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A FAMILY lIWSPAPII,--DEVOTED TO LITERATURE, SCIENCE, ART, POLITICS k GENERAL INTELLIGENCE.
VOL. 3.
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From the Child's Paper.
The Mighty Care-All.
s„vcra! jentlcmen were talking one evening
st the lion-e of a friend, when one of them ex
t-Liimed, ‘Ah, depend upon it, a soft answer is a
cure-al!.’
At this stage of the conversation, a boy who
sat behind abatable studying his Latin gram
mar, began to listen, and repeated, as he
thought, quite to himself, ‘A soft answer is a
mighty cure all.’ ‘Yes, that's it,’ cried the
gentlemen, starting, and turning round to see
wlif.-c the echo came from; ‘Yes, that’s it;
(i.u't vuu think so, my lad ?’ The boy blushed
n :at finding himself so unexpectedly ad
ihrseJ. but answered, ‘I don’t know as I un
derstand you, sir.’
‘U'dl, I'll explain, then,’ said the gentleman,
ivV.::i_ r round his chair; ‘for it is a principle
von ought to understand and act upon; be
sh\ it,is the principle which is going to con
cur the world. The boy looked more puzzled
than ever, and thought he should like to know
killing that was equal to Alexander himself.
‘I might as well explain,’ said he, ‘by telling
v u about the first time it conquered me. My
filler was an officer, and his notion was to set
tle every thing by fighting, if a boy ever gave
r. a saucy word, it was, ‘Fight ’em, Charley ;
fight ’em i’
By and bv I was sent to the famous
school, and it so happened mv seat was next to
y named Tom Tucker. When 1 found he
lived ina small house behind the academy, I
I“gm to strut a little and talk about w hat my
pitl r ms; but as he was a capital scholar,
‘••7 much thought of by the boys, besides be
in;? excellent at bat aiul ball, we were soon on
p ity good terms, and so it went on for some
5 ‘• Altera while, some of the fellows of my
Pjsand I with the rest, got into a difficulty
;"- ; li otic of the ushers; and some how or other,
‘•’ vgot tli notion that Tom Tucker was at the
Mtom of it.
’ lorn Tucker; who is he?’ I cried angrily.
1 .1 let him know who lam ;’ and we rattled
*' , p we fairly talked ourselves into a parcel
of wolves. The boys then set me on to go
ij n to Tom Tucker’s, and let him know what
pe had to expect. Swelling with rage l bolted
to his yard, where he was at work with Trip
his little sister. ‘l'll teach you to talk
’ m in this way,’ [ thundered, marching
JT to him. He never winced, or seemed the
’ ‘’ ‘lightened, but stood Btill, looking at me
R ’ !r,: ‘ a s a lamb. ‘Tell me,’ I cried, throwing
“tirny books, doubling up my list, and sidling
P. to him; ‘tell me, or I'll'—kill you, I was
say, for murder was in my heart.—
‘one side, but answered firmly, yet
‘‘ Charles, you may strike me as much as
‘1 i ■ use; I tell y OU I shan’t strike back again,
, L.ng a p oor wa y ( Q se (-q e difficulties. I’m
u ? “I* en )'ou are Charles Everett, I'll talk
vnth yo U .’
•>- “hat an answer was that; how it cowed
Z m ?’ s ? firm .and yet so mild. I felt there
j ‘ n ° ,' n ‘ n having the fight all on one side.
J* a* amed ot myself, iny temper, and every
sbl a Amt nie. I longed to get out of his
JT: saw “hat a poor, foolish way my way
I g things was. I felt that Tom had com
; .’ g"Uhe better of me—that there was a
bn! U *, IS P r ‘ n ciples superior to any thing I
Tucker’'T lj " fore ’ an( l f rom that hour, Tom
t ] 3e ran hifluence over me which r.obody
goo d ‘tL iad T ! K ‘ fore 0r since i il has been f OT
‘ | hat, you see, is the power, the
T f lllo , ra P ovver °f a soft answer.
since lb' G wen a h°ut the world a great deal
rthat 0} an d 1 believe,’said the gentleman,
f quarrels a t t '’ f. 1, if not the bickerings, the
! women 1. P utea which arise among men,
I ohurch.-V’ C l '^ ren ’ In families, neighborhoods,
I mHjtv**’ eren nat ' ons > can be cured by the
I Scrq^’T 1 P ower of a soft answer ; for the
I wrath’ y as ’b ‘A soft answer turneth away
in . ‘- s ’ )'es, it is just so; it stops the leak
g °eginriing.’
G'htm,> StU^-v this principle. Try it. The
thousan / jrinci l jl . e has been tried these many
admJt s tl ‘ V6ars ‘ n tbe world, and every body
ea se; ] ! at tlle remedy is worse than the dis-
AnJ r i ac ‘’ it increases the disorder. —
“ir an " er > fighting makes fighting,
Beit!,. J 5 ‘l° war aU( f so on - Difficulties are
Hid t ‘ oed or cured by it. Let’s turn about
L ■ be peace principle.
rim u n ie ' er French writer says women
qn er i not Slt beside the man they wish to con
front’ ut opposite him.— I ‘Attack a heart in full
•ot by profile,” is her expression.
but iu Sa - Vs j 1 has been proposed to tax stays
ish ‘ as Ejected to because it would dimin
c °nsutnpiion.
% #
Benevolence and Gratitude.
It was a raw, bleak night; the rain was falling
while the wind blew in violent gusts. A Portsmouth
night coach stopped at the principal inn of the town to
change horses. The cold wearied travellers alighted
for a few minutes to enjoy the comfort of a blazing fire,
as well as to take refreshments.
“Will you give a poor fellow a night’s shelter in
your hay-loft?’’ asked a weather-beaten sailor, ad
dressing one of the hostlers who was fastening the
harness.
‘‘No, not to such as you, ’ answered the man—
“you had better make the best of your way off, or
you'll get more than you look for; if you prowl about
here any longer.”
“Perhaps, young man,” replied the tar, “you may
one day be set adrift upon the world, without a penny
to keep your head above the water; and as to honesty,
l know better than to take what is not my own, if I
have not a shoe to my foot.’’
“I would’nt trust you farther than I can see you ’’
said the hostler, “and if you don't be off I’ll make
you.’’
Poor Jack was turning away hungry and foot-sore,
when he was tapped on the shoulder by a lad who
acted as stable boy'.
“If you were to go down the road to the first little
shop you came to,’’ lie said, “widow Smith would, I
dare say, let you sleep in her woodliouse; she is a
good old creature, and is always ready to help anyone
in distress.’’
“Thank you, thank you,” said the sailor, these few
words caused a revulsion of feeling in the breast of the
forlorn stranger ; they told him that there still were
hearts in which kindness flowed.
John Willis, on coming ashore, had been robbed of
his all, a thing of no uncommon occurrence, and he
was now compelled to beg bis way to London. lie
deeply felt the rebuffs he frequently met with. The
prevalence of imposture frequently renders it hard for
those who are really in need to get help, for their truth
fulness is often questioned.
•Jack followed the directions given him, but he found
the shop closed. He felt that it was an unseasonable
hour; still the favorable account he had received of its
owner encouraged him to rap gently at the door. His
summons was answered by the worthy dame, who, hav
ing listened compassionately to his tale of suffering,
bade him enter aud share her frugal meal. The tar
entertained his benevolent hostess with a recital of the
shipwrecks lie had witnessed, and the narrow escapes
he had himself had.
The repast over, the widow placed some clean, rye
straw in one corner of a shed attached to her dwelling,
and, with a thankful heart, the weary traveller stretch
ed himself upon it, and slept as soundly as if on a bed
of down.
Before continuing his jonrney in the morning, Jack
looked in to thank the good woman for the shelter she
had giving him; lie found, however, a warm meal
awaiting him. Having partaken of it, and accepted a
few pence to help him on his way, he departed, with a
hearty benediction from his hostess.
Ten years passed and the little incident here recor
ded had long escaped the memory of all save one ol
the parties concerned.
One morning, a large, official looking letter was put
into Mrs. Smith’s hands by the postman. Its purport
was to beg her attendance in London on the following
day, when the writer said, she should receive gratifying
intelligence, which it was wished to communicate to
hei self personally. She started w ith the first coach
which passed through on the morrow, and reached
London to meet tile appointment.
The address given her was at an inn, and on arriv
ing there she was immediately ushered into a private
apartment, where two respectable men were awaiting
to rective her. The widow’s surprise was increased
when oue of them accosted her with the similiar phrase,
‘llow do you do mother? Don't you know me, my
worthy ? added he, in answer to her half frightened,
inquiring glance. ‘1 am Jack W illis, the sailor jou 1
housed aud fed ten years ago, hen he hail neither home j
nor friends. I’m now Cap ai iof a merchantman ; and
this gentleman,’ turning to his companion, ‘will, in my
name, do the needful to settle an annuity of fifty dollars
upon you.’
Tiie widow unable to give utterance to the emotions
of her swelling heart, hurst into tears.
Widow Smith returned to her cottage home, and
never after did she listen to a tale of suffering without
thinking of poor Jack \\ illis. —London Magazine.
[From ‘Thoughts on the Death of Children ]
Tiie Child is Deal.
It is hard to believe it, that we shall no more
hear the glad voice, nor meet the merry laugh,
that burst so often from its glad heart.
Child as it was, it was a pleasant child; and
to the partial parent there are traits of loveliness
that no other eye may see. It was a wise or
dering of lYovidence that we should love our
own children as no one else loves them, and as
we love the children of uone besides. Aud
ours was a lovely child.
But the child” is dead ! Y'ou may put away
its playthings. Put them where they will be
safe. 1 would not like to have them broken or
lost, and you need not lend them to other chil
dren when they come to see us. It would pain
me to see them in other hands, much as I love
to see children happy with their toys.
Its clothes you may lay aside; 1 shall often
look them over, and each of the colors that he
wore here. I shall weep olten when 1 think of
him; but there is a luxury in thinking of the
one that is gone, which 1 would not part with
for the world. I think of my child, always,
though an angel among angels.
The child is dead. The eye has lost its lus
tre. The hand is still and cold. The little
heart is not beating now. llow pale it looks !
Yet the very form is dear to me. Every lock
of its hair, every feature of the face, is a trea
sure that 1 shall prize the more, as the months
of my sorrow come and go.
Lay the little one in its coffin. He was never
in so cold and hard a bed, but lie will feel it not.
He would not know it, if he had been laid in
his cradle; or his mother’s arms. Throw a
flower or two by his side, like them he wither
eth.
Carry him out to the grave gently. It is a hard
road this to the grave. Every jar seems to dis
turb the infant sleeper. Here we are at the
brink of the sepulchre. Oh, how damp and
dark, and cold ! l>ut the dead do not feel it.
There is no pain, no fear, no weeping there.
Sleep on now, and take your rest.
Fill it up! Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
every clod seems to fall on my heart. Every
smothered sound from the grave is saying gone,
gone, gone ! It is full now. Lay the turf gent
ly over the dear child. Plant a myrtle among
the sods, and let the little one sleep among the
> trees and flowers. Our child is not there. His
s dust, precious dust, indeed, is there, but our
- child is in heaven. He’s not here, he is risen.
Habit. ‘I trust everything, under God, said
1 Lord Brougham, ‘to habit, upon which, in all
j ages the lawgiver as well as the school-master,
has mainly placed his reliance; habit, which
makes everything easy, and casts all difficulties
, upon a deviation from a wonted course. Make
- sobriety a habit, and intemperance will be hate
ful ; make prudence a habit, and reckless profli-
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 2, 1852.
gacy will be as contrary to the child, grown or
adult, as the most atrocious crimes are to any of
your lordships. Give a child the habit of sa
credly regarding truth ; of carefully respecting
the property of others; of scrupulously abstain
ing from all acts of improvidence which can in
volve him in distress, and he will just as likely
think ot rushing into an element in which he
cannot breathe, as of lying, or cheating or steal
ing.’
Cure for Bronchitis.— Dr. Edward C. Cur
tis, of New Y 01 k, an old and eminent physician,
retired from practice, publishes what he says an
experience of twelve years, with unvarying suc
cess, satisfies him is an infallible cure for chron
ic bronchitis and other forms of consumption.
He says:
The treatment is the administration of sul
phate of copper, nauseating doses, combined
with gum ammoniac, given so as to nauseate,
but not ordinarily to produce full vomiting ; the
usual dose for this purpose is about half a grain
of sulphate of copper, and five grains of gum
ammoniac, in a tea-spoon full of water, to be
taken at first twice, and in the convalescent sta
ges, once a day.
In cases of chronic bronchitis, a gargle of the
sulphate of copper alone, is superadded. In this
latter form of consumption, this treatment al
most invariably suspends the hectic symptoms
in a few days, and the disease rapidly advances
to its final cure.
In cases of the more proper forms of con
sumption, the treatment must be intermitted
frequently and again returned to; and when
ever soreness of the chest or other symptoms of
inflammatory action exist, the treatment should
be suspended, as it is in the chronic state alone
that the remedy is indicated or useful; that state
in which the general system, as sympathetical
ly involved, becomes the more prominent sys
tem, and the success of the treatment depeuds
chiefly on the breaking up of the sympathetic
action of the diseased lung, on the more healthy
tone of the stomach, and increasing its diges
tive power, and likewise causing, during nau
seate action, a more active and healthy circula
tion of the blood through the lungs.
Barnum at iiis Home. A number of New
York editors recently enjoyed the Hospitality of
Barnum, at his villa of lranistan. The express
gives some particulars which represent the great
‘showman’ at home.
Bariuiin hails nominally from Bridgeport, for
there he is a large bank owner, land owner,
liouie owner, Ac. But his unique abode, and
his beautiful grounds, orchards, graperies, flow r
erbeds, Arc., are in Fairfield. So also is the so
called Bi idgeport Cemetery, which has so many
natural beauties as almost any cemetery in the
country. v \’c have taken a proper peep atßar
nurn’s house and grounds to see for ourselves.
They combine the useful and the beautiful. A
noble enterprise, a prosperous industry, and an
excellent taste, have reared the one and laid out
the other, and it is due to the inmates to say
that tliey gratefully dispense a bountiful hospi
tality. The grounds and lawns richly spread
with every variety of flowers, and with the choi
cest fruits, are charming to behold. The grapes,
peaches and nectarines would make the mouth of
an epicure water; and such specimens of grapes,
there being twenty varieties, so full and abun
dant, have rarely been seen in our out of New
England. But the great attraction of the gar
den, and an interesting one it is, was a Banana
tree, growing more luxuriously here than in the
tropics, and bearing the best of fruit. Mr. Bar
num now is just completing a tower, at an ex
pense of some $15,000, at the top of which
(about 100 feet) is a tank holding six hundred
gallons of water. This is raised from a well,
sixty feet deep, and twenty in diameter, and
forced upward fifty four feet by a steam engine,
erected in an adjoining building. By means
of this, the dwelling is supplied from the attic
to the top—the gardens, irrigated, the stables
supplied, and a number of beautiful fountains
in the grounds set in full play.
Everything around is alike bountiful, beauti
ful and useful, with perhaps an excess of orna
ment in the dwelling itself. But Barnum is by
no means selfish in his enjoyments. Ilis
grounds, stables, the inmates of which embrace
ponies, elks, and a beautiful stud of horses ; his
barn yards with every variety of fowls, and also
bis hot houses filled with rich and lucious fruits,
are all freely opened to the public, with only a
reservation against undue trespass.
Barn urn’s chief source of income out of
Connecticut are his Museums, said to be very
profitable and his famous Menagerie, now in
Michigan. Sixty thousand dollars were the
profits of the menagerie last year; and among
its incidental expenses are S2OO a w T eek, or
810,400 a year for Tom Thumb. Barnum
marie Tom Thumb’s fortune, and Tom contribu
ted not a little to Barnum. Tom is about 16
years of age now, though passing for more, and
it is his money which built for his father the
largest house in Bridgeport. Tom has made
all his family rich, and when at home is of
course the elephant of the town, Barnum being
but a simple lion. Tom has his bijou of a room
in his great house, with a rose wood bedstead,
chairs, tables, and a tea set, &c., all made to
match his own diminutive proportions. Ilis
quarters contain all the presents he received in
Europe, and pistols, bowie knives, jacknives, die,
had been among bis favorite playthings; but
he is amiable, intelligent, and very much es
teemed. Barnum took Him as an experiment
about ten vears ago. Ilis pay at the start was
was three dollars a week —soon it was raised
to 825, then to $37. At this price Barnum
took him to England, where his great success
prompted Mr. 13. to share the receipts with him.
Now for showing himself merely he earns an
income equal to the official salaries of Daniel
Webster and John Crittenden combined.
Female Influence and Energy. —l have
noticed, says Washington Irving, that a mar
ried man falling into misfortune is more apt to
retrieve his situation in the world than a single
one, chiefly because his spirits are softened and
relieved by domestic endearments, and sell-res
pect kept alive by finding that, although abroad
be darkness and humiliation, yet there is still a
little world of love at home of which he is mon
arch ; whereas a single man is apt to run to
waste and self-neglect; to fall to ruins, like some
deserted mansion, for want of inhabitants. I
have often had occasion to mark the fortitude
with which women sustain the most overwhel
ming reverse of fortune. Those disasters which
break down the spirit of the man, and prostrate
him in the dust, seem to call forth all the ener
gies of the softer sex, and give such intrepidity
and elevation to their character, that at times it
approaches to sublimity. Nothing can be more
touching than to behold a soft and tendei fe
male, who had been all weakness and depend
ence, and alive to every trivial roughness, while
treading the prosperous path of life, sudaen y
rising in mental force to be the comforter anu
supporter of her husband under misfortunes,
abiding with unshrinking firmness, the bitterest
blasts of adversity. As the vine which has long
twined its graceful foilage about the oak, and
has been lifted by it into sunshine, will, when
the hardy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt,
cling round it with its caressing tendrils, and
bind up his tender brow ; so, too, it is beautiful
ly ordained by Providence that woman, who is
the ornament and dependent of man in his hap
pier hours, should be his stay and solace when
smitten with dire and sudden calamity, winding
herself into the rugged recesses of his nature,
tenderly supporting his drooping head, and
binding up the broken heart.
A Lesson for Young Men.
Nothing is so important to a business man as
promptness. The good book says, ‘whatsoever
thy hands findeth to do, do it with all thy might.’
This lesson cannot be too strongly or too fre
quently impressed upon the minds of youth.—
Nine-tenths of the failures in business result from
a habit of delaying, dallying and postponing
small matter in early life. An eminent preach
er of Philadelphia, according to the Saturday
Post, preached a sermon to young men, in
which he related the following anecdote :
“I once knew a young man who was com
mencing life as a clerk. One day his employer
said to him, ‘Now to-morrow that cargo of cot
ton must be gotton out and weighed, and we
must have a regular account of it.’
He was a young man of energy. This was
the first time he had been entrusted to superin
tend the execution of this work ; he made his
arrangement over night, spoke to the men about
their carts and horses, and, resolving to begin
very early in the morning, he instructed the la
borers to be there at half-past four o’clock. So
they set to work, and the thing was done ; and
about ten or eleven o’clock, bis master comes in
and seeing him setting in the counting-house,
looks very blank, supposing that his command
had not been executed.
“‘I thought,’ said the master, you were re
quested to get out that cargo this morning ?’
“‘lt is all done,’ said the young man, ‘and
here is the account of it.’
“He never looked behind him from that mo
ment—never ! His character was fixed, confi
dence was established. He was found to be the
man to do the thing with promptness, lie very
soon came to be one that could not be spared
—he was as necessary to the firm as any of the
partners. 1 ’
A Sixpence for a Kiss.
Coming down town in one of the Bowery omtiibus
ses the other day, we were accidently one of the trio—
two of which consisted of a brace of rather pretty girls,
who seemed to enjoy the ride remarkably. The stage
did not get another customer until on the corner of
Rivingston street, a rather spruce looking young man
stepped in, seating himself by our side, evidently in
specting the joyous tempting damsels opposite, with an
eye of remarkable interest.
They took little notice of him, being evidently en
gaged in earnest, but laughable confab, on gome sub
ject which had recently occurred.
As the conveyance neared the intersection of Chath
am Square with Division Street, our young companion
pulled the string, and shoving up a two shilling piece to
the driver, with the cabalistic interjection of “two
took his change through the strap-hole, and as he re
treated towards the door in the rear—suddenly put his
arm around the neck of one of the unsuspecting maid
ens—the prettiest one—and bending his face to her
lips, imprinted a warm, hearty kiss, upon the twin
cherries which composed the lips aforesaid !
It was an action of an instant, and in three seconds
more he was out of the stage and round the corner,
with only one roguish glance over his shoulder !
The poor girl turned pale, and then suddenly became
remarkably wry in the face, the blush mantling to her
very temples, while she hastily wiped the insult from
her pretty laibles with a neat white handkerchief.
“But he paid your fare, Saralt!’’ whispered her sis
ter divinity, as with a nudge of the elbow, she turned
consolingly to the offended fair one.
“Did lie ?—Well he may have a dozen more at the
same price
There was a quiet, but meaning chuckle, and just
then the driver gave his horses the reins. We were
crowded farther away from the sirens into the forward
corner, moralizing tremendous on human frailty and
wickedness ! !
Sixpence for such a kiss !!! Cheap—is’nt it!! !
Family Affection.
Nothino: presents a more mournful aspect than
a family divided by anger and animosity. Un
happily, however, this is not of rare occurrence.
We even behold at times, brothers themselves,
so indifferent towards each other —so wanting
in affection, or even in astate of hospitality, that
they appear as if they had not been cherished
by the same fond heart and fed at the breast of
the same fond mother, only to be divided by
their tastes and manner of thinking. We also
often observe sisters maintain in their relations
to each other, so much ill-will, that even the very
stranger when forced to be a witness of this
melancbolly state of feelings, cannot but be
shocked and pained.
Indeed, it is but too common to behold indi
viduals united by ties of blood, live together up
on a much less intimate footing than with stran
gers, and show themselves much less obliging
one to the other, than they are, when occasion
requires, to persons they did not know. And
notwithstanding all this, on the pait of the
children, we have within our minds eye, a fath
er and mother, they are daily fanning up the
embers of animosity between their children. —
Such being the case, it is not to be wondered
that sisters and brothers should treat each oth
er with so much i”difference. Nothing but the
healthful influence of the Holy Spirit can bring
about the work ofhumiliation on such hearts.
A Beautiful Truth.— l have been told, says
a popular writer, by men who have passed un
harmed through the temptations of youth, that
they owed their escape from many dangers, to
the intimate companionship of their affectionate
sisters. They have been saved from a hazard
ous meeting with idle company by some engage
ment in which their sisters were the charm, they
have refrained from mixing with the impure,
because they would not bring home thoughts
and feelings which they could not share with
their loving sisters. The remembrance of some
warm, confiding, pure-minded female friend,
has saved many a youth from the snares so
thickly set, into* which, but for this, he might
have fallen.
Farmers.—Adam was a farmer while in Par
adise, and after his fall was commanded to earn
his bread by the sweat of his brow.
Job, the honest, upright and patient, was a
farmer, and his stern endurance has passed in
to a proverb.
Socrates was a farmer, and yet wedded to his
calling the glory of his immortal philosophy.
Cincinnatu6 was a farmer, and one of the no
blest Romans,
Burns was a farmer, and the Muse found him
at bis plow, and filled his soul with poetry.
Washington was a farmer ; he retired from
the highest earthly station, to enjoy the quiet
of rural life, and present to the world a specta
cle of human greatness.
Prison Confessions.— Those good, credulous
souls who go about collecting moral facts from
criminals, sometimes get most egreg’.ously sold.
A correspondent of the Norfolk Cos, Journal
relates the following instance, which he picked
up on a visit to the Thomaston prison :
‘I was amused with an anecdote told me rela
tive to a clergyman who visited the prison, and
desired to converse with the prisoners. Ihe
warden informed him that there would proba
bly be little satisfaction in doing so, as correct
answers would be difficult of obtaining. How
ever, he began conversation with a young pri
soner, and inquired relative to the nature of his
crime. In reply the the prisoner told him that
he ‘stole a sawmill, and on going back after the
dam, was caught and put in prison ! The min
ister concluded to leave the incorrigible youth.’
“One” of the New Hampshire Girls.
A correspondent of the Journal relates the
following :
While on a visit to my friends in New Hamp
shire the past week, I had the pleasure of an
introduction to Miss Rosina Delight Richardson,
the only daughter of Mr. Nathaniel and Mrs.
Mary Richardson, (of East Alstead, Cheshire
county, N. H.) Miss Rosina is nineteen years
of age, is 6 feet inches in height, measures 5
feet inches around the waist, (6 feet 2 inches
around the hips,) 22 inches around the arm
above the elbow, 14 inches around the arm
below the elbow, and 2 feet 10 inches in a
straight line across the shoulders. At birth
she weighed 6 pounds, at 5 years 148 lbs., at
10 years 268 lbs., at 15 years 365 lbs, and
now, at 19 years of age, she weighs 478 lbs.
On estimating the quantity of cloth in her
clothing, when dressed for a ride on a winters
day, we found it to contain 98J yards off
wide cloth.
She has brown hair, dark blue eyes, is of a
fair complexion, and has what phrenologists
would call a well balanced head, the perceptive
organs predominating. She can knit, spin,
weave, make a shirt, or a batch of bread, is a
good singer, and plays the piano with taste and
skill—is considered one of the best schol
ars in the town where she resides —is cour
teous and affable, and lively in conversation,
and evinces a general knowledge which might
raise a blush on the cheek of some of our city
belles.
POLITICS.
The Whigs Address.
air— ‘ Scots wha hue.’
Scott who oft for us has bled,
Who our armies oft has led,
Welcome as our country’s head.
On to victory
Now’s the time to save the State!
See approach the ‘candy-date,’
Fight ere yet it be too late,
Spurn all trickery!
Little we of Franklin know,
Save what recent annals show,
Tiiat his riches silent flow
Like a river’s course.
If he gives them all away,
Keeping naught for rainy day,
Soon his opponents will say,
He’s an empty Purse.
Who would be a Democrat,
Seeking placo to make him fat!
Let him run like hungry rat,
Still the first to flee !
Who will at his country's call,
Bring his forces one and all,
True Whig stand or true Whig fall,
Let him follow ine!
By each proud and hard earned field,
Where his blood his faith has sealed,
We the champion's sword will wield,
And the fight begin !
Memories come from Lundy’s Lane,
And we now ‘will try’ again,
Sure that it is not in vain;
We the day must win !
If any a deed of valor bright,
Seen by mercy’s milder light,
Prove that still he’s for the right;
Thus our vote is bought!
By the courage none can tame,
By his own prophetic name,
We shall find him still the same,
He is Winfield Scott!
For Scott, boys, Hurrah!
BY ONE OF TIIE BOYS.
The Old men all remember—
As’t were but yesterday,
When Britain sought, on Freedom’s soil,
Again to plant her sway;
The Old men all remember
Who hurled her back again ;
’Twas Winfield Scott, at Chippewa,
’Twas Scott, at Lundy’s Lane !
So fling for Scott the banner out,
And sing for Scott hurrah ;
With him we can the Locos rout,
And win for Chippewa.
The Young men all remember—
’Twas not five years ago,
Who led our hosts to victory,
And conquered Mexico,
The Young men all remember
llow Cherubusco’s field,
And Vera Cruz, and Contreras,
Were made by Scott to yield !
So fling for Scott the banner out,
And sing for Scott hurrah ;
With him we can the Locos rout,
And win for Chippewa.
The old men and the Young men,
With Scott to lead the fight,
From hill and dale, from shore and wave,
Will rally and unite;
The Old men and the Young men—
W’ith Scott to lead them on,
Will make the hero of two wars
Their Chief at Washington !
So fling for Seott the banner out,
And sing for Scott hurrah,
W’itli him we can the Locos rout,
And win for Chippewa.
Resolutions of the Great Union Meeting
at Castle Garden, N. Y. in 1850.
Resolved , That the people of New York, without
distinotiou of sect or party, are ardently devoted to the
union of these States, as, next to our liberties, the
most precious of their political institutions ; and, hav
ing never yet begun to calculate the value of this Union,
can oontemplate no contingency in which its dissolution
would be otherwise than a gigantic crime against the
peace, prosperity and freedom of our country and of
maukind-
Resolved, That in the resolutions, lately submitted
to the Senate of the United States by Mr. Clay, look
ing to a complete and final settlement of all ques
tions relating to slavery, on which the feelings of
the Northern and Southern sections of our country
have been excited against each other, we joyfully
recognize the basis of a harmonious and brotherly
adjustment of a most distracting and perilous contro
versy ; and entreat our fellow-citizens of all parties and
sections to study those resolutions carefully, and in a
spirit of devotion to the Union and perpetuity of this
noble confederacy.
Resolved , That, in view of the above considera
tions, we accept, as the Basis of a compromise, the
preamble and resolutions as introduced by Mr. Clay
into the Senate of the United States on the 19th Janu
ary, 1850.
Gen. Soctt, being present at this meeting and re
cognized, was called on to speak, and responded as fol
lows :
Fellow-Citizens: Your kind greetings fill me
with the deepest emotions. I came here not expect
ing to take more than a stand in some corner of the
great hall to witness the proceedings. Some kind
friend discovered me below, or I should not have stood
in this conspicuous place. I did not expect to address
one word to this meeting. I see before me much of
the intelligence, respectability, and sterling worth of
this great city’, assembled hero for the purpose of sup
porting our great Union, of which I am an humble
friend and servant. Ido not call myself a citizen of the
North, of the South, of the East or of the West; but
I have served the Union for forty-odd years, and feel
myself a citizen of every part of it; and whatever
life and strength I may have, shall be devoted to its
preservation. Feeling that it was in jeopardy, and
that this meeting had assembled to promote harmony
aud preserve the Union, I come here, and return you
many thanks for the kindness with which you have
welcomed me.
I am notan Abolitionist, nor an advocate of slavery.
I came not here as a democrat or a whig. I have at
tended no party meeting for forty-two years. But
when the cry is that the Union is in danger, and a
rally is made to support it, I would have been a cow
ard and a recreant if I had not also rallied !
Os whatever value may be the remainder of my life
(and no one sets less value on it than I do) I would
give it in support of the Union. I hope I may not live
to see its dissolution ; but, if unable to avert its fate, I
would be buried beneath its ruins !
I am charmed with the good feeling and universal
patriotism which this meeting has exhibited ; and God
grant that you may devise some plan to save that
Union to which we all, in heart and soul, are so much
attached.
GEN. SCOTT AND THE COMPROMISE.
Facts which are Facts, Submitted to a
Candid World!
Keep it Before the People! ! Gen. Scott’s
Speech to the Mississippi Delegation ! I t
“ l feel gratified, gentlemen, at this unexpected call,
and am glad to see before me the accredited rnen of
Mississippi. The nomination which has been confer
red upon me by the Convention of which you were
members, is an honor greater than l deserve, and
whether defeated or elected, l shall always regard it as
the highest compliment which could be bestowed upon
me, and as more than repaying me for the little service
I have rendered my country. Jam well pleased, too,
gentlemen, with the platform yon have adopted ; it
meets mv hearty and cordial approval; and let
me assure you, gentlemen, that this ia no new born
faith in me. Years ago I entertained the senti
ments expressed in that platform on the subject of
Southern rights. I can assure you that I was one of
the first to give in my hearty and cordial approval and
endorsement of those measures, when they were be
fore Congress. There were but two others ahead of
me in point of time in their advocacy, and approval of
those measures. I mean Mr. Clay and Senator Foote,
of your State. As early as 1850, when first brought
before Congress, l openly avowed myself the friend of
those measures, and then, and since, aa many I think
as an average of five times a day, have I openly and
publicly declared my sentiments to every man, woman
and child who has approached me on the subject. I
have not sought nor have l desired any concealment of
my views and opinions in reference to them, and it is
a matter of profound astonishment and regret to me
that my sentiments have been so grossly misrepresent
ed, and that I have been made the subject of such un
just and malicious slander. My name has been coupled
with that of Mr. Wm. 11. Seward, and I have been
charged with entertaining sentiments in common with
him in reference to Southern institutions. Nothing
ean be more unjust and false. It is true, lam person
ally acquainted with Mr. Seward, and that he ia per
sonally my friend—but I am not responsible for his
peculiar sentiments, nor those of any other man wiio
may see proper to support me, and no man living
knows better than he, what my opinions are, and al
ways have been. I made his acquaintance sometime
in the year of ’36 or ’7. I had not met with hirn or
corresponded with or interchanged communications
with him, however, during the interval from the year
’42 to ’SO. In the latter year, during the pending of
the Compromise measures before Congress, I met with
him in traveling through New Jersey 7. He approach
ed me upon the subject of those measures, and asked
my opinion in reference thereto. I replied to him in
these words: Sir, I am dead for tiie Constitution —
DEAD FOR THE UNION DEAD FOR THE COMPROMISE
AND DEAD AGAINST ANY MAN WHO IS
OPPOSED TO THEM OR EITHER OF THEM.
The language used by myself on that occasion was so
positive and emphatic, that in alluding to it since, for
he well remembers tha conversation, he has even
charged me with rudeness.
“ I have seen some service in the cause of our com
mon country, and am now advanced in life. I have
endeavored to gain at least a name for uprightness and
candor ; and I challenge the world to produce a single
witness, who would be believed in a court of justice,
who will say that I have ever, by thought, word or
deed, said or done anything to justify the misrepre
sentations that have been made as to my sentiments
and opinions, or that they have been otherwise than as
expressed to you here this day. If any such man
ean be found , let him be brought forward, and /am
willing that my past life and services shall he for
gotten, and that the word infamous shall be written
before and after my name .”
Geo. Scott’s Social Qualities.
The Knoxville Plcbian republishes an article from
the Greeneville Spy, charging that ‘Gen. Scott is an
aristocrat and a tyrant in every 7 sense of the term,
and that he looks upon all the hard-fisted laboring class
of men in the country as quite inferior to his noble
self.’ A few incidents will show how much truth there
is in the charge.
The Wilmington (Deleware) Journal publishes the
following extracts from the dairy of an officer of the
army, who served with Gen. Scott in Mexico. The
w riter states that he was an eyewitness to the facts he
reoords,
scott’s care of his soldiers.
General Sootl’s regard for his soldiers was visible
in every act he committed.
When the fleet sailed from Anton Lizardo, General
Scott was fearful the enemy had planted masked bat
teries on the shore of Vera Cruz, and would contest
the landing of his army. He sent for his general offi
cers, and explained to them if such was the case, he
would disembark in the night and thus endeavor to
shield his soldiers. Notwithstanding, however, this
order, he directed the steamer Massachusetts (his head
quarters) to come close aloDg side of the steamed Eu
dora (on board of which was Gen. Twiggs) and in an
audible voice addressed him thus, ‘Genera/,’ said he,
‘•if the enemy have planted batteries upon the shore ,
I will not land in open daylight, my last words to
you are, General, spare my men ! Spare my men.’
Stricken dumb should be the man who would attempt
to sully the purity of the General s heart.
SCOTT ATTENDING SICK AND DYING.
On the 17th of April the army had marched from
Pl.in cel Rio and assumed its position preparatory to
the great struggle that was to take place the next day.
Gen. Scott’s untiring energy had filled every bosom
with high hope, and every eye brightened when gazing
upon his noble form. The night of the 17th was oc
cupied by him in dictating orders and maturing his
admirable plans for the fight. Although the old hero
was suffering from exhaustion in consequence of his
arduous duties, he nevertheless refused to rest until he
had contemplated every necessary arrangement for the
welfare of his army. Not the most minute object es
caped bis watching eye. His soldiers he looked upon
as children, and they in turn had learned already to re
gard him as their father. To his soldiers hearts he was
their venerated idol, and well did they serve him.
The battle of Cerro Gordo is too well understood to
require recapitulation, but there some incidents con
nected with it that should be known to the public, and
the writer of these lines was an eye witness to the oc
currences. The evening of the lßtli of April, when
the battle had long subsided, the troops were engaged
in moving the wounded to some cane cuts which stood
at the foot of the heights where the fight had been
most severely contested. The hill of Cerro Gordo
contained a countless number of rocky caves, where
the unfortunate wounded had in many instances drag
ged themselves to die.
The search after these poor fellows was extremely
toilsome. Night fell at last upon the scene, the moon
in silver brightness was throwing its broad beams over
the bloody battle ground, and nothing was heard save
the wild howl of the wolves as they wandered in droves
over the hill side. Towards ten o’clock a form was
seen enveloped in a long cloak, and attended by a sin
gle companion, to ascend the path leading up the heights
and pursue his way noiselessly to the spot where the
‘right of the Mexican Army’ had been posted. That
form towering in its majesty was too well known not
to have been instantly recognized. It was Winfield
Scott attending in person to mark if his orders, in re
spect to the wounded, had been strictly ooeyed. Bright
tears were in his eyes as he gazed upon the scene be
fore him—the dead lay in masses, thickly covering the
bloody soil. It was when standing with his arms
crossed upon his breast, and his head bowed in deep
thought, (melancholy enough) that a painful groan
broke upon the air. But so completely wrapped in
meditation was he that he heard it not. His ‘Order
ly,’ who was standing some little distance in rear of
him heard it, but hesitated some moments ere he would
venture to break silence by addressing the General.—
The sound, however, upon being repeated caught the
General's ear, and quickly turning, bade the man search
for the spot from whence the sound proceeded, while
he prepared to assist in the act himself. It was not
long until the object of their search was found. Alone
beneath a huge broken rock lay a soldier with both ot
bis legs shot away above the knees. The instant his
eyes caught sight of his beloved chief, he with difficul
ty raised himself upon his side, and extending his hand
while a smile played over his pallied features, he said;
‘General, did we not serve you well to-day ?’ The
reply of Scott was choked by a deep sigh. Stripping
the cloak from his person, he was about to lay the
wounded men within it, and with the aid of his follow
er bear him to where a party of soldiers were busy in
assisting the surgeons. The wounded man, however,
anticipating his motives, laid his hand solemnly upon
his shoulders, and said, ‘No, General! This must’
not be. I have but a few hours to live, and would fain
die where I rest.’ ‘But sit beside me, General, for I
have something to impart to you, and shall die more
easily after I have spoken.’ General Scott did ait
down beside that dying comrade, and as the pale moon
wandered through the blue vault of heaven, she wit
nessed the feelings which filled ths breast of General
Scott. The soldier spoke as follows :
When ! landed from Ireland, about three years since,
I had a wife and four lovely children. The scanty store
that I possessed was bat little above one hundred dol
lars. But my hopes were high and my heart bold.—
With a determination to pursue my way industriously,
I set to work and soon gained an employment in the
city of New York. For six months things went onto
my satisfaction, and I thought I was about to realize my
most ardent charms. But alas! they were soon dis
sipated. My wife grew 6ick with the small pox, and
in one week my wife and two daughters wero borne
away to the grave. I escaped the disease, although I
never left their bedsides. Would to God I had fol
lowed them, for then I bad escaped much misery. But
I’ve little time left to tell my story, therefore General
I'll be brief. lat length became a carriage driver and
previous to your departure for Mexico I drove you from
the Jersey City boat to your hotel. I had often heard
of you before but had never seen you. I formed the
resolution at once, of enlisting under your command.
The next day I carried this determination into execu
tion by going to the rendezous. I was soon sent to
Blazos Island and from there to Tampico, from this time
my life has been the ordinary history of a soldier.—
General, I have two children left, they are boys and are
in New York with a priest named Father I .
You will see them General, will you not, when you
go home ? Tell them how their lather died, and oh, if
in the coarse of days to come you should meet my dear
ones, give them, my General, the consolation and ad
vice that yon have so often give us, your men.
Scarcely had General Scott promised the soldier that
he would fulfil his request, ere liis soul had fled away.
But did the General forget his promise ? Ah ! no.—
Both of the children were placed at school,and at this
moment one of them has been placed in a good situa
tion by General Scott, the oher is yet too young to
commence his career in the world. They both corres
pond with the General, and he has ever manifested an
intense interest in their welfare. This is no tale of fic
tion, but a simple truth.
The New York Tunes relates the following anec
dote :
hen Gen. Scott was preparing to take passage
homeward from V era Cruz, in order to show their high
appreciation of his labors, the persons in authority there,
as well as the rest of the population, urged him to take
the largest and best ship in the harbor, for the passage
of bimself and staff. He positively refused.
‘No,’ said he, ‘I will not take one of those vessels.
Soon my gallant comrades, who have shared with me
the dangers of the battle, will be here, and if I take one
of those vessels at feast one or two regiments returning
to their homes must brave the pestilence that I may be
comfortably accommodated. ‘No,’ said he, ‘a small
vessel that can accommodate myself and staffj must be
provided, and what we lack in comfort will be repaid
by the satisfaction we will have in having considered
the welfare of our comrades,’
There was a small brig in the harbor, named Peters
burg, Captain Wilson, master, of one hundred and six
ty tons. He sailed in her. But she contained the
seeds of yellow fever. In three days the pestilence
broke out, and Scott was seised with the disease, which
threatened his existence for a time. The examples of
his generous and humane feelings are numerous j these
are but accidental specimens.
Other incidents that occurred in Mexico might be
pointed to as illustrating Gen. Scott’s social qualities
and his great solicitude for the safety and welfare of hia
men, but there are thousands of volunteers scattered
NO. 26.