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The new era. [volume] (Sauk Rapids, Min. [i.e. Minn.]) 1860-1861, July 05, 1860, Image 1

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HER ARY DEPARTMENT,
- , IWTtU Bjr
MINNIE MARY LEE.
THURSDAY, JULY 5, 1860
il lllllV I -''l t-.A,,.;.
Give me leave to eqjuy myself. Th«t place that does
Contain my 1 looks, the best companions, is
To me a glotyouf Court, where,hour ly I .
Converse with the old Sages and Philosophers-
Flf.tchfr
Life in the Woods.
No. IS.
- -
The first winter of our residence in
Minnesota—that of 1851 —was mild and
pleasant, with the exception of about
two weeks in the early part of January,
which, was intensely cold. Snow fell
unusually early, and we had sleighing
t»y, the middle of November. Two.yeaas
later we had no snow uutil New Years.
But as it came sooner, so it earlier dis
appeared. We well remember that a
sleigh-ride we enjoyed the first of Feb
ruary, into a neighboring country, had
for its termination that most disagreea
ble of all travelling modes, “a sleigh
ride on bare ground.”
Spring opened early and delightful.
Indeed, that, as well as several succes
sive springs, were like this of 1860.
The few last seasons following winter’s
lengthened reign have not been real
and regular Minnesota spring-times.—
They have been exceptions to the gen
eral rule. People who have been here
only sinco the grasshopper-affliction,
and the one or two seasons untoward to
bountiful harvest,have wondered why we
were able to speak with so much parti
ality and enthusiasm, for this land ofour
adoption. They begin to see the reason
why. We became enraptured with
Minnesote when she was in her palmy,
golden days. She has passed through
her season of affliction and tribulation.
She has put off her weeds of mourning,
and again donned her gay and gorgeous
robes. Her song is of joy and glad
ness. And so the facts of her people
are but half as long as they were, and
have become beautified wondrously.—
They smile instead of cry; and their
“look” has become altogether too good
natured to “bitea board nail oil’” They
speak to each other pleasant, hopeful,
encouraging words, instead of mumbling
out anathemas against “this cold and
miserable and out-of-the-way nook of
the woi Id.” Some even go so far as to
fillow that the “old settlers” have not so
many sins of misrepresentation to an
swer for as have been laid up against
them. And so Minnesota and her peo
ple are getting along amicably together,
to the great joy of the world.
Emigration was at this time—spring
of 1851—going np the Minnesota River.
It was for St Paul’s interest that that
region of couutry should be settled.—
Therefore, she of course represented
that to be the garden spot of our new
Te rritory. Every emigrant wagon,
horse, and cow, consequently, were
made to turn their hacks upon Northern
Minnesota, leaving us a few scattered
people, “alone with our glory” and the
Indians. So much the better. The
new, wild, isolated life was a novelty
and delight. The attractions of this up
per country would soon enough bring
hither fanners and their treasures.
Sauk Rapids didn’t grow at all. In
fact it grew less in a couple of months,
after its existence ; for our only neigh
bors, Mr. S.’s family moved to Fort
Ripley for a few months, and we were
ths sole occupants of the goodly town—
just Fred and Minnie ; and sometimes
Minnie alone, as Fred had to take long
journeys to distant parts of the country
—which was then of unlimited extent—
and more than once have we remained
alone four days and nfghts, our nearest
neighbor being a half mile distant. We
became accustomed to this alone busi
ness by degrees. Bravery or heroism
bad never constituted a portion of our
yjrtues, and Fred, upon starting for the
Post office, distant a mile and a half,
never got away without this reiterated
caution ringing in his ear’ : “Now be
eur6 and be back by £nine o’clock, or
[ shall be frightoned to death.”—So,
(ike a good husband as he was and
ought to have been, he was suro to re
turn within the specified time, until one
luckless night: The clock had struck
hine and he was away. There was no
thing to read, and writing was out of the
question. The sewing had been fool
ishly put away, so with our eyes we had
nothing to do but watch the clock, and
with our ears to listen (or Fred’s steps,
or Indian’s war-whoop ! Ten o’clock
sounded out more deafeningly in the
solemn stiHnes than would have done so
many cannon balls. Nor wou\ ten
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Edited by W» H. WOOD and Motto—“ Freedom is the only safeguard of Government, and Order and Moderation are necesary to Freedom.”— Milton.
VOL 1--NO. 26.
savage war-whoops have had scarcely
more terror for our “pricked up ears ”
than did those ten strokes from that ter
rible clock. For that clock had come
to appear to os like a great ogre, and it
fascinated our gaze like a spirit. Eve
ry object in the room assumed double
size. The window curUins.moved to
and fro, as if touched bv invisible fin
i gers. The mirror ref ,cted objects that
appeared appalling deformities. Every
tenant of the book-case was assuming
the form and spirit of its author, prepar
atory to a descent for a play upon our
terrors. The doors were about to flvj
open, the ceiling to fall, the floor to
give way—and above all, every tick of
the clock was a stab to every heart
beat. Summoning courage, we sought
to drive away the spell, by throwing
ourself upon the bed and burying out
face in the pillow. It wouldn’t do
Old hobgoblin stories returned to haunt !
us at that moment. The frightful spec
ters that appeared to the “Children of
the Abbey,” and the“ Three Spaniard.-,”
were not yet laid; and the “iron hand”
that grasped th. t of Melissa in the de
serted castle chilled ours on that fear
ful night. Suddenly, imaginary terrors
gave way to real ones. Where was
Fred? Why did he not come? Had '.lie
Indians waylaid him, or had a compa
ny at the bar-room induced him, con
trary to all his former experience, to
“take a glass too much ?” At any otli
ther time such an idea would not even
have presented itself; but now there
was not even the remotest improbabili
ty, which fancy would not plausibly sug
gest. It was now near the midnight.
We opened the door and gazed out into
the night. It was utterly dark. The
wind sighed mournfully. Could we find
the way, we wondered, if we should
venture out, alone. Perhaps in going
along we might stumble against Fred’s
body; life might still be left, and we
might save him —should we go—but the
road was, a part of the way, impassible
on account of the recent rains; we slic’d
have to turn out into the bushes—anc
the wolves were howling. We shut the
door, determined to wait awhile. But
the moments were longer than before
Anything was preferable to this intoler
able inactivity and suspense. We put
on our bonnet and opened the door
again. With not a particle of fear, we
walked out into the moonless and star
less darkness. We had a courage
tlun that would have carried us through
fire and water All the ghosti in the
world, sind all the wolves in the west <
would have been insufficient and by no
means formidable in diverting us from
our path. There was a presntiment ot
evil that had banished all fear. We
came to where the water was over the
shoe. Our dress was caught aud torn
upon the scraggy bushes
We knocked at Mr. B.’s, though there
was no light. Fred had not been there.
We were kindly invited to come in and
remain, while Mr. B. should go on to
Mr. R.’s and inquire. But no, we
could not wait—and hurried on. The
moon was now just rising, and cast faint
tinges of light. Arrived at within a
few feet of Mr. R.’s, when the Post
office door opened—a tall man appeared.
He approached, said “good evening,”
and was passing on—when oure xclarn
ation caused him to become a little more
familiar. “Why, Minnie,” said he,
“what sent you here.” It was a weary
walk home—the excitement was gone—
and Fred had been waiting— for the moon
to rise ! Wouldn’t you have quit him
right on the spot ?
Woman’s Home-Book of Health.—A
Work for Mothers and for Fami
lies .
This is a new work “on a plan new,
safe and efficient; showing in plain
language, how disease may be prevent
ed and cured without the use of danger
ous remedies;” and should be in the
hands of every mother.
By sending $1 25 to J. B. Lippincott
&. Co., Publisher, Philadelphia, it will
be forwarded by mail, post paid.
Godey’s Lady’s Book, for July, is
full of attractiveness, as usual. Its
plate “Summer,” is truly a delightful
picture. Of fashion plates and embroi
dery patterns and illustrations of every
description, it has the greatest profus
ion,—besides choice reading matter by
standard authors.
SAUK RAPIDS, MIN., THURSDAY, JULY 5, 1860.
For the New Era.
Reminiscences of Missionary-
Life in the Northwest
No. 8.
BV REV. SHERMAN IIALL
Our mission was for the Chippewa
tribe of Indians. This word is a cor
ruption of the proper name by which
they should ba known, and which
they apply to themselves. Their real
name is Ojibica This is the way it
should be written and pronounced.—
Chippewa is an awkward attempt by
foreigners o imitate their own pronoun
ciation of if.
Thirty years ago they vVefe the pos
sessors, and almost the sole occupants
of that portion of the Unitod States ter
ritory lying between the great lakes and
the Mississippi river, as far south as the
Wisconsin river, and reaching North
to the British line, and West to the
North Red River, including all the
country about the head waters of the
Mississippi and Red Luke on the west
side, to the Sauk. This whole country
then they occupied as their hunting
ground. Large portions of the same
tribe arc also found in the British pos
sessions North of the great lakes, from
Ontario to Selkirk’s Settlement. Much
of the Northern portion of this country is
bleak and barren- It is covered with
innumerable lakes of various sizes, be
tween which are sandy ridges. Much
of it is marshy. Tiie streams are gen
erally sluggish, runing through marshy
bottoms, and sometimes widening into
lakes.
We found ourselves now in the heart
of the Indian country. Imagination now
gave way to reality. We had no long
er to picture to ourselves the unsophis
ticated Indian of the forest in his native
home; his habitation, his customs, his
mode of life, his manners, his filthy hab
its, his miseries. They soon became fa
miliar to the senses—disagreeable real
ities.
Their' habitations were v u moveable
tent or wigw am, made of small poles set
in the ground in a circular form and
bent over and tied together at the cen
tre of the circle, forming an oval shap
ed top. For a covering they peal piec
es of white birch bark, (this tree
is found extensively in their coun
try) which being sewed together with
strings of bark, they spread over this
frame work and tie it on. They also
make a kind of mat of flags which they
use frequantly as a part of the cover
ing. In the winter time they more fre
quently construct their wigwams in the
form of a cone, by using larger poles
and leaning the ends together at the top
They have no floors. The ground in
them is usually covered with the boughs
of some evergreen, as the balsam, the
cedar, or the spruce—sometimes with
grass. On these are usually spread a
mat manufactured by them out of a tall
rush which grows abundantly in the
muddy portions of streams and lakes.—
Thus they sit, and eat, and sleep on the
ground. A fire is kindled in the centre
of this lodge, on the sides of which the
occupants sit or lie. An apperture is
left in the covering over the fi e for the
smoke to pass out, if it is so inclined.
Over the fire is an aparatus made ofpoles
fastened horizontally to the upright ones
for hanging cooking kettles and for
smoking fish or meat. The door is a
space left between the poles on one side
not covered with the barks. This is
closed by a piece of canvas, a blanket,
or a skin, the upper corners of which is
fastened to the lodge poles, and is drawn
aside when one passes in or out.
When they remove from one place
to another, as they frequently do, they
take the barks from the poles of their
lodges, roll them up, put them with all
the rest of their household furniture into
their bark canoes, or pack them on their
backs, and go to their next place of en
campment. In an hour or two after
their arrival at a new encampment, the
women of a family will have a new wig
wam built and ready for occupancy
This office is regarded by them as be
longing peculiarly to the domestic du
ties of females.
Living as they do in such habitations,
always sitting and lying and rolling on
the ground, it is impossible for them to
keep their persons or their clothes clean,
were they disposed to do it. But the
habit of living in the neglect ol cloanli
ness has become so deeply imbued in
their nature, that reform is almost be
yond hope. It is as difficult to eradi
cate as any vice to whieh they are
edicted Their disgusting filthiness was
one of the greatest barriers to familiar
intercourse with them,
Their household furniture correspond
ed to their habitations. Their cook
ing utensils ar.d kitchen aparatus con
sisted oi a few tin kettles and tin pans,
and a few wooden ladles and wooden
spoons of their own manufacture. These
were..seldom if ever washed. They
cook most of their food by boiling it,
and eat it without salt or other season
ing. W hen the kettle of food is cooked,
it is usually taken out into tin pans or
wooden bowls and distributed around
the iodge, several eating from the same
pan, each one using a spoon, wooden
ladle, a knife, or his hands, as is most
convenient.
Their bed is the ground ; their pil
low some old sack filled with filthy rags,
a piece of wood, or a handful of bay;—
their covering a single blanket. They
sleep, in cold weather, with their feet
towards the fire, which they keep burn
ing during the night.
These habitations are not only filthy
and inconvenient, but they are exceed
ingly uncomfortable, and subjeot those
who occupy them to suffering and dis
ease. They are constantly filled with
smoke, much injuring the eyes. They
are leaky aud dump in wet weather.—
In winter they are very cold, axposirig
their occupants to fevers, pulmonary
affections, and rheumatism.
Written for the New Era
Card Playing.
So various are the ways, and many
the artifices used by the old serpent,
Satan, who first tempted our mother,
Eve, when reclining in the blissful
shades *>f Paradise, to sin.—l say, so
various arc the means used by this soul
destroying enemy, that while otlieis
sing the praises of Virgil, a Bonaparte,
or a Washington, or extol the might of
Empires or the glory of Kings, let me
assume the humbler, though no less im
portant duty of raising my feeble voice
in belialf of poor neglected humanity.—
Who. I ask, would not disclaim the
powers that be, and loudly expatiate
against the evil that would be likely to
befall our community, were some one
to attempt fitting up an establishment
for the purpose of keeping for sale intox
icating liquors? Yes, 1 feel sure that
our readers at least would all cry out
against such an outrage upon our tem
perance principles.
Well then, come with me and let us
search out the root of this evil; and
when we see it in its true light, I feel
assured you will be ready to cry “Eure
ka.”—l have found it. You are al
ready aware to what I allude, merely
that of Card Playing. You ask, how
can playing for amusement effect, or
what has it to do with intemperance?
In the first [dace, playing for amuse
ment, innocent as it may seem, has
such attractions and excitements, for
those engaged in it, as almost to unfit
the mind for anything useful or instruct
ive. In the second place, it leads to
playing for gain ; playing for gain, in
its turn, leads to the keeping of late
hours, when the senses grow dull and
the eyes heavy from over taxation, and
consequently a stimulus must be tajeon
to arouse them ! From this easily ac
quired habit, the victim goes down,
down, the abyss, until nothing is suffi
cient to stay him from the ruinous gulf
which lies beiore him.
View him hern as he stands upon the
brink, nay the very threshhold of de
struction, striving and grasping at
straws, as they were, and bitterly de
ploring his lost condition, loudly, tho’
ineffectually calling for help. But alas!
all who surround him in that dismal
abyss, are as utterly lost and undone as
himself. Ah ! then, listen to his be
wailings as he exclaims, “Oh that I had
never, never, never lent myself a willing
tool to that hateful game. Yes, play
ing for amusement — that was the first
step in my downward course. f Would
MINNIE MARY LEE.
ONE DOLLAB A YEAR
hat 1 had listened to the pleading's of
that gentle sifter, or loving wife, when
they warned me not to yield. But this!
I thought it no fttnm; and now how can
I secure myself f.om this fiend who is
hourly winding [me more firmly in his
meshes ! JVo, no, ’tit too lute, too late!"
O, heartrending spectacle !
Might onu more bold effort, one
more pleading word, m.ftly whispered
in his ear, from one he lured, have
saved him? Perchance it might. Who
can tell the effect, if added to the first,
had come up the combined voices of all
the ladies o! his acquaintance, bringing
to bear such a volley of argument a
gainst it that he would have been asham
ed to yield. Every woman has her in
fluence, and if that influence be rightly
directed it would be soon visible in the
improved moral a and religious progress
of the people of the land. Do we suf
ficiently feel this? We arc all aware
that in our fashionable ciiclei, where
card playing is a chief amusemennt, that
not only gontlemen, but ladies, those
who should be first in pointing out its
tendencies, are among the active game
sters. Is such our position?? Should
ire, who should be first to discafd its
soul-destroying influence, be found
among Us votaries ? We think from eve
ry true-hearted woman will come up the
response, .Vo ! Then let us strive to
gain a name and a station worthy of an
American woman, by ever giving our
hearts and voices, willing helpers for
the cause of suffering humanity.
Lillie.
Fair Haven, Minn., June 11, ’6O.
<&cIC C f c U
“Of such is the Kingdom of
Heaven.”
BT MRS. E. C. YOUNG'
llow quietly she lies/
Closed are ihe lustrous eyes,
Whose fringed lids, so meek,
Itesi on the placid cheek;
While, round ’.he forehead fair,
Twines (he light golden hair,
Clinging with wondrous grace
Unto the cherub face.
Tread sofily near her, dear ones.’ Let her sleep-
I would not have my darling wake to weep.
Mark how her head doth rest
L pon her enowy breast.
While, ’oeath the shadow of a drooping curl,
One liitle shoulder nestles like a pearl,
\wl the small waxen fingers, careless, clasp
W hite ud’rous flowers in their tiny grasp;
Blossoms most sweet
Crown her and cluster o’er her feet—
Snre earth hath never known a thing more fair
lhan she who gently, calmly, slumbers there.
Alas/ ’tis Death, not sleep,
That girds her in its frozen slumbers deep.
No balmy breath comes fortn
From the slight parted month,
Nor heaves the little breast,
In its unyielding rest;
Dear fingers clasp
Flow’rs in unconscious grasp;—
Woe,woe is me, oh/ lone, bereaved mother/
’l'is Death that hath my treasure, and none oth
er.
No more I hear the voice,
Whose loving accents made my heart frjoics;
No more within my arms
Fold I hear rosy charms.
-£nd, gazing down into the liquid splendor
Of the brown eyes serenely, softly tender,
Print rapturous kisses on the genll e brow.
So cold and pallid now.
No more, no more! repining heart be still.
And trust in Him who doeth all things well.
Oh/ happy little one!
How soon her race was run,—
Her pain and suff’ring o’er,
Herself from sin secure.
Not hers to wander through the waste of years,
Sow ing in hope, to gather nought but tears;
Nor care, nor strife,
Dimmed her brief day of life.
AH true souls cherished her, and fondly strove
To gnard from every ill my meek white dove.
Love, in its essence,
Pervaded her sweet presence.
How winning were her ways;
Her little child-like grace,
And the mate pleadings of her innocent eyes.
Seizing the heart with sudden, soft surprise.
As if an angel, unaware,
Had strayed from Heaven, here;
•snd, saddened at the dark and downward road,
Averted her meek gaze, and sought her Father,
Gcd.
In her new spiritual birth,
Ns garments soiled with earth
Cling round the liule form, that happy strays,
Up throagh the gates; of pearl sod golden ways,
Where sister spirits meet her,
And angels joyful greet her.
Arrayed in robes of white.
She walks the paths of light;
Adorning the bright city of oar God,
The glorious realms by allots and martyrs tr*d/
THE NEW'ERA* 5 ’
Printing Establishment,
f; 4 % Second Starr, •_ : W
AKW ERA BULDJVG. SACK RAPXXM.
p •_?■«*• assortment «f nett *od Ttpi
Etc -» which enables ns toiurn oat some
°* U»e host job nerh in thv Stair, and at few price*
ro liras,
Hit.*.*, CiKtiuio.
isvitatioss, Labels, Etc.
And every fiber description of printing exeea
H - ? M n * >l} > *"d Promptly at tbi. office/
lSs ever*description priulci to onity.
From Henry Word Beecher’* Ser
mon od the “Cross of Christ,” preach
ed at Music Hall, Boston, May 27th,
we make the following extracts:
The cross has twined around it every
association of dignity and beauty fn .the
world. Not one other thii g has recei
ved from the fertile minds and the a!T
fushioning hands of meu of genius so
m my e.xiiir.sic beauties as the cross of
Christ. Millions never hear of it with
out a throb, nor see it without a genu
flection. It dawns upon the child fn the
cradie nest to its own mother’s face,
uud it is the last thing from which Um
light disappears when this child, in old
age, is dying. The cross is now 83 uni
versal and as beautiful to the associa
tions and the memories of men, as then
it was rare, peculiar and odious; it is
that which now to us is not only sugges
tive of a fact in Christ's history, but it
is also a memorial of two thousand years
of history. Around that simple cross
wood the heart of the world has gather
ed foi twenty centuries its stores of ad
miration, of love, of devotion. Bw
none of this was then known when the
Apostle entered upon his solitary way.
It was then the very sign and symbol
of ignominy. It was as far towards
the bottom ol disgrace as now it is to
wards the top of honor. It was thecon
victs’s mark then: it was the slave's the
criminal s sign; it was a hundred times
more odious then tliAn to our ears is the
word “gallows” now; but that word is
softening and may yet become agree
able, too when k beers a little more of
right fruit. There is no wotd among
us that is significant of the deep and ac
knowledged and universal detestation
that belonged to the cro-s.
I hold one thing, that n man’s con
scientious conviction is to be an object
of respect, of the most tender respect;
though you may think he is Wrong in
that conviction and judgment, yet that
man’s religious feeling, going out toward
a wrong, is still to be respected, never
to be trodden upon, never to be wanton
ly dealt with If you can change his
convictions, you have a right to do so;
but while they are unchanged, and he
is sincere, the soul should never exude
the sacred gum, and you put the foot
of defilement on it It ought to be
sacred in every instance. And, there
fore when a man teaches that God is a
vast stalactite, suspended fron the heav
ens white, pure, stony, stationary, 1
cannot accept his deity, nor worship
any crystal of however many sides or
whatever brilliancy.
Hut if ho worships such a thing ax*
that, I am hound to say nothing offen
sive to such a judgment, but only to say
tliis—l cannot love—l may hide my
eyes from the bright coruscations of it*
glory, I might, perhaps, if I had Fear
and Veneration larger than I have, bo
daunted, and bow in awe; and so into
worship: but I never know how to wor*
ship until I know how to love; and to
love I must have something that I can
put my arms around, something that
touching my heart, shall leave not the
chill of ice, but the warmth of Summer.
There must be something that will come
near my heart—something that I can
fove, —or I cannot worship; and thi-•
idea of a central, inflexible, serene,
passionless God, unmoved and unmov
ing, that sometimes thunders, and then,
under certa inconditions, loves in a prop
er manner, —this conception of the Di
vine nature is utterly freezing, it sets
me upon the Poles, and all the revolu
tions of Ihe year leave me but tco and
icebergs.
I think we know how much we love
by knowing how much we are willing to
suffer for those we love, and only so.
The man that loves and will not sufT
er does not love. The man that loves
and suffers but little loves little. The
true affection of father and mother,
brother and sister, husband and wife,
friend and friend, is not measured by the
capacity which the man may have de
pended upon the blood, which can be
dependent on constitutional forme.—
The mere capacity to effervesce in a
moment of passion, the mere fluency of
a tropical tongue—these things do not
measure our affection.
You never know how much one loves
until you know how much he is willing
to endure and suffer; and it is the suffer
ing element that measures love. And
all characters that are high must of nec
essity, be characters that shall be wil
ling patient, and strong to endure for
others. It is not so much the pleasure
we have in affection. To be able to
have bright affections playing upon you
and giving great joy to you nature in
the willing service of others, is another;
and that is the Divine idea of manhood,
of the human character.
Rousseau tells us, that to write a good
love-letter, you ought to begin without
knowing what you mean to say, and fin
ish Jwithout knowing what yea have
, said.

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