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,t.ttrt Vothi.
INDEPENDENCE.
We como with joy and gladness,
To breathe our songs of praise,
Nor let one note of sadness
Be mingled in our lays;
For 'tis a hallow'd story,
This theme of freedom's birth;
Our fathers' deeds of glory
Are echoed round the earth.
The sound is waxing stronger,
And thrones and nations hear—
Proud roan shall rule no longer,
For God the Lord is near;
dud ho will crush oppression,
And raise tho humble mind,
And give the earth's possession
Among the good and kind.
And then shall sink the mountains,
Where pride and power are crown'd,
And peace like gentle fountains,
Shall shed Its pureness round.
O God! we would adore thee,
And in thy shadow rest—
Our neerans how'd before thee
And trusted and were blest.
~nteresting
LOSING. ONE'S TEMPER
BY MRS. MARY GRAHAM
I was sitting in my room one morning, feel
ing all " out• of sorts" about something or
other, when an orphan child, whom I had
taken to raise, came in with a broken tumbler
in her hand, and said, while her young face
was p , ale, and her little lip quivered—
" bee, ma'am I I went to take this tumbler
from the dresser to get Anna a drink of wa
ter, and I let it fall."
I was in a fretful humor before the child
came in, and her appearance, with the bro
ken tumbler in her hand, did riot tend to
help me to a better state of mind. She was
suffering a good deal of pain in consequence
of the accident, and needed a kind word to
quiet the disturbed beatings of her heart.—
But she had come to me in an unfortunate
moment.
"You are a careless little girl !" said I se
verely, taking the fragments of glass from
her trembling hand. " A very careless little
girl, and I am displeased with you 1"
I said no more, but my countenance express
ed even stronger rebuke than my words.—
The child lingered near me fora few mom en ts,
and then shrunk away front the room. I
was sorry in a moment that I had permitted
myself to speak unkindly to the little girl,
for there was no need of my doing so, and
moreover, she had taken my words, as I
could see, deeply to heart. 1 had made her
unhappy without a cause. The breaking of
the tumbler was an accident, likely to happen
to any one, and the child evidently felt bad
enough about what had occurred without hav
ing my displeasure added thereto. If I was
unhappy before Jane entered my room, I
was still more unhappy after she had retired.
I blamed myself and pitied the child ; but
this did not in the least mend the matter.
In about half an hour, Jane came up very
quietly with Willy, my dear little curly-haired
angel-faced boy, in her arms. lle had fallen
asleep, and she had, with her utmost strength,
carried him up stairs. She did not lift her
eyes to mine as she entered, but went, with
her burden to the low bed that was in the
room, where she laid him tenderly, and then
sat down with her face turned partly away
from me, and with a fan, kept off the flies,
and cooled his moist skin.
Enough of Jane's countenance was visible
to enable me to perceive that its expression
was sad. And it was an unkind word from
my lips that had brought this cloud over her
young face 1
"So much for permitting myself to fall
into a fretful mood," said I mentally. "In
future I must he more watchful over my state
of mind. I have no right to make others
suffer from my own unhappy temper."
Jane continued to sit by Willy and fan him,
and every now' nd. then I could hear a very
low sigh come up, as if involuntarily from
her bosom. Faint as the sound was, it smote
upon my ear, and added to my unaccountable
state of "mind.
A friend called, and I went down into the
parlor and sat conversing there for an hour.
But all the while there was a weight upon
my feelings. I tried but in vain, to be cheer
ful. I was too distinctly aware of the fact
that an individual—and that a motherless
little girl—was unhappy through my unkind
ness ; and the consciousness was like a heavy
hand upon my bosom.
" This is all a weakness," I said to myself,
after my friend had left, making an effort to
throw off the uncomfortable feeling. But it
was of no avail. Even if the new train of
thought, awakened by conversation with my
friend, had lifted me above the state of mind
in which I was when she came, the sight of
Jane's sober face, as she passed me on the
stairs, would have depressed my feelings
again.
In crder both to relieve my own and the
child's feelings, I thought I would refer to
the broken tumbler; and tell her not to grieve
herself about it, as its loss was of no conse
quence whatever. But this would have been
to have made an acknowledgement to her
that I had been in the wrong, and an instinct
ive feeling of pride remonstrated against
that.
"Ah me!" I sighed. "Why did I permit
myself to speak so unguardedly? How small
are the causes that sometimes destroy our
peace How much of good or evil is there
in a single word."
Some who read this may think that I was
very weak to let a hastily uttered censure
against a careless child trouble me. What
are a child's feelings ?
I have been a child; and as a child been
blamed severely by those whom I desired to
Please, and. that unkind words fell heavier
$1 50
75
50
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. XIII.
and more painfully, sometimes, than blows.
I could, therefore, understand the nature of
Jane's feelings and sympathise with her to a
certain extent.
All through the day, Jane moved about
more quietly than usual. When I spoke to
her of anything—which I did in a kinder
voice than I ordinarily used—she would look
into my face with an earnestness that rebuked
me.
Toward evening I sent her down stairs for
a pitcher of cool water. She went directly,
and soon returned with a pitcher of water
and a tumbler and a waiter. She was com
ing towards me, evidently using more than
ordinary caution, when her foot tripped
against something, and she stumbled. forward.
It was in vain she tried to save the pitcher.
Its balance was lost, and it fell over and was
lost—aye, it fell over and was broken to pieces
at my feet, the water dashing upon the skirts
of my dress.
The poor child became instantly as pale as
ashes, and the frightened look she gave, I
shall not soon forget. She tried to speak,
and say that it was an accident, but her
tongue was paralyzed for the moment, and
she found no utterance. The lesson I had
received in the morning, served me for pur
poses of self-control now, and I said instantly
in a mild voice :
" Never mind, Jane ; I know you could
not help it. I must tack down the loose edge
of the carpet. I Caine near tripping there
myself to-day. Go and get a floor cloth as
quickly as you can, while I gather up the bro
ken pieces."
The color came back instantly to Jane's
face. She gave me one grateful look, and
then ran quickly away, to do as I had direc
ted her. When she came back, she blamed
herself for not having been more careful, ex
pressed sorrow for the accident, and promised
over and over again that she would be more
guarded in future.
The contrast between both of our feelings
now, and what they were in the morning was
very great. I felt happier for having acted
justly and with due self-control ; and my lit
tle girl, though troubled on account of the
accident, had not the extra burden of my dis
pleasure to hear.
" Better, far better," I said to myself, as I
sat and reflected upon the incidents just rela
ted—" better, is it, in all our relations in life
to maintain a calm exterior, and on no ac
count to speak harshly to those who are be
low us. Angry words make double wounds.
They hurt those to whom they are addressed,
while they leave a sting behirid them. Above
all, should we guard against a moody tem
per. Whenever we permit any thing to fret
our minds, we are not in a state to exercise
self-control, and if temptation comes then,
we are sure to fall."
" My dear," said Mr. Huston, to his young
wife, as he rose from his breakfast table, "I
wish you would mend my overcoat pocket.—
The day is pleasant, so that I can leave the
coat off without inconvenience."
" Very well, my love," was the reply, and
a moment after the front door closed on the
husband, who departed to the store, where he
filled the place of a responsible clerk.
Mrs. Huston arose to attend to her domes
tic affairs, and occupied in them, soon forgot
the torn coat-pocket. About noon she had
finished her work, and having a spare hour
before dinner, she sat down and took up a
late novel. In this way she continued to
overlook the torn pocket, until the meal was
over, and her husband had again left the
house, when going to look for the ouercoat,
she found that Mr. Huston had put it on, the
weather having grown colder.
"Oh, well, it will do to-night," said the
wife. "I suppose he will scold when he finds
I forgot it; but it can't be helped now."
The truth was, Mrs. Huston was what is
called "a good, easy woman;" that is, she
never intentionally harmed any one, but was
only thoughtless and forgetful—her sins were
those of omission. So she found no difficul
ty in dismissing all uncomfortable thoughts
concerning the torn pocket; and resuming
her novel was soon deep in the miseries of
the heroine.
About dusk there came a violent ring at
the bell. It was a magnetic ring as it were,
and expressed anger, or great tribulation, if
not both. It made the somewhat nervous
Mrs. Huston start with a little shriek. She
stopped reading, and listened.
Directly the servant opened the door, and
the step of her husband was heard, but heav
ier and quicker than usual. Her heart, un
accountably, began to beat faster. "Oh !
dear," she cried to herself, "what can be the
matter ?"
She was not long left in doubt. Her hus
band came at once into the sitting room, emo
tions of rage and suffering alternating per
ceptibly in his face. Frightened at demean
or so unusual the wife looked up, her lips
parted in terror, and unable even to welcome
him as usual.
" See what you have done," cried Mr. Hus
ton, passionately, taking off his overcoat,
turning the torn pocket inside out, and throw
ing the garment into his hearer's lap. "You
have ruined me with your negligence."
" What, what have I done?" gasped his
wife at last, as ho sternly regarded her.—
"Has anything happened?"
" Anything happened ? Didn't I tell you
I was ruined ? I've lost five hundred dollars
and been dishonored because I lost it ; and
all because you didn't mend my pocket. Nor
is it the first time, as you know, that you have
neglected to do what you ought. You are
always forgetting. I have told you you - would
rue it some day."
" But how did it happen ? Can nothing
be done?" timidly said the wife after awhile.
" How did it happen ? In the most natu
ral way possible. I bad a note to pay for
the firm, and as the bank lay in this part of
the town, I brought the money up as I came
to dinner; and on going out, put it into my
overcoat pocket, supposing you had mended
the rent. When I reached the bank the mon-
1. • - . •
BY JANE WEAVER
....
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• • • • . ,• 0. ••
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ey was gone. Itwas then almost three o'clock.
Almost frantic, I came back within a few
steps of the door, hoping to find the money
on the pavement. It was madness as I might
have known, but I looked again and again,
asking every body I met. At last I went
back to the store. But the news had prece
ded me. The notary had already been there
to protest the note ; and my employers would
not hear a word of excuse. I was discharged
on the spot."
As he ceased speaking he threw himself
on a chair by the table, and buried his face
in his hands. His discharge was indeed, a
terrible blow. Without fortune, or anything
but his character to depend on, he saw, in
his loss of place, and the consequent refusal
of his employers to recommend him, a future
full of disaSters. And all for what ? All
because his wife could not remember the sim
plest duty.
No wonder, in this hour of trouble, that he
turned away from her, and buried his face in
his hands. No wonder he felt angrily to
wards the author of this evil.
For a while Mrs. Huston knew not what to
do. The tears ran down her cheeks, but she
feared to approach her husband. "He will
drive me away," she said to herself. "But I
have deserved it all."
At last she ventured to approach him, and
at last he was induced to listen. 'Pith many
tears she promised never to forget.
Nor has she forgotten it. Years have pas
sed, and the Hustons are now comparatively
well off ; for,after a while, Mr. Huston obtain
ed another situation, and finally became a
partner in the house.
And to this day, when the wife sees either
of her daughters negligent she calls the of
fender to her, and tells, as a warning, the
story of the TORN POCKET.
Occasionally some millionaire builds a man
sion, which is the admiration of the town, or
erects a country house, which, with its grounds,
is the pride and boast of its neighborhood.—
In time the great man dies, becomes insol
vent, goes abroad, or tires of his hobby; and
then the property is put up for sale. Every
body crowds to see the dwelling or drives out
to the country house. The pictures, the fur
niture, the hot-house, of the grounds, are by
terms the theme of admiration. The nimkt
of the sale arrives. The auction roo g
crowded. To judge from the sea of faie
looking up at the crier, one might think that
the competition would be enormous. But the
fact is the reverse. The auctioneer expati
ates long before he dan obtain a single offer ;
the property, at first, seems about to be knock
ed down to the first bidder ; and when, at
last, other offers are made, they come almost
reluctantly, and though the hammer falls
amid a general cry "how cheap," the purcha
ser looks as if he already half repented of
his bargain.
And why ? Simply because it is one thing
to buy a costly house, but quite another thing
to live in it. Men, before they purchase a
stately mansion, should ask themselves wheth
er they can afford to keep it in appropriate
style. A hundred thousand dollars for a
dwelling makes necessary thousands of dol
lars for furniture, thousands for dress and
equipage, and thousands more for servants,
parties, Newport and Saratoga. There is a
fitness in things, demanded by public opin
ion, which requires these expenses, and to
this opinion nine men out of ten sooner or
later practically yield, even if they, or their
wives, do not embark in the extravagance at
once. But usually there is no backwardness
in this respect. Fitznoodle purchases a new
house, with rose-wood doors, walnut stair-ca
ses, stained-glass windows, and, before he
has fairly recorded his deed, Mrs. Fitznoodle
wants the walls frescoed and pannelled with
satin, and ten thousand other superfluities.—
The estimated cost of the movement is soon
trebled. ; the annual outlay grows in propor
tion ; and Mr. Fitznoodle is either ruined, or
condemned to groan, forever after, over his
increasing expenses.
What is true of the would-be fashionable
is just as true, however, of persons with more
limited means. If men, worth only a hun
dred thousand dollars or two, ape the mil
lionaire's style of living, so do young mer
chants, professional men, even clerks and
mechanics, ape those richer than themselves.
The weakness of wishing to live in a fine
house is almost universal. The fine house,
too, is relative, for that which a millionaire
scorns, the young merchant thinks superb,
and that which the merchant looks down on,
the clerk pinches himself to obtain. It is
amazing how many families live in dwel
lings beyond their means! The miserable
shifts to which such families are driven in or
der to keep up appearances, are melancholy
to think upon. In the end, too, the head of
the family dies, having laid by nothing, and
the widow of the children sick into a hope
less poverty, the more poignant to them, be
cause of the mortification attending it. It
would be well if the question was sooner
asked, when moving into a better house is
proposed, "can we afford to live in it?"—
Philadelphia Ledger.
,Some man, from a considerable way
down East, has invented what he calls the
"Patent never-failing Garden-Preserver, or
Hen-Walker." The invention consists of a
small instrument, something like a spur, only
considerably longer, which is attached to the
hind part of the hen's leg, pointing at an an
gle of forty-five degrees toward the ground.—
When the hen, with this instrument on her
legs, enters the garden in the spring, after
the seeds, and puts her foot forward to scratch,
the "walker" catches in the ground and
forces her forward, and thus she is walked in
her efforts to scratch, entirely out of the gar
den. That will do?
ger " Ma," said a little girl to her mother,
"do the men want to get married as much as
the women do ?" "Pshaw, child, what are
you talking about ?" " Why, ma, the wo
men who come here are always talking about
getting married—the men don't do so."
H.UNTINGDON, PA., JULY 1, 1857.
Can we afford to Live in it ?
-PERSEVERE.-
The Workings of Mormonism
An English clergyman, who left England
to join the Mormons, returned to London in
September last. He has just published a vol
ume giving his opinion of the saints found in
the vicinity of the Great Salt Lake. We
quote:
" One of the most repulsive features of
Mormonism is the proxy system. This is
so destructive to every good and honest
feeling that many staunch Mormonites re
ject it altogether. I heard one of the old
est discipls say, that nothing on earth
would ever persuade him to believe in it,
and that if he had a dot -, that believed in
it, he would shoot him. 'ST.L. or will any read
er be surprised when he knows what it is.
I will endeavor to explain it briefly. When
a married man is called by conference to a for
eign mission, he has the privilege, as they
call it, before leaving home, of choosing
some one to take the oversight of his cat
tle, goods, and whatever he may possess;
to provide for and overlook the family, and
to become the pro-tempore husband of the
wife."
The ostensible reason for this arrangement
is to prevent the husband from " suering
any loss" during his absence on missionary
labors, since the greatness of his "future
kingdom" depends upon the number of child
ren he has here. To carry out this idea, the
wife is handed over to a deputy husband,
who maintains his position in the family till
the husband returns. Base and immoral as
this theory may be, it is strongly advocated
by the leading men at the Great Salt Lake.
We again quote the returned clergyman :
"But there is something more awful and
paralyzing than all I have yet narrated. I
mean the fearful sin of incest, which is so
'intimately and closely connected with polyg
amy. I could particularize instances where
mother and daughter are married to the
same man, and live with him as his wives ;
others, where brother and sister are man and
wife, and son. Brigham Young, speaking
once upon this subject in the Tabernacle,
said he hoped the day was not far distant
when these principles would be more fully
taught and acted upon, and That children
would he brought up to regard each other
as future partners, for that thus the family
would become more compact."
As "a case in point," we would mention
that some ten months since, there was a man
at Liverpool, who held the office of counsellor
to the British Presidency, who, aided by the
authorities there and the emigration fund,
persuaded a family—father, mother and three
datighter§, the youngest in her teens—to em
igrate to Zion. They had been a highly re
spectable family, and their character is irre
proachable. On arriving at their destination,
the missionary demanded the three daugh
ters in marriage, and the parents gave a most
reluctant consent. This man of God (as he
styled himself) was married by Brigham
Young, to these three on the same day, and
twit them together, to his house, where he
had a younc , wife already, and which house
consisted of one room for the accommo
dation of them all. In about a year one
brought forth a daughter and another a son.
This caused him great rejoicing, as lie said
that the sons would in time marry the daugh
ters, and thus inalienably becomee 4 ,the foun
dation of his kingdom.
This statement reads like a fable and yet
there is no state of facts more easily proved.
That such a doctrine should exist in a Chris
tian land, in the year of our Lord 1857, is
one of those peculiar monstrosities which no
amount of logic can account for. Mormon
ism is the great evil of the day. How shall
it be got rid of, is difficult to say. It may be
put down by force, but it will not be put down
by reason; for if men could reason, they
never would become Mormons.
What they Eat in New York
Hogs Fattened upon Dead Rats, Cats, Dogs,
and Refuse Poultices from the Hospitals.
Blessed are the people who don't live in
New York. Such a picture as was recently
disclosed to the view of an investigating
committee of health wardens and policemen
is enough to make a Christian become a Jew
—at least to a certain extent. Near the
grounds which are to form the new Central
Park there are a number of establishments
where swine are raised, and from which they
are sold into the New York market. This
committee visited these establishments on
Thursday week, and we quote the subjoined
sketch of one of them from the report of
their investigation which WO find in the Tri
bune:
The first one that was visited, and the One
at which the most disgusting scenes were en
acted was a piggery located to the east of
Broadway, in Fifty-ninth street, and owned
by one Charles Oberlauder. This man raises
a large number of hogs every year for the
market, and has for a long time been engaged
in the business. But the manner in which
he does it is disgraceful in the very last de
gree. It is disgraceful to the man himself,
and disgraceful to the city of New York.—
Upon an examination of his premises some
of the most disgusting sights were witnessed.
The law states that only four pigs shall be
allowed upon one lot, while this man had
more than one hundred in a pen which
measured fifty by one hundred feet. A heap
of rubbish, which had been covered by Ober
lander's wife when she espied the officers,
was found to contain large quantities of in
testines of animals mixed up with other
masses of putrid matter. After this was ex
amined, the captain and his men went all
round the premises, and everywhere they
went they found bones of all kinds, the car
casses of dead dogs, pigs and cats cut up in
pieces for the pigs to eat. There were also
dead rats in abundance. Upon examining
more minutely everything that was seen on
the ground, it was ascertained that rags
with dried poultices upon them were among
the lot. All kinds of filth and garbage were
mixed up together with them. The wife of
/C.
this man when she was sharply questioned,
reluctantly confessed that all these things
were given to the pigs to eat, and that they
were fed upon nothing else than this kind of
stuff, and such other garbage as can, be
gathered through the city. She saidAhat
her husband was paid to take away from.the
city hospital all the offal that it is to be found
in that place, and that he removed at least
one load every day. This offal is composed
of all kinds of matter. It was found to con
tain the beds that were found to be unfit to
keep in the hospital, from having been used
by the very worst patients, and containing
dangerous contagious diseases, all the old
clothes that have been used by the physi
cians and Students, and the rags upon which
the poultices were placed. Then there was
the other filth and offal of the hospital in ad
dition to these, all mixed up together.
Oberlander, upon being asked what he
did with the beds and rags, which ho carried
away from the New York Hospital, said that
he emptied the straw out for the pigs to lie
on, and then he sold the ticks for making
paper. The rags, also, after the swine had
eaten, were washed and sold for the same
purpose.
Praise your Wife
Praise your wife, man; for pity's sake give
her a little encouragement; it won't hurt her.
She has made your - home comfortable, your
hearth bright and shining, your food agreea
ble, for pity's sake tell her you thank her, if
nothing more. She don't expect it; it will
make her eyes open wider than they have for
these ten years, but it will do her some good
for all that, and you too.
There are many women to-day thirsting
for the word of praise, the language of en
couragement. 'Through Summer's heat and
Winter's toil they have drudged uncomplain
ingly, and so accustomed have their fathers,
brothers and. husbands become to their mo
notonous labors, that they look for and upon
them as they do the daily rising of the sun
and its daily going down. Homely every
day life may be made beautiful by an appre
ciation of its very homeliness. You know
that if the floor is clean, manual labor has
been performed to make it so. You know
that it you can take from your drawer a clean
shirt whenever you want it, that somebody's
fingers have ached in the toil of making it
so fresh and. agreeable, so smooth and lus
trous. Everything that pleases the eye and
the sense has been produced by constant
work, much thought, great care and untiring
- efforts, bodily and mentally.
It is not that many men do not appreciate
these things and feel a glow of gratitude for
the numberless attentions bestowed upon
them in sickness and in health, but they are
so selfish in that feeling. They don't come
out with a hearty "Why, how pleasant you
make things look, wife !" or,
"I am obliged
to you for taking so much pains !" They
thank the tailor for giving them " fits;" they
thank the man in a full omnibus who gives
them a seat; they thank the young lady who
moves along in the concert room—in short,
they thank everybody and everything out of
doors because it is the custom, and come
home, tip their chairs back and their heels
up, pull out the newspaper, grumble if wife
asks them to take the baby, scold if the fire
has got down, or, if everything is just right,
shut their mouths with a smack of satisfac
tion, but they will never say to her, " I
thank you."
I tell you what, men, young and old, if
you did but show an ordinary civility towards
those common articles of honsekeeping, your
wives, if you gave the one hundred and six
tieth part of the compliments you almost
choked them with before they were married,
and if you would stop the badinage about
who you are going to have when number one
is dead, (such things wives may laugh at,
but they sink deep sometimes,) if you would
cease to speak of their faults, however ban
teringly, before others, fewer women would
seek for other sources of happiness' than
your apparently cold; so-so-ish affection.—
Praise your wife, then, for all good qualities
she has, and you may rest assured that her
deficiencies are fully counterbalanced by
your own.
A BEAUTIFUL INCIDENT.—A correspondent
of the Preston (England) Chronicle gives the
following anecdote:
" A (rood while ago a boy. named Charlie
had a large' r dog which was very fond of the
water, and in hot weather ho used to swim
across the river near which the boy lived.—
One day the thought struck him that it would
be fine fun to make the dog carry him across
the river, so he tied a string to the dog's col
lar, and ran down with him to the water's
edge,where he took off all his clothes; and
then, holding hard by the dog's neck and the
bit of string he went into the water, and the
dog pulled him across. After playing about
on the other side for some time, they returned
in the way they went—but when Charlie
looked for his clothes, he could find nothing
but his shoes! The wind had blown all the
rest into the water. The dog saw what had
happened and making his little master let go
of the string, by making believe to bite him,
he dashed in the river, and brought out
first his coat, and then all the rest in suc
cession.
Charlie dressed, and went home in his wet
clothes, and told his mother what fun he and
the dog had had. His mother told him that
he did very wrong in going across the river as
he had done, and that he should thank God
for making the dog take him over and back
again safely ; for if the dog had made him let
go in the river, he would most likely have
sunk, and been drowned. Little Charlie
said, "Shall I thank God now, mamma ?"
and he kneeled down at his mother's knee
and thanked God ; then, getting up again, he
threw his arms round his dog's neck, saying,
"I thank you, too, dear doggie, for not let
ting go." Little Charlie is now Admiral Sir
Charles Napier.
13e-However small a society may be, if it
is a human one, jealousy will creep in some
where. _
Editor an.d Proprietor.
NO. 2.
A 'Remarkable Meteor---If not a Corn6t,
Something that , ‘Struck" as 'lard.
The Utica papers have an account of avert
singular phenomenon, which was witnessed
on Saturday, lath inst., and which caused
the death of two persons :
During the afternoon, a tunhel , shaped;
moving body, of a nebulous character, ap
peared at a point over Utica, nioiring rapidly
along, with a humming sound. It struck the
ground, near the dwelling of a Mr. Root, in
Deerfield, tearing down a fence or two, and;
passing on, gradually settling lower and low- :
er. At last, having reached a point, some
five miles in a northeasterly direction front
this city, near the dwelling of Mr. Nathan
Budlong, in Schuyler ; it made a descent upon
his barn, ripped it up ; and scattered it to the
winds. Then ; passing on, tearing-up trees;
fences and outhouses, in its terrible course,
it - finally struck the dwelling of Mr. John
Warren, which was lifted from its stone foun
dation, carried a distance of some fifteen feet,
through the air, and dashed in splinters upon
the ground, leaving a clean plat of 'grass be
tween the place where it had stood and the
pile of rubbish.
In the house were a family of six—parents
and children. Mr. Warren, seeing the ter
rible object rushing down upon him, tearing
up trees and fences in its onward course, and
buzzing like a thousand hornets' nests com
bined, called upon his wife and children in
stantly to accompany him to the cellar, and,
suiting the action to the word, seized two of
the children, and leaped down the stairway.
The wife essayed to follow, but her footsteps
were tardy ; she was a moment—an instant
too late ; the engine of destruction tore the
building up, carrying herself and child, to
gether with a little son, who was behind her,
with it. The husband had but time to see
her ascend with the building that tore away
from above him, and then he stood exposed
to the day, in his open cellar. lle went to
view the ruin of his home; it was complete.
Here lay the dead and nude body of his wife,
the destroying power having stripped 'the
clothing from her person ; there lay his son,
covered with blood, and senseless; and, just
beyond, his dwelling lay, one such mass .of
destruction as probably never was beheld be
fore. Broken and splintered bedsteads, cra
dles, tables, pots, kettles, chairs, boxes,
trunks, crockery, tinware, bats, clothes, stoves;
bottles, bricks, plaster, clocks, beams, stories ;
shingles, and endless et ceteras, lay crushed
and crumbled in one heap before him.
Next, in the due southeasterly line of its
course, it unrooted several large trees, scat
tered the fences, crossed the road, and demol
ished a large barn, belonging to Mr. John
M. Budlong. This building was of recent
and very substantial build, and 35 by
. 50 feet
upon its base, yet the destructive element
tore it to pieces, scattering large timbers about
the fields at a distance of from five to fifteen
rods, distributing the roof in various direc
tions, and actually taking up an iron cylin
der threshing machine, weighing perhapa
four hundred pounds, and deposited it at least
eighty feet from the barn. A cow belonging
to Mr. 8., standing near the barn, was killed,
without any apparent outward wound. About
SO rods farther on, in a direct line, a smaller
barn, belonging to the same gentleman, was
demolished; and what is very singular in this
instance, but little of the material of which
it was constructed is to be found anywhere.
A few shivered boards and timbers alone at
test to its previous existence. The dwelling
of Mr. Budlong had a narrow escape. A
shingle or two torn from one corner of the
roof, indicate how narrowly it escaped des
truction.
Beyond the premises of Mr. 8., for about
a mile, prostrate trees and fences evidence
the track of the destructive messenger. It,
however, seemed to have released its hold
upon the earth soon after leaving the farm of
Mr. 8., for it was distinctly seen to rise from
the surface and dissolve its conical shape into
a general cloudy form. The phenomenon
was followed by violent rain and wind. Two
men, at work in a field, saw the strange ap
parition approach, and took to their heels,
barely escaping its track as it passed on. It
seemed to raise from the earth in four or five
minutes from the time it was first seen, and
the evidences before us of destruction lie in
a district not over four or five miles in extent,
in a due southeasterly direction from where
its first touch was felt, and in a track about
fifteen rods in width. 'Whatever of material
substance presented itself in this track was
swept away, and the ruin presented is cer
tainly fearful to behold.
Beware of Brandy.
We warn the good people of this city, whu
occasionally take a little "for the stomach's
sake," to beware how they drink brandy, or we
should rather say the red liquid which is hand=
ed out to them at tavern counters, under that
name. It is a well known fact that there is
scarcely a bar-room in the city, however ex
tensive, elegant, orpretentious, that contains
a drop of the genuine article. Indeed, very
little of it comes into the country from France,
and what does come, commands an almost
fabulous price—a price so great at any rate,
as to exclude it almost entirely from the retail
trade. Indeed, even with the best will to sell
a good article, the tavern keeper cannot sure
ly get it. The article, which he buys under.
custom house lock, and which unquestionably
has come from Franco, is nothing more than
a portion of the millions of gallons of "pure
spirit," i. e. alcohol, which has been exported
from this country to receive in France its col
boring and its flavor, from the essential "oil
of Cognac," and then to be imported back.—
This is no illusion, but a fact of daily prac
tice, and it would be safe to conclude, that
any glass which you may take up at any bar
in town, is nothing but colored pure spirit;
flavored with a few drops of the poisonous
oil alluded to. The same may be said of the
stuff that is furnished you in demijohns from
the wholesale grocers and liquor dealers, for
family use, at the rate of five, six, and seven •
dollars a gallon. Through the failure of the
grape in France, and the immense consump
tion of the article of brandy in this country,
not one-twentieth part of the demand made
upon France can be supplied; and as the ma
jor part of this demand is for high priced
brandy, it will at once be seen what perilous
stuff, even the most fastidious and careful
drinkers are obliged to swallow. The only
safe course is, therefore, to abstain from cal'
ling for brandy altogether. There is but lit
tle good in it, even when it is best, and it has
been saddled upon us as a national drink,•
in place of the comparatively harmless bever
ages chosen by other nations, by a school of
red-faced old cocks, who, with the profundity,
if not the sobriety of the oracles, yoked our
necks years ago, with the notion that a little
brandy was "the best thing in the world
for the stomach," especially •after eating
oysters, a douple fallacy, as has long ago been
proven. We, therefore, advise that brandy
be• permitted to go out of fashion—at least
while it is out of the country.—Fortcr's ,Spirit
of the Times.
_
ige•Scarce—One-line items;