VOL. VII, No. 22.]
PUBLISHED BY
THEODORE H. CREMER.
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How Sweet!
How sweet it is at close of day,
To turn our thoughts to Heaven
To lift our hearts to God and pray
Our sins may be forgiven.
How sweet it is at early light,
A thankful song to raise,
For the soft slumbers of the night,
And health of bye gone days.
How sweet to ask of God,
His guidance and His care ;
His strengthening, His sustaining rod,
While we are toiling here.
How sweet it is to turn aside
From all the ills of life—
Forgetting vanity, and pride,
And every worldly strife.
How sweet it is when storms arise,
And darkness palls the air;
To turn aloft our tearful eyes,
While bow'd•in humble prayer.
How sweet it is in every hour—
At morning, noon, or night,
To own the Lord's protecting power.
And triumph in His might.
And oh! hnw sweet 'twill be at last,
When Pleasure's fount is dry,
The burdened soul on Christ to cast--
Who intercedes on high.
But purer still will be our joy,
When life's vain scenes are o'er,
Upward to fly from earth's alloy
To Canaan's peaceful shore.
Of such pure joy may we partake,
When our short race is run---
May we loud hallelujahs wake
To God---the Father-••-Son.
The Stolen Pearl.
Suffeated from a Tableau from Real Life.
On the soft lathes of an eye
Of heav'nly blue, there stood a fly,
Enraptured with the sight he gazed
Within that eye, and scented amazed
To think he saw so bright a thing,
And feel it did not scorch its wing.
At length there came a glist'ning tear,
Pure from the soul: within the clear
Bright fountain, like Narcissus,,ite
Survey'd himself, and smiled to see
So strange a form therein, until
That beautious eye Vgan to fill,
And down a cheek of tintless snow
Those drops of pe.trl did vainly flow,
Unwilling then tit lose a prize,
So rich, and from such beaming eyes,
He his tiny wing and stole
Jane precious drop—•Olt! then his soul
Was glad ; he bore the gem away::
To match the rainbow tints of day.
The Light of Temperance.
Ata---" Twilight Dews."
When first I saw the gleaming crest
Of Temp'rance' silver star,
I watch'd it till its radiance blest
Illum'd the world afar:
It rose in glory, and its rays
Shone bright at morn and even,
And promise gave of happier days
On Earth ;---and hopes of Heaven,
I marked its glory-beaming light,
As up the heav'ns it sprung,
While u'er the earth the clouds of night,
No longer darkly hung;
And these bright rays of heavenly birth,
To erring man were given;
To wean his spirit from the Earth,
And point his way to Heaven.
Oh! may that bright and shining light
Still beam the wild world o'er,
To guide man's wand'ring footsteps right,
Till Time shall be no more.
And then when Death the light of Life
From this dull clay has riven,
The soul may soar in glad relief,
To yon bright home in Heaven.
THE JOIJRNAL.
lIII3CELLANEOLTEI.
From the Knickerbocker.
TILE PILLJGE SCHOOL.
Among my early iecollections of the
primitive days of Stockeville, the Village
School is the most vivid. It was buried in
a walnut grove that skirted the western
bottler of the town, and it was an old
brown building , carved and slashed from
end to end. In the spring of the year the
whole grove was sweet with the bursting
buds, and vocal with the songs of birds.
In midsummer we used to find shelter in
it from the rays of heat that steeped its
canopy. In autumn, its long shadows
pointed far eastward into the village,
while its western border was kindled
into a living flame. I see the old school
house now, as it was when I trudged to it
a boy. But it is swept away:
Such was our school-house—the only
one within three miles. It was to this spot
that all Stockeville was driven to knowl
edge and power —fur " knowledge is pow
er." We hired our school-master then; •
nine dollars a month and boarded; am d
such specimens of intellectual humanity
as fell span us were never before or since
paralleled.
Mr. Ephraim Mills, from Connecticut
strait," was the first gentleman who
took the urchins of Stockeville in hand,
" for better or for worse." I am not
about to inflict upon the reader a minute
account of Mr. Mill's inauguration, nor
of the "gang" over whom he had been
called to preside. We had Bill Jones, a
red headed, freckled laced boy, who swore
he would whip the master before the week
was out; Jack Janes, a tall loose-jointed,
long-limbed fellow, who " didn't care how
many rules the master made—he should'nt
obey 'em ;" Pete Pierce, who prided him
self on his tricks never being found out;
and Bob Boles, and Ned Hawkes, and a
score of " Hanks," and " Dicks," and
"Johns;" all together as wicked and per
verse a generation as ever tried the tem
per of man.
-Monday morning, bright and early, the
school was to " begin. All the children
in Stockeville had white collars and clean
aprons on that morning at least. There
was a great strife among mothers, and a
greater pride among their offspring.
I well recollect the pay on wh.'cli
Ephraim Mills rook the buys of Slacke
ville in hand. I was at my post at nine
o'clock precisely. Tile' master' made his
appearance at half-past nine. He was a
short, potbellied little man. with a head
as big and green as a pump Lin. His little
round eyes started to the right and left,
as wild as an owl's, as ne waddled along
in to take his throne. Ile wore a white
hat upon a head which was covered with
a profusion of red hair ; a bandanna hand
kerchief was about his neck ; and lie
sported a checked vest, and a pair of cor
duroy pantaloons.
Mr Mills hung his hat upon a peg.—
He then zurned slowly around, and calmly
surveyed th.: field before him. The school
sank at once into profound silence. He
walked across the floor and back again,
and after taking a second survey, ad
dressed us as follows:
" Boys I have come here to teach school.
Neoev, every one on you has got to behave
yourselves. 1 have taught school 'afore,
now I tell you; and if you behave your
selves, all will go well; but if you don't
there will be trouble! I whip terribly
when I do whip; but I am a good master
when you behave. Now mind what I tell
you; you must all on you behave your
selves."
There was a subdued "snicker" from
one end of the school-room to the other,
whem Ephraim concluded.
"The next thing I shall do," continued
Mills, " is to divide all on you into classes.
There is nothing like system in schools.
And first I must have your names."
Mr. Mills then began at one end of the
school room and asked the name of every
scholar in order; ►n the course of which
duty a laughable colloquy occurred.
" What's your name?" said he to a lank
Yankee boy.
" Aaron."
"Spell it, if you please." said Ephraim.
" Great A, little a, r-o-n," answered
the pupil promptly.
" Dutch Hennes," as he was called, a
thick-headed urchin, came next.
" Well, what's your name? inquired
Mr. Mills.
My name's !tonnes," he answered.
" Well, how do you spell it ? See neow
if you can do it as slick as Aaron did."
.‘ Great Hennes, little honnes, r-o-n 1"
The laugh was decidedly against the
master.
"Now,' said Mr. Mills, when the confu
sion had a little subsided, "as I said before,
I'll divide all on you into classes. All on
you who study the grammer, go together;
all on you who cypher, go together; all on
you who are learning to read, go together."
The school wheeled into divisions as
suddenly as a military company; and the
master" seemed to look upon us with
"ONE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY."
HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, JUNE 8, 1842
'as intense an air of sell.superiority as
Boneparte would have done upon an army
of new recruited soldiers.
" Very well, very well," said Ephraim.
" Now all on the gamier class take the
high benches on the east; all an the geo
graphy class, the high benches on the
west; and all o' the reading scholars take
the low benches. SCHOOL'S COMMENCED!"
" School's commenced:" was uttered
by Ephraim with infinite authority, ac
companied by a stamp of the foot, and a
whirling of the ruler, which was absolutely
terrific. It had the desired effect. Every
boy was as whist and silent as though lie
had suddenly been changed to stone.
An hour passed, when the voice of
Ephraim was again heard. "'l'hird class;
that is reading class, come up to read.--
Bring you books; form a line; stand up
strait, and talk plain."
The class struggled along up, some
coughing, some blowing their noses, some
grinning and some leering.
Finn. heal ty-looking lot of boys," said
Ephraim, as he surveyed them. "Turn
to your places." Every boy wet his
thumb, and turned to the place selected
in the "English Reader," which chanced
to be that beautiful paraphrase of the one
hundred and nineteenth Psalm, commen
cing, " The Lord my pasture shall pre
pare"
" Now begin," said Ephraim.
The boy at the head commenced in a
whining tone, taking care not to make a
pause, or catch a breath, until he had
reached the end of the verse, when he
drew one that might have been heard far
out in the grove, looking up at the same
time for a word of praise.
"You do well," said Ephraim; you
read quick and smart, and that's what I
like to see. Now the next thing I want
to know," said he " is, do you understand
what you read ? Everything depends on
that. Now, " lie added, abstractedly,
" what is unerstood by the first line you
have read, "fhe Lord my pasture shall
prepare ?' Can you tell me, Jack Janes?"
Jack looked on the floor, and seemed
sadly puzzled . Hesitating for some time
in this position, he at length
." I don't know 5fr. 4 4.---- j
" Don't knoY, sir!" repeated Ephraim ;
"why, Ism thunderstruck at your igno4
ranee"! Why, it is as old as Greece and
Rome, and used to be spoken by Cicero
and Demosthenes. Can't you tell, Bill
Jones what that line means ?"
Bill Jones was about as much troubled
as Jack Janes. He couldn't tell, and so
it went on to the foot of the class.
"Well, neow every boy pay attention,
while I explain, and don't none of you
forget what I say. This sentence, as I
stiid before, has reference to the Greeks
and Romans, who were a great people
living in Africa, about four thousand years
ago ; but I don't recollect the exact period.
They were a roving race of people, and
lived pretty much as many Mks, in New,
England do, by their pasture land, and
, 1 the manufacture of butter, cheese, and
'such like ; and as they were all believers
in the Christian religion, and somewhat
superstitious, they used to sing this 113 inn
at the beginning of each year; ' The Lord
my pasture shall prepare.' That's it.--
Will you all recollect 7"
Every child nodded his head, and mut
tered " Umph."
"Now," said Ephraim, "you can all
take your seats ; and be sure to understand
your reading lesson next time."
The bustle of the reading-class return
ing to their seats had not subsided, before
(the master's voice was again heard.
"Class in astronomy and geography 1—
Recite."
The astronomy and geography class
formed with more dignity than the Junior
class which had preceded it. Mr. Mills
seemed to look upon its members also with
an increased degree of respect. After
they were collected in order, Ephraim
told them that geography was a great study
--that " he himself did'nt know nothing of
the world only what he got from this;"
that his grandfather had studied a great
deal of it, and once visited Lake Erie ►n
person. He said he hoped we would all
meet his expectations in this sublimest of
all sciences. He would now proceed to
ask some questions.
" William Dobbs, how is the state of
Maine bounded 1"
'•On the north by the Gull of Mexico,
east by Arkansas, south by the Potomac,
and west by Massachusetts."
" Very well, sir. The next—Nicholas
Rice; What is the principal river in
Maine?"
" The Sabine."
" Very well. The'next—Joseph Mills;
What is its capital ?"
" St. Augustine."
" That's right. The next—Henry Dob
bin ; What is its produce ?"
" Hemp and Beeswax."
" Right. The next—lsrael Booth ; How
many parts of the earth are covered with
water?"
" Europe and Asia."
" I low many with land 1"
"Africa and North America."
" What is the shape of the world, Nich
olas Rice 1"
" Partly round and partly flat."
Which part is flat?"
"That part near the equator."
" Very well said, indeed. The next—
Joseph Mills; What is an equator?"
" An equator is a large brass ring put
around the earth, which holds it together
while it tuns upon its axles."
" Answered well. The next; What
are the poles?"
" The poles are large irons run through
the world, on which it turns round a thou
sand miles a minute."
" Or rather," said Ephraim, " nine hun
dred and ninety miles a minute. The
next; How many miles is the sun from
the earth'?"
"Ahundred millions."
" It is supposed to be that," said Ephraim
but we have no certain means of know.
in'. The neat; Is the sun inhabited I"
" No sir--but the moon is."
" Who inhabits the moon I"
"The man in the moon."
"'That is very well--very well. We
can all are the man in the moon," said
Ephraim, "and therefore we know the
moon is inhabited. You all pass good ex -
aminatiors in astronomy. Let us put a
few more questions in geography. Which
is the lar4•st city in the world?"
" Chiba? ,
" Which is the largest river 2"
"The Mississippi."
" I'h, largest island ?"
" Long Nand."
" Very will. Now take your seats and
go. on with Your lessons."
his is a brief sketch of Ephraim Mills
and his ela4 in its first recitation in what
he called astronomy and geography.—
There wasuite a pause after this search
ing eximit ',ion. Nothing was heard
ii
but the m rmur of boys conning their
, books. El iraim retired to a chair, where
lie stretcheo back in a state of exhaustion,
' fanning hues.-If, and brushing the big flies
1 from his flaming face.
In the other departments of his school,
Ephraim eiihibitx.sailig_kintLa4irl rh.-
gree bl tar77 - --rnivet - nrsywrr.,..,q - ust men
tioned. Yet he was a school -master, and
taught Stockeville school, and received
therefor the sum of nine dollars per month,
and " boarded round!"
lam not going to inflict upon the rea
der the history of Ephraim's entire ad- •
ministration as " Knight of the Ferule."
The history of one day is the the history, ,
of another. In his capacity, there was
" neither variation nor shadow of turning."
All Stockeville was pleased with him,
because they were ignorant of him, and 1
all the children were compelled to sub-,
snit to his authority. It must be borne in :
mind that the Inspectors of Common
Schools in Stockeville, at this period,
were about as competent for their office
as our schoolmaster was for his. They
were all matched ; and take them alto
gether, the way in which education, lite
rature, and the fine arts thrived, was tru
ly astonishing. Every scholar, of course,
was soon on the high road to distinction.
For the first five years of my boyhood,
during the early days of Stockeville, such
were my instructors. The good people
thought that so long as they had a " mas
ter," and the " school" went on, all was
well. IVhether he was capable or inca
capable, was of no sort of consequence.
They thought it a duty to send children
to school, and it mattered little whether'
they learned or not. Learning, in fact,
was decidedly unpopular. The old peo
ple reasoned thus: " They had but three
months schooling, yet they were well ofi
in the world, and as capable of carrying
on business as some of their neighbors
who hail been at college." This argument,
strengthened by what they called .. prac
ticle illustration," was of course invinci
ble. How many Stockevilles, Stocke
ville schools, and Stockeville schoolmas
ters are there in existence yet!
WHO SHALL HAVE THE PRlZE ?—There
was once to'be a meeting of the flowers,
and the judge was to award a prize to the
one pronounced the most beautiful.—
" Who shall have the prize?" said the
rose, stalking forward in all consciousness
of beauty. " Who shall have the prize?"
said the other flowers, advancing, each
filled with conscious ride, and each ima
gining it would be herself. " 1 will take
a peep at those beauties," thought the
violet, as she lay in her humble bed, not
presuming to attend the meeting--" I will
see them as they pass," bat ae she raised
her lowly head to peep out of her hiding
place, she was observed by the judge, who
immediately pronounced her the most
beautiful, because the most modest,
The greatest case of love is that of a
blade of Kentucky, who gut into a hollow
tree where he lived a whole week peepilig
through a knot hole at hie true love, as
she sat sewing bear skin petticoats at her
window.
Light flints on Weighty
Matters.
The important but puzzlin g science of
" Popping the Question" is thus dispas
sionately and philosophically treated upon
by "An Old Bachelor," (in Frazer's
Magazine) who, it will be seen, speaks as
one having the authority of long and per
plexing experience, as well as possessing
a profound theoretical knowledge of the
"art built on principles." Whether this
be so 'or not, however, those who have
" been thro' the mill," best can tell.—
Now--young bachelors and old—please
" read, mark, learn and inwardly digest"
the counsels of age. Those who - have
" come off' conquerers," may read or skip'
it—just as they please.
Though it is impossible to say any thing
very much to the purpose about refusals
generally, a little tact and observation
will all tell you whether the girl who re
fused you would have been worth having,
had she accepted. lam speaking of ver
bal communications only ; as nobody ever
writes who can speak. It is usual in all
cases of refusal, for the lady to say that
she is deeply greatful for the honor you
have done her, but, feeling only friend
ship for you, she regrets that she cannot
accept your proposal, 4'c. .S.c. I- have
heard the words so often, that I know
them by lieast.. The words, however
varied, signify riffle ' •it is the tone and
manner in which thegr are pronounced
I that must guide you in fo?ming your esti
! mate of the cruel one. It' they are pro
flounced with evident marks of sorrow,
instead of triumph, showing unfeigned re
gret for having caused pain which she
could not alleviate--if her voice is soft,
unbroken and tremulous—her eye dimmed
with a halt-tot med tear, which it requires
even an effort to subdue—then, I say, you
may share in her sorrow, for you have
probably lost a prize worth gaining; but
though you grieve you may also hope, if
you are a man of Ern . ) pretension, for there
is evident good feeling to build upon.
Do not, therefore, fly out and make an
idiot of yourself, on receiving your refusal;
submit with a good gerie.
.whip, to support you
under the heart•erushine affliction you ,
have sustained. Take her hand at parting;
kiss it frequently, but quietly; no outs r
conduct of any kind—jest a little at the
expence of your own failure, without,
however, attempting to deprive her of the
honor of the victory. Rise in her estima•
tiro' by the mariner in which you receive
your sentence; let her sorrow be mingled
with admiration, and there is no knowing
how soon things will change. These in,
struetions, you will perceive are not inten
ded for every one, as they all require skill,
tact, quickness, and feeling, in order to
be appreciated and acted upon. if you
want these qualities, just make love purse
in hand ; it is a sale mode of proceeding
and will answer admirably with all ranks,
from Almack's to the Borough. There
is only one class with whom it will not
answer, that is the very class worth
having.
If, on the other hand, the lady refuses
you in a ready made and well delivered
speech, which had evidently been prepared
and kept waiting for you, then make your
bow, arid thank your stars for your lucky
escape. If site admonishes your incon
siderate conduct, bids you calm your ex,
cited feelings and support affliction—if she
triumphs, in tact, and is condescendingly
polite--then cut a a caper for joy, and
come down in the attitude of John of
Bologana's flyine ' Mercury, for you have
cause to rejoice. if the lady snaps at you,
as much as to say, "You are an impudent
tellow"--which may be sometimes true,
though it should not exactly be told— then
reply with a few stanzas of Miss Lan
don's song :
':There is in southern climes a breeze,
• • -
That sweeps with changeless course the seas;
Fixed to one point—oh, faithful gale ,
Thou art not for my wandering sail."
If she bursts out into a loud fit of laugh
ter, as I once knew a lady to do, then join
her by all means; for you may be sure she
is an ill-bred hoyden, or a downright idiot.
But it, unable to speak, grief at having
caused you pain makes her burst into tears
—as a little Swedish girl once did when
such a proposal was made to her—then
join her if you like, for the chances are
that you have lost one worth weeping fur.
IDLENESS. -Up and be a doing, my
friends: up and be a doing: Idleness
is a s a d thing. What? have we feet, and
shall we not walk? Have we hands, and
shall we not work? We have more to do
than we shall ever accomplish if we are in
duatrious„. how, then, shall we get through
it it we are idle? Every bird building her
nest, every spider weaving her web, every
ant laying up for tt,e winter, is a reproach
to an idle man. Up and be a doing, I say;
and do not expect the pot to boil while
you let the fire go out. We must climb
the hill to view the prospect; we must
sow the seed to reap the harvest ; we
must crack the nut to get the kernel. I can•
not bear your tattling, talking, interfering,
[WHOLE No. 334
busy-bodies, attending to affairs of others,
and leaving their own duties undone; but
'yet, it is a sad failing to go to sleep when
the onght to be wide awake ;to be creep
ing and crawling like snails, when we
oughtto be bounding forward like gray
hounds. It is a surthing, I say, and we
ought to be ashamed of it. I have known
blind men and lame men, who, without
an eye to see with, or a foot to stand upon,
have done more for the good of their
neighbors then many of us who have the
use of all our faculties. Then, up and be
doing, and let not the grass grow under
your feet! Thougltthe flesh be weak, if
the spirit be willintyou will.not be hap
py in standing still... If you clinnot preach
in public, you can pray in private, and
be striving to enterm, rather than wai
ting to be carried through, the strait gate
that leadeth unto life. Let us not com
plain of poverty, with a mine of gold under
our feet; let us not die of thirst, with a
fountain of living waters, within our reach.
If we have health and stepgth, let us
work for the bread that perishes ; and
having the means of grace, let us be dili
gent to obtain that bread that is eternal.
A Polish Heroine.
. The young Countess Planter was im
bued with thy 4 devoted love of Freedom
which inspires noble actions. She
could not, Woman as she was, remain an
inglorious and unresisting victim of
wrongs inflicted upon her country. High
born, accomplished and beloved, her
hand was sought by a Russian General.
We extract this incident in her life;
" Mademoiselle, I come to oiler you my
hand.
" Sir, I refuse it," dryly answered Em-
- He was far from expecting such an an
swer and felt somewhat abashed. He
did not, however, give up, but returning
to the subject continued :
" But think of my rank, Countess, and
the favor which I enjoy with the Empe
ror."
•• awl., el the honour 70U
eondecend to bootyvr upon youi choice,
but--'
*ell --bu t--"
The thing is impossible."
"Impossible!" muttered the disappoin
ted General. Am Iso unfortunate as to
have incurred your aversion?"
"I do not hate you personally."
"Is the disproportion in our ages an
objection?"
. . . . . .
The husband should always be older
than the wife?"
" It is exactly what I think myself.—
Perhaps your heart —"
" It is perfectly tree."
You can never find a better choice."
"I do not deny it."
" Then nothing is in the way—"
" I am a daughter of Poland."
Before the revolution broke out, the
Countess travelled much for the purpose
of fanning the embers of patriotism and
kindling the fire of Liberty. When the
shock of war came, raising a trocp of her
Kinsmen and tenants, she repaired to the
frontier and was soon gallantly engaged
with the hosts of Russia. Overborne by
numbers at one point, she sought other
fields of danger. And finally, when all
was lost, after passing through many per
ils and during every privation, Emily
Planter died in the 26th year of her age,
at the cottage of a peasant, where she was
secretly protected from the vengeance of
Russia.--A lbany Journal.
THE BEST STORY OF THE SEASON.—It
is from the Palquemine Gazette:
"It is generally the case with editors.
that when giving accounts of the destruc
tion of lives and property by fire, they
first mention the particulars about the
loss of property, and then merely allude
to the loss of life. This always reminds
us of an accident that happened to a
neighbor of ours down east.
Deacon Sweet, was an even tempered
good-hearted sort of a man, and Mrs. S..
as ditto, loved her husband and was very
economical in habits. The Deacon took
a candle and a two quart pitcher that
Mrs. Sweet had kept whole minus the
nose, for ten years, one cold night and
started to go down to the cellar to draw
some cider. The old gentleman's foot
slipped at the top of the stone, and he
went down head first. Mrs. Sweet heard
the noise apd ran very much alarmed, to
see what had happened. The Deacon in
the meantime, had gathered himself up,
and was rubbing his shins.
" Lord: (317stus!" exclaimed, Mrs.
Sweet, " what's the matter I—have you,
broke the pitcher i'
"No I" replied the old man, krunting,
and then growing furious—" I haint
,vet
but dod darn if I don't do it now though!":,
and he smashed the long-cherished pitche,',:'
against the wall. a,
When you see a girl buying loci.
strings, say—quit that.