~~
BY JAS. CLARK.
'NEW GOODS!
The " old Locust Corner )
Ahead!!
Fisher, IVlcniurtrie it co.,
HAVE just received a large and splendid se
sortmei.t of
SPRING Bt, SUMMER COCOS:
which they are selling, as usual, at extremely
low profits. Their stock consists of a general
a'ssartnient, adapted to the wants of all. Sea
sellable DRESS GOODS for Ladies and Gen
tlemen; READY-P 4 DE CLOTHING, Bon
nets, Hats. Caps, Boots and Shoes, Hardware,
Groceries, &c., &c. In short, the OLD LOCUST
CORNER' continues to be the
"GRAND BAZAR,”
where every thing useful and °momenta!, can
ho had, better and cheaper, than can be procu
red elsewhere. Their motto is " Quick Salts
and Small Profits." All who desire to supply
themselves with good goods, at low prices, will
give them a call.
March 27,1849.
RIIIMOV.AL
Capt. David Hazzard,
-v - TOULD respectfully informall his cld friends
V end customers—which includes about the
entire population—that he has removed
standing-Stone Head-Quarters
to the room next door to Prowell's Stole, directly
opposite Wallace's Washington HoteLn here he
has fitted up an
-
IDTIVXI2IIII DAILVID:a4
above ground, which can't he beat on the Juniata.
The lovers of good Oysters can always be ac
commodated by giving him a call.
His new stand is fitted up' on purpose" Wee
commodate Ladies and gentlemen. The Fold
Captain" therefore hopes that his friends of both
sexes will extend to him a liberal support.
CONFECTIONARIES, APPLES,
NUTS, &c., &c., always on hand.
March 6, 1849,
Great Centre of Attraction ! t
NEFF & BROTHER
T_TAVE just received and are now opening et
11 their old stand, No. tool Market Square,
Huntingdon, Pa. the most fashionable and su
perb assortment of
Clocks, Watches dc Jewelry
ever offered is this place. Their stock consists
in part of English & Anchor Lever, Chronom
etc-, Duplex and Lepine GOLD AA ATCII ES.
Every variety of Lever, L'Epine, gnarlier and
English SILVER WATCHES. Eight-Day
and Thirty-hour Hansa CLOCKS.
Their Jewelry has been selected with such
care in regard to Fashion, Elegance and Quality
us to chollen:re comparison and defy competition
It embraces Diamond Breast Pins and Finger
Rings, Gold Rings and Pencils, Pens, Specta
cles, &c., together with a g neral and extensive
assortment of ARTICLES. They
have also a well chosen supp'y of Perfumery,
Soap arid Fancy Stationary.
N.B. Clocks, Watches, and Jewelry prompt
ly repaired and warranted. The public are po
litely requested to call and cx re the. stock.
FOR TUE LADIES.
Milliner Sr. Mantua-Maker.
The undersigned respe. fully 006 :leave Win
form the Ladies of Hnntingdon and vicintiy
tint she carries en the shove named business at
the residence of Matthew Crownover, at the
Jail, where she will receive any work in her line
of business. She fee's confident that the neat
ness as well as the durability of her work will
tagrinmend her to the patronage of the Ladies
of Huntingdon. MARTHA MeCRUSI.
March 27, 1849-Im.
MIMS It &ULM'S
Unrivalled Pei fumes, Hair Oil, Tooth
Paste and Powder, Soaps, Shaving
Cream, &c.
The Largest, Cheapest and beat assortment of
the above Darned articles ever opened in hen
tingdon, just received and for sale wholesale and
retail by
---- - ._
NEFF & BRO
March 20,1899
IDJIIINIS TR4TORS' ✓NOTICE.
Estate of MICHAEL 11. DEITRICII, late
of Warrio, mark township, dec'd.
.0E is hereby given that Letters of Admin
istration on the estate of M. H. Deitrich,
late of Warriormark t wp., Hunt. co.. dec'd, have
been granted to the undersigned. All persons in
debted to said estate are requested to make imme
diate payment, and those having claims or de
mands against the same to present them duly au
thenticated for settlement to
JAMES THO!ViSON,
Administrator,
Feb. 27, 1840
Spring Millinery Goods.
Sohn Stone 41. Sons,
INFORTERS AND DEALERS IN
Silks, Ribbons and Millinery Goods,
No. 45 South Second Street, above Chesnut,
PHILADELPHIA,
WOULD call the attention of Morchants and
Milliners visiting the city, to their large
and rich assortment of
Spring Millinery Goods,
Received by late arrivals from France, such as
Glace Silks for casing bonnets,
Fancy bonnet and Cap Ribbons—a largo and
beautiful assortment of all pricer;
Plain Mantua and Satin Ribbons, from No. 1
to No. 12 ;
F reach and American Artificial Flowers, (in
groat variety) ;
Colored and White Crepes
Fancy Laces and Nets;
French Chip Hate;
Face Trio mings—Quillinge
Covered Whalebones—Cane:
Buckratna—Willow ;
Bonnet Crown. and Tipß,
'together with every article appertaining to the
Millinery trade.
March 27,1849'.
rJAAntingbott
THE rum RE.
Years are coming—speed thou onward !
When the sword shall gather rust,
And the helmet, lance and falchion,
Sleep in silent dust !
Earth has heard too long of battle,
Heard the trumpet's voice too long;
But another age advances;
Seers foretold in song.
In the past the age of
Those who slaughtering diet their kind,
Have too often worn the chaplet
Honor's hand has twined.
But the heroes of the future
Shall be men whose hearts are strong;
Men whose words and acts shall only
War against the wrong.
But the sabre, in their contests
Shall no part, no honor own ;
War's dread art shall be forgotten,
Carnage all unknown.
Years arc coming, when forever,
War's dread banner shall be furled,
And the angel, Peace, be welcomed
Regent of the world !
Hail with song that glorious era,
When the sword shall gather rust,
And . the helmet, lance and falchion,
Sleep in silent dustt
TO-DAY AND TOMORROW.
To-day, man lives in pleasure, wealth and pride;
To-morrow, poor, of life itself denied.
To-day, lays plans of many years to come;
To-morrow, sinks into the silent tomb.
To-day, his food is dressed in dainty forms ;
To-morrow, is himself a feast for worms.
To-day, he's clad in gaudy, rich gray;
To-morrow, shrouded for a bed of clay.
To-day, enjoys his halls, built to his mind ;
To-morrow, in a coffin is confined.
To-day, he floats on honor's lofty wave ;
To-morrow, leaves his titles for a grave.
To-day, his beauteous visage we extol;
To-morrow, loathsome in the sight of all.
To-day, he has delusive dreams of heaven ;
To-morrow, cries, " Too late to be forgiven !"
To-day, he lives in hopes, as light as air ;
To-morrow, dies in anguish and despair.
THE IRISH REBEL GIRL,
FROM HOLDEN'S MAGAZINE.
" A very original affair !" said I, lay
ing down the Tribune of that day.
" What is that 1" asked my corripan
.
"I refer to that scene in the trial of
Smith O'Brien, when Dobbyn, the Irish
detective, is proved a purgerer by the
unexpected testimony of Mr. D'Alton.
All the circumstances connected with
the affair—the visit of D'Alton nt the
Freeman office; the hasty and success
ful measures instantly taken to bring
him into court ; and crushing power of
D'A!ton's testimony, and the complete
unmasking of Dobbyn—would seem to
mark the whole as an interference by
Providence, if all these things had not
so unaccountably failed, in the great
result."
The gentleman to whom I said this,
wa
91 ,
gray-headed refugee from Ireland
sine the great rebellion in .. Ninety-
Eig ' He paused a few moments and
then replied in a voice tremulous with
age and strong feeling.
._
I dare not trust myself to speak on
the trial of Smith O'Brien, for it re
minds me of the dnys of Fitzgerald and
Emmett. But there is one incident of
those times, which I can mention with
more calmness. Your remarks sugges
ted it. I will tell you of a providen
tial interference, this time success
ful, in a trial of somewhat similar char
acter. The actors were obscure and
arc now forgotten by all except the few
who then stood in the court room and
saw the heroism of a poor servant girl,
trampling upon her own love for the
sake of truth and justice in the cause
of Ireland.—They never can forget it.
All that I did not at that time under
stand in the affair, I afterwards learned
by inquiry of others—so strong was
the interest that humble heorine made
within me."
Late on Hollowmas Eve, a young man
and girl were sitting together in the
servant's room of an Irish country seat.
The latter was a fair and buxom lass,
known far and near as "pretty Mary
Donovan." She had an honest face too,
where the very heart seemed looking
forth, and one for whose real nobility a
man might pledge his life. At this mo
ment it was clouded with anxiety and
timid love.
Very near her, sat a young man with
one of those false, handsome faces that
we occasionally meet, and always look
upon a second time. His glossy hair
was elaborately curled, and his eye hard
and bright like jet. was marked with
insincerity. His whole appearance was
as I have just said, handsome and false.
Had the young girl whom he was so
earnestly addressing, been a physiogno
mist, she would never have listened to
his words, and as it was, her whole
manner was wavering, distrustful yet
tender.
" Phelim, you know that I love you,
and oh! that I could trust ye too. If I
could shut my eyes while you talk to
me, I'd wait no longer but give ye the
word at once, but whenever I look in
HUNTINGDON, PA,, TUESDAY, MAY 8, 1849.
your eye, you mto be talking only
with your li so I turn away from
the fnce I sho ove too look upon."
" I understan . ye, Mary Donovan,"
said Phelirn bitterly, "And because the
face I was born with don't suit ye, you
think lam trying to cheat. Its no use
to fool around any longer. I'll go to the
motntains and join the fighting boys to-
morrow."
" Not because I send you there !" ex
claimed Mary hastily. "Dear Phelim
forgive me, and I'll never vex ye again,"
A glow, not of shame, passed over
his face, as he saw the effect of his
words in the first sign of triumph, and
he persevered so cleverly that in a few
motnents_, they were betrothed, and he
had wolit the first ripe kiss from her
dainty Then followed the inter
change of love tokens, usual among the
Irish peasantry. They could only ex
change locks of hair for they had noth
ing else to give.
" Write on the paper around it the
date of the blessed night, Phelim, and
it.will be twice as precious to me."
So he did, and Mary placed It care
fully next to her heart.
Then they began to talk of more se
rious matters. Both were poor, but
hopeful and ready to wait for some sud
den turn of good fortune, which they
fondly dreamed might come at any time.
This discussion of ways and means,
and all impracticable projects carried
them far into the night, so far indeed,
that Phelim, lover though he really was,
yawned sleepily as he took his candle
saying :
G - ood night, Mary dear, and don't
forget Hallowmas Eve."
"Ah Phelim," she replied, " I'll re
member it long enough for us both."
So she did.
The next day brought tidings to the
inmates of hall, that a large body
of peasants had risen during the past
night, and committed excesses, too com
mon in those times of apprehension and
resistance. Nor did they end with that
night's work. What is known in the
history as the " Rebellion of Ninety-
Eight" speedily broke out, and for
months kept the land in the most fear
ful agitation. At last, the rebellion was
crushed, and then commenced the tri
als of those leaders who had been cap
tured. All crowded to the court to see
their first men brought to trial and con
demned, almost invariably, to death.
One of these leaders was of great no
toriety in the vicinity of hall, and
when his case was called from the dock
et, every man, woman and child, flock•
ed to the place of trial—some to sym
pathise with the aged patriot, some to
exult over his fall, and very many to
see the man, whose name had been held
up as a word of equal terror to refrac
tory children and full grown men.
" Mary," said her lover, as he saw
her arrayed in rustic finery, "surely
you're not going to the court to•day."
"Indeed I am," she replied, "I will
go and give the poor prisoner a bless
ing with my eye, since I can do nothing
else for him. Why should I stay away
when a man is to be tried for his life,
because he loved us too well I—Surely
we must go and say to him by our pres
ence, that we are with him in our Irish
hearts-"
" Its no place for women, I tell ye,"
exclaimed Phelim, with sudden violence,
and then coaxingly. " Indeed you must
not go. Stay at home and think of what
I'm telling ye, that I've got fifty golden
guineas, and we can be married next
week, or as soon as ye'll only say the
word."
" Fifty guineas in real gold ! Who
gave them to ye—was it the master
or—"
" Hush. Hear the master's own voice
calling me now, so I must go 1 Stay
at home Mary or I'll not forgive ye."
" I don't understand ye Philim, and I
will go to the court," said Mary to her
self. "Fifty guineas of bright and heavy
gold—blessings on the giver I" A
In open' the case the prosecuting"
attorney observed to look anxious
ly around the court, as if in search of
some particular face. Each time' he
was disappointed, and at last was obli
ged to announce, that in the absense of
its principal witness, the Crown, would
first resort to other evidence. And mea
ger enough was that evidence to all in
the crowded court. Everything mani
festedly depended upon the principal
witness, the informer, and without his
speedy appearance, the prisoner would
doubtless be entitled to an acquittal. At
last the crown officer finished his other
evidence, and again peered anxiously
around the court. This time his face
lighted with satisfaction.
"Phelim Reeney."
"Phelim !" cried a faint smothered
voice upon the opposite side of the room.
g , Silence there in the conrt !" shouted
the Sheriff' angrily.'
But there was no silence in Mary
Donovan's heart.
" I see it now—those fifty golden
guineas! Ah, they have made Phelim
Reeney an Informer, but they shall nev
er make me his wife."
The informer felt the moist, yet flash
ing eye of Mary Donovan, burning into
his brain, and he shivered with terror,
but the voice of the prosecuting attor
ney soon restored self possession, and
he cooly testified as follows :
He had disguised himself, and joined
the rebels in their great meeting on the
night of their first rising. He had es
pecially marked the prisoner at the bar,
as the seeming leader, and the one un
' der whose direction the whole body ac•
ted. He heard this prisoner utter words
and saw him do acts of treason on that
night. This was the substance of his
testimony, and so clear, full and direct
was it through, that every one saw that
the prisoner's life was hanging on the
words from this informer of everything,
and found that he had done full justice
to his training.
The first question on the cross exam
ination was in regard to the time of this
affair. Phelim appeared somewhat un
easy, and replied in a very low tone.
" Louder !" cried one of the judges.
" It was the night before the rising—
Hallowmas Eve!'
"No! it was not on HallowmasEve !"
exclaimed Mary Donovan, rising with
an uncontrollable impulse. " Phelim !
you are not even an informer—you are
perjured!"
There was dead silence for one in
stant, and then the prisoner's counsel
spoke sharply.
" What's this Let that girl come to
the witness stand."
Pale, but not trembling, she took the
place where Phelim had just stood.
" You say it was not on Hallowmas
Eve—tell all you know."
She fixed her eyes on her lover, and
kept them there steadily until she had
finished.—No one questioned or inter.
rupted her in the course of her broken
testimony. . .
"Never would I be standing in this
place, your Honors, if the false oath and
black word had'nt come from the lips of
Phelim Reeney. Never, would 1 open my
mouth to condemn the man I love best,
if he himself had not compelled me to
do it.
"This man was once my lover, before
he sold his country, and me too with it.
And the very night that he spoke his
false words to me without check, was
this same Hallowmas Eve, when he
swears he was up the mountains disguis
ed as one of the band of that prisoner at
the bnr.
"We talked till two in the night—do
ye deny 41 Look then at this, which
I take from my bosom for the last time
—this lock of your hair, wrapped in a
paper—and you've written on that pa
per, these words with yer own hand.
Phelim Reeney
Mary Donovan,
11 o'clock, Hann:was Eve.
Take the paper and the hair, Sir, t'will
never come into my hand again.
"Is'nt the shaking of that guilty man
as good proof of my oathl Ah, Phelim,
I see now where the fifty guineas came
from, bit did ye think at the time what
ye gave in exchange for that bribel
"This is all' that I know, and oh ! it is
too much for me to say! for it strikes
down the man I love. Phelim, why did
you do all thisl An hour ago, and
worlds would'nt have tempted ye to ex
change places with that man at the bar,
but now there's nothing ye would'nt give
to be this prisoner yourself. Ye'll be
despised and cut off from among men,
but never can even you feel more mise
ry than I shall find in all my weary life,
for I loved you, Phelim, and you have
broken my heart."
The old gentleman stopped here, but
eyes were eloquent as he unused.
"Well'!" said I inquiringly,
"In the course of a long life," he con•
tinned, "I have often heard the outpour
ing of true genius, but never did I see
such eloquence, as there was in the eye
of that servant girl, when she faced her
lover and made him a criminal. Even
the hard-hearted Judges were softened
by the sight."
"What became of her?"
Mh! this is a true incident, and you
must not expect the ending of a novel.
The prisoner was acquitted of his crime:
Reeney suffered the penalty of his crime,
while Mary Donovan retired again to
her service, forgotten and unknown.
Had Ireland then attained her indepen
dence, you would have long since seen
her name written in the annals of that
desperate strife, and not have beard of
her now, only through a chance story by
an aged wanderer from his own unhappy
land."
,o s ‘ i - V‘,)l\k/
The Infidel and his Dying Child.
The following passage has a touching interest.
It is extracted from Mrs. Melutosh's "Charms
and Counter Charms." Eustoi Hastings, the
father, is an infidel.
The child's disease was scarlet fever. Ten
days and nights of ever-deepening gloom lied
passed, and in the silent night, having insisted
that Evelyn, who had herself shown symptoms
of illness through the day, should retire to bed,
Eusting Ilastings sat alone watching with
tightening heart the disturbed sleep of the lit
tle Eve. It was near midnight when that troub
led sleep was broken. The child turned from
side to side uneasily, and looked somewhat wild
ly around her.
What is the matter with my darling 1" ask
ed the father in tones of melting tenderness.
4 ‘ Where's mamma!—Eve wants mamma to
say, Our Father I"
Euston Hastings had often contemplated the
beautiful picture of his child kneeling with
clasped hands beside her resther, to lisp her
evening prayer, or, since liar illness forbade
her rising from her bed, of Evelin kneeling be
side it, taking these clasped hands in hers, and
listening to Eve's softly mut mured words. Well
he knew, therefore, what was meant by Eve's
simple phrase, "To say our Father."
44 Mamma is asleep," he said; "when she
awakes we will call her."
" No, no, papa ; Eve asleep, then."
" I will call her at once, then, darling," and
he would have moved, but the little hand was
laid on him to arrest him.
“No—don't wake poor mamma; papa, say
Otit Father for Eve.”
Will Eve say it to Papa Speak, then, my
darling," he said, finding that though the hands
were clasped and The Sweet eyes devoutly clo
ser, Eve remained silent.
"No—Eve too sick, papa—Eve can't talk so
much—papa, kneel down and say, Our Father,
like mamma did last night—won't you, papa 7"
Euston Hastings could not resist that plead
ing voice; and kneeling, he laid his hand over
the clasped ones of his child, and for the first
time since he had murmured it with childish
earnestness in his mother's ear, his lips gave
utterance to that hallowed form of prayer which
seas given to man by a Divine Teacher. At
such an hour, under such circumstances, it
could not be uttered carelessly; and Euston
Hastings understood its solemn import—its
recognition of God's sovreignty—its surrender
of all things to Him. He understood it, we
say—but he trembled at it. His infidelity was
annihilated; but he believed as the unreconciled
believe, and his heart stood still with fear
awhile. ,4 Thy will be done on earth even as
it is in heaven," fell slowly from his lips.
Soothed by his compliance, Eve became still,
and seemed to sleep, but only for a few min
utes. Suddenly, in a louder voice than had
been heard within that room for days, she ex
elaimed—,, Papa, papa, see there, up there,
Pan' 1"
Her eyes were fixed upward, on the ceiling,
as it seemed to Euston Hastings, for to him no
thing else was visible, while a smile of joy
played on her lips, and her arms were stretched
upwards as to some celestial visitant.
“ Eve coming !" she cried again, ~ Take
Eve !"
" Will Eve leave papa ?" cried Pittston Has
tings, while unconsciously he passed his arm
over her, as if dreading that she would really
be borne from him.
With eyes still fixed upwards, and extending
her last strength in an effort to rise from the
bed, Eve murmured in broken tones:—“ Papa,
come too—mamma—little brother—dear papa
The last word could have been distinguished
only by the intensely listening ear of love. It
ended in a sigh; and Euston Hastings felt even
while he still clasped her cherub form, and ga
zed upon her sweetly smiling face, that his Eve
had indeed left him forever. That she had
ceased to exist, with the remembrance of that
last scene full in his mind, he could not believe.
Ilenceforth heaven with its angels, the minis
tering spirits of the Most High, was a reality;
it was the habitation of his Eve; and his own
heart bent longingly to see it. His proud, stern,
unbending nature had been taught to tremble at
the decree of 4, Him who ruleth over the armies
of heaven and among the inhabitants of the
earth." The Being and Nature upon which he
had hitherto speculated as grand abstractions,
became at once unspeakably interesting facts.
Would He contend with him in wrath? Would
He snatch from him one by one the blessings of
his life, crushing the impious heart which had
reviled His attributes, and denied his existence
—or was He indeed t , so long suffering," so
" plenteous in mercy," that He would prove
even to him that His might was the might of a
Saviour 1
Such were his thoughts, as with still concen
trated agony he turned from the grave of his
cherished child to watch the bedside of the
sufforing Evelyn. She had taken the terrible
disease from her little Eve, and lay for many
days insensible to her own danger or her hus
band's agony. But God was merciful and hcr
husband and father received her back as from
the grave. The heart which judgment had
aroused, mercy melted. A consciousness of
his own unworthiness of God's mercy--a fear
that he could not be heard--checked the cry
which anguish would have extorted from Euston
Hastings ; and the first real utterance from his
heart to heaven was in the language of thanks
giving.