Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, December 19, 1848, Image 1
. , I. , , , ,i i --_,,, 44"/ ' - --f- * ~;., . -A, ...„:„...; ~,, ~ .......„, r , 1 , , ~........,..7....,. J 4 _:,.,...„.„____ ~.;.........:„.,.!, i•e_777.. out 0 , 0 ....,,,..... , ,- - : . .....„:, _ ob On :-......------, , 40, alr - N a _...• ►Y JAS. CLARK. The Fallen Leaves. IT 7413. NORTON We stand among the fallen leaves, Young children at our play, And laugh to see the yellow things, Clo rustling on their way; Right merrily we hunt them down, The autumn winds and we, Nor pause to gate where snoW•drifts lie, Or sunbeams gild the tree: With dancing feet we leap along Where w:ther'd boughs are atrown; Not past nor future check our song— - • The present m out own. We stand among the fallen leaves In youth's enchanted spring— When hope (rho wearies at the last) First spreads her eagle wing, We tread with steps of conscious strength Beneath the leatleas trees, And the color kindles in our cheek As blows the winter breeze ; While gazing towards the cold gray sky, Clouded with snow and rain, We wish the old year all past by, And the young spring come again. We stand among the fallen leaves In manhood's haughty prime— When first our passing hearts begin To love •• the olden time ;" And as we gaze, we Sigh to think How many a year bath pass'd Since neath those cold and faded trees, Our footstep's wandered last, And old companions--now perchance Estranged, forge, or dead— Come found us, as those autumn leaves Are etush'd beneath our tread. We stand among the fallen leaves In our own autumn day— Anil tottering on with feeble steps. Pursue our cheerless way. We look not back—too long ago Hath all we loved been lost; Nor forward—for we may not live To see our new hope crots'd ti But on we go—the sun's faint beam A feeble warmth iMparts— Childhood without' its joy returns— The present fills our hearts I THE YOtN. GiMOTHER.. 1111 : , 1119. C. M. SAWYER There are teari on thy cheek, young mother—there are tears of anguish on thy cheek—and wan and pallid is the hue of thy tremulous lip! The light of joy has gone out from thine eyes, and their lids arc weighed down by the heavy hand of sorrow. I listen for the glad tones which were wont to greet my coming, but low, stifled sobbing,s, sadder than the moanings of a sea-shell, alone steal upon my ear. Thou art bereft, young mother—thou' art bereft of a new-born life,- that was dearer to thee than thine own. Tilt lit tle snow-drop that' nestled in thy bosom is faded and witherrd ; a gem has dropt away from the shining circlet of thy marriage crown, and meet it is that sad neFs and weeping should now be thine. But lend me to the darkened room, where reposes all of earth that is now left to thee of what was so cherished and dear. Lead sue to the spot where for days, long and weary days, thou hest sat', holding back that young life from the grave—struggling with the pitiless angel of death, until thy wild pleadings could no longer be uttered— until the cold drops of oblivion, which fell from his dark whip thcy wave: heavily aloand thee, quenched the spark, and thy child was clay. But lift up the drooping, curtain and let in the cheerful sunlight,• for dark ness becometh not a scene like this.— Let me turn aside the snowy covering from the cherub brow, that I may look mice more upon the dear departed.— Ha ! and is death so lovely 1 1 he'd deemed that the footsteps of the destroy er were marked with desolation; end, flowers are ?prong, up around them ! I had looked for the ghastly, traces of his withering fingers; and lel ben , ty and sweetness are all that' I be. hold! Uh ! come, pale weeper, and gaze with me upon what is so passing beautiful ! See upon its placid brow n smile—oh ! sweeter than the smiles of life!--is stil resting. Ay, gaze upon it as thou wouldst gaze upon the face of an angel; for it is the signet which Heaven-has impressed upon its own, sealing it for immortality. Gaze reverently, for it is the reflected glory of that' unclouded smile which beams from the bitlity of the Eternal, and is the light of th r at ' land where thy - child yet livistliend Waiteth for thy coming. Dry'' Up thy tears, ydang mother, and bids the time of thy re•union tipr' tiiY 'bitter tears, and weep no More I7. , COOtienli' SERFS OF RdiStE , ..lt is gamely known that Wit &iamb noble buys es tistelei be buys the serfs pr.:Baird; ia a leonine at New York on NV edimday evering saye—Plf the. serfs acquire wealth they still'remain in bondage,,One of the sables of Moscow has a serf who is etcher than his master, but cannot nue. chase his freedom because the noble prides himself on the richest strain Rus sia waiting, tit his table. The prevent Emperor devises to liberate ibis but is opposed by some of the Princes." THE bouBLE PARTNERSHIP. BY JOHN T. MAYO. The balmy breath of a beautiful sum mer afternoon saluted the cheeks of a youth who stood on a rising ground which commanded a view of a retired and beautiful New England village.— His air was pensive, and he seemed to be struggling with deep emotion. For a long time he remained gazing intently in one direction, as if absorbed by some recollections - connected with the spot.--ss Suddenly he turned and disappeared, and at the same moment a horseman Was seen riding rapidly through the village. Pausing at the hotel, before which a number of persons were col lected, the stranger inquired if a gen teel-looking young man, wearing a Leg horn hat and carrying a small valise, had passed that way. " I told you so," exclaimed a clownish chap in a tattered roundabout. " I knew he was after that covey that was here. I saw that he was in trouble about something. Yes, sir s " continued he, addressing the stranger, he was here about two hours ago, and took the road to Woodville." The in quirer jerked his reins, and in a few momenta was out of sight. If the reader will accompany us to a town about ten miles from the village to which we have alluded, he will be furnished with an explanation of these movements. A merchant, whom we will call Mr. Harris, is pacing the floor of his counting room. " Who would have suspected such a thing V lie says, in a subdued and melancholy tone. "I reposed unbounded confidence in that boy, and would have been more dispo sed to believe his story about losing the money ; but his aorupt flight forbids it." "Curtis !" said he, addressing one of his clerks, "how long is it since Mr. Parker started in pursuit of Edward I" "About nn hour, sir." Just then a person from the batik en tered, and addressing his'oself to Mr. Harris, stated dint. finding tirt the close of busineis hours that there Was ti differ ence of five hundred dollars in their ensh, they had made a search, from which they discovered that there was an error to that amount in a deposit which had been that morning made by Edward Warner. "So, the lad is honest after all !" ex claimed Mr. Harris: " that gives me more pleasure than the recovery of the money. But how could Ibe so impet uous I Well, I cannot blame him. I accused him directly with abstracting the money, and his manly spirit would not bear it 1" It was even so. No stain had ever sullied the fair fame of Edward, and the charge of his employer as hasty and abrupt' rte it was unfounded, stung him to the soul. He acted indiscretly, it is true, in immediately quitting his service, but after what had passed,- he felt that he could not remain in a position in which the finger of cruel suspicion would be pointed at him. He was ready to acknowledge himself guilty of cul pable negligence, having, as lie suppo. crlst,icd t:;t2 moncy iii the strect,.but nothing wastnore revolting to his noble nature than the imputation of theft. There were other circumstan ces too, which served to render this oc currence still more deeply painful. Be tween Edward . and the daughter of his employer had long existed a reciprocal affection. He lied but just attained his majority, and Louisa was some months younger than himself. Their attach ment eras no secret to their respective families. That of Edward was, how ever, comparatively humble, and this eircuMstance alone had prevented hint, hitherto, from formally communicating his wishes to Mr. Hsrrrit. He lied been, however, full of hope and confidenee.— S . uolt war the ability and fidelity he had uniformly e#ideed in matters of busi ness, that hitt employer had more than once intimated the possibility that he might at some time become a partner in' the concern. These pleasing anticipa tions were now blighted, if not forever destroyed. No wonder, then, that the poor youth, as he fled towards the house of his pa rents for consehttion and adVice, should pause to contemplate; perhaps for the last time, the spot which then contained the dearest treasure of his heart. In the village through which he passed was the country seat of Mr. Harris, end here the lovers spent many delight. /al hours is rambling over the beautiful domains.—treading the mares of the tan. , tied ravine, or hatening to- the' sweet melody of the murmuring waterfall. It was while thus dwelling on these bright recollections and striving to catch some' cheering ray of hope amid the gloom' which now hung over his spirit, that Edward discovered the approach of the horseman, one of the attaches of his employer's establishment, and his fears instantly took the alarm. He had, in deed, been pursued, but rot, as his ex- HUNTINGDON, PA., TUESDAY, DECEMI3ER 19, 1848 cited imagination readily suggested, for the purpose of taking him back as a fu gitive, but because Mr. Harris had upon calm reflection seen cause to regret the utterance of suspicions which the entire previous deportment of the object of them utterly repudiated. Just belore, Edward had been delib erating whether he should call at the mansion to apprize his beloved Louisa of what had taken place ; and of his de ' termination to visit it no more until the falsity of the dark and damning accusa tion under which he rested should be established. The appearance of his pursuer put an end to all debate upon this point, and lie fled. It is a stereotype remark that flight is an evidence of guilt. If this be true general, there are certainly many ex ceptions. There are few, we apprehend, so unfortunate as to labor under the wrodgful imputation of guilt, who are actually prepared to brave the horrors of the malefactor's cell ; and rely for sup port, under this weight of ignominy and execration upon the sustaining powei' ; of conscious innocence. We have heard I people talk proudly and cavalierly upon 1 this matter, and about courting (lentil in preference to dishonor, but dire real ity not infrequently proves the empti ness of this kind of boasting. Yes, he fled—but whither should he go T In his nervous agitation he look ed upon Lithsolf as a wretched outcast, hated and banned of mankind—an exile, ' without home or friends. The solitude of a thick grove presented an inviting retreat, and thitherward he bent his rapid though trembling footsteps. Pen etrating the deepest recess of this for est sanctuary, he sat down, or rather sunk upon the trunk of a fallen tree.— The thought of being charged with the commission of a revolting crime—and that ton by the very man of all others whose good opinion he had so long and anxiously labored to deserve—and then of being taunted as a base miscreant, unworthy to mingle in human society, •• became every moment more and more f intensely painful. A person of more cool and phlegmatic temperament would have braced himself with some degree of firmness in such an exigency. But it was far different with Edward War ner. His was a delicate frame, and his_ mind was exquisitely sensitive, and it is therefore not surprising that the sit uation in which he was now placed should have such a powerful influence upon his physical as well as mental sys tem. For two long and dismal hours he wandered through the laybrinths of his solitary refuge, endeavoring to calm the agitation of his spirit, and to console himself with the hope that all might yet be well, and that his innocence might in some way be made to appear. Terrified as he was, however, with the apprehen sion of being arrested as a thief, he could not think of returning home, and as the tints of twilight were fading in the western sky, and he began to feel that he was sinking under the combined influence of anxiety, fatigue and hun ger, be came to the determination of seeking a resting_ place for the night, trusting that needed repose might ren der his mind more tranquil and col lected. Being somewhat acquainted in that vicinity, Edward found no difficulty in procuring the accommodations he requi red in the peaceful family of a benevo lent farmer. To him he ingenioasly stated his situation, and was gratified to fitid that his story was readily beli'cv , ed, and that the confidence of the woic thy man in his integrity remained un shaken. The young man passed, as it may be supposed, a restless night, and awoke in the morning with d' violent ver; oecasioaed solely by hits intense' anguish of mind. tfpon his appearance; the family became alarmed at the situa tion of their guest, and with the tender est sympathy insisted upon his retiring t'o• the bedchamber, while a messenger was inunediately sent to apprise his friends of his illness. Edward accord ingly, after partaking of some slight refreshment, threw himself upon a conch. Awaking after a time from his short slumber, lie found his father and his sis ter at his side. On discovering them he turned away his face and wept like a child. "Edward, my dear Edward," said the gentle girl, "Compose yourself. You have suffered your mind to be agitated too unnecessarily. Cheer up, my dear brothel , ; Mr. Harris is conscious that he was too hasty.".. . _ " You kno - w all about it then 1 I may have been careless, but I am innocent." "'I do not doubt it;•my dear boy," said the lather. " And sorely you have too long known the impbtuous disposition' of Mr. Harris to be so affected by this occurrence." "But, father, to be charged with such a revolting crime—it was more than I could endure. I trust in God that he will yet be convinced that he has griev ously wronged me." He is convinced," exclaimed a beau tiful and interesting lady suddenly en tering the room, and in defiance of what some may cons ider the requirements of maidenly delicacy, throwing her arms around the neck of the youth and im pressing upon his lips, a warm and im passioned kiss, which was as eagerly re turned. It was Louisa. Every one knows how rapidly rumor circulates in a coun try village, and whatever mystery might seem connected with her appearance on this occasion, is to be thus explained : "He is convinced!" repeated the de lighted girl; "and if you want proof of it here it is." Thus saying, she handed Edward a letter which her father had that morning left with her to be sent to Woodville. It ran as follows: "Dear Edward—You mnst forgive my unjust suspicions, but I cannot for give myself. 1 am happy to say that it was a mistake of the tellers and that you are consequently not liable even to the charge of negligence. I hate directed my lawyer to make out articles of copart.; 114rShi'p between us, and if you and Lou isa See fit at one'e to enter into a still more important relation, all I have to say is that there will be a double partner ship. Let me see you to morrow. 'Such an instantaneous transition from a state of gloomy dejection to one of unbounded happiness almost over whelmed the youth, and for a moment deprived him of the power of utterance. Fast locked in fervent embrace, the lov ers seemed unconsc;ons that there were any other beings in this wide world ex cept themselves. The first gush of rap ture being succeeded by comparative calmness, arm in arm they quitted the house, and accompanied by the father and sister of Edward, proceeded to the mansion of Mr. Harris. Edward de clared himself perfectly well. 'I he most offective medicine that could reach his case had been applied, and had suc ceeded like magic. That was, indeed, a joyful' day—but it was succeeded in tr' brief period, by a still more joyfah 4 A'ght, on which, after the ceremony Which united the hearts and destines of the young couple for life had been performed, Mr. Harris, taking Edward affectionately by the hand, re marked, with a smile, "Neddy, boy, 1 injured your feelings without a cause, but 1 have certainly made all the repar ation that was in my power by thus in troducing you to all the rights arid priv ileges of a double partnersltih." HYDROPHOBIA.—The Montgomery Led ger give's an account of several cases, where dogs supposed to be rabid, have bitten inhividuals in Chester and Mont gomery counties, causing great distress. The Ledger says, there are a number of antidotes to destroy the effects of the pio• son, which may be used with success. We were told an instance yesterday, of a case cured by Mr. Stoy, the discoverer, that occured in Lebanon county, where an individual was cured after the spams had occurred. This is a kind of traditon ary information, and we speak of it on the strength of reliable informants who have known such "cures" by its use and effects, rind with the hope that it may Bting the 'lost tlrekistkre to light.' We can add, on pein'etial'ltliowledge, that the receipt of "Stoy's cure" is still extant, and that an old gentleman in the borough of Lebanon, by the name of Abraham Doedler has used it with great success Pot Many years, and is still using it. He is also willing to impart' a knowledge of the cure to °diets flor a small consid= eration. SHAKIP:G THE COMMONWEALTH."—CiSe Cells a story about a constable in Penn , syltiania. He had served a legal pre cept of some sort on a particular friend of his, who, being greatly drunk at the time, rebelled against the law and its myrmidon, seizing the officer and sha king him almost to pieces. The par ties, meeting a few days after, Jim, the ()Glider, was profuse in his appologies. "You know, Jake, said he, "I would not have served you so if I had been so ber ; it was all the devlish whiskey did it." The Official, at last, molified and relented under Jim's expostulaeion. "As to the snaking,"' said he, "I don't bear any mtitee, nor valley it a cent on my own account; bi!t as an officer, Jim, rec ollect whoever shales me shakes the Com monwealth." INTERESTING TO TIIE LADlES.—Nitrate of sodo as much as can be held between the fingers and the thumb, placed in the water in which flowers are to be preser ved, will keep them fresh and blooming for a fortnight; at least Mrs. London says so. [D-What one is in his youth, he is apt to be, to his mature years, in his old age, on his death bed, and forever. 1 A FEARFUL GAME OF CARDS, In our regiment were several wild young fellows—none more so thaln 1; and as our life in camp was very monot onous, the officers betook themselves to gaming. One day, after dmner, cards were brought and all of us entered with so much energy into the fascinating game that everything in a Manner ne glected. At length we changed it, and betook ourselves in couples to seperate games, I and Ensign A—, as gay and rakish rascals as ever lived, that we might pursue our game uninteruptedly, ordered the servant to carry out into a sort of summer-house, a decanter or two of wine, and the cards; and thith er we soon followed. We played with I intense ettgernee.s for several hours, till it grew so dark that we could hardly see what was before us. I had been the gainer all the evening. "Come, A " said I, addressing my companion, " I'm sure it's high time we should quit the cards and return, for we've a good deal of regithent htiiiness to do to-night." _ . "Stay, Tom, and finish the game; and you will not move an inch till then." "1 tell von, A-, I must and will be gone; why should we thus make toil of pleasure, and beside" , gain another rebuke from the colonel i I'll away." " Stay and try,one more game," said A-, laying his hand on my arm, " and I'll win back what lost." "I may, perhaps, to-morrow; but now go I will." " Then," replied my companion, "if yon do go, I'll stop and finish the game if I have the devil for my partner " A merry game, and a pleasant com panion for you—fareweil ! ' said I, and left the room. Ihr stened to my owe apartment, where I had a good deal of regimental busines to transact. I had not beet' so engaged long,' Wlt;tl' door was flung open, and in rushed En sign A—, his eyes staring with horror and flis Cheeks pale as marble. He sat &Own on a chair, looked fixedly at me, but withotit spealdifg tiv'tOrd.• I called for wine, and got him to swallow a lit tle. The cold prespiration burst from his forehead, and he glared into every corner of the rooni,-as though appre hensive that sernAwild beast was ready to spring upon him . .. „ . . W A . " hy, --," said I, shaking him . ; " what is the matter with yoU I Are you mad ?" He made no answer, ex cept by a faint, murinering kind of in distinct whisper. " Are you frighten ed—or—or—or what V' continued I, mo tioning to the servant to the leave the room. By degrecS my companion be came composed. " Oh, TOm," said be, faintly and slow• ly, "I am a lost man—a dead man)" Pshaw, my good fellow, what is the matter with you'? You've been too free with the wine, and that added to your heated spirits, has nearly overturned your brain." "No Toni," he replied, " i am sober now if r never was so before in my life. But my days on earth are numbered! Nest Tuesday I shall be no longer an inhabitant of this world 1" There was something so indescriba bly affecting—l may say, shocking—in the deep deliberate tone of voice with which he littered this, as well as the ashy hue of his countenance, that I sat down by his side wiihout sl)eaking. At length, taking his hand in mine,l asked him, in as soothing manner n• s I was a bl e what had caused his termr. "Do'you remember v; . tiatl said, Tom, on your leaoing me t o-night 1" .• Fait'lf,. yes ; was it not, that you wcittltr play if you had the devil for a partner 1" " Yes," replied A-, with a siek enin,,; smile, "I did so; and he took me at my word," lie exclaimed, gasping as if for breath. " Why—why"—stammered 1, parta king of his fright—" why, A—, you don't mean to say that—" " I mean to say simply this," replied my companion, with dreadful calmness, "that satan has taken me nt my word. A few moments after you had left me, I leaned my head on my hands, and shut toy eyes. Immediately I heard a rust ling among the cards on the table before me. 1 started, and"—a convulsive spud. der shook his frame—" there sat oppo site to me, in the chair which you had just left vacant, a tall pale man, dressed in black. " Why how in the devil's name did you come here 1" said I in amazement. To finish the game with, you as you you wished !" said the stranger, delib erately, at the same time arranging the cards. I saw that his hand was white as alabaster and he put the cards in or der with amazing care and skill. lie of ino . the pack. "Why—why, who are you, and whence did you come ?" stammered at the same time my eyes scented den- VOL, MIT, NO, 50. cing in my head and my knees smote together with agitation. came to finish the game with yott at your own request," said the stranger, precisely in the same tone and mannot as before. I would have answered, but my tongue clove lo the roof Of, my mouth. " Why do you not take the cards" said the stranger in a holloW tone, "will you finislrthe game according to your promise'?" "No r' I contriVed to stammer out. His eyes glared' 00 . me, us though his head was filled with vivid fire.—He rose and bending his fiendish face close to mine, thundered in my ear— -1 " This night Week, then; thou shalt finish it in—hell I" . . "My eyes closed un'ennsciously ns though they would never open again ; when I looked up, however, none !int: myself was in the room, and, as fast as my trembling limbs would carry me, have r come Littler. Oh, Tom,. lam a dead man ! lam doomed!-1 ant doom ed !" &ell was the fearful nurutivc of En sign —. e got him' to bed. A delirium seized him, the brain fever fol lowed, and that night week he died. HOW TO MAKE AN OMEN WHERE IS AMOS KENDALL ? When' Louis Napblecfni the nephew of the Emperor, one of the candidates for the Presidency of France, some years ago made a descent upon France. a re. markable omen attended him.—An im perial eagle swept from the sky and' perched upon his shoulder. How much destiny Was; thii eagle may be found' in the following translation in the Home Journal from a Parisian writer. 1 was in London at the time the Prince was educating the famous eagle that was to aid him in his descent upon . B6Ulogue. It was conducted upon very natural principles. Every 'nursing the prince, clad in the traditional costume of the emperor, placed himself in t he centre of the large garden attached to the . house where lie lodged. In the top of the immortal cocked hat was placed a beefstake. The eagle, kept hungry till this hour, was launched into the air from a remote corner of the ground, and after wheeling ifround once or twice, he Punctually decended to the cocked hat wherein was served his breakfast. But this was not all. It was thought neces sary that the multitude should be aston-T ished tVith seeing the imperial bird' whisper to the prince the counsel he' brought down from the Emperor on high. Occasionally, therefore, hiS oecf steak was missing, and as he was found to be a bird with all his dignity, capa ble of a pis Idler, a morsel of broiled ham was placed in the prince's ear, which, not finding the steak, he would lean over and daintily pick from its hi ding place." If the prince be made President of France, we think it will be well for this Writer to emigrate. Historical Incident, The Rev. John Marsh, in an address before a Temperance society introduced the folllowing incident A beautiful stoiy has been told, of a. little boy, who was placed at the &tor of the Hall in Philadelphia, to give no, tice to the old bellman . in the steeple when the Declaration of End6Pewlance should have been signed. The old man waited' long at his post, saying "they Will never do it," but at last he heard a shout below, and on gazing down on the pavement, lie saw the little boy clapping his tiny hands and shouting, " ring, ring!" Grasping the Iron tongue of the bell, he hurled it backwards and for- Wards a hundred times,. proclaiming, "liberty to the laud and the inhabitants thereof." That sound crossed the Atlantic, pierced the dungeons of Europe, the workshops of England, the vassal fields of France. That sound spoke to the. slave, bade him look front his toil, and know himself a man. Yes, and the voice of that little boy, lifting himself on the tip-toe, and shouting, - " ring," has come to os f and let us ring the fiend's doom and proclaim liberty to our land and the world. We will' Shout to every philanthropist, every patriot, every fath er, every mother, every orator, and ev ery preacher, ring ; and we will sound' it through the world, we will be free ! TALKING IN CHURCH.-111 some parish' churches it is the custom - to' separate' the men from. the woman. A clergy man being interrupted by loud talking, stopped short ; when a woman, eager for the honor of her sex, 7irose and said: "Your reverence, the noise is not among us." "So much the better," answered the'pritst, "it Will be sooner oVer." I' The human heart is cpn►•~itu ted, that it cannot resist the intro,,,,,„f kindness.