VOL. VI, No. 38.] T. 117. 1 ,10 OF THE HUNTINGDON JOURNAL• The" Jou aNAL" will be published ever) . Rednesday morning, at two dollars a year, IptidlN A D V ANCE, and if not paid with a six in inths, two ti liar; and a half. Every person who obtains five subscribers, and forwards price of subscription, shall be Lirnished with sixth copy gratuitously for one year. No suss,.ription received for a less period than six months, nor any piper discontumed until all arrearages arc paid. trr 1.11 communications must he addressed to tho E litor, POST PAID, or they will not be attended to. Advertisemsmts not exceeding one square, will be inserted three times for one dollar, and for every subsequent insertion, twenty live Cents per square will be charged. If no sLefinite orders arc given as to the time an liflvertlsement is to be continued, it will be kept in till ordered out, and charged accor dingly. AG ENTS. FOR Vie Huntingdon Journal I) tniel'l'eague, Orhiaonia; David Blair Esq. Shade Gap; Benjamin Lease. Shirley., burg; Eliel Smith. Esq. Chi/cottsiown; J.. Entraten. jr. Clffee Run; Hugh Madden, Esq. Springfield; Dr. S. S. Dewey, Dir-. ',gingham; James Morrow. Union Furnace John Siskr. Warrior Mark; James Davis, Esq. West townahip ; D. H. Moore. Eml Frankstoloni Iph. Galbreath. Esq. Holli daysburg: Henry Neff. Alexandria; Aaron Burns, lirdiiaiii9burg; A. J. Stewart, iVater Street; NVin. Reed. Esq. Morris township; Solom us Hamer. Atff'B Mill; James Dysart. Mmth Spruce Creek; Wm. Murray, Esq. Grayaville; John Crum. Manor 111 . 11; Jas. F. Stewart. Sinking Valley; L. C . Kessler Mill Creek. , PO ETItY. From the Erie Gazate. THE LOSS OF THE ERIE. A mournful voice from Erie's wave Comes pealing on the startled ear, And notes of deep and solemn gloom Are borne upon the yielding air; Grief's silent requiem floats around, And every heart in sorrow's drowned, That gallant bark, like thing of life, Came bounding o'er the plastic wave, But oh! there came a fearful change, When nought of human power could save— While round them WaVCS a airy pall, And dire dismay fills every soul. Then high above the roaring surge • The asiguish'd cry of keen despair Bursts forth like nature's parting groan, From those Whose hapless lot ,vas there; Then bleeding pity hovered near, And o'er them dropp'd the scalding tear, But soon the waves encircle all Beneath their cold and damp embrace, And beauty, pride, and Wien' rare, Lie in their silent resting place, While mournful dirges round them tell, And Ocean's voice their funeral knell! Sure in the midst of buoyant life, We're circled round by vt nstful death, Man's hut a shadow—life a dream, And feeble as the zephyr's breath,— Whilst warning notes cry from the flood, "Prepare." 0 man! "to meet thy God!" ALBERT. Fairview, Aug. 17, 1841. From the Boston Post. PASSING AWAY, The old battle-board, with its thundering sound, Which showered every Monday the soap suds around; The mop handle carved from the bass-wood tree, And the raspberry leaves that were steeped for ten— They leave our sight, and seem to say, Passing away—passing away. The pudding stick, too, which our grand- sires,mode— The broom which they peeled in the birch tree's shade— The distaff's hue, and the old quill wheel— The thump of the loom, and the twirl of the recl— You find them rarely, and then they say Passing away—passing away. The old trundle-bed, which rolled on the' floor— The nail-fastened button which held fast the door— The fork that was stuck in the window to keep The rogues without, that the honest might sleep— . Like the star of empire, they westward stray; Passing away--lr. ss n; away. jaw., 4.2 - KT r o - T . • FIUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 1841 THE IDLER IN FRANCE, [Extracts /rom Lady Blessing ton's late 14.0rk.] CONVERSATION IN FRANCE is an art suc cessfully studied; to excel in which, itotion• ly much natural talent is required, but great fluency and a happy choice of words are in dispensable. Nu one in Parisian society speaks ill, and many possess a readiness t wit, and a facility for turning it t 9 account, that 1 have never seen exempliti7d in women of other countries. A I' reIICIIWOIII4II talks well on every sub ject, from those of the most grave political importance, to the derniere mode. Her tal ent iu this art is daily exercised, and conse quently bect.mes perfected; while the En glishwoman, with more various and solid at tainments, rarely, if ever, arrives at the. ease and self-confidence which would enable her to bring the treasures with which her mind is stored into play. Sa generally is the art of conversation cultivated in France, that even those with abilities that rise not beyond mediocrity can take their parts in it, not'on 7 ly without exposing the poverty of thcir in tellects, but even wrth a show of talent that imposes on strangers. An Eng,lishwoman, more concentrated in her feelings as well as in her pursuits, seldom devotes the dine given by Frenchwomen to the superficial acquisition of a versatility of knowledge, which, though it enables them to converse fluently on various subjects, she would dread entering on unless well versed in. My fair compatriots have consequently fewer topics, even if they had equal talent, to converse on; so that the eaftrit styled tzar excellence. l'es,firit eminemment Francais, is precisely that to which we can oily the few est pretensions. T his does not, however, dispose me to de preciate a talent, or an art, for an art it may be called, that renders society in France not only so brilliant, but sn agreable, and which is attended with the salutary effect of banishing the ill-natured observations and personal remarks wll,ll too often supply the place of more harmless topics with us: THE EFFECTS OF REVOLUTION.—Much as I deplore some of the cons, quences of the Revolution in France, and the atrocities by which It was stained, it is impossible net to admit the great and salutary change effec ted m.the habits and feelings of the people since that evert: Who can live on terms of intimacy with the French withrut being struck by the difference bi.tween those of our time, and those of whom we have read previously to that epoch? The system of education is totally dill rent. The habits of domestic life are wholly changed. The re lations between husband and 'wife, and pa rents and children, have assumed another character, by , which the bonds of affection a close l i l o t g u e a r t h e d r e liem n( <l ei ro .e me a , r s e we d r. r .t a 7o n me m , the e focus o &pantie love, said to have been once an unknown blessing, at lenst among the haute noblesse, is now endeared by the discharge of reciprocal duties and warm sympathies. FRENCH AND ENGLISH SERVANTS.—A French master and mistress issue their or ders to their domestics with much more fa miliarity.than the English do; take a lively interest in their welfare and happiness; ad vise them about their private concerns; in quire into the cause of any depression of spirits, or symptom of ill health they may observe, and make themselves acquainted with the circumstances of those in their es tablishment. This system lessens the distance main tained by master and set vants, but does not really diminish the respect entertained by the latter toward their employers, who gen erally find around them humble, friends, in stead of, as with us, cold and calculating de pendents, who repay our hauteur by a total indifference to our interests, and, while evin cing all the external appearance ofprofiaind respect, entertain little of the true feeling of it to their masters. Treating our servants as it they were au tomatons created solely for our use, and who, being paid a certain remuneration for their services have no claim on us for kindness or sympathy is a system very injurious to their morals and our own interests, and re tiuires an amelioration. EMEUTES.-Of one thing I am conein• ced, and that is, that no sovereign, what ever may be his merits, can long remain popular in France; and that no prosperi ty, however brilliant, can prevent the people from those emeutes into which tl•eir excitable temperaments,- rather than any real cause for discontent, hurry them.— Theso emeutea, too, are less dangerous than we arc led to think. They are safe ty•valves by which the exuberant spirits of the French people escape; and their national vanity being satisfied with the the display of their Force, soon subside in to tranquillity, if not a roused into pro. tracted violence b) unwise demonstra% tions of coercion, \NitsTan IN PAHlS.—Mithing can be more dreary and cheerless than the weA then and a secorid winter's residence at Paris has convinced me that London is intinitelytirekrkble at this season, except to rhos rhocAsider gaiety an equiva lent for comfort. The negligence and bad management of the persons whose du ty it is to remove the snow or mud from the streets, render then, not only nearly impassable for pedestrians, but exceeding. ly disagreeable to those who have carria ges. Previously to the heavy fall of snow that occJrred a week ag and which still encumbers the streets, a succession of wet days occasioned an accumulation of mud that gave forth most unsavory odors, and l►►ut a damp chillness to the attunes. "ONE COUNTRY, Oh E CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY." A. W. BENEDICT PUBLISHER AND PROPMETOU. phere which sent some to their sick cham bers, and all of the mi.series peculiar to colds, many of those who were so impru dent as to venture abroad. The snow, in stead of being swept away, is piled up on each side of the streets, forming a wall that increases the gloota and chtlliness that - reigns around. The fogs, too, rise front the Seine, and hover over the Champs Elysees and streets adjacent to it, rendering a passage . through them a service of danger. MILITARY APPEARANCE OF PARIS/1115.- 1 am always struck to a crowd in Paris with the soldier like air of its male popu lation; and this air does not seem the re sult of study, but it sits as naturally on them as does the look, half fierce, half touching, that accompanies it. There is sometl lug in the nature of a Frenchman that enables him to become a soldier in less time than is usually necessary to ren der the natives of other countries au ,fait in the routine of duty, just as he learns to dance well in a quarter of the time requi• red to teach them to go through a simple measure. The Emperor Napoleon quickly obser ved this peculiar predisposition to a mili tary life in his subjects, and took advan tage of it to fool them to the top of their bent. The victories achieved beneath his banner reflect scarcely less honor on them than on him, and the memory of them as sociates his name in their hearts by the strongest bonds of sympathy that can bind a Frenchman—the love of glory. A sense of duty, high discipline, and true courage, influence our soldiers in the dis charge of their calling. They are proud of their country and of their regiment, for the honor of which they are ready to light unto their death; but a FrerAman, though proud of his country and his regi ment, is still more proud of his individual self, and believing that all eyes are upon him, acts as if his single arm could accom plish that which only soldiers en mane can achieve. Mrs. Eliis's Summer and Winter in the Py renees. .FxSIALR LABOR I 74 FRANCIS: --In this part of France the women do all the work. Even on their way to market we see them carrying on their heads the heaviest bur dens, and it is said they can carry as much as 150 pounds ; while the seen go swaggering along with nothing but a stick. It would be an easier task to enumerate the kinds of labor in which women are not employed than those in which they are. In the country they are to be seen every day at this season of the year ploughing and harrowing, spreading and carting manure ; at other seasuns snow ing, reaping, and carrying the hay home on their heads ; while in the market, we fund them selling their corn, and every other produce of their farms. In the towns, besides being employed in sweep. ing the streets and cleaning the lamps, they act as laborers to the paviors, brick layers, and stone-masons, and carry on the work of glaziers, and alir.ost every other duty, both in doors and out; except that of serving as soldiers. It may readily be supposed- that the women suffer much in their appearance from such habits of hard labor and constant exposure to the weath er. The consequence is, they look old before middle life, and, in real old age, the loss of their teeth, their naturally hard features and complexionl dry, leathern, and all over wrinkles i Ailmbine to render 'them hideous in the seine. Still they seem to enjoy life, especially as they go home from .market, munching their dry bread or roasted chestnuts along the road, and chatting in groups, about the busi ness of the day. Yet I must confess, when I have seen one of these old women riding like a man, at hard lauchiag trot, I have longed to place her in a conitortaLle arm chair Ly the Are-side of an English cottage, to put a neat cap upon her head, and a Bible in . her hand, and an leave her to pass the remainder of her days in peace. .ixTIinESTI NG TO THE Grats.---The 809- ton Post gives the proceedings of a meet ing of the young men of that city, called together for the purpose of considering why so many of the fair are afflicted with feeble health, and have such pale faces. The unanimous decision of the meeting was, that these effyets were produced by wearing stays, whAupon a young philan throphist offered a resolution, pledging the meeting to have nothing to do with any young lady who is in the habit of wearing women killers," A committee of loves tigation was appointed, whose duty it is to ascertain the fact before 'any of the members pop the question to a young lady. The mode of discoverning it, is not indi cated, but from the well known gallantry • and good behavior of the Boston boys, it is to be presumed that the proceeding will be characterized by the utmost delicacy. The Society is called "The Boston Young Men's Anti Stay Lacing Society."--U Stu fr 3, TUE TWIN FLOWERS. Will you buy toy flowers 1" said a neat looking little girl, addressing herself to a young lady in Chesnut, and holding out at the same time a small basket con taining some roses. "They are newly blown and fresh ; buy a rose for your hair, Miss—here's one that will look delightful - twined among those pretty looks. "Not a rose, my child," said the lady, " there are thorns among them ; sut I'll take this flower, it looks so lovely and sweet; oh, its a Forget-me-not ?" " Pardon me Miss," replied the child, 'that flower is engaged.' "To whom ?' " ►naeter Charles Leland." "Charles Leland indeed," said the lady " well but there's another ; what a beautiful pair." " They are twin flowers ; they are both for that gentleman," said the little girl. "Oh a fig tar him," said the young lady ; but an arch smile Fdayed upon her cheek as she said it; something sparkled in her beautiful dark eye, that told a tale her lips refused to utter, while she inge niously marked both of the favorite flows era, and returned them to, the basket; then chosing a little bunch of roses she walked home, leaving the flower girl to visit the rest of her customers. • Love is impatient, and Harriet counted the tedious minutes as she sat at the win• dow and listened for the well known rap, The clock struck nine, and yet Leland did not appear; she thought she had been neg lected of late, but then the flowers he knew they were favorites of hers, and slie thought to recteve them front his hands, land hear hint say Harriet, forget me not ; won'd be a sweet atonement for any little: offence past. But once the thought stole over her bosom, perhaps they are destined for another! She banished it with a sigh, and it had scarcely escaped her, ere Charles Leland entered. She rose to re ceive hint, and he gently took her hand; " Accept," said lie, " my )tumble offering, & forget me"—llarriet interrupted him as he attempted to place a single flower in her bosum—.-'where is the other,' said she, playfull ; putting back his hand. A mnients silence ensued. Charles ap• peered embarrassed, & Harriet recollect. ed herself, blushed deeply, and turned off; but the flower was not offered again, and Charles had only said, forget me. This could not have been all intended, but tl'e mutual reserve rendered the re mainder of the evening cold, formal, in sipid ; and when Leland took his leave, Harriet, felt more than ever dissatisfied. As it was not yet late in evening, she resolved to distill a'e the melanhholy that this littte interview in spite of all her ef forts to laugh it off, left her mind, by spending a few moments at a neighbor's whose three daughters were her most in. timate companions. The youngest of these ladies was a gay and interesting gill, and was to meet and welcome her friend; but she held out her hand Harriet discovered a little flower in it : it was a "Forget-mn•not ;" she examin• ed it; it was Leland's ; the mark she had made upon it when she took it from the basket of the flower girl was there. This was at the moment of an unfortunate dis covery. She had heard that Charles fre quently visited this family, and that he really paid attention to 'Jane • but she had never before believed it, anti now she shuddered at the idea of admitting that for once rumor told the truth. " Where did you get that pretty flower Jane?" said she. " Oh, a beau to be sure," said Jane archly; " dint you see —Forget-me-not," as she took back the flower. " I should not like to tell where I got it, I'll wear it in my bosom, come sing— " dearly love that pretty flower, For his own sake who bade me keep it p I'll wear it in, my bosom's—.— " " Hush, Jane," said Harriet, interrupt ing her " illy head aches; and your singing distracts use." " Ali it's your heart," said Jane, or you would not look so dull." .‘ Well if it is my heart," said Harriet as she turned to conceal her tears, *it does not become a friend to trifle with it." She intended to convey a double mean. ling to this reply; but it is not taken, and as soon as possib:e she returned home. A sleepless night follpived and the more she thought about it the more she felt. She had engaged her hand to Leland six months before; the time appointed for the union approached fhst ; and he acted thus 1 "II he wants to ue freed from the engagement," said she to herself, "1 will give him no trouble ;" and she sat down and wrote requesting him no trou ble ;" and she sat down and wrote re questing him to discontinue his visits. She wept over it in a flood of tears; but continued resolute, until she hail de• spatched the note to his residence. Then she repented of it, and then again reason ed herself into the belief that she had act ed right. She waited for the result, not Iwithout many anxiously cherished hopes that he would call fur an explanation. But she only learned that the note was delivered into his hands ; and in about a month he sailed for England.—This was and end to the matter. Charles went in to business at Liverpool, but never mar ried, and Harriet remained single, devot• ing her life to the care of her aged mother and ministering to the wants of the poor and distressed-around her• About forty years after Leland left Philadelphia, Harriet paid a visit to New York, 4. dining in a large company one day, an old gentleman 'who seemed was a bachelor, being called upon to defend the fraternity to which he belonged from the aspirities of some of the younger and more fortunate part of the company, told a story about Philadelphia, a courtship and engagement,' which he alleged was broken oil by his:capricious =stress, for no other reason than his offering her a sweet new blown Forge t , ine not, ail weeks before she was to have been Ins wife. But was there no other cause?" asked Harriet, who sut nearly opposite the stranger, and eyed hint.with intense curl- 'None to my knowledge, as Heaven is my witness." Then what did you do . with the other flower ? said Harriet ; the stranger gazed in astonishment. It was Leland himself; and he recognized his Harriet, though almost half a century had passed since they had d the mischief made by the twin flu II explained, and might have been ears before, had Charles said he had los one of the For get-tne note, or had Jane raid she had found it. The old couple never married ; but they corresponded constantly afterwat di, and I always thought Harriet looked happier after this meeting than ever she did be fore. Now I have only to say at the conclu sion of my story, to the juvenile reader, never let an attachment be abruptly brok en oft; let an interview and a candid ex planation follow every misunderstandi4. For the tenderest and most valuable af fections when won, will be the easiest wounded, and believe me, there is much truth in Tom Nloore's sentiments ; " A something light as air—a look ; A word unkind, or wrongly taken— The love that tempest never shook, A breath--a touch has shaken." or as Byron says, There in a grief, that cannot t eel ! That leaves a wound, that will not he al From L'lludierwe—Paris Journul. A MODERN SIREN, OR LIVING M ERM A EXTRAOODIYARY STORY OP ORUELTY The following "cock and bull" story, which, as the American says, is "extraor dinary if true," appears in one of the Pa risian Journals: The Sirens, those supernatural crea tions—halt woman and half fish--owe their existence to that fruitful source of wonders, fabulous history. They were, according to this authority, the daughters of the river Acheions and the muse Calli ope; their names were Parthenope, Leu, cothce, and Ligeia. These beautiful di vinities having in their pride dared to de, fy the Goddesses of Olympus and the Muses of Parnassus, lost their wings as a punishment. and retired into the deserts of Sicily and Campania. Those who have chosen to moralize upon this fable, asset t that the Sirens were nothing better than courtezans, who dwelt near the sea shore in Sicily, and who, by their volup tunes attractions, so fascinated all who passed, that they utterly forgot their oc cupations and lost their way. They add moreover, that the names and number of the three Sirens were founded upon the tripple pleasure of the senses,—music, love, and wine. From this idea they have derived the etymology of the word Siren— namely, from the Greek work iciest, a chain—by which it is signified that their charms were as a chain about those who came within their influence. The last great occasion on which the Sirens appeared on the scene, was when the sage Ulysses made his escape from them—thanks to the counsels of Circe.— The Sirens, seeing the learned warrior es. cape them, were so chagrined that they plunged into the ocean and were never seen more; such is the assertion of m)tho r logical writers. But this is a mistake; they have once - more appeared. M. Ame dre Fichot, the (earned editor of the .?evue Britatutique, has published an article upon the Sirens, which would. alone suffice to re-establish the fact of their existence and their powers in our own days. The story is as follows : Towards the end of the month of Feb.' ruary last, an Englishman, named Hud son, took up his residence at Rome, near the Porlu die Popolo, and announced in the Diario di Roma, the Gazette of the Holy City, that he hail a most extraordi nary object for public exhibition—in a word, no less rare an object than a Siren: On the appearance of this announcement all the pavans of Rome hastened to visit [WHOLE No. 298. the rooms of Mr. Hudstin—and surprising as'it may seen, every one came away with a full conviction of the bane fide character of the exhibition—a most char ming creature, half woman and half fish, was found reclining in an immense bath; her head was adorned with long black locks, among which marine plants appear ed to grow ; her face was charming, and her features perfectly regular; but in thee place of a neck she appeared to have a sort of collar of scales, and the "creature" terminated in an immense fish tail, which floated in the water with all the vitality of a real natural fish! But celte ozarre creature spoke not a word; ever and anon she would open her mouth as ifaltbout to speak and then in -lb stantly plunge info the water. It will be readily conceived that such an exhibition excited lively curiosity among all the wonder-loving world. The Prince Bor. ghese, the Duc de Bordeaux, Count Brig geis, and Don Sebastinado d'Alvar, of Spain, were among those who satisfied themselves that " it" was alive and en bonne sante. The people shared the curl. osity of the great, and manifested ever, a larger share of enthusiasm, as well as a strong desire to penetrate into the myste, ries of the existence of 'Zevelar, (the name which Hudson had given to his monster). and one of the servants of the hotel gli ded unperceived into the principal room occupied by him, concealed himself in the fire place, and waited the result of his voyage of discovery. He had not been there long when he saw Hudson come into the room, dragging after him by the hair of the head, the poor Zevelar. the poor Siren was dripping wet, and the big tears rolled from her sorrowful) s; she walked upright, and the fish's sklW, which formed the fewer extremity, drastqed along the ground. She threw herself on the floor, and cried out in perfectly intelligible En-- glish, "011, pity pity: for mercy's sake,. pity! pity!"--the servant, who did not understand the English language thought that she spoke in her "langue maritime.' The fellow then began to beat her, upon which she exclaimed, "Spare my life, oh, God! and I obey!" No longer able to bear the frightful spectacle. the servant ,seized the first opportunity to steal away, and recounted all lie had seen. His story was the means of awakening the attention of the authorities, and hotter Amarati was sent to visit the pretended divinity of the waters. The Doctor soon discovered that the Siren was, in point of fact none other than a young woman twenty years of age, whose mind had given way under the cruel treatment which she had expe rienced at the hands of her inhuman mas ter, and he found that the fish tail and the scaly neck-piece were Braun," fastened on with flesh colored silk. On her body he discovered the blood-stained marks of punishment which she had received from Farouche Hudson. He was immediately arrested and thrown into prison, and before the tribunal he confessed that he had taken his "Sire" on the banks of the Thames; that it was in fact, a young woman whom he had fitted with a tail, and exhibited merely for the sake of making money. The young woman, whose real name turned out to be Jane Soane, was introdu ced, and desciibed her sufferings from the immersion. She suffered greatly from the cold, and all her teeth, she said, had fallen out from the effects. President—How was it that you did not, when persons came too see you, make known the cruelties which were practiced on you? Jane Soane—Oh no, I dared not. If openeed my mouth, he pulled the cord immediately. President—What cord? Jere Soane (pointing to hertieck)—lt was fastened here under the scales. If I attempted to speak he pulled the cord, and I was plunged under the water in an instant. (Expressions of indignation.) The court sentenced Hudson to itniitris. cement for life. He heard hie sentence with a smile and said, "Qui vivre verra."' 1' What do you sit so close to me for I" inquired a young girl of a youth who had. felt the powers of her attractions. Why, because I love you." " Oh: what do you love me for 1" Why, because you are so pretty." La, sir, why I'm not so party, there's Polly Ricker and Susan Applehury are a heap putier gala than me. , drawled the fair one. " I)—n the Ricker's and Applebury'si they've got no particular parts, when you're as smooth as a pine pole peeled." I'm tolerably round." The next day they were married. A HARD I were so unlucky, said an officer, .as to have a stupid lon, I would certainly make him a parson.' 4. clergyman who was in the company, calm ly replied, 'You think differently, sir e from your father.' I understand said a good deacon to his neighbor that you are becoming a hard drinker. That is a slander, replied the 'neighbor, for no man can drink easier.
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