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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, July 19, 1863, Image 7

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Sunday Sedition. 3uly 19.
[Written for the New York Dispatch.]
ON, ON VALIANT SOLDIERS,
INSCRIBED TO THE VOLUNTEERS OF 1863.
By Amelia.
On. on valiant soldiers! the tocsin is sounding!
Arouse .vc to action, brave men ot the North.
From hill* vale and deli war's alarum resounding,
Bids us rally to arms and for battle go forth;
Arm, arm for the conflict! equip for tlie light!
And battle for country, for home and for right.
On, on valiant soldiers! the foe is advancing,
Ah eadv the traitor horde press on our soil,
While tlie clashing of steel, and the fierce war-steed
prancing,
Forewarn us of bloodthirsty carnage and spoil ;
Then arm for tlie conflict, our wrongs to requite—
Go, battle for country, for home and for right.
On, on valiant soldiers! these lawless crusaders
Would raze our proud structure—God’s matchless
design;
Press onward with vigor—repel the invaders
.Ere yet they shall desecrate Liberty’s shrine,
To gain power despotic, they urge on" tlie fight—
Jlc battle for country, for home and for right.
On, on valiant soldiers! your brothers are calling,
Stay not in the valley, halt not on the plain,
Come, till up the ranks where our c miracles are falling—
Oh, haste to the rescue of Freedom’s fair fame.”
Then arm for the conflict, with vigor unite.
And battle for country, lor home and for right.
-On. on valiant soldiers! delay not nor falter,
Switt marshal your forces in battle array.
Go forth—having sworn by each sacred home altar—
To drive back tlie ruthless invaders for aye.
.Arm, arm for the conflict! tlie foe is in sight!
Go, battle tor country, for home and for right.
On. on valiant soldiers! the contest now pending
Bodes freedom or thraldom to a long enslaved race,
And triumphantsuccess ah our efforts attending,
VVid blot from our statutes a nation’s disgrace.
Then till Freedom’s bright dawn succeeds Slavery’s night,
Still battle for country, for home and for right.
On, on valiant soldiers! win unfading glory,
And forever our high, holy purpose shall be
' To attest the grand truth of the oft cited story,
That our own hallowed soil is ‘ The land ofthe/r«e.”
Then arm for the conflict, and fearlessly smite,
Ay, battle for country, for home and for right.
On. on valiant soldiers! and when future ages
Would know where the mantle of Honor should fall,
Lo! the records inscribed upon History’s pages,
Shall point to Columbia's sons—noblest of all.
' Then arm for the conflict! go forth in God's might,
. And battle for country, for home and for right.
[Written for the New York Dispatch.]
CAPTAIN JACK:
OR, THE
Blffl Mffl Bi TH MSI.
A TALE OF BRADDOCK’S CAMPAIGN.
CHAPTER XLI:
BRADDOCK DESESTED.
“This is inexplicable, Percy,” exclaimed Sir
Peter Halket, as he looked around him in a per
plexed manner. “We must hasten to head
quarters and inform General Braddock of the
sudden disappearance of the Indians. What
does it import ? Have they broken with us ? Do
they pay so little regard to their solemn pledges ?
Heaven help us if they have left us and gone
©ver to the enemy. And yet I cannot hold our
commanding general entirely blameless. He has
often acted toward the savagss in a manner that
must have stung them to the quick; and now the
unexplained death of the girl has put their
patience beyond endurance. I only hope they
have returned to their homes. In this is my
consolation. If they have thrown themselves in
the aims of the French then—l wish we were
well out of this ill-advised and so far illy-con
ducted affair.”
The officers hastened on their return to the
encampment.
Leaving Percy to enter his quarters, for Sir
Peter saw that he was wholly unfitted by the
events of the past twelve hour*, to be vf tne
slightest service to him, he hurried toward the
marquee of the General, whom he found as usual,
euriounded by bis secretaries, dictating or writ
ting voluminous dispatches to Philadelphia, or
io the Secretary at War, in London.
The only officer of prominence in the marquee,
beside the Genera], when Sir Peter entered, was
Colonel Washington.
The tall, stately figure and the habitually grave
face of the Virginian struck the Englishman
painfully as he looked on him. He persuaded
himself that Colonel Washington was in posses
sion of the fact of their desertion by the Indians,
and had anticipated him by informing the com
manding-general ; but as he glanced toward the
table and noticed the composure with which Brad
dock continued his occupation, he was at a
loss to account for the seeming contempt with,
which, knowing how much he depended on their
active assistance as scouts, he treated the de
fection of the aborigines.
As Sir Peter entered he saluted his superior—
who merely acknowledged his presence by a
hurried nod of his head—and walked directly to
Colonel Washington, who quietly stepped for
ward a pace, with his hand extended to greet
him, while a smile of recognition lit up his
youthful and not unhandsome face.
“ Colonel Washington, by your early presence
here,” said Sir Peter, in an undertone, I pre
sume you are acquainted with the fact that the
representative men of the Six Nations, B,nd their
followers, whom they had gathered here, have
disappeared ? ”
“ I was not sure of the fact,” answered the
Virginian, gravely. “Do you know this to be so,
. Sir Peter, or is it mere rumor. Their chiefs were
here last night. I saw and conversed with several
of their head men, among them the one known
io us as the wampum-bearer.”
“All,” responded the Englishman, “ it is with
him, trust me, we have the difficulty.”
“ To what do you allude, Sir Peter.”
“You are not probably aware that that hot
brained youth, Edward Percy, had become des
perately enamored of the dusky, and, I must add
exceedingly beautiful daughter of the leading
head-chief. But, Percy, had no other notion in
his head than that of obtaining forbidden fruit
from the girl. She, in return, with all the ardor
of her soul and the purity of her nature, res
ponded to the advances of Edward. He met her
last night in the woods—he had been drinking
Previously —and endeavored, only by gentle force,
am persuaded, to conquer his end. Thejrirl
became greatly alarmed, it seems, and, in her
fright, seized upon a stiletto or dagger, which
Percy wore on his person for protection against
midnight assault, and before he was really aware
of what she was doing, struck the weapon to her
lieart. Horrified, Percy fled, his face covered
with blood, to his tent, where I found him after
morning parade, almost a maniac. Together we
have traversed the forest-paths seeking the
girl, and found where the self-murder had oc
curred, not her body, but that of Percy’s
servant, strangled and the scalp torn from
the skull! Proceeding to the other side of the
wood, in search of .the maiden, if ff happily she
might not have mortally injuredhavel£ we came
Upon the place where the Indian iscainument
had been—”
“ Had been! ” interrupted the Vi* o inian.
“ Yes. It was entirely deserted. Not a lodge
is left standing. The only living creature there,
is a dog, that is whining and yelping mournfully,
dismally, indeed, on what seems to be a new
made grave.”
“This painfully surprises me, Sir Peter. I
have dreaded ever since our enforced stay here
that the Indians would become in some manner
dissatisfied and leave us. It is a pity that our
countrymen can not entertain the same feeling
of courtesy toward the women of other races and
nations that they do toward their own.”
“Alas! Colonel Washington, I fear me, even
for our countrywomen the young men of to-day
do not always hold the highest respect. They
seem to think that the brightest feather in the
cap of any one of them is to be considered a rake.
This Edward Percy, in London, was particularly
noted for his amours among the daughters of
the citizens. He is a handsome fellow, very pre-
Sossessing in his manners, and Nature has en
owed him with a voice so musical and a tongue
so glib that few women there be that he cannot
Wheedle out of any favor he may ask of them.”
“ Is General Braddock informed of the depart
ure of the Indians ?” asked Colonel Washington,
in an anxious voice.
“He is not. That is my business with him.”
“ You had better broach the subject without
delay. There may yet be left open a means by
which the tribes of the confederacy can be won
back to their allegiance.”
“ I will speak to him on the instant,” said Sir
Peter.
“Do so. There is no time to be lost.”
Colonel Halket advanced to the table, and re
moving his fatigue cap, said :
“ General, I wish to speak with you.”
Braddock looked up and answered :
“ One moment, Sir Peter. I w’ill listen to yon
when I have sealed and superscribed this pack
age.”
The colonel returned to Washington, and
awaited the pleasure of his chief.
“ Should these people,” resumed Washington,
go over to Conteicceur, the commander of Du
Quesne, we shall mid the reduction of the place
a difficult matter. The commandant of those
fortifications, I am credibly informed, has not to
exceed nine hundred men, one-half of whom are
Indians; but if the warriors of the Six Nations
unite with him, we shall find serious work on
hand. Last Summer, with my Virginians I suc
ceeded in defeating the French ; but owin* to
my weakness, was forced to retire. I could I
believe, do so now if permitted, leaving your
regiments to close the campaign by holding the
material points of defence. But oiir general has
such utter contempt for my woodsmen that he
will listen to no suggestion of mine. Should he
experience a defeat, which I sincerely trust lie
will not, he will then learn that the hunters who
traverse these wilds are far better suited for of
fensive and defensive purposes than are men ed
ucated to the exercise of arms in a country like
England or those of the continent.”
U Perceive you have added to the strength of
your followers,’ said Sir Peter.
“ They are not mine, although with my men
The persons you allude to are Pennsvlvanians’
r under the leadership of the very notorious hunter
commonly called Captain Jack. His men are
known under the sobriquet of “Killers.” They
have sworn eternal enmity the Indians, and it
may be that the knowledge of their presence has
bad some influence in driving them from us.”
“ Sir Peter!” exclaimed Braddock, “lam at
leisure. I have a few' moments to spare. What
is it you desire to say ?”
“ Gereral,” responded the colonel advancing to
where Braddeck yet sat, with bis face partly
turned Lorn the table, which however he tappe I
impatiently with his fingers, “I am the bearer
of bad rew’s, I fear.”
“ Bad new s, Sir Peter ?”
“ Yes. Our allies, the Indians have left their
encampment—have suddenly disappeared.”
“ Disappeared 1”
“I passed through the woods about an hour
ago in company with Captain Percy, and found
the grounds which fliey have hitherto occupied
tenantlcss.”
“Deserted!”
“Not a stick is left; and not a living creature
is there save a poor half-famished dog, that is
sitting yelping on a newly formed grave.”
“Whatcan this possibly mean?” demanded
Bi addock, suddenly ceasing his tattoo. “ What
can have caused this defection? They must
have left us during the night. Ah, I have it! The
presence of those fellows who came in here a
day or two since the—the—”
“ Killers!” suggested Colonel Washington, who
had leisurely advanced and stood opposite Sir
Peter.
“Yes—thank you, Colonel—these confounded
Killers, as they call themselves.”
“Excellent scouts, General,” said Washington.
“None more reliable than they are.”
“ How do you know, sir?” demanded the now
irate General, sharply, looking up at the Vir
ginian.
“ Because, sir, I have proved them. They are
true as steel, and not so easily offended nor half
so suspicious as are the aborigines;”
“This is unfortunate, very. We resume our
march within three days at furthest, and our
right aim is already paralyzed. I wanted the
Indians to scout through and explore the coun
try, while my men opened a load to the Monon
gahela for the passage of heavy artillery. We
must go on without them, and make the best of
it.”
“ If,” suggested Colonel Washington. “ the
people of the Six Nations have abandoned your
cause and have gone to the assistance of the
French, it would be extremely hazardous in you
to open a road through the mountains. The’ln
dians, effectually concealed, would pick off your
men.”
The General sprang to his feet and walked up
and dow n the space confined within the marquee
in a hurried manner for some minutes. Then
turning abruptly and stopping before the Vir
ginian, said:
“By » , I will go by the mountain road, and
your fellers must act as outlyers and scouts for
me. I’ll try their mettle.”
CHAPTER XLII.
AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL.
It is hardly necessary to assure the reader that
Mary Kean,* and not at all to the surprise ot
those who were acquainted with the merchant
and his daughter, persuaded her father to not
only consent to her undertaking a journey to
Will’s Creek to succor Harry Stewart, but to* ac
company her and their faithful friend and servi
tor, Martha—on what many persuaded of the
dangerous character of the country through
which they would have td pass, esteemed as lit
tle less (han a species of wild adventure, the de
sire to undertake which, in daughters of theirs
they,would sternly frown down.
But Friend Kean was not made of that un
yielding stuff w hich can only accommodate itself
to its possessor’s notions. His heart w r as the
heart of a w oman’s in its patience and unvary
ing kindness, and although his reason may have
told him it were better to let his future son-in
law get back to Philadelphia as best he could,
where he would be sure of a more than friendly
welcome at his hands, his resolution could not
hold out against the soft, pleading eyes of his
daughter. Many times had he inwardly resolved
to sav “ Nay” as he had never spoken the word
before,'Lut a look from ins darling child, as she
argued the necessity of their personally hurry
ing to the bedside of Harry and of accompany
ing him home, would make the negative stick in
his threat—and so at last he consented.
When, therefore, the bearer of dispatches an
nounced his presence to the merchant, prepared
to convey back to the encampment of the British
army any message, verbal or written, he had
concocted, he was not a little surprised to learn
that he would be accompanied by the Friend, his
daughter and an attendant.
The courier could not object to the arrange
ment. Indeed, when he had been informed of
the plans of the merchant, he made light of the
journey, telling him that it w'ould be nothing
more than a summer jaunt—one altogether more
formidable in imagination than in the reality.
On the day the merchant and his daughter
left Philadelphia for the army, ®ur old friend,
Golialrf resumed his trail, ignorant of the pres
ence of a large force of whites so near to him as
were those at Wills’ Creek—his Mecca, Philadel
phia. Tlie idea had occurred to him that he
would make his way back to the ruins of Captain
Jack’s house, trusting, while there, to either see
or hear of his old master, and thus put him in
possession not only of tlie particulars connected
with (he murder of his wife and children, but
also of the names and whereabouts of the per
petrators.
This afterthought induced the negro to change
his course a little more to the southward, and
thus it was that at the expiration of the sixth
day from the one which saw him finally dispose
of the body of his wife, he was not a little sur
prised, on gaining the crown of an eminence
which skirted the Potomac, to see in the valley
that lay at his feet, and at a distance of four or
five miles to the northward, a town of tents, the
white canvas of which glistened like snow as
they reflected back the rays of the setting sun.
“ Goria mighty !” he exclaimed, as he brought
his puny person to a halt. “What’s dat? ki!
It mus’ be white folk, suah ; an’ dey’s looks like
sogers. It’s dem Britishumers. What dey heah
fo’ I’sc likes to know ? Dey isn’t Ingins, dat’s
suah. Now, I’se shouldn’t wonder if dem sogers
isn’t a lookin’ afer dat are Bad Han’ an’ him’s
followers! Ki! if dey is, dis chile kin show dem
where dey am mighty soon. I’s’ll go to dem an’
see.”
While Goliah is hastening his steps from the
westward toward the British camp, our friends
of Philadelphia, under the gui dano^._o±'—LLx»
couxier, on strongs an ci sure-fob ted horses, some
what travel worn, are hastening to the same
point of attraction, from the opposite direction.
While the negro stood contemplating the
camp and conjecturing who were its occupants
and what were the objects in view, Mary Kean,
from a rising ground to the eastward, unheeding
the panoply of war which, perhaps, at other
times would have delighted her eyes, was look
ing eagerly in the direction of that part of the
valley, as indicated by the courier, where stood
the tent of Captain Johnson, in which Harry
Stewart was resting.
“ Let us descend, sir,” said the messenger to
the merchant, “ before the guards are placed for
the night. We have not much time to spare.
Should we be challenged, as I am without the
?ounteungn, you and your daughter might expe
rience difficulty in getting within the fines until
morning.”
“Byall means, friend,” responded the father
of Mary; “by all means. I presume, once withip
the lines, as you call them, and which I under
stand to be the walks of the sentinels, we will be
permitted not only to call on our friend Stewart,
but to set up our tabernacle in safety ?”
• “ Yes, sir,” said the courier, smiling ; “ but we
must hasten our horses’ steps.”
The little cavalcade, led by the courier—who,
from his familiarity with the route, and his un
tiring courtesy, had converted an otherwise long
and tedious journey into a pleasant excursion
rapidly descended the hillside, and, galloping
their horses over the plain, were presently within
the lines of encampment.
“ I will accompany you to Captain Johnson’s
quarters, Mr. Kean,” remarked the bearer of
dispatches, as he walked his steed; “and will
there leave you for a few minutes. On deliver
ing these letters to the General, I will return and
assist you to dispose of your family as pleasantly
as it is possible, in this rude place, for the
night.”
“ I thank thee for thy uniform kindness to me
and mine, friend; and I trust I will be nst so
ungrateful as to forget it in the future. Thee
have been put to great trouble, and thy patience
must oftentimes have been driven to the verge of
forbearance.”
“ Far from it, sir,” responded the courier. “ I
have accompanied many persons backward and
forward, and I never had so little trouble as I
have had with you and your family. But,” he
added, abruptly, “ here we are at Captain John
son’s quarters. Please remain near it for a few
moments.”
And the speaker, putting the spurs to his
horse, rode away in the direction of General
Braddock’s marquee.
Hardly had the voice of the courier ceased
when the curtain of the tent was opened, and
out stepped, pale yet convalescent, or nearly so,
Harry Stewart! For a moment, he could hardly
persuade himself that he was looking upon the
bodily forms of his hind-hearted employer, his
blushing and beautiful daughter, the sedate
Martha, and one or two men servants whose
faces were very familiar to him.
“Mr. Kean!” he exclaimed, and his heart
seemed to leap to his mouth, as his eyes rested
on Marv, “ and—and Miss Kean.”
“ Yes, lad,” responded the Quaker, with a light,
joyous laugh, “we are here. Mary would not be
prudish, or womanly, or sedate, or reserved, or
coy. as maidens are expected to be; but in
sisted like a little Amazon, on taking her foolish
old father away into the wilds in search of thee
whom she fully persuaded herself would surely
die, if she were not with thee to watch over and
administer unto thy bodily necessities.”
It is extremely doubtful* if Harry heard a word
of the merchant’s speech. He bounded to the
side of his daughter; and putting up his
arms to assist her from the_saddie, murmured in
her ears, as she descended, such words of fond
ness, of endearment, that her bright, fathomless
eyes sparkled as they had never scintillated be
fore. To add to her confusion, in descending to
the ground, her lips came in contact with those
of Harry s, and for a moment, while his arm stole
gently around her waist, she could not withdraw
them.
“Sweet, darling Mary,” he whispered, softly,
“how shall I ever repay you for tins manifesta
tion of your love forme?”
lou are better, dear Harry,” was the re
sponse she made. “Oh, how my foolishimagin
lions has tortured me ever since I read the note
wrii ten at your re quest, by your friend, Captain
Jchneon. I could not persuade myself out of the
idea that you were at the point of death ; and for
th-s reason the journey hither seemed to me as
if it would never have an end.”
“Lad,” interrupted the merchant, who had
succeeded in dis mounting unassisted, “ thee hast
had a narrow escape.”
“ Yes, sir,”replied Stewart, “an eighth of an
inch nearer the heart, the surgeon informs me,
and I would have been a dead man.”
Mary shuddered, and her face lost its color for
a time, as she heard these words.
“But come in, sir; ” Harry continued. “You
and Miss Mary must be over-fatigued, after your
long and to me wholly unexpected journey.” ’
“ Will we not be intruding on the hospitality
of your good friend, Johnson. We have a tent
with us ; and if permission be accorded we will
set it up for the night.”
“ There will be no difficulty on that score, sir.
I will get Captain Jack, who is a near neighbor,
to have it put up immediately, in a place where
your privacy will not be intruded upon by soldiers
or stragglers ; and to make assurance doubly
sure, Captain Johnson will place a sentinel near
it.”
“ That will be asking too much of him, Harry.
I suppose thee will be prepared to return with us
on the morrow ? ”
“Yes, sir. lam sufficiently strong to under
take the journey. It was my intention to have
started for Philadelphia in a couple of days, as
it is very generally understood here that the
aimy is about to move forward.”
“ Indeed! ” rejoined the merchant. “It is
fortunate then that we have come; for instead
of returning to thy home, you might have been
induced to follow the men of war.”
“ No, indeed, sir,” said Stewart, laughingly,
while he stood by the side of Miss Kean, her
aim fondly resting on his, “I am afraid they
would not have me. I could not endure the
fatigue. But, here comes Captain Johnson, who
villbe most happy to renew his acquaintance
With you, and provide juu and Mice fieau with,
comfortable quarters. He admires you very
much, Mary,” be added in an undertone, and
then with a smile, whispered, “ I shall not be jeal
ous. He is by some years my senior, and the
father of ladies old as you are.”
(To be continued.)
[Written for the New York Dispatch.]
CRUELTIES AND HUMBUGS
OF SURGERY.
Mb. Editob—lt is almost a mania with all
young medical students to become surgeons.
Now, although these young students only witness
surgical operations during their pupilage, and
after their graduation only have a few post-mor
tem examinations, and perform some very minor
operations in surgery, yet it is a passion with
them to aspire to the honors, difficulties, and
dangers of a master surgeon.
And here lies the point of danger, and here
may be found the cause of most of the humbugs
and cruelties of our army surgery.
To cure a score of wounded, lacerated, and
torn human beings is a tame, every-day, slow,
plodding affair—an unheralded, thankless, mat
ter of fact concern—but to flourish the knife, ba
surrounded with admiring assistants and the
claquer, have our names paraded in public jour
nals' and scientific books—this is magnificent,
startling, grand.
The examinations of applicants for medical po
sitions in the army are mostly superficial, de
pendant mainly on the remembrance of technical
terms and obsolete theories, unknown by expe
rience to ninety-nine in every hundred of the ap
plicants. while the examiners themselves are
often behind the age in the knowledge of the
wpy.rorcd rnegiirn'ts or, and the great disuse
of, surgery in modern times.
Political partizanship. personal influence, and
sordid considerations also enter too often in
medical appointments.
The school to which the applicant belongs is
an all important consideration. Is the applicant
orthodox? Does he belong to us? What col
lege gave liim his diploma?—are vital questions,
against which experience, talent, and ability
weigh not one feather, if the diploma of the poor
applicant has not the favored brand or speaks
not the medical shibboleth.
What would be thought of the application of a
young man to become captain of one of our
steamships or clipper vessels, who, on being
questioned as to his experience in navigation
and the sailing of a ship in certain difficulties,
should begin the rehearsal of the technicalities
of these sciences, and also present a diploma
from some celebrated school?
What would be thought of the ship-builder,
the architect, the artist, or the mechanic who
made applications for the highest positions in
their respective callings on similar grounds?
Now, the ignorant, the inexperienced builder
of ships, or houses, the daub of an artist and
the bauching mechanic, might possibly obtain
high positions, and go on in the blundering for
a. while, becoming the laughing-stock of their
fellows, and ruin their employers, and squander
millions of money; butf/iefr blunders would bo
atoned for by better men, and more money.
But who 'will repair l the awful blunders, the
death-dealing mistakes, the body dismembering
cruelties of the murdering surgeons of our
army ?
Can the dismembered body have its lost limb
restored by any alchemy of science, or gift of
gold, as a broken column of a disproportioned
building may be removed or altered ? Can the
ignorant, careless or inhuman surgeon in tlie
army, pay for his mistakes; or will he ? Can he
delegate his authority to a more competent man,
or do they? and thus make amends in part for
his rashness, ignorance, and cruelty by the sub
stitution of a better science, higher skill and the
piofound heart sympathy characteristic of evSry
true surgeon.
But it may be asked, must not surgeons learn
as others? Surely they cannot come forth, full
fledged, as Minerva came from the brain of Ju
piter without practice.
But must they be sent to our army to ruin
cfinatiliitinns for life.jwit caiwe and hack at will,
our brave soldiers, in ofder to become proficient
with their instruments, adepts in tfiez'r science of
butchery ?
Earhissus, a Grecian painter, murdered by
slow, torturing process, a slave he had bought
for the purpose, to transmit to the canvas, and
to posterity, the death agonies of his “ Pro
metheus bound.” He saw tlie writhing distorted
features, the death-like palor, the cold, clamy
sweat, the glazed eye iu death, the twisting,,
working, half-disjointed form of his victim,
with infinite delight, with boundless joy, and
in the midst of all this suffering, seized his im
mortal brush, and calmly outlined and touched
up this horror of his own creating.
Alas ! alas! how many surgeons without in
tending it, imitate too closely the action of Par
bissus, for their own experience, or the supposed
benefits of science.
Some eighteen months since a father and son,
the elder a common soldier, the younger, a
drummer boy, left New York City, iu one of the
regimentsofa brigade, whose "battle-torn ban
ners, have streamed aloft, and along every foot
of the road, from Fortress Monroe to the nearest
point to Richmond, McClellan ever attained to,
in his famous Peninsular campaign.
IVilliamsburgh, Malvern Hills, Fair Oaks, with
memorable skirmishes, reconnoissances. and the
seven days fighting, marching, counter-march
ing, with hunger, thirst, want of sleep and fa
tigue, had thinned their ranks, wasted thei»
forms, bronzed the faces and recorded their he
roism.
Like Xenophon’s ten thousand Greeks, they
forded rivers, turned upon and beat back their
assailants, often thrice their number, and still
marched on in cold, in wet, in hunger, in thirst,
not knowing why, obedient to their young com
mander’s behest.
Like Marshal Ney’s faded, shattered remnant
Of the grand invading Russian army at the brink
of the river Dneiper, they came to the James
river, bereft of everything but their proud bear
ing, their military honor, and the historic glory
of their fame. Not one banner was left with the
foe. None of them had fallen with his back to
the enemy; and when the muster-roll was called,
though there were wide gaps in the rank and
file, many brave men left dead, wounded, dying
—colonels, captains, lieutenants—yet their com
mander was there, and the young chieftain, the
army’s idol, was there also, and complimented
them there and then, as he had done three times
before, for their bravery and obedience.
Amid that faithful band stood father and son
—the drummer boy—both borne there by the
supporting arms of brave men, pale, care-worn,
wounded. The drum was there, too, the one
that had leaned on the thigh and hung from the
neck of that wounded boy, he who had sent its
long roll through the camps, startling the drowsy
ears, and firing the soldier’s blood for the work
of death, or beating the morning reveille or
evening tattoo. And while what was left ot that
dram corps plied their hands brisldy, Marcellus
looking at his fellows first, then at his own hand
less arm, wept, as he knew- this must be his lasi
muster as the drummer boy. Still he beat his
drum with his one hand, though held up, pale,
and emaciated.
As the brigade commander rode along the line
with his staff, he espied the handless boy. He
halted in front of the boy. His aids gathered
around him. He eyed him scrutinizingly.
“• Come here, my boy,” he said.
They almost carried the boy to the horse’s
head.
“ Where were you wounded, my brave lad?”
“ Malvern Hills, sir,” replied the boy.
‘ ‘ The hand there,” said the General, “ how did
you loose it ?”
“ A Minie. ball, sir, broke the wrist, and the
doctor took the hand off.”
“ And you have marched here with your regi
ment,” said the General, inquiringly, “have
you ?”
“ Most of the way, sir. Sometimes I was car
ried by the men and my father,”
“ W here is he now ?” "
Father and son, in an instant, stood before the
General.
“ And you, too,” said the General, “ are
wounded?”
“Yes, sir. lam sorry to say it,” said the fa-
NEW YQRK DISPATCH.
ther, “but my wound is nothing to his, sir,”
pointing to his son.
“Brave boy! brave boy 1” said the General.
“ Carry him, men, to the hospital—that’s the
proper place for him. Not here.”
“He zoould come, sir,” said his father; “as
‘it was the last muster,’ he said, ‘he should
ever make with the boys.’ ”
The General turned his face away, and many
of the men afterward said he cried; but, saying
“ That will do,” he and his stall rode to the end of
the hue.
Marcellus and bis father had, in fact, requested
permission to appear at this muster. They both
returned, greatly fatigued, to the brigade hos
pital.
The general health of the drummer-boy was
poor, and his wrist not healing, but mortifying,
a second amputa'ion, higher up on the arm, was
resolved on. This took place one week from his
last muster.
The father’s wound, being slight, he was de
tailed to nurse his son, with others.
“ Marce,” (his father always called him Marco,)
said his father, one morning, the same day the
second operation took place, “here is a letter
from home—from the gills and mother both.”
“ Doctor,” said the father, weeping as lie spoke,
“will you please read this letter for Marce? I
don’t feel quite well this morning.”
I had just come along, and readily complied.
It read:
“ Dear Husband and Son : We are all so thank
ful j ou were not killed in any of your terrible bat
tles. We got the papers, and Louisa read them
to mo (I was very sick in bed) and little Nettie—
the rest were out to work. We all cried very
much as we looked over the lists of the dead,
wounded, and missing. Tne letter man came in
while Louisa was reading the paper, and, O!
how glad we were to find the writing yours, on
the outside of the letter. ‘I knew God heard
my prayer,’ said little Nettie, and away she
scampered, singing her little song, ‘ There’s $
light in the window for thee.’ Oh! when will you
come home! Y’ou are never out of our minds,
dear husband and son, May God preserve you
both, and bring you home safe. How we wept
■svhen we read you were both wounded, and poor
Marce the worst—losing his hand ! Well, well,
you are aliTte, thank God ! Dear Marco, I hope
you read your bible. God preserve my first-born
son ! I write this against the advice of the phy
sician. It may be my last letter to you. I feel
my days are nearly numbered.”
There was much blotting and evident excite
ment about the writing of the letter, as of the
shedding of tears; and there were long stop
pages in finishing. Much of it was also illegible
irom the cramped hand of sickness and sorrow.
The drummer-boy was prepared shortly after
this, for the second amputation. The cuts were
made midway between the articulation of the
elbow-joint and the wrist. The flesh was drawn
upward, and the radial and ulnar bones sawed
through, and the interosseous ligament cut in
two.
As the operating surgeon was measuring with
his eye, and spacing off with his hand the proper
place for the incision, an assistant said :
“ I fear if you cut it there you will not have
muscle enough to cover the end of the stump.”
“Pshaw! pshaw!” was the reply, “I’m re
sponsible, not you, you know.”
The fears of the assistant proved true ; for it
was not one week before the truth was demon
strated, the end of the bona protruding, or
rather not properly covered.
Poor Marce grew worse fast. He became a
Jiving skeleton Nor did this last operation
help him any, but certainly accelerated his
death.
He had commenced his march homeioard, and
never halted until he arrived there, in the great
camping ground of all true soldiers. His father
carried him one day, with the help of two of his
old drum corps—who often visited and cheered
him—to the river bank.
• The gentle breeze fanned his fevered brow;
the beautiful wildflowers were springing up on
his pathway around him, the trees were gently
waving in the morning wind. There were many
invalids there enjoying the fine views of distant
hills, the far-off woods, the rolling river, the
sailing craft of various description, and the
white tents of the camp.
I was there myself for the same purpose. I
sat down on the green grass by the side of the
sick boy.
His father was reading a little Bible. Without
looking up, he kept on reading : “ And he show
ed me a pure river of the water qf life, clear as
crystal, proceeding out of the tm’one of God.”
He read also the account of the trees on either
side, of ihe river, and the fruits on them “ for the
healing of the nations.”
Instinctively the father’s eyes and mine met,
then turned to the pale boy, stretched on the
grass on his blanket.
He was looking abstractedly, dreamily away
over the river, a smile began to play on his fea
tures, and his eye gradually rose higher, higher,
higher, until it fixed itself on the blue heavens
above. Presently he came back from his mental
abstraction, with a nervous start and a sigh, and
said : z
“ Father, heaven must be a very, very beauti
ful place, and very, very, very near us.”
“Yes, yes, my-poor boy,” said the father,
bursting into tears, and hiding hisrfaco in his
bands.
“ Heaven, Marce.” said I, “is the rest of the
weary, the hope of all, the place of the reunion
of lost families, where the long separated, the
long lost, are gathered together.”
“Oh, yes!” said he, “ mother said something
like that when little Ellen died, a long time ago.”
He bent his eye on the river steadily, a smile
lighting up his pale face, and said:
“ Time, like that river, is rolling me on nearer,
nearer to the great river, that rises up
looking up to the skies. “ I would like,” he said,
a dark cloud for a moment covering his brow,
but it soon vanished, “ I would like to see mo
ther and the children once more, but—but— He
doeth all tilings well, and I am conteni with His
will. Farewell, dear mother, your treasure, as
you once called me, will soon be in the ground.”
Poor Marce, like the river, was soon rolled on
nearer, nearer, nearest to “ the river of God,”
which rises above the earth, above the sun, above
the stars that twinkle down on mortals, the vic
time of official medical butchery.
Rest thee, fair boy, thy youthful heart lies still
on the bosom of thy mother earth, away from a
weeping mother’s arms and love, away from a
fond sister’s caresses, who will weep many tears
for the non-return of their loved absent one.
Rest thee, rest on the banks of that river,
whose rolling waters first beheld that fierce race
of white men whose progress, conquest, ambi
tion then shook a whole continent, and whose
earthquake throes now thunder-strike the na
tions of earth, darken the brightest kingly dia
dems, and whose institutions are the yet magnet
of all people.
Rest thee, rest in peaceful quiet, as the low,
bending willow weeps over thee, and the river
rolls nearer, nearer, nearest to the great sea—
eternity.
Light be the turf over the poor boy! Hallowed
the grave where thou liest, while* a mother’s
love hovers over thee, and angels keep ward by
Ihy side.
Death comes to nil alike, yonng and old, rich
and poor; but not alike as the manner of their
exit from the world.
The greatest boon the dying can have, is to be
surrounded with friends, who love them and who
minister to their necessities.
And as this is the joy of the dying, so is it the
glory of the living—to catch the dying accents
of our loved ones. But to see our friends pass
away, without recognition or any signs of their
knowing of our presence, this, truly, is the bit
terness of death to the living.
Such was the case with Lieutenant-Colonel K ,
of one of the Massachusetts regiments.
He had a fall from his horse, when in the ad
vance, at Mountain battle. His head
struck violently against a rock, and either con
cussion, or indentation of the skull ensued. He
was carried to the hospital tent on a stretcher,
bled, blistered, cupped, and depleted thoroughly,
with evidently good results.
Still occasional convulsions from the first at
tested the violence of the fall.
He was removed to r.»o of the Washington hos
pitals, where, after repeated examinations and
coi sulfations, trephining was resolved on.
But what is trephining, the reader may ask?
Simply cutting a pjece out of the skull with a
small circular saw. The object is to remove
pressure from the brain, causing convulsions.
The operation is a dangerous and delicate one
in the extreme. The saw goes down through
two lobes of bone, the outer and inner one, and
the diplog or middle one, down to the brain itself.
The brain, if touched even with the saw, will
produce sometimes instant death ; or the opera-,
tion may produce frightful spasms, ending sooner
or later in death, preceded by frightful convul
sions.
His wife had come from Lynn, his former resi
dence, with her little son, a child of some six
>ears of-age, to nurse and be with him.
& She was a petite, black eyed, brown haired,
»andsome woman, young in years, and quite
Aristocratic in her bearing.
The proud, undaunted, off hand, spirit of the
father, shone out in the son, young as he was.
His hair hung in long, glossy, black curls, over
his shoulders ; and, unless driven away, he was
ever by his father’s couch, laying his fresh
cheek upon the pale face of his father, and pat
ting his head with his tiny hands, and asking a
thousand childish questions.
The devotion of the young wife was incessant.
She had come to take him home ; but by the ad
vice of the surgeons and her own family phys 7-
cian, who had accompanied her for business and
advice also, she concluded to stay and abide the
issue of the operation.
This took place four days after her arrival.
Every thing was now in readiness. The head
shaved, the cnloriform inhaled, and the trephine
placed in the proper position. '
His faithful wife could not be driven from his
side. She stood as a ministering angel, the
great tears rolling down her pale, beautiful face.
Film, but trembling, making terrible efforts to
be calm, she watched every movement that was
made with thrilling interest. She said, bursting
into tears and covering her face with her hand
kerchief, “she would rather suffer him than
suffer alone. And besides,” she continued,know
ing there was a dislike of her presence, “they
had agreed she should be present, but Sammy,
the little boy, should bo away.”
“They don’t know her,” whispered her own
physician in my ear, “as well as I do. Most es-
timable, loving, and kind little woman, sir, but
firm as a rock, sir. Fit to command her hus
band’s regiment, sir, if on the field, and he disa
bled, sir.”
I nodded assent.
The operation now commenced—gently, calm
ly, slowly—with many rests, many examinations
of the progress of the saw, many anxious looks
at the patient’s face and pulse. Slower now, as
they come near the brain, with more rests and
more, much more, nervousness and hand trem
blings, and fears and terrors of fatal results.
God I that such terrible ordeals human beings
must go through. God! that into human hands
and upon human weakness such dread trials of
experience, science, skill—such consequences for
good or evil—should be thrust.
Arbiters of life, messengers of. death, look
where you stand! Behold your power, and dare
not infringe on the Almighty’s prerogative.
And the human brain, whose power moves the
world, whose thoughts gaze, back into the awful
depths of Deity and strike the shores of eternity
with their concentric waves, whose thoughts
alone bear the impress, the patent of nobility,
beware, ye pretenders, what ye do with it—how
you bring ruin on this great mechanism. Know
ye not, butchers, its worth ? Look how it dives
into the bowels of the earth, and brings up the
black mineral, and says to it, as God said to
chaos, “Let there be "light, and there is light.”
See how it harnesses the monsters of the deep
to the car of civilization and progress. See how
it mounts to the stars, counts their number,
weighs them in balances, marks their distances,
and walks among them led by the hand of God
himself.
Heavens! a mild bubling, a heavy choking
noise, a terrible spasmodic twitching of logs and
hands, a twisting, turning and beating of the
head seizes the Colonel. But from what cause?
Echo answers what cause? Aye, from what
cause?
Was it the chloroform ? Was it the saw upon
the "brain ? Was it an epUectic fit? Who knows:
Dead men tell no tales. And surgeons are not
tale-bearers—it is not professional.
The poor young wife, who had been watching
with intense interest, seeing her husband in such
a state, and judging he must die, by her own in
stinct—a woman’s chart to guide her—rushed up
to him, caught him round the neck, he still
■working fearfully in successive spasms; kissed
him and cried out in the agony of despair,
“Oh ! husband, dearest husband ! speak to
me before you die! Yes, yes, it is Jane, your
wife, your own dear wife.”
She saw no signs of recognition. She heard
no voice of hope, and she fell on his shaking
convulsed form with a loud wail of sorrow.
Little Sam—left in charge of his nurse—had
stolen away, come to the hospital, and entered
at this moment.
He ran up to his mother, now bending over
the prostrate father and husband, and seizing
his parents, began to cry most piteously. She
folded the child to her bosom, kissed him over
and over, and then held him down to his father’s
who was now not so convulsed as at first.
Litile Sammy cried, “oh! papa, dear papa,
you’r not dead, you’r not dead ; come, raise up,
and kiss little Sammy,” and then as he looked at
his mother, broke out in heart-rending cries.
There were intervals when there were no ex
ternal convulsions ; but there were •'no sane mo
ments, no speech, no recognitions from the
poor, dying colonel.
He gradually sank away, as a wave dies on the
shore, as the light fades at even time, as the ship
recedes from view, piece by piece, until all is
gone.
The wife and son watched by his bedside, un
til life quite ebbed out. She was calm now.
But she mournfully said, as she saw him in
the peaceful quiet of death, “if he could only
have known me or Sammy, if he could only have
spoken, and said farewell—but it is past, it is past,
should I complain now, -when it is unavail
ing.” •
mWonTsm.
ITS CRIMES AND IMMORALITIES.
We have received the rough manuscript notes
of an ex-Mormon, now etayipg at Dover, narrat
ing, in a sort of “jottings by the way,” his visit
to the “ saints’ ” stronghold* in the Utah Terri
tory, and giving brief notices of the city, of its
resources, its inhabitants, &c. We have taken
the liberty of omitting certain matters of saintly
practice offensive to an Englishman’s notions of
common decency ; but if it seem desirable that
the delusion in its gross enormity should be
known, we believe our narrator might be induced
to give a recital of his “ year and three weeks” in
the City of Deseret. His notes commence with
the “journey across the mountains.” Leaving
St. Louis in the month of June, he says:
•The company with which I traveled left for
Council Bluffs, crossed the Missouri, and soon
had left for months the settlements of the “ pale
faces.” The scenery on the road, the incidents
of camp-life, the toiling along by day, uncom
fortable night watchings, mending bad roads,
building temporary bridges, etc., gave a check
ered experience to the route. We early met a
band of red Indians from the war-path; they
were well-mounted, daubed in -a-11 iLo glory vf
war-paint, and very formidable-looking individu
als. We quietly got rid of their presence by a
largess of fiour. We camped at Atchison on the
fourth day. Our rations were a pound and a
quarter of flour, the same weight of bacon 1 , and
an ample supply of coffee and sugar. Travel
ing onward, we successively arrived and en
camped on the Nemahaw Creek, at Fort Kear
ney, Ash Hollow’, Chimney Rock, Fort Laramie,
Rock Independence, Sweet Pass, and, at last
caught a glimpse, for the first time, of the Great
Salt Lake.
This lake, which is 4,000 feet above the level
of the sea, is 70 miles long from north to south
and 30 miles broad. It has no apparent outlet,
although the diminution of the water takes
place more rapidly than could be produced by
the mere process of evaporation. The saline
property of the water, (which is also very buoy
ant) may be judged from the fact of its furnish
ing dry salt in the ratio of one-fourth of its
bulk. ‘Thousands of bushels of coarse crystals
are collected on its banks and retailed at 50 cts.
per cwt. Leaving the lake, we approach the
city, and find our progress stayed by a mud-wall
twelve feet high and six feet‘wide, in front of
which there is a ditch. Admitted through the
gate, we are at last in Deseret, the city of the
.Great-Salt JLaka and - gziol of our. aspirations.
We find the city divided into ten-acre blocks, tho
streets intersecting at right-angles, and running
due-north and southeast and west. The traffic
portion of the streets is 130 feet wide, with foot
paths on each side 24 feet wide.
A little rivulet skirts most of these side-walks,
and the margin of the water is ornamented by
a row of cottonwood or other rapidly growing
trees. The houses are built on the edges of the
blocks, leaving cultivated fields and gardens in
the center. Everything around bears the im
press of labor; and when one looks back at- the
bleak mountains, and forward at a valley with
out spontaneous vegetation higher than a wil
low bush, the conviction forces itself upon the
mind that the fertility of Deseret is the result
of very hard work; and there are few soils that
so richly reward the labor bestowed. The city
contains about 30,000 inhabitants, and the terri
tory about 80,000, principally composed of En
glish, Welsh and Danes. The Americans are
mostly office-bearers, and have all the power in
their hands. The climate is genial, and without
the extreme of heat or cold. Most of the houses
are built of sun-dried bricks, and the occupants
of a few I will proceed to name :
A very pretty house in a block on the east side
was tenanted by (the now late) J. M. Grant and
his five wives ; Ezra T. Benson and his nine la
dies occupy the corner house ; westward we have
(the late) Parley Pratt’s house and his thirteen,
wives; and Dr. Richards lived in a long row of
rooms with twenty-three wives; westward we
have Wilford Woodruff and his eight wives ; and
northward H. C. Kimball (tlie man next in au
thority to Brigham Young) with forty-seven
wives. A more disgusting man never lived.
Brigham Young has two mansions, the one called
Lion House, being occupied by seventeen or
eighteen of his wives, and the other holding his
iaVOl’lte and her fumily, while noai-ly fifty marc
are located on his property. Brigham Young in
person is rather large and portly; he has an im
posing carriage and a very impressive manner.
His wives, poor women, are the companions of
his passions, not of his life—panderers to his
lust, not partners of his affection ; and yet the
Mormon infatuation induces a comparative .con
tentment with the vile degradation.
Two of his wives, living on a small isolated
farm, had ventured to remonstrate with Brigham
on his course of life. A meeting of the eiders
followed, and Lawrence and Irene were shortly
afterward murdered. I saw one poor woman
taken from her home, stripped, tied to a tree,
and flogged till the blood flowed from her wounds
to the ground. She was then taken to her hus
band’s residence and laid on the doorstep. None
of the fiend’s other wives dared to manifest any
sympathy, and in the morning she was a corpse.
But this ‘is not all. The territory is infested by
spies, who commit murder with impunity. The
lives of American citizens are not unfrequently
sacrificed by Older of the priesthood. Those
who speak against elders are robbed, beaten,
stabbed, shot, and no evidence can be elicited
against them.
During eleven months of my stay I lived.at
Brigham’s Lion House mansion, and from that
circumstance and several private conversations
with him had ample scope for an opinion of the
man; and I conscientiously assert that the world
has mistaken the ability and danger of the poly
gamist ruler of Utah.
The disgusting mystery of the “ Endowment”
through which I passed, is unfit for publication
in a newspaper. It concludes with an oath to
obey the elders in all things, even to commit
murder. This is followed by 7 the marriage cere
mony. Young selects the partners, and some
times the wife and children of one man are given
to another man. Should a first wife complain
of her husband taking a second, she is condemned
by law, sometimes flogged, sometimes secretly
disposed of, and sometimes given over to the
Indians. The husband may have as many wives
as he can keep, and he takes care to make them
work and keep themselves. How domestic order
is maintained may be judged from the following
inles, which arc stuck up m every house.
1, Any woman in this household telling any
secret that occurs in the household, provided it;
compromises the honor of the husband or any of
his wives, or tends to bring polygamy into dis
repute, shall be confined in the* cellar for one
month.'
2. Forbids all quarrelling among the wives;
the one who commences the quarrel to receive
punishment, from six lashes to twenty-five.
3. Forbids one woman to strike or otherwise
correct the child of another. For this offense,
six lashes and no dinner.
Marriage at Utah is stripped of every senti
ment that makes it holy, innocent and pure. It
is very common for one man to marry two sisters.
David Wells married two sisters in one day.
George B. Wallace, once the leader of the London
Conference, married three sisters. Curtis E.
Bolton married a woman and her daughter;
Capt. Brown, known in Dover as Elder Brown,
married a woman and her two daughters ; but
G. D. Watt excelled them, for he brought out his
three half sisters from Scotland and manned
them.
Mormon women go to Utah, zealous in their
religion; they are firmly convinced that the dog
mas they embrace are precious truths from
Heaven, and that the elders are God’s messen
gers. They swallow the bait, marry, and, if
awakening to the temporal miseries of their posi
tion, find consolation in their fanaticism and
their creed.
I conclusion, I would say—ln was once a Mor
mon priest; but the system in England and the
svstem in Utah are vastly different. Here all
that is objectionable is denied ; yonder the atro
cious enormity stalks forth undisguised. I have
seen it on both sides of the Atlantic.”
[Written for the New York Dispatch.]
LIGHT !
By J. Gordon Binmons.
Lo! from the distant West a glorious light
Breaks on the darkness of the Nation’s night !
It mingles with the dawn of Victory, .
Which gilds the Eastern sky so brilliantly,
Until the day is beaming full and cleir
Where until now was gloom, and doubt, and fear!
All honor to our soldiers true and brave.
Who gave their lives th- Union’s life to save !
Full many sleep within a soldier’s grave.
But there in triumph doth our banner wave !
Now, on our Nation’s sacred Natal Day,
Our gratitude to God we humbly pay !
He ever gives the battle to tiie right!
And wrong cannot prevail with all its might!
May He protect the widow and the child,
Anil soothe their anguish with His blessings mild !
May He be near the wounded heroes too,
And succor those who fought so brave and true I
May He receive the spirit of the slain,
Where they can never know of war again '
A grateful land reveres their memory,
Which shall endure through all Eternity!
COUNTRY CORRESPONDENCE.
Millie Moss, who has been silent for the last three
weeks, comes in again with her budget of good-natured
remarks. We take it, Millie, that you are a very good
little girl, and mean about right; but do you know that
wounds, very deep ones, are sometimes inflicted where
only a little harmless sport is intended? Be careful,
Millie, don’t tread on Mrs. Sam’s corns any more, and
bear in mind that what was fun for the boys was death to
the frogs.
Dear Gossip—l tried 7/ard—that is, made a tremendous
effort—to place myself before yod last week. Got my pen
and ink for the purpose, and even put my little writing
table in the drart, which here in the country means be
tween the open west door and the raised east window—
that is, it I am straight as to points of compass ; I hope I
am. it would be tco bad not to be straiglrt on anything.
But I was outgeneraled on the writing question. I hardly
know how it did happen, but some Scotchman, you will
all recollect, once said, “The best laid schemes of mice
and men gaiut aft agioo”—wmt-tnnr Scotchman was right;
and the same will apply to women, though I do think their
arrangements, as a general thing, are a little more reli
able than those of the aforementioned rats and mice.
Gracious! how intolerably hot the weather is. I have
been watching a poplar out here for the last half hour,
and there hasn’t been breeze enough to make a leaf
quiver, and my heart aches for the poor chickens and
turkeys that stand around in the shade with their mouths
open, panting lor a little fresh air, a commodity scarcer
than teed in Vicksburg. Nothing seems lively but the
flies, and they arc a trifle too much so. You ought to be
here to watch them ; they have regular games, ami
though they recm to be flying and circling at random, it’s
no such thing, every one knows its piece, and keeps it, too,
which is more than can De said of humaqs.
Its a trying time on farmer’s wives just now—they don’t
wear any superfluous clothing, but a sight of their glow
ing faces and the crystal streams of perspiration makes
me 101 l back in my easy chair and thank my lucky stars
that I was born rich instead of handsome. Mrs. bam is
the queen-bee in this hive, and the way she makes the
dish-water and buttermilk, and occasionally the fur fly, is
a caution to house keepers.
Sam and I have had big times picking cherries the past
Week or two. Mrs. Sam tried to be one of us, but got her
skirts fast on the branches of the first tree she under
took to climb, which b. oke (cherry is awful brittle) and
let her down. She made such a terrible screaming and
crashing, you would have thought it was a bear tearing
through a thicket.
Sam was on the ground and would have caught her,
but when he looked up and saw what was coining, he
exclaimed, “ big thing!” and got out of the way, conclu
ding it was widest to “stand from under.” You can’t
blame him, for self preservation is one of the first laws of
nature, and it she had come down on him, there wouldn’t
have been as much of him left as there was of the fa
mous Kilkenny cats alter their wonderful battle. Since
then Sam and I have had it all our own way, though Mrs.
Sam reads me a lecture now and then, on the impropriety
of young ladies making such romps of themselves, thinks
climbing trees, riding colts to water, and racing through
meadows after berries (though she generally that
the berii' - al<^<>t,l r a,rT ' AVU;i;c > tn:it really I go totalknon
nense with the boys) are a sort of pastime that ladies
thinking much of themselves wouldn’t iniulge in. I al
ways agree with her, tell her that she has the right
version or •things, then go and do the same thing over
again.
lam glad I made up my mind never to marry. The
draft has commenced, they tell me, and everything in the
shape of a man, except one hunchback (and he’s more in
the shape of the old 60. y, than he is of a man), two idiots
and one blind fiddler, has been taken. I don't care:
I don’t want any of them, but it comes mighty tough
on the pirls who do. I witnessed one parting the other
day and although I felt sorry for them, yes I was glad all
the time, that it wasn’t me. * Didn't I leel thankful thougn,
that I wasn’t in love ? I’m aware that love is an immense
institution, but in war times, it must be like a ■woman's
hoops in, a brier patch, exceedingly uncomfortable and
abominably in the way. Wonder what would happen
here if Sam should de drafted. 1 often lay awake nights
to think about it. Sam wouldn’t get a subsfltute, and .Mrs.
Sam couldn't— and the Lord only knows what a nine
months separation would result in. But we won’t antici
pate. “ Whatever is to be. will be,” and “ whatever is, is
right.” Ever yours in the bonds of Gossip,
Millie Moss.
O. K. STILL ON THE MOVE,
Eagle Prairie., Wis.
Friend Gossip Two weeks have gone by, and again I
make my most profound salaam as I present myself be
fore you. Bather damp and cloudy out here in the Badger
State—had to get up a little moisture on account of a
camp-meeting that came to a i’ocui last week. People
would think the day of judgment had come, sure, if they
should happen to pitch their tents in the wilderness, and
not have heaven’s crystal element showered upon them in
plentiful abundance. This time they did get it with a
vengeance. Whoever had charge of the great upper reser
voir, waited until the “seekers after truth” had congre
gated, then the flood gates were opened—
“ The wind roared, the thunder rolled,
And the lightning split the sky.”
Was’nt there some woeful faces ? Women scolded, babies
cried, men stood around holding their beavers under their
coats, ministers exhorted with hands extended, and little
rivers running from their elbows. Thinking, no doubt,
that they were saving souls by the bushel, and were sure
of their reward. Elder Sap “could’nt see it”—and wisely
buckled on his armor and left the scene, thereby confirm
ing the opinion of those who imag ne that rain will spoil
sap.
But to drop sacred things and take up the military. I
wonder where Willie is by this time. Hope nothing hap
pened to him in that big tight at Gettysburg, where Meade
won such everlasting laurels We thought he’d do it when
we drank success to him in that glass of bitters. A glo
rious thing was that light, though It carried mourning to
jnany a home. We think you are safe, Willie—though if
x stray rebel shot should happen to deprive you of a leg
or arm don’t imagine that you are ruined, but th ink of
the “girl you left behind you,” and know that even should
the largest half of you come up minus, she will still be O.
K. Or should you take a hasty leave of sublunary things,
never mind it—there is a far on land, where we shall rush
into each other's arms,—“ to be parted never more,” unless
we should happen to get located in that south-east corner,
where the weather is said by preachers to be “ infer
nally hot.” In that case such close proximity would
be uncomfortable.
The scenery about here is dclightftil. Beautiful prai
ries, oak openings, and now and then a spot where nature
got drunk and kicked up some terrific bobberies. Hills so
steep that a goat couldn’t climb them, awful gorges, too,
that make one feel while looking into them, as though
they might catch a glimpse of China. Then there is a
thousand little grottoes and out of the way nooks—great
places for lovers who always like to get into quiet corners
to talk over the bliss of the married state—a big humbug,
I imagine, in which anticipation beats the. reality all to
pieces.
• What a pic-nic here, too, though it wasn't the “pious
kind” that one of our gossippers speaks about in alate
letter. Not at all. vVe don’t do things here at they do in
Jersey—don’t convert cow pastures into ballrooms. We
lay a big floor of oak boards in the rough, knot-holes
large enough to put your foot through, and the whole
thing a sort of patent spring affair—the trouble is, that
only one board springs at a time, result, pinched toes and
bruised heads.
That don’t make any difference, however, people go for
fun, and it’s just as good in one shape as another.’ Every
body goes home satisfied, inwardly ejaculating, “ What’s
the hodds as long as you’re ’appy.”
II I have the good fortune to get out of inis place, you
will stand a chance of hearing from me from some other
town. Till then, adieu. O. K.
MILITARY DIALOGUE.
Everybody seems to have Meade “ on the brain” nowa
days.
On Sunday evening last the world-renowed Rajah Poo
tah, attired in his royal robes, met, for the first time, Bo
ker, the Joker, of the Union League. The Rajah was, of
course, cool, dignified and collected—he had just paid his
tailor’s bill. Beker was jubilant and boisterous, giving
vent to his feelings in classical renditions of his grand
and inspiring song’, entitled “Hooker’s Across.” Consid
ering that the meeting occurred just one day after the
Fourth, Boker, the Joker’s conduct cannot be too much
commended.
“What think you, my Peruvian poet,” said the Rajah,
with a salaam of extraordinary grace, “what think you
of the war as it stands ?”
“The war? Ah! yes,” responded Boker, the Joker,
stroking his poetical chin as if about to indulge in the
chinaniken. “The war? Well, my impression is that
our Philadelphia Meade has soured Lee’s stomach.”
‘ But,” put in the Rajah Pootah, with marked gravity
and emphasis, “don’t you believe, my charming cherub,
that cur present Commander of the Army of rhe Potomac
is the best Meade-iator we can have at this particular cri
sis of national affairs ?”
“It may be,” responded Boker, the Joker, with a Bour
bon smile and an artistic smack of the lips, “it may be.
But I fear that Lee is no much disposed to Meade-icinal
agents so powerful.”
•Just so,” chimed in the Rajah Pootah, folding his ori
ental covering about his breast and bringing his goblet and
little finger in a position exactly horizontal with his
mouth ; “ but Lee or any other man will scarcely attempt
to withhold from us our proper Meade, just now.”
“Certainly not—certainly not,” responded Boker. the
Joker. “ They know full well the danger of opposing the
decrees of either the Meades or the Persians.”
“Very true, my classical friend,” said the Rajah, thought
fully, • for one cannot trifle with the Meade without find
ing his bier.”
At this point of the interview, Boker, the Joker, who is
really a most sickly youth, clutched his well-worn manu
script of “Hooker’s Across” spasmodically, and was fit
fully floored. The appearance of the Second Louisiana
Negro Brigade, in all their strength, brought him to, how
ever, after which the Rajah Pootah quietly retired.
THE WRONG MAN,
Presence of mind is a great thing in an emergency. In
the following case an old toper seems to have been pecu.
liarly blessed: \
A fellow named Bentley, a confirmed drinker would
never drink with a friend or in public, and always bitter
ly denied, when a little too steep, ever tasting liquor. One
day some bad witnesses concealed themselves in his room,
and when the liquor was running down his throat, seized
him with his arm crooked and his mouth open, and hold
ing him fast, asked, with an air of triumph:
“ Ah, Bentley, have we caught you at last? You never
drink, eh?”
i Noone would suppose but that Scntly would have ac-
I knowledged the corn. Not he ; with the most grave face*
f fie ■ ahnly and in a dignified manner said :
• Gentlemen, my name is not Bentley (”
A VERY GOOD ONE.
[ The owner of the pew probably had a desire to be ex
j elusive:
i m -*’} 1848, while the Convention which nominated General
| wa ®. in in this city, a somewhat noted local
politician from lickaway county, Ohio, was in the city
mingling in the muss. As the Convention adjourned over
! bunday, he concluded to go to church. Wc will let hun
tell ins own story : “I had mourned my best regalia and
looked fine ; stopped at the door and asked the sexton for
ici a seat. was shown a very good one, entirely unoccu
’. n tllc back part of which I seated myself. £n a
short time a very detent looking man, plainly dressed,
entered and took the front of the pew. I held my head
reverently and looked pious. He glanced at me several
times, then took out a handkerchief, looked al me again,
then took out a card, drew his pencil, wrote, ‘This is mr
pew, sir,’ and tossed the card to me. I picked it up, and
immediately wrote on it, “Itis a very good one ; what
rent do you pay ?’ and tossed It back.”
COWPER MODERNISED.
The spirits of the old poets will certainly have to return
if this parvelising isn’t stopped:
Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness,
Some boundless contiguity of shade,
Where butchers’ bills and bakers' are unknown.
Or where the rascals ask not to be paid ;
Where ladies find themselves in board and dress.
And even shad and herring have no bones ;
V here tailors dun not and are never done ;
And where the common stream with green seal run,
Instead of water ; where no hoops are found.
Save when they clasp the whisky barrels round.
Oh ! what a world were that—for blest the state is
u here beef, bread, beer and widows are got gratis.
NOT A WALKING STICK.
A traveler, among other narrations of wonders of for
eign parts, declared he knew a cane a mile long. The
company looked incredulous, and it was evident they
were not prepared to swallow it. even should it have bee«
a sugar cane. “ Pray what kind of a cane was it ?” askeit
a gentleman, sneeringly. “It was a hurricane,” replied
the traveler.
HARD ON TIIE DOCTORS.
Physicians as well as lawyers are subject to some prelty
hard rubs.
“I expect,” said a young physician, on his wav to Ja
maica, on hearing exaggerated rumors of the cholera,
“to witness a great many death-bed scenes this sum
mer.” “Doubtless,” replied a friend, “if you get muck
practice.”
HOW HE KEPT HIS WORD.
There is more than one way to skin a squirret
“ Too much dripking has caused me pain;
I ll never look at a glass again.”
I le kept his word and never lied.
And yet by drinking wine he died.
“ How could he do it?” Only think ;
Why, he shut liis eyes when Ba took a drink.
ANECDOTE OF A FOOL.
A wealthy justice kept a fool for his amusement, and t<»
him he once said :
“ Sirrah I suppose all the -world were dead but vou and
I, and that one should be turned to a horse and the other
to a donkey, say which of the two would you choose
to be?”
The fool answered :
“Sir, you are my master ; do you, therefore, select
first, and I will be contented to take that which you
leave.”
“Why. then,” said the justice, “ I would be a horse.”
“No,” said the fool, “let me entreat your worship te
be a donkey—for 1 would choose to be one above alt
things.”
“Why?” quoth the justice.
“Marry,” quoth the fool, “ because that I have known
many donkeys come to be justices, but I never knew tha
other animal come to a like preferment.”
why not ?
We don’t see why the rule will not apply in one case a#
well as the other : An officer and a lawyer were talking
of a disastrous battle. The former was lamenting the
number of brave soldiers who fell on the occasion ; when
the lawver observed that “ those who live by the sword
must ex'pect to die by the sword.” “By a similar rule,”
replied the officer, “those who live by the law must ex
pect to die by the law.”
not much wanting.
“Wordsworth,” said Charles Lamb, “one day told
that he considered Shakspere greatly over-rated.” “Thera
is an immensity of trick in all Shaksjiere wrote,” he said,
“and people are taken in by it. Now, if I had a mind I
could write exactly like Shakspere.” “Sa you see,” pro
ceeded Charles Lamb, quietly, “it was only Me mind that
i was wanting 1”
KNEW WHERE THEY WERE.
Some of the rebel regiments captured at Gettysburg
were very small. An Alabama Colonel, when asked
wh. re the rest of his regiment was, laconically replied,
“Gone to hell, sir.”
LITERARLY INCLINED.
1 A preacher in Illinois, giving a familiar account of the
Prodigal Son’s return, dwelt touchingly upon the father’s
circumstances when he saw his son “afar off,” thus:
“ The sun had not yet sunk beneatii the western horizon-
There, in his easy chair, before the door, sits the aged fa
ther, reading the papers.” Telegraphic dispatches, proba
bly, of some of Josnua’s victories.
NO GREAT LOSS WITHOUT SOMfl SMALL GAIN.
Little Archie was cautioned about holding his fork, as it
came in close proximity to his eye, his mother telling him
that he might put his eye out and be blind. He gave it a
three-year-old consideration, and a bright idea struck
him. “ Then, mamma,” said he, triumphantly, “ I could,
have a dog.”
DIDN’T MAKE MUCH DIFFERENCE.
A medical practitioner, not quite so celebrated as Ga
len, undertook to cure a person of deafness, with which
he was sadly afflicted. One lotion after another had been
i prescribed, but still the patient was shut out from hearing
i his fellow-man. “ I’ve just come ©nee mair to ye, doctor,”
J said his wife, “to see if ye can gie John something beiter,
for the last bottle ye gave him did him nae gude ava.”
; “ Dear me.” said the doctor, “ did it no? I’m surprised at
1 hat; but it matters little, for there’s naething gauu worth
the hearing just now-.”
KISSES VS. SUGAR.
The editor of the Farmington Chronicle is having sweet
times. He recently attended a kissing party, and also a.
“sugaring off,” where lie indulged in ‘ the purest maple
sweet the market affords.” Going to a “sugaring” after %
kissing party, may be called “ tapering off.”
CRINOLINE.
It is getting to be a question, “ Which is most dangerous;
our iron-clad ships or our steel-clad women!” A dis
tressed lover thus expatiates on the dangers of crinoline :
How can I stoop ? how can I kneel ?
How can I worship at thy feet?
When thou art fenced about with steel!
i An Amazon in mail complete !
I fear not Cupid’s fiercest dart—
Am willing for thy sake to die;
But if a splinter chanced to start,
i Why, dearest, I might lose an eye I
Ah, cruel! wherefore bear that mine
Of danger in thy crinoline!
IT TAKES DAD.
An old gentleman, who was always boasting how folks
used to work in his young days, one day challenged his
two sons to pitch on a load of hay as fast as he could load
i it. The challenge was accepted, the hay-wagon driven
round, and the trial commenced. For some time the old
, man Held his own very creditably, calling out: “More
hay I more hay!” At length, struggling to keep on the
[ top of the disordered and ill-arranged heap, it began first
to roll, then to slide, and at last it went oft from the wag
on, and the old man with it. “ What are you doing down
i here?” cried tiie boys. “I came down after hay,” an
swered the old man, stoutly,
J SHE KNEW WHAT SHE WAS.
A squad of Indiana volunteers, out scouting, came
across an old woman in a log cabin in the -mountains.
After the usual salutations, one of them asked ;
i “ Well, old lady, are you Secesli?”
“ No,” was her answer.
“Are you Union?”
“No.”
“ What are you then ?”
“ A Baptist, and aVvs have, been /”
THE FIRST HE’D SEEN.
A steamboat captain, who lost his arm in the big wars
offered a free passage to any soldier who had participated
- in the capture of New Orleans. One day a man claimed a
tree passage, asserting that he was in the battle. He
referred to the captain
L “In what capacity did you serve ?”
L “High private,” was the reply.
“Stranger,” said the captain, “give me your hand ; I
have passed two thousand and eighty-two who were in
that fight, and you are the first private I have seen.”
NO EXCITEMENT IN IT.
Sir James Graham's father was full of anecdotes of that
; sociable divine, Archdeacon I’aley, and loved to tell hove
some one, praising the conjugal peace enjoyed by a gen
i tieman in the neighborhood; who hftd not had eyeii an ar
gument with his wife for more than thirty years, appealed
to Paley whether it were not admirable as a domestic ex
ample. “No doubt.” said the doctor, “it was verra
i praiseworthy, but it must have been verra doo?.”
• ■ WHAT PAGE?
A declamatory counsel, who despised all technicalities;
I and tried to storm the court of the East India Company by
1 the force of eloquence, was once uttering these words,
I “In the book of nature, my lords, it is written—” when he
was stopped by this question from the Chief Justice (Lord
, i Ellenboroiigh): “ Will you have the goodness to mention
the page, sir, If you please ?”
RACHEL_
i I have had the pleasui-e of frequently meeting
: Rachel in society, and certainly it was impos
sible to have seen any one more high-bred in
appearance, dress and manner. There was
. I nvthing cxaggai'aioil in hor style of dress, which
was always of rich materials, but in perfect
i taste. She generally, in order to conceal the ex
cessive spareness of her form, wore a high gown,
; ; fitting tight round the long, slight throat, and
'■ \ falling in heavy folds; the lace collar being fas
; j tened by some costly ornament. Her head,
1 which was beauitfully shaped, was generally
I adorned only by her thick, waving hair. Her
eyes were very deeply set, and too jet black to ba
soft or pleasing ; her profile was regular in its
i outline, but her face was long and narrow, and
bore evident traces of its Jewish origin. She had
' very small, well-formed hands, with long, thin,
taper fingers, and pink nails remarkably “ biea
soignes-” Her manner in a drawing-room was
, particularly quiet, pleasing and lady-like. Sha
was neither forward nor servile; never forcing
herself on any one’s acquaintance, and yet never
accepting a position of humiliation. I could
completely understand how thoroughly English
society had been taken in during her first visit
to London, and how the most straight-laced
dowagers had invited her, almost on a tooting of
intimacy, to their houses and select parties. It
is true that she had not then completely thrown
all appearance of propriety to the winds, as in
her later career. I think I may say, without
subjecting myself to any accusation of scandal or
exaggeration, that no. woman ever went beyond
Rachel in immorality. I have heard men say
that it was just that contrast between her “ com
pany” manners, so distinguished, graceful and
dignified, aud the cearse, ribald tone which sha
assumed when at ease with her boon compan
ions, that fascinated them. She must have
studied vice as another might have studied vir
tue, and instead of feigning to appear better than,
she really was, it seemed to be her glory to show
to her admirers the darkest shades of her char
acter, and make them kneel down and worship
the idol of mud they had set up.— Gronovi's Ite~
collections anil Anecdotes.
A Russian Restaurant. —We bade
adieu to G.. and followed his advice to go to tha
Vauxha ll Restaurant. Having selected our table,
we took up the bill of fare to give our orders ;
but to our horror it was in Russian, and we coulcl
not make out one word. In vain we tried, in.
every language we knew, to communicate our
desire to have soup first; the waiter only shook
his head. As a last alternative, we resorted to
the natural language of signs; and running a
finger down the whole fare, handed it to him,
and, pointing him towards the kitchen, gently
pushed him towards it. He understood us, and.
dish after dish of well disguised viands soou fol
lowed, till we could manage no more. He was
evidently going through the list, and how to stop
him was now the difficulty. Words were of no
avail; so catching him by the coat-tail as he was
about making another dive towards the kitchen,
we put a ten rouble note into his hand, aud our
hats on our heads -, the bill followed ; we received,
our change, and departed.—A Yachting Oruiss
in the Hallie,
7

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