TERMS OF PUBLICATION,
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.. . I .
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Notices for Tavern Licence. S 2.
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mitiouslY„with the exception of Marriages, and
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'nflll'eaths, in which invitatious arc extended to the
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THE subscriber has opened a Periodic& A
pricy Office in connection with his estab.
lishinent; and is now prepared to furnish pets ms
residing in this place with all the Maosztrms
Pubitstied in Philadelphia, New York, Boston,
and Washington, at the publisher's subscription
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ill have thetri mailed at this place regularly and
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tance,
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rued in Philadelphia, Kevo York, guidon and
Washington,'
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adios' Musical Library,
World of Fashion,
Young People's Book, •
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and Science,
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limit's Merch ant's M agazine,
BOBTON
The Vokon MI/meth/11Y,
Hobert Merry's Menurit,
WA•nin \ GTGN.
Democratic Review,
GILD WATER MAGAZINE
This periodical will be issued monthly, in the
sin e' style as Robert Merry's hlusenm, with
piateti, price SI per annum-. The first nurnber
is now issued. Any number supplied free of post
ge by applying at this office.
Suicicriptions mir.ii received fur the
1141)11n University MAgaz:ne, s4'oo
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in Philadelphia and New 'York can make ar
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the subscriber. BF.NJ A‘l IN B NN AN.
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June lb, • \ • 25
.
COUNTERF'EITERS' D6\711-BLOW.
111 F. iniblic please observe that no Biandreth
a Pills are gen one. unless the box has three labels
ilpon it, ( the top, the side and the bottom,) each
routaining a fac-sithileAignature of my hand writing,
LIKANIMETII, St D. These labels'are en
gravedsin sleet, beautifully designed, and dune at an
ripy,sh of over E.c?..0b0. Therefore it will be seen
that the only thing necessary to procure the medicine
1..; purity. is io ~ trierve the labels.
1/emrniber the top, the side, anu the bottom. The
1,41 owing respective persons are duly authorized, and
t„ld_ .
Certificates of A 'edey for the Sale of Brandreth's
Vegaable Lintversal Put,,
- SCIICYLKILL COUNT Y. •
‘Vm. Alm-Liner:Jr. Pottsville.
Iluntztliger & Levan, Schuylkill Fl.
K.llatmer.Corwigsburg.
S. Seligman, Port Carbon,
James Robinson ..St Co., Port Clinton,
Edward A. liutzner
Benjamin !limner, Tamaqua.
• Observe that 'each Agent has an Engraved - Certif . !.
:ate of Agency: containing a representation or Dr.
BI{ANDRETIES-51ahulactory at Sing Sing, and up
on which will also be. seen exact copies orthe new
;abets now Used upon the Brandreth Pill Boxes..
Philadelphia, office No.
8, North Eighth Si. • DRANDRETH D .
February 19. B—ly
(;OLDF.N4 SWAN lIOTEk.,-;
(REVIVED, )
69 N. Third et,, above Arch, Philadelphia
c r : ? BOARD ONE DOLLAR !PER DAY.
Ctrill ARLES WEISS has leased-this old.estab
%-j-lished hptel,which has been completely put
in' order for the accomriMdattoi of
•11•11 • travelling and pertnaoent_boarders.
""fr• It proximity to bustitess, renders it
ISO •
desirable to strangers and residents
ot the etty.s Every.portion of the house has um
derzime a complete cleansing. The culinary
Lg.:lame:a is of the first order—with good cooks.
arid servuots selected to insure attention to guests
as accommodations for 70 persons.
T hose who may favor the house with their
eastern; may be assured of finding the best of
fare the best of .attentinin, and, as is stated above,
ery reasonable charge..
Single da y. $ I 25.
lEr Room for horses and vehicles. Also horses
to hire.
'GermantownLl and Whitemirsh Siege Office
December 11, 1841 50—tc
POTTSVILLE INSTITUTE.
!NIUE Winter Session of this institutior. cum.
menced on October 7th, and will continue
twelve weeks exclusive of the vacation. it is
earnestly requested that.all having wards or chil.
Oren to enter,. will do so at tile commencement
of the session, as much of the success of the pm
pits depend upon a prompt and judicious c:•issifi-, 1
cation. No htlowanne wilt hereafter he made for
absence except in eases of protracted sickness.
TERMS.
Plain English, branches, Et 4 00
- Higher " " 6 00.
Classics • „.• 800
Stationary, 25
C. W ". PITMA : . , I 4 . B. Principal.
N. Q. Books will be furnished to the pupils at
tyre customary prices when requested by the pa.
rents. Octn , er 31.
FRESH SPRING GOODS
W E have just received and are prepared to
w sell at reduced prices
A general assortment of Staple and Fancy Goods,
consisting of
Prints, Lawns, Muslins, Checks, Linens,
Fancy Hand'fs., Lace Veils I.lO4iery,
Gloves, Silk and Summer lidts., Nankins,
Gents. Summer Wear,
Bleached and Unbleached Muslins,
Cords, Drills, Beaverteens, Tickings,
Eaces,'Corsetts, Miners Wear, & c.
Those wishing to purchase are invited to call
at . E. Q & A. fIENDER,SONN.
:Slav 28. j -.22
___ •
.1 , MOSES & LOTS -
•11115 l
FOR SALE, el .../it
lailiL 'iiii
I a ',..,'," Also, a latee num b er , or 11111 i i W.'
--,..-..;:a Buildings and out Lore. of —''''' '''S- 14 --
, 63111J U IS sizesoon the Navigation tract, lying princt
i all) in the Einough orrotteville. Apply to
! SAMUEL LEWIS,
July IC , . 29 , 1 f Real estate agent, Centre St.
JAMES 11. CAMPBELL,
,
• !ATTORNEY AT LAW.
POTTF VILLE, PA.
II AS removed his pail to the west side of Centre
iiiredt:a few doors above Mihantongo st.
May 21, 21-1 y
P4ALMSMNS—V.er the use of the
Gertnan R.efertned Church. Jest received
oaf fur sale B. HANNAN.
'''August 5, 32
~.......
,
,
. .
. ...,,,.... ,:::. ~
.
..
. . F R
. . ..
.
. . .
,
.
. • ,
' R •
..:
„,
.. ~,
$ 2 GO
i 00
VOL XVIII.
POTTSVILLE.
iATUIMAT MORNING, OCT. 29, 1842.
Whilst looking over un old Port Folio the oth
er day, we suddenly came across the following
emanation froni- our youthful genius. At the
present day, we can easily. moralize-over and
laugh at the feelings which' prompted this lachry
mose effusion. Sympathy is a very fine thing,'
and we would not be averse to reforming the
world on that scale, if it were practicable; but as
we have deferred this matter until the projected
railroad to the moon is completed, we will let it
rest for the nonce. There is something very com
ical associated with the . idea of trampoosing over
these mountains, knee-dap in 4 tead leaves, with
a poetical air and look, holding a copy of poor
Barry Cornwall, who, had he been alive, would
have cracked his sides at the spectacle. No !no !
we are an olherguess sort of personage than the
following lines would stamp us to be, and instead
of wearing our shoes out by chasing up inspira
tion, we have a more imperative duty for them to
perform ; which, is that of supporting the wear
er through the business troubles and toils; which
ever since Adam's transgression have infested the
surface, of this dirty world,. Utilitarians may
turn up-their noses at the style of the article which
we thus so solemnly introduce, but we dont care
a fig. for that. Fanciful and visionary as its tone
is, we nevertheless publish it ; feeling certain that
in its wearied round it will meet somewhere with
a kindred response. Thoughts like these fall
upon the travelwom wayfarer o'er life's high
way like dew upon the scorched temples_ of the
fevered invalid ; and as we are sure of finding
plenty of our , fair friends to champion the act,
we send it forth careless and regardless of its gen
-5 00 end reception.
$3 Ol
3 110
J 00
3 00
2 00
6 00
3 00
5 (10
' 5 00
a 3 00
1 00
I would never walk by habit, it never amounts
to plea Sure. I would walk when my feelings
. prompted—when my heart yearned for the earth
'and the air and the sky. I would stray onward
in the cool rich sunset., with the leaves stirring
and gently keeping pace with one's own thoughts
as the soul drinks in the full richness of enjoy
ment. I love walking, it is caprice with me; the
feelings must be mellowed to the scene, and the
eye hoick for nature, one must not pass a flower
unnoticed. and I love in my idle and listless mo
ments to stray among the filler) leaves and hear
the low rustling music as I pass on with a page
of Barry Cornwall, or a stray leaf from some kind
hearted good natured author. I say I love this,
fur I have experienced, at such times4,ensatiuns
I can never forget. If one has companions, they
must suit his taste or he can have no sympathy
with them—you want one who can feel with you
and act with you—one who can think when you
are silent —who can recall a favorite author by
applying him as you would have done—one, in
title, who anticipates and meets your oats
thoughts.
But if he has a course eye for beauty, he will
never do, for he will distract your own train of
delicious thought. Oh there are treasures of
thought garnered up in our own souls, were we
aught else than the ;working and every day mor
tals that we are, that would make our whole life
a ceaseless scream of intoxicating joyousness.
There are springs—full fresh fountains in our own
hearts—with the soul
,co drink in the beauties
which surround; and the rich inheritance of love
that never wearies; beautifully bath the passion
ate hearted Shelly said ,'
'Common nslight. is love.
And its familtar voece wearies not ever."
Why prefer the vortex and bustle and heartless
ness of de to the enjoyments that are shed around
our daily paths! Why pervert the gifts and na
tures given to us, seeming as if for us the sky
and stars, the earth and air, were made in vain.
When tal men cease to put to the hewing ,of
wood and the drawing of water, he angels they
entertained on earth.
ITors.—As the beacon light is to the storm tos
sed nisi hier—as the sunlight to the noonday—as
the dawning of eternal bliss_totbe
_tempest riven
are , tht; whisperings at d consolations of
Hope to the human heart. It were dark indeed,
to tread the cold callous path of life, unaided by
the visions of bright and better days to come. It
were dark indeed, remembering but the days that
were recounting bitterly and sadly the past, and
shedding tears, hopeless tears, for the passing end
fading Things of clay—seeking the fallen images
of the past, and heeding:caring, naught for happy
days in store.
Hoping— ever hoping, 'ti,,7l eurn, \ lot of
humanity. Hoping against al past experience—
Building over the very heart's destructl'on_i-Form
ing new idols, new visionaj flinging the shadows
and the darkness of dint rdmernbered and sad
scenes from us; and looking with as firm a fond
ness, as bright a belief, onward as we did ere the
storm had swept our Hope's first blossom end
blasted it. Forgetting,Aforgetting that the end
of all things is dust.
Office Lyrics, No. 20.
There is a shadow on'thy brow,
A coldness in thy.tone.
And my heart quivers with the thought
Offears it would not own.
It cannot be that I have thrown,
So fearfully, the fate
Of this heart's happiness on thee,
And mourn it now too late.
It is not,viell of thee, this change
Is death unto my heart ;
Its depth, its passionate tide of love
Was of its life a part.
Tit misery to keep its hopes
So utterly alone,
And feel too late that earth. alas,
Holds not one.answering tone. 3.
Fousyrstria.—New York, while its business
cognome is the commerical emporium, may well
be'also named the Fountain city. No city in the
world can have such fountains as we. No one has
each a head or such an abundance of water. The
fountains of Paris, and Europe, generally,
played by machinery, and at great expense: but
with us, the water leaps forth with its own joy of
liberty. We have filmier to sport with 7 .to use
profusely--to let flow without measure. There is
nothing in the whole world to compare with our
Croton water. [Journal of Commerce.
POTATO TKADE.—the WitiCalSet (Me.Y Re
publican says = — ,
Tho Potato trade in this town now appetite
pretty well under way. They are selling quick
at a shilling a, bushel, cash,:and 20 cents in ex
change for GOotbi. The crop in this section is
heavy.
El
WEEKLY. BY BENJAMIN BANNA.N, POTTSVILLE, SCHUYKILL
Walking.
AND POTTS
[ FOR TM AUNICRe JOURNAL. ],
•
The Sphit. 4 of Song. -
Flow shall I woo thee, with high numbers swelling,
Their sounds of triumph on the purple air.;
With the rich gush of tenderness o'er-welling
The heart, where thou wert shrined from mortal
care t
With the wild heart's fierce raging dark commotion";
With the crushed spirit's penalty f woe.
With the flint spirit that heralds that emotion,
Only the ravished depths of pang can know t
Not with rude touch wont,! I assail tby numbers.
The heart's deep, fond, and bright imaginings
Should wake thy charm pure as an angel's slumbers;
Its warm soft breath should tremble on thy strir.gs.
The heart alcine should thrill its deep devotion,
And love's fresh fountain the parched spirit lave ;
Thesame fond breath that wood the swelling ocean,.
And roused young beauty from the crystal wave.
And strong affections warm and kindly glowing.
The good, the beautiful within the breast;
Like a pure stream bright and freshly flowing.
Soothing the saddest with a dream of rest.
flow shall I woo thee r the pale brow is flashing,
And the dim eye sheds out the spirit's fire;
And the heart's fountains, all unsealed. are gushing,
And the pale fingers tremble; o'er the lyre.
Where is thy dwelling? Earth's dark ties are riven,
Lo the soul gasps for thee with burning prayer; •
Surely thy home must be in yonder heaven,
Whither we turn aside from mortal care. loNs.
TUE ANGEL BRIDE.
( A Tale from the MSS, of a late Physician)
It was evening—the evening of a summer Sab
bath. The sweet latish of Nature, unbroken by
a single sound of busy life, harmonized but too
painfully with the oppressive stillness which per-
Tailed the chamber whither my footsteps were bent.
It was on the ground floor of a pretty residence in
the outskirts of the village of C— . Its open
windows overlooked a garden where taste and
beauty reigned supreme—a second Eden, which
extended with a scarce perceptible declination to
the very margin of a stream, where it was bound
ed by a white picket, and a hedge of low-trimmed
shrubbery, over which the eye caught the flashing
waters . as they swept on, glowing in the crimson
radiance of the su ( ret.
I entered the b use, and stepping lightly slung
a carpeted passage, tapped softly at the dour of the
chamber of sickness—ay of death.
Welcome, Doctor,' said the silvery voice of - a
lady, who sat b r the low couch, partially hung
with white drapery. Welcome! the dear suffer
er is now in a quiet slumber—but must presently
awake, and one of her firat enquiries will be fur
you.'
Huw is your sweet Lucy now V
She has been quiet and apparently comforts•
ble all day. It is her Sabbath, as well as the wor
shipper's who gu up to the earthly courts of our
loved Zion. Oh she added while the sunlight
irradiated her features, pale with long vigils at the
bedside of her sweet Lucy—‘,Oh !' how full of
consolation is the scene of mortal suffering, of
earthly bitterness, of expiring hope !'
Yes, my dear friend,' I replied, • your cup of
affliction is indeed sweetened from on high. I
have seen death to-day clad in its robes of terror.
He took from my hopeless care a victim all un
prepared, even after lung and fearful warning;
and, the recollection of the sad struggle,, theurri
ble anguish of the vanquished; the fierce triumph
Of the Conqueror, sod the piercing wail of ex
hauted Nature, haunt my memory stilk,and even
in this earthly paradise I cannot forget them.'
And is poor Edwarda gone at last to his dread
account ! how fearful,' and the gentle lady
covered her face and wept.
sometime elapsed. I lingered at the conch of
Lucy till she should awake, and taking from the
stand a small though elegant copy of the Bible, I
opened its silver clasp, and my eye caught the
simple inscription on the flyleaf; To my Lucy
—a parting gift from Clarence.' I had designed
to read a portion of the word, but though was for
the time engrossed.
I had known Lucy May from her infancy, and
she Was scarcely leas door to me than my own
daughter. Indeed, they had grown up like twin
blossoms, and were together almost•every hour ul
the day. Seventeen summers they had each num
bered—though Lucy was some months older. No
brother nor sister had either of them and hence
the intensity of mutual love. Their thoughts,
the.r affections, their desires, their pursuits, were
in common. They called each other 'sister,' and
their intercouse honored the endearing name.
And Clarence—the giver of the little volume
in my hind—who was he? Clarence Hamilton
was the son of my best earthly friend, and a no•
bier youth—in all the lofty faculties of endow•
ment of the heart and intellect—never rejoiced in
the vigor of life and early manhood. To him has
Lucy been betrothed far more than a year, and
he was now absent from the village, though we
trusted when each sun rose, its setting would
bring him back in answer to our cautious sum
mons. Especially had hope amtexpectation grown .
within our hearts on the eveurng, yet had not a
word been spoken on the subject by the widowed
mother of the lovely Lucy. At length, however,
she raised her head, end observing the open vol
ume in my hand,:she saidrin en assumed tone of
cheerfulness,
Limn Clarence will come this evening. ft ie
now
Clarence!' ;paid the sweet patient, opening her
dark eye., and looking eagerly around. Her eye
only rested on her mother end myielf, and with
a slight quiver en her lip, and a sad smile, -she
said,
He is not‘come r
No! my darling, he •has not yet come; but
there is more than an hour ;to the close of day,
and then —'
• God grant be at AY come,' said the maiden,
and she added with energy— • i it be his His holy
will. Oh ! Doctor, my kind, ear friend, you
Lucy is wearing away fast, is e h snot?' and then
observing the emotion which I attempted to con
ceal. she said,• But I am better to.day, am I not!'
Where is Ellen—why does she not come!' Her
mother turned an enquiring glance upon me as I
took the, thin white hand of the young girl in mine,
and marked the regular but feeble beatings of the
puke; ,
•
tThall I send for your daughter, Doctor I' she
asked. I,
I acquiesced, and in a few minutes Ellen was
sobbing violently, with ter face hidd ' en on the bo.
som of her sister.
Ellen my sweet sister,' said Lucy:, your fa.
Cher has told me that I must leave you—and hit
voice (altered—my own dear mother‘—end
but she did not utter the name of her lover, for at
that moment the voice of a domestic - was distinct
ly heard, •
..He 5s aline, Mr. Clarence is dome! Now God
bless my dear youn& lady. Lucy uttered a scream
SATURDAY MORNING OCTOBER 29, 1842.
of joy; and - clasping Ellen around the neck, mar.
timed Father in Heaven 1 thank thee,' and then
fainted with " , exiess of .happiness. Her swoon
was brief. Bbe recovered . almost immediately,
and her face was radiant, with happiness.'
Clarence Hamilton twit .ilureuing his studies at
a distant college. and the letter which summoned
him to C—,•had scarcely intimated danger in
the illness of his betrothed. It hatrbeen delayed
on the way. And but half the time of its journey
had sufficed to bring , the eager, anxious student to
the spot where his heart had stored its affections,
and centered its hopes, next to Heaven, for Clar
ence, was more than a noble hearted, high smiled
man ; he waa a deciple of Jesus Christ, and ;he
was fitting, himself to be an Apostle of his Holy
Religion. He had nearly completed his coarse
of studies, and was then to be united to the beau
tiful Lucy May.
Three months before the Sabbath evening on
which we write, Lucy was in health, and with her
companion Ellen was performing her delightful
duties as Sabbath School teacher. Reiuming she
was exposed to a sudden storm of min, and took
cold. Her constitution, naturally feeble, was
speedily effected, and consumption, that terrible
foe to youth and beauty, seized upon her as an
other victim for its mighty holocaust to death.—
A t first the type of her disease Was mild, but with.
in three weeks it bad assumed a fearful character,
and now her days were evidently few.
For this dreadful intelligence Clarence was not
prepared. He feared, but hi hoped more, and
though his heart was heavy, 'Hope kindled a bright
smile on his manly face , as he entered the little
parlor, where he had spent se many hours of ex
quisite happiness. He had alighted from the
stage just before it entered :the village, and pro
ceeded at once to the restdende of Lacy.
As Mrs. May entered the roam, the smite on
his lips faded, for her pale fire told a tale to his
heart.
'Clarence, my dear Clarendf;you have the we!
come of food hieing.'
How is Lucy I Why is your face so deadly
pale? oh! say is she not dangerously ill, tell me'
—and a thought of keenei =misery entered his
heart: s she ia—oh my God,imy. Father in Heav
en, strengthen me—she is dying—even now dy
ing!'
'Nay. nap, Clarence, said the mother sooth
ingly.; Lucy lives, and we must hope for the
best ; but be not alarmed if you see her face even
paler than my own. Are ion able to bear the
sight now 1' - •
There was but little consolation to his fears in
the reply of Mrs. May. Liley was living; but
there was an anguish in thi expression—. hope
for the beat,' and - he said hurriedly :
Oh take me,:to her at slice—now,' ssid he
pressing his hands on hie throbbing brow, and then
sinking on his knees, while 'Mrs. May knelt be
side him, he entreated God, in a voice choked with
emotion, for strength to bear this trial, to kiss the
rod of chastisement, to receive the bitter with the
sweet; and prayed that the cup might pass from
hi-n, even as did his Master in the days of his in
carnation mad anguish. lie arose, and with a
calmer voice said :
can see her now.'
At this moment I joined them with Lucy's ear
nest request that Clarence should come to her at
once. We entered the chandier just as Ellen bed
partially opened a blind, and .the last rays of sun
light streamed faintly tbroogb into the room, and
fell for a moment on the whitecheek of Lucy, ren
dering it hue still more snoley. Alas! for Clar
ence. As his earnest eyes Met those of his be
trothed—her whom he bad left in the very flush
and perfection of youthful loeliness—now, bow
changed f His heart sank within him, and with
a wild sob of anguish be clasped her pale thin fin
gers, and kissed her colorless lips, kneeling ; Me
while at the side of her couch.
'Clarence, my own Cleretiee: said the sweet
girl, with an effort to raise, which she did suppor
ted by his arm. He spoke ost—he could not—
dared not speak !
'Clarence, cheer up my beloved ;' but her forti
tude failed, and all she could do was to bury her
face in her lover's bosom, and weep, We did uot
attempt to check their grief ;r nay we mipt with
them, and sorrow for a while had its luxury of
tears unrestrained.
Clarence at length , broke silence.
Lucy, my own loved Ludy ! God forgive me
for my selfish grief;' and he added fervently lift
ing his tearful eyes to Heaven,---. father give us
grace to bear the trial aright,' and turning to me
added, Pray for us Doctor—oh! prey that we
may have power to meet this hour hke Chris
trans.
When the voice ;of prayer teased, all feelings
were calmed, but I deemed it: advisable to leave the
dear patient to brief repose ;—and Ellen alone re.
maining, we retired to the patter, where Clarence
learned from us more of her illness and of the
true condition, for I dared not deludo him with
false tapes.
• Doctor,' said he, with visible anguish, •is there
no, hope r
• Not of recovery, I fear, though she may linger
some time with ns, and be better than she is to
day.
Then Go-i's will be done,' acid the young
man, while a holy confidence lightened up his face,
now scarcely less pale than that of its betrothed
Lucy.
Day after day the dear girl lingered, end many
sweet hours of converse did. Clarence' end Lucy
pass together: once even the was permitted to
spend a few moments in the portico of the house,
and as Clarence supported her, andiaw a tint of
health overspread her cheek, hope grew strong in
hid heart. But Alice doubted not that she should
die speedily, and happily this conviction had reach
ed her heart ere Clarence came, so that the agony
of her grief in prospect of separation from him,
had *yielded to the blissful anticipation of :heaven,
that glorious clime where she should ere long,
meet those from whom twos • more than death to
part.
',Dearest Lucy,' said Clarence, as thel"!t°° 4
ga
zing on the summer flower% kl oa are beiler, love,
may not our heavenly Father :yet spare you to me
—to your motherw-to cousin Ellen—to happi
fleas;
,
Ab, Clarence, do not
,speak of this. It will
only end in deeper bitterness. I must go-rand,
Clarence, you must not mourn when I exchange
even this bright world for, tbe Paradise of humor
,
Clarence could not answer. He pressed her
hand and draw bet closer, to his throbbing heart,
and she resumed, pointing to a bright cluster of a-
Maranth—.Bie there, Clarence,'is the emblem of
AL ADVERTI,SM.
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the life and the joys to which I ant hastening : ' •
• •• Three weeks had passed. It was again
the evening of the Sabbath. .I stood by the couch
of Lucy May. Her mother and Ellen sat on ei
ther side, and Clarence Hamilton supported' on a
pillow In his arm the head of the fair girl. , Dis
ease had taken the citadel and we awaited its sur
render to Death. •
The man of God, her pastor from childhood now
entered the room, and Lucy greeted him affection , .
stely, and when he said, it well with thee,
my daughter—ls it well with thy soul r she an
swered in a clear and sweetly confiding tone of
voiee
.It is well! Blessed Redeemer, thou art my
only trust.'
Chirence now bent hts head close to the heed 0
Lucy, and whispered in her ear, but so distinctly
that we ell heard:
'Lucy. since you may not be mine in life, ob !
dearest be mine in death, let me follow you to
the grave as my wedded wife, and I shall have
the blissful consolation of anticipating a reunion in
Heaven.'
The eye of the dying girl lighted up with a
quick end sudden joy, as she smilingly answer
ed
It is well, Clarence—l would fuin bear thy
name before I die ! We startled at this strange re
quest and answer, but no. heart or lip ventured to
oppose it. Lucy then said
Mother, dear mother, deny me not my last
requeit; will you and Ellen dress me in my
bridal robe? I will wear it to my tomb.' Clar
ence also besought Mrs. May to
,gram this wish,
and let him wine bride and a mother; and abie
answered—
As you and Lucy will, but it will be,--and
her bean epoke—• it' will be a mournful bri-
dal.'
Lucy now motioned us from the room, and we
retired. Clarence was the first to speak.
• You will not blame me that I seek even in
the arms of death to make her my wife. 06,
how much of blies has been crowded into this one
anticipation, and though it will indeed be a • sad
bridal," it will sweeten the cup of bitterness which
is now pressed to my
In a few minutes we re-entered that hallowed
chamber. The light of day had faded, and a sin
gle lamp was burning in the stand. Lucy wee
arrayed in a muslin robe, which scarce outrivallel
her cheek in whiteness, sass where the dead
hectic, now heightened by excitement, flushed it.
Clarence seated himself by her, and she was
raised to a sitting posture, and supported to his
arms. She placed her wasted hand in his, and
saM, half playfully, half sadly, 'tis a worthless
offering, Clarence.'
He pressed it to his fevered lips, his face pale_
and flushed by turns. The minister arose and
stood before them, and in a few words and aim
ple, united those two lovely beings in a lie which
all felt must he broken ere another sun shonid
rise. Yet was that tie registered and acknowledged
in heaven. 3 j••
As the holy man *flounced them 'one flesh,'
and lifted up his hand and hie voice in benediction,
Lucy put her feble arms around Clarence, and in
a low voice murmured—
• My-husband.'
My wife!' responded Clarence, end their lips
met in klang and sweet embrace.
We gave them congratulations through quick
tears, exchanged the sweet kiss of holy love, and
friendship, and lett the wedded pair to a brief
realization of bliss, of which we cannot tell the
reader aught.
That night before the last hour, the angel
Azriel came as a messenger of peace to that bridal
chamber, and though new fountains of earthly
bliss had been opened in the heart of Lucy Ham
ilton, she repined not at the summons, but while
heavenly joy saton her features, and her lips mur
mured—peace—farewell, husband—mother—sis
ter—all—her pure spirit took its flight, and her
lifeless Cody lay in the ardent embrace of the woe
stricken, but humble Clarence, who still lingers in
this weary world, doing his Master's work, and
waiting his Master's will to be re-united to his angel
bride in Heaven.
FIN►L EXPLOSION OF THE SOCIALIST COM
MUNITY IN HAYSSIIIRE,AND FLIGHT OF ROBERT
OwEß.—Socialism is at last, by the confession of
its dupes, declared to be impracticable. The whole
scheme in Hamehiro has failed, and after having
spent £37,000 in the half.formation 'of their
Grand NOR Moral World establishment, that du.
ring the present year was to astonish us all, they
are at length compelled to admit that the whole
matter was founded in folly. The workmen have
been discharged—Eobert has fied—sad the parties
sent down to wind up the affair, announce that
Robert Olsen is "childish, aim} unfit for the of.
fice of New Moral World manufacturer. He l e ft
the 'New World on Sunday, the 10th July. drt.
ving himself off in the fine carnage presented to
him by two silly women, named Pierce, whom we
have Wore referred to, and whom he has left
minus £7,000. They make the most bitter Is.
mentatioris, and declare themselves completely
ruined by the loss. Owen, it is believed, has taken
himself off to America, from which 'place he is
not likely to return to England. We sincerely
prey it may be so, and that even yet, although
with him the harvest is past and the summer ended
that now, in the eleventh hour, he may be led by
God's grace to see his awful condition, and like
the thief on the tross,'seek the Saviour's interces.
sion--We also learn that, after all tneir boast of
possessing land and estate, they have not even
paid the deposit money for Rosehill! A farming
gentleman living in thestime parish writes in refer
ence to the bad state of their crops.—
"To those who may have observed the manner
in which they dressed and behaved to their land,
it must be iseiderd that some extraordinary power
must have been exerted to prevent their prosperous
—or, at least, that His blessing, without which
nothing prospers. has been with held in the pres
ent instance. No expense was spared in cultiva
tion, and all that human labc;r and human skill
could do was done, yet are the crops singularly
bad. They, like the fig tree, bear no good fruit;
there',aie theyAried up and lithered. They are
now , so completely destitute of fonds that they
cannot even employ laborers on the necessary
farming operations. Thus have all their pror
peas been nipped in the bud. They have not
been permitted so much as to enter upon the new
arrangements, but- they -have been permitted to
waste all their strength in erecting what they never
can enjoy.? Verily "Theta is - that which maketh
rich, but it tended to poverty." thtit they
were wise, that tbey understand this', end would
consider their latter end:'—London paper.
From tho Dublin University Magazine for May
SONG.
BY G. P. R. JOil4Eft.
Oh ask me not! To days long gthie
Those pleasure sounds belong;
Some memory wakes with every tone
1 dare nut sang that song.
ljearned it first in boyhood's hours:
❑t youth's exulting May;
And sung it oft amidst the flowers
Thai strew early way.
When those days flrd and manho.id's prime
Brought care and store along:
Still in repose of even-time.
I've soothed me with that song.
To ears, that now no more can hear.
To spirits that have fled - l've sung that song, to thOO6 most dear.
Deep loved and early dead.
Boyhood's glad sports—youth's vanished dream
And manhood's calmer hours ,
Come with each note on memory's stream. '
A wreath Of withered flowers.
And one. who, heed my voice no more—
To him those notes belong!
Evi is now mine eyes ore running o'er—
How can lying that song !
From the N. Y. Sunday Mercury
Short Patent Sermon
ItT 1:10W. J
I have taken the following as a tett for this
1:13=1
The autumn learea now-falling fast
To all this warning give,
Prepa-e to die, ye sone of earth.
Ye shall not always live._
My hearers—l fear that ton many of you flat
ter y ourselves witli the idea that you are to live
to a great and good old age, and then die, in the
piety bought hope of a happy hereafter; and I
know that some of you appear to live as though
you were perennial plants of mortality, never to
be transplanted to the ' soil of some unknown isl
and in the vast ocean of ctenaity. But, erring
friends, do not deceive yourselves. The evidence
of decay is exhibited upon every earthly object
around you; change; wondrous change is daily
taking place in the world, and all things animate
are steadily progressing towards one common
tomb. Could we but see at a glance, what mul
titudes of us, insignificant insects that crawl a
long life's narrow pathway, are hourly being
crushed beneath the big boots of Time, we should
shake in °IA shoes, through fear lest we be the
next victims; but being blind, as we are to dan
ger, we canter fearlessly along in our wicked ca
reer, till we feel the dart of death sticking in our
gizzards, when we straighten out like a dying
frog, give a gasp and a galvanic quiver, th.m yield
our souls to Gud the Giver, and our bodies to
grave-worms for dissection.
My friends—the autumn leaves that now fall
around you warn you, with speechless eloquence,
to prepare for death.' They seem to say that ev
ery fair object of earth must fade and falP4--that
the wreath of beauty must be stripped of its blos
soms—the laurels that bind the brow of Fame
must wither—and that the proud, noble, Majestic
form of man must soon be laid to moulder in the
dark and dreary sepulchre. The glories of the
year are passing away, and so also are the glories
of the world. The day is not far distant when
Time will bring an autumnal frost upon the whole.
boundless universe. The starswill cease to bloom
in heaven's vast field; they will fall dike leaves
before the October wind, and mingling withlthe
common rubbish of chaos, they will doubtless look
like broken bits of diamonds glittering among the
worthless refuse of creation. The sun will ap
pear like a rusty shield upon a field of blood and
carnage : the moon will melt and drop into the
ashes of annihilation. &ea piece of toasted cheese;
the earth will shake itself like a spaniel just emerg
ed from the water, and scatter all its vermin up
on the borders of eternity.
My hearers- 7 -this generation will have passed
away ere that awful crisis shall occur, and you
will all escape its attending terrors ; nevertheless
you are doomed to die, and the sooner you begin
to think about it, and make the necessary prepa
rations, the better it will be for you. Now is the
season of the year to be serious and thaughtful.
You, whose hearts have grown harder in iniquity
than a ball of putty in the sun, and you, in whose
heads a couple of worldly and wicked ideas are
continually rattling like gravel in a gourd shell,
may go in your reckless career till you find your
self irrecoverably lost in the labyrinth of destruc
tion—and the devil may help you. for I can't.
But to the wise, the prudent, and the virtuous, I
would say, go walk in the woods, at this sweet
Sabbath of the year, 'and worship in the sacred
temple of Nature. All is solemn and silent. All
their is calm and still. The Niels have ceased
their summer carolling-a—the chickeree shells his
nuts in quietness—no sound is heard, save when
the light fingers of the b'eeze are feeling about
the rustling leaves, and the warm light that sheds
a-golden lustre along the landscape, has as relig-,
ious a hue as sunshine through the stained win
dow. of a church. Yes, go kneel/at the death bed
of Flora, or sit at the couch of - vegetation, and
meditate like a hungry horse, upon human frail
ty, and the shortness and uncertainty of life.
The flowers all faded and gone, show how quick
ly youth casts its bloom never 'to blossom again,
and the decaying verdure of the trees proclaims
fo man that the season of maturity must shortly
give piece to the autumn of age and decrepitude,
and that the cold cheerless winter of existence is
nigh at hand.
My worthy friends and fellow citizens—when
you see how each tender plant is drooping, and
the leaves are dropping one by one to the ground,
you have a picture before you representing the
constant egress of your friends and kindred iron
this world of wickedness and wo; and you ought
by all means, to put yourselves in readiness to de
part when Death shall knock at the door of your
hearts, and demand a release of the sod' from its
prison house of clay. What is man but a vege
table that springs from the dust, buds, blossoms,
ripens and sows' its seed, and then amalgamates
with its original dust In the spring time of
youth he flourishes like a squash vine near a barb
yard—in the summer of manhood he exhibits
both fruit and flowers—in the autumn of age be
withers and decays—and then the winter of death
hides hiM for ever.from the world.
My dear hearers—learn your destinies from
the falling leavis. Young maiden!—allowing
you three score and ten'years to enjoy yonrsel&
painfully at beat, upon the Almighty footstool, it
will be but tat:narrow ere your raven hair is gray
as a woodchuck. AM aeon thosesparklingeyes
will lose their lustre in : the dim evening twilight
of existence.. Titue - trill
_kiss
. every particle •cui .
paint from yourcheekii*—theroses Will lade in the
wreatli.of - loveliness, and , you will be no more
an object- of , attraction than a:dried mullen .
stock in sheep pasture. -. Decorate, then, the Mind
EEC
with the garlands of wisdoin, in Order that you
may be thought beautiful, even when the perish,
able portion shall havabecorne blighted and-with
ered by the frosts - of-age. I have' no doubt but
the.old an loons, of both sexes, are profited by
the lessons they receir4from the hartooniour but
o wonderful operatiorls . ttf , nature; but as, for at-
empting to set them seriously thinking, npon the
precarious situations in which they are'placed_bi
the aid of my potent preaching, I tnippose Insight,
as well un ‘ dertalie to iyhitewish the ray in onlet
to render the'evenings light and pleamat Uzi
absence of the morn.
My hearers—all thit I wish is. that you may
live in such a manner that your 'last days may be
as mild and glorious as those of &unman, and that
when you depart; you may hid adieu to the world
with hop'e in your hearts'and . a smilo upon yciutfi
lips. So mote it be
NO. 44.
Doctor: Cbfaimattg•
The New York Journal of COMmerce Fontein,:
the following nrief tribute . to the memory ofthiti
truly great and good man. P.
Dr. Chinning area hornet Nerpoit. I... Hts
grandfather was %Villistri tllery; oft . of thOggn
ere of the Declaration of Independe nce : 101.64
rher was en eminent merchant of Newitiirt t el
firm of Gibbs dr. Charming. His grandfither
tamed the powers of his mind to extreme atitige;
being accustomed to reed une or more chiPteeleii
ery morning in his Greek Testament—a practicli
which he continued until he wes not/ants of nine- .
ty years of age: He once remarked that if JIM
men would exercise their minds more, they wdold
retain their intellectue(faculties as long as they
did their physical powers. Dr. C.•inhented the
vigorous intellect of this tevereuti relative. •
U 1 the Dr.'s father we are not particularly in
formed, but Dr. C. himself, though fur many
years an invalid, was, in early life, quite vigorous.
-Though small in staturesati possessing a light ,
(rime, be had muscular strength, end in college
was considered an athletic young men: lie was
Also one of the leading spirits iii his class. Du
i ring a part of his collegiate course, his friende
ex
pected that be would, on taking his degree; pur
sue the study of medicine; but his attention was
turned to the ministry by the Hollis Professor of
Divinity in Harvard College, where Dr. C. gradu
ated. At Commencement, when he took the de
gree of A. B , he had • distinguished-part, and
was then looked upon by competent judge, es one
of the. most promising young men of the day.—
Soon aPer, hr went 'to Virginia, where he tended
some time, we believe, as a teacher. Here he
was supposed, by exposure or neglect of his health,
to hove undermined his constitution. He fever
fUlly recovered the robuststate of health be
had previously enjoyed.
In 180.3, Mr. Cbanning was ordained ov e r the
congregation in Federal street, Boston. 1 , yhe
lines between the Oirthodo x and thutarianli th -
nominations weeks not. at that day, set distinctly
drawn as they are at the` present time. In fact,
the Unitarian was not in general Use. Mr. C.
was considered a serious minded young Treat:tier,
of irreptoachable morals, with , S cultivated mina,
refined - taste, unique eloguk nce, and leaning to e
vangelical views in theology. Rev. Dr. Mason,
of this city, and other staunch divines of (Mho
doe sentiments, in diffeient parts of the country,
used to preach in Mr. C.'s pulpit. Circumatan.
ces ace molted a more marked division of theolog
ical men, not many years alter, and Mr. C.'s
preaching and theological writings assumed @ LOOM
decided character. Hts celebrated sermon
vinare off the ordination of the Rev. Jared Sparks'
(the historian) made this division more complete.
Mr. C.'s congregation increased—his people erec
ted a more spacious edifice on the site Of the'old
church—and a colleague, Rev. Mr. Gannett, was
associated with him in the charge of the congrega
tion. -
Dr. Chaining's published Sermons during the,
war of 1812, brought him into general notice
throughout the country. Subsequently his Re
stew of the writings of, Milton, the character of
Napoleon Bonaparte, and other able performances,
established his reputation among the eminent
scholars and belies-leures writers of the country
and the world. The Liam of the Edinburgh , Ho.7
view, at an early period, that Dr. C. r, touched lof
ty keys, hut with no very mot force," was not
echoed by the numerous readers and admirers of
his writings. Dr. C.'s publications on the soh
ject of American Slavery have attracted no little
attention throughout this country and Europe.—
He belonged to no Anti-Slavery Society—he even
doubted the wisdom of these associatione--but he
was an uncompromising enemy to slaVerY, and
thought, spoke, and wrote accordingly. One of
the latest, if nut the last public performance of Dr.
C., was on the first of August, the anniversary of
emancipation in the British West Indies, when
be delivered a dis Course in Berkshire county,
Masa. A'reprt of it was published in the Even
ing Post, and attracted the admiration' even of
those who do not espouse the cause in behalf of
which Dr. C. directed so much labor and sympa
thy.,
- Dr. C. was a man of great independence of
mind. He was never awayed by popular applause
to do an act which his ptileciplea condemned.—
He paid no respect to men en account of their
wealth or °t rim. He honored mural worth tabu
ever he found it. His sermons on the parental
character of God, on the loveliness of the example
of Jesus Christ, on the evidences of Christianity,
and on political and moral integrity, ate admire.
;de. He spoke on', in intelligible terms, "on cone
jugal infidelity and licentiousness. In the pulpit,
his gravity and solemnity exceeded that of moat
preachers, and many who boast of more .correct
theological principles, might have taken useful
lessons from him, not only in the pulpit, but in
all his s.cial circles. In all circucuatances, his
feelings were under greet self commend. On one
occision, at s dinner party, where a distinguished
onhodox clergyman overstepped the boundaries of
propriety, Dr. C. remirked to the' person near
him, as A strange men Mk.' On another men.
eon, when the audience were greatly I Erected by
the eloquence of 'ii distinguished preacher, a pro
fessional brother whose feelings were easily aim
ted.-expresved astonishment that Dr. C. appeared
to be so little movcd. oMy tears," said Dr. C.,
are not so near my eyes as yours are."
Dr. C. had great contempt Cm ephemeral popu.
laritY, for office-bunting, for the airs often assum
ed by upstart aristocrats, fur the tricks and com
pliance of politicians. What was worthy of es.
teem anti veneration in men, whether they were
rich or poor, white or colured;he reverenced, and
could luuk down upon arroganCe, folly, and the
unprincipled, with pity and virtuous indignation.
His elocution, as ha. been iritimated, was peculi
eloqumee unlike that of any other man.
His preaching arid his writings were curroborated
by a life 01 high moral character.
Ur. C. was the poor man's friend and siivotate.
He prized the principles of our tiovernmenl, but
wet chiefly anxious tlitt the pecipti ; should be
riOtenua rather than proefierons. t He loved the
cause of peace, and by his tongue and pen did all
he could to avert the calamities of war. la fine.
however much men might diate his theological
opinions, no one who knew him could fail to piiie
his purity of character. his inflexible integrity. hie
lofty Purposes, his literary taite, his eloquence.
and his able discussions. His death is e great foss.
not only to hisfamily, _but to the. city where he
resided, to the comatrY.'which give NED birth, to
the cause of letters; and. tireoluta throughout the
world. • ' •"
Ecomoor. —Noah W °bier says, shit, by snb•
stunting to for unto, in his seisioli of tbstibto,lts
hes•saved thirtylour pages of doss' , IstteNniss.
9