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THE BLESSINGS OE GOVEENMEMT, LIKE THE DEWS 0? HEAVEN, SHOULD BE DISTBXBTJTED ALIKE TJP01T THE HIGH AND THE LOW, THE EICH AND THE POOS.
i
i
EBENSBURG, DECEMBER 28, 1854.
VOL. 2. NO. 14.
,.11 JJ t T' :. OXVIM. X!iC3.
TKRM8:
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THE OLD DOOR. STONE.
.a J
Frances D. Gage, to whose pen we are indebt
ed for the following beautiful poem, of the Old
i -Door Stone," has written much that the admirers
of minstrelsy might applaud, and nothing that
they Cin -ith any kind of propriety condemn.
WThose who are familiar with rural and pastorial
Ufe that happy life, that neither " town, nor
ver-lmrdened city!' can afford, will find m the
poem we copy, the reflex of a thousand beautiful
'. scenes, which all ought to be capable of iraagining,
though few can describe. The author of the pcem
In question, has accomplished all that we could
, have desired. N. F. Times. '
" " A song, a song for the old door stone,
!.' To every household dear; .
t " That hallowed spot, where joys and griefs,
Were shared for many a year,
v.- When sank the sun to his daily rest, .
"When the wild birds song'was o'er, ..
When the toil and care of the passing day
Annoyed the heart no morei --
; Then' on that loved and time-worn spot
We gathered one by one, ' ,
And spent the social twilight hour
'Upon the old door stone. .
How 6weei.to me. do memories come
Of merry cldldhood's hours,
"When we sped blithely through the fields
In search of budding flowers,
Or gathered berries from the bush, s
Or bending greenwood tree,
Or chased, the light-winged butterfly
WItfi pealing shouts of glee ;
The freshest hour in memory's book
Was spenfct set of sun,
,.
1:1
i-5
My weary head on mother's knee,
;Upon the ld door stono. '
-" That mother's face, that mother's form.
Are graven on my heart,
- And of life's holiest memories
They form the dearest part ;
" Her counsel and instructions given,
.,: Of friendship love and truth.
Have been my guardians and my guides.
Through all the ways of youth ;N
i" Aud yet I seem to hear again
f ' Each loved and treasured tone,
' . .When I iu fancy sit me down,
Upon the old door stone, t
' Long years have passed since mother died,
' " Yet she is with me still,
. Whether a toiler in the vale,
j Or a wanderer on the bill; .
, Still with me at my morning care,
: . Or evening's quiet rest,
The guardian angel by my side,
The kindest and the best.
"A mother now, I often strive -To
catch her thought and tone, ;
' For those who cluster round my knee,
' r. Upon my own door stone.
And oft beneath those clustering vines
Have kindred spirits met,
And holy words breathed softly there
.HTVows aB unbroken yet ; ."
-, And friendships formed and plans devised,
Aijd kindly pledges given,
. 'And sweet commnaions there began,
Far reaching into Heaven!
' rOh1 those who meet in love, "lang syne,"
". In life's wide paths are thrown, x
. .Yet many turn with longing heart,
'Back to the old door stone.
, ; Years Lave flown by since those bright days
;i: And All the world is changed,
And some who loved most kindly then
- Are by the world enstranged;
- Some fond hearts, too, then full of joy.
Are cold and still this day!
,! Forsaken plans and withered hopes.
Lie strewn o'er all the way,
T And strangers' feet tread those old halls
Where pattered once our own,
And spend the pleasant twilight hour
Upon the old door stone.
The old door stone, the clustering vino, .
Oh! may they long remain ; -And
may tho honsehold band that's left
Meet there but once again;
Meet not to weep o'er pleasures past
Or 'canvass joys to come
Meet to revive the sacred loves
r ' Once -centered in that hojie.
- A brother and a sister, sleep,
Our, parents both are gone ;
Oh J it would be a saddened hour
': Upon that old door stone.
: - .War Daguerreotyped.
- The historian may now break hia taHeis
and throw away his pen he is left entirely in
the, background, eclipsed and buried by the
daguerreotypist. Thia enterprising body,
employed now"in the east, have already sent
hometo Paris more than- four hundred pic
tures representing the acta and deeds of the
ftmy both on land and Bea, under all aspects
and circumstances, and with most mathematic
al precision. So far has this been carries that
all the reports to the Iinister of War ase ac
companied by daguerreotype pictures of most
remarkable beauty and precision."
Itnrij from tjje 6erman.
THE HUNTSMAN; !
ok:
SHOT THROUGH THE HEART.
-I have a tale to tell, with a true German
flavor, of a huntsman of the olden time, and
of the ringing of a shot in the recesses of a
forest. It is a tale taken from the lips of the
people, and it may be true. I have its kernel
from a German writer, Edmund Iloefer. -
From village to town, and back from town
to village no matter where- the narrow foot
path runs at one end through smooth meadows,
then descends into a wide hollow, of which the
whole sweep is filled with a wood ; but at the
other end, the path runs through the standing
corn. From village to town, or back from
town to village, men, women, and children
hurry through the wood. No trodden grass
betrays feet that have been truant from the
beaten path. Not far from the bottom of the
hollow there is an open space in the dense
forest, and the trees on one side stand apart
as if at the entrance to a narrow avenue. But
the avenue is no path now, if it ever were
one. It is choked up with underwood, matt
ed with brambles and wild vines, and the nar
row footway strikes directly across the forest
lawn of grass and flowers in the little open
glade; there is no sign of wavering in any
wayfarer no turning aside to be detected. -There
was assuredly another path here, for
here there was set up a guide-post, useless
for such purpose now, and overgrown with
ivy ; one of its three directing boards being
destroyed, or having rotted off, it looks like a
rude cross set up in the forest, and the peas
ants of the district though they are by this
time all good Protestants look up at it with
a prayerful ejaculation as they hurry by. .
A party of English travellers dwelt for a
few days in the adjacent town, and ocn dis
covered that "the grand old forest oaks were
good to dine under. They knew generally
that the place was tiecursed, and was believed
to harbor spectres if not worse things. Before
this generation was born, a lord of the castle
had gone suddenly abroad, and his lady moth
er who remained at home had cursed the
forest and permitted no wood to be felled, no
labor to be done, in it. This enrse the family
kept up and except use of the necessary paths,
the forest had been for almost a century un
touched by man." It was the more luxuriant
for that, andhe smooth plot of grass in which
the guiee-post stood, with very broad boughs
and blue sky above, were floor and ceiling,
as it seemed,' to the best - of picnio dining
rooms. '
Only their own 'servants went with the
holiday makers, who had dined well and
were dancing merrily when first the shadows
on the turf began perceptibly, to lengthen.
The few rustics who came to and fro upon the
path, had, all day long, looked more or less
aghast at their proceedings. The last , who
bad passed by, even presumed to stop, and
urge that they would rteurn home before
twilight closed. The wood, he said, is never
safe for Christian men, and evil things lie
yonder. His hand waved hurriedly towards
ancient avenue, and he stepped on apace, for
he had been venturesome in making any halt
at all. "
"Why there is a full moon to-night," said
Clara Hough, one of the party ; "the best of
the picnic is to come. If any fairies '"should
appear we'll join out dance with theirs and as
for ghosts, I should like to see one ! Is this
one of their walking days ? What says the
calendar?"
"It is the feast of St. Egidiu's," said Mr.
Eustace Wenn, who hoped, in time, to con
vert Miss Hough into Mrs. Wenn.
"St. Egidius' day is nothing in particular
Of course we shall go home by moonlight, but
I vote for an adventure. Let us break open
that pathway and find out the demon of the
wood. Something of course lies 'yonder.
Who joins the exploring party ?"
Women and men too grow superstitious in
the twilight, wise as they may be. There
were no volunteers.
"My dear fellow," said the host, "join our
next dance. The path you see is impervious."
Mr. Wrenn leapt among the trees and shout
ed back intelligence that it was easy with one
pair of hands to cut away there even for a
lady. "Then," said Miss Hough, following
his lead, "by all means let us go."
"Let them alone," said the host, "they are
lovers, and they would not thank us for our
company."
The dance, therefore, was formed, and the
young people went alone into the wood.
The green leaves, the gleams of sunset
coloring, the twittering of birds above, the
moss and flowersjinderfoot, the pleasant exer
cise of fighting down such obstacles as thorns
and tendrils offered, the young gentleman
smoothing the way for the young lady, as he
hoped to smooth her way on other paths when
she was an older lady tnd they travelled over
years of life that seemed to be before them
all such things made the little expedition as
agreeable as might have been desired. There
was another small break in the wood, and a
broader avenue of smooth turf pierced the
trees beyond it. Upon a hillock of large
mossy stones that seemed at one time to have
been assembled there together by an idlo man,
the lovers sat to rest and talk for five minutes
or longer of their own affairs. The gentleman
spoke most; the lady looked much downwards
and trifled with her little foot among the moss
upon one stone larger than the others, . "Why,
there is a great cross, and there are three un
readable letters scratched upon this stone H
said she. The first, I imagine i a G Let
5s ,0ni.,let M oa 1 'Ihi nP " shapen,
I think, like a grave. Or Bhall we go back T
I have a dread upon me." . But the Way for
ward was easy and the sky was light, and to
go on was to remain quietly together.
The young people went on with their hearts
open to each other, impressible enough," and
quite as serious as they were happy. One or
two fallen . trees were the only difficulties in
the way by which they reached a third . and
larger .open space. Passing by a carved
stone fountain, full of a dry growth of moss,
they saw a decayed house with its outbuild
ings. The house was of gray stone, and
seemed to lean against a slender round tower, -bound
with ivy to the topmost turret. There
was a terrace besore it with glass, and there
were vestiges of flower-beds. Over the arched
entrance-gate were set up three pairs of de
caying antlers ; into the wall at the side of it
was fixed a rusty chain with an iron collar, to
which there was yet attached the skeleton of
a dog.. All was silent, the tilight had set in;
the birds were in their nests ; and in the old
house it was evident that no man lived. The
door stood half open. The two entered.'
- Though uninhabited, the house was not
unfurnished. ' Rusty guns and hunting knives
hung on the walls, mouldering benches were
in the outer hall; an inner room, of which the
window was darkened by the foliage of, an
untrimmed vine, had two soiled cups upon its
table and a rusty coffee-pot. . There lay on a
chair near it, a half-knitted stocking. , Out of
this room, a door led into a smaller chamber,
full of hunters' tools, in which there was
a bed still tumbled ; and there was, among
all the man's furniture in that room, a chest
containing a woman's clothing and the clothes
of little children. ,. In the recess of the win
dow a silver cuy was set up, . as in the place
of honor ; and on a table by the Bedside lay
an old hunter's cap, a hymn-book, and a
Bible - "The books," said the young English
man, "will tell us wholived In this house.."
Opening the Bible, he read to his companion
the household chronicle set down on its first
leaf :
"1744. St. Bartholomew's Day. My
father, Hans, Christoph, died. The lord
count, who. was present, made me his succes
sor as head forester. Hans Conrad Ducker,"
."1752. St. .Fabian's Day. I married
Gortrude Maria,' peasant Steinfurts daughter.
Was on the above day, thirty-one years old,
and my wife will be nineteen next St Bridget's.
My happiness is complete. May heaven bless
our union !" . -; ' ;
."1753. On the twelfth of July our first
child born. He shall be called Hans Chris
toph. -A cross follows and .the remark, "Died
at midnight on the first of January, anno
1755."
"1755. Annunciation Day. Our second
son born. ' I am very glad. God bless him.
He shall be called after my brother Peter Mi
chael " A cross follows, and the note, "Died
on St. Walpurgis, 1757."
"1765; St. Hubert's Day. - Won the s3
ver cup with a master shot. The lord count
praised my shooting before all the gentlemen."
. "1750. St Anne's Day. A daughter
born to me, Heaven bless her. She shall
be called Gertrude Johanna." .
"1756. St. Jvgidius'DajO My wife Ger
trude Maria died of a shot in' the wood. I
will not curse her God be a merciful judge
to us both." !
"1771. . My lord the old count died on St.
Valentine's Day! The young Lord Leonard
Joseph Francis takes his place."
There was no more to read. One entry
in the list excited exactly the same thought
in the lovers. This man it was evident had
killed his wife on St. Egidius' day ; and they
had on the same date, whispered their hearts'
love over th murdered woman's grave. Then
again, why did Uio oldhuntman register his
sons as born into household, but his daughter
as born Only to himself? These things the
lovers noticed as they read the little chroni
cle;' but they spoke only o the hunting cup,
the marksman's prize, still in the window,
looked at it, and returned into the other cham
ber. Another door seemed to lead from it
into other rooms. They walked in that di
rection, and the young man saw that they
were following a trail of dark stains on the
floor r He did not point them out to his com
panion. The door led to a narrow stair ; per-,
haps the trail was there, but , there was no
light by which it could be seen. The stair
led to a room that had been prettily furnished,
and of which the window opened upon a broad
tcrraco that swept back towards the wood.
the moon had just risen, and shone through
this window. One pane had been broken,
splinters of glass lay close under it. The ta
ble was overthrown, a broken lamp, was on
the floor ; also a book, hansomely bound,
which seemed to have been ground under the
heel, rather than trodden upon, by a strong
man. The; English lady stooped to pick it
up, but as she did so she saw by the moon
light, stains upon the oaken boards, which
made her suddenly recoil and lean, trembling,
on her lover for support. They looked to
wards the sofa, an old piece of furniture cov
ered with blue damask; upon tyytoo, there was
a large dark stain, and over it the bright
moon cast the shadows of the two young peo
ple. The shadow of a young man erect--tho
shadow of a young girl clinging to it, vio
lently trembling. ; ;-
"Look! look"! Eustace," cried - the girl,
"Those are not our shadows J" , r
. "Indeed, love, they are "
: "Did you hot tell me this was St. Egidius'
dav?" .."'.
Both started, for there was a sudden flut
ter in the room, distinctly heard. The young
man saw and pointed out that this was noth
ing supernatural. .Beside an unpressed bed
in one corner ot tne room, tnere were some
more handsomely bound books upon a table;
all in c ilded . red morocco covers. One of
them lay open, and the evening breeze that
entered through the broken pane oi giass naa
touched some of its leaves.
- "The lovers are a 1'on r timo absent,M whis
nered partners to each other, as they danced
their last dance on the grass about the guided
rost: "If thev be lost in the wood, and we
have to go a, hunting for them, it will be a
pretty , midsummer night's dream." j Shrill
whistling and loud shouting soon grew to be
the amusecient of the company, and vere
kept up until the missing pair Appeared.
"But you do look as if you had been seeing
ghosts," somebody said to them. "What are
they like?" - ' '
. "The nearest thing to a ghost that we have
seen,", said Mr. Wenn, "I seized and brought
away with me. ' Here it is." He took a lit
tle book out of his pocket, a book bound ' in
red morocco, and beset with tarnished gild
ingwhich he offered for the inspection of the
company. - !:
"Why, what fruit is this to Bring out of
an oak-wood cried mine host ; "a corrupt
ed French romance I" - - "
Hie account brought home of the forest's
deserted house, that had been at last seen by
an English gentleman and lady, wa3 in a day
or two town news, and the story to which it
belonged, had by that time been duly fitted
to it. This is the story : .
. , Cohrad Ducker and his daughter one mor
ning sat at brekfast, , many many years ago.
"You ate spoiling my coffee,' Gertrude,"
said the forester, a stern-looking man ; "your
ideas are astray Yo have been reading those
detestable red books You must get married;
be a housewife, girl." ' '
"I father;?" . ; '" :
"Yes, yo. . Peter from beyond the moun
tain came to ask for ou this morning. A
husband like that would be good luck for a
princess." ' ' '" ". ' r
"But I cannot leave you, father, and my
heart is in the forest. I should not like mar
rying into the open land." '
"CM may breathe tne more freely in the
open laid, girl; though for that I wouldn't
leave thfc forest. Let it pass. Marry Gottfried
SchlucU who lives close by, and has gone
down on his kness lo you five times over "
"He has been maried twice, father, and no
man loves a second wife." : " , ,
"Bah!" said the huntsman, scowling sud
nenly upon his daughter's face. "As you
live, teli me the truth', Gertrude! What
made yot spoil my coffee ?"
"Father!" ' V . :.
"Whai were yourjthoughts V
'Nothing, at least foolish. I was think
ing only f this stocking that I am about, be
cause it it so difficult to match my colors well,
I am tirel of red and 'geen." '
The oli man suddenly rose, and said, ' The
count will be heretto-day or to-morrow, Ger
trude." j v :
.-' The gill's cheeks flushed as she replied, "I
know it."
"How; girl, how?" ,!
' Francis, father, brought me word he was
to come on St. Egidius'- day." -
"Ay, does he so," murmured the forester,
pacing the room, thoughtfully ; "he comes on
St. Egidius' day." ''
" I have made his bed," the girl said, "and
lighted , his fire. Arnold helped ue. But
Arnold does not treat me as alitttle girl now,
father, and you" '
Agisin the old man . stopped with a stern
face lefore her; to ask, " What ' were your
thoughts then, Gertrude ?"
"When, father?" ' '
" When you spoilt my eoffee."
Oh father," she replied,. sobbing. "You
are too hard to me. You know this is Egidius
Day, and nineteen years ago my mother died,
as you have set down in the Bible. And I
thought ' how it was that she should die of a
Shot and you never speak of it, and you even
forbid me to speak of it to others."
The fixed clow of the old man's eyes upon
her checked the girl's utterance. Silently he
turned to take from the wall his cap and gun,
then returning to her, drew her towards him,
and said, in a hoarse voice, " near me, chud;
I will believe youj and it S well. . Do not be
eager for that story ; it is not good for your
ears or for my ears. Why return to that ?
It lies deepj and the grass grows thick above
it. There .miffht come up with it stuff that
would sting you that would take away your
sight and hearinr. Qnly mind this. You
think too much of somebody who should be
as far from you as the sun from the moon,
from whom you should fly as the hare from
the wild cat. I tell you girl, he is false. He
would betray you as surely as to-morrow comes
after to-day. If you have done already more
than think of him, may God pity you, for"
here the man's utterance was choked; his bony
hand was cold and damp "You ' would be
better with a millstone round your neck, un
der ten feet of water." ne turned suddenly
away, whiftled to his dog, and left her. .
Gertrude had never seen her father's gloom
so terrible ; but she soon found a girl's relief
in tears. The forester went out into the wood,
sat for a long time motionless upon a grave
like mound of stones under an oak-tree, his
gun on his shoulder, his dog's nose thrust iri-
quirinffly beneath his arm. He sat there till
twilight, and went slowly homeward when
the moon was rising.' From the terrace be
hind the house he by chance raised his eyes
towards a lighted window in the corner of the
tower. There was alight burning in the
room, a fire crackling, and a young girl was
weeping on a young man s shoulder. .
" At last in my arms again, my own forest
flower T
"Lord Count. Lord Count!" said Ger
trude, " lot hope be at an end between us.'
"But I am still your Leonard, andypuare
to be my Ettle wife." . v
"Mv fiither frightens me: your mother
will oppose you.
. ' ; My" mother ; yes. To avoid her anger
we must wait. ' But your father ?"
' Lying on his shoulder she began to tell him
all her feirs, which he endeavored to allay
with kisses. A flash and a loud report. Glass
breaks, and the young nobleman is sprinkled
with the tlood.of Gertrude. She can utter
but a single cry before she lies upon the sofa,
quite dead,
A few minutes afterwards, the old hunts
man entered slowly, by the door. " Ducker!
Ducker I" jthe count shouted in agoty, "here
is murder donel Your beautiful Gertrude
shot!" !
"Ay to be sure, she will not stir again,"
said Ducker. "It was a shot well aimed '
through the centre of the heart."
The Count was bewildered at his coldness.
" Thia is your Gertrude, father my Ger
trude!" -
"lour highness' Gertrude ! I thought she
was only mine," . . ;
He is mad," the Count cried. - " Ger
trude ! beloved Gertrude ! from whatever quar
ter the bhot came, my vengeance on tli as
sassin P. ...
'.Whence . the shot came," said Ducker;
" I will show you." And he led him to the
window. . "It came from beside yonder pine
tree. A man sat there who suspected mis
chief" ;
" Wretch ! Madman ! Take your hand
from me ! You have murdered your own
daughter !"
, " Take your hand also from, me!" said
Ducker ; " I have powder and shot for your
highness, if need be, in the other barrel.
Wait with your hand off while I tell an old
story." V
" There was a Forester who loved a Count
ess. That he did secretly and without speak
ing, for he thought much of the difficulties in
his way. However he was prudent, ad all
ended well, and no man was the wiser. But
there was a Count who loved the Wife of a
Forester ; and that ended not well. For when
the Forester discovered it, he took that which
belonged to him. And the Count had a Son,
and the Forester a Daughter. . The old man
preached her many a lesson about rank, and
frivolity, and betrayers ; but she loved that
son, and he pretended equal love for her. So
thus I took that which belonged to me."
"Miserable assassin !" cried the count.
" She was mine, mine, mine ! You tell me of
sin and of passion, but our hearts were befoie
God ; and our love was unspotted. We were
betrothed ; I would Jiave.married her " .1
i The old man. pointed to the body, and laugh
ed aloud. , . . ;
" Her? You should have said that to her
lady mother at the castle yonder."
" No my mother ? the Countess P
The young count, with ashen face, recoiled,
and hurrying out, called to his servants, and
spurred his horse borne to the castle, nis
mother; the countess, heard all from him.
Wheu she knew what he fierce huntsman had
said, how dark a story he had told and what
had been the end of it, her limbs became stiff
with death ; she spoke, only to pronounce her
curse upon whatever foot stepped in that
huntsman's den of crime upon whatever man
entered that wood to touch a stone of it. And
then she died.
Hans Ducker carried his daughter down,
and Buried her among the flowers of his gar
den. ' Then, shouldering his gun he went out
of the house; and, except "when he spoke a
word to Peter" beyond the mountains, never
was seen more. The bowlings of a dog were
heard for a few days in the wood ; they be
came weaker and weaker, until all was still.
And from that hour the stillness was unbroken.
KeDort of the Commissioner of Indian Affairs.
Col, Manypenny, Commissioner of Indian
Affairs, in his annual report sets forth many
facts of interest, and shows that the operations
of his department during the year have been
exceedingly large.
The Indians in Nebraska and Kansas have
ceded to the United States Government near
ly fifteen millions of acres of land. The In
dians, however, have caught some of the
white man's spirit, and they demand a higher
price than usual for the lnd in Kansas.
They only agreed to give up these lands un
der a pledge that they should have a reserve
for a permanent home.
There is trouble with the Indians on the
Arkansas and Platte rivers, and it appears
that while the agent is seeking them to pre
sent amendments to treaties, they are quietly
shooting down emigrants and robbing traders.
The Commissioner- thinks something should
be done for these misguided people, but ac
knowledges that he cannot say what the
'something" should be, but suggests kind
ness, and peaceiiu attempts to colonize tncm.
The Commissioner gives some valuable in
formation relative to the Choctaws, Chicka-
saws, Creeks and Seminoles, and he also sug
gests that no more removals of Indian tribes
shall take place that is, that the reserved
lands given, them by Government shall be se
cured to them and their heirs forever.
We quote the concluding remarks of the re-
"In carn-ing out all the plans heretoiore
devised for ameliorating the condition , of the
aborigines of our continent, difficulties have
arisen and obstacles nresentcd themselves on
every side ; and it seems impossible now to
devise any means for attaing these desirable
ends, by which all difficulties could be obvia
ted, all obstacles avoided.
"But partial success has attended the la
bors of the benevolent ; and the efforts of the
department, when most faithfully directed,
have not unfrequently proved a positive in
jury. Auverse eiemenxs cave aiwajra ucvun
work to thwart tne wisnes oi tne government
and counteract the labors of the philanthrop
ist, and these have unfortunately been but
too often successful. Our former policy, and
the inveterate determination of the Indian, to
resist domestication, have combined to place
him in a rituation where the lawless and un
principled could always have access to him ;
and such persons have, through all periods of
our history, availed themselves of every op
portunity to advise the ignorant and unletter
ed child of the forest against his best inter
ests, and have but too successfully instilled
into their mind prejudices against those who
were laboring for his good.
"Thus have the niercileFS and heartless
followed in his path, uttered his vanity, cor
rupted hia morals, impressed upon and con
firmed him in the belief that labor and the
arte of peace are degrading, and his submis
sion to them offensive to the Great Spirit, and
directed and controlled his action aud made
him the victim of their avarice.
. 'Such' influences are believed to be as for
midable and more uhscrupulouslhan at any
former period of our history ; and ' when we
add to them the train of ever-recurring' and
never-ending difficulties that beset the weak
er, in the battle of life with the strongest race,
we perceive, in the present condition of
the red man and the dangers that encompass
him, additional motives to call into active ex
ercises in his behalf all the energies of the
benevolent and good of the land.
"Aa a Christian Government and people,
our obligations and duties are of the highest
and holiest character, and we are accountable
to the Maker of all men for the manner in
which we discharge them. Having faithfully
employed all the means placed within our
reach to improve the Indian race and preserve
it from extinction, we can, with a good eon
science and strong faith, leave the issue in
the hands of our Common Father."
Debtor and Creditor.
After the close of the Mexican war and the
cession of treaty to us of Upper California,
the world was astonished by the announce
ment, toward the close of 1848 or the begin,
ning of 1849, that immense deposits of gold
had been discovered in that country. As
soon as the truth of this report was establish
ed, vast numbers of persons, young and .old,
flocked to that country. There was a per
fect stampede of people from every State in
the Union. Property was sacrificed to raise
money with which to reach this El Dorado,
where fortunes for all were suppose! to be
awaiting the mere effort to gather them. The
Louisville Journal presents some interesting
figures to determine, if possible, the question
as to whether the old States are debtors to
California for her gold, or California debtor
to the old States for her operatives and pro
ducts. It is supposed that from 1849 to
1854, inclusive, there has been an average of
150,000 persons, who have been during that
time either in California or on their way gor
ing or returning. The time js six years for
150,000 persons., or one year for 900,000 per
sons. . i
Now if we estimate the average value ' of
this labor at S25 per month each, or 300
per year, we have (270,000,000) two hun
dred and seventy millions of dollars as the
value of the labor taken from the e'astern side
of the Rocky "Mountains and placed on its
western side In addition to this, it cost on
an average $200 per head as the expenses of
removal from one country to another. This
makes ($180,000,000) one hundred and
eighty millions of dollars as the cost of remo
val. The sums together make the sum total
of ($450,000,000) four hundred and fifty
millions of dollars drained from the eastern
side of the United States. To ascertain the
amount of the gold obtained from that coun
try, we propose to take the gold coinage of
the mint.
This coinage was in 1849, $9,007,761
1850, 31,981,738
1851, 62,614,492
1852, 56,816,187
1853, . 46,998,945
1854, (estimated,) 42,000,000
Total coinage, 249,349,123
As these figures make the sum total of aU
the gold coined at the mint, and a portion of
it is known to have been obtained from other
sources than California, the credit will rather
be in excess than too small, but still we pro
pose to add to this amount twenty millions
more, as an allowance for unminted gold sold
to workers in jewelry and plate, and which
has been consumed in the arts. The state
ment will then stand thus -California
Dr.
To labor and outfits, $450,000,000
Credit by product of gold
coin and nature 269,349,223
Dr. balance, v . $180,650,877
This shows there is a balance due us in
lost labor and capital of over one hundred and
eigthy millions of dollars.
Wisconsin.
The exports from Milwaukie alone, this
year, will reach the large sum of $5,OUO,000. .
The aggregate exports of the State of Wis
consin, during the same period, will reach
$10,000,000. The Milwaukie Sentinel saya
iis assured that the value of the lumber which
has come down the Wisconsin river this year,
is $1,008,500. - At least as much more, we
presume, has come down the streams north of
the Wisconsin. As to the lead, the quantity
exported in 1852 from Galena, was thirty-six
thousand pounds, valued at one million four
hundred thousand dollars, and nine-tenths of
this came from Wisconsin. The product has
not decreased, while the price has largely in
creased this year; so that we think full two
millions' worth of the mineral has been ship
ped from Western Wisconsin during the cur
rent season. LTpon all these points, however,
we hope to obtain and publish full and accu
rate statistics during the winter. Meantime,
it is safe to say. and something to boast of,
that Wisconsin, a six year old State, with a
population estimated at 450,000, has this year,
exported of her surplus not less than ten mil- .
lions of tbjUars worth of grain, lumber and
provisions.
' Australia.
In Australia complaints are made of the
reckless and continuous shipment of goods
from England The gold returns were steady
and large. As compared with the correspon
ding period of last year, the amounts brought ;
into Melbroune by escort from the let of Ju
ly to the 10th of September was 41.622
ounces, against 464,410 in 1863; but, astbe
quantities brought by hand were much largtr
than formerly, the actual total, it ia' believed, '
would show a conbiderable augmentation,.
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