The Union and journal. [volume], January 20, 1860, Image 1

About The Union and journal. [volume] (Biddeford, Me.) 1858-1882

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LOUIS 0. COWAN,]
"ETERNAL HOSTILITY TO EVERY FORM OF OPPRESSION OYER THE MIND OR BODY OF MAN."—Jefferson.
[Editor asd Pbopbiztob.
VOLUME XVI.
BIDDEFORD, ME., FRIDAY MORNING, JAN UARY 20, 1860.
NUMBER 4.
C|c fclnioit £ Journal1
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MY Dlit,AM.
DT JOUX 0. WIltTTIK*. .
In ray ilrnm methought I trod,
Yester night, a mount*in road;
Narrow as A1 Sirat's span.
Hitch at Lisle'a flight it ran.
Overhead, a root of cloud
With it* wright of thunder bowed;
Underneath, to left and right,
IHackuess and abysmal night.
Here and there a wild flower blushed,
* Now and then a bird-song gushed;
Now and theu through rifts and shade.
Stars shone and sunbuams played.
Hut the goodly company,
Walking in that path with me,
One by one the brink o'erslid,
One by one the darkness hid.
Home with wailing and lament.
Some with cheerful courage went;
Dut, of all who smiled or mourned.
Never one to us returned.
Anxiously, with eye and ear.
Questioning that shadow drear.
Never hand in token stirred.
Never answering voice I heard !
Steeper, darker!—lo! I felt
From my feet the pathway melt.
Swallowed by tho black despair.
And the hungry jaws of air.
Paat the stony-throated caves.
Strangled by the wash of waves;
Past the splintered crags I sank.
On a green and flow'ry bank
Soft as a fall ot thistle down.
Lightly as a cloud is blown,
Soothiugl) as childhood pressed
To the bosom of ita rest
* Of the sharp horned rocks instead,
Oreeu and grassy carpets spread.
Bright with waters, singing by
Trees that propped a goldeu sky.
Painless, trustful, sorrow Iree,
Old lust focrs welcomed me.
With whose sweetress of content
Still expectant hojw w ls blent.
Welkin; while the dawning grey
Solwly bringeth into day.
Pondering uti tint rU'ion fled.
Thus unto myself I said:
"Steep mi I hum with clouds of strife.
Is our narrow pith of life;
And our death the dreaded fill
Through the dark, awaiting all.
"So with palatal steps we climb
I'p the di»y ways of time,
K*er in the shadow shed
lly the forecast of our dread.
" Dread of mystery, solved alone
In the untried and unknown;
Yet the end thereof may seem
Like the tailing of my drvam.
" And this heart-consuming care.
All our fears of hew or there,
Change and at«ence, loss and death.
Prove but simple lac* of faith."
Thou.O, Moat Compassionate!
Who didst stoop to our estate.
Drinking of the cup we drain.
Treading in our path of pain—
Through the doubt and mystery.
Grant us thy steps to see.
And the grace to draw fro:u thence
Larger hopes and confident.
Show thy vacant tomb, aud let.
As of old. the angela ait
Whispering by its open door:
" Fear not? He hath gone before !'*
Agricultural.
Broken Wind or Hoavos.
"Hoarcs," the common namo for broken
wind in the horse, is "um-.-j.iiHi, uf ^rmt al
leviation bf attention to the character ud,
quantity of food lo he eaten hy th« animal]
m ere ry om knows. If a hoi*© •utfcrinp from
thin ilincisao U allowed to diatend hia «U»mael>
at hia pleaaure, with dry food entirely, ami
then to drink cold water aJ libitum, he U
nearly worthleaa. But if hia food be moist
ened, and be be allowed to drink a moderate
quantity only at a time, the disease is much
kas trouble*une.
A atill farther alleviation of the 'heavea*
may be obtained from the use of raw, &t
nit pork, from time to time. I do not My
that the heaves can be cured by the use of
salt pork, but alleviated atill mors than by
feeding wet food without pork.
Commence with a piece of pork, say a
cubic in. h,chopped wry finoand mixed wkh
the wott««d grain or cut feed, twice a duylfor
two or three days. Then from day to day
increase the quantities and cut leas tine, until
there is given with each feed, such a slice as
usua ly by a farmer's wife, is cut for frying,
nearly as larg»? as your hand, cut into
fifteen or twenty pieces. Continue this'for
two weeks, and the horse is ca|»aMe ot any
ordinary work without difttrcM, and without
showing the heaves. I have cxperienco and
u>iservation for the |*vt teti years as proof of
the above.—Country Gentleman.
Barn Roofs—Shingling.
It is important in oar cold and rainy cli
mate to keep out all tho wot at' almost any
cost. Ir is poor husltundry to build haras
and then suffer them to leak and rot tho tim
ber inside as well us the liny.
In tho country shingles are the only thing
worth naming for roofs. Goodshtnyl*s onlv
rlfWTvi' I«r Ipxtl shingles pr»)*r/v
und they will J«st thirty years. No mend
ing will be required except in places not vrell
executed by the carpenter; if there should
be u leak, lind out where it is und put on u
n«w shingle—not u half down, us some uion
do.
How to bats noxrr in shingling.—It
has long been a rule among carponters to lay
shingles so as to havj> three thicknesses at the
least through the whole roof. Shingles four
teen or fifteen inches long are laid so ustocx
jhjso but four and one-lmlf inches to the
weather. Three times four und one-half are
thirt<i n and one hulf—thus such shingles
lie thicker than three fold.
Now this is a double waste—for three
shingles, lying upon eueh other, will rjt
inueh sooner than two ftliingles will, in that
position, for thry Urr not so so*>n dried after
a storm. It is rottnyf tliut must be gourde 1
uguinst, more than all else The argument
that three thicknesses will prevent the blow
ing in of rain more than two will, proves too
much.
Why not double hoard tho sides on tho
Name principle? Itec.iuso none of the boards
will lost us long. So when a roof is covered
with boards only, running up and down, und
I kittened—tho hatt 'its should l»o quite nar
row, and cover but little of the under board.
Otherwise both layers soon rot, as many peo
ple know who have sheds with cheap roofs.
Shingles of fourteen or fifteen inches in
length should always be laid six inches to tho
weather, that thoy may dry soon after a rain
—the sooner the better, shingles worth lay
ing never wear out in tho common mode of
laying ; but it is well known that they often
rot out before they are half worn.
To keep shingles dry as possible, tight, or
cloeo hoarding under them should never be
|M'ruiitted. 1-iv upon the rafters narrow
stri[M of hoard, w ith open spaces, three inch
es between. Nail your shingles on to these
strips, and then you give theui a fair chance
to bccouio dry on the under side after a
liQBi,
<i.>od shingles always lie quit** clow* enough
on tlu» roof—and though violent storms mav
drive a fi-w dropa under the shingles—this
happen* in all roof—but hero the shingles
are aooneet dry.
Si:k the oaix.—By laying shingles sii
inch'-s to the weather, instead of four and a
half, we save one-fourth of the shingle*—one
I mrth ol the n:til*—and one-fourth of the
labor of putting theiu on. Ami as thin our
roof will hist at least one-fourth longer than
the other, we hto uiuch more than ono-fourth
of the iiwt or lumV'r and of laying.
Many carpenters and builden havo come
to tho comlusiun that h'jnl Umrdmj. under
shingles i» wrong; since tho shingle* rot
sooner than in open boarding. Vet we have
seldom seen a carpenter lay hisshingles mor s
than 4 1-2 inches to the weather, let them be
long or short, good or bad! Why is this?
Because they would nut depart from an an
cient rule.
Poor shingles aro not worth taking as a
gift. CarjHiitcm can not lay half as many
in a day. They never turn water well—and
tbersoenrot. Some men aro well pleased
witli sawed shingles, fiecuuse they lie so close
to the hoarding. Hut this u tho cause of
their rotting sooner than tho poorest kind of
shaved shiii^h-s. Them is a nup on them
that causes theiu to n-tain any wet that haj>
jsriis to emito between them.
li anv one doubts tho propriety of laying
good shingles six inches to the weather rath
er than four and a half, wo can show him
roof*, 211 years old, in a good stato of prwser
v ition.and more sound than others laid with
three thicknesses.—Mass. Ploujhman.
Hlistfllancous.
Tho Logond of Carl Todsohalk.
Many an the arrows which Father Julius
nlnKit* ut the f allien and vain wiidics ot ordin
ary mortals. Fsom his hunting quiver I
have chosen n shaft; aud ho ha* not only
gracefully viclded tho bow. hut has even
■hown u»e V>w, in sjvite of its length, it may
lie drawn without hurt to living creature.
It wiis ju*t as tho most vigilant cook in the
village wu (lapping his wiogn, prvjwratory
to wuking the milkmaids and other early ris
ers, that Merlin, the w izard. rum to go.* lie
had been entertained like a prince. All night
he had drunk tho rosiest of wine, and had
sung the roaringest of catches ; and faithful
ly. bumper for bumper, and eatcli for catch,
had Carl Tiwlsclutlk rescinded. Hut Merlin
must now go, though Carl assured hitn that
a flank of wine vet remained, tho like of
which tho Kaiser fiims^U could not bust.—
S>mc other time, he said, hut not uow. One
little favor, however, his gwxt would nsk of
him beforv he went. If there were nny three
things in this world that Carl Todschalk de
sired, Merlin requested that he would name
thetn instantly. Carl shook his head ; here
wiis a chance. But what should ho choose?
—he, who was the happiest man of tho vil
lage, with nothing to uesire.
"Come, now," urged the wizard, "three
wishei»—wealth, power, fame—"
"Nat, nat," broke in Carl, 'none of these
forme! I'll tell you though," beadded,
brightening up, "sometimes my old (riend
Rierhals calls in to see m©—to talk of days
gone by, to taste my wine, and to sing tome
of tho rare songs which only he knows. But
no matter how good tho wino U, nor how
much I entreat, he will go when the clock
■<trikesten. Now, if you could only bewitch
the chair in the corner, in which ho always
■ ®>ts, «o that nobody can rise from it without
my p^Uion, happy and grateful will I
"It w granted," said Merlin. "Twowish
; J? f'"ain Choose quickly and well."
" For tho last two summer* mv pear-tree
has been robU>l lij thieving gipsies. Can
[ you give to its branches the power of seising
the thieves and squeezing them till they rour
for pain?"
••It shall bo done m you desire ; and woo
to him who ahull venture within the grasp
of the brunches. And now fur the lu«t
wish."
"fr would like to live fifty years more,"
said Curl.
The wizurd nodded, nnd, with a great clap
of thunder, disappeared through the floor,
to nttend to some little business in China.
Thero are muny quaint and entertaining
legends current in the villago of Friedonsch
laf (where the events happened, precisely us
they are related hero) about the wonderful
Tkkk and marvellous Chair, tho choicest of
which would fill many of theme stately col
umns. Hut, lniving throe stories for the
amusement of the good villagers, we, by tho
power in as invent**], take a grand Imp of fif
ty years, and aeeouqiany tho present history
in its majestic course.
The Fifty Yean rolled around, and found
our Carl as halo and hearty an old man as
you would encounter in ft day's journey.
L'lie last day of the l»t year had come. It
was winter. Never was seen beforo such a
comfortable room, such a roaring fire, such
a jug of punch singing mellow glees on the
hoh, or such u fine old gentleman, enjoying
all these good things, as were within the
walls of Carl Todscnalk's house on that bit
tai December day. As Carl lifted tho jug
from the fire, and poured some of tho rich,
° bubbling liquid into a giftss, a knock at tho
door caused him to pnuso for an instant.
44 Dear me," ho said, pouring tho punch
from one glass to another tj cool it, 44 who
on earth pays mo a visit on such a day as
thtor*
A tall form, enveloped in a long black
mantle, stood in the doorway. In his right
Imnd he held a keen, glittering sword. In
his left was an hour glass, in the top of which,
Carl notieed, hut a few sands remained.
44 My name," said the gloomy stranger,
14 is— DkATU."
14 You — you— corao — very suddenly,"
stammered Curl.
" Many men have told mo that; doubtlcn
many more will repeat it," hi* visitor an
swered, seating himself in the Chair.
44 Yes," said Carl, into whose mind a pe
culiar thought had suddenly flushed. 44 I
will 1)0 ready in a moment, ho added, and
then began heaping wood on the fire.
44 Why do vou do that?" asked tho strang
er. 44 It is already too hot."
44 It will !*> hotter presently, I promiso
you," replied Carl, pitoningon log after log,
till the tire snapped and snarled, and roared,
as though it were a pack of hungry wolves
pursuing some wretcned traveler.
44 The fire is scorching mo! Lot mo up.
11a! what is this!"
DEATH WAS PRISONER IX THE EN
CHANTED CHAIR.
"I'llserve you for this," cried Denth,
after u fruitlessattempt to release himself?
" Will you?" quoth Carl. " We'll sco.
Here, Aennclicn, firing uu every stick of
wood Irom the cellar, and let Wilhein help
you. Quiek!"
44 Stop, stop," roared the prisoner in the
chair. " would you roost 1110 like a goose ?"
" Not if you talk in a reasonable way.—
But, if you threaten anv more, 1 will make
the fire still hotter. I hare a small request,
and if you grant it, you shall instantly ho
sot at liberty."
" Yen, yen—but draw tho chair back a lit
tle. Oh! bow hot."
Carl approached,and drew the chair hack a
fowJinohcH. This very cautiously, lest Death
might catch him and throw him into tho
tire, or do him other bodily harm.
" You inimt know," said Carl, 41 that
though I have lived a long while,I still wish
to spend a few more years in this cottage.—
Now, it wouldn't make any sort of difference
to you to let me off fo»—well, say ten
years."
" 1 do declare," cried his listener, in a
great rage 44 that this is tho most audacious
demand I ever heard of, and, before I will
submit"—
44 Master," said Aennclicn, outside," hero
is soma of the wood."
" lVst!" said he, in tho chair," I supposd
I must accede. Ten years you may—and
then—and thro—wo shall seo."
44 Well, Carl set him frw, not without
some inward trembling. Hut peoplo in old
en times kept their premises much better
than people do now, and Carl was unharm
ed. One exhibition of temper Death did
make. No sooner was he free, than, taking
bin sword, he hacked tho chair to picces, nnd
threw them on the fire. This done, he de
parted, and left Curl onco more alono.
44 When ho comes again," thought Carl
to him.Hi'lf, as he sipped his punch,44 I shall
have my affiirs in order, und will follow him
contentedly."
Thmi ten years granted to Carl under tho
foregoing circumstances, do not seein to hav.>
been very eventful ones, for the legend pauses
tqem over in a single paragraph, to the effect
that during this period Carl grew very fat.
On a certain autumn day, Carl wassitting
in his garden taking his ease. The Trick was
in full Inuring; and such pears! Lirge,
ripe, golden-hued—there were dozens ami
dor ns of them, not one of which need bo
ashamed to stand Is-fore a king. Carl look
ed at them, und his heart was glad within
him. They were his—to giveaway, to sell,
to eat, to keep if he chose ; and then his
eye* wandered from the Tree, over thegarden,
to his snug cottage—yes, all his own ; lie
fell into a reverie, a reverie pleasantly broken
at intervals by tho hum of nees, the sighing
of the wind oil the tree top, and tho sweet
child-song which Nina, Acennehcn Tochter
lem sang at her wheel.
"Carl?" said a voice behind him.
Though it was long since Carl hud heard
that voice, ho had not forgotten it. His
heart Miik ; no cscape this time, bethought.
44 Has the time reallycome?" ho asked.
"Tho ten years acretxl upon expired months
ago; but, b.-ing very busv, I granted you a
little respite," raid Dcgtn, for it was no less
a pens mage.
Here was a return for Carl's shabby treat
ment of him on his former visit! Carl was
quite oveivomo by this kindness.
44 Indeed—indeed, you are too good.—
Would that it lay in my power tqdoanything
to show you that I am not ungrateful."
As fate would have it, at this moment, a
large pear dropped at Carl's feet. Taking it
up, ho ottered it to his companion. The lat
ter wawd hint of! at tint; but the rich, spicy
odor of tho fmit reached his olfactories, and,
hesitatingly, he took tho poar and bit it to
the core.
44 Ah !" ho exclaimed,44 what a delicious
pear!"
•• Say you to?" cried Curl. " There are
load* of them to be had for the picking.—
Wait but for a moment, and you nhall hare
a wore. With thi* Udder I will nucend the
tive: only hold the ladder that it cannot
fall."
During thia «peech, the person addreaed
having finished the pear, atood looking hun
grily at tho fruit above bin. Carl now
1 (laced the ladder, and commenced attending.
Jut the cracking of tho rounds warned hiui
to delist; his weight was moro than tho lad
der would bear.
"Alan!" were njy little I'rltx here, ho
would run up liko any squirrel; but tho lad
der is h » frail, I fear we must leave tho fruit
untouched."
•4 Loave tho fruit," cricd Death, with
watering teeth. "Stuff! 1 myself will
clinib— "
" But," cried Carl, in great alarm, 41 di 1
you not hear how tho ladd-r Cracked with
iuo. Consider, sir, you may fall."
•« Nay, my weight is not hiUl so greiit as
yours. Let go my arm ; I *#7/ go, Hold
tho ladder."
Carl did hold tho ladder very carefully ;
ho warned tho climber against tho broken
round near tho top ; but no sooner was tho
ladder unencumbered than ho threw it on
the ground and himself ulotyrside of it, and
rolled around in a perfect i«.ir ixysm of laugh
tor.
Docs nny reader require to ^b« told that,
for the sceund time, Death was in tho power
of Carl Todschalk?
Tho history, us if ashamed of tho whole
transaction, gives but a few particulars of
tho scene, lirlefly; Carl demanded and re
ccived ft six months' longer leftso of life. The
prisoner, when released, descended and de
parted without saying a single word.
" I know that 1 have acted ungenerously,"
Carl, said, " but then my affairs are in Md
disorder, and my farm would go to ruin were
I to loavo it now. I will set about putting
things to righto this very day." •
1 am compelled to state that things were
not put to rights by Carl, nor was the small
est attempt meruit made by hiui. When
exactly live minutes of thosix months extort
ed by Carl had expired, ho commenced cast
ing about him for somo means of oxt'nding
still further his allotted time ; and thisoccu
jtation was by him contiuued, with intervals
for food and sioep, till ho hud devised ono of
the most cunning plans that ever entered tho
mind of man. Nothing equal to it for in
genuity and far sightcdncM luis ever been
read from books or heard from tho lips of
travelers. I am given to understand that
there was not a doubt of its success in the
mind of its author?
llut who is it that has escaped his destiny.
On tho next visit of Death, without saying
a word, he strode up, anil with ono blow sev
ered poor Carl's bead from his Itotly.
44 My children " (it is tho custom of the
sago Father Julius to say,)44 the story which
I have just told might Ih> a better ono, and
might i>o narrated in a better manner
but there aro low in which the moral is more
|Kil|kul)lo. Know, and profit by tho knowl
edge, that however often we may escape,
however circumstance* may favor us, how
ever cunningly wo may scheme and plot, tho
dcbtcach ono of us owe* a certain grim
creditor must ono day or another, bo paid ;
and ho who, on that day, is found ready,
will bo far wiser than was poor Carl Tods
chalk.
THRILLING CAVE ADVENTURE.
I wos born and brought up in tho neigh
borhood of tho sult-works of M . My
father whb second engineer, run) I tilled tho
situation of assistant. Tho Kcno of our min
ing operations, ut tho timo of tho event
which 1 am going to narrate, wan in tho nar
row valley, Iving eloso to the fbot of u |>er
pcndicular cliff of rock about ono hundred
i'oet high. On its bare nidt-M neither gram
nor shrub was to l>o seen, and scarce any in
equality was visible, whereon tho foot of (he
climber might find a renting place. In fact,
it was considered unscalable lor a distance of
two mih* when it sunk down gradually at
either end to tho level oftho plain. Ascend
ing tho cliff, ono Ixsheld on tho summit a
wide plain, stretching off in tho distance
from tho sharp odgo of tho precipico, and
from that dizzy |R>int could look (town u|>on
tho works of tho miners below, close under
its nides.
Under the top of tho cliff which I havo
boon describing, I was strolling listlessly, late
ono Sunday afternoon, thinking of a stmnge
and sad circumstanco which had happened
about a year ago in our family. My only
brother, u lad of fifteen, hud gono out early
on a summer morning to shoot plover on tho
heights, and from that hour had never been
heard of. When last seen, ho was mounting
the cliff from tho eastern side, and though
(when alarmed at his long delay) wo made
immediate search and inquiry, wo never gain
ed further information. To speak of our
family distress and my own heart grieving
for my well-beloved young brother, is not now
my purpose ; but it was tho only subject of
mv thoughts on that quiet summer evening,
when ull tho noise from tho works was hush
ed, and tho stilliuw seemed tenfold by con
trast.
I approached very near tho edge of the
cliff, 1 was now at tho steepest part, and
looking down its smooth sines, 1 thought
how terriblo tho fall would 1)0; hut my
brother could not havo fallen down. In that
case his mangled body, at least would have
been found.
I was recalled to myself by a strange sink
ing of my foot. My iirst confused idea was
that the soil had given way from tho edgo of
tho cliff, upon whose utmost verge I stood,
and that I wus about to bo precipitated to
tho bottom. I f»eoatno dizzy with horror,
for I felt at once that I could not recover my
self, so sudden was tho caving in of tho earth
beneath me. I made ono stumhlo forward,
felt u ringing and crushing in my ear*, and
then I los(jill further Mtuution.
It must navo many hour* before I
wan sufficiently conscious to know that I still
existed. Sick and hruisod, I wan long una
ble to raise myttairfrooi tho pnmtrato (xxntion
in which I beeaiuo aware at last, that I wan
lying. It was quite dark, tun! ivory pirtion
of earth or stono that I touched was wet,
and a smell of damp salt nerv.ul hI tho clone
atmosphere. I thought I had fallen into an
exhausted salt mine, but soon remembered
that I had been standing on tho edgo of tho
cliff. It wan art impossil^litT. Then came
tho idea that I must have fallen to tho Imt
toin and tho loom earth and stones had full
en over mo. That, too, I s.»on found equal
ly unlikely, and, after groping uhout some
time on my hands and knewi (every moment
ono of intense agony) I l>ecamo sure that my
prison was a cave of some extent. Too wmk
to move further, I lay down and endeavored
to think of my position. It seemed a bop©-'
less ono. I wa* ccrtainly in ono of thiuu
caves formed in tho salt rocks, andsometimM
found by miners, running far below the
earth's surface. I had no idea how far I
had fallen ; it might bo but a fow fo?t: it
might be many hundred. And yet I could
find no traco of tho passage through which I
had dropped but I romenbrred that I had a
caso ol matches in tny pocket, nnd it was not
long before I suecoedodindraggingthen out.
though it was uxcrutiatiug |«tin to uiy bruis
ed liinlis to move them.
Haying no taper, I determined to be very j
careful of tho inatchcs, and to improve the
abort moment of light, during which one
would last, I rubbodit very carefully against
tho solo of my boot, thon hardor, then furi
ously—but it would not ignite! Then I
tried another with no better success. They
wero too damp—everything was damp ; tho
matched wero useless. With a faint hope of
drying them in time, I put the box into my
broast, and buttoned my vent over it. What
with my failure in procuring a light, and tho
Cin of my bruises, addod to my terror and
wilderment of mind, I suffered intensely.
Through all, it becarao cloar to me that in
stead of falling otvr, I bad fallou through tho
cliff—strange as it was that hollow ground
should occur so near tho edgo without tho
external wall of the cliff cavir.g towards it.
Tho stiacu through which I had fallen must
havo l>ecn narrow, for my body was bruised
and tho skin torn from my sides, with strip
of my clothing ; that I could feel. Oh ! for
a liplit to examine better into my miserable
]>osition; but, after all, 1 did not fuel with
out hopo. I could not loso the idea that I
wan to hit upon some means or way of eaoapo,
if I only could get tho mutchos to ignite,
and show mo thosizo and form of the cave.
Worn out with pain and thought, I must
liavo slept. I awoke with a mging thirst,
and, almost at tho rntmo timo, I became sure
that I heard tho dropping of water. 1 drag
ged myself towards the sound, strutcKed out
my hand, umttlrops from abovo fell upon it;
eagerly I swallowed a fow which burned uiy
throat; they were distilled brine—salt as any
impregnation of water could pumibly bo!
This disappointment crushed mo terribly.
I should dio of thirst cro I had found a mode
of exit. 1 thought of tho matches, and tried
them again, in vain; this timo, howover,
they gave forth a light smoko. In tiino the
heat of my breast would dry them—that was
a hope. I had no idea of tuo time, save that
my watch had run down while I slept. I
wound it up again, knowing that when it
again stopped eight-and-twenty hours would
have gone by. Again, on my hands and
knees, 1 crept around, feeling by tho damp
walls, and as I continually approached and
receded from the spot whero tho salt water
dropped from a piojecting rock, 1 discovered
that the cavo must be nearly round, and not
many yards square. Having discovered this,
I heenmo more collected and resoluto, and
forced myself to a calm review of my position.
I had to acknowledge to myself, that my on
ly chanco of escapo seemed tho hole or crack
through which I had fallen ; but no ray of
light betrayed that spot—earth and stones
must have fallen inanu choked it up. Parch
ing with thirst, and faint from !>odily injuries,
I was ulinost at tho point of despair, when a
distant sound (ell on my ear. I listened with
intense attention. Soon, more and moredis
tinctly, I recognized tho noiso of machinery,
the rumbling of carts, and tho voices of men ;
then a boll rung, and, with a throb of joy,
I recognized it as tho morning summons to
the laborers in tho works. A night only
could havo jiasscd sinco my leaving tho outer
world. Had they missed mo? Alas! there
was nothing to lend them to suspect tho spot
of my captivity. I thought of tho strange
disappearance of my younger hrothcr-Mhi*
double bereavement would kill my poor
mother; but still I was comforted by tho
knowledge that only a partition of rock sep
arated mo from my fellow men. Now I
could almost distinguish their voices. I felt
that it was in vain to hope that my calls and
shouts could ho heard by them, yet I could
not forbear shouting till I was quite exhaust
ed.
Then I reflected on the means I could find of
dicing away the harrier of rock. It could
nut In; thick—I know that bv my facility in
hearing sound, and concluflll that, ns I had
fallen close to tho edge of tho clifT, I had
sunk straight down to tho level of tho valley
at its foot, and possibly the walls of tny pris
on wore not more than' two or three feet in
thickness. Hut I had no implement, save
my knife, and that was a slender one, quite
inadequate to cutting a passage through oven
the soft ami damp salt-rock which formed tho
]artition. Suddenly I remembered having
pickcd up a heavy iron ox shoo, on tho wagon
rood, during my Sunday walk. It was still
in my pocket. With what joy I pulled it
out, and commenced eagerly my*work.
I will not detail tho agonies of those days
and nights, when I worked on in tho dark
ness, sometimes encouraged, sometimes near
ly hopeless. I could not find that I made
any visiblo progress; tho sounds wero nearer
than at first, and I was growing hourly raoro
exhausted from fatigue and burning thirst.
Tho salt air of tho cavo inflamed my eyes,
parched my skin, and excoriated my throat,
and often I had a horriblo idea that 1 should
go mad ; but I worked on I had wound up
my watch Ave times, therefore it must have
been tho sixth day—deliveranco as far off as
over. I had been trying tolooscn a fragment
of rock which seemed somewhat detachcd
from tho stratu, (this I could only judgo of
hy feeling.) If I succeeded, I should much
reduce tho thickness of tho barrier at that
point, but I had to stop and rest before tho
final trial. 1 again tried my matches. I
had constantly done so hitherto, hut without
success, und few remained; hut now tho
third ono that I tried gavo forth a light
smoke, then a bluo flamo, and finally a
clearly red light. I hold it carefully, and
beheld tho cavern in fthich I was immured,
was a small ono, and sparkling from tho sa
line crystals, as if studded with gems. Op
posite to mo was a dark object, on a projec
tion of tho shelving rock, and Wring a sim
ilarity to tho outlino of a human figure. I
lifted high tho expiring match, and by its
last ray, I saw a human face.
In a frenzy of impatience I tried tho few
remaining matches, in rain; thelast one wus
in my hand ; inoro can*fully 1 drew it over
the sand-paper; it burned only for an in
stant ; but in thnt instant, holding it direct
ly oven with tho body, I recognizcd the dead,
Eale, but unchanged faoo of my poor, lost
rothsr Henry.
I w.u again in darknem, with the dead
body and my frenzied thought*. After a
time I resumed fiercely my labor at tho rock.
A blow loosened it, "a few mora and tho
large mam rolled inward*, and* from a fissure
in too rock which lav behind it, came in a
narrow streak of daylight. I was all but
mad, or 1 would not Imro had sufficient
strength to effect my purposa.
By the aid of my ox shoe, I soon increased
tho hole, till it was large enough to admit
my head. My shoutssoon brought aani*tance
from tho works, to which, as I hadsuptxised,
I was very near, and soon from that fearful
tomb wefo drawn the living and tho dead
bodies.
No one know mc till I spoke. The body
of poor Henry had been preferred by thie
nalt, and wu* al*> jnrtly nctrifled. Tliat he
had boon kill • I by the fall was evident, Mid
hud ni'vcr moved from the ridgo on which he
fell. I neTer entin-Jj recovered from the of
foct of the salt, which left m v ejrw and note
constantly rod, and reodered my flcah over
after similar to corral pork.
Henry Ward Boochor on Temperance.
Wo take the lollowing extracts from a dis
oourso delivered by this eminent man on the
20th of November, at Brooklin, N. Y.:
I think that temporarily there is a reac
tionary stato in tho public mind with refer
ence to temperance, I think that to a cer
tain extent thcro it a going back in this
cause. I do not think tho great cause itself,
with tho last thirty yearn of discussion, has
lost ground, but I think that, as in filling
any great tank, the waters rusk in in such a
way that, as they rise up on parts of the sur
faco thcro are oscillations, so ia the progress
of any great causo there are reactionary in
fluences which produco oscillations, as it were
in tho department of that cause. And it
soems to mo that we are at a time in which
tho young are drinking again, if not as much
as before the temperanco movement was
started , yet a great deal more than they
were ten or fifteen years ago. This is, at
least the result of myown observation. And
on this whole jubiect I have this to say
that of allUhe evils amonf) tit, drinking is
tho most dangerous; and if any man thinks
it is not, it is probably more dangerous in
his caso than that of uny other persons. Tho
men that are timid,.<nd cautious, and stin
gy, and cold withal, are usually the men who
do not liko to drink, and who are least in
danger of bccouiing drunkards; but tho
men that are genial, and generous,
and confident, and honpful, and that lovo to
see things glitter by trio head of tho wine
cup, are the men who liko to drink, and
who are in danger of becoming drunkards.
And this is pre-eminently a sin ; for it is a
sin which scorns, in its beginnings, to bo fair
enough, and ono which pleads long prece
dent. pleads secret example and permission,
pleads custom in tho highest and most re
spectable circles—plead* everything except
fact and expediency. Tho beginnings of it
are festal, convival, bonutiful. even ; but, if
there bo 0110 thing of which it may bo said,
"Tho ends thereof are tho ways death," this
is it. ,
I speak ns a pastor—I speak as a citizen—
I speak simply as a man. I havo seen so
much of this ovil, I do seo so much of it, I
sec that it is so easy to let it alone before
meddling with it, und so hard afterward,
that I foci bound to warn you against it,
again and agnin. And I am sneaking what
I do thoroughly bclicvo, when I say that un
less a man has occasion to uso various alco
holic stimulants for real bona fide medical
pur^iscs, ho had tetter let them entirely
alono, hecauso tho beginnings of this habit
scein right, and tho cuds thereof are
deatlr
Ono thing is certain—you do not need to
drink. It does not do you any good. It is
nx|M»nsivo and dangerous. Tho more you do
it tho more you want to do it, and therefore
tho more dangerous it becomes in your
I nm not wholly faithlcm with regard to
tho reformation of men who aro addicted to
drinking, but I think that exccpt by moan*
of institutions, it is almost Impossible to re
form thorn. Instituted help, long confine
ment, and regimen, may eradicate tho taint
from thorn.
Onn word more under this head. Thcro is
a habit of recommending tho substitutions ol
milder beverages in tho placo of tho stronger
ones. Now, men may talk as much as thoy
please about larger beer, and native Ameri
can wino, and ubout thoso who drink boing
satisfied with these, but what is it that
m ikes men drink in this country? Do they
krink bcoauso they love the taato of of liquor?
Do they do it as a general rule for any other
reason than this—tlmt they havo two weoks
work to do in ono, and thoy want double
strength ? You drink liecauso you havo got
Jo do ten hours' work in a day, and you havo
strength to do only eight; you drink bo
causo you havo got to uo fifteen hours' work
in a day, and you havo strength to do only
twclvo; you ilrink bocauso you havo got to
do eighteen hours' work in a day, and you
have strength to do only sixteen ? You want
steam, and therefore you drink that which
will mako steam ! THie Frenchman and the
' for tho tonguo, you but
Talk About pconlo -in foreign countries
whore tho linhit of drinking is universal- bo
ing peaceful! They nro thousand time* mora
ouarrclsomo tlinn wo nro. The peoplo in
thoso countries where thero is beer-drinking
in families, nro tho most quarrelsoino people
in tho world. They may not got drunk, nut
you will tind them in the preliminary
tendencies to drunknew. They drink enough
to innke them irritable, perpetually. Wo
drink, not to gratify tho palate, but forn
businem purpose. That being tho case, wo
muy be^in with the milder lievcrago, just as
we begin our fires with pino shavings, not
only l)ccauao wo can light them so easily,hut
also because wo want them to sot on lire
something solider. And wine is |itepstono to
brandy, liccr ia stepstono tho other way.
It does not lend up to brandy, but it leads
down to drunk--and beastly drunk.
1 would speak with discrimination. I
would not mako what 1 say void of influence
by any seeming extravagance. 1 would
Ieavo a margin of toleration, where, under
appropriate directions of physicians who are
tnemselvcs temperate, men may, for occa
sional states of abbemtion in tho physical
system, use ardent spirits. But in regard to
using milder I (overages for tho tako of doing
two men's work, I say, you can begin with
those, but you will not stop with them.—
When tlioy havo lost thoir power to stirou
Into you, you will want something stronger,
and you will go to brandy—from brindv—
if such a thing remains except in legends—
you will go to druggod brandy and spices.—
You will bo a drunkard then, and there is
no use of tracing you further. A man that
drinks for thosako of tho drunk, is a drunk
ard, whether ho roels or not. Thus the
beginnings of tho ways of intemperance may
•win right, but the ends thereof are the ways
of death.
I will here repeat what I believe I have
mid to you aforetime. There is an asylum
being built in Hinghamton under the auspic
es of Dr. Turnor, for inebriates. There
ought to have been one long ago. I thank
liod for tho springing up of this one. It
will bo tho pioneer of others. Wo need
many such institutions I am informed that
although tho building is not yet ootopleted,
and although it is gaged to accommodate
only three hundred patients, more than
twenty-eight hundred applications for ad
mission have already been made, and that
four hundred of them were made in behalf
or women
Now inch facta a« the** ought to make re on
pause. If hit of too an gradually going
nek to the old custom*; if jou are beginn
ing to pot wine on your dinner table again,
ana are beginning to oftr wine to your
friend* again, aa they step in day by day,
and are boginninr to drink brandy again,
I most earnestly, i mott solemnly warn you
of tbe mischief ?ou are doing to otben and
younelf; and I lesseeh yon, Dyerery motive
that ia aacred in tbo eye of a man and a
Christian to stop, and take the aaier ground.
Truth ii Stranger than Fiction.
We have an illustration of this MTinjr too
striking to bo forgotten. Cruising too Hack
ensack bridge, near Newark, one day in the
railroad car, in oompanj with Governor D.
of New Jersey, that gentleman observed that
he had witnessed a remarkable incident on
that spot.
lie *u in a stage coach with aome eight
or nine other passengers, and, aa they were
crosaing the bridge at thia point\ one of the
gentlemen remarked that, one evening, thir
ty years before, be had been crossing the
rtrcr an this very apot, in a atage coach filled
aa now, with passengers ; that the bridge
which then existed was£ miaerable, rickety
structure, ready to (all from the leaat abock ;
that tho water* of the river were very much
swollen in consequence of a freshet, and that
when the odaoh got about midway on the
bridge one of the aopporta gave way, precip
itating all Into the rapid waters. After £nat
exertion, however, the paaseogen ail rsaohed
the shore, with tho exception of a little In
fant, which had boon swept from its moth
er's arms in tho struggle, and now seemed
irrecoverably lost. Too hearts of the pas
sengers were, however, too deeply touched
by latitude for their own escape and sym
pathy for the bereaved mother to allow of
their remaining inactive, and those who
could swim plunged again into tho Hood to
make a thorough Mirch for, at least, the
lifelean body or their little companion.
Tho narrator himself was so fortunate as
to grasp it by the cluthcs, at some distance
from tho placo of tho accident, and, on tak
ing it into tho toll-house and instituting rap
id mcnimren for its recovery, it aoon glad
dened all hearts by opening its eyes ana re
cognising the faco of its now overjoyed
mother. The gentleman narrated the little
history with a smile beaming on his coun
tenance whilo speaking of the part .he had
acted on the occasion ; but he had scarcely
concluded, said Governor D , before
ono of tho lidiefi of our company begged him
to excuse tho liberty which she was about
to take, in asking him if his name was not
Mr.
••It is," ho replied.
"Then," said the lady, "I was the infant
whom you rescued! My mother always re
membered the deliverer of her child, and she
tuught tho child also to remember him. But
it is now, after a lapse of thirty years from
the time of the event, and here, on tho very
spot where it occurred, that child finds an
opportunity of informing that deliverer how
faithfully that name has been cherished."
So uncxnoctcd a Jenourment as this, said
Governor D , filled me with tho liveliest
and most Joyful surprise; and I am sure ev
ery one in the coach at that time will remem
ber that journey as one of tho most agreeable
he ever made.
ADVICE TO YOUHO LADIES.
It is very natural, says Timothy Titcomb,
for young ladies to get in the habit of treat*
ing only those young men politely whom they
happen, for various reasons, to fancy. They
don t care what the minority of young* men
think of theni, provided they rotain the good
will of their particular pets. They arts whim*
sical, and tako on special and strong likes
and dislikes for tho young men whom they
meet. One is perfectly hateful, and another
in pcrfoctly splendid, and so they proceed to
make fools or themselves over both parties.
Now there is nothing upon which a young
man is so sensitive as this matter of being
trcatod with polite consideration by the
young women of his acquaintance; and I
know of nothing which will tend more cer
tain to make a young man hateful than to
treat him as if ne were to. There is a mul
titude of young men, whoso self-respect is
nurtured, whose ambition is nuickened, and
whoso hearts are warmed with a gonial Are,
by those considerate recognitions on the part
of their femalo acquaintances which assure
them that they have a position in tho esteem
of those with whom they aasociato the sweet
est hopes and happiness of life. To bo out
for no good cause is to receive a wound which
is not easily healed.
Tho duty, therefore, which I would incul
cate, is that of systematic politeness. If you
know a young man, bow to him when you
meet him. lie will not bow to vou first, for
he waits for your recognition, lie does not
know whether you esteem him ot sufficient
value to be recognised. If you pass him
without a recognition, you say to him, in a
languago which he feels with a keenness
which you cannot measure, that|you consid
er him Iwneath your notice. You plant in
his heurt immediately a prejudice against
yourself. You disturb him. You hurt him,
and this, too, let me admit, very frequently
without design You are sensitive yonneli,
and are afraid he has forgotten yon, and
would not like to have you notioe him.
There is a pod dsal of this kind of thing,
but it is all wrong. There is no man who
will not return your how, and feel the better
for your smile; and if the young man receiv
ing'the attention is poor and has his portion
in the world to win, and feels that he has
not as many attractions, personal or circum
stantial, as others, you have made his heart
light, and awakened toward yourself a feel
ing of cordial good will, akin in many instan
ces to gratitude.
Simple Pleasure*.
The same tree, grafted with aemal kindi
of fruit, shall hare red, yellow, green and
striped apple*; and, although the Mm* aap
la distributed to all the bnuichea, jet tho
loaves of each grafted branch give it a dif
ferret nature, so that Ik becomes aweet in
one fruit, sour in another, and happily min
ded in a third. It is the leaf which works
the apparent wonder. In that, aa in a di
gestive organ, the crude aap ia elaborated
and sent out to the fruit.
Now, what the leaves are to the tree an
men's dispositions to them. The aap of Ufa
is verv much alike; but the fruits an won
derfully different, some sweet, some sour,
some bitter, and many more insipid. If the
causes were analysed which make happy men
so hapry, it would be found that thsy dif
fer but little from those which an oomraon
to discontented men.* The asms air, the
same food, the aunlight, the sicht of peo
ple, the wholesome necessity of industry,
limns, colon, sounds, good and boosst afc>
tiona and servioea of good neighborhood,
these and ten thonaand minor influences an
distributed aa oommon gifts! But what man
do with these thlnga-what they cando, an
willing to do-makes the diflrrenoe between
happy aiid unhappy man. For, no mistake
is greater than to suppoas that enjoyment
depenik own extraordinaryand diftcult ooo
ditions. We can maks onnulvea very hap
py for bonis, with aUsply watching happy
Utopia. Tbe feesi of man ia ths street, Um
groups of children, the hsarty, sparkling
rndsoMiof bojshalT(towa« tha wsjsof la»