Huntingdon Journal

              ^*f
THE JOIJRI^AL.
"ONB   CODHTUY,   OftE   CONSTTTUTIOW,   OHB    DBSTIWT."
A.   W.   BENEDICT   PUBLISHER   AND   PROPRIETOR.
Sift
Vol.   VI, No. 39.]
HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY,JUNE .13,    1841.
[WHtotB No. 289.
I OF  THE
I HUXTINGDQX  JOURNAL.
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AGENTS.
"" FOR
Tlie IMunttnsitlon .Journal.
Daiiiel'Peaguc, Orbisonia; David Blair, Ksq. Shade Gap; Benjamin Lease, Shirleys- burg; Eliel Smilh, Esq. Chilcottstown; Jas. Kntriken. jr. Cefi'ee iiun; Hugh Madden, lisq. Springfield; Dr. S. S. Dewey, Bir¬ mingham; James Morrow, Union Furnace ; JohnSisler, Warrior Mark; James Davis, Esq. West township ; D. H. Moore, Esq, Frankstown; Eph. Galbreath, Esq. HoUi¬ ilaysburg; Henry Neff, Alexandria; Aaron Burns, XVdliamabur%; A. J. Stevvart, Water Street; Win. Reed, Esq. Morris toivnship; Solomon Hamer. Aeff's Mill;James Dysart, Mouth Spruce Creek; Wm. Murray, Esq. Graysville; John Crum, Alanor Hill; Jas. K. Stewart, Sinking Valley; L. G. Kessler, Mill Creek.
THE MAIDEN'S PRAYER. She rose from her untroubled sleep.
And put aside her soft brown hair. And, in a tone as low and deep
As love's first whisper, breath'd a prayer; Her snow white hands toECther pressed—
Her blue eyes sheltered in its lid— The folded linen on her breast
Just swelling wilh the charms it hid | As from her long and flowing dress
Escaped a bare and tender foot. Whose lall upon the earth tid press
Like a snow while flake, soft and mute. And there from slumbers soft and warn),
Like a young spirit fresh from Heaven, She bowed her light and graceful form,
And humbly prayed—fo be forgiven.
Oh God ! if souls unsoiled as these
Need daily mercy at thy throne— If SUB upon her bended knees.
Our loveliest and our purest one. Sue, with a face so clear and bright, Wc deem her some stray child of light— If SHB, with those soft eyes in tears. Day after day, in her first years, Must kneel and pray for grace from thee. What far, far deeper need have we I How hardly, if she win not heaven VVill our wild errors be forgiven.
¦  n
THE SABBATH BELL.
BT JOUN M'CABE.
•Tis sweet to hear the Sabbath bell.
Whose soft and silvery chime Breaks on the ear with fall and swell.
Watting our thoughts from lime. I love to hear ils mellow strain.
Gome fleeting up the dell, While wending to that sacred fane.
Where chimes the Sabbath bell. How memory mingles with that peal 1
How hours of other years ! How sad thc thoughls, that, pensive steal
Along my trickling tears ! Thoughts, mournful to my bosom lone,
Yet those I would not quell; For, soothing to my grief, that tone
Of thine, $wcet Sabbath bell.
A few years more—the winds, so bland,
WiU bid the young flowers wave ; Which, oh! perhaps some soft sweet hand^
Will plant around my grave ! I'll miss thy dear, fii miliar voice.
Which, ah ! so oft could tell My heart, tho' tempest-tost, "rejoice,"—
Thou dear, dear Sabbath bell I
An Irishman remarked to hia compan ion, on observing a lady pass, "Pat did you ever see as thin a woman as that r" "Thin," replied the other, "Bathershune, I seen a woman as thin as two of her."
Thb Right o» Ijiitation.—Wooden cakes, beautifully frosted, and mahogany dou"»hnut9are advertised to be let for par- tiesrin one of the Bangor papcrg.
Frn{;iut;nt ofa Modern NotcI.
Immediately on hia arrival in town, Barent drove toward his own dwelling, through crowds much more numerous than those wlii:h usually till the sireets. A general sensation through the city mark¬ ed some uncommon and interesting event, and the increasing throng poured with a geneial haste and excitement, from the adjacent avenues, into the Park, like the rushing tributes of the mountain streams swelling the v« aters of a lake. At length they completely surrounded the Bride¬ well, wilh a closeness of beings like bees swarming about the Iiives.—A» they grad¬ ually increased, the last comers, after lingering a few miiiutes in the Park, with¬ out being able in coniequence ol the pres¬ sure, to get near the prison, bent their course in large numbers up broadway, re¬ sembling, if the reader will pardon the continuation ofa common simile, the wat¬ ers of the same lake, which, when swol¬ len, to inundation, rolls forth its superflu¬ ous contents over the banks and urges them along some new channel. H was thc day appointed forthe death of the unhappy French girl—and it was to be¬ hold lier issue Irom the prison-door that this mighty concourse of spectators were now assembled. The lost and abandoned creature, in a fit of jealousy and intox- cation, ignorant of the law, and half-uni- conscious of what she did, had fired the house ol ber profligate destroyer. She had been convicted, and setenced to die- greatly to her astonishment, never havin" conceived herself committing capital of¬ fence. So strong was the curiosity to be* hold her, that woman decently dressed, and some with infants in their arms, min¬ gled in the dangerous pressure to gaze with a horror irrepressible, yet, to some minds, strangely attractive, npoii • fel¬ low-being undergoing; the last terrible or¬ deal of fate. The same love of excite¬ ment, *hich led the Romans to the ainpi- thcatre, still, in a modified shape, gathers the tbousands to view a mortal in the sub¬ lime moments of death !
The sentence of the law provided that the condemned should be taken from the prison and consigned to her fate belween the hours of nine and three. It was al¬ ready past noon, and for several hours the populace had waited in suspense, and, with a singular inconsistency, which forms one ot the paroiluxes of human na¬ ture, even while they pitied tha poor wo¬ man, impatient to behold her execution. At length, and wilh great difficulty, a carriage drove up before the door, follow¬ ed by a cart, containing the coffin. Sev¬ eral minules afler the prison wag thrown open, and a group of gentlemen—the sheriir and bis assistant, and several cler¬ gymen appeared; and in the midst, and fatally conspicuous by her dress of white, and her arms pinioned at the elbows; the doomed victim of juslice walked slowly ; her face and lips, even through her Bru't nette complexion, blanched to a hue ot death. A murmur ot horror and deep compassion went heavily through the cruwd, upon whost multifarious, unfeel¬ ing and clamorous agitations, fell the mo- tionlessncss and silence ofa desert. She walked, however unsupported, lo her car¬ riage, and once or twice was observed to smile and shake her head ; but her words, which apparently accompanied the action, extended not beyond the circle immedi¬ ately around her. As the carriage pro¬ ceeded, at a slow pace, frequently ob¬ structed by the multitude, the innumera¬ ble spectators haslened forward to secure places, as if at some agreeable scenick re¬ presentation. The eontagion flew from one to the other, and the tramping of thousands of her fellow being!<, as they rushed by in a broad and heavy tide, lo witness her death, must have tallen with exquisite horror upon the cars ofthe crimi inal.
To the astonishment, however, ofevery one wilhin hearing, although the paleness of her ashy face and bloodless lips fully attested her excitement, yet she persisted obstinately in asserting flie belief that the whule was exiended as a mere theatrical spectacle, to frighten her and the public —that she was not going to be diliber- atcly put lo death—butchered in daylight, and befure the eyes o^ the whole assem¬ bled city, for a crime committed in a mo¬ ment ot madness! She assured the Sherifl that she had many a happy day to live yet—that she would leave thc country a» soon as this mumery was over, and that afler havinp, in the presence of the governor, invoked a blessing upon hig head, lor the reprieve wliich she knew he had granted, and whicii she was sure the sheriff* or some of the attends had in their pockets, she would change her name and go back to her dear France, to live with her mother. 'Vainly the sherifT protested that she had no grounds for hope—that he knew noihing ot pardon or reprieve. Vaiidy her reverend companions, by the most solemn entreaties, urged her not to beguile the lime with such delusive hopes —but to turn her thoughts toward the sal¬ vation ol her soul. She firmly but ro-t epectfully rejected all thqir holy offers/
would neither join in their psalins nor I The high pitch of excitement to which prayers, and at length, so fn- recovered her spirits, that, when they reached the spot, already blackened fur and wide with a concourse of fifty thousand people, she ascended the scallold with a firm and even eager step, and an undisguised selt- congratulation that her exposure and im¬ prisonment were near their terininatiun.
" Uhuppy, wretched, blinded woman 1" cried the slieriB'at length, after a vain at-; tempt on the part of the clergymen to en¬ gage her attention. "Do not harden a- gainst you the hearis inclined to compas¬ sionate and soften your last moments. Do not rush into the presence ol your God without a prayer for mercy. Kneel —knee'—and pray ! or I shall be com¬ pelled at once to execute my awful duty! See! unhappy creature ! it is now half- past two. Hefure three o'clock—you must meet your Crei.tor.
A ghastlier white crossed the features of the condemned. She begged to look at the watch herself.
" It is cruel in you, gentlemen, and use¬ less asit is cruel, to keep up this game with so much earnestness. I should, in¬ deed, be otherwise employed, (though not, gentlemen, perhaps as you vvould le- conimcnd,^ but that I know, from authori¬ ty—that the govercnor has granted me a
reprieve/ Tell me, Mr.."sheriff " and
she fixed upon him thpse soft eyes—whose beams had so often thrilled the soul of Barent. " You have my pardon ! come —show it to ine T'
Unfortunate being?" cried the sherifl, "I swear to you solemnly, that no reprieve has been granted.'"
"Then it will be I" she added, with a convulsive start, and turning yet paler, "Hark ! look ? see !"
The sheriff, with a gesture of horror, now approached, and, vvith a gentle mo¬ tion, unperceived by the object, drew her beneath the beam, und attached the rope already around her neek to that which swang in theair.
"'J'he time has come !" hesaid solemn¬ ly, but firmly.
"Gentlemen!" she cried—"for the love ofGod 1 end this dreadful mockery.' Give me the reprieve—1 am sick at hea'rt —lam choked!"
'All is in vain 1" said the officer, mournfully—"my duty must be perform¬ ed I"
It was with a convulsive start and a
deep ttiid d,-ca<l<',il clu-ingc of countenance, that the unhappy culprit perceived that her posiliun had been altered, the ropes attached, and that she stood now alone upon the platform, with only the sheriff, the rest of her companions having in the meantime descended the steps,
"My God.'" she exclaimed aloud, in a choked, husky voice—"I am deceived —I am deceived—slop—slop. 1 have a dreadful story to tell—pardon mc—save me—I will confess—I "
The sheriff, obliged to proceed with punctuality, yet with a thrill of horror, approached to draw the fatal cap over her face.
"Only one moment.'" she shrieked in a voice, which the very intensity of ter¬ ror had deprived of strength. "Give me but a single moment.' Hark.' I hear their tread / I am guilty—but I can reveal, ^'ve me to the last minute—I Will reveal "
Thelast minute had already arrived. The officer shuddered.' as he drew the cap over her face, so as to stifle her words in the midst of her rxclainalives. Her arms were already closely bound. She stood upon the scafl'old alone, 'i'he vast, vast crowd, that covered vvith its im¬ mense throngs hill and plain, house¬ top and tree, stilled its mighty and tu- mullDOUs heavings, and were novv hush¬ ed to a silence, wide, and unbroken with¬ out a motion or a breath. 'Phe signal lorm ofthe culprit, in ils frock of white, al¬ ter standing a few seconds, thc centre and sole point of every iiitcr.se ga-/,e, was observed to drop upon its knees, either from a yielding of physical strength, or borne down by the weight of a repentant heart, sulnlued in that tremendous mo¬ ment. 'Phe hands after a few impoteiil gestures, were clasped convulsively to¬ gether—then came a sudden, rjuick" flit¬ ting motion—the plattorm was no longer visible, and an electric jar and a tuniul tuous burst of murmur shook and stirred the thousands as the occupant fell, sus¬
pended in the air. and spun rapidly round her snowy garments fluttering in the wind Two struggling movements announced the strjggles of nature—Ihe shoulders were tvvice drawn up and let down again slowly—the h.inds were stretched forth, eitlier in fruitless solicitation for mercy, or from the mere blind convulsions of death—.ind thc poor creature, at l^.ngth. hung without life—-without motion—in one inelancc for ever hurled beyond the shock of earth and human evil—in one in stance amid those eternal secrets, for whicii civiliy.ed and the savag?, thd peas¬ ant at his toil and the plilosophcr amid his books, have panted ia vain since the creation ofthe world.
such an exhibition winds up the feelings, ensures a sudden reaction. The releae- ed mind falls back to commonplace ob¬ jects. 'Phe vulgar return to coarse jests —the cultivated dismiss the subject with A few artful consolations, derived, partly from selfishness and partly from philoso¬ phy. In a short time the event, however it may have .occupied us, during the pe¬ riod of its transaction, with painlul inten¬ sity, dwindles back again to insignificance —the puint ofa cold moral, or thc shadow ol a luture revery,
'Phe mob, who had been awed by the dignity of .the law present to their sight, soon relapsed into their ordinary mood and dispersed into a thousand straggling groups to their homes and pleasures. 'Phe jocund laugh rung in the air responsive tuthe rude jest—the bustle of occupation reappeared, and the streets at once resu¬ med their usual aspect, as if the morning had glided away without any unusual e- vent. 'Phe papers the next day detailed a long account of the scene, amid tbe flip¬ pancies of mirth and th% calls to amuse¬ ment.
It may be objecled by somo that this scene is of loo awful a description lor the pages of a story. It is true that many love t-o lose themselves in romantic hor¬ rors, who shrink from the recital of na¬ ked, real wo, and who p.iy lo seo a deser¬ ter shot on the stage, but will hear noth¬ ing of the life quenc icd by their own laws Let these partial reformers first banish such Scenes from the records of the day VVhat it is proper lor the legislature to in flict. It cannot be inexcusable fur the his¬ torian to relate. If to us be denied the digniiy of an historian, we must appeal to the candor of the reader for the fact, that while history sometimes encroaches up¬ on the realms of fiction, the latter often delineates wilh a beneficial fidelity, the scenes of real lite
'Phe crowd were not all dispersed, and the lifeless image yet hung suspended, motionless in the air, when Barent, whose absence abroad hail kept him entirely ig¬ norant of the events related in the forego¬ ing pages passed the spot, maddened by the replies of several of the crowd, to whom he casually addressed questions c.sccrning the culprit, yet still convinced that the stai lling coincidences were mere¬ ly accidental, he plunged the spurs deep into his horse's flank, till the sides of the pour creature dropped blood, and dashed to the ficeue. 'I'hu ofiicers were taking dovvn the body when he reached the spot. Thc latal cap still covered Ihc face. One small, ungloved hand, hung nerveless by her side.    Upon the finger was a ring.
"Take off tho cap," gaid one ofthe men carelessly.
"No, not for a nii2{ton leorldsl" shriek* cd a voice, and Barnet shrinking shud¬ dering back, and dashed his exiended palms against his lace, asiflo strike out his eyes, fell senseless on the ground 'Phe riderless horse fed ,quelly on the fresh, short grass.
The Soldier's Soa-iD-Iaw.
A hbcent fact.
A young Englishman, from gaming, love alfairs, and other such gold scatter¬ ing enjoyments, had so nearly reached the dregs of his great-grandfather's he¬ reditary portion, that he could calculate the departing hour ul hia last guinea. As one evening lie was returning home from oneof those haunts of dissipation which ho habitually frequented, feeble in body OS in mind, and for the first time in his lilc, casting a firm look upon the ruin ol his fortune, he could not well determine whether he should end his troubles by drawing a trigger, or by throwing bin-self into the 'Phanies.
While he was thns waving between fire and water, the very piofound idea occurred to him not lo lay violent hands upon himself, but lo allovv himsell to be conducted out of this labyrinth of pover¬ ty by the fair hand of some wealthy bride. VFitli this consoling Ihought he went to bed, and already in his nocturnal visions the rapid races flew, the fair girls frisked around hini, buth of vvhich, he was happy in thinking, he might maintain in future in the dowry ol his wife.
On the lollowing morning he reflected anew upnn this plan, and found it unex¬ ceptionable in every point excepting Ihe very slight circumstance of not knowing when or where he was lo find the rich heiress ho wanted. In London, where allthe world regarded him as a spend¬ thrift, it was not once to bo Ihought of— he saw that for the future he must throw his nets out elsewhere.
After much cogitation anJ oo»..»i,;„^ ho at last hit upon an old rich colonel, liv¬ ing upon his own estate, about tweniy miles from the capitol, -vho fortunately had a friend in London, and was the fa¬ ther of an only daughter.
Into the house of this gentleman, by meang cl a friend, lo whom he promised half the booty, he got hiinself introduced enil recjived.    Phe daughter of the colo¬
nel was an an awkward country girl, with round chubby cheeks like Ruben's cherubims, and looked particularly odd in the hand-me-down attire of her sain¬ ted mother, which did not at all fit her, and was of course not the most fashiona¬ ble cut. Iler mind, too was as attractive as her attire; sho could only talk ol hens and geese; and when any other topic camo above-board, her conversation was limited fo a "yes, yes," or a "no, no;" all beyond this seemed to her sinful. This wooden puppet was indeed a mighty con¬ trast to the sprightly, gay, nnd lively nymphs with whom the young Briton had bein toy'n^;—bat he carelully confi, ned to the solitude of his own bosom the disagreeable feeling of this heaven-and earth distant difference. Hia flattering tongue called the girPs silliness celestial innocence; and red, swollen cheeks, he likened to the beauty ofthe full-blown damask rose. 'Phe end of the song vvas, he turned to the father, and sued warmly for his daughter's hand.
The colonel, during his sixty years'ca- reer Ihrough the world, had collected this much knowledge of mankind; that however slyly the young man had masked himself, he could, nevertheless, discover the fortune-hunter peeping through the disguise. At first, therefore, he thoughl ot peremptorily refusing him permission to woo hia daughter; but, on the other hand, he thought, "the youth is fashiona¬ ble, and perhaps 1 may be doing him in¬ justice; he as yet, betrays no anxiety about the portion, and why should the girl, who is marriageable, remain longer at home? His request shall be granted—but his ap¬ parent disinterestedness shall stand atri¬ al."
The suitor was then informed that thc father had no objections to the match, pro vided his daughter would give her con¬ sent; ami she, poor thing, replied, as in duty bound—"My father's will is mine." Indeed, could any thing else be expected?
In the course of a few weeks the mar¬ riage ceremony was perlormed at thc country house of the colonel, and he in¬ stantly made his son-in-law acquainted with his wife's poriion, amounting to thir ty thousand dollars. 'Phe dissembler ac¬ ted as if he wished to know nothing a- boul the mattci-,[and solemnly vowed that he had not ag yet thought on such things, but had regarded only the noble qualities of his charming wife, whose pure self was dearer to him than all the treasures ofthe world.
Upon this lliey sat down to dinner, ard the father-in-law urged and begg^ed that llicy would make as much haste as pos- eible, as it wag his intention that the young married people should set off that very alternoon for Zondon, and that he should accompany them.
The son in-law was confounded, and began to make some excuses about travel¬ ling on the first day of his happiness; but the soldier maintained that these were fu¬ tile, assuring him that he had particula] reasons for proceeding forthwith to the capilol, and that his matrimonial joys would be as well realized in London as m the country. 'What was to be done.' Why, the journey was immediately un¬ dertaken. The old man secured in a casket, before the eyes of the bridegroom the poition of the bride, partly in gold and partly in bank-notes, took it under big arm, and placed himself by the side of theyoung people in the carriage.
The road ran ihrough a foi-C'it, and scarcely had they fairly entered it when two horsemen darted out Irom the brush¬ wood, with masks upon their faces, and stopped thc carriage. One of the persons watched the postillion with a presented pistol, while the other approached the wiu'lovv and said—"We are adventurers, and request you fogiva us up instantly the portion ofthe biide!"
'Phe colonel and his son-in-law swore and ranted, but thc robber coolly insisted upon his demand. After some parleying, however, tho horseman bent towards the young man, and whispered in his ear —"'Phat you may see we are most reas¬ onable, we leave you the choice of the two things—givo us cither the bride or the portion; for cerlain reasons it is quite immaterial to us, and moreover, no one shall ever knuvv your decision."
The bridegroom did not think long a- bout the matter, for he whispered, "'Pake the bride!" "/Jrother," cried the robber lo his accomplice, "wo shall lake the bridt!''
In the twinkling ofan eye the soldier sei-/.ed his gentle son-in-law by the neck, shook him violently, and exclaimed vvith a thundering voice—"Ha.'villain.' so my rnnjori„i-a was not uutsunded, that vou cared not for mv flau?hfer. hat merelv for her fortune.' Heaveti Be praisea tiliit my child and my money are not yet irre¬ vocably iu your clutches! Know, then, knave! the man who married you was no clergyman, he was a brother soldier in piiest's attire, and these gentlemen are no highwaymen, but friends who have done me the   setvice   of proving you.
Since, then, you have laid open your whole vileness, we shall have no more con nection. I shall return home with my daughler and my money, and you may go to London—or to the devil, if yuu like." With these words he transplanted the astonished bridegroom wilh a kick from the carriage to the road, and ordered the postillion to turn obout. The outlaw trudged back to London, and had, while upon the road, the fairest and best oppor tunity of determining whether he should now use a pistol, or throw himself into the river.—N. Y. Mirror.
TllC niiirord Bard.
Thefollowing in relation to tho Mil- ford Hard, we extract from the New Or¬ leans Cresent Cily:
We know the unloriunate subject of this article. Ten years ago he was the centre of the most brilliant circle in his native Stale, now a degraded drunkard he is thrust into the society of alms-houso paupers! His story is soon told. Ho was young, rich, and generous ; posses¬ sing the strong impulses which forms the lountain head of tho silver streain of poe¬ sy, his lifo was ono continned strain of music, one long vibration of thc golden harp oflove. "Then came the curse of by gone years."
In the rich halls of tame their glided in noiseless beauty, acreature of heavenly brightness. The old tale!—the poet ad¬ ored the spirit of his soul, and she looked on her worshipper with the cold, dull eye of pride. Fevv of us are blessed wilh thc moral courage to survive disappointment like this, and madly we fly lo the dark waters of the Lethe, even though they drown but for a single moment the burn¬ ing thoughts which press their scorpion stings deep into the brain. Far be it Irom us to advocate the curse of intem¬ perance, but even while we deprecate, we must look with pity upon those vvho have been smitten with the plague-spot of this horrid vice. Blindly he dashes on, reck¬ less of the future, and forgetting in his delirium the green old days passed in the gioiious sunshine ot youth. He has then the broken hearted man, the dying notes of the once rich song floated upon the car like the sigh of a wounded spirit at the gate of heaven. The object of his early love married. With a gla'/.cd eye and fa¬ ded hope, he sees the last plank torn from his grasp, and hears the livid waters gur¬ gle in h'S ear. Then comes madness, and the poet revels in ihe splendor ol a lurid ball. The dream is over, he has passed through the altar of fire into Bael. but ho is scathed, scathed to thc quick! Step by step he walks on to perdition, and one by one his friends desert him. Still he clings to her memory—still the sweet sad song of the past is borne upon the wave of sorrow.
Somo two years ago an altempt waa made by some ofhis friends, to endeavor, if possible, to save him from utter degre¬ dation, by placing him for a voluntary pe¬ riod in the Baltimore jail. 1 called one evening to see him, he was gay and cheer¬ ful, but happiness was the thin upper crust of his feelings. 'Phere was one sen¬ tence which I can never forget; it was late, and the jailer informed me that Mr. was rather unwell, and was about
retiring lo rest. Yielding to my impor¬ tunities, hovvever, he led the way lo his apai-lmcnt. Peeping Ihrough the key-holo I saw him engaged in prayer ; his hands were raised in mute supplication to heav¬ en, and tears were rolling dovvn his cheek. "Men call me drunkard! but oh, God I forgive her who caused this wreck!"
'Phe friend and companion of Tliomns Moore, he whose society was courted by the first of the land, and around whose 'irow lame would have thrown her richest wreath, is now a degraded inmate of a common asylum for paupers! He will go down lo the tomb unhonored—and tnc hillock growing with weeds above his head, will be pointed out by the passer by as the "Drunkard's Grave."
Geina of Tlioujtht.
Liberty is to tho collective body what health is to every individual body. With- out health no pleasure can be tasted by man, without liberty no happiness cau be enjoyed by society.—Bolingbroke.
The audience or the world requires that he who aspires to act the part of a great man, shall never for a moment for¬ get his character.—/Jouricnne.
Pl.iys and romances sell as well as books ol devotion, but with this difl'er- ence: more people read the former than buy Ihcm, and more buy the latter than read fhem.—Tom Brown. ....^.l^il-".''..'il?'^.''.'.'.'L'l*.^.''."''Jf 's.t'l? 'JfSii to keep that alive.— Tom Brown.
Women have more strength in their tears than we have in our arguments.—. Saville.
'Phe truly valiant dare every thing but doing any body an injury—6'»r P. D. Sidney.