Newspaper Page Text
CHARLES W. HANCOCK. Publisher— J. B. RANDALL, Editor.
THE .UkHlErr.l IIELICOV,
IS PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING BY
CHARLES W. HANCOCK.
,TSI \f S.--Tw.» D h.lvis per annu n, in advance
T.ires D M.r.atis, |if pay incut be delayed longer than
three months.
No subscriptions received for a less period than six
months; an'd none discontinued until all arrearages
are paid] except at the option of the Proprietor.
Rates of Advertising.
One dollar per square (12 lines or less) for the first
insertion, and 50 cents for each continuance. A liber
al deduction made Jto those who advertise by the
Quarter, or year.
Letters of Citation, ...S2 50
Notice to Debtors and Creditors 3 25
Four Months’ Notices, 4 00
Sale of Personal Property, by Executors,’Adminis
trators, or Guardians 3 50
£?ales of Lands or Negroes, by do .4 75
Applications for Letters of Dismission 4 50
•Sties ot Land and Negroes by Administrators, Ex
ecutors or Guardians, are required by law to be held
on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours ■
often in tire forenoon and three in the afternoon, « |
Che Court House in the county in which the property I
is situated. Notices ofthesc sales must !>•» aiven in
public gazette sixty Dtvs ffevfow tethe day ot sale
Notices for the sale of personal property must bo
given in like manner, forty days previous to the day
ofsale. Notices to the debtors and creditors of an es
tate must also be published forty days.
Notices that application will be made to thejCourt
of Ordinary tor leave to sell Land, 'or Negroes must
be bulished fogs months.
Citations for Letters of Administration must be pub
lished thirty days— for dismission from administration
monthly far six months— for dismission from Guar
dianship, fuity days.
Rules for foreclosure oi Mortgage must be publish
ed monthly for four months—for establishing lost pa
pers,/or itc still space of three months— for compelling I
titles from Executors or A nninistrators, where a bond |
has been given by the deceased,/or the full space j
0/ three months.
All Letters on business connected with the Os- 1
fiee, must be directed to the Publisher, post-paid, to :
meet with aitenlion.
Poetry.
Fiotn she Louisville Journal.
THE LADY OF VERA CRUZ.
BY CAPT. G. W. PATTEN, V. S. A.
[During the recent bombardment of Vera
Cruz by the American forces, it was ru
mored that Oen. Morales, the senior offi
cer, utterly refused the Surrender of the
castle of San Juan de Ulloa, although the
fcity was willing and anxious to capitulate.
Regardless of the repeated and affecting
appeals made to him on the score of hu
manity, he remained inexhorable to the ■
last. But in the height of the storrri a par
ley was sounded, and the city, together
with the castle, was surrendered, notwith
standing the opposition of its rigid com
mander.]
' Stay, soldier, Stay —one kind reply !
One answer to my soul’s despair—
M lien will the death-shell cease lo flv,
The ball to hurtle through the air ?
See yonder how the rockets gleam ! ,
The toppling steeples fall around—
And pouring thick its sulphury stream,
The bursting howitz ploughs the ground.’
1 Hush, lady, hush —thy terrors hide,
A noble foe is in the field;
Art thou a gallant Soldier’s bride,
And yet wodldst bid our leader yield ?
We go to face the iron hail,
Morales is our battle cry ;
One cause is ours—no heart must quail—■
Morales —death or victory.’
‘ My lord commands on yonder height,
A child whose hand will do its best;
Go tell him ’mid the strife to-night,
His babe lies wounded on my breast•
Behold ! it is a gentle child.
And with his locks he loved to play,
List eve within his arms it smiled
He kissed it as he rode away!'
4 But now, alas it srrfilcs no mere,
Its cheek is pale, and wild its brain —
Its virgin robe is dark with gore
Soldiers ! will none such Hood restrain ?
They hear inc not —man scorns to hear—
Os woman's wail—or infant’s cry—
And hark ! again that dreadful cheer—
Morales ! death or victory /’
She sunk before the image dim,
Os her to earth a God who gave j
“Mother, I plead through thee lo Dim !
Son of the Virgin! Jesu—save I”
Straight ring’s a trumpet on the blast,
The parley sounds upon the air,
Up runs the white flag to the mast,
Indulgent heaven has heard that prayer.
Camp before Vera Cruz, March 29, 2817.
Miscellany.
From the New York Times.
. REVOLUTIONARY INCIDENTS.
THE FEMALE SCOUT.
BY VW. T. ROGERS, JR.
The devoted patriotism and indomita
ble courage exhibited by the American
women during the struggle fur independ
ence, has been the eloquent theme of
many an able writer, and the subject of
many a gifted pen. Numberless were
the instances in which these noble wo
men, unawed by terrible threats and
cowardly insult, proved how immeasur
ably superior they were, in mental and
moral courage to their base oppressors.
Actuated by a sincere and unbounded
love fortheir country and their country’s
welfare, they suffered privation and
hardship, without a murmur, and bore up
under trials the most severe without,
complaint. To their determined and un-
fUrficott®
ceasing efforts, Freedom owes much.—
Tbcir fervent prayers and when neces
sary, their individual example, had an
unbounded influence with the spirited
colonists; and their approving smiles,
and heartfelt thanks, rendered our fore
fathers doubly strong in their determina
tion to throw ofl the galling yoke of
British tyranny.
In all the ages of the world, the influ
ence of women over a people engaged in
an important undertaken has been felt
and acknowledged. More especially in
cases of the invasion of a country by a
foreign power, has it made itself appa
rent. The invaders knew this, and
against them directed their strongest ef
forts.
The fact is a notorious one, that the ■
American females were brutally treated, j
I wantonly insulted, and. in many instan-1
ccs. cruelly wronged sol-.
fliers, the subordinate officers, ana often, '
by those of high authority. .
By a few of the commanders, ’t is true, , l
they were always treated with the deli
cate consideration ami gentle care which |
is ever their due; but many others, to ,
their everlasting shame, be it remember- |
rd acted as though literally devoid of all
the ennobling sentiments of the human
heart, and totally lost to all feelings, ex
cept the gratification of their own base
; passions and vindictive malice.
Kate Solms was young, the breezes of
I but seventeen summers had kissed her
check, still she was in heart and mind a
Woman. She was not what the world
terms beautiful—her countenance was :
not one that at first sight would impress
the beholder with a profound admiration,
or attract much more than a passing •
glance. The uncommon regularity oi
her features, gave her somewhat of a
plain unattractive appearance, but the
expression of firm resolve, blended with
affectionate tenderness that sat upon her
i expansive brow, rendered her features
eveii when in repose highly interesting.
Os education she could boast but lit
tle, but being possessed of good natural
abilities, and habitually observant and
reflecting, she had acquired stores of use
ful knowledge, and was intelligent far
beyond what her years and her advanta- i
ges would seem to promise. The teem
ing volume of nature Was her class book;
her wondrous works her constant study ;
and tVith a soul sensitively alive to all
the sublimity and beauty el Nature’s
teachings, what wonder that her progress
was rapid and certain;
It is not in bustling towns or crowded
cities that the mental faculties are strong
est or earliest developed, or the emotions
of the heart deepest or most ardent. It
does not require the crowded ball room, ;
the fascinating quadrille, tile vuluptiiou"’
waltz, the fashionable promenade, the '
gorgeous spectacle, the unceasing round
of gaiety, the flattery and adulation, or I
the hypocritical sycophancy of a cffii
ventional life, to call into active exist
ence finer sentiments of the human
heart. Far from it. The God of Na
ture has implanted in each individual
breast an irresistible impulse—a strong
necessity of loving ; and the unsophisti
cated, unlettered maiden of the forest,
nurtured among the wild hills, in the
humblest cottage, is as much the object
of His care and protection as the sus
ceptible sighing beauty in palace halls. I
And Kate had learned to love. Not
with the cool, calculating, selfish aflec-'
tionof the worldling or the fickle, tran
sient flame of the impulsive, but with her
whole heart —her whole nature—her ,
whole soul. Iler love was all devotion,
pure, unselfish and holy, every kindly
feeling of her nature was engaged—all •
her sympathies enlisted.
Robert Welling, a young lieutenant in
the Jersey line was the object of all this ,
affection,’nor was it lost upon him. He
was a young man of education and deep ,
feeling, and appreciating her devotional
returned it with all the warmth, all the'
sincerity and truth of which his ardent.
nature was capable. He was the com-!
mandant of a company of scouts, and
being engaged in a service of great im
portance was constantly periling his life.
On the 24th June, 1777, after the re
treat of the British army from Bruns
wick to Amboy, Gen. Washington tem
porarily removed bis camp from Nliddlc
brook to Quibbletown. Light parties of
dragoons were thrown out to hover near
the enemy’s lines, and the scouts were :
directed to use every means in their pow-;
cr to ascertain the direction of the fu-:
ture movements of the enemy. Well- j
ing’s company was actively employed in |
small parties—some in British uniform,!
some disguised as farmersand hucksters, 1
vending provisions; others moving to
and fro, ready to convey to the Republi
can camp any intelligence their com
panions were enabled to obtain.
Among the party was a slightly built
youth who had joined them upon the
breaking up of the camp at Middle
brook, and insisting upon becoming one
of their number, had attached himself
• closely to the person of their leader.
Spite of all his efforts he could not
overcome the determination ol the youth
and after explaining the nature and dif
ficulty of the service and giving him the
necessary instructions, they proceeded to
their dangerous task.
The Captain of the scout’s was a gal
lant and daring fellow and had ventured
cluse to one of the British outposts, and
leaving his horse had reached the barn
1 of Mr. Hiram Hughes, near Rahway, and
entering with his companion had se-
• creted himself in the straw, and was
quietly awaiting the movement of his
foes. They had scarcely time snugly to
ensconce themselves in the “ linturn,”
when several soldiers entered the stable
and commenced saddling their horses,
and at the same lime discussing the pro
priety of an attack which they were
about to make upon a company of mili
tia., stationed about four miles distant.—
As soon as they were gone Welling and
his comrade hurried forth to convey the
I intelligence of the intended attack, and
1 by anticipating the arrival of the British
to ensure them a warm reception.
I They had gone but a short distance
, when the clatter of horses hoofs was
. heard directly behind them, and though
1 his younger companion urged the neces
sity oi fighting, Welling who knew their
jaded animals were no match for the
fresh horses of their pursuers, deemed it
prixHoixt to neU,. infr. wrrwwJ
and allow them to pass by. -They had
barely time to attain the shelter of a
neighboring copse, when a party of dra
goons numbering about twelve passed in
hot pursuit of the scouts who had been
noticed to leave the barn, and take the
direction in which they were riding. As
they reached the spot where the fugitives
had turned off', they divided into parties
and commenced the search of the sur
rounding wood.
Welling reflected Ibra few moments
upon the course he would pursue, then
beconing his comrade to follow, he dis
mounted and retraced his steps back to
wards the barn. They reached it in safe
ty, and as they thought, undiscovered, but
a dragoon had remained on guard, and
seeing them enter, sounded a re-call,
which brought the whole party instantly
back. The rushed in, and care
fully securing the entrance, commanded
the scouts to surrender. But Welling,
who knew that he could expect no mer
cy from the hands of the soldiers, bade
his companion prepare for the worst, and
stood like a lion at bay, bidding the defi
ance. The boy far from exhibiting any
symptoms of fear, appeared entirely to
forget his own danger, and to disregard
his own personal safety in his anxiety for
that ol his elder companion.
The officer nettled at the cool obstina
cy of the scouts, ordered his men to fire
upon them. At the first mention of the
word “ fire,” the boy threw himself before
his comrade, and received the contents
as the musket levelled at him.
"The youth fell, faintly ejaculating
the name of “ Robert.” The sound of
the loved voice, no longer distinguished
told him at once that it was his own Kate
“ Friends ! exclaimed he, “you have
slain a woman !"— The soldiers fell back
thunder stricken, and poor Kate breath
ing forgiveness to her murderers, and a
prayer for her lover yielded her spirit to
him who gave it.
“ Cowards !” he cried, “ you have rob
bed me of all 1 held dear on this earth
—you have taken from me the only be
ing for whom I would wish to live ; my
life is no longer of any worth to me—vil
lians ! do your worst 1 but stop’—before
you murder me this for the cowardly as- ’
sassin 1 The soldier who had fired the .
dead shot lay dead on the floor, and the j
next instant Robert Welling fell pierced 1
by a dozen balls ! Not content, the blood
thirsty ruffians plunged their bayonets
into his prostrated body spurned it be
neath their feet.
A cry from one of their number arres
ted the horible butchery, and made them
sensible oftheir own dangerous situaiion.
The straw at one side of the barn had
taken fire from the wad of Welling’s pis
tol and whilst they were engagedin their
bloodthirsty' work, had gained fearful
headway. The soldiers rffshed at once
to the doors, but in addition to their own
a true hearted negro, a servant in the
family of Hughes (who, with his house
hold had been compelled to remove to
make room for the'Soldiers) had securely
bolted and barricaded them without, and
deprived them of any hope of escape.
The flames increased rapidly, and in a
few moments the whole building was
enveloped in a sheet of living fire.
Not one of the dragoons escaped f ;
suffocated by the smoke they fell victim
to the fury of the flames, and perished
in the funeral pyre of Robert and the Fe
male ScOut !
“ Botn’at Trenton, N. J. 1851—a grandson ol his
brother James, was a schoolmate ot the writer, and is
now a private in one of Col. Stevenson’s California
regiment.
+ Vide Lord Howe’s official despatch, dated “ Sta
ten Island, July 3d, 1777.”
ALLSTON’S APHORISMS.
In presenting an account of the late
' Washington Allston, an American pain
ter of eminence, the Athenaeum places
before its readers the following aphorisms
of which he was the author. We arc
told that Mr. Allston wrote them on frag-
I meats of paper, which he stuck up around
his room, as aids to reflection before he
i began his day's work. Gopied into our
pages, they may be of use in lowering
j self-esteem in others besides painters :
| ‘l. The painter who is content with
| the praise of the world in respect to
what does not satisfy himself, is not an
artist, but artisan ; for though his reward
be only praise, his pay is that of a me
chanic for his time, and not for his art.
2. He that seeks popularity in art clos
es the door on his own genius ; as he
must needs paint for other minds, and
not for his own.
3. Reputation is but a synonyme of pop
ularity, dependent on suffrage, to be in-
' creased or diminished at the will of the
1 voters. It is the sn f 0 speak,
MARIETTA GEORGIA,-THURSDAY MORNING, JUNE 17, 1£47.
of its particular age, or rather of a par
ticular state of society; consequently,
dying with, that which sustained it.—
llcnccwecan scarcely go over a page
of history, that we do not, as in a church
yard, tread upon some buried reputation.
But feme cannot be voted down, having
its immediate foundation in the essential.
It is the entcrnal shadow of excellence,
from which it can never be separated;
nor is it ever made visible but in the
light of an intellect kindred with that of
its author. It is that light which’ projects
the shadow which is seen of the multi
tude, to be wondered at and reverenced
even while so little comprehended as to
be often confounded with the
thc substance being admitted from the
shadow, as a matter of faith. It is the
economy of Providence to provide such
lights; like rising and setting stars, they
/ J. it. .. 1
ages ; and thus she monumonfal forTnoF‘
genus stands for ever relieved agaihst its
own imperishable shadow.
4. All excellence of every kind is but
variety of truth. If we wish, then, for
something beyond the true, we wish for
that which is false. According to this
test, how 1 ttle truth is there in art !
Little indeed 1 but how much is that lit
tle to him who feels it I
5‘ Fame does net depend on the will
of any man, but reputation may be giv
en or taken away. Fame is the sympa
thy of kindred intellects, and sympathy
is not a subject of willing ; while repu
tation, having its source in the popular
voice, is a sentence which may either be
uttered or suppressed at pleasure. Rep
utation, being essentially contemporane
ous, is always at the mercy of the envi
ous and the ignorant. But fame, whose
very birth is posthumous, and which is
only known to exist by the echo of its
footsteps through congenial minds, can
neither be increased nor diminished by
any degree of will.
6. What light is in the natural world,
such is fame in the intellectual; both re
quiring an atmosphere in order to be
come perceptible. Hence the fame of
Michael Angelo is, to some minds, a non
enity ; even as the sun itself would be
invisible in vacuo.
7. Faa?e has ho necessary conjunction
With praise; it may exist without the
breath of a word ; it is a recognition of
excellence which must be felt, but need
not be spoken. Even the envious must
feel it; feel it, and hate it in silence; ,
8. 1 cannot believe that any man who
deserved fame ever laboured for it—that
is, directly. For as fame is but the con
tingent of excellence,- it would be like an
attempt to project a shadow before its
whs- obtained- . Mnnv. howev
er, nayc so fancied. ‘ 1 write, 1 paint
for fame.” has often been repeated ; it
should have been, f ‘ I write, 1 paint for
my reputation.” All anxiety, therefore,
about fame should be placed to the ac
count of reputation.
9. A man may be pretty sure that he
has not attained excellence, when it is
notfall in ail to him. Nay, I may add, that
if he looks beyond it, he has not reached j
it. This is not the less true for being
good Irish.
10. An orginal mind is rarely under
stood until it has been reflected from
some half-dozen congenial with it: so
averse are men to admitting the t'-ue in
dn unusual form ; whilst any novelty,
however fantastic, however false, is gree
dily swallowed. Nor is this to be won
dered at; for all truth demands a re
sponse, and few people case to think,
yet they must have.something to supply
the place of thoygbE Every mind would
appear original, if every man had the
power of projecting his own into the mind
of others.
11. All effort at originality must end
either in the quaint or the monstrous. —
For no man knows himself as an origi
nal ; he can only believe it on the report
of others to whom he is made known, as
he is by the projecting power before spo
ken of. .
12. There is an essential meanness in
the wish to get the better of any one.—
The only competion worthy a wise man
is with himself.
13. Reverence is an ennobling senti
ment ; it is felt to be degrading only by
the vulgar mind, which would escape
sense of its own littleness by elevating
itself into the antagonist to what is above
it.
14. He that has no pleasure in looking
tip, is not lit to look down. Os such
minds are the mannerists in art; in the
world tyrants of all sorts.
15. A witch’s skiff cannot more ea
sily sail in the teeth of the wind, than
the human eye can lie against fact; but
the truth will often quiver through lips
with a He upon them.
16. It is a hard matter for man to lie
all over, nature having provided king’s
evidence in almost every member. The
hand will sometimes act as a vane to
show which way the wind blows, when
every feature set the other way ; the
knees smite together and sound the alarm
of fear under a fierce countenance ; the
legs shake with anger when all above is
calm.
17. Make no man your idol! For the
best man must have faults, and his laults
will usually become yours, in addition to
your own. This is as true in art as mor
als.
18. The devil’s heartiest laugh is at a
detracting witticism. Hence the phrase
“ devilish good” has sometime a literal
meaning.
' 19, There is one thing wh'ch noma n
however generously disposed, can give,
but which every one, however poor, is
bound to pay. This is praise, lie can
not give it, because it is not his oWn ;
since what is dependent for its very ex
istence on something in another, can he
justly withhold, it when the presence of
merit claims it as a cohsequenc’e/ As
praise, then, cannot be made a gift, so
neither, when not his due, can' any man
receive ithe may think he does, but he
receives only words ; for desert being the
essentia! condition of praise, there can be
no reality in the one without the other.
This is no fanciful statement; for though
praise may be withheld by the ignorant
ot envious, it cannot be but that, in the
course of time, an existing merit will
on some one, produce its effects J inas
much as the existence of and cause with
out its effect is an impossibiit’y. A fear-
VIP.S clt lilt? GmAVqvt* oC -h-l*
'irrevefslble’jtTsTftjn for the weal or woof
him who confirms or violates it.
ROTTEN SLEEPERS'.
Mr. Valatine H. Sourghnor, an ec
centric friend, living in Pruntytown, has
specially requested us to inform’ his
friends that he has removed the old slee
pers from his house, having discovered
they were rotten, and has replaced them
with new ones. Good; the notice, as
requested, is hereby given to each and
every one of his friends, singly and sep
arately, who may chance to see this ar
ticle. But before we dismiss the matter
may we not collect a few morals from
this little incident in the affairs of domes
tic life.
Moral Iff. When you discover that
you are in the possession of a genteel ed
ucation, but that that education is used
for licentious purposes, aiding you in pur
suit of crime and wickedness, to the neg
lect to the Bible, and its grand and im
portant truths—be satisfied that the
sleepers of your bouse are rotten and need
removing.
2d. When, as a married nian, you find
more pleasure in visiting the grogshop
and gambling table, than in the compa
ny of your wife and children ; breaking
the heart of an affectionate wife, raising
your children in idleness, vice and shame
—feel assured, the sleepers to your house
are in a rapid state of decay, and must
soon be replaced with better ones, or
your house will totter and fall;
3d. When, as a mechanic you habit
uall y and unnecessarily neglect your work
shop, leaving your business in the care
of inexperienced work-men, and your
customers disappointed—take the hint;
the rot has laid hold of your sleepers, the
Work of decay has at least commenced.
4in. Wneh, asan aspiring politician,
you mingle freely with dfanri-drinking
community, quaffing largely at the bowl
yourself, that you may be thought a so
ciable, clever fellow; becoming a sot
for the gain of a few votes—take the
alarm; your house certainly stands on
rotten sleepers.
sth. When, as a farmer, you become
attached to a petty Speculation, leaving
yflilr fdrni for days and weeks ata time,
and gaining nothing but the reputation
of an idler ; briers and thorns occupying
the placethat should.be devoted to the
culture of breadstuff's and grass ; your
fencing rotting down your cattle starv
ing and straying off—let us admonish
you, your house needs new sleepers:
6th. When you contract the habits of
slandering, back-biting rind news-bear
ing—our recent correspondents would
say to you, your# house has rotten slee
pers.
ftli. When as professors of religion,
you habitually neglect the house of pray
er the work of decay is be
gun ; your house has rotten sleepers.
Sth; When, as a professor of religion,
you contract a fondness foi’ ardent spirits
become a drunken professor, wound the
feelings of your brethren, and as far as
your influence extends, injure the cause
of religion; we would say to you, ex
amine the sleepers of your house ; they
are not sound.
INGRATITUDE—A FABLE.
A strange dog was seen roaming the
streets of a certain village, and coming
to an open door, he entered where the
family were at dinner, and was ordered
out, but refused to obey, looking wishful
ly at the table. When the master of
the house had finished his dinner he rose
from the tabla, and taking a bone, gave
it to the dog, which he accompanied with
a kick, exclaiming, “ Be gone ! you ugly
cur 1” The dog took the bone and de
parted. The following day he returned
and received another bone, and a kick*
and so for several days. One day as he
was going out to the village to seek a
place where he might repose in peace,
he met a benevolent looking man, who
patted him on the head, and said, “ My
good fellow, you look as though you were
friendless. If I knew you had no owner
I would take’eare of you.” So saying he
passed on. Not long after, a ferry boat
was upset, in which were the men alrea
dy mentioned. Neither of them could
swim, and they were in danger of being
drowned. A dog plunged into the river
and passing by one of the men, took the
other by the coat, and drew him ashore.
Auain he went in and taking the man he
had before rejected, by the hand, which
he pressed between his teeth, took ashore
also. He was recognised to be the same
dog which had been fed by one man and
caressed by the other. The first addres
sed him in these words; “Ungrateful
VOLUME IV—NUMBER
dog! I 1 fed you, and kept you from?
starving nearly a week ; and this is th o’
return you make. You pass by me tc?
save the'life of one, who has done no
thing for you, before you assist me, afi<f
you have bit my hand severely, but inf
helping him, you did him no hurt. 'The*
dog listened to this speech, then locking*
the man in the face, said : “ you saved
my life, and I have saved yotfrs J you*
fed the one you loved best, (yourSeii,;
before you fed me, though 1 was famish
ing. 1 first helped cut of the river, the
one I loved best, (my friend.) When I
brought you oufyou were struggling with
death. You in feeding me, also kicked
my side. lin helping you, also bit your
hand.” The animal then turned to hi#
benevolent friend, looked kindly in hi#-
face and licked his hands and feet.
Moral. —s They who accompany bene
-vw-icVc insalt and injury, may expCCt
to be rcLompewwt! in
L. L,
DCF J Kendall, of the Picayune, in a
late letter from Jalapa relates the follow*
ing remarkable recovery of a Volunteer
who was wounded at the battle of Cerra
Gordo ; and also mentions an occurrence
at that place which shows the degrading
nature of the punishment, inflicted of?
those belonging to the army who are
guilty of committing capital offences :
“ Speaking of wounded men, I will
relate one little incident. When Gener
al Shields was brought out from the spot
where he was wounded, to a place where
several others had already been taken, I
happened to be present. After the wound
of the gallant general had been dressed,
the wants of the others—perhaps there
was some ten or fifteen of them—were
attended to. Among them was one
stout Illinois man, named Ford, the half
of whose head at least appeared to have
been carried away by a heavy cannon
ball. One of our best surgeons, Dr.
Wright, went up to the poor fellow when
his turn came, and to my astonishment
commenced clipping the shattered por
tions of Lis face, jaw and ear which still
hung to him, and afterwards dressed the’
wound as well as circumstances would
admit. I say wound ;it Was worse than!
a wound, and a description of it would,
be too horrible. The battle was now
over and every moment they were bring
ing some fresh victim of the re'sultso fthd
recent strife. It seemed to me that oth -
ers needed the services of the good sur
geon more than did the unfortunate in
dividual in question—his case was cer
tainly hopeless; There Were arms and
Joyrf to amputate, L>cil)s to extract, and
the writhings of the wounded showed
hofw much they needed the surgeon’s
office ; yet he continued with the Il
linois mttn until he had patched his
shattered head and bound it up as
well as he was able; This was on the
18'h of April.
Two or three days Since, When nearly
a month had passed away, I met Dr;
Wright here in the streets of Jalapa, and
asked him how long the mail in question
lived. If I was ever astonished in my
life, it was when he told me that he was
still alive, and what was more# that he
wag well and hearty I A portion of his
face, his jaws on one side, and his ear
are gone, but the man will soon be strong
enough to shoulder his musket again, and
is said to be more anxious than eVer to
have another turn with the Mexicans.
Four men belonging th the army are
to undergo most severe punishment this
afternoon : they are to receive thirty
nine lashes each in the Plaze are to have
their heads shaved,- and after the word
‘ robber' is pasted on each of their backs
they are to be drummed out of camp.—*
This thing of publicly whipping a man
is most degrading ; but their crime was
the premeditated robbery of the house
of a Mexican and under circumstances
deserving of the most severe punishment.,
'Three of them belonged to the 4th Ar
tillery, and one to the 2d Pennsylvania
Regiment.
Table Talk.-—Some of the Represen
tatives of the Lngisture are occasionally
the subjects of a joke, probably from
their inquisitive dispositions. At the ta*
ble of one of our hotels on Washington
street, one of the “ wisdom,” who was in
the habit of asking those arround him,
instead of the waiter, to wait on him#
one day asked Mac, the gentleman oppo
site,
‘ Can you reach them perfaters sir V
Mac extended his arms towards the
dish and satisfied himself that he could
reach the pertaters, and answered,
‘ Yes, sir.’
‘And will yoti stick my fork into one
of ’em?’ asked the Rep.
‘ () certainly,’ said Mac, as he took the
fork, carefully stabbing it into the pota»
toe, where he left it.
At this the Rep. was somewhat vexed,
and asked, rather tartly.
‘will you pass me my fork?’
• A ! your fork ! yes—oh, yes sir 1’ and
taking hold of the fork he drew it from
the potatoe. and passed it back to the
Rep., whose nerves were not a little
shocked.
‘Waiter! waiter! I say!’ cred the
Rep.’ will you pass me a petater ? Pv
boen trying for half an hour to get one,
and it you don’t pass’em along purty sun®
I’ll vacate my seat and report your con*
duct to my insulted constiterwen‘B!’—*
Boston Paper.