VoL. VI, No. 21.] ZERI\2O OF TIIE HUNTINGDON JOURNAL. The" JOURNAL" will be published every Wednesday morning, at two dollars a year, tf paid IN ADV ANCE, and if not paid with- In six months, two dollars and a half. Every person who obtains five subscribers, and forwards price of subscription, shall be tarnished with a sixth copy gratuitously for one year. No subscription received for a less period than six months, nor any paper discontinued until all arrearages are paid. 01'M1 communications must he addressed to the Mitor, POST PAID, or they will not be attended to. Advertisements not exceeding one square, will he inserted three times for one dollar, and for every subsequent insertion, twenty five cents per square will be charged. If no definite orders are given as to the time an advertisement is to be continued, it will he kept in till ordered out, and charged accor dingly. AGENTS. FO R The Huntingdon Journal. Daniel Teague, Orbisonia; David Blair, Esq. Shade Cap; Benjamin Lease, Shirleys burg; Slid Smith, Esq. Chilcottstown; Jas. Entriken, jr. Ceffee Run; Hugh Madden, Esq. Sprin ?field; Dr. S. S. Dewey, Bir mingham; James Morrow, Union Furnace; John Sisler, Warrior Mark; James Davis, Esq. West township ; D. H. Moore, Esq. J.'rankatowu; Eph. Galbreath, Esq. Holli daysburg; Henry Neff, Alexandria; Aaron Burns, Williamsburg; A. J. Stewart, Water Street; Wm. Reed, Esq. Mario township; Solomon Hamer..heff's Mill; James Dysart, Mouth Spruce Creek; Wm. Murrny, Esq. Graysville; John Crum. Manor Hill; Jas. E. Stewart, Sinking Valley; L. C. Kessler, Mill Creek. P - OETELY. From the North American. THE PRESIDENT'S BURIAL. AlR—"Burial of Sir John Moore." Slowly and mourfully pass they on. To the home where the dead are sleeping, While the funeral notes of the muffled drum O'er the sable bier are sweeping. He starts net now at the well known sound, The thrilling silence breaking, He springs not forth to his comrades round, From his quiet slumber waking. Sadly and silently pass they now. While the soldier's tears are stealing, His martial form and his stern proud bow His heart's deep grief revealing: He cares not now;though the strange's eye Should mark his bitter sorrow— He thinks of the scenes in the days gone by He mourns for the cheerless morrow. Not a sound is heard as they gather near, Save the hallowed prayer ascending; The patriot's sigh and the statesman's tear, In voiceless grief are blending: They mourn for a leader—a ruler gone, A nation's hope and glory, A chosen ;tilde from his people torn, The honored in fame's proud story. From the grave they turn with measured The tomb's dark portal closing, [tread But. it matters not to the sainted dead, On his Savior's breast reposing: Ni 4 ith a nobler throng in the world of light, tits ransom'd soul is dwelling, For the victory won thru' the conqurer's His song of triumph swelling. [might, From Alexander's Weekly Messenger. ON THE DEA l'H OF WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON, What meaneth the gloom that prevadeth our land— What meaneth yon mighty funeral hand? Deep sorrow are marked on the aged and young, The Star spangled Banner with sable is hung A nation's in sorrow, their ruler they mourn O'er valley and hill the sad tidings are borne The deep muffled bell tolleth heavily on, .Our ruler, the chosen of freemen is gone." All strife is forgotten, each spirit is bow'd, 1 The blow is from Heaven, the warning is loud; Too much have we trusted in creatures of clay, Forgetful of one who is higher than they, Alt! who to the wife of his youth shall make known— Her partner is gone, she must journey alone; But no; not alone—she bath trusred on high The God of the widow will ever be nigh. And 0 may our nation return to her God; In mercy he chastens, we bow to his rod; Henceforward we'll trust in the strengta of his arm, May God bless our country, and:shield her from hal m, .. Pl 7 * • - i v .. • ••••••.:,,r • - • : 1 . • OM Enough—Not too Gld, •Y CHARLES DANCE. Is any one prepared to assert that he is, or ever was, of an age answering pre cisely to the description contained in the above text ? In reference to reading, to experience, and to knowledge—the result of both—some arc neither olel enough, nor too old ; some are not old enough, yet too old ; and some are old enough and too old at the same time. Knowledge What is knowledge?— That which all wish for, but none posses.. He who has least, thinks he has most, while he who hasmost, has only learned that he knows nothing. It is a ladder up which men toil and toil, but ere they reach the top, their heads fail —they fall, and the grave receives them. It is a plank, one end of which sets on the vessel of life, while the other hangs sus• pended over the sea of eternity; men walk out upon it until they lose their bal. ance, and then—but hold-1 am putting too serious a bead to a comic tale. I have digressed when I ought to have progressed. For shame lam old enough to know better, and yet not old enough to profit by it. 'he history of one man is mutatis mntandis, the history of a million. Listen, then, gentle reader, to the biogra phy of a million of thy fellow creatures, and, if thou art not old, turn it to account. Peter Posthumous began the world un der circumstances unfavorable to him in point of time. Hail he been born one week sooner, that is, Lad he been seven days older, he would have been a rich man —at all events, a rich boy. He was the son of respectable parents, but his lather had offended him lather by a clandestine marriage; and the old gentleman, one of those "fathers with flinty hearts," whom "no tears can melt," had disinherited his son, and, in order to insure his never en• joying any portion of his wealth, had be queathed it to the eldest child ofsuch mar riage, who should chance to be alive at the father's decease. Peter came into the world on the day week on which his father went out of it, and therefore n as not quite old enough to obtain five thousand a year. And will the poor child then get noth ing?" inquired Ins anxious mother. 'Nothing," was the answer. Peter neither heeded nor heard it. He was not old enough—his time WAS not come. He remained in the country under his mother's care until his twelfth year, dur ling which time he was frequently invited to children's parties, given by the gentry 'of the neighborhood, and always had his own consent to go; but he never went, because his mother thought him "rather too young." At the age of twelve she re• moved with him to London, and placed him at a preparatory school. This pro ceeding was attended with some difficul ty, owing to his mother's excessive ten derness, tor she considered him scarcely old enough to encounter the hardships of a boy's school, and decidedly too old fora girl's. However. the matter was compro• lied by his being sent to a seminary for young gentlemen, superintended by two old ladies; and here lie was destined to 'remain, in order that he might be unfitted for a trahsfer to a foundation school, to which his mother had been promised that he should, in due time, be presented. Due time, however, was with Peter what "due notice" is to a play bill —it never came. W hen the vacancy occurred which gave the governor of the school an oppor tunity ot ' his promise, it was dis • covered that Peter was two months too old to be admitted. His mother felt the disappointment more than he did. What was to Le done? lie was too old to re main longer where he was, and she could not afford to send him elsewhere at an in. creased expense. Home, therefore, he went once mote, and at home he remained, coddling arid coddled. Out-of-door a. musement he was for some time a stran ger to. He was now too old for children's parties, and not old enough for others. He was too young to be alldwed to go to a the atre by himself, and too old, tor reasons best known to his mother, to be seen a bout her. A friend procured the promise of a colonial appointment fur hint; but when he presented himself for examina tion, lie was politely bowed out on the score of youth. The year which he waited in expectation of this just carried him o. ver the age at which he might else have been admitted into the counting-house of a merchant, who was a particular friend of his mother, but, unfortunately, (1180 a par ticular man, with certain rules, which nothing could induce him to break. Peter, at length, (and he was Peter at full length for he had grown to be six feet high, and he was too old to grow any lon ger,) finding that his mother's looking out for him did not answer, he began to think of looking:out for himself; and, as the state of subjection in which he was still kept deprived him of other opportunities, he , looked out of the widow, Hie looking oft ' L ONE COUNTRY, OPIE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY." A. W. BENEDICT PUBMSRIPIR AND PROPRIETOR. HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, MAY 5, 1841 of his own window would have been harms less enough, but he contracted a habit of looking in at an opposite one, and thus laid the foundation tit future troubles. At the second floor window of the house im mediately facing the dwelling of Mrs. and Master Posthumous, there daily sat, and looked, and worked, Miss Ogle the tall and only daughter of a wealthy and re tired tradesman. By degrees, Miss Ogle worked less and looked more--alter a while, there was a look between every stitch—and al at length, it was evident, even to Peter, that she had an eye to him and none to her needle. There were some doubts as to the degree of consis tency of Peter's head, but that las heart was solt is beyond question. lie could not resist the fascination of Miss Ogle's eye—he was not old enough. Peter wrote three notes to Miss Ogle—Miss Ogle sent • three answers to Peter—Peter submitted the whole correspondence to his mother —his mother wrote one long letter to Mr. • Ogle—Mr. Ogle sent one short answer to his mother "He was not old enough" —the next mornin g Mr. Ogle's house and Peter's heart were both "to let." Mrs. Posthumous had a general eye to business, and though all her endeavors to provide for her sun were fruitless, she contrived, during one of them, to provide for herself; she married again. Her new husband allowed our hero undisturbed possession of his mother's moderate in come, but declined receiving him into his estahlisment. Peter was now upon his own hands, and a heavier weight no hands could have to carry. Sick and tired of being met, whenever he attempted to ob tain some occupation, with the answer that he was not old enough he determined to wait until at least That objection should be remeved. Accordingly he yawned, slept, dreampt, ate, drank, pottered, and mud dled away his life, until an accidental peep into the first leaf of the family Bi ble opened his eyes to the fact of his be ing eight and forty—he started with as tonishment—from which astonishment he never thoroughly recovered until he was fifty. "At all events," said he to himself, " 1 am now old enough to marry "--and he proposed to a buxom widow next to whom he sat at church every Sunday for three years. Her answer had nothingbut novelty to recomend it, "lie was too old." The time for acute sensibility, if ever he possessed it, was gone by—but Peter was chagrined.--" Too old —too old," mutters ed he to himself ; "is one never to be the right age for any thing? It was but just now that I was too young for every thin;." But Peter was a dreamer, and his just now was more than thirty years ago. The widow's answer, however, made a more permanent impression upon him than any previous incident of his life had made.--He gave up dreaming, and passed ten years in positive reflection. Daring these ten years, lie made two other at tempts to get married--his propositions were both rational, more so, perhaps, than might have been expected from the un meaning tenor of his life, but they were both rejected, and fur the "old" reason. On the second of these occasions, he felt more excitement than he had ever felt since the days of Miss Ogle. "If I am too old to marry," said he, in a fit as near to desperation as his nature admitted of, "I am too old to live"—and he raised a pistol to his head--"but no," he added, "no--I am at least old enough to know better"--and his resolution went off in. stead of his pistol. A few days restored him to his habitual calmness—to his last new state of reflection. lie was now, as I have shown, sixty years of age. In a short time illness was for once a welcome visiter. He was delighted at length he had something to do—k length he felt an interest about himself•, which he had never felt before. "Ha !ha ! Doctor, surd he, to his medical adviser, "ha ! ha ! I've got the gout." "Nonsense, my dear sir," said the doctor, "you have the gout, in deed ! you're ant old enough." "Don't talk to we about nit being old enough, said Peter; "do you mean to assert that Pm ' too old ?" "Certainly not," replied the doctor, "you can't be too old to have the gout." "Then I don't care," said Pete!, "thank heaven, there is still something that I sin nut too old for." Thus passed Peter's life until he was seventy. One evening about three years since, he was musing, during a temporary alas senee of pain, upon the circumstances— fur nothing stood out with sullicent pro• , minence to break the level of the distant view. "1A hat a strange thing is life," said he ; "one is always not old enough, or too cid for every thing. Surely it cannot be with all people as it has been with me, for I have lately, read of many who have led lives of activity, and have been serviceable to their fellow creatures; while I, though I have harmed no one, have done good to no one—would that I had been earlier taught to think for my self!" After a short pause, during which the oppression produced by the only -.in tense thoughts he had ever had, was re- lieved by the only tears he had ever shed, he thus continued : "Even now it may not be too late; when I get well I will act differently; t am not ton old to mend, and I am yet old enough to become—" " Nothing"—was the answer of King Death. Peter niether heeded nor heard it. He was old enough—but his time was come. Wheaton and the Panther. Ben Wheaton was one of the first set tlers on the waters of the Susquehanna, immediately after the war, a rough, uncut tivated, and primitive man. Like others of the same stamp and character, he sub sisted chiefly by hunting, cultivating the land but sparingly, and in this way raised a numerous 'amity amidst the woods, in a half starved condition, and comparative nakedness. But as the Susquehanna country rapidly increased in population, the hunting grounds of Wheaton were encroached upon, so that the chance with the smooth bore among the deers and bears Wa4 greatly lessened. On this ac count Wheaton removed from the Susque hanna country, to Ostego county, to the more unsettled country of die Delaware, near a place yet known by the name of Wait's settlement, where game was more plenty. The distance from where he made his house in the woods, through to the Susquehanna, was about fifty miles, and a continued wilderness at the time. Th. ough these woods the almost aborigi nal hunter was often compelled to pass to the Susquehanna, for various necessaries, and among the rest no small quantity of whiskey, as he was of very intemperate habits. On one of these visits, in the midst of summer, with hie smooth bore on his shoulder, knife, hatchet, &c., in their proper places, he had nearly pene trated the distance, when he became wea ry, and having come to a summit of the ridge, sometime in the afternoon, which overlooks the vale of the Susquehanna, he selected a convenient place in the shade us it was hot, for the rays of the sun from the West poured their sultry influence through all the forest, where he lay down to rest among the leaves, after taking a drink from his pint bottle of green glass, and a mouthful - of cold Johnny cake from his pocket. In this situation he wassoothed to Brow siness by the hum of inserts, and the mo notony of the passing winds among the foliage around him, when he soon unwa rily fell asleep, with his gun folded in his arms. But after awhile he awoke from his sleep, and for a moment or two lay in the 611111 e position, as it happened without stilling, when he found that something had taken place while he slept, which had situated him somewhat diflerently from the manner in which he first went to sleep —.On reflecting a little he found he was entirely covered over head and ears, with leaves and light stuff, occasioned, as he now supposed, either by the sudden blows ing of the wind, or some wild animal. On which account he became a little distur bed in his mind, as he well knew the man ner of the panther when it hunts for the support of its young, will often cover its prey with leaves and bring its whelps to the banquet. Ho therefore continued to be perfectly still, as when he first awoke, when he heard the step of seine heavy am imal near him; and knowing it it were a panther, the distance between himself and death could not be far, if he shout attempt to rise up. Accordingly, as lie suspected after waiting a full minute, he now dis tinctly heard the retiring tread of a steal thy panther. of which he had no doubt, from his knowledge of the creatures ways —lt had taken but a few steps, however, when it again stopped a longer time; still ‘Vheaton continued his silent position, knwoing his safety depended much on this. Soon the ttread was again heard, farther and farther otr until it died away in the distance; but lie still lay motion• less, a few moments longer, then he ven tured gently and cautiously to rise his head, and cast an eye in the direction of the creature. IGhatever it wits it had gone, and he said nothing. He now rose up with a spring, for his blood had been running from his heart to the extremities and back again with uncommon velocity, all the time his ears hail listened to the steps of the animal on the leaves, he knew he bad been covered over, and that he paws of some creature had done it. And if, as he suspected a panther was the animal, he knew it would return to kill , him, on which account he made haste to deceive it, and to put himself in a situas tion to give it a taste of the contents of old smooth bore, He now seized upon some pieces of old wood which lay about, and placed as much as was equal to his own bulk, exactly where he slept, and coy ered it all over with leaves in the same manner the panther had done, and then sprang to a tree near by, into which he a scended, from whence he had a view a good distance about him, and especially in the direction the creature had gone. Here in the crotch of the tree he stood, with his gun resting across a limb in the direction of the place where he had been left by the panther, looking sharply as far among the woods as possible, in the direc tion he expected the creature's return. But he had remained in this position but a short time, and had barely thrust the ramrod clown the barrel of his piece, to be sure the charge was in, and to exam ine his priming, and shut down the pan slowly, so that it should not snap, and thus make a noise, when his keen Indian eye, for such Ite had, caught a glimpse of a monstrous panther leading warily two panther kittens towards her intended sup per. . . Now matters were hastening to a cli max rapidly, when Wheaton or the pan ther should finish their huutings on the mountains of the Susquehanna; for it old smooth bore should flash in the pan, or miss her aim, the die would be cast, as a second load would be impossible ere her claws would have sundered his heart strings in the tree where he was: or if he should partly wound her, the same must have be - en his fate. During these thoughts the panther had hid her young under some brush, and had conic within some thirty feet of the spot, and seeing all as she had left it dropped down in a crouch ing position, precisely as a cat when about :o spring on her prey. Now the horrid rustling of her hinder claws drawn under her belly was heard, and the bent ham strings were seen but an instant by When ton from where he sat in the tree, when the tremendous leap was made. It rose on a long curve into the air of about ten feet in the highest place, and from thence descending, it struck exactly where the breast and bowels of its prey had lain, with a scream too horrible for description, when at tore to atoms the rotton wood, filled the air for several feet above it with leaves and light brush, the covering of their deception. But instantly the pan them found herself cheated, and seemed to droop a little with disappointment; when, however it resumed its erect pos ture, and surveyed quite around on every side on a horizontal line, in search of its prey, but not discovering it, she cast a fu rious look aloft upon the tops of the trees, when in a moment or two the eyes of Wheaton and the panther met. Now for another leap, when she dropped for the purpose, but the bullet was off, and two buckshot of old smooth bore were too quick, as he lodged them exactly in the brain of the savage monster, and drop- ped her head on the spot where the buns ter had slept but a short time before, in the soundness of a mountain dream. The Office Seeker. The following extract from a humerous story entitled "the Politician," written by Paulding, is forcibly brought to mind by the unprecedented rage for office that now prevades all parts of the country. It represents a conversation between a mem ber of the Cabinet and a hanger on for of fice. The Secretary was called limn his bed one cold winter morning, to attend to bus Mess of the •'uunost consequence." He found a queer, long sided man, at least six feet high, with a little apple head, a long queue, with a lace, critically round as rosy as a ripe cherry; and the follow ing conversation ensued. .Well, my friend, what situation do you wishr .Why-y-y I'm not very particular; but some how or other, I th:illt I should like to be a Minister. I don't mean of the Gospel; but of theta ministers to foreign, parts." ..I'm very sorry, very sorry indeed;l there is no vacancy just now. Would not something else suit you?" "W by-y-f(answered the apple • headed man,) "1 would'nt muck care if I took a situation in one of the Departments. I would'nt much mind being a Comptrol ler, Auditor or some such thing." "My dear sir, I'm sorry, very sorry, very sorry indeed, but it happens unfor tunately, that ail these situations are at present tilled. Would not you take some thing else?" My friend stroked his chin, and seem ed struggling to bring down the soorings of his high ambition to the present cri sis. At last lie answered: "Why-y-y, yes-s; I don't care if I get a good Collectorship, or Inspectorship, or Surveyorship, or Navy Agency, or any thing of that sort." "Really, my good sir," said the Secre tory, regret exceedingly, that not only all these places, but every other place of consequence in the Government, is at present occupied. Pray sir, think of something else." Ile then, after some hesitation, asked for a clerkship, and finally the place of messenger to one of the public offices. Finding no vacancy here, he seemed in in vast perplexity, and looked all around the rtiom, fixing his eyes at length on me, and measuring my height from head to foot. At last putt i nj on one of the drol- [WnroLE No. 281 lest looks that ever adorned the face or man, he said: "Mister, you and I seem to be built pretty much alike, haven't you some old clothes you can spare?" TIIE GRAVE, What is it that can mak! us startle,and shrink at the thoughts of death? The mighty and the rich of this world may tremble, but what is the sting of death to those whose life has been altogether mis ery? or what power has the grave over the unhappy? Is it not rather a refuge from violence and oppression, and a re treat from insolenc e and contempt? Is it not a protection to the defenceless, and a security to him who had no place to flee unto? Surely in death there is safety, and in the grave there is peace ; this wipes off the sweat of the poor laboring man, and takes the load from the bonded back of 'the weary traveller. This (hies up the tears of the disconsolate, and makes the heart of the sorrowful to forget its throb bings ; 'tis this eases the agonies of the diseased, and giveth a medicine to the hopeless incurable ; this discharges the naked and hungry insolvent, and releases him from his confinement, who must not otherwise have coins thence, till he had paid the uttermost farthing; 'tis this that rescues the slave from his heavy taskmas ter, and frees the prisoner from the cruel ties of him that cannot pity. This silen ces the clamors of the defamer, and hush es the virulence of the whisperer. The infirmities of age, and the unweariness of youth ; the blemishes of the deformed, the frenzies of the lunatic, and the weakness of the idiot, are here all buried together ; and who shall see them? Let the men of gaiety and laughter be terrified with the scenes of their departure because their pleasure is no more ; but let the son of wretchedness and affliction smile and be comforted, for their deliverance draweth nigh, and their pain ceaseth.-- Vincent Bourne. A SISTER. He who never knows a sister's kind ministrations, nor felt his heart warming beneath her in learning smiles and love beaming eye, has been unfortunate in. deed. tis not to be wondered if the fountains of pure feeling flow in his bosom but sluggishly, or if the gentler emotions of his nature be lost in the sterner attrt butes of manhood. ' , That man has grown up among kind and affectionate sisters," I once heard a lady of much observation and experience remark. "And why do you thihk so?" said I. "Because of the rich developement of all the tender and more refined feeling of 1 the heart, which is so apparent in every action in every word. A sister's influeuce is felt even in man hood's later years, and the heart of him who has grown cold in its chilling contact with the world, will warm and thrill with a pure enjoyment, as some incident a wakens within the soft tunes and glad I melodies of his sister's voice. And he will turn from purposes which a warped and false philosophy has reasoned into ex pediency, and even weep for the gentle influences which moved him in his earlier Years. FORCIBLE AROUMENT.—We were in formed by one of our deputy sheriffs, that within a few months past he has entirely lost the run of a number of individuals who had previously been good customers to the state in the assault and battery de partment. He was astonished that these individuals should disappear so sudden. ly without returning once, at least, to shake hands and bid farewell. A few evenings since, however, Mr. sheriflmade a discovery of his oldiamiliar faces. And e here reader, think ye he found them? Why, attentively engaged in listening to a very excellent temperance address which was being delivered in one of our churches, to a large and respectable body of peotle, nearly all of whom had sub scribed to the temperance pledge. These facts, simple as they are, speak volumes, Clip. A SCREAMER There is a young lady of "sweet six teen" down the Seneca river, who cuts her two cords of wood per day, when not too much engaged in household affairs.--. Being at school the other day, she settled I,some difference between herself and the, schoolmaster by trundling him head•fore most out of the house, and closing the doors upon him. What glorious remedy for "hard times," su. h a companion "is arms" would be!—Ohio State Journal. Bill." said an urchin, "daddy's fairly dead." "Is he? well I'm darn'd sorry ; but he'll never lick us again fur ,lathering the old eat and shaving her."
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