Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, September 11, 1849, Image 1
J ~"' ! BY JAS. CLARK. From the New York Aths THE COVENANTEID4 9 NIGHT HYMN AND PRAYER; The following beautiful poefn—and we hesitate not to say that it possesses merits equal to those of any poem that has graced the pages of English litera ture, since the introduction of pririting-- originally appeared in Blackwood'fillag azine. It is from the pen of an anony mous •• writer, who is known to the rea ders of that celebrated magazine, by the signature of 'Delta.' The poem is illustrative of the priva tions and sorrows that were endured by the Scotch CoVenanter's, in the early days of their existence, as a religious sect; when hunted like wolves, they fixed their homes and their temples, in which they sought to worship the only true and living God, among the crags and cliffs, and glens of Scotland, Although it be true, it has been just ly remarked by a late historical writer, that the Covenanters. both in their preachings from the pulpit, and their teachings by example, frequently pro ceeded more in the spirit of fanaticism, titan of sober, religious feeling, and that in their antagonistic ardor, they did not hesitate to carry the persecutions of which they themselve so justly com plained, into the camp of the adversary —sacrificing in their mistaken zeal, even the ennobling arts of architecture, sculpture and painting, ns adjuncts of idol worship--still it is to be remem bered, that the aggression emanated not from them ; and that the rights they contended for were the most sacred and invaluable that man can possess—the freedom of worshipping Cod according to dictates of conscience. They sincere ly believed that the principles which they maintained were right ; nod their adherence to these with unalterable con stancy through good report and through bad report—in the hour of privation, and suffering, and death—in the silence of the prison cell, not less than in the excitement of the battle field—by the blood stained hearth, on the scaffold, and at the stake—foams a noble chapter in they history of the human mind—of man as an accountable creature. It should be recollected that these religious persecutions were not mere things of a day, but were continued through at least three entire genera• flank: They continued from the acres• bion of James VI. to the English throne, down to the revolution of 1638, almost a century, during which many thousands perished. - •• • In reference to the following stanzas, it should be rem , ~ tiered that, during the holding of their conventicles--which frequent y in the more troublesome times took place amid mountain soli tudes, and during the nights—a semi nel eras stationed on some commanding height, in the neighborhood, to give war ning of the approach df danger: Ho .! placid watcher of the hill, What of the night I—what of the night ? Whe winds ere low, the Woods are still; . The countless stars are sparkling bright; from out this heathery moorland glen, By the shy wild-fowl only trod, .We raise our hymn, unheard of men; , To Thee an omnipresent God I Jehovah ! though no sin appear:, Through earth our aimless path to lead, We know, we feel Thee ever near; A present help in time of need— Near as when pointing out the way. Forever in thy people's sight, A pillared wreath of smoke by day, Which turned to fiery flame at night! Whence came the summons forth to go ? From thee awoke the warning sound, ~ O ut to your tents, 0, Israel ! Lo! The heathen's warfare girds the round. Plans of the faithful! up--away ! The lamb must ofthe wolf beware; The falcon seeks the dove for prey ; The fowler spreads his cunning snare!" Day set in gold ; 'twas peace around 'Twas seeming peace by field and flood ; We woke, and on our lintels found The cross of wrath—the mark of blood. Lord ! in thy cause we mocked at fears, We scorned the ungodly's threat'ning words, Seat out our pruning-hooks to spears, Aid turned our ploughshares into swords ! Degenerate Scotland I days have been, Thy soil when only freedom trod— When mountain crag and valley green Poured forth the loud acclaim of God 1 The fire which liberty imparts Refulgent in each patriot eyo, Anl• graven on the nations heart, The Wono r —for which we stand or die 1 Unholy change ! The scorners chair Is now the seat of those who rule ; Tortures, arid bonds, and death, the share Of ad except the tyrant's tool. That faith in which our father's breathed, And had their life—for which they died— That priceless heirloom they bequeathed Their sons—our impious foes deride ! So we beim left our homes behind, And we have belted on the sword, And we in solemn league have joined, Tea ! covenanted with the Lord, Never to seek those hornet •neriin, Never to give the sward rte Until our right of faith remain Unfettered as the air we breathe ~l ~ ‘iunf/visino/bon O thdu who rulest above the sky, Begirt about with etarry thrones, Cast from the Heaven of Heavens thine eye, Down on our wives and little ones;— From Hallelujahs surging round, Oh, for a moment turn thine eat, The widow prostrate on the ground, The famished orphans' cries to hear And thou wilt hear ! it cannot be, That thou wilt list the raven's brood, When from their nest they scream to Thee, Asd in due season send them food ; It cannot be that thou wilt weave The lilly such sbuerb array, And yet soled, unsheltered, leave Thy children—asking less than they. We have no hearth—the ashes lie In blackness where they brightly shone; We have no homes—the desert sky Our covering—earth our conch alone ; We have no herritage—depriven Of these, we ask not much on earth ; Our hearts are sealed ; we seek in heaven For heritage, and home, mid hearth ! O Salem, city of the saint, And holy men made perfect! we Pant for thy gates, our spirits faint Thy glorious golden streets to see; To mark the rapture that inspires The ransomed, and redeemed by grace ; To listen to the seraphs' lyres, . And meet the angels face to face i Father in Heaven ! -we turn not back, Tho' briers and thorns choke up the path ; Rather the torture of the rack, Than tread the wineprehu Of thy wrath. Let thunders crash; let torrents shower, • Let whirlwinds churn the howling seni What is the turmoil of nn hour, To an eternal calm with Thee ! Another Letter from Major DOwnlng. Mason and Dixon's side of Salt River. (. AUPUST 11, 1849. $ MY DgAR MR. RITCHIE :—You don't know how glad I be to see how you have spunked up since my last. letter to you. You are raly giving it to the "corrupt and imbecile administration" pell-mell. I should think that every 'dolt,' and ev ery 'butcher,' and every 'Nero' among 'em must have a bunged eye by this time. You do give it to 'em right and left about right. Uncle Joshua says you are the 'rem Hyer of our party, you can whip any body the Feds can bring into the ring. But 30W I begin to feel uneasy for fear you'll overdo yourself and break down, and then we shunt have nobody to take care of us. Don't you remember the story of the tame elephant. that was used to launch vesselsi One time they put him to launch a vessel that was too heavy for him. After he tried once or twice and couldn't start it, the keeper called out, 'take away this lazy beast and bring another.' At that the poor elephant roused up and put his head to the vessel again, and pushed and strained himself so hard that he fell down and died. Now I don't want you to do so. When I writ that letter to you two or three weeks, ago, to rouse you up a little, 1 didn t mean to make you so furious that you should run your bead agin the admiuistration so hard as to break your neck; or strain yourself so much ns to fall down dead: Nor I didn't mean that you should kill off all the ad ministration, smack smooth, and dead as herrings, in two months. I Meant to give you two or three years to do it Any time before the next election would do. If you should kilt 'em all right off before we haVe time to choose any body to take their places, you would have all the Government on your own shoulders, and I'm afraid it would be too much for you: So I think you had better try to cool down a little; it dint prudence to keep so hot all the time. 'that is, I mean on your own account, for fear you should overdo yourself and break down. And then, again, there is Stith ti thing as drawing too long a bow to hit the thing you shoot at. Major Longbow used to be quite unlucky in that way. You can make folks believe a middlin' sized fish story, if you tell it well ; but if you try to back it up with a tarnal cockand-bull story, they'll go right back again and swear they don't believe the fish story. It's dangerous loading guns too heavy, fot then there's no knowing which will get the worst.of it, him that stands be fore the muzzle, or him that stands be hind the britch. Sol hope you'll try to cool down a little, for I am satisfied since my last letter ; ydu are firing away your amunition too fast. And, besides, I don't think it's right for you at your time of life to be fiffhting so hard.—Nor I don't think its necessary nother, for things is brightening up all over the country. Our party is all coming up together again, and going to carry all before 'em. Its true the flocks and herds of our party has been dreadfully broke up and scattered about. The oxen didn't know their owners, and the sheep hadn't no stiepheids, and the Taylor wolves has been prowlin' about the country and carried off a great many of 'em:-- But from what I hear all over the coun try now, I am satisfied they are all dom ing together lig,mn, and on t new plat i form; and that platform is Mason and Dixon's side of Salt River. 'Mr. John Van Buren is shoo-shooing all over the HUNTINGDON, PA., TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 1849. Noithe'rn States, and driven of 'ern up; and headin' of 'em all as fast as he can towards Mason and Dixon's side of Salt River. Mr. Calhoun, in the Southern Slates, is whislin' round his springy rattan, making the hair and skin fly, heading 'em all up toward Mason and Dixon's side of Salt River. And Col. Benton is cracking his long whip all ever, the great Western country, and headin' em all across the prairies to wards Mason and Dixon's side of Salt River. And Gineral Cass stands, you know, where he always has stoodi on Mason and Dixon's side of Salt River, with a handful of salt in one hand, and a nub of corn in 'tother, and looking all round and calling of 'em to come to him and he'll feed 'em. So you see wi have every thing to encourage us. Things look bright ahead. It won't be long be• fore all the scattered flocks and herds of our party tvill be got tngether on this platform on Mason and Dixon's side of Salt River and then we will have things all our own Way; and Gineral Taylor and the Wilmot proviso'may go to grass. MAJOR JACK DOWNING. Mistakes of the Bich. The Egytian King who, swollen with grandeur, ordered a collossal staircase built to his palace, discovered to his chagrin when it was completed, that he required a ladder to get from one step to another; He had forgotten that a king's legs after all were as short as a lv,ggar's. Agrandize as we may, the limits of our sexes cheplc us miserably at every moment. You call yourself proprietor! House and pictures outlive you, and after taking your will of them for a short time you are carried out of your own door, feet foremost, never again to enter it. 'Proprietor,' you were perhaps of farms and castles, es tates and mountains—but now you own (nothing but a little hole in the ground, -six feet by two. The artist who visits your gallery while you live and own it, enjoys it more than you. You are rich enough to dine twenty-four times a day, but you must sparingly enjoy dining even once. Your cellar is full of exquisite wines, but you can only drink one bottle your self, and, to help to use your store, you are obliged to call around friends, rela tives, parasites—a little world can live upon your substance, and who instead of geatitude, are likelier to make you a a return in envy. You have thirty hor ses in the stable you can mount but one—ride after but two or four. To be truly rich, one should have a 1 stomach in proportion to the number of dinners he can afford, senses exclude, according to the stock in bank, sextuple vigor and sensibility to concentrate and return all the love he could propriate with gift. At the close of his life the richest man has hardly spent more upon his own enjoyment than the poor man. He has eaten twice a day, slept in a bed alone or with one wife, and the poor man can do as much, and the proprietor scarcely more: Uothschild is forced to dontent self with the same sky as the poor news paper writer ; and the great banker can.; not add One ray td the magnificence of night— the same kind of blood fills his veins. Each one possesses, really, only his own thoughts and his own senses.— Soul and body—these are all the proper ty which a man completely owns. All that is valuable in this world is to be had for nothing. Genius, beauty and love are hot bought and sold. You may buy a rich bracelet, but not a well turned arm on which to wear it—a pearl necklace, but not a pearly throat with which it shall vie. The richest banker on earth would vainly offer his fortune to be able to Write tt verse like Byron. One comes into the world naked, and goes out naked. 'the difference in the fineness of a bit of linen for a shroud is not much. Man is a handful of clay which turns quickly back again into dust, and which is compelled nightly to relapse into the nothingness of sleep, to get strength to commence life again on the morrow. In this life; so partaken by annibilaz tion, what is there that ,is real 1 is it our sleeping or waking—our dreaming or our thoughtsl Do we arise to more valuable life, when we go to bed or when we arise? No—man is no proprietor ! Or he owns but the breath as it traver- ses his lips, and the idea as it flits across his mind. And even the idea often be- longs to another.—Home Journal. BROW R.—This term was originally applied to those Whose business it was to break packages and sell by the piece or loss quantity ; it afterwards came to designate an agent employed by both buyer and seller, and is thus , defined by the learned Trollope is one who steppeth in between two men making a bargain and plundereth both:'---,Lift for the Lazy, The Phantom of Vice. it was the last night of the year and from his lattice, an old man gazed with a look of despair, upwards to the bright and blue heaven, and downwards upon the tranquil, white-mantled earth, on which no human being was so joyless and sleepless as he. His grave seemed to stand near him, covered not with the green of youth, but With the snow of age. Nothing htid he brought with him out of his whole life —nothing save his sins, follies, and dis ease, a wasted body , tt desolate soul, a heart filled with poison, and an old age of remorse and wretchedness. And noW, like spectres of the past ; the beautiful days of his youth, passed in review defore him, and saddened mem ory timS there; and drew him buck again to' that bright Morning when his father first placed him at the opening paths of life, which, on the right, led by the sun- illumined track of virtue, into a pure and peaceful land l full of angels, and harmony, of recompense and light—and on the left descended by the darkling mole, ways of vice, into a black cav3rn dropping poison, full of deadly serpents and of gloomy sultry vapors. These serpents aro already coiled a ' bout his breast—the poison was on his tongue, and he knew now where he was! Fairy meteors derided before him, extin guishing themselves in the churchyard, and he knew them to be the days of his folly. He saw a star fly from heaven, and fall dial and dissolving to the earth. "Thati" said he, "is myself," and the serpent fangs of remorse pierced still more deeply his bleeding heart. His excited fancy now showed him sleep-walkers gliding away from house tops, and the arms of a giant windmill threatened to destroy him. He turned —he tried to escape—but a mass from the neighboring charnel house lay before him, and gradually assumed his own features. While in this paroxysm, the music of the opening year flowed down from the steeples, falling upon his ear like distant anthems. H is troubled soul was soothed with gentler emotions. He looked at the horizon, and then abroad on the wide world, and he thought on the friends of his youth, who, better and more blessed than himself, were now teachers on the earth, parents of famil ies, and happy men ! In this dreamy retrospect of the days of his youth the fantastic features of the mask seemed to change ; it raised itself up in the charnel house—and his weep ing spirit beheld his former blooming figure placed thus in bitter mockery before .him. endure tt tiO longer. He Covered his eyes—a floc]. of scalding tears streamed Into the show—his bos om was relieved, and he sighed softly, unconciously, inconsolably, "Only come again, youth—come only once again ! And it came again ! For he had only dreamed So fearfully on that New Year's night. He was still a youth. His error alone had been no dream, and he thank.; ed God that while yet youtigi he &did turn from thd foul paths of vice into the Sun-track which conducts to the pure land of blessedness and peace. APOLOGY.—When John Clark (Lord Eldon) was at the bar, he Was re• markable for the sang iroid with which he treated the Judges. On one occasion, a junior counsel, on hearing their Lord.: ships give judgment against his client, exclaimed that "lie was surprised at such a decision!" This was construed into contempt of Court, and he was or dered to attend at the bar next mornind; Fearful of the consequences, he consult ed his friend John Cldrk, who told him to be perfectly at ease, for lib would apologise for him in a way that would avert any unpleasant result. Accordingly, when the name of the delinquent was called, John rose and coolly addressed the assembled tribu nal: "I am very sorry, my Lords, that my young friend has so far forgot him self, as to treat your honorable bench With disrespect ; ho is extremely peni tent, and you will kindly ascribe his unintentional insult to his ignorance.— You must see at once that it did origi- nate in flint. He said he was surprised at the decision of your Lordships! Now if he had not been very ignorant of what takes place in this Court every day-- had he knowii you but half so long ns•l have done, he would not be surprised at any thing you did !" INNOCENCE.-A captain of the old school being at a ball had been accepted by a beautiful partneri a lady of rank, who in the most delicate manner pos. Bible, hinted to him the propriety of putting on a pair of gloves. 'oh,' was the elegant reply, 'never mind me, ma'am •; I shall wash my hands when I've done dancing !' 4 4 * 4-iicturtttL “Two in a lied.” The following laughable occurrence, which bears the recommendation of be ing no fiction, %Vila related to us some time ago, and as'we have never seen it in print, we tell the tale to our readers as it was told to us. Ned and Charley were room-mates, but they occupied different beds. Ned's steeping apparatus was so? si:tuated that he could get into either fit? 6=4 hat is to say, there were two foresides to his bed, and no back side—which Ned found very convenient on certain occa sions: One night Ned and Charley had been out, anti on returning, which they did near morning, both were considerably elevated. However they walled up to their room with an air which seemed to say, 'Not so very darned drunk after all,' and sought long and patiently for matches and a lamp. After knocking the pitcher off the wash-stand, and smashing the looking glass, they final. ly gave up the search ann went to bed. Went to bed—yes, that's the word— but owing to the darkness, and the con fusion of their senses, they made a slight mistake. In short, Ned's bed had the honor of receiving the two friends— Charley getting in on one side, and his companion rolling in on the other. say, Ned,' cried Charley, touching somebody's calf, 'there's a fellow in my bed.' 'Wonderful coincidence!' exclaimed Ned, feeling a strange elbow in the re , gion of the tibs, 'there's a fellow in my bed, too.' 'ls there though; cried Challik, kick 'em out.' „ 'Agreed,' said Ned: , Accordingly the two friends began to hick. In about a minute and a half Ned was sprawling on the floor, and Charley was left in possession of the bed. For a moment alter the fall all was silent. 'I say, Ned,' cried Charley. 4 What V asked Ned sulkily. 'l've kicked my fellow out: . . . 'You nre a devilish sight more luckier than I am, then,' said Ned, 'for mine has kicked me into the middle 'of the next two weeks. “A Sunny Spirit.” How beautiful it is ! A coirit of cheer fulness and readiness to enjoy, of gen eral humor, or warmth and gentleness and hopefulness of feeling ; of charity and kindncss,of peaceful faithof bright ness of fancy and clearness of thought and the joyful appreciation of all that is beautiful !—Wliut n charm such a spirit sheds about its pdsiessdr ! Hew trait.' quil and how happy are the faintly cit.. eles amid which it pervails ! How does it make the common words of the soul which it prevades as musical in their flow as brooks in June 1 Flow sweetly does it retain its Serenity against the strong impulse of opposition 1 HoW does it enlighten that portion of life which is overhung 'and shadowed by sorrow or by peril ! How does it imbue. with beauty the literature or the art of the Mind that is its dwelling! How does it convert even the infirmities of old age, which it cannot dissipate . ; into dem. ' sions of pleasant remembrance and plea. Banter anticipations; as the sun at even ing lines the thickest clouds with pearl and silver, and edges their masses with golden sheetn ! And how does such a spirit, as the evidence and the result of faith in Christ, and of delightful trust id the Divine Father; correspond with all that is sublime in holiness, and grand in self-devotion, and powerful and uplift ing in belief of the truth ! How does it find its natural consummation, after life's day is done, amid the rest and peace of heaveii Who would not have h.a sunny spiria' —that charming effluence of Christiani ty 1 that sweetener of life I that beauti ful essence, perVading ohm thoughts; that fruit of gentle submission to the Divine wisdom ; the shadow of God's home, as Plato said the light was of His holy body '1 No felicity of arganization no effort of the will, no friendly guidan ce and education alone can give it ; can render it perfect, or make it permanent: But in Christ Jesus, through faith in Him and the reception of His Spirit, and joyful trust in His redemption, we may all find it:—/tttlependent: SHE BEARS.—The prin.;ipal of an Acncle'my, in an advertisement, men tioned his feyriaie assistant; and the "reputation for teaching which she bears ;" but the printer—careless fellow —left out the "which"--so the adver tisement went forth, commending the lady's reputation for 'teaching she bears I' HonsE-Pownn.—The power of a horse is understood to be that which will ele rater( weight of thirty-three thousand pounds, the bight of one foot in a mm uto of time, equal to nbout ninety pounds at the rate of four miles an hour. VOL, XIV, NO, 8 POPULAT;ON OF HUNGARY.-Dr. Krait zer, late professer of Modern Languages in the Uniuersity of Virginia, is belie= ering a series of lectures in Boston, on Oar in Hungary, of which that excel lent paper, the Boston Traveller, is pub lishing well prepared extracts. From a report in that ,journal of a recent lec tor., we learn that the Magyars number 4,800,000, theca are 4,200,000 Sclavo vians ; of Croarians 2,200,000; Ger mans aboot 1,200,000; Bulgarians; ii kind of Sclaionidn's, M,OOO ; Jews 244; 000 ; French 6,000 ; Greeks 6,000 ; and Arinians 3,000 to 4000—making a grand total of 12,800,000. Of this'number 6,- 000,000 are Catholics, 2,600,000 belong ing to the Greek church; who obey the patriarchs of Constantinople. The Mag. yars are the representatives of the na ,l tion. What is technically called Gal; vanitic, is their religion, and it may be called the Magyars religion. SAM SLICK'S LAST.—Judge HalliUur ton, the witty author of Sam Slick, was holding a Court the other day, and in the commencement of the proceedings, it became necessary to etnpannel rt Ju ry; One worthcy burgher upon being called, requested of the Court to excuse him, on the ground that be was afflicted with the itch, dt the same time holding out his hands to the Judge, and display ing the titsible evidence of his cutaneous affliction. The Judge, after closely in specting the hands of the juror, direct ed the clerk as follows: 'The Court decides that the juror's excuse is a valid one, and therefore di rects thdt he be s-c-r-a-t-c-h-e-d A tremendous rotir of laughter signi fied the unanimous verdict of the audi ence that his honor was guilty of a puii. THE DEAD LION BEFORE THE LIVING Ass.--Considerable amusement is caus ed by nn anecdote which is going the rounds, and of which President Bona parte is the hero. He went to review the troops at Troyes. When the car containing the President and suit stop ped; an old man, a laborer, came up; and in a voice which made the very echoes tremble, cried, "Ilvrrah for Na: I)olebii 1" A smile df thanks already played round the lips of the executive power, when the old man resumed, as if to complete his thought :—"Thur,f_ah far Napoleon—who is dead!" Thffenpon the bell rangi and the train continued' its ttiatb.. NEW METHOD OF EXTORTING Monet'. —The Boston transcript of Monday says that a gentleman of that city was assaulted in the street on Saturddy night last, by two women, who threatened to hold on to him and disgrace him if be did not give them money. The miser able creatures succeeded in tearing his coat from his back, when he handed them over to the watchman, and they were lodged in jail." was cbaritiedi' says Lord Oxford ; 'with the answer of a poor man in Bed lam, who was insulted by ati apprentice, because he would not tell till he was confined, 'the ulthrippy creature at last said, 'Because God Almighty deprived me of a blessing which you never had.' An old offender was lately brought before a learned Justice of the Peace.— The constable, as a preliminary, inforin ed his worship that be had in custody John Simmons, alias Jones, alias Smith. 'Very well,' said the magistrate, will try the two women first; bring in Jones:' He who betrays another's secrets be.: cause he has quarrelled with him, was never worthy of the sacred name of friend ; a breach of kindness on one side will not justify a breach of trust On the other. A FEmith 111SRCHANT.—The Princes of Orange owns eleven steamers, with Which she trades•to different ports in Europe, going occasionally with her own ienttires as supet-cdrgo. LUPE: even tears in Childhoods sport and plifyi ~i Seven years in school from day to day, 14 Seven years at a trade or a college life 21 Seven years to find a place and a vviie, 2$ Seven years to pleasure's follies given, 35 Seven years to business hardly driven, 42 Seven years for fame a wild goose chase, 45 Seven years for wealth a bootless race, 6 . 6 Seven years in hoarding for your heit; 63 Seven years in weakness spent and care, 70 Theis die and go—you know not where. A DEAR CoLou.---EverY Pound weight of eochineal contains seventy thousand insects boiled to death ; so that the an nual sacrificed insectile life, to procure our scarlet slid crimson dyes, amounts to about forty-nine millions of these small members of the creation.