Vox., VI, No. 28.]
TERIZO
OF THE
HUNTINGDON JOU RNAL.
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dingly.
AGENTS,
The linnfinsrdon Journal.
Daniel Teague, Orbisonia; David Blair,
Esq. Shade Gap; Benjamin Lease, Shirleys
burg; Eliel Smith, Esq. Chilcottstown; Jas.
Entriken, jr. Ceifee Run• ' Hugh Madden,
Esq. Springfield; Dr. S. S. Dewey, Bir
mingham; James Morrow, Union Furnace;
John Sider, Warrior Mark; James Davis,
Esq. West township ; D. H. Moore,
Esq.
Frankstown; Eph. Galbreath, Esq. Holli
daysburg; Henry Neff, .dlexandria; Aaron
Burns, Williamsburg; A. J. Stewart, Water
Street; Wm. Reed, I?.sq. Morris township;
Solomon Hamer, ..Nef's Mill; James Dysart,
Mouth Spruce Creek; Wm. Murray, Esq.
Graysville; John Crum, Manor Hill; Jas.
E. Stewart, Sinking Valley; L. C. Kessler,
Mill Creek.
POETRY,
From the N. 0. Picayune.
VERY SINCERELY.
I wish I had—l do indeed,
Some little snug retreat,
A calm blue sky above my head,
Green earth beneath my feet ;
A little spot, however small,
Nor rent, nor hire to pay ,
Where ma might show his nature, in
A homely, manly way !
I've got a wife, where all besides
Is questioning and cold ;
Whose lips have ne'er reproaches framed,
Whose eyes but kindness told,
I've got a child, whose little voice
To words I love to frame ,
Nor less, because it loves the first
To name its mother's name !
I've got a friend—tho' distant now,
Who thinks as once he thought;
The change to manhood in his breast
No other changes hath wrought ;
A noble heart ! who still hath shared
Each change of grief and j
And by whose side l'd walk
Again a careless boy !
How much for happiness have I !
How priceless is my all !
How little, named with mine, the wealth
Which happiness men call;
How rich ! and ye:, while man can say
To equal man 'endure'—
The wealth I boast but warms me—l
Am poor!—how very poor!
Oh hearts! how might ye sing in peace ;
Oh lovely wert thou world,
If never pride had been—if ne'er
The lip of scorn had curl'd ;
If—if—"much virtue in an if,"
And if we could but do
On earth as is done in heav'n ;
There'd be much virtue too !
And so I wish—sweet competence—
That still unhating men ;
The vanity I cannot love,
I might not see again;
A mountain path—a book—a coat,
Peace smiling at the door ;
The world forgetting—world forgot;
But-this—l ask no more!
STRAWS, No. 189,
WREATH OF LOVE.
Connubial bliss unknown to strife,
A faithful friend—a virtuous wife—
Be mine for many years to prove
Our wishes one within our breast
The dove of peace shall make her nest,
Nor ever from the ark remove i
Till called to heaven, through ages there
Be ours the blissful lot to wear
A never fading Wreath of Lo-:e.
THE JOU ' .NAL.
From the West Chester Register.
A MORAL SKETCH
OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION
'•To live uprightly, then, is sure the best,
To save ourselves, are not to ckmn the
rest."
DRYDEN.
"Slave to no sect, who takes no private rdad
But looks through nature up to nature's
God." pc*E.
In the year 17—, when the American
army lay encamped, (the reader will
please excuse me for not mentioning
where,) the commander of the British
forces in America (Lord Cornwallis) be
ing in the neighborhood and desiring some
correspondence with the American com
mander in-Chief, despatched one of his
officers (Major Brock) with a letter to
that individual. Major Brock was a
young officer, who had been in the ser
vice of the British army for about two
years, and by his bravery, manly bearing,
and virtuous actions, had gained the love
of his inferiors. and indeed, of his haugh
ty commander; and his love of justice,
and regard for the laws of humanity, had
ensured for him the esteem and admiration
of his enemies. And although he had
suffered much, as he naturally would,
from the influence of education, his ambi
tion was not to be gratified by the attain-'
ment of an object through unjust measures
no matter how great the advancement of
individual interest. He always looked to
the justness of the cause in which he had
enlisted, and it was by no means in un
sion with his feelings, or in accordance
with the dictates of his heart, that he had
embarked to cross the ocean and assist in
putting down th4.reblies."
It was on a bright autumnal morning,
and the sun had just risen and sipped the
frost from the dying leaves, when Major
Brock mounted his fiery charger and 'Jelin
ded forth for the American camp. A few
minutes brought him within sight of where
the army lay, and riding swiftly along a
pathway which led through a strip of
woods adjacent to the camp, his atten
tion was attracted by the soft low sound
of a human voice. He halted and tur
,' ning to one - side, was almost ready to
doubt the reality of what he saw. It was
General haehinglon praying! In a
bower formed by the vines of the wild
grape, he was kneeled, and humbly and
ardently engaged in his morning prayer.
Brock gazed upon this imposing scene,
till yielding to the impulse of his heart,
he dismounted, and kneeling upon the
ground, poured out with Washington, the
pure and unshaded sentiments of his soul.
It brought home to him the unjustness of
his cause, the fact that he was engaged in
a war against the innocent. When Wash
ington arose, Brock advanced and took
him by the hand . For a moment his fee
lings hail so overcome him, th4t he was
unable to give utterance to his thoughts:
but on recovering a little, he pressed the
hand of Washington firmly within his,
and looking him full in the face, said,
'No more will I war with the ungodly—
no more will I battle in the armies of the
unjust." I
There was an e o tes&on in his eye,
and a simplicity in 'speech, which t 461
well the sincerity f his heart. Virtue
and nobleness of feeling beamed from his
countenance, and as he spoke the tears
rolled down his cheek, and they flowed
not less freely from the eyes of IVashings
ton.
The General led him to his tent, and
after having attended to the letter of Corn
wallis, and prepared an answer, Brock
bid him adieu and departed for his own
camp. And as he rode leisurely along,
he thought much concerning the manner
in which he should bring about the desire
of his heart, how he should carry out the
desings which he had now resolved upon—
to quit the British army. He knew that
to attempt a desertion would be danger
ous; and, too, he scorned the idea of leav
ing behind him the name of a deserter.
Ile therefore resolved to ask his common
der a release, although he well knew the
character of Cornwallis, and had good
reason to suspect the answer with which
his question would be met.
aowever, Cornwallis soon discovered
that there was something wrong with
Brock; he was not the cheerful, witty,
and pleasant person which he had been,
.but was just the reverse. He began to
get uneasy; he knew how deeply and sen.
sibly he should feel the loss of Brock—
that the brightest feather would be pluck
ed from his plume. And one evening as
he walked out to take a view of his camp,
he saw Brocl seated upon the trunk of a
fallen tree, at separate from any one
else; his hands were up to his face, and
his eyes rested upon the ground. Corn
wallis approached and thus addressed
him;
"Major, what ►s the matter? what has
come over you within the last few days
that hag made you so down-hearted?
You are just the reverse of what you were
heretofore,"
"ONE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY."
A. W. BENEDICT PUBLISHER AND. PROPRIETOR.
HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, JUNE 23 1841
"Ah, my Lord," replied Brock, "there
is something which weighs heavily upon
my mind, and although it is within your
power, I fear you will not relieve me
of the burthen."
"Why, Brock, you know I have always
been friendly towards you, and would
certainly be very happy to do for you at
present, whatever is in my power," con
tinued Cornwallis, in rather a condescen
ding tone.
"It is very true," said Brock--"von
have acted as a friend towards me; but at
present, I fear—l know, I shall be de.-
serted."
"Brock," demanded Corwallis, assu•
ming his usual haughty . air, "explain this
mystery; you have excited my curiosity.
Is it any thing of importance you are thus
brooding over."
"Of vast importance to me, sir," said
Brock, "and as you demand to know
what it is, 1 throw myself upon your
kiendship, and humbly pray a release."
"A release? why, what means this? are
you joking tne? or, are you Insane?" said
Corwallis, in a haughty, threatening voice.
"I am neither, sir," replied Brock: "I
mean what I say."
i.Then sir, explain immediately, why
you demand a release-1 wish to know the
meaning of this," said the haughty com
mander.
"%Veil, my Lord, as you express so
stror b , a desire to know, 1 will tell you.
As lwas going to the American camp
with your letter, I found General NVash
inAton kneeling upon the ground, in the
forest praying—and"
"Arid he turned you traitor?" interrup
ted Cornwallis.
"Thtitor! Taunt me not, I pray you,
sir, with such an expression," said Brock
in a clear manly, voice; and the indigna
tion of his soul.flashed from his eye. "I
was going to say," continued he, "that
my feelings were so aroused by his piety,
that I there swore never more to war a
gainst that good man, who is engaged in a
righteous cause, and trusts for success to
the 'arbiter of Nations!'
"Remember, sir." said Cornwallis,
"the words atich you now speak, if ad
hered to may be the cause of your death.
But did you never see a i:ian pray be
fore—is it any thing uncommon?"
"Yes, sir," replied Brock, "it was un
common. I have 'seen men pray, but I
never before saw the commandel of a
mighty army seek out a place of secrecy,
and there pray for his enemies as well as
for himself. Had General Washington,'
continued Brock, "prayed alone for him
self—alone for his own army, or for his
own cause, my feelings towards him at
present, would be different from what they,
are; but he prayed, too, for vs—for our ar
my—forourgoverntnent—yes, my Lord,
he prayed for you."
The feelings of Cornwallis were some•
what subdued by the simplicity and ear•
nestness of Brock's manner, but on se.
cond thought he resumed his threaten•
_
'Major Brock," said he, "tell me now,
without jesting, whether or not you have
spoken your mind and intend practising
what you have professed."
- -
" do, my Lord ;" do;" replied
Brock, and there was something in his
expression which gave double assurance to
his words. Cornwallis knew him too well
to believe that he would ever abandon a
purpose which he had so solemnly formed,
.and fur the maintenance of which he had
, pledged his honor,
"Erock," resumed Cornwallis, "I leave
you—to-morrow morning at 9 o'clock I
must see you again and it your intention
be then as it is now, a Court Martial will
'settle your late." _ _ _
The morning came, and at 9 o'clock
Brock was at the terit of his commander ;
and on the question being put to him—
"Do you intend maintaining the purpose
which you last evening avowed," he calm.
ly and earnestly replied
"I do sir, and ever will. What I swear
to is net to be forgotten in a day."
"This answer was full and explicit; it
settled business with him and put an end
to questioning. A court Martial was
called— Cornwallis presided over the de•
liberations, which were solemn and last•
ed long. It was, indeed, a hard task for
them to condemn Brock to death, but
what were they to do ? Ile hail sworn
never more to bar arms in Vieir cause
Some were in favor of releasing hint but
this was strongly opposed by others, who
maintained that lie date not go home to
his own country, and would therefore
espouse the cause of the "rebels." The
views of the latter were sustained, and
Brock was condemned to death for mu
tiny."
The day was appointed, the hour was
fixed, and the sentence conveyed to the
convict, who received it with calmness
and apparent satisfaction, as though he
had anticipated as much. But Cornwal•
lis could scarce permit himself to believe
that they would be put to the disagreeable
necessity of carrying out the injunctions
of their decree.. Ile still entertained a
feint hope that Brock would change hie
mind befure-the day of execution should
arrive. Aud it was that hope, with a
view to ascertain the degree to which it
might be exercised that prompted bins to
put the Ibilewing question to Brock, a
day or two after his sentence had reached
him, and to-descend to that familiar man
ner, and honied expression, by which lie
expected tt, play tho orator and effect his
object. . _ _
'Brock," said he, laying his hand upon
his shoulder, "are you going to permit
yourself to be borne to the grave amid the
outpourings of condemnation and dis
grace, and leave behind you the name of
a traitor' and enemy to the land that
gave you birth ?
" An enemy to my country?" replied
Brock.— "Truth and a knowledge of the
will not dictate such an assertion. I
have not been an enemy to my country ;
God forbid shat I ever should. I have
stood by her in times of need ; I have de
fied her lees; I have ()tiered mysplf as a
sacrifice for her benefit-1 never fought
for worldly honor—l never fought for
carnal glory. The good of my country
and the salvation of justice has been my
aim. My country is now in the wrong,
she is engaged in an unjust war against
a portion of her own subjects. It will
cast an indeliable stain upon her charac
ter, and it cannot assist to thus degrade
her—if I should, I would then be an ene
my to my country. You appear to think
my mind has been all this time unsettled
but to satisfy you, sir I have to say this,
I would mu,.h sooner die a martyr to my
conscience than live the tool of a tyrant ;
and as to the condemnation and ignorant
sneers of a multitude, I wholly disregard
them—they are ao stupid—su blinded by
ignorance, and superstition, that they see
not their own degraded situation."
Cornwallis lea him ; and was now per.
fectly satisfied that Brock meant to die;
it increaNed much his uneasiness, but the
friendly feelings which Brock's former
conduct had excited in his bosom, seemed
now to change into hatred, and he appear- .
eel anxiously to await the hour which was
to blot oat the existence of Bruck.
However, it soon arrived, and Corn
wallis mounted his horse and started with
his officers and a guard appointed fur the
purpose, to where the prisoner Has con
fined. They released his chains, and had
proceeded to where the gallows was er
ected, when Cornwallis suddenly halting,
exclaimed, Hark! Hark The senti
nels fire
Directly, the cry, "The enemy—the
enemy they come—they come," rang
round, and confusion reigned without the
camp. Cornwallis flew' to his tent and
cried, .to arms ;" the soldiers to their
ranks, and Brock was lett alone. It was
now that Cornwallis experienced the lass
of Brock there was none who could fill the
place he had vacated; there was none upon
whom he could rely with that confidence
—there was none to lend him that pru
dent counsel.
Brock, from where he stood, had a fair
view of both armies ; and turning towards
the Americans, he discovered Washings
ton in the thickest of the fight, and in the
excitement of the moment, he made a des.
perate effort to burst asunder the shack•
les which bound together his arms; but it
was in vain he attempted, and fearing
lest he should see the General fall, he
buried his face in his hands.—lle could
hear above the clash of arms, Washington
urging his men to victory, and they an
swered the sound of his voice with huzzas
that made the welkin ring, and the very
earth tremble beneath them. The dead
and dying were becoming thick around
Cornwallis; and directly Brock heard a
murmur• among the British troops, as if
unable and unwillidg to withstand longer
the galling fire of the Americans, and un
covering his eyes he saw the ranks falling
back in confusion: he stretched himself
up to his highest, and waving his hand,
cried at the top ()this voice," Victory ! Vic
tory ! ! and the rights of man forever • "
and fell senseless upon the ground, over
' powered with patriotic joy.
The strife of battle ceased, and its
echoes died away ; but it ever lived in the
memory of Cornwallis, and Brock hailed
it as the anniversary of a great blessing
from God. By the engagement Wash•
ington gained a decisive victory, and an
officer who stood by his side in the perils
of many a battle, and who ever remember
ed with grateful feelings and a warm
heart.
West Chester, May, 10, 1841.
SteNs.—There is a cobler in London,
over whose door is the following notice:
"Shetca Maid and Men-Dead Here."
An English lady gave in her sign the
following interesting intelligence to those
who might - desire to have their children
educated:
"Six,oense for them that learns to read,
and silpenee more for them that learns
mr,nners."
A Short Sermon.
I love the SPRING—her bursting buds and
flowers,
The blue-bird whistling in her leafy bowers,
The waters laughing with a merry sound,
That late were mute in icy fetters bound.
My dear friends—let us cong ratulate
one another that the cold-hearted tyrant
Winter has been turnedput of office, and
is now slumbering in retirement among
the icebergs of the north. His was a se
vere reign, truly. His measures were
altogether too destructive to the interests
of the North, and ton favorable towards
those of the South. Ile took too heavy
responsibilities on his own shoulders, and
therefore prostrated business flatter than
a hammered sixpence. He put a stop to
all our inland navigation—levied a grind•
ing tax upon the poor—buried the pros
perity of the country beneath the snows
of usurpation, and created banks alter
banks, to block up the honest yeoman's
path to fortune; but they have all bees
run upon so of ten that they are now trod,
down and wholly annihilated forever.
My friends—setting aside all politics,
whether seasonable or unseasonable, let
us rejoice that warmer, milder, arid sun
nier days are peeping through the flower
ed curtain of June, and that we can now
get a smell at some such odors as delight
ed the ollactories of our first parents, as
they sat weaving lova-knots in the gay
bowers of Eden, or , picking the violets
that surrounded the cradle of balmy mid •
summer. Nature is now lull of anima
tion, life and spirit ; and you behold her
habited in a new frock of green, and the
full-blown buds of promise wreathed in
her ringlets.
The infant blossoms that-lead the florin
year, have reared their tiny heads upon
the lawns, and laugh for joy at the grand
prospect before them. The little birds,'
too, have come to cheer us with their en
livening carollings; and every crotchet,
quaver, semiquaver, and demi serniquas
ver in the unwritten music of nature, is
daily run over by
. these feathered choris
ters of heaven with the exactness of a
pocket organ. The earth, which has
lately been a sepulchre for the dead, is
converted into a garden-of life and in
dustry. Damask roses bloom upon Win
ter's barren grave, and green garlands
hang upon every leafless bough.
' My friends—only mark the difference
between the natural and the animal world!
!I While the earth enjoys an annual renova
tion, and crowns herself every spring with
the blooming chaplet of youth, man, frail
man, is hastening to decay. No vernal
morn sheds its freslinesa over the autum•
nal landscape of life—no balmy breeze
can blow youthful vigor into the superan
nuated system of age. When the physi
cal tree sheds its verdure, and the limbs
become sapless and old, it flourishes no
more—and when the vegetation of the
cranium is dried and withered in the De
cember of time, it can never, never sprout
again till the soil is watered and enriched
by the summer showers of immortality.—
Yes, my friends, decny is written upon
the foreheads of you all, as Plainly as the
heading to a theatre billi n vid you should
consider yourselves pastrcularly favored
by a merciful Providence that you have
been permitted to behald the openin g of
another spring. For my part, I roll up
my eyes in wonder, and thus colloquize
with try own mysterious sell . :—Can it be
possible that I am again to enjoy the May
days of another year? how many more
times will spring spread her mantle be
tween me and my grave? how many times
more will yonder sod clothe itself in green
before it shall be uptorn by the sexton's
spade, and planted upon my clay-cold
bosom? Such questions as these you all
ought to ask yourselves, as well as 1, and
live as though it wer e the last spring with
which you are ever to be favored in this
changing sphere. Because every thing
around you seems lively, cheerful and
young, don't be deceived into tne idea
that the sands ire; the hour glass of Time
have ceased to run--that you can linger
upon life's flowery banks forever--and
that you are now as near the dark portals
of the tomb as
y ou will be when another
year rolls roun d. All, my friends, you
are all marching, with a double quick step,
towards the batticsfield of death; and
when you and I shall have spilt ourselves
upon the ground, the Earth will still be in
her teens, and the sweet lassie Spring
will trip over our graves with as lightsome
a step as when she first came dancing into
the world with garlands gathered in the
gardens of heaven. So mate it be.
The duration of a man's life should
not be estimated by his years, but by
what he has accomplished—by the use he
has made of time and opportunity. The
industrious romp lives longer than the
drone, and by inuring our body and mind
to exerci.e and activity, we shall more
than double the years et our existence.
WitoLE No. 288.
Burial of a Child.
"Along the crowded pathway they bore
her now; pure as the newly-fallen snow
that covered it ; whose day on earth had
been as fleeting. Under that porch, where
she had sat when Heaven in its mercy
brought her to that peaceful spot, she pas
sed again, and the old church received her
lin its quiet shade. They carried her to
one old nook, where she had many a time
sat musing, and laid their burden softly
on the pavement. The light streamed on
it through the colored window—a window
, where the boughs of trees were ever rust
ling in the summer, and where the birds
sang sweetly all day long. With every
breath of air that stirred among those
branches in the sunshine, some trembling,
changing light, would fall upon her grave.
Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to
dust. Many a young hand dropped in its
little wreath, many a stiflled sob was
heard. Some—and they were not a few
—knelt clown. All were sincere and
truthful in their sorrow.
"The service done, the mourners stood
apart, and the villagers closed around to
took into the grave before the pavement
stone should be replaced. One called
to mind how he had seen her sitting
on that very spot, and how her book had
fallen on her lap, and she was gazing
with a pensive face upon'the skv. An.
other told how he had wondered much
that one so delicate as she, should be so
bold; how she had never feared to enter
the church alone at night, but had loved
to linger there when all was quiet; and
even to climb the tower stairs, with no
more light than that of the moon's rays
stealing through the loophole in the thick
old wall. A whisper went Lbout amon„, ,,
the oldest there, that she had seen and
talked with angels ; and when they call.
ed to mind how she had looked, and spoks
en; and her early death, sonic thought it
might be so, indeed—Thus, coming to the
grave in little knots, and glancing down
and giving place to others, and falling oil
in whispering groups of three or four, the
church was cleared in time of all but the
sexton and the mourning friends. They
saw the vault covered and the stone fixed
down.
"Then, when the dusk of evening had
come on, and not a sound disturbed the
sacred stilness of the place—when the
bright moon poured in her light on the
tomb and monument, on pillar, wall and
arch, and most of all (it seemed to theni)
upon her quiet grave—in that calm time,
when all outward things and inward
thought teem with assurance of immortal
ity, and worldly hopi.s and fears are hum
bled in the (lust belore them—then, with
tranquil and submissive hearts they turn.
ed away, and left the child with God.
Oh I it is hard to take to the heart the les
sons that such deaths will teach; but let
no man reject it, for it is one that all must
learn, and is a mighty, universal truth.
When death strikes down the innocent
and young; for every fragile form front
which he lets the panting spirit free, a
hundred virtues rise, in shape of mercy,
charity and love, to walk the world, and
bless it. Ot every tear that sorrowing
moritls shed on such green graves, some
ntler nature comes. In the destroyer's
s there spring up bright creations that
t defy his power, arid his dark path
becomes a way of light to heaven.—.dick
ens.
Night
. was brooding over the face of na
tore—the stars were sparkling gin the e
therial blue--a holy calm seemed to in
vite repose—when Ichabod sallied forth
on the dark purposes of death. The Sol
emn hour of midnight had passed, and the
first gleams of daylight were striving to
appear in the eastern horizon, when kit
abod watching and fatigued—shot a rac
coon!
EMPTY I , tiNris.—Some men du wisely
to counterfeit a reservedness, to keep
their chests always locked, not for fear
any should steal treasures thence, but lest
some should look in and see that there is
nothing within them.—Fuller.
MIIRIBLE..-it is said that a man in
New Orleans was so cross-eyed that in
trying to get up he wrung his neck off.
A DHLICATE LADY.— -There is a maid
en lady livin in this city who is so ex
tremely nice in her notions of female
modesty, that she turned off her washer
woman, because she put her clothes in
the same tub with those of a young man!
JusT So.—nl say, my lad, are you the
male boyi" yes—you don't
s'pose I'm a fimale boy, do you
Why is a young lady like a careful
house wife/ Because her Wade is as lit
tle as she ean make it.
Bigotry murders religion, to frighten fculs
with her ghost,