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A. a. HCERiV, ,
VOLUME IX.
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- MISCELLANEOUS.
From the .St. Louis Republican.
DUTIES OF WOMAN.
x LECTL'KE to voi.no ladies nv bev. W, C. ELLIOT, Jit.
Her children rhail rise up ami* cai! h r Mewed: her
husband, also, and he praiseth her.—[t*rov. xxxi, 2i.
The object of tny lust lecture was to show
that the best interests of society are, to a great
extent, in woman’s keeping. In the departments
of morality and religion, of refinement, of good
taste, of philanthropy, of education, and of all
the great agencies of civilization, she has at least
.an equal share, both in the work to be done, and
the end to be accomplished. If men would
frankly acknowledg'd tnis, it would elevate her
more highly in their estimation. They would
respect her more, and pay more deference to
lier opinions; they would take more pains to
give her the advantages of education, so as to
secure the proper use of that influence which,
either for good or evil, she is sure to possess.—
IVc fear that they are now more willing to pay
tike tribute of admiration than of respect. They
regard her only as a boiug to be cherished and
protected, and whose loveliness is never so great
as when she leans upou them for support.
They take paius to please her very much as
wo try to please children; she very often con
sents to be pleased with toys and playthings and
flattering words and unmeaning phrases, with
dress, and equipage, jewelry, and other trifles,
lavished upon her, quite as much through world
ly pride as from sincere affection. It may be
jdl right fa Its wav, nor do I speak bow with a
w'iew to its condemnation; but when this kind
f adulation, this money-bought worship, is the
only or the best evidence of our respect, we are,
iu fact, contributing to degrade her whom, for
our own amusement, we seem to exalt, and
treating her as a child whom wc ought to treat
as an equal. It would be better if the adulation
were less and the respect greater.
She can dispense with the empty compliments,
which men are skillful to use in proportion to
the shallowness of their own brains, in consider-J
atiouof receiving a more silent homage, the’
language of real esteem. We seldom compli-j
ment directly those whom we respect, and when
ever wc do so, it is with delicacy and hesitation,
showing that wt feel ourselves to he upon dan
gerous ground. The language of compliment is
generally the langimge of superiority. We flat
ter those whom we think beneath us, itnd who
will therefore be pleased by onr notice and ap
proval. Towards those who are above us more
deferential language, and fewer words are used.
Only when with our equals, whom we acknowl
edge to be such, do wo offer and receive those
expressions of cordial friendship and sympathy,
which are more pleasant than any other form,
in which praise can come.
In the compliments which men pay so freely
to the gentler sek, I am afraid that they give
greater evidence oftheir own self-conceit and as
sumed superiority than of any thing else. I
think, therefore, that st‘ men would learn the real
truth as to woman’s influence —that they them
selves are moulded in mind, in affections, in cha
racter, by woman’s hand —it would do them
good, both by teaching them a lesson of modesty,
juid by reminding them to be just before they
talk so much of being generous.
On tbo other hand, it is equally important to
woman herself to nnderstand her true position.
In civilised communities she actually exerting
an influence to which no limit can be placed.—
As I said in a for mg sbe k the Jaw-giv
er of social tttoraßty ttandard of
right and wrong in social intercourse, according
to which men .bap* Jo which
they conform “be
may MMlMfl Ha* a s‘'Vt*Ej|'difler
nlattqjfefegf all I “it “miupShat.—
No can ffMlilh]
TBOTilSrEginwmlhor and receive her copHE
tion. Whether it be temperance or charity,’ re-*
ligion or education, the most essential thing is
to excite her interest and give to her correct
ideas, arousing her to a sense of duty and re
sponsibility. When that is done the battle is
half gained, and what is more, it is the first half
and umoat sore'to be. followed by Complete tri
umph. If Woman felt this, it wb’uld'inspire her
with greater self-respect; H would enable her to
place the proper value oq,the flippant praise,’of
which she if sow sometimes so fopd; to smile
at the words of flattery, bat not on him who
uses tbeni. She would feel herself entitled to
higher respect than such words imply. * She
would feet the responsibility which so great:in
fluence imposes, arid prepare herself by self-edu
cation ana religions self-aiacipline, for the “ditties
which property devolve upon her. v *
Let ustook then, more particularly at the
different relations in read-life which woman actu
ally holds, aud the important position in which’
she is placed. When we have done this, we
shall be prepared to ask whether her education,
as now generally conducted, is what it ought to
be; aud 1 think that the answer to this question
will be more evident than satisfactory.
First, we speak of that sacred relation in
which our love for her is mingled with venera
tion ; in which, while she is living, if we are
.wise, and certainly after she is dead, she becomes
to our hearts almost as the saints in heaven,
through our remembrance of her patient suffer
ing, her unwearied love, her gentle nnd yet
hopeful rebuke; her pleading voice when we
were wrong; her sympathy when we were tempt
ed; her readiness to forgive when we committed
sin ; her tenderness when she wiped away our
tears ; her gladness when she shared in our joys
—and all the nameless but unforgotton tokens
of a Mother’s Love.
That is the gentlest, the sweetest word which
falls fro.n human lips. It sjwaks of human re
lation but mingled with religion itself. The
great reason why’ the worship of the mother
of Christ has obtained so strong a upssession
of a large part of the chYktitui-ifoarid, is
this, that the word excites a jrenmnflPlh the
human heart, calling up he dearest associations,
and tenderest affections, Jnkj*giving to men au
opportunity of expressing,”in religious homage,
the feelings of gratitude, penitence, of filial love,
which the name of mother never fails to excite.
How much we owe to her none can tell. The
treasures of love which she has expended upon
us, God only knows; for she herself is scarcely
conscious how rich and inexhaustible they are.
As she holds her infant smiling in her lap, her
firstbrnn, anew existence has begun to
She watches the half-formed smile, and her own
smile answers it. She catches the first ray of
intelligence, from eyes which look wondering
upon this strange world into which the heavenly
visitant has entered, and gaze* around uncer
tainly, without expression, until the beaming
light of the mother’s face is caught, and the first
ray of conscious intelligence is but the reflection
of a mother's love. From day to day, how care
fully she guards him, and at night his gentlest
movement arouses her to renewed watchfulness.
His playfulness in health is her chief delight,
and the distant approach of sickness fills her
with dread. To say that she would die for him
would be but little; she would die for him a
thousand times, for the dearest charm in her
own life is in the life of her child.
The image of God’s providence is found in j
the mother’s love. As lie is good to the un
thankful and the evil, sober loveis never cat ran-;
ged by our utmost waywardness, by oufc worst j
desert. The love of an earthly father may some- j
times be withdrawn, and the sternn'css-of his na j
ture may trifle the sinful child from his presence,
with words of anger almost like imprecation.— !
He may pronounce a curse which drives the of- i
fender to despair. Hut the mother cannot curse:,
her love cannot be withdrawn. The sorrow of j
her child’s guilt has .pierced her heart, only to .
make it more tender; her hand seeks to draw
him back even when unwilling to return; her
prayers are for him when lie will not pray for j
himself; and upon her bosom finds a resting
place, where he may again lay his weary head. :
as confidently as when lie reposed it there in I
the unquestioning trust of infancy.
Hut if, escaping from the snares of sin, and
strengthened under the temptations of the World, j
her child grows up in the strength of virtue, in
the purity of religion; if she sees her sons and
daughters respected and useful and happy ; l>y
their affection endeavoring to return their moth
er’s love and shield her from harms so frequent
to declining age ; then, who can tell the mother's
joy, or the earnestness of her thanksgiving, ex
cept the God before whom she kneels in silent
gratitude ? That is indeed a blessing with which
her cup runneth over. Her children are her
pride, her joy, the jewels that encircle her brow,
the ornaments more becoming to her age than
any other, and her face, although it may show
the lines of advancing years, retains its youthful
ness of expression and a smile more lovely than
that of youthjitself, when the names of her children
are spoken of with praise, and the record of their
usefulness brought to her ears.
Oh ! if we could but understand the depths of
a mother’s love, the complete disinterestedness
of her strong affection, the days of our early life
would be stained with fewer sins, and our mem
mory in after days less heavily burdened. If
we would but understand how heartless it is, for
the sake of some transient pleasure, some worth
less dissipation, for the indulgence of a whim, or
the gratification of ungoverned temper, to send
the pang of grief to that loving heart, to bring
the shade of mortification over that hopeful face,
we should bo more careful in our pleasures, more
reluctant to do wrong. There is no method by
which we can pay the debt of gratitude to her,
except by hves which aro an answer to her
prayers for our sake.
If she hears of our disappointment she is sad;
our sorrows and bereavements are hers not less
than our own; but these, she strives to learn us
ToTecetve as Ihe discipline of Hod’s providence;
for her good and for ours. But our sins lie like a
weight upon her soul. To our departure from
Goa she cannot reconcile herself. That is a
grief aheacarcely knows how to bear and under
which her grey hairs are brought down in aor-J
row to the grave. Let me appeal to yon . wj§|g
arsytottnc, for her sake. Let your thoughtless-1
tfoteh* checked, let your folly be Rayed. Ifj
Sr for God’s rekpstteKfor Christ’s sake, for yott#l
KotherWa^hdd Wk WHRhßtfTtr*tn-M
Lay riot up for yourMlMlpPPtoTe of repent
ance winch comes from the rcmembraucc of a
mother's grief, a mother’s unanswered prayers!
While I speak, we feci how great must be the
influence of a mother's character upon us; that
if she is a faithful woman, God-fearing and God
trusting, we boooree almost as wax in her hands,
softened by the warmth of her love, moulded by
her gentle touch, until we grow to ihe years of
mature lift), und find ourselves in a great degree
what she has made us, we would not say abso
lutely that it depends upon her wliat her chil
dren shall be in time and eternity, for that would
be attributing to human strength more than it
oan properly claim. Our best skill and wisdom,
even the influence of a good example sometimes
fail. ChUdren who are educated under the
moat judicious system and for whom no pains
,re spared, sometimes disappoiht all our hopes;
while those who are. moat neglected aud under
tte want iofluencM Os bad example in their pa
ne nteand of depravity in tbe worid arc snatched
■ aHßHffi it •/*’ .jr- Jks’ . . v ( "Vw-rHA. Vi’-'.’
GRIFFIN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 16, 1854.
like brands from the burning, and grow up in pie
ty and usefulness. We must not therefore feel
that it depends upon us alone. We are not suf
ficient to ourselves in anything, least of all in
the performance of our duty as parents, and if
there is any one to whom tfie command to pray
without ceasing is especially enjoined, it is the
Christian mother, when her children ore around
her. She cannot feel too strongly, in her fami
ly, the necessity of God’s grace, girding and
protecting those she loves.
Moreover, in speaking of the mother’s influ
ence over her children, we must remember that
her wisest efforts arc sometimes defeated by in
fluences which she cannot control. I have
I known instances in which the father lias taken
i pains, even in their early childhood, to lead them
in the paths of wickedness, to teach them con
tempt for religion, to repeat for their learning
words of blasphemy, to carry them into had
company ami to place them at six years old upon
the counter of a bar-room to learn the fit lesson
of drunkenness. In such a case shall the mother
be blamed for the fruitlessness of her efforts, or
should we expect anything but tlio reverse of
her child ? and even in cases less flagrant than
this, a bad temper and tyranical disposition, will
bring almost as bad results. The labor of direct
ing her children and governing them, is some
times left exclusively to the mother without any ns
; sistance from herhusband, and is sometimes made
almost hopeless by his angry interference. Un
der such circumstances human strength shrinks
from the task, and nothing but a mother’s love
would undertake it. But notwithstanding all
this, we sometimes ec the *u<Seia us the Christian
mother, in the midst of the greatest difficulties,
j training up her sons and daughters in the love
| of truth, in the practice of goodness and religion,
i when the father has thrown the whole weight of
| his precept and example on the side of wicked
| ness; and I have felt, at such times, that a moth
er's influence, if wisely and prayerfully exerted, is
second only to that of God himself. Let her not
despair. Still let her bo hopeful against hope,
and her love, through the blessing of God will
ultimately prevail.
Seldom, however, is her work so discouraging.
Generally, she has a better field of w orking, in
w hich a moderate decree of exertion, together
with a true Christian character in herself, will
secure an answer to her prayers. In the majority
of families, other influences are not very decided,
! either forgood or evil, and become one-or the
[ other according to that of the mother’s character.
! The atmosphere which her children breathe is
that of religion or irreligion, of worlliness or of
i piety at her bidding. They may advance it)
j goodness almost by a natural grow th, and from
i their early lisping of the Lord's Prayer till their
j characters are confirmed in goodness, her hand
I leads them so gently that they do not know how j
i much they owe to her, until they themselves,
; have children to guide. I heard it said of one
i who was eminent in goodness, that it. was inipos
| sible to understand how lie could be so pure, so
j excellent, until you hadseen and known his moth
er; but that in her face and manners, you would
lat once read the whole history. Perhaps it was
| not saying too much. It is difficult to estimate
| how large a portion of the excellence of the best
j men is due to the mother’s counsel, and is thc-re
-1 flection of a mother's character. \Vc do not need
]to be taught that the mother of Howard was a j
j good woman, and that the mother of Washing
ton is revered in history almost as much as
Washington himself.
1 know very well how commonplace are these J
remarks. If they were not commonplace they •
would not be Worth making. It is their univer
sally acknowledged truth that gives them impor
tance. It is a demonstration of what we wish to
prove that the mother is the chief instrument in
God’s hands, for the moral aud religious training
of the young. Youwillsc.aroelyaecu.se ine of
exaggeration in saying, that if this influence can
he made right, all other influences will come right.
If this influence is wrong, no other can counter
act it. It is strictly true, that all our efforts in
philanthropy aim to accomplish, imperfectly,
what the mother alone can accomplish well.
On the ether hand, there must lie another side
ito tlie picture. The frivilous and heartless wo
! man, who makes religion secondary to fashion,
who pursues pleasure so eagerly as to forget her
duty, who neglects her children and entrusts
their moral guidance to servants, or leaves it to
chance, is unworthy of the place she holds, and
if her children grow up well, it is a blessing she
does not deserve. Nor is such a result at all
probable. There lives begin wrong and under
wrong influence, and they grow up in that world
liness and irreligion which scarcely seems to
them wrong, because commended by their moth
er’s example.
It is a rare thing for the son of an irreligious
woman to become religious. It is a rar<r thing
for the daughter of one whose chief glorv is the
ball room, and to whom the pleasures of home
seem tame unless its quiet is changed to revelry,
to becorao anything else than an indifferent copy
of a bad Originate _’ ~~—
Legal Authority.—On a recent occasion, at
Trial nf ■ nmaa linfnrn • a*. l. n Ponnii
Hie trim ox a case oeiore a justice 01 ~u*e a oace
in Louisiana, some rather novel Authorities were
cited by one of the “learned counsel.” For cx
.^T^’Couk'^^etTe, 5 ’ he said; “that in
thg raw of Shylpck w \ii -nio.Although judg
jjjMHmt wtßynjMrcd injavor of pnHKf'jrCt cir
9bnistancerPeveritcd the executioiHpiw bad
issued from being carried into effect?^
“What case,” asked, the justice
tleman refer to f”
“Sliylock vs. Antonio, 2d Shaks., p. 235, John
son’s edition. The Court will there find the case
reported in full.”
The “learned counsel” went on to apply the
case to that of his client; but, whether the ‘Court’
considered the authority sufficient, has not yet.
transpired, - - ■ , .
A Mr. Swift, of Dublin, has an invention by
which he can progress through the water in> an
upright position at die rate of five miles an hour.
The apparatus consists of two-air-tight tin floats
of twenty feet long, tapering to, a. narrow point at
each end. and joined together by two bars of irori!
The mode by which it n propeited by a doq*
ble-bladed oar,, eighteen feet in length, which is
made ,to ply windmill iashion by the occupant,
who stands in the centre.’ An exponent was fah,
ly successful, arid Mr. Swift a loudly applaud
ed on his arrival at Aden.
*• Prove all thliipt lioltl fast that whirl* l ffooil.” —I’aM
An Interprid Chambermaid.
Galignani’s Messenger tells the following cu
rious story. Annette, a young chambermaid of
Marne, had kept the room of two wealthy bache
lors for several years. She wanted to get married,
but her lover was so poor she dare not venture.
These bachelors were brothers, undone day they
had sold some property which they owned jointly,
and the money amounting to lOti.OOOi., was
sill in bills of the Bank of France,too late to
take it to Paris that afternoon.
At midnight a great noise was heard in tin
house. Annette ran and rapped at the door,
saying that robbers were at. work below.
‘You have a gnn.’savs she, ‘take it and shoot
the villians.’
Both the bachelors were much frightened:—
One began to barricade the door, while the oth
er removed a tile from the hearth in order to
secret Ihe bank bills.
‘Fools.’ said the girl, they will murder us all—
give me the gun!’
She seized a double barreled gun w hich laid
upon the shelf, and started downstairs, the two
frightened men watching her movements w ith
out saying a word. Presently, bang went the
gun, and a groan was heard—bang went the
second barrel, and now a screach of pain resound 1,
ed through the house.
Annette soon came tripping up the stairs, and
asked for powder and ball to reload. The aston
ished bachelors gave ber the requisite charges,
but soon steps were heard retreating from tin
house. All three went cautiously down stairs,
when lo ! a pool of blood showed that one rob
. ber at Least ..had jmid.tke.pcudty,.of.Jik. rash at
tempt. In (lie morning it was plain to see that
the body of the victim had been dragged to thr
river. Blood marked the whole distance, and
the police were instantly on the alert for the ar
rest of the living thieves, and the recovery of the
body of the dead one. All was in vain, however;
but the interpidity of tins young girl was discus
sed far and near.
The grateful bachelors, knowing Annette wan
ted to marry, prepared to give her a dower.
“Ah! Monsieur,” replied she ‘how can I
leave you ?—you may be again attacked by
the robbers.’
‘But we will not, nevertheless, stand between
you and happiness, here are thirty thousand
francs—you have saved our lives aud richly de
serve the money If you choose to live m this
house with your husband we shall repair the
lower part tor that purpose, and you then can
be paid for keeping our rooms neatly, as at pres
ent.’
Annette did not hesitate to accept the dower
and the house.
It was many years before the real facts relative
to tins midnight attack of robbers came to light.
The rich bachelors were then both dead, and
had willed Annette another thirty thousand
francs. The robbers, it seems, were not of the
plural number, but only Annete’s lover alone.—
Tbe blood was from a lamb, killed for the occa
sion. Indeed, the whole was but a ruse, by the
two lovers, to open the hearts and purses of the
rich bachelors.
Incidents of a Battle. —Some English gards
men who were in the battle of Waterloo, relat
ed to Hayden, the painter, (he follow ing anec
dotes 0 f the thickest of the fight. They present
war in all its horrors: ’
“The description of the men was simple, char
acteristic and poetical; They said that when
the life guards and cuirassiers met, it was like
the ringing of ten thousand blackswith’s anvils.
One of them knew iny models, Shaw and Dakin,
lie saw Dakin while fighting on foot with two
cuirasseirs, also on foot, divide both their heads
with cuts five and six. He saw Bukin ride out,
foaming at the mouth, and cheered on his troop.
In the evening he saw Dakin lying dead, cut in
pieces. Dakin sat to me for the sleeping groom
ou his knees in Macbeth.
Another saw Shaw fighting with two cuirras
siers at a time. Shaw, he said, always cleared
his passage. He saw him take an eagle, but
lost it afterwards; as when any man got an ea
gle, all men near him on both sides left off fight
ing, nnd set on him who had the eagle. lie went
on himself very well, but riding too far, was
speared by a lancer, and fainted away. Recov
ering, he sat upright, when three or four lancers
saw him, rode at him, and speared him till they
thought him dead. He remembered nothing till
revived by the shaking as they carried him to
the yard of La Ilayc Sainte. There he heard
someone groaning, and turning round, saw
Shaw, who said : “I am dying, ibv ride k torn
off by a shell.” His comrades told us how lie
had swooned away, and being revived by their
taking him up to be carried to BniMela at day
break, lie saw poor Shaw dead, ‘with his cheek
in hk hand; ■ - - -
Corporal Webster, of the second life guard,
saw Sliawgire kk first cut- A* he was getting
do ground in the fcpUw re*i, a
man recovered, cut him right through “hi* bras*
helmet and ha &ce fell off him like
all. standing sriffet brer iuchk(aperfeJs*M*,
les,) charged Mw t
artillery of sixteen crying on their
h <*-’JMP*iDg back a whole, French regi
mcntppgjjßand let him pass at full gallop, and
(ben i gave him a volley, and never hit
mSpi first man who stopped him waa an Irish
man hi the French service. He dashed at him,
and said, “D —n you, I’ll stop your crowing.”—
Hodgson said he was frightened, bejiad never
fought any body with swords. Watching the
cuirasser, however, he found he could not move
his. horse so quick aa he could; so, letting go
the reina, ana guiding hk horse with his knees,
as die euirassier gave point at lik throat, Hodg
son cut his sworn hand off, and dashed hk sabre
through hk throat, catling it round and round.
The first cut be gave him was on the ’ cuirass,
which he thought was silver lace. The shock
neatly broke htTarra. “D—n me,” he added,
“now I have found out the way, I soon - gave it
them.” Aa Hodgson rode back, after behjg fired
at, ah officer encountered him, Hodgson cut
at the naps, and, as it dropped dead,
a.bald beadand white ham. TWoffset begged
1 was approaching at the gallop, so Hodgson
, cleared his head in two with a Mow’, nnd escaped.
The recollection of the white hairs 1e- t<44 us
pained, him often. Before he got back to the
British line a lancer officer charged him, and
missing his thrust came right on Hodgson and
his horse. Hodgson got clear, and cot his
head off at the neck, at one blow, and the ln-ad
dropped on his haversack, where lie kept tin
blood stain.”
—-
From the Haiti more Sun.
Horrible Cruelties to Mrs. Wilson, while a
Captive among the Indians,
A\ e have already announced the escajio nnd
, return of Mis. Jane Wilson, of Texas, to Santa
; Fe. who had been taken captive by the Gatnanehe
j Indians, and subjected to the must extraordinary
j cruelties. The affair has very justly excited the
greatest indignation in New .Mexico against the
! Indians.
I From Mrs. Wilson’s narrative, it nppeare that
: she is but 1 7 years of age. About a year ago she
! was married to a young farmer in Texas, and in
April they joined a party of fifty-two emigrants,
hound for California. They were attacked by
Indians and (lie party wo* compelled to return
to Texas; but Mr. and Mrs. Wilson remained at
iFI Paso, where their horses being stolen, they
were compelled also to give up the plan of going
to t’alifornia, and set out on their return to Tcx
jas in July. In August, Mr. Wilson and his fu
! thcr fell into the hands of Indians and were niur
-1 tiered. Mrs. W. returned toKl Paso, and again
in Septeinlicr started fur Texas, with her three
1 brothers-in-law and a small party. When w ith
in three days journey of Phantom Hill, an Amcr
| iean military post, they were attacked bv t’a
manchcs, while some of their men were off in
pursuit of some of their hores that had been
{stolen, A Mexican, who was with Mrs.-Wilson,
: was brutally murdered and scalped before her
eyes, and she and her two brothers-in-law,
lads of twelve and ten years, v ,re seized,
bound, and carried off, with the entire property
of the parly.
The Indians, with their captive*, proceeded in
a Northwest direction, each being appropriated
as the property of one or the other of the chiefs.
They were stripped of nearly ail their clothing,
and otherwise brutally treated. Mrs. Wilson al
though expecting soon to become a mother, was
subjected to every conceivable cruelty and indig
nity; beaten and bruised; exposed to fatigues of
all kiudsflu-r tlc.-b lacerated by lariats and w hips,
or by tile loads of wood she was obliged to carry
oil her bare back: compelled to the work of men,
or punished for her inability by being stoned,
knocked down and triuuiß'lled ou; almost entire
ly deprived of food—and all this lasted for twen
ty-five days. At this time, she was sent in ad
vance in tiie morning as usual, when she deter
mined to attempt an escajie, which site suc
ceeded in accomplishing, by secreting her
self in some hushes until the Indians had pass
ed.
For twelve days she wandered through this In
dian country, subsisting upon berries, when she
fortunately fell in with some New Mexican tra
ders, who furnished her with some men's clothing
and a blanket In consequence of their meeting
with a Camauche, they had to leave her behind,
and she narrowly escaped a second capture. But,
by the aid of one of the traders,a J’ueulo Indian,
she was enabled after hiding herself for eight
days, to escape. At the expiration of this time
she was rescued by the traders, furnished with •
horse, and brought to the town of l’ecos New
Mexico, where Major Glarenton and oth ore, of
the army, took care of her and enabled her to
proceed to Santa Fe.
This is but an outline of a terrible atory, the
coutorpart of which, in all cxeept tho escape, ate
said to be frequent. A letter from Sauta Fe says
that the white captives among the Camanches
arc as numerous us the. Indians themselves. The
same letter mentions the escape of a young Mex
ican woman who returns after a year’s terrible
captivity, expecting to become the mother of an
infant w hose father is a wild Indian. The Ca
nmnehes practice cruelty in iU utmost refinement
towardstlictr captives. Children aro trained to
be more savage than they are themselves, and
women are subjected to outrages too horrible to
be mentioned. , . - $S-
The Sauta Fe Gazctto says : ‘’The two broth
ers of Mrs. Wilson are yet m captivity, and unless
soon reclaimed, wit! imbibe a taste for.the wild
life of the Indian, and be forever lost There aro
many hundreds, and we may venture to say,
thousands of captives among tlie Indians of-JTew
Mexico, principally women and children; the for?
iner are forced to “become staeesof the men, nod
the hitter ate.trslned for warriors.”
When Opt! Merri weather came out, he’ Srtlf’
fortmtegrimoogh to rescue two Mexican girts
ftmtiTTO^Gamancbes—one sixteen and the other
eighteen years of age. They had been cantered
from hear Chihuahua, om three yean and the
other ten months before. They were sent to the
Governor of that State, who acknowiedmril jiie
conduct of the Governor of New Mexico in very
handsome fffkte J They wl U*ASjjMgAngc j
jygjl on horelH
or. tl:: • U
caught it on liiojgrfl. i* \*i A<i
at full tookvHHßpK, aivllip&
ed it arounu ‘ (
• Surely our Governmeßt wfll not permit such
outrages to go unpunished, even if ft be neces
sary to exterminate the tribe of there bra-.,
tal savages. _ ’ - % ..V‘a*V * v - - : .
How Cincinn itti Beoame City.
In the settlement of new countries, it often lup*
pen* that tfte most trivial circumstances produce
Important results. - According ttfJudge Burnet’s
“Notes ou the North Western Territory,” the
question whether North Bend or Cinchrosti
should be tbs great commercial town of the Mi
ami country was derided by the fact that the
commandant of tbe military station at North
Bend became strongly attached to a “black-eyed
lady,” who lived with? bier hnsbsnd at; the Bend
where he w* stationed; and the husband becom
ing somewhat Alarmed Jt the irtiidk
the commandant paid to his wife, (rinotfo&Ho
on their
departed, and that of Cincinnati arose. JsdjM .
Burnet remarks: (page &e.j “The incotnpnrnhW *
beauty of a Spartan dam* predated a tea -
war which terminated in the destruction oflkfj 3
and the irresisUblsebarirerisnodsw female terete
furred the commercial emporium of Ohio ta Jg
the place where it now it.- If Uni 1
American Helen had continued at the Bend, thd jj
garrison would have been erected there—
tion, capital and busmen* would baro been njjjmn
lered there, and thence it would bar* been 9KH
Queen city of the Went.” Wins after tliia wfll *
say that woman w of no importance
of fortune!— Cin. Gazettee. , >
Sacrilegious BiftwVMM. , -|jj
Wc have just heard c t an’ awfm transaction j
perpetrated in this city, which satisfied na
then- are as ninny “ bad yoong men” in onr eftfiil
as there were years ago. M. ——, the paiMßs
of one of our African churchea, is ceWifstidlH
the fiery qualities of Iris pulpit eloquence. TMfIJ
row-lyish voting gentlemen had sometimes,
into the gallery of the sanctuary, where
officiates,*for the naughty purnoae
sing themselves with the devotional txsidllWg ,
the (ailortd minister and his congregation. OMy
serving that the zealous preacher dwelt tteJtS
much on pyrotechnic illustration*, these wMvS
ed youths determined to give the audience
thing practical in the same way, and with -IhttS
intention, they pDx'ured the handle of a tin
the hollow of which they filled with “ wild
a preparation made by mixing gtm-powder a#gj
water, then drying it sufficiently to admit ifil’ J
tion. The trio provided with the diabolical CM** *
trivaiicc, took their vuslomary iiieltlosi ia a oo*> J
ner of the gallery, near the pulpit, and waited |
for a favorable opportunity to illustrate thatete’*
men with a blazing cxbibi'tioa. That oppwlwi
ty was soon offered them. The speaker bad jwA
commenced n sentence with “’Bpoaci d* JIW
was to ’pear now ’inongst you wicked U%gteh
with a blaze of fire wrapped round ten Ml
a cloak f” when tie- young sinners towdbad
their fire-works with a friction roatA - gtlfi dt* -y
reacted the muzzle of the tube toward*theprwmlft
erV <lesk.
Instantly n terrible crepitatioli wa* Whd
the whole pulpit was involved ia a dmapUMf
of-moke rdii-vcd by a shower of tpSßhauad •
lurid glare of blue fire that wowld hwrw IHMdMh
4-d the reputation of anew patomitML
gregntion, with w ild shrieks andexdagpßWjrijp- i
“ile il-5.il base..me for Slirtin 1” Atb,
wards the door; but in that tryingmobMl A* -
appearance of tbe j*rencher liimself, * tee®* ~
tacle of moral sublimity. Ilk hiag* iMoii
face appeared with undisturbed'Setwiit^oßteldte” 1 ’
the gleaming liorrom at hk “ sulphutek^,,
pv,” as he sbouti-d out, “ Blaze ‘ -
hi ate away! you can’t rile di cluCBMt •#
you can fix it !”—Albany Traimrlptt ‘*
A Cask.—Miss Fitmancy —ekkriy }
charged Mr. Cleaver, the gay jotng ejan whw
was accustomed to carry home her aflmhtlin{ff
with having forcibly kissed her iff the
her own house. Mr. m
his personal appearance, waft short— very she#—
considering hia whiskeiwl hie height, tWKm
French boots, reached only to four feet fe*m| 1
inches. Miss Fitxnancy, on the contrary,brfng
fond of extreme*, ran’ up ■ foot higher—
stayed them'; being of rematkablf ngiffdifpE :
ment. Bhe swore the abbreviated, JrCt ameeafll
butcher kissed her Iby assenlt end felMMw
up for it. Butcher—with some etpwmton m
disgust, more emphatie than necessary - denied
the charge. Butcher wes^h#—hjdy wmn’t. ‘
Cleaver had antipathy to what he inwnMk.
termed—“ scraggy” women, and rowed Jflr
hadn't kissed her, and wouldn't! MontgttmUnH
hire him to. *]
Being cross examined, lawyer imjtnme of the
lady tltc circumstances —when, wharw, Ww, fee
Lady replies with great particalarity >’ dknMWS
day morning—ten o’clock —in the
toil all she could, but he permveced,WßjltifempJ|pj
ed 1 Lawyer asks—‘Bid not hejf|Mmd%dMP||
thing but the floor!’ £
‘No I he stood on the floor—no eWh'ittfll f
or anything else being brought
tron.’ • - 1
•But, my dear madant, that i
aro twelve inches taller than him., How 1
ho reach your lip V ’ *
Lady hadn’t thouglit of that, Its AffH/JiiilT.,-V
to be tripped by the glibbest 1
so she retdie*—- l
Oh 1 an! well—l know—yml’
but then vou know -/mMMmH
‘Exactly ! Tl.ank you, madwfcv* 1
‘Nothing further, ‘four heats
Verdict for tbc piort ueH
” ’ .JjjS “ ‘J'\
power to Washmgtoj
w^hbeW**
obtaining the consent of tfaa swfdilhHdMH
ho will take the Chiefs on
ton for the pr,.-cofvottchhlog sAreaty.
jwition to j
Tcrntwy- It is that
irthe’Slte* ibSkw SI |
inaha. • ‘’ ‘
. - i. j
meats for the army,
r. tary of War, wiU he army! wUhtlfe
Pupsiitsr
NUMBER 12