VoL. VI, No. 21.]
ZERI\2O
OF TIIE
HUNTINGDON JOURNAL.
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tf paid IN ADV ANCE, and if not paid with-
In six months, two dollars and a half.
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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."