Vol,. VII, No. 19.] PUBLISHED BY , THEODORE H. CREMER. Timms. The "JonaNAL" 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 receive,' for a shorter pe • nsd than six months, nor any paper discon tinued till all arrearages are paid. qetdvertisements not exceeding one square, be inserted three times for one dollar, for ?ery subsequent insertion twenty cents. If no definite orders are given as to the time an advertisement is to be continu ed. it wilLbe kept in till ordered out, and charged ittordingly. POETRY. From the Christian World. The Summer Birds. DT DIRS. AMELIA D. WELDY Sweet warblers of the sunny hours, Forever on the wing— I love them as I love the flowers, The sunlight and the spring. They come like pleasant memories, In Summer's joyous time, And sing their gushing melodies As I would sing a ryhme. In the green and quiet places Where the golden sunlight falls, We sit with smiling faces, To list their silver calls ; And when their holy anthems Come pealing through the air, Oar heart leaps forth to meet them, With a blessing and a prayer. Amid the morning's fragrant dew— Amidst the mists of even— They warble on as if they drew Their music down trom Heaven. How sweetly sounds each mellow note, Beneath the moon's pale ray, When dying zephyrs rise and float, Like lovers' sighs, away! Like the shadowy spirits seen at eve, Among the tombs they glide ; Where sweet pale forms for which we grieve, Lie sleeping side by side. They break with song the solemn hush Where peace reclines her head, And link their lays with mournful thoughts That cluster round the dead; For never can my soul forget The loves of other years ; Their memories fill my spirit yet— I've kept them green with tears ; And their singing greets my heart at times, As in the days of yore, Though their music and their loveliness Is o'er—forever o'er. And often, when the mournful night Comes with a low, sweet tune, And sets a star on every height, And one beside the moon— When not a sound of wind or wave The holy stillness mars, I look above and try to trace Their dwellings in the stars. The birds! the birds of summer hours— They bring a gush of glee, To a child among the fragrant flowers— To the sailor on the sea. We hear their thrilling voices In their swift and airy flight, And the inmost heart rejoices With a calm and pure delight. In the stillness of the starlight hours, Wben I am with the dead, Oh! may they flutter mid the flowers That blossom o'er my head. And pour their songs of gladness forth In one melodious strain, O'er lips whose broken melody Shall never sing again. Mother. Of all the words in language there's no other Equal in gentle influence to MOTHER! It is the first name that we learn to love— It is the first star shining from above; It is a light that has a softer ray Than aught we find in evening or day! Morass!—lt back to childhood brings the man, And forth to womanhood leads the maiden. Morustiti—nlis with the name all things began, That are with love and sympathy full laden. 0! 'tis the fairest thing in Nature's plan, That all life's cares may not affection smother While lives within the yearning heart of man; Melting remembrance of a gentle MOTHICH! THE JOURNAL. MICOMZILALTEVUO. From the Ladies Companion. Light Reading . , and the Em broidered Cape. A SKETCH, BY MRS. CAROLINE ORNE, MINT Montox will be absent about two hours, and I can spare one of them for reading," thought Emily Ashton, as she looked at the cambric handkerchief which her aunt had expressed a wish she would finish hem-stitching by the time she re turned. It was a warm afternoon in July, but the windows of the apartment were so delightfully shaded with rose-bushes, sweet-briers, and honey-suckles, that only now and then a stray sunbeam quivered upon the carpet, while the fresh breeze that seemed cooler for rustling the green leaves as it passed, had free admission. This air of quiet, shady seclusion, made it a most charming retreat for reading, and Emily abandoned herself to the fascinating pages of the book she had selected, with an in terest those only can feel who have a great fondness for reading with comparatively but few opportunities of indulging. Mr. Norton, Emily's uncle, who had a taste for reading, had a small, but well chosen libra ry, and frequently deposited a few volumes of the lighter literature of the day, upon the centre-table; besides which, Emily, from her allowance of spending-money, furnished with several of the periodicals and annuals. Mrs. Norton was not fond of reading, and few things made her so restless and fidgety as to see her niece with a hook in her hand, it being almost sure to remind her of some halt a dozen pieces of work, which she wished to have finished, It was therefore, only when her aunt was out, or when her uncle had au evening to spend at home, when he fre quently requested her to read aloud, that she attempted to look into a book. She had, consequently, been unable to finish • Whop,- ifemi,hrey's c;totA.," it had been lying upon the table for several weeks. Five minutes of the hour had passed, and little Nell had just gone forth in the still evening, to wetch with yearn ing heart, the meeting of the two sisters, and to hold communion with the orbs of heaven, that seemed gazing down upon her with looks full of gentleness and love, when Augusta Wingfield, a girl about her own age, entered with the familiarity of an old acquaintance. " Always reading," said Augusta— " pray what have you that so deeply in terests you ?" " Master Humphrey's Clock—have you read it?" " No, I hope not--I don't approve of light reading." As she spoke she unrolled a muslin cape, which she was working from a beautiful and elaborate pattern. Having taken one or two stitches, " do oblige me with your emery-ball," said she, " I forgot to take mine, and this warm weather is so very annoying, when one has such fine work to do." Why don't you rest a few minutes; you are now flushed from walking in the sun." " I know I am, but I am in such a hur ry I have not a moment to spare. I could hardly spend time to come in to see you this al ternoon, but I saw your aunt pass, and I thought you would be so lonesome. I told mother 1 would run in and sit with you a little while." " You were very considerate," replied Emily, as with a sigh she again consigned the book to the table." "I should not have come as it was," re sumed Augusta, "only I know that you can keep a secret. I woald not have Ma. tilda Thompson and Louisa Lomas know that I am working this cape for any thing, for I wish them to think it is French work, and they will never detect the difference, if they are not told. I ant working it like cousin Isabel's which is the most elegant and expensive one I have ever seen." After sitting silently a few minutes, " Do Emily," said she, "if not too much 'trouble, favor me with a little rose water to bathe my eyes. Thia fine work is so trying to the eyes, and I sat so very late last night, for 1 was determined to work a hundred leaves after 1 had went to my chamber, if it took me till morning" "Surely, Augusta, there can be no ne cessity for you to risk impairing your eye sight, and endangeriii. , your health, on account of this beautifu l said Emily, handing her the rose-water. "I hope that I shall not seriously injure either, but I am determined, at any rate, to have it done before I go to the Springs, for Matilda Thompson, who is going at the same time, has bought one, which she supposes will outdo any thing of the kind, which I am able to purchase, and it will do me much good to see how surprised and envious she will be, when she finds I have one superior to her,s."_ "Uncle and Aunt Norton talk of going to the Springs, and wish me to accompany "ONE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINV." HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, MAY 18,1842. them, but I suspect that I have no article of dress that will excite any person's sur prise." • " But you might have, did you not spend all your twine) , in purchasing books, and your leisure in reading them. Now what you nay a year for the " Ladies' Companion," which I see upon your table, would more than procure the materials for a cape like this, and the time you spend in reading that and other frivolous books would be amply sufficient to work it.— Excuse me, Emily, but I must say you spend quite too much money and time upon light reading." " You class all works of the imagina tion, whether poetry or prose, under the head of light reading, I suppose ?" "To be sure I do." " And as such, you of course, condemn them ?" " I do." " I have several reasons. My first ob jection to novels and tales, is because they are not true." "The incidents may not be, but the spirit of them is, if the writer be eqUal to the subject:" care nothing about the spirit--I take a plain, literal view of the matter. If I tell a falsehood, howeVer I trick it out in the seductive colors of the imagination, it is falsehood still, and I see but little dif• lerence between speaking and writing one. "Or in acting one, you might add," thought Emily, as the little RIISE of Aug gusts, with regard to the cape, suggested itself to her mind. She however repress ed the momentary inclination, which she felt to express what she thought, and re quested her to name her principal objec- Lion to poetry." "It gives," she replied, "too much scope to the imagination—a faculty, which, in my opinion, should be checked lhstead of being indulged, and this objection may be added to the one I have already given against novels and tales." Mr. Norton, who had, entered. some • minutes bens. uni...iminvo‘i t.y 0.11 , gif ta. when Emily ceased speaking, came for ' ward. "If you will permit me to take share in this conversation," said he " I would remark that if the imagination be properly regulated, there are few evils to be apprehended from its indulgence. On the contrary, much good may, in many in stances accrue from it, as 1 might easily point out, were I not fearful of too severely taxing . your patience, I will content my self with observing, that it abundantly multiplies the sources of enjoyment, es pecially to cultivated minds. I think, when I entered, that you were expressing your dispprobation of light reading or, rather that part which is fictitious." " I was," replied Augusta, " although, for my own part, i don't pretend to rely altogether upon my own judgment. I have heard very worthy and sensible persons remark, that the time spent in reading the tales, novels, and even poetry, with which we are at present flooded was worse than thrown away." " They object to theta, I suppose, on the ground that they instil romantic notions into the minds of young persons, which can never be realized, but many of the more recent works of fiction are not in the least objectionable in that respect. A tale may be, and is frequently, made an agree able vehicle for reproving folly and vice. It is true that many of the earlier novels represent the principal character as mod , els of perfection. It is supposed there foi e, that a youog lady, given to reading them, should she chance to have a suitor, would invest him of the same exalted qualities, and that, as the bright veil woven by Fancy, is gradually withdrawn, site would experience disappointment and even dis gust. Ito you think, uncle," said Emily, ," that such instances are of very frequent ,occurrence?" "I think not" he replied, " so frequent as has been imagined. 1 once heard a young girl, by no means remarkable for her personal or mental endowments, de clare that it ever she married, the person whom she honored with her choice, must be a Thaddeus' Three months after wards, she accepted of an offer—the first', she ever had—from a man, who, although worthy and industrious, was plain in per son, and coarse in manners. The match was considered a very eligible one, and 1 never could find that she made herself unhappy by drawing comparisons between :ter husband and Thaddeus of 'Warsaw. Do not suppose, however, that I would have light reading, especially works of fic tion, supercede that which is more solid. I would have it resorted to as a relaxation, instead of the foolish tittle tattle with which many till up their vacant hours, who have no lond ness for reading. Emily, go get Ilumbold's Travels, and Cunning ham's Lives of the Painters and Sculptors. As they are true as well as interesting, I think Augusta will be pleased with them." " I believe I lent you the Lives of the Painters and Sculptors, last winter, did I not, Augusta ?" " Yes, I believe you did." "And did you not find them interest ing?" said Mr. Norton: A slight color suffused her cheek as she replied, " I have not read much of them yet-1 have not had time. But to change the subject, have you heard what is said about Mary Wheatley 1" " I have heard nothing except that she has gone to acelebrated seminary to finish her education. Yes, that is what her friends gave out, but most people think that she has eloped with young Waterbury, as it is known that he left town the same day that she did, and some person saw them take seats in the same car." " It can be nothing more than an idle report," said Emilyy , " for I am intimately acquainted with Mary, and received a let ter from her yesterday, in which she wrote me very particularly respecting the semi nary, and the studies she was pursuing." " And I," said Mr. Norton, " can bear testimony in favor of Mr. Waterbury, of whose characrer and conduct I have had the best opportunities of judging, and I es teem him as being one of the most worthy and honorable young men I ever knew." Augusta smiled in that peculiar manner, which ►s expressive of incredulity, and the subject was dropped. By working early and late, she scceed ed in finishing her cape ►n season for the proposed excursion to the Springs. Being in the same party with Mr. and Mrs. Thompson and their daughter, Matilda, she managed so as to ascertain when the latter intended to wear her cape, that she might exhibit her own at the same time.— Matilda, as Augusta had anticipated, was certainly surprised at the eight of so ele gant an article, which fairly out did her's, but she contented herselt with passing a few encomiums upon its beauty. Not so, Mrs. Thompson, whose curiosity led her to pry to the bottom of all such important matters: a That cape of yours is very hand- some," said she; may 1 ask where you I it .1." "At Mr. Wilson'S" replied Augusta, and she did purchase the muslin there. " You don't say so—that's where Matil da bought her's, arid Mrs. Wilson would'ut used that she had any that were more ele gant. What price did you give 1" " You know the price of Cousin Isabel Waldron's," replied Augusta, evasively, " and mine is, as you may see, just like her's." " bo it is, but I did not mind that it was at first, her's cost more than twice as much as Matilda's." " Did you say that you purchased your cape of Mrs. Wilson:" said Louisa Lo mas, who a few minutes before had joined the group. " Yes," replied Augusta. " What could Mrs. Wilson mean," said Miss Lomas. "I called at her shop when she was opening tier fancy goods, for the express purpose of selecting a cape, and there was nut a single one to be compared with this. he assured me, for I inquired particularly, that die had reserved none for a favorite customer. She will hear from me when I return." Augusta, desirous to put a stop to a dis agreeahle subject, could think of nothing better to resort to, than the rumor respect ing the elopement of Mary Wheatley with young Waterbury, forgetful that Mary was Mrs. Thompson's niece. The annoyance she had suffered from having been so close fy questioned, caused het to infuse a good deal of bitterness into her remarks, while she became so absorbed in the subject, that Waterbury and Emily Ashton, who had just returned from a walk, approached near enough to hear all she said with&ot her perceiving them. A peculiar and signfl cant look - , which she saw Mrs. Thompson direct to Miss blms, as an animadversion more severe than any of the preceding es ' caped her lips, induced her to look round, when she encountered the full gaze of Waterbury. Shame and vexation suffused her face with crimson, and after standing a moment with eyes fixed on the floor, she precipitately withdrew to her own room. Emily Ashton, from motives of commiser ation followed her. . _ She found her in a paroxysm of tears.— .. What will Mr. Waterbery think of me?" said she. What did he say 1" Ile merely remarked that he was sorry that Miss Wingfield should take the. trou ble to repeat such an idle rumor, for, as some might set it down as true, it might be the means of injuring Mary Witeatley, Fot my own part ; " added, Emily, thought his presence at the Springs, was, of itself a sufficient contradiction to such an idle report." "That was his own course—;so I have heard it remarked— to rise a mist before people's eyes," said Augusta, with vivaci. ty, for the moment forgetful of her vexa tion. A faint smile that flitted over the features of Emily, recalled it. " Well," said she " I suppose I hive Waterbury my enemy, as well as Mary Wheatley, for there will be enough to re peat to her what I have said. This odious cape, too, that has nearly cost me my eyes, I wish it were in the Red Sea. I ate sure that I can never think of wearing it again." Emily ventured to suggest that an inge nious explanation respecting it, was the only means by which she could escape the meshes which subterfuge had already wo ven around her. Augusta was the more readily induced to listen to this hint, from te-ing fully persuaded that Miss LoMas, according to her promise would let Mrs. Wilson hear from herabout it, which could hardly fail to awaken conjectures that would give worse color to the affair, than if she anticipated the intended investiga tion by a voluntary explanation: We will only add that the lesson which Miss Wingfield received while at the Springs, had subsequently a salutary ef fect, and that Emily Ashton returned home as the affancied bride of 'Waterbury, who, in his future intercourse with the world, proved himself to be influenced by those high-toned moral principles, ascribed to him by Mr. Norton. Jim Joyce. Who tried to be a Temperance Man, but could'nt come it, An individual who rejoices in the name of Jim Joyce, was lecturing the lamp post on the instability of matter, at the corner of Lafayette Square, on Sunday night,— :-lis remarks, which were delivered in a loud voice, brought the watchman on his legs, as they say in parliamentary phrase: for he had just, by the way of showing his , extraordinary vigilance, had taking a comfortable snooze— or to speak more refinedly, he had been indulging in the luxuriance of an hour's somnolency. I " Keep silent!" said Joyce to the lamp post, as the watchman approached him. "and I'll explain the matter to y ou." " What's the matter with y ou?" said the watchman. "Who are you?—eh? Let me see. Why. I'm blowed if you ain't Jim Joyce! What! Jim, my old co• vey, not taken the pledge yeti—Ah, Jim!' you must be elected president of the Un oic a; D. uukat Ja-- yoU Sall go the anti:Washingtonian ticket strong !" " Charley, old feller," said Jim, " I's not what I used to was—l aint myself 1 aint nobody—l aint nothing—l wish 1 was. I have wound up my affairs, and aucin a state of fiquor-datitin "Yes, I gtless as how you have accept.' ed a great many dretughts lately," said the watchman—" you seem to like it." " You're right, hose—l has," said Jim, " but (tang it,' the Legislature won't come to my relief. Don't you see, I liain't got no "movement,'' and Pin used up with " dead weight." " Well come—move along," said Char ley. " You paint dean out of prison three days. I'll refer you to a committee of one composed of Recorder B ildwin; I guess he'll move for your amendment!" "Yes," says Jim; "but the temper ance Society tias had me under consid eration, I find 1 can't be amended— I did'ot take nothing for three days; but I could stand it no longer, and was obliged to resume my drinks. 0! it's an awful state Charley, for a feller to be without his bitters when he's used to them!" Well,come along," said the watch man: " Thirty (lays in the new workhouse may have more virtue in bringing about reformation than a Father Mathew medal. We'll try it." " Well. I aint agoin" to go," said Jim " I never keeps low company, and you is so cusedly vulgar that they say you have to strike the curbstones, to force them to keep 7dur society!" This was touching Charley in a tender point: it was a personal aspersion—a mis demeanor of no common magnitude, inas much as it was calculated to bring the , officers of the law, and, per-consequence: the law itself into iffsrepute. There was, theretore, no further parley between the parties, and Charley's stave, applied di cers and sundry times to Jim Joyce's ribs operated as motive bower to his locomo tion until they arrived at the Baronne street watch house. He is now developing the 'esources of the State in the new workhouse. Goon.—A prior fellow who had spent hundreds of dollars at the bar of a cer. fain grogery, being one day faint and fee ble and out of change, asked the landlord to trust him with a glas of liquor. 'No,' was the surly reply. '1 never make a practice of doing such things. The poor fellow turned to a gentleman who was sit ting by, and whom he had known in bet ter days, saying, 'Sir, will you lend me a sixpence?' Certainly' was the reply.-- The landlord with alacrity placed the de canter and glass before him. lie took a pretty good horn, and having swallowed it and replaced the glass with evident sat isfaction, he turned to the man who had lent hint the sixpence, and said—' Here; Sir, is the sixpence I owe you; I make it a point, degraded as I am, always to pay borrowed money, before I pay my grog bill. [WiroLE No. 331. 'WoeAx's Love —Romantic and Pails. ful Case.—A distressing case—one Qf those instances of deep devotion which woman's faithful bosom only can show— has occurred in this city within the past few days. It gives another proof of how little even those who mean kindness fur a loved child can direct or decide where the affections have already given allegiance to another. It seems that a young lady of beauty and most amiable disposition had, in all the truth of her young heart, given her love to a young man, by whom her feelings were reciprocated. They were etigaged to be married, and even the weds ding clothes Wereprepared, when, on Christmas day, her father, no doubt for what he thought good reasons, told her she must give him up, upon whom she had poured out the rich treasure of her deep and confiding love. It was a hard stilug , . gle; one that shook the strong cords of life itself. She mourned in silence—a deep melancholy came over het , --and grad: wally, but silently, she sunk, until a few nights since her true, grieving heart broke, and her young spirit passed to that clime where peace and unshadowed joy live for ever. And those who fulfilled the last sad offices of affection, laid out the cold form in its bridal robes, the same as she had hoped to have beets dressed in a happy hour. She lay a lovely bride of death, and a sad, a fearless witness of that intense hive which forms the ever redeeming beauty of woman. And who could stand over that youthful victim, and not feel a mysterious sympathy as they gazed, with a tearful eye, upon her form, so early, so sorrowfully cut down? And who that reads this, shall hereafter say to a dear child, your love must go to this one, or it shall go to that I The affections are ten der plants,and no rude hand should hastily pluck them from their native soil.--Rich mood Star. Tsars.—'l here is a sadness in tears.— , They are not the mark of weakness but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the mes neugets of ',veil-du:lining grief, of deep contrition, of love. If there were wanting any argument to prove that man is not mortal, I would look for it in the strong convulsive emotions of the breast, when the soul has been deeply agitated, when the fountains of feeling are rising, and tears are gushing forth in chrystal streams. Oh, speak not hastily of the stricken one --weeping in silence! Break not the so:. lemuity by rude laughter, or intrusive fout•steps. Despise not a woman's tears --they are what make her an angel. Scoff not if the stern heart of manhood is some times melted to tears of sympathy- , -I love to see tears of affection. They are pain ful tokens, but still most holy: There is pleasure in tears, an awful pleasure! If there were none on earth to stied a tear for toe, I should be !oth to live; and if n o one might weep over my grave, I could never die in peace.--Dr. Johnson. DON'r RE DISCOURAGED.--Dohl be dig= couraged, if occasionally you slip down by the way, and others tread over you a little. In other words, don't let a failure or two dishearten you; accidents will happen, miscalculations will sometimes be made, things will turn out differently from our expectations, and we may be sufferers. It is worth while to remember that fortune is like skies in the month of April—sOme= times cloudy, sometimes clear and favor able; and as it would be folly to despair of again seeing the sun, because to-day is stormy, so is it unwise to sink into depon dency when fortune frowns, since in the common course of things she may be surely expected to smile again. Patrry Mem!--The editor of the AN kansas Telegraph is a most tensible per son, and notwithstanding his assertion to the contrary, we'll bet that he's as ugly as Erebus. Hear how he gives it to those whom the ladies style "Nice Young Men. d --Itrading Gazelle.. '• Bah!--talk of a pretty Woman if you choose, but a pretty man —the idea is pre , po,terous. We never saw one to whom this term could be applied, who was worth a pinch of snuff. He is always too much engaged about his coinplesion, and his flowing locks, to hate any mind of his own about anything—and when he smiles--ye whales and little fishes! he says as plainly as smiles can—how pretty 1 amt He'd look nice up a sapling with a mad bear gnawing at the root of it. No—no--if you have anything of importance which you wish well done, give it to a fellow with a long nose, and a rough hewn sort of a lace, and you will be likely to have it done to your notion. Perhaps you think we are influenced in our remarks by selfish motives. But you are, unfortunately. mistaken, for we are tolerably good look ing, having looked in a glass every morn ing for twelve mouths past without break ing it." Roosters' tails arc now a days called lowlb' bustles."
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