Litchfield enquirer. [volume], July 05, 1855, Image 1

About Litchfield enquirer. [volume] (Litchfield, Conn.) 1829-current

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HENRY W. HYATT, Editor and Proprietor._ LITCHFIELD, CONN., THURSDAY, JULY 5,185S._Vol. XXX.-No, 10. Wliole No. 1468.
LITCHFIELD ENQUIRER*
KILISgCD EVERT THURSDAY MORVtKG BT
H. W. HYATT•
•fflce, Oie Door East of the Court lionet.
LITCHFIELD. CONN.
TERMS.
Sakaerlptloa Per Annum.
Villsee Suhscrihfrs [hy carrier,!and single
Mai! Subscriber*—in advance. tl 50
Town Subscriber*, (off the carrier's route,)
and Mail Subscribers. ir. Bundles, 1 25
Or. if pai'l strictly in advance, 1 00
Oar Postage Free within this County.
Advertising.
Siite*n lines or less—1,2 or 3 weeks, 01 00
P'or continuance thereafter, per week, 20
Probate and other legal noiicesai the usual rates.
Yesrly and other regular advertisers charged
according to space occupied.
ty- Transient Advertisements must he acctm
pasted with the Money to secure insertion
Xvery Description of
JOB-F RZNTZNG,
ptATt.r asd SRuarri.Y executed at this office.
MisceiiayJ
—. --—- ..-.-..—«--.— .
BARKHAMBTKDMCIIT IIOl'SK.
The New Haven Courier has a queer
story of this celebrated locality. The world
lias long wondered why the Light lloust
was built sn far frum .^all-water. Numerous
traditions on the subject are in people's
mouths; hut John K. Mason, of New Ha
ven, becoming uneasy on the subject, start
od for a personal investigation—spent a
night at Hitchcockville, and from prominent
citizens of Uarkhams'.ed learned the follow
ing tale : A Narragansett Indian left hi>
'iiui.liiig-grounds in Rhode Island, because
a young Indian maiden of his tribe had re
fused to marry him, and finding his way to
Wethersfield, upon the Connecticut river,
Harried 'there * many moons,’ and won tin
•aHei'linas of a young white lady, who had
"declared, to spile her friends, that she would
Hnarry 'the first man, black or white, who
Would give her a chance. The Indian hail
tu-conre known among the whites as James
H’lnHigare-; lie privately married the rash
tuaidrin,friends got wind of it—flight was
necessary.
The happy term pip fled to Barkhamstcd.
and bimghl a tract of Wild land on the
banks of the Tuvixis. This region was then
a wilderness, and no'Cabin* were erected in
Ibis pall "of lire town. They built a rude
but, and limed in il from \77!* to 171*0. when
James Ckangatn died. He left two sous
and six daughter*, whose dusky features
mid straight black hair show ed Narrngansctl |
blood. One of iltc daughter* *>f Chnugani !
married a white man, named W m. w ilson, |
and Bellied upon a plantation near the
paternnl w igw am, nod w as the mother »r I
children. Wilson persuaded Ins Narrngan
aetl bride lo adopt a more civilized costume,
and he Would build a hnuje after the fashion
of his pale-laced brethren, Who now began
lo settle around him, Polly consented, and
so a huge domicil was constructed out of
logs and lumber, that soon became a laugh
ing-stock for all the people in that vicinity,
because its proportions were unsightly, anil
because it was badly'Construeted. There
Veto holes ill the Wall* through which a
man could have thrown his beaver and never
have damaged its surfactn
In the year 1800, a turnpike toad Was
built from Hartford to Albany, and it was
laid out directly by the door of Ibis airy
mansion. It was soon used as a great
thoroughfare lo HerkshireH'ounty, Muss,
and people in passing the house of Wilson
mid observing the large (ires he always kepi
burning until a late hour at night, soon
became Hrciistomed to the fiery appearance
of this Indian wigwam mansion. As wood
coal nothing and was pi* my in this region,
immense quantities were consumed in the
old-fashioned fire-pldce of this wayside
wonder.
The light of the blazing fire was always
seen at night through the crevices of the
badly constructed walls, and as travelers
•non became familiar with the house on
account of Its luminous appearance, they
gave it the name of Uahkiiamstkd Light
House.
Under this name the ric.kettv old mansion
of Wilson soon became celebrated. The
name is now not'ouly familiar to the citi
zens of Connecticut, but widely known in
other States.
The demise of the • last of the Mohegans’
has been chronicled in history and song, but
the last survivor of the Narraganaett war
riors Is still living, in a wild secluded spot
among the rugged and picturesque moun
tains of Harkltamsled.
Mr. M .■Aon gives an account of his visit
to Polly, the survivor, as follows : Soon
after leaving Hitchcocksville we found our
selves immersed in a forest at the base of
the mountain, and in a finely shaded nook
upon the bank* of the Tuuxis. We follow
ed a winding path down toe banks of the
river, and soon emerged into an open clear
ing, and found that we were near the site
the celebrated B.trkliampstcd Light-House
We had received particular directions at
Hitchcocksville for finding the spot, and
Were now quite certain that we were near
it. We saw an ancient looking structure in
(he distance, that at first appearance looked
like some eld ruined castle. We thought
we had made a grand discovery. They had
told us at Hitchcocksville that the original
l.ight (louse" was demolished, but we
were confident that they were mistaken,
and that this was the real *• Light House”
slilL annul ing. On arriving at the spot.
IioJml we found il was n»t a ruined cas.
tie, ner slhe famous Light House, but a—-i
—barn! We recovered from our disap
pointment and began to look for the ruin>
of the Light House. A few rods south ol
this barn is die spot where the famous Lighi
House once stood. The house was ton
down several years ago, and the cellar hat
been partially filled with stoiies and sand
by some varlet whose love ot money ex
seeds his love of-Barkhamsted Light
House. A tamarack tree waved over th«
desolate jpui* and stands as a sentry •<
guard thpm from further vandalism. On
this spot, Wm. Wilson built the Light
House, and upon this spot said Wilson and
his Narragansett bride lived and died.
And near this spot was the wigwam of
James Chaugam, the Narragansett Warrior '
who settled here in 177‘J: and here he lived j
and died,and left a numerous progeny ; and
stories are still told about the Narragansett
Warrior, that filled the mind with reverence
for his noble race.
The descendants of James Chaugam live
about half a mile below the spot where the.
Light House once stood, in a little wigwam i
village half buried in a grove of hemlock. :
The musical Tunxis is lisping a lullaby, I
almost at the doors of the wigwams, and
the peaks of the mountains on the north and :
east rise abruptly to a dizzy height. This
is truly the wildest and most picturesque
spot ill Connecticut. No idea can be form
ed of the sublimity and beauty of the scene
ry without vjsiting the ruins ol Barkhamsted
Light House and the wigwam village near
by, occupied by the “last of the Narragan
setts.” When we arrived at the Indian vill- |
age it was about right o'clock in the morn- |
ing, and wishing to see the descendants of
the tribe, we knocked upon the door of one
of the wigwams. Instantly the door flew
open, and a huge hull dog accompanied by
two Indian hounds, jumped upon us, with
the ferocity of a Bengal tiger. Me yelled
“ Get out,” and attempted to run, but they
seized us where the Paddy did the hen, and
we did not dare to move. The big bulldog
caught me by the calf of the leg and vora
ciously began to try the quality of my flesh.
At this moment a hoarse voice from within
the hut cried “ (Jet out,” and children of all
ages, sizes and colors began to pour out of
tiie door, like bees out of a hive. I seized
a billet of wood and struck at the dog,
hut unfortunately knocked down a young
papoose, and 1 verily thought 1 had killed
aim. The father now came out of tne hut
and fiercely said,
“ What did you knock down mV young
one for, eh 1”
After explaining the matter to him and
showing him a bloody ‘calf,’ where we got
a bile, he allowed us to depart
We passed two or three wigwams and
finally came to a rude hut w here lives Polly
Kl well, the last survivor of the Narragansett
Indians. She is sixty-seven years old,
hut appears much younger. Iler dusky
features and straight black hair is evidence
of her Narragansett blood.
As we entered the hut she slated at Us for
a moment and then pointed us to the rem
nants of a chair and a block of wood in the
corner, upon which wo Were seated.
We entered into conversation with her ,
and she talked freely about her ancestry. |
She said she was the grand-daughter of the
original James Chaugam, and she married .
a pale-faee named Klwell, She said that
she was the mother of I I children—all of
w liotn were considered quite respectable, as
none of them were ever sent to Jail or to
Congress. Having served her country to
the best of her ability, she was now prepare I
to die and go to the “ w bite man’s heaven.’’
Her daughter, who was also blessed with
about I I children, all. I should judge, un
der 14 years of age. lived in the hut with
her, anil she and her husband helped support
Narragansett Polly. The children appear
ed to hi- happy little creatures, Their dross
w as of a very singular fabric. It consisted
of coat, hat, waistcoat, all made from the
same kind of cloth. This kind of cloth was
manufactured before any now in use among
mankind, as it was known to be Worn lie- ;
fore garments Were made of fig leaves !— |
The hirsute covering of the head looked stis- :
picipus, and suggested inhaliitivrness. 'I he j
Youngest ol the group was Tying in its loo*
ther’s arms, and began to urge an iminedi*
ate supply of the lacteal secretion. Having
hern denied this favor, it began to manifest
evident signs of disapprobation pvgnis ct
calribns.
We brushed off the flies, gnats, children,
etc., that had perched upon us during our
brief stay in the wigwam, and took our de
parture. The aged Polly followed its in the
little garden nearhv, and told us she would
like to show us the Narragansett graveyard.
We followed her into a hemloek thicket,
and she showed me the grave of James
Chaugam, and those of his numerous de
scendants. Nothing hut rude stones mark
the graves of tlioso noble Warriors; and
I when the last survivor of that noble race,
who pointed Us out the graves of her sires,
has gone to rest, their graves will soon be
forgotten, and the plough of the white man
will disinter tlte remains of these Indian pa
triots.
While Narragansett Polly stood gazing
upon the graves of her noble sires, she rais
ed her head quickly, and ejaculated with
great vehemence—
“ There is hut one foreigner buried here.”
» W as he a German or an Irishman ?”
“ Neither.” said she, betraying consid
erable emotion.
“Then who was he!” I said, pursuing
I the inquiry.
“ Hi- was a foreigner—like you,” said she
with a daring leer uf the eye.
“ Bui you «re mistaken, madam,” 1 re
plied. “ 1 am not a foreigner, but was born
in old Massachusetts, and have gut the real
Puritan, Plymouth Kock, double-and-twist
ed Bunker Hill blood in tny veins, and can
trace my ancestry back to the days of Sa
lem witchcraft!” said I indignantly.
“ We were Americans when you foreign
ers came here,” said she in broken English.
• The Narragansett dialect contained too
much truth on the subject of “ Native Ame
ricanism,” and I was obliged to “cave in,”
and own that she belonged to a race that
was truly “Natives” of America.
She quietly listened to our conversation
for a few moments longer, and then said
with a look of despair, “ We Narraganselts
oncf great, now poor. Pale faces got our
corn and hunting grounds—killed us with
had liquor, and Great Spirit taken us to
white man’s heaven. Narragansetts all
gone—tne last one.”
We hade an affectionate farewell to the
only survivor of this once powerful tribe of
Indians—and as we left the wigwam village
for our hornet in the Elm City, our minds
were filled with sorrow ami our hearts with
, pity for the “list of the Narraganselts.”
A SHT AT THE CATS.
The following graphic picture is from the
Albany State Register:
We stated, a Tong lime ago, that there
would be trouble some moon-light night
among the cals that congregate on the long
shed in the rear of our dwelling. We gave
notice that we had wasted _ more wood on
them than we had been able to spare—that
w'e had used up all the brickbats that we
could lay our hands on—that we had thrown
away something less than a ton of coal—and
had smashed in a window on the opposite
block. All this proving of no avail, we said
we had got a double-barreled gun and per
cussion caps, and powder and shot; and
some morning after a moonlight night.some
body’s cat wouldn’t come home to breakfast,
or if it did it would be troubled with the
dumps. We gave fair notice of our griev
ances, and what we intended to do about
them.
Well, the moon came up on Monday night
with her great round face, and went walking
up the sky with a queenly step, throw ing her
light, like a mantle of brightness, over the
whole earth ! We love the calm of a ntoon
light night, in the still Spring time, and the
cals of our part of the town love it too; for
they come from every quarter—fiom the
sheds nreund the National Garden—front J
the kitchens and the stables—creeping steal
thily and softly along the tops of the fences, i
and along the sheds, and clambering up the
boards that lean up against the out buildings
they sal themselves dow n in their old try
sting place—right opposite our chamber
w indow. If a cat wishes to take a quiet
walk hy moonlight - if he ehooses to go out :
for his pleasure or his profit, it is no particu- |
lar business of ours, and vve haven’t a word j
to say. Cats have rights, and we have no j
disposition to interfere with them. But they
must keep the peace. They must get up no
disorderly meetings,no unlawful assemblies.
If ttiey choose to hold a convention, they
Can do it for all us—but they must go about
it decently and in order. They must talk
matters over calmly ; there must be no riot
ing. no fighting. The must refrain from the
use of profane language—they must not
swear. There’s law against all this, and
we warned them long ago that we would
stand no such nonsense. Wc said we’d let j
drive among them with a double-barreled j
gun loaded with powder and duck shot, and i
we meant it. But those cats didn’t believe !
a word we said. They didn’t believe we i
had any powder of shot; they didn’t believe I
we had any gun, or knew ho-*' to use it if we
had. And one great Maltese (With eyes like
tea plates and a tail like a Bologna sausage)
grinned and sputtered, and spit in derision
and defiance at our threats. “ Very well,”
said we. “very well, Mr. Tom Cat, very
well, indeed! On your head be it, Mr.
Tom Cat. Try it on, Mr. Thomas Cat, and
see who will get the worst of it.”
We Said the moon came up on Monday
nigl.t with her great round face ( and all the
little stars hid themselves as if ashamed of |
their twinkle in the splendor of her superior j
brightness. YVe retired,after the baby had ,
been put to sleep in his crib, and the rum- |
hie of the carriaoes and carts had ceased in j
the streets, and the scream of the 10 o’clock j
train had died away into silence, w ilk a qui- j
el conscience, and iri the confidence that w e
should find that repose to which one who
has w- rouged no man during the day is justly
entitled.
It may have been eleven o’clock, possibly
midnight, when we were awakened from a
pleasant slumber hy a babel of unearthly
sounds in the rear of' our chamber. YVe I
knew what those sounds meant—they had
cost us fuel enough to have lasted us a week.
YY'e raised the window, and there, as of old,
right opposite us, on the north end of that
long shed, was an assemblage of all the cats
in onr part of the town.
YVe won’t he precise as to numbers, hut
it is onr honest belief that there were less
than 300 of them; and if one among them all
was silent, we didn’t succeed in discovering
which it was. There was that same old
Maltese, with his great saucer eyes and
sausage tail ; and over against him sat a
monstrous brindle; and otf at his right was
an old spotted ratter; and on his left was
one, black as a wolfs mouth, all but his
eyes, w hich glared with a sulphurous and
lurid brightness; and dotted all aiound,over
a space of thirty feet square, were dozens
more of all sizes and colors—and such
growling, and spitting, and shrieking and
swearing, never before broke, with hideous
discord, the silence of the night!
•YVelo-ded our double-barreled gun hy
candle-light. We pul plenty of powder and
a handful of shot into each barrel. YY'e ad*
Justed the caps carefully, and stepped out
of the window upon the narrow roof upon
which it opens. YVe were then just eight?
rods Itoin the cat convention, and we ad*
dressed ourself to the chairman (the olir
Maltese) in a distinct and audible voice,
and ertpd “Scat!” He didn’t recognize
our right to the floor, but went right on
w ith the business ol the meeting. “Scat!”
cried we again, more emphatically than he
| lore, hut were answered by an extra shriek
from the chairman, ahd a fiercer scream
from the whole assembly. “Scat or.ee !”
cried we again, as we brought oUf gun to a
present. “Scat twice!” and we aimed
straight at the chairman, and covering halt
a dozen others in the range. “ Scat three
times!” and we let drive. Bang ! went
the right hand barrel—a..d hang ! went the
left hand barrel. Such scampering, such
leaping off the shed, such running away
over the eaves of the out buildings, over
the tops of the wood sheds were never seen
| before. The echoes of the firing had hardly
| died away when the whole assemblage was
j broken up and dispersed.
“Thomas,’* said w-c, next morning, to
the boy who does chores for us, “ There
| seems to be a cat asleep out on that shed—
! go up and scare it away.” Thomas cla n
! hered upon the shed and went up to where
that cat lay and lifting it up by the tail,
halloed back to us, “This cat can t be wa
ked up ;Tt can’t be scared away—it's dead! ’
After examining it a momenli “somebody
has been a shootin’ of it. by thunder !” said
he, as he tossqd it down in the yard. “Y ou
, don’t say ao !” said .we. That cat wtf the
: old Maltese, the chairman of that conven
I lion—but he won’t preside over another very
i soon. YVe don't know where he boarded,
or who chimed title to him. What we do
know is, that it cost a quarter to have him
buried or thrown into the river; and if any
body owned him, all we ask is, that he
should pay us back our quarter, and the
difference between his value and that of the
shot we expended on him. We’ll throw in
the vexation of being*broke out of rest, and
the wickedness of using certain expletives—
under the excitement of the occasion—which
are not to be found iu any of the religious
w orks of the day.
THE CKRAPPY REPLY.
By Rosalie.
“ I do not think it is a selfish act If I
occupy this whole seat to myself, as I am
to travel all this long warm day !” said I
to a lady nearest me. one sultiy morning, as
I took the out-of-the way end seat, in the
cars at Bttlf.ilo fur Albany.
“ Certainly not,” was the reply, as I put
my shawl, hook', papers, fan, boquet, &e.
in the one end and nestled myself down in
the other. 1 soon wearied of conversation
and reading, and had sunk into a fitful
slumber, when a gentle tap on my shoulder
and a low “ please Miss,” made me wake
with a sudden start.
The car was filled to overflowing, and a
newly arrived parly had entered and a pale
littje woman with a fretful baby in her
arms, stood asking permission to sit beside
me. \\ ith more of pity than of pleasure, I
shared my . seat with her, yet I spoke but
few words, and sulkily forbore taking the
restless little creature, to ease her poor
wearied arms—but merely smoothed its
golden hair, and patted its pale baby cheeks
and said Mary was a good and sweet name.
For my own comfort 1 had opened the
window that I might more distinctly catch
those picturesque views that flitted by so
quickly that they seemed like glowing pic
tures without one imperfection to mar, when
my attention was drawn to my companion
who was incessantly coughing.
“I do wish you would let down that
window,” said she, “ the coal smoke makes
my cough so much worse-”
1 am ashamed to confess it now, but I
felt the angry blood burn in my cheeks and
a flushing of the eyes as I replied, “ 1 am
quite sick and wearied and troubled and
hungry and thirsty anti crowded, and here
you come as an intruder and would keep me
Irum the mite of cool fre»h air that 1 am
trying to get. Do you think you are doing
as you Would be done by 1” said I tartly,
ami without waiting for a reply, I rose ami
was letting down the window with an angry
crash, as a naughty child would slam a door
shut, when she laid her poor wasted little
hand on my arm and said, “ Oh, don't do it
then," and burst into tears, and leaned her
head down to her baby and cried bitterly.
The woman in my heart was touched, but
putting on the injured air of a martyr, 1
compressed my lips and took up a paper
pretending to read, I’retly soon my eyes
grew dim—I could not see without crashing
the tears often, and 1 resolved to ask her
pardon for my unkindness; hut minute after
minute glided away, and we soon reached
her place of destination and she rose to
leave. I rose too anti the words were on
my lips, when a gentleman came to assist
her out.
She turned her gentle and tearful eyes
upon me with a sad expression, and bowed
so sweetly that my hand was almost up
raised to appeal lor the forgiveness—the
words were just dropping from my lips, hut
she was gone; it was too late, and 1, a
woman, with a Woman's heart, was left
with that stinging little barb sticking in it,
and the swept Words and wasted little hand
that alone could remove it were gone from
me forever. 1 sank hack in my seat and
wept bitterly.
The gentleman returned from assisting
her, and as the car was full he took the
place she had vacated. 1 enquired who the
lady was, and he replied, “ Her home is in
Wisconsin and she has returned to the home
of her childhood to die■ The whole family
of brothers and sisters died of consumption
and she, the last one left, is going too.”
Oft! I tqrned away sick at heart, and
tried to shut out from remembrance that
pallid tipppealing face as I Irsolved and re
resolved never again in this poor life of
mine to speak another unkind word.
Taste in Agriculture.—The following
eloquent passage we extract frotn an Ad
dress delivered before the Southern Central
Agriciillnr.il Society at Augusta, Ga. :
Agriculture, if profitable, I know, is not
a pastime ; but it ought not to he rejected,
because of its sweat, and dust and toil, as if
kit had no chatms beyond its gains, no plea
pure besides the joy of possession. If we
"expert to ennoble and elevate it, we must
associate it with science, intelligence, and
taste ; throw around it the attraction of eot
tagesand gardens, and flower-heds, and or
chartfe The farmer's dwelling must be
come the home of hospitality, and knowl
edge, and refinement.
A War Anecbote.—The Buffalo Com
mercial Advertiser gives the following ex
tract from a letter Irotu an officer in the
Crimea:
A curious tiling occurred yesterday. A
sapper was brought from the trenches with
his jaw broken, and the Doctor told me there
was a piece of it sticking out an inch and
a half from his face. The man said it was
done by a round shot, which the Doctor
disbelieved; hut the poor fellow insisted
and said. “ Yes, it took off the head of the
man next me.’’ This was conclusive, and
. the surgeon proceeded to remove the hone;
it came out quite easy, when the Doctor said
to the man. whose face appeared to preserve
its form pretty well,
** Can you move your jaw 1”
“Oh, yes,sir.” was the reply.
Ttie Doctor then put his finger into the
man's mouth, and found the teeth were
there, and at length assured the soldier that
it was no jaw of his that wa- broken hut
that of his headless comrade, which had
actually been driven into his face, inflicting
a severe but not dangerous wound. Upon
this the man's visage, which had been rather
| lengthened, rounded up most beautifully.
YANKEES AND YANKEE WIVES.
Bt Rev. John Piehpoxt.
Here dwells a people—by iheir leave I speak—
Peculiar, homogeneous and unique,
With eves wide open and a ready ear,
Whate’er is going on to sre and hear;
Nay, thev do say, the genuine Yankee keeps
One eve lia'fopen when he soundest sleeps;
Industrious, careful how he spends his cash—
(Though when he pleases he can “cut :■ dash,”)
Quick at his business, in ihe field or shop,
lie'll traffic with von—bnv or sell nr “swap:”
And, if you get the better in the trade,
You cam your money, and your fortune’s made.
Think you to joke him, as yon cross Ins track ?
The chance is with him, that he'd j owe vou hack;
And if your shaft goes nearer lit the spot
Than his, we ll dul> you an accomplished shot.
Or, in his wordy war, should it ensue.
That ihe laugh rests not tip n him, hut you,
And, feeling gfilh d that, in a bout at wit,
II. ’s given, and vu have got ihe harder hit,
Should you in wrath.attempt to tweak his nose.
Or with vour boot-heel prnd his bootless loes,
Or should you, rather, in your fight enlist
A single barrel ihnn a double fi-t,
For cither joh—a bittle or a spat.
The Yankee’s ready—if it comes to that.
He loves his labor as he loves his life
lie loves his neighbor, and he loves his wife ;
And why not love her? VVas she not the pearl
Alxive all price, while yet she was a gill ?
And has she not increased in value S'ltce,
Till, in her love, lie's richer than a prim e?
Not love a Yankee wile 1 wlmt. under Heaven,
f^.all he love then, and hope to he lorgiven !
So fair, so faithful, so intent to please,
A “ help” so “meet" in health or in disease,
A counsellor at once so irtte and wise,
Bound to his heart by so endearing ties,
‘I he cheerful sharer of his earthly lot,
Whether his home's a pa'ace or a cot.
Whether rite glides her Turk'sh carpet o’er.
Or sweeps, hare-footed, her own earthen floor;
'•'he guardian angel, w ho situ I hold them up.
While passing near ihe tempter's couch or cup 1
Not lo■ e his wife, so constant and so true !
Of all unlaiihlui wives, h..w very few
Are there or hdve there hern who made their bed
Twist ByramUivcr'smouiltund Qunddy’s head!
And then such house wives as these Yankees make
What can't they do ? Bread,pudding,pasirv cake.
Biscuit ami Im is, can thev roll, mould and hake.
All they o’ersec—their babes, their singing birds,
Parlor and kitchen company and cmds.
Daughters and dairy, linens and ihe lunrh
For nu'-loor laho ers—instead of punch,
Tne halls of huiter keep so sweet and cool.
All the boys’ heads before they go to school.
Their books.their clothes.their lesson and the hail
That she has wound and covered for them—all
All is o’erseen—o'rrseen ! Nav, it is done
By these same Yankee wivc».— If nut have run
Thus far w iihom one, to \ ards vour selling sun.
Lose no more tm»e, my Iriend—go home and
speak for one !
TIIE GROWTH OP GOOD.
Far where the smooth Pacific swells,
Beneath an arch of blue.
Where skv and w ave together meet,
A coral reillet grew.
No mortal eye espied it thfre,
Nor seadiird poised on high ;
Lonely it sprung, and lonely grew,
The nursling of the sky.
With soft caressing touch, tliMvind
In summer round it played.
And ninrmuriog through ns tiny caves.
Unceasing music made.
The ministering wind, so sweet
With mountain perfume, brought
A changeful robe ol emerald moss,
By latry fingers wrought.
Thus dav bv day, and year by year,
The little islet grew;
]t« food, the fiower-dnst xvafied by—*
Its drink the crystal dew.
By night the lonely stars looked forth,
Each from hi§ watch-tower high,
And smiled a loving blessing down.
Gently and si I. ntly.
And forest birds Irom distant isles
A moment settled there—
Awl from their p'nmage shook the seeds,
Then sprang into the air.
The islet grew, and tender plants
Rose tip amid the dearth—
Bloomed, died, and dropped upon the soil,
Like gifts from heaven to earth.
Thus ages passed—n hundred trees
Graced that once barren strand)
A hundred sli ps its produce bore
To many a distant laud.
And thus in every human heart
A germ ol good ts sown,
Who»e strivings upward to the light
Are seen by God alone.
Truth.—There are a thousand things in
this world to aftliet and sudden—but, oh !
how many there are beautiful and good !
The world teems with beauty—with objects
which gladden the eye and warm the heart.
\V e might he happy if we would. There are
ills which we cannot escape, the approach
of disease, of death and of misfortune, the
sundering of earthly ties, and the canker
worm of griefs but a vast majority of the
evils that beset us might be avoided. The
i curse of intemperance, interwoven as it is
w ith ail the ligaments, is one that never
! strikes but to destroy. There is not one
bright page upon the records of its progress
; —nothing to shield it from the heartiest ex
1 ecration of the human heart. It should not
exist, it ought not. Do a way with al I this—
let wars come and end, and kindness work
the intercourse between man and man. We
are too selfish, as if the world was made for
us alone. How much happier would we. be
were we to labor much more earnestly to
j promote each others’ good. God has blcs
! sed us wi?h a home that is not dark ; there
i is sunshine everywhere—in the sky, upon
the earth ; there would he in most hearts if
we would look around us. The storms die
away, and a bright sun shines out. Summer
drops her tinged curtains upon the earth,
which are very beautiful, even when autumn
breathes Iter changing breath upon it. God
reigns in heaven. Murmur not at a Being
so bountiful, and we can live happier Ilian
we do.
-—
Four Good Habits.—There were four
good habits, which a wise and good man
earnestly recommended in his counsels and
by his own example, and which he con
sidered essentially necessary for the happy
management of temporal concerns; these
are punctuality, accuracy, steadiness and
dispatch. § Without the first, time is wasted,
those who rely upon us are irritated and
disappointei?tond nothing is done in its
proper time and place. Without the second,
mistakes the most hurtful to our own credit
( anil interest, and that of others, may be com
mitted. Without the third, nothing can be
well done; and without the fourth, oppor
tunities of advantage are lost which it is
impossible to recall.
‘ .. . • ■ '• 1 .
1
t
PAT MEN.
There is something cordial about a fat
man. Everybody likes hint and he likes
everybody. \our Ishmalites are in truth
a bareboned rare—a lank tribe they are,
skeleton and bile. Food does a fat man
good ; it clings to him—it fructifies on him ;
he swells nobly out, and fills a generous
space in life. He is a living walking
minister of gratitude to the earth and the
fullness thereof; an incarnate testimony
against the vanities of care—>a radiant man
ifestation of the wisdom of good humor.
A fat man, therefore, almost in virtue of
being a fat man, is per sc a popular man,
and commonly he deserves his popularity.
In a crowded vehicle, the fattest man will
ever he found the most ready to make room.
Indeed, he seems to be half-sorry for his
size, lest it he in the way of others—but
others would not have him less than he is,
for his humanity is usually commensurate
with his hulk. ' A fat man has abundance
of rich juices ; the hinges of his system
are well oiled—the springs of his being are
noiseless; and so he goes on his way re
joicing, in full contentment and placidity.
A fat man feels his position solid in the
world ; he knows that his heing is cogniz
able ; he knows that he has a marked place
in the universe, and that he need take no
extra pains to advertise mankind that he is
among them ; he knows that he is in no
danger of being overlooked. It does really
take a deal of wrong to make one really
hate a fat man ; and if we are not always
ps cordial to a thin man as we should be,
Christian charity should take into account
the force of prejudice which we have to
overcome against his thinness. A fat man
is nrarest to that most perfect of figures, a
mathematical sphere; a thin man to that
most limited of conceivable dimensions, a
simple line. A fat man is a being of har
monious volume, and holds relations to the
material universe in every direction ; a thin
man has nothing but length ; a thin man,
in fact, is but the continuation ol a point.
Golden Showers.—The editor of the N.
Y. Mirror diseotirsetli beautilully of showr
ers, as follows :
We heard an avaricious fellow wishing,
this morning, that it would rain gold instead
of the balmy, liquid blessing of the clouds.
God forbid the exchange The heavens have
been, since the Jay dawned, showering bet
ter than coined gold upon the parched earth.
From the vast ewer of his never failing
bounty, the Father of mercies has hcen rain
ing hotter and cheese, and fruit, and grain,
and flowers, that will, by and by, all over
the land,coin into the plenty that gives nour
ishment. and life, and joy to millions. Such
is the gold that best fills the purse of a coun
try_glinting in butter-cups and roses, down
in tluT valley’ meadows, and shimmering on
all the hill sides. Out on these covetous
mortals who would have the heavens shed
mint-drops instead of rains and dews. Get
such delve in the dirt and darkness of the
mine; slaves to the ignoble desire that re
fuses'to accept the bounties of nature, and
nature's God, as better than any human coin
age or device.
Married and Single.—How Is it that
girls can always tell a married man from a
single one ! The fact is indisputable.—
The philosophy is beyond our ken. Black
wood says “that the fact of matrimony or
bachelorship is written so legibly in a man's
appear inee, that no ingenuity can conceal
it.* Everywhere there is some inexplicable
instinct that tells us whether an individual,
(whose name, fortune, and circumstance are
totally unknown.) be or ho not a married
man. Whether it is a certain subdued look,
such as that which characterizes lions in a
menagerie, and distinguishes them from the
lords of trie desert, we cannot trll; hut that
the truth is so, we positively affirm.”
Plant Trees.—Plant them by the fond*
side, plant them in yards, streets, lanes,lots)
everywhere yon can find room for a tree to
give shade or hear fruit. Now, this is the
Very day, is the right time to plant trees.—
There is no better time than Spring to plant
hardv fruit trees, and every hundred dollars
that may be spent in planting sueh trees
along the highway of a farm that has a pub*
lie traveled road running through it will add
a thousand dollars to the selling price of .
that farm twenty years hence. Take Up
large trees, w ith plenty of roots, and praut
them as though you intended them to grow
and they will grow'.
An Ant Trap.—Procure a tafgc Sponge.
Wash it well and press it dry, which will
leave the cells quite open ; then sprinkle
over it some fine white sugar, and place it
near w here the ants are most troublesome.
They w ill soou collect upon the sponge and
take up their abode in the cells. It is then
only necessary to dip the sponge in scalding
water, which will wash them out “clean
dead" by ten thousands. Put on more sugar,
and set the trap for a new haul. This pro*
cess w ill soon clear the bouse of every ant,
uncle and progeny.
Sharp and Pointed.—*• Miss S. is not a
reliable personage,” said a gentleman to a
lady ihe other evening, “ 1 think she is
deceitful—that she is two*faced !”
“ 1 don’t think that,” said the lady.
“ You don’t! Why, have you not had
proof of her duplicity 1”
“Yes, hut still 1 maintain that she can*
not have two faces, for if she had l ain
sure she would never wear the one she
always presents when I see her !”
t3T Without sorrow. life would he no
better than a dream j grief is a reality, and
though oitter as wormwood, mortals love it,
for it makes them feel themselves and know
the value of each.
0” A cotemporary, in puffing a hatter,
says, “ We recommend the hat wearing
public to patronize him.” Humanity and
justice slinnld have caused him to exteud
the invitation to the bare headed public.
I 0* Glasses reflect without talking,
[ talk without reflecting.
> * - —*
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