Litchfield enquirer. [volume], December 01, 1864, Image 1

About Litchfield enquirer. [volume] (Litchfield, Conn.) 1829-current

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1«tTCHF1-ELD.00NN.. THURSDAY, DECEMBER 1. 1864
WHOLE NO. 9063.
«- .
Published every Thursday morning, by
JAMES HUMPHREY. JR.,
Ill Lord's Building next to the Court House,
t ! LITCHFIELD, CONN.
TERMS.
SUBSCRIPTION PER ANNUM.
Tillage subscribers (by carrier) and single mail
subscribers. In Advance,._ $2.00
Subscribers off carrier’s route, and mail
, igvbseribers, in bundles, In Advance,.. 2.00
Linglft copies, 5 cents.
Postage Free within this County.
ADVERTISING.
Fourteen lines or less—1, at 9 weeks, 1.00
Each week thereafter,... 20
Probate and other legal notices at usual rates.
, Nearly advertisements at the following rates:
tine column $75 one half column $37 ; one
third column $25; one fourth .column $18.
Business Notices not exceeding half a squaie,
$3 per annum.
Obituary Notices and Poetry five cents a line.
BOOK AND JOB PRINTING,
Of all descriptions, neatly and promptly done.
BUSINESS DIRECTORY.
Mansion House.
FM. HALE, PROPRIETOR, Litchfield,
. Conn. 4tf
E. W. Seymour,
Attorney and counsellor at law,
Litchfield. Conn.
George M. Woodruff,
Attorney and counsellor at law,
and Commissioner of Deeds for the State
6f Ndw York. Litchfield (lonn
Hollister Sc Hicbox,
ATTORNIES & COUNSELLORS AT LAW
Office in Seymour’s Building, Litchfield
Conn. 20
Sanford & Giddlngs,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW, New Milford, Conn.
Particular attention paid to Students.
, H. S. SANFORD is Notary Public and Com
miasionei for New York.
H. 8. Sanfobd. [.ly 1 V. C. Giddinos.
Garry H. Miner, M. D.,
JUSTICE OF THE PEACE and CLAIM
v AGENT,. Moviis, Conn. 2816°^
American and Foreign Pat
ent Mining and Claim
dcimr.
40LDIBRS CLAIMS AND PKNSION S'COLL ECTED.
RICE & SWIFT,
2 00 Broadway. New York.
CLINTON- RICH. FREDERICK B. SWIFT.
September 28, 1SG4. - 24tf
DENIAL NOTICE.
jj<^i-.aath, TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS ($25)
" Cash, will, for the next six months
J npfx? pay (or a full Sot of Upper Teeth,
on IS Curat Gold, and warranted to fit, and
made better than any made for the same price
n Hartford, as I don’t as yet, for the want of
business, whip the Cat to got work.
.1 will be found at the old Stand whose I have
nneuforthe past live years, ovei the Post Of
dice,.South-Street, Litchfield.
Thankful for the liberal patronago I have
reqeivei for years past, I hope, by closest ap
.plh atlpri to my own business, to merit and re
ceive a continuance of the same.
E. CROSS MAN.
Litchfield, Jan. 1802. tf-37
: t David C. Buckley,
JTkEALER IN HOUSEHQLD FURNITURE
fly of all kinds and prices, Chairs, Tables,
Bureaus, Bedsteads and Coffins. Also, Picture
Frames. Toilet Stands and Sofas made and
■old with neatness, elegance and despatch.
Warehouse, West St., Litchfield, Conn. Iy39
~~r~ • "
- Bishop Sc Netlgwick,
B BALERS in DRY GOODS. READY MADE
plothing. Boots and Slices, Hardware,
Crockery, Groceries, &c., &c., West .Street,
Litchfield, Conn.
*0. B. BtSHOP. T. S. SEDQWICK.
Wm. H. Brnmau,
Dealer an foreign aud staple dry
Goods, Groceries, Crockery, Glass Ware,
land Yankee Notions, Nj>. 6, West Street, one
dost west of the Court House, Litchfield Conn.
-----
J. is, 'WALKER.
Over the Post Office, South-st., Litchfield,Ct
Manufacturer and dealer in
Saddles, Harness, Bridles, Halters, Whip
! Lashes, Sockets. Surcingles, Orna
ments, Trimmings, dec.
Koumin'l Oil Blacking
For preserving, softening, and renewing the
pearaoce of Harness, Carriage tops, &c.
Hade'to order ail kinds dt double and sin
gle Harness of superior Style and workman
ahip, and of tyha best material.
C'iias. Hotchklsi Sc Son,
WOLCOTTVILjub, conn.,
‘■H&aotical architects and build
m BBS, Manufacturers of Sash, Doors,
Wads^MouldingR, Ac., and Dealers in Lumber
-■Sawing and Plan , notice.
Starch 4.1801. tf 46
• ■ 9 !■ i- ■-. .
CM AS. KIRCH BERGER,
BOOT AND SHOE-MAKER,
■ JmOOTS A SHOES made to order and re
19 paired. Bobbers Repaired.
Iron and Brass Boot and Shoe Heelg—a recti ’
Ifclunt RnM
Utohfleld. Jan. 20th, 1864. tf 41
ASSESSORS BLANKS,'
W quantity. Neatly and cheap
JL Jy done at
: ONE DAY'S NOTICE
Assessors may send orders by
^ Enquirer Office,Litchfield.
. >!-"■-» ■ 1 ■■
BISHOP A SEDGWICK’S.
too
.
1
, Vortrxx
Mb. Editob Will yon please give a place
in your paper to the following, written by a
soldier who participated in the battle of Oct.
19th, 1864:
Hattie of Cedar Creek.
Tune—“ Old Dab Tdckib."
Old Early camped at Fisher’s Hill,
Resolved some Tankee blood to spill;
He chose his time when Phil, was gone,
The Tankee camp to fall upon.
Get out ot the way, says Gen. Early,
I’ve come to drive joU from the Valley.
At night, like thief, of sense bereft,
He marched his troops around onr left,
With orders strict unto his boys,
To nothing take—’twould make a noise.
While they weTe on their mission bent,
We YaDks were sleeping in our tents ;
Until the rebe with rousing volley,
Warned us to sleep wits death aad folly.
Get out, &c.
Old Early carried out his plan,
Surprising Crook and his command,
Who had not time their lines to form.
So sudden came the rebel storm.
Now when the Eighth Corps all bad run,
Old Early thought it jovial fun ;
Hut Gen Grover, (God bless his name,)
Said he would help them play the game.
Get out, &c.
He funnel a IriiS the pike along,
To check-old Early and his throng ;
And here he held the rebs at bay,
’dill he was flanked from every way.
This gave the Sixth Corps time to form,
Who bravely faced Ihe rebel storm;
’Till me Ninth Corps had time to rally.
To stop the rebels in he Valley.
Get out, &c.
Now the Jobnn'es thought the victory won,
And their usual pillaging begun ;
Robbing the dead and wounded too,
As none but Southern bloods can do.
Now when the day was almost lost,
God sends a re-intorcing host ’,
The host he sends is hut a man.
But that’s the noble Sheridan.
Now turn your tune, says he to Early,
You've come too late to get the Valley.
On, on he comes with lightning speed,
Crying, who hath done this awful deed f
He’d better fare 'neath Southern skies,
Who dares my sleeping camp surprise.
Get out of the way, says Pl.il to Early,
You’ve come too late to get the Valley,
Ah, there another sound is heard,
And Liberty’s the rallying word ;
And every hea t is filled with pride,
To si.o their gallant leader ride.
Saying, Form quick, and we’ll the fight renew,
And see what right with wrong can do;
By night our camp we will regain,
And vengeance have for t hose that's slain.
Then orders flew from left to right.
And glorious was the evening sight;
The rebels flew 'mid the cannon's roar.
Losing all they’d gained and thousands moie.
Maryland, Fair, Maryland.
BY IULKW1LD.
Columbia greets her daughter true,
%ryla nd, Fair Mary laud,
To thee a nation s praise is due,
Maryland, Fair Maryland,
For thou hast made the traitor rue
The hour he placed his hopes on you,
And hurl’d him from thy hills of blue—
Mary laud, Fair Maryland.
Oh, proudly lift thy loyal crest,
Maryland, Fair Maryland,
For nobly hast thou borne the test,
Maryland, Fair Maryland;
The gem, the traitor sought to res',
Fair Liberty, God’s own bequest—
Still brightly decks tby loyal breast,
Maryland, Fair Maryland.
Thy noble hand triumphant raise,
Maryland, Fair Maryland,
Aocept a nation's grateful praise,
Maryland, Fair Maryland ;
For thou hast shunned Rebellion’s ways,
And tprned thy face with welcome gase
To bask ’neath Freedom’s holier rays,
Maryland, Fair Maryland.
T , I 1 ' : .
In sorrow hows a nation's head,
Maryland, Fair Maryland,
A tribiilo to thy noble dead,
Maryland, Fair Maryland;
But now the trait’rous foes has fled,
Thou’U feel no more a despot’s tread,
And Peace will o’er thee blessings shed,
Maryland, Fair Maryland.
And when our States united are,
Maryland, Fair Maryland,
When Peace usurps the place of War,
Maryland, Fair Maryland,
Then—through the red lips of each scar,
Tby deeds shall beam more glorious far
Than shines the beauteous Evening Star,
Maryland, Fair Maryland.
[From the N. Y. Evening Post.]
Tlie Negro on the Fence.
A wagoner, with grist for mtti
Was stalled at bottom of a hill :
A brawny negro passed that way,
So 8tout he might a lion slay :
".I’ll put my shoulder to the wheels
If you’ll bestir your horse’s heels!”
So said the African, and made
A« if to render timely aid.
"No,” cried the wagoner, "stand back !
I’ll take no help from one that’s black ;
And to the negro's great surprise,
Flourished his whip before his eyes.
Our " darkey” quick " skedaddled” thence,
And sat upon the wayside fence.
Then went the wagoner to work,
And lashed his horses to a,jerk ; .
But all his efforts were in vain,
With shout, and oath, and whip and rein,
The wheels budged not a single inch,
And tighter grew the wagoner’s pinch. •
Directly there came by a child
With toiling step and vision wild:
"Father,” said she, with hunger dread,
'• We famish for-the want of bread.”
Then spake the negro: “ If you will,
I'll help your horses to the mill.”
The wagoner, in grievous plight,
Now raved and swore with all his might
Because the negro wasn’tjwhite,
And plainly ordered him to go
To a certain place that’s down below.
Then rushing came the wagoner’s wife,
To save her own and infant’s life.
By robbers waa their homertead Backed,
And smoke and blood their pillage tracked.
Here stops our tale. When last observed,
The wagoner was still “ conserved”
In mud at bottom of the hill,
But bent on getting to the mill;
And hard by, not a rod from thence.
The negro eat upon the fenee. r .
• V v r
« Misckllany ,
T
[From Harper's Weekly ]
BUYING A RECRUIT.
The slanting afternoon sunshine drew lines
of gold across the velvet grass at Central Park
—the air just touched with a keen soupcon of
coming frosts, was full of October sweetness ;
and the full tide of metropolitan fashion was
rolling down the drive, while Jarvis Payne
leaned against a rustic iron chair at the junc -
tion of two broad roads, and surveyed the
“turn outs” with a. critical eye.
‘ Heigh ho ! sighed Mr. Payne, drearily, ‘it’s
rather tiresome work standing here, and not
seeing a soul one knows. It’s a dreadful bore
not having anything to do with one’s self t I
wish I was a rope-dancer—or a policeman—or
one of those chaps in overalls, pegging away at
thestone wall on Fifth A venue. I wish—Why.
hallo, Maurice Almy, this Is never yon ?'
For a stylish little carriage with one gentle
man driving in front, and a solemn-servant
with folded arms occupying the back seat, con
jointly with a velvet topped crutch, had dashed
close up to him with a sodden check.
' Whom else should it be ?' demanded a clear
merry voice ‘Jump up quick; the horses
aren’t feathers to hold in ; and t feel quite con
scious that two months in bed don’t make a
fellow any stronger than he was before 1 Are
you all right ? Then here goes !’
‘But, Almy.’ stammered the astounded Jar
vis, * 1 thought you were laid up for winter.’
‘Not I; it takes more than a chance bullet
bole to use me up.’
‘Put your foot—’
‘Oh. it is healing up all right. A little pain
ful yet; and I rather imagine it Will take more
than two months of practice to convince myself
that a crutch is better than a foot. How
ever—’
‘ I suppose I must call you Major Almy now,’
said Payne, lightly touching the glittering in
signia on his companion’s broad shoulder. Al
my’s brow contracted.
‘Major Almy. off duty for the rest of his life !
Oh, if I were but the lowest private in my regi
ment, to be able to strike another blow for the
cause I honor ! See here, Jarvis Payne ! what
are you doing at such a time as this? Why
don’t you enlist? Come! go in my vacant
place !’
Jarvis Payna shook his head with a calm
ness that was exquisitely irritating to the en
thusiastic young officer.
‘ We don't look at the thing in the same
light. Maurice.
‘Jarvis Payne, don’t give me reason to sus
pect that you have joined the crew of Copper
heads 1 Remember I'm strong enough yet to
pitch you out of the cr.rriuge 1’
Payne smiled. ;
‘Gently. Almy; wo shall both have our
necks broken, if you drive in that hap-hazard
style I’
‘ Thpti am I to suppose that you care a sliv
er for the country ?’
1 Oh. yes ; I love my country well enough,’
yawned Payne. ‘ Don’t I pay my income tax,
and give a quarter to every old imposter that
comes along with an army Woe suit and a
mile long lie about the hospital he has been
discharged from ? Of course I am patriotic
enough, and all that sort of thing; but that is
no reason why I should go and butt my head
up against Jeff Davis’s ciuinon !’
• And you call yourself a citizen of the
American Republic ?’
‘ I take that liberty.’
‘ And avail yourself unhlashingly of the
privilege of a government which you are un
willing to uphold ?
‘ Hold on there I—there are two sides to
that argument, if you please, (low very pret
ty Miss Aubrey looks to-night, and what a
gracious smile she gave you ! Til y sav she
is uncommonly sweet on you Maurice—eh ?'
‘ Nonsense I’ ejaculated M ■ j >r Almv, vexed
to feel the blood mounting to his pale cheek.
‘ There I’ ptupued Pavne, she's turned half]
way round to look at that interesting crutch of
yours. It is a great thing to be a wounded
soldier, with pleuty of money. But, as I was
saying—’
• Yes, as yon were saying—’
‘ What’s the nse of trumping off to the
wars myself, when I've paid money enough to
hire half a dozen Irishmen to stand up and be
shot at.’
‘ But we don’t want money—we want men ’
‘ Meaning that you want mo. No, I thank
you !'
‘ Jarvis, I never thought you wera a cow
ard.’
• Now, look here, Almy ? exclaimed Payne,
roused at last into the semblance of energy,
‘ that’s not fair. I am not a red hot fa- atic
on the subject of war, neither do I pretend to
be. You are one of the fiery, dashing fellows
that fairly enjoy marohfng up to a line of fixed
bayonets. Fighting is your element—you like
the fun I’
‘ Tba/un,’ repeated Almy, in a low, grave
Voice, glancing down at the bandaged stump
that lay on a cushion close to the dash board.
* Well, I mean, of course, the excitement of
the thing. It is no sacrifice for you to turn
soldier, and draw your pay in gfo'ry, trumpet
blasts t>om all the papers, a major's shoulder
straps, and a bouquet for your sick room every
day, with Miss Aubrey's card stuck into it. It
is not so disagreeable to fight for one’s coun
try on sach terms as those 1 But I mean to
say that when it came to any act of real, disa
greeable self denial, you wouldn't be any read
ier than I am. As I said before, it is a mat
ter of personal taste. Let the country call
upon Major Maurice Almy to saw wood or cut
out army coats at a dollar a day for its bene
fit, and matters would wear altogether a dif
ferent aspect I’
‘ Do you think so ?’
' I am sure of it.’
‘ I should just like a fair trial—that’s all 1’
‘ Should yon ? Well, then, listen to me,’
said Payue, with the sneering smile that Al
my particularly disliked : “ You are an in
grain aristocrat, Maurice Almy, with fastidi
ous tastes that a thousand years of soldier
life would only tend to deepen. Don't shake
your head—1 know you better than you know
yourself. Now I am willing to make a bar
gain with yon.’
* State your terms.’ _
1 Do you know old Raeburn, the" shoe-ma
ker ?
* Do I know him ? No, I believe I have
not the pleasure of a personal acquaintance;
but I know whom you mean—an old Jew of a
fellow whom the ladies rather like to patron
ize, in--street.’
* Old Raeburn is very much in want of a
clerk in his store, to sell shoe-strings, count
\ the cash, and keep his accounts, besides doing
any other dittv work that comes uppermost.’
1 Is he ? What the mischief is tl^kt to me?’
I Just this. If yon will take the position
and fulfil its dnties just for one day—
‘ Me ? In Isaac Raeburn's store ?'
II will enlist the next dev,’ porsned Payne,
with a smi'e that betokened how little proba
bility he saw his proposal being for an insUnt
entertained. Now we shall see whether Major
Maurice Almy really loves his country any bet
ter than I do 1’
'You are in earnest;’ asked Almy, turning
round so as to look full into bis companion’s
|sarcastic eye.
I ‘Of coarse, l am.’
1 Well, then, agreed 1 When do my duties
commence ?’ .
‘ Not just yet, of conrse—your foot—’
‘Oh, hang niy foot! Say next week ?’
‘ Yes ; but mind you this is a secret between
us. You go in as Raeburn’s bona fide clerk,
not as a knight of romance, fulfilling some rash
vow.’
‘All right; I will be as silent as the grave.’
‘You’ll never screw up courage to face your
fashionable acquaintance behind old Raeburn’s
counter. It’s a capital joke now. bnt it will
lose its point when the time comes. I am
quite safe.’
Almy laughed and touched up his horses as
thev dashed in Bloomingdale Road.
‘ Mind,* ejaculated Payne, as he dismounted
from the carriage, ‘ it is te be a whole day.’
‘ Two, if you like.’
•No, one will be sufficient; I merely wished
to test the point.’ And he walked away men
tally chuckling to think how he had cornered
the haughty young officer, whose moustache
and horses were the be3t ‘gotten up’ in Central
Park.
‘ Manrice, wbat on earth hava yon been do
ing to yourself? Where’s your uniform?—
Whv do you wear that ahsurd old gray suit ?’
Mury Almv held up both hands in dismay,
Manrice himself was scarcely less disconcerted ;
he had not reckoned on this rerounter.
‘ My dear Polly. I thought you were safely
packed off for three weeks in Albany !’
‘ But I had to come back for my reticule.—
There's no hurry ; T shan’t miss the train. Se
riously, Manrice, what is the meaning of this
masquerade!’
‘Only one of my idiosyncrasies, as Carrie
Dewey used to say. Poor little Carrie. T won
der what has become of her! I think she was
the prettiest little creature I ever saw.’
Mary Alm-y's face grew grave : she had honed
her brother had forgotten the boy and girl at
tachment of four years ago, broken off abrupt
ly by the worldly wise guardians, who thought
that Carrie Dewey’s blue eyes wejje scarcely
an equivalent for the wealth of the Almys.
‘ Nonsense, Maurice ! Why, Pa-ker will be
ashamed to yon drive out P
‘ I should be sorry to hurt Parker’s delicate,
feelings ; but fortunately 1 am not going to
order the carriage; I shall take an omnibus.’
‘ With your foot!’
Maurice put his hand caressing on his sister’s
arm—
‘ Polly, how many of the wounded men in
our regiment do you suppose keep a carriage ?
And yet they contrive to exist comfortably.’
Mary made a little grimace ; but she remem
bered the railroad time table, and hurried down
stairs, greatly to her brother’s relief.
‘ Major Almv, a clerk in Raeburn’s store 1 I
don’t believe a’ word of it I’
Miss Edith Aubrey gave the plume on her
velvet hat a little contemptuous toss.
• But I tell you, my dear, I saw hint there,’
said Mrs. Melville, delighted at having come
into possession of such an invaluable morsel of
gossip, ‘ selling a t ox of corn-plaster to old
Dr. Jeffreys. Yon may depend upon it, their
fine fortune has blown up—how true it is that
riches have wings! After all Mary Almy’s
airs and graces, to think of lmr brother in a
shoe store!'
‘ My dear, the Almy’s are just the kind of
people to refuse any such trifling help from the
Government, and re y entirely on their own
exertions. As proud ns Lucifer, you know.
Ah me! the changes in this world ! Wouldn’t
you like to go round there, Edith ? I left my
glove oil purpose,'
Maurice Almy was secretly consulting h*s
watch, and marvelling at. the ah w motion of
its hour hand, when Mr. R eburn’s shrill,
cracked voice summoned him with a comical
air of authority.
‘Young man, young man, I sayl You'll
never learn the shoe trade correct if you stand
dawdlin’ there. Just look on the shelf under
the counter, and give me a pair of them No.
8 calf skins ?’
Maurice stooped with some difficulty, laugh
ing mentally at his own vexation as he did so
The next moment he started nervously, as Miss
Aubrey's low voice, on the other side of the
counter reached his ear.
• Ot course there never was anything more
than a flirtation betwopn us. Fancy me being
tied for life to gt poor soldier with one foot I ’
‘ Well, respouded Mrs. Melville, • you know
people will talk, and—’ She stopped abruptly,
and touched her companion's elbow. ‘There
he is I’ Do you suppose he heard us. Edith ?'
Miss Aubrey's cheeks were like scarlet, as
she acknowledged Almy’s bow with the least
possible nod.
• I left a glove here. I believe.’ began.Mrs
Melville. ‘ Oh,thank you ; that's ail.’
And the two ladies beat rather an ignomini
ous retreat, while Maurice looke 1 after them
with a curious smile.
‘ Please, sir, mammy want's a pair of leather
shoe-strings; how mnch be they?’ asked a
ragged elf whose eyes were just on a level witti
the counter.
Maurice turned the box of leather strings
dubiously this way and that.
‘ Five cents. I believe they are marked.’
‘ Oh dear 1' lamented the little one, ‘ and I
ain’t got but fonr!”
‘ Never mind—it’s all right,’ returned the
clerk, absently, tossing the little paper parcel
across the counter.
‘ All right! It’s all wrong. I say 1’ croaked
Raeburn, turning, livid with rage, as he scram
bled Out of his high dask, just in time to see
the ragged calico skirts disappearing down the
street. ■ Why didn’t you send her home fo*
t'other penny ? What d’ye mean by sellin'
our first class articles under price?'
■ Really, sir, said Almy, coloring, ‘ I didn't
suppose it was of so much importance.'
* Dear me. dear me !’ groaned the old man
'you’ll never answer my purpose in the world.
I took yon in just to oblige Mr. Payne, and
out of charity—’tisn’t every man who would
employ a clerk who has to go on a crutch—and
this is the way you scatter my money. Now,
I jest give you fair warnin’, you’ve got to toe
the mark a little straighter if—
He broke off and shuffled smilingly down the
store to attend a customer, while Maurice Almy
checked a strong impulse to resign his post by
a stilL stronger recollection ot the recruit he
was purchasing.
‘ Not twelve yet! Will the day never come
to an end ?’ he pondered, slowly obeying the
imperious gestures of his employer, and ad
vanced to meet a pale-looking girl in a shabby
black dress, who crept meekly up to the
counter.
‘ Are my si*is mended yet?’ she asked
without looking up. ‘ The Dame was Dewey.’
‘ Carrie.’
She started with a wild, frightened glance.
‘Mr. Almy 1’
The ubiquitous Raeburn poshed forward a
pair of worn little gaiters, embellished with
a black leatbei patch on the Bide.
‘ Fifteen cents,’ was his brief commentary,
Maurice took up the quarter which Carrie
laid down, and his cheek flushed as lie laid it
in the money drawer, and returned a dingy ten
cent stamp.
‘ Don’t .go yet, Carrie,” he pleaded, inwardly
execrating the fate that kept him a prisoner in
the dark little store. ;* Tell me where yon are,
and what yon are doing*”
•I live in W-street,’ tail Carrie, ven
turing to lift her bine eyes to Maurice’s face,
‘ and am coloring photographs. And yon ?’
‘ As you see,’ he returned, ‘lama clerk in .
a shoe store.’
She paused and hesitated a moment, then ;
spoke in a hurried, embarrassed tone, as her J
eye rested on his worn coat and pallid fea
tures.
‘Oh, Maurice !’ she said ; ‘you don’t like to
tell me all, bnt I see it nevertheless. You are
lame, and look sick, and I am afraid you are in
want. We read in the paper about bow you
were wounded, but we never thought you could
be poor- We are very poor, too. but I have
a little money laid up. Oh, Maurice! if you
would only take it for the sake of old times —
Indeed, indeed, I don’t want it.’
Maurice felt a choking sensation in his
throat as he looked into the shy, lovely face,
flushed with its pitying earnestness of appeal.
‘ No, yon dear little Fairy Bountiful.’ he said
trying to speak lightly, ‘I don’t want your
hard-earned money : but I may want some
thing else one of these days.’
‘ What, Maurice.’
‘ Can’t you guess?’
She tnrnpd away with a fresh glow on her
cheek, and tripped out of the store, holding
the worn little gaiters tightly under her shawl,
while Maurice found it harder than ever to
sell shoe-strings, rubber sandals, and cork
soles to his master's satisfaction.
At length the long, long weary day darkened
into night, and Mr. Raeburn, whose monthly
gas loills were sharper to his sou) than a ser
pent’s tooth, prepared to close his establish
ment.
Maurice Almy was counting up the tiny s re
ceipt’s with his employer’s sharp face close to
his shoulder, when Jarvis Payne came in.
‘ Well, old fellow !' was his greeting.
1 Well. Payne. Thirty-seven dollars, seven
and sixpence, sir.’
‘ Yes. all right, young man. You'll be here
early in the morning?’
‘ He won’t return, Mr. Raeburn.’said Pavne.
I’m much obliged to you for giving him the
day’s trial, but I hardly think you’ll suit each
other.’
Mr. Raeburn ttared as the two young men
left the store. Tt was a [roblem beyond his
powers of solntion.
1 Altny,’ ejaculated Payne. as they passed
into the cheerful glare of Broadway, you’ve
got more back bone than I bad any idea of.’
‘ Thank yon,’ returned Almy. dryly.
‘ I give up. I confess myself fairly defeated.
I'll enlist to-morrcw morning. Tell me,
though, wasn’t it a hard day’s work?’
‘Rather ; but- I have done harder.’
‘ You have trained your recruit, old fellow,
said Payne, with rather a dolorous accent.
‘ I have gained something else, too.’
• What, pray ?’
‘ Never mind, jnst now. Perhaps I’ll tell
yon, one of these days. Jarvis Payne,’ he ad
ded, with singular emphasis, 1 you have done
me the greatest favor I ever received in my
life through this odd freak of yours.’
‘Well, it was an odd idea,’ owned Payne,
frankly. ‘I never supposed you’d have the
nerve and resolution to carry it through. How
^roti have set the women's tongues wagging, to
be sure ! Edith Aubrey is going round from
place to place, telling people that there never
was any engagement between you.’
* She is quite right : and she might add that
there never will be !’ said Almy, compressing
his lips, while in his eye there sparkled a depth
of quiet, scorn that Payne had never seen.
1 Won’t s'ip start, though to-morrow, when
she sees vou driving in Central Park, with old
Parker sitting np behind sliffer than a ram
rod !’ exclaimed Pavne. bursting into a laugh.
‘ I’d give a nice little sum to see her face.’
People had not got through marvelling at
the unaccountable enlistment of Jarvis Payne,
when the sudden marriage of Major Almy sup
plied them with fresh material for wonder.—
And when private Payne just come in from
picket duty among the piny solitude of a lonely
mountain camp, received a long letter contain
ing the wedding cards of Mauriee Almy and
Carrie Dewey, lie guessed shrewdly at the
something else which Maurice had gained on
the eventful day when he bought his recruit.
From the Jersey City Times.
Great Railroad Disaster.
We have to record the most extensive and
fatal casualty ever known in this country.
Yesterday, [Nov. 8] morning at an early hour,
a very large train left Orange, New Jersey, en
route for the White House, Washington. Dis
trict of Columbia, under the charge of chief
engineer George B. McClellan. It was ex
pected to make the trip through in twelve
hours. The train was very heavily laden with
merchandise shipped by a New York Jew
house, August Belmont, agent. All the cop
perheads in the country were passengers, be
sides a few innocent people who had been de
luded into taking an excursion trip by the of
fer of dead-bead tickets. Horatio Seymour
of New York was the conductor, assisted hy
Franklin Pierce, C. L. VaMandigham and Jo
el Parker. Ben Wood was appointed to hold
all the money received for fare3. and wore a
hat band marked conspicuously 3-11-44. For
convenience and comfort, the passengers Were
classified in the cars ; the fogies under the
charge of Robert C. Winthrop and Millard
Fillmore; the short boys under John Van Bu
ren and Captain Rypders, the mountebanks
and minstrels led by Jack Roger* and Marble,
editor of the World, and the clergymen mar
shalled by the Very Reverends C. Chauncey
Burr and H. J. Van Dyke. There were seve
ral care that were intended to be attached to
-the train that did not make the connection—
one from Canada with George N. Sander-', con
ductor, and a roomy one from New York,
filled with Governor Seymour’s ‘ frieods,’ were
both detained by the unwarrantable interfer
ance of a man named Benjamin F. Butler,
who came to New York, last week to 4 stop a
spelh’ The cars were gorgeously decorated
with such elegant mottoes as the following :
‘ Butter has riz,’ ‘ Abe Lincoln is a gorilla,’
‘Little Mike’s the b’y De Jabers.’ • Niggers for
slaves, Irishmen for our masters.’ • VVe are
coming, brother Jeff,’ 4 Let us change our
base,’ 4 Here’s your spaniels for you, Massa
Davis.’ They moved out of the Orange de
pot gaily,Ho the tune of Dixie, though the
engineer hesitated, when the final moment of
departure came, about stepping on the plat
form, and was at last only got on board by a
little expedient of Fernando Wood, who palled
him into the train backwards by his coat tail.
Engineer McClellan was dressed in the fall rig
of s Major General, for.which his Uncle Sam
paid. He was very nervous, and remarked
that be should .prefer a gunboat to a rido on
such a locomotive. This engine was a new
one, built at Chicago last August, but on a
plan designed by Benedict Arnold, and subse
quently improved by Aaron Burr and John C.
Calhoun. It was built to the order of Jeff.
Davis, and bore the "engaging name of 4 Ces
sation,’ which was adopted as a slight change
from the original designation 4 Secession.’ It
occasioned a good deal of remark that hardly
any soldier took passage on the train. There
were some men named Grant, Sheridan, Sher
man, Hooker and Dix around, who very un
generously expressed doubts as to the safely of
the track and the ability of the engineer, and
it is supposed this prejudiced the 1 Mae coal'
boy*. Besides this, the conductor of the t»>*
refused to have an American flag on the en
gine, and the soldiers have a stnbborn feeling
of prejudice on that subject. Notwithstand
ing these slight drawbacks, the train moved
off with the good wishes and cheers of all the
rebel soldiers in Lee’s army, all the British
aristocrats, the pirate Semmes and his friends.
From all that can be learned from the inco
herent talk of the few survivors of the sad ca
tastrophe, it appears that there was tronbje
from the very start. The engineer and his
fireman Pendleton, quarrelled all the trip,
about the method of firing up, and the coii
dnctors and the fare-taker were constantly giv
ing contradictory orders to the brakeman, and
nervous conservative old gentlemen pulled
constantly at the bell-rope, giving engineer
McClellan no end of trouble. Just how the
accident happened no one can tell now, but
certain it is, that before the train got half way
through, there was a shocking smash up. The
locomotive exploded, the cars were all piled
up in fragments, the track torn up, and such a
multitude of passengers fatally injured that it
is doubtful if their names can ever be ascer
tained. Some assert that an old Illinois joker,
familiarly called Old Abe. caused the disaster
by putting a rail on the track ; others, that
the fireman Pendleton let too much water out
•of the peace tank upon the fire in McClellan's
boiler; others, that Vallandigham ran the
train off the track by dropping an ‘ 0. A. K.’
stick of timber under the wheels ; still others,
that the engineer was frightened by suddenly
discovering 1 a nigger ip his wood pile or. the
tender.’ and overturned the engine by attempt
ing to ‘change his base' too suddenly. What
ever the cause, there is no doubt of the com
plete wreck of the whole train, and the sad
fate of the excursionists. There are but slight
fragments of the more distinguished persons
that are recognizable. Ben Wood is missing
altogether, except his 4-11-44 badge, Fernan
do was recogn ized by a copy of the statute of
limitations in his trousers pockets; tioratio
Seymour and Vallandigham were found locked
fast in each others’ arms, and crushed under
the weight of certain ‘ dry goods boxes that
contained bogus soldiers’ votes; Governor
Parker was badly bruised and lost his eyesight,
so that he can’t see it any more ; Pendleton
was pitched headlong into a nasty ditch filled
with secession mud, which choked him. and as
for the engineer, he was blown so much higher
than Gilderoy’s kite, and was so minutely pul
verized that there is no ocular proof that any
sr.ch man ever existed. The funeral of these
excursionists will, very soon, be attended in
Richmond. Va., by Jeff Davis and all his cab
inet, and it is currently reported U. S. Grant
mav attend, not, however, as a mourner. There
will be no more trains run on this road, as the
company being made bankrupt by this calam
ity, will immediately wind up Its affairs. The
Union lin.e is, however, in good running or
der.
POSTSCRIPT.
Since our first report, a few additional facts
of interest have come to light. Upon clear
ing away the wreck a little, one car marked
New Jersey was found partially standing, but
the south end of it was knocked into ‘ smithe
reens.’ Jim Wall, when taken from under the
platform, was badly injured, hut his tongue
still running, was heard to matter that this
wis • a d—d sight worse than arbitrary arrest.’
Jack Rogers, who got out alive, though a Lit
ttt hurt—and was frantically inquiring if Dan
Holsnfan or any other friend had saved his sil
ver quarter of a dollar for him ! Friend^ Mid
rlleton was past all help, though Dr. Newell
kindly offered his services, hut George feebly
gasped out, that he ‘ had had enough of that I'
livery Jerseyman in the South end of the car
h'ad gone crazy from the effect of the concus
sion and raved about seeing Starr’s. A lot of
Governor Seymour’s1 friends’ from New York,
who had got into the Jersey car, succeeded in
pulling General Wright out with comparative
lv little injury. A survey of tjie wreck of this
car shows the utter impossibility of its ejjj8r
being repaired or run again.and the fragments,
together with a couple of rickety old platform
c irs, labelled Delaware and Kentucky, which
were not winch damaged, are all that can be
saved. They are to be given to Jim Brooks,
who is expected to open a political junk shop
where he will sell Know Nothing relics, Mc
Clellan badges, fragments of the platform,
and such odds and ends for the benefit of the
few Survivors. Horatio Seymour lingered in
very painful agony until last night, and
though all the drugs in the World were cram
med into him in the hope of saving his life, it
was of no use. Artemns Ward announces
that he wll write * A troothful akount ov
Seymour’s onprofitable life, and his ontimely
and striking eend.’ for his next show, and
thinks it will dror like a yoke of steers I’ We
cannot close this brief report without stating
that it is said, that when that unfeeling old
gorilla,.1 Old Abe,’ read our report in Wednes
day’s paper, he said it reminded him of a lit
tle joke, but, when himself reminded that the
funeral wasn’t over yet. he said he guessed he
wouldn’t tell it till the 4th of March next,
which was likely to be an imposing occasion.
TRUTH.
The following beautiful illustration of the
simplicity and power of truth, is from the pen
of S. H. Hammond, (formerly editor of the
Albaoy State Register. He was an eye-wit
ness of the scene in one of the high yoilrts :
A little girl,.nine years of age, was offered
as a witness against a prisoner who was on
trial for a felony committed in her father’s
house.
i Now, Emily,’ said the counsel for the pris
oner, npon her being off-red as a-witness, ‘ I
desire to know if you understand the nature of
an oath.’
‘ I don’t know what you mean,’ was the sim
ple answer.
• There, your bouor,’ said the connsel ad
dressing the court, ‘ is anything farther neces
sary to demonstrate the validity of my objec
tion ? This witness should be rejected. She
does not comprehend the nature of an oath.'
1 Let me see,’ said the Judge. ‘ Come here,
my daughter.’
Assured by the kind manner and tone of the
Judge, the child stepped forward to him, look
ing confidingly np in hi3 face, with a calm,
clear eye, and in a manner so artless and frank,
that it went straight to the heart. _
1 Did yon ever take an oath V inquired the
Judge.
The little child stepped back with a look
of horror, and the red blood mantled in a blush
all over her face and neck as she answered ;
‘ No, sir.’
She thought he intended to inquire if she
had ever blasphemed.
‘ I do not mean that,’ said the Judge, wlio
saw her mistake ; ‘ I mean were yon «ver a
witness before?’
• No, Sir ;■ I never was in court before,’ was
the answer.
He handed her the Bible open.
< Do yon know that book, my daughter ?’
asked the Judge.
She looked at it, and answered, * Yes, sir,
it is the Bible.’
• Do yon ever read it?’ he asked.
' Yee, sir, every evening.’
# •
‘ Can yon tell me what th« Bible is T’ in
quired the Judge.
‘ It ia the word of the great God,’ aha an
swered.
_ * Well, place yonr band npon this Bible, and
listen to what I say and he repeated slowly
the oath nasally administered to witnesses
‘ Now, said the judge, ‘ you have bean sworn
as a witness ; will you tell me wbat will befall
you if you do not tell theUrnth T’
* 1 shall be shut up in the State Prison,’ an
swered the child.
‘ Anything else,’ asked ihe judge*
‘ I shall never go to heaven,’ she replied.
‘ How do yon know this ?’ asked thy Judge
again.
The child took the Bible, and turning rapidly
to the chapter containing the commandments,
pointed to the injunction—* Thou shalt not
bear false witness against yonr neighbor.’ i
learned that before I could read.’
Has any one talked to yon about your being
a witness in court againBt this man V said thu
judge.
* Yes, sir, she replied, • my mother heard
they wanted ine to be a witness, and lust night
she called me to her room, and asked me to
tell her the Ten Commandments, and then we
kneeled down together, and she prayed that I
might understand how wicked it was to b -ar
false witness against my neighbor, and thu
God would help me, a little child, to tell the
troth as it was before Him; and when l cnme
up with mother, see kissed me, and told ine 10
remember the Ninth commandment, and that
God would hear every word that I said.'
‘ Dn you believe this ?’ asked the judge,
while a tear glistened in his eye, and bis lip
quivered with emotion.
‘ Yes, sir,’ said the child, with a voice anil
manner that showed her conviction of its truth
was perfect.
1 God bless you, my child, sai i the judge ;—
you have a good mother. This witness is
competent. Were I on trial for my life, and
innocent of the charges against me, I wouM
pray God for such a witness as this. L'« her
be examined.’
She told her story with the simplicity of a
child, as she was, but there was a directm ss
about tt which carried conviction of its truth
to tile heart. She was rigidly cross-examined.
The couhsel plied her with infinite and my n
ious questionings, but she varied from her first
statement in nothing. The truth ns spoken hr
that little child was sublime. Falsehood and
perjury had preceded her testimony. The
prisoner had entrenched himself in lies, till tie
deemed himself impregnable. Witnesses hu i
falsified facts in his favor, and villainy had
manufactured for him a sham defense. Uut
before her testimony, falsehood was scattered
like chaff. The little child, for whom a mother
had prayed for strength to be given bur to
speak the truth as it was before God, broke
the cunning device of matured villainy to pieces
like the potter's vessel. The strength that her
mother prayed for was given her, and the sub
lime and terrible ‘simplicity——ten i de, I mean,
to the prisoner and his associates—with which
he spoke, was like a revelation from God him
self.
The “Major" Sold.—An individual of (he
uncommon name of Smith, and a reel lent of
New York, to-day entered the editorial pres
ence. Smith is a grave and nnimpassione l
man, if his looks belie him not, and Sn t-o
scattering himself, addressed him to the task
of reading the World, and without comment,
except the compression of his Brows now a >|
then. Mr Smith possessed hims if of the con
tents ot that delightful sheet. (So far be it
known Smith lia<l not said a word, beyond the
usual salutation, “How dy’edo f" 4c.)—Invest
ed his still frowning brow with his hat. mi l
walked savagely toward the door. The Major,
not halt' liking this kind of treatment, asked,
“Well! what’s the matter, yon elected Fenton,
didn’t you “Yes,” responded he, shutting
the door ; opening it immediately, however, he
tendered the information ihat Fenton would
turn out the meanest Governor Now York ever
had. 41 What, says the Major hotly,” Fenton,
he’s always been called the most gentlemanly
man in Congress, the very idea of hone tv —
“Yes," says the impertnrfaHs Smith, "but he
wid turn out Seymour, won’t he,”—and he
sloped. The Major has been looking for hlut
ever since.—Jersey Oily Tima.
Georgia Coving Back.—The Nashville
Union states that Jadge Right of Georcin,
formerly a member of the United StAtes Con
gress, has passed through that city to \Va->h
ington, to see what can be done towards bring
ing about a pence. He reports the common
people as for peace. The Georgia Legislature
convenes in a few days, when efforts will be
made to save the State by coming back ielo
the Union.
Immigration.—The following is a statement
showing the number of arrivals of foreign
emigrants in the district and "port of New
York, during the three months comprising the
The following show the number of emigranis
who have arrived at those ports during the
year commencing Sept. 30, 1863, and ending
This shows that notwithstanding the effect*
of tl>o terrible war in which we are engage'!,
and the efforts made by eur enemies abroad,
there ba« ben an enormous increase in tint
rush of people of the Old World to a land tint
' m.. m
Houss and FaB» Hints —Don't talk when
you are milking. A farmer discharged a hand,
because lie talked loud and much while milk
ing, and the cows gained more than theman's
wages in milk by the change to silence
Now is the time to make your bulb bed* —
h’^cinths, crocuses, tulips, ' etc. Make the
sou deep, mellow, and tolerably rich, and see
that the water liaB a chance to drain off. The
beds should be narrow, so that all parts can I e
reached from the alleys or walks. Bet the
bulbs about six inches apqrt and fonr deep. -
Before winter set in, cover the beds with lea Vo*,
or the straw from the manure heap, to help
keep out the frost. This should be removed >*
soon as hard frosts are over—in this latltn. %
the latter part of March.
To keep eggs : take bags made of thick cot
ton, large enough to slip an egg in, and leu j
enough to hold one dozen : All the begs and tie
the end with strong cords, and hang them up
in the.cellar; turn them end for end once ~r
twice a week, and your-oggs will keep fresh all
winter.
Pickle for hams ; 100 lbs. meat; 9 lbs. salt;
5 oz. saltpetre ; 1 quart molasses, 4 os. pepper ;
1 spoonful saleratus. Another: 6 lbs. salt; 1
os. saltpetre; 1-2 pint molasses.
Seasoning for sausages: 40 lbs. meat; 1 IK
salt; 3 os. pepper ( 1-2 pint pulverised sage.
Molasses cake ; two-cups of sour cream, me
cup of molasses, one -taUespooafnl of ginger,
one teaspooafnl of salt, one teaspoonfnl rf soda;
stir in flour enough to make a stiff batter, and
bake quick.
The head of a cauliflower, raised in Pulaski,
jjf. Y., was fonr feet and one Inch in clreiun •
ference. Its diameter one way was two f<et
four inches.
Squeaking boots can he cured .by saturatln *
their soles in boiled linseed oil—pot on hot.
Neat’s feot is the best oil for leather, and p«
it on when the leather is damp and supple. ; .
To cure whooping cough—let the victims ■»
hale the air from the purifying apparatnr uf u <*'
works. In England, the children are Kk»*
dally to the gas works for this .purpose.