New Orleans daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1851-1866, 1854-08-14
DAILY CRESCENT.

DAILY CRESCENl.
TOUCHING INCIDENT. The following is an ex-
tract from o letter written By sailor IN the
Baltic feet to his wife In England The Incl
dent is narrated with that simplicity and purity
Of expression which conveys every idea and
image in the most effective manner:I
I. Every man on board volunteered, so the
cantain picked crew, and / was sent ashore
with the marines There were regular troops
on the bank who fired on us as we pulled to
land, but the broadsides of the 49,, what with
fhe shell and what with the smoke, covered our
landing. We dispersed at few hundred yards
distance from the beach to keep the coast clear
while the boats crew made prizes Of the guns.
The enemy had the advantage of the wood, and
also knowing the country we'll, and troop Of
them showed in advance. We were ordered to
fire. took steady aim, and fired on my man
at about 60 yards. He fell like stone. AT
the same time broadside from the - went
in among the trees, and the enemy disappeared,
we could scarce tell how. / felt as though /
must 90 up to him, to see whether he was dead
or alive He lay quite still, and / was more
afraid of him lying SO than when he stood facing
me few minutes before It's strange feeling
to come over you all at once that you have
killed q man He had unbuttoned his jacket,
and was pressing his hand over the front Of
his chest where the wound was. He breathed
hard, and the blood poured from the wound
and also from his mouth every breath he took,
His face was white as death, and his eyes
looked SO big and bright as he turned them and
stared at me; shall never forget it, He was a
fine Young fellow, not more than five and twenty.
/ went down on my knees beside him, and my
breast was so full, as though my own heart
would burst. He had real English face, and
did not look like an enemy. What felt never
can tell. but If my life would have saved his,
believe should have given it. laid his head
on my knee, and he grasped hold Of my hand
and tried to speak, but his voice was gone. !
could not tell word he said, and every time
he tried to speak the blood poured out SO,
1 knew it would soon be over. am not
= ashamed to say that was worse than he, for
he never shed tear, and / couldn't help it.
His eyes were closing when gun was fired from
the - TO order US aboard, and that reused
him. He pointed to the beach, where the boat
was just pushing off with the guns which We
had taken, and where cur marines were waiting
to man the second boat, and then he pointed to
the wood where the enemy was concealed. Poor
fellow! he little thought how / had shot him
down was wondering how | could leave him
to die and no one near him, when he had
some thing like a convulsion for a moment, and
then his face rolled over, and without sigh, he
was gone | trust the Almighty has received
his soul. laid his head gently down on the
grass and left him. It seemed so strange when
I looked at him for the last time; some how
thought Of every thing had heard about the
Turks and the Russians, and the rest Of them /:
but all that seemed so far off and the dead man
so near"
DIGNITY OF LABoR.-We have heard among
the idlers who float like drift-wood on the sur.
face of society. contemptuous filings at those
whose heritage is toll They sneer at the hard
and swarthy hand of labor, but they forget
that, of all that is useful, luxurious or beautiful
on this earth, toll has been the creator; that,
from the marble palace to the sswhite kids of
the tailor's most exquisite walking sign, all has
been wrought out by human hands. Much of
it, too, at painful cost to human hearts far
more sensitive to the real dignity of manhood
than the most bedizzened and perfumed of these
scorners of labor.
1t is the toll of these hard hands, thou pitiful
idler and sneerer, that has reared empires in the
old, and planted republics in the wildernesses of
the new world; that has bewn the rock in the
quarry and built the temples and monuments of
nations; that has achieved whatever fame be-
longs to genius, with the sculptor's chisel, the
painters pencil and the poets pen; that has
winged the ocean with white sails and exchanged
the products of every cline; that has measured
the circuits Of the stars, and plumed the light
nings to descend upon wires to be the new Mer-
curry Of the world
Labor why man of idleness, labor gave you
being, rocked your cradle, and has nursed your
pampered life. Without it, the woven silk and
wool on your back would but be in the silk
worms nest and in the feeees of the shepherds
fold. For the meanest thing that ministers to
human want. save the air of heaven, man is in
debted to toll. It is only the drones who toll
not, who infeSt the hives of activity like masses
of corruption and decay. Thelords of the earth,
if they would but knowit, are the working men,
who can build up or cast down at their will, and
who can retort the sneer of the soft-handed,' .
by pointing to their trophies wherever art,
science, civilization and humanity are known.
Work on, man of toll! thy loyalty is yet to be
acknowledged, as labor rises toward the highest
throne of power. Work on, and, in the language
of true poet, be
"a glorious man and thy renown shall be
Borne by the winds and waters through all time,
While there's keel to carve it on the sea,
From CLINE to cline,
f. Or God ordains that idleness lie crime!i %
New York Mirror