In
H. H. FRAZIER, Publisher.
VOLUME 11.
lt,oitur.o girectoll.
JOHN BEAITMONT,
WOOL OART , fift, Cloth Drenserokod Manyyetaret, el the old
y krurrn as Smith's oordlog Macnlze. T emv made
I:,,ee wto, the work. 1e beoO.r)
J,, , ip..W.rrAt MI.
Dn. G. Z. DIMOCK,
ire lIONTR rm
l...,, : e. e . e i f ou elseet., opposite the Xrectu.toee °B o E aZ 8%1. n1 -cLe ce
tt srsose, Fetsruarr etth16.35.-Iyp
C. AI. CRANDALL,
r ANUFACTUREIt Llaezweheels, Wool-wheels, Wheel.
head; elock-reelx, &c. Wond.tornin2 dont to orttee,.d
1,, ..orat,st owner. Turning ,hop and Wheel Faelory to Sayree
L011400;0 ttp
January N41,1E63.41
B. S. BENTLEY, JR, NOTARY PUBLIC,
MONT 12 OS IC.
AeMovrinelmnent of Deed,. Mort e,. ttc., tor any
stmt. In the Untlrd state, Pemdon Vouchers soul Pay Cor.
Ictruorl scored before him do rot reqnlre the certMento of t h e
-tot the Conti. Montrose.. Jm.
CHARLES HOLES,
Dx. , ,LAR IN CLOCKS, W &Tell S-Y, ANT JEWELRY
Repairing done 10 usual, on 1.1,1. totice and reasonable tams
, t, ea,t ride Public Avenue In F. B. CLarller's
r.x.e. P.. Nov. 7. IRS&
Dn. E. L. HANDRICK,
rf STOIAN gad SITRODON, teepoctfollly tenders his prob.
',vices to the dttsens of Friendevnle and vidnity.
the nMee of Dr. Dort. Boards at J. Ilosford'a.
F , endreille.Ju!T 18,54..-tf
E. W. SMITH,
TT, ,1-INry R EX , IINSELLOR AT LAW and Lb:sued Alsip,
(me< over Leas Druf,
Dcpot January M. 1964.
H. BURRITT,
rk MUER In duple and Fancy Dry Good,. Orocken-y, Rod or.
LI kr, Sum& Drao Oda. and Plata, 13cota and Sidon; Etat.
t u a H :Maio Robes, 0 Mee/id.. PrOViIiMIL a[4.
r,o Y dnrd, Va., April il, 1dn.1.-dr
S. H. SAYRE & BROTHERS,
e , 7 . 1: , F , , ...7 r yR . E12 2 8 ,:, e , ,f i Mil
roo WayttnlT ,,i r c Ztragf or all
r, a Dry Goods.lirocer I ra, Crockery, act.
w , r.t• February 19t4.
BILLINGS STROUD,
FIRE AN I , LIFE D.ST:RANCE AJIMVT. (Mee la Lath
•„, • hu;: , llng, euni end of /trick Bloch,. In hb stemma, but
trt.eacted by C. L. Browb.
1 . I F,ruar) 1. 1h61..—t1
J. D. VAIL, M. D.,
Ll h ° : 1 .13=7.1 u , L=.
. RI, proleoint uotL w'..arh he may he favored. (Bm
Mentde Court House. oeur Boultle7
Veralary 1, fedi...Oct.:M.> 181.1.
A. a WARREN,
7;:!r ,1 7.Ag . L .I7thr‘VITAILTLL.
PtT aad n Pfp ,
: • 'tte formerly one plat by D. Vail, H
t. l ow .•
• ose Searlele F10t..1.
4 ...P.., N.. Yet, 1, 11 , 4.-fet , l7ll ISGa.
S. B. ROBERTSON,
ItANI:FACTCHEB. of Boo'rs &siaoNskigh.
Owego Street. Montrose, I.
occro.t. tannery lE. 1864.41
LEWIS KIRBY E. BACON,
KUT, ffE tip.re Mad fall eaFGtq of every 00,1et7 a
.td Inn - nerd In deal, they hope to merit the Merit
1,-,111.. of :tie pOl , llO. AD OYSTER and EATING SALOON
4.11e11:o WI 11,4 ,1 7, where bivalves, In treavon, me served In Irv.
4); , ' .11 aste, nab(' public demand. llernembet tte place
• u.' M ti G - orery rand. 011 Main Street. below the Postoffien.
Nov. 17. 181.3.—i1, t117.03.-tf
Da. CALVIN C. HA.LSET,
PEYSDIAN AND RUED/LON, AND EXAMINING RDA
ti F. , ); far PENSIONERS. Office over the mare of J.LDIne
a • • . Avenue Mr.
0ct0ber.18.59.-U
D. A. BALDWIN,
AITORNE: AT LAW, and Pecslca, Bomar!, mid Back r
/..tam, limat Bend, Smoltlmairma ()malty. Ps.
&rest Raul, Acmut ID.
BOYD & WEBSTER,
1) 17,r. W . are" .. !17 3 i
- 17,.1r4 I rill. 'T gintrira ' rer d d tra
a.
o f Lumber, and all ands of Bulldine Materlale
T • ... , I th of Soooh o s Hotel, and Carpenter !Shop near Um
kca-tore. Pa.. January 1. 1E64.41
DR. JOHN W. COBB,
P flT , l!`lANknd KiTKOEOY, respect:lly tenders ids OTTICII
netan. County. hisv:ne had about
7. c L he Suite, Army. - as Surma., empecia3
..“ • : 1: I,i I , A oPERATIONS.
Mar.ll Street, East J. 0. Tarbelrs Hotel.
(!ounty, Pa., June 21.1.863.-tf
DR. WILLIAM W. SMITH,
S
....,, cllO EON DENT/ST. Office orrs the , P.ankhn
ofnce of Cooper a. Co. All Dental Operation,
will he peri,oned 10 his arnal good dyle and
...sr,-. f',.,errann. officea furn.crly of H. had & son.
0,..,,,r, olatuary 1, 1864.—tf
E. J. ROGERS,
LNIITACITURER of all desorlptions
CALLECIAGES, 8L.61G118, t.c., to the
, 11911rtmanallip bud of the tom material,
kr.0•113 stand of E. 11. ICLIGERS, a feat rod` out
Hotel in Montrose. whew he will be happy lo re ,
of all who want twythlng to hie line.
• .1 cue 1, ISL+7—tt
BALDWIN & ALLEN,
ELL LE 1'..!? FLOC - 11, Salt. Part. Fish, Isrd. Grain, Feed
i sad nalotLy S..etC Alto 0110CERIV.S.
Molasses. etyrao Tes and Cafes. Wen nde
• n ~P low J. EC . ..snags.
1S G4.-if
DP. G. W. BEACH,
). 1 `" . 1.!••N UNA; EON. tuontuz permanent: y locater.
• , ;-nter. tender,. his VP af^uland eer
nn
commcmm
• , ..n.r. • ~ trice of We Luc Dr. Richard
- • re,
•
F. B. WEEKS,
'A.I. 130. , T AND SHOE MAKER: also Dealer ft
and 611. nuctlage. Repairing Clow
.• Tao door above Searle., EloteL
Ell
.1 SEP R RICE,
TIL sue DEA LEB la °Mug
Uati . , Ware. liLoy tour miles eon of Pe* /allow.
M 3•1111
Dm.. PATRICK & GARDNER,
kNft, Et: NEI, ritteed foithftlly she
eAr tart Innj tic ontrueteil t o their con.
fret. er.tr t 0I)00s. Viscose. trot! deicer-mitt,
r • ...er-atr•re. tred 411 i t. Diaespe•paruc . .
r.rttler over Welotio Score. O ftleebourofrors B
R. PATRICK,
K. L. G ARDNER.
I=lMl
& WM. H. JESSUP,
a.A W, Mout:oso. F. Pructg.; In 9 negm
Was,.. Wynn ncui Luzu
=nary 1.4,1501..
I
ALBERT CHA.MBEBLLN,
ATTORNEY AND ATTORNEY AT LAW.-
- • NW, f occupied by Poet Drones,
" j"uarY 1, /tied
J._LYONS & SON,
• '•• :.• DRY fint/I/S. Grocßrlecero,keiy,tfarbna.
1.• Ptantn. end I:1rd. of Mini
• loitf.. YC. .11351., carry ot, tE. llnok Bind
• ..W.u“ry 1. 101/1. 7 • .ate.
ABEL T7RTIELL,
CH ral !CALL+,
'./.. IP vt. Acuff,,Varr,,Atmn,
erociery, Guz-wnrr. ••
• Prrfontery bnriticul Triln
,
Agent for eal of 11,,,
]torero.. Junuar3
=11.1112
C. 0. FORDIIA.M,
nr HOOTS & SI!OES. Moutroft, Pa.
• , ov.•• k Ana& of work made
o ri le;gAirlog dour neatly. Work dOOO When prom
11,nerren, April t. 1261.-tf
CHARLES N. STODDARD,
EA Ic i‘ovv , lac-Jahn, and Fin
Nola el. door ....Wm b.-arlefe Hotel 6 ol6
Wart, imiate to onion niot tawtring dote neatly.
Der.nabtr I. Ism.
L H. BURNS,
T T " 0:1 , FY AT IuAYV. (Mks with William .1. Turreit Fa
1 • • 1. Dote!. liw.alon atid llouuty Clair. careful
,:;: ‘, 1 , - iVZ l L , rriT,llyi i ty made.
B. 11. LYOI & CO.,
7 v c; BOOTS, KEIOEI. , ,
• W Csotbn, Wall and Wiralow
ugh, mc. &urn on the east aide Public Area..
ME
I=
1 2 E kD, NV ATROLTS, & FOSTER,
IN DILI ~D ODS. Drum. mkuctnes. Planti9ll/
- Itaniw4re, Jr. Ger), In., Clock:. Watch e 4 Jr.
et, Nroone. Perfumer;. etc., brick mock. Montrose.
A. 1% - =AO Z. 43 U. o. ronn.
• • • J =wiry 1, 1e64.
PIILLLN DER LINES,
• • 'NAB I. E TAILOR, Britt Block, over BAWL
FosLer a 61..1-, Iluntrose, Fa.
Jab, 1.5•59.
JOHN GROVES, -
!.`" N lIL E TAILOR.. N.Lop opposite the Enid.
nt • St..va Printihg Udict.
ovuther 1850.41
- -
D. A. LYONS,
were In Dry Clooda, OrwelllN. nrcir. bat CITOdieT,
lllkore on MAW litsaiL
V.I• it iyr.s.-4f.
3„-
'No -
• ; ,=7
!-• .14441 111111 .
1,01001
ABRAHAM LINCILIt
roma' Assassrfwrin, Amu, 14, 1865.
You lay a wreath on Murdered Linebbes bier,
You, who with mocking pencil wont to trace,l
Broad for the self complacent British sneer,
Ills length of shambling limb, his furrowed face.
Ills gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, bristling
hair,
His garb uncouth, his bearing BI at ease,
His lack of all we prize as debonair',
Of power or will to shine, of art to please.
MU, Whose smart pen backed up the pencil's laugh,
Judging each step, as though the way were plain;
Reckless,so it could point its b,
Of chief's perplexity, or people's p
Beside this corree, that bears for winding-sheet
The stars and stripes ho lived to rear anew,
Between the mourners at his his bead and feet,
Bay, ecurrikjester, is there room for you/
Tea, be had lived to shame me from my sneer,
To lame my pencil, and confute my pen—
To make me own this bind of princes peer,
This rallsplitter a truatrorn king of men.
My shallow judgment 'I had learnt to rue,
Noting how to occasion's height he rose,
How his quaint wit made home-truth seem more
true,
How, his temper grew by blows.
Clow humble, yet how hopeful ho could be;
How In good fortune and in 111 the same ;
Nor bitter in enemas, nor boastful he,
Thirsty for gold, nor feverish for fame.
He went about his work—such work as few
Ever had laid on head, and brd, and hand—
As one who knows where there 's a task to do
Man's honest will mast Heaven's good grace com
mand.
Who trusts the strength will with the burdengrow,
That Clod makes instruments to'work his will,
It but that will we can arrive to know,
Nor tamper with the weight of good and ill.
So he went forth to battle, on the side
That he felt clear was Liberty's and 'Right's,
As In his peasant boyhood he had piled
Ms warfare with rude Nature's thwarting mlghts—
The uncleared forest, the unbroken soil,
The iron bark that turns the lumberer's axe,
The rapid that o'erbears the boatman's toil,
The prairie hiding the maned wanderer's tracks.
The ambushed Indian, and the prowiiiig bear—
Sn ch were the needs that helped his j enthral train ;
Rough culture—but such trees large fruit may bar,
If but their stocks be of right girth and grain.
So be grew up, a destined work to do,
And lived to do It: tour long-auffedng years,
111-fate, ill-feeling, ill-report, lived through,
And then he heard the hisses change to cheers,
The taunts to tribute, the abuse to praise,
And took both with the same untraveribg mood ;
Till, as he caine on light, from darkling days,
And seemed to touch the goal from where be stood,
A felon hand, between the goal and him,
Reached from behind his hack, a trigger prest
And those perplexed and patient eyes were dim,
Those gaunt, long•laboring limbs were laid to mat!
The words of mercy, were upon his lips,
Forgiveness in his heart and on his pen,
When this vile murderer brought swift eclipse
To thoughts of peace on earth, good-will to men
The Old World and the New, from sea to sea,
Uttered one voice of sympathy and shame
Sore heart, so stopped when it at last beat high;
Sad LAP, cut short just u its triumphs came.
A deed accurst! Strokes have been struck before
By the assassin's band, whereof men doubt
If more of sorrow or disgrace they bore;
But thy foul crime, like path's, stands darkly out.
- London Punch.
HALLE NOYES' DEOIBION.
The room was not richly furnished, but It was
very pretty, and bright and cheerfuL There
were soft crimson shades in the carpet, crimson
imottings in the black cushions of the chairs,
a crimson cover on the little table, and crimson
slossoms in the single low, broad window,
And in through the crystal panes, over the
bright carpet and chairs and table, and upon the
neat little figure in the great rocker by the
glowing grate, the sunshine streamed golden
and %tear_
Bailie Noyes looked very pretty, sitting there
by a fire, with her riolet eyes and pink cheeks
and aa.ber hair bent over the snowy crotchet
work in her slender rosy fingers. There was such
a harmony of color in her dress,(for she wore a
soft, dark wrapper with a crimson cord at the
waist, and crimson linings to the full, loose
sleeves which reflected a rosy glow on her slen.
der white arms as one caught a glimpse of them
as she now and then lifted her hand to put back
the burnished ripples of her hair,) and such an
unconscious grace of attitude in her position
as she swayed back and forth in the great rocker
before the firer that it was a great pity that there
was no one to admire her but the canary among
the carnations and roses in the window.
Ralhe knew she was pretty; ,but she wasn't
thinking of that.,,nor she wasn't thinking of her
croteheting. Thieslender, glittering needle flashed
in and out the fairy network, and Hallie's
thoughts flashed in and out the network of her
perplexities. For at her left, on the little table,
was a buff and scarlet chess-board, with the
ivory men left in the very position by which
Fred Dane had checkmated her the evening
before; and right beside it lay her photograph
album, open at the beautifully tinged vignette
photograph of Mr. Lewis 'Massie. And the
chess-hoard and the photograph were so suggest
ive that Halite could think of nothing else.
She looked at the chess-board, and blushed;
then she looked at the photograph, and got her
work - into a snarL It took her a long time to
get the snarls out. When it was done she work
ed quietly for a long time, never lifting her eyes
from the needle, and lookin" very grave.• The
firelight glowed hotter, and burned one of her
cheeks redder than the other; her spool fell to
the carpet and rolled away; the yellow canary
called and called for a canessing word, but
Hal
lie sat mute and absorbed.
Suddenly she arose, opened the drawer in her
escritoire upon the table, and took out a minia
ture cas , . This abe_opened and laid beside the
photograph. Oh, Raffle, there was no need of
doing that. You knew before what face you
liked hest
Oh, dear, if he .wasn't poor," said Hanle,
with tears in her eyes.
The yellow canary broke into a song of the
cheeriest content. Halite went over to him, and
put her rosy fingers between the bars of his cage
for him to pick at—the tears In her eyes all the
time. Through their glimmer she saw her pretty
hand. A plain gold ring would look well on
her third finger—the spendid diamond which
Mr. Massie had shown her the day before, try
ing to look into her eyes, would look a great
deal better. She plucked a sweet little rasher
uia bloom and went back to her chair.
She found the fire too hot; her work had fallen
to the floor, and some of the loops had slipped
out; her spool had run ander the fender, and
was soiled, and she struck her foot against the
cricket.
- " - Oh, dear," said Bailie," how hateful every
thing
More tears gathered in her eyes and dropped
upon her hand. She tossed the injured work
and soiled spool upon the table, indifferent to
their fate, very much tired and troubled herself;
and trying to swallow something that choked in
her throat She put her cheek against the cash
ulned batik of the , chair, and turned her face to
the window, closing her eyes.
" Oh, I wish I knew what to do l"
She wished that very heartily- Mr. Massie
was wealthy, tine loelciug and influential. Fred
Dane was poor, and handsome, and unknown,
bound down to toilsome daily labor by the ne
cessity of Supporting an invalid mother. But
he had: youth, and talents, and ambition, and
hope. Some day he would prove himself more
of a man than Lewis Massie could ever be. But
there mast be years of stru,^gling with the no.
cessities of life first—his wife would be obliged
to give all the freah years of her life toe poor
man's
lot. There would be troubles and trials
and disappointments to test the love Halite felt
surging so warm in her heart. Could It bear
the teat? When, wearied by care and labor,
as chef wife Ms poor man and the mother of his
children always is, would her love for Fred nse
strong and all-sufficlect above all When she,
walking humbly in her new station, saw the
ittortage of h., rollbsels would
" Freedom and Right against Slavery and Wrong."
MONTROSE, SUSQ. CO., PA., TUESDAY, JUNE 6 1 1865.
she not despond, grow discontented, say there
is but one life to live, why bear a cross through
it? Her little childron—how they would bind
her to hor domestic duties. The burden would
be so heavy to her unaccustomed hands. She
-feared to take It up.
Then she thought, "Perhaps it is the con
trast." For as Lewis Massie's wife she would
see no difficulties in her path. Those beautiful
rooms of his stately house—how she would love
to wander through them as their mistress—the
velvet carpet hers—the exquisite painting,
the hot-house, the carriage, the servants, all at
her disposal. She would have nothing to do
but entertain the visitors who came in through
those massive doors. It would not be a heart
less life. The matter once decided, really mar
ried to Mr. Massie, there was no reason she
could see why she could not love him. He was
refined and handsome and devoted to her. He
was considerable older than she was, and she
would be his pet. if she had children they would
bring her no care. There would be servants to
attend to their wants, to take care of them when
they were fretful. She need never lie distracted
by their Inners. She and they could have eve
rything thou wanted. Her husband's affection
would never be tired by the sight of her, sad and
weary, her beauty fled by care, All the way
lay under a clear sky. Why should she not
choose it?
She would. Her decision was made. She was
married to Mr. Massie.
She hardly knew how the first years went,
only she had a keen 'haunting thought that she
and Fred could never ne anything to each other.
Besides her marriage, their difference of social
position placed a great breadth between them. She
did not see his face. She only thought of it with
a kind of stealthy despair, now all nght to love
it was gone front her.
There came a summer day when she was at
the sea-shore with her husband. She had no
children. The glittering phaeton rolled over
the golden sand of Na vsket. She leaned back
among the velvet cushions, seeing and knowing
that the sea and sky was beautiful, yet not car
lug. They had been to Europe, and she had
seen so many beautiful sights that her weary
heart was satisfied. Her husband sat beside hgr,
silent; his face turned away. She could Opt
love him, and he long ago divined that s e loved
another. To the world they were a happy than
and wife; to each other perfect strangers.
There were many who seemed to enjoy the
scene. Groups of happy-faced people strolled
by. Children bounded past the carriage. Some
bathers, in gay scarlet dres.ses, were frolicking in
the surf, and a row-boat passed near the shore,
the party within sinning. Some ladies galloped
by on horseback--the brightest fares she ever
saw ander their riding hats And with the
sound of ringing voices all around her, came
the rush and splash of the sea. Her languid
eyes wandered on. Suddenly her heart gave a
wild leap, and then stood still.
On a low, jutting rock a man knelt, bathing a
little child in the water. It was Fred. She saw
his face, with the fair hair blowing over his fore
head. She heard him snoihing and encourag
ing the half-frightened child. it was a pretty
child, like a cherub, with its white, plump limbs.
She knew why Fred handled It so tenderly. It
was his.
He took it out, at last, wrapped it in a blanket,
and carried it up the shore. A beautiful woman
with a little girl by the band, stood waiting for
him. His wife and children ! Golden hair, like
her father's, was blowing in soft, lose curls about
the shoulders of the little girl. The mother
looked calm and sweet, and had smooth chest
nut braids drooping about her Madonna face.
What lovely eyes she raised to meet her hus
band's smile ! Together they passed away.
That picture haunted her through many more
cold, listless years. She was sick, body and
soul, of life, as she lived it, and more despair
ingly because she knew—
That her soul (and this is the worst
To bear as she well knewo
Had been watching her from first,
As sadly as God could do ;
And herself herself had cursed !"
One night she found herself in the crowded
gallery of a hall. The place was all ablaze with
lights, and deafening with cheers. The crowd
flung up enthusiatic huzza for the orator before
them. She could not see his face, but she could
hear his voice. She heard him say that labor
was the rightful heritage of life, and that well
accomplished labor was the glory of life; that
God made love to cheer the pathway of the la
boring man, and that true love never failed to
do so. That to the honors cast upon him, the
woman who had cheered and upheld him—and
to whom his life was bound by the chain of
their children's hearts—had an equal right. To
her he owed his success—her he prayed the
crowd might praise.
She grew faint and dizzy, and a blindness
came upon her. Half unconscious, she heard
enthusiastic shouts ringing to the dome. The
speaker's work was done—they were carrying
him out on their shoulders. She saw his calm
face lifted above the crowd, but she had known
before who it wua. She realized that she bad
seen Fred Dane on the night of his great suc
cess, and she had had no part in it; another
woman had. She was nothing to him, and he
was to her all she asked fur in life, and was be
yond her reach.
The crowd jostled her from the door with
her wretched life in her hands. They hustled
and thrust her into the street—out into the dark
night. The rain was falling; the sky was black;
the air was full of desolation to her. She could
not get clear of the throng of people. They
pressed forward, and she was forced to go with
them. She heard water rushing, at last; they
were netuine a river. They passed along its
edge, pressing nearer to the brink. She knew
she would be thrust into the dark tide; the
crowd was fierce in its baste, and unmindful of
her. There was no one to ewe her. A rush
and rally, and her foothold was zone—she was
falling—the water's icy touch took her breath.
Tben, with frantic despair, she shriek aloud,
She was awake, breathless and panting. It
had been all a dream. There she sat in the
great rocker, with the fire glowing brightly,
and the-canary calling among the flowers In the
window.
That evening, when the curtains were drawn,
and the lamp was lighted, and the coals in the
grate gleamed redly, Mr. Massie was shown in
to the little parlor. lint he found Hallie play•
Mg chess with Fred Dane—a plain gold ring on
her third finger.
DECREASE OP TILE INDIA:CR—The Indians
dwelling within the United liiates are fast nis
appm.r.: ing from among men. In 1840, there was
400,000; in 1850. 350,0 ;0, and the census of 1860
shows only 205,400. This is a decrease of fifty
thousand every ten years. The proportion of
decrease is steadily augmented as the path of
empire takes its way westward. , How many
years will elapse, at this rate, before the Indian
savage will exist only in the history of School.
craft, the prose fiction of Cooper, and the poetry
of Longfellow? The civilized Indian flourishes
better than the wild one, for in the Slate of New
York (the last census says) we have 3,785 abort-
Fines, whereas in Colorado only 6,000 were left
m 1861.
The principal Indian populations are distrib
uted as follows: West Arkansas, 65,680; New
Mexico Territory, 65,100; Dakotab Territory,
80,664; Washington Territory, 31,000; Utah Ter
ritory, 20,0 0; Minnesota, 17,000; California,
18,6)0; Kansas, 8,180; Nevada, 7,520; Oregon
Territory, 7,000.
®'An Irishman being asked why he per
mitted his pig totake up his quarters with his
family, made an answer abounding with satiri
cal naivete. " Why not? Doesn't the place af
ford every convenience that a pig can require r
tom` A disappointed candidate for the office of
constable remarked to tts, speaking of men who
would sell their votes, that they were "as base
as 2Esop of old, who sold his birth-right for a
mess of potash."
12' It Is no misfortune for a lady to lam her
good mime, s nice Tome gentleman gives her
better.
PAN:001:14:4:tolhhOpf;
The following sketch gives an account of the
different insurrections or rebellions, which have
occurred in the United States:
" Before the gigantic rebellion that is now in
its death-throes, there have been six itteurrec
dons, or attempted insurrections, since the for
matir of the Federal GovcrnmenL Some of
these outbreaks, or attempted outbreaks, were
rather riots, or bloodless demonstrations of pop
ular discontent; but it is sufficient for oj4t pres
ent purpose to so consider them.
What is popularly known as Shay's rebellion
is the first instance of orifnized resistance to
lawful government in the United States. In
1788, Daniel Shay, a eltize of Massachusetts,
became the leader of a party of malcdntents In
the Old Bay State, which had organized to right
such grievances as heavy taxation, the salary of
the Govern, r, the aristocratic tendencies of the
State Senate, and other similar local grievances.
It was entirely a family quarrel, and the State
troops settled the difficulty by killing three of
the Insurgents and wounding others. Shay and
come of his fellow-insurrectionists were captur
ed and subsequently tried, convicted stud sen
tenced to death ; but were finally pardoned, and
thus ended Shay's rebellion.
The Whiskey Insurrection in Pennsylvania,
toward the close of the administration of Presi
dent Washington, was a more formidable out
break. It arose from discontent cslused by the
heavy excise tax imposed by CongresS upon dis
tilled domestic spirits. This insurrection end
ed without bloodshed, and if we mistake not,
a namesake and ancestor of the present Robert
E. Lee held a prominent command in the troops
sent to enforce obedience to the laws of the
United States.
Burr's enterprise, in ISin, the precise mean
ing of which has never been clearly made out,
but which is believed to have been the intended
invasion of Mexico, and the formation of a
Southwestern empire, was the next revolution
ary movement In that case no overt act of
treason was committed, and the trial of Burr, in
Richmond, re.sulted in an abandonment of the
prosecution by the government, and the acquit
tal of the accused.
Nullification in South Carolina In the year
1832 was, in its effects, a more mischiev
ous revolutionary effort than either of those
that preceded it; but in this case there was no
bloodshed, no overt act of war, and no punish
ment inflicted upon the leaders.
Dorr's rebellion in Rhode Island, nearly or
quite a quarter of a century ago, has been refer
red to by Southern rebels, along with Shays re
bellion, the Whiskey Insurrection, and Burr's
flasee, by way of excuse for secession, the main
actors in all these movements being northern
men. But there is no parallel among any of
the cases sl?pken oC Dorr found Rhode Island
governo4...by an old charter granted the State by
Charles' L, as far back as 1663. Re agitated its
repeal, and upon a popular . vote its abrogation
was ordained, and he wa, elected Governor up
on the reform ticket. Governor King, and the
charter party which he led, refused to recognize
the act of the people, claiming that the charter
was perpetual and unalterable, that it could not
be amended or repealed, and armed resistance
was made to the Dorrites. John Tyler, then
accidental President, sent United States troops
to aid the State forces of Rhode Island in their
anti-republic stand, and after a bloodless strug
gle (except that an innocent cow was shot by
mistake by a picket,) Governor Dorr was ar
rested, tried, and sentenced to imprisonment fur
life. He was afterward pardoned, the record of
his sentence ordered to be expunged, anti he
lived to see the old monarchical charter legally
abolished, and a republican constitution adopt
ed.
John Brow❑'s famous raid into Virginia, in
1859, comes next in the chronological order
among recognized American outbreaks. John
Brown, an impracticable enthusla.st, with a
score of followers, made war upon Virginia,and,
in pursuit of a wild project of freeing the slaves
in the Old Dominion, he took possession of Uni
ted States property at Harper's Ferry, and
broke the laws of the Commonwealth of Vir
ginia. The State dealt out harsh justice to the
offenders, and but a single soul of them escaped.
Those who were not killed In the unequal fight,
or murdered after they were taken prisoners,
were hanged, and Virginia made herself almost
as ridiculous in her wholesale sanguinary settle
ing of accounts with the raiders, as she had be
fore made herself by her childish fears and trep
idation.
The Great rebellion which began in 1861, is
the next outbreak in order. Strangely enough,
the nearest parallel to it among all former in
surrections is the John Brown mid- There was
bloodshed in the case of the latter, every soul of
the raiding party, except one who made his es
cape, either acting the dust in the field or end
ing his career upon the gallows. But John
Brown made war upon what he honestly and
enthusiastically believed to be a wrong, and not
in support of a crime. John Brown was not
educated at the expense of Virginia ; he had nev
er sworn specially to support its constitution and
laws, and he never enjoyed high honors and
emoluments at the hands of the commonwealth
which ho made war upon.
TEE NEW PRIEDENT.
The following is an extract from a speech of
the historian Bancroft, on the occasion of the
recent funeral obsequies of the late President in
New-York:
The duty of the hour is incomplete, our
mourning is insincere if, while we express un
wavering trust in the great principles that
underlie our government, we do not also give
support to the man to whom the people have
entrusted its administration. An2rew Johnson
is now by the Constitution, the President of the
United States, and he stands before the world
as the conspicuous representative of the indus
trial classes. Left an orphan at four years old,
poverty and toil were his steps to honor. His
youth was not passed in the halls of colleges;
nevertheless he has received a thorough politi
cal education in statesmanship in the school of
the people and by long experience of public life.
A village functionary; member successively of
each branch of the Tennessee Legislature, hear
ing with a thrill of joy the words, " The Union,
it must be pnaseved ;' a representative in Con
gress for successive years; Governor of the
great State of Tennessee, approved as its Gover
nor by re-election ; he was at the opening of the
rebellion a Senator from that State in Congress.
Then at the Capitol, when Senators, unrehuked
by the Government, sent word by telegram to
seize forts and arsenals, he alone from that
southern region told them what the Government
did not dare to tell them, that they were traitors
and deserved the punishment of treason. Un
dismayed by a perpetual purpose of public ene
mies to take his life, bearing up against the still
greater trial of the persecution of his wife
and children, in due time he went back to his
State, determined to restore It In the Union, or
di e w i t h t h e American Flag for his winding
sheet. And now,at the call of the United States,
he has returned to Washington as a conqueror,
with Tennessee as a free State for a trophy.
It remains for him to consummate the vindica
tion of the Union.
SIMPLICITY IS DRESB.—Those who think that
in order to dress well it is necessary to dress ex
travagantly or gaudily, make a great mistake.
Nothing so well becomes true feminine beauty
as simplicity. We have seen many a remark
ably fine person robbed of its true effect by be
ing overdressed. Nothing Is more unbecoming
than overloading beauty. The stern simplicity
of the classic tastes la seen in old statues, and m
the pictures painted by men of superior artistic
genius. In Athens, the ladies were not gaudily,
but simply arrayed, and we doubt whether any
hulks have ever excited more admiration. So,
also, the noble old Roman matrons, whose su
perb forms were gazed on delightedly by men
worthy of them, were always very plainly dress.
ed. Fashion often presents the
.es of the
butterfly, but fashion is not a classietoddess.
rgrA young lady shouldn't be onhappy be
cause she isn't quite es tall as she v. ould like to
be. It Is a very easy tides to get quo&
THE REWARD OF LOYALTY.
A. correspondent in Dubuque furnishes us
with several items relating to affairs in that city.
On Easter Sunday the Right Rev. Bishop Smith
addressed the Cathedral congregation as follows:
"Belared Fiends:—The festivities of' this day
were Intended as an act of public thanksgiving
to Almighty God, for Ills many favors bestowed
on us, and especially for the blessing of our re
cent victories, and approaching peace.
But, alas! there is no human joy without its
alloy of sorrow; no earthly sweet with out some
mixture of bitterness. Scarcely had the echo of
a nation's joy died away, when the sad tidings
of the death of our noble, unpretending, and hu
mane President reached our ears, cut down by
the hand of a cowardly assassin, even at a mo
ment when joy began to light up every heart,
and hope was the language of every lip.
Language is inadequate to flirnish terms suf
ficient to express the horror of that foul deed
that deed of blood and nameless crime, which
has shrouded a nation In mourning and sunk a
fond wife and loving family into the veriest
depths of affliction. So profound is the grief of
that loved wife at her sad bereavement that her
heart Is closed to all those joys which earth call
impart. Streams, when deep, are noiseless in
their course, and passions, when strongest, are
silent in their struggles; and so deep Is the sor
row of all, that a nation's silence alone can
speak a nation's sorrow. The assassin has final,
it is said ; has evaded the tribunal of justice!
Has he r No! Beloved friends, there is an offi
cer of the highest tribunal following him, even
accompanying his every step, an officer of di
vine justice, his own guilty conscience, the in
seperatile companion of his flight, constantly
reminding him that his hands are stained
with the blood of the innocent, and the voice
of that blood Is loud in its appeal to Heaven for
vengeance.
He. has been tried before the tribunal of his
own guilty conscience, and already convicted of
the basest and most cruel murder, and the just
sentence of his condemnation stands registered
on the eternal records of Heaven_ lie has fled !
Yes ! and as he goes, he bears, like the murderer
Cain, on his bloodstained soul, the first and ear
liest curse of Heaven. What a man, so lost to
every principle of manhood, so dead to every
line feeling of humanity as not to be filled with
horror at the very idea of such a deed r He who
could smile assent at the perpetration of such a
great crime Is a monster, not a man; a tiger in
human shape, whose soul thirsts for human
blood. The foul deed is done. The nation is
clothed in mourning. Let us then, my dear
friends,unite our sorrows to those of the sorrow
ing nation, and entertain in our hearts the deep
est sympathy for that loved one and her dear
family, who are left to feel the saddest pang of a
nation's woe.
Our patriot President has fallen in our nation's
cause; but the nation, thank God, has not fallen.
No, my dear friends, there are still cool heads,
wise minds and strong arms, both in the field
and in the Cabinet, to guide our noble ship of
State safely, and to rescue her from those perils
which now seem to threaten her safety. Let us
leave all things in their hands, and by united ef
fort aid them in the straggle. Let there be
nothing said or done to disturb the harmony
that has hitherto reigned in our city among all
men of every class or creed. Let nothing be
said or done to burst asunder that good link of
Christian charity which has heretofore bound us
together in the strong bonds of social harmony
and friendly Intercourse. Let us all this day be.
seech our Heavenly Father to look with an eye
of mercy on our suffering country, to comfort
the afflicted of our nation, to take under his pro
tecting care the widow and the orphan, to
strengthen in our souls the spint of union and
fraternal charity, and by united action we shall
become what we have been In happier days, a
prosperous, a happy, and a united people."
For denouncing the murderer of the Presi
dent, some staunch supporter of the dissolving
confederacy, and the little clique of politicians
who held office under Buchanan, set fire to the
Bishop's barn. In the following letter from
Bishop Smith to Father Nagle, of McGregor,
lowa, published in the News of that city, the
Bishops opinion as to the origin of the fire
which destroyed his property last week is clear
ly set forth. The Bishop writes :
"On last Wednesday morning, about three
o'clock, my stable, coach house, splendid horses,
grain, Ica, were all burned down by the hand
of some southern secesh, because I had, on last
Sunday, strongly condemned the tmssitination
of our late lamented and honored President. I
forgive them, and may God forgive them. Loss
about $4000." Cuarkivr,
Bishop of Dubuque.
The loft was full of hay, and of course all ef
forts to save the building were fruitless, as also
were attempts to get the horses ont, and the in
side was completely destroyed, the walls alone
being left standing.
The Times commenting on the outrage, says
"If there bad been no paper in Dubuque to
call the President " bloody tyrant," " widow-ma
ker," "wretch," "imbecile," "inhuman fool,"
and to even seek to cast disgrace upon his moth
er in asserting that he was a " bastard," Bishop
Smith would not have lost his property. To be
consistent the Herald ought to lavish praise up
on the incendiary. His act was but the prac
tice of southern rebels carried northward, and
the Herald, you known, has, ever since the war
commenced, spared no praise in speaking of the
acts of " the noble Confederates."
On the following Sunday the Bishop said he
had heard that his remarks on the previous
Sunday had called forth much adverse criticism.
Men would sit in the groceries about town and
criticise God's ministers; and some who pos
sessed a few thousand dollars would presume to
dictate to them what they would say! Such
critics should be brought forth from obscurity
and set on a pinnacle so high that all the world
might see what wonderful doctors we have In
Dubuque ! lie did not preach to please all his
hearers. 'Twould be too much to hope for.—
Christ himself did not please all who heard Him.
The men whom He called whited sepulchers,
beautifully outward, but within full of corrup
tion, were not pleased. The speaker said his
first object in preaching was to please God;
next, to please his own conscience, and lastly,
he hoped to please all reasonable persons In his
congregation.
ANECDOTE OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN..—A WO
man in a faded shawl and hood, somewhat ad
vanced in life, was admitted In her turn, to the
presence of the President. tier husband had
been killed, and she bad come to ask the Presi
dent to release to her the eldest son. Being sat
isfied of the truthfulness of her story, he said,
"Certainly, if her prop was taken away she was
entitled to one of her boys." Me immediately
wrote an Order for the discharge of the young
man. The poor woman thanked him very grata
fully, and went away. On reaching the army
she found that this son had been in a recent en
gagement, was wounded, and was taken to a
hospital. She found the hospital but the boy
was dead, or died while she was there. The sur
geon in charge made a memorandum of the facts
upon the back of the President's order, and, al
most broken-hearted the poor woman found her
way into his presence. He was much affected
by her appearance and story, and said, " I know
what you wish me to do now, and shall do it
without your asking; I shall release to you your
second son." Upon this he took up his pen and
commenced writing the order. While he was writ
ing the poor woman stood by his side, the tears
running down her face, and passed her hand
softly over his head, stroking his rough hair as I
have seen a fond mother do to a son, By the
time he had finished writing his own heart and
eyes were full. He handed her the paper.
" Now," said he, "you have one and I one of
the other two left; that is no more than right."
She took the paper, and reverently placing her
hands again upon hls bead, the tears still upon
her cheeks, said, " The Lord bless yon, Mr. Pres
ident. May you live a thousand years, and may
you always be - the head of this great maw."
ur Men who invest in petticoat stock, gen.
orally prefer the 0 ve-twantin3, to tho mew !
WS*,
BEVOLITZIONABY
At day-break, on the 10th of April, 1775, the
minute men of Acton crowded, at the drum IMat,
to the house of Isaac Davis, their captain, " who
made haste to be ready." Just thirty years old,
the father of four llttle ones, stately In hisperwm,
a man of few words, earnest even to solemnity,
he parted from his wife, "Take good care of
the children," as though he had fortseen that his
own death was near, and while-she gazed after
him with resignation, he led his company to the
scene of danger.
Between nine and ten, the number of Ameri
cans on the rising ground above Concord bridge,
had increased to more than four handred Of
these, there were twenty-five minute men from
Bedford, with Jonathan Wilson for their cap
tain; others were from Westford, among them
Thazter, a preacher; others from Littleton, Car
lisle, and from Chelmsford. The Acton compa
ny came last and formed on the right. The
whole was a gathering not so much of officers
and soldiers as of brothers and equals; of whom
every one was a man well known in his village,
observed in the meeting-house on Sundays, fa
miliar at town-meetings, and respected as a five
holder or a freeholder's son.
Near the base of thP hill, Concord river flows
languidly in a winding channel, and was ap
proached by a causeway over the wet ground of
its left bank. The by-road from the hill on
which the Americans had rallied, ran southernly
till it met the causeway at right-angles. The
Americans saw before them within gunshot,
British troops holding possession of their bridge;
and in the distance a still larger number occupy
ing the town, which, from the rising smoke,
seemed to be set on fire.
The Americans bad as yet received only un
certainrumors of the morning's event at Lexing
ton. At the sight of the fire in the village, the
impulse seized them to march into the town
for Its defence. The officers, meeting in front
of their men, spoke a few words with one anoth
er, and went back to their places. Barrett, the
Colonel, on horseback in the rear, then gave the
order to advance, but not to fire unless attacked.
The calm features of Isaac Davis of Acton, be
came changed; the town-schoolmaster who was
present, could never afterwards find words strong
enough to express how his face reddened at the
word of command. "I have not a man that is
afraid to go," said Isaac Davis, looking at the
men of Acton; and drawing his sword, he cried,
" March." His company, being on the right, led
the way towards the bridge, he himself at their
head, and by his side Major John Bottrick, of
Concord, with John Robinson of Westford, Lieu
tenant Colonel in Prescott's regiment, but on
this day a volunteer without command.
Thus these three men walked together in front,
followed by minute men and militia, in double
file, trailing arms. They went down the hillock,
entered the by-road, came to its angle with the
main road, and then turned into the causeway
that led straight to the bridge. The British be
gan to take up the planks; the Americans, to
prevent it, quickened their step. At this, the Brit
ish fired one or two shots up the river; and
then another, by which Luther Blanchard and
Jonas Brown were wounde4l. A volley follow
ed, and Isaac Davis and Abner Hosmer, the lat
ter a son of the Deacon of Acton Church, fell
dead. Three hours before, Isaac Davis had bid
his wife and children farewell. That afternoon,
he was carried home and laid in her bed room.
His countenance was little altered and pleasant
In death. The bodies of two others of his com
pany who were slain that day, were brought al
so to her house, and the three were followed to
the village grave-yard by a concoufse of' people
for miles around. God gave her length of days
in the land which his generous devotion assisted
to redeem. She lived to see her country touch
the Gulf of Mexico and the Pacific, and when it
was grown great in numbers, wealth, and power,
the United States, In Congress, paid honors to
her husband's martyrdom, and comforted her
under the double burden of sorrow, and more
than ninety years.—Bcincroft.
A 13E0011D ROBINSON CRUM
General Scott, in his interesting autobiogra
phy, gives an account of a Robinson Crusoe, a
Mr. Pain, who lived a solitary life of many years
on the Island of Cape Breton. Re says;
Mr. Pain sailed fronrl3oston in a smack for
the banks of Newfoundland and other fishing
grounds In 1774, before the outbreak of the Rev
olution. Having made up the cargo in the Gut
of Canso, Pain begged his companions to let him
iemain till the return of the party the following
season. They assisted in building him a hut, and
left him with a good supply of personal effects,
bedclothes, some axes and other took% a gun,
with ammunition, fishing tackle, and such other
stores as could be spared, together with a Bible,
"Paradise Lost," and the "Pilgrim's Progress."
Prayers were said at parting, and the smack sail
ed for home.
This was the last that our adventurer saw of
"the human face divine" for nine or ten years.
The Revolutionary war supervened. There was
no more fishing and curing of fish by Americans
on those shores—the Out of Canso not being
navigated at that period except by vessels driven
into it by stress of weather. There was no
road and no trail across the jnonntains to any
settlement whatever.
For the first year, and, indeed, till his supplies
began to fail him, Mr. Pain,then young, dui not
lament his condition. But when the second and
third seasons came, and again and again there
was no return of his friends, it seemed evident
that they had abandonid him ; his spirits droop
ed and he was in danger of being lost in despair.
Bet man is the most flexible and pliable of all
animals. According to his own account, Mr.
Pain began soon to relish food without salt ; the
the deer and fleece goat were abundant., furnish
ing him with both food and raiment, and which
he contrived to entrap after his powder and shot
was exhausted. 80, too, in respect to worn-out
hooks and lines; these were replaced by bones
and slips of skin, so that there was no want of
the "finny prey." By the fifth year he began to
like the new life as well as at first. His books were
more than a solace to him, and the autobiogra
pher can testify that he could accurately recite
from memory entire chapters of the Bible, and
many of the books of "Paradise MAI."
Finally, when at the end of the war, his old
master in a smack came in search of him or his
remains, he had become so attached to this mode
of existence that he refused to return to his na
tive soiL A good supply of necessaries was left
with him. His little property at home was in
vested in cattle, with materials for a small house,
some furniture, &c., all of which were sent out
to him, with an old sister, a farm laborer and a
lad—s relative. Before 1812, some new connect
ions and laborers had joined him, and hohad be
come a thrifty farmer.
Qom` In a recent Issue, the London Spectator,
the ablest of the English weeklies, in an article
on President Lincoln, referring to hlacaulay's
celebrated comparison of Washington and John
Frampton, says: "If that high eulogium was
fully earned, as it was, by the first great Presi
dent of the United States, we doubt if has not
been as well earned by the Illinois peasant pro
prietor and village lawyer, whom, by some di
vine inspiration or providence, the Republican
caucus of 1860 substituted for their nominee for
the President's chair." It adds, speaking of his
message to Congress on the 4th of March, that it
contains "a grasp of principle, a dignity of man
ner, acid a solemnity of pu which would
have been unworthy of neither pton nor of
Cromwell, while his gentleness and generosity
of feeling toward his foes was altooSt. greater
than we should expect from elthex.of tbein."
WHO E 3 THE FATHER :a JEFF. ',HAVIES
. 011==.7 .
u Who was the father of 7ebedee's children I" • •
Once was a qttestion tigkoght• very bevrltticritit)
But no, elapse Jett Davtadeekires kle.g?ntrOttuu!,
h
And says 3 tinisult Snitcaptnrep Inhuman, :
A,.seestlou Wica more dirrkli bewildering:.
" Whiffs thelather of Dwrhea chlldrenr- • •
Oh;ontraillgtoix t , .;
A.PriAtioz Jloypp gero4L .;
Had ion! Shi ft beenotlettu •
It bad COt beam to tab/.
02.00 per annum, in advance.
NUMBER 23.
ipjAolll . ll;_ol44ol.lf.ll4i i iii:4:7:
TEDMIXDO WOOD MONO letnt. OfZDENCT DOS
The Philodelphin Press o't yesterday, publishes
tho following letter‘written, it will he rarilbed,
at the time of the John Brown ezeitement:
LETTER FROM PRESIDENT BIICIESNAN TO GOVER
NOR WIZ.
[Private.]
WASHINGTON, November 1014, 1859.
My DEAR. Brn : On yesterday afternoon a
gentleman called to see me, and presented his
card, of which the following Is a copy; °Col.
James Patton, patentee of Patton's aelf-balancteg
sash raiser and locked combined, Post-Offline
Box No. 651, Troy, N. Y." He came with anoth
er gentleman. They remained a few minutes
during the hour of reception and went away.
After be had left he returned and said he felt it
his duty to make an important' communication
to me, and I told him to speak on.
He said he knew a company of men bad been
formed in Troy to rescue John Brown, and he
had no doubt they would make thS .iitteinpt. I
cross examined ldm closely, but ire could give
no satisfactory explanation on the subject, but
still expressed his conviction that such a com
pany existed. I did not regard it of any conse
quence at the moment, nor do I now look upon
it in a different light. Still, upon reflection, I
deem it best to slate the circumstances to%yon.
If it should do no good, it can certainly do no
harm. I have no doubt your active vigilance
will prevent the danger of any rescue.
I am, very respectfully.
Luxes Bucturien.
Hon. limier A. Wm&
LETTER FROM FERNANDO WOOD TO GOVERNOR
MY DEAR But: Read this letter over careful
ly, and, whether concurring or cot in its view,
lsdieve it emanates from your triend, and a man
who hag a thorough knowledge of the pulse of
the people of the free States.
Your proceedings and Conduct thus far, in the
matter of the conspiracy at Harper's Ferry, meets
with general approval, and elicits commenda
tion from-your enemies. The firmness and mod
.cration which has characterized your course can
not be too highly applauded, and fo-clay you
stand higher than any other man in the Union.
Now, my friend dare you do a bold thing and
"temper justice with mercy?" Have you nerve
,hough to send Brown to State's Prison for life
instead of hanging him? Or rather I should ask
whether such a course would be consistent with
your own sense of duty, for i know that that 13
the sole controller of your official conduct.—
Brown is looked upon hero as the mare crazy or
fool•hardy emissary of other men. Circumstan
ces create a sympathy for him even with the
most ultra friends of the South. lam of this
latter clam as by recent speeches you may have
observed.
.. -
No Southern man could go further than my
self in behalf of Southern rights, but yet were I.
the Governor of Virginia, Brown should not be
hung, though Seward should be 11'1 conic) catch
him; and in such a course my conduct would
be governed by sound policy. The South will
gain by showing that it can be magnanimous to
a fanatic in its power. We who fight its battles
can cain largely by pointing to such en instance
of "chivalry." Tou can judge of Southern sen
timent better than myself. I can judge ofNorth
ern sentiment better than you. If the South will
sustain such an act, the whole North will rise
up en masse to applaud It.
I have thus briefly and frankly discharged my
duty as your friend, to give advice under trying
circumstances. Very truly yours,
F-..m.kiriXt WOOD.
Hon. H. A. WISE.
~i=ll'lAal7 Ye[~l•/:~:idq:a : v (a:L ~O a Mrs : /.\: i ~.~irulo~~
,ltiv DEAR Sra—l have duly received and
weighed every word of your letter. I give it all
credit for good motive and good morals, and as,
suggesting what, perhaps, is good policy. Now,
listen to me, for my mind is inflexibly made up.
lied I reached Harper's Ferry before these
men were captured (and I would have reached
there in time had I been forwarded as I ought
to have been from Washington and the Relay
House), I would have proclaimed martial law,
have stormed them in the quickest possible lime,
have given them no quarter, and if any had sur
vived I would have tried and executed them Un
der sentence of Court-martial. But I was too
late. The prisoners Weft captives, and I then
determined, to protect them to the uttermost of
my power, and I did protect them with my own
person.
I escorted them to prison, and placed around
them each a force as to overawe Lynch law.—
Every comfort was given them by my orders.
And they have been scrupulously afforded a fair
and speedy trial with every opportunity of de
fense for. crimes which were openly pepetrated
before the eye of hundreds, and as openly con
fessed. They could escape vonvictions only by
technical exceptions, and the chances for these
they had to a greater degree, by the extion
of prosecution. And the crimes deli ber ately
done by...them are of the deepest and darkest
Mud which can be committed against our people.
Brown, the chief leader, has been legally and
fairly tried and convicted, and admits the hu
manity of his treatment as a prisoner, the truth
of the indictment, and the truthfulness of the
witnesses against him. He has been allowed
excess of counsel, and the freedom of speech be
yond any prisoner known to me in our trials.
It was impossible not to convict him. He is
sentenced to be hanged; that is the sentence of
a mild code, humanely adjudged, and requires
no duty from me except to see that it be execu
ted. I have to sign no death-warrant. If the Ex
ecutive interposes at all, it is to pardon ; and to
pardon him I have received petitions, prayers,
threats, from almost everyfree State in the Un
ion.
From honest patriotic men likeoursel4 many
of them, I am warned that han gin g wil intake
him a martyr. Ali I Will it? Vhy? The ob
vious answer to that question shows me shove
anything the necessity for hanging him. You
ask : "Rave yon nerve enough to send Brown to
the State's Prison for life, instead of hanging
him?" Yea, if I didn't think Jie ought to be
hung, and that I would be inexcusable for miti
gating his punishment, I could do it without
dinclang, without a quiver of a muscle against a.
universal clamor for his life. But wash ever
known before that it would be impolitio for
State to execute her laws against the er t e i2hest
crimes, without bringing down upon h f the
venguance of a public sentiment outside of her
limits, tine hostile to her laws?
Is it so that it is wisely said to her that she had
better spare a murderer, a robber, a traitor be.
cause public sentiment elsewhere will glarilf an
insurrectionist with martyrdom? If so, t
time in da execution upon aim and all like him.
And I therefore say to you, firmly, that I have
precisely the nerve enough to let him be execu
ted with the certainty of his condemnation. . /its
shall be executed as the law sentences bite, 04 1 4
his body shall be delivered over to surgeons, and
await the resurrection without a grave in Our
soil. I have shown him all the mercy which
humanity can claim. Yours truly,
ilzraq:A.***:
Hon. F. WOOD
tir The f o llowlluterestlng i l a troßpondewee
,
I, sa id to have sew y omen p pat prior to
Lee's surrender: - ' • • .t
To Zieutinant-Gorieral Omni: I ictdnlr. , Leo
will surrender ifthingi are preteek-xt •,,t
n;•f:tl , 4l-ffiP4 3l Pr4" . . ll 9 r e ,
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tie2l;
Tpurh, • tr. i s: (*W.:
1 , 20 , 36 . u.'
64 tritigetbi,ll:-'WeSnr
tap; tince offered slady Mend wboi Inaiictibg
as a grtiesionart colleator..,tweutAliltmtkior
every, 4w. stm rzSt.likeev --14 ~
sightto
,wark 10, rorpil,.f!inf tn. a
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Z i attoa 3ewafe of `vhcilttulizei 14611
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NM
MEN
JOIN DROWN
113
NEw-Yowc, Nov. 2d,1869.
RICHMOND, VA., Nov. 4th, 1130.
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