UNTINGDON JOILIBNAL• WROLE No. 182.] TERMS OF TIM ZUNTINC - DON C01:17.11.6.L. The "Journal" will be published every Wednesday morning, at two dollars a year if paid IN ADVANCE, and if not paid within six months, two dollars and a half. Eva y person who obtains five subscribers and torwards price of subscription, shall lie f irnished with a sixth copy gratuitiously for one year. N i subscriptionreceived for a less period than six months, nor any paperdisconunued untilarrearages are paid. All c ommuhications must be addressed to tha bl•litor, post paid, or they will not be witended to. Advertisments not exceeding one square bill be inserted three times for one dollar for every subsequent insertion, 25 ficents per spare will be charged:—lf no detnite orderd are given as to the time an adverisnient is to as continued, it will be kept in till ordeed; but. and charge accordingly. THE GARLAND. sweetest flowers enrieled Front various gardens culrd Huth care." From the Lancaster Examiner and Herald TO JOSEPH RIMIER BY MISS LYDIA JANE PEARSON. Go, then, to thy calm home in peace. As the bright sun goes down at night, While shadowy earth and darknitig seas Are mourning the &parting light. The fresh plants droop, & the bright flowers Fold up their soft and fragrant leaves; The birds sit silent in the bow'rs, And the sweet evening songstress grieves. And every sportive thing grows sad. As the bright orb withdraws his ray; And Nature, late so bright and glad, In tears puts on her robes of grey. Yet, though in tears and mourning clad, A hemisphere is bathed in night, The sun forever bright and glad, Retains his majesty and might: So, though from our politicaky Thy glorious presence pass awry, Thy spirit's innate majesty Arcund thee sheds immortal day. Thou art as happy, and as great, Within thy own domestic ;bower, As in the august Halls of State, Clotted in the panoply of power. No glittering pomp, or titled name, Could add to native worth like thine: So no reverse can quench thy fame, Or bright the bap,' thy brow that twine, While the immortal mind endures, And Genius bends at Learning's shrine, Her native gratitude ensures 4 wreath of blosaom'd laurel thine. Thou hast unbar'd with liberal hand. The portals of a world of light, Whence beams upon this shadowy land The dawning of celestial light. And as the day grows broad and clear, And spirits drink the quickening light, Thy memory shall become more clear, The record of thy fame more bright. Malignity shall strive in vain ro blot her annals in her rage; Truth shall efface her every stain, And pour her radiance o'er the pap, And Cenius. rising in her might. Erom all the chains of darkness free, Shall on that page of glory write Eternal Gratitude to thee! And thou, in thy dear rural home. Shalt teel a god like hapiness, While on the fragrant breezes come The 'mans of a people's bliss. The tribute of a nation treed From ignorance's degrading thrall, Must be the dearest, holiest meed That to a good man's lot cnn tall, Go, then, to thy glad home in peace, With everlasting garlands crown'd; Which science, from her holy bays, Shall twine thy worthy temples round. Thou'st labor'd for thy country's good! And serv'd her faithfully! And she in generous gratitude :hall EVERMORL remember Thee! And when from dear domestic joys Again she call her RITNER forth, We'll hail with joyful heart and voice, The Sunrise to our showing earth! Slittotettaneous. AN OLD MAN. We gather from the Cleaveland, (Ohio) papers, the following interesting facts, tending a venerable relic of the Revolu tion, who has seen 110 winters, and who was present at, and joined in, the festivi ties of the celebration in that city, of the Anniversary of Washington's birth-day, on the 22d of February. The Mayor, Clergy, and Orator of the day, had ascended the pulpit, and were listening to the opening exercise by the choir, when there entered the Church, an old man who walked up the aisle with a firm and unfaltering step, and being re cognized by the Mayor, lie descended and conducted him up to a seat by his side' He had the appearance of a man of 70, though he was born three years previous to the birth of Washington, by whose side lie fought through the whole of our revolutionary struggle, and was with him at "131adock's Defeat." These facts were briefly communicated to the orator* who, in the course of his oration, turned and thus addressed the time honored veteran: "Father, we welcome you to an honor ed scat among us, and to a participation in the joys and the pleasures of this day. Your children are not unmindful of the debt of gratitude they owe you and your brothers in arms, for the many blessing s which your youthful valor and patriotism have conferred upon them. You are an old man. You see before you many whom we call old men; but you were old before they were born. With the honor of live score years and ten upon your hoary bead, Providence has kindly sent you down to us as the ambas sador of a past generation. You can tell us of scenes which your own eyes have witnessed more than a hundred years ago; for you have seen the stupendous changes that have converted a howling wilderness into a garden of beau ty and of plenty. You now behold thou sands of busy cities and villages, printing to Heaven their temple-spires, as in proud and solemn mockery of the towering for est-oak, beneath which you have seen ga• thered together the wigwams of the mur derous savage. You now listen to the sound of the church-going bell, commingling with the voice of civilized man, where you once heard the hoot of the boding owl uniting with the horrid yell of savage revelry, You heard the roar of cannon which an nounced the anniversary mot ning of the birth-day of your departed and beloved chief, by whose side you stood in the dark ,day of your country's strife, but it came not to your cars as the fearfnl precursor 'of the battle storm: and you heard the [chime; of the deep toned bells, but they called not the people to extinguish the fires of the enemy's rocket. The burnished arms and the glittering uniform which you now see before you, contrast but too strikingly with the half clad peasantry that composed the army of the Revolution; whose arms were the rusty firelocks that had long reposed upon the resting hooks of their own dwellings, bet which, when the voice of their coun try called, they hastily snatched, and, flying from camp to camp, were tracked by the blood of their footsteps. But, father, where now are those brave and heroic men who fought with you through that long and btedy drama which secured the liberty of yOli country? Alasl but few remain to count their ass's and tell the tale of their early sufferings. Most of them have gone to their long home, and soon, too soon will be tolled the knell of the last hero of the Revolt'. tion. But the memory of your noble doings shall not go down with you to the land of silence. The monument of your fame shall endure when the marble that points the spot where you slumber shall have mouldered iuto dust. Centuries may roll on to the long night of forgetfulness; ages mg come, and dwell, and go; kingdoms, "ONE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY." A. W. BENEDICT PUBLISHER AND PROPRIETOR. HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 10, 1839. may rise, and flourish, and fall; but while Freedom has a votary, and Liberty a name, the "record of your deeds shall not perish from the remembrance of man." And that master—spirit of the storm— , though no adventitious attractions 'nark the spot where the Hero sleeps; no gorge-' ous statue rises to mock his memory; no cenotaph to inspire reverence, but the simple inscription of his name; yet, like the Romans at the grave of Germanicus, a whole nation weeps over his dust, and tears of generations yet untorn, shall nourish the laurels that now droop above the tomb of Washington. Time is rapidly flying, and the scenes of this day will soon have passed. You ‘s ill depart for your distant home, and we shall never all again be permitted to be hold your aged form, and to gaze upon those came-worn and furrowed cheeks. And may He who watched over and pre served you in the day of battle, sustain and comfort you in that sad hour which must shortly laminate your days upon the earth." •Seth T. Hurd, Esq. From the American Museum. The Handsome Stranger. AN OLD GINTLRMAN'S STORY. BY MRS. EMMA C. EMDURY. It was on a fine spring morning, some years since, that 1 found myself in one of those nuisances which , for the convenience of the patient public, so long plied between New Yolk and Long Island: I mean an old Brooklyn steam boat—now thanks to the enterprise of a few individuals, repla ced by . commodious and neat ferry-boats. As it is my disposition to seek always for the hidden good in every apparent evil, and from the most uncomfortable situa tion to extract, at least. amusement, I tur ned my attention to the study of human face divine as exhibited in the dirty, crowded cabin. In such an assemblage as is usually found in sqch places, there must be, of necessity, a large proportion of insignificant, inexpressive, and disa greeable countenances, but the eye that seeks for the beautiful and the good can seldom rosin through a crowded circle without finding, at least, one brow on which it may rest with pleasure. On the, morning in question; I was struck with ex ceeding beauty of a head immediately op- ' posite me. A group of two or three per sons stood between me and the individual that had attracted my attention, so that I could not see nothing but the head—snd I certainly never saw a more exquisite spe cimen of male beauty. It seemed like a, vivification of one of Vandyke's magnifi cent portraits. The dark clear complex ion—the finally chisselled features—the superb curve of the crimson lips: the broad arch of the expansive forehead, and the full, dark eyes lighted up with an almost dazzling brilliancy formed a combination of beauty, such as the old Italian masters' may have sometimes beheld, when Venice was the ocean queen, and her children a mong the fairest as well as the noblest of the earth. The eyes.were apparently fixed on the glimpse of blUe sky visible throuh the narrow window, while the marble still ness ' of the countenance, and almost rig-, id tranquillity of the features, made 'me feel as if I was, in very truth, gazing on some wondrous triumph of the painter's art.--While I looked, a sudden turn of , the boat brought the full glare of the mor ning sun directly upon those singular eyes' but the radiance, which fell with almost blinduing power on the faces of those a round, seemed to be to him but as the light of a farthing candle; his glance quiled not for an instant, even when it met the blaze of the meridian sun. My imagination was busily engaged in weaving a fancy web, of romantic history' for this rarely gifted in dividual. But 1 was suddenly recalled to every day life by the arrival of the boat at the ferry; and the usual scramble to get on shore. I then perceived that this 'nag ' nificent head had actually been wasted up on a miserable, shrunked, crooked figure that might have personated Richard the third, as Stephen Kemble is said to thave played Fallstail "without stuffing." He was, evidently "an unfortunate gentle man." His habiliments had certaily not been "made to order." and had long since lost all claim to the gentility they might have possessed when he'first received them in all the gloss of a Chatham street ritac. ciamento. Altogether he was a anomaly. If a whimsical sculptor should have joined the god-like head of Apollo to the dis torted body •of Vulcan, the effect could scarcely have been mere grotesque. I amused myself as I walked up Fulton, with endeavoring toform some idea of what possible use the rare gift of beauty would ever be to this stray waif upon the world; but I could fancy it of no other utility than to excite the sympathy of some good natured serving wench, when at some fu ture day its possessor accompanied Old Hays to Bridewell. About two years afterwards, I was spew ding a few weeks at the springs, when the little community of fasliionables was thrown into commotion by the arrival of a splendid carriage, with outriders, said to contain Son Altesse the Duke del Pioinbi- 1 1 no. Any one that has ever spent a week at Saratoga, will not easily forget the al most insane passion which is there exhi bited fur foreign fashions, and, above all. foreign titles. In fact I have heard it se riously asserted, that a well trained ourang outang, furnished with a title as a pass port, and a meerschaun as an excuse fur his silence, might obtain access to the "best society" of even our own proud city of Gotham, without much difficulty. The arrival of thd Duke del Piombino created of course a very great sensation; and many an old-fashioned papa was teazed into a promise. of making an effort to compass the Duke's acquaintance in the course of the day, that their daughters might have the honor of his hind in the evening dance. Never had Saratoga beheld a more splen did galaxy of beauty than that which graced tl a ball that night. But alas , the blaze of charms was powerless. The Duke was not present. Indeed his highness seemed determined to disappoint all cal culation. For three days he was too un well to leave his room; and innumerable were the stone bottles of Congress water that wore carried to that honorable apart ment. For three days his own six ser vants, and about half a dozen others be longing to the house, were kept constantly employed in attending upon him. In the meantime curiosity was excited to an al most painful degree. The formes des chambre belonging to the establishment endeavored to learn something from . his ser vants but with little success. His coach man and outriders were mere Irish host lers picked up in New York, and his valet the only one capable giving any informa tion , a stilt Pima! En lishinan with a strongly marked Jewish physiognomy, only stated that his master had left Europe incognitio to avoid notoriety. On the evening of the third day lie ap peared at the tea-table. Every eye was fixed upon hint as he entered the room, and even the gentlemen acknowledged that he was well worthy of attention. He was attired in the rich uniform of an Aus trian Colonel of Hussars and a short Span ish cloak of black velvet, such as we of ten see in the theatrical costume, was flung carelessly over one shoulder; while the la dies did not fail to observe that the clasp of his cloak, together with his breastpin 4- ring were of diamonds. But picteresque as was his dress, it was scarcely noticed by those who were enabled to obtain a view of his countenance. The soft, lus trous eyes, the superb forehead, the ex quisite mouth and the Byronic chin of the' noble Duke were exhaustless themes of admiration. His whiskers were quite un exceptionable, his mustache was the very bow of Cupid, and when some one ven tured to hint that if his features were ex• amined critically his nose would be found to be a little too aquiline,—a little too nearly approaching to the Jewish confir mation, the suggestion was treated with such merited scorn as envy should always receive. I gazed on him a long time with that dubious feeling of half-recognition which sometimes haunts us like a remem bered dream. I could not recollect that I had ever been in company with t he Duke andyet I was sure his face was not un familiar to me. Great were the heart-burnings that night in the ball-room. His highness did not dance, but amused himself with watch ing the many lovely forms that floated amid the mazes of the bewitching waltz. Many a bright eye grew brighter beneath his glance—many a fa:r cheek blushed "celestial rosy red" as the dancer's gos samer robe brushed the velvet trappings of the noble stranger. The next day the Duke exhibited him self on horseback and thus afforded us an opportunity of observing his small and beautiful foot. Ilis form was evidenti3 , diminutive, but the graceful cloak which seemed his constant companion forbade us to discover its proportions, and all were willing to believe that where the head was so line and the extremities so well shaped the figure also mast be good. As he rode slowly away the same vague feel• ing of recognition passed through my mind, and as he dismounted atter his re turn I discovered the mystery. His horse, alarmed by some unwonted sound, turned short round as he was about alighting, & to avoid an appearance of awkwardness he was compelled to dismount with the sun full in his eyes. He raised his head and met the full blaze of light, without a ma mentar' dropping of the eyelid; and this simle mcident at once dissipated all my doubts. He was the strange individual • ' had met on board the steamboat—the his mouth than philosophical discussions, handsome stranger. and he had a tact seldom equalled in Wl'. Sly suspicions once arouged, I deter- the conversation from bcoks to mined to watch the noble Duke very oar-Ito things, from actions to persons. rowly, awl discover, if possible, the mea ning of this surprising metamorphose. I found him gradually making himself ac quainted with the loveliest amon the fe males, and the richest among &e men. His equipage and servants were always at the command of the ladies whom be' honored with his admiration, and their brothers could not be so unreasonable as to object to an acquaintance with a man who displayed the decorations of innu merable orders of knighthood--who hinted his consanguinity with the blood royal of France; and above all, who lost his money at billiards with so much grace and digni ty. Among the belles of the season, Matil da Easton, the orphan heiress of a South ern planter, was conspicuous. She had visited the Springs under the protection of her aunt, a sentimental spinster of the old school, who doated on the production of the "Minerva Press," and expected all kinds of romantic improbabilities from the chat ms of her bewitching niece.' Matilda was certainly a splendid creature, and with a little more self-distrust would have been a very lovely woman; but, born at the South, and surrounded by slaves from infancy, she had lest ned to look up on herself as a sort of earthly divinity, whom men ought to worship . rather than presume to love, She was just twenty, and in actual possession of her immense fortune; it was no 'yonder, therefore, that the Duke singled her out as the object of special attention. The undisguised de light with which Matilda enjoyed the tri umph over her rivals, first made me doubt the better qualities of her nature. I, using the privilege of my years, endeavor ed in vain to awaken her to a full sense of the danger she was incurring in this inti macy,—but she was to self-willed to listen to an old man's caution, and nothing was left to me but to look on while the game was played. In the course of a short time the billiard players found that the stranger could win money as amiably as he once lost it, and many a precipitate retreat from the sum mer abode of Fashion, might Le attributed to the grace with which the noble Duke presided over the table of Fortune. Ma ny a young dandy, who had dealt out the highest ecomiums on his Highness' affabil ity, was obliged to add his regrets that a republican purse was quite insufficient to suppart so aristocratic an acquaintance. In the meantime the singular beauty of his countenance seemed to serve him in stead of a letter of credit, and wherever he went he was sure of being well received. "Why does he always wear that cloak?" I asked of Matilda, to whom he professed to have narrated many incidents in his life. "Oh, there is a very romantic story connected with it," replied she, "but it was related to me under a promise of se crecy; I can tell you enough, however, to account for his always wearing it. While travelling through Calabria he was fortu nate enough to rescue a Spanish Prince from the hands of a banditti; in the sud den impulse of gratitude the Prince threw his own cloak, with its splendid diamond clasp, on the Duke's shoulders, and ex acted from him a promise never to appear without it until they should meet again." "How lung since this romantic adventure occurred,' I asked. "About three years." "The Duke has been extremely careful of his royal gift, if he has been able to re tain its first gloss so long," said 1; but Matilda deigned no reply to my inuendo, and I questioned her no farther. 1 re mained an anxious, though not an interes ted spectator of their proceedidgs until I learned that Matilda had broken off an engagement of a year's standiug with her cousin, a promising lawyer in Charleston, and then in disgust I quitted the Springs. I had been but a few days at my old winter lodgings in the City Hotel, when I found the Duke of Piombinc was among us. Matilda had returned to her splendid house near the Battery, and the Duke took up his abode in the vicinity, deter mined to follow up his advantage. Living in the house with him, I could nut but ob serve the admirable manner in which he conducted his manceuvree. His fine horsemanship--his skill in music—his vast erudition- -all were topics of praise in the circles where he visited, but 1 could not divest myself of the belief that equestrian skill was all that he actually possessed. The picturesque beauty of his attitude as lie flung back the drapery of his short cloak; and striking a few chords on the ;guitar, breathed in a low sweet voice, sonic simple Frenchor Span ish love song, was enough to disarm all criticism, aed many a sensible girl, char med by the magic of his tones, forgot to ask whether they were the gift of nature or the effect of cultivation. His reputa tion for learning lie was careful not to endanger. Allusion to strange personal ' adventures were much more common in [ Vol,. IV, No 26. At length I received a card to attend the wedding of the rich and beautiful Ma tilda Easton, How shall I describe the fairy-like beauty with which her inagnifi cent abode was invested on that festal night? The rooms were converted into Turkish pavilions of unequalled splen dor, hangings of silk and gold covered the walls, cushions of eider down, cover ed with the costliest satins were piled up on the floors, the staircases were crowded with the richest exotics and every thing wore the appearance of an Oriental festi val. The guests were attired with pro portionaie richness, but murmurs of ad miration echoed through the rooms as the bridal party entered. Six bridesmaids attended the stately bride, who in her rich robe of white velvet, embroidered with silver, and looped with diamonds looked "every inch a queen. The ordi nary splendor of the Duke's attire left no opportunity for greater display that eve ning but the almo st radiant beauty of his countenance, flushed as it was with tri umph, was noticed by all. The next morning the happy pair left the city for Waslihrzton, but before dinner time all the Broadway loungers were whispering some strange story about the Duke's cloak. It was said that it had been worn less to produce a graceful effect than to hide a most ungraceful deformity in short the lady's femme de chambre has discovered that the noble bridegroom had a hump-back. A few months after, Matilda's vast property was converted into bills of ex change, and they departed for Europe, in.. tending to make the grand tour, while the ancient palace of the Ducal territory of Piombino should be newly furnished to re ceive its republican mistress. Poor Matilda! she has been for some time a boarder in a convent in the south of France. lien pride will not allow her return to her native land and— the rcm - ne nt of her fortune has enabled to pur chase a home among strangers. The dis covery that she made of his personal de formity was the first shock she encounter ed; but, to reconcile her to this he had shown her a Fleur de lys stamped deeply on his shoulder as with a hot iron, which he informed her, under a solemn injuction of secrecy, was an indisputable proof of his Bourbond blood, as all members of roy al family received that impression imme diately after birth. This served to con sole the ambitious wife for many sorrows. She saw her money wasted at the gaining table—she heard her husband spoken light. ly of, among his 'servants—she felt his estrangement from herself but still she ceased not to pride herself in the thought that she was the wife of a prince of the blood. But the final blow came. A par. ty of gens d' arms one day entered their magnificent hotel and seized 'him as a fel on escaped from the gallies. The fleur d' lys, the proof of his royal birth, was in fact the badge of merited infamy! His history may be told in a few words. He was a French Jew, whose original em ployment had been the never failing re source of the poor Israelite—dealing in old clothes. Five years preNious he hail been branded and condemned to the gal lies for swindling, but having succeeded in making his escape, he determined to push his fortunes in America. "Ce West into le premier pass qui route." A run of luck at the gaining table gave him funds to commence his grand experimeut,—an accomplice less favored by nature assum ed the station of his valet, while he played to perfection the noble Duke, and we have already seen how he succeeded. Whether his career is yet ended I can not say, but my last meeting with the no ble Duke del Piombino was during a vis it to France a few months since, when I saw him chained dy the neck to a fellow scoundrel, and busily employed in men ding the road near Paris, The fate of the lovely Matilda is a mel ancholy one; but who of the loungers in fashionable life cannot recall a somewhat similar case? When we shall cease to ape foreign follies, and foreign vices: when we shall learn to value the Wel of" Amer. scan citizen" above the proudest peerage that Europe can boast, then, and not till then, shall we cease to hear of such things. A greenhorn lately took a notion to get married. After the ceremony was con cluded, young Jonathan took a quarter dol lar out of his pocket, deliberately walked up to the parson, and handed it to him, saying, "Parson, keep the whole , you need'nt give me back any change." To preserve a friend three things are required; to honour hint present, praise him absent, and assist hint in his neees— sities
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