Soldiers' record, 1869-01-23

              f ^
r > e v b t e d t o t h e I n t e i * e ^ t s o l t h e ^ o l d l o i - s alnd, S a i l o r s o f t l i o l a i e W a r .
VOL 1. HAHTFOllD, CONK.v MNI^A^RY 1869.
T r i B DUCHESS^
B T J . T . F b B B K S T.
Arustie pf,8ilk,,a8 walHf!t|w
The lovIfeH, prfttii^est^ofthbW all,
Abeittg of H^veti dhft sefttlis-;
And lh?rf f^ce,: in its cjalpii an^,!? y^ee^ Veppse,
Seems the face of an angel as it ;glo.w^
While the gaslight o'et it gleams.
Opals and pearls in.the jet-blaf;k- hair^
Diamonds and emeralds tich jCnd rare--
Of more value than ixxM- meu s Uvea.
The treasures of earth and rock!and sea
At the beck of these nobles sought must bo
To adorn their haughty Tfives.
Ah mel I soraetimea wonder what
In the world to cdme, will be tHo lot
Of these mighty ones of earth,
Who spend their wealth in a vain display,
While never a farthing they t;ive to stay
From the poor man hunger and dearth.
Can human passions and human pain
Find a place to battle within the brain
That's hianeath that placid brow 1
Can those dreamy eyes light with passion's fire.
Or that bosom throb with love's sweet desire,
And is she but acting now 1
She hears of a battle on India's sand,
And how a heroic British band
Made the fierce Sepoy retreat;
And of one soldier, among tiie rest,
round dead with a locket on his breast,
O'er the heart which had ceased to beat.
Her head feels giddy and faint and weak,
The roses have faded out from her cheek,
And she seems about to fall.
'Tis but for a moment; then again
Over masculine hearts she resumes her reign ;
The queen of that "west end" ball.
Was it a memory from tlie past,
' A vision of love too bright to last
Came back o'er her heart to night?
A memory of one, whom, in spite of her pride,
She had loved over all in the world beside,
Yet whose life she had dared to blight.
Her eyes are bright with a haughty light,
And she clasps the skeleton close and tight
To the weary heart inside ;
And her husband bends, with a smiling face.
To watch the easy, well-bred grace
Of tho woman he calls his bride.
'T would disturb him, could he but read her heart,
And see that in it he has no part.
In spite of his noble birth.
To think that the wife he had wooed aud won
Had dared in her heart a passion to own
For a clod of the baser earth!
What a lorid of care and sorrow and sin
May bo liiddcn the human breast within,
While we wear a smile of gladness.
How the heart may throb, and the brain may burn,
And the breast to a nest of vipers turn.
And yet wear no look of sadness.
No matter, this world's but a fleeting show ;
A panorama of joy and woe ;
But rest we'll find above.
And there is a God, whom none nlay deceive.
Who gives to those who in Him believe
A forever abiding love.
"Yes; but this is so awfully sudden, aw'-'
fully sudden!"
—^his lips quivered; h© looked u^i grievr:
ingiy—"and= I shall not see my mother "
"Christ is better than a mother/' _mur-niured
the'chaplain.
"Tea." -The word came in £i \vMsi)er4.
His ^y^s were ,cl6,seid; the\lips stiU SVbre
that tretobHhg'grief^ ^s if tM& bh^sli^e'ai^nt;
were tdtf sore; iob hiard to b6 borhe; ^ut,
as. the miiiU^ies passed, and thd soul lifced;
itself .lip 'stronger and more steadily, tipbni
the wings of .pr£tyer, the cbtintetiknc^;
grew calmer, the lips steadier; and virheri :
the eyes opened again, there was a light,
in their depths th^t could have come on-ly
from heaven.
"I thank you for your courage," he saidi
more feebly, taking the hand .of the chap--:
lain; "the bitterness is over now, and J.
feel willing to die. Tell my mother"-Tr|
he paused, gave one sob, dry, and full of,
the last anguish of earth—"tell her howl
longed to see her; biit if God will peir-,
mit me, r will bo near her. Tell her to
comfort all who loved me, to say that I/
thought of them all. Tell my father th it
I am glad he gave his consent, and that
other fathers will mourn tor other sons..
Tell my minister, by word or letter, that
I thought of him, and that i thank him for,
all his counsels. Tell him I find that
Chnst will not desert the passing soul,
and that I wish him to give my testimony
to the living, that nothing is of real worth
but the religion of Jesus. And now will,
you pray with me?"
With swelling emotion and tender;
tones, the chaplain besought God's grace;
and presence; then, restraining his sobs,-
le bowed down and pressed upon the
beautiful brow, already chilled with the
breath of the coming angel, twice, thrice,
a fervent kiss. They might have been
token from the father and mother, as
well as himself. So thought perhaps the
dying soldier, for a heavenly smile touch-ed
his face with new beauty, as he said,
"Thank you; I won't trouble yon any
onger. You are wearied out: go to your
rest
"The Lord God be with you," and the
firm response "Amen," trembled from the
fast whitening lips.
Another hour passed. The chaplain
still moved uneasily around his room.
There were hurried souifds overhead, and
footsteps on the stoirs. He opened liia
door, and encountered the surgeon, who
whispered one" little word, "Gone."
Christ's soldier had found the Captain of
his salvation.
iir^ a
CHRIST'S SOLDIER.
THE clock had just struck the midnight
hour, when the chaplain vvas suinmonec
to the cot of a wounded soldier. He had
left him only an hour before with confident
hopes of his speedy recovery,—hopes
which were shared by the surgeon anc
the wounded man himself. But a sudden
change had taken place, and the surgeon
had come to say that tho man could live
but an hour or two at most, and to beg
tho chaplain to make the fearful announce-ment
to the dying man.
He was soon at his side, but, overpower-ed
by his emotions, was utterly unable to
deliver his message. Tho dying man
however, quickly read the solemn truth
in the altered looks of the chaplain, his
faltering voioe and ambiguous words. He
had not before entertained a doubt of his
recovery. He was expecting soon to see
his mother, and with her kind nursing
soon to be well. He wai, therefore, en
tirely unprepared for the announcement
and at first it was overwhelming.
"I am to die, then; and, how.long?"
As he had before expressed hope m
Christ, the chaplain replied, "You have
made your peace with God; let death
come as soon as it will, he will carry you
over tho river."
ABOUT STRAWS.
ONE day when Griselda's husbund had
not returned home exactly at the appoint-ed
minute, she received him with a frown:
—" Dinner has been kept waiting for you
this hour, my dear," she said.—"lam
very sorry for it," he replied ; " but why
did you wait, my dear ? I am really
very sorry I am so late, but" (looking at
his watch) " it is only half-past six by me."
" It is seven by ine."—They presented
their watches to each other ; he in an apol-ogetical,
she in a reproachful attitude.
" I rather think you are too fast, my
dear," said the gentleman.
I am very sure you are too slow, ray
dear," said the lady.
—" My watch never loses a minute in tho
four-and-twenty hours," said ho.—"Nor
mine a second, said she.
" I have reason to believe I am right,
my love," said the husband, mildly.—
" Reason!" exclaimed the wife, astonish-ed.
" What reason can you possibly have
to believe you are right, when I tell you
I am morally certain you are wrong, my
love ?"—" My only reason for doubting
it is, that I set my watch by the sun to-day."
" The sun must be wrong, then," cried
tiori, iiiu'st b^ alloweti'fbr in '(ibtn^Uting it
with the clock. Now^ you kti'd w.piet-fectly
,welil' what I: roeanii;th6Mgh you will not ex-plaii'it
for ra6, ,because, you are conscious
I am in the right!" •
; ). i^VWeHi,imyidear, if you are coucious of
dfr, .thatil§;iauffidient ;f'We will inotl dispute-any
more about such a trifle. . Are tihqy
ibrift^ngiup; dinner;?)"' ik, ;
i) iril^eyi know .that youiihave c^ ; I
/am ^^iwe.'IiCJvnnQftit^l wll^ethpr<>they/,dQ lir
ji^^tr-T-Praj^, DoSy ieaa?; MrsiiNettlebyv" ^cri^dt
the lady, turning-^ tQlaifemale: friendv^iid
stiii holding her ' watch in ;hijndv!'f,'what
olclock is i t by.you ? . There ik nobody in
th,e world hates disputing about triles so
mjiph as-I.do ; butlownllove to convince
people: that iX am -in the right.''
. :Mrs. .Nettleby's! watch: had -fttopped—
How provoking I Tiexed at havingi no im-mediate
megiiis of convincing, people ^ tiliat
sh^ was in .the right, our heroine ;consb:led
herself by p.foc.eeding to ;criminate 'her
hnsband,; not in this .particular • instance;
where he;^ pleadeii guilty, but upon. ithe
geqeral .chaBge'iOf being; always late for
diflner, which . he sjtrenuously' denied,.
Pne mprnihg,. not long, after ithiS'little
dispute,: Griselda and her. husband were;
present, while Emma was busy showing^
;some poor .children how to: plait straw,
for hats. " .Next summer,-:my dear, when
we, are settlell at home," Mr. Bolingbroke
tprhisiady," ,I hope you will encourage
some manufacture of this,kind among ithe
children of our tenants." i
" 1 have no genius for teaching; manu-factures
of this sort,!' replied Mrs.; Bpiing-br^
oke, scornfully. Her husband urged
..the; matter no: further. . ;A few ..minutefe
afterwards, lie drew out a> straw; from a
bu.ndle which one of the children held. —
" This, is a fine straw," said he,-carelessly.
" Fine straw !" cried Mrs. Bolingbroke;
" no, that is very coarse. This " contin-ued
shCj pulling one Irom,another bundle,
" this is a fine straw, if you please."—"!
think mine is the finer " said Mr. Boling-broke.
" Then you must be blind, Mr. Boling-broke,"
cried the lady, eagerly comparing
them.—" Well, my dear,'' said he laugh
ing, " we will not dispute about straws.'
" No, indeed," said she ; " but I observe
whenever you know yen are in the wrong
Mr. Bolingbroke, you say, ' We will not
dispute, my dear : now, pray Look, at these
straws, Mrs. Granby, you that have eyeS
—which is the finer 7"
" I will draw lots," said Emma, taking
one playfully from Mrs. Bolingbroke
" for it seems to me that there is little or
no diflbrence between them."—" No dif-ference
? 0, my dear Emma ! " said Mrs
Bolingbroke-—my dear Griselda," cried
her husband, taking the other straw from
her, and blowing it away, " indeed, it is
not worth .disputing about • this is too
childish."
" Childish ? " repeated she, looking after
the straw, as it floated down tho wind;
" I see nothing childish in being in the
right: your raising your voice in that
manner never convinces ine. Jupiter is
always in the wrong, you know, when ho
has recourse to his thunder."
" Thunder, my dear Griselda, about a
straw !—Well, when women are deter-mined
to dispute, it is wonderful how in-genious
they are in finding subjects.
my wQrdaj I shojild havei made youioiie of
|ho(!prettiest sj;atu>te8 in; the ^orld.; ^ J^ut,
a as ! you are but an insensible stQUp find
yc^t ypM fire myi.'^pfvilrjiiyoupaeli': rtooiaining
cold as marble. Have pity Qn:me. ;,( j^no
onger iknowwhait I:§ay'; or da*-, ;^hen I
i ^ i^ragpji /tq; ^0¥ijiptnr,§r,;it is/ Cupid
column
of m^ihop^a*! pe^estftV.^pf i|iy; i|ia^ppii^ss,
cornice of my joy, if you make n^e.
^r fl W;iU raiseftjp you v.stetittes ;,?indi/.pyra-
., T.ptmp^rp w, >!l will .q^l fpr. ypur
pn$wer," . ., ---AuGusm/
I
give you joy, my dear, of having attained
the perfection of the a r t ; you can now lit-erally
dispute about straws."
Miss Edgeworih.
AN ARTIST'S LOVE LETTER.—A lady in
Paris recently received tho following epis-tle
from a smitten sculptor : "Divine Pob-ble—
were you not harder than porphyry
or agate, the chisel of my love, guided by
tho mallet of my fidelity, would have
made some impression upon you. I, who
iiave given every form to tho roughest
the lady, hastily. materials, had hoped th'it with tho com-
"You need not laugh ; for I know what pass of reason, the saw of constancy, tho
I am saying—the variation, the declina-! fino file of friendship, and tho polish of
A Good &toj>y f6r l^K^^rd,
It is probable tliat eyer^^ la\vyer' of
note has heard of the celebrated 'Luftier
Martin, of Maryland. His great efiortin
the,case of Aaron. Burr, as well as his dis-plays'in
the Seriate of the Uriited States,
will never he. fprgptten. Trifles in the
history of genius are important, as we
lope to §how in the story.
Mr. Martm was ph his \vay to Annapo
to attend the Suprepae; Court o£ the S'^ate
—A solitary passenger was in the stage
wit|3 him,;,and, as thei >veather was ex-trenjely
epld,itlie passengers soon; re^prt-pd
tOjponvers.atipn to divert thpgiselyes
irpm, top much sensibility .to. the i];icigm-ent
:vveath^. ; The ypUQg maji lcneW,Mar-tin
by sighjt, 4n4::.a(S hp wfi,S: abp a la^jyer,
the thread pf talk, s'pon began to spin itself
put p,fjlegal.m?ittprs. , ,
'f^r-lilartiaj'' sai^ .the young man.'
lanifjust entering on rny career, ^s a l^w-yerji.
pan you tell .mp the secret, of your
gi eat s.ijiQces^ ?. , If sir, ypu will, give ,me
fro|iLepxe|ience the key to distinction; at
the bar, I \yill—" 7
"Will what?" exclaimed Martin.
"Why, sir, I will pay your expenses
while you are in Annapolis."
"Done-, Stand to your bargain now,
and I'll furnish you with the great secret
of my success, as a lawyer."
The young man assented.
"A^ery well," said Mr Martin. "The
whole secret of my success is contained
in one little maxim, which I laid dWn
early to guide me. If you follow it, you
cannot fail tp succeed. It is this: Always
hi! sure of your-evidence.'^
The listener was very attentive—smil-ed—
threw himself back in a philosophical
postvre, and gave his brain to the analysis,
with true lawyer patience, of!—"Always
be sure of your evidence."
It was too cold a night for anything to
be made pecu'iarly out of the old man's
wi:^dom, and so the promising adept in
maxim learning gave himself to stage
dreams, in which he was knocking and
pushing- his way through the world by
the all powerful words, "Always be sure
of your evidence."
The morning came, and Martin, with
his student, took rooms at the hotel in the
city. The only thing peculiar to the hotel
in the eyes of the young man was that the
wine bottles and the etceteras of fine liv-ing
seemed to recall vividly the maxim
about the evidence.
The young man watched Mr. Martin.
Whenever eating and drinking were con-cerned
he was indeed a man to be watch-ed,
especially in the latter, as lie was im-moderately
fond of the after-dinner, after-s.
if>per, afier-everything luxury of wine.
A few days were sufficient to show the in-cipient
legalist tliat he would have to pay
dearly for his knowledge, as Mr. Martin
seemed resolved to make the most of his
part of the contract.
Lawyert*, whether young or old, have
legal rights, and so the young man begins
to think of the study of self-protection.
It was certainly a solemn duty. It ran
through all Cfeation. Oommon to animals
and men, it was a noble instinct not to be
disobeyed, particularly where the hotel
bills of a lawyer were concerned. Tho
subject daily grew on the young man. It
was all-absorbing to the mind aud pocket.
A week elapsed; Mr. Martin was ready
to return to Baltimore. So was tho