Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, May 08, 1849, Image 1
~~ 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.