BY JAS. CLARK.
WE'LL IJEET AGAIN.
We'll meet again ; how sweet the word—
How soothing is its sound !
Like strains of far. oil' music heard
On some enchanted ground.
We'll meet again ; thus friendship speaks,
When those most dear depart,
And in the pleasing prospect seeks
A balm fur the bleeding heart.
We'll meet again, the lover cries ;
And oh, what thought but this,
tan e'er assuage the agonies
Of the last parting kiss 1
We'll meet again, are accents heard
Beside the dying bed,
When all the soul by grief is stilled,
And bitter tears are shed.
We'll meet again, are words that cheer
While bending o'er the tomb,
I'or oh ! that hope, so bright and dear,
tan pierce its deepest gloom.
We'll meet again ; then cease to weep,
Whatever may divide :
Not time nor death cah always keep
The loved ones from our side
Vbt in the mahsionl of the blest,
Secure from care and pain,
In Heaven's serene and peaceful rest
We'll surely meet again.
Short Patent Sermon--Tiike Warning.
BY DOW, JR,
Tarr.—The Summer flowers that fade and fall,
Send forth a warning voice to all,
,4 Prepare, prepare to die !"
.71fy Hearers : Are you prepared to
die I don't intend to kill you, but I
merely ask the question—' are you pre
pared to die V Are your baggages ready?
—have you packed up such necessary
articles as faith, hope and heavenly love,
in case you are called to depart to-day
No—when you see Death's black wagon
standing at the door of your neighbor,
you don't feel as if you would like to take
a gratuitous ride to the charnal-yard,
notwithstanding many a loved one and
intimate friend may have been borne
thither. As we stand upon the high
promontory of Time and take a glance
at the unbounded, dark and mysterious
ocean of eternity, the soul shrieks with
fear, and seems to secrete itself some
where between the heart and the liver,
like a timid child endeavoring to hide in
the folds of its mother's frock. We see
no vessel, not even a clam smack, upon
this unnavigated ocean. Not a living
object is to be seen, save a few sea-birds
that scream as they flap lazily along the
coast where are strewn the bones of
millions of the human race. Our an
cestors are buried in the bosom of this
mighty and most mysterious of seas—
the waves of ages roll over them as sec
onds dribble by us miserable mortals of
earth ; but whether they rove supreme
ly blest amid coral bowers, or are stuck
fast in the mud and tormented by sea
devils, is more than lam able to tell.
As 1 have said, wo stand upon an eleva
ted bill(' of this eternal aqueous expanse,
and find it so bedimmed with dread mys
tery, that we involuntarily scratch our
heads, turn our backs, and with a kind
of 1-don't-care-about-venturing-look has
ten to get away as far as possible.
My frieuds: you can't bear the thought
of dying when you are young, and so
you make no preparations for the awful
event. Your buds of joy, so daily ex
panded beneath the warm sun of hope,
you long to see blooming in full bright
ness and bliss, at some future day. When
arrived at the age of maturity, your af
fections are too strongly rooted in this
terrestial soil to be easily transplanted to a
foreign sphere; and your souls are so firm
ly fastened to earth with silver solder,
that it is difficult to detach them as it
is to loosen the love of a young or old
bachelor for a beautiful heiress possess
ed of fifty thousand dollar charms.
When you are old, and have laid up a
superfluity of filthy and yet lovely lu
cre, you don't feel as if you were pre
'pared to die, any more than a lousy calf
by the hand of; the butcher. Although
you have little ur nothing to live or hope
for in the world, still you don't like the
idea of leaving that which you cannot
longer use and enjoy yourselves, to be
scattered among a ravenous multitude.
—This shows the natural weakness of
age and the foolishness of man. When
I come to die, I am perfectly well satis
fied that I shan't care a counterfeit cop
per whether what I leave behind is left
undisturbed by posterity, or whether
nations go to battle far my boots and
breeches.
My dear hearers : it is hard for you
to think of bidding farewell to the world
at any season of the year. In spring
you want to live to enjoy its soul awake
ning sensations and pleasing associa
tions---for there is a newness and a fra
grance in the atmosphere that smells
precisely as though the Omnipotent
were just gathering fresh materials
with which to manufacture another cre
ation. You desire to live, then, for the
sake of new laid eggs, early radishes,
and the first dish of green peas.---It is
very unpleasant and inconvenient to die
in the bloom of summer, surrounded by
fl,niitA(obon
new potatoes, cucumbers, melons, peach
es and green corn. You don't want to
be cut down with the harvest, nor drop
with the fruit that falls in autumn ; and
you don't care about leaving in winter,
so long as you hake a comfortable home,
a warm fire, and enough to eat. The
truth is, let death come when it may,
you will all wish to put it ()WWI , a more
convenient season,' as you do paying
your printers' and tailors' bills.
Now, my friends, as you behold how
the summer flowers are begining to fade,
and how their cradles are being convert
ed into sepulcres, you cannot but be re
minded that you too will soon wilt and
wither, and be trodden under foot by
posterity with the same unconcern as
you now tread upon the dust of decayed
vegitables. You, young ladies, who are
now blooming like roses in midsummer !
bear in mind that your superficial charms
must soon be blighted, your sparkling
eyes lose their lustre, your alabaster
brows be tinged with an autumnal yel
lowness. Then you may paint and patch
as much as you please, but you will find
it impossible to conceal the sad chan
ges that time has wrought upon your
features; and you may scent your per
sons with the sweetest perfume, but they
will no more compare with the rich fra
grance that youth and beauty emit, than
the atmosphere which surrounds a woun
ded skunk can equal the odor of an or
ange-grove. Young men you have em
blematical evidences that your autumn
is near. 'Go it while you're young,' but
don't neglect to prepare in time for that
season of life when the fountains of
pleasure which now squirt with a loose
ness, are become dr , ed for ever—when
you can no longer go it' as you were
wont in your youthful days—and when
your only hope of a renovation of de
cayed joys is placed beyond the tomb.
Oct married, by all means, if you wish,
at least, to be comfortable when those
dull, autumnal days shall come upon
you. I love to see two hearts approxi
mate and adhere—two souls meet and
mingle into one. It is an interesting
sight to me,
and whispers of purity, love,
happinessharmony, appiness and perpetual peace.
. . .
My worthy friends: I know that ma
ny of you are not tit to die, from the
fact that you are not fit to live ; but, if
you will purge your hearts of even one
tithe of their accumulated abominations
and show by your conduct that you are
worthy of a being, and are partially
prepared for death. I will gladly go to
the expense of letting off a hundred
loud hallelujahs, and a half dozen heavy
hosannahs, for sake of variety. So mote'
it be.
PEACE CONGRESS.
Victor Hugo's address to the Peace
Congress which assembled not long
since in Paris, and of which he was Pres
ident, has been commended very gen
erally as a master-piece of eloquence.—
The commendation seems to be deserv
ed. It is a grand and beautiful picture
which he draws of the expected result
of civilization in its harmonizing and as
similating influences upon nations.—
Looking back over the history of Chris
tendom for the last eighteen hundred
years, one might conclude that the pro
gress of peaceful tendencies had not
been very encouraging, and that the ef
forts of those and such as those who as
sembled in Congress in Paris, were di
rected in pursuit of an illusive vision.
Nevertheless the views and conclusions
presented in the following extract from
Victor Hugo's address are not without
an impressive interest :
Gentlemen, if four centuries ago, at
the period when war was made by one
district against the other, between cities,
and between provinces—if I say, some
one had dared to predict to Lorraine, to
Provence, to Dauphiny, "a day shall
come when you will no longer arm men,
one against the other—a day shall come
when it shall not be said that the Nor
mans are attacking the Picardians, or
the people of Lorraine are repulsing the
Surgundians ; you will still have many
disputes to settle, interests to contend
for, difficulties to resolve ; but do you
know whom you will select instead of
armed men, instead of cavalry and in
fantry, of canon, falnets, lances, pikes,
swordsl You will select instead of this
destructive array, a small box of wood,
which you will term a ballot-box, and
from which shall issue—what I An
Assembly—an assembly in which you
shall all live—an assembly which shall
be, as it were, the soul of all—n su
preme and popular Council, which shall
decide, judge, resolve everything--
which shall make the sword fall from
every hand, and excite the love of jus
tice in every heart—which shall say to
each, "Here terminates your right, there
commences your duty. Lay down your
arms !" (Great applause.) And in that
day you will all have one common
thought, common interests, a common
HUNTINGDON, PA., TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 1849.
destiny ; you will embrace each other,
and recognize each other as children of
the same blood, and of the same race ;
that day you shall no longer be hostile
tribes—you will be a people; you will
no longer be merely Burgundy, Nor
mandy; Brittany ; Provence—you will
be France.—(Bravo.) You will no lon
ger make appeals to war—you will do
so to civilization"—(Great applause,)—
if ; at the period I speak of, some one
had uttered these words, all men of a
serious and positive character, all pru
dent and cautious men, all the great po
liticians of the pet iod, would have cried
out, "What a dreamer! what a fantas
tic dream! How little this pretended
prophet is acquainted with the human
heart! What ridiculous folly ! what
absurdity" Yet, gentlemen, time has
gone on, and we find that this dream,
this folly, this absurdity, has been real
ized (Brave !) And I insist upon this,
that the man who would have dared to
utter so sublime a prophecy would hate
been pronounced a madman for having
dared to pry into the designs of the
Deity. (Bravo!) Well then, you at
this moment say—and I say it with you
—we who are assembled here say to
France, to England, to Prussia, to Aus
tria, to Spain, to Italy, to Russia—we
say to them "a day will come when
from your hands also the arms they have
grasped shall fall. A day will come
when war shall appear as impossible,
and will be impossible, between Paris
and London, between St. Petersburg
and Berlin, between Vienna and Turin,
as it is now between Rouen and Amiens,
between Boston and Philadelphia. (Ap
plause.) A day will come when you,
France—you, Russia—you, Italy—you,
England—you, Germany—all of you,
nations of the continent, shall, without
losing your distinctive qualities and
your glorious individuality, be blended
into a superior unity, and shall consti
tute an European fraternity, just as Nor
mandy, Brittany, Burgundy, Lorraine,
Alsace, have been blended into France.
A day will come when the only battle
field shall be the market open to com
merce, and the mind opening to new
ideas. A day will come when bullets
and shells shall he replaced by votes—
'as the universal suffrage of nations—
by the venerable arbitration of a great
sovereign senate, which shall be to Eu
rope what the Parliament is to England,
what the Diet is to Germany, what the
Legislative Assembly is to France. (Ap
plause.) A day will come when cannon
shall be exhibited in the public muse
ums just as an instrument of torture is
now, (laughter and applause,) and peo
ple shall be astonished how such a thing
could have been. A day will come
when those two immense groups—the
United States of America and the Uni
ted States of Europe—shall be seen
placed in presence of each other, exten
ding tho hand of fellowship across the
Ocean, exchanging their produce, their
commerce, their industry, their arts,
their genius, clearing the earth, peopling
the deserts, meliorating creation under
the eyes of the Creator, and uniting, for
the good of all, these two irresistible
powers—the fraternity of men, and the
power of God. (Applause.)
VIRTUE.—We copy the following brief
but beautiful passage from the Albany
Citizen :
" The creations of the sculptor may
mould into dust ; the wealth of the bard
may wither--thrones of conquerors may
be shivered by an opposition power into
atoms ; the fame of the warrior may no
longer be hymned by the recording
minstrel ; the hope may be disappoint
ed, but that which hallows the cottage
and sheds a glory around the palace—
virtue—shall never decay, It is cele
brated by the angels of God—it is writ
ten on the pillars of heaven, and reflect
ed down to earth."
FAT FELLOWS.—We like fat people—
good, jolly, laughing!, broad-visaged, hon
est, fat people. We love fat women—
fat boys—fat babies—fat purposes—a
fat list of subscribers—a fat job, and fat
advertisers—fat everything. Fatness
is a big sign of big health. Fat men
are never treacherous—fat women are
not sharp tongued—fat boys are not
mischevious—fat babies are always
good—in fine fat people are the kindest,
and therefore, the most popular. Com
mend us to fat people.
LOGICAL ILLUSTRATION.-.A. layman in
Providence who occasionally exorted at
evening meetings, thus expressed his
belief in the existence of Deity
"Brethren, lam just as certain that
there is a Supreme Being, as I urn cer
tain that there is flour in Alexandria;
and that I know for certain, ar I yester
day received from there a lot of 300 bar
rels fresh superfine, which I sell us low
as any other person in town.
Punch's Charge to the Jury.
GENTLEMEN OF TILE JURY :-YOll are
sworn, in all cases, to decide according
to the evidence; at the same time, if you
have ahy doubt, you are bound to give
the prisoner the benefit of it. Suppose
you have to pronounce on the guilt or
innocence of a gentleman accused of fel
ony; you will naturally doubt whether
any gentleman would commit such of
fences ; accordingly, however strong
may be the testimony against him, you
will, perhaps, acquit him. The evidence
of your own senses is, at least, as cred
itable as that of the witnesses ; if, there
fore, your eyesight convinces you that
the prisoner is a well dressed person,
you have a right to presume his respec
tability ; and it is for you to say wheth
er a respectable person would be likely
to be guilty of the crime imputed to
him. In like manner, when you see a
shabby looking fellow in the dock charg ,
ed, fur example, With sheep stealing,
the decision rests with you, first, wheth
er or not that individual is a ragamuffin,
and, secondly, how far is it to be sup
posed that a man of that description
would steal a sheep.—Of course, as has
been before said, you will always be
guided by the evidence; but then, wheth
er the matter is trustworthy or not, is a
matter for your private consideration.
You may believe it if you chose, or you
may disbelieve it; and whether, gen
tlemen of the jury, you believe or dis
believe, will depend on the constitution
of your minds. If your minds are so
constituted that you wish to find the
prisoner guilty, why then, very likely,
you will disbelieve it. You are to free
your minds from all passion and preju
dice, if you can, and in that case, your
judgment will be unbiassed; but if you
cannot, you will return a verdict accord
ingly. It is not, strictly speaking, for
you to consider what will be the effect
of your verdict; but if such a consider
ation should occur to you, and you can
not help attending to it, that verdict
will be influened by it to a certain ex
' tent. You are probably aware that
when you retire, you will be locked up
until you contrive to agree. You may
arrive at unanimity by fair discussion,
or by some of you starving out the oth
ers, or by tossing up; and your conclu
sion, by whichever of these processes
arrived at, with more or less in accord.
once with your oaths. Your verdict
may be right ; it is to be hoped it will ;
it may be wrong : it is to be hoped it
will not. At all events, gentlemen of
the jury, you will come io some conclu
sion or other, unless it should happen
that you seperate without coming to
any.
The Turn in Life.
From forty to sixty, a man who has pro
perly regulated himself may be consid
ered as in the prime of life. His ma
tured strength of constitution renders
him almost impervious to the attacks of
disease, and experience has given his
judgment the soundness of almost in
fallibility. His mind is resolute, firm,
and equal ; all Ins functions are of the
highest order; he assumes the mastery
over business ; builds up a competence
on the foundation he has laid in early
manhood, and passes through a period
of life attended by many gratifications.
Having gone a year or two past sixty,
he arrives at a critical period in the road
of existence, the river of death flows
before him, and he remains at a stand
still. But athwart this river is a viaduct
called "The Turn of Life,"wh ich, if cross
ed in safety, leads to the valley of "Old
Age," round which the river winds,
and then flows beyond without boat or
causeway to effect its passage. The
bridge is, however, constructed of fra
gile materials, and it depends upon how
it is trodden, whether it bend or break.
Gout, Appoplexy, and other bad charac
ters also are in the vicinity to waylay
the traveller, and thrust him from the
pass ; but let him gird up his loins, and
provide himself with a fitting staff; and
he may trudge on in safety with perfect
composure. To quit metaphor, "The
Turn of Life" is a turn either into a
prolonged walk or into the grave. The
system and power having reached their
utmost expansion, new begin either to
close like flowers at sunset, or break
down at once. One injudicious stimu
lant--a single fatal excitement, may
force it beyond its strength, whilst a
careful supply of props, and the with
drawal of all that tends to force a plant,
will sustain it in beauty and in vigor un
til night has entirely set,--Science of
Life.
SntELLING IT.—Some poetical genius,
after being on a tight, penned the follow
ing verse :
Men brandy drink, and never think
That girls at all can tell it;
They don't suppose a woman's nose
Was ever made to smell it.
° ttr
Au Awkward Mistake.
A farmer who had bought a calf from
a butcher desired him to drive it to his
farm, and place it in his stable which
he accordingly did. Now, it happened
that very day, that a man with a grind
ing organ and dancing bear, passing
by that way, began their antics In front
of the farm. After amusing the farmer
for some time, the organ-man entered
the farm house, and asked the farmer if
he could give him a night's lodging.—
Tbe farmer replied, he could give the
man lodging, but he was at a loss where
to put the bear. After musing a little,
he determined to bring the calf inside
the house for that night, and place the
bear in the stable which was done.—
Now, the butcher expecting the calf
would remain in the stable all night re
solved
to steal it ere morning; and the
farmer and his guest were, in the night
awakened by a fearful yelling from the
out-building. Both got up, and taking
a lantern, entered the stable, when the
farmer found, to his surprise, the batch.
er of whom he had bought the calf, in
the grasp of the bear, which was hug
ging him tremendously, for he could
not bite, being muzzled. The farmer
immediately understood the state of the
case, and briefly mentioned the circum
stance to the owner of Bruin, who, to
punish the butcher for his intended theft
called out to the bear, "Hug him, Tom
my ;" which the bear did in real earnest ;
the butcher roaring most hideously the
whole time. After they thought he had
suffered enough, they set him free, and
the butcher slunk off, glad to escape
with his life; while the farmer and his
guests returned to their beds.—English
paper.
BAD TEMPER.—The greatest plague
in life is a bad temper. It is a great
waste of time to complain of other peo
ple's ; the best thing is to amend our
own ; and the next best quality is to
learn to bear with what we meet in oth
ers. A bad temper will always tire it
self out, if it find no one to resent it ;
and this very knowledge is worth a tri
fle. Irascibility is Very injurious to
health, and so, in fact, is every morbid
indulgence of our inferior nature. Low
spirits, melancholy, diffidence, disincli
nation for ordinary duties, discontent,
fretfulness, even down to mental lassi
tude, indolence or despair--are very in
imical to enjoyment in life, and every
possible effort should be made to cast
them all to the winds and look unblush
ingly into the truth of the fact. It is
astonishing what a little reflection will
do. The fears aro mostly imaginary,
and with one dash of resolution may all
be overcome.
SO WE Go !—The American Me
chanic [Poughkeepsie,) justly remarks:
A man growls at paying a shilling for a
loaf of bread, thinking he ought to get
it for eleven pence, and the same even
ing takes his family to witness the feats
of a magician, for the purpose of being
humbugged, knowing they will be hum
bugged, and willingly pay a dollar for
the privilege! Another is too poor to
pay a dollar for a newspaper, but can
spend two shillings every night at the
tavern, and not miss it. Another is too
poor to pay a few dollars but can attend
all the concerts and negro performances
that come along. Another wants a me
chanic to work for nine and sixpence a
day, when he demands ten shillings, and
watches him to see that he labors faith
fully, and the next day hires a horse
and wagon, nt the expense of two dol
lars, to travel ten miles to see a horse
race. Another "beats down" an old
woman a penny on a bunch of radishes,
and before getting home spends two
shillings in treating his friends.
Mr. W. Buchanan, a minister of the
Scotch kirk, having had a difference
with the editor of a Kilmarnock journal,
who stated that the Reverend gentleman
had threatened, only for his coat, to
horsewhip him (the editor,) his rever
ence has written in reference to that
statement—"My friends know tolerably
well that my coat never gives me the
least concern when 1 have anything
which 1 think my duty on hand. What
1 consider proper or likely to be useful
I should do in my coat, out of my coat,
and in spite of my coat ; and if the sup
position had ever crossed my mind that
a horsewhip would have mended the
morals of this incorrigible fellow, he
should have had it until every bone in
his body roared for mercy."
To &lig Titounix.---Set about doing
good to somebody ; put on your hat, and
go and visit the sick and the poor ; in
quire into their wants and administer
unto them ; seek out the desolate and
oppressed, and tell them of the consola
tions of religion. I have often tried
this method, and have always found it
the best medicine fur a heavy heart.
VOL, XIV, NO, 44
Improving Church Music.
A correspondent of the Newark (N.
J.) Advertiser, writing from Bromfield,
Ct., tells the following 'good one'—'By
the way, a good story may be told of
our chorister's attempt at improving the
psalmody as well as the music of our
church. He set some music of his own
to one of the Psalms of Watts, a very
familiar Psalm, in which occur these
lines :
'Oh, may my heart in tune be found,
Like David's harp of solemn sound:'
Calling on his pastor, who has more
music in him than you would think, the
chorister asked his approbation ofa new
version of these lines which would ren
der them more readily adapted to the
music he had composed. He suggested
to read them as follows :
, 011, may my heart be tuned within,
Like David's sacred violin.'
The good pastor had some internal
tendencies to laugh in the singing man's
face, but maintaining his gravity as well
as he could, he said that he thought
that he could improve the improved ver
sion, admirable us it was. The delight
ed choristor begged him to do so, and
the pastor taking his pen, wrote before
the eyes of the innocent parishioner,
these lines t
60, may my heart go diddle, diddle,
Like uncle David's sacred fiddle.'
The poor leader, after a vain attempt
to defend his own parody, retired, and
I guess he will sing the psalm as it
stands.'
CONJUGATION AND AGREE:VT:Nr.-1,1 a
lesson in parsing the sentence, "Man
courting in capacity of bliss," &c., the
word "courting," comes to a pert young
miss of fourteen to parse. She coin.
mences hesitatingly, but got along well
enough until she was to tell what it
agreed with. Here she stopped short.
But the teacher said,—"Very well, what
does courting agree with I" Ellen
blushed and held down her head.
"Ellen, don't you know what that
agrees wan'!"
" Ye—ye—yes, sir !"
" Well, Ellen, why don't you parse
that word What does it agree with V'
glushing still more and stammering,
Ellen says—
" It—it—agrees with all Me girls,
sir !"
DIGNITY.—Some men are dignified—
very. But what is dignity ? It is not
to feel yourself superior to your neighbor
and seldom condescend to speak to him.
It is not to wear a sober face and think
it betrays a week mind to lough. True
dignity consists in treating ail men with
respect; in receiving and returning fa
vors—no matter from whom received
or to whom returned—the rich and ac•
complished, the poor and illiterate—we
love real dignity, %s herever we finch it.
Generally it is often banished from those
whose actions it ought to govern.
Gnna-r YIELD or Conx.—The Marion
Messenger of a late date says :—"Our
readers will remember that we noticed a
few weeks since, a remarkably promis
ing crop of corn grown by Col. John
Smith, of Cedar Creek, Wilkinson coun
ty. Mr. S. writes us over date of the
7th instant that be had just finished gath
ering his corn, and that from one acre
and a quarter he had measured one hun
dred and fifty-eight bushels one peck and
a half! The corn was measured in seal
ed meaures, and weighed fiftys•even
pounds to the bushel."
INFLUENCE OF A PRAYING YoUTll.—The
Rev. John Angell James, of Manchester,
Englund, has publicly stated, that all
his usefulness in the ministry and m lie
church of God may be traced to "the
sight of a companion, who slept in the
same room with him, bending his knees
in prayer, on retiring to rest. Nenrly
fifty years have since rolled away," lie
says: "but that little chamber, that hum
-1 ble couch, that praying youth, are still
present to my imagination, and will
never be forgotten, even amid the splen
hours of heaven."
To the Moon.
Chaste goddess ! goddess so pure that
not even the blush of innocence has ever
mingled with thy soft brightness, I dare
invoke thee to become the confidant of
my most secret sentiments. Like thee,
I have no cause to blush for any feeling
of my heart. But often the remem
berance of the blind and unjust judg
ment of mankind clouds my brow, like
thine too often veiled. Like unto thee,
the errors and miseries of this world
inspires my reveries. But happier than
I, oh, citizen of the skies ! thou always
presurvest thy serenity ; the tempest
and the storms which rise from this our
globe, glide over thy ever peaceful disc.
Oh, goddess ! thou who sntilest on my
maluncholly, pour into my soul thy cold
tranquility.—Chateaubriand.