VOL. VII. ME PEOPLE'S JOURNAL. ,U➢LISIIED EVERY THURSDAY :HORNING. BY ADDISON AVERY. Terms—lnvariably In Advance: One copy Per annuz, $l.OO Village subscribers, 1.25 TERMS OF ADVERTISING. 1 nuare, of I'2 lines or less, 1 insert:on, $0.50 " " " 3 insertions, 1.50 every subsequent insertion, .25 Sale and figure work, per sq., 3 insertions, 3.00 Every subsequent insertion, :50 1 column, one year, 25.00 1 column, six mon.hs, 15.00 Administrators' or Executors' Notices, 2.00 Sheritrs Sales, per tract, 1.50 Professional Cards no: exceeding eight lines iacencd for $5.00 per annum. r. , - Er- . All letters on btu - Line:is, to secure at tention. should be addressed (post paid) to the Publisher. THE SNOW-DROP BY JAMES MONTGOMERY Winter retire! Thy reign is past ; Hoary :ore ! Tied the sceptre of thy sway, Sound thy trumpet in the blast, And tail thy storms away ; Winter retire! Wherefore do thy wheels delay 1 Mount the chariot of thine ire. And quit the realms of chy ; On thy sta.c Wh royal& wait ; And b ood-shot meteors lend thee light; Hence to dre..ry arctic regions ; Summon .hy territfic ;egions ; .Hence to c :yes of northern night ' Speed thy flight. From hdeyon seas Aad purer 0 soul hem breeze! Awake, arise ; Brca.h of heaven! benignly blow, 'rich the snow; Brei.h of heaven ! unchain the floods, Warn :he u• oda, And mike the mountains flow. An':eitins to the Muse's prayer, The freshening gale Lab - tans ,he v.ce, • And brew hes enchantment through the air ; On its wing Pions the spring Whh g owing eye, and golden hair; Dark before her ange4 . orm, She drives the demon of the storm, Like Gladness chasing Care. Winter', gloomy . night withdrawn, Lo! the young romantic [lours l 4 earch the hit, the dale, the lawn, To beho!ti the SNow-nnor white Start to light, And >h ne in Flora's desert bowers, lleneith the ernal dawn, The Morning Star of Flowers! THE PASTO-R'S ELECT =1 'Now tell me all about it, Weldon. I am so anxious to bear the whole 'tory, and it's such a nice evening for this, too. It is so great a luxury to be all alone with you, that the rain sounds really musical as it drops against the panes.' She had pushed a low ottoman to his feet. and throwing herself on this, lifted her sweet face, set in its framework of brown, soft hair, to her brother's. ' So you have at last caught me, and intend turning my confessor, do you, little sis P smilingly responded the young clergyman, as he turned his eyes from the anthracite blaze, where they had been dreamily fastened for the last half hour, and a beautifbl. almost dreamy tenderness seemed to drift into.thern as they rested on his foster. ' Yes ; to think that you are really engaged, Weldon ! What would your good parishoners say, if they knew it, particularly the younger portion of them ! lam somewhat apprehensive their daily bequests of boquets and fruits would be sensibly diminished. But about the lady—is she beautiful, Weldon l' 'A woman's first qUery !' and again that rich smile went like sunligut over the grave but handsome features of the young pastor. " I am not certain, Hattie, whether an artist would think her so. ; Her features are not: entirely regular, and her cheeks are less rosy than your own ; but the emotions of her deep, gentle loving nature look out of her dark blue eves, and there is a sweet heart chirography in the smiles that sparkle at times over her small and rather pensive mouth. ' You are drawing a charming Ra phael picture, brother mine. She is young, of course 'l' ' Hardly twenty-one.' • ' And—no, I need not ask if her mind is well cultivated, for I know Your opinions respecting woman too Well to doubt this. But is she intel lectual—in short, a book-worm 7' ' Well, something of one. The formation of her head indicates a su perior mental organization, but all the faculties are well balanced.' ' And—let me see—is she wealthy I l 'Only in the posession of those great jewels which are above all price.' ' But her family—who are they 3' ' I never saw but one member of it, and he was a beggar.' ' Weldon!' fhe little fingers' that had been playfully braidingthemselves . . . . . , ... 1 , ... • - THE - , .... . „ . , . . ~ „ LE . , .. Y ' . ... .. ... -ilik . . J : . - ' - with those of the young man's, were suddenly withdrawn, the quick blood flushed into the questioner's cheeks, and a look of mingled astonishment and di: pleasure filled her broWn eyes as she breathlessly ejaculated, don, are you in 'earnest?' '..Yes, am, Hattie. You know I would not jest on. such a subject.' But you took me so greatly by surprise. And—and'—the little red lips trembled a moment, and then the tears brimmed over the brown lashes; ai.d journeyed slowly down the cheeks. ' And troubled you too, Hattie?' interrogated the young. man, as he leaned forward, and caressingly smoothed down the bright hair of his sister. Do n't look so sorrowful, darling, as though some great evil had chanced me ; but listen to what I shall tell you, and then see •if your own true and noble heart, unbiased by social distinctions and prejudices, does nut commend my election. Will you do this, Hattie, if not for my sake, for His who said that the poor and the rich were alike in his sight - 7' Sweet Hattie Marshall! Her one foible was - her pride for her handsome, noble-hearted brother; it was hardly a weakness, for he was all that God had left to her of the - household over whom the spring daisies had long spread their golden covering; and for a moment she had looked with the world's eyes upon his betrothal to the sister:of a mendicant. But her broth er's words had silenced the pride whispers in her heart, fin• Hattie Marshall had learned of Hiin who was meek and lowly in spirit. I will do as you ask, Weldon. Forgive me if I have done wrong,' she whispered, drawing up closer to her brother, and laying her headin its old resting place avainst his heart ; for very tenderly did brother and sister love each other. Weldon Marshall drew his arm around his sister's waist, and then, when the rain moaned and the wind muttered around the windows, and the anthracite fire mingled its ruddy glow with the silver astral light, and filled the parsonage sitting-room with a dreamy crimson light, he told a story of the past, and his 'eyes grew darker, and his low, earnest tones full of pathetic eloquence as he told it : It is eight years next month, Hattie, and I was in New York, engaged . in my collegiate studies. You see it was three years after our mother's death, and you were at that time with Uncle Harvard, attending school. . It was a cold, wild, disagreeable night; and I remember standing at the window of my snug sanctum, and looking out ruefully into the darkness, for I had made an engagement to meet several of my fellow students that evening in a distant portion of the city. .Dear me! how the wind blows?' I soliloquized, with a very feminine shrug of the shoulders, as I drew the curtains closer. "I've half a mind to throw myself on the lounge, which locks so provokingly comfortable this evening, and not attempt an encountcr with the elements. It's absurd to think they'll expect nie such a night as-this. In short, I won't attempt an influenza by showing my face outside the door,' was the conclusion of my monologue. I i emember that 1 wheeled up the sofa in comfortable proximity to the fire, located the lamp so that its rays fell softly upon the volume 'intended to commune with, and that 1 had set tled myself fur a long, quiet winter's evening. _But it would not do. My eyes wan dered listlessly along the pages; they could not engage my attention. A strange, unaccountable feeling of rest lessness and anxiety seemed to pos sess me. At last I resolutely closed the book, and a few minutes later I was in Broadway, mentally censuring my lolly in yielding to a feeling I could nut resist. • Ah me, looking back through the eight years that lie between that dreary night and the present, how clearly can I discover the great Fa ther's love in it all! ' What is it you want here, little boil' lsee him now just as though I had seen him this morning, and the light from the tall window is falling on him just as it fell then, revealing his ragged dress and pale, pinched features, and the cold rain is dripping• off his thick, brown curls; just as it did.then. It is a strange, mournful picture-;--the dark night in the back ground, and the little ragged boy, and the brilliant lights, and the great store, with all sorts of rare - confections, in front. No wonder it' touched my heart. The boy started as I laid my hand,gently 'on his shoulder, and looke up with his wild, eager, bright eyes into my face. '0; he said, after a moment's earnest perusal of my fentnxes,l.lwai thinking if I only could carry one. of those cakes home to Ellen . ; she is irery. DEVOTED TO THE PRINCIPLES .OF DEMOCRACY, AND THE DISSEMINATION OF MORALITY, LITERATURE, AND NEWS COUDERSPORT, POTTER COUNTY, PA., APRIL 12, 1855. sick, and—and (the little fellow's lips quivered) we haven't had anything to eat ibr two days.' I did not speak another word; but I caught hold of the child and pulled him after me into the store. 'Hand me down a plate of those cakes,' I cried to the astonished clerk, who turned with more than ordinary alacrity to fulfill my request. I drew the boy into a small. sitting room at one end of the establishment. Now eat these as fast as 'you can, and then tell me who Ellen is' His hungrylook i the strange avidity with which he grasped the food, al most wrung tears from my eyes. 'Ellen is my sister—my only sister since the baby died. Wv are all alone now.' Last . month, just after they buried mother, she grew sick. I s'pose. it was because she . cried so much; and she's been . growing worse all the' time: And there is nobody to take care of-her now but you, my little fellow 7' 'Nobody but me—the money mother left is all gone, you see, sir, and though I sometimes earn a sixpence by sell ing papers or cleaning sidewalks, I could n't leave Nelly for the last week, she grew so much worse. 0, sir, how good these taste! I -can't thank you, but I want to.' Well, you need n't, my boy. I want no. other thanks than your en joyment of them.' 'But may Wt. I take the rest home to Nelly 1 She 'n be frightened; I'm gone so long: 0, sir, if you'd only go with me!' will come and see you and Nelly to-morrow,' I said, 'lf you'll tell me where you live; and now while you are eating the remainder of your cakes,. I'll get something that Nelly will like better.' I procured a basket which tsar" well stocked with a variety of fruits and confections most likely to tempt the appetite of an invalid, and adding to these all the money I had with me, I returned to the child. Go home to' Nelly with these as fast as you can,' I said, and tell her that I will come to see her to-morrow Morning.. Now be a man, my little boy, and take good care of sister Ellen till then. ' And are ail these for her ?' said the child, as . his large, wondering eyes roamed over the basket. 'And she has been moaning in her sleep after an orange for a whole week. 0, sir, we will pray God to bless you for all this ;, and he will, for mother used to Say he would hold those in everlasting remembrance who forget not the wid ow and the orphan,' and tears of mingled gratitude and delight - were showering fast down*the little fellow's face as we parted. • The next morning, Hattie, I re ceived that. letter -which summoned me. to my father's dying bedside. I had, of course, no time to fulfill my engage ment with the little orphans in whom I had become so greatly interested; indeed, the mournful circumstances which drew me once more to Or home of my childhood banished them • from my mind. If you will look down to that fluid, my sister, you will remember that April Was weavinc , her green carpet: over the meadows before we parted, and I returned to the• city to complete my studies, and then to enter that service in which before- my father's dying bed I had solemnly pledged myself to spend all the life that God should grant me. I had tOrgotten the name of the boy's residence, - but I know that I made several attempts to discover it ufter my return to the city, all of-which proved ineffectual. • Itiwas the sunset of a bright day. in the early May-time, and even the great city looked. fairer for the snit shine that plated the hmise tops with gold, and swept in golden flakes and dimples along the pavements up which I was passing, with some fellow stu 'demi, to supper. 'Now,. Marshalemember to call for us .in time, for'the lecture crim- Mences at seven, and will certainly be crowded,' called out one of my -com panions, as we reached the• corner where our paths diverged. I bowed my. assent and adieu, and was hurrying forward, when my coat was suddenly grasped r and 'an eager but timid voice said, 'Please, sir, is your name Marshall 7' I turned and looked at the speaker. It ,was..a. little girl, apparently about ten years of age ; her long "curls fall ing in &bright, tangled mass about her 'small; sorrowful' looking face, while her latge blue . eyetrwet e . fastened with a kind of panting , eagertiess'upon my own. , , Yes, that is my name. And. what do you want with me, ray little girl ?' I queried; greatly surprised at this singular; encounter. • • 'O, sir, do you. remember a , little boy .whom you, met. one ,evening ,last muter, who tad you - he' had a els- ter Nelly, and—. The mystery was cleared up. . "Yes, yes, I remember it all," I interrupted. "And you are Nelly, sugose?" and I surveyed the child with enhanced interest. Her ragged garments, her pale, mournful face, bore a very legible history—a history -of sharp poverty and bitter suffering. "0.1 am so glad—so very glad, sir!" and the light that broke into the little care-written face, was beautiful to behold: • "I was almost sure it must he you when the gentleman called your name, and you looked just as Willy said you did. 0, sir, I have looked, and watched, and waited for you so -many days, that I had almost given up hoping." • "Poor child! I have been out of town, or I would have" come to you as I promised. But whereis Willy now? and what do you want with me ?" I was well nigh ashamed after the latter question was -asked; her poverty an swered it so plainly. "0, sir, Willy is sick, very sick; and his face look t :. Fe white and' strange lately, I fear he is going home to Mother sometimes. You see I got bet ter after you sent me the cakes and oranges, and Willy bought me some medicine with the money you ga\e us, and we paid the rent three months, so the woman let us stay there. But one day, about a Month ago, Willy was out all day in the cold rain selling pa pers, and he's been growing worse and worse, and he's so altered now you'd hardly - know him. But he's wanted to see you so badly, and he talks about it all the time in his sleep, and for the last two or three days he's grown alniost wild about it, and so I've been out keeping watch Jim yoit all day; and I couldn't hear to gohome at night, for Willy would spring up in the bed, and cry out so loud, 'Nay. have you seen him ?' and when I shook my head, he would lie down with such a look; that I would go off in one corner, and cry all alone, it made my heart ache so to see it. But now Willy will be so glad! 0, please; sir, won't you go and see him?" I see, Hattie, that your eyes are growing moist with tears ; and if you could have heard the simple, touching pathos with which that fair child told hersad story, you would have answered as I did, "Ires, Nelly, I will go now." *- * s* * ..Willy, Willy, I've brought him.! I've brought him !! The little hand which bad guided me so carefully up the dilapidated stairs, was withdrawn as the little - girl broke into that old attic chamber, her eager, joyful tones making the bare walls ring again I've brought him I I've brought him ! The dying sunlight looked with a sweet; solemn smile into the room, whose entire destitution .one glance revealed to me. I had riot time for another, for n child's head was lifted from a - miserable mattrass in one cor ner. I came forward, a pair of atten uated arms were stretched out, and those large burning eyes were fastened a moment on my • face, as though life or death' rested upon their testimony. ' Yes, yes, I knew you would come . at last,' and the little cold arms were wrapped about my neck. 0, I have, watched and prayed, and hoped so long, and it seemed as if you would never come; but I- knew you would to-day, for last night mamma came to me, looking so beautiful, with the flowers woven all around her head, and a white robe flowing down to her feet, and she smiled so sweetly and said, 'My little Willy, he will come to you to-morrow : and his coming will be a signal, for then I, too, shall come for you.' My tears were falling fast on the boy's brown curls; but a sharp pang reached my heart as he spoke these words. 'No, no, Willy, you were only dreaming,' 1 said as I lifted up my head and looked at him anxiously. One glance into the rigid face told me enough—the mother had come for the child. . 4 Bend down quick,' murmured the boy's white lips, 'Kelly will be alone when I leave, her; for . there's nobody to, take care of her, you see, and I want to give her to you. You are so kind and good, I know you will I take care of her, and never let her suffer; and mamma. and I will look down from our home in Heaven and _bless you for it all; and maybe we shall come sometime to take you to us. .You will promise me this, won't you? quick, for I can't see you,' and his glazing eyes wandered over my face. 'Yes, Willy, I promise it .to God, to your mother in heaven, and - to yOu,' . I answered, solemnly. Nelly, you have heard what he said . —he will take care of you. Kiss me once more, little sister.- There, there, mother has come for mel Good bye! the little cold fingers sought' for out 'hands and drew them. together-=-e. smile wandered over tWe stark, rigid face, and the last light of that May day looked into that bare attic, where the beautiful clay was lying on the cold mums. . 'O, sir, is bb dead?' questioned the little girl, with her _large, pathetic eyes wandlering from the dead face to my owl). My looks answered her, for my lips Could not. 'Willy, Willy, come hack, come back to me!' she cried out in a voice, Whose exceeding angnish' will haunt my- memory, will haunt my heart till it has grown cold as the 9ne that then lay beneath • me, and little Ellen Evans lay senseless as her broth er, in my arms. Two days later,_ira pleasant • part of the cemetery, the May violets were turned aside, and a child's 'coffin laid beneap them. For nine spring tides have they laid their crimson mantle over his bright head. and the shadow of a marble monument has fallen softly over them. Upon this is sculptured a beautiful child, and an angel with outspend wings is bending over him and point ing upward. Underneath is graven, "Hk mother came for him at twilight.' It was with me a • subject of much perplexity where to place the lovely child, whom 1 always felt. that Provi dence had committed to my care. I was all she had on earth to love; and as time brought its soothing balm to her heart, the whole affection of her deep, warm nature was poured on me, and even then, with the exception of yourself, she lay closer within the fiddiugs of my heart. For a little while I placed her in the country, among simple people, whose curiosity would be readily ap peased; for I was exceedingly de sirous that the woild should never become cognizant of. the part I had borne in her life-history. I read well her sensitive nature, and I knew thew might come a time in her later life when it would cause her much annoy ance and mortification if the world knew our secret. - - - For this reacm, sweetest and dear est of sisters, I did net communicate to you till I had obtained her_ pernds sion, which I sought in my last inter- , view with her. I could, of co - arse, have received this at any time I had chosen to seek it; but I thought .it would be unfair to obtain her consent to this matter before - her mature judg ment had ratified it. After much deliberation, I resolved to confide Ellen's history to Mrs. Whit tlesey, the lady with whom I boarded, and in whom I placed entire confi dence. She listened with intense interest. and her womanly sympathies were at once enlisted in behalf of my protcliT. Besides this, she was a widow and childless; and though by no means wealthy,.her circumstances were such that she could surround Ellen with everything necessary to her well being . and happiness.. . She proposed, to adopt her in the place of the children God had taken from her; and to this proposition I joyfully assented, for ,there the reli gious, social, and home atmosphere would be all that 1 wished to be about Eilen. I was anxious, too, that she should no longer he dependent upon me, for I thought even a time might come when 1 should ask her a questinn, whose answer I would have in no wise regulated by her gratitude for the past. You have often, little sister, heard me speak of Ellen Evans, Mrs. Whit tlesey's adopted daughter; but you little dreamed that I had such a great personal interest in all that ,pertained to her. ,4 - Her character and person have de veloped with more than all that rare loveliness which -her childhood prom ised. The sister that I shall bring you, Hattie,, is an elegant, accom plished, talented woman; and - more than all that—and the young clergy man's eyes grew lustrous with thel almost holy light that beamed out from their dhrkness—my Ellen has the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is above all price. And now, my Hattie, you' have heard her history, .will you not wel come her to your heart? I.guessed . - well the pang which the knowledge of my engagement would give you; for. as brother and sister have seldom loved,- do we love each other, and I knew it must seem' like bringing another to .take your place. But my Ellen is very gentle, and she' .will never come .between us. She knows, too, the story of our orphaned youth, and of our affection for each tither and even now, her heart goes out With *great love after you. Tell: her she said to me in that last interview, 'and tell her that ,without. her consent I dare not. beCome - your wife.' . When I return to her, and her; questioning eyes: ask me if I have! obtained it; may. I tell her you are! ready.pa love and to welcome her tol our home • \ NO. 47.' And Harriet Marshall lifted her broWn,tear-filledeyes to her brother's face, and answered: 'Tell her, Wel don' that my heart is waiting to wel come.ner to a vacant place—and it is the ;one by your side.'—Ladies' Repos itory. 3:70V7 MTh THEN. .The past history of the Temperance Reform has been one of struggles and' defeats. • Its future will be one oftii- - umphs. The veterans now in the field, hale and hearty after a quarter 44 century's Service and good for - as much more, wilt sometimes look back and compare the past with the pres ent; How wide the difference! Great and marked has been the change. in public sentiment. Ceaseless and tin:- wavering has been the battle strife, and steady the onward progress of the revolution. There was a dark day.• The wide waste of ruin was beaconless. Mnn drank and died, and knew of no escape. work of death was prosecuted univestioned. The sexton was busy with the spade, and dreamed nut that the grave of the drunkard should at last be chised. In looking back over the past, the heart involuntarily goes up to a benignant God who has ever guided our armies, and through all defe.ats, prospered the . Right. It is britad wake which' the temperance movement has le / ft on the ocean of events. Like the golden acid crimson litigeting of the light of a lovely day upon the still waters, so is the path wily of our reform; one which angels loVel to tread. Wherever the cause has gained a foot-hold, it has left tro phies which have forever sealed its egeneratiug, and happifying character. it friends may point to its history with pride. No wail has followed in its course. It has ruined no citizen, blasted no hope, nor desolated one home. It has clothed the naked, and ie'd the hungry.. ft has bound up the broken-hearted and made the sorrow big to smile again. It has met the prodigal half way, and rejoiced over his return. It has rolled away the stone:from the living grave and man hbod has come forth again. The skel eton has been driven from thousands of hearths. Wherever, in fine, its its sunlight has fallen upon the hearts . oiL hopes of men, -it has healed and Blessed. The dead have been-raised, the lame have walked, the dumb have spoken, the blind have seen, the mad than has been clothed and in his right Mind, and the gospel of a better day preached to the poor. jTo-day is bright with promise. These years are full of triumphs. Men rave, hut no longer sneer at the cause.— Siatesnien heed' its movements: It jemands a hearing in Legislatures. parties. or politicians opposing its progress, are sternly "crushed out." States are now its battle fields. Maine, tiller six or seven fierce popular •or deals, stands unshaken. With one ex ception, the New. England St'stes pre sent. an unbroken phalanx, for the Right. The struggle is close and d;mb:ful in New Jersey, the traffic teaacieu , 4 contending fur power pass ine away forever. Pennsylvania elect ed a Maine LaW Governor, and came near carrying the, popular vote for the Measure. The South is awake. Tex as sends glorious news. Wisconsin has once carried the popular vote.— Illinois has the Maiue Law, with a submission to the people next fall. Indiana is neck and neck. Michigan is putting new teeth in her jaws for a More fatal trial. The liquor traffic is in a death agony in Ohio. .The law has been declared constitutional and is being enforced. Our own State . has both the Legislature and the Execu tive for the Maine Law. The Mayor of New York is_ wiping out the illegal and Sunday traffic' in that city. The !Maine Law question has been broached in Ceneress. Canada is ripe for- it. England and Scotland are pushing for ! . ward strongly for the measure. • Aye, aye, the skies aro bright,— Beacon flames are rapidly kindling throughout the Republic. Avast-and increasing arniy of men are shoUlder .to shoulder in a common cause. The same rallying cry - is - heard in every State. The red cross, smoking:in the •warm blood of butchered iunocence, is beieg borne over the land, and. from city, palace and. woodland cabin, the clans Men are gathering to the rescue*. In times past, we have been wont to express our faith that God would pros per the Right. We see the wn.r i ld move. He does prosper the Right. May that Almighty arm contitniestn 'de battle against the Oda curse Urauiti jured people.Capga Chief : Tuts life is too short for.the indulg ence of many hopes, the chasing.; of many .baubles, -or the seeking after riches which may take to themselves wings. _ El E
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