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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, May 22, 1864, Image 6

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(Written for Hießtir York Dispsteß.l
BIGOTRY.
By John U. Coughlin.
Nobody loves the bigot,
Let his wear a cap or crown,
y-v'rv rn« >-’s almost
' To help in crushing him down,
And yet we all are guilty .
vi uigotry now and tnen,
We show it in our actions
And establish it with our pen,
At ,v, o ft«re ten or eleven
2 swore, whatever my fate,
Td yet teacn human Doings
Wui a wieKed sin is hate.
I’d cnatfih the spiteful bigot
From his dread Impending doom,
I’d show that the p ath he traveled
w u» w rap j. eu m an enniebS gloom.
>* . b-”'n<>v of neaee I tv-rt.ured.
To the breeze its folds I furl’d,
P* aviu.- »j, ioou2f>iH from no one,
Exposing them to the world.
My neighbor sabftfd my doctrine,
Aly minister spurned it too,
The statesman said he had tried it
And iouud'that it would not do.
Stni tighter I grasped my banner,
And offered my hand to all;
Bul al) a received were answers,
fc ccflirg and bitter as galL
B s filed thus and disheartened,
1 re It that 1 could not rest,
Until I had settled the question
By patting a final test.
A tender Jove I cherished
For one of a diff’rent creed,
W hose face so fair and gentle
Gave hopes that I d vet succeed.
But many a face angelia
Possesses a stony heart.
Afi the feeman’s secret ambush
Conceals his deadly dart.
Alas I she was *ut mortal.
And bigotry fondly rurst:
O h - God 1 I thought each moment
Would see my poor heart burst 1
Whether my heart is broken.
Or whether it now lies dead,
L T tile I know or little I care
For happiness—a!l has tied.
But this I know, too truly,
That naught can ever abate
This uncontrollable bigotry
Whicjffilte my soul with hate.
for the New
IS H ffl IMY ffl OR ffi!
BV K. ATE MERIDEN.
Seventy years ago,
Seventy years-ago.— Tennyson.
I’n a vine-covered cottage, hid away from
the bustle and din of the great restless world,
inhere God’s beautifiil sunshine, unobstructed
by man’s busy invention could find room to
penetrate, there dwelt aa old lady and her
grandchild, a demure looking little maiden,
-who had just begun to -question in her mind
■what were her claims to young ladyhood, and
if it really were not high time for grandma to
drop that childish appellation of Rachee, my
pet-, and address .her with the more dignified
cognomen of Rachel Clayton.
But, alas for the little maiden’s prospects.
She had been “Rachee, my pet” to the -whole
village for the last ten years of her brief ex
istence, ever since when a little five-year old
damsel she trudged to the school-house on
the green with her boy-lover Charlie Brovap.
Mow, if “ Rachee, my pet” was in a medi
tative mood as she sat eating strawberries out
Of one of grandma’s oli-fashloned blue china
raucers, the old lady herself was in a no less
serious frame of mind, for, to make use of one
of her favorite expressions, she had seen a
great many “ups” and “downs” in the
world,’some of which she was in the habit of
recounting to her grandchild, and “Rachee,
my pet” had long ere this learned “How
these very hands had held the gown with
which your great-grandmother knit a pair of
stockings for the general, and how these very
hands loaded the rusty musket with which
your grandfather, child, popped over an ugly
looking Redskin.”
Yet it was neither of that dear good general,
er the copper-colored Indian, that grandma
was thinking, but of her only son, whom she
had not seen for a .number of years. Not that
■we -wish our readers to suppose that Robert
Benton had forgotten the little cottage and
his aged parent. By no means; for there
were times when the busy merchant, forgetful
of the claims of Mammon, allowed himself to
warmer back to the scenes of his boyhood, and
lancy himself the happy urchin of long ago,
wading after the cows, in the sunny brook,
with his pet sister little Nell.
Things - had changed since that time, yet
long years could not efface the memory from
his heart. Little Nell had grown from a
merry, laughter-loving child into a beautiful
maiden, and in all her girlish loveliness had
given her happiness in the keeping of one
whom, in her eyes, was infinitely superior to
the rest of mankind. And for a living contra
diction to those miserable misanthropists, who
•would-take all the sweet sunshine ont of life,
and divest the earth of all that is good and
beautiful, setting up their blind judgment, and
what they so falsely term their facts, in defi
ance of that Great Author who hade the stars
shine forth, and tinted the tiniest flower with
his love, Nellie lived a life of quiet happiness,
and returned to the vine-covered cottage to
breathe out her gentle life, bequeathing as a
last gilt to her mother her little daughter,
“ Rachee, my pet.”
Latterly, the merchant had thought much
on these things. Was it that he had at last
discovered that money will not always bring
happiness, or that he sighed for tire peaceful
quiet, of former years—for most unlike his
gentle sister, Robert Benton had formed a
matrimonial alliance in the same manner as
he would have bargained for a lot of goods or
bought an estate.
He wanted a wife.. A wife would add to his
importance. He would be more dignified in
the eyes of his commercial brethren. Tnen,
too, what was a fine house, with all its fix
tures, without a mistress ?
So he chose a wife as he would have done
another piece of furniture. She could dress
well, the looked well at the head of his table,
she could entertain his visitors, though of
•Ourse neither of them was troubled with any
particular affection for the other. Such a sen
timent had long ago been discarded by the
lady’s worldly-minded relatives, as a piece of
lolly, fit only for some romantic schoolgirl,
and extremely dangerous to her future pros
pects ; and as the merchant could offer her a
fine establishment, a handsome carriage, and
more diamonds than his competitors, he was
accepted, and they tried hard to believe that
#>ey were satisfied and quite hapny.
Strange, what pains people will take to de
ceive themselves!
This beautiful chimera could not always last,
and the merchant lived to learn that a fash
ionable wife, devoted to that exacting goddess,
society, was not, after all, the most desirable
companion; nor was the knowledge of Mrs.
Benton’s ability to out-dress, out-dazzle and
Cut-do the whole of her clique calculated to
Soothe him when harassed and wearied with
business cares, or the fact of his residence
being a centre of attraction to le beau monde a
Source of comfort to one who would have
given a fortune to secure a little sympathy.
With this desire unsatisfied, and the memo
ry of his earlier years, there came a wish to
cnce more behold his aged parent, and thus it
happened that on a certain morning, the mer
chant, on arriving at his counting-house, se
cluded himself in his private office; and while
his obsequious clerks and accommodating sales
men assured all inquirers for the “firm,”
n That really they were very sorry, but really
the ‘ firm’ could not be seen at that hour,” he
sat penning a letter to the cottage, telling his
mother that in his great, stylish mansion there
was room enough for her and his sister’s child,
and begging them to come to him.
It was the receipt of this letter that had oc
casioned grandma’s thoughtful mood, for she
dearly loved the little cottage and all its sur
roundings. The ivy creeping over its gray
■walls was more to her taste than the most
skillful sculpture, and the ripple of the silver
brook, in which her children had waded for
fhe truant cows, or gather cresses for the even
ing meal, sounded very musical in her ears ;
and her old-fashioned borders of blue forget
me-nots, sweet Williams and four o’clocks were
more odoriferous to her sense of smelling than
ihe finest bouquet of hot house exotics ; for in
the balmy days of June grandma loved to sit
under her cherry trees, watching her flowers,
and weaving beautiful dreams of long ago, un
disturbed save by the twitter of a robin over
head, or a shower of scented snow. At such
times the old lady would quite forget herself
and the sun would sink behind the cottage,’
and blight tears would fill grandma’s blue
eyes, for she fancied she heard a strong voice
calling “ Mary ! Mary!” and little feet patter
ing over the cottage floor, with a tiny pinafore
filled with broken blossoms the little one had
Molen from mamma’s garden.
Yes, the homestead was very dear to the old
lady’s heart. She would not have exchanged
jt for the finest structure ever erected by the
most elaborate architect; nor could the grand
est display of rosewood, brocatel or plate glass
ever be half so valuable in her eyes as the old-
fashioned blue china or high-backed, cushioned
arm-chair that stood in the same spot where
fifty-five years before “ John” had placed it.
But grandma was getting old ; and latterly
had acknowledged to “Rachec-my-pct” that
she did “b’lieve”she had “a touch of the
• rhenmatis,’ ” and now as she sat with her
spectacles elevated on the bridge ef her nose,
and her son’s letter lying in her lap, she asked
herself the serious question, What would be
come of 11 Raehee-my-pet,’ ’ when she would
be carried'from the cottage, to rest beside ‘ ‘lit
tle Nell” in the village church yard.
It was this thought that at length deter
mined her to leave her home for a short time,
and take her grand-daughter on a visit to her
city relatives.
T® learn how the old lady’s visit was re
garded by them, let us look in on the mer
chant’s family, just two weeks prior to her ar
rival.
Mrs. Benton seated on a tjefa, in her ele
gantly furnished drawing-room, was congratu
lating herself on the departure of a visitor,
whom she had just assured she ‘ Sous dying to
see.” Miss Eleanor Benton and her younger
sister, were busily engaged in discussing an en
tertainment they had attended, on the previ
ous evening. Telling how their “nerves” were
shocked by that horrid Miss Dana’s dress, and
how another Mrs. Somebody looked like a
fright in corn-colored satin, and how pretty
Mrs. Green was ready to cry, because Mr.
Green insisted on leaving at twelve, and wond
ering if she really ecrild be happy with such a
wretch —for th/.y had heard —yes, they had
heard, they di-ln’t Imow exactly what.
How long the young ladies might have gone
on, tryi-g te imagine what they had heard, is im
possible to state-, at this juncture, however,
Mrs. Benton having ended her gratulation,
turned to the elder daughter with the remark;
“What do you think of your grandma’s
visit, Ksy dear?”
“Stupid ! insufferably stupid, ma,” was the
elegant rejoinder. “ It’sjustlifee pa,” chimed
in the younger daughter, “ he’s never satis
fied.”
Now though “pa,’was “ never -satisfied” ho
was considered a very useful piece of machinery,
by his two dutiful daughters; and so long as
he was able to supply their mnmerous wants,
they were perfectly satisfied, and supposed “pa”
ought to be.
“ I presume the matter’s settled,” Mrs. Ban
ton resumed, after a short pause, “we shall
have the old lady on our hands for several
months at least.”
“And the little rustic “ Rachee-my-pet,”
just to think, Bella, of one introducing a cou
sin of ours by that name.”
“ And Lawyer Brown. What will he think
of our country relatives ?’ ’
“ I doubt, my dears, if the lawyer 'ill take
the trouble to give them a thought; however,
I’d advise you both to treat your grandma with
becoming respect; for the old lady must possess
a comfortable fortune, and she can’t do less
than remember you in her will,” and having
delivered herself in what she considered a eryv
proper manner, Mrs. Benton repaired to her
dressing-room, to decide the important ques
tion of what she should wear at her next re
ception.
The following day grandma arrived with
“ Rachee-my pet,” who proved a source of
much wonder to her elegant cousins, for in
stead of the little rustic which they had prepared
themselves to meet, they found, that their
country cousin was as self-.possesse’d as them
selves, though gentle and unassuming.
As for the little maiden, she found much
cause for wonder, for according to her version,
the word lady meant one who’s gentility ex
tended to all times and places ; whereas she found
that her cousins differed from her on that
point, for while Miss Eleanor would pick out
her peas one by one, in the most charmingly
affected manner when visitors were dining with
her ma, one hour after the same young lady
mightbe seen, ladle in hand, eating them out
of the dinner-pot; and whereas Cousin Bella
would drawl out any amount of nonsense, with
the sweetest lisp, for the benefit of some con
ceited masculine in the parlor, in the kitchen,
Cousin Bella would harangue a poor tired ser
vant in tones anything but ladylike.
We might tell of many instances in which
“ Rachee-my-pet” was surprised by her city
cousins and their city breeding, but grandma has
already been forgotten too long.
For a time, the old lady was pleased with the
novelty of her surroundings, and the society of
her son proved a real comfort. But, alas I for
he plans cf his family, grandma was by no
means verdant, though she-loved green things,
and prided herself on her garden ; yet no
sooner did she discover the true sentiment with
which she was regarded by her son’s wife and
daughters, than she made her own arrange
ments.
“Are yon going out to-day, grandma?”
asked Bella Benton, entering the old lady’s
apartment, where she found her attired in the
old-fashioned ehoop-bonnet and gray shawl,
with which her sister and herself had enter
tained their visitors on the previous evening.
“Yes, child, I think a lettle airing ’ll dome
good. Come, lovey,” she continued, turning
to Racbee-my-pet, “ you needn’tyL much.”
“You surely are not going to walk?” Bella
said, elevating her eyebrows. “ Shall I order
the carriage ? ’
“La, sakes ! no ; feet were made ’afore car
riages, But yer needn’t mention my goiu’
out.”
Grandma’s request, however, was unheeded,
for no sooner had the choop-bonnet and gray
shawl disappeared than Bella rushed in the
drawing-room with the intelligence that “ the
old lady and her grand-daughter had gone ont
for a walk.”
“ Where on earth are they going?” Mrs.
Benton asked, with a look of surprise.
“I have it, :m; she’s doubtless gone to
make her will. ”
“Nonsense, Bella, how you do talk,” con
tinued Eleanor, “ I don’t believe she’s any
thing to dispose of except it be that little nest
of a cottage.”
1 ‘ I should really like to know if the old lady
is rich or poor,” Bella continued.
* 1 That matter’ will doubtless be settled be
fore many years,” Mrs. Benton replied. “At
all events it can do no harm to humor the old
lady, and I’m greatly displeased at your con
duct in attiring yourselves in her wardrobe ; I
should almost have fancied she witnessed your
performance last evening, had not Bridget as
sured me that she remained in her own apart
ment.”
“ Neither the old lady nor our country cousin
honored us with their presence, last evening,
though Lawyer Brown made several inquiries
for Miss Clayton. It does seem to me as
though they were very intimate for new ac
quaintances.”
“ The lawyer could hardly have met your
cousin before ?” Mrs. Benton said, in an inquir
ing tone.
“ I don’tknow,” Bella returned. He is im
penetrable. and ‘ Rachee-my-pet ’ keeps her
own counsel.”
Shortly after this conversation, grandma re
turned, and though much skillful maneuver
ing was employed by Mrs. Benton and her
daughter, they failed to discover the object of
her visit, for neither grandma nor “Rachee
my-pet” would be out-generated ; and the only
fact that they succeeded in eliciting was, that
the old lady had made up her mind to return
home.
We pass over a space of three years. During
that period time has been busy with the in
mates of the little cottage, though its outward
surroundings are the same. The cricket still
sings on the hearth, and the old-fashioned
blue china and high-backed cushioned chair
are in their accustomed places, though grand
ma no longer sits under her cherry-trees, weav
ing beautiful dreams of long ago ; for the poor
old lady has gone to her long home—she rests
beside her daughter, in thq village church
yard.
“Rachee-my-pet” still inhabits the place.
Perhaps she is looking a little older than when
we first made her acquaintance, yet the same
sunny smile rests on the sweet features of the
wide-awake little maiden.
Just now she is full of business, for to-day
poor old grandma’s last will and testament is
to be read, and she is expecting her Uncle
Benton, with his wife and fashionable daugh
ters ; and some whose name she hardly
dares mention to hep own little self.
At last, her visitors arrive. Uncle Benton
coughs loudly and talks fast, to try to keep
back the big tears that will come as he gizes
on his mother’s picture ; while Mrs. Benton,
handkerchief in hand, is tryiag hard to get up
a scene, and muster a few tears, as she expati
ates on the old lady’s , many virtues, and as
sures her hearers that no one can possibly feel
the loss more deeply than herself. Her daugh
ters also look, solemn as they shake the dust
from their silken flounces, and have almost
succeeded in making themselves believe that
they, too, are feeling very badly.
At length, the circle is complete. The cler
gyman, with the squire and village attorney,
have come in with Lawyer Brown, who is
looking very important over some little busi
ness of his own.
All are seated, at last. The squire takes out
his red silk, handkerchief and polishes his spec
tacles, and the village attorney clears his
throat x'ith aloud “hem while Mrs. Benton
once mo're wipes her eyes as she murmurs,
“Dear old lady ;” and then,amid a breathless
silence, Lawyer Brawn produoes from his
Socket a square-looking package, which he
hands to the squire, who breaks the seal and
reads the following ■:
THE LAST WILT. AND TESTAMENTS BETS IY BENTON,
“I, Betsey Benton, of Stanhope, in the
. county of Faxfield, being -of sound mind, and
capable of disposing of ray worldly estate, de
clare this to be my last wiM and testament. I
give and bequeath, to ’my son Robert Benton
the iamily portraits, Lis father’s silver watch,
and such ■articles of household furniture as from
old associations he may care to possess, to
gether with my earnest blessing.
“To my youngest grand-daughter, Rachel
Clayton, I give&nd bequeath the whole <f my
landed estate, together with the cottage and
the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars, depo
sited in the hank of Faxfield ■; and may God
'■bless her.
“To my daughter-in-law,. Eliza Benton, I
bequeath my 1 Book of Manners,’ with the sin
cere wish that it may prove serviceable to her
in directing her daughter’s conduct.
“To 'my grand daughters, Eleanor Benton
and Bella Benton, I give and bequeath my
choop-<aat and gray shawl, with the earnest
desire that tlaey may prove useful.
“Betsey Benton.”
As the last sentence was read, Mrs. Benton
went off in hysterics, from which, after a time,
she recovered, to declare “That as the old
urdch had seen fit to treat her family in such
a shabby manner, she would not answer for
consequences; and as her husband had been
appointed guardian to “Rachee-my-pet,” and
the young lady was to reside with them,’ it
■shouldn't be her fault if she found her home
anything but agreeable. ’ ’
At this juncture, however, Lawyer Brown
took the trouble to undeceive her, by showing
a clause in the will which read as follows ;
“ I appoint as guardian to my grand-daugh
ter, Rachel Clayton, her uncle Robert Benton,
until she marry or come of age. In case of
her marriage, her property is immediately to
be placed under her own control.” -
“And now,” he continued, “let me invite
you to another eeremony.”
And before Mts. Benton could determine
whether she was in her riant senses or only
dreaming, she heard the white-haired clergy
man pronounce Charles Brown and Rachel
Clayton man and wife.
We need not stop to portray the rage and
mortification depicted on the lady’s counte
nance, or the feeling of her daughters. Suffice
it to know’, that they’ went home wiser if not
better, insomuch that they had at last discov
ered that Lawyer Brown and ‘ 1 Rachee-my
pet,” were old acquaintances, and grandma
was rich instead of poor.
(Written lor tr.e New York PispatelrJ
THE WICKED FLEA
WHERE NO MAN PURSUE PH.
r.Y SIKS. OLIVIA KING,
‘ ‘ Two hours more, and the beaux will be
here. Won’t it be jolly ? The last time Phil
called I had a headache and was tired to death
beside; and if I wasn’t absolutely cross, I was
a good long way <sf from being amiable.
Somehow I wanted to treat him. well. I liked
him, and wanted him to know it, and if we
had only got far enough along so that I could
have thrown myself on the sofa beside him,
dropped my head affectionately upon his breast,
while he with gentle tenderness magnetized
away the pain. Gracious! isn’t that a pleas
ant picture ? sets me to wanting to hurry up
matters. But instead of that, to be obliged to
sit bolt upright, with your corsets laced ready
to squeeze your life out, your collar scratching
your neck at every motion, your head-dress so
arranged that four hairs on your left temple
pull unmercifully, one of the pins in your
skirts sticking into your side just enough to
feel uncomfortable, your new gaiters pinching
your feet until you can hardly keep the tears
back, added to all that, a night hot enough to
melt you, and then to sit opposite some free
and easy, devil-may-care .ehap as severely com
fortable as you are the reverse, and bow and
smite white .he proceeds to make himself agree
able for nobody knows how long—oh! it's pos
itively excruciating, and I ha 1 rather never be
a married woman than go through many such
trials. And if Phil don’t stop making calls’at
such unpropitious moments, I’ll bet my best
bonnet-, that he never gets badly struck after
me. The fine points in my character are not
apparent at such times.' I groaned in spirit
all the while when he was here last; but to
night won’t it be grand? I’ve on my old
shoes, corsets so loose you might stow away
quite a family inside, and all have room enough,
collar don’t scratch, no pins digging into me,
hair sits easy on my head, am in the best hu
mor possible ; and I only hope he will come
early, stay late, pop the question, and get ev
erything settled while I’m in the humor ; for,
upon my modesty ! as well as I love that fel
low, if he should show any indications of a dis
position to kneel when I am. so confoundedly
uncomfortable, I believe I should end the in
terview by’ telling him he had taken his d«eks
to the wrong market. But to night I feel
good,and if Idon’t ‘ astonish the Browns,’ it’s
because something unforeseen turns up to an
noy me.”
And tossing back the auburn curls from a
laughing, good-natured face, Amy Tryon, the
little belle and pet of Mason village, sat down
as one perfectly satisfied with herself, and ail
the world beside, bending the large, roguish
eyes upon her friend Jenny West with a look
that said as plainly as words, “Let’s have an
idea or two from you now, just for a change.”
But Jenny, always comfortable, always cut
ting pigeon-wings around the house in her old
slippers, or nestling down on au ottoman at
the feet of the “beaux” in any old wrapper that
came handy, chatting and laughing in such a
friendly, natural, way that everybody’ loved her
in spite of themselves ; looking always, Amy
declared, as though it was before breakfast with
her, could not exactly appreciate the doleful
story of suffering to which she had listened.
Besides having in a womanly manner settled
her affections upon Charley Butler, looking up
to him with the reverence and tenderness
which love ever inspires, and supposing Amy
occupying a similar position in regard to Phil
Eaton, she did not any more than half like
her.off-hand, careless way of alluding to the
“ star of destiny.” So from beaux and tight
lacing the conversation turned to the illness of
a third party, little Lucy Tryon, who usually
formed the trio, and was the veriet tease in all
the world, but who, alas ! had romped in the
night air and gathered wild thyme, white root
and bonffiet against somebody got bilious,
until she herself had come down with the
ague, but who now, like auy other doctor,
fought bravely against swallowing any of her
own medicines, preferring rather to rough it
through and wear it out —declaring occasion
ally, when free from pain, that if there was no
other advantage in it, she was, at least, saving
considerable shoe-leather, and that was an item
in her yearly expenditures not to be winked
at. The ague wasn’t dangerous, she said ; no
body was ever heard to die with it, though she
must admit there wasn’t much poetry in shak
ing your toe-nails loose, your cheeks
blue as a Connecticut whet-stone, and an in
describable feeling a little distance below y’our
windpipe, much the same as though you were
out at sea in a gale, and begging ’midst the
chattering of your teeth, for more hot bricks,
and just another blanket; and then, perhaps,
an hour later, tossing and rolling in all the
torments of lever, pouring down ice-water by
the pitcherfull, several buzz-saws, a young
grist-mill and forty-five trip-hammers in full
operation in your head. Well, it was pretty
solid business while it lasted, there i(fras no get
ting around that; but when it was all over
with, a person didn’t feel as bad as you might
expect. Bread and milk always went down
with a relish; the greatest trouble was, the
whole thing was unromantie; but then she
wasn’t in love and under no obligations to be
in “position” all the time. She would just
wear the thing out and make an end of it, if it
took her five years and shook all the chimneys
down and the plastering off the whole house.
Didn’t believe in frightening it away with
“bitterness,” and then live in constant fear of
its “ going back on you.”
So, while tire two friends chatted in the par
lor, poor little Lute, like the heroine that she
was, lay in the cool, airy chamber above, in
tent upon conquering her enemy. But, as all
this is foreign to our story, and a person on
their back not likely to take any very active
part in proceedings of this sort, we will bid her
good- night, with, the hope that she may be
victorious, and follow up the adventures of our
two friends, Amy and Jenny, who, just as the
day was going cut, took it into their crazy
NEW YORK DISPATCH.
heads that a little run over to Squire
man’s, just to chat with Lottie a few mi.'_utes,
and find out when the next ball was, coming
off, would he beneficial, and they could get
back easy before Phil and Charley Should malia
their appearance. The “few minutes” length
ened into something like an hour; then, in
true girl style, not another moment was to be
lost. Good-byes were hastily gotten through
with, while the road away around over the
bridge was declared too far to be thought of;
and Amy, with her usual dash and execution,
decided they should take a shorter cut by the
Court-House and through Will Griffin’s barn
yard.
‘ • Who cared ?” she said. “It was dark—
nobody was going to see them ; and if they
did, what of it ? It was a free country, and
people could go where they pleased, provided
they -behaved themselves tolerably and wore
pretty good clothes. Besides, it was a shame
to keep those two poor martyrs sitting there
in the parlor, staring each otjicr out of coun
tenance, and that, too, just when they were in
the mood of entertaining them.”
So, across Will Griffin’s ham-yard it was,
and ten minutes later saw them seated each by
their respective suitor, comfortably whiling
away the evening hours. Amy was in the
best of spirits, and laughed, and joked and
■dratted until poer Phil’s heart was nearly
taken by storm.; while, in the farther end of
the room, J-enny and Charley, in tones too low
to be overheard, were quietly talking over the
future. So a half-hour passed, and then both
girls grew fidgetty. Jenny, with a little more
of woman's, long suffering and patience, was
the most-quiet. Amy couldn’t keep still, and
was constantly hitching jbout. Something
was up ; -and very evident would it have been
to an observer that the sudden departure of two
young gentlemen would have been a favor that
two young ladies could have appreciated. Rat
Phil and Charley couldn’t see it, and the even
ing wore on. Amy, growing more and more
uneasy, at length became so desperately out of
sorts, that she mentally wished that Phil
Eaten, Charley Butter, and everything else in
the form ■> f man—not hung, shot, or drowned
—but, as she afterwards expressed it, confined
in Wi 11 Griffin’s barn-yard, with their hands tied.
a la Davenport Brothers—any way that they
might just experience the torture she was en
during. Squirming, twisting, taking occasion
ally a sly pinch here, a nip there—rubbing her
back or side against the arm of the sofa (a-la
calf and bar-post), digging one ankle with the
toe of the other foot, jerking" away the hand
which Phil fondly held, with a sudden ner
vousness that caused the lover to open wide
his eyes in astonishment. Altogether the
proceedings were extraordinary, considering
the occasion, and a believer in spiritualism
would, doubtless, have put it down that the
manifestations were such as to convince them
that the two girls were under the * 1 influence.”
So they were ; and never before did an even
ing seem.so long ; but as all things, pleasant
or otherwise, must come to*a close, so did at
last the visit. At least it had that appearance,
for consulting their watches the hoys arose
and politely asked for their hats. 'Never was
ordrr more promptly obeyed, and then with
probably a little more haste than etiquette
would really demand, the door leading out
upon the’piazza was thrown open. The moon was
shining brightly and Phil, young and enthu
siastic, was inspired by the beauty of- the night,
and drawing Amy to his side went into a strain
of sentiment which lasted fully another hour,
she struggling meanwhile between a disire to
appear polite, ami the torture of her situation,
grumbling her monosyllables, and endeavor
ing to make the interview as uninteresting as
possible, until at last, the beaux were gone,
the door closed, and then broke forth the ex
clamation ::
“ Jerusalem and steelyards ! Icebergs! Tor
nadoes! Volcanoes! War and Pestilence!
Mount Etna ! Vesuvius and Herculaneum I
Excuse me, for swearing, but I say, Jenny, there
is a colored regiment of rebel fleas on me, and
they have been through with battailion drill,
have come into position upon the right' and
left, and have carried the out works by
.storm 1”
Poor little Jenny ! she was in no shape to
offer consolation, neither was she so demon
strative as her friend, so with the simple words
‘ l l sympathize with you, if that will do any
good,” she led the way to the chamber, where
Lucy, after her day’s struggle with the ague,
lay happily sleeping.
Of the scene that followed, and the appro
pcs remarks with which it was spieed, we dare
not venture a relation. Our pen is not ade
quate to the task, had we the right. We will
only state that great numbers of the enemy
were captured,which,(probably out of revenge,)
our two friends amused themselves by drown
ing in the glass of water on the table at Lu
cy’s bedside which, after the performance,
they with their usual thoughtlessness forgot to
remove. But the kind angels ever hovering
over beds of innocence, prevented the invalid
awaking .'rod partaking of the invigorating
draught during the night, though thereby
losing to the world the knowledge as to
whether fleas taken internally are a. specific
for biliousness or not. The young lady was
heard, however, to remark the next day, that
it was her “private opinion publicly ex
pressed’ ’ that the girls had a good time with
their beaux —declaring the next minute that
the scum of dead fleas on the water in that
glass was at least an inch thick ; while Amy,
with a vivid remembrance of her sufferings,
corroborates the statement, adding that she
expects to live an old maid, as the mere thought
of Phil. Eaton sets her to scratching.
We open cur gossip department this week with
a contribution from the pen of J. Henry I.lay
ward—a rtrarger in these gossiping precincts,
yet a youth who swings round in the “Chari
vari” style—one not altogether unknown
to fortune, fame, and the readers of the Dis
patch. We like the poem_it is fresh, piquant,
and the moral which it points will no doubt be
widely observed. Tendering our moat grateful
thanks for the favor, we proceed with
the bee and the bud—with a mo-he-al.
A bee cnce went wand’ring from flower to tl iwtr,
To sip all the honey that each might contain—
Within ti e precincts of a city-made bower—
The Helds, near its hive, having left with dislain.
Here, many exotics from climes far and distant.
Were cultured and tended with consummate skill;
Yet this gay honey-bee—for better persistant—
Would not from their sweet lips deign extract his fill.
So onward he flitted, while humming with pleasure,
Just viewing the red leaves of each budding rose,
Regardless ali&e of the nectaral pleasure
Which for him each chalice did tempting enclose.
From lily to daisy, blue bell, and carnation,
Japomca, jessamine, tulip, and piijk.
This oee, all ecstatic, low hummed adoration.
Yet paused in his flight not an instant to drink,
Till Io 1 in a window, deep curtained with laces,
In the mansion wherein the gardener dwell’d,
He spied, in the mouth of two guilt china vases,
Such buds as his beeship had never beheld.
He long hung in mid air, so great was his wonder,
And hummed a new tune of unspeakable glee,
While eager his wax’d legs extended from under
His body, to grasp such a prize for a bee.
Then, like a sun shadow, he flew to the flowers,
Yet paused in his flight, still afraid to believe;'
As he mused, ‘ Surely these were plucked from the
0: Paradise, formerly cultured by Eve I”
He paused now no longer; with this wise conclusion
He scorned any further his patience to tax ;
So, fcuuiuiing an humble excuse for intrusion,
He lit on the flowers, and found them all—wax!
The moral, young men, of this quaint allegory,
Too obvious is, for me here to explain.
Sufiice it to say, ’tis the same olden story—
When seeking perfection, our search proves in vain.
The young ladies, too, are by no means exemnted
From its application in lite’s rosy hour ;
For they, very often, by vanity tempted,
Go seek for their “honey” out of a wax flow’r.
Kate B. T., impressed with the importance o?
May day, sends in a characteristic epistle, wherein
she discourses at large upon the moving events
that have lately taken place. You have our
thanks, Kate, for the contribution, but pardon
us for saying that there is a great deal in having
fine ideas, but a great deal more in the way they
are dressed up and brought out. “It is the sea
soning which gives the peculiar flavor to the
dish,” but great care should be taken that the
seasoning be not too high, lest it induce nausea.
Looking over the letter before us, while there is
much decidedly fanny, and well suited to the
column, we are sorry to say we have been c im
pelled to draw our pen over a few words not to
be found in the Dictionary; but “ a word to the
wise,” ete.
LETTER FROM KATE R. T.
Well, New York is slowly recovering again
from her annual attack of bile on the stomach
which she always gets about the first of May.
She has thrown forth aid her contents this tim?,
and was, if one may judge, terribly bilious.
Places have changed hands, and hands hive
changed places—’twas “ Johnny, where you live,
I move, I move,” for the space of eight and-sixoy
hours. ’Tis a disease which New York alone is
affected with, and she will never be cured while
there is a etone within her inclosure. Poor,
afflicted husbands, with faces your arm’s length
and wrinkled awfully, have superintended the
transfer of their chattels, stormed at by their
faithful bed-fellows, elbowed and pushed by the
clamorous cartmen, who rejoice at this yearly
judgment-day exceedingly, and almost bless the
faithful bed-fellows who have been instrumental
ill bringing this state of things about; children
ire bawling like mad, and go bouncing up stairs
and down with clattering hoofs, adding to the
wrinkles of the. heart-sick “Pa,” and to the
jawing piopensities of “Ma,” who, with th,,
baton of donfesiic authority, stirs all hands up
till everything jumps. Mrs. Jones has said,
positively, that she could not and wor.’td nrt
live in the house with that distressed, low
born Mrs, Smith, who kept a horrid dog
up-stairs ; and Mrs. Smith took an oath
that, if her four precious young Smiths could
not go out and in when they pleased, and
have whistles and drums, and parlor skates, she
would get up and get—poor milk-sop Smith said
amen, instead of reminding her that he always
wore pants, and intended to, or locking her in
a dark closet till the moving mania had been
cured. (Goodness, how wo wish we had been a
husband just for the moral benefit of one of the
female race; oh, you can bet we do !•) Old Miss
Brown, the elderly Maiden, who lives on her
means, can not stand the junketing and racket
of those two bold-faced Misses in the hou je, who
have a tot of “fellers” there all hours, and be
have shamefully. She never behaved so when
she was a young girl; young men never dared
io take liberties with her. No, indeed, and she
draws herself up and puckers her mouth, says
“prunes, prism and peas,” and goes house
hunting. Mrs. Wiggles gets jealous of Wiggles,
■ about the grass widow in the front room, raises
the duce, and smashes things, goes into hyster
ics sometimes, gives Wiggles fits, and finally
lays for the pair; sees Waggles going into the
widow’s room, when he ought to be in his own.
Thereupon ensues a scene of boxing; grass
widow drawing the first blood. Of course the
Wiggleses move, and Wiggles’hair and whiskers
got awful thin all of a sudden, and half a dozen
long scratches eack side of his face, speaks vol
ume s about domestic bliss. No sort of use in
moving for grass, as well as bona-fide widows,
are all over; and if Wiggles had got tired of the
noose about his throttle, it can’t be helped; he
should have stayed single, had his little single
bed and cosy room all to himself, then be would
have to-day more hair and money, no finger-nail
marks on his face, and would not have to move.
The folks across the way were annoyed at a cart
that would stand in front of the house on Sun
days and evenings; the owner lived next door—
and the madam, who hates carts ever since her
father traveled a fish vehicle, declared upon her
sacred word of honor, and as true as she lived,
and she hoped sho might die and go to, if she
would look out of her front windows at a cart
turned up all the time, no sir ee—so she went
house-hunting, and of course turned out her
traps and moved. The nervous Mies Sphynx,
who trembles at the flattering of a leaf—san’t
abide musie—and when the poor pale-faced mu
sician came next door and gave promise that he
should practice a few hours daily, she started
forth to hunt a new home. We hops she found
one where no sound disturbed her skittered
nerves except her miserable parrot, who while
his mistress carried him along, together with a
band-box, kept up croaking “ We are agoing to
the promised land." Poor old Stubbing, who
with his help-meet had lived contentedly in a
nice little two-story old fashioned dwelling for
many years, and enjoyed his little rational look
ing bedroom and his favorite reading-place
in a quiet corner out of the draught, and the
convenient tuck-bole, whefe he kept his boot
jack, in an it-fated hoar, had to go; Iris two ac
complished Miss Stubbinees cams home from
school, and drawled forth their utter inability to
live next d«or to a horrid paint shoo. So the
three Stubbinses, ma and “her. educated pats,
made such a din around the old man’s ears that
he gave in like many another poor, foolish old
Stubbits. Bless the females of New York, how
they want settling! What a pity tbe men folks
couldn’t take a look into futurity and see what
the consequence would be of hitching on to a
petticoat for life—everything comes of it that is
troublesome—worse than having your house
turned into Babel once a year; and yet how
blindly they rush into what fetters them for life,
mak<s a spooney of them of the worst pattern,
unfits them for, or breaks up business, and ren
ders them an object in breeches too miserable
for the crows to pick at. Well, we cannot help
it, women have brought the custom about, of
turning things into topsy-turvy once a year, as
they have a good many other bad customs.
There was once an Iliad war for over seven
years, for the sake of a petticoat; the world was
new then. Men folks don’t fight for pieces
of divinity now-a-days, women are too plenty;
beside, look at the poor fellows that go out to
Dixie, and never come bank. Now we are oa the
subject of Dixie, gossips, I want to tell you some
thing ; but don’t tell anybody, because the fe
males I am going to expound about are of that
class yclept “ bigbugs,” and their governor might
get wrothy after dinner, “ pull out a big knife,”
and—put it back again. (We’re so “searf’at
knives.) Well, two divine sisters, who read with
great appetite anything from the Sunday “ what
you-call-’em,” which has for its frontispiece a
woman with a low-necked frock on, laying over
the arm of a thin fellow, with a queer hat and
long feather, wearing a mustache all soaped to a
quirled hair—well, one was reading aloud to the
other. Both were deep in something dreadful,
when slow and mournful music assailed their
ears from the open window. “Hark!” said the
reader—a white-winkered, flat-breasted scion of
upper-tendem—“ what’s that?” “Oh, do go on
with the story,” said the squint-eyed scion of
upper-tendom ; “it’s nothing out a soMier’s fune
ral !'•’ And for such things as those—for their
comfort, liberty, nay, lives—our men are dying
every day. Gossips, we have been in New York
some fifty-nine years, and we know about two
women. Gcod-by, gossips. If you have moved,
why, may God bless you.
The following story, which comes under our
notice this week, may be true—in fact we are
just credulous enough to believe anything—but
we must say it strikes us as being a little unnat
ural. One thing is certain, the young lady was
rather blessed with a great deal more, common
sense than usually falls to the lot of woman, or
.else she was not very deeply in love. To judge
another by one’s own self, is said to be a right
eous judgment, and we know that if we were en
gaged to a ehap we did not like, and were anx
ious to get rid of him, we could creep through a
very email aperture—but were we in love (which,
thank Heaven, just at this particular moment,
for a wonder, we are not) there wan’d have to be
something beside physical disability to chage
the strong current of our affections. Why, we
would stick to him like gum to an. old blanket,
stick to him as long as there was a spark of feel
ing in his heart for ub —but when it was gone en
tirely, and we became conscious of it—well I we
den’t thing we should cry & secret more than
six months, or make a Carmelite nun of ourself
on account of it. Women frequently get their
fingers pinched that way, as the world goes
round; but it’s no use crying out. We are off the
subject, however, we were talking of.
ONE OF THE EXEMPTS.
Sam Smith, a devilish good fellow in hig way,
and an anxious candidate for matrimonial hon
ors, was among the first men drafted in our
ward. To shoulder his knapsack he was not al
together inclined, and for a inarch he certainly
was not physically fitted. After due examina
tion, it was found that Sam could not be mus
tered. Securing his certificate of exemption on
the ground of physical disabilty, he hastened to
his lady-love to announce his escape. Strangely
to him, the good news affected her in an unex
pected manner, and she withdrew from his pre
sence with but the shadow of an excuse. The
young man was confounded, and thinking of
rivals, sought an explanation from the lady’s fa
ther, who always treated him graciously, and
was favorable to the proposed alliance. The
father in turn was mystified, and immediately
seeking bis daughter, found her in great grief.
“Oh, father,” said the girl, “I have been
shamefully deceived! Oh, how mortyfying, to
be known to ba engaged to a man who comes
shamelessly to me, just before our marriage,
and rejoices in “physical disabilities.” Way
did you not tell me that the man was imperfect
or sickly, before matters went so far ? I have no
am bi' ion to turn my future home into a domes
tic hospital, or myself into a perpetual nurse I”
The father tried to persuade herby saying that
probably a trifling ailment, magnified by the
complaint, might nave obtained hie exemption
from service, and reminded her that her lover
was a fine rider, a graceful skater, and very ex
pert in most manly exercises. “ Aud under all
this,”added the fair girl, “ho hides some dread
ful infirmity! Surely you do not think I would
be engaged to him if I knew him to ba consump
tive, scrofulous, or worse? I thank God that
the draft has lifted the mask. Aud the man ac
tually delights in being advised-as physically dis
qualified to serve hie country. Ob, shame 1 He
stall Know,” rising with proud indignation,
“ that he is physically disqualified to husband
me!” Andthe'father, physiologically consider
ing how the seeds of disease are entailed-from
one generation to another, approved his daugh
ter’s decision, and informed the young man that
he was exempt from the proposed marriage on
t he grounds of physical disability.
The young gentleman, we suppose, will put
himeeff “ under treatment”—perhaps apply a
plaster to tbe affected parts, though we trust
■with better sue jess than the woman who “waked
up the wrong passenger” with an application of
MUSTARD.
A gentleman (residing not many miles from
Cambiidgeport), who visited the Waite Moun
tains last summer, accompanied by his wife,
stopped at the House, and one night
while there, had a sudden and violent attack o?
colic. An application of milstard vias reeom
nended to relievo his pain, and ho consented to
have it tried. His wife, on going down to the
kitchen, found the mustard, but nothing to
spread it upon, and her pocket-handkerchief
was taken for that purpose. No time was
lost in returning. In a 'moment she was at his
bedside, and applied the plaster. “ There, tnat
will help you, 1 know,” said she. She had scarce
ly finished tbe sentence, however, when the poor
man turned over and reared, “ What the d -t are
you about?” It was not her husband’s vowel
Her lamp had given but a feeble light, and she
had got into the wrong room I She fotand her
OWI b apartment without delay, and related the
P’jfortunato circumstance to ner husband, add
ing with hoiror, that her name was on her hand
kerehuf ! The sick man was completely overcome
with laughter. His colic disappeared as suddenly
as it came, It was agreed not to remain long In
those parts. The landlord was called up ; the
affair explained, and the man and wife left on
ftie earliest express tram. The gentleman who
was so unceremoniously disturbed (and who is
well-known in Boston) has preserved the hand
kerchief. Query—Ought he not to return it ? ■
If left out to the lady, she would probably say
“ Yes,” most decidedly. A good story was told
of old Dunce, some years ago, who prided him
self upon never being mistaken in his jnd'gment
of a person’s character from his phiz, which we
copy from an exchange, and which relates to
BUYING A GOOSE.
He was in Washington market, one day, to get a
goeee for dinner. In looking about, he saw a lot
before a young woman with apeculiarly fine open
countenance. “ She’s honest,” said Bunce to
himself; and at once asked her if she had a
young goose. “ Yes,” said she, “ here’s as fine a
one as you can get in the market,” and she looked
up into his face with a perfect sincerity that
would have taken his heart, if he had not already
made up his mind as to her character. “ You
are sure it’s young?” “To be sure it is;” and
Bunce took it home. AU efforts to eat it were
fruitless, it was so tough ; and the next day he
hastened down to market, angry with himself,
and more so with the honest-faced girl who had
cheated Mm. “ Didn’t you tell me that goose
was young, yesterday?” he exclaimed, striding
up to the your g girl wrathfully. “To be sure I
did.” “You cheated me,” said Bunce ; “it was
a tough old gander.” “ You don’t call me old,
do you ?” she s =i ■ F I should think not,”
he replied. “'■<>. 'hink not, too. lam
only twenty, and ia . id me that the goose
was hatched just six moinus after I was bom.*’
The young woman was honest enough, we
should say, and had we been present, we should
have congiatulated Bunce on his peculiar facul
ty, and not felt half the sympathy for him that
we would for the poor fellow told of in the follow
ing story, which comes to us headed
A BACHELOR CORNERED.
“What did you come here after?” inquired
Mies Susan Diaper, of a bachelor friend, who
made her a call when the rest of the people were
gone out. “I came to borrow some matches,”
he meekly replied. “Matches! that’s a likely
story. Why don’t you make a match ? I know
what you came for,” exclaimed the delighted
Mies, as she crowded the old bachelor into a cor
ner, “you came to kiss and hug me almost to
death; but you shan’t—without you are the
strongest, and the Lord knows you are I”
The “paper does not state” how the thing was
got over. Satisfactorily, we trust, leaving the
meek sufferer in an agony of doubt as to whether
he had been in the body or spirit—awake or
dreaming. Speaking of dreams, here is some
thing which looks to us verily like a vision, and
which will go far toward convincing skeptics that
there are such things as warnings and premoni
tions—besides verifying the old saying.
“ COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE.”
Old Mrs. Jones is ninety-two years of age, and
is much given to dreaming. On being informed
of the drowning of Mr. Brown, she exclaimed:
“La, I knowed the poor man was dead, ’cause I
seed his apparatus in a dream t’other nightl”
A correspondent sends us an army matter that
is pronounced veritable. It is entitled.
what’s in a name.
The orderly sergeant was calling the roll
“ Jehoeaphat Jenkins.” “ Here,” promptly re
sponded Jshosaphat.. “George Washington
Squib.” “[Here,” in a firm voice, replied the he
roje Squib. “Ebenezer Mead.” No answer.
“ Ebenezer Mead, what do you mean by standing
there staring me in the face, and not answering
when your name is called?” said the sergeant,
impatiently. “ You didn’t call my name,” gruffly
answered the private. “Isn’t your name Eb
enezer Mead?” “Nary time.” “What is it,
then?” “Ebon Mead.” “What’s the differ
ence?’ “A heap.” “I can’t see any.” “Now,
sergeant, your name is Peter Wright, isn’t it ?”
“ Yes.” “ Well, would you answer to the name
of Peternezer Wright?”, “Of course not.” A
laugh from the company, and after roll call, a
mutual smile between Eben and Peter—at the
latter’s expense—settled the matter in a manner
satisfactory to all concerned.
The subjoined rare specimen of composition
was read in one of the schools of Louisville by a
sentimental little fellow. The theme of this pro
found essayist was
TREES.
“ There are a good many kinds of trees. Trees
are very useful for wood; some wood is good for
ax-handles. Switches grows on trees. Some
trees bears pears, some peaches, and some plums.
Some people likes peaches, some like plums, and
some likes pears, but as for me, give me liberty or
give me death." Oh, may these fines be intuitive.
—ln a recently published novel,
called “ Heart or Head,” appears the following
gushing passage: “And she, leaning on his
strong mind, and giving up her whole soul to
him, was so happy in thus spoiling of herself, so
glad to be thus robbed, offering him the rich
milk of love in a full udder of tri-ist, and lowing
for him to come and take it.”
—An Israelitish lady, sitting in
the same box at an opera with a French phy
sician, was much troubled with ennui, aud hap
pened to gape. “ Excuse me, madams,” said the
doctor, “ I am glad you did not ewallow me.”
“ Give yourself no uneasiness,” replied the lady,
“ I am a Jewess, and never eat pork.”
A carman in New Orleans ran
over and put out the light of a. very young Ameri
can citizen of African descent, and wag heard to
exclaim, “ God bless the Emancipation Procla
mation. If I had done that two years ago it
would have ccet me five hundred dollars.”
A little boy on coming home
from a certain church where he had Been a per
son perform on an organ, said, said to his
mother, “ Oh, mamma, I wish you had been to
church, to-day, to see the fun!—a man pumping
mueie out of an old cupboard 1”
The editor of the Era, in New
York, lately conversed with a, “master mason
who was born in the city of Jerusalem, and in
his boyhood often played with the ruins of King
Solomon’s Temple I ” The editor does not men
tion the age of the party.
A distinguished actress was late
ly introduced to a lawyer in New Orleans, who
wssnot at all backward in sounding his own praise.
“ He is a very smart man,” an acquaintance re
marked soon afterward. “I know it,” she re
plied; “he told me so himself.”
• -.-“ Butter Leagues,” pledging ab
stinence from the use of butter, having proved
so efficient, the Providence Butlelin says a man
who has been compelled to pay S2O for a pair of
pantaloons, insists upon a “ trowsers league”
right away.
“The man who raised a cabbage
head has done more good than all the meta
physics in the world,” said a stump orator at a
meeting. “ Then.” replied a wag, •* your mother
ought to have had the premium.”
The Round Table finds evidence
of domestic bliss in the following telegram, sent
by a Wall street broker to his wife: “ Send John.
Also demijohn. Kiss Matty. Spank Arthur.
Don’t fret.”
• The Philadelphia Evening Bulle
tin, striving to rouse the people to the danger of
a rebel raid, used a happy eimile: “ The State of
Pennsylvania is to-day lying torpid, like a huge
whale in a greasy dream of bliss.”
“ Come, Bill, it’s ten o’clock, and
I think we had better be a going, for it’s time
honest men were at home.” “Wall, yes.” was
the answer, “I must be off; but you needn’t be
in a hurry on that account.”
—An at my chaplain preaching to
his soldiers, exclaimed : “ If God bo with us who
can be against us ?” “ Jeff Davis and the devil I”
was the prompt reply of one of the "boys.”
“ The shady grottoes of the Treas
ury Department,” wrote the editor of the St.
Paul Press. The more honest compositor made
it “ shoddy grottoes,” and so it went to press.
■ —lt is proposed to light the streets
of a city not a thousand miles from Syracuse
with red-headed girls. If ws lived there we’d
play tipsy every night and hug the lamp-posts,
An exchange declares that “girls
who ain’t handsome hate those who are, and
those who are handsome hate one another.”
Why are the wicked like corn
and potatoes ? Having eyes, they see not; hav
ing ears, they hear not.
Speaking of rising with the lark,
Artemus Ward says he should much prefer to
rise with gold.
There is no cure for negative
misery like positive misery.
Origin of Cinderella. —The follow
ing story, which Burton, in his “Anatomy of
Melancholy,” quotes, is obviously the origin of
one of our most popular nursery tales : “ Itlio
dopewas the fairest ladie in her days, in all
Egypt; she went to wash her, and by chance (her
.maidens meanwhile looking but carelessly to her
clothes) an eagle stole away one of her shoes,
and laid it in Psammeticus’s, the King of Egypt’s
lap, at Memphis. He wondered at the excel
lency of the shoe and pretty foot, but more at
the manner of the bringing of it, and caused
forthwith a proclamation to be made that she
that owned that shoe should come presently ,to
his com t; the virgin came, and was forthwith
married to the king.”
SanAav May
[Written for tho New York DlsWciM
LEFT• AT ANTIETAM.
By Belen Marion "Walton.
The hamlet was still, \
And children, slept :
Over steen rock and hill
The twilight crept--
When a band of brave so alters. weary and wern.
Came home from the battie-field ragged and torn-
Red light from the
Was streaming.out
Down the narrow gorge,
When the soldiers’ shout
Awakened the echoes lonely and shrill,
Startling the silence oi the tumble down mill.
The brave men of lung,
Sun burnt and strong,
With knapsacks unslung
Went marching along—
When a mother looked out. though aged and grirn,
To anxiously Question of him—what of him ?
“Is my bo j’ a’ong?
Answer me out,
Does he join the song,
The welcome one’s shout?”
Then she wiped her old spectacles dimmed with her tears*
And peered through the ranks tor the stay of her years.
Each man as he passed
Shock his tired head,
The one next the last
Answerf d he's dead—
Buried at Antietam, ’neath the green sod—
With bis feet to the foe, his face to his God.
She pressed her chill hands, thin, wrinkled and old,.
Over her heart now so pulseless and cold,
Then sank down dying on the worm eaten floor,
While the tramp of switt feet swept on as before,.
City Government.
FROCEEUINGS OF THE COMMON JDL'NCV
hsmoiAi*.]
RESOLUTION.
Resolved, That Daniel Pomeroy be and he is?
hereby appointed a Commissioner of Deeds, in and',
for the City and County of New York, in place o£
William Smith, resigned.
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, April 18, 1864>
Adopted by Board of Aidermen, May 2, 1864.
Approved by the Mayor, May 6, 1864.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common Council.
BESOLUTION.
Resolved, That the name of George C. J. Salo
mon, recently appointed a Commissioner of DeedSj..
in and for the City and County of New York, be-t
--altered to read George C. T. Salomon, being a cler
ical error.
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, April 11,1864.
Adopted by Board of Aidermen, May 2, 1864.
Approved by.the Mayor, May 6, J. 864.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common Council.
RESOLUTION.
Resolved, That Houston street, from Avenue D
to the Bowery, be paved * with Belgian pavement,
excepting that portion between the railroad
one-half the expense to be borne by the property’
owners, and the remainder by the city, under the-”
direction of the Croton Aqueduct Department,.,
and that the accompanying ordinance therefor be<
adopted.
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, Jan. 28,1864.
Adopted by Board of Aldermen, May 4, 1864.
Approved by the Mayor, May 6, 1864.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common CownciL
RESOLUTION.
Resolved, That the ordinance of June 10, 1863,;
authorizing the construction of a Belgian pave
ment, be and it is hereby amended by inserting,..
next after the words East Broadway, in said ordi
nance, the words “excepting the space within and.’
between the rail-tracks,” so as to read:
“That East Breadway, excepting the space with
in and between the rail-tracks, be paved with the
trap-block pavement, one-half of the expense to be
borne by the property owners and the other half
by the city, under the direction of the Croton*
Aqueduct Board,” &c.
Adopted by Board of Aidermen, May 2, 1864.
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, May 4,1864.
Approved by the Mayor, May 9, 1864.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common Council.
\ PERMIT.
Resolved, That permission be and the same
hereby given to William Clark, to erect and main
tain a watering-trough in front of his premises,.
No. 1417 Broadway, the same to remain during the*
pleasure of the Common Council.
Adopted by Board of Aidermen, May 2, 1864.
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, May 4,1864..
Approved by the Mayor, May 9, 1864.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common Council.
RESOLUTION.
Resolved, That Edward Trossard be and he is--
hereby appointed a Commissioner of Deeds in and
for the city and county of New York, in the place'
of John Earl, resigned.
Adopted by Board of Alder men, May 2, 1864.
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, May 4,1864.
Approved by the Mayor, May 9, 1864.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common Council.
WARRANT.
Resolved, That the Comptroller be and he is*
hereby authorized and directed to draw his war
rant in favor of William S. Briggs, for the sum of’
two hundred dollars, to be in full payment for
carriages furnished on occasion of the funeral ob
sequies of the late Matthias T. Gooderson, the
amount to be charged to the account of “City”
Contingencies.”
Adopted by Board of Aidermen, May 2, 1864.
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, May 4,1864*
Approved by the Mayor, May 9,1864.
D. T. VALENTINE. Clerk Common OounciL 1
RESOLUTION.
Resolved, That George W. Shutte be appointed a?
Commissioner of Deeds, in place of Adam Gras<»
muck, resigned.
Adopted by Board of Aidermen, May 4, 1864.
Adopted by Board, of Councilmen, May 6, 1864..
Approved by the Mayor, May 9, 1864.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common OounciL .
PERMIT.
Resolved, That permission be and hereby iSr
given to Michael Schofler to construct an awning',
in front of his premises, northeast corner of Clin
ton and Rivington streets, to remain during th©;
pleasure of the Common Council.
Adopted by Board of Aidermen, May 4, 1864.
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, MavG, 1854.
Approved by the Mayor, May 9, 1864.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common Council.
PEPMIT.
Resolved, That permission be and the same is--
hereby given to John J. Brown, to erect a target
and keep an air-gun stand on Burling slip, to re
main during the pleasure of the Common Council,.-
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, March 10,1864.
Adopted by Board of Aidermen, April 28, 1864.
Received, from his Honor the Mayor, .May % ,
1864, without his approval or objections thereto
therefore, under the provisions of the Amended
Charter of 1857, the same became adopted.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common Council.
PERMIT.
Resolved, That permission be and the sameiS
hereby given to Messrs. McDermott & Corcoran 3 .
to exhibit goods in front of their premises, No.
38$Third avenue, this privilege to remain in force
during the pleasure of the Common Council.
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, March 10,1864*
Adopted by Board of Aidermen, April 28, 1864.
Received, May 2, 1864, from his Honor the
Mayor, without his approval or objections thereto j
therefore, under the provisions of the Amended-'
Charter of 1857, the same became adopted.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common Council.
RESOLUTION.
Resolved, That the Street Commissioner be anct
he is hereby directed to renumber West Thirty
second street, from Fifth avenue to the Nortfct
River.
Adopted by Board of Aidermen, April 28, 1864.
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, April 28, 1864.
Received, May 9, 1864, from his Honor
Mayor, without his approval or objections thereto 3:,
therefore, under the provisions of the Amended
Charter of 1857, the same became adopted.
D. T. VALENTINE. Clerk Common Council.
PERMIT.
Resolved, That permission be and the same is:
hereby granted to G. L. Schuyler, to place a sign
over the sidewalk in front of his premises, at No,
219 East Thirty-fifth street, and in First avenue,,
between Thirty-fifth and Thirty-sixth streets, the>
' same to remain during the. pleasure of the Com
mon Council.
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, March 7,1864.
Adopted by Board of Aidermen, March 7, 1864.
Received, March 7, 1864, from his Honor tho
Mayor, without his approval or objections thereto;:
therefore, under the provisions of the Amended”
Charter of 1857, the same became adopted.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common Council.
.PERMIT. U
Resolved, That permission be and the same is
hereby given to Peter Mather to place show-cases
in front of his premises, No. 891 Broadway, such
permission to remain only during the pleasure of
the Common Council.
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, M’ch 19, 1864.
Adopted by Board of Aidermen, April 28, 1864.
Received from bis Honor the Mayor, May 9,.
1864, without his approval or objections thereto;;
therefore, under the provisions of the Amended
Charter of 1857, the same became adopted.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common Council
• PERMIT.
Resolved, That permission be and is here
by given to Israel Kalian, No. 313>z Grand
street, to exhibit a show-case on the sidewalk in
front of his premises, said permission to remain,
during the pleasure of the Common Council.
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, M’ch. 21,1864 a -
Adopted by Board of Aidermen, April 21, 1864.
Received from his Honor the Mayor, May
1864, without his approval or objections there
to; therefore, under the provisions of the Amend«-
ed Charter of 1857, the same became adopted.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common Council.
RESOLUTION.
Resolved, That Fifty first street, from Fifth ave
nue to East River, be renumbered, under tho>
direction of the Street Commissioner,
Adopted by "Board of Councilmen, M’ch. 31,1864*
Adopted by Board of Aidermen, April 29, 1864.
Received from his Honor the Mayor, May 9 a
1864, without his approval or objections thereto;:
therefore, under the provisions of the’ Amended
Charter of 1857, the same became adopted.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common Council.
PERMIT.
Resolved, That permission be and is hereby
given to Otto H. Coop, to keep a stand in front of
his store, No. 74 Columbia street, corner of Riv
ington, to remain during the pleasure of the Com
mon Council.
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, M’ch. 10,1864.
Adopted by Board of Aidermen, April 23, 1864.
Received from his Honor the Mayor, May 9 a
1864, without, his approval or objections thereto ;
therefore, under the provisions of the Amended
Charter of 1857, the same became adopted.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common Council.
RESOLUTION.
Resolved, That permission be and is nereby <
given to James H. O’Niel to place a sign in irontoi
his premises, No. 481 Pearl street, to remain during
the pleasure of the Common Council. .
Adopted by Board of Councilmen, March 24,1864,
Adopted by Board of Aldermen, April 28, 1884.
Received from his Honor the Mayor, May 9>
1864, without his approval or objections thereto;
therefore, under the provisions of the Amended
Charter of 1857, the same became adopted.
D. T. VALENTINE, Clerk Common Council.
RESOLUTION. •
Resolved, That permission be and is hereby to
Michael Cavanagh to keep a vegetable stand m
front of his premises, No. 312 Greenwich strect>

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