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.. . . -.- - . i 5;,-; ; - i- . - . '1 "
CALVIN H. WILEY,
.rrr r ri M T). COOKE.
A FAMILY sT E W S P A P E R 0 E U T R A L IX POLITICS.
TERMS :j TWO DOLLARS
efcotetr to all tijc interests of ftorti) Carolina, (Simcatiou, &flricultut, Cttcrature, MM, tije ifctatfscts, &c.
. ' Mi ; 't ' Jr. l : ; '
VOL II NO. 52.
R A LEIGH, NORTH CAROLINA,; SATURDAY, NOV. 26, 1853.
WHOLE NO 104
SELECT POETRY .
TO THE WINDS-
Talk to my heart, 0 winds
Talk to my heart to-night ;
My spirit always finds
- With you a new delight
Finds always new delight, ... :
jCome up from your cold bcd';
In the stilly twilight sea, - c
Tor the dearest hope Hes dead
That was ever dear to me ;
Come up" from your cold bed,
And we'll talk about the dead.
Tell me, for oft you go,
; Winds, lovely winds of night,
About the chambers low, . ,
With sheets so dainty white,
If they sleep through all the night,
Jn the beds to chill and white ? '
Talk to me. winds, and say,
If in the grave be rest;
For, O, life's little day
Is a weary one at best;
Talk to my heart and say .
If death will give me rest.
THE EVE OF A JOURNEY;
OR, MOTIIEIt AND DAUGHTER.
A respectablv dressed middle-aged woman sat
in the window-seal in the fine old-hall of Chedbury
Castle, situated' in one of the mklland counties of
England. There was nothing remarkable in" her
appearance, except a look of settled yet patient
anxiety, which deepened, as the short October's
day drew near to its-close, and broad slanting sun
set gleams and shadows stole across the quiet Tittle
shrubbery and grass plot, upon which she looked
out fixedly. The servants", after having- made her
the (..ffer .of,, refreshment: which' she declfned
came arid went upon their various errands, without
any apparent 'consciousness of her presence. And
this was an occasion upon which a personage' of
higher note might very easily have been oycrfook
ed one of , those times of general bustle, prepara
tion, and delightful confusion,. -when every body
seems to be busv helping somebody else, and. the
bniids of discipline undergo a not uripleasing relaxa
'tioii. ' The family were going abroad.
. - Two or three men servants, under the direction
of an elderly -duenna with respectability imprints
ed on. every wrinkle of her countenance and riist
ling out of every fold of her black silk dress wlere
busily cording trunks and portmanteaus. he
stood!, over them, proud,, pleasant and impoitant,
for she was one of the travelling ;partv my young
lady's own woman', who had waited upon her from
childhood. She looked upon ..her own trunk com-,
placently, for it carried her fortune ; and, had she
ever heard of L';esar, she could have made a very
apt quotation. .'As 'it was, she unbent in a little
stately .chat with a man who Wore, like herself, the
aspect of an old, privileged retainer.
".Well. Mrs. Jenkyn," he remarked, i- I cannot
but say that I wish you were well across the seas
and back again, to tell us all that you have met
with out among' the Mounseers for I reckon you
ivill come back to Chedbury, and so perhaps will
my lord, and so will Mrs. Moreton ; but, as to our
young lady, we shall have seen the last of her
when she leaves the park gates behind her to-morrow.
There are not so. many like bet, from all-I've
heard of foreign parts so good and so pretty
with so many acres at her back, that they'll let her
away from amoug them so easily. Take my word
for it, some prince of the blood, or duke at the very
least for where you're going1 they're as thick as
blackberries at. Martinmas will take and marry
her, whether she likes it or not. Besides," he add
ed, striking his voice into a confidential wh sper,
" old stories '11 be left on this side of the salt water.
They won't cross it after her."
The stranger hi the window-seat started, with a
. quick, uneasy movement. ' -
"That side,-or the other side," returned Mrs.
-Jenkyn' " it's not for, them that eat the family
bread to be raking up what's past and gone out of
people's minds! And before strangers too," she
added, with a side glance in the direction of the
window-seat. . . "
" " You're always so touchy, Mrs. Jenkyn," re
turned the old mat speaking, however, in a sub
missive tone "just as if nobody cared about the
family but yourself. ' And what's the use of mind
ing the woman who's. sat there four mortal hours,
and never stirred or spoken ? She's .either deaf or
"I'm not . so sure; of that," replied the discreet
Mrs. Jenkyn ; and, at this moment, the woman, as
V if to jutuy the old lady's observation, ronstjd her
self from her deep pre occupation,' and said abrupt
lv" Will any one take a second message from
me to Mrs. Moreton ? I have come many'miles to
speak with her. . It is now getting late, and I want
to be' on my way home."
Irs. Jenkyn answered her very civillv " I will
go and Carry your message. It is very seldom that
Mrs. Moreton keeps any one waiting ; bat I sup-
pose," she aJded, smiling, " nothing goes quite i
straight at a time like this."
At this moment the bell rang. It was ,Mrs.
Moreton's bell v she wished to see the person who
had been waiting so long:. .
"Here William," said Mrs. Jenkyn, "show this
good woman into the stone parlor. Mrs. Moreton
will speak to her there ; and, ma'am," she added,
good-naturedly, "you can taks a look at the pict
ures on the grand stair-case as you pass at tlie'foot
of it. .
The gossippirig old man, as they went along,
had many things to point out to his silent, steadfast-looking
companion. lie left her, however, at
the turning pf ope of the long passages to run back
th'ity strayed ai& forbidden ' prec4act&."-Between
rlliia spot -ttndth stone" parlor there were several
intricate windings, and he expected to 6nd the wo
man standing exactly were tie left her. Without
his guidance, however, she had preceded him to
the door of the stone parlor,, and waited. for him,
with a look of abstraction as fixed as if her feet had
brought her to the threshold of their own accord.
" So, inistress," exclaimed the old man, "you
are not quite so much, a stranger in this place as I
He bent on her a look of keen scrutiny. She
was too little conscious to be embarrassed by itand
replied quietly " 1 have been here before."
While this little scene was being acted below
stairs, Mrs. Moreton half governess, half friend to
the heiress was seated with her young pupil in
the great drawing-room. They, too, had been busy.
The splendid apartment showed marks of disar
rangement. .The elder lady was immersed in ac
counts : the younger one had placed a little table
within the embrasure of the deep -old fashioned
window, so as to give her drawing' upon which
she was;very intent rthe full benefit of the already
declining, daylight. She was about fifteen ; fair,
and ingenuousilooking ; of slender figure, with
mild, almost melancholy brown eyes.
" I think I shall have time to finish this," she
said, musingly: "it will please papa when- he
comes home this evening, will it not, dear Mrs.
" My lord will think that you have made great
progress," replied the lady, without lilting her eyes
from a very long line of figures.
" I do think it is like old,Chedbury- like enough,
at any. rate, to remind us of the place, when we
are away. Although,' after all, there is not much
here that I shall miss. You and papa, and good
old Jenkyn, are all going with me; and who else
is there in the world whom I ca're about? . Yes,"
she went on. thinking aloud, "if! bail some one
to leave behind some young companions .who
would miss me and talk about me when I am far
away: I think I should be happier. I sometimes
think it very strange" she looked up at Mrs.
Moreton " t:iat my father has never allowed me
to make any friends of my own age. lut, o'
course," she added, after a pnufse, "hecennotbe
expected to enter into all that a girl feels. lLw
different everything would have been if mv mother
had lived !'' i
Without making her pupil any answer, Mrs.
Moreton started up with a sudden exclamation,
and ran to the bell. '' Is it possible," she s;ud, seif
reproachfuli', " that all this time I have forgotten
the poor woman who asked to speak to me four
hours ago ?"
Mrs. Moreton entered the stone pallor with. some
kind words of apology,; and seated herself in her
accustomed chair, prepared to lend her'attention
to the visitor. 15ut the woman is she the same
who sat out those four hours so patiently in the
window-seat who followed the old servant through
the long passages with such a face of blank, un
questioning apathy ? Her. look of settled preoc
cupation had dropyed from her face like a mask ;
yet her real features, now revealed, wore as carcely
less fixed expression. Every line quivered with
agitation ; yet h'er eyes, through it all, were never
removed from Mrs. Moreton's face. She held to.
the table for support. She trembled in every limb
not from timidity, but from anxiety, eagerness.
Her soul was gathered up into her face.
Mrs. Moreton did not particularly observe her.
Her thoughts were still at work with the business
of to-day and tormorrow. "Well, my good wo
man," she said, mechanically, by way of opening
the case, as she opened all cases that came before
her in that-stone parlor, as the. delegated Lady
Bountiful of Chedbury" what can I do for you ?"
There was no rejoinder. " My time, to-day," she
went on, in the same gentle, yet. rather magisterial
tone, " happens to be rather valuable."
" I am sorry," replied the stranger, " to have to
trespass upon it." Mrs. Moreton, struck by a
something peculiar in the woman's tone, looked
up ; for the first time became con?cious of those
eyes earnest, imploring, and with an unspoken
history that were fastened upon her own, and
said, with mnch loss of state and more of gentle"
ness.than she hadyet shown "You seem to be
in some trouble. Can I do anything to help you ?''
" You can you, and no oue else in this world
" I ? surely we have never met before," replied
Mrs. Moreton, feeling by the woman's manner that
hers was no case of every-day appeal for charity,
" Pray tell me your name.
The woman was silent, and her lips seemed to
be .slightly convulsed. At length, with a violent
effort to conceal a strong emotion, she answered
" It is one that you have heard it is,, or was, for
I now bear it no longer, Elizabeth Garton."
Mrs. Moreton's face had been lighted up with' a
kindly interest; but a shade, like the sudden fall
ing of a curtain, now dropped across it, and shut out
the sympathy she had begun to manifest. She
rose, and said coldly -"In that case' I am not
aware of any matter in which I am likely to be
able to serve you. , I must refer you to Mr. And
rews, my lord's agent, he being the person with
whom it will probably be most' fitting for you to
commuuicate." She than moved towards the door,
but her effort to leave the room was vain.. The
visitor, like the old mariner in the weird tory, held
her with her eye. Before she could reach the door
kl'iS. ;t.ubii -ganger; and'.jyrniwnand
" Listen to me, madam," exclaimed the visitor,
" and then you will not mistake my errand. It is
not Lord Chedbury ; not his agent ; not anything
either of them could give me, if it were this great
house itself, that I want. It is you you only, that
can help me, and you will help me you must.'"
She spoke these words almost authoritatively ; yet,
checking herself, went oh in a tone of deep and
touching submission " You are a good lady, Mrs.
MorVton ; vou have everv one's ;ood word. You
will not make yourself hard against the supplication
'of a broken heart : God himself has promised to
listen to it."
Mrs. Moreton trembled. She was indeed a wo
man of this world, but with much tenderness and
'large sympathies. "I do not feel harshly towards
you forgive me if T appeared harsh ; but your
coming here took me by surprise. Lord Chedbury 's
orders are exceedingly strict respecting .you ; and I j
understood that vou were settled comfortably in
yjm- own station in life, far .above any kind of
" I am settled comfortably," returned the wo
man : "above want above my hopes. I have a
j kind husband, a home, and children. Every one is
good to me. No one casts up my fault to me. No
one, I think, remembers it now, except myself,
when, upon my knees, I ask God to forgive me
that, and all my other sins. That I had ever known
Chedbury, or seen Lord Robert he was Lord
Robert then would have sunk into the past long
before this, like a dream except for one thing
O! Mrs. Moreton, my daughter ! Her, too, I ha 1
put from me, as much as a mother can forget her
child ; but since. I heard you were all going beyond
seas perhaps, forever I know not what it is that
has come over me ; something that will not let me
ret, j lay nor night it is a fire hi my heart. Have
pity upon mo. I do not ask to speak to her not
to say nor t hear one word. She need not know
that it is her mother need not know that there is
such a person in the whole world. All I ask is to
see her only to see her my daughter ; only to
see my daughter."
Mrs. Moreton was deeply agitated. " It is im
possible, and i' is cruel in you," she said, "to ask
it cruel to yourself cruel to me, trusted as lam
by Lord Chedbury cruel, most of all, to her. You
know under what strict conditions his lordship
brought home his daughter, so soon as the death
of the old lord, his father, made this house his own.
You know, too, that these conditions, hard .as they
might seem, were dictated by no personal unkind
ness to.wanis vourself; but grew out of vour
daughter's altered position, and a sense of what is
due to the station she will one day occupy. She
has been trained carefully in all the ideas that befit
a young gentlewoman of rank. She has as yet seen
little of the world, and knows nothing of its evil.
She left you at three years old, not more innocent
than she still is, now." Mrs. Moreton paused a
moment, and went on with, emotion "That open
ing life that young unsnl'ied mind, what should
I what would you have to answer for if we
darkened it, by a shadow of bygone misery and
evil.in which she had no share? She has been
taught to believe her mother dead. My poor
woman," she went on solemnly, " you must be dead
to her. Atlay will come, not in this world, when
you may claim her as your own."
" I must see my child now, that I may know her
in heaven," exclaimed the woman wildly. " I
must see her, that she may comfort me in my
thoughts, and be near me in my dreams. Do you,"
she exclaimed, suddenly, ' who talk to me so wisely,
know what 1, the mother of a first-born-child, am
talking about ? Did you ever feel a child's arms
clinging round your neck, and find the little being
growing to you day by day as nothing else can
grow ; loving you whether you are tne best wo
man in the world or the worst as nothing else
will ever love you ; not even itself when it grows
older, and other things come between its little
heart and yours V
Mrs. Moreton returned to her chair, sank into it,
and wept., The stranger saw her advantage. She
dung herself on her knees before Mrs. Moreton.'
She kissed the hand in which she believed the
balance of her fate to be trembling. She kissed
! her very gown, and covered it with tears.
Mrs. Moreton, withdrawn within in seveie collo
quy with herself, was scarcely conscious of these
passionate demonstrations. It was her heart she
communed with ; bearing on it, although a little
i dimmed by constant attrition with the world, a
j higher image than that with which & somewhat
, rigid thraldom LO convention had impressed upon
iier outwarj aspect.
There was" a pause of a few moments.
"Even if I am doing right in this" so she reas
! oned with herself" the world will blame me.
i Yet, if Iam doing wrong, God will forgive me."
j She rose from her chair. " Get up." she said.
my poor woman. You shall see your daughter.
But you must first make me one polemn promise.
I am trusting you very deeply ; can you. trust
The woman made a gesture of passionate assevera-
' tion, for at that moment she could not speak.
- ,"',?r' tnen" sa5( r3 Moreton, " swear that
yon. M ; be true to yourself aad to me ; that you
will pass, through the room in which she is sitting,
without either word or look that can betray you."
, - SlrHng the bell. " Send Mrs. Jenkyn to me."
f'kyn," she said, when the confidential ser-
Tanf'fpJpeared, "this good woman's business with
rne pvet '-but, as she comes from a distance, 1
iqiltfvCie hmM&mthmgM the, house, be-
fore she leaves. You can show her over the nrin-
cipal rooms as much 83 there is time for before
" And the great drawing-room, ma'am ?" insinuat
ed Mrs. Jenkyn.
" Certainly ; it will not disturb your young lady
in the least."
It was rather an extensive orbit that the two
had to traverse ; and the old housekeeper, who had
revolved in it so many -ears, moved so slowly at
least, so it seemed to her companion from point
to point, from picture to picture, that, by the time
they reached the great drawing-room, the sun
light had almost faded from it.
Almost; for there was still a stron, slanlino
golden beam, that played and flickered about the
picture frames, and glanced to and fro upon the
white and gold of the heavy, carved arm chairs a
few moments, and it would be gone. The -nrl
who, sitting in the window, rejoiced in the after
thought of the sun, which gave her a' little more
time to finish her drawing did not know how
lovely it made her ; kissing her innocent youni
forehead, and resting, like a benediction, upon her
smooth, shining hair. She went on quietly with
her sketch : Mrs. Moreton (who had retai ned to
see that faith was kept) persevered with her ac
counts. Mrs. Jenkyn and the woman walked
round th room very slowly. When they reached
the door that led into an inner apartment, Mrs.
Jenkyn, with her hand upon the lock, said "And
this ht the favorite sitting-room of my lady, my
She held the door .open, but her companion still
Mrs. Moreton looked up from her accounts, and
said impressively " I think you .have now seen all
in this room, and Mrs. Jenkyn has more to show
Voir In the -others."
"But why," said the young 1 uly, speaking for
the first .tim, but without looking up from her
occupati n, "should the good woman be hurried
away.," she said, with usoit f careless sweetness
still without looking up, "as long as you can find
anything to amuse you. You do not disturb us
in the least."
Almost while she spoke, she suddenly rose and
flitted about the room from table to table, in search
of something needed f.r her drawing. She soon
found it ; but once, before, she returned to ber seat,
she passed close to the woman so close that her
siikdiess rustled against the homely duffle cloak.
Mother and daughter really so near convention
ally so distant with a world between them 1
Mrs. Jenkyn's fingers were again upon the door
handle, and the concluding part of her often-told
narrative was upon her lips. They had 'still the
state bedroom to see, and they passed into thel
" And this," she went on, was my lady's
favorite apartment. It used in her day to be ca 1-
ed the the blue draw in r-room, because But
you are tired," she said, remarking that her com
panion's attention wandered.
" es -no," said the visitor, incoherently; "I
must go. back I have forgotten something in the
She did go back. She turned the handle of the
great folding door ; but before she could push it
open, she was met by a heavy resistance from with
in. In the half-opened. space stood Mrs. Moreton,
confronting I. er with a stern admonitory whisper
" Woman ! are you mad or wicked ?"
The mother stood arrested guilty. She turn
ed to follow the housekeeper : but there was an
anguish at her heart that could not be controlled.
"Hark!" exlaimed the young lady, her pencil
falling from her fingers, and she turning pale as
death "What is that?"
Mrs. Moreton shuddered. A cry, piercing and
inarticulate, like that of a dumb creature in agony,
burst from the inner room.
They rushed together into the boudoir. " It
was the poor woman, ladies,1' said the housekeep
er, anxiously. "I fear she- is very ill ; it lias come
upon her quite of a sudden."
She was standing up in the middle of the room,
rigid as if her feet had growu into the iulaid boards.
Her eyes were glassy, and her mouth was a little
drawn to one side.
" Run, Jenkyn," exclaimed the young lady, "for
wine, or whatever is most necessary. We will
attend to her."
She took the poor woman by the arm ; she drew j see jtt J washed away the blood, and was astonish
her into a chair; she bent over her; she, rubbed ed and very glad to see there were two vessels, as
her cold hands in:her own. When the wine was
brought, she raised the glass to the patient's lips,
and, while she did so. the sufferer's breath came
and went thickly, with a hard stifling effort. She
I felt that kind young hartjbeating against her own.
W ho can tell who but the Giver of all consola
tion what balm there was in that one moment;
what deep unspoken communion ; what ' healing
for a life-long wound ? But the mother kept
silence, even from good words. Only, while the
young lady was so tenderly busying herself about
her, she took hold, as it were unconsciously, of one
fold of her dress she stroked it with her' hand
he smoothed it down, as if pleased with its soft-
ness ; xd so long as she dared to hold it, she did
not let it go.
It was almost dark. The young lady stood at
the window of the great drawing room, looking
after a solitary slowly-retreating figure, still dis
tinctly visible, in spite of the grey dusk spreading
like a veil over lawn and lake and garden ; through
which the distant mausoleum loomed dunly above
the woods. . ' " ..,. -'.Ka--x-miJI'
" The poor woman !" she said, softly ;" she is
not fit to travel home alone ; yet she would neither
consent to stay all night, as Lavished, nor let old
William drive her strange, was it not, Mrs. More
ton?" But Mrs. Moreton had left the room. The
young heiress still looked out upon the scenes she
was so soon to leave, as her destiny had decreed,
forever. She mused on she knew not what. Her
heart was stirred an invisible touch had been up
on it. She leaned l)er head pensively against the
window, while many' thoughts, as vague as llie sha
dows that were so thickly falling round her, chas
ed each other rapidly through her fancy. Many
visions gathere round her; but among them there
was no presage of the coronet that afterwards
spanned her bro w the coronet of the princely vet
peasant-descended in.use of Stbrza. Still she watch
ed the retreating figure, until it was lost in the
deepening darkness; and when she d d turn from the
window, she heaved a ieej a id pitying sigh.
Her sadness suited the h mr of twilight, and it
passed with it. Shu knew not, nor did she ever
know, who had that day been so near to her..
EXTRAORDINARY SURGICAL OPERATION
BY THE MA'IE OF A VESSEL.
The following narrative of a remarkable opera
tion on the subclavian vein, bv the mate 'f a ves
sel, given in the November number of the Scalpel,
exhibits the value of self control under desperate
circumstances, and is chantet-uzed by the editor as
" one of the m st extraordinary circumstances in
the whole hist,oiy of surgery :"
" Edward T. Hinckley, of Wareham. Mass., then
mate of the bark Andrews, eommandul Wy James
L. Nye, of S indwieh, Mass., sailed some two years
and a half since (we find the date omitted in our
i minutes) from New lbdibrd, Mass., on a whaling
i voyage. When off tne Gallipagos Islands, one of
j the hands, who had shown a mutinous disposi
tion, attacked Caj tain Xve with some violence, in
consequence of a reproof given him for disobedi-
ence. In the scuffle which ensued, a wound was
j inflicted with a knife, commencing at the angle of
j the jaw, and dividing the skin and superficial tis
! sues of the left, side of the neck, down to the mid
: die' of the claviclf, under which the point of the
' knife went. It was done in broad day, in pres
ence of the greater part of crew and Mr. Ilinck-
k Vj the mate,' being so hear that he was at that
i nx menl rushing to the captain's assistance. In--
stautly seizing the villian, and handing him "over
j to the crew, the knife either fell or was drawn by
j some one present, and a frightful gush of dark
blowd welled up from the woun'd, as the captain
fell,. upon the deck. Mr. Hinckley immediately
thrust his fingers into the wound, and endeavored
to catch the bleeding vessel. With the thumb
against the clavicle, as a point of action, and gvip-
j ping as he expressed it to me, ' all between,' he
i found the bleeding nearly cease. The whole af-
fair, was so sudden that Mr. Hinckley stated to me
! he was completely at a loss what step to take;
! Such had been the violence of the ha?m,orhage, a
space on the dec,k fully as large as a barrel-head
being covered with blood in a few seconds, that it
was evident from that and the consequent faint
ness, that the captain ' would instantly die, should
he remove his tinkers from the bleeding vessel.
As Mr. H. said to me, with the simplicity and
straightforward style of a seaman 'I brought:to
for a minute, to think oyer the matter. The
bleeding coming upwards from under the collar
bone, and being completely concealed by it, it
was plain enough that I couldn't get at the blood
vessel without sawing the bone in two; and this
I would not like to have tried, even if 1 had
dared to remove my fingers. Finding that my
finders' ends were so deep as to be below the
bone, and yet the bleeding haying stopped, I
passed thein a little further downwards, still keep
ing up the pressure against the bone with the
middle joints. I then found my fingers passed
under something running in the same course with
the bone"; this I slowly endeavored to draw up out
of the wound, so as to see if it was not the blood
vessel. Finding it give a little, I slowly pulled it
up with one finger. Wh n I iva& 'pulling it tip
the captain groaned terribly, but I went on, because
I knew I could do nothing else. As soon as I could
I supposed them to be, one behind the other ; the
cut was in the frontal one. It was the full breadth
of the knife, or about half an inch, and neither
! across nor lengthways, but about between the two
! a d went about half its thickness through the
blood-vessel. It was smooth and blue in appear
ance, and the cut had stopped bleeding, as I sup
posed at the time,, because the vessel was pressed
together by U;ng Stretched across my . finger. As
I had often sewed up cut in the flesh, andknew,
nothing about lyimr blood-vessels, and supposed
! that was only don.? when they were cut in two. as
in Mtnimtatcd liml I eor.e! mled to try mv hand
at sewing it up; sol took five little stitches.
They were very near together, for the wound was
certainly not half an inch wide, if so much.' On
inquiry of Mr. Hinck;Cy if he cut off the thread
each time, and threaded the needle again, he said
'es but I only cut, off one end, and left the oth
er hanging out.' This' he learned"from a little
book, prepared for the use of sea captains and oth
ers, when, ho surgeon wa9 on board. Mr. A. con-tinuedr-;!
twisted tha end together looseljfc. Bp .as,
'iiii' initial fcyaiMij, Mrev'i-tijan;-vu v wio
wound over the bone; then I closed aV"up w'ltS
stitches and plasters. On the fourteenth day I
found the strings loose in the wound, from which
matter had freely come : it h aled up like any oth
" Poor Captain Xve finally, met a sad fate. He
was drowned on the destruction of his boat by an
AMERICAN SPIRIT A TRUE SKETCH-
Previous to the last war with Englan 1, when
British officers were in full tiile of their odious im
pressments, an" American ship. belonging to Boston
was at Demarara, discharging her cargo, when she
was boarded by a boat from a gun brig lying at no
great distance. The crew were mustered, and
protections examined, and. one New Hampshire
boy, a noble. and feat less spirit, and young in years,
of a vigorous . Irani", was ordered into the boat.
The officer collared the youthful seaman, but was
instantly laid sprawling by a well direct' d blow of
his fi-t. '
The boat' crew rushed to the spirited American
who was tinal'V overpowered, pinioned, thrown into
the boat, and conveyed on board, the British brig..
The Lieutenant complained to the commanding
officer. ft'ic ins dt he had uc v d from the stal
wart Yankee, and his battered face corroborated
his statement. The commander at one.. decided
that such iusoiein e demanded exemplary punish
ment, and that the young Yankee -required on his
iirt entrance into Cue service, a hsso'i which might
be of use to him lieieafier.
Accordingly the offender w as lashed to a. gun, by
the inhuman satellites l' tyranny and his back
bared to the lash.' Before a blow was struck he
repeated his declaration that he was an American
citien, and the sworn 'be to tyrants. He demand
ed hi rck-i'se, and nrl t lie curtain in the tnust
solemn and impressive maini T, that ii he pei-isted
in punishing him like the vilest malefactor, for v in
dicating his rights a an Ann rcari ci'i.eu, the act
would never . be forgiven but that his revenge
would be certain and terrilile.
The captain laughed aiond at what he consider
ed to be a menace, and gave the gn ii to the
boaisvva'n's male. The white skin of the young
American was soon lacerated ; blows fell thick and
heavy on the quivering flesh. He bore t without
a murmur or a groan ; and when the signal was
given for the exi cutiotier to cea-e, although the
skin was hanging in stripes on ids hack, which was
covered with, clotted blood, he showed 'no disposi
tion to faint or falter. IIis face was somewhat
paler than it was wont to be, but his lip was com
pressed, as if he were summoning determination to
his aid, and his daik eyes shot forth brilliant
gleams, showing his spirit to be unsubdued and
that he was bent on revenge,-even if his lit? should
be tilt, forfeit.
His hands were loosened, atid.be rose from his j
humiliating posture. He glared fiercely around.
The captain was standing wit h a demoniac grin
upon his features, as if he enjoyed to the bottom of
his soul the dis.race and torture i tli n d upon the
poor Yankee. The hapless sufferer saw a smile of
exultation, and that moment decided the fate of
his oppressor. With the activity, the ferocity, and
streno-th of ti e tiger, the mutilated American
sprung upon the tyrant, and grasped him where
he stood, sui rounded by.hispffLtr, wbo for the mo
ment seemed paralyzed with astonishment, and be
fore they could recover their senses and haste to
the assistance of their commander, the American
had borne him by the throat with one hand, fierce
ly embracing him with the other ;.despite his strug
gles, he leaped with l.im into the turbid waters of
the Denial ara ! They parted to rec -ive the tyrant
and his victim, and then closecb over them, and
neither were ever afterwards seen; both had passed
to their long account,"
" Unanointed, unani eale 1,
With all their imperfections on their heads."
Loo Choo Islanders. A yoai g midshipman,
attached to the Japan Expedition, gives the fol
lowing description of the dress of the inhabitants
o: Loo Choo, one of the-Japanese i 1 n !.-:
" 1 was among the first to land, and enjoy a rich
treat in a sight of the Loo Choo islanders. Their
appearance is in the highest degree effeminate and
simple, and is - increased by their dress. They
shear the top of th'e head, leaving a ridge of hair
all around. This, when it grows long, is gathered
up and made into a knot on the down, the ends
bein" turned under and concealed, and all brushed
so smoothly as not to leave a hair out of place. It
is then kept in its place by two'pins crossing each
other. Their dress consists merely of a piece of
lio-ht, airy material thrown over the bhoulders, and
gathered'by a belt at the waist; the ends hanging
down almost to the ground. Their sandals are
made of a kind of straw, secured by a strap over
the instep, and another connecting with it, rearing
over the feet and passing between the big and
next toe. This is the general, dress. That of the
mandarins and the ' upper terP is somewhat richer ;
there is a l'ttle more of it, and; they are allowed
the luxury" of stockings. AH, upon entering a
house, leave their sandals at the door.''
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