wr
nixtotqbon
BY JAS. CLARK.
He will forgive Toil, Father?
He stood leaning upon a broken gate
in front of his dwelling. His tattered
bat was in his hands, and the cool breeze
Lifted his'matted locks which covered his
noble brow. His countenance was bloa
ted and disfigured but in his eye there
was an unwanted look—a mingled ex
pression of sadness and regret. Perhaps
he was listening to the melancholy voice
of his patient wife as she soothed the
sick babe, on her bosom, or perchance
he was gazing on the sweet face of his
eldest daughter, as at the open window
she plied her needle to obtain for her
Mother and the poor children a suste
nance. Poor Mary ! for herself she ca
red not ; young as she was, her spirit
Was crushed by poverty, unkindness
and neglect. As the inebriate thus stood,
his eyes wandered over the miserable
habitation before him. The windows
were broken and the doors hingeless,
scarce a vestige of comfort remained,
Yet memory bore him back to the days
of his youth when it was the abode of
peace and happiness. In infancy he saw
iignin the old arm chair where sat his
father with the bible upon his knee, and
seemed to hear again the sweet tones of
his mother's voice as she laid her hands
upon the head of her darling boy, and
prayed that God would bless him, and
preserve him from evil. Long years
had passed away, yet tears came into
the eyes of the drunkard at the recol
lection of his mother's love.
Poor mother," he muttered, 1. it is
Well that thou art sleeping in the grave!
it would break thy heart to know that
thy son is a wretched and degraded be
ing—a miserable outcast from society."
He turned slowly away. Deep with
in an adjoining forest was a dell where
the beams of the sun scarce ever pene
trated. Tall trees grew on either side,
whose branches meeting above, formed
a canopy of leaves where the birds built
their nests, and poured forth happy
songs. Thither the drunkard bent his
steps. It had been his favorite haunt in
days of his childhood, as he threw him
self upon the soft green sward, the rec
ollection of past scenes came crowding
over his mind. He covered his face
with his hands, and the prayer of the
prodigal burst from his lips—" Oh God !
receive a returning wanderer !" Sud
denly n soft arm was thrown around
his neck, and a sweet voice murmured
—" he will forgive you, father." Star
ting to his feet, the inebriate saw stand
ing before him, his youngest daughter,
a child six years old.
" Why arc you here, Anne 1" he said,
ashamed that the innocent child should
have witnessed his grief.
"I came to gather the lillies which
grow upon the banks," she replied: "see
I have got my basket full, and now I am
going to sell them."
"And what do you do with the mo
ney 1" asked the father, as he turned
his eyes to the basket, where among the
broad green leaves the sweet lillies of
the valley were peeping out.
The child hesitated, she thoug,ht she
find said too much ; perhaps her father
would demand the money, and spend it
in the way in which all his earnings
went.
" You are afraid to tell me, Anne,"
said her father, kindly. " Well, I do
not blame you, I have no right to my
children's confidence."
The gentleness of tcne touched the
heart of the affectionate child. She
threw her arms around his neck, and
exclaimed, " Yes, father, I will tell you.
Mother buys medicines for poor little
'Willie. We have no other way to get
it. Mother and Mary work all the time
they can get, to buy bread."
A pang shot through the inebriate's
heart. " I have robbed them of the
comforts of life," he exclaimed ; "from
this moment •the liquid fire passes my
bps no more."
Anne stood gazing at him in aston
ishment. She could scarcely compre
hend her father's words ; but she saw
that some change had taken place. She
threw back her golden ringlets, raised
her large blue eyes, with an earnest look
to his face—" W ill you never drink any
more rum 'I" she whispered timidly.
" Never ! dear Anne," her father re
plied solemnly.
Joy danced in her eyes. Then we
will all be so happy. Oh, father, what
a happy home ours will be!"
Years passed away. The words of
little Anne, the drunkard's daughter,
had proved true. The home of the re
formed man, her father, was indeed a
happy one. Plenty crowned his board,
and health and joy beamed upon the face
of his wife and 'children—Where once
squalid misery alone could be traced.—
\ pledge had raised him from his
\ degradation, and restored him once more
to peace and happiness.
Or Clarified honey, applied on a lin ,
nen rag, will cure the pain of a burn.
Uncle Wniamin's Sermon.
Not many ho - urs ago I heard Uncle
Benjamin discussing this matter to his
son, who was complaining of pressure.
" Rely upon it, Sammy," said the old
man, as lie leaned on his staff, with his
grey locks flowing in the breeze of a
May morning, "murmuring pays no
bills. I have been an observer any time
these fifty years, and I never saw a man
helped out of a hole by cursing his hor
ses. Be as quiet as srou can, for noth
ing will grow under a moving harrow,
and discontent harrows the mind. Mat
ters are bad, I acknowledge, but no ul
cer is better for fingering. The more
you groan, the poorer you grow.
Repining at losses is only puitin'g
pepper in a sore eye. Crops will fail
in all soils, and we may be thankful that
we have not a famine. Besides, I al
ways took notice that whenever I felt
the rod pretty smartly, it was so much
as to say : " Herels something which
you have got to learn." Sammy, don't
forget that your schooling is not yet over
though you have a wife and two child
ren."
"Aye," cried Sammy, "you may say I
that, and a mother-in-law, and two ap
prentices into the bargain, and 1 should
like to know what a poor man can learn
here; when the greatest scholars and'
lawyers are at loggerheads, and can't
for their lives tell what has become of
the hard money."
"Softly, Sammy, I am older than you ;
I have not got these grey hairs and this
crooked back without some burdens.—
I could tell you stories of the days of
continental money, when my grandmo
ther used to stuff a sulky box with bills
to pay for a yearling or a wheat fan,
and when the Jersey women used thorns
for pins, and laid their teapots away in
the garret. You wish to know what you
can learn 1 You may learn these seven
things :
First : That you have saved too little
and spent too much. I never taught
you to be a miser, but I have seen you
give a dollar for a " notion," when you
might have laid one half aside for char
ity and one half for a rainy day.
Secondly : that you have gone too
much upon credit. I always told you
credit was a shadow; there is a sub
stance behind, which casts the shadow;
but a small body may cast n greater
shadow, and no wise man will follow
the shadow any farther than he can see
the substance. You may now learn that
you have followed, and been decoyed
into a bog.
Thirdly: that you have gone too much
in haste to become rich. Slow and easy
wins the race. _
Fourth : that no course of life can be
depended upon as always prosperous.-
1 am afraid that the younger race of
working men in America have a notion
that nobody would go to ruin on this
side of the water. Providence has
greatly blessed us and we have become
presumptuous.
Fifthly : that you have not been thank
ful enough to God for his benefits in
past times.
Sixthly : that you may be thankful
that our lot is not worse. We might
have famine, or pestilence, or war, or
tyranny, or all together.
And lastly, to end my sermon, you
may learn to offer with more understan
ding, the prayer of your infancy,' Give
tis this day our daily bread.' "
The old man ceased, and Sammy put
on his apron and told Dick to blow away
at the bellows.—Reveille.
Short Sermon for Parents,
It rsTtcdTgi" -- Wheii the mother of
Washington was asked how she had
formed the character of her son, she
replied that she had endeavored early
to teach him three things ; obedience,
dilligence and truth. No better advice
can be given by any parent.
Teach your children to obey. Let it
be the first lesson. You can hardly be
gin too soon. It requires constant care
to keep up the habit of obedience, and
especially to do it in such a way as not
to break down the strength of a child's
character.
Teach your child to be dilligent. The
habit of being always employed is a
great safeguard through life, 'as well
as essential to the culture of almost ev
ery virtue. Nothing can be more fool
ish than an idea which parents have
that it is not respectable to set their
children to work. Play is a good thing,
innocent recreation is an employment,
and a child may learn to be diligent in
that as in other things. But let them
learn early to be useful.
As to truth ; it is the one essential
thing. Let every thing else be sacri
ficed rather than that. Without it what
dependence can you place in your child'!
And be sure to do nothing yourself which
may countenance any species of prevar=
ications or falsehood. Yet how many pa
rents do teach their children the first
lesson of deception.
HUNTINGDON, PA., TUESDAY, MARCH 27, 184.
REIGN OF TERROR IN AUSTRIA.-If half
be true that is related of Prince Wind
ischgratz, he is one of the most relent
less of despots of modern times. Atro
cities of the most fearful description are
attributed to him, and these, too, by let
ter writers who are decidedly opposed
to the ultra Republican movement in
Austria. A letter of a late date, in the
London Times, says that " the Reign of
Terror" continues throughout the whole
of the Austrian dominions. The Croats
pursue their daily system of plunder
and murder; persons are arrested and
shot without form of trial on secret de
nunciations; all letters, even those of
the Ministers themselves are opened at
the post office ; and a system of the most
horrible espoinage is regularly organi
zed. The rule of Robespierre was one
of freedoth and of mercy and of justice
in comparison with the atrocious reign
of terror which at present prevails in
Austria. Some idea may be formed of
the state of things in that unhappy coun
try from the following extradt from the
letter of a traveler, " who is enabled to
write those things which the Austrian
post-office will not suffer to pass :"
" You can form no idea of the state
of things in Austria. The dispatches
of everybody are opened; nay, to melt
an extent is the blind zeal of those in
authority carried, that even the letters
addressed to the Ministry are not excep
ted. Wait till Hungary is reduced, and
you will hear strange things. I wish I
were safe and sound out of the country.
The Diet is at this moment less free
than it ever was at Vienna. • if I were
not afraid of my life I could give -you,
as well as many others, details that
would surprise you. But the voice of
truth will, in the end, be heard ; for it
is utterly impossible that things should
remain in their present state."
SAGACITY Or A DOG.—We have in our I
day, seen many a tough story of the sa
gacity of the canine race, but we are
about to tell one which will bent any
thing of the kind we have ever seen or
heard. What is better, the incidgnt is
true, having actually occurred in a
neighboring city. It was related to us
by a man of unimpeachable veracity,
who knew the dog. Should this meet
the eye of the gentleman who related it
to us, he will affirm it true. He was a
member of Gov. Brigg's council last
year, and is as modest and unassuming
as the Governor himself. But to our
story. The owner of this dog was in
the habit of giving him a cent at a cer
tain hour every day, and with it the dog
would go to the market-house and buy
his dinner. His master would carefully
envelope the cent in a piece of paper,
and the clog would go to the market man,
place the cent in his hand, and await
his cent's worth of meat. The dog, be
ing a regular customer, generally got a
pretty liberal slice, and went off con
tented. One day he went to his mas
ter at the usual hour, and gave him to
understand that his dinner hour had ar
rived. Seeing the dog's uneasiness, he
thought he would let him wait a little
while ; whereupon the dog seized apiece
of paper and bounded off in the direc
tion of the market. On arriving at the
stall at which he was regularly served,
he laid his paper quietly down and step
ped forward for his supply of meat.—
] The market man cut off and gave him
his usual supply, and off he ran. The
man stopped to pick up his money, when
lo! there was nothing but apiece of pa
per. He related this circumstance to
the owner, who on the following day
offered the dog a cent to buy his dinner
with, but the dog would not take it. He
then attempted to call the dog to the
market house, but it was no go, and for
months he could not be made to go to
the market. For the absolute truth of
this story we vouch. Those who dis
believe it may aslc and answer this
question: If a dog will steal, knowing
the act to be theft, why may he not
cheat 1 Both in our mind, indicate the
improvement incident to this compan
ionship with man. Boston Museum.
The Rev. Mr. Shepherd, of —,
Mass., had a habit of using eccentric
expressions which made his people
laugh. The habit grew upon him till
it become intolerable to the graver sort,
who called a council to sit upon the pro
priety of his dismissal. Mr. S. ack
nowledged his fault and promised so
solemnly to avoid it in future, that the
council broke up the proceedings, and
as a testimony on their part that all had
been forgotten, asked him to say grace
at dinner; which he did at some length,
and concluded with the following :
" And now 0 Lord, that we have set our
horses together, may they jog along
comfortably together, till they are tied
up together in the stalls of Salvation."
GONE TO MILL.—We notice the mar ,
riage of Mr. Joseph Gone ; to Miss
Amanda A. Mill:
AN HOUR IN THE CHURCH YARD.
There is a melancholy pleasure to be
derived from meditation among the sad
sepulchres of the dead. By him who
snatches an hour from the hardning
cares of business and retires within the
narrow precincts of departed mortality
to muse upon the nothingness of human
life, as taught by the heaped hillocks of
the city of the dead, there is a lesson
learned that pomp and power and am
bition can never tench.
Tread lightly, pilgrim of meditation,
amid the pale monuments that gleam in
the moonlight of the churchyard ! A
thousand hearts that once throbbed to
as passionate impulses as yours now
does, lie still and pulseless beneath the
echo of your footsteps! Humble your
pride, man of power or of wealth ! for
the dust of the houseless beggar who
died unpitied in this proud city of yours
is undistinguishable from the ashes of
him whom men exalted, and whose de
parture was .‘ homired" with the pa
geantry of public sorrow!
But it is not alone in the humbling
influences produced by the philosophy
of death that the churchyard has its
lessons. The inscriptions of love and
affection have their interest and their
uses. There Sleeps a little child, snatch
ed by the King of terrors from the pa
rents to whom it clung, ere vice had tra
ced a single character upon its , sinless
soul.
And yet, by the record, rt would
seem that the voice of Him who said,—
"suffer little children to come unto mei.
for of such are the kingdom of heaven,"
has failed to temper the grief of the
mother. The little white stone seems
to bear n complaint against the decrees
of Deity ! Alt ! how affection is com
mingled with selfishness in the heart of
the mother: She would rather have
her child than that heaven should have
an angle ! How few are there, under
such deprivations, that can turn their
hearts in unison with the faith thus ex-
I claims—
GO gave, He took, He will restore,
He doeth all things well."
And there lies stalwart Manhood, too!
The arrow was launched as he poured
over ledger and day-book to see if his
gains would permit him to retire to the
enjoyments of indolence and case. A
cunning archer, I trove, was grinning
over his shoulder, as with an account
ant's skill he summed up the long col
umns that spoke of his success in bu
siness.
Here beneath this white slab, sleeps
a young mother and her child. An
icy hand was laid upon blossom and
bough, and they withered and went
down trio a common grave—the one in
its first faint breath of life—the other
in the first throbbing of parental happi
ness when hope had given a double in
centive to the love of life. Read the
touching memorial.
HER SUN IS GONE DOWN WHILE IT WAS
YET DAY. HER INFANT SLEEPS IN HER
ARMS.
Inexorable Tyrant ! thou hast done .
thy worst.—The carrion carcases of the
fo•ds of fame, reeking in the freshness
of a recent battle field, amidst which
the gorged wolves hold the revel of sa
tietv, awake not half the painful asso
ciations that come over me as I stand
beside the lowly resting place of the
dead mother and her child.
Hah ! who have we in this sunken,
coffin rhaped aperture'? A couple of
rude, moss-grown, recordless stones
mark the spot where poverty at last
found repose ! Sleep on, man of many
sorrows, and rejoice that death left none
to bedew thy memory with tears ! that
no vain relative, who denied thee living,
has desecrated thy last resting place
with a lying testimonial of respect!—
[C. W. Jay.
Franlutes&
Be frank with the world. Frankness
is the child of honesty and courage.—
Say what you mean to do on every oc
casion ; and take it for granted that you
mean to do right. If a friend ask a fa
vor, you should grant it, if it is reason
able ; if not, tell him plainly why you
cannot. You will certainly wrong him
and wrong yourself by equivocation of
any kind. Never do a wrong thing to
make a friend nor to keep one ; the
, friendship of a man who requires you
to do so, is dearly purchased at such a
sacrifice. Deal kindly but firmly with
all men ; you will find this policy wears
' best. Above all, do not appear to oth
ers what you are not. If you• have any
faults to find with any, tell him, not oth
ers, of what you complain. There is
no more dangerous experiment than
that of undertaking to be one thing to
a man's face and another behind his
back. We should live, act, and speak
out of doors, as the phrase is, and say
and do what we are willing should be
known and read by men. It is not only
best as a matter of principle but as a
matter of policy.
,
_di oournal
Posititm of tate MOrlitiins,
We want to Call the reader's attention
to the new, and most extraordinary po
sition of the mormons. Seven thousand
of them have found a resting place in
the most remarkable spot on thb North
American continent. Since the chil
dren of Israel wandered through the
wilderness, or the Crusaders rushed on
Palestine, there has been nothing so his
torically singular, as the emigration and
recent settlement of the Mormons.
Thousands of them, came from the Man;
cheaters and Shanelds of Europe, to
join other thousands congregated from
Western New York, and New England ,
—boasted decendents of the Pilgrim
Fathers—together to follow after a net
Jerusalem in the west. Having a Tem
ple amidst the Churches and Schools
of Lake county, Ohio, and driven from
it by popular opinion, they build the
Nauvoo of Illinois. It becomes a great
town. Twenty thousand people flock to
it. They are again assaulted by popu
lar persecution ; there Prophet murder
ed—their town depopulated—and final
ly their Temple burned! Does all this
series of signal persecutions to which
they have beeen subjected deutroy them?
Not at all. Seven thousand are now
settled, in flourishing circumstances,
on the Plateau Summit of the North
American Continent ! Thousands more
arc about to join them from lowa, and
thousands more are coming front Wales.
The spectacle is most singular, and this
is one of the singular episodes of the
great Drama of this age. The spot on
which the mormons are now settled, is,
geographically,• one of the most inter
esting on the Anieritian Continenf..
There is no other just like it, that we'
can recollect of, on the globe; Look nt
the map a little east of the Great Salt
Lake, and just south of the South West
Pass, and you will see, in the North
East corner of California, the summit
level of the waters which flow on the
North American continent. It must be
six thousand feet, perhaps more, above
the level of the Atlantic. In this se
questered corner, i 0 a vale hidden
among mountains and lakes, are the
mortnons, and there rise the mighty
rivers, than which no continent has grea
ter. Within a stones throw almost of
one another, lie the head springs of the
Sweet Water and the Green River. The
former flows into the Platte River ; that
into the Missouri ; and that into the.
Mississippi; and that into the Gulf of
Mexico, becoming part of the Gulf
Stream, and leaves the shores of dist-,
ant lands. The latter, the Green River,
flows into the Colorado ; the Colorado'
into the Gulf of California, and is min
gled with the Pacific. The one flows
more than 2,500 miles ; the other more''
than 1,500. These flow into tropical re
gions. Just North of the same spot are
the head streams of Snake River, which
flows into the Columbia, near lat. 46 deg.
after a course of 1,000 miles. Just
South are the sources of the Rio Grande,
width, after Winding 1',700 miles, finds
the gulpis of Mexico. It is a remarka
point in the earth's surface whet& the
mormons are, and locked in by moun
tains and lakes, they will probably re
main and constititute a new and pecu
liar colony. —Cincinaiti .4tlits.
AN ELEPIIAMT ON A SPREE.--An ele
phant which is being exhibited in New
York, broke loose from his place of con
finement on Thursday night, spreading
consternation among a large crowd in
the streets. The first place he entered
was a shanty, the second story floor of
which he raised, upset a woman and
two children in bed, and set the place
on fire,—Passing down Elizabeth street,
he stopped on his way to look in at one
or two grocery stores, scattering and
breaking the contents with little re
gard to the feelings of the proprietors.
After doing considerable damage by
smashing in doors and tearing up rail
ing, he crossed to Broadway, and prom
enaded for a while between Chambers
' and Franklin streets, finally passing
down Duane st. to the North River,
where, (after failing to avail himself of
the Hoboken Hotel's "entertainment for
man and beast," only because the door
was'nt large enough,) he was captured
by his keeper and taken quietly back to
his lodgings.
AN OLD BACHELOR !—What is he A
rusty, fusty, musty, sort of an animal,
who is no companion either for himself
or any body else. His lace looks as if
it had been bathed in vinegar—when he
speaks, it is with the snappishness of an
angry cur—he takes no care either of
his body or its necessary habiliments—
he is a drug to society ; pitied by the
wise, and hooted at by the foolish—he
is insensible to true happiness—he
spends leis days in uneasiness, and his
nights in misery—he lives unbeloved,
i and dies unlamented—he is in short
what wE have
. been for nearly 40 years.
I Thank God we are now well married I
VOL. XIV, NO, 11
NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP.
There are probably no four lines it
the English language,' than are repeat
ed so'inany tunes daily as the follow
ing:
NoW I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep ;
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take."
And it is not only children and youtlf
that repeat them. Many whose heads
are "silvered o'er with age," have been
accustomed to repeat theth as their Jolt
prayer before closing their eyes in sleep,
every night since they were taught
them in infancy. The late ex-President
of the United States, John Quincy Ad
ams, was among the number. A Bish
op Of the Mdthodiet Chueell,iii address
ing a Sabbath School told the children
that he had been accustomed to say
that prayer ever since his mother taught
it to him when he was a little boy.
In conversing with a ship rilasfir,.
over seventy years of age, and who has
been far many years a deacon in the
church, he said that when he followed
the seas, and even before he indulged a'
hope that lie was a Christian, he never
lay down in his berth at night without
saying with great seriousness, and he
thought sinceretyl
Now I lay me down to eleei," &c
He felt so strongly his need of re=
ligion, and his danger without it, that
he used always to read his Bible, and
place that precious book under his pil
low at night, and often kissed the sa-.
cred volume, trusting no doubt, in this
reverence for the word of God, instead
of trusting alone in the love of the Sa
viour.
Let every render learn, and every
every night repeat that little prayer;
c , Now I lay me down to sleep." &c
FAITH.
It is perhaps for others rather than
ourselves, says a beautiful writer, that
the fond heart requires an hereafter.
The tranquil rest, the shadoit and the
silence, the mere pause of the wheel of
life, have no terror for the wise, who'
know the true value of the world.
"After the billows of a stormy sea
Sweet is at last, the haven of repose."
But not so when that stillness is to di-
Vide us eternally from others, when
those we have loved with all the passion
and devotion, the watchful sanctity of
the weak human heart, are to exist to
us no more. • When, after long years of
desertion and widowhood on earth, there
is to be no hope of re=union in that in
visible world beyond the stars; when
the torch, not of life only, but of love,
is to be quenched in the dark fountain ;'
and the grave, that we should fain hope
is the great restorer of human ties,
but the dumb seal of hopeless—utter—
inexorable seperation ! And it is this
sentiment which makes religion out of
wo, and teacheth belief to the morning
heart, that in the gladness of united af
fections, felt not the necessity of a heav
en ! To how many is the death of the
beloved the parent of faith !
VOIiENSIC ELOQUENCE
The following is published as a spe
cimen of western eloquence and juris
prudence. Here in the cast the gentle
men of the green bag offer Judges pret
ty much the same incense but never
openly present the whiskey.
"Judge," said the counsel for the de
fendant, " your time, 1 know, is precious
as must be the case with so able and val
ued member of society. This case is
perfectly clear, and I know yotir learn
ing and lucid intelligence has pierced
through it at the first glance. For me
to argue, would not only be a waste of
time, but an insult to your penetration.
Much might be said, but nothing is
needed. Before any other Judge I
might lay down . the laws, but' here, I'
know they have been deeply studied
' and wisely understood, I look around
me and behold a humble house of logs;
yet see before me the spirit of truth,
the unpurchased distributer of the law,
and the old tenement rises before my
mental vision proud and beautiful as a
majestic temple to justice. Judge, I
have a bottle of old prime Monongahe
la in my pocket ; for the respect I bear
your character, allow toe to make you a
present of it.'
" Verdict for the defendant f" said the
Judge.
Two OF THE SART SORT.—A learned
clergyman of Maine was once accosted
in the following manner, by an illiterate
preacheri who deepised education :
"Sir, you have been to college, I sup
pose V'
"Yes, sir," was the reply.
"I am thankful," replied the former,.
" that the Lord has opened my mouth
without any learning."
" A similar event," replied the latter,
" took place in Balam's time, but such
things are of rare occurrence at the
present day."