Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, July 02, 1850, Image 1
G'i Y JAS. CLARK. CHOICE POETRY A POETIC GEM. The Mantle of Buried ream There are gems that rest in the silent caves Of the deep and boundless sea, And the riches of earth on its bounding waves Is tossed by the breezes free; But I'd give them all for the smiles and tears That lie with the wealth of buried years. There are sands that glitter away in the West, Where ages the rivers have rolled Their clear cold floods to the ocean's breast, O'er beds stir-sprinkled with gold; But what is the wealth of their golden tide To the treasure of years that have vanished away! There are sounds of voices that ever steal back From the depth of by-gone years, And memory bestrews the oft-trodden track Withi its sunshine, its shadow and tears : 0, doubly dear are the gems that lie In the golden years that have flitted by ! As the light fades out Irom the evening cloud, That days have glided away, And the heart is still 'neath the chilly shroud That beats high in life's happy day: 0 ! where is the treasure the wide world bears T 1 At i■ worth one smile from the buried years ! Vague realm of the peat ! how joyous a band Have you called from the home of men, To the silent vales of that shadowy land Whence they come not back again ! Ye gathered years, what treasures ye bear! For the loved and lost to earth are there ! MISCELLANEOUS THE DRUNKARD'S RESCUE. A SURGEON'S STORY. Knock ! knock ! knock ! It was again the familiar night warning. A season of disease, especially fatal to the working people of the town, kept me constantly nt work ; and, well or ill, willing or not, I must be ready at their call. I sprung from my warm bed, and lifting up the window sash, called out, "Who's thereV' "You must come directly, sir, to No. 6 Smith's Yard, and see a child that lies very ill ; it's a neighbor's bairn, sir." "Very well ; I shall be there present ly," was my reply, and I shut down the window. Throwing on my clothes hastily, and a cloak over all, 1 hastened out, and pro ceeded to the house indicated. It was a cold winter's morning,about 5 o'clock. The bitter wind, laden with sleet, caught the at the street corner, and made me draw my cloak closer around me. The factory bells were already ringing, and here and there the huge castles of facto ries were lit up, and poured a thousand streams of light into the darkness. The streets were astir with the factory work ers—men, women, and little girls, who clinged along in pattensthrough the wet snow which sprinkled the ground. Poor children thus early inured to the hard lot of toil ! what a piteous fate was theirs! But tinkling through the air went the importunate bells of the factories, and away they must go. Were they warmly clad 1 Were they fed 1 Were they rested—thus early astir, and exposed to the elements 1 But I stifled my tho'ts and hastened on. I found the house without difficulty. It was situnted in a yard where I had often before been in the course of the last three months called hither by the duties of my profession. Tmius fever in its worst forms had recently been a constant visitor there. It was in the heart of nn ill-drained, filthy neighbor hood, exclusively inhabited by working people. The gutters lay close by the doors ; they did not run, but were stag nant for months together. In such a place the remedies provided by medicine have but little avail. The poison held in solution by the surrounding air baffles the most skilful treatment, and death is almost invariably the victor in the con.' test. Half the children born in this dis trict, I was assured by men of long ex perience, perished under four years old; and the lives of those who survived were sickly, joyless, and miserable. Life with them was only along and painful dying. I found my little patient in the death throes. It was a case of croup of the worst kind. The house was comfortless in the extreme. A few red cinders in the grate struggled for life—a cold fire, more cheerless even than none at all.— The furniture of the room into which 1 .vas ushered, consisted of drawers sadly out of repair, a deal-safe, three or four ticketty chairs, and the miserable truck. on which the dying child lay. A ,00den flight of stairs led to a sleeping ..partment above—of the furniture of which one might form an idea from this, the “best." apartment. The mother of the child held an infant of a few weeks Id at her breast; she was crying bit• terly, for the sad truth was not to be concealed from her. She was dressed in a poor garment, patched in many pia- ' i jniX i iiingbOn 7 Z/ ces, yet she was clean ; the few articles in the apartment, however miserable in other respects, being also as clean as water and scouring could make them.— The floor too, was clean and fresh sand. ed. By whatever means, then, misery had fallen upon this humble household, it did not, at first sight, appear to be the woman's fault; the evidences of her do- mestic industry were obvious. There was a dismal poverty ; that was only too apparent. 'My interest in the poor woman's for tunes was excited by what I saw ; and, after administering some medicine, I en quired how she lived. "We live but poorly, sir," she said ; "no wages have come into the house this week ; and you see," glancing at the in fant in her arms, "that we have just had another little mouth to fill." "Then your husband—' ted, and seeing my doubt— " Alas !" she said, '•1 leave a husband, and yet he is not a husband," and she hung down her head and wept. "Is he in work'!" I enquired. "Work enough, and well paid, for that I part of it; but, sir, you see he has sadly fallen off in his ways since we were married. He has become unsteady— careless of his home and family—and in short, sir, a drunkard." The confession cost her a painful ef fort; and I was almost sorry for having extracted it ; but she proceeded with her story : "When we were married, I thought myself the happiest of women. He eves kind, nffectionate, and steady. I did my best to make things comfortable, and I think I succeeded. We were not always in the poor house you see now, sir; we had as snug and tidy it little home as is to be found in all —; but everybit of furniture has gone now, except what you see. He has taken away one thing after another, and sold them for drink; and 1, for I could not help it, had to pawn my clothes for bread for my children. Mine has become a hard and bitter lot ; and what can a poor woman do, when tied to a wan who has ceased to love her, ceas ed to think of her, and cares only to gratify his craving for drink 'I Form erly, when he came home from work, the house was made comfortable for him and oh ! how I rejoiced at the sound of his coming step ! There was very mu sic in it! But now the sound of his tread makes me shudder; I listen for it as before, but it is in dread. I hear the unsteady step, and my soul sinks within me. That dear little boy, how he loved his father! He clambered about him, and romped and played with him, and the father colt a proud joy in his young son. But that joy, too, was poisoned by the growth. of the new craving for drink which set in upon him, and I even feared that the father began to grudge the food that was necessary to nourish the little thing, as it limited the means of self-indulgence. All is a dreary blank now!" 1 found that the poor child had been called up one cold, raw night, to let the lathsr in, while the mother, unable to rise, was confined to bed with her new born infant. A severe cold was caugh:, which soon assumed the form of croup, and death fixed his relentless talons on the doomed child. That father ! how much had he to answer for! and, did a spark of fatherly feeling yet remain in him, how horror-stricken must he be, when finding the shocking result of his own sinful conduct ! I left the house, giving the poor wo man such comfort us the circumstances would permit; and, truth to say, they were extremely slender. But I resolved in my own mind to have an interview with the man himself, and to point out to him the consequences of his conduct. A few hours after, when the morning light had dawned, I returned to the house. The child had breathed its last a few minutes before I entered. The mother, almost heart-broken, was stunn ed with grief, and tears were all her ut terance. A man, bowed down and hag gard, sat by the fire, the very picture of wretchedness. He started up when I ' entered, and made to the door, but I stood before him and said, "I should like to have a word with you before you go. You are, I presume, the father of that child 1" "I am, sir," he replied. "And you are aware of the cause of its death V" He hung down his head and sobbed. "I do not wish to speak severely to you, my friend, at such a time ; but you must take this as n special and solemn warning to yourself—one sent, 1 hope, by Providence, to withdraw you from the guilty course you are now pursuing, which must inevitably end in utter ruin and misery to yourself, your Wife, and your children." "I know it, sir, he gasped, "I know it! But I have been infatuated—mad—and cruel to my family in the extreme. I feel HUNTINGDON, PA., TUESDAY, JULY 2, 1851 it all now ; I see the horrid guiltiness of my course, and I have vowed never to drink again. I have sworn it over the body of my poor child, whose love I had begun to forget, whose comfort I had lately altogether neglected; and you will see, sir, I shall persevere in my de termination." "I am glad to hear it," I said; "aban don wholly this habit ou have given yourself up to. Do not even taste, for the ant drop does the mischief; and I shall be glad to learn that you have be come restored to usefulness as it mem ber of society, and to the renewed love and respect of your family." "I faithfully promise," lie said, and seized my hand and pressed it; 1 shall swear, if that be necessary." Several months passed, and, being much occupied, the circumstance had almost passed from my mipd, until one morning a visitor called to inquire for his account, and gave his name, which 1 at once remembered as the occupant of the dottage of Smith's Yard. I had some difficulty in recognizing him again ; he was clean, healthy-looking, and well dressed ; a change seemed to have come over the entire man. •" I hesita• "I have kept my promise, sir," were his first words. I have not tasted one drop of intoxicating drink since that sad morning, and with God's help shall ne ver taste another drop while I live. I have found the good consequences in my restored self-respect, in the restored enjoyment of my home and family. 1 have taken a cottage in a clean and heal thy part of the town ; for do you know, sir, my craving for stimulants stuck by me so long as I breathed the air of that filthy court. Who knows how many drunkards these unwholesome courts and yards of our town annually make I am now a tee-totaler, and already a member of an association, just formed, for improving the health of the town.— None can join so zealously in such good causes as those who have suffered from the evils they are intended to cure; and I trust 1 am not the least zealous among he members of these movements." I expressed my cordial delight at lear ning the radical cure that had been ef fected in his case, encouraged him to proceed, and settled the business about which he had called. I afterwards watched his progress, and had frequent occasions to meet him as a fellow-laborer in theexcellent move ments in tvhich he had so heartily join ed ; and to this day, I believe, he is at work—a useful, industrious, and gener ally respected member of the society amidst which he lives. Thus Providence sent its warning in time. Would that all the dispensations of God were thus turned to profit, and made as fruitful in good consequences. Oh! Love, Young. Love. Jonathan Dunbutter saw Prudence Feastall at meeting. Jonathan kind o' sidled up to Prudence after meeting, and she a kind o' sidled off. He went clo ser, and axed her if she would accept the crook of his elbow. She resolved she would, and plumbed her arm right around his. Joi,athan felt all (liverish, and said he liked the text—'Seek and ye shall find'—was purely good readin.— Prudence hinted that 'Ask and you shall receive' was better. Jonathan thought so too, but this axing was a puzzle:. A fellow was apt to get into a snarl when he axed, and snarling was no fun. Pru dence guessed strawberries and cream were slick. Jonathan guessed they wan't so slick as Prue's lips. 'Now, don't,' said Prue, and she guv Jonathan's arm an involuntary hug, He was a leetle I startled, but thunk his farm wanted some female help, to look arter his house. Frue knew how to make rale good bread. 'Don't,' said Prue. 'lf I should,' said Jonathan. 'Don't,' said Prue. 'Maybe you wouldn't,' and slink all over. Pru dence replied, 'if you be coming that game, you had better tell fayther.'— 'That's jist what I want,' said Jonathan. And in three weeks Jonathan and Pru dence were 'my old man,' and 'my old woman.' A 'MANIFEST DESTINY' MAN.—Walter Savage Landor publishes an article in the Loudon Examiner, in which he pre dicts that the United States will proceed in annexing foreign States and establish ing in them the English language and laws, till the Union will embrace all fra ternities and climates ! Great minds are charitable to their bitterest enemies, aid can sympa thize with the failings of their fellow creatures. It is only the narrow-mind ed who make no allowance for the fautta of others. To PARENTS.—Boys that have been properly reared are men to point of use fulness at sixteen, whilst those that have been brought up in idle habits are nui- I sances at twenty•ono. The Flower that Looks Upwards. A BEAUTIFUL SKETCH A group of young and light•hcarted girls sat together in the twilight, busily arranging the flowers they had been gathering in the pleasant woods and fields, 6 6 What beautiful things flowers are!" said one. "And what a pleasant amuse ment it would be now that we are all sitting here so quietly, if each were to choose what flower she would rather be like." Just as if there could be any choice," exclaimed Laura Bennet, a little proud ly—and holding tip a moss rose as she spoke.—" Among all the flowers that grow, there is none to vie in beauty with the rose. Let me be the queen of flow ers or none !" "For my part," observed her sister Helen, "1 should like to resemble the luxuriant rhododendron, so beautifully described in our book of flowers. When any one, in passing, shakes it roughly, it scatters, as we are told, a "shower of honey dew from its roseate cups, and immediately begins to fill its chalices anew with transparent ambrosia;" teach ing us to shower sweetness even upon the hands that disturb us, and to fill again with pure honey drops the chali ces of our inward thoughts. Oh! who would not wish to be meek and forgiv ing like the rhododendron, if they could 'I But it is very difficult," added poor Hel en, with tears in her eyes. "It is indeed," said Lucy Neville, gen tly, "if we trust only to our strength.— It is only when my father looks at me in his grave, kind manner, that I have the slightest control over myself. What a pity it is," said Lucy simply, "that we cannot always remember that the eye of our Heavenly Father is upon us'!" "I wish I could," replied Helen. "I have heard my mother say," obser ved Lucy, "that praying is better than wishing." Now Clara°" interrupted Laura Ben net, turning impatiently toward a fair, gentle looking girl by her side, "we are waiting for you." f,lara smiled, and immediately chose the pale convolvulus, or bindweed, wind ing so carelessly in and out among the bushes, flinging over them a graceful covering, an emblem of meek beauty and loving tenderness. "The only pity is," said she, "that it should so soon close up and fade." "But what says our dear Lucy," ex claimed Helen. "I think that I can guess," said Clara Seymour, "either a violet or heart's ease --am I right I" "Not quite," replied Lucy with a deep blush, "although both the flowers that you have mentioned are great favor ites of mine. But I should like to resem ble the daisy most, because it is always LOOKING UPWARDS." "Do tell me," said Helen, as they walked home together, carrying the flowers which they had gathered to adorn their several dwellings; do tell me why you wished, just now, to be always look ing upward like the daisy." "0, Helen, can you ask 1 What more do we require for happiness than to be able, let the cloud be ever so dark, to look upward with the eye of faith, and say, It is the Lord's will and there-fore it is best 1" " Do you always think thus ?" asked Helen. "Alas no !" replied poor Lucy, while the tears fell fast, "hut I am trying and praying to God to teach me." Kiss Cotillions. 4e editor of the Windsor Journal— an obatihate sort of a bachelor—learns that "Professors of Dancing" in New York, have recently introduced a new style of cotillion called the kiss cotillion, the peculiar feature of which is, that you kiss the ladies as you swing corners. ' The editor is a crusty sort of a fellow, who never dances, but says he would not mind waiving his objections to the am usement so far as to "swing corners" now and then in this new cotillion!—the selfish scamp. He reminds us of an old lady whohad an unaccountable aversion to rye, and never could eat it in any form, "till of late years," she said, "they had got to making it into whiskey, and I find I can now and then worry down a leetle." ID-A romantic youth, promenading on a fashionable street the other after noon picked up a thimble. He stood a while, meditating upon the probable beauty of the owner, when he pressed it to his lips, saying, "0 ! that it were the fair cheek of the wearer !" Just as he had finished, a stout colored lady, looked out of an upper window, and said, "Boss, jig; please to frow dat fim ble of mine in de entry. 1 just drapt it." ri-Be calm and steady ; ncthing wi grow under a moving harrow. ( i o Gploontiml ,ipec Sham Hays and his Bull-y Race. Some forty years ago, the managers of a race course near Brownsville, on the Monongahela, published a notice of a race, one mile heats, on a particular day, for a purse of one hundred dollars, "free for anything with four legs and hair on !" A man in the neighberhood, named Hays, had a bull that he was in the hub- it of riding to mill with his bag of corn, and he determined to enter him for the race. He said nothing about it to any one, but he rode him around the track a number of times on several moonlight nights, until the bull had the hang of the ground pretty well, and would keep the right course. He rode with spurs, which the bull considered particularly disagreeable ; so much so, that he al ways bellowed loudly when they were applied to his sides. _.. On the morning of the race, Hays came upon the ground "on horseback" on his bull. Instead of a saddle, he had a dried ox-hide, the head part of which, with the horns still on, he had placed on the bull's rump. He carried a short tin horn in his hand. He rode to the judges' stand and of fered to enter his bull for the race, but the owners of the horses that were en tered objected. Hays appealed to the terms of the notice , insisting that his bull had g!for legs an!d hair on, and that therefore he had a right to enter him. After a good deal of "cussin" and "dis cussion,'the judges declared themselves compelled to decide that the bull had a right to run. - When the time for starting arrived, the horses took their places. The horse racers were out of humor at being both ered with the bull, and at the burlesque which they supposed was intended, but thought that all would be over as soon as the horses started. When the signal as given they did start. Hays gave a blast with his horn and sunk his spurs ' into the bull's sides, who bounded off with a terrible bawl, at no trifling speed, the dried ox-hide flapping up and down and rattling at every jump, making a combination of noises that had never been heard on a race course before. The horses all flew the track, every one seem ing to be seized with a sudden determi nation to take the shortest cut to get out of the Redstone country, and not one of them could be brought back in time to save their distance. The purse was giv en to Hays under a good deal of hard swearing on the part of the owners of the horses. A general row ensued, but the fun of the thing put the crowd all on tho side of the bull. The horsemen all conten ded that they were swindled out of the purse, and that if it had not been for Hays' horn and ox-hide, which he ought not to have been permitted to bring on the ground, the thing would not have turned out as it did. Upon this, Hays told them that his bull could beat any of their horses any how, and if they would put up a hun dred dollars against the purse which he had won, he would take off the ox hide, leave his tin horn, and run a fair race with them. His offer was accepted, and the money staked. They again took their places at the starting post, and the signal was given. Hays give the bull another touch with his spur, and the bull gave another tremendotis bellow. The horses remembered the horrible sound, and thought the rest was coming as be fore. Away they went again, in spite of all the exertions of their riders ; while Hays galloped his bull around the track again and won the money. From that time they nick-named him Sham Hays. He afterwards removed to Ohio but his 'nickname stuck to him as long as he lived.—Spirzt of the Times. I Suffering Youth, 44 Father 1 wants a dollar," said a country boy—a strapping lad of sixteen, who measured two az-handles in his stockings—to his dad, one Sunday night —"I wants a buzzum pin amazingly, all the big boys in town have got 'em but me." " Fudge," replied the sire, "a buzzum pin ! nonsense ! You'd better get a pair of shoes or a new felt, for a dollar,' or suthin' o'some consekwense—but b.u.z-z-u-m-p.i.n !—pshaw !" " Humph !" returned the juvenile, "these ere things you spoke on are all well enough in the fall ; wont my palm. leaf dew for this summer, and can't I go bare-foot now 1 But," sobbed out the stripling, "I'm really suffering for a buz zum-pin ! 0:1-"The heart of the generous man is like the clouds of heaven, which drop upon the earth fruits, herbage, and flow ers; the heart of the ungrateful is like a desert of sand, which swalloweth with greediness the showers that fall, but burieth them in its bosom, and produ , ceth nothing." VOL. XV, NO. 26. Irish Circumlocution. If the Irish are to be distinguished as a convivial and a musical, they must also be noted as a circumlocutory people. Observing one day an unusual commo tion in the streets of Derry, I inquired of a bystander the.reason ; and he, with a mellifluous brogue, replied in the fol lowing metaphorical manner: The rason, sir ! Why, you see that the justice and little Larry O'Hone, the carpenter, have been putting up a picture frame at the end of the strafe yonder, and they are going to hang one of •Ad am's copies' in it... " What's that 1" ', Why, poor Murdock O'Donnel." "Oh, there's a mnn to be hungl" " Do they put up a gallows for any other purpose 1" " What's his offencel" No offence, y our , honor ; it was only a liberty he took. ' Well, what was the liberty 1 Why, you see, sir, poor Murdock was in delicate health, and his physi cian advised that he should take exer cise on horseback • and so, having no horse of his own, be borrowed one from Squire Doyle's paddock : and no sooner was he on its showlders, than the d-1 put it into the cracher's head to go over to Kellowgresn cattle 7 fair, where lie !had a good many arquaintances ; and when he was got there, Murdock spied a friend at the door of a shebeen-house, and left the animal grazing outside, whilst he went in to have a thimbleful of whiskey; and then, you see, they got frisky and had another, and another, till poor Murdock went to sleep on the binch ; and when he wouke up, he found the cracker gone, and his pocket stuff ed full with a big lump of money.,' " In short," said 1, "you mean to say he has been horse-stealing." Why, sir," he replied, stammering and scratching his head, "they call it so in England." A POLITICAL JOHE.-A clerk in the War Department died a few days ago, and some anxious and expectant whigs thought they would take titne by the forerock to recommend a candidate.— They called immediately upon the Sec retary, and after stating their business apologised for calling so soon after the clerk's death. The Secretary blandly assured the gentlemen that no apology was necessary for so early a call, for the vacancy was already filled. CROSS-EXAMINATION.-A witness, ex amined in one of the Courts of Illinois, upon trial concerning a horse trade, was asked by the counsel for the defendant how the plaintiff generally rode 1 Wit ness—He generally rides a-straddle, sir. Counsel—How does he ride in compa ny 1 Witness-1f he has a good horse he always keeps up. Counsel—How does he ride when he is alone 1 Witness —Really, sir, I cannot say, for I never was in company with him when he rode by himself. Court.—You may stand aside. AN APOLOGY.-A lawyer in a neigh. boring county, addressed the Court as . "gentlemen," instead of your "Honors." After he had concluded a brother of the Bar reminded him of his error. He im mediately rose to apologise thus : " May it please the Court—in the beat of debate I called your Honors gen tlemen. I made a mistake your Honors." The gentleman sat down, and we hope the court was satisfied with the explana tion. (EP-A young beauty beheld one eve ning two horses running off, at locomo tive speed with a light wagon. As they approached, she was horrified at recog nising, in the occupants of the vehicle, two gentlemen of her acquaintance.— "Boys ! boys !" she screamed in terror, "Jump out—quick—jump out—especial ly Charley." It is needless to say that her sentiments as to "Charley," were, from that time forth, no secret. A MALE FLIRT.—A monster in cassi mere—a wretch, in short, who trifles with the best affections of a young girl, and then flings her aside as he would a dead pink, or any faded flowers off of which he had taken the bloom. Mrs. Smithers says, such a man ought• to be squeezed to death with mountains, with out the benefit of hollering. lEF-A Lowell boy, writing from Cali fornia, by the late steamer, speaking of the market says am not a prophet, but I think it safe to send pork, dried apples, dried peaches, beef, molasses, sugar, good butter—and cheese—done up to preserve it on the voyage—pickled onions, cider, vinegar, Shaker brooms and women." I:l7“Cut your garment according to your cloth,” is an old maxim, but the sentiment is as true now as ever. A life of gaudy show may do for a butter fly, but never for a man and woman who expect to survive ono season.