Soldiers' record, 1870-04-16

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OFJE FLAG, ON'JJJ LAITD, ON^B RJEJART, ON'JEJ ]TA¥D, ONE WATIOW, BVEBMOBE!
YOL. II. HARTEOllD, OOOT., SATURDAY, APRIL 16, 1870. NO. 41.
ioiir^ at iomc.
O L D T I M E S.
There's a beautiful song on the slumbrous air,
That drifts through the valley of dreams ;
It comes from a clime where the roses were,
And a tuneful heart and a bright brown hair
That waved in the morning beauis.
Soft eyes of azure and eyes of brown,
Aud snow white foreheads are there;
A glimmering cross and glittering crown,
A thorny bed and a couch of down.
Lost holies aud leallets of prayer.
A breath of Spring in the breezy woods.
Sweet wafts from the quivering pines—
Blue violet eyes beneath green hoods,
A bubble of brooklets, a scent of buds,
Bird warblers aud clambering vines.
A rosy wreath aud a dimpled hand,
A ring and a slighted vow,
Three golden links of a broken band,
A tiny track on the snow white sand,
A tear and a sinless brow.
There's a tiiicture of grief in the beautiful song,
That .sobs on the slumbrous air,
And loneliness felt in the festive throng,
Sinks down on the soul as it trembles along
From a clime where the roses were.
We heard it fu'st at the dawn of day.
And it mingled with nuitin chimes,
But years have distanced the beautiful lay,
And "its melody ilovvetli from far away,
Aud we call it now Old Times.
TALKING AND DOING.
It was the most eloquent lecture of the
season, and by one who had g-ained a high
name in the estimation of the pnblic ;
and the audience listened breathlessly to
the glowing thoughts, which, clothed in
such beautiful language, fell so melodious-ly
from his tongue.
His theme was Love ; the connecting
link between God and his children, und
which, he chiimed, should bind in a golden
chain their hearts to each other ; that
charity "that seeketh not her own, that
suffereth long and is kind," and whose
broad mantle covereth a multitude of sins.
And, as tlie beautiful face of the speak-er
lighted up with the high and holy
thoughts t(j which his lips gave utterance,
there were few who gazed upon himjjut
what felt that he wus their living aud
acting embodiment.
There was one skeptic present; an old
man, clad in course, ill-htting garments,
and whose white hair and beiird contrast-ed
oddly with his bronzed face. He sat
well back, and yet whei'e he had a good
view of the speaker ; and there was an
occasional curl of his lips as ho listened.
Yet, as the orator warmiug with his
su\)ject, dwelt npon the duty of charity,
the holy power of love, even his henrt
owned the spell of his eloquence, and the
doubting, cyni'-al look vanished, giving
place to a softer expression.
"Like father, like son," dues not al-ways
hold good, he muttered. "We shall
see, we shall see," ai.d as the speaker
ceased, he moved towards the door. He
leaned heavily npon a cane and walked
as though one of his limbs was partially
disabled.
A cold drizisling rain was falling ; but,
though rather unpleasant to the pedestri-ans,
it mattered little to Howard Winn,
for whom a covered carriage was in wait-ing.
As he was about to enter it, the old
man stepped forward and put his hand
upon his arm.
Mr. Winn glanced carelessly at the
coarse, rustic attire.
"I have nothing for you" he said, sha-king
oil'the band roughly. "Stand back,
or I'll put you in tiie hands of the police."
"You mistake, I only wanted—"
There was neither time nor chance for
more ; the door of the carriage closed
with a sharp clang, and it moved oil' at a
rapid pace.
The man had his hand on it, aud the
sudden recoil nearly threw him oif hi&
feet ; his cane rolled into the gutter, and
a sudden gust of wind caused his hat to
follow.
As he stood motionless, in mingled
perplexity and anger, a hearty, cheerful
voice cried out;
"Halloo? rather rough treatment this.
My eloquent cousin had better practice
what he preaches. 1 suppose he thinks
that would be too much like swallowing
his own physic—ha, ha,hii! Excuse ray
little joke. Here's your hat and cane. Jnsi
take my arm, until I get where you can
stand lirm on your pins again. There,
you are all right. Lame hey? added the
new comer, as he noticed the old man's
halting step." "Dear, dear, it's too bad
for men like you to be begging in the
street on such anight as this. You should
go home with me, but the fact is, my
house is not only full, but running over."
As the speaker said this, he commenced
rummaging his pockets, evidently i-ather
dubious as to the result of his investiga-tions.
He was a stout built man, in the
prime of life, with a frank, intelligeni
i'ace, the very personification uf kindness
and good humor,
"Ah ! I thought I wasn't run quite
ashore !", he exclaimed gleefully, as he
fished np a half dollar. ''It's all 1 have,"
he said, thrusti ig it into the old man's
hand ; but it will buy you a night's lodg-ing,
Nay, take it, 1 am a poor man, but
not so badly off as you, lor I have a roof
to shelter me, thank the Lord.
The old man smiled rather oddly as he
looked ai the retreating form, and then
at the half dollar, and thrusting i: into
his vest pocket, hobbled away.
In the meantime, Howard Winn had
reached home ; a stylish mansion, in a
stylish part of the town. He began to
feel the reaction that attends strong ex-citement,
and as he opened the hall door,
the wailing cry of a babe jarred harshly
on his nerves
"I believe that child cries out of pure
spite," he muttered as he ascended the
stairs and entered a room where a pale
little woman was sitting, holding a baby.
The wife raised her eyes to husband's
face with a wear.ed look, but received
neither smile nor pleasant greeting.
"I hope that child is going to let us
sleep some to-night," he said crossly, as
he proceeded to draw off his boots.
No one would have supposed from the
tone in which he spoke that "that child"
was any relation to him, or have recogniz-ed
ihe brilliant orator of the evening in
that peevish, discontented face.
"Your uncle Leonard is here."
"You don't say so. When did he
comc ?"
"Not long after you left. I told him
where you had gone, and he said he was
too tired to sit up for you."
"I suppose he has come back to stay
now. I really wish I knew how much
the old fellow is worth, but he is as close-tongued
as he is close-tisted."
"How can you say that, Howard, when
he helped you so about your education."
"What is that paltry sum in compari-son
to the thousands he has or is sup-posed
to irave ? And ho was careful to
tell me that was only a loan."
"Perhaps he will want it returned now.
He spoke about having met with some
misfortune, and it may bo in his business;
he isn't dre^^sed at all like a man in afflu-ent
circumstances.
"He'll have to want then, I'm afraid.
Here the babe began to cry again.
"What does ail that child, Mary ?"
•'It's his teeth, Howard."'
"It's his temper, more liiie. If he's
going to keep np that noise, I wish you'd
take bim out in the other room, and shut
the door. I want to go to sleep."
V' ith a sigh Mrs. Winn obeyed.
And quite unmindful of his young wife
who walked the room with the suffering
babe iintil the small hours, Howard Winn,
whose words on the loveliness of charity
at home had thrilled so many hearts, laid
his head comfortably upon the pillow and
fell asleep.
" I am glad you are doing so well, How-ard,"
said Mr. Leonard to his nephew
the next morning. "A man ought to
have a pretty good income to live in a
house like this."
Mr. Winn cast a furtive glance upon
the speaker.
"A man in my position has to live in a
certain style, uncle ; it is expected of him.
I do assure you that 1 often do not know
where the next dollar is to come from.
"Humph, I don't see anything in your
position that should compel you to live
beyond your means. *!L'm sorry that you
aie i'\ straightened circumstances, nep-hew,"
resumed the old man, glancing
keenly around the handsomely furnished
room. "I've been unfortunate. And
then, again, I'm getting to be an old man.
and need some one to take c u'e of me, so
I made up my mind to come and live
with one of my nephews. But I suppose
it would be impossible for you to offer
me a home."
"Quite impossible, I'm sorry to say,
uncle."
"And quite as much so, I presume, for
you to return me a small portion of the
amount loaned you in my prosperous
days !"
"At present it would bo ; but I hope
at no distant day, to be able to pay you
both principal and interest," replied Mr.
Winn, in a bland, softly-moderate voice,
for he piided himself in not only know-ing
what to say, but how to say it,
"Humph ! Where is your cousin John,
now
"John Underbill ? I believe he is living
on Green-street, No. 7."
"Well, .)ohn is a good-hearted, well-meaning
fellow, but he lacks education.
He has more mouths to teed than one
pair of hands can tind bread for ; half of
which haven't the shadow a of claim on
him."
"Got a large family, eh
"I should rather think he had. There's
his wife and six children, his wife's fath-er
and mother, and aunt Betsey, uncle
Dan's widow ; and I've lately heard that
he's saddled himself with his brother s
two orphan boys."
"He took me for a beggar last night,
and gave me this, said Mr. Leonard, tak-ing
the half dollar from his pocket, care-fully
wrapped in a bit of paper. "I think
I must return it to him in some shape or
other."
"Mistake you for a beggar ! Ha, ha,
ha! Well, that is just like one of cousin
John's blunders."
•'You did a great deal worse, young
man; you not only took rae for a beggar,
but knocked my hat into the gutter, near-ly
sending me after it. I had just been
listening to your discourse on the duty
and charity of brotherly love. Humph !"
"Was that you, uncle ? I beg a thou-sand
pardons! But you see the night
was so dark, and you were dressed so
differently from what I've seen'you before.
And so you heard my lecture—how did
you like i t ?"
"You talked well enough," said the
old man, drily.
The remainder of the breakfast was
discussed in silence, broken by an occas-ional
remark from Mr. Winn, in regard
to the toughness of the steak, and mud-diness
of the coffee ; and which didn't
seem to have a very enlivening effect up-on
his wife's spirits, who evidently lost
what little appetite she had when she
came to the table.
Mr. Winn evidently did not consider
it worth while tu keep up even a cordial-ity
for his uncle, who he was convinced
was no longer tlie wealthy man ho had
so often llattei'od and courted ; so when
he arose to go, he neither pressed him to
remai*n nor *invited* him to* come* again.
''Why, Uncle Leonard, is this really
you ! 1 am delighted !"
"Yes, nephew John. You see I've
met with misfortunes, and I'm getting a-long
into years ; so I thought I would
come and see if you had a corner by your
hearth for your old uncle."
"To be sure I have. Come right in.
Now 1 do take this to be so kind in you.
Been unfortunate, eh ? Dur.'t be down-hearted,
sir ; you shall never want while
I have a penny to spare. This is my
wife, Polly. Polly, this is uncle Leon-ard,
who was so kind to mo when I was a
fatherless boy. And here are grandpa
and grandma Dean, Polly's father and
mother, nice old people you'll be glad to
know. And this is aunt Beisey, imcle
Dan's widow—you remember uncle Dan.
And these are my children, three boys
and three girls. Those two in the corner
are poor bi other Tom's boys, and fine lads
they are "
"You seem to have a large family al-ready,
nephew. J'ni really afraid I shall
be burden-some."
' Not a bit of it, uncle. My house is
like an omiiibns—there's always room in
it for one more, ha, ha, ha! Excuse my
little joke."
And the generous, light-hearted fellow
rubbed his hands together gleefully, as
if this additional burden upon his broad,
sturdy shoulders, was the most delight-ful
thing imaginable.
The holidays were near at hand, and
the week before Christmas Mr. Leonard
absented himself so often that John Un-derhill
and his wife began to lear that he
did not find his new home so pleasant as
they were desirous of making it.
Christmas morning arose clear and
beautiful, and Mr. Leonard, who had
been absent the night betore, drove up to-his
nephew's door in a large covered car-riage,
drawn by a pair of prancing bays.
"It belongs to a friend of mine," he
said, as he encountered his nephew's as-tonished
look. I've borrowed it for the
purpose of taking you all out to ride.
"What, all of us?"
"Yes, every soul of you. Grandpa and
grandma and aunt Betsey, father and
mother, all the babies ! So scramble in."
Large as the carriage was it was filled
to the utmost capacity, three of the boys
having to ride on the outside.
Guided by ihe colored coachman on
the box, the spirited animals drew the
carriage swiftly over the smooth, glitter-ing
snow, leaving the city far behind.
"What a beautiful place 1" exclaimed
John, admirably, as they stopped in front
of a fine country residence, such as he
had often wished that he had possessed,
"because it would be such a nice place
for the children."
"You will find it as beautiful in-doors
as without," said his uncle as he alighted.
"Its master is owner of the carriage, and
we are going to dine with him to-day."
Hero he cut short all remonstrance by
lifting the little ones out, who ran up the
graveled walk to the house, the door of
which was opened by a neat domestic,
who was evidently expecting them.
Hobbling in fi ont of them, Mr. Leonard
ushered the older people into a large,
elei;'antly furnished room, through which
a glowing coal fire diffused a grateful
warmth. Near it were stuflbd arm chairs
for old folks, and disposed around the
room sofas and lounges in abundance,
but it was sometime before they wore all
seated.
Mr. Leonard looked around upon them
with moistened eyes, and his voice was
slightly husky as he said :
"My friends, I bid you welcome to my
house and yours. God grant that you
may live long to enjoy it ! 1 call it yours,
because it is legally his who so long
provided for you."
"Mine, uncle," said John, his ruddy
face paling with excess of omotion.
"Yours, my dear boy ; you will find
the deed of it on yonder table. I told-you
that I had been unfortunate, and so•
1 have, the breaking of such old bonea
as mine is no trilling misfortune. But L