VOMWE 33. NEW SERIES. THE BEDFORD GAZETTE f* PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORXING BY MEYERS & BENFORD, At the following terms, to wit: $1.50 per annual, CASH, in advance. *-.00 " " if paid within the year. •' " if not paid within the year. tY7*Xo subscription taken for less than six months. Q3**No paper discontinued until all arrearages are paid, nr. le>s at Iheopt.on of the publishers. Jt has 6een decided by the United States Courts, that the • toppage of a newspaper without the payment of ar rearages, is prima facte evidence of fraud and is a criminal oiience. ne courts have decided that persons are ac countable lor the subscription price of newspapers, if they take them from the po.t office, whether the\ subscribe for them, or not. Sflllt |3 cc t nj. LET HIM REST. "Heroic spirits war not with the dead." Let him rest— He has done with light and life, And his ear is closed to strife* Though he tro.l the path of shame, r ouch, oh, touch not now his name ; Wtiocan tell the grief he bore, lire he fell to rise no more 7 Many thorns his feet have pressed Let him rest—let him rest ! Let him rest— For he knew it not on earth ; From the banquet-hall of mirth •lander beckoned him away, Laughed to see bis hopes decay ; A'd he brooded o'er his woe, Till in death he found repose. F. very flower that love had blessed Quickly faded—let him rest. Let him rest— While you drop a friendly tear Over his dishonored bier ; Once his soul, like thine, was pure f ou'd'st thou all his wrongs endure, And receive no spot or s'ain 7 \S nisper not his faults again. Oruel thorns his feet have pressed— Let him rest —let him rest. Roi.lix. fHi art l l uj. i TIIN IMf HINT- : BT .1 All AM ALLEN, C. S. SURVEY IXG SERVICE. ; J\ the summer of IS4-9, fate laid tny lines in the pleasant places of Southern Texas, and 1 there many an exciting taste of wild backwoods life, the recollection ol which, will be some thing fjr me to think about when my strength of smew and elasticity ot muscles have lied, and my hair is silvered o'er w itli the frosty touch ot age. One of the most stirring ol these memories is that ola buffalo—or more properly a bison hunt, in which I played the part of hero— though I came unpleasantly near being the victime instead. I had not as v t killed one of these monsters of the prarie, and when J re turned from an unsuccessful chase after them, my two companion^ — a tough old German, and a St. Louis lawyer, who had sought to exter minate the germ of a pulmonary complaint in the balmv atmosphere of Texas—used to laugh at me ruthlessly. This, of course, piqued my vandy a little, and I determined to be even with them. I had on going to the western wilds, adopt ed a!! the external accompaniments of a genu ine ranger. I flattered myself that I was a good shot with the rifle, and never went from our ranche without my trusty "Brownie" slung oxer rr.v shoulders. 1 was a good rider, and if 1 was only going a quarter of a mile, I invari able bridled my handsome bay "Charley." 1 also affected the vanity of a buckskin suit, stringed at the seams, Indian' fashion ; a slouch felt hat, a wide collar rolled well back, and a gav silk kerchief, tied in a large bow, with waving ends. The ere-while lawyer declared that I reminded him of the trappers he had seen in St. Louis—but only onthestage—and the old German averred that "dese yer dandy hunters was wort' shu-t noiin't all." For my own part, I knew very well, that il I had a fair chance, I could kill as much gamp as anybody, 1 had already brought ir, as many ducks, geese, squirrels, and ether small deer, as either Hans the German, or Rawley the lawyer; and the buckskin from which my habiliments were made, was taken from animals Which had been killed by the deadly charge of "Brownie." Therefore, I laid my unsuccessful attempts at bison-killing, entirely to bad luck, and determined to show my companions that 1 was as good a backwoodsmen as they, at the first favorable opportunity. It was with this intention, that I mounted Charley, one fine morning, and set off, with a gxrdly supply of atritnunilion, some jerked ven ison, and a flask in my haversack. "Brownie" was slung across my back, mvspurs jingled at rny heels, and as I galloped out into the fiesh sweet air, of the divine Texan morn ing, I felt so invigorated and courageous, that I made an inward vow not to return until I had slain at least one buffalo. I rode for some hours, without perceiving any signs of the game I sought, but toward noon 1 .descried, at an immense distance on a piece of rolling ground, a herd of dark, shaggy objects, which I instantly recognized as buffaloes. I rode into a small point of for rst near by, called in western parlance, an "oak opening," and dismounting, took a hasty lunch of \ enison, washed down by a draught of my | flask, for the ride had fatigued me. Still, I kept a sharp lookout upon the herd of bisons, which were grazing, and did not" wander far !rom 'he spot where I first desciTed them.— At tfie expiration of a few minutes, during which time I had watered Charley, and al lowed him to crop the grass about biin, I re mounted, considerably refreshed, and with "Brownie," loaded and capped, under mv arm, I rode around the herd, in a circuit of some two miles, to gel fo leeward of them. Arriv ing at a suitable point, I raised myself in the stirrups, clenched my rille firmly in my right band, and touching Charley with my spurs ,r ave him the reins. * ° I Over the prairie sod we fiew, toward the' L .. IV 1 • . buffaloes, now quite near, and soon got close enough to alarm them. VV ith a unanimous movement, they lowered their shaggy heads, erected their tails, and made the earth "thunder to their tread. But G'hailey was fleeter of" foot than they, and was rapidly gaining upon them. When 1 fancied ] was within fair rifle-shot, I took as good an aim as mv motion would al low of, and pulled the trigger, singling out a fine fat cow as my mark. She made a treinen nous hound, and I expected to he beside her carcass in a moment, hut it seemed that J had only grazed her, for she ran on with the rest. Plainly it would not do to fire from the sad die, while Charley was going at such a pace. I | reined him in, reloaded my rifle, and again ; started in pursuit of the herd. This time,! j came much nearer to them, as I wished to have j time for a more deliberate aim. When I | jso near that I felt the earth tremble under the I | incessant trampling of their hoofs, and could | : see the foain flung from their panting mouths, | j I stopped my horse, took a careful sfoht at i another huge cow, and again fired. Just as my linger touched the trigger, however, an immense I brown bull dashed before my aim, and the s bulmt intended for the cow, found a place in t his flank instead. He stopped with a tremendous bellow, and did not resume his flight until the rest of the herd had nearly passed. Bur by this time the chase had began to tell upon Charley. Ijj s pace was not so fast as at first, and bis nostrils were widely expanded. Thinking that I couhi overtake the wounded bull easily enough, 1 again stopped to reloaJ "Brownie," and keep ing my eye upon my former mark, sent anoth er shut after him. This als took effect. The held thundered on, leaving their wounded com; anion fo-hind, and I dashed towards him with a wild Indian veil of triumph, forgeltino tfcat I had no charge in rr.y rifle in- >' n- R I - •' y again,, tvu! ••••!..! if /ivry, and it was not until 1 was quite close to him that 1 remembered how difficult it would be to shoot at buffalo with an empty gun. 1 felt for my powder-flask, but alas! it no longer hung at my side ! At once it struck me that in loading the last lime I had broken its string, and it bad doubt less dropped into the thick prairie grass, where to look lor it, would be quite as hopeless a task as "hunting for a needle in a hay-stack." -By the time I had recovered from the terrible shock of disappointment occasioned by this discovery, 1 was startled by Charley's rearing upon his hind legs in such a manner, going at full speed as he was, as to nearly throw me over backward. The 01-ject which had given my faithful ani mal such a fright, was the body of a Ca.r.an che Indian, lying prone upon the ground, II is scalp was gone, antl a knife wound in his chest showed plainly enough that he had fallen a victim to the inherent vindictiveness ol his race.' Familialized, hv my backwoods life, to all forms of death and danger, and being ac- ' customed (o regard tiie 'Ted-skins" as an in ferior race, Ibis sight excited no feeling with- i in me save the single or.e ol disgust, and I was j about to follow the wounded buffalo, hoping, that my two shots might prove fatal to him, when I noticed a Camanche spear lying in the grass, near the body of the Indian. Although i but little versed in the art of wieldingjthis weap on, it was at least better than my shoit hunting knife, and I was so bent upon killiing my game, that I hail thought of attacking him on foot, with this little instrument. I wheeled Charley about, then, and possess ing myself of the spear, gave vigorous chase to the bison once more. As I drew nearer him —an easy matter, lor the wound in his haunch disabled him lor fast running—he stopped, and i lowered his immense bovine head, rolled his glaring eyes horribly upward, and bellowed forth a deep-chested note of defiance. It was j clear he meant to stand at bay, and sell his lite ! •s dearly as possible. I was under such headway, that I could not rein in, until almost upon the huge brute. By turning mv horse however, 1 passed the bull, and in passing gave him a blow with the sptar. i Another bellow, and a mad plunge at Charley's ! side, was the result cf this third wound. For j tunatrlv, we escapeddhe attack, St a desperate i fight ensued, in which nothing but the fleetness of Charley, and the exhausted condition of the bull, prevented me from being worsted almost attheoutset. 1 wheeled about him, driving the sharp spear-head into his neck and sides at every turn, and at length he stood, head down, i trembling from loss of blood, his tongue hang ! jng from his mouth, and his tail lashing Ins I sides in the frenzy of impotent rage. Again I advanced, aiming my weapon just ■ back of his fore-sholder, where the heart lies, I to give the death-blow, when he gathered his whole strength for one last effort, and meeting me half way, we met with a terrible shock. Over we went, buffalo, man, and hors<\ pell mell. with a crash like the fall of a giant oak. 1 remember how in that awful moment, the ! seconds seemed like ages to me. My whole past i life flashed through my memory, and I seemed to review all the 3cts and incidents I had known. | I felt that death stared me in the face, and that I 1 should never meet my friends, nor see my I home again. But it was ordered that I should , not die then. A beneficent Providence, who i sees all things, held my destiny in the hollow of his hand, and naught could prevail to change r , my fate. Ihe horrible brute had driven his horns deep into the breast of my poor Charley, and now sprang upon us both, with bis sharp i hoofs, trampling over our prostrate forms., , How T ever escaped the tread of those feet, and the struggles ot my dying charger, I can not imagine, but I received but a few trifling wounds, and the fear'of a sudden cruel death, was the greatest suffering I was called upon to bear. j As T lay, partially shielded by Charley's body, fqickly drew my hunting knife, and; when the bull came upon me, with a hoof on i either side of my hpad —fairly pinning rr.e to J the ground. I made one ghastly cut from one i side ol his throat to the other, aided by the j superhuman strength which sometimes aids us ' in the hour of mortal terror. The prairie-le viathan raised himself with a covulsive shud der, and drawing back with a demoniac roar which has rung in my ears ever since, foil dead by my side! I'oran hour, I could nof collect mv energies enough to think or act connectedly. I laughed, I wept, J prayed, I shouted, and I sung; far more like a lunatic, than a sane man. At length I became calm, and saw, by the declin ingsun, that I must hasten back, as 1 must now travel afoot. Jt was late at night ere 1 reached the "oak-opening," where I had lunched that morning, and but for the intense ! brilliancy of the Texan moonlight, I should ! have been hopelessly lost on the trackless prairie. As it was, f could s*e the distant forest outline distinctly, and on reaching this pou.t, knew my way homeward to the ranche. My companions would not at first believe the la.'ej told ; but I finally convinced them, by | .-.howing (f.e marks of the bull's hoofs upon ; the skirts of my buckskin coat, and bv the trav- I el.vained condition! of my habiliments "ener- ! I ally. * " ° Ihe next day, we went to the scene of mv encounter, and as the wolves haJ not yet ; Inched the caicass of the bison, I skinned it, that J might have a trophy of mv fight. The skin now covers rny lounge, in tft is room where I am writing. -My sorest grief was for my horse. Poor ( bar ley ' 1 mourn-d his !oati rnanv oilier fine steeds afterwards, but could never find one to hll his place. I killed my buffalo, hut at a i ;ould hardly have paid, had I known COI'IIAGE IN WOMEN. There is a branch of general education which is not thought at all necessary for women :as , regards which, indeed, it is well if they are not brought up to cultivate the opposite. Women are not taught to be courageous. Indeed, to some persons, courage may seem as unnecessary for woman a-. Latin and Greek. Yet there are few tilings that would tend to make women happier in themselves, and more acceptable to those with whom they live, than courage.— I'here are many women of the present day, sensible women in other things, w hose panic . terrors are a frequent souice of discomfort to , themselves and those around them. iN'uw, it is a great mistake to imagine that hardness must go with courage ; and that the bloom of gentle- ! ness and sympathy rr.ust ail he lulbed ofl'by that vigor which gives presence of mind,! enables a person to be useful in peril, and makes > the desire to assist overcome that sickliness of : sensibility which can only contemplate distress and difficulty. So tar from courage being un feminine, there is a peculiar grace and dignity in those beings who have little active power i of attack or defence, passing through danger ; with a moral courage which is equal to that of the strongest. We see this in great things. We perfectly appreciate the sweet and noble digni ty of an Anne Boleyn, a Mary Queen of Scots, or a Marie Antoinette. We see that it is grand for these delicately bred, high nurtured, help less personages to meet Death with a silence and confidence like his own. There is no beauty lin fear. It is a mean, ugly, dishevelled crea- ; r lure. jVo statue can be made of it that a wo- I man would u ish to see herself like. We may be quite sure that, without losing j any of the most delicate and refined of feminine ! | graces, women may be taught not to give way ! to unreasonable fi-ar?, which should belong no more to the fragile than to the robust. THE TREE GEM'LEMA.V, j Such gentlemen as a certain author describes ] in the following paragraph, are nut to be met ; every day ; and should any unmarried lady j chance to find one, we advise her to secure him 1 forthwith, as one of lire most perfect works from the atelier ol the Divine Architect : "Show me a man who can quit the brilliant j society of the young to listen to the kindly I voice of age—who can hold cheerful conversa tion with one whom years have deprived of all charms ; show me the man who is willing to ; help the dt formed, who stand in need ot help, as it the blush of Helen mantled on his cheek ; show me the man who would no sooner look j rudely at the poor girl in the village than at the well-dressed lady in the saloon : show me the man who treats unprotected maidenhood as h* would the heiress, surrounded by the power ful protection of rank and family :show me he | that abhors the libertine's gibe—who shuns him as the blasphemer and traducer of his mother's sex who scorns, as he would the coward, the ridiculer ola woman's reputation ; show me a ran who never forgets for an instant the deli cacy and respect that is due to a woman, in any condition or class, and you show me a true ■ gentleman." I A Good Idea. —There is a rule in a debating so . ciefy that we have heard of, which is, "that any t gentleman wishing to speak more than half an r hour, shall have a room to himself.'' Freedom of Thought and Opinion. BEDFORD, PA., FRIDAY MORNING, MARCH 19, 1858. j THE POOR MANAS ANGEL. A dark angel, with heavy wings, stood bv the side ot an Atheist, the room was the home of a poor man ; the poor man looked very sorrowful, but by his side, unseen, stood a bright angel. ■Don t know, Jake," said the poor man, crouching closer to the little brazier ot coals; place SeemS l ° me th ' 3 Wor,d ' s a mi S ht y mean "The world's good enough; it's the people hat is jn it," said the philosopher Jake. '\vel), J don't know, I tell you," sard the poor man ; "here's this cold weather. If a man ain't got no work, jest see how it freezes him. Here 1 am pinched up with the cold, no over coat, no warm thick clothes, and when I cr Q out it seems as il the wind owed me a spite and jest whistled through my bones 'cause it knows it hurts. Then there's the earth vou crack up so, don t yield me nothing; only them that can pay, get the corn and the potatoes. It I should ask anything of it, it would only give me a pavin stone 'cordin' to Scripter." The nature that you talk about and call the great essence, and all that, is mighty putty sometimes, if a man s got time to enjoy It, but (ben it rains, bails, thunders, and snows, and nature likes to drip down n.y cracks in the wall, and a little spite fuller than it does on the ground. .Nature don't give me a coat to wear, and make me a pair of pantaloons. No, Jake, I'll give in ; I ain't got as much larnin as you have, but I'll be blistered if I don't think there's a better place than this somewhere. Praps your'e honest 'a !u j n vou say there's no Got), and nature's our mother, an all that but it don't give a poor fel low any consolation when he ain't got any bread and butter. That's sol Now when I was a lithe feller, I had a good mother—yes, Jake I had so! I have known the time when she was that hungry she jest up and ciied for herself 3tid me too. And then remember she jest down and prayed fo the Lord iiial He would send her some bread, and he sent it ! lie did so! "Don't believe it 1 All a yarn! Well, I guess if you'd gone hungry twenty-four hours ) ju >i a believed that bread was bread, and not yarn, when you got hold of it. I te|| y OU , somebody brought a basket chuck full of bread and meat, ar.d knocked at our door and pushed il in, and di lot say nothing. Then savs my mother, say s she: Hob don't never forgit to pray ; but J haven't minded her once," and the rough man drew closer to the smoking coals and hid his face in his hands while the" bright angel drew closer to him. " V "' •' 'twan't