Newspaper Page Text
1 .... ...'—** ■ ■■■ «=*w. ■.■■-.=i.. ■ .. ". AimwicATfl omb onr—w antKU wiwpw im aid or popish PCFxcrBMcrE ^VOLUME I. _ELLSWORTH, HANCOCK COUNTY, MAINE; FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 23, 1855. NUMBER 7. &jjt (Etoortji Slawiran IS PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MOBHIMO BY mr*. auvxr. Office in Osgood'* Black, n«xt deoe South el the KUsworth Bank, tbTms. •1,00 par anatim ; if paid strictly in advance 01,150. Ky-AtVkanuvtSVB Inserted a« r<swsW* rates. |3oftri|. (Written lur lha Ellsworth AmivrkUM. BY W. E. TA BOR. Ae I sat with suneliino oVr m« And with book* about me spread* Came a me rry maid before me With a chaplet on her head. And the stopped and smiled upon me* With a sunny smile and sweet, Till her glance* aloinoet won me p.. ...ii i_r Said she, Pale Brow, why and wherefore Con those musty tomes to-day? S lid 1, T ime is precious, therefore Little must 1 waste in play Then in tones just like n preacher, Preaching of life's mystery, Said she. Re awhile my teacher; An apt scholar will 1 be. Ily my side was room a-plenty, And niy bobk was in my hand And as I was only twenty. Should I sit, while she muvt stand? So the vacant seat beside me Soon was tnKcn by the maid, % , And my heart beat very wildly Half in gladness, half afraid. But I told her of the story Running in the poet's line*, And 1 told her of llie glory Rising from Ambition'* shrine. And I told her how strong hearted Ones, and daring, fought their way, Till the heavy clouds departed And rewaled u fairer day. Then she said. All this i» pleasant, But w hy study records past? Think a moment of the present And the lutiirv, looming vast. Lot me now to you he teacher O! another better theme, Worthy of the p‘»©t preacher And aa sweet as any dream. "Then 1 looked upon her beauty^ And the hazel of her eye, m And | poiidried on mv duty As she whispered Tmou isU 1. But I may not, must not tell you Of the wond rous words she spot©— O! the fate that there befel me— Of the wish that in me wok*. Only, that the hooks about me And the sunshine up above. Were forge tie ii, as she taught mo A new It ssOe, about— Lovz. I'arlciu, M. Y., 1855. JELisfrIlanrous. TILE LAST LETTER . FROM A DRUNKARD'S WIFE. BV MRS. ft D. GAGS Oh dear Amy, that I should lire to tell yuu such a tale ns my pen must tell this morning. I shut my eyes; 1 clasp m y cold and alntoer paralysing hand over them to exclude the fearful vision, but it will not stray. No it is there; s horrid roiil-thrilling, heart-breaking reality.— Amy, my sister, my more than sister, css I so crush thee. So dash from tby lip the cap of joy which thou art now even now, lifting sparkling to the brim, with hope and lore. Ye s,I* even 1 must do it. Hard andlhankless as is the task it will be more kindly done by my hand than another's; for love vill soften every word, and sorrow, and deep pity, vti! ev ery wrong. * Amy, William is diad ; thy loved and loving brother, my loved and loving hus band, is dead. Even now, while 1 write these tearful words, the long white sheet »«•> anmiir Kirlos attfftV fmm mV ftlDht (he manly form, the fair broad brow and laughing lid of William. Ob! that this sacra all 1 could tell you; that a (ever had watted hint, that consumption had gnawed away hia vitals, that the murder er had struck him in the dark. But alas ! no ; none of those forma of death came to him, to rob the monster of hit appalling form. But I must still my throbbing heart and wipe the eald sweat of agouy from my brow , and toll you all, aye tell all, u»t to wound but to warn; leal those who are now growing up to manhood in the tame paths he trod, may rewth the Anal goal of life even as he. You know my dear Amy, when w« were married, five years ago yesterday (Oh; that fatal yesterday) William stood forth among the crowd as the embodi ment ol noble manhood,. Just returned iron hia long tour ol collegiate study, let loose as he expteaeed it, in tbn pas. lure of lift, he was the gayest of iht gay. He told a* that evening with a proud look, that during his eight years of study he had not drunk one drop of ardent spirits or wine. He had made ; the resolye ‘to touch not, tsste not,handle i not,’till the completion of his studied, till he *« old enough to contro I him self, tilt his hnbits were fixed ; and do you remember it, ere I had been ten minutes a bride, his futhr brought him the wine cup ami pleged him in a spark ling glass to his hew wife. Ah, how 1 trembled and shrank from that father's first kiss, and how my heart misgave me how it thtobed when I saw my adored William yielding to a father's examlpe, and grasping without a seeming thought the contents of that cup. “Nonsense, nonsense, Emily,” said our father, when I faintly whispered, “don’t William ; you have persevered so long, don’t'commence now, but rnthcr renew your covenant and resolve never to drink even wine." “Nonsense, Emily, a little wine won’t hurt him. I believe in'temperance as much as any one, hut the ‘sparkling Cntawaba’ will not hurt a lady. Come, you must not teach him any of your squeamish notions." I knew, then that the ‘spuming Catawaha' hau worked evil to my liusdand's father, or he would never have spoken thus to me—He, the kind, the generous, polite and dignified, to talk to me then of being ‘squeamish.’ I knew well that there was a devil in the cup- even of -sparkling Catawaha-'—A gain and again, William was pressed to drink. This was the first step. We came Weat—came ton city where nil men, as it were, indulged in wine. My husband felt hims-lf strong to resist temptation. His table could not be set without wine. ‘‘How could he refuse to Olliers what already offered 10 him !" i Thus, Amv, it was that he fell. Not in those haunts of wieKedness where the I low and beastly bow themselves into the 1 dust in ceqsualisin ; lint led by the wick ed and depraved into sin and shame ; but; by his own fireside, at the altar of home 1 with hiswife and children around him.hi.-l little ones stretching their uimsto embrace i him, and his wife pleading even lovingly ! against Ins wenkuess’ did he go down to 1 ruin, led by a father’s hand, and lured j by a father’s example. Year after year he grew 'worse, till— unwilling that 1 should see him drink, he learned to tarry at the office, the ho tel, the club room, into the weary watch es ol the night ; and then lie grew cold and hard, and—shall I say it to you Amy— brutal. His bloated cheek, his red rimmed eyes, his distorted face, told every passer by the tale. Business for sook him ; his friends forsook him ; vir tue, religion, manliness forsook him. How could they tarry with the drunk ard ? Mouths ago the spirit of William died. — Yesterday ihe breath left his suffering body, and lie is dead. O! doubly dead to us.—You, Amy, have not seen him for five years. You will remember him as the lolly, liighminded, noble brother— the emdotlimen! of all that was good and manly , 1 must remember him as the dy ing maniac, shrieking in his agony, and fighting with all a madman's lury with legions of devils.—remember him with glaring and blnod shot eyes, with foam ing mouth, uttering curses and groans and deafniug cries. / must remember him us the murderer of our boy ; lor it was his hand tnat ill a frenzied moment, dealt the blow that pre cipitated Inin down the long flight of stairs, which fall you know ended his life. ' Spare me, Emily, oh spare me,” I hear you cry : “why have you told me all this ? Why, if my brother is gone, will you blight his memory thug ? In pi ty let me remember him as the good and noble. Have you thought of the agony that this recital will give his grey haired mother, of the pangs that will grieve his father's soul, of his young brothers, and sisters just bursting into womanhood ! Could you not have spared this recital, and thrown the mantle of charily over the errors of a dead husband ?” Gladly would 1 have spared you, oh my sister, my mother, my father, and my brothera. Gladly would I have bid his sin* in my own heart, and locked them in the casket of love ae strong as womans heart e'er knew. But a stern duty said no. Hie father atill orders the wine to be placed before the guest; with his own hand he fills the ted^Ring glass fur his sons. His mother * smiles complac ently and mokes no effort, and Amy my slater Amy, and her lover sip the dain ty necter coyly from the same glass. Amy and her lover, he pure and good aud strong now, but no purer, and no stroug ertnan William iu days agone. Amy said to him, “drink, it will do you good ; never mind Emily, ahe be longs to the fanatics, who preach that every man who wants a glass now and then lor exhilaration must become a drunkard, because forsooth, some low, vulgar wretch has fallen into a pot house. Never let a woman rule you, Will.'* Dost remember it, Amy ? Oh, by that disfigured corpse beneath yon winding sheet, by the agony of the tearless wife,(no tears have soothed me since he died,) by the te^rs of orphaned children who must now depend on char ity for their bread, let me implore you, ■Amy, to take your stand against the de stroyer. Save your younger brothers from the fearful doom ; rave your lover, if it be uot to fate; save your father. 'Twas for this and this only, I hare penned these lines; for this only I have Jaid open the deep and incurable wounds of my heart, in their hideous deformity. To-tnorraw they will lay him by hi* ion in the poor-house churchyard. There I shall soon follow him, for poverty, shame and abuses have done their work. I did not drink the dark waters of death— hut he who was dearer In me than my own life drank them, and they hare kilt ed me. If our father cares for the children, oh, say toNimi, my sister, that I had rather my babes, my thirling boys, should be brought up in the poor-house, aud run their risks among strangers, than to live in his lordly halls, and be tempted day by dsiy to ein, by hwmg Kps and hands. I shell never write to you again, but let me plead as one from the grave with you ; give your aid to the work of reform. Stand no more with the idle, you can do much, for you have wealth, talent, and beauty . Farewell : I can write no more . God preserve thee , is the dying prayer of Emily-. Thus wrote the dying wife over the corpse of her husband . And is there but one such case in this goodly land ? Is there hut one father lending his child ren lo ruin; one easy mother making no effort fur her loved ones ‘ but one sister Amy, teaching to scorn those who would save ihe weak or wavering from destruc tion ? We know there are thousands, mid we (rust this record of truth tnay reach their hearts.—[Olive branch . Story of a Horrible Tragedy. Murder of a Husband. I think it was m the year 1S39, that a physician whose name need not he re pealed here, fled from below Quebec to Vermont, where lie was speedily arrested on a charge of foul and cruel murder, al leged to have been by him committed in a Seignory near the St Lawrence; he was accused of having taken the life of an estible gentleman, a young and wealthy Seignor, the father of two fine children, at the instigation ol their moth er, then under twenty four years of age, n woman of refined manners, good edu cation, remarkable beauty, and aristo cratic family connexions. The only question mooted in the Ver mont tribunals, was, whether the law of nations, in the absence of a special treaty authorized the State authorities to seize persons taking refuge within their terri tories and deliver them over to a foreign power to be tried for life. The Republi can courts decided that it did not- The physician was, of course, released, and when Gov. Van Ness became C'ellector of Customs at the port of New York, 1 urged him to relate all the circumstances he could recollect, including the law points. The memoranda I still preserve. Many years elapsed; 1 returned to Quebec, and to public life, and being-aon business in Quebec, requested persons of advanced years and undeubted veracity residing in and near the place where the murder hnd been committed, to narrate the facts just as ihey occurred. Well may we exclaim, ‘Truth is more strange than fiction.’ Mrs - was on a visit to Quebec, where she met with Dr-, whom it is said she was acquainted with before her marriage; they agreed that her af fectionate husband should be poisoned, a servant woman who had been long up on the seigniory under its feudal chiefs, was sorely tempted with a heavy bribe to go down to -and administer poison to h(V master, and she went; slopped at the manor house, gave him enough of the poison in some beer to sicken, but not to kill, relented ; returned to her mistress at Quebec, and told her that she could not find it in her heart to further injure the seignior ; her conscience would not per mit ; she could not do it. Dr-and the lady were of course displeased with her, and they finally con cluded (hat he must go down himself and do their dreadful work; he accordingly crossed the St Lawrence, travelled along in his cariole to-where he called upon the seignor, asking him to take a drive with him in his cariole; and they went to the barn of a farm not tar distant to see some cattle, where the doctor sud denly struck the seignor on the heed with the butt end of his heavy pistol till he became senseless. The murderer then dragged him bnck to the cariole, laid him in the bottom of it, priC the robes on him, and then sat in it with his feet upon the body. From thence Dr-drove to the beach, intending to bury his vic tim in the ice; on bis way however the seignor recoverd his senses so far as to scream and moan faintly. Some of the babilaus met the cariole, and asked what • l i .. _ i . j _ . t. i tilt; UUVIUI IIUU KUt Ml 1119 VIIIIIU"V| IIIIW replied, 'A pig he had bought, and wus taking home, and whicn he kept uhder hia feet to prevent his escape.’ At the beach the buchery was com pleted, but the tAurderer had so mangled the body that the blood ran down from hia cariole, and left a red track nr streak upou the snow, extending a great dis tance from the spot where the corpse was hid, buried under huge pieces of ice, on the south shore of the great river of Can ada. 1 error speedily look hold of the strong man— he felt the whole guilt of bis dread ful position, and putting bis horse to its utmost speed, reached Point Levi at two o’clock next morning, where he stopped at a poor man's house, and asked the wife to let him lie down and rest on a bed but not to touch his sleigh and robes as he had just come from a surgical operation the blood from which had been spilled on the furl, He thus rested untill four, when he roM and made the ben of his to Vermont, it having been arranged between him and the wife of the innocent and very estimable gentleman he had slain, that she was soon to follow him to a place agreed upon. She however wrote him first, and ha replied that lie never wished to see or bear from her n gain, and 1 hdiam hnaaver did. Wheth er he yet lives t have not ascertained. : His brother belonged to the church, and was at the time a teacher of youth, cheer* ful, pious add well tndotred- From the day of that Might he aevfer held up his head again anaatig man, but speedily I drooped and didd of aferoken heart. There was great excitement in those days at Quebec ; the young seignior’s body, was of course soon foand, being readily traced by the train of blood upon the beach and road; the wonky gentle man had been at once misse l ind very diligently searched for. The unman at Point Levi had also told that Dr-'s looks had actually filled her with ixtrenie terror, that she did not even dare to wake up her husband, but allowed the stranger Ira rack a a 1i a iloa i pml m n<*lil»r*> 1,1 in venture to propound any questions. Tlie servant woman, on her return | from-, knowing o( the foul murder I that hail taken place, told in Quebec to I many persons who it was that had sent) her down, and lor what purpose she had | been sent. A public trial was soon to I have taken place; but she. being the main witness, was at once got rid of ; certain soldiers were hired to entice her to a pub lic house of entertainment, where a riot was purposely got up, and it was so con trived that she was beaten to death in the quarrel. Whether the two infants were then at-,or sojourning up at Que bec with their barbarous mother, I am not informed. The newspapers of Canada and the United States were at one time filled with the details of this horrible sto ry, and it was publicly said that the con nections of the sc-ignioress did not desire any trial. I presume they did not. She soon married again, is still alive, and asked leave not long since, to return to the manor house of her youth, but was plainly told by the villagers that if she ventured to do so. the inhabitants would assemble and stone her out of the domain. Mr-, thus barbarously murder ed, was of small statute, young, active and well liked by his neighbors; esteemed as a good man aud generous proprietor, and was very wealthy. He di ated on his cruel and treacherous bride; he actually idolized her. Some even affirm that she was attached to Dr ■ before mar rying the rich Canadian gentleman, whom she wedded for his wealth to please Icr parents. Even now, it is affirmed that she is a fine looking woman ; but s'ligul larly conrageous and deep in love muai that man have been who ventured upon such a partner for life’s long journey. Several curious incidents are related at Quebec as to evidence taken and evi dence not taken, and the way the foul deedywas finally hushed up, ‘but I shall not burden this brief narrative with them. —Much do we hear of nobility of soul, and elevation of sentiment, but from the days in which King David ordered the man he had deeply wronged to he placed in the heat of the battle, in order that he might be there butchered, down to the St Lawrencr tragedy of 1839, human nature has been ungovernable and treacherous—religion in some times has stayed its cruelties—but all history proves that 'the heart of man is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.’ Rich Scene. The following rich scene recently oc curred in one of our private schools:— Mh, Pat.’ exclaimed the school mis tress to a very thick headed urchin, iuto whose muddy brain she was attempting to heat the alphabet; ‘I am afraid you won't learn anything. Now, what’s that letter?’ ‘Sure I don’t know, ma’am,’ replied Pat. ‘1 thought you’d recollect that.’ ‘Why, ma'am!’ ‘Because it has got a dot over the top of it.’ ‘Och, ma’am and I thought it was a fly spec !’ ‘Well—now remember—it is 1.’ ‘You ma'am?’ ■No, no—not U, but I.’ 'Not I, but you, ma’ain—how’s that?’ ‘Not you, but 1, blockhead!’ ‘Oh, yes, now I'll have it, ma’am.— You mean toaaynotl but you are a blockhead.’ ‘Pool!' exclaimed the pedagogue, al most burating with rage. A very green sprig from the Emerald Tala antaaaa a nn/1 olimia. chase himself a pair ol “ brogans."— After overhauling his stock in trade without being able to suit ftis customer, the shopkeeper, hinted that he would make him a pair to order. " And what will yer ax to maze a good pair iv eint" wqs the query. The price was named; 'the Irishmen demurred, but, after a “ba | ting down,” the thing was a trade.— Paddy was about leaving the shop, when the other called after him. asking, " But what size shall I make them, air?” Och, cried Paddy “ niver uiind about the size, at all— make them as large as ye con veniently can for the money." •#* The enormous quantity of forty seven million gallons o( whiskey, rum, brandy, and thirty-five million gallons of strong beer,, were made in the United States during the last year—being more than three gallons a piece to every man, women and child in the country. I POPULARITY—A DIALOGUE SCENE.—A Lawyer’s Office. ENTER PRESBYTERIAN. Lawyer.—Good morning Mr P, take a seat sir. I attended your meeting yes terday: I was highly gratified with your new preacher. I admire the warm and powerful style your clergymen are of late adopting. It is certainly calculated to awaken the thoughtless. If you settle Mr S. in your society, you may consider me a subscriber. It is true I utn not at tached to any order of Christians, but I believe the great bulwarks of our us tionaMibertics must be the diffusion of knowledge; and I have always observed that your people are patronizing and sus taining our seminaries and institutions of learning. Bye the bye, this reminds me that our election is at hand ; I hope, Mr P, we will have the pleasure of num bering jou with our friends in the ap proaching eontest. P.—I will think of it. (Exit.; ENTER BAPTIST. L.—Good morning, Mr B, / am g'ad you have called. Well, 1 went to the rittAP iroalorrl air unnii In iVilrtouC t hp im. mention, anil I must say it is a beautiful ordinance; and it seems to me that mode of administering is the most simple and primative. To see a little group stand on tile banks of a flowing stream, and unite their voices in that beautiful hymn “O bow happy are they,” while the can didate goes down into the water, brings forcibly to ones mind the scenes of Jor dan and Judea. Besides your clergy man, Elder M., is a very interesting man. Your church government 1 have always admired—it is so reunhlicun. It was elder L. of your order who car Jed the great Cheshire cheese to Jetfeis,>u. lie has been a faithful old patriot. Ah, this puts me iu mind that the Jefl'ersuni an principles are again to be contested this tall, and 1 hope i shall find you, Mr B, as linn a patriot as elder L‘ bus been. (Exit.) ENTER EflSCOPAUV.N. L.—Your most obedient servant Mr E, happy to see you, sir. Well, 1 was in New York, last week, and walked four miles in the morning to hear Bishop H. He was a truly polished and elo quent man, and there is something in your inode of worship so systematic and so much in accordance with decency and older, and so much.the opposite to the wild ranliiig kind of worship, that 1 have lallen in love with it. You see 1 hare purchased me a Common Prayer Book. The organ arid choir in Bishop IPs church are superior lo any I have ever heard.— I culled on the Bishop the next morning, and obtained an intioduction to him.— He does not, of course, take any part in puliilcr, yet he gave me to understand iu the course o! our conversation, that his feelings were on the right side. (Exit.) ENTER METHODIST. L.—How do you do, brother M.l 1 call you brother, because my parents were Methodists, and when 1 was a child the preachers Used to visit our house, and 1 used to call them all 'brothers,' from hearing my father and mother call them so. It is singular how strong the impres sions of children are. Though 1 do not profess religion, yet 1 always feel more at home in a Methodist meeting than in any other. And yet I do not know whether this arises so much from (lie force of my early impressions as Irom that simplicity peculiar to your worship, and which is so congenial to my taste. i was riding through G. the other day, and as 1 came opposite a piece of wood, 1 heard the sound of singing. 1 imme diately discovered that there was a ea-.up meeting in the vicinity, and notwithstand ing my business was very urgent, I could not resist my inclination. Sj 1 tied my beast to the tree, and after walking a mile I came to the ground. The first object that met my eye was the presiding Elder G. appealing in a most evangelical maimer to the people, who were seated beneath the branches of the surrounding forest, llow forcibly it brought to my mind the Mount of Olives— 1 am con siderably acquainted with Mr G, and though he takes no part in the political contests of the day, yet in feelings ho and 1 have always coincided. (Exit.) ENTER VNIVERSaLIST. L.—How d'ye do ’squire. Well 1 at tended your'meeting iu the school house the other evening, and was well satisfied with the sermon. Your preachers wheth er right or wrong, are certainly rich of talent. Mr S, used most splendid imaginary in his sermon, and his arguments, admit ting the premises, were certainly irresis ble. 1 should have been pleased to have invited him home with uie, hut my wife was rather out of health that evening. I cannot see, for my part, why people should be so prejudiced against your sen iiments. They are certainly misreprc rented. There is one thing people say about your doctrine which is true; and that is, that *il is extremely captivating and as for its influence, 1 can say that many of our best citizens are Universal ists. Let me see, 1 believe Squire, that you have always been a warm politician, and on the right side. Well, the ap proaching contest requires our unanimous exertions. (Exit.) ENTER QUAKER. L.—Well Thomas, how is thy health? I am glad thee has taken the trouble to call. Q.—I do not trouble gentlemen of thy profession very often ; but ( have called this afternoon to pay some money to I thee. As we Friends do not believe in (raining man in the art of killing mao systematically, they oblige os In pay for tlie enjoyinenl of our principles; anJ I understand thee is—I lorgel tvliat mili tary men call it —the inan who receives (he constitution money. L.—Yes, I wish I could get off as well as you do; whereas it costs ten times the sum, besides eight or ten days drilling every year. But what renders the task more unpleasant is the reflection that always arises wdien I see the banner flying, and hear the drums hr-mino j around me that (lie object of all this preparation is to train us in the art of | destroying each other. And then / al ways think of the peaceful settlement of Pennsylvania by Penn. Aly grandfather was a Quaker, and I have always admir ed their plainness of dress, simplicity of language and pacific sentiments. In short, Thomas, I have often thought Mint if we were all Quakers, society would resemble the state of our first parents in Eden. Q.—VVe never shall all be Quakers, so long ns so many of us are hypocrites, mid so long us hypocrites have so much influence. If thy grandfniher was a Quaker, I am sorry thee has no degener ated from thy ancesters. The scruples thee professes about military duty con dcmn tliec ; lor III te must lie dejuileil by ilie devil to violate tliy conscience at so great expense. Then speaks 0'|r lan guage flippantly, and admires our urcss; thy ordinary ilielect, and thy fashionable blue coat, figured vest, an I gaudy watcli embellishments, are incnnteslible proofs of thy sincerity. Thee eulogizes Penn — I hare heard thee eulogize Napoleon us highly. I hare observed the duplicity thee uses for popularity. Tine leads a sermon for the Presbyterians in the morning when we have no preaching — Tliee goes in the aiternooii and leads singing for the church-mar.. In the evening thee goes to the Universalis! meeting. Thee admires the immersion ol the Baptist, the camp-meeting of the Methodist, and the plain dress end lan guage of the Friend. I will tell thee Irieud, thee strongly reminds me of inV brown horse. I once employed an hon est Irishmen to labor lor me.' I sent Patrick out in the morning to catch my brown liorse. Now the brown horse ran in the pasture, in the middle of which was a large square pond. Patrick Was gone a long time, and at Length returned with ibe beast after having chased him several times round the pond. ‘•Well, Patrick,” said I, "on which side of the pond ilij you find the horse?" “Truth,” said Patrick, "and I h und him oil all sides." The New York Know Nothing Plat form A State Council of Know Notliigs held at Scenectady Jan 11 tli and 12ih, adopted the billowing Platform, which is published in the New York Times. /Is the first published programme of princi pler promulgated by the mysterious or der, it possesses great significance. "The commitle to whom was referred the Slate President’s Annual report pre sented— in accordance with the spirit thereof—the following resolutions winch were adopted by an almost unanimous vote ; and ihe Slate Secretary was di rected to have the same primed and for warded to Deputies of cnuiuies and Pres idents ol Subordinate councils: Resulted. That slavery, like Papacy, is a moral, social and political evil—ui variance with the spirit ol our republi can institutions, nod repugnant to Ihe | principles of freemen; Unit it is our duly : to resist its extension, and that tve can j not as Americans, consent to the admis sion to the Union of any new States j whose coustitucioii recognizes human ’ bondage. • #•••• Resolved, That ihe Temperance en terprise is one worthy cordial support, and that we will in no case he drawn in to any course of aciiuu which will inter fere w ith its progress. Resolved, Tint a Committee of live be appointed to invite the State Councils of this and oilier Siales to unite with ns in a general organization, based upon ihe principles embodied in the foregoing re solves.” Volcanic Rei’eatinq Pistol.—We have seen and fired a pistol, recently in vented and patented, which bid* fair to excel everything in that line that has yet been offered to the public attention. It seeins to combine all that could be desii ed in such a weapon. Colt’s pistol com pared with it; seems like a distortion, or a clumsy, uncou'h and ridiculous affair for a firearm. The volcanic pistol cur ries a Minnie or conical bull, in a rifle Darrel, and win put it tnrougn a tnree inch plank at a distance of ninety yards The receiving tube will hold ten bail-cat ridges, which may be deposited in two seconds of time. .The pistol may lie discharged thirty times in tilty seconds! It is so contrived that it is not liable to accidental discharge. There is no prim ing— no capa—and therefore no danger to the eyes from any ignition near the breach. Neither is there any recoil, so as to jar the arm or disturb a sure aim.— The whole construction is so simple as not to get out of order, even from long use. The powder and ball are enclosed in the jame metalic cover, so that a per son could swim a river with one of these in hia belt, without in the slightest de gree injuring the powder. In short, the weapon is in all respects one of the most perfect things in the shooting line that we ever took into our bauds.—New !la> vcn Palladium, A Brill'.iant Wad4.Bg. TRANSLATED FllR THE HOME JuCkNAI. A wedding was celebrated recently ut La Madeline.* Numerous equipages were sunioned at the dsorsof the church during the ceremony. The curious, rhe flaneurs, crowded iu among the invited guests. All were desirous of beholding the blide, and to bcrutenize the newly unit ried couple. Ordinarily such ques tioners gain nothing but common place gossip; but in this instance curiosity It >d oeeti much excited. The espousals winch had just taken place was the finale of a comedy, which produced a lively interest in the Fauxbourg Saint Honorc. T.ie title to this historic drama ought to be "A Woman's Vengeance.” Tiie lady iu question was not a widow, as oiie might suppose irotn the facts dts clo.ed, which denote a woman well ac customed to the vicissitudes ol life.— She was a maiden just arrived at majori ty, in the full hiooni ol' youth, strikingly beautiful, and with distinguished attrac tions. Add tu these much intelligence, and a moderate fortune, and you will readily conceive that the lady did not lack admirers w ho were anxious to u iu her favor. And, indeed, there were hall a dozen from whom she selected one. A young gentleman, whom we shall call M Felix, that being 'his Christian name, had the good fortune to inspire her with an ardent passion, which seem ed to be reciprocated or rather was real ly so; but tlic stability of which was not proof against circumstances which alter wards occurred. The fortune of M Felix was very mudt-raie, barely sufficient to enable him to sustain a position in the fashionable world. This, to one of sentimental turn ol mind, was rather inconvenient. No hope of accession gilded the horizon— no splendid inheritance awaited him; judge, then, if the happy lot which was leud<?red him—a union « ith a beautilul woman, loving and beloved—was reject ed ! But this pe iceftil happiness was dis turbed by an uucjfyected occurrence.— The horizon of Ins hopes, hitherto so gloomy, was suddenly illuminated, and a brilliant future suddenly dawned upon him. lie became heir apparent to an immense fortune. An uncle who bad long lived in the greatest poverty aud ob scurity, upon n small annuity , by sndden turns ol fortune and lucky acctdents.lmd become exceedingly rich. Now this lor lunate individual was-sixty years old,and not*a relative in ^he world, save this nephew. M Felix, therefore, was con sidered his heir to estates producing a yearly rent of forty or fifty thousand Itvres, and was duly installed in that po sition. The mind of the fortunate M Felix was much elated with tins extraordinary change in his circumstances, and he launched forth on the sea of dissipation and extravagance without reserve. The tranquil pleasures of matrimony lo-t their charms; all his former plans were aban doned ; and he give hi nisei I up to a life ol gaiety and frivolous pleasure, break mg bis engagement without the least scruple, and leaving his affianced bride to console herself as best she could. And how did the deserted Indy receive the desertion of her lover? What senti ments filled her bosom at this cold-blood ed abandonment? We shall not at,this time disclose Iter feelings. '1 lie sequel will sufficiently describe them. After this rupture with her unfeeling admirer, the lady appeared in society more charming limit ever; she met him 'without the slightest apparent emotion, aud becoming introduced to the uncle, she put forth all Iter powers of pleasing — all the grac:s of wit and beauty—to c aptivate the sextgenary millionaire. In tins she w is completely successful. The old gentleman became a willing captive Mademoiselle - became the wife of the uncle ol M Fel x. Three quaiiers ol his estate was settled upon her by ti e contract of marriage, mid ior llit* residue, the chance of iuheiitaitce by M Felix is very slender. Such are the lacts gleamed by the cu rious, who thronged the entrance of the church of La Mudeline, on Monday last. Tracts.—Tracts can go everywhere. Tracts know no fear. Tracts never tire. Tracts uever die. Tracts can be mul tiplied witnout en 11 y the press, Tracis can travel at little expense. They run up and down like the nrtgels of God. blessing all giving to all, aud asking no gift in return You can print tracts of all sizes, on all subjects, in all pluces, anil at all hours. And they call talk to one as well as 10.1 multitude; and lu a multi tude as well as tonne. They require no public room to tell their story in ; they can tell it tit the kitchen or the shop, the parlor or the closet—in tha railway car-. riiij£r, nr hi me nminuiis, nr me irrouu highway, or ill llie fomputii through lire hold*. They take no m te of scoffs. or jeer*, or tauiil*. No one can betray them into hasty or rawdem expression*. Though they will not always uitswer questions, they will tell their story twice or thrice, or lour tiiues over, if you wish them' And they run be mad# to speak on every subject, and an rvury subject they ntay he made , to speak wisely and well. They cart, in short, be made vehi cles of alt truth; the teachers and Mfurtiw tners of classes; the regenerators and benefactors of all lands.—U'. JIpNti. V Whr , diamond* have no brillianey*.