Voi.. VII, No. 35.]
PUBLISHED BY
THEODORE H. CREMER,
TIMRIIO.
The “iouRNAL" will be published every
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POETRY.
From Me Louisville Journal,
The Golden Ringlet.
Here is a little golden tress
Of soft unbraided hair,
The all that's left o f loveliness
That once was thought so fair I
And yet, tho' time has dimm'd its sheen,
Though all beside halls fled,
I hold it here, a link between
My spirit and the dead.
Yes, from this shining ringlet still
A mournful memory springs,
That melts my heart, and sends a thrill
Through all its trembling sttings.
I think of her, the loved, the wept,
Upon whose forehead fair,
For eighteen years like sunshine slept
This golden curl of hair.
Oh sunny tress! the joyous brow,
W here thou did'st lightly wave
With all thy sister tresses, now
Lies cold within the grave.
That cheek is of its bloom bereft.
That eye no more is gay ;
Of all her beauties thou art lat,
A solitary ray.
Four years have passed this very June,
Since last we fondly met—
Four years! and vet it seems too soon
To let the heart forget—
Too soon to let the lovely face
From our sad thoughts depart,
And to another give the place
She held within the heart.
Her memory still within my mind
Retains its sweetest power;
It is the perfume lett behind,
To whisper of the flower.
Each blossom, that in moments gone
Bound up this sunny curl,
Recalls the form, the look. the tone
Of that enchanting girl.
Her step was like an April rain
O'er beds of violets flung;
Her voice the prelude to a strain
Before the song is sung ;
Her life. 'twas like a half blown flower,
Closed ere the shades of even ;
Her death the dawn, the blushing hour,
That opes the gates of Heaven.
A single tress! how slight s thing
To sway such magic art,
And bid each soft remembrance spring
Like blossoms in the heart.
It leads me back to days of old—
To her I loved so long,
Whose locks outshone pellucid gold,
Whose lips o'erflowed with song.
Since then, I've heard a thousand lays,
From lips as sweet as her's ;
Yet when I strove to give them praise,
I only gave them tears.
I could not bear amid the throng
Where jest and laughter rung,
To hear another sing the song
That trembled on her tongue.
A single shining tress of hair
To bid such memories start ?
But tears are on its lustre—there
I lay it on my heart.
Oh! when in death's cold arms I sink,
Who then, with gentle care,
Will keep for me a dark brown link—
A ringlet of my hair ? AMELIA,
From the Louisville Journal
Atnelials Ringlet.
.. Oh! when in death's cold arms I sink,
Who then, with gentle care,
Will keep for me a dark brown link—
A ringlet of my hair ?"
Say, sweetest minstrel, dost thou think
There's none, with gentle care, .
Would keep for thee a dark brown link ,
A ringlet of thy hair?
Then think'st thou that sweet poesy
No More can souls inspire ;
THE JOURNAL.
HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7. 1842
Else who'd not prize a tress from thee,
Loved mistress of the lyre ?
All listless thou, and nct a tress
Snatched from the darksome grave!
No kindred heart of tenderness
The treasure that would save!
0! think it not, o'er earth and sea,
Where'er thy song has sped,
A tress of thine would cherished be.
If thou wert with the dead.
If mute the chord whose music soft,
Once charmed the listening throng—
The lute if hushed, whence numbers ott
Gushed forth in thrilling song—
That lute, though silent, still would be
Esteemed a sacred thing,
And in the ear of memory
Its music ever ring.
And thou, whose fairy touch awakes
The melancholy strain,
So sweetly it from sorrow takes
Whate'er is owned of pain ;
Will none, when stilled the heart that now
Swells with the soul of song,
Save one loved tress from o'er thy brow,
And guard the treasure long !
When song no more can fill the heart
With feelings pure, refined—
When music ceases to impart
Balm to the troubled mind;
When love the soul no longer knows,
When friendship earth has fled,
Then may thy dark brown link' repose
Neglected with the dead.
MICIOELLIANEVUO.
From the Amaranth.
it Stray Leaf from the Book
of Life.
ET JAMES HEBB.
CliA ITER L
"This Book of Life, how fairly it was writ
ten!
And fancy's pen had sketch'd its frontispiece!
But why, 0 fancy did'st thou mock him thus!
Scarce had he time to read its preface through
Before an angel from the throne of God,
'earn up the UOOK no Inure Lu lle peL
I _
I have often wondered why some of our
southern writers have not taken up the
subject of the yellow fever in New Orleans
as a theme for the exercise of their tal
ents ; it is one of interest, and quite a
romance might be woven from its history.
It is also true that death would claim a
conspicuous place in its annals and the
' records of its prowess would be but a
monument of his power. One circum
stance I will relate, as it fell under my
own notice ; leaving the field rich in all
the ingredients for story telling to those of '
more learning, and leisure.
In a little town of Massachusetts resi
ded a family by the name of Morton,
consisting of four persons, viz: a man
and his wife, and two children, boy and
girl. They held property in the town, and
when Robert the sun reached his twenty
first year•—the deeds and titles of his por•
tion were placed into Ws hands by those
who were constituted his guardians. Up
to this portion of his life Robert had lived
in the words of the church of England's
'prayer-book, " a sober upright and righte
ous life," he was indeed a model for the
young men of that, or any other town in
the Union, but soon a change came o'er
Ihis dream of life, the smooth current, was
to be ruffled, and the cup of human hap
piness dashed from his lips. It came in
I this wise. There had been no religion in
the town since its corporation by town'
' council assembled, but that of Presbyte
rian, beyond that the good people neither
knew, nor wished for another. The'.
march of improvement however does not
overlook the morals of the people in its
onward course, fur numerous missionaries
fully authorised by the church were trav•
elling over the country endeavoring to
establish their new doctrines its every
town and village through which they pass
ed, nor is this to be wondered at- —for
speculative religion is not incompatible
with the speculative spirit of the American
people, it is a part of them—it is their na
ture. Among those who are zealous in
their attempts to enlighten mankind upon
the mystified subject of religion, (which
by the way is as plain and as simple as a
pike staff,) where the universalists— they
indeed performed wonders, nor did the
little town of which we have spoken es
cape their eagle eyes, they picked it up as
they would a lost sheep, and endeavored
to restore it to the told. Presbyterianism
had laid its Tternalfat upon the place, and
the promises of Eternal happiness could
not remove it—Universalism tried to get
a foot hold, and offered a high price for a
piece of ground, for the purpose of rearing
its temple thereon--not one from the
great mass of inhabitants would sell an
inch of ground for that purpose. " What,"
exclaimed an old grey headed man—" sell
to the arch-fiend—sell our souls for lucre/
Avaunt sathanes—avaunt foul fiend."
Now it so happened that Robert Mors
"ONE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY."
ton heard of the proposition— he had no
such scruples as the good folks of the town
--he had read much—wondered more,
and cared less. He immediately called
upon the "agents of the devil" as parson
Parker called them, and offered his lot—it
was purchased, and Robert Morton was
looked upon as a doomed man. His fath
er's curse was upon him, hia mother's
prayers could not avail--his sister's tears
were as nothing—the deed was done, and
no human power could recall it--it was
registered in heaven or hell, as the opinion
of the " high court" might determine.
Sanctified as the people of the town
were, still there were some who had the
spirit of Judge Lynch in them. A meet.
ing was held in the bar-room of a temper.
ante hotel: and it was there resolved that
Robert Morton should be publicly disgra
ced—which, in other words, means that
he should be lynched. That night it was
performed. Next morning Robert Morton
was missed from the town: Weeks,
months, rolled away, and n• tidings of
him could be heard. There was mourning
in his father's house, and the deep curse
that had been uttered was revoked. Still
no tidings of Robert. A mother's prayer
was unanswered—a sister's tears dis
regarded ; he came not; even his dis
grace was forgotten, and the mild blue
eyes of an orphan girl who had loved,
were filled with tears ; her cheeks had
Vsled as it were N. hope deterred ;" and
slie itiekened and died, weeping for him
she loved—loved Sven in death: Then
followed another death : old Morton re
membered his curse, and it withered his
own heart; and it recoiled upon him, and
he died. Again there was mourning in
the house; again had misery touched the
chords and produced discordant sounds in
the human heart. Still no tidings of
Robert. Suspense was maddening; it
lengthened the chord which held hope
almost to its fearful tension; one more
stretch and it was broken. The agony
was over; hope was silenced ; and the
dead mourned, as those we loved while
living are mourned, and when the clay
cold sod covers them, and the green grass
grows upon their graves, as the broad
waters rolling calmly, bearing ` upon its
nounced in a New York paper, that a
young man named "Robert Morton,"
died at sea, on its way to Liverpool, in
the packet ship Ohio, Captain Williams.
The account gave the place of his birth,
and some slight allusions was made to the
' supposed cause of his death. It left no
doubt of its truth, and his memory was
treasured by two fond hearts whose duty
it was to remember him.
CHAPTER II
"The noiseless sorrow tells the tale
That the strings of the heart are broken."
Six years had rolled away since the in
cidents in the last chapter had occurred,
and the memory of Robert Morton was
forgotten by all save two whose task it
was to pray for the dead, that when their
last sleep is broken, they may avail some
thing with firm who sits upon the eternal
throne in all the majesty of the king of
kings, to judge all according to the deeds
done in the body.
I had lett my native village after the
sudden appearance of Robert—l knew
him well, we were school-fellows. I
knew nothing of his disgrace, until it be
came such—then it was too late—he left
us. Business called me to New Orleans
and detained me there; I passed thro' the
severe summers oflB3l-2, when the combi
ned foes of the human race—cholera and
yellow fever--were going it strong?' in
that fated place. I will not describe the
horrors of that time—abler pens than mine
have attempted it, and they have failed;
why should I dream of it.
It was in the month of August, 1837,
while seated in my office, (for I am an ex
change broker, or more properly speaking
a shaver, a sort of blood-sucker on society,
a " gatherer up of Wiles," one of those
w hose business it is to get rich on the mis
ery of his fellows, a sort of amphibious
reptile, that all mankind shun, but all are
compelled to approach as if by the power
of its fascination—our profession is a bad
one, and thus admitting it. I care not how
soon the system is destroyed. A shaver's
confession would tend to palliate even a
murderer's crimes.) I was interupted by
the entrance of a young man whose aps
pearance afflicted me so much that I could
scarcely speak, a cold shiver came over me
—my knees trembled so that I was com
pelled to sit down—having attended to his
business whirls was the exchanging of
some money, I enquired if his name was
not Aforton"—for so certain was I that
he stood before me, I would have sworn
to it unhesitatingly upon a Catholic, or
Cam pbellits bible. He gazed at me thr a
moment--a shade passed over his counte
nance—as it were a cloud of other days.
lle answered," No sir—my name is Mor
timer." It was a prevarication --1 knew
my friend, and thus addressed him—" R
obert it is useless to deny your name--I
had credited the rumour of your death—
and whdo you first came into my office
your appearance quite unmanned tne—
speak why this disguise 1" " Well Jones
—there is no use denying it, give me your
hand. I have kept my secret long enough
—it is grown tiresome—now that in is out,
tell me of my parents—toy sister."—
" Your father, Robert, sleeps with the
dead—your mother mourned your death
long, but recently an idea came into her
head that you were net dead but would
return--will you write--or shall I ?"
" Write for tne, Jines—get her pardon
and I will return, like the prodigal son
asking for—and receiving—forgiveness.
• • • • • •
The yellow fever had just made its ap
pearancs—a few deaths bad already occur
red. I advised Morton to quit the city,
and I would communicate with him ; this
he promised to do, and the letter was sent
to his mother. Time sped on—winging
its flight—while death after death filled up
the gloomy catalogue of seventy or eighty
of its victims a day in our city. How
strange, how mysterious are the ways of t
heaven—the third day after the departure
of my letter, Morton was taken sick, and
died—the black vomit did ste work.
I awaited somewhat nervously for the
good old lady's letter—it came-joy was in
it-every line breathed a mother's spirit
she spoke of her boy—her Robert—she
spoke of dreams which she had in the sad
solemn hours of midnight, which told of
his return, she spoke of mysterious feel
ings which whispered hope to her breaking
heart, "and," she exclaimed " he has
come--he has come to bless my old heart,
and make my household happy—my son
—my poor boy, whom I mourned dead is
alive-bid him come-if he be poor —give
him money, anything only let me embrace
him once more ere I die—then I care not
how soon I am laid in the tomb." So
wrote the mother! but alas--I will not
proceed. My task was simply to announce
his death---gather up his money and ef
fects, deduct expenses, and commission,
(even friendship could not sway or alter
the immutable love of gain which is en
gendered in the breast, and linked as it
were to the human heart.) The proceeds
I remitted honesty to his family. The
storm king o'er the blasted heart, level
ling all that could not bend, and yield
submissive to its force. The mother en
deavored to stem this torrent of wo, this
whirlwind of grief, her strength failed--
and she died. Her troubles were over, and
the tersple of woe was closed. the spoil
er set his seal of silence there/
The daughter still lives, as Mrs. Mor
ris, the wife of the worthy magistrate of
the town, the pride of her husband, and
the admiration of her friends. It may be,
well to state here, that there are now se- ,
ven churches in that place, and each of '
them glory in being antipodes to the other
in their opinions and notions of salvation.
They are, however in despite of this a,
moral and intellectual people.
Badgering an Irish Voter
You're a Roman Catholic?"
"Am I t" said the fellow.
" Are you not ?" demanded the agent.
" You say I am," was the answer.
" Come, sir, answer— what's your re
ligion?"
" The true religion."
a 'What religion is that 1"
" My religion."
"And what's your religion ?"
" My mother's religion."
"And what was your mother's religion?"
She tok whiskay in her tay."
" Come, now, ni find you out, as cun•
ning as you are," said the agent, piqued
into an encounter of wits which this fel
low, whose baffling of every question
pleased the crowd. " You bless your.
self, don't you ?"
a When Pam done with you I think I
ought."
a \Vhat place of worship do you go to?"
" The most convaynient."
But of what presuasion are you ?"
"My persuasion is that you won't find
out."
" IN hat is your belief 7"
" My belief is that you are puzzled."
" Do you confess?"
" Not to you."
"Come! now I have you. NVho would
you send for if you were likely to die ?"
" Doctor Growling."
" Not for the priest ?"
I must first get a messenger."
" Confound your quibbling!--tell me,
then, what your opinions are—your con
scientious opinions I mean i"
"'They are the same as my landlord's."
" And what are your landlord's opin
ions?"
Fair, his opinion is, that I won't pay
him the last half-year's riot; and I'm of
the same opinion myself." A roar of
laughter followed this answer, and dumb
foundered the agent for a time ; but, anger•
ed at the successful quibbling of the stur
dy and wily fellow before him, he at last
declared, with much severity of manner
that he must have a direct reply.
"I insist, sir, on your answering at
once, are you a Roman Catholicl"
" I am," said the fellow,
"And could you not say so at once,"
repeated the officer.
" You never axed me," returned the
other.
EXTRACT
FROM rRE SPEECH OF MR. JAMES IR
VIN, OF PENNSYLVANIA, IN FAVOR CF
THE TARIFF BILL REPORTED ET THE
COMMITTEE OF WAYS AND MEANS.
Delivered in Me House of Representatives
of the U. S., July 11 th, 184,1
Mr. Chairman, notwithstanding the
great interest I feel in this question, I had
determined, on the commencement of this
debate, not to take any part in it, or to
consume the time of the committee one
moment, believing that action was what
the people wanted, not talking, and that 1
would be promoting the interests of my
constituents by a silent vote; but there
have been some remarks made within the
last few days, by some gentlemen on this
floor, which I feel called upon to notice,
particularly those that were made by my
colleague (Mr. SNYDER) from the adjoining
district to the one which I represent.
extremely regretted those remarks at the
time they were made, believing they would
be take,' hold of and be used to our dis
advantage, on account of coining from a
State that had, at all times and under all
circumstances, supported the protection of
our own industry; and in the tariff of 1824
and 1828 were found, with but one single
exception, voting for those bills. I am
not disposed to charge my colleague with
having exhibited a false statement in re
i gard to the expense of making pig iron,
knowing it to be so, but I think he might
have been satisfied that his estimates were
incorrect, from the fact that the establish
ments which lie referred to had all been
obliged to stop operations; and when I
asked him the question, if they had not
done so, iustead of answering it fairly, lie
threw out the insinuation that they had
done sefor the (p urpose of in::uencin. Con
gress, ni“.l trust I,
out the country were all doing the same
thing from the same base motives. This,
I think, to say the least of it, was not only
unkind, but also unjust to those persons
immediately interested, and also to some
in my district who have, from the difficul
ties of the times, ceased operations. Now,
sir, as to his calculation, that metal could
be made at from 810 to $l3 50 per ton,
there is no reality in it, and, as it was
correctly remarked by my colleauge from
the Wilkesbarre district, it was a mere
paper calculation, probably made for the
purpose of increasing the value of ore and
coal lands, and without any eipectation at
the time that it would be realized; but,
whether this is so or not, I have been in
formed by gentlemen concerned, that no
metal has been made at any thing like that
price. The smelting of iron with anthra
cite coal in this country is of very recent
date; the first successful operation, I be
lieve, was made by Mr. Lyman, at Potts
ville, in 1840, and I find, in an English
work on the iron trade, as late as 1841. the
following notice taken of it, a part of
which, as it contains valuable information,
I take the liberty of reading to the com
mittee. On the 18th day of January,
1940, a dinner was given at Pottsville,
Pennsylvania, by W. Lyman, Esq„ on the
occasion of his having successfully intro
duced the smelting of iron with anthracite
coal by the use of the hot blast. There
was a number of talented gentlemen pres
ent, and from a speech made at the time,,
I extract the following:
In two rears alone, in 1886 and 1837,
the importations of iron and steel amount
ed to upwards of twenty-four millions of
dollars. The importations fur the last
five years have been about forty-nine mil
lions of dollars. It is especially mortify
ing to see that, even in Pennsylvania,
there has been introduced within the last
seven years, exclusive of hardware and
cutlery, nearly 80,000 tons of iron, arid
that of these there were about 49,000 tons
of railroad iron, costing probably three
millions and a half of dollars. Nay, this
very day, in visiting your mines we saw at
the farthest depths of these subterranean
passages, that the very coal and iron were
brought to the mouth of the mines on rail
tracks of British iron, manufactured in
Britain, and sent to us from a distance of
3,000 miles. This dependence is deplo
rable. It ought to cease for ever; and
let us hope that, with the new power this
day acquired, we shall rescue ourselves
hereafter from such a costly humiliation.
We owe it to ourselves not thus to throw
away the bounties of Providence which,
in these very materials, has blessed us
with a prolusion wholly unknown else
where. The United States contain, ac
cording to the best estimates, not less
than 80,000 square miles of coal, which
[WHoLE No. 347.
is about sixteen times as much as the coat
measures of all Europe. A single one a
these gigantic masses tuns about 900
miles, from Pennsylvania to Alabama, and
must itself embrace 50,000 square miles,
equal to the whole surface of England
proper. Confining ourselves to Pennsyl
vania alone, out of filty-four counties of
the State ; no less than thirty have coal
and iron in them. Out of the 44,006
square miles which form the area of Penn
sylvania there are 10,000 miles of coal
and iron, while all Great Britain and Ire
land have only 2,000; co that Pennsylva
nia has five times as Inge!' coal arid iron
as the country to which we annually pay
eight or ten millions of tiollari for iron.—
If coal and iron have made Great Britain
what she is, if this has given her the power
of 40,000,000 of men, and impelled the
manufactories which have made us, like
i lthe rest of the world, her debtors, why
should nut we, with at least equal advan
tages, make them the instruments of our
own independence."
Now, sir, notwithstanding the furnace
which occasioned this celebration was built
by a gentleman who was anxious to have
the experiment made, and who gave Mr.
Lyman the furnace without any charge, it
was soon discovered that the business was
not profitable, and the furnace has not beers
doing any business within the last year,
Soon after the experiment was made at
Pottsville, a company commenced opera
tions on the North Branch, and several
furnaces were built and put in operation,
and, I believe, succeeded in making metal
of fair quality, but cost considerably more
than was at first anticipated ; and I see,
by a newspaper I received from Danville
not long since, that the works have been
entirely stopped and some four or five
hundred persons thrown out of employ
ment. I would nut give much for paper
calculations made in advance. I have
seen some which were about equal to those
exhibited by my colleague. A company
seine time since commenced making iron,
from bituminous coal, about twenty-five
miles from where I reside. Their calcu.
lation was to make metal at about $lO per
ton, but, after spending about one huntl.
red thousand dollars, and making a few
hundred tons of iron, it was abandoned.
Another concern, located in the district I
kind, but, after spending near a -
lion of dollars, they found that the metal
cost more than it would sell fur; and that
concern has also been abandoned. But
these calculations and failures are not
confined to our particular region, and I
am somewhat astonished that the Southern
gentlemen seemed to place so much reli
ance on the calculation exhibited by iny
colleague ; for, if I am not much mistaken,
such estimates are sometimes made in their
section of country. I recollect last sum
mer, that a member from Georgia stated
on this floor that a concern had gone into
operation in Iris State, which was making
iron, and clearing thirty-three per cent.
on their investment ; and that lie was as
tonished that iron in Pennsylvania needed
any protection. I made some inquiry of
the gentleman—who was part owner—
respecting their operations, arid was told
that it was a furnace producing about sev
en tons a week, and sold iron at six cents
per pound, and castings at live, but as vet
they had not realized any profit, but they
were assured by their manager, an experi
enced man from Pennsylvania, that he had
no doubt they would clear 33 per cent.
upon their capital. Now this was a paper
calculation. But mark the result. A
few days since I asked the same gentle
man how they were getting along with
their iron works. The answer was, they
have turned out badly, our manager de
ceived us, and, after running us in debt
very much, we have given the business up,
and the property is now to be sold, and
will be sold very low. So this is the
winding up of a thirty.three per cent.
concern in less than a year, and one that
required no protection. Now, I presume,
the gentleman from Georgia, at least, and
some of his constituents, will not put much
faith in my colleague's paper estimates,
Mr. Cha - irman, I havu statements which
may be relied on, furnished me by persons
, engaged in making pig metal, and taken
from their books for years, which show a
very dillerent result in the expenses of
manufacture. 1 have scarcely time to
refer to them, particularly as my time is
short ; but 1 will state the result to the
committee, and will proba'Ay publish the
statements more fully. They show the
expense to be from $22 to $24 per ton,
and, from a calculation I have made of the
l expense of making bar iron from metal, at
$23 per ton—and, which calculation,
have submitted to two of my ,
acquainted with the business, and they
have permitted me to refer to them for the
correctness of it—(to wit : Messrs. KEtst
and PLuraca)-1 make the cost ola ton of
hammered iron to be $72, and expenses to
Baltimore or Philadelphia, at least $B,
would make $BO, without any profit to the
maker beyoud a regular intetest on his
capita, Rut admit, for the sake of argo-