Newspaper Page Text
BAPGOOS &. ADAMS.
E iriit BLOCK.
VOL. 40, NO 8.
amilq Stand, Drmrffb
ta mbam, Sgriraltarr, literature, (Bbnration, local
Sntriligratr, anb tre 3kw
OCTOBER 1 0, 1 855.
of tjjt Datj.
ONE DOLLAR AND PUTT CZTNs
rim AMWVM. 1ST ADVAHCK.
WHOLE NO. 2036
For the Chronicle.
"HE IS DEAD."
[The following lines were written after reading in
[The following lines were written after reading in the Chronicle, a notice of the death of Mr. Freeman.]
Again the deep-toned bell we hear.
And the oft told tale lis telling;
Again, again the bitter tear
Front the moorner's cjre is welling.
Again the lip of lore il mats.
And hushed the TO ice of gladness;
And e'en the notes of harp and late
Are sadness, nought bat udnnss.
Again, a man with tilTered brow.
And noble, manly form.
Who breasted every blaat till now.
" ' " yielded to the ctorm.
And Um sorrow cf the pater-by.
Bis slow and measured tread.
And the tear that glistens in his eye,
Speak sadly, "he is dead.
Another home is broken now.
And other ties are rirea.
To wrench onr hearts away from earth.
And fix them nearer bearen.
For though the tenement of dnst
Is mouldering in the gran.
The freed immortal part, we trust.
Has flown to Him svho gar.
Wo learn to lore a forest tree,
Or none a gentle flower,
And oft from daily care we flee
To spend with them an hoax;
Bat soon we And oar noble oak
Is rudely rent in twain ;
'lis shirered by the thunder-stroke.
Twill never bloom again.
The flower we lored-Old Autumn's breath
Too rudely, far, has blown;
We find the shrunken, dying stem.
It petals round it strewn.
lis thus with eery earthly joy;
" When brightest beams its ray.
And least we dream of losing it.
Tin quickly torn away.
Then mourners, banish every dread.
Ton hear his step no more,'
But know, 'tis now a spirit tread.
Heard an the other shore.
Oberlin, Sept. 25th. 3 A.
Go thou in peace," we would not have thee linger
In the low mates of this tainted earth.
When every joy is touched with sorrow's finger.
And tears succeed the brightest hours of mirth.
Thine upward gaze is fixed upon the dwelling
Where sin and sorrow never more are known,
Ard seraph lips, the loud Hosanna swelling.
Have caught the music of celesttal tone.
"60 thou in peace!" thy home on earth now leaving.
In the lone chambers ofthe dead to dwell;
Thou hast no portion In the sorrow heaving
The heart whose anguish tears too feebly tell,
A path of light and gladness is before thee.
The hope of Israel in fruition thine.
And thou hast gased upon the beams of glory
Around the throne of Israel's God that shine.
"Go thou in peace!" temptation cannot sever
The tie that now unites thee to thy God;
Ths voice of sin, of unbelief, can never
Bnter the mates or thy low abode.
We leave thee here. In mingled joy and sadness,
Onr hearts are weak, our hopes are faint and dim.
But to the Lord we turn with chastened gladness.
And yield onr friend, our brothe;, up to Him.
HEBREW REQUIEM. Choice Miscellany.
A BLESSING IN DISGUISE.
"But you are rich enough, Lauson.
Let us leave this great city, and 6eek
some more quiet home."
"No, no, Lydia. Business is my very
life. I must make a Utile more money
before I give up."
' Will you tell me, my husband, how
much you would have now ; if you
were to settle your bmssiness up now ?"
"Oh 1 perhaps two hundred thousand
"And think, Lauson, only think, how
easily, how sumptuously we would live
upon the interest of that, an 1 how much
too, to bestow upon those who need our
charity. Come tell me that you will
leave your business at once. I can see
what you cannot see. You are under
mining your constitution, and your health
is fast leaving you.
"Pshaw ! Lydia you croak like a ra
ven, I should lose my health were I to
leave my business. Di-n't ssy any more
now, for you see I am buisy."
As the husband 6poke, he turned to
the little ebony escritoire which he had
kept in his parlor and commenced over
hauling and studying the various papers
which lay there.
Lauson Watkins had seen his thirtieth
year And young as he was, he had be
come what the world calls rich. At an
early age he had entered the mercantile
business and fortune had si-iiled upon
him. He had already amassed a com
petency ; but while he had been doing
this he lost his health. His organization
was not one that would bear mental ex
citement. His brain was large and ac
tive, his excitability intense, and his mind
easily worried and tortured; on the other
hand his physical constitution was slight
and of nervous temperament. For years
he had applied himself to business with
out taking a reipiie, and the faster mon
' ey came in upon him, the more anxious
and nervous did he become iu his labors.
Night arid day he labored over his ship
merts and invoices, and gradually, but
euiely the joy of he&ith wa. departing
Poor Lydia Walking saw all this. Sbej
saw the fearful disease marks growing
upon her husband's countenance, but
he could not peisuade him to feel as she
felt. He laughed at her for her fears,
and yet while he laughed he felt the
disease growing at his viuls. As the
merchant sat at his work, his anxious
wife watched him with painful interest.
His face was pale in the extreme, and
the blue veins stood staring 7 out upon
his huge white brow and temples. His
eyes were large and brilliant but their
brilliancy was not natural it was a false
nervous ligrht gleamed there. As he
poured over a complicated invoice, redu
cing to his own currency large amounts
of foreign money, his long, white fingeis
worked nervously through his bair, and
his wife heard him breath hard. 0, she
knew he could not live long so.
When at a late hour he complained of
headache, but he had cleared ten thou
sand dollars by the cargo he had been
disposing: of, and he was pleased. That
ten thousand dollars did not help to give
him content it only served to spur him
on to new exertions.
"Lydia," said Mr. Watkins, after he
had closed his etcritoire, "have you seen
your Uncle Langrave to-day ?"
"I am afraid he is going rather deep
ly into a dangerous speculation. For a
week back I have been endorsing paper
for him to a considerable amount. He
helped me without stint when I commen
ced bnsines, and I suppose I must help
him now ; but I hope he will be care
ful." " Adam Langrave is a careful man,"
replied Lydia, "and I am sure he would
not do that whica would cause you to
"0 no, I don't think he would," said
Watkins, and here the conversation drop
ped, for the young man's mind became
buried in his business.
Adam Langiave was an old man, aud
had been the foster father of Lydia.
The girl had been left an orphan at an
early age, and her husband had com
menced his career as Langrave's clerk,
and thus he became acquainted with the
fair and virtuous girl whom he made his
wife. Langrave had lately entertained a
project for making money, and it was in
pursuance of this that he had called on
Watkins for assistance.
On the day following the scene describ
ed above, Mr. Langrave called at Wat
kin's store, and opened to the young mer
chant more fully his project. It was a
vast -one, but it promised a golden har
vest, and after much deliberation, Lou
son entered into it. It looked feasible to
him, he promised himself a rich return
for his adventure.
"Lydia, I am a ruined man !"
This was the exclamation of Lauson
Watkins, as he entered the parlor one
evening about a fort-night after his inter
view with Langrave. He was paler than
usual, and every nerve was shaking with
"Ruined 1" repeated the wife.
"Yes. Langrave has failed ; he has
entirely, completely sunk. Every cent
"But you are not all lost. Something
can be saved."
" No, not a dollar. Fool that 1 was !
I went in with him to the amount of two
hundred thousand dollars. I trusted to
his ton "
The young man did net finish the word.
He wasexcited,buthad judgment enough
not to hurt the feelings of his wife by
speaking harshly of her uncle. He was
for the whole completely prostrated. The
blow had come upon him with a crush
ing weight, and he felt it keenly.
"Do not blame my uncle too much,"
she murmured. "Everything is not lost,
I am left to you. In your business tri
als I could not help you, but in your lile
trials you will find that I am not useless.
Do not despair, dear Lauson, something
may turn up to assist you."
The young gentleman did not speak.
He returned his wife's embrace, and at
that moment she saw more real grateful
joy in his eye, than she had 6een there
before for months.
At the end of the week the young
merchant's business was settled up, and
he found himself the possessor of just the
amount of personal property which the
law allowed him. Everything had been
swept away every cent. Yet there was
one thing that remained within his grasp.
His wife held by her own right, a small
farm in the country. It was her birth
place the old home of her childhood
and her unele had secured it to her in
such a manner, that no misfortune of her
husband could fall Uj-on it. Lydia beg
ged of her husband to find a home upon
that farm. He hesitated a while and
then consented. He had at first thought
of procuring a clerkship, and trying
once more to set himself in business; but
the way looked tedious to him it seem
ed too hard to gain the place from which
he had fallen, and he gave it up. It was
too much for his pride to occupy a men
ial position now, and he turned away
from the great city, weary and heartsick
The home that Lauson Watkins reced
ed at the hands of his wife, was in trutjr
a lovelv abode. The farm was an exoei-
lent one, bearing the choicest of fruit,
and capable of the most productive culti
vation. The dwelling was a sweet little
cottage surrounded by great elms, with
cherry and plum trees in front, while at
a little distance, sparkling like silver in
the sunbeams, lay a lakelet, into which
a hundred bubbling brooks poured their
crystal tributes. Lydia sold her jewels,
and thus she realized enough to pur
chase a choice stock for the farm, besides
having enough left to hire n trusty man
to take charge of the grounds.
While Watkins was taken this step,
Adam Langrave went out South, but
where, no one save himself knew.
It was early spring when the fallen
merchant moved upon the quiet farm,
and the work must soon begin. He was
not a man who could remain idle, and
he took hold to help his man do the
work. It was new to him, but he found
it by no means disagreeable. His appe
tite grew sharp, and he began to have a
keen relish for food. The milk that came
from his own cows tasted sweet to him.
And then to see his little wife making
and mixing bread, all with her own
hands it was novel to him, but it pos
sessed a charm too, which was grateful.
Then he saw his children, a little boy
and girl, playing upon the green sward
in the garden, and he knew they were
growing healthier. By-and-by he set
his children to studying, and he himself
heard them recite their lessons.
Before winter set in the ex-merchant
had become a real farmer. His ciops had
been good, and he experienced a strange
pleasure in realizing that he had gather
ed to his granary more than provision
enough for the year to come.
But who shall paint the happiness of
the devoted wife, when she saw her hus
band thus returning to himself. The
bloom of health was upon his cheek, his
step was firm and elastic, his spirits were
buoyant and free, and his soul had be
come centered in his home.
Three years passed away, and the
pale, trembling, feverish merchant, had
become a stout, heaLhy, rugged man.
His home the abode of every joy a
heaven upon earth.
It was in the evening. Mr. Watkins
had heard his children recite their les
sons and say their prayers, their mother
had blessed and attended them to bed.
They had just sat down alone the hus
band and wife, when some one rapped at
the door. Lauson arose and ope ted it,
and Adam Langrave entered the apart
ment. Lydia sprang to the old man's
embrace, and she wept tears of joy to
see her kind uncle again.
Langrave looked about hm with some
thing like surprise depicted upon his
countenance, as he shook hands warmly
with Lauson, he seemed almost doubt
ful about trusting his own senses. Could
it be possible that the dying merchant
had become such a living man t The
change to him was more surprising than
it was to Lydia, for she had watched
each slow developmenlofreturningheallh
while he saw it all at once. It was in
truth a very wonderful change.
Quickly did Lydia prepare a simple
repast for her uncle, and the old scenes
wete talked about. Lausou told how he
had succeeded on his farm, and Lan
grave told where he had been in the
South. The evening wore away pleas
antly and agreeably. At length the old
man remained silent for some moments,
and Lydia began to tremble.
" Lauson," said he, " how would you
like to go back into the city and enter in
to business again.''
"I couldn't think of it," said the
young man with a shudder.
" But I thing I could raise the means."
"No, no I am not fit for a merchant.
Mine is a constitution that cannot live in
such business. 0, 1 would not give up
this sweet home for any establishment in
the city. Ah, sir, I learned a great les
son when I came here, a lesson of life.
I know that I should have been in my
grave had I remained in the city. I did
not see it then, but I see it now. At first
I iho't the loss of ray property a calami
ty ; but, sir, it was a blessing in disguise.
Look at us now and see if we are not hap
py. And to-morrow morning you shall
see my children. You will have to rise
early if you would hear their first shout
of joy, and sec their first smile of glad
" Thank God, Lydia," murmured the
old man, as he turned towards his niece.
your plan has been blessed."
Lauson Watkins gazed first at his wife,
and then upon her uncle. He was puz
zled. His wife caught his eaer "aze,
and with a convulsire moement she
sprang towards him and threw her arms
around his neck.
"O, forgive me, my husband for
give me !"' she uttered, while tears
streamed down her cheeks.
"torgive you? for what? Whri
does this mean ?" gasped the young man,
as he disengaged his wife's arms from
his neck, and looked into her faje.
"Why said Adam Langrave, "she
wants you to forgive her for saving your
life. Sit down, Lydia, and I'll tell him
The wife sank into a chair, and then
the old man resumed.
"I'll explain the mystery to you in a
few moments Lauson. You know how
deeply you were absoibed in harrassing
business and how unceasingly you devo
ted your time to mere acquisition of mon
ey. Your wife saw you were losing your
health and strength, that you were be
coming entirely lost to her children, in
the mazy depth of money m?king. This
latter burden she could have borne with
out a murmer but when she saw that you
were surely making your passage to a
premature grave, she thought to arrest
your steps. She spoke to you and told
you of her fears but you heeded them
not. She saw that the hands of the de
stroyer was on you ! In this extremity
she came to me and begged me to assist
her in saving you. I knew of but one
way, I told my child that. She made
me promise that I would carry it into
execution. I went to work. It was a
severe tak, but I determined to perform
it. I drew all your monej away from
you and then when I knew I had your
last dollar in my possession, I pretended
to fail. When I saw your misery upon
that occasion, I was tempted to disclose
to you the plot, but I resolved that I
would go through with what I had be
gun, at the same time earnestly praying
that it might all end in your benefit.
" And now," continued the old man,
drawing his hand from his breast pocket
"the deception has lasted long enough.
Here are two hundred and three thousand
dollars. I took them to save your own life,
and make my own child happy. 1 re
turn them to you believing that you will
not blame me for what I have done.
Lauson Watkins was bewildered at first
but gradually the cloud dispelled from
" O, Lauson my husband can you
forgive me !" ' -
The redeemed man strained his wife
to his bosom, and while the warm tears
rolled down his cheeks, he cried :
" Forgive you ! No, no, my love, my
angel of life I have nothing to forgive.
I can only bless you bless you with my
whole heart and soul. And you too, my
generous friend," he added extending his
hand to Langrave, " I must bless you al
so, I cannot tell you how I feel."
That was an evening of joy and thank
fulness. On the next morning, Uncle
Langrave was up early, but not early
enough to catch the first smile of the
children ; for he found them just coming
from the garden, with their hands full of
flowers for their father and mother.
The children, the two eldest, had a
faint recollection of Uncle Langrave but
they soon learned to love him ; an 1 so
well diil he love them, and all else about
them, that he determined to make the
cottage his home.
L mson Watkirfs was once more a rich
man, but he did not leave the home where
he had so learned the great lesson of life
He enriched it with rare fruits and pleas
ing ornaments, and then from out his
bounty he sought to do good For others.
She was a happy wife and they had
happy children, and all of them had one
of the most joyful, mei ry, laughter-loving
old uncles in the world.
THE WAY TOWNS GROW UP OUT
ON THE PRAIRIES.
Mattoon, a little wide.awake town up
on the Illinois Central Railroad, at th-
crossing of the Alton and Terre- Haute
road, 274 miles from Chicago, is an il
lustration of the rapid growth of towns
on the prairies. Last April there was
not a stick of timber on the ground ; it
now has a large hotel, where every com
fort may be enjoyed, and the frame of
another was raised on Saturday. In ad
dition to these there are a post office,
dry goods store, a drug sUre, two gro
ceries, and other stores going up. Ljts
46 by 140 are selling at S30 to $500.
The town is delightfully situated on a
high, rolling prairie, with wood on all
sides, at from three to six miles distant,
There has not been much wheat raised
in this neighborhood the present season,
for the reason that, until a few weeks
since, there was no communication to
market; but there arc endless fields of
corn upon the ground. The country
around is thickly settled, with no town
nearer than Charleston, twelve miles
distant. Chicago Democatie Press.
Tub Telegraph im France. In Par
is the telegraphs are laid under ground,
no poles being seen in the streets. A
trench is dug, in which the wires are
placed side by side, but not so as to touch
each o'her. l.imiiil bitumen is then
poured on, which surrounds the wires, J
and completely isolates them. It secures 1
them from damage by accident and de
sign, aud from being deranged by at
niospheiic influence. The same plan is
to le adonied at Lvons.
NEW YORK CORRESPONDENCE.
NEW YORK, SEPT. 23, 1855,
Editors Chronicle: Thin city has been
in a fever of excitement since yesterday
P. M , caused by the publication of the
America's and Washington's news from
Europe, announcing the important and
too long looked for turning point of affairs
iu the Crimea. Sebastopol has fallen!
This cannot be mere idle rumor, as was
the case nearly a year since ; the details
are too painfully true. Let us glance at
the news as ?ast received.
On the 5th instant, the Allies having
made extensive prepai ations, commenced
the bombardment ; the French attacking
the Malakoff, or strongest work of the
enemy, while the English and S trdinian
forces attacked the Great Redan. The
French were six times repulsed, but on
the seventh attack they succeeded, amid
the shouts of "Vive 1' Empereur!" in
planting their eagles on its walls. The
British were alike successful, though with
less loss; and on Saturday, the 8th Sep
tember, the whole southern part of the
town was evacuated by thi Russians,
after having blown up and burned every
thing possible. Their retreat was effect
ed during the night, on bridges con
structed of boats across the bay. These
were immediately destroyed, together
with the men-of-war steamers in the har
bor, either by Russian orders or by fire
of the Allies probably by Russian au
thority, as orders were a year ago given
that in the event of success by the Allies,
the whole city and fleet should be de
stroyed. This great victory has been achieved
at an immense cost of life and treasure,
but it was expected. No details of losses
have reached us, but it is probable the
loss on both sides must reach thirty thou
sand men ! The French loss, according
to the Moniieur, in killed, will probably
exceed 2,000, among them 240 officers,
including Generals Bosquet, McMahon,
and Frocher, and some 5,000 wounded.
The British loss, according to the London
Poat, was 50O killed, including 141 offi
cers, and 1,400 wounded. The Russian
loss is supposed to greatly exceed these
" The first prize of this glorious victo
ry, belongs of right (says the London
Times) to our gallant allies, the French,
since the Malakoff Tower, the key of the
main position, fell before the vigor of
their assault ; but, with that chivalrous
feeling which i3 the noblest bond of men
who have fought and conquered together,
the names of those who carried the rug
ged defences of Sevastopol deserve to
stand side by side on one page, and no
invidious distinctions shall sully or lessen
their common renown."
All despatches agree as to the terrific
natuie of the battle, and the indomitable
courage and bravery displayed by the
Allied troops during these three days of
"infernal firing." Large numbers of
guns one report says 2,500 fell into
the hands of the besiegers. But little
ammunition was secured, an immense
quantity having been destroyed by the '
Russians in their precipitous retreat. A
large party has been stationed in such a
position as to cut off the retreat, and
prevent Gortschakoff from joining Lip
randi. An order has been sent to Gen.
Pelissier, that should Russia offer to ca
pitulate, to demand that she shall sur
render at discretion, lay down her arms,
and give up all the fortified places in the
Crimea, including Odessa and all her
munitions of war, without doing them
any previous damnge. This will not be
done. Russia has too many resources
near at hand, to submit to such terms,
especially after only their first important
defeat. History tells us that after the
burning of Moscow, and when the reign
ing Czar was avked by Napoleon I. to
capitulate, asserting "the war hps now
at an end," the Emperor replied, "The
war is just begun." Those who imagine
the present detailed battle will c!o;ie the
campaign, will please remember this re
ply, and also the declaiation of the pres
ent Czar: "May my right hand wither
before I sign terms of peace dishonorable
All Paris wa illuminated on the night
of the news, and Queen Victoria sends
her congratulation to General Simpson,
and through him to General Pelissier and
the French army. The British seem to
take but little of the credit to themselves,
notwithstanding thty share equally in the
Another abortive attempt was made on
the evenin" of the Cih ult., to assassinate
the Emperor of the French, at the door
of the Opera Ilaliene. The assassin,
named Bellemare, was promptly arrest
ed. The carriage attempted to be tired
into, however, though one of the Impc
rial equipage, contained only MaiJs of
Honor, tii Emperor being in the car
riage following. Great excitement was
of course the result, and congratulations
were offered to Napoleon by the Piipal
Nuncio anil ethers, but when it became
generally known that the assassin was
believed to be insane, ad idea of a gene
ral demonstration of sympathy was aban
I had intended writing you some ac
count of the visit of the thousand Sabbath
School teachers of Boston, and their pu
pils, to our city; how they wer received
and fed at the Crystal Palace ; how they
went sirht-se:eing over on the Islands and
looked at our Institutions; how they were
spoken to, and what they spoke in reply;
how the publishers and authors of the
country met and enjoyed a most delight
ful dejeunier last evening ; what nice
things were eaten and witty things said,
and how your correspondent had a good
time among such a galaxy of the bright
est stars of the literary firmament; what
I saw at the Horticultural Fair, and the
big squashes and pumpkins I tried to lift
and couldn't; the beautiful display of
dahlias and flowers generally; of pears
weighing a pound and a quarter; grapes,
one cluster of which filled a common
sized dinner plate ,of the poetical ad
dress of William Cullen Bryant, dec. eke,
but I fear you are already wearied.
Some other day you may hear from
Yours, eke, F. W. J.
PAYNE AND PATIENCE.
Puns on people's names are the pas
time of small wits, and half the plays of
this are to be set down to the invention
of the would-be-witty, rather than to the
facts of actual history. Thus it is very
doubtful whether the good deacon in this
story ever had an existence except in
the brain of the punster. He had lost
his wife, consoling himself by very pri
vate but particular attentions to Patience:
Pierson, a smart young woman in the
One day he was bewailing his loss iu
the ear of his kind pastor, of whose sym
pathy he was very sure ; and the minis
ter said to him, in a tone of deep condo
" Well my dew friend, I cannot help
you ; you had better try and have pa
What more he would have said the
deacon did not wait to hear ; but think
ing the minister had found out his secret,
he put in :
" Yes, Sir, I have been trying to get
her, but she seems to be rather shy I"
The followinr rests on no better au
thority than the above :
Mr. William Payne, a very good fel
low, was a teacher of music, in a pleasant
town in Massachusettes : and iu his
school, one winter, was a pretty girl,
some twenty years old, named Patience
Adams, who having made a strong im
pression upon Mr. Payne, he lost no time
in ejeclaring his attachment, which Miss
A. reciprocated , and an engagement was
the result. Just as Mr P's attentions be
came public, and the fact of an engage
ment was generally understood, the school
being still in continuance, and all the par
ties of a certain evening being present,
Mr. Payne, without any thought of the
words, named as a tunc for the commenc
ing exercise, "Federal Street," in the
excellent collection of church music,
" The Carmina Sacra." Every one loved
Patience, and every one entertained the
highest respect for Payne ; and with a
hearty good will on the part of the school,
the enliving chorus commenced :
See gentle Patience smile on Paine,
See dying hope revive again."
The coincidence was so striking, that
the gravity of the young ladies and gen
tlemen could hardly be restrained long
enough to get through the tune. The
beautiful young lady was still more beau
tiful with her blushing cheeks and mod
estly cast-down eyes, while the teacher
was so exceedingly embarrassed he knew
not what be did. Hastdy turning over
the leaves of the book, his eyes lit upon
a well-known tune, and he called out
"Dundee." The sons' bean as soon as
sufficient order could be restored, and at
the last line of the following stanza rose
to a climax :
" Let not despair nr fell revenge
lie to my oaom known ;
Oh. give me tear, for others' wues.
And Patience for mv own.
Patience was already betrothed ; she
was in fact his ; and in about a year af
terwards they became man and wife :
Tben gcctle Patieoce smiled on Payne,
And Payne hod Patieoce fur his own."
Do you cast things?' inquired a
Yankee the other day, as he sauntered
into a foundry and addressed the propri
etor. We do.'
'You cast all kinds of things iu iron
Certainly, don't you sec that is our
'Ah ! well cast mo a shadow, will
'Yes ! come here, Jim, Sam, and Dick
and cast this Yankee into the furnace.'
The Yankee cast one look, one linger-
ing look behind, and made tracks for
COON HUNT IN A FENCY COUNTRY.
Really, its astonishin' what a mon
strous sight of mischief there is in a pint
of rum ! If one of 'em was to be sub
mitted to analyzation, as the great doc
tors call it, it would be found to contain
all manner of devilment that ever entered
the head of man, from cussin and stealin
up to murder and whippin' his own mo
ther, and nonsense enough to turn all the
men in the world out of their senses. If
a man gets a badness in him, it will bring
it out, just as sasafras tea does the mea
sles; and if he's a good-for-nothin' sort of
a fellow, without no bad traits in pertik-
ler, it will bring out all his greatness. It
affects different people in different ways;
some it makes rich and happy, and some
poor and miserable; and it has a different
effect on different people's eyes some it
makes see double, and some it makes so
blind that they can't tell themselves from
a side of bacon. One of the worst case
of rum foolery that I've heard of for a
long time, took place in the neighborhood
of Pineville last fall.
Bill Sweeny and Tom Culpepper are
the two greatest old coveys in our settle
ment for coon-huntin'. The fact is, they
don't do much of anything else, and when
they can't catch nothin' you may depend
on't coons are scarce. Well, one night
they had everything ready for a reg'lar
bust, but owin' to some extra good fortin'
Tom had got a pocket pistol, as he called
it, of reg'lar old Jamaka, to keep off the
rumalics. After takin' a good startin
horn, they went out on their hunt, with
their light-wood torch blazin' and the
dogs barkin' and yelpin like forty thou
sand. Every now and then stoppin' to
wait for the dogs, they would drink one
another's health till they began to feel
very comfortable, and chatted away 'bout
one thing and another. Bimeby they
come to a fence. Well, over they got,
without much difficulty.
"Whose fence is this?" said Bill.
"Taint no matter," sei Tom ; "let's
take somethin' to drink."
After takin' a drink they went on,
wonderin' what on airth had became of
the dogs. Next thing they cum to was
a terrible muddy branch. After pullin'
through the briars and gettin' on t'other
side, they tuk another drink, and after
goin' a little ways, they cum to another
fence, a monstrous high one this time.
"Whar upon airth is we got to, Cul
pepper?" sea Bill. "I never seed such
a heap of branches and fences in these
"Why," sea Tom, "it's all old Stur
lid's doins; you know he's always build
in' fences and makin' infernal improve
ments, as he calls 'em. But never mind,
we's through 'em now."
"Recon we isn't," sez Bill; "here's
the all firedest fence yet."
Sure enough, thar they was, right
agin another fence. By this time they
begun to be considerable tired and lim
ber in the joints, and it was such a terri
ble high fence. Tom dropped the last
piece of the torch, and thar they was in
"Now you is done it," says Bill.
Tom know'd he had, but he thought
it was no use to grieve over spilt milk, so
says he, " Never mind, old boss, cum
ahead, "and I'll take you out," and the
next minit, kerslash, he went into the
Bill hung on the fence with both hands
like he tho't it was slewin round to throw
"Hallo, Tom." sea he. "whar in the
world is you got to?"
"Heie I is," sea Tom, spouin' the wa
ter out of his mouth, and coughin' like
he'd swallowed somethin' "look out,
there's another branch here."
"Name of sense whar is we?" sea Bill;
"if this isn't a feney country, dad fetch
Yes, and a branchy one, too," sea
Tom, "and the highest and deepest and
thickest that I ever seed in all my born
"Which way is you?" sez Bill.
"Here, right over the brancS."
"Come ahead," says Tom, "let's go
"Come, thunder, I in such a place as
this, whar a man aint got his coat-tail
unhitched from a fence, 'fore he's over
his head and ears in water."
After sreUin' out and feelin about in
the dark, they got together again. After
takin' another drink, they sot out for
home, denouncin' the fences and branch
es, and helpin one another up now and
then ; but they handn't gone more'n
twenty yards 'fore they brung to a halt
by another fence.
"Dad blame ray picture," sea Bill, "if
I don't think we is bewitched. Who
upon airth would build fences all over
creation this way ?"
It was about an hour's job to get over
this one ; but after they got on the top
the y found the ground on the other side
without much trouble. This time the
bottle broke, aud tLev cum monstrous
near having a fight over the catastrophe.
But it was a very good thing, it was; for,
after crossing two or three branches, and
climbin' as many more fences, it got to
be daylight, and they found that they
had been climbin' the same fence all
night, not more'n a hundred yards from
whar they cum to it.
Bill Sweeny sea he can't account for
it in any other way but that the licker
sort'o turned their heads ; and he sea he
does raaly believe if it handn't a gin out.
they d been climbin the same fence and
wadin the same branch till now. Bill
promised his wife to jine the temperance
society, if she would say no more about
THE GREAT OCEANS TO BE
The Washington Star learns from a
reliable source, that some enterprising
citizens of the United States and New
Granada, have discovered and explored
the long-sought-for route for connecting
the Atlantic and Pacific oceans by
means of a ship canaL This great de
sideratum to the commercial world is
certainly the most grand and important
enterprise of this age, and worthy the
attention and consideration of every civ
ilized people and government The
plan as the Star understands, is to go to
the Atrato river, some fifty miles from
its mouth, with a depth of from six to
ten fathoms, and from thence to the Pa
cific, a distance of some sixty miles more,
without a lock or obstruction in the con
templated canal. A liberal grant has
been made by the government of New
Granada to the persons engaged in this
grand undertaking; and the whole route,
from one ocean to the other, has been
accurately surveyed, and the facts de
veloped are beyond doubt or question,
so Car as the feasibility of the work is
DIMENSIONS OF THE AMERICAN.
The latest measurement of our fresh
water seas are as follows :
The greatest lenghth of Lake Superi
or is 435 miles ; the greatest breadth is
160 miles; mean depth 988 feet; ele
vation 627 feet; area 32,000 square
The greatest length of Lake Michigan
is 360 miles ; its greatest breadth 103
miles ; mean depth 900 feet ; elevation
587 feet ; area 23.000 square miles.
The greatest length of Lake Huron is
200 miles ; its greatest breadth is 160
miles ; mean depth 800 feet ; elevation
574 feet ; area 20,000 square miles.
The greatest length of Lake Erie is
250 miles; its greatest breath is 80 miles;
its mean depth is 84 feet ; elevation 555
feet; area 6,000 square miles.
The greatest length of Lake Ortario
is 180 miles; its greatest breadth 65
miles; its mean depth is 500 feet; eleva
tion 272feet; area 6,000 square miles.
The total length of all five is 1,585
miles, covering an area altogether of up
wards of 90,000 square miles.
A SUBSTITUTE FOR SILVER.
A wonderful discovery is announced
as having been made recently by an
French chemist, M. Devilk to wit, a
easy and cheap method of separating
aluminum, the metallic base of common ,
clay, from the other constituents. This
metal rivals in beauty pare silver and
surpasses it in durability. Hitherto it
has existed only in small quantities, and
has been esteemed rather as a curiosity,
the price in France, a short time since,
being about the rate of gold I But by
Mr. D.'s improved method it can now
be produced in masses sufficient and
cheap enough to replace copper and even
iron in many respects, and thus place
the 'new silver' into such common use
as to suit the means of the poorest per
Americans is Australia. The Paris
correspondent of the New Orleans Picay
une contributes the following extract from
a private letter written by an Englishman
in Australia :
You, who have been so much in Amer
ica, will not be surprised when I say the
Americans are by far the best men in
this country. You know well their en
terprise, but even you will be astonished
at the following piece of statistical infor
mation : At Balarat, according to tho
late census commission, the populatioa is
22,000, of whom only 240 are Ameri
cans. In order to drain the water from
the deep sinkings, and also to wash the
stuff, there are seven steam engines and
machines; of these, four belonged and
were worked solely by Americans. All
the great contracts are taken by them :
the lines of stages to acd from the dig
gings that are accessible to wheels and
tew aic not all are Yankee; the coach
es e'uher Troy or Albany built; the har
ness and all from the same country. In
coming into the bay you will notice that
all the fine ships are American ; the best
hotels aro theirs in fact tliey are im
proving our people out of the rl.icu alto,