Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, April 04, 1855, Image 1

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Voljutar eiig.
From the Detroit Daily Advertiser.
Money is a Hard Thing to Borrow.
TUNE—Same a. "Jordon.
The times are so " tight," for the cash is hard
to get,
Though all hope they'll have some to•morrow i
And every one looks blue, and are in such a (ret,
For money is a had thing to borrow.
So take down your "shingle" and shut
op your shop,
For money is a hard thing to borrow.
Yes indeed
The hanker looks quite brave, as you ask him
for the " chink,"
But he pays out the "ready" with sorrow,
For he cannot stand a "run," and he now be.
gins to think
That money is a hard thing to borrow.
Let him take down his "shingle," and
shut up his shop, -
For money is a hard thing to borrow.
Yes indeed I
'l'he politician stares, office costs a mighty lump,
And the mouth of Iris purse is so narrow;
It was just to get some cash that he got upon
the stump, •
Finding money was a hard to borrow.
Let him take down his "shingle," and
shut up his shop, • •
For money is a hard thing to borrow.
Yes indeed!
The merchant is cast down with his loaded
shelves in view,
And no customer buys—to his sorrow;
if'or soon, from Europe, he will get a billet•due,
And money is a hard thing to borrow.
Let him take down his " single," and
abut up his shop,
For money is a hard thing to borrow.
Yes indeed
The whiskey maker sighs, for the drouth has
killed the corn,
And he looks on the prospects with sorrow,
For be knows his friends wont't stick when he
has not a "horn,"
And money is a hard thing to borrow.
Let him take down his "shingle," and
shut up his shop,
For money is a hard thing to borrow.
Yes indeed!
But honest men never •tear, though there comes
a mighty crash,
And a note should fall due on tomorrow,
Just ,call on your friends, they will spare a lit•
the cash,
Though money is a hard thing to borrow,
You can keep up your " shingle," and
open wide your shop,
Though money is a hard thing to borrow.
Yes indeed !
By J. A. Hall.
The New School Law,
If any friends of general education had
doubts of the merits of the new features
introduced into our public school system
last winter, a few months' experience has
served to remove those doubts and inspire
the greatest confidence at present, and
highest hopes for the future. The new
law is now universally popular except in
a few isolated districts, where the opposi
tion is confined to a mere corporal's guard,
composed chiefly of the open or secret
enemies of any system of education design
ed to reach all classes by a public tax.—
Though this hostility may continue as
long as selfishness or ignorance shall con
tinue to mislead human judgement it need
not be feared. It can accomplish nothing
more than deprive the few little communi
ties in which it rules, of the full benefit of
our school system. The law is too firmly
fixed in the affections of liberal, wise and
good to be shaken by such puny efforts.—
As evidence of this pleasing fact, I give
below an extract from the state education
al organ Mr. Burrows, who speaks from
intimate knowledge, says, in the last num
ber of the School Journal r
$1 25
2 50
"It has been suggested that a full and
careful article, in defence of this new and
important feature in the common school
system, would now be in place. But we
neither have room for it nor suppose it ne
cessary. The repeal of the law, in the
midst of the remarkable stir it has caused all
over the State in school matters, and before
it is known whether that stir is not the
first stage of the new and better state of
things so long looked for, is an act not
within the probabilities of coming events.
At the moment too, when New Y3rk is
seeking to. restore the office as the right'
arm of her system, and when every
county in Pennsylvania is organizing and
moving under its influence and agency,
the repeal of it would be a backward
movement. Instead, therefore, of writing
in opposition to its repeal, we have given
the columns of this and the last number
largely to the proceedings of meetings and
movements mainly springing from the es
tablishment of the office itself. Facts are
the best arguments in such a case.
And "facts," lam happy to say, are,
so far as " Old Huntingdon" is concerned,
all affirmative " Arguments." There is
scarcely ati opposing voice amongst us.—
Indeed, our population is too intelligent to
" progress backwards" in any measure of
reform or improvement ; and least of all in
a measure of such vital importance to the
virtue, happiness and prosperity of the
generation now living and of those that
shall come.
Read by 311.3 NARCISSA BENEDICT, before the
Huntingdon Mindy Teachers' Inati
tide, Dec. 22(1, 1P54.
1 teach, thou teachest, he teaches.
We teach, you teach, they teach.
So says the conjugation of the verb to
teach ; and it is but the reiteration of the
truth, that lessons of profit are taught ev
erywhere and in everything. If it were
not so, why has God placed us here amid
so many things too great for our compre
hension. We are but the poor tools in His
hand to be wielded as he pleases, and as
long as it is in our power to further His
commands and desires should it not be our
greatest aim in life to do ourselves, and
teach others the same?
They teach. The planetary system
teaches the almighty power and wisdom of
God. Who but a spirit infinite and eter
nal, could place in the heavens such beau
tiful lights to guide the weary traveller as
he treads the unbeaten paths of the desert?
The wind and storm teach us that we must
not always expect the soft and gentle
zephyrs to soothe our wayward spirits,
but must sometimes feel the chilling blast,
if it be only to teach the power of endu
rance. And deserving all our pity is the
man who when assailed by the wind and
storm, connot stand bravely up and let it
pass over him, as it does over the mighty
oak, leaving him as firm as before. If we
are fortunate's favorites, the good opinion
of the world is ours. Our power can on.
ly be known when we encounter, resist,
and endure the storms of adversity. It
is enough to ennoble a person to see the
migtly forest tree bend and creak, but in
the end raise its head as lofty and proudly
as before, saying, "I have been well tried
I have passed through the stern ordeal un
broken." The balmy zephyr teaches,—
It appears to say, be not discouraged ;
soothing indeed is its cooling freshness af.
ter Its day of toil, to feel as it were the
hand of God gently passed across the brow
I saying, "well done good and faithful ser
f v tint.' It appears to breathe in our Gpir
it the word onward, onward, and still on,
cease not till life ceases, and then sink in
to the arms of your Savour, knowing your
time was well spent, that you lived not
for your own good alone, but for the
good of those around you.
The sturdy oak and tiny harebell teach
the lesson they were intended to; they
show majesty and dependence. The oak
appears to say, let the thunder roar and
the lightning flash, I challenge them to do
the worst, and see how the brave will bear.
The tiny harebell hides behind a plant bet
ter able to protect it from the strong wind
it seeking the gentle zephys as if cour
ting their society. Note the growth of the
oak from the little acorn, as with steady
perseverance it fights its way through the
hard wayside, is trampled down only to
re-commence with more vigorous effects
to renew its progress, and see how well it
is repaid; for in a short period it has
grown so much that to the strongest wind
it only bends its head.
The fragrant rose and the falling leaf
teach us a lesson of the goodness of God
in placing such beautiful emblems near us.
Purity may be learned from the opening
bud to the dying flower; its very breath
inspires one to holy deeds. While the
falling leaf teaches us we are passing
away, and soon be forgotton—that our
"summer is past and our hearvest ended ;"
as the leaf falls to the earth and mingles
again with the same, so shall our bodies
return again to their native dtit and we
shall be spoken of only as things that
were. The seasons have their lessons.—
Spring tells us that now is the time for ac
tion and warns us that summer is ap
proaching and the flowers are in bloom,
showing that we are still remembered by
our Creator, Autumn has come, with its
seared and falling leaves, telling us that
all things are passing away leaving noth
ing but old winter to follow in the rear, to
improve and enrich the earth with her
frost and snow. When the year's profit
is summed up, how little have we done
deserving praise; on the contrary how
much worthy of censure; how much
have we learned, that the closing scenes
of life are coming, that the frosts of age
will soon freeze up the fountains of our
heart and hope.
You teach. In the school room, yes 'tis
there you teach and there you are repaid
by seeing your very mind as it were in
stilled into others, your very thought re
turned, and your appearance greeted with
smiles; there you have the pleasure of
thinking it was you who introduced light
into chaos, and saw it diverge in splendor
as the light first dawned on the untaught
brain. It was there you first noticed the
difference in children, with what aptness
some hear, and with pleasure receive in
struction, while others dull and stupid, will
not be entreated to learn those things which
are for their own pleasure and benefit. Your
example by the wayside is an ever open
lesson to the passing world. In social life
you teach, and what a wide sphere you
occupy there ; your example, your words
and your works teach all those that come
within your atmosphere.
At the fireside your influence is greater
than anywhere else except the school.—
There you have been taught and there
you must teach, kindness, submission,
obedience and love.
In your hours of loneliness, you first
learned that all was not sunshine, but the
sun is not less bright obscured by cloud.—
When you feel lonely and forsaken think
not it will be ever so.
"But when your heart is pining,
Hope that your future Lath,
Each cloud a silver lining
One rose in every path."
In your life and in your death arc im
portant lessons to be learned. If you
have lived well, you have taught those
who come after you how to live. You
are all, and each and at all times teachers,
and what and how you have taught will
be a question for you all to answer.
We reach. What a field of teaching is
here exhibited. What a sphere for our
powers. As teachers we first note the up
ward steps of childhood from its A. 13. C.
till it masters the problems of Euclid.—
What a pleasant study is a child. To feel
that it is dependent on you for a lamp to
its feet, and woe be to the teacher who ne
glects to train the youthful mind in ways
of virtue, truth and honor.
But what do we teach? Of the cares of
life and the issues of immortality. And
those lessons must be so given as to draw
the attention of the wildest and most way
ward. By a steady perseverance a loving
desire to improve your charge, and your
self, order and regularity, a firm govern
ment, remembering that order is not al
ways preserved by the frowning brow, but
by a steady rein, as the driver c9ntrols the
spirit of a vicious horse•
Beach. Are you learninghomme now
an humble effort to perform a duty. There
are no lessons I teach in my school-room
to my scholars of more importance to them
than is this lesson for you; for duty by the
poet is said to be the stern daughter of the
voice of God.
Thou art victory and law,
When empty terrors overawe;
Give unto me made lowly wise,
The spirit of selfsacrifice.
(stiert . Mtg.
The Moss Bose.
The Angel of the flowers one day
Beneath a rose tree sleeping lay—
That spirit to whom power is given
To bathe young buds in dew from heaven.
Awaking from his light repose
The Angel whispered to the rose—
" Ah, fondest object of my care,
Still fairest found where all are fair—
For the sweet shade thou givest me,
Ask what thou wilt, 't is granted thee."
"Then," said the Rose, with deepened glow,
" On me another grace bestow."
The Angel paused in silent thought;
" What grace was there that flowers bad not?"
'T was but a moment—o'er the Rose
A veil of Moss the Angel throws;
And robbed in nature's simplest weed,
Could there a flower that rose exceed.
Pis td.lantom.
TRANSPLANTING.—To transplant a tree
properly, and in such a manner as to check
its growth as little as possible, it must be
taken up with the entire mass of its roots,
as nearly as possible. Pew persons who
dig a tree are aware that they are cutting
off and leaving in the ground, nine-tenths
of the net-work of finely branching fibres.
'The best modern practice embraces the
following requisites, after the tree has been
carefully dug up, the soil properly enrich•
ed, and the holes prepared foi-their recep
1. Paring off with a knife. those parts
of the roots which have been bruised or
wounded with the spade. so as to prevent
2. If the weather is dry, or the roots
have become dried out of the ground, dip
ping them into a bed of soft mud, to coat
their surface.
3. Setting the tree no deeper than it
was before, except it bean inch or two to
allow the settling of the soil.
4. Spreading out the fibres in every
direction as widely and evenly as possible,
while fine mould is sprinkled or sifted
among them to fill up the hole
5. Dashing in a few quarts of water
when the hole is nearly filled, or by pour
ing it from a watering-pot while filling, to
settle the earth closely among all the fine
roots, and leave no interstices. Afterwards,
the filling is completed by %%layer of dry,
mellow earth. This mode of settling the
earth is much better than treading with
the foot.
deal of arguinent has been used in favor
of autumn and spring transplanting re
spectively, and each season has its strenu
ous advocates. As a general rule, we
advise planters to do the work when they
have time to do it well ; for after all, the
treatment of trees has more to do with
their success, at least twenty-fold, than the
season of the year for setting.
—The young orchard having been prop.
erly transplanted, the most important part
of the management is yet to come. The
three chief requisites under {his head, are
watering, nuckhing, and cultivation of
Watering.—lf the other two requisites
are attended to, it is very rare that any
water is needed by the newly transplanted
tree. Before the leaves open, very little
moisture escapes through its stem and
branches. Pouring on large quantitieo of
water at this time, is therefore not only
needless, but often very hurtful, by taus
ing water soaked roots, and tending to in
duce decay. The best way in which wa
ter may be applied to such trees, is to wet
the bark every day at evening, and oftener
if they a:e shrivelled, maintaining a moist
surface if necessary by a thin coating of
straw over the stem. Trees apparently
dead have been restored to full foliage by
this process.
After their expansion the leaves throw
off water rapidly. But even then, water
will do more harm than good, unless prop
erly applied. We have known many
trees killed by drouth, occasioned by wa
tering A little has been poured upon the
surface, but which never reached the
roots, and caused only a hard crust, depri
ving the soil of that fine sponge like quality
which enables it to retain moiJtpre.—
Whenever it becomes requisite to apply
water, a few inches of the top should be
taken off; the water poured in directly on
the roots, and then the earth replaced, ta
king care to inake it fine and mellow.
Mulching, in connexion with a mellow
surface, will in nearly all cases entirely
obviate watering. This is nothing more
that covering the ground about the tree
with old straw, coarse barn-yard litter,
leaves from the woods, saw-dust, tan, or
other material tending to retain the mois
ture of the roil, which is otherwise con
stantly escaping from the earth below.—
It is usually applied much too thinly, and
in too small a circle about the tree, We
have already shown that the roots extend
to great distances. It is better to leave a
small space uncovered immediately about
the trunk, otherwise mice may harbor un
der it and eat the bark.
Newly set cherry trees are almost sure
to perish during the heat of dry summ,rs
unless well mulched, even after they have
commenced n vigorous growth early
in the season.
important of all operations in connexion
with the culture of fruit, and that on which
the rapid gtowth, early bearing and abun
dant crops of the trees, and the large size
and high quality of the fruit, mostly de
pends, is the cultivrtion of the soil.
"It is the more important, 'says the Amer
ican Fruit Culturist, "because it is not
commenced and finished in a day, but
needs constant attention for years ; and in
ordinary practice it recieves greater neg
lect. For, of the thousands of trees
which are every year tsansplanted in all
parts of the country, the assertion may be
made with safety, that more are lost from
neglected after-culture than from all other
causes put together.
"To purchase and set out fine trees of
rare sorts,in a baked and hardened soil,
whose entire moisture and fertility are
consumed by a crop of weeds and grass,
might very aptly and without exaggeration
be compared to the purchase of a fine horse
and then perpetually to exclude him from
food and drink.
"Here is the great and fatal error with a
large portion who attempt the cultivation
of fruit. We may not incorrectly divide
these three classes :
Those who, having procured their
trees destroy them at once by drying them
in the sun or wind, or freezing them iu the
cold, before setting out.
“2. Those who destroy them by crowd
ing the roots into small holes cut out of a
sod, where, if they live, they maintain a
stunted and feeble existence, like the half.
starved cattle of a neglectful farmer.
" Others set them out well, and then
consider their labors as having closed.--
They are subsequently suffered to become
choked with grass, weeds or crops of grain
—some live and linger, others die under
the hardship; or else are demolished by
cattle, or broken down by the team which
cultivates the ground."
Lazy Boys.
A lazy boy makes a lazy man, just as
sure as a crooked' twig makes a crooked
tree. Who ever yet saw a boy grow up
in idleness, that did not make a shiftless
vagabond when he became a man, unless
he had a fortune left him to keep up ap
pearances? The great mass of thieves,
paupers and criminals that fill our peni
tentiaries and alms-houses, have come to
what they are, by being brought up in
idleness. Those who constitute the bus
iness portion of the community, those who
make our great and useful men, were
trained up in their boyhood to be industri
When a boy is old enough to begin to
play in the street, then he is old enough
to be taught how to work. Of course, we
would not deprive children of healthful,
playful exercise, or the time they should
spend in study, but teach hint to work lit
tle by little as a child is taught at school.
In this way he will acquire habits of in
dustry which will forsake him when ho
grows up.
Many persons who are poor let their
children grow up to fourteen or sixteen
years of age, or till they can support them
no longer, before they put them to labor.
Such children, not having any idea of
what work is, and having acquired habits
of idleness, go forth to impose upon their
employers with laziness. There is a re
pulsiveness in all labor set before them,
and to get it done, no matter how, is their
only ann. They are ambitious at play,
but dull at work. The consequences is,
they do not stick to one thing but a abort
time ; they rove about the world; get into
mischief, and finally find their way to the
Prison or to the alma hou.
With the habit of idleness, vice may
generally, if not invariably, be found.—
Where the mind and hands are not occu
pied in some useful employment, an evil
genius finds them enough to do. They
are found in the street late in the evening,
learning the vulgar and profane habits of
the elder in vice. They may be seen
hanging around groceries, bar rooms and
stores, where crowds gather; but they are
seldom found engaged in study.
A lazy boy is not only a bad boy, but a
disgrace to his parents, for it is through
their neglect that be becomes thus. No
parent, however poor, in these times of
cheap books and newspapers, need let
their children grow up in idleness. If
they cannot be kept at manual labor, let
their minds be kept at work, make them
industrious scholars, and they will be in
dustrious nt any business they may under
take in after life.
Mit an Y)umor.
Original Views of Men and Things.
Nsw YORK, Oct. 6th, 1854
Having become, to a certain extent, a
fixture, in this high old town, it became
necessary to search out a fit habitation,
wherein I might eat, sleep, change my
shirt, (Damphool blushes) and attend to
the other comforts of the external home,
and the inner individual.
My friend Bull Dogge having deserted
his late place, of residence, (on account of
of the perpetual reign of salt mackerel at
the breakfast table,) we started together
on a voyage of discovery. To describe
all the dilapidated gentlewoman, whose
apartments we inspected—all the many
inducements which were used to persuade
us to take up our quarters in all sorts of
musty-smelling rooms, and to recount how
many promises we made to “call again,"
would take too much time. Suffice it to
say that, at six o'clock in the evening,
wearied out and desperate, we cast anchor
in the domicil of an Irish lady with one
eye. She assured us that her boarders
were all "rispictible, and found their own
tibaccy, and that there was divtl a bug in
the place." We took adjoining rooms,
and resignedly went down to tea.
I noticed that my cup had evident
ly sustained a compound, comminuted frac
and been patched up with putty,
(which came off in my tea)—that the bread
was scant—the butter powerful—the tea,
"on the contrary, quite the reverse"—
however, although matters looked some
what discouraging—'hoping against hope'
—I retired to my virtuous sheets; horror
of horrors ! 0, most horrible ! !
For two hours I maintained a sanguine
ry combat with an odoriferous band of de
termined cannibal insects—armed only
with a fire-shovel, I gallantly kept up the
unequal conflict—but the treacherous im
plement broke at the critical moment; I
thought I should be compelled to yield—
despair filled slimy senses—my heart fail.
ed me—my brain grew dizzy with horror
—hurried thoughts of enemies unpardon
ed, of duties neglected, and of errors com
mitted, rushed items my mind—a last
thought of cherished._Leufne, and absent
friends, was in my heart, and, with a has
ty prayer for mercy and forgiveness, was
at the point of yielding, when my frantic
eye caught sight of my cast•iron boot-jack;
with an exclamation of pious gratitude to
heaven (Bull Dogge says it did not sound
so to him) I seized it, and, with the des
perate strength of a dying man, I renewed
the battle, and, eventually came oil victo
rious and triutnphant. Weary with
slaughter, I fell exhausted on the bed, and
slept till morning; Bull Dogge, who had
been engaged in the same delightful occu
pation, appeared at the breakfast•table with
one eye black, and his face spotted like a
he tiger. We held a council of war, and
resolved instantly to quit the p•emises of
the Emerald Islander, who had agreed to
'-lodge and eat" us, (the she-Cyclops) and
who had so nearly fulfilled the latter clause,
by proxy.
Another search, and another home.—
Here, for a week, things went on tolerably
well; the steak was sometimes capable of
mastication, the coffee wasn't always weak,
nor the butter always strong; but one day
there appeared at breakfast a dish of beef;
(Bull Dogge asserts that it was the fossil
remains of an omnibus horse ;) it was 110 t
molested; at dinner, it made its appear-
ance again ; stiil it was not disturbed ;at
VOL. 20. NO. 14.
tea, fragments of it were visible, but it yet
remained untouched ; in the morning, a
tempting-looking stew made its appear
ance, but, alas, it was only a weak inven
tion of the enemy to conceal the übiqui
tous beef; at dinner, a meat pie enshrined
a portion of the aforesaid beef—it went
away unharmed. For a week, every day,
at every meal, in every subtle form, in
some ingenious disguise, still was forced
upon our notice this omnipresent beef; it
went through more changes than Harle
quin in the Pantomime, and, like that nim
ble individual, came always out uninjur.
At the end of the second day Bull Dog.
ge grumbled, to himself; the third, he
spoke out "in meeting ;" the fourth, he
d—mned audibly ; the fifth, he had an
hour's swear to himself in his own room;
the sixth, seventh, and eighth, he preserv
ed a dignified silence; but his silence was
ominous; on the ninth day we both left.
Our next landlady had a gigantic mouth,
but her nose was a magnificent failure.—
We staid with here week, and left because
she seemed to be possessed of the idea
that one sausage was enough for two men.
For a month longer, we ran the gauntlet
of all the model boarding-houses. We
were entrapped by all kinds of alluring
promises, and perpetually swindled, with.
out any regard to decency; we had a taste
of Yankee, French, Dutch, and, I have
mentioned it before, (ye gods !) Irish! ;and
we lived four days in an establishment
presided over by a red-eyed darkey, with
a wife the color of a new saddle. At last.
one day in an agony of despair, I exclaim.
ed, "Where, 0 where, can humbugged
humanity find a decent place to feed ?"
Echo answered, "In the eating-houses."
We resolvod to try it, and the result is
glorious. We have achieved a victory,
sir—an heroic, unexpected victory.
And now, farewell, all scrawny landla
dies, ye snuffy beldames, with your wood
en smiles; farewell, ye viperous bedsteads,
ye emaciated feather-beds, and yo attenu
ated bolsters ; a long adieu to scant blan
kets, and mattresses stuffed with shavings;
farewell to hirsute butter, anti to ancient
bread; good-bye, (I say it with a tear,) yo
immortal, everlasting beef; farewell to
sloppy coffee, and to azure milk, (Dam
phool says not yet;) farewell, ye antedilu
vian pies, and you lilliputian puddings;
farewell, you two-inch napkins, and ye
he/9 table-cloths; farewell, ye empty
grates, and rusty coal-scuttles ; adieu, ye
cracked mirrors, which make a man look
like a drunken satyr; farewell, ye respec
table chairs, with dislocated limbs; adieu,
ye fractured tea-cups, ye broken forks, and
knives with hand-saw edges ; farewell, in
fact, all ye lodging houses, where you
can't have a latch-key, and where you cars
tell when they get a new hired girl by the
color of the hairs in the biscuit.
[I noticed this last remarkable fact,
long time since.]
Give us joy, for we have found a place
where things are done up right, where we
can choose our own viands, where the
beef is positively tender, where there are
uo little red ants in the sugar, where the
potatoes are not waxy, and where, if any
thing goes wrong, we can inflate the wai
In fact, we are suited; if anything runs
short, "John gets particular firs," and
"nuthin shorter ;" where we can eat when
we please, and call for what we please;
where charges are moderate, and it is per-
mitted to d—mn the waiter for nothing.—
And here, in this elysian spot, have Bull
Dogge and I taken our daily bread, (beans
and butter included,) (or the past month,
"without fear and without reproach."
As our poetical friend, Thomas Plus,
has remarked,
~ Joy joy, our task is done, [some."
Our trials are past, and our Restaurant is
P. S. Damphool says my concluding
quotation is not strictly correct, but what
does he know about it ?
Q. K. P. D., P. B.
IC?" A lady of our acquaintance has re
cently had a remarkable experience with
a new Irish girl.
"Biddy," said she mic evening, "we
must have some sausages for tea this even
ing ; I expect company."
"Yes, mom.'•
Tea time arrived, with it the company ;
the table was spread, the tea was aimmerin
' but no sausages appeared.
' , Where are the rausages, Biddy ?" the
lady inquired..
# , And sure they're in the ta.pot, mem.—
Din't you tell me we must have them for
to ?"
A ,fact.
61111r.' Indisputable—the right of won
an tobartt arms.