The Texan Mercury. (Seguin, Tex.), Vol. 1, No. 8, Ed. 1 Saturday, November 12, 1853 Page: 1 of 4
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EDITOR AND PROPRlftoR.
SEGUIN, GUADALUPE COUNTY, NOVEMBER 11, 185:3.
VOLUME ONE—NUMBER Till.
ADDRESS OF MB. EVERETT,
AT THK NEW hampsnirf 8tate fair.
1 The New Hampshire State Fair was held in
Manchester, m that State, during the first week
la the present month. On Thursday, October
0, a speech was delivered by the Hon. Edward
Everett, which w;e copy below
" Mr. Everett having arrived in the morning
cars from Boston, he was met at the station-
honse by Mayor Smith and welcomed to the
city. He was then taken in a barouche, and in
company with the Mayor, the President of the
Society, Peter P. Woodbury, esq., and Mr. John-
son, the Orator of the day, proceeded to the
exhibition ground, where they spent an hour
very pleasantly in inspecting the cattle and
other stock, witnessing the trial of some of the
Cut nags, and in looking upon the intelligent
daughters of New Hampshire, with
which the spacious area within the enclosure
was nearly filled. Mr. Everett and the other
distinguished guests seemed to enjoy the scene
very much, and in truth it was a brilliant spec-
tacle.
" The procession reached the ground at about
nfn« o'clock, and marched to the stand which
had been erected for the speakers. The wind
blew almost a gale from the north-west, render-
ing it extremely uncomfortable alike for the
and hearers; still a very large crowd
to hear the oration.
"Tfce Hon. B. P. Johnson, Secretary of the
New York State Agricultural Society, delivered
an address.0
Mr. Everett was then introduced to the assem-
blage, and spokeas follows:
I am greatly indebted to yon, Mr. President
and fellow-citizens, for this very kind reception.
Though personally,fyo wn to very few of yon,
you wül not allow me to regard myself as a
it ■ has never been my good
to do any thing more than pass
through Manchester with railway speed, your
cordial welcome has made me feet myself at once
at home. With this simple acknowledgment of
your kindness, Mr. President, I feel as if I ought
to stop. This Ib the husbandman's festival, cele-
brated under the aaspicea of the New Hampshire
* Agricultural Society. You/ executive committee
was good enough, early in the season, to invite
me to pronounce the usual address on this occa-
sion. I felt greatly honored by the request,
which, however, more than one prevailing reason
compelled me to decline; and so acceptably has
the duty been performed by the gentleman who
s; so much has he instructed
in his very appropriate dis-
course that I can not but congratulate you and
'myself that it devolved upon him and not upon
me. I feel it somewhat presumptuous—being
neither a scientific nor practkal farmer—to
intrude myself at all before an audience like thi3,
and Jnjthe presence of those so much better able
to occupy your time to advantage. My best
apology will be not to occupy much of it, and
not to presume to dwell upon matters which
mast be so much better understood by others.
Mr. President, though it has not been my
good fortune to be personally much acquainted
with this part of your State, I have early associa-
tions of tile most kindly and agreeable natnre
with another part of New Hampshire. In the
spring time, not of the year, but of my life, I
was sent into it in pursuit of a species of cul-
you will allow to be not of inferior
tO'tbat of the soil; I mean the cul-
ture of the mind. I was sent for a short time,
when quite a lad, to the Academy at Exeter,
and the only regret that mingles in my recollec-
tion of it is that I did not longer enjoy the
advantages of the excellent institution and the
paternal care of its beloved and venerated Prin-
Dr. Abbot. Yes, sir, if you will pardon
me this reminiscence of my boyhood, I remember
bnt as yesterday—for it was the first time I
ever left the parental roof—being called at
about four o'clock in the morning in the mqnth
of February, to get ready for what was then
thought yiay's work—the journey from Boston
to Exeter. When a boy betwen twelve and
thirteen starts alone before daybreak in the
to go from home to boarding-school, the
do not seem particularly short. They
the longer to me from a slight misunder-
of the information derived from the
stage driver.
This was a person who had driven a long
time on the road, was well known to the Acad-
emy boys, and had got rather weary of answer-
ing their perpetual inquiries how many miles from
one place to another along the route. His
name was Prime, which we saucy youngsters
converted into Priam, pestering him with witti-
cisms (which he took in very good part) about
the siege of Troy. He had his revenge by mys-
tifying us about the distances. Wherever we
were the answer was always the same; whether
we asked the question at Harverhill, at Atkinson,
or Plastow, or Kingston, how far it was now to
Exeter, it was always " about three miles."
I have said, fellow-citizens, that I had the
misfortune to be a stranger at Manchester. In
those days you were all strangers at Manchester
too; Manchester did not exist. It is one of
those eities which have sprung like an exhala-
tion from the soil, at the bidding of capital,
enterprise, and skill, availing themselves of the
creative forces of nature. In those days sir—
tthat is, but I will not teU you how many years
ago—we knew Manchester only as Amoskeag
Falls, and by the everlasting advertisements
which filed the newspapers relative to a lottery
for the construction of a canal around them-
Bnt it was a famous spot, sir, even in a state of
nature. The children of the forest had selected
it as a chosen seat, even before the foot of civil-
ized marf had pressed these shores. It was one
of the favorite abodes of Passaconaway, as you
reminded me, Mr. President, an hour ago, the
great Sachem of the Pennacooks, the powerful
tribe which occupied the banks of the Merrimac
and the Piscataqua. I can never reflect, sir,
without some emotion, that not two hundred
years have passed since these fair regions were
occupied by races of*fellow-beiugs that have
disappeared from the surface of the earth. We
are told that Passaconaway passed for a 'wizard,
inasmuch as he could produce a green leaf from
the ashes of a dry one, a live serpent from the
skin of a dead one, could make water burn and
trees dance. Well Mr. President, without
laying claim to witchcraft, the modern arts are
competent to the performance of most of these
wonders. I am not aware indeed that we can
produce a living serpent from the skin of a dead
one. It is not a breed that there is any great
motive to propagate, and very few experiments,
I suppose, have been tried since Passaconaway's
time. But I think this Agricultural Society has
labored to very little advantage if it has not
shown how a green leaf can be produced from
the ashes of a dry one. I am sure the chemists
over at the mills can resolve the water into
combustible gases; and as for dancing trees,
it almost took away my breath to witness the
rapidity of their motion as I came down this
morning by the express train. There is no
witchcraft or necromancy like the mechanic arts.
By what simple contrivance of Indian jugglery
poor Passaconaway performed his tricksy won-
ders we do not know. In those days the white
man, as well as the red, was remarkable more for
what he did; for we are told that aft^r corn
and wheat had been imported into New Hamp-
shire from Virginia, in the earliest days óf the
settlement, they were obliged to send it from this
part of the world to Boston to have it ground at
the Boston wind-mill, that being the only mill in
this part of the country. This sounds strangely
enough on a spot where wecan hear the rush on
the Merrimac over yonder mighty water-wheels.
In fact, sir, the annals of New Hampshire
are filled with romance of every description,
from the times Gorges and Mason and their
high sonnding grants of-"Mariana" and "La-
conia," the primitive settlement of " Strawberry
Bank," the advent of Mr. Wheelwright, the
resolute founder of Exeter, who was Cromwell's
fellow student at Cambridge and his most for-
midable competitor at foot-ball, in which manly
sport he was accustomed to trip up the future
Protector's heels, down through the pleasant and
prosperous days of the uniou with Massachu-
setts, and then the bloody series of the Indian
wars. It is almost beyond belief sir, that a hun-
dred years ago have not passed since that
pathetic tragedy in domestié life was acted
within the limits of New Hampshire. I mean
the captivity of Mrs. Jemima Howe and her
children. I believe the first time my blood was
ever stirred by any tale of profane history was
when I read that narrative in the American
Preceptor. " As Messrs, Caleb Howe, Hilkiah
Grout, and Benjamin Gaffield, who had been
hoeing corn corn in a meadow west of the river,
were returning home a little before sunset to a
place called Bridgraan's Fort, they were fired
npon by twelve Indians who had ambnshed their
path, on the 27th of July, 1751." That is the
way the story begins; there is nothing in the
Waverly novels that surpasses in interest the
subsequent adventures of Mrs. Howe in the cap-
tivity of herself and children among the Indians
and Canadian French, less than a century ago.
At that time, sir, the greater part of the
extensive domain* so beautiful represented at this
exhibition by all the products of agriculture,
animate and animate, still lay in a state of na-
ture. It wa3 impossible that settlements should
penetrate far to the west and north along such
an exposed frontier. The interior condition of
New Hampshire, as of most of the other colo-
nies, was dependant at that time on the struggles
of the great monarchies of Europe. The down-
fall of the French power in Canada removed
the terror of Indian warfare; the establish-
ment of our independence called out all the
hidden energies of the American character, and
commerce and the fisheries on our coast, agri-
culture and manufactures in the interior, with
the aid of labor-saving machinery, the railroad
and the locomotive, have done the rest. They
have converted the " howling wilderness" into
gardens and corn-fields and thriving towns and
cities, and have brought your State to the con-
dition of high prosperity in which we now
behold it, and in which, as it seems to me, yon
have no occasion to envy any of your sister
States.
On your western boundary you have the noble
Connecticut, queen of the rivers of New Eng-
land, bordered by a line of railroad almost
from your northernmost limit to Long Island
Sound, giving you a broad belt of fertile land
on itft banks, and a direct communication with
the great commercial metropolis of the Union.
The railroads which traverse the centre of the
State, and that which opened from Portland to
Montreal through your north-eastern territory,
place you in immediate communication with the
St. Lawrence and Canada. At the mouth of the
Piscataqna you have one of the bc3t ports and
harbors in the United States; and where in tt^
world, for its length, is there a stream which
excels this admirable Merrimac. whether we
consider the beautiful lake in which it takes its ¡ HOME.
origin, the fertile meadows that are watered ; in nexiu giles.
with its upper tributaries, or the industry and ' H°me's a genuine Saxon word; a word kin-
creative capital concentrated at its falls? Hook- idred to Saxon sPeec!l> but with an imPort com"
sett, Manchester, Lowell, Lawrence—the four 'mon to the race of man. Perhaps there is no
great flights of stairs by which the genius of jother word ^ language that clusters within it so
your prosperitv goes down from his mountain j man.y and 80 stirring meanings, that calls into
throne to the sea, scattering blessings as he de-jP,a-v> and powerfully excites, so many feelings,
scends! Why, sir, there is not a streamlet!80 raany faculties of our bcinS- "Home"—say
which leaps from the rocks and mingles its water j but the word> and tbe child that was ^nr mqpry
with the silver surface of your matchless lake; i "'nest beSius to weeP- " Home"—play but its
no, not a drop of dew condensed in the dark ¡ ,n:ies> ant^ tue bearded soldier, that blenches
forests that surround it, .that can find its wav !,lot ia the breach> drooP^ aud sickens' and dies-
to the ocean till it has contributed its share to I " Home"—murmur but its name, and memories
move, one after another, fifty great water-wheels, istart around ¡t t,iat Puts f,rc iilto the br in' aud
affections that almost suffocate or break the
and by the products of their motion to clothe |
hundreds of thousands of men in remote commu-
nities, and give an impulse to the commerce of
the world.
And then, sir, for natural beauty. I have
been something of a traveler in our own country
—though far less than I could wish—and in
Europe have seen all that is most attractive,
from the highlands of Scotland to the golden
horn of Constantinople, from the summit of the
Hartz Mountains to the fountain of Yaucluse,
but my eye has yet to rest on a lovelier scene than
that which smiles around you as you sail from
Weir's Lauding to Senter Harbor. *1 have yet to
behold a sublimer spectacle than that which is
disclosed from Mount Washington when, on
some clear, cool summer's morning at sunrise,
the cloud-curtain is drawn up from Nature's
grand proscenium, and that chaos of wilderness ^eit,ier naturenor Sracc is found' A collection
and beauty starts into life—and bare granitic tops
of the surrounding heights; the precipitous
gorges a thousand fathom deep, which foot of
man or ray of light never entered; the sombre
matted forest; the moss-clad rocky wall, weep-
ing with crystal springs; winding streams, gleam-
ing lakes, aud peaceful villages below; and, in
the dim, misty distance beyond the lower hills,
faint glimpses of the sacred bosom of the eternal
deep, ever-heaving as with the consciousness of
its own immensity—all mingled in one indescri-
bable panorama by the hand of the Divine Ar
tfst!
And can I speak of the historical legends, of
the industrial resources, of the natural beauties
of New Hampshire, parent not of fruits only,
but of men, without remembering the. great and
good who adorn her annals—her immortal Stark,
who cheered the heart of the nation at the
lowest ebb of despondency, and led the way
at Bennington to the triumphs of Saratoga;
heart, and pictures that bewilder fancy with
scenes in which joy and sorrow wrestle with
delirious strife for possession of the spirit.
" Home"—what does it not stand for, of strongest,
of most moving associations!—for childhood's
grief and gladness—for youth's sports, and
hopes, and sufferings, and passions, and sins—
for all that brightened or tranquilized the breast;
for a father's embrace, or his death-bed—for a
mother's kiss, or her grave—for a sister's love,
or a brother's friendship—for hours wasted, or
hours blest—for peace in the light of life, or
fears in the shadow of perdition. Home, when
it is all that nature and grace can make it, has
a blessedness and beauty of reality that imagina-
tion, in its fairest pictures, would find nothing
to excel. But in many a spot called home,
of home histories, honestly set down, would be a
rich contribution to materials for the philosophy
of character. Not gr.y, not pleasant, not inno-
cent, would all of these home histories be. Not a
few of them would be sad, dreary, wretched, and
within the earliest dwelling of man would be
discovered the appropiate .opening of many a
tragic life.
And yet nothing can humanity worse spare
than pleasii?| and gracious memories of home.
So fervently does humanity cling to what natur%
owes it, that those who have no home will make
one for themselves in vision. Those who have
an evil one will soften down its many vices, and
out of the scantiest affections bring forth [rays
of the heart to brighten their retrospect. It is
the miracle of the five loaves- performed spirit-
ually for the soul, lest the instincts of oiir human-
ity should faint aud perish by the way. The'
visitings of early home thoughts are the last to
quit us. Feeble age has them, when it has
your Sullivan, your Poor, your Scammel, your
Dearborn, McCleary, your Pierce, who, from
Bunker Hill to Yorktown, heard every peal of
fhe trumpet, and breasted every storm of war; the
long line of your civilians, your Bartletts, your
Whipples your Thorntons, your ijangdons, your
Gilmans, your Smiths, your Masons, your Wood-
burys, your men of letters and divines, your
Wheelocks, your Belknaps, your Buckminsters,
your Abbots? How, especially, can I forget
him whose decease, not yet a twelve month ago,
filled the whole land with sorrow, while, in the
sublime language of your fellow-citizen, the
President of the United States, " the great heart
of the nation beat heavily at the portals of his
tomb?" He was the offspring of your toil, -lie
and his fathers. His infancy was cradled in the
hardships of your frontier settlements; he was
taught and trained in your schools, your acad-
emy, and your college. You sent him forth in
the panoply of his youthful strength to the ser-
vice of his country, and after the labors and the
conflicts of life you rose as one man to welcome
him, when but two years ago, on this anniver
sary, he came back melting with tenderness and
veneration, to visit his native State.
Mr. Everett concluded with a renewal of his
acknowledgments to the company. He was fre-
quently interrupted with enthusiastic applause,
and at the close of the eloquent remarks three
more hearty cheers came forth spontaneously
from the assembled multitude.
* nothing else in memory; and when all the furni-
ture .which imagination put together has gone to
pieces and to dust, these, not constructed, but
planted, planted dow n iu the living soil of pri-
mal consciousness, flourish to the last; when the
treasury wiiich experience has been many years
collecting a few months may seem to take away,
some diamonds are left behind, which even the
thief, Time, has spared; reminiscences that glim-
mer through bare and blank obscurity from
the crevices of youth. As every thing human
has an element of good in it, that which is good
in a vicious home is what the past gives back to
fefeling; it is also that which is good in an evil
man that the remembrance of a virtuous home
acts on.
There is no mist of guilt so thick that can
always exclude the light of such remembrance;
no tempest of passion so furious as always to
silence its voices. During a lull in a hurricane of
revelry, the peal of the Sabbath bell may come
along the track of wasted years, aud though
loaded heavily, will be not unkindly in its toues.
Through the reekings of luxury, faces that
beamed on the prodigal in youth may seem to
start in trouble from the tomb, and, though
marred with grief, though pallid witli affliction,
turn mildly toward him, not in anger, but in
sorrow. Amidst the chorus of bacchanals and
the refrains of lewdness, the satiated libertine
may fancy, at moments, that he hears the calls
of loved ones gone to Heaven, startling him
from the trance of death. Under the loud
carousals that rage above the brain, deep down
and lonely in his heart, there may come to him
the whisper of parental exhortation, the murmur
of household prayer, and the music of domestic
hymns. The very criminal in his cell will often
have these visitations; ministers to exhort, not
enemies to accuse; angels to beseech, not
demons to scoff. The sentenced culprit, during
even his last night on earth, must sleep, and
perchance may dream, and seldom will that dream
be all in the present and in prison; not all of it,
if any, will be of'chains and blood, of shapeless
terrors and pale-faced avengers, of the scaffold
and the shroud. But other things will be in the
dream. He once was honest, and spent his
childhood, it may be, in a rustic home, and grew
to youth amidst laborious men and with simple
nature. 1 Out of imagery thus derived will his
dream be formed. In such dreams will be the
green field and the wooded lane; the boat sleep-
ing on the stream; the rock mirrored in the lake!
the shadow, watched expectingly from the school-
room window, as it shortens to the noontide
hour. Then there will be parents, blessed in
their unbroken circle; there will be young com-
panions, laughing in their play; there will be
bright harvest evenings, afteij days of healthful
toil; there will be family greetings, thanksgiv-
ing feasts; there will be the grasp «if friendship;
there will be the kiss of love. The dream will
The Merchant's Ledger has made a calcula-¡not be entirely, if at all, a dream of crime, dis-
tion of the number of persons who have died 'grace, aud death; it will be one that reproduces,
since the commencement of the Christian era.; on the brink of eternity, the freshness of emotion,
It sums up the deaths at three billions one hnn-jhope, mid desire with which existence on earth
dred and forty millions. i began. What is put into the first of life is put
Pleasup.es of a Well-Ixformeo Max.—None
but those so eminently blessed with mental en-
dowments can conceive all the pleasures that
spring from the well-informed and fertile mind;
to have a distinct pigeon-hole for every kind of
sommunication; all it receives has a tendency
not to dissolve and darken, but to crystalize iu
brilliancy and beauty: however extended its
ehain, each link ends in a hook for adjoining
more. Th^e are the minds, which in society
give almost as much pleasure as they enjoy;
they find companions even in those whom their
friends feel disposed to apologise for asking them
to meet. Dr. Johnson said he Would rather sit
next an intelligent mau of the world than a
scholar; for the man who has learned life from
nature's own volume, is provided with a supply
as varied and as rich as is the store from which
he draws it; he can repay with genuine, unplip-
ped coin, in bold relief, fresh from nature's mint.
However small his after dinner contribution to
the common fund of entertainment, it still is
sterling, pure, and unadulterated; and as Grey
said of Boswell's Corsica, that it proved any
man with talent or without, could write a useful
book, if he would only faithfully, and without
affectation, state what he had heard in a sphere
which the rest of the world had never seen, and
was curious to know.
into the whole of life. This should never be
forgotten.
The true economy of the home is not mechan-
ical, but moral. The household is not a machine,
not a collection of pulleys and springs, which
needs but skill in directing fores to manage.
The household is an assemblage of kindred
spiritualities, a system of gradations; an associa-
tion, in various stages of human intelligence and
human wills; and these can as little be harmon-
ized by the command of authority as by the use
of power. To control, and yet not enslave—to
leave free, and yet not abandon- -is a great
broblcm in government, whether its sphere be a
household or an empire. In the household,
control and freedom can be reconciled only by
wisdom and the affections. Love is the media-
tor between power and dependence; that which
meekens authority, that which ennobles sub-
mission. Love is the holy and living bond,
both of the equal and the unequal; that which
changes the rigor of mutual claims into the
grace of mutual kindness; that which brings
courtesy into agreement with sincerity, and
harmonizes deference with independence. Only
love can subdue the selfish in either doing or
forbearing; only this can give sweetness to
command, chejfulness to obedience, and unity to
companionship.
THE FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.
by loxgfellow.
When tbe hours of day arc numbered,
And the voices of the night
"Wake the better soul that slumbered
To a holy, calm delight:
Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And, like phantoms gran and tall,
Shadows from the fitful firelight
Dance upon the parlor Trail;
Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;
The beloved, the true-hearted, '
Come to visit us once more.
He, the young and strong, who cherished
Jioble longings for the strife,
By the rood-side fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life.
They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of^suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more.
And with them came the being beauteous.
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.
With a slow and noiseless footstep
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me—
* Lays her gentle hand in mine.
And she sits and gazes at me
With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downw ard from the skies.
Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer;
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.
Oh! though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember, only,
Such as these have lived and died.''
wm
The Lasso ik Valparaiso.-
horse is a lively and active little
ble of far more exertions than you
first sight. The Chiliau nearly always |
but not at such a wild speed as the
he thinks more of horse flesh, and ;
attention to his animal than the
need not say more, for the Argentine
attend to them at all. Nearly all the
carry the lasso ou their saddles,
same dexterity in using it as
neighbors. The children commence
earliest youth practicing with it,
see nearly every where little boys i
with their lassos of twine, catching
little dogs, even trying their skill once in a
on a large one; but this is rather a
experiment, Chilian does, as soon as they 1
something round their necks—for i
day "and night in tha greatest fear
ment—fly for their lives,
carrying the little daring, bnt
boy with them a long way
the line breaks, or some body el
the rescue.
Impobtaxce of Trifles.—One of the earliest
founders of the cotton trade in England pur-
chased an estate in a neighboring county, from
a peer, for several hundred thousand pounds.
The house with its furniture was to remain pre-
cisely as it stood. When^he purchaser took
possession, he missed a small cabinet from the
hall, worth some three or four pounds. He ap-
plied to the late owner about it.
"Well," said the noble lord, "I certainly did
order it to be removed. It is an old family
cabinet, worth more from its associations than
any thing else; I hardly thought that you would
rave cared about so trifling a matter in so large
a purchase."
" My lord," was the characteristic answer,
" if I had not all my life attended to trifles, I
should not have been able to purchase this
estate; aud, excuse me for saying so, perhaps
if your lordship had cared more about trifles,
vou might not have had to sell it."
* o
Axecoote of the Great Civier.—It is rela-
ted of this remarkable philosopher, that whilst
promenading one day where .¿Eneas is said to
have walked, he was met by a repulsive looking
object who stopped and demanded worship from
him.
" I can not worship you" said Cuvier. " But
you musty said the horrible.
"No, I will not," replied the other. "Then
said the demon, "if you will not I will eat you."
Cuvier eyed him deliberately; and instead of
defying him, as no doubt he might have done,
preferred falling back upon the natural history
lessons of his earthly life, and said, " Horns and
cloven feet—graminivorous. You cat me?—
uonsensc!"' .
Even the horse-police always
on the back part of their
sometimes use them also in
if they want to catch any body..
in Valparaiso against galloping
streets, and a most excellent law
nobody would be safe a
from being run over, whenever
uer; but the strangers who come h
agree with it at all, especially
and besides that, all seamen in ¡
hand and foot against it.
of a horse, they do not want to I
knots; they must also have, of
those large Chilian spurs,
go a couple of miles on a
therefore are in a con"" ~
police—always ending,
vantage, sometimes with
paying a fine besides.
A vessel came in not long
more, and some of the
must go right in the very
stable, (and you sec the i
and a " livery stable"
left all over the towa,)
for a trip into the interior.
the horses to them, aequaim
with the* laws, and Warned
so long as they were in the £
did they care? the
fancied, not to have his
digging their spurs in,
they had hardly
stable-boy looking after 1
knew the
call of the first
being used to this cry,
halt, nearly throwing two of .
their heads, and were far too
the law itself, to be ii
spur, to move a step
up, and had a chance
warning; but the fourth, ay
wild animal, with a good
and the sharp wheel of 1
stopped, but did its
way as soon as
called again, and seeing
spurred his horse, and the
The American, a Green
had ridden many a
speed than this, perl
"Spanjoles," as he
with having such a good
cared little about the rest-
people getting out of their
the wild, but not
rather astonished to see a
But even the policeman fonnd
he should not overtake him
tow^and not wishing to* leave his i
he gave a last warning and
On seeing that was not abeyed, he
dangerous weapon a couple of
head, and while the noose darted
own animal reared back, the
Mountain boy was suddenly
arms and jerked somewhere, he
where, till he recovered from the fall, <
himself, bruised all over, in the
police, and obliged to pay a certain
dollars and reals for the pleasure.
? 1
it
;N
Disease is self-limited. Its tendency, in nine-
teen out of twenty cases, is toward recovery.
A judicious physician will rarely say that he has
cured a patient. The patient regained his
health truly, but that medical observer who has
a true insight into the laws of disease, knows
that, iti all probability, he would have recovered
unaided.
Electiox is the Ixdiax
Indians of the Cherokee Nation
tion last month for sheriff and
National Council. They appea
politicaMfcample of the pale faces
exactitude*and make stump
the people, pack conventions, and
the tricks of the trade, as if
manner born." The next mail \
suits of their election,, and we w¡H
to tell whether " Spring Frog*
Mush" bad been the people's fat
elevated to the dignity of the
names of the candidates are
Ti-ul-se-nar Hog, Little Hair, Jc
Water, Whortle-berrv, Joseph
Young Squirrel, Wah-Skee, Spring ]
say that " a rose by any other 1
as sweet," and why may not Fool 3
legislative Solomon in the!)
and Spring Frog, esq., turn out a
tician, and p-ood at Ger
«
Diffidence is a sure
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Burke, H. T. The Texan Mercury. (Seguin, Tex.), Vol. 1, No. 8, Ed. 1 Saturday, November 12, 1853, newspaper, November 12, 1853; Seguin, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth180483/m1/1/: accessed April 25, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting The Dolph Briscoe Center for American History.