VoL. VII, No. 25.] PUBLISHED DY THEODORE H. CREMER. Tnnue. The "JounwaL" 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 find 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 thetime an advertisement is to he continu ed, it will be kept in till ordered out, and charged accordingly. POETRY. The Stars of Night. Whence are your glorious goings forth, Ye children of the sky, In whose bright silence seems the power Of all eternity ? Tor time bath let his shadow fall O'er many an ancient light; But ye walk above in brightness still— Oh, glorious stars of night! The vestal lamp in Grecian fame Hath faded long ago ; On Persia's hill the worshipped flame Hath lost its ancient glow : And long the heaven-sent fire is gone, With Salem's temple bright; But ye watch o'er wandering Israel yet, Oh, changeless stars of night! Long have ye looked upon the earth, O'er vale and mountain brow ; Ye saw the ancient cities rise, And gild the ruins now : Ye beam upon the cottage home, The conqueror's path of might, And shed your light alike on all, Oh, priceless stars of night! But where are they who learned from you The fates of coming time, Ere yet the pyramids arose Amid the desert clime ? Yet still in wilds and deserts far, Ye bless the watcher's sight, And shitie where bark tenth ncvcr two., Oh, lovely stars of night! Much have ye seen of human tears, Of human hope and love ; And fearful deeds of darkness too, Ye witnesses above! Say, will that blackening record live Forever in your sight ; Watching for judgment on the earth, Oh, sleepless stars of night! Yet glorious was your song that rose With the fresh morning's dawn, And still amid our summer sky Its echo lingers on ; Though ye have shone on many a grave, Since Eden's early blight, Ye tell of hope and glory still, Oh, deathless stars of night! Machine Poetry. WHAT I LOVE. I love to see a flock of sheep All feeding on the mountain ; I love to see a drunkard drink From out the living fountain : At first upon his knees lie gets, And then he sticks his nose in, But soon he slips, end then, ker-souse, Isis head and shoulders cots in. I love to see, with all my heart, The tun shine while 'tis raining ; I love to see a row kicked up At a militia training; I love to see a table watched By civil, careful waiters; I love to see them fotch along The biggest kind of taters. I love to see th' industrious bees All busy making honey ; I love to see a man contrive All ways to lay up money ; I love to see a lot of chaps Engaged in midnight revel ; I love to see them let out loose, And go it like the devil! I love to hear old women talk— They do some lofty talking ; I love to see defaulters walk— They do some tallish walking : I love to hear at dead of night A glorious caterwaleing, And 0, I love to hear at church A lot of babies squalling. I love to see two colored gents Call one another "niggers," I love to see the ladies run, They cut sucj► curious figures! 1 love my Betsey more than all— I love her, Oh, most dearly! I love to hug and kiss her—Oh, It makes me feel so queerly! SrooNs, 0. C., THE JOURNAL. ItICCELLANEOUO. ESTELLE : Or, "Reformed Rakes make the best Ilusbands37-.4llus trated. NO FICTION " ESTELLE, what can you be thinking about? you have set a full hour in the same posture, with your head reclining on your hand, looking not at all like my jo vial sister. Come, now, I think it will require no prophet's vision to divine the current of your thoughts. Tell me, Es telle, arc you not this moment asking your heart if it can yield its affection to Mor ris 1" " Dear Louise, I am far from thinking you possessed of the power of prescience, but for once you lidve sugested right." " Well, Estelle, what is the result of your meditations -for I should think they had been sufficiently lengthy to have ter minated in resolves. I hope—" " Nay, Louise, no more . lectures, I am wearied with your preaching. It is not more than a week since I sat, with all due reverence, at your ladyship's feet, and listened to a discourse full two hours long. You failed, then, with all your login to convince me, and I presume you have no more powerful or convincing reasons to offer now. Indeed Louise, lam resolved at present not to discourage the attentions of so accomplished a man as Morris; so do dismiss that lengthy phiz, and appear more cheertuL" "'This, then, is your conclusion. I had hoped that my dear sister was beginning to iew this important subject in its true light." " Yes : in its true light, I do, sis—for I half believe the old adage, ' a reformed rake makes the best husband.' The grand secret is how to reform him, and I am wil- ling to make the experiment; for to teli you the truth, Louise, Morris is coming this evening to receive his answer whether your wayward sister will become his bride or not; and he declares forsooth, that if I say to him nay, he will turn recluse, and society will never know Frederick Morris again." netelle..-1117 sister ,u,) —you will not sacrifice yourself! Have you forgotten the engagement to Edward Barnes? Can you blot from your heart all his devotedness ? Can you bestow your hand upon another, when you are al ready affianced to him? Believe me, if you do, you will never have peace of mind again—God's blessing will not rest upon you. ,, "Oh, Louise, as to my engagement to Edward 8., you know it is a mere child's affair. I have always told him when he found any one that he could love better, I would release him." "And did he allow you the same privis lege ?" " Oh, no, he is self-confident, he suppo ses my heart is inaccessible to all mankind but his own dear self. But to be serious, Louise, I wonder he could not have pla ced his affection upon you instead of me. lie is so learned, so dignified, and so mo ralizing, that I wonder he should fancy me, who loves nothing better than to' trip the light fantastic toe' in the ' merry dance,' or read the' last novel.' But Ido not fear for him ; he will soon find another I better calculated than myself to make him happy, and it requires no prophet's vision to divine who that one will be. Ah, ha—l that blush, Louise!" "Estelle, hush! I will not listen to your levity longer. You wrong yourself—you wrong him to whom you have plighted your love." "Well, Louise, I will be serious, and now what is the sum total of your objec tions to Morris? You can't but acknowl. edge that he is very accomplished, and a perfect Adonis. There is not a young la dy of all my acquaintance who does not think herself a fortunate girl to be the ob ject of his affections—and even you my demure sister, I believe pure jealousy is the cause of your dislike. But come—his faults! what are they?" "Estelle, you know them; 1 have told you, and others have warned you. Is he not a professional gambler and have not even you, blinded as you are, seen him when there was an unwonted flush upon his countenance, and an unnatural excite ment ot spirits ?" " ell, allowing all that to be true, (though the last charge I do think is false,) think you not his love for me will deter him from doing any thing that will make me unhappy? Louise, you know little of his devotedness." "Estelle! Este'.le! that is the rock on which thousands split ; shun it, I beseech you. Oh, could we call back the spirits of those who have been drawn into this maelstroom by that deluded hope, could we ask them what induced them so un worthily to give away their hearts, they would answer, with the hope of a refor mation." " Wel!, Louise, I do not wish you to "ONE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY." HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, JUNE 29, 1842. conjure up the spirits of the departed to favor your cause—l can support mine by living testimony, I will refer you to our dear father. I have been told he was a wild youth, and was addicted to gambling; but you know, Louise, he is one of the very beseof father s ?' "Estelle, it becomes me not to speak of the failings of our father; but never till the death of our sainted mother, has our father been what you now see him to be,' and sister if this evening is to decide your fate, I have an errand to you from our dy ing mother." From our mother! what can it mean?" Listen, and I will tell you : you know that she was long ill—that she bore all her suffering with meekness; and you must have been only a casual observer, if you have not witnessed her hours of sadness, even when she was well. I have seen her gaze on us with a look of untold affection, while tears streamed down her pale cheeks, and I have often wondered at her emotion A few weeks previous to her death, she called me to her side and gave me this manuscript. She said it had her in tention to carry the secret of her sorrows to the grave ; but with the hope that it might benefit us she entrusted it to me, as the eldest, with a strict injunction not to reveal it even to you, unless I saw you about to take a step in life, which would cause unavailing repentance. And now-, Estelle, I have closed. In these papqq you will learn your mother's history, and her last counsel: if these will not move you, no argument of mine can." ' For once the gay Estelle looked sad, and sat down with a throbbing heart to peruse the manuscript, but she had hardly time to finish it, before a servant announced Mor ris. Louise could have wished him anni- Misted, for he seemed to possess a serpent's fascination over Estelle, and to drive from her mind all sober thought. That evening Morris urged his suit with so much appa rent earnestness, and made such oaths of eternal constancy, that he won the consent of fair Estelle to become his bride in a few weeks. Louise and Estelle Lawrence were the daughters of Mr. Lawrence, a lawyer of some celebrity and great wealth, in a beau were young. Although possessed of every attraction to make a home a paradise, Mrs. L. failed to secure the company of her husband. The gambling table and wine cup possessed more attractions for him than his lovely wife, whose affectionate heart withered away with the conscious ness of unrequitted love. After her death, Mr. L. seemed an altered man; he for sook all his vices, and tried by his sfStc tion for his daughters to atone for his ne glect of their mother. These sisters were as opposite in their characters as the anti podes. Louise possessed all those quell. ties of mind which are the result of virtu• ous principles, and that intuitive discrimi nation of character which so few of our sex have the credit of possessing, but which is , so requisite to distinguish the really vir tuous from those who " steal the livery of the court of heaven to serve the devil in." Estelle was a sunny girl—no cloud dim med her vision—all was joy and gaiety with her. She was sure to laugh the loud est when others looked the saddest; but she had a most affectionate heart, and manners so bland and winning, that she was welcomed wherever she went. She had spent some time in New York, and there became acquainted with Morris, a gentleman who she often said was the " beau ideal," of her her fancy. He had by his insinuating address and handsome ' face, won the confiding heart of Estelle, and he was now on a visit to N. to obtain her consent for their immediate union.— Louise had never liked Morris, and had often tried to reason with her infatuated sister, but with little success. Mr. L. never hinted his objections, if he had them; and his wife (tor, unhappily, for his second wife he chosen a young lady, was but a little the senior of his daughters, and from whose tyranny the high minded Estelle longed to be free,) favored Estelle's mar riage with Morris. Jealous alike of her beauty and accomplishments, and the place she held in her father's heart, she wished her away. But Estelle could not consent to become the bride of Morris without some terrible conflicts with her heart and conscience; for he to whom she was already plighted, now (ignorant that his heart's best treasure was about to be torn from him,) was pursuing his studies in the State of Maine. Vacation was at hand, and Edward Barnes was expected home in a short time. Estelle knew this; she knew all his worth; his undying love for her, and sometimes would relent, and wish she had never seen the fascinating Morris. Morris was well aware that his hold upon her affections was not strong, for he had more than once found her weep• ing with letters in her hand, which he sup posed were from Edward ;—for this rea son he hastened the performance of the ceremony which would make her his for ever. " Well, sister," said Estelle, on the morning of her wedding day, "in a few hours I shall be wedded to Morris. lam I going to try the fearful experiment, as you are pleased to call it. It he proves to be a good husband, I shall have the satisfaction of triumphing over you ; if he does not, then my history will serve as a beacon light to warn others not to shipwreck their happiness in the same manner ;—so you see I shall do my far friends a service in this way, if no other." Louise sighed as she saw her bright and happy sister so unconsciously sacrificing herself; but she only remarked that a few years would decide the question. In a few weeks, Morris with his wife, were settled in New York. For two years all was well with Estelle. Morris was apparently a reformed man, and even Louise began to think her fears would not be realized. his evenings were spent in the society of his wife, and he began to feel a relish for domestic pleasures. At this period, one of his old associates, who had just returned from a tour in Europe, called to congratulate him, and to revive old friendship. Well, Fred;" said he familiarly, I ad mire your wife and situation, and even yOur little babe looks like a cherub, but faith, friend, you don't intend to bury yourself here, tic, you? How fare our old friends P. and M? you meet at our old haunts I presume" "Indeed I have not been there of late, neither have I seen our old friends but once or twice these two years." "'Well, then we will go and hunt them up this evening." That was along evening for Estelle.— The clock told the midnight hour before Morris returned, and when he saw her anxious countenance, his heart smote him, but whit a slight excuse he quieted the fears of his too confiding wife. From that evening must be dated the downfall of Morris. Estelle was conscious of the change in her husband. but she uttered I ' not a word of reproach. " A cloud slowly and heavily came over her; a cloud Of ills, ',re mention not, enough to say, irlwas cr,ld and dead impenetrable gloom, She saw its dark nnnroarh and saw he, One slut one, put out as nearer still It drew her soul, but tainted not at first ; Fainted not soon." One night as her husband returned home unusually late, Estelle was struck with his haggard look and almost maniac laugh when he roughly said, " well Estelle, now we are off for the west—l am worth bare• ly enough to buy us a log hut, and we will go and hide ourselves in the prairies of Illinois. That—Knowles has done the work for me to night;—Oh! I wish I had shot him l" and he gnashed his teeth in rage. Estelle was shocked, confound ed and crushed ; but she questioned him not, nor offered one word of expostulation. With a sad heart she packed her things, and in a week they were on their way to Illinois. Here years of constant suffer ing awaited Estelle. Her friends hearing of her destitute situation sent her pecu niary aid; but what could bind up the wounds of that broken heart? Who could gather up those young affections again? " When thus she lay, Forlorn of heart, withered and desolate, As leaf of autumn, when the wolfish winds, Selecting from its falling sisters, chase Far from its native grove, to lifeless wastes And leave it there alone, to be forgotten Eternally. God passed in mercy by, His praise be ever new! and on her breathed, And bade her live!" "Oh Ma, how I wish you had been a the meeting to day; we had a new minis ter. He looked so tinmh like the minia ture you have of uncle William, I wish you could see him. Old Margaret says he is to be our minister for a few months, till Mr. Gray has returned from his jour ney—for Ma, he has gone to the east to bring his wife and children here." " Well, Louise, did you tell him you had a dying mother who wished to see him." " Ma, he was a stranger, and I dare not speak to him ; but I asked old Margaret's husband to do it, and he is coining here to-morrow." " Mother" said the same sweet-faced little girl the next morning," the minister is at the door, and wishes to know if I am the little girl whose mother wished to see him; and there is another gentleman with him." " Ask them in," said a feeble voice. Estelle, unaccustomed to the sight of strangers, was abashed when the two gen tlemen entered her hut ; but a slight flush came to her colorless face as She eyer' the stranger who first entered, and thought she had seen one who resembled him— but before she had time for further scruti ny, she found herself encircled in the arms of her only brother. Neither could speak, but gushing tears more than words re lieved their full hearts; but when she re cognised the other stranger, who was no either than Edward Barnes, she swooned. " William, dear William, have you come at length?" sobbed Estelle; " come to see your sister die : come to sooth her dying hours; come to my beloved Louise? God has indeed answered my prayersl— Oh William, it was a fearful experiment, but it is all over:" William Lawrence, who was at college at the time of his sister's marriage, and who subsequently fitted for the ministry, resolved as soon as Ills studies were fin- fished, to go and take his sister back to her native village. But while he was prepar ing to start, news came that Estelle was no more, and that Morris was roving .a bout, an object of commiseration and dis gust. Still he longed to go and learn more of his sister's fate, and to take the little Louise home. His friend Edward Barnes accompanied him, with a view of settling in the west. They had stopped to spend the Sabbath at a village about a mile from Estelle's house, entirely uncon scious of their affinity to her. Finding the minister of the place absent, lie pro- posed to preach the following day, which was gladly accepted. On Sunday morns ing, a little band collected in a building used as a church. Estelle had always met with this little band, but feeling her strength rapidly declning, she sent her little daughter to request the minister to visit her. The little Louise had her eyes rivited upon the preacher during all the service ; and as he passed her, she tried to summon courage to her errand, but her heart failed her. The next morning, liam and his'friend started for Estelle's abode ; and on their way, encountering the old man who had made the request, they asked to be directed to her hut. But what was their surprise on hearing from the old man such an account of her as in duced them to believe that it was indeed their friend (over whose supposed death they had often wept) they were now call ed to visit. They learned, also, that Mor ris had some months previous, in a fit of ,intoxication, intoxication, committed suicide; and for nearly a year that poor destitute woman had lived with her little daughter in ex. treme poverty. William tried to sooth her with the hope that she would yet be happy; that she would return with him, Qin*: inrinme.r bi;e.- telle—death had marked her for its vie ' tim ! Crushed and broken hearted, she was even now on the shore of eternity.— " And even brother," she would say, were I able to endure the journey, I never could ' endure the sight of my old home--of my injured sister. Ohl why did I not listen to her kind advice? No, brother, here I must die: But even that thought has last half its gloom, since I know my Lou ise is provided with home and friends." " Will you allow me to adopt your child as my own?" said Edward B. Estelle hesitated. It was the man she had slighted and injured. " I should fu ller," said she, that she would be ,under de tuition of her aunt Louise." "Then will your wish be gratified," said William. " Louise is the wile of Edward Barnes— and you can confide your child to none with inure assurance that she will receive all a mother's care and instruction." The color went and came in poor Estelle's check at this intelligence, but after a mo ment's struggle with her feelings." " T is as it should be," said she, " I dashed the cup of happiness from my lips, and I have been made to drain the cup of affliction to the very dress." In a week from this time, Estelle Mor ris was a dweller in eternity. But she died not without hope. Her sufferings hail led her to the fountain of consolation a Saviour's love,—anil she realized the fulfilment of the premise, "A bruised reed He will not break." In one of the neatest houses in the vil lage of N—, is seen a lovely girl, who often with a look of sadness says, " Uncle Edward, how I wish my dear Ma had lived to come here, why did you not find us sooner? I wonder if you are the same Edward B. I heard Papa talk about? He told Ma he supposed she wished she had married Edward Barnes instead of him, and with a dreadful oath he left the house, saying he would be in the way no longer; and he never did come back—but the next day four men brought him * ** * Oh Uncle I cannot tell you, it makes me tremble to think of it. Poor Ma was so ill, I thought she would have died, and I should be left alone." Edward B. could not refrain from tPuu glittg his tears with those of his little niece —nor can you, fair readers withhold your sympathy. But let none say or think, that a " reformed rake makes the best husband." MARV. _ _ A recent philosopher discloses a meth od to avoid being dunned? 4'lloo—howl --how?" we hear every body asking.— Never run in debt! is Please exchange," as the printer said when he offered his heart to a nice little [WnoLE No. 337. 1 A GEm.--We never read the following without feeling 20 per cent improved by it: "Two neighbors met, one of them was exceedingly rich, and the other in molt ; rate circumstances. The latter began to congratulate the former on his great pos- sessions, and the happiness which• he must enjoy, and ended in contrasting it with his own condition. " My friend," said the rich man. a will you allow me to ask you one question?" " Certainly, sir." Would you be willing to take my pro perty and take the t,hole care of it for your boarding and clothing?" " No, jndeed," " Well, that's all I get." PATRIOTIC. -" Feller Sogers," sail a newly elected lieutenant of Militia, away down in Maine. "I'm alfired obleeged to you for this shove up in the ranks you have given me. Fellow Sogers, I'm not a gain to forget your kindness soon—not by a darn'd sight: and I tell you what it is , ; I'll stick to my post like pitch to a pine board, so long as there's peace ; but as I go in for rotation in office, if we should come to blows with the Britishers, I'll be darn'd if I dont resign right oft, and give every feller a fair shake for fame and glos Iry, and all that ere." " Tom," said an impudent wag to a conceited fop, " I know a beautiful crea tors who wishes to make your acquain tance." _ . " Demned glad to hear it—fine girl— struck with my appearance, 1 suppose, " Yes--very much so. She thinks you'd make a capital playmate for her poodle dog." COOL TBIPUDENCE:-.We were told yes terday of a piece of the coolest and most audacious nonsense that ever was played oftsince the days when Tom Kin.. ' worri ed poor old Monsieur Tonson. A chap sadly in want of amusement, as he strolled out of the St. Charles bar-room at mid night, during last week, was suddenly moved by a brilliant conception. lie ~,,..il,,,,Litn A n.tiL Aral- anny he came across. away with a vigor and fury that alarmed the whole neighborhood. Up went a sec ond story la indow—a head was popped out and in again—and down instantly to the door came a man in his night-&ear shivering between fright and the chilly evening. The man was speechless when he opened the door to so alarming a sum mons, and stared in mute inquiry upon our hero. There they stood for some se conds, when the audacious disturber of the night coolly inquired of the man in the night cap— Well now, my friend, what the d—l do you want?" • Any body about there at that time may have heard a street door slain to, and have seen a chap walk oft whistling " Oft in the stilly night!" GRAMMATICAL.--" What !at you-a stu dies so early Miss Angelina!" said the foppish, frippery Damon Darlington, as he entered the boudoir of a lady acquaintance living in St.-street yesterday ; and, crossing over the carpeted floor to the sofa en which she sat, he added " aught what is that attracts your attention? Bulwar's last, Lanoni, I have no doubt." "No, sir," said Angelina, coolly : " I am studying my grammar." Awh, capital, glorious!" said Damon rubbing his kid-glove-cased hands in af fected rapture. " New commence, my dear, and conjugate for me the verb .1 to love." " No, sir," said the spirited Angelina, " but 1 will decline the pronoun you ;" and walking into the neat room she rang the bell, and when the negro sell t at. tended the summons, she ordered him to conduct Mr. Damon Darlington to the hall door. The negro instantly obeyed the com mands of his young, mistress, and but a few minutes elapsed ere the accomplished Mr. Darlington was an illustration of the preter•perfect tense of the verb " to go" --he was gone! " My dear friend, that woman lus been talking about you so, again ! She has been telling the awlullest lies you ever heard ; why, she railed away about 3 o:a for a whole hour!" " And you heard it all, did you?" y es. 4 Well, after this, just bear in mind that it takes two to make a slander ; one to tell it, and one to listen to it." Pa, do they plow the prisoners up al Sing-Sing?" "No, my son, what made you ask that question?" " Cause it says here that one 01 their faces was furrowed." " Go to bed, Sammy, go to bed, and don't go out of the house, somebody might steal yott. - --/ro , City. [Picayune.
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