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O c' ark
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:BY JAS. CLARK.
' What sound is that/ "ris the Summer's farewell
In the breath of the night wind sighing ;
The-chill breeze comes like a sorrowful dirge
That wails o'er the dead and the dying.
The sapless leaves ars eddying round,
On the path which they lately shaded ;
The oak of the forest is losing its robe ;
, The flowers have fallen and faded.
t All that I look on but saddens my heart,
T o think that the lovely so soon should depart.
Yet why should I sigh 1 Other summers will
Joys like the past one bringing ;
' Again will the vine bear its blushing fruit ;
Again will the birds be singing ;
The forest will put fm th its "honors" again ;
The rose be as sweet in' its breathing ;
The woodbine will climb round the lattice pane
As wild and rich in its wreathing.
The hives will have honey, the bees will hum,
Other flowers will spring, other summer's will
They will, they will ; but ab ! who can tell
Whether I may live on till their coming?
This spirit may sleep too soundly then
To wake with the warbling or humming.
This cheek now pale, may be paler far,
When the summer sup next is glowing.;
• The cherishing rays may gild with light
'the grass on my grave-turf growing ;
The earth may be glad, but Worms and gloom
May dwell with ate in the silent tomb.
And few would weep, in the beautifulworld,
For the fameless one who had left it ;
Few would remember the form cut off,
And mourn the stroke that cleft it ;
Many might keep my name on their lip,
Pleased with THAT name degrading ;
My follies and sins alone would live,
A theme for their cold upbraiding.
Oh ! what a change in my spirWs dream
May there be ere the summer sun shall beam !
From Sartai''s Mrsgazine,
BP T. S. ARTHCR
Mr. Smith kept a drug shop in the
little Village of Q-, which was sit
uated a few miles from Lancaster. It
was his custom to visit the-latter place
every week or two, in order to purchase
such articles as were needed from time
to time in his business. One day he
drove off toward Lancaster in his wag
gon, in which,' among other things, was
a gallon detnijo]. On reaching the town
he called first with a grocer's with the
Htt've you any common wine ?'
How common 1' asked the grocer,
'About a dollar a gallon. I want it
Yes ; I have some just fit for that,
and not much else, which 1 will sell at a
Very well. Give me a gallon,' said
The demijon was brought in from the
wagon and tilled. And then Mr. Smith
drove off to attend to other business.
Among the things to be done on that
day, was to see a man who lived half a
mile from Lancaster. Before going nut
on this errand, Mr Smith stepped at the
house of his particular friend, Mr. Jones.
Mr. Jones happened not to be in, but
Mrs. Jones was a pleasant woman, and
he chatted with her for ten minutes or
so. As he was abok stepping into his
wagon, it struck him that the gal
lon deinijon was a little in his way, and
so lilting it out he said to Mrs. Jones
-1 wish you would take care of this un
til 1 come back.'
Oi certainly,' replied Mrs. Jones,
with the greatest of pleasure.'
And so the demijun was left in the
Some hours afterwards, Mr. Jones
came in. and among the first things that
attracted his attention was the r•trange
• What is this was his natural in.
'Something that Mr. Smith Wt.'
'Mr. Smith from Q--
.1 wonder what he has there l' said
Mr. Jones, taking hold of the demijon.
feels heavy.' .
The cork was unhesitatingly remov
ed, and the mouth of the vessel brought
in close contact with the smelling or
gan of Mr. Jones.
‘‘‘ ine; as 1 , live r fell from his lips.
Bring me a glass.'
Oh no, Mr. Jones. I would'nt touch
his wine,' said Mrs. Jones.
Bring me a glass. Do you think I'm
going to let a gallon of wine pass my
way without exacting tolll No— no.
Bring me a glass.'
The glass, a half pint tumbler, was
produced and nearly tilled with the ex
ecrable stuff—as guiltless of grape
juice'as a dyer's vat—which was pour
od down the throat of Mr. Jones.
Pretty (air trine that; only a little
rough,' said Mr. Jones, smacking his
lips; • .
..It's a shame!' remarked Mrs. Jones,
warmly, 'for you to do so.'
I only took toll,' said the husband
laughing. No harm in that I'm sure.'
'Rather heavy toll, it strikes me,' re
plied Mrs. Jones.
Meantime Mr. Smith, having comple.
ted most of his businea for that day,
stopped at a store where he wished two
or three articles put up.—While these
were in preparation, he said to the keep
er of the store.--
.1 wish you would let your lad tom
step over for me to-day to Mr. Jones's.
I left a demijon of common wine there,
which I bought for the purpose of ma
king antimonial wine.'
.0 certainly,' replied the store-keep
er. ' Here Tom!' and he called for his
Tom came and the store keeper said
' Run over to Mr. Jones's and get a
jug of antimoniol wine which Mr. Smith
left there. Go quickly for Mr. Smith is
in a hurry.'
Yes, sir,' responded the lad and
away he ran.
Afte7 Mr. Jones had disposed of his
half a pint of wine, he thought his stom
ach had rather a curious sensation,
which is not much to be wondered at,
considering the stuff with which he had
.1 wonder if that really is wine V
said he, turning from the window at
which he had seated himself, and taking
up the demijdn again. The cork was
removed and his nose' applied to the
mouth of the huge bottle.
6 Yes, it's wine, but I'll vow it's not
much to brag of.' And the cork was
once more replaced. . .
Just then came a knock at the door.
Mri. Jones opened it, and the storekeop.
er's lad appeared.
Mr. Smith says, please let him have
that jug of antimonial•wine he left here.'
iniimonial wine!' exclaimed Mr.
Jones, his chin falling, and a paleness
instantly overspread his face.
"Yes sir,' said the lad, taking up the
deinijon to which Mrs. Jones pointed
with kor finger, and deßartinz without
obserfing. the effects his appearance had
Antimonial wine !' fell again, but
huskily, from the quivering lips of Mr.
Jones. 'Send for the doctor, Kitty,
quick ! Oh ! how dreadfully sick I feel.
Send for the doctor, or I'll be a dead
man in half an hour !'
Antimonial wine! Dreadful !' ex
claimed Mrs. Jones, now as pale and
frightened as her husband. •Do you
feel very sick V
Oh yes. As sick as death!' And
the appearance of Mr. Jones by no means
belied his words. Send for a doctor
immediately or it may be too late.'
Mrs. Jones ran first in on 3 way and
then in another, and finally had pres
ence of mind enough to tell Jane, her
single domestic, to run with all her
might for the doctor, and tell him that
Mr. Jones had taken poison by mistake.
Off started Jane at a speed outstrip
, ping that of John Gilpin. Fortunately
the doctor was in his office, and he
came with all the rapidity a proper re
gard to the dignity of his office would
permit, armed with stomach pump and
a dozen antidotes. On arriving at the
house of Mr: Jones, he found the suffer
er lying upon a bed, ghastly pale, and
Oh, Doctor ! I'm afraid it's all over
with me !' gasped the patient.
'now did it happen 1 What have you
taken V inquired the doctor eagerly.
I took, by mistake, nearly half avint
of antimonial wine,'
Then it must be removed Instantly,'
said the doctor; and down the sick
man's throat went one end of a long
flexible, India rubber tube, and pump!
pu , ,np ! pump! went the Doctor's hand
at the other end. The result was very
palpable.—About n pint of reddish flu
id, strongly smelling of wine, came up,
after which the instrument was with.
4 There,' said the doctor, '1 guess that
will do. Now let me give you an anti
dote.' And a nauseous dose of some
thing or other was mixed up and pour
ed down to take the place of what had
just been removed.
Do you feel better now inquired
the doctor, as he sat holding the pulse
of the sick man, and scanning with a
professional eye, his pale face, that was
covered with a clammy perspiration.
A little' was the faint reply. Do
you think all danger past 1'
Yes, I think so. The antidote I have
given you will neutralize the effect of
the drug, as far as it has passed into the
' I feel weak as a rag,' said the pa-
tient. lam sure I could not bear my
own weight. What a powerful effect it
Don't think of it,' returned the doc
tor. 'Compose yourself. There is no
danger to be apprehended whatever.'
The wild flight of June through the
street, and the hurried movements of
the doctor, did not fail to attract atten
tion. Inquiry followed, and it soon be•
HUNTINGDON, PA., TUESDAY, OCTOBER 23, 1849.
came noised abont that Mr. Jones bad
Mr. Smith, having finished his busi
ness in Lancaster,
was just stepping in
to his wagon, when a man came up and
Said to him and the store-keeper who
was standing by—
Have you heard the news'!"
What news ?'
Mr. Jones has taken poison.'
W hat 1'
Who 1 Mr. Jones 1'
'Yes. And they say he cannot live.'
Dreadful ! 1 must see him.' And
without waiting for further information
Mr. Smith spoke to his horse, and rode
off at a gallop for the residence of his
friend. Mrs. Jones met him at the
door, looking very anxious.
'How is he 1' inquired Mr. Smith in a
A little better, I thank you, The
doctor has taken it all off of his stom
ach. Will you walk up V
Mr. Smith ascended to the chamber
where lay Mr. Jones, looking as white
as a sheet. The doctor was still by his
'An, my friend says the sick man, in a
feeble voice, as Mr. Smith took his
hand, 'that aritimonial wine of your's
has nearly been the death of me.
What antimonial wine . inquired
Mr. Smith, not understanding what his
. The wine you left here in the gallon
6 That was'nt antimonial wine.'
It was not !' fell from the lips.of both
Mr. and Mrs. Jones.
Why, no! It was only wine that I
had bought for the purpose of making
Air. Jones rose up in bed
. Not nntimonitil wine P
4 Why the boy said it was.'
Then he did'nt know any thing about
it. It was nothing but some common
wine which 1 had bought.'
Mr. Jones took a long breath. The
doctor arose from the bedside, and Mrs.
. Well I never!'
Then came a grave silence, in which
one looked at the other doubtingly.
Good day,' said the doctor, and
went down stairs.
. So you have been drinking my wine,
it seems,' laughed Mr. Smith, as soon
as the man with the stomach pump had
. I only took a little toll,' said Mr.
Jones, back into whose pale face the
colour was beginnine to come, end
through whose almost paralyzed nerves
was again flowing from the brain a heal
thy influence. . But don't say any
thing about it. Don't for the world!'
I won't on one condition, said Mr.
smith, whose words were scarcely co
herent, so strongly was ho convulsed
What is that V
You must become a tetotallar.'
Can't do that,' replied Mr. Jones,
Then I can't promise.'
Give me a day or two to make up my
• Very Well. And now goodbye; the
sun is nearly down, and it will be night
before 1 get home.'
And Mr. Smith shook hands with Mr.
and Mrs. Jones, and hurredly retired,
trying, but in vain, to leave the house
in a grave and dignified manner. Long
before Mr. Jones had made up his Mind
to join the tetotllars, the story of his ta
king toll was all over the town, and for
the next two or three months he had
his own time of it. After that it becairre
an old story.
How much like a rock in the ocean,
against which the waves have beat for
centuries, is the man of sterling truth
and robust integrity ! To waves of un
holy passion—to unsanctified popular
applause, he cries, 'Strike on, I shall not
be harmed." The influence of vice is
all around him ; but he is unmoved.—
Wealth is at his command, if he will
but swerve from the path of duty. No,
you could as soon remove the rock in
When the great and good Algernon
Sidney was about to be executed, he
calmly laid his head upon the block.—
He was asked by the executioner if he
should arise againi 'Not till the resur
rection--strike on,' was the remarka
ble reply of Sidney.
Vi hen unholy power would remove
your virtue, say calmly, strike on, but
do not yield to sin. Be firm in your
principles, even though death stare you
in the face. Strike on !--be this your
motto, whenever assailed by wealth or
power, and gloriously will youidtimph
--if not in this world, in that Thiel) is
A Paris:correspondent Of the St. Lou
is Republican relates the following
strange but interesting story :.
Several years ago, a rich miller, liv
ing in one of the provinces, became so
unhappy by the death of his wife, that
placing his only child, a girl often years
of age in a convent, he repaired to a mon
astery near Paris and became a monk.—
During six or seven years haled a most
pious lite, hut, from the gloom of his
cell he thought often of his daughter.
The desire to see her grew so much upon
him, that he at last resolved to open a
correspondence with her; the answers
he received to his letters were such as
to re-awaken all the affections of other
days within hitebosom. The young girl
on her side was no less ang er to see once
more a parent whose early tenderness
she stilt remembered. With a resolution
surprising in one of her age s she quitted
the convent, dressed herself in male at
tire, and sought the monastery in which
her father resided. She there assumed
the habit of the order, and was named
brother Robert. - She was then but sev
enteen years of age. She took care not
to reveal herself to her father until the
irrevocable vow had been pronounced;
when at last she followed him to his cell
and told her story. The joy he expres
sed at folding his beloved child once
more to his heart, and the regret which
her act of devotion caused him, brought
on a fever which ended his life in a few
The young girl found herself now in a
situation which nothing but the religi
ous education she had received could
have enabled her to bear. Deprived of
the support which the daily sight of her
father would have given her, she val
iantly fortified herself in every possible
way in order to keep .down the worldly
regrets which arouse in her heart. She
became the example of the convent, and
the sai,ctity of Friar Robert was spread
abroad in all France. The most holy
offices wereEenfided principally to her;
it was she was sent to pray by the
bedside of the dying, and to console the
afflicted. But she did an immense deal
of good among the young girls of Paris
whom the world arid its pleasures had
drawn from the path of duty. To these
she never wearied of talking ; her hu
mility surprised them, the simplicity of
her soul and the sweetness of her voice
charmed them comple tell ; and Friar
Robert rarely failed in bringing these
wanderers back to the right way
At last, however, slander attacked the
fair fame of Friar Robert and he was,
accused of being too fond of visiting
female sinners. 'I he Abbe of the mon
astery imposed upon the pretended
brother, us penitence, to serve the whole
community, and to do the most repug
nant arid the roughest work. She did
all without a murmer, and during three
years accomplished the rude duties laid
upon her without faltering in a single
Last week she died, and the retriorse
of the monks may well he imagined when
it was discovered that it was a sister
• instead of a brother whom they had been
punishing so long.
A Wife in trouble.
'Pray tell me, my dear, what is the
cause of those tears.'
'Oh ! such a disgrace !'
'What—what is it my dear 4 Do not
keep me in suspence.'
'Why, I have opened one of your let•
ters, supposing it addressed to myself.
Certainly it looked more like Mrs. than
'ls that sill What harm can there
be in a wife's opening her husband's
, No harm in the thing itself. But
the contents! Such a disgrace!'
'What ! has any one dared to write
me a letter unfit to be read by my wirer
'Oh, no. It is couched in the most
chaste and gentlemanly language. But
the contents! the contents!'
Here the wife buried her face in her
handkerchief and commenced sobbing
aloud, while the husband eagerly caught
the epistle that had been the means of
nearly breaking his wife's beau. It
was a bill from the printer for nine years
subscription !—Sandy Hill Herald.
DECIDEDLY Rtcn.—Two Quakers in
Vermont had a dispute ; they wished to
fight but it was against their principles
they grasped each other, and 0110 threw
and sat on the other, and squeezin g his
head in the mud, said, on thy belly
shalt thou crawl, and dust shalt thou eat
all the days of thy life.' The other soon
gained the victory, and when he had
attained the same position, said,--'lt is
written the seed of the women shall
bruise the serpent's head.'
What is the universe but a hand flung
in space, pointing always with extended
finger unto God 1
kobility of illechaviics.
BY MSS WENTWORTH.
Toil on, sun-burnt mechanic! God
has placed thee in thy lot perchance to
guide the flying car that whirls us on
Iroin scene to scene, from friend to
friend ; bind down the warring wave of
ocean, tempest tost, or chain the red
artillery of heavens
Toil - on ! Without thy poWef earth,
though her sands were one vast pacto
lus of gold, would be a waste of tinsel
ed tears.and glittering.grief ; and want,
and tvo, and splendid misery, would
gleam out from all her treasured mines.
Rich soils would perish in their rich
ness, and the fruits of the changing sea
sons die, ungathered from the harvest:
Toil on ! Jehovah was a Workitian
too ! 6, 1 n the beginning God created
the heavens and the earth," and from
chaos sprang this perfect world—the
perfect workmanship of the eternal, un
created power. Up rose the mighty
firmament ; and bacic the sullen surges
swept, submissive ; tamed, each to their
And then he set great lights—the
glorious sun to bless the day—the timed
moon to wear at night the milder lustre
of the radient orb.
He painted heaven with mingled blue
and white---and in the vaulted arch a
modest star peeped out, seeming, by the
majesty of sun and moon,-like a stray
lilly breathing in it, flower of meek and
blushing loveliness, on the gay tints of
opening bud and rich, voluptuous blos
Wondering, there daWned another and
a third, till, clustering and clinging to
the spacious canopy, they read, in tile
calm waters of the sea, the story of their
radiant loveliness. From thence as
sured, they fear not the sun or moon,
but faithfully distil their pensive light.
Old ocean tossed her crescent spray,
and from their hidden depths creatures
of life came up and flew above the earth
—winged fowls and flying fish, and the
whale, dark emperor of the sea.
And Godelbated man I Six days he
labored, and the seventh he reposed ;
while from the sea, the earth, the air ;
and all that is, went up a chorus of ecs
tatic praise to God the first, the eternal
Toil on, sun-burnt mechanic l heard
ye of him whom babbling Jews despise!
The manger born of Nazareth! Exalt
ed to be prince over death and hell !
Read you not in the book, of the un
taught apprentice who laid his hand on
Tiberius' rugged main, and it was still
Toil on I Drink from the dews that
heaven distils. The fragrant flowers,
the bursting buds, the blessed air, is
untold wealth to the hard working and
bronzed mechanic. Rich coffers do not
bring happiness. God's wealth is yours,
a wealth to which decaying gold is vars
ity and dross.
ID-Dow, jr., in one of his discourses
thus describes the contrast between
semblance and reality—
A woman may not be an angel,
though she glides through the mazes of
the dance like a spirit clothed with a
rainbow, and studded with stars. The
young man may behold his admired ob.
ject on the morrow in the true light of
reality, perchance emptying a washtub
into the gutter, with frock pinned up be-
hind—her cheeks pale for want of paint
—her hair mussed and mossy, except
what lies in the bureau, and her whole
contctur ►veering the' appearance of an
angel rammed through a brush fence
into a world of wretchedness and woe !
BOUND TO COME OFF.—Somewhere in
the west, a sable knight of the lather
and brush was performing the operation
of shaving a Hoosier with a very dull
'Stop,' said the Hoosier, 'that wont
'What's the matter boss 1 1
'That razor pulls.,
tIN ell, no matta for dat soh. If de
handle ob de razor don't break, be baird's
bound to come off.'
RESEAIBLANCE.—.CoIoneI ‘‘'. is a fine
looking man, isn't he,' said a friend of
ours the other day.
*Yes,' replied another, 'I was taken
for him once.'
'You! why, you're as ugly as sin I'
'1 dont care for that, 1 was taken for
him once—l endorsed his note, and was
taken for him by the Sheriff.'
'WELL, Tom, does your girl continue
to love you V
`Yes more than ever.'
'lndeed ! what evidence have you of
'Why, she makes me presents.'
'What has she giving you lately V
'Oh she made me a present of my
picture which I paid five dollars for be-
fore I gave it to her.'
VOL. XIV, NO, 41
Wh6 Strock my Brother bob.
Billy Patterson is done for—thrown
into a mere shadow us will be seen by
the following :
Old Bob Hilton was one of the har
dest cases that ever existed in Georgia
or anywhere else. He excelled in only
two things—in the frequency of his
, spreesi' and the number of 'scrapes'
they led hits intb: No election day,
'court week,' or Fourth of July etier
passed over his head, free of some diffi
culty resulting from his free use of the
intoxicating beverage, or as he termed
it tsperets.' Bob - had a brother Whose
some was Peter, called by his friends
Pete. Pete was a tall specimen of the
genus homo, standing about six feet two
'in his stockings.' He was very far
from being a Julius Cwsar, in point of
bravery, but where there was no danger,
no man could talk louder, or come to
the blood and thunder on a larger scale:
One day, during a court week, Bob as
usual, became decently tight, or in Geor
gia dialect, slightly interrogated.' Get
ting rather quarrelsome, some person
had presented h;m with a slight blow
between the eyes, which stretched him
at full length on' the floor. Pete heard
of it i and understanding that the gentle
man who had been kind enough to give
Bob the floor, had left he started up; and
putting on a ferocious countenance, ex
: claimed ;
"Who struck my brother Bob I"
No one answered, for all were too busy
talking far themselves.
"Who struck my brother Bob'!" eon
tinued Pete, waxing bolder, as he stiw
no notice was taken of his first ques
"Who struck my brother Bob 1" he
cried the third time, working himself
into a perfect fury and stalking about
the piazza of the grocery as if he didn't
fear any body. He felt convinced that
no one would take up the matter but the
striker' himself, and as ho was not 'in
the vicinttil he wasn't afraid, not he.—
He was, however, doomed to disappoint
mom for just as he yelled out the terri
ble question for the fourth time, a tall
broad shouldered fellow, who was known
as the bully of the country, stepped up
"I struck your brother Bob."
"Ah !" snid Pete, after surveying his
brother Bob's enemy for several min
utes, '.Well, you struck him a powerful
Don't Get into Debt
With all his rare excellencies of Chris
tian character, there were few men wi•
ser in this world's wisdom than the late
Rev. Dr. Milner. His long practice at
the bar and his experience as a politi.
cian, in and out of Congress, peculiarly
qualified him to judge of human nature
and the tendency of things, and to give
'rule following narrative and com
ments are taken front his Life, recently
published—one of the most interesting
and instructive pieces of biography we
have ever read.
`illy next door neighbor is in debt.—
Upwards of two years ago he borrowed
from me two hundred dollars, and im
mediately afterwards one hundred and
ten more. The latter sum he engaged
to return in twenty-four hours. 1 have
never received a shilling of these sums
in money ; but as he is a bookseller, I
have at his earliest solicitation, taken
books of him to the amount of nearly
two thirds of the demand. His note
for the balance is now due, and he urges
me to take Viner's Abridgement, which
satisfies the debt, except thirty or forty
'During the whole time since the loan,
he has persevered in a system of crin
ging, prevarication and promises; which
he must have known at the time ho
dealt them out, he never would fulfils
Various artifices, false tales, shifts, and
pretences, he has made use of ; and I
have been the dupe of them. I cannot
believe him to be so destitute of feeling
as not to be mortified and degraded in
his own estimation, by the imagined
necessity of resorting to them. But in
the one case or the other, I am unable
to point to myself a more humiliating
situation fora human being to stand in.
have derived from this transaction
two pieces of instruction, which are in
my view, an adequate compensation for
the whole sum, had such an event hap
1. To be cautious of hastily and un
advisedly lending money to a 'man of
whose ability and punctuality lam no
well assured, unless it be accompanied
by adequate security.
2. To adere religiously to a determi
nation which I formed when commen
cing business, never to incur debt
which I have the remotest apprehen
sion of being unable or even finding it
inconvenient to discharge. And, in or
der constantly to passers the means of
keeping this resolution, whatever my in
come may be, always. to live within it."