OBIT: James CLARK, 1851, Huntingdon, Huntingdon County, PA

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OBITUARY.

  DIED - In this borough on Sunday morning, the 23rd day of March, 
1851, Col. James Clark, Editor and Proprietor of the "Huntingdon 
Journal," aged 33 years, 1 month and 14 days.
  "'Tis past - that fearful trial - he is gone!"
  The clods of the valley have closed over the mortal remains of Mr. 
Clark. On Monday his corpse was followed to the cars by a procession of 
the friends of the deceased, and accompanied by a number of them to 
Harrisburg, where he was buried the next day. For many months he had 
been severely afflicted with pulmonary consumption, which he bore with 
Christian fortitude; and we never heard a murmur or a word of repining 
escape his lips as, day by day, he wasted away. - He died entirely 
resigned to the will of Him "who doeth all things well."
  Mr. Clark was born in Dauphin county, Pa., on the 9th day of 
February, 1818, and was, on the day of his death, of the age above 
stated. He learned the art and mystery of printing in Harrisburg under 
the instruction of his elder brother, Samuel H. Clark, Esq. In August 
1845, he removed to this place and became the editor of the "Journal," 
and continued such until the time of his death. As a mark of confidence 
and esteem, he was, on the 11th of January, 1849, appointed Aid-de-camp 
to Governor Johnston, with the rank of Lieut. Colonel. As conductor of 
a political paper, Mr. Clark had few equals in the State, and the 
readers will bear witness that justice was done to all their interests, 
so far as it is in the power of a newspaper to do so.
  The subject of this notice was a kind and affectionate husband, a 
tender parent, and a fast friend; and possessed, to a high degree, 
those amiable qualities which render man an agreeable companion. He was 
left a wife and two children, and a large circle of relatives and 
friends to mourn their loss. He has been cut down in the morning of 
life, ere the meridian splendors that seemed to await him shone around 
his pathway. Alas! How vain are human hopes - how uncertain the tenure 
of life!
  "Leaves have their time to fall,
  And flowers to wither at the north winds' breath, 
  And stars to set-but all,
  Thou has all seasons for thine own, oh Death!"

  Years, with all their strange vicissitudes, may pass away, and be 
forgotten; but the memory of Clark will live in the hearts of his 
friends until they shall again be joined in the "spirit land," "beyond 
this vale of tears."

  "Green be the turf above thee,
  Friend of my better days,
  None knew thee but to love thee,
  None named thee but to praise."

Huntingdon Journal, Thursday, March 27, 1851