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A FAMILY•NEWSPAPER. _
•----I'._/--_,__
locuoteb to politics, News, 4Cittrature, Poetrp, Jillecbanics, Agriculture; fig Diffusion' of Useful 3itforntation, General Intelligence, Amusement, ,fflaructs,_.tt
VOLUME VII
THE LEHIGH REGISTER;
Is published in the Borough of hillentown,
Lehigh County Pa., every Wednesday
BY A. L. RUBE,
At 8150 per annum, payable In advance, and
p , OO if not paid until the end of the year. No
paper discontinued, until all arrearages are paid
except at the option of the proprietor.
ADVEIITISEMENTS, making not more than one
square, will be inserted three time's for one dol
lar and for every subsequent insertion twenty.
five cents. Larger advertisements, charged in
the same proportion. Those not exceeding ten
lines will be charged seventy-flee cents, and
those making six lines or less, three insertions
fur 50 cents.
13:•et liberal deduction will be made to those
who advertise by the year.
Or Office in Hamilton 'St., one door East of
the Heiman Reformed Church, nearly opposite
t he ..Friedensbote" Office.
Millers' Boot and Shoe Store
In .11lenlown.
The subscriber takes this method to in
form his friends, and the public in general,
that he has lately established a new •
BOOT & SHOE
•
Store,
.4110 1 4 in the fourth frame
shop, east of the
Allentown Hotel,
on the North side of Hamilton street, No. 9.
Where he has 'fitted up a splendid Store
Raotn, and. will be, prepared •with a large
assortment of finished: work to accomodate
his cUstomers eyery branch of his busi
ness. The folloyving are named among
some of his prices;
Fine Calf Skin Boots, from $3 50 to $5 25
Coarse stout , do-; 2, 50 to 350
Boys', - do:; ,; .
,; do., _ ; :, 1 oo ' to 2 25
Ladies7lVlorocco.Slippera, -- 70 to 125
Misses, and Childrens according to quality,
and sizes. •
He will soil at Philadelphia prices. Whole
sale and RetsiLand to Country Merchants,
will, make . a very liberal deduction.
As he always employs the best of work-
Mint, mid vvorks up the beskmaterials in the
market,,he is enabled to stand for any
work turned out by him, and' feels Confident
that the same will prove- satisfactory to his
customers. •
Persons therefore will - see to their advan
tage, and call on him before purchasing else
where.: • •
. He retells his sincere thanks for the many
favors , he• has. received from a kind public,
and - bymoderate , prices;iood work, and due
Meentionito , husinessi.hopes to merit a con
in uance of the•eame.:;.
-DANIEL MILLER.
P - -8m
March 23..1853.
-1191111 L
* lit the Court of Common Pleas
of Lehigh courtly ,
the ,, matter of the Account
of. David 14 , 1. ,Kistler and Elias
Mantz, AssignuctotJacob Mtlntz Wet
under a voluntary lassignment:•- •
And now, May 3; ifis3; the Court appoint
ed Samuel J. Kistler, to audif;reeettle the ac
count and make distribution according to law.
• From the Records.
Tearr.---F, E. SAMUELS, Proth.
The Auditorappointed in the above order,
will meet for the purpose of his appointment
on Saturday thellE•th day of June next, at
10 o'clock in'the, forenoon at the house of
Peter .11101er, ,ta Heidelburg township,
where all those i nte rested can reste attend if they
•
see proper. •
,Juno 1,1863.
mann MAUL
iii' In the o:phans . Court of Lehigh
- , County.
-•. In the matter of the Account Of
, - ,:- David &nib and Samuel J.-Kist
ler, Adminietrators of John Smith dec'd.
And now Mai 8; 1858, the court appoint
ed John SaegerikeptiGerman and Samuel
Camp, auditors bandit and iiisettle the ac
count and make distribution ticcording to
law, and make. report ;thereof- ,to :the, next
stated , Orphans Court:including all,the evi
dence, which maybe submitted before them.
.riem stige.Reeordi. ' ...',.. .: ~
Tatt'xs—ll 51EItGER • - dlerk.
The: Auditors in the above nr
der, wilrateralor the purpose of their-ap
poiadrient3OkSaturday the 18th dayofJune
next,at:loi4lOck; in the forenoon at the
bout!) orPgef Welter, in Heidelburg town
ship, where;allitlitise interested can attend
if they see prOtaii;
June 1, 18513:•y -. ; :...
300 'lliozeitEtififilivo'
The lindeisiglied !lava net received
Three Hundred 120:ien0
with Tin and Winlter.fiicii'ilikt
IPOleititle'auct at - liar/le* -`
PRFO.7 4 ; GUTh &Co.
Allen!e)tl), February 28, 'IL-4w
Poetical 313cpartment.
The Life Guage.
They err who measure life by years,
With false or thoughtless tongue;
Some hearts grow old before their time ;
Others are always young! •
'Tis not the number of my lines
On Life's fast filling page
'Tie not the pulse's ad ded
. throbs
Which constitutes their age.
Some souls are Serfs among the free,
. While others nobly thrive;
They stand just where their fathers stood , .
Dead, even while they live
Oihers, all
. spirit, heart and sense— "
Theirs t he mysterftius power
To live, in thrilll of joy or we,
A twelve month In an hour!
Seize, then, the minutes as they pass—
The woof of life is THOUGHT !
•W arin colors—let them glow,
* By fire or fancy fraught.
Live to some purpose—make thy life
A gift of use to thee!
A Joy, a good, a golden hope,
A heavenly argosy!
'rhe Graves of a Household
They grew in beauty side by side,
They filled one house with glee;
Their graves are severed far and wide,
O'er stream, and, mound, and sea.
The same found mailer bent at night
, O'er each fair sleeping brow,
She Had each folded flower In sight—
.Whcre are those dreamers now 3
The sea, the lone blue sea halls one;
He lies where pearls lie deep;
He, was the loved of all, yet none
O'er'his lone grave may weep.
One where Spanish vines are dressed,
' Above the noble slain;
He rapped his colors round his breast,
In a biood-rcd field of Spain.
One- 'midst the forest of the west,
13y a dark stream is laid;
The Indian knows his place of rest,
Far in the forest shade.
And one o'er her the myrtle beds
Its leaves by soft winds fanned;
She faded' midst Italian flowers,
The last of that fair band! - -
. The Dying Atheist.
I have looked my last on the glorious earth,
And the golden light of day ;
For the sun that rises to•morrow morn
Will shine on my lifeless clay:
The beings above me still will act
The drama of life and ticath,
While I shall be sleeping a dreamless sleep
In the damp, cold ground beneath.
I have trod the earth but two - score years,
Yet I find it a weary path :
I have borne with the scorn and hate of fools,
And the biggot's fiery wrath, •
Because I would not be (heir slave,
And could not stoop to bow
Asp meek and humble suppliant
To a Glob I do not know.
But that is past: it matters not ;
'I care not now for that ; •
I've paid them back with acorn for scorn,
And ten-fold hate for bale ;
I envy not their coward fear
Of their tyrant-(ion's decree ;
And the Heaven they would revel in ~
Would be a Hell for me.,
.• • •
--3 w
But oh ! that the friends ,that loved me once,
And shrank from my side in fear,
When wakened thought first urged•me on
To my dark and lone career—
That only one were here, to soothe .b
My fearful aoguitib now;
That the gentle bend of love might wipe
The death-damp from my brow !
But it may not be:l have lived alone,.
And alone I fain would die:
I would have no biggot here to mark
My dying agony ;
To welt with curious ;eel. to mitch .
My last wild, faltering breath,
And read. in thepraug of the• parting soul,
• A Graven fear of-Death.
Afraid of DIILTH !..4111311/1 . joy to see "
His ghastly form by my side;
And I long to chap elreleton-band
As a lot!er clasps Isis bride:
ror lit i oomlne will end theweariness
Of a eorrow-bardentl , biepst,
And lead me awarfrom a /nylon life:
wtTo along amtdreamiess rest:
*•.-8w
etreeto of LOUOtotter•one
Dean pwkit wee accosted :6 . 3.A diuukerk,wea.•
staggering oitunetlia, l ,royerettee
said:
beep epinhing it out"' • 2
iiYesiet ee you ' , and
POW' you are reeling it horne.''
ALLENTOWN, LEHIGH COUNTY, PA., JUNE 8, 1853
,ffligiellOntous ,etlettiono.
Affecting, but True Story of N. York.
It was past•mtdnight on a wet, chilly night
in November lash when a good natured son
of Erin rings at the door of a handsome
three story house in Nintb street. The oc
cupant of the dwelling, a jaded, worn-out
doctor, is just in his first nap. He has had
a hard day's work of it, and only an hour ago
returned, after bidding.a final farewell to the
last patient on his list. But he hears the
tinkling of his door-bell by intuition, and ri
ses mechanically to its summons. 'A head,
comfortably capped for the night, looks down
from the second-story window upon the per
spiring messenger below.
"Who's there f„
docthor, are ye there ? Sure you're
wanted."
"Who wants me ?"
..Th s 3 woman, sir."
"'What woman my friend ?"
"Sure' docthor, it's the'widdy—the ppor
widely that lives forenonst our house, up the
alley in Aist Broadway."
"Is it Mrs. 'l'nrnley you mean ?"
"Yis ; sure ye might know that with half
the palaver."
"Ah, poor soul Very well, my friend, I
will go to her directly."
The good man has no hope of a fee in this
' case. It is a call upon his humanity, and
his humanity responds to it religiously.—
There are many -such in • the ranks of our
medical men, and many an act of Samaritan
•
charity is perfomed like this, in the still
hour of midnight, without the aid even of a
street-limp to glorify it in the eyes of the
world.
While the 'doctor is throwing on his cloth
eS, lighting his lantern, and performing his
journey of charity, lot us look into the house
of the poor vviclow. It is a small room, in
rear building occupied by several poor fami
lies ; but this room is the home of Mrs.
Turtiley and her little daughter—a child
three years old. - 'l'hey have lived here to
gether for a year past, ever since the hus
band and father died. Being alone, they
were too poor then to live in better apart
ments ; but in this place the mother had sup-.
ported herself and child by sewing, until her
health gave way, and then they still lived
together on public and private charity.
She had known Dr. Galen when her hus
band lived; and once or twice since, when
severely ill, she had made bold to trespass
on his friendship by calling in his profes
sional skill—nor had she ever called in vain.
In this little room we see by the gleam of a
feeble lamp the wasted form of its principal
tenant lying upon a miserable bed. The
fire that hail been built in a small stove has
died out, and there is no more coal to renew
it. The room does not contain a chair, but,
seated upon an inverted box near the bed,
is a woman who has come in from an ad
joining tenement, and on. her lap sleeps the
child, unconscious alike of its loneliness and
its poverty. On a small shelf over the fire
place stand two or three glass vials that
have been used for medicines, and by them
lies a sealed packet directed to Dr. Galen.
Beyond this, the room is bare.
The physician arrives, and as he enters
the room, the kind woman who has kept
watch by the bed rises silently and moves
aside. He takes the seat that she has just
left, and tenderly places his finger upon the
wrist of the patient. Hp can scarce discov
er a motion of the pulse. • He examines her
features. They are calm and placid as sleep
ing infancy, but sharp and ghastly. Death
has set its seal there, and her lingering
breath is so faint Abut it is hardly to be per.
ceived, tre administers a stimulant, and
she revives_a little. He calls her by name,
and he feels the responsive pressure of her
hand. She is sensible. ' She knows his
voice, but she cannot speak ; yet her faint,
fluttering heart seems full with emotion.—
She tries to utter a word—she struggles—
but the effort has ended with a piteous
groan—and with that man her breath has
ceased, The poor widow is no more !
"Broken-hearted !" murmured the sym
pathetic doctor, as a tear rolled froni hisseye.
"That woman died 'broken-hearted."'
"Here's a letter she bade me give you,"
said. the woman. reaching towards hirn'tbe
packet that had lain on the shelf. at woe to
give it you after she died."
Surprised. the doctor took,' the paper from
her hand, and adjusting his , spectacles, ex
amined the superscriiiiiii* the light of the
lamp. It was dilicteil• ins beautiful hand
my friend, Doctor Galero2 l - • -
Assured that itwas iti'ttuth intended for
him, the good - man brok e the aiOal. He read
but a few worati, when, with.' , a look of as
tonishment, and alraosi of horror, he turned
again towards the lifelestaerm by his aide.
Eagerly ho sought 'lot one remaining operk
of 'vitality. „Oa:pressed 4thailcold_.wrist4'
placed his ear cloae JO her hearti,aqd
ed—bui in vain .: ; all was mill, - 14104- and.
death-like. • • 1,
"s 1 good waniati . .', l, said : the' dockari • pla
cing e unperred letter in hießocket, stet,
assistance, and' prefinre , bodY-91 - thtirpoor
lady for the coffin. You shall be' pal&•ter
your trouble. Let no one remove the body;
I will see to her funeral, Good night."
"But the child," said the-woman,-nrrest
ing his attention as he was leaving - the
room—"what's to be done with the child ?"
"True, I had forgotten ; I will take care
of that, too," said the doctor, lifting it from
a bundle of rags where the
_woman had
placed it. The child thus disturbed, and
half dreaming, murmuringly pronounced
the word "Mamma." "Poor thing l" said
the doctor, "you shall see your mamma once
more, in the mornin g ." Then wrapping it
carefully in his cloa k, he set forth home
ward: It was no small task that the worthy
physician undertook to perform—to carry a .
child three years old, a lantern, and a stout
walking-stick, a whole mile through the
muddy streets on a night of Egyptian dark
ness. But he accomplished it; and havjiw
•seen his little charge safely deposited in a
warm and comfortable bed, he retired to his
library, and lighting the gas, sat down to
peruse at leisure the story of the poor widow.
It began thus :
kind and true Friend : Pride alone
has hitherto sealed my lipstgainst your im
perative request to know something of my
history. ; but now that I know that the hand
of death is near, and that very soon I must
pass beyond the influence of all human pas
sions, I look with trembling to the future of
one that I must hiave behind—my precious
child—my adored innocent, an orphan,
friendless and unprotected—to the cold vi
cissitudes of an unfeeling world. Take her,
my dear friend, and entreat for - her,- in the
name of is neglected and heart-broken moth
er, the care and protection of her haughty
kindred. You will do this—l know you 1
will, when . you have learned by brief; sad
story.
um the daughter of (here appeared the
name•of a wealthy. and well-known citizen
of New Yorlc, who is now livieg„) and un
der... his princely and aristocratic roof I was
reared and• educated a child of luxury:
This is enough to tell you who I was how .
I became what lam you shall know. About
five years ago
_(l was' then•sixteen years of
age.) while on a short sojourti with my pa
rents in Rockland county, by an imprudent
act of my own, my life was placed in instant
jeopardy, from which, at the risk of his own,
was relieved by the strong and willing
hand of one who till then had been to me a
perfect stranger. I knew not his station or
connections, having never seen him before ;
but at that torment, in the fullness of my
heart's gratitude, he deemed a creaturo of
superior mould, in contrast with the tremb
ling, pallid flatterers who looked on, yet
aided not his efforts. Well formed, well at
tired, and just in the spring-time of man
hood, he appeared to my agitated mind an
embodiment of true nobility. Sad so he
was. My soul overflowed with thankful
nass, yet I could not thank him. I could
but lean on him, and weep, and listen to his
voice, as with words of gentleness andsym
&thy, he assured me again and. again, of
Safety and protection. The• danger past,
there were hands willing and officious, rea
dy to escort me, and the noble stranger re
spectfully essayed to leave me in their care.
But to my mind it seemed that to dismiss
,him thus abruptly would be but a poor re
turn for so great a service, and I still clung
to the arm of my preserver, resolved that he,
and be only . , should deliver me into the
hands of my grateful parents. This was
soon done, for the news of my disaster and
rescue had reached them before we arrived
at the house, which was near, and they both
met us on the road. They were grateful, •
and my heart bounded with gladness as they
poured out the measure of their thanks upon
the youthful and diffident stranger. I was
their only daughter, and, as they said, the
pride of their house, Alas ! * * * * *
Well, the brave youth responded to my fa
ther in words as noble as the deed ho had
jnst,,performed. He said-4—iWe'should all
be thankful, and, for his part, he did thank
Heaven that it had made him the instru•
mint of my preservation.' Enough of this,
my good friend. It is sufficient for me to
add, on that day the germ of a true affection
was-planted in our joint hearts. As he took
my hind tenderly and respectfully at part
ing, it trembled with a sensation till then to
me unkßown,
"The abort period of our stay 'soon drew
to a close, but : furing that time our new ac
quaintance, George Turnley, was often at
.our tetfiporary residence. Indeed, he be
came almost .the 'sole companion of my
walks, much, as it seemed, to the chagrin of
those who approached but to flatter and dis
gust me. To be brief, dear doctor, finding
their arts ininfficient to win my preference
to themselveirthe Mina of my parents were
poioned against try peace. Young as It
was, and deeply as I felt that My nflectiOnti:
had b e mt given, as it were by instinct, to the ,
preserier of I maintained prudence'
enough' to assure myself that the object of
my thofights:wae, : tto thing .in pr inciple and
charadeettiat. bo:seern4d•sci be in action.— I
This, was easily katiwn.:' The eircurnstan
cel-sifhich,threkuctegether,naturally crea
tt3sl the inquiriea tefidinglijtliat result, We ,
found -liimto be a,,yotiiig:.njan_oftighly. re ±
,tipeelttble; theuglf not fashion'able'family4sro e .
siding in the a mechanic , ettalent..xnd
promise, of unimpeachable character; and
possessing a sound practical education.
FOR FARMER AND MECHANIC,
1 -That- herwas,-kind,-nobleiand—V3tre-ro-fiEVII
' well knew, and with these qualities I hesi
tated not in my decision. I encouraged his.
acquaintance. I loved-him with an earnest
love, and he gave me in exchange the meed
of a true and earnest affection. There was
but one objection that could.be urged against
him—he was a mechanic !
i.llly parents, I blush to say it, listened to
their artful. wicked detractions, and forbade
his visits to our house. He !--the preseiver
of my life, the object of my earthly adora
tion, was thrust scornfully froni the . door of
my dwelling. Oh, how my poor heart
swelled within me then ! I dare not dwell 1
on the contending passions that possessed.
my soul. It seemed to me that my parents
had become my.tyrants, and that tho milk
of human kindness—nay, even the tender
est sympathies of parental love—had been
frozen up in the cold coffers of their hoarded
gold ? Their very presence became repul
sive, loathsome to me. I could not bear to
look, even, on these who gave me existence,
for they had become tho' destroyers of my
young hopes—they had blasteclall the nnti
cipations of my ardent soul I I left them--I fled from the mercenary roof and became
his bride, sweetening with.his dear love the
bitterness which parental austerity had
poured into the cup of my existence. • -
"I ditlhope,r-alas ! it was 'but transient --
I did hope that the stern pride which drove
me from my dear parents loye—fc- they are
yet dear in my memory—would relax in its
severity, and claim me once again. This
was the boon I prayed for daily, hourly—'
This was all my eager heart thirsted for to
make full my cup of earthly joy: Their
smiles alone were lost to me, their blessed
forgiveness was all I sighed for. But all
was in vela !
~Y ou know the rest, my friend. Pros
perous,in his honorable vocation, my dear,
dear hnsband labored on, each year but add
ing_new triumphs and increasing hope, till
sickness came, and—death
It was. four o'clOck in the morning when
the worthy doctor again laid his head upon
the pillow, where; notwithstanding the ex
citement his sympathies had undergone, he
dreamed quietly till startled with a sum
mons to breakfast. Two days after, a sump
tuous funeral cortege moved from the resi
bence of-- in Fifth avenue; and the
remains of Alice Turn ley were deposited in
the beautiful seclusion of Greenwood. A
marble monument, elegant and costly, now
marks the spot, testifying the affectionate re
membrance of a bereaved father Little Alice,
now seven years old, has taken the place of
her 'mother, not only in the mansion, but in
the hearts of her self-condemned grand
parents.
Indian Desperation.
The following narrative is communicated
o the Southwestern American, in a letter
dated April 7th, 1853, from a gentleman con
nected with the government service at Fort
Crogan, on the Texas frontier. it presents
a vivid picture of that desperate spirit which
induces the Indian to perfer self-immolation
rather than fall into the hands of his ene
mies. The narrator had nine of his finest
horses stolen, and as soon as lie discovered
the loss, started, with seventeen men, in pur
suit of the thieves. Arriiing at an Indian
agency, they came to the conclusion, upon
consultation with the agent, that the robbery
had been committed by the Witcherits.—
While here, a party of that tribe, with their
chief, came in, on the pretence of restoring
some horses which had
,been stolen some
time previously, It was evident they were
acting in bad faith, and it was accordingly
agreed to ,detain the chief and the principal
portion of his party—consisting of nine war
riors and several women, as hostages, until
the whole of tho property recently' stolen
should be brought in. The 'writer Bays:—
~a ir. Stein, the agent, then announced to
them our determination, and I- told them in
pretty plain terms that I meant to carry them
into Belknap. and hold them as prisoners,
permitting two of their number to return to
their tribe and convey the , talk'we. had
given them. Though I fully expected 'a
breik' on the announcement, which would
result in the death ofilllr. Stem or myself, or
both—indeed, I would not have insured eith
er of our lives at 100 per cent.—we were
compelled totlace the danger with apparent
indifference:. Any manifestation, of fear or
suspicion would have increased the chances
of their restoring to the desperate alternative.
of % rush' for.fibeity, plunging their knives
into whomsoever 'fiaterrupted their passage.
The sequel proves the desperation' with
which they would lave acted. - .48°o - dais
ll , lniti told them they were - Prieoners; I rose'
r froth, the - bear akin upon which I been,
sitting facingthemfand 'mounted my horse;
it the same time drawing my piistol, arid mo
tioning them to go to their ' camp.- The
chief requested that liihardilldkiriniunt,:that
he wished' to speak. I did,finOrin,l`.tocik.i'
Sear on a stool nearbv. 'Hein:ll l o6d ins to .
siiin'my - forinii i • -• po4itiorf , (Kthilintilti.-L
-I:did soeartkilanktinitf O raWitfip 03Y knife
under preie4e - of,cuttinetobitcrio td strioke..
1-le:rosts,, addiessed :a 'kW 'reinarks to:•me, ,
about the difficulty of restraining. hie young
men from stealing, drc., and suggested "that
it would be better that•he should return to
his tribe. This I refused. Hp then seem ,
ingly yielded to his fate, approaching me
and seizing my hand, lifted me 'from the
ground, and embmcing me, first pointing to
Heaven and to ourselves, to indicate' that the
!Great Spirit witnessed the proceeding. I
told them that 1 would not hold them as
close, prisoners, but merely guard against
their escape, by placing sentinels around
their camp. Meantime I•encamped my com
mand near theirs, and took - from them all the
arms I could find. They retiredquielly to
tents at dark, manifesting not the ; , elightest
intention of an attempt to escape.%- _ •
"The moon shone as brightazday: - I . had
posted two distinct guards - civet them of nix
men each. with their sentinels. I had been
up and moving about camp until about twen
ty minuets:before• twelve. At• twelve the
sentinels Worp:.-ielieved. - The sentinel pose
ted More imitiediately over their camp, had
gone near ono of the, tents.
_Suddenly one
of the - Indians rushed forth tr - thit his tent to,
wards the sentinels, and presenting a pistol,
fired i ehooting hint.thronglt the heart. • 'Mlle
ieemedto bethe,,signal for a i general break:'';
As the sentinel tdrned to retreat up the slope'
towards his coMpanions, the chief, Ko-we
ska, rushed freiri the. tent - like a demon,
threW himself upon the back of a retreating
sentinel, and with his reeking knife inflicted
several 'Wounds before he was shot down by
the oldaentinel.
.The rest succeeded in et ,
fecting their escape, running in different di-'
rections, answering the shots fired at them
with yells ordefiance..
• “The-chief, as•was discovered on search
ing the tents, had purposely sacrificed him
self, his wife, and boy, seven years old, to
secure the escape of his companions. The
wife and child whom he had requested on
the evening before to talk to, and gave them
' assurances of their safety, were found lying
in their tent side by side, as if in deep:deep,. •
but slapped to the heart. The wife, at least,
had consented to her fate, as we were in ,
formed:by two old women , who bad not at ,
tempted to escape.
4! She seemed to have received the fatal
bloW/Without a struggle—boil were care ,
fullYS'qovered up to the breast, the child ly
ing upon its •mother's arm. The chief's
moccasins were found near the heads, a
sign, the Indian told us, that they did not:
mean to leave the spot alive. Nothing in
romance or history that I have ever road ap-•
proximates to this act of devotion and self-.
sacrifice, Cooper never could have ven
tured to paint such a scene. :The bright
moon lighting up the beautiful countenance.
of the mother—for she was beatitiful and
young—with her innocent boy by her side,.
and toe blood still oozin g from their ghastly
wounds—the husband, father and Waktior
.still streehed upon the sod :, the bloody
knife.still grasped in his hand, looking ter ,
rible even in death ; the sentinel not five
feet from him, his cold blue eye looking to•
heaven, while the figure of the soldiers hur-•
rying hither and thither. in settick. of they
knew now what, with occasional' but mista
ken cries, indicating some discovery. The
whole seemed more like a dream than sad
reality, and made an enduring impresison•
in: my mind. I had witnessed every des ,
cription of death and suffering on the battle
field, but no combination like this, of pride.
courage, self-devotion, self-sacrifice and re ,
vonge.
"What a•striking illustration of the prin.:
ciple imbibed by these tribes (roar the*
mother's milk, never to yield themseliqs tr:
prisoner. The brave chief would go '• •
spirit land "of his father's. the still unisuli.'
dued warrior ' 'and his wife and child freely
accompanied him to'his last 1106)4 grocind.. .
I have his shield in my possession.. It, iss:
quite a curiosity and orturnint,••bedecltkat
with feathers and wampum. This, ,
the bow and quiver of the little boy, I shall -
•
preserve sacredly., as mementos of one of
the most interesting scenes hi story , has re-.
corded." • ' ' • •
IVeu2s from Semta A.—By an, arrivilafr
Independence, Mo., we have.advices frode;
Santa Fe, New Mexico o to the,lst of &fay.'
The most gratifying: feature of thiiiin,telllf
gence is the announcement /hat the Siiigie
can boundary excitement had greati l yten6;
sided, owing- probably ~t o the : facf'thats'the
warlike correspondence bet Ween Coy. Lane
and Gov. Tries, of Chibtiahua, had beet,
withheld.frcint the PeePle. .deV.:Laaa ia
now spoken of as a candidatefer,C i rOpees•
The Indian) were quiet, and the e ref
"as
pect of aille was peaceable.' Illitch:tilitietif .
prevaitid'A;vith regard to the iselectOofijher,
route fortheTicific Railroad, and, tiOitlPa7..,
nyinid?been 'formed for the, purphiserfigiin r
meeting Corni::rnillion ' dollars to 7 ..thif4koi
~„o,`
should OP' roti'dle'run'thrimOhAke Orritgry.
The Nev:llteiitutti . are iitzo;lo:: r ti,tifer P: 1 0 -
ioute rhiotigli Wilker'e t pinti, 7, : %',2. -
. .
1211*Ifie in'disputes.as jn - tirtnies ; where
ithe Weaker Bide "tietS.4ip' tale° lights, : and
tianliti a great noieitOtilnake the eneti4, he-
Hove thettimore , nurnirotie and strong„464o
`they really are. ."f- •- •
Pr 4 smile ielike'the birstinentibereun
, frornbiihind a cloud,,to hint whn.lhikate
litte , tio'lrienda in the wide world. 4
EirA forward and talkative young inset
is not likely over to become a great mita,
M
NUMBER 36