Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, September 28, 1847, Image 1

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    Iir\TING 10"\ JOUIn Le
VOL. XII, NO. 39.
pupliehed hereafter at the following rates, viz
54.75 a year, if paid in advance; $2.00 if
paid during the year, and $2.50 if not paid un
til after the expiration of the year. The above
terms to be adhered to in all cases.
No subscription taken for less than six months,
find no paper discontinued until all mrearages are
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To Clubs of six, or more, who pay in ad-
vance, the Journal will be sent at OIL SO per
copy for one year; and any ono who - will send us
that number of names accompanied with the money
whatl receive the Journal one year for his trouble.
(For the Huntingdon Journal.]
So young--and yet the stain of crime
Is on my pale, pale brow;
And in my heart, the cursed blight
Of deeds retrieveless now !
I'm sure I did not mean to sin,
Nor cast a deathly shade
Of sorrow o'er my Mother's soul,--
My God ! to Thee I've prayed
To rescue her tram every ill,
And make my valued life
As pure and spotless as her own,
And free from care and strife:
But now, alas! 'tis vain to mourn
The drear and gloomy past ;
I feel my burning brain grow wi'd,
My life-tide ebbing fast :
O ! darkly fearful thoughts crowd in
My seared and writhing brain-- •
'Tis but a leap to pass the bourne
1..01 earthly woe and pain ;
And yet the world is bright and fair,
And full of shine and flowers--
Alt ! now, my heart is back again
To childhood's sunny bowers ;
Those bowers of love, and hope, and truth,
The Edon of my early yearn,
Why lived Ito on after age
To shed these hitter, bitter tears!
But yet, I did not mean to err--
-0 ! hope comes back, all fresh and strong,
Sure Heaven will ever be my friend.
And shield me e'er from scorn and wrong
Gone now the cursed, b istering smart,
Whose sting was in my bursting heart;
In prayer, and faith, and trusting love,
I rest my all with God above. M. G.
[For the Huntingdon Journal.]
MIMI, gentle brother of my heart;
0 ! how my thrilling pulses start,
As close against thy beating breast,
I feel my throbbing temples pressed;
And in thy mild and loving eyes,
1 read of joys beyond the skies—
Sweet joys which thro' thy bosom steal--
Such joys as angels ever feel !
0 ! would that in these hours of love,
Bright angels from their home above,
'Xith starry wings and loving eyes,
Might waft us to their antics skies ! M. G.
Huntingdon, Sept. 17,1847.
The Washington correspondent of the
Baltimore Patriot, gives the following
idea of what California is, and to what
extent it is worth the enormous expense
our government has been at to conquer
it :
" Including all of New Mexico, which
— Texas claims as belonging to her, Up,
per California covers over a space of
some 500,000 square miles, is made up
of everlasting mountains, barren of ev
erything but rock and snow, and barren,
sandy, howling deserts, unexplored,
tirk, gloomy and forbidding to the be
holder ! The exception to this horrid
state of country lies between two ranges
of mountains, whose course is parallel
with that of the Pacific coast. It is sit
uated between the shore range of moun
tains and the great Sierra Nevada, or
Snowy mountains, and is watered by
the Saw Joakin, running from the South,
and the Rio de los Americanos which
runs from the North, and both of which
empty through a gorge of the shore
range into the bay of San Francisco.—
This fertile tract of country is so chop
ped up by mountain spurs running down
through it, that of the 60,000 r. qua re
miles, equal to the size of New York,
not more than 20,000 square miles, equal
in size to Maryland, may be termed wor
thy of cultivation, and then it must be
done for most part by irrigation. The
rains fall for six months of the year
there, and frequently overflow the val
leys. And during the dry season, it is
dry enough !
But how are the people to get to this
wonderful Paradise, no bigger than New
Jersey or Maryland 1 It may be gain
ed by a six months voyage around the
cape. Another route is by way of Pa
nama, and thence across the isthmus.—
But the great route for traders and emi
grants is by way of Council Grove and
Santa Fe. From our frontier in Arkan
sas to Council Grove is 200 tniles over
a fine country. Thence onward 500
miles to Santa Fe is through a waste
and barren desert. From the latter
place, or rather from the South West
Pass, it is 1500 miles along the brink of
the great basin or desert to the enter
ing place, through the Sierra Nevada,
at Walker's Pass, to the "Promised
[Extract from Mr. LumAnu's address, at the
mass meeting of the friends of Gen. Taylor, held
at Philadelphia a few weeks ago.]
Do you behold that dark ravine, deep
sunken between these precipitous banks'?
Hero no sunlight comes—for these walls
of rock wrap the pass in eternal twilight.
Withered trees grow between the mass
es of granite, and scattered stone, make
the bed of the ravine uncertain and
difficult for the herd.
Hark ! That cry, that rush, like a
mountain torrent bursting its barriers ;
and quick as the lightning flashes from
darkness, the dismal ravine is bathed in
red battle light. From its northern ex
tremity a confused band of Mexicans,
an army in itself, came yelling along the
pass, treading one another down as they
fly, their banners, spears, horses and
men, tossed together in inextricable con
By thousands they rush into the shad
ows of the pass, their dark faces redden
ed by the sheeted blaze of musketry.—
The caverns of the ravine send buck the
roar of their panic, and The grey rocks
are washed by their blood.
But the little band 71i '.hi-
who pursue this
army—who are they 2 You may see in
their firm, heroic ranks, the volunteer
costume,of Illinois and Kentucky. At
their head, urging his men with shouts,
rides the gallant McKee, by his side,
young Henry Clay—that broad forehead
which reminds you of his father, bathed
in the glare, as his sword quivers on
high, ere it alls to kill. There, too, a
wild figure, red with his own blood, and
the blood of Mexican• foes, his uniform
rent in tatters, This arm, bared to the
shoulder, striking terrible blows with
his good sword—Hardin, of Illinois,
conies gallantly forward.
This small, but iron band, hurl the
Mexicans from the heights into the ra
vine, and follow up the chase far down
into the eternal twilight of that moun
tain pass.
Look ! as their musketry stream one
steady blaze you would think that one
ceaseless sheet of lightning bathed these
rocks in flame!
Over the Mexicans, man and horse,
hurled back in mad disorder, the Ameri
cans dash on their way, never heeding
the overwhelming numbers of their foes,
never heeding the palpitating forms be
neath their feet, with bayonet, with rifle
and sword, they press steadily on, the
well known banner streaming ever more
The howl of the dying war horse—
hark! Does it not chill your blood to
hear it 1 The bubbling cry of the wound
ed man, with the horse's hoof upon his
mouth, trampling his face into a hideous
wreck—does it not sicken your soul to
hear it 1
A hundred yards or more into the pass
the Americans have penetrated, when
suddenly a young Mexican, rushing
back upon their ranks, seizes the fallen
flag of Ananuac, and dashes to his death!
To see him, young and beardless, a
very boy, rush with his country's flag,
with his bare breast, upon that line of
sharp steel—it was a sight, to stir cow
ards into manhood, and it shut into the
Mexican heart like an electric flame.
Even in their panic-stricken disorder
they turned, by hundreds they grasped
their arnis, and rolled in one long wave
of lance and bayonet upon the foe. Wo
to the brave men of Illinois and Kentuc
ky now. Locked in that deadly pass,
a wall of infuriated Mexicans between
them and that wall of rocks—above their
heads, through every aperture among
the cliffs, the blaze of muskets pouring
a shower of bullets on their heads—
wherever they turned the long and dead
ly lance poised at their throats—it was
a moment to think once of home, and
Those who survived the fearful mo
ment, tell with shuddering triumph of,
the death of the three heroes—McKee,
Hardin and Clay.
McKee, you see him yonder, with his
shattered sword, dripping blood, ho en
deavors to ward off the aim of those
deadly lances, and lights on his knees,
when he can stand no longer, and then
the combatants close over him, and you
see him no more.
Hardin rose from a heap of slaughter
ed foes, his face streaming from its hid
eous lance wounds, and waved a Mexi
can flag, in triumph; as his life-blood
gushed in a torrent over his muscular
form. That instant the full light of bat
tle was upon his mangled face. Then,
flinging the captured flag to a brother
soldier, he shouted—" Give it to her, as
a memorial of Buena Vista! my wife!"
It was his last word, upon his bared
breast, the fury of ten lances rushed,
and the horses' hoofs trampled him into
the heap of dead.
But most sad, and yet more glorious
of all, it was to see, the death of the sec.
and HENRY CLAY! You should have
seen him, with his back against yonder
rock, his sword grasped firmly, as the
consciousness that he bore a name, that
must not die ingloriously, seemed to fill
his every vein, and dart a deadly fire
from his eyes!
At that Moment he looked like the old
• For, his brow, high and retreating;
with thel blood-clotted hair, waving back
from its outline, was swollen in every
vein, as though his soul shone from it,
ere she fled forever. Lips set, brow knit,
hand firm,—a circle of his men fighting
round him—he dashed back the Mexi
cans until his sword was wet, his arm
weary with blood.
At last, with his thigh splintered by a
ball, he gathered his proud form to its
full height, and fell. His face, ashy
with intense agony, he bade his com
rades to leave him there to die. That
ravine should be the bed of his glory.
But gathering around him a guard of
breasts and steel—while two of their
number bore him tenderly along—those
men of Kentucky fought round their fal
len hero, and retreating step by step,
they launched their swords and bayo
nets into the foe, and said with every
blow—" HENRY CLAY."
It was wonderful to see how that name
nerved their arms, and called a smile to
the face of the dying hero.—How it
would have made the heart of the old
man of Ashland throb to have heard his
name yelling as a battle cry down the
shadows of that lonely pass!
Along the ravine, and up this narrow
path ! The hero bleeds as they bear
him on, and tracks the way with his
blood.—Faster and thicker the Mexicans
swarm—they see the circle around the
fallen man, even see his pale face, up
lifted as a smile crosses its fading line
aments, and like a pack of wolves scent
ing the frozen traveller at dead of night,
they come howling up the rocks, and
charged the devoted band with one dense
mass of bayonets.
Up and on. The light shines yonder,
on the topmost rock of the ravine ; it is
the light of the setting sun. Old Tay
lor's eye is upon that rock, and there we
will fight our way, and die in the old
man's sight.
It was - a
murderous way, that path up
the steep bank of the ravine ! Littered
with dead, slippery with blood, it grew
blacker every moment with swarming
Mexicans, and the defenders of the
wounded hero, fell one by one, into the
chasm yawning all around.
At la - st they the heights, the
swords and bayonets glitter in sight of
the contending armies, and the bloody
contest, roars towards the topmost
Then it was, that gathering up his
dying frame—armed with supernatural
vigor—young Clay stated from the
arms of his supporter,, and stood with
outstretched hands, in the light of the
settini7 '
sun. It was a glorious sight,
which he saw there, amid the roaring
battle clouds; Santa Anna's formidable
array, hurled back, into ravine and gorge,
by Taylor's little band ! But a more
glorious thing it was to see that dying
man, standing for the last time in the
light of the sun, which never shall rise
fur him again . .
Leavt7 - me !" he shriekd as he fell
back on the sod—" I must die and I will
die here! Peril your lives no longer
for me! Lo! There is work for you yon
The Mexicans crowding on, hungry
for slaughter, left no time for thought.
Even as he spoke, their bayonets, glis
toning by hundreds, were levelled at the
throats of the devoted band. By the
mere force of their overwhelming num
bers, they crushed them back from the
side of 'the dying Clay.
One only lingered ; a brave man, who
had knoWn the chivalric soldier, and
loved him long ; he stood there, and cov
ered as he was with blood, heard these
last words :
" Tell my father how I died, and give
him these pistols !"
- Lifting his ashy face into light, he
turned his eyes upon his comrade's face
—placed the pistols in his hands—and
fell back in death.
That comrade, with the pistols in his
grasp, fought his way alone to thetop
most rock of the path, and only once
looked back. He saw a quivering form,
canopied by bayonets—he saw those
outstretched hands grappling with the
points of steel—he saw a pale face lifted
once in the light, and then darkness
rushed upon the life of young HENRY
D.- The Philadelphia Spirit of the
Times demands of the Administration
at Washington the discharge of all the
mechanics in the Navy Yard who are
not Locofocos.—This is the Locofoco
doctrine—employ nono but your own
The following capital anecdote, illus
trative of the peculiarities of the late
Stephen Girard, of Philadelphia, is from
the New Bedford Bulletin; we have not
seen it published before:
" Mr. G. had a favorite clerk, one who
every way pleased him, and who, when
at the age of twenty-one years, expected
Mr. G. to say something to him in re
gard to his future prospects, and perhaps
lend him a helping hand in starting him
in the world. But Mr. G. said nothing,
carefully avoiding the subject of his es
cape from minority. At length, after
the lapse of some weeks, the clerk mus
tered courage enough to address Mr. G.
upon the subject .
" I suppose, sir," said the clerk, "I ain
now free; and I thought I would say
something to you as to my future course.
What do you think I had better do V'
" Yes, I know you are free," said Mr.
G., "and my advice to you is, that you
go and learn the cooper's trade."
This announcement well nigh threw
the clerk oft the track, but recovering
his equilibrium, he said if Mr. G. was
in earnest, he would do so.
" I am in earnest," said Mr. G.; and
the clerk, rather hesitatingly, sought
one of the best coopers, agreed upon the
terms of apprenticeship, and went at it
in earnest. 'ln process of time,' the
young cooper became master of his trade,
and could make as good a barrel as any
other cooper. He went and told Mr. G.
that he had graduated with all the hon
ors of the craft, arid wns ready to set up
his business ; at which the old man seem
ed much gratified, and told him to make
three of the best barrels lie could get
up. The young cooper selected the
choicest materials, and soon put in shape
and finished his three barrels, and
wheeled them up to the old man's count
ing room. Mr. G. said the barrels were
first-rnte ' and demanded the price
"One dollar," said the clerk,
loWns 1 can live by."
" Cheap enough," said his employer ;
"make out your bill and present it."
And- now comes the cream of the
whole. Mr. G. drew a check for $20,-
000, and bandibg it to the clerk-cooper,
closed with these words:
"There, take that, and invest it in the
best possible way, and if you are unfor
tunate and lose it, you have a good trade
to fall back upon, which will atlOrd you
a good living at all tunes."
A young woman residing with one of
our best families, has lately afforded a
very curious instance of night-walking,
when under the influence of sleep.
About a week since, her employer heard
a noise in the house, and supposing that
some rascals were attempting an en
trance, he arose, seized a pair of pistols,
and softly opening his chamber-door,
stood ready to give the robbers a blazing
reception when they should make their
appearance. While he stood there with
a six-barreled revolver, his attention was•
called off by his wife, who was terribly
frightened, and threatening every min
ute to swoon. When our hero again re
turned to his position at the door, the
robbers had passed on down stairs, and
were heard ransacking the parlor, and
what appeared to be a very strange
freak, one of them was humming a tune.
After a moment's consultation with the
terror-stricken wife, our friend deter
mined to avail himself of every assis
tance in his power, and he accordingly I
proceeded up stairs, where ho speedily
aroused his brothers and a nephew, all
of whom girded on every weapon within
reach. After an injunction or two on
the part of the head of the household to
the others, to be firm, and stand up to
the contest like men, and to remember
that they were proceeding against ras
cals, who murdered for pastime, the par
ty began if slow and cautious descent
for the parlor. Notwithstanding all
their precautions, the stairs would
screak, and the party trembled at the
mediate prospect of bloodshed.—Throw
ing open the door the leader shouted at
the top of his capacity, « Villians, we
have you—surrender !" But what was
their surprise and astonishment to find
this disturbance had been created by the
nurse, who had risen in her sleep, and
with a baby of ten months in her arms,
had gone down into the parlor, lit the
gas, and was then soothing it to rest.
Even the noise failed to arouse the wo
r man, and for an hour she was watched
with much curiosity; nt the expiration
of which time, she walked quietly to bed
again, wholly unconscious that she was
the subject of remark. But that our
friend's attention had been called away
at the moment the woman was descend
ing the stairs, lie would undoubtedly
have killed her as well as the child.—
There was no light in the hall,' and the
mistake would have been appalling.—
, Bulletin.
Stephen Girard,
" is as
A Somnambulist.
]From the Pittsburg Despatch.]
✓a Woman murder ed,and afterwards Burn.
ed to ashes by her Step Daughter.
An aged lady named Mary Morrison,
wife of Samuel Morrison, residing in
Mifflin township, Allegheny county,
about three miles from McKeesport, was
murdered on Friday, the 4th inst., and
afterwards burned to ashes by her step
daughter. The facts, as far as we have
been able to learn, are these :
On Friday morning Mr. Morrison
started to the city with produce for the
market, leaving his wife and daughter
at home. The daughter is a woman of
about thirty-five years of age, rather a
simple creature, and considered by the
neighbors as insane. Mrs. Morrison
has from her childhood been subject to
spasmodic spells. On the afternoon in
question she was taken with one of these
spells, and being on the floor, under the
influence of the fit, her step daughter,
Sarah Morrison, beat her on the head
with a fire shovel, until, it is supposed,
she killed her, and then threw her on
the fire, and kept piling on the fuel un
til she burned her almost to ashes, there
not being bones enough left of the body
to fill a quart measure.
The step-daughter, after consumma
ting the horrible and tragic act of burn
ing the mother, carefully scrubbed the
floor to obliterate the traces of blood,
and made here escape to the woods.
Mr. Whitaker, a brother of Mrs. Mor
rison, visited the house on Saturday
morning and found it deserted, but there
being a very disagreeable stench, he
suspected all was not right, and imme
diately commenced a search of the prem
ises. On examining the fire place, from
whence the smell proceeded,he discover
ed a number of small bones, and the
jam spotted over with blood. Several
of the neighbors were called in, and
started in pursuit of the step daughter,
who was arrested a few miles from the
scene of the tragedy. She confessed
the atrocious murder, and assigned as
her reason for so doing, that " her fath
er, step mother and herself could not
agree, and she thought the best thing
she could do was to burn her up." She
also confessed the manner in which she
consuimnated the act.
Coroner Richardson was sent to hold
an inquest on the remains, and the jury,
after hearing the testimony of a number
of witnessess, returned for verdict that
"the deceased came to her death from
violence at the hands of her step daugh
ter, Sarah Morrison," and authorized
the coroner to take he murdereress in
custody. He brought her to this city,
and lodged her in jail on Monday morn
Mrs. Morrison, the deceased, was a
sister of Dr. Whitaker, of Allegheny
city, and is said to have been a woman
of mild and gentle disposition, when
not under the influence of the spasmodic
spells to which she was subject. Her
untimely and tragical death is regretted
and mourned by a large circle of rela
tives and friends.
PEACIIES.—The Delaware Republican
says that John C. Clark, of Red Lion
Hundred, a son-in-law of Major Rey
bold, has sent 7000 baskets of Peaches
to Philadelphia the present season. It is
estimated, but we cannot sny how cor
rectly, that one of the Reybolds will
have near 30,000 baskets. As peaches
bring a pretty good price they will re
alize very handsome returns from the
orchards. Indeed we learn that the
Reybold family will net fully $4.0,000
clear, this season, from their peaches
sent to Philadelphia.
—We have heara this question asked a
great many times. The Scientific Amer
ican says, " what is generally consider
ed as constituting a horse power is a
power sufficient to raise one hundred
and thirty pounds one hundred feet in a
(DA droll fellow was asked by an old
woman to read the news paper, and ta
king it up began as follows:
"Last night, yesterday morning,
about three o'clock in the afternoon, just
before breakfast, a hungry boy about
forty years old, bought a penny custard
and threw it through a brick stone wait
made of iron, and jumping over it broke
his ankle right off above the knee, fell.
into a dry millpond and was drowned.
About forty years aftor that, on the
same day a high wind blew Yankee Doo.
I die on a frying pan, and knocked the
Dutch church down and killed an old .
sow and two dead pigs at Boating,
where a deaf and dumb man was talking
French to his aunt Peter.
ID- The Danish government has en
gaged an Irish flaxgrower to instruct
the Danish peasants in the best mode of
cultivating flax--a crop which it is
sought to introduce into Denmark.
WHOLE NO. 609.
[From the Pa. Telegraph.]
The Locofocos Owning the Swindle !
Some editors there arc, who can consistent be
While others grope about, in blind futurity—Pops.
During the campaign of 1844, both
parties in Pennsylvania were untiring in
their advocacy of the doctrine of pro
tection to American manufactures and
home labor. The friends of HENRY
CLAY urged his claims to the confidence
of the people of Pennsylvania on this
ground, and the friends of Mr. Polk
were no less urgent in insisting that lie
was a "better" friend to the tariff than
Mr. Clay. Mr. Polk's letters on the
subject were paraded before the people,
and especially his letter to Mr. Kane re
lied upon, as conclusive evidence of his
soundness on that subject. All parties
then denounced as a traitor to the best
interests of Pennsylvania, him who da
red to contend that the tariff of 1842
would not be safe in the hands of Mr.
Amongst the most zealous advocates
of that tariff then, wai the Editor of the
" Democratic Union." He •vas highly
indignant that the Whigs should even
suggest, that Mr. Polk was unfriendly
to protection, and in favor of free-trade.
He stated to the world, through the col
umns of that paper, that Mr. Polk held
"the doctrine of free4rade in unqualified
abhorrence." In that paper of June 5,
1841, his indignation bursts out towards
the Harrisburg Intelligencer, in the fol
lowing strain:
Col. Polk and the Tariff --A Vile Whig
"We perceive that the Harrisburg In
telligencer, with the mendacity so emi
nently characteristic of the coon papers,
denounces Col. Polk in advance of an
open Free Trade theorist.' The au
thority for this gratuitous assertion is
not furnished by the Intelligencer, as it
is the policy of the Whig papers to deal
in habitual misrepresentation both of the
men and measures of the Democratic
party. Now WE IMPPENto KNOW,
and state upon Me authority of a TENNES
SEEAN with whom we conversed at Balti
more—a near neighbor of Col. Polk—
that he holds the doctrine of Free Trade
in unqualified abhorrence. Ile hasnever
advocated it—and never will. He is in
favor of a judicious revenue Tariff;
affording, the .iIMPLEST incidental Pro
tection to .dinerican Industry.
those two great objects of solicitude
with Pennsylvania, and believing Perma
nence in our laws to be of incalculable
These FACTS we state upon the best
authority and caution the Democracy of
the State against listening to the mis
representations of the coons."
After having thus relieved himself of
his personal knowledge, we have every
reason to believe, that he felt better for
a while, solacing himself complacently,
in the fraud he had thus perpetrated.
But what a change has come o'er tho
spirit of his dream !!
Locofocoism, true to its interests, ack.
nowledges a " lie well told as good as the
truth," and shamelessly retracts all it
then urged, and now denounces protec.
Ition to American labor, and the Tariff
of 1842 as an abomination. Yes, this
same editor, in the same paper, pours
out his weekly accumulation of gall,
upon the Whig party, who show up his
utter and reckless inconsistency.
They continue steadfast in the advo
cacy of the Whig doctrine of prrd;section
to the laboring poor ; while the locofoco
party ; a party without principle, skulk
from one falsehoial to, another, led by
unscrupulous. editors, to sustain them
selves, believing that the people, have no
reckoning to make with their betrayers.
The people will settle this matter at the
palls.. Open falsehood and secret abuse
I will there be met and rewarded ;
On the 2d Tuesday of October, those.
Locofoco editors who have heretaore
deceived the people, and have the effron
tery to own it, as the Locofoco editors
in this State now do, will find the ‘, ag.
ony piled high," and be compelled to,
cry out,
. _
"Help Ccaesius, or I mkt"
It is said that peaches and cream are
positively good for the consumption.—
, The peaches should be ripe and sweet.