BY GEO. W. BOWMAY
NEW SERIES.
5 elect PoctrT).
Where may Rest be found i
Tell sr.e, ye winded winds
That round my pathway roar,
Do vou not know some spot
Where mortals weep no more.'
Some lone and pleasant dell,
' Some valley in the we,t,
Where, free from toil and pair,
The weary otil may rest ?
fbe low winds softened in aw hisper low.
And sighed for pity, as they answered—"No!"
Tell me, thou mighty deep,
Whose billows ;ound me play,
Know'st thou some favored spot,
Some island far away, t
Where wretched man may find
The bliss for which he sighs ?
Where sorrow never lives,
And friendship never dies ?
The loud wave, rolling in perpetual flow,
stopped lor a white, and an swered—'No ?"
And thou, serenest moon.
That with such holy face
Dost look upon the earth,
Asleep in night's embrace—
Tell me, in all thy rounds,
liast thou not seen some spot
Where miserable man
.Might find a happier lot ?
r.ehiml a cloud the moon withdrew in wo,
And a voice sweet, but sad, responded—"No!"
Tel! me, my secret soul,
I O! tell rne, Hope and Faith,
I- there no resting place
From sorrow, sin and death ?
Is there no happier spot
-- Where mortals may be blessed,
Where grief may find a balm,
And weariness a rest?
faith, Hope and Love, best boons to mortals given. '
Waved their bright wings arid whwpered—"Yes, in .
Heaven!"
From Harper's Magazine.
THE EXECUTION OF ANDRE.
On 'lndependence Day" we took a steamer
for the county of Rockland, determined to pass |
the Fourth in peace and quietness, and desirous >
ol refreshing our patriotism amidst scenes hal- ,
lowed by the sacred memories of the Revolu
tion. We visited Washington's head-quarters
at the little village of Tappan, the 'Seventy-Six j
House,'whete Andre was confined, the place
where lie was executed, the grave where he j
vas buried, and wheqee he was exhumed. V\ e
conversed with a verieraMe lady who gave him
tour beautiful peaches on the morning in which ;
lie vent forth to die. 'He thanked me with a I
sweet smile,* she said, 'llut, somehow or 'noth
t-r.he didn't seem to have no appetite. Heon
iv hit into one of 'em.'
vanning by his grave, we could see across
i: broad Hudson, the very place u here he was ;
crested bv Van Wert, Williams and Paulding,
■' •I the gleaming of the white monument erect- ;
-i! to their memory : the place where Washing- i
ton stood when Andre went forth to die, and
the stone house where he was taken to die up
on a gallon s.
The following account of Andre's execution i
is one of the most minute and interesting that i
we have ever read. It was furnished by Nlr. '
William G. Haselbarth, of Rockland county,
'he history of which he is engaged in writing.
It was taken down from the lips of a soldier in
(olone! Jeduthan Baldwin's regiment, a part
ol which was stationed a short distance from j
where poor Andre suffered :
One of our men, whose name was Armstrong, j
'ping one of the oldest and best workmen at ins j
trade in the regiment, w as selected to make his
cotfin, which he Hid and painted it black, as ;
was the custom at that period.
At this time Andre was confined in what was
tailed the Old Dutch Church—a small stone !
building with only one door, and closely guard
ed by six sentinels.
When the hour appointed for his execution
arrived, which was two o'clock in the after
noon, a guard of three hundred men were para
ded at tiie place of his confinement. A kind of
"cession was firmed by placing the guard in
'injle file on each side of the road. In front
uv re a large number of American officers of.
•V) rank on horseback. These were tollow ed j
v the wagon containing Andre's coffin, then a
■L'e nuri,her of officers on foot with Andre in |
"leirrritisl.
fhe 'procession wound slowly tip a moderate
v rising ground, about a quarter of a mile to '
West. On the top was a field without any
"ucjosure, and on this was a very high gallows,
U'&te by getting up two poles or crotches, and i
"iving a p o | e ()n tp e to p_
the wagon that contained the coffin was 1
r; wvn dnvctly under the gallows. In a short I
l!n " Andre stepped into the hind end of the
>a Jon, then on his coffin, took off his hat and '
■"d it down, then placed his hands upon his j
•py and walked very uprightly back and forth ;
far as the length of the wagon would permit,
le time casting his eyes up to the pole
i,is head, and the whole scenery by which ,
■ v w as surrounded.
He dressed in a complete British uni
,ri) - His coat was of the brightest scarlet,'
c ' ■ and trimmed with the most beautiful j
"' vn - His under clothes, vest and breeches ;
" " bright buff; he had a long and beautiful
* a '> cf hair, which, agreeably to the fashion,
hiiV^ 00 * black ribbon, and hung down
many minutes after he took his stand
: "MhecoSn, the executioner stepped into
with a halter in his hand, on one
( 7 01 which *as what the aoldiers in those
• a . Vs called a 'hangman's knot,' which he at-
to put over the head and around the
Uebforfc 4HH C'Sa wit \
I neck of Andre ; but by a sudden movement of
j bis band, this was prevented.
Andre now took off the handkerchief from his
j neck, unpinned his shirt collar, and deliberately
took the cord of the halter, put it over his head, I
; placed the knot directly under his right car, and !
i drew it very snugly to his neck. He then took !
j liom his coat pocket a handkerchief, and tied it
: before his eyes. This done, the officer who j
commanded spoke in rather a loud voice, and
' said :
'His arms must be tied.''
Andre at once pulled down the handkerchief I
I which he had just tied over his eyes, and drew
from his pocket a second one, which he g3ve to j
| the executioner, and then replaced his handker- \
chief.
Disarms at this time were tied just above j
j the elbows, and behind the back.
1 The rope was then made fast to the pole over
head. The wagon was very suddenly drawn
from under the gallows ; which, together with
the length of the rope, gave him a most tremen
dous swing batk and forth ; but in a few mo- j
ments he hung entirely still.
During the whole transaction he seemed as
little daunted as John Rogers when he was a-j
bout to be burnt at the stake, although his coun
tenance was rather pale.
He remained hanging from twenty to thirty
minutes, and during that time the chambers of j
death were never stiller than the multitude by j
whom he was surrounded. Orders were given !
to cut the rope, and take him down without let- ;
ting him fall. This was done, and his body i
carefully laid on the ground.
Shortly after the guard was withdrawn, and
spectators were permitted to come forward and ;
view the corpse ; but the crowd was so great \
: that it was some time before I could get an op
i portunity. When I was able to do this, his |
coat, vest and breeches had been taken off, and i
his body laid in the coffin, covered by some j
! under clothes. The top of the coffin was put;
on.
I viewed the corpse more carefully than 1
! had ever done that of any human before. His j
head was very much on one side, in consequence
iof the monnei in which the halter had drawn
I upon his neck. His face appeared to be great- ;
; ly swollen and verv black, resembling a high i
degree of mortification. It was indeed a most j
j shocking sight to behold.
There were, at this time, standing at the foot I
of the coffin, two young men of uncommon short ;
stature. They were not more than four feet ;
, high. Their dress was extremely gaudy. One |
i of them had the clothes just taken from Andre
hanging on his arm. 1 took particular pains to
learn who they were, and was informed that
they were his servants, sent up from New York j
to take care of his clothes—but what other bu-
I >iiiess I did not learn.
I now turned to take a view of the execu
| tioner, who was still standing by one of the
; posts of the gallows. 1 walked near enough to j
lav mv hand upon his shoulder, and looked him !
directly in the face. He appeared to he about
j twenty-five years of age, and bis whole face
was covered with what appeared to rne to have !
| been taken trom the outside of a greasy pot.— j
; A more frightful looking creature I never be
held. His whole countenance bespoke him a
| fit instrument for the business he had been do- j
ing.
1 remained upon the spot until scarcely twen
ty persons were left ; but (lie coffin was still be
j side the grave, which had peviously been dug. !
i
ABSfißCfi OF SUA.
j
It is not always the "longest pole that knocks ,
down the most persimmons," either in the ;
game of bluff or the more difficult game of life. |
; "There is a divinity that shapes our ends, rough
j hew them as we will," and it often happens j
j that w hen a man consideis himself "hunk,"' he j
|is as far astray as possible. Here is a case in j
j point :
Dr. Joshua Cadwell, who lived for many
j years in the town of Florence, on the Western
Reserve, Ohio, was a most skillful doctor, but j
j one ol'the most eccentric and absent-minded I
persons in the world, except Margaret, his j
i wife, who was fully his equal. One summer {
1 morning the doctor got caught in a tremendous t
j shower, which drenched him to the skin, it;
soon cleared off, however, and Dr. Josh rode j
into his own yard, where he took his dripping j
saddle from the horse, and Jet him go adrift in i
the pasture. The saddle he had placed upon a
; stout log of wood, which was elevated about j
l four feet from the ground, where the doctor
! had began to build a platform to dry peaches;
! on. After having got his saddle all fixed so as j
! that it would be dry, he took the bridle, and!
i putting the bit over the end of the log, he stretell- ;
'ed out the reins, and hitched them to the horn
jof the saddle, and went in to change his wet |
| clothes and get breakfast. Joshua junior was;
' from home on a visit, and so the seniors sat j
' down together to the morning's meal. When I
'they were about half through, Jim Attwood, a I
! farmer who lived eight miles distant, came in, j
: telling the doctor lie wished he would hurry j
and go over to his house, as he reckoned he;
; might be wanted there before night. The doc- j
tor promised to be there, and Jun went off in
a hurry to the village for the necessary fix
ings-.
When the doctor had finished his breakfast, i
I he took his saddle-bags and went into the yard,
where he deliberately mounted his saddle, and
i set out in imagination for Jim Atwood's. For!
j a considerable length of time he rode on in the ;
; most profound silence, with his eyes fixed in- !
tent ly on Buchan's Practice, which lay open or> i
the saddle before him. At length he began to J
feel the effects of the fierce rays of the midday |
sun, and looking tip from his book, he discover- j
ed a comfortable little house close to him, upon '
which he sung out lustily for a drink of water, j
; Aunt Margaret, who had been for the last two
hours very buy in the garden, made her ap
. pearance with a pitcher of milk, and after the I
'thirsty stranger had taken a long draught the!
FRIDAY MORNING, BEDFORD, PA. JUNE 13, 1850.
two entered into an animated conversation, the
doctor launching out into rapturous praises of
the scenery about the place, the neatness of the
building, the fine orchard of peach and apple!
J trees, and the lady who got a glimpse of the!
; saddle-bags, made a great many inquiries about J
! the health of the neighborhood and things in I
genera!. The doctor finally took leave of the!
lady, assuring her that lie would call upon his 1
Mum, and have some further conversation with !
her, as she reminded him so much of his wife, !
j who, he was sure, would be happy to become '
acquainted with her. The lady turned to enter •
Ihe house, and the doctor had just gathered up i
his reins, when Jim At wood dashed up to the i
; gate with his horse in a lather of foam. "What
j in the thunder are you doing, doctor ?" yelled
i Jim : "get off that log and come along." The j
I doctor was a great deal astonished at first, but ;
after a few minutes it got through his hair that i
he had been all the morning riding a beech log j
in his own door yard.
IVHIiU WAS THE COWARD.
nv T. S. ARTHUR.
"Will you bear that, Edward ?"
The young man to whom this was addressed !
stood facing a young rr.an about his own age, pn j
whose flushed countenance was an expression j
of angry defiance. The name of this person :
j was Logan. a !
A third party, also a young man, had asked
the question in a tone of surprise and regret.— j
; Before there was time for response, Logan said
sharply and with stinging contempt :
"You are a poor, mean, coward Edward Wil
j son ! I repeat the words, and if there is a par
' tide of manhood about you—"
Logan paused for an instant, but quickly ad
j fled r
"You will resent the insult."
Why did he pause ?
His words had aroused a feeling in the breast 1
of Wilson that betrayed itself in his eyes. The j
word "coward," at that instant, would have
more fittingly applied to James Logan. But,
us quickly as the flash leaves the cloud, so j
quickly faded the indignant light from the eyes
\of Edward Wilson. Wtiat a fierce struggle ag
itated him for a moment!
"We have been fast friends, James." said
Wilson, calmly. "But, even if that were not
so, I would not strike you."
"You're afraid."
"I will not denv it, I have always been j
afraid to do wrong." .
"Pah! Cant and hypocrisy !" Said the oth
er, contemptuousl v. *
"You know me better than that, James
Logan : and 1 am sorry that, in your res-nt- I
ment of an imagined wrong, you should so far
forget what is just to my character as to charge
upon me such mean vices. I reject the im
plied allegations as false."
There was an honest indignation in the man
ner of Wilson that he did not attempt to re
press.
"Do you call rne a liar?" exclaimed Logan,
in uncontrollable passion, drawing back bis
' hand, and making a motion as it he were about
to strke the oltipr in the fare.
The eyes of Wilson quailed not, nor
i sliglitest quiver of a muscle perceptible. From
; some cause the purpose of Logan was not e\-
j cuted.
instead of giving a blow, he assailed his an
tagonist with words of deeper insult, seeking
thus to provoke an assault. But Wilson was
not to be driven from the citadel in which he
had entrenched himself.
"If I am a coward, well," he said. "I would
rather be a coward than lay a hand in violence
on him I have once called my fiend."
At tliis moment light airlish laughter and the
tinging of merry voices reached the ears of our ;
j excited young men, and their relations of an- ;
tagonism at once changed.
Logan walked away in the direction from j
which the voices came : while the other two
remained where they had been standing.
"Why didn't you knock him down?" said
the companion of Wilson.
The latter, whose face was now very sober ;
and pale, shook his head slowly. He made no ;
response.
"i believe you are a coward !" exclaimed
the other impatiently : and turning ofl, he went i
the same direction taken by Logan.
The moment Wilson was alone, he seated ;
himself on the ground, concealed from the par- .
tv whose voices had interrupted them by a large
rock, and covering his face with his hands,
continued motionless for several minutes.
How much he suffered in that little space of
time we will not attempt to describe. The;
struggle with his indignant impulses had been
very severe. He was no coward in heart.—
What was right and humane he was ever ready j
to do, even at the risk to himself of both physi
cal and mental suffering.
Clearly conscious was he of this. Yet the j
consciousness did not and could not protect his j
feelings from the unjust and stinging charge ol ;
cowardice so angrily brought against him.
11l spite of his better reason, he lelt humilia
ted ; and there were moments u hen be regret- j
ted the forbearance that saved the insolent Lo- ;
gan from punishment. They were but mo
ments of weakness; in fhe strength of a inauly j
character he was quickly himself again.
■The occasion of this misunderstanding is brief
ly told.
Wilson made one of a little pleasure party 1
from a neighboring village that was spending
an afternoon in a shady retreat on the banks ol ;
a mill stream.
There were three or four young men and half
a dozen maidens; and, as it happens on such oc- 1
casions. some rivalries were excited among the
former.
These should only have added piquancy to :
the merry intercourse of ail parties, and would
have done so, had not the impatient tempera- ,
ment of Logan carried him a little beyond good
Freedom of Thought and Opinion.
feeling and a generous deportment toward# the
others.
Without due reflection, yet in no sarcastic
spirit, Ed ward Wilson made a remark on some
; act of Logan that irritated him exceedingly.
An angrv spot burned instantly on his cheek,
I and he replied with words of cutting insult ;
j so cutting that all present expected nothing less
than a blow Irom Wilson as an answer to his
! remark.
His impulse was to deal a blow. But he re
strained the impulse; and it required more
| courage to do this than to have stricken the
j young man to the ground. A moment or two
Wilson struggled with himself, and then turned
off and moved away.
His flushed and then palling face, his quiver-
I ing lip and unsteady eyes, left on the minds of
: all who witnessed the scene an impression some
what unfavorable.
Partaking of the indignant excitement ol'the
moment, many of those present looked for the
instant punishment of Logan for his unjustifi
: able insult.
j. When, therefore, they saw Wilson turn
■ away, without even a defiant answer, and heard
t ho low, sneeringly uttered word, "coward,"
I from the lips of Logan, they felt that there was
a craven spirit about the young man.
A coward we instinctively despise; and yet
| ho!W slow we are to elevate the higher moral
courage which enables a man to bear unjust
judgment, rather than do what he thinks to be
wrong, above the mere bruit instinct which, in
the moment of excitement, targets all physical
consequences.
As Edward Wilson walked away from his
companions, he felt that he was regarded as a
coward. This was for him a hitter trial ; and
j the more so because, there was one in that lit
tle group of startled maidens for whose gener
! ouf regard he would sacrifice all but honor.
It was, perhaps, half an hour after this un
; pleasant occurrence that Logan, whose heart
still burned with an unforgiving spirit, encoun
; terni Wilson under riicumstances that left him
free to repeat his insulting language, without
disturbing the res! of the partv, who were n
mtwing themselves at some distance, and beyond
the range of observation. He did nut succeed
in obtaining a personal encounter, as he de
sired.
Edward Wilson had been for some time sit
ting alone with his unhappy thoughts, when lie
was aroused by sudden cries of alarm, the tone
of which told his heart too plainly that some im
minent danger impended.
Springing to his feet, he ran in the direction
of the cries, arid quickly saw the cause of the
excitement.
Recent heavy rains had swollen the moun
tain stream, the turbid waters of which were
tfown with great velocity.
Tu< young girls, who had been amusing
themselves at some distance above, in a boat that
was attached to the shore by a long rope, bad,
through some accident, got the fastening loose,
and were now gliding down, far out in the cur
rent, wilh a tearfully increasing speed, towards
the breast of a mtlldam, some I u ldredsoi yards
below, from which the water was thundering
down a distance of over twenty feet.
Pule with terror, thwpoor voung creatures
were stretching out their hands toward their
companions on the shore, and uttering heart-ren
ding ciies for assistance.
! Instant action was necessary, or all would be
lost. The position of the young girls would
have been discovered while they weie yet some
distance above, and there happened to he anoth
er boat on the ir.illdam, Logan and two other
voting men had loosed it from the shore. But,
the danger of being carried over the dam, should
anv one venture out in this boat seemed so in
evitable, that none of them dared to encounter
the hazard.
.Now screaming and ringing their hands, and
i now urging those voung men to try and save
their companions, stood the young maidens ol
| the party on the shore, when Wilson dashed
through them and springing into the boat, cried
i out :
"Quick, Logan! Take an oar, or they are
lost."
But, instead of this, Logan stepped back a
pace or two lrom the boat, while his face grew J
pale with fear. Not an instant more was was
ted.
A*, glance Wilson saw that if the girls were
savd, it must be by the strength of his own
arm.
Bravely lie pushed from the shorp, and with
giant strength, born of the moment and fur the
; occasion, from his high unselfish purpose, he
dashed the boat out into the current, and, ben
ding to the oars, took a direction at an angle
with the other boat towards the point where the
water was sweeping over the dam.
At everv stroke the light skiff* sprung for
ward a dozen feet and scarcely half a minute
elapsed ere Wilson was beside ihe other boat.
Both were now within twenty yards of the ,
fall ; arid the water was bearing them down
with a velocity that a rower with every advan
tage on bis side could scarcely have contended
against successfully. To transfer the frightened
girls from one boat to the other, in the few mo- !
ments of time left ere the down-sweeping cur
rent would bear their frail vessel to the edge of
the dam, and still to retain an advantage was,
for Wilson, impossible. To let his own boat
go and manage theirs, hp saw to be equally im
possible.
A rrv of despair reached the young man's
ears as the oars dropped from his grasp into the
water.
It was evident to the spectators of the fearful
scene that he had lost his presence of mind,
and that now all was over.
Not so, however. In the next moment he
had sprung into the water, which, near the
breast of the dam, was not three feet deep.
As lie did so, he grasped the other boat, and
bracing himself firmly against the rushing cur
rent, held it poised a few yards from the point
where the foam-crested waters leaped into the
> j whirlpool below.
He had gained, however, but a small ddvan
-5 tage. It required his utmost exertions to keep
■ the boat he had grasped from dragging him down
the fall.
, The quickly formed purpose of Wilson, in
thus springing into the water, had been to drag
the boat against the current to the shore. But
this he perceived to be impossible the moment
he felt the real strength of the curreut.
! If he weie to let the boat go he could easily
save himself. But no such thought entered his
bosom,
i "Lie down close to the bottom," he said, in a
! quick, hoarse voice. The terror-stricken girls
obeyed the injunction instantly.
With a coolness that wns vvondprful under
all circumstances, Wilson moved the boat sev
eral yards away from the nearest shore, until
he reached a point where he knew the water
below the darn to be more expended and free
from rocks. Then throwing his body suddenly
against tlieboat,and running along until he was
within a few feet of the fall, he sprang into it
and went over.
A moment or two the light vessel as it shot
out into the air, stood poised, and then went
plunging down.
The fearful leap was made in safety. The
boat struck the seething waters below, and glan
ced out from the whirlpool, bearing its living
freight uninjured.
"Which was the coward?"
The words reached the ears of Logan, as he
gathered with the rest of the companv around
Wilson and the pale trembling girls he had so
heroically saved.
Fair lips asked the question. One maiden
had spoken to another, and in a louder voice
than she had intended.
"Not Edward Wilson," said Logan, as he
stepped forward and grasped the handoi'him he
had so wronged and insulted. "Not Edward
Wilson ! He is the noblest and tbe bravest!"
W iison made an effort to reply. But he was
for some moments too much excited and exhaus
ted to speak. At last he said :
"I only did what was l ight. May I tver
have courage to do that."
Afterwards, when alone with Logan he
said :
"It required a Air greater exercise of courage
to forbear when vou provoked and insulted me
in the presence of those who expected retalia
tion, than it did lo risk mv life at the milldam."
There is a moral heroism that few can ap
preciate. And it will usually be found that;
the morally brave man is quickest to iose the
sense <>t personal danger when others are in
peril.
A MISSISSIPPI SPORTING ADVENTURE.
HV A BACKWOODSMAN.
I have often seen accounts of "hair breadth
'scapes," in such cases, which very wise people
—who know nothing about it—in more civili
zed places, have charged to the marvellous, but
which we of the woods—at many of us—
know not to be only possible, but highly prob
able, and in some instance? by sad experience.
In illustration of which, I will endeavor to de
scribe an adventure of my own. In 1837.1
resided on the banksof the Mississippi, (C. W.,)
as I had done from infancy. I was then about
20 years of age, stout and athletic, and passion
ately fond of wild scenery and sporting ad ven
tures. The month of October had arrived—the
great season of partridge and deer—hooting : and
in accordance with my almost daily custom, I
sallied out with my fowling-piece, one barrel
containing ball and other small shot. I had
succeeded in bagging some small wares, and in
passing a creek observed a raccoon, busily em
ployed turning over the stones in search of frogs,
worms, &c. Without giving the matter much
thought, I succeeded in removing "Ursa Minor"
to another if not a better .vorld ; and being rath
er corpulent to carry through ttie woods,! hung
him upon a sapling, intending to send lur him
the next day ; and as the part of the country
which I was in did not very often afford large
game, I charged the second barrel with shot a!- ,
so. I proceeded perhaps a mile, and was cross
ing the outskirts of.a Tamarack swamp, through
! a succession of narrow, rocky glens, with high
and precipitous sides, and had sprung from a
rather high rock into a rift of not more than
three feet wide, when I perceived the eyes of
an immense buck glaring at me at not over ten
feet distant. A glance showed me that h" had
no means of escape except over myself; nhd a
wareot the desperation of this other-wise timid
creature, under such circumstances, and at this
particular season, I formed my resolution in an
instant. I cocked both locks, placed my fingers
on the triggers, and resolved to wait his spring,
as I did not think my charges would injure him
except at the verv muzzle. I knelt upon one
knee and watched his eye. All this took place
in a very few seconds.
At length, the haunches and ears were drawn
back, and with a tremendous snort he bounded
in the air with the evident intention ofdescen- .
ding upon me. Quick as lightning both bar
rels were discharged full into his breast, and I
received a shock as if from a pile engine, which j
deprived me of al I sensation. About three hours
after, as near as I could judge by comparing af
terwards, I was brought to a state of partial sen
sibility by something licking my face, and some
thing growling and scratching my clothes ; but
being faint 1 did not look up till enormous paws
tore my flesh with them. Then, indeed, I did
look Up —when what wis my horror to see a
huge bear, coolly licking the blood from my la
cerated breast. Weakness, more than self
possession, kept me still a moment, while two
half-grown cubs were tearing and scratching my
legs and feet. The desperation of the rase a
roused me to sodden energy, and I slowly
stretched my left hand (my right arm was bro
ken,) to my back for my hunter's knife, resol
ved, if such can be called resolution, to c ave
my life if possible. I had got it drawn from
the sheath, and was watching a favorable op-
TKRHS, Stl I*Kit iKAR
VOL XXIV, NO. i\.
I port unity to plunge it into the brute's throat,
• when, with a terrible roar, it fell across my body
> apparently in the agonies of death. A fearful
i struggle ensued, which soon put a stop to my
feeble exertions.
When I next came to my Senses, f was s<-a
--• ted, leaning against a rock, and a stalwart In
dian youth, who had been my companion in
many a hard day'? hunt, was busily employed
binding up my wounds with leaves and stripy
torn from his own scanty garments. .Not being
able to take me home tnat firght, be madp a fire,
and nursed me as a mother would a child, and
the next day carried me by easy siages to my
parents.
It appeared that he had called for me,
being told that I was only gone a few minutes,
thought he would make up to me. He acci
dentally came to where I had shot the laccoon.-
but found that some bears had broken the sap
ling, and eaten their cousin. He then struck
their trail, and followed them to where he saw
the old one apparently devouring something, he
did not know what. He fired, and being aware
'of their tenacity of life, wanted to reload his
rifle, ere venturing toadvnnce, a sad job for me,
as by its dying struggle I have been maimed for
life.
It is worthy of remark, that the deer had beert
so close upon me, when I fired, that his chest
was singed, and that the barrels of the gun were
found neatly eight inches deep in the wound
farmed by their own discharge, while I and the
stock had been driven upward of thirty feet by
tile force of his spring.
Such are some of the hackwood "sports,' and
which, with msnv other equally romantic, is an
"over true tale."' as 1 and many others know bv
hard experience.
A Tempera lice Joke.
Joe Harris was a whole souled; merry fellow,
and very fond of a g!a>s. After living in New-
Orleans for many years, he came to the conclu
sion of visiting an old uncle away up in .Massa
chusetts, whom he had not seen tor many years.
Now there is a difference between New Orleans
and .Massachusetts in regard to the use of ardent
spirits, and when Joe arrived there, he found all
the people run mad about temperance, he lelt
had; thinking with the old song; that "keeping
the spirit up by pouring the spirit down," was
one of the best ways to make time pass, and be
gan to feel indeed that he was in a pickle. But
on the morning after his arrival, the old man
and sons being gone out at work, his aunt came
; to him and said : "Joe, you have been living in
the South, and no doubt are in the habit of ta
king something to drink about eleven (.''clock.—•
Now 1 keep some for 'medical pur|oses,' but
let no one know it as my husband wants to be a *
good example."
Joe promised, and thinking b- would get no
more that day, took, as he expressed it, a "bus
ter." After lie had walked out to the stable,
who should nwet him but his uncle. "Well,
Joe,*' said he, "f expect that you areaceustom
ed to drinking something in New Orleans, but
you find us all temperate here,and for the sake
of my sons 1 don't let them know that I have
any brandy about, but I just keep a little for my
rheumatism. Will you take some ?"
Joe signified bis readiness, and took another
big horn. Then continuing his walk he ranu*
to where the hoys were mauling rails. After
conversing aw hile one of bis cousins said :
"Joe, 1 expert vou would like to have a dram,
and as the folks are down on liquor, we have
some out here to help us on with the work."
Out came the bottle, and down they sat, and}
as he says, by the time that he went to dinner;
he was as tight as he could be.
OCCUPATION,—What a good thing it is for
human heart, Those who work hard seldom
yield themselves up to fancied or real sorrow.—
When grief sits down, lolus its hands, and
mournfully feeds upon its own tears, weaving
the dim shadows that a little exertion might
sweep away, into a funeral pall, the strong spir
it is shorn of its might, and sorrow becomes the
master. When troubles flow dark and heavy,
toil not with the waves—wrestle not with the
torrent!-—rather seek, bv occupation, to divert
the dark waves that threaten to overwhelm you,
into a thousand channels which the duty of life
always presents. Before you dream it, those
waters will fertilize the present, and give birth,
t > fresh flowers that may brighten the luture—
flowers that may become pure and holy in the
sunshine which penetrates to the paths of duty
in spite of every obstacle. Grief, after all, is
but a selfish feeling : and most selfish is the man
who yields himself to the indulgence of any
passion that brings no joy to his fellow man.
THE DYING SOLDIER.—IN the memorable con
flict at Waterloo, a soldier, mortally wounded,
was conveyed to the re3r by a comrade, and at
a distance from the battle was laid down under
a tree. The dying man lequested to have his
knapsack opened, that he might obtain from it
his pocket Bible. He then requested his com
rade to read to him, if but a small portion of it
I before he should breathe his last. He was ask
ed what passage he would have read, and he
fixed upon John 14-: 27. "Peace I have with
j you, and peace I give unto you: not as the world
giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart
be troubled, neither let it be afraid.'' "Now,"
said the dying soldier, "I die happy. I desired
to have peace with God, and I possess the peace
of God which passeth all understanding."
A little w-hile after one of the officers passed
near, and seeing him in such an exhausted state,
he asked him how he felt. He replied, "I die
happy, for I enjoy the peace of God which
passeth all understanding;" and then expired
Finn ON THE MOUNTAINS.— Extensive fires
have prevailed recently on the mountains in the
vicinity oi Poltsville, Pa., aud a considerable a
mnunt of timber and other property has been de
stroyed. Last Sunday week several persons
who had left Port Carbon to proceed to Tusca
roia were compelled, Dy the vjolence of the
flames on either side of the road, to return.