Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, January 20, 1847, Image 1

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VOL. XII, NO, 1.
%Z l / 4 6 0 11.130116D.
The..JoonrrAi." will be published every Wed
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I've watched too late: the morn is near—
One look at God's broad, silent sky ;
Oh, hopes and wishes vainly dear,
How in your very strength ye die !
Ever while your glow is on your cheek.
And mace the high pursuit begun,
The heart grows faint, the hand grows weak,
The task of life is left undone,
Bee where upon the horizon's b irn
L'es the still cloud in gloomy bars
The waning moon, all pale end
Goea up amid the eternal stars.
Late, in a flood of tender light,
She floated through the chola' blue;
A setter Nun that shone all night.
Upon the gathering beads of dew.
And still thou wanes:, pallid moon !
The encroaching shadow grows apace ;
heaven's everlasting watchers soon
hull see thee blotted from thy place.
Oh, Nialit's dethroned and crovvnlelis queen !
Well may thy sad, expiring ray
Be shed on those whose eyes have seen
Hope's glorious visions lade away.
Shine thou for forms that once were bright,
For sages in the mind's eclipse ;
For those whose words were spells of might,
But falter now on stammering lips!
In thy decaying beam there lies
Full many a grave on hill and plain,
Of those who closed their tlyirg eyes
In grief that they had lived in vain.
Another night, and thou among
The aphvres of heaven shall cease to shine,
All rayless in the glittering throng
Whose lustre late was quenched in thine.
Yet soon a new and tender light
FlOlll out thy darkened orb shall beam,
And broaden till it shines all night
On glistening dew and glimmering stream.
" You come late, my friend—"
These words, conveying something of
tender reproach, were uttered by a young
and beautiful woman, seated in an ele
gant saloon in one of the gay streets of
Paris. He, to whom this flattering re
proach was addressed, just then enter
ing the room, was a young man of gen
teel appearance, elegantly dressed and
judging from his manner, profoundly im
pressed with a high sense of his own
impo rtance.
"True," replied the gentleman, with
an air of careless freedom, " I regret it
indeed, but an affair of importance—l
have been detained by my friend Tus
In spite of their rights and preroga
tives, though clearly established, Par
isian husbands, and without doubt, hus
bands everywhere else, are obliged,
alike for the security of peace and lib
erty, to have resource to some myste
rious allies. Every one who desires to
enjoy pleasant times away from home,
invents some trick, according to the
weight of his chain, that is, according
to the character of his wife. In this
way no mean efforts of genius are often
displayed in the shades of private life.
The greater part of those happy hus
bands who, from time to time, look on
their pleasant days of single blessedness,
emancipate themselves by the aid of
some imaginary affair which is ulpile to
occupy their time ; or a phantom is con
jured up which complacently charges
itself with all the little sins of its crea
tor. There are also clubs and circles
which are excellent places of resort for
husbands whose conjugal felicity stands
in the domestic market below par.—
When a husband comes home late, he
comes from the circle ; when he does not
dine at home, he has been at the club;
when his finances are impaired, he has
lost his money at the circle : and excel
lent reasons are never wanting to attach
the husband to some establishment which
his wife desires him to abandon. But
whatever the resources of the club or
circle, they do not always render a resort
to imaginary affairs unnecessary, nor do
away with the necessity of a phantom
which may be invoked on all important
Tussac is one of those accomodating,
discreet friends who takes up all your
time ; causes all failures in your appoint
ments; appoints your rendezvous, and
borrows the money which you pay to
conceal your culpable extravagance—
an imaginary being created to help one
out of momentary and pressing difficul
These preliminaries stated, we pro
ceed with our story.
The young man whom we have intro
duced, was not the husband of the charm
ing woman who said so graciously,
" You come late, my friend." Mme.
Sareuil was a widow, and Leopold Dern
ville her husband in prospect. Their
marriage would have already taken place,
but for the testament of M. de Sareuil,
who, in his wrath at quitting the world
while there was anything to be enjoyed,
inserted the following clause in his last
will and testament :
"I give to my beloved wife all my
property, moveable and immoveable, on
condition that for five years, she lays
not aside her mourning, abjures all par
ties of pleasure, and remains unmarried.
After this she may remount the rose, go
to balls, and take a second husband, if
it seems good in her sight."
This was a terrible sacrifice, but the
fifty thousand pounds left her on such
conditions were not to be lost by non
compliance therewith. Mme. de Sareuil
armed herself with patience, and Leo
pold, who had been her lover previous
to her first marriage, having pressed his
claim on the ground of his ancient pas
sion, was received in quality of preten
der to the hand of the beautiful and
rich widow. All other rivals were dis
and he alone remained master 1
of the field. He had only to wait the
completion of the time fixed by the de
funct husband. But this time was not
so easy a matter for Leopold. He was
young, vain, and felt it difficult to ac
commodate himself to a sentimental
tete-a-tete prolonged through five consec
utive yeas. • The house of Mine. de
Sareuil ; was always open to him from
night. Great assiduity was
expec f him, and the manner in
which a employed his time was often
inqui into. His cares were numer
ous, his position not unlike that of
are usband—at least, he was subject
ed fo most, if not all its embarrassments.
Wishing to place to good account the
last days of his celibacy, and on the
other hand desiring to retain his credit
unimpaired with the widow, his career
placed him at length in a position some
what ambiguous. He became enveloped
in profound dissimulation, and in order
to extricate himself from accumulating
difficulties, invented his friend Tussac.
On the occasion referred to, at the
commencement, instead of going at six
o'clock to the house of Mme. de Sare
uil, who expected him to dine, he did not
make his appearance till half past nine.
"Detained by your friend Tussac,"
said the beautiful widow, with an air of
discontent, " this is what you always say
to me."
"You must know I have been con
nected with Tussac ever since our col
lege days, and that his friendship is very
useful to me."
" I know all your friends but this Tus
sac." Why have you not presented him
to me 1"
" Tiossac is an original," replied Leo
pold, "a beau who fears to show him
self. He will not endure any restraint.
He dresses very negligently, says every
thing that comes into his head, and
smokes continually. Three faults which
render him unfit for the society of ladies.
I have attempted to improve him in these
particulars, but my efforts have been in
am very curious to see him," ob•
served the widow.
"Perhaps in our walk some day we
shall meet him," replied Leopold ; " then
we will take him by surprise."
The next day Mme. de Sareuil said
to Leopold—
" Explain to me, my friend, the disor-
der that reigns in your affairs 1"
"How 1"
" In conversing this morning with my
notary, who is yours also, I learned by
chance, and without desiring it, some
very curious particulars. You are much
embarrassed for the want of fifteen thou
sand francs."
" It is true ; that sum is necessary to
"And will it be indiscreet to ask you
for what use 1"
"Oh not in the least ; and besides
you know I have nothing to conceal
from you. My friend Tussac made a
bad speculation at the exchange and de
sired that amount of me."
"Tussac again ! And to render your
friend a service you strip yourself of
fortune I Have you sold your farm in
Normandy I"
"True friendship shrinks at no sac
rifice," replied Leopold.
" But are you sure your confidence is
well placed I" inquired Mme. de Sare
uil. "Even now Tussac has very much
deranged your affairs. If he should ruin
you, it would be a singular abuse of that
friendship which you so generously
" I know the delicate and scrupulous
probity of Tussac ;'I shall lose nothing
by him."
Some days after this conversation,
Mme. de Sareuil received Leopold very
"Whence this sombre and severe airl"
inquired the lover on entering the sa
. Do you doubt me 1"
1 , Not inthe least."
" W ill you tell me how and where you
employed yourself last evening 1" ask
ed the widow.
" Last evening Z but—yes—nothing
more readily. 1 was at the show."
" At the Gymnasium, in a front seat,
on the ground floor, the first to the left.
You had a lady with you. You see I
am well informed, sir. Who was that
woman I"
"I was alone with no lady," replied
Leopold. "On the back scat of the box
was my friend Tissac, and in the front
seat at my side sat his his sister."
"Ah ! has M. Tussac a sister?"
" He has two."
" You have never spoken to me of
"They. are married in the province; I
scarcely know them; and they very rare
ly come to Paris."
" Hold, Leopold !" said the widow—
"will you do one thing which will make
me infinitely happy V'
" You have only to demand it."
" Well, break oN at once this intimate
liaison with Tussac and his family."
"That 4111*.begry difficult," replied
Leopold. "I aiWjust on the point of
associating him with myself in a great
industrial enterprize—an exploration of
certain mines, the privilege to do which
has been granted us by the minister,
who is full of good will towards Tussac,
his cousin ; for Tussac is cousin to the
minister, and that minister, through my
friend Tussac, has alread been very
serviceable to my family.'
A slight shade of jealous which had
obscured the countenance of the beauti
ful widow, disappeared before the justi
fication of Leopold, whe never in vain
invoked to his friend Tussac. But sud
denly the carelessness of the young dan
dy exposed hit. reputation for fidelity to
a peril much more grave. He was seat
ed at the side of Madame de Sareuil, en
tertainining her familiarly with his fu
ture projects—his buoyant hopes and
his approaching happiness.
" Only four months," said he, " and
we shall be united."
"Yes," replied the widow, "in four
months the interdiction will be raised."
" You will quit the weeds," continued
Leopold, "which long since left your
heart ; you will return to that world, of
which for a long time you will be a
brilliant ornament."
. Your gallantry is charming to•day!"
said the widow. "Have you retained
the box at the opera, which I spoke of
yesterday V'
" Yes, here are the tickets."
Leopold opened his wallet to exhibit
the tickets, but did not observe the fall
from it of a small perfumed billet. Mine.
de Sareuil took it up, opened and read :
To-morrow noon I shall be alone,
and 1 desire to pass the entire day with
him whom I love more than all else in
the world. Emile.
The indignant widow presented the
open billet to Leopold. "Hold Mon
sieur," said she, in a voice altered by
emotion, " replace this letter in yuur
" Hortense !" cried Leopold, "you are
very prompt to accuse me !"
"In effect," said the widow, "this let
ter is very innocent."
"I said not that," replied Leopold.
"It is neither a letter from a lady,
neither a love-letter, nor a letter of as
signation !" continued the widow, sar
"All this proves but one thing," said
Leopold, "and that is that I have lost a
breakfast at the Recher de Cancale."
" What signifies this," said the wid
ow pleasantly."
" Unfortunately for me, nothing could
be more serious."
In uttering these words, Leopold re
opened his wallet with a meaning slow
ness, in order, apparently, to gain time
for reflection. Among a dozen letters
he took adroitly an envelope which he
presented to Madame de Sareuil with
an air of triumph.
"Here is my justification," he ex
That envelope 1" enquiringly said
the widow.
"Addressed to me. The billet was
4 , Explain."
LoOk at the hand-writing of the bil
let," said Leopold—" a •woman's hand,
fine and irregular, look at the hand-wri
ting of the envelope—a man's hand,
large and firm! Is it clear I"
"Not enough for me," replied the
.How! Do you not see a difference
in the hand-writings of the two'!"
" Very great," replied Madame de
Sareuil, " but I see not in what way
that goes to your justification."
" Nothing can be more easily demon
strated," replied Leopold; "the billet
was written by Mademoiselle Emile—
the envelope by my friend 'Pussac.—
Mademoiselle Emilie is a flame of Tus
sae ; I would not believe in his success,
and I bet with him that he could not
triumph. In order to prove to me that
I have lost and owe him a breakfast, he
sent me this billet under this envelope.
Comprehend you nowt"
"Perhaps,' replied the widow.
As Madame de Sareuil saw approach
the epoch of her liberty, she manifested
towards Leopold an air of defiance and
coldness which took, from day to day a
more determined character.
" Does she begin to suspect that my
friend Tussac is but a chimera, a phan
tom," said Leopold, soliloquizing.
But suddenly the veil was torn away.
One day—eight days after the expira
tion of the fatal day—Leopold entered
the house of Madam de Sareuil agitated
and pale.
"What do you wish 1" demanded the
widow in a tone of cold indifference.
" What I yesterday I was here,
but did not find you," replied Leopold.
" I was out."
" Alone 7" enquired Leopold.
" No, I had a gallant."
"And you avow it!"
" Why not 1" replied the widow.—
You will know it, and 1 am not in the
habit of lying."
" In the evening I returned ; your door
was shut against me. Were you in 2"
"I was," replied the widow.
"Alone 1"
" No."
" With your gallant, I presume.
"Precisely so," replied widow.
"A young man, perhaps," observed
"Twenty-eight years old, sir."
"May I know his name'!"
" Why should I conceal it 1 It is a
friend of yours," replied the widow.
"One of my friends. Which, if you
please 1"
"Can't you guess'!"
" His name, Madam; your pardon, I
am unable to guess."
"Well, it is your friend, Tussac !"
replied the widow.
Leopold remained dumb for an in
stant. He did not expect his phantom
friend Tussac, thus to return upon him,
but his anger suddenly opened his
"No, Madame," said he, "it was not
"A hazardous assertion that," replied
Madam de Sareuil. "But why was it
not Tussac
~ Why 1 Because Tussac does not
and never did exist."
" You acknowledge the trick, then,"
said the widow, "and yet you dare to
complain! But, sir, you will now learn
the price of one odious lie, whiqh has so
long covered up your real character.—
The name of Tussac which you took at
hazard, to conceal your baseness, is real
ly the name of the young man with whom
I spent the day yesterday. Justly alarm
ed at an attachment which I thought real
and which appeared to be dragging you
into innumerable difficulties, I became
desirous of knowing something more
than you seemed disposed to tell me
about your friend Tussac ; I made in
quiry, and at length met a young man,
elegant, amiable, spiritual, and full of
good qualities, who is not cousin to the
minister, who has no sisters, and who
has never seen you! It is about two
months since the veritable Tussac was
introduced to mu; his merit made a
lively impression on me, and when he
declared his love and attachment, I gave
him my hand."
" But it is rank treason, after five
years of constancy !" exclaimed Leo
"You should have known Monsieur,"
replied Madame de Sareuil, "that your
friend Tussac would finish by playing
you a trick."
" Still, I will have my revenge."
Leopold received from his friend Tus
sac uncoupe d'epee in his right arm.—
Two days after he broke the seal of a
letter announcing the marriage of Ma
dame de Sareuil.
Who liked Volunteering, but had a Dis
taste for active Service.
"Yes, there it are again," said Tom
Tipple, as he yesterday saw a company
of gallant volunteers marching up St.
Charles street, the stars and stripes
proudly floating over them, and a fife
and drum in advance, loudly, if not elo
quently, discoursing martial music—
" there it are," said Tom, " and the old
tune, too, "March to the battle field!"
Marchin' to the battle field is all very
well; but marchin' home agin—purvi
din a feller succeeds in dodgiri' the Mex
ican copper bullets--with a fever and
ager on his back instead of his knap
sack, and a wooden leg instead of his
nat'ral limb, ain't what it's cracked up
to be. There, now the tune 's changed
to—" How happy's the soldier." Yes,
he's cussed happy, ain't he They may
tell that to the jack tars, even the ma
rines won't b'leeve 'em. There haint
no kind o' use at all in tellin' it to a fel
ler like me, wot lived three moths 'inong
the chapparel on the banks of the Rio
Grande on crackers and salt pork, and
wot used up so much of the latter, for
want o' sumthin' better, that I was
afraid to look a shoat in the face. Yes,
there's more of it—[sings with the mu
The star-spangled banner. and long may it wave.
O'er the and of the free and the home of the brave."
Hurrar ! that's all lust rate, but if
you want that 'ere flag to wave over the
land of the free and the home of the
brave, why in h-11 do you take it to Mex
ico 1 Them are greasers ain't free nor
brave no how you can fix it, so you see,
though the music is good, the sentiment
ain't 'propriate. Now, 1 ain't got no
objection to volunteeren, as 1 knows on.
I ain't noways back'ard at that. I ha'
already jincd eight companies, took
treats in my turn in each, besides doin'
the promiscuous drink in' for twelve tem
perance volunteers. I calls that doin' a
jolly business ; it's the poetry of the
purf'ession, as Bill Mathews used to call
it. Marchin' to the battle field is all
very well, taken in the figerative sense
—the way members of Congress wishes
to be understood, ven they calls the hon
orable gentleman wot spoke last a liar
but ven it comes down to literal prose
—yen a feller conwerts himself, for 138
a month, into a thing to be cracked at
and shot, it's not wot it's cracked up to
be, by a long shot. Therefore, I say—
" I say you are my prisoner," said
rather a ferocious looking gentleman,
wearing a leather cap, having a red sash
encircling his waist, and a moustache,
in a state of juvenility, on his upper lip
—4. I say you are my prisoner ; you en
rolled yourself in my company, and
drew rations for six days."
" Vell, vot ov it 1" said Tom Tipple ;
" the hact o' Congress says there ain't
no unvoluntary serwice in the volunteers,
and I claims to be a free and independent
A crowd shortly collected around Tom
and his captor, among whom not less
than half a dozen claimed Tom as hav-
ing enrolled himself in as many differ
ent companies. He was delivered over
to the civil authorities for farther dispo
sition.--N. 0. Delta.
lar in the Highlands of Scotland, having
run short of butter applied to a farmer's
wife for a supply.
"How much do you want 1" asked the
" One pun' will do," said the pedlar.
"I cannot make you a pun. I have
na a pun weight."
" Well what hae your
"Twa pun."
"And which is the weight 1"
" 0, its just the tongs."
" Well," said he, " put ane leg in the
scale, and tither out, and that'll be a
The woman did as she was requested
,but when it was weighed, she looked
doubtfully at the butter and said—
"lt looks twa pun."
"O, it's all right, woman," said the
pedlar—" how much is it 1"
" A sixpence," was the reply.
The pedlar paid the sixpence and de
parted rather hastily, lest the woman
should discover that "ane leg out and
ane leg in," was not the exact way of
weighing a pound of butter.
The Somerset (N. J.) Messenger, thus
disposes of General Taylor, as a candi
date for the Presidency :
" It is conclusively established by his
conduct that " Old Zack " won't run for
anything. How then can he bo made
President T"
WHOLE NO. 578.
In the January number of Hunt's Mer•
chants' Magazine, which is just publish
ed, is an account of the Iron Mountain
in Missouri, from Dr. Lewis Feuchtwan
ger. Near the Iron Mountain is another
mass of solid Iron called the Pilot Knob,
of still larger dimensions. The writer
of the letter thinks that in these two is
contained Iron enough to last the whole
world for a hundred years. We quota
a part of his account :
" The material in the Pilot knob has
never been used for casting purposes,
but some few years ago, edge tools were
manufactured and forged from the crude
ore. The quantity of pig .iron produ
ced at present is about ten tons per day
performed by four discharges in twenty
four hours, but the present furnace hay
ing given way, it must be replaced by
a more substantial and larger one•, which
is estimated to produce twenty tons per
day. The distance from the Iron Moun
tain to the landing on the Mississippi
river, is 40 miles, and it costs but one
quarter of a cent per pound for trans
portation. I met twelve wagons loaded
with pig metal, each having four thou
sand pounds and performing the trip in
four days, at an expense of ten dollars
"The Iron Mountain proper is about
a mile and a halt' long, and about one
mile broad—or rather more than a sec
tion of land • while the Pilot knob is
twice as high as the Iron Mountain, but
has not as much surface. Here you
travel upon nothing but iron lumps as
far as the eye can reach ; there you see
the whole top of the mountain forming
one sheet of iron. Here they have pen
etrated but ten feet into the ground—
the surface iron being all, too, large
lumps—while at the Pilot Knob, they
have penetrated, on the summit and at
the base, at least two hundred and fifty
feet. The iron ore found here is of the
richest kind ; it yields at least 60 per
cent. of pig metal, and I saw but very
few slugs lying about the furnace. At
St. Louis, they prefer the pig iron from
the Iron Mountain to that of Tennes
see. The company intend making, in a
short time. twenty tons per day, or 7,500
tons per annum. It would pay a profit
to export the ore to other States for
smelting, where fuel is more abundant.
The supply of the ore in this region is
" The Iron i•lountain is one mile
broad, four hundred and forty-four feet
high, and three miles long. The lumps
of iron increase in size ascending to
wards the summit. The Pilot Knob is
the highest peak of mountains in the
whole neighborhood, and cannot be less
than fifteen hundred feet high ; it is said
to be a mile from the base to the sum
mit, but this appears highly incredible.
The iron ore is a micacious oxide of
iron, but not a magnetic oxide, as some
former writers have called it."
buryport Herald tells the following:
A rap at the delivery.
P. M.—Well, my lad what will you
BOY.—Here's a letter, and sister Sal
ly wants to have it go along as fast as
it can, 'cause there's a feller wants to
have her here—and she's courted by a
another feller wot ain't here—and she
wants to know whether the feller wot
flint here is goin' to have her or not.
He then left.
says that hundreds of people have com
menced claiming the gun-cotton as their
own invention. Among others, there is
a friend of his who says he never wore
a night cap, because he knew the in
flammable nature of cotton would have
rendered him light-headed.—Hom e Jour
Yankee Doodle says he has a friend
in the habit of coming home late at night
who thinks, since the discovery of the
explosive nature of cotton, that he has
found out the cause of his having been
regularly blowed up every time he put
on his night-cap for the last fifteen years.
BEAUTY.—An ancient impertinent fel
low divides female beauty into four or
ders, as follows :
Long and lazy, little and loud,
Fair and foolish, dark and proud.
Arrant scandal ! The following is
the true reading :
Tall and splendid, little and neat,
Fair and pleasant, dark and sweet.
The translation of which, is--
High and beauteous, little and witty,
Fair and lovely, dark and pretty.
[ll "Is Jonathan Dump here 1" ask
ed a raw country fellow, bolting into a
printing office. " I don't know such a
man," replied the foreman. "You don't
know him !" exclaimed the green 'up,
„ " why he courted my sister I"