Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

LEWIfr^^RIST,l ^ jaiiiilit jtb^ager: jftr % ^gromgfion of % fal&cal, fecial, ^gricaltoral anb af % 5jj?j| YOL. 15. YOBKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, MARCH 25, 1869-. 3STO. 12. jfrierttl foetrg. TRUE HEROISM. Let others write of battles fought On bloody, ghastly fields, Where honor greets the man who wins, And death tne man who yields; But I will write of him who fights And vanquishes his sins, Who struggles on through weary years, Against himself, and wins. He is a hero staunch and hrave, Who fights an unseen foe, And puts at last beneath his feet His passions base and low. And stands erect in manhood's might, Undaunted, undismayed? The bravest man that drew a sword In foray or in raid. It calls for something more than brawn Or muscle to o'ercome An enemy who marcheth not With banner, plnme, and drum? A foe forever lurking nigh, With silent, stealthy tread, Forever near your board by day, At night beside your bed. All honor then to that brave heart, Though poor or rich he be, Who struggles with the baser part? Who conquers, and is free, He may not wear a hero's crown, Or fill a hero's grave; But truth will place his name among The bravest of the brave. ?he <^torg WILL MURDER OPT ? In the Galaxy, for March, we find the followin records of murder, which are equal to romance De Quincy said murder was one of the fine arts and cases like the following almost corroborate the assertion: THE BUCKSON CASE. In the year 1851, Captain John Buckson livec with his wife Nancy, in a handsome cottage in th village of Seakonk, near Providence, Rhode Islanc in the enjoyment of a competence acquired b many years of frugal industry. He was, howevei often absent from home, as he still pursued his v< cation, and was master of the sloop "Oregon, plying between Providence and Norfolk, Virginii He had then reached his fiftieth year and h hard seafaring life had not made him look youngt than he was. He was tall, gaunt and angula: weather-stained and storm beaten. His short sti hair was grizzled, and his long narrow face, fu; rowed by deep lines, but his physical powers aj peared to be still untouched, and he seemed ai sured of along continuance of active life. * ** * ? Ih?Iat His temperameDc was mvurauic iw a iuoij gevity. He was patient, and apparently so pa.' sionless that he stared at the cares and troubles ( life, as at strangers with whom he could not poss bly have dealings. He avoided quarrels and a unseemliness with scrupulous care, and was know on his vessel and in his village only as a sedate God-fearingman, kind-hearted and even-tem perec But he had positive points in his character, an the requisite friction would produce the nature glow. As in all equable men, his anger burne with dim light but intense heat, and hence, wit him, a knitting of the brows, or twitching of th hands, meant more than the wildest signs of pas sion in other men, and his word of wrath wa weightier than the brawler's blow. But he s loved peace, and so sedulously courted it, that h; most intimate associate remembered as memorabl epochs the rare occasions when his temper ha given way. The only trouble of his life brooded upon h own hearth-stone. Mrs. Nancy Buckson wt many years his junior in age, and in important r< spects his opposite in character. To her yout she added comeliness of person. Though a tho: onghly good woman at heart, she yet embittere her life and his by constant efforts to do more tha her duty. Nervous and irritable, she became fre fully voluble in her assertions of her own meri and his short comings. So in the summer of 18t the neighbors began to pity poor Captain John i a henpecked husband, and the inroads of the wi: upon the domestic quietude were noticed as of cot stantly increasing frequency and bitterness. Ca] tain John, however, bore the infliction with his a< customed patience. But the end was at hand. One evening in tl last week of July, a neighbor, James Pauls, i passing the house, heard Nancy's tongue going t an unusual rate, and glancing tnrougn cne wmuo saw Buckson standing before her. He seeme roused at last, and although Pauls could not het his words, he saw the knitted brows and twitchin hands, in one of which a stout whipcord was coi vulsively grasped. The scene was indellibly stam] ed by after events, upou the memory of the acc dental witness, and he could always see, even I the most minute details, the enraged woman, coi fronted by that quiet, concentrated man, strugglin with his passion, and fidgetting with a whipcon At the time, however, Pauls gave no especi; weight to the circumstance, and stopping at tl village inn on his way home, only casually remarl ed to the inevitable loungers, that he "reckonc Nancy would keep on a naggin' of Captain Job until she riled him." The next morning the cottage was closed and di sorted, but the circumstance did not excite remarl Buckson, it was presumed, had gone to Provident to prepare his sloop for sea, and Nancy had a hal it of making sudden pilgrimages to the neighbo ing towns. The event, then, was so far from h ing suspicious, that it was not even unusual. In those days a magnificent forest stretched 1 the northward from the little town, intersperse with patches of open land where the blackben grew in great abundance. This wonder and di light of the American glades had fully ripened ui der the hot July sun, and the ohildren of the vi lage were busily employed in gathering the frui That afternoon the patches were unusually crow< ed. One group of children started home just b< fore sundown, taking their way direct through tl wood without regard to beaten paths. They ha gone but a short distance when the little dog tht was with them stopped and began to sniff eager! at a spot of ground which appeared to have bee recently disturbed. Giving a long mournful how the dog scratched furiously with his paws in tb sand, and in a moment had uncovered a huma hand. Howling more mournfully than before, h bounded off a couple of feet, and tore at the groun with redoubled energy. He soon completed h task, and the children saw a woman's face, pa! and rigid, imbedded in the moist, clayey eartl With but one glance at the horror, they droppe their pails and fled to the village. The dog dete< tive remained yelping over the crime he had ui earthed. Every village, probably, has its sensation at son time, and that of Seakonk came with the story < the children. As the tidings spread from hous to house the people gathered at the inn, and e: gerly discussed what should be done and wl should do it. At last, all the male inhabitant headed by the Squire, bearing a lantern, and p loted by the children, started out to investigate tl matter. But the pilots were not needed, as tl dog still maintained his watch; and with hismouri ful howlings echoing through the dim woods, tl party could not go astray. Reaching the spo they all gathered around it, and the Squire a< vanced and, kneeling down, wiped the dirt froi the face of the dead woman with the skirt of h coat. Then he held the lantern over it. "It's Nancy Buckson!" He fell baok a few paces with the exclamation, and his companions turned to imitate the couduct - of the children shortly before. They rallied, however, at his summons, and fell vigorously to work to exhume the body. A few shovelsful of earth, and the body of a woman, without shroud or coffin but fully dressed in the ordinary garments of life, was exposed. About the body a white substance was plentifully sprinkled, and was found to be chloride of lime, doubtless placed there to insure speedy decomposition. Every one recognized poor Nancy Buckson, and saw the ridged and livid mark upon the neck, pointed out by the Squire. It was plain that she had been murdered by strangulation, and tossed, dressed as she was at the moment of her violent death, in the rude grave where the dog had found her. The neighbor, Pauls, now recalled the quarrel of the preceding day, and told how Captain John had stood before the angry woman, playing with the whipcord. The cottage was searched, and a cord was found lying on the floor of the room, which, when tried upon the woman's neck, fitted exactly the ridged and livid circle. In the cellar was a quantity of a white substance precisely similar to that found in the grave, and those articles belonging to Mrs. Buckson, found upon the corpse, were missing from the house. There could be no more doubt as to the criminal than the crime. Captain John Buckson was not found in the village or in Providence; but it was ascertained - that he had sailed with his sloop, and the presumption was raised that he intended to touch at New York, and there, leaving the vessel, seek to g elude the officers of the law in the labyrinths of , the great city. A messenger was, therefore, dispatched in great haste to reach the city before him, with a requisition for his arrest. His authority was placed in the hands of police Captain Leonard, who searched dilligently among |t the shipping, until he found the sloop "Oregon," e moored at an East River pier. Going on board, |5 Captain Leonard greeted Buskson, who was seated y on the deck. r> "Good-day, sir." , The sailor scarcely looked up, as he mechani? cally returned the salutation. t "I'm sorry to trouble you, but I've a warrant [s for your arrest" ;r "Arrest! For what?" r< The exclamation and succeeding question were ff those of a phlegmatic man slightly astonished. r_ "For the murder of your wife." j_ "Murder of my wife I Squire, that can't be. j. Nancy isn't dead." "Yes, she is?strangled with a cord." j. Buckson rose to his feet and, lookiug the officer 3. steadily in the face, said slowly and solemnly: >f "Squire, if Nancy's dead I don't know it 1 i- had a quarrel with her the night I left, and gave 11 her a piece of my mind, but God is my witness n that I didn't put a hand upon her 1" The officer looked with some interest upon a I. man who could thus deny a crime with which he d was so clearly linked by circumstantial evidence, d but without further parley took him from the d sloop and placed him in a cell of the station-house, h He made no resistance, and did not trouble hime self again to volunteer any protestation of his ini nocenoe. While in the station-house, and during ? *Vio ,'niipnov tr\ Prnvirlpnpp. whnnPVOr tllfi flUeStion i 10 was directly put to him, he always denied his i is guilt in the same emphatic terms, but he was ] le never the first to broach the subject, and it was j d especially noticed that he never made any inquiry i for the details of the murder. I is When the officer and his charge arrived at Sea- , is konk, the latter seemed amazed to find himself < i- the object of universal execration. When he reach- i h ed the village and while he walked beside his cap- , r- tor through the street to the jail, he was surroun- | d ed by a hooting mob, that pelted him with oppron brious epithets, and with difficulty was restrained < t- from doing violence to his person. lie bore him- < ts self bravely and undismayed through it all. But i >1 his conduct was noted only to his discredit, and j is the citizens could not remember any hardened Pe wretch who had ever so flaunted his crime in the , i- face of an outraged people. , > In due time the grand jury was convened and . his case considered. There was no more doubt of ' his guilt in that official body than in the commu- i ie nity at large; and he was formally indicted for the ] n murder of Nancy Buckson. When the news was taken to him in his cell he w only said: "God's will be done !" I a His perfect resignation had, by this time, won , ir slightly on the jailor's heart, and he inquired if i 'g he did not wish to engage counsel to defend hiui . at the approaching trial. Buckson's face bright- | P" ened with this first faint sign of sympathy, but he , ll* answered: i ^ "I thank you, friend, but I don't need a lawyer. , 3" God knows I am innocent of this crime and He ( 'g will prove it in His own good time." ( The day appointed for the trial of the prisoner i al was close at hand when the quiet village was star- 1 ie tied by a new terror. One pleasant September ?" morning a ghost descended from the eastern coach and walked leisurely, and with every semblance of i n life, up the street toward the long-deserted cot- i tage. It was a horrible ghost, for it nodded fa- j ' miliar greetings to several persons it met upon the 1 ^ way, and once tried to pat a shrinking child. It ] almost seemed endowed with human passions, for < many were ready to make oath that they saw its < ^ cheek flush with anger when it found the entire : town avoiding it in uuconccaling terror. But it i , was a persistent ghost, for it walked steadily on < until it reached the gate of the cottage-garden, < which it found nailed up ; and it became a talka- j ^ tive ghost when it discovered the pigs running riot ] 3_ in the garden. In the very voice of the dead i j Nancy Buckson, it said in a peevish tone: i t "That John Buckson '11 be the death of me yet! 1 Just see how he lets these pesky hogs root up ' a. things!" i ie It was, indeed, Nancy Buckson herself. ] d It is needless to prolong the story. On the 1 lt night of the quarrel Captain John had left, as 1 [y usual, to take out his sloop, and Nancy, smarting 1 n under the severe censure he had, lor tne nrsc ume, ] expressed, had gone off on foot, during the night, lC to a neighboring town, where she was unknown, < n and had there taken a coach to begin a journey to 1 ie Maine to visit a sister. Her absence from the ] (j cottage was not known until after the finding of < js the body, and its identification was so absolute, i |e thatofcourse no search was made for a woman . h known to be dead. On the other hand she had 1 3 heard nothing, in a retired spot of a distant State, 1 3. of her supposed death and the subsequent events; 1 j. and her return, timely as it was, had been purely i accidental. She was horrified when confronted I ,e with the results of her thoughtless freak, and, i )f although she made no noisy demonstrations of re- i ^ gret, and was not profuse in promises of amend- ] ment in the future, it is pleasant to know that this ] io terrible experience was not without fruit. Buck- i 8, son was, of course, immediately released from 1 ,i- prison, the legal proceedings against him at once < ie dismissed, and thereafter he found in his home a ' ie haven of rest that was a recompense for the sufii ferings by which it had been purchased. I ie But a mystery has always brooded over the cot- ] t, tage, and the murder always remained au insolua- i 1- ble enigma. Eighteen years have elapsed without < m any second identification of the body unearthed by i is the little dog, and, as a consequence, without any < detection of the murderer. The clothes in which the body was dressed and the ear-rings and arti- < :les of jewelry upon it, were undoubtedly the prop- i irty of Mrs. Buckson, for, upon her return, she i bund these articles missing from her house. A i dose scrutiny of the cottage showed that the wo- I aian had not only been there, but had probably i >een murdered there during the night, after Buck- < son and his wife had left. The cord found in the i oom had fitted the neck, and the chloride of lime 1 n the cellar had evidently been disturbed. Many articles of value, too, were gone, and the house s generally disarranged. Upon these circumstances 1 i theory was founded that the woman was one of i i party of burglars that had entered the cottage, t md finding it deserted, had leisurely ransacked it I rhe woman had arrayed herself in the property of < ;he absent mistress, and afterward some quarrel t 3ad arisen and she had been murdered by the oth;r members of the party. Subsequently this theo- I 7 was, in part, thoroughly established, when a < jomplete female outfit, of coarse material, wasac- i sidentally fished out of an old and unused well in i ;he cottagc-garden. ? T> nwi o r\f fn offon^ fllA TlQfnA Tlflfwl I 1 JL/Cl^bi r V/O aig upu vv w. ... :riminals to extraordinary crimes, and, many years ifler the events narrated, a rumor was prevalent imong the police of Providence that the murdered voman had been the wife of an English burglar lamed Collins, then living in Providence, and cel;brated all over the Union for his success and ecklessness. The rumor had no better foundation ;han that Collins and his wife disappeared at about ;he time of the murder, and it only lived because ;heories always thrive when facts are impossible to )btain. The case yet remains among unfinished police jusiness. No human effort has ever learned more ;han was discovered by the brute instinct of the Jog when he pawed the secret of the murder from -he shallow grave in the dark forest. THE- RICARD CASE. One spring morning during the first year of the var, a barrel of pitch was found to have disappeared from a Jersey City pier, and the porter in jharge, when reporting the fact to his employers, ' :ook occasion to speak of the river thieves in no ^ rory complimentary terras. On the same day, Ada Ricard, a woman of no- : nadic habits and dubious status, but of marvelous beauty, suddenly left her hotel in New York, without taking the trouble to announce her depar- c :ure or state her destination. The clerks of the ) 'louse only remarked that some women had queer t ivayy. , A few days after these simultaneous events, the ?me porter who had mourned the lost pitch, happening to look down from the end of his pier when ;he tide was out, saw a small and shapely human bot protruding above the waters of the North riv;r. It was a singular circumstance, for the bodice )f the drowned never float in such fashion; but he porter, not stopping to speculate upon it, prolured the neceesary assistance, and proceeded to and the body. It came up unusually heavy, and when at last brought to the surface, was found to )e made fast by a rope around the waist to the missing barrel of pitch. There was a gag securely astenedin the mouth, and these two circumstances ivere positive evidence that murder had been done. When the body was landed upon the pier, it was ound to be in a tolerable state of preservation, alhough there were conclusive signs that it had been n the water some time. It was the body of a female, entirely nude, with the exception of an emaroidercd linen chemise and one lisle-thread stockng, two sizes larger than the foot, but exactly fit:ing the full rounded limb. The face and the conlour of the form were, therefore, fully exposed to ixamination, and proved to be those of a woman who must have been very handsome. There was the cicatrice of an old wound on a lower limb, but Dtherwisc there was no spot or blemish upon the body. In due time the body was buried; but the head was removed, and .preserved in the office of the eity physician, with the hope that it might be the means of establishing the identity of the dead, ind leading to the detection of the murderer. The police on both sides of the river were intensely interested in the case; but they found themselves impotent before that head of a woman, who seemed to have never been seen upon earth in life, rhey could do nothing, therefore, but wait patiently for whatever developments time might bring. 4 5 Plion/vi finnllo led tn flip dpsired identification. ' A. gentleman who had known her intimately for ( two years, happening to see the head, at once de- ' clared it to be that of Ada Ricard. The detec- ] tives, therefore, eagerly clutched at this thread, J and were soon in possession of the coincidence in i time of her disappearance and that of the barrel ' of pitch to which the body was lashed. They fur- J ther found that, since that time, she had not been ^ seen in the city, nor could any trace of her be dis- ' covered in other sections of the country, through 1 correspondence with the police authorities of dis- ( taut cities. They had thus a woman lost and a 1 body found, and the case was considered to be in a 1 most promising condition. 1 The next step was to establish the identity by J the testimony of those who had known the mis- 1 3ing woman most intimately. The detectives, there- ] fore, instituted a search, which was finally success- 1 ful, for Charles Ricard, her putative husband. He 1 bad not lived with her for some time, and had not 1 even seen or heard of her for months; but his re- 1 collection was perfect, and he gave a very minute 1 statement of her distinguishing marks. He re- ^ membcred that she had persisted in wearing a pair 1 jf very heavy earrings, until their weight had slit 1 cue of her ears entirely, and the other nearly so, ' md that, as a consequence, both ears had been 1 pierced a second time, and unusually high. He c regretted that her splendid array of teeth had been ^ marred by the loss of one upon the left side of the 1 mouth, and told how a wound had been received, f whose cicatrice appeared upon one of her limbs, c statiug exactly its location. He dwelt with sonic 1 pride upon the fact that she had been forced, by T the unusual development, to wear stockings too large for her feet, and gaveageneral description of 1 bair, cast of face, height, and weight, that was in- 1 valuable, because minute. e When he gave this statement he was not aware 1 )f the death of his wife, or of the finding of her * body, and without being informed of cither fact, 1 be was taken to Jersey City and suddenly confront 1 Ti-ItV, ! ?/-? Vmorl Thn instant ho saw it, he sank I Into a chair in horror. ] His statement having been compared with the 1 (icad and the record of the body, the similitude 3 was found to be exact, except as to the teeth. The 1 bead had one tooth missing on each side of the 4 mouth, and this fact having been called to his at- ( tention, llicard insisted that she had lost but one ? when he last saw her, but it was highly probable 1 the other had been forced out in the struggle which 1 robbed her of her life, and the physician, for the * irst time, making a minute examination, found J that the tooth upon the right side had been forced 6 from its position and there was the head without a ? discrepancy between it and the description of Ada ? llicard. 1 The detectives found other witnesses, and among I them the hair-dresser who had acted in that ca- ? pacity for Ada llicard during many months, who, t In common with all others, fully confirmed the evidence of Charles Ricard. The identity of the t murdered woman was therefore established beyond c question. 1 Naturally the next step was to solve the mystery c jf her death. The detectives went to work with 1 unusual caution, but persisted in tbetask they had issigncd themselves, and were slowly gathering the shreds of her life, to weave from them a thread :hat would lead to the author of her tragic death, ffhen they were suddenly "floored," to use their jwn energetic expression. Ada Ricard, herself, ippeared at a down-town New York hotel, in perbot health and unscathed in person. The explanation was simple. The whim had tuddenly seized her to go to New Orleans, and she lad gone without leave-taking or warning. It was 10 unusual incident in her wandering life, and her speedy return was due only to the fact that she bund the Southern city only a military camp, unler the iron rule of General Butler, and therefore in unprofitable field for her. The ghastly head became more of a mystery ;han before. The baffled detectives could again inly look at it helplessly, and send descriptions of t over the country. At last it was seen by a wouan named Caltahan, living in Boston, who was in l -o . j v,.. i.,j ? <2V,? searcu Ul U UBUglltcr vruu uau ^uuu aauaj. uuu nstantly pronounced it to be that of herchild, and ibe was corroborated by all tbe members of her hmily and several of her neighbors. The identiication was no less specific than before, and the perplexed authorities, glad at last to know some:hing positive, gave Mrs. Callahan an order for ;he body. Before, however, she had completed ier arrangements for its transfer to Boston, a message reached her from the daughter, who was lying iick in Bellevue Hospital, and so the head once nore became a mystery. And such it has always emained. The body told that a female, who had jeen delicately reared, who had fared sumptuousy, and had been arrayed in costly fabrics, had been bully done to death, just as she was stepping into ;he dawn of womanhood?and that is all that is cnown. Her name, her station, her history, her virtues, or it may be, her frailties, all went down vith her life, and were irrevocably lost. There is ivery probability that her case will always be classed is unfinished business. grading. AN ADVENTURE WITH A SHARK. Twenty years ago the West Indian squadron wnsisted of sailing frigates and brigs, not of screwressels, as at present. In those days officers had o depend entirely upon their seamanship; there mo nn Aivlinrr anile onrl rroffinor afpam lin if ft hfljul rr tfco tJU luinug ut?no uuu gwwiug uwmw ? ^ ? ? rind or calm turned up, or to go in and out of dificult harbors; and if the passage from one port to mother did occupy a little more time than it does it present, yet there was the pleasure of "eating rour way to windward," and of seeing what your vessel really could do against a foul wind. At the time I allude to I was serving as a midihipman on board her Majesty's sloop H , the inest of those magnificent "sixteen-gun brigs" wilt by Sir William Symonds. I know no sensa:ion more pleasant than being officer of the watch >n board a brig of war, with every stitch of canvas let, the bowlines hauled, and as much wind as she san stagger under, while the little beauty knocks )ffher nine or ten knots, close hauled, gliding >ver the seas like a swan sometimes throwing the ipray as high as her maintop, or at others dipping ler sharp no.se under an opposing-wave and sendng the spray right aft to her quarter-deck, while she gives a shake to her stern for all the world as f she were a living creature, and enjoyed the lucking she gave the men forward. Jolly were the times we had in the H , visitng every hole and corner of the station; some;imes down the Gulf of Mexico, at others cruising unong the sand cays of the Bahama Channel, or cnocking about the beautiful Windward Islands. We were commanded by a very smart officer, who, )y dint of constant exercise, made us the smartest ,-essel on the station ; but, as is usually the case, ve were very unfortunate in losing men overboard. Being a remarkable good swimmer, I was fortulate enough to rescue on several occasions men, ivho, in performing their duties aloft, fell overjoard, and it was when so occupied that I met with the following adventure. We had been cruising for some time for slavers )n the south coast of Cuba; but yellow fever havng made its appearance, we left Saint Iago de Juba for Port Royal, Jamaica. That evening at junset, after the usual hour's exercise in reefing ma tuning, an possible sail was maae, wun siuuiing-sails alow and aloft, to a fine fresh breeze, ;he brig going a fair twelve knots. One of the uaintop men had remained aloft, finishing some ob, and was on his way down over the cat-harping shrouds, when, by some means or other, he lost lis hold, and falling, struck the spare topsail yard, stowed in the main chains, and went overboard. [ was standing on the stern gratings, and seeing lira fall, instantly sang out, "Man overboard 1" ind, throwing off my jacket, jumped over the luartcr after him. The impetus of my leap took lie some distance under water, but on regaining he surface I saw him not far from me, just as he vas going down. Exerting all my power, a few itrokes took me to the place where he had disappeared, and I saw him slowly sinking beneath me. [n an instant I was down after him, and, clutchng him by the hair, I brought him to the surface. By this time the brig was nearly two miles distant rom us, for although sail had been shortened, and he vessel brought to the wind as quickly as nortal hands could do it, the rate at which she vas going, at the time of the accident, of course pore her rapidly away from us. I found the poor bllow was quite insensible, and from the fact of lis Tight arm hanging limp, conjectured that he lad broken it in his fall, which proved to be the ?se. Supporting him with one arm, I kept afloat vith the other, and looking round, saw the lifejuoy floating not far from us; so, taking a good p-ip of his hair, I swam towards, and having suc;ecded in reaching it, made my unfortunate shipmate fast to it by one of the beckets, with his head veil above water. By this time he was coming to himself, and 1 mew that if they could see us from the brig, her poats would soon be alongside us; but this did not ippear to be the case, for the boats seemed pulling n all drections but the right one. Suddenly I >aw, but a few yards from us, an object that in a noment filled me with unutterable dread?the )ack fin of a monster shark. Slowly the brute approached, until I could clearly distinguish that he vas one of the largest of his kind. He evidently ntended to reconnoitre, and when only about five rards from us, began to swim slowly in a circle, put jjraudually nearing, until I could clearly disinguish the horrid eyes that make the shark's sountenance what it is?the very embodiment of Satanic malignity. Half-concealed between the pony brow, the little green eyes gleam with so peculiar an expression of hatred, such a concentraion of fiendish malice, of quiet, calm, settled vilainy, that no other countenance that I have ever iccn at all resembles. Knowing that the brute is is cowardly as he is ferocious, I commenced to iplash as much as I could with my feet. This had be desired effect, and with a lateral wave of his powerful tail, he shot off, and for the moment distppcarcd. Again I looked round for the boats, put still observed no sign that we were seen. Night was fast falling?there is no twilight in hose latitudes?and I could see little or no hope >f escaping a horrid death from the jaws of the prute who, I full well knew, was not far off. Sudlenly a cry of horror from my companion, who lad now quite regained his senses, drew my atten 1 tion to the rapid approach of our dread enemy, i This time he seemed determined not to be baulked, 1 but came straight on for us. Again I threw myself on my back, and kicked and splashed with all my strength, which had again the effect of alarming him, for he went right under us, and again disappeared. Uttering a short but fervent ejaculation of thankfulness, 1 again turned my attention to the boats, and beheld, with feelings no pen can express, that at last we had been made out, and that one of the cutters was fast pulling towards us. But even as she came our peril increased, for the shark was joined by another, and both kept cruising, but a few yards off, in a circle round us. My strength was rapidly leaving me, and I knew that did I once cease splashing all would be over with us. My companion was perfectly powerless. Still I continued to kick and splash, still the voracious monsters continued their circular tract, some times diving and going under us, to re-appear on the other side; but the cutter was fast coming up, and they, suspecting what was the matter, gave way with all their hearts and souls. As she neared us, tho bowmen laid their oars in, and began to beat the water with their boathooks. This was the last I saw. Nature must have given out, for when I opened my eyes again, I was safe in my hammock on board the brig. A good night's rest restored me to myself, but though I have seen many a shark since, I can never look on one without feeling my flesh creep, as it were, on my bones. TECUMSEH'S HONOR. A correspondent of the Detroit Free Press gives some interesting anecdotes of the great Indian warrior and prophet, Tecumseh. While the enemy were in possession of the country around Monroe and Detroit, Tecumseh, with a large band of warriors, visited the river Raisin. The inhabitants had been stripped of nearljk every means of subsistence. Old Mr. Rivers, (a Frenchman,) who was lame, and unable to earn a living for himself and family, had contrived to keep out of sight of the wandering bands of savages a pair of oxen, with which his son was able to secure a scanty support for the family. It so happened that while at labor with the oxen, Tecumseh, who had come over from Maiden, met him in the road, walked up to him and said: "My friend, I must have those oxen. My young men are very hungry, and they have nothing to eat We must have the oxen." Young Rivers remonstrated. He told the chief that if he took the oxen, his father would starve to death. "Well," said Tecumseh, "we are the conquerors, and everything we want is ours. I must have xl _ I 1 A. -i. 1 A. T *11 me oxen! my people must not starve; out i win not be so mean as to rob you of them. I will pay you one hundred dollars for them, and that is far more than they are worth, but we must have them." Tecumseh got a white man to write an order on i the British Indian Agent, Col. Elliot, who was on the river some distance below, for the money, i The oxen were killed, large fires built, and the forest warriors were soon feasting on their fleSh. Young Rivers took the order to Col. Elliot, who promptly refused to pay it, saying: "We're entitled to support from the country we conquered. We will not pay it." i The young man, with a sorrowful heart, returned , with the answer to Tecutnseh, who said: "To-morrow we will go and see." In the morning he took young Rivers, and went to see the Colonel. On meeting him he said; "Do you refuse to pay for the oxen I bought?" "Yes," said the Colonel, and he reiterated the reason for refusal. "I bought them," said the chief, "for my young , men, who were hungry. I promised to pay for them, and they shall be paid for. I always heard that white nations go to war with each other, and not with peaceful individuals; that they did not rob and plunder poor people. I will not." "Well," said the Colonel, "I will not pay for them." "You can do as you please," said the chief, "but i before Tecumseh and his warriors came to fight the battles of the great king, they had enough to : eat, for which they had only to thank the good . Master of Life and their good rifles. Their hunting grounds supplied them with food enough; to them we can return." This threat produced a sudden change on the Colonel's mind. The defection of the great chief, he well knew, would immediately withdraw all the nations of the red men from the British service; and without them they were nearly powerless on the frontier. "Well," said the Colonel, "if I must pay, I will" "Give me hard money," said Tecumseh, "not rag money"?army bills. The Colonel then counted out a hundred dollars in coin and gave them to him. The chief handed the money to young Rivers, and then said to the Colonel: "Give me one dollar more " It was given; and handing it also to Rivers, he said: "Take that, it will pay you for the time you have lost in getting your money." What a disgrace to the memory of the old Indian warrior, the soubriquet of Tecumseh for Gen. Sherman! Let us hear no more of Gen. "Tecumseh" Sherman. .?? ? BUTTEK IN SACKS. A correspondent of the Rockfield Register, writing from Olympia, W. T., gives the method used on the Pacific coast for preserving butter: "I think the dairymen here have an art in the management of butter that might be turned to good account in the East, but which I never saw practiced till I came to this coast I allude to the manner of putting up butter for market Perhaps necessity was the mother of this invention, but that makes the invention none the less valuable. Here such a thing as a butter firkin or a stone jar to pack butter in is unknown ; but all butter is packed in muslin sacks, made in such a form that the package, when complete, is a cylinder three or four inches in diameter, and from half a foot to a foot in length. The butter goes from the churn, as soon as worked over, into the cylindrical bags, made of fine bleached muslin. The packages are then put into a large cask containing strong brine with a slight admixture of saltpetre, and by means of weights kept always below the surface. The cloth integument always protects the butter from any impurities that may chance to come in contact with the package, and, being always buried in brine, that protects it from the action of the air, and it has been ascertained by trial that butter put up in this way will keep sweet longer than any other way. Besides, it is found easier and cheaper for the manufacturer than to pack either in firkins or jars. And for the retailer, there is no telling the advantage on the score of safety and convenience. These rolls of butter cau lie upon his counter as safe from injury, from dust or contact, as bars of lead?can be rolled up for his customers in a sheet of paper with as much propriety as a bundle of matches. If the consumer, when he gets home, discovers specks of dust upon the outside of the sack, he can throw it into a pail of cold water and take it out clean and white. As he uses the butter from day to day, with a sharp knife he cuts it off the end of the roll in slices, of thickness to suit his wants, peels off the cloth from the end of the slice, leaving it in tidy form to place upon the table. This improved manner of pack ing butter first caught my eye in the market of San Francisco, where I saw cords of it piled up like pigs of lead. The simplicity and great value of the improvement so impressed me that I wondered the Yankees had not long ago found it out" < ? THE MOCKING BIRD OF AMERICA. The American mocking bird is the prince of all song birds, being altogether unrivaled in the extent and variety of his vocal powers; and besides the fullness and melody of his original notes, he has the faculty of imitating the notes of all other birds from the humming bird to the eagle. Pennant states that he heard a caged one imitate the mewing of a cat and the creaking of a sign ia high winds. Barrington says his pipes come nearest to the nightingale of aDy bird he ever heard. The description, however, given by Wilson, in his own inimitable manner, as far excels Pennant and Barrington as the bird excels his Mow songster. Wilson tell us that the ease, elegance and rapidity of his movements, the animation of his eye, and the intelligence he displays in listening to, and laying up lessons, marks the peculiarity of his genius. His voice is tail, strong and musical, and , capable of almost every modulation, from the dear mellow tones of the wood thrush to the savage screams of the bald eagle. In measure and accents he faithfully follows his originals, while in strengh and sweetness of expression he greatly improves upon them. In his native woods, upon a dewy morning, his song rises above every competitor ; for others appear merely inferior accompaniments. His own notes are bold and full, and varied, seemingly, beyond all limits. They consist of short expressions of two, three, or at most five or six syllables, generally uttered with great emphasis rapidly, and continued with undiminished ardor for half an hour at a time. While singing, he expands bis tail, glistening with white, keeping time to his own music; and the buoyant gayety of his action is no less fascinating than his song. He sweeps around with enthusiastic ecstacy; he mounts and descends, as his song swells or dies away; he boundB aloft with the celerity of an arrow, as if to recover or recall his' very soul, expired in the last elevated strain. A bystander might suppose that the whole feathered tribe has assembled together on a trial of ?skill?each striving to produce his utmost effort?so perfect are his imitations. He often deceives the sportsman, and even birds themselves are sometimes imposed upon by this admirable mimic.. In confinement, he loses little of his power or energy of his song. He whistles for the dog; Caesar starts up, wags his tail, and runs to meet his master. He cries like a hurt chicken, and the hen hurries about with feathers on end to protect her injured brood. He repeats the tone taught him, though it be of considerable length, with perfect accuracy. He , runs over the notes of the canary and the red-bird : with such superior execution and effect that the mortified songsters confess his triumph by their immediate silence. His fondness for variety, some suppose, injure his song. His imitation of the brown thrush is often interrupted by the crowing of cocks; and his exquisite warblings after the blue-bird are mingled with the screaming of swal, lows, or the cackling of hens. Daring moonlight, both in the wild and tame state, he sings the whole , night long. The hunters, in their nocturnal excursions, know that the moon is rising the instant they hear his delightful solo. After Shakspeare, Barrington attributes, in part, the exquisiteness of the nightingale',8 song to the silence of the night; but if so, what are we to think of the bird which, in the open glare of day, overpowers and often silences all competition ? The natural notes of the American mocking bird are similar to those of the brown thrush.?Audvbon. THE EYE OF AN EAGLE. The eyes of all birds have a peculiarity of structure which enable them to see and hear distant objects equally well, and this wonderful power is carried to the greatest perfection in the bird of prey. When we recollect that an eagle will ascend more than a mile in perpendicular height, and from that enormous elevation will perceive its unsuspecting prey and pounce on it with unerring certainty, and when we see the same bird scrutinizing with microscopic nicety an object close at hand, we shall at once perceive that he possesses the power of accommodating his sight to distance in a manner to which our. eye is unfitted, and of which it is totally incapable. If we take a printed page we shall find that there is some particular distance, probably ten inches, at which we can read the words and see each letter with perfect distinctness; but if we move a page to the distance of forty inches we shall find it impossible to read it at all; scientific men would, therefore, call ten inches the focus or focid distance of our eyes. We cannot alter this focus except by the aid of spectacles. But an eagle has the power of altering the focus of his eye as he pleases; he has only to look at an obiect at the distance of two feet or two miles in order to see it with perfect distinctness. The ball of his eye is surrounded by fifteen little plates, 1 called sciorotic bones. Tbey form a complete ring 1 and their edges slightly overlap each other. When he looks at a distant object this little circle of bone expands, and the ball of the eye being relieved from the pressure, becomes flatter; and when he looks at a very near object the little bones ' press together, and the ball of the eye is thus squeezed into a rounder or more convex form. The effect is very familiar to everybody. A person with very round eyes is near sighted, and only sees clearly an object that is close to him ; and a person with flat eyes, as in old age, can see nothing clear i except at a distance. The eagle, by the mere will, can make his eye round or flat, and see with equal clearness at any distance. The Mutilation of Dogs.?Sir Edwin Landseer, one of the judges at the dog show in London, England, endeavored to exclude all dogs that had been mutilated by ear-cropping or otherwise. The principal reason (says a correspondent,) for Sir ( Edwin Landscer's protest is, that the cropping of ears is most cruel and hurtful to the dog. The j cruelty complained of is not in the operation; that, after all, is a small matter. It consists in depriv- | - - ? l 1 XT 1 ing the animal of a detence wnicn nature uaa j given to it against the entrance of earth and sand ( into the ears. The entrance of these into the ears ] distress the dog much, causing deafness, abscesses, , and cancer. All dogs, more or less, require to be \ protected from sand and earth by overlapping j ears; Lut especially do terriers,?literally "earth ( dogs,"?the species which, of all others, is most { persecuttd by cropping. They go into a burrow, j their ears get full of sand, and they suffer ever afterwards Surely Sir Edwin Landseer is right in saying .hat judges of dogs ought not to sanction [ such gro's treatment of the animal, and that the \ Society 1 ir the prevention of Cruelty to Animals \ should 1< ok to the practice. The only excuse that i can t?r- jet up for the system is a delusive one. It < is said that fighting dogs fare better with their .ears j cropped, and the exigencies of fighting dog/'have < set the fashion for all others. It is true that if an < ear be gone it cannot be torn; but then it is for- 1 gotten that even for fighting purposes the ear is j often a protection. All these fightings dogs have ] what are called "points." One has the way of | seizing the leg, another fixes upon the throat, and i yet another makes a dash at the large gland behind the ear, which in the dog is as sensitive as the most sensitive gland in the human body. De- ( prive the dog of his ear, and the assailant can get 1 a good bite of it and lay bis adversary low. Leave the dog bis ear, and the assailant's grasp of the sensitive gland is impeded by the folds of the ear and rendered much more feeble. Thus, even to the fighting dog, the long ear is a positive defence. What we Owe to Poverty.?Wealth owes to poverty an immense debt Society is immensely and everlastingly indebted to the poor who have done its work, the long forgotten work on which it builds and lives. It is poverty that felled the forests, and planted the wilderness, and levelled the hills, and made straight the paths in which we walk. Poverty handled and trimmed and laid upon one another every brick and stone by which this city has been built up, stretched every telegeaph wire from Maiuo to California, twisted every strand of the cable which biuds the hemispheres in elecirie communication. Directed by intelligence, it is true, but what were the brain without the hands? Without poverty, who would serve us and do our work, build our railroads and navigate our ships; and procure the products by which civilization subsists? Let not wealth come in, and say, "It is my capita] that has done all this!" True, my brother, bat whence the capital? Hast thou then span it spider-like, oat of thine own bowels? That capital is also the product of poverty. Thy capital is needed and moulded with the sweat of thy brother's faoe. His years, his weary years, are in it; it is carved out of thy brother's life. For what is capital but concrete labor?the labor of the past condensed and made portable ? Poverty, not wealth, has done the work. He is the great and patient creditor of us all Poverty, hard-handed, coarse-clad, toil-bowed, weather-scarred, shut out from the palaces, and temples of thine own rearing, thou art our creditor. Who shall repay thee thy long dues? What a reckoning will that be when thou and wealth shall "meet at compt 1" Dr. Hedge. What is Fusel-Oil.?This article bears so prominent a position in the bad-liqnor revelations of New York, that its nature becomes a matter of interest Chemists decribe it as a fluid, colorless when pure, of offensive smell and bnrning taste, and obtained by continuing the distillation of the fehnented infusions used for the preparation of ardent spirits, after the alcoholic portion has been drawn off. In this condition it is mixed with water, from which it should be separated by a second distillation. Ardent spirits often contain fusel-oil. Its speciflo gravity is 0818; it freezes at 4 degrees below zero, and inflames at 130 above. It dissolves camphor, sulphur, phosphorus, the fats, resins &c. Its action upon the animal system is that of a positive poison, its vapor producing nausea, headache and giddiness. Its presence in liquors is highly injurious, and indicates bad distillation or the use of damaged graiD. It may be detected by agitating the liquor with water and leaving it to stand for the oil to rise and appear at the surface. Dr. Taylor says two drachms killed a rabbit in two hours, thr^ drachms in an hoar, half an ounce, or four drachms in a quarter of an hour, and an ounce in four minutes. The effect upon bipeds is slower, because the amount taken is proportionably less; but it is the same in kind, and is sure, if its use be continued, to work like results. Why is the President Inaugurated on the Fourth op Marcii??Wc remember many years ago, when a child, (says the Vicksburg Herald,) to have heard this interrogatory answered in the declaration that in consequence of the change occasioned by the addition of one day every bissextile or leap year, the 4th of March occurred less, often on Sunday than any other day of the week, and for this reason was selected. Curiosity has prompted us to make the examination, and we find that, in thirty Presidential terms, from 1789 to 1905, inclusive, the 4th of March has, and will have fallen oftcner on Sunday than any other day of the week except Tuesday. Thus, we have the 4th of March in those years coming four times, eaoh, on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday, and five times each on Sunday and Tuesday. The Federal Constitution was adopted on the 1st of March, 1789, but the first President, George Washington, was not inaugurated until April 30, 1789. Washington's second term, commencing on the 4th of March, 1793, fell on Sunday, as did also the term of James Monroe, 1821, and Zachary Taylor, 1849, all of whom, we believe, were inaugurated on the 5th of March, the following day. The 4th of March will also be on Sunday in the years 1878 and 1905, completing the thirty Presidential terms enumerated. Only a Grain op Sand.?A man who had for years carried an old and cherished watch about him, one day called on its maker, and told him it was no longer useful, for it would not keep time correctly. "Let me examine it," said the maker; and taking a powerful glass, he looked carefully and steadily into the works, till he spied just one little grain of sancL "I have it," he said. "I can get over your difficulty." About this moment, by some powerful but unseen power, the little grain, suspecting what was coming, cried out, "Let me alone! I am but a small thing, and take up so little room, I cannot possibly injure the watch. Twenty or thirty of us might do harm but I cannot, so let me alone." The watchmaker replied, "You must come out, for you spoil my work, and all the more so that you are so small, and but few people can see you." Thus it is with us, whether children or elders? one lie, one feeling of pride, vanity, or disobedience may be such a little one that none but ourselves know of it; yet God, who sees all things, knows it, and that one sin, however little it may appear, will spoil all our best efforts in His service. Cure for Drunkenness.?Recipes to cure one of an appetite for liquor are constantly going the rounds of the papers. A friend who has tried it, gave us the following recipe: "Have steady employment, and give it strict attention ten hours each day, except Sundays, and then attend church service regularly. When yourJay's work is completed go home to spend your eiaure hours. If your home is not pleasant, get murself about the agreeable task of making it so. (rVhen you go out to public amusements take some jerson of pure mind and steady habits with you, ind always keep good company. Under this pleasint treatment the sight and smell of liquor becomes oathsome." All for Show.?The world is crazy for show, fhere is not one person in a thousand who dare all bacfc on nis real, simple sen ior power to go brough the world, and exact enjoyment as he joes along. There is too much living in the eyes )f other poople. There is no end of aping, miniicng, false and superficial airs. It require.- rare sourage, we admit, to live up to one's enlightened convictions in these days. If a man dares to live Vithin his means, and is resolute in his purposes lot to appear mort than he really is, let him be applauded. There is something fresh and invigoraing in such an example, and we should honor and iphold such a man with all the energy in our power. J&"A lady in New York ran up a bill of $40,XX) for dress goods in three months, and ran her lusband into bankruptcy.