The Union. [volume], December 18, 1863, Image 1

About The Union. [volume] (Georgetown, Del.) 1863-1866

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<£ttc Soft's (Povutr.
the
utind
watch
of
been
"
dare
'taiu't
I
it's
[ Written for the Union .]
THE OLD ARM CHAIR
By Cousin Willie.
The old aim chair, the old arm chair,
Il s been a living iminy a your;
It'd rested many a i»o«r, tired man,
Wh »'s bfcCï: home to a grave yard lund.
Thu .Id arm uliair, it', joints du ortxk,
And thut's a sign thut he is weak;
The old
la rudely tossed by life's rough aca.
The old
Is fading lust, like you, L tear;
It s youth and beauty tied away,
And you, like it, must die
chair, thut n>»w you
tain
his
the
and,
Wc
with
them
'em,"
I
you,
the
chair, tho old arm chair,
day.
chair, lift» other chairs,
The old
Has had its burdens und it.
And faithful proved, tilt
Its Hummer. »Spring and Winter past.
at lust,
Lewe». Del., Dec. Uh, 1SÜ3.
REQUIEM FOR THE BRAVE.
lit L.RWIS C. Fiiikbely.
Rest, soldier, rest! thy eo.Twad«» comes,
With tender l ive and true,
Freely to deck thine honored bed,
Her banner o'er its turf to spread,
And on thy in nuiuent to shed
ory's pearly dew.
For, at her need, in peril'd hour,
Unswerving anti sublime.
Thy fearless foot 'mid lightnings trod,
Thy life blood fed the encrimsoned sod,
Thy prayer
To guard thy native clime.
Rest, patriot, rest! yet cast behind
Thy mantle from the sky;
The pure, unselfish, heavenward aim,
IJnbowod by gold, unthought by fume,
Content for freedom's glorious claim,
To toil, and dure, and die.
Yes, lcavo it for our rising race,
Soldier and patriot brave;
That in the time of strife or wrong,
They to their country's ark may throng,
Aud in Jehovah's armor strong,
Her life, her Union suve!
ging God,
oke the av
"
you
of
tain.
sir,"
into
men
aud
£flert Enlf.
Hannah Turner's Birthday.
"Something pretty, if you please, miss.
It's for a birthday present for a lady. 1
dou't know myself what handsome ladies
like to wear, hut you ought to, miss. The
price isn't of any consequence.
A broad-shouldered, weather beaten sea
captain with » bronzed face, a mighty
chest sinews of iron, and a hoarse voice,
accustomed to bellow orders on bouTd of
storm tost vessels when winds were roaring
and billows breaking against the staunch,
iron bound oak. Strangely out of place
he looked amidst til ose dainty ornaments
ranged on the counter of the jeweler's
store, and he was obviously afrai 1 to han
dle the glittering things, and doubtod
whether even a close approach might not
break them, for he kept his big br< wo
hands folded behind his hack, and stood
at a respectful distance from the spot
where they ranged. The dead voice was
smothered, also into a growl, out of respect
for the pretty shopkeeper, and the expres
sion of the huge features was peculiarly
sheepish. You may have seen the same
look on the countenance of a 1'aithful and
unusually honest dog caught iu the act nt
devouring a remnant of mutton suriepti
oaily oil, »hui. or detected giving way
to his natural animosity aud frightening
the lauiily cat.
There are queer creatures iu nature.—
Fair-faced, golden-haired women, who
have the hearts ot fiends, who murder in
cold blood with cruel knife or deadly
poison dropped into the cup with deceitful
smiles. Men of society, always gallant
and brillant and bewitching in the eyes
of strangers, who are very demons at home,
and lead their wretched wives such weary,
miserable lives, that their nightly prayer
is that tliuy may never open their eyes on
next morning's light. And other men,
rough, rude oi speech, uuga nly to .Ook
upou, who have with a shell as rough as
the fibrous coo >nu , just such sweet rniik
at the heart.
Captain Walworth was just such a one.
Never a suiter tar saile 1 up m the ocean—
never, when ashore, ro.led a mere weallur
I,eaten one through tho city streets. A
less "proper hero for a love tale" you
could meet with n where, and yet th s
stalwart seaman was, truth to tell, as
scntimeutul as a girl. He loved poetry.
Byron, aud Moore Campbell—aye miss
Landou's works also—lay, well thumbed,
at the bottom of his sea-cliest. He loved
woman and children. The former gal
lantly, as some great hearted knight cf old
believing in there purity in a way
that city youth, who see paint on every
woman's lace and deceit in every woman's
life would wonder at. He loved men also,
though after a different fashion. He
roared at them and ordered them about in
true sea-o iptain fashion. He had no pa
tience with want of skill or obedience ;
but he was just in all his dealings, and
generous almost to a fault ; and many a
sailor could confirm the statement that to
cue who lay id in their sea-tost hammoch
the Captain's touch was as soft and the
Captain's words as kind as those of any
mother could have been.
Had the inner man been as crusty as
the outward was, Captain Walworth
would never have stood, that bright Oc
tober, evening before the counter of the
glittering jeweler's store, asking for
something pretty for a lady;"
Strictly speaking, it was not altogether
"* a jeweler's store. Fancy articles of all
kind! were there—work, oxes, dressing
vases, head-dresses, bows lor the neck,
sashes for the waist, articles for the toilet
table, flasks of eau de cotoyne, bottles of
ottar of roses all costly and showy, glit
tering with gold and precious stones and
inlaid work. No - wonder the Captain was
puszled.
the
a
he
at
be
to
to
#
A
JY
ap»
Y
fee
at
L\
1
lii
K
/V
NO. 15.
GEORGETOWN, DEL., FRIDAY, DECEMBER 18, 1863.
VOL. I.
When
"Fut a lady? queried the damsel behind
the counter,
utind expense what could be nicer than a
watch anil chain ? And otit came a drawer
of fairy time-pieces, which might have
been manufactcred for Cîucen Titania.
" "They are. beauties to them as would
dare touch 'em," said the Captain. " and
'taiu't the money ; but she's got a watch
already, nesiùês hîf «»«ht-dny clock : and
it's my belief," continued the Captain !"
himself, " that she'd rather wear that old
too
for
I
Well, sir, if you don't
my
I
a
a
a
a
to
I
it.
to
I
of
as
for
so
til
fashioned battered watch Tom Turner loft
behind him than the shiniest of them litfle
playthings. Ah ! dear me !" and the Cap
tain heaved a great sigh, that sent one of
his gilt waistcoat buttons spinning across
the store.
" Here is a set—pin. bracelets, car-rings,
and, if you like, a lace collar and cuffs also.
Wc keep everything." And gold links,
mixed with rubies, and real Valancienties,
with brilliant ribbons intermixed, were
displayed in a twinkling.
The Captain's eyes sparkled. " I'd take
them in a minute if I thought she'd wear
'em," lie said : " but I cau'l remember if
I ever saw her in red."
" Red !" ejaculated the girl,
you, that isn't rtdl
the fashionable colti
" Is it, indeed, miss?" »id the Captain,
feneration.
Bless
It's Magenta color—
this year."
regarding the counter urhh
" But you see I'm nfeurd to take 'em, be
cause she mostly will wear black."
" In mourning eh?" cried the girl. "Oh,
you should take jet for a lady that's in
mourning. Or perhaps you'ld like some
thing different. There's a work-box."
It was of rosewood, velvet lined, and
glittering inside with silver and steel and
the thimble and bodkin were
ivory—aye
of gold, so was the dainty necdle-casc.
" She'll like that, I know," said the Cap
tain. " What's the figure, miss?"
The price was named, and the Captain
spread a row of baukbills on the counter.
" I'll give you your change in an instant,
sir," she said.
And the Captain, blushing, replied :
" Never mind the change keep it for
yourself, miss!" and eseaped with the
dainty box beneath his arm.
Bolling in the October sunset along
Broadway, stopping now and then to gaze
into shop windows, or buy fruit of ol i wo
men on the corners, who having sharp eyes,
charged him twice as much as they did
anybody else. Eating liis purchases as he
walked on, without a thought that the pro
ceeding might not he genteel, aud pausing
u..w uud then to stare iu admiration at
fair promenadcr, all curls and leathers
aud rustling silks, the Captain wended his
way onward, taruing from the crowded
thoroughfare at last into a cross street, lrom
that into another plainer still, with shabby
grocery stores at the corners, aud children
e-boxes plentifully sprinkled on
s
as
in
pa
;
a
to
the
as
Oc
the
for
all
of
glit
and
was
1
is
I
it
a
some
aud gar!
the pavement.
At one house, a two story frame dwel
ling, oucc painted cream color, he pauïed,
and, rapping with his kuuckles on the
panels, (.there was uo hell, hut seafaring
always iguore those conveniences,)
summoned u verdaut Hibernian temule in
a very dirty apron, who replied to his in
quiries that Mrs. Turner was in, and that
he would find her on tho second floor ; and
the Captain, subduing his rough voice even
tills unsophisticated Bridget, entered
and asceudcd the stairs over carpet darned
at every turning, and tapped liglitly at the
door ot the nearest room. A lady opeued
it—a fair, sweet-faced woman, with dark
blue eyes, young still, hut not to young to
be the mother of the rosy boy and girl who
sat at the tea-table. She gave her hand
to the Captain frankly and with a smile,
and then placed another chair at tho table,
wiih h the Captain took as a matter of
course. A perfect giant the stalwart sea
lneu iooke i as he sat LeLweeu that tiny
woman and her t:uy children, noue of them
,uir niouiliiulls lor u moderate-sized ogre.
Aud none but himself knew what a trial it
to him to eat suia.l sugar cakes of
nen
was
wa.ersize, and sip the amber beverage from
the little tea-cups with lips far better used
to jorums of rum and Nvater, aud great
crackling sea biscuits. But, in courtesy,
the Captain would have done more than
tills ; tesides, there was a charm iu that
little room for him that would have turned
gall and w.-rniwood to nectar,
talk much, but betweeu sips and bites he
smiled, first on the children, then on their
mother, and she smiled back upon him, as
she might upon some good-natured uncle
grandfather, with no thought in her
heart of other meaning in his smiles than
might have been in those of such a one.
Not that he was old enough to be her
grandfather, or even her father, for the
matter of that, in years, but he was one of
those men whom we seem to renumber as
middle-aged all our lives : who are called
old at forty, and are the youngest of old
men thirty years after.
Soon after the tea-things were put away,
little eyelids grew heavy and little heads
nodded drowsily, and the mother led them
away into another room, whence the Cap
tain bending his head devoutly, hoard the
words of the " Lord's Frayer " lisped by
baby tongueB, guided by the older voice
that was such music to his ears. Then she
came out again and sat by the glowing
grate, close to him, with her needlework.
" It is your birthday, Hannah ?"
" Yes, my birthday." She smiled and
sighed, thinking, perhaps, of différent
birthdays long since past, and the Captain
arose and brought the paper-covered parcel
from the table where he had placed it.
"I've brought you a present, Hannah,"
he said. " 1 don't know whether it's well
chosen, but I know you will value it be
cause I mcaut to please you." And the
gorgeous work-box lay beforo her.
lie did not
or
" How beautiful !—how delicate ! It is
too grand a present, Captain Walworth."
" As if anything could be too handsome
for you," said the Captain in his softest
growl. " But I'm glad you like it. You
haven't too much that you like about you,
I am sure Hannah."
Sho lifted her fair face, and the dark
blue eyes were full of tears. " I have only
my children," sho said. " They are the
only bright spots in my hard work-a-day
life."
" It's what I cause to speak of," said tho
Captain, " what I've tried to speak of days
and days ; but somehow couldn't. Sit
down and let mc.talk to you, Hannah Tur
ner. I'm in sea I don't know much
about, and may run ugruunil any minute.
I think I'm not boasting when I say I'm
a good seamen, but, though I can navigate
a ship, I don't understand making love to
a woman."
Hannah Turner started, and drew back
a little, looking half frightened.
" Yes, I'm going to make love to-night,
Hannah," said the Captain. " I'm going
to go hack a bit, and tell you something
you never knew. When you were a girl,
and I good deal younger than I am now,
I fell in love with you. You never guessed
it. I was sure of that, for 1 hadu't the
faculty of showing what I felt. But I
said to myself. ' I'll win her if I live.' I
was only first mate Ihen, and had my way
to make, and your father seemed to be a rich
man, though ho left nothing behind him.
I didn't dare to speak then, and I waited.
You were so very young, I never thought
of losing you as I did, when I sailed for
England. I came hack from that voyage
as hopeful as aman could bo. I had made
money—I should bo master of my own
ship now—and I thought I dared to try
for what I pined for at last. It was just
such a nigkt as this, in the middle of Oc
tober, when I left the vessel to go to your
house, and ask you to he my wife ; and I
couldn't help sayiug your name over and
over to myself as I walked along. I spoke
out loud once or twice, I was so full of you,
and tho Lord only knows what made me
so vain ; but I thought you'd have me.
Hannah, as surely as I expect to live un
til the hands of that clock come around
When I came to your father's
again.
house, it was lighted from garret to cellar,
and I head music and saw people dancing
through the turtain, and I felt sorry, Han
nah, for I wanted to see you alone. But
1 went in, and found your father standing
near the door, and he shook hands with
me, end anid, Ï erm g-hrtl Ve- eew- yowj U' -l
worth. I'm glad you came to-night. This
is our Hannah's wodding-party. She was
married an hour ago to Captain Turner.'
I shan't forget those words if I live a hun
dred years. I don't know how I got away,
but I did it somehow, and found my way
back to where the ship lay, and stood there
looking over into the water. I meant to
drown myself, hut God saved me from
that sin, and i made up my mind after a
while to try aud bear it. Youhad'nt jilted
me. It was all my own vauity, aud Tom
Turner though a boy to me, was more a
match for you than I could have been.
But I thought my heart was broken, and
it would have been, Hannah, if 1 hadn't
been so tough and salt. I didn't go near
you again, and I made a voyage to the
West indies before long, and kept away
a good while. As the years went on, I
heard enough to know that young Tom
Turner was good to you, and thut he was
master of the Olive Branch. W lien your
first boy died 1 heard of it—read its death
in a paper, Hannah—and I ain't ashamed
to own thut the tears stood in my eyes,
partly because it seemed as if I could see
you crying over it, and partly because its
name was William, like miml, and 1 won
dered whether you thought of me when
you called it so—though maybe that was
vanity, too, for there are may Will, in the
world. After that I was oft for three good
years, and when I came back tho first news
i heard was that the Olivo Branch was
lost, with poor Tom Turner in it. And
you were all alone and poor, Hannah, and
i came to see you. Why shouldn't I ?
You uever guessed I'd had any thoughts
but those of a friend, and 1 believe you
were pleased to see me. I've come oft' and
on ever since, and I love you better now,
1 do believe, than 1 did even at the firs .
Can you love me a little, Hannah ? Will
you be my wife ?"
She looked up at him sadly, with the
great tears rolling down her cheeks, and
put her little hand upon his arm.
"I respect aud like no living friend
more than 1 do you, Captaim Walworth,"
she said, "but I never loved and never
can love any man save one—the husband
I have lost,"
it
of
as
of
as
by
be
the
"I know that, Hannah," said the cap
tain; "I've seen it in your eyes this many
a day. 1 don't expect love—only like mo
and let me love you."
"Love some one else," she said. "You
could make a wife very happy; you should
have oue who could make you happy in
return."
"\ r ou are the only one, Hannah," said
the Captain. "I'm rich; I could free you
from all this hard work. I don't ask
much, only to see you near me always. I
ain't Tom Turner, and I know it; but a
a handsomer and younger man would not
love you half so dearly as I do, Hannah.
Look here, my dear, ain't this a reason to
do what I ask?" He put his arm arouud
her waist, aud drew her into the room
where the children's cribs were. "Look
at them, Hannah," he continued, " so
pretty and so helpless, and only your little
needle between them and starvation; and
I oiler you a home for them, and a lather,
such as he is. Wouldn't Tom Tamer
himself say, 'Take the old tar's öfter. Has
nah, for the sake of those little chil
dren!'"
Hannah Turner shook her head.
"It seems very strange," she said, 'I
never can get mysetfto believe that Thom
as is really gone. L am always listening
for his step or voice, trembling at the
sight of every letter. as if he could come
buck again. Sometimes I fool sure he
will. It is not as if I had seen him die,
Oh! lib, I dare not become
you know,
your wife, feeling as I do."
"Hannah," said the captain, softly, "sit
down by the fire end think of it. Be
memher, I'm content with liking; remem
ber, that if you should work yourself to
death, those babies would have no one
left; and remember, too, the long years 1
have loved you, am&-ths joy it would be
to me to lie safe in ^harbor at last after bat
tling with tbe storta so long. I ask you
to marry me for ydir own sake, for you
toil hard and late fdb; a mere pittance now,
and for tbe sake of^hose little ones that
I'll be as goo I to, ^hanah, as I would be
to my own; and, my)ilcar, I ask you to do
it for the sake of tin rough sailor who may
not tell his story stn ight, but who has love
enough in his heart for you to fill a dozen
books of poetry. 1 ou are kind-hearted,
Hannah; don't tell I ini he must pass his
age, as his youth bai been passed, without
a living messmate, u Let the old ship cast
anchor in the harbtor of home, aud may
God bless him for if, as He will."
There was a pause. The clock upon
the mantel ticked loudly, keeping time to
tho tiny voice of tliq watch at the widow's
belt. Something else heat loud and fast,
also—the big heart under the sailor's rough
blue vest.
Teu minutes were counted ere Hannah
Turner spoke.
"Captain Walworth," sho said, "I have
been trying to understand my duty, trying
to see which path l ought to take, if 1
did not respect you. nay, if, in one sense,
T did not lore you, -wen the thought of my
children's future could not influence me;
but you are my dearest living friend, and
I would not grieve y*u for the world.—
But listen—think;"! tell you solemnly
that the romantic litre of my youth I have
not in my heart for you or any other.—
Knowing this, eould you be content?"
"My dear!—content?"
"Hush! I have pbt said all yet. This
is not a thing to la 1 done hastily. Y'our
ship sails soon, I tbS'nk."
"In a fortnight, launah."
"On that day » will say good-bye for
— ïès, 1 outs ^wr, Hear
Beflcct upon what I have told you, weigh
your own thoughts well, and when the
next October brings my birthday come to
me. If you still feel in the same mind, I
will do what I can to rnako your life
happy."
"Oh Hannah—a year? What may hap
pen to you—what to me? My mind can't
change, my dear; my heart points to you
as the needle points to the north. Marry
me now, Hannah, and if you like, I'll
never sail again," so the sailor pleaded.
But Hannah Turner shook her head.
"Something sectqed to put the thought
into my mind," she said. "There may be
meaning iu it—1 think there is. To peo
ple of our age, what is a year? If God
wills it, you will meet me at its end; if not
—Amen!"
She was firm—her resolution was not to
he shaken—and so, when the fortnight
Was over, Captai u'-Walworth kissed Han
nah Turner on the forehead, and said—
"Good-bye until next October."
II.
It was August,, and tho Plover sailed
under the burning sun of the tropics—
her sides blistered by the heat, hei crew
clad as lightly as civilization would allow.
On board, stowed away in the mysterious
receptacles of .a sailing vessel, were stores
of spices and candied fruit in wicker-cov
ered jars, jellies like gold or amber in
their hues, preserved ginger, pine-apples
and bananas, und mighty oranges thick of
skin and plenteous of juice. They were
homeward bound, and as Captain Walworth
paced the dock, lie thought of Haunah
Turner and October—only two months
more—and he had lying against liis heart
a kind letter written by lier hand. The
ship would find a harbor before long. And
so, in tho hush of tne moonlit-ocean mid
night, the Captain, looking outwardly more
like a rough blue bear in his mighty sea
jacket, than any other living thing, paced
the deck and thought of Hannah Turner,
as Byron with all his passionate romance
uever thought of any woman in all his life.
Bough-handed, rough-voiced, coated with
roughness all over, like some rare nut, even
she whom he loved so never quite under
stood tho heart of William \\ alworth.
Those were rare days; bathed in golden
sunshine, with a heavy fragrance in tho
tropical air that predisposed those sailors
from the temperate climate of New York,
and Ma ne, and Massachusetts, to slum
bers filled with dreams like opium trances.
Activity scorned a sheer absurdity, aud
every one longed to be idle, to lie prone
upon the deck bathed in golden sunbeams.
As for a storm, that eeemed impossible;
ono might as eahily have expected snow in
summer. But in these regions tempests
come quickly, without the slow gathering
of clouds and rising of winds that mark
them here.
A line of white foam on the horizon, a
lurid light in the sky, scarcely time to furl
the sun-bleached sails, and a tornado was
upon them.
Such a storm ! Lips that never blanch
ed with fear before grew white that day.
Men who had Dot called on God since
they knelt little children at their mother's
knees, tried to remember loDg-forgottcn
prayers. In the Hock abysses of the*«
the
ed
tle
tea
for
a
at
"
breaking waves each sailor saw his open
f rave. And Captain Walworth, lifting
is eyes to the clouded heavens, uttered
one petition :
" Spare me to meet Hannah Turner on
her birth-day."
He ha I uttered that prayer so often that
with his firm belief in heavenly mercy, he
could not doubt but that it would be grant
ed.
And surely God walked upon the waters
and held that vessel in his hand. Through
that fearful storm it lived, and with the
breaking of another gorgeous tropical day
all danger had departed. Yet the gallant
bark had suffered, and all were busy in
repairing her injuries as best they could.
"And God send us fair wind and weath
er lads," said the Captain, " for wo must
be in harbor at New York before the tenth
of next October, if it's to be done."
New York ! It was the name for home
with many of those sailors, and they work
ed away with a will, keeping time to one
of those chanting choruses heard nowhere
save upou the sea.
Meanwhile, Captain Walworth took his
glass and looked out upon the ocean. The
storm had drifted them out of their cour.-o,
and he did not expect to see that little
line of land lying amidst the waves. He
looked again assuredly—it was an island.
Captain Walworth called to the first mate
—"Hawkins, come here," aud handed him
"It's an island," said the mate, "and if j
so be there's water on it. I've a notion
we couldn't do better than to fill our casks,
for this hot weather don't sweeten water,
and there's not too much aboard anyway."
It was a good idea, so said the Captain,
and the next day the ship lay within sight
of the green oasis in that watery desert,
and Captain Walworth, with the mate and
two hands, went in a boat to explore the
island.
A beautiful place ; white pebbles and
rare shells upon the shore, tangles of glossy
shrubs and gorgeous flowers, slender trees,
crowned with feathery-like foilago ; birds
scarlet and blu: and orange, flittiug like
scattered rainbows around tho branches ;
wild fruit and berries, which the salt-fed
sailors plucked by handsfull. There must
be a spring somewhere, aud looking for it
they wandered on.
Suddenly they came upon a sort of cave,
hedged about with piled up sand and
branches—the den of some cunning beast
or the habitation of a savage, for nature
had never formed that barricade. They
n irtu, but 1 L*>y ur lifielr.
little and spoke low.
"That's been done by hands lads," said
the Captain, "and freshly done, too.—
Thero are people on this island, small as
it is."
He stooped down as he spoke, and peered
into the entrance of the cave,-and at that
moment something stirred within. A form,
half-naked, with bits of fur about it, and
long-tangled hair and heard, came crawl
ing from the hole, and with wild gestures
arose and stood before them.
The first mate, an impulsive fellow, gave
a cry, and drew a pistol from his belt.—
"Stand back !" he cried; "stand back, or
I'll fire !"
And at that instant Captain Walworth,
pale as a ghost, and shaking like an aspen
leaf from head to foot, sprang between
them.
"Don't fire, Hawkins ! Don't lift your
"It's llan
finger against him !" he cried,
nah's husband—it's Ehen Turner !
my God ! my God !"
One wail for his last hope. Tho first
and last went up to heaven in those words;
the next he grasped tho hand of the man
whom lie had recognized despite the lapse
of years, the marks of anguish and priva
tion, and the nakedness and soiled neglect
of savage life.
"Eben Turner,'* lie cried, "don't you
remember William Walworth
And there, upon the grass, the ship
wrecked man flung himself down, and wept
and uttered wild thanksgivings.
" I thought to die here," he cried ; " I
never hoped to see my fellow-man again.
I have not spoken for so long a time that
[ wonder I have not forgotten the use of
words. God bless you, William Walworth,
for saving me from this wratched living
death."
"God brought me here," said the Cap
tain ; "it's no way my doing. Thank Him,
not me."
"And you spoke of Hannah," said Eben
Turner. "She is living—well ?"
"She was the last one I spoke to before
I left New York," said the Captain.—
"Keep a good heart ; you'll see your wife
and children soon, and Hannah Turner
will be a happy woman. I—" and some
thing arose in the Captain's throat and
choked him ; for after all, good as he was,
lie was hut a man.
Oh,
a
■
They took the shipwrecked sailor on
board the Plover, and fed and clothed him,
and brought him back to the likeness of
his old self. A handsome fellow still,
ten years younger than Captain Wal
worth, when refreshed, and washed, and
trimmed into a civilized man. So grateful
to tho bronzed sailor who had rescued him,
and who knew his wile. He talked of her
ineossantly, breaking off sometimes with a
sort of apology—"You've never been in
love, perhaps, and don't quite understand
what my wife is to me, or how I feel when
I think of her. Maybe it don't seem
manly to you ; but you'll forgive it ?"
And once the Captain answered—
"P'raps I've never been in love, lad, and
p'raps never having had a wife, I can't
know how a man feels who has one ; but
I understand enough about it to know you
are right in thinking as you do of Hannah
Tarne», "
.- me
When gallant knights of old Conquered
fierce opponents and slew them, tnen ap
plauded. There were uo human eyes to
watch the conflict in the rough seaman's
heart. But when he struck his lance into
the breast of that strong, beautiful, pas
sionate love which, to his upright sight,
had grown to be a crime, I thiuk the
angels smiled. For if ever angels watch
ed with any man in hours of trial and
temptation, they wen with this weather
beaten unlearned sailor, and bad been
through the five-and-forty years of his
earthly pilgrimage.
October. Again the golden sunset lay
along the streets; again the red loaves
crowned the branches and were whirled
earthward by whispering breezes. It was
Hannah Turner's birthday, and in the
same little room where we last saw her,
she sat amongst her children. The ket
tle sung and danced upon the fire. The
tea table was spread with homely dainties.
All was ready tor the expected guest.—
For she knew that if he were living, Wil
liam Walworth would como to her that
evening. She waited for him as one waits
for a cherished friend, but not as & woman
watches for her lover. When she had said
that she had uo love left for any living
man, she spoke, or thought she spoke the
truth. Six o'clock—the dusky twilight
gathered over the city; deepening with
every moment ; lights begau to glitter in
the shop windows; the tramp of home
ward-going laborers made the pavement,
ring—Hannah arose and lighted her bright
lamp, and drew the curtains, and just then
a knock came at the door. lie site looked
for was come. Bising, she went towards
him and gave him lier hand. He took it,
held it one rnomont, and then sat down,
and she saw something in his lace that
awoke her wonder, almost her fear.
'•When I went away, Hannah," he said
at length. "I said good-bye till next Octo
ber. Through storms and dangers God
heard my prayer that 1 might live to see
this day, and 1 am happy here. I'm very
happy, Hannah—don't think but i. liat I'm
happy; pray don't, my dear."
Wondering, she looked at him, but did
not speak.
"There are two ways of being happy,"
continued the Captain. "1 planned one
out for myself, but God has given me
another, if I didn't feci as thankful asl
ought at first, I do now. Bless him for
it. I've brought you back a present,
Hannah Turner. One you'll value moro
than the shining sewing-box 1 tried to
Die use you with last year—Shall 1. tell
you what it is and where 1 found it.
She said ''Yes," and stood before him
pale to the very lips.
"It comes from a place you know of,
Hannah," said the Captain; "that part of
the ocean where the Olive Branch wont
down years ago. There's a little island
there; a green place far from any other
land. Tho i'lover touched there last Au
gust, Hanuah."
Trembling more and more—her hand
upon his arm now, her lips apart—her eyes
striving to read his very thoughts.
" A shipwrecked sailor might live there
years and years, Hannah," continued the
Captain : and might watch in rain for help,
for vessels only come near it by chance.
What if 1 were to tell you one had been
thero five long years ; that I, of all man,
Hannan Tumor, was led there by the hand
of God, that I brought him with me to
Now York, and that he stands outside this
very door even while I speak,
nah Turner, I didn't thiuk when I said
ood-bye until next October, what I should
ring with me when I came."
But she did not hear him. She had
plucked the door open—caught sight of
the form standing in the dark entry, and
with a wild cry of joy, lay fainting in her
husband's clasping arms.
And the Captain whispered huskily—
" You'll be better alone, my lad ;" and
stopping to kbs the wonderiug children,
hid liis bronzed face amongst their flaxen
curls a moment and then was gone.
And on that October evening, while
of
of
Oh ! Hau
Ilanuuh Turner kept her birthnight with
drcuuts of joy and hope—blessed back into
youth and happiness—Captain Walworth,
bending over his vessel's side, fastened a
lead to a white letter, and dropped tho two
together into the water.
"She's a married woman again now,"
said the Captain, softly : " and though it
hurt mo to let it go, 'would he wrong, may
be, to keep what she wrote, thinking Eben
Turner dead, and trying hard to make her
mind up to he my wife." And so, with
lingering look, such as we cast into a
grave, Captain Walworth turned away just
twelve o'clock sounding on the air told
that Hannah Turner's birthnight was over.
■ h.
:i -
jrtlisircUaucous.
Jenny Wade, the Heroine oFGettjrs
burg.
The country has already heard of John
Burns, I ha hero of Gettysburg—uf haw the
old nu sallied forth, a host within himself,
"to fight on his own hook," how he fell wound,
ed after having delivered many shotq from
his trusty rifle into the fares and the hearts
of his country's foes, John Burns' name is
already recorded among the immortal, to live
there with American valur and patriotiem,
have an admirer and an emulator. But there
heroine as well as a hero of Gettysburg.
was a
The old hero Burns still lives—the heroine,
sweet Jenny Wade, perished in the din of
that awful fray, and she now sleeps where
the flowere once bloomed, and the perfume
laden air wafted lovingly over Cemetery Hill.
Before the battle, and while the national
beste were awaiting the assault of tbe traiter
8fc< Weekly «nte».
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arrangement
foe, Jenny Wade was busily engaged in
baking bread for the national troupe. Sho
occupied a house in range of the guus cf both
armies, aud the rebels had sternly ordered
her to leave the premises, but thii sho as
sternly refused to do. While she was busily
eugagod in her patriotic work, a miaio ball
pieroed her pure heart, and she fell a holy
sacrifice in her country's cause. Almost at
tho same time a rebel officer of high rank fell
near where Jenny Wade had perished. Tho
rebels at once proceeled to prepare a coffin
for thtir fallen leader, but abuUt the time that
was finished the surging of the conflict chang
ed the positions of tbe armies, and Jenny
Wade's body was plooed in the coffin designed
fsr her country's enemy, and thus the heroine
of Gettysburg was buried, Tho incidente of
the heroiue and the hero of Gettysburg are
beautifully touching, noble, aud sublime.—
Old John Burns was the only man of Gettys
burg who participated iu the strugglo to save
the North from invasion, while innocent
Jenny Wade was the only sacrifice which the
peoplo of that locality had to offer on the
shrine of their country ! Let a monument be
erected on the ground which covers her, lie
fore which the pilgrims to the holy tombs of
the heroes of Gettysburg can bow and bless
tho memory of Jenny Wade. If the pe, pie
of Gettysburg are not able alone to raise the
funds to pay for a suitable mouumeut for
Jenny Wade, let them send a committee to
Harrisburg, and our little boys and girls will
assist in soliciting subscriptions for this holy
purpose. Beforo the summer sunshine again
kisses the grave of Jenny Wade; before the
summer birds once m<»ro carol where she
sleeps iu glory ; beforo the flowers again deck,
the plain mado famous by gallant deeds, let a
monument rise to greet the skies in tokens of
virtue, d&ring, and nsbleness .—Harrisburg
Telegraph.
Results of Emancipation.
The editor of the Nashville Union, writing
from Washington, gives the following i
spect to ths results of emancipation iu the
District of Columbia:
Many of our friends in Tenuessoe are ask
ing, with much solicitude, what shall we do
with the slaves when liberated l Let me
give the substance of conversations I have had
with several late Blave-holders, who reside iu
this District, and, alter an experience of ne
gro freedom of over two years, thus hear tes
timony in *hie important ease. I inquired of
these gentlemen, all of high social position,
ss follows :
" What has been the gcnerul effect of eman
cipating the slaves in this District?
"Decidedly beneficial to both masters and
slaves."
" Have yon suffered any considerable social
convulsion in consequence ?"
"Not at all; matters have progressed as
smoothly as ever."
" Are the negroes hisolent and lawless ?"
" Not so muoh eo as formerly. They foci
that they are now standing on their good be
havior alone."
" Have you much trouble in procuviug ia
ro
borers?
" None at all ; thenegroes work readily and
faithfully for wages. They do their work
better than ever, because they know that they
must either fulfil their contracts or got no pay.' '
" Do the people regret the change which
emancipation has effcctod ?"
" No, hardly one man in the whole district,
except a fsw politician, would vote for the res
toration of slavery. Mr.-and Mr.-,
who were both large slave owners, and op
posed emancipation bitterly, now declare
openly that they never want slavery re
stored."
Certainly this evideuco is important, and
worth the consideration of Tennesseans. Let
act honestly towards the slaves, and then
ths consequences will take care of them
selves. Let us offBr " greenbacks " instead
of cowhides to the negro, and he will work
with fresh alacrity and hope,
soul; let us treat him accordiugly. If
use our numerical superiority to rob him of
his natural rights and defraud him of wages,
we will pull down upon our own heads and
the heads of our children the just penalty of
our guilt, amid tbs merciless tempests of a so
eiablo revolution.
us
He has a
wn
j®*A refugee from Richmond, recently
arrived within our liucs, and now confined,
furnishes the following estimate of the present
force of Lee's army : Ewell's corps, now com
manded by Early, twenty to tweuty-one
thousand infautry, and six batteries of ar
tillery ; A. P. Hill's corps, twenty thousand
infantry and five batteries of art illery ;
Stuart's cavalry, eight thousand cat uirymeu
and two batteries ot flying artillery—making
in all forty-one thousand infantry
and cavalry, and soventy-e.glu cauuou, provi
ded the batteries are ail complete, lie also
confirms the death of the rebel Gene, al Posey,
and the statement that Ewell had retired to
Cbarlottsville on account of ill health. By
this gentleman's account the present ration
of the rebel army is one pound of flour and
on* pound of froBh beef, with very liule sail,
and nothing else. As for clothing, they have
a good supply, of very inferior quality, except
what has been stolen fr, m the I'nitcd States,
but not one half ef them have shoes.
.valit thcui
The Richmond DityxUck of recent date
advertieed five robhcrica and a half-dozen
runaway slaves. The city muBt be in a state
•f cheerful leéurity.