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BY JAS. CLARK.
OUR DEEP OLD WELL.
ET HENRY 11. PAUL
*ha can forget our deep old well,
That stood below the lawn;
That dear old well I visited,
So oiten jug at dawn I
*hat luxury wan it to me,
To stand beside the brink,
And from the bucket iron -bound,
To take my morning drink:
So sweet and pure the water seemed,
It sparkled as it fell;
It was the nectar of our cot,
The water of that well.
My dear old father! how he loved
To sit beneath the bower,
Just after work, and slowly quaff—
He'd drink, 'twould seem, an hour.
All loved that well, the blessed place,
And every stroller knew,
To help himself—make fast the chain—
'Twas all he had to do.
When at our homestead strangers paused,
To make a passing call,
My impulse was, if they would drink,
For all were welcome—all.
And•ne'er shall I forget the time
The well, alas! was dry;
And I was sick with grief—e'en now,
To think of it I sigh.
And when the water came, once more—
Ah ! who my joy can tell 1
'Till then I knew not how I loved
That moss-stoned deep old well !
DREAM OF A STAR.
Beautiful and Instructive Sketch.
There was once a child, and he stroll
ed shout a good deal, and thought of a
number of things. He had a sister, who
was a child too, and his constant com
panion. These two used to wonder all
day long. They wondered at the beauty
of the flowers; they wondered at the
height and blueness of the sky ; they
wondered at the depth of the bright was
ter; they wondered at the goodness and
power of God who made the lovely world.
They used to say to o:;e another :
Supposing all the children upon earth
were to die, would the flowers, and the
voter, and the sky, be sorry They be
lieved they would be sorry. For, said
they, the buds are the children of the
flowers, and the little playful streams
that gambol down the hill-sides are the
children of the water; and the smallest
playing at hide-and-seek
in the sky all night, must surely be the
children of the stars; and they would
all be grieved to see their playmates, the
children of men, no more.
There was one clear shining star that
used to come out in the sky, before the
rest, near the church-spire, above the
graves. It was larger and more beauti
ful, they thought, than all the others, and
every night they watched for it, stand
ing hand and hand at a window. Who
ever saw it first, cried out, "I see the
star !" And often they cried out both
knowing an well when it would
rise, and where. So they grew to he such
friends with it, that, before lying down
in their beds, they always looked out
once again, to bid it good night ; and
when they were turning round to sleep,
they used to say, "God bless the•star. '
But while she was still very young,
oh, very, very young, the sister drooped
and came to be so weak that she could
no longer stand in the window at night;
and then the child looked sadly out by
himself, and when he saw the star, turn
ed round, and said to the patient, pale
face on the bed, "I see the star!" and
then a smile would come upon the face,
and a little weak voice would say, "God
bless my brother and the star!"
And so the time came, all too soon !
when the child looked out alone, and
when there was a little grave among the
graves, not there, before ; and when the
star made long rays down towards him,
as he saw it through his tears.
Nuw, these rays were so bright, ni.d
they seemed to make such a shining way
(ruin earth to Heaven, that when the child
went to his solitary bed, he dreamed a
bout the star ; and dreamed that, lying
where he was, he saw a train of people
taken up that sparkling road by angels.
And the star, opening, showed him a
a great world of light, where many more
such angels waited to receive them.
All these angels, who wore waiting,
turned their beaming eyes upon the peo
ple who were carried up into the star—
nnd some came out from the long rows
in which they stood, and fell upon the
people's necks, and kissed them tender
ly, and went away with them down av
enues of light, and were so happy in
their company, that, lying in his bed, he
wept for joy.
But there were many angels who did
not go with them, and among them one•
he knew. The patient face that once had
lain upon the bed wos glo7itied and ra
diant, but his heart found out his sister
among all the host.
His sister's angel lingered near the
entrance of the star, and said to the
leader among those who had brought the
"Is my brother comer
And he said, "No."
She was turning hope( ully away, when
the child stretched out his arms, and
cried, "0, sister I am here! Take me!"
and then she cast her beaming eyes up•
on him, and it was night ; and the star
was shining into the room, making long
rays down towards him, as he saw .it
through his tears.
From that hour forth, the child looked
out upon the star as on the Home lie was
to go to, when his time should come—
and lie thought that he did not belong to
the earth alone, but to the star too, be
cause of his sister's angel gone before.
There was a baby born to be a brother
to the child; and while he was so little
that lie never yet had spoken word, he
stretched his tiny form out on his bed,
Again the child dreamed of the opened
star, and of the company of angels, and
the train of people, and the rows of an
gels, with their beaming eyes all turned
upon those people's faces.
Said his sister's angel to the leader,
"Is my brother come'!"
And he replied, "Not that one, but
As the child beheld his brother's an
gel in her arms, he cried, "0, sister, I
am here! Take me!" And she turned
and smiled upon him, and the star was
He grew to be a young man, and was
busy at his books, when an old .servant
Caine to him, and said:
"Thy mother is no more. I bring her
blessing on her darling son."
Again at night he saw the star, and all
that former company. Said his sister's
angel to the leader :
"Is my brother come'!"
And he said, "Thy mother !"
A mighty cry of joy went forth thro'
all the star,
because the mother was re
united to her two children. And he
stretched out his arms, and cried, "0,
mother, sister and brother, I am here!
Take me!" Arid they answered, "Not
yet," and the star was shining.
He grew to be a man, whose hair was
turning gray, and he was sitting in his
chair by the fire-side, heavy with grief,
and with his • face bedewed with tears,
when the star opened once again.
Said his sister's angel to the leader,
"Is my brotl.er come 1"
And lie said, "Nay, but his maiden
And the man who had been the child,
saw his daughter, newly lost to him, a
celestial crea.ure, among those three,
and he said, "My daughter's head is on
my sister's bosom, and her arm is round
my mother's neck, and at her feet there
Is the baby of old time, and I can bear
the parting from her. Owl be praised!"
And the star was shining.
Thus the child came to be an old man,
and his once smooth face was wrinkled,
and his steps were slow and feeble, and
his back was bent. And one night, as
he lay upon his bed, his children stand.
Mg round, he cried, as he had cried so
long ago :.
Wee the star !"
They whispered one another, "He is
And he said, "I am ; my age is fall
ing from me like a garment, and I move
towards the star as a child. And 0, my
Father, now I thank thee that it has so
often opened to receive those dear ones
who await me." -
And the star was shining; and it
shines upon his grave.
A Striking Thought.
" The death of an old roan's wife,"
says Lamartine, "is like cutting down
an ancient oak that has long shaded the
family mansion. Henceforth the glare
of the world, with Its cares and vicissi
tudes, falls upon the old widower's heart,
and there is nothing to break their force
or shield him from the full weight of
misfortune. It is as if his right hand
was withered—as if one wing of his
eagle teas broken, and every movement
that he made brought him to the ground.
His eves are dim and glassy, and when
the film of dentn falls over hint he mis
ses those accustomed tones which might
have soothed his passage to the grave."
[r"-The love of a cross woman, they
sny, is stronger than the love f any
other female individual you can start.—
Like vinegar, the affections of a high
strung woman never spoil. It is the
sweet wines that become acidulated, not
the sour ones. Recollect this my dear
hearers, and court accordingly.
[Q'A plank - road is to be constructed
from Cumberland, Md. to Bedford, Pa.
HUNTINGDON, PA., TUESDAY, JUNE 11, 1850.
The Old Man And The Snow Flake.
BY SIIBS C. W. BARBEL
'Tie Nature's la's►
That none—the meanest of created things—
Of forms created the most vile and brutish,
The dullest or most noxious, shall exist.
Divorced from good."
Near the close of a rough autumn day
a wary man sat down beneath the na
ked branches of an aged oak. His gar
ments were worn threadbare, and his
teeth chattered in the wind, which swept
in fitful gusts around him.
" Oh," said he, "this is a wicked
world ! The smiles of Fortune are as
changeful as an April day—one moment
sunshine, the next shade. I never thought
that I should be as poor as I am now,
that I should ever come to this. There
was a time when I was blith as a lark
and gay as the morning. My pockets
were well filled with gold and silver—
friends bowed and smiled around me—a
h.,ppy wife and rosy-cheeked children
were mine. But my riches "took to
themselves wings," and my friends de
serted me—my wife is dead, and my
children cry for a crust of bread. Alas!
alas! how sad is my condition I"
A snow-flake which had listened to
the ptior man's moans, looked out from
beneath a withered leaf and thus addres
Alr! my good friend, 1 am sorry to
hear such complaints from you. It will
not do for you to wear that settled look
of despair. The best thing we can do
in adversity is to "hope on—hope ever l"
as sweet Mary Hewitt bath said. My
life has, in some respects, resembled
yours. I was a brilliant rain-drop once
and floated in the bosom of the blue
cloud, or slept in the bell of the lily, dr
at the heart of the rose. The summer
birds waved their wings and sung their
sweetest songs above me. Sometimes
the beautiful belle, who was bound for
the ball-room, took me upon her jewel
led finger to' bathe her brew and lips,
and when I returned to earth again, I
joined the noisy stream arid dashed on
ward to the green waves of the ocean.
My life seemed one long sunny day of
delight. But this blighting freezing
weather came, and I was congealed in a
flake of snow— , -now I am blown about by
every saucy wind. If I presume to kiss
' the cheek of the gay damsel, I-he brush
es me off with her fur-covered finger
and shivers to let me know that I am an
intruder. lam not admitted into the
halls of the rich, and even the beggar
seeks to expel me from his hovel.
" But I am far from despairing ; 1 am
going to observe everything that trans
pires around me and note down all my
wants, so that 1 may know if I ever
again become a ruin-drop, how to pity
the flake of snow."
Just then a sudden gust of wind tur
ned the leaf over beneath which the
si.ow-flake was hidden, and a yellow
sunbeam cane melted it. Its feathery
form assumed that of a brilliant crystal.
A smile of delight came to the lips of
the way-faring man.
" Oh," said he "what a foolish fellow
I was to think he,
the wheel of For
tune would always keep me down. 1
shall yet rise above all war.t ; I Fee my
fate mirrored in that rain drop. 1 will
rise and go my way with a cheerful heart,
while 1 keep a sharp look out for the
sunbeam of fortune.
What an Influence
There are at least three millions of
mothers in the United States. These
mothers, aside from older children, have
it is supposed, between two and three
hundred thousand infants in their charge.
Nu influence, at present, can reach these
infant minds but that of u mother. These
minds may be moulded at the will or
discretion of these mothers. If this ar
my of mothers should combine to arcom-
Wish any given object, what might they
not do If every mother should imi
tate the example of Hannah the old, and
consecrate her infant to the service of
the Lord, what could withstand such a,
moral influencel And let from these
infants are to come our rulers, our jud
ges, our ministers, and all the influence,
either for good or evil, which is to sway
the destinies of the nation.
Q:" Look into the deep grotto, where
little silent tears have created the pil•
tars of the earth, and the splendor of
heaven now plays upon them. Thy tears
and griefs, oh, man ! will soon shine as
stars, and bear thee up like the pillars of
A COUNTRY youth who had returned
home from a visit to the city, was asked
by his anxious dad if he had been guard•
ed in his conduct while there. 'O, yes,'
replied the ingenious lad, '1 was guarded
by two constables most of the time.'
7Some one has defined the word
'policy' to consist in serving God in a
manner not to offend Satan.
i , Lin is Sweet."
DY MISS CATUARINE S6DOWIO6.
It was a summers morning. I was a
wakened by the rushing of a distant en
gine, bearing along a tide of men to their
busy day in a great city. Cool sea•bree
zes stole through the pine trees embow
ering my dwelling ; the aromatic pines
breathed out their reedy music : the
humming-bird was fluttering over the
honey-suckle at my window ; the grass
glittered with dew-drops. A maiden was
coining from the dairy across the lawn,
with a silver mug of new milk in her
hand ; by the other hand she led a child.
The young woman was in the full beauty
of ripened and perfect womanhood.. Her
step was elastic and vigorous ; moderate
labor had developed withont impairing
her fine person. Her face beamed with
intelligent life, conscious power, calm
dignity, and sweet temper. "How sweet
is lile to this girl!" 1 thought, as, res.
pected and respecting, she sustains her
self in domestic life, distilling her pure
influence into thelittle creature she holds
by the hand ! And how sweet then was
life to that child ! Her little form was
so erect and strong—so firmly knit to
outward life—her step so free and joy
ous!—her fair hair, so bright that it
seemed as if a sunbeam came from it, as
it lay parted on that brow where an in
finite capacity had set its seal. And that
spiritual eye—so quickly perceived, so
eagerly exploring; and those sweet lips
—love, arid laughter, and beauty are
there. Now she snatches a tuft of flow
ers from the grass—now she springs to
meet her playmate, the young, frisky
dog—and now she is shouting playfully;
he has knocked her over, and they are
rolling on the turf together!
Before three months had passed away,
she had laid down the beautiful garments
of her mortality; she had entered the
gates of immortal life; and those who
followed her to its threshold, felt that, to
the end, and in the end, her ministry had
been roost sweet. " Life is sweet" to
the young, with their unfathomless hopes
and their unlimited imaginings. It is
sweeter still with the varied realization
Heaven has provided the ever-changing
loveliness and mysterious process of the
outward world, in the inspiration of art
—in the excitement of magnanimous
deeds—in the joys of the mother—the
toils and harvest of the father—in the
countless blessings of hallowed domes
"Life is sweet" to the seeker of wis
dom, and to the lover of science, and all
progress, and each discovery, is a joy
" , Life is sweet" to the true lovers of
their race; and the unknown and un
praised good they do by word, or look,
or deed, is joy ineffable.
But not alone to the wise, to the learn
ed, to the young, to the healthful, to the
gifted, to the happy, to the vigorous
doer of good, is "life sweet ;" for the
poor and patient sufferer it has a divine
"What," I asked a friend, who had
been on a delicious country excursion,
"did you see that best pleased you 1"
She replied, "My cousin took me to
see a man who had been a clergy man in
the Methodist connection. He had suf.
fered from a nervous rheumatism, and
from a complication of diseases aggrava.
red by ignorant drugging. Every mos•
de in his body, excepting those which
move his eyes and tongue, is paralyzed.
His limbs have lost the human form.—
He has not laid on a bed fur seven yours.
He suffcrs acute pain. He has invente , l
a chair which affords him some alluvia.
Lion. His feelings are fresh and kindly,
and his mind is unimpaired. He reads
constantly. His book is fixed in a frame
before him, and he manages to turn the
leaves by an instrument which lie moves
with his tongue. He has an income of
thirty dollars. This pittance, by the
vigilant economy of his wife, and some
aid from kind rustic neighbors, bring
the year rotund. His wife is ie most
gentle, patient, and devoted of loving
nurses. She never has too much to do,
to do all well ; no wish or thought goes
beyond the unvarying circle of her con,
jugal duty. Her love is abounding as
his wants—her cheerfulness as sure as
the rising sun. She has not for years
slept two hours conse.quively.
I did not know which most to rever
ence, his patience or hers ! and so I said
to them. "Ah !" said the good man, with
a smile, "life is is still sweet to me ; how
can it but be so with such a wife!"
0, ye who live amidst alternate sun
shine and showers of plenty, to whom
night brings sleep and daylight freshness
—ye murmurers and complainers who
fret in the harness of life till it gall you
to the bone--who recoil at the lightest
burden and shrink from a passing cloud
—consider the magnanimous sufferer
my friend described, and learn the di
vine art that_can distil sweetness from
the bitterest cup! •
A Tiresome Guest.
i , lie sits and will forever sit."
There is belonging to the race of hn
' man bipeds a sort of troublesome beings,
who, setting no value on their own time,
care very little how much they trespass
upon that of their more industrious
neighbors. They are a sort of stay-for
ever persons, who, having talked over
the whole world at one sitting, commence
and talk it over anew from beginning to
end, before they are ready to take their
leave—in a word they sit, and sit, and
sit, tong enough to justify the motto we
have just quoted. Beside their dispo
sition to bang on, there is generally
about these persons n wonderful habi
tude, a slowness in taking a hint, unpar
alleled with the rest of the human race.
To give a single instance of this sitting
propensity, we will introduce the story
of a plain spoken old lady from the land
of steady habits.
" 1 never seed the beat of that ere
Captain Spinout," said she—"would you
believe it, he called at our house last
night just as 1 was done milking, and
wanted to borrow my brass kettle for
his wife to make apple sauce in. "Oh,
yes," says I, "She may have it and wel
come, Captain Spinout," and 1 went di
rectly and fetched it out of the back
room and set it down before him. Well
presently our tea was ready, and I
couldn't do no more than nx him to take
a cup with us. "Oh, no," he said, he
couldn't stay a minit ; but, however, he
concluded he'd take a drink of cider
with my husband, and so he did. Well,
after I'd done tea, I took my knitting
work, and sit down till I rather thought
all honest people should be abed. But
Captain Spinout had forgot his hurry,
and there he was sittin' and talkin' with
my husband as fast as ever. I hate
above all things to be rude, but I couldn't
help of h intin' to the Captain that it was
growin' late, and maybe his wife was
waiting for the kettle. But he didn't
seem to take the hint at all—there he sot
and sot, and sot.
Fin . ding that words wouldn't have
any effect, 1 next rolled up my knitting
work, sot back the chairs and told the
girls it was time to go to bed—but the
Captain didn't mind it no more than
nothin' at all—there he sot, and sot, and
" Well, next I pulled off my shoes,
roasted my feet as I commonly do jist
afore going to bed—but the — Captain
didn't mind it no more than nothtn' at
all—there he sot, and sot, and sot.
t. I then kivered up the fire, and
thought he could not then help takin'
the hint—but la me: he didn't take no
notice on't at all—not the least grain on
the world—hut there be sot, and sot, and
"Thinks I, you're pretty slow at ta
king the hint Captain Spinout—so I sed,
sort c' plainly, that I- thought itwas bed
time—speaking always to my husband
—but jist so as I thought the Captain
couldn't help takin' it to himself, but la!
it did no good at all—for there he sot,
and sot, and sot,
" Seein' there warnt no likelihood of
his goin' home, I axed him to stay all
Oh, no,' Bed he, he couldn't possibly
stay a minit, so seein' there warn't no
use in sayin' anything I went to bed,—
But la me! would you think it, when I
got up in the inornin' as sure as you're
alive, there he was a sotten yet.
AN ENGLISH SNEER REBUKED.—CarIyIe
in his last pamphlet, speaking of Amer
ica, asks : "What great human soul,
what great thought, what great noble
thing that one could worship or loyalty
admire, has yet been produced there 1"
"What great human F 0111 1" WASHING
TON. "W hat great thought 1" LIBERTY.
"What great noble thing 1" A home
for the homeless. Bread for the starving.
Protectio.l for the oppressed. We do
not know that these are things which
syco , hants could worship, or loyalty ad
mire but the fame of the first, the sacred
ness of the second, and the uncircum
scribed extent of the third, are what
. freemen admire, and intend to defend.
[j-" The dew-drops sink softly in
the hollow mountains, but are petrified
into hard and sharp angels. More beau
tiful is the human tear. It penetrates
and wounds the eye, but the wept dia
mond is liquid, and when the eye seeks
it, behold it is like the dew in the cup of
:7..He who swallows up the subsis
tence of the poor, will, in the end, find
that it contains a bone that will choke
INDUSTRY.—As the sweetest rose grows
upon the sharpest prickle, so the hard
est labor brings forth the sweetest profitS.
11_7•4 calumny, though known to be
such leayes a stain upon the reputation.
VOL. XV, NO. 28.
filits Ways are not as Our Ways."
Once upon a time there lived a her.
mit, who in a solitary cell passed night
and day in the service of his God. Not
far from his retreat an humble shepherd
tended his flock. Happening one day
to fall into a deep slumber, a robber car
ried off his sheep. The owner of them,
turning a deaf ear to the excuses of his
servant, ordered him to be put to death
for his negligence--a proceeding which
gave great offence to the hermit. "Oh,
heaven !" he exclaimed, "the innocent
suffer for the guilty, and yet is uneven.
ged by God! I will quit His service,
and enter the giddy odd once more."
He accordingly left his hermitage; but
the Almighty willed that he should not
be lost, and an angel, in the form of man,
was sent to bear him company. Having.
made each et• er's acquaintance, they
walked on together towards a crowded
city. They entered it nt nightfall, and
`entreated shelter at the bouseof a most
noble captain. He took them in, gave
them a most sumptuous supper ' and then
conducted them to a bed-chamber deco.
rated in the highest style of art. In the
middle of the night the ang e l rose, and
,going stealthily to an adjoining apart
ment, strangled the entertainer's only
child, who was sleeping in iris cradle.—
The hermit was horror-struck, but durst
not reprove his murderous companion,
who, though in human form, exercised
over hint the influence of a superior be
ing. in the mori.ing they nrose, and
went on to another city, where they were
hospitably treated by one of the princi.
pal inhabitants. This person possessed,
and greatly prized a massive golden cup.
In the night the angel stole it. Again
the hermit held his peace through fear s
On the morrow they continued their
journey, and having met a pilgrim on
the bridge, the angel requested him to
become their guide. He consented, but
had not gone ninny yards with them be,
fore the angel seized him by the should
ers and hurled him into the stream.—
The hermit now came to the conclusion
that his companion was a devil, and long,
ed for an opportunity of leaving him se.
cretly. As the vesper bell was ringing,
they reached a third city, and again en
treated shelter; but the burgess to whom
they applied was a churl, and would not
admit them into his house. He said,
that if they liked they might
slew,' in his pig-sty. Not being able to
procure a better loding, they did so, and
in the morning their surly host receiv
ed, as his remuneration, the purloined
goblet. The hermit now thought the
angel was a madman, and told him they
"Not until 1 have explained my con,
duct," said the angel. "Listen, and then
go thy way. I have been sent to unfold
to thee the mysteries of Providence.--
When thou west in thy hermitage, the
owner of a flock unjustly put his slave to
death, and by so doing moved thy wrath;
but the shepherd, being the victim of
ignorance and precipitate anger, will
enjoy eternal bliss, whilst the master
will not enter heaven until he has been
tormented by remorse on earth, and pit.
rifled by fire in purgatory. I strangled
the child of our first host, because, be.
fore his son's birth, he performed many
works of mercy, but afterwards grew
covetous to enrich his heir. God in his
love is sometimes forced to chastise,
and beneath the tears of the sorrowing
parent his piety will spring again. I
stole the cup of our second host, because,
when the wine smiled brightly in it, it
tempted htm to sin. 1 cast the pilgrim
into the water, because God willed to
reward his former faiths with everlasting
happiness, but knew that if he lingered
any longer here below, he would be gni!.
ty of a mortal sin. And busily, I repaid
the niggardly hospitality of our third
host with such a bounteous boon, to
teach him for the future to be more gen
erous. Henceforth, therefore, put a seal
upon thy presumptuous lips, and con
demn not the All-wise in thy mole-eyed
The hermit, hearing this, fell at the
angel's feet, and pleaded earnestly for
pardon, He received it, and returned to
his hermitage, where he lived for many
years a pattern of humility and faith, and
at length sweetly fell asleep in Christ.
SWEET GIRL!.—A Man travelling at
the west, declare. the wind came to him
so laden with fragrance, that he thought
he was near a garden of roses. He dis
covered that it was only a bevy of girls
going through the woods,
As Bees can breed no poison,
though they suck the deadliest juices—
so the noble mind, tho' forced to drain
the cup of misery, can yield but genet.
ous thoughts and noble deeds.
"Law me !" exclaimed Mrs. Par.
tington, "1 didn't know afore that they
fought in court ; but 1 see by the pipers
hat the Judge charg,l the Jury.