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THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE: 'WASHINGTON, D. 0., THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1883.
P UGLY YJLENTINE,
Ami liic Good Fortune thai ii Brought
By Jleiem II Ititncy Clark.
It was SL Valentine's Day, and the old Quis
enherry farm-house was iu apple-pie order, from
attic to cellar.
The pine wood floor in the kitchen was whito
ns snaii smd water could make it: the I'OtS and
pans fairly shone from the scrubbing they had
received: and the winuow-panes ulinKcu aim
blazed, like sheets of polished silver,
" I'm glad it's done," sighed Miss Priscilla
Quisen berry, rolling down her sleeves, and gaz-
ingat her work, with an air of satisfaction.
"Let me see, she added, " I've scoured amr
churned: baked bread and made rake; and
fried cnill-i and boiled a ham. I'll have a
chance to rest a spell, now, before it's time to
" Pris-cil-ln," called her sister-in-law, in a
shrill voice, from the sitt i ug-room " Priscilla !
Come an see what Bob Jones hez fotched you.'
"What do you reckon 'tis?" she queried, as
Priscilla obeved the summons. "A voluntinc?
It's too big fur a letter."
" It it does look liko a valentine," assonted
Priscilla. turning the square, embossed envelope
over and over, wit!, a puzled air.
"Why don't you open it. an' wo what 'tis?"
cried her sister-in-law, tartly. "An' not stan
there a-colorin" up till your cheeks an as red
as the tofteNu tje trout winder-curtains."
Priscilla had realms of her on n for not open
ing the valentine iu a hurry. She i untight sho
recognized the handwriting on the envelope.
It. was that which sent the red blood iiuo her
olicoks; for she thought she felt sure it was
"Mr. Choeseboro's handwriting, and rh, how she
wished she could slip away to her room, and
open the previous treasure by herself.
But this wis nut of the question, with those
hharp cy rttrins at her: and with trembling
lingers, and her heart heating a tattoo in her
bosom, sho car, fully slit open ono end of the
env,cloiK and drew out a comic valentine. A
horrid caricature of an old maid, with cakcd
nose and chin, high cheek-bones, and vty, very
"An old maid ! Wal. wal," tittered the sister-in-law,
Luchula. "I 'lowcl 'twould be a nice
one, from the looks. Who d'yo reckon sent it,
" I don't know."
By a great effort, Priscilla kept back the tears
of mortification and disappointment that were
almost trembling in her eyes.
" Looks some like Felix Cheesboro's hand
. write, don't it ?" said Luanda, peering at the
envelope. " Thouirh I don't reckon he'd trouble
Iiissolf to send you a volnntine. pritty or ugly.
TJioysayho tuck Minmdy Sprigs home from
jsingin'-schoc-I, the otlur night.'"
' Priscilla would have given a diamond-mine,
if she had possessed one, only to get away from
Lueinda's prying eyes and keen tongue, and
from all the other eyes in the world, and have
one good cry by herself. But thcro was the
supper to get, and chores to do, the comfort of
Iter father and brother Reuben to look after ;
for Lucinda, Reuben's wif -. chose to consider
liorsclf an invalid, and shirked her share of the
nut at last, after what seemed like a lifetime
to Priscilla. the supper-dishes were washed, her
father and brother had seen and criticized the
valentine; for,of course, Lurinda had given all
the particulars of it; at last the old clock had
ticked away the hours till bedtime, and Pris
cilla was alone.
But indignation had taken the place of grief,
by this time, and she crept under the home
spun blankets and the blue-ami-white coverlet,
with dry eye.
' If ho docs consider mo an old maid," sho
thought. " it was a cruel way of telling me so.
Besides, he's older than I am; and if my hair
is red. it isn't a fiery red, like that."
Now, "Miss Priscilla's hair was not a fiery red,
by any means. It was a clear chestnut-brown,
with only a tinge of sunlit gold shining iu its
And. if she was an old maid, as some had
said though twenty-five is not so "very old, to
be sure she wiS a very attractive one, with
deep dimples indenting her checks, and a com
plexion fresh as a pink-lipped sea-shell.
Jt was the day after St. Valentine's Day, and
Felix Cheeseboro was holding communion with
liiinself, after a fashion he frequently had.
" I don't know." lie muttered, as he finished
liis dinner, and roso from the table with a
thoughtful frown. "I don't know but what
I've had encouragement enough from Priscilly
Quisinb'Try to ah, that is, 1 b'lieve she'd hav;s
me, if I'd ask her outright.
"She isn't a bit for'ard, like Mirandy Sprigs;
but her eyes drop down kind o' shy like, an'
lier cheelcs git as red as crab-apple blows, some
times when I meet her, all of a sudden. An'
she's a mighty good housekeeper, too. That
wife o' Rube's ain't wnth a shuck 'round a
house. I could see that, last time we thrashed
fur the old man. Priscilly has the heft cf it
all. She .shouldn't work an' dredge so. if she
was my wife, she could see to things like, an'
tell Aunt Lindy Avhat to do.
"I don't know but I'll call 'round there, this !
even m . 1 can Jet on 1 want to see Reuben, or
the old man "tisn't likely they'll be in yet,
from the new clearin'. An' incbhe I'll git a
chance to talk to i'riscilly, alone. If I do
Hello! what's this, Aunt Lindy ?"
' Duuno," tittered Lindy. " S'pec it's a vol
untinc. Sam jes' now brung it from do pos'
oflis." And with a show of ivories that a young
elephant might have envied. Aunt Lindy re
tired toiler kitchen to make her own comments
on the subject.
Mr. Chetseboro did not bestow much atten
tion on the outside of the envelope, at first
not being a connoisseur in regard to chirogra
phy but opened it at once, with some natural
curiosity. Aunt Lindy s supposition proved a'
correct one. It waa a valentine, and a comic
one, at that.
Mr. Cheeseboro stopped short. His counte
nance betrayed an unusual degree of astonish
ment, together with, some amusement.
"Somebody has mistook me fur an old maid,"
he muttered. " Fur this here ain't nothin' but
an old maid, with red hair, an' a most audacious
"Now, who in thunder was smart enough to
send it, I wonder?"
Ho turned the envelope over and over; but
the stiff, crabbed handwriting, evidently dis
guised, gave no clew to the sender.
"1 wonder now," lie pondered, thoughtfully, j
"if'twasn't Miraudy Sprigs that sent it? I'll j
bet a cheese-cako it was her !
" Yes, now I coine to think of it, she was a
teasin' me, a spell back, about Priscilly Quisen
berry; an' I recollect sho called her an old
"Old maid, indeed!" Priscilly's the best
lookin' girl on Huckleberry ("reek, old or
young; an' worth a dozen like Mirandy Sprigs,
"Well, if she thinks it's such a joke to send
me a picture of an old maid, I'll just send it
back to her to let her sec 1 knowVhcre it come
And when Mr. Felix Cheeseboro mounted his
sorrel mare, to make the projected call at the
Quisenberry farm-house, the valentine was care
fully deposited in his overcoat pocket.
It went no further than the village post'
office, however, where Felix procured a square
en volope, enclosed the old maid's "picter," and
posted the missive, addressed to "Miss Minmdy
It was late in the afternoon, and Priscilla
was in the kitchen, getting supper. A snapping
lire roared and cracked in the well-bla-kened
cooking stove, on which she placed a skillet of
fresh pork to fry. Taking a handful of dried
sago, she rubbed it to a powder, and sifted it
slowly over the moat.whicii was already begin
ning to give out a most appetizing odor.
Pribcilla's heart was still sore from the shock
she had received ; but with the pride of her sex,
. she hid the wound from other eyes, and went
about her household duties as usual.
Going to the cellar, sho brought a pan of rosy
cheoked apples from the biu, and was paring
theui lor bailee, when slip-shod footsteps sound
ed iu the hull, and Lucinda opened the kitchen
door, and looked in.
"Whore' your pa, Priscilly?" sho asked.
"Folix Cheooboro is in the sittin'-roam, and
wants to sco him."
Priscilla looked startled.
"Mr. Chcugboru? I I don't know. What
does ho want?
"Do you reckon I asked him what he want
ed ? You needn't to color up so -'taint you he
wants to see. It's your pa, I told you," and
Lucinda shufHed away.
' Priscilly hain't no idee where he is, Felix,"
shcrcportcd. "Nor me cither. But you mout's
well stay to supper. He'll be sure to come in,
1-Ylix did not think lio could slay to supper;
hut ho waited awhile, in hopes of seeing Pris
cilla. His waiting proved to lie vain, however,
and ho finally took his departure, promising to
"Ucclcou Priscilly wis too busy to came in,"
hn thought, consolingly, as ho rode oil' on his
sorrel snare. "It's too bad she has the whole
house to tend to; but &he shan't have it to do
lornr. if I can help it." he added, with, a look of
decision in his g.iy eyes.
"I wonder if he gut the valentine,'' thought
Friscilla, as she finished paring and quartering
the apples. " Jf he did, ho will see that I know
who sent it to me."
On tlie same afternoon. Mirandy Sprigs was
( doing p her frizzes on bits of tin, which she
( jcopt lor t no purpose, being, as sho thought,
j more olHcarious than curl-papers.
j " 1 want 'em to friz right nice fur to-morrow
j night," she commented, twisting one of the tins
till it nearly brought tins tears to her eyes.
I "Alelibo Mr. Cheeseboro '11 ask mo to go to
meetin' with him. If he don't, I'll go alono,
an' most likely he'll fetch me home, like he did
! from singin'-sehool last week.
j "Pvo got ahead o' Priscilly Quisenberry,
I anyhow," sho added, with a look of triumph
, in her black eye.-, "and I'm a-goin' to keep it.
i She'll be mud as hops to find I've cut her out.
j "Wait till I git to bo mistress o' Felix
Checscboro's big house, though. Won't I show
i the folks? I'll turn up my nose at them stuck-
I up Quist nberrys. loo.
; "An' that sasy Lindy '11 hev to step around
! mighty lively, I ki i leil her; fur 1 don't 'low
I to do a lick o' work myself."
"Mirandy." grumbled her mother, from tho
; kitchen. " What on airth are you a-doin' there
j so long? Come along. out hero, an' see what
Enoch's brung you from the store. It's in a
big square envcllop, an my ban's is in the
dough, so't I kain't open it."
Mi rand v hurried out to the kitchen, twisting
ur her hist friz as sho went.
j "It must be a voluntinc," sho cried, snatch-
! ing up the unvelopo.
And tearing it open, sno jerked out the old
maid, of course.
"Why why, it's a nasty ole comic one, an'
I jest know Priscil (Quisenberry sent it to me,
spiteful ole thing. She's a ole maid herself, an'
1 'low to toll her so, first chance 1 git," and
Miranda flung the obnoxious valentine into
the tire, and flounced out of the room in a hull.
"Wher's Mirandy?" demanded Enoch,
shuttling into tho hous, after putting up his
horse in the stable.
"I dun know," said Mrs. Sprigs, smiling.
" Sho jt st bounced off som'ers, mad as a wet
hen. alwut that ere voluntine you fotched her."
"Was it a ugly one?" grinned Euoch.
"Wher's it at?"
"Sho slung it in tho fire, an' burnt it up.
Yes 'twas ugly as git out. She thinks Priec.il
"Prisril didn't send it, then," declared Enoch,
"fur I wasa-stannin' back bj' the stove, in the
post-otlis. an' 1 see Felix Cheeseboro put it in
tho envcllop hisself. An' then he backed it,
an' poked it in the box. an' rid off.
: "An' Si Sturdy tuck it out o' tho box, an'
iseztome: 'Here's somethin' fur your folks,
j now.' he Fez, an' I put it in my pocket, an'
i fotched it homo."
" Wal! that is cur'us," said Mrs. Sprigs, cut
ting out her biscuits with a tin yeast-powder
box. "I wouldn't hev thought he'd send
Mirandy a picter of an old maid."
"Ole maid?" cried Enoch, staring. "Did it
hey red hair an' a long pcakid nose? "
" Yes, it did. The reddest hair an' peakidest
nose I ever see."
"Wal," cried Enoch, delighted. It's the
very ono 1 sent to Priscil Quisenberry, sure
enough. But it beats mo to know how Felix
Chcesoboro got a-holt of it. Mebbo she give it
to him. though, to send to Mirandy," ho added.
Miranda's frizzes were as crisp as her heart
could de-ire, and her eyes shone with antici
pated triumph, as sho repaired by herself to
the "meeting." on the following night. For
she had refused to accept Enoch's version of
the valentine, and persisted in believing that
Priscilla sent if.
But the expected triumph was not realized ;
for, to her vexation, Mr. Cheeseboro walked up
to Prisciila, after services were over, and de
liberately requested the pleasure of accompany
ing her home. Which request was granted,
"Did yiCti get any valentine1;, Miss Priscilly? "
asked Felix, after some moments of silence.
" One," she returned, shortly.
'" Why, that's odd, now. 1 got ono, too."
Mr. Cheeseboro was quite elated at such a
remarkable coincidence: but Priscilla was not
so much surprised as he had expected her to be.
"What sort of a one was yours?" ho in
quired, confidentially. " Protty or ugly ? Of
course, 'twas a pretty one, though," he added,
venturing a very faint pressure of tho hand
which vested on his ami.
"Of course, it wasn't a pretty one," retorted
Priscilla, severely. "It was tho one you sent
me, Mr. Cheeseboro."
"I? The one I ncnt you? stammered Felix,
For tho first time, Priscilla began to doubt
whether he really had sent it, after all.
"You don't mean to say you didn't send it? "
she queried, anxiously.
"Indeed, 1 did not," returned her escort,
carne-tly. " I never sent one to anybody, only
the one I got, and I sent that back to Mirandy
Sprigs; fur I thought she had sent it to me."
Then the mystery was out, and Priscilla's
heart was light as a pull-ball, when sho parted
with Mr. Cheeseboro at her door.
Mrs. Lucinda Quisenberry was sitting by tho
kitchen fire, limp and slip-shod as usual, the
next afternoon, when Priscilla came in from
milking the cows. She set down a two-gallon
bucket, brimming with the, foamy fluid, and
brought out the shining milk-pans from the
" Mr. C'leeseboro's in the settin'-room with
your pa," volunteered Lucinda, limply knit
ting away at a yarn sock, as she sat over tho
The sea-shell pink in Priscilla's cheeks deep
ened to a poppy-red, as usual, under her sister-in-law's
"Wal, 1 declare," snapped tho querulous
woman, crossly. "Your cheeks are a-gittin'
as red as clover-bolis. I don't reckon it's you
Mr. Chceseboro's after. I heerd 'em a-talkin
'bout the real heifer; reckon he wants to trade
"'Tain't likely a poor girl like you is a-goin'
to git sich a fore-handed man as Felix.
" Why, the Cheeseboro farm's wuth a hundred
dollars an acre, every foot of it. An' thero's
forty acres in niedder-grass alone.
"The girl that gits the owner o' that farm '11
be a lucky one, I tell you.
"An', any way, I reckon you're cut out fur
an old maid, Priscilly.''
Priscilla stmined away the milk in the bright
tin puns, without deiguing a reply to her sister-in-law's
"Hello," cried Farmer Quisenberry, coming
out to the kitchen in his home-riun coat and
blue " ducking " overalls. " What d'ye reckon
Felix wants, Priscilly?"
Priscilla hesitated, blushing deeper than
"Go 'long in, Priscilly," he said ; "I reckon
you know what he wants, and you know best
whether he kin hev it, or not."
And Priscilla smoothed down her red-brown
tresses, and went shyly in to meet her lover.
'While Mrs. Lucinda stared in amazement,
and Farmer Quisenberry warmed his hands
complacently over the kitchen stove.
" Who'd a' thought," ho said, " that a darter
o' mine would ever do so well as that? Why,
thar aint a gal 'round here, rich or poor, lut
what would a' felt sot up to git Felix Cheese
boro. They'd a snapped at him."
And Mrs. Lucinda stared in greater amaze
ment than ever; for it seemed Priscilla was
not cut out for an old maid, after all.
An old physician, retired from practice, hav
ing had placed in his hands by an East India
missionary the formula of a simple vegetable
remedy for the speedy and permanent cure for
Consumption, Bronchitis, Catarrh, Asthma, and
all throat and lung affections, also a positivo
and radical cure for nervous debility and all
nervous complaints, after having tested its
wonderful curative powers in thousands of
cases, has felt it his duty to make it known to
his suffering fellows. Actuated by this motive
and a desire to relievo human suffering, 1 will
send free of charge, to all who desire it, this
recipe, in Cierman, French, or English, with
full directions for preparing and using. Sent
by mail by addressing, with stamp, naming this
paper, W. A. NoYfcs, 119 Power's Mock, Rochester,
The United States is worth $50,000,000,000,
or $.b000,OQO,000 more than England, and $13.
000,000,000 more than France.
SONGS OF THE CAMP.
The Old Army IUnnKct A Tarodj.
By II. T.I'eek.
How precious to view are the old army treasures
Now serving as relies in many u home!
Mementos of days of more hardship than pleas
ures, Expre.ieivoly mute, and with eloquence dumb.
Again we go back to our rations ot "hurd-tuek"
And "salt inula" that oft made our btomucha
In mind, as we gnzo on the musty old haversnok
That hangs by the blanket that served us po well.
The obi army blanket, the course? woolen
Kowuioth-calcn blanket that served us fo well.
When, after n long, weary march in the country.
To camp wo returned ftjolhitf dirty as ".shacks.
It liil not surprise us to find that our blankets
Had captmed a number of Southern "jjrav
baeks." Then, at the day's close, while in bivouac resting,
As over the multitude peacefiilncss fell,
How oft we have pillowed our head on a fence-rail,
Enwrapped by the blanket that served us so well.
The old army blanket, the warm army blanket,
The prized army blanket that served us so well.
In fresh recollection there conic up before us
The scenes of our army life, stirring and sad
The battle-field stern, where Heath's demons in
Shriek out their deep malice in utterance mad.
Again, in the uwful collision of forces,
We li-t the sharp minie, the hurtling shell
The foretaste of bell, where Confusion rejoices
Kevived by tho blanket that served us so well.
The old army blanket, the useful old blanket,
The comforting blanket that served us so well.
How many n comrade, who'-e step did not falter,
With holy ambition went forth to the fight.
Determined to place on hi country's high altar
His life, if need be, in defence of the l.'ight!
How ninny a hero, thus haloed with glory.
We've laid in his grave near the spot where bo
Unknelled and uneollincd, and ghastly and gory.
But wrapped in tho blanket that served him so
The old army blanket, tho shroud-destined
Which e'en to the lastberved the martyr so well.
How oft at the ontpot we're stood in the darknnsq.
While cold was Hie wind and relentless the stoi in,
As muskets anon gave relief to the blaekne.-s,
And pulled tho old cloth round our shivering
'Tis thus that the mind in its active condition
On scenes of the eonlhct imlineth to dwell,
Ami thus do wo nri.e m its n.e-eiit position
The old army blanket th.it i-ervcd us so well.
The old army blanket, the historic blanket,
The eloquent blanket that served us so well.
Thank Ood that the days of the war are now ended,
And J'eaee o'er our land spreads her mantle once
While once hostile sections, in harmony blended,
Engage in the labor that servos to restore.
So while to our children we nai rate the story
How patriots fought and so gallantly fell,
Liko the banner wo bore, now embalmed in Its
We'll keep the old blanket that served so well
Theolii army blanket, that precious old blanket
In gratitude keep, since it served us so well.
If this allusion has the quality of being some
what obscure to the uninitiated reader, ho is re
spectfully referred for further partioulais to any
ex-soldier who has had tho experience of at least
ono active camp.iigu. 11. T. Peck.
New Haves, Conn., Jan., 1833.
Alone, alone, how dark ami drear
Is life within this prison cell!
My cold damp couch j-H-m.- hut a bier,
My very voice a funeral knell
That sadly tolls amid my pains,
In mockery oftlio.se iron chains.
I hear the mule of the bells
Float out upon the summer's nlr
Now like the sea their chorus qwells,
Now faintly as the breath of prayer
Yet lingering still as if to bless
My heart within its loneliness.
The tide comes up from out tho bay,
Tho sails rule to and fro,
I stand and watch them all the day
m Out on the stream below;
Hut bending sail nor flowing sea
Brings one sweet word of joy to me.
For tieason taints the soft South nir,
And orphans cry aloud for bread; i
While Murder stalking everywhere.
Laughs o'er its own iiuhuricd dead
Till Hell seems bursting all allame,
And Freedom hides her face iu shame.
Oh, strike again, ye marshaled hosts
Who dTaw the sword for Liberty!
For now the hated tyrant boasts
"This land shall bow to Slavery."
And yonder where the blue eios.s waves
Goes up the shout, " Ye too are nluves!"
Let not the Vast be all in vain.
Nor pause to soothe th widowed sorrow;
Thy heroes sleep upon tho plain.
And glory waits thee on the morrow;
For God will hold tho Freeman's hand,
And guide thee well, my own proud land!
Linnv I'nifcos, 1'iciimoni,.Va., Jan. 0, 1SG1.
The Lost Colors.
By Mary A. Bnrr.
It was on the Crimea's dreary plain,
When Fngland fought tho Russian power;
A regiment 'mid fiery ram,
Forgot in some tremendous hour
To keep their honor fair and bright
f'ut ens the victory w.is won.
Smitten with pal. id coward fright,
The post of duty left ; and run.
Next morn they keenly felt their shame;
With drooping heads upon parade.
They heard the stern, cold words of blame,
That robbed eaeh soldier of his grade :
"You have disgraced the (lag you bore.
And stuiiiM what once was fair and bright.
Your hund-i 'shall never bear it more
Without your eolors you must light."
For many weeks they had their slmmo,
Of freezing watch and fiery strife;
Their punishment was hard to bear;
A constant shame oatwearies life.
With contrite words they ask again,
Tho colors that should o'er them wave,
And vow'd " to keep them free from stain,
The colors of the True and Brave."
The General aid, "It may be so;
Yon hill with men anil camion blnck
Must I e re-taken ; they who go
To do that work, must not turn back,
But " (pointing to the topmost peak
Where Russian llags were flying fair)
"This is the hopeful word I speak:
J'our colors, soldiers, arc iij there!'"
Each sought bis captain's kindling eyo,
'then in a moment lurn'd about;
They meant to take tho hill, or die,
As up they went with ringing shout.
And the great army, watching, saw
The victory, not too dearly nought,
When on the very topmost tower,
The humbled colors proudly lloat.
Fihruary Wide Au-ahi
S! lined in Prison.
By Geo. F. Boot.
nad they fallen in the battle,
With the old Hag waving high,
We should morn, but not m anguish,
For the soldier thus would die.
But the dear boys starv'd m prison,
Helpless, friendless and alone,
While the haughty rebel leaders
Heard, unmov'd, each dying groan.
CllOitCS Yes they starved in pens and prisons,
Helpless, friendless and alo.ie!
And their woo can ne'er bo spoken
Nor their agony bo known.
Had they died in ward or sick room,
Nursed with but a soldier's cure,
Wo should mourn, but still bo thankful
That it human heart was there;
But the dear boys sturv'd in prison,
Helpless, friendless and alone,
While tho heartless rebel leaders
Heard, unmov'd, each dying groan.
Yea, they starved, fcc.
Oh! tho thought so sad comes o'er us,
In this hour of joy and pride,
That the heat Is we loved so fondly
Might be beating by our side;
But the dear boys starvM in prison,
Helpless, friendless and alone,
Whilo tho cruel rebel leaders
Heard, unmov'd, eaeh dying groan.
Yes, they starved, fcc.
The Army Ilean.
(;ttr. " Sweet Bye and Bye.")
Thero's a spot that tho soldiers all love,
The lness-tenl'.s the place that wo mean,
Ami the dii-lfthat we like to see there,
Is tho old-fashioned whito Army Bean,
'Tis the bean that we mean,
And well eat as wo ne'er ato before ;
The Army Bean, nice and clean,
We'll stick to our beans over more.
Now tho bean in its primitive state
Is n plant wo have all often met;
Anil when cooked in tho old army stylo
It has charms wo can uuver foiget.
The German Is fond of sauer-kmut.
The potato is loved by the Mick,
But we soldiers have long since found out
That thro' life to our beans we should stick.
IIkfiiais. Air. "Tell Aunt Bhody."
Beans for breakfast
Beans for dinner,
Beans for supper,
Boaus, Beans, Beans.
OUR YOUNG FOLKS,
Swimming for Life An Adventure
By David Ker.
"Xo sign of a sail yet, Jim?"
" Nary, one, Jack. I guess our timo's come."
Jim Hackett had indeed some cause for say
ing so, and he said it in a dejected tono, which
was rare indeed with him. To bo afloat on a
boundless sea without knowing where ono is,
or having any means of finding out, is an awk
ward matter at best ; but to bo alloat in the
middle of the Pacific, without food or water, in
an open boat, under a scorching sun, with not
a 6ail in sight, might well make the bravest
Slowly and wearily the two worn-out men
(sole survivors of the fearful disasterwbich had
destroyed their vessel and all their shipmates)
rose to their feet and strained their blood-shot
eyes over the bright, merciless sen.
" Not a suil anywheres,'' repented Hackett,
despondently; "and we can't catch ono o' thorn
fish that's a-Vrolickin' around the boat by hun
dreds. God help us!"
"So he will, my boy, never fear. D'yo re
member how, when we two were at school
together in the old Bay State, our old teacher
used to bo always spinning a yarn about some
captain who (when his ship was aground and
likely to go to pieces any minute), after he'd
given his orders and done all ho could, said his
prayers and lay down to sleep ; and the Ad
miral, when he heard of it, said ho was the
bravest man he'd ever known ? Now, Jim, let's
just say oitr prayers, and then have a nap; for
I reckon we've done all wo can, und tho rest's
in better hands than ours."
No car but God's heard tho short, simple
prayer which the doomed men uttered, in their
extremest need, from the midst of the desolatO
sea. A very few minutes later both were sottnd
asleep under tho scanty shelter which tho rag
of sail could give against the life-destroying
heat of the sun.
They selpt for some time, but at length the
increasing coolness of the evening air after tho
scorching heat of the day began to have its
natural clfect upon tho two sleepers. They
awoke almost at tho same moment, rubbed
their eyes, and then sat up aud looked around
The sun was beginning to sink, but every
thing was still as light as noonday, aud a fresh
breeze had sprang up, milling the smooth sur
face into countless ririples.
"Jim," cried Jack, suddenly, in a tono of
great excitement, "your eyes are bettcr'n
mine: lookout thereto tho nor'west, and seo
if you mako out anything."
"1 guess 1 do," cried his companion, joyfully.
'" Hold on a minute til! I make sure. Yes, it is,
sure enough it's a sail!"
With clinched teeth and straining ej'cs tho
two castaways stood watching the distant
speck on which hung their only chance of life.
All at once a kind of spasm shook their rugged
faces as it became terribly evident that the
course which she was stcoring would not bring
her anywhere near their boat.
They tried to signal with the remnant of
their sail, but it was neither large enough nor
high enough to be seen at such a distance.
They made frantic efforts to shout, but the
feeble cry which their parched throats could
utter would not have been heard fifty yards off.
Suddenly, just when all hope seemed gone,
the wind shifted, aud tho vessel was seen to
alter her course.
The castaways raised a faint hurrah; but in
another moment Jim's keen eye perceived that
although this new tack would bring tho ship
much nearer to them than before she would
still pass at a considerable distance from them,
and might very easily miss seeing them alto
gether. "There's only one way now, mate," said he,
firmly, "and I'm a-going to try it, for it's neck
or nothing with us now. God bless vott my
A loud splash followed the words, and Jim
Hackett, looking up with a start, saw his com
rade's round black head already several yards
away from tho boat. But ho saw something
elso, which startled him even more, and that
was a huge black object, which rose suddenly
through the smooth, bright water, and darted
swiftly and silently in pursuit of his uncon
"Look out, Jack!" shouted he, with all the
power of his failing voice; "here's a shark!"
Scarcely had he spoken when a second shark
appeared, and the (taring swimmer found him
self beset on both sides at once. His onjy
chance was to make as much stir and splashing
iu the water as possible, thus keeping the cow
ardly sea-pirates at bay; but the ell'ort ex
hausted even more rapidly his fast-failing
strength. What a terribly long way off tho
vessel seemed ! and supposing she were to alter
her course again, where would he be? Instinct
ively ho glanced back toward tho boat. The
boat was gune!
Gone, as if it had never been hidden be
hind the long smooth swells that rose high
above his head every moment! There was no
return for him now, for lie knew not even
which direction to take; and on he went, strug
gling for life with limbs that grew weaker at
every stroke, while tho cruel eyes and gaping
jaws on cither side drew closer and closer,
hungering for their pray.
"Sam," said a keen-eyed sailor to his chum,
glancing over tho vessel's port quarter, "ain't
that mighty like a man, somehow?"
"A man ! " echoed tho passing Captain, bring
ing his telescope to his eye. "Thunder! so it
is! Put her head about, smart, and stand-by
to lower the boat!"
The help came none too soon, for Jack was so
spent that he could only gasp out, "My mate
yonder boat." Cut it was quite enough.
Half an hour later Jim Hackett was safe on
board likewise; and tho two rescued men lived
to tell their children and grandchildren tho
story of their adventure in the Pacific. Ilar
imJs Young People.
Tho Apothecary's Curious Valentino and
Cmne of It.
By II. B. B. Ur.
Tt was a lonely houso for a child to live in
only papa, who had been ill for many months,
little Ida herself, the ten-year-old mistress of
the establishment, and Mrs. Libby the house
keeper. Across the street tho postman had
been ringing all day. Ida Avatching at the
window, with apieco of red flannel around her
throat, bad seen little lads aud lassies slipping
envelopes under the doors; then small girls,
and sometimes big girls, came out on tho steps;
looked up and down tho street, and smiled as
if they were very much pleased.
" Why do they get so many letters to-day?"
asked Ida timidly.
Mrs. Libby was cleaning the nursery closet,
and answered shortly: " Those are valentines;
come away from tho window. You'll get cold."
" Valentines," said Ida thoughtfully to her
self ; " 1 wonder what that is."
She slipped down to the library and dragged
the V encyclopedia beside the register. Ida
bad long since adopted the plan of looking up
Mrs. Libby's replies in papa's library. The
child's head bout over the page: " Valentines
a declaration of affection between two people,
sent on St. Valentine's Day, the fourteenth of
"A valentine must be something very nice,"
thought Ida, " the children over tho way were
so happy; 1 wish I could send ono, but I only
know .Mrs. Libby. And with a sigh, sho put
the heavy book back. Mrs. Libby came down
stairs with her bonnet and shawl on, and Ida,
taking a small purso from her pocket, asked,
" Will you please to buy a valentine?"
" What for? "
" For mo to give to you."
"Nonsense! Little girls don't send valen
tines to old women like me. Keep your ten
cents to put in the box, when you get well
enough to go to church."
Ida sat still a long time after this. She
wanted to bo liko other little girls, but all tho
little girls she had ever known intimately were
in books, and it so happened that none of these
had ever spoken of Valentine's Day. The
telephone bell rang. Ida heard the housemaid
order " five pounds of coil'ce crushed sugar to
be sent up immediately," and then an idea
came into tho child's mind : "1 can't go out to
buy a valentine, but 1 can telephone ono."
She repeated again, " A valentine is a declara
tion of af lection ; yes ! I can telephone a decla
ration of atlect ion. Mrs. Libby is out. Papa
can't hear in his room, and I'll getiMjny to go
down and look at tho furnace,." Thus Ida
made her plans.
The next question was, To whom should sho
send her valentine?
"I'd better look on the telephono list. Seth
Bennett, M. D. That's the doctor who comes
to see papa and me: ho wouldn't be in he is
always out. John Dixon, grocer, Thomas Irv
ing, baker; oh, here js It. H. Whitney! That's
the nice apothecary man who brings the medi
cines. I'd like to send him a valentine."
Itiehard Whitney's clerk stood at tho tele
phone. Messages were coming in very fast
that February afternoon. Sam Jones, the un
der clerk, was putting up the packages: " Ono
porous plaster for Mrs. Lewis. Two ounces pul
verized slippery elm bark, sent immediately to
1! Spruce st. Some one wants to speak to Mr.
Whitney." "All right," . he shouted back
through the telephone. "lie's in tho back
shop ; I'll call him.
There was a smell of chloroform in the back
shop. Mr. Whitney, on top of a step ladder,
was preparing a prescription.
" Lady wants to speak to you, sir," said the
" Couldn't she give the message?"
"Said she couldn't."
"Mr. Whitney went to tho telephono and
called " What's wanted ? "
To his astonished ears came hack: "I send
you a declaration of affection."
"1 do not understand," said the apothecary,
not quite sure of his hearing.
Tho messugo was repeated, each word very
"Who is it?"
Sam Jones, judging from the expression of
Mr. Whitney's face that it was a case of strang
ling, convulsions, or poisoning, had taken down
his hat ready to run. "No matter, Sam," said
his employer, returning to the choloform at
niosphere of the back shop. It could not be a
joke; the voico was too sweet and true. A
child's voice a little girl's, he thought but
he did not know any little girls. It might be
one of the orphans at tho asylum probably
was. F.vi rv Christmas Pichard Whitney had
been ii the habit of sending a number of small
bottles of cologne to the large brick house over
the way. He did it from principle, not from
anj acquaintance with the children.
Valentine's evening there was an exhibition
at the asylum. Pirhard Whitney went. " Such
a kind gentleman," said the matron; "bespoke
to every child."
Then the public school examinations took
place. Richard Whitney attended them all.
He becam a Sunday-school superintendent ;
next ho got his sister to give a little girl's
"Mr. Whitney has grown awful fond of chil
dren all of a sudden," said the head clerk to
the second clerk. Ah, but no one knew he was
listening for tho voice of his Valentine. Tho
apothecary and Ida's papa were old friends; of
late years they had seldom met, but theso last
months of Mr. Hammond's illness had brought
them together again. Ida w:is a shy child and
kept out of the way of visitors. The apothe
cary was not aware that he had ever seen her.
One April afternoon he met a womanly little
girl corning down stairs with a tray "in her
hand. " Miss Ida, I suppose," ho said passing
her. Ida nodded gravely, and as Richard
Whitney looked over the balustrade he thought,
"What a lonely life for a child! I wonder if
she goes out much ! I will give her a drive to
morrow. Mr. Hammond was very weak that night, and
when Richard Whitney, bending over him.
asked, "John,' will you trust your little daugh
ter to me? the only reply was a tighter clasp of
Early tho next morning Sam Jones left a
parcel of gum-drops and a note for Miss Ida
Hammond. Presently the telephone bell rang
and the head clerk said again, "A lady wishes
to speak to you."
The message was simply this: "Thank you
very much : I cannot go papa is worse."
Richard Whitney started. It was tho voice
he had waited so long to hear. " Why, it's
Hammond's little girl." he said, hurrying down
the street. " Poor child ! "
Papa died a few days later, leaving his little
daughter in the care of his old friend; and
now, every day, a child in a black dress comes
into tho shop, to walk home with undo Rich
ard. "Wonder why ho calls her Valentine;
thought her name was Ida," said the head
"Perhaps Valentine is her middle name,"
suggested Sam Jones.
"That must bo it," said tho head clerk;
"yci, that must certainly be tho reason."
JFMc Awake for February.
A Soldier's Dying Wish.
Shortly after the close of the war a soldier's
fair was given at Music Hall, Boston, and
among the many interesting incidents was tho
followfng related by tho correspondent cf tho
Albany Evening Journal:
As I stood to-day looking at tho bristling lines of
bayonets that rhe on either side of the great organ,
and are surmounted by the blood stained banners of
the Massachusetts regiments, I was conscious of a
stir and murmur in the crowd that caused mc to
turn and look behind me. A pale and haggard
countenance, lit by eyes of wonderful power and
expression, met me. and I drew back instinctively
to make room for their possessor.
Ho was " only a private," but had enlisted in the
Sixth Massachusetts the very next day ufter the
President's call for troops in 18(51; had been
wounded in that ever memorable passage through
the city of Baltimore, but had continued in the
service until finally, at Fredericksburg, his leg was
shot away, and his lower jaw was torn and terribly
disfigured by n minie ball. Now, dying with eon
sumption, he had come home, and "could not die
in peace," he said, " until he had been carried to
the ball to look at the tattered and bloody flag
under which ho had fought so long." He was
supported by two men, and slowly and painfully
made his way up to the platform where it hung,
waving solemnly as if pronouncing a benediction
on the poor pilgrim who had given bis life in its
As be reverently lifted bis cap and saluted it, it
required no prophetic vision to see the martyr's
crown already descending on that young head;
and many a heart in that vast crowd was baptized
anew in the Hood of patriotic devotion that welled
up into "eyes all unused to tears."
A few ft et from him stood Edward Everett, the
scholar, the statesman, ami tho patriot, whom New
England delights to honor; but in the great book of
records who shall say that the name of this poor,
common soldier may not shine as brightly if it can
not hold as lofty a place?
What Becomes of Lost Jen els.
From the Boston. Journal.
Several months ago a lady residing on Bea
con street took off a number of rings from her
iingerslind laid them upon her dressing table.
After washing her hands sho returned to tho
room to replace her rings, when, to her aston
ishment, one of them, a diamond ring, was
missing. She was certain that sho took the
ring from her linger, and equally certain that
no one could have entered tho room without
her knowledge during the live minutes she
had been in the bath room. A most rigid !
search was instituted, but tho missing ring,
valued at $200, was not found. A few weeks
sinco tho lady was much annoyed by mice.
Almost nightly they held their rovels. They
not only destroyed hor sleep, but choico laces
were mutilated. The lady procured a trap, one
of the old-fashioned kind, and, having baited
it with a tempting hit of cheese, placing it near
the scene of depredations. On tho following
morning sho had three fine silky mice of vari
ous sizes. One of them was so peculiarly con
structed that it attracted her attention, as it
appeared to havo a string tied around its body.
The servant girl was instructed to drown the
captives, and reset the trap, and she was about
to throw the dead mice into the dirt barrel
when her eyo was attracted by a sparkle from
what proved to be the lost diamond ring, which
was not perceptible when the mouse was alive,
but which came to light after the severe soak
ing which the mouse received. It is supposed
that in his hasto to get away he ran his head
through the ring, and subsequent struggles
only forced it over his forelegs, where it
From the Bodie Free Press.
Last September several young ladies and
gentlemen from Bodie, California, visited
Lundy on a picnic excursion. Whilo out fish
ing in tho lake one of the ladies dropped a
small earring overboard, and it immediately
disappeared. She mourned her loss, of courso,
and never expected to seo the piece of jewelry
again. On Monday last John Murphy, a Mill
Creek miner, caught a three-pound trout in
Lake Lundy while fishing through a hole in tho
ice. When tho fish was opened the lost earring
was found inbedded in one of its gills. When
tho earring sunk in the water the trout evi
dently grabbed it, and in trying to swallow it
the pin pierced tho gill.
They Could only Pull Hair.
" I enclose an account of the Reunion of the Ring
gold cavalry. Some of the survivors of that com
mand are residents of Washington, among them
Joseph P. Hart, who was as bravo a man as ever
lived. One day at Komney, West Virginia, during
the rebel charge, a. bullet cut away part of bis
whiskers, whereupon he ordered his men to ad
vance, remarking that tho gray-backs could only
pull hair." H. Cruig Slushcr, Lone Piuo, Pa,
The Apotlieosl3 of the I'.raTc Spirits who Perished
The following is an extract from the eloquent
address of Geo. S. Kimball delivered at the
memorial social, held in the G. A- R. rooms
at Carbondale, Pa., on the 17th tilt., in com
memoration of those who died at Audersonville :
Aiidar.sonvillo has proved to the nineteenth cen
tury that it has, hcroed comparable with any in the
worhUs history. It has rescued IiumAu nature fro: a
the taunt of some of our modern writers, that '" Vw
days of chivalry are past and heroes are-no more
Gaunt famine had fed upon them until they were
mere skeletons; persecution and hunger had re
duced the physical man to helplessness aud des
pair; they had been steeped in the essence of
misery so long, that death seemed like u friend and
life like a lieud. " Hope, weary with its wutohing '
had faded from their hearts. As they looked over
the tops of the murmuring pmes. they knew of i
home away off there, a paradise that had 1oeii lost,
alas, a paradise that many would not regain. B't
principle was still living though the flesh w.m
dying. There was ono thing which rebel hatred
could not kill, one thing which grew brighter,
grander and more brilliant in the midst of this ap
palling misery. It was their unyielding loyalty,
their loie for the principles of "liberty for which
they were dying. "As the flash which lighted up
the valley during the darkness of a midnightntorm
impress that scene upon the mind more than a hun
dred enemies,'' "O will the gleam of this shining
example of undyins fortitude during that midnight
of misery impress this generation more than a hun
dred battles. It was remarkable how dauntless
they were before temptation. Many wre the trials
they endured. The rebel authorities, anxious to
use them, would try at first to break their spirit by
three or four days' starvation, thinking they would
be ready to yield to nny proposition that promised
food or shelter. One poor old man from one of the
Western regiments who had seen his own boy st.r o
to death by his side was told that if be would go
into a rebel's blacksmith shop and give them the
benefit of his skill, that he should have food, cloth
ing and shelter. He turned upon them and said
"You can crush the life out of my boy and bring
me to tha brink of death, but you cannot stain my
soul with treason. No, I will not serve you."
While burying a soldier in one of the trenches they
discovered under his clothes tho old Hag. He had
concealed it in this manner that it might not be
trampled on by its foes. !t. had wranned a noblo
flag around a noble heart and died nobly in pre
serving it. Such was the spirit of the Anderson
ville heroes, and as such should we remember them,
for as over the grave of Cornelia was written thi3
epitaph, "The mother of tho Gracchi," so over tho
graves of these men should be written, "The heroes
cf the nineteenth century."
"And where are ye, oh fearless men,
And where are ye to-day?
I cull ! the bills reply again
That ye have passed away.
That on old Milan's lonely heights,
In Anderaonviile and Ciutrleston ground.
The grass grows green, the harvest bright,
Above each soldier's mound.
The bugle's wild aud warlike blast
Shall muster them no more ;
An army now might thunder paat
And they not heed its roar.
That stnrry flag 'nentli which they fought
In many a bloody day,
From their old graves shall rouse them not,
For they have passed away.
THE MYSTERIOUS SPRING.
An Andersonville Prisoner Relates the Story of Its
Comrade R. P. Black, of Parker City, Pa.,
who was a prisoner at Andersonville, gives the
following account of tho origin of the provi
dential spring described by Little Bed Cap in
the course of his reminiscences:
I was one of the instruments employed by Provi
dence in discovering that spring. Do any of niv
old comrades recollect the conspiracy that was
formed in the prison for the purpose of making our
escape in a body, and discovered by Wirz onlv a,
few hours before being attempted? I havo not
seen it mentioned by nny one. but doubtless many
will now recall it. It was got up by a sergeant
from Indiana, I think, and I was directly interested
in it, in fact one of the first to join. We were mus
tered or sworn in by a very binding oath, and on
the recommendation of at least two members of it.
We were sworn to secrecy, to obey our leaders
promptly even if instant death was the result. Wo
made the best of preparations our means would al
low of in every way. We dug tunnels from inside
the stockade to under where those artillery gun3
Mood outside, near Wirz's headquarters, and made
the space under the guns large enough to hold ten
or fifteen men. We also had tunnels to near where
the guns stood near the north gate. We also dug
more from near the head of the swamp in to the
stockade, about one-quarter of the way from the
brook to the north gate, and mined out all the dirt
for nearly seventy feet along the stockade, leaving
it so that by making a rush in a body against the
stockade, it would all fall outward, making an im
mense gap, by which we expected to get out in a
body and overpower the guards. In digging out
this dirt we luid trouble with water coming in on
us, and drove plugs in the water-courses to hold it
back, but there must have been considerable water
there to keep that swamp so wet and muddy in the
dryest and hottest weather. If the ex-prisoners
will just think, that spring started just after a wet
spell which softened the ground and gave the water
a chance to break into our old tunnel bole. It
came out near one of our entrances. Do they also
remember the time of the "bis flood" in July,
when the brook was raised and that mined place in
the stockade fell down, antTWirz and his guards
k'ad to turn out in the rain and stand there to keep
us in? It was that much consolation to us at the
time. We were not the only ones that got wet, but
our work and plans were all frustrated, for some
one turned informer and told Wirz the whole plan
in the forenoon, (we were to make the attempt at 3
p. m..) and soon notices of the information were
posted all through the prison, troops were seen
coming in by train loads and the artillery was
placed to rake the prison with grape and canister.
We mised getting out. but we gave the rebs a good
scare, and had something to engage our minds and
time which kept us from fretting or giving way to
despair while we wero at work. Hope springs
eternal in the human breast, and hope in this case
kept us up while at it. and we could only laugh
and hope for better luck next time. The'one wo
suspected for informing on us was a one-legged
prisoner captured at Chickainauga. He went by
the name of Chickainauga or "The Parrott," tho
latter name on account of his terrible big hooked
nose. The prisoners were down on him from this
on, until one day he walked deliberately inside the
dead-line, and. after repeated warnings, avos shot
dead by one of the sentry.
A Leaf From tha Experience of a SnrrlTOr of
In onr issue of the 25th nit. we printed a
letter from Perry E. Fanning, the twelve-year-old
son of an ex-soldier and ex-prisoner, in the
courso of which the request was made that
somebody would give an account of life at
Salisbury prison. In response to this request,
Comrade T. J. Libby, of Scarboro, Me., write3
as follows :
I see by Tun Tnintrxn that you wish to know
.something more about that prison-pen, Sdisburv.
than your father has told you. I will give you a
little history of my experience there, and you can
compare it with your father's statement. I was a
private in Company C, Twelfth Maino Vet. Vols.,
and served through the war from 1S61 to 1S65. I
bad served almost three years when I was captured
at Cedar Creek, Shenandoah Valley, Va. There
were 1.300 captured with me. You remember that
famous ride of Sheridan's from Winchester to
Cedar Creek, where he turned our troops buck and
won the day after the defeat in the morning. Weil,
we prisoners were marched from Cedar Creek to
Jstuunton sixty miles in two days, with nothing
to eat but two ears of green corn per man. Then
they took a lwrrel of bread and put it on a hill,
broke out the beads, and told the boys to get what
they could. Some got a little, and many got nono
at all. Then wo were put iu cattle cars sity men
to a ear and sent to Richmond, having ii tho
meantime been robbed of everything we hud
clothes, money, watches, &e. At Richmond we
were sent to Libby prison, which I found to be the
best of nny. Wo got a little bacon and bread and
corn, and plenty of water, and had a elean floor to
sleep on. We stayed there only five clays. From
Richmond wo were bent to Danville, N. C, where
wo remained a lew days, and were then shipped by
ruil to Salisbury. On arriving there in tho morn
ing wo were formed in line, and kept there until
chirk in a drenchingrain with nothing to eot. After
dark the rebels opened the gate and drove us into
that prison hell. I wandered around in the dark
to find shelter, but there was none. I fell over lots of
men lying on the ground. In the morning I awoke
to find myself in a place worse than a common
barn-yard, and several dead men lying on the
ground near me. Wo did not have any shelter for
six weeks. Then they guve us tents enough for
about one-third the men. We took turns in sleep
ing in tho tents, but sickness and death soon
thinned our ranks and we had plenty of room, but
nothing to cut. Our rations were "generally ono
pint of cob-meal, raw, and one pint of soup. The
soup was about three pounds of rice boiled in one
halt barrel of water, without meat or salt. The
cob-meal we were obliged to cat raw more than
half the time. When we comd obtain tire wo
burned tho hulls out on an old piece of tin plate.
Wo received meat thirteen times in six months.
We only got the refuse pieces that the rebels would
not eat, the amount given at one time being about
one-quarter pound. No person that was not n
prisoner can possibly imagine the suffering we
endured. In a little less than six months over one
half tho men died. If you went to the hospital ono
day, you would take a " ride to the ditch " the next.
The men were simply alive. They could not even
think, the whole body being deprived of its func
tions by starvation. In my case, when I entered
the prison I weighed 1S7 pounds; when paroled
I weighed only lftl pounds and could just erai 1
around. Then I had an attack of typhoid fever,
recovered a little, took, cold, had rheumutie fever,
from which I have never recovered fullv, but can
not get a pension because I can't show any bullct
bolcs; but I sutler more every day than many who
Thomas J. Libby.
''Beauty Unadorned (with pimples) Is Adorned
If you desire a fair complexion free from
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Medical Discovery." By druggists. t