Soldiers' record, 1869-12-25

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ONE FLAG, ONE LAND, ONE RE ART, ONE HAND, ONE NATION, ETEBMOIiE!
YOL. II. HARTFORD, OONi^^., SATURDAY, DECEMBER 25, 18G9. NO. 25.
ioitis at iomc.
CHRISTMAS MORNING UYMN.
BY MISS MIII.OCII.
It is the Christmas time :
And up and down 'twixt licnven and earth,
In ij;lorioas grid' and solemn mirth,
Tiie sliiiiiiig angels climb.
And nnto everything
That lives and moves, for heaven, on earth,
With eqnal share of grief and mirth,
The shining angels sing:
"Babes new-born, nndefiled.
In lowly but or mansion wide—
Sleep safely through this Christmas-tiflo
When Jesus was a ehild,
"0 yotmg men bold and free,
In" peopled town, or ("esjrt grim.
When ye are tempted like to uim,
'The man (ylirist Jesus' see.
"Poor mothers, with your Iioard
Of endless love and countless pain—
Remember all her grief, her gain,
The Mother of tho Lord.
"Mourners, half blind with woe,
Look up ! One standeth iu his place.
And by the pity of His face
The"Man of Sorrows know.
"Wanderers in far countrie,
O think of Ilim who came, forgot.
To His own, and they received him not—
Jcsus of tialilec.
"0 all ye who have trod
The wine press of affliction, lay
Your hearts before His heart this day—
Behold the Christ of God,"
A LOVER'S STRATAGEM.
Several years ago there dwelt in the
towa of R , a pretty village, distant,
then, some five-and-tweaty miles from the
city of F , a peculiarly comely and
graceful maiden, who had a peculiarly
ugly and cross-grained but wealthy old
father.
Nellie Bugbee was Martin Biigbee's
only child, and report said truly thut she
would be his solo legatee. The old man
was a sturdy farmer, and was estimated
to be worth full ten thous.a-nd dollars—at
that period a very handsome fortune.
The sparkling eyes and winning man-ners
of Nellie Bugbee bad stirred up the
liner feelings of the whole male portion of
the village, and her suitors were numer-ous
; but her father was particular, and
none succeeded in making headway with
him or her.
4 n the meanwhile Nellie had a true and
loyal lover, in secret. Who would have
supposed, for one moment, that such a fel-low
would dare to look upon beauty and
refinement ? His name was Nori-is ; or,
as he was generally called, "Tom"—Tom
Norris, and be was simply a farmer, em-ployed
by old Bugbee, who had entrusted
Tom with the management of tho place
for two or three years.
But a very excellent farmer, and a
right good manager, was this plain, unas-suming,
but good-looking Tom Norris.
He was young, too—only twenty-two—
and he actually fell in love with the beau-tiful,
pleasant, joyous Nellie Bugbee, his
old employer's only daughter. But, the
strangest part of the occurrence was, that
Nellie returned his love earnestly, truly,
and frankly, and promised to wed him at
the favoral)le moment.
Things went on merrily foj' a time ;
but the old man discovered certain glan-ces
and attentions between them, which
excited his suspicioLs. Very soon atter-wards,
Tom learned the old man's niiJid,
indirectly, in regard to his future disposal
of Nellie's baud, and ho quickly saw that
his case was a hopeless one, unless he
resorted to stratagem, and so he set his
wits at once to work.
By agreement, an apparently settled
coldness and distance was observed by
the lovers towards each other, for live or
six months, and the father saw (as he bo
lieved) with satisfaction, that his previ-ous
fears had been premature. Then, by
agreement also between them, Tom al)-
sented himself from the house at evenings,
and, night alter night, for nearly three
months longer, did Tom disappear, as
soon as his work was finished, only to re-turn
home at late bed-time. This was un-usual,
and old Bugbee determined to know
the cause ofit.
Tom frankly confessed that he was in
love with a man's daughter, who resided
less than three miles distant; but, after a
faithful attachment between them, for
several months, the old man had utterly
refused to entertain his application for
the young girl's hand.
This was capital! Just what old Bug-bee
most desired. This satisfied him that
he had made a mistake in regard to his
own child, and he would help Tom to get
niarried, and thus stop all further suspi-cions
of trouble at home. So said he :
"Well, Tom, is she a buxom lass
"Yes, yes," said Tom. "That is, other
folks say so. I'm not much of a judge my-self."
"And you likelier?"
"Yes, sir—yes."
"l^hen marry her," said oM Bugbse.
"But I can't—the father objects."
"Pooh !" continued Bugbee. "Let him
do so. What need you care ? Run away
with the girl !"
"Elope, do you mean, sir ?"
Certainly ! Oft" with you at once ! If
the gal will join—all right. Marry her ;
bring her here. You shall have the little
cottage at the loot of the lane. I'll fur-nish
it for you j your wages shall be in-creased,
and the old man may like it, or
not, as he will!"
"But - "
"But me no buts, Tom ! Do as I bid
you Go about it at once, and—"
"You will stand by me ?"
"Yes—to the last. I know you, Tom.
You're a good fellow, a good workman,
and will make anybody a good son, or
husband."
"The old fellow will be so mad,though."
"Who cares? I say. Go on quickly,
but quietly,"
"To-morrow night, then," said Tom.
"Yes," said Bugbee. "The sooner the
better."
"I'll hire Baxter's horse—"
' No, you shan't."
"No T'
"I say no. Take my horse—the best
one—y<mng Morgan ; he'll take you oft'
in line style, iu the new phaeton."
"Exactly."'
"And as soon as you're spliced, come
back here, and a jolly time we'll have of
it at the old house."
"Her father will kill me !"
"Bah ! He's an old fool, whoever he
is ; he don't know your good qualities,
so well jis I do. Don't be afraid—faint
heart never won fair lady, you know."
"The people will be astonished."
"Never mind—go on. We'll turn the
laugh on thorn all I'll take care of you
and your wife, if the worst comes. So go
iu,and win.''
"I'll do it," said Tom, and they parted
in the best of spirits.
An hour al'ter dark, on the following
evening, Tuni made his appearance deck-ed
iu a nice hew black suit, and really
looking very comely. The old man bust-led
out to the barn with iiim, to help har-ness
young "Morgan" to his new phaeton,
and leading the spunky animal himself in-to
the road, away went happy I'om Nor-in
search of his bride.
A few rods distant from the house ho
found iier, as per previous arrangement,
and repairing to the next village, the par-son
very quickly made them one in holy
wedlock. Tom and his bride soon dashed
back to the town of il , and halted at
old Bugbee's house, who was already
looking for him, and who received him
with open arms.
"Is it done ?" cried the old man.
"Yes—yes !" answered Tom, "i)ast all
undoing."
"Bring her in, bring her iu," continued
the old fellow, with high glee. "Never
mind compliments—no matter aHjout the
dark «mtry. Here, here, Tom, to the right,
in the best parlor ! We'll have a time
now, sure !" and the anxious farmer
rushed away for lights, returning almost
immediately.
"Here's the certificate, sir," said Tom.
"Yes, yes—"
"And this is my wife," he added, as he
passed up his beautiful bride—the bewitch-ing
and lovely Nellie Buglee !
"What 1" roared the old file ; "what
dkl you say, Tom?—you villain, you
scamp, YOU owdacious cheat, you- you—
you—
"It is the truth, sir. We are lawfully
married. You advised me to this (;ouj-«e
- you assisted me, you planned the whole
afl'air, you lent me your horse, you
thought me—last evening—worthy of any
man's child ; you encouraged me, you
promised to stand by me : you offered the
cottage at the foot of the lane ; you—"
"I didn't ! 1 deny it. You can't prove
it. You're a—a—a—"
"Calmly, now, sir," continued Tom.
And the entreaties of the ha|, py couple
were at once united to quell the old man's
ire, and to persuade him to acknowledge
their union.
The father relented, at last. It was a
job of his own manufacture, and he saw
how useless it would be, finally, to at-tempt
to destroy it.
The marriage proved a joyful one, and
the original assertion of old Bugbee prov-ed
truthful in every respect. The cu.i-ning
lover was a good son and a faithful
husuand, and lived many years to enjoy
the happiness which followed his runa-way
match,
GOLDEN G'LEANINGS.
We sorrow, and weakly trust
Througli sorrow we may grow strong.
Yet sorrowing pray to the Good and Just—
''How long, U,our Lord, how .ong \"
There comes to our human cry
Kesponse that is ail divine,
And whether we heed it, or pass it by,
'Tis ecpially yours and mine.
As sweet as a psalm of peace
It echoes along the air.
And grief has ever its full surcease
' In peaceful answer to prayer.
God denies a christian nothing, but
with a design to give him something bet-ter.
A cheerfid temper, joined with inno-cence,
will make beauty attractive, knowl-edge
delightful, and wit good-natured.
To tell a falsehood is like the cut of a
sabre ; for though the wound may heal
the scar of it will remain.
The greatest thoughts, it has been said,
spring from the heart; but the maxim is
far more true with respect to the noblest
actions.
When some dark, eastern cloud-bank
shrouds lor a morning tho sun of later
August, we say in our shivering pride,—
the winter is come early! But God man-ages
the seasons better i than we ; and in
a day, or au hour perhapfe, the cloud will
pass, and tho heavens glow again upon
cur ungrateful heads.
The first keen grief of youth seeks lit-tle
of the sympathy of companions ; it
lies—with a sensitive man,—bounded
Avithin the narrowest circles of the heart.
They only who hold the key to its in-nermost
recesses can speak consolation.
Years will make a charge ;—as the sum-mer
grows in fierce heat, the balminess
of tho violet banks of Spring, is lost in
the odors of a thousand flowers ;—tho
heart, as it gains in ago, loses fi oshness,
but wins breadth,
Hope rides tiigh in tho heavens when
youth is in its grand liush, as when tho
summer sun mount':; nearest to tho zenith;
yet it is a vain maturity, and all tho glow
is deceitful. Those fruits that ripen in
summer do not last. They are sweet ;
they are glowing with gold ; but they melt
I with a luscious softness on the lip. They
do not give that strength, and nutriment.
which will bear a man bravely through
the coming chills of winter.
WHATEVKR happens, never (orsake a
friend. When enemies gather, when
sickness falls on the heart, when the
world is dark and cheerless, is the time
to try true friendship. They who turn
from the scenes of distress betray their
hypocrisy, and prove that interest only
moves them. If you have a friend who
loves you, who has studied your interest
and happiness, be sure to sustain him in
adversity. Let him feel that his love
was not thrown away. Real fidelity may
be rare, but it exists—in the heart. They
only deny its worth and power who never
loved a friend or labored to make a friend
CO.VFIDO ET CONQUIESCO.
IJY MISS rUOCTOU.
Fret not, poor soul; while doubt and fear
Disturb thy breast,
The pitying angels who can see
How vain thy wild re^.et must be,
Say, Trust and Rest.
Plan not, nor scheme—but calmly wait; ,
His choice is best.
While blind and erring is thy sight,
-His wisdom sees and judges right,
So Trust and Rest.
Strivo not, nor struggle ; thy poor might
Can never wrest
The meanest thing to servo thy will
All power is His alone; Bo still,
And Trust and Rest.
Desire not; self love is strong
Within thy breast ;
And yet he loves thee better siill,
So let Him do His loving will,
And Trust and Rest.
What dost thou fear 1 His wisdom reigns
Supreme confessed ;
His power is infinite ; His lovo
Thy deepest, fondest dreams above—
So Trust and Rest.
. g l N T S ON DRESSMAKING.
.SiidijLDER-SEAMs aro placed on the
shoulder, not at the back of it, as was
formerly the case. The shoulders do not
extend over the arm, but are short enough
to make the arm-hole iu its appropriate
place. There is no attempt to make the
back look narrow by placing the side seam
behind the arm instead of unde:- it.
The waist is of natural length, neither
immoderately short nor long, but termi-nates
at the natural taper, just above the
hips ; nor is it compress-ed by tight lacing.
Easy-fitting corsets, with but .^'ew whale-bones,
are worn to support the figure, but
not to make it smaller.
Many ladies prefer to have the dress-skirt
separate from the waist and attach
to a belt. In this case, to prevent the
two portions of the dress from parting, it
is well to extend the bodice over tho hips
iu a loose, easy basque, to bo thrust under
the skirt of the dress; or else attach eyes
to a belt round the waist and hoop, at
regular opposite distances upon the belt
of tho skirt, so that the skirt can be hook-ed
on t') the waist without trouble. The
whalebones do not extend over tho hips,
but stop at the narrowest taper of the cor-sage.
Shoulder-seams are no longer corded.
A cord is not required arountl tho neck,
if a standing baud is used. If the dress
is cut away low at the throat, according
to tho summer fashion, it is corded with-out
a band.
Ai-m holes aro always corded, and
should bo ample enough for comfort. Many
dressmakers object to curding the bodice
at the belt, as the cord is apt to draw ; we
use, instead, a bias-facing, stitched onto
give it sulUcient strength. Tho inner seam
of tho sleeve should fall over the center,
of the arm.
When tho sleeve is being sowed in the
armliole, the sleeve should bo held above,
in order that its slight fullness may bo
gradually gathered into the arm-hole ;
the sleeve will then stand out properly a-round
tho arm-hole. Demoresl's Monthly
for January,
Read our club rates ou another piige.