Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, April 17, 1849, Image 1
BY JAS. CLARK. [From the New York Tribune.] EVENING. BY C. D. STDART• The day is gone! one golden cloud Floats softly o'er the evening's birth, And, like a weary pilgrim's shroud, The twilight droops around the earth. How fair the moon from out the skies Flings down her mill and silv'ry gleams, And all the stars, like conscious eyes, Reflect themselves in lakes and streams. The winds are hushed, the leaves are still, And not a breath the silence breaks, Save when some zephyr's gentle thrill, The dew-drop from the rose-tree shakes. Yet hear I, far across the vale, A nil from the shadows of yon hill, The Kittydid pour lorth her tale, And sadly sing the whippoorwill. Oh, holy, calm! delightful hour! Who feels not tenderer for your sake 7 As—by an angel's quick'ning power— Moon, stars, and music, blending wake Delightful hour I nor night, nor day, But just that glorious space between Which mingles both—then melts away, Like dreams which are not, yet have been How fitly life is typed therein, Where darkness gathers round our way, While far beyond the light is seen Which centres in a perfect day. (From the New York Sunday Times.) THRILLINC NARRATIVE. A STORM LL 'FIFE MOUNTAINS. In the fall of 1846, 1 was travelling eastward in a stage-coach from Pittborg over the mountains. My fellow pas sengers were two gentleman and a lady. The elder gentleman's appearance in terested me exceedingly. In years he seemed about thirty; in air and man ner he was calm, dignified and polishes' ; and the contour of his features was sin gularly intellectual. He conversed free ly on general topics, until the road be came more ebrubt and precipitous ; but on my directing his attention to the great altitude of a precipice, on the verge of which our coach wheels were leisurely rolling, there came a marked change over his countenance. His eyes so lately filled with the light of mild in telligence, beamed wild, restless end anxious; the month twitched spasmo:!- ictilly, and the forehead was beaded with a cold prespiratinn. With a sharp convulsive shudder, he turned his gaze from the giddy height, and clutching my arm tightly with both hands, he clung to me like a drowning man. Use this cologne," said the lady, holding me a bottle, with the instinct ive goodness of her sex. I sprinkled a little on his face, and he soon became somewhat more compo sed ; but it was not until we had entire ly traversed the mountain and descend. ed to the country beneath, that his fine features relaxed from their peturbid look, and assumed the placid, quiet dig nity I had first noticed. "I owe and apology to the lady," said he with a bland smile and gentle inclination of the head, to our fair com• panion, " and some explanation to my fellow travellers also ; and perhaps I cannot better acquit myself of the doub le debt than by recounting the cause of my recent agitation." "It may pain your feelings," delicate ly urged the lady. " On the contrary it will relieve them" was the respectful reply. Having signified our several desires to hear more, the traveller thus proceed ed: "At the age of eighteen, I was light of heart, light of foot, and, I fear, (here he smiled,) light of head. A fine prop erty on the right bank of the Ohio ac knowledged me as sole owner. I was hastening home to enjoy it , and de lighted to get free from a college life. The month was October, the air bra cing, and the mode of conveyance a stage coach like this, only more cum brous. The other passengers were few —but three in all—an old grey headed planter of Louisiana, his daughter, joyous, bewitching creature about sev enteen, his son about ten years of age. They were just returning from France, of which country the young lady dis coursed in terms so eloquent as to ab sorb my entire attention. " The father was taciturn, but the daughter was vivacious by nature; and we soon became so mutually pleased with each other—she was a talker, I was a listner—that it was not until a sudden flash of lightning and a heavy dash of rain against the coach windows elicited an exclamation from my charm ing companion, that I knew how night passed us. Presently there was a low rumbling sound, and then several tre mendous peals of thunder, accompanied by successive flashes of lightning. The rain descended in torrents, and an an gry wind began to howl and moat► by turns through the forest trees. "I looked from the window of our vehicle. The night was dark as ebony, but the lightning revealed the danger I,,tg ",/ btitt of our road. We were on the edge of I toy questionings. I was kindly tended a frightful precipice.—l could see at in- Iby a girl about fifteen, who refused for tervals, huge jutting rocks far away I several days to hold any discourse with down its side, and the sight made me me. At length, one morning, finding solicitous for the safety of my fair com- myself sufficiently recovered to sit up, panion. I thought of the mere hair- I insisted on learning the result of the breadths that were between us and eter- I accident. pity ; a single little rock in the track of " You were discovered," said she, our coach wheels—a tiny billet of wood sitting on a ledge of rock, amidst the —a stray root of a tempest torn tree— branches of a shattered tree, clinging a restive horse, or a civeless driver- 1 to n part of the roof of your broken any of these might hurl us from our' coach with one hand, and to the insen sublunary existence with the speed ofsible form of a lady with the other." I thought. "And the lady !" I gasped, scanning "'Tie a perfect tempest," observed I the girls face with an earnestness that the lady, as I withdrew my head from caused her to draw back and blush. the window. "How 1 love a sudden "She was saved sir, by the same storm I there is something so grand means that saved you—the friendly among the winds when fairly loose tree." among the hills. I never encounter a "And her father and brother 1" I im night like this, but Byron's magnificent patiently demanded. description of a thunder storm in the I " Were both crushed to pieces at the Jura recurs to my mind. But are we I bottom of the precipice, a great way be on the mountains yet V' low the place where my father and uncle "Yes we have begun the assent." Joe got you and the lady. We buried " It is not said to he dangerous V' their bodies in one grave, close by the "By no means," I replied, in as easy clover patch down in our meadow a tone as I could assume. ground. " I only wish it was daylight, that we Poor Louise ! poor orphan ! God might enjoy the mouniain scenery. But pity you !" I muttered, in broken tones, Jesu Marie! but what's that ?" and she, utterly unconscious that 1 had a listner. covered her eyes from the glare of a "God pity her, indeed sir," said the sheet of lightning that illuminated the young girl, with a gush of heartfelt sym rugged mountain with brilliant intensi- pithy. " Would you like to see her 1" tv. Peal after peal of crashing thunder she added. instantly succeeded ; there was a very I " Take me to her," I replied. volume of rain coming down at each I " I found the orphan bathed in tears, thunder burst ; and with the doep moon- by the grave of her buried kindred. ing of an animal in dreadful agony, ' She received me with sorrowful sweet breaking upon my ears, I found that the ness of manner. I will not detain your coach had come to a dead halt. attention by detailing the efforts I made " Louise. my beautiful fellow-travel- to win her from her grief ; but briefly ler, became pale as ashes. She fixed acquaint you, that 1 at last succeeded her searching eyes on mine with a look in inducing her to leave her forlorn home of anxious dread; and turning to her in the sunny south ; and that twelve father hurriedly remarked- months after the dreadful occurrence " We are on the mountains !" which I have related, we stood at the I reckon so," was the unconcerned I altar together as man and wife. She reply_ I still lives to bless my love with her . _ . . tt With instant activity I pat my head!, smiles, and my children with her good through the window and called to the : precepts; but on the anniversary of driver, but the only answer was the ' that terrible night, she secludes herself heavy moaning of a.l agonized animal in her room, and devotes the hour of borne past me by the swift wings of darkness in solitary prayer. As for the tempest. I seized the handle of the me," added the traveller, while a faint door and strained at it in vain ; it would flush tinged his noble brow at the avow not yield a jot. At that instant I felt a al, "as for me, that accident has redu cold hand on mine, and heard Louise's I ced me to the condition of a physical voice faintly articulating in my ear the coward at the sight of a mountain pre appallingl words— cipice." . . . _ 'flee coachis being moved backwards!" ." But the driver," urged our lady " God in heaven ! Never shall 1 for- passenger, who had attended to the re get the fierce agony with which I `tug- I can' of the whole story with much at ged at that conch door and culled on the tension—" what became of the driver 1 driver in tones that rivaled the force of or did you ever learn the reason of his the blast, whilst the dreadful conviction deserting his post?" was burning in my brain that the coach "His body was found on the road, was being moved slowly backwards! within a few steps of the spot where What followed was of such swift the coach went over. He had been occurrence that it seems to me like a struck dead by the same flash of light frightful dream. I iliac , - that blinded the restive horse." I rushed against the door with all The traveller here fell into a musing niy force, but it mocked my utmost ef- attitude, as if ail further allusion to the forts. One side of our vehicle was sen- subject would be unpleasant to him. sibly going down, down, down. The I Shortly after this, we reached the rail. moaning of agonized animal became road station, were I parted from the ner deeper and deeper, and I knew from vous gentleman with feelings of pro the desperate plunges against his traces found esteem. that it was one of our horses. Crash I Awfully Sudden Death. upon crash of boarsr thunder rolled over the mountain, and vivid sheets of light ning played around our devoted car riage sif in glee at our misery. By its light I could see for a moment—only fora moment—the old planter, standing erect, with his hands nn his son and daughter, his eyes raised to heaven, and his lips moving like those of one in prayer.—l could see Louise turn her ashy dheeks and superb eyes towards me ns if imploring protection, and I could see the bold glance of the young boy flashing indignant defiance at the descending carriage, the war of ele ments, and the awful danger that await ed him. There was a roll—a desperate plunge, as if an animal in the last throes of dissolution—a harsh, grating jar—a sharp piereing scream of mortal terror, and I had hut time to clasp Louise firm ly with one hand around the waist, and seize the leather fastenings attached to the coach roof with the outer, when we were precipitated over the precipice. " I can distinctly recollect preserving consciousness for a few seconds of time, how rapidly my brenth was being exhausted ; but of that tremendous de- scent 1 soon lost all further individual knowledge by a concussion so violent that I was instantly deprived of sense and motion." The traveller paused. His features worked for a minute or two as he did when we are on the mountain ; he press his hand across his forehead as if in pain, and then resumed his interesting! story : " On a low couch, in an humble room of a small country house, next opened my eyes in this world of light and shade and joy and sorrow, of mirth and mad ness. Gentle hands soothed my pillow, gentle feet glided across my chamber, and a gentle voice hushed for a time all HUNTINGDON, PA., TUESDAY, APRIL 17, 1849. A death under circumstances singu larly impressive, and calculated to arrest the attention of the thoughtless, the moralist, and divine, is reported to have lately occurred at the house of Mr. Sparkes, in Nottingham, England. A few friends were spending that evening over what is termed "a friendly game of cards," among whom was the decea sed, Mr. A bin. Moss. During the sit ting, a stranger-friend, front Birming ham, arrived, who, on observing Moss, said, " Ay, Moss, are you alive 1 1 thought you was dead," and was an swered, "Yes, 1 am alive, but 1 should'nt ' mind dying only the people would say, Poor Moss is dead !" Ihe play procee ded for a short time, with much cheer fulness and humor; when Moss exclaim , ed, holding up the queen of hearts— " This is my last trick"—laid down his I card—his head—and died ! The con sternation of the party may be imagin ed. A surgeon was instantly called in, who opened an artery, a few drops of blood effused, but the vital spark had fled. The following day an inquest was held at the Balloon, and the verdict " Died by the visitation of God" return ed. The deceased was 55 years of age, a Jew, a native of Poland, and has been a resident of Nottingham for die last five years, trading in small ware and jewelry: he was highly esteemed for his humor and general good character. Q The National Temperance Convention recently assembled in Washington, Resolved, That we have, with great pleasure, heard it stated that his Excellency, Zachary Taylor, since his arrival in Washington, has repeatedly declined to partake of intoxicating beverages; and that we hope to see him ere long in the Temperance ranks, with a tetotal exclusion, from the White House of everything that can intoxicate. Singular Adventure with a Wild Cat in Florida. Several years ago I went on a turkey hunt in the wilderness of Florida.— Having started a flock of the birds, I picked out a glossy and garrulous old gobbler who sat perched in a convenient position. I slowly raised my rifle to my lace, and gently leaned forward, when, to my amazement, I saw him in rapid retreat, already several hundred yards distant. Somebody (not myself) had alarmed him, and as my ideas were pretty fairly divided between Indians and tnrkios, I concluded the turkey had been frightened by an Indian, and that said Indian must be in my immediate neighborhood. I cast my eyes towards the hammock on my right, and saw an indistinct form, crawling upon the ground, towards "dry pond.' That this . was an Indian, I entertained not the , slightest doubt. Was he after the tur key, or after me 7 On that point my mind was not so clear. At all events he did not see me, and there l had a deci ded advantage of him, and determined to take the first shot, and leave him all I the remaining chances of the game.— Like Wellington at Waterloo, I had my enemy before me, but unlike him, 1 had secured my retreat, and determined to take a lively advantage of it, as soon as I necessity dictated such a course—l was not long in suspense—for soon after, the mysterious object of my anxiety emerged from the Palmettoes into the open ground, and instead of an Indian proved to be an enormous Wild Cat.-1 It was evidently watching my turkey, and endeavoring to intercept it in the Palmettoes, but was discovered and baulked in its design. The animal ran ' rapidly about half way across the "dry ! pond" and stopped, arid placed his fore feet upon a small pine log—l gave him l a quick Shot, at about 100 yards, and he fled to the hammock below—l reloaded and followed him to the edge of the hammock, but finding no blood, I re turned to camp, got two dogs and sev eral men and returned. I felt confident that lie was wounded, and supposed he would handle the dogs rudely—but I found him . dead within fifty yards of the spot where I. had left his track. The ball had penetrated his heart. He was carried home in triumph—his skin stuff ed and hung in a conspicuous place, and it was pronounced by the crackers, the largest cat that they had met with in Florida. It is true, I had no turkey for dinner that day—but 1 had a glori ous appetite for my bean soup. A Magnanimous Murderer. The following is an extract from one of the four speeches Made by Mr. Foote, of Mississippi, in the Senate of the Uni ted States, during the session of the Ist ultimo: It has been barely fifteen years since I was called upon to defend a gifted na tive of New England against a charge of which he confessed him, , elf guilty ; that charge was murder. My client— for such he became—had been guilty according to his own account, as given in autobiography dictated by him, but which I was accused, at the time, of writing, of eight murders and sixty robberies. The testimony against the prisoner was too conclusive to be re sisted successfully. He had been con victed ; the sentence of death was about to be passed upon him, and be was ask ed the ordinary question—what he had to say why this dreadful judgement should not be pronounced against him. He arose gracefally from his seat on the prisoner's bench; he stood erect be fore the court and audience. His coun tenance was free from the marks of tre pidation, of embarrassment, or of con-, scions guilt. His mind seemed for a moment solemnly to revert to the strange scenes of romantic and bloody adven ture through which lie had passed. He turned those fierce eyes of his upon the judge who was presently to consign him to the scaffold, and exclaimed in tones that I never can forget. " Sir, you have asked me a question, and I intend to an swer it. You behold before you a man, cut off from the sympathies of his fel low beings, who is yet .not unworthy of their esteem and commiseration ; who has not slept in a human habita tion for full nine years, who has rosin ed along the banks of the magestic Mississippi and lived alone upon the meat, uncooked, of the wild tenants of the wilderness that he has been able to make his victims; who, not forgetful of classic lore, has perused with delight, amidst the gloom of the unfrequented forest, the pages of Horace, of Tacitus, and Juvenal, who felt for the degraded condition of his race, and sighed to par ticipate in some work of general melio ration. I have slain men with impunity and without remorse, who were, in my judg- ment, burdensome to the generation with which they stood connected, and ( 6 iO'fl'rflaL -mop whose death I supposed would prove a blessing to society. lam now charged with murder, and convicted opon evi dence which I admit to be strong, and even irresistable, of the slaying of a human being in cold blood. But how was it that 1 slew this man, for whose blood lam now to be responsiblel He was my enemy without provocation.— He pursued me with unsparing malig nity. He subjected me to indignities which excited me to madness, and I vowed never to rest satisfied until my persecutor should cease to live. Look upon me ; bear witness to the world hereafter that I stand up at this solemn hour calmly and composedly before you. My soul is unconscious of crime. My heart accuses me not of murder; and when, a few days hence, I shall ascend the scaffold to expiate offences of which I am myself not sensible, by undergoing a dishonorable death, I shall be found, I trust, as calm, as self-possessed and un ruffled as 1 now am." So much for the self-esteem of one who was known in 1 his day as "the Rob Roy of the Massis- 1 sippi." He was hanged like a dog, not withstanding his firmness of purpose. The " Field of Glory." Allison gives a thrilling description of the appearance of the ground on which the famous battle of Eylau was fought, on the morning af ter the battle Never was a spectacle so dreadful as the field of battle presented on the fol. lowing morning. About fifty thousand men lay in the space of two leagues, weltering in blood.—The wounds were for the most part of the severest kind, from the extraordinary quantity of cam non balls discharged during the action, sad the close proximity of the contend ing masses to the deadly batteries, which spread grape at half musket shot through their ranks. Though stretched on the cold snow, and exposed to the severity of an Arctic winter, they were burning with thirst, and piteous ories were heard on all sides for water; or ■ssietnnee to extricate the wounded men (rem be neath the heaps of slain, or loads of hor ses by which they were crushed. Six thousand of thssenoblo aaimalseneurn bered the field, or, maddened with pain, were shrieking aloud amidst the stilling groans of the wounded.—Subdued by the loss of blood, tamed by the cold, ex hausted by litinger, the foeman laid side by side amidst the general wreck. The Cossack was to be seen beside the Ital ian; the gay vine dresser, from the Garonne, lay athwart the stern peasant of the Ukraine. The extremity of suf feriug had extinguished alike the fierc est and most generous passions. After his usual custom, Napoleon in the af ternoon, rode through the dreadful field accompanied by his generals and staff, while the still burning piles of Serpi len and Sussgraten sent volumes of black smoke over the scence of death ; but the men exhibited none of their wonted enthusiasm ; no cries of l'Empereur" were heard; the bloody surface echoed only with the cries of suffering, or the groans of wo. The Last of A Regiment President Bonaparte, of Prange, has granted a pension to a widow with five children, whose case, is an interesting one. She is the widow of the only man in the nisileer regiment who was not Lilted in the retreat from Moscow. Oae day Capt. Jomontier came to announce to Napoleon the arrival of Marshal Ney and his corps. Napoleon ordered him to rejoin his regiment. An hour or two afterwards, Napoleon perceived Capt. Jumontier standing near a soldier whose singular dress attracted the Emperor's notice ; his head was covered with a sort of Cossack bonnet, and instead of his uniform, a torn vest,' which scarcely covered his shoulders. The Captain and the soldier were marching steadily on. Napoleon called to him in a note of im- patience and ill humor. "Sire, 1 have not lost an instant in obeying your orders." What do you.say I You don't un derstand me I" Siar, lain with my regiment." "Your regiment V' " Yes, sire : the regiment of Fueileere of the imperial guard." " But where is it, then 1" Then a hoarse voice cried— " Present , my Emperor !" . _ The voice was tilat of the soldier near Jumontier ; and the widow suc cored by Louis Napoleon, is the widow of this soldier. IT is a terrible thought to remember that nothing can be forgotten. I have somewhere road that not an oath was uttered that does not vibrate through all time, in the wide spreading current of sounds—not a prayer lisped that its record is not also to be found stamped on the laws of nature, by the indelible seal of the Almighty's will. VOL XIV, NO, 14 A Funny Mistake. Our friends P- and S - one eveniug met at the house of an acquain tance, some young ladies, for whom both gentlemen entertained tender feelings. In a spirit of frolic one of the young ladies blew out the lamp, and our two friends, thinking it a favorable moment to make known the state of their feel ing to the fair object of their regard, moved seats at the same inatant, and platted themselves as they supposed by the lady:s aide; but she had also moved and the gentleman were in reality seat. ed next to each other. AS our friends could not whisper without ; betraying their where abouts, they both gently took, as they thought, the soft little hand of the charmer, and when after a while they ventured to give a tondo:* pressure, each was enraptured to find it returned with an unmistakable squeeze. It may well be imagined that the mo ments fiew rapidly, in their silent inter change of mutual affection. But the rest wondering at the unusual ailence of the L entieniun, one of them noislessly slipped out and suddenly returned with a light—there sat our friends P. and S. most lovingly squeezing each other's hand—and supreme delight beaming In their eyes.—Their consternation and the ecatacy of the ladies may be imagined, but not described. Both gentlemen slo ped, end P. was afterward heard to say that he thought all the while S—'s hand felt hard.—Gloucester News. INTERESTING CASES OS SURGERY.—An • operation of a very tedious kind was performed a few days since upon the wrist of a woman by Dr. Van Buren, one of the visiting physicians of Belle vue Hospital in this city—the patient being entirely unconscio s during the whole operation. We understood that , this was the first instance of an opera , tion of this kind having been perforthed' in this country—the extraction we be lieve of the radius bone. It was very skillfully performed, but en unprofts• sional observer, although apprized that the patient was tinder the influence of chloroform, could divest liimselt of pain ful sympathy with the apparent sufferer. At the conclusion of the operation, Dr.- ' Van Buren briefly explained its nature, and Dr. Mott also made a few remarks. Dr. Isaac Green, also one of the vis iting physicians, then performed an op eration upon the eye of an aged woman, no chloroform being used, and after wards amputated the leg of a young man suffering from the disease of the knee joint. Chloroform was adminis tered after the patient was laid upon the operating table, and for a short time produced a high state of exeiteinenr. Soon, however, he became perfectly si lent and passive, as thotigh in a pro found sleep, exhibiting no sign of feel ing even when Green drove the knife through the limb, both above and below the bone, and cut through the flesh in a slanting direction. We observed that during the administering of the chloro form, a physician on each side kept his fingers on the pulse of the patient. Dr. Green performed his task with consu mate skill, precision ond coolness. We understand that not in a single instance has chloroform proved fatal or injurious at Bellevue Hospital, although constant ly in use there.— Wilson 4- Co's Des patch. " A MOTHER IN 16RAE1.."--A venera ble Matron residing with one of her daughters in the southerly part of our city, celebrates tltis day .the one hun dretli anniversary of her birth. She is the widow of a worthy Justice of the Peace in Worcestor county, whose sr cluous duties, both civil and military, in the " times that tried men's souls," were promptly and effectively performed.— She has been the mother of nine child ren—four sons and five daughters—six of whom are now living; seventy-two grand-children, sixty-tiro of whom are Inow living, one hundred and forty-two great grand-children, one hundred and I twenty-five of whom are now living; and as far as can be asce:aained ten great-great-grandchildren, all living. The incompleteness of the statistics of the latter generation arises from the fact of the emigration some years ago, to Wisconsin, of some of the great. grand-children, of whose families full particulars are not known. The aged lady retains to a remarkable degree her varied facluties—time alone, independ ent of all disease, almost imperceptibly debilitating a mind and constitution re markably vigorous and active.— Boston Traveller. A SPLENDID COMPLIMENT.—. 4 When the streets of Indianapolis were a per fect glare of ice, a lady pedestrian lost her bala►,ce and tell. A genuine son of the green Isle, on asssisting to raise the lady, exclaimed, 4. Faith, ye ,moat be a lovely good lady , for don't the Blessed Book teach us that it is the ricked that socn4 on slippery places !"