|Previous||1 of 8||Next|
small (250x250 max)
medium (500x500 max)
large ( > 500x500)
I > © v o t e d t o t i n e X n t e x * e » t s o t t K e S o l d i e r s a n d S a i l o r s o f t l i e l a t e W a r . VOL 1. HARTFORD, CONN., JANUARY 30,1869. NO. 30 THE BABYILOOKINQ OUT FORME. Two liitle bu^^ ijiaJs^ktti^iigbil'tW Vhido-B^i Two laughing bright eyea lobkiag oat at me : Two rosy Aoptplcl With a dltnple; DoWh)byJthe UfetJ-MugK, sotaetftipg,yr^i^|,attd azupe AU>'6t6ti^od'ft'6 baby/Id'oldug! bOt fot!ili&.. . • ; To myself ds mbthei^ tvill, SpAket I softlyl, '/God; ia, ^fiaven my darling ,iPre© from ill. gear aad' Wort^ly'honors ' w Keep d^r, .ly 'a n , ^ A s k l i l b t for fratoiTllee;' World' But from wuot and sin and sprrow, Keep her ever pure and free." * y l * . ,* * Two little waxeri"'hands, Folded soft and silently; Two little curtaiued' eyes Looking b)it'for me no more ; Two little sriowy cheeks, Dimple-derited nevermore; Two little trodden shoes, Tha^ wiU n^ver touch the floor ; Shouldeir riBfeon softly twisted, Apron ;folded, clean and white ; These are left me—and these only Ot the childish presence bright. Thus He sent an answer to my earnest prayer, Thus He keeps my darling free from earthly stain. Thus ho folds the pet lamb safe from earthly straj'- ing. But Imiss her'sadly from the window pane. Till I look above it > then, withi purei' vision, Sad, I weep no ipnger <he lilac-bush to pass, For I see her antrel, pure and white, and sinless, , Walking with'iihe harpersi bj^ the'sea (if glass. Two little snowy Wings Softly flutter to and fro, Twd tiriy childish Hands Beckph.§t|lljtome;below ; Two tehder f^'ngel 'eye§, Watih tai'Veryj^a^esUy Through the loop-holes of the stars j Baby's looking out for me. lOErs at iome. MY TRUE BETROTHAL. BY ALICE GRAY. 1_ went down to li_g ht the hall lamp and hearing a murmur of voices in the par-lor, I paused a moment before the half-open door. Annie Dearborn sat by the piano and my husband was bending over her. Both figures were distinct in the moonlight. My foot had made no sound on the soft stair-carpet, and as I -stopped, the first word I, caiught rooted me to the spot. "Annie Dearborn, I saw but one face in the audience. 1 spoke to but one lis-tener." I understood. She had been praising his morning's discourse, and you sliould know the sweetness of praises from Annie Dearborn's lips ere you puss judgment on the man who yielded to their intoxication. I ought to describe her before going on with my story; but it seems impossible, she was so unlike any woman I ever knew. So full of contradictions. She had been beautiful some time in her early girlhood, now she was a, plain-faced woman of twenty-five or six. But beauty, mere physical beauty, was an idle charm with which Annie Dearborn could well afford to dispense, for every other grace aiid witchery seemed to be hers. Imperio as a queen, winsome as a child, bewitc ing as a siren, st^e was that rare anomaly a thorough coquette and at the same time a sincere and tender-hearted woma^n. Loved by woman and adored by men, t|ie wonder was that she had not been wholly spoiled. That she liked admiration there was no question, that ghe gained not ad-miration merely, but profound homage and passionate devotion, was never any marvel to me. And I think it was no ac-tual surprise when my husband went on, laying his hand over the white hand of hers that lay on the gleaming keys: Yes, Annie, you wore the only audi-qnce of which I was conscious, and of you I am .always conscious. What could I not do, with you for my daily inspiration ? My Beatrice ever calling me upwai-'ds) waking all that is best ih my natMe. 0 Annie, without you I am not .half that I tnight be." I saw her turn quickly and lay asilert-cing hand on his lips. I held my breath to catch her words. They came tremu-lous but distinct. "Nd, Mr Campbell, I do not wake what is noMeat in yOu.' If I did I should nefver t^mpt yoti to such words as these, which are wrong, a cruel wrong to one who is u t t ^ l y devoted to you." '' ^'AtinieVybti m i s t ^ e ." "No, I do not mistake. It was this unflinching directness oF speech fhat was one of Annie Dearborn's powers. -She might be illogical. She might fall into efrors of judgmemt, but wrong or right her words went str'aight to the matk, and they pie reed I'ike a rro ws sometimes. • " I am not mistaken," she went on; "my thought 'doe's not outrun your words, i take them at their simplest ineahing. only ask would you speak the same w'drds in Mary's presence - "Mary loves he faltered, "and she knows that I do." "Yes, find she trusts us both. ' Do you think that any Oman's heart would find comfort in the thought that her husband draws his inspiratiwi fi onianiother' sbtfr«Je; and that other li woman not half so noble probably as herself ? 0 , 1 pity wives, I pity them from my soul." "Hear me, Atinie, one vvoiid. Youj need not pity mine. She is happy andj not unloved. She gives me devotion,j faithful service,- everything save high cOtn-panionship. For that I must look else-; where, or miss: it wholly." Shebroke in'sharply. • "Aiid why, pray, should ybw look'else-^ where ? Bight years ago, when we were schoolgirls together, Mary Ellis was a^ brilliant in soholiirship, us keisn of intel-j lectj as vivid in her mental and moral per-ceptions as the best of us You won her from our ranks and put her in the domes^ tic treadmill. She has str^inied every nerve, and taxed every power to-meet the demands made on her as the wife of a clergyman, as the mother of your child.^ reui' "What wonder if some of the-blopm and sparkle have faded- if some .bf her girlish enthusiasm has died out ? Is it her fault that she is old before, her time ? 0, it is cruel, it is unmanly to .fall in Avord or in thought from your loyalty and love. You shall not, my friend. You; shall be true to yourself and to her," Her voice softened, and she leaned to-wards him as she spoke, and laid a white, entreating hand on his shoulder. I knew how every tone and touch thrilled through his sensitive frame. I knew how her re-buking words would only bind him to deeper homage, and, strange as it may seem, through all my sorrows, arid self-pity, and jealous indignation; together with a startled self-convicti6n—through all this tumult of emotion my heart took arms with him against liisraccurtiugjN^ords. I knew so well how she had drawja him on, not with conscious purpose but with her instinctive coquetries. As I said be-fore, it was 'no marvel to me that she brought men, yourig aud old, to. her foot. She could flatter so delicately—when strongly moved she could be so nobly elo-quent. and she lived withal in such an iat-helping me I .\yill d^) your bidding with what strength is in.; me.^'. : ;,, .; : The door-bell rang . sliarply. I sped •noiselessly up-the eitairs and shut myself into my room, j was in no mood for seo-irig'cailers. Some one else answered the bell; there was a.brief parley at the door with some neighbor, and then a heavy si-lence reigned below. 1 threw up the stoh and'leaned put into the night. Preseiltlv I h^ard :the outer door opeil and'^liut, and saw mr hii^and' go out iui-iio lihte,orchard 'opposite - my window, saw'hiik pdcing u;p a,hd dpwti With bowed head and folded arms, appeai4ilg/a'ild dis* appearing among the shadows; I watch-ed him, with bitter yearning, with pity and tenderness unspeakable, for already the'first passion of chil<3ish rage had over-passed, and I was reviewing the past^ with sorrowful " calmness, T yas" gauging the present, and striving to forecast the fu-ture, .'But through all my paiii I was thahkful* the words' 'had been spoken., jili^iikful' that I had''heard t h ^ , . Ho\^ t-^r^w^s•'p'aih?' ',What did Annie ; Deai-boM' bafTQ foi- . -that ? She would s.coi^tf iiis wPaknfes's, she wottttf-fotjij'hiBifi^ .^leSp- • # i th • a sense 6f having'bqrn'e a'noble and virtu-ous part jn that inteWiew. ' And so per-- hapsstte had;. Mtojra woman wPiild have don^ worst!. l^b^ihorroW'' '^h.e ^ would " go h e r , ' i n sweet'dpinposure'df %,Part, a/id Ei-,n.Qs't' ' QampbdllSdnd hi^'^uS'pi'in^s woiild be fotgot^ten, 6r lightly feld!in' half-^ity-l ing, httlf-scornfdl fpiiidmlirance; •.'.I'h^Sa^d her step on the stairs; liei^ s^ft;rap'bh'ihy 'fdlr»oAO»r». T'i opened iift.. ' • ' • ; ! . i " I came to say good-night, little mothj er." She laid her hand's caressingly oii iny'shoulders. "Ifis e'afly,^! know, but ij ^aiTi tired. Are tho babies a s l e e p ^ ,1 She came in and bent over ." them, as they lay in their little . bed'. •'0, yoii shpuld'be a happy woman, Mar ryOanipbell. , I envy mothers " "Arid pity wives," I thought, but I'bnj-ly said, " t ley are vety precious," Andtheh l w a s alone again with my thoughts. ' For another hour I watched my husband' p.aeing slovvly amPrg th^i trees. It seems' td me there are long: lives that hold lesS pE thb'ught, and suffeiv ing, and resolve, thah'were condensed in-to that single hoar. I would have given worlds to have gorie oiit and put my hari(^ in my husband's and said: j, "I'understaiidit all, let me help you tP find peace." But this was no time to wip. him back with wifely caresses. He had his battle to fight, and he must fight it out single-ha.ided and alone. This infat-uation, however brief its reign, was power-ful, overmastering, for the time. I could give him no present help. Had he npt said he could look to me for everything but high companionship ? I knew pre-cisely what thq words meant, and yet thqy struck me with,no hopeless sense of alien-ation or exile. I reviewed my married life, and I saw in a flash of reminiscences how I had, little by little, become immeijs-mosphere of purity, proud and sweet, that though for half a score of years she had "plucked down hearts to pleasure her as you would roses from a bough," yet I think no breath of reproach therefor had over touched her name. "You shall be true to your best self, my fripfid. A man with noble gifts, with a good work before him, and one tender lipart to loan on, surely he should be con-tent." His head drooped, he drew her hand to his lips, and there were tears in his voice as he murmured; "You are my good angel, Annie. God ed in household .cares, how I had gradual ly but effectiially;M|;hdrawn myself from the sphere o^ his ittmost sympathies. I saw how I hud lost sight of the higher uses of life in serving the lower. I had taken upon me the duties of a minister's wife, and I sought to fulfill them to the lelter—and to the letter I had succeedej:!,. but alas, for the- spirit. Visible success had been my aim arid I had achieved it. I had won the world's commendation. No house was better kept, no children in the parish were more exquisitely dressed, no table was more hospitably sprej^d. People called my management mirac,u-lous. It was only ti}ia miracle of intelli-gent and unceasing d^dustry. Might qot the same good wit and earnest effort iK0|i'k other miracles? I smile as I recall Ihow promptly I sot to work to find a solutiipi). of my problem, a path out of my troubl^. It was always so. My resolves wqr.e never slow to project themsfilves into some tangible shape. My practical habits of thought stood me in good stead'thftt iii'^ht I bade Annie Dearboru a kinil a dM next'day. EMe^t's^t himself irtto'his study aftei* lier Sspartiire, and though mf heart ached; ftit biia as I thought Pf the loneliness andlassitttde that would fall up^ on hirhk now that the excitement' of het perilous graces was removed, yet"1 l e f t him undisturbed. As. for mo. you 'flaay think it incredible, hut except fpr'the though t of hilri; '1 think I "v^as almost happy. I had sWept anger and jealousy^'fi-iider my leet, I felt a's 'if gifted iwith sdtoe -^iijiafeil mental illum'iiia/tibriji a^ if ;1 Be)eh Mip'd and were just receivitig'iighti/ ^ 'So lnuc6 that I had looked upoii as duty 1 saw' T^as only a poor endeavor to Win the approval of those whose approval was valueless, an'effort to shape triy life to suit the iaste of those who liad no actual concern in my life. Idlest of all idle 'eadeavPrs ! Arid to me' this' light had'not'come! too latev 4 knewvtny stirengthj ''and Mih 'iigladl^jt^ of hiy heart tfelt'the.^self-v^^rbught^ shafe}^ les falling. ' • / • It may intei'est some o^ my know what direction I first struPk out M the use of my new-found liberty. E iHll tell you.> I-went,iip. to my iEoPii, looked-through my. wardrobe^. jtook:; a. mental iii)- Iventory of the superfluous trimmirigiifthe yards of fluting and ruffling>over vVhiohH had s p e n t dnys of anxiety, and : niglit'scof. weariness.; Opened !the» drawers "^here lay the tiny garments, ruffled,.andpointed, and SGalloped, a u d i i n s e r t e d , ' ^ andihnaid-ed, and embroidered in every i .s,h^e,vand pattern, and iquality that lirhited/means could icommand oii) unjiinited. indusiDy could accQift'plafeh. • It,was a pretty sight, ^ if one: coiili^ foi'get the(post. .1 could not. ^ I sei/ied thj®= scissors and set myself to picking out a bit. of Grecian braiding jaigt begun on a little frock that lay in my work-baskets, There were four such frocks that I had promised, myself to do the coming month... I ripped; it.off, and crossed; oait the iterii '^ ten pieces embroidery braid" from niy memorandum with a sigh and. a smiletjof intense relief., That.was my Jfirst act,of emancipation;. Here was my nejdt. J received by the morning mail a letter from some old but never intimate, ac-quaintances, announcing their iufention to visit,iiie the. fbllo.wing week, if agreea-blft. .;Yestei'dayJ. should have grdanedijin spirit,.and sent an immediate.and verbally cordial response. To-day I wrote a ce- .ply, brief and polite, saying that I oxpeet-ed to be absent from home the next week. This expectation L did not say, was the result of a sudden resolution on my. part, which I set myself that very evenings .to make arrangements for carrying out. . : When just ,at dusk Ernest emerged frqm his study, I proposed a walk. He lan-guidly assented, and we went out into the mild May twilight., The air was soft, but invigorating and sweet with delicate spring odors. One must have been churlish in-deed to have long resisted the inlluenceof the quiet beauty of the night. W^- iiiet two or three of the village people and stopped.to exchange greetings wilhth'Qm. , " Are you. going to call anywhere ho asked, presently. " I \yant to see Miss Hester about,com-ing over next week, I have been thirik-ing I would like to go up to the Anniver-saries with you, if you would like i t ." " I should like it. .The chaugo will do you good." Miss Hester was only too glad to, come and take charge of ray house and my little ones for the ensuing week» She had al-ways been at service to help me through difficult straits. Her kindness, good sense and " faculty" renderpd her an invaluable auxiliary in sickness, stress of sewing or influx of visitors. And if I hod felt justi-fipd, in assuming such an additional ex-paiuse I should long ago have adopted her as, a permanent inmate of our household. What a stirring, happy week it was that followed. I left*all my honsQ caros behind, an4 thi'ew myself heartily into the iuterosts of the hour.
|Title||Soldiers' record, 1869-01-30|
|Uniform Title||Soldiers' record (Hartford, Conn.)|
|Subject||United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Veterans -- Connecticut -- Newspapers; Hartford (Conn.) -- Newspapers|
|Description||Frequency: Weekly; Publication dates: Vol. 1, no. 1 (July 11, 1868)- ; Notes: Devoted to the interests of the soldiers and sailors of the late war.|
|Collection||Newspapers of Connecticut|
|Source - Location||Connecticut State Library microfilm, AN104.N6 C6692|
|Relation-Is Part Of||Connecticut military newspapers, 1862-1875|
|Publisher||W.F. Walker & Co|
|Rights||Digital Image © Connecticut State Library. All rights reserved. Images may be used for personal research or non-profit educational uses without prior permission. For permission to publish or exhibit, see Reproduction and Publication of State Library Collections, http://www.cslib.org/repropub.htm|
|Title-Alternative||Other title: Soldiers' record and Grand Army gazette; The soldiers' record|
I > © v o t e d t o t i n e X n t e x * e » t s o t t K e S o l d i e r s a n d S a i l o r s o f t l i e l a t e W a r .
VOL 1. HARTFORD, CONN., JANUARY 30,1869. NO. 30
THE BABYILOOKINQ OUT FORME.
Two liitle bu^^ ijiaJs^ktti^iigbil'tW Vhido-B^i
Two laughing bright eyea lobkiag oat at me :
Two rosy Aoptplcl With a dltnple;
DoWh)byJthe UfetJ-MugK, sotaetftipg,yr^i^|,attd azupe
AU>'6t6ti^od'ft'6 baby/Id'oldug! bOt fot!ili&.. . • ;
To myself ds mbthei^ tvill,
SpAket I softlyl, '/God; ia, ^fiaven
my darling ,iPre© from ill.
gear aad' Wort^ly'honors '
.ly 'a n , ^
A s k l i l b t for fratoiTllee;'
But from wuot and sin and sprrow,
Keep her ever pure and free."
* y l * . ,* *
Two little waxeri"'hands,
Folded soft and silently;
Two little curtaiued' eyes
Looking b)it'for me no more ;
Two little sriowy cheeks,
Two little trodden shoes,
Tha^ wiU n^ver touch the floor ;
Shouldeir riBfeon softly twisted,
Apron ;folded, clean and white ;
These are left me—and these only
Ot the childish presence bright.
Thus He sent an answer to my earnest prayer,
Thus He keeps my darling free from earthly
Thus ho folds the pet lamb safe from earthly straj'-
But Imiss her'sadly from the window pane.
Till I look above it > then, withi purei' vision,
Sad, I weep no ipnger