VOL. Vii, No. 101 PUBLISHED BY THEODORE H. CREMER. TERM. The “iOUItNAL" will be published every Wednesday morning, at two dollars a year, if paid IN ADVANCE, and if not paid within six months, two dollars and a half. No subscription received fora shorter per rind than six months, nor any paper discon tinued till all arrearages are paid. Advertisements not exceeding one square, will be inserted three times for one dollar•, and for every subsequent insertion twenty five cents. If no definite orders are given as to the time an advertisement is to be continu ed, it will be kept in till ordered out, and charged accordingly. POETRY. From the Saturday Courier. The home of my Childhood. I stood beside the sunny spot Of childhood's happy home, And viewed each favorite hill and dale, Where I was wont to roam. I sought the gentle winding stream, Where often, when a child, I listened to its melody, Which many an hour beguiled No more its gentle murmurs fell Like music on my ear ; For sad remembrance in my heart er3led forth a sigh and tear. And there's the bower where oft I strayed At the still hour of even, And gazed upon the twinkling gems That stud the vault of Heaven. The garden spot I called my own, Where flourished many a flower,— The rose-tree, planted by my care, Hard by the woodbine bower,— Seem strangely, sadly altered now. With weeds all overgrown,— And sadness o'er my spirit steals, For I am all alone. No tender mother's voice I hear, No gentle form I see ; No father's care, or sister's smile,— Beloved, but lost to me. And where are ye ? I call in vain; Faint echo answers where? And to my heart a voice responds— The loved ones are not here." For stranger forms now cluster round The home I culled my own ; Adieu, loved home, no longer mine, 'Tis now a stranger's home. But here's a withered rose I'll keep, Memento of the past; No longer beautiful—but still A fragrance round it lasts. Thus o'er my hear . fter life, When youthfu l,. s are fled, And years but bri . weight of care; , , Shull Memory's s . :Ots be shed. ISCIEiIANEOUS. THE FIRST OFFER. Itl/ Itirss wtrioniaszen , Susan Willis was a sprightly, cherry cheated girl of seventeen, when she made her conquests. Edward Littleton loved her with all the sincerity of a young and ardent soul, and made her honorable pro- , posals ; she was pleased with his prefer ence, allowed his visits, because she loved to be admired ; she rode with him to show the world she had made a conquest; but when,.after having frequently ur g ed her on the subject of marriage, he told her he would have a decided answer, she laugh ed, and told him she hoped he did not think that one so young and so much ad mired as herself would become the wife of a poor mechanic. He blushed deeply, then fixing his eyes on her face with a de termined look, he asked her if she was in earnest—" never more so," she earnestly replied. "Susan,' continued he, " you ought to have told me so before—why have you received my attention so long, and by your conduct taught me to hope that my warm affection was reciprocated?" " Hof you trust every smile, then," she sneeringly replied. Edwaid felt his heart breaking—and, after wishing her a long and happy life, he hurried from her pres ence. He had no sooner left her than he felt himself released from a dangerous' snare; he consoled himself by reflcting 1 that she was unworthy of his love—and, if he was not altogether so happy as he •Iyight be, he was not so unhappy as he . tifPOted to be. Ile applied himself closely to business, and in the course of a few THE JOURNAL. months married an amiable woman, who brought him not only much personal worth but adiandsome estate. In the mean time Susan, proud of her i conquest, and dreaming herself as much 1 adinii ed by all as she had been by the faithful Edward, thought herself entitled to select such a husband as she should prefer from among the village beaux; but her vanity soon became obvious to every one, end the young men were so disgusted with her airs of coquetry that they all forsook her ; it was also known that she had ill treated Edward Littleton--and, as he was beloved by all for his steady and amiable disposition, no one, either old or young, thought any better of her on that a - count. Time rolled rapidly along, and Susan Found herself twenty-two years of age, without having had the second offer. It is true that a narrow faced bachelor of fifty once asked her father's consent to address her, and she fretted a whole week and would not go to meeting, because her 1 prudent lather gave him a negative an• ' sorer without consulting her. There was, also, some stranger in the village who would perchance, bow politely, it not sig- nificantly, to her as he passed her window, and even sometimes ask her to take a morning ride in his carriage—but what of that? No one professed what Edward had, and she began to reflect a little sor• rowfullf on the unkind treatment she had given him. He was now in easy circum stances, and might sometimes be seen ri- ding in his own carriage, with his wife and two blooming children. Three years passed away, and susan began to think in good earnest that she would be under the sad necessity of living a life of "single blessedness," when a new personage came to pass a few months in the village. He wore a gold watch, rode in an elegantly gilt chaise, and what was more than all,' he came directly from the city. The vit., lagers looked upon hint almost as a supe., rior being, and no one spoke higher in hit praise than Susan Willis, for he passed her window every day, and always took particular pains to make her a fashionable what was her eestacy of delight when, after having shown her much attention during the evening, he very politely offered to escort her home. This was indeed a mo ment of triumph to the neglected Susan. She had caught the city beau : and the disdainful looks she cast on those around her as he conducted her through the crowd. ed room, were such as could not easily be misunderstood; the fine gilt chaise was waiting at the door, and when she found herself seated within it, and the wheels runnitsgmerrily around,she almost thought she was in another world, and fancied herself an angel. From this evening the stranger was an almost constant visitor at the house of Mr. Willis—and Susan was) often heard to draw comparisons between the manners and equipage of the city beau and those of the rustic youth of her own' village. She was seen frequently riding in the gilt chaise, and then she would pass the neat white mansion of Edward Little ton, who was now a widower, and dwell on the splendors which her new lover promised her when he should take her to the city. She thought much on the differ ence between her first and second offer, and very gravely said she had always be lieved it best for girls to wait until they had some sense, before they should choose a companion for life. Splendid preparations were now ma-1 king at the house of Mr. Willis for the accommodation of a large party. Susan's lover had sent to the city to purchase a suit of apparel, which he declared would out rival the very sun itself; he also gave orders to have a maid accompany it, who should be capable of waiting on the soon• to-be new bride, in a fashionable style.— The young people began to say among themselves—" Miss Willis is about leav ing us, and why should we part with un friendly feelings', 'Tis true she has some i faults, and who among us has not', Yet I confess I always thought her a fine girl on the whole, and it is a downright shame that we have so long neglected her ; it is no more than just for us now to make amends for our past conduct." It was, therefore a unanimously agreed upon among the young villagers to go, on a particular day, and make Miss M , illis a formal visit —the ladies in the afternoon and the gen tlemen in the evening. The custom of sending complements, cards, &c., had not vet reached this rural hamlet—and so, all Of a sudden full fifteen or twenty belles stood at the door of Mr. Willis, knocking for admission. After waiting for the usual salutation of "come in," the door was suddenly opened, and the city beau stood before them. After many ceremo.. vies he Introduced them into the parlor where Mr. Willis was sitting, and imme diately retired. At the expiration of halt an hour he returned, with Susan leaning on his arm, who, when she had courtesied very ceremoniously to the ladies, inform. ed . them that she was going to take an airing and would not return until late in - - "ONE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY." HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY I MARCH 16, 1842. the evening, but her father would enter• tarn them. They all instantly rose with• out replying., and hurried Irons the house, each secretly promising herself never to bestow her attention on one whom she knew to be unworthy of them. Mr. Willis was a plain honest man, and did not altogether like the proceedings of the day--but his daughter was old enough to act for herself— as she used to tell him when he essayed to give her advice. About this time a covered carriage ar rived in the village, and three strangers alighted from it. They were seen con-' versing with some of the inhabitants, when they proceeded to the house of Mr. Wil- lis, and returned, having the city beau in close custody. They conveyed him to the jail for safe keeping until they should depart. It appeared that he - was not only a married man and a bankrupt, but had put his hand on other goods, for which crime he was now arrested. This was a mighty blow to Miss Susan. The vil!age girls, of course, laughed a little about the wedding party which was to come from the city, and they also hinted about the waiting maid and the dress like the sun; but all this did not harm poor Susan--she had other and heavier troubles. Many weeks passed away, and she was seen by no one except her kindred, and they spoke doubtfully of her recovery from the dread ful shock she lied received. At length, however, she appeared again—but it was with such a look of humbled pride that not even her direct enemy felt a disposi tion to upbraid her, or laugh at her mis. fortune. Now site remembered with ago ny the first offer, and thought she was pursued by the just judgment of heaven for her treatment of the faithful Edward. She had loved him, and had not her pride and)ove of admiration been so great, she certainly would have married him in pref erence to all the world beside. Her mind was occupied with these thoughts one day, when who should enter the parlor but Edward himself. A faint ray of hope crossed her bosom at the sight of him; but when she remembered the scenes that had occurred since she there of tears. He t;pitroaclied . and seated him- ' self near her—inquired in . a, voice, net of reproach but pity, how she had enjoyed herself since they hail last conversed to gether. She freely confessed all her folly, and acknowledged she had felt deeply condemned for her conduct towards him self. "'!'item" replied he, with a bitter smile, "you have learned that the sincere affection of a poor mechanic is not to be despised !" His words cut her to the heart, and she entreated him to forbear.— " I have ever prayed for your happiness, Susan," he said, looking in her face with an expression of tenderness that induced her for a moment to believe that he would forget her faults, and his former affection would return. But, when the heart's fervent hope has been broken, and its best and most intense feelings suddenly wrecked, it is like a. blasted tree, seared with the high lightning of heaven, and can never again be verdant! Edward felt sensible of this, and, although lie could freely pity and forgive the repenting fair one, he could never love or trust her more. Atter giving her some salutary ad. v'ce he left her to the bitterest reflection, that it is easier to lose than regain a lover. Some months after he married again, and his second choice was not inferior to! his first. Susan's cup of disappointment was now full, for she had all along secretly indulged the hope that site should yet win him back to her love. She lived a solitary being in her father's house until she had gained the hopeless age thirty•five, when, rather than bear the stigma of an old maid, she married a wid ower, without fortune, good nature, or anything to recommend him, except an ugly person and a large family of small children. It was now that the unhappy Susan began to feel in reality the conse quences of her first errors, poverty and the unkindness of her sorrows '• yet she sometimes thought it she could fo rget the past, she should be comparatively happy. Frequently when the carriage of Edward Littleton passed, she would retire and weep, until the faculties of life seemed almost suspended. At length she left her husband and re turned to her father's house, where she • passed the remainder of her days. Ever after, when conversing with young people on the subject of matrimony, she would say to them with a heavy look—" Look well to the first offer !" " Nor ExAcrtr."—" Have you eVer been much at sea 1" Why no, not exactly; but my brother married a commodore's daughter." " Were you ever abroad 1" " No, not exactly; but may mother's maid . n name was 'French' " Jabe says he knows a family, who are in the habit of having nothing for hi eakfast, and warming it up for dinner. He thinks the boys would tnake good printers. The Proud .an. The provd man is a fool in ferments tion, that swells and boils over like a, porridge pot. He sets out his feathers like an owl, to swell and seem bigger than he is. He is troubled with a tumor and in flamation of self conceit, that renders him stiff and uneasy. He has given himself sympathetic love powder, that works upon him to dotage, and has transformed him into his own mistress. Ile is his own gal lant, and makes passionate addresses to his own dear perfections. He commits idolatory to himself, and worships his own image•—though there is no soul living of his church but himself, yet he believes as the church believes, and maintains his faith with the obstinacy of a fanatic. Ile is his own favorite. and advances himself, not only above his own merit, but above man kind is both Damon and Pythias to his own dear self, and values his crony-above his soul. He gives place to no man but himself, and that with very great distance to all others, whom he esteems not worthy to approach him. " He believes whatever he has receives a value in being his ; as a horse in a nobleman's stable will bear a in greater price than the common market. He is so proud, that it is as hard to be ac quainted with himself as with others, for he is very apt to forget who he is, and knows himself only superficially; there• fore he treats himself civilly as a stanger, with ceremony and compliment, and ad mits, of no privacy. He strives to look bigger than himself, as well as others, and is no better than his own parasite and flatterer.. A little flood will make a shallow tor rent swell above its banks, and rage and foam, and yield a roaring noise, while a deep quiet stream glides quietly on; so a vain glorious, insolent, proud man, swells with a little frail prosperity, grows big and loud, and overflows its bounds, and when he sinks leaves mud and drit be hind him. His carriage is as glorious and haughty, as if he advanced on men's shoulders, or tumbled over their heads like Knipperdolin,g. He fancies himself a .2nri en. ha in. 1: 7 ,1.1...1. dation is lesser than his upper stories.— We can naturally take no view of our selves, unless we look downwards, to teach us what humble admirers we ought to be of our own value. The slighter and less solid his materials are, the more room they take up, and make him swell the bigger, as feathers and cotton will stuff cushions better than things of more solid parts.—Butler. Swear Mot at Ml. In a suit tors divorce recer.tly tried its New Haven, a Mrs. L-onard Tuttle, was called to give testimony. She declined swearing .or affirming. The Judge told her to:wait until afternoon and think of it. But she said she had thought of it. The j New Haven Herald says : Mr. Joel Hinman, counsel for the pe titioner, now rose and stated to the Court that he wished the testimony of Mrs. Leonard Tuttle. Judge Church asked it j the counsel on both sides could not agree that the lady might tell her story without either oath cc affirmation.—To this they a*reed. His !loner then requested Mrs. 1 uttle to tell what she saw, without going through the formality of oath or affirmation. To this she replied, "I do not feel at lib• erty to do so. ' Judge—" Do yon refuse?" Mrs. Tuttle—"l do." Judge--" I see no Way to avoid a com mitment; and if I do it, I shall tin it with more regret than I have felt in any official act I have ever done. Mr. Clerk make out a warrant of commitment for con- —.— tempt of Court, till she give evidence in this case, or until further order of the Court, and predicate it upon her refusal to give evidence either upon oath or affirma tion or in any manner whatsoever." The lady was then taken into custody. Mr. Hinman asked his Honor if the hus. band of the lady might go to jail with hen His Honor answered that he certainly had no objections, it' the jailer had none The cause remains in statu 4uo, an unless the lady gives in or the petitioner) gives in, must remain so to all eternity. The lady's husband, it is understood, is like his wife, a perfectionist and non-resis• laid, recognising no human institution.-- The lady expressed great satisfaction at the comfortable accommodations at' Sheriff Curtiss, and said they were much better than those her Saviour had. She is deter• mined to be a martyr of the 19th century, and is no doubt now highly enjoying her martyrdom in her quiet way. And who shall gainsay her right to the dtown I Is she not suffering for conscience sake. as truly as ever did the pilgrim fathers 1 A feller passed through town, a few days since, so all fired green, that a cow jumped from its enclosure, and followed him for several miles, thinking him a veg etable production. Popping the Question. To us, gent!emen, this popping the clues , lion is often no easy matter. It. drives, I verily believe, a bashful man almost into hysterics. Many a cold sweat, many a choking in the throat, many a knocking of the knees together, have these poor ras cals before they summon courage to ask a girl to have them. But it isn't so, egad, mill all—some do it with easy impudence —some do it in a set speech—some do it because they can't help it—and some never do it at all, but get married as if it were by instinct Only give two lovers fair play, kick your match-making aunts to the deuce, and my life for it, the most demure will find a way of being understood, even if like old Sir Isaac Newton, they have to make love with their toot. As they get cozier, they will sit gazing in each others' eyes, until at last when they least expect it, perhaps the question will pop out like a cork from a champagne bottle. It will pop itself. It's all nonsense this lending young folks a helping hand—take my word for it all they wish is to be left alone—and it there be any confounded youngsters about let them be put to bed or drowned, it don't matter a fig which. If lovers have no tongues, hay nt they eyes, egad: and where is the simpleton, that can't tell whether a girl loves him without a word on her part? No one adores modesty more than I do; btit the most delicate angel of them all won't diguise her little heart when you are alone with her. A blush, a sigh, a studied avoidance of you, in company, and a low, thrilling, trembling' of the voice at times when no one else is by, tell inure than the smiles of a thousand coquettes. Ali you needn't, Amy, shake your head—you'll no doubt be soon enough —but it you fall in love, as you will, my - word on it—the very echo of one footstep will make your heart flutter like a frigh ted bird. JEREMY STIORT. REMARKABLE ESCAPE—The Utica Ob• server 'states that when the bridge across the Mohawk, was swept away in the late frth°, olf o and thus escaped. Unfortunately, Mr! George Woodford was upon the sinking end of the bridge, and in imminent danger of being crushed. With great presence of mind, in an, Instant he tore off his over , coat and dove deep into the water, pas• sing entirely beneath the timbers, and not rising to the surface until he had passed both bridges. Not having been able to', free himself from his boots and other gar ments, he became much exhausted by this wonderful feat; but at this moment he secured floating planks, and placing him• self upon them, was carried down the stream at a rapid rate, near halt a mile, when his raft struck upon a quantity of lodged brush and floodwood. On this pile he endeavored to save himself ; but in getting upon it he lost his planks. The horror of this situation may be imagined. Midnight darkness prevailed—he was in the midst or a rapid current, surrounded by floating ice, and a heavy rain was beat ing on his bare head ; he feels the pile beneath him giving away ;-in a moment all is dissolved, and again he is compelled to swim for life. Becoming greatly chilled, he finds his strength fast failing him ; he is borne down by the ftwod ; one effort more, he makes for a tree; with the utmost difficult) he reached it, and climbs into its bi +inches. here lie commenced calling loudly for assistance and fortunately he was heard by Mr. Rogers and others who were in search. Lights and a boat were protured and Mr. W. Was released from his perilous situation. Seldom is recor ded so remaikable an escape from death. LAWFUL REVENGE.--Many years lake, a gentleman of Newington, a parish of Westfield Conn., who was a very religious and conscientious man, married one of the most ill natured and troublesome women which could be found in the vicinity.— This occasioned a universal surprise wherever he was known ; and one of his neighbors ventured to ask him the reason which governed his choice. He replied, that having had but little trouble in the world he was fearful of becoming too much attached to things of sense, and he thought by experiencing some affliction, he should becotnc more weaned from the world, and he married such a woman as he thought would accomplish this object. The best part of the story is, that the wile, hearing the rearson why he married her, was offended, and, out of revenge, became one of the most pleasant and du tiful wives in the town; declaring that she was not going lobe made a pack Jiorse to carry her husband to Heaven. PRETTY GOOD.—The Picayune tells a story of an old horse so far gone that he was not able to die. He used to lean on the sunny side of the barn, without strength enough to wink the flies from lila eyelids, and his owner was finally compelled to get another horse to help the poor animal to draw his last breath: [WuoLE No. 322. Good Counsel. No young man can hope to rise in so. ciety, or act worthily his part in life without a fair moral character. The basis of such a character is a virtuous fixed principle; or a sleep fixed sense of moral obligation, sustained or invigorated by the fear and love of Uod. The youth who possesses such a character can be trusted. Integrity, truth, benevolence and justice. are not with him words without meaning ; he knows and he feels their sacred im port, and aims in the tenor of his life, to exemplify the virtues they express. Such a man has independence of character; he thinks and acts for himself, and is not to he made a tool to serve the purpose of party. Such a man has a true worth of character; and his life is a blessing to himself, to his family, to society, and to the world. Aim, then; my friends, to attain this character; aim at virtue and moral excel lence. This is the first, the indispensiblo qualification of a good citizen. It im parts life and strength and beauty, not only to individual character, but to all the institutions and interests in society. It is indeed the dew and rain that nourish the vine and fig tree, by which we are shaded and refreshed, Emmy Rtstirci.—The late Chief Barots O'Grady, who like the matutine planets, was g e nerally up before the sun, was al ways in the same predicament with refer ence to his own son, Dennis, whose slums bers were often prolonged far in the morning: Once, when the Baron was on circuit, and knew that his son wasengaged as barrister in the tirtit cause, he hurried into his bedroom, and, waking him up without much ceremony, exclaimed, " Up with you, Dennis: remember it's the early bird that catches the worm." "Serves the worm tight for being up still earlier than the bird," replied the sluggard, rub bing his eyes. REPUDIATION.-" Good mornin." cuff Llnk s—l c a in. ffit„to, n u m. Smyth vun hands of little nigga Billl" " Sambo Stinks, I hab de honor to de• form you dat I hab received dat account' and dat I acknowledge de bebt ; but, sah. let me also deform you dat a change hab come ober de state of tings, and dat I sols emnly repudiate de account, and will nebber pay it, so help the Mrs. Sippi!" "Cutf, you is a dishonest nigger I" "No, you brack African. I does but follow de fashion ob de times—i always was a fashionable daily." Let me see a female possessing the beauty of a meek and modest deportment —ot an eye that bespeaks intelligence and purity within—of the lips that speak no guile; let me see in her a kind, benevo• lent disposition, a heart that can sympa thise with distress, and• I will never ask for the beauty that dwells in ruby lips, or flowing tresses, or snowy hands, or the forty other etceteras upon which our poets have harped on for su many ages. Those fade when touched by the hand of time ; but these ever• enduring qualities of the herrt will outlive the reign of those, and grow brighter and fresher, as the ages of eternity roll away. A CAUTION TO LADIES.—On Thursday afternoon, says the Baltimore Clipper, as two ladies were passing down Baltimore street on the side walk, near Harrison. one wearing a red shawl, a large ox, one of a drove that was passing in the same di rection, attracted by the color of the shawl, made furiously at her, and she was only preserved from injury by the animal slip• ping upon the curb and falling heavily upon the pavement, when the ladies ran into a store near. After being driven from there to the street, he made an at• tempt to attack a colored woman who was , crossing before the drove with a red hand' kerchief on hei head, Lut was prevented i by the boy who accompanied the drove. i Such is the antipathy of these animals to , any thing red. SECRET UP DOMESTIC ENJOYMENT , ... One great secret of domestic 'enjoyment is too much overlooked ; it lies in bringing our wants down to our circumstances. instead of toiling to bring our circuinAtan cCi up to our wants. Wants will always be ahead of means and there wilt be an end to the race, if you set the latter to chasing the former. Put the yoke of self denial to desires apply the spur of industry to energy, and if the latter does not over. take the former, ;t will at least keep itt sight of it. . RtuicuLovs.--Some silly down east oils sent to Hoz to obtain a lock of his hair. He declined, saying that if he complied with all such requests he should be bald. If Buz deep not find some lu• dicrous ninnies among those who dance attendance on him, whom he can take WY in his future Pickwickian pictures, it will be strange.
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