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VOLUME XVI.
From ale Westmoreland Intelligencer.
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
BY MIVANDA.
All around us, all above,
Witnesses a mother's love,
And her tresses thin and hoary
Arc they not a crown of glory.
MONTGOMERY
'Teas she who in my early youth,
First led me in the paths of truth,
And oft would call my infitnt feet
From wandering to some lone retreat,
And there would teach my lips to say,
The prayer our Saviour taught to pray;
And when I laid me down to sleep,
To "pray the Lord my soul to keep;"
Once I remember as we knelt
Beside the bed,(my heart does melt
When scones like these I think upon;
Though then I knew not why 'twab done.)
All site had taght me when I said
The slowly did I raise my head
And wondered why site still did pray;
And then again my own did say;
And still she prayed--I was too young
To know the words fell from her tongue.
But now I know she did invest,
Our souls with God in her request,
In words like these perhaps she prayed
"When in the urn my body's laid,
Oh thou enthroned in filial right,
Above all creature-power and might;
Thou whom I love but cannot see;
My Lord! my God ! (she. prayed for me)
There on her path in mercy shine,
Prosper this child and Make it thine,
Make her path shine like the just
'Till her body turns to dust."
Oak Hall, Pa.
SONG.
Ho that to your voice is near,
Breaking from its ivory pale,
Need not walk abroad to hear
The delightful nightengale.
He that looks still on your eyes,
Though the winter have begun
To benumb his arteries,
Shall not want the summer's sun.
Ho that stilt may see your cheeks,
Where all rareness still reposes,
Is a fool if e'er he seeks
Other lilies, other roses.
Ile to whom your soft lip yields,
Who perceives your breath in kissing,
All the odors of the fields
Never, never shall be missing
le that question would anew
What fair Eden was of old,
Let him rightly study you,
Awl a brief of that behold.
MATRIMONY.
I.—The man must lead a happy life
2.—Who's free from matrimonial chains.
3.—Who is directed by a wife,
4.—ls sure to suffer for his pains.
I.—Adam could find no solid peace,
2.—When Eve was given for a mate,
3.—Until he saw a woman's face,
4.—Adam was in a happy state.
I.—ln all the female face appear,
2.—Hypocrisy, deceit and pride ;
3.—Troth, darling of a heart sincere,
4.—No'cr known in woman to reside.
I.—What tonguo is able to unfold,
2.—The falsehood that in woman dwells ;
3.—Thu worth in woman we behold,
4.—ls almost imperceptible.
I.—Cursed be the foolish mall, I say,
2.—Who changes from his singleness,
3.—Who will not yield to woman's sway,
4.—ls sure of perfect blessedness.
To advocate the ladies' cause you will read the
Ist and 3d, and 2d and 4th lines together.
CHEERFULNESEL—Persons who are al
ways cheerful and goodhumored are very
useful in the world ; they maintain peace
and spread a thankful temper amongst all
who live around them.
A TRunt.—lt requires more courage
to think differently from the multitude
than it does to fight them. The first hero,
therefore, was not he who made the first
conquest, but he who uttered the first
doubt.
Secrecy of design, when combined with
rapidity of execution, like the column that
guided Israel in the deserts, becomes the
guardian pillar of light and fire to our
friends, a cloud of impenantrahle darkness
to our enemies.
We follow the world in approving
others, but we go before the world in ap
proving ourselves.
tr:rw hon we despair of the old and obsti
natii, there are striplings in the nursery
which encourage hope.
MARBLED BY MISTAKE.
Mr. Thomas Tompkins was a confirmed
old bachelor, and had reached - the mature
age of forty without the slightest thought
of what is termed "bettering his condi
tion." He was very shy of womankind,
and imagined that every lady who glanced
at him casually had designs upon his purse
and person.
It was this gentleman, in a quiet digni
fied and somewhat baldheaded personage,
who got into a mail-stage at Washington,
one pleasant summer morning, to travel to
Baltimore having business in a small vil
lage beyond it.—Among his traveling com
panions was a wild young reefer, under or
ders to join the flag ship of the Meditera
nean squadron, and a middle aged Eng
lishman, not the best tempered nor the best
mannered person in the world. To set his
two seniors by the ears together was the
special business of the middy, who was mis
chievious as a monkey, and so successful
was he in his operations that he not only
succeeded in embroiling the peppery John
Bull and the quiet bachelor, but ho start
ed upon point of honor" between them,
and when Tompkins wont to bed at Baltic
more that night, in was with the comforts
able assurance that ho was to stand up and
be shot at at Bladensburg the next morn
ing at sunrise, precisely, the middy seeing
" fair play" between the parties.
Just above the spot where General Ross
fell the parties met a little after five. The
midshipman loaded his pistols and placed
his men. Both were rather shaky in their
legs; the Englishman's indignation having
evaporated over night, and Tompkins nev
er having been troubled with any excess
of belligerent spirits.
" Fire !"
Bang! bang! wont the pistols. When
the smoke cleared, Tompkins was seen
standing, and the Englishman lay rolling
and writhing on the ground, blood flowing
from his forehead.
4 , You've done for him," said the middy,
addressing the horror-stricken Tompkins.
The dying man beckoned his adversary
to approach.
" It's half my own fault," said he "Fly!
fly ! and leave me alone to die. Yet take
this letter. Summerville—vite 'once top
of the 'ill—hold Dr. Illedget's take 'im
this letter—it tells all about it. If I'd
'eve lived I vos to 'ave been
But he could speak no more, and middy
hurried off the homicide.
From the incoherent words of his vic
tim, tho horror-stricken Tompkins gather
ed that he was to call at Dr. Blodget's in
Summerville, and deliver the letter ; and
thithcrward he bent his steps, in a more
pitiable condition than the dying man.
He soon found the cottage, a pretty res
idence embowered in trees, and ornament
ed by several distinguished darkies, who
were standing around the door yard grin
ning to the extent of their ivories. Before
he had time to ring the bell, an impulsive
old gentleman in black rushed out. Tomp
kins mechanically extended the letter, not
having courage enough at his command to
utter a word.
.‘ I see—l see," said the impulsive lit
tle old gentleman, who WWI no other than
Dr. Blodget himself. Tompkins, oh? give
me your hand.
4 cForbear! there's blood upon it!" said
the wretched Tompkins.
" Blood ? nonsense !" said the Doctor.—
' Come along. My daughter's waiting—
and so aro the bridesmaids too; and the
parson also, you sly dog."
" But sir, what has that to do with me 3"
"With you! Why isn't your name Thom
r.s Tompkins ?"
" Certainly."
So this letter says. Do you pretend
that you haven't wino to fulfil tho arrange
ment of your father to marry my daught
er—whom you havn't seen since you and
she were boy and girl ? Come along sir,
aro you crazy ?"
"I believe I am," stammered poor
Tompkins, who was astonished at every
thing ho hoard. "I believe I tun crazy."
"Tommy," said the old gentleman stern
ly, "I believe you have boon tippling at
the half way house." .
•
"Not a drop, as I live."
HUNTINGDON, PA., THURSDAY, JULY 11, 1851.
" Come along then."
And the Doctor hurried in-his victim.—
He was soon in the presence of the brido
and her relations. There were flowers in
porcelain vases, cake and wine upon the
table, and music in the hall. Miss Emma
Blodget opened her arms, and the Dotter
pushed Tommy into them.
As soon as he could extricate himself ;
which he did, blushing with confusion ;
Tomkins stammered out:
•'Ladies and gentlemen, you see before
you an unhappy wretch."
"An unhappy wretch!" shouted the lit
tle Doctor. "What do you mean by that,
Tommy Tompkins?"
"Your son-in-law, sir is dead," said
Tompkins.
"Dead!" said the doctor, "you tell me
that with your own mouth?"
"Certainly."
"You don't look as though you were
dead," said the Doctor winking to the
clergyman.—" Come, Mr. Spintext, let's
have it over. Emma—Tommy--stand up
here like good children."
Tompkins darted one wild look about
him, and then darted through the open
window into the conservatory.
"Stop him!" shouted the Doctor.
"There go my camelias and rhododen
drons. Now he is into the Hamburgs!—
Now, then, Sambo, ah! you've got him.—
Hold him tight."
The wretched Tompkins was captured
and brought back by the stout African.
“And now Mr. Spintext—Emma hold
him tight—know all men by these pres
ents,&e.—quick sir—you solemnly swear
&c."
And thus prompted, the clergyman per
formed his office, and Thomas Tompkins
found himself a married luau.
"I wish, he muttered to — himself, as he
dipped wildly into the cake and Madeira,
"that the confectioner and wine merchant
had some spite against the Doctor, and
had come the arsenic and aquafortis busi
ness strong. If I could only drop down
dead now it would be extremely soothing
to my feelings.'"
In his desperation, he acted and spoke
as if he was in a drean. ITe said funny
things, not intending them, kissed the
bridesmaid several times over, slapped Dr.
Blodget on the back and called him a "jol
ly old buffer," and once even adressed the
black waiter as "Mr. Snowball," an ex
quisite and original pleasantry which con
vulsed the company with merriment.
But the wildest dream must have an end.
In the midst of the maddest mirth a doub
lo knock was heard and the servant an
nounced Thomas Tompkins.
This is another of your jokes, you mad
wag said tho doctor, winking at his son-in
law and a very small bridesmaid in blue
slippers gavo it as her opinion that Tomp
kins would be the death of some of them.
But the door was opened, and in stalk
ed the Englishman, followed by his second.
“Take him away?" yelled our hero.—
“Bury him decently. That's what he's
after. Give him a sexton and let him go
about his business. We want no post
enortems here!”
Don't be alarmed," said the midship
man.—“ Blank cartridge and bullock's
blood do not send men to the other world.'
“Doctor,” said the Englishman, ""you
received my letter of introduction from
the 'and of this—this person—did you
not?"
"Yes, and I thought he was Thomas
Tompkins," said the distracted Dootor.
"That's my name," said the bridegroom
in spite of himself.
.And mine helm," cried the English•
“What's to be done” asked the doe
tor.—Emmy, my dear, what do you say to
being married over again?"
"Oh! no papa its too much trouble.—
Besides I like my Tompkins well enough
now, and may like him better before this
time to-morrow."
"I don't see that we can do anything
for you," said the doctor mildly to the now
comer, "tmless one of the young ladies--"
But they all shrugged their shoulders
and shook their heads.
"Sc;rri for you for you're the son of
old friend," said the Doctor.
"But you'll stay and take dinner with
us," said some one.
"I'll sue you for a breach of promise!"
yelled the cockney, shaking his clenched
fist at the bride.
" That lady is under my protection,"
said the bridegroom. "She shall not be
insulted.—Clear out."
, 4 Clear out," shouted the indignant fa-
her.
4 , Clear out," echoed all the gentlemen.
,‘ It's a conspiracy," shouted the cock-
" Come along, said the midshipman.—
Don't make a fool of yourself. So come
along."
Pulled, pushed, and shoved, the indig
nant gentleman was ejected from the Doc
tor's cottage; and this feat accomplished,
the wedding company sat down to dinner,
at which the singular coincidence in the
names of the parties formed a principal
topic for discussion. Tompkins, the con
!firmed old batchelor, who had so strangely
become a Benedict, sat by his blushing
bride, seeming fully alive to the fact that
ho was soon to enjoy the pains and pleas
ures of matrimony. These anticipations,
added to the fact that ho drew pretty free
'ly on the contents of a flagon of Sherry,
sufficed to enable our hero to bear up
bravely under the open raillery of the
l men, and the sly innuendoes of the ladies.
The result of this odd affair was a suit
brought by the cockney; but he lost his
case, and went back to England in the full
determination to write a book against this
country which should out-Trollope Trol
lope, and beat the very Dickens.
EXTRAVAGANT CHURCn CS.
The authorities of Trinity Church, New
York, have decided to erect another church
in that city at the cost of $1,000,000.
Upon this statement, the Portland Tran
script thus continents ! Eighteen and a
half centuries ago, a wanderer was seen in
the East, who required no particular form
of worship—nn particular edifices built of
the sweat and blood of the poor—to be
"dedicated" to him or by hint. Ile was
odd—very odd—he did not follow the
fashions of his times—did net cringe at the
foot of power, but made himself obnoxious
to Kings and Princes because he preached
unpopular doctrines. Tie was poor and
lowly, and was not deemed worthy to enter
the temples of the rich and fashionable.—
The poor and lowly are now denied the
privilege of entering Trinity Church; and
were he to appear in his humble garb, un
known and without an admission card, he
would be ejected from the present and pro
spective haunts of the merchant princes of
Gotham. Men woman and children have
starved to death within the reach of the
shadows of Trinity steeple. Thousands
are now toiling and dying by inches, in
part for these same temple builders who
pretend to be worshippers of him who said
of himself, " The foxes have holes, and the
birds of the air have nests, but the Son of
Man bath not where to lay his head.
The Princes and Judges of old, bowed
to the multitude and gave up this trouble
some person to ho killed according to the
customs of his times. . They thought his
seditious doctrines would die. Ono of his
greatest heresies was that of preaching'
glad tidings to the roots, a heresy by the
way which there is no danger of the preach
ers of Trinity Church or their congregation
being hung for, unless they very materially
change their course. The doctrine of the
peasant of Nathereth ; the carpenter's son
have, at this day, made some progress in
the world, but wo rather think that were
he to look in upon a congregation worship
ping in a church whose cost is a million of
dollars, and on the preacher whose salary
is six thousand a year, he would point to
the poor, ignorant, starving creatures
around the church, and say, I was an hun
gered and ye gave me no meat, I was
thirsty and gave me no drink, 1 was
sink and in prison and ye visited me not,
and inasmuch as ye did it not to one of
the least of these, ye did it not to tie."
CC7 --- A man has not the least right., to
expect a good fortune unless he goes to
work and deserves it.
-- 1
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1 : 3 1 1 11 ; 41 I1 (11
-
Obeying Orden.
THE "oldest inhabitant" perfectly re
members the Widow Trotter, who used,
many years ago, to occupy a small wooden
house away down in Hanover-street, in
somewhat close proximity to Salutation-al
ley. Well this widow was blessed with a
son, who, like Goldsmith, and many other
men, distinguished in after-life, was the
dunce of his class. Numerous were the
floggings his stupidity brought upon him,
and the road to knowledge was with him
truly a " vale of tears."
One day he came home: as usual, with
red eyes and hands.
"O, you Blockhead !" screamed his moth
or—she was a bit of a virago, Mrs. Trot
ter was—"you've been gettin' another lick
in' I know."
"0, yes," replied young Mr. Trotter:
"that's one uv the reg'lar exercises—lick
in' me. 'Artor I've licked Trotter,' says
the master, I'll hear the 'rithmetio
But, mother, to change the subject, as the
criminal said when he found the judge was
getting personal, is there enny arrent I can
do for you?"
"Yes," grumbled the widow; "only
you're so enternal slow about any thing
you undertake—so get a pitcher of water,
and be four years about it, will ye l"
Bob Trotter took the pitcher, and wen
ded his way in the direction of the street
pump; but he hadn't got far, when he en
countered his friend, Joe Buffer, the mate
of a vessel, issuing from his house, and
dragging a heavy sea-ehek along after
him.
"Come Bob," said Joe, "bear a hand,
and help me down to Long Wharf with
this."
"Well, sot would," said Bob, "only
you see mother has sent no after a pitch
er of water."
"What do you care for that. Come
along."
"Well," said Bob,' , first let me hide
the pitcher where I can find it again."
With these words he stowed away his
earthenware under a flight of stone steps,
and accompanied his friend aboard ship:—
The pilot was urging the captain to east
off and take advantage of the wind and
tide, but the captain was waiting the arri
val of a boy who had shiped the day be
fore, and wishing no good to his eyes for
the delay he had occasioned.
At last he turned to Bob, and said—
" What do you say, youngster, to ship
ping with 1110 I'll treat you well and
give you ten dollars a month."
"Should like to go," said Bob, hesita
tingly, "but my mother-"
"She'll be glad to get rid of you.--
Come will you go ?"
"I haint got no clothes."
"Here's a chest full. The:ether chap was
just your size, and they'll fit you to a P."
" I'll go."
"Cast off that lino there!" shouted the
captain, and the ship fell off with the tide,
and was soon standing down the bay with
a fair wind, and every stitch of canvas set.
She was bound for the Northwest via. Can
ton and back again, which was then called
the double voyage, and usually occupied
about four years.
In the meanwhile, the non-appearance
of Bob seriously alarmed his mother. A
night passed, and the town crier was cal
led into requisition a week, when she gave
him up, had a note read for her in the meet
ing, and went into mourning.
Just four years after the above occur
rence, the ship got back to port, and Bob
and his friend wore paid off. 'rite wages of
the widow's son amounted to just four hun
dred and eighty dollars, and ho found, on
squaring his accounts with the captain,
that his advances had amounted to the odd
tens and four bundled dollars clear were
the fruit of his cruise.
As ho walked in the (Breeden' of his
mother's house, in company with Joe, he
scanned with a curious eye the houses, the
shops, and the people that he passed.—
Nothing appeared changed; the same signs
indicated an unchanging hospitality on tho
part of the same landlords, the same loaf
ers were standing at the same corners—it
seemed as if he had been gone only a day.
With the mid sights awl sounds, Bob's odd
feeling revived, and he almost dreaded to
NLTMBER 27.
see, debouching from some alley, a detach
ment of boys, sent by his ancient enemy,
the schoolmaster, to know why he had been
playing truant, and to carry bins back, to
receive the customary walloping.
When be was quite near home, he said,
"Joe I wonder if anybody's found that
_ _ _
old pitcher."
lie stooped down, thrust his arm under
the stone-steps, and withdrew the identi
cal piece of earthenware he had deposited
there just four years ago. Having rinsed
and filled it at the pump, he , walked into
his mother's house, and found her seated in
her accustomed armchair. She looked at
him for a minute, recognized him, scream
ed, and exclaimed
"Why, Bob, where have. you been'---
What have you been doing?"
"Gettite that pitcher of water," answer
ed Bob, setting it on the table ; "I always
obey orders—you told me to be four years
about it, and I was."
A Philadelphia Quaker.
A certain Friend, whom we very well
know, was recently at a distant place of
summer - :esort. He stepped into the post
office ono morning, and while there the
Postmaster asked him if he knew any Eng
lish people staying at the hotel? " Why
does thee ask ?Amid the Quaker. " Be
cause," said the Postmaster, "here are
half-dozen letters directed to England by
the next steamer, and as the postage to
Boston is not paid I cannot send them. If
I cannot find the writer of them, they will
be forwarded to the dead-letter office,
Washington." Our " Friend looked at the
letters. They were all double, and he re—
marked. " They appear to be family let
ters, and no doubt will be most welcome if
received, or nosy c•anse great anxiety if
they should not be." •4 I cannot help it,•'
said the Postmaster. " Well, I can, if
thee cannot; what is the postage t" For
six double letters, three dollars." " Well,
here is the money, thee will please mark
them 4 4 paid," and send them to Boston."
And with this injunction the Philidelphia
Quaker left the post-office, his pockets not
pap so heaq as when he entered, but his
heart, we arc sure, a great deal Uglier.—
. Gazette.
MINIMAL RICHES,
'More of the Ahmral riches of California.
Wm. B. Stewart, Esq, formerly of (3 enrge
tow». D. C., but for several years past a
i•itiz,ll of California, has show us a speci
men of the bituminous coal recently dis
covered in that State. The beds from
which the piece was taken are situated in a.
range of hills parallel to Suison bay: a
sheet of water divided from the Bay of
San Francisco by the Staits of Harquinex,
and into which Sacramento and San Joaquin
discharge their waters. The discovery of
these coal deposites WAS made in the course
of a scientific exploration for that mineral.
The hods appear to be most extensive and
valuable, about seven miles from Benicia,
and they are stated to be within half a
mile of Water carriage.
The lands containing the coal, so far as
the deposite has been developed, belonged,
to General Vallejo, but have been purcha
sed from him by parties who are making
preparations for mining, for the purpose of
supply to the steamers which ply in the wa
ters of California and on the Pacific. The
United States mail steamers have their
principal station at Benicia, and if it should
become, as may be expected from its posi
tion, a central point for the internal steam
navigation of that region, it is evident that
the value and importance of these mines
must be very groat.
Mr. Stewart has also brought specimens
of the sandstone which is found at . and
about Benicia. Its specific gravity is said
to be greater than that of any other varie
ty of the same stone heretofore known in
the United State:l. It is of a light brown
eeler, pleasing to the eye, and is coming
into general use, in tke vicinity whore it
is found, for building purposes. It is also
used for grind-stones and whetstones.
If the supply of those two articles is as
abundant as is now supposed, they may be
looked upon ns the guaranties of the con
tinued and inereabing wealth of California.
err liurk r,',l in, rosl,