fmS , J JBL K M.
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VOL. 2.-NO. 2G.
CLEAEriELD, WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY C, 1856.
BY S. B. ROW.
: THE DUMB CHILD.
She is my only girl, .
I aked for her as some most precious thing;
Tor all unfinished was love's jeweled ring,
Till set with this soft pearl !
The stales that time brt forth I could not see
ilow pure, how perfect, scemc 1 the gift to me!
1 ' Oh ! many a ?oft old tuno
I used to sing nnto that deadened ear,
And suffered not theslightcst footsteps near,
' ' Lest she might wake too souu ; ;
And hushed her brothers laughter while she lay.
-Ah I nccdloss care V I wight have let them play.
, ' Tws long ero I beliovcd
That this one daughter might not speak to me ;
Waited and watched Ood knows how patiently
How willingly deceived. :
'Vain Love was long the untiring nurse of Faith, -And
tended llopo until it starred to death.
Oh! if ehe could but hear
For oiie short hour, till I her tongue might teach
To call mo mother, in the broken speecn
That thrill's the mother's ear !
Alas! those sealed lips never may bo stirred,
To the deep music of that holy word !
My heart it eorcly tries.
To eta her kneel with such a reverent air
Ecsido her brothers, at their evening prayer ;
Or lift those earnest eyes,
To watch our lips, as though our words she knew,
Then move her own, u she were speaking, too.
I've watched her looking up
To the bright wonder of a sunset sky,
With such a depth of meaning in her cyo.
That I could almost hope
The struggling soul would burst its binding cords,
And the long-pent-up thoughts flow forth iu words.
The song of bird and bee,
The chorus of the breeies. streams, and groves,
All the grand music to which nature moves,
Are wasted melody
To her; the world of sound a tuneless void;
While vea silence hath its charm destroyed.
' Her face is very fair;
ITr blue ye beautiful ; of finest mould
The soft white brow, o'er which, in waves of gold,
- Kipplea hor shining hair.
Alaa! this lovely temple closed must be.
1'or lie who made it keeps the master-key.
' 'Wills Ho tho mind within
Fhould from earth's Babe4-clamor be kept free
E'ea that Jl is still, small voice, and step might be
lleam at its inner sunne, -Through
that deep hush of soul, with elaarcr thrill ?
Then should I grieve? O, murmuring heart be still !
She seems to have a quiet senso
Of quiet gladness in her noiseless play,
fchohath pleasant smile, a gentle way,
Whose voiceless eloquence
Touches ell hearts, though I had once the fear
That eveu hor father would not caro for her.
Thank God it is not so !
Andv when his son are playing merrily.
She comes and leans her head upon his kuoe.
O, at such times, I know,
By hii full eye, and tones subdued and mild,
llvw fci heart yearus over his silent child.
Not of all gifts bereft,
Even now. How could I say aho did not speak ?
IVhahreal language lights her eye and check.
And repders thanks to Him who left
Unto her soul yet open avenues
For joy to enter, and for love to use I
And God in love doth givo
To her defeat a beauty of iks own ;
-Aai we a decper'tenderness have known
Through that for which we grieve.
Vet ehr.ll the seal be melted from her ear
Yea; and my voice shall fill it but not here.
When that new senso is given,
What rapture will its first experience be,
That never woke to meaner melody
Than tho rich sogs of Heaven
To hear the full-tnnod anthem swelling round,
While angels teach the ecstasies of sound!
THE DEMON IN TIAWKSON'S HOUSE.
Trom tho Fhil'a. North America.
Tho coals are glowing In the grate. A red
and cheerful light spreads over the little sitting-room
of William Hawkson's hoase, show
ing the plain, but neat and clean carpet,-and
chairs and tables, with the pretty prints fram
ed upon the wall Mary's guitar and William's
Yiolin presiding, like the spirit of harmony,
over tho domestic comfort of the apartment.
!Baby Bell has bummed herself to sleep, rattle
in hand, in tho cradle, and her brother, ol
threo years, romping Harry, has paused in his
play to watch the flitting smiles upon her dim
pled face. From the room back, used both as
kitchen and dining room, comes a warmer
glow, and the inv iting savors of cooking meat,
nvhilo the song of bustling Mary JIawkson
rings merrily in contrast with the wind's howl
ing and moaning among the snow-drifts out of
doors. Six o'clock has struck, and William is
expected from his carpenter shop. William
works hard, and steady, for ho has a precious
object in view that of securing a house of his
own. ' At the end of every week, a portion of
his earnings is placed in Marj-'s' hands, to be
added to the store in the corncrof thc topmost
drawer in the bureau, for the money is too val
uable in the carpenter's eyes, to be entrusted to
the keeping of the best established saving fund.
It is Saturday night. William at length ar
rives wearied, and covered with snow. But
his manly cheeks glow, and his blue eyes
brighten as he shakes the snow from his
rough overcoat and cap, and enters the home
of his heart. ' Mary advances to greet him ;
tut the color flics from her check, the song
suddenly ceases,; and she heaves stranje si-hs
as sho goes to give her husband the welcome
kiss. 7 What can produce such a change amid
so many endearing comforts?
' "Hurrah ! Mary," cries the bold, frank voico
of tua carpenter, "its hard work, but tharik
God and yon, Mary, two more weeks will
make up the sum that shall place us in our
cwn home ! Come ! give me a hearty hug and
one more kiss! That's the way ! Bless the lit-
tie darling she's asleep'. Harry, take caro of
that coat, it's too wet for you to handle.
There's the .money, Mary, and now let us go
to supper, fdr I am very hungry !"
In the ccstacies cf hi joy like a sailor,
whose heart bounds, as after a voyage of peril,
land comes in view, ho does not observe the
tear trembling in Maty's eye, or the iluttering
voico with which sho responds to his greet
ingsand then they proceed with the evening
meal in the carpenter's home.
The two weeks have passed away upon the
path that has no returning step. It is Satur
day night again in the carpenter's home, and
William is expected from work. Mary Hawk
son has been seated before tho grate for a full
hour, to the neglect of supper, Baby Boll, and
even the importunities of little Harry. The
glow of the fire falls upon a face, pale and
deathly in its expression and meets the fire
of eyes in which wildness and sadness strange
ly mingle. Suddenly she starts up, and her
thoughts speak out
I will, I must make another risk!" and
then sinking into the chair again, falters forth,
"but God in heaven, what will that avail ?"
A footstep is heard approaching the house.
She dries her tears a3 well as she can, and
awaits with a fearful tremble, the eoming cf
William. His hand is upon the knob,and as a
spasm shoots through the heart of tho wife, the
joyful carpenter bounds into the room shouting
"It's done, Mary it's done. Here's the
money, the last of tho sum we wanted.
Quick ! bring down the box, and let us count
the whole, to be sure that we have not bean
mistaken. Quick ?"
Why docs he turn a glance of surprise upon
Mary surprise even in the glow of joy ?
The wife rises to her feet, but seems scarcely
able to stand : she turns upon her doting hus
band a look of utter despair, and then sinks
down at his feet.
. "William husband forgive forgive ?"
sho tittered, but could not proceed.
"Win', Mary-r-how what's the matter ?
there is nothing to forgive, love. Here's the
balance ot the money we shall have a house
of our own, and then when there's no rent to
pay, yon shall not spoil your pretty hands in
the kitchen any more," says William, endea
voring to make her rise.
"William William you have no money,"
sho answers, and sinks to the floor.
. The carpenter stands like one stricken with
tho thought of approaching death.
"What do you mean ? Iluve you been rob
bed ?" he at length asks in a husky voice, and
iho glow of Lis cheeks change to an ashen hue.
';Xo, no you have been robbed, and I am
the thief! William" sho now musters
strength enough to say, "hear me, and then
let me die, as I deserve. I have abused your
confidence. The money you have given to
my care, has been spent in the policy shop,
even to the last cent. I was induced to try
my fortune there, and have ruined both you
and rnyself. Oh! forgive me !"
But the agonizing cry for forgiveness falls
upon cars that convey but unmeaning sounds
to the carpenter's brain. He has heard but a
portion of the narrative of ruin, and the ap
peal for forgiveness is answered by a mani
ac's hollow laugh ! The carpenter utters but
tho one word :devil" dashes his wife to
the floor, and rushes wildly from a home that
he can know no more !
Days pass away days of fearful agony and
despairing search on the part of Mary Ilawk
son and of grief on the part of tho poor car
penter's many friends. And then, among the
masses of floating ice in a dock on the Dela
ware, the hair of a corpse was discovered
mattiug upon the temples, and the eyes were
seen gleaming with a frozen stare. The body
was hauled upon tho wharf, and before tho
Coroner arrived, a woman's wild shriek start
led the laborers on the wharves, and Mary
Hawkson was raving over her husband's body.
And, though the corpse now moulders be
neath the snows of the church yard, never
since has the wife, so fatally weak so sinned
against, yet sinning ceased to rave, like a
fury, over the ruin tho policies wrought.
THE .UATTEIi-OF-FACT 31 AN
Here is a very amusing picture cf that spe
cies of odd fish known as tiio Malicr-of-fact
Man .-
"I am what tho old women call "An Odd
Fish." I do nothing under heaven without a
motive never. 1 attempt nothing unless I
think there is a probability of my succeeding.
I ask no favors when I think they are not de
served, and finally, I don't wait upon the girls
when I think my attentions would be disagree
able. I am a matter-of-fact man I am. I do
things seriously. I once offered to attend a
young lady home I did, seriously; that is, I
meant to wait on her homo if she wanted me.
Sho accepted my offer. I went homo with
her; and it has ever since been an enigma to
me whether she wanted me or not. She took
my arm, and said not a word. I bade her
Good night,' and she said not a word. I met
her the next day, and I said not a word. Met
her again, and she gave me a two hour3 talk.
It struck me as curious. She fuarod I was of
fended, and couldn't for tho life of her con
ceive why. She begged me to explain, .but
didn't give me tho ghost of a chance to do it
She said she hoped I wouldn't bo offended ;
asked me to call ; and it has ever since been a
mystery to mo whether she really wanted me
' to call or not.
"I once taw a lady at her window. I tho't
J 1 would call. I did. I inquired for the lady,
and was told that she was not at home. I ex- j
pect sho was. I went away thinking so. I
rather think so still. I met her again. Sho
was offended said I had not been neighbor
ly. She reproached me for my negligence;
said she thought I had been unkind. And
I've ever since wondered whether she was sor
ry or notr
"A lady once said to me that she should like
to be married, if she could get a good conge
nial husband, who would make her happy, or
at least try to. She was not difficult to please,
she said. I said, I should like to get married
too, if I could get a wife that would try to
make me happy.' She said, Umph!' and
looked as if she meant what she said. She did.
For when I asked her if she could be persua
ded to marry me, she said she would rafher
be excused. I excused her. I have often
wondered why I excused her.
"A good many things of this kind have hap
pened to me that are doubtful, wonderful,
mysterious. What, then, i3 it that causes
doubt and mystery to attend the ways of
men 1 II is the want of fact. This is a matter-of-fact
world, and in order to act well iu it,
we must deal iu matter-of-fact."
ROMAN CATHOLICISM IX AMERICA.
Bead the following extract from a Roman
Catholic paper of wide circulation in Western
New York, edited by Father Oertel, of the
lioman Catholic persuasion. Says he :
"Whoever undervalues the spiritual power
of the Church iu the United States, wanders
in a fearful labvrinth. We have not only sev
en Archbishops, thirty-three Biihops, and sev
enteen hundrod and forty Priests, all in the
service of the Pope and tho Church, but we
have also thirty-one colleges, thirty-seven
s?minarics, and a hundred and seventeen fe
male academies, all founded by the Jesuits,
bringing danger and death to unbelief, and
mischief to American Know Xolhingism and
radicalism.- And tho hierarchial band, which,
like a golden thread, surrounds forty-one dio
ceses and two apostolic vicariates,and stretch
es from tho Atlantic Ocean to the still waters
of t'.u; Pacific. and maintains an invisible. secret.
magnetic connection with Homo tin? Hierar
chy is to us a sure guarantee that the Church,
perhaps after severe struggles and sufferings,
will one da come off victorious over all the
sects of America. It is computed that there
arc at present, more than two millions of
Catholic inhabitants iu the United Slates, who
are baptised and confirmed Catholic soldiers
of the Lord, and who, at the first summons,
will assemble iu rank and file. Then will men
not undervalue the power of the Catholic
Church in the United States. I will scatter
sand in no one's eyes, and therefore I stand
foith openly, and directly declare, that the
power and influence of the Catholic Church
ais stronger than many believe. Whoever
doubts this must be cither a fool or blind."
We learn further from an incidental remark
in the same article, that the Catholic Church
last year, had already eighteen hundred and
twenty-four churches, and at present the num
ber is still larger; that besides Cincinnati, St.
Louis, New Orleans, Charleston, Georgetown,
and New York, which an article in the All
gemirio Augsburg Zeitung, on the same sub
ject, designates as the bulwarks of the Cath
olic Church in North America, Baltimore, the
metropolitan -seal, the head-quarters of the
Fathers of llodemption, who there, have their
provincial, is a Catholic division; that Phila
delphia w itli its Jesuits, Iledemptorist3, Au
giislines, and with its distinguished clerical
seminary, possesses rich churches and the re
gard of the ruling clerus; and that Pittsburg,
Bufi'alo and Milwauliie are each tho residence
of a Bishop "who, w ithout noise indeed, but
with astonishing results, labors in his widely
extended diocese, but who is surrounded by a
clergy as distinguished for wisdom as for zeal
and self sacrifice."
Father Oertel thus presents the great and
disciplined army of his wily church and then
turrs to upbraid the miserable heretics, who
hesitate to woiship his relics and be overawed
at his mummeries. How long Sons of Amer
ica, will this intriguing and ambitious Catho
lic priesthood permit us to rule our own coun
try? Archbishop Hughes has already notified
us, that if we don't like Romanism, wo must
move out of its wav. Conn. Courant.
Savage Puxxixg. A Western paper having
stated that Judge Douglas was a man of 'loose
habits.' Prentice replies that on the contra
ry he is often very "tight." Another remarks
that he has gone to Cleveland to try "the wat
er cure," and to this is added that drinking
water only will remove his malady.
Political Wit. A letter-writer . speaking
of those Frecsoilers who prefer Lewis D. Cam
pbell to Nathaniel P. Banks, for Speaker of
the House, compares them to the Scribes and
Pharisees, who "strain at a Nat and swallow a
Campbell."
"That's So !" New clothes ate great prom
oters of piety. A new bonnet or a new dress
will induce a girl to go to church at least twice
on Sunday, where sho did not go once before
she got it.
Bo attentive to your neighbor at the dinner
lablo: nass hnr pv.tv tliinsr she rctlllires ; and
f L o - - M.
it she would unwittingly raako aa ill-natured
remark, pass that also.
EAST DAYS OF JUDGE JEFFREYS.
In the new volumes of Macauley's History
of England is the following account of the last
days of tho notorious Judge Jeffreys :
"Among tho many offenders Avhoso names
were mentioned in the course of these inqui
ries, was one who stood alone and uaapproach
ed in guilt and infamy, and whom whigs ad
torie3 were equally willing to leave to the ex
treme rigor of the law. On that terrible day,
which was succeeded by the Irish Night, the
roar of a great city disappointed of its re
venge, had followed Jeffreys to the drawbridge
of the Tower. His imprisonment was not
strictly legal; but he at first accepted with
thanks and blessings the protection which
those dark walls, mado famous by so many
cries and sorrows, afforded him against the fu
ry of the multitude. Soon, however, he be
came sensible that his life was still in immi
nent peril.
For a time he flattered himself with tho hope
that a writ of habeas corpus would liberate him
from his confinement, and that he should be
able to steal away to some foreign country, and
to hide himself with part cf his ill-gotten
wealth from the detestation of mankind ; but
till the government was settled, there was no
court competent to grant a writ of habeas cor
pus, and as soon a3 the government had been
settled, the habeas corpus act was suspended.
Whether tii$ legal guilt of murder could be
brought home to Jeffreys, may bo doubted.
But he was morally guilty of so mauy murders
that, if there had been no other way of reach
ing his life, a retrospective Act of Attainder
would have been cl-raorouslv- demanded by the
whole nation. A disposition to triumph over
the fallen has never been one of the besetting
sins of Englishmen ; but tho hatred of which
Jeffreys was the object was without a parallel
in our history, and partook but too largely of
the savageness of his own nature.
The people, where he was concerned, were
as cruel as himself, and exulted in his misery
as he had been accustomed to exult in the mis
ery of convicts listening to the sentence of
death, and of families clad in mourning. The
rabble congregated before his deserted man
sion in Duke street, and read on the door, with
shouts of laughter, tho bills which announced
the sale of his property. Even delicate wo
men, w ho had tears for highwaymen and house
breakers, breathed nothing but vengeance a-
gainst him. The lampoons on him which were
hawked about the town were distinguished by
an atrocity rare even in those days. Hanging
would bo too mild a death for him; a grave
under the gibbet too respectable a resting
place ; he ought to bo whipped to death at tho
cart's tail ; he ought to be tortured to death
like an Indian ; he ought to be devoured alive.
The street poets portioned out all his joints
with cannibal ferocity, and computed how ma
ny pounds of steaks might be cut from his
well fattened carcass. Nay, the rage of his
enemies was such, that, in language seldom
heard in England, they proclaimed their w ish
that he might go to the placo of wailing and
gnashing of teeth, to the worm that never dies,
to the fire that is never quenched. They ex
horted him to hang himself in his garters, and
to cut his throat with his razor. They put up
horrible prayers that ho might not be able to
repent, that he might die the same hard-hearted,
wicked Jeffreys that ho had lived. His
spirit, as mean in adversity as insolent and in
human in prosperity, sunk down under tho
load of public abhorrence. His constitution,
originally bad, and much impaired by intem
perance, was completely broken by distress
and anxiety.
He was tormented by a cruel infernal dis
ease, which the most skillful surgeons cf that
age were seldom able to relieve. Ono solace
was left to him brandy. Even when he had
causes to try and councils to attend, he had
seldom gouo to bed sober. Now, when he had
nothing to occupy his mind, save terrible rec
ollections and terrible forebodings, ho aban
doned himself without reserve to his favorite
vice. Many believed him to be bent on short
ening his life by excess. He thought it bet
ter, they said, to go off in a drunken fit than
to be hacked bylvEicn,or torn limb from limb
by the populace.
Onco he was roused from a state of object
despondence by an agreeable sensation, speed
ily followed by a mortifying disappointment.
A parcel had been left for him at the Tower.
It appeared to be a barrel of Colchester oys
ters, his favorite- dainties. He was greatly
moved; for there are moments when those
who least deserve affection are pleased to think
that they inspire it. "Thank God," he ex
claimed, "I have still some friends left!" lie
opened the parcel, and from among a heap of
shells out tumbled a stout halter.
It does not appear that ono of the flatterers
or buffoons whom he had enriched out of tho
plunder of his victims, came to comfort him
In the day of trouble. But he was not left in
utter solitude. John Tutchin, whom he had
sentenced to be flogged every fortnight for
seven years, made his way into theTower, and
presented himself beforo the fallen oppressor.
Poor Jeffreys, humbled to tho dust, behaved
with abject civility, and called for wine. "I
am glad, sir," he said, "to see you." "And I
am glad," answered the resentful whig, "to
see your lordship in this place." "I served
my master," said Jeffreys; "I was bound in
conscieuce to do to." " Where was your con
science," said Tutchin, "when yon passed that
sentence on mo at Dorchester!" "It was set
down in my instructions," answered Jeffreys,
fawningly, "that I was to show no mercy to
men like you, men of parts and courage.
When I went back to Court I was reprimand
ed for my lenity."
Even Tutchin, acrimonious as was his na
ture, and great as were his wrongs, seems to
have been a littlo mollified by the pitiable
spectacle which he had at first contemplated
with vindictive pleasure. He always denied
the truth of the report that ho was the' person
who sent the Colchester barrel to the Tower.
A more benevolent man, John Sharp, the
excellent Dean of Norwich, forced himself to
visit tho prisoner. It was a painful task, but
Sharp had been treated by Jeffreys, in old
times, as kindly as it was in the power of Jef
freys to treat anybody, and had once or twice
been able, by patiently waiting until the storm
of curses and invectives had spent itself, and
by dexterously seizing the moment of good
humor, to obtain for unhappy families some
mitigation of their suderings. The prisoner
was surprised and pleased. "What!" he said,
"dare you own mo uow ?"
It was in vain, however, that the amiable di
vine tried to givo a salutary pain to that scar
ed conscience. Jeffreys, instead of acknowl
edging his guilt.exclaimcd vehc ueully against
the injustice ot mankind. "People call me a
murderer for doing what at the time was ap
plauded by some who arc now high in public
favor. They call me a drunkard because I
take punch to relieve me in uiy agony." lie
would not admit that, as President of the High
Cornrnission, ilc had done anything to deserve
reproach. His colleagues, he said, were the
real criminals ; and now thiy threw all the
blame on him. He spoke with peculiar asper
ity ot Spart, who had undoubtedly been the
most lmraaas andmodcrate member of tho
board.
It soon became clear that the wicked judge
was fast sinking under the weight of mental
and bodMy .suffering. Dr. John Scott, pre'
herniary of St. Paul's, a clergyman of. great
sanctity, and author of the Christian Life, a
treatise once widely renowned, was summon
ed, probably on the recommendation of his
intimate friend Sharp, to the bodside of the
dying man. It was in vain, however, that
Scott spoke, as Sharp had already spoken, of
tho hidious butcheries of Dorchester and
Taunton. To the last, Jeffreys continued to
repeat that those who thought him cruel did
not know what his orders were, that he dc-
served praise instead of blame, and that his
clemency had drawn on him tho extreme dis
pleasure cf his master.
Disease, assisted by strong drink and misery
did its work fast. The patient's stomach re
jected all nourishment. He dwindled in a
few weeks from a portly and even corply man
to a skeleton. On the 18th of April he died,
in tho 41st year of his age. He had been
Chief Justice of the King's Bench at 3.1, and
Lord Chancellor at 37. In the whole history
of the English bar there is no other instance
of so rapid an elevation, or of so terrible a
fall. The ematiated corpse was laid, with all
privacy, next to the corpse of Monmouth in
the chapel of the Tower.
Ax Arkansas L.EGISI.ATOR. a mcmoer e-
lect of tlie lower chamber of the Legislature
of Arkansas, was persuaded, by some wags of
his neighborhood, that if he did not reach the
State House at ten o'clckon the day of assem
bling, he could not be sworn, and would loss
his seat.
Ho immediately mounted, with hunting frock,
rine, and bowie knife, and spurred until he
got to the door of the capital, were he hitched
his nag.
A crowd was in the chamber of tha lower
House, on tho ground floor, walking about
with their hats- on, and smoking cigars.
These he passed, ran up "stairs into the Senate
chamber," set his rifle against the wall, and
baw led out :
" Strangers, w bar's the man that swears me
in ?" at the same time taking out his creden
tials. " Walk this way," said the clerk, who was
at the moment igniting a real Principe, and
he was sworn without inquiry.
When the teller came to count noses, he
found that there was one Senator too many
present. The mistake was soon discovered,
and the huntsman was informed that he did
not belong there.
"Fool who with your corn broad ?" lie roar
ed ;" you can't flunk this child, no how you
can fix it I'm elected to this ere Legislature,
and I'll go agin all banks and eternal improve
ments, and if there's any of your orratory gen
tlemen wants to get skinned, jest say tho
word, and I'll light upon you like a nigger on
a woodcock. My constituents sent mo. here,
and if you want to floor this two-legged ani
mal, hop on, jest as soon you like, for though
I'm from the country, I'm a little smarter than
any other quadruped -you cau turn out of this
drove."
After this admirable harangue, he put his
bowie knife between his teeth, and took up his
rifli w ith, "Come here, old sukc, stand by me,
at the same time pointing at the Chairman,
who however, had seen such people before.
After some expostulation, the man was pcr-
snaded that ho belonged to the lower cham
ber, upon which he sheathed his knife, flung
his gun on his shoulder, and with a profound
cottgree, remarked;
"Gentleman, I beg your pardon. But if I
didn't think that lower room was a grogsery,
may I be shot.
A SPOUTING ADVENTURE.
BT A BACKWOODSMAN.
I have often seen accounts of "hair breadth
'scapes" in such cases, which very wise peo
ple who know nothing about it in more civ-
ilized places, have charged to the marvellous,
but which we of the woods, at least many of us,
know to be not only possible, but highly prob
able, and in some instances, by sad experience ;
in illustration of which, I will endeavor to de
scribe an adventure of my own. In 1837 I re
sided on the banks of the Mississippi, (C. VT.,)
as I had done from my infancy. I was then,
about 13 years ago, stout and athletic, and pas
sionately feud of wild scenery and sporting
adventures. Tho month of October had ar
rived the great season for partridge and deer
shooting ; and in accordance with my almost
daily custom, I sallied out with my fowling
piece ono barrel charged with a ball, and the
other with small shot. I had succeeded in
bagging some small wares, and in passing a
creek observed a raccoon busily employed turn
ing over the stones in search of frog, worms,
&c. Without giving the matter much thought
I succeeded iu removing "Ursa Minor" to an
other, if not a better world ; and being rather
corpulent to carry through the woods, I hung
him upon a sappliug, intending to send for
him the next day ; and as the part of the coun
try iu which I was did not aQbrd large game,
I charged the second barrel with shot also. I
had proceeded perhaps a mile, and was cross
ing tho outskirts of a Tamarack swamp,
through a succession of narrow and rocky glens,
w ith high and precipitous sides, and had sprung
from a rather high rock into a rift of not more
than three feet wide, when I perceived the
eyes of au immense buck glaring at me, at not
over ton feet distance. A glance showed mo
that he had no means of escape except over
myself; and aware of the desperation of this
otherwise timid creature, under such circum
stances and at this particular season, I formed
my resolution iu an instant. I cocked both
locks, placed my fingars on the triggers, and
resolved to wait his spring, as I did not think
my charge would injuro him except at the very
muzzle ; I then knelt upon one knee and
watched his eye. All this took place in a very
fjw second?.
At length tho haunches and ears were drawn
back, and with a tremendous snort he bounded
in the air, with the evident intention of de
scending upon me ; quick as lightning both
barrels wero discharged full info his breast,
and I received a shock as if from a pile cn-
ine, which deprived me of all sensation. A-
bout three hours afterwards, I was brought to
a stalo of partial sensibility by something lick
ing my face, and something growling and
scratching my clothes ; but being very faint I
did not lookup until enormous paws tore flesh
with them ; then, indeed, I did look up, when,
what wr.s my horror,io 6ee a huge bear, coolly
licking tho blood from my lacerated breast.
Weakness, more than self-possession, kept me
still a moment, while two half-grown cubs were
tearing and scratching my legs and feet. Tha
desperation of the case aroused me to sudden
enersry, ana, mv rigut arm Doing woKcn, l
slowly stretched my left hand to iny back for
my hunter's knife, resolved, if such can be
called resolution, to savo my life if possible.
I had get it drawn from the sheath, and was
watching a favorable opportunity to plunge it
into tlie brute's throat, when, with a frightful
roar, it fill across my body, apparently in tho
very agonies of djath. A fearful struggle en
sued, which soon put a stop to my feeble ex
ertions. When I next became conscious, 1
was seated leauing against a rock, and a stal
wart Indian youth, who had. been my compan
ion in many a hard day's hunt, was busily en
gaged in binding up my wounds, with leaves,
and strips torn from his owii scanty garments.
Not being able to take me home that night, ho
mado a fire and nursed me as a mother w ould
a child, and the next day carried me by easy
tages to my. parents.
It appeared that he had called for me, but
being told that I was only gone a few minutes,
thought that he would make up to me ha ac
cidentally came to w hero I had shot and hung
up the raccoon, but found that some bears had
broken tho sapling and eaten their cousin.
He then struck their trails, and followed them
to where he saw the old na apparently devour
ing something, he did not know what, no
fired, and being aware of their tenacity of life,
waited to re-load his rifle era he ventured to
advance a sad job lor me, as by its dying
struggles I have been maimed for life.- It is
worthy of remark that the deer had been so
close upon me when I fired, that his chest was
singed, and that the barrels of tho gun wero
found nearly eight inches deep in the wound
formed by their own discharge, while I and
the stock had been driven upwards of thirty
feet by tho forco of his spring. .
Such arc soma of tho perils of the back
wood's sportsman, and which with , many oth
ers, equally romantic, is an o'er truo tale, as
I and man- others know by hard experience.
No franking privilego exists in England.
Even the Qucca has to pay her penny. ." "