Huntingdon globe. ([Huntingdon, Pa.]) 1843-1856, May 09, 1855, Image 1
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The following gentlemen are authorized to receive the names of all who may desire to be come subscribers to the GLOBE, and to receive advance payments and receipt for the same. HENRY ZlNlMmutior, Esq., Coffee Run. WM. CAMPBELL, M'Connellstown. Beni. F. PATTON, Esq., Warriorsmark. Joan OWENS, Esq., Birmingham. R. F. EIA.SLE,TT, Spruce Creek. H. B. MYTINGER, Water Street. SmAs A. CRESSWELL, Manor Hill. DAVID BARRICE, West Barrec. THOS. OZBORN, Ennisville. GILBER.T CHANEY, Esq., East Barree. Dr. M. Mrt.r.Ert, Jackson tp. SAmuer, M' VITTY; Shirleysburg. - S. B, Yourkla, Throe Springs. M. F. CAMPBELL, Esq., Mapleton. .T. R. HUNTER, Petersburg. J. S, Hum-, Shade Gap. D. H. CAMPBELL, narli.leSbUrg- H. C. WALKER, Alexandria. J. S. GEIIRETT, Cassville. *THE GRAVE OF WASHINGTON Disturb not his slumber, let Washington sleep, 'Neat!) the bows of the willow that over him weep; His arm is unnerved but his deeds remain brigh As the stars in the dark vaulted Heaven at night. Oh wake not the hero, his battles are o'er, Let him rest undisturbed on Patomaes fair shore; On the river's green border as flowery dressed, With the hearts he loved fondly, let Washing- ton rest. Awake not leis slumbers, tread lightly around, 'Tis the grave of a Freeman, 'Tis liberty's mound ; His name 'is immortal, our freedom is won ; Brave sire of Columbia, our own Washington. Oh! wake not the hero, his battles are o'er, Let him rest, calmly rest on his dear native shore. While the stars and the stripes of our country shall wave O'er the land that can boast of a WAsnmeroN's GRAVE WORD PICTURES OF CHILDREN From an article in a recent number of Chambers' Journal, we extract the following passages, descriptive of how children are re garded by parents in different grades of so ciety : THE CHILD IN THE COTTAGE.—Look at the kinely cottage at the foot of the hill, so far removed from town or village, the still ness of desolation seems to reign around it, yet peep within, and you will find a young mother nursing her first born child, its little round cheeks rosy as the hard winter apple. That is her solace, her companion, her sec ond life ; when it is awake, her tongue is seldom still for a moment, for she is either singing or talking to it ; and she has a faith that it understands all she says, though it answers but in murmurs or in coos, and in looks that express its delight. She is never lonely though her shepherd is away all day tending - to flocks somewhere far behind the green summits that rise high above her hap py homestead, for she has always it to talk to, to tell what she is doing and how long it will take her . ; and how, when she is done, she will nurse it bidding it not to cry, as she will soon be ready; and placing something for amusement:in her darling chubby's hands, or chanting some old love ditty such as she per chance heard her own mother sing when she herself was but a child. Then she will hold it up to the window, or stand with it at the open door, about the hour of his return, watching the footpath, invisible to all eyes but her own, so faint are the traces on the foot of the hill, and when she sees him approach ing, she will hold her darling up at arm's length. And 0, hapy heart ! that little thing trill at least recognize him, and make a pleas ing noise expressive of its delight, which gives her great happiness which is beyond utterance. THE - BEGGARWOMAN'S CHlLD—Observe the look of that beggar woman, as she turns back her head to look at the little sun-burnt child which she carries behind in the hood of her cloak What long rides he has in that comfortable carriage, which is as warm as a bird's rest lined with feathers ; what miles of daisies he passes as he sits peeping out of his little bag .with his wondering eyes 1 ins. 2 ins: 3 ins. 25 .37a 50 75 1 00 1 50 2 00 225 300 m. 12 m. 00 $8 00 00 12 00 00 15 00 00 23 00 00 38 00 accompanying his untiring mother in her weekly rounds ! 0, how it strengthens her to feel that little naked hand on her weather tanned neck, or those ever busy fingers pat ting her unkept hair ! Even the door of the niggard is closed more gently as the light from that little face streams in, and with a look pleads its own innocence by an eloquent silence, that puts to shame her beggar's whine, and intercedes both for her and itself, impostor and vagrant though she may be. 0, could you but see them together sometime by the roadside, under the shadow of a tree, through whose branches the sunshine falls and throws a golden network on the unclaimed arass l when she has taken it from her head t, to dandle, and give vent to that love which she dare not express while asking alms, lest her happinesS should be envied, and yob might think she had never known sorrow or want, or felt poverty while possessing such a wealth. But she has many a time looked in that little face with sorrowful eyes as she thought of the many happy homes it had peeped into, then turned to the blackened ceiling of the low lodging house that shelter ed.them, and the filthy straw on which"they slept, and trembled lest the hectic fever, which ever keeps watch in those loathsome pest houses, should seize her little treas ure. It is the remembrance of this escape that makes the air of heaven, the green grass and the shadow of the overhanging trees so dear to her ; at such a moment she envies not the comfortable homes she so often sees, nor the rosy cheeked children who never knew want. Forgotten as the cold winter days and the bleak northland wind which she strained against on the cold hedgeless moor, while she met the blinding snow flakes face to face, so that they may not alight upon and chill the treasured burden which she bore. In pity look upon it for its sake I. THE CHILD OP RICH PARENTS.—Nestling amid eider down, and half buried in rich folds of costly lace, it needs no second glance to tell that there the child of the wealthy slumbers—one that even the winds of heaven are not allowed to visit roughly. Let it but moan, and anxious ones are instantly bent over it ; let its cheeks he hot ter than usual, and there is the rumble of a carriage, and the ever . ready physician is in the room, who wisely prescribes something perfectly harmless, pockets his fee, and smiles at the folly of wealthy mothers. Then nurses move on tiptoe, servants speak with abated breath, and kind inquiries are made every hour ; for thousands hang on the, frail tenure of that life, vast estates and immense funds, which when you hear of, make you doubt whether all this anxiety arises from ex cess of love, or whether or not interest most predominates after all excepting in the breast of the fond young mother. When it is real ly ill, she forgets all about her rank, wealth and station ; for the same feeling that thril led in the heart of Eve when little Abel moaned on her knee, has descended to all her daughters without distinction. Her fear is that the Angel of Death is watching some where near to carry off her little one, to fill up a childish choir in heaven—that one of those messengers, who at his bidding, Ever posts o'er sea and land, has come to number it among those who ever kneel and veil their faces with their wings. Shall it exchange that warm resting place for a little mound of earth, where the daisies blow and the sunbeams beat, and the silver footed showers fall silently I 0, it would not hear the speckled lark singing aloft like an angel at heaven's gate, nor the golden ban ded bee murmuring amid the white and crim soned clover, but with its little hands folded meekly on its breast, and those now warm rosy lips cold, 0, how cold !—would ever sleep there silently—silently as the dew on the flowers above its grave, as the monumen tal stone on which its pretty name would be carved. And yet, the great blue eye of heav en that looketh down upon us all, would ev er be watching here—ay, there is some com fort ; and beyond the dark portals of the grave, lies a bright mustering ground, and there when the trumpet sounds they will meet to part no more. CHILDREN IN THE HOUSE OF THE POOR.— Our last picture is of a busy little hive among "those huts where poor men HO— where the children lie one above the other like the sides of a triangle—where the moth er and father were out all day, and they are left to mind one another, and the kiss fol lows the squabble as the calm succeeds the storm. One sits nursing what it calls her doll, which is a dirty rag pinned together ; another, drumming on the hearth with the poker holds the youngest child, and finds as much amusement in the noise he makes as the little thing he is nursing, nay, so intent is he on the street tune which he hums and beats time, that he at last lifts the poker too high and the head strikes the baby's mouth,• and then the whole hive was astir and we HUNTINGDON, MAY 9 1855. know not what he is to catch when mother returns. While the tumult lasts the second has got upon a stool, and reached the sugar out of the cupboard; and is devouring it by the handsfull. The soap is missing ; and one little busy bee who is just able to talk, points to the ket tle, which is singing on the fire ; there it is, and there is a pretty work to do before they can have any tea. The same persevering lit tle fellow has been practising drawirg with the candle on the looking glass, as the grease he has managed to lay on rather thickly shows. Only the day before, he was found rubbing the same material into the ginger water, having previously loaded his sister's shue with coal so heavily, that-it at last sank to the bottom of the pail ; so that like too many eager adventurers, he lost both ship and cargo, and really did "catch it" into the bargain. The eldest child, who has numered some ten summers, uses her mothers very expressions when she reprimands them—fol lows her Ways, and is never idle from morn ing till night. The rod with which she rules is a threat of what lie will "catch" when mother comes home. Of such as these are numbers, In many a street, Who never see the daisies sweet, Never behold in dale or down The husky harvest waving brown. THE BATTLE OF LIFE ; Or, Physical and Mental Efforts and Struggles. A celebrated writer contends that "sereni ty of mind, together with mental discipline and self-correction, are absolutely essential for length of days." This is no doubt true in the general sense. The BATTLE OF LIFE is constantly going on. Sometimes it is a physical struggle, and all the energies are tasked, with the object of securing the means of livelihood and independence. At others it is a mental, and absorbed by one idea, we become so excited thereby, and devoted there to, that the strength of the intellect is weak ened, and its springs are snapped and broken to pieces. The wres:les and conflicts which constantly take place in "the working day world," not only in the walks of labor but in the marts of commerce, task the faculties to the utmost. Not a day goes by, perhaps, that some one, exhausted and broken down, is not summoned to his final account. He fights on manfully, until at•last nature gives way, and Death becomes the victor. In the circles of industry, and among the toiling millions, it is wisely ordered, that there is comparatively little thought for the morrow. The present alone is cared for, and the future does not annoy. Thus the day-laborer rises to his task cheerfully in the morning, pur sues it with a light heart throughout the day and is happy and contented at the approach of night-fall. Let him but have enough to do, and physical strength to do it, and he is satisfied. But it often happens that it is oth erwise—that he has neither the employment, nor the ability to discharge his ordinary av ocations. And then the BATTLE OF ' LIFE commences in earnest. The future looms in the distance, anxiety and apprehension be come the constant guests of the mind, and these picture a thousand vicissitudes and ca lamities, which unnerve, stimulate, intimi date, nay, madden. The respansibilities of a family are then fully realized, and the cares of life assume a sombre and a painful hue.— The ills of poverty are magnified a thousand fold, and the languid and fainting spirit not only falters and fails, but is disposed to yield to the gloomiest fan cies and forebo dings. Often, too, the result is fatal. In stead of wrestling in a more resolute spirit than ever, and appealing with confidence to Divine Providence, the demons of despair are permitted to have their way, and life it self is given up with scarce a struggle.— This is by no means the true policy. On the contrary, it is the false as well as the cow ardly. "Hope on—hope over!"—should be the motto and the doctrine under all,-such circumstances, and the effort should be to struggle through the worst, in the expecta tion of better and brighter days. Adversity is often but the test of our nature. It tries us sorely, but if we persevere, the triumph is almost certain. And there are mental struggles, which often exhausts and over whelm, even more spedily than the physical. Not a few of the sons of men permit them selves to give way to unnecessary anxieties. They become ambitious, and if they cannot gratify all their desires, they grow discon tented and miserable. They may be in the enjoyment of a thousand blessings, and yet they Jack some one thing, and for this they will sacrifice contentment, health comfort, and even life itself. They become "seized of and possessed" of some fancy—vain, vis ionary and absurd—and yet it will master, control, subdue, and finally overwhelm them. There are, indeed, more diseases of the mind than the hasty observer is disposed to imma- gine. There are few, in fact s who are not more or less affected in this way. • Only a year or two ago, a gentleman of high char acter in this city i who was surrounded with almost every comfort and luxury, became impressed with an idea that he had been maltreated by a certain Corporation. He im mediately determined to wage an unceasing war against its members, and in so doirg he became deeply excited, so much so as to be thoroughly absorbed in the investigation, and to the neglect of almost every other pursuit. In brief, the matter soon degenerated into a mental malady; and thus he not only annoy ed himself, but others, and in the end, mate rially shortened his days. He died suddenly, and as many of his friends believed, a vic tim to the excitement referred to ! But ca ses of this kind are by no means rare. The BATTLE OF LIFE is a fearful one, and it re quires all our vigitence, even to resist and wrestle with success against the ordinary vi cisitudes to which all are more or less liable. When we undertake too much, the responsi bility is great. Many an individual, lacking moral courage, has been prostrated by a sin gle blow of misfortune. Others have experi enced reverse, after reverse, have struggled on again and again, and have finally achieved a single success. There is scarcely a being, even of middle age, whose earthly career has not been more or ;ess chequered by storm and sunshine, by adversity and prosperity.— The true policy is to exercise as much pru dence as possible, and yet to be prepared for a reverse. All is not lost while integrity re mains, and although it is too much the dis position of mankind to look coldly upon the unsuccessful and the unfortunate, yet there are many appreciating spirits, many who are truely generous 'nd bonevoient, and who may be depended on with confidence in the hour of misfortune. The struggle with the world is often disheartening, and requires the exercise of all the energies of our nature,— moral, mental, and physical—but to be true to ourselves we must put forward those en ergies whenever necessary, and then with a confident reliance upon Providence, not only anticipate, but deserve a better and brighter Tuture.—[Pennsylvania Inquirer. HYDROPHOBIA. It is no pleasure to a dog to go mad.— Quite the reverse. Dreadful as hydrophobia may be to human being, rabies is worse to the dog. It makes its approach more gradu ally. It lasts longer, and it is more intense while it endures. The dog that is going mad feels unwell for a long time prior to the full development of the disease. He is very ill but he does not know what ails him. He feels dissatisfied . with every thing ; vexed without a reason ; and, greatly against his better nature, very snappish. Feeling thus, he longs to avoid all annoyance by being alone. This makes him seem strange to those who are most accustomed to him.— The sensation induces him to seek solitude. But there is another reason which decides his choice of a resting place. The light inflicts upon him intense agony. The sun is to him an instrument of torture. which he there fore studies to avoid—for his brain aches, and feels as if it were a trembling jelly. This in duces the poor brute to find out the holes and corners, where he is least likely to be noticed, and into which the light is unable to enter.— In solitude and darkness he passes the day. If his retreat be discovered, and the master's voice bid him come forth, the affectionate creature's countenance brightens, his tail beats the ground, and he leaves his hiding place, anxious to obey the loved authority ,• but before he has gone half the distance, a kind of sensation comes over him which pro duces an instantaneons change in his whole appearance. He seems to say to himself; "Why cannot you let me alone Go away Do go away ! You trouble—pain .me !" And thereupon he suddenly turns tail and darts back into his dark corner. If let alone, there he will remain ; perhaps frothing a little at the mouth, and drinking a great deal of water, but not issuing from his hiding place to seek after food. His appe tites are altered; hair, straw, dirt, filth, ex crement, rags, tin shavings, stones, the most noisome and unnatural substances, are then the delicacies for which the poor dog, chan ged by disease, longs and swallows, in hope to ease a burning stomach. He /s most anxious for liquids. He is now altogether changed. Still he does not desire to bite mankind, he rather endeavors to avoid soci ety ; he takes long journeys of thirty or forty miles in extent and lengthened by all kinds of accidents, to vent his restless desire for motion. Wheu on these journeys he does not walk. This would be too formal and . measured a pace for an animal whose frame quivers with excitement. He does not run. That would be too great an exertion for an animal whose body is the abode of a deadly sickness. He proceeds in a slouching manner, in a kind of trot—a movement neither run nor walk—and his aspect is dejected. Big eyes do not glare and stare but. they are dull and retracted. His appearance is very charac teristic, andi if once seen; can never after wards be mistaken: In this state he will travel the most dusty roads; his tongue hang ing dry from his Open mouth, from which, however, there drops no foam. His course is not straight. How could it be—since it is doubtful whether at this period he sees at all. His desire is to journey unnoticed. If no one notices him, he gladly passes by them. He is very ill ; he cannot stay to bite. If, nevertheless; anything opposes his progress, he will, as if by impulse, snapas a man in a similar state might strike—and tell the per son "to get out of the way." He may take his road across a field in which there are a flock of sheep. Could these creatures only make room for him, and stand motionless, the dog would pass on and leave them behind uninjured. But they begin to-run, and at the sound the dog pricks op his ears. His en tire aspect changes. Rage takes possession of him. What makes that noise? He pur sues it with all the energy of madness. He flies at one, then at another. He does not mangle, nor is his bite, simply considered, terrible. He cannot pause to tear the crea ture he has caught. He snaps and then rush es onward, till, fairly exhausted and unable longer to follow, he sinks down, and the sheep pass forward, to be no more molested. He may have bitten twenty or thirty in his mad onslought ; and would have worried more, had his strength lasted—for the furore of madness then had possession of him. He may be slain while on these excursions ; but if he escapes, he returns home and seeks the darkness and quiet of his former abode. His thirst increases, but with it comes the swel ling throat, He will plunge his head into water, so ravenous is his desire ; but not a drop of the liquid can he swallow, though its surface is covered with bubbles in conse quence of the efforts he makes to gulp the smallest quantity, The throat is enlarged to that extent which will permit nothing to pass. He is the victim of the most horrible inflammation of the stomach, and the most intense inflammation of the bowels. His state of suffering is most pitiful. He has lost I all self-reliance; even feeling is gone. He flies at and pulls to pieces anything that is within his reach. One animal in this condi tion being confined near a fire, flew at the burning mass, pulled out the live coals, and in his fury scrunched them. He emits the most hideous cries. The noise he makes Pi incessant and peculiar. It begins as a bark, which sound being too torturing to be con tinued, is quickly changed to a howl, which is suddenly cut short in the middle, and so the poor wretch at last falls, fairly worn cut by a terrible disease.—lllayhetv's Dogs. The Judge's Mustard Bath Two or three days ago / a young friend, who has recently been spending some time in Georgia, related to us an anecdote which shows how thoroughly scared the people of Georgia were during the prevalence of the yellow fever in Savannah. It seems that Judge . B—g, of the Su preme Court of the State, was in the upper country at the time / but within twenty hours'' run, by mail, of the terrible disease. Quite suddenly, late one afternoon, he was seized with a head-ache, pain in his back, limber, &c: Having heard that these were saluta tions Yellow Jack extended to his victims on approaching them, the Judge, in great con sternation, applied to a friend who was "pog- - ted," for advice. A hot mustard bath was urgently advised, and being prepared, the Judge was seen laving himself in the irrita ting fluid. Presently he felt better, and find- a cake of soap i❑ the vessel of water he begin to apply it quite freely upon his per son. After quite pleasant exercise in this way, he looked down for the first time on his body and limbs, and discovered that he was turn ing black ! Oh, horror ! His friend was hurriedly sent for, came and declared that the symptoms were intensely expressive of yellow fever. "But," said the Judge, shivering the while, "I feel no pain; I feel well." "So much the worse; the absense of pain is a marked symptom !" "Good heavens!" ejaculated the judge, "what shall I do V "The only hope is in the mustard. Rub away," was all the advice his friend could give. And rub he did, with will. lie used the soap to open every possible pore, and after some minutes sent for a candle, (for the twi light wasfading ,) to ascertain his exact cut icular condition. On examination, he was as blaek as a crow, and the soap, which a careless servant had dropped into the tub,. was discovered to be somebody's "Patent Paste Placking We need only add that the Judge survi ved. VOL. 10, NO. 47. Palpitation of the Heart Where palpitation occurs as symptomatic of indigestion, the treatment must be directed to remedy that disorder. When it is conse quent on a plethoric state, purgatives will be effectual. In this case, the patient should abstain from every kind of diet likely to pro duce a phlethoric condition of body. Ani mal food and fermented liquor must be par ticularly avoided. Too much indulgence in sleep will also prove injurious. When the attacks arise from nervous irritability, the excitement must be allayed by change of air and a tonic diet. Should the palpitation ori ginate from organic derangement, it must be, of course, beyond domestic management.— Luxurious living, indolence, and tight lacing often produce this 'affection ; such cases are to be conquered with a little resolution. To Cure a Cold Put a large teaspoonful of linseed, with one-quarter pound of sun raisins and two ounces of stick-liquorice, into two quarts of soft water, and let it simmer over a slow tire till reduced to one quart; add to it one quarter pound of pounded sugar-candy, a ta blespoonful of old rum, and a tablespoonful of the best white wine vinegar, or lemon juice., The rtan and vinegar should be ad ded as the decoction is taken ; for, if they are put in at fit - St, th'e whole soon becomes flat, and leSs efficacious. The dose is half a pint, made warm, on going to bed ; and a little may be taken whenever the cough is troublesome. The worst cold is generally cured by this remedy in two or three days; and, if taken in time, is considered infallible. A Defeat in Female Ethication. One of the greatest defects in the present system of female education, says a sensible writer, is the almost total neglect of showing the young lady how to apply her learning so as to approve her domestic economy. It is . true that necessity generally teaches, or ra- - ther obliges her to learn this science after she is married ; but it would have saved her from many anxious honrs, and tears, and troubles, if she had learned how to make bread and coffee, and cook a dinner, before she left her father's house; and it would have been better still, if she had been instructed at school to . regard this knowledge as an indispensible ac= complishment in the education of a young lady. To Purify the Air of a Sick Chamber: Take six drachms of powdered nitre, and the same quantity of oil of Vitro! ;. mix them together, by adding to the nitre One drachm of the vitro] at a time, placing the vessel irr which you are mixing it on a Prot hearth or plate of heated iron -istirring it with a tobac co pipe or glass-rod. Then place the vessel: in the contaminated room, moving it about to different parts of the reorn. Dr. I. C. Smith obtained £5OOO from the English Par- , liament for this receipt. SCENE IN CARS.—Nertous Old Lady-- , . Dear me, what makes the cars stop here 1— Is there any thing the matter Smart Young Man.—Yes marm ; a thaw of tobacco is lying right before the locomo As soon as it's removed we will be ME under way again. Scene closes, the ol•d lady giving an extra tie to her bonnet string, and an inquiring look at a small leather satchel with a cloth handle: Cure for Sfarnmering Where there is no malformation of the or , gang of articulation; stammering may be rem edied by reading aloud with the teeth closed. This stonld be practiced for two or three hours a day, for three or four months; The recom , mender of this simple remedy says; 9 can speak with certainty of its - utility." f&' "Brigban't Young is building two large and beautibul houses adjoining that which be occupies now in Salt Lake City, to accom modate his increasing family. He now re joices in between fifty and sixty wives, and from forty-five to fifty children. Elder Kim ball, one of the Mormon Apostles, has be tween sixty and seventy 'onsorts. It 7 it is Observed, that the most censori ous are generally the least judicious, who having nothing to recommend themselves, will be finding fault with otherti.. No man envies the merit ofanother who has enough of his own. "Sammy, Sammy, My son.i don't stand there scratching your head stir your stumps, or you'll make no progress in life." ' "Why, father, I've often heatd you say that the only way to get on-in this world was to scratch a-head." It is a sound maxim, that every man is wretched in proportion to his vices; and that the noblest ornament of a young gener ous mind, and the surest sours of pleasure, profit and reputation in life, is unreserved acceptance of virtue. i[l:7 - Live tempeTately, take plenty of ex ercise, pay the printer, and you•will be happy.