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The new era. [volume] (Sauk Rapids, Min. [i.e. Minn.]) 1860-1861, March 22, 1860, Image 1

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I HE NEW ERA.
irrrt^3 m ms9rkhf^^
LITERACY DEPARTMENT,
EDITED B>
MINNIE MANY fcEE>o*
THURSDAY, MARCH 22,1860.
c- —•■ — —~ r ... . ■ ""Tj
llm me Ware to enjoy myself. That place that does
C'jfiMH ww books, the best.compaekms, is
Te me a glorious Court, where hourly I
Converse with the old Sages and Philosopher*.
Fletcher.
I Lived in a Dream* n
I Heed m a dream—a glorious one ;
Bright as the beam of the golden sun—
Bet sometimes that beam is a]l darkened o’er.
So with my dream, it is bright no more l
I lived in a dream, all toft as the flow*
*Of a quiet stream that is murmuring low—
As often the stream bath,its waters dry, ,
So my pleasant dream, bow it flitted by l
I lived in a dream, as sweet as the song
Whose soft gashes seem from an angel throng—
The song softly dies—hushed is the strain
My laded dream lies, n’ar to waken again.
No more—nevermore —*twas too bright to last—
Forever adiau, thoo myth of the past !
O glorious dream, I will bless the yet—
Life’s only sunbeam, how soon hist thou set !
Puss to the Canary Bird.
FOR THE LITTLE CHILDREN.
O yellow bird—O pretty bird—
Up in your cage so high—
How much I wish to climb to you
You are so very nigh ;
And yet you might as soon, for me,
Bo hung up in the sky.
O pretty bird, O singing bird,
With feathers all so fine,
I’ll purr to you, and fondle you
Canary dear, divine.
If you will but come down to me,
If you will but be mine.
You will not come, you naughty bird—
When did I dine the lust ?
I cannot tell so ong has been
My hunger and my fast ;
And you would make, I know yon would,
A charming good repast.
My eyes I cant keep off of you,
My finger claws do ache
To tear you from your gilded cage.
And make you fear and quake ;
I’ll go and eat a hundred birds
In spite, just for your sake /
You cannot fly out in the air
As other birdies do—
You only have your little cage
To wander dreary through—
You may bo sure, poor silly bird
Nobody envies you /
The Mistake .
A TRUE INCIDENT
The thriving little town of Taunton, !
an inland village in New England, was '
the scene of our story. Among its busi- 1
ness men, in fact, the busiest of them 1
all, was Frank Aull, a jeweller by trade,
a very expert, ingenious workman, and
universally esteemed for honesty and
faithfulness. He was youthful and mer
ry hearted ; cheerful at his work, and
singing' like a lark morning and night.
He was kind and obliging—had a
pleasant word for every one, and a hand
and heart to lend as charity demanded.
No wonder Frank Aull became a favo
rite with the old, and the young ; all
brought him their broken jewels to re
pair ; the young Miss chose to pur
chase from him her wedding teaspoons ;
and the enraptured swain secured his
good services in selecting from the dis
tant city, the wedding ring, and minor,
but needful etceteras.
Nor was it any less wonder, but ra
ther a matter of course, that this model
young man should win for his own the
heart of the prettiest and sweetest of all
Taunton’s fair maidens —pretty, amiable
Amy Low. “ They were just made for
each other,” was the universal dictum.
Amy was the youngest and pet daughter
of a worthy widow, whose elder and
only other daughter was already wed
ded to a druggist in Boston. It pleased
•the mother, therefore that her Amy, the
child so much after her own heart, sho’d
.marry and settle down close by. And
to have such a good husband as Frank
would surely be—ah, a mother would be
pleased with a son-in-law for once.
And for once, the course of true love
did run contrary te Shakspear’s asser
tion ; for who and what was there to
prevent ? Everybody was pleased.—
Even disappointed spinsters forgot to be
jealous, and poured vials, not of wrath,
but of congratulations and blessings
upon the affianced pair. Old bache
lor* felt a twinge of the old youthful
romance, a recurring tingle of the mem
ory bells of their own young love’s
dream, smiled complatsantly, though
sighing involuntarily, and patted the
heads of the two lovers, with hearty
benedictions. Now Mrs. Low had plan
ned that the young couple, wheD mar
ried, should Itve with her, in her own
*--■ ■ - ■ . ' r : ' o
Edited by W. H. WOOD and ffix, “ftroil '** tlie OB, > g#iiwrt of Qvnnmmm, and ori?r and Modemtioo are necesary to Freedom.”—lfibm.
fOL 1-Rfl. 11.
pretty *in*-oov«red cottage. But Frank
had a will of his own, and wanted a
wife of his own ; so, as Doctor Howe
had a raging Minnesota fever, and wish
ed to sell his very tasty house and
grounds, and Frank, owing to his in
dustry and frugality, had just the money
to pay for them, he saw no reason why
he should not have a house of his own.
He liked his future mother-in-law very
well ; but then he had always heard it
said—“ no house was large enough to
contain two families’*—and all Taunton,
sires, matrons, maids, and Benedicts ad
vised him to have a home of his own.
So the bargain was made with Dr. Howe
on the very last day of August. The
wedding was to take place in just one
month. Meantime, the pleasant dwell
ing, having been kept in repair, requir
ed only furnishing ; and all of Amy’s
time, the most of her mother’s and as
much as Frank could possibly spare
from his business, was given to fitting it
up in neat and pretty, though inexpen
sive style.
This house of Dr. Howe’s had al
ways been much admired on account of
its structure, situation and charming
front lawn, and back gardens ; but
gomeflow to Frank and Amy it suddenly
assumed new beauties It was perfect
in its way, nothing was wanting—the
trees, shrubbery, the very sunlight itsell
—ah, was there not a precious sunbeam
darting in and out, gliding hither and
thither that g:ive to it a glow in Frank’s
eyes utterly bewildering. So it was.
There came the bridal eve. The
special friends, and they were many,
had gathered into Mrs. Low’s, quite fill
ing her small house ; for all were eager
to witness the giving away of one in
whom they all felt an interest, to one
whom they thought worthy even of her !
VVas’nt it a new wonder of tiie world '
this perfect acquiescence in, and approv
al of, a love-match ! Frank looked his
handsomest and best. )ou may be sure,
but then, who ever looks at the bride
groom ; and pretty Amy looked just as
sweet as the incarnation of a song or n
dream—standing there with downcast
eyes, rosy check, and lily brow, her
dark brown hair gathered up in a knot,
and girdled by a wrea’h of myrtle, inter
woven with the indispensable orange
blossoms. Dear little Amy ! She was
he cynosure of every eye, and every
heart yearned for her happiness, and
would have prayed for it then and there,
had they doubted in the least, that her’s
would be peace in a full and perfect
measure.
Meanwhile the Taunton stage had
rattled down the long hill from Tarry
town, and over the bridge, and with a
great blast of trumpets and flourish of
whip, had drawn up at the “ Lion’s
Heurt,” the oldest hotel of which the
town could boast.
This arrival, usually of such impor
tance,, on this night, was of no account
—no one thought of the pas.-engers—no
one of the mail—all of Taunton that
wat anything, was at the wedding.
Among the passengers, one litile,
smart, bustling woman, the moment she
was landed on the pavement, inquired of
the first man she saw :
“ Sir, will you please inform me where
Mr Aull boards ?”
“ Mr. Aull ? Well, madame, Mr.
Aull has been boarding at the “ Lion’s
Heart” and you please —but I’m think
ing now he is going to board at his own
home, seeing he is married to night.”
" Married —married, sir”—scream
ed the lady, in a tone half fright,
half indignation, and retreating off the
pavement, would have been, in another
moment, under the horses’ feet had not
a strong quick hand grasped her.
“ Yes ma’am, they are tying the knot
over there at widow Low’s this blessed
minute, if it ain’t already tied.”
“Where—where?” shrieked the lady.
“ Over yonder, in the little cottage
that peeps out here and there from be
hind those old poplars—do you see ?
but before he had finished speaking the
little lady marched off, or rather ran,
carpet-bag in hand.
“ The lor’s me, what does it mean ?”
soliloquised the man ; “ what does she
know of Frank Aull; he has been in the
place five years, none of bis friends
SAM RAPIDS, IU. THURSDAY, MARCH 22. 1860.
ever corned afore to see him—hopes its
all right—bother me, what does it all
mean.’’ Along the little lady flew—abe
was short and thick—as fast as her
hundred and forty pounds weight would
allow, until, almost breathless, and puff
ing voluminously, she reached the
threshold of widow Low’s. The hall
was filled with visitors, as well as the
parlor. But she caught, amid the sur
rounding silence, the voice of the min
ister. This gave her etrength and
utterance.
“ { forbid the marriage, I forbid it.”
came in a terrific shriek to the cars of
the astonished assembly. Too late, for
the words h id that mom-nit been spoken
that m ide Frank Aull and Amy Low
man arid wife.
“ Let me in—stand a-ode, I say—l
am his *ife,” came again to the now
excited multitude.
And still those at the outer entrance,
regarding the strange woman as a luna
tic, resisted her endeavors to force ad
mittance.
“ I tell you that man is-a w’retch, a
wicked, wilful, cruel wretch, to marry
another woman when I am his lawful
wife. Let me in—l will confront him—
-1 will prove his baseness,”
It would be impossible to describe the
effect of these words. Frank Aull ap
peared quite calm, and concerned only
for his bride, who had heard distinctly
the charge, and was quivering like an
aspen leaf
The mother of Amy moaned and cried
Here and there was one who looked
daggers at Frank—and even one—a
viuegar-visaged vixen—said emphatical
ly, “ I thought as much all the time.
I expected it. The men are all alike—
full of lies and deceit—the wretches !”
The clergyman took the affair in his
own hands alter brief moments of re
flection. For him the crowd parted,
and he gained the outer door, where the
infuriated, baffled woman, still uttering
protestations, was kept at bay.
“ What do you wish, madam f” he in
quired quietly and kindly. “Do you
know Mr. Aull, and do you wish to see
him ?”
“Wish to see him ? Yes, once more,
to give him a piece of my mind, the
vagabond, to write mo to come here,
and then go to perprtr iting mischief and
villany and crime like this ” Thus
vociferating, she followed the clergy
man, her face glowing with heat and
passion, and her eyes flashing ire fully
and defiantly. She was just completing
her anathemas with—“and lie shall
spend his life in the Statesprison,” when
the minister said ’ “ Mr. Aull, do you
recognize] this woman ?” “I do not,”
he replied, firmly, and unembarrassed
“The deceiver, the hypocrite,” mut
tered the same elderly maiden, who had
“thought so ”
The indignant stranger looked around
wondering'y—“ where is Mr. Aull,”—
her eye evidently failing to recognize
him in the bridegroom.
“ I am Frank Aull,” spoke up that
individual in a decided and manly tone,
“ what is vour business with me ?”
“O you are not my Mr. Aull—what
a mistake !” and the poor woman re
lieved of her misapprehensions and
indignation, burst into tears, and totter
ed to a seat that was opportunely offered
her.
We will leave the happy bridal party
and explain things in our own way.
Since Frank Aull had become so
popular at Taunton, he had uninten
tionally driven away all others of his
trade. Within three months of his mar
riage, however, a Mr. Hall had come in
and set up a shop in the same lioe.
Becoming encouraged with a good pros
pect, he had sent on for his wife, who in
inquiring for her husband, had, in her
English way, inquired for “ Mr. ’all,
the jeweler.” Hence*the great mfstake.
She found her lord and master m due
time, but was long in recovering from
the chagrin occasioned b v her hasty pas
sion. The old maid with the elongated
face, goes about promulgating her favo
rite doctrine, that all men are wretches;
while Amyand Frank dwell, with all the
contentment of birds, in their delightful
Home-nest.
We will add that Doctor Howe, who
led his Taunton paradise with wile and
little ones, dwells in Southern Minneso
ta, in a beautiful mansion that overlooks
the Mississippi He is the owner of
thousands of seres, and promises to be
come an Astor of the West.
For the New Era.
»AT, HaVE TOC MKT.
• BT BEL fORIIKSTER.
gay have you met wii& a wandering spirit
Away in yoar Wilderness Boize l
A light, giddy rover, who ail “ on a stld-lea”
Crew restless, and longing to roam f
As musing you've sat on some evening stilly,
Or dreaming, at twilight’* sweet boar.
Of loved ones afar, and calling them round you
By Fancy soft, magical power—
As they circled about you in kindliest greeting,
Murmuring gently your name,
Jlave you beard a strange whisper, of accent
most loving.
And marvelled from whence it came ?
Now I ftncy I know where the traant has
loitered,
That so suddenly wandered astray —
•Tie there at bright Linden” is caged the
love spirit.
Where a Western bird wooed it away.
Buorxas Flack, New York City.
Life in the Woods.
No. 11.
We wore now a long mile from the
Agency. Still, it was not uncommon
for us, of an evening, to walk thither,
spend a few hours in social chat with
our friends, eat apples and cheese, and
return by moonlight—the snow crisping
under our tread, the keen air saluting
our cheeks, and the cold giving our fin
gers more than a friendly grasp.
There was at that time a good deal of
“ g°ing to the up-country,” from below,
and houses being so few and far be
tween, each was generally honored by
a call from every passer up and down
There was more sociability among all
classes. All were strangers in a new
country. All felt hopeful and cheerful,
regarding each other with friendliness
and cordiality. Business was lively—
jrold wis plenty. Visitors would enter,
introduce themselves unceremoniously,
make themselves entertaing, and depart
abruptly, and as suited convenience.
We remember one bitter cold morning
—whirred past our windows, drawn by
two horses, what seemed to our unin
itiated vision, a sleigh-load of fox-tails
Stopping at the door, fhjs emulated car
go, arose and scattered, proving to lu
men, olficets and chaplain from Fort
Ripley, fifty miles at the North—each
one having for head-gear, a cap ingeni
ously formed of some animal’s skin, or
namented with as many queues ns could
conveniently contribute to u fanciful
adornment. These gentlemen had an
cudless amount of wrapping, surmount
ed by robes of fur, mittens of fur, and
fur lined shoes—and thus equipped for
St. Paul, bade defiance to the uttermost
cold. Having made their congratula
tions, compliments and adieux, they
packed themselves away again, within
the capacious quarters of their gay
sleigh—looking much more like so many
wild creatures, that one reads of, than
like gallant officers. Ii being a novel
sight to us, we took a leisurely survey,
and laughed heartily as they dashed
away over the frozen snows, the tails of
their caps bobbing up and down like
dancers to the music of the merry bells
But by far the mos‘ frequent visitors
that deigned to enter our humble domi
cil, were the stately Winnebagnes and
the milder Ojibways. The former were
quite fierce looking personages, owing,
in part, to their manner of wearing the
hair—which was cut down to a couple
ofinchesand trained to stand up straight
ail about the forehead. The daubings
of red and yellow, and every color, in
fact, upon the face, which they regarded
as so very ornamental, proved hideous
deformities ; and the feathers, and many
gay-tinted ribbons which they bound
among their locks, gave them a wild
and weirdly appearance. They never
gave warning of their approach. Sud
denly the door would open and in the
intruders would march, not minding, as
a usual thing, how much dirt or snow
was clinging to their moccasins, or
seeking to inquire if their presence was
desirable. Once, and once only, we re
member an exception. One rainy day
two Ojibways came to the door. They
were about to enter, but looked at the
carpet, and then at their wet moccasins;
these they stooped down to untie, and
leaving them <rt tbs steps, walked in with
nmiE MARI LEE.
ORE BOLUS i TEAS.
feet nnsandalled. Stating around, tho’
never evincing surprise, their eyes be- =
came fastened upon our fancy lamplight
era. They pointed to them, looked at
us—laughed ; then by signs told us they *
would bd beautiful to adorn their heads.
We gave them some of every variety of ‘
color, for which they expressed great*
delight. No doubt the little trembling! s
papers figured in some gain-day wreath' f
along with the much loved feathers and '
porcupine quills. I
There was an Indian famous in this i
region at that time, named Cut Nose t
Jack. He possessed that vengeful and 1
fiery spirit accustomed to be associated
with the ludtati character. In a drunk- ,
en frolic he had been engaged with |
others in an affray, for wt icli his 1
trnl was soon to c<iine on. He called
to see Fred about it, and to win his fa
l<»r. He could speak some English. |
and was very social Hisface wascov
ered with rears, and altogether ho was
quite frightful. Several finger rings
were lying loosely upon the table. He
examined them separately and atten
tively, placing them upon his slender,
tapering finders, viewing the adornment
of his little hand with lively admiration.
We had stepped into another room ; he
desired Fred “ to go ask while squaw to
give him best one,” selecting the one
with ruby sets ; which invitation Fred
saw fit to decline.
The Indian’s love of trinkets amounts
t > absolute passion. Those made even
of the basest metals, they prize with an
exceeding love. Sometimes the outer*
rim of the ear is slit open the entire
length—so often have been attached to
it rings of steel, to which others of brass
or of some metal are looped, of various
forms and sizes. We know not how oi
why it was that we had little or no fear
ofindians, unless it was bv w finessing the
security with which others had lone
dwelt amidst them.
March in Minnesota.
One would surely think that the soft
and balmy southern breezes, had conn
to woo the chilliness find bleakness from
our northern prairies. For so many char
ming days—we scarce remember theii
dawning away far in February—are not
usual to Minnesota in this season. Has
not May forgotten her place, nnd laugh
ing and bright-eyed skipped so merrily
and speedily along, as to utterly ousl
fierce March altogether. The learps,
that March, being so headstrong and
imperious, will resume his reigu—and
blow his blasts more loud and shrill on
account of having been suppl .nted
But there is gentle, tearful April to come
in—March will he compelled, from ne
cessity and gallantry, to give place to
her more peaceful ministerings. Th« n
the flowers will come, and the birds
will come—hut O reader, is there n •
little fl »wer faded—no sweet bird flown
from your heart of hearts, that cannot
come with the returning spring. Then
to you will the blooming of flowers, and
the singing of birds be but a mockery
and a sorrow. The heautv and the mu
sic wih wound you. Tears of bitterness
will spring, that beauty for you has fled
—and your sweetest music ceased for
ever ! and then you strive to think of the
Eternal Spring--and you thank God
that there ts an Eternal Spring !
Arthur's Magazine
A very interesting number is that for
April. “The Miller’s Daughter” forms
the principal engraving—a maiden seat
ed on a rude structure, with clasped
hands, and thinking sweet thoughts, one
might suppose, from the pleasant, noble,
loving face, that she such a look of un
common good sense and confiding good
nature. “ Just Like a Woman,” by our
favorite, Virginia ; an excellent and in
structive story by Mrs. Denizen—and a
continuation of Arthur’s startling Do
mestic Tale, togethor with its usual va
riety, give to Arthur a peculiar attrac
tion. Terms $2 ; 4 copies iS. Ad
dress T. S. Arthur, Philadelphia.
Somebody says that the devil is a mean
word any way you can fix H Yon can’t
make a respectable word of it any how.
Remove the d and it it evil, remove the
e and it is vile, remove the v and it is
just Miff
‘ Tjft JnU Ut »J
Printing Est a b 1 i s hment.
• .eoo wihjmui.s h • *
jffiw ERA BUILOIX«CSAt'K RATIOS,
(V ,- ? * r * » ■ *"» "i ■■
We inti a large iiMnrwaent of net* ami Tjff,
Bonier, Cota, Etc., *»birb cable* na lo tin n out turn*
of the best j<A» work in <be bhUe, and at h|» price*.
Bill Hum, foiTtVl, . Bum,
Ca*»», Blits, - Crmusi,
Isvitatiois, Lasicl?, Etc.
Aad every cuVer description of arintinf turp
BoobwoA. dona neartvXMU protnpdy a» Ibis oCr«.
BlssKs of every description printer to order.
J f 1 e c t r * r
Sacred Memories.
How strangely those memories linger
in the heart, and how often they coma
rushing in unbidden Where the sky
of life is brightest, they drop into the
path like shadows from a quarter least
expected \\ itli noiseless tread tbay y
steal in by old shrines sacred from every
eye hut God’s and in mockery kindle
with a flash, whngejashes have gathered
as the dust has gatered upon the idols
long since shivered. They reach and
ring the chimes whose Ust echoes were
the sobbing toll-beat of dead hopes borne
away in sorrow. The heart aches again
as the floods rush in, hurry their way
over the scorched channels where many
a flood has worn its way before ; and
familiar forms, and thrilling tones, come
up in mockery from the chambers of the
dead
Thank God that the first keen edge of
great sorrows, is blunted as it steadily
fuils on the shrinking heart, or (nan
would die in the hour of agony. The
“torin goes by, and the lightning which
scathed and crisped the very soul, fades
into a flush on the glooin of receding
years.
And yet, nil of earth could not pur
chase from the human heart, its doom
to suffer, or its deep fountains of bitter
watere. It is good to go out now and
• hen, and weep with others, it is a
melancholy pleasure to turn in at time#,
and kneel by the broken shrines ot dead
hopes, and sorrowing inein< ries, and
feel the hot drops raining from the burn
ing lid.
\\ hile another was looking through
the drawers tile other day, the hands
chanced upon some little things which
our first burn left with us when the Ail
s' Is stole through the window at night
and lured hint away from us. The hnir
has grown gray since he laid them off',
and with a flower of winter bloom in
hand, left us alone — T. B. Brawn.
Christ, a Shadow.
Chiist is declared in Scripture, to he
a shadow to the friendless and nfficted
soul. We r<oid of the shadow’ of the
cloud, the shadow of a tree, the -Imdow
•*f n rock, the shadow of the tabernacle
Irorn the heart. The shadow of the
cloud in the harvest, is grateful, but
transient. Ihe shadow of a tree un
der which we sit down is delightful, hut
it is limited to a small spare, and the
rays frequently pierce the houghs.
The shadow of a great rock is dense
and to I ; but it defends n >t <>n every
-ide, and covers little from the vertical
rays. *he shadow of a tabernacle in
to which we may continually resort, and
find not only room, but entertinment, is
the most complete and inviting Christ
is what they imply, and more than all
>f them combined. He is not only per
fect, hut Divine ; and he that dwelleth
in the secret place of the Most High,
shall abide under the shadow of the Al
mighty.—Jty.
Too tnanv persons scent to use their
religion es a diver does his hell, to ven
ture down into the depths of worldliness
with safety, and there grope for pearls
with just so much of heaven’s air as
will keep th**m iroin suffocating, and no
more ; and some, alas ! as at limes in
the case with divers, are suffocated in
the experiment. —G. B. Cheever.
Children. — Hard be his fate who
makes not childhood happy ; it is so
easy, it does not require wealth, or
position, or fame ; only a little kiodneia
and the tact which it inspires. Give a
child a chance to love to play, to exer
cise his imagination and affections, and
he will be happy. Give him the condi
tions of health—simple food, air, exer
cise, and u little variety in his occupa
tions, and he will he happy, and expand
in happiness.
Afrail, Mat and June* —** May r
coquettish, sometimes pettish smiling
often through her tears ; in rotation,
yields her station, and the welcom June
appears. Gentle, smiling, care beguil
ing, with a rosebud in her hair—April
foolish—May is coolish—June warm
hearted is and fair. ”
An habitual drunkard having in •
dream found a cup of excellent wine,
set about warming it to enjoy U with
more gusto. But just as he was about
to quaff the delicious draught Jie awoke!
“ What a fool am I,” said he, “why vas
1 not content to drink it cold
An English traveler who happened to
mSet the brother of Oamova', soon after
the artist’s death, asked him '* whether
he intended to carry on bis brother's
dueiness >’*
--*- - - - -
An Irishman said if a few gooseber
ries gave so fine a flavor to an apple pie
that it would be a darling of an apple
that eras rtfhflb of gooseberries entirely.

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