Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, October 26, 1847, Image 1
HUVTINGD 11 J UR\AL. BY JAMES CLARK VOL XII, NO. 43. TERMS The '• HUNTINGDON JOURNAL" will be punliehed hereafter at the following rates, viz 411.75 a year, if paid in advance; $2.00 if paid during the year, and $2.50 if not paid un til after the expiration of the year. The above terms to be adhered to in all cases. No subscription taken for less than six months, ed no paper discontinued until all arrearages are paid. unless at the option of the publisher. cOj To Clubs of six, or more. who pay in ad vance, the Journal will be sent at $1.50 per copy for one year ; and any ono who will send us that number of names accompanied with the money shall receive the Journal one year for his trouble. POETICAL. AUTUMN. '['he flowers all are fading, Their sweets are rifled new, And night sends forth her shading Along the mountain brow; The bee Rath ceased its winging To flowers at early morn ; The birds have ceased their singing, And silent wait the dawn; The harvest now is gathered, Protected from the clime; The leaves are seared and withered, That late shone in their prime. Thus when fourscore years are gone, O'er the frail life of man, Time site heavy on his throne, As near his brow we scan; Like the Autumn leaf that falls When winds the bunches wave; Like night-shadows, daylight palls, Like all, he finds a grave. GIVE. Give to him that asketh thee ! if the poor pass thy door, Give him of thy bounteous store; Give him food, and give him gold, Give him shelter front the cold ; Aid him his lone life to live, For 'tie angel-like to give. Though world riches thou host not, (live to him of poorer lot ; 'Think thee of the widow's mite, In the Holy Master's sight: it was more a thousand fold, Than the rich man's hoard of gold. Give ! it is the better port ; Give to him, the poor in heart; Give of love in large degree, Give of hope and sympathy ; Cheer to them who sigh for corn, Light to him whose life is gone. Give the gray-haired wanderer room; Lead him gently to the tomb; Let him not in friendless clime, Float down the tide of time; Ifeer the mother's lonely cull, .''he, the dearest one of all. And the lost, ahandoncd one, In thy pathway do not Atm; Of thy kindnoss she hoth need ; Bind with halm the bruised reed ; Give, and gifts aboi,e all price, Shall be thine in Paradise. MISCELLA.NEOUS, Ilarney's Dragoons. The correspondent of the New Orleans Delta furnishes additional memoranda of the battles of the 19th and 20th Au gust. The following is a paragraph from them : After the works at Churubusco had been carried by storm, the Dragoons, under their valiant leader, Col. Harney, were ordered forward to pursue the re treating foe—and onward they went, like winged messengers of death, their bright sabres glittering in the sunbeams, amidst the huzzas of the light troops, flushed with the victory over the fort. The horses seemed to partake of the en thusiasm of their riders, and dashed for ward with supernatural strength ; and in this spirit and state of feeling they overtook the retreating army, and con tinued to cut them down to the very gates of the city, when the enemy in his fortifications at the city, seeing that the cavalry would inevitably run in be hind his breastworks unless something desperate was done, opened his batter ies with grape and round shot, through the masses of his own retreating sol diers. As soon as Col. Harney perceiv ed the exposure of his command, he had a the recall sounded and the Dragoons or dered back, but they did not hear in time enough to save the whole command, and sonic gallant officers were wounded. Capt. Kearney lost an arm; Lt. Graham, Lt. Mcßeynolds, and a sergeant were killed, and two or three privates woun ded. The Art of Rising. The Duke of Grammont was the most adroit and witty courtier of the day.-- He entered one day the closet of Cardi nal Mazarin without being announced. His eminence was amusing himself, jumping close-legged against the wall. To surprise a prune minister in so boy ish an occupation, was dangerous, and a less skilful courtier might have stammered excuses and retired. The Duke entered briskly, and cried, "I'll bet you a hundred crowns, that I jump higher then your eminence," and the Duke and the Cardinal began to jump for their lives. Grammont took care to jump a few inches lower than the Cardi nal, and was, six months afterwards, a Marshal of France. The Last of the Signers. BY GEORGE LIPPARD. Come to the window, old man ! , Come and look your last upon this beautiful earth ! The day is dying—the year is dying—you are dying; so light, I, and leaf, and life, mingle in one corn- , mon death, as they shall mingle in one resurrection. Clad in a dark morning gown, that re vealed the outline of his tall form, now bent with age—once beautiful in its erect manhood—rises a man from his chair, which is covered with pillows, and totters to the window, spreading forth his thin white hands. Did you ever see an old man's face that combines all the sweetness of child hood, with the. vigor of matured intel lect 1 Snow white hair, falling in waving flakes, around a high and open brow, eyes that glerm with mild, clear light, a month moulded in an expression of be nignity almost divine'! It is the Fourteenth of November, 1832; the hour is sunset, and the man Charles Carroll, of Carrollton, the last of the Signers. Ninety-five years of age, a weak and trembling old man, he has summoned all his strength, and gone along the carpet ed chamber, to the window, his dark gown contrasted with the purple cur tains. lle is the last ! Of the noble Fifty Six, who in the Revolution, stood forth, undismayed by the axe or gibbet, their mission the free dom of an age, the salvation of a coun try. He alone remains! One by one the pillars have crumbled from the roof of the temple, and now the last a trembling column—glows in the sunlight as it is about to full. But for that pillar that crumbles, there is no hope that it shall ever tower aloft in its pride again, while for this old man, about to sink into the night of the grave, there is a glorious hope. l is memory will live. His soul will live not only in the presence of God, but on the tongues and in the hearts of millions. The band in which lie counts one, can never be forgotten. The last ! As the venerable man stands before us, the declining day imparts a warm flush to his face, and surrounds his brow with a halo of light. His lips move without a sound ; he is recalling the scenes of the Declaration—he is mur muring the names of his brothers in the good work. All gone but him! Upon the woods—dyed with the rain bow of the closing year—upon the stream, darkened by the masses of shad ow—upon the homes peeping out from among the leaves, falls mellowing the last light of the declining day. He will never see the sun rise again ! He feels that the silver cord is slowly, gently loosening ; he knows that the golden bowl is crumbling at the foun tain's brink. But death comes on him as a sleep, as a pleasant dream, as a kiss from beloved lips ! He feels that the land of his birth has become a Mighty People, and thanks God that he was permitted to behold its blossoms of hope ripen into full life. In the recess near the window, you behold an altar of prayer ; above it, glow ing in the fading light, the image of Jesus seems smiling, even in agony, around that death chamber. The old man turns aside from the win dow. Tottering on, he kneels beside the altar, his long dark robe drooping over the floor. He reaches forth his white hands—he raises his eyes to the face of the crucified. There, in the sanctity of an old man's last prayer, we will leave him. There, where amid the deepening shadows, glows the image of the Savior—there, where the light falls over the mild face, the wavy hair and tranquil eyes of the aged patriarch. The smile of the Savior was upon the Dc,laration on that perilous day, the 4th of July, 1776 ; and now, that its prom ise has brightened into fruition, HE 6eems to—HE does smile on it again— even as his sculptured image meets the dying gaze of Charles Carroll, of Carrol ton, the LAST OF THE SIGNERS. Too Particular. An Irishman once dreampt that he I visited the Lord Mayor of London who treated him with the greatest hospitali ty, and asked him if he wouldn't take a little suin'thin." He refilled that he wouldn't mind a little whiskey punch." " Hot or cold ?" inquired his lordship. His guest preferred it warm, hut while the Lord Mayor was out heating the water, the Irishman awoke from his de licious slumber,—" Och !" cried ho, comprehending what a fool he was to await for hot puck during the preca rious tenure of 'a dream, " how I wish I'd said cou'ld." [CORRECT PRINCIPLES-STWORTER 13Y TRUTH.] HUNTINGDON, PA., TUESDAY, OCTOBER 26, 1847. Popping the Question. It is well known to all who have been pricked with the darts of the "little god" —or, to every Benedict, at least—that of all the delicate steps in life, there is none that requires more care and cau tion, or is attended with more perplexity, than that designated by the heading of this article. " The course of tree love never did run smooth ;" but this part of the business is peculiarly full snags, as the desperate struggles and flounder ings of many an unlucky lover will tes tify. Many a fine-hearted bachelor, full of generous impulses and feelings, has been doomed to remain through life a lonely and useless half-pair of scissors, simply because, as with the inspired writer, among the things beyond the reach of his intellect was, "the way of a man with a maid." By what witchery one should ever be able to induce her, "her free unhoused condition" to "bring into circumspection and confine," is to these poor beings an impenetrable mys tery. Yet there are some men who in wooing never experience the slightest embarrassment, much less, real perplex ity or difficulty. Glergymen, for in stance, it notorious are always suc cessful in making love, and from the first interview with any gay witch of a girl to the last, all goes on swimmingly. A writer, alluding to this fact, thus vents his astonishment : "The success of these men in love matters puzzles tne to com prehend. Grave, emaciated, sallow di vines, who never look the person in the face whom they address : who never speak above their breath : who sit on the uttermost edge of their chairs, a full yard distant from the dinner table —1 have never known one of these scarecrows fail in getting a good rich wife. Flow it is, heaven knows ! Can it be that the ladies ask them r—Yan kee Blade. One of the most felicitous descriptions we have ever seen of the embarrassments incident to the operation of " popping the question," is the following : " Much winding and caution, and pre vious sounding, is necessary when you have got a favor to ask of a great man. It is ten chances to one that he takes it into his head to consider your request exorbitant, and to make this the pretext of shaking off what he naturally consid ers a cumbersome appendage to his state : a man who has a claim upon his good offices. But this hazard is nothing in comparison with the risk you run in laying yourself at the mercy of a young gipsy, fonder of fun and frolic than any thing in life. Even though she love you with all her little heart, she posses ses a flow of spirits, and woman's ready knack of appearances; and though her bosom may heave responsive to your stammering tale, she will lure you on with kind, complacent looks, until you have told "your pitiful story," and then laugh in your face for your pains. It is not this either that I mean to express. Men are not cowards because they see distinctly the danger that lies before them. When a person has coolness suf ficient to appreciate its full extent, lie has in general either self-possession enough to back out of the scrape, or, if it is inevitable, to march with due resig nation to meet his fate. In like manner, it is not that poor pilgarlic, the lover, has a clear notion (persons in his con dition are rarely troubled with clear no tions) of what awaits him, but he feels' a kind of choking about the neck of his heart, a hang-dog inclination to go back ward instead of forward ; a check, a sudden stop to all his functions. He knows not how to look or what to say. His fine plan, arranged with so much ' happy enthusiasm, when sitting alone in I his arm chair, after a good dinner, and two or three glasses of wine, in the Un certain glimmering of twilight, with his feet raised upon the fender, proves quite impracticable. Either it has escaped his memory altogether, or the conversa tion perversely takes a turn totally dif ferent from that by which lie hoped to lead the fair one from differont topics to thoughts of a tender co/-I , '-:yion, and thus, b:- ;ine degrees, (1., watching all the time, how she was affected, in order to be sure of his bottom, before he makes the plunge) to insinuate his confession, ! just at the moment that he knows it will I be well received." TILE MAGIC OF A NAME.-A person in Cincinnati, who had made " night hide ous" by his drunken outcries, and kept the watch at bay for several nights, was filially overcome by the magic of a name. Being assailed by a party of the police, lie rushed in among them, calling for three cheers for Taylor. A watchman who was asleep near by, hearing his name mentioned, sprang to his feet, and going up to the man, said, " my name is Taylor !" " Your name Taylor '1" said the fel , ow, " Lhen it's no use contending 'with any of that name. I surrender unconditionuily." Anecdote of Stephen Girard. The following capital anecdote, illus trative of the late Stephen Girard, of Philadelphia, is from the New Bedford Mercury : Mr. Girard had a favorite clerk, one who every way pleased him, and who, when at the age of twenty-one years ex pected Mr. Girard to say something to him in regard to his future prospects, and perhaps lend him a helping hand in starting him in the world. But Mr. Girard said nothing, carefully avoiding the subject of his escape from minority. At length, after the lapse of some weeks, the clerk mustered courage enough to address Mr. Girard upon the subject. "I suppose, sir," said the clerk, "I am free, and I thought I would say some thing to you as to my future course. What do you think I had better do T" " Yes, yes, I know you are," said Mr. Girard, " and my advice to you is that you go and learn the cooper's trade." This announcement well nigh threw the clerk off the track ; but recovering his equilibrium, he said if Mr. Girard was in earnest, he would do so. " I am in earnest"—and the clerk rather hesitatingly sought one of the best coopers and agreed with him upon the terms of apprenticeship, and went at it in good earnest, and in course of time made as good a barrel as any one. He went and told Mr. Girard that he had graduated with all the honors of the craft, and was ready to set up his busi ness ; at which the old man seemed grat ified, and told him to make three of the best barrels he could. The young cooper selected the best materials, and soon put into shape and finish, three of the best barrels, and wheeled them up to the old man's counting room. Mr. Girard said the barrels were first rate and demanded the price. " One dollar," said the clerk, " is as low as I can live by." " Cheap enough," said his employer, "make out your bill and present it." And now comes the cream of the whole. Mr. Girard drew a check for twenty thousand dollars, and handed it to the clerk, closing with these words: " There, take that, and invest it in the best possible way, and if you are unfor tunate and loose it, you have a good trade to fall back upon. which will afford you a good living at a ll times." What Temperance Can Do, In Mrs. Hall's book on Ireland, occurs the following passage, which a person will hardly read without emotion : " We entered one day a cottage in the suburbs of Cork ; a young woman was knitting stockings at the door. It was as neat and comfortable as any in the most prosperous district of England.— We tell her brief story in her own words, as nearly as we can recall them. "My husband was a wheelwright and always earned his guinea a week ; he was a good workman, but the love for drink was strong in him and it was'nt often he brought me home more than five shillings out of his one pound on a Sat urday night, and it broke my heart to sec the poor children too ragged to send to school, to say nothing of the starved look they had out of the little I could give them. Well, God be praised, lie took the pledge and the next Saturday he laid twenty-one shillings upon the chair you sit upon. Oh ! didn't I give thanks upon my bended knees that night Still I was fearful it wouldn't last, and I spent no more than the five shillings 1 used to, saying to myself, ntay be the money will be more wanted than it is now. Well, the next week lie brought me the same, and the next, and the next, until eight weeks had passed ; and glory to God! there was no change for the bad in my husband ; and all the while he never asked me why there was no thing better for him out of his earnings, so I felt there was no fear for him, and the ninth week when he came home to me, I had this table bought and these six chairs, one for myself, four for the children, and one for linni•elf ; and I was dressed in a new gown, and the child ren all had new clothes and shoes and stockings, and upon his chair I put a bran new suit, and upon his plate I put the bill and receipt for them all, just the eight sixteen shillings, the cost that I'd saved out of his wages, not knowing what might happen, and that always went for drink. And lie cried, good lady and good gentleman, he cried like a baby, but 'twas with thanks to God; and now where's the healthier man than my husband in the whole county of Cork, or a happier wife than myself, or decenter or better fed children than our own'!" WtscossiN.--Gov. Dodge has called an extra scssion of the Territorial Legisla ture, to meet at Madison on the 18th in stant, for the express purpose of origina ting a new attempt to procure a State Constitution and be admitted into the Union. Anecdote of Lorenzo' Dow. The Pittsburg Post does up anew the following capital anecdote of Lorenzo Dow : A farmer came to Lorenzo one morn ing, as he was preparing to preach be'- fore a large country audience, and said : "Mr. Dow, I am told you know a sin ner from his looks, and can tell a thief from his countenance. Now, sir, I have hnd an excellent axe stolen from me, and I shall be forever grateful if you will point out to me the rascal who took it, as in all probability he will be at the meeting to-day, judging from the crowds that are coming." Lorenzo was not the man to deny the possession of any wonderful faculty that the people chose to ascribe to him ; so he told the farmer that he would get him his axe. Lorenzo mounted the pulpit, took out of his pocket n stone as big as his fist, laid it beside the bible, and commenced the exercises of the day. His sermon was on the subject of all the sins men tioned in the Decalogue, and he went on to give proofs from history of the retributive justice of Providence, in punishing in this life transgressors.— " Murder will out," said he ; " guilt cannot conceal itself, and I am about to give you this beautiful morning, my dear hearers, an example of a terrible ven geance to follow the breaking of the eighth commandment. Two nights ago a fellow stole John Smith's axe; and I have been commissioned, by an author ity which none of you will question, to knock down! drag out! sacrifice! de stroy ! utterly annihilate the miserable wretch ! and send him, body, soul and breeches to the pitchy realms of an aw ful eternity ! Poor sinner, you turn pale before the rock has crushed you!" continued Lorenzo, as he grasped the stone and raised it in the attitude of throwing. " Don't dodge, you rascal ! you can't escape me—don't dodge !' -- He paused a moment, and pointed his long, crooked significant finger at a poor • devil in the audience, who appeared to be in an ague fit, with his hair standing on ends, like the quills of a fretted Por cupine. 1 ‘ John Smith !" cried he, "there is the chap that stole your axe!'' The eyes of the whole congregation were turned on the conscience-stricken fellow, who looked as if he Wished the mountains would tumble on him. "You will restore Mr. Smith his axe, and steal no more, if I forgive you— won'tyriu 1" asked Lorenzo. " If 'I don't darn me!" exclaimed the culprit, with a look and tone that show ed the sincerity of his declaration. John Smith got his axe. Sound Doctrine, Have no faith in that species of good ness which is unwilling to pay its debts —"fine fellow," "good fellow, " whole souled fellow," and that sort of thing is nonsense, lending to a belief that hones ty and honor may be dispensed with, and that affection and esteem may be secured without them. Is he a " good fellow" who frolics and enjoys himself upon money which really belongs to other people 1 And is that a "whole soul" which while the washerwoman pines and suffers for the want of that which is due to her by the individual with the "whole soul," goes flaunting about in gay attire from carousal to ca rousal, and from one place of enjoyment to another I Have no faith in it; and neither suffer yourself to think well of those who have fine houses, fine furni tare and fine parties, and are slow to' pay for them, and slow likewise in pay ing for other things. Depend upon it that this open heartedoess, as people call it, is all selfishness, narrowness and dishonor—selfishness the most intense. He is a much better fellow than all these, who goes threadbare, and refuses indul gence, until he can stand square with the world, though reckless profusion , tnay deride him as mean. Ho is the ' man that pays his debts, if a possibility exists of having them, and we strongly incline to the conviction that a "debt paying man" is one of the best members of society—and that he should thus be honored. Let us all, then, editor and subscribers, "pay our debts."—.V ews Letter. BENEVOLENCE INDEED.—The benevo lent Dr. Wilson once discovered a cler. gyman, who, lie was informed, was sick, poor, and had a numerous family. In the evening he gave a friend fifty dol lars, requesting him to deliver it in the most delicate manner, and as from an unknown person. The friend said— " I will wait upon him early in the morning." " You will oblige me, sir, by calling t:irectly. Think of what importance a good night's rest may be to that poor man." EDITOR :I:ND PROPRIETOR WHOLE NO. 613. Ought girls to Court? We have often thought, (for editors never speak from experience,) that a young fellow must have a good stock of assurance—nay, of downright impu dence, to go through the ticklish, terri ble, torturing ordeal of a regular court ship. He has not only to run the gaunt let of sneering young gentlemen, but the gauntlet of gossipping old ladies ; to be talked of, and to be talked at ; and to be the mark of watchful observation to the whole neighborhood in which his fair one resides. Nor is this all. If his addresses are only acceptable to one member of the family, and that member the depository of the garnered up love of a whole life, he is sure to meet the savage glances of savage brothers ; and is just as sure to encounter other equal ly * flattering manifestations of paternal,. maternal, or fraternal opposition. Now this is all wrong. The exchanges should be more equalized : and some arc san guine enough to believe that the day is not very far distant when they will be . equalized—when we shall hear of young ladies paying their addresses to, young gentlemen—visiting them nightly at their houses—inviting them to ride, to walk, to eat ice-cream, and, as soon as matters are brought to an interesting crisis, «popping the question" itself.— Ah ! what a delightful thing it would be, Hurriedly waiting m our mother's parlor carefully brushed and strapped to be courted ! To be tenderly stared at, night after night ; by girl after girl ! To have one's brown, rough hand occa sionally sought for in the dim twilight, and occasionally squeezed ! And to have one's waist delicately encompassed, (of course only after the "engagement,") by some of the most delicately tapering arms in the world ! We find the following noble sentiment —the key of fortune—in a little English periodical : "'rho mystery of Napoleon's career was this, under all difficulties and dis couragements press on. It was the probi lem of all the heroes; it is the rule by which to judge rightly of all wonderful success. It should be the motto of all, high and low, fortunate and unfortunate, so called— " press on," never despair, never be discouraged, however 'stormy the heavens, however dark the way, however great the difficulties, or repeat ed the failure, "press on." If fortune has played false with thee to-day, do thou play true for this to-morrow. Let the foolishness of yesterday make thee wise to-day. If thy affixtions have been poured out like water into the des ert, do not sit down or perish of this, but "press on"—a beautiful oasis is be fore thee, and thou mayst reach it, if thou wilt. If another has been false to thee, do not thou increase the evil by being false to thyself. Do not say the tvorld has lost its poetry and beauty, it is not so ; and even if it be so, make thine own poetry and beauty, by a brave, a true, and above all, a religious life." Lally Rising. It is a certain sign that our hearts are set upon a work, when the thoughts of it cause sleep to depart from us, and we awake readily, constantly, and early to the performance of it. David delighted in the holy exercises of prayer and med itation ; therefore "he prevented the dawning of the morning," and was be forehand with the light itself; therefore his " eyes prevented the watches," that is, the last of those watches, into which the night was by the Jews divided ; he needed not the watchman's call, but was stirring before it could be given. Cli mate and constitution will, doubtless, wake a ditTerence, and claim considera ble allowance ; but by Christians who enjoy their health in temperate weather, the sun should not be suffered to shine in vain, nor the golden hours of the morning to glide away unimproved; since of David's Lord, as well as of Da vid, it is said, "In the morning, rising up a great while before day, he went out and departed into a solitary place, and there prayed." A righting Parson. We have seen it stated that one of the companies from Mississippi, at the bat tle of Buena Vista, was commanded by a Methodist preacher. Just before the battle commenced, and whilst the troops were forming, it is said he delivered the following pithy prayer, at the head of his company : Be with us this day in conflict, oh Lord ! We are few, and the enemy are many. Be with us as thou vast with Joshua when he went down from Gilgal to Beth•ho-ron and Ajalon, to smite the Antorites. We do not ask thee for the sun and moon to' stand still, bnt grant us plenty of powder, plenty of daylight, and no cowards. Take old Rough and Ready under thy special charge. Amen! M-a-r-c-h." His company performed prodigies on the field that day.