VoL. VI, No. 35.]
TERMO
OF THE
HUNTINGDON JOURNAL
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kept,in till ordered out, and charged accor
dingly.
AGENTS.
FO R
Vae If lunlinwdon Journal.
Daniel Teague, Orbisonia; David Blair,
Esq. Shade Gap; Benjamin Lease. Shirleys
burg; Eliel Smith. Esq. Chilcottolown; Jas.
Entriken. jr. Ceffee Run; Hugh Madden,
Esq. Springfield; Dr. S. S. Dewey, Bir
mingham; James Morrow. Union Furnace ;
John Sister. Warrior Mark; James Davis,
Esq. West township ; D. H. Moore. Esq
Franketown; I?.ph. Galbreath. Esq. Holli
daysburg; Henry Neff. Alexandria; Aaron
Burns, Williamsburg; A. J. Stewart, Water
Street; Wm. Reed. Esq. Morrie township;
Soloman Hamer. ef Mill; James Dysart.
Mmtli Spruce Creek; Win. Murray, Esq.
Grayaville; John Cram. Manor Hill; Jas.
F.. Stewart. Sinking Valley; L. C. Kessler
Mill Creek.
POETRY,
FOR THE JOURNAL.
I met a lily in the vale,
Just open'd to the morning gale,
And so I stopp'd to gaze ;
And thou art beautiful, I said ;
That lily did not hide its head,
But freely forth its odors shed,
To pay me for my praise.
But, Ellen, there's a lovelier thing
Than lily, rose, or mountain spring,
And yet it wakes my fears
For when I praise, behold it frowns!
And when I'd clasp, may it bounds!
And when I'd kneel and kiss it—sounds!
I get a slap upon my ears!
Mill Creek, July 29, 1841
THE WITHERED FLOWERS.
I knew they would perish!—
Those beautiful flowers!—
As the hopes that we cherish
In youth's sunny bowers—
I knew they'd he faded!—
Though with fond, gentle care
Their bright ',ayes were shaded,
Deca l was still there.
So all that is brightest
Ever first fades away,
And the joys that leap lightest
The earliest decay.
The heart that was nearest
The widest will rove,
And the friend that was dearest
Th e first cease to love.
And the purest, the noblest,
The loveliest—we know—
Ate ever the surest,
'I he soonest, to go.
The bird that sings sweetest,
The flower most pure,
In their beauty are fleetest,
In their fate the most sure.
Yet still though thy flowers
Are withered and gone,
They will live like some hours
In memory alone.
In that hallow'd shrine only
Sleep things we would cherish,
Pure, priceless, loved, lonely,
They never can perish.
Then I'll mourn ye no more
Ye pale leaves that are shed,
Though your bri;htness is u'cr,
Your perfume is not fled;
And like thine own aroma—
The spirit of flowers—
Remembrance will hover
O'er the grave of past hours.
From Graham's Magazine.
THE WIDOW.
There sits a mourner, solitary now.
With downcast eyes, and pale dejected brow.
Cold is the pillow where she laid her head,
When last they sat beneath their favorite
shade—
Hushed is the voice, which ever to het' o an
Answered in tones of tenderness alone.
Stilled are the merry notes of childish glee,
And she is left—of all that family!
She looks abroad—and sees no welcome smile
No cheerful sounds her weary hours beguile,
She looks within—and all is mute despair,
She looks to Heaven; oh! jly ! her all is there.
THE OURNAL.
INTEMPERANCE,
On looking round, we disoovered the
regular smoothness of the horizon, broken
by a large ensign d;splayed from the top
of an adjacent building; and as the morn
ing was distinguished by a smart southern
breeze, the flag was flapping wide into the
lair, shaking out a thousan►l folds, and
seeming to rejoice in.its elevation, and to
give a ken of hilarity beneath.
It might, for ought we knew, have been
a saint's day, whose fame was connected
with the craftship below, and the pride of
the profession was engaged to honor his
day. Partaking little in such feelings,
we let the colors wave, without further
notice; nor would they have occupied our
thoughts again, had we in passing the
building about noon, observed that the
sober quiet of business was set aside by
the noise of feasting and mirth; and if we
felt astonished in the morning, at the out
hanging of a flag, much more were we sur
prised that the right forward course of
business should be checked in mid slay,
the sober lively of mechanic employment
doffed for the guise of merriment; and this
at (neither new moon nor appointed time.'
Shortly afterwards, we discovered a lad
emerging from the door; his very counter
nance betokened a holiday; there was no
necessity for his cleanly haints to gi re no
tice of a cessation from employment.
'And what, my child,' said oe, 'is the
mirth-doing in the rooms above stairs?
Why have you hoisted your colors to day?'
The boy stopped short In his errand, and
whether it was the sombre hue ut our gar
ments, contrasting the sickly paleness of
•Ihe visage, or whether mirth is allied to
melancholy, we pretend not to say; but a
transient gloom shot across his youthful
visage, and the lambent fire of his eye was
fur a moment dimmed.
We N uuld not, though melancholy be
our food, we would not be the cause of a
moment's pain in 'human breast,' though
it should ease us forever from our load—
God forbid. if misfoitune hath mingled
sorrow and disappointment in our cup,
why should we, vampire like, draw forth
the life blood of another's pleasure, or
hug around us, like the fabled Upas of
the east, a withering and a deadly shad
ow? We renewed our questions to the
lad. The light cloud had passed away
from his face, and joy was again peeping
from under his eyelids. Does your mas
ter give a feast to-day? 'No,' replied he,
''tis William'
And who is William?
'Why, our William,' replied the boy—
' // ill ion)
And why does If illiam leave business
to give a feast?
'Oh: ktilliam is one and twenty today,
you know, and this is his freedom treat.'
W e knew no such thing, until the little
urchin told us; but we could not find it
in our heart to profess ignorance of what
he appeared to think every body knew;
so, thanking the child and bidding him
Good morning, we suffered hint to pro•
coed. Ire did not otter hint money as a
compensation for detention—for what
would have been the whole contents of our
collapsing purse, to the overflowing treas
ures of his festive heart?—the pockets of
Timm to the hoards of Cresus.
P. G. S.
Instead of pursuing our course, as busi•
ness suggested, we stepped across the
street, and leaning against the salient
points of a dour frame, gazed in upon the
festive scene as far as its height would
permit. There were assembled a large.
number of young men of William's age,
land here and there the thinly covered heath
of an individual, denoted that years had
not made its possessor forget the feelings
ut youth. Numbers of the joyous crowd
passed and repassed the windows, open
to the floor; every face gave token of en
joyment. As group after group came and
went, we looked anxiously for the form of
11 illiam. At length he stood full in our
view ; we had never seen him before; yet
there was no difficulty in distinguishing
him from the many of his own age around
him. They all talked, but his conversa
tion seemed to be confined to the scene
around him. The movements of all
were light and active, such as became
their age and settled health; his steps were
bboyant, and eccasionally rapid; the oth
ers ate and drank; he was active, but
neither food our the cup was in his hand.
lle.matle the circuit of the room repeat
edly, and once as he approached the win
dow, those who accompanied him, turned
short towards the table, and William step
ped forward ;—he stood then alone, roll
in oar view. IPhy it was that we - felt a
peculiar interest in him, we know not;
though his were a form and countenance
to arrest attention. The muscular firm'
ness of his frame, gave no awkwardness to
'his movements m appearance; and there
was in his features something that deno
ted superiority in almost every pursuit to
which business or inclination might direct
him; and if the thickness of his neck had
not imparted something peculiar, Canova
himself would have taken his bust as a
model fur an Apollo.
"ONE COUNTRY, OPIE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY."
A. W. BENEDICT PUBLISHER AND PROPRIETOR.
HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 11, 1841.
..Strength and fair proportion sat upon his
limbs."
While these reflections were passing
through out mind, the smile banished tram
the lip of II illiam, and the soft gladness
of the eye faded away; a cloud of mote
titan melancholy rested upon his lace—it.l
was almost anguish. We watched the
movements of his eyes--he did not lower
them; he gazed, but with an elevated
look;—he was thinking of years to come.
Hitherto, amid the crowd of friends, he
hail only felt that the chain of dependence
was broken. One single solitary tno•
ment, had brought with its thought of in-,
dependence, a care for• its support. The
fluctuation of times, and the consequent
changes of business, might snatch from
him the means of maintenance, and make
hint sigh for the labor which had hitherto
been a burthen. But the cloud, deep and
dark as It settled upon him, soon passed
otr, and hope and gladness brained again
• upon his face; for whit has health and
youth to do with sombre anticipations?
Experience will settle the early furrow
upon the brow, and scatter the untimely
frost upon the head. Why should youth
anticipate 'the evil days.'
SoMetime afterwardi we saw William,
the soul of the social board; he had a fund
of anecdotes and a soul of song, He
was therefore, more than welcome to all
celebrations.
* a • a
Returning some two or three weeks
since from a walk into the borders of the
city, we followed a few mourners into a
'muff% place, and before the limited pros
cession had gathered round 'the narrow
house,' we enquired the name of the de
ceased—it was William. Ills very name,
and the thinness of the procession told the
whole tale; his gaiety ni habit, his com
panionship, his delight in mirth and his
power uf diffusing it, had led bins to com
pany, to a neglect of business, to dissipa
tion; the inebriating chalice, 'whose in
gredient is the devil,' had prostrated the
powers of the young man, and brought
him to an early grave; but not till he had
planted thorns, for whose rankling neither
time nor joy bath a balm.
We drew up into the circle that had the
deep grave and the coffin for its centre.-
1 he aged mother was resting ou* the arm
of a distant relation, we saw not her face,
her whole frame was palsied with grief,
and her firm was bowed down as her spir
it had long been.
The greyheaded minister commenced
the simple 'service of the dead,' with an
address, composed chiefly of admonitions
to the living; here and there a sentence
of consolation to the afflicted was thrown
in, but the memory of him who lay stretch
ed in his shroud and coffin before them,
needed no blessing.
Our blessed religion furnishes its com
fort to the smitten and crushed kom stores
of hopes in future blessings, and in the
consolation that present affection shall
work out an 'exceeding weight of glory;'
but it gives no right to embalm the un
righteous, with commendations for vir
tues, which if they did not despise, they
hail not courage to practice. W hen the
officiating clergymen with tithe freedom
which his sacred office, and his many
years sanctioned, admonished the young'
around him, by the early grave before
them, to avoid the errors which opened it,
and which broke the widowed heart of a
dusting mother, the histeric sobs of the
wretched parent drew all attention from
the speaker• The grief stricken woman,
no longer covered her visage, or stifled
the expression of her grief. From the
hour she saw life steal of from the con
vulsed lip of her only son, she gave her
self up to lamentation. When they laid
him in the coffin she attempted to school
her heart to that quiet woe, which the
open grave & its imposing solemnities de
mend. She heard in silence the holy
man denounce sin as the parent of death,
and death as the lot of all on earth, she
felt that it had now no terrors for her ;
since it had laid so low the stay of tier
earthly hopes—but, when, even confined,
her son had no virtues praised, when, as
lie lay before her, in the cold unoffending
silence of death, his errors were made a
beaten, a mother's feelings were not to be
restrained—her affections looked beyond
the few months of his offending career—
she called up the virtues of his boyhood,
those blossoming promises of manly ex
cellence—she brought close to her heart
the kind obedience the willing sacrifice of
her darling—she remembered and when
did a toothier ever forget; the blooming
beauty of her boy. the light eye, the shin
ing forehead, and its over clustering curls
—these come gushing upon her memory ;
and he lay now stretched out upon the
earth, a festering, and offensive corpse,
mill even the blessings of funeral praise
denied.
The address was abruptly closed—and
prayer commenced, it calmed clown the
turbulent grief of the mother, and sighs
succeeded to wailings. When man speaks
to man of errors, and their consequence,
he mocks his maker if he paliates the
crime; but when he turns from earth, and
carries up the offences and the grief to
the foot of mercy. It is good then, that
the consecrated intercessor plead the,
weakness of the erring mortal, and the •
long suffering of an initi B nant providence,
and tithe smitten object of his prayers is
bowing down beside him in anguish, wait.
ing till the gush of grief shall have passed
101 l that resignation may have place—mer
cy pardon and the leading - comforts of life,
demanded— they were, and we gazed lull
in the face of the mother, which had late
ly been moistened with tears and distort
ed with clamorous grief—it was calm,
placid us the countenance of sleeping in
fancy.—As we were looking upon the
mother, a sigh on the right drew our at•
ter.tion. The spectators of the scene,
were generally giving that heed which
such times and such occasions demand,
but the sadness of their countenance allow -
ed them rather sympathetic than suffering
mourners. One individual bower formed
an exception: it was a young female, neat
ly and modestly clad; her appearance was
such as to rivit our attention ; she was
gazing on the coffin as it rested before
her, with painful intensity n—her shy via !
age was not marked with a single tinge
of colour, and her inflamed eye yielded no
drop of moisture —there was a tremulous
motion on her lip, bat in all else, she stood
a fixed statute of despair.
%V hen the service nad ended, they laid
the' coffin upon the slender cords and
lowered it slow and rattling down into
the narrow cave—a gush of agony burst
front the mothers heart, she leaned over
the grave and sprinkled the coffin of her
William with her tears.
Not a tear however sprung to the 'eye
of the young female—the tremulous mcve
anent of her lips was increased, and she
swallowed with strong exertions. The
agonies of another moment would have
bean too powerful for her frame—but, the
little procession was formed anew and
passed out of the yard.
What we had taken in the grave yard
as comfort and confidence in the mother,
was the result of other sensations. She
submitted to time rod—she bowed down
her /marl to providence, but she felt that
its vital strings had been severed, and its
thick cold thiubbings would soon be hush
ed. That heart did indeed beat slowiy ;
and - While the wheel Utile trembled in its
round, poor Alary—she whom we had no•
ticed at the grave—bent over the bed in
pious devotion, watched the wasting away
of life, and in three short days, felt the
only thread severed that bound her to
earth.
The recent grave of the mother is yet
unsodded ; and Mary—blighted hopes,
slighted love, and the inwastiug fire of
woman's pride, are leading her with a rap
id course, to the only shelter which earth
has for her miseries, and the only avenue
to promised consolations. She is sinking
hourly, and a few days will number her
with the countless victims sacrificed by
beastly appetites to the Moloch of IN
TEMPERANCE.
Huntingdon, Sugual 41h, 1841
Mr. J. SEWELL STEWART:
Sir,—As the
Committee appointed for the 'purpose, we
respectfully solicit you to furnish, for pub
lication, a copy of yoJr excellent address
delivered before the Iluntin,gdon Temper
ance Society, on the Sd inst.
With the sincere hope that you will not
fail to gratify the wish of the Society, we
remain respectfully yours, Sze.
MICHAEL BUOY,
A. K. CORNYN, Committee.
JOHN S. LYTLE,
Huntingdon, August sth, 1841
GENILEDIEN OF TkIE COMMITTEE:
Your
polite note, requesting a copy of my ad•
dress before the Hantingdon Temperance
Society, has been received. If you think
that its publication would tend, even in
the least, to the advancement of the cause
of Temperance, you may consider your
selves,welcome to it.
I am, gentlemen,
Yours, with respect.'
J. S. STEWART.
MICHAEL BUOY,
A. K. CoRNYN, Committee.
Juuzo S. LYTLE,
ADI)IIF,SS,
•
Delivered before the Hunting
don Temperance Society.
To effect a reformation in either sci
ence, morals, or religion, has always been
attended with the greatest difficulties.—
The prejudices which are generally thrown
around long established usages and cus•
toms, render them near and dear, when
every reason upon which they were foun
ded has ceased to exist. We cling to
them with more than filial affection, little
thinking that we are warming and resus
citating an adder in our bosoms, which
sooner or later will dash its poisonous
fangs into our vitals. It is this blindness, l
.this perfect indifference, in regard to our I
coming welfare, that fastens the chains of
prejudice upon us, and renders us incapa
ble of examining the subject as it stands
related to truth and right. If man would
make his intellect its ruler, and requ're
his.passions to move in subordination to
it ; if he was to cultivate his moral pow
ers, and endeavor to discover the line of
demarkation between right and wrong,
and act in accordance, we would soon see
him assume a station of moral and intel
lectual sublimity, more neatly arguing
with that Divine Being, to whom he some
times feels proud to assimulate himself.
Bet-the passions and the interest of men,.
cloud their judgment, that they cannot see
their own real interest, and the best good
of the community.
These prejudices, with all their weight
and authority, stood in the way of the
temperance reformation. But the sway
of reason, and the force of truth, have now
partially at least triumphed over their
formidable adversary. ' All that is now
required, is that the advantage which has
been already gained, should be pursued
with a proper degree of activity, in order
to secure those results which have beer)
long wished for. Although the whiskey
bottles in a majority of our private fain!.
lies have been emptied of tl'eir poisonous
' contents, and the bulk of public opinion
exerting its influence against its use, there
is still much to be done to bring about
that absolute reformation, which is so es
sential to the temporal salvation of mil
lions.
In order then to have a 'better under
standing of the subject, let us inquire a
little into the causes which impel men to
run headlong into a vice, which has de
stroyed •so many millions—has scattered
such wide spread ruin and desolation over
the fair face of creation, and blasted for•.
ever the brightest prospects of the aspi.
ring mind. Let ne endeavor to discover
the reason why it is, that the moment one
plunges into this - hell of misery, a,iother,
as though he was charmed with the situa
tion of his predecessor, eagerly follows in
his footsteps.
If we gO back to the original dispusi
tines of the human mind, we will find one
implanted there, denominated playlulness,
or a susceptibility of the gay and pleasing , .
It is this faculty, which isin active exer
cise, when we are in what is called a flow
of spirits ; and it is this which throws a
ray of cheerfulness around the otherwise
surrounding melancholy, producing that
equilibrium of feeling which is necessary
to our well being and happiness. This
cheerful disposition is always at work to
find something to gratify it ; and men
will do almost any thine for the sake of a
little fun. This is particularly the case in
youth, when every power both of body
and'inind is on the advance. Their amuse
ments tl'en are both pleasant and inno
cent. But they are beginning to approach
toward manhood, (a time when biys are
peculiarly peculiar,) and they must there
' lure do its men do. Several of them get
together, and take what is called a spree:
they get intoxicated, not for the sake a l
the drinking, but for the sake of the fun.'
In a short time the same thirg is acted
again, with the same motions. Finally
they get in the company of men, who have
long since given to innocence the parting
hand, and journeyed into a distant court.
try of vice and wickedness, without even
shedding a tear at the absence of the
friend of their youth, and mingle With
them in their vicious pleasures around the
"flowing bowl." Here their taste be
comes vitiated, and a bad habit formed,
the fouillation of which their own misdi
rected desire for pleasure laid in youth.
Not only has he been led on thus far, but
his mind has become somewhat corrupted,
and he is absolutely governed by wrong
notions. He begins to think that it is as
noble and rational a source of pleasure and
gratification as any other. , lie is now be•
ginning to lose those noble feelings--that
genuine pride of character, which should
govern every man. Correct principles of
thinking are one alter another taking their
departure front his mind, and he is about
to cast himself within the circumference
of a whirlpool, from which, immediate aid
or active exertions on his own part can
alone extricate him. Ile is loosing sight
of his relations to himself and to his
neighbor, and has forgotten that God is
his ancestor. He never thinks that by
using spiritous liquors, he thereby vitiates
his natural taste, and acquires an artificial
one, which is wore difficult to destroy
than the former. lie forgets that custom
begets habit, and that habit is a second na.
ture, which once acquired, costs the high
est amount of energy to overcome.
if the mind was stored with correct
ideas, and right motives to govern . it; if
man would place in view some noble goal,
and direct every effort toward it;.he would
never stoop so low as to be found fre
quenting the haunts of intemperance. His
pride of character would conquer every
such desire; and he would feel that he
was made for a nobler purpose than to
[WnoLE No. 295.
bring the high qualities of his soul to such
a pass. This is the advantage then, of
possessing right and honorable motives.
l'heir possessor can stand above the faults
and foibles of the world, and the appetites
and passions of his own heart.
These then, ore the great first causes
which have produced such a number of
intemperate drinkers, viz: a misdirected
desire fur pleasure, and the consequent
acquisition of wrong motives of action.
Habits of idleness, continual tippling, and
other things which cannot now be fore
seen, take in a few; but they are few in
comparison with the thousands who fall
by means of the great mental delusion
mentioned first. These causes continually
operating, drive him farther and farther in
his vicious course, mail the chains of
habit have bound him hand and foot. He
begins to see for the first tiine what he
has been doing, he looks upon the multi
plied horrors that sunound him ; he feels
• that he has proved recreant to .the high
trust that is reposed in him; an 4 is it any
wonder that his heart sinks Veneath the
load? But there is some hidden impetus
in his soul, urginz him on in his career,
until all his social feelings are burned to
a cinder;
the moral covered with the
mantel ofguilt, and nothing left but the
native barbarity of the heart.
Having thus given the causes, the pro
cess, and the cojirse pursued in conse
quence of the haft, we come now to the
effects which they are sure to produce.
This opens out a field, should every nook
and cm ner of which be exposed , would
present a scene of wretchedness, misery
and death, at the bare description of which.
the heart would sicken.
Time baneful effects of intemperance,
have been found wherever the foot of
civilized man has trodden. Not content-
ed that he himself should be its subject
and victim, he must pour the poison into
the mouth of the wild and untutored sav
age of the wilderness, who for ages, had
no ether stimulous than the pipe. Th ese
unsophisticated sons of nature, accepted
the poison fron► time hand of the white
man, which stole the wisdom of the wise
in council, unnerved the arm of the war
rior in battle, and prostrated the wild
chieftain of the mountain, ere the twang
of his bow told him, that an arrow had
'lodged in the heart of his enemy.
Without speaking of the physical deg
radation to which intemperance subjects
its victim ; the diseases which it entails
and fastens upun his system; or the thous
;ands who for want of tht power of loco-
I motion, have perished in the snow drifts
of winter; let us see how it elects the
!great, mental part of man, for which all
things else. were created. It is this that
sutlers the most, because a disease fasten
ed here is as immortal as the soul.
Frain the social, moral and intellectual
principles of the mind, sprint every thing
good and great. Whatever does not de
rive its existence from one of these, or all
of them, is confined to and derived from a
little contemptible thing called self. The
intemperate use of intoxicating liquors,
takes away. for the time, the healthy and
vigorous operation of the former, and
stimulates the latter, that is the selfish
feelings; thereby giving them the ascen
dency, from which has arisen every vile
action that has ever disg raced humanity.
Look at the transcendant power, they ex
ert over the intellectual part; tyranizin.
over it, and i..ndering it incapable of fill
ing its place, or performing Oa office
which, was intended when it was consti
tuted by Omnipotence, to preside over.
,and direct the operations of the other
great powers of the mind. This is amply
illustrated in fact. There is no person
when hearing a man under the in fl uence
of ardent spirits, converse, has not ob
served, that when he has gone probably
half through a sentence, he either has for
gotten what he intended to say, or has
passed off to another subject, whereby ut
tering nothing but nonsense. Here he is
speaking entirely from impulse, the dis
criminating power of his mind has been
1 overcome. It is this that makes drunken
men, such disagreeable companions; they
have lost their reasoning faculty.
A sober man, looking on a company, by
themselves in a spree, kicking and jumping
through a room, and toasting the heavens
with their lusty voices, might be brought
to wonder at first, whether these men
that he saw were men like himself, or a
company of gentlemen spirits, from some
hot country, out in search of fresh air.
He concludes however, that they resem
ble the human species in some particu
lars, and accordingly ventures in among
them. He takes a couple of swigs of the
thing that makes glad, and his wonder is
all gone. The steam's up; the joy's ahead
and he can make as big a noise as any
other man. The fun's on tiptoe, and the
whole house shakes with vocal thunder.
The loudest voice, the quickest heel, and
the hardest head belongs to the best fel
low. But in a short time the powers of
nature give way, and they are one atter
another 'sunk down and deliciously beaati•
fled to the floor.'