HUNTINGDON JOil
lirrtoLE No. 162.1
TERVZS
OP THE
EtrT:IIO.DON :07111,11 - AL.
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THE GARLAND.
sweetest flowers enrich'd
From various gardens cull'd with care."
FoR THE JOURNAL.
A Birth day Present.
Another year of fleeting time
Is numbered with the past.
And though but in thy youthful prime
Perhaps it is thy last.
For 0! remember, at the most, •
This life is but a dream;
A surge that breaks on deaths dail coast
A swiftly moving stream.
Even in the midst of youthful hope,
When all appears most gay;
Thou mayst he called to render up
his "tenement of clay."
Ah! must thou in thy youthful bloom,
%Viler' all is mirth and glee,
Be hurried to the silent tomb?
Ii this thy destiny?
Though thou art more than othei's Tait;
Thy iife,—a life of joy,—
Vet 0! while young thyself prepare !
Remember,—thou must die!
Those checks that wear the rose's hue
Those eyes that mildly beam
Thy every charm may pass from view
Quick as a fleeting dream.
E'en innocence, though pure as thine,
(That might with angels' vie,)
is but to make thee more divine,
And fit thee fur the sky.
Oh, then, while life and hope remain,
The warning call attend;
And Heaven is thy eternal gain,
Thy everlasting friend: .
LIPTON.
NVaterstrect, Hunt. co. May 12. 1838
.t.airim-
The Lonely Mort
BY MISS CATHARINE 11. WATERMAN,
Go forth among the merry throng
And mark the sunny eye,
Then listen, 'midst the swells of song,
Fur one low mumur'd sigh.
Look on the rose encirclei brow,
Pierce thro' its masking art.
And learn of her who revels now
To bear a lonely heart.
Go take the wanderer's hand in thine;
Who stand apart from a :1,
Within whose eye pale waters shine,
And dry them ere thay fall.
Mark the deep flush that stains his cheek
'flie quick unconcious start,
Ask not the cause, pride is too weak
To veil a lonely heal t.
Go
where the touch of pain i$ spread,
, Where the dark whip of death
Hover above the aching head;
To bear away the breath.
Mark that dull eye, how oft it turns,
How oft the pale lips part,
For one long hoarded hope, ho ff yearns
That dying, lonely heart.
Yes—thou may'st see it thro' the gleam
That lights up beauty's eye,
And in the wanderer's home brought dream
Beneath a stranger's sky.
And by the couch of pain, when earth
Claims back its kindred part,
Few, tew are those of mortal birth,
But know the 1 mely heart.
SELECT TALE.
From the Dublin University Magazine.
THE DRUMKJIRD
From the legacy of the lute P. Purcell
P. P. of Drumcoolag4.
"All this he told with some confusion and
Dismay, the usual consequence of dreams
Of the unpleasant kind, with none at hand
To expound their vain and visionary gleams.
I've known some odd ones which seemed
really planned
Prophetically, as that which one deems
'A strange coincidence,' to use a phrase
By which such things are settled now-a
days."
BY RON.
DREAms— What age, or what country of
the world has not telt and acknowledged
the mystery of their origin and end'! I
have thought not a little upon the subject,
seeing it is one which has often been for
ced upon my attention, and sometimes
strangely enough; and yet I hate never
arrived at any thing which at all appeared
a satisfactory cdhclusion. It does ap
pei.r that a mental phenomenon so extra
ordinnry cannot. be wholly without its use.
We know, indeed, that in the olden
times it has been made the organ of com
munication bet Ween the Deity and his
creatures; atid whem as 1 have seen, a
dream produce upon a mind, to all ep
' pearance hopelessly retirobate and depra
-1 '
ved an effect so powerful and so lasting
as to break down the „inveterate habits. d
1 and to reform the lite on ahandahed bin
ner, We see in the result, in the refor
mation of morals, which appeared incor
rigible in the reclamation of a human
soul which seemed to be irretrievably lost,
something more than could be produced
by a mere chimmra of the slumbering fan
cy, something more than could arise from
the capricious images of a terrified imag
ination; but once prevented, we behold
, in all these things, in the tremendous and
mysterious results, the operation of the
hand of God, And while Reason rejects
as absurd the superstition which will read
la prophecy in every dream, she may wi
thout violence to herself, recognise, even
in the wildest and most incongruous of
the wanderings of a sluthbering intellect,
the evidences and the fragmenti of a lan.
guage which may be spoken, which has
been spoken to terrify, to warn, to com
mand. We have reason to believe too,
by the promptness of actinii, which in the
ape of the prophets, folldwed all intim-
tions of thiti kind, and by the strength of '
conviction and strange peritiaberice of the
effects . resulting hem certain dreams in
latter times, which effects ourselves may
have witnessed, that when this medium of
communication has been employed by the
Deity, the evidences of his presence have
been unequivocal. My thoughts were di-
meted to this subject, in a manner to
leave a lasting impression upon my mind,
by the events which 1 shall now relate,
the statement of which, however ektra
orditiary, is tievertheless accurately cor
rect.
About the year 17-having been ap
pointed to the living t.f C-h, I rented
a small house in the town, which bears
the same name: one morning, in the
month of November, 1 was awakened be
fore icy usual tithe, by my servant, who
bustled into lay bed-room for the purpose
of announcing a sick call. As the Ca
tholic Church holds her last rights to be
totally indespeniable. to the safety of the
E departing sinner, no eunscientious cler
gyman can afford a moment's unnecessa
ry delay, and in little more than five min
utes I stood ready cloaked and booted
for the road in the small front parlor, in
which the messenger, who was to act as
my guide, awaited tnj . , coming. I found
a poor little girl crying piteously near
the door, and after some slight difficulty I
ascertained that her father was either
dead, or just dying.
"And what may be your father's name,
my poor chill?" said I. She held down
her head, as if ashamed. I repeated the
question, and the wretched little creature
burst into Hoods of tears, still more bitter
than she had shed before. At length, al•
most provoked by cond"ct which appear
ed to me so unreasonable, I began to
lose patience, spite of the pity which I
could not help feeling towards her, and I
said rather harshly, "If yo'i will not tell
me the name of the person to whom you
would lead me, your silence can arise
from no good motive, and I might' be joss
titled in refusing to go with you at all."
"Oh! do say that, don't say that,''
cried she, "Oh ! sir, it was that I was afeard
of when I would not tell you; I was afeard
when yoli heard his name, you would not
co ne with me; but it is no use hidin' it
now—it's Patt Connell, the carpenter,
yo me herd.."
"ONE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY."
A. W. BENEDICT PUBLISHER. AND PROPRIETOR.
HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY NOVEMBER 21, 1838.
She looked in my face with the most
earnest anxiety, as if her very existence
depended upon what she should read
there; but 1 relieved her at once. The
name, indeed, was most unpleasausly fa
miliar to me; but, however fruitless my
visits and advice might have been at.ano
ther time, the present was too fearful an
occasion to softer my doubts of their util- '
ity as my reluctance to re-attempting
what appeared a hopeless task to weigh
even against the lightest chance, that a
consciousness of his imminent danger
might produce in him a more docile and
traJthle disposition. According,ly I Lid
the child to lead the way, and followed
her in silence. She hurried rapidly
through the long harrow Street which
forms the great thoroughfare of the town.
The darkneis of the hour, rendered Still
deeper by the 'close approach of the old
fashioned houses, which lowered in tall
obscurity on either side of the way; the
damp dreary chill which renders the ad
vance of morning peculiarly cheerless,
' combined with the object of my walk, to
visit the death-bed of a presumptuous sin
ner, to endeavor almost against my own
conviction, to infuse a hope into the heart
of a dying reprobate—a drunkard, but too
probably perishing under the consequen
ces of some mad fit of intoxication; all
these circumstances united served to en.
hence the gloom and solemnity of my fee
lings, as 1 silently followed my little
guide, who with quick steps traversed the
uneven pavement of the team street. Af
ter a walk of about five minutes she tur
nq ofuisto a narrow lane, of that obscure
and comfortless class which are to be
found in almost all small old fashioned
towns, chill without ventilation, reeking
with all manner of offensive effluvue, din
gy, smoky, sickly and pent-up buildings,
frequently not only in a wretched but in
a dangerous condition.
"Your father has changed his abode
since I last visited him, and, 1 am driid,
much fur the worse," said 1.
"Indeed lie has, sir, but we must not
complain," replied she; "we have to thank
God that we have lodging and food,
though it's poor enoegh, it is your hon.
ar_tt
Poor chiid! thought 1, how many an
older head might learn wisdom from thee
--how many a luxurous philosopher, who
is skilled to preach but not to suffer;
might not thy patient words put to the
blush! The manner and language of
this child were alike above her years and
station; and, indeed, in all cases in which
the cares and sorrows of life have antici
pated their usual date, and have fallen, as
' they sometimes do, with melancholy pre
maturity tb the lot of childhood, I have
observed the result to have proved uui
formly the same. A young mind, to
which :joy and indulgence have been
strangers, and to which suffering and self
denial have been familiarized from the
first, acquires a solidity , and an elevation
which no other discipline could have bes
towed, and which, in the present case,
communicated a striking but modrnful pe
culiarity to the manners, even to the
voice ot the Child. 'We paused before a
narrow, crazy door, which she opened by
means of a latch, and we forthwith began
to ascend the steep and broken stairs,
which led upwards to the sick man's room.
As we mounted flight oiler flight to
wards the garret floor, I heard inure and
more distinctly the hurried talking of ma.
ny 1 could also distinguish the
low sobbing of a female. On arriving
upon the uppermost lobby, these sounds
became fully audible.
"Ws way, your honor," said my little ,
conductress, at the same time !rushing'
open a door of patched and halt rotten
plank, she admitted me into the squalid
chamber of death and misery. But one
candle, held in the fingers of a scared
and a haggard-looking was burning
in the room, and that so dim that all was
twilight or darkni...Si except within its
immediate influence, The general ob
scurity, however, served to throw Into
ltdminent and startling relief tho death
bed and its occupant. The light was
nearly approximated to, and fell with hor
rible clearness upon, the blue and swol
len features of the drunkard. I did not
think it possible that a human counteance
could look so terrific. The lips were
black and drawn apart—the teeth were
firmly "et—the eyes a little unclosed, and
nothing but the Whites appearing—. every
feature wits fixed and livid, and the whole
face wore a ghastfy and rigid expression
of despairing terror, such as I never saw
equalled; his hands were crossed upon
his breast, and hrmly clenched, while, as
if to add to the corpse-like effect of the
whole, some white clothes, dipped in wa
ter, were wound about the forehead and
temples. As soon as I could remove my
eyes from this horrible spectacle, I obser
ved my friend Dr. D—, one of the
most humane of a humane profession,
standing by the bed-side. Ho had been
attempting, but unsuccessfully, to bleed
the 'Mint, and had now applied his fin
ger to the pulse.
"Is there any L'opei" I inquired in a
whisper.
A shake of the head was the reply •
There was a pause while he continued to
hold the ttTist; but he waited in vain !Or
the throb of life, it was not there, and
when he let go a e hand it fell stiffly back
into former position upon the other.
"The man is dead," said the physician,
as he turned from the bed where the ter
rible figure lay,
Dead! thought 1, scarcely venturilt to
look upon the tremendous and revolting
spectacle—dead! without an hour for re
pentance, even a moment for reflection
• dead! without the rites which even the
best should have, Is there a hope for
him? The glaring eyeball; the grinning
mouth, the distorted tliOw—that mtters
, ble look in which a painter would have
sought to embody the fixed despair of the
I nethermost he11..--these were my answer.
The poor wife sat at a little distance,
crying as if her heart would break—the
younger children clustered round the bed,
with wondering curiosity, upon the form
of death, never seen before. When thy ,
first tumult of uncontrollable sorrow had
passed away, availing, himself of the sol
emnity and impressiveness of the scene,
1 desired the heart-stricken family to ac
company me in prayer, and all knelt
down, while I solemnly and fervently re-,
peated some of those prayers which ap-1
peered most applicable to the occasion. I
employed myself thus in a manlier which,
I trusted, was not unprofitable, at least to
the liYing, for about ten minutes, and ha
ving accomplished my task, 1 was the
first to arise. I looked upon the poor,
sobbing, helpless creatures who knelt so
humbly around me, and my heart bled
ior them. With natural transition, I
turned .my eyes from them to the bed in
which the body lay, and, great God! what
was the revuliion, the horror which I ex
perienced on seeing the corpse-like ter
rific thing, seated half upright before me
—the white clothes, which had been wound
about the head, had now partly slipped
from theirposition, acid were hanging in
grotesque festoons about the fare and
shoulders, while the distorted eyes leered
from amid them—
"A sight to dream of not to tell."
I stood actually rivetted to the spot.
The figure nodded its head and lifted its
al in, 1 thought wi Ai a menacing gesture.
A thousand confused and horrible thoughts
at once rushed upon my mind. I had of
ten read that the body of a presuMptuous
sinner, who, during life, had been the wil
ling creature of every satanic impulse, af
ter the humat: tenant had deserted it, had
been known to become the horrible sport
of demoniac possessi on. I was roused
from the stupefaction of ttiTor in which I
• stood, by the piercing screams of the mo
ther, who now, for the first tiirie, percei
ved the change wh'cli had taken place.'
She rushed towards the bed, but, stunned
by the Shock and overct me by the conflict
of violent emotions, before she reached it,
She fell prostrate upon the floor. 1 am
perfectly convinced that had I not been'
startled from tilt ttirpitlity of horror in!
Which I was bound, by some powerful
and arousing stimulant, I shduld have ga
zedupon this unearthly apparition until
I had tidily lost my senses, As it was,
however, the spell was broken, supersti
tion gave way to reason: the man whom'
all believed to have been actually dead,
was living! Dr. U—.—was instantly I
standing by the bedside, and, upon exam
ination, lie found that a sudden and co-,
pious flow of blood had taken place from
the wound which the lancet had left, and
this, no doubt, had effected his sudden and
almost preternatural restoration to an ex
istence from which all thought he had
been for ever
. temoved: . 'rho man was
still speechless, but he seemed to under
stand the physician when he forbid his re
peating the painful and fruitless attempts
which he made to articulate, and he at
once resigned himself quietly into his
hands.
I left the patient with leeches upon his
temples, and bleeding freely—apparently
with little of the drowsiness which st.-
companies apoplexy; indeed, .Dr:
told me that he had never before witnessed
a seizure which seemed to combine the
symtoms of so many kinds, and yet which
belonged to none of the recognised clas
ses; it certainly was not : apoplexy, cata
lepsy, nor delirium tremens, and yet it
seemed. in some degree, to partake of the
properties of all--it was strange, but stran
ger things are coming.
During two or three days Dr. D
would nut allow his patient to converse
in a manner which could excite or ex
haust him, with any one; he suffered him,
merely, as briefly as possible, to express
his immediate wants, and it was not until
the fourth day after my early visit, the
particulars of which I have just detailed,
-r
4,6
_
that it was thought expedient that I should
see him, and then only because it appear,
ed that his extreme importunity and un
patience were likely to retard his reeoy
my more than the mere exhaustion atten
dant upon a short couversatil,ll could pus
sibly do; perhaps, too, toy flitted enter
tained some hope that it by holy conks ,
mon his patient's bosom were eased of the
perilous stuff*, which no doubt, oppressed
it, his recovery would be more assured
and rapid. It was, then, as I hav'e sa d,
upon the fourth day after my first Profes•
sioutil tall; that I found myself once more
in the dreary chamber of want and sick,
ness. The man was in bed, and appear
ed low and restless. On my entering the
room he raised himself in ,the bed, and
muttered tivice or thrice—" Thank God!
thank God." I signed to those of his
family who stood y, to leave the room,
and took a chair beside the bed. So soon
as we were alone, he said, rather dog
gedly—" There's no use now in telling
ate of the sinfulness of bad ways-1
know it all—l know where they led to-1
seen everything about it with my own
eyesight, as plain as I see you." lie rol
led himself in bed, as if to hide his face
in the clothes, and then suddenly raising
himself, he exclaimed with startling vehe
mence— "Look, sir, there is no use in
mincing the matter; I'm blasted with the
fires of Alen; I have been in hell; what do
you think of that?—in hell—l'm lost for
ever—l have not a chance—l din tiamned
already—damned—damned—." The
end or this sentence he actually shouted;
his tehemence was perfectly terrific; lie
threw hittself back, and laughed, and
sobbed hysterically. 1 poured smite wa
ter into a tea-cup; and gave it to him.
Alter he had swallowed it, I told him if
he had anything to communicate, to do
so as briefly as he could, and in a manner
as little azitatiog to himself as poisible;
threatening at the same time, though 1
had no intention of doing so, to leave him
at once, in case he again gave way to
such passionate excitbment. "It's only
foolishness," he continued, "for mo to try
to thank you flir 'Coming to such a villian
as myself at all; it's no use for me to wish
good to you; for such as me has no
• sings to give." I told him that 1 had bu'
done my duty, and urged him to proceed
to the Matter
. Which weighed upon his
mind; lie then spoke nearly as follows:
I came in drunk on Friday night last, and
got to my bed here, I don't remember how;
sometime in the night, it seemed to me,
wakened, and feeling uneasy in myself, I
got up out of the bed. I wanted the fresh
air, but I would not make a noise to open I
the window, for fear I'd waken the mi
dair& It was very dark, and troublesome
to firid the door; bat at hit I did get it,
and I groped my way out; and Went down
as asy as I could. 1 felt quite sober, and
I counted the steps one after another; as I
was going down, that I might ndt stumble
at the buttons. When t came to the first
landing-place, God be about us always!
the flour of it sunk under me, and I scent
dowit; down, down, till the senses almost
left me. Ido not know how long I was
haling, but it seemed to me a great while.'
When I came rightly to myself at last, I
was sitting at a great table, neat the top
of it; and I could not see the end of it, if it
had any, it was so far off; and there were
inen beyond retuning, Sitting down, all
tilting by it, at each side, as far as I could
see at all. 1 did not know at first what
it was in the open air; but there was a
close smothering feel in it, that was not
natural and there was a kind of light that
my eyesight never; saw before, red and
unsteady, and I did not see for a long
time where it was costing from, until I
looked straight up, and then 1 seen that it
came from great balls of blood-colored
fire, that were rolling high over head with
a sort of rushing, trembling sound, a"d 1
perceived that they shone on the ribs of a
great roof of rock that was arched over
instead of the sky. When I seen {his,
scarce knowing what 1 did, I got up, and
said, "I have no right to be here; I must
go," and the man that. was sitting at my
left hand, only smiled, and said, "sit
down again, you can never leave this
place," and his voice was weaker than
any child's voice I ever heard, end when
he was done speaking he smiled again.
Then I spoke out s cry loud and bold, and
I said—"in the name of God, let me out
of this bad place." And there was a great
man, that I did not see, before, sitting at
the end of the table that I was near, and
lie was taller titan twelve men, and his
face was very proud and terrible to look
at, and lie stood up and stretched out his
hands before hint, and when lie stood up,
all that was there, great and small, bowed
down with a sighing sound, and a dread
came on my heart, and he looked at tne,
and I could not speak. I felt I was his
own, to do what lie liked with, for I ,,,it tl qw
at once who he was, and he laid, r you
promise to return, you may depart for a
season;" and the voice he spoke with, was
terrible and mournful, and the cehoes of
it went rolling and swelling. down the cad..
[ VoL. IV, No. 0.
less cai,e, and mixing with the tremblipg
of the fire over-head; so that, when lie sat
down, there was a sound after him, all
through the pine, like the roaring of
furnace, and I said, with all the strength
I had, promise to come back; in God's
name let me go," and w ith that I lost the
sight and the hearing of all that w as there;
and when my senses came to me again, I
si , ita sitting in the bed with the blood all
over me, and you and the r!st praying
arcUnd the room:" Here lie paused and
wii.cd away the chill drops ofhorror which
hung upon forehead.
I remained silent fur some moments.
The vision which he had just described
struck my imagination not a little, for this
was long before Vathecit and the -Ball
of Ebles" had delighted the world; and
the description which he gave had, as I
received it, all the attractions of novelty
• besides the impressiveness which always
belongs to the narration of an eye-witness,
whether in body or in the spirits, of the
scenes which he describes. There was
something, too, in the stern horror with
which the man related these things, and
in the incongruity of his description, with
the vulgarly received nations of the great
place of punishment, and of its presiding
spirit, which struck my mind with
almost with fear. At length he said, with
an expression of horrible, imploring cart
nestness, which 1 never shall forget—
Well, sir, is there any hope; is there any
chance at all? or, is my soul pledged and
promised away for ever!' is it gone out of
my power? must I go back to the place?"
4g. "ln answering bins I had no easy task to
perform; for however clear might be my
internal conviction of the groundlessness .
of his fears, and however strong my skep
ticism respecting the reality of what he
had described, I nevertheless felt that his
impression to the contrary, and liumilitv
and terror resulting from it, might Ce
made available as nu rrcac eugiucs in the
work of conversion fioin protigacy,
and of his restoration to decent habits;
and to rebgious feelings. I therefore told
him that he was to regard his dream ra
ther in the light ul a warning than in that
of a prophecy; that our salvation depended
not upon the wor,l or deed of a moment,
but upon the habits of a life; that, in line,
if he at once discarded his idle compan
ions and evil habits, and firmly adhere to
a sober, industrious, and religious course
of life, the powers of darkness might claim
his soul in vain, for that there were high
er and firmer pledges than human tongue
could utter, which promised salvation to
him who should repent ;aid lead a new
life. ,
. .
I !eft iitich comforted, and with a
promise to return upon the neat day. I
did so, and found him much more cheer
ftd, and without any remains of the dog
ged sullenness which I suppose had arisen
from his despair. His promises of amend
ment were ivven in that tune of deliber
ate earnestness, which belongs to deep
and solid determination; and it was
no small delight that 1 observed, after
pealed visits, that his good resolutions;
so far froni failing; did but gather strength
by time; and When I saw that man sh..ke
oft the idle ai.d debauched companions,
whOiq society had for years formed alike :
his am usements and his ruin, and revil e
his long discarded habits of industry and
'sobriety, I said within myself; there is
something more in all this than the opera
tion of an idle dream. One day, some
time after his perfect restoration to health;
I was surprised on ascending the stairs,
for the purpose of visiting this man, to
find him busily employed in hhilihr
some planks upon the landing place,
through which, at the cdmiliencement of
his myuteriouu Vision; it seemed to him
that he had suck. I perceived ut once
that he was strengthening the flour with a
view, to securing himself against such
catastrophe, and could scarcely forbear a
smile as I bid "God bless his work,"
He perceived my thoughts, 1 suppose,
for he ima►ediately said:
can never pass over that floor with
out trembling. I'd leave this house if I
could, but 1 can't find another lodging in
town so cheap, and I'll not take a be.tter,
till I've paid Wall my debts, please God;
but I could not be say in my niitid I
made it as safe as I could: YOu'll hardly
believe nie, your honor, that While I'm
working., maybe a mile away, my heart is
in a flui ter the whole ivay back, with the
bare thotights of the two little steps I have
to walk upon this bit of a floor. So
it's no wonder, sir, I'd thry to make it
'sound and firni with any idle timber g
have."
I applauded Lis
eulutipq
his debts, and he
e f c
am " !ilt,i}lhe pursued ltip Elan ,117 hicl
'r.
aeon.
otn t .
.
' :May months elapsed, and still there
appeared nu alterdtioni in his resolutions
of aNentlinent. lle was a good Work
man, and with his better liabrtsherecov.;,
creel Ilia former extenAve and prefito4,