YoL. Vl, No. 7.] rzr.mo OF TUX iIUNTINGDON JOURNAL. The JouRNAL" will be published every Welnesdly inornin, at two dollars a year, d p,sid IN ADV ANC E, and if not paid with in six months, two dollars and a half. Every persnn who nbt:tillti five subscribers, and fares trds price of subscription, shall be Lirnished with a sixth copy gratuitously , for :me year. Nn sabicri ption received for a lens period m six !n , riths, nor any paper discontit ued until all arrearages are paid. Tl' VI c•mt nu.iic.ttio,s must be addressed to the Elit tr, POST PAID, or they will not be attended tn. Adver tis,ni,nts not exceeding one square, will he inserted three times for one mad for every subsequent insertion, twenty five cents pee square will be charged. If no definite orders are given as to the time en nlvvrtlsernerit is to be continued, it will be It-tit in till ordered out, and charged accor dingly. AGENTS ron The Huntingdon Journal. Utniel Terc:ue, Orbisonia; David Blair, E,q. Shade G Benjamin Lease, Shirlrys burg; Eliel Smith. E:q. Chi/rot/a/own; Jas. Entriken, jr. ('efree Run; Hugh Madden, Esq. Springfield; Dr. S. S. Dewev, Bir mingham; Jams Marrow, Union Furnace ; JAnSi%ler, Warrior Mark; James Davis, Esq. West township ; 1). H. Moore, Esq Frankatown; Eph. G,lbreath, Esq. Half dausbury: Henry Neff, Alexandria; Aaron Barns, Willa m9burg; A. J. Stewart, Water Street; Wrn. Reed, Esq. Mo , ris township; Sidrunon Hamer, Jseff's Mill; James Dysart, Mouth S/truce Creek; Wm. Murray, Esq. Graysville; John Crum, Manor Hill; Jas. E. Stewart, Sinking Valley; L. C. Kessler, Mill Creek. POETRY From the Boston Post, THE VINE V henrver, Tomas, I reflects How many a sore temptation Ve are t xpostcl to oftentimes In this life of probation, I tremble, lest in evil hour Yiel...ire the reins to Passion, AnJ hut.lin' Reason trom the box, To ruin I shall dash on. But, Tomas, vhat I've th us tar writ, h only prefatory To what I have yet to relate-- A werry moral story: I vas z(valkiti . through the street One afternoon, a musin'— My hoptics on the passers by At the same time a ushi'. • The veather—it vas ,verry fair— So vere the vimmin's taces, And werry modest too, withal, Except in a few CASES. Vell, as I moved on wetly slow, Not vunce on evil thinkite, voman near me did approach, Vith her left eye a vinkiu', She yore a most enticin' look, Just like a painted picter— There vas a struggle in my breast— But—conscience vas the victor. Oh, Tomas, if I had foreseen My dang'rous sitivation, I should have fear'd for the result, And prayed for an evasion. But some kind spirit alvays vill Smile on our good intentions, And bring us off wictorious O'er the enemy's inwentiong: THE GRAVE OF THE TWINS lit MISS J. if. KINNEY One winding-sheet enveloped t hem, One sunny grave was theirs, One soft, green plat of silken grass Received their mother's tears; And lightly did the night-winds breaths Their resting place above, As if it feared to wake them from Their sweet repose of love. The rains came down, and forth there sprang, One brightland eat ly Spring, Two rose-buds on one slender stalk, And closely did they cling; Yet never did they blossom there, But all untimely shed Their young leaves on that holy grave. Meet emblems of the dead! 11 11 11 C N , 1,17 1 0 " A L. i,~%~ ? ~ /i~ MISCELLANY TALE OF THE MANIAC. CII.IP7ER I -"Curious fool, be still; Is human love the growth of human will?" BYRON. When but a child, I loved Leonor. "fhere was a dreamy stillness in her man• ner, which to me was etherial, and I look ed upon her as a being n.ore than half be longing to another sphere. I had never owned a sister, on whom to fix my warm affection, and Leonur was to me a sister. Iler voice, whether int the low tones of conversation, or when carolling forth some simple ditty, was as musical as the song of the summer bird; and her words were as guileless as these of a seraph Fier brow was open and unclouded, and a true index of the heart. The current of our love ran smooth. We grew up together, with our y ears, our allection increased. I wooed her to become my bri , le; and though there were other suitors far her affection —others rich er and more richer and handsomer than I, she accepted me. And we were wedded —yes, we were wedded; but it was lung before I could believe in the real existence of my happiness. Long did I regard it as some bright and beautiful vision whose joyous figures the rude hand of wakeful ness might shroud in oblivion. Leotior loved me. Her affection was ardent but calm; warm, but chaste; migh ty but subdued. When health shed its vigor over my frame, when prosperity gladdened my heart, and tie world smi led upon me, then was Leonor light of heart, and gleesome as the mountain deer•. But did sickness attack my form, sorrow seize upon my mind, and affliction sap the foundation of my joy then was she my better angel. Her voice re-animated my drooping spirits, her affectionate en dearments brought back a store of happi ness, and her caresses opened the fount of hope within my boson). And did I nut love her? Yes--with a love, not such as the devotee might bear to his shrine, not such as a miser should yield to his wretched treasure, nor that which the bru• fish bacchanal regards his wine, but the love which a human being might yield to a seraph—a mortal to a spirt. And years flew by, and brought new pleasures in their train. But often as I gazed on the lace of my adored, I would fancy a slight trace of care had corroded the beauty of her features, and feared that the demon disease might roll his dark wing over her head. I pressed her to my bosom, and as I gazed on her lovely face, a pang shot to my heart, for I saw the pallor of her cheeks, and the compression of her lips, as though in agony. Merci ful God! was Ito lose her! The thought carried madness along with it. CHAPTER II: Fell diseam had made Her breast his resting place, and with a hand Unspating, frcm the cheek had snatched the rose, To wear it in his cwn foul bosom. AUTHOR. Fate had derered the death of Leonor. Fur days hail the rose upon her cheek be came paler and paler, and the lustre of her eyes brightened into a fiery brilliance. And as she turned her eyes upon me with all the energy of affection, and aflec tion which increased with her suffering, my heart sickened, and I could heve ex pired in agony did not hope, with her me teor glare, lure me along the path of She drooped away like the flower on the stalk, and 1 was fated to behold a ru in I could .not prevent. Day after day, did I weep for her fate; but my sorrow was concealed from her, and ik her pres ence I was gay, and apparently happy. My heart was wearing away with the lung attretion of grief, and my hopes, which at the onset were green. had be come withered and decayed. Sadly did I gaze on the face of Leonur, and gloomy were my thoughts as I gazed. I beheld her as she first appeared to me in the days of childhood, ere care had laid his iron fingers upon her. I thought of the blissful day of our union, and I was for a moment happy; I turned to gaze upon her face, and sorrow resumed her sway. She breathed with more difficulty. While I stood gazing on her, she awoke. I took her hand in mine, and felt its clam my coldness. She gazed upwards in my face, and smiled, then essayed to speak, and 1 bent my head towards her face to catch the tunes. The words were indis tinct, and she made an endeavor to repeat them —but her voice suddenly ceased— the pulse stopped, the hand became colder —a film came over her eyes—She was dead: TONYT L de„.NAN_R COUNTRY, ON CONSTITUTION, OND IRRSTINY•" L A - : W. BENEDICT PUBMSHER AND PROPRIETOR. HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 27. 1841. CHAPTER 111. "Away! the foul fiend follows me! Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. Humph! go to thy cold bed and warm thee!" SNAKSPEARE. I was in the centre of the icy pillars of the north, the eternal barriers which pre vent man from penetrating to these ur,.. known regions, and scowl with cold as pect on his attempted intrusions. I was frozen to an enormous iceberg; but I could not die! Hunger assailed me, and I en dured its pangs, though unable to allevi ate them. At last my icy tenement par. ted from its fellows, and moved towards the south. 9n—on, for months did we sail, and the farther we moved the thinner became the walls of my prison. We near , ed the equator, the bright sun thawed my bones—freeing me from my icy bondage, to consign me to the great deep. I was free, ani struggling upon the surface of the big waters. Down I went, deeper and deeper. Deeper still did I sink, un til at last I reached the floor of the mighty ocean. How gorgeously was it carpeted! There were diamonds, and pearls and gold, strewed in huge masses around; while human skulls and piles of bones, were tastefully arranged at regular dis tances, How picturesque!—The gold and the gems glittered before mine eyes, the fishes gazed steadily on my form, and the skulls glared at one from their deep sunken orbits. I shuddered, and wished to die; but I could not. I fell, and felt no more. I was on a comet. Seated on its Is. minous disk, I traversed the boundless realms of space, and roved through the immense fields of air. Worlds and sys tems flew past me, but I stopped not. Ages passed away, and still I sped on; but at last, the comet ma which 1 road carne in contact with the sun, and was dashed into a thousand atoms. I fell— but a ceo tripetal force swayed me from it; and be tween the efforts of the two, I revolved in an orbit around the great source of light. Around I went—faster, taster, taster--till I felt and saw no more. Con ciousness tied before the quickness of mo lion. I found myself within a cell, with bands upon my limbs, chained like a felon. I attempted to rise, bat could not, for I was secured to the bed. I yelled with all the force of voice I could command, and aroused my keeper who entered. I inquired where I was, and was answered —"Bedlam:" Yes, I had been mad, and they tell me lam still, butt believe it not. Nay, they will persuade ~me that / never have been married, and that Leonur, my own belov• ed Leonor, existed nowhere, save in the recesses of my imagination.—Fuelish at tempt! How long /have been confined here I know not; but I feel the weight of years upon niy brow and they bring with them no decripitude. lam as strong and vig orous, as / ever was in the palmy days of my youth; and /can shout as loud anti as lung as I could then do. 1 grieve no longer for the fate of Leonor, but spend nights and days plotting an escape from this horrid den. But in vain do 1 plot. These demoniac servitors who do their master's work upon me, discover and cir cumvent my schemes; and then they beat met—Oh! any torture, but that! Never do they give me peace; for in the dead watches of the midnight, their fiends sit around my bed, and torment me with their horrid mirth. There they are now, {with their green sallow eyes, and their leering looks. Away! away!—Tarn mad! ain mad! Mechanics , Wives Speaking of the middle ranks of life, a good writer observes— " There we behold woman in all her glory; not a doll to carry silks and jew els, not a puppet to be flattered by pro fane adoration, revered to-day, discar ded to-morrow; always jostled out of the place which nature and society would as. sign her, by sensuality or by contempt; admired, but not respected; desired, but not esteemed; ruling by passion, not aflec tion; imparting her weakness, not her con stancy, to the sex she would exalt; the source and mirror of vanity; we see her as a wife partaking the cares and chee ring the anxiety of a husband, dividing his toils by her domestic diligence, sprea ding cheerfulness around her fur his sake, sharing the decent refinements of the world without being vain of them, pla. cing all her joys and her happiness in the , man she loves. As t'a mother, we find her the affectionate, the ardent instruc. tress of the children whom she has tend• ed from their infancy, training them up to thought and virtue, to piety and benevo lence; addressing them as rational beings, and preparing them to become men and women in their turn. Mechanics' daugh ters make the beat wives in the world. Too Handsome for any thing. BY SIR E. L. RULY7ER, Mn FERDINAND FITZROY was one of those models of pertection of which a human father and mother can produce but a single example, Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy was therefore an only son. He was such an amazing favorite with both his parents, that they resolved to ruin him; according ly, he was exceedingly spoiled, never an noyed by the sight of a book, and had as much plum-cake as he could eat. happy would it have been for Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy could he always have eaten plum_ I cake, and remained a child. "Never," says the Greek tragedian, “rebkon a mot.- tat happy till you have witnessed his end." A most beautiful creature was Mr. Fer dinand Fitzroy ! Such eyes,— such hair, —such teeth,—such a figure,—such man ners, too,—and such an irresistable way of tying his neckcloth! When he was I ,about sixteen, a crabbed old uncle repre sented to his parents the propriety of teaching Mr. Fedinand Fitzroy to read and write. Though not without some difficulty he convinced them;— for he was exceedingly i icb, and riches in an uncle are woudel ful arguments concerning the nurture of a nephew whose parents have nothing to leave him. So our hero was sent to school. He was naturally (I am nut joking now) a very . sharp, clever boy; and he came on surprisingly in learning. The schoolmaster's wife liked handsome children. 'What a genius will Master Ferdinand Fitzroy be, if you take pains with him P said she to her husband. 'Pooh my dear, it is of no use to take pains with hint' 'And why, love?' 'Because he is a great deal too hand- some ever to be a scholar.' .And that's true enough, my dear!' said tl7.e schoolmaster's wile. So, because he was too handsome to be a scholar, Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy remain ed the lag of the fourth form. They took our hero from school. 'What profession shall he follow ?' said his mother. 'My first cousin is the lord chancellor,' Bald his father, 'let him go to the bar.' The lord chancellor ained there that day; Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy was intro duced to him; his lordship was a little, rough-faced, beetle browed, hard-featured man, who thought beauty and idleness the same thing,—and a parchment skin the legitimate complexion for a lawyer. "Send him to the bar!' said he, 'no, no, that will never do!—Send him into the army; he is much too handsome ever to become a lawyer' 'And that's true enough, my lord !' said the mother. So they bought Mr. Ferdi nand Fitzroy a cornetcy in the re giment of dragoons. Timings are not learned by inspiration. Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy had never ridden at school. except when he was hoisted; he was, therefore a very indiferent horseman; they sent him to the riding school and every body laughed at him. •Ile is a d—d ass!' said Cornet Horse phiz, who %vas very ugly; 'A horrid pup. !my!' said Lieut. St. Squintem, who was still uglier; 'lf he does not ride better he will disgrace the regiment!' sasid Captain Rivelhate, who was very good looking; 'ff he does Dot ride better, we will cut him!' said Colonel Everdil, who was a wonderful martinet; say Mr. Bumpem well (to the riding-master) make that youngster ride less like a miller,s sack.' 'Pooh, sir, he will never ride better,' And why time d—l will he noti' 'Bless yru, Colonel, he is a great deal too handsome fur a cavalry officer!' 'True!' said Coronet llorsephiz. 'Very true!' said Lieutenant St. Squint• em. • We must cut him!' said the colonel. And Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy was accor dingly cut. Our hero was a youth of susceptability, tie quitted the regiment, and chal. lunged the colonel. fhe colonel was killed! 'What a terrible blackguard is Mr. Fer dinand Fitzroy!' said the colonel's rela tions. 'Very true!' said the world. The parents were in despair! —They were not rich; but our hero was an only son and they sponged hard upon the crab. bed old uncle. 'He is very clever,' said they both,' and may do yet.' So they borrowed some thousands from the uncle, and bought his beautiful nephew a seat in Parliament. Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy was ambitious, and desirous of retrieving his character. He fagged like a dragon,—conued pamph• lets and reviews,—got Ricardo by.heart,— and made notes on the english consti• tution. He rose to speak. 'What a handsome fellow!' whispered one member. 'Ah, a coxcomb I' said another. 'Never do for a speaker!' said a third, eery aadiblT. • And the gentlemen on the oposite benches sneered and heard !—lmpudeuce is only indigenius in Milesia. and en era• tor is not made in a day. Disco,' raged by his his reception, Mr. Ferdinand Fitz roy grew a little embarrassed. •Toid you so!' said one . of his neigh• bore. 'Fairly broke down!' said another. 'Too fond of his hair to have anything in his head,' said a third, who was consid • ered a wit. 'Hear, hear!' cried the gentlemen en the opposite benches. Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy sat down,—he had not shone; but, in justice he had not failed. Many a first•rate speaker had begun worse; and many a country member had been declared a phccnix of promise upon half his merit. Net so thought the heroes of corn laws. •Your Adonises never make oratorst' said a crack orator with a wry nose. 'Nor men of business either.' added the chairman of a committee, with a face like a kangaroo's. 'Poor devil l' said the civilest of the set. 'He's a duced deal to handsome for a speaker ! By Jove, he is going to speak again,—this will never do; we must cauhg him down!' -Ind Mr, Ferdinand Fitzroy was accor dingly coughed down. Our hero was now seven or eight and twenty, handsomer than ever, and the ad oration of all the young ladies at Al mack's. .We have nothing to leave you,' said the parents, why had long spent their for tune, and now lived on the credit of hays ng once enjoyed it.—'You are the hand somest man in London; you must marry an heiress.' 'I will,' said Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy. Miss Helen Convolvulus was a charm ing lady, •vith a hare-lip and six thousand a year. To Miss Helen Convolvulusthen our hero paid his addresses. Heavens I what an uproar her relations made about the matter. 'easy to see his intentions,' said one; 'a handsome four tune hunter, who wants to make the most of his person!'--'handsome is that hand some does,' says another; 'he was turned out of the army and murdered his colonel,' 'Never marry a beauty,' said a third; 'he can admire none but himself.'—'{fill have so many mistresses,' said a fourth. 'Make you perpetually jealous,' said a filth.—Spend your fortune,' said a sixth,—'And break your 'heart,' said a seventh. Miss Helen Convolvulus was prudent t wary. She saw a great deal of justice in what was said; and was sufficiently con tenttd with liberty and six thousand a year, not to be highly impatient fur a hus- band; but our heroine had no aversion to d. lover, especially such a handsome a lov. er as Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy. Accord ingly, she neither accepted nor discarded him, but kept him in hope, and suffered him to get into debt with his taylor and his coachmaker, on the strength of becom ing Mr. Fitzroy Convolvulus. Time went on and excuses and delays were easily found, however, our hero was san guine, and so were his parents. A break• fast at Chiswink and a putrid fever car. tied off the latter, within one week of, each other; but not till they had blessed Mt. Ferdinand Fitzroy, and rejoiced that they had left him so well provided for. Now, then, our hero depended solely upon the crabbed old uncle and Miss Helen Convolvulus;—the former though a baronet and a satirist, was a banker and a man of business:—he looked very dis tastefully at the Hypenian cubs and white teeth of Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy 'lf 1 make you my heir,' said he, ex pect that you will continue the bank. 'Certainly sir,' said the nephew. 'Humph l' grunted the uncle,' a pretty fellow for a banker!' Debtors grew pressing to Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy and Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy grew pressing to Miss Helen Convolvulu.. 'lt is a dangerous thing,' said she, timidly, to marry a man so admired, will yuu al- ways be faithful;' 'By Heaven!' cried the lover,— 'lleghor sighed Miss Helen Convolvu. lus, and Lord Rufus Pumilion entering the conversation was changed. But the day of the marriage was fixed; and Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy bought a nem curricle. By Apollo, how handsome he looked in it! A month before the wed. in g the uncle died. Mies Helen Convul vitlus mos quite tender in her condolence, Cheer up, my Ferdinand,' said she, 'tor your sake I have discarded Lord Rufus Pumilton. Adorable cundescension I' cried our hero; 'but Lord Rufus Pumilion is only four feet two, and has hare like a peony.' 'All men are not so handsome as Mr Ferdinand Fitzroy,' was the reply. Away goes our hero, to be present at the opening of his uncle's will. 'I leave,' said the testator (who, I have before said, was a bit of a satarist) 'my share in the bank, and the a hole of my [WtroLE No. 267. I I fortune, legacies excepted, to; ' (here Mr: Ferdinand Fitzroy wiped his o beautiful eyes with a cambric handkorchif, eagnis itley brode) 'my natural son John Spriggs an industrious, paitis.taking youth, who will do credit to the bank. I once intend ed to have made my nephew i.terdinand my heir; but so curling a head can have no talent for accounts. I want my suc cessor to be a man of business, not beauty; and Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy is a great deal too handsome for a banker; his good looks will, no doubt, win him any heiress in town. Meanwhile, I leave him, to buy a dressing case, a thousand pounds. 'A thousand devils!' said Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy, banging out of the room. He flew to his mistress. She was not at home. 'Lies,' says the Italian proverb, 'have short legs;' but truths, if they are unpleasant, have terrible long ones! The next day Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy recieved a most obliging note of dismissal. wish you every happiness,' said Miss Helen Convolvulus, to conclusion, 'but my friends are light; you are much too handsome for a husband l'; And a week after, Miss HelenComl• vulus became Lady Rnfus Purnilion. 'Alas: sir,' said the bailiff, as,, a day or two after the dissolution of Parliment, he was jogging along with Mr. Ferdinand Fitroy, in a hackney coach, bound to the King's Bench, 'alas! sir, what a pity it is to take so handsome a gentleman to prisonP, Cousin Tilly's Bet. As soon as the Harrisburg Convention nominated the old Hero of Tippecanoe as a suitable person to preside over our be loved country, Frank Smith looked at clued moil his female friends to select a suit able individual to preside over his affec. nuns. Frank was a whole-souled Whig, and reposed the utmost confidence in the 'success of the nominee of the convention. He was engaged in business, and only declined taking a wife on account of the uncertainty of the times. lie kept an old dirty bachelor's hall, which was gen. teely furnished with every thing requisite for housekeeping. All that was wanting to complete his happiness was a beautiful companion, with a heart like his own.— Frank was Bs fine a young fellow as ever rallied around the Tippecanoe nag, and might have made quite a conspicuous 6g ure in the world, if he had been gifted with less diffidence. Frank soon come to a decision. He silently nominated to the highest office in the gilt of his afnctions, a young lady who was in every particular worthy alit* noble heart. She was a distant family connection—a charming, cherry-checked, cheerful, capricious creature of a cousin —about as old as himself, and endowed with a proper share of that good common sense for which our fair countrywomen are so eminently distinguished all over the world. Frank Smith embarked enthusiastically in the double care of love and politics.— lle carried both with him, hand in hand ; but it might have been observed that he conducted one cause with eloquent words, and the other with eloquent looks. He often told his fair cousin Tilly that Gen eral liirrison was his choice fur the high est office in the gift of the people ; but never once did he tell her that she was ,his only choice for the highest post in his own gilt. But should he have told her so? She knew it as well as he did. His eyes had many a time told her the story toe plainly to be misunderstood. Frank had made at least a dozen at tempts to disclose his feelings to his cous in; but his lips invariably refused to obey the promptings of his heart. One evening just before the presiden tial election, the two were together, en gaged, as every body else was, in talking over political matters ; for Tilly, like aft other pretty girls, was a thoroughgoing Harrisonian. "Cousin 'Filly," said Frank, "it is now certain that old Tip will be our next Pres ident. The people will then once more be prosperous—business wili revive, and those young men who have all along hesi tated about changing their condition, may , now just as well look out for helpmate.. What say you to that?" "1 certainly think," said she, "that our sex should now, that this long contest is about to close, receive a share of their at tentions." ~Y es, cousin 'filly, Harrison is ;pod for the next four years—that's certain.— You must have noticed, cousin Tilly, that I am heartily tired of this confounded bachelor life; and from the attentions have paid to you, the object of my that is--the—the—that you are the-4 was about to--nit listen to the glorious 'fippecanoe song in the street. For all the world seem,' turning round For Tippecanoe, and Tilly too." Frank's incoherent love , epeech %as cut short, fortunately for Ans, by a crowd in the street, singing lustily the fatuous song of .Tippecanoe and Tyler too.'
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