, J: it ttuntingDon o.,aurinit BY WM. BREWSTER TERMS : The “lIIINTis ono x JOURNAL" is published at he following rates: If paid in advance $1,60 If paid within six months after tho time of subscribing 1,75 If paid at the end of the year _ 2,00 Arid two dollars and SO cents if not paid till after the expiration of the year. No subscription will be taken for a less period than six months, and no paper will be discontinued, except at the option of the Editor, until all arrearages arc paid. Subscribers living in distant connties,or in other States, will be required to pay invariably in advance. cir The above terms will be rigidly adhered o in all eases. ADVERTISEMENTS Will he charged at the following rates: 1 insertion. 2 do. 3 do. Six lines or less, $ 25 $ 37} $ 50 One square, (10 lines,) 50 75 1 00 Two . 4 (32 " ) 100 150 200 Three " (49 " ) 150 225 300 Business men advertising by the Quarter, Halt Ycar or Year, will be charged the following rates: a mO: 6 mo. 12 mo. Ono square, $3 00 $5 00 $8 00 Two squares, 500 800 12 00 Three squares, 750 10 00 15 00 Four mimes, 900 14 00 23 00 Five squares, 15 00 25 00 38 00 Ten squares, 25 00 40 00 60 00 Business Cards not exceeding six lines, one yoar, $4.00. JOB WORK: sheet handbills, 30 copies or lees, at least you °righter. *dal Cate. From the Waverley I\frkgazine. THE POOR RELATIVE. BY ANNA MORSN. WAT say you. Clarence, to spend ing the remainder of our vaca tion in the country ? To be sure the win ter is not the time that Is usually set apart for whiling away the time amid the hills and snow-drifts of New England ; but to tell the truth I am wearied to death of this contin ued round of parties, balls. nothwith standing the favor I have lately been re ceived with by calculating mama's with marriagable daughter. I have no less than ten invitations now to their select assemblies, as they are called. Thanks to uncle Barry for the eight hundred thou sand dollars he left me—bless his old bach elorship for that? I have since risen more than eighty per cent in the market with some of our city matrong ;—but what say you.shall we start on the morrow ?" $1 25 150 2 50 have no objection to accompatting you; on the contrary, think I should like it such ; but tomorrow would be rather soon for me to be in readiness to go with you, as! have some few friends I would like to take to leave of ; and you Walter, I believe, have an engagement to spend an evening with those distant connections of yours on T--street. "A fig for my engagement to theta ; when I called on them two years ago this very month, on some business for niy un cle in Baltimore, they did not even know me; though I had always lived in the sumo city, and but two or three streets distant. I met them at Mrs. B —'s; they were quite enraptured to see me, and regretted much that so near relations should see so little of each other as we had done ; but we must make up for all that in the future ; I must come and see them every day, and make their house my home. I think I will not treble my self to keep that engagemen', besides it was but a half promise as best. But I for get ! I will call on the B—s; I recol lect a fair girl just emerging into woman hood, with bright shining curls, and eyes that reminde one of the heavens above by their look of holy purity and Innocence. She appeared to be the constant companion of Adele B—, and I was afterwards informed that she was the governess. I sought in vain, at the time, for an intro ' duction, but no one seemed to know her; after awhile she dropped her fan ; I ad vanced and presented it to her,upon which Adele ll gave me an introduction. I immediately commenced conversation, and was much amused at her witty and intelligent conversation, so different from what I had been listening too the early part of the evening. Soon I saw the company collecting for a quadrille, and I asked her to join me in the dance; I need not describe to you her gracefulnes., for you were a witness to it ; but I am detain ing you, and we have no time to lose ; I hope you will be ready by day after to morrow at the farthest; and now adieu for the present—l will meet you again in the evening." These two young men, we have thus unceremoniously introduced to our rend ers, were each of them about to enter upon their last college term, and had always been classiruttes and intimate friends from the time they commenced a student's life. l'hey were both of them preparing for the profession of law, and gave promise of rising fame and honor. Walter Sinclair had commenced his studies under many perplexities and in conveniences, and had sometimes been I obliged to teach, during Ilia winter vaca tion to find the means of defraying his no cessary expenses. He had seen the hom i age payed to wealth, while sterling worth passed by unnoticed. He had longed to administer wholesome reproofs, but be knew that it would be considered, coming from nne of his station, as arising from envy ; but, indeed, this was not the case ; as regarded himself he was entirely indif ferent. But when some few years later ' he received the tidings of his father's half brother' s death , wilo had rumba a for. HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, MAY 2, 1855. tune in the West Indies, and left him his sole heir, his friends surrounded him from all quarters, he and Clarence had many a laugh at their expense. In person Walter Sinclair was rather above the medium height; his countenance was of a fair complexion, but was com bined with vigor and strength of expres sion ; his hard eye was piercing and quick, varying with every changing feeling or momentary emotion; and round his lips, whets in repose, there was a peculiar tone of scornful playfulness in every expres sion his countenance assumed. His friend, Clarence Hastings, possessed a moderate independence, and had often of fered to assist Walter in pecuniary mat ters, but he was too proud, and possessed too independent a spirit to avail himself of his friend's proffered kindness. In dis position, Clarence was rather of a more serious cast than Walter, but he possessed true manliness of character, and in college reputmion ranked rather above his friend; he had talent, too, and those who had lis tened to his glowing and persuasive elo quence marked out for him n brilliant ca reer. It was a cold morning in December that Walter and Clarence took the cars which were to convey them some sixty or seven ty miles into the country, and in three or four hours they alighted ate pleasant, bu sy country village, and took apartments where they could have a good view of all that was going on, and also of the hills and mountains in the distance. It was excellent sleighing, and the vil lagers were improving it to the extent of their rthility; the bells were merrily jing ling, the horse and sleighs running hither and thither, all unmindful of the biting cold, which would prevent our city belles from venturing beyond the precincts of their own fire-side. Sinclair and his friend would daily order their horse and sleigh, and away they would go over hills and vallies, until the village would be left far in the distance. It was on one of these excursions that their course was arrested by the sight of a horse running at full speed, while the young female in the sleigh vainly strove to detain him. Walter immediately en deavored to stop him, but ere he could ac complish his purpose the sleigh was over turned, while the horse rushed on swifter than before, leaving his lovely burden en veloped in a snow-drift. Walter hastens to the lady, who, though much frighten ed, has escaped unharmed, and offers his assistance, which is thankfully received ; he immediately takes her into his own sleigh, while his friend hastens after the run away horse. She informs him that she, with her little brother, had beento visit a sick friend, and were ready to re torts home, when she recollected some thing she had left behind ; her brother im mediately returned for it, when the horse took fright and ran away, as we have al ready seen; her voice was soft and musi cally sweet, and Walter had listened with the greatest attention to every word she said ; as they arrived at her dwelling, she raised the thicic green veil with which her face had been covered, and expressed her gratitude for his kindness. Why did Walter Sinclair start and forget to reply to those words of thankfulness ; he had seen that face before. It was a lighten- ing flash with him—one of those quick, uncontrolable feelings which have never been explained, and never will be; it seem ed to his friend, who had reached the ho tel before him, that some unknown want had just been supplied -801U° unknown vacuum in his spirit filled to overflowing. He waited in vain for Walter to solve the mystery—he was most provokingly si lent. At last Clarence broached the sub ject to him, and he replied : "You recollect the young lady whom we snot at Mrs. B—'s, whom I told you I afterwards learned was their g wer ness ? Well, on the evening, before I left the city, 1 called at the house, hoping again to meet with one whom I confess had occupied most of my secret thoughts since the time I first met her; do not smile, Clarence, I was not in love, though I felt touch sympathy for her, as sbe did not look quite happy, and there seemed to be a secret sorrow in her heart. Well, I waited in vain for her appearance; at last I mustered all the confidence I could com mand and enquired for her, but I did not hear very distinctly her name, and had forgotten it. I told them I believed there was a young lady there to whom I had an introduction on the evening of their as sembly. The eldest, Arabella, replied— "Oh, yes, Miss Greenville; she had gone out to make a call, andiisey expect ed her retorts every mousent.l) replied it wat , not nil L yreenville that I meant, but I thought .;44,10y0u not allowed to finish my sentence, for little Ada B—replied,— "Why, Bella, do you not know, Mr. Sin clair means cousin Clara ?" And away she bounded out of the room, where she remained some little time and then return ed looking quite sad and dispirited.— "Mamma, will you not go and, see cousin Clara? She is weeping, and will not tell me the cause—she says she has a severe headache, but that would not make her cry." "The mother immediately arose and followed Ada, and they neither of them returned before I had taken my departure. "The expression of the countenance of the two remaining sisters was anything but amiable. I done my best to keep up the conversation, but my thoughts were elsewhere, and I soon took leave. I thought much of the cousin, as I had now learned her to be, and supposed she was some poor relative ; as the eldest Miss B--- had taken pains to tell me she was their governess, my sympathies were enlisted in her welfare, but Idid not ex pect to meet her here, and it was with mingled surprise and pleasure that I rec ognized, in the fair stranger we encoun tered this afternoon, Mrs. B 3 's gov erness. She seemed more beautiful to me, by the single glance I had of her, than formerly ; but I suppose it was the bright glow that exercise had given to her coun tenance. But there is the supper bell ; and, if you please, we will adjourn there for a short time." • On the following day Sinclair sent to enquire of our heroine, and to see if she had received any injury from her fall the day previous ; but it seemed it took him some time to make all needful enquiries, for his friend waited in vain for him to lake his accustomed ride ; he did not re turn till tea time, and then he was too ab- sent minded and abstracted for conversa tion. His former levity had given place to a serious thoughtfulness, and his mind was busy with the fair and gentle being from whom he had just panted. CIIIAPTER 11. Clara Green's beauty- was one of that style that at once instils into the beholder a sort of protecting tenderness which they would feel for a petted and favorite child. Her hair hangs in graceful ringlets down her back, mocking the control of the shell comb, which is all too frail to confine those abundant tresses. She is young, pure, and guileless; and the rose just bursting into bloom is not more fresh and joyous looking than is Clara Green; still, the had known sorrow—keen, bitter sorrow. She had been called to mourn the loss of a be loved father about three years previous, who had left his wife and three children depending on themselves for the means of support. Clara had worked hard at her needle, but it was little she could earn, though she worked early and late ; the rent was becoming due, and they were without means to pay it, when she received a lib eral offer, if she would go and assist her aunt, who resided in the city, in taking care of her children in the capacity of gov erness. Clara grieved at the thought of leaving her dear mother, and brother and sister ; but, by going, site could earn much more for their support, and besides she was go. ing among friends ; so she thought, and set out with a cheerful heart. But poor Clara was doomed to disappointment ; on her arrival she was led at once to the nur sery, where she was obliged to remain with the children from morning till night. She not only had the care of them, but was sometimes obliged to sit up till midnight to finish something for the dressmaker, which was wanted by one of the young la dies for some gay assembly ; and who was also obliged to wait upon Frank, a rude boy, too rude to remain in the nursery, but still allowed to call on her for any fa vor he might wish ; and Clara not only found herself governess, but seamstress, siaiting.maid, and servant. She had for merly, though poor, been used to sympa thy and kindness ; but now she found her self deprived of both : with the exception of her little cousin. Ada, now it child of ten years, she had not a friend in the house. From the first she conceived a strong attachment for Clara, and relieved her of many a Wil i am and trouble. It was at the earnest solicitation of Ada, and the commands of her father, that Clara was allowed to be present on the evening of their party; Clara had no wish herself to be time, but Ada was determin ed to have it so, and she was forced to con sent. Poor Clara wns loft entirely alone, and was not introduced to a single person present : when her cousins saw her with the wealthy Walter Sinclair us his partner in the dance, they were much surprised at her boldness. Her aunt went to her, and enquired how she became acquainted with Mr. Sinclair- She related the circum stance of her dropping her fan, and Ada's introduction. But then Clara, whose greatest fault was her poverty and her beauty,. received a severe rebuke, and was told she had better retire from the room.— She obeyed ; but she could endure this no longer : her sensitive nature shrank from the slight and scorn to which she was dai ly exposed, and, in a few days, she return ed to her village home, notwithstanding the reproof of her aunt and- cousins, who accused her of ingratitude in leaving them just as she had begun to be of some service. Ada wept bitter tears at the departure of her favorite, but, young as she was, she knew she was not treated kindly, and she rejoiced for her sake that she was going among friends On the day following his preceding vis it, Walter again called, and took his friend with him. Oarence was much pleased with his new acquaintance ; he found her an intelligent, agreeble young lady, who had read much, and read, too, with taste ; her table was covered with magazines, books of modern poetry, and even some of the more severe works ; and her talents, apart from her beauty, would have made her society sought for and appreciated any where. Walter was becoming more and more in love, and, ere he parted from her this evening, he formed thii resolution that if he could gain her love, he would mako her his wife. Evening after evening did Walter wind his way to her home, and Clarence was also a frequent visitor, and Sinclair was some times inclined to be jealous of his friend ; for, while she listened to him with atten tion, her smiles and interest seemed whol ly engrossed with Clarence ; lie would hove given worlds if he could have been half so entertaining, but he seemed spell bound in her presence. His friend, per ceiving he regarded him in the light of a rival, abstained from his visists to her dwelling. But the vacation was fast drawing to a close, and Walterhad not de clared his love; formerly he had not lack ed assurance, but now his heart was dis quieted within him, for he feared his de votion iv,. •'tarned. But the day for his departure was at hand, and the evening before it arrived he hastened to her residence, seated himself by her side, told her all his love, and ask ed her to become his wife. The little hand in his trembled, but was not with drawn ; and, ere they parted, they had made a natural promise to love and cher ish each other all their life long." Walter entered his friend's apartment with a more cheerful countenance than lie had born for some time, and confided to him all his happiness. Well, now I suppose you will not ob ject to my taking leave of her in the morn ing, as I have found so muck pleasure in her society that I would not like to go without one farewell word." And thus they parted, and Walter re tired to muse on his good fortune, and dream of his idolized Clara. The last term of Walter's collegial life seemed longer than all the others : but at last it came to an end; he graduated with his friend, and returned to Clara's native home to claim his bride. He found Clara growing more and more dear to him, while she seemed but to live in his presence.— Ada B-- had come from the city to spend a few weeks with her dear cousin Clara, as she always called her. CHAPTER 111, " Here is a note from Clara, enclosed in ada's letter," said Arabella B— to her mother; only think, Clara is going to be married, and has sent us all an investi gation to the wedding; it is an honor I am not in the least anxious for; but it is all owing to you allowing Ada to go and stay there so long ; but we must cut her ac quaintance entirely—this is too presu ming." "Indeed, Arabella, Mrs. Green's fami ly are respectable, and I know no reason why Ada should not go to visit them; and it is a great care off my hands." "I think I will attend Clam's wedding said •Helen B , "just for the novel ty of the thing; you know we can give up the acquaintance just as well afterwards; and besides, this is a pleasant time to vis it the country, and I can take Ada home with me, so I think I will conclude to go." On Helen B—'s arrival at Mrs. Green's residence, she was met at the door by her sister, who exclaimed,— ~ W hat made you so late; Helen? I had most despired of your coming ; but why did not papa and mama come with you t We must hasten, or Clam will be at the church before uit.". -[WEBOTER , They immediately hastened thither, and awaited the arrival of the bridegroom and bride. It would be impossible to conceive a more beautiful object than Clara Green, on this her bridal eve. She •vas dressed in a robe of white satin, which came down on her neck, fully revealing the rounded and snow white neck and shoul ders, and a profusion of bright shining hair, with here and there a diamond flash ingout like a star in the midst of a cloud ; her delicate and rounded arms were en circled with a gift of him who was about to become her husband,— a bracelet form. ed of a cincture of pearls, joined togeth er by a clasp formea entirely of diamond, ; over all was thrown a bridal veil—a deli cate point lace of such exquisite fineness that it floated around her like gossamer:— The magnificence of her dress was in exquisite taste, and suited well her style of beauty. But if Clara was perfect in feminine beauty, not loss so was Walter in his manly and commanding dignity; and anxiously his eye would rest on the fair being at his side, with all the earnest ness and pride of a first and only love. Had Helen B—been suddenly trasported to fairyland, and seen the eel- estrial beauty of their queen, site could not have been more thoroughly surprised than she was to see her despised cousin leaning on the arm of him them both she and her proud sister had tried to win, as his beloved and cherished wife. She leaned back against the wall for support while her young sister stood by her side, her race scarce less radiant with happi ness than Clara herself. But now the cerrmony is completed; the holy mon has pronounced his blessing upon them, and Walter Sinclair and Clar- a Green are husband and wife. But Helen did go to meet the bride as her friends gathered around her; the events which had just passed before her eyes completely bewildered her, and she had not the power nor will to move, but stood as one transfixed; at length site returned with her sister to the residence of one whom she was now proud to claim as a relation, and Clara, too happy in being united to the man of her choice to cherish resentment, r eceived her cordially, thought she thought there was a sarcastic expres sion passed over Walter's face as he re ferred to their last meeting. "•What can be the reason that Helen and Ada have not returned ? Helen would not surely remain at Mrs. Green's all day. As she uttered these words, she took up the evening paper, and glances over its contents, the following met her eye : "Married —ln L—, last evening, Walter Sinclair, Esqr., to Clara daughter of the late Dr. Edward Green. Mr. Sin clair sailed this morning with his beautiful bride from Europe." The paper dropped from her band; she uttered no remark, but sat long gazing va cantly at the fire; what her thoughts were we knew not, and can only imagine, while we leave our readsrs to do the same. Walter and Clara did not return imme diately after making the tour of the Euro pean continent, but remained abroad about five or six years; during that time they heard very frequently from the family by the way of Ada, and learned that Ellen had married a foreigner of sup posed rank, but it eventually turned out that he was only coachman to one, and they were now residing somewhere in the country; but the whereabouts was not known, as she had not chosen to inform her family of her residence. Arabella still re mains in single blessedness, and often raves of the disgrace which Helen has brought on her family. On Mr. B—'s death, which occurred about one year since, it was found that his property was so much involved that his children were penniless; Ada immediately opened a school, and won the esteem of her pupils, with that of their parents, also. On Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair's return to their native state, the first to welcome their return was Clarence Hastings, now one of the most distinguished lawyers of his native state, and his young wife, Ada B. or An Oregon widow thus writes her experience during her sojourn on the Pa cific coast. I have indeed been most unfortunate, bbth of my arms have been slightly pal sied, each of my legs have been broken ; my health has been generally bad ; I have had four husbands in my time, but they all up and died poor things,and I had four yoke of oxen, and the cussed Indians stole and eat them. SAULT STE. MARIE ('ANAL.-J. W. Brooks, Superintendent of this Canal, says that vessles will be passed through in. to Lake Superior some time in the month of May. VOL. 20. NO. 18. zt an unwx. THE DOESTICK LETTERS-CONTINUED, FIRST COMPLETE COLLECTION. Original Views of Men and Things. HUMOROUS ASPECTS OF AMERICAN LIFE. ICIII.-DOESTICES INVENTS A PAT ENT MEDICINE. NEw YORK, Nov. 6, 1854. / 70 Hundred and One, Narrow at. S Congratulate me—my fortune is made —I am immortalized, and I've done it my self. I have gone into the patent medicine business. My name will be handed down to posterity as that of a universal benefac tor. The hand which hereafter writes upon the record of Fame, the names of Ayer, Sands, Townsend, Moffitt, Morrison, and Brandreth, must also inscribe, side by side with these distinguished appellations, the no less brilliant cognomen of the un dying Doesticks. Emulous of the deathly notoriety which has been acquired by the medicinal worthies just mentioned, I also resolved to achieve a name and a fortune in the same reputable and honest manner. Bought a gallon of tar, a cake of beeswax, and is firkin of lard, and in twenty-one hours I presented to the world the first batch of "Doesticks' Patent, Sey..deling, Four• Horse Power Balsam," designed to cure all diseases of mind, body, or estate, to give strength to the weak, money to the poor, bread and butter to the hungry, boots to the barefoot, decency to blackguards, and common sense to the Know-Nothings. It acts physically, morally, mentally, psy chologically. physiologically, and geologi cally, and it is intended to make our sub lunary sphere a blissful paradise, to which Heaven itself shall be but a side show.. I have not yet brought it to absolute per fection, even now it acts with immense force, as you will perceive by the accom panying testimonials and records of my ou•u individual experience. You will ob serve that I have not restored to the usual scanner of preparing certificates ; which is, to be certain that all those intended for Eastern circulation shall seem to come from some formerly unheard of place in the West, while those sent to the West shall be dated at some place forty miles cast of sun-rise. But I send to you, as representing the western country, a cer tificate from an Oregon farmer : "Dean Sin : The land composing my firm has hitherto been so poor that a Scotchman couldn't get his living off it; and so stony that we had to slice our pota toes and plant them edgeways; but hear ing of your balsam, I put some on the earner of a ten.acre lot, surrounded by a rail fence, and in the morning I found the rocks had entirely disappeared—a neat stone wall encircled the field, and the rails were split into oven wood and piled up symmetrically in my back yard. Put half an ounce into the middle of a huckle berry swamp—in two days it was cleared off, planted with corn and pumpkins, and had a row of peach trees in full bloom through the middle. As an evidence of its tremendous strength, I would state that it drew a striking likeness of my eld. est daughter—drew my youngest boy out of the mill-pond—drew a blister all over his stomach—drew a load of potatoes four miles to market, and eventually drew a prize of ninety-seven dollars in the State Lottery. And the effect upon the inhab. itants hereabout has been so wonderfal, that they have opened their eyes to the good of the country, and are determined' to vote for a Governor who is opposed to frosts in the middle of June, and who will make a positive law against freshets, hail storms, and the seventeen-year locusts." 'There isn't that some? But I give one more from a member of the senior class in a western College, who, although misguid ed, neglected and ignorant, is, undoubted. ly, as honest and sincere as his Prussian. ized education will admit of. I have cor rected the orthography, and revised some grammatical inaccuracies; but, besides at tending to these trifles, inserting marks of punctuation, and putting the capitals in the right places, I assure you I have made no alteration. Sent HArtuon, June 31, 1854. " Mr DEAR Nevin : [You knnw I at. tended medical lectures half a-winter, and once assisted in getting a crooked needle out of a baby's leg; so I understand per fectly well the theory and practice of me dicine, and the Doctor is perfectly legiti mate under the Prussion system.] By the incessant study required in this estab. lishment, I had become worn down so thin that 1 was obliged to put on an over coat to cast a shadow—but acciduntally ha . ving of your Balsani, I obtained a quan tity, and, iu obedience to the'llomeopatli.