t- --, , : r i( n,n - ting.b\ on
BY JAS. CLARK.
Gone are thy Glories, Sumnier
Gone are thy glories, Summer
But hast thou fled alone ?
Have none when in their household glee,
Missed one familiar tone?
Is there no vacant seat beside
The bright and blazing hearth 1
Ilave no young, gentle spirits passed,
From our abodes on earth ?
Thine answer, Summer, I well know :
Thou'lt whisper, more than one,
With eye of light, and step of glee,
Down to the tomb bath gone !
Thou'lt tell me, stern, relentless death,
Thou hast no power to stay;
That beauty, pride and loveliness,
Alike become his prey.
Yes they have passed, 0 Summer,
Like thy flowrets' whispered tones,
And Autumn winds their graves o'eraweep
With many sighs and moans
But memory o'er the bleeding heart
Her vigils sad shall keep,
And Summer's breath must ever wake
A strange fond wish to weep.
AUTUMN.
How quickly have passed the pleas
ant days of summer I
The llowry Spring
But yesterday, came joyously along,
Laden with sweets that she is wont to bring
And all alive with melody and song.
The trees put forth their leaves—the
flowers began to bud, and the husband
man prepared his ground to receive the
fruitful seeds ; but the b. ight days of
Spring passed away—the flowers bloom
ed, faded and crumbled to the dust—like
many dear friends, who a few months
since were with us, full of life and spir
it, cheerful active and happy. How
kind and hnppy they were ! Blessed
were the hours we passed in their soci
ety; but all too blissful to abide. The
grave is now their resting place. Like
the flowers, they perished in their beau
ty and bloom.
And now Autumn has come. The
•hoer days and cold winds speak the ap
proach of winter, which will soon be
upon us. But all seasons of the year
have their beauties—and we lova the
Fall of the year. Flow delightful is the
many colored forrest—from the deep
green to the pale yellow—an infinity of
shades. Who does not love to stroll
amid the woods and witness the fading
beauties of nature—surpassing lovely
in its decay !
Thrice happy time,
Best portion of the year, in which
Nature rejoiceth, smiling on her works
Lovely, to full perfection wrought."
How forcibly, at this season of the
year, are we reminded of the autumn of
life—when the bloom and vitality of
manhood are past, and the winter of ex
istence is at hand. The fading of the
trees and the falling of leaves, speak
impressively to every heart, " Thou al
so must lose thy bloom and fall and per
ish in the dust." If we survive to a
good old age—(alas ! how many of us
will never see another autumn 1)--we
can be cheerful and happy, Age is not
sad and gloomy to those who possess
kind hearts and pleasant dispositions--
who have schooled their affections in
the temple of wisdom, that have lain
up a store of virtuous thoughts to make
the decline of life a season of unalloy-
I ed pleasure. True religion, implanted
in the youthful breast, will be a source
of unfailing happiness till God shall
sunder the thread of life, and translate
the soul to his own mansion above.--
Portland Tribune.
Are you Kind to your Mother I
Come, my little boy, and you, my
Ile girl, what answer can you give to
this question I Who was it that watch
ed over you when you were helpless
babesl Nho nursed you and fondled
you, and never grew weary in her lovel
Who kept you from the cold by night,
and the heat by day 1 Who guarded
you in health, and comforted you when
you were ill 1 Who was it that wept
when the fever made your skin feel hot,
rind your pulse beat quick and hard I
Who hung over your little bed when
you were fretful, and put your cooling
drink to your parched lipsl Who sung
• the pretty hymn to please you as you
lay, or knelt down by the side of the
bed in prayerl Who was glad when
you began to get welll and who carried
you into the fresh air to help your re
covery 1 Who taught you how to pray,
and gently helped you to learn to read ?
Who has borne with your faults, and
been kind and patient in your childish
ways 1 Who loves you still, and who
contrives, and works, and prays for you
every day you live 1 Is it not your
mother—your own dear mother 1 Now,
then, let me ask you, Are you kind to
your mother ?
• There are many ways in which chil
dren show whether they are kind or net.
" Do you always obey her, and try to
please her 1 When she speaks are you
ready to attend to her voice 1 or do you
neglect what she wishes you to do 1—
Do you love to make her heart feel
• glad 1
Life's Sorrows and Comforts.
This world has been termed a vale of '
tears. And to n great extent it is so.
Tough the sky is bright ahovo us, and
the earth is fair and lovely ; though we
are surrounded by the works of art, and
strength, and wealth, and though we
hear at the festive board and in the hall
of gaiety the voice of mirth and plea
sure, there are none -7ithout their griefs.
Some sorrow preys upon the heart of
each one crowding through our busy
1 streets, thronging the active marts, and
bowing at the shrine of fashion and
amusement. Not one lies down at
night upon his couch without being
visited with painful reflections, and hea
ving a sigh in remembrance of some
heavy misfortune or sad bereavement.
How many are the homes where pover
ty creates its painful anxieties, where
the disappointed, with affections blight
ed, weep in loneliness ; where the sick
languish on beds of pain, and the strick
en in heart mourn that death has snatch
ed from their embrace the dearest ob
ject of their affection. How many are
the unkindnesses, and wrongs, and de
ceptions which all encounter ; how many
the perplexities and hardships and un
certainties of business ; how many the
accidents and reverses against which no
foresight, however prudent, can guard.
Such is life. It is a valley of sorrow ;
but dark as this valley is, it is not whol
ly overshadowed with clouds. There
are not only occasional glimpses of sun
' light which relieve its gloom, but the
' stars of faith and hope are ever gilding
; it with their mild beams. Indeed with
its sorrows, life has many console
,
Lions. When weary with the labors of
the day, it is a consolation to know that
we have a friend who will never deceive ;
when disappointed in the pursuit of
wealth, it is a consolation to feel assur
ed that we shall never ask in vain for
that wealth which is imperishable ;
when crippled and enervated by disease,
it is a consolation to know that we will
not always live in that condition,
The Grave.
Oh, the grave, the grave! It buries
every error, covers every defect, extin
guishes every resentritent. From this
peaceful bosom springs none but fond
regrets and tender recollections. Who
can look upon the grave even of an en
emy, and not feel a compuctious throe
that ever he should have warred with
the poor handful of earth, that lies moul
dering before him! But the grave of
those we loved—what a place for medi
tation ! There it is we call up in long
review, the whole history of truth and
gentleness, and a thousand endearments
lavished upon us almost unheard in the
daily course of intimacy. Then it is
we dwell upon the tenderness of the
parting scene, the bed of death with all
its stifled grief; its noiseless attendants,
its mute watchful assiduities ; the last
testimonial of expiring love, the feeble
fluttering feeling. Oh, how thrilling is
the pressure of the hand, the last fond
look of the glaring eye, turning upon
us even from the threshold of existence;
the faint faltering accent struggling in
death to give one more assurance of af
fection. Ay go to the grave of buried
love, and meditate! There settle thy
account with thy conscience, of past en
dearments unregarded, of that depart
ed being, who never can return to be
soothed .by contrition. If thou art a
child and hest ever added sorrow to the
soul, or a furrow to the brow of an
af
fectionate parent; if thou nrt a husband,
sand hest ever caused the bosom that
ventured its whole happiness in thy
arms, to doubt one moment of thy truth ;
if thou art a friend, and hest wronged
by thought, by word, or deed, the spirit
that generously confides in thee ; if thou
art a lover, and hest ever given one un
merited pang to the true heart that now
lies cold, and still beneath thy feet, then
be sure that every unkind look, ungra
cious word, every nngentle nction, will
come thronging back upon thy memory
and knocking dolefully at thy soul ; then
be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrow
ing and repentant on the grave, and ut
ter the unheard groan, and pour the un4
availing tear—bitter, because unheard
and unavailing.—W ash. Irving.
Newspaper Press.
The. Rev. James Aspinwell, in the
course of a recent speech on education,
gave quite a glowing and forcible sketch
of the newspaper press. He said that
"from being a mere chronicle of pass
ing events, a dry register of dates and
facts, the newspaper has grown one of
the leading schoolmasters of the day.
Its articles amuse us with their wit, and
instructs us with their wisdom They
exhibit the brilliancy of the classical
scholar, and the close reasoning of the
logician, it is an encyclopwdia in itself.
It reviews all books, and treats of all
science. It is familliar with all geog
raphy, and at home in all history. It
HUNTINGDON, PA,, TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1849.
is the (Edi Pus to read the riddles which
every political Sphinx may set before
it. It dives into cabinet secrets, and
anticipates the purpose of Statesmen.
It has the hundred eyes of the ever
wakeful Argus, the hundred hands and
fifty heads of Briareus. And, as omni=
present as omniscient, as übiquitous as
versatile, it is here, there and ciirey ,
where, froM the Indus to the Po, from
China to Peru, compassing the world
with its correspondents, and, with its
expresses and the electric telegraph, ra
cing against time to communicate its
intelligence of mankind in every region
of the earth. The ancients counted up
seven wonders of the world. If they
had possessed a newspaper press, they
would have an eighth, more marvellous
and of more worth than all the rest to
gether."
That the human mind may be pow ,
erfully operated upon by a narration of
the events which constitute the Biogra
phy of a notorious character, is a pro
position which scarce requires a formal
demonstration. That numbers of the
Most remarkable statesmen and warri
ors of antiquity owe their garlands of
fame, which the passage df centuries
hath not withered, to a constant and
practical exemplification of the most
worthy features in the life of some sage
or hero of a previous age, is a matter of
common history. That this species of
literature is not at the present time, a
potent though silent lever in the forma
tion of private character, is to deny the
accumulated experience of mankind ;
since every intelligence can enumerate
numberless actions in his past existence,
to which he was incited by a desire to
emulate some precedent, in admiration
of which the inspiration was generated.
The intellect is so constituted, as in
its progress to maturity to receive eve
ry impression, whether it be of an evil
or beneficial stamp. Just as the exteri
or understanding in one's infantile years
would receive the imprint of the odious
as rapidly as the beautiful. Especially
is this the case in that period of time
when one is bidding adieu to boyhood
for the more stirring scenes of manhood,
when having become familiarized with
the natural world, the ripening mind be
gins to grasp at causes, and expand with
the hitherto unknown world of knowl
edge contained in books. At this peri
od of existence, an individual who, hav
ing perused Ainsworth's celebrated ve
hicle of crime, "Jack Sheppard," and ri
ses up with his judgment shaken by
the gaudy representations of successful
villainy, would in all probability have
finished the life of Benjamin Franklin
with a fixed determination to practice the
cardinal virtues therein inculcated, and
thereby secure to himself the earthly
happiness and perhaps the spontaneous
praises awarded his great prototype.—
Ire j'rit!'g — llflant'Ane t ?agM ri g n:
eral truth that the formation of a youth's
mental attributes depends much upon
the moral tendency of the works which
he is accustomed to read and study.—
Let him have unlimited access to novels
of the later French School; to narratives
of immoral, depraved men ; to the va
rious other kindred publications, which
the mention of these will suggest ; and
be may not be surprised if his idea of
the moral merit or demerit of human
actions are being fast obliterated, if
cis conceptions of virtue become indis
inct, by reason of the miasma of an im•
rare imagination; and if his. aspirations
nirtake of a grovelling nature rather
ban of that upward tendency peculiar
o the performance of a noble deed.
'V akin g . Toll. If, on the contrary, the Biography of
iumanity's benefactors should be stn-
The St. Louis Reveille is publishing
lied as master pieces of correct action
a tale, purporting to give some adventu
resn the different relations of life, the prin•
in the life of a young physician, from
)iples which they pursued so success'
which we take the following extract :
A snow having fallen the young folks "ally as to be worthy of imitation, will
of the village got up a grand sleighing most probably ingraft themselves as part
party to a country tavern at a distance ;and parcel of the person who has been
and the interesting Widow Lumbkin so fortunate as to perceive in them an
archetype of character. If in the life of
sat in the same sleigh, under the same
buffalo robe with myself. ewton, the virtue of perseverance be
. Oh,. oh—don't !" she exclaimed, as lng exemplified, is copied ; if in the his
we came to the first bridge catching me;ory of the American revolution, the
by the arm, and turning her veiled face value of prudence and bravery being
towards me, while her little eyes twink
perspicuous in the example of Washing
led through the gauze in the moon - ton, are emulated ; if in the biography
light, of John Howard, the beauty of philan
. Don't what ? I asked, riot doingthropy — being illustrated, benevolence is
any thing.'. chosen to be a principle of primary con
, Well, but I thought you were ru l gsequence in future life; if in the writings
to take toll,' replied Mrs. Lambkin. of Chambers, the importance of knowl
t Toll 1' I rejoined ; 'What's that 1 ?Age being evident, their attainment is
Now, do tell I' exclaimed the wid o ,tssuredly undertaken ; then I may pre
her clear laugh ringing above the music lict a character in which will be reflect
of the bells. .Dr. Mellows pretends that .d the virtues of those by whom it was
ho don't know a hat toll is!' ormed, and in time may we reasonably
Indeed, I don't then,' I said laughingocpect, as the consummation of 8116 in
in turn. .truction, the development of an Intel.
Don't know that the gentlemen when ect imbued tt'ith a given degree of mor
they go a-sleighing, claim a k i ss, as toll l excellence.
when they cross a bridge ! Well 1 nev- Thus the former class of biographies
er !' end to vitiate, while the latter enobles
But shall 1 tell it all The struggles ur nature. For owing to different cau
of the widow to hold the veil were notes, that bastard Literature, which
sufficient to tear it, and somehow, whenqually kindles vice in innocent hearts
the veil was removed, her face was turn.nd further inflames the embers of wick
ed directly towards my own, and then, dness which may have lurked in the
the snow glistening in the moonligh t ouls of others, and which likewise feeds
and the horse trotting on for himself,he greedy flame when fully roused,
the toll was taken for the first time tn .aving obtained a wide circulation, and
the life of Dr. Mellows. onsequently a proportionate influence
Soon we came to the long bridge but ,n the
public mind, its injurious effects
the widow said it was 'no use to resist, ) society have been noted by accurate
and paid up as soon as we reached it. bservers. While, also, every general
'But you won't take toll for every
-eauer can safely compute the nature
span, will you doctor I' she added. T° rid weight of its agency on the minds
which the only reply was, a practical.-
individnals by recurring to his own
negative to the question. x perience, as to the insidious treachery
Did you ever, reader, sleigh-ride with
ith which they, under the guise of de.
a pretty widow and take toll at the brill tyingvice, implant a rooted inclination
ges ! it all that is opposite to virtue. Forbid
—The potato disease has appeared bun, that we, in this article, should be
different parts of Ohio. nclerstood to advise the reading of such
Irish Emigrants.
John G. Whittier the Quaker poet,
in writing about the Irish emigrants
among us says :
"For myself I feel a sympathy for
thu Irishman. I see him us the represen
tative of a generous, warm hearted;
cruelly oppressed people. That he
loves his native land—that his patriot
ism is divided—that he cannot forget
the claims of his mother island—that
his religion is dear to him—does not de
crease my estimation of him.
"A stranger in a strung land, he is
to me always an object of interest. The
poorest and rudest has a romance in his
history. Amidst all his gaiety of heart i
and national drollery and wit, the poor
emigrant has sad thoughts of the "ould
mother of him," sitting lonely in her
solitary cabin by the bog side—recollec
tions of a Father's blessing and a sister's
farewell are haunting him—a grave
mound in a distant churchyard far be
yond the "wide wathers," has an eternal
greenness in his memory—for there
perhaps, lies a "darlint child," or a
"swats crathur," who once loved htm—
the New World is forgotten for the mo
ment—blue Killarney and the Liffy spat
ile b h— ; f nd i i nr r T g eaftm ctltg—e ee
the same evening sunshine rest upon
and hallow alike with nature's blessing
the ruin of the seVen churches of Ire
land's apostolic age the broken mounds
of the Druids and the Round Towers of
Phceneeold sun worshippers—beautiful
arid mouthful recollections of his home
waken within him—and the rough and
seemingly careless and light hearted la
borer melts into tears. It is no light
thing to abandon one's country and
household gods. Touching and beauti
; fill was the injunction of the Prophet of
the Hebrews: "Ye shall not oppress
the stranger, for ye know the heart of the
stranger, seeing that ye were strangers,
in the land of Egypt."
For the Journal,
BIOGRAPIIICAL INFLUENCE.
( 4 ,
iAoon'rixgr
Biography. (We have, contrary to re
ceived opinion, classed novels under the
head of general biography—inasmuch I
as in the abstract every novelette is but
the narration of events which have taken
place in a particular portion of a certain
individual's life.)
That the latter class tends to the en
nobling of man, is not only agreeable to ,
the dictates of common sense and the '
teachings of wisdom, but is substantia
ted by the accumulated testimony of the
past and the present. We are aware
that it has been said by many, and caught
up by the vulgar as a maxim, that "none
can be truly great by imitation." Who
ever was the original author of this idea,
may have supposed and spoke lb accor
dance with the belief of the proneness of
mankind to imitate the objectionable
features of an otherwise worthy charac
ter; or, which .is more likely, he may
have spoken with reference to imitating
another's style in composition. If the
former was his meaning, the application
is different from the sense in which we
use the term "imitation," and if the lat.
ter, it still differs, although in its pro'
per sioification it is true to the letter,
inasmught as it is an offence which ranks
next to plagiarism. All suppositions to
the opposite might be cut short, howev
er, by one simple interrogatory. Where
fore do the most devoted Christians en.
deavor to imitate the character of the
Saviour, as contained in his biography
Reasoning by analogy from this unques.
tionable authority, is not the conclusion
evidentl No one will deny that many
a praiseworthy action in his or her life
was caused in the laudable resolution of
imitating similar action in the biogra
phy of some one whose principles are
admired, or whose advice concerning
the philosophy of existence has met with
approbation. Who that has devoted
his leisure hours to an investigation of
the system in which Socrates, the Gre
cian philosopher, lived, but has been
chained, as to his admiration of that
spirit of unalterable equity, that resig
nation to fate, however adverse, and that
majestic serenity with which he refu
sed every argument of his malignant ac
cusers, au attavviututt with the ess.mnry
of the celebrated Pagan. Then, is it
not right to suppose that an admiration
of such a character presupposes a desire
to "go and do likewisel"
Such we firmly believe to be the rel
ative tendencies of the antagonistic clas
ses of Biography. Ay, there is many
criminal whose name an even handed
justice has linked tvith obloquy and dis
honor, and whom men have accused of
sinning from natural depravity and with
out an attempt to justify his iniquity td
himself beforehand, and yet whose o'.
fence consists in a pret'ious admiration,
and consequent imitation of another,
whose biography had ranked high in
the callendar of successful crimes.—
Moreover, there is many a virtuous deed
and many a noble sacrifice of which the
world is ignorant--Many a mental bat
tle in which correct principles have tri
umphed, and many a resolution in which
the soul is pledged to the fulfillment of
sotne high and holy purpose, that nre
all generated in the past actions of kin.
dred spirits as recorded in Biography.
If such be the efficacy of the history
of a virtuous man, every one is or should
be alive to the importance of a proper
distinction between the vehicles of vice
spoken of in the beginning of this arti
cle, and books of moral worth. To the
young American works of this latter
class abound, and which possess an ad=
ditional claim upon his consideration, in
being Biographies of the elite of his
countrymen. Of the dead and of the
living. Of men, who in their labors,
and in the peoples memory yet green
with a cherished veneration, are almost
connected with the present time. Of
departed Statesmen, many of whom re
duced life to practical illustration of
virtue and independence, and whose
names fill the highest pages of the
worlds Biography, He may also enjoy
sketches of the virtuous living, who
when death has shuffled off the garb of
their mortality, eager fume and after
ages will accord their manes the honors
which to the great are ever posthumous.
On a thousand pages is to be seen and
imitated, the acting power, which influ- ,
enced the "greatest Trogan of them
all ;" George Washington. The life of
John Quincy Adams is a living panegy
ric of integrity. Tho Biography of
Professor Edwards, the greatest theolo
gian of his age, deserves to be read as
a model of moral excellence. Names
crowd upon the mind, all of which have
stood high in the arts and sciences, or
in religion and morals, any of which
might be read and studied with profit
by him who would aim high—aim to
emulate.
In conclusion study virtuous Biogra
phy, for if there is any department of
Literature that is rational in its opera.
tions on the human understanding, and
VOL. XIV, NO, 43
being thus common to a whole peoples
acts as an impulse from virtue, it is the
record of the just and the patriotic,
whose deeds yet remnin, and cast the
sublime halo of reward and influence
upon the efforts of those who would
profit by these voices of experience.
M.
Confession of A Woman who Murdered
her eighth Child.
The conviction and condemnation, in
England, of the female Rebecca Smith;
for murdering her infant child; we have
already published ; With an lntiniation
that a horrible suspicion rested on her
of having killed several of her children
in the seine way. We have now to add
the confession of the wretched womati
since her conviction.—She had ten chil
dren, nine of whom died in their infan ,
cy, the eldest only being now alive. She
was tried for the murder of the young
est of these children ; an infant of a
month old, but she has confessed to the
chaplain of the Devizes Jail, where she
is waiting her execution, that she had
previously murdered seven other of her
Children in the Barrie Manner. Yet this
woman was religious, in her outward
deportment at least. She attended di
vine worship at the meeting houses et=
ery Sabbath day, and regularly said her
prayers—praying at night, (by her own
showing,) that she might be preserved
thro' out the night, and returning thanks
and praying for further mercies in the
morning, and while she was praying and
thanking God for her own preservation
for a period of years, she was the annu
al and deliberate destroyer of her own
offspring, no sooner bringing them into
the world, than administering poison to
get rid of them, and this, too, in a man
ner the most unnatural—converting the
channel of their sustenance into the
means of their destruction by applying
the poison, arsenic, to tier own bosom,
that the children might suck it off, calm
, ly looking upon them sickning ; pining;
dying I—W2ll might the Judge say he
wanted words to express his horror at
. such a crime. The only motive the
. wretched crimnal assigns for such deeds
of horror is, that she feared her children
t might come to want. She bore the char
t acter among her neighbors of being an
i inoffensive and industrious woman, and
there is no doubt that she has suffered
• privations, her husband being given to
- drunkenness. Her father was a market
gardner; and she had £lOO bequeathed
I at his death, but the whole bf the sum
• was squandered by her husband. Sus
i' picions were entertained that she had
• also endeavored to poison her surviving
i Child When in infancy, but this she firm
• ly denies ; on the contrary, she express
, ed the greatest affection for this child,
, her only fear (as she says) being that
when she is gone, her daughter will be
neglected by her husband.—Ex. Paper.
liaising Pork.
Every farmer knows full well that it ;
he has to winter pigs, even in the most
fertile of corn countries, and cannot get
three cents a pound for his pork, he is
lositig money ; he* important then, that
he keep such a breed of swine, and feed
them so well that he can bring the pig,
dropped early in the Spring, to weigh
from 200 to 300 pounds, in December
or January. Let people say what they
will about the necessity of caving old
hoes to make thick cut of clear pork on
the ribs for packing, we know this is
all gammon.
We have seen many a pig fed well
from his birth, that would weigh full
250 pounds and cut 4. inches thick of
clear pork on his sides, at nine or ten
months old ; and have heard of others
weighing 300 pounds, and cutting five
inches. We could never winter any ,
thing but breeders of the swine family,
and the moment thepigs were dropped we
would commence shoving them with
feed till ready for the knife. The far
mer who pursues this course will make
from 30 to 60 per cent. more on his
pork than those who winter their Spring
pigs. As for autumn we would not
have them. Let the sow breed but ones
a year.
'A HINT TO WIVES.'-' If I'm not at
home from the party to-night at ten
o'clock,' said a husband to his better
and bigger half, 'don't wait for
'That I wont,' said the lady, significant ,
ly, wont wait—but I'll came for you:
fle returned at ten precisely.
'My gracious!' said an urchin of New
York, on beholding an English carriage
with three footmen in livery, 'well, if it
doesn't take three Britishers to make a
nigger !'
ID'•A very honest chap in Boston wha
wishes to sell his horse, advertises ii as
follows :—" Foe SALE-A brown horse
with a roman nose, in good health, and
very fond of travelling—having run
away four times within a week I"