o
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Y JAS. CLARK.
The Life Clock.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN,
THERE is a little mystic clock,
No human eye hath seen ;
That beateth on—and beateth on,
From morning until e'en.
And when the soul is wrapped in sleep,
And heareth not a sound,
It ticks and ticks the live-long night,
And never runneth down.
O wondrous is the work of art,
Which knells the passing hour,
But art ne'er formed nor mind conceived,
The life-clock's magic power.
Nor set in gold, nor decked with gems,
By pride and wealth possessed ;
But rich or poor, or high or low,
Each bears it in his breast.
When life's deep stream, 'mid beds of flowers,
All still and softly glides,
Like the wavelet's step, with a gentle beat,
It warns of passing tides.
When passion nerves the warrior's arm,
For deeds of hate and wrong,
Though heeded not the fearful sound,
The knell is deep and strong.
When eyes to eyes are gazing soft,
And tender words are spoken,
Then fast and wild it rattles on,
As if with love 'twere broken.
Such is the clock that measures
Of flesh and spirit blended,
And thus 'twill run within the breast,
Till that strange life is ended.
FORGIVENESS.
Sweet are the words— , Thou art forgiven,"
When falling from an injured friend ;
Like music from the choirs of heaven,
They deeply in the heart descend.
Forgiveness,"—attribute divine!
Its generous purport may I feel—
That love from all my actions shino
On every soul with whom I Teel.
t , Forgiveness,"-0, how sweet the word
That trembles on the quivering lip,
When one has strangely, sadly erred,
And held with Vice companionship.
~ Forgiveness,"—it has magic power
To draw from devious paths of sin,
And when the clouds of passion lower,
Make peace and sunshine glow within,
THE DYING VOLUNT EEIL
AN INCIDENT OF MOLINA DEL REY,
BY H. G. CHIPMAN,
The sun had risen in all his glorious
majesty, and hung above the eastern ho
rizon like a ball of fire. Its bright rays
danced merrily along the Lake of Tes
neo, over the glittering domes of the
city of Mexico—past the dark frowning
battlements of Chapultepec cestle, and
lit, with all their glorious effulgence,
upon the blood-stained field of Molino
Del Rey.
The contest was over, the sound of
battle had died away, save an occasion
al shot from the distant artillery of the
castle, or the fire of some strolling rifle-
Men.
I was standing beside the battered re
mains of the mill door, above which the
first footing had been gained upon the
well contested wall, and gazing over the
plain, now saturated with the blood of
my fellow soldiers, which that morning
waved green with flowing grass, when!
heard a low and feeble wail in the ditch
beside me. I turned toward the spot and
beheld, with his right leg, shattered by
a cannon ball, a voltiguer lying among
the mangled dead. He had been passed
by in the haste of taking up the wound.
ed under the fire of the castle, and the
rays of the burning sun beat down with
terrible fervor upon his wound, causing
heavy groans to issue from his pallid
lips, and his marble countenance to
writhe with pain.
" Water, for God's sake a drink of wa
ter," he faintly articulated, as I bent
down beside him.
Very fortunately I had procured a can-
teen of water, and placing it to his lips,
he took a long deep draught, and then
sank back exhausted upon the ground.
" The sun," he murmered, " is killing
me by its rays ; cannot you carry me
into the shade 1"
"I can procure assistance, and have
you taken to the hospital."
"No, do it not ; my sands of life are
almost out. An hour hence I shall be a
dead man. Carry me into the shader
and then, if you have time to spare, lis
ten to my dying words, and if you are
fortunate enough ever to return to the
United States, bear me back a message
to my home, and to anoth-------'—he pau
sed, and motioned for me to carry him
to the shade.
I did so, and the cool wind that swept
along the spot seemed to revive him,
and continued :
" You, sir, are a stranger to me, and
from your uniform belong to another
corps, and yet 1 must confide this, the
great secret of my recent actions, and
the cause of my being here, to you.—
Would to God that 1 had reflected up-
on the steps 1 have taken, and I should
now have been at home, enjoying the
society of kind friends, instead of dying
upon a gory field, and in a foreign land.
My father was a wealthy man in the
town of in the State of Virginia,
and moved in the best society of the
place. I had received an excellent ed
ucation, had studied law, and was ad
' milted in the twenty-fourth year of my
age to practice at the bar. I had early
seen and admired n young lady of the
place, the daughter of an intimate friend
of my father's, and fortunately the feel
ing was reciprocal, and we were enga
ged to he married. The war with Mex
ico had been in existence some twelve
months, and many were flocking to the
standard of their country. It so hap
pened that about this time a recruiting
office had been opened in the town, and
several of my young friends had enlist
ed to go and try their fortunes upon the
plains of Mexico. One night there was
a grand party in the place, in honor of
those who were about to depart for the
seat of war, and both myself and Eve-,
line were at the ball. Among those who
were assembled that evening, was Au
gustus P., a talented young man and ac
complished scholar, gay and lively •in
his manners, and cheerful in his dispo
sition, and a universal favorite with the
fair sex. He had been for some time
paying his addresses to Eveline, as I
deemed, in rather too pointed a manner.
As the party assembled in the hall, and
the dance was about to commence,
asked her for her hand for the first set.
It is engaged," she replied, I thought
rather tartly.
" To whom, if I may be so bold as to
inquire 1" 1 demanded.
"To Augustus P.," was her immedi
ate reply. ,
I smothered my rising indignation as
best I could, and proudly returned the
glance of malignant joy my rival gave
" Perhaps I can engage it for the sec
ond set," I asked.
• • - -
" Mr. P. has engaged it for the even
ing," she pettishly replied, and rising
and taking his hand, they took their
station upon the floor.
I remained thunderstruck, and rooted
to the spot, until I saw the eye of my
hated rival fixed upon me, and throwing
off the spell that bound me, 1 assumed
a proud look, and passed from the hall.
As I swept by the dancers Evelyn pau
sed a moment when just behind me,
and bending close to her, I whispered,
"Evelyn, farewell forever."
She turned slightly pale, and then
asked—
" When 7"
"To night I join the army for Mex
ico," I firmly answered.
A sudden flash passed haughtily
across her brow, and then, waving her
hand gracefully, she replied, "Go," and
again glided through the mazes of the
dance.
I rushed from the spot and never stop
ped until I had entered the recruiting
office, and offered myself a candidate
for the army.
"Are you a moral man, of well-regu
lated habits," asked the officer.
" I can give a hundred certificates, if
necessary," I replied.
"I rather think you'll do," said the
officer with a smile, and he enrolled me
as a soldier. " W hen do you wish to
leave V'
"Now, to-night, to-morrow, anytime,"
I eagerly answered.
" Promptness is a good quality—
you'll make a fine soldier. Get ready
to start at 8 o'clock in the morning, for
Newport, Kentucky."
.1 will be ready," and rushing from
the room I hastened home, packed up
my things, and threw myself down up
on the bed to sleep.
But it was impossible; heavy thoughts
were crowding through my mind with
lightning speed and I resolved to depart
next day without bidding a single soul
farewell. I know you will deem it
strange for me to hurry off without bid
ding adieu to father or mother, sister or
brother but feeling the deep respect
which I held for my father's advice,
would prevail and 1 should be induced
to remain at home, 1 made the resolve
and carried it out.
The next morning I was al the office
by seven o'clock, was furnished with a
suit of regimentals, and departed for
the railroad depot to start for Wheeling.
As 1 hurried along the street who should
turn a corner but Eveline and we met
for the last time on earth. I informed
her of my intention, and without mani
festing any disposition of regret at my
departure she gaily said:
"Good bye and may good luck attend
you."
A new fuel was added to my desire
to hasten from such scenes and I had
soon left the town for the Ohio. I will
not weary you with further details as
my breatb is failing fast. Sufficient to
say that I arrived in Mexico and here,
HUNTINGDON, PA., TUESDAY, JANUARY 80, 1849.
I am perishing by inches on the battle
field.
'Here,' he continued, 'is a ring ► ' ta
king one from his finger and presenting
it to me, 'which was given me by Eve
line as a bond of our marriage contract.
I have worn it ever since and as I gaily
told her then it shall leave me but by
my death. Take it to her when you
get back and if she be unmarried tell
her he who sent it never forgot her for
a moment even in his dying hour and is
lying beneath the clods of a foreign
soil.
'This bible give back to my father,
and tell him I have studied well its pre
cepts. To my mother and sisters say
that 1 have sent them a son's dying love.
To my brothers beware of human
strife.'
He faltered in his speech and then
murmured, .1 am going, pressed my
hand feebly and expired. I dug a lone
grave upon the field, and laid him down
to rest and left him to '•sleep his last
sleep," until that day when all shall be
summoned to a final account.
One year rolled on and how checker
ed by passing events. Chapultepec had
fallen, the city of Mexico was taken, and
pewee, thrice glorious peace, had waved
her pinions over the land of war. The
volunteers were joyfully hastening
home, and among the rest I once more
trod my native land a freeman again in
heart and soul. A spell of sickness at
first confined me for several weeks but I
nt length arose wearied and feeble from
the bed and my physician recommended
a change of air. I travelled into Virgin
ia and one evening I entered the town of
G-ce. I enquired for the family of
my friend and was directed to a large
fine-looking building upon the principal
street. I advanced and rung the bell,
and anxiously waited for an answer.
At length the door opened and an old
grey-headed man stood before me the
lines of his furrowed face marked by
care and his whole appearance betoken
ing one who had a secret grief at heart.
'Mr. presume,'said I bowing.
'The same sir; wont you walk inl re
plied the old man politely.
I entered and was soon seated in the
parlor when the old man started to leave
the room.
have something of importance for
your private ear,'soid I.
He turned towards me and taking the
Bible from my pocket I held it up to
view. Quicker then a thought the fath
er sprang forward caught the book in
his hands and murmured as the tears fell
fast over his aged cheeks.
'My son, my son—you bring news of
himl'
4 I do but it is very bad,' I answered,
my voice trembling as 1 spoke and I re-
told to him the scene upon the battle field
When 1 had finished the old man
clasped his hands in silent agony and
raising his eyes towards the ceiling,
exclaimed in deep and fervent tones,
'God's will be done.'
At this moment a young lady of pale
and care worn countenance entered the
parlor, and rising, I said:
'Miss Eveline, I believel'
'The same sir,' she quite calmly re
plied.
I presented the ring and as her eyes
fell upon it she stretched forth her
hand t.) grasp it, and barely did so, then
sunk slowly back upon the floor. I
sprang to her assistance but as I raised
lier head from the carpet, I discovered
a stream of blood falling upon it and
running over the floor. — She had burst
a blood vessel and never recovered.
He sleeps upon the battle field beneath
the bloody soil, and she sleeps in the
church yard of the pretty town of
G—ce with the simple word 'EVELINE'
upon the tombstone. Peace rest with
the dead.
SLAVES OF THE LAMP.
A party were sitting over their wine
and desert. One peach, and only one
remains upon the table. It is very rich,
very ripe, very luscious, very tempting.
Everybody has eyed it, and nobody has
taken it. Everybody has offered it to
his neighbor, and everybody's neighbor
has politely declined it. There appears
something greedy in taking the last
morsel on the table. Everybody then
envies the peach, yet leaves it unappro
priated on the table. Everybody ap
pears careless about that which every
body is interested. Everybody is gree
dy but nobody will own it. The peach
is the cause of all the white lies, the
petty envy, the paltry covetousness,
which even that respectable party—for
they were all respectable—and not one
of them cared a pin's head about a peach
in the abstract—could not help giving
up a little corner of their breasts to it
as a passing place of shelter,
Suddenly the lamp went out; end, as
the room was left in darkness, six hands
timultaneously stretched out, encoun
tered each other in the dish; the whole
party with one united effort strove to
appropriate the peach.
When the lamp was re-lighted they
were ashamed to look each other in the
lace. They felt how paltry they were;
with what petty cowardice—with what
shabby cunning—with what sneaking
selfishness they had acted. 'Twas on
ly the burning of the lamp which had
kept them decent. They were all slaves
of the lamp.
And are we not till, more or less slaves
of the ltimp!
Our neighbor's adiranttigOs are our
peaches. Society and Society's laws
burn the restraining light, and mankind
in general are the envious malcontents
who disclaim the fruits while they long
for it ; whose tongue refuse the morsel,
while their teeth are watering for its
ripeness.
So many different men ; so many dif
ferent peaches. Crime is the ruffian's
forbidden fruit ; punishment the lamp
which scares him from it. But, albeit,
we hope we are no ruffians, we have all
of us our peaches. The sparkle of a
diamond, the texture of a dress, may it I
not be a peach, which, were the lamp of
conventional usage out, a lady might
not scruple to avow she coveted ? For,
mark, we do not speak of those who
would actually snatch their fruit, were
laws extinct, or opportunity convenient,
but those who are ashamed by the con
ventional virtue; or, perhaps, the decent
hypocracy—of society, from avowing
their longings; of speaking plain truths
in plain words; from saying they would
like to have the peach.
. .
Jack and Gill are rival citizens of
credit and renown. But Jack is either
more ,lucky,'or more wise than Gill.—
He is made Lord Mayor and rides in his
gilded coach, with the same species of
pleasure with which thirty years before
he devoured gilded gingerbread. Well
is Gill envious I Not he. When he
says so, the open eyes of society gleam
lampwise on him. He curses Jack in
his secret heart. Why '1 Because there
is no window breast and the outside
light illuminates not the inner man.
Mrs. Thomas Trot is a young wife,
and she has a young baby. You call,
and the baby is produced from its cra
dle like a jewel from its locket. It
screams and kicks, like an obstreperous
baby, as it is. You do not want to be
troubled with it. You will be charitable
we will suppose you have the headache.
You will like to rap out—" Confound
the squalling brat," but you don't, you
murmur in fondling accents, "The deli
cious baby." Again you decline the
peach. At length Mrs. Thomas Trot
w.,lks off, baby and all. Then do you
indulge yourself. "Stupid goose, think
ing her goalies swans!" Coward! your
hand is in the dish, but not till the light
in the person of Mrs. Trot has left the
room.
Alas we are a terrible world of hyp
ocrites! The peach is before us, and
the light above us, and we render to
virtue, the homage we feel not. We are
spies upon each other. We bind our
selves mutually ever to be of good be
haviour. We are afraid of each other
—we keep up mutual surveillance.—
Good and bad results springs from it.—
It keeps us out of mischief, but it cre
ates fictitious mischief. There are many
times when it would be manly to take
the peach out of the plate. There is a
false as well as a true shame. The light
deludes as well as warns. I may be a
Jack o' Lantern as well as a Pharos.—
The lady in the play can do nothing
without inquiring " what will Mrs.
Grundy say I" There are plenty of
Mrs. Grundy's in the world, and plenty
of people who steer their course pre
cisely by the Grundy compass. Yet the
Grundy needle may not always point
due north.
Such cases are however, perhaps after
all, the exceptions. Society keeps soci
ety in order. Society makes society
polite. Society preserves a decent for
bearance in the disposal of the peaches.
" Everybody," says Talleyrand, "is
cleverer than anybody." Every body—
is probably more mischievous than any
body ; or at least conflicting vices, neu
tralizing each other, extinguish and
keep down all irregularities. Every
body wishes for the peach as well us
anybody and anybody is prevented from
rudely appropriating it, by the very hy
pocricy of everybody. We are so many
cheek strings; tugging each other dif
ferent ways but prevented by the very
multiplicity of pulling from being haul
edas a body in the wrong direction.
We are prevented in fine, from bein g
thieves in thought. We are a social ,
self-supporting constabulatory body.—
Decorum is the system to he enforced.
The world's peaches must be seen with
out being appropriated. If they are to
be envied it must be in secret. If ex
pression is to be given to the envy, it
must be when the lamp is out. We arc
ail " Slaves of the Lamp.".
,440ou,rnilr
NEWSPAPER PATRONAGE
This thing called newspaper patron-
age is a curious thing. It is composed
of as many colors as a rainbow and is
as changeable as a chamelion.
One man subscribes for a newspaper
and pays for it in advance; he goes
home and reads it the year round with
the proud satisfaction that it is his own.
He hands in an advertisement and pays
for it. This is newspaper patronage.
Another man says please put my
name on your list of subscribers; and
goes off without as much as having said
pay once. He asks you to advertise, but
he says nothing about pay for it. Time
passes, your patience is exhausted and
you dun him. He flies in a passion,
perhaps pays, perhaps not.
AnOther intit; has been a subscriber a
long thee. He becomes tired of you
and wants a change.—Thinks he wants
an eastern paper. Tells the Postmas
ter to discontinue and one of his papers
is returned to you marked "refused."
Paying up (or it, is among the last of
his gioughts, besides wants his mosey
to send to an eastern publisher.
After a time you look over his ac
count and see a bill of "balance due."
But does he pay it freely and cheerfullyl
We leave him to answer.—This too is
newspaper patronage.
.
Anotherman lives near you—never
took your paper—lt is too small—don't
like the editor—don't like the politics—'
too whiggish too locofocoish or too some
thing else—yet goes regularly to his
neighbor and reads his by a gond fire—
fiiiids fault with its contents, disputes
its positions and quarrels with its type.
Occasiounlly sees an• article he likes—
saves half a dime and begs a number.—
This too is newspaper patronage.
Another sports a fine horse, or per
haps a pair of them—is always seen
with whip in hand and spur on foot—
single man—no,use for him to take a
newspaper— knows enough. Finally lie
concludes to get married—does so—
sends a notice of the fact with a "please
publish and send me half dozen copies."
This done does he ever pay for notice or
papersi No, but surely you don't charge
for such things I This, too, is news
paper patronage.
Another man(bless you it does us
good to see such a man)comes and says
the year for which I have paid is about
to expire and 1 want to pay for another
He does so and retires.
Reader is not newspaper patronage a
curious thing? And in that great day
when honest men get the reward due to
their honesty, which say you of those
enumerated above will obtain that re
ward? Now it will be seen that while
certain kinds of patronage are the very
life and essence of a newspaper there
are certain other kinds that will kill a
paper stone dead.—lllinois Organ.
Female Slanderers.
A female calumniator is something
more corrupt and dangerous than a fe ,
male profligate. The unchaste Woman
may possibly injure the character and
taint the morals of fifty persons, but the
slanderous woman poisons the atmos
phere of an entire neighborhood, and
blasts the sanctities of a thousand homes,
with a single breath. krom a woman
of this class nothing is sacred ; she fat
tens on calumny, and upon slaughtered
reputations. She is the Ghoul of Eas
tern story, transferred from the Arabian
Nights to the circle of the fireside.—
She never asserts any thing—she mere
ly hints, and supposes, and whispers
what "they say." Every neighborhood
in the city is infested with some crea
ture of this sort, and in country towns
they very often are afflicted with two or
three of these Ghoul-Women. One is
enough to set an hundred families by
the ears, two can break up a church,
and three tire sufficient for any kind of
mischief, from the separating of the
husband from his wife, to blasting the
fame of a stainless girl. A pure woman
is simply an angel embodied in human
shape; a slanderous woman is some
thing worse than the Cholera—certain
ly as infectious as the Yellow Fever.
REVOLTING BARBARITY.-A private
letter received in Pittsburg, from Hel
ena, Arkansas ; relates a circumstanse
of revolting barbarity
"A steamboat touched at the wharf,
and landed a man, his Wife and child,
suffering with the cholera. It was rain
ing at the time, and the man, enfeebled
by disease, fell into the river before he
reached the shore. He finally strug
gled out, and sick as he was, began
searching for a place of shelter. Not
a door was opened for him, the hotels
refused him admittance. At length he
found a shed which afforded some sort
of shelter from the rain. Here he took
his wife and child—and in a few hours
the whole of them were dead."
VOL XI V, NO, 8
COLORED MEN IN PARIS.-ID one of the
got letters from Paris Robert Walsh.
,
stir—"Clur French paragraphiits aro
not partictilifirly struck with the capaci:
ty of the colored race to maintain repub
lican institutions as it is arenaplified in
the monopoly of the priidilcts of the syit
and of all traffic internal and external,
by the government of Hayti. Thd col
ored man—the true ebony—in the dele
gation of the Antiles who sits in the
tre of the Mentagnards in the Assembly
was the servant of a white general resi
dent in the capital. An intimAte ac
quaintance of the master told me a few
days ago that the representative had not
resigned his domestic post, whether from
feisonal attachment or prudential mo
tives, he would deserve credit for either.
A gentleman of New Orleans on a visit
to Paris relates te me that about a fort
night since While eeeted in a side bOX of
the first tiers of the grand opera he dis
tinguished a colored family in the one
immediately opposite : by his opera glass
he discovered that the head of it, whom
he recognized distinguished him and was
about to come nound to him by the lobby.
A feeling natural to a Southern Amer+
can induced him To pref.ir that the inter
view should not be in the box which ho
occupied. He met the visitor in the lob
by; the latter grasped his hand and re
minded him that he had been his tailor
at New Orleans. "1 retired," he added
with a good property we are well settled
hero; that's my box once a week; we shalt
be happy to see you at our apartments.
THE MEANEST CASE YET.—The City
Item contains the following excellent
thing in its way :
Some years since,• wilt& m'on'ey Was
scarce; arid nithnst everything was done
in the way of trade, a man named Jones .
called into the grocery and dry goods
store of Mr. Brown, and asked for a
darning needle, offering in exchange an
egg. After receiving the needle Jones
said—
" Come, sir, nin't you going to treat!"
"What on that trade'!" inquired
Brown
, 4 Certainly, a trade's a trade, let it
be big or little."
Well, what will you take 1"
"A glass of wine ; said Jones.
The winewas poured out, when the
sponge said, " would it be asking too
much to request you to put an egg into
this vine lam very fond of wine and
egg."
Appalled by the man's meanness, the
store-keeper took the identical egg
which he had received for the darning
needle, and handed it to his customer,
who on breaking it into his wine-gla'ss,
discovered that it contained a double
yolk.
"Look here," said the sponge, "don't
you think you ought to give me another
darning needle this you see is a double
egg.
A ruts. HEAD ox.—The iemperance .
people of Carbondale, Peonsyls arda,. at
recent celebration gaVe a public dinner.
Among the volunteer toasts was the
followings
The Railroad to Ruin.—gurVeyed by
avarice, chartered by county courts,
freighted with drunkards, with grog
shops for depots, rumsellers for engin
eers, bar tenders for conductors, & land
lord for stockholders ; fired up with alco
hol and boiling with delerium tremens.'
The groans of the dying are the thunder
of the trains and the shrieks of the wo
men and children are the whistle of the
engineers. By the help of God we will
reverse the steam, put out the fire, save'
the freight and annul the charter.
GRAMMAR.-' John, parse " Girls are
lovely."'
" Girls is a common noun, third per
son, plural number, and objective case."
" Objective easel"
"No, Nomitive case."
Nomitive to what verb V'
"I don't know, sir."
" Well, what falloffs girls r"
"John bickson followed our girls
what We've got to home, last Sunday
afternoon."
Oh, young man ! Well I suppose
they_were in the objective case."
a . No, sir-ee Wh • Co I seed 'em I should
think they were in, the possessive case,
for he was huggin"em' like thunder !"
A PATTERN FOR LAIES..-111 a toiintry
churchyard is the following singular in
scription:—Elizabeth wife of Colonel s
Cheetham who was Married forty-seven
years and, never did ooe thing to diso-•
blige her husband." An extraCit'dinhry
wife,truly!
07-* There is no virtue that adds so
noble a charm to the finest traits of beau
ty ns that which exerts itself in watch
ing over the tranquility of an aged pa
rent. There nre no tears which give so
noble a lustre to the cheek of innocence,
ns the tears of filial sorrel*.