Soldiers' record, 1869-11-20

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ONJF] FLAGy ONE LAND, ONE HEART, ONE HAND, ONE NATION, EVERMORE!
VOL. II. HARTEORD, OOOT., SATURDAY, TOYEMBER 20 1869. N O . 20
Jjoiirs at § m t theuceforward belonged to the Other Bos-ton.
It was the same with tiie "Pessen-to
the nation's defenders ; if some angry
soldier, maimed for life by the Rebellion,
A DIRGE.
MKS. B.'e. NICHOLS.
My love is dead !
My love ihiit was so beautiful, timt cluiii?
So near unto ray life ! WimC silvery toiigue,
Witii melting sweetness and pathetic tjraco,
Sliall plaintive numbers rarely interlace
In flowing garlands of harmonious song,
For one that died too yonng, in that it lived so long.
My love is dead !
Alas ! it soems but yesterday it came,
A nestling, bmithuig thing, with wings of flame.
That tanned iny heart into a living glow,
And claspel me closer than a mo.tal foo
Might, ou destruction's brink, ilow swift it flow,
My sorrowing eyes may tell ia dropi of burning dew !
My love is dead !
Mv rosy, frolii; love. tliat sang all day ^
Amid the enticing flowers and fountahi'a spray ;
Tiiat colored every leaf, that charmed the breeze ;
That gave a lustre to the tasseled trees;
That dc'iw me heavenward with its warbled strains.
And thrilled my thrjbbing heart with deep ecstatic
pains.
My lovo is dead !
I held it softly in my trembling arms,
A little while, but quickly cold alarms,
Kan icily along my veins of fire !
I thought of change, that stifles all desire.
And made what huste I might my love to crown,
And in its sinless grave to lay it lifeless down.
My love is dead !
I mnde its coffin of a fragrant wood,
From whoso line pores there oozed a winged br od
Of spicy odors ; lining it with leaves
Shook down from rose boughs, when the night wind
grieves.
Fresh living blooms, I bought its limbs to grace,
And one white lily-leaf laid lightly o'er its face!
My love is dead !
I smoothed the tendril curls upon its brow.
And pressed my fingers on the lids of snow ;
The waxen lips lay smilingly apart;
The faded wings were folded o'er its heart.
The dimpled cheeks were stained by crimson flowers.
As if immortal bloom illuminated death's pale hours!
My love is dead!
And what to rao is passng night or day 1
The brook's low ripple, or the fountain's play?
The varying year, the surging waves of Time,
That onward roll toward the eternal clime.
The earthquake's throb, or the volcano's breath ?
Or yet the insatiate rage of that white monster, death!
My love is dead !
I asked my soul if henceforth there might be
A lime when 1 migiit faintly, darkly see
A hope, an aim, a purpose left in life ?
A single bud, that the sharp pruning knife
Of this most lierce despair, should glance aside ?
My love is do.id!—is dead!—was all that it replied !
TWO BOSTONS.
Ill tho delightful schoolboy letters of
"William Henry," in the Young Folks,
there appear amorg the prominent per-sonages
two old women who keep a can-dy
»shop. One is named Betsy ; and the
other, for the sake of accurate discrimi-nation,
:s called Other ^Betsey.
There was always a Boston, and an
Other Boston. It was always the most
radical and most conservative city in
America. In the good old slave-catch-ing
times, tho hiyh-toned Southern gen-tlemen
who arrived there on that nation-al
service were always equally amazed at
the softness of Boston's compliments and
at the hardness ofits brickbats. It was
not pleasant to walk the streets without
a policeman; but, when once within
doors, how Boston dined and wined
them ! Such protestations ! Such «ighs
after the better days of the Republic!
Could not they be restored? No gap so
portentous could yawn between North
and South but some Curtius or (Curtis
should leap into it ibr the saving of tho
nation.
Tho Boston of history seems to us, as
we look back, to have been the Boston of
Phillips and Parker. But the Other Bos-ton
loomed larger in its day, full of men
who were conservatives by Jiature or
toadies by art. Tho old French officer,
in praising his garrison town, said that
the good society was stupid, but the bad
Bocioty was capital. Boston in those
days was a Garrison town, and it was the
merits of what passed for bad society that
saved it.
Times change, but the tendencies of
men are tho same. When tho "Webster
Letter" was signed, every man who sign-ed
it took his place on the shelf and
den Letter" in onr day. The men who ; hud cried out against this cringing before
signed it were the sons of Mr. Webster's its epauletted . representative; if some
eulogistic correspondents ; but they took wretched mother, robbed of her sons, had
their places on the shelf beside them. In "
Emerson's phrase, "they had ripened
beyond possibility of sincere radicalism."
So, though the representative men
change, there is always some one to per-form
each part. This Other Boston al-ways
keeps on hand some fine specimen
of the stranded statesmar., somebody
whom the ^nation has tried and found
wanting—consensu omnium imperii capax,
nisi imperasset. For years it was Dan-iel
Webster ; then succeeded the humbler
personality of Robert <J. Wiuthrop. Af-ter
his demise, Charles Francis Adams
will pnrhaps be raised to the same melan-choly
eminence. The performer changes,
the role remains.
But the best recent manifestation, by
all odds, of the good old spirit of ihe
Other Boston is to be found in the late
dinner given by the "Independent Oadets"
of that city, to General Magrnder. At
least, it was apparently given to him ; for
there was no other aim, if we nmy judge
by the Advertiser's report, except to do
honor to the eatables and to him. When
a man is the leading guest, is flattered by
every speaker, from the chaplain down-ward,
is received with six cheers and
dismissed wiih three more, and his hand
shaken by every fortunate youth who
could get near him, it comes very near an
ovation. The same Cadets, who stood
like white statues on the State House
steps to see General Grant pass down,
lost all their picturesque motionlessness
before the burly form of Magruder. At
a table where Wendell Phillips would
have been pretty sure to be hissed and
Oharles Sumner to be coldly received
there was only enthusiasm for the man
who resigned his post at Washington in
the hour of danger, and claimed it as a
merit that he did not surrender his Pres-idcLt
to the rebels.
There was, perhaps a redeeming quali-ty
of frankness about the whole proceed-ing.
No attempt was made to make out
a special case for Mr. Magj-uder. He
was not feted as an individual, but simply
as a rebel general. He stood as the ty-pical
"Confederate." He was the best,
or the worst, to be had. In the absence j
of General Lee, or P'-esident Davis, or j
Admiral Semmes, they took General Ma.-
gruder. He did to begin with. Better
luck next time.
The Rev. Dr. Lothrop, it seems, gave
spiritual counsel on this convivial occa-sion.
He dwelt particularly on "those
qualities which make the true soldier,
whether in Christian or temporal war-fare.
The motive which actuated the
soldier was the test oi his honor and li-burst
into the hall to demand them at his
hands—what a riot it would have bred, to
be sure! Would the guest or the chap,
lain, we wonder, have headed the charge
upon T,he intrusive loyalist ? The mob
would have been unequaled, perhaps, since
the respectable parents of these young
gentlemen mobbed Garrison in the streets
thirty-four years before. It was an odd
coincidence that the two anniversaries
should have happened on the same day.
Independent.
THE DRUMMER BOY.
'Midst tangled roots that lined the wild ravine.
Where tho fierce light raged hottest through the
day.
And where the dead in scattered heaps were seen,
Amid the darkling foiests shade and sheen,
Speechless in death he lay.
The setting sun which glanccd athwart the place.
In slanting lines, like amber-tinted rain,
Fell sideways on the drummer's upturned face,
Where death had left his gory finger's trace
In one bright crimson stain.
Tho silken fringes of his once bright eye
Lay like a shadow on his cheek so fair;
His lips were parted by along drawn sigh,
That with his soul had mounted to the sky
On some wild martial air
No more his hand the fierco tattoo shall beat.
The shrill reveille, or the long roll's call,
Or sound the eliargo when in the smoke and heat
Of fiery onset, foe with foe shall meet,
And gallant men shall fall.
Yet may be in some happy homo that one,
A mother, reading from tho list of dead,
Shall chance to view the name of her dear son.
And move her lips to say, "God's will be done !"
And bow in grief her head.
But more than this what tongue shall tell his story?
Perhaps his boyish longings were for tamo;
He liveil, he died, and so, memento mori,—
Enough if on the page of War and Glory,
Some hand has writ his name.
SOMETHING FOR EVERYBODY.
Not long after the issue of his procla-mation
of emancipation, the President had
a fit of illness, though happily of short
duration. Notwithstanding this disability,
however, he was greatly bored by visitors.
The Honorable Mr. Blowhard and the
Honorable Mr. Toolittlc did not fail to
call on his excellency, to congratulate
him on his message and his proclamation;
genllcmen in the humble walks of civil
life were at the capital for tho first time,
and couldn't leave without seeing the
successor of George Washington ; all
with axes to grind insisted upon a little
aid from the great American rail-splitter;
and between them all they gave the con-valescent
Chief Magistrate very little leis-ure
or peace of mind. One individual,
whom I he President knew to be a tedious
i?ort of customer, called at the White
House about this time, and insisted upon
an interview. Just us ho had taken his
, , , , , « seat, Mr. Lincoln sent for his phvsician,
delay ; and the speaker thought that, if immediately made his appearance.
"Doctor," said he, holding out his hand,
"what are those murks ?"
fighting for what they deemed the truth
and with conscientious motives, the sol-diers
who fought against us may have been u'l'^afs varioloid, or mild small pox,
as deserving of credit as those who upheld \ ^jjp doctor
the cause of the Union.'' I "uxbey're all over mo ! It is contag
When our Government honors alike in joyg^ i believe," said Mr. Lincoln,
its national cemeteries the loyal and the | Very contagious, indeed," replied the
Esculapian attendant.
"Well, I can't stop, Mr. Lincoln ; I just
rebel soldier ; when the Cadet monument
at Mount Auburn bears a'so the names of
those former members of tho corps who called to see how you were," said tho
fell in their vain efibrt to destroy ihe oa- visitor.
tion; when some new edition of the "liar- UQII, don't be in any hurry,sir !" placid-vara
Memorial Biographies" includes al- jy j-emarkod tho executive,
so tho record of the few traitors whom "Thank vou, sir, I'll call again," re
Harvard bore--then, ami not till then, pUcd the visitor, executing a ma.sterly
shall these words of the Reverend Doctor ^.y^reat from a fearful contagion.
Lothrop bo forgotten. He will bear their "Do sir," said tho President. "Some
memory to his grave, as his brother Uni- people said they couldn't tako verv well
tarian, Rev. Dr. Dewey, bears the no less proclamation, but now, I am happy
fatal memory ot his expressed willingness ^ ^^ i gomothing that everybody
to send hiri mother into slavery. Kven ^an tako." By this time tho visitor was
that was an offer to save the Union, not
an apology for an effort to destroy it. !
If some indignant young man who had
wasted life and strength in Libby Prison
had stcod up loprotesi against this insult
making a desperate break for Pennsylva-nia
Avenue, which he reached on the
double quick.
Oarl Shurz is in Washington.
QUANTRELL.
The Davenport Gazette (lown^ has an
account of this famous and savage Mis-souri
guerrilla from the pen of a school-mate,
whence we gather that he was
reared and schooled and probably born
also, "in a little half-Moravian, half-
Quaker town of the old Buckeye State,"
where helleveloped no remarkable quali-ties,
butj^vas rather popular with his play-inates„^
nd, when he last visited them, af-ter
he^had been some time absent in the
wilder We^'t, he was "a tall, well-formed
youth of twenty or so, with a frank, open
face, a kindly smile, and easy ways tint
quickly won the heart, or at least the at-tention."
The writer continues :
"There must have been some weakness
to have led him into and on in the fearful
career he ran, and it hardly came from
tho thoughtful, decided father. The
soft, yielding, womaniy nature of the
mother in the son could not say 'No' to
the'Come with us,' of his comrades of the
moment, and his heedlessness and reck-lefesness
of the future uid the rest. We
give him credit for not ono grain of
Southern sentiment. Had he been
slain, he had tilled no martyr's grave.
Like the 'Free Lance' of the middle ages,
he.sin)ply threw his sword into the scale
of present inducement. He thought on-ly
of to-day ; he regarded not the mor-row.
Once launched, the knowledge that
after all he was a Yankee, born and bred,
doubtless led him to a display of zeal
and daring, to prove his devotion, that
speedily excited admiration and made
him a leader among them. We say lead-er
designedly, for we doubt if he ever
ruled or commanded his men. It was
not in him; and had it been, he might as
well have tried to fetter ihc sea as bind
to law and obedience the fierce, lawless,
reckless desperadoes who formed his
force. Border ruffians from Missouri,
backwoodsmen from Arkansas, rangers
from Texas—the scum ol even the worst
parts of the South—surely the sun never
shone on a more abandoned set of bloo l-thirsty
wrectches; and the sins, and
crimes, and villainies of each and every
one of these have been heaped on this one
man's head, the nominal commander.
No wonder that, Cain like, he hides from
the face of man, if still he lives, or that
his punishment has proved too terrible
to be borne, if so bo thit he has perished.
Dead or alive, wo say that in his ca.'se. as
in most of like nature, the devil has been
painted very much blacker than he is."
Over in Salisbury thev have a way of
saluting friends and acquaintances which
may very properly be called a "rum'*
way; and they use iton all kinds of occa-sions.
At a recent Episcopal Convoca-tion
at that place, a Winsted rector was
iibout entering a church in company
with a solemn and imposrng body of
clergymen, all in full canonicals, when
he was recognized by an idle crowd of
gazing "laymen" who had been with
him through a thousand heavy times
duiing the rebellion, and who accosted
him thus: "How are you Cap.^ What
yedoin'? Won't you come and take a
dridkl" Wimted Herald,
Love, the toothache, a cough and tight
boots, are things which cannot long be
kept a secret.
If brevity is the tho soul of wit, what a.
vast amount of fun there is the tail of a
fashionable coat !
The more a woman's waist is shaped
like an hour-glass, the more it shows that
her sands of life are running out.
The art of making other people happy
is tobt3 so yourself. Like love and the
measles, it it extremely catching.
A Hibernian senator, speaking of sui-cide,
said : "The only way to stop it is
to make it a capital offence, punish^le
toith dtath /"