:!1 - LVI,LIN':1)0)
.JOURNAL
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Vra&ll. 'W121121 9 WNW . . 494113.
PUDLISIIED BY
THEODORE H. CREMER.
RzecE)a-u5....t55.
The "JorrustAr." will be published every Wed
...nasally morning, at $2 00 a year, if paid in advance,
Ind if not paid within six montas, $2 50.
No subscription received for a shorter period than
six months, nor any paper discontinued till all ar
roarays arc paid.
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cordingly.
REAL ESTATE
aDtmatiallaa, tie2iesallcs•.
In pursuance of an order of the Orphans'
Court of the county of Huntingdon, will be
exposed to public sale, on the premises, on
Thursday the 281 h of December inst.
rt one o'clock, P. M., the following Real
Estate, late of Abraham Vondevander of
Henderson township,. in said county, dec'd.,
to wit:--a certain piece or parcel of land,
situltte in said township of Henderson be
tween the Juniata river and Jacks Mountain,
adjoining lands of Absalom Plownan on the
Northeast and other land of the said Abra
ham Vandevander on the west, containing
75 ACRES,
more m less, being a part of a larger tract
on which the said deceased lived up to the
time of his death.
TERMS OF SALE,
one third part of the purchase money to be
paid on the confirmation of the sale, and the
residue in two equal annual payments there
after, with interest s to be secured by the
bond and mortgage of the purchaser.
By the Court, JOHN REED. Clerk.
Attendance will be given by
PETER SWOOPE, Adm'r.
Dec. 6, 1843.—ts
auditors' Mbtices.
The undersigned, appointed by the court
to distribute the proceeds arising from a
Sheriff's sale of the personal property of
Dr. Joseph Cameron, will attend for that
purpose at the prothonotary's office in the
hotough of Huntingdon, on the Ist day of
January next.
GEORGE TAYLOR, Auditor.
Dec. 6, 1843.
The creditors of John Patton, Esq., late.
of Walker township, Huntingdon county,
cited, will take notice that the undersigned
appointed to distribute amon4 the cred
itors the assets remaining in the hands of
Daniel Atrica and George Taylor, Esq'rs.,
' , his administrators, will attend for that pur
pose, at his office, in the borough of Hunt
ingdon, on Friday the 22nd day of Decem
-1843, when and where all persons interested
are requested to present their claims or be
debarred from coming in for a share of the
rotate.
JOHN CRESSWELL, Auditor.
Dec. 6, 1843.
The undersigned appointed auditor for
the purpose of in ,king distribution of the
money arising from the Sheriff's sale of the
real estate of J. &T. Mitchell and J. & T.
Mitchell & co„ gives notice that he will at
tend at the prothonotarys office, in the bor
ough of Huntingdon, for that purpose, on
Monday, the Ist day of January next, at 10
o ' c lock, A. M., when and where all persons
interested may attend and snake their claims
before said auditor, or be debarred from
coming in upon said fund.
JAMES STEEL, Auditor.
Dec. 6, 1843.
The 6ndersigned appointed auditors for
the purpose of making distribution of the
moneys arising !rot? the Sheriff's sales of
the real estate of M Bride, Royer & co. and
of Jerendan C. Betts, do hereby give notice
that they will attend at the prothonotary's
,imcc in Huntingdon, for that purpose, on
Monday the Ist clay of January next, at 10
o'clock A. M., when and where all persons
interested may attend and make their claims
before said auditors or be debarred from
coming in upon said fund.
JAMES STEEL,
JOHN CRESSWELL,Z Auditors.
GEORGE TAYLOR,
Dec. 6, 1843.
The undersigned appointed auditor for the
purpose of making e istribution of the mon
eyes arising from the Sheriff's sale of the
real estate of Isaac Neff and Walker &
Neff, and of the personal property ct John
Bouslough, respectively, hereby gives no
tice that he will attend at the prothonotary's
office, its Huntingdon, for that purpose, on
monday the Ist clay of January next, at 10
o'clock A. M., when and where all persons
interested may attend and make their claims
before said auditor or be debarred from
coming in upon said fund.
GEO. TAYLOR, Auditor.
Dec. 6. 1843.
Orp haus , Court Attlee.
di&LL persons interested willtake notice,
that by virtue of a writ of partition or
valuation, issued out of the Orphans' Court
of Huntingdon county and to me directed, I
will, on Wednesday the third day of Janua
ry, A. D. 1844, by Jury of Inquisiton, con
vened on the premises. proceed to make par
tition or valuation, according to law, of the
real estate, which was of Peter Bowers,
late of Woodherry township, in said county,
deceased, situate and lying in the said
township.
JOHN SHAVER, Sheriff.
Sheriff's office, Hunting
don Dec. 6, 1n43.
T. Mt. eitt=33l4
.ITTOR.VEIe 4T .L.lll'.
RUNTINUDON,PA,
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pons , n7.
The following breathings of true poetry are found
in the last Louisville Journal. It is said, but we
know not upon what good authority, that they were
called forth by recollections of the eloquence of the
Rev. Mr. STOCKTON, so well and favorably known
to our readers.
Pulpit Eloquence.
The day was declining—the breeze in its glee
Had left the fair blossoms to sing on the sea.
As the sun in its gorgeousness, radiant and still,
Dropped down like a gem from the brow of tho hill;
One tremulous star in the glory of June
Came out with a smile and eat down by the moon
As she graced her blue throne with the pride of a
queen—
The smiles of her loveliness gladdening the scene.
The scene was enchanting! in distance away
Rolled the foam•crested waves of the Chesapeake
bay,
While bathed in the moonlight a village was seen
With the church in the distance that stood on the
green;
The soft sloping meadows lay brightly unrolled,
With their mantles of verdure and blossoms of gold,
And the earth in her beauty, forgetting to grieve,
Loy asleep in her bloom on the bosons of eve.
A lightllearted child, I had wandered away
From the spot whero my footsteps had gambord
' all day;
And as free as a bird's was the song of my soul,
As I heard the wild waters exultingly roll;
While lightening my heart as I sported along,
With bursts of low laughter, and snatches of song,
I struck in the pathway worn o'er the sod
By the feet that went up to the worship of God.
As I traced its green windings, a murmur of prayer
With the hymn of the worshippers rose on the air,
And drew by the links of its sweetness along,
. .
I stood unolserved in the midst of the throng.
For a while my young spirit still wandered about
With the birds, and the winds, that were singing
without ;
But, birds, waves, and zephyrs, were quickly forgot
In one angel like being that brightened the spot.
In stature majestic, apart from the throng
Ho stood in his beauty, the theme of my song !
His cheek pale with fervor—the blue orbs above
Lit up with the splendors of youth, and of love
Yet the heart glowing rapture that beamed from
those eyes
Seemed saddened by sorrows, and chastened by
sighs
As iftthe young heart in its bloom had grown cold
With its loves unrequitted, its sorrows untold.
Such language as his may I nover recall,
But his theme was salvation—salvation to all,
And the souls of a thousand in ecstasy hung
On the manna-like sweetness that dropped from his
tongue.
Not alone on the car his wild eloquence stole,
Enforced by each gesture it sunk to the soul
Till it seemed that an angel had brightened the sod
And brought to each bosom the message from God.
He spoke et the Saviour—what pictures lie drew!
The scene of His suffering rose clear on my view—
The cross—the rude cross where Ho suffered and
died ;
The gush of bright crimson that flowed from His
side ;
The cup of His sorrows—the wormwood and gall;
The darkness that mantled the earth as a pall ;
The garland of thorns—and the demon-like crews
Who knelt as they scoffed Him—" Hail king of the
Jews."
Ho spoke, and it seemed that his statue-like form
Expanded and glowed, as his spirit grew warm;
His tone so impassioned—so melting his air,
. .
As touched with compassion ho ended in prayer;
His hands clasped above him—his blue orbs up-
thrown,
Still pleading for sins that were never his own,
While that mouth where such sweetness ineffable
clung,
Still spoke, tho' expression had died on his tongue.
Oh Cod ! what emotions the speaker awoke!
A mortal he seemed—yet a deity spoke ;
A man—yet so far from humanity riven ;
On earth—yet so closely connected with Heaven !
How oft in my fancy I've pictured him there
As he stood in that triumph of passion and prayer,
With his eyes closed in rapture—their transient
eclipse
Made bright by the smiles that allumined his lips.
There's a charm in delivery—a magical art
That thrills like a kiss, from the lip to the heart ;
"16 the glance--the expression—the well thoscn
word,
By whose magic the depths of the spirit are stirred ;
The smile--the mute gesture—the soul stirring
pause—
The eyo's sweet expression,--that melts, while it
MVOS-
The lip's soft persunsion—its musical tone—
On such was the charm of that eloquent ono:
The time is long past; yet how clearly defined
That boy, church, and village, float up on my mind;
I see amid azure the moon in her pride
With the sweet little trembler that sat by her side;
I hear the blue waves, as she wanders along,
Leap up in their gladness and sing her a song,
And tread in the pathway half-worn o'er the sod,
By the feet that went up to the worsphip of God.
The time is long past, yet, what visions I see !
The past, the dim past, is the present to me.
I am standing once more 'mid that heart-stricken
throng :
A vision floats up—'tis the theme of my song ;
All glorious and bright as a spirit of air,
The light like a halo encircling his hair—
As I catch the sweet accents of sweetness and love,
He whispers of Jesus—and points us above.
How sweet to my heart is the picture I've traced !
Its chain of bright fancies seemed almost effaced,
Till memory, the fond ono that sits in the soul,
Took up the frail links, and connected the whole;
As the dew to the blossom—the bud to the bee—
As the scent to the rose—are those memories to me.
Hound the chords of my heart they have trem
blingly clung,
And the echo it gives, is the song I have sung.
AMELIA.
I,2II3aELLAIIMO7O.
THE WIFE,
HT MRS. FRANCES S. osoooo, AUTHOR OP a Tog
tusx.rr or PATE."
4, All precious things, discovered late,
To those that seek them issue forth;
For Love, in sequel, works with Fate,
And draws the veil from hidden worth."
CHAPTER L
COLD and white as the bridal blossoms in her
hair was the youthful cheek, which a glow of love
and pride should have kindled into color—for Har
riet Percy, though about to become the bride of one
of the moat admired and distinguished men in the
country, was too well convinced of his indifference
to be happy in the prospect. She knew that with
him it was a marriage of expediency. That ho
was poor—that Ise required means to further his
ambitious views, and that, though uniformly kind
and respectful in his manner when they met, he
had scarcely bestowed a thought upon her mind,
heart or person, during the three weeks which in
tervened between their introduction to each other
and this their bridal morning.
For years before that introduction, even from
childhood, she had worshipped his lofty genius, and
, admired at a distance his noble form. He was the
idol of her every dream—her hero--her ideal ! His
haughty bearing, his coldly intellectual expression,
which would have repelled a less ardent and roman
tic heart, had for her an inexpressible charm. And
when, at a party given by a mutual, match-making
friend, during the first season of her entrance into
society, he had been introduced to her, she was so
agitated and confused by her various emotions, that
she could only blush and reply in monosyllables to
his polite attempts at conversation.
Poor Harriet was angry and mortified at herself;
and utterly unsuspicious, in her own guileless truth,
of any mercenary motive on his part, she was not
less amazed than delighted when, after two or three
interviews of the same description, he formally pro
posed to her father for her hand, and was at once
accepted. Exulting in her conquest, yet awed by
his distant demeanor, she hardly knew at first wheth
er to he happy or the contrary; but loving and gen
' tle as she was, there was a latent spirit of pride and
lofty resolution in her soul, which she had never
dreamed of till it was awakened by her present sit
uation.
With a woman's instinct, she learned to rend his
heart. She saw that the deamon Ambition had ob
scured, without obliterating, its nobler and more
tender feelings, and she trusted to time and her own
truth to conquer the ono and arouse the other.
But in the mean time she would be no pining
victim to neglect. Her sweet lip curled—her dark
eyes flashed—her high spirit revolted at the thought!
She would sooner die than humble herself in his
eyes! She would love him, it is true, dearly,
deeply, devotedly ; but it should be in the silent
depths of a soul he could not fathom. Not till he
should own a love, fervent and devoted as her own,
would she yield to the tenderness he inspired. Not
till then should be unveiled to him the altar on
which his image dwelt enshrined like a deity of old,
with the breath of affection for its incense, ever
burning over and around it, and the fruits and flow
ers of feeling and of thought—its sacrifice.
She would wed him, because her fortune could
assist his efforts for the good of his country and his
own distinction. She would have bestowed that
fortune upon him without her hand, but she knew
his pride too well to dream he would accept it, and
her resolution was taken.
For his life Mr. William Harwood could not have
told whether his intended bride had any claims to I
beauty or to talent. He saw that her manners were
refined, ho knew that her fortune was immense, and
he was satisfied. He heeded not—he never dreamed
of the riches of her heart and mind. But while
ambition and selfishness blinded his eyes to her
superiority, it was not so with others. A dazzling
ly fair complexion, soft, wavy hair, of the palest
brown, hazlo eyes, intensely dark and fringed with
long, thick lashes of the same hue, a straight Greek
nose, a mouth of exquisite beauty, in the expression
of which sweetness and spirit were charmingly
combined, a light and gracefully moulded form—
these were the least of her attractions. A thousand
nameless graces, a thousand lovely but indescribable
enchantments in manner, look and tone, betrayed
the sou/ within; and yet, with all this, she was so
modest, so timid, so thoroughly feminine and gentle
in all her ways and words, that the world never
dreamed of calling her a beauty, or of making her
a belle. It was those she loved that she enchanted.
CHAPTER H.
She stood like a beautiful statue by his side. She
quelled her tears—she hushed her heart, and spoke
in accents calm and cold as his own the vows
which were to bind them for life unto each other.
She received the congratulations of friends and ac
quaintances without a sigh, a blush, a sign of emo
tion—modestly but coldly. Even Harwood him
self wondered at her strange self-possession, and
while he wondered rejoiced that she had so little
feeling to trouble him with. But when her father
approached to say farewell, and lead her to the car
riage, which was to bear her far from home, s her
proud resolve gave way !—She threw herself on
his breast and sobbed passionately and wildly, like
n grieved and frightened child, till her husband, as
tonished at such a dieplay of emotion in one un•
usually so quiet and subdued, drew her gently away,
and seating himself beside her in the carriage, or
dared the driver to proceed.
Harriet withdrew from his arm, pleaded fatigue,
covered him face with her veil, and soon succeeding
in conquering every outward sign of emotion, sat
still and silent during the journey.
It was the evening of the wedding-day. The
bride had retired to dress for dinner, and Harwood
sat dreas.uig before his library fire, when a note
was put into his hand by a footman. What was
his surprise at the contents !
"You do not love me !—and no pretence of love
which you may adopt from motives of duty or
compassion will avail with me. You had your
object in proposing this union—l had mine in ac
cepting that proposal. Be content that those ob
jects are gained, and let me be your wife but in
name, I beseech you.
" HARRIET llAnwoon."
Harwood started at the paper in astonishment at
first; but he had always looked upon Harriet us a
child, and he soon began to consider this as some
childish and romantic whim, which required his
indulgence.
Amusxl, perplexed, and, if the truth must be
told, a little piqued withal, he hastily wrote on a
slip of paper— , 4 Be it so !" and folding it, laid it on
the table by the side of her plate.
Harriet blushed as she entered, but took her seat
quietly and silently. Sho glanced at the paper, and
with a trembling hand unfolded it. Her check and
eye kindled as she read, and her pretty lip quivered
for a moment. She next put the billet by, and
proceeded, with calm and graceful self-possession, to
the duties of the table. And Mr. Harwood think
ing to himself, for the first time, that his wife was
a remarkably pretty woman, dismissed the subject
from his mind, and discussed his dinner with great
gout, and the political topics of the day with still
greater.
Fair reader! you will say that Mr. William Har
wood was a most unfeeling person. But that was
by no means the case. He had been, from child
hood, so devoted to intellectual pursuits, that he had
never found time even to thi of love. Had his
good angel but whispered to itim, at that moment,
that his beautiful vis a via loved him as her life, and
that her full heart was waiting and expecting his
love in return, he would have given it as in honor
lied have wondered that he never thought of
it before; i,ut the trouble was, he did'nt happen to
think any thing about it; and I, for one, cannot find
it in my heart to scold him, for if he had thought
I should have had no story to tell.
CHAPTER M.
Seeing Harriet only at meals, and absorbed in his
ambitious schemes, Harwood at last almost forgot
that he had a wife, and the poor girl strove to con
tent herself in her own silent and secret worship of
her husband.
But love, unloved, is hut
A wearying task at best!
Better be lying in the grave,
In dreaniles;, careless rest!
She mingled sometimes with the gay ; but society
had no excitement for a mind like hers. She could
not long enjoy a conversation in which her heart
was not in some way interested. For, while the
poetry of feeling was her element, Harriet was not
an intellectual person—she was more spiritual than
intellectual—her heart supplied the place of a mind.
One evening, at a party, a young English officer
approaching Harwood exclaimed, " My dear sir ! do
you know, can you tell me the name of that beau
: tiful creature leaning by the window ? There, that
pale, dark eyed girl in white ! You ought to know,
for she has been looking at you, with her whole soul
in the look, for the last five minutes."
Harwood looked up; ho caught the eloquent gaze
of those beautiful eyes; he saw her start and in
stantly avert thorn, with a sudden blush, as if de
tected in a crime, and strange and new emotions
thrilled his heart. The hour hod come. Love, the
I high-priest had suddenly appeared at the altar, and
the fire was kindled at length, never again to be
wholly extinguished. For the first time aroused to
a sense of her singular loveliness, for the first time
suspecting her hiddiossion for himself, he color
ed, smiled, and see o confused, that his friend
was turning away in surprise. But Harwood re
covered himself, and taking his arm, led him for
ward and introduced hint to his wife.
As we have said before, Harwood was by no
means without a heart, but his giant intellect and
his situation in life had hitherto rendered him un
conscious of so valuable a possession. After listen
ing for a few moments impatiently to Harriet's
graceful and naive conversation with the handsome
young officer, he drew her hand within his arm,
and pressing it tenderly, whispered, " Let us go
home, dear Harriet; I am weary of this scene."
" Dear Harriet! ' Was she dreaming—the words,
tone, the look, the light caress, all thrilled to her in
most heart. Her eyes filled with tears, and trent:
bling with the heavenly ecstacy of the moment,
almost fainting, indeed, from excess of emotion, she
murmured,
" Yes let us go at once."
He sprang into the carriage after her, and drew
her to his heart. " Oh, William ! do you—do you
love Inc I Can it indeed be true 1"
, g My wife .1"
Tho scene is sacred—let the curtain fall.
CHAPTER IV.
More close and close his footsteps wind,
The magic music in his heart
Beats quicliand quicker till he find
The quiet chamber far apart."
At on unusually early hour, the next evening,
Harwood returned to his now happy home, and,
hastening up the stairs, paused at the door of his
wife's boudoir, arrested by her voice within. She
was singing, in a low and touching voice, and with
exquisite taste, a simple song which he nad never
heard before. Though naturally very fond of mu
sic, it had happened by some strange chance that he
had not heard Harriet play or sing, indeed he did
not know that she possessed the accomplishment.--
The words of the song went straight to his heart,
and thus they ran :
I knew it ! I felt it !—he loves me at last !
The heart-hidden anguish forever is past !
.
Love brightens his dark eye and softens his tone;
He loves me—ho loves me—his soul is mine own!
Come care and misfortune—the cloud and the storm—
I've a light in this heart all existence to warm—
No grief can oppress me, no shadow o'ercast,
In that blessedConvictiotl—he loves mo at last!
Echoing, with his rich, manly voice, the last five
words, Harwood opened the door and held out his
arms, and his happy and beautiful wife flew to his
embrace, with a fresh and artless delight, peculiarly
fascinating to tho world-wont man she worshiped.
CHAPTER V
Per three months, Harwood was a devoted lover
and husband, and Harriet was happy in his love ;
but he could not all at once, and forever, forego the
glorious dreams of his youth—and by degrees he
returned to his political duties, and grew gradually
stately and cold, and apparently indifferent as be
fore.
And now Harriet was more *retched than ever.
Now, that she had once experienced the happiness
of being loved, caressed, admired, she could not
endure life unblessed by tenderness and hope. By
nature, ardent, susceptible, dependent, upon those
around her for happiness, and clinging to all who
could offer her affection, it had been only by a vio
lent struggle that she had forced herself into a state
of apparent apathy, during the first few weeks of
her marriage; but, once aroused from it, she had
abandoned her whole being to the enchantment of
Love's happy dream, and henceforward life was lost
without it.
ller husband's returning coldness and neglect
had wounded, but not subdued her heart; and what
was the wife to do with all the now unemployed
feeling and fancy awakened in its depths?
The interesting young officer, before mentioned,
had fallen in love with Harriet at first sight, ere he
knew she was the bride of his friend; and, though
distinguished in the field by his bravery and skill,
self-conquest was an art he had neither learned nor
dreamed of. Visiting from time to time at the
house, he soon saw her unhappiness, and penetrated
its cause. His sympathy was excited—his visits
grew more frequent—with refined and subtile ten
derness, almost irresistible to a heart like hers, ho
entered earnestly into her pursuits—read with her,
walked with her, sang with her—praised her mind
and heart'—called her "the sister of his soul," and
so adapted himself to her affections that Harriet
found herself on the verge of a precipice, cm she
was aware she had overstepped the limits of pro ,
priety and discretion. It was a sort of spiritual
inagnetisni, which she tried in vain to resist.
Harriet would never have been guilty of !retina
crime—she was trio proud and too pt•.re for that ;
but in a soul so highly toned, so delicately and
daintily organized as hers, the slightest aberration,
in thought, look or deed, from the faith which was
due to her husband, produced a discord, involving
the loss of self-respect, and consequent misery and
remorse.
And now Love and Sorrow swept the strings,
and awakened a melody sweet, but plaintive as the
sound of an /Bolian harp. They had made her a
poet, and she poured forth, in frequent verse, the
various emotions they aroused.
CHAPTER VL
Mr. Harwood had just returned front a long jour
ney. Ile had been unsuccessfel in two or three
important projects, and disgusted with the uncer
tainty attending his pursuits, he had suddenly de
termined to abandoned politics altogether. Hisleart
yearned towards his sweet wife as it had never
yearned before. He had been away from her so
long ! He needed her love now, he needed her soft
voice to soothe and comfort him, and came prepa
red, not only to receive but to giVe consolation. He
entered her boudoir softly, intending to surprise her.
She was reclining on the sofa rerleop. , --pale and sad,
with tears still lingering on her lashes, and her fair
hair streaming from her childish brow—her lips
half parted, and sighing as she slept, she looked so
enchantingly lovely that Ito sprung forward to aft.;
ken her with a kiss, when a paper, laying loosely
in her hand, arrested his attention. He drew it
softly from her. It was addressed "To My Hus
band," and thinking himself thus justified in read
ing it, he did so, with what emotions may be better
imagined than told. It was as follows :
Oh! hasten to my side, I pray !
I dare not be alone!
The smile that tempts, when thotert away,
Is fonder than thine own.
Tlw voice that often charms mine ear,
Hath such beguiling tone,
'Twill steal my very soca., I fear,
Alt) Icove me not alone!
It speaks in accents low and deep,
It murmurs praise too dear,
It makes mo paationately weep,
Then gently soothes my fear;
re calla me sweet, endearing names,
With Love's own childlike art,
%iiRIPIXACCIncIe SMSDO 4131804.
My tears, my doubts, it softly blames--
'Tis 'mem to uiy heart!
And dark, deep, eloquent, soul-filled ?yea
Speak tenderly to mine;
Beneath that gaze what feelings rise !
It is more kind than thine !
A hand, even pride can scarce repel,
Too fondly seeks my own,
It is not safe!—it is not well!
Alt! leave me not alone!
I try to calm, in cold repose,
Beneath his earnest eye,
The heart that thrills, the cheek that glovcd—'
Alas! im VAIN I try!
Oh ! trust me not--a woman frail—
To brave the snaree of life !
Lest lonely, sad, unloved, I FAT L,
And shame the name of wife !
Como back ! though cal and harsh to me,.
There's turson by thy side!.
Bettor unblest, yet safe, to be,
Than lost to truth, to pride !•
Alm! my peril hourly grows,
In every thought and dream;
But—not to THEE my spirit goes,
But still—yes! still to uru !
Return with those cold eyes to me;
And chill my soul once more,
Back to the loveless apathy,
It learned so well before !
Jealousy, anger, pity, remorse and love weris of
war in the breast of Harwood ; but with a mo
ment's reflection through the past, Upon his own
Conduct, the three latter conquered, and, kneeling
by her side, he pressed his lips upon her brow. She
murmured softly in her sleep, "Dear, darling hue=
band ! do you love me I" and the color trembled'
in her cheek like the rosy light of morning on the
Harwood pressed her passionately to his heart,-
and she awoke terrified, ashamed, penitent, yet
happy at length beyond expression, for she forgave
and was forgiven. She had• overrated, in her serial ,
Live conscientiousness, the extent of her error. Her
fancy, her mind, rather than her affections, had beat
beguiled. HarWood felt at once that the dewy
bloom of purity had not been brushed from the*
heart of his fragile ffeWer, by the darling wing of
the insect that had sought it, and henceforth it war
cherished in its proper home—his own noble and
faithful breast:
The IVdan Vot Brints Noosebapers:
A journeyman printer lately set out on foot for
the interior of Ohio, a distance of five hundred'
miles, with an old brass rule and three dollars ire
cash in his pocket. Ile soon found himself in
Pennsylvania, and being weary, called at the inn
of a Dutchman, who ho &Ann/ quietly smoking his
pipe, when the following dialogue ensued :
Veil, Misther Vetting Schtick, vat you want?
Refreshment and repose:
Supper and lodgings, I reckon?
Yes, sir, supper end lodgings.
Pe.yotth Yankee pedlar, mit chewelry in yaw'
pack to cheat te gals?
No, sir, no Yankee pedlar.
A singin' teacher, toulasy to vork
No, sir.
A chenteel shoemaker, vot stchays till Saturday
night, and laysh drunk in de porch ofer Sunday?
No, sir, or I should have mended my boots be
fore this. But I am disposed no longer to submit to
this outlandish inquisition. Can yon give MC sup
per and lodgings ?
Trekely. But vot he you i A book achent
ken honest people's money for a little larnin' dat
only makes cm Nay ?
Try again, your worship.
A dentist, breakiie te people's chews, at a toiler at
seining, and runnin off mit ole Shambock's taugh:
ter ?
No, sir, no tooth puller.
A kernolujus, den, feeling te young folks' heads,
like so many cabbitch, and charging 25 cents for
telling fortunes, like a blam'd Yankee I
No; no, phrenologist, neither, your Ex&Henry:
Vell, den, vot de tifle are you I Choost tell, and
you shall have some of de beet sassage for supper;
and stchay all night, free gratis, mitnut Charging
you a cent; mit a chill of whiskey to sihart on
pefore prekfast.
Very well, your honor. To terminate the collo ,
guy without further circumlocution ; I am an humble
disciple of Faust—a professor of the art, preserve ,
tivo of all arts—a typographer, at your service!
Votsch dat I
A printer, sir, a man that prints books and news=
ropers.
A mari vot nooseimpers f oh! yawl yaw?
By Choopiter—aye ! aye f Datsch it! a marl
vot brintd rioosebapers—yaw ! yaw ! Yolk up;
valk up, Mishter Brinter! Chemins; lake de ehen
tleman's pack off. Cholin, pring some junks to do
fire. A man rot brints noosebapers. I wish I
may pe shot if I ditrnt tink you vos a tailor:
Dascar riles or A rANKLS:-. We are born in
haste," says an American Writer, "we finish our
education on the run ; we marry, em the wing ;*0
make a fortune at a stake, and lose it in the dame
manner, to make and lose it in the twinkle of an
eye. Our body is a locomotive, going at the rate of
twenty miles an hour; our soul a high pressure
engine ; our life is a shooting star ; and death over-,
takes us like a flash of lightning."
co , There is a man down east who celebrates his
birth day by paying for his newspapers.