South Branch intelligencer. [volume], November 01, 1834, Image 1

About South Branch intelligencer. [volume] (Romney, Va. [W. Va.]) 1830-1896

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SOUTH BRANCH INTELLIOMCER
PRINTED St PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM HARPER, ROMJVEY, Va.
VO 2- EJ M E V.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1834.
NO, 19.
' I.VrELLfiGKXCKlt.
ivonmcu:
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1831.
OX The Cho'era has nrnlo its appear
ance in Petersburg, Va. Several fatal
coses occurred there last week.
This disease no longer exists in the ci
ty of Philadelphia.
05*" The amount of property ascer
tained by the assessors of the City and
County of New York to be taxable, is
about one hundred and eighty-eight
millions of dollars.
New Jersev.—The following notice
the final one which we shall lake) ot
ike election in this State, we copy from
the New York Commercial Advertiser :
“As nearly as it can be ascertained,
the Jackson majority in New Jersey is
1132. In 1832 it was 37X- In 1833
it was 6732. Increase since 1S32 of
554. Diminution, since last year,
5600. In the Legislature, last year,
there were but eight Whig members.
There will now be 28. TheJackson
men have elected 36 members—giving
a majority of 8 in joint ballot. The
Whigs, as Whigs have done well. The
Jackson majoii.ies in those counties,
where they have been accustomed to
obtain them, have been either reversed
or greatly reduced. Dot a deep game,
unknown to us, has been playing in
the lower counties, where the Friends
mostly reside, the result of which has
given the State again to the Tories. In
New Jersey, as elsewhere, the sect ol
the Friends having become divided in
to parties, known as Hicksites and Or
thodox, controversies in regard to the
Society’s property have arisen, which
have been carried into the Courts of
Law. In one of these, the amiable and
iaccomplished Frelinghuysen was re
Wined as counsel for the Oithodox par
ty ; and by way of punishing him —
not for the purpose of supporting the
Tory party—it is understood that the
Friends belonging to the llicksite sec*
lion have gone in a body for the Jack,
son nominations, in order to prevent
the re-election of Mr. F. to the Senate
of the United States, of which he is
such a distinguished ornament.
ID" The experiment of ihe culture ofin
iligo ot Atgiers has succeeded beyond ex
pectation.
, (LT A person named Murphee of Nash
ville, Tenn. gives notice that he has dis
covered “the perpetual motion.’’
Comfortable.—The most interesting
part of the recent balloon assenlion at
Fredrick, was the flight of the aero
Inaut’s garments through the air. The
car would not carry up Mr. Woodall,
and Mr. Simpson immediately look bis
place without ceremony as well with,
out coat or hat. With a shout of “hur
ra boys !” he arose about ftfiy feet a
bove the heads of the astonished and
wondering multitude.—The ladies/rom
the house tops looked with all their eyes
—when down came a pair of boots !
0 la ! exclaimed they. After a while
a vest streamed it through the air—
Oh ! dear !—he’ll catch cold, said the
blushing creatures. Then—“Oh! tell
it not in Gath !”—full of dignity and
as free as the mountain eagle—down
soared a pair af pantaloons 1 leaving
their ambitious owner to “dally with
clouds’’ at the expense of every feel
ing. Oh! mercy onus! sighed the
ladies—and, we came away.—Haiti,
more Visitor.
From the Evening Star.
Letter XII.—Albany, Oct. 7, 1834.
To the Hon. Martin Van Buren :
Sir—When the legislature adjourned
in April, 1819, the federal newspapers
were assailing Mr. Clinton and his
friends, for not supporting Mr. Rufus
King. The papers under your influ
ence were making the most solemn dec
inration “that the republicans would
not move to the right or to the left.—
They would support their candidate ;
9nd no other.” Thus far your plans
■ b»d succeeded. On the 4th of March,
-1819, the Stale had but one member
°n the floor of the United States Sen.
nte. The Clintonians had given great
dissatisfaction to the federalists, and
with some (if not good) cause, for the
latter, at the commencement of the ses
sion, had voted for a Clintonian speuk
counchofappoiniment,by means
of which they were elected, and the pow
*r ot the State continued in the hands
oi the Governor and his parly.
Now, Sir, what next? I answer, I
and without circumlocution, charge you
with having made a bargain, or, if you
like the term better, an arrangement,
with the Federlists, to elect Mr. King
to the Senate of the United Slates when
the legislature should convene in 1820.
You, Sir, and the prostituted mercena
ries that surround and support you,
had aff cted great abhorrence at the
idea of a political bargain. Where no
foundation existed fur the charge, you
have falsely and maliciously made it,
for purposes as unprincipled as they
were corrupt. Noconsidefation could
induce me to charge you wiih an im
proper transaction if my mind was not
perfectly and entirely satisfied of its
irmh. I have avoided general allega
tions, and confined myself to specific
acts, giving date, and place, anil names,
and, in most instances,references to the
journals Of the Senate.
In the case now to be considered
there is more difficulty ; because, in its
incipient steps, it was not official —
Much was necessarily left to you and
your associates in both parties. Some
of them are slumbering with the dead ;
and the “doors of the prison house can
not be opened.”. Yctir conmunica
lions with Mr. King, personally, were
of a confidential character, and possi
bly may never become public. There
are reasons why they should not.—
Those who venerate his memory, con
sider his connection with you one of the
weakest, os well as one of the most un
fortunate events of his whole life.—
Some of his friends (1 refer net to his
relations) are heart sick even at this
day when the subject is alluded to in
their presence. 13at .1 will not cicat
rize the wound which you have given
them, and which they are so anxious to
heal.
It is proper here to speak of Mr.
King as 1 have spoken cf Mr. Clinton.
I do not stop to inquire whether his
course on the Missouii question was
right or wrong. It is not intended
either to applaud or Condemn it. My
business is not with that honorable
gentleman, but with you. I speak of,
[and refer to, the Missouri ques ion as
matter of history. They are two siJes
to it. It is right and proper that you
should be made to assume the respon
sibility of that side which benefited you.
Sir, you were opposed to the south
on the Missouri question. You sup
ported Mr. King, knowing him to be
the leader against the southern interest.
You knew, or pretended to know, his
private views and intensions on that
subject; and knowing them, you urged,
as soon as the legislature met, his
prompt appointment, that he might ar
rive in Washington before that question
was decided. Yes, Sir, the fate of the
Union was suspended by a slender
thread. The result was doubtful.—
The south were in battle array. They
were greatly, I had almost said unwar
rantably, excited. Hut as the raging of
the tempest began to subside, you were
an advocate for hurrying forward Mr.
King, to increase if not renew, the ex
piring flames which had burst forth
with such fury in Congmss, and which
were so heart-rending to the patriot and
to the philanthropist.
Duting the summer of 1819, jour
intercouise with Mr. King was of a ve
ry familiar, if not confidential, charac
ter. With the ami Clintonian party5
all your efforts were employed to im
press them with the opinion, that the
Clintonians wou'd unite with the feder
alists in electing Mr. King, if they did
not. By means of mysterious looks
and pretended discoveries, you alaim
ed the weaker brethren. Willi these
you commenced. You knew that fear
was contagious, and you thus inoculat
ed the whole camp; at the same time,
through your friend and counsellor,
field marshal Coleman and his subor
dinates, you kept up u fire from lire
federal batteries upon the Clintonians
They, like a certain animal that starv
ed to death, halted between two opin
ions, until their fate in reference to this
question was decided. Previous to the
autumn of 1819, they came to no con
clusion whether they would or would
not suppoit Mr. King. When the Le
gislature met in January, 1820, the
Clintonians were compelled to vote lor
him, or to make, what had now be
come a useless and unprofitable decla
lation of war, against the whole feder
al party. Mr. K.’s election was cei
tain. In behalf ofthal portion of the
democracy with whom you acted, you
had formed a league will) the federlists
lor the avowed purpose of electing, him.
The election for Governor of the
State was also approaching. The fed
eral party held the balance of power.
Without their suppoit Mr. Clinton
could not be re-elected. You looked
to V.ce President Tompkios as his op
ponent. Over ibis gentleman, in an
evil hour, you had obtained a complete
ascendancy. You believed,and I have
no doubt you was correct, that if he
should be chosen, it would only be (lc
jure, while you would be Governor dc
facto. This was one reason for your
lorming an alliance with Mr. King’s
federal friends. It was purely person
al. In making this arrangement, you
never inquired as to its probable effect
upon the morals, or the character of the
political parly with which you were
connected. Nor did you think of the
public good. This brief, but faithful
history of the times, and existing cir
cumstances, when these transactions
occurred, was deemed necessary to a
right understanding of them.
In the course of the summer, as the
negotiation progressed, the papers un
der your control, made occasional sor
ties for the purpose of ascertaining how
the democratic parly would stand the
election of Mr. King; and also with
the vietv of familiarizing the people, by
degrees, to the nameofihat distinguish
ed statesman as the nest senator. Those
presses which sustained the party but
coaid not he favourably brought out,
were muzzled. It was thus, that pub
lic opinion was to be created ; for this
system was then as now, practiced by
hireling mercenaries. Among the first
pointed publications, that I recollect,
was in the summer of 1819, and was
contained in the Albany Argus, from
which the following remark is extract
ed, “we are happy to observe that Mr.
King is decidedly opposed to the mea
sures of Mr. Clinton.
PATRICK HENRY.
A HORSE THIEF.
OJ* A young man calling himself
William Devor, about 5 feet 10 in
ches in height, with light hair and fair
cojnplexion, came to this place on Mon
day Iasi, having in his possession a
Son-el horse, witch, from several sus
picious circumstances connected wait
his first appearance hem, Si subsequent
conduct, it is generally supposed he had
stolen from some person unknown.
In pursuance of a complaint regular
ly preferred against h'm, lie was arrest,
ed and brought before the writer Of this,
an acting Justice of the Peace, and af
ter un lergoing an examination was
committed to the jail of this county,
for trial at (he next Court of Common
Pleas. Sometime in the course of last
night he succeeded in making his es
cape, by burning a hole through the
foor of the room in which he was con
fined. The horse found in his possess
ion is still here, and, if stolen may
be easily identified by his owner.—
Guernsey (Ohio) Times of Oct. 18.
03^ Congress will meet on the 1st
of December, and continue in session
until the fourth of March, at which time
the terms of service of the preseut
members will ex pit e.
9 —-—;
A Frenchman, whose wife was about to
present him with the fond appellation of'
■father,’ adjourned to a tav< rn to nwail
the happy moment,and with some friends
to drink a long life, and noble, to the first
born. The punch howl scattered its in
viting fumes most prodigally around the
company, and anxiety was marked on
every face, when in ran Beltv liightfoot:
‘Joy, sir! I give you joy !’
‘Vat is lie, Betty, vat is ite ?’
‘A fine boy, sir.’
‘Health to the young Marquis!' ex
claimed one, and bumpers went round.
‘Betty, you must drink von Itfu to de
jung Marquis.’
Betty raised the glass to her lips, when
in rushed the nurse —
‘Joy, joy, sir ! I give you joy !'
‘Vat—vat is the matter ?’
‘A fine girl, sir !’
‘Betty,’ said the Frenchman, looking
stern, ‘vat you say no true.’
‘O,’said the nurse,‘a hoy first, and a
girl afterwards.’
‘Vat two !—von hoy, von fille ?'
‘ i'wo, sir,’added the dame, and help
ing herself to a glass, swingin it off, when
in popped a third messenger.
‘SacnEE !' exclaimed the Frenchman,
-vat ! more joy ?’
‘Another fine boy, sir.
'Vat de (liable ! — von boy—von girl_
von gargon, three time ?’
‘Yes sir.'
•Mon Dieu !’ bawled the frightened
Frenchman, ‘it will never do. I must go
HOME AND PUT A STOP TO DIS !’
A Chance.—A gentleman in Alex
andria has advertised for a wife._
Lillies wishing to contract, must direct
ttteir letters to O. P. Q. Alexandria.—
None need apply over 25—single ladies
never gel older—the flirts make up by
coquetry what they lack in youth—
wonder how they would fancy an item
maker.
i&toceU3tuou0*
MYr MOTH UK’S GOLD JUNG.
I have one of (he kindest husbands :
he is a carpenter by trade, and our
flock of little children has one of the
kindest fathers in the county. 1 was
thought the luckiest girl in the parish,
when G—‘— T-made me bis wife.
I thought so myself. Our wedding
day—and it was a happy one—was
but an indiflfeient sample of those days
of rational happiness and uninterrupted
harmony, wliicti we were permitted to
enjoy together for six years. And al
though, tor the last three years of our
lives, we have been as happy as we
were at the beginning, it makes my
heart sick to think of those long dark
days and sad nights, that came between,
for two years of our union were years
of misery. I well recollect the first
glass of ardent spirits, ttiat my husband
ever drank. He had been ut the gro
cery to purchase a little tea and sugar
for the family ; there were three cents
coming to him in change ; and un
luckily the Deacon, wlio keeps the
shop, had nothing but silver in the till;
and ns it was a sharp frosty morning,
he persuaded my good man to take his
money’s worth ol turn, for it was just
the price of a glass. He came home
in wonderful spirits, and told me he
meant to havenis and the children bet
ter dressed, and as neighbor Barton
talked ol'S nling his horse and chaise,
he thought of buying them both ; and
when I said to him* ‘George, we are
dressed as well as we can afford, and
I hope you will not think of a horse
and chaise, till we have paid off the
Squire’s mortgage,’ he gave me a harsh
look and a bitter word. 1 never shall
forget that day, for they were the fitst
he ever gave me in his life. When he
saw me shedding tears, and holding my
apron to my face, he said he was sor
ry, and came to kiss me, and I discov
ed that he had been drinking, and it
grieved me to the heart. In a short
time after, while 1 was washing up the
breakfast things, 1 heard our little Rob
ert who was only five years old, crying
bitterly, and going to learn the cause,
1 met him running towards me with
his face covered with blood.
He said his father had taken him on
his knee, and was playing with him,
out had given a blow in the face, only
btcause he had said, when lie kissed
him,‘Dear papa, you smell like o*d
Isaac the drunken fiddler.’ My hus
band was very ctoss to us oil through
the whole day : but the next morning,
though be said little, lie was evidently
ashamed and humbled ; and be went
about his work very industriously, and
was particularly kind to little Robert.
I prayed constantly for my good man,
and mat God would be pleased to guide
his heart aright ; and more than a
week h iving gone by, without any sim
ilar occurrence, 1 flattered myself that
he would never do so again. Butin a
very little lime, either the Deacon was
short of change as before, or same
tempting occasion presented itsell,
which my husband could not resist,
and he returned borne once more un
der the influence of liquor. 1 never
shall forget the expression of his coun
tenance, wheu he came in that night
We had waited supper a full hour, lor
his return : the tea-pot was standing at
the fire and the bannocks were un
touched upon the hearili, and the small
er children were beginning to murmur
for their supper. There was an in
describable expression of dtfiance on
nis countenance, as though he were
conscious of having done wrong, and
resolved to brave it out. We sat down
silently to supper, and he scarcely rais
ed his eyes upon aoy of us, during this
unhappy lepast. lie soon went lu bed
and tell asleep ; and after 1 had laid
our little ones to rest, I knelt at the
loot of tile bed, o.i which my poor mis
guided husband was sleeping, and
poured out my very soul to God, while
my eyes were scalded with the bitterest
tears 1 had ever shed. For 1 then
foresaw, that unless some remedy could
oe employed, ray best earthly Iriend,
the lather of my little children, would
become a drunkard. The next morn
ing alter breakfast, I ventured to speak
with him upon the subject, in a mild
way ; and though I could not restrain
my tears, neither my words nor my
weeping appeared to have any effect,
and 1 saw mat he was becoming hard
ened, and careless nf us all. How ma
ny winter nights have 1 waited, weep
ing alone, at my once happy fireside,
listening for the lilting latch, and wish
ing, yet dreading, to hear bis steps at
the boor I
After litis stale of things had con
tinuedjOr rather grown worse, for near
ly three months, I put on my bonnet
one morning, after my husband hsd
gone to his work, & went to the Dea
con’s store ; and finding him alone, I
stated my husband’s case, and begged
him earnestly to sell him no more. He
told me it would do no good, for, if he
did not sell it, some other person would
sell it; end be doubted if my husband
took more than was good fur him. He
quoted Scripture to s tow, that it was a
wife’s duty to keep at home, and sub
mit herself to her husband, and not
meddle with things, which did not be
long to her province. At (tvs time,
two or three customers called for rum,
and the Deacon civilly advised me in
ga home and look after my children.
I went out with a heavy heart. It
seemed as if the tide of evil \Vi$ setting
against me. As I was p issmg farmer
Johnson’s on my way home, they call
ed me in. I sat down and rested my
self for a few minutes, in their neat
cottage. Farmer Johnson was just re
turning from the field ; and when I saw
the little ones running to meet him at
the stile, and the kind looks that pass
ed between the good man and his wife;
and when I remembered that we were
married on ills very same day, and
compared my own fortune With theirs,
my pour heart burst forth in u flood of
tears. They all knew what I was
weeping fur, and farmer Johnson, in a
kind manner, bade me cheer up and put
my trust in God’s mercy, and remember
ihat it wasofien darkest before daylight.
The farmer and his wife were ntem.iers
of the temperance society, and had
signed the pledge ; and I have ofieu
heard him say, that he believed it hid
saved him from destruction. He had,
before his marriage, and for a year af
ter, been in the habit of taking a little
spirits every day. He was an indus
trious thriving man ; but shortly after
his marriage he became bound fir a
neighbor, who ran off, and he was o
bliged to pay the debt. I have heard
him declare, that, when the sheriff look
away all his property, add stripped his
little cottage and scarcely left It in those
trifles which are secured to the poor
man by law ; and when he considered
how ill his poor wife W3S at the time,
(in consequence of the loss of their child,
that died only the month before, he
was restrained from reso.ting to the
bo.tie, in his moments of despair, by
nothing but a recollection of the pledge
he had signed. Farmer Johnson’s
minister was in favor of nledgrs, and
had often told him, that allliction might
weaken his judgment and his moral
sense, and that the pledge might save
him at last, as a pi ink saves the life ol
a mariner, who is tost upon the waves.
Our good Clergyman was unfortu
nately of a different opinion; He had
ofien disapproved of pledges ; the Dea
con was of the same opinion : he
thought very illy of pledges.
Month after month passed away,
and our happiness was utterly destroy
ed. My husband neglected Ins busi
ness, and poverty began to stare us in
the face. Notwithstanding my best
exertions, it Was hard work to keep
my little ones decently clothed and
sufficiently fed. If my husband earned
a shilling, the dram-seller was as sure
ofit, as if it wdre already in his till. 1
sometimes thought 1 had lost all my
affection for one, who bad proved so
entirely regardless of those whom it
was his duty to protect aod sustain;
but when l looked in the faces of our
little children, the recollections of our
early marriage days, and all his kind
words and deeds soon taught me the
strength of the principle, that had
brought us together.
I shall never cease to remember the
anguish I felt when the constable ton',< i
liim to jail, upon the dram-sellers exe
cution. Till that moment, l did noli
believe, that my affection could, have
survived, under the pressure of that
misery, which lie hod brought upon us
all. I put up such things,, of the little
remained to us, as l tho’i might be of
use, and turned my b-„ck upon a spot,
where I had been very happy and ve
ry wretched. Ojr five little children
followed, weeping bitterly. The jail
was situated in the next town. ‘On
George,’said 1, ‘if you bad only signed
the pledge, it would not have come to
this.’ He sighed, and said nothing ;
anil we walked nearly a mile, in per
fect silence. As we were leaving the
village, we encountered our Clergy
man, going forth upon his morning ride.
When 1 reflected, that a few words
from him would have induced my poor
husband to sign the pledge, and that if
be had done so he might have been the
kind father & the alfec.iunate husband
[that be once was, 1 own, it cost me
some considerable effort to suppress
my emotions. ‘Whither are you all
going ?’ said the holy roan. My hus
band, who had always appeared ex
tremely humble, in presence of the
minister, and replied to all his inqui
ries, in a subdued tone of voice, answer
ed vi.h unusual firmness. ‘To jail,
reverend sir.’ ‘To jail I’ said he, ‘ah,
I see how it is ; you have wasted your
substance in liotous living, and are go
ing to pay for your improvidence and
folly. You have bad the advantage of
my precept and example, and you have
turned a deaf ear to the one, and neg
lected the other.’
‘Reverend sir,’ my husband replied,
galled by this reproof, which appeared
to him, at that particular moment, an
unnecessary aggravation of bis misery,
‘reverend sir, your precept and your
example have been my ruin ; I have
followed them both. You, who had no
expeiience of the temptations, to which
your weaker brethren are liable, who
are already addicted to the temperate
and daily use of ardent spirits, advised
me nevbr to sign a pledge. I have
followed your advice to the letter.
You admitted, that extraordinary occa
sions might justify the use of ardent
spirit, and that, on such occasions, you
might use it yourself. I followed your
example ; but it has been my misfor
tune never to drink spirilous liquors
without finding that my occasions
were more extraordinary than ever.—
Had I followed the precept and exam
ple of neighbour Johnson, I should not
have ntade a good wife miserable, nor
my children beggars.” While he ut
tered these last words, my poor hus
band looked upon his little ones, and
burst into tears ; and the minister
rode slowly away without ulleting a
word.
I rejoiced even in the midst of our
misery-, to see that the heart of my poor
George was tenderly affected ; for it
is not more needful, that the hardness
of wax should be subdued by fire, than
the heart of man should be softened by
allliction, before a deep and lasting im
pression can be made. ‘Dear hus
band,’ said I, ‘we are young ; it is not
too late ; let us trust in God, and all
may yet be well.’ He made no reply,
but continued to walk on, and weep in
silence. Shortly after, the Deacon ap
peared at some distance, coming to
wards us o) the road ; but as soon as
he discovered who we were, he turned
away into a private path. Even the
constable seemed somewhat touched
with compassion at our situation, and
urged us to keep a good heart, for he
thought same one might help us, when
we least expected it. My husband;
whose vein of humor would often dis
play itself; even in hours of sadness,
instantly replied, that the good Samari
tan could not be far off, for the priest
and the Levite had already passed by
on the other side. But he little thought
—poor man—that even the conclusion
of this beautiful parable was likely to
be verified. A one-horse wagon, at
this moment, appeared to be coming
down the hill behind us, at an unusual
rapid rate, and the constable advised
us as the road was narrow, to stand a
side to let it pass. It was soon up
with us; and when the dust had clear
ed away, it turned out, as little Robert
had said, when it first appeared on the
top of the hill, to be farmer Johnson’s
gray mare and yellow wagon. The
kind hearted farmer was out in an in
stant, and, without saying a word, was
putting the children into it, one after
another. A word from farmer John
son was enough for any constable in
the village. It was all the work of a
nnoment. He shook my husband by
the band ; and when he began,‘Neigh
bor Johnson^ you are the same kind
friend"—‘Get in’ said he ; ‘let us have
no Words about it. I must be at home
in a trice for turning to me, ‘your
old school-mate, Susan, my wife, will
sit a crying at the window, till she sees
you safe home again.’ Saying this he
whipped up the gray mare, who, re
gardless of the additional load, went up
the hill faster than she came dowo, a a
though she entered into the spirit of
the whole transaction.
It was not long before we reached the
door of our cottage. Farmer Johnson
took out the children ; and while I was
trying to find words to thank him for
all his kindness, he was up in his wa
gon and off, before I could titter a syl
lable. Robert screamed after him, to
tell little Tim Johnson to come over,
and that he should have all his pinks
and marigolds. When we entered the
cottage, there were bread and meat ami
milk upon the table, which Susan, the
farmer’s wife, had brought over for the
children. 1 could not help sobbing a