VoL. Vi. No. n 7.1 T OF TUE HUNTINGDON J.OURRNAL The " Jou RHAL" will be published every Wednesday morning, at two dollars a year, al' paid IN ADVANCE, and i f not paid with-; ia six mouths, two dollars and a halt. • Every person who obtains five subscribers, and forwards price of subscription, shall be '•:Jrnished with a sixth copy gratuitously for .me year. No subscription received for a less period titan six months, nor any paper discontinued until all arrearages are paid. 117. %II communications must be addressed to the E lime, PosT PAID, or they will not be attended to. Advertisements not exceeding one square, "'will be inserted three times for one dollar, ;Lnd far every subsequent insertion, twenty live cents per square will be charged. lino definite orders are given as to the time an advertisement is to be continued, it will be kept in till ordered out, and charged accor dingly. AGENTS Tlie Efinitrismlore Jaurns?. Daniel Teague, Orbisonia • David Blair, Esq. Shade Galt; Benjamin Lease. Shirleye burg; Mel Smith. Esq. Chitcottstown; Jas. Entriken. jr. Ceffee Run• ' Hugh Madden, Esq. Springfield; Dr. S. S. Dewey, Bir mingham; James Morrow. Union Furnace; John Slider. Warrior Mark; James Davis, Esq. West township ; D. H. Moore. Esq Frankatown; Eph. Galbreath. Esq. Holli ilaysburt; Henry Nell: Alexandria; Aaron Burns, I , VRiantsburg; A. J. Stewart, Water Street; Wm. Reed. Esq. Morris township; Soloman Hamer. Aeff's Mill; James Dysart. Mouth Spruce Creek; Wm. Mbrrav, Esq. Graysville; John Crum. Manor Hill; Jas. E.. Stewart. Sinking Valley; L. C. Kessler Mill Creek. SCORINFUL MOLLY GRAY. While proud young women are waiting for a splendid match, and rejecting goad offers in hopes of getting better ones, they not unfreqoently overstand their market, and in the end are fain to accept of any offer they call get, in order to avoid what they consider the noire dreadful alterna tive of living and dying old maids. Molly Gray, of Toppingtow n, was a very pretty lass, and a very proud one. She ,vas the seventh slaughter of Deacon Nehemiah Gray, a modern farmer, who, to tax his ability to the utmost, could not give his daughters each a setting out ex ceedinT° two hundred dollars. Fier six sisters had all married respectable far mers and mechanics, and were well to do in the world. But Molly was the beauty and pride of the family, resolved to look a little higher than her sisters. She would ;lot take up with the "humdrum fellers" —the farmers and mechanics of Topping town—not she. She wondered that her sisters had no more respect for themselves than to marry such coarse, unmannerly ;Titters. For her part, she meant to have e man that was somebody. Before she was fairly eighteen she bee gan tube wooed. Her beauty, the respec tability of the Deacon, the Deacon's wife, and indeed the whole fondly, early pros I cured her plenty of suitors. Bat they were not Miss Molly's taste ; and though • she felt some little vanity in being wooed even by farmers and mechanics, she was not to be thus von. Her first lover was Joshua Ploughshare. He was a sober, industrious, moral young man, of twenty-three, well to live, and resolved on getting a wife. He was quite taken with Molly . Gray, insomuch that he never passed her in the street, or saw her at church, but his heart beat as though it would fly out of his jacket. an al ed handsome gal, that," said he to himself, "and if 1 could only marry her, I should be the happiest fetter in Toppingtown." Indeed, Joshua eras so smitten with the Deacon's pretty daughter that he thought of little else day and night. He dreamed • of her beauty when asleep, and mused up on her charms when awake. Sometimes when driving his oxen and thinking of his love, he would exclaim --“Come hither, Molly!" meaning Berry, the name of his near ox. And he called a favorite Lay filly after the name of the Deacon's dough - ter. The operations of his heart had an effect upon his outside; and he took uncommon pains to appear spruce at church, at even in parties, and wherever there was the feast probability of meeting with his char mer. Indeed he laid out more money upon his clothes than his habits of econo my would otherwise have permitted, mere ly to render his person attractive in the eyes of Molly. Thas he endeavored to make a favorable impression upon her heart; but on the subject oflove, it was a long time before he ventured to break the • ice. He looked and blushed, and sighed, but said not a word on the theme which he roost whisked to speak upon. At length, however, his resolution was screwed to the sticking point; and one Sunday evening, in the month of May, beheld Joshua tying his bay filly to a hook at one corner of Deacon Gray's house. Molly war looking oat of Me window at iseil Miel t; 1411 • ...„ 7 , ' • HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER. 1, 1841 the time—whether in expectation of a splt k, or merely to enjoy the beauties of the spring, history saith not ; but as soon as she saw Mr. Ploughshare ride up, she modestly withdrew behind the curtain. As sown as Joshua had pulled down the legs dills unmentionables, which, seoth to soy, had slipped very considerable for want of straps—be tapped at the door, but so timidly, that his heart beat nearly as loud as hi; hand. Walk in !" said the Deacon. in a loud yoice, in order to drown the noise of the dog, who, like many other unman nerly curs, always received strangers with a bark. Notwithstanding, however, the Deacon spoke loud, Joshua did not hear him, and was obliged to Knock again. •• Walk in !" replied the Deacon, loud er than before ; but just at that instant, in addition to the barking of the dog, the geese set up a moat obstreperous cakling ; anti Joshua, nearly discouraged, was fain to knock a third time ; when the Deacon, having kicked the dog under the table, opened the door, and welcomed in the young man. "That pesky dog and the geese," said he, "make such a racket there's no hear ing one's sell speak. 1 hope you are well, Mr. Ploughshare I—Sot a chair, Molly, and take Mr. Ploughshare's hat—do . . I hope your folks are well, Mr. Plough.. share; that pesky dog, he's getting so saucy I must kill him." 'Oh, don't kill him pa," said Molly, with a scornful look at her lover ;he never barks at any genteel people." "Genteel people, you chit, you!" ex claimed Mrs. Gray ; "but don't you mind what she says, Mr. Ploughshare—she's a spoilt thing, though she is toy child. But la, she don't mean any thing by it." "1 dem% know whether she means any thing by it, or not," said Joshua, after turning as many colors as the brown ofj his face would allow ; "but one thing 1' do know, if that dog was mine, he'd have', a dreadful sere bead afore he was twenty- , four hours older. I wuuld'nt keep no an imal to bark at my friends, not I." The young man was very cordially reol colved by the old folks ; who, aaer chat ting spun a variety of subjects—such as the last I-x-men, the last marriage, the last death, and all singular news of the town ; and after treating him to some fine pippins, which had been kept (brought the winter, and also some boiled cider, which the Deacon had tapped on purpose, re tiren to rest much earlier than usual, but pleading as an excess', that tomorrow was M onday, and that it was necessary for them to retire earlier, in order to rise be times for the business of the week. Tilis was kind and censiderate on the part of the old folks as needs be. But true love is a! ways diffident ; and Joshua's heartbeat like a trip hammer before he could muster courage to speak. "Hark!" said Molly, saucily at him— "don't you hear a patridp oruintning " I's(law !" exclaimed - Joshua, matkingi a desperate eftor', and all at once planting his chair close beside (hat of hts charmer —what a duced fool I am to he such a cow ard-1 believe in my soul love bus taken away toy w:ts." "Your wits !" said the girl, snatching away the hand which he had ventured to take ; "you never had any wits." "Oh, don't be so scornful," said the young mane "you don't know how much / love you." "No, nor 1 don't want to know," re torted the girl—"keep away your filthy Wads." "Filthy exclaimed Joshua, resentfully —"there's where you're mistaken Miss Molly. My hands are as clean as soap and water can make them; though per haps they aint quite so white as "White!" interrupted the scornful lass--"why they're as brown as an lngen's ' and as hard as a piece of horn. It must he a gentleman's hand that touches mine." "Well, if that's your look out," re tented the lover, rising and taking his hat, "you may have your gentleman's hand for me.' My hands are of an honest color; and if you are ashamed of them, am not—and so good night to you, Molly Gray. , "Good night, and joy go with you," said the girl, as she closed the door and bolted it after him. Her next lover was a respectable black smith, some twenty five years of age, who ' had already accumulated a handsome sum of money, and was doing a good business in the way of trade. Many a lass would hive been glad to get him; but passing by all others, he fixed his eye upon the proud Molly Gray. He paid her a speci al visit; he put the question ; he solicit. ed her hand. But it was all in vain. alrangh!" said she, how black your paws are! Pd as soon marry a barrel of charcoal as man of your trade. No, Mr. Anvil, you're not the man for me. You'll never catch me going to church with a blacksmith." "Indeed 1. Miss Molly," returned the rejected lover, to Ue planted his hat firm ' "ONE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY." A. W. BENEDICT PUBLISHER AND PROPRIETOR. ly on his head and beat it down with his I hand—"you may go farther and fare worse." 'That's my look out," retorted the girl. Her third suitor was a shoemaker. He also, was an industrious young man, of good character, and doing a thriving busi ness. But he was not the man for Molly Gray. She called him Mr. Was, de - clawd she was not to be strapped to the side of arty man, of his cloth, and wander ed how he could be such an awl. sufficient fool as to think of coming to court her. In short—not to make a long story— the scornful Miss Molly rejected sundry other resped.able lovers of her own de gree, while she was waiting for a higher oiler. But she waited in vain the higher offer never came. At the age of twenty five, beginning to fear that she might over., stand her markets, she humbled her pride so much as to resolve on accepting a far-1 met., if she could get one. But no farmer came to woo. Joshua Ploughshare had long since got married ; and other young farmers had heard too much of the pride of the scornful Molly to think of troubling her with a similar suit. At the age of 26 she concluded to ac cept of a blacksmith, a shoemaker, or any other respectable mechanic who might chance to court her. But Mr. Anvil had long since married, and the young man stigmatized by the name of Mr. Was, had succeeded in softening the heart of a inure susceptible lass, so that he was married in a mouth afterwards. As these of her re jected suitors who were still unmarried they had no objection to see her wait. ..Ah," said they 'it's good enough for her. The scornful Miss Molly who re fused so many of the must respectable far mere and mechanics, will be glad to take up with a tinker by and by." So said ev ery body. And they prophecied right, Molly remained unmet nett until the latter part of the 29th year, when to escape the apprubium of being an old maid, she re solved on marrying the first man wig would ofler,—this happened to he a trav elling tinker who stopped to mend lice mother's brass kettle, and with whom the succeeded iu str:Lini; up a bargain. Ile was not only a tinker, but he Wild a very 'Fork iu the article of matrimony—having as many wives as there were States in the Union• Peer Molly silo died in less than six nionthe, of shame and disappoint meat. Prom the Democratic Review, DEATH IN THE SCHOOL ROOM A FACT. Ting a lingling-ling, went the little bell on the teacher's desk of a village school one morning, when the studies of the earlier part of the day were about half completed. It was well understood that this was a command fur silence and at tention; and when these had been obtain ed the master spoke. Ile was a low thick set man, and his name WAS Lugare. "Boys," sad he, "1 have a corn, plaint entered, that last night some of you were stealing, fruit from Mr. ? chute's garden. I ratlicr think I know the thief. Tim Barker, step Op hero sir." The one to whom he spoke came for ward. He was a slight, fair looking buy of tont fourte,n; and his face had a laughing, good humored expression, which even the charge now preferred against him and the stern tone and threatening look of the teacher, had not entirely dissipated. The countenance of the boy however, was too unearthly fair fur heart in it had, not withstanding, its fleshy, cheerful lock, a singular cast, as if some inward disease, mot that a tearful one, were seated within. As the stripling stood before that place of judgment, that place, so often made the scene ut heartless and coarse brutality, of timid innocence confused, helpless child hood outraged, and gentle feelings crush ed—Logare looked on him with a frown, which plainly told that he felt in no very pleasant mood. Happily a we:thier and more philosophical system is proving to men that schools can be governed better than by lashes, and tears, and sighs. 14'e are waxing toward that consummation • when one o f the old fashioned schoelmas- tees, with his cowhide, his heavy birch rod, and his many ingenious methods of child torture, will bu gazed upon as a scorned memento of an ignorant, cruel, and exploded doctrine. May propitious gales speed that day "Were you by Mr. Nichols's garden fence last night?" said Lugare. "Yes sir," answered the boy,"l was." " fkell sir, lam glad to find you so rea-1 dy with your confession. And so yen thought you could do a little robbing, and enjoy yourself in a manner you ought to be ashamed to own, without being punish- I ed; did you?" "I have not been robbing," replied the boy quickly. His face was suffused, whe ther with resentment or fright, it was dlr. ficult to tell,. "And I ditl'ot do any thing last night that I'm ashamed to owii." r "No impudence!" exclaimed the teach er, passionately, as be grasped a lone timi heavy rattan; "give me none of your sharp speeches, or I'll thrash you till you beg like a dog." The youngster's face pled a little; his lip quivered, but he did net speak. "And pray sir," continued Legate, ae the outward signs of wrath disappeared from his features, "what were you about the garden furl Perhaps you only recei ved the plunder, and had an accomplice to do the more dangerous part of the job?" "1 went that way because it was my way home. /was there again afterward to meet an acquaintance; and—and—But 1 did riot go into the garden, nor take any thing away from it. I would not steal— hardly to save myself from starving." "You had better have stuck to that last evening. You were seen, Tim Barker, to come from antler ,I4lr. Nichols . ' garden fence, a little after nine o'clock, with a bag full of something another, over :rour shoulders. The bag had every appearance of being filled with fruit, and this morn ing the mellon beds are found to have been zumpletely cleared. Now, sir, what was there in that bag?" Like lire itself glowed the face of the detected lad. lle spoke not a word. All the school had their eyes dine,ted at him. The perspiration ran down his white fore head like rain drops. "speak, sir!" exclaimed Lugare, with a loud strike of his rattan on the desk. The boy looked as if he ould faint. But the unoirrciful teacher, confident of having brouilit to light a criminal, and exulting in die idea of the severe chastise ment he should now be justified in inflict ing, kept working himself up to 4 still greater and greater degree of passion. lo the meantime, the child seemed hardly to • know what to do with himself. His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. Either he was very much bighted, or he was ac tually unwell. "Speak, 1 say!" again hindered Lu gare: and his hand, grasping his rattan, towered above his head iu a very signifi cant manner. hardly can, sir," said the poor fel low, fointly. 6tia voice was husky and thick. "I will toil you some—some other time. Please to lot me go to my seat —l an't "Oh yes, that's very likely;" and Mr. Lugare bulged out his nose and cheeks with contempt. .flo you think to make me believe veur lies? I've found you out, sir, plainly enough; and I am satisfied that you are as precious n little villain as there is in the State. Bat I will postpone settling with you for on hour yet. I shall call you up again; and if you don't tell the whole truth then, I will give you some thing that'll make you remember Mr. Nichols's melons for many a mouth to I come- 7 7n to your scat. Glad enough of the ungracious permis sion, and answering not a sound, the child crept ti eudilingly to his bench. lie felt very strangely, dizzily-11101'0 as if he.was in a dream than in real life; end laying his arms on his desk, bowed down his face between them. The pupils turn ed to their accustomed studies, for during the reign of Lunru in the village school, they had been so used to scenes of vio lence and severe chastisement, that such things m::de but little interception in the tenor of their way. Now, while the intervening hour is pas sing, we will clear up the mystery of the bag, and of young Barker being under the garden fence on the preceding night.— The boy's mother was a widow, and they both had lived in the very narrowest lin, • its. His father had died when he was six years old, and little Tins was left a sickly emaciated infant, whom no one expected to live many months. To the surprise of all, however, the pour child kept alive, and seemed to recover his health, as he cer tainly did his size and good looks. This was owing to the kind offices of an emi nent physician, who had a country seat in the neighborhood, and who had been interested in the widow's little family.— Tim, the physician said, might possibly outgrow his disease, bet every thing was uncertain, It was a mysterious and baffling mala dy; and it would nut be .wonderful if he should in some moment of apparent health be suddenly taken away, The poor wid ow was at first in. a continual state of uneasine , s; but several years had now passed, and none of the impending evils had fallen upon the btv's head. Ills mos ther seemed to feel confident that he would and- e a help and an honor to her old age; tad the two struggled on togeth er mutually happy in each other, and en during much' poverty and discomfint without repining, each for the other's sake. Tilles:,pleapant disposition had made him many friends in the village, and among the rest a young farmer, named Jones, who with his elder brother worked a large farm on shares. Jones very fre quentfy made Tim a present of a bag of • potatoes or corn, or some garden vegeta bles, wish he took froM his own stock; but as his partner was a persimonieas, Ihigh tempered man, and hug atm said that Tim was an idle fellow, and ought not to be helped, because he did not work, Jones generally made his gifts in such a manner that no one knew any thing about them, except himself and the grateful ob jects of his kindness. It might be, too, that the widow was loth to have it under stood by the neighbors that she received food from any one; for there is often an excusable pride in people of her condi tion, which makes them shrink from being considered as objects of "charity," as they would from the severest pains. On the night in question, Tim hail been told that Jones would send them a bag of potatoes, and the place at which they were to be waiting for him, was fixed at Mr. Nichols' garden fence. It was this bag that Tim had been seen stagg ering under, and which caused the unluc ky boy to be accused and convicted by his teacher as a thief. That teacher was one little fitted for his impor tant and responsible office. Hasty to de cide, and inflexibly severe, he was the ter ror of the little world he ruled so despot. ically. Punishment he seemed to delight in. Knowing little of those sweet foun tains which in childrens' breasts ever open quickly to the call of gentleness and kind words, he was feared by all for his stern ness and loved by none. I would that he were an isolated instance in his profess ion. The hour of grace had drawn to its close, and the time approached at which it was usual for Lugare to give his school a joyfully received dismission. Now and then one of the scholars would direct a furtive glance at Tim, sometimes in indif. Terence or inquiry. They knew that he would have no mercy shown him, and though most of them loved him, whipping was too common there to exact touch spa. pathy. Every inquiring glance, however, remained unsatisfied, for at the end of the hour, Tim remained with his face coin. pletcly hidden, and his head bowed in his arms, precisely as he had leaned himself when he first wont to his seat. Lugare looked at the boy occasionally with a scowl which seemed to bode veng eance for his sullenness. At length t he last class had been heard, and the last lesson recited, and Lugare seated himself behind his desk on the platform, with his longest and stoutest ratan before him. "Now, Barker," he said, "we'll settle that little business of yours. Just step uphere." Tim did not move. The school-room was as still Rs the grave. Not a sound was to be heard except occasionally a long drawn breath. "Mind tne, &r, or it will be the worse for you. step up here and take off your jacKet!" The boy dirt not stir tiny more than it he had been of wood. Lugare shook with passion. He rat still a minute, as if con sidering the bent way to wreak his ven geance. That minute, passed in death like silence, was a fearful one of some of the children, for their faces whitened with fright. It seemed, an it slowly dropped away, like the minute which precedes the climax of an exquisitely performed trage dy, when some mighty master of the his trionic art is treading stage, and you and the multitude around you are waiting with stretched nerves and suspended breath, in expectation of the terrible ca tastrophe. "Tim is asleep, sir," at length said one of the boys who sat near him. Lugare, at this intelligence, allowed his features to relax from their expression of savage anger into a smile, but that smile lool'ed more malignant, if possible, than his former scowls. It might be that he felt amused at the horror depicted on the faces of those about him, or it might be that he was gloating in pleasure on time way in which he intended to wake the lit. tie sluniberer. 'Asleep, are you, my young gentlemanl' said lie, "let us see if we can't find some thing to tickle your eyes open. There's nothing like making the best of a bad case, ys. Tim, here, is determined not to be worried in his mind about a little flogging, for the thought of it can't even keep the little scoundrel awake." Lugare smiled again, as he made the last observation. He grasped his rattan firm ly and descended from his seat. f/ ith light and stealthy steps he crossed the room, and stood by the unlucky sleeper. The boy was still as unconscious of his impending punishment as ever. He might be dreaming some golden dream of youth and pleasure; perhaps he was far away in the world of fancy, seeing scenes, and feeling delights which cold reality never can bestow. Lugare lifted his rattan high over his head, and with the true and expert aim which he had acquired by long practice, brought it down on Tim's back wits a force and whacking sound which seemed sufficient to awake a freezing man in his last lethargy. Quick and fast blow ' followed blow. Without, waiting to see the effect of the first cut, the brutal wretch plied his instrument of torture first on , one side et the bey', and then en - [W iroLE No. V 7. the other, and only stopped at the end of a few minutes from very weariness. Still Tim showed no signs of motion; and an. Lugare, provoked at his torpidity, jerked away the child's arms, on which he had been leaning over the desk, his head drop ped down on the board with a dull sound. and his face lay turned up and exposed to view. When Lugare saw it, he stood like one transfixed by a basilisk. His counte nance turned to a leaden whiteness; the rattan dropped from his grasp; and his eyes, stretched wide open, glared as at . - , some monstrous spectacle of horror and death. The sweat started in great glob ules seemingly from every pore in his face ; his skinny lips contracted, and showed his teeth; and when he at length stretched forth his arm, and with the end of one of his lingers touched the child's. cheek, each limb quivered like the tongue of a snake; and his strength seemed as though it would momentarily fail him.— The Iboy was dead! He had Probably bees so for some time, for his eyes were turned up, and his body was quite cold. The. widow was now childless too. Death was in the school-room, and I,ugare had been flogging a corpse. W. W. MESSAGE Of the President of the United States, re turning with his objections, the bill to in corporate the Fiscal Bank of the Uni. led States, August the 16, 184 1. To the Senate of the United States : The bill, entitled "An act tii incorpo rate the subscribers of the Fiscal Bank of the United States," has been considered by me, with a sincere desire to conform my action in regard to it, to that of the Houses of Congress. By the Constitu tion, it is made my duty either to approve ' the bill by signing it, or to return it with my objections to the House in which it originated. I cannot conscientiously give it my approval, and I proceed to dis charge the duty required of me by the Constitution—to give my reasons for dies approving. The power of Congress to create a Na tional Bank or operate per se over the Union, has been a question of dispute from the origin of our Government. Men most justly and deservedly esteemed for. their virtue, and their patriotism, have, in regard to it, entertained different and conflicting opinion. Congresses have dif fermi. The approval of one President hae been followed by the disapproval of an other, The people at di ff erent times have acquiesced in decisions both for and against. The country has been and still is deeply agitated by this unsettled ques tion. It will suffice for tne to say, that my own opinion has been uniformly pro. claimed to be against the exercise of any such power by this government. On all suitable occasions, (luring a period of twenty-five years, the opinions thus en tertained have been unreservedly ex pressed. I declared in the Legislature of my native state. In the House of Re. presentatives of the United States it has been openly vindicated by nie. In the Senate Chamber, in the presence and hearing of many who are at this time members of that body, it has been affirm ed and reaffirmed, in speeches and reports there made and by votes there recorded. In popular assemblies I have unhesitating ly announced it; and the last public de claration which I made, and that but a short time before the late Presidential election, I referred to my previously es ( pressed opinions as being those then en tertained, by me ; with a full knowledge ( of the opinions thus entertained, and nev er concealed, I was elected by the people, Vice President of the United States. By the occurrence of a contingency . provided for by, the Constitution, and arising un der an impressive dispensation of Proviebs ence, I succeeded to the Presidential of fice. Before entering on the duties of that office, I took an oath that I would "pre serve, protect, and defend the Constitu tion of the United States." Entertain- in' the opinions alluded to, and having taken this oath, the Senate and the coun try will see that I could not give my sanc tion to a measure of the character describ ed, without surrendering all claims to the respect of honorable men—all confidence on the part of the people ; all self respect; all regard for moral and religious obliga tion ; without an observance of which, no government can be prosperous, and no people can be happy, it would be to commit a crime which I would net wilful ly commit to gain any earthly reward, and which would justly subject me to the rid icule and scorn of all virtuous men. 1 deem it entirely unnecessary at this time to enter upon the reasons which hays brought any mind to the convictions 1 feel. and entertain on this subject. They have been over and over again repeated. If some of those who prereetlett me in this high otice have entertained and avowed different *pinions, 1 yield all confidence that their convictions were sincere. 1 claim only to have the same measure met ed uut to myself.—Without going fur titer
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