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ANY-«- » --e« El INIIIIIJx « - - - ji«-» z «ikwm::EIJL-- « L Leids-i kkxlsqizxzxxxjkxnox 38-.- — l.i;.«-« « « 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.