VoL. VI, No. 48.] Tmnme OF TIIE ii.UNTINGDON JOURNAL. The . ' JOURNAL" will be published every e dnesday morning, at two dollars a year,p lid IN .ki)VANCE, and if not paid with Aix in inths, two dollars and a half. itry person who obtains five subscribers, forwards price of subscription, shall be with I sixth copy gratuitously for tit, year. So subscription received for a less period • it an nix months, nor any paper discontinued atil all orrearages are paid. 11 communications must be addressed V,litor, POST PAID, or they will not br attended to. vc,tisements not exceeding one square, vi I be inserted three times for one dollar, for every subsequent insertion, twenty }yr rents per square will be charged. Ifno ilefinite orders are given as to the time an aavcrtisement is to be continued, it will be k-pt in till ordered out, and charged accor• d ingly. AGENTS FO 113 tat gdon Journal. Teague, Orbiaonia; David Blair, Esq. Shade Gap; Benjamin Lease. Shirleys burg; Eliel Smith, Esq. Chilcottstcwn; Jas. Entriken. jr. Ceffee Run; Hugh Madden, Esq. Siiringfietd; Dr. S. S. Dewey, Bir mingham; J ames Morrow. Union Furnace ; John Sister. Warrior Mark ; James Davis, Esq. West township ; D. H. Moore. Esq Frankstown; Eph. Galbreath. Esq. Holli daysburg; Henry Neff. Alexandria; Aaron Burns, Williamsburg; A. J. Stewart, Water 'Street; Wm. Reed. Esq. Morris to.amship; Solomon Hamer. cif's Mill; James Dysart. Mnath Spruce Creek; Wm. Murray, Esq. Grayavllle; John Crum. Manor Hill; Jas. E. Stewart. Sinking Valley; L. C. Kessler Mill Creek. PO KTRY. PUBLISHED BY REQUEST. Oh! Am I Then Remembered Still. Oh, am I then remembered still ? Remembered too by thee! Or am I quite forgot by one NVhom I no more shall see ? Yet sLy not so for that would add Fresh anguish to my lot. dare not hope to be recall'd— Yet would not be forgot. H td they who parte4 u 3 but known How hearts like ours can feel, They would have spared us both a pang Boyond their power to heal, 1 know not if thy heart retains Its wonted warmth or not: Though I'm forbid to think of thee— Thou% never be forgot. Mav'st thou enjoy that peace of mind Which I can in know; If that's denied, my prayer shall be, That I may share thy wo. Where'er thou art, my every wish Will linger o'er that spot ; My every thought will be of thee; Though I may be forgot. It we should meet in after years, Thou'it find that I am changed; My eves grown dim, my cheek grown pale But not my faith estranged. Prom memory's p'ge the hand of death Alone thy name shall blot; Forget, forsake me, if thou wilt— Thou'lt never be forgot. TEMPERANCE SONG. Written for the Huntingdon Washington Temperance Society, Nov. 20, 1541. Ant—Good night, and joy be wi' you a'. Adieu—a long and last adieu, Intemfterance—to thy slavish chains ; Tho' round us once your charms you threw We've burst them, and are free again. And tho' we may, in after years, Look backlupon thy slippery way, 'Twill be with joy, and grateful tears, That we have torn ourselves away. No more amid the revel •throng, We'll quaff the pcis'nous liquid down— No more the bacchanalian song, Shall call the steaming goblet round ; But purer draughts, and hoLicr rhymes, Shall please our taste and charm our souls, Where social brothers all conjoin To break the tempter's strong control. Unceasing let our effortsbe— Eternal duty leads us on -1.1,,,r pause until a world is free, 4.The battle fought—the victory won ;" Till TirstrartaNcE flings her banner high, In golden folds to fan the air -nu throbbing joys shall check the sigh, In bosoms wreck 'd and worn with care. Until the night-gloom shall have fled Before the breaking moral morn ; Until the peace and plenty shed, Shall glad the care and hunger-worn ; Until the drunkard's squalid child, Shall press a sober father's knee ; A wife's torn heart in trans Forts lt eceliT a husband's liberty. THE JOURNAL. HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER SELECT TALE. From the London Metropolitan. ACTING UPON SUSPICION, BY BINS ANDY, 'I have often thought that I could make a very amusing volume upon the serious a nd comic consequences. of acting upon sus pi cion.'—Memoirs of C'harlee Matthews. Mr. Stanfield of Elbury Hall, married his first cousin. Many objections have been made to such matches, but In Mr. Stanfieltes case, the result was marvel. loud , satisfactory. Mrs. Stanfield was very like her husband in person, more so in mind, and most of all In temper and habits. Her twenty thousand pounds in the funds made au agreeable addition to his two thousand a year landed property; they neither of them liked London; they neither of them required, or fancied they required, watering places; and they lived on their own acres, happy in themselves aid respected by others. Their house was not above halt a mile front the popt.o. lous and gossipping town of Westford, but even Miss Sowerby, the most scan dal-loving and fault-seeking spinster of the place, could say nothing worse of the Stanfields than that "they were imposed upon by their servants, duped by the poor and had a great deal too much good na ture to be burdened with much good sense , " Mr. and Mrs. Stanfield had been mar ried about ten years before they had any prospect of a family; and quite in kee ping with their usual character, although they had been very happy without a child, they prepared themselves to be still more happy with one. The child was a daughter, and was na med Amelia. M s. Sowerby predicted it would die within a year; the apothecary of the village confided to a few chosen pa tients his opinion that it might live three years; and the father and mother deemed it such a prodigy, that they feared it would never live at all. However at ten years of age, Amelia Stanfield was alive, and likely to live, although far from healthy, and having very moderate claims to beau ty. Intellect is sometimes thought to de scend on the part of the mother, and some times on that of the father. In Amelia Stanfield's case, the point might be easily settled; she had no right to thelinheritance on either side, and accordingly, she gave no indication of possessing it. It was considered that a governess would be very useful in developing the dormant intellectual org ans of the young heiress, and here again Mrs Stanfield en joyed wonderful good fortune. She took no pains about the business, and yet it was as thoroughly well done as if she had cal led in a committee of cooductre3ses of a dozen finished schools to manage it for her. Mrs. Stanfield did not advertise her in the 'fimes,' or even read the advertise ments in it; she simply wrote a few lines to an old fashioned acquaintance in Soho Square, saying that she wished to obtain a gentlewoman of competent attainments, good temper and sound principles, to un dertake the education of her little girl, and the very next post informed her that Mrs. Rivers awaited her pleasure. Mrs. Rivers proved to be a young widow of five and twenty, who had married for love and been rewarded by ill treatment and poverty. She was now obliged to exer cise her talents for a subsistence; and as though clever and well read she could not sing like a prima donna, or draw like a Royal Academy artist, she felt inclined to accept a hundred a year, the care of a very backward common-place child, and a home with kind hearted, well meaning, people, who literally fulfilled their prom ise of considering her as one of their own family- A 3 ear passed on with great tranquility Amelia's progress in knowledge, although slow, was sure. She was an affectionate child, and became truly attached to her governess. Mr. and Mrs. Stanfield re• spected and admired her; and although Miss Sowerby repeatedly made known her opinion, that Mrs Rivers was far too hand some to be governess, the accusation fell harmless to the ground, for Mrs Rirvers was propriety itself in manner and demea nor, and Mr, Stanfield, whether from hsb it, taste, or principle, 1 do not pretend to say—considered that the whole regions of fancy and /reality did not supply so del lightful a person as his own wife. This year of peace was closed by a mei ancholy event. Mrs. Stanfield, after a short and severe illness, died, and her hus band lamented her as deeply and truly as if she had been (what indeed he always thought her) a marvel of attraction and ex cellence. Miss Mitford says, 'there is no running away from a great grief,' and the observa tion is very true, but change of scene, al though it may not curs our affliction, cer- "ONE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY." A. W. BIINEDICT PUBLISHER AND PROPRIETOR tainly diminishes its intensity. So thought the friends of Mr. Stanfield. They per. suaded him to travel; and although it was useless to mention France and Italy to so home-keeping a personage, a lour through Wales and Scotland was of essential ser vice to him. He was acccompanied by Mrs Rivers and his daughter. They stayed a few days at each of the principal places they visited, and returned to Elbu ry Hall just a year alter the death of its mistress. The popularity of Mrs Rivers now drew to a close. MrStanfield was a rich wid ower; his spirits had recovered the death of his wife; he was tolerably well looking, not much turned of fifty, and deserved the epithets liberally showered upon him of 'so a*iable, such a temper, and such a heart,' ,g• c., much better than the gener ality of persons do on whom they are be stowed. Many a lady, old and young, spinster and widow, felt herself inclined to become the second Mrs Stanfield; and happy would they have been to have had any pretext for asserting that Mr Stan field's servants wanted a mistress, that his (laughter wanted a mistress, and that lie himself wanted a companion. Butalas: Mrs Rivers filled each and all of these characters, and filled them so admirably well, that it was very difficult to suggest any improvement in her discharge of the ditties annexed to them. Miss Sowerby was at the head of the lovelorn damsels pretending to the hand of Mr Stanfield. She had heard said that persons generally become enamoured of those who are most the reverse of them• selves in character, and consequently she imagined that Mr Stanfield, whom she al ways designated as 'mild to a fault,' would inevitably succumb to the fasci nations of a shrew. Mr Stanfield, how ever, showed no symptoms of captivation, and the spinster changed her plan of at tack—became soft and sentimental, talk ed of moonlight and poetry, and actually revived the practice of several of the songs of her youth. All, however, was in vain. She sang in a shrill and high-pitched voice 'llinna, ask me why I love thee,' and want those eyes to gaze on me;' but Mr; Stanfield complied with the request of the first song, and disregarded that of the second, and to complete his enormities, asked Mrs Rivers to sing Italian—'a piece of absurd affection,' Miss Sowerby obser ved, 'since every body knew he did not understand a word of it.' Miss Sowerby next endeavored to enlist Amelia on her side, but completely failed in the attempt. Children are not only good physingno mists, but are also, if I may be allowed the expression, voice-fanciers. and they invariably shrink from a sharp, dogmati cal tone. Miss Sowerby, too, like most people who are not naturally fond of chil dren, had only one way in which she could talk to them—that of cross-examining them resoecting their studies. Now A melia had just begun to know enough to feel rather ashamed of not knowing more, and Miss Sowerby's anecdotes 'of little girls younger than herself, who played 'the harp, sketched from nature, and stu died German,' had not the effect of amu sing or edifying her, but generally led her to steal to the side of the patient and ju dicious preceptress, who allowing for her early deficiencies, carefully watched the'' slowly•opening bud of intellect, without attempting to force it open by premature development. Miss Sowerby, therefore was obliged to relinquish the hope of gain ing Amelia as an ally, saving to herself that 'the child was shockingly spoiled, and that good could be done with her till liars Rivers was fairly out of the house'— How to get Mrs Rivers fairly or unfairly out of the house, however, appeared a difficult matter;—but none knew better than Miss Sowerby the power of scandal to wound and annoy, and she tried its ef fects in the present instance. She called on every family in West-- ford, and expressed her opinion that it was highly incorrect that so remarkably handsome and attractive a young woman as Mrs Rivers (Miss Sowerby could em ploy praise when it was for the purpose of subsequent depreciation) should be do• mestieated in the family of a man in the prime of life, like Ilk Stanfield, and that it was really the duty of some kind friend to represent to him the sad outrage he was committing on the established usages of society. Many of the ladies to whom she had addressed herself were single, others had single daughters, sisters or nieces, and all agreed that Mr Stanfield's conduct was perfectly horrible—that it would be a kind but very delicate effice to admonish him—and that nobody was fit to undertake it as Miss Sowerby.' Miss Sowerby thanked her friends for their favorable opinion of her, professed her readiness on that and every other oc casion to do anything, however repugnant to her own feelings, that might conduce to the good of others, and forthwith walk• ed over to N:lbury Hall, and requested a private interview with Mr Stanfield. • Her host looked horrorstruck at her communication. The idea of either com• promising the fame of the affectionate pre ceptress of his child, or dismissing her from his house, was equally distressing to him, must have time to think of it, 7 said he, in a nervous hurried tone. But Miss Sowerby did not take the hint to depart. She turned over several volumes on the table, chose Mrs. Opie's Detraction Displayed, which she was wont to call a most excellent book and very much wanted, since there was such an abundance of scandal ir. the world, and evidently prepared herself for a long stu dy of its contents. Mr Stanfield, mean while, walked ap and down the room for about ten minutes, much as if he were perambulating the quarter deck of a ship, and then stopped short and spoke. Mr. Stanfied had but a small share of intellect, but it did for him what a much larger share often fails in doing fur its possessor—it always carne to his assist ance when he most wanted it. He spoke without his usual nervous hesitation, and looked his 'fair foe' full in the face. "I see the justice of what you say, Miss Sowerby," he replied, "I should be very sorry to give any room for censure, and I promise you that the cause of it shall soon cease to exist. lam very much oc- cupied this morning, and beg you will ex cuse me for leaving you." Miss Sowerby excused bun very readi ly ; she had gained her point, and return ed to Westford in high spirits, praising Mr. Stanfield as "the most persuadable man in the world, always ready to reason.' Two days afterwards, the inhabitants of Westford were surprised to hear that Mr. Stanfield, Mrs. Rivers, and Amelia, had gone to London—but Miss Sowerby easily accounted ter it. 'Mr. Stanfield was such a good creature, that doubtless he wished to consider the feelings of Mrs. Rivers, by dismissing her from Lou don rather than from Elbury Hall, where she had been so long domesticated.' Mr. Stanfield, hoivever, was still more considerate of the feelings of Mrs. Riv ers than Miss Sowerby had supposed. Before the month was at an end, the news papers announced the marriage of Mr. Stanfield and M rs. Rivers, and the ser vants at Elbury Hall had received in structions to prepare every thing for the reception of the bride and 'bridegroom. The bells rang merrily, the wedding party were welcomed by children strew ing flowers, the inhabitants of Westford were bountifully supplied with wedding cake, and returned the favor by duly paid morning visits. Some few disinterested people (solely, however, among the gen. tlemen) said that 'Mr. Stanfield had done very well for himself,' and the judgment of the disinterested was, as it generally is, not worth listening to. Mrs Rivers,had not acted unwisely; she respected Mr. Stan fields excellence of character, and had an affectionate regard for his daughter; she had knows his ills of poverty, and was thankful to be preserved trom them in future ; she resolved to recompense Mr. Stanfield for his choice of het by making an excellent wile to himself, and a kind mother to his child. And she gave every indication of meaning to keep her word. Miss Sowerby was so enraged by Mr. Stanfield's marriage, and so vexed with herself for having been the unintentional means of bringing it about, that she had almost resolved not to call on the bride anti bridegroom, till she thought that she might probably do some mischief by go ing, and could do none by staying away. She encountered the house keeper in the hall, and addressed her in a tone of whining condolence on the subject of her new mistress; but the housekeeper would not submit to be pitied. "Mrs. Stanfield was a lady whom any body might be hap py to serve,' she replied ; 'so very liberal in her ideas, and so very mild in her temper.' Miss Sowerby passed on with out any rejoinder; she probably thought that so satisfactory a report would not be given of herself by her maid of all work, whose complaints of scanty living were a bout on a par with those of the inmates of the Westford poorhouse, and who had given to half the town a lively deleniation of the fury of her mistress when she car ried to her the tidings of Mr. Stanfield's marriage—fury which, like that of Cleo• patra on a similar occasion, could only find adequate vent in giving a box of the innocent messenger, thereby inducing the very natural assertion, '1 that do bring the news, made not the match !' Miss Sowerby was inure suo.cessful in the d raw ing.room, she made Mrs. Stanfield look flushed by talking about dependants and mercenary marriages, and Mr. Stand field. A nobleman and his lady, who lived at same distance, were, however, fortunately announced, and their unaffected courtesy and attention restored the spirits of the bride and bridegroom, and kit Miss Sow erby no alternative but that of stepping out from the French window on the lawn to join her 'dear young friend Amelia,' whom she had descried watering flowers in the garden. Miss Sowerby attempted to make her , 1841 dear young friend very unhappy by en larging on the :niseries in store for her, but Amelia was unaffectedly and warmly glad of her father's marriage. Mr. Stanfield, in fact, had married principally for the sake of his daughter. know that this assertion is often made by fathers when introducing to their house and hearth a virago, at whose first search ing eye-beam the poor little trembler des tined to experience her tender mercies quails in well-founded horror of its fu ture doom. The present case, however, was widely different; Mr. Stanfield real ly meant what he said, and really effected the object at which he aimed, and Ame• ha's answer to Miss Sowerby's remark did credit to her grateful affectionate disposition. '1 always loved Mrs. Rivers dearly,' said she; 'and it would be strange it 1 were to love her less now that she is pa pa's wife. is to be hoped, Amelia,' said Miss Sowerby, clasping her hands and looking up theatrically to the skies, 'that your poor dear mother knows nothing of this terrible business am sure if she did,' replied Amelia, 'she would be very much pleased, for she often said how earnestly she hoped that Mrs. Rivers would never leave me till I grew up.' 'Poor, child,' said Miss Sowerby, ap plying her handkerchief to her eyes, 'you will grow up to no inheritance. I dare say your unprincipled step mother will have a son to dispel' you of your ancesto rial acres.' 'I do not know what ancestorial acres are,' answered Amelia, 'but I should like to have a baby in the house of all things, and papa told me that he had made over to me all mamma's fortune, so I am never likely to be very poor; see, Miss Sower by, what a beautiful nosegay I have gath ered for you The spinster, who made it a rule never to refuse anything, took from the hands of the child a fragrant boquet of roses and geraniums, in return for the rue and wormwood which she had been unsuc cessfully endeavoring to administer to her and return home, declaring that the des potic happiness of the Stanfields had too much of display in it to be lasting ; and that Amelia was inure spoiled, and a great er simpleton than ever ."fhe domestic happiness, however, of the newly married pair seemed to increase instead of dimin ishing; in fact Mr. Stanfield had never been so happy at any other period of his existence; the good fortune to which I have alluded as his lot through life, shone brighter instead of growing dim mer, and although he was perfectly satis fied with his first choice, he had still more reason to congratulate himself upon his second. His present lady had all the sweetness and mildness of disposition pbssessed by the former, adding to it that which she wanted, a strong cultivated mind. Mr. Stanfield was not clever him self, but lie could judge of cleverness in an other, just as a person without musi cal knowledge can judge of the style of a I first rate singer, unable to appreciate eve ry little ornament, but admiring the gen eral effect of it, and feeling that it is dif ferent to the performances of ordinary people. The intellect of his wife gave him consequence in society, and was ac companied with so touch good taste and good feeling that she never assumed supe riority over her husband on that account, and she was rewarded by his devoted and grateful affection. My readers will suppose that Mrs Stan field, thus idolized by her husband, must ,nave attained the summit of felicity; but such was by no means the case, Mr. Stanfield was nervous, sensitive, or, to use a plain but expressive term, 'fidgety these qualities seldom decrease with age, and they had much increased since his second marriag e; loving Ins wife so fond ly, he thought that his greatest proof of affliction was to make himself very un happy about her every hour of the day ; it she sat near an open window, he dreaded all the horrors of consumption , it she seemed out of breath, he anticipated a complaint of the heart; and if she return ed from a walk a little later than usual, his fancy, not generally very vivid, eon• jured up a terrific phantasmagoria of foot pads; mad bulls, and runaway horses. Mrs. Stanfield was annoyed by this over care, as every clever woman must be; but she had set out in her mat rimonial career with the golden rule of looking at all the good of her situation, and rEsregartling, as far as she could, all the evil of it; and by dint of sometimes rallying and sometimes reasoning with her too anxious husband, she contrived to keep his inquietude within tolerable bounds, and to avoid the fate of being quite killed with kindness. A year pass ed on in peace and satisfaction ; at the end of that period Mrs. Stanfi eld was looking decidedly ill, and seemed much out of spirits. The Westford Afisculap ius was rejoiced ; he hinted a hundred in quiries as to her symptoms, bat Mrs. WIIOLE No. 308, Stanfield evaded them all —she would not confess herself to be ill. Strange to say, Mr. Stanfield, with all his nervous anx iety, did not feel uneasy about her when there appeared real cause to do so; per haps, however, this inconsistency is fist very remarkable ; those who waste their attention on trifles of any discription, u sually deaden their energies to a degree that renders them indifferent to matters of real importance. All that Mr Stan• field feared was that his wife had caught cold, and as this verified his constant predictions that she would do so, he felt some self satisfaction in his own wisdom, and contented himself with anathematis ing his dear Sophia's thin shoes,and load ing her with presents of sable boas, peie rises; and mantillas, which would have qualified her, had private theetricalsbeen the fashion at Westford, to have taken the part of the heroine of a Russian mel odrama, dressed quite in keeping with the character: Mr. Stanfield might be blind to his wife's illness, but Miss Sowerby was not; the quick apprehension of hate far exceeds that of love. Mrs. Stanfield would not have recourse to medical ad vice; it was evident, then, that her disor der was on the mind, and Miss Sowerby was only anxious to find out the precise nature of it. She knew that her troubles could not proceed from disagreements with her husband, for Miss Sowerby had luckily a spy in the Elbury establishment. Soon after Mr, Stanfield's marriage, his housemaid followed his example; her place was vacant in consequence, and Miss Sowerby's laundress was anxious to see her daughter promoted to the situa tion. Miss Sowerby promised her inter. est, but, like many patrons of higher posts, made it a condition that her pi otegee's lit tle services should be at her command, or in other words, that every , little dispute, trouble, or misunderstanding which might occur in Mr. Stanfield's house from the basement to the attics, should forthwith be conveyed to Miss Sowerby to disperse all over Westford, or not, as it seemed best to her discriminating judgment. Nothing, however, occurred : and as Mar tha Wilson was not a fashionable novel ist, or a penny-a-line contributor to a newspaper, she could not make en inter esting story without any materials fur it; at length, however, she paid a visit to Miss Sowerby's parlour, and poured a welcome tale of scandal into the ears of her delighted patroness. Two months ago, it appeared, Airs Stan field's own maid began to receive letters Iwith the London post-mark, directed in u free, bold, manly hand; she was taxed by the servants with having a lover, and like I most ladies in high or low life, denied the accusation. A few days ago she happens ed to be from home when a letter arrived for her; it was only secured by one of the modern wafers, which are so easily remo ved that honor alone renders them any_se curity at alt. The honor of Martha Wil son was not proof against the temptation; under the pretence of taking care of the letter for its owner, site conveyeed it to her rosin, and carefully removed the waf er—it was only a blank cover ; within was a letter directed to Mrs. Stanfield, but the writer, mole careful of that than of the enclosing sheet, had sealed it with a crest, and Martha, afraid to examine it, lidded it up again, replaced the wafer, gave it to the lady's maid when she re turned, and proceeded to Miss Sowerby to enlighten her a ith the news. Miss Sowerby immediately, of course, placed the worst possible construction on the mystery ; in fact, the circumstance did appear rather suspicious, for Mrs. Stanfield had frequently mentioned that site had no relations living except a fam ily of cousins, 11. ho were settled in Lon don in independent circumstances, and with whom she was in habits of regular and recognised correspondence ; the let ters could not be from any petitioner for her bounty, for the generosity of her hus band rendered it quite unnecessary that such communications should be made in private 'They must conic from a lover,' said Miss Sowerby, and her heart beat with rapture at the thought. She gave Martha five shillings, a donation of unex ampled prodigality on her part, and toll tier at all risks to open the next letter that came, read the contents, and secure it again with a plain seal - ; but, alas I the next letter was taken in by the lady's maid in person, who stood in the hall evi dently on the watch for it, and Miss Sow erby could only console herself by assur ing all her friends at Westford, in the greatest confidence, that she had ascer tained that Airs. Stanfield was in habits of correspondence with a lover, and that she should immediately disclose her con duct to the pour ii.jured husband did she deem it prudent to wait till matters came to a inure decided crisis; consequently the whole female population of Westford look ed on Airs. Stanfield with honor, as be ing something of a mixed personation of Calista in the Fah Penitent, and Alicia in Arden of Fevershatn, and longed as a child for the beginning of a pantomime,
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