7 The whole art of Government consists in the art op reing honest. Jefferson. PL. 3. STROUDSBURG, MONROE COUNTY, PA., WEDNESDAY, JUNE 8, 1842. No. 14. IINTED AND PUBLISHED BY THEODORE S CHOC II. :s Two dollars per annum in advance Two dollars ' . . r i 1 : e - .x artcr, nan yeany, unu n hoi iiaiu ueiorc me cnu 01 Two dollars and a half. Those nho receive their . .i i . i - 'be charged 7 1-2 cts. per year, extra. nnrs discontinued until all arrearages arc paid, except iv :i carrier or biasu urivcia cmuiuyi-u uy uic proprie- btion of the Editor. iverusemcnts not exceeding one square (sixteen lines i nscrtcd three weeks for one dollar: twenty-five cents ' SJUSCqueul Jlisuiiiuii luiuui uucs in jjiujuuiuu. a ...ill ha mqilu trt voot-It- fxA trt i Arc I letters addressed to the Editor must be post paid. POETRY. The Stars of Night. "hence are your glorious goings forth, Ye children of the sly, whose bright silence seems the power Of all eternity ? for time hath let his shadow fall O'er many an ancient light; iut je walk above in brightness still Oh. glorious stars of night! ihe vestal lamp in Grecian fane Hath faded long ago; On Persia's hills the worshipped flame Hath lost its ancient glow; Lnd long the heaven-sent fire is gone, With Salem's temple bright; Jut ye watch o'er wandering Israel yet, Oh, changeless stars of night ! jong have ye looked upon the earth, O'er vale and mountain brow; Ye saw the ancient cities rise, And gild their ruins now; (Ye beam upon the cottage home, The conqueror's path of might, And shed your light alike on all, Oh, price'ess stars of night ! But where are they who learned from you The fates of coming time, Ere yet the pyramids arose Amid their desert clime ! Yet still in wilds and deserts far, Ye bless the watcher's sight; " And shine where bark hath never been, Oh, lovely stars of night ! Much have ye seen of human tears, Of human hope and love; And fearful deeds of darkness too, Ye witnesses above ! Say, will that blackening record live Forever in your sight, Watching for judgement on the earth, Oh, sleepless stars of night! Yet glorious was your song that rose With the fresh morning's dawn ; And still amid our summer sky Its echo lingers on; Though ye have shone on many a grave, Since Eden's early blight Ye tell of hope and glory still, Oh, deathless stars of night! The Forsaken Girl. BY J. G. WH1TTIER. "They parted as all lovers part She with her wronged and broken heart; But he, rejoicing he is free, Bounds like the captive from his chains; And wilfully believing she Hath found her liberty again." If lVifrw is anv art wViirh dfisfirrps dfifiner and bitter condemnation, it is that of trifling with the inestimable value of woman's affection. The female heart may be compared to a deli cate heart over which the breathings of early affection wander, until each tender chord is awakened to lender tones of ineffable sweet ness, it is the music ofthc soul which is thus called forth a music sweeter than the fall of fountains, or the song of Houri, in the Moslem's paradise. But wo for the delicate fashioning of that harp if a change pass over the love which firiit called forth its hidden harmonies. Let ne gleet and cold unkindness, sweep over in deli cate strings, and they will break, one after ano ther slowly perhaps, but surely. Unvisited, and unrequited by the light of lore, lhe soul like melody will be hushed in the stricken bosom like the Egyptian statue, before the coming of the sunrise. I have been wandering among the graves the lonely and solemn graves. I love at times 'o du so. I feel a melancholy not unallied to pleasure, in communing with the resting place of those who had gone before me; to go forth alone among the thronged tombstones, rising from every grassy modulation like- ghostly sen tinels of the departed. And when I kneel above the narrow mansion of one whom I have known and lored in life, 1 feel a strange assurance that the spirit of the sleeper is near; a viewless and minibtering angel. It is a beautiful philosophy which has found its way unsought for and mys teriously into the silence of my heart and if it be only a dream, the unreal imagery of fancy I pray God that I may never awake from the beautiful delusion. I have been this evening, by the grave of Emily. It hats a plain white tombstone, half hidden by flowers, and you may read i!3 mourn- j ful epitaph in the clear moonlight which falls upon it like the smile of an angel, through an opening in the drooping branches. Emily was a beautiful girl the fairest of our village mai dens. I think I see her now, as she looked when the loved one the idol of her affections, was near her, with his smile of conscious tri umph and exulting lore. She had then seen but 18 summers, and her whole being seemed woven of the dream of her first passion. The object of her love was a proud and wayward being whose haughty spirits never relaxed from its habitual sternness, save when he found himself in the presence of a young and beautiful crea ture, who had trusted her all on the "venture of her vow," and who had loved him with the con fiding earnestness of a pure and devoted heart. Nature had deprived him of the advantages of outward grace and beauty; and it was the abi ding consciousness of this, which gave to his intercourse with society a character of pride and sternness. He fell himself in some degree removed from his fellow men by the partial fashioning of nature; and he scorned to seek a nearer affinity. His mind was of an exalted bearin and prodigal of beauty. The flowers of poetry were in his imagination, a perpetual blossoming; and it was to his intellectual beau ty that Emily knelt down bearing lo the altar of her idol, ihe fair flowers of her affection eren as the dark eyed daughters of the ancient Gheber spread out their offerings from the gar dens of the east, upon the altar of the sun. There is a surpassing strength in a love like that of Emily's it has nothing gross or low, nor earthly in its yearnings it has its source j in the dearer fountains of the heart and in such j as the redeemed and sanctified from earth j might feel for one another, in the fair land of i spirits. Ala! that such love should be unre quited or turned back in coolness upon the crushed heart of its girer! Thev parted Emily and her lover but not before they had vowed elerrial constancy to each other. The one retired to the quiet of her home to dream over again the scenes of her early passion to count with untiring eagerness the hours of separation; and to weep over the long interval of "hope deferred. The other went ! out with a strong heart to mingle with the world j girded with pride and impelled forward by i ambition. He found the world cool, callous, , and selfish; and his own spirit insensibly took the hue of those around him. He shut his eyes upon ihe past it was loo pure and mildly beau tiful for the sternner gaze of his manhood all beautiful and holy as ii was he turned not back to the young and lovely devoted girl, who had poured out to him in the confiding earnestness of woman's confidence, the wealth of her affec tion. He came not back to fulfil the vow which he had blightened. Slowly and painfully the knowledge of her lover's infidelity came orcr the sensitive heart of Emily. She sought for a time to shut out the hprrible suspicion from her mind she half doubted the evidence of her own senses she could not beliere that he was a traitor for her own memory had treasured every token of her affection every impassioned word and every endearing smile of his tenderness. But lhe truth came at last lhe doubtful spectre which had long haunted, and from which she turned away, as if it were a sin to look upon it, now stood before her a dreadful and unspeakable vision of reality. There was one burst of pas. sionate tears the overflow of that fountain of afHiclion which quenches the last ray of hope in the desolate bosom and she was calm for the struggle was over, and she gazed steadily, and with awful confidence of one whose hopes are not on earth, upon the dark valley of death whose shadow was already around her. It was a beautiful e erring in summer, that I saw her for the last time. The sun was jusi setting behind a long line of blue and undula ting hills, touching their tall summits with a ra diance like the halo lhat encircles the dazzling brow of an angel: and all nature had put on the rich garniture of greenness and blossom. As 1 approached the quiet and secluded dwelling of the tmee happy Emily, I found tho door of the little parlor thrown open; and a female voice of a sweetness, which could hardly be said to be long to earth, stole out upon tho soft summer air. It was like the breathing of an jEolian lute to the gentlest visitation of zephyr. Invol untarily I paused to listen, and these words, which I shall never forget, came upon my ears like the low and melancholy music which we sometimes hear in dreams. Oh no I do not fear to die, For Hope and Faith are bold; And life is but a weariness And Earth is strangely cold In view of Death's pale solitude My spirit hath not mourned 'Tis kinder than forgotten love, Or friendship unrequited ! And I could pass the shadowed laud In rapture all the while If one who is now far away Were near me with his smile. It seems a dreary thing to die Forgotten and alone Unheeded by our dearest love The smiles and tears of one! Oh! plant my grave with pleasant, flowers The fairest of the fair The very ilowers he loved to twine At twilight in my hair Perchance he yet may visit them, And shed above my bier The holiest dew of funeral flowers "Affection's kindly tear!" Ii was the voice of Emily: it was her last song. She was leaning on her sofa as I enter ed her apartment; her thin white hand resting on her forehead, bhe rose and welcomed me with a melancholy smile. It played over her features for a moment, Hushing her cheek with a slight and sudden glow; and then passed away, leaving in the stead lhe wanness and moMrnful beauty of lhe dying. It has been said that Death is always terrible to look upon. Bui to the stricken Emily, the presence of lhe. de stroyer was like the ministration of an angel of light and holiness. She was passing off to lhe land of spirits like tho melting of a sun set cloud into the blue of the heaven; stealing from exis tence like the last strain of ocean music when it dies away slowly and sweetly upon the moon light waters. A few davs after, I stood bv the grave of Emily. The villagers had gathered together, one and all, lo pay lhe tribute of respect and af fection to the lovely sleeper. They mourned her loss with a deep and sincere lamentation; they marvelled that one so young and so be loved should yield herself up to melancholy, and perish in lhe spring-time of her existence. But they knew not the hidden arrow which had rankled in her bosom: tlie slow and secret with ering of her heart. She had borne the calami ty in silence in lhe uncomplaining quietude of ne, who felt that there arc woes which may not ask for sympathy; afflictions which like the canker concealed in the heart of some fair blos som, are discovered only by the untimely decay of their victim. SaU.llay lhat would be liable to heat and sour because not quite cured, may often be mowed away with safety, if six or ten quaits of salt to ihe ton are applied. The use of salt upon nearly all lhe hay as ii goes inio the barn may be wise. I am inclined to the belief that a farm in my neighborhood on which salt has been very freely used in that way, had been greatly improved by it; lhat is, I think lhe ma nure has been much more efficacious in conse quence of the salt applied to the hay. At home we find no hay so palatable to the stock as lhat which is cut young, threefourlhs dried and well salted. Clover. This should be cured without much exposure to the sun. lean tell a story that goes to .show that clover need not be thorough ly dried as many suppose. Last year, about ihe middle of June we mowed some very coarse clover, scarcely beginning to blossom, and as full of sap as clorer ever was. The. weather was cloudy and foggy for several days, so that but little progress was made in curing it; it con tinued heavy and green; after four or five days, and while the cocks were damp with fog wc loaded it because the indications of rain were strong. It was taken lo the barn, stowed away and very thoroughly salted. In four or five days it was dripping wot and burning hot; in 15 days it was mouldy; in December, it was the hay preferred above all others in lhe barn, by "OJ Bug Horn'-' a dainty cow lhatwas destin ed to the Gambles -every animal in the barn would devour it greedily and this too, when most of the hay, and all the corn stalks in the bam had been salted; the salt taste was no rarity. New England Farmer. SSxfirstcl ffrosaa a Private Journal kept ly a CoE.azlry AcquaiExtatace. Thursday hoed corn all day; went lo roost with the chickens, tired as a waggon wheel, entertained serious thoughts of either joining lhe churc-h, or enlisting into the troops. Fridaywas called out of my nest by lhe old man, before ihe last bedbug had retired to his post: turned a double swarth in the meadow, bought a churning of butter killed the old black cat; mended mother's mop; and read a chapter in lhe Bible all before breakfast. Horn blew for dinner al twelve precisely, found nothing on the table but coin beef and cabbage, made din ner out of bread and cheese cucumbers and curses, father fretted about dry weather, thought it best lo pray for rain directly, but concluded to give Providence three days grace, and if it didn't moisten up then to pray on the patent principle. Saturday Nothing worth mentioning hap pened, excepting lhat it dtd'nt rain, the cattle broke into the corn; Jowlor killed a skunk, and grand father died. Sunday rose rather late, fed the hogs, and attonded family prayers, put on my dry goods, and went to meeting, came up a tearing show er about noon, and wet fathers' hay and the way he swore was a sin to professing christians. "Something will turn up," as tho little dog said when he looked at the kink in his tail. "Deeply read" as the schoolmaster said to his nose after a night's debauch. "My eyes what a change," as the boiled lob ster said when he looked at himself in tho glass. From the Daily Chronicle. We give place to the communication below, believing that its publication will be useful to some of our readers, and likewise afford them an opportunity of judging of the improvements that are progressing in various parts of the Union, notwithstanding the complaints and apathy caused by the hard times : Blossburc is situated in the southern part of Tioga county, Pennsylvania, about 25 miles from the New York line. The town lies im mediately on ihe Tioga river; the flat or valley on which it is built, is about three to four miles long, by one to two miles in breadth. On every side it is surrounded by mountains, which rise from TOO to 800 feet in height, covered with choice limber, and abounding in rich veins of bituminous coal and iron ore. The coal is of similar character, and equal in quality, to that of Pittsburg. The enterprising citizens of New York have already begun to secure to them selves the rich advantages of this place. Mr. Van Ness, a very intelligent and experienced iron founder, has erected a furnace, and produ ced iron of very superior quality. The ores of these mountains he estimates among the richest i in this country, yielding trom 4U to bu per cent. I of iron. A Company from Albany, are also j about lo establish very extensive iron works, Kvilh a capital of $300,000. But to me the ob ject of most interest was the Arbon Coal Com- pany. They have already opened several I mines, and have all the cars, apparatus, &c, to j mine and carry to market from 50 to 100,000 j tons of coal per annum. This Company will have the entire supplying of the whole western ! part of New York; and Irom the rapid disap I pearance of wood, the day is not far distant ' when they will be dependent on this region for i all their fuel. The Coal Company possesses about 2000 acres of land. 'Ihe great mass of these coal and iron mountains is owned by what is called the Arbon Land Company, con stituting about 8 to 10.000 acres. That part of I .9 ' , T . : the valley which belongs to trie lvand oompa- 1 i -i ny, they are reserving lor town lots, wnicn must soon become exceedingly valuable, as the town j is increasing with great rapidity, numbering al ready more lhan 1000 inhabitants. From ; Blossburg to Corning, a flourishing town situa ted in New York, 14 miles north of the Penn sylvania line, there is now completed, and in successful operation, a very substantial and ex cellent railroad; and which must b gratifying to ihe nronrictors. has been accomplished at j less cost considerably than any other road of ! equal length in the United States the whole J expenditures, including the road, depots, build ings, cars, locomotives, &c, not exceeding $500,000, and this for a road full 39 miles in j length. With us the cost of such a road would , have swelled up to millions. The secret of ; this success is found in the character of the of ! ficers, who for industry, energy, and talent, can j not be surpassed they were all interested in ' the company, and, from lhe President down, j have had very low and hardly adequate sala ! ries. Corning, which but a few years since be J gan its career in the wilderness, is in Steuben county, New York, situated on the Chemung river, a branch of ihe Susquehanna, formed by ! the Tioga and Caniesto. Whilst all the rest of i the world has been on tho retrogade, it has j steadily advanced in wealth and population, and, from one house in ldO, now numuers up wards of two hundred, with a population rising 1000. On a square reserved for this purpose by the Corning Land Company, there are now built three handsomely constructed churches, Episcopalian, Methodist, and Presbyterian. There is also a Bank, with a capital of 100 to $200,000, one large Hotel now occupied, and another larger one nearly completed. The coal, lumber, &c, which descends the rail road from Blossburg lo Corning, finds its way into the interior of New York, also to Albany, Buf falo, and New York ciiy, by the Chemung ca nal to Seneca lake, and thence to the Erie ca nal. The Blossburg coal being but recently presented to the market, has not yet entered into large consumption. Late experiments at Salina have, however, proved that it can he used as a fuel in tho manufacture of salt, at much less cost than wood. The value of this experiment may be appreciated, when we take into consideration the fact that the Salina works consume daily from 1800 to 2000 cords of wood. Here, then, is about to be opened a market which will require more than 100,000 tons of coal per annum. Tim immonso rovo nues lhat will be reaped by these Arbon com panies can hardly bo estimated. To hear the noiso of tho hammer, the songs of the miners, and the incessant rattling of the coal cars down tho plane, seems more likn the busy tumult of our commercial cities, than the wilderness. Blossburg is to be ihe Pittsburg of Western New York, and before many years must be come a large citv. It is the throughfaro of the Western travel" from Pennsylvania to New York. For passengers alone, the rail road re ceived during tho last year $10,000, and for lumber, sent down from 100 to 200 Raw mills, established on tho Tioga, Caniesto, and Che mung river, about $15,000. G. F. L. Conversations in Philosophy, &c. "Now, Nimrod, you sit over in that 'ere cor ner, there, and I'll sit in this 'ere corner, here. I'll ask you some scientific questions, and see how many on 'em you can answer." "Well, Solomen, try it on. Wait, though, till I get that pesky gravel stone out of my boot, There, fire away." "In lhe first place, Nimrod, what makes tho magic needle always point to the north?" "Most philosphers say it is owing to soma peculiar attraction but I am inclined to think it's a way it's got!" "How long is it since the corner stone of thd Tower of Babel was laid?" "About as long as a piece of string, if not longer." "At what pitch will mankind in general ar rive, at the end of ihe world, if they continuo improving in scientific knowledge, as they have since its beginning?" "Yellow pine pitch, probably. I mean to say, a pilch inio eten.ily." "How often do comets make iheir appear ance upon an average?" "Frequently.,' "When may we expect another?" "Immediately, if not sooner." "Why is the sun called he?" "Because it isn't a woman." "If a person gets wet in a rain, is he liable lo take cold?" "He can, if he likes--especially if it be a damp rain." "Who was the King of the Cannibal Island?" "If we can place any reliance on ancient his tory, I should say that he was one oj them. "Why is it lhat two rivers so often unne and form one, while one seldom or never separates and forms two?" "It's because cold water meetings are preva lent all over the country." "If a man travels forty miles a day m fair weather, how far can he travel when the weath er is bad?" "Let's see four times five is five times (our consequently it will take him an hour to trav el a mile in fifteen minutes." "What is the difference between carbon and hydogen?" "One kills people, and the other destrova life." "What are fogs?" " Volumes of mist-eries." "What effect can medicine have on a unht pair of boots?" "If the boots are costive, a dose of Dr. Bran dreth's pills will operate as a moral cathartic on ihe anterior superior spuns procis of the il ium." "Look here, Nimrod! you'll do to travel you've seen enough of these parts." Western Eloquence. The following sublime effort of a young, and. we suspect rather verdant disciple of Black stone, appears i a Western paper. Gentlemen of the Jury: Can you for an instant suppose that my cli ent here, a man what has alters sustained a high depredation in society, a man you all on you suspect and esteem for his many good qnanti ties yes, gentlemen, a man what nerer drinks more nor a quart of likker a day; can you, I say, for an instant, suspose lhat this ere man would be guilty of hookin' a box of percushum caps? Rattlesnakes and cooskins forbid! Picter to yourselves, gentlemen, a feller fast asleep in his log cabin, with his innocent wife and orphan children by his side, all nature hushed in deep response, and nought to be heard hut lhe loud muliering of the silent thunder and the tuneful hollerings of the bull-frogs; then imagine to yourselves a feller sneaking up to the door like a despicable hyena, softly entering the peacea ble dwelling of the happy family, and in the most mendacious, glaring, and dastardly man ner, hooking yes, hooking a whole box of per cushum! Gentlemen, I will nt, I cannot, dwell upon the rapacious monstrosity of such a crime! My feelings revolt from such a picter of mortal turpentine, like a big woodchuck from my dog Rose! 1 cannot for an instant harbour the idea that any man in these diggins, and much less this ere man, ceuld bo guilty of re mitting an act of suchjantankerous, inextrica ble, and unexampled discretion. And now, gentlemen, after this ere brief view of the case, premit me to retreat of you to make up your minds candidly, and partially, and givu us a verdict, guilty or not guilty, as we might reasonably expect from such an unlightencd an.l intolerant body of our feller citizens; remem bering, that in the language of Nimrod, king cl Troy, who fell at the battle of Bunker Hill, :l is better that ten innocent men should escape, rather than that one guilty should suffer. If the court pleases; Judge, give us a chew of tmbacco. 'I say, said a wag to a tall youth, whose ap poarance will bo readily understood, 'I say, didn't there an almighty great treo stand in front of your father's house?' Why,' enquired ihe Jonathan. 'Because,' replied the other, 'you looked so thundering green, I reckoned you must have been brought up in the shade'
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