Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, March 30, 1853, Image 1

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    VOL. 18,
, The "HUNTINGDON JOURAL" is pnblished at
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" BTILL I LIVE!" The leaves were falling
Round the mansion where he lay,
And autumnal voices, calling,
Warmed the summer's pride away ;
While the sighing surge of ocean
In its crested beauty ran,
Breaking with a ceaseless motion,
Like the fleeting hopes of man.
'• firitt, I Litt !" 0, strong and glorious,
Were those prophetic words of cheer;
For, when'er in truth victorious,
Greatness hnth its worship here,
Patriot power its high ovation,
Eloquence its lofty birth ;
Re shall win from every nation,
An undying name on earth.
STILL I LIVE !" The flesh was failing,
All in vain the heeler's skill,
Light in that deep eye was paling,
And that mighty heart grew still.
Yet the soul, its God adoring,
Clad in armor, firm and bright,
O'er the body's ruin soaring,
Mingled with the Infinite.
Where he sleeps, that man of glory,
Marshfield's mournful shade can say;
And his weeping country's story,
Darkened on that funeral day;
But the love that deepest listened
Caught such balm as Heaven am give ;
For an angel's pinion glistened
At the echo—" STILL I LIVE!"
The Bridal Wino. Glass.
"Pledge with wine—pledge with wine,"
—cried the young and thoughtless Harvey
Wood: "pledge with wine," ran through
the brilliant crowd.
The beautiful bride grew pale—the de
cisive hour had come. She pressed her
white hands together,and the leaves of the
bridal wreath trembled on her pure brow
her breath came quicker, her heart beat
"Yes, Marion, lay aside your scruples
for this once," said the Judge, in a low
tone, going towards his daughter, "the
company expect it; do not so seriously in
fringe upon the rules of etiquette • in your
home; act as you please; but in Mine, for
this once please me."
Every eye was turned towards the bri
dal pair. Marion's principles were well
known. Henry had been a eonvivialist,
but of late his friends noted the change in
his manners, the difference in his habits—
and to-night they watched him, to see, as
they sneeringly said, If he was tied down
to a woman's opinion so soon.
Pouring a brimming breaker, they held
it with tempting smiles toward Marion.—
She was still very pale, though more com
posed; and her band shook not, as smiling
back, she gracefully accepted the crystal
tempter, and raised it to her lips. But
scarcely had she done an, when every hand
was arrested by her piercing exclamation
of "Oh ! how terrible !"
"What is it?" cried one and all throng
ing together; for she had slowly carried
the glass at arm's length, and was fixedly
regarding it, as though it were some hide
ous object._ . _ _
"Witit," she answered, while an inspired
light shone from her dark eye 3, "wait, and
I will tell you. I see," she added slowly,
pointing one jeweled finger at the sparkling
ruby liquid, "a sight that beggars all de
soription; and yet listen—l will paint it for
you if I can. It is a lonely
. spot; tall
mountains crowned with verdure rise in
awful sublimity around; a riveirune thro',
and bright flowers grow on the water's edge.
There is a thick, warm mist, that the stn
seeks vainly to pieroe. Trees, lofty and
boautiftil,wavt, to the airy motion of birds
4 4' I %/fling 6titt
I •
.. II •
- .fr
but there—a group of Indians gather; they
flit to and fro with something like sorrow
upon their dark brows. And in the midst
lies a manly form—but his cheek how
deathly, his eye wild with the fitful fire of
fever. One friend stands beside him--nay,
I should sly knee's; for see, he is pillow
ing that poor head upon his breast. Geni
us in ruins—oh! the high, holy-looking
brow ! why should death mark it, and he
so young 4 Look how he throws back the
damp curls! see him clasp his hands ! hear
his thrilling shrieks for life ! mark how ho
clutches at the form of his companion, im
ploring to be saved. Oh ! bear him call
piteously his father's name—see him twine
his fingers together as he shrieks for his
sister—his only sister--the twin of his
soul—weeping for him in his distant na
tive land.
"See !" she exclaimed, while the bridal
party shrank back, the untested wine
trembling in their faltering grasp, and the
Judge fell, overpowered, upon his seat—
"see ! his arms are lifted to heaven—he
prays, how wildly, for mercy! hot fever
rushes through his veins. The friend be
side him is weeping; awe stricken, the dark
men move silently away, and leave the
living and dying together."
There was a hush in that princely par
lor, broken only by what seemed a smoth
ered sob from some manly bosom. The
bride stood yet upright, with quivering lip,
and tears stealing to the outward edge of
her lashes. Her beautiful arm had lost
tension, and the glass, with its troubled
red waves, came slowly towards the range
of her vision. She spoke again ; every lip
was mute. Her voice was low, faint, yet
awfully distinct; she fixed her sorrowful
glance upon the wine-cup.
"It is evening now; the great white moon
is coming up, and its beams lay gently on
his forehead. Ho moves not ; his eyes are
set in their sockets ; dim are their piercing
glances ; in vain his friend whispers the
name of father and sister,—death is there.
Death—and no soft hand, no gentle voice
to bless and soothe him. His headsinks
back ! one couvulsive shudder! he is dead !"
A groan ran through the assembly, so
vivid was her description, so unearthly her
look, so inspired her manner—that—what
she described, seemed actually to have ta
ken place then and there. They noticed
also the bridegroom hid his face with his
hands and was weeping.
"Dead !" she repeated again, her lips
quivering faster, and her voice more and
more broken; "and there they skoop him a
grave : and there, without a shroud, they
lay him down in hat damp, reeking earth.
The only son of a proud father, the only,
the idolized brother of a fond sister. And
he sleeps to-day in that distant country,
with no atone to mark the spot. There he
lies—my father's son—my own twin
brother! a victim to this deadly poison.
'Father,'she exclaimed, turning suddenly,
while te tears rained down her beautiful
checks, "father shall I drink it now ?"
The form of the old Judge was convul
sed with agony. He raised not his head,
but in a smothered voice he faltered-"No,
no, my ohild..-in God's name—no."
She lifted the glittering goblet, and let
ting it suddenly fall to the floor, it was
dashed in a thousand pieces. Many a tear
ful eye watched her movement, and instan
taneously every wine-glass was transferred
to the marble table on which it had been
prepared. Then, as she looked at the frag
ments of crystal, she turned to the compa
ny, saying, "let no friend hereafter, who
loves me, tempt rue to peril my soul for
wine. Not firmer aro the everlasting hills
than my resolve, God helping me, never to
touch or taste that terrible poison. And
he to whom I have given my hand—who
watched over my brother's dying form in
that solemn hour, and buried the dear
wanderer there by the river in that land of
gold, will, I trust, sustain me in that re
solve—will you not, my husband?"
His glistening eyes,his sad, sweet smile,
was her answer. The Judge left the room,
and when an hour after he returned, and
with a more subdued manner, took part in
the entertainment of the bridal guests, no
one could fail to read that he, too, had de
termined to banish the enemy at once, and
forever, from his princely home.
Those who were present at that wedding,
can never forget the impressions so solemn
ly made,—many from that hour foreswore
the social glass.—Olive Branch.
a low table, and his pale fingers clutched
with convulsive energy the handle of a .
knife. His brows were knit and his lips
were tightly compressed, while the wild
and unsettled expression of his eyes seemed
to indicate the desperate purpose that was
flashing through his excited brain. Sud
denly he held the glittering steel to . the
light, ho felt of its keen edge and tapering
point, then, with startling energy he raised
the fatal knife on high and plunged it in
the breast of a—roast goose The gravy
ran out in torrents, and the half famished
young gentleman left behind him as the
only monument of hie prowess, a pyramid
of bones
The Mother at a Teacher.
When we see the flower seed wafted
From the nurturing mother tree,
We can tell, wherever planted,
What the harvesting will he;
Never from the blasting thistle
Was there gathered golden grain,
Thus the seal the child reeeiveth
From its mother, will remain.
As in the order of nature the relation
between mother and child precedes all oth
ers, so is the character of the first Teacher
invested with the most sacred responsibili
ties, and the highest dignity. The peculi
ar duties of this august relationship, are,
however, too frequently neither apprecia
ted or understood.
Here is one startling fact. The charac
ter and education of the child, as a gener
al thing, are foreshadowed in those of the
mother. And this must always be, unless
there are very strong predeterminations in
the nature of the child, or some unusual
and powerful circumstances intercept the
ordinary course of things. ShOw me the
woman whose physical, mental and moral
nature exhibit a free and harmonious de
velopment, and I will show you children
of vigorous constitutions, sweet tempers,
and promising scholarship. Show me the
reverse of these ; and the reverse I will
show back again to you ; and so of all the
gradations and variations. The character
of the mother is projected on that of the
Nor is this a fanciful theory ; for it is to
be referred to obvious and known laws.—
The mother in the first place should have a
loving heart; or she cannot win the love of
others, not even of her own children. She
should have an amiable temper, because a
person's atmosphere, o4be peculiar spirit
that invests his being, id" contageous ; and
petulance, besides many other evils, excites
combativeness in the child. She must have
I ldignity, or she cannot command respect ;
1 1 firmness, or she cannot maintain her own
laws. She mitit have an enlightened mind
or she cannot illuminate the groping minds
that are always looking to her for light.—
She must have a high sense of moral right,
or she cannot evoke and strengthen the
moral faculties in her children.
She may -theorize as felicitously as she
may, but if her daily and hourly practice—
her whole walk in life—does not furnish a
clear and beautiful commentary on her
oral teachings, they will be void—or worse
--they will be a mockery and scorn. It
is in vain for her to preach up amiability,
if she has so little dignity, as well as self
respect as to get angry, and throw things
about, or even to speak in loud harsh tones,
and scold. And besides, if it were possi
ble by any course of reasoning to show the
child that this spirit, being wrong, should
not be imitated, it inevitably disgraces the
parent in his eyes ; and then you may bid
farewell to all good influence in the future;
and more, the very spirit is contageous.
It is in vain that she advocates a strict
regard for truth, if she abuses not only
that divine principle, but common sense,
by telling a thousand false stories, a thou
sand frivolous lies, to put off her children,
and make things easy for the present. If
the children are intelligent as most of chil
dren are, every sin of this kind will be laid
up against her, and brooded over in secret
—first in wonder, then in disgust, or per-
Imps indignation at the shallow effort to
impose on their good faith; and finally, in
most case, the weakness of the child, with
the numerous temptations to error, will
furnish strong enough inducements to over
come all scruples, all disgust, and thus
taught he will adopt the parental license.
. .
It is in vain fo'r her Co declaim on the
excellence of Charity, Justice, and several
other virtues, if she entertains her husband
and friends by amusing her servants and
slandering her neighbors, or even speaking
ill of them. Children are shrewd and
acute observers of character and circum
stance; for it would seem that the very
want of breadth and scope in their mental
vision, gives them, within its range, a mi
croscopic intensity and power.
Every good mother of children will then
seek to inform herself of what they should
knd*, that she . nity teach them—to devel
ope herself that she may more successfully
enfold them—to make herself true, that
her truthfulness may be mirrored in them
—pure, that she may not contaminate there,
good, that her goodnees may be multiplied
continually, in a thousand , out-springing
acts of sweetest kindness, and finally, irra
diating all those fair young forms, grow
into the fullest proportions of immortal
Love and Beauty.
INDUSTRY.—Every young man should
remember that the world will hpnor indus
try. The vulgar and useless idler, whose
energies of body and mind ritating for
want of occupation, may look with worm
upon the laborer engaged at his toil, bat
his scorn is praise, his contempt honor.
Q7' (freely says every man who chows
tobacco should have a spittoon attached to
his noes by means of a nog.
Wonders of Nature.
Who can count the endless variety of l
insects which live and are happy in the
Sunlight around us? Saint Pierre says,
he observed one day some beautiful small
winged insects sit upon a strawberry plant
on the window of.his study. He descri
bed them on paper. The next day a dif
ferent sort appeared; which he also descri
ded. So they went on, changing every
day, till, in three weeks thirty-seven spa
des, totally distinct from each other. had
visited his plants; and still the variety was
not exhausted. They continued to come
till for want of time and txpressiobs, he
was compelled to relinquish the idea of
describing them. How manifold are the
works of God; in wisdom he has made them
Leewenhark, a celebrated natural phil
osopher, has counted thousands of animals,
with fins,_ in a single drop of water. Hob
ert Hook counted, in a drop of water as
small as a grain of millet, as high as forty
five thousand ! This may be smiled at by
the ignorant, but to one acquainted with
the microscope, it is as true as demonstra
We are told that there are thousands of
animals feeding on the leaves of plants '
like the cavtle in our meadows and our
moun,*..aing. They repose under the shade
of a down, imper, eptible to the naked eye,
and from goblets formed like so many suns,
they quaff nectar of the color of gold or
silver. St. Pierre discovered, by a micro
scope, in the flower of thyme, superb fla
gons with long necks, of a substance resem
bling amethyst, from the gullets of which
seemed to flop ingots of liquid gold. No
wonder that insects are fond of lingering
about plants and flowers;they are the source
of all their luxuries.
There is not the least doubt, that the
various 'races of insects, have each their
adaptation to particular plants, just as the
animals have to climates. For them to be
separated from these plants, is to be out of .
climate, out of food, and out of a congeni
al element. Little do we think that the cut
ting down of a plant is, tr myriadsof crea-
Itures, the destru3tion of the world !
As insects are affianced to ',articular'
plants, so some animals are to each other.
They seem to belong to each other as much
as the ivy to the wall. Though the shark
is so voracious, that ho will not only, when
hungry, devour his own species, but will
swallow anything that drops rom a ship
into the sea; cordage, cloth,
pitch, wood,
iron—nay, even knives; yet he will not in
juee the pilot fish that swims just before
and around his snout! Why? The shark,
no doubt, as a check on his voraciousness,
is nearly blind; but the pilot fish guides
him to his prey' He will spare his bene
factor. Is not this an interesting fact in
natural history ? No doubt the pilot fish
is also, iu some way not known to us, de
pendent upon the shark. How wonderful
is that divine arrangement, which binds to
gether in inter-dependence, two animals
which differ-so widely from eaoh other, in
every respect.
Natural history abounds in interesting
wonders,of which the above furnishes a few
specimens. How pleasant and instructive
It is in the winter season, when the dreari
ness of the outward world forbids us to go
forth to study the works of God in the
field, garden and grove, to pursue the same
delightful study in books by our firesides.
If every young person knew the pleasure
that lies in the path of every kind of sci
ence, he would soon lose all taste for ball,
room emptiness, and for all those various
kinds of worthless diversions, which please
only while they last, and often leave a sting
behind. 11 e have often wondered what
interest there can be in those various,
games, at which some persons sit for hours
and even for nights. Not one new thought
does the mind receive; not one better feel
ing moves the heart. So in reading tales.
What have we when the book is read 7
The repetition of stale incidents. Not so
when we lay down a book of history or na
tural science. We know more; our minds
are filled with useful and pleasant thoughts,
and our hearts are inclined sweetly in the
way of that new wisdom which we have at-,
(L 7" A party of young men were dining
at a public house, and among sundry dish
es served up for the occasion was a chick
ad roasted. One of the gentlemen present
made an attempt, to carve it, when he stop
ped suddenly and called for the landlord,
who was ie. another part of the room.
'{ , Landlord," said he, "you might have
made a: great deal more money with this
Cliie.ken than by serving it up in, this way."
"How eci I" asked the landlord, scaring.
Why in taking 1, round the country to
exhibit it." ,
- "Exhibit a chicken ! Who would give
anything to see a chicken 1" said wine
host, getting a little riled,
"Why, everybody would have paid to
see this one, for you might have informed
them, I have no doubt, with truth, that
this is the same rooster that crowed when
Peter denied hie Muter "
(-6 4; , 0
Barn-yard Manure.
The liquid and solid excrements of ani
mals contain all the elements of plants in
a state best suited for assimilation,
and the
great practical question of the farmer is
how to preserve them without loss and ap
ply them to the land in the best condition.
'Our present system of barn-yard manage
ment is most objectionable; by it the great
er parr• of the liqoid excrements are lost,
and by injudicious fermentation a large
portion of the organic gases escape, and
the toluble, and consequently most valua
ble portion pf the manure is washed away
by drenclong rains. These three evils
every one familiar with farm management
must have observed. The loss to the in
dividual by such a reprehensible practice
is great, and, viewed es a national evil, is
most appalling. The direct loss to the
farmers themselves, in the aggregate is im
mense: while the indirect loss to the coun
try is positively inestimable.
No farming can he profitable where the
manure is thus shamefully toasted; nothing
being plainer than that the crops of the
farm and the profits of the farmer are in
direct proportion to the amount and value
of the manure made on the farm. The
great aim of the farmer in the management
of barn-yard manure should be—first to
preserve all the liquid; second, to keep up
a slow fermentation, never letting the
heap heat or ferment violently and thus
throw off its ammonia, third, to prevent
leaching during heavy rains and melting
The first is perhaps the most difficult; I
and tanks for the reception of the liquid
are often recommended and adopted by
fir st rate farmers, and we wish there was a
good tank in every barn yard in the land;
yet we think that much may be done by
covering the bottom of the yard with dry
peat, muck, saw-dust, waste straw, potato I
vines, and numberless other absorbent sub
which can be found on most farms,
and which, valueless in themselves, can
thus be made into enriching fertilizers.—
If this be dohe and the yard be kept con
stantly supplied with waste straw, the
heap will absorb all the ,liquid of the ani
mals and what may fall in rain on its sur
face. If it will not, a tank or water-tight
pond should be placed in a convenient
place in the yard and the superabundant
water of the rainy season be preserved for
pumping back on the heap in a dry period.
If this liquid be kept saturated with sul
photo of lime, or refuse common salt, it
will be of great value to the manure, inas
much as plaster will, in its liquid state,
change the volatile carbonate of ammonia
into a fixed salt, sulphate of ammonia.
The second object, or keeping up a gra
dual and not too rapid decomposition, is
very easily attained. If horse or sheep
manure be thrown up loosely, so that there
is a free admiission of air and moisture, ra
pid and most injurious decomposition takes
place with the °volition of ammonia, car
bonic acid' and water. This burning pro
cess (for it is nothing less than a slow pro
cess of actual combustion) may be allowed
to go on till the heap is greatly reduced in
size, and what is left be comparatively
worthless. On tire other hand, if the hog
and cow manure be thrown in a solid heap,
little or no decomposition takes place and
the manure remains in a raw and unsuita
ble state for direct application to rapidly
growing plants. Tho object of the farmer,
therefore, should be to mix these several
manures together, so that the horse ma
nure, &c.• ' shall act as ferment and induce
1110 desired decomposition of the hog ma
&o. In this way they will counter
each other, and the heap by spring will
be in first-rate order for direct application'
to the corn, potato, or other crops. Sheep
do not like to lie on a fermenting manure
heap. They should, if possible, have a
separate yard to run in at night, and the
manure they make be hauled to the heap
as often as practicable, fresh straw being
supgied, in its place. It is generally ne
cessary thdt sheep and cattle should ruu on
the manure heap so as to ecturpress it and
prevent too rapid fermentation.
The third condition necessary to pre
serve the valuable elements of manure is to
prevent leaching. This can be accomplish=
ed by having, all the buildings around the
yard spouted and the water conducted
away without falling on the manure. If
this is done, the water falling,pn the nv u
ral surface of the heap will not usually bo
more,than the n.anure, can adsorb; if it is,
as we have before said, it,should, be pre
served—saturated with plaster and convey
ed back to the heap in dry weathers
We believe, if those three conditions ,be
attended to in the wanner we have men
tioned, or in some other way better suited
to individual situations, the Value of the
umento on most farms would be at least
In conveying litter from the stable,
cow-house, and pig -pens, a good large
farm-yard wheelbarrow is absolutely ne
cessary. Indeed, we think a wheelbar
row is one of the most essential vehicles to
the proper management of a well conduct
ed farm establishment—a one-bores lifting
NO: 13.
cart standing nextin our estimation.• Both
are needed to perform much necessary
work in the most economical manner.
We have said nothing about the condi
tion in which it is beat to apply manure s
whether in a fermented or unfermentesl
state, about which there is much differ
ence of opinion, not obly among men of
science but farmers tbeuiaelvess. There
is necessarily a loss during the fermenting
process; but if it is confined , to water and
carbonic acid, the loss to the farmer is of
little or no consequence. And if the heap
is ntannged as we have directed, and espe
cially if saturated solutions of plaster are
frequently pumped and re-pumped on the
heap, little of ammonia need escape. In
such a case the more the heap is reduced by
fermentation the less labor will be required
to haul and spread it; while from its con
centrated soluble character (for many of
the mineral substances are increased in
solubility by fermentation with organic
matter) it acts much quicker and with
more effect on spring crops than though
appiied in the green state.
On heavy clay soils it is often advents
guar] to apply the manure in the green
state, the trbonic acid generated by the
fermentation of the little in the soil issis
ting matei lady the solubility of silicates
and other nearly insoluble salts., It also
increases the porosity of the soil, sod thus
benefits it mechanically as well as °howl
cally.—Genesse F.,rmer.
How to Make a Reader•
Mr. Cobden, in a late speech, said
you put into the hands of the rural peas
ant treatises on sciences, extracts from his
tory, or books of travel, they will afford no
stimulus or excitement to such peoples and
they either will not read them at all, or
they will very soon fall asleep over them.
Follow him to the village green or to the
public house, and you will find that their
conversation does not turn upon the won
derful Falls of Niagara, or the Vale of Cha
mouni, or the exploits of Alexander, but
you will hear him say this: "When did Tim
Giles kill his pig ?"--(laughter)--or, "How
many quarters to the acre does Farmer
Smith get from such a field of wheat 'l"
Or if he travels at all from his own village,
it is only in the ease of some great accident,
or that of a bridge swept away by some
great flood. These are the topics that ex
cites his sympathies, r.tid to nmke,him be
come a re Icier at all, you muct bnciptlrge
cheap local newspapers. Every market
town should have its local sheet, contain
ing all the local news of the neighborhood,
report of accidents, the news of the potty
and quarter sessions and county courts.—
These would excite his sympathies; these
would make him a reader. When you have
succeeded in this, you may then give him
something more enlarged and comprehen
sive and wise."—English Paper.
old age, beautiful as the slow drooping
mellow autumn of a rich, glorious summer..
In the old man, nature has fulfilled her,
work; she loads him with the, traits of a
well spent life • ; and surrounded by his
childten and his children's children, she
rocks hint away softly to the grave to
whioh he is followed by blessings. God
forbid we should not call it beautiful.—
There is another life, hard, rough and
thorny, trodden with bleeding feet and
aching brow; the life of which the cross is
the symbol : battle which no. peace. follows
this side of the grave; which the • grave
gapes to finish before the victory is won ;
anti strange that it should be—this is the
highest life of man. Look back along the
great names of history; there is none whose
life has been other than this.—Westtnix
stet Review.
Close Quarters.
can tell a better story than that,"
added the captain.
"I felt pretty considerably frisk one
day, and I went , up the lightning rod hand
over-head as high as the vane. I had a
first rate prospect up there—but that ain't
all. A thunder cloud came over and I
saw it was going to strike the steeple, and
thinks I to myself, if It hits me I'm done
up. So I got ready and when the crack
came I gave ono leap up, lot the lightning
strike and run down, and then naught hold
P - J" A lawyer was once pleading a case
that brought tears into the jurors'
and every one gave up the ease as gone
for the plaintiff.
But the opposing counsel arose and
said :
"May it please to court : I do not pro
pose in this ease to bore for water, but—"
• Hero the tears were suddenly dried,
laughter ensued, the ridiculQuaness of the
case was exposed, and the defendant got
"The following question is now be
fore the Sand Lake Asylum—'•Whioh
nausea the moat swearing,, a horse that
won't draw, or a stove Hawkins takes
the negative .