earth, may truly
be said to be ‘here to-day and gone to-mor
row’—though of musquitoes, and creditors on
a visit to the Atlantic States, it may just now
be said, they are gone to day, but here to
morrow—for ‘sarlin.’
California-born Winter—grown old in his
boyhood—is now dragging his trail through
seas of mud towards a premature grave. He
is passing away, while green-slippered Spring
comes tripping along, strewing garlands upon
the spots made desolate by his blighting tread.
Soon, the baby violets will open their little
blue eyes, and almost laugh aloud in their
grass-fringed cradles ; golden butter-cups will
spangle the dull pastures, and a joyous sister
hood of daisies dot the sunny hill-slopes. But
these, my friends, will all pass quickly away,
and summer's bright roses bloom for awhile
upon their silent sepulchres. Anon, and the
downy ghost of the dandelion will be seen
sailing upon the balmy breeze adown the blos
som-garnished vale, admonishing the idle gaz
er, that ‘all things fair must fade,’ and pass
for ever away.
‘ Passing away!’ The flowers whisper it,
as they drop their bright petals and bow them
selves down to the dust. I see it, printed in
italics, wherever 1 go. Even now, the last
run of herring proclaims it. ‘Passing away !’
mournfully sighs the night-wind, as it mopes
past the decaying Missions and dilapidated
homes of the good old Padres. ‘Passing
away!’writes Time with his leaden pencil
upon the polished brow of Beauty. 1 behold
the ominous inscription engraved upon the up
pers of my weather-battered boots, and mark
the same folded in every fuliginous wreath
that curls upward from ray sermon-preaching
pipe,—then fancy feels sick at the stomach,
and weary Hope contemplates hanging herself
in her garters.
‘ Passing away !—passing away !’ is whis
pered, written, proclaimed, shouted and sung
throughout the whole human empire ; but
you reckless, care-fur-nothings, take no notice
of the warning, as if you were rooted in an
everlasting soil and nourished by immortaliz
ing dews, instead of as it were,
“ Itl„«inin£ at Beltane, in winter to fade.”
My dear brethren. ‘Lo, the poor Indian!’
he is passing away at the ingress of a superior
order of his fellow man, like winter fashions
at the dawn of spring. His council-fires are
growing dim—his war-w hoop resounds w ith
hut a feeble echo—his earthly hunt is nearly
over—his pipe will soon be out—and the time
is not far distant, when he, the last of his race
will lay him down to die by this still wild Pa
cific shore, with his blanket for his shruud,
and no kindred to howl or let fall the sorrow
ing tear upon the spot where his bones lie
bleaching. Passing away, too, is the rem
nant of those iron-hooped souls, who so brave
ly weathered the memorable leaden storin of
the Revolution, and afterwards seasoned their
timbers in the rays of Freedom’s unclouded
sun. Most of them are gone lo where they
; will never, never be called upon to fight again
for liberty, home, sweethearts and little ones ;
and now there are but precious ‘few more left
of the same sort,’ to relate to listening grand
children the eye-peeling and skin-twitching
j events of that blood-bespattered epoch. To
morrow’s sun, as it were, will cast its golden
morning beams upon the new-made grave of
the last old soldier of the Revolution, who,
when the war-tocsin first sounded in the streets
of Lexington, buckled on his knapsack, shoul
dered his musket, took a pull at his canteen,
and valiantly swore to
“ A» victor exult, or in death be laid low,
With his head to the field and his feet to the foe.”
Ay, ‘passing away—passing away' is this lit
tle putrified patch of patriots, who are now all
gone to seed—ripe and while Car the harvest.
My friends : turn back a few leaves in the
book of Time, and read what has already
passed away. Where now are the marvel
ously expensive edifioes of Solomon the great 1
—and where are the once distinguished inhab
itants of Herculaneum, Pompeii, Nineveh,
Babylon, Palmyra, Tyre and Sidon* They
have all emigrated to Kternity, while the won
derful monuments of their skill and ingenuity
lie buried deep, deep beneath the dust of ages.
And where are the once proud-spirited and in
telligent Aztecs, who reared their vast pyra
mids upon the plains of Cholula, and accom
plished their architectural wonders, cycles be
fore the foot of the Red Man pressed the soi
of Central America 1 Ah! they, at last
reached the zenith of their glory, and thei
suddenly passed into tlgt>ij-<£enetrabie mist o
eternal oblivion! Ss K* V — cower
magnificence, wisdom and renowned seats ol
learning mysteriously passed for ever away,
and their places overgrown with the rank
weeds and mosses ot superstition and igno
rance. Oh, thou mischief maker, Time ! tell
me, why didst thou demolish grand-mother's
spinning-wheel, that used to hum such pleas
ant duties, and steal grand-father's silver knee
buckles, that were wont to'glilter so brightly
in every .Sunday's sun ? llut I forgive thee
all, if thou w ilt only let go my hair.
My brethren : since ‘Passing away !’ is ev
erywhere scribbled on earth, let us look alolt.
There is the shining, starry firmament, just
exactly as it was when Cod said, ‘Let there
be light !’ Not a single star-flower has fallen
or faded in this splendid celestial boquet. It
continues to bloom, as it ever has bloomed, in
all its perennial brightness and glory ; and it
will continue as to bloom, till the heavens shall
unroll as a scroll, and the Angel of Time
swear that‘time shall he no more1’ Look
up, then, and be comforted ; and wait patient
ly for the last grand change, that shall trans
pose you to another and happier sphere, w here
no such ominous phrase as ‘Passing away,’
was ever heard or thought of,—
‘* Where Beauty no longer her roses shall nourish.
Nor the lily o'erspread the wan cheek of Despair.’’
So mote it be !
A Remarkable Story.
The following singular story is taken from
‘Illustrations of Human LiTe,’ by Mr. Ward,
author of Tremaine :
“ The story to which we shall now advert
has the double value of being told, we pre
sume, on- Mr. Ward's pcrsoual knowledge,
and of illustrating the extraordinary chances
on which human life is sometimes suffered to
depend. The circumstances occurred to the
well known Sir"*Evan Nepean, in the Home
department. The poplar version of the story
had been, that he was warned by a vision to
save the lives of three or four men condemned
to die, hut reprieved ; and who but for the
vision, would have perished, through the un
der-Secretary's neglect in forwarding the re
prieve. On Sir Evan's being subsequently
asked how far this story was true, his answer
was : ‘The narrative romances a little, but
what it alludes to was the most extraordinary
thing that ever happened to me.’ The simple
facts, as told by himself are these : One night,
during his office as under-secretary, he felt the
most unaccountable wakefulness that could be
imagined ; he was in perfect health, had dined
early, and had nothing whatever on his mind
to keep him awake. Still, he found all his
attempts to sleep impossibls, and from eleven
till two in the morning, he never closed an
eye. At length weary of this struggle, and
as the twilight was breaking (it was in sum
mer.) he determined to try what would be the
| effect of a walk in the park. There he saw
nothing but the sleepy "'sentinels. But, in his
walk, happening to pass the Home office sev
eral times, he thought of letting himself in
: with his key, though without any particular
object. The book of entries of the day before
still lay on the table, and through sheer list
j Ie3sness he opened it. The first thing he saw
appalled him—‘A reprieve to be sent to York
lor the comers ordered lor execution. lne
! execution had been appointed lor the next day.
It struck him that he had received no return
to his order to send the reprieve. He searched
the ‘minutes he could not find it there. In
alarm, he went to the house of the chief clerk,
who lived iB Downing street, knocked him up,
(it was then past three,) and asked him if he
knew anything of the reprieve being sent. In
great alarm, the chief clerk could not remem
; her. ‘You are scarcely awake,’ said Sir
Evan, ‘recollect yourself; it must have been
sent.’
The clerk said he now recollected he had
i sent it to the clerk of the Crown, whose busi
I ness it was to forward it to York.
‘ Good,’ said Sir Evan. ‘But have you his
receipt and certificate that it is gone?'
* No.’
‘Then come with me, we must find him al
though it is so early.’ It was now four, and
the clerk of the Crown lived in Chancery lane.
There was r.o hackney-coach to he seen, and
they almost ran. They were just in lime.—
The clerk of the crown had a country house,
and, meaning to have a long holiday, he was
at that moment stepping into his gig to go to
his villa. Astonished at this visit of the un
dcr-Secretary of Stale at such an hour, he was
still more at his business.
• Heavens!’ cried he, ‘the reprieve is locked
up in my dpsk 1’ It was brought. Sir Evan
sent to the post office for the truest and fleet
est express. The reprieve reached York ncxl
morning just at the moment the unhappy men
were ascending the cart. •
ȴ till Oil rjVUIl v> c iuuj ugii.G III
regarding this little narrative as one of the
most extraordinary that we have ever heard.
We shall go lurther even than he acknowl
edged, and say that, to us it appears striking
evidence of what we should conceive a superi
or interposition. It is true that no ghost ap
pears, nor is any prompting voice audible
yet the result depended upon so long a succes
sion of seeming chances, and each of thest
chances was at once so improbable and so ne
cessary, that we are almost compelled to re
gard the whole as matter ot an influence no’
to be attributed to man. If the first link o
the chain might pass for common occurrence
—as, undoubtedly fits of wakefulness wil
happen without any discoverable ground in the
state of either body or mind—still, whatcoult
be less in the common course of things, that
thus waking, he should take it into his heat
to get up and take a walk in the park at tw<
in the moruing 1 Yet, if he had, like others
contented himself with taking a walk in hii
chamber, or enjoying the cool air at bis win
dow, not one of the succeeding events couh
' have occurred, and the men must have beei
, sacrificed. Or if when he took his walk, h<
had been contented with getting rid of the fe
verishness of the night, and returned to his
bed, the chain would have been broken ; for
what was more out of the natural course of
events, than that, at two in the morning, the
idea should come into the head of any man to
go to his office, and sit down in the lonely
rooms of his department, for no purpose of
business or pleasure, bHt simply from not
knowing what to do with himself ?
Or if, when he had let himself into those
solitary rooms, the book of entries had not lain
on the table, (and this we presume to have
been among the chances, as we can scarcely
suppose books of this official importance to be
generally left to their fate among the servants
and messengers of the office;) or, if the en
try, instead of being on the first page that
opened to his eye, had been on any other,
even the second, as he might never have tak
en the trouble of turning the page; or if he
and the chief clerk had been five minutes later
at the Clerk of the Crown’s house, and in
stead of finding him at the moment of getting
into his carriage, had been compelled to incur
the delay of bringing him back from the coun
try, all the preceding events would have been
useless. The people would have died at
York, for, even as it was, they were stopped
on the very verge of execution.
The remarkable feature of the whole ia, that
the chain might have been snapped at every
link, and that every link was equally impor
tant. In the calculation of the probability of
any one of these occurrences, a mathematician
would hnd the chances very hard against ilie
probability of the whole. If it is asked wheth
er a sufficient ground fur this high interposition
is to be discovered in saving the lives of a few
wretched culprits, who as frequently in such
cases, probably returned to their wicked trade
as soon as they escaped, and only plunged them
selves into deeper iniquity ; the answer is, that
it is not fur us, in our ignorance, to mete out
the value of a human life, how ever criminal in
the eyes of heaven.”
Col. Crockett's Death.
Colonel Crockett, surrounded and closely
pursued by a number of the enemy, retreated
into a church, and stationed himself in a niche
in the corner, feeling them as they approached.
When some eight or ten of them were laid be
fore him, a feeling of awe seemed to seize hold
of the assailants. One of them who could
speak a little broken English, probably pre
ferring the signal honor of capturing so noble
a specimen of American valor to present to
his ‘dear master,’ said to Crockett, ‘surrender
senor.’ A flash of the most sovereign cour
age darted from his fiery eye, and as it pierced
that of the enemy, he seemed to be transfixed.
In a voice of thunder, CrocKett answered,—
‘Surrender! No! I am an American,’ and as
he spoke he sent a ball through the paralyzed
foe. He appeared for a moment like a wound
ed tiger, strengthened and buoyed by everv
additional wound; now hewing them down
with his well tried sword—next dealing death
with his fire-arms. His person was literally
drenched with his own blood; his strength
must soon yield to its losses. Yet such phys
ical power wrought to the highest degree of
excitement, can perform incredible prodigies.
This was the last concentrated energy of a
powerful man, aroused, animated and guided
by one of the noblest attributes of man—love
of liberty, lie knew for what his life was
about to be sacrificed ; that devastation and
butchery would follow in the footsteps of his
heartless foes ; that he would be sacrificed to
satiate the desires of the conqueror : and feel
ing the holy inspiration of a dying patriot, he
fought manfully till the loss of blood and ap
proach of death stopped his up-raised arm.—
{ His rifle was broken to pieces, his pistols fell
to the floor, and nothing but his faithful sword
was left. In the agony ol death, with a terri
ble grasp, he brought his last weapon upor
the head ot the nearest assailant, and fell vic
toriously across his body in the arms of death.
In this corner of the church there were twen
ty-six dead Mexicans, and no other American
having fought or fallen at that point, it is con
sidered beyond all reasonable doubt that all o
them fell by the hand of Tennessee's favorite
son !’

Plant Corn.
The question of cheap bread for the working
man, and whether there will be a good supplj
I of beef, depend upon how the people plan
. corn.
II pork next fall is scarce and high, those
who have it to sell may think it is a prosper
ous lime for them, but it will he more so i
they generally have planted corn. It is ne
true argument that the price would he ‘ruinous
ly low.’ No country ever was ruined by chcaj
bread.
We abjure you, therefore, every man o
you, to plant corn—in the_English acceptatioi
i of the word, anything that will make bread—
but more particularly we entreat you to plan
Indian corn. We ask it now because now i:
the time to prepare for it. Wc ask it for till
good of the country—for the benefit of the far
mer. Is there a man living who took our ad
vice and increased his crop last spring, am
who has since had a moment of regret that hi
did so! If be has, his deeply benefited coun
try has not. The people return thanks toGui
for a bounteous crop. Without it what wouli
• those who buy bread have doDe in all this ter
rible winter!
East spring a general effort was made to in
crease the product of the land. Jleavei
smiled upon it, and the people were madi
glad. There was cause then—there is causi
now—that the people should plant corn—mon
, than was planted last year, for nowhere an
the granaries full, nowhere is there a surplu
! laid up against an unfruitful year, and witliou
such surplus no country can be independent
I' no people prosperous and happy. I*et then
, plant corn.
j We have had a winter of severity, such a
those who are most able lo w„rk )laTe neT£,r
known before, and may never know again.
Hut that is nut certain ; the next may be one
of still greater severity, and if so, whit a de
mand there w ill be for bread. Lei the farmers
plant corn.
Owing to the fact that the ground has been
covered w ith snow for many weeks, sod that
snow is an absorbent of fertilizing elements for
the earth, we have reason to believe that this
will be a great grain-producing season. Let
the people plant corn.
Not a day is to be lost. We know that the
ground is still frozen—that the snows of Janu
ary still linger on the surface ; but we repeat,
not a day is lo be lost from your preparation,
if you intend more than last jrqpr, to plant
corn.
Let it not be argued that the price of corn is
falling—it is still largely remunerative, while
all its products are equally so. Look at the
prices that farmers have realized for beef and
pork, and though the latter has fallen, it is still
above the point of profit to the maker. There
is r.o prospect that beef will fall below ten
' cents a pound on the hoof fur all that is corn
fed during the year. At any rate it will pay
lo plant curn.
There is pressing need now for a great crop,
as great, or greaiher than that of last year ;
and we may have it, if those w ho read this ar
ticle will bear in mind the burden of its song,
| and urge upon alt with whom they have any
infiueuce, to plant corn—plant more than you
intended—more than you did last year, if only
by one grain, une hill, one rod, one rood, oite
acre, one field—still let your motto be that
which begins and ends this appeal—1’lwnt
; Corn !—N. Y. Tribune.
Eddystone Light-house.
1 he care of this important beacon is commit
ted to four men ; two of which take charge of
u by turns, and are relieved every six weeks.
But as it often happens, especially in stoimy
weather, that boats cannot touch K 'dts’one fur
months, a proper quantity of salt provisions is
always laiJ up, 3s in a ship for a long voyage.
In high win Is snch a briny atmusphere sur
rounds this gloomy solitude from the dashing
of the waras, that a man exposed to it cou’d
| not draw his breath. At these intervals tie
two forlorn inhabitants keep close quarters and
are obliged to live in darkness and stench, lis
tening to the how ling storm, excluded in every
emergency Irom the least hope of assisia nee
and without any earthly company but what is
administered from the confidence in the strength
nf the building in which they are immured.
Once, on relieving this forlorn guard, one uf the
men w as found dead, his companion choosing
ralher^to shut himself up with a putrifying car
cass, than, by throwing it into the sea, to incur
the suspicions of murder.
In fine weather, those wretched beings
scramble a little about the rocks, when the tide
ebhs, and amuse themselves by fishing, which
is the only employment they can have, except
that of trimming their nightly fires. Such to
tal inactivity, and entire seclusion from all the
joys anal aide of society, can only be endnred
by great religious philosophy, which we can
not imagine they feel ; or by great stupidity,
which in pity we suppose they possess. Yet
this wretched communication is so small, we
were assured that it Ins sometimes been a scene
of misanthropy. Instead of suffering the recol
lection of these distresses and dangers in which
each is deserted by all bt^one, to endear that
one to him, we are informed that the humors of
each were so soured they preyed both on them
selves and each other. If one sat above, the oth
er was commonly fonnd below. Their meals,
too, were solitary, each, like a brute, growling
over his food alone. The element of this ardu
ous post is jCtS) a teir, and provisions while
i on duty. The house In live in may be fairly
thrown into the bargain. The whole together
is perhaps one of the least eligible places of
j preferment in Britain.
Shrubbery.
Isrt there always be a lawn in front of the
house, and let the liatdy climbers lind all over
it appropriate places on which Jo rest, and
fasten their wondrous burdens of grace and
loveliness ; let honeysuckles and jessamines,
clematis and bignonias, and uislaries, and
roses cluster over it and weave for it a veil of
beauty, which the sun shall every moment di
versify with bewitching light and shade, and
in which the zephyrs shall always nestle, and
rock themselves to sleep ; where the bees
shall come light-hearted, and sing their monot
onous lyrics of industry as they gather sweet
' est nectar; and w here the little birds shall
build their annual nests and rear their families
not more loving than the one that dwells be
neath those embowering vines.
Cultivating such natural ornaments upon
and about a house will rehne the taste ot the
iamily, will improve the manners, will ele
vate the morals, and strengthen all the domes
tic and social affections in their hearts. It
will assist also in forming habits of industry
and frugality, as well as habits of observation
and intelligent piety. Ijet a family plan how
best to adorn a yard and decorate a house with
(ullage, and they will find springing up in
their hearts a unity of feeling and a strength
of sympathy to which others are strangers.—
Each one labors lo promote the pleasures ol
! the other—hence domestic affection ; are all
planning for the future, hence hopeful pa
tience ; all seek to turn every spare hour to
the common profit, hence orderly arrangement
i of lime, frugality and industry.
i A printer, not long ago, being ‘flung’ by Ilia
: sweetheart, went to the office and tried to com
i mil suicide with the ‘shooting slick,’ but the
> thing wouldn’t‘go off.’ The‘devil,’ wishing
i to pacify him, told him lo peep into the sanc
tum where the editor was writing duns lo de
i linqueut subscribers. He did so, and the ef
fect was,magics). He says that picture of dc
i | spair reconciled him to bis fate.
38ook nnh 3Nrb printing.
Having recently made exteusive addltHiom to oar form**
variety ©f
*LAiH AH® FAHftY
JOB TYPE,
The gffniartctor of *w Eastern Times is now prepared to ex
emWjHtt MXAYWmw and Mtsf atcit, every deeeriytiwn of
Job Workrsuch aa
Circular*. Billheads, Cards, Calak|aci»
lifanka, Prog rnmnie#. Shop Bills,
Ii»hel* A iKffon mid Ilaad
Bill#. Ac., Ac#
XT Pbvt1ctt!ai*ntft'nti. n pawl to
Mfiausysig jpmnH’U'irsj©.
All work entimsfwl to n* will ho perAftue® in the brsr
Dimmer, and as low as can Ue afforded. Orders solicit**!
and promptly aosimtl. JOHN’ AliWYirT
leather and the Shoe Business.
• The ?fcwboryport Hrrald I,as fhe following
remark? on the high price of leather end it?
connection with the shoe business :—
Thinking of leather suggests to us that the
i lime must shortly came for the use ol other
materials in this manufacture. What these
wl" be, does not appear, but necessity is Mid
to be the mother of invention, and from the
consumption «, mod, exceeding the supply,
that necessity w'rtl soon be upon us. Hide?
are not so much more v^Uy than formerly, be
cause freight? are higher, „T the prospects of
the importers largor, or beeauw, there is any
conspiracy to defraud purchasers or make them
go baiefooted ; but the plain? of Brazil and
Buenos Ayres, and- the shores of Africa can
not furnish them for Massachusetts tanners
and shoemakers to waste. They are as high
abroad as at home, and the prices will never
go down te the old figures. Only look tt ths
importations of hides and leather into Massa
chusetts ! If the whole amount was as thor
oughly and properly tanned as it is in Kurope,
and the shoes were as well made as they are
m Liermany or r ranee, the Massachusetts man
ufacturers alone would si.or the whole human
1 race ; but it is considered a great object to get
cheap shoes, and we do get them. The tanner
: purchases his hides on six months credit, and
they must be out of the vats and into monty
before the notes mature. He burn* the lilo
and strength out of them to begin with, and we
1 ean scarcely get them on to our feet before the
stocks brea-lw to pieces. Then the trade of
making is learned- in a lortnight, and the per
son sets up as a master mechanic before he
can make a thread ; and wlierc the leather
don't break the seams do rip, and a man with
a hall dozen children has to keep one of them
all the time running to a shoe store to keep
their feet from the ground. Under such dire
circumstances it would be impossible, if there
were whole worlds of cattle breeders, to keep
i a supply of skins. Either there will be im
! provements in the slock and the work before
! long, or they will have to find something be
' sides leather to make shoes of.’
An Unfortunate Traveller.
A Mr. \V atson, of St Jxiuis, commenced
an unfortunate career of railroad travel last
summer, at the lime »f the Gasconade disaster,
j at which time lie nearly lost his life. Scarct
ly had he recovered from the injuries then re
ceived, when he again narrowly escaped death,
from an accident which occurred to the train
while he was coming East, lie was laid up
Sir some months at the Girard House, in Phil
adelphia, on account of the injuries received.
As soon as sufficiently recovered, he took pas
sage for Pittsburg. Some gentlemen who
intended to go in the same direction, purpose
ly delayed llteir departure, in ordnr to avoid
participating in his apprehended misforlttnes.
But as it singularly occurred, Mr. Watson's
train met with an accident after proceeding a
I few miles, slight indeed, bin sufficient to de
tain the train for several hours ; and before ar
riving at Harrisburg, a second accident oc
curred, with a detention of 21 hours. In the
meantime, the cautious gentlemen before al
hided to, pursuing their journey, overtook Mr.
\V., and unwittingly got on the same train, for
Pittsburg. Before reaching its destination,
however, the fated train was thrown entirely
from the track, by the breaking of a wheel.
The passengers alighted, and, greatly to their
consternation, found lhat Mr. \V., (Jonah,)
was on hoard. Thereupon the whole com
pany became greatly exasperated, and respect
fully informed the conductor that it would be
utterly impossible to proceed in his company.
Our informant states lhat Mr. W. has succeed
ed in reaching Pittsburg, and ia recovering
from his contusions, at the Monongahela
House. Mr. \V. declares that once more at
home, he w ill remain there.—Yin* York Jour
nal of' Comm', rcc.
Decline of the Native Population in the
Sandwich Islands.
Hr W. Hi'debratid, in a letter to the Royal
Agricultural Society at Honolula, gives the
following account of the decadence of the Ha
waiian nation ;
‘ The Hawaiian nation, which 70 years ago
was estimated variously at from 200,000 to
400,000, now only counts 73,000. a decrease
within this period of at least two-thirds. A ast
tracts ot land do not harbor a human soul;
fertile kalo lanls, once under cultivation, are
left to the rule of grass and weeds. The is
land of Kauai, remarkable lor the productive
ness of its soil, and capable to sustain a popu
lation of at least 100,000, contains only 0000.
It is not to cruel and devastating ware that we
have to attribute this unparalleled tailing off in
i so short a time. 1 he wars of Kamehamena
| 1., however energetically they were carried on,
cannot, in the remotest degree be compared,
e > far as waste of life is concerned, with those
of modern civilized nations. And it is after
these wars, moreover after the blessings of
civilization were transferred hither, that the
blight falls most mercilessly on this doomed
1 people. The cause of the evil is an internal
one, not caused hut increased by external in
fluences. Its investigation resolves itself nat
urally into these two questions: the scarcity
of births and the frequency of deaths.”
A New Gux.—A new fire-arm Ii3sbeen pa
tented by J. VV. Post, of New York. It is a
repeating rifle, which c in be loaded and dis
i charged thirty times a minute ; is light and
; convenient; has but one discharging barrel,
and does not revolve. lTnder the barrel, in
place of the ramrod, in other gons, is a tube
i which receives thirty acorn-shaped water-proof
• balls, each containing within itself powder and
t percussion for propulsion. The a at of ooeking
; the piece places the ball in the breech, and the
- whole thirty may be discharged ten times in
- ten seconds. The ball is shaped like that of
- the Mioie rifle, and the gun itself is calculated
- as well for long distances as rapid flring.—A. ,
y. Commercial Advertiser.
- .-. . n .-.limn..

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