VoL. VII, No. 17.] PUBLISHED DV THEODORE H. UREMER. TEP.Me. The "Joni(Nat" 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 for a shorter pe• 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 live cents. If no definite orders are given as to the time an advertisement is to, lie continu ed, it will be kept in till ordered out, and charged accordingly. POETRY. Spring. Sunny Spring is opening, Birds arc mounting on the wing ; Little leaVes are sprouting now, Buds are peeping from the bough ; And, among the branches seen, Smile the little spots of green, Now the infant blade is peeping, Now the farmer speeds the plough, Sunny Spring is smiling now. soletnti Winter speeds away, Faiding like the morning mist, By the early beam of day, Caught, and into waking kiss'd. Now the sad days of the year With their shadows disappear ; Heavy storm and whistling blast ; Many weary hours are past. . _ And the spring Cw: pioneer, Merry smiling Spring is here. Not at in the frozen North, Come, it like a lion forth, Taming them from day to day, - rill a lamb it glides away ; And then marches~prmg along, Even like an olden song, Telling how life's pulses range As the rolling seasons change. Now the laugh of health and joy, Bursting from the gleesome boy, As he, all unconscious why, Shouts ir gladness to the sky ; He' with heart and pulses warm, Feels a new burn rapture swelling ; Tho' the buoyant spring-timecharm Boyhood has no tongue for telling ; Nor can even manhood write Half the happy boy's delight. From the New York American. The Flower. Alone across 2:foreign plain The exile slowly wanders', And on his isle beyond the main, With sitddened spirit ponders. This lonely isle beyond the sea, With all its household treasures— Its cottage homes, its merry birds, And all its rural pleasures ; Its leafy woods, its shady vales, Its moors and purple heather— Its verdant fields bedeck'd with stars, Her childhood loved to gather. When, lo! he starts with glad surprise, lionie joys come rushing o'r him, For " modest wee and crimson tipped," spies a flower before him! With eager haste he stoops him down— llis eyes with moisture hazy, And as he plucks the simple bloom; lie murmurs " Lawk-a-daisy." Tim SONG OF THE SWISS IN A STRANGE LAND. Oh, when shall I visit the land of my birth, The loveliest land on the face of the earth ? When shall I those scenes of affection explore, Our forests, our fountains, Our hamlets our mountains, With the pride of our mountains, the maid I adore Oh when shall I dance on the daisy white mead, In the shade of an elm to the sound of a reed? When shall I return to that lowly retreat, Where all my fond objects of tenderness meet? The lambs and the heifer that follow my My father, my mother, My sister, my brother, And dear Isabella, the joy of them all' Oh when shall I visit the land of my birth' 'I is the loveliest land on the face of the earth ! THE JOURNAL. MISCELLANEOUS. The Burial of the Pastor's Dam :liter. I)1 WILLIAM BACON ' . thou wast too poor to dwell with clay, For sin too poor, for earth too bright! And death who called thee hence away, Placed on his brow a gem of light." The town of - is beautifully situa• ted in one of the western counties of Massachusetts. Its population somewhat sparse for a New England town of the present day, is pretty equally stattered over its lovely territory, hemmed in by mountains on the east and west, and the health and longevity of the inhabitants had, front the earliest : settlement of the placei . been a subject of great rintOtiety.— True, the church-yard inscriptions gave assurance that those of every age had sought refuge from a turbulent world in the holy,sarictuary of the toinb, but their number were greatly in favor of the aged, why, like shocks of corn, had been gath ered in their proper season, or, like the ripe fruit of autumn, "had fallen maturely to the earth." Consumption and most of the diseases that " flesh is heir to," had had their victims; intemperance, " like a strong man armed," had overpowered the young and the robust, or with the flatter ing song of Delilah, had robbed them of their strength by enticing motives, and hurried them prematurely from earthly usefulness and the warm embrace of affection to the unreturning land of forget fulness and silence; yet, in an unusual number ol instances, man having lived his appointed lime upon the earth, had given , up the ghost, and gone home to a better and more enduring inheritance. But the early part of the autumn of i 84— introduced a new era in the history of disease and death in that beautiful valley, through which the balmy mountain air, as it passed along, hail hitherto im parted health and elasticity of spirit to the inhabitants and awoke new hopes in the bosom of the invalid who came to woo its healthful breezes and partake of their salubrious influence. The pestilence that goes in darkness and destruction, that hitherto vale of health. Typhus fever, with its malignant, scorching influence, commenced its insidious workings and rapidly prostrated the aged and young: here, after long arid anxious wav:hing, tearing the kind and affectionate father and husband from the embrace of those whose lives were bound to his andushering • him to the land of spirits ; there, in spite of the cries of infancy and the pleadings of affection, strong as life, calling the young mother from the circle where her file was the soul and centre of present enjoyment and much future hope, and consigning her to the place of dreamless silence, where sorrow's voice cannot pene trate, or wearied solicitude extended her influence. Buoyant youth too, w hose claims on life were guaranteed by rosy health and unshaken firmness, (alas what are youth and health when the power of disease comes upon them) the stay and support of aged widowhood felt the with- ering grasp, and shrinking back, fell into the grave. it is often the case that when malignant disease passes through a region of country, its recurrence the following year may be calculated upon with some degree of cers tainty, especially when natural causes, if such in any way exist, may be supposed, under like circumstances, to produce a similar effect. And how an inveterate fever can break out in a region which for more than half a century, lend been char acterised for its healthfulness, without some natural cause, is a matter on which we shall not risk a speculation. It might have aiisen from a severe draught and sultry sunshine acting in con• cert upon the extensive swampy regions of those parts, and bringing up by their uni ted influence, miasma train a depth which their decomposing power had never before penetrated. At any rate, the season succeeding that whose events we have glanced at, so far as the operations of nature were concerned, claimed close affinity with it, and scarcely had the heat of summer attained its climax, before events kindred to those of the preceeding year, began to develope themselves. Among the earliest victims was Mary S—, the daughter of the pastor.— She and an older sister, had just returned from the Seminary, where the last year had been spent, with all the buoyancy of youthful spirits, again to gladden the in mates of the paternal root with their cheer ing presence, and to spread joy anti festivi ty through the circles who had long antici pated their return with eagerness and solicitude. With what (foaling fondness had the hither looked to the day when he should again fold his long absent ones to his bosom, and listen to the sweet song of his singing birds, whose notes always awakened the raptures of pure devotion in "ORE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINt." HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, NAY 4, 1842, his heaven? With what expectancy he hailed the time when iie should behold the bright blossoming and maturing of mind which it had, from their infancy, been his favorite care to cultivate and train for the richer pci fectiiin of the brighter world to which he was looking forward ? How bright in fancy's glass wa• the picture which the prospective of future years' brought up, when, in his declining days, the warm expression of youthful ardor, ripened into womanhood, should recipro cate his assiduties and watch the warning of life's sun, with care and gentleness, as he hailed its rising, and finally, When "life's fearful feaver closed," by their prayers and songs waft his spirit upward to the heaven of aright realities for which his life had been a scene of preparation, and to which he had so earnestly pointed them as a final home Alas, for the frailty of human expecta tion! As in the natural world the bright morning sun is frequently obscured by angry clouds—as the fair flower soon withers and is gone—the ripe fruit drops earliest from the stem, so it is with human expectation. The rosy cheek nurtures and conceals the worm which is to destroy its healthful hue ; the firmest constitution often yields most rapidly to disease Which hurries its victim to the tomb, while the feeble and infirm live on ; those who promise the greatest usefulness on the earth are frequently called the earliest to the skies. Mary returned to her parents the picture of health; elasticity was in all her motions, and the buoyancy of spirit which characterizes energy of soul was remarkably hers. Life, apparently, spread its prospect broad and fair before her.— Her dreams of future usefulness seethed almost positive realities. But her work was well nigh done. In one short month after her return, the workings of disease were visible in her system. Solicitude manifested itself in the long and anxious watchings of her friendo, and their sorrow ful countenances told of the fears they too truly cherished, that death would soon blight their fondest prospects with regard to one on whom they had Boated so fondly. Medical skill united its strongest ener gies, the fervent prayers of the righteous were offered by many yielding hearts for "She died! 'CAS' like the setting of some star, Or like the fading of a flower or like The passing of some breeze, or falling of Some pearly dew-drop from its resting place Amidst its fragile leaves. She died! 'Twas like The melting of the snow, or some sound Dissolving into silence, or some dream Passing away in beauty, leaving but The memory of its loveliness." And during the last conflicts of nature she was not insensible to her fate. She felt that the cold hand of death was pres sing the life blood from the vitals, and that the wasting of disease was to termi• nate only with her mortal existence.-- And, as she felt the life stream ebbing in her system, she spoke to her sorrowing I I sister of the pure notes of praise in which their voices would Pre long blend in the • bright world to which her submissive spirit must soon pass away, and of the green fields and flowery mountains and streams which engage their attention in their heavenly home. She comforted her, afflicted parents with the kind. assurance that their assiduities for lier on the earth would not be lost to her in a heavenly in heritance, for which their pious care had formed the mihd. So calm and easy was her transition from earth to heaven, that not a tntiscle of her features was disquieted by the act of separatioa. Her countenance .exhibited only the paleness ) none of the agonies of death. The smile she was accustomed to wear while in health, yet rested on her. lips, and her eyes were closed as calmly as in peaceful slumber. For three days they kept that precious clay, which, While thespirit which inhabited it was there, was so preeititis, and still it altered not. Whenever the afflicted fath er removed the cloth to view the cold remains, her countenance met !rim in its native loveliness, only the spirit was not there. Yet as he looked upon the broken vessel of disappointed hopes he felt the assured COINCIOUSTWRI, that though her earthly tabernacle had fallen, still "She lived! The star was shining in a brighter sphere— The breeze had gently winged its way to heaven ; The dew drop was exhaled from earth; the snow Could vie not with her robes of purity ; Iler natne is now a sound that straps love." The time had arrived when the dust he had cherished with so much fondness, was no longer to he his ; but 'oust be con signed to the cold damp earth, to hold communion with the Wilms and moulder with its original. It was an hour to test the philosophy or the religion he had long proclaimed to his fellow men. lie had been with them in their hour of sorrow and anguish, when they must separate from the dear objects of their affection, and had pointed them through the bright avenues of hope, to the world where sorrow and parting will he known no more. His day of trial had now come, and those who had received sweet sOunds of sympathy from his lips, were gathered in a mournful group, to reciprocate the kind feelings he had generously extended to them. There, too, were the blooming associates of Mary. But a few weeks had passed since they met to welcome her return, and receive greetings from her lips, which were closed forever. Then, she recounted to them her past pleasures, and together they dwelt in future anticipations. Then they joined with her in the sweet isys of music -- walked with her over the fields of velvet, rich in the emerald of summer—plucked the ripe berry from the brambie, gathered the beauteous flower front the mossy bank of the woodland dell, or listened to the accordant notes of the forest songster. Now, impressed with the consciousness that all these harmless enjoyments were) forever at an end, they spake with falter.' ing tongue and moistened eye : and as the venerable pastor saw their sorrow, thoughts of the past, in contrast with the present, rushed upon his memory. The retrospect of years was before him, as he bowed his head in meek submission. At length the remains were removed from the dwelling through which she had so lately moved with youthful vigor, and one by one the sorrowing concourse passed to give the last offering of affection, the farewell look to their common friend; and as their tears fell uprin the face they should " see not again till the heavens are no more," many an eye unused to weeping, let fall the sorrowing tribute of a tear.— Nor did man alone, nor lovely woman, hold solitary communion with sorrow in that hour. The skies were shadowed with weeping clouds, the hoarse autumn winds sighed along tjt* mountains, and " the sere and yellow leaves" of autumn fell, rustling from their branches on that mourning day. And amid all these scenes of bitterness atid grief, the man of tied led his weeping family to the lowly bier, to bid his sleep ing dust farewell. All eyes rested upon him, and the triumphs of his faith were perceptible in his countenance. lie spake of the ressurrection aria the life, and of the 98V/aßcg:Allt,Jiw4e, IYIIR ANA iP AcAH upon the earth in his latter day glory— ot the "new heaven and earth" to he prepa red for his faithful followers, in which parting and death and sorrow shall be known no more. In consequence of the expected arrival of an only brother, who was absent, the final interment of ,Mary'; remains were deferred. However, as all hopes of his reachio ; r his afflicted friends 14 the pres ent, vanished with the setting sun, it was tiinu;lit expedient to delay the burial service no longer ; and Again the n u n n •ning lamily, accompanied by a few friends, Moved slowly and solemnly towards the grave, which had already received its trust, but upon which the sal of final rest had not been placed. And what more appro priate time than evening could have been chosen to bury one so lovely! Then, the world is shut from observation. Men have forsaken their busy haunts. Curiosity has, in a measure, ceased its promptings. There is a quietude in the evening hour which gives it a sacredness above common time. There is solemnity in it, especially when morurnful rites are to he performed, toe which no other part of day is equal.— , The sympathising stars, looking from their far otf orbits on the earth—the moon shining in her paleness, and the universal' stillness which broods over the earth, im • part to mild evening many a charm, which !s sweet, though tinged with sadness. Few were the words which were spoken as we again looked down into the dark sepulchre, and for the lad time surveyed the narrow house that contained the mor tal part of the lovely youth, whose early fate we all deplored ; and as we looked and thought of her excellence and present glory—of the bright change thrdugh which she had passed, the rattling earth upon the coffin broke the reverie; and as we raised the little mound and placed the turf, which Joust remain the future guardians of the sacred spot, the full moon, from be hind the folding clouds, sent her peerless ray to add sanctity to the scene. Again the aged and sorrow stricken; pastor spoke of the resurrection and the, life, and; told his sorrowing ones that' though the separation which they hail endured was lull of bitterness and an guish, yet the hour of reunion in a better world was as sure as the sacredness of the word of God. 'Poo Ben,--An Exchange paper states that a buy having got his father's snuffbox, indulged so immoderately in the titillating dust, that he sneezed himself to pieces. tits remains having been gathered up, a coroner's inquest was held over them, when the enlightened jury returned a verdict of suryb.(l ens." The Children of the Rich and IPoor4 We sometimes hear parents regret their inability to bequeath to their cher ished offspring, the means of abundant independence. Indeed, if we look through society, we shall nut tail to dis cover hundreds, who toil from day to day and from year to year, not for the means of immediate independence, not because they apprehend poverty-..but front a de sire to accumulate large fortunes, and to leave behind them immense estates. And yet, the experience of all times shows that in four cases out of five, the children of the poor man, or at least of the citizen in moderate circumstances, are more likely to live uprightly, and to enjoy . a fair portion of earthly happiness, than those of the rich. The truth is, the soul of the poor man is taught to depend upon, his own efforts. Ile knows that on ar riving at the age of 21, he will be com pelled to enter the arena of a world where money is the chief object of the multitude —that unless he posesses industry, energy and activity, his chance of independence will be exceedingly meagre. Thus he fits himself at least for the trials and vi cissitudes of life, He enters into corn petition with his fellow-men with a stout heart and keen spirit, determined if pos sible, to win his way to something like fortune. He understands some buisness, and therefore the means of employing his time. He feels that reputation is all es- ; sential to his success, and lie therefore controls his passions, respects the laws, and endeavourd to act with propriety: He is bound not only by self-interest, but by all the ordinary obligations of man, to pursue a course which shall win for him, not only the esteem of his fellow-civa tures, but a due degree of contentment and earthly happiness. But Mimi is it with the rich man's son? He soon ascert iins the wealth of his par ents, and his probable condition of pecu niary independence arising out of that wealth: The incentive to industry is at once taken away. He perliaps thinks that he may defy the world, insomuch as his expected fortune will place him beyond the necessity of industry. Habits of idle ness and extravagance are thus formed, p"o n s a se a s t sfo h rt o d r c ifien e ort t h e e — P t a io re w nt h'erlu n e li n i t i l ' y e does it happen that a race of gaiety, fash ion and profligacy commences, which is not checked, untill the misguided and mis educated man finds himself plunged in all the horrors of dissipation, with neither the mental nor the moral energy to retrace his footsteps. The rich fathers, we con tend, do not educate their children, except in rare instances, under a system to suit them for the possession and management of wealth. It seems to us, that this is in ' deed the most difficult task that could be imposed upon a parent. The Most advi sable:mode we will not attempt to describe. The position of a parent possessing an im mense fortune, with boys on whom he (Wats with all a father's Mildness, and the conciousness, at the same time, that his suns are not suited to the management of money, and their possession of it is as likely to lead to their ruin as arts thing else, is one indeed pregnant with difficulty. Look through the cominuffity of Phila. delphia at the present time, and our mean ing will be fully illustrated. How many of the pour men of the present day, the bankrupts, the exhausted spendthrifts, the dissolute and the objects Of sympathy._ are the same suns of the rich of former times? How few, Ott the other hand, of the rich men of the present day, became so by the estates left them by their fath ers! On the contrary, property ;5 con stantly changing hands in this country— the rich and the idle become poor, while the children of the honest, the millistrious and the enterprsing, take their places in the ranks of wealth. Who were our Ridgways and Girards in early Mel— Thus, then, we argue, that altho' it may sometimes be a source of anxiety that we cannot leave our children abundance of wealth—the habits of industry, activity, perseverance and integrity, are far more likely to tender them happier, better, wi ser, and in the end niore prosperous than if they had been brought up to the use of purple and fine linen, horses and costly vehicles, gay society and extravagant ex pectatiOns.— Philaelelplua Inquirer. A FRUGAL flousrAvirE.—The follow ing, which we clip from the Knickerbock er of the past month, is the neatest thing of the kind we have seen for many a day : "I knew Deacon 'l'. well. lle was the guardian of my early years, and I resided with loin for a considerable period. There is some mistake, 1 think, concerning his charity. My grand-lathier must have con founded the acts of some other individual with those of Deacon 'l'. lie was never known to give money in charity but once, and that was a bail fourpeuce•ha'penny which hail Mlle back to him some twenty times in the way of trade, and which he at last gave away in a lit of desperation. Ile always said, when applied to for r hazily ; OVItoLE No. 329. "Go to Hannah, (his wife,) she always at ; tends to such things." She was a woman in whose economy and discretion in nat ' ters of benevolence he could place the most implicit confidence- , and he knew it. On one special occasion, a birthday, I be lieve, the good lady made up a batch of extra-nice custard pies; so nice, in tact, that after they were done, she had n't the courage to eat them ; but hoarded them up until they became sour and mouldy, and then endeavored to thrust them dots ti the throats of her family. But they " would n't go down." She then mixed them all over again into a pud ding, hoping to disguise the taste by the addition of pearl-ash arid other culina:y arts. This was a failure. 'llie parlor folk quietly declined being helped to it, and the kitchen girls turned up their no ses over it. But the old lady's ingenuity was not exhausted. She had a sick neigh- Jim., a poor woman, who hail been lan guishing for months in a consumption, and wit characteristic benevolence she Idetermined to administer the rejected pud ding to her. It was accordingly again dressed over and served up in the shape of cup custard, and carried to the sick woman by the lady herself. lint she was too ill to eat then. ; and the next and the next passed away, and they still remained untouched. At last the nurse, trio had looked at the nice little things with a longing eye, ventured to taste one. She thought it was sour ; she tasted again mid was sure of it. The whole was then con signed to the pig stye ; and its occupant, who came in immediately after"—thrust his snout in the-trough, and then upset it ; and thus the custards were lost beyond redemption. But the Beacon enjoyed the credit of the good ; and months after, I heard the poor sick woman lamenting the. loss of her custards : " It she could only have eaten them when they were first brought." From the Lycoming Gazttte, A Ramble. We had a touch of summer on Wednes day last. yr c took a ramble by the river side in the morning, and our heart and • hopes beat high. Never did the face of natura wear a more bright, a more glori ous, or a more happy appearance. The t;,.tdq looked green and smiling —the Sus quehanna flowed on in a swift yet placid manner ; its broad bosom rippled with the gentle breeze. Buds and blossoms were bursting forth in ail directions--and the sweet songsters of the wood and field made Vocal with notes as pure, as tender, and as thrilling as lover's vows. We met with a fine, bouncing girl in our sti aft— One of her shoe strings was untied, and the ends were trailing in the dust. It looked slatternly ; besides, if the careless and lovely creature had trod on the said strings, the catastrophe might have been awful. We accosted her—the danger was imminent, and there was no time to be lost. " Mi9c, }our shoe strings are untied.' Sir!" " Your--"' " Excuse —me--your—ah--shoe--- 'strings—ah—and I thought—ah—" " You're impert—' She did not finish the word, tier na tihe goodness of heart prevailed, and as she repaired damages unaided, she smiled forgiveness, and we parted company. She scudded before the vvind us gracefully as a Baltimore clipper, until she was lo,t in the distance; and we hauled to the lee ward, like some crippled privateor. NVe had boarded what oe thought W.I. a fair price, and had been suddenly ai d unex pzi.ctedly repulsed. Strange;world. ONLY A MECHANIC.—This expression in often in the mouths of some of our fashionables, who would give an infinity of taint screams should they be brought iii contact with any one who had ever earned an honest livelihood. Two young ladies, who now move in the upper circles, though one assurnesia higher range than the other has yet aspi , red to, met not long since at a ball. The most lofty of the two misses took no pains to conceal from the other her idea of her superiority, and the other had no idea of submitting to be snubbed by one whose origin she well knew was nu better than her own. Very coolly, therefore, though with that concentrated bitterness that a woman of the world knows so well how to sugar over with smiles of 's inning sweetness, the indignant lady walked up to the haug!i• ty one. "Good eveninz, Miss Sisson," said Miss Taylor, very prettily. Miss Mason curtsied so formally. "I have been thinking my dear Miss Mason, that we ought to exchange nan►es," said Miss Taylor so smilutgly•. IVhy so, pray: , ' " Why, toy name is Taylor, and my la ther was a mason; while your name is Mason, and your lather a , as a tailor." Miss Mason said nothing, but took the first opportunity of treading on Miss Tay lor's toes; she gave two parties directly afterwards, on purpose no; to invite her. Sir! „
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