The globe. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1856-1877, March 13, 1861, Image 1

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Fleecy rails of white were floating
Through the azure sky;
While a sufferer, wan and weary,
Watched them sailing by—
:Smiling sweetly, pointing upward
To his home on high.
Loving arms chi tig round him,
And a golden head
Nestled softly on his bosom,
And a child-voice said:
' , Von% dear father, ever leave us,
I wilt die instead."
Ohl those 'crushing words of sorrow
Woke a piercing pain,
tPhfch wrung out the drops of anguish
Like a shower of rain,
From the glazing ey ea that never
Would shed team again.
For Scatted shadow, gently falling
On his brow or snow,
'Told us he was surely passing
From all earthly woe;
ho whispered: "God is calling:
- I mud quickly go."
Widowed wife and orphan children—
Darlings, do not weep I
For the last time let me bless you ;
Slay the angels keep
Sacred watch beside you ever,
While in death I sleep."
An Adventure in the Freshet.
I went up from New Orleans to col
lect some heavy demands which our
house had against a few of the Arkan
sas planters. It was early in March
when I started; and I took this season
for two reasons : First, we were anx
ious for settlements, as it bad been
whispered that one of our creditors, at
least, was about to sell out and move
to California; and, secondly, I wished,
if possible, to avoid the spring freshets,
which would be sure to come in a few
weeks at the furthest. At Napoleon '
I had the good fortune to find one of
our creditors, with whom I made an
easy settlement. I then went up the
Arkansas River, to Belleville, where I
found another. From hero I was
obliged to go across the country to
wards Manchester. My intention had
been to follow the river up as far as
Little Rock, and then strike down from
there upon the Arehidelphia and Wash
ington highway; but the meeting with
the man at Napoleon had rendered it
unnecessary for me to go to Little
Rock; so I decided to take the shorter
route, trusting that I should make my
way without. much trouble. I pur
chased a good, stout horse, and set out
from Belleville, taking nearly a west
ern course. The road was bad enough,
being wholly unfit-. r
f 0 INI - 11 grea ct r 0 bl eon the first day.
On the second day the weather was
very warm, and towards the middle of
the afternoon it began to rain; it did
not rain hard, however, and I kept on,
reaching a hamlet of some half-dozon
dwelling-houses before dark, where I
found accommodations for the :night.
Between that time and morning it
rained considerable, as I could hear
the heavy drops patter upon the thach
es above me. Thesun did not rise
clear, but as the day broke it
had ceased raining, and I determined
to set forth on my journey, When
I told ray host which way I was
bound, he shook his head, and told me
that I might find trouble before I got
through. I replied that I should go
on until I did find it; all of which he
said, I had a perfect right to do.
At noon I reached a hut, where a
rough specimen of humanity, named
Binks, kept a store, a post-office, and
a tavern. I saw no other dwellings,
but supposed there must be some not
far off. Here I got dinner, and had
my horse fed. It had been lowery all
the forenoon, with some slight attempts
at rain, but not enough to wet me.—
As I called for my horse, after dinner,
Binks asked me how far I was going.
I answered him, by asking another
question. I asked if he knew how far
it, was to Col. Mortier's.
"Yes," hereplied, "Mortier lives just
beyond Big Indian Creek. Ye aiut
coin' thar, be yer?"
I told him I was.
"'Taint safe, stranger," he added.—
The colonel's place is a good twenty
mile away right over the lowest of
"But why isn't it safe ?"
" Why, he repeated, seeming to
wonder at my question. "" I'll tell ye
why, stranger. It's been a raisin';
and it's been warm; and I'm rather of
the mind that the snow's been a melt
in' an' iunnin' on the mountains and
bluffs. Ye see we don't catch it here
right Off; but when it does come it
comes with a•rush. If you don't find
water enough afore ye get to Colonel
3Lortiees ' then my name aint Torn
Rinks, that's all."
There was some reason in what the
fellow said, but still I did not appre
hend the danger - which. he .pictured;
and I resolved to keep on. He ,told
me that I would find but one more
house before I came to Mortices.
" And," he added, " it'll be a lone
some road after ye leave that. The
path's plain enough, if ye can - only
keep it above water • but the trees are
big and plenty on the low bottom,,and
I'm afeared ye'll find it dark enough
afore ye come to the creek. Howsum
ever, once over the Big Indian, and
ye'll be safe enough; for the Colonel's
house is on a bluff, an' out o' the way
o' danger."
I thanked the man for his informa
tion, and then set forth. In an hour I
came to the house which had been
mentioned, where I found au old wo
man alone at home, the men having
i gone off with their guns. I got a drink
of water for myself and horse, and
pushed on. Half an hour afterwards
the rain began to fall in good earnest;
and by and by I come to a small stream
which which, from the appearance of
the banks, and the color of the water,
.....$1 60
1 ,, , ...- .;,-..
~... •t .
'WILLIAM LEWIS, Editor and Proprietor.
I knew must be considerably swollen.
However, I forded it without difficul
ty, and kept on. The land was now
lower, and the trees, as Biala had said,
grew thick and large. It was a low,
dismal forest, and the great rain-drops
came down with a pattering anything
but comfortable or musical. Still, the
path was plain, and I urged my horse
forward. I had noticed that the wind
and rain had come sweeping down
from the northward and westward,
and I wondered what might be the re
suit if the snows had broken loose away
off among the peaks of the Massernes.
But, never mind—if I was lucky, two
hours would bring me out upon the
bluff beyond the Big Indian, and I
should then be safe enough.
In half an hour more I came to an
other stream, which I found much
swollen; but my horse forded it with
out difficulty. The rain now fell in
torrents, and the water lay in great
pools along the hoof-beaten track; and
in a little while I found several small
stream° washing across m3r way which
had no particular bed. They must, I
knew, be streams of very recent for
mation ; but I did not then see, their
full significance. On I went, the wa
ter increasing in my . path, .and the
new-made streams occurring more fre
quently. I began to wish that I had
listened to Binks; for it was very
dark and dismal in the woods, and the
storm was on the increase. But the
Colonel's plat 9 could not be over an
hour away, at the outside; and, per
haps, not over half an hour, for I could
not well judge how fast I had travelled.
Ere long the sound of rushing wa
ter broke upon my ear, and soon I
came to a point where a broad sheet
was washing across the road; but I
could tell by the trunks of the trees
that it was not deep, and I waded my
horse through it Shortly after this I
duet two men on horse-back, and learn
that they belonged at the but where I
had last stopped. I asked them how
far it was to Col. Nortier's.
" It's only a couple of miles away;
but ye aint a goin' filar to-night, stran
ger," replied one of them.
" Yes, I told him. "If it's only two
miles off I'll soon reach it."
"It can't be did, I tell ye. The
creek's riz an' the logs en' trees are
sweepin down awful. The biggest
hoss that was ever made couldn't cross
that creek now. Turn-back with us."
But I was not to be turned back so
easily; and I told them. that I would
push on and run the risk.
" We can't stop to argtzfy," returned
the' one who had:fpoken before, "for
thar's a heap o' danger afore us; but
IgrwlitttarTel 6 And With this
he rode on to overtako his companion,
who had been jogging along:
For a few moments I hesitated; Wit
I was too near the end of my journey.
Only two miles. No, no—l would not
turn back yet. I would go as far as
the creek, and see for myself. If it
could not be crossed, I could return
then, and make the best of my way
So on I went, and ere long the sound
of rushing water struck my car. In a
little while I came to the margin of a
turbid stream, which came sweeping
down from the gloom of the deep for
est. I wondered if my horse could
breast the current. It was not wide
—not so formidable as I had expected
to find it from what I had heard of the
creek. While I was reflecting upon
'the matter I cast my eyes up and saw,
at no great distance above me, a place
where several litre trees and logs had
heroine jammed in a narrow part of
the channel, forming a complete bridge
across the stream. If I could reach
that point, I could walk across, and .
guide my horse by the rein while he
swam. As I moved along toward it I
glanced over my left shoulder and saw,
in a distance made dim by the driving
storm, a high hluff, with buildings upon
it. It could not have been over a mile
away, and was, of course, the habita
tion of the man whom I sought. I
took courage,.and pushed on. When
I reached the jam I at once dismount
ed, and having •slipped the rein f”om
my horse's neck, 1 grasped it firmly
in my hand, and stepped out upon
the logs. At first the horse refused to
follow, but finally he plunged in, and,
as he was under the wake of the jam,
he swam without much difficulty.—
The rushing water bore heavily upon
the frail bridge, and swayed it to and
fro with fearful power, while the white
foam dashed over it the whole length.
I had reached the middle, trying every
stop before I made it, when I thought
I felt the fabric giving way beneath
me. Another step, and the surging
and. creaking of the logs told me that
they were going. On the next mo
ment the part behind me went with a
crash. A huge log struck my horse in
the breast, and swept him
_away. I
could only look out for myself. With
a bounding step I leaped forth, reach
ing the shore just as the last log of the
jam went tearing away. I looked for
my horse, but I could not distinguish
him amid the, mass that bore him
down. The poor beast was gone, and
I was left alone to battle my way. I
murmured a regret at the may
• have been a prayer for the noble ani
mal—and then turned my face to the
westward. In a few moments I saw
the bluff again, through a vista in the
trees, and the outlines of the house
were marked against the murky sky;
but it wag not so plain as before. It
was not so light as it had been. Night
was coming on apace. '
I said, when I escaped from the logs,
that I reached the shore. Ah, but it
was a treacherous sunken shore, The
water was almost knee-deep among
the great trees, and moving down with
much force; so that every step had to
be taken with the utmost caution ; and
at times I was forced to catch at the
drooping boughs to steady myself
against the rush of water. But there
was high and dry land ahead, for I
had seen it. I heard a loud roar,
which seemed to increase in volume as
I advanced, but at first I did not pay
much attention to it, as I thought that
the stream behind me was rising. At
length, however, a terrible truth began
to break upon me. The roar not only
increased in volume of tone, but I was
assured that it come from the direc
tion in which I was going! A Jittle
while longer, and I saw it all. A large
stream was before me ! 1 reached its
margin and found it to be a broad deep,
dark river, plunging its mad flood
along, bearing trees, and logs, and
snags upon its foaming bosom! - How
sadly had I been mistaken ! This was
the Big Indian Creek, and the other
was oily a course which bad been
made by the freshet !
The night was now close upon me,
and in a little while it would be dark.
I could see the bluff upon the opposite
side, and the dwelling of my friend
looming up against the fading sky.—
; The water was growing deeper, and I
had to struggle hard to move against
its tido. What miracle was to save
me? By and by I came to a point
lvhere a huge tree, close upon the bank
of the creek, bent its great branches
far over the stream, while upon the
opposite side grew another tree, the
meeting branches of both forming an
arch, below which rolled the dark wa
ters. ' When I saw this, I saw my only
hope, I reached the tree upon my
side, and finally succeeded in climbing
it. I went up as high as I thought
necessary,and then worked my why out
upon one of the longest limbs. I went
out as far as I could, but the prospect
was a dubious one. As the branch
bent beneath my weight, I found that
the connection of the arch was broken.
The branches of the tree upon the op
bositc bank were not far off, but I could
not reach them with my hand. The
thought of leaping out over the tide,
gave my heart such a throb, that for
a few moments, I was , almost power
less. And yet, leap I must, if I would
be saved. And, moreover, there was
no time to lose, for the gloom was
fast gathering upon objects about me,
and shutting them from my vision. I
was two-thirds of the way up the tree,
and, as near as I could judge, some
sixty feet above the water. I could
make the leap, and I might catch some
branch of the opposite tree. :[ placed
my feet carefully, and mada sure of
my hold upon one of the boughs above
me. Then I waited a moment to get
breath, and to utter a prayer. Then,
with all the nerve I could si
a branch of the other tree—l grasped
it with the energy of a dying man—
_my hold was good. But my
weight bent it down—bent it down,
down—until I hung suspended so near
to the boiling, hissing flood, that one
huge log grazed my feet as it went
sweeping down. In the startling
agony of the moment, I cried aloud to
God to save me!
With my death,grip upon that limb
I grew calm again. It did not break
—it only bent. I summoned my
strength back to me, and pulled my
self up with my hands. Higher—
higher—until I could use my feet. I
gained the body of the tree; and then,
when I had again taken breath, I low
ered myself to the ground. A few
steps brought me to land which the
water did not reach; and in a little
while longer I had dragged my way
up the bluff to the door of the dwelling
I remember that the servants picked'
me up; and that Col. Nortier came
and called me ~by name.
In the morning , I had so recovered
that I was able to arise and dress; and
when I told to my host the story of
my adventure, he could hardly credit
it. When I ooked in the mirror I
saw the reflection of a ,pale, haggard
face, looking a score of yearS older
than the face with which I had set out,
from Belleville. When I gazed out
upon the way by which I had come
the night before, I saw a wildly rush
ing stream,' tearing up great trees in
its mad frenzy, while beyond lay a for
est seeming to grow up from the bo
som of a great sea. The waters cov
ered the bottom land as with a deluge,
and the work of destruction was fairly
commenced. I saw it all; and as I
shuddered again at the sight, I firmly
resolved that I would never undertake
another journey across the bottom
lands of Arkansas, anywhere near the
the season of the spring freshets.
Many people take newspapers, but
few preserve them. The most inter
esting reading imaginable, is a filo of
old newspapers. It brings up the very
age, with all its genius, and its spirit,
more than the most labored description
of the historian. Who can take a pa
per, dated a half a century ago, with
out the thought that almost every
name there printed, is now cut upon a
tombstone, at the head of an epitaph ?
The doctor, (quack or regular) that
there advertised his medicines, and
their cures, has followed the sable
train of his patients—the merchant,
his ships—could get no security on his
life; and the actor, who could make
others laugh or weep, can now only
furnish a skull for his successor in
Hamlet. It is easy to preserve news
papers, and they repay the trouble;
for, like that of wine, their value in
creases with their age, and old files
have sometimes been sold at prices
too startling to mention.
le' Let a youth who stands at the
bar with a glass of liquor in his hand,
consider which ho had bettor throw
away—the liquor or himself.
Vir The only persons who really en
joy bad health, are the doctors.
All the world and his cosmopolitan
wife and family like new laid eggs.—
Nor do we deprecate their taste;
the contrary, we share it. The relish
of eggs is honorable, and to prefer
them fresh evinces a duo appreciation
of the " fitness of things." Tradition
runneth not back to .the time when
eggs, in this condition, were of evil re
pute, although the use of the stale va
riety as a missile has never been pop
ular with the recipients. Probably
the antediluvians were fond of eggs,
for we are given to 'understand that,
they feasted high, and what would a
banquet be without " the fruit of the
hen ?" The Patriarch of the Deluge,
and his wife, sons, and daughters-in
law, doubtless had omelettes for their
breakfast occasionally during their
providential cruise.
That the Egyptians were fond of
eggs is beyond peradventure, for one
of our archmologists brought home
with him from Egypt some dozens,
which had been at least 3000 years in
the catacombs, having been placed
there for the accommodation of the
mummies, in case they should wake
up and feel peckish. These eggs, cack
led over by the hens that flourished
in the time of the early Pharaohs—
laid, probably, before the children of
Israel returned from their exodus by
the way of the lied Sea—we have
seen, and many of them are as perfect
externally as if they 'had been bought
in market yesterday; but although
Egyptian wheat of the same date is
said to have germinated and re-produ
ced itself; we are not aivare that any
of the eggs of that ilk have been set
upon and hatched.
To leave the ancient heathens and
be practical—this is the season when
well disposed hens are expected to
commence their oviperous operations.
Our country friends are either expect
ing or already receiving these delight
ful tributes of affection from their fea
thered dependents. Perhaps we may
be able to put them in the way of
"hurrying up" the dilatory Dame
Partlets. Hens cannot lay unless they
can have access to material wherewith
to manufacture the white shells in
which the golden globes and the albu
men in which they are suspended, are
enclosed. That material is carbonate
of lime. A certain quantity of chalk
or lime phould * therefore be scattered
with their food, or old egg shells will
do. Professor Gregoro, of Aberdeen,
in a letter addressed to a friend, and
published in an English newspaper
se„, -,s, • 4g )
ascertained that if you mix with their
food a sufficient quantity of chopped
cum shells or chalk, which they eat
greedily, they will lay, other things
being equal, twice or thrice as many
eggs as before."
It is interesting to study human na
ture in children's faces—to see the
effects of different modes of education
upon diverse developments of mind
and body. Many children look sour,
willful and ugly; some sad, oven;
While others look sweet, pleasant and
happy, as children should.
Ruch as perfect or deceased physi
cal natures, proper or improper diet,
may have to do in producing these
appearances, home discipline and ex
ample, as a general thing, have more.
Mothers do not realize that they ths
ten their own feelings, so far as ex
pressed in their offspring. She who
scowls and frowns habitually, must
not expect her child to look joyful,
but gnarled or surly. Like mothe?,
like child; only she who "sows the
wind" in the heart of her daughter,
may expect to see the whirlwind gath
er and burst forth, as our harvests are
generally more plentiful than the seed
we scatter. Select a very pleasant
looking child, and notice if it has not
a pleasant-looking mother—one who
answers many of its.thouSand and one
questions with a warm, loving smile,
instead of turning away the inquiring
mind, and fretting at its endless teas
Who of us, amid continual irritation,
would preserve the same benignity of
countenance ? and can children be ex
pected to do better than their seniors
and teachers in this respect?
_,How I
pity the half dozen offspring of her in
whose house there is no acknowledged
ruler, save, perhaps, the youngest
child I These youth do not look very
happy—much less so than though they
had been taught obedience to parental
authority, for their mother neither
feels nor looks very joyful.
But displeasing as is a surly-faced
youth, a. sad child is indeed a very
sorry sight. If its body has much vi
tality, a sensitive soul breathes an
incongeniql atmosphere, probably in
the very heart of home. Childhood
should be laughing, rosy, sunny, and
when it is thus, how attractive ! 1
had almost said, how beautiful are
they who represent it, though their
features be very unsymmetrical!—
Many a mother is overburdened with
care and sorrow, whose,' is a, continual
struggle' with the heavy artillery of
life, it is true, when it is too hard to
wear smiles; yet chafing and fretting
cannot lighten her burden. She must
look to God, who will do all things
desirable for her—He who loves to see
his creatures happy.
Airlf falsehood paralyzed the tongue
what a death-like silence would per
vade society. •
It is very possible to be "too witty to
be earnest,and too earnest to be witty.
Kier The virtue of others is always
a terror to the wicked.
• ~... ~,, ..
John North Fenwick, Bart., now of
Fenwick Hall, England, is the subject
of a strangely romantic story in the
Chicago Democrat, from which we con
dense an account of the fortunes and
misfortunes connected with his wan
derings through the world. He is the
child of Sir John Fenwick, who, in
1837, married Clara Seymour, a poor
clergyman's daughter, against the
wishes of his two sisters. The latter
revenged themselves by-falsely accu
sing Lady Fenwick, of infidelity with
,a certain French count, whom Sir
John had introduced to her at - Venice,
during the honeymoon. Lady Clara
swooned at the charge, and her hus
band, completely carried away by
passion, and convinced that the story
told him by his sisters was true, or
dered her and her boy to be expelled
from the hall, and immediately hurried
to the seaboard, and embarked for the
continent. The unfortunate wife be
came insane, passed some time in an
asylum, ultimately recovering under
the careful kindness of Capt. O'Neil,
who had long loved her, and now be
sought her to leave her cruel husband
and share his fortunes. For a long
time she resisted his appeals, but ti
mdly, aseertdning that her husband
had takenl steps to obtain a divorce
from her, and that Capt. O'Neil was
her only friend, she consented. They
went to Galway-, Ireland, where they
were married privately, and took up
their residence. Her son, in the mean
time, manifested a desire to travel, and
his mother furnished him with one
thousand pounds, which she obtained
by the sale of her jewels, and placed
him on board the steamer Adriatic,
with instructions to sail to Now York,
and from thence to Texas, to visit a
cousin of her's, named Somerville, who
resided there as a wealthy planter.—
Without any misfortune, our youth
arrived at his cousin's rancho, situated
on the frontier of Texas, where he re
ceived a cordial welcome. His cousin
had a daughter, named Estelle, of
about his own age, and very handsome,
with whom he fell in hive, and in whose
society ho passed six months. But on
one fatal night, the ranch was attacked
by a party of Camanche Indians, his
cousin and Estelle were murdered, and
ho carried off into captivity. He re
mained a captive for three months,
when, seizing a favorable opportunity
and a tomahawk, he killed the Indian j
w --s
ith whotros m bute vitstialATalftlf—dbi9llBf.
• kq
termined to return to Fenwick - Hall,
mid claim his rights as son and heir of
its lordly occupant. By the aid of the
British consul at Chicago, he became
introduced to the Prince of Wales,
during the latter's stay in that city.—
The prince took an interest in young
Fenwick, allowed him to accompany
him through the States, and to return
with him to England. The wanderer
returned home at a most opportune
time—just as one of his aunt's, seized
with remorse, had made a death-bed
acknowledgment of his mother's inno
cence, thus establishing his legitimacy.
Sir John folded his long-lost son to his
heart, shedding tears of joy over him.
The health of Lady Clara greatly
failed after the departure of her son
for America, and Capt. O'Neil took
her to the south of France, in the
hope of restoring it. But she soon
died, and not long afterward the Cap
tain was killed in a duel. By a will,
he bequeathed his property, which
was of great value, to his wife's son,
John N. Fenwick. The young man
is now in Fenwick Hall, whence he
has written to his American friends,
thanking them for their many kind
nesses, and sending remembrances to
his former companions. With such a
varied experience of life, aristocratic
and democratic, Sir John Fenwick,
Bart., may yet bo a man of, mark
among his compeers.
Let any one, while sitting down,
place the left leg over the knee of the
right one, and permit it to hang free
ly, abandoning all muscular power
over it. Speedily it may be observed
to sway forward and back through a
limited space at regular intervals.— I
Counting the number of these motions
for any given time, they will be found
to agree exactly with the beatings of
the pulse: Every one knows, that at
a fire, when the water from the engine
is forced through bent hose, the ten
dency is to straighten the hose; and if
the bend be a sharp one, considerable
force is necessary to overcome the
tendency. rust so it is in the case of
the human body. The arteries are
but a system of hose through which
the blood is forced by the heart.—
When the leg is bent, all the arteries
within it are bent, too, and every time
the heart contracts, the blood rushing
through the arteries tends to straighten
thorn; and it is the effort which pro
duces the motion of the leg alluded to.
Without such ()ocular demonstration,
it is difficult to conceive the power ex
erted by that exquisite mechanism, the
normal pulsations of which are never
perceived by him whose very life they
Ee" It requires great virtue to sup
port bad fortune—far greater to sup
port good.
Zi`n The youth of friendship is bet
ter than its old age.
Never waste a long explanation
upon one who cannot take a hint,
"Inordinate demands should mee
with sturdy denials.
TERMS, $1,50 a year in advance.
[Vrom the Washington Confederatio.] •
We published on Saturday, the res.
olutions adopted by the recent Demo
cratic State Convention of Pennsylva
nia. A committee of thirty4our mem
bers was appointed to - visit Washing
ton and present a copy of these resolu
tions to the President of the United
States, the Vice-President, the Speaker
of the House of Representatives, and
the Peace Congress. The committee
consisted of the following members;
HENRY D. FGSTER, Chairman.
- F.. W. Hughes, James G. Campbell,
G. W. Cass, P. C. Shannon, W. H. Case,
J. W. Maynard, Richard Vaux, Ellis
Lewis, John N. Hutchinson, Thomas
T. Roberts, John A. Marshall, Michael
Mylert, John Creswell jr., A. J. Dull,
Steuben Jenkins, Ephraim Banks,
Robert E. Moneghan, Ira C.• Mitchell,
Henry MeMiller, R Bruce Petrekin,
I. Y. James, C. L. Lamberton, Thomas
Chalfant, S. E. Taylor, George H.
W. Patten, Samuel Wetherill,
Philip Johnson, R. A. Connell, John
D. Roddy, Asa Packer, Adam Ebaugh,
George, W. Brewer, Lewis S. Coryell.
The committee, immediately on their
arrival on Saturday morning, addressed
a communication to the Hon. John
Tyler, president of the Peace Congress,
enclosing a copy of the resolutions of
the convention, with the request that
he should lay it before that body.—
They then called on the Vice Presi
dent of the United States and were
received in his private chamber in the
Capitol. The Hon. Francis W. Hughes,
of Schuylkill county, presented, in be
half of the Committee, the resolutions
to the Vice President, and took occa
sion to make some appropriate and el
oquent remarks, which were happily
answered by Mr. Breekinridge. The
committee then proceeded to the
Speaker's room of the House of liepre- -
sentatives, where they were cordially
received by Mr. Pennington, and by
several members of the Pennsylvania
delegation in that body. The Hon.
Ephraim Banks, of Mifflin county, was
deputed by the committee to present
the resolutions to the Speaker, and
this duty was performed bran impres
sive- and appropriate manner. Mr.
Speaker Pennington expressed his grat
ification at meeting so large and re
spectable a delegation from a State so
nearly identified in geographical posi
tion, in interest, and, in -
patriotic, and they were warmly re
The committee then proceeded to pay
their respect to Senator Crittenden, to
whom the Hon. Lewis'S. Coryell, of
Bucks county, addressed a becoming
tribute as the author and advocate of
a great and noble proposition for set
tling the unhilppy difficulties which
now agitate the country. Mr. Crit
tenden•acknowledged the compliment
and made a glowing appeal to the com
mittee to throw aside all minor consid
erations, and unite cordially with all
the friends of the Union upon some
plan of conciliation.
, In the evening the committee visit
ed the Executive mansion,• and were
received by the President in the East
Room. The Hon. Ellis Lewis, of Phil
adelphia, late Chief Justice of Pennsyl
vania, in behalf of the delegation, com
municated to the Chief Magistrate a
history of the proceedings of the con
vention, explained the object of tho
visit, and presented Mr. Buchanan
copy of the resolutions. We regret
that our limits will not permit us to
give at length the remarks of the dis
tinguished and venerable speaker on
this occasion. The President respon
ded briefly and feelingly to the re
marks of the chief justice, approving
in general terms of the spirit and tenor
of the resolutions, and then spent some
time in cheerful conversat'on with the
several members of the committee, in
nearly every one of whom he recog
nized an old personal friend. It seemed
that the interview' had proven as agree
able to him as to them. 'lt was one of
the least formal and most pleasant re
unions that we have witnessed for
many years.
From the White-House the commit
tee proceeded to the residence of Gen
eral Cass. That venerable statesman
received them . ' kindly, and in reply to
the able address of Mr. Henry
ler, of Montgomery, said a few words
so touching, se truthful, and so full of
import in relation to the existing trou
bles of the country, that many eyes
were filled with tears.
They next visited the rooms of the
Attorney General, where they were
introduced to him and other members
of the Cabinet by the Secretary of
State, the lion. J. S. Black. From
thence they proceeded to the rooms of
Senator Bigler. After some time spent
in agreeable conversation with that
gentleman and his estimable lady, the
object of their visit was announced by
Mr. Ira C. Mitchell, of Centre county,
in a neat speech; to which the Sena
tor replied in one of his happiest ef-'
forts, and concluded with expressing a,
belief that the efforts of the friends of
the Union would be sod!r crowned with
success, and that before forty-eight
hours the glad announcement would
go trembling over the wires that' the
cause of compromise and concession
had triumphed, and that the Union
would bo restored again to its prestine
After a handsome collation, the com
mittee called upon Senator Douglas at
his residence. The call was unekree
ted, but the members were none the
less hospitably or cordially entertained.
The lion. George W. Brewer, of Frank
lin in a brief but beautiful and eloquent
address, .explained the object of the
visit, and paid a high compliment to
NO. 88.
the patriotic ofroks'of the distinguished
Senator in behalf of tho Constitution
and the Union.
Judge • Douglas , responded in his
usual happy and ready manner, and
expressed a wish that party differences
and factional controversies .
merged In an earnest effort for the
Common good of the country and for
the preservation ofour institutions. His
remarks were received with heartfelt
enthusiasm; and the committe, delight
ed with ths .reception, proceeded to
call upon Senator Cameron, as a mark
of their approval of his expression of a
willingness to unite with conservative
men on some plan of conciliation.--
That gentleman was, however, not to
be found at his residence—probably in
conference with the President' elect—
and the members, after a kind recep
tion by the ladies of his family, re
turned to their rooms at the National
They have expressed themselves
highly gratified by the Uniform kind
ness with which they have been treat
ed since their arrival in the city. We
believe that the course of the conven
tion in sending this able and intelligent
body of gentlemen on so worthy, a . mis
sion has been productive of many good
results. It was a very happy concep
tion, and it has been handsomely and
faithfully executed.
Cleveland, March 5_.--:-The 'Republi
can press ' are highly pleased with the
Inaugural, while the Dernotratie• pa
pers consider it certain to causetho
secession of the Border States.
St. Louis, March s.—The President's
Inaugural was published in extras yes
terday afternoon; and sought after
with great avidity by persons of 'all
parties. The - Republican (Douglas •
Democrat) newspaper says : We fail
to see in it any disposition to sweep
party platforms
,and party politics
away, but its guarded - words and stud
ied sentences
to have been
prompted by some idea of meeting the
expectations of the Ropliblicans, who
elected him: We hoped for a more
conservative, more conciliatory ex
presSion of sentiment. Much will de
pend upon putting into practice • the'
ideas advanced that will test the ques
tion, be it one of expediency or right,
whether the forts can be held Or re
taken and the revenues collected with
out bloodshed."
The _Democrat (Republican) says :
"We can only say this morning that
meets,tho highes expectations of, tho
country, both in the point of states
,manehip and patriotism, and that its
effect on the public mind cannot bo
other than salutary in.the highest
The' News (Belt and Everett) defers
making any comment.
Cincinnati, March s—The Inaugu
ral was received by telegraph and
published in extras at 4 o'clock, P. M.,
yesterday. It is well received by all
parties, and with few ox,ceptionq, re
garded as a very sensible and judicious
document, producing a meat
: 'WAN • •11nral . .1k 41,1
be consistent with his duty and his
official oath, and in doing so he has
mingled mildness with firmness admi
Washington, March s.—The Border
Slave States' men almost generally
condemn the Inaugural. There is,
however, a difference of opinion among
them, some saying that it is capable
of two constructions—war and ,peace
—and that it remains to be seen what
policy Mr. Lincoln will pursue.
-The Republicans endorse the Inau
gural, nearly all enthusiastically.—
Other classes regard the Inaugural fa
Louisville, March s.—The opinions
in relation to the Inauguria, at Nash
ville, are unfavorable. It is believed
that the .President is determined to
retake the forts forcibly, and .collect
the revenue. Opinions aro unsettled
by the manner it was received at
Washington, and the people are await
ing the document in fall. •
Knoxville, March s.—President
coin's Inaugural is universally con
demned, and, if correctly reported f will
induce Tennessee to fight .him to the
bitter end. ,
At Jackson and Columbus,
and Tescumbia, Alabinma, the .people
consider it to be a declaration of war. ,
At Vicksburg, Mississippi, it• is re-,
garded unfavorably, And generally
considered a silly production.
New Orleans, Mardi 5.--.—Tho'lnaug
ural is most gonerally condemned.
Louisville March s.—The Union men
are rather fa' VorablY inipressed by the
language of the Inaugural; while sym
pathizers with the Southern Confeder
acy think it a declaration of wars
TN vikapria.
Alexandria, March s.—The Gazette
(Union) says that the Inaugtiral is not
such a one as it wished, nor such as,
will probably conciliate or Satisfy those
whom the President speaks of as dis
satisfied in the South. •
Tho Sentinel (Secession) says that
the positions taken are a dechiratithi
of war, laying down doetrines" which
would reduce the Southern eention to
the unquestioned dominion* of the
North as a section.
- - - - - - - -
The Richmond Whig,(ConServatii.e)
says' that the policy indicated towards
the seceding States will mast 'lO4
stern, unyielding resistance by the
united South.
. The Enquirer (Secession) says that
no action of our Convention can now
maintain the peace, and Virginia 'must
The Richmond Dispatch, remarks
that every Border State ought to go
out within twenty-four hours. •
Despatches from 'Staunton, Va., say
that the Inaugural is received with
universal dissatisfaction, and resistance
to coercion is •the feeling of all rn,rties.
Petersburg, Va., March he re
ception ofthe Inaugural has created
intense excitement. Hundreds, hith
ertb for the Union, avow boldly for
revolution, if the Convention does not
immediately pass a secession ordi