Soldiers' record, 1870-01-15

              ONJ^] FLAG, ONE LAND, ONE HEART, ONE HAND, 0^E NATION, EVERMORE!
VOL. I I . HAKTFOKD, GOl^l^., SATURDAY, JvVNUAllY 15, 1870. NO. 28.
ioiius at §mt
P I T I L E S S P A T E .
BY AMCI-; CAUV.
1 saw in iny tircain a •womlerf'nl si,ream,
And ovor tlio. .stmini was a bridj^O HO sltMHicr.
And over tlic white tliero was soai-lot light..
And over the scarlet a golden splendor.
And beyond tiie bridge was a goodly ridgo
Where bees made lioney and corn was growing,
And down that way through the gold and gray
A gay young man in ii boat was rowing.
1 could seo from the shore that a ro.se he. woi'(>
Stuck in his button Jiole, rare as the rarest,
And singing a song and rowing along,
I guessed"his iace to be lair as the fairest,.
And all l)y the corn where the bees at morn
Made combs of honey—with hreatliing l»ali^l,
1 Haw by the stream (it was only a dream)
A lovely lady tiiat watoh(;d and waited.
There were fair green leaves in her silken sleeves.
And loose her locks in the winds we,re blowing.
And she kissed to land with her milk white hand
The gay young man in the boat a rowing.
And all so light in her apron white
She caught the little red ro.se he cast her.
And, " Haste !" she cried, wil h her arms so wide,
" Hiiste, sweetheart, haste !" but the ))oat was
l)a,st her.
And the gray so cold ran over llie gold,
'And she sighed with only the winds to he.iir lu-r,
"He loves me still, and he rowed with a will,
But pitile.ss Fate, not lit;, was steerer !"
And there till the morn blushed over the, corn
And over the bees in their sweet combs humming.
Her locks with the dew drenched through and
thi'ough,
She watched and waited her false love's coming!
Bat the maid to-day Avho read my lay
May keep her young heart light as a feather—
It was only a dream, the bridge and tlie stream.
And ladya,nd lover, and all together.
E O U S B H O L I ) S A I N T S.
BY GRACE (iUERNWOOU.
Saint John was once only (.'aptaiii John
Ames, ol'tlio Massachusetts Twelfth. IJc
joined the army very early in the war for
the Union, leaving a beautiful young wife
(John was ten years older than Mary)
and a fine little Ijoy, scarcely a twelve-month
old.
Before he went, (Japtain .John [)laced
wife and child quite solemnly under the
care o. a relative—rather a gay and hand-
Borae young man for a guardian; hut
"Such a good fellow," as John said.
That was a light-hearted little wife
and full of ))atriotic spirit ; but .she took
her husband's going very hard at last, and
cried out quite wildly : "0 Jo]iii_! 1 can-not,
cannot have you leave nie. Some-thing
tells me not to let you go."
'•Something tells nie i inuM go ! Mij
country! So, good by, darling : 1 leave
you and baby in God's care and cousin
Harry's."
Unconscious presumption of a loving,
loyal heart !
The young wife was sad and anxious,
for what seemed to her a wca)-y space of
time. l>ut grief was something most un-uatu'ral
to a bright, gay nature like hers :
the spring had come, all the world was
lovely, there was still baby left to her,
and cousin Harry was so kind and amu.s-ing
I Then came cheerful, brave letters
from John, who passed through several
dreadful i)attles safely. And cousin Har-ry
o-rew more and mure kind and amus-
Migt His devotion to his sacred trust was
something quite wonderful. He was al-most
constantly with the young wile. At
first, they talked much of John, then his
name ceased to be spoken between them;
for there came a time of dreamy drifting,
down a smooth, treacherous stream of ro-mantic
sentiment, into the rapids of a
wild passion, which eudedin a plunge in-to
dark depths of sin and dishonor.
B\it the "brief madness" was over, and
the "long despair" had set in when news
came that Captain John was being.ln'ought
home from a great battle with a shat tered
arm and a wound in the chest.
It chanced that cousin Harry had just
then a busintsss call to a distant city ; so
there was only that poor, sinful wiie and
her baby-boy to welcome home the soldier.
Ah ! how could she moot his eyes, when
his look in the eyes o( her baby was al-most
more than she could beai'! instinc-tively
she put little Willie up as a shield
before her own woeful, frightened face,
when at last she met her husband ; but he
put tlie child aside and kissed her lirst.
She dared not rel.urn that kiss.
'J'he long journey h;u] been too much for
Captain John. He did not rally as was
hoped, but sunk slowly and steadily. And
all the while, night and-day, with watch-ful,
wishful tenderness, his erring wife
hovered about him, ministered to him so
quietly, so tremblingly, that the sick man
was troubled at her strange, sad ways,
and sought often to cheer her, for he was
still iiopeful himself.
One day Captain Jolin was sitting, p;ile
and languid, is an easy-chair i)y an open
window. His wife sat before him on a low
stool, with his feet in her lap. She had
been bathing and wijiijig lliem, and was
now rubbing tlmm with her soft white
hands. Suddenly she 6cnt down and
kissed them with passionate tenderness.
" 0 >'ary ! don't, now!" said Captain
John.
"Why, do you know tliat is the lirst
real kiss you have given me since 1 came
home ? and on my feet!—and there goes
your hair over them, and 1 feel your tears!
Ah ! dear, 1 am but a poor sinner for you
to play Mary Magdalene to."
'•OJohn! John!" she cried, "that is
jnst the name for me ! / am a Magdalene,
and no more your wife." And hiding her
face against his feet and clinging there,
she told him all the dreadful tale in a few
wild, desperate Avords.
Once she felt that he shuddered from
his wounded breast to the feet she clasp-ed
; but he was quite silent. Then went
on ia Captain Jolm's heart a more fearful
struggle than any he liad passed through
in the great war. But there came a mo-ment
of divine victory, and St. John spoke:
"'Come here, nty child."
"No, no ! my j)]ace is at your feet, or
lower still, further olV—fur away from you
and baby : lor I am lost!"
"No, Mary, not while 1 have one arm to
hold you. llere is your place, on my
breast ; which, after all, is not so sore and
broken as your poor heart. We must try
to forget this, Mary. Let us call it a dream
—a ba'l, sad ilream. and. with God's help,
we will i)egin a new life together."
Tliat night, l)aby Will was brought to
St. John's l)ed and he played with him and
blessed him. Then he talked cheerfully
to the ciiild's mother, bade her take some
rest, and kissed her guod-night, with a
smiling pain in his eyes that could never
be forgotten, never.
'JMie worn watcher did sleep quite
peacefully that night, her iieart lightened
of its heavy, torturing secret ; but she
was wakened early by the nurse, who
saj^: "I fear there is a change in the c:q)-
tain." Poor Mary saw it as soon as she
reached her husband's bedside. But she
made no outcry. She only knelt and kiss-ed
the head that lay on the coverlet, shud-dering
to iind how cold it was. St. John
felt the kiss., and raised the hand to lay
it on her head, trying lo smooth, in the
old, loving way, her soft, liiir hair. Then
he said : "i have had such a strange
dream about you, Mary—or was it a
dream ? Ah, no ! 1 remember now. Poor
child, how you must have sulfered ! And
th it's the ) eason Harry wasn't here to
meet me. How I trusted him ! But you
were both so young. Wo agreed to con-sider
it all a dream, didn't we, Mary 'i
And wo are to begin a new life, darling,
a new life."
She could not answer him. She could
no longer weep. In silent awe and hum-ble
adoration, she waited till from her
bowed head that hand fell heavily, never
again to be lifted in blessing or caress.
Hearth and Home:
Alluding to chignons, Mrs. Clever said:
"A girl now seems all head." "Yes, till
von talk to hor," growled Mr. Clover.
I ' A Y F D U Y O I T i l P A P E R .
The year is dniwing to an end,
Tlie printer wants liis finul.s to spend.
And lie liiis dchts tihat ho must pay,
His hills arc due tiiis very day,
'I'hon pay liini.
I'erliaps lio wants a suif, of clothcs.
Or sho(!s to warm hi.s children's toes.
Mayhe, ho likes cigars to smoke.
Or his wife is waiting for a cloak,
Tlien pay hini.
Fcrha))s his '-hildren cry for bread.
While yours are tull, oil dainties fed,
How his heartaches to hear tiiem sqneai.
And you must rare how bad they feel.
Then pay him.
The pii|)er's-good yon all do say,
It give.s tlie news for every day,
And 'tis the liest that wc can take.
And is well cook-ed, lo need to liake,,
Then pay him.
Then pay tlie Printer, and pay him well,
If you don't want to l,aiid in (—) Dixy,
l<^or (he greatest simiers of the day,
.\re those who don't their Printer pay,
Then i)ay him.
The Print,er always wants his funcls.
Then pay to-day, don't wait for duns.
And when you've paid sweet sleep you'll take
With conscience clear when you awake.
'I'lien pay him now.
M O T H E \i I T T C K I ^ R T Y Y K15.
Tlie following story ofthis celebrated
hospital nurse, exhibits the patriotism
and sturdy resolve that actuated her en-deavors
to ]'elieve the sufferings of our
brave boys, which met witii such wonder-ful
success. While in the hospital at Mem-phis,
she found on her return to the hos-pital
after a tempoary absonce, that the
iMedioal Director had left a written praer
for. all the contrabands, detailed to her
service, to be sent to the contraband camp,
stating that he should inspect the hospital
at nine the next morning, when he should
expect to find them all moved. It was
night when she returned and received
this order, and raining hard. Going to
the door, she called back the departing
ambulance. "Here, Andy," she said to
the driver, "you and I must have some
supper, these mules must be fed, and then
we must goto General Ilurlbut's head-quarters.
I'll see whether these darkies
are going to the contraband camp or not.
If Dr. is going to be ugly, he'll iind
two can play at that game, and that a wo-man
is better at it than a man." The ne-groes
stood round with comically doleful
faces, like so many ebony statues. They
liked Mother Bickerdyke atid hated the
camp. "When's we gwine from dis ycr
hospittle ?" they inquired. "When I tell
you to go, and not before," was iter laco-nic
reply.
Through the |)ouriug rain, over broken
and excavated streets, not a glimmer of
light anywhere save from the one lantern
of the ambulance, halted at every few pa-ces
liy tlie challenge of the closely-set
guards—for Memphis, though conquered,
was still a rebellions city—Mother Bick-erdyke
toiled on to the headquarters ' of
the post connnandei'. It was hard work
to, get access to him, for he was in bed,
but at last her importunity prevailed, and
she was conducted to his j)resonce. She
told her story honestly and witli straight-forwardness,
and asked for written author-ity
to keep her detailed contrabands, nntil
he, Gen. Hurlbut, should revoke it. It
was granted, and back through the rain
rode Mother iiickordyke, trimnphant.
The next morning the Mediotil Director
made his a{)pearance at the "Gayoso Hos-pital,"
according to upi)ointmcnt. The
negroes were all at their work, in the
kitchen, in the laundry, in the ward, every-where,
as if he had left no order for their
dismissal. He came to the kitthen where
Mother Bickerdyke was making soup.
"Mrs. Bickerdyke, did you receive an
order I left for you, yesterday morning?"
" I did, sir," continuing to season, stir,
and taste her soup.
"Au order for the dismissal of the.sc.
black people to thoir camp V
'-Yes, sir, exactly."
expected it would be obeyed."
suppose so, sir," very nonchalant in
manner.
"And why has it not been ?" with loud-er
tone and rising anger.
"Because sir," turning and facing him,
"Gen. Hurlbut hus given me an order to
keep 'em here till /fe dismisses them ; and
Gen. Hurlbut happens to outraidc you,
and must be obeyed before you," and pro-duced
him Gen. Ilurlbut's order.
There was a storm. The doctor was
vulgarly angry, and raved in a manner
that was very damaging to his dignity.
He threatened all sorts of things, and
wound up by telling Mother Bickerdyke
that he would'nt have her in Memphis—
that he would send her home before he
was a week oldei-.
"]Jnt.I shaift go, doctor," she answered.
"I've come down here to stay, and 1 mean
to stay till this thing k played out. I've
enlisted I'or the war, as the boys have,
and they want me, and need me, and can't
get along without me. And so I shall
stay, and you'll have to get along with me
the best you pan. It's no use for you to
try to tie me up with your red tape ; there's
t,oo much to be done down here to stop
for t h a t ; and there'.s no sense in your get-ting
mad because J don't play second fid-dle
to yon, but I tell you I haint time.
And, doctor, J dou't believe you had bet-ter
get into a row with me, for whenever
anybody gets into a row with me, one of
us two always go(',s to the wall, c///// faint
ueoer me
The doctor had a lively sense of the
ludicrous, and Mother Bickerdyke's novel
method of pacification was too much for
liis gravity. He was really a very supe-ripr
officei-—like many another clever-man,
possessed with the inborn belief thai
all women were to "play second fiddle"
to him—but he had the good sen.se to ap-preciate
blunt Airs. Bickerdyke's excel-lencies,
and to accept the situation. From
being at loggerheads, tiiey came to a per-fect
understanding, and soon became the
best of friends.
DEATH OP GEN. MOWEh',.
Dis])atches IVom New Orleans received
by'the war department announce the death
in that city, from congestion of the lungs,
of Major General Joseph A. Mower, the
commander of the Department of Lousia-na.
Thisdistingui$>hed oflicer entered the
service of the United States in 1855 as
second lieutenant of the First infantry.
He was born in V^ermont, but was appoirit-ed
from Connecticut.' At the outbreak of
the rebellion he was jn-omoted to the rank
of major, and acted with conspicuous gal-lantry
in the numerous conflicts which took
j)lace in the West. One of his most nota-ble
exploits was at the battle of Cain j-iv-or,
Arkansas, where he defeated the Con-federates
with heavy loss. During Sher-man's
celebrated campaigns General
Mower, who had by this time been pro-moted
to the rank of major-general ot the
volunteers, commanded a division, and his
services were so highly regarded by Gen-eral
Sherman that he was placed at the
head of the Twentieth army corps. On
the Pith ot March, I8(j5, he received three
commissions, one as brevet-lieutenant col-onel,
another of brevet-colonel, and a third
of brevet major-general, all in the regular
army. On the 28 th of July, 1866, he was
promoto'J to the full rank of colonel and
placed in command of the thirty-ninth
regiment of intantry, then newly organ-i/
od. Since then he has been performing
duty as department commander, first, in
Texas, and later in Louisiana, where he
was at the time of his death.
Look on slanderers as direct enemies to
civil society; us persons without honor,
honesty, or humanity. Whoever enter-tains
yoii with the faults of others, de-signs
to servo yon in a similar manner.
Fashionable gymnastics — Saratoga
Springs.
Counter attractions—Haudsomo lad
clerks.