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Sunday dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1861-1863, June 14, 1863, Image 6

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Written for tii« Bunday Dispatch.)
COMPROMISE-1863.
By James A. C. O'Connor.
«> Compromise T—with whom, and wherefore ?
Compromise! When ? where ? and how ?
Compromise!—upon what “ platform ?”
Compromise I And even now ?
Can we “ compromise ?” I ask ye ;
Can we compromise ’fore God ?
Would we then aright be walking
In the steps our fathe’r trod ?
Compromise 1 Why should we do it ?
Brothers’ blood hath now been shed.
Compromise! Much, much we’d rue it.
Compromise! What saith the Dead ?
yomproTnise with Union haters ?
Never 1 For ’tie now too late.
Compromise ? No, not with Traitors,
Let whatever be our fate 1
Barley we with blood and treason,
With that league of traitors South ?
Compromise I— for what good reason ?
Is the cry from every mouth.
Parley now were base surrender
Of our honor, fame, and right.
Compromise would shame engender,
And would turn our day to-night.
By the nineteenth day of April,
In the streets of Baltimore,
By the blood of murdered Ellsworth,
By our prestige fair of yore;
By our brave insulted banner,
And by wrongs on every side,
By disgrace in every manner,
By tne laws that ye’ve defied;
By the millions ye have stolen,
And by universal wrong,
By our sacred Constitution,
By our fleets and armies strong;
By the pains of this Rebellion,
And by insult, wrong and shame,
We will compromise, South—.never I
But we will these madmen tame!
Almost since the birth of Union
Have these Southern traitors planned
And conspired against our country—
Traitors to their native land,
(Black of heart and red of hand.)
How for fifty years and over
Have they threatened to “ secede
And they have at last seceeded,
. But they’ll find they won’t succeed 1
Bpeak not, then, of compromising!
Speak not, then, the treason word ;
Unconditional surrender!
This alone can now be heard.
Down witk your base flag, palmetto!
Down with arms and truce-flags, too;
Yield 1 and be again our brothers,
And we’ll brothers be to you,
’Neath our old “ Red, White and Blue.”
Compiom se! the word is treason,
Dark dishonor’s in the word;
** Compromise” is “ out of season!”
Months ago it might be heard,
Now it’s a mere obsolete word.
Momhs ago, before rebellion
Lifted up its serpeanthead,
And before the sword was lifted,
“ Compromise” might well be said.
Compromise! for five and twenty
Years now past, we thus did pray ;
Compromise! oh, Southern brothers,
But ye always scoffed us—nay !
Ha I and now the cry is parley,
But, alas! too late, too late,
Treason, insult, wrong and slaughter,
Meriteth a harsher fate.
Never I never! never! never!
Will we—dare we “compromise
But we’ll ever, ever, ever,
Such base overtures despise;
All of brave Columbia’s sons
Would sooner perish at their guns.
Unconditional surrender!”
Is in every patriot’s mouth,
(Yield! and we’ll brothers be to you,
Beneath our old Red, White and Blue!)
Unconditional surrender
From the rebels of the South.
[Written for the Sunday Dispatch.]
CAPTAIN JACK;
OR, THE’
llffl Mffl OF W FOREST.
A TALE OF BRADDOCK'S CAMPAIGN.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE KILTERS IN THE BRITISH CAMP.
It was not with a little difficulty—there being
many rough hills to be scaled,, streams wide
and often deep to be crossed, and paths to be
hewed or cleared through the woods—that the
Killers, burthened as they were with the
wounded Stewart, managed, after many days
of incessant toil, to reach the English encamp
ment on Will’s Creek.
Had he been a weak, ailing child in the
arms of his mother, Stewart could not have
been more carefully watched or nursed than he
was during the long journey of upward of one
hundred miles from the confluence of the Juni
ata with the Susquehanna to the British resting
place.
On the rude stretcher, which had been so
hastily constructed, he was borne with case
to his body from point to point. By his side,
with anxious solicitude for his comfort, walk
ed his friend, the Black Hunter, holding water
to his fevered lips when thirst demanded it, or
offering him some choice bits of venison or
other food as, he thought, would tempt his ap
petite. Very little, in the matter of refresh
ment, save water, did the patient need ; but
that which he did accept was received with
such a simple exhibition of gratitude, that the
rough but kind-hearted Killers felt themselves
more than compensated for all their trouble, all
their care of their injured comrade.
Toward sunset ~of the seventh day of their
journey, Captain Jack and his followers reach
ed the apex of the range of hills which com
manded the valleys through which flow Will’s
Creek and the Potomac river. It was a warm
and beautiful evening. The sky, except to the
northward, was cloudless; and so transparent
the atmosphere, that the eye could range over
open glades for miles, taking within its sweep
the ranges of the Alleghany on the west, and
thence stretched like the walls of a mighty
amphitheatre to the northward, where they
blended with the horizon and were lost in
masses of vapor that, tinted by the rays of the
gun, looked like vast folds of purple, golden and
snow-like drapery suspended far above, and
enveloping the sides of the dark, forest-covered
mountains. To the southward, threading its
way through a country of abrupt hills, chasms
and valleys, stretched the Potomac, its waters,
in the calm of the evening light, looking here
and there,as the eye rested upon it,between the
breakages of the highlands, like fairy lakes or
great sheets of burnished silver.
Beneath them, stretched for many a furlong,
was the camp of the English army—a town of
tents, regularly laid out, with the marquee of
the general in the centre. On a level piece of
meadow-land, skirted by the ereek on its wgst
eily side, stood in serried columns the soldiers
of Britain at evening parade.
To the Killers, the bodies of soldiery, as they
moved like vast machines, were of exceeding
interest. Rapidly were battalions and regi
ments thrown into columns, squares, and lines
of battle ; then as quickly were these move
ments changed to others equally necessary in
combatting the enemy—on the plains of the
Old World ; but here, in a wild, broken coun
try, with a foe hovering before and around
them, they could not rally for resistance, and
were therefore worse than useless.
“ A mighty purty sight, C'ap’n,” said Yel
low Higgins, as he leaned upon the muzzle of
his gun and looked intently at the military
drama that was being enacted beneath him.
41 Them fellers move about jes as if they war
a mighty sarpint. They look as if they could
walkthrough anythin’. But I kalk’late they
ain’t o’ no kind o’ use in these yere parts,
where a Injin could play ’possum on to ’em
all day, an’ they couldn’t tell who or what
strutk ’em.”
** In an open field they’ll be o’ sarvice,” re
sponded the Black Hunter, “ or in ’tackin’ a
fort—for, see, they’ve got big guns over thar
-—but in the woods the Injins ’ud wipe ’em out
with ease. Well, I guess we can ’tend to the
yallar skins, while they’re payin’ thar respects
to the French. What do you think o’ it,
Harry Stewart?” asked the Captain.
“A beautiful sight,” replied Stewart, enthu
siastically, who, seated against the foot of a
tree, was in such a position that he could dis
cern every combination made by the army;
“ but I fear me, unless carefully handled, these
poor fellows will stand a poor chance against
the Indians and French. What is to prevent
their being harassed day and night by the sav
ages ? As for the French, our people can meet
them on more than equal terms, and in a fair
stand-up fight compel them to give way. How
splendidly they perform their evolutions, to be
sure!”
“How do- you feel to-night ?’ ’ asked the
Captain, in a kindly voice.
“ Better, but weak and feverish. Mj*breast
pains me very much.”
“ When we git to the camp thar, I’ll git a
doctor to look at it. P’r’aps he kin git the
ball out,” said the Captain,
“Perhaps so ; but I think if I could manage
to send a note to Philadelphia, to Miss Kean,
I would feel better in spirit, at least, if not in
body. The last message I forwarded to her
was to the effect that she might expect me
home before many days.”
“ It may be thar’ll be a chance to tell her
how you ar’, my boy,” responded the Hunter,
“for I ’spose they’re continerly sending let
ters to Philadelphia, and receivin’ them from
from thar in the camp. We’ll go on now, an’
try an' git with the Britishers afore its dark.
See, they’re breakin’ up an’ goin’ to thar
tents.”
As the Captain spake, the long lines of the
sold iers were ordered into columns by regi men ts,
and subsequently broken into squads by fours,
then marched by companies on different roads
to their respective places of encampment.
While these evolutions were proceeding the
Killers, with Stewart in their midst, borne on
the shoulders of four of them, moved rapidly
down the hill toward the valley. The level
ground once reached, it was not many minutes
before they were accosted by a sentinel sta
tioned on the outer lines of the Virginin camp.
11 Who goes there ?’ ’ demanded the soldier,
as he brought his arms a-port.
“ We’re friends,” answere<?the Hunter, ad
vancing toward the sentinel.
“ Halt I” cried the soldier, as he brought his
gun to a charge.
The Captain stopped, and added :
“We are hunters, an’ known about the set
tlements, sometimes, as-the Killers. We’ve
come here to offer our sarvices to Gin’ral Brad
dock as scouts.”
“ Have you the countersign ?” demanded the
soldier.
“ Burned ef we have,” broke in Yellow Hig
gins, “but we’ve got a wounded man yere,
an’ we’d like to get inter camp whar a med’cine
chap kin see-him. So ye may jest as well let
us pass ’long-without any more o’ your darned
nonsense.”
“Corporal of the guard,” sang out the sen
tinel.
“What is that ar’ for?” demanded Hig
gins. “Yer mighty ’ticular round here, I
kalk’late.”
The sentinel did not deign an answer to the
question ; and presently a petty officer appear
ed, to whom was explained the character and
intentions of the motley company whom Cap
tain Jack commanded. The corporal bidding
them “remain as they were” until he re
turned, retired to inform the officer of the
guard; who also, in his turn conveyed the in
formation received to his superior. In the
course of half an hour an order was given to
permit the strangers to pass within the lines
under guard, and to convey their leader to
headquarters.
“ Who are you, sir ?” demanded the officer,
as Captain Jack stepped to the front of his
men.
“ I’m the cap’n o’ these men.”
“ How many have you?”
“ Nigh on ter forty.”
“Very well. Walk with me to General
Braddock’s quarters.”
“ Sartinly—sartinly, sir,” responded the
Hunter, as he threw his long rifle over his
shoulder ; “but aforp I go, I’d be under favor
to ye ef ye would call a doctor to examine a
bullet hole a friend o’ mine got from a Injin
on the Juniata. His name’s Stewart.”
1 ‘ Where is he ?”
“ Thar.”
The officer walked to where the wounded
man lay on his couch, on the ground. It had
been placed there during the above colloquy.
“Where are you hurt, my man?” asked
the officer in kindly tones.
A smile lighted Up the wan face of Stewart,
as he whispered :
“ In the breast, Captain Johnson.”
“ You know me ?” remarked the officer, with
a lock of astonishment.
“ Ceitaiuly. I have often spoken to you in
the warehouse of Mr. Kean, in Philadelphia.”
“ Bless my soul. Why, Harry Stewart, is
it you ? You are so altered—so much older—
so thin and so unkempt, with this hunter’s
shirt about you, that I took you to be one of
the captain’s men. How on earth did you find
your way out here ? Ah, poor fellow, I see you
are fatigued, and I’m told injured by a gun
shot. How is that little beauty—that demure
Quakeress, Miss Kean ? But, come ! I’ll put
you under the care of a doctor in short order;
and when you are on your feet, you can tell
me all the news, and how all the pretty girls
are in your solemn city. Sergeant,” cried the
kindly spoken officer to a soldier of his com
pany, “ see that this gentleman is conveyed to
my tent, and request Surgeon Durken to visit
him. There, there, now, my good fellow,”
he continued, turning to Stewart, whom he
saw was about to make an effort to thank him
for his generosity and hospitality, “ don’t say
a word. No one will be permitted to disturb
you there. Fortunately, my company is so far
removed from the bustle of the camp, that
mine is just the place -for you until you can
gather strength.”
“ I know not how to thank you, Captain,”
murmured Stewart, holding out his hand to
the officer.
“ It is not worth a thought, my boy,” re
sponded Johnson, taking the proffered hand in
his own. “If a soldier, subject at any hour to
injury or death, has not feeling enough to sym
pathize with one who is deprived of strength
by the bullet, why he’s a caitiff, that’s all.”
“ Good by, for the present, Harry,” said the
Hunter, as he pressed the hand of Stewart.
“ I’ll see you agin to-night.”
“Durn’d ef ye haint picked up a friend
that’ll take keer on ye, mighty quick,” mut
tered Yellow Higgins, as he looked with a g.-im
smile on his sometime comrade. “ You’ll be
on the trail soon agin, or my name’s not known
in these yere parts, I reckon. Good-by.”
“ Good-by,” answered Stewart, as a squad of
soldiers lifted the stretcher, placed it on their
shoulders, and marched with him and it to
the tent of Captain Johnson.
“Now, sir,” said the officer, “I am ready to
conduct you to head-quarters.”
“ Boys,” said the Hunter—“ excuse me a
minute, Cap’n—you’d better strike yer camp
here. It’s ’bout as good a place as any you’ll
find, round, I reckon. I’ll be back soon.”
“All right, Cap’n,” remarked Higgins, as
he commenced collecting wood with which to
build a fire.
“I’m ready, sir,” added the Hunter to the
officer.
SUNDAY DISPATCH, JUNE 1486
1 “This way, then.” And- the two walked
rapidly in the direction of General Braddock’s
marquee.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A HEBUFE— bradbock’s courtesy.
Who are you, sir ; and what is your busi
ness here?” demanded the general-command
ing, in sharp, quick accents, as he looked up
from a table at which he was seated, writing a
dispatch—that it was his intention to forward
on the morrow to Philadelphia —on the en
trance of the Hunter.
“Very perlite,” muttered Captain Jack to
himself. “ Praps it’s his way o’ talkin’.”
“Did you hear me, sir?” cried Braddock,
turning quickly around on his seat, and at a
glance measuring the stout, sinewy form of his
visitor.
“I heard you', Gin’ral,” quietly answered
the Captain.
“Well, sir?”
“ I came here to offer the sarvices o’ myself
and friends in the King’s cause, so long as
you’re in these parts.”
“Indeed!” said Braddock, while his lips
curled with a sneer. “ Now,, sir, having said
so much, will you favor me with your name ?”
. “ I’m commonly called Cap’n Jack o’ the
Injin Killers, an’ sometimes the Black Hunter
o’ the Forest.”
“ Your name?” reiterated the General in a
voice of thunder.
The Captain looked coolly at his questioner.
“ It may be his way,” he again muttered.
Then speaking in a voice that the commanding
officer could not fail to hear . “My rail name
is Watson, at your sarvice.”
“Ah Now, sir, your business ?”
“We’ve come here to offer ourselves as
scouts. We’re under the impression that
none o’ your people know much ’bout the
Injins, an' as thar waysis our principal study,
we thought we could help you considerably.”
“Very considerate of you and your chival
ric band of what d’ye-call-ems?”
‘•They ar’called, for short, the Killers,”
resumed the Captain.
“Yes, Killers. Pray what do they kill?”
“ We’ve been in the habit o' protecting the
settlements from the visitations o’ the In
jins,” responded the Hunter.
“But, sir, the Indians are my frienls, and
why should I countenance a gang of uncouth
whiskey-drinking fellows, as savage as they
are, in destroying them. The Indians have
been much abused, sir, by just such lawless men
as you and those who associate with you are.
Moreover, the British arms are not to be sul
lied by midnight or mid-day assassinations—
by skulkers fir ing upon the poor aborigines
• from behind trees. Such men are cowards—
rank cowards, sir!”
The Hunter’s eyes blazed for an instant at
the imputation of cowardice, and he was about
to speak hot words in reply, when Captain
Johnson placed a hand on his right arm and
motioned him to be silent.
“As scouts,or in fact, as anything else,”
continued Braddock, “I do not need your ser
vices. You can retire with your men to the
place where those Virginians—another trouble
some set, whom I wish heartily were at their
homes—arebivouaced, and there remain until
I see what possible use you can be to the
King’s cause. At present, I must simply re
gard your gang as a burthen, sent here to con
sume His Majesty’s rations. Captaid Johnson
direct the quarter-master of your regiment to
serve food to this man and his followers.”
Braddock turned to the table and resumed
his occupation.
“ Come, sir,” whispered the officer.
The Hunter looked, for a moment, discon
certed at his rude reception and the manner of
the interview, and then quietly placing his
rifle on his arm, walked out of the marquee.
“ He’s no gentleman,” he muttered, as he
walked by the side of his conductor.
“Hush!” was the response. “General
Braddock is brusque in his manner and lan
guage ”
“ What’s that ?” interrupted the Hunter.
“ Rude, quick, rough,” smiled Captain John
son ; “ but on longer acquaintance you’ll find
him a good man at heart. He’s out of temper
with this campaign, and he dislikes tenders of
service and adyice which have been, even in
some instances, offensively proffered him, not
only here, but in letters from Philadelphia.
He believes he knows quite-as well as any
other man how to manage your enemies, the
Indians.”
“Thar, Cap’n,” responded the Hunter,
“ he’s mistaken. They're a treacherous crew,
and they’ll work him and his men injury
afore'he gets through with ’em. Howsever,
he’ll not be troubled a second time by any offer
o’ mine. Jest as soon as Harry Stewart’s well
enough to carry his gun, we’ll be off. An’ in
the meantime, Cap’n, you needn’t put yourself
to the trouble o’ orderin’ anythin’ for us. We
kin take care o’ ourselves, I reckon.”
“Well, .well,” said the officer, in a pleasant
voice, “ do not be in a hurry to leave, as it may
yet be the desire of General Braddock to em
ploy your men as scouts. Here we are at my
tent. Will you come in and see your friend
Stewart. By-the-bye, how happens it that the
poor fellow finds his way into this wild re
gion?”
The Hunter smiled' grimly, and answered :
“ Love, Cap’n, druv him here.”
“Love!”
“Yes. Yer see, he fell head an’ ears into
love with a young gal in Philadelphia—a Miss
Kean.”
“What, pretty Mary Kean, the Quakeress!
Why, Stewart, when I was last there, was her
father’s confidential man of business.”
“That’sthe lady, Cap’n. It cornin’’to the
knowledge o’ the father o’ the girl, he felt
kind o’ put out at the notion o’ her failin’ in
love with any one who wan’t o’ his way o’
religious thinkin’ ; pn’ so he said, better than
a year ago now, that it be a good idea for Stew
art to take a run for a twelve month or so into
the wilds o’ the west—till his baird had grown
a leetle longer, promisin’ ef, on his return, his
darter liked him as well as ever,- that they
should be married, an’ welcome. I s’pose the
old man had an idea that out o’ sight out o’
mind ; but I guess the young folks.love each
other jest as much as they ever did. ’ Stewart
writes to her whenever he kin git a chance, an’-
he’d abeen with her afore this, hadn’t it a been
for that are Injin, Huggin Bar, a hittin’ on him
in the breast.”
“Poor fellow 1 But come in and see him.
He shall continue my guest until he is prepir
ed to return home. ’ ’
“Thank you, for that,” said the Hunter,
warmly, and yet sadly. “He’s been a true
friend to me—a friend when I most needed
one.”
The officer had by this time approached the
entrance way. Looking in, he saw the sur
geon of his regiment busily engaged probing
the wound in Stewart’s breast.
“Ah, doctor,” he cried, “ how shall I thank
you for your kindness. How is my poor
friend ?’ ’
“He came within an eighth of an inch of
being sent to Heaven, Johnson,” was the re
sponse. “ How he has managed to keep fever
down, I cannot tell. His constitution must be
sound as a nut. Any olher man to be eight or
ten days without medical attendance would
have been laid out before this, as cold and as
rigid as a frozen trout. It’s wonderful how
much some men can endure. There, my lad/’
he continued, addressing himself to Stewart, as
he pushed the probe further into the orifice,
“there, don’t wince so! If it hurts, all the
better, as pain gives us assurrance that morti
fication has not set in. Ah, there! I have it!
Yes, here it is, hurrah!” and the surgeon,
overlooking the fact that his patient had faint
ed,' held up, between the thumb and forefinger
of his right hand, a small bullet, flattened on
one side of its sphere. “ See!’’ he cried, “the
ball struck the sternum, then flattened and
glanced off and buried itself in the flesh just be
hind the mamma ! Now, get me a little water
and salt, and I will soon wash out the wound,
and then dress it. In a week, he’ll be as
strong as he ever was. Pooh! it’s a mere
scratch.’’
“But, doctor,’’ suggested the officer, ad
vancing, “ your patient has fainted.”
“ Coma ! Nothing ! He’ll be all right in
a minute.”
The water and salt were handed to the sur
geon. Of these he made a solution, and then,
with the aid of a syringe, injected a portion of
it into the opening of the wound.
“It’s weak, and won’t injure him,” said
the doctor. “Splendid wash for gunshot
wounds is salted water. There! Now I’ll
bandage him up, and in half an hour he’ll feel
like another man.”
.With a dexterity of manipulation, which
only the army surgeon acquires in the field,
the dressing and bandage were applied almost
as rapidly as he had spoken.
“ Now, we’ll wash his face with a little cold
water,” he added. “ It’ll revive him. There !”
And he dashed from a tumbler water on the
head of Stewart.
“ I’m much obleegcd to ye, doctor,” said the
Hunter, who, until this moment, stood
quietly by the couch of his friend, closely
watching the proceedings of the surgeon. “I
b’lieve, with you, that he’ll be well in a few
days now. P’r’aps you wouldn’t object to
giving me that ar’ ball for Mr. Stewart. ■ He
may want to take it home with him.”
The surgeon looked inquiringly at the
Hunter.
“Doctor Durken,” said Captain Johnson,
“ permit me to introduce to your acquaintance
a very worthy man, whom you have doubtless
heard of.by name and by 7 deed—Captain Jack,
of the Killers.”
“Happy to know you, Captain,” cried the
surgeon, grasping the hand of the Hunter.
“ I’ve heard of you and your men. Terrible
fellows after the red-skins, and I’m told with
good reason. Yes, you shall have the ball.
Here it is.”
“ Thank you, doctor.” ■
“ I must be off now. Give your friend some
thing light—something easy of digestion—
something not quite as fat as pork or as tough
as horse meat; and he’ll soon be on his legs.
Good-by—good-by.” And the surgeon hur
ried out ot the tent to attend to hospital du
ties.
It was some minutes subsequent to the de
parture of Doctor Durken, before Stewart re
opened his eyes, and drew a long, deep breath.
“Ah, my friend,” cried the officer, gaily,
“you are all right now. The doctor says
you’ll be well in a week.”
. “ An’ yere, Harry,” said the Hunter, “yere’s
the ball o’ that Huggin’ Bar. Keep it, an’
take it home with yer. When ye get to
Philadelphia, it’ll be somethin’ to show to
Miss Kean.”
“ Ah, you rogue,” laughed Captain John
son. “By George, he’s blushing ! You needn’t
though, for I’ve heard all about your love
scrape. Your friend here has been letting the
‘ cat out of the bag.’ Well, Mary’s a nice
girl, and I wish you joy of your conquest.”
“ Captain,” whispered Stewart, in a low,
trembling voice, “is there any way by which I
could forward a letter to Philadelphia?”
“To be sure there is! A messenger leaves
for the city to-morrow morning, and you can
send one.by him. But, my good friend, you
are not strong enough to write. ’ ’
“Just a word,” murmured Stewart.
“ You can’t hold a pen. But, I’llactasyour
amanuensis.”
“Thank you.” was the answer. “I will
accept your kind offer. I merely wish you
to say to Mary—Yftss Kean, I mean—that I
have been wounded, but am getting better.”
(To be continued.)
[Written for the Sunday Dispatch.]
STANZAS.
By Clarence F. Buhler.
Blossoms adorn the Alpine peak
That perish in the sheltered vale :
So bards in Mind's dominion scale
Its cliffs, a lonely flower'to seek
Whose pale cheek wears the upper glow—
Though mental storms invest his path
With more than elemental wrath—
• Unknown to those that sleep below.
for Julies.
Court Fashions in England.—We
have the succeeding descripton from an article in the
London Times, upon the Princess of Wales’ drawing-room :
“ By command of the Queen, a drawing room (the first)
was held on Satu day in St. James’ Palace, by her Royal
Highness tlie Princess of Wales, on behalf of her Majesty.
The court was attended by about two thousand of the no
bility and gentry. The presentations of ladies upon this
occasion, exceeded five hundred, and by the Queen’s
pleasure were considered equivalent to presentations to
her Majesty.
The Prince and Princess of Wales, attended by the La
dies and Gentlemen in Waiting, and escorted by a party of
Life Guards, arrived soon after two o’clock at St. James’
Palace, and were received by the Mistress of the Robes and
the Great Officers of State of the Queen’s Household.
The Princess of Wales took her station in front of the
throne, accompanied by the Prince of Wales and the other
members of the royal family.
Her Royal Highness wore a train of rich white silk, hav
ing a deep trimming of white crape and wreaths of white
lilac and Honiton lace. The petticoat richly trim nod to
iratch the train.
The head dress of the Princess was formed of a diamond
tiara, leathers and tulle vail.
The ornaments were diamonds and opals.
The Prince of Wales wore the uniform of the Tenth Hus
sars, of which regiment his Royal Highness is colonel.
The Princess Louis of Hesse wore a train of silver moire
richly trimmed with pale violet velvet and silver bullion.
The petticoat of white crystalline, with bouillonnes of
white tulle covered with Irish point, leaped with velvet
and silve r to match the train.
The head-dress a diamond tiara, a tulle vail ornamented
with peors and featte.-s.
Diamond necklace, brooch and earrings.
The Princess Mary of Cambridge wore a petticoat of
white satin, trimmed with tulle and bands of lilac velvet,
covered with a tunic of Honiton lace. The train of lilac
silver moire antique, trimmed round w ith Honiton lace.
lier Royal Highness’ head dress was composed of a dia
dem of diamonds mounted on lilac velvet, feathers and
silver tulle vail.
Necklace, stomacher and earrings of pearls and dia
monds.”
' Paris Fashions for June.—ln the
various new mantles for the season, we notice three styles
likely to have the greatest success. The rotonde, the
casaque, and the small patelot. The rotonde is usually
made to match the dress We observe, en passant, that the
complete toilette en suite is much worn. The bonnet of
crape is even made to match the shade of the dress, and
the parasol corresponds in color. The shades mostly pre
fem d for these costumes are either a blue shade of violet
or the favorite leather color. Shawls of white and black
lace, with the upper point rounded, are being prepared
lor the more advanced period of th.? season. Grenadine
barege shawls, with a broad reversable point of guipure,
and trimmed round with Chantilly lace or elama, are
patronized by ladies of the highest circles. The new pat
terns in printed muslins are very exquisite and graceful
in design. In this, as in other materials, the leather color
and brown are much worn. Blue is also a favorite color.
There are three shades principally in vogue. One called
the “ new shade” is rather light; another, the corn bow
er blue, and the third, the deepest shade, is imperial blue.
Dresses in worked Indian muslin will be fashionable this
summer, and worn out of doors with rotondes to match.
Bonnets have not undergone much change in form, but
there is a good taste displayed in the arrangement of
trimmings and choice of materials that renders those of
this season a decided improvement upon the bonnets of
that of the last year. Although rather premature as yet
to make any allusion to the form oi hats, still as the shaoes
seem pretty well determined, we venture to designate
the leading styles. They are mostly high in the crown,
and rather pointed, both behind and in front. Sometimes
one edge is raised like the old Amazone hat, the other be
ing left flat. ’J he trimmings are placed pi front. The
favorite shapes are the Incroyable, Mademoiselle, Henry
111, and the Montpensier— Le Follet.
Armenian Women—The following
extract relative to this subject is for the indignation of ter
magant wives and the comfort of their unfortunate hus
bands. “ The condition of women in Armenia partakes
of European freedom and Asiatic restraint—the restraint
being laid on the wife, and the freedom allowed to jhe
maiden. To all, except Armenians born, this appears a
perilous, or at least a preposterous regulation. Yet, prac
tically, it would seem to lead to no evil results, and at the
worst renders households tranquil, though, it may be,
rather dull. If marrying and wooing in Armenia were,
jisiumostrililiSSUSJimw. ftffaks or IWt, Bvi
the private business of fathers and guardians, wc might
justly expect that the Trans Caucasian young ladies would
become a nation of vestals or amazons, so as to avoid the
uncomfortable doom which surely awaits them in the
married state. While unwed, they go where they will,
and converse with whom they please. But with the words
pronounced at the altar female liberty is at an end. The
lords of the Armenian creation are ot opinion not merely
that a “ voice soft, gentle and low, is an excellent thing in
woman,” but also that rigid Pythagorean silence is whole
some for the sex. For six years the wife is condemned to
to almost complete taciturnity. No more gadding about
for her ; no gatherings at the village fountain ; no dances
under the umbrageous arcades of the wood. Even in her
own house she mutt go about vailed ; if a stranger comes
on the premises she hides herself in the innermost cham
ber ; and twice only in the year is she permitted to ap
pear in the street, and then she is escorted to church and
back again by some bearded and booted martial or frater
nal dragon. She may speak to her husband when alone
with him. but neither to father nor brother; and as for
cousins, they are not so much as mentioned in her pre
sence. Whatsoever communications are indispensable
must be made by gestures, or through the alphabet oi the
fingers.
Hints to Ladies. —We think the
subjoined, intended no doubt, as quiet sarcasm, must have
emanated from some envious old bachelor who is anx
ious for a dash at woman-kind. If ever any one of the
feminine persuasion should have mercy upon his celibacy
and take him “ for better or for worse,” we should like
to put this article in her possession, and see her carry out
its instructions to the letter, to avenge the entire injured
sex :
“As soon as the rites are consummated, shake off the
vail of deceit which has so disguised you from your Toner,
and show your husband all your mental deformity. Hay
ing shown him the bright side of your character while
you were ensnaring him, show what a fool he was, by
giving him a specimen of your darkest traits in a batch,
lie will be certain to feel Lord Bacon’s seven additional
years as soon as prophesied. Believe that now life has no
cares. With your maidenhood you shook them on, and
took up indolent pleasures and wretched selfishness. Your
husband is the scape goat of all your sins and peccadil
loes, and is slightly responsible for them. Do not neglect
these privileges. Your principal business now is to adorn
yourself. If you are handsome, so much the better will
the richest clothes become you; or if plain, so much the
more need of helps to beauty. Never hesitate about ob
taining any article on account of the expense—that is but
a small a flair— get whatever becomes, and as often as the
fasbkns change, especially if your husband has an ac
count at the store. The size of his income is of the least
possible interest to you, although it may result in depri
ving y ou of your spoons.”
The Excellence of Women. —In
1509. the famous Cornelius Agrippa, who had the reputa
tion of being a great magician, published his book, in
Latin, “On the excellence of Women,” in which he es
saystoprove her superiority over the rest of creation.
“He tells us that God called the man Adam, and
the w oman Eve. how Adam signifies earth, and Eve TT/e.
Life is more precious than earth; therefore the woman
is more precious than the man. fehe was the chef-d'atuore
of creation ; la bonne touche, he made her last, because
she was to be the queen of creation, so much so, that be
fore she had being he had built for her a royal sojourn;
then he introduced her into the world, as into the court
desigm d ter her, and which he had adorned, enriched,
embellished, with the magnificence worthy of such a
n onarch ;” he furthermore asserts that the descendants
ot Eve have received many special privl’eges; one for
instance—
“lf it happens that a man and a woman fall into the
water in company, without hope of succor, the woman
floats a long time before she sinks, whereas the man
cleaves to the water like a stone, and makes first the
road to the bottom. Whence comes this, if you please r
You attribute it, perhaps, to the lightness of the body, or
to the dsessr Pretty reasons, good sooth! It is because
the women was created in Paradise, and because that her
place here, or whenever sbe may be, is always above the
water.” Is anybody convinced t
Platonic Love. —Mrs. Farrar,, in dis
coursing upon this subject, thus addresses herself to youn
ladies with whom this theme is an especial pet: “ There
is no objection to your having a great deal of friend ly talk,
pud many social visits from gentlemen of approved
character and well known moral worth; but do not fall
into the prevalent fashion of talking about Platonic love,
and having one gentleman devoted to you in public and
in private, as your chosen friend and confidant. That is a
folly pregant with mischief, where it is entered upon in
good faith, and is rendered doubly odious by the use
some ladies make of it, men ly to secure to themselves a
beau upon all occasions. Muchnonsen.se is talked about
Platonic love, by girls who know not the real meaning of
the word, and who designate, by that term, the restless
craving of their hearts tor sympathy, but who are the
larthcst removed from the calm and pure sentiment des
cribed by Plato.” We are afraid there is a great deal of
truth in the above, but dear me! relinquish that them *,
Platonic love, and there is one of the favorite topics for
conversation lost to fashionable youth of the nineteenth
century : one especially in request, during those recherche
flirtations they are wont to indulge in.
The Polish Heroine. —Letters from
foreign correspondents still contain reminders of the cour
ageous female aid-de camp of Langiewicz. One of them
informs us : “ Opinions are divided in Cracow as to her
beauty. The men think her charming ; the women “can
not see what theie is to admire in her,” from which it
must be inferred that they cannot sfee her eyes,or her
eyes, or her hair, or the expression of her face. Accord
ing to the male estimate of her age, she is eighteen ; ac
cording to the female, twenty-eight. At all events, she is
very young to have had three horses killed under her—a
fact to which ail persons seem to be agreed. It is quite
certain, too, that she led the charge ot scythmen at Gro
chowiska. The Kossanicri were hesitatingLefore a w’ell
sustained fire of Russian infantry, and could not be got to
advance, when the pretty aide-de-camp rode in front of
the regiment, and, apparently by the mere force of per
sonal attractiveness, drew it forward. The Poles will go
anywhere atter a good-looking woman, and at Grocho
wiska this weakness proved a source of strength.”
Thrilling.- Brillat-Savarin, whom
the French, the most fastidious people in the world, con
gif cr good authority in such matters, proclaims that
“ Good eating (ta.?ourmandwe) is not at all unbecoming of
ladies ; it is suiting to the delicacy of their organs, and
grants them compensation for some pleasures that they
must deprive themselves of, and for some ills to which
nature would appear to have condemned them. Nothing
is more agreeable than to see a pretty f/ourmande under
arms ; the napkin is advantageously hud out, one of her
hands is posed on the table, the other conveys to her
mouth small morsels elegantly cut, or the wing of the
partridge qu'il taut viordre; her* eyes are brilliant, her lips
shinmg, her conversation agreeable, all her movements
gracious; she is not failing in that grain of coquetry which
w < men cast over everything. With all these advantages
she is irresistible ; and even Cato, the censor himself,
would be stirred.” Its a pity the beaux of our com
munity do not share in this gentleman’s taste.
The “ Sack.”—The Portland Gazette
gives us some enlightenment upon that mysterious point
that may prove interesting to our readers. It says: “The
ladies know what it is to give their more unpleasant ad
mirers the “sack.” Sometimes they modify the expres
sion when they desire to spare a gentleman's feelings, and
only give him the “mitten.” To “sack” is, in such a case,
a stronger description of the same act, and signifies, of
course, to discard, dismiss, send about his business, or re
quest to go to Jericho, the party unfortunate enough to
incur a lady's displeasure. In Constantinople, the Turks
used to have a habit of “sacking” the ladies; but it was in
a very different manner from this. They used to trouble
the waters of the Bosphorus with a sack made of strong,
coarse cloth, like a salt sack; and this sack usually con
tained some woman, whose “bosom’s 1< rd” imagined she
was perfidious. The lady was “sacked,” and deposited at
the bottom of the sea, as an example for other women
with a turn of mind toward fickleness of a flection I”
Preventive of Jealousy.—A story
is going the rounds of Paris, says a French exchange,
that has excited quite a little amusement among those
acquainted with the parties immediately involved in the
affair. The Viscount de M is very vain, although re-
markable for his homeliness Having indulged in a boast of
his numerous conquests, unconsciously in the hearing of
Madame de G , she resolved to administer a wholesome
dose of rebuke to his vanity. Requesting his arm for a
promenade at a ball at the Countess'of L *s, and danc-
ing with him several times, the Viscount delicately insin
uated it might have been out of a tender regard tor him.
“Oh no,” returned Madame, “do not flatter yourself so
much, my dear Count. I have chosen you because I
wanted a partner such as would not give my husband
cause for jealousy.” The Viscount was confounded, but
was afterward induced to forgive his fair reprover, al
though his vanity has suffered an incurable wound.
The Women of a Nation.—“ We do
not hesitate to say that the women give to every nation a
moral temperament, wcich shows itself in polities. A
hundred times we have seen weak men show real public
virtue, because they Jiad by fteir sides women who sup
ported them, not by advice as to particulars, but by forti
fying their feelings of duty, and by directing their am
bition. More frequently, we must confess, we have ob
served the domestic influence gradually transforming a
man, naturally oenerous, noble and unselfish, into a co w
ardly. common-Sace, place ; hunting self-seeker, thinking
of public buslndW only as a means of making himself
comfortable ; and this simply bt contact with a well-con
ducted woman, a faithful wife, an excellent mother, but
from whose mind the grand notion of public duty was en
tirely absorbed.”— Home Journal.
Crinoline and Electricity. The
French papers state that a lady and gentleman, returning
from a ball given at Marseilles, found themselves over
taken by a thunder-storm. To the surprise of the gentle
man, he suddenly found his fair companion enveloped in
flames. It would appear that the electric fluid communi
cated with the steel of her dress. She was put out.
Crinoline again ! We wonder what will be the next ruse
got up by its enemies to frighten the “ fair” from lending
it countenance. At latest accounts, the skeleton reigns still
triumphant.
Marriage.—We find in the Troy
(jHardi’an an expressive assertion upon this interesting
subject, to wit: “ Queen Christina, of Sweden, on the day
she resigned the crown, put on her most royal with
crowm and sceptre, sword and globe. Ladies do the same
when they deck themselves in their best attire, and all
their pride of charms, on the day they lay down the
sceptre, and tired of reigning over all hearts, content
themselves with one.”
Costume of the Empress.—The toilet
of Eugenie, the charming Empress of the French, at the
races near Paris, is said to have been a violet taffetas dress
trimmed with ruches of the same, and bias bands of black
velvet edged with white at the bottom of the skirt Sl>e
wore a white bonnet covered with violets, and round her
shoulders a magnificent black lace shawl.
Capt. Kidd Again.—The people up at
Cutchogue, on the eastern end of the Island,
are greatly excited over a recent discovery of
buried treasure which has been made there.
A fanner, named Betts, on the 18th instant,
plowed up sixty-one silver table-spoons, which
weighed one hundred and eighty-three ounces.
The opinion of the inhabitants is’unanimous
that they were buried by the old pirate, Capt.
Kidd, and that there are plenty more of the
same sort in the neighborhood.— Brooklyn.
Neus.
The pecple of the town of Gray, in
Maine, have voted, by a large majority, to pay
a bounty of S3OO to every man drafted under
the conscription law. The reason is. that they
can better afford the price of exemption from
the draft than to lose the laborers whom the
draft would otherwise take away from the town.
Col. Montgomerey’s negro regiment
lately left Hilton Head, S. C., on a raid which was highly
successful. They burned the town of Bluffton and other
property to the value of $600,000, and brought oft about a
thousand contrabands, about two hundred of whom will
be conscripted into the Union service. It is also reported
that the same regiment lately had a severe fight at Poco
talego, S. C., in which they routed the rebels and gained
possession of a bridge on the Savannah and Charleston
Railroad, thus severing communication between the two
VWfS.
(Written for the Sunday Dispatch.]
HAUNTED.
By J. -Gordon Emmons.
When ’mid the throng of revellers,
And forms of beauty ’round me shine,
One lovely face and graceful form
Alone I see, and they are thine.
When all alone in some wild wood,
Some valley green or shady dell,
A fair young face looks down on me—
The face of her I love so well.
When ’mid the cares and toils of life,
Beset by troubles everywhere.
That face appears amid the strife,
And all again is bright and fair.
When, in the silence of the night.
Strange dreams and visions visit me,
That heavenly face pervades them all,
And fills my soul with ecstacy.
Thus I am haunted, night and day,
Asleep, awake, where’er I rove,
By thy sweet face ; and so I pray
That thou wilt bless me with thy love.
War gftatto.
A Scene at Vicksburg—Graphic Ac
covnt of Storming A Rebel Fort.'—And now,
leader, come with me, and you shall witness
one of those eights rarely seen, and the story
of which will thiill the hearts of posterity with
mingled wonder, admiration, and sorrow for
ever afterward. Imagine yourself on the crest
of a sharp hill, crowned with fresh earthworks.
Four huge Parrott guns stand on the summit.
Creep up to the top and peep over—cautiously,
for Minies are slipping through the air with
that half audible, deadly sound which the sol
dier knows so well. Just in front, and appar
ently not a stone’s throw off, although in fact
distant 700 yards, is the bare reddish outline
of the fort we are to storm. How steep—how
ominously silent and desolate it looks I One
would fancy that nothing of verdure or life
could abide there. Between it and us is a val
ley or ravine that makes the approach to the
opposite works almost precipitous. At either
extremity of the bastion is a long, low line of
rifle-pits, connecting with similar works to the
right and left, as far as the eye can reach,
forming an unbroken necklace of rifle-pits and
fortifications. To the south of the forts,
immediately in front, the rifle-pits make
a bend this way, so as to sweep with an
enfilading-fire a storming force. When you
look at yonder steep hill, at that cordon
of breastworks, contrived with consummate
ingenuity and labor, the heart sinks with
in you. To the left, with its blood-red bars
just visible above the rifle-pits, now flapping
defiantly in the breeze, now drooping to the
flag-staff almost lost from view, is the ensign
of treason. Beyond the western hills, pointing
peacefully heavenward, in strange contrast
with theae warlike preparations, are the spires
of Vicksburg. But hark ! A faint cheer rises
on the air. They are charging ! Lawler’s bri
gade is advancing ! There is a general rush to
the summit of the hill, regardless of the sharp
shooters and shells. There they go with trail
ed muskets, half crouching, with swift but steal
thy tread, streaming toward the fortress. For
a moment, not a shot is tired. They are screen
ed from the raking shots of the enemy by the
side of the ravine. But just as they emerge
into the open space before the fort, the rifle-pits
and bastion to the left, the work in front, and
the sharpshooters from the right, all open upon
them with a deadly storm of bullets. Lately
so deserted, the redoubts are all alive with
heads and muskets and jets of smoke. Tne
air is crazy with the sharp rattle of musketry
and the crash of cannon For a moment the
advancing column staggers under this terrible
ordeal. Then a few brave fellows rush forward,
right up to the breastworks ; hesitate a mo
ment on the edge of a moat, leap in and dis
appear, emerge on the other side, and strug
gle with great difficulty up the steep sides of
the parapet. Some of them reach the
top, and stand for a moment the target of
thousands of bullets on that proud, but
awful summit, gaze down at something
within, tnen spring forward and disappear.
Is it victory ? Is the stronghold won ? Or do
they enter there as those who cross the Bridge
of sighs, never to return? Now, others scale
the works to be met by shots from within, and
link to the earth, or reel backward into the
trenches. Merciful God! How hard it is to
see brave men, fighting in a sacred cause, fall
like cattle, with no support, no rescue, by the
hand of a foe they cannot reach ! The result
of the attack is already known. The edge of
the fort was gained, but its interior was swept
by a line of rifle pits in the rear and a parti
tion breastwork, so that our soldiers, even
when within the fort, were almost as far from
victory as before. Earthworks and sharp
shooters were everywhere. The charging col
umn crossed the open space before the works
under a murderous fire from foemen in front
and on eitherflank. A handful of men scaled
the redoubt, only to be caught in another coil
of death. Even in the ditch they were not
safe. Some of them actually .burrowed into
earth along the sides of the parapet, to gain
shelter from this terrific storm. So this for
lorn Hope, the heroes of Black River, hard
ly believing that they could be repulsed, clung
to the steep sides of that bastion as the drown
ing man holds to a straw, through that long
day of agony, until the friendly night brought
them relief.
A Cotton Seizure Story.—Some time
last Fall, Gen. C. E. Hovey, of the Federal
army, made a raid into Mississippi, and fell
upon three hundred lf“sfes of cotton, which
were stored in sheds, and marked “ C. S. A.,”
and were.guarded over by a rebel lieutenant.
He was captured, and he explained that the
cotton was the assessed offerings of the planters
in the neighborhood to the demands of Jeff
Davis. It was rebel property entirely. Gen.
Hovey seized this cotton at once, and passed it
into the hands of some army speculators. They
sent it to Memphis, consigned to private hands,
and when it arrived there Gen. Sherman
seized upon it and sent it on to the U. S. A.
Agent at St. Louis. He sold it out by auction
for SOO,OOO, and the proceeds were made sub
ject to the decisions of the courts. Three libels
were filed by three different claimants of the
money, or a portion of it, but Judge Treat de
clared that upon a law of Congress of 1861, the
cotton belonged to the United States alone,
ft ee from the claim of any officer or inferior.
This decision is subject to the revision of the
Circuit and Supreme Courts of the United
States, but as it is based upon a positive law,
it is not likely to be reversed.
The following anecdote of the late
General John Stark was related to the writer
by the late General John McNeil:—General
McNeil, U. S. A., was, in 1812, a Captain in
theU. S. Army. A political Democratic meet
ing was called at Amherst. Isaac Hill, then
editor of the New Hampshire Patriot, took
with him Captain McNeil to attend the meet
ing. A disturbance teas expected, but none hap
pened. On their return, next day, Captain
McNeil proposed to Mr. Hill to call at the
house of General Stark, whom he had never
seen, although distantly related. The visitors
were cordially received and a good dinner or
dered. When taking leave of the General,
McNeil remarked, “General, you are an old
soldier and lam a young one. lam just ordered
to the frontiers ; perhaps you could give me
seme advice that might be of service to me.”
The veteran (then 82 years old) answered, • 1 1
never knew much, and what I did know once I have
mostly forgotten ; but one thing I will tell you.
Aei'er be ashamed or afraid to live or to die. God
knows I never was." General McNeil stated
that those words inspired him to exertion in
the perils and dangers he encountered in the
campaigns of 1812, 1813 and 1814.— Boston
Pest.
Pleasant Bedfellows.—A diary of a
prisoner of war contains the following sugges
tive incident: “ Becoming drowsy I borrowed
a blanket, .went into the depot, and finding a
vacant place between two prostrate forms,
dropped down to rest, and was soon lost in for
getfulness. I have no knowledge of how long
I slept, but getting cold, I partially awoke,
and hunching my right-hand partner, request
ed him to roll over and spoon. He made no
reply, and giving him a tremendous thump, I
again besought him to spoon, but it was no go.
Turning on my other side I shook my other
bedfellow and made the same request. He 100
paid no heed to my desire. Exasperated at
what I considered his unaccommodating spirit,
I determined to bring matters to a crisis.
Drawing up my left leg, I gave him a most
unmerciful kick, but he was as immovable as
the rock of ages. I was now thoroughly
awake. Jumping up, I turned down the blan
kets, first on one and then on the other, and
by the dim firelight beheld on either hand a
corpse. My nap was finished. In the morn
ing I learned that they were rebel dead brought
down from Murfreesboro for burial at Chatta
nooga.
A Sad Incident. —A lad not quite
sixteen, in the Army of the Potomac, wag
asked whether he had any brothers in the ar
my, and answered : “ I had one, but he wag
killed at Williamsburg ; he fell at my side. I
found him after the battle dying. All ho
could say, ‘ Try and get a box to bury me in.’'
I could not find one, but got three cracker
boxes, took the ends out, placed them end to
end, and put his body into them ; then, with
my bayonet and my hands, I hollowed out a
place, not very deep, though I worked hours
at it, and there I laid him with no one to help
me, and there his body is now.”
An Immense Haul of Contrabands,,
etc. —The New Orleans lira of May 30th, says :
“ It has been known to many persons in this
city that an immense train, consisting of about
600 wagons, 3,000 mules and horses, 1,500
head of cattle, and 6,000 negroes, has just been,
brought from the Teche country to a safe point
within our lines. The train -was fully eight
miles in length, and was under a guard of sev
eral regiments of volunteer troops, the whole
under command of Col. Joseph S. Morgan, of
the 9th New York.”
The gun-boat Cincinnati, lately sunk
by the Vicksburg batteries, has a history. She
was built at St. Louis. Commander Stembel
took command of her. At Fort Henry she was
Admiral Foote’s flag ship. At Columbus and
Hickman, Ky., she first planted the Union col
ors. At Island No. 10, and at Fort Pillow she
led the van. At the latter place the rebel rams
sunk her, and her commander, Stembel, was
severely wounded. Now she has gone down at
Vicksburg. But she can again be raised, if we
take the place.
THE OLD WIFE’S KISS.
The funeral services were ended, and as th®
voice of prayer ceased, tears were hastily wiped
from wet cheeks, and long drawn sighs re
lieved, suppressed and choking sobs, as the
“mourners prepared to take leave of. the
corpse.”
It was an old man who lay here robed for the
grave. More than three-score years had whiten
ed those Jocks, and furrowed that brow, and
made those stiff limbs weary of life’s journey,
and all the more willing to lie down and rest
where weariness is no longer a burden. The
aged have few to weep for them when they die.
’the most of those who would have mourned
their loss, have gone to the grave before them ;
harps that would have sighed sad harmonies
are shattered and gone; and the few that re
main are looking cradel-ward rather than to
life’s closing goal; are bound to, and living
in the generation rising, more than the gene
ration departing.
Youth and beauty have many admirres while
living—have manymourners when dying; and
many tearful ones bend over their coffined clay
—many sad hearts follow in their funeral train.
But age has few admires, few mourners.
This was an old man, and the circle of mourn
ers was small. Two children who had them- .
selves passed the middle of life, and who had
children of their own to care for and be cared
for by them. Besides these and a few friends
who had seen and visited him while he was sick,
and possibly had known him for a few years
there were none others to shed a tear except,
his old wife. And of this small company the
old wife, seemed to be the only heart-mourner.
It is respectful for friends to be sad for a few
moments, till the service is performed and the
hearse out of sight. It is very proper and
suitable for children who have outgrown
the fervency and affections of youth, to sired
tears when an aged parent says farewell, and
lies down to quiet slumbers. Some regrets,
some recollections of the past, some transitory
griefs and the pangs are over. Not always so.
But often how little true genuine heart-sorrow
there is.
The old wife arose with difficulty from
her seat, and went to the coffin to look her
last look- —to take her last farewell. Through,
the fast falling tears she gazed long and fond
ly down into that pale, unconscious face.
What did she see there I— Others saw- nothing
but the rigid features of the dead; she saw
more ! in every wrinkle of thaf brow she read
the history of years. From youth to manhood
from manhood to old age ; in joy and sorrow,,
in sickness and health—it was all there ; when
those children, who had not quite outgrown
the sympathies of childhood, were infants lying
on her bosom, and every year since then—
there it was ! to others, those dull mute moni
tors were unintelligible; to her they were the
alphabet of the heart, familiar as household
words!_
And ‘then the future 1 “what will become of
me? what shall I do now ?■ “She did not say so
—she did not say anything—but she felt it.
The prospect of the old wife is clouded. Th®
home circle is broken never to be re-united ;
the visions of the hearth stone are scattered
forever. Up to that hour there was a home to
which the heart always turned with fondness.
But that tie is sundered; the keystone of
that sacred arch has fallen, and now home is.
nowhere this side of heaven! What, children!
be a pensioner upon their kindness, where she
may be more of a burden than a blessing, se
at least she thinks. Or shall she gather up the
scattered fragments of that brokenarch, make
them her temple and her shrine ; sit down in.
her chill solitude beside its expiring fires, and
die ?—What shall she do now ?
They gently- crowded her away from the
dead and the undertaker came forward with
the coffin lid in his hand. It is all right and
proper—of course—it must be done ; but to the
heart-mourner it brings a kind of shudder, a.
thrill of agony, as when the headsman comes
forward with his axe ! the undertaker stood for
a moment, with a decent propriety, not wish
ing to manifest rude haste, but evidently desi
rous of being as expeditous as possible. Just
as he was about to close the coffin, the cld wife
turned back, and stooping down, imprinted,
one long, last kiss upon the cold lips of her
dead husband, then stagereed to her seat,
buried her face in her hands, and the closing
coffin hid him from her sight forever !
That kiss I Fond token of affection, and of
sorrow, and memory and farewell! I have seen
.many kiss their dead—many such seals of love
upon clay-cold lips—but never did I see one
so purely sad, so simply heart-touching and.
hopeless as that! Or if it had hope, it was that
which looks beyond coffins and charnel houses
and damp dark tombs, to the joys of the home
above. You would kiss the cold cheek of infan
cy ; there is poetry, it is beauty hushed ; there
is romance there ; for the faded flower is still
beautiful! In childhood the heart yields to the
stroke of sorrow ; but recoils again elastic
with faith buoyant with hope. But here was
no beauty, no poetry, no romance. The heart
of the old wife was like the weary swimmer,
whose strength has often raised him above the
stormy waves, but now exhausted, sinks amidst
the surges.
Why should the old love the old, or kiss
the old unloving lips? Ah! why shouldn’t
they ? Does affection grow old ? Does the
true heart feel the infirmity- of years ? Does
it grow cold when the step becomes unsteady
and the hands hang down ? Who shall say
that the heart of the old wife was not as
young and warm as in those early and bright
er days, when he wooed and won her? The
temple of her earthly hopes had fallen ; and
what was there left for her but to sit do vn in.
despondency, among its lonely ruins, and.
weep and die ? Or, in the spirit of a better
hope, await the dawning of a another day,
when a hand divine shall gather its sacred,
dust, and rebuild for immortality its broken
walls.
May the old wife’s kiss, that linked the
living with the dead, be the token of a holier
life, that shall bind their spirits in that better
land, where tears are wiped from all faces, and
the days of their mourning are ended !
Wanted, an Owner.—The statement
in the papers recently in regard to the finding
of five one thousand dollar Treasury notes,
greenbacks, by an Irish girl, while engaged in
picking over the waste paper in one of the pa
per mills at Lenox, Mass., is substantially
true. At least a number of such notes, of the
denomination stated, were found in the man
ner described. At first it was thought to have
been a loss through the post office, much of
the waste paper in such mills being obtained
from such sources. An examination of the
complaint books of the Department, however,
failed to bring to light any one loss of actual
cash agreeing with or approaching the amount
reported found. Great secresy is said to have
been observed by the lucky finder and her ad
visers and it is reported that an envelope
which contained the treasure was at once de
stroyed. The inference is, therefore, that it
contained writing of some kind which might
have furnished a clue to the rightful qwner.
A certain post office agent visited her officially,
but came away about as wise as before. Mean
time Bridget thinks this a pretty good coun
try.— U. 8. Mail.

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