VOL. VIII. THE PEOPLE'S JOURNAL. PORLiSHED RVERY THURSDAY MORNING. BY ADDISON AVERY. j'errns—lnvaxlably k* Advance: One copy per annum, Village subscribers, TERMS OF ADVERTISING. qu aro. of 1 . 2 lines or less, I insertion, $0.50 " 3 insertions, 1.50 " every subsequent insertion, Rule and figure work., per sq., 3 inserticing, 3.00 Every subsequent insertion, .50 1 column, one year, 1 catmint, six months, 15.00 Aidtunditrators' or Executors' Notices, 2.00 o tr id', Sales; per tract, 1.50 Profusiional Cards not exceeding eight lines otvr.e.l fur 5.,z.5.00 per annum. All fetters on bniiness, to secure it !ention , should be addressed (post paid) to the 1'111)11,11er. BLIND JOEL Founded on Fact. OM@ One of the persons whom I Most wished to see, when a child of seven 5r eight years, was old blind Joel, a spoor _colored man. 'My eldest sister had married into the family with whom he lived, and gone to reside near them: Da her first return td us, nothing which she had to tell of her new home and friends, had such an inter est for me as the story of old Joel. He was born in Virginia, that State so proud of her many sons distin guished in the struggle fur American freedom ; he was born, too, in the very year when a Virginian wrote that grand d Declaration of our Inde penence, based on the grander truth that all men are free Lind equal ;" but alas ! ho was horn a slave, and even in his earliest infancy the blight fell upon him. When he was hut two weeks old, and his mother was still very feeble, the overseer of the plantation to which he belonged, was heard at day-break loudly demanding more hands in the harvc't. lie soon entered the cabin of :Sally, Joel's mother, and in no very pleasant tones called out, Sid, it's time you were at work. No more playing sick. Get ready and ofr to the field with the re •t.`' But, maFs.r, my baby !" she tx c:nin,,(l with all a mother's anxiety. N er mind the young one. 'Come Air y, ulsolf," was the cruel com mand ; bUt it was more easily given than obc•voil. Little .1(101 was the first-born child of that miserable slave woman. A mutltet•s love, so beautiful, so pure, had ju , ,t sprung up in her broken and bleeding heart, and it engrossed her whole bting. She thought not of her self—how she could bear the hard labor, the mid-day heat, in her weak ness—but of liar child. There was no one to take care of him in her abLscuce ; the field where 4.he harvest was to be gathered, was so far distant that z•he would not be spared the time to return to him - before night.; She luld not leave him without care or food through the lung day. So, swing ing him in a coarse blanket on her back, she started ofT with her fellow slaves for the field. What you here for, Sally ?" said one of the elder women, as she joined them. "I reckon a aint stout enough to lug your boy. What good'll you do ? It's a shame." " A dace's a stare, and Pm a poor slave," was the bitter reply of the young mother. " forgot it awhile, Lal .de lc •d my ~ )y made me so glaL_ covet. him so : but oveiseer'll soon make you think on't." "Overf•eoi's a fool—kil! gal for a few days' work ! What'll mass‘r say !" '• Mass'r! he don't care," said one of the men. " The house-folks say he don't care for anything now, but the fighting. Tie talks a great deal 'bout freedom. He'll be free or• die, he says." "Free ! Aint he free now ? Can't he come and go as he likes, do as he likes, work us worse than beasts to get more money than ho knows what to do with, and who dares say word ? Wouldn't / like to be such a slave as mass'r is !" "When he gets free hope he won't let old oversee! drive U 5 to death the way he does now." " He won't trouble hisself 'bout niggers. They's nobody." " Free ! Let• him give me back my freedom. What right has he to me or my work 1" spoke out a native born Guinea man, a prince in his owb land. " Better never have been free, if one must come to this. Cage the bird and bit the horse, but let the Guinea man be free. I. know to'o well, what freedom is. I ,was like the antelope on my own hills. Look at me now—this fetter on my heel ! Better have been killed in the fight. Better have died with -my sister in that dreadful ship-hold! A slave ! lied better " THE PEI L 14i4 4 JO uIT It A He stopped short, but there was a ferocity in his look and tone that startled those around him. . This slave had not been fort on the plantation, : and his manner had been heretofore reserved; sullen, and brooding. Now when he spoke his Companions looked at hinrwith won der, admiration-, and fear.. The over seer, who was a little behind, saw the interest excited, and soon subdued it by his presence among them. " Hurry up, hurry up, no lagging," and be carelessly snapped his long *hip at the hands in the rear, last of *horn was poor Sally. The end of the lash struck her baby's face, and the child gaVe a sud den scream: What Mother's heart had not then bled ? What heart of man had not been roused in righteous indignation I But the slaves dared not even look around in sympathy. The tears rolled down Sally's Cheeks, but she did not speak. She had long felt the curse ; she was used hardship and indignity ; but it was too Much for her to learn so soon . that her tender, innocent babe was a wretched slave like herself=that even his help less infancy was not exempt from cru elty. The Heaven-implanted hopes, the joy born of her love at his birth, Were rudely crushed out ; and that -love; like every slave mother's, be tame a new source of sorrow deeper than any she had known before. It was with a heart as heavy as that of Hagar in the desert, that she en tered the rich and beautiful harvest field ivhich showed so plainly the kindness of God to his creatures. But she saw it not. How could she see it ? The darkness' of her awn sorrow enshrouded her. And where was the angel of mercy to cheer her heart, to open her eyes, to point out the waters 'of strength and healing I God no more sends his angels in bodily shape to earth. He would have us to do their work. Ah ! who of us has dune it Who will do it How beautiful, how glorious to do angels' work.! The field of labor is large. The Hagars of slavery. are very Any. They faint in the wilder ness, and sink down by the way. No well of the water of life 'is shown them. They see the death of their hopes, the death of their children, and their hearts are broken. Sister women are near them who are bidden to do for them the part of the angel, - but they give no ear to their cry of' anguish. Are they hardened toward them ? $l.OO 12,5 25.00 • The sun was not many hours high before Sally's strength had so much failed that notwithstanding the help she received from herjcompanions, she could not keep up - her rbw, and the overseer appeared with the terrible la. h. " Put down that young one, and bring up your work," The mother clung to.her child, and plead— " He's sick, mass'r." It could hardly be called a comfort for her to have it with her, for she seemed to have no comfort ; but it would increase her sorrow to have it taken from her. " Put him down, I say," repeated the overseer. - " Please, mass'r, the skeeters will sting him, and there's snakes in the field:" She still plead for the child, when she would not have dared to plead for herself. The cruel man wrenched the blan ket from her Shoulders, and carelessly swung the sleeping child to the ground. "There, let him lie there; and you work away." The babe was roused by the violent action, and screamed loudly with fright and hunger. With a lo6k of entreaty which had moved any but the bean of a slave-driver, the mother begged-- "Please, mass'r, let me give him one drop of milk. He'll die, mass'r." " He's well enough. Young ones . don't die so easy." Sally turned away, And sprung at her work with a strength which was wonderful. She would gain a few minutes to spend With her babe.• His cries urged her on. What an im pulse ! Better to work under the urgings of infant suffering. And who would revel in wealth gotten by such toil 1 Alas ! alas ! how many. Even in the free North, what numbers make their enriching profits on the products of slave labor, and never think of or cafe *for the sweat of unrequited toil, the burning tears ) the blood, the agony, the mortal and immortal hopes which they have cost their fellow men Notwithstanding her exertions, there was no respite for. Sally until noon, when the slaves were allowed a short time for their dinner. The babe ex hausted by weeping, had finally . sunk to sleep, but she hurried to it, .clasped DEVOTED TO THE PRINCIPLES OF DEMOCRACY, AND THE DISSaIINATION OF MCHIALIn• LITERATURE, AND NEWS it passionately in her arms, and woke it with her endearments. At nightfall, when she again took it to return to her home, it was Moaning and felerish. The old women said it was melted by the beef ; and half the night, weak and . Weary as she was, Sally walked her cabin floor, trying to quiet it. Early the next morning she was summoned again to toil; and so day after day, till the harvest was done. For several days her baby was very sick, and' cried almost incess antly ; then it grew better and seemed to thrive. But - there was something strange in its face ;- its look was un natural ; and it was soon perceived that it took no notice of anything—it did not close itseyes to the strongest light--z-it was blind: Th 6 exposure to an August sun in the open field had put out its sight forever. Sally clung the closer to her boy for this calamity ; she loved him the more for it. Such is the -pity,- the tenderness of a mother's heart. Still, he had met with a terrible calamity, one which cannot be appreciated by the seeing. He was never to look on anything- - - - -never to see the grass, the flowers, the beauty all around him— never to know anything of the glori ous heavens, the sun and the stars. He could never see the faces of those he loved. He must live in darkness, thick darkness—groping his way at noon-day. The winter "of that same year bad scarcely closed, when the master of these poor slaves was summoned to appear before Him vviso bath said of those who buy the pour for silver, "Surely I will never forget any of their works." He left two sons be tween Whom his estate was to be equally divided. One of these resem bled the father in taste and disposition, and had always resided with him; the other, very different in character, had been educated at the North, and had married and settled in the State of New York, then a Colony. He now requested that his portion of the land ed inheritance should remain unsold till the close of the war in which the country was engaged. The slaves, forty in number, should be shipped to him. Accordingly; they were put on boat d a sloop at Jamestown, bound for Albany. Among them was little blind Joel and his mother; the latter in very fee , ble condition. The severe labor of the proceeding summer and autumn, in her weakened state, together with the watchfulness and anxiety for her child, had kroken her health beyond restora tion ; and ere the -vessel had finished its tedious passage, she had departed to that land "where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest; where they hear not the voice of the oppressor; where the small and great are, and the servant in free from his master." 'My baby! my poor ba by!" were her last words. God heard them, and raised up for the helpless and stricken thing a friend. The slaves were landed at Albany, where they were met by Mr. as we shall designate their now owner, and conveyed to his home, where tem porary accommodationshad been made for them. New York was then a land of slavery, and they were still slaves. With a spirit of freedom, thorough and unselfish, Mr. G ., ----had free papers executed for them all; settled them comfortably, with .employment suited to their capacities, bidding them go forth, men and women, to a worthy post in life. But Joel. The wife of Mr. G— was a young mother. Her first-born lay in the cradle; and when. her hus band brought in the little motherless blind baby, and placed it in- her arm, black though it was, and neglected, and she high-born and delicately bred —she shrunk not from. it; her true woman's heart went - out 'towards it; she loved it for its very need of love; and from that hour it shared her care with her own cherished son. .By night, its cradle stood by her bed-side, ' The boy grew up happy as be could be in his blindness, loved by the family who nourished him, loving them in return. His earilest benefactors were a long time dead; their sou had succeeded them; and Joel had- become an old man, when I first heard of him. He had never left the family into which he had been adopted. Though his blindness and helplessness had often tried their patience and their love, they had been unfailtngs They never look ed upon him ,as a burden; never weighed in the balance his profit and his cost; never thought whether they were rewarded or not. The little that he could do in their service was done with, such a spirit of kindness . and gratitude, that it was sufficient. As I have said, Joel was a person of great interest to me in my childhood, and I wished to see him. -I was at length gratified. 'While on a visit to my sister, I went to spend a day at her father:in-law% Joel's home. As COUDERSPORT; POTTER COUNTY, PA., JUNE. 14-, 1855. soon as civility would permit, I in; quired for him. He was sitting in the sunshine on the back piazza, his fa vorite place-through the sumrher. I approached him, and gazed curi ously, to see if his appearance corres ponded with the childish image in my childish fancy. There was consider able difference; still, there was the same white hair, the dim eyes, and the expression of extreme good nature, I had pictured. The old house-dog stood beside him, and he was gently stroking his head. I longed to speak to him, but could not summon cour age, as ho did not seem to be aware of my presence. So I watched him a while, and left him. &wt. a short time, I again visited the piazza- - this time ; armed with a piece of cake. "Here's some 'cake, Joel." I soon made him ianderstand that I was already a friend of hiS, and it was not long before we were on famil iar terms. At length he said to me— " Little gills like . apples. shan't I get,you some fine ones I" and he took up his staff, which had been lying on the seat beside him, and started for the orchard.. ..I accompanied him, greatly interest ed-to see how he would find his way. reeling carefully with his: stick, he followed a path which led across the orchard, until he came to a little rise in the grtiuMl, when he turned to one side, and we soon found the golden fruit in abundance. "Let's sit down here. It's so pleas ant," I said. We sat down, • "Yuu don't know bow beantifolit is here," I added. "I do," he answered. "I can feel the soft wind, smell the fresh earth and the ripe fruit. The birds sing for me more sweetly than if I could see them. 1 like to hear the leaves mov ing in the wind; and there's a brook over_ the bill that I listen to- half the year." "But you cant see." - "No; hut there's a great deal be sides seeing, if you'll just shut, your eyes. Gud is very rich and good, and he's filled the earth with everything good." "Don't you want to see, Joel?" '..No'; I can't say so, I don't want anything God has not given me. .'He maketh the seeing and the blind.' Ho knows what is best for me, and I know nothing." - "Don't you want to see the-lightl--. It is all night to you." "No—it is not all night, I can feel the light, if I- can't see it. I should know when day_comes and goes, if it weren't for the sounds which come an d go with it." . "Wasn't it very wicked in the slave• driver to make you blind?" "He did very wrong, but God has overruled - all for my good. The curse has .been. turned into a bleising. My blindness has made everybody kind to me. If I could have seen, I don't know where I might have been now, or what kind of a person I might have been." "How can you be so happy as ycni seem, Joel ?" "Happy!"' repeated he, smiling; "'Why shouldn't I bet Haven't I every bing to make me happy? There never were betterpeople than. I live with, and . they do every thing for me, though I am a blind old colored man." "But wouldn't you like to see them —to know how the look ?" "I do not know that. I know vi.ry well that Mr. G- - ---bas just the best face in the world ; and his wife, too-1 know by the way she speaks thatshe is like an angel." "I was sui ptised at the spirit be manifested, and tried him further— "But you are poor, JoeL Don't you wish you had a house and children of your own 3" "No. I enjoy everything here as much as if ,'twas really mine: The garden and orchard seem to be partly mine. The horses and cattle, too— some of them they do call mine. And then the young people; I could not love them any more, and they do everything for me." So we talked on for some time; and when I have recalled this conversation in later years, I have felt how true it is that "Godliness with contentment is great gain." - • This was the only time I ever saw Joel. The next summer, he sickened and died. He was buried in. the quiet country graveyard near where he lived, where his early friends re pose; and at the head of the little mound which covers him is a neat mar ble slab, on which you may read the inscription "In memory .of JOEL, who was born in 1776, in Virginia, a shire; was made free in 1777; and died June, 18—. 'Christ's servant.' Though blind to the light of earth, 'the Lord was his ever la*tictg light.' He4Las gone "where there shall be no night;: where'tke'y need no.candle, neither light of the sun ;- for the Lord- God giveth them' light." A CELA,PTEII OF 1118 TORY Correspond nice of - the N. Y. Tribung.- ST. Lours, May 28, 1865. Among all the letters in the Tribune from Kansas and its neighborhood,X do not retollect anywhere to have seen the true reason , stated why the Parkville Luminary was destroyed and its proprietors presented with the alternative of flight or violence:. Leo; me briefly disclose it. One warm day last summer a large' crowd had as sembled at the • town site of Atchison in Kansas to attend a, sale of lots. 'Dave' himself was there, and as there was much whisky 'and , many friends, he got 'glorious' a little earlier lir the day than usual.. So with much spit ting on his shirt and making himself generally more nasty than common, the Vice President: delivered himself something after this wise: Gentlemen,' you make a d—d fuss about Douglas—Douglas--but Doug las don't deserve the credit of this Nebraska bill: I told Douglas to in troduce. it—l originated it—l got Pierce committed to it, and all the glory belongs to me.. All the South went for it—all to a man but Bell and Houston—and who are they ? Mere nobodies—no influence nobodycares for them. It happened that a young man from. Parkville was present—a friend of Atchison's, by the way. When he cane home he was sounding Atchi son's praises and repeating what he said. Patterson of the Luminary got him to write down the exact words of the Vice President, and the next num ber contained a verbatim report of portions of his conversation. By this time some of Dave's friends were sober, if he was not. There was trouble in the camp. The Platte Ar gus, the Atchison organ, came out with a flat denial of the language. The Parkville young man replied 'corer his own initials that he heard and reported the words exactly as they were pub lished, and whoever should deny them was a liar—intimating his readiness to maintain the same against all corners. Meantime a chivalrous nephew of John Bell, residing in St. Louis, has seen I the report of Atchison's language in the Luminary, and • had written him requiring a categorical answer to the question whether he had used the lan guage, imputed to him concerning his uncle. The tone of the letter was I strongly suggestive of 'the usual sat isfaction.' Dave evidently thought his three hundred pounds of flesh ton good a mark for a pistol ball, and he accordingly replied to the nephew that he - had the most distinguished consideration for his uncle, and never said such a word about him—if he had said anything that the lying scoundrels had tortured into what they had pub lished, he begged that it might ho passed by, as he was in liquor at the time.' And thus the Vice President escaped the vexation of personal re sponsibility for his language. Drunk enness is not usually regarded a valid plea for a lawyer to make in behalf of a client, but it seems very good for a Vice President. But the mischief was done, notwith standing. Douglas looked glum about his stolen thunder. Bell and Houston were not disposed to any special affability toward the President of the Senate;.so he sent his resignation and stayed away two or three weeks after the meeting of Congress. Judge with what bitter hatred he regarded the Luminary, and when he could away the mob power- how eagerly he em ployed it to wreak his private ven geance. VWTAS Now DON'T TELL. -Ellen's mother was so very anxious to have her al ways have an open and ingenuous temper, that she was alarmed by the least appearance of concealment. One day she overheard• her talking with her cousin Jane, who was older than herself, and among other things she said, with great earnestness, "now don't you tell." She immediately called them both to her, and Ellen told her at once the whole story. "Why, dear mother," said she, "there is a bird's best just by, and so low among the ivy that the boys can reach it. • Last night one of the poor little birds fell out of its nest. So I told cousin of it, and she came and put it back, and I am afraid the, boys' will find the nest, and take away the little ones. froin the poor bird; so I begged Jane not to tell them of it.' Must we not think that this was a very kind little girl, as well as a .very frank one? And must not her mother have•felt very hippy to find •two such ,excellent qualities in her little, girl? Ask your mother what she'- thinks about it.--Youth', Cc;mpaxion. BEGIN TO-DAY. Lord;•I do discover a fallacy, where by I have long deceived myself; which is this : I have desired to - begin my amendment • from , my birth-day, or from some eminent festival,• that so my repentance might bear.some re markable date. Blit when those days were come, I have adjourned my amendmentto some other time. Thus whilst I could nee agree with myself when to start, I have • almost lost the running of the race. I am resolved thus to befool myself no longer. I see no day •but to-day ; the instant time is always the - fittest time. ilebuchad+ nezzar's image the \ lower the mem bers; the coarser the. metal. Thaler ther off the time the More unfit. To-- day is the golden . opportunity, to morrow will be the sanr season, next day, but the brazen one,\ and• so on till at last 1 shall come to the toes of clay, and be turned to dust. Grant, there fore, that to-day I may hear Thy voice- And if this day be obscure ,in the cal endar, and remarkable in itself- for nothing else, give me to make it me morable in my soul, hereupon, Ily thy assistance beginning the reformation , of my life.—Fulicr. AT.; ACT or Jusrice.—The Detroit Inquirer states that W. H. Goodwin,l a citizen of Richmond and a native Of Virginia, has been stopping at the Michigan Exchange during last week,- and left there last evening for home.. He brought with him four slaves, two of whom are cbildien, their . mother,. who is married to a free colored man, and their grandmother, who was his own nurse in infancy. He gave them their liberty, and bought a, house and lot, for 8800, on Macomb street, which he deeded to the old woman, and. left $lOO to- their credit in bank. This is .but an act of justice; still a's the World goes, especially the Southern part of it belonging to us, it is a deed that deserves honorable mention. " PROTERTY."—There i 3 n great deal of talk about the property which will be sacrificed, if a prohibitory law is passed. Can any one fhot up the ainnunt of property sacrificed to keep up the rum traffic—the -- amount paid for taxes to support rum mad paupers and criminals? Again: the greatest wealth of a State is the-intelligence and moral worth of citizens. Look over the history of New York. Many of her noblest and best minds have been sacrificed upon the ram altar, Talk abOut the sacrifice of property! The wealth of worldsould not weigh a feather in the scalp, against one" mind scathed and ruined by rum.— Cayuga Chiff. • THERE is a speaking lesson in the following extract sent to us by a lady reader. Near the end of his days, the licentious Byron wrote the following lines : "My (lays are in the yellow leaf, The flowers and fruit of love are gone, The worm, the canker, andthe grief, Are mine alone." Near the end of his days, "Paul, the aked," wrote to a young minister, whom he had greatly loved, as follows: apt now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure i at hand- I have fought a good light,j have kept the faith; henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteoilsness, which the righteous Judge shall give me at that day." _ ARMS FOR KANSAS.—The Philadel phia Ledger stares that Theodore Par ker told them in his anti-slavery ad dress in that city, last week; that. 200 of Sharpe's rifles had been sent froth Boston in boxes, labeled "Books," to arm as many of the New England settlers in Kansas territory against the attacks of Missourian incursionists. CURRANT GRAFTED ON MneLe.---,A. correspondent of the Rural New York er says that he transplanted into his door yard, a young thrifty maple, and engrafted into it.the scions from a cur rant bush. They grew,well, and when ripe, looked very handsome.' He you must not graft until the sugar water begins to run.- "An, Miss Caroline," said a Sun day School teacher to one of his class, "what do you think you would hare been without your goud father and pious mother?" "I suppose sir," smartly and pertly replied Miss Caroline,'"l should haV•o been an orphan." THERE are now in the United States thirty-two insane hospitals in active operation, and wine others in tours of construction. Twenty-eight State institutions; and the number of the insane is nearly •20,00. NO. 4
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