Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, November 11, 1846, Image 1

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VOL, XI, NO, 4a
The “Jou user." will be published every Wed
sdny at $2 00 a year, if paid in advance,
and if not paid within six months, $2 50.
No subscription received for a shorter period than
sa months, nor any paper discontinued till all ar
rearages arc paid.
, Advertisements not exceeding one square, will be
itiSerted three times for $1 00, and for every subse
quent insertion 25 cents. If no definite orders are
given as to the time an advertisement is to be continu
a, it will be kept in till ordered out, and charged ac
cri V. B. PALMER, Esq., is authorized to act
-ries Agent for this paper, to procure subscriptions and
advertisements in Philadelphia, New York, Balti
more and Boston.
Philadelphia—Number 59 Pine street.
. Baltimore—S. E. corner of Baltimore and Cal.
vert streets.
New York—Number 160 Nassau street.
Boston—Number 16 State street.
Her face is fair, her form erect,
Her motions full of grace,
But not a gleam of reason's light
Within her eye we trace.
The bright blue sky above her spreads,
The gay green earth around,
And myriad voices sweetly tuned,
Wake every pleasant sound.
And yet to her there's nothing fair,
In all that God has made,
And not a harp could thrill her soul,
Though by on angel played.
The beauteous world of mind, to us
So full of heavenly light,
To her is but a dark morass,
Where reigns primeval night.
The smile on friendehip's face is dim,
The glow of love concealed,
And all he woman in her heart,
Is like a fount congealed.
It here seems strange that God should hide
A ray of his own light,
But Heaven will yet illume the page,
And all will there be bright.
We cannot say whether the following, from the
Learned Blacksmith," now in England, will ho
lead in this country with the more surprise or pity.
It is full of food for thought:
An !lour with Nature and the Nailers.
I was suddenly diverted from my con
templation of this magnificent scenery
by a fall of heavy rain drops, as a pre
lude of an impending shower. Seeing
a gate open, and hearing a familiar click
ing behind a hedge, 1 stepped through
into a little blacksmith shop, about as
• . large as an American smoke house for
curing bacon. 'flee first object that my
eyes rested upon was a full grown man,
nine years of age, and nearly three feet
high, perched upon a stone of half that
heighth, to raise his breast to the level
of his father's anvil, at which he was
at work with all the vigor of his little
short arms, making nails. 1 say a full
grown man, for I fear he can never grow
npy larger, physically or mentally.—
As I put my hand on his shoulder in a
familiar way, to make myself nt home
with him, and to remove the timidity
N‘ . with which my sudden appearance seem
' - ed to inspire him, by a pleasant word or
two of greeting, his flesh felt case hard
ened into all the duration of toiling'
manhood, and as unsusceptible of growth
as his anvil block. Fixed manhood had
set in upon him in the greenness of his
youth, and there he was by his father's
side, a stinted, premature man : with
his childhood cut off : with no space to
grow in between the cradle and the an
vil block ; chased, as soon ns lie could
stand on his little legs, from the hearth
stone to the forge stone, by iron neces
sity, that would not let him stop long
enough to let him pick up a letter of the
English Alphabet on the way. 0! Lord
John Russel ! think of it! Of this En
glishman's son, placed by his mother,
scarce weaned, on a high, cold stone,
barefooted, before the anvil; there to
harden, sear, and blister its young hands
. by heating and hammering ragged nail
/ rods, for the sustenance her breast can
' no longer supply ! Lord John ! look at
those nails, as they lie hissing on the
block. Know you their meaning, use,
and language? Please your lordship,
let me tell you ; I leave made nails be
fore now; they are iron exclamation points,
which this unlettered, dwarfish boy is
unconsciously arraying against you,
• against the British Government, and the
misery of British literature, for cutting
him off without a letter of the English
alphabet when printing is done by steam!
for incarcerating him, for no sin on his
or his parent's side but poverty, into a
dark, six-by-eight prison of hard labor,
youthless being ; think of it ; an in
fant hardened, almost - in its mother's
arms, into a man ; by toil that bows the
sturdiest of the world's laborers who
come to manhood through intervening
years of childhood!
The boy's father was at work with
his back towards me when I entered.—
At my first word of salutation to the lad,
he turned around and accosted me a lit
tle bashfully, as if unaccustomed to the
sight of a stranger in that place, or re
luctant to let them into the scene and
secret of poverty. I sat down on one
end of his nail bench, and told him I
was an American blacksmith by trade,
and that I had come in to see how he
got on in the world, whether he was
earning pretty good wages at his busi
ness, so that he could live comfortably,
and send his children to school. As I
said this I glanced inquiringly to the boy,
who was looking steadily at me from his
stone stool at the anvil. Two or three
little crook-faced girls, from two to five
years of age, had stolen in timidly, and
a couple of young frightened eyes were
peeping over the door still at me. They
all looked if some task was allotted them
in the soot and cinders of their father's
forge, even to the sharp eyed baby at
the door. The poor Englishman—he
was much an Englishman as the Duke
of Wellington—looked at his bushy
headed, bare-footed children, and said
softly with a melancholy shake of the
head, that the times were rather hard
with him. It troubled his heart, and
many hours of the night he had been
kept awake by the thought of it, that
he could not send his children to school,
and was unable to teach them himself.
They were good children, he said, with
a most yearning in his eyes; they were
all the wealth he had, and loved them
the more, the harder he had to work for
them. The poorest part of the poverty
that was on him, was that he could not
give his children the letters. They
were good children, for all the crock of
the shop was on their faces, and their
fingers were bent like eagle's claws
with handling nails. He had been a
poor man all his days, and he knew his
children would be poor all their days,
and poorer than he, if the nail business
should continue to grow worse. If he
could only give them the letters or the
alphabet, as they called it, it would
make them the like of rich ; for then
they could read the testament. He
could read the testament a little, for he
had learned the letters by fire-light. It
was a good book, was the testament ;
never saw any other book ; heard tell of
some in rich people's houses ; but it mat
tered but little with him. The testa
ment he was sure was made for nailers
and such like. It helped him wonder
fully when the loaf was small on the ta
ble. He had but little time to read it
when the sun was up, and it took him
long to read a little, for he learned the
letters when he was old. But he laid it
beside his dish at dinner time and fed
his heart with it, while the children
wore eating the bread that fell to his
share, and when he had spelled out a
line of the shortest words, he read them
aloud, and his eldest boy, the one on the
block there, could say several whole
verses Ile had learned in this way.
It was a great comfort to him, to
think that Jeemes could take into his
heart so many verses of the testament
which he could not read. He intended
to teach all his children in this way. It
was all he could do for them ; and this
he had to do, as all the other hours he
had to be at the anvil. The nailing bu
siness was growing harder ; he was
growing old, and his family large. He
had to work from 4. o'clock in the morn
ing till 10 o'clock at night to earn eighteen
pence. His wages averaged only about
7 shillings a week ; and there was 5 of
them in the family to live on what they
could earn. It was hard to make up the
loss of an hour. Not one of their hands,
however little, could be spared. Jem
my was going on 9 years of age, and a
helpful lad he was ; and the poor man
looked at him doatingly. Jemmy could
work off a thousand nails a day, of the
smallest size. The rent of their little
shop, tenement and garden, was 5 pounds
a year, and a few pennies earned by the
youngest of them was of great account.
But, continued the father, speaking
cheerily, I am not the one to complain.
Many is the man that has a harder lot
of it than I, among the nailers along
these hills and in the valley. My neigh
bors in the next door could tell you
something about labor, you may never
heard the like of in your country. He
is an older man than I, and there are 7
of them in his family ; and for all that,
he has no boy like Jemmy here, to help
him. Some of his little girls are sick
ly, and their mother is not over strong,
and it all comes on him. He is an old
ish man, as I was saying, yet he not
only works 18 hours every day at his
forge, but every Friday in the year he
works all night long, and never lays off
his clothes till late of a Saturday night.
A good neighbor is John Stubbins, and
the only man in our neighborhood that
can read the newspaper. It is not Often
he gets a newspaper; for it is not the
like of us that can have newspapers and
bread, too, in our houses at the same
time. But now and then he begs an old
one, partly torn, at the baker's, and reads
it to us of a Sunday night. So once in
two or three weeks, we hear of what is
going on in the world—something about
corn laws, and the Duke of Wellington,
and Oregon, and India, and Ireland, and
other places in England. E. 13.
Autumn has come to pay her yearly
visit, and to warn us of decay ! The
leaflet hangs wrestling with the wind;
the frost of evening now gathers upon
it, and its freshness is stricken. Sum
mer—soft-eyed Summer ! art thou gonel
Yes ; 1 still hear thy sweet adieu sigh
ing low in the vales, as thy faint breath
steals from leaf to leaf away ! But why
should we mourn 1 The flower may
fade, and its fragrance die ; yet there is
within it the seeds of eternal renovation.
In connection with human life, we are
too apt to reflect upon yellow Autumn
with feelings of melancholy. It becomes
a season of contemplation, and our
thoughts go upward to the Author of our
being, hovering like timid spirits around
His holy altar.
But there is something in the fall of
the year, with even its mournful decay,
which charms the soul and sweetens
human life : the rustle of the changing
green, the winds low sigh, the creaking
door,the house cricket's prolonged chirp,
and the lit up hearth, send our thoughts
back on an errand of memory to those
charming hours and happy days of youth
and hope—days of childhood—of inno
cence—when, with many a beloved one
from whom we have now parted for ever,
we sat around the family altar and par
took of the feelings of other times.—
Oh, how agreeable are those melancholy
reflections, as they linger and play in
the tabernacle of a virtuous heart ! If
we contemplate the changes of the sea
son in connection with a hereafter, we
feel an inexpressible beauty in the com
parison, which cannot cease to convince
the liberal and creative mind that there
is a home beyond the grave, "where
the wicked cease from troubling, and
the weary are at rest." It presents an
argument dipped in beautiful coloring—
like all of Nature's fine pencilings—so
woven with our existence by the unseen
hand, that the keenest eye cannot touch
the point at which every separate tint is
parted from its neighboring hue. lin
mortality becomes an instinctive feeling,
which carries the soul upward, we know
not how, to its destined and eternal hab
itation of light and life.
A ceaseless change, without annihila
tion, is a concomitant of all Nature's
works. She never ceases to operate.—
Every thing which we see upon the
globe has been acted upon by Nature's
supreme hand, but has never been des
troyed. Wood has been changed by
fire to charcoal—passed thence to va
rious states of refinement, until it has
resulted in a concrete of elementary
light, sparkling in the hue and splendor
of a diamond. That man whose eye
has never opened upon the noiseless
operations of Nature, or witnessed the
developements of her handy work—who
has never felt the charms of her Spring,
time, or heaved an unconscious sigh
while viewing the Autumn flower in its
decline, has left unlearned the grandest
lesson of his own immortality.
Why does not the steel-hearted atheist,
who buries his soul in an eternal sleep,
repine at the difference between his fate
and that of the plant 1 Does he not ob
serve the pride of the forest shedding
its leaves in the Autumn—reviving in
the Spring—re-clothing and replenish
ing through interminable ages 1 Surely
he must, while he surveys his own de
cayed and nerveless limbs, cry out in
despair—" For me there is no returning
spring, my withered trunk never will
clothe itself in a smoother rind ; my
hoary locks shall never more receive
the gloss of youth ; no young and vig
orous sap will circulate through these
chilled and collapsed Vessels !"--
Alas, it will not be so. What! the
plant be renovated, and the seasons come
again, while the lord of the earth, with
his face upward, walking in the majesty
of mind, withers and sinks to an ignoble
and eternal sleep 1
~ Belli •e the muse—the Autumn blasts of death
Kill not the buds of Virtue; no—they spread
Beneath the heavenly beams of brighter suns,
Through endless ages, into higher powers."
CURIOUS LEGACY.-Mr. Tustin, late
Chaplain to Congress, has had a call to
the Presbyterian Church in Hagerstown,
Md. Mr. Hugh Kennedy, who died
some years ago, left a small annuity to
that Church, on condition that they should
sing nothing but the Psalms of David;
when they depart from this they lose the
legacy, which amounts to $BOO per :ta
From the Vicksburg Whig,
He speaks !-4 nd viewless chains
Upon a Senate rest;
He ceases!—look upon the names
That gent a Nation's breast.
The calm, unsounded deep
Is emblem of his mind ;
But roused, its heavy billows sweep
In grandeur unconfined.
A loom of curious make
May weave a web of thought,
And ha who rends the shining warp,
May in the woof be caught.
Statesman end poet too!
Philosopher in turn ;
Link with the past !—a Nation soon
Shall sorrow o'er his urn.
Now with a gian'ts knight
He heaves the pond'rous thought—
Now pours the storm of eloquence
With scathing lightnings fraught.
With temper calm and mild,
And words of softened tone,
He overturns his neighbor's cause,
And justifies his own.
The polished shafi wit
Is quivering in light;
'Tic sped ! upon . hieing track,
And havoc marks his flight.
The lightning's glare may turn
The needle fronithe pole;
Whoever saw it mtwerve,
Or bow to low control.
Judgment and tact combined,
A mine of knowledge vast;
A walking book•case—on its shelves
The archives of the past.
With neat and rounded phrase
He tricks the shapeless thought;
Like hope of power, it charms today,
To-morrow it is nought.
Ye gods ! defend my cars!
Bass drums around me throng !
Through empty galleries !cap and roll
The note. of ' , Chinese (Jong!"
"Mr. Tar !" said the Recorder yes
terday morning, as if he was anxious to
ascertain whether there was any indi
vidual of that mime present, and if so,
that he would like to take a small ob
servation of the person bearing such an
odoriferous name. No one rose to the
summons, but the Recorder seeing a po
lice officer telegraphing a red faced,
weather beaten tar, in one end of the
box, with hair enough around his face
for at least a baker's dozen of stage
boatswains, inquired what the man's
name was.
"John Hull,, your honor," said the
sailor, rising, and slapping his tarpaulin
down on the railing. " John Hull, your
honor ; and may I be introduced for the
first time in my life to the bo'sins cat,
if Jack Hull was ever ashamed of his
name in whatever port he was brought
to an anchor. Hull's a name, sir, as'hl
do to stand by in the roughest sort of a
gale, or the greatest calm as ever put
old Boreas asleep."
"He told us his name was John Tar
last night, sir," said the officer.
" Did your honor ever see such a
spooney of a land lubber as that 1 Why
he would'nt know the difference 'twixt
the figure-head of a seventy-four and
the captain's clerk. Jack Tar ! you
land lubber, you. An' so lam a jack
tar, and does'nt ever mean to sail under
any other colors, so long as there's a
vessel in the Navy with the old stars
and stripes streamin' over her.
" You're in the Navy, then 1" inquired
the Recorder.
" No, your honor, I'm out on it, al
though I keeps on the togs of the old
Uncle Sam; coz, as soon as ever I get
out o' this ore snap, I'm goin to make a
straight wake and list for another cruise
—an' maybe yet you'll hear of old Jack
Hull as one of the chaps as fell in the
attack on some of them 'ere Mexican
ports in the Gulf. That's what I'm
arter. I've been a workin' all my life,
and now I wants to have a little amuse
ment in the way o' batterin down that
ore castle or somethin' o' that sort."
" You've been at sea sometime, have
you," said the Recorder.
" I should say I had, your honor. The
first thing 1 ever seed was the flash of a
big gun in 1812, for I was born on the
old Constitution, in the midst of the ac
ition with the Gurriere. My father used
Ito be called 'old John'—Lord bless him !
IHe was sent to Davy Jones's by a grape
shot, an' I was christened John Hull, for
the captain that was, the old commodore
I now—Lord bless his old !"
_ _
Ott — "Bridget, two pillows missing
from the front garret bedroom."
" Yes, ma'am, I know it."
" Well, then, what have you done
with them ?"
"Why Miss Sarah and Jane put them
, on for bustles this mornite, to prom.-
" Well, sir," said Hull, looking down, wide."
" But how came you here, Johnl you
should'nt be seen in such a place," said
the Recorder.
"I do feel just about as small as a mid
dy that has been mastheaded ; but what's
done can't be helped. You see, I'd
taken a stiff allowance of grog aboard,
and was beating and tacking about lar
board and starboard, when I gin a lee
lurch an' I fetched up agin a chap with
a tarpaulin an his knob. 'Why did'nt
you put your lielinn hard a port l' said
; 'do you think a first-rate's going to
look out for all such small craft as yowl'
'None o' your slang,' says he. 'Who
the blue blazes arc you 'l' says I, for I
want altogether steddy, your honor on
my pins—had'nt got my land legs on
egzactly. 'l'm a watchman,' said he.
'You are, are you,' says I. 'Well, if it's
your watch, you ought to be triced up
and have a round dozen for not keepin'
out o' the way.' Well, you see, one
word fotched on another, an' I hauled
off 'an gin him a broadside ; but on ac
count o' the grog, my guns was'nt heavy
shotted, an' they did'nt cripple the ene
my ; but he boarded me with a bit of a
handspike he had in his hand, an' fotch
ed me a lick that made me see more
lights than were ever hoisted at the
peaks of the craft aloft in the sky ; an'
that's all as I recollects, till I found my
self up yonder there, hard and fast among
this set of scurvy craft alongside here,
in this ere chicken coop."
6. Yon intend to go to sea again V' in
quired the Recorder.
" Aye, aye, your honor ; an' I'm only
sorry as I ever left the old Raritan and
Captain Jack, for I expect, when the
Commodore wakes up in the Gulf, he'll
make up for lost time; and as Guy'-
ment's gin 'em a touch of the old Perry
blood, I want to let 'em have a small
chance of old Hull."
" Well," said the Recorder, " I sus-1
pect you have been punished enough for
your frolic, and I shall let you go this
time upon you paying your jail fees."
" Thank your honor," said the sailor,
joyfully, " I shan't forget it ; and if you
ever hear John Hull has been cut in two
by a Mexican shot, just think that my
last words will be a blessing on your
j bead for letting me die in defence of my
ship and country."
The sailor paid his fees, and wanted
every Ludy to gu out and Lake a drink ;
but as nobody accepted his generous
effer, he threw down a quarter eagie,
saying, " Give these poor, miserable
chaps something to drink there," point
ing to the prisoners in the box, "and
let me advise you, comrades, to leave oft
drinking, and join the temperance soci
ety."—N. 0. Pic.
man once dreamt that he visited the
Lord Mayor of London, who treated him
with the greatest hospitality, and asked
him if he wouldn't "take a little su'thin."
He replied that he wouldn't mind a lit
tle whiskey punch. " Hot or cold I" in
quired his Lordship. His guest prefer
red it warm, but while the Lord Mayor
was out heating the water, the Irishman
awoke from his delicious slumber.—
" Och !" cried he, comprehending what
a fool he was to wait for hot punch du
ring the precarious tenure of a dream,
" how I wish I'd said cowld !"
for one dog lately appeared before a jus
tice of the peace, in a town near Bos
ton. Several witnesses swore positively
to the ownership of each litigant ; when
the sagacious magistrate directed the
plaintiff to take his place on his right
and the defendant to occupy a corres
ponding position on the left ; the dog in
dispute being remanded to a distant part
of the room. The parties were then
commanded to WHISTLE, when the dog
made for the defendant.
"Mr. -," said the justice to the
clerk, "record the decision for the de
fendant, the dog is the only credible
witness in the case."
"Tells me, will you, Pete," said
Sam Jonsing to Pete Gumbo, " wh-wh
who does de poet speaks ob, when him
beanterfully ses :
" Her walks in beauty, like n ting ob night
" Why him means a nigger gal, to be
sure, Sam," said Pete ; "if him meant
a white gal, ob course he'd say, like a
ting ob day."
" Den I understands de metainorphor
sis oh de idear," said Sam.
V- "Do you keep an album, Julial"
said the mistress of a boarding school
to one of her pupils, a young girl fresh
from the country.
"No, ma'am," said Julia,
keeps a dairy "
- -
WHOLE NO. 568.
A few days ago, we attended the
" Blowing Spring" Camp Meeting in
Anderson county, some 21 miles north
west of Knoxville, and while there, cu
riosity prompted us to visit the Spring
after which the Camp Ground takes its
name. The Spring is a fine and bold
current of pure lime-stone water, coming
out of the earth at the foot of a small
mountain. At the head of the spring is
the mouth of a small cave, the entrance
of which is low, and the passage nar
row. The only thing remarkable about
the place is, a strong current of air is
constantly pouring out, sufficient to
shake the weeds and grass around, and
to chill a man completely, in the short
est imaginable time, in the heat of sum
These holes and fissures of the earth,
abounding more or loss in every section
of the country, we know have been oc
casioned by different causes: confined
air, water, vapors, gasses, volcanoes,
and earthquakes, have all contributed to
produce them. The earth is known to be
composed of substance, which, when
mingled with water are calculated to
produce vapors, gasses, and explosions,
so it must, of necessity, be rent, from
time to time into chasms and fissures of
different depths. But this blowing, we
do not so well understand. The pre
sumption, however, with us, is that it is
caused by a water fall, upon the princi
ple of the water blast, at our furnaces
and forges. This opinion is strength
ened, moreover, from the fact, that as
the stream is increased or diminished by
wet or dry weather, the blast from the
mouth of the cave is increased or dimin
ished. However, this natural curiosity,
like many others, may have been form
ed, when, at the command of God, ~ the
fountains of the great depth were bro
ken up, and the windows of heaven
opened."—Jonesborough (Tenn.) Wimig.
Dow, Jr., in his sermon of last week
gives the following very excellent advice
to the young ladies of his flock:
The buxom, bright-eyed, rosy-cheek
ed, full breasted, bouncing lass--who
can darn a stocking, mend trowsers,
make her own frocks, command a regi
ment of pots and kettles, feed the pigs,
chop wood, milk cows, wrestle with the
boys, and never full under, and be a lady
withal in " company," is just the sort
of a girl for me, and for any worthy
►nan to marry; but you, ye pining, mo
ping, lolling, screwed-up, wasp-waisted,
doll-dressed, putty-faced, consumption
mortgaged, music-murdering, novel de
vouring daughters of Fashion and Idle
ness—you are no more fit for matrimony,
than a pullet is to look after a family of
fourteen chickens.
The truth is, my dear girls, you want,
generally speaking, more liberty, and
less fashionable restraint—more kitch
en and less parlor—more leg exercise
and less sofa—more pudding and less
piano—more frankness and less mock
modesty—more corned beef and less
corsets—more breakfast and less bishop.
Loosen yourselves a little; enjoy more
liberty, and less restraint by fashion ;
breathe the pure atmosphere of freedom,
and become something nearly as lovely
and beautiful as the God of nature de
Pat at the Post Office,
The following colloquy took place at
an Eastern Post Office :
Pat—" I say, Misther Postmaster, is
there any letter here for me 1"
Postmaster—" Who are you, good sirl"
" I'm myself, that's who I am."
"Well, but what is your name, sir 1"
" 0, 'liver mind the name."
"I must have your name, sir."
"An' what the divil do you want with
the name 1"
" So that I can find your letter if there
is one."
" Well, Pathrick Burns, if you must
have it."
" No, sir, there is none for you."
44 Is there no other way to git in there
excipt through this pane o' glass 1"
" No, sir."
6 , We'll for you there isn't. I'd tache
ye betther manners than to insist upon
a gintleman's name; but ye did'nt got
it afther all, so I'm aven with ye."
A B never lent and chair eat table men
is all ways come for table in the eye
dear of may king his neigh bores and as
0 she eatejoy fool It is threw a cents
of dew tea 2 his all my tea make her,
and just ice 2 his fel low more tails that
he bees toes a few pen eyes up on those
who D serve a pea Q nigh airy ass east
ants, or claim our come pass I on and
pea tea.
"but mother
(D- A youn man, on being requested
to dance a Scotch reel with a couple of
sour looking maids, objected, on the
ground that "pickles did not agree with