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BY JAS. CLARK,
CHOICE POETRY
THE BLIND GIRL'S SONG.
FLOWERS, they say, are springing now,
Within the wild wood shade,
And ev'ry tree and waving bough
Is beauteously arrayed.
'They tell me skies are sweetly bright,
With hues of many kinds—
slut why tell me of joy and light—
Fot oh I I'm blind—l'm blind I
They speak of birds with sunny wings,
That leap from tree to tree—
Of bills and vales, and bubbling springs,
Of ocean, lake and sea;
And those glad streams that glide away,
And through the meadows wind—
I3ut why tell me 1 I am not gay I
For still I'm blind—l'm blind I
They say I have a sister dear,
Who comes and kisses me,
A little cherub without fear,
That sits upon my knee.
Would I could see her joyous face,
As imaged on my mind—
But ale! no feature I may trace,
For still I'm blind—l'm blind !
And father, mother, sister, friends,
These eyes must never see !
Must never answer Nature's ends,
But sightless, sunless, be.
On earth I may not share the bliss,
That others fondly find—
Alas ! I know, I feel but this,
That still I'm blind—l'm blind!
You tell me, friends, that these closed eyes
Will be unsealed above;
You say, that Goes glad Paradise
Beams only Light and Love!
Oh! then, my p.a;ntive song should cease,
For Death my night will break,
When in that radiant clime of peace,
'Mid Love and Light I'll wake !
MISCELLANEOUS
THE FLOWER-GATHERER.
" God sends upon the wings of Spring,
Fresh thoughts into the breasts of flowers."
THE young and innocent Theresa had
passed the most beautiful part of the
spring upon a bed of sickness; and as
soon as ever she began to regain her
strength, she spoke of flowers, askinz
continually if her favorites were again
as lovely as they had been the year be
fore, when she had been able to seek for
and admire them herself. Erick, the
sick girl's little brother, took a basket,
and showing it to his mamma, said, in a
whisper, "Mamma, 1 will run out and
get poor Theresa the prettiest 1 can find
in the fields." So out he ran, for the
first time for many a long day, and he
thought that spring had never been so
beautiful before ; for he looked upon it
with a gentle and loving heart, and enjoy
ed a run in the fresh air, after having
been a prisoner by his sister's couch,
whom he had never left during her ill
ness. The happy child rambled about,
up bill and down hill. Nightingales
sang, bees hummed, and butterflies flit
ted round him, and the most lovely flow
ers were blowing at his feet. He jum
ped about, he danced, he sang, and wan
dered from hedge to hedge, and from
flower to flower, with a soul as pure as
the blue sky above him, and eyes that
sparkled like a little brook bubbling
from a rock. At last he had filled his
basket quite full of the prettiest flow
ers ; and, to crown all, he had made a
wreath•of field-strawberry flowers which
he laid on the top of it, neatly arranged
on some grass, and one might fancy
them a string of pearls, they looked so
pure and fresh. The happy boy looked
with delight at his lull basket, and put
ting it down by his side, rested himself
in the shade of an oak, on a carpet of
soft green moss. Here he sat looking
•at the beautiful prospect that lay spread
out before him in all the freshness of
spring, and listening to the ever-chan
ging songs of the birds. But he had
really tired himself out with joy ; and
the merry sounds of the fields, the buz
zing of the insects, and the birds' songs
all helped to send him to sleep. And
peacefully the fair child slumbered, his
rosy cheek resting on the hands that
still held his treasured basket.
But while he slept a sudden change
•came on. A storm arose in the heavens,
but a few moments before so blue and
beautiful. Heavy masses ofclouds gath
ered darkly and ominously together;
the lightning flashed, and the thunder
rolled louder and nearer. Suddenly a
gush of wind roared in the boughs of
the oak, and startled the boy out of his
quiet sleep. He POW the whole heavens
veiled by black clouds ; not a sunbeam
gleamed over the fields, and a heavy
clap of thunder followed his waking.—
The child stood up, bewildered at the
sudden change; and now the rain began
to patter through the leaves of the oak,
so he snatched up his basket, and ran
towards home as fast as his legs could
carry him. The storm seemed to burst
over his head. Rain, hail and thunder,
striving for the mastery, almost deafen
ed him, and made him more bewildered
every minute. Water streamed from
his poor soaked curls down his shoulders
and he could scarcely see to find his
way homeward. All on a sudden a more
violent gust of wind than usual caught
the treasured basket, and scattered all
his carefully collected flowers far away
over the field. His patience could en
dure no longer for his face grew distor
ted with rage, and he flung the empty
basket from him, with a burst of anger.
Crying bitterly, and thoroughly wet, he
reached at last his parents' house in a
pitiful plight.
But soono another change appeared;
the storm passed away, and the sky
grew clear again. The birds began
,their songs anew, the countryman his
labor. The air had become cooler and
purer, and a bright calm seemed to lie
lovingly in every • valley and on every
hill. What a delicious odor rose from
the freshened fields! and their cultiva
tors looked with grateful joy at the de
parting clouds which had poured the
fertilizing rain upon them. The sight
of the blue sky soon tempted the fright
ened boy out again, and being by this
time ashamed of his ill-temper, he went
very quietly to look for his discarded
basket, and to try and fill It again. He
seemed to feel a new life within him.—
The cool breath of the air—the smell of
the fields—the leafy trees—the warbling
birds, all appeared doubly beautiful af
ter the storm, and the humiliating con
sciousness of his foolish and unjust ill
temper softened and chastened his joy.
After a long search he espied the basket
lying on the slope of a hill, for a bram.
ble-bush bad caught it, and sheltered it
from the violence of the wind. The
child felt quite thankful to the ugly-look
ing bush, as he disentangled the basket.
But how great was his delight, on
looking around him, to see the fields
spangled with flowers, as numerous as
the stars of heaven ! for the rain had
nourished into blossom thousands of
daisies, opened thousands of buds and
scattered pearly drops on every leaf.—
Erick flitted about like a busy bee, and
gathered away to his heart's content.—
The sun was now near his setting, and
the happy child hastened home with his
basket full once more. How delighted
he was with his flowery treasure, and
with the pearly garland of fresh straw
berry-flowers ! But his eyes sparkled
much more joyously when he received
the kisses and thanks of his gentle sis
ter. "Is it not true, dear," said his
mother, "that the pleasures we prepare
for others are the best of all'!"
“Oh! Woman, but it's Gude I”
The Rev. John Brown, the well known
author of the Self•lnterpreting Bible,
was a man of singular bashfulness. In
token of the truth of this statement, it
need only be stated that his courtship
lasted seven years. Six years and a half
had passed away, and the reverend gen
tleman had got no further forward than
he had been the first six days. This
state of things became intolerable. A
step in advance must be made, and Mr.
Brown summoned all his courage for
the deed.
"Janet," said he, as they sat in sol
emn silence, "we've been acquainted for
six years an' mair, and I've ne'er gotten
a kiss yet. D'ye think I might take one
my bonnie girl 'I" .
"Just as - you like, John, only be be:
coming and proper wi' it."
~S urely, Janet, we'll ask a blessing."
The blessing asked, the kiss was taken,
and the worthy divine, overpowered with
the blissful sensation, most rapturously
exclaimed :
"Oh, woman! but its gude. We'll
return thanks."
Six months made the pious couple
man and wife; and, added his descend
ant, who humorously told the tale, a
happier couple never spent a long and
useful life together.
MRS. PARTINGTON'S LAST.—"An Act
to take the sense of the People, well I
vow," said Mrs. Partington "if things
ain' t cocain' to a pretty pass these Legis
latures want to take every thing away
from a body—l think they might have
left the senses alone, there's precious
little of 'em to spare any how ;" so say
ing, the old lady dropped her specs and
relapsed into a profound melancholy.
[J-Capt. Rynders gave a very lively
illustration of the text, "Union is
strength," when he described a place he
had slept in crossing the Isthmus on
his way to California. Said he, "if the
fleas had been unanimous, they would
have lifted me out of bed." .
ri-WirAT literary men would a man
name on looking at a house on fire?—
Dickens Howitt, Burns.
HUNTINGDON, PA., TUESDAY, JUNE 25, 1850.
YOUTH AND LOVE.
Youth and Love one Spring-day met,
'Twas sunny April weather;
Said Love, "Ere yonder sun is set,
Let's take a stroll together."
Said Youth, "With all my heart will I,"
And hand in hand they wended;
The moon was low in the western sky
When this lone walk was ended.
They talked of Beauty, Nature, Truth,
Each eye the other's meeting,
And ne'er since life began, to Youth,
Had hours seemed half so fleeting.
Said Youth, "Since Were so happy now,
Why not remain united ?"
Love pressed a kiss upon Youth's brow,
And thus their troth was plighted.
So binding was the vow they breathed,
It ne'er in life was broken,
And Youth, in death, a kiss bequeathed,
As Love's own proper token.
Since then, 'tis said that Love's first kiss
Is of Love's joy the dearest,
And, of all sublunary bliss,
It is to Heaven the nearest.
And though from death Love cannot save,
Nor render Youth immortal,
'Twill, loyal, fallow to the grave,
And with him pass its portal.
Lilian More; or the Blighted Bud.
NY FANNY FORRESTER,
Poor Lilly !" said, or rather sighed
Rachel Blair, as she laid her knitting on
a small square table by which she was
seated, and walked for the twentieth
time, to the window. She was followed
as she had been each time previous, by
her brother Arthur; and, in a moment
they were joined by the great house dog,
which laid his cold nose on her hand,
and whined sympathetically, then look
ed up into her face, as though to assure
her that he participated in her anxiety.
After gazing, wishfully for a moment
from the window, against which the
chilling sleet was driving furiously, Ra
chel turned toa little rose bush that stood
beside it, and began loosening the soil
round the root ; although it was before
as mellow as the little stick resting aga
inst the rim of the jar, and precisely the
right quantity of moisture, could make
it.
"It will blow out by to-morrow," re
marked Arthur, in a low, timid tone, as
though afraid of his own voice.
" I suppose it will," said his sister.
and then she sighed again.
"It is just like Lilly," said the boy.
" Poor Lilly !"
" So pale and sweet."
And so fragile. Just like her."
The boy was evidently anxious to say
a comforting word ; but he only looked
at Rachel, and then nt the dog, and then
returning to his seat gazed fixedly into
the fire.
Rachel and Arther wero the only chil
dren of good old farmer Blair ; but there
was another who was a sister to them,
and a daughter, a well beloved and af
fectionate daughter, to their parents.—
Lilian More was a dear little orphan
cousin, who had been but six months
only an inmate of her uncle's house;
but in that short space she had woven
herself so closely around their hearts,
that sweet Lilly's will was the law of
the entire household. Lilian was a de
licate blossom, a tender flower, more
fragile than the pale spring buds she lov
ed so well ; and she required the train
ing of a careful hand. She spent the
summer in the green fields, and beneath
the shady trees, watched over and guar
ded by her kind cousin Rachel, and the
careful Arthur ; and when autumn came
she went away to the busy city, to spend
the winter months with a fashionable
aunt ; for thus it had been decreed that
she should divide her life between her
two guardians. Lilian's parting gift to
her cousin was a beautiful ruse-bush that
she had brought with her to the farm
house, and that seemed almost identi
fied with herself.
6 , Take care of it," she said, "till I
come back. Aunt Brayton has promised
that I shall spend the holidays here, and
you must have n rose to give me on
New Year's morning—do you hear, coz 1
A real rose, with it's own sweet smell to
it, and not a flower cut out of painted
muslin."
Perhaps Lilian forgot her rose-bush,
and thought no more of the gift she had
asked ; but It is certain that Rachel did
not. She had never cared for flowers
before, for the heart is in a great meas
ure the regulator of the taste; but the
remembrances of the absent idol hallow
ed this rose-bush, and her devotion to it
increased until there mingled with it a
deep tinge of superstition. She shielded
it from even sun and rain until it began
to droop ; and then she feared her sweet
cousin was in trouble, and wrote a letter
of inquiry, but Lilian was in usual
health, and even more than usual spirits.
The gentle, simple, spiritually lovely
girl, who had traversed the green wood,
and been delighted with the robin and
bob-o-huh, now told of the exhilarating
dance and midnight music, and seemed
to love them. Rachel wept, and won
dered if Lilly would be ashamed of the
old farm, and her country cousins, when
summer came again ; and then she blam
ed her heart for its distrusts and selfish
ness ; and was vexed to find that she
could be grieved by anything which
made Lilly unhappy.
As winter approached, Rachel's treat
ment of the rose-bush was more judi
cious, and it gradually improved, until
to the delight of the whole family, a
tiny bud pressed out from the midst of
the green leaves. Oh! how watchfully
did Rachel guard that bud ! Arthur's
eyes glistened with satisfaction as he
looked upon it; and even old Carlo, the
house dog, seemed to understand that it
was something quite too precious for a
dog to appreciate.
As the holidays drew near, old farmer
Blair began to make preparations for
bringing home the favorite. His sleigh
was newly painted ; a string of bells and
a new buffalo robe were purchased, and
his good lady had duly prepared the
double yarn mittins and the muffler's be
fore any one had dreamed of the possi
bility of a disappointment. Then came
a letter saying that Lilian was ill—it
was only a slight cold, taken at an eve
ning party, but it would probably detain
her until after Christmas. A cloud, du
ring that day and the ensuing one, res
ted on every thing at that farm house,
and at evening another letter came.—
Lilian was no better ; indeed, she might
be worse. She was feverish, and,seem
ed quite unlike her usual self; and poor
Mrs. Brayton scarce knew what to do
with her, for she begged continually
to be taken to her old uncle and cousins.
The old man shed tears ; (he had not
wept when Lilian's mother died, although
she was his sister,) and the good dame
was sure they ought to go to the child,
for a better or more loving one never
trod the earth. "Bring her back ! be
sure you bring her back with you," said
Rachel, as she saw her parents seated in
the sleigh, on the Christmas morning
that had long been the subject of bright
anticipations. "Tell aunt Brayton we
will nurse her :—oh, so carefully ! And
am sure she will get well again."
The old people bad been gone almost
a week, and it was now the last evening
of the year."
Sadly did Rachel turn from the win
dow ; and strangely tremulous was her
voice, as site replied to her brother's en
couraging words,— _
"No, no, Arthur; they will not come
to-night !—Poor Lilly !"
Oh, what anxious hearts sought rest
in the farm-house that night. • Early in
the morning Arthur was astir ; for who
could sleep when the fate of a loved one
site uncertain 1 He built a fire, and kin
dled it into a blaze; swept the hearth:
stone, and shoveled away the snow that
had during the night, drifted in before
the door ; and then he went to look at
the bud they had watched so carefully,
and see if it had opened. The leaves
looked stinted half transparent, with a
delicate tracery of white along their ed
ges ; and the poor boy clasped his hands
together in silent consideration, while
the tears gashed from his eyes and roll
ed unheeded down his cheek. In a mo
ment he was joined by Rachel, she look
ed on the ruined treasure calmly, and
only sighed, "Poor Lilly !" as she had
done the evening previous. Cold water
is the only remedy that Arthur could
advise ; but it was useless. The frozen
bud soon dropped, and they knew that
the expected flower had perished.
With the blighted rose-bush passed
all Rachel's anxiety. She was very
sad, but no longer restless; for as 1 have
before said, her devotion to the flower
was tinged with superstition, and she
imagined it closely linked with her cous
in's destiny. I said imagined, and I
suppose it is what the world would say,
but I know not why the gentle and pure
spirit, and the beautiful in person, may
not have their types in birds or flowers
and the other fair frail things to which
they seem so closely allied.
Rachel Blair laid the blighted bud
away, and told her brother Arthur that
she was sure their sweet cousin had
gone to heaven to join her sister angels.
And so she had. When she was brought
back to them, her hands were crossed
within the coffin ; and sorrowfully they
had laid her down ; in the flowers she
loved so while living.
The blighted bud had grown hard and
dry ; but Rachel still preserves it among
her most precious treasures; and the
blossoms from the parent tree which
flourishes, are thrown on Lilian's grave.
0:7-It is not always a mark of kind
ness to possess an open countenance.—
An alligator is a deceitful creature, and
yet he presents an open countenance
when in the very act of taking you in.
°
n. 4) antliof
Retirement.---Beautiful Extract.
"0, for a Jodge in soma vast wilderness."
Serene, soothing retirement! what rest
thou bringest to the care-worn mind, la
den with anxieties, and swaying to and
fro in the busy whirl of life's unsatisfy
ingtumult.
`.Chafed with disappointment and vex
ation, man turns to thee for refuge; the
gilded bait so long pursued has grown
dim, and the once keen eye of ambition
is now half closed with weary gaze.—
Sated with all but happiness, lie sighs
fot thee, nor sighs in folly ; for fond
"Remembrance soothes his mind
With dreams of former days."
Back, baek to the hours when sun
shine and joy attended every step, flies
the willing mind, and before it spring up
in charming concord the nooks, the
glens, the hills, the flowers of "other
days departed."
"How balmy from the bank of flowers
The zephyr breathes along."
Yes! 'tis the breeze that fanned my
childhood's cheek ; lo ! it has returned
once more. In thy serene embrace, 0,
solitude ! it comes to hush my woes, and
bid me "in the lap of peace" once more
recline.
There are times when solitude will
prove an antidote more sure than aught
else beside; and there are hearts rough
and stern as the unbewn oak, while min
gling with the world, that melt to ten
derness in its calm retreat.
Then sacred, thrice sacred, be retire
ment's amaranthine grove, where neither
care, distrust, nor envy dwell.
Reader, try it ! Go, when "day's lin
gering light decays"—go to the secret
place where no intruder marks thy steps,
and learn from solitude a lessor. ; and
would'st thou have the full enjoyment of
the hour, kneel ! yea, kneel before "the
throne," and hold an audience with the
Deity, who, perchance, some bright
plumed angel will send down to wipe thy
tears away, and bid thee live for heaven,
The Sabbath.
Let us thank God for the Sabbath—
the cairn, quiet, soothing Day of Rest—
the poor man's holiday from toil—the
world's monitor of Heaven. It is the
interest as well as the duty of every one
—the poor especially—to licep the Sab
bath. The institution is a wise and beni
ficent one, and all should observe It with
circumspection :
Let us give thanks, with grateful soul,
To Him who sendeth all;
To Him who bids the planets roll,
And sees a "sparrow fall."
Though grief and tears may dim our joys,
And care and strife arrest,
'Tis man, too often, that alloys
The lot his Maker blest
While sunshine lights the boundless sky,
And dew drops feed the sod—
While stars and rainbows live on 'high—
Let us give thanks to God.
CHILDHOOD.-"REJOICE now in your
plays, blooming children ! When you
again become children through age, you
, will bend beneath infirmities and gray
hairs ; and in that melancholly play,
the days of infancy will be remembered.
The western sky may indeed shut down
the aurora, and the eastern glow may be
reflected in the west, but the clouds be
come darker, and no second sun arises
in life. 0! rejoice, then, children, in
the rose color of the morning of life,
that gilds you like painted flowers, flut
tering to meet the sun."
ID-There seems to be no end to the
smart sayings of Mrs. Partington. We
have heard that whilst going along the
street the other day, she saw over a tai
lor's door, a sign bearing the inscription
`Fountain of Fashion. 'Al,!' exclaim
ed she, 'that is the place where squirts
come from,'—at the same time casting
a malignant squint at a couple of young
men with incipient whiskers and stan
ding collars. A woman of great per
ception is Mrs. Partington.
E 7 -Aristotle speaks of a species of
little animals which exist on the river
Hyparies, whose age is but a day.—'
Those which die at eight in the morning
are in youth ; and those which fall away
at noon are in their prime ; and at night
fall they drop away of decrepit old age.
What a beautiful miniature of our own
existence,—how eaey to comprehend—
how readily the mind spans its brevity !
A WELL KNOWN FACT.—Nobody blames
a rich man for going with his elbows out
because every one knows that he has
money enough to get a new coat ; but it
is unpardonable in a poor man to go rag
ged, because every one knows it is out
of his power to do otherwise. How un
charitable.
[D- Why is a handsome young lady's
lips like a persimmon 1 Because the
more you taste them the more they draw.
VOL, XV, NO, 25.
What is Dirt i
Old Dr. Cooper, of South Carolina,.
used to say to his students:
"Don't be afraid of a little dirt, young
gentlemen. What is dirt 1 Why noth
ing at all offensive, when chemically
viewed. Rub a little alkali upon that
'dirty grease spot' on your coat, and it
undergoes a chemical change and be
comes soap. Now rub it with a little
water, and it disappears; it is neither
greare, soap, water, nor dirt. That is
not a very odorous pile of dirt, you ob
serve there. Well, scatter a little gyp
sum over it, and it is no longer dirty.—
Everything you call dirt is worthy your
rotice as students of chemistry. Ana
lyze it ! Analyze it ! It will all sepa
rate into very clean elements.
Dirt makes corn, corn makes bread
and meat, and that makes a very sweet
young lady that I saw one of you kiss
ing last night. So, after all, you were
kissing dirt—particularly if she whiten
ed her skin with chalk or Fuller's earth.
There is no telling what is dirt. Though
I may say that rubbing such stuff upon
the beautiful skin of a young lady, is a
dirty practice. Pearl powder is made
of bismuth—nothing but dirt."
MRS. PARTINGTON ON SHOWER BATHS.
—This much revered and dear old lady,
was persuaded to teke a cold bath, to
cure the rheumatism. She thus descri
bed her sufferings : "You'll catch me at
my time o'life, playing them new fan
gled tricks again may he! Why a cold
bath, to me, is a perfect parallelogram ;
leastways It nearly paralyzed me. Af
ter 1 had been in the water two minutes
I lost all conscientiousness, and it was
at least two minutes after I was took
out before I had any perceptious return
to sensibility."
OZP-The woes of human life nre rela
tive. The sailor springs from his warm
couch to climb the icy topmast at mid
night without a murmur—while the rich
merchant complains of the rattling cart
which disturbs his evening's repose.—
In the time of peace, we announce the
breakage of a bone as a "melancholy
event"—but in war, when we read of
the slaughter of our neighbors and thou
sands of the enemy, we clap our hands
and shout "glorious victory."
[QThere is only ono thingworse than
ignorance, and that is conceit. Of all
intractible fools, an over vise fool is the
worst. You may cause idiots to philos
ophise—you may coax donkics to fore
go thistles—but don't ever think of dri
ving common sense into the head of a
conceited person. They are as impreg
nable to arguments as Gibraltar is to ap
ple dumplings.
[t:;:-" Tommy," said a toping father,
a little "tight," to his son—" Tommy,
hic—my boy, mind your daddy, and
ever walk in his—hic—fuotsteps" , That
might do perhaps," replied the juvenile,
"if I wanted to go into the corkscrew
or Virginia fence business." The pa
ternal guardian raised his cane,butTom
my dodged it.
HOLD HIM.—An abolitionist in Boston
the other day was heard to wish that the
Lord would rain down gun cotton prepa-
ration upon the cotton fields of the South
let it dry in, and then send a shaft of
lightening to blow up the whole country
to glory.
What a magnificent"bust up" it would
be to be sure! Some body ought to
hold that chap.
How TO POLISH A YOUNG MAN.--.4V0
read in a Sheffield paper that "the last
polish to a piece of cutlery Is given by
the hand of woman." The same may
be said of human cutlery ; that "the last
polish to a young blade is given by his
mixing with female society."
Qom" THESE California fellers talk
about going round the born!" soliloqui•
zed Skeesicks, the other night, on the
canal bridge—. Ketch me going round
the born. I never went round a horn in
my life ! Venever I find one in my way
1 allers drinks it up—l does."
117-Mrs. Partington is of the opinion
that Mount Vesuvius should take Town
send's Sarsaparilla, to cure itself of
ruptions ! The old lady thinks it has
been vomiting so long, nothing else would
stay on its stomach.
WANT.-« 1 am afraid that I shall come
to want," said an old lady to a young
one. "I have come to want already,"
was the reply; "I want a nice young
man for a husband."
1:1-A man boasting in company that
he had a very luxuriant head of hair,
one of the fair damsels remarked that it
was entirely owing to the mellowness of
the soil.
K 2 One of the newest ideas is arm
chairs on springs. It gives n kind of
voluktuous thrill just to sit down in one,