~ • ' . ~ . . - • /...4,. ..... , ~--.... / ....: ~ r , ,,..., , i 721," _ .... . Wnot.t No. 184. j TERMS OF THE EMITINUZOINT 47017RNAL. Vise "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. every person who obtains five subscribers and forwards price of subscription, shall be : trmshed with a sixth copy gratuitiousdy for one year. N,;subscription received for a less period dm six months, nor any paper discontinued uuti I arrearages are paid. All commuhications must he addressed to .he Editor, post paid, or they will not be ssitcnded to. Advertisrnents not exceeding one square )all he inserted three times for one dollar for every suh3equent insertion, 25 ficents per square will be charged:—if no tletnite ordertl are given as to the time an adverisment is to econtimied, it will be kept in till ordeed; but, and charge accordingly. THE GARLAND. sweetest flowers enriched From various gardens cull'd - Nith care." THAT LITTLE SONG BY CATHARINE H. WATERMAN. SING me again that little song, Oh! sing it onv., again! A thousand buried memories rise, Befure its simple strain. I heard it when a happy child, Amid a merry throng, From gleesome voices long since hush'd Oh! sing that little song! I see again the bright green sward, Whereon we gladly play'd, I hear again the echoing sound Their little footsteps made. Their voices, like a ringing shell, Are mormnring in mine ears, And not a single eye is dim With sorrow or with tears.' nither they come, the rosc-lip'd ones, In many a sister pair, While the rich music of their hearts, Swell out upon the air. Oh! thro' the long, long lapse of years, They greet me once again, Those young companions of my mirth, Waked by that simple strain. Heed not the tears within mine cycs, While the quick memories throng Of other days upon my heart, Oh! sing that little song. THE BIBLE , Woodman afmrc that tree.', Sceptic spare that book, Touch not a single leaf, Nor on as pages look %Vith eye of unbelief; 'Twas my forefather's stay In the hour of agony; Sceptic, go thy way, And let that old book be. That good old book of life, For centuries has stood, Unharm'd amid the strife. When earth was drunk with blood; And would'st thou harm it now, And have its truth forgot? Sceptic, tcrbear thy blow, Thy hand shall harm it not. Its very name recalls The happy hum's of youth When in my grandsire's halls I heard its talcs of truth: I've seen his white hair flow O'er that volume as he read;— But that was long ago, And the good old man is dead. My dear grandmother, too, When I was but a boy, I've seen her eye of blue ' Weep o'er it tears of joy; Their traces linger still , And dear the are to me; ' Sceptic, forgo thy will, 40, let that old book be. SPRING MID POETRY.--The editor of the iincinnata News has had his imagination •xalted by the poetic influence of spring. ind thus pours out the tide of amp.. Wnd now the merry ploughboy histles his morning song 'Lions the dale, and through the vale 'Tis echoed loud and long. Che farmer's flocks are roving free, And on the budding shrubbery, His spouse's Cowses Browses ' Ind the martins have returned and found A welcome to our houses: Ind the little 'duel's run around Divested of their trouses." into cettans ouls. [From the Cincinnati News.] • LOVES FANTASIES. "Levers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends." Midsummer A7ght's Dream. I liad travelled far, and was now within a few hour's journey of the scenes of my juvenile pleasures and pastimes. As night was fast setting in, and being con siderably fatigued with a hard days trav el, I determined to remain at the first stopping place, uatil the following morn ing, when I should resume my journey, and hurry on the place of destination. I had been absent some years, but had nev er ceased to remember the joyous boors I had passed there; Inv early playmates were still retained in lively recollection; and one particularly, a lively, bright eyed. lass, of nearly my own age, who had al. most invariably been the sharer of my pristine ,joys and sorrows. I had always entertained an unsophisticated regard for her, and I looked forward with rapture to the period of rejoining her, with a love matured by long absence, and an affection enhanced by separation. I soon entered a small town, and imme diately drove up to the hotel. Giving my horse into the hands of the hostler, l or dered supper and a bed. Having partaken heartily of a good meal, and being much fatigued; I was shortly after shown to my mom, and threw myself down completely "tired out." While courting sleep, all the ' former scenes of my life passed vividly through my imagination, and I pictured to myself my sweet cousin, just budding' into womanhood, with ail the rosate fresh ness of nature blooming on her cheek, and her accustomed vivacity sparkling in her dark, lusterions eye. Then I imagined the tender embrace, the burning kiss, the still, salt voice, breathing into my enrap tured car the words of love and affection. I felt that I could no longer endure a mo ments seperation. I resolved to set out immediately for the accomplishment of my journey. It was but a few hours' ride. How my heart fondly palpitated as I passad the portal and entered the garden of her whom I adored above aught else on earth. The sun was high in the heavens and shed a golden lustre on all. around. The lade songsters of nature were chirping merilv—the atmosphere was perfumed with the various scented flowers that were clustered with profusion on each side of me. I wreathed a beautiful garland from among them, resolved to surprise my dear cousin with an unlooked for act of gallantry. I hastened up the path which led' towards the house. and when about half way, was met by a smilin g little curley haired cher ub, hurrying al ong with a tiny basket up on her arm. I accosted jier -" Whither go you my pretty one, in such hasteV' She seemed somewhat startled at my sudden appearance, but readily answered, "Oh, sir, to gather some flowers for mama; she is very fond of flowers," and tripped off. The features of the child made a deep i impression upon my mind—they so strong ly resembled those of my fait cousin. Striding on, a flower-encircled bower, situated at the extremity of a cross;path, met my eyes. In it r faintly perceived the outlines of a female figure. Might it not be Mary's? I resolved to obtain a glimpse at her countenance to be certain— and for this purpose changed my course. Stepping lightly ; through the intervening shrubbery, I was soon in the immediate vicinage of the occupant of the bower.l Through the embrasure I beheld her form. :he was sitting with her back towards me, I and seemed an exqusitely proportioned creature. Sits was apparently engaged in some absorbing occupation. With a de sire togain a full view of her countenance, I noislessly changed my position. At the • first glance, I recognized the features of I my much adored cousin. She was busily occupied with her needle, and heeded not the little noise I made in regaining my for mer situation. Stealthily walking up, I tenderly placed the baguet I held in my hand upon her beautiful brow. She start ed— 'What new:freak is this, dear William?' (That was not nisi name!) 'Do you forget me, sweet cm?' I said laying my finger on her shoulder. She turned round—and gazed on me with a livid, unearthly stare--the color forsook her cheeks—her but now gushing lips were changed in a moment to an ashy paleness—be: whole system appeared vio lently agitated. My 'first impulse was to clasp her to my bosom—but:the palid hue of her countenance filled me with the ut most awe. "She seemed a very statue of surprise— As if a lightning's blast had dried her up, And nut Left ha' moister tear." "ONE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY." HUNT 'INGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 24, I She still remained unmoved; beautiful as she looked, there was something so strictly awful In her apperance that I dare not approach tier. Her respiration.seein ed suspended; her vitality fled; and she, a type of loveliness and awe; lovely to be hold, but painful to contemplate. I could not withtsand the shock; it was so unexpected; and sank down overpower ed upon a couch, my spirit stifled with contending emotions. At length I gained a mastery over my feelings. 'Speak; dear Mary; if you ever enter tained the least affection for me, acquaint me with the meaning of this dreadful apa thy.' She moved; her color came and went at intervals; and with a convulsive effort she threw herself into my arms--- and wept! I implanted a soul-stirring kiss upon her still cold lip; but the Ares• sure wan not returned! At this moment the little girl I had met in the ilirder. came in, with her basket filled with the choisest nosegays. ' "Mania see what a line lot of flowers I have gathered." A dreadful thought now flashed through my mind. I first gazed upon the features of the child, and then upon those of the sweet being in my arms. The likeness was still more palpable; there must• be some affiinity between them. Perhaps it washer child. My burning thoughts were now affiliated with a desire to know the whole truth. ' "Mary, I implore you--.nay, command you to explain!" My cousin slowly revived, I usefully placed her upon a seat, and eagerly await ed the issue. The shadow of a noble look ing man now darkened the dor-way. "Henry!" cried my cousin, as if her whole soul was required for the effort. "Henry! there is "WO bad luck to it! may the devil blow me if you don't slape your sivin sinsis a way, and here the sun is an hour and a half high! Up, up! Misther Worthy! It was even so; the scenes I have at tempted to describe were but the illusory evidences of a excited and heated imma ' gination. . _ I was quickly on the road to the'ultima tum of my desires. and I soon took sweet revenge leom those delicious lips which had,but a few hours before escitcd in me the sensations ofa votary of the green eyed monster.' It is now a good length of time since the occurrence of the above. There was however, more, prognosticathin in the dream, than lat first imagined. The lovely urchin, pictured to my sleeping senses, now gilds the fleeting moments of my present fclicity by her innocent prat tle and gambols. [From the Boston Mercantile Journal.] THE THIRTEEN VOTES, OR THE WACER, A TRUE STORY In a town in the interior of the Granite State, not many years since, a gentleman i of some property, and no little political consideration, resided, whose name we shall call Martyr. He was a great stick ler for party principle, insomuch that lie was sometimes induced by party zeal to violate his moral ditties. On one occa sion in Particular, when a very important election was taking place, upon the result 'of which, perhaps, the very existence of his party . depended, he was so carried away by his party feelings, as to deposito thirteen votes fur one individual at the same time in the ballot box; in defiance of the law which provide° that no man to" whichsoever party he may belong, or how ever worthy may be his favorite candidate, shall deposite more than one ballot for any one individual, for one office Waffle Martyn was unfortunately de tected in this equivolentact; &although no ' legal action was had in,relation to! the sub ject, yet there were those in the town in which he resided who were unwilling to admit that excess of party zeal was a sut ' ficient apology for his dereliction from moral duty—and the simple act of depos. ding thirteen votes for one candidate at one time in the ballot box, although palli ated and excused by some of his warm political friends, was severely censured by others. This occurance furnished a subject of coversatiun among the worthy citizens of the town for several weeks —at the end of which time, it gradually and partialy died away, but was nut forgotten. For Mr. Martyrs was doomed to hear the words thirteen votes occasionally repeate ed by his political foes in a most insignifi cant manner—e vidently with the desig of disturbing the equanimity of his feelings. In this they succeeded but too well. These words, so harmless in themselves, or when 1 applied to others, if addressed to Mr Mar tyn, or ever uttered in his hearing, seem. ! ed to possess the power of a magic cabla, 'so wonderful' and so instantaneous was the etrect which they produced on the ap pearance and conduct of that gentleman. The moment thirteen votes reached his ear, his features were clouded with a frown of indignation- —his eyes were lighted up with the most unholy fire—his) hands in voluntat ily grasped the weapon of offence within his reach, end his voice naturally clear and sonorous, was changed into deep and unearthly mu tterings, resembling the sound of distant thunder, or the rum blings of the pent up volcano. Indeed. the (dna produced on Sir Percie Shelton. by the sight of the bodkin, as related n' the Monastery of Sir Walter Scott, was not more sudden and terrible than the ef fect produced on Wattle Martin, he re peating the simple words 'thirteen votes' His weakness on this point was proverbial and a wicked youth of the village, now a very worthy legal practitioner in the city of Boston, once made i%lartyn's infirmity the means of playing off a mischievous and cruel practical joke, to the great amuse ment of the bystanders. Mr. Smith, the young gentleman to whom we allude, being one day at the vil lage tavern, entered into conversation with a gent.cel looking stranger, while the landlady was preparing some refreshment, with which to recruit the exhausted frame and spirits of her guest. The conversa tion turned on the difficulty of pronouncing some of the names of places of Indian origin, which are so frequently met with in the New England States. In the midst of the colloquy, Mr Smith saw his pnliti cle opponent, Wattle Alartin, coming down the road. fie was certain that Wat tie would pop into the tavern, and in the spur of the moment laid his plan accord ingly. "What you say, sir," said Mr Smith,, "respecting ihose jaw -breaking names, is perfCctiy correct--I agree with you en tirely, and am much gratified to make the acquaintance of a gentleman of so much taste. But, my dear sir, there are famil iar English words, and combinations of words, which, although they may not be very difficult to pronounce are exceedingly difficult to repeat. For instance, it is al most impossible for any one not familiar with the practice, to pronounce the words thirteen votes, thirteen votes, thirteen voles, for any length of time, wi':hout making the meat ludicrous mistakes." "Tatrteen votes! thirteen votes! thir teen votes!" repeated the stranger. "1, see no difficulty in that. I - could go on repeating thirteen votes! thirteen votes! thirteen votes! until to-morose morn ing." "It is far more difficult, my dear sir, than you imagine," replied Mr Smith, in his blandest manner. "I am not much in the habit of betting, but for the curiosity of the thing, I am willing to bet you the price of a dinner for yourself and horse, that you cannot repeat in rapid sucession the words 'thirteen votes, thirteen votes,' fifteen minutes, without makeing some egregious blunders." "Done," said the traveller—who re joiced at the idea of paying the land-lords charges so easily—"and I - will begin at, once." So saving he took out his watch and noted the time—then planting him self firmly against the; wall, with Ins face toward the door, he assumed a look of great determintation, as if he had under taken an unnleasnnt job, but was resolved to go through with it at ail hazards—and commenced pronouncing in a loud, clear, voice, with due emphasis and discretion, the cablistic words, "Thirteen votes! thir-,' teen votes! thirteen votes!" In the mean time, Mr Martyn, not dreaming of the insult which awaited him bent his steps, as he was wont, towards the tavern. As he reached the threshold of the door, he heard the offensive words, "Thirteen votes, thirteen votes," pronoun ced—and with a frame trembling with passion, and with fry strongly implanted on his rubicond visage, he abruptly enter. ed the bar room,: to confront the man who dared to trifle with his feelings and at tempt to overwhelm him with insult. His eye, beaming with wrath, fell upou the stranger, who regarded his withering glances with the most provokeing iadiffer ence—and who paused not a moment in in his recitation, but continued to say, "thirteen votes, thirteen votes." The indignant Marty!' next caught a sight of Mr Smith's countenance, convul sed with laughter. "What is the meaning Id this, sir," said lie in a voice of thunder. But the only reply he received was from the mouth of the stranger, who, with the most irritating pertinancy, continued to bawl, even louder than before, "thirteen vote, thirteen votes." Martyn then advanced towards the stranger, his frame absolutely quivering with rage. "\Vho are you, scoundrel?" demanded he in the most imperious man ner. "and Iww dare you insult me in this way?" The sti anger:thought the rage of M artyn was counterfeited, and a ruse of Smith's to win the wager; and the answer to his question, shouted out louder than before, was, “thirteen votes, thirteen votes, thir teen votes." will not put up with the insult," screamed Marlyn, doubling his fist and putting himself in attitr de. "Thirteen votes, thirteen votes, thir teen votes," vociferated the stranger at the top of his lungs. "If you repeat those words again, I will knock . you down, you rascal," said the infuriated Alartyn with a howl of desper ation. _ - stranger felt somewhat indignant , at being addressed in this rude and uncer emonioos manner, but was determined to' win the wager. and raisinghis voice bawled out with the lungs of a stentor, "thirteen votes, thirteen votes, thirteen votes." "Take that then for your insolence," shrieked Marten, suiting the action to the word, and giving the luckless traveller a boa on the ear which laid him prostrate on the floor. But as the stranger fell, his yell of sur prise, anger and agony, took the sound of "thirteen rotes, thirteen votes, thirteen votes." Highly exasperated at what he conceiv ed to be a base and unfair contrivance to cheat him out of his wager, the stranger rose in great dudgeon, still exclaiming in a voice which a boatswain in a hurricane might have envied, "thirteen votes, tine tees votes," and fell Pell mell upon poor, Martyn, pounding lum without mercy, and bellowing between every blow,"thir 'teenn votes, t hirteen votes." The traveller finally kicked Martyn out of the room, and closed the door on the unlucky illegal voter, he looked at his watch—saw that the fifteen minutes had aiready expired--gave a loud and exult ing shout of "thirteen votes! THIRTEEN VOTES ! THIRTEEN VOTES !" which made the welkin ring again--sank exhaus ted in a chair, and claimed the wager. From the Evangelical Magazine, MEMORY. BY Wbl. It. BIDDLEOOII. Memory, the beacon of despair, the talisman of human felicity, the pole-star of genius' mystic flight, how mysterious in its power—how ethereal in its °riga), how enrapturing in its influence! It dis• sipates the dusky twilight of sorrow's nighty reign, disrobes the feelings of the gloomy mantle of mourning, disperses the murky clouds of disaprkontments, and plants in their stead, the holy joy ofyouth ful association, enkindled into life anew. Like the attraction that pervades all matter, its influence is felt throughout each link of "being's glorious chain," and its power is realized and acknowledged in all the various parts of animated na. tore. Association and Hope, the shrines be fore which the devotee of pleasure offers his most frequent solicitations, at once rush back to it, as the fountain from whence they derive their celestial power. The loftiest enjoyments to be deduced from the depths of science, the benefits and pleasures drawn from the historic page. the treasures of art, and the truths of philosophic lore--all owe their strongest impression to the inspiration of Memory. The exalted dictatcsof morality, the RlB lime truths and holy precepts of religion, may be steriny impressed upon the youth. ful mind; but how much more indelible is the image) of those impressions when remembered in close connection with a father's love, and a mother's undying af fection; when in fond recollection they are associated with a lovely home, the domes tic circle, and the - fireside j0y..., which ev er cluster around the family altar. Man, destitute of its godlike sway, is but the hapless victim of sorrow's barbed shafts; a sportive plaything for the vampire of de lusion and folly; without it, he sleeps in the hopeless reverie of grief. It is memos ry that lights up within the soul, the glow ing radiance of ..Hope's brilliant day star.' It i s the recollection of other and holier seasons, that first infuses into the mind the crystal purity which prevades the Gain Lain of anticipation. Unlike the pleasure of anticipation, they are undying, fadeless, and perennial. They are not visionary fantasies, that fade away like the dew, or perish like a rosebud of an hour. When reason once again assumes her throne, the gay frostwork of lancyßinelts into an airy void. But, can the whole deception of art ful man—can the unholy grasp for domin ion's trembling power. 'Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour' No; these remain until the tremLling soul flies; these throw around the parting hour the pellucid stream of calm resignation, and even rise to guide the sapphire courts of heaven. It is Memory that lends to association its richest charms. ' it first points to that season of life when the young heart was buoyant, and the brow gleamed with heavenly innocence. It is the remem. brance of former events, that first opens the flowry field where it plays in all its wonted gambols. The hours of memory, like the poetic in• spiration of the 'Welsh harp, thrill the whole soul with' the electric flashes. of joy. [ VoL. IV, No 28 it is at such seasons, the mind soars aloft on seraphic wings, and holds converse with the departed spirits of other days. how sweet, in , memory's mellow;ng glass' to view the tieasured scenes of by-gone days, to rest the mind's eye in pleasing thought, on the lucid pleasures which once shed a halo of rapture over the tr3utiled yriation, amon g the scenes where whilome we spent ourial , - cysts hours. What subject of reflection i sleds such hallowed gleams of triumph Ito the soul, as "The sweet remembrance of unblemished youth , The still inspiring voice of innocence and truth," Such thoughts as these fall upon the soul like the tremulous vibrationsof an even ing song upon the listening ear. Yes, the holy thoughts of suds an hour, rise like the matin orisons of the sainted monastic, to heaven's only courts, and fill the heart like the rich tones of life's first music. 11 ithout memory, what is friendship? /t is but an airy sound; the offspring of an idle imagination; and oblivion steals over the consecrated word friend, ere the echo (lies away on the ear. The world with its cares and anxieties is but an imperfect sphere for the action of memory, it gives at once an impulse, which partakes to o . much of the :dull monotony of business, and it ever will remain an exotic in the soil of din and tumult. Solitude is the province where it displays its most res. plendent beauties. It is at her pensive hour, that contemplation roams tree and unrestrained; that the mind wanders back through the dim vista of past time, and gathers the unfading treasures of decayed worth. It is:tnemury alone can seize the keysof knowledge, unlocks the portals of renown, and waves on faFe's praud the magic wand of mind. Mounted on the wing of elevated thou&ht it is memory can pluck the glittering diadem from sci, ente's sublimest tops, and touch the cloud capt regidns of unfading honor. Musing alone atnong the wrecks of fallen grandure and ruined ambition, it is memory can re cal the refinement of art, witness the soul subduing might of eloquence, rouse the hidden charities of intellect, and catch the lustrous rays which sprang round the ves tal lamp of genius. Or roaming adown the records of the historian, it is memory can catch the last glimmerings of fading excellence, banquet on the treasures of departed time and hold converse with the . . spirit of evanseent glory. What is the alleviating balsm it con veys to man? Go ask the maniac, immur— ed in yonder lonely cell, the silent vic tim of haggard wo. Few are the gleams of pleasure which visit the latice of his sol. itary prison. Ile who once struck the thrilling chords of pleasing thought, now tunes on sorrow's plaintive lute, the death-tones of affliction. Of him who• once played the harp of posey, andeswept with magic hand the ravished soul, naught remains save a shatterred remnant of men.; tal ruin. As he was about to wreathe the fancied garland of fame, the woful voice of penury pealed through his anxious brain , the freezing notes of wretchedness. Hope's enchanting minstrelsy died intu an , echo, and all that is now left, is "A gloomy wilderness of dying thought." But has his sun of joy forever set? No— the memory of what he once was--the thought that brighter prospects were once his---will entrance his phrenzied soul, like the expiring notes of an evening, and bind around his brow the armaranth of content. The memory of WashinVon! how ea• cred to every American heart. filen Mount Vernon's 'Mecca shrine' shall be no more. Ws virtues will be cherished in love and admiration, filen the marble . slab shall have mouldered in lonelinea a way; when the ;proud :mosoleum erected to commemorate a nations gratitude and sorrow, shall have tumbled to the earth, his name will live, fadeless and pure, en graven on the entablature of every grate ful bosom. Whether cast upon Arabia's arid sands, he pines in lonely wretched ness among her brutal fiends, or doomed on Norway's rugged cliff to spend a life colder than the ice-bergs which hang on her brunal rocks, its influence is the same? The bi ight reflection of better days, will shine through his darkened soul, like the silver beams which steal through the loop holes of his curtained cell. The fond re membrance of his former lovely home : the friends with whom he chatted away the social hour; the brook that murtnered by in babling music recall the wanted sports of youth, rendered doubly pleasing by memory's mycroscopic power. Supernal gift! When creation's sons shouted forprous existence—when yon ' der circling spheres first sot:Ll:led the an them of time—thy reign beztrt. But shall it close? No. When yonder stars no longer gild the vaulted welkin of heaven—when the solar fires shall be but &smoky mass, and all the sister p;anpl, but the wreck of chaotic substance—when the last trump shall soutul the dieetutiivii
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