VoL. VI, No. 221 rmsauto OF THE ItU NTINGDON JOU RN AL. The JOURNAL" will be published every Vednesday morning, at two dollars a year, paid IN ADV ANCE, and if not paid with six months, two dollars and a half. Every person who obtains five subscribers, nd forwards price of subscription, shall be troished with a sixth copy gratuitously for ne year. No subscription received for a less period ian six months, nor any paper discontivued ntil all arrearages are paid. it?' 'ill communications must be addressed 3 the Editor, POST PAID, or they will not ie attended to. Advertisements not exceeding one square, fill he inserted three times for one dollar, nd for every subsequent insertion, twenty ve cents per spiare will be charged, If no lefinite orders are given as to the time an ,dvertisement is to be continued, it will be :ept in till ordered out, and charged accor tingly, AG ENTS. Yon The unatie,(l63 , Journal- Daniel Teague, Orbisonia; David Blair, Rsq. Shade Galt; Benjamin Lease ; Shirle!l B- 'turd.; Eliel Smith, Esq. Chilcottstort!n; Jas. Entriken, jr. Ceffee Run; Hugh Maden, Esq. Springfield; Dr. S. S. Dewey, Bir mingham; lames Morrow, Union Furnace ; John Sister, Warrior Mark; James Davis, Esq. West townshilt ; D. H Moore, . Esq, Frankstown; Eph. Galbreath, Esq. Holli daysburg; Henry Neff, Alexandria; Aaron Burns, Williamsburg; A. J. Stewnrt, Water Street; Wm. Reed, Esq. Morris township; Sulam. Hamer. .11 , elf's Mill; James Dysart ; Mouth Sfiruce Creek; kV m. Murrnv, Esq. Graysville; John Crum, Manor Hill; Jas. E. Stewart, Sinking Valley; L. C. Kessler, Mill Creek. jitm POE'T'RY. THE VIGIL OF LOVE BY MRS. E H. EVANS, CALMLY within its cradle-bed A gentle babe lay slerping, And silently beside it there A sister, watch was keeping. She gazed on it with tender pride— Its curls of amber brightness— The morning's blush upon its cheek, And its broN of pearly whiteness. She marked the line of azure light Beneath the shadowing lashes, And knew not if 'twas loveliest so, Or lit with mirthful flashes. She was a fair and gentle girl Who watched the baby sleeping, But oh ! a brighter one than she A holier watch was keeping. Softer than moonlight was the ray Upon those features shining, And radiant as the stars, a crown That angel brow entwining. And earthly eyes have never worn Looks so intensely beaming-, So soft with love—so bright with joy, With heaven's own beauty gleaming, Nor ever lips of mortal maid Parted with smiles so tender, Or ever m ortal form be seen So dazzling in its splendor. far floating was her glorious hair— Het hair of sunny brightness— And half unfolded .ere her wings Of more than snowy whiteness. Fair. blessed mother! guarding still Her infant's happy dreaming, Unseen by others, round his couch Her robes were ever streaming. But well the favoured sleeper knew And smiled at her caressing, And listened to her spirit-tones That ever spoke in blessing. At last about its little bed Were sounds of bitter sorrow, And throbbing hearts that feared to think, Upon the weary morrow. But lo ! a more ecstatic smile The angel watcher weareth— A lovelier glory than before Upon her face appeareth, A dimming of the half•shut eye, A cry, half pain, half gladness, A shudder o'er the lovely limbs, And he bath done with sadness. A spirit toward the glorious gate Of paradise is wedding 4,cherub in her arms she bears To share her bliss ascending. , r • , - , 4 •.-. . • • 7e, 4-tx. T.. \ - ,c 4 Its shrine of clay is deck'd with flowers, Tears down their leaves are stealing, But at the throne of God on high Mother and child ore kneeling. From the London Literary Museum. HARMED LIFE. A TALE OF LOVE AND HAPPINESS, DEDICA TED TO THE WHOLE BALHELuR TRIBE. 'The treasures of the deep arenot so precious, As are the concealed comforts of man Lock'd up in woman's love. I scent the air Uf blessings, when 1 come but near the house, W hat a delicious breath marriage sends torth The violet bed's not sweeter.' I have often had occasion to remark the fortitude with which women sustain the most overwhelming reverses of fortune. Those disasters which break down the spirit of a man, and prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all the energies of the softer sex, and give such intripid ele vation to their character, that at times it approaches to sublimity. Nothing can be more touching than to behold a soft and tender female, who had been all weakness and dependence, and alive to to every trial of roughness, while treading the pros pei uus paths of life, suddenly rising in m rntal force, to be the comforter o f b t oband under misfortune, and abiding with unshrinking firmness the bitterest of adversiti As the vii 2e which has long twined its graceful foliage about the oak, and been lilted by it into sunsbine, will, when the hardy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt, cling round it with its caressing tendrils, and bind up its shattered boughs, so it is beitutilully ordered by Providence, that woman, who is the mere depende.nt and ornament of man in his happier hours, should be his stay and solace when smit ten with sudden calamity, winding her self into the rugged recesses of his nature, tenderly supporting the dropping head and binding up the broken heart. 1 was once congratulating a friend who had around him a blooming family, knit together in the strongest affection. "I can wish you no better lot," said lie, with enthusiasm, "than to have a wife and chit dren." If you are prosperous, they are there to share your prosperity; if other. wise, there they are to comfort you. And indeed I have observed that a married man falling into misfortune, is more apt to retrieve, his situation in the wet Id than a single one, partly because, lie is inure stimulated to exertion by the necessities of the helpless and beloved beings who depend upon hint for subsistence, but chiefly because his spirits are soothed and relieved by domestic endearments, and his self respect kept alive by finding that though all abroad is darkness and limits iation, yet there is still a little world of love at home, of which he is the monarch ; whereas a single man is apt ruin to waste and self-neglect, to fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heart to fall to ruin like some deserted mansion, for want of an inhabitant. These observations call to mind a little domestic story, of which I was once a witness. My intimate friend Leslie had married a beautiful and accomplished girl, who had been brought up in the midst of fashionable life. She had, it is true, no fortune, but that of my friend was ample; and he delighted in the anticipation of in dulging her in every elegant pursuit, and administering to those delicate tastes' and fancies that spread a kind of witch eryabout the sex. "Her life," said he, "shall be like a fairy tale." The very difference in their characters produced an harmonious combination. lie was of a romantic and somewhat serious cast—she was all life and gladness. 1 have often noticed the mute rapture with which he would gaze upon her in compa ny, of which her sprightly . powers mode her the delight ; and how, in the midst of applause, her eye would still turn to as if there alone she sought favor and ac• ceptance. When leaning on his aria, her slender form contrasted finely with his tall and manly person. The flind, con tiding air with which she looked op to him seemed to call forth a flush of pride and cherishing tenderness, as it lie floated on his lovely burthen fur its very heplessness. Never did a couple set forward on the flowery path of early and well suited mar riage with a fairer prospect of facility. It was the mishap of my friend, how ever, to have embarked his fortune in large speculations, and he had not been married many months, when, by a succes sion of sudden disasters, it was swept from him, and lie found himself reduced to al most penury. For a time he kept his sit nation to himself, and went about with a haggard countenance and a breaking heart. His life was but a protracted agony, and what rendered it more insupportable was the necessity of keeping up a smile in the presence of his wife, for he could not bring himsef to overwhelm her with the news. She saw however, with the quick eyes of affection, that all was not well with him. She marked his altered looks and stifled sighs, and was not to be deceived "ONE COUNTRY, 01 , 4 E CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY." A. W. BENEDICT PuntAsnrat AND PROPRIETOR. HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, MAY 12, 1841 by his sickly and vapid attempts at cheer fulness. .t he tasked all her sprightly powers and tender blandishments to win him back to happiness, but she only drove the arrow deeper into his soul. The more he saw cause to love her, the more tortur ing was the thought that he was soon to make her wertch:d. A little, thought he, and the smile will vanish trout that cheek. —the song will die away from tht se lips —the lustre of those eyes will be quench ed with sorrow: and the happy heart which now beats lightly in that bosom will be weighed down like mine, by the cares and miseries of the world. At length he came to me one day and related his whole situation in the tone of the deepest despair. When I had heard him through /enquired, "Does your wile know all this 7'' tt th, , question he burst into an agony of tears. • For God's sake!" cried he, it you have any pity on me, don't mention my wife; ►t is tie thought of her that drives me almost to mad ness !" "And why not ?" said I. "She — must know it sooner or later. You cannot keep it long from her and the intelligence may break upon her in a more startling man tier than it imparted by yourself; for the scenes of those we love soften the harsh est tidings. Besides you are depriving yourself of the comforts of her sympathy, and hot merely that, but also entlanger• ing the only bond that keep hearts togeth er— an unreserved community of thought anti feeling. She will soon perceive that something is secretly preying upon your mind, and true love will nut brook re serve; it feels under valued and outraged, when even the sorrows of those it loves are concealed from it." "0, my friend, but to think what a blow I am to give all her future prospects— how lam to strike her very soul to the earth, by tel her that her husband is a beggar—that she is to forego all the ele • gancies aide—all the pleasures of socie. ty_to shrink with me into indigence and obscurity. To tell her that I have drag ged her down from the sphere in which she might have continued to move in con, stant brightness—the light of every eye —the admiration of every heart. Row can she hear poverty ? She has been brought up hi all the , efinement of opu lence. flow can she bear neglect? She has been the idol of society. 0, it will break my heart—it will reach her heart ? I saw grief was eloquent, and I let it have its flow, fur sorrow relieves itself by words. When his paroxysm had subsid ed, and lie had relapsed into moody si lence, I resumed the subject gently, and I urged him to break his situation at once to his wife. He shook his head mourn fully, but positively said. "But how are you to keep it froin her It is necessary site should know it, that you may take the steps necessary to the alteration of living—nay," observing a pang to pass across his countenance, 'don't let that afflict you. I. am sure you have never placed your happiness in outward show—you have yet friends, who will not think the worse of you for being less splendidly lodged ; and surely it does not require a palace to be happy with Mary." "I could be happy with her," cried he convulsively, "in a hovel I could go down with her into poverty and the dust —I could—l could—God bless her God bless hei !" cried he, bursting into a trans• port agile,* and tenderness. "And believe me my friend," said I, stepping up and grasping him warmly by the hand, 'believe me. she can be the same with you. Aye, more ;it will be a source of pride and triumph to her, it will call forth all the latent energies and fervent sympathies of her nature, (Or she will re, juice to prove that she lo: es you far your self. There is in every true woman's heart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosper ity, but which kindles up and seams rnd Llitzes in the dark hour of adversity. No man knows what the wife of his bosom is; no man knows what a ministering angel she is, until he ha, gl•ne with her through the fiery trials of this world." - there was something in the earnest• ness or my language, that caught the ex cited imagination of Leslie. I knew the auditor I had to deal with ; and following up the impression 1 had made, l fr‘ished by per,tnitling him to go home and unbur den his sad heart to his wife. I must con less, cot Withstanding all I had said, I felt a little solicitude for the result. Who can calculate on the fortitude of one whose whole life has beet a round of pleasure ? Her gay spirits might revolt at the dark downward path of low humility suddenly pointed out before her, and might cling to the sunny regions in which they had hith• erto revelled. Besides ruin in fashionas ble life is accompanied by so many gall ing mortilications to which in other ranks it is a stranger. In short, I could not meet Leslie the next morning without trepidation. lie had made the disclo sure. "And how did she beat it?" "Like an angel. It seemed rather to be a relief to her mind, fur she threw her arms around my neck and asked if this was all that had lately made me unhappy. But, poor girl,' added he, 'she cannot re alize the change we must undergo. She has no idea of poverty but in the abstract; she has only read of it in poetry, where it is allied to love. She feels as vet no pil -1 vation—she sutlers no less of accustomed conveniences not elegancies. When we come particularly to experience its sordid cares, its paltry wants, its petty huuiili• ations, then will be the trial.' 'But,' said 'now that you have got o ver the severest task, that of breaking it to her, the sooner yon let the. world into the secret the better. The disclosure may be mortifying, but then it is a single misery, and soon over; whereas you other wise sutler it in anticipation every hour in the day. It is not poverty so much as pretence that harrasses a ruined man—the struggle between a proud mind and an empty purse—the keeping up a hollow show that most soon come to an end. Have the courage to appear prior, and you disarm poverty of as sharpest sting? On this point I found Leslie perfectly prepar ed. tie had no false pride himself, and as to his m ife, she was only anxious to con form to their altered fortunes. • Some days afterwards he called upon me in the eveaing. He had dispensed of his dwelling house, and talon a small cot tage in the country a few miles Iron town. He had busied himself all day in sending out furniture. The new establishment required but a few articles of the simplest kind. All the splendid furniture of his late residence had been sold except his wife's piano. That, he said, was too closely associated with himself—it belong ed to the little story of their loves--tin• some of the sweetest momenta of their ccurtship were those when he had leaned over that in-ti einent and listened to the melting tones of her voice. I could not but smile at this instance of romantic gal lantry in a doming husband. Ile was now going to the cottage, where his wife had been all day sti:wrins tending its arrangement. My feelings hail been strongly interested in the pro gress of this family story, and as it •vas a tint:evening I offered to accompany him. He was wearied with the tati . gue's of the day, and as he walked out, fell into a fit of gloomy musing. "Poor Mary!" at length broke, with a heavy sigh from his lips. 'And what of her?" asked I, 'has any. thing happened to her?" "What," said he ; darting an impatient glance, "is it nothing to be reduced to this paltry situation—to be caged in a miserable cottage—to be obliged to toil almost in the tnenial concerns of her wretched habitation?" "Ilas she then repined at the change?" "Repined! she has been nothing but sweetness and good humor. Indeed, she seems in better spirits than 1 have ever known her; she has been to me all love, and tenderness, and comfort." "Admirable girl" exclaimed I. "You call yourself poor, my friend, you never were rich—you never knew the boundless treasures of excellence you possessed in that wmnan." “Oh but my friend, if this first mee ting at the cottage were over, I think I could be comfoi table. But this is her first day of real experience. She has been introduced into a humble dwelling: she has been employed all day in arrang ing its miserable equipments—she has for the first time known the fatigues of being obliged to do domestic employment—she has for the first time looked around her on a home destitute of every thing elegant— almost of every thing convenient and may now lie sitting down, rixchausted and spiritless, braiding over a prospect of fu ture poverty.” There was a probability in this picture that 1 could not gainsay, so we walked on in silence. After turtling from the main road up a narrow lane so thickly shaded by forest trees as to give it a complete air of seclu sion, we came in sight of the cottage. It was humble enough in its appearance for the most pastoral poet; and yet it had a pleming rural look. A wild vine over run one end with a profusion of foliage; a few trees threw their branches graceful ly over it, and I observed several pots of lluwet s tustefulty disposed about the door and 1/11 Vie grass plat in front. A small wicket gate opened upon a toot path that wound through some shrubbery at the dour. Just as we approached we heard the sound of music. Leslie grasped my arm. We paused and listened. It was Mary's voice singing, in the style of most touching simplicity. a little air of which her husband was peculiarly fond. 1 felt Leslie's hand tremble on my arm He stepped forward to hear more destinct ly. His steps made a noise on the gravel ed walk. A bright beautiful faceglanced out at the window and vanished; a light footstep was hearts, and Mary came trip ping forth to meet us; she was in a pret ty rural dress of white. A few wild fl ow _ . _ ers were twisted in her fine hair.. A fresh bloom was on her cheek. Iler whole countenance beamed with smiles. I had never seen her look so lovely. "My dear George," cried she, "I am so glad you are come. I have been watch ing and watching for you, and running down the lane, and looking out for you. I have set out it table under a beautiful tree behind the cottage, and I've been gathering some of the most delicious straw berries, for I know you are fund of them: and we have such excellent cream —and everything is so sweet and still her—Oh: said she, putting her arm within his, and looking up brightly in his lace, "0, we shall be so happy:" Yom• Leslie was overcome. ' He caught her to his bosom—he folded his arms round her; he kissed her again and again; lie could not speak, but the tears gushed into his eyes; he has often assured me that though the world has since gone prosperously with him, and his life has in deed been a happy one, yet never has he experienced a moment of such unuttera ble felicity. TEE BACHELOR RECLAIMED. A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. BY H. T. TUCKERMAN. "Nature is fine Iove."—SRAKSPEARE, "You are determined not to marry?" "Ab,olucrly." "Anil why" "In the first place, I never expect to be able to support a wife according to my ideas of comfort. In the second place, I have no hope of meeting a woman who will sympathize sufficiently with my fee lings and views, to be a congenial com panion. Thirdly, I cannot bear the idea of adopting as constant associates the re• lations of her I may love; and fourthly, I consider housekeeping, and all the tie talk of domestic arrangements, the great est bore in existence." This colloquy took place between two young men, in the garden of one of the fashionable hotels at Saratoga. It was a sultry afternoon, and they had retired on. der the shade of all apple-tree, to digest their dinner, which process they were fa— editating by occasionally puffing some very mild light brown Havana cigars. The last remarks were uttered in a very calm and positive tone, by M'Neil, a pht losophical and quiet gentleman, who had a most sensible theory for every thing in life. Among other things, he took great pleasure. in the conviction that he thor oughly understood himself. The first time his interest was truly excited by a member of the gentler sex, he had acted in the most extravagant manner, a::d barely escaped with honor from forming a most injudicious connection. To guard against similar mishaps, he had adopted a very ing,enious plan. Being uncommon. ly susceptible of female attractions, he made it a rule when chaimed by a sweet face, or thrilled by a winning voice, tti seek seine personal defect or weakness of character, in the fair creature, and obsti nately dwell upon these defects, until they cast a shade over the redeeming traits, and dissolved the spell he feared. When this course failed, he had but one resource. With Falstaff, he thought dis-, cretion the better part of valor, and de- Lberately fled from the allurements that threateoed his peace. Thus he managed not to allow love to take permanent pos session, and after various false alarms and exciting vigils, came to the cuticle skin that no longer seigc or sudden ut tart( would ever subdue the citidel of his affictions. But 111'Neil had so brated himself in a spirit of resistance, that he had not made any provisions against the unconscious lures of beauty. Ile could chat for hours with a celebrated belle, and leave her without a sigh; he could smile at the cap tivating manners which overcame his fel, lows. Regarding society as a battlefield, he went thither armed in all points, resol• ved to maintain self-possession, and be on the watch against the wiles of woman. lie had seen lovely girls in the drawing room, followed their graceful movements in the dance, heard them breathe songs of sentiment at the piano, and walked be. side them on the prmninade. On these occasions, he cooly formed an estimate of their several graces, perfectly appreciated every finely chiselled nose and tempting lip, noted with care the hue and expres sion of the eve, but walked away at par ting, murmuring to himself, "all this ! see yet am not in love." But who shall anticipate the weapon that shall lay him low, or make adequate provisions agains the inexhaustible resour ces of love? Ale Neil had sat for a week at table, opposite an invalid widow and her daughter. He had passed them po• tatoes nut leas than a dozen times, and helped the young lady twice to cherry pie. [Wiror E No. 282 .~_ti __.._,._,:.~ The only impression he had derived from their demeanor and appearance, was, that they were very genteel mil quiet. On the morning alter his conversation in the garden, he awoke just before sunrise, and found himself lying with his face to the wall, in one of the diminutive chambers in which visiters at the Springs are so un ceremoniously packed. "Hs eyes opened within six incites of the plaster, and he amused himself for some minutes, in eon. juring tie cracks and veins it display, Li, • into imaginary forms of warriors and 'n ni mats. At length his mind !everted to him self, and his present quarters. I have been here just a forthnight," thus he mused, "and a pretty dull time I've had of it. Day after day the sante stupid roe tine. In the morning I swollowed six ' "lasses of Congress water at the spring, with the hollow eyes of that sick minister from Connecticut glaring on me like a serpent, and the die-away tone of that nervous lady from Philadelphia, sounding like a knell in my ears. I cannot drink in peace fin• these everlasting Misses Hill who all three chatter at once, and expect me to be entertaining and talkative so early in the morning, with my stomach full of cold liquid, and a long dull day in perspective! Then comes breakfast. The clatter of plates, the murmur of voices, the rushing of the black waiters, the variety of steams, make me glad to re treat. I find a still corner of the piazza, and begin to read, but the flies, a draught. of air, or the instructive gabble of my ac quaintances, utterly prevent me from be- - coining absorbed in a book. It has now grown ton warm to walk, and I look in vain for Dr Clayton, who is the only man here whose conversation interest me. I avoid the billiard-room, because / know who I shall meet there. The swing is oc cupied. The thrumming on the piano of that old maid from Providence, makes the saloon uninhabitable. They are talking politics in the bat room. The very sight of the newspapers gives me a qualm. I inv olun • arily beg in to doze, when that in fernal gong sounds the hour to dress, No matter; any thing for a relief. Dinner is insufferable, more show and noise, than relish and comfort . How gladly I escape to the garden and smoke! That reminds me of what I told Jones, yesterday, about matrimony. He laughed at me. But there's no mistake about it. Catch me to give up my freedom, and provide for a family—be pestered with a whole string of new connections, when I can't bear those I have now—never have a moment to myself—be obliged to get up at,night fir a doctor—have to pay for a boy's schooling, and be plagued to death by him for my pains—be bothered constantly with bad servants—see my wife lose her beauty, in a twelvemonth from care—my goddess become a mere household drudge --give, up cigars—keep precise hours—. take care of sick children—go to market I never, never, never I " _ _ As his reverie thus emphatically termi nated, McNeil slowly raised himself to a sitting posture, in order to ascertain the state of the weather, when a sight pre sented itself which at once put his philos ophy to flight and startled - him from his composure. He did nut cry out, but hush ed his very breath. Beside him lay a fes male form in profound slumber. Her hair had escaped from its confinement, and lay in the richest profusion around her face. There was a delicate glow upon the checks. The lips were scarcely parted. Time brow was perfectly serene. One arm was thirst under her head, the other lay stretched upon the coverlid. It vas one of those accidental attitudes which sculptors love to embody. The bosom heaved regularly. One lelt that it was the slumber titian innocent creature, and that beneath that calm breast beat a kind ly and pure heart. McNeil bent over this vision, for so at first it seemed to him, as did Narcissus over the crystal water. The peaceful beauty of that face entered his very soul. He trembled at the still r egularity of the long dark eye-lashes, as if it were death personified. Recovering himself, all at once something familiar struck him in the countenance. He thought awhile, and the whole mistery was solved. They occupied the adjoining chamber; she had gone down stairs in the night to procure something for the ivalid, and re turning, entered in the darkness, the wrong room, and fancying her mother a sleep, had very quietly taken her place beside her, and was soon lost in slumber, No sooner did this idea take possession of McNeil, than with the utmost caution any' a noiseless movement, he stole away ana retrieved every vistage of his presence in• to a vacant appartment opposite leaving the fair intruder to suppose she alone had occupied the ro tm. At breakfast, he ob served the mother and daughter whisper and smile together. and soon ascertained that they had no suspicion of the actual state of the case. With the delicacy that belonged to his character, McNeil inward. ly vowed to keep the secret forever in his own breast. Meantime, with much appa. rent hilarit y , . he prepared to accompany Jones to Lake George. ills companion
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