Soldiers' record, 1870-04-09

              f a
ONE FLAG, ONE LAND, ONE HEART, ONE EAND, ONE NATION, EYEBMOBE1
YOL. II. HARTEORD, OOOT., SATURDAY, APRIL 9, 1870. 40.
ioiiis at iomc.
T I I ] ^ Y O U T H F U L P I L O T.
On the bosom of a river,
Where the sun unloosed his quiver,
Or the stiirlight st.reanied forever,
Bailed a'vessel li},dit and free.
M(n'nin}j; dew-drops hung like numna.
On the bright folds of her banner,
While the zephyr rose to fan her.
Softly to the radiant sen.
At her prow a pilot, beaming
In the Hush of youth, stood dreaming,
And he was in glorious seeming.
Like an aui?el from above.
Through his hair the breezes sported,
A7id as on the way be lloated.
Oft that pilot, angel-throated,
VVarl)led lays"of hope and love.
Through those locks so brightly flowing.
Bads of laurel blooni were bh)wing,
And his hands anon were throwing,
Music from the lyre of gold.
Swiftly down the stream he glided,
Soft the purple waves divided,
And a rainliow arch abided,
On his canvas' snowy fold.
Anxious hearts w-itli fond devotion,
Watched him sailing to the ocean,
Praying that no wild commotion,
''Mid the elements migiit rise.
And he seemed some young Apollo,
Charming summer winds to follow.
While the water Hags' coralla,
Trembled to his music sigh.
But these purple waves enchanted
Eolled beside a city Iiaunted .
By an awful spell, that daunted
Every comer to her siiore.
Night shades rank the air (mcumbered,
And pale marble statues numbered
Where the lotus-eaters slumbered,
And awoke his life no more.
Then there rushed with lightning quickness
O'er his face a mortal sickness,
And the dews, in fearful thickness.
Gathered o'er his temple fair.
And there swept a dying murmur.
Through the lovely Southern summer,
As the bounteous pilot comer.
Perished by that city there.
Still I'olls on that radiant river,
And the sun unbinds his ([uiver,
And the starlight streams forever,
On its bosom as before.
But that vessel's rainbow banner.
Greets no more the gay savannah.
And that ])ilot's lute drops manna,
On that purple wave no more.
M A D E M O I S E L L E N E O K E K .
Translated from the French
" M R . GIDBON : Do me the favor to call
and see me. 1 have something of the groat
est importance to con.<ide to you, and
wish particuhirly to speak with you in
private,
''You will find me at J^t. Ouon. Pap
brought me here last week by order of
Dr. TrOdcliin, who hud prescribed coun
try air for my health.
''I am, dear Mr. Gibbon, with great re
spect, your little friend,
''ANNE LOUISE GERMAINE NECKER.
"P. S.—I beg you most earnestly to
appoint some day for your visit, and to
come punctually. Above all, must I im
plore you not to look upon the step I am
taking as the act of a child. True
mamma will not allow me to occupy an
arm-chair, but makes me sit at her feet
on a little stool. M(jrcover, slie often tells
me to hold myself straight, that our vis
itors (and especially you, Mr. Gibbon, who
are not intimately acquainted with me)
may well take me for a child. Neverthe-less,
1 assure you thatl am ten years oh)-,
atid (sertainly if at ten years 1 dc not
know my own mind, I ticver will know it,
were I to live till niy hair is gray.
"April 10th 177G."
The following morning (April 1 lth)two
gentlemen in velvet suits were walking
leisurely along the higli road that led to
St. Oiien.
Haid one of the two to his companion,
"I confess, dear Gibbon, that l am cuci-ous
to know what cm be'the something
of the greatest iniport:cince' that Germaine
has to communicate to you."
"I dare say," replied Gibbon ; "but be
j)leased to remember that it is to be con-lided
to nie alone."" And with an air of
mock foppishness he toyed with the folds
of his lace frill.
Mr. Necker laughed. "Don't be alarm-ed.
I shall not play the part, of the cruel
ther and interrupt your tete-a-tete with
my daughter. 1 have some business to
transact in the neighborhood for Mr. de
Thelusson, and will leave you at the park
ates."
"A man like you, Necker," excliiiuicd
Gibbon warmly, "ought to be no l)anker's
subordinate. Your fortunes are far from
being equal to yonr deserts."
But my friends outweigh them," an-swered
Necker, extending his hand to
Gibbor., "and as long as they are tiue to
me, 1 shall ask no favors from so ctiprici-ous
a lady as Fortune. But to return to
my eccentric little girl ? Did you show
her letter to her mother ?"
"Discretion forbid 1 I might have been
the cause of her receiving a reproof, poor
child."
"Not so childish as her years, Gibbon. I
assure you she says and does things that
astonish me. Perliaps my patertial love
misleads me, but—"
'Not at all, not at all," interrupted
Gibbon. "Germaine will be a remarkable
woman. Her versalillity of genius in
conversation is wonderful. With Mar-nioutel
she is brilliant, with Grimm full
of wit, with rAb6e Raynal simple and
sincere, and with Thomas she discusses
grave questions with the seriousness of n.
judge. Why, the child is a prodigy ; her
mother is the only person ihat does not
seem to know it."
"Her mother knows it full as well as
anybody else ; but she has her own ideas
on the subject of educating children and
dreads nothing more than to see' her
daughter sell conceited. For myself,
without interfering at all with my wife's
systematic disregard of her daughter's
cleverness, 1 temporize a little by oliering
her occasionally the opportunity of dis-playing
her powers against myself. And
at such tinges, 1 must; say that she de-lights
me. But her development is too
rapid, Gibbon, and her health is not ro-bust."
"Ah, well, at St. Ouen she will be temp-ted
to romp, and so grow strong again.
Here we are at the gates, and 1 begin to
feel my curiosity revive."
"1 suppose she wishes to consult you on
some point of history. You know how
fond she is of cutting out paj)er kings and
queens, and making them perform traged-ies.
1 only wish you could hear the
speeches she improvises for royalty ! 1
presume she has soin(i new dranra on
liand,imd, as you are a famous historian,
she wants your opinion or your help."
"I insist upon it that the affair is far
above any point of history," returned
Gibbon, laughing. "The style of the let-ter
is grave and dignilied."
"As grave as her occupation at this
moment ?" said Necker, pointing to an
object that was moving rapidly under the
trees, at some distance from the park
gates. "Look, there, there, do you see?"
Gibbon looked up, and presently he saw
coming awiftly towards them a baby car-riage,
to which was harnessed a little
girl, whose masses of Idack hair were
standing out in every direction from her
head, and whose magnillcent black eyes
were sparkling with animation and en-joyment.
In tlie carriage vvere two chil-dren,
one a baby boy, and the othei- a
girl soujcwhat younger than the one who
liad constituted herself both horse and
whip on the oecasion.
Mr. Necker hid himself behind Gib-bon's
broad back, while he whispered :
•'If her mother could see her now,
blowsy and tumbled as she is, poor Ger-maine
would be sure of a lesson in good
behavior."
"Come, come," returned Gibbon, rub-bing
his hands, "go ubout your bu.sinuss.
I begin to think that the impoit int affair
for which 1 am sunnnoneti is to take my
t urn to draw ihe baby carriage, if it is,
1 shall certainly let her put me iu harness,
and to do my best. It will remind me of
my own dignified doings fifty years ago."
And, with these words, the two gentle-men
parted. One skirted the
wall of the park, and the other
hiuiself vigorously to ringing the bell of
the lodge.
At sight of a stranger within the park
gates, tliC carriage cmne to a sudden stop,
aiul the young lady that was drawing it
turned very red, and looked terribly
ashamed. Disengaging herself from her
harness, she came forward.
' (.)h, Mr. Gibbon! 1 am mortified to
think that you should surprise me trying
to amuse these childroi. I am almost
sorry that I told you my age ; you will
have such a poor opinion of me."
"By no means a poor opinion. Mad-emoiselle
de Neeker," replied Gibbon,
with a respectful bow. "The exercise of
drawing a carriage mu.st be very strength-ening,
f o r i presume—"
"'I'hat you are like my father, and in-dulge
in raillery," was the quick reply.
"1 assure you—indeed," i-eplied Gib-bon,
not knowing exactly what to say,
"1 am aware that Dr. Tronchin has pre-scribed
active—"
"So he has," interrupted Germaine,
blushing; "but, as I never tell a false-hood,
I beg you to believe that I am not
amusing myself altogether by way of fol-lowing
a doctor's prescription."
"1 admire your candor, and hope that
you will carry it out in all your inter-course
with me. I am at your disposal."
Germaine blushed again, and her intel-ligent
countenance grew very grave. "Be
so good as to go with me to the |)arlor,
Mr- Gibbon. This is not a fit place to
discuss serious matters.'' And turning
to the little ones iu the carriage, she cri-ed,
"Now, children, be good until I re-turn,
and don't wrangle." And seeing
that the Idea of her absence was not pleas-ing,
she kissed them, and promised to be
gone a very little while.
Resuming her grown-up demeanor, slie
placed her liitle hand on Gibbon's arm,
and looking as stately as she could, walk-ed
up by his side to the chateau.
At the parlor door she dropped
his arm, seated herself (as mamma was
not by) in an arm chair, and pointing to
another just opposite, said :
•'Sit down, if you please, Mr. Gibbon."
Gibboj., trying not to laugh, complied.
Germaine, her eyes modestly bent
down, went on : "I am about to speak
to you, dear sii-, on a subject very near
"Why so, Miss Necker
"Because it looks as if yon wanted to
outside I be rid of me, as if you thought a promise
applied ; to me was of no consequence ; and yet—
and yet I am more serious than you im-agine."
"I see that you are, my dear child,"
returned Gibbon, kindly, for he perceived
that her expressive face denoted disap-pointment,
"Tell me at once what you
wish, for if I promise beforehand it is be
cause I know that you would require noth'
ing of me which I might not safely
grant."
The little face grew bright again. "Ah,
that reconciles me," replied she. Then,
raising her eyes to his with an imploring
gaze, she said :
"Mr. Gibbon, will yon marry me ?"
Gibbon was so astonished that he
bounded from his seat ; but recovering
his presence of mind, he replied :
"Marry you, dear child 'i Why I am
old enough to be your grandt'ather."
"Well, sir, if you are too old, 1 am too
young, and that makes our ages balance."
"Marry you !" repeated Gibbon in his
excess of wonder.
"Do you release me ?" exclaimed Ger-maine
rising.
"No, indeed," said Gibbon, putting her
tenderly back in her chair. "I would be
a dolt not to accept such a pretty little
hand. But do tell me to which of my
personal attractions I owe the honor you
intend to confer upon me. Do you think
me handsome V asked he, raising and
parading his clumsy, fat person up and
down the room.
Germaine laughed so heartily at the
picture that she could only shake her head
with emphatic denial
"Then it must be the sound of my
voice," return Gibbon, speaking more than
usual through his nose.
Germaine laughed still louder, but
macie out lu say, "No, no indeed."
"Then you are charmed with my con-versation
?"
"No, Mr. Gibbon, no," said Germaine,
becoming serious. "I do not enjoy your
conversation; for many a time, sitting
on my footstool, listening to you talk
with papa, I have almost fallen asleep. I
hope you are not offended," added she,
with pleading eyes and sweet, deprecating
gesture.
"No, dear child, no. I love your inno-cent
simplicity."
"It only proves my want of taste," re-my
heart. Promise me not to laugh, for plied she
1 am in eurnest." "Not at all ; I am just as you see me ;
This was rather a difficult matter, so ugly, with a nasal twang, and heavy in
Gibbon said nothing. Germaine, not' society. Now, then, why haveycu, so
seeing all the faces he was making to a-i bright, so clever, so attractive—why
void bursting with merriment, continued:
"1 believe you are not married, Mr.
Gibbon."
"No, Mademoislle, 1 am not."
have you chosen me ?"
"Becanse, Mr. Gibbon, papa loves and
admires you above all his friends, because
he ei joys your society, if I do not ; and
But you don't intend to remain a if, when 1 am old enou>2h, you will consent
bachelor all your life, do you ?" j to marry me, he will never be obliged to
"1 confess, Madeuioiselle," returned part with you, and you will love himev-
Gibbon, in a state of supreme astonish- en more than you do now."
ment, "that I have thought very little on
the subject.'-
Gibbon was touched to the iieart. Take
ing the little hand that was extended to
ly happy if you would become ins sun. At that moment Mr. Necker entered
and live with him forever." room.
"liut, my dear Miss Necker, a man , Gibbon was so much affected that his
does nor marry his futher-in law, and 1' ^^ere full of tears.'-My ilear friend,'^
know of nobody having any inclination yj-iej he, "this child is angelic. Would
to become my wife." | believe it? For love of you, she
" \ o u r wile, your wile! What does would actually marry m;."
that signify'J But of course to have a .^Yes, dear papa,'" exclaimed Ger-father-
in-law there must be a wife ui quos-! ,„aine, running t.owards her father, and
tion Now, hste.i to me, and promise cUisi)ing him around the neck, "when i
not to refuse. Qm qU enough to bo married, I am to
' 1 promise beforehand." j^i^j.^.y Mr. Gibbon "
Germaine tossed back her head.^"\ou , ^Marry Mr. (iibhon !" echoed Necker,
are in great haste to in-omiso Mr. Gibbon, looking first at his friend, who was pre-withuut
knowing to what you pledge petrating a succession of nods, and then
yourself, i would have liked some little his daughter, whose beautiful eyes
reflection on your part." i fixed upon him with an cJSprosbion.