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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