VOL. VII, No. 33d PUBLISHED BY THEODORE 11, CREMER, 'IMBUES. The “Jouittua." 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 • riod than six months any paper discon tinued till all arrear re paid. Advertisements n ceedmg one square, will be inserted thr Imes for one dollar, and for very subi - equent insertion twenty tive cents. If no definite orders are given as to the time an advertisement is to be continu ed, it will be kept in tilt ordlyed out, and charged accordingly. PO=TP.T. Oa the Death ofa Child. Dead! dead! that child I loved so well! Transported to the world above! I need no more my heart conceal: I never dared indulge my love: But may I not indulge my grief. And seek in tears a s.ad relief ?, Mine eartbifhappiness is fled, His mother's joy, his father's hope. (0 had I died in Isaac's stead!) He ahould. have lived, my age's prop ; He should have closed his father's eyes, And followed me to paradise. But bath not Heaven, who first bestowed, A right to take his gift away I bow me to the sovereign God, Who matched him from the evil day! Yet nature will repeat her moan, And fondly cry, "My son! my son!" Turn from him, turn, officious thought! Officious thought presents again The thousand little acts he wrought, [pain; Which wounds my heart with soothing His looks, his winning gestures, rise, His waving hands, and laughing eyes! Those waving hands no more shall move, Those laughing eyes shall smile no more, He cannot now engage our love. With sweet insinuating power Our weak, unguarded hearts ensnare, And rival his Creator there. Farewell, (since Heaven ordains it so,) Farewell, my yearning heart's desire! Stunned with the providential blow, And scarce beginning to respire, I ow", and bow me in the dust, My God is good, and wise, and just. He justly claims the first-born snn, Accepts my costly sacrifice, Dearest of all his gifts, but one, At his command the victim dies ! He but resumes what he had given, He, takes my sacrifice to heaven. His wisdom timed the Vngering stroke, The mother first resolved to save ; The mother left the child he took, Nor let them shart a common grave; And still my better-half survives, Joseph is dead, but Rachel lives. The Searcher of my heart can tell How oft its fondness I withstood ; When forced a lather's joy to feel, I shrunk from the suspected good, Refused the perilous delight, And hid me trom the pleasing sight. Thelabor of an aclungtreast, The racking fears, to God are known ; I could not in his danger rest, I trembled for my helpless son: But all my fears forever cease, My son has gained the port of peace! 14igkts and Shadows. BY BIAS. SERA SMITH. 2n Life's Spring time the glad earth seems With sunlight thick bestrown— Carressing bird, and leaf, and flower, But the shadow is unknown. We see the warm light where it rests. On stream and mountain sheen. Unmindful of the valley left In shadows dim between. And when the moon-shine hushing's , Glides down on hill and vale. She hides from us the shadow clasped Unto her bosom pale. Alas! for the coming change that will The sunshine chase away, And leave on hill, and stream, and flower, Dim shadows, cold and gray. Alas! for the eye will turn aside, Where gladness dwelt of yore, Alid mark the shadows chase the light From us, for ever more. The Sorest and the mountain top, May gleam as bright as ever; Nut childhood's eyes, and childhood's heart, Retusa to us, oh, never, THE JOURNAL. AZICIOELL.A.NEOT.7O. THE LOVERS. BY WILLIAM COMSTOCK. In humblest, simplest habits clad, Nor wealth, or pain had he— A constant heart was all he had, And that was all to me. GOLDSMIt'II Several years since, a young Southern er was walking down Broadway with his bride. As the throng was great, and this couple were engaged in pleasing conver sation, they did nut immediately perceive they were followed by a young man, who took every occasion to approach the lady arid touch her with his elbow. At length, however, they were au rprised by the sound of a strange voice near them. " Let that woman alone—she is a mar ried woman-1 know her well. Drop het at once. You ought to be ashamed to play your pranks with that married wo man:" Both turned and saw the intruder, who had by this duie placed himself at the side of the lady, and offering his arm, con tinued : "Let go of him, my good woman, and come with me, I'll take you to your [and- Surprised and irritated, the young hus• band was on the point cf felling the offi cious (peddler to the earth with a blow of the fist, when the idea occurred to him that the lad must be either an idiot or a bedlarmte ; and upon a close survey of his countenance, he was convinced that the offender was irresponsible for his ac dons. The same high sense of honor that had once induced the Southerner to risk his life in single combat with the asperser of his reputation, now checked his anger and unnerved his arm. He scorned to offer violence to a man whose mind had lost the guidance of reason. He com manded the youth to desist—but it was nut attended to. The young man persist ed in following the couple, offering the lady his arm, and bidding her husband re• lease her and give her into his custody.— This singule scene began to attract the notice‘or others. Alen and women stop• ped to gaze, and as the Southerner lifted his eyes, he saw a chimney sweep grinning from ear to ear, while surveying the group below from his lofty perch on the top of a chimney on the other side of the street. The situation of the gentleman was pecu liar. He was on the point of releasing the lady and permitting her to enter a store while lie should deal alone with the intruder, when another individual joined the group. This was a middle aged man, in the dress ofan ordinary mechanic, who laid his hand upon the shoulder of the youth, and sternly bade him go home.— The unfortunate obeyed, but not until he had repeated his demand that the" mauls ed woman" should be released. The stranger, who proved to be the father of the offender, then approaching the South.' erner for moderation and apologised on behalf of the youth, with more grace than could have been expected from a man in a green jacket. The Southerner became interested in the conversation of the other --and when he reached the hotel he invi ted him into his room, where the following story of the unfortunate youth was given by the father. " My unhappy boy does not always be have in so rude a manner. In order to alleviate his distress of mind, he occasion ally swallows a glass of liqeor. It takes but a small quantity to upset his reason, then he is a prey to vain iniaginings.-- When free from the influence of ardent spirits, he is perfectly sane and behaves discreetly. I have already hinted that he is suffering from disappointed love. Sev eral years ago I procured him a situation in a mercantile house of this city. He was an under clerk, and gave great satisfaction to his employer, who boarded him in his own family. It was generally supposed that he would make an eXcellent account ant and salesman. The merchant had several daughters. The youngest was near the age of my son. end was very beau ' taut. She was juat ripening into wool in. hood, and her gt aces made an impression upon the heart of the lad which never can be defaced. But lam a little before my story, for I should have told you that Ed ward, for that is my son's name, was al ways remarkable for Ilia candor and sin eerily. He knew nothing of art or dia. guise, and even in childhood hi , never had recourse to dissimulation to hide a fault. It scented inipossiole for him to swerve from the truth on any occasion. It was this peculiar disposition which led him to take very thing for gospel which was told him, as lie had no conception of fraud or deceit. 1 was pleased with this simplicity of character which so strongly marked my son, and forbade any one to jest in his presence, lest he might gradually lose his regard for the truth. You may well be lieve that my son's unwavering integrity recommended him to the merchant. Ile was indeed very much attached to the boy, and treated him more like a ton than a ooNE. COUNTIIY., ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY." HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 24, 1842. hireling. lam sorry to say the young Is (lies did not seem to admire this simplici ty of character in my son. They were rather inclined to take advantage of it, and appeared to imagine that his want of duplicity was evidence of a shallow intel lect. But sir, my sun was not a fool. Ile was ignorant concerning evil, but wise in that which is good. Undeviating truth is not always adapted to the furtherance of worldly purposes. The foundation is too broad for petty schemes of worldly policy, and its superintendence pierces the shad. ow. of death and is lighted with the glories of eternity. The strictly honest and sin cere man is therefore thought a fool for his pains, l'he beginning and the end of the work canon. be taken in at a glance. like tho, works of human wisdom which are completed on earth. My son frequently paid us a visit, and lie at length began to speak of the mer chant's youngest daughter in terms of praise which led us into his secret. I candidly told him that he was Lying up sorrow for himself, as it could not be sup posed that the prowl daughter of a mer. chant would condescend to smile upon the son of po/erty and dependence. He replied with sparkling in his eyes, that the voiing lady gave him every reason to be lieve that his passion was returned.— 'When he was detained at the store on any emergency she would defer eating until his arrival, in order that she might dine alone with him ; and when she had an er rand to the shop in the evening, she would always accept his company with pleasure. is hen lie praised her she cast down her eyes, and a glow of happiness overspread her countenance. In short there were a thousand proofs that her love was egoist to his. I was myself deceived by these accounts of her conduct, and no longer cautioned Edward against presumption. He scented to live in a perfect delirium of piy. His sparkling countenance told the happiness that dwelt within his heart. He seemed to live upon love, for although he ate little, his appearance improved. His cheeks bloomed with roses. and his eyes sparkled like stars. Ile saved his scanty earnings, denyine, himself niany,necesse ries which his condition required, until he hail amassed a•clever little vain of money, all of which lie expended for a costly jewel. The young lady accepted the pres ent very graciously, and lie was in rap tures. A few days after presenting the jewel, Edward was sent by his employer, to call the young ladies to tea. As he approached the boudoir in which they were, he heard the sound of immoderate laughter, and soon distinguished the voice of the young lady herself. She was speaking of Edward. She was ridiculing his love, and describing in a graphic manner, the awkardness which he exhibited in presenting the jewel which had cost him the fruits of six month's toil in the counting house. When he knocked at the door, and it was opened by the young lady, who at once assumed a modest and even a timid demeanor, while Edward observed that her sisters winked slily at each other. Other developernents now took place which left no doubt on the mind of Edward that the young lady had been trifling with an ardent passion, and had even secreted her sisters in an adjoin ing apartment, in order that they might listen, unperceived, to his declarations— when Edward retired, the young lady would join her sisters, and they would make merry at his expense. I well recollect the time that my son made these discoveries. He entered the house while we were at supper. He spoke not a word, but sunk, like one exhausted by toil into a chair. His face was as pale as death—his lips quivered, and his eyes assumed the glassy appearance of a Person in the last agonies. We were alarmed, and inquired if he was ill. He frankly told us what had happened, and then begged me to help him to his chaii,ber.— t chamber he never left, until ten (bye had expired, and when he came forth he resembled a skeleton. He has never smiled since—although his intellect re mains undisturbed, save when in moments dud he is unable to endure the torturing reflections which harrassed his true heart,' he will swallow a glass of spirits, and then he raves incoherently as you have observed this day. The merchant called at my house several days, to inquire after Edward's health, as he was very desirous: to have his services; but Edward could never be induced to see him, and we on our part never revealed to the merchant the cause of his malady. Here ended the narration, but not the acquaintance between the southerner and the mechanic. The former called several times at the house of the latter, and evin ced real sympathy for the young man, who had so harrassed him while walking with the lady in Broadway. While the southerner was preparing to . return to his native State, he had occasion to call nt a pawnbroker's shop. A friend of his, while on a visit N. York had lost , some valuable article which he supposed to have been pawned. Ile had requested this gentleman to make some inquiry re.' specting it. On entering the pawnbroker's office, the southerner observed several orsons at the counter. One of them was ,about pawning some articles, which she ' could redeem in a few days, and wanted to be very sure that it would be taken care of, for she said it was the gift of one very dear to her. Our gentleman was interested and took pains to see the article, which proved to be a valuable jewel. lite young lady was also very beautiful. He despatched his business as soon as possible and hurried after the maiden. He courteously begged her to listen to him. Ile told her that he woulksive her the money to redeem the jewel Iltimediately if she wished. Site nesitateft— but on fixing her eyes on the southerner's countenance, she read noth ling there but high honor and disinterested sympfrhy. She accepted the ofter, for she could not refuse, so urgent was her bent-' factor. On their way to the office she told' the southerner, that she had been, recent ly the child of affluence—but that during the tremendous crash in the mercantile world that had occurred but a short time before, her lather had hiled—had been utterly ruined. This disaster sent him to the grave, and her mother's death soon followed. She was now very poor, and nothing but the most pressing want could have induced her to pawn that jewel, for alas: said she, it was presented to me by one whim] I have since learned to prize— but whose constant heart I trampled upon, and whose devoted afT,ction I trea ted as a matter of jest and merriment.— Too dearly have I learned how to prize true friendship, and to despise low hollow hearted insincerity. The southerner evinced great emotion —but he accompanied the lady Nolte door of the pawnbroker's office. When she came nut he was waiting fi►r her. Pray, madam, said he, would you have any objection to act as governess in a very respectable family ?_ I should be glail of the opportunity, said she, with a look of gratitude which went to his heart. The i , ,,rome with me, I will introduce you at once. They walked about half a mile together when they reached the houv,e of Edward's father. He ushered her in Without sere• mono. The parents of Edward were sea ted before the fire. Both rose on the ens trance of the southerner, and he called fur Edward who immediately came out frotn another apartment. In the moment that the lady behel d him, site exclaimed— " Merciful Providence: It is he—the lost mimed Edward l" The youth rushed forward and caught her in his arms, as she was sinking to the floor, completely overpowered by the shock which this sudden introduction oc casioned her. " Maria ! Maria!" cried Edward. "can this be you I Awake ! Look up and tell me it is." " Amazement !" exclaimed the father— " this must be Miss lie Forest !" " Maria De Forest!" cried the southern. er, now surprised in his turn, and he smote his hands together joyfully. By this time Maria had recovered her consciousness. When the first transports had, is some degree subsided, the south erner stepped forward and took the hand of the young lady. " Miss De Forest," said he, " I have looked for you in every genteel part of the city. You had an uncle in South Candi nia, by the name of William De Forust.— You were a great favorite of his when a I child. He has recently died, and lelt you the handsome sum of fifty thousand dol lars. lam his executor, and can there fore pay you the amount imtnediately." " nappy am I then," cried Maria, asshe turned %main to Edward, to be able to throw at the feet of my constant and in• jured lover, a treasure which, however, turns to dross when compared with his sincerity, and his generous forgiveness of my former folly." "Then I alone am unhappy," said the southerner. " This hand separated a ten der and devoted couple--this band made a young and beautiful wife a willow. I saw her destraction as she flew to the bloody field where lay the victim of fake honor, the friend and playmate of youth. Yet, in joining together two willing hearts I feel relieved of half my burden. My heart will heat less oppressively when 1 hear his name, and my brain will burn less fervidly, when I hear the plaintive tones of his desponding widow." SWEET. --qt Western Editor says that nothing is sweeter than the warm and ar dent kiss frutn one we love unless it is molasses. NOT A BAD PuN.--.. Be•teare," as the Potter said to the lump of clay. I'll' be burnt first," responded the mud. Wong or MERCY.—Unhookinga young lady's frock to enable her to sns•ze. Journeys to Maven. The Boston Post gives the following examination of a pious young lady in that '1 city who has trances anti goes to heaven in every trance. She has created quite a sensation, and already numbers at least one pious clergyman among her disciples. The following is her last examination after having wakened from a trance; " Where have you been?" "To hea• ven" One eternal day." Did you see God? a Yes" " What kind of a : looking being is he?" " I cannot describe him, he was so glorious." " Was lie sitting or standing?" "Standing." (Here the clergyman raised his eyes to the ceiling, and waving his hand with a deep tremu lous voice said, " Seek to know no mire! (leaven will not be trifled with!") The lady, after a momentary pause, resumed her inquiries. " Who did you see there besides God?". " Myriads of angels and spirits of saints, all young and beautifol." " Did they ask you any questions""-- " Yes, they asked me it 1 was fond of mu sic, and I told them I was. Well, said they, you shall have plenty of it here, but you must first go back, and come to us through the grave, but 1 was not frighten ed ; and they told me I must now go back, and I began to cry bitterly." " Did you see any person there whom you knew to be wicked while on earth?' (Here she faltered a " I do not recollect, but I think not." " What did they say to you when they sent you back?" "'They told me that they would call fur me at twelve o'clock, and then they would tell me when I was to come home. I hope they will let me live to tell all that I have seen." The dialogue vas brought to a close by the interference of the clergyman, who appeared deeply interested. At 12 o'clock she again fell into a trance, from which she had not awoke at last accounts. She experienced religiou a few weeks since, was baptived, and admitted as a member or the church. She is said to be I very pious. .Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer cloud, And not excite our special wonder. WOMAN vs. " LADY. " —We have se veral times in conversation been corrected by the fastidiously refined for using the word woman" instead of lady. “Wo man," say they, is a course and com• mon word." It is no such thing. it's the best word in the English language.— Suppose Scott, in his noble tribute to the sex, for their devoted tenderness to us when under :action, had written— Oh! ladica! in our hours of ease,"&c. would he not have destroyed the richness of the passage? We think so. " Ladies" are to our mind, creatures of education, fashion and refinement ; made up by the school mistress, the (lancing master and the dress maker—things of elegance and grace, which we may admire without feel ing a warmer sentiment.— Accomplish, ed and lovely women." however, arc beings with warm, true hearts, and pure, holy and. gushing affections, whom to know is not only to admire, but to revere and love. We would tax all our powers of pleasing for a lady--we would, if need be, pour out our blood like water for a woman.—Memphis Inquirer. A QUAKER ANSWER —" Martha, does thee love mei" asked a Quaker youth of one at whose shrine his heart's holiest fee lings had been otrered up. 6. Why, Seth," answered she, " we are commanded to love one another, are we not?" " Ay, Martha, but does thee regard me with that feeling the world calls love?" I hardly know what to tell thee, Seth. I have greatly feared that my heart was an erring one. I have tried to bestow my love on all ; but I may have sometimes thought, perhaps, that thee was getting rather more titan thy share. We remember being at a " Conference Meeting," once in Yankee land, when one of the deacons came around asking the people if they wanted salvation.-- Near us sat a butcher's boy, of nineteen years old, about as amenable to salva tion as a lamb in his hands would have been to mercy. " Do you want salvation?" said the Deacon, looking into his-brutal face, "No! darn you— I want Sal Skinner, and the sexton won't let me take her out till meeting's over." Then was the time we roared "some." --N. 0. Cresent City. HUMILITY.—We very much admire the church-warden's wife who went to church, for the first time in her lite, when her bus bond was church-warden; and being some what late, the congregation were getting up limn their knees at the time she enter ed, and she said with a sweetly conde scending smile, Pray keep your seats, ladies and gentlemen ; I think no more of woyuelinew than 1 did biters." [WHOLE No. 345. Rich and Poor. Without rellectini , ' on the ninny cares and perplexities attendant upon wealth, mankind are continually sighing for great riches. It is agreeable to reflect upon the possessiok of borders of gold, elegant seats and the thousand enjoyments which would be attendant cn wealth. While these thoughts engross the heart, we sel dom examine the other side of the picture. The fears, the anxieties . , the cares, the vexations, which follow in the train of wealth, are more than sufficient to coun terbalance its conveniences and its plea. sures. The social affections, as a gener al fact, are less lively in the breast of the rich man. He does not so often sympa thize with the affection of others, and his charity is less warm, while his disposition is morose and unsociable. Yet the daily earliest prayer of multitudes is, to possess wealth. 10 this object all the faculties of the mind are bent—all their energies tend. How different would be their con dition—how great comparatively their happiness—if they were contented with their lot—and their ambition rose no high• er than the enjoyment of a simple com petence. When a friend or neighbor, by the death of others, comes in possession of property, how often do we envy his lot, and secretly inquire why we were not the favorites of fortune? If we were to look upon our neighbors with the eyes of philosophers. such a passion as envy would never be felt in our bosoms. If one or two young men of equal Ml entgl, and of similar disposition and ha bits, should suddenly come into the pos session of wealth,—the chances of success. happiness and long life, would be in favor of the poor man—and of the situation of the two, a man of sterling virtue, would choose the latter. There are but few in stances on record, where property which was easil) obtained, did not prove the ruin of the possessors. But wealth ac quired by honest industry and unbending integrity, frequently yields peace of mind, happiness and contentment. The wealthiest men our country has, producerrlnd but little to commence life with, and acquired their property by hard labor. Girard, who died a few years since, worth fifteen millions, commenced his career with not a dollar. Barlett, of Newburyport, whose liberality to the An • dover Institution is every where known, was once a poor shoemaker. He died a year or two since immensely rich. As tor, of New York, whose income is four thousand dollars a day, commenced life a poor boy —and so with most the wealthy throughout the country. The richest man in this city once labored for a support— and another, whose income is several thousands yearly, was the sot of a poor ferryman, who commenced life by row in; his boat between Portland and Cape Elizabeth at three Cents a passenger.-- Wealth acquired in this way is a'itnost certain of being retained--while that which is sudden in its fall, departs almost as soon ns it came, leaving its possessor as miserable as a wretch can be. To all our young men who are dreaming of golden prospects—who are waiting for the death of friends, and lounging and rusting away their years, laying the "flat. tering unction to their souls," that riches will be soon poured into their laps—we would say, trust not to Uncertainties—la bor to acquire your own independence without the aid of others and if your pros pects fail, you will have better riches in your own efforts, which will never prove delusive. Let no one be ambitious for the possession of great wealth, so that in its acquisition he neglects the most im• purtant duties of life. Better be poor forever.. Strive not so much for the things which perish, as for a good character, and a name that is above all reproach. Then. whether steeped in poverty, or flushed with gold, all the blessings of Isle will at tend your steps, and peace and joy will crOwn latter days.—Poriland Tribune. SINGULAR. -All nature was hushed in a gloomy silence; the sun was absorbed by a black massive cloud which was rising from the west, throwing its lurid glare from the forked lightning upon the bosom of the dark sleeping waters of Lake Hu• rout--a lone stranger from the far cast stood upon the over hanging banks of the deep, his ear ever and anon catching the distant moan of the rising tempest—the lightnings played nearer and nearer ; the busting of the dreadful thunder were dis tinctly over his head—the pupils of his eyes might be seen to dilate, and the coltortions of his face express the agony or his soul, when he was heard to exclaim : W-o•a-h! how that flea bites my back." Were We to point out a person as he passes, and say, " There goes a men, one who has not a vice," he would scarcely lan noticed ; but exclaim, " That mania worth 4500,000," sad he wilt ►e stared at AI Cal sleight.
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