Soldiers' record, 1868-08-15

              l>evoted to tlie Interests oftlio Soldiers and Sailors of tlie late War-
VOL 1. HARTFORD, COJN., AUGUST 15, 1868. NO 6.
l o r f i i .
ORIGINAL FUNERAL HYMN,
Sang at the Memorial Service ia New Hav^n.
Listen to the music stealing,
Through the gently-waving trees;
Notes of sweet, yet tender sadness
Trembling on the summer breeeo.
Bend with smiles, oh, azure heaV6hj
While the green turf kindly waves,
As we now with eyes all tearful,
Crown with wreaths our soldiers' graves.
Leaves will droop aud-flowers withef,
All that's beautiful decay,
But the memories wafted hither,
Brighten with each coming day.
Memories of our noble-hearted,
Who in life's bright early bloom,
Died to save our stricken country,
And with us have found a tomb.
Shed thy beams, oh sun ! benignly,
Hang thy lamps, oh evening sky;
Guard with love this ground so holy.
Where these sacred ashes lie.
God in heaven, be pleased to listfen
To our prayer beside each grave,
And with thy right arm eternal.
For their sakes our country save.
CLOSING HYMN
Sung at the memorial service ia New Havea*
Grateful our hearts to-night,
As Freedom's banner bright,
Its Stars unfold;
Shining o'er lonely ways,
Lighting their deeds with praise,
Which in all comiiig days
Will ne'er grow old.
Cherished shall be their name,
Who when the summons came.
Heard duty's call.
What though their souls have fled,
Why should wo think them dead !
Who, with their glory, shed
Honor on all.
Proud be the names they bear.
While we their tjiumph share,
And garlands bring.
Loud let our songs be heard .
Joyful, yet sad, each word—
All patriot hearts be stirred.
Their praise to sing.
Iffy First and Last Balloon Ascent.
(Contiuued.)
Tvro years ago, he had published an ac-count
of an ascent from Turin, in which
he passed over the Alps by night; of this
ascent my informant, a telescope-maker
from Berlin, could not remember any
thing, except the fact of M. Gallard's sen
sation having been as if the balloon was
cleaving silently upward through miles of
black marble, and that the stars seemec
to him larger and more lustrous.
From another person, a wine merchant
from Marseilles, I heard that M. Gallard
was well known in France, as an habitua
and dangerous duellist, and five years ago
he had been wounded in three places, in
duel with sabres at Nice, where,however
he killed liis antagonist, the son of a bank-er
at Genoa. The quarrel had arisen from
M. Gallard being taunted with the use
lessness of balloon ascents. M. Gallar
was now, added my informant, engaged to
be married to the daughter of a professor
of mathematics.
I amused myself, as I walked to my
friend's lodgings, with pondering over
these rumors, and trying to sift the trut"
tliat was in them from the falsehood. This
task, almost as easy as twisting sand-ropes,
or driving hares to market, occupied me
till I reached Gallard's lodgings. The
magnificent street-fountains of Vienna, the
great St. Stephen's itself, I that day passed
unnoticed. Even the crowds of Hunga-rian
sharpshooters, and Wallachian peas-ants,
failed to interest mo; my mind was
bent on joining Gallard, my friend, in a
balloon ascent.
I found Gallard iu his room, busy en-graving
his name on a sword—it was a
beauiiful Damascus blade, of exquisite
temper. He looked up from his work as
I entered, his etching-needle still in bis
land, and greeted me.
"I thought it was the Professor and
Maria," he said; "they are coming to-day
to see the great balloon 1 am having made;
we will go after lunch, and see it togeth-
"You are busjr, Gallard," I said ; " I
did not know you added engraving to
your other accomplishments."
"It is an old and tried friend," he said,
jutting the sword-handle ; "it has saved
my life once or twice, and I want to mark
my name on it, for it may be my oiily epi-taph."
At that moment, just as I was preparing
to rally him on this remark, there were
sounds of feet on the stairs, then a light,
silvery laugh, and a soft lap at the door.
Gallard flew to it, and opened it.
"Is Mons. Montgolfier at home?" said
the sweetest, merriest voice, I think I ever
leard. It was the Professor's daughter,
! WLaria, who with her father now entered
the room. The Professor wiped his spec-tacles,
and began, after being introduced
to me, to look at the drawings round the
walls. Maria chatted pleasantly to her
over and myself, while the old woman of
the house was laying the luncheon.
1 think 1 never saw eyes so lucidly
brown as those of Maria Pulvermacher,
or a neck more exquisitely set upon its
shoulders. She reminded me of Goethe's
description of that graceful girl whom he
took as the type of Gretchen, in Faust.
No word or movement but seemed the
result of a warm heart, good nature, and
overflowing spirits, yet each word or
movement might have been that of a con-summate
actress, so appropriate and ad-mirable
did each movement and each word
seem. Yet Gallard, I thought, seemed
scarcely at his ease; and from what I
could not help overhearing of a long and
earnest conversation between himself and
the Professor's daughter, I gathered that
he was resisting her wish that he should
abandon some intended balloon ascent.
The conversation at lunch was con-strained.
Gallaid tried to amupe, but
seemed vexed and moody. The Professor
was entirely occupied with the praises of
a new edition of the Frincipia he had
just bought of an English bookseller, and
his daughter was silent and tearful.
Luncheon over, Mons. Gallard arose,
and giving his arm somewhat ceremoni-ously
to Miss Pulvermacher, begged me to
follow with the Professor. We followed
him into a back yard, leading to carpen-ters!
workshops, and a laboratory. Un-locking
a door, Gallard ushered us into a
large, unfurnished room, with a stove in
i t ; on the floor lay the silk gores, or long
sections of lutestring, that were to form
the greatest balloon ever yet made in
Austria.
Heaps of blue and scarlet silk lay on
benches and on the window-seat. The
net hung on a nail near the stove, and the
basket-work, large enough to hold six per-sons,
had already been covered with
painted linen.
kissing her father's frosty, red cheek, and
throwing her arms around his ,neck.—
"Don't let him go in i t : he's a naughty
man—yes, you are, sir; you may frown—
for wishing to go against my wilL What
right, sir, have you to risk your life ?"
Gallard made no immediate reply; but
a few minutes after, he drew Miss Pulver-macher
to the window, leaving me and
the Professor to examine the elements of
the future.balloon, examine the long strips
of colored silk, lift, the car, and perform
such other experiments as our curiosity
suggested.
In a few minutes, Gallard and Miss
Pulvermacher joined us. I observed that
Gallard was paler than usual, and was
biting his lips, as if to suppress a pas sion-ate
anger that was almost uncontrollable.
The young lady, on the other hand, was
flushed, and her eyes were moist with un-restrained
tears. I was sure from their
manner that the lovers had been quarrel-ling
; but I made as though I did not see
it.
As for the worthy purblind Professor,
who, like many other honest pedants,
knew much more about the surface of the
moon than the inhabitants of this insigni-ficant
and parvenu planet, he observed
nothing, and, after a time, trudged off"
with his daughter, wishing Gallard every
success in hia interesting enterprise.—
Maria Pulvermacher bowed to me, and
offered Mons. Gallard her hand with
averted face. She had evidently been
asking the enthusiast to make some sacri-fice,
which he had refused to make. The
Professor, I forget to add, on parting,
begged me with obvious sincerity to grat-ify
him with a speedy call.
The moment the door closed c^n the Pro-fessor
and his daughter, Gallard stamped
on the floor, and uttered some words in
Arabic from between his clenched teeth.
"I throw her to the wind," he said, pas-sionately
; "swallow that she is, quick-turning,
never-resting, fickle, changeable,
like all those creatures that God made
from the refuse of Adam's clay.* I have
lived eight-and-thirty years in this vile
world, and never yet knew sin, vice, trou-ble,
or mischief, without a woman was in
some way or other the cause of it. Mis-erable
necessity of our solitude to need
such companions! I renounce her. Shall
I break up my glorious dreams and discov-eries
for a wax doll with movable eyes
a puppet that can smile, and move, and
eat, and torment; but can not reflect,
compare, analyze, or refute ? Ha !"
And, as he said this, he took down
case-bottle of brandy from a shelf, and
took a long, deep draught; then, silently,
he replaced the bottle with a smile such as
Satan himself might have worn, and sat
down, compass in hand, at hia pa^ ers.
began to be afraid for his brain. I triec.
to divert his thoughts, but not by any of
those deep, consolatory platitudes which
friends administer to you as if they were
indispensable medicines.
"Gitllard," I said, "courage! There
are other women. As we say in England,
'There are as good fish in the sea as ever
"You here sec, Mr. Professor," said i came out of it.' By-the-by, do you know
I have all but resolved to accompany you
in your next ascent. You have fired my
imagination by your enthusiasm ; but per-haps
you dislike a companion ; ^A'e^esl-ce
pas
Gallard, turning rather coldly from Miss
Pulvermacher, " the germ of my new air-ship.
It is to measure fifty-seven feet in
diameter, and will carry four hundred
pounds of ballast. This car, which is
eight f.:et long, weighs one hundred and
forty pounds. The name, you see, is
' Maria Theresa,' (here he looked at the
Professor's daughter.) Tho weight of
the whole apparatus, with myself, ther-mometers,
etc , in it, will be—^—"
•'Let me guess, Gallard," paid the good,
fussy old Professor. "Well, I should say
six hundred pounds."
"No bad guess, Ilerr Professor—six
hundred and twenty pounds."
"Nevertheless, I would not go up in it. . _ - -
for ten thousand pounds," said theProfes-'pi:essure on the soles of your feet; you
"On the contrary," ho said, fixing his
eyes on me, "you give mo more pleasure
ihan you know ; you Avill bo charmed.
The higher air, two miles up, is ^o calm
and silent. You may find it cold, and
may experience a slight pain in your ears,
but that will soon pass off'. Whatever fog
or rain we pass through below, wo shall
soon, as philosophers should do,rise above
them into a region oi clear light and soft
sun heat. The sensation of first starting
is only that of a strong but equal upward
sor, adjusting his spectacles.
"That's right, dear papa," said Maria,
will not repent it, mon ami.
"But," 1 said, "who is this Mons. Ro-zier,
who has ascended so often, this year,
in diff'erent parts of France and Germany ?
Is he a formidable rival ?"
"Not very," said Gallard, smiling, with
all his usual stoical serenity, as he went to
a cabinet that stood against the wall, and
took a roll of paper from a drawer. He
unrolled it with a dry laugh; it was a
large posting-bill, printed in red ink ; it-announced
the ascent of Mons. Eustace
Rozier from a pleasure-garden, near Tu-rin,
twelve naonths back.
"I am Mons. Rozier," he said ; "to dis-guise
rpyself from inquisitive friends, I use
this precaution."
As he uttered these words, he took a
bottle from a shelf of chemicals, and dip-ping
the forefinger of the right hand in it,
he rubbed it across the palm of his left.
It left a deep brown stain of the color of
an Arab fellah's skin.
"Mons. Rozier is an Armenian," he
said, laughing; "and a preparation I keep
by me removes his Armenian skin in one
wash. You shall be my companion then,"
he added, replacing the bottles. "I see
you are cool, determined, and quick in
resources; I have long wished for such a
companion to manage my instruments and
help to register my observations. I hope
before long to be able to bring rain at my
wish, and to predict weather changes with
almost unerring certainty. I must forget
this woman. You will now pardon my
wishing you good night, as I must betake
me to six hours' study. One c mtion at
parting—beware how you get entangled
in that false creature's web!"
I did not see Gallard for the next three
weeks. During that time, as my letters
lad still not arrived from England, I de-voted
myself to making the acquaintance
of the Pulvermacher family. My visits
grew more' and more frequent; I became
a favorite of the old Professor, and by no
means, I flattered myself, disagreeable to
his fair daughter. I am afraid my fond-ness
for the house made rather a hypocrite
of me, for I soon found myself discussing
the frincipia with the Professor with an
unction which was scarccly sincere, as I
had always ot college shown a singulur
incapacity for mathematics. To day I was
taking a telescopic interest in an eruption
on the s'm's face; to-morrow trying a
new microscope on the plumes froni a
moth's wing, or a new sort qf acaries,
found in indigo, The Professor was de-lighted
with me, and took me to all sorts
of philosophical meetings and soirees,
where I met small H umboldts, who bored
me with absurd theories, and whom I
bored with engineering problems.
But every moment I could snatch from
this hypocritical routine, I devoted to the
gayer and more pleasant occupation of
flirting with Miss Pulvermacher. 1 waltz-ed
with her, I began to teach her to read
English poetry, I sang duets with her; in
fact, I fell all at once—one morning that
we sang together—over head and ears ia
love with her. It even became a joke
against me at the table d'hote and at the
hotel billiard-table, where my attcndunce
became less and loss frequent.
They were one day discharging their
invisible yet stinging missiles at me, and
warning mo of Gallard's well-known jeal-ous
disposition, and his foudness for duel-ling,
when a Avaiter gently touched my
arm and handed me a note. It was from
Gallard, and ran thus :
"MON CHER AMI : — I shall ascend in the
'Maria Theresa' to-morrow at noon, on the
south side of the Prater. Be with me—
if those fools at the hotel, or your fair
friend, do not make a coward of you—
soon after eleven, that we may start to-gether,
and superintend the filling,
"Yours till death,
":JCavieu G
" P S.—Be sure, on the ground, to al-ways
call me 'Rozier,' my aeronautiq
name. The weather promises we'l for
our aaceut,"
(Concluded aext week.)