Soldiers' record, 1869-01-30

              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.