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632
THROUGH THE COKN-FIELD,
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
M'CLELLAN TO THE RESCUE.
THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM, FOUGHT SEPTEMBER 1?, 1862.—BURNSIL>E 1IOLDIMG THE HILL.—[SEK PAGJB CS4.J
INTO TUE WOODS.
C33

634 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [OCTOBER 4, 1862. OCTOBER 4,1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 635
THE CRIPPLE AT THE GATE.
LOOK I bow the hoofs and wheels to-day
flutter tbc diut on the broad highway,
When Beauty, and Fuhloo, and Wealth, and Pride
On aaddle and cuihlon serenely ride!
The very steeds hare a conscious prone*
Of pride In their elegant freight 1
Lore and laughter like Jeweli allp
From the sparkling eye and the merry lip:
You nerer would think that the Nation'* lift
Hung on the thread of a desperate strife,
Unless from thoe you ibould turn, by chance,
To the Cripple at the Gate.
Weary, and footsore, and ragged, and soiled.
Through the wuniner glare he bus slowly tolled
Along th« edge of the broad highway.
Since the early dawn of the westering day:
His ragi are flecked with the duity fcam
That flew from the gilded bits
Of the champing steeds that pawed him by;
And a haggard shadow IB In his eye,
Bnt It Is not the gloom of nn envious pain I
He hai left a limb on tlie battle-pUra,
And to win his way to hi* distant home
At my gate, a Beggar, be sits!
He tens me hli tula in a ilmple w»jri
•I had nothing," be >ay», "ncept my pay,
And a wife and four little girls, and «o
I wot all my money to (him, you know]
M hen I lost my limb. Sir—tot that I'm lame,
I do not complain, for, you see,
TU the fortune of war, and it might be wane;
And I'd tew the other to stop the curio
Of i his terrible strife! But I meant to aay,
When I let the hospital I'otlur day,
I did think I had a kind of a claim
To be aent to my village free.
"Don't you think It bird youirelf, Slrf True,
There's a hundred dollars of bounty duo
In three yenre, or when the wurV inded; but how
Long may that be—ran yon tell me nowf
I did not enlist fur bounty, I trust—
My eoBMlenoe I n rer hare sold;
But how don It look for a soldier to ' tramp,'
Bagging 111' way like a wgnbond scamp,
Fr..m the fields when be often risked hlr> life,
To the ln>me where he left hU uabca and wife.
In a uniform mide of tatters ami dust *
Instead of the 'blue and goldr
•Whose tanlt this It, Mr, I do not know,"
BnM the wnyworn mm an he row to pi;
"But of ihK alan. I am sure—the right
Of H soldier returning In such a p l^ht
To the bom,' wtvncu, a few «hort m- nthj ago,
He murclied In a gallant band.
Win music, and banner*, and shining steol
Will didl mor- ran to tiie battl -ptul.
And caiin more Ixwomi* with Couu* m a«cu,
Than the went traitor deuOllwt >puL
Dm't you seo yuursarting words. Her soldier was gone—her stake
n the war. Her hope of success seemed to have
died with him. She did not feel like weeping.
She scarcely knew that she felt at all; only the
cold, dull ache that made her clasp her hand tight
o her heart reminded her. She said to herself,
still calmly,
" I must go to Emily and tell her that I sent her
brother to his death."
She put on her things, and wondered vaguely
hat she did not weep as she saw her own still,
composed face in the glass.
Emily came to her, in the same room, the front
larlor at'School, where they had met first—came
n joyful with welcome, but started back appalled
by the white, still face she met. Miss Barclay
went up to her and said, drearily,.
1 ' Emily, I am all you have now. He is gone!"
The girl to whom the ill news came with such
ell suddenness burst into a passion of grief; and
hen, trying to comfort her, her friend wept also,
ind the tears were a strange solace. She took
!mily home with her—her sister from henceforth.
She might go back to schoo1 mother year, perhaps
—at present they had need of each other.
How dreary the months were which followed!
imily was the first to learn resignation for the
oss of her dead, who died so gloriously. Kate was
taunted forever, as he had feared she would be, by
he idea that she had sent him to his death; and
ot even the memory of his own assurances, those
generous last words uf his, could give her comfort.
The summer came—the summer of'62—bringing
irJ-song and blossom. The lonely salt-scented
ea-breeze rippled the waves, and shook the pine-
rees into melody. From afar Miss Barclay seemed
to catch scent and sound. It roused her to wish to
read the sea-side rocks, and press her careless foot-
teps in the white sands of the beach. They went
o a pleasant, quiet nook, which, as yet, not enough
people had found to spoil. And there the roses
an to come slowly back to Miss Barclay's
hcek, and the light to her eyes. She might grow
heerful again in time, she thought, if only her
ancy would cease to picture one awful scene—a
.tattle-field, where the eetting sun searched with
ed beams for the slain, and found one fade, a face
he knew, with clear honest eyes, and mouth that
would never smile more. Did they wound bim—
•nutilate him after he was dead? She had heard
uch things—she wished she could forget them.
Walking alone one* day, she heard on*he path
behind her voices — Emily's and another. She
nrned suddenly. Were her senses dazed? Did
she dream ? Do the dead walk ? She saw a face
over which Southern turf must have grown long
ago, unless it bleached wbite, unburied, on the
ghastly battle-field. Sight and sense failed her.
For the first time in her life she fainted. When
she recovered she saw only Emily. The child
spoke eagerly:
" It was my brother, alive, himself. He was
wounded, not dead. They took him prisoner, and
last week he was exchanged. When he came to
New York he found we were her*, and followed us."
She had poured the words into Kate's ear with
might and main, bent on making her understand
the truth lest she might faint again. But such
swoons do not happen twice in one day. Miss
Barclay comprehended all now, and was herself
again ; ready, with courteous greeting, for him who
came down the path—the returned warrior, with
the scar seaming his broad brow, and showing how
near he had come to the fate the had feared.
He had a furlough to get well in, he said, and
then he was going back.
Of course he staid with them there at Sea View
for a while, and of course they nursed and petted
him as women always do their returned braves.
It was strange how soon all the sadness went out
of Kate's heart, the melancholy out of her manner.
One day he said to her:
" You are too kind to me."
" I do not feel as if I could be," she answered,
" when I remember what you have suffered and
who sent you forth to the fight."
He did not speak again for a moment, and then
he asked a strange question:
" Miss Burclay, what should you think of a man,
an honest man, who loved a woman dearly, and
felt in his very soul that he was her peer, but did
not ask her to marry him because she was rii-h
and he was poor, and he knew the world would
brand him a fortune-hunter?''
Miss Barclay blushed, but she answered brave
ly:
" I should think poorly of a man's courage
whom the world's opinion could sway in the most
sacred matters of his heart and his life; and if he
believed the lady would ever remember on which
side the fortune was, I should wonder at him for
thinking her worthy of his love."
His eyes—those honest, earnest eyes—looked at
her with something in their glance which thrilled
her heart with a strange, new, timid joy. He only
said:
" Kate, you know I love you. When I fight
again who will pray for me at home? whose sol
dier shall I be ?"
I think her look told him before her words did,
but he bent tenderly to hear the answer:
"Mine!"
TWO REGICIDES.
SOME months ago an aspirant to martyrdom
"pro aris etfocis" was extinguished by a Prussian
tribunal in a simple but most effectual manner.
An ignominious sentence divested his antecedents
of every spark of romance, blighted his hopes of
immortality, stripped him of all claim to sympathy,
and degraded him to the status of a common male
factor.
A century has elapsed since Damiens sought •
niche^jn the Temple of Fame hy similar means. It
is curious to note the different treatment of the two
criminals, and the different sentiments their mem*
ory consequently evokes. They were both guilty
)f the same crime—both had raised a sacrilegious
land against one of those who, " by the grace of
God," rule over this earth; but the historian will
contemptuously record the name of Oscar Becker
ts that of a cowardly assassin, while he will over-
ook the heinous nature of Damiens' oflense in de
testation of his cruel judges.
"Whenever," says an eminent historian, "the
oflfense inspires less horror than the punishment
the rigor of penal law should give way to the com
mon feelings of mankind." The Supreme Court
of Berlin has practically acknowledged the trnth of
his aphorism; but it would seem that the French
egal luminaries of the eighteenth century held a
lifferent opinion. The sentence they passed upon
Damiens, for conspiring to assassinate Louis the
Tifteenth, wag death by torture.
In order to carry it out the more effectually,
earned physicians held long and frequent consulta
tions as to the amount of agony, and the kind of
agony the human frame could longest support be
fore death released it from suffering. Grave dis
sertations were published on the subject. Public
ixecutioners compared notes with the learned, the
brmer contributing their experience—the latter,
scientific theories. It wag at length determined to
begin with the torture of the boot.
The decision of this sanguinary Areopagus was
promptly acted upon. At twelve o'clock on the
ensuing night the criminal was conducted to the
orture-chamber of the Bastile, and the first act of
-he bloody drama began. Those gloomy walls that
lad looked down upon so many dark deeds never
witnessed a sadder'scene of human suffering. The
dim light of an iron lamp, suspended from the
vaulted roof, fell upon the stalwart forms of the
xecutioners, and a dark group of bronze-visaged
men who silently watched their proceedings.
"Wedge after wedge was driven in with a sickening
rash of human flesh and bone. The perspiration
xmred from the brows of the executioners as the
ull blow of their sledge-hammers echoed through
he dungeon, but not a sigh escaped the lips of the
tortured wretch. At length the physician, who
tood by with a hand on his fainting pulse, signed
o them to pause. Nature eould 1>ear no more.
The pale morning light, struggling through the
rated windows, fell on a mangled but still breath-
ng mass of humanity.
Weeks rolled on, and under the sedulous care of
ihysicians and nurses Damiens gradually regained
ii.i strength. The time approached for the com-
letion of the sentence.
It was • cold, bletk morning in February. Snow
had fallen during the night and still covered the
Place de Grove; bnt, nevertheless, every available
spot was occupied. The Faubourg St. Antoine had
disgorged its sans-culottic population. A sea of
human heads surged to and fro in unwieldy mass,
clinging to chimneys, clustered on the treei, bane-
ing on the roofs, they formed a brutal assemblage
—fit spectator* of a brutal drama. But in the
balconies and windows overlooking the "Place"
were hundreds of high-born ladies, many of them
youthful and beautiful. They smiled and coquet
ted with their cavaliers, diamonds sparkled, and
plumes waved in the winter wind. They were
come to enjoy a new sensation, and to evince their
loyal devotion to an outraged king. Some of the
prices paid for places were fabulous. For days pre-
_ vious to the execution nothing else was talked of
* in the good city of Paris.
A scaffold, erected at the northeastern extremity
of the " Place," rose in stern black lines above the
shifty multitude. In the centre was a chair firmly
fixed to the boards, and at one end a large stove.
Iron vessels containing resin, pitch, oil, wax, sul
phur, and lead bubliled and boiled on the furnace,
while the flames cast a lurid glow on tbe cruel,
swarthy countenances of the executioners as they
completed the preparations, or watched over the
seething caldrons.
The hoarse murmur of the crowd was now sud
denly hushed. A general movement and flutter
pervaded the fair occupants of the windows and
balconies. Damiens appeared, slowly mounting
the steps of the fcaffold.
The execuiioni-rs spent some minutes in firmly
binding him to the i-bair, from the back of which
extended a horizontal piece of wood about two feet
in length. To this his right arm was seoarely
strapped, his hand protruding just beyond it. Exe
cutioner No. 1 now advanced and held under it a
brazier tilled with sulphur. A horrible cry burst
from the wretched man. a cry tbat seemed to issue
from his very vitals, and that for months after" i rj
rang in the ears of the spectators. The ladies • I i.'.
dered: some nearly fainted, and retired a little «..y
from the windows. Soon they returned, refreshing
themselves with their smelling-bottles, and leveled
their glasses once more at the scaffold. There was
no fire visible. The sun had just burst through
the clouds, and effaced the pale flame, in which his
hand was slowly and invisibly burning. But a
nameless stench filled the air, and a thick fetid
smoke rose over the scaffold, gradually spreading
itself out, and hanging like a pall over criminal
and spectators, as if it wonld shut out the pitying
heavens from this scene of cruelty.
Damiens cried out no more. He sat quietly
looking at the blackened bones fast withering in
the flame.
Meanwhile the horrible caldrons were bubbling
and hissing, and the pincers of the Piovost's Court
of Paris were heating in tbe furnace. The worst
wag yet to come. A gigantic executioner now ad
vanced and tore the criminal's flesh with the red-
hot irons in six different places. His assistants
followed carrying spoonfuls of resin, oil, lead, pitch,
sulphnr, and wax, which they poured into the gap
ing incisions. Soon the breast, the arms, the thighs
were one awful wound. AH this time Faubonrg
St. Antoine and Faubourg St. Germain looked on
alike unsated; and the high-born dames of Lonia
the Fifteenth's court smiled and chatted with their
cavaliers, and looked and shrank back, and looked
again.
All wu not yet over. Damiens still breathed,
still suffered, and occasionally cried out. Four
horses were now led forward. The neble animals
were almost ungovernable. All the morning they
had struggled to escape from this dreadful spot;
from the cries and groans, the thick smoke and
alckening smell that filled the air. It was their
turn now to take the place of the executioner, who
could not find a fresh spot on the victim's body to
torment.
Damiens wag carried down the steps of the scaf
fold; the horses were hacked toward him as he lay
on the ground, and the nimble executioners made
fast the traces. The grooms loosed their heads,
and with a terrified snort they sprang forward.
But human thews and sinews were too strong for
them. They were thrown on their haunches, and
with a dull, heavy thud tbe body struck the
ground. Again and again they started. Urged
on hy blows and shouts they pulled, and pulled in
vain. A quarter of an hour passed away. Dami
ens still lived—still breathed. At intervals he
even raised big head and looked at the animals.
"Oh! those poor horses!" exclaimed Mademoi
selle de Priandeau, the young and beautiful niece
of the Financier Bouret.
Evening was approaching. The commissioners
appointed to preside over the execution were em
barrassed. 11 was necessary to carry it out accord
ing to the strict letter of the sentence, which di
rected the criminal to be quartered. The crowd,
too, was waxing indignant, and clamorously de
manded the cmip-de-ffract. They consulted to
gether, and at length ordered the muscles and ten
dons of the legs and arms to be severed. Once
more the horses plunged wildly forward—and thig
time all was over.
One of Bentham's discoveries in morals was that
the pleasures of malignity were only to be branded
as evil because they were leu than the pain given
in indulging them. In like manner all infliction of
punithment which gave more pain than it pnttntrj
from being girtn, was, in Benthamite philosophy,
to be regarded as leaving a balance of evil. With
out going so far as this, it is still indisputable that
the great end of all punishment, viz. prerention, is
never attained by excessive severity. On the con
trary, the very notoriety which such punishment
obtains, exercises an extraordinary morbid influ
ence over some minds, and actually incites them to
incur the same penalty. The excesses of the French
Revolution were the result of such scenes as those
here described. The thirst for blond that coartly
lords and ladies nurtured in the populace required
ere long to l>e slaked with theirs, and exacted •
terrible retribution.

HARPER'S WEEKLY. [OCTOBER 4, 1862. 4, 18R2.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. (537
U'KA, MISSISSIPPI, SCENE OF THE BATTLE OF SEPTEMBER I9ru AND 20Tir.-[FROM A SKETCH BY AK OFFICER OF GKNEK.VL UUELL'S ARMY.]
THE BATTLE AT IUKA.
WE publish above a view of the town of IUKA,
where General Rosecrans defeated the rebels on
19th and 20th. The town itself ia thus described:
Thli town perpetuates the nmnfl of a distinguished son
of the forest, who formerly dwelt on the prernl-^es. Wenry
and worn by hl> day's journey, the prisoner wu wont to
rat with aafet\ boncath I-u-k-a's roof; and tlir venerable
chief wu equally beloved and honored by whites nnJ In-
diaiu. Like the Immortal Logan, hi* nnme Is classed
with tlie brave and generous of hie race. He died on the
•pot about the year 1880-6.
luka was laid out as a town plot In April, 1857, and
numbtn three hundred population.
The following ia General Grunt's official account
of the battle:
IP*J, MiuiHirri, Sift. M, 1811.
To Itajor-Otnenl B. V. llalleck. General Ju-ChirS:
General Rosecnos, with Stanley's and Hamilton's di
vision* and MUener"s cavalry, attacked Price aonth of this
village nbout two hours before dark yesterday, and had *
sharp fight until night clued In. General Ord wns to the
north with an armed force of about GOOO men, and had
some skirmishing with the rebel pickets. This morning
the fight was renewed by General Rosecrans, who was
nearest to the town; but It was found Hat the enemy had
been evacuating during the night, going south. Gen
erals Hamilton and Stanley, with cavalr), are In full pur
suit.
This will no doubt break up the enemy, and possibly
force them to nuun Ion much of their artillery. The IMS on
rltlier vide, In kill, rt mid wounded, is from 4(10 to BOO. The
enemy's Ims In nrms, tents, etc., will bo large. We hnve
about 250 prim

638
HAEPEB'S WEEKLY.
[OCTOBER 4,1862. OCTOBER 4,1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 639
NO NAME.
BY WILKIE COLLINS,
AtrrnoB or "TUB WOMAN IK wmn," "DEAD ucarr,"
arc., no.
Her first thought was to tell him all that had
happened at North Shingles that morning. On
reflection, however, Bhe rejected the idea. Once
already (in copying the personal description from
Miss Garth's letter) the had trusted her weapons
in her roaster's hands, and Mr. Bygrave had con
trived to turn them against her. She resolved
this time to keep them strictly in her own pos
session. The secret of the missing fragment of
the Alpaca dress was known to no living creat
ure but herself; and, until her return to En
gland, she determined to keep it to herself. The
necessary impression might be produced on Mr.
Noel Vanstone's mind withont venturing into de
tails. She knew by experience the form of let
ter which might be trusted to produce an effect
on him, and she now wrote it, in these words:
11 DEAR MB. NOEL,—Sad news ba> reached me from
Switzerland. My beloved brother It dying, and his med
ical attendant summons me Instantly to Zurich. The se-
rioiu necessity of availing myself of the earliest means of
conveyance to the Continent leaves me but one alterna
tive. I must profit by the permission to leave England,
If necessary, which you kindly granted to me at Uie be-
£ uning of my brother's ULieu; and I must avoid all de.
y by going straight to London, Instead of turning aside,
as I should have liked, to we you first at St. Crux.
'•Painfully as I am affected by the family calamity
which has fallm on me, I can not let tblx opportunity
pass without adverting to another subject, whlcli serious
ly concerns your welfare, and In which (on that account)
your old housekeeper feels the deepest interest.
•' I am going to surprise and shock you, Mr. Noel. Fray
don't be agitated I pray compose yourself!
u The Impudent attempt to oheat you, which has hap
pily opened your eyes to the true character of our neigh
bors at North Shingle*, was not the only object which Mr.
Bygrave had In forcing himself on your acquaintance.
The Infamous conspiracy wltli which you were threatened
ID London has been In full progress against you, under
Mr. Bygrave'a direction, at Aldborough. Accldint—I will
tell you what accident when we meet—has put me In pos
session of Information precious to your future security. I
have discovered, to an absolute certainty, that the person
calling herself Mlw Bygrave Is no other than the woman
who visited us In dlsguUe at Vauxlull Walk.
« I suspected this from the first; but I had no evidence
to support my suspicions: I had no means of combating
the false Impression produced on you. My hands, I thank
Heaven, are tied no longer. I possess absolute proof of
the assertion that I have just made—proof that your own
eyes can set—proof that would satisfy you U you were
CHAPTER XI.
Judge In * Court of Ju.tice.
THE peat-mark and the handwriting on the
address (admirably imitated from the original)
warned Mrs. Lecount of the contents of the let
ter before she opened it.
After waiting • moment to compose herself
she read the announcement of her brother's re-
laps*.
There was nothing in the handwriting, there
was no expression in any part of the letter, which
could suggest to her mind the faintest suspicion
of foul. play. Not the shadow of a doubt oc
curred to her that the summons to her broth
er's bedside was genuine. The hand that held
the letter dropped heavily into her lap; she be
came pale, and old, and haggard, in a moment.
Thoughts far removed from her present aims and
interests, remembrances that carried her back to
other lands than England, to other times than
the time of her life in service, prolonged their in
ner shadows to the surface, and showed the traces
of their mysterious passage darkly on her face.
The minutes followed each other, and still the
servant below stairs waited vainly for the parlor
bell. The minutes followed each other, and still
she sat, tearless and quiet, dead to the present
and the future, living in the past.
The entrance of the servant, uncalled, roused
her. With a heavy sigh the cold aud secret wo
man folded the letter up again, and addressed
herself to the interest and the duties of the pass
ing time.
She decided the question of going or not going
to Zurich after a very brief consideration of it.
Before she had drawn her chair to the breakfast
table she had resolved to go.
Admirably as Captain Wragge's stratagem had
worked it might have failed—unassisted by the
occurrence of the morning—to achieve this re
sult. The very accident against which it had
been the captain's chief anxUty to guard—the
accident which had just taken place in spite of
him—was, of all the events that could have hap
pened, the one event which falsified every pre
vious calculation, by directly forwarding the
main purpose of the conspiracy I If Mrs. Le-
connt had not obtained the information of which
she was in search before the receipt of the letter
from Zurich the letter might have addressed her
in vain. She would have hesitated before de
ciding to leave Eugland, and that hesitation might
have proved fatal to the captain's scheme.
As it was, with the plain proofs in her posses
sion—with the gown discovered in Magdalen's
wardrobe; with the piece cut out of it in her
own pocket-book; and with the knowledge, ob
tained from Mrs. Wragge, of the very house in
which the disguise had been put on—Mrs. Le
count had now at her command the means of
warning Mr. Noel Vanstone as she had never
been able to warn him yet; or, in other words,
the means of guarding against any dangerous
tendencies toward reconciliation with the By-
graves, which might otherwise have entered his
mind during her absence at Zurich. The only
difficulty which now perplexed her was the diffi
culty of dividing whether she should communi
cate with her master personally or by writing be
fore her departure from England.
She looked again at the doctor's letter. The
word "instantly" in the sentence which sum
moned her to her dying brother was twice nn-
il lined. Admiral Bartram's honse was at some
di- nice from the railway; the time consumed
in driving to St. Crux, and driving back again,
might be time fatally lost on the journey to. Zu
rich. Although she wonld infinitely have pre
ferred a personal interview with Mr. Noel Van-
stone, there was no choice, on a matter of life
and death, but to save the precious hours by
writing to him.
After sending to secure a place at once in the
eul* coarti she sat down to write to her master.
n a court 01 JU.HCO.
••rerhens even yet, Mr. Noel, you wUl refuse to believe
me ? Be U SOL Believe me or pot. I have one but favor
to ask which your English sense of fair play will not deny
» This melancholy Journey of mine will keep me away
from England for a fortnight, or at most for three weeks.
You will oblige me— and you will certainly not sacrifice
your own convenience and pleasure — by staying through
that Interval with your friends at 81 Crux. If before my
return some unexpected circumstance throws you once
more Into tin company of the Bygnves ; and If your nat
ural kindness of heart Inclines you to receive the excuses
which they will In that case certainly address to yon, place
one trifling restraint on yourself, for your own sake, If not
for mine. Suspend your flirtation with the young lady (I
beg pardon of all other young ladies for calling her so I)
until my return. If, when I come back, I fall to prove
to you that Miss Bygrave Is the woman who wore that
disguise, and used those threatening words In Vauxhall
Walk, I will engage to leave your service at a day's no
tice; and I will atone for the sin of bearing false witness
against my neighbor by resigning every claim I have to
your grateful remembrance, on your father's account as
well as on your own. I make this engagement without
reserves of any kind; and I promise to abide by U, if my
proofs fall, on the faith of a good Catholic and the word of
an honest woman.
•• Your faithful servant,
YiBorarB LIOODHT."
The closing sentences of this letter — as the
housekeeper well knew when she wrote them —
erflbodied the one appeal to Mr. Noel Vanstone
which could be certainly trusted to prodnce a
deep and lasting effect. She might have staked
her oath, her life, or her reputation on proving
the assertion which she had made,- and have
failed to leave a permanent impression on his
mind. But when she staked not only her posi
tion in his service, bnt her pecuniary claims on
him as well, she at once absorbed the ruling
passion of his life in expectation of the result.
There was not a donbt of it in the strongest of
all his interests — the interest of saving his mon
ey ; he would wait.
•' Checkmate for Mr. Bygrare !" thought Mrs.
Lecount, as she sealed and directed the letter.
"The battle is over — the game is played out."
While Mrs. Leconnt was providing for her roas
ter's future security at Sea View events were in
full progress at North Shingles.
As soon as Captain Wragge recovered his as
tonishment at the housekeeper's appearance on
his own premises he hurried into the house, and,
guided hy his own forebodings of the disaster
that had happened, made straight for his wife's
room.
Never, in all her former experience, had poor
Mrs. Wrafige felt the full weight of the cap-
. tain's indignation as she felt it now. All the
little intelligence she naturally possessed van
ished at once in the whirlwind of her husband's
rage. The only plain fact* which he could ex
tract from her were two in number. In the firbt
place, Magdalen's rash desertion of her post
proved to have no better reason to excuse it
than Magdalen's incorrigible impatience : she
had passed a sleepless night ; she had risen fe
verish and wretched ; and she had gone ont,
reckless of all consequences, to cool her burning
head in the fresh air. In the second place, Mrs.
Wragge had, on her own confession, seen Mrs.
Lecount, hau talked with Mrs. Leconnt, and had
ended by telling Mrs. Leconnt the story of the
ghost. Having made these discoveries, Captain
Wragge wasted no more time in Contending with
his wife's terror and confusion. He withdrew
at once to a window which commanded an unin
terrupted prospect of Mr. Noel Vanstone's house,
and there established himself on the watch for
events at Sea View, precisely as Mrs. Lecount
had established herself on the watch for events
at North Shingles.
Not a word of comment on the disaster of the
morning escaped him when Magdalen returned
and found him at his post. His flow of language
seemed at Inst to have mn dry. " I told yon
what Mrs. Wrngge would do," he said; "and
Mrs. Wragge has done it." He sat unflinch
ingly at the window, with a patience which Mrs.
Lecount herself could not have surpassed. The
one active proceeding in which he seemed to
think it jiecesoary to engage was performed by
deputy. He sent the servant to the inn to hire
a chaise and a fast horse, and to say that he
would call himself before noon that day and tell
the hostler when the vehicle would be wanted.
Not a sign of impatience escaped him until the
time drew near for the departure of the early
conrh. Then the captain's curly lips began to
twitch with nnxiety, and the captain's restless
fingers teat the devil's tattoo unintermittingly
on the window-pane.
The rumbling wheels were heard at last, the
coach drew up at Sea View, and Captain
Wragge's own observation informed him that
one among the passengers who left Aldborongh
that morning was Mrs. Lecount.
The main uncertainty disposed of, a serious
qnestion—suggested by the events of the morn
ing—still remained to be solved. Which was
the destined end of Mrs. Lecount's journey—
Zurich or St. Crux? That she would certainly
inform her roaster of Mrs. Wragge's ghost story,
and of every other disclosure in relation to names
and places which might have escaped Mrs.
Wragge's lips, was beyond all donbt. But of
the two ways at her dis)>osal of doing the mis
chief—either personally or by letter—it was vi
tally important to the captain to know which she
had chosen. If she had gone to the admiral's,
no choice would be left him but to follow the
coach, to catch the train by which she traveled,
and ontstrip her afterward on the drive from the
station in Essex to St. Crux. If, on the contra
ry, she had been contented with writing to her
master, it would only be necessary to devise
measnres for intercepting the letter. The cap-
fain derided on going to the post-office in the
first place. Assuming that the housekeeper had
written, she would not have left the letter at the
mercy of the servant—she would have seen it
safely in the letter-box before leaving Aldbor
ough.
"Good-morning," said the captain, cheerful
ly addressing the postmaster. "I am Mr. By-
grave, of North Shingles. I think you have a
letter in the box addressed to Mr. ——?"
The postmaster was a short man, and conse
quently a man with a proper idea of his own
importance. He solemnly checked Captain
Wraggo in full career.
"When a letter is once posted, Sir, :> no said,
" nobody out of the office has any business with
it until it reaches its address."
The captain was not a roan to be dnnnted,
even by a postmaster. A bright idea struck him.
He took out his pocket-book, in which Admiral
Bertram's address was written, and returned to
the charge.
" Suppose a letter has been wrongly directed
by mistake?" he began. "And suppose the
writer wants to correct the error after the letter
is put in the box?"
"When a letter is once posted, Sir," reitera
ted the unpenetrable local authority, "nobody
out of the office touches it on any pretense what
ever." Granted with ail nut neart," persisted the
cnptain. "I don'i .v, ifm to touch it—I only
want to explain myself. A lady has posted a
letter here addressed to 'Noel Vnnstone, Esq.,
Admiral Bartram's, St. Crux iu the Marsh, Es
sex.' She wrote in a great hurry, and she is not
quite certain whether she added the name of the
post-town, ' Ossory.' It is of the last import
ance that the delivery of the letter should nut
be delayed. What is to hinder yonr facilitating
the post-office work, and obliging a lady, by add
ing the name of the post-town (if it happens to
be left ont) with your own hand? I pnt it to
yon as a zealons officer—what possible objection
can there be to granting my request f"
The postmaster was compelled to acknowl
edge that there could be no objection, provided
nothing hut. r. necessary line was added to the
address; provided nobody touched the letter but
himself; and provided the precions time of tha
post-office was not suffered to run to wasta. As
there happened to be nothing particular to do at
that moment, he wonld readily oblige the lady at
Mr. Bygrave's request.
Captain Wragge watched the postmaster's
hands, as they sorted the letters in the box, wilh
breathless eagerness. Was the letter there?
Would the bands of the zealons public servant
suddenly stop? Yes! They stopped, and picked
a letter out from the rest.
" ' Noel Vanstone, Esq.,' did you pay?" asked
the postmaster, keeping the letter in his own
hand.
" 'Noel Vanstone, E«q.,' replied the captain,
" 'Admiral Bartram's, St. Crux in the Marsh.'"
" ' Ossory, Essex,' " chimed in the postmaster,
throwing the letter back into the box. "The
lady has made no mistake, Sir. The address is
quite right."
Nothing but a timely consideration of the heavy
debt he owed to appearances prevented Captain
Wragge from throwing his tall white hat up into
the air as soon ns he found himself in the street
once more. All further doubt was now at an
end. Mrs. Lecount had written to her master,
therefore Mrs. Leconnt was on her way to Zu
rich!
With ms head higher than ever, with the tails
of his respectable frock-coat floating behind him
in the breeze, with his bosom's native impudence
sitting lightly on its throne, the cnptain strutted
to the inn and called for the railway time-table.
After making certain calculations (in black and
white, as a matter of course), he ordered his
chaise tt be ready in an hour, so as to reach the
railway i. time for the second train running to
London, v th which there happened to be no
communica ion from Aldborough by coach.
His next proceeding was of a far more seri
ous kind; his next proceeding implied a terrible
certainty of success. The day of the week was
Thursday. From the inn he went to the church,
saw the clerk, and gave the necessary notice for
a marriage by license on the following Monday.
Bold as he WHS, his nerves were a little shaken
by this last achievement; his hand trembled as
it lifted the latch of the garden gate. He doc
tored his nerves with brandy-and-water before
lie sent for Magdalen to inform her of the pro
ceedings of the morning. Another outbreak
might reasonably be expei-ted when the heard
that the last irrevocable step had been taken, and
that notice had been given of the wedding-day.
The captain's watch warned him to lose no
time in emptying bis glass. In a few minutes he
sent the necessary message up stairs. While
waiting for Magdalen's appearance he provided
himself with certain materials which wen now
necessary to carry the conspiracy to its crowning
point. In the first place, he wrote his assumed
nnme (by no means in so fine a hand as nsual)
on a blank visiting-card, and added, underneath,
these words: " Not a moment is to be lost. I
am waiting for yon at the door—come down t«
me directly." His next proceeding was to take
some half dozen envelopes out of the case, and
to direct them all alike to the following address:
" Thomas Bygrave, Esq., Mtissared's Hotel, Salis
bury Street, Strand, I.on-ion." After carefully
placing the envelopes and ;he card u: his breast
pocket he shut up the dcs>k. As he rose froiH
the writing-tublc Mngdalcn came into the room.
The captain tcr.k n Tioment to decMi on the
best meth Hunting, H'hinc, and m«ny othtr flrmt
firrrrtu all In the Hi-knf Hon&r*. 7,BOO fold. 8thEd.
Price only 20c. 8 for*!. Mailed fret- Address
* (B. E. HBSTES & C«., HUn*ue, N. H.
J. H. Winslow & Co.
100,000
Watches, Chains, Beta of Jewelry, Gold
Pens, Bracelets, Lockets, Rings, Gent's
Fins, Sleeve Buttons, Studs, &c., &c.
Worth $500,000,
To b* gold for ONE DOLLAR each, without regard
to valve, and not to be paid/or until you knote what you
are to gH. Send for Circular containing full lilt and
particulars. Send 26 cents for a Certificate.
Certificates of all the various articles, stating what each
one can have, are first put Into envelopes, sealed np, and
mixed; and when ordered, are taken out without regard
to choice, and s nt by mall, thus giving all a fair chance.
On receipt of the Certificate you will see what you can
hare, and then U Is at your option to-send one dollar and
take the article or not.
In ail transactions by mall, we shall charge for forward-
Ing the Certificates paying postage, and doing the business,
26 cents each, which must be enclosed when tbe oejtlficate
Is sent for. Five Certificates win be sent for $1, eleVen for
$2, thirty for $fi, sixty-fire for $10, and one hundred for $115.
AOENTB.—Those acting as Agents will be allowed ten
cents on every certificate ordered by them, provided their
remittance sunounts to one dollar. Agents will collect 26
cents for every Certificate and remit 16 cents to us. either
In cash or postage stamps. Great caution should be used
hy our correspondents in regard to giving their correct ad
dress, Town, i 'ounty, and state. Addre.-s
J. H. WINSLOW & CO*
208 Broadway, New York.
N.B. We wish It distinctly understood that all articles
of Jewelry not giving perfect satisfaction can be returned
and tlit money will be refunded.
BURNETT'S
Cooking Extracts.
Hontelceepen will find Buroett's Cooking Extracts an
agreeable and economical assistant in their labors. They
have the endorsement of the fint Hotels In tbe States and
Canada*.
BvBNETT'e FLAVOBINQ EXTRACTS, In their delicacy and
strength, rival the frnlt from whlcli they are prepared,
and are less expensive.
AGENTS WANTED, t^o Humbug /] CmouLABa FUB.
"The Craiff Microscope"
Magnifies small objects 10,000 times. So simple that a
child muy use it A most Miitable present for any person.
Price by mail, $2 26; with six mounted objects, $3. Ad
dress HENRY CRAIO, 181 Centre Street, New York.
BEAUTY.—Hunt's Bloom of Roses, a charming and
perfectly natural color for the cheeks, or lips. Will not
wash off, but remains durable for years. Can only be re
moved with vinegar, and warranted not to Injure the skin.
Used by the celebrated Court Beauties of Europe exclu
sively. Mailed free from observation for one dollar.
HUNT A CO., Perfumers, 133 8. Seventh St., Phllad.

G40
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
THAT DRAFT.
JLFF DAVIS. "Mint the Door. SLIDF.LL ALEXANDER, I'm Bliivering nil over! That Draft from the North will be the death of me— 1
' ALEXANDER ""C-c-onnt shut it, Mne«n. Ann TINOH.N ©t ffot ha Back ©gainst it. Better try n little 'o dis de Doctor left yer."
THE REBEL CHIVALRY
As the Fancy of "My Maryland" painted them. As "My Maryland" found them.
ADVERTISKMF.NTS.
Dime Books for the Month.
Men cf the Time. Nc. 1.
Being biographic* of
IIALI.ECK, PRKNTISS,
POPE, KEARXr.Y,
BIEOEL, HATCH,
COKCORAN, ACGVB.
The T lie of MnJor.Q«Denl
GEO. B. McCLELLAN.
Ague* Falkland.
A Story of Continental Timo".
It Introduce u» to thf* bartlc-fivids of Lcxlngtoo, P.un-
ker Hill, llio fatal expedition against Qurbor, the Hone cf
IVcton, Ac Through all rum the electric chain of an
"old-time" love, when love ennobled man, and rendered
women heroic.
Ten Cent' eich. For sale by all Dock and Ncirs Deal-
en. Sent, post irilil, on receipt of price.
BICADLE & CO., iniblhhen, New York.
GOLD FENS
Retailed at wholesale price*. Orders eent by InfliU

642
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
[OCTOBER 11, 1862.
L.
"MY MARYLAND."
All me! I've had enough of thee,
Maryland, my Maryland 1
Dear landl Thou art too dear for me,
Maryland, my Maryland 1
I'll take the nearest ford aud go,
I'll leave thee, darling, to the foe,
But do not let him kick me so,
Maryland, my Maryland I
You've dashed my hopes, nugrnteful State,
Maryland, my Maryland!
Gol bless your stars I came too late,
Maryland, you understand!
I meaut to dress you well in black,
And scar you with the battle's track,
And I had scourges for your back,
Maryland, my contraband!
Oh where are Longstreet, Hill, and Lee?
Maryland, my Maryland!
And " Stonewall" Jackson, where is he ?
Maryland, my Maryland!
Four coat-tails streaming in the breeze,
And that is all a body sees;
Better than dangling from tbe trees,
• Maryland, my Maryland!
Gray geese are flying southward, ho!
Maryland, O Maryland! •
It's getting cold up there, you know,
Maryland, O Maryland!
I should have thought it rather warm,
South Mountain yonder took by storm,
Antietam yielded in alarm,
Maryland, O Maryland!
Blood-red my hand, and dead my heart,
Native land, my native land!
Columbia from her grave will start,
• Murder'd land, my murder'd land!
Thy flag is like a sword of fire,
I'll fly, I'll fly its veugeful ire,
, Beneath its stroke its foes expire,
Native land, my native land!
M'Clcllan, then the chances of the Democratic I
party will be very fuir indeed.
But if Seymonr can not stand upon the Presi
dent's proclamation, it will become the clearest
duty of every loyal citizen to vote against him,
and to see to it that for the honor of the State
of New York he is defeated hy an overwhelming
majority.
In time of peace honest men divide on ques
tions of minor importance, and of local or tem
porary policy, without involving any question
of their loyalty. In time of war there can be
but two parties—the party in favor of the coun
try, and the party in favor of the enemy. Any
mau who opposes the Government on funda
mental questions of public policy, at the pres
ent crisis, is a public enemy and nn ally of the
rebels. There may have been, nnd there may
be, many points upon which honest citizens may
differ with the President. But this is not the
time to discuss thelh. The question now is,
whether the nation shall ho saved or lost?
Those who are in favor of its being saved will
support the recognized Government even in
measures which they do not heartily approve.
Those who are in fevor of its being lost will as
sail the Government by opposing its policy, and
thus crippling its efforts to maintain the Union.
On and after 1st January next the war will
be carried ou not only for die restoration of the
Union, but for the protection of over threo mill
ion black men in the enjoyment of liberty. Can
Horatio Seymour heartily help to prosecute the
war on this basis ? If he can not, then he is an
enemy of the United States, and if New York
elects him, it will be a triumph for Jefferson
Davis.
that blithe earnestness, that religious /aith, by
which alone the great victory is to be won.
At the beginning of the war Lieutenant-Colonel
Dwiglit devoted himself, with the aid of friends,
to raising the Massachusetts Second Regiment, of
which he went into the field as Major. The regi
ment was assigned to Banks's division, and, with
the exception of a rapid march to cover the Tetreat
from Ball's.Bluff, it remained inactive until the
advance into the Shenandoah Valley in the early
spring. In the retreat from the valley the regi
ment protected the rear, passing through a sharp
engagement in the streets of Winchester, and Ma
jor Dwight, commanding the rear-guard, was
wounded and captured. Ha was presently pa
roled, and upon the elevation .of Colonel Gordon to
a brigadiership Major Dwiglit was made Lieuten
ant-Colonel, and was exchanged in time to.join
his regiment after the battle of Cedar Mountain,
where it was so fearfully cut up. The regiment
marched with the army into Maryland, and at the
battle of Sharpsburg, after riding triumphantly
along the line of his regiment, showing the men
the rebel colors they had taken, Ue was talking
with hia Colonel, when ho was struck by a ball.
" Colonel, I think I am hit," he said; reeled, fell,
and died after two days.
Wilder D wight went to the war, with the clear
est knowledge of its object, and of the desperation
with which it was to be fought. With the most
cheerful calmness he looked death in the face: of
fered his joyous youth, his high hopes, the bright
promise of his future, as so many of his friends had
done, a glad sacrifice to God and his fellow-men,
and God has accepted it. Oh, not in vain! not in
vain 1 The costly lieurt'a-blood of all these young
and brave shall not be wasted. Every sacred drop
is counted, every pang of wound or disease remem
bered. -Mid the cause of human liberty, which is the
precious care of the country they died to save from
the most cruel barbarism, shall be hallowed forT
ever by t je memory of their valor.
OCTOBER 11,1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 643
OUT OF THE FOG.
' HARPER'S WEEKLY.
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 11, 1862.
THE STATE ELECTION.
fTIIIE contest for Governor in this State pos-
_L (esses an importance scarcely second to that
of the contest iu the Held on the banks of the
Fotomac or in the plains of Kentucky. A sin
gular chance has arrayed the two parties who
divide the North squarely and fairly against each
other.
HORATIO SEYMOUR is a man of large political
experience and decided ability. lie has been
Governor. His integrity has not beeu question
ed. Whatever be the character of his leading
supporters, his own is without stain. He pre
sents himself as a war Democrat. He is in fa
vor of the prosecution of the war. Though he
rather intimates, in his speech accepting the
nomination, that the responsibility for the war
rests with the North, not the Sonth—In other
words, that it was the sheep's fault he was so
tender, and the wolf couldn't help eating him—
be is ready to overlook the initial fault com
mitted by the Northern people, and to accept
their cause with all its demerits.
JAMES S. WADSWORTH is a farmer of large
means: born rich, handsomely educated, now a
millionaire. Inexperienced in political life,
he first loomed into notice when, fifteen months
ago, he chartered and loaded a steamer with
provisions for our troops, then beleaguered nt
Annapolis. Since then he has become a Gen
eral, and it is charged against him that, while
under the command of M'Clellan, he spoke and
wrote in such wise as to bring his commander
into disrepute; that he disapproved of his poli
cy, and was so reckless of discipline as to sneer
publicly and privately at his being in command
of the army. For the rest, General Wadsworth
has fairly described himself as having been cho
sen hy a Convention ot meu who were in earn
est because they knew that he was in earnest.
If it can be substantiated that General Wads-
worth is au enemy of General M'Clellan, and
that while acting under his orders he worked
•with the politicians who were bent on under
mining and ruining him, and wrote and spoke
publicly against his commanding officer, he will
lose a large number of votes which he would
otherwise have polled. At the hour we write
an immense majority of the people of New York
believe that General M'Clellan is not only an
alilc General, hut is the best General we have
for the command of the Army of the Fotomac,
arc! that he has been hnrdly used by the poli
ticians at Washington. If the M'Clcllan issue
be fairly raised, and Wadsworth be placed before
the people as the champion of the an'1-M'Clel-
lan party, he will lose not only thr entire 'Dem
ocratic, but a large proportion 'illiant: all
this was true. But so the rebels hud fought well;
and while we had some advantages, they had Har
per's Ferry; and after the fourth day's fighting the
issue was still doubtful. Where, then, waa the
"glorious victory" which had been thundered in
our ears all the week ?
Still, the newsmongers of all stations have high
authority. When the English line fell back a lit
tle at Waterloo, and the final and fatal charge of
French cavalry was ordered, Napoleon sent off a
courier to Paris with tbe news of his "glorious
victory." But his messenger had hardly left the
roar of the battle behind him when the day was lost
to France. If we are to imitate Napoleon, however,
let it be in his power, not in his weakness; in his
battles, not in his bulletins; in his marvelous ra
pidity, concentration, and persistence, not in his
decei( and grandiloquence. This is a war of the
people, not of a party, or of a general, or of a clique.
Let ns have the naked facts, and we can supply
them with the necessary rhetoric.
THE TEST QUESTION.
SINCE the war began and the only public ques
tion of moment was the maintenance of the Gov
ernment and the unconditional surrender of the
rebellion, we have advocated in these columns the
use of every constitutional means.to that end. We
have urged every man to bear constantly in mind
the character and scope of the struggle, and to
make every act and vote of his tell in the stron
gest manner against the rebellion. Whether he
were a Republican or a Democrat, we have as
sumed that he had forgotten those names for the
time, and wished to be known only as a patriot.
The question of the particular course the ship was'
to steer was lost in the question of saving the ship
itself. We are still engaged in the work. All
hands are called to the pumps. The question still
is, not shall we sail North or South? but shall we
sail at all?
In the coming elections, therefore, the test ques
tion is, what result will please the rebels most?
Here are candidates for Congress, for Governor,
and for other offices. Even allowing that all are
equally honest, whose success do Davis, Toombs,
& Co. desire ? m
If you can settle that question, and find those
candidates, those are the men you are to vote
against. The men whom the rebels most detest,
the Generals they most hate, the measures they
most denounce, are the men, Generals, and meas
ures for every sincerely and wholly loyal citizen.
HUMORS OF THE DAY.
CUTTING off two feet from a man Is making abort work
of him. ______ ______
" I sJy, Jim, are there any bears in your country in
the winter?" "Y-e-s; the Ice bears 1"
The herb doctors think that, to ba healthy and vigorous,
a man, like a tree, must take root.
The young lady who took the geutleman'6 fancy has re
turned it with thanks.
The man who attempted to whistle a bar of soap has in
jured his voice by trying to sing a stave off a barrel.
A railroad conductor, out of employment at present,
wants to know when the >' Equinoctial line" is to be open
ed, as be thinks of applying-for A situation.
LOVE.—At three yean of age we love our mothers; at
aiz, our fathers; at ten, holidays; at sixteen, dress; at
twenty, our sweet-hearts; at twenty-five, onr wives; at
forty, our children; at sixty, ourselves.
" Mr. T3mlth, I wjsh to speak to you privately. Permit
me to take you apart a few momenta."
SMITH (who wasn©t the least frightened). "Certainly,
Sir, if you'll promise to put me together again."
Mrs. Partlngton.eays.she baa heard of but one old woman
who kissed her cow, but she knows of many thousand
younger ones who have kissed very great calves.
A preacher in a funeral aennon on a lady, after Bum-
mlng up all her good qualities, added, " that ahe always
reached her husband his hat without muttering.'1
" I repeat," said a person of questionable veracity, " that
I am an hoaeat man." "Xcs," was the reply, "and how
often will you have to repeat it before you believe it your-
sclfr" ____________
Can knocking a man down with a loaf of bread strictly
ba called smiting hta with the "staff of lifer*
TBE VtEY TBTMO.—"Then I'll bring a suit for my
bill," said an enraged tailor to a dandy, who refused to
payhim. "Do,mydearfellowl" replied the imperturba
ble swell, pointing to hla threadbare clothes; " that's just
what I want." ______ ______
Why Is a man's coat larger when he pulls it out of a
carpet-bag? Because be finds it la-creaies.
Why is a widower like a bouMtn a state of dilapidation ?
Because he should ba re-paired.
"Don't want you any longer," Bald an employer to a
very tail clerk.
I " Look well before you leap," Is very good advice in Its
way: but how can sickly-looking people follow it?
Physicians should maks good Bailors, they an BO thor
oughly used to see eidcnem.
" What blessings children axe," as the parish-clerk said
when he took tbe fees for christening them.
A man Isn't likely to die fmm having his head carried
away in a fight, if 'tis his legs that carry it away.
Troubles are like dogs—the smaller they are the more
they annoy you.
Modesty In woman Is like color on her cheeks—decidedly
becoming, if not put on.
Why Is It vulgar to send a telegram? Because it It
RJCAL INN-DKPKNDENGI.—Living at a hotel as long as
you like, and going away without paying the bill.
Act upon your owu conviction, or it may be the sheriffs
duty to act upon your conviction before vou are much
older. ______ ______
" You look as though you were beside yourself," said a
wag to a fop standing by a donkey.
A juryman having applied to the Recorder to be excused
from serving, on account of deafness, the latter asked,
tL43ould you not hear my charge to the grand jury, Blr?'*
"Yes, I heard every word of it," was the reply, "but
couldn't make any sense of it."
While thousands fall by clashing swords, ten thousand
fall by corset boards; yet giddy females (thoughtless
train 1) for sake of fashion yield to pain.
A Parisian robber, who was seized in the act of stealing
from the shop of a tobacconist, said, by way of excusing
himself, that he had never heard of a law which forbade a
man to fake enutf.
A musical composer having been asked if he had done
any thing lately, said, » Yes, my last work was a compo
sition with my creditors."
A theoretically benevolent man, on being asked b? a
friend to lend him a sovereign, answered briskly, " With
pleasure;" but suddenly added, " Dear me, how unfor-
tuuate 1 I've only one lending sovereign, and it is out."
A lively Hibernian exclaimed, at a party where Theo
dore Hook shone as the evening star, " Och, Master Theo
dore, but you are the hook that nobody can bait."
Robert Hall was unhappy in his courtship of Miw BteeL
While he was yet smarting beneath the disappointment
he went out to tea. The lady of the .house said, with no
very good taste, " Vou are dull, Mr. Hall; we have no
polished steel here to entertain yon." "Oh, madam,
that's not the slightest consequence; you have plenty of
polished brass 1"
Among the expedients adopted by the sutlen to sell
contraband liquor to tbe soldiers one ts exceedingly novel.
They drop a couple of peaches into a bottle of whisky, and
sell the compound as "pickled peaches 1" A more irrev
erent expedient is to have a tin can made and painted like
a hymn-book, and labeled " The Bosom Companion I"
A one-legged Welsh orator, named Jones, was pretty
successful in bantering an Irishman, when the latter asked
him, "How did you come to lose your leg?" "Well,"
said Jones, " on examining my pedigree and looking up
my descent, t found there was some Irish blood in me,
and becoming convinced it was all settled in that left leg,
I had it cut off at once." " Be the powers," said Pat, " it
*ud av been a good thing if it had .only settled in yer
head."
Why are indolent persons' beds too short for them?
Because they are too long in them. ^
What port Is Bought by every living creature ?—Sup
port.
DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE.
A PROCLAMATION.
By the President of the United Slatei of America:
Whereat, It has become necessary to call Into service,
not only volunteers, but aiso portions of the militia of the
Btates by draft, in order to suppress the insurrection ex
isting in the United States, and disloyal persons are not
adequately restrained by the ordinary processes of law
from hindering this measure, and from giving aid and com.
fort in various waya to the insurrection. Now, therefore,
be it ordered, that during the existing insurrection, and as
a necessary measure for suppressing the same, all rebels
and insurgents, their aiders and abettors within the United
Btates, and all persons discouraging volunteer enlistments,
resisting militia drafts, or guilty of any disloval practice
affording aid and comfort to the rebels against the author
ity of the United States, shall be subject to martial law,
and liable to trial and punishment by courts-martial or
military commission.
Second: That the writ of habetu corpui Is impended in
respect to all persons arrested, or «ho are now, or here
after during the rebellion shall be, imprisoned in any fort,
camp, arsenal, military prisons, or other place of confine
ment, by any military authority, or by the sentence of any
court-martial or military commission.
In witness whereof, I have hereunto set'my hand, and
caused the seal of the United States to be affixed.
Done at the City of Washington, this Twenty-fourth
day of September, in the year of our Lord one thousand
eight hundred and sixty-two, and of the Independence of
the United States the eighty-seventh.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
By the President.
WILLIAM H. SXWAKD, Secretary of State.
THI ARMY OF THE POTOMAC.
There Is nothing new from the army of the Fotomac.
General M'Clellan is encamped on the Maryland side, his
army stretching from Willlamsport to Harper's Ferry.
The rebels are believed to have fallen back in the direc
tion of Winchester. On 26th General Griffin crossed at
Blackburn's Ford and made a reconnolssance for a con
siderable distance without meeting any enemy in force.
Several reconnoitring parties hnve been sent out in the
direction of Centrevllle, but no force of the enemy could
be found. A few cannon, abandoned by the rebels In the
neighborhood of Mantissas, were found and brought In.
General Stahel proceeded as far as Brentsvllle, and dis
persed a band of guerrillas who were lurking in that vi
cinity.
Till WAR IN KENTUCKY.
General Buell with the bulk of his army arrived at
Louisville on 26th, having outstripped Bragg, and forced
him to fail back toward the east The two armies are still
manoeuvring, and a battle is expected somewhere in th«
Blue Grass country. Whether General Morgan still holds
Cumberland Gap, or has advanced to Richmond, Ken.
tucky, is an undecided question. Several of the gaps In
the mountains have been closed by detachments from
Bucll's army. General Buell's army at latest dates waa
at and about Bhepherdsvllle, and Bragg's near Bardstown.
The excitement at Louisville, some account of which Is
given on page 654, has entirely subsided.
On 22d Colouel M'Cook's cavaiiy brigade succeeded in
recapturing Munfordaville, driving out the rebel cavalry,
who lost a colonel and a lieutenant-colonel in the engage
ment. Our loss was slight.
Several small equads of rebels were captured during the
march ol Knell's forces.
MDKDBB OF GENERAL NKL8ON.
MaJor-General Wm. Nelson was killed on 29th in Louis
ville by Brigadier-General J. C. Davits. It is said that
Davis met Nelson in the hall of the Gait House, and at-
tempted to speak with him—that Nelson refused to listen,
turning away from him. That Davis followed and again
addressed him, when Nelson turned and said, "Do you
wish to insult me, you cowardly puppy?" a»d struck him
over the head. Davis retired, and got a pistol from an
other officer, and then pushed through the crowd and shot
Nelson through the breast, mortally wounding him. Nel-
Bon waikea up stairs, Baying that he was murdered, and
died in about half an hour. From all the statements thus
far at band, it seems that General Nelson treated General
Davis with unbearable insult.
RBBKL8 AT AUGO9TA, KENTUCKY.
From Augusta, Kentucky, we are informed that, on a
date not named, the place was attacked by 640 mounted
rebels, with two cannon, under the command of a brother
of the guerrilla John Morgan. The Union forces, under
Colonel Bradford, numbering 120 men, took refuge in
houses and fired from windows, kitting and wounding 80
of the rebels. Among the rebels killed were three captains,
one of them a younger brother of John Morgan. Among
the rebels mortally wounded was Lieutenant-Colonel Pren
tice, a son of George D. Prentice, editor and proprietor of
the Louisville Journal. Our loss waa 9 killed and IB
wounded. The remainder of our forces were taken prls.
onen. Subsequently a Union force from Maysvllle inter
cepted and attacked the rebels, when they fled in a perfect
panic. The result of the pursuit has not yet been learned.
THK CONVKNTION OF GOVKKNOK8.
The Convention of the Governors of the loyal States
commenced on 26th ult. at Altoona, Pennsylvania. There
were sixteen States represented in the Convention, the
following Governors neither being present themselves nor
sending proxies: E. D. Morgan, Republican, of New York;
William A. Buckingham, Republican, of Connecticut;
William Burton, Democrat, of Delaware; Charted Kob-
inson, Republican, of Kansas; Austin Blair, Republican,
of Michigan; Alexander Ramsay, Republican, of Minne
sota ; John Wliittaker, Democrat, of Orepnn; Leland
Stanford, Republican, of California. The official record
of the Governors' meeting shows that they discussed, and
with a single exception adopted, an address to the PresL,
dent actting forth the following points: First. A cordial
prraonnl and official respect for tbe President. Second. A
determination, under all circumstances, to support and
maintain the President's constitutional airthority, the Gov-
ernon therein speaking for themselves and the people of
their respective States. Third. Pledging to the President
their aid In all measures calculated to bring the war to an
early termination, which should be prosecuted to ultimate
victory unless ail the rebels should return to tin Ir consti
tutional duty and obedience. Fourth. Congratulating the
President npon his Proclamation to emancipate the slaves,
believing it will be productive of good aa a measure of
justice, humanity, and sound policy. Fifth. Referring to
the wants of the soldien who have fought our battles. Tills
address was the whole story; no counter-propodtlons or
amendments were offered; they proposed to bring wound
ed soldiers to their own homes, suggested -reformation in
the abuse of furloughs, and agreed that It would be good
to have an army of reserve of 100,000 men for future
emergencies.
THK 1,088 AT ANTIBTAM.
Official reports of the killed and wounded in the lata
battle are published. The total loss of the Union army at
the battle of Antietam, In killed, wounded, and misting,
has been ascertained to he 10,000, and may be divided as
follows:
Loss In General Sumner'a corps............. 0,209
Loss In General Hooker's corps.............. 2,010
Loss In General Burnalde's corps ............ 1,600
(Estimated) in General Banks's and Franklin's
corps ................................... 672
Total.............................. 10,000
HEBKI, VIKW8 OF THE MARYLAND CAMPAIGN.
The Richmond Enquirer claims the battle "f Antietam
as a great rebel victory. It was directed by General Lee
in person with 60,000 men in hia command. The rebel
account makes our force 160,"00. General Jackson com
manded the left ot the rebel line, General Hill the right,
and General Longstreet the centre. It is admitted that
our artillery was used with fearful effect, and that npon
the whole the battle was the most severe of tbe entire
campaign. Two rebel Generals were killed — Stark, of
Mississippi, and Branch,, ot North Carolina—and six oth-
en were wounded. The Petersburg Kzpree* makes the
significant admission that all hopes of Maryland uniting
her destinies with the South must now be banished. The
experiment to rouse her people to follow the fortunes of the
rebel army Is proclaimed to have been a dead fallnre, and
the devoted adherence of the State government, the press,
and the majority of the people to the Federal Government
is acknowledged by tbe Expreu.
FOKT MORGAN CHALLENGED.
On the afternoon of the 30th the United States gun-boat
Winona, Lieutenant Commanding Thornton, ran nnder
the fire of Fort Morgan, which is considered the defense
of Mobile, and opened fire ou a rebel steamer lying inside,
driving off her crew and damaging her greatly by tbe ex
plosion of an 11-inch shell in her bow. Fort Morgan open
ed a heavy fire on the Winona, but she escaped unhurt.
AFFAIRS ON THE MISSISSIPPI.
A special dispatch from Helena speaks of an expedition
from that place down the Mississippi aa far as Napoleon,
where our boats were fired upon from PrentiM, a one-horsfl)
Mississippi town on the eastern bank. We bad seven
killed and nine wounded. Our boats shelled tbe shore,
but it U not known what damage was done. At another
town—Randolph—on the Mississippi one of our steamers
was hailed; the elerk went ashore to know what was
wanted, when he was seized by ambushed guerrillas. The
boat returned to Memphis for troops, with the intention
of obliterating the traitors' nest now known aa Randolph.
ANOTHER OKDEE FROM OKNKRAL BUTLKR.
General Butler has Issued an order forbidding the trans
fer of property, or rights of property—real, mixed, peir n-
sl or Incorporeal—except necessary food, medicine, and
clothing, cither by way of sale, gift, [ledge, payment,
lease or loan, by any Inhabitant of the Department who
has not returned to his or her allegiance to tbe United
States—the person transferring and the person receiving
to he punished by fine or imprisonment, or both. All reg
isters of transfer of certificates of stock or shares in any In
corporated or joint stock company or association, in which
such person has any interest, are likewise forbidden.
' MAINE FILLS HER QUOTAS'
Maine has filled her entire quotas under both calls for
300,000 men. Her quota under the first was 7000, and all
the men have been In the field for four weeks past Under
the last call for drafted men. Maine has 0600 men ready,
all raised by volunteering, and they have all been In the
camps at Portland, Augusta, and Danger since the 16th
tnst. They are all ready to move the moment they are
uniformed and equipped. Prior to these contribiitlnus.
Maine had sent over 18,000 men, and, Including tbe 400
seamen she has given to the navy, she has raised 4fl,'*0
men for the Union. Tha population of M«ine is 628,000.
She claims the pre-eminence of being the Banner State in
raising volunteers.
IOWA DOES THK SAME.
Iowa has filled her quota under the call for 600,000.
She haa every man In the field by voluntary enlistment
and all for three yean or the war.
FOREIGN NEWS.
ENGLAND.
RRFIRL STKAMEB8 BUILDING.
IT to reported that the Southern rebels are having a large
number of war steamers built in England; that they are
purchasing steam vessels already finkhert, and that a steam
ram is being constructed in the River Mersey fur their
service.
A CONFKDKRATK CANDIDATE FOR PAFLIAMKNT.
Mr. Beresford Hope, when seeking an election to Parlia
ment for the borough of Stoke-on-Trent, Kntrland. bares
his claim to popular support chiefly on his former advocacy
of the recognition of the independence of the South In the
House of Commons. Ills arguments were heard with dis
favor at first, but the electors were Inclined toward hia
vlcwa at the conclusion ot his speech. The Manchester
politicians, under advice cf Mr. Bright, circulated pam
phlets against Mr. Hope's prospects, on account of his sym
pathy with the rebels, and the danger ot Involving En
gland with the United Statea by such legislation as he ad
vocated.
ITALY.
TIIK ROMAB QUESTION.
The Roman Question is keeping np a great excitement
all through Europe, hut no new movement of Importance
is announced. Garibaldi's wounds are reported to bo
worse; with regard to his trial, the official paper of Turin
announces, that Justice must take«tg course.

644 UARPEKS WEEKLY. [OCTOBER 11,1862.
OCTOBER 11,1862.]
HAEPEE'S WEEKLY. G45

646 HAEPEE'S WEEKLY. [OCTOBER 11,1862.
{•Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1888,
by Harper & Brothers, in the Clerk's Office of the Dls-
trict Court for the Southern Dlitrlct of New York.]
NO NAME.
BY WILKIE COLLINS,
AUTHOft Or "TOT WOMAN IN WHITR," "OTAD BBOMT,
KTdi XTO.
ILLUSTRATED BY JOHK M'LENAN.
W Printed fVoin tlie Manuscript and
early froof-«lieet» purchased by tlie
Proprietors of "Harper'* Weekly."
CHAPTER XIII.
THE first circumstance that occurred at Ald-
• borough after Cnptain Wragge's departure was
destined, at n later period, to lead to serious re
sults. .
As soon as her husband's back was turned
Mrs. Wragge received the message which he
had charged the sen-ant to deliver on leaving
the house. She hastened into the parlor bewil
dered by her stormy interview with the captain,
and penitently conscions that she had done
wrong, without knowing what the wrong was.
If Magdalen's mind bad been unoccnpied by the
one idea of the marriage which now filled it—if
she had possessed composure enough to listen to
Mrs. Wragge's rambling narrative of what had
happened during her interview with the house
keeper— Mrs. Locount's visit to the wnrdrobc
must, sooner or later, have funned part of the
disclosure; and Magdalen, although she might
never have guessed the truth, must at least have
been warned that there was some clement of
danger lurking treacherously tu the Alpnca dress.
As it was, no such consequence as this followed
Mrs. Wragge's appearance in the parlor; fur no
such couscqucnce was now possible.
Events which had happened earlier in the
morning, events which had happened for days
and weeks past, had vanished as completely from
' Magdalen's mind as if they had never taken
place. The hc/rror of the coming Monday—the
merciless certainty implied in the appointment
of the day and hour—petrified all feeling in her,
and annihilated all thonght. Mrs. Wragge made
three separate attempts to enter on the subject
of the housekeeper's visit. The first time she
might as well hare addressed herself to the wind
or to the sea. The second attempt seemed like
ly to be more successful. Magdalen sighed, list
ened for a moment indifferently, and then dis
missed the subject. " It doesn't matter," she
said. "The end has come all the some. I'm
not angry with you. Say no more." Later in
the day, from not knowing what, else to talk
abont, Mrs. Wragge tried again. This time Mng-
dalcn turned on her impatiently. " For God's
sake, don't worry me about trifles! I can't bear
it." Mrs. Wragge closed her lips on the spot,
and returned to the subject no more. Magda
len, who had been kind to her at all otherWmes,
had angrily forbidden it. The captain—utterly
ignorant of Mrs. Lccount's interest in the secrets
of the wardrobe — hml never so much as ap
proached it. All the information that he had
extracted from his wife's mental confusion he
ha I extracted by pntting direct questions de
rived purely from the resources of his own knowl
edge. He had insisted on plain answers, with
out excuses of any kind; he had carried his point
as usual; and his departure the same morning
had left him no chance of reopening the ques
tion, even if his irritation against his wife had
permitted him to do so. There the Alpaca dress
hung, neglected in the dark—the unnoticed, un
suspected centre of dangers that were still to
come.
Toward the afternoon Mrs. Wragge took conr-
age to start a suggestion of her own—she plead
ed for a little turn in the fresh air.
Magdalen passively put on her hat; passive
ly accompanied her companion along the public
walk, until they reached its northward extremi
ty. Here the beach was left solitary, and here
they sat down side by side on the shingle. It
was a bright, exhilarating day; pleasure-boats
were Bailing on the calm blue water; Aldbor-
ough was idling happily afloat and ashore. Mrs.
Wragge recovered her spirits in the gnyety of the
prospect; she amused herself like A child by toss
ing pebbles into the sea. From time to time she
stole a questioning glance at Magdalen, and saw
no encouragement in her manner, no change to
cordiality in her fuce. She sat silent on the
slope of the shingle, with her elbow on her knee,
and her bead resting on her hand, looking out
over the sea—looking with a rapt attention, and
yet with eyes that seemed to notice nothing.
Mrs. Wragge wearied of the pebbles, and lost
her "interest in looking at the pleasure-boats.
Her great bead began to nod heavily, and she
dozed iu the warm, drowsy air. When she woke
the pleasure-boats were for off, their sails were
white specif in the distance. The idlers on the
beach were thinned in number; the sun was low
in the heaven; the blue sea was darker, nnd
rippled by a breeze. Changes on sky and earth
and ocean told of the waning day; change was
every where, except closa at her side. There
Magdalen sat in tlie same position, with weary
eyes that still looked over the sea, and still saw
nothing.
" Oh do speak to mo I" said Mrs. Wragge.
Magdalen started, and looked about her va
cantly.
"It's late," she said, shivering under the first
sensation that reached 'her of the rising breeze.
" Come home—you want yonr tea."
They walked home in silence.
"Don't be angry with me for asking," said
Mrs. Wragge, as they sat together at the tea-
tahle. "Are you troubled, my dear, in your
mind?"
"Ye»."' replied Magdalen. "Don't notice
me. M) trouble will soon be over."
She waited patiently until Mrs. Wragge had
made an ei-d of the meal, and then went up
stairs to her ovn room.
"Monday!' she said, as she sat down at her
toilet-table. 'V-omething may happen before
Monday comes!'
Her fingers wandered mechanically among the
brushes and combs, the tiny bottles and cases
placed nn the tohlc. She set them in order, now
in one way, and now in another—then on a sud
den pushed them away from her in a heap. For
a minute or two her hands remained idle. That
interval passed, they grew restless again, and
pulled the two little drawers in the table back
ward and forward in their grooves. Among the
trifles laid in one of them was a Prayer-book
which had belonged to her at Combe-Raven, and
which she had saved with her other relics of the
past when she and her sister had taken their
farewell of home. She opened the Prayer-book,
after a long hesitation, at the Marriage Sen-ice,
shut it again before she had read a line, and put
it back hurriedly in one of the drawers. After
turning the key in the lock, she rose and walked
to the window.
" The horrible sea!" she said, turning from it
with a shudder of disgust. " The lonely, dreary,
horrible sea 1"
She went back to the drawer and took the
Prayer-book out for the second time, half open
ed it again at the Marriage Sen-ice, and impa
tiently threw it back into the drawer. This time,
after turning the lock, she took the key away,
walked with it in her hand to the o]>en window,
and threw it violently from her into the garden.
It fell on a bed thickly planted with flowers'. It
was invisible : it was lost. The sense of its loss
seemed to relieve her.
"Something may happen on Friday; some
thing may happen on Saturday; something may
happen on Sunday. Three days still!"
She closed the green shutters outside the win
dow, and drew the curtains, to darken the room
still more. Her head felt heavy; her eyes were
burning hot. She threw herself on her bed, with
a sullen impulse to sleep away the time.
The quiet of the house helped her; the dark
ness of the room helped her | the stupor of mind
into which she had fallen had its effect on her
senses: she dropped into a broken sleep. Her
restless hands moved incessantly; her head toss
ed from side to side of the pillow; but Etill she
slept. Ere long words fell by ones and twos
from her lips — words whispered in her sleep,
growing*more and more continuous, more and
more articulate, the longer the sleep lasted—
words which seemed to calm her restlessness, and
to hush her into deeper repose. She smiled;
she was in the happy land of dreams—Frank's
name escaped her. "Do you love me, Frank ?"
she whispered. " Oh, my darling, say it again!
say it again I"
The time passed, the room grew darker, and
still she slumbered and dreamed. Toward sun
set—without any noise inside the house or out to
account for it—she started up on the bed, awake
again in an instant. The drowsy obscurity of
the room struck her with terror. She ran to\hc
window, pushed open the shutters, and leaned
far out into the evening air and the evening
light. Her eyes devoured the trivial sights en
the beach; her cars drank in the welcome mur
mur of the sea. Any thing to deliver her from
the waking impressions which her dreams had
left 1 No more darkness; no more repose. Sleep
that came mercifully to.others came treacher
ously to her. Sleep kad only closed her eyes on
the future to open them on the past.
She went down again into the parlor eager
to talk—no matter how idly, no matter on what
trifles. The room was empty. Perhaps Mrs.
Wragge had gone to her work; perhaps she was
too ticed to talk. Magdalen took her hat from
the table and went out. The sea that she had
shrunk from a few hours since looked friendly
now. How lovely it was in its cool evening blue 1
What a godlike joy in the happy multitude of
waves leaping up to the light of Heaven I
She staid out until the night fell and the stars
appeared. The night steadied her.
By slow degrees her mind recovered its bal
ance, and she looked her position unflinchingly
in the face. The vain hope that accident might
defeat the very end for which of her own free
will she had ceaselessly plotted and toiled van
ished and left her, self-dissipated in its own weak
ness. She knew the trne.alternative, and faced
it. On one side was the revolting ordeal of tho
marriage; on the other, the abandonment of her
purpose. Was it too late to choose between the
sacrifice of the purpose and the sacrifice of her
self? Yes! too late. The backward path had
closed behind her. Time that no wish could
change, Time that no prayers could recall, had
made her purpose a part of herself: once she had
governed it; now it governed her. The more
she shrank, the harder she struggled, the more
mercilessly it drove her on. No other feeling in
her was strong enough to master it—"not even
tlie horror that was maddening her—the horror
of her marriage. •
Toward 9 o'clock she went back to the honsc.
Walking again!" said Mrs. Wragge, meeting
her at the door. " Come in and sit down, my
dear. How tired you must be!"
Magdalen smiled, and potted Mrs. Wragge
kindly on the shoulder.
"You forget how strong I am," she said.
" Nothing hurts me."
She lit her candle, and went np stairs again
into her room. As she returned to the old place
by her toilet-table, the vain hope in the three
days of delay, the vain hope of deliverance hy
accident, came back to her—this time in a form
more tangible than tlie form which it had hith
erto worn.
__" Friday, Saturday, Sunday, gomctbing may
happen to him; something may happen to me.
Something serious—something fatal. One of us
may die!"
A sudden change came over her face. She
shivered, though there was no cold in the air;
she started, though there was no noise to alarm
her.
" One of us may die! I may be the one.
She fell into deep thought—roused herself aft
er a while—and, opening the door, called to Mrs.
Wragge to come and speak to her.
" You were right in thinking I should fatigue
myself," she said. " My walk has been a little
too much for me. I feel tired, and I am going
to bed. Good-night." She kissed Mrs. Wragge,
and softly closed the door agam.
After a few turns backward and forward ir>
the room, she abruptly opened her writing-case
and began a letter to her sister. The letter grew
and grew nnder her hands; she filled sheet after
sheet of note-paper. Her heart was fnll of her
subject: it was her own story addressed to No-
rah. She shed no tears; she was composed to a
quiet sadness. Her pen ran smoothly on. Aft
er writing for more than two hours, she left off
while the letter was still unfinished. There was
no' signature attached to it—there was a blank
space reserved, to be filled up at some other time.
After putting away the case, with the sheets of
writing secured inside it, she walked to the win
dow for air, and stood there looking out.
The moon was waning over the sea. The
breeze of the earlier hours had died ont. On
earth and ocean the spirit of the Night brooded
in a deep and awful calm.
Her head drooped low on her bosom, and all
the view waned before her eyes with the waning
moon. She saw no sea, no sky. Death, the
Tempter, was busy at her heart; Death, the
Tempter, pointed homeward to the grave of her
dead parents in Combe-Raven church-yard.
" Nineteen last birthday," she thought; " only
nineteen!" She moved away from the window,
hesitated, and then looked out again at the view.
"The beautiful night!" she said, gratefully;
" oh, the beautiful night!"
She left the window and lay down on her bed.
Sleep that had come treacherously before came
mercifully now—came deep and dreamless, the
image of her last waking thought—tho image of
Death.
Early the next moruing Mrs. Wragge went
into Magdalen's room, and found that she had
risen betimes. She was sitting before the glass,
drawing the comb slowly throngh and through
her hair, thoughtful and quiet.
"How do you feel this morning, my dear?"
asked Mrs. Wragge. " Quite well again ?"
"Yes."
After replying in the affirmative, she stopped,
considered for a moment, and suddenly contra
dicted herself. "No,"shesaid, " not quite well.
I am suffering a little from toothache." As she
altered her first answer in those words she gave
a twist to her hair with the comb, so that it fell
forward and hid her face.
At breakfast she was very silent, and she took
nothing but a cup of tea.
"Let me po to the chemist's and get some
thing," said Mrs. Wragge.
" No, thank you."
"Do let me!"
"No!"
She refused for the second time, sharply and
angrily. As usual, Mrs. Wrapge submitted, and
let her have her own way. When breakfast was
over she rose, without a word of explanation,
and went ont. Mrs. Wragge watched her from
the window, and saw that she took the direction
of the chemist's shop.
On reaching the chemist's door she stopped—
paused, before entering the shop, and looked in
at the wiudow—hesitated, and walked away a
little—hesitated again, and took the first turn
ing which led back to the beach.
Without looking about her, withont caring
what place she chose, she seated herself on the
shingle. The only persons who were near to
her, in the position she now occupied, were a
nurse-maid and two little boys. The youngest
of the two had a tiny toy-ship in his haud. Aft
er looking at Magdalen for a little while with
the quaintest gravity and attention, the hoy sud
denly approached her, and opened the way to an
acquaintance by putting his toy composedly on
her lap.
_ "Look at my ship," said the child, crossing
his hands on Magdalen's knee.
She was not usually patient with children. In
happier days she wonld not have met the boy's
advance toward her as she met it now. The
hard despair in her eyes left them suddenly, her
fast-closed lips parted and trembled. She put
the-ship back into the child's hands, and lifted
him on her lap.
" Will you give me a kiss?" she said, faintly.
The boy looked at his ship as if he would rath
er have kissed the ship.
She repeated the question, repeated it almost
humbly. The child put his hand up to her neck
and kissed her.
" If I was your sisier, would you love me?"
All the misery of her friendless position, all
the wasted tenderness of her heart, ponred from
her in those words.
"Would you love me?" she repeated, hiding
her face on the bosom of the child's frock.
"Yes," said the boy. "Look at my ship."
She looked at the ship through her gathering
tears.
"What do yon call it?" she asked, trying
hard to find her way even to the interest of a
child.
" I call it Uncle Kirke's ship," said the boy.
"Uncle"Kirke has gone away."
The name recalled nothing to her memory.
No remembrances bnt old remembrances lived
in her now. "Gone?" she repeated absently,
thinking what she should say to her li"l • friend
next.
" Yes," said the boy. " Gone to China."
Even from the lips of a child that word struck
her to the heart. She pnt Kirke's little nephew
off her lap, and instantly left the beach.
As she turned back to the house the struggle
of the past night renewed itself in her mind. But
the sense of relief which the child had bronght
to her, the reviving tenderness which she had
felt while he sat on her knee, influenced her still.
She was conscious of a dawning hope opening
freshly on her thonghts, as the boy's innocent
eyes had opened on her face when he came to
her on the beach. Was it too late to turn back ?
Once more she asked herself that question, and
now for the first time she asked it in douht.
She ran up to her own room with a forking
distrust in her changed self, which warned her
to act, and not to think. Without waiting to
remove her shawl or to take off her hat she open
ed her writing-case, and addressed these lines to
Captain Wragge, as fast as her pen could trace
them:
"You will find the money I promised you
inclosed in this. My resolution has failed me.
The horror of marrying him is more than I ean
face. I have left Aldborough. Pity my weak
ness, and forget me. Let ns never meet again."
With throbbing heart, with eager, trembling
fingers, she drew her little white silk hag from
her bosom, and took out the bank-notes to in
close them in the letter. Her hand searched im-
petuonsly; her hand had lost its discrimination
of touch. She grasped the whole contents of the
bag in one handful of papers, and drew them ont
violently, tearing some and disarranging the folds
of others. As she threw them down before her
on the table the first object that met her eye
was her own handwriting, faded already with
time. She looked closer, and snw the words she
had copied from her dead father's letter—saw
the lawyer's brief and terrible commentary on
them confronting her at the bottom of the page:
Mr. fans/one's daughters are Nobody©s Chil
dren, and the law leaves them helpless at their un
cle©s mercy.
Her throbbing heart stopped, her trembling
hands grew icily quiet. All the Past rose before
her in mnte overwhelming reproach. She took
np the lines which her own hand had written
hardly a minute since, and looked at the ink still
wet on the letters with a vacant incredulity.
The color that had risen on her cheeks faded
from them once more. The hard despair looked
ont again, cold and glittering, in her tearless
eyes. She folded the bank-notes carefully, and
put them hack in her bag. She pressed the copy
of her father's letter to her lips, and returned it
to its place, with the bank-notes. When the bag
was in her bosom again, she waited a little, with
her face hidden in her hands, then deliberately
tore np the lines addressed to Captain Wragge.
Before the ink was dry the letter lay in frag
ments on the floor.
" No I" she said, as the last morsel of the torn
paper dropped from her hand. " Oh the way I
go there is no turning back."
She rose composedly and left the room. While
descending the stairs she met Mrs. Wragge com
ing up. "Going out again, my dear?" asked
Mrs. Wrngge. "May I go with you?"
Magdalen's attention wandered. Instead of
answering the question, she absently answered
her own thoughts.
" Thousands of women marry for money," she-
said. "Why shouldn't I?"
The helpless perplexity of Mrs. Wragge's face
as she spoke those words roused her to a sense
of present things.
"My poor dear!" she said, "I puzzle you,
don't I? Never mind what I say—all girls'talk
nonsense; and I'm no better than the rest of
them. Come! I'll give you a treat. You shall
enjoy yourself while the captain's away. We
will have a Iqpg drive by ourselves. Put on
your smart bonnet, and come with me to the
hotel. I'll tell the landlady to put a nice cold
dinner into a basket. You shall have all the
things you like, and I'll wait on you. When
you are an old, old woman, you will remember
me kindly, won't yon? You will say, 'She
wasn't a bad girl; hundreds worse than she was
live and prosper, and nobody blames them.'
There I there 1 go and pnt your bonnet on. Ob,
my God, what is my heart made of! How it
lives and lives, when other girls' hearts would
have died in them long ago I"
In half an hour more she and Mrs. Wragge
were seated together in the carriage. One of
the horses was restive at starting. " Flog him,"
she cried, angrily, to the driver. "What are
yon frightened about? Flog him I -Suppose the
carriage was npset," she said, tnrning suddenly
to her companion ; "and suppose I was thrown
out and killed on the spot? Nonsense! don't
look at me in that way. I'm like your hnsband;
I have a dash of humor, and I'm only joking."
They were out the whole day. When they
reached home again it was after dark. The
long succession of hours passed in the fresh air
left them both with the same sense of fatigue.
Again that night Magdalen slept the deep
dreamless sleep of the night before. And so
the Friday closed.
Her last thought at night had been the thought
which had sustained her throughout the day.
She had laid her head on the pillow with the
same reckless resolution to submit to the com
ing trial which had already expressed itself in
words when she and Mrs. Wragge met by acci
dent on the stairs. When she woke on the
morning of Satnrday the resolution was gone.
The Friday's thoughts—the Friday's events even
—were blotted out of her mind. Once again,
creeping chill throngh the flow of her young
blood, she felt the slow and deadly prompting
of despair which had come to her in toe waning
OCTOBER 11.1862.]
moonlight, whkh had whispered to her in the
awful calm.
"I saw the end as the end must be," she said
to herself, "on Thursday night. I have been
wrong ever since."
When she and her companion met that morn
ing she reiterated her complaint of suffering
from the toothache; she repeated her refusal to
allow Mrs. Wragge to procure a remedy; she
left the honse after brealifast, in the direction
of the chemist's shop, exactly as she had left it
on the morning before.
This time she entered the shop without an in
stant's hesitation.
" I have got an attack of toothache," she said
abruptly to an elderly man who stood behind
the counter.
"May I look at the tooth, Miss?"
"There is no necessity to look. It is a hol
low tooth. I think I have caught cold in it."
The chemist recommended various remedies
which were in vogue fifteen years since. She
declined purchasing any of them.
"I have always found Laudannm relieve the
pain better than any thing else," she said, trifling
with the bottles on the connter, and looking at
them while she spoke, instead of looking at the
chemist. "Let me have some Laudanum."
"Certainly, Miss. Excuse my asking the
question—it is only a matter of form. You are
staying at Aldborongh, I think ?''
"Yes. I am. Miss Bygrave, of North Shin
gles."
The chemist bowed; and, turning to his
shelves, filled an ordinary half-ounce bottle with
laudanum immediately. In ascertaining his
customer's name and address beforehand the
owner of the shop had token a precaution which
was natnral to a careful man, hut which was hy
no means universal, under similar circumstances,
in the state of the law at that time.
" Shall I put you up a little cotton-wool with
the laudanum ?" he asked, after he had placed
a label on the bottle, and had written a word on
it in large letters.
" If you please. What have you just written
on the bottle ?" She put the question sharply,
with something of distrust as well as curiosity in
her manner.
The chemist answered the qnestion by turning
the label toward her. She saw written on it, in
large letters—POISON.
"I like to be on the safe side, Miss," said the
old man, smiling. "Very worthy people in
other respects are often sadly careless where
poisons are concerned."
She began trifling again with the bottles on
the connter, and put another question, with an
ill-concealed anxiety to hear the answer.
" Is there danger," she asked, " in snch a little
drop of laudanum as that ?"
"There is Death in it, Miss," replied the
chemist, qnietly.
"Death to a child, or to a person in delicate
health?"
" Death to the strongest man in England, let
him be who he may."
With that answer the chemist sealed np the
bottle in its wrapping of white paper, and hand
ed the laudanum to Magdalen across the.coun-
ter. She laughed as she took it from him and
paid for it.
"There will be no fear of accidents at North
Shingles," she said. "I shall keep the bottle
locked np in my dressing-case. If it doesn't re
lieve the pain, I must come to you again and
try some other remedy. Good-moruing."
" Good-morning, Miss."
She went straight hack to the honse without
once looking up—withont noticing any oue who
passed her. She brushed hy Mrs. Wragge in
the passage as she might have brushed by a
piece of furniture. She ascended the stairs, and
caught her foot twice in her dress from sheer
inattention to the common precaution of hold
ing it np. The trivial daily interests of life had
lost their hold on her already.
In the privacy of her own room she took the
bottle from its wrapping, and threw the paper
and the cotton-wool into the fire-place. At the
moment when she did this there was a knock at
the door. She hid the little bottle, and looked
np impatiently. Mrs. Wragge came into the
room.
"Have yon got something for yonr tooth
ache, my dear?"
"Yes."
"Can I do any thing to help yon?"
"No."
Mrs. Wragge still lingered uneasily near the
door. Her manner showed plainly that she had
something more to say.
"What is it?" asked Magdalen, sharply.
"Don't be angry," said Mrs. Wragge. "I'm
not settled in my mind about the captain. He's
a great writer—and he hasn't written. He's as
qnick as lightning—and he hasn't come hack.
Here's Saturday, and no signs of him. Has hn
run away, do you think ? Has any thing hap
pened to him ?"
"I should think not. Go down stairs; I'll
come and speak to you about it directly."
As soon as Bhe was alone again Magdalen rose
from her chair, advanced toward a cnpboard in
the room which locked, and paused for a mo
ment, with her hand on the key, in doubt. Mrs.
Wrapge's appearance had disturbed the whole
current of her thoughts. Mrs. Wragge's last
question, trifling as it was, had checked her on
the verge of the precipice—had roused the old
vain hope in her once more of release by acci
dent.
"Why not?" she said. "Why may some
thing not have happened to one of them ?"
She placed the Inndanum in the cupboard,
locked it, and pnt the key in her pocket. " Time
enough still," she thonght, "before Monday.
I'll wait till the captain comes back."
After tome consultation down stairs it was
HAEPEE'S WEEKLY.
647
agreed that the servant shonld sit np that night I took it with some little surprise: it was not oft-
in expectation of her master's return. The day | en in his experience that she gave him her hand
day
kind.
in expectation of her master's return,
passed quietly, without events of any
Magdalen dreamed away the hours over a book.
A weary patience of expectation was all she
felt now—the poignant torment of thought was
dulled and blunted at last. She passed the day
and the evening in the parlor, vaguely conscious
of a strange feeling of aversion to going back to
her own room. As the night advanced, as the
noises ceased indoors and out, her restlessness
began to return. She endeavored to qniet her
self by reading. Books failed to fix her atten
tion. The newspaper was lying in a corner of
the room: she tried the newspaper next.
She looked mechanically at the headings of
tho articles; she listlessly turned over page after
page, nntil her wandering attention was arrested
by the narrative of an execution in a distant part
of England. There was nothing to strike her in
the story of the crime, and yet she read it. It
was a common, horribly-common,-act of blood
shed—the murder of a woman in farm-service by
a man in the same employment who was jealous
of her. He had been convicted on no extraordi
nary evidence; he had been hanged under no
unusual circumstances. He had made his core
fession, when he knew there was no hope for
him, like other criminals of his class; and the
newspaper had printed it at tho end of the arti
cle, in these terms:
I kept company with the deceased for a year or therea
bout. I taid I would marry her when I had money enough.
She «atd I had money enough now. We had a quarrel.
She refused to walk out with me any more; she wouldn't
draw me my beer; she took up with my fellow-servant.
David Crouch. I went to her on the Saturday and said
I would marry her ae Boon as we could be asked in church,
if Khe would give np Crouch. She laughed at me. She
turned me out of the wash-house, and the rest of them saw
her turn me out I was not easy In my mind. I went
and eat on a gate—the gate on the meadow they call Pet-
tlfe Piece. I thought I would shoot her. I went and
fetched my gun and loaded It. I went out into Fettit'e
Piece again. I woe hard put to it to make up my mind.
I thought I would try my luck—I mean try whether to kill
her or not—by throwing up the Spud of the plow Into the
air. I said to myself. If It falls flat, I'll spare her; if It
falls point in the earth, I'll Ml her. I took a good swing
with it and shied It up. It fell point in the earth. I went
and shot her. It was a bad job, but I did It. I did It, as
they said I did It at the trial. I hope tlie Lord will have
mercy on me. I wish my mother to have my old clothes.
I have no more to Bay.
In the happier days of her life Magdalen would
have passed over the narrative of the execution,
and the printed confession which accompanied
it, nnread—the subject would have failed to at
tract her. She read the horrible story now-
read it with an interest unintelligible to herself.
Her attention, which had wandered over higher
and better things, followed every sentence of the
murderer's hideously direct confession from be
ginning to end. If the man or the woman had
been known to her—if the place had been familiar
to her memory—she could hardly have followed
the narrative more closely, or have felt a more
distinct impression of it left on her mind. She
laid down the paper, wondering at herself; she
took it np once more and tried to read some
other portion of the contents. The effort was
nseless; her attention wandered again. She
threw the paper away and went out into the
garden. The night was dark, the stars were
few and faint. She conld just see the gravel
walk—she could just pace it backward and for
ward between the house-door and the gate.
The confession in the newspaper had taken a*
fearful hold on her mind. As she paced the walk
the black night opened over the sea, and showed
her the murderer in the field hurling the Spud
of the plow into the air. She ran, shuddering,
back to the house. The murderer followed her
into the parlor. She seized the candle and went
np into her room. The vision of her own dis
tempered fancy followed her to the place where
the laudannm was hidden, and vanished there.
It was midnight, and there was no sign yet of
the captain's return.
She took from the writing-case the long letter
which she had written to Norah, and slowly read
it throngh. The letter quieted her. When she
reached the blank space left at the end she hur
riedly turned back and began it over again.
One o'clock struck from the church clock, and
still the captain never appeared.
She read the letter for the second time: she
turned back obstinately, despairingly, and began
it for the third time. As she once more reached
the last page she looked at her watch. It was
a quarter to two. She had just put the watch
back in the belt of her dress when there came to
her—far off in the stillness of the morning—a
sound of wheels.
She dropped the letter, and clasped her cold
hands in her lap and listened. The sonnd came
on, faster and faster, nearer and nearer—the
trivial sound to all other ears; the sound of
Doom to hers. It passed the side of the house;
it traveled a little fnrther on; it stopped. She
heard a loud knocking—then the opening of a
window-—then voices—then a long silence—then
the wheels again, coming back—then the open
ing of the door below, and the seund of the cap-
taiu's voice in the passage.
She conld endure it no longer. She opened
her door a little way and called to him.
He ran np stairs instantly, astonished that she
was not in bed. She spoke to him throngh the
narrow opening of the door, keeping herself hid
den behind it, for she was afraid to let him see
her face.
"Has any thing gone wrong?" she asked.
" Moke your mind easy," he answered. " No
thing has gone wrong."
" Is no accident likely to happen between this
and Monday?"
"None whatever. The marriage is a cer
tainty."
"A certainty?"
"Yes."
"Good-night."
She put her hand out through the door. He
of her own accord.
"You have sat np too long," he said, as he
felt the clasp of her cold fingers. " I am afraid
yon wilUhave a bad night—I'm afraid you will
not slecpV
She softly closed the door.
"I shall sleep,"she said, "sounder than you
think for."
It was past two o'clock when she shut herself
np alone in her room. Her chair stood in its cus
tomary place by the toilet-table. She sat down
for a few minutes thoughtfully—then opened her
letter to Norah, and turned to the end, where
the blank space was left. The last lines written
above the space ran thus:
I have laid my whole heart bare to you; I have hidden
nothing. It hag come to this. The end I have tolled for
at such terrible cost to myself, Ii an end which I must
reach, or die. It 1» wickedness, madness, what you will
—but It 1» TO. There are now two journeys before me to
choose between. If I can marry him—the Journey to the
church. If the profanation of myself Is more than I can
bear—the journey to the gravel
Uuder that last sentence she wrote these lines:
My choice is made. If the cruel law will let yon, lay
me with my father and mother in the church-yard at home.
Farewell, my level Be always innocent; be always hap-
py. If Frank ever onks about me, say I died forgiving
him. Don't grieve long for me, Norah—I am not worth it.
She sealed the letter and addressed it to her
sister. The tears gathered in her eyes as she
laid it on the table. She waited until her sight
was clear again, and then took the bank-notes
once more from the little bog in her bosom.
After wrapping them in a sheet of note-paper,
she wrote Captain Wragge's name on the in-
closnre, and added these words below it: " Lock
the door of my room, and leave me till my sister
comes. The money I promised you is in this.
You are not to blame; it is my fault, and mine
only. If yon have any friendly remembrance of
me, he kind to your wife for my sake."
After placing the inclosure by the letter to
Norah, she rose and looked round the room.
Some few little things in it were not in their
places. She set them in order, and drew the
curtains on either side at the head of her bed.
Her own dress was the next object of her scruti
ny. It was all as neat, as pure, as prettily ar
ranged as ever. Nothing about her was disor
dered but her hair. Some tresses had fallen
loose.on one side of her head; she carefully put
them back in their places, with the help of her
glass. "How pale I look!" she thought, with
a faiut smile. " Shall I be paler still when they
find me in the morning?"
She went straight to the place where the land-
annm was hidden and took it out. The bottle
was so small that it lay easily in the palm of her
hand. She let it remain there for a little while,
and stood looking at it.
"DEATH!" she said. "In this drop of brown
drink—DEATH 1"
As the words passed her lips an agony of un
utterable horror seized on her in an instant. She
crossed the room nnsteadily, with a maddening
confusion in her head, with a suffocating anguish
nt her heart. She caught at the table to support
herself. The faint clink of the bottle, as it fell
harmlessly from her loosened grasp and rolled
against some porcelain object on the table, struck
through her hrain like the stroke of a knife. The
sound of her own voice, sunk to a whisper—her
voice only uttering that one word, Death—rushed
in her ears like the rushing of a wind. She
dragged herself to the bedside, and rested her
head against it, sitting on the floor. " Oh, my
life! my life!" she thought; "what is my life
worth that I cling to it like this ?"
An interval passed, and she felt her strength
returning. She raised herself* on her knees and
hid her face on the bed. She tried to pray—to
pray to be forgiven for seeking the refnge of
death. Frantic, words burst from her lips—
words which wo'nld have risen to cries if she had
not stifled them in the bed-clothes. She started
to her feet; despair strengthened her with a
headlong fury against herself. In one moment
she was hack at the table; in another the poison
was once more in her hand.
She removed the cork and lifted the bottle to
her mouth.
At the first cold touch of the glass on her lips
her strong young life leaped np in her leaping
blood, aud fonght with the whole frenzy of its
loathing against the close terror of Death. Ev
ery active power in the exuberant vital force that
was in her rose in revolt against the destruction
which her own will wonld fain have wreaked on
her own life. She paused: for the second time
she paused in spite of herself. There, in the
glorious perfection of her yonth and health—
there, trembling on the verge of hnman exist
ence, she stood, with the kiss of the Destroyer
clo'sc at her lips, and Nature, faithful to its sa
cred trust, fighting for the salvation of her to
the last.
No word passed her lips. Her cheeks flushed
deep, her breath came thick and fast. With the
poison still in her hand, with the sense that she
might faint in another moment, she made for
the window and threw back the curtain that
covered it.
The new day had risen. The broad, gray
dawn flowed in on her over the quiet eastern sea.
She saw the waters, heaving large and silent in
the misty calm; she felt the fresh breath of the
morning flutter cool on her face. -Her strength
returned; her mind cleared a little. At the sight
of the sea her memory recalled the walk in the
garden overnight, and the picture which her dis
tempered fancy had painted on the black void.
In thought, she saw the picture again—the mur
derer hurling the Spud of the plow into the air,
and setting the life or death of the woman who
had deserted him on the hazard of the falling
point. The infection of that terrible superstition
seiaed on her mind as suddenly as the new day •
had hurst on her view. The promise of release
which she saw in it from the horror of her own
hesitation roused the last energies of her despair.
She resolved to end the struggle by setting ker
life or death on the hazard of a chance.
On what chance _?
— The sea showed it to her. Dimly distinguish,
able throngh the mist she saw a little fieet of
coasting vessels slowly drifting toward the house,
all following the same direction with the favoring
set of the tide. In half an hour—perhaps in less
—the fieet would have passed her window. The
hands of her watch pointed to four o'clock. She
seated herself close at the side of the window,
with her back toward the quarter from which
the vessels were drifting down on her—with the
poison placed on the wiadow-sill and the watch
on her lap. For one half hour to come she de
termined to wait there and connt the vessels as
they went by. If, in that time, an even nnmber
passed her, the sign given shonld be a sign to
live. If the nneven number prevailed, the end
should be Death.
With that final resolution she rested her head
against the window, and waited for the ships to
pass.
The first came—high, dark, and near in the
mist—gliding silently over the silent sea. Am
interval, and the second followed, with the third
close after it. Another interval, longer and
longer drawn ont, and nothing passed. 6h«
looked at her watch. Twelve minutes, and
three ships. Three.
The fourth came; slower than the rest, larger
than the rest, farther off in the mist than the
rest. The interval followed — a long interval
onee more. Then the next vessel passed—dark
est and nearest of all. Five. The next nneven
number—Five.
She looked at her watch again. Nineteen
minntes, and five ships. Twenty minutes, twen
ty-one, two, three, and no sixth vessel. Twen
ty-four, and the sixth came by. Twenty-five,
twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, and the
next nneven number—the fatal Seven—glided
into view. Two minutes to the end of the half
hour. And seven ships.
Twenty-nine, and nothing followed in the
wake of the seventh ship. The minnte-hand of
the watch moved on half-way to thirty, and still
the white heaving sea was a misty blank. With
out moving her head from the window she took
the poison in one hand and raised the watch m
the other. As the quick seconds counted eack
other out, her eyes, as quick as they, looked from
the watch to the sea, from the sea to the watch
—looked for the last time at the sea—and saw
the EIOBTB ship.
Life 1 At the last moment, Life t
She never moved; she never spoke. The
death of thonght, the death of feeling, seemed
to have come to her already. She pnt bock the
poison mechanically on the ledge of the window,
and watched, as in a dream, the ship gliding
smoothly on its silent way—gliding till it melt
ed dimly into shadow—gliding till it was Ipet in,
the mist.
The strain on her mind relaxed when the Mes
senger of Life had passed from her sight.
"Providence?" she whispered, faintly to her
self. "Or Chance?"
Her eyes closed and her head fell back. When
the sense of life retnrned to her the morning sun
was warm on her face—the blue heaven looked
down on her—and the sea was a sea of gold.
She fell on her knees at the window and burst
into tears.
Toward noon that day, the captain, waiting
below stairs, and hearing no movement in Mag
dalen's room, felt uneasy at the long silence.
He desired the new maid to follow him np stairs,
and, pointing to the door, told her to go in soft
ly, and-see whether her mistress was awake.
The maid entered the room, remained there)
a moment, and came out again, closing the door
gently.
"She looks beantiful, Sir," said the girl;
"and she's sleeping as qnietly as a new-born,
child." -
THE WAE IN THE SOUTHWEST.
ON psge 661 we publish several illustrations of
JACKSON, TENNESSEE, and of SCENES ON THB
RAILROAD between Columbus and Corinth, from
sketches by our special artist, Mr. Alexander Sim»
plot. Mr. Simplot writes:
" COSLHTB, September 10,1862.
" I herewith send you a couple of sketches from
Jackson, Tennessee. This place is the largest on
the railroad from Columbus to Corinth, and is sv
fine town. Pretty dwellings embowered in trees
meet the eye at almost every turn.
"Brigadier-General John A. Logan has com
mand of the post, and is fortifying it very strongly.
" The enemy is known to have a great desire to
repossess the town, and an attack from them is
momentarily expected. All the streets entering
into the city are barricaded with cotton bales, and,
from appearance, are fully sufficient to oppose the
ingress of a very large force.
" Near the depot is a cotton fort—a sketch of
which I send you—for the protection of that portion
of the town. It is amply provided with water
reservoirs, in the sbape of barrels sunk into the
•ground, to stand a long siege.
"An engineer on General Logon's staff has con
structed an admirable railroad battery for the pro
tection of the road from guerrilla raids. They have
as yet had but one occasion to use it, and that was
at Henderson, a few days since, where the woods
were shelled sufficiently to make it too hot to hold
the rebels. At every trestle-work or bridge along
the road are stationed a few soldiers as guard, and
it is to this we owe our security as we go dashing
along at ft headlong pace."

C48
HARPER'S WEEKLY. 649
THE BATTLE OF AVTIET \M, FOITGIIT SE^TEMBEH 17, 1862—GENERAL MANSFIELD'S CORPS IN POSITION IN THE CENTRE.—SKETCHED BY MR. A. R. WATJP— [SEE PAGE 654.]
THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM—BURNING OF MR. MUMMA'f HOUSE AND BAKNS.—SKBTCHED BY MK A. R. WAUD.—[SEE PACE C55.]
. THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM—CARRYING OFF THE WOUNDED AFTER THE BATTLE.—SKETCHED BT MB. A. R. WAUD.—[SEE PACE 666.]

«[WILLLIMSPORr
WASHINGTON COUNTY,MD.
Shewing
THE BATTLE FIELDS
OF
ANTIETAM
AND
HI I
HARPER'S WEEKLY
«•""!&£ lEHs&fefc
BOONS BOROUGH
ftS.NUMMA
[OCTOBER 11,1862.
i
t
Jv,
OCTOBER 11,1862.]
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
COURT-HOUSE. SQUARE^ JAC
WAR IN THE SOUTHWEST.—SKETCHED BT MR. A. SIMPLOT,—[SEE FAOB 647.]

HAEPEE'S WEEKLY.
[OCTOBER 11, 1862.
THE PHILADELPHIA CORN EXCHANGE BFGIMENT FOKDING THE 1'OTOMAC NEAR SJUEPHE&DSTOWN.-SKETciiED BY Mn. A. E. WAUD.—[SKE PAGE 656.]
SHELLING THE REBELS ON THE KENTUCKY BANKS OF THE OHIO BIVEB.-SKMCI1BD BY MB. H. MOSLEB.-[SEE PA^E C53.1
1 t
OCTOBER 11, HAEPEE'S WEEKLY. 65.
mil

654 HAEPEKS WEEKLY. [OCTOBER 11, 1862.
THE LOUISVILLE SCARE.
ON the preceding page we reproduce u picture
of Mr. Mosler's, representing -the
PARTIAL EVACUATION OF L.OOI8VILLK
by the women and children, in consequence of the
approach of Bragg's army. On the 22cl September
General Nelson issued the following order, accom
panying the same with a declaration that in all
probability it would become necessary to evacuate
the city :
,
LouuYILia, S»burg one Is etmckwith the
appearance of the village. You will remember it was ex-
on Wednesday evening to furious
•It
vi
ahe?Un« "
his sho, f0*. ? •ItilleI7- The terrible effects of
villa S£r tostantly seen the moment we entered the
Tk^rfT.1*., house remained untouched. Cl.lm-
On page 662 we publish a picture representing
HE C«»«- CRO.SINO THE
Mr.
Waud writT « TU " J,°h" >orte'*» corps.
position on the opposite s th 4hole
narrowly escaping from the large Jce
enemy brought against it.
over and brought the woundedct-
JESSIE'S VOW.
IN one of our large army hospitals—now, alas!
a common sight in this once peaceful country_
surrounded by the wonnded and dying, Uy a mere
boy. One glance at the fever-flush on his fair
cheek, the unnatural brilliancy of tbe beautiful
blue eye, together with the painfully-restless move
ment that tossed the bright curls from his heated
forehead, told with mournful certainty the tale
that his hours were numbered.
Yet only a fellow-soldier sat beside him. No
fond mother's or sister's hand bathed that fevered
brow; and tender tones whispering words of love
and cemfort were wanting by the bedside of the
dying lad. The physician approached him, and
used as he was to such scenes, said, sadly, " What
.a pity! yesterday such a fair prospect of recovery
and to day no chance. Poor boy!" he continued
in an under tone; "I wonder where his mother
is! but she could never get here in time; Ah,
well! it s fretting so much has done it." Here the
poor lad interrupted, saying, with feverish eacer-
ness, and tkat pretty mingling of Scotch and En
glish alwaya so interesting, " It's na the freltinc •
it's the vow. Sin I canna see her in the boilvi
maun in the spirit, and before night—oh me!" "be
lirious," said the doctor; " I feared it;" and, with
an injunction to the watching soldier to let him
talk as much as he pleased, passed on-"he had no
time to spend by the dying boy. Thus encouraced
to talk-for the young soldier had his senses per
fectly—he turned to his comrade, saving " Will
you hear me tell it, James ? It wad mak the time
seem shorter to speak out what is in mv head
Weel, then, I'll begin at the time when" father
mither, Jessie, an I all lived in that sweet wee
name awa amang the Scotch mountains. We had-
na much, to be sure, but enough to keep oursels
and some'at to spare for our poorer neighbors'
Jessie was a very honnie lass, older then mysel by
some years, and It was na lang till she was prom
ised to the minister of the place. A nice young
(man was he, an all the country round was glad
when it was known. It cam Jessie's birthday just
three months before the wedding-day. She was
very sad, an kep saying how happy she had been
at name, an how no ither spot could ever be to her
what it had been; and then, in the middle of the
dancing an fun, she up an threw her arms round
my jnither's neck, an vowed that always, on that
evening, so lang as my mither was alive, she would
come—whether ' in the body or in the spirit,' she
would never fail.
" 'Twas a wild word for her to speak, an many
o* the neighbors shook their heads as they heard;
an the talk went round the town that Jessie
Graeme had bound hersel by sich a strange vow."
Here the boy paused from extreme exhaustion,
and, as he rested for a few moments, seemed to ba
looking at something very far off; then, rousing
himself, said, " I maun be short; it is near the
time. Jessie was married, an our hearts were just
as glad as children; till one day word cam that
Jessie an her husband were drowned. In crossing
a little loch to visit some sick folk the boat must
'a overturned, for it was found floating; but we
never saw them again.
"Oh, 'twas a bitter time! My mither fretted
much; for, though she kenned it true, she couldna
think of our bonnie lassie lying dead au cold in
her husband's arms, on the stanes at the bottom of
the loch. My father fretted too. He wailna think
that she was dead, hut kep saying she wad soon
be hack to gladden our hearts ance inair; but she
never cam; an we three, wf sickening hearts,
waited for her birthday; we kenned right weel
that, dead or alive, her promise wad be kep.
"The night came, an we sat wi' open door an
curtain drawn from the window (for when they
come in the spirit it's only through the window
they can look). We three by the bright fire sat
waiting for the first sound o' her footstep. I heard
it first, as, wi' the water dripping from her clothes,
she cam awiflly np the walk, an, putting aside the
rose-bush, looked in—only for one moment; then
she.was gone; but by that we kenned she was
dead. It seemed to comfort my mither; so that,
when I left soon after to come here, I made the
same vow, 'that so lang as my mither lived,
whether in the body or in the spirit. I wad, on the
same night, stand by Jessie's side;' an I maun,"
he added, his eyes brightening, and a cold damp
gathering on his brow. " Does no one see ? Don't
you hear the water dripping frae her dress ? My
mither, wi1 her lang gray hair! See, she is put
ting the roses awa. How cold an clammr her
hand is! It is dark!" and, with these words, fell
back lifeless on the bed. In awe-struck silence his
eyes were closed, and the cheeks of the bravest
paled at the thought that the spirit they had so
loved and revered for unfailing tenderness*and true
courage might be, at that moment, standing by
the sister it had so dearly leved, looking through
the casement on the home and parents of their
childhood, while the beautiful frame it had inhab
ited lay motionless before them.
MABHDED.
HICKCOX—BOGEBT. In this City, on Tuesday, the
23d, at the residence of the bride's brother, by Rev. T. a
Jervis (of Oriskany, N. Y.), Mr. D. a HICKCOX to Mlsi
ALJDA ANN BOGERT, twth of Brooklyn.
J. H. Winslow & Co.
1OO,OOO
Watches, Chains, Sets of Jewelry, Gold
Fens, Bracelets, Lockets, Rings, Gent's
Fins, Sleeve Buttons, Studs, &c., &o.
Worth $5OO,OOO,
To tie told for ONE DOLLAR each, without regard
to value, and not to tepaid for until you know tchat you
are to get. 8*nd for Circular containing full lift and
particulars. Send 26 cents for o. Certificate.
Certificates of all the various articles, stating what each
one can have, are first put into envelopes, sealed up, and
mixed; and when ordered, are taken out without regard
to choice, and tent by mall, thus giving all a fab; chance
On receipt of the Certificate you will nee wbat you can
have, and then it is at your option to send one dollar and
take the article or not.
In all transactions by mail, we shall charge for forward-
26 cents each, which must be enclosed when the certificate
is sent for. Five Certificates will be cent for $1, eleven for
$2, thirty for $6, sixty-five for $10, and one hundred for $16.
AGENTS.—Those acting ai Agents will be allowed ten
cents on every certificate ordered by them, provided their
remittance amounts to one dollar. Agents will collect 25
cents for every Certificate and remit 1C cents to us, either
in cash or postage stamps. Great caution should be used
by onr correspondents in regard to giving their conect ad
dress, Town, county, and State. Address
3. H. WINSLOW & CO.,
SOS Broadway, New York.
N.a We wish it distinctly understood tbat all articles
of jewelry not giving perfect satisfaction can be returned
and the money will be refunded.
AGENTS.—Watches and Jewelry for Army, Navy,
and Country Trade, tbe most ealable kinds at the lowest
Eastern prices. Circular of prices, 4o,, free.
_____________HCBBARO BROS.. New York.
Standard Naval Books.
SIMPSON'S NAVAL OUNNERY.—A Treatise on Ord
nance and Naval Gunnery, compiled and arranged as a
Text-Book for the U. a Naval Academy. By Lieut ED
WARD 8I1IPSON, U. a N. Second Edition, revised and
enlarged. 8vo, half roan, plates and wood-cuts, $4.
BARRETT8 GUNNERY INSTRUCTIONS, simplified'
for the Volunteer Officers of the U. a Navy, with hints to
executive and other officers. By Lient. EDWARD SIMP-
SON, U. 8. N., Instructor In Chinnery, Brooklyn Navy-
Yard. IZmo, cloth, $185. n i j
LEVY'S MANUAL OF INTERNAL RULES AND
REGULATIONS FOR MEN-OF-WAR. By Com. V~V.
LEVY, U. S. N. New Edition, revised, with Rules and
Regulations for the Engineer Department, by A. U. 8TI-
MEliS, Chief-Engineer 4J. a N. 18mo, cloth, CO cents.
D. VAU NOSTRAND, Publisher,
- • No. 192 Broadway, New Yo*.
Copies of the above Nat free by mall on receipt of price.
Ballard'a Patent Breech-Loading Rifle.
ADVERTISEMENTS.
»
Chemicals, &c.
8ODA ASH, of different tests, for Smp and Glass
makers, various brands, 200 Tons.
CAUSTIC SOUA, in packages of 6 cwt., of the best En
glish make.
SAL SODA and Newcastle BI CARB. SODA, 260 Tons.
PALM OIL, an assortment, 100 Casks of prime.
CREAM TARTAR and TART ABIC ACID, crystals;
also powdered, perfectly pure.
THOMAS ANDREW8 & CO.,
_____Importers, 136 «nd 138 Cedar Bt., New York.
Attention Masons and Soldiers.
I will Bend (as sample), on the receipt of $1, a handsome
Gold Masonic Pin or Ring, or Plated Vest chain, or a fine
Gold Pen and Pencil, or Engraved Locket, or Bracelet, or
Neck Chain, or a beautiful set of Jewelry, together with
my wholesale Circular.
W. A. HAYWARD, Manufacturing Jeweler,
____ 208 Broadway, New York.
Thh arm Is entirely new, and is universally iicknowl
w. ...uw • a/vuuuo. uu*B ui v^tUlUIC CLUtt
and 44 copper water-proof Cartridges. Also,
Prescott's Cartridge Revolvers
The Sin., or Navy Slue, carries a Ball weighing 88 te
thelb., and the No. 32, or 41n. Revolver, a Ball 60 to the Ib
By recent experiments made in the Army, these Revolv
ers were pronounced the best and most effective weapons
In use. For particulars call or Bead for a Circular to
MERWIN tl BRAY, Sole Agents,
No. 26» Broadway, N. Y.
Also Agents for the SOLDIER'S Buuir-Paoar VEST.
BEAUTY.— Hunt's Bloom of Roses, a charming and
perfectly natural color for the cheeks, or lips. Will not
wash off, but remains durable f»r years. Can only be re
move! with vinegar, and warranted not to injure the skin
Used by the celebrated Court Beauties of Europe exclu
sively. Mailed free from observation for one dollar.
HUNT & CO., Perfumers, 188 a Seventh St., Philad.
(D»7 C AMONTH!— IWAWTTOHIRB AOBOTS
«H> f *J in every County at 576 per month and ex
penses, to sell a new and cheap Sewing Machine. Address
,
(with stamp).
. res
a MADISON, Alfred, Maine.
Tluie
WEDDING CARDS
Cel.br.Ud Engiml Cirdi sold only at I. CTXRD1
Old EiltUlihmoiLlpI Bradw.7. cor. DuluBt,N.T.
•(•Willed 1840. t^-ForSpKlmiabjMiu.a^twosI
i B. T. Babbitt's Pure Concentrated
O4 Potash,
Warranted double-the strength of common
Potath, and superior to any Saponlfler in
market, put up in cans of 1 Ib., a Iba., S
Ibs., 6 Ibs., and 12 Ibs., with fnll directions
for making Hard and Soft Soap. One pound
will make fifteen gallons of Soft Soap. No
lime is required. Consumers will find this
the cheapest Potash in market. Address
R T. BABBITT,
64 to 74 Washington Street, New York.
TO
74
64
TO
74
THE AGENT
Send S c. for circular. W. 8UMNEK & CO., N. Y.
Every Man his own Printer.
Portable Frintlng-Omoes fbr the Army and Navy, Drug
gists, and Businers Men generally. Send for a circular.
ADAMS PRESS COMPANY,
SI Park Row (under iovejoy's Hotel), New York.
S AVK YOUR SILKS, RIBBONS, GLOVES, &c._ He-
geman tl Co.'s Benzine removes paint and greaae
spots Instantly, and cleans Silks. Gloves, Ribbons, &c &c.,
without Injury to cither color or fabric. Only 25 cents
per bottle. Sold by druggists generally.
HEGEMAN & CO., Chemists ud Druggists, Mew York.
FRIENDS OF SOLDIERS!
All Articles for Soldiers at Baltimore, \Vanhlngton, nil-
ton Head, Kewbern, and all places occupied by Uulon
troops, «nould be sent, at half rates, by HARNDEN'S
EXPRESS, No. 74 Broadway. Batters charged low rates.
To all Wanting Farms.
Large iDi thriving settlement of VZwZonA Rich soil.
Good crops of Whtat, Corn, Peaches, Ac., to be seen— only
80 miles from Philadelphia. Delightful climate W acre
tracts of from $15 to $20 per acre, payable within 4 years.
Good schools and society. Hundreds are settling. Apply
U CHAS. K. LANDIS, P.M., VineUnd, Cumberland Co..
New Jersey. Report of Solon Robinson and Vineland Ru
ral seat free. From Report of Solon Robinson, Ag. Ed.
Tribune.
« U ii oneof the mott extentive fertile troett, in on ol-
mote Iml position, and atttaKe condition for pleatant
f arming tiuitwt know ojthittidccf the Wettern Pratriei.
BURNETT'S
Cooking Extracts.
Those of our readers who have used BuraeU's Toilet
Articles will Improve the first opportunity to supply them
selves with hit equally celebrated Cooking Extract!.
SECOND PAET'
OF MIX
SHILLING SONG BOOK.
Containing the Words of of Popular Songs tbat have ap
peared since the publication of the First Part, together
with numerous other favorites. Price 12 eta. on ncefot
of which copies wilt be mailed, post-paid
OLIVER D1TSON & CO., Publishers, Boston.
A MONTH !-We want Agents at
Sixty Dollars a month and all expenses paid,
to sell our new CLorna WBINOEIB, OBIXHTAL BDBMEU!
and 12 other new articles. Address
SHAW & CLARK,
Blddeford. Maine.
O TOTJ "WANT LUXURIANT
WHISKERS OR MUSTACHES F—My Onguentwlll
force them to crow heavily in six weeks (upon the smooth
est face) without stain or injury to the skin. Price $1—
taut by mall, poet free, to any address, on receipt of as or
der. E.G. GRAHAM, No. 109 Nassau Street, N. Y.
HARPER & BROTHER^
FEAMKLIN SQUARE, NKW YOEK,
Hate just rubtMei:
OLIVE BLAKE'S GOOD WORK. A Novel ByJonn
COEDY JBAFFKESON, Author of •'Isabel: or, the Young.
Wile and tie Old Love," Bvo, Paper, 25 seat*.

LINCOLN'S LAST WARNING.
"Now, if you don't como down, I'll cut tlie tree from under you."
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
THE FAIR THING.
ISotrriiEBX I.ADT who "tymjnttusei" with tltt IltMi to Grorer©i Boy. "Why, gracious!
HANB. Your Sinister hna charged me atr/W jaicct.© Tliree Dullars per pound for Ten —
Soap a Dollnr-pcr Bar—Butter Two Dollars per Pound—"
llAHB. " Yes, Mn'nm. The I5o*» eays as you like to talk Secedi. perhaps you wouU'nt
mind paying Seceeli prices."
ADVF.RTISKMF.NTS.
To Agents and Sutlers.
A NKW AND 91 1'hUKlU I'HI/.K PACICUIK FOR
TUB CAMP UK Hot>K)I()I,I) Just out, containing no
article UDlCM of the FINKS r DKM'HIITION Extra fine
1-hprr UK! Knvolopes, KM III.I I.I SI 11 l> \VIT1I !*1'LI N-
IUI) and HK.HI.Y lOI.lHtKl) t4KW TNION r.M-
UI.KMK; one copy SOLDII.U'H CAMI 1 COMPANION,
with Important InloniMllim: IW>l'VI'li:H. what tlu-y are
and how to obtain them; AHKKAUK OF PAY; AI.I.OW-
AXCK8; PENSIONS; how to COMMUTK, ftc.&c.: to
which It added valuable a/Mce from an "OIJ) CAM-
PAIOVKR." Jut wh«t • Kldtor nwda. It will create •
UECIUKD BEN8ATIUN. and SELL I.IKE \VIIDrlllK.
It also tmUloe a superb Ilkenm, 6x10, of VAJ.-GKN.
McCI.rLI.\N, and all thu requl-lte nuiti rial* fur writing.
Alaoa VKKY FINK AKTH I,r. of klCII JKWI.I.KY. It
la a FIRST-CLASS PACKAGE In r.VF.IfV ItllBIM C"R
We have many kind, of packages from *4 60 to $15 per
100. We aim present EACH AliKNT. fnw, with a I- INK
WATCH, warranted u a FKRFMT TIMK-KlKl'tK.
•IB per day mad« ea»y. Bend for NKW circulars, B.C.
K1CKAKDS ft CO., 103 Nawau Stnet, N. V., largest and
oldest Prime Package Home In the World.________
WATCHES GIVEN A WAY! 1 1
. jh. .COPY or THE NKW 1 AX I.A W .lib rub f.ck.it. I
. ftr«> oirr or j EWKLnr_ » ITH EACH PACKAOKI
.-_-.-- .—— ------ -_ - 1th ««cb r«»kMr»l
. .1 lllHIIUb.»«rWAR Im-LKMEKTBIacuh F«ck.B«l
ilr. » SAHKETrDL OF OOIIIIH with «u?b PACKAGE I
dtfr Cmpnilloa la PHICK «od COBUDU of neh P»ck>|> I
«»al aOKNTB I« I'll Ibta TwratT-B>l CKNT Pickif• I
waBlTOVuiud BTAMPB lor CIBCOLAKiil Fiok.^l
WIIE * CO., f BUUbcn. N 80. Third St., rhlUda,
ORNAMENTAL IKON
woliK, Wrought, Cast, and Wire. A»
IRON HAII.IMiS. VF.IIAMXAJIS, BALCoNI F.3
ill' Vi:i>S. ami fUrt.V FVRSirVKK of every descrip
tion. Illustrated Catalnnmi mailed on receipt of four S
eonl Btamp.. IlfTCIUNSON & WICKICKSIIAM,
36* Canal Slrwt, near llroadway, \>w \ork.
STAMMERING,
I'AMI'lllJ-.Tri (now edltl.ni) dom-rlblug HATES' Al'-
I I.I ANflv-f, the Dew Selrnllfic and only known mcann f>r
the rapid and prrmaDont euro of STAMMDUNOC an be ob
tained fnt aj npmtt, by mddrewlng
II. (;. L. MKAR&
P. 0. Box 1948. No. 82 Broadway, Kew York.
ThoM out of Employment
Can make large profit* (900 per cent.) veiling the Mam
moth Kurekn Priie Haokage. Ijirgext, fine*!, and only
good I'arkugc out. Handwme \V alch to every Agvnt free.
8-'nd f.,r circular. W. II. CATF.I.Y ft CO., fowler's
nulhllng, 40 Ann Street, N. Y.
French and English Institute,
FOR YOUNG GF.NTLEMEN, « and 80 Fjut !«h Street
Boarding and Pay School. Pupils prepnrod for Wert-
pdnt, the Nuvy Hchool, Cullege, and BnrineM. A pupil
can enter when ilx yenn of age, and remain till he i» 20.
The Pronpeetiu contain* th« nmnn of the pnplU and their
parenU fnr tbw ii^t Mven yean. Lcwoni) resumed on
SEPTEMBER ICth^ rJJE C1IARUKB, Director.
Tin FBAHKUH SBWIHO MAOam Co. want Agent*.
Tt-rnw liberal Addrew (with stamp) lUuw Btaf, Bof-
Ion* MaM,
[OCTOBEU 11, 1862.
TIHE DRAFT.
"Drafted! yes, MARIA, drafted! and I'm so short If they shoot ot my Leg8 they'll
Ait me in the head I I know it, MABIA, I know it!'
Mn. Stephens' Great Pictorial History
of the War for the Union i« the History for the
people—truthful aud brilllBnt. Mie hM produced a thrlll-
tafl and cnt'Ttnlnlng imrratlve of events connected with
the mint (Igamlc of human etrugglfi. FmbelUnlicd with
over two hundred Illustrations. Two Volumes, Royal Oc
tavo, 4'6 pugci each.
Aginita can secure exclunlve territory, anil commence
their cnnva* at once. A better opportunity for Agnits
was never offered, us a good History of this Wi\r muft,
snoniT or later, find lt« way into nearly every family In
the land.
For terms and full particulars, addivM
JNO. G. WK1XS, 66 \Vllllam Street, New York.
LANDS.—To all wanting Farms. Thriving Settle-
m> nt. Itieli soil. Mild climate. See advertisement of
\ Iceland, on page 495.
Confederate IRcboL Money.
PF.RFFCT KAC-PIMILKS of CONFKUKltA PKTRFAS-
ri:\ NOTF9 for Bale at $4 per 1000. Specimens or all
klndi sent by mall for !tn cents, by
W. K. HILTIJN, 11 Spruoe Street, New York.
Haskins1 " Army Portfolio."
Containing PAPER, KVVF.IJOFEB, INK, IYNS, rr.nciL,
II snoi.nm, BLOTrr.n, HUTTONB, TUREAP, KEEDLZS, Pms,
and a TIIIMIII.R. Manufuctured by
O. S. HASKINS * CO., M Beekman St., New York,"
Wholesale Dealers In Stationery and I'rizo rackug-s.
GOLD FENS '
Retailed nt wholesale prices. Orders sent by mall frre.
Pens repolntcd on receipt of 30 cents In stamps, ttmd for
circular giving Hut of prices and engraving* of Tins.
£. S. JOHNSON, Manufacturer,
IB Maiden Lane, New York City.
~ A BEAUTIFUL MICROSCOPE
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•i»
658
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
MAJOR-GENERAL SIGEL.
MAJon-GKNKRAi, FRANZ SioBL, whew portrait
ire give on the preceding page, was bom at Baden,
in Germany, in 1824, and li consequently thirty,
eight years of age at the present time. He was
educated at the military school at Carlsruhe, closed
hU course with honors, and obtained a high posi
tion in the army of his country. In the year 1847
lie was esteemed by his brother officers the most
scientific artillerist in Germany. When the rebel
lion broke out he took sides with the insurgents,
lost hia commission, and took service with the pop-
ular party. At one time he was in chief command
of the popular army, and managed by a skillful
retreat, in which he led away 80,000 men from a
punning army of 80,000, and saved all his guns
and trains, to elicit the warm eulogiums of the old-
est soldiers in Europe. At the overthrow of the
relwllion Sigel emigrated to this country.
Here he engaged in teaching, and fairly settled
down to the dull life of a professor, and married
the daughter of the principal of his academy.
About (he year 1858 he obtained a position in a
college nt St. Louis, and removed thither. When
the rebellion broke out he tendered his services to
the Government, and WBB given the command of
tlie 2.1 Regiment of Union Volunteers, raised in St.
Louis. He was soon appointed Brigadier-General,
and accompanied General Lyon on his famous cam
paign against Price. At the battle of Springfield,
where Lyon was killed, Sigel succeeded to the com-
tuund, and withdrew our little army with skill and
auccws. He subsequently commanded a corps
throughout the bloodless campaign under Fremont;
and when General Curt is was detached to operate in
Arkansas, Sigel led one of his divisions. It is un
derstood that he planned and won the great battle
of Pea Riilge almost against the wlshss of his supe
rior, General Curtls. After the battle some diffi
culty about commands arose, and Sigel was called
to Washington and given the command of Harper's
Ferry. On the organization of the Army of Vir
ginia a place was created for him by the resigna
tion of General Fremont, and he accordingly took
command of hia army corps. In all the terrible
battles which Pope fought in order to delay the
advance of Lee against Washington Sigel took an
active part. At the Rappahannock MB cannon In
cessantly thundered; and though the enemy out
numbered him by at least five to one, he held them

GENERAL BUELL'S ARMY ENTEKUSG LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY—DRAWN BY MR. H. MOSLKR.-[SBR PAOB 6C3.]
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CC2 HARPEH'S WEEKLY. [OCTOBEK 18, 1862.
THE 1'ATKIOTS SLEEP.
["Too n»ny of the Wide-awnke» of the lot campaign
are Indeed fart asleep now, when their country needs
them. I MW one of U*ro .lumbering by Cnlpepper Court
HOOM U«t week. He wa. sleeping with hi. right arm
twlited In the spokes of a disabled cannon-wheel, and a
purple m»rk was on hi. right temple. But he was not
alone In hi. forgetful sloth, tor near Mm, and rigidly
ffTUDlnz his dlaengaged hand, was a Democrat, .lumber,
far tool They Bleep for the flag, and may Us stars shed
pleasant dreams on their loyal Boula forever I"]
Two soldiers slumbering, hand clasped in hand?
Not thus should freemen lie
When storms of trouble break upon the land,
And treason's hordes are nigh.
Not thue Columbia's children should give o'er
When tyrants boast and brag
Of Freedom vanquished. " Nay, we can no more!
We sleep here for the nag I"
"See!" one said, "here's a mark upon my brow
That cowards never wear;
I have but left the battle-field just now—
A bullet hit me there 1"
The other looked up smiling in my face,
His rigid lips apart;
And spoke no word, but motioned me to trace
His wound above his heart.
Oh! many slumbering ty the nag we see,
"By love of ease possessed;
Feeling no shame; not caring to be free-
Not so they sunk to rest.
They met the foe, refusing to bow down
Uefore a rebel rag:
Speak softly! give their memory a tear
Who sleep thus for our flag!
Dear Flag, for whom so many sleep this day!
Let all thy bright stars shine
In pleasant dreams upon these loyal souls,
For they were always thine!
When others would have trailed thee in the dust,
And hailed thy fall with glee,
They sprang to save thee—fought in thy defense—
Now sleep in death for tbee.
Sleep on, brave ones, ye shall not be forgot!
Through all the country's pain
Sue dreams not all of »f{/"—her tenderest thought
Is for her children slain.
When she looks for strong arms, and willing hearts,
And feet that never lag,
She wishes you were by her side again,
Who now sleep for the flag!
MISSING.
" WHAT is it, dear ?"
" Only the drums. Oh, if they would only stop
one moment!"
I saw my dear aunt shake her head sorrowfully,
while a look of meaning passed between her and
my uncle. They thought I was out of my mind, but
they were mistaken. I knew as well as they did
that the noise which was wearing upon every nerve
was only the reverberation of the crowd of car
riages and omnibuses on Broadway. Still I could
only hear the roll of drums. I had heard it, day
and night, for five weeks.
It was a drum this time, after all, and muffled:
they were approach^ the house. My aunt start
ed up, with a gestAWof dismay, to try and close
out the aound. Nearer and nearer came the heavy
tramp of men, nnd now the sad dirge wailed out
by low-toned instruments the Dead March that
marks a military funeral. Strange to say, it was
wonderfully soothing and restful as it rose and
died away upon my cars, strained so long to a
steady, monotonous roll I When they had all gone
by, I was weeping, for the first time in many days.
It was like dew to my dry eyeballs—an unspeak
ably blessed physical relief to my aching heart.
Those funeral honors were in my mind appor
tioned to him. I felt no longer the bitterest, most
maddening fear of all—that his dear form was left
unburied, for the ill birds of prey to tear and man
gle. A ghastly, blackened face, npturned lo the
scorching sun, no longer glared upon me when I
closed my eyei; but a low, quiet grave, where
comrades had said a prayer as it was hollowed, and
where dust should quietly mingle with dust. The
grass should spring upon it some day; wild-flowers
look up with dewy eyes to heaven; and there peace
fully, as in my arms, he should slumber until we
should be reunited beyond all death and change.
Again that sad and' touching strain floated hack
to my darkened room on in errand of merer—
fainter and fainter now as the footsteps receded_
" Adestes Fidelis," our old Sunday evening hymn!
For weeks my mind had gone in the same dull,
maddening round; but now I saw my old home as
vividly as if I were in reality the little fair-haired
child nestling in my dear father's arms, while my
mother touched the keys, and Ibsir voices rose up
ward in a solemn and tender unison—an emblem
of their united godly lives 1
A feeliug of pity for myself came over me to
tbmk I had come to this—that bright, eager, hope
ful child I I wondered if they did not pity me, re
moved as they were from the sorrows of earth; if
they did not long to pluck me out of the dark wa
ters that were surging over my soul. Who knows
hut it was their spirits ministering unto me; for
from that moment the stupor of despair left me?
I only wonder I had not died at first. It hap
pened thus: I came down so cheerful and buoyant
that morning, singing to my bird as I arranged the
flowers that our city garden afforded, for it was my
day for a letter from him, and all this long rear ho
had never failed me. Twice a week his daily jour
nal, in which every act and thought of his life was
chronicled for my eyes, came. There might be de
lays after it left his hand, but none through him.
I did not think to unfold the morning paper, not
knowing that a movement of his corps was expect
ed ; hut my nncle bad known it for several days
and had been dreading disaster, as I afterward
round, from the carefully-worded telegraphs of the
War Department. But I was youn«r. r«i> over-
ronlifleut of our cause, and had paid no In it tu the
ominous mutteriugs of the coming storm. The
sun fell on my daily path—what were the clouds
tome!
There was a white, fixed look in my uncle's
face; that was my first warning. I dropped the
blood-red fuschias and fragrant heliotropes which
I held, and sprang to his side.
" What u it ?—what i» it ?"
My voice sounded changed and husky to myself.
The scared look passed from my uncle's kind eyes,
and one of love and pity entered into them.
"He may be only a prisoner after all; do not
worry before we hear."
But I could detect the deceit, as a child does the
bitter drug hidden in the conserve.
" You mean that he is dead; and yon are lying
to me 1"
It did not matter that "Missing" stood above
the column in which his name was enrolled. They
tormented me with watching, and writing for in
formation, and all manner of hopeless devices for
many a day. They were sure that when the list
of the prisoners should be received from Richmond
he would be reported among them, but I gave up
from the first; and when that came with no news
of him it was almost a relief, for they let me alone
with my trouble.
Yon take up the papers day after day, and read
those dreadful lists without a thought. Those
names are no more to yon thsn the columns of a
directory, or a list of advertised letters. You have
a- kind hesrt, and you sigh, and say, "Poor fel
lows !" as yon lay them down. How little do yon
understand of the sickening anxiety, the appalling
snock, which those very columns carry to a thou
sand households! How eager eyes dilate with horror
and unbelief as fearing, and hoping, and praying
they come upon the name they seek for staring
them in the face with such persistent reality—
staring them into blindness.
So I read it, leaning over my uncle's shoulder,
and following his finger with a dizzy brain:
Mining AETHUR L. GRANT.
The first on the list, followed by the name of a
company and regiment that had marched proudest
of all through our streets thirteen months before,
since they had left wealth, and ease, and luxnry, to
go out for their country's sake—a pure enthusiasm
in what they believed to be a noble cause.
Again and again he had been in the thickest of
the fight, and had come out unharmed. I impi
ously believed it was my unceasing selfish prnycrs
that protected him I—how impious and how M Ilish
I had never known till now; for I had come to be
lieve the angels had a special charge concerning
him. But that veil of self-delusion fell from my
eyes like n mist; my presumption in thinking God
would exempt me from the trials common to all!
I dare say you know every phase of mind I passed
through with, if yon have ever been visited with n
sudden shock of loss; how, from what I conceived
to be loving trust in my Heavenly Father and
a glowing gratitude, I found myself madly rebel
lious, sullenly faithless, wholly unbelieving*. What
were all His promises worth since it had come to
this! Only tliat morning before I left my room I
had read with such a boastful confidence in the
Bible which had been his earliest gift to me:
" He shall deliver thee in sli troubles; yea, In seven shall
no evil touch thee.
>' In famine he shall redeem thee from death, and In war
from the power of the sword."
But now He had " put forth his hand and touch
ed all that I had," and the temptation to " curse
him to his face" swept over me, ai it had through
the soul of the patient Chaldean I
During the slow decline which had taken my
father from me, and exhausted my mother's little
strength in long-con tinned care and watchful
ness, we had sailed on a long voyage, in the hope
that it might stay the cruel disease which worked
out its end with such deceptive quietness. I was
wretchedly feverish and ill for a long, long time,
unable to leave my berth or to take any nourish
ment ; yet, strange to say, I never slept without
such heavenly dreams! An unaccountable happi
ness stole over me as I sank to sleep; the fever and
the thirst were slaked on delicious frujts or at
sparkling fountains of the clearest water. The
dull monotony of sight and sound, which almost
maddened me when awake, was exchanged for
the landscapes and the music of Paradise f
So it was with me now for a time; when aw^ke,
despair and desolation and eternal isolation closed
sronnd me; but when I sank into an unconscious
ness that was not sleep, such bright, mocking vi
sions of the past, with every precious hour that
memory held in store, was lived over with a mi
nuteness and vividness that mocked the changeless
reality of widowhood.
Every half-expressed thought or glance of ten-
derness—the perfect repose of the full knowledge
of his love—the hitter bliss of our first parting,
when the call to arms sounded through the land—
the nnspoken longing to be called his—to bear his
name, at least, if his life should be laid down for
his country; the long clinging, passionate farewell,
when I first felt all the intensity of his love; and
his sndden, unlooked-for return.
That day came up before me continually. I
heard the sonnd of clear ringing footsteps in the
hall when I thought him hundreds of miles away,
and started to be canght to his heart, and find
that my quick recognition of that familiar tread
wae indeed a blessed reality 1 How tenderly he
smoothed back my hair as I clung to him—afraid he
would vanish as strangely as he had come—and
pressed my cheek close and closer to his breast, till
I could hear the strong throbbing of his heart; and
then he whispered," You mnet be my wife, Agnes,
before I leave you again; this separation will be
intolerable if I can not pour out my whole heart to
you, and think of yon as all mine!"
Yet he was to return the next day; for his sad
errand of escort to a deceased comrade, one of the
first to baptize the soil of Virginia with heroic blood,
OCTOBER 18, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 663
was already accomplished. It was all so strange,
so hurried, so dream-like, when I stood up between
my kind uncle and aunt the next morniug, and my
nncle laid my hand in Arthur's, and, trembling
from head to foot, I made those solemn vows that
bound me to him for life and death.
Once—only once—I heard his dear voice utter
the sacred name of "wife"—and then it was all
over; my clasping arms were unlocked from his
neck with tender and gentle force, Vmy husband's
first and last kisses were showered upon my face—
and he was gone!
Was this the end of my faithful watching and
waiting—ceaseless vigils in spirit by an unknown,
nnhonored grave ?
But now neither bitter realities nor tender mem
ories mingled in the sleep to which I sank; for
hours my unstirred pillow was as dreamless as
that of the dead, and I awoke BO rested and so
calm that at first they feared the new mood only
as a more insidious symptom of mental malady. I
had a plan and purpose of life—for a time, at least
—which had come to me as suddenly as an inspira
tion. I had been denied that which I had covet
ed—to soothe his pain, to watch by his bed of suf
fering; but there were those who had suffered in
the same holy cause to whom I could minister—his
comrades, who, in turn, were far from all they
loved.
My aunt called it madness when I told her of my
intention to leave my sheltered home with her, and
devote myself to the wearing, self-sacrilicing life
of nurse among the hospitals. "My health for
bade ;" " my strength had never been taxed ;" "it
was a romance I should soon be cured of;" "they
would not undertake the risk to which my life
would be exposed." But I had expected opposi
tion, and met it quietly but firmly. An only child,
self-will had been long a governing principle, nnd
they finally gave way, believing \v hat I told them,
that it was my only escape from madness, the pros
pect of action, a mind and heart both occupied
fully.
I knew he would have approved my course, nnd
what was my ease and comfort that it could not be
resigned when Arthur's bad been so readily sacri
ficed ? And suppose the worst came—or what the}'
thought so—there was a selfish, cowardly pleasure
to me in the thought that I should then be united
to him again so soon.
I wanted to put on the monrning-dress which
suited my condition, but that they would not allow
ine. Arthur's relations opposed it "while there
was hope." Alas! there had never been hope.
Some of them caviled at my purpose, and called it
unwomanly; but then they had at my sudden mar
riage also—dull souls, who made religion of routine
and social observance.
It was the first approach to happiness I had
known when I put on the plain gray dress which
Arthur had always liked so much, calling me his
"little nun," and knelt down in the silence of my
own room with a vow of consecration to my God
and my suffering fellow-creatures; for He accepted
it, I knew, blotting out the human weakness of my
rebellion. I knew it hy the power that I had given
me at that moment to look upon the past without
bitterness, and the long, weary future withont a
cowardly shrinking from it.
My dear aunt waited for me below, with tears
that she conld not restrain; she saw my blighted
life in my thin, worn face, and she had tried so
hard to make me happy after that first great loss,
and be a mother to me. I stood on the spot where
I had been made Arthur's wife. How should I re
turn to my home again ? How pass through those
doors that now closed so reluctantly upon me ?
But then all pain was over save meeting my
uncle's pitiful looks, from time to time, as we went
on our little journey together.
The surgeons did not care to admit me at first—
my youth and inexperience were against me; but
my "uncle told them my story with a faltering
voice, and I pleaded so humbly for the least and
lowest office, that they allowed me to remain. My
narrow, comfortless quarters were assigned me,
and my longed-for task began.
The first day tried my resolution to the utmost;
the long rows of sufferers, the wan and wasted
faces, the pitiful imploring looks from eyes that
followed me as I passed, the sickening sight of
maimed and wounded limbs, the ghastly stump
' cushioned into sight and coolness, the ravings of
delirium, the wan, ashen faces of the dying!—oh,
my God, that such scenes should be!—repeated
with unvarying sameness through those long, dull
wards—through miles of wards like these all over
onr land I And then I saw his sufferings in theirs.
Ah I I could not close my eyes, could not compose
my limbs to sleep; could only start, and turn, and
pray for them and for those they loved, and for my
country, all those long wakeful hours.
After that I entered into my work with the ex
ceeding comfort I had expected, and an eager in
terest in individual suffering that surprised me.
When I first came upon the empty bed of one who
had been my peculiar care, and who had passed
heyond the reach of all ministry, I wept as if I
had lost a brother. I forgot aching limbs and
weary head when moistening lips blackened by
fever, cooling the stiffened handages, or turning
the heated pillow. The close, heavy air ceased to
sicken me, my nerves shrank no longer at cries of
pain or sight of gaping wound, if so I could pre
pare a cordial or hathe the sinking pulse hack to
life again.
Two weeks had passed, and I had won the con
fidence of the surgeon who had opposed my admis
sion most decidedly. He was abrnpt and cold in
his manner, bnt he had a warm and feeling heart;
these men had found it out beneath his brnsque
exterior, for no woman's touch was more gentle,
though so firm and rapid in all that required to
be done.
I had never obtrnded myself upon him, hut I
noticed, with a pleasure like the award of com
mendation, that he began to intrust his orders to
me more and more; that he singled me out for
cases that required the most constant watchful
ness. This day he said to me, after giving his di
rections, "You have not broken down yet, poor
thing! poor young thing!"
It was as if my father had pitied and caressed
me; but it was so unlooked-for that I almost gave
way to tears before him.
That same afternoon I found myself passing a
ward that had been prepared some days for new
arrivals, just as they were bringing in those sad
and touching burdens. Men helpless as infants
clung to the arms that supported them, or tottered
to the beds prepared for them like little children
just learning to walk; stretchers as ghastly as biers
passed and repassed with those to whom all places
were alike, so that motion would cease and they
might be allowed to die in peace; others moaned or
shrieked at the torture of the tenderest touch ; and
all were, without exception, squalid and wretched
to the last degree. I wondered to see them so,
even while I passed from one to another with re
storatives ; but still I had not heard that they were
paroled prisoners, fresh from the filth and priva
tions of the rebel capital. No; there was not even
a tremor of possible hope that I might hear his
name or his story among that suffering crowd, as
one by one passed before me.
I stooped at length over a wan and wasted figure
laid upon the bed in the most remote corner. The
face was hollow and emaciated, the eyeballs sunk
en, the dry lips black and parched by fever; the
dark hair and heavy beard were closely shaven;
the thin hands clasped together, as if death had al
ready released this poor sufferer. I thought it
must be so at first; but as I bent down more close
ly the eyelids were feebly lifted, the lips quivered
painfully.
"Yes—it is heaven!"
I canght the feeble, wandering whisper; but,
oh, my Heavenly Father! was my mind wandering
too?—had pity clouded my brain? ^'
They must have thought I had gone mad!. Per
haps the kind surgeon thought so when he turned,
the moment after, to find me kneeling by the bed
with that poor, wasted, shriveled face cradled in
my firms, and my passionate outcries for help
startling the painful quiet around us, for life seem
ed to have flickered and gone out with the look of
recognition which [ had caught.
I had said—oh how often!—that I would be
content if he could die in my arms: and there he
lay, slipping a way from me into eternity!
I knew it was best, when they unwound my
arms as he had done on that blessed morning, and
the surgeon lifted me as if I had been a child and
carried me from the room; but I crouched down by
the door, blessing the falling darkness that shel
tered me, and When he had passed out I crept back
a

HARPER'S WEEKLY.
Tbe bkme liridgu
SCENES ON THE BATTLE-FIELD OF ANTIETAM.—FKOM PHOTOGRAPHS BY MR. M. B. BEADY.—[SEE PAGB 6C3.]
!

C66 HAEPEKS WEEKLY. [OCTOBER 18,1862.
OCTOBER 18,1862.] HAEPEE'S WEEKLY. 667
WAITING.
WHEN he comes back, all glorious,
With the love-light in his eye,
From the battle-field victorious,
Who'll be happier then than II
See, the big arm-chair is waiting,
Vacant still, in its old place—
Time! press quickly on the hours
Till I see his pleasant face!
lie was too young, they told me,
To march against the foe;
Tet wheu his country needed aid
Ilia mother bade him go!
Twere meet slaves should tremble
Whom tyrants hold in thrall;
Bnt my boy was a freeman born,
lie went at Freedom's call.
My small weak hand would waver
The shortest sword to bear;
But he stands steady in the ranks,
And holds his musket there.
My faint heart would falter
The battle-ground to see;
But his is strong in Freedom's might,
He fights for her and me.
I am watching and waiting,
As mothers watch and wait
Whose sons are in the army now,
And it is growing late;
My life's past its morning,
It's near sunset iu the sky—
Oh I I long once more to clasp him
Iu my arms before I die.
Yet farther off the army goes—
He will return no more,
Till onr glorious flag is free again
To float o'er sea and shore.
Where'er it waved in days gone by,
Its folds again shall rest,
From the depths of the lowest valleys
To the highest mountain crest.
And he, my boy, my darling,
The pride of my old heart!
Where'er his place may be, I know
He will fulfill his part.
Not until the war is over
Shall we meet in fond cmbAce—
Time! press swiftly on the honrs
Till I see his pleasant face!
HOW THE ENGLISH PLUNDERED
• DELHI, IN 1857.
[Toe October number of ITarprr'l Naparini contained
an article giving eon» aceonnt of the atroeUlea perpetrated
by Uw Eagllah In the euppmalon of the Sepoy " Rebellion."
Tttt London CvrnMU Mogaztru for the eame month con-
Ulna an aecoont of the Plunder of Delhi, which we repro
duce with alight curtailment. It li * personal narrative
of the proceeding* of a tingle Individual. "•' 4>-i|,), put
in a veto, and the sacrilege (from a native- point
of view) was not committed. It was decided that
the wealth of Delhi should be digged out of the
bowels of the by no means innocent city; and, as
Iu Australia, the prize-agents conferred licenses on
officers, in whose integrity they trusted (I, my
friend, was one), to dig for treasure in their behalf.
All property discovered was to be brought to the
prize-office, in cue of Uw chief streets, a place to
describe which would take more time than I can
spare now, and the diggers were to gtt a per-cent-
age upon their " treasure-trove." The diggings
promised to be profitable. Labor was cheap and
abundant—the only difficulty was to scent out the
spoil.
I occnpled a large native house In "a central
situation," which I had taken possession of shortly
after our entry. I planted " touts" at the door,
and gave it to be understood that I was a man of
great influence with the Government, and of large,
resources, who was ready to pay liberally for inform
ation as to the whereabouts of buried valuables.
At first I did not prosper; the inhabitants were
slowly returning to their dwellings, trembling and
suspicious, more anxious just then about their necks
than any thing else. Our troops, white and black,
particularly the latter, were busy looking for plun
der. However, after many days' waiting, a change
came in my fortnnes. As I watched the crowd
hurrying by one day, a tall gaunt Sikh, with hun
gry eyes and troubled air, made me a sign. I hur
ried out at once. lie walked aside from the malu
stream of pedestrians, camels, and bullock-carts,
and inquired whether my Highness-ship would
make him a promise of secrecy. On my eagerly
aseenting, he told me that he had a piece of jewelry
to sell, and that the price was one thousand rupees
cash; he added, further, that if I wished to deal, I
must bring the money that evening to a place he
named without the Cashmere'gate, on the canton
ment rood, where he promised to meet me.
I scraped together, with some difficulty, five
hundred rupees, and went to the spot at the ap
pointed hour. I found the Sikh awaiting me. lie
produced a frontlet, or forehead-ornament, of large
emeralds and diamonds, with a great central ruby,
all most clumsily and loosely fixed together. He
declined to say how he came by it. " Ijool bt-thui,"
" plunder undoubtedly," he said, with a grin. I
was fascinated by the glitter of the genn, but, hap
pily, having only the above sum, I told him I could
give no more. After demur and remonstrance, he
consented to let me have it, and 'I returned home
satisfied that I had made one successful coup. I
rejoiced in the possession of the Sikh's booty for
many months, and proudly did I display It one
day to a London jeweler, to be told, w my horfW",
and to the destruction of mighty air-castles, that
the stones were pierced and flawed every one, and
that their united value did not amount to the sum
the ornament had coat me.
Shortly after my bargain I was riding one even
ing about sunset through the " Dnreeba," a wind-
Ing street, and the most picturesque in Delhi, when
I saw a scantily-dressed native of the lowest class,
skulking, with a bundle in his hand, in the shade
of the shop-roofs, evidently trying to escape my
notice. I rode over to him, demanded his business
in loud tones, and drawing my sword at the same
time threatened him with Instant execution. He
became sallow, his knees tottered, he muttered
some indistinct prayer for the " Kumpanee £aha-
door let lama"—" Mercy from the omnipotent Com
pany," and fled, leaving his bundle behind him.
I took it to my house, and found, tied up in a sin
gularly unclean cloth, a piece of Cashmere silk em
broidery, worth at least jC20 in England, a hand
ful or two of parched pease, a hall of tobacco pre
pared for the "chillum," a lot of cowries or shell-
money, and three annas four pie in copper. It was
clear that he had stolen the only valuable article
in the list, and it was equally clear that it had be
come mine more or IMS lawfully.
Next morning (it never rains but it pours) I re
ceived a confidential communication from my table
servant, as he stood by my bedside, tea-cap In
hand; he had met an old friend in the vegetable-
market, who said he knew of an old woman who
was heard to say that, in a certain house, near the
Ajmere gate, there was a sum of money buried In a
ghurra, or earthen water-jar, not less, at all events,
than 6000 rupees, £600. Some tedious negotiation
followed this straightforward statement, but I was
finally led to the place, followed by my coolies with
digging-tools. A closely-shut door was opened
after violent threats, and I got into a small dark
ened room on the ground-floor, ill-smelling snd
filthy, with but one article of furniture, a native
charpoy, or bedstead, whereon lay an old man, de
clared by an attendant hag, probably his betreyer,
to be bedridden and very ill.
Amidst shrieks of pretended pain from Us occu
pant, the bedstead was moved to one side, in accord
ance with previous instructions, and the coolies
commenced to dig. The ground had evidently
been disturbed not long before, and soon a clink, as
of metal against pottery, was beard, and the ghurra
was lifted ont, with a cloth tied over the top—not
without some difficulty, as it was of the largest
size made. My clumsy assistants managed to
break the vessel in setting it down, and amidst tri
umphant shouts from all the spectators except the
old man, who shrieked feable prayere for pity to
the "sirkor," or Government, as represented' by
me on the occasion, a stream of silver gushed from
the Interior. Denouncing my workers as the off
spring of swine, fit only for Jehennam, and not for
the service of a " Protector of the Poor," and
" Cherisher of the Oppressed," such as I, I or-
dersd one of them to divest himself of his only gar
ment (some yards of coarse cotton stuff, wound first
round the waist, and then round the semi-shaven
scalp). We tied our ghurra up in this, swung it
on a strong bamboo, and carried It oft*. The value
I found to be very nearly equal to the sum prom
ised, alUu rnpte and eight auna pieces.
My next take was a noble one—the tpofia opima
of looting; it struck me that it would be a good
plan to try the earth in the vicinity of the jewelers'
shops, or, rather, where the jewelers had lived be
fore the siege. I knew Delhi pretty well in former
times, and the habitat of the different merchants of
nets. At gun-fire, one fine morning in October
(delightful the early morning in the beginning of
the cold weather in the northwest Is), I set forth,
attended by my six coolies, with the Hindoo equiva
lents of spades, shovels, and picks on their shoul
ders, taking with me th» Ottrland Mail, a cheroot-
box stuffl-d with very fair number twos, half a
dozen of soda-water, and half a bottle of John Ex-
shaw " Number one." I struck into a circuitous
lane near the canal, leading from the " Loll Sur-
rak," or red street, to the liegum Sumroo's garden
(Dyce Sumbre's Begum), and selected, for my first
trial, a ruinous buffalo-dairyman's shed, which stood
(or tottered) close by a dirty little hut, then de
serted, where one of the chief gold-workers of the
place had formerly flourished. I had excavated
for a little time without success, when an acute
coolie, whose intelligence I afterward rewarded
with four annas, sixpence-halfpen ny, over and above
his lawful wages, suggested a mine under the party-
wnll. It was easily made, for the wall had no
foundation, and was built of " kuccha" or sun-dried
bricks of clay, quite friable from sge. I read the
English news with as much iutcrest as I could,
while my men were rooting; but I was soon inter
rupted by a heavy fall of rotten bricks, a shout
from my coolies, and the apparition on the other
side of the tumbled wall of my jolly friend Pintle,
of the Royal Bengal fire-workers, mattock in hand,
with his great red cheeks covered with dust and
sudor, his "khakee" tunic dirt-colored indeed and
wet through with perspiration, bis whole appear
ance like a navvy's in a solah topee. The rascal
was a licensed digger like myself, but he worked
alone, on principle; and there were, in consequence,
even uglier stories about him than about myself,
and that's saying a good deal. We cried simul
taneously, " Halves with you 1" and struck a part
nership on the spot. He knew Delhi better than I
did, and worked, as I afterward found, on more
scientific data; but my sources of information were
better than hie, and he acknowledged that solitary
digging was an error The natives began to clear
away the rubbish, and while I watched them, Pin
tle, pulling a small chisel out of his pocket, tested
knowingly every likely-looking brick in the jewel
er's wall.
" I shouldn't wonder at ull," he said, as he went
sround tapping, " if the swag were here." He
had scarcely spoken when, by a neat wrist-turn, he
extracted a brick which was a trifle more firmly
set than its neighbors, and thrust his chisel into
the cavity. "Something soft at all events," he
whispered, peering in eagerly. A little skillful
scooping produced a small dirty rag tied in a knot.
I "lent him a knife:" the rag contained about a
dozen uncut sapphires and diamonds of unques
tionable value, and a splendid "cat's-eye"—one
of those gorgeous dusky orange opals, with as
many changes of color in different lights as a ca-
meleon, a real "tslisman stone." AVe looked at
each other and sighed; there was at least two hun
dred pounds' worth of gems in that rag, and there
were two of us. Pintle recovered hie presence of
mind first.
"They" (i.«., the prize-agents) "ought to give
us one each," he said.
" Dig on, yon worthless demons," I said, turn
ing savagely on the coolies who had suspended
their operations to watch mm: so they shoveled
away with vehement expressions denoting zeal in
the service of my High Mightiness-ship. I may
have wished Pintle down the Grand Trunk Road
with the "clearing" column; he possibly wished
me in Jericho.
We soon got down on the mine I had com
menced under the fallen wall; and though the
mine led to nothing, yet we found indications on
one side of recently broken soil, and finally, be
neath the rude platform where the unlucky jewel
er used to sit, five feet under the ground, came
upon the rest of his treasure: viz., a braes betel-
box such as natives use, called a Faun-dan, a
quaint ebony casket with joinings of silver, a bale
of goods tied carefully in gunny, a " degchee" or
copper cooking utensil with a loose lid, and hslf a
dozen brazen dishes and " lotos," or drinking ves
sels, which latter became our coolies' share of the
spoil, and made happier dogs of them than our find
ings made of us, then or since.
We took our booty off to my quarters; the prize-
office was close at hand to be sure, yet we could
not deny ourselves the small gratification of'being
the first to investigate the products of the lode.
But it may be asked, how was it that the owners
of articles of great value such as gems, so portable
and so easily concealable on the person, did not
carry them away when they fled ? This question
is easily answered. The sepoys were really mas
ters of the city and its inhabitants for four clear
months; the old king was but nominally supreme:
they levied black-mail, in money and kind, from
the shroffs and bunyahs, the bankers, tradesfolk,
and food-sellers, during that time without mercy.
If any who were known to be possessed of means
pleaded poverty, the sepoys, under no restraint,
searched their houses and their persons, and even
beat and tortursd them to force them to disgorge.
Circumstantial diariea of the events within the
wslls during the rfege were kept by more than one
native of the place, which were afterward trans
lated and published in India, and in which were
recorded instances after instances of this: the con
sequence was, that the jewelers and merchants had
no resource from the first but to Conceal their goods
as artfully as they could, and the valuables the
Delhi diggers exhumed were originally buried, in
order that they might not fall into the hands of
the mutineers.
The haul was a grand one that morning. The
betel-box was full of gems in all stages of prepa
ration for setting—.rubies, onyxes, jaspers, pearls
of some price, topazes, gold stones, and pebbles of
minor value, such, aa abound in all the shops of the
Delhi Jewelers. The copper cooking utensil con
tained onr poor friend's working tools (clumsy they
looked, but marvelous is the work native gold
smiths turn out with them), and studs, bracelets,
and brooches in gold and silver filigree, of nntive
and English pattern, some of theAnuer very taste
ful: there were also gold ami WfKt clftiins half
finished, lumps of unworked precious metal, semi-
moulded armlets, nose, ear, and ankle ornaments
for native ladies, a few gold mohurs and other
coins, in that battered-looking skillet.
The ebonv casket we were rather disappointed
in. Wo had some trouble in bursting the lock,
to find only an oM Koran, illuminated and richly
bound to be sure, but then entirely out of proper-
tion as to value we thought. It fetched a high
price at the prize sale, for there are book maniacs
even in India who are as particular about bits of
Arabic scroll and the ctTrves of the reversed calip,
raphy of the Eastern reed as their brethren at homo
are about Akline imprimatur and impossible blurk
letter. One enthusiastic gentleman got hold of a •
piece of goods in the Jurama Musjid, silk or cotton,
written all over with sacred sayings from the Ko
ran : this he pronounced to be nothing less than
the shirt of the Prophet, and advertised it for sale
in the Delhi Gazette at the low figure of five thou
sand rupees. I did not hear the name of the pur
chaser. Our eager hands and knives made short
work of the outer covering of the bale. Its con
tents'filled us with Admiration: purdahs or door-
hangings of crimson velvet, four yards long and
nearly half as wide, with cords and tassels of gold
lace and double bullion, the whole stiffiy embroid
ered with golJ in arabesque patterns—quite new,
and evidently made to order for some shrine: they
had suffered somewhat from the damp of the hiding-
place, but were still very gorgeous. There were
shawls, and waistbands, and turban", beautifully
embroidered with the highly-dyed silk for which
Delhi is famous—chogas or mantles from Cashmere,
of the exquisitely ftic Pushmeena fabric, with deep
selvages of gold-lace work, or needle-made shawl-
pattern of the brilliant colors, which, it is said, no
dyes can produce save those mixed with the water
of the rushing Jhelum. Then there were daggers
and stilettoes uf strange shapes, made of blue wave-
lined steel from the country west of Cabool, the
qualities of the metal, and the name and residence
of its artificer cut upon the blades in beautiful Per
sian characters, the handles inlaid with gold and
ivory, the sheaths and scabbards of soft wood cov
ered with crimson velvet and gold lace; there were
shields too, of light wood and leather, covered with
green or crimson velvet and heavily bossed with
gold work—all ornamental armor for noble natives
on state occasions. The place we were fortunate
enough to discover had, it was clear, been selected
by a family of different trades to conceal their stocks
in. My friend Pintle and I, after bath, breakfast,
and cheroot, returned to the house for further ex
ploration; but we found two Ghoorkas (with their
khookries on) and a particularly ferocious-looking
Belooch in the pit, scraping briskly, and we did not
consider it advisable to claim our right of priority.
After this I made no mighty coup. I had many
a hard day's work, and so had Pintle, clearing out
choked-up wells, probing sewers, stripping stair
cases, and scraping oft'room-plaster; but we gained
hardly any thing to recompense our toils: all that
we did gain the prize-agents got, and so we said,
but nobody believed us. Afterward, at the auc
tion, Pintle and I purchased a few little things we
admired; our friends said it was a clever " dodge,"
but that it didn't take them in.
DUGGAN AND HIS GANG.
THOUGH It is now sixty years ago, there are
travelers yet alive who, going by stage-coach from
Cork to Tralee, have seen the eight skulls that
were stuck on spikes on the roof of the market-
house in the town of Macroom, in the barony of
Muskerry.
People did not like to talk abort the skulls.
When questioned, the country people said "they
were the murderers of Colonel Hutchinson;" but no
more could be got out of them. The skulls were a
source of disgust and horror to the inhabitants of
Macroom, and to all the country round. They had
not been subjected to any previous process, as was
usually the case with the horrible remains of trait
ors' heads and members, ordered to be exposed.
These heads had been put over the market-house at
Macroom just as they were struck from the bodies
to which they belonged.
Above one of the heads there was nailed a hand,
severed at the wrist, and the eight of the half-
bleached skulls was hideous. They cowed the
people, and struck more fear of the law into their
hearts than as many regiments of dragoons. That
part of the country, for many years after the event
that gave rise to this spectacle, was the most
peaceable district in Ireland. The fate of the
"murderers of Mr. Hutchinson" was a very effect
ive terror to evil-doers. But who were thev? and
what was the story ? Here it is: for though peo
ple would not tell it, it is on record in the criminal
trials.
Mr. Hntchinson was an amiable and worthy man,
who lived at a house called Codrum, about a mile
out of the market-town of Macroom. It stood in
its own plantation, on a rising ground, with a lawn
before it, dotted with ornamental trees, and adorned
with fair beds of flowers. Colonel Hutchinson was
a man of property; he belonged to what was called
a " new family," but he was much respected by
the neighboring gentry; the poor people were fond
of him, for he was an excellent and charitable man.
One morning, early in the summer of the vear
1800, the neighborhood was thrown into commo
tion by the report that Colonel Hutchinson had
been murdered in the night. Some laborers pass
ing to their work saw the large kitchen window,
in the front of the house, completely smashed.
Going up to learn what had happened, they found
the shutter broken in, the front door open, and the
body of Colonel Hutchinson lying dead and stiff at
the foot of the stairs, with a wound through his
heart. Shot dead, as was supposed.
None of the inmates could give any account of
the matter. Miss Hutchinson could only sav that
sTie had been awakened by the noise of the kitchen
window being smashed in, and the sound of several
persons rushing into the house. In her fright she
left her bed and hid behind a large press, up stairs
in a garret, and had not ventured out till long after
all was quiet. Keen, the man-servant, stammered
and looked exceedingly guilty, but could give nt,
information. All the neighboring gentry belonged
to the yeomanry corps—Cotholks as well as Prot
estants—and they bound themselves by an oath
not to rest until the murderers wert discovered.
A reward of three hundred pounds was offered
for any information that conld lead to their de
tection. One remarkable thing was, that although
a handsome looking-glass had been broken, and
some furniture pulled about, nothing had been
stolen. Suspicion at last fell on a man named
Malachi Duggan. He was a farmer of the better
class; superior to the common peasantry in educa
tion and intelligence, as well as in position. He
bore, however, a very bad character. In appear
ance he was the type of a ruffian; of gigantic stat
ure, and strong in proportion; his countenance was
brutal and ferocious, with a dash of cunning which
made it more repulsive; oddly enough, he was in
great request in the neighborhood as a juryman!
People who had a cause in court need to bribe him
to be on the jury, and if he were satisfied with the
amount, he, possibly, also bribed the summoning
officer. He then always either tired out, or bullied,
or over-persuaded, his fellow-jurors. When the
officers went to hie house, accompanied by several
magistrates, they found him at home. He made no
attempt to escape, but treated the charge lightly.
One of the magistrates advised him to give orders
about his farm, as he would be away a long time.
" Sure, it will not be more than a couple of days
at the furthest," said he.
" It will be more than two days, or two weeks,
or two years," said the magistrate.
Malachi ehrngged hie shoulders, ordered bis nag
to be saddled, and be cut a long willow switch for
the purpose of urging on his horse. He did not
seem to attend to any thing passing round him,
hut rode on in silence, with the end of this rod in
hie mouth. He continued to bite it, and when he
and his escort arrived at Macroom, a distance of
only three miles, the willow switch was bitten to
within an inch of the end. He had been consider
ing. He offered to turn informer if he might be
assured of the three hundred pounds offered for re
ward. His offer was accepted, and Malachi Dug
gan stated that on the night in question fourteen
men, under his orders, assembled, and went in a
body to attack Codrum, with the intention of plun
dering whatever they could carry off, but without
any design to harm Colonel Hutchinson. Colonel
Hutchinnon was sitting ftp reading as usual, and,
on bearing the noise of the window smashed and
the shutter broken in, he immediately came down
stairs to see what was the matter. He found the
hall filled with men, some of whom were armed;
among them he saw his own game-keeper, named
M'Carthy, and incautiously exclaimed:
"Areyou here, M'Carthy?"
Malachi Duggan, the captain of the gang, at once
called out:
" M'Carthy, do your duty!"
The game-keeper- raised his gun and fired. Col
onel Hutchinson fell dead. The eight of hie dead
body struck them with panic, and they hastily left
the house, taking nothing with them. Malachi
Duggan gave the names of all the men who bad
been with him. The magistrates and gentry im
mediately began a strict search, but the criminals,
as eoon as it was rumored that Malachi had turned
informer, took to the hills and concealed them
selves—all the country people, of course, •assisting
and aiding them. The County of Cork was at that
period under martial law, a*d the Cork yeomanry
were a formidable body. They were determined
that the murderers of Colonel Hutchinson should
not escape, and they hunted down all the peasants
suspected of giving them shelter. One day they
were on the track of some of the murderers; but
the inhabitants of a mountain hamlet had aided
their escape. Prompt measures were taken on the
spot. The cabins were searched; every article of
furniture was dragged out, piled in a heap, and
then set on fire—the wretched owners standing
round, not daring to say a word. One of the sol
diers, separated from the ranks, searching an out
house, found a feather-bed carefully concealed. He
was dragging this poor bed to share the fate of the
rest, when the captain, a man of humanity, cried
out:
"No,gentlemen, these wretched people have suf
fered enough; let us leave them at least this bed."
As he spoke, a ball whizzed past, grazing his
ear. Turning round, a puff of white smoke was
seen over the brow of a hill behind them. Imme
diately he and two other gentlemen galloped to the
spot, feeling sure they had come npon the criminals.
They, however, found only two peasants, who had
no connection with Duggan or his gang. They
belonged to the village, and, exasperated at seeing
the destruction of their goods, bad fired the shot.
They were immediately seized, and dragged to the
prison of Macroom. They were tried, not for firing
on the yeomanry, but for helping and hiding the
murderers, and they were condemned to be trans
ported. Their trial and sentence mado a great sen
sation. When they were on board the hulks, nil
their relations, and friends came in a body to the
court-house, and offered, if these two men were re
stored to their families, that the whole country
should join to hunt dowu the murderers and give
them up to justice. After some consideration fcjis
offer was accepted.
The men were pardoned, sent back to their -ernes,
and the people of the connty began to keep their
word. The murderers now led the live: of hunted
wolves, and endured fearful hardships. Winter
was approaching, and they did not dare to enter a
cabin; every one was against them. Two con
trived to escape to America; but the others won
dered about among the mountains of Glenfesk,
hiding under rocks, not daring to kindle a fire. At
length the peeple pretended to become friendly to
them: some villagers invited them to come to a
supper in a barn, where they declared they would
be safe. The men, more than half-famished, came
down from the mountains, bnt refused to enter any
building lest they should be surprised; they sat
down on the ground and began to eat voraciously.
The peasants fell upon them, disarmed them, and
gave them np to justice. The trial came on. Mala
chi Duggnn swore to them all, gave a circumstan
tial account of the murder, and seemed utterly cal
lous to his own infamy. One of the men was his
own cousin, named John Duggan, a stone-mason.
This man was not destitute of the family cunning;
he declared that Colonel Hutchinson had not been
shot at all; that if the body could be seen, it would
be found that the wound had been made by a sharp
instrument, and that the end of his chisel would fit
the wound; therefore all that Malachi swore about
discharging the gun was a lie. This circumstan
tial statement rather shook the jury. The body
was disinterred and examined. Three bullets and
a brace of slugs were found behind the heart. This
at once settled the matter. The prisoners were all
sentenced to be hanged, and their heads to be ex
posed on spikes round the market-house—M'Car
thy, the game-keeper, as the man who fired the
shot, was to have his hand struck off and affixed
above his head.
The prisoners were to be executed at Macroom,
and they were conveyed from Cork in an open
cart: the hangman—a hideous person—clothed for
the occasion in bright green, with a belt on which
was printed, in large letters, " Erin go Bragh"—to
show what Erin go Bragh principles led to.
The priests were removed from the criminals
when they had performed about half the journey,
in order that the people, seeing them die without
the consolation of religion, might be struck with
greater awe. One of the criminals was quite a
young boy, cousin to the game-keeper. He pro
tested he was innocent, and that the worst thing
he had ever done was stealing some hens' eggs
from his mother. It was the general impression
that he was innocent, but that Duggan had sworn
against him, in order not to leave one of the family
alive, who might take revenge upon him. When
the cart and the wretched men arrived at a grove
of trees at the entrance of Macroom, they were
halted. A beam was laid between two trees, and
two of the men were hanged, one at each end: their
companions looking on, and the people standing by
in silence. When all had suffered, the hangman
proceeded to carry out the remainder of the sen
tence, though even his callous feelings revolted
against it, and he required copious draughts of
whisky to carry him through it. The sight of
eight heads struck a great deal more terror into
the people than the execution.
As for Malachi Duggan, the captain of the gang
and treacherous informer, he received the three
hundred pounds promised, and returned to his farm.
The neighboring gentry endeavored to countenance
him, but he was quite brutalized, and had no feel
ings of shame. The first day on which he appeared
in Macroom he looked up to the heads and said,
" Ho I ho I some of my soldiers are up there, set in
array. It is the best place for the rascals."
He survived the trial many years, and died in
his bed at last; but his memory is held, even yet,
in the deepest execration in that part of the coun
try. Of this there was a curious instance not more
than twelve or fourteen yean ago. A gentleman
living in the neighborhood, some distance from
Cork, had several servants. One of them was a
very nice young girl, named Duggan, a far away
cousin of the horrible Mal ids). Theie was a dis
pute about some trifling matter, and one of the
other servants said to Duggan, " We shall really,
miss, be obliged to call you Malachi." The poor
girl did not answer a word, but that very evening
left her place and set off to walk home to Cork, a
distance of five-and-twenty miles, BO disgraceful
was the imputation of belonging ever remotely to
the treacherous informer.
AN ENGLISHWOJJAN'S STORY.
" My father was ft merchant, snd owned many
ships. He sent them to the AVest Indies, the East
Indies, and sometimes to China. I loved the sea
and the ships. My father used to allow me to go
on board with him when they were about to sail,
or had come in from long voyages. I sometimes
took such little presents on board as sailors like,
and they said I would give them a lucky voyage.
They did. not forget me, and brought me many a
nice present from beyond the seas.
" One day we visited a new ship, and fonnd a
new captain, whom I had never seen before. I
thought him very handsome, but young for such a
trust; bnt I found that he was good and honor
able. He had been in the royal navy. A great
misfortune to hie family had made it necessary for
him to leave the service and accept the higher pay
of a merchantman. After one or two voyages we
became acquainted, and he came to love me better
than all the world.
" But my f ither did not love him so well as an
other person did—at least, he did not wish me to
love him. It was only in the intervals of long
voyages that I saw him, and when the time for
his arrival drew near; and the ship, for me so rich
ly freighted, was dne, I spent many hours In the
observatory on the top of our house, sweeping the
line of the horizon with a long spy-glass, and
watching for the* little signal flag that I alone
knew of, and that would teU me HE was coming.
"One day this brave, good captain, who had
won my heart, asked my father for my hand. He
could have nothing against him. There conld not
be a better or braver man. He was nobility it
self; but I was my father's pet and pride, and
he was ambitious. I think" nothing less than a lord
would then have satisfied him for a son-in-law.
"Captain Wolter came and told me, with some
bitterness, the result of his interview with my fa
ther. I knew that he wns poor, but I knew that
this was the only reasonable objection that, could
be made to him, and-1 laid my hand in hie—a
strong, manly hand—strong anil true, and I said,
' Be patient: I am yours, anil I will never be any
one's but yonrs while this world stands.'
" He went away upon a long voyage, and a very
important one, for my father liked him as a captain
of his ship, and knew well that lie could trust him
to the last drop of his blood to protect ship and
cargo.
" When he came home next time I had reflected
much, and determined upon what I ought to do.
I did not wait for him to come and see me. I did
not wait for him to ask me to do any thing. I
knew that he could not while he was my father's
captain. So I went to the ship, and said: ' Cap
tain Walter, will you leave this all to me, to do as
I think right?' •
" He only held me to bis big heart a moment,
but he looked a thousand yeses out of his hand
some, loving eyes.
" The day his ship was to sail on her next voy
age I sent my trunks on board the ship. Then I
found my captain, and said: ' Come with me and
redeem your promise, and I will keep mine.' We
went to a church, a license was ready, and we were
married. The ship was ready to sail, and I knew
that my father was on board te give hie last direc
tions, and see her off. I went on board with my
husband, and my father was not surprised, for I
had often sailed ont with him, and returned in the
pilot-boat.
" When the ship had got a good offing, and the
pilot was ready to take us back, my father said
his last words to the captain, and shook hands,
wishing him a good voyage. 'Come, darling,'
said he to me: 'say good-by to Captain Walter,
for we must go now.'
• " ' Dear father,' said I,' forgive your darling; I
can not go with you now. I must sail this voyage
with MY HUSBAND, Captain Walter!'
"He looked from one to the other to see if this
were jest or earnest.
'"Father dear,' said I, 'you could never have
found ma so good a husband. So I took him this
morning, and made him marry me, and here is the
certificate that I am hie wife.'
"Poor father! He turned very pale, but he
loved me, and there was no help. He held me in
his arms and kissed me, while his tears ran over
my cheeks. At last he held out his hand to my
brave captain in token of forgiveness. He went
home alone in the pilot-boat.
''The shores of England faded from our sight,
and we were on the open sea. We had fair winds
and foul, stiff galee and gentle breezes, and I be
came a sailor. We crossed the line, doubled the
Cape of Good Hope, and sailed on weeks and weeks
through the Indian seas to Batavia, and then to
Canton. When our cargo was completed we sail
ed homeward again.
"One day, as we were reaching our northern
latitudes, my captain came hastily into the cabin
to get his spy-glass, and I followed him on deck.
There was a vessel in sight bearing down directly
for us. She had changed her course since we first
saw her, and it was evident she meant to come
near us.
" My captain took a long look at her. «Well ?'
said I, standing at his elbow, and taking the glass
from his hand.
"' You have good eyes, darling,' said he, ' see
what you can make of her.'
" I adjusted the glass to my eye, and looked in
tently. 'It is an armed vessel,' said I. 'I see
ports, and a large gun amidships.'
" TTou are quite correct—as usual,' said my cap
tain.
"' But she does not look like a man-of-war,' said
I, ' and I do not think she is English.'
"' No more is she,' said he. ' Either war has
been declared, and she is a privateer, or she is a
cursed pirate.'
" I was never a coward. I held the glass stead
ily in my hands, and watched the brig as she bore
down with all sail set, and it was evident that she
was a good sailer. There had been talk of war
before we left England, bnt my father did not be
lieve in it. I shuddered at the idea of its being a
pirate.
"' Whatever she may be,' said my captain,' she
has no business with ns. I shall give her a try at
all events.' So we tacked ship, and stood off in the
contrary direction from that in which we had beeu
sailing. The stranger bad tacked also before we
were well on our course. In half an hour she had
gained perceptibly.
"' She can beat ns on a wind,' said my captain,
looking very serious. 'There is nothing for ns but
to show the cleanest pair of heels we can.'
"Round we went to our best point of sailing;
ont went the studding-sails, the cargo was shifted
to give our ship the best possible trim, the sails
were wet; bnt it was soon apparent that, after all
we had done, the brig was gaining on us—slowly,
indeed, but certainly gaining.
"' A stern chase is a long chase, Calista, dar
ling,' said my captain, cheerily; but I could see
that he was not at all satisfied with the aspect of
affairs.
'"You know that I am not a coward,' said I;
' tell me just how it is.'
'"I know your soul is bigger than your body,
my darling,' said he. ' This rascally brig gains on
ns. If we can have foul weather to-night,- we may
change our course and lose sight of her. I see no
other hope. We are not strong enough to fight her.'
"' There are muskets and pistols in the cabin,'
said I, ' and we have two cannons on deck.'
"' Well enough to frighten savages, or beat off
the Malay pirates; but that brig is well armed,
and must have plenty of men, by the way they
handle her. If she is a privateer, we must sur
render. If a pirate, we must fight. Her Long
Tom will make oven wood of us, but we must take
our chance.'
" We held on, praying for night, and storm, and
dark ness. The full moon rode high in the heavens,
and silvered the waves through which our good
ship plowed gallantly. Nearer and nearer came
our pursuer. Once the wind freshened, and we
seemed to gain a slight advantage, but it soon fell
off again, and the brig crept nearer and nearer.
Few slept. By the full morning light there lay
the handsome brig, full over onr taffrail, bounding
along with a bone in her mouth. My brave hus
band walked the deck in sore trouble. He had
made the best possible preparations for defense, the
crew were ready to obey his orders, but the case
was hopeless.
" As the light increased I watched the brig close
ly through the glass, trying to ascertain the char
acter of our pursuer. A flag of stars and stripes
went up to her mast-bead, and the smoke of a can
non curled np from her deck. It was the first sig
nal. The commander of the brig was in the field
of my glass and my worst fears were dispelled.
" ' Look!' said I to my husband, giving him the
glass; ' that man is not a pirate.'
" I could not be mistaken. He was a fine-look
ing man of thirty-five or forty, in au undress naval
uniform. His bearing was manly, and his face,
when I got a look at it, was clear and open. My
captain took the gloss and gave an anxious look.
"' I believe you ar« right, my darling,' said he.
•The man is no pirate. Then it is war, and we
shall goon be his prisoners. It is a hard case, but
there is no help for it.'
'"Do not be cast down my brave captain,' said
I; ' father has more shit j, and he can deduct this
one from my portion.' ^
"Just then another shot from the long^in came
alongside, and showed that we were within point
blank range. The order was given to take in sail,
and we waited for the brig to come np. As she
came on, dashing gallantly through the waves, jiy
captain took his trumpet and hailed her. The hail
was courteously responded to. It was a Yankee
privateer demanding our surrender.
"' Oh for a tier of guns, and half a chance at
him!' exclaimed my captain; hnt the disparity of
force was too overwhelming. In answer to the
qnestion, he gave the name of our good ship and
his own.
" Then I, who was watching the deck of the ene
my still through the glass, though we were now so
near, saw a strange movement. The captain of
the brig suddenly put np his gloss, which he had
turned on my husband. Then he appeared to give
some order to his lientenant who was preparin. 10
board us, and soon sprang into the boat hiiuneif,
and came on board of ns.
" He was received with a not very cheerful po
liteness, but his manner, as he stepped upon our
deck, justified the opinion I had formed of him.
He raised his hat to me with a graceful bow, and
my husband invited him to enter our cabin, which
he did with every courtesy. Wine and other re-
Creshments were hrougbt out in plenty, and the
stranger told ns of the outbreak of the war with
America, and also of other events which were news
to as at that time.
"Were we prisoners? Was this our captor,
quietly conversing with ns, and courteously drink
ing to our prosperity ? He looked at me attentive
ly, when my eyea were turned away, and I thought
I saw a strange smile upon his face.
" My husband opened a locker, and taking out
the ship's papers, laid them on the table with a
heavy heart; but be would not show it, and osid
with an air of assumed cheerfulness:
'"It is the fortune of war. My ship is your
prize, captain, and since I must surrender her, I
am glad it is to a gentleman. Where do you pro
pose to send as ?'
"The stranger moved into the light, brushed
back the curls of bis dark hair, and turning to my
husband, said:
"' Is it possible, Captain Walter, that yon do
not know me ? Have you forgotten a msn whose
life you saved, and who owes you so much ?'
"My husband looked earnestly at him a mo
ment, then grasped his hand, and said:
"'Hardy I Frank Hardy I is it resllv you ?'
'"Yes, old fellow,' said he, 'it is'really me,
with a better memory than you have, who saved
my life at the risk of your own. And this is your
wife? I congratulate you—I congratulate you
both with all my heart. Madam, he took me off
a wreck, where every man but me had perished.
Thank God! I can ehow that I am not ungrateful.
I shall appoint you prize-master, and you shall
take your ship, please God I into her own harbor.'
"' But can you do this safely, Frank ?' asked
my captain.
"' Safely!' His lip cnrled. ' I would like to
see the danger I would not confront for you, old
fellow. If I were a naval officer, it would ba •
different matter, but a privateer has some discre
tion. My pretty brig is my own. The war is an
ugly business, but you know me of old—we are
"enemies in war, in peace* friends," all but yon,
old fellow—I am your friend always, as you know.'
"' And how will your crew stand the loss of
their share of prize-money ?' asked my captain.
"' They are pretty likely to stand what I re
quire them to, 1 said the Yankee, proudly. ' But I
can make it all right for them. Prizes are [not
very scarce articles. Here, give me the papers 1
Who is your owner ?V
"'My father,'said I.
" 'All right, Madam,' said he, bowing, 'I wish
to make you a small present.' •
"' If you wish to do me a favor,' said I, 'moke
your present to my husband.'
" He smiled, as he looked from one to the other,
and seemed to nndentand the stste of the cose iu
an instant.
"'You are qnite right, Madam,' said hs; 'it
shall be as yon desire.'
"Then he indorsed the ship's manifest wltb the
fact of her capture, and be made over ship and.
cargo to Captain Walter. It was not a legal docu
ment, of course, but it had its weight with my father.
" Our captor took his leave with such stores as
we could get him to accept. His boat's crew
looked at them wonderingly as they were passed
over the side to them, and even still more wonder-
ijjply at the manner in which their captaiu took
his leave of us.
" In a week more we were safe in an English
harbor and on English ground. The war lasted
two or three years, and many prizes were takeu
on both sides, and some hard battles fought by
land and sea, but I never heard that any ship ever
escaped as we did."
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Columbia. rurul. Memphia. Elizabeth. EUu VVurly. Fmtru. Alliance. Ann. SUM©m. Circueian.
ODE PRIZE FLEET, CONSISTING OF BRITISH VESSELS CAPTURED WHILE TRYING TO RUN THE BLOCKADE.—[SEE PAGE 663.]
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670 HAKPER'S WEEKLY/ [OCTOBER 18,1862.
CEntend aoooTuing K Act of Congress, In the Year 1848,
by Harper & S^hwi, In the-Clerk's Office of the Dis
trict Court for tti Boutfcern District of 9** York.]
NO NAME. -
BY WILKIE COLLINS,
Atrraoft or U TBH WOMAM IK wmrc." "DEAD IBOBBT,**
ETC.* BTO.
ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN M'LENAN.
ointed from the Mau«»orlpt
Proof-.heetB puroliued by the
of "Hnrper*. "Weekly."
CHAPTER XIII.
THS morning of her husband's return to North
Shinnies was a morning memorable forever in
the domestic calendar of Mrs. Wragge. She
dated from that occasion the first announcement
which reached her of Magdalen's marriage.
It had been Mrs. Wragge's earthly lot to pass
her life in a state of perpetual snrprise. Never
yet, however, had she wandered in such a maze
of astonishment as the maze in which she lost
herself when the captain coolly told her the
truth. She had been sharp enough to suspect
Mr. Noel Vanstone of coming to the house in
the character of a sweet-heart on approval; and
•he had dimly interpreted certain expressions
of impatience which had fallen from Magdalen's
lip* as boding ill for the success of his suit—but
her utmost penetration had never reached as far
as a suspicion of the impending marriage. She
rose from one climax of amazement to another
as her husband proceeded with his disclosure.
A wedding in the family at a day's notice! and
that wedding Magdalen's 1 and not a single new
dress ordered fur any body, the bride included 1
aud the Oriental Cashmere Robe totally unavail
able, on the occasion of all others when she
might have worn it to the greatest advantage!
Mrs. Wragge dropped crookedly into a chair,
and beat her disorderly hands on her nnsymmet-
rical knees, in utter forgctfulness of the captain'*
presence and the captain's terrible eye. It would
not have surprised her to hear next that the
world had come to an end, and that the only
mortal whom Destiny had overlooked in winding
up the affairs of this earthly planet was herself]
Leaving hU wifu to recover her composure by
her own unaided efforts, Captain Wragge with
draw to wait for Magdalen's appearance in the
lower regions of the house. It was close on one
o'clock before the sound of footstep* in the room
above warned him that rfhe was awnko and stir
ring. He called at once for the maid (whose
name he had ascertained to be Louisa), and sent
her up stairs to her mistress for the second time.
Magdalen was standing by her dressing-tublc
when a faint tap at the door suddenly roused
her. The tap was followed by the sound of a
meek voice, whicli announced itself as the voice
of "her maid," and inquired if Miss Bygrave
needed any assistance that morning.
" Not at present," said Magdalen, as soon as
she recovered the surprise of finding herself un
expectedly provided with an attendant. "I will
ring when I want you."
After dismissing the woman with that answer,
she accidentally looked from the door to the
window. Any speculations on the subject of the
new servant in which she might otherwise have
engaged were instantly suspended by the sight
of the bottle of laudanum, still standing on the
ledge of the window, where she had left it at
sunrise. She took it once more in her hand,
with a strange confusion of feeling — with a
vague doubt even yet, whether the sight of it
reminded her of a terrible reality or a terrible
dream. Her first impulse was to rid herself of
it on the spot. She raised the bottle to throw
the contents out of the window—and paused, in
sudden distrust of the impulse that had come
to her. " I have accepted my new life," she
thought. " How do I know what that life may
have in store for me?" She turned from the
window and wont back to the table. "I may be
forced to drink it yet,"*hc said, and put the
laudanum into her dressing-case.
Her mind was not at case when she had dune
.his: there seemed to be some indefinable in
gratitude in the act. Still she made no attempt
to remove the bottle from its hiding-place. Klic
hurried on her toilet; she hastened the time
when she could ring for the maid, and forget
herself and her waking thoughts in a new sub
ject. After touching the bell she took from the
table her letter to Norah and her letter to the
captain; pnt them both into her dressing-case
with the laudanum, and locked it securely with
the key which she kept attached to her watch-
chain.
Magdalen's flrtf impression of her attendant
was not an agreeable one. She could not inves
tigate the girl with the experienced eye of the
landlady at the London hotel, who had charac
terized the stranger as a young person convers
ant with misfortune; and who had shown plain
ly, by her look and manner, of what nature she
suspected that misfortune to be. But, with this
drawback, Magdalen was perfectly competent to
detect the tokens of sickness and sorrow lurking
under the surface of the new maid's activity and
politeness. She suspected the girl was ill-tem
pered ; she disliked her name; and she was in-
ili'-vwed to welcome any servant who had been
«• • "ri by Mr. Noel Vanstone. But after the
ti • I'jw minutes " Louisa" grew on her liking.
Sbu answered all the questions put to her with
perfect directness; she appeared to understand
her duties thoroughly; and she never spoke until
she was spoken to first. After making all the
inquiries that occurred to her at the time, and
after determining to give the maid a fair trial,
Magdalen rose to leave the room. The very air
in it wa« still heavy to her with the oppression
of the pastnigkt,.
" Have you any thing more to say to me?"
she asked, turning to the servant, with her hand
on the door.
" I beg your pardon, Miss," said Louisa, very
respectfully afd very quietly. "I think my
master told me that the marriage was to be to
morrow?"
Magdalen repressed the shudder that stole
over her at that reference to the marriage on the
li|>9 of a stranger, and answered in the affirma
tive.
"It's a very short time, Miss, to prepare in.
If yon would be so kind as to give me my orders
about the packing before you go down stairs—?"
" There are no such preparations to make as
you suppose," said Magdalen, hastily. "The
few things I have here can be all packed at once,
if you like. I shall wear the same dress to-mor
row which I have on to-day. Leave out the
straw bonnet and the light shawl, and put ev
ery thing else into my boxes. I have no new
dresses to pack—I have nothing ordered for the
occasion, of any sort." She tried, to add some
commonplace phrases of explanation, account
ing as probably as might be for the absence of
the usual wedding outfit and wedding-dress.
But no further reference to the marriage would
pass her lips, and without another word she
abruptly left the room.
The meek and melancholy Louisa stood lost
in astonishment. '' Something wrong here," she
thought. " I'm half afraid of mr new place al
ready.". She sighed resignedly, shook her head,
and went to the wardrobe. She first examined
thcylrawers underneath; took out the various
arfPlr i f>( linen laid inside, and placed them on
chairs. Opening the upper part of the wardrobe
next, she ranged the dresses in it side by side on
the bed. Her last proceeding was to push the
empty boxes into the middle of the room, and to
compare the space at her disposal with the arti
cles of dress which she had to pack. She com
pleted her preliminary calculations with the
ready self-reliance of a woman who thoroughly
understood her business, and began the packing
forthwith. Just as she had placed the first arti
cle of linen in the smaller box the door of the
room opened, and the house-servant, eager for
gossip, came in.
" What do you want?" asked Louisa, quietly.
" Did yon ever hear of any thing like this!"
said the house-servant, entering on her subject
immediately.
"Like what?"
"Like this marriage, to be sure! You're
London bred, they tell me. Did you ever hear
of a young lady being married without a single
new thing to her back? No wedding-veil, and
no wedding-breakfast, and no wedding-favors
for the servants 1 It's flying in the face of Prov
idence—that's what I say. I'm only a poor
servant, I know. But it's wicked—downright
wicked—and I don't care who hears me 1"
Louisa went on with the packing.
"Look at her dresses!" persisted the honse-
servant, waving her hand indignantly at the bed.
" I'm only a poor girl, but I wouldn't marry the
best man alive without a new gown to my back.
Look here! look at this dowdy brown thing
here. Alpaca 1 You're not going to pack this
Alpaca thing, are you ? Why it's hardly fit for
a servant! I don't know that I'd take a gift of
it if it was offered me. It would do for me if I
took it up in the skirt and let it out in the waist;
and it wouldn't look so bad with a bit of bright
trimming, would it ?"
"I,ct that dress alone, if yon please," said
Louisa, as quietly as ever.
"What did you say?" inquired the other,
doubting whether her ears had not deceived her.
"I said, let that dress alone. It belongs to
my mistress; and I have my mistress's orders to
pack up every thing in the room. You are not
helping me by coming here—yon are very much
in my way."
"Well!" said the house-servant, "you may
be London bred, as they say. But if these are
your London manners, give me Suffolk!" She
opened the door, with an angry snatch at the
handle, shut it violently, opened it again, and
looked in. " Give me Suffolk!" said the house-
servant, with a parting nod of her head to point
the edge of her sarcasm.
Louisa proceeded impenetrably with her pack
ing up.
Having neatly disposed of the linen in the
smaller box, she turned her attention to the
dresses next. After passing them carefully in
review, to ascertain which was the least valua
ble of the collection, and to place that one in
the bottom of the trunk for the rest to lie on,
she made her choice with very little difficulty.
The first gown which she put into the box was
the brown Alpaca dross.
Meanwhile Mngdalcn had joined the captain
down stairs. Althongh he could not fail to no
tice the languor in her face, and the listlessness
of all her movements, he was relieved to find
thats^if met him with perfect composure. She
was even self-possessed enough to ask him for
news of his journey, with no other signs of agi
tation than a passing change of color and a lit
tle trembling of the lips.
" So much for the past," said Captain Wragge,
when his narrative of the expedition to London
by way of St. Crux had come to an cmj. "Now
for the present. The bridegroom—"
" If it makes no difference," she interposed,
"call him Mr. Noel Vanstone."
" With all my heart. Mr. Noel Vanstonc is
coming here this afternoon to dine and spend
the evening. He will be tiresome in the last
degree; but, like all tiresome people, he is not
to be got rid of on any terms. Before he comes
I have a last word or two of caution for your
private car. By this time to-morrow we shall
have parted, without any certain knowledge on
cither aide of our ercr meeting again. I am
anxious to- serve your interests faithfully to the
last; I am anxious you should feel that I have
done all I could for your future security when
we say good-by."
Magdalen looked at him in surprise. He
spoke in altered tones. He was agitated; he
was strangely in earnest. Something in his look
and manner took her memory back to the first
night at Aldborough, when she had opened her
mind to him in the darkening solitude—when
they two had sat together alone On the slope of
the martello tower.
"I have no reason to think otherwise than
kindly of you," she said.
Captain Wragge suddenly left his chair, and
took a turn backward and forward in the room.
Magdalen's last words seemed to have produced
some extraordinary disturbance in him.
" Damn it!" he broke out; "I can't let you
say that. You have reason to think ill of me.
I have cheated you. Yon never got your fair
share of profit from the Entertainment, from first
to last. There! now the murder's out!"
Magdalen smiled, and signed to him to come
back to his ch'air.
"I know you cheated me," she said, quietly.
"You were in the exercise of your profession,
Captain Wragge. I expected it when I joined
you. I made no complaint at the time, and I
make none now. If the money you took is any
recompense for all the trouble I have given you,
you are heartily welcome to it."
"Willyon shake hands on that?" asked the
captain, with an awkwardness and hesitation
strongly at variance with his customary ease of
manner.
Magdalen gave him her hand. He wrung it
hard. "You are a strange girl," he said, try
ing to speak lightly. " Yon have laid a hold on
me that I don't quite understand. I'm half un
comfortable at taking the money from you now,
and yet you don't want it, do you ?" He hesi
tated. "I almost wish," he said, "I had never
met vou on the walls of York."
"It is too late to wish that, Captain Wragge.
Say no more—yon only distress me; say no
more. We have other subjects to talk abont.
What were those words of caution which you
had for my private ear?"
The captain took another turn in the room,
and struggled back again into his everyday
character. He produced from his pocket-book-
Mrs. Lecount's letter to her master, and handed
it to Magdalen.
" There is the letter that might have mined
us if it had ever reached its address," he said.
"Read it carefully. I have a question to ask
yon when yon have done."
Magdalen read the letter. "What is this
proof," she inquired, "which Mrs. Lecount re
lies on so confidently?"
"The very question I was going to ask you,"
said Captain Wragge. " Consult your memory
of what happened when you tried that experi
ment in Vauxhall Walk. Did Mrs. Lecount get
no other chance against you than the chances
you have told mo of already ?"
" She discovered that my face was disguised,
and she heard me speak in my own voice."
" And' nothing more?"
" Nothing more."
" Very good. Then my interpretation of the
letter is clearly the right one. The proof Mrs.
Lecount relies on is my wife's infernal ghost sto
ry—which is, in plain English, the story of Miss
Bygrave having been seen in Miss Vanstone's
disguise, the witness being the very person who
is afterward presented at Aldborough in the char
acter of Miss Bygrave's aunt. An excellent
chance for Mrs. Lecount, if she can only lay her
hand at the right time on Mrs. Wragge, and no
chance at all if she can't. Make your mind easy
on that point. Mrs. Lecount and my wife have
seen the last of each other. In the mean time,
don't neglect the warning I give yon in giving
you this letter. Tear it up for fear of accidents,
but don't forget it."
"Trust me to remember it," replied Magda
len, destroying the letter while she spoke. " Have
yon any thing more to tell me?"
"I have some information to give yon," said
Captain Wragge, "which may be useful, be
cause it relates to your future security. Mind,
I want to know nothing about your proceedings
when to-morrow is over—we settled that when
we first discussed this matter. I ask no ques
tions, and I make no guesses. All I want to do
now is to warn you of your legal position after
your marriage, and to leave you to make what
use you please of your knowledge at your own
sole discretion. I took a lawyer's opinion on the
point when I was in London, thinking it might
be useful to you."
" It is sure to be useful. What did thsj law
yer say?"
"To put it plainly, this is what he said: If
Mr. Noel Vanstone ever discovers that you have
knowingly married him under a false name, he
can apply to the Ecclesiastical Court to have his
marriage declared null and void. The issue of
the application would rest with the Judges. But
if he could prove that he had been intentionally
deceived, the legal opinion is that his case would
be a strong one."
" Snppose I chose to apply on my side ?" said
Magdalen, eagerly. " What then ?"
"You might make the application," replied
the captain. "Bnt remember one thing—you
would come into Court with the acknowledg
ment of your own deception. •§ leave you to im
agine what the Judges would think of that."
"Did the lawyer tell you any thing else?"
"One thing besides," said Captain Wragge.
" Whatever the law might do with the marriage
in the lifetime of both the parties to it, on the
death of cither one of them no application made
by the survivor would avail; and, as to the case
of that survivor, the marriage would remain val
id. Yon understand ? If he dies, or if yon die
—and if no application has been made to the
Court — he the survivor, or yon the survivor,
would have no power of disputing the marriage.
But in the lifetime of both of you, if ho claimed
to have the marriage dissolved, the chances are
all in favor of his carrying his point."
He looked at Magdalen with a furtive curiosi
ty as he said those words. She turned her head
aside, absently tying her watch-chain into a loop
aud untyiug it again, evidently thinking with the
closest attention over what he had last said to
her. Captain Wragge walked uneasily to the
window and looked out. The first object that
caught his eye was Mr. Noel Vanstone approach
ing from Sea View. He returned instantly to
his former place in the room, and addressed him
self to Magdalen once more.
"HereisMr. Noel Vanstone, "he said. "One
last caution before he comes in. Be on your
guard with him about your age. He put the
question to me before he got the License. I
took the shortest way out of the difficulty, and
told him you were twenty-one, and he made the
declaration accordingly. Never mind about me ;
after to-morrow I am invisible. But in your
own interests don't forget, if the subject ever
turns up, that yon are of age. There is nothing
more. Yon are provided with every necessary
warning that I can give you. Whatever hap
pens in the future, remember I have done my
best."
He hurried to the door without waiting for an
answer, and went out into the garden to receive
his guest.
Mr. Noel Vanstone made his appearance at
tbe gate, solemnly carrying his bridal offering
to North Shingles with both hands. The object
in question was an ancient casket (one of his fa
ther's bargains); inside the casket reposed an
old-fashioned carbuncle brooch set in silver (an
other of his father's bargains)—bridal presents
both, possessing the inestimable merit of leaving
his money undisturbed in his pocket. He shook
his head portentously when the captain inquired
after his health and spirits. He had passed a
wakeful night; ungovernable apprehensions of
Lecount's sudden reappearance had beset him
as soon as he found himself alone at Sea View.
Sea View was redolent of Lecount: Sea View
(though built on piles, and the strongest house
in England) was henceforth odious \o him. Ho
had felt this all night; he had also felt his re
sponsibilities. There was the lady's-maid, to be
gin with. Now he had hired her he'began to
think she wouldn't do. She might fall sick on
his hands; she might have deceived him by a
false character; she and the landlady of the ho
tel might have been in league together. Horri
ble ! Really horrible to think of! Then there
was the other responsibility—perhaps the heavi
est of the two—the responsibility of deciding
where ho was to go and spend his honey-moon
to-morrow. He would have preferred one of his
father's empty honses. But except at Vanxhall
'Walk (which he supposed would be objected to)
and at Aldborongh (which was, of course, out of
the question), all the houses were let. He would
put himself in Mr. Bygrave's hands. Where had
Mr. Bygrave spent his own honey-moon. Given
the British Islands to choose from, where would
Mr. Bygrave pitch his tent, on a careful review
of all the circumstances ?
At this point the bridegroom's questions sud
denly came to an end, and the bridegroom's face
exhibited an expression of ungovernable aston
ishment. Ilisjudicious friend, whose advice had
been at his disposal in every other emergency,
suddenly turned round on him, in the emergen
cy of the honey-moon, and flatly declined dis
cussing the subject.
" No!" said the captain, as Mr. Noel Vanstone
opened his lips to plead for a hearing, "yon
must really excuse me. My point of view in this
matter is, as usual, a peculiar one. For some
time past I have been living in an atmosphere
of deception to snit your convenience. That at
mosphere, my good Sir, is getting close — my
Moral Being requires ventilation. Settle the
choice of a locality with my niece, and leave me,
at my particular request, in total ignorance on
the subject. Mrs. Leconnt is certain to come
here on her return from Zurich, and is certain
to ask me where yon are gone. You may think
it strange, Mr. Vanstone; but when I say I don't
know, I wish to enjoy the unaccustomed luxnry
of feeling for once in a way that I am telling the
truth!"
With those words he opened the sitting-room
door, introduced Mr. Noel Vanstone to Magda
len's presence, bowed himself out of the room
again, and set forth alone to while away the rest
of the afternoon by taking a walk. His face
showed plain tokens of anxiety, and his parti
colored eyes looked hither and thither distrust
fully as he sauntered along the shore. "The
time hangs heavy on our hands," thought the
captain. "I wish to-morrow was come and
gone."
The day passed and nothing happened; the
evening and the night followed placidly and un
eventfully. Monday came—a cloudless, lovely
day; Monday confirmed the captain's assertion
that the marriage was a certainty. Toward ten
o'clock the clerk, ascending the church steps,
quoted the old proverb to the pew-opener, meet
ing him under the porch: " Happy the bride on
whom the sun shines!"
In a quarter of an hour more the wedding-
party was in the vestry, and the clergyman led
the way to the altar. Carefully as the secret of
the marriage had been kept, the opening of the
church in the morning had been enough to be
tray it. A small congregation, almost entirely
composed of women, was scattered here nnd there
among the pews. Eirke's sister and her chil
dren were staying with a friend at Aldborongh,
and Eirke's sister was one of the congregation.
As the wedding-party entered the church the
t
!!
OCTOBER 18,1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 671
f
haunting terror of Mrs. Lecount spread from
Noel Vanstone to the captain. For the first few
minutes the eyes of both of them looked among
the women in the pews with the same searching
scrutiny, and looked away again with the same
sense of relief. The clergyman noticed that
look, and investigated the License more closely
than usual. The clerk began to doubt privately
whether the old proverb about the bride was a
proverb to be always depended on. The female
members of the congregation murmured among
themselves at the inexcusable disregard of ap
pearances implied in the bride's drees. Kirkc's
sister whispered venomously in her friend's car,
"Thank God for to-day, for Robert's sake!"
Mrs. Wragge cried silently with the drend of
some threatening calamity, she knew not what.
The one person present who remained outwardly
undisturbed was Magdalen herself. She stood
with tearless resignation in her place before the
altar—stood, as if all the sources of human emo
tion were frozen up within her. What she suf
fered that morning she suffered in the secrecy
which no mortal insight can divine.
The clergyman opened the Book.
It was done. The awful words which speak
from earth to Heaven were pronounced. The
children of the two dead brothers—inheritors of
the implacable enmity which had parted their
parents—were Man and Wife.
From that moment events*hurried with a head
long rapidity to the parting scene. They were
back at the house, while the words of the Mar
riage Service seemed still ringing in their ears.
Before they had beeto five minutes indoors the
carriage drew up at the garden-gate. In a min
ute more the opportunity came for which Mag
dalen and the captain had been on the watch—
the opportunity of speaking together in private
for the last time. She still preserved her icy
resignation—she seemed beyond all reach now
of the fear that had once mastered her, of the re
morse that had once tortured her to the soul.
With a firm hand she gave him the promised
money. With a firm face she looked her last at
him. " I'm not to blame," he whispered, eager
ly; "I have only done what yon asked me."
She bowed her head—she bent it toward him
kindly, and let him touch her forehead with his
lips. "Take care!" he said. "My last words
are, for God's sake take care when I'm gone!"
She turned from him with a smile, and spoke
her farewell words to his wife. Mrs. Wragge
tried hard to face her loss bravely—the loss of
the friend whose presence had fallen like light
from Heaven over the dim pathway of her life.
"You have been very good to me, my dear; I
thank you kindly, I thank you with all my heart."
She could say no more; she clung to Magdalen
in a passion of tears, as her mother might have
clung to her if her mother had lived to see that
horrible day. "I'm frightened for you !" cried
the poor creature, in a wild, wailing voice. " Oh,
my darling, I'm frightened for yon!" Magda
len desperately drew herself free, kissed her, and
hurried out to the door. The expression of that
artless gratitude, the cry of that guileless love,
shook her as nothing else had shaken her that
day. It was a refuge to get to the carriage—a
refuge, though the man she had married stood
there waiting for her at the door.
Mrs. Wragge tried to follow her into the gar
den. But the captain had seen Magdalen's face
as she ran out, and he steadily held his wife back
in the passage. From that distance the last fare
wells were exchanged. As long as the carriage
was in sight Magdalen's face looked bock at them;
she waved her handkerchief as she turned the
corner. In a moment more the last thread which
bound her to them was broken; the familiar com
panionship of many months was a thing of the
past already.
Captain Wragge closed the house-door on the
idlers who were looking in from the parade.* He
led his wife back into the sitting-room and spoke
to her with a forbearance which she had never
yet experienced from him.
" She has gone her way," he said, " and in
another hour we shall have gone ours. Cry your
cry out; I don't deny she's worth crying for."
Even then—even when the dread of Magda
len's future was at its darkest in his mind—the
ruling habit of the man's life clung to him. Me
chanically he unlocked his dispatch-box. Me
chanically he opened his Book of Accounts, and
made the closing entry — the entry of his last
transaction with Magdalen—in black and white.
"By Kec"1 from Miss Vanstone," wrote the
captain, with a gloomy brow, "Two hundred
pounds."
"Yon won't be angry with me?" said Mrs.
Wragge, looking timidly at her husband through
her tears. " I want a word of comfort, captain.
Oh, do tell me, when shall I see her again ?"
The captain closed the book and answered in
one inexorable word:
"Never!"
Between eleven and twelve o'clock that night
Mrs. Lecount drove into Zurich.
Her brother's house, when she stopped before
it, was shut up. With some difficulty and delay
the servant was aroused. She held up her hands
in speechless amazement when she opened the
door and saw who her visitor was.
"Is my brother alive?" asked Mrs. Lecount,
entering the honse.
" Alive!" echoed the servant. " He has gone
holiday-making into the country to finish his re
covery in the fine fresh air."
The housekeeper staggered back against the
wall of the pa-sage. The coachman and the
servant put her Into a chair. Her face was liv
id, and her teeth chattered in her head.
"Send for my brother's doctor," she said, as
goon as she could speak.
The doctor came in. She handed him a let
ter before be could saj- a word.
"Did you write that letter?"
He looked it over rapidly, and answered her
without hesitation,
"Certainly not!"
"It is your handwriting."
" It is a forgery of my handwriting."
She rose from the chair with a new strength
in her.
" When does the return mail start for Paris ?"
she asked.
"In half an hour."
" Send instantly and take me a place in it?"
The servant hesitated; the doctor protested.
She turned a deaf ear to them both.
"Send!"she reiterated, "or I will go my
self."
They obeyed. The servant went to take the
place: the doctor remained and held a conver
sation with Mrs. Leconnt. When the half hour
had passed he helped her into her place in the
mail, and charged the conductor privately to take
care of his passenger.
" She has traveled from England without stop
ping," said the doctor; "and she is traveling
back again without rest. Be careful of her, or
she will break down under the double journey."
The mail started. Before the first hour of
the new day was at an end Mrs. Lecount was
on her way back to England.
THE END OF TUB FOURTH SCENE.
THE MUJKDEK OF GEN. NELSON.
ON page C69 we publish nn illustration of the
ASSASSINATION OF GKKKHAL NELSON BY UEN-
BR.IL, J. C. DAVIS, which took place ten days since
at Louisville. Our picture is from a sketch by our
artist, Mr. Mosier, who visited the spot immediate
ly after the affair. The Cincinnati Inquirer gives
the following particulars:
When the alarm was rained in Louisville that the enemy
were marching on that city, General Davia, who could not
reuch his command under General Buell, then at Bowling
Green, went to General Nelson and tendered his services.
General Nelson gave him the command of the city militia
eo soon us they were organized. General Dttvie opened an
office and went to work in assisting the organization. On
Wednesday laut General Davis called upon General Nelson
in his roum at the Gait House, in Louisville, when the fol
lowing took place:
GUN. DAVIB. "I have the brigade, General, you as
signed me ratdy fur service, and have called to Inquire if
I can obtuiu aruid fur them.' 1
GEN. NELSON. " How many men have you?"
DAVIB. "About twenty-five hundred men, General."
NELSON (roughly and angrily). " About twenty-five hun
dred! About twenty-five hundred I By G—dl you a
regular officer, and come here to me and report about the
number of men in yuur command f G—d d—n you, don't
you know, Sir, you should furnish me the exact number P 1
DAVIS. "General, I didn't expect to get the guna now,
and only wanted lo learn if I could get them, aud where;
and, having learned the exact number needed, would then
draw them."
NELSON (pacing the room In • rage). "About twenty-
five hundred! By G—d I suspend you from your com
mand, and order you to report to General Wright; and
I've a d—d mind to put you under arrest. Leave my
room, Sir!"
DAVIB. "I will not leave, General, until yon give me
an order."
NELSON. "The h—1 you won't I By G—d Til put you
under arrest, and send you out of the city under a provost
guard 1 Leave my room, Sir 1"
General David left the room, and, in order to avcld an
arrest, crossed over the river to Jeffersonville, where he
remained until the next dey, when he was joined by Gen
eral Burbridge, who had also been relieved by Nelson for
a trivial cause. General Davis came to Cincinnati with
General Burbridge, and reported to General Wright, who
ordered General Davis to return to Louisville and report
to General Buell, and General Burbridge to remain in
Cincinnati. General Davis returned on Friday evening
and reported to General BuelL Nothing further occurred
until yesterday morning, when General Davis, seeing Gen-
erul Nelson in the main hall of the Gait House, fronting
the office, went up to Governor Morion and requested him
to step up with him to General Nelson and witness the
conversation that might pass between Nelson and him.
The Governor consented, and the two walked up to Gen
eral Nelson, when the allowing took place:
GKN. DAVIB. "Sir, you seemed to take advantage of
your authority the other day."
GEN. NELBON (sneeringly, and placing his band to his
ear)- '' Speak louder, I don't hear very well."
DAVIS (in a louder tone). " You seemed to take advant
age of your authority the other day."
NELSON (indignantly). "I don't know that I did, Sir."
DAVTS. " You threatened to arrest and eend me out of
the State under a provost guard."
NELSON (utriking Davis with the back of his band twice
in the face). " There, d—n you, take that 1"
DAVIB (retreating). " This is not the last of it; you will
bear from me again."
General Nelson then turned to Governor Morton, and
said: "By G—d, did you come here alto to insult me?"
Gov. MOUTON. "No, Sir; but I was requested to be
present nnd libten to the conversation between you and
General Davis."
GKN. NELSON (violently to the by-standers). "Did you
hear the d—d rascal insult me?" and then walked into
the ladies' parlor.
In three minutes General Davis returned, with a pistol
he hod borrowed of Captain Glbson, of Louisville, aud
walking toward the door that Nelson had passed through,
be saw Nelson walking out of the parlor into the hall sep
arating the main hall from the parlor. The two were face
to face, and about ten yards apart, when General Bavls
drew his pistol and fired, the ball entering Nelson's heart,
or in the immediate vicinity.
General Nelson threw up both hands and caught a geu-
tlenmn near by around the neck, and exclaimed, "I an
shot 1" 1 le then walked up the flight of stairs toward Gen
eral BucU'a room, but sank at the top of the stairs, and
was unable to proceed farther. lie was then conveyed to
his room, nnd when laid on his bed requested that the
Rev. Mr. Talbott, an Episcopal clergyman stopping hi the
house, might be sent to him at once. The reverend gen
tleman arrived in about five minutes.
Mr. Talbott found General Nelson extremely anxious as
to his future welfare, and deeply penitent about the many
eins he had committed. He knew that he must die imme
diately, and requested the ordinance of beptism might be
administered, which was dona The General then whis
pered, "It's all over," and died in fifteen minutes after
he was conveyed to his room. Ills death was easy, the
passing away of his spirit as though the General had fallen
into a quiet sleep.
ADVERTISEMENTS.
BURNETT'S
Cooking Extracts.
Whatever Dr. Burnett makes Is the best of Its kind.
Ills Cooking Extracts fully sustain this reputation.
J. H. Winslow & Co.
1OO,OOO
'Watches, Chains, Sets of Jewelry, Gold
Fens, Bracelets, Lockets, Rings, Gent's
Fins, Sleeve Buttons, Studs, &c., &c.
Worth $5OO,OOO,
To be sold for OliE DOLLAR each, without regard
to value, and not to be paid for until you knout what you
are to get. Send for Circular containing full list and
particulars. Send 25 cents for a Certificate,
Certificates of all the various articles, elating what each
one can have, are first put into envelopes, sealed up, and
mixed: and when ordered, are taken out without regard
to choice, and sent by mall, thus giving all a fair chance.
On receipt of the Certificata you will see what you can
have, and then It is at your option to send one dollar and
take the article or not.
In all transactions by mail, we shall charge for forward
ing the Certificates, paying postage, and doing the business,
25 cents each, which must be enclosed when the certificate
Is sent for. Five Certificates will be sent for $1, eleven for
$2, thirty for $5, sixty-five for $10, and one hundred for $15.
AGKNTS.—Those acting as Agents will be allowed ten
centa on every certificate ordered by them, provided their
remittance amounts to one dollar. Agents will collect 25
cents for every Certificate and remit 15 cents to us, either
in cash or postage stamps. Great caution should be used
by our correspondents In regard to giving their correct ad
dress, Town, County, and State. Address
J. H. WINSLOW & CO.
80S Broadway, New York.
N.B. We wish It distinctly understood that all articles
of jewelry not giving perfect satisfaction can be returned
and the money will be refunded.
THIETKEN MONTHS IN TUB RJEDIL ABUT. By an Im
pressed A ew Yorker. Price 50 cents, pott-paid. Just
published by A. 8. BARNES ffl Bl Kit, 61 and 63 Johfl
Street. »A Book full of thrilling fact*. Every Soldier
and Citizen should read it.
PURE GOLD WEDDING RINGS. For sale by
GEO. C. ALLEN, No. 415 Broadway,
One door below Canal Street, New York.
FINE GOLD SLEEVE BUTTONS AND STUDS.
New styles. For sale by G. C. ALLEN, No. 415 Broad
way, One door below Canal Street, New York.
GENTLEMEN'S SCARF FINS. One, Two, and
Three Dollars each. At G. C. ALLEN-S, No. 415 Broad
way, One door below Canal Street, New York.
FINE GOLD WATCH CHAINS. For Ladles and
Gentlemen. Mew and elegant styles. For sale by GEO.
C. ALLEN, No. 415 Broadway, One door below Canal St.,
New York.
Parr's American Camp Chest
Is the most useful article Officers can buy for their com
fort In Camp and hi the Field. It contains a whole House
hold, in a small apace, for a mess of Four persons, viz.:
Camp Stools, Cooking Apparatus, and all the necessary
implements down to a Mustard Bpoon, and itself forms,
when opened, a strong, convenient Black Walnut
Dining Table.
Call and examine It. Circulars mailed free.
Price Complete, $18.
AMERICAN CAMP CHEST CO.,
202 Broadway, N. Y.
kXaaheeih Candy.—Tn* ARABIAN "Gram" OF
ENCHANTMENT confcctionlzed.—A most pleasurable and
harmless stimulant.—Cures Nervousness, Weakness, Mel
ancholy, &c. Inspires all classes with new life and ener
gy. A complete mental and physical invigorator. Send
for circular. Beware of Imitations. 26 cents and $1 per
box. Imporled only by the
GUNJA1I WALLAH CO., 47fi Broadway. N. Y.
BE AUTTT.—-Hunt's Bloom of Roses, a charming and
perfectly natural color for the cheeks, or lips. Will not
wash off, but remains durable for years. Can only be re
moved with vinegar, and warranted not to Injure the skin.
Used by the celebrated Court Beauties of Europe exclu-
gively. Mailed free from observation for one dollar.
HUNT & CO., Perfumers, 133 8. Seventh St, Thilad.
AGENTS.—Watches and Jewelry for Army, Navy,
and Country Trade, the most salable kinds at the lowest
Eastern prices. Circular of prices, &c., free.
- HUBBARD BROS., New York.
Ballard's Patent Breech-Loading Rifle.
Tills arm Is entirely new, and Is universally acknowl
edged to be the nearest to perfection of any Breech-Load
ing Rifle ever made. Length of barrel 24 inches, weight
of Rifle 1 pounds. Size of Calibre adapted to No*. 82, 38,
and 44 copper water-proof Cartridges. Also,
Frescott's Cartridge Revolvers
•The 8ln., or Navy Size, carries a Ball weighing 38 to
the lb., and the No. 32, or 41n. Revolver, a Ball SO to the Ib.
By recent experiments made In the Army, these Revslv-
era were pronounced the best and most effective weapons
hi use. for particulars call or send for a Circular to
MERWIN & BRAY, Sole Agents,
No. 262 Broadway, N. Y.
Also Agents for the SOLDIKB'B BUU.ET-PBOOF VEST.
To all Wanting Farms.
Large and thriving settlement of Vinclant. Rich sotL
Good crops of Wheat, Corn, Peaches, Ac., to be seen—only
SO miles from Philadelphia, Delightful climate W acre
tracts of from $15 to $20 per acre, payable within 4 years.
Good schools and society. Hundreds are settling. Apply
to CHAS. K. LANDIS, P.M., Vineland, Cumberland Co.,
New Jersey. Report of Solon Robinson and Vineland Ru
ral bent free. From Report of Solon Robinson, Ag. Ed.
Tribune.
" It is one of the most extensive fertile tracts, in an aj
most level position, and suitable condition for pleasant
farming that we know of this side of the Western Prairies.
D O YOU WANT LUXURIANT
WHISKERS OR MUSTACHES f—My Onguentwill
force them to grow heavily in six weeks (upon the smooth
est face) without stain or injury to the ekin. Price $1—
sent by mnil, poet free, to any address, on receipt of an or
der. R. G. GRAHAM, No. 100 Nassau Street, N. Y.
A MONTH!—I WANT TO HIRB AGENTS
in every Connty at $75 per month and ex
penses, to sell a new and cheap Sewing Machine. Address
(with stamp). S. MADISON, Alfred, Maine.
A MONTH!—We want Agents at
Sixty Dollars a month and all expenses paid,
to sell our new CLOTHES WBIHGKKB, OEIXNTAL BCHHKRB,
and 12 other new articles. Address
SHAW * CLARK,
Watches.
SILVER HUNTING LEVERS for $12, worth $18,
AMERICAN HUNTING LEVERS for &M, worth $30.
Send for circular. J. L. FEMUSOH, 808 Broadway, M. Y.
Every Man his own Printer.
Portable Printing-offices for the Army and Navy, Drug,
gists, and Business Men generally. Send for a circular.
ADAMS PRESS COMPANY,
SI Park Row (under Lovejoys Hotel), New York.
S AVE YOUR SILKS, RIBBONS, GLOVES, &c.—Jie-
geman & Co.'s Benzine removes paint md grease
spots Instantly, and cleans Silks, Gloves, Ribbons, Ac,, Ac.,
without Injury to cither color or fabric. Only 25 cents
per bottle. Sold by druggist* generally.
HKGEMAN & CO., Chemists and Druggists, New York.
FRIENDS OF SOLDIERS!' ~~
All \ '• • Soldiers at Baltimore, Washington, Hll-
ton Heed, Nenrbern, mnd all places occupied by Union
troops, should be sent, at half rates, by HARNDEN'S
EXPRESS, No. 74 Broadway. Sutlers charged low rates.
Attention IHaso&i and Soldier*.
I will send (as sample), on the receipt of $1, • bsndsome
Gold Masonic Phi or King, or Plated Vest chain, or a fine
Gold Pen and Pencil, or Engraved Locket, or Bracelet, or
Neck Chain, or a beautiful set of Jewelry, together witk
my wholesale Circular.
W. A. UAYWAIiD, Manufacturing Jeweler,
208 Broadway, New York.
WEDDING CARDS
CdifcnUd Kignnd Cat* «old only n S. ETERD]
Old EiUblUhro«itacn Bnadwij. eor.'biiuM St, N. T.
»t»bliih«l 1840. tjrFor8iKeimul>jrM

fi72
HAUl'EU'S WEEKLY.
WHO ARE THE NIG3ER WORSHIPERS?
RGUKL TtAKTUi. "Yes, my Son. von miiel go to the War. I can't spare POMP; lie coet me Twelve Hundred Dollars, and he might get
iltot. Besides, you know, you couldn't etoop to work like a fiell-hand!"
Auxr MAT IA. "Oh! liow I wisli I could assist our lirnvc Soldiers in some wny."
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ACST MARIA. "Nurses! No. that wouldn't suit nip. lint if they would adopt the beautiful
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HAKPEK'S WEEKLY.
AT SOUTH MOUNTAIN.
LIKE plates of brassy armor
The yellow plowed lands lay
Upon the valley's bosqm
For leagues and leagues away.
Along them shines and shimmers
The lazy moving stream,
As o'er a child's soft bosom
The idle ribbons gleam.
The mountain's velvet helmet
Rods darkly on her crest,
As though some untold passion
Was trembling in her breast.
The green leaves chant together
A weird and mystic strain,
And the feathery tenants mingle
Their notes in the wild refrain.
TIi shadows sweep o'er the valley
Like an evanescent blot,
Tli.it seems like a holy feeling
Begrimed with an impure thought.
—Twas thus lay the quiet valley
And the sentry hills held sway,
Ere the bugle notes scared the song-birdf,
Or the reveille woke the day.
And now was the smiling Snbbath,
And the sweet-tongued meeting hells
Rang out like an incense wafted
O'er listening hills and dells.
The soldiers catch the cadence
Borne ont on the distant air,
And it comes to their weary spirits
Like the thought of an angel's prayer.
But vain the holy summons—•
The prayer remains unsaid,
The singer's lips are silent,
The sermon lies unread;
\Vhilc long and dusty columns
Of iinn-browned troops file by,
Korved by the rigid purpose
To win the day—or die I
Along the paths of the mountain
Moves up the dark-blue line,
The pun-wheels grind o'er the boulders,
The burnished bayonets shine.
Way up in the leafy covert
The cnrling smoke betrays
Where the foe throw down the gauntlet,
Ami the answeriug cannons blaze.
The crack of the MinM rifle,
The shriek of the crashing shell,
The ling f the flashing sabre,
Their tale of the conflict tell.
They tell >f the dear lives lying,
War's icod In Nature's lap,
Ere the Starry Flag in triumph
Wave* through the Mountain Gap.
Kignt droos her pitying mantle
T» hide the bloody scene—
Nexi morn a thousand dead men
Mark where the foe had been.
And where the fight was hottest
Two mangled corpses lay,
One clad in bright bine jacket,
And one in homespun gray.
Their hands are clasped together.
Their bloody bosoms show
Each fought with a dauntless purpose,
And fell 'neath each other's blow!
They fell, and the crimson mingled,
And before the paling eye
Back rolled the storm of the conflict
To the peaceful days gone by.
Eat-h thought of'the mystic token—
The talismanic sign;
Ench recognized a Brother I
Two firm right hands entwine!
The fire of the noble order
Touched not their hearts in vain.
AH hnte lades out, uniting
Two hearts with the triple chain!
CAW or Eranrn MAsaAonuirrn BATTDT,
AKTI*TA* Cacu, (Motor, IBM.
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
SATUKDAT, OCTOBEB 25, 18G2.
WHY WADSWORTH WILL BE
ELECTED.
GARIBALDL
WK reproduce on the preceding page a picture by
M. Beauce, which representsGAniBALDi WODKDBD
ANII v PRISONER. Every one remembers that Gar-
ih'ildi, who was at the head of a small band of fol.
loners, was attacked at Aspromonte by the Nea-
polimn forces anil taken prisoner. He was con-
% r\ ed to Spexia by his captors, and placed in the
hamfo of surgeons for his wounds, which are severe.
It is not yet known what disposition will be mad*
of him. When he arrived at Spezla one of our
cohsuls addressed him a letter Inquiring whether
he would accept a command in our army in cam it
should be tendered him. He immediatsly replied
that, being wonnded and a prisoner, he conld not
yet dispose of his future movements; bnt that if
lie regained hi* strsngth and his liberty he would
at once offer bin sword to the United Ststen, which i
ww IJjfhUug for freedom throughout (he world. I
U ORATIO SEYMOUR, the Democratic
candidate for Governor of this State, has
arrayed himself fairly and squarely in opposi
tion to the President's proclamation ot freedom,
and claims the votes of the people of this State
in virtue of that opposition. Citizens who now
support him imply by their support that they are
oppcoed to the United States Government, on
the most vital question of its policy, at the most
imminent crisis in the history of the nation.
To use the words of Mr. John Van Bnren, at the
meeting on 18th, supporters of Horatio Seymour
consider "the Government of the United States
the most contemptible failure in the shape of a
Government in the world;" and pronounce that,
in their judgment, " the Southern people ought
not tolive nnder an abolition sway." In other
worfl, men who vote for Seymour mean by that
vote that they hnte and despise their own Gov
ernment, the Government of Abraham Lincoln;
that they are opposed, in the crisis of a desper
ate war, to the most vital measures of policy
adopted by that Government; and that they
find much more justification for the rebellion of
the Southern people than for the North's reso
lute and constitutional exercise and defense of
its political rights. The issue Is fairly and
squarely made.
Men who are in favor of supporting the Gov
ernment honestly and manfully; of maintaining
the political system handed down to us by onr
fathers, and of preserving intact in its integrity
the Union which a band of desperadoes at the
South hare endeavored to destroy, will give ex
pression to their views by voting for WADB-
WOBrH
Men who are opposed to the Government of
the United States; who can find excuses for the
rebels, hnt. none for the chosen rulers of the
country; who have a hundred schemes for de
stroying and remodeling, but not one for simply
maintaining the Union of our fathers; men
whose secret sympathies are at this dreadful
hour with the enemies of their country and the.
perjured traitors at Richmond: these men will
vote for- SETMODB.
It has been suggested that, in view of the nn-
eqnivocal indications of the election of Wads-
worth, Mr. Seymour should resign, and leave
the course clear to his opponent. The Demo
cratic leaders scout the notion, and we are
very K\H& they do. We should like to see
precisely how many people in this State agree
with Mr. John Van Buren in deeming "the
Government of the United States the most
contemptible failure in the shape of a govern
ment in the world," and in pronouncing that
"the Southern people ought not to live under
an abolition sway." We want to ascertain how
many citizens of the State of New York deem
this a fit moment for dividing the North, oppos
ing the Government, and holding Out to the
rebels hopes of support in their rebellion. We
want to separate the sheep from the goats, and
to see where we stand. By no means let Mr.
Seymour resign. By running he will render
the country a signal service.
The eyes of the rebel leaden at Richmond are
fixed upon the contest in this State with perhaps
even more intensity than npon the contest in
Kentucky or on the banks ot the Potomac.
They know that, notwithstanding the temporary
successes which accident has enabled them to
achieve this summer, the result of the contest is
as certain as fate, if its solution be left exclusive
ly to the sword. It may take more time than the
sanguine people of the North once hoped/ Bnt
it is none the less certain, and the rebelb know it.
Their only hope now is that the Government of
the United States may be paralyzed by divisions
at home. If a party can be elected to power in
the great State of New York whose leaders
unanimously avow greater aversion foi the Unit
ed States Government than for the armed rebels;
who wholly or partially justify the rebellion,
and denounce the Government of the United
States as an intolerable despotism- the hopes
of Jeff Davis and his colleagues will be revived,
their drooping spirits cheered, their armies en
couraged to prosecnte the flagging contest. For
snch an event as the election as Governor of
this State of one who is identified with the rebel
sympathizers, would signify to the foreign world
that the temper of the North was undergoing a
change, and that the British prediction—that
we would tire of the enterprise of subjugating
the South—was becoming verified. If any thing
would justify intervention, this wonld do it.
Europe could say to ns, "Nnt only does the
Sonth desire ns to interfere, but the greatest
possibly give a hearty or even any kind of support
to a Government which he and his supporters de
nounce as an " atrocious despotism," " the most
contemptible failure in the world," "a band of
thieves and robbers ?" etc., etc. And how could
the war be prosecuted if the chief State of the
North refused to support the Government; de
clined to forward troops, and placed itself in
the attitude which Kentucky occupied eighteen
months ago? Does Horatio Seymour expect to
be able to play the part of Beriah Magoffin in
the heart of the loyal North?
"AND TO PARTY GAVE UP WHAT WAS MEANT
FOR MANKIND."
TUB speech of Mr. Richard O'Gorman, some ten
days ago, will bring a pang to many a breast he
did not mean to wound. For some twelve years
he has lived in this country, bnt has been publicly
known only as a most polished and charming ora
tor upon occasions which were not political. At
last he breaks this public political silence of twelve
years by a fiery denunciation of the Government
and its policy, and an eloquent lament over the
happy days when the freedom of person, of speech,
and of the press were absolutely respected. He
eulogizes the " high and progressive civilization"
we enjoyed two years ago; and decries the despot-
Ism which, in a time of tremendous civil war, ex
ercises the solemn Constitutional right of suspend
ing the habeas corpus.
Mr. O'Gorman's speech itself refutes its asser
tion that the right of speech is destroyed; and his
picture of the condition of this city, as it appears
to him at this moment, in the very crisis of this
terrible national straggle for existence, was the
permanent condition in peace of the whole region
now in open rebellion. Under the " high and pro
gressive civilization" of two years ago ths&present
rebels nullified the Constitution. Now They are
trying to destroy it. Does the orator know that
he praises the Constitutional reverence of a time
when an innocent free citizen of one State could be
enslaved forever with his posterity by the law of
another?—a time when no State or national au
thority protected a man in his plainest rights un
der the Constitution ?—a time when the Constitu
tion of the United States was openly and shame
lessly violated in time of perfect peace ?
Of conrse crime does not excuse crime. Viola
tion then would not excuse violation now. But
that is the time of constitutional felicity which the
orator selects for his praises. During all those
years the constant outrage could not loosen his
tongne. Not only was the outrsge itself flagrant,
but its cause was damnable, for the Constitution
was violated to sustain slavery. Even at the
North the sacred right of speech was threatened by
inobs; but still this voice was silent. The tragedy
of Kansas not only revealed the most wicked and
inhuman contempt of the Constitution, but showed
the imminence of the loss of all constitutional guar
antees. But this voice had not a word of reproach,
or complaint, or grief. Exiled from his native
land for loving liberty, the orator saw the funda
mental safeguard of all liberty in his adopted coun
try scorned and destroyed by the fierce will of
a most cruel despotism; but he saw unmoved.
Good men, patriots, the heroee of liberty every
where looked on in alarm, and feared for the hope
of humantiy. The Despotism opeuly threatened
to destroy the Constitution which it already nulli
fied : and the voice was silent, and the baud doubt
less gave it the aid of a vote. At last that savage
despotism sprang at the nation's throat, to com
plete its victory and subjugate the Constitution in
every Fres State as it had already done at home.
The nation, desperately struggling, declares that it
will take all necessary ateps of war, since war has
been forced upon it; that it will, in this great stress,
suspend temporarily gome rights that it may secure
the permanent enjoyment of all rights; and then,
at last, this voice breaks silence—storms out into
passionate mnsic, and declares that those by whose
consent the Constitution was shamelessly outraged
are alone fit to save it from destruction! Guaran
teed rights might be trampled upon—liberty lost—
the laws defied—the Constitution nullified—the
Union mortally threatened—the nation in a death-
struggle—and the eye was cold and the tongue si
lent. But from the wild turmoil let some illusive
gleam of hope burst forth that his party might re
cover power, and the orator lends his fervid tongne
to the destroyer.
" Who bnt must Uugh If §uch • nun there be f
Who would not weep If Attlcua were her*
[OCTOBER 25,1862.
They can each be satisfied only with the heart's-
blood of the other. But after all, they an very
well content when the spectators insist and actual
ly separate them.
These are views seriously entertained by foreign
statesmen, and by foreigners among us, and It is to
the influence of such convictions that we must look
for the chances of intervention. The foreign horo
scope of the inevitable result of the war undoubted
ly is separation or anarchy. Peace, order, and law
can be secured, in the opinion of Europe, only by
speedy separation. In the interest of civilization,
of society, and of government, therefore, the for
eign mind believes intervention to be essential.
It seems impossible to show Europe that the only
two possible results of this war are, either the un
conditional victory of the rebellion, which is disso
lution of the Union, destruction of the Government,
and universal anarch}'—or else the unconditional
victory of the Government, whereby the rebels lay
down their arms, and submit, willingly or unwill
ingly, to the laws, and seek their ends, if they still
desire them, according to the Constitution.
There is no middle ground. Separation of the
States is National death, and is as much the tri
umph of the rebellion as Jeff Davis installed in the
White House as President of the Union. The aim
of the rebellion is to change the Government by
force of arms. That of the Government is to main
tain itself intact. But if it concedes any part to the
armed demand, it surrenders the whole principle.
For when another rebellion demands another con
cession there is no reason why it should not be
made; nntil at last the very form of the Govern
ment would have perished with its spirit.
If any one should object that this does not fol
low, an}' more than the destruction of the British
Government followed the conceded independence
of the American colonies, the reply is that the re
lation of Britain to her colonies does not resemble
that of the National Government to the United
States citizens. If you wish to have the exact
parallel, consider what would be the position of the '
Government of Great Britain if it should, after a
tremendous struggle to maintain its authority over
Kent or Yorkshire, concede the separation and in
dependence of those counties. Would the British
Government, in any candid sense, longer exist?
Could it with any reason, or with any hope of suc
cess, refuse the claim of any other county to retire t
Intervention, by the confession of foreigners who
frankly discuss it, means separation. That is to
say, it is the armed alliance of whatever powers un
dertake it with the rebels. The condition of the
alliance u, that they shall fight for the canse of the
rebels. That canse is the establishment of a new
political power in the world founded upon slaver}-;
and that power takes its origin in the conviction
of its subjects that they had a right to break away
from their old political community, not because of
injuries suffered without hopa of legal redress,
which is the only plea of forcible revolntion, but
simply because they feared that the normal de
velopment of that community would peacefully
eliminate slavery.
Nations are governed by their interest; but na
tional and individual interest is never dissevered
from certain moral principles in human natnre.
If Great Britain thinks her interest will be served
by drawing the sword in the cause of such a pow
er she will do it. But she will never sheathe it
again as the nation she now is.
and most populous State of the North practical
ly calls npon us likewise, by electing to office a
man who is opposed to yonr Government; op
posed to the policy which yon are abont to initi
ate, and whose leading supporters justify the re
bellion." What conld we say in reply?
In what condition shonld we find our conntry
next January if Seymonr shonld be elected? .
Whatever Mr. Seymonr may say, how could h« I
A LOOK ABROAD.
Tire question of foreign intervention is one that
will properly 'continue to interest the public mind
until the end of the war. It is beyond dispute that
France wishes to intervene, but can not persuade
England. How long the argument may continue
before it is successful is a matter of speculation.
But the two points of the argument are well un
derstood.
The first is the conviction that, in case of onr
success, coming from victory flushed and furious
with a huge military organization in good work
ing order, we shall instantly demand of Great Brit
ain an explanation of her passive hostility toward
us in our misfortunes. In other words, that npon
our domestic settlement war with England is in
evitable ; and that it is wise for her to prevent it,
by stepping in and forcing a settlement which will
be founded upon separation.
The second point of the argument for interven
tion Li, that we are both heartily tired of the war,
at the North and South, and that we shall secretly
hail a sufficient excuse for ending it. We are held
by foreign observers to be in the condition of duel
ists, who have exchanged a round of shots and
whose seconds and witnesses interfere. The bel
ligerents, of course, will not listen. Not they.
OVER THE SEA.
THE response of Europe to the President's Proc
lamation is near at hand, if it be not already audi
ble when these lines are printed. It will be a yell
of affected horror and lofty Indignation- Alas!
nothing will please that unhappy Enrope. It is so
determined that we shall go to pieces that it is im
patient of our reluctance. "Why don't you die?
Why, in the naughty name, don't you disappear?
You're all gone. You've always been a sham, and
now you are a ridiculous warning. Just be buried
as soon as possible." This is the tone in which
Europe comments upon our struggle.
A few weeks since we were languid, in the high
European estimation. We were a set of play-act
ors. Our war was a melodrama. We did not
mean to do any thing. We had no earnestness,
no purpose, no policy. The excellent Confederates,
however, really meant something. They were fer
vid and vigorous and nnited.
Now we shall hear that we are ferocious, blood
thirsty, and barbarous; that the interests of civili
zation and humanity require the preservation of a
system which denies every right and practices ev
ery enormity to turn men into beasts. We shall
hear that we confess we could not fairly conquer
in honorable warfare, and have therefore appealed
to the most fearful means. We shall hear that we
have made ferocity take the place of heroism, and
massacre that of honorable battle, and that we have
merely supplied another and mere stringent reason
for the desperate and unconquerable unity of the
enemy. We shall hear that the result was doubt
ful before, and is hopeless now, etc., etc.
Meanwhile, in the midst of the tantara, the Gov
ernment of the United States has, as it has had,
but one duty, to suppress this rebellion in the most
sudden, swift, and overwhelming manner. It can
not use too many means, nor kill it too dead.
NO HANGING MATTER.
MB. CABSIUS M. CLAT wss born in a slave State,
and early convinced that slavery was wrong, he
has manfully advocated emancipation in Ken
tucky ; and has been universally known as one of
the most valiant of the anti-slavery orators. He
is a man of indomitable conrage, and his purely
heroic career has compelled the admiration of many
who differ from his views. But like all ardent
and sincere men, whose moral convictions are not
tempered with practical wisdom, Mr. Clay fre
quently puts the cause he adopts in a ludicrous or
repulsive light.
When upon his journey to Russia, as onr minister,
he wrote a letter to the London Timet and made •
OCTOBER 25,1862.]
I
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
speech at a Paris breakfast, he made onr canse a
little ridiculous. But when, in his speech at Brook
lyn, he said that he wished the President had
suspended the writ of habeas corpiu by hanging
traitors, and that the lives of thousands of good
men would have been saved if Mr. Seymour and
Fernando Wood had been hun,. hp irv.in", of
course, only a rhetorical period, i—j Uic rhetoric
does not help the cause. ~^s
That traitors duly convicted shall be executed,
the law provides: but the law also decides who
traitors are. That men of treasonable sympathies
or patriotic indifference should be bung, no law
provides, and common sense smiles at the sugges
tion. If Mr. Seymour still believes what he has
constantly said, he is of opinion that the rebels are
rsally justified and the Government is imbecile and
tyrannical. He would gladly effect a surrender of
the Government under the name of settlement.
And he is not known to have helped the nation
with money any more than with sympathy. His
election would be the moral defeat of the Union
and the Government. It would be the first step
not to a vigorous or any other prosecution of the
war, but to peace upon dishonorable terms to the
country.
But while all this is true, it does not follow that
he ought to be hung; because hostile opinions and
indifference aie not treason. If the expression of
those opinions in time of war be so vehement and
influential as to be clearly injurious to the Govern
ment, it is Constitutionally competent to the Gov
ernment to suppress that expression; and when
Mr. Seymour reaches that point, of course he will
be silenced, but certainly not bung. When the
Government is engaged in a fierce war to maintain
the fundamental guarantee of Life, Liberty, and
Property, it must, by the very necessity of the
case, peremptorily take as much of the Life, Lib
erty, and Property of its enemies as it thinks rec-
essary. It is making war, and that is the condition
of war. It takes life to preserve life- liberty to
insure liberty; and property to secure property.
No rational man seriously contests its right and its
power to do all this. For if it may mako war it
may do all that is necessary to make war effective.
BLIND FURY.
" LINCOLN the fiend .—let history take hold of
him, and let the civilized world fling its scorpion
lash npon him!' cries the Richmond Enquirer.
Who is it that says this ? Who call aloud tor
the sympathy of mankind ? People who deny to
others every human right, and doom them and their
posterity forever to the condition of brute beasts.
Who steal, buy, sell, starve, whip, roast, and hang
other perfectly innocent men and women, if they
refuse to work for nothing, and to be degraded be
low humanity—who outrage every sentiment of
human honor and decent social relation, profiting
by their own lust, and abolishing the sanctity and
fidelity of marriage among those whom they hold
in hopeless and helplese submission—who degrade
manhood, dishonor womanhood, and who, to pay
their own debts, sell other people and '.heir chil
dren into eternal separation and anguish—who,
pursued by the contempt of Christendom, and stung
to madness by fierce hatred of human liberty and
the equal rights of all men, are now seeking to
smother in blood a great nation of which they
are a sworn part, and withont any other pretense
than that their system of barbarism and infamy
can not be infinitely extended.
And who is "Lincoln the fiend?" He is the
man who, speaking for his country, is putting an
end to all this lamb-like business.
Upon the question of" fiends" the civilized world
is not likely to have two opinions at heart, what
ever its lips may say.
I makes the removal of the negroes from districU
exposed to invasion compulsory."
If the faithful and affectionate chattels uehuved
in this way before the President's Proclamation
called universal attention to the law freeing all
slaves who reached our lines, what will be then
feelings when the hope which, despite our rrue'.
usage of them, the advance of our armies has »i
ways been, is formally confirmed by the prorrise
and guarantee of the Government? To suppus»
the Proclamation a brufum fulmen is to disregard
the most essential qualities of human nature.
675
HUMORS OF TITK DAY
A WAG upon visittafrain -/'io 1 nnnciim was shovn.'ome
dwarfs, and other sp. cimene of mortality, all preserved In
alcohol. "Well," eaid lie, "1 never thought the dead
could be in such spirits."
In narrating the circumstances of A recent unieidn. .. e
papers eay that besides being deaf, dumb. KDO HU "Id hhct-
elor, the unfortunate man had exhibited lyroptom- of In
unity, ____
VEST POETIC.—"What, 1* said Margarita to Cecil!*,
"whit, dearest, do you think is really the food of Cupid f
And Cecilia answered, " Arrowroot."
CCBIOCS FACT rrt I-ATOHAL HISTOBT.—The Hottentott
stand heat better than Coolie*.
To PBEBEBVI APPLM PBOM ROTTIHO. — Put tnem into a
dry cellar, of easy access to a large lamily ol children.
CAOTIOUR — u Now, mind yon," whispered t. 'ervant-glrl
to her neighbor, "I don't say as how missus drinks; out
between you and I the decanter don't keep full M day. •
A young doctor, on being asked to contribute coward in
closing and ornamenting a cemetery, very coolly replied
that In filling it he thought he should do hU part.
TllE 1IO8T DIBXCT METHOD OF DETEBHTNINO HOB8K-
POWIB.— Stand behind mid tickle his hind-legs with a brier
A man li the healthiest and the happiest when be
thinks the least of either health or happiness.
. — " I'm nartlcularly uneasy on this point," as
the fly said when the boy stuck him on the end of a needle.
Why are a pin and a poker like a blind man f— Because
they have a head and no eyes.
AN ABSTRACT DEED, — Having your tooth drawn.
A TEASER. — When was beef-tea first made In England f
—When Henry the Eighth dissolved the F ope'« bull.
Is a soldier supposed to be raw until be has been ex
posed to flre t
DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE.
rllK BATTLE or PBRRYVILLB.
The following Is official:
pBBBrriu.*, KBHTUCKT, Orfotor 9.
VIA BABDITOWX, Ua 111, IBM.
To Sfajor-Oeneral HdOeck, , Clef. 1, 1868.
The attention of the officers and soldiers of the Army
of the Fotomac is called to General Orders No. 139, W ir
Department, September £4,18b2. publishing to the army
the President's proclamation of September 22.
A proclamation of such grave moment to the nation, of
ficially communicated to the army, affords to the general
commanding an opportunity of denning specifically to the
officers and soldiers under his command ths relation borne
Withont batting for repose, yon crossed the Fotomae.
stormed the heignta of Harper's Ferry, made prisoners of
more than eleven thousand men, and captured upward of
seventy pieces of artillery, all their small-amis i.i.J other
munitions of war.
While one corps of the army was thus engaged, the other
insured its success by arresting at Boonsborotifli thp com
bined armies of ths enemy, advancing under their favor
ite General to the relief of their beleaguered comrades.
On the field ot Sharpsbnrg, with less than one-third his
numbers, you resisted from daylight until dark the whole
army of the enemy, s«ri repuleed every attack along Ills
entire front of more than four miles In extent.
The whole of the following day you rtood prepared to
resume the conflict on the same ground, mid retired next
morninft teiflviut ntolelttat©On acrus« th© 1 Potomac.
Two attempts subsequently made by the enemy to f 1-
low you icross the river have reuulted in till compietL dis
comfit ure and being drireu bnck with lo?a.
Achievements such as these demanded murh valor and
patriotism. History records few examplcn of (rreater for-
titude and endurance than this army ban exhibited; and
I am commissioned by the President to thank you In the
name of the Confederate States for the undying fame you
have won for their arms.
Much as you have done, much more remains to be ac
complished. The enpmy ngaln threatens us with inva
sion, and to your tried valor and patriotism the country
looks with confidence for deliverance and snfety; your
past exploits give assurance that tills confidence is not
misplaced. K. E. *.»», General Commanding.
A 8OUTH8IDE VIEW.
THE Richmond Dispatch of September 27 had
two most instructive articles. They both tell a
great deal of truth. One says, " If the North ul
timately fails in this war, she will fall as fast and
far as Lucifer in his descent from heaven." The
North, it says, clings to the Union as the mariner
" to the last plank that lies between him and the
fathomless depths of eternity." The rhetoric is bad,
but the truth is solid and solemn. Even so, when
the North fails she falls utterly, for she sinks Into
the slough of a slave-despotism.
The same article asys that" there is scarcely an
abolitionist to be fonnd" in the Union armies; but
the next one asserts that " the Federal invasion
has thus far been a John Brown raid on a grand
scale. Wherever the Federal armies have advanced
the negroes have been swept off as clean as the
Eastern locusts sweep a field of grain."
But if this be the result while, as the Dispatch
declares, the war is carried on •' by the conserva
tive classes," what would happen if those frightful
fellows the abolitionists had any thing to do with
it ? If the only " friende of the South" at the North
were the "Conservatives,"and they are doing the
abolition work, and the War Is, in the natnre of
things, a war of desperation npon the part of the
North, what is the prospect for the South ?
But there is still further improvement to be de
rived from the Dispatch. We have been frequent
ly told of the extreme fitness of the Africans for
slavery: they are better off as slaves; they are
happy as elaves; the relation of master and slave
is truly touching and patriarchal; the master is
all anxiety for the welfare of his "servant;" and
the slave is all tenderness and fidelity toward the
generous being to whom Providence has committed
him, etc., etc., etc Now steps in the Diyatch,
and says, oh 1 disillusion, disenchantment I " The
neighborhood of a Yankee army creates as com-
plete a stampede among negroes as the approach
of a locomotive among cattle. There are thou
sands of masters who continue to believe that their
servants will not run under similar temptations,
and foolishly to expose them to temptation. It is
clear, therefore, that there U no security for the
negro property of the State, unless the Legislature
The entire assets ot a recent bankrupt were nine chil
dren. The creditors' acted magnanimously, and 1st him
keep them. __ ____
One of our country correspondents, who has read about
sailors "heaving up" anchors, wants to know If it is sea
sickness that makes 'em do HI
FEKSH TOOK Burn.—" Well, Patrick," asked the doctor,
"how do you feel hMlayf" "Och, doctor dear, I enjoy
very poor health intirely. The rumatlcs are very dis-
tressln' indade; when I go to slape I lay awake all night,
and my toes is swlled as big as a goose hen's egg, so whin
I stand up I fall down Immediately."
A runaway couple having been married at'Gntna Green,
Vulcan demanded five guineas for his services. " How Is
this r* said the bridegroom; *• the gentleman you last mar.
rled assured me ha only gave you a guinea,'* "True,"
said the smith; "but he was an Irishman, and I have
married him six times. He is a customer, you know; but
you Lmay never see again."
"Fin not yonr faith on any man's sleeve" is a good
maxim; but Amoretta says she can't help it when thu
thing is round her neok with her lover's arm in It.
Daniel says that he thinks that boarders who are obliged
to eat sausages three times a day during dog-daya are
justified In growling at their tare.
letter S than any ether In the alphabet f Because it li the
beginning 01 secession aud the end of Jeff Davis,
Tea Bis* CPBB FOB VABITT—Be photographed.
A clergyman being much pressed by a lady of his ac
quaintance to preach a sermon the first Sunday after her
marriage, complied, and chose the following passage in
the Psalms as his text: "And there shall be abundance
ot peace—while the moon endureth."
An eminent conchaoglst has made a calculation that It
takes sixteen days and fourteen hours for a - moderately-
last snail" to accomplish a mile.
A general on the point of death, opeuing his eyes and
seeing a consultation of three physicians who were stand-
lug1 close by his bedside, faintly exclaimed, "Gentlemen,
U you fire by platoons it is all over with me 1" and In
stantly expired. ____________
"This snow-storm the boys regard as a joke," said one
to Dr. 8——, during a late storm. "Yes," replied the
doctor," and it if K joke that any one can Me tba drift ot"
MCDIOAL DOMESTIC EOONOMT.—Stale dry bread Is a
very effectual check to juvenile consumption.
Make yonr son wise, and noble, and grand, and be will
be, your grandson.
tnncers ana soldiers under bis command ths relation borne
by all persons in the military service of the United States
toward the civil authorities of the Government Tbe Con
stitution confides to the civil authorities, legislative, judi
cial, and executive, the power and duty of making, ex
pounding, and executing tbe Federal laws. Armed forces
•re raised and supported simply to sustain the civil au
thorities, and are to be held In strict subordination thereto
in all respects. This fundamental rule of our political sys
tem Is essential o the security of our republican institu
tions, and should be thoroughly understood and observed
by every soldier. The principle upon which, and the ob
jects for which, armies shall be employed In suppressing
the rebellion, must be determined and declared by the civil
authorities, and the chief Executive, who is charged with
tbe administration c 'be national affairs, is the propel
and only source through which the views and orders of the
Government can ba made known to the annlea "f tbe na
tion.
Discussion by officers and soldiers concerning public
measures determined upon and declared by the Govern
ment, when carried at all beyond the ordinary temperate
and respectful expression of opinion, tend greatly to im
pair and destroy the discipline and efficiency jf troops by
substituting the spirit of political faction for that firm,
steady, and earnest support of the authority 01 the Govern
ment which Is he highest duty of the American soldier.
The remedy Sat political errors, if any are committed, is to
be lound only In the action of the people at the polls.
In thus calling the attention of this army to the tme re
lation between the soldiers and the Government, the gen
eral commanding merely adverts to an evil against which
it has been thought advisable during onr whole history to
guard the armies of the republic, and In so doing ae will
not be considered by any right-minded person as casting
any reflection upon that loyalty and good conduct which
has been M fully Illustrated upon so many battle-fielda.
In carrying out all measures of public policy this army
will, of course, he guided by tbe same rules of mercy and
Christianity that have ever controlled Its conduct toward
the defenseless.
By command of MAJOS-GKNEBAL M'CLELL«T».
JAXTS A. UABDEB, Lieutenant-Colonel, Aid-de-Camp
and Anting AaniBfnnt Adjutant-General.
A REBEL RAID INTO PENNSYLVANIA.
A force of two or three thousand rebels, nnder the re
nowned Stnart, crossed the Potomac at a point far above
the right wing of General M'CIellan's arniv. and pushed
rapidly on through Mercersburg to Uhambersburg, Penn
sylvania, reaching there at six o'clock on Friday evening,
10th. About eight hundred entered the town, the remain
der remaining a mile away. They helped themselves to
boots, shoes, and clothing, giving Confederate paper In
some cases for pay. On Saturday morning they burned
the Cumberland Valley Railroad Depot, and two ware
houses containing a small quantity of Government stores.
Then they rejoined their main body, and moved off toward
Gettysburg. They borrowed or exchanged bones wher
ever they could, and seem to have been entirely successful
in getting snch articles as they most needed. No violence
was done to individuals, and no resistance was made by
the people, at least not until they had gone from Cham-
bersburg. Near Gettysburg some farmers entrapped one
01 the most-troopers, and that was t'j the resistance expe
rienced. There is a rumor tha» they had a fight when
they crossed -he Potomac, on Vriday morning, bnt it is
doubtful; Indeed, the place of tlieir crossing is in doubt-
some accounts nay at llancnck, and others at Dam No. 6,
several miles below. A rpedal dixpatch from Honocacy
Bridge (on tho Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, about teat
miles south of Frederick City) says that the rebel cavalry
passed eight miles below Monocaey, on Saturday night,
and took breakfast at Urbanna, four miles from Monocacy,
on Sunday moruln?. Heavy firing had been hoard in the
direction of Roland's Ferry (on the Potomac). Seven pris
oners, captured at Urbanna, bad just come in. All this
Indicates that the rebels were pretty surely safe over the
Fotomac, and probably In or beyond Leaaburg, before night
on Sunday, 12th.
.
THE BATTLES OK ARTIETAM AND SOUTH MOUNTAIN.
GEOTBAL OKDEBS— No, 160.
uo,r-oiuu-n.—Why is a fashionable lady's dress like an
Iron-clad ship I Became it Is heavily plaited.
(t Isn't enough that men and women shonld be of the
true metal; they should also be well-tempered.
Of all the vanities and fopperies, tbe vanity of high birth
is the greatest. True nobility li derived from virtue, not
from birth. Titles, Indeed, may be purchased; but vir
tue Is the only coin tnt makes the bargain valid.
BAD HIM TOTES.—A waggish curate overheard the
schoolmaster giving lessons hi grammar. " Yon can not
place a, the singular article,'1 said the preceptor, " before
plural nouns. No one can aay a pigs, a women, a—.**
"Nonsense," cried the curate, ••the Prayer-book knows
better than you, I should think, or It wouldn't teach me to
say o-men." __________
A boy who had stolen Borne apples was forgiven for the
rather Ingenious manner in which he excused himselt
The schoolmaster asking him what he had to say for him
self, the urchin replied, "The apples were Tom's i I don't
know how he got them; and now they're mine, and he
don't know how I got them."
"Well, Mary, are yon going to the new place f*
"Snre, no, ma'am 1 the lady couldn't give a satisfactory
reference from her last cook."
Jones (hearties* fellow!) says the only parting that ever
troubled him Is the parting of his back hair.
-*, B.MY or TUB POTOIUO,
CAWP HBAB tfuAmruDmo. UABYLAHD., O«l. S, 1809.
The Commanding General extends his congratulations to
the army under his command for the victories achieved by
their bravery at the passes of the South Mountain and upon
the Anttetam Creek.
The brilliant conduct of Reno's and Hooker's corps, un
der Burnside, at Turners Gap, and of Franklin's corps at
Crampton's Pass, In which, In the face of an enemy strong
In position and resisting with obstinacy, they carried the
mountaiu, and prepared the way for the advance of the
army, won for them the admiration of their brethren ill
arms.
In the memorable battle of Antletam we defeated a nu
merous and powerful army of the enemy in an action des
perately fought and remarkable for Ite duration and for
the destruction of life which attended It. The obstinate
bravery of the troops of Hooker, Mansfield, and Sumner;
the dashing gallantry of those of Franklin on the right;
the steady valor of those of Dumslde on the left, and the
vigorous snpport of Porter and Fleasanton, pi esent a bril
liant spectacle to our countrymen which will swell their
hearts with pride and exultation.
Fourteen guns, thirty-nlue colors, fifteen thousand five
hundred stand of anus, and nearly six thousand prisoners,
taken from the enemy, are evidences of the completeness
of our triumph.
A grateful country will thank the noble army for achieve
ments which bave rescued the loyal Steles of the Eastfrom
tbe ravages of the invader, and have driven him from their
borders.
While rejoicing at the victories which, nnder God's
blessing, have crowned our exertions, let us cherish the
memory of our brave comrades who have laid down their
lives upon the battle-field, marlyrs in theii country's
cause. Their names will be enshrined in the hearts of
the people. By command of JlAJOB-GzNERAL M'CLEIXAH.
& WILLIAMS, A. A. G.
A REBEL VERSION.
GEHKBAI OBDESS — No. 113.
HiAD-«DAaTsas, ABUT or NoaTBtan VixemiA,
Oelcfer 1, 1861
In reviewing the achievements of the army during the
present campaign, the Commanding General can not with.
hold the expression of his admiration of the indomitable
courage It has displayed In battle, and Its cheerful endur
ance of privation and hardship on the march.
Since your great victories around Richmond yon have
defeated the enemy at Cedar Mountain, expelled him from
the Rappahannock, and, after a conflict of three days ut
terly repulsed him on the plains of Manassas, and forced
him to take shelter within toe fortifications around his
capital.
THE VICTOI1T AT CORINTH.
HEAD-QOABTIU or OBNBBIL GBAM%
union, T«»», va

676
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
~^J .i.Pn.t roiVflnYeoejSttfk lending the
"~_T ^.. *•* __
N.YY. to the charoe
THE CAMPAIGN IN MARYLAND,—SKETCHED or MB. A. B. WAID.—[SBB PACE 683.]
[OCTOBER 25, 1862.
\
OCTOBER 25,1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY.
BOONESBOEOUGH, MAEYLAND, SOUTH MOUNTAIN IN THE DISTANCE—SCENE OF BURNSIDE'S FIGHT.—SKETCHED BY ME. A. R. WAUD.—[SEE PAOB i
SUGAR-LOAF MOUNTAIN, MD.—SKETCHED BT MR. A. B. WAUD.—fSmz PAOB GS3.1
MIDDLETON, MD.,NEAR SOUTH MOUNTAIN.—SKETCHHD BT MR. A. R. WADD.—f SEB PAGE 688.]
BATl'LE OF SOUTH MOUNTAIN—FRANKLIN'S CORPS STORMING CRAMrTON'8 PASS.—SKETCHED BT MB. A. B. WATO.—[SEE PACE 683.]
677
I

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LOUISVILLE AND VICINITY
•^i/W BARDSTOWN
SCALE or MILES!
w
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CO
PRINCETON
eooAv/UE
HOPKINSVJ
BUR/ffSV/LLE*
TOMPKINSV.
FRANKLIN
\C.TROU$DALE
CLARKSV/LLE \
SPR/MCfflELD
Noxm&K MNDifc
CO
OS
MAP OF KENTUCKY, SHOWING THE THEATRE OF THE CONTEST BETWEEN GENERALS BUELL AND BRAGG.
O
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bO
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OS
CO
^
* H
rf

HARPER'S WEEKLY.
AFTER THE BATTLE—THE REBELS IN POSSESSION OF THE FIELD.—[SHE PAGE 686.]
i
I

682 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [OCTOBER 25, 1862.
MAETIAL LAW. '
THE drum, the fife, the bugle!
My life was a tranquil flood,
But the waters are suddenly shaken,
And the billows imbued with blood.
I thought we were Freedom's children—
What right hare they thus to come, .
Disturbing my dreams of beauty
With their fife, and bugle, and drum?
The drum, the fife, the .bugle!
Why slips the pen from my hand?
What voices are crying within me?
Who menaces this fair land?
The drum, the fife, the bugle!
The foe to our gates is hurled,
And the People are marching to meet him,
With a tread that shakes the world.
The quail in the stubble are merry,
The deer skip fearless and free;
The plow-share sleeps in the furrow,
The axe, sticks fast in the tree:
And men stream down like a torrent—
Is the Valley of Death their goal?
And a feeling of shame comes o'er me—
Why linger yon here, my soul?
Those dreamful eyes should be flashing,
These lily-white hands should be brown,
For the heart of a lion it leaping
Beneath my student's gown.
The drum, the fife, the bugle!
I follow their martial tones;
They shall lead me on victorious,
Or peal above my bones!
CIHOHRIATI, September, 18(1.
[Entered according to Act of Uongnn, In the Year IMS,
trf Harper & Urothen, In the Clerk'* Office of the Dl»-
trtrt Court tat the Southern LHitrlct of Now York.]
NO NAME.
BY WILKIE COLLINS,
AU180B Or "TBB WOMAN IN WIUTB," "DUD B10UT,"
VTCLt BTO,
ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN M'LENAN.
tf Printed from the Mniiueorlpt and
•mrly Proof— alieeta purchased by the
Proprietor* of "Harper'g WeoUly."
BETWEEN THE SCENES.
FBOM OBOBOE BABTKAM TO NOEL VAN8TONE.
"ST.Cmtn, Siptmlxri, 1847.
"Mr DEAB NOBL, — Here are two plain ques
tions at starting. In the name of all that is
mysterious, what are you hiding for ? And why
Is 'every thing relating to your marriage kept an
impenetrable secret from your oldest friends?
" I have been to Aldborough to try if I could
trace yon from that place, and have come back
as wise as I went. I hare applied to your law
yer in London, and have been told in reply that
you have forbidden him to disclose the place of
your retreat to any one without first receiving
your permission to do so. All I could prevail
on him to say was that he would forward any
letter which might be sent to his care. I write
accordingly, and, mind this, I expect an answer.
"You may ask, in your ill-tempered way,
what business I have to meddle with affairs of
yonrs which it is yonr pleasure to keep private.
My dear Noel, there is a serious reason for our
opening communications with you from this
house. Ton don't know what events have taken
place at St. Crux since yon ran away to get
married ; and though I detest writing letters, I
must lose an hour's shooting to-day in trylug to
enlighten yon.
" On the twenty-third of last month the ad
miral and I were disturbed over our wine after
• I inner by the annonncement that a visitor had
unexpectedly arrived at St. Crux. Who do yon
think the visitor was ? Mrs. Lcconnt I
" My uncle, with that old-fashioned bachelor
gallantry of his, which pays equal respect to all
wmrers of petticoats, left the (able directly to
welcome Mrs. Leconnt. While I was debating
whether I should follow him or not, my medita
tions were suddenly brought to an end by a loud
call from the admiral. I ran into the morning-
room, and there was yonr unfortunate house
keeper on the sofa, with all the women-servants
about her, more dead than alive. She had trav
eled from England to Zurich, and from Zurich
back again to England, without stopping, and
she looked seriously and literally at death's door.
I immediately agreed with my uncle that the
first thing to be done was to send for mcdica"
help. We dispatched a groom on the spot, and
at Mrs. Lccorint's own request sent all the serv
ants in a body ont of the room.
"As soon as we were alone Mrs. Leconnt sur
prised us by a singular question. She asked if
yon had received a letter which the had address
ed to yon, before leaving England, at this house.
When we told her that the letter had been for
warded, under cover to yonr friend Mr. Bygrave,
by your own particular request, she turued as
pale as ashes ; and when we added that yon hud
left us in company with this same Mr. By-grave,
•he ciasped her hands and stared at us as if she
had taken leave of her senses. Her next ques
tion was, « Where is Mr. Noel now ?' We could
only give her one reply : Mr. Noel had not in
formed us. She looked perfectly thnnder-strnck
•t that answer. ' He his gone to his ruin 1' the
said. ' He has gone away in company with the
greatest villain in England. I must find him!
tell yon I must find Mr. Noel! If I don't find
him at once it will be too late. He will be mar
ried!' she burst out quite frantically—'on my
honor and my oath he will be married!' The
admiral, incautiously perhaps, but with the best
Intentions, told her yon were married already.
She gave a scream that made the windows ring
igain, and dropped back on the sofa in a faint
ing fit. The doctor came in the nick of time,
and soon brought her to. But she was taken ill
the same night; she has grown worse and worse
)ver since, and the last medical report is that
;he fever from which she has been suffering is in
a fair way to settle on her hrain.
"Now, my dear Noel, neither my nncle nor I
have any wish to intrude ourselves on your con
fidence. We are naturally astonished at the ex
traordinary mystery which hangs over you and
your marriage, and we can not be blind to the
fact that your housekeeper has apparently some
strong reason of her own for viewing Mrs. Noel
Vanstone with an enmity and distrust which we
.re quite ready to believe that lady has done no
thing to deserve. Whatever strange misunder
standing there may have been in your house
hold is your business (if you choose to keep it to
yourself), and not ours. All we have any right
to do is to tell yon what the doctor says. His
patient has been delirious; he declines to an
swer for her life if she goes on as she is going on
now; and he thinks—finding that she is perpet
ually talking of her master—that your presence
would be useful in quieting her, if you could
come here at once and exert yonr influence be
fore it is too late.
' What do you say ? Will yon emerge from
the darkness that surrounds you, and come to
St. Crux ? If this was the case of an ordinary
servant, I could understand yonr hesitating to
leave the delights of your honey-moon for any
such object as is here proposed to yon. But,
my dear fellow, Mrs. Lecount is not an ordina
ry servant. Yon are under obligations to her
fidelity and attachment iu your father's time as
well as in your own; and if yon can quiet the
anxieties which seem to be driving this unfortu
nate woman mad, I really think yon onght to
come here and do so. Your leaving Mrs. Noel
Vanstone is of course ont of the question. There
is jio necessity for any such hard-hearted pro
ceeding. The admiral desires me to remind you
that he is yonr oldest friend living, and that his
house is at yonr wife's disposal, as it has always
been at yonrs. In this great rambling-place she
need dread no near association with the sick
room; and, with all my uncle's oddities, I am
sure she will not think the offer of his friendship
an offer to be despised.
" Have I told yon already that I went to Ald-
borongh to try and find a clew to yonr where
abouts ? I can't be at the trouble of looking
back to see; so if I have told you, I tell yon
again. The truth is, I made an acquaintance
at Aldborough of whom you know something, at
least by report.
"After applying vainly at Sea View, I went
to the hotel to inquire about yon. The land
lady could give me no information; but the mo
ment I mentioned yonr name she asked if I was
related to yoa; and when I told her I was yonr
cousin, she said there was a young lady then at
the hotel whose name was Vanstone also, who
was in great distress about a missing relative,
and who might prove of some use to me, or I to
her, If we knew of each other's errand at Aid-
borough. I had not the least idea who she was,
but I sent in my card at a venture, and in five
minutes afterward I found myself in the pres
ence of one of the most charming women these
eyes ever looked on.
" Our first words of explanation informed me
that my family name was known to her by re
pute. Who do yon think she was? The eldest
daughter of ray nncle and yours—Andrew Van-
stone. I had often heard my poor mother in
past years speak of her brother Andrew, and I
knew of that sad story at Combe-Raven. But
our families, as yon are aware, had always been
estranged; and I had never seen ray charming
cousin before. She has the dark eyes and hair,
and the gentle, retiring manners that I always
admire in a woman. I don't want to renew our
old disagreement about your father's conduct to
those two sisters, or to deny that his brother An
drew may have behaved badly to him; I am
willing to admit that the high moral position he
took in the matter is quite unassailable by snrh
a miserable sinner as I ora; and I will not dis
pute that my own spendthrift hafllts iucapacitate
me from offering any opinion on the conduct of
other people's pecuniary affairs. But, with all
these allowances and drawbacks, I can tell yon
one thing, Noel: if you ever see the elder Miss
Vanstone, I venture to prophesy that for the first
time in yonr life yon will doubt the propriety of
following yonr father's example.
" She told me her little story, poor thing, most
simply and unaffectedly. She is now occupying
her second situation as a governess, and, as usu
al, I, who know every body, know the family.
They are friends of my uncle's, whom he has
lost sight of latterly—the Tjrrels of Portland
Place—and they treat Miss Vanstone with as
much kindness and consideration as if she was
a member of the family. One of their old serv
ants accompanied her to Aldborough, her object
in traveling to that place being what the land
lady of the hotel had stated it to be. The fami
ly reverses have, it seems, had a serious effect
on Miss Vanstone's younger sister, who has left
ter friends, and who has been missing from home
or some time. She had been last heard of at
Idborongh; and her elder sister, on her return
fiom the Continent with the Tyrrels, had instant
ly set ont to make inquiries at that place.
" This was all Miss Vanstone tolA me. She
asked whether yon Lad seen any thing of her
sister, or whether Mrs. Leconnt knew any thing
of her sister—1 suppose because she was aware
you had been at Aldborough. Of course I could
tell her nothing. She entered into no details
on the subject, and I could not presume to ask
her for any. All I did was to set to work with
might and main to assist her inquiries. The at
tempt was an utter failure—nobody could give
us any information. We tried personal descrip
tion, of course; and, strange to say, the only
young lady formerly staying at Aldborongh who
answered the description was, of all the people
in the world, the lady yon have married I If
she had not had an uncle and aunt (both of
whom have left the place), I should have begun
to- suspect that you had married your cousin
without knowing itl Is this the clew to the
mystery ? Don't be angry; I must hove my
little joke, and I can't help writing as carelessly
as I talk. The end of it was, our inquiries were
all baffled, and I traveled back with Miss Van-
stone and her attendant as far as our station
hero. I think I shall call on the Tyrrels when
I am next in London. I have certainly treated
that family with the most inexcusable neglect.
"Here I am at the end of ray third sheet of
note-paper! I don't often take the pen in hand,
but when I do yon will agree with me that I am
in no hurry to lay it aside again. Treat the rest
of my letter as yon like, but consider what I have
told yon about Mrs. Lecount, and remember that
time is of consequence.
"Ever yours, GEOEOB BABTBAM."
H.
FBOM NOBAn VANSTONE TO MISS GARTH.
"PORTLAND PLACE.
"Mr DEAR Miss GARTH,—More sorrow,
more disappointment I I have just returned
from Aldborough without making any discov
ery. Magdalen is still lost to us.
"I can not attribute this new overthrow of
my hopes to any want of perseverance or pene
tration in making the necessary inquiries. My
inexperience in such matters was most kindly
and unexpectedly assisted by Mr. George Bar-
tram. By a strange coincidence he happened
to be at Aldborongh inquiring after Mr. Noel
Vanstone at the very time when I was there in
quiring after Magdalen. He sent in his card;
and knowing, when I looked at the name, that
he was my cousin—if I may call him so — I
thought there would be no impropriety in ray
seeing him and asking his advice. I abstained
from entering into particulars for Magdalen's
sake, and I made no allusion to that letter of
Mrs. Lecount's which yon answered for me. I
only told him Magdalen was missing, and had
been last heard of at Aldborough. The kind
ness which he showed in devoting himself to ray
assistance exceeds all description. He treated
me, in ray forlorn situation, with a delicacy and
respect which I shall remember gratefully long
after he has himself, perhaps, forgotten our meet
ing altogether. He is quite young—not more
than thirty, I should think. In face and figure
he reminded me a little of the portrait of ray fa
ther at Combe-Raven—I mean the portrait in
the dining-room of my father when he was a
young man.
" Useless as our inquiries were, there is one
result of them which has left a very strange and
shocking impression on my mind.
" It appears that Mr. Noel Vanstone has late
ly married, under mysterious circumstances, a
young lady whom he met with at Aldborongh,
named Bygrave. He has gone away with his
wife, telling nobody but his lawyer where he has
gone to. This I heard from Mr. George Bar-
tram, who was endeavoring to trace him, for the
purpose of communicating the news of his house
keeper's serious illness, the housekeeper being
the same Mrs. Leconnt whose letter yon answer
ed. So far, yon may say, there is nothing which
need particularly interest either of us. But I
think yon will be as ranch surprised as I was
when I tell you that the description given by the
people at Aldborough of Miss Bygrave's appear
ance is most startlingly and unaccountably like
the description of Magdaleu's appearance. This
discovery, taken in connection with all the cir
cumstances we know of, has had an effect on
ray mind which I can not describe to yon, which
I dare not realize to myself. Pray come and
see me I I have never felt so wretched about
Magdalen as I feel now. Suspense must have
weakened my nerves in some strange way. I
feel superstitious about the slightest things.
This accidental resemblance of a total stranger
to Magdalen fills me, every now and then, with
the most horrible misgivings, merely because Mr.
Noel Vanstone's name happens to be mixed up
with it. Once more pray come to me; I have
so much to say to you that I can not and dare
not say in writing.
"Gratefully and affectionately yonrs,
"NOEAH."
III.
FROM KB. JOHN LOSCOMBE (SOLICITOR) TO
OEOEQE BABTBAM, RSQ.
"LurooLH's Iim, LONDON, September 6,1847.
" SIB,—I beg to acknowledge the receipt of
yonr note inclosing a letter addressed to my cli
ent. Mr. Noel Vanstone, and requesting that I
will forward the same to Mr. Vanstone's present
address.
" Since I last had the pleasure of communi
cating with yon on this subject my position to
ward ray client is entirely altered. Three days
ago I received a letter from him which stated
his intention of changing his place of residence
on the next day then ensuing, but which left me
entirely in ignorance on the subject of the lo
cality to which it was his intention to remove.
I have not heard from him since; and, as he had
previously drawn on me for a larger sura of mon
ey than usual, there would be no present neces-
it is his wish to keep his place of residence con
cealed from every one, myself included.
" Under these circumstances I think it right
to retnru yon yonr letter, with the assurance that
I will let yon know if I happen to be again placed
in a position to forward it to its destination.
"Your obedient servant,
"JOHN LOSCOMBE."
IV.
FBOM NORAH VANSTONE TO MISS OABTH.
"PORTLAND PLAOI.
"Mr DEAB Miss GARTH,—Forget the letter
I wrote to yon yesterday, and all the gloomy
forebodings that it contains. This morning's
post hns brought new life to me—I have heard
from Magdalen!
"The_ letter is very short; it seems to have
been written in a hurry. She says she has been
dreaming of me for some nights past, and the
dreams have made her fear that her long silence
has caused me more distress, on her account,
than she is worth. She writes therefore to as
sure me that she is safe and well—that she hopes
to see me before long—and that she has some
thing to tell me, when we meet, which will try
ray sisterly love for her as nothing has tried it
yet. The letter is not dated; but the post-mark
is ' Allonby,' whic% I have found, on referring
to the Gazetteer, to be a little sea-side place in
Cumberland. There is no hope of my being
able to write back—for Magdalen expressly says
that she is on the eve of departure from her
present residence, and that she is not at liberty
to say where she is going to next, or to leave in
structions for forwarding any letters after her.
"In happier times I should have thought this
letter very far from being a satisfactory one—
•and I should have been seriously alarmed by that
allusion to a future confidence on her part which
will try my love for her as nothing has tried it
yet. But after all the suspense I have suffered
the happiness of seeing her handwriting again
seems to fill ray heart, and to keep all other feel
ings ont of it. I don't send yon her letter be
cause I know yon are coming to mo soon, and I
want to have the pleasure of seeing yon read it.
"Ever affectionately yonrs,
"NOBAH.
"P.S. Mr. George Bartrara called on Mrs.
Tyrrel to-day. He insisted on being introduced
to the children. When he was gone, Mrs. Tyr
rel laughed in her good-humored way, and said
that his anxiety to see the children looked, to
her mind, very much like an anxiety to see me.
You may imagine how ray spirits are improved
when I can occupy ray pen in writing snch non
sense as this!"
V.
FBOM MBS. LECOUNT TO MB. DE BLEBIOT, GEN
ERAL AGENT, LONDON.
"Sr. CRUX, October S3,184T.
"DEAB SIB,—I have been long in thanking
yon for the kind letter which promises me your
assistance, in friendly remembrance of the com
mercial relations formerly existing between my
brother and yourself. The truth is, I have over
tasked ray strength on ray recovery from a long
and dangerous illness; and for the last ten days
I have been suffering under a relapse. I am
now better again, and able to enter on the busi
ness which you so kindly offer to undertake for
me. "The person whose present place of abode it
is of the utmost importance to me to discover
is Mr. Noel Vanstone. I have lived for many
years past in this gentleman's service as house
keeper, and, not having received ray formal dis
missal, I consider myself in his service still.
During ray absence on the Continent he was
privately married at Aldborough, in Suffolk, on
the eighteenth of August last. He left Aldbor
ongh the same day, taking his wife with him to
some place of retreat which was kept a secret
from every body except his lawyer, Mr. Los-
corabe, of Lincoln's Inn. After a short time he
again removed, on the 4th of September, with
out informing Mr. Loscombe on this occasion
of his new place of abode. From that date to
this the lawyer has remained (or has pretended
to remain) in total ignorance of where he now
is. Application has been made to Mr. Los-
combe, under the circumstances, to mention
what that former place of residence was of
which Mr. Vanstone is known to have informed
him. Mr. Loscombe has declined acceding to
this request for want of formal permission to dis
close his client's proceedings after leaving Ald
borongh. I have all these latter particulars from
Mr. Loscorabe's correspondent—the nephew of
the gentleman who owns this house, and whose
charity has given me an asylum, during the
heavy affliction of ray sickness, under his own
roof.
"I believe the reasons which have induced
Mr. Noel Vanstone to keep himself and his wife
in hiding are reasons which relate entirely to
myself. Iu the first place, he is aware that the
circumstances under which he has married are
such as to give me the right of regarding him
with a just indignation. In the second place,
he knows that my faithfnl services, rendered
through a period of twenty years, to his father
and to himself, forbid him, in common decency,
to cast me ont helpless on the world without a
provision for the end of ray life. He is the
meanest of living raeu, and his wife is the vilest
of living women. As long as be can avoid ful
filling his obligations to me he will, and his wife's
encouragement may be trusted" to fortify him in
his ingratitude.
"My object in determining to find him out is
briefly this: His marriage has exposed him to
consequences which a man of ten times his cour
age could not face without shrinking. Of those
consequences he knows nothing. His wife
knows, and keeps him in ignorance. I know,
gity for his writing to me again—assuming that 1 and can enlighten him. Hia security from the
OCTOBER 25,1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 683
danger that threatens him is in my hands alone,
and he shall pay the price of his rescue to the
last farthing of the debt that justice claims for
me as my due—no more and no less.
" I have now laid my mind before you, as yon
told me, withont reserve. Yon know why I want
to find this man, and what I mean to do when
I find him. I leave it to yonr sympathy for me
to answer the serious question that remains:
How is the discovery to be made ? If a first
trace of them can be found after their depart
ure from Aldborough, I believe careful inquiry
will suffice for the rest. The personal appear
ance of the wife, and the extraordinary contrast
between her husband :.nd herself, is certain to
be remarked and remembered by every stranger
who sees them.
" When yon favor me with your answer, please
address it to 'Care of Admiral Bertram, St.
Crnx-in-the-Marsh, near Ossory, Essex.'
" Yonr ranct obliged,
' : VrpG7NiE LECOUNT.''
Vi.
FBOM MB. DE BLERIOT TO MRS. LECOUNT.
'•DABK'S BUILDINGS, KINGSLAKD,
October 26,1847.
[rBtT&TK AMD CONFIDENTIAL.]
" DEAB MADAM,—I hasten to reply to your
favor of Saturday's date. Circumstances have
enabled me to forward yonr interests by consult
ing a friend of mine possessing great experience
in the management of private inquiries of all
sorts. I have placed your case before him (with
out mentioning names), and I am happy to in
form yon that ray views and his views of the
proper course to take agree in every particular.
" Both myself and friend, then, are of opinion
thai, little or nothing can be done toward tracing
the parties you mention until the place of their
temporary residence, after they left Aldborough,
has been discovered first. If this can be done,
the i.ooner it is done the better. Judging from
your letter, some weeks must have passed siuce
the I iwyer received his information that they had
shifted ..heir quarters. As they are both remark
able, looking people, the strangers who may have
assisted them on their travels have probably not
forgotten them yet. Nevertheless, expedition is
desirable.
"The question for you to consider is, whether
they may not possibly have communicated the
address of which we stand in need to some other
person besides the lawyer. The husband may
nave written to members of his family, or the
wife .nay have written to members of her fami
ly. Both myself and friend are of opinion that
the latter chance is the likeliest of the two. If
yon have any means of access in the direction
of the wife's family, we strongly recommend you
to make use of them. If not, please supply us
with the names of any of her near relations or
intimate female friends whom yon know, and we
will endeavor to get access for you.
' In any case we request yon will at once fa
vor us with the most exact personal description
ihat can be written of both the parties. We may
require yonr assistance in this important partic
ular at five minutes' notice. Favor us, therefore,
with the description by retnrn of post. In the
mean time we will endeavor to ascertain on our
side whether any information is to be privately
obtained at Mr. Loscorabe's office. The lawyer
himself is probably altogether beyond our reach.
But if any one of his clerks can be advantageous
ly treated with on such terms as may not over
tax your pecuniary resources, accept my assur
ance that the opportunity shall be made the most
of by, "Dear Madam,
"Your faithful servant,
"ALFBEP DE BLERIOT."
VII.
FBOM MB. PENDBIL TO NORAH VANSTONE.
"SiARLE STUBKT, October 2T, 1847.
" MT DEAB Miss VANSTONE,—A lady, named
Leconnt (formerly attached to Mr. Noel Van-
stone's service in the capacity of housekeeper),
has called at ray office this morning, and has
asked me to furnish her with yonr address. I
have begged her to excuse my immediate com
pliance with her request, and to favor me with
r, call to-morrow morning, when I shall be pre
pared to meet her with a definite answer.
"My hesitation in this matter does not pro
ceed from any distrust of Mrs. Lecount person
ally, for I know nothing whatever to her preju
dice. But in making her request to me she
stated that the object of the desired interview
was to speak to yon privately on the subject of
your sister. Forgive me for acknowledging that
I determined to withhold the address as soon
as i aeard this. Yon will make allowances for
yonv old friend and your sincere well-wisher?
You will not take it amiss if I express my strong
disapproval of your allowing yourself, ou any
pretense whatever, to be mixed up for the future
with yonr sister's proceedings.
"I will not distress yon by saying more than
this. Bnt I feel too deep an interest in your
welfare, and too sincere an admiration of the
patience with which yon have borne all yonr
trials, to say less.
"If I can not prevail on yon to follow my ad
vice, yon have only to say so, and Mrs. Leconnt
shall have your address to-morrow. In this case
(which I can not contemplate without the great
est unwillingness), let me at least recommend
you to stipulate that Miss Garth shor'd be pres
ent at the interview. In any matter with which
your sister is concerned you may want an old
friend's advice and an old friend's protection
against yonr own generous impulses. If I could
have helped yon in this way I would; but Mrs.
Lecount gave me indirectly to understand that
the subject to be discnssed was of too delicate a
natnre to permit of my presence. Whatever
this objection may "be really worth it can not i
apply to Miss Garth, who has brought you both
up from childhood. I say again, therefore, if
yon see Mrs. Leconut, see her in Miss Garth's
company. "Always most truly yours,
"WILLIAM PENDBIL."
VIII.
FBOM NOBAH VANSTONE TO MB. PENDBIL.
"PORTLAND PLAOI, Wednuday.
"DEAB MR. PENDHIL,—Pray don't think I
am ungrateful for yonr kindness. Indeed, in
deed I am notl But I must see Mrs. Leconnt.
Yon were not aware, when you wrote to me,
that I had received a few lines from Magdalen
—not telling rae where she is, but holding out
the hope of onr meeting before long. Perhaps
Mrs. Lecouut may have something to say to rae
on this very subject? Even if it shonld not be
so, my sister—do what she may—is still ray sis
ter. I can't desert her; I can't turn ray back
on any one who comes to me in her name. You
know, dear Mr. Pendril, I have always beery
stinate on this subject; and yon have always
borne with rae. Let rae owe another obligation
to yon which I can never return—and bear with
rae still!
"Need I say that I willingly accept that part
of yonr advice which refers to Miss Garth ? I
have already written to beg that she will come
here at four to-morrow afternoon. When you
see Mrs. Lecount, please inform her that Miss
Garth will be with roe, and that she will find ns
both ready to receive her here to-morrow at four
o'clock. " Gratefully yonrs,
" NOBAH VANSTONE."
IX.
1'ItOM MB. DE BLERIOT TO MBS. LECOUNT.
" DARK'S BciLDtNOS, October 28.
[raiTATK.]
"DEAB MADAM,—One of Mr. Loscorabe's
clerks has proved aroeuable to a small pecuniary
consideration, and has mentioned a circumstance
which it may be of some importance to you to
know.
"Nearly a month since accident gave the
clerk in question an opportunity of looking into,
one of the documents on his roaster's table, which
had attracted his attention from a slight pecul
iarity in the form and color of the paper. He
had only time, during Mr. Loscombe's moment
ary absence, to satisfy his curiosity by looking at
the beginning of the document, and at the end.
At the beginning, he saw the customary form
nsed in making a will. At the end, he discov
ered the signature of Mr. Noel Vanstone, with
the names of two witnesses underneath, and the
date (of which he is quite certain)—the thirtieth
of September last.
"Before the clerk had time to make any fur
ther investigations his master returned, sorted
the papers on the table, and carefully locked up
the will in the strong box devoted to the cus
tody of Mr. Noel Vanstone's documents. It has
hecn ascertained that at the close of September
Mr. Loscombe was absent from the office. If he
was theu employed in superintending the execu
tion of his client's will—which is quite possible
—it follows clearly that he was in the secret of
Mr. Vanstone's address, after the removal of the
4th of September; and if yon can do nothing on
your side, it may be desirable to have the lawyer
watched on ours. In any case it is certainly
ascertained that Mr. Noel Vanstone has made
his will since his marriage. I leave you to draw
yonr own conclusions from that fact, and re
main, in the hope of hearing from yon shortly,
"Your faithful servant,
"ALFRED DE BLEBIOT."
X.
FBOM MISS GARTH TO MB. PENDBIL.
"PORTLAND PLACE, October 28.
" Mr DEAB SIR,—Mrs. Lecount has just left
ns. If it was not too late to wish, I should wish
from the bottom of my heart that Norah had
taken your advice, and had refused to see her.
"I write in such distress of mind that I can
not hope to give yon a clear and complete ac
count of the interview. I can only tell yon
briefly what Mrs. Lecount has done, and what
our situation now is. The rest must be left un
til I am more composed, and until I can speak
to yon personally.
"Yon will remember my informing yon of
the letter which Mrs. Leconnt addressed to No
rah from Aldborough, and which I answered for
her in her absence. When Mrs. Leconnt made
her appearance to-day, her first words announced
to ns that she had come to renew the subject. As
well as I can remember it, this is what she said,
addressing herself to Norah:
" ' I wrote to yon on the subject of yonr sis
ter, Miss Vanstone, some little time since; and
Miss Garth was so good as to answer the letter.
What I feared at that time has come true. Yonr
sister has defied all my efforts to check her; she
has disappeared in company with my master,
Mr. Noel Vanstone; and she is now in a posi
tion of danger, which may lead to her disgrace
and ruin at a moment's notice. It is my inter
est to recover my master; it is your interest to
save yonr sister. Tell me—for time is precious
—have you any news of her?' *
" Norah answered, as well as her terror and
distress would allow her, 'I have had a letter,
but there was no address on it.'
"Mrs. Lecount asked, 'Was there no post
mark on the envelope ?' '
" Norah said, ' Yes, Allonby.'
"' Allonby is better than nothing,' said Mrs.
Leconnt. ' Allonby may help yon to trace her.
Where is Allonby?'
"Norah told her. It all passed in a minute.
I had been too much confused and startled to in-
terfere before, but I composed myself sufficiently
to interfere now.
"'You have entered into no particulars,' I
said. ' Yon have only frightened us—you have
told ns nothing.'
" ' Yon shall hear the particulars, ma'am,' said
Mrs. Lecount; 'and yon and Miss Vanstone
shall jndgc for yourselves if I have frightened
you withont a cause.'
" Upon this she entered at once upon a long
narrative, which I can not—I might almost say,
which I dare not—repeat. Yon will understand
the horror we both felt when I tell you the end.
If Mrs. Leconut's statement is to be relied on,
Magdalen has carried her mad resolution of re
covering her father's fortnne to the last and most
desperate extremity—she has married Michael
Vanstone's son nnder a false name. Her hus
band is at this moment still persuaded that her
maiden name was Bygrave, and that she is real
ly the niece of a scoundrel who assisted her im
posture, and whom I recognize by the description
of him to have been Captain Wragge.
" I spare you Mrs. Leconnt's cool avowal, when
she rose to leave us, of her own mercenary mo
tives in wishing to discover her master and to en
lighten him. I spare you the hints she dropped
of Magdalen's purpose in contracting this infa
mous marriage. The one aim and object of my
letter is, to implore you to assist me in quieting
Norah's anguish of mind. The shock she has
received at hearing this news of her sister is not
the worst result of what has happened. She has
persuaded herself that the answers she innocent
ly gave in her distress to Mrs. Lecount's questions
on the subject of the letter—the answers wrung
from her nnder the sudden pressure of confusion
and alarm—may be used to Magdalen's prejudice
by the woman who purposely startled her into
giving the information. I can only prevent her
from taking some desperate step on her side—
some step by which she may forfeit the friend
ship and protection of the excellent people with
whom she is now living—by reminding her that
if Mrs. Leconnt traces her master by means of
the post-mark on the letter, we may trace Mag
dalen at the same time, and by the same means.
Whatever objection you may personally feel to
renewing the efforts for the rescue of this miser
able girl, which failed so lamentably at York, I
entreat yon, for Norah's sake, to take the same
steps now which we took then. Send rae the
only assurance which will quiet her—the assur
ance, nnder yonr own hand, that the search on
onr side has begun. If you will do this, yon
may trust rae when the time comes to stand be
tween these two sisters, and to defend Norah's
peace, character, and future prosperity, at any
price. Most sincerely yonrs,
" HARRIET GABTH."
XI.
FBOM MBS. LECOUNT TO MB. DE BLEBIOT.
"October 28.
"DEAB SIB,—I have found the trace yon
wanted. Mrs. Noel Vanstone has written to
her sister. The letter contains no address; but
the post-mark is Allonby, in Cumberland. From
Allonby, therefore, the inquiries must begin.
You have already in yonr possession the personal
description of both husband and wife. I urgent
ly recommend you not to lose one unnecessary
moment. If it is possible to send to Cumberland
immediately on receipt of this letter, I beg yon
will do so.
" I have another word to say before I close my
note—a word about the discovery in Mr. Los
corabe's office.
" It is no surprise to rae to hear that Mr. Noel
Vanstone has made his will since his marriage;
and I am at no loss to guess in whose favor the
will is made. If I succeed in finding my master
— let that person get the money, if that per
son can! A course to follow in this matter has
presented itself to my mind since I received your
letter, but ray ignorance of details of business
and intricacies of law leaves rae still uncertain
whether my idea is capable of ready and certain
execution. I will call at yonr office to-morrow
at two o'clock for the purpose of consulting yon
on the snbject. It is of great importance when
I next see Mr. Noel Vanstone that he should find
me thoroughly prepared beforehand in this mat
ter of the will.
"Your much obliged servant,
" VIBOINIB LECOUNT."
XII.
FBOM MB. PENDBIL TO MISS OABTH.
"SiARLR 8MIXT, October 29.
"DEABMiss GABTH,—IhaVc only a moment
to assure you of the sorrow with which I have
read yonr letter. The circumstances nnder which
yon nrge your request, and the reasons yon give
for making it, are sufficient to silence any objec
tion I might otherwise feel to the course you pro
pose. A trust-worthy person, whom I have ray-
self instructed, will start for Allonby to-day; and
as soon as I receive any news from Lira, yon shall
hear of it by special messenger. Tell Miss Van-
stone this, and pray add the sincere expression
of ray sympathy and regard.
"Faithfully yonrs,
" WILLIAM PENDRIL."
XHI.
FROM MB. DE BLEBIOT TO MBS. LECO17NT.
"DABK'S BUILDINGS, Aotxmiwrl.
"DEAB MADAM,—I have the pleasure of in
forming yon that the discovery has been made
with far less trouble than I hud anticipated.
"Mr. and Mrs. Noel Vnnstone have been
traced across the Solway Firth to Dumfries, and
thence to a cottage a few miles from the town,
on the banks of the Nith. The exact address is,
Bnliol Cottape, near Dumfries.
" This information, though easily hnnted up,
has nevertheless been obtained nnder rather sin
gular circumstances. *
" Before leaving Allonby, the persons in my
employ discovered, to their surprise, that a
stranger was in the place pursuing the same in
quiry as themselves. In the absence ofjmy in
structions preparing them for such an occurrence
as this, they took their own view of the circum
stance. Considering the man as an intruder on
their business, whose success might deprive them
of the credit and reward of making the discovery,
they took advantage of their superiority in num
bers, and of their being first in the field, and
carefully misled the stranger before they ven
tured any further with their own investigations.
I am in possession of the details of their proceed
ings, with which I need not trouble yon. The
end is, that this person, whoever he may be, was
cleverly turned back southward, on a false scent,
before the men in my employment crossed the
Firth.
"I mention the circumstance, as yon may be
better able than I am to find a clew to it, and as
it may possibly be of a natnre to induce yon to
hasten your journey.
"Your faithful servant,
"ALFBED DE BLERIOT."
XIV.
FBOM MBS. LECOUNT TO MB. DE BLEBIOT.
"ActwmZwl.
"DEAB SIR,—One line to say that yonr letter
has just reached me at ray lodging in London.
I think I know who sent the strange man to in-
qnire at Allonby. It matters little. Before ho
finds out his mistake I shall be at Dumfries.
My luggage is packed, and I start for the North
by the next train.
"Yourdeeply obliged, LECOUHT."
THE CAMPAIGN IN MARYLAND.
OUR special artist with the Army of the Poto-
raac has sent us sketches which we reproduce on
pages 676 and 677. Most of these pictures explaiu
themselves; but we subjoin Mr. Wand's descrip
tions:
SUQAB-LOAF MOUNT AIM
is used as a signal station, having a very extens
ive view ever the neighboring country. When the
Confederates were in Maryland their signal officers
occupied it, but the advance of Frankliu's corps
drove them off, and re-established onr own on its
summit.
MIDDLETOM
is a small town away from railroads, on the stage-
road from Frederick to Hagerstown. The right
wing of the array passed through on its way to at
tack the enemy at the battle of South.Mountain.
THORNTON'S GAP
is about six miles from Middleton. The turnpike
here crosses the mountain. It was held by the
rebels in force, and considered an impregnable po
sition, but it could not stand before the determined
valor of the Union army. Our sketch is from the
north side of the mountain, the smoke on the top
of the mountain at each side of the gap showing
where the battle was fought. Nsarer is the vil
lage of Boonenborongh, six miles from the battle
field of Antietara, which was filled with the. wound
ed of both armies.
CBAMPTON'S GAP
is six miles to the south of Thornton's. Here
Franklin's corps covered itself with glory. The
position of the rebel army was much the same as
at f hornton's, being posted on the hill-side, where
its guns could command the approaches.' Up the
steep sides of the hill the brave soldiers of Slo-
cum's division charged, driving first one, and then
a second line of the rebels before them. The sketch
shows how steep was the incline the soldiers bad
to climb in the face of the enemy, who in some
places used a stone wall as a breast-work. On
meeting the second line (seen in the picture, formed
on a little raountaiu road) the Union line wavered.
Colonel Bartlett (commanding a brigade in SIo-
cnm's division) started forward and led the soldiers
to a fresh effort, so impetuous that the rebels were
broken and driven over the crest of the mountain
in utter rout. The general view of the scene shows
where the rebel artillery was posted, and gives a
good idea of the difficulties encountered in this bat
tle, which M'Clellan speaks of as the battle of South
Monntaiu.
THB COLONEL, OF THE TWENTIETH !IEW YORK
VOLUNTUKRS LEADING HIS REGIMENT AT THB
BATTLE OF ANTIETAM.
The Twentieth Regiment, of which General Max.
Weber was originally Colonel, lost in the recent
battle two hundred and forty men and nine officers
at one time when it was necessary to charge up a
slope against the rebels. The Colonel, Van Vege-
sark, took the flag, air galloping up the rise, led
the Regiment to the est of the hill amidst a very
heavy fire. Stran-.... to relate, the Colonel escaped
uninjured.
-••HE FLAG OF TRUCE.
While «he armies stood in line of battle grimly
contemplating each other, neither one anxious to
renew the engagement, unarmed parties under a
fiag of truce—which was suffered rather than grant
ed—went about picking up the wounded who lay
between the lines. The rebel ambulance corps,
with pieces of white cloth on their hats, and onr
soldiers with white bands on their arms, mixed
freely on the field. At one time some mut-kets
were fired, whether by accident or dseign was not
known; in an instant each army sprang iuto line,
cannoneers in position, and all ready at once to re
new the combat.
The little church in the sketch was badly pep
pered by the shot and shell, and its neighborhood
was the scene of fearful slaughter. A Union offi
cer, who was taken into it, wounded, by the reb
els, had to lie there all through the fight, and was
Dot injured by the shell.

HARPER'S WEEKLY.
MAJOR-GENE£AL BL'ELL'S AKMY CROSSING SALT RIVER, KENTUCKY, IN PURSUIT OF BKAGG.—SKETCHED BY MB. H. MOSLER.—[SEB PAGE 687.]
[OCTOBER 25, 1862.
THE PRESIDENT'S VISIT TO THE ABMY OF THE POTOMAC—ABBTVAL AT THE STATION AT FREDERICK.-8KBTCuia> BY ME. HAMILTON.—[SEE PAGE 680.]
OCTOBER 25,1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 085
BRIGADIER-GENERAL WADSWORTH, UNION CANDIDATE FOR GOVERNOR OF NEW YORK.
I'UOTOOIlAFnED III DRADY.—[SEK FAOK CSfi.]
THE REBEL BISHOP-GENERAL POLK.
[Sn I'AQK 687.]
MAYPORT MILLS, MOUTH OF ST. JOHN'S RIVER, FLORIDA.—SKETCHED BY MK. II. VAN IKGEN.—[SEE PAGE 680.]
. BATTERY ON ST. JOHN'S BLUFF, FLORIDA, TAKEN BY OUR FORCES.—SKETCHED BY MR. H. VAN ISOEN.—fSEE PAGE 686.]

686 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [OCTOBER 25,1862.
THE NARROW ESCAPE.
"CARPET shoes are much needed in the hos-
pltale." The remark was made In a city railroad
car. Two ladies were conversing, and a third sat
listening to what they were saying. The listener
was quite young, a fair-faced girl, with soft brown
•yes, whose countenance was full of interest. She
was a stronger to the ladles, and therefore did not
join in the conversation, bnt she took in every
word.
At Chestnut Street she signed to the conductor,
who stopped the car, and she left It, going down
to the square below Ninth Street. In front of
Evans's dry-goods store she paused for a moment,
and then passed in. Bnt after moving toward one
of the counters a few paces, she stood still for an
instant, as if in debate on some subject, and then,
turning about, left the store. On regaining the
street there was an apparent hesitating state of
mind. She walked as far aa Eighth Street, stood
a little while on the corner, then retraced her steps
as far aa Evans's, paused there, turned toward the
door as if resolved to enter; and then, as if the
debate which had been going on In her mind had
closed, passed np the street with a firm step and a
resolved manner. A little while afterward she
was in a carpet store inquiring the price of short
remnants.
" For what purpose are they intended?" asked
the dealer.
The fair face heightened in color with the almost
timid answer—
"For carpet shoes. They are wanted in the
hospitals."
"Ah!—well—in that case—let me see." The
man considered for a little while. " How large a
quantity did you propose getting ?"
" I will lay ont five dollars in this way." She
spoke with regaining confidence.
" Very good. For five dollars yon shall have
more than ten dollars' worth. Where shall I send
them?"
The address was given and the money paid.
"Back already!" As the maiden entered a
plain bnt neat and well-furnished room she was
greeted with this remark in a tone that expressed
surprise. The speaker was a middle-aged woman
with a calm, kind face.
" Yes. It didn't take long to get through with
my shopping this morning."
" What did yon buy, dear?"
" I don't know what yon will think of me, Aunt
Grace, but—" The young girl paused, not com
pleting the sentence.
"But what, Edith?"
"Well, yon see, Annty dear"—and Edith lean
ed toward her relative, speaking in a tender, dep
recating voice—"as I rode down in the cars I
heard two ladies talking about the sick and wound
ed soldiers in onr hospitals; and among other things
they said thet soft carpet shoes were wanted for
the convalescents who were getting just strong
enough to walk about in the wards. And so—
now don't look soberly at me; don't say I am
weak and Impulsive—I spent my money for rem
nants of carpet instead of for gloves, ribbons, and
nnder-Meeves. They'll be sent home in a little
while, and I'm going to cut them all np into car
pet shoes. Katy Dawes has a pattern—I saw her
at work on some last week—and she'll show me just
how to make them."
Edith paused, with her pure, earnest eyes full on
b«r aunt's face, waiting for the answer to all this.
Aunt Grace, in half surpries, mingled with pleas
ure, was already leaning toward her niece. Lay
ing her hand gently on the head of Edith she said,
in a voice slightly veiled with feeling,
"I have not a word of disapproval, my dear.
When we obey suggestions of self-denial for the
good of others we obey God. You have done well."
Tears came into Edith's eyes. She bent her
head for a few silent moments; then rallying to
full self-possession, she replied,
" I am glad yon think I've done right. And
now I'll put on my bonnet again and run around
and see Katy Dawes about the pattern."
" Yon were just in my mind," said Katy, as her
friend looked in upon her. i" I've been wanting to
see you all the morning. Yon don't know what a
nice letter I've received from George 1 And, what
do yon think ? He's been promoted again."
"You don't tell roe sol"
" Yes, indesd I He went aa a private. Not for
honor nor pay, bnt with a brave, true heart to
save his country. It was hard to let him go: bnt
I would have loved him less if he had staid at
home."
Edith sighed faintly. Her friend went on.
" He was wounded in the arm, yon know, at
Fhillippl, and had logo to the hospital for a month.
When he came out, well enough to rejoin his com
pany, he found a second lieutenant's commission
awaiting him, conferred for soldierly conduct and
bravery in battle. Wasn't my heart proud! Didn't
it seem for a while too large for mv bosom!"
Another sigh parted the lips of Edith.
"And now he writes me that he is a first lien-
tenant."
" I am so pleased to hear of it," said Edith.
" Promoted again for bravery and good conduct,"
added Katy Dawes.
" No wonder yon feel prond, dear Katy." Edith
•poke in a slightly subdued voice, as if there were
in her heart some drawback to the pleasure ex
pressed.
The two young friends spent an hour together,
during which time Edith acquired the art and mys
tery she had come to learn. From some canse she
was not In tin best of spirits when she returned
home, and appeared disinclined to talk. At onca
she let about the work in hand, assisted by her
annt, and was soon fashioning the remnants of
carpet into soft shoes for sick soldiers. Twilight
stayed her busy fingeri ere the day seemed half
departed. During tea-time Edith's face wore an
absorbed, almost troubled, expression, which her
annt did not fail to observe. After supper she re-
•tuned bar work. Half an hour later the door-bell
rang. The sound gave Edith a start, and her annt
noticed, in the pause which followed, that her hand
slightly trembled.
"Air. Loto," said the servant, coming in a few
moments afterward.
" Say that I will be down."
The servant retired. Aunt Grace hardly recog
nized a familiar tone in the voice that made this
answer. As Edith arose and left the room, taking
her work with her, a paleness waa visible in her
face.
The yonng man who met her in the parlor was
about twenty-three; stout, compactly built, and in
robust health. He wore a full beard; the mus
tache carefully cut and slightly twisted at the
ends. He moved quickly across the room to meet
Edith aa she came in, catching her free hand in
both of his, and greeting her in words of tender
familiarity. He would heve been blind or stupid
not to have noticed a strange impassiveness, or, we
might say, coldness, in her manner. Still, he af
fected not to perceive this altered state, and said,
lightly, aa he seated himself beside her on a sofa,
"And pray what is this?" at the same time
taking hold of the work in her hand.
" It is for the hospitals," replied Edith.
A slightly amused expression was seen in the
young man's countenance as he lifted a half-made
shoe and held it out before him.
"Oh! I see." And he dropped the article. He
did not manifest contempt, or ridicule, or disap
proval—only indifference.
"And now, Edith," he said, speaking with the
pleased ardor of one who brings welcome intelli
gence, " I have some good news for yon."
"Ah! what is it?" She fixed her soft brown
eyes on him expectantly.
" I've escaped."
"Escaped what?"
"The enrollment," replied the young man.
"The enrollment? I'm not sure that I under
stand you."
" You know that they've been enrolling for the
draft."
"Yes."
"Well, I've been nervous about it ever since
the thing was ordered. If my name got down I
knew it would be all over. The draft wonld take
me, sure. That's my luck! So I set my wits to
work to escape the enrollment, and have suc
ceeded."
"Indeed!" The soft brown eyes grew large
and round, parting with much of their softness.
"Yes. And I'll tell you how it was done."
And the yonng man tried to get possession of one
of Edith's hands; but she moved it out of his way.
"As soon as I learned that the enrolling officer
was at work in our ward I got up a little breeze
with my landlady—no hard matter at any time,
for she has a quick temper—and under cover there
of left the house. Within an hour afterward I had
my trunks removed. I take my meals at an eat
ing-house and sleep at the store. Next week I
will find a new boarding-house. I tell you all
about it to relieve your mind. But don't speak
of it for the world. If it gets out the marshal
will order my arrest and put a musket in my hand
for the war. I had a narrow escape, for the en
rollment in our block was made on the day after I
left."
" Yon are not the only one who has made a nar
row escape, Mr. Loto." Edith's face was almost
white; but her voice was deep and firm. She had
drawn herself a little away from the young man
and was looking at him sternly.
" Ah! who else has made an escape?"
"I have 1"
"You?"
" I asked a week in which to consider your offer,
Mr. Loto." Edith's tones did not falter. "If yon
had been a soldier in the field, or on the eve of
marching to the defense of your imperiled country,
I would have yielded this hand without an instant's
hesitation. But your lack of courage or patriotism,
I knew not which, made me hold beck and question
your fitness to be my husbend. Now I know yon
to be unworthy. I might have looked past a nat
ural shrinking from the hard and dangerous life of
a soldier—sxcused yon on the ground of constitu
tional impediments, if yon will call them so—and
on this plea accepted your failure to spring to the
rescue when yonr country was assailed—still be
lieving in your honor—still having faith In your
will to do right no matter how stern the demand
might be when it came clear and unmistakable.
I can understand that there may be good reasons
why one may hold away from the act of volunteer
ing—and I gave you the benefit of this assumption.
But when the danger becomes so imminent that
an allotment has to be made for defense, only the
meanest spirits seek to evade their dnty. John
Loto, I am speaking plainly, for I do not mean
that yon shall misunderstand me. Our ways part
to-night never to tonch again; and in parting I
leave with yon hard words that may do you good.
Take my advice and give in your name to the en
rolling officer. If drafted, go cheerfully and stand
np with brave men for yonr country's asfety.
There is a worse thing than death—it is dishonor!"
He attempted, in a confused way, to reply; bnt
Edith, who had arisen, waved her hand, Baying:
" Leave me, Sir! The argument is closed. Onr
ways have parted, and they canfrt meet again!"
" I have passed through a great trial, aunt t" said
Edith, in reply to anxious questions. Annt Grace
had found her, not long afterward, lying on a sofa
in the parlor in a state of partial stupefaction.
She had not been weeping. Her face was still
very pale; her eyes had parted with their tender
sweetness; her lips were almost rigid. On return
ing fully to herself she had made this answer.
"And come out purer and stronger, I trust. Is
it §o, dear Edith?" replied her annt.
" Purer and stronger, if walking through pain
to dnty gives purity and strength," said Edith.
" Trial—pain—duty. These words include stern
meanings, Edith. Mr. Loto is not here."
"And will never be here again, aunt. I have
made a narrow escape."
"How?"
" The man who lacks honor, courage, and pa
triotism, is false to the heart's core."
"Does Mr. Loto lack them?"
"He has, on his own confession, by a mean
trick evaded the enrollment."
"You fill me with surprise!"
" I was shocked. But strength and courage
came to me. I rebuked him in strong, indignant
language, and then told him that here and now
onr ways parted—parted forever. A coward and
a poltroon for a husband! My whole nature rises
in revolt."
The pale face grew crimson with the mounting
blood, and the dull eye flashed with kindling fires.
" Poltroon is rather a coarse word for ray Edith's
lips," said Annt Grace.
" Do you know its origin ? Only yesterday, I
read it in French, and the significance being in my
mind, I could not repress the tjtting term. When
bows and arrows were among the chief weapons
of semi-civilized European tribes and nations, it
sometimes happened that a mean and cowardly
fellow wonld cut off the forefinger or thumb of his
right hand so as to unfit him for a soldier's duty.
He was called, from the act, a poltroon—and the
word has come into our language to express a
mean-souled, cowardly fellow, who resorts to any
trick or ehift to escape from an unpleasant or dan
gerous duty. And so, under the impulse of strong
feslings, I have called this man a poltroon. It is
the fittingestword, in all our language, to express
my present thought of him. Thank God for a nar
row escape, dear aunt! I am wounded and bruised
in the sudden sharp conflict through which I have
passed—hurt inwardly—but not unto death. A
little while, and my heart shall beat strong and
evenly again. I did not love Mr. Loto for what
he was, but for what I imagined him to be. The
idol which I thought to be of gold, silver, and
precious stones, is discovered to be of clay, and I
sweep it from the pedestal of honor."
Edith laid her face down upon the bosom of her
aunt. Her frame was trembling from excitement.
In a little while the tremor ceased, and she grew
very still—still and heavy. For nearly half an
hour aunt and niece remained thus without speak
ing. Then Edith rsised herself up slowly and
wearily, and going to her own room, shut the door,
and entering, alone, into her pain-stricken heart,
commenced gathering up ite rent fibres, and lay
ing them back in safe places tenderly, that nature,
assisted by time and repose, might heal them. For
such wounds there is always balm.
AFTER THE BATTLE.
ON pages 680 and 681 we publish a large picture
of a BATTLK-FIELD AFTEE THE BATTLE—the reb
els being left in possession. The following extract
from a letter in the Times will serve to explain the
picture:
To-day, taking advantage of the protection afforded by
a flag of truce, which was granted for the purpose of re*
moving the wounded and burying the dead who fell In the
battles of Friday and Saturday, I visited the scene of those
sanguinary conflicts. Passing out of our lines upon the
Centreville Road, and crossing Bull Run Creek at black-
burn's Ford, the outer picket of our army In that direction
was reached about two miles from the little hamlet digni
fied by the name of Centreville. All beyond this barrier,
for two miles, was disputed ground, occupied by neither
friend nor foe. to the advance picket of the rebel camp.
Entering the rebel lines but a short distance evidences of
the carnage of a recent deadly strife were to be seen far
and near. On either hand were wounded soldiers, just
able to drag themselves along at a slow pace by the aid of
a cane or a friendly hand—men who had been captured
after having been disabled In battle, now paroled and
started for a more congenial and friendly camp. Dead
horses, broken carriages, shot and shell, and here and
there the dead body of a man, shattered trees, ambulances
filled with the wounded, caps, iqnipmenta, end clothing
•cattsred about—all bore unmistakable evidence of the
sanguinary battle that had been fought. Turning to the
left from the main-road, and riding perhape a mile, the
dead bodies of our soldiers were visible on ever} band.
Near this point the strife was hottest on Friday.
In the edge of a piece of timber In close proximity to the
field, numerous tents were pitched for the temporary ac
commodation of oar wounded, and where they wen cared
for by soldiers of onr army acting as nurses, who nobly
stood to their posts In the hour of trial, while our physi
cians for the most part abandoned their charge, leaving
the bleeding, dying patriots to the tender mercies of a de
moralized foe. The medicines left for the wounded were
confiscated by the enemy, who refused to permit any por
tion of them to be used, and many of those left upon the
field died because of this Inhuman conduct In plain view
of tbe hospital tent-, not fifty yards distant, the dead bod
ies of seventeen of our men had been placed, side by side,
by the rebel soldiery. In full view of the wounded and suf
fering men, as If they took a fiendish delight In making
the picture as shocking as possible. On one side of this
field stood two squadrons of Stuart's cavalry formed in
square, and standing and lying about the vicinity were
large numbers of rebel soldiers, looking curiously at the
strangers(T) within their camp; many of them lily con
cealing the brutal delight they experienced in viewing tha
A ride of a few minutes In a southeasterly direction,
another field was reached, where the contest raged the
fiercest on Saturday evening, and near the point where.
In some unaccountable manner, onr left wing geve way—
by which the tide of battle was turned against us, and the
day was lost, to be fought for again, it is to be hoped with
far different results. This field presented a more ghastly
sight, for In this vicinity It is estimated nearly two hun
dred of our dead were scattered about on the field and in
the adjoining woods. The enemy holding the field the
night after the scene of carnage had closed, aided by ne
groes, the officers gathered up their dead, and buried them
In trenches. In tome Instances going so far as to cover the
newly-disturbed earth with leaves and brushwood—all of
which was evidently done to deceive their dsluded follow
ers, and those whom chance brought into the vicinity, as
to the exact extent of their losses. The common instincts
of humanity seem to have entirely left the breasta of a
majority of tbe rebel soldiery, for they not only neglected
to pay the customary attention to the brave dead of the
Union army around them, but also violated the sanctity
of death by robbing the llf. less bodies of coats, cape, shoes.
Jewelry, money, and all other valuables, and ignored the
claims of tbe living also, who were suffering and within
their power. We doubt If, of all the vast number who fell
In the battles of Friday and Saturday, there was one who,
dead or alive, was not robbed of every thing of value. Of
the hundred or more bodies to be seen above the ground,
there was not one whose pockets had not been rifled, and
their shoes and other articles of clothing taken away.
The writer entered the enemy's lines especially to ob
tain the names of the wounded and prisoners lu their
bands. But he was peremptorily refused this prtvilejre,
and threatened with a Richmond prison for violating the
flag of trues by taking the names of a few of the dead on
the field. The same officer In an Imperious manner said
there va* a Major or a Colonel "yonder," and perhape I
could Identify him. We walked to the spot. The deceased
had nothing on but pants, under-shirt, and socks; the pock
ets had been turned Inside out, and every thing of value
removed. In reply to the question, how he knew that it
was a field-offlcer at all, our rebel companion suddenly be
came red In the face, and after hesitating a moment,
stammered ont that they supposed It was a field-officer.
I told him In plain terms that the body had been robbed,
and expressed my astonishment that such treatment of the
gallant dead was permitted. He Indignantly denied that
It was permitted, but added, In a deprecating tone of voice,
that the meu could not be restrained.
THE PRESIDENT'S VISIT TO
M'CLELLA.N'8 ARMY.
WE publish on page 684 an illnntration of the
President's visit to Frederick. His journey through
Maryland was one continuous and triumphant ova
tion, and will have the effect not only of teaching
the rebels how little they gained by their last raifi
upon the affections of " My Maryland," hut of con
vinclng Northern traitors that henceforth we may
count her as irrevocably fixed to the Union.
A vast concourse of people had assembled at the
railway station at Frederick; and the President
had no sooner got away from those who rushed to
shake hands with him. and reached the train, than
loud cries brought Him to the platform of the real-
carriage, to show himself and speak to his friends.
This is the moment seized upon and illustrated by
our artist. The President, in a clear voice, and
with that honest, good-natured manner for which
he is so noted, spoke as follows:
FXLI.OW-CITIZENS,—I see myself surrounded by sol
diers and by tbe citizens of this good city of Frederick,
all anxious to hear something from me. Nevertheless, t
can only say_as I did elsewhere five minutes ago—that
it is not proper ibr me to make speeches In my preen* po
sition. I return thanks to our gallant soldiers for the
good service they have rendered, the energies they have
chown, the hardships they have endured, and the blood
they have so nobly ehed for this dear Union of ours. And
I also return thanks, not only to the soldiers, but to the
good citizens of Frederick, and to all the good men, wo
men, and children throughout this land for their devotion
to our glorious cause. And I say this without any malice
In my heart toward those who have done otherwise. May
our children, and our children's children, for a thousand
generations, continue to enjoy the benefits conferred upon
us by a united country, and have cause yet to rejoice un
der those glorioiw Institutions bequeathed us by Washing,
ton and his compeers! Now, my friends—soldiers and
citizens—I can only say once more—Farewell I
OUR ARMY IN FLORIDA.
WE reproduce on pege 685 two pictures by a
volunteer correspondent with General Mitchell's
army, illustrating the recent CAPTURE OF A FORT
ON ST. JOHN'S BLUFF, FLORIDA. Onr correspond
ent writes:
Him* Hsu>, OcMhr 6,1161
To the Editor of Harper©t Weekly:
Inclosed I send you a couple of rongh sketches of scenes
in the last expedition from here—Mayport Mills, the place
where the land forces disembarked, and St. John's Bluff
Battery, consisting of eleven gnns. The expedition start
ed from here on 1st Inst., General Brannan commanding,
on board the Den De Ford, the troops on board the O-j,
mopolitaa, Boston, and Neptune. The navy was reprc
•ented by the Paul Jonet, fiag-sblp, Port Roytl, Uncat.
Semirona, Patroon, and £ B. Bate, all under command
of O. E. Stcdman. The troops disembarked on the 2d at
tne Mills, and marched for the battery, about eight miles
distant, but were compelled to return owing to an unford-
able creek; while the naval squadron sailed up to the haV-
tery, and the Paul Jonet opened fire on It, receiving re
plies occasionally; and having ascertained the calibre of
their guns returned, but started again next morning;
while the Infantry, having again landed on the opposite
side of the creek, took up their line of march, the Forty-
seventh Pennsylvania, Colonel Good, taking the lead, and
surprising a camp of cavalry, who made good their escape.
In the mean time the naval squadron, having arrived
opposite the fort, about four P.M. opened fire upon It; but
receiving no reply, a boat was sent ashore, and the fort
was found to be completely abandoned, upon which the
"Old Flag" was raised amidst much cheerirg from all
hands. Upon arriving there, about B P.M., the Forty-sev
enth took possession of the late rebel stronghold.
GENERAL WADSWORTH.
Ox page 686 we publish a portrait of GENERAL
JAMBS S. WADSWORTH, the Union candidate for
Governor of New York. As there is little or no
doubt of his election, we have thought onr New
York readers would like to see the features of their
next Governor.
James S. Wadsworth is the son of James Wads)*
worth, of Geneseo, and is himself a resident of tha
same place, and the richest man there. He hat
never filled any public office, and once only, we
believe, came before the public previously to tha
present war. That was during the famine in Ire
land, when he sent the Irish a ship-load of food.
When the war broke ont he. was one of those who
apprehended a deficiency of 'supplies for the truopa
who were hurrying to the defense of the capital |
and accordingly, without waiting for orders, au.
thority, or money from Government, he chartered
a steamer here, filled her with provisions, and sent
her to Annapolis, going himself as supercargo,
How much suffering this prompt action of his may
have saved it is hardly possible to say. Bnt the
Government and the troops so appreciated It that
General Wadsworth was at once appointed an Aid.
de-camp to General M'Dowell, with the rank of
Colonel. IB that capacity he participated in tha
Battle of Bull Run. Ho was shortly afterward
appointed Brigadier-General, and placed in com.
mand of Washington as Military Governor, which
post he has filled with energy and judgment.
In his letter of acceptance to the Convention
General Wadsworth said :
I think I can not be mistaken In assuming that the elec
tion will turn upon the necessity of sustaining our na-
tlonal Government In its effort to uphold ItselfTind main.
{?" £, t"rr?££ t?*atT> d -PecWly upon ?nVpr£.
lamaUon of thePresldent, issued to that end,^nd referred
to In the fourth resolution of the Convention.
I entirely approve of that proclamation, and commend
It to the support of the electors of New York for the follow
ing reasons :
on
Six or eight millions of whites, having had time to or
ganize than- government and arm their troops, fed and
supported by the labor of four millions of slaves, present
the most formidable rebellion recorded In histon?
_ Strike from this rebellion the support which It derlreo
OCTOBER 25,1862.] HAEPEKS WEEKLY. 687
from the unrequited toll of these slaves, and iU found*
lion will be undermined.
2. It U the most humane method of putting down th
rebellion, the history of which hu clearly prored that tb
fears of slave insurrection! and massacres are entirely un
founded. While the slaves earnestly desire freedom, they
bare ihown no disposition to Injure their maiten; the
will ceaie to work for them without wages, but they wi
form throughout the Southern State* the moit peacefu
and doolie peasantry on the face of the earth.
The slaveowners once compelled to work for their o 1
nipport the war must cease, and Its appalling carnage
come to an end.
3. The emancipation once effected, the Northern States
would he forever relieved, as it ts right that they should
be, from the fean of a great influx of African laborers, dis
turbing the relations of those Northern industrial classes
who have so freely given their lives to the support of the
Government.
This done, and the whole African population will drift
to the South, where It will find a congenial climate and
vast tracts of land never yet cultivated.
I forbear to enttr into the discussion of the great in
crease of trade to the Northern States and the whole com
merclal world which would result from the wants of fair
millions of free and paid laborers over the same number
held as heretofore in slavery.
I forbear also to enter into the question of the ultimate
vast Increase in the production of the gnat Southern sta
ples. This is not a time to consider questions of profit
It will long be remembered, to the great honor of the
merchantSi bankers, and manufacturers of the North, thai
giving the lie to the calumnies of slave-breeding aristocrats,
who charge them with being degraded and controlled by
the petty profits of traffic, they have met the numerous
sacrifices of this great struggle with a cheerfulness and
promptness of which history furnishes no parallel.
Nor la the question now before us one of philanthropy
alone, sacred as are the principles therein involved; nor
Is it a question of abstract Ideas, involving an unprofitable
discussion of the equality of races. It is simply a question
of war, of National life or death, and of the mode in which
we can mmt surely and effectually uphold our Government
and maintain its unity «nd supremacy.
Our foreign enemies, for it is not to be disguised that we
have such, reproach us with waging a territorial war. So
we do; but that territory is our country. For maintain
ing Its greatness and power among the nations of the earth,
by holding it together, they hate us. We can bear it;
but if we were to yield to their suggestions, and submit to
its dismemberment, they would forever despise us.
This Great domain, from the lakes to the gnlf, from the
Atlantic to the Pacific, one country; governed by one idea
—freedom—Is yet destined to dictate terms, if need be, to
the world in arms, and I hold that man to be a traitor and
a coward, who, under any defeats, any pressure of advers
ity however great, any calamities however dire, would
give up one acre of it
BUELL©S ARMY ON THE MARCH.
; WE publish on page 684 a picture which repre
sents BUELL'S ARMY CROSSING SALT RIVER, KEN
TUCKY, from a sketch by Mr. Hosier. The bridge
over the river was destroyed some time since, but
the water is so low that it was easily forded, and
as soon as Bnell's skirmishers cleared the way the
army crossed in heavy column. The result of the
expedition, or at least one of ita results, will he
found recorded in another column.
THE REBEL BISHOP-GENERAL
POLK.
THE debates in the Episcopal House of Bishops
on the subject of the rebel BISHOP-GENERAL POLK,
have induced us to present our readers with a por
trait of the personage in question on page 685.
Leonidas Polk was born in North Carolina about
the year 1805. He entered West Point in 1823,
and graduated in the artillery in 1827. Six months'
service in the army quenched his military aspira
tions, and resigning his commission he studied for
the Church. In 1831 he was ordained an Episcopal
minister, and officiated regularly in the Southwest
for seven years. In 1838 he was appointed " Mis
sionary Bishop" of Arkansas and the Indian Terri
tory, and discharged the functions of that office for
three years. In 1841, the Episcopal See of Louisi
ana falling vacant, he was elected to fill it, and
continued to do so until the rebellion broke out.
He sympathized so ardently with the rebel leaders
that he was induced in an evil moment to resign
his bishopric, and accepted from Jeff Davis a com
mission in the rebel army as Major-General. His
service has chiefly been in the Southwest. He was
in command for some time at Columbus, Kentucky,
and took part in the Battle of Shiloh. His pres^
ent station we hardly know.
Keport says that since Bishop Polk became a
soldier he has doffed the decent manners of the
episcopate for the habits of a trooper—that he
drinks, swears, etc., etc.
BURIED ALIVE.
MY name is Karoly Varga. I worked in the
•alt-mines, as my father and brother do, and as my
grandfather did, and his father before him. On
the 17th August, 1723, I dressed myself as usual
and descended into the mine, taking with me a box
of candles, which were to be used for a purpose
I shall mention presently. My orders were to
make a careful examination of the arches that had
been erected, and the blocks that had been placed
round the pools of water to prevent the expected
visitors from falling in, for it was intended to give
a concert and entertainment in honor of the director
of the mine and his wife, who would complete
twenty-five years of married life on the twenty-
fifth day of the month mentioned. I had also to
select a place in which to establish the orchestra,
of which I was myself one of the members, the rest
having deputed me to moke this choice in conse
quence of my experience in working the mine,
care being always requisite in choosing the posi
tion, from the danger of the vibration causing a
fall. Having performed the first part of my duty
I climbed up into a gallery, which had been cut
long before the mine had reached its present depth
to select the position in which the Orchestra was to
establish itself. The spot that seemed most suit
able was a recess, lofty at the entrance but of no
great depth. Its shape was so good for the pur
pose that I fetched the box of candles and put it
in tht recess ready for use. It was not till I had
done this that it occurred to me to sound my horn
and try the effect produced. I blew it first at the
entrance, then drew back farther and farther, sound
ing it at intervale, knowing there were others in
the mine who would be able to tell me what th
effect was in that part where the company woul
be assembled. I was standing at the very bottom
of the cave, and was in the act of drawing a dee
breath to sound a final blast, when I was stopped
by a pattering sound which paralyzed me, and be
fore I was rqyself again there was a fall of earth
and salt, lumps of which rolled to my feet. I ha<
a lighted torch beside me, and with this I examinee
the fall to see if there was any opening fur escape
but there was none, the recess being blocked up t
the roof. I thought I might call the attention of
my fellow-miners to my position by blowing ra;
horn, but the only result of my doing so was to
cause another fall. I laid it down to think ove
my position, and calculate my chance of escape,
hoped that, as they would be certain to miss me
within a few hours, there might be something in
the slip to attract their attention. Hour after
hour passed over without my hearing a sound, ex
cept that caused by the earth crumbling down as
it settled into a firmer mass. The torch I had ex
tinguished long since, to save myself from bein|
suffocated by the smoke, and instead of it I ha<
lighted a candle, but this melted away in a few
minutes owing to the air being so hot. I was now
in total darkness. The air was filled with particles
of salt, which stung my eyes and made the inside
of my mouth, and nose, and my throat smart pain
fully, besides exciting a sensation of intense thirst
As for hunger, it was long before I felt it, and when
I did I had a ready meaus at hand for assuaging
it, in the box of tallow, which, disgusting as il
would have been at any other time, was a treasure
to me now. There was another comforting circum
stance, that air made its way to the little hollow in
which I was confined: where from I could not tell,
but it was sufficient in quantity to prevent me Iron
being suffocated, though breathing was a matter
of great difficulty and pain. I soon began to feel
sleep}-, and stretched myself on the ground, but
whether I slept only a few minutes or several hours
I have no idea; and so the early part of my im
prisonment passed away.
All this time nothing had occurred to show
that any body had discovered the place where 1
was buried, though I was sure I must have been
missed long since. Then, for the first time, I was
seized with a hopeless dread. I became intensely
cold, my heart almost ceased to beat, and my
tongue and the roof of my mouth became dry and
hard, as if it had been burned with a red-hot iron.
I curled myself in a heap on the ground, and for a
time was insensible. When I again grew con
scious my sufferings were much aggravated. A
burning heat was gnawing at ray body from head
to foot. The feeling is indescribable and can not
be imagined. I knew that the salt was getting
into my blood, and that I must soon go raving mad
if I could not keep it ont of my lungs. I ate as
much of the tallow as I could, or rather I put it in
my mouth and let it run down my throat. This
relieved me very much, and I then tore a piece off
my dress and fastened it across my mouth and
nose, which added to the difficulty of breathing,
but kept the larger particles of salt from entering
my lungs. I also found that the air was better
when I was standing than when I was lying down,
and from thenceforth I stood with my hack resting
against the side of the cave, as much as my strength
allowed me. Before this I had tried to remove the
earth nearest the roof, bnt I could find nothing to
encourage me to persevere, and the exertion was
so painful, and the clouds of salt dust raised were
to thick, notwithstanding that I placed every hand-
'ul I took out carefully at the bottom of the heep,
;hat I desisted, thinking it better to bear my suffer
ings as patiently as I could till my situation was
discovered than to render it worse by vain efforts
to escape from it. But as they continued to in
crease 1 determined to moke another attempt, what
ever the consequence might be. I grouped about
till I found the hole I had made, and began to rake
out the earth with my hands, bnt with less pre
caution than before, for I had now become despe
rate, and would gladly have died to have been
released from my misery. The salt forced itself
.hrough the cloth over my face, penetrated to my
ungs, and caused me such torture as no words can
describe. I dashed myself against the sides of my
prison, I beat my head against the rock, bnt I was
unconscious of pain from so doing; life seemed
raging within me with greater strength and intens-
ty than I had ever felt before, and it seemed to me
hat I could move a mountain by my own strength
ilohe. I thrust my head and shoulders into the
lole I had made, and tried to burrow my way
hrough like a mole, and when I could endure this
no longer I threw myself on the ground and rolled
and writhed. In imagination I screamed and cried,
iut in truth I could utter no sound. I prayed, oh!
low fervently I prayed, for death, hut it would
not come. Then I swallowed some of my provi-
ions, and this gave me relief for a time, but only
or a time, for the lame tortures began again very
oon, followed by a repetition of my frantic at-
empte at self-destruction. If I could have at
tained from the only thing that gave me relief
my torments must soon have been at an end; but
he very intensity of-my pain forced me, against
my will, to resort to it. Thus my sufferings went
jn ebbing and flowing, but, like the rising tide, al
ways mounting.
1 was in this dreadful condition when I heard
he sound of music. At first I thought it must be
my imagination, that I was at last going mad.
"hen, as it continued, I remembered the concert in
lonor of the director. I searched about for my
lorn, and when the music was silent, I raised it to
my lips and tried to sound it: I might as well have
tttempted to rend the rock asunder which cut me
ff from the light; my dry and cracked lips would
tot fit themselves to the instrument, and the little
lir my lungs were still cspable of expelling wasted
tself soundlessly. In my madnesa I beat it furi-
usly against the ground, I bit and gnawed it, and,
nally, I dashed it down, and Seizing handfuls of
be dirt, I thrust it into my month in vain efforts
to choke myself. Again and again the music was
renewed, but at last it ceased altogether, and I
knew that 1 was once more alone in the mine.
I afterward learned that, during the concert,
one of the miners in wandering through the old
workings noticed a mark on the rock where I had
cleared the head of the torch. The freshness of
this mark drew his attention to the fall of earth,
and though he was not able to distinguish whether
this fall was of recent or old date, he pointed it ont
to others, and they determined to clear it away,
that my body, if it were beneath it, might receive
Christian burial. The next day the director gave
them a fete in return for their entertainment, and
the following day being Sunday, it was not till the
aucceeding day they began digging for me, which
was the twelfth day of my imprisonment. On
that evening I was released and carried out of the
mine.
My appearance at this time was frightful.
Every hair had fallen from me, my eyes had dis
appeared, and my body, from head to foot, was
covered with crystals of salt. I was laid in warm
water and kept there : warm and cold water was
given me to drink as often as I could swallow it,
and my Bufferings soon began to diminish. In
time they became endurable, but they have never
left me altogether, and I shall always be a poor,
blind, Buffering creature such as I am now.
ADVERTISEMENTS.
Chemicals, &c.
SODA ASH, of different tests, lor Soap and Glass
makers, various brands, 200 Tons.
CAUSTIC BODA, in packages of 6 cwt., of the best En
glish make.
SAL SODA and Newcastle Bt GARB. SODA, 850 Tons.
PALM OIL, an assortment, 100 Casks of prime.
CREAM TARTAR and TAKTAKIC ACID crystals;
also powdered, perfectly pure.
THOMAS ANDREWS & CO.,
Importers, 136 and 133 Cedar St., New York.
W ANTED IMMEDIATELY, in every
town and village, an agent of either aez to en
gage in a light and profitable business, by which from $8
to $13 per week can be made. Persons having leisure
evenings can make from BO cents to $1 per evening.— A
sample with full particulars sent by mall to all who In
close THBU letter stamps (8 cents), and address
IRA RUSSELL & CO., Hooksett, N. H.
AQENTS WASTED. [Ao Humbug.) Send EC. circular.
"THE CRAICt MICROSCOPE"
Magnifies small objects 10,000 times. So simple thst a
child may use it. A most suitable present for any person.
Price by mail $2 26; with six mounted objects $8. Ad
dress HENRY CRAIO, 182 Centre Street, New York.
G. E. M. I. V. B.
To soldiers and others afflicted with Rheumatism, Gout,
Cold or Blistered Feet, Ac., the Galvano Electro Magnetic
Insoles and Voltaic Belts, made under Mettam & Co.

688 HARPER'S WEEKLY [OCTOBER 25, 1802.
•WHAT THE SEYMOUR PARTY SAY.
^SEYMOUR
TIC PARTY
DATE
EVIDENTLY SINCERE.
GUEHRILIA CHIEF to FEDERAL OFFICER. "look here. Gin'ral; nights are getting cold.
We're tired of sleeping out in the swnnip, with nothing to eat, and that sort of thing, so we
want to go in for the Union, and have our meals rtg'lar."
ADVERTISEMENTS.
A GENTS WANTED—To sell Window's
JTV Army and Prize Stationery Package, containing
more Stationery, and nther usefnl and valuable artlclct,
thnn any other IMie Package offered. Aa an extra In
ducement to Agents, ire (hall give with every 100 Pack
ages told, a iirge and rplendld Silver lee-Pitcher, told by
•U jewelers for $18 00, and warranted to be worth at least
as much as any two Watches ever glvrc away by any New
York or Philadelphia Prize Package Manufiieturnrs. A
•ample of Package and Circular will be mailed fret by
addressing W. L. WINSLUW,
Bookseller and Stationer, Syracuse, N. Y.
Tn» FKARXLUI SIWIAO MArmi

090 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 1,1862
THE PIRATE " ALABAMA."
THE picture of this famous pirate, which will
be found on the preceding page, hai been atten-
t i vely examined by Captain Ilagar of the BrSKant,
and pronounced correct. He has kindly given us
the following certificate of the fact:
I have teen the drawing of the Alabama which will ap
pear In the next number of Harptr©t Wttlt^i, and pro-
nonnc* It a correct plctnre.
GKOBOK lliGim. Capt. of ihlp Brilliant.
Oftabr Id, IMt.
No ship should sail ont of port without this num
ber of Harper'1 Weekly, in order that her captain
may be able to recognize the pirate.
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1862.
THE REBEL ENTERPRISE IN
KENTUCKY.
rriHE smoke is clearing away from the scene
A of the campaign in Kentucky, and we arc
at length beginning to nndcrstand the mysteri
ous movements of Bnell and Bragg.
When Mr. Lincoln called for a new levy nf
000,000 men it was evident to the Southern
leaders that, unless they could achieve derisive
successes before that new levy was brought into
the field armed and disciplined, their cause was
(tone. The fiat, therefore, went fort 11 that the
defensive policy must be abandoned and the
Northern States invaded. At that time Gen
eral Bragg was at Chattanooga, General Buell
within 20 miles of him, each with nn army of
some 35,000 men. For some time past Buell's
object had been to manoeuvre Bragg out of Chat
tanooga, which then appeared to be, and will
again become, the key to the situation in that
part of the conntry. In August la«t, to the as
tonishment of Buell, Bragg evacuated the place,
and moved rapidly northward in the direction
of Nashville. Rapidh comprehending the move
ment, Bnell likewise abandoned the object for
which he had so long contended, and mnrclicd
northward on a parallel line to Bragg. Being
nearer to Nashville thaii his enemy, he arrived
there first, and the capital of Tennessee was
io«!«ly en
joyed on the march to Nashville, of being near
er the point they both wished to reach. He
chose the latter, with evident wisdom, and
reached Louisville in time: Bragg's army being
nearly two days' march from the place when
Buell's advance-guard entered it. Buell's entry
into Louisville was evidently the turning-point
in the campaign. Foiled in both his objects,
having taken neither Nashville nor Louisville,
Bragg had now no choice but to retreat back
whence he came. Bnell, on the other hand, was
free to pursue him with a largely increased array,
freshly equipped and supplied. He commenced
the pursuit accordingly, dividing his nrmy in
such a way, and directing them to march by such
roads as, in the opiniou of competent judges,
rendered it likely that Bragg might be snr-
roilnded.
This plan failed, owing, It is said, to the dis
obedience of a corps commander, who could not
resist the temptation of giving battle, at Perry-
villc, with his single corps, to the whole rebel
army. The consequence was that Bragg made
good his escape in the direction of Crab Orchard
and Richmond. Buell, at latest dates, was fol
lowing him close—about one day'i jonrney be
hind ; but the prospect was that, with the aid of
Morgan's flying squadron, and other guerrilla
bands, Bragg would make good his escape to
nnd beyond the Cumberland Mountains, with
his artillery and most of his stores.
Take it all in all, it mast be admitted that the
icbel enterprise in Kentucky has failed. Bragg
\-M not sncceeded in the great objects he had in
view—the capture of Nashville or Louisville.
He has not achieved the decisive success which
the rebel leaden deemed it essential to achieve
before our new levies were in the field. He has
not wrested from us and permanently held any
single point. He has overrun and plundered
the finest region of Kentucky, but this will have
no more influence upon tho reault of the war
tlmn the raids of the pirate " 290."
It is a little remarkable that, while a large
number of journals and politicians at the North
have been reviling Buell for not fighting Bragg,
the rebel papers are equally severe on Bragg for
not fighting Buell. The probability is that
both Generals acted for the best. If Bnell had
fought Bragg in Southern Tennessee, or again
in Southern Kentucky, and had been defeated,
Louisville and Kentucky would inevitably have
been lost. And the forces of the two Generals
were so nearly matched that no one can tell
what might have been the issue of a battle. If
Bragg had been routed in Southern Tennessee
nothing conld have saved Chattanooga, Rome,
and Knoxville to the Confederacy.
The Richmond Examiner is especially severe
on Bragg for being "too slow," and for allow
ing Bnell so constantly to "outstrip him in the
race." We think this may be fairly set against
the oft-repeated complaints of our journals about
Buell being " too slow." The fact is, that both
Generals marched very fast indeed, but Buell
having the shorter distance to run, won the
race. And the practical result of the enterprise
is, that the rebels have been, or are being, ex
pelled from Kentucky, where they have left a
record which will make them execrated for gen
erations.
LEE, BEAUREGARD, AND
M'CLELLAN.
No one who reads the voluminous Reports
of Scott's Campaign in Mexico can fail to ob
serve the frequency with which special honor
able mention is made of three young officers of
the Engineers. In his first dispatch, giving an
account nf thn capture of Vera Cniz, General
Scott, after nscribing the success of this opera
tion mainly to the engineer officers, says: "Tf
there be any thing in tliu form, position, and ar
rangement of the trenches and batteries, or in
the manner of their execution, it is due to the
ability, devotion, and unremitting zeal of these
officers." Prominent among those specinlly
named arn "Captain R. E. Lee, First Lieuten
ant P. G. T. Beanregard, and Brevet Second
Lieutenant George B. M'Clellnn.' 1
Lee seems to have been the special favorite
of the veteran General, and there is hardly a
single dispatch in which his name is not honor
ably mentioned. Perhaps this may be owing to
the fact that, as he was highest in rank, the direct
execution of the more important duties was
commifted to him. In the reports of subor
dinate officers the names of Bcaurcgard and
M'Clcllan, with special commendations of their
zeal and ability, appear witli about equal fre
quency. We have noted nearly thirty instances
of honorable mention of each of their names;
and that of Lee is found quite as frequently
mentioned, mainly by Scott himself.
(n reading the reports of the battles in Mex
ico, and remembering the positions now occu
pied by the various officers, some curious coin
cidences are found. Thus Magrudcr gives espe
cial credit to Stunner, and Joseph E. Johnston
is warm in his commendntion of Reno. After
the battle of Churubusco Major Loring reports
to his immediate superior, Earl Van Dorn:
"The Rifles were accompanied throughout by
the distinguished young Lieutenants Beaure-
gard, Smith, and M'Clellan, the two latter in
command of a portion of the Engineer corps;
all, I am happy to say, bore themselves with
the greatest gallantry.'1
At Chnrnbnsco M'Clellan was under the im
mediate command of Lieutenant G. W. Smith,
subsequently Street Commissioner in New York,
and now one of the " Generals,' 1 the highest rank
in the Confederate service, superior to Major-
General, and nearly corresponding to'' Marshal"
in the French army. Smith is especially warm
in his commendation of M'Clellan. He says:
"Lieutenant M'Clellan, frequently detached,
and several times in command of the Engineer
Company, is entitled to the highest praises for
his cool and daring gallantry on all occasions in>
the actions of the 19th and 20th." And again:
"The Rifles, with Captain Lee of the Engi
neers, were reconnoitring the fume works, and
had gone to our right considerably further from
the battery than we were." M'Clellan was di
rected to ascertain the posture of affairs, and re
ported that Lee was engaged with a superior
force. '' I ordered Lieutenant M'Clellan," con
tinues Smith, " to report the result of his op
erations to General Twiggs. He did so, and
on the recommendation of Lieutenants Stevens
and M'Clellan, in which I concurred, the first
regiment of artillery was ordered to support the
Rifles. I have every reason to be more than
satisfied with the daring gallantry of Lieuten
ants G. B. M'Clellan and J. G. Foster, and am
much indebted to them for the efficient manner
in which they performed their arduous duties on
the 19th and 20th of August."
At Churubusco M'Clellan was also under the
immediate command of Smith, who, in his re
port to Captain Mackall (tbe Confederate Gen
eral Mackall, we suppose, who was killed near
Corinth), says: "To Lieutenant G. B. M'Clel
lan, of the Engineer Company, I am indebted
for most important services, both as an engineer
and a company officer. His daring gallantry,
always conspicuous, was never more clearly
shown than on this occasion. Operating most
of the time separately, I relied implicitly on his
judgment in all matters where I was not pres
ent, and am happy to say that the result in ev
ery case justified his decisions."
The careful reader of the -1 aole series of dis-
p«" jl.es respecting the campaign in Mexico will
come to the conclusion that the three men who,
after the veteran commanding General, dis
played the highest military talents were the
three young officers of Engineers, Lee, Beanre
gard, and M'Clellan. Beanregard has not, on
the whole, justified his early promise in as high
a degree us the ethers; though it may be doubted
whether the reason is not to be found in the
jealousy of the Confederate authorities rather
than in any want of capacity on his part. Lee
and M'Clellan are now virtually at the head of
the two armies of the North and the South, and
by the almost unanimous consent of both sides
they are the most capable men to fill these posts.
So far as we can now judge, from the combined
result of the whole series of operations in which
they have been pitted against each other, M'Clel
lan has shown himself the superior. His cam
paign in the peninsula resulted unfavorably, it
is true, but the unanimous verdict of the country
is that this was owing to his planS being thwarted
by men without any competent military knowl
edge. The success of his operations in Mary
land, where he has had uncontrolled anthority,
vindicates the highest claim for military capacity
which his friends have ever advanced for him.
SCHOOL-BOOK LITERATURE.
THEBK was a time—and fully within the mem
ory of the oldest inhabitant—when it was thought
that almost sny kind of a hook would answer for
school purposes, and when, consequently, the lit
tle that there was of the pabulum of school-book
literature consisted of the hardest crusts and the
dryest morsels imaginable. Those only who can go
back with us to mtr school-days, can appreciate the
change for the better which a single generation
has seen. Now the very best books, instead of
the poorest, are for the school-room: the best tal-
eut is employed in compiling them; the best artists
in illustrating them; and the "getting up"*must
be of the neatest, most attractive, and most sub
stantial kind. The first expense—the outlay—to
the publishers is indeed enormous; but then the
market for a really good school-book—and none
but the good ones are now likely to succeed—is, in
dsed, slmost illimitable.
AVo have beeu led to these remarks by an exam
ination of a series of truly splendid "School and
Family Charts," twenty-two in number, prepared by
Messrs. Willson and Calkins, and published by the
Harpers. Nothing equal to them—whether as to
attractiveness or adaptation—is in existence in the
entire range of works for primary instruction, ei
ther in the Old World or in the New. The early
numbers commence with Reading Lessons for be
ginners upon the "object" system—with type suffi
ciently large to be easily read twenty feet distant;
then succeed charts of Elementary Sounds, Phonics,
Writing, Drawing, Lines and Measures, Forms,
Solids, Colors, Quadrupeds, Birds, Reptiles, Fish
es, Plants, etc., etc., the whole embracing more
than ax hundred colored illustrations! Andthough
so costly in the getting up, and so beautiful as
works of art, the low price at which the3' are sold—
nine dollars for a complete set, mounted—places
them within the reach of nearly every family and
every school. An accompanying Manual of In
struction by Mr. Willson, the author of the well-
known series of "School and Family Readers,"
gives the information and the directions for their
use. Every family in which there arc children to
be educated, and every school, thould have a set
of these Charts and a copy of the Manual.
THE ABOLITIONISTS.
THERE is no word more frpquently and sngrilv
used and less understood thau the word Abolition
ist. President Lincoln and Daniel S. Dickinson,
Governor Johnson and Governor Andrew, Thurlow
Weed and Wendell Phillips, are all called bv the
same name. Of course there is but one point upon
which all these men agree, and that is, a truly vig
orous prosecution of the war. But that i"s not
abolitionism. Emancipation as a means of war
may be justified by all of them; but that is not
abolitionism. The word Abolitionist designates a
party lu the country whose position and influence
have never been correctly estimated, because its
members have been too much hated to be fairlv
treated. Nobody has taken the trouble to know
what they thought or what they proposed. It has
been enough that they were said to be disunionists.
What kind of disunionlsts, or why disunionists,
have not been questions thought to be worth the
asking, especially by the politicians who now call
their late companions Abolitionists, because they
insist upon the Union at every cost; and who think
and call the open bloody disunionists of the South
"erring brethren."
But the history of these times will have to deal
differently with the facts, the influences, and the
characters which are summarily classed as "Abo
litionism." For merely to call the men known as
Abolitionists a handful of fanatics, incendiaries,
and agitators, explains them and their cause as
much as Sydney Smith's sneering accounts of
Methodism and the Methodists, or Hurue's de
scription of Cromwell and the Independents; hut
no more. It is certainly not very complimentary
to the American people to say that a few bitter
fanatics at the North called Abolitionists, and a
few other fanatics at the South called Secessionists,
plunged thirty millions of us into this tremendous
civil war. If the individual James Otis had held
his tongue would there have been uo Revolution ?
If John Hampden had paid the ship-money would
the Stuarts to-day be Kings of England ? James
Otis and John Hampden were but men who spoke
for fundamental and decisive principles. When
those ideas were in play those men were inevitable.
If fifty Abolitionists and as many Secessionists had
been hung, think many, there would have been no
trouble. But do you think that if Luther had
been hung there would have been no Reforma
tion ? In what conceivable way was Luther strong
or successful but in being the mouth of those who
believed as he did ? Unless you could have hung
the instinct of popular liberty in England in 1640,
or the same instinct in America in 1770, you would
have struck but one soldier of an army in striking
Hampden or Otis. Unless you could kill Protest
antism you might as well spare Luther. And un
less you can hang abolitionism you will hang Abo
litionists in vain.
Correctly speaking, the Abolitionists were, in
our history, a body of persons who thoueht slavery-
wrong ; who held that the Coustitutiornavored it;
and that as the system was sure to corrupt the
whites as well as imbrute the blacks, there was no
hope for either but in the change of the Constitu
tion and the dissolution of the Union of which it
was the boud. But they proposed that the change
should be effected peacefully and legally, by com
mon consent; and to that end the}- endeavored to
show what they considered the ultimate danger
and present wrong of the Constitution. This wss
their " agitation." They opposed violence of every
kind. They were, many of them, non-resistants.
They did not vote; for to vote was to acknowledge
what they thought a wicked Coustitution. They
did not approve the method, hut only the purpose
of John Brown; and they said to the rest of us,
" You who believe in force have no right to blame
him for helping others to do what you praise our
fathers for doing in the Revolution." They be
lieved that immediate emancipation was desirable,
but they aimed to achieve it solely by influencing
public opinion through that perfect freedom of dis
cussion which the Constitution guaranteed. Some
among them—but very few—were more vehement,
and sometimes attempted to resist the law, as in
Boston at the Burns capture.jLT3ut the Personal
Liberty bills, although the Abbutionists approved
and advocated them, were passed by Legislatures
in which no Abolitionist sat, because no Abolition
ist could swear to support tbe Constitution and the
laws of the United States.
Abolitionism, justly understood, was thus a
purely moral power. It sought a moral end solely
by moral means. It was fierce, vituperative, aud
denunciative ; but so has every party been. Its
leaders deliberately resigned all the prizes of
worldly ambition, and accepted the contumely
heaped upon them by both the great parties in the
country. Republican and Democrat equally es
chewed the name or suspicion of abolitionism.
And justly. For the Democrats were in political
alliance with slavery, and the Republicans differed
fundamentally from the Abolitionists in their inter
pretation of the Constitution. The latter held it to
be a bond of slavery; the former of liberty. The
Abolitionists thought the only hope of the'country
was in escaping from the Constitution. The Re
publicans believed that the Slavery question could
be settled peacefully for liberty without change of
the Constitution.
They were right. For it was the clear percep
tion of the slave interest that it would be so settled—
a fact of which Mr. Lincoln's election was the earn
est—that drove that interest to arms to destroy the
Constitution. Philosophically, the difference be
tween the Republicans and the Abolitionists was one
of political method, not of moral conviction. But in
human affairs adifference of method is radical. The
Republicans, therefore, neither decried the Constitu
tion uor the Union. But they deplored the false in
terpretation of the one and the prostitution of the
other. They believed that the people would yet
save both. Consequently they were all of them
unswerving Unionists. They "did not threaten to
rebel if they were not successful at the polls, and
they severely condemned all who assented to such
threats. For they had faith in a popular govern
ment to right even the worst wrongs. And their
faith is justified.
There is no more interesting chapter of our his
tory than that known as Abolitionism, which is an
episode in the great movement of liberty upon this
continent. To call it fanaticism, and consider that
a final and satisfactory explanation, is as ludicrous
as to define Washington simply as a rebel, or Lu
ther as a heretic.
OLD LETTERS.
To show a private letter without the authority
of the writer, except in cases of no especial im
portance, or to establish and expose fraud, or some
other purpose of general advantage, is something
which people generally prefer not to do. But at
a late party political meeting a letter was read
which was written by General Scott to Mr. Seward
a year ago last March, and which was confessedly
made public without General Scott's authority.
The point of the letter was, that, in General Scott's
opinion, the wisest way for the new administration
was to say to those who threatened to rebel, " Way
ward sisters, depart in peace 1"
As to the letter itself, there are two things to be
said. One is that General Scott is a soldier and
not a statesman; and that hla advice, under tha
circumstances, was valuable solely so far as it con
cerned military operations. In his estimation at
that time, if the Government should think fit not
to surrender to a threat of rebellion, but should
think it worth while to toy to defend its existence,
a yonng and able general, with 800,000 disciplined
men, and $260,000,000, and with enormous waste
of life and property, would be essential, and, after
all, would do no good. General Scott's conviction
in March, 1861, therefore, as a soldier, was that the
Union could not be maintained by military force.
Whether the General had changed his.opinion in
July, 1861, does not appear.
The second thing to be said upon the letter is
that it by no means follows that a man's views are
the same now that they were upon the eve of Mr.
Lincoln's inauguration. Multitudes of the bravest
and best men in the army, who have relinquished
all to fight for the Government and the cause of
liberty under lo/w, who believe, with General Cor
coran, that it is an " aecursed rebellion," undoubt
edly held the views that General Ssott expresses
NOVEMBER 1, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 691
at the time tvhcn he wrote the letter. General
Corcoran himself was unquestionably of that opin
ion. But his earnest conviction now is that" none
but representatives pledged to a vigorous prosecu
tion of the war" should be sent to Congress. Gen
eral John Cochrane made a famous speech at Rich
mond in the early spring of 18G1. But General
Cochrane, late in" tho autumn of the same year,
declared for the most radical military mnasures
against rebellion.
Suppose that some politician should now quote
what General Corcoran probably said, and what
General Cochrane certainly said, at about the time
when General Scott's letter was written, as argu
ments for the surrender of the Government to the
rebellion, would it not be a final and crushing re
ply to point to the acts and words of those men
now ? What General Scott thought and said be
fore the rebellion cau not be fairly quoted as couu-
sel for surrender at this. The difference between
Mr. Seymour, in whose hehalf this letter was read
by Mr. Van Buren, and such Democrats as Gen
erals Corcoran and Cochrane, and Lew Wallace
and M'Clernand, and, probably, M'Clellau, is, that
although they hoped the rebellion might be avoid
ed, when it came they knew no party, no cause,
no hope, but its overwhelming suppresaiou; while
Mr. Seymour, who wished to surrender to it before
it had struck a blow, now wishes to yield to it aft
er it has slain unnumbered thousands of our best
and bravest. But the national disgrace which the
rebels could not effect, even with Mr. Seymour's
assistance, before they fired at the flag, they are
not likely to achieve, still with his assistance,
merely because they are smeared all over with the
blood of our brothers.
A LUDICROUS APPREHENSION.
THE apprehension which a few people seriously
felt, and which a great many politicians loudly
avowed as to the effect of the President's Procla
mation upon the army, was, in the nature of
things, utterly groundless. If an army is besieg
ing a city: if it has been before it for a year and a
half: if it has encountered the enemy in the most
sanguinary contests: if the hostility is intense
and the enemy's conduct barbarous: does any sane
man suppose that that army will become discon
tented and mutinous because it hears that the citj
has been mined, or that the enemy's supplies have
been cut off, and that they have beeu summoned
to surrender or to abide the consequences ? What
is the army there for? Is it not to compel by
brute force the surrender of the enemy ? Could a
man be heard for the loud laughter of the camp,
who should seriously ask whether it would not ex
asperate the enemy to mine their city and cut off
their supplies? Is it supposed that people can be
wounded, killed, and mangled by shot and shell
without exasperation upon their part ?
Yes, reply the objectors; but then yon see it
isn't constitutional.
What isn't constitutional ? Is it constitutional
to break the legs of rebels but not to kill them ?
Is it constitutional to march to subdue thenif but
not to make them pay the expense ? Is it consti
tutional to fight them with Columbiads but not
with Parrott guns? Is it constitutional to kill
them with canister but not with grape ? The con
stitutional way of making war upon rebels, and
the sole constitutional way, is to strike them every
where at once and with every means you can com
mand. You may blockade them and cut off all
their food and supplies. You may fight them in
battle and slay until they yield or retreat. You
may shell them from towns and forts and vessels.
You may withdraw from their service as many
men and hands as you can iuduce to .leave them.
Yon may destroy the aqueducts that carry water
iuto their cities, and the traius that carry bread
and salt. This is war. This is the argument of
brute force. When the rebels invited war they in
vited this. They are having it, and so are we.
But if we see and feel this what do the soldiers
feel ? They who have seen their comrades gashed
and torn and slaughtered; who have heard the
taunts of the enemy in the faces of our dying;
who have seen the rebels shooting our men as they
oarried water to their companions gaspiug in ag
ony; who have found the carved bones of their
friends and cronies in the camp of the rebels; and
who know that this hloody effort to destroy tbe
country, and to ruin all the safeguards of civil lib
erty, is made for no reason whatever but because
the aristocratic class in the country would not sub
mit to share the Government with the great mass
of the people who are working men?
It was simply ludicrous to suppose that the sol
diers would dislike a measure which not only
strikes the rebellion in its weakest part, but is also
the solution of the vital question from which the
rebellion sprang, and an act of justice peculiarly
fitting for Americans.
A PLEA FOR HONORABLE DISCHARGE.
THEBE is occasionally a plea for the release from
service of certain familiar quotations upon the
ground of utter exhaustion. They have done duty
beyond all reason. They have grown foolish and
flat. They are as appalling upon the page as bores
are in society. Utterly superannuated and stale
they should be gratefully dismissed.
There are certain phrases, likewise, which have
done constant dnty in this war for which common
charity demands honorable discharge. They mav
really have been of service at some time, but that
time is entirely past. The first phrase of the kind,
and the longest in active service, is this: "The
enemy greatly outnumbered us." This, it appears,
has been the case wherever we have met them. So
that the President upon being asked the actual
number of the rebels answered, "About twelve
hundred thousand;" and when the astounded in
quirer incredulously repeated the figures and be
sought an explanation, the President replied,
"Why, Sir, we have about four hundred thou
sand, and the reports after ever}' engagement in
form us that the enemy were three to our one; and
three times four are twelve."
Indulgent dismissal is also earnestly entreated
for the phrase, " We have completely surrounded
the enemy, and they will be bagged." The thing,
indsed, has never been done, but it is not from any
want of activity upon the part of the phrase. That,
indeed, had itself stoutly telegraphed from Virginia
and from the West It was not its fault if the facts
did not correspond. Tant pie pour let f aits. And
still another phrase, " We are perfectly prepared
to receive the enemy at all points." This is a most
gallaut and serene phrase. It take* charge of the
entire line of the war east and west. Those rebel
vermin, we constantly learn, are under our eyes.
They think they are'going to do a thing or two.
Never fsar. We have them in hand. We only
want them to come on; for we are prepared at all
points. To be sure they do come on. They ride
entirely around us. They put Cincinnati, Louis
ville, Pennsj-lvania into (begging pardon of the
fastidious!) the most awful " funk." They seize
whatever they want. They take •" the mayor and
council, monnt them on horses, and carry them off
as prisoners." They burn and ravage and receive
the surrender of quiet towns miles behind "all
points" of our lines. They " will probably repeat
in Gettysburg to-night their proceedings inCham-
bcrsburg." But our permanent telegraphic conso
lation-is, not that General Somebody's forces " ar
rived at the crossing just as they (the rebels) had
finished crossing," but that we are fully prepared
at all points. That is an immense satisfaction.
And we have been so fully prepared and waiting
and watching, that the very phrase is exhausted
and ought to have honorable discharge.
The constant rumors that the chief rebel generals
were killed in every battle; that the foe is utterly
routed; that the rebels are entirely demoralized;
that they have nothing to eat nor wear, may all be
true. But somehow the dead generals write re
ports, claim victories, and fight again. The routed
foe skips all round us and hits us once more. The
demoralized rebels do still shoot, and having no
thing to eat or wear, their commissariat must needs
be economical. Foolish old telegraph! if they are
so wretched, shoeless, hatless, and breadless, why do
we sit down on the Potomac and stare at them' for
a month and suddenly feel them in our rear? If
they are utterly demoralized and destitute, the
more shame to us that they are not long since
forced to surrender.
A little public charity is respectfully requested
for these tine phrases which have had their day, and
have done as much service as any feather in a gen
eral's hat or gold lace upon his coat. They are
fallen sick and indigent. They have no means of
earning further support. They should be honor
ably discharged and pensioned, upon the sole con
dition that they will .never try to return to service.
rebellion, compelled by the eminent peril of the
country, he rightfully and wisely assumed a power
which was clearly granted, but whose exercise was
not expressly assigned to any other Authority. Yet
he should then have instantly summoned Congress,
fresh from the people, to confirm the suspension
aud to define precisely the conditions under which,
and the authority by which, the power should
henceforth be exercised.
That was not iloue, but it should be the first duty
of the coming session. For it is, beyond all ques
tion, tire universal and profound conviction of the
country that the suspension of the writ is an act so
grave, although strictly constitutional, that only
the extreme and urgent peril of the state can jus
tify it: and then by the people as their represent
atives shall decree.
THE HABEAS CORPUS.
THE right of personal liberty is equally sacred
with the right of life. Its careful defense is the
foundation of free government. Its universal rec
ognition is the mark of progressive civilization.
The writ of habeas corpus is thus the great bulwark
of civil society. Its suspension is a matter so sol
emn and important as to require especial record;
and the eyes of a free people watch nothing more
jealously than the inviolability of that writ.
When our Constitution was framed the possibil
ity of the necessary suspension of the writ under
extreme circumstances occurred to the Conven
tion. In Mr. Plnckney's original draft of a plan
of government, which was the ground-work of the
present Constitution, he, proposed (May 28,1787):
"Nor shall the privilege of the writ of habeas cor
pus ever be suspended, except in cases of rebellion
and invasion." On the 20th of August he submit
ted certain propositions for the Committee of De
tail. Among them was this: " The privileges and
benefit of the writ of habeas corpus shall be enjoyed
in this Government in the most expeditious and
ample manner, and shall not be suspended by the
Legislature except upon the most urgent and press
ing occasions, and for a limited time] not exceed
ing —— months." In the final consideration of
the clause, upon the 28th of August, he urged the
sanctity of the writ in the strongest terms, and
moved that it should not be-suspended but on the
most urgent occasions, and then for a time not ex
ceeding twelve months. Mr. Rutledge thought it
ought to be absolutely inviolate—that its suspen
sion could never be necessary. Then Mr. Gouver-
neur Morris moved the clause as it now stands:
" The privilege of the writ of habeas corpus shall
not be suspended unless where, in cases of rebellion
or invasion, the public safety may require it."
So jealous was the Convention of the sanctity of
the writ that it agreed to the first part of the clause
as far as the word "unless," unanimously.. But
three out of the ten voting States (the Carolinas
and Georgia!) voted against the latter part.
Thus the privilege of suspension is granted in
terms. But the power by which it shall be sus
pended is not specified. In Mr. Pinckuey's orig
inal draft the clause occurs in the sixth article de
fining and limiting the powers of the Legislature.
And this particular paragraph is as follows: " The
Legislature of the United States shall pass no taw
on the subject of religion; nor touching or abridg
ing the liberty of the press; nor shall the privilege
of the writ of habeas corpus," etc. as already
quoted. So in the subsequent proposition to the
Committee of Detail, it is expressly stated, "shall
not be suspended by the Legislature," etc. And
in the Constitution as adopted, the suspension of
the writ is provided for in the ninth section, which
limits the power of Congress.
Thns the context of the Constitution, the English
tradition, where Parliament suspends, and the
whole spirit of our Government, give the power of
suspension to Congress. It certainly does not re
side in any Secretary more than in" a Secretary's
clerk, unless it may be exercised by every officer
of the Government, and by every body who chooses,
at his own risk. Yet in the great emergency which
threatened the President at the outbreak of the
THK POSTAGE CURRENCY.
SINCE we are of those who have called attention
to what seemed to be a repudiation by the Govern
ment of certain contracts in the shape of post-office
stamps, it h only fair to say that the postmaster
of New York has published an explanation of the
general order of the department to the effect that
only stamps so defaced that it is impossible to de
cide whether they have been used to pay postage or
not will be rejected. The result of the" order prac
tically will be that the uttsrly defaced stamps will
not be taken as change. But the trne remedy of
the difficulty is the adequate supply of paper-
change until the silver can be released from the
vaults, boxes, and old stockings into which it has
betaken itself.
HUMORS OF THE DAY.
A TOTOO lady of eighteen was engaged to be married
to a gentleman of thirty-six. Her mother having noticed
her low rpiriu for ronie time, inquired the reason. "Oh
dear, mamma," replied the young lady, '-I was thinking
about my husband being twice my age." "That's ver
true; but he's only thirty-six." "He's only thirty-vix
now, dear mamma; but when I'm sixty— "Well?1
" Oh dearl why, then he'll be a lauiirei. and twenty .'"
" The only way to look at a Udy'o faults," exclaimed a
snpergitllant, " la to shut your pycs,"
HoceEHOLTi TEF.ABtmEis.—\ treasure of a husband—
cariies the baby. A treasure of a wife—never asks fo
money. A treasure of a ion—has money in the funds
A treasure of a daughter—looks the «une age as her mo
ther ; if any thing, a trifle older. A treasure of a aervan
—runs to the post in less than half an hour. A treaeur
of a cook—le not hysterical whenever there is company to
dinner. A tnuxure of a haby—doesn't disturb his dea
papa in the middle of the night
A SOOTOH MINISTER "BONE."—In common with the rest
of the world. Dr. M——, an eminent Church of Scotland
divine, lately visited the International Exhibition. Short
ly Hfter his arrival In the metropolis an Irishman came
running to him In the street, crying, "Och, blesslne on
ye, Docther M——1 How are yerr' "I'm very well,"
replied the Doctor, rather dryly. "And when did yez
comr to London f" "Last week; but how do you come
to know met" "Give me a shilling and I'll tell yer."
The Doctor, curious to know how the fellow fouud his
name out, gave him the anilling, and was answered by
the Irishman, "Sure then and I saw your name on your
umbrella.*1
CONVERSATION.
Conversation Is but carving;
Give no more to every guest
Than he's able to digest.
Give him always of the prims.
And but little at a time;
Carve to all but just enough,
Let them neither starve nor stuff;
And, that you may have your due,
Let some neighbor carve for you.
A young lady, on returning from school in England to
her home In the East, wrote to her friends, "In Egypt I
saw Cleopatra'n needle, but I thought very little of It, I
assure you, after having seen the sewing-machine In Lon
don."
AIBT.— A correspondent write* to ask
bow much 'be waste of tune measures round.
Tm RIGHT Tmno in TTO WBONG Plies.— A love-let
ter written or a mourning sheet of paper.
The man who was "overflowing with the milk of hu
man kindness" kept the rream for his own use.
The new pill just Introduced Is an Infallible remedy for
melancholy. It le made up of fuu and fresh air, in equal
proportions, and Is to be taken with cold water three times
a day.
An editor says tbe only reason why hit house was not
blown away daring the late gals was because there was a
heavy mortgage upon it
A young lady in the city cays the reason she carries a
parasol Is that the nun Is of the masculine gender, and sb«
can not withstand bis glancea.
One of our city bakera has invented a new kind of
yeast, which makes bread so light that a pound loaf only
weighs twelve ounces.
What femule recluse Is that whose name, read back
ward and forward, Is the same?—Sun. What lady-like
designation Is that which Is spelled backward and forward
the eamef— Madam.: What time is that which spelled
backward and forward Is the same?—Aeon. What por
tion of a young lady's dress Is that which spelled back
ward and forward Id the aame f—Bib.
A village shop-keeper, on entering his shop one morn
ing, found his boy Bobby attempting to throw all sort* of
somersets, and kicking up as great a rumpiiB as a aeal in
a tub. "What are you about f he Inquired, looking as
tonished at the wild evolutions of the boy. "Obllgin1
Martha, Sir," replied the almost exhausted youth. " She's
writ me a letter, and at the bottom of the page Bays,
'Turn over and'oblige,' and I've been going It for moi"n
half an hour."
The pompons epitaph of a cicee-fisted citizen closed with
the following passage of Scripture: "He that glveth to
the poor lendeth to the Lord.'1 " Dat may be so," eolilo-
qulzed Sambo, "but when dat nmn died de Lord didn't
owe 'im a red cent."
WANTED TO KNOW.
If the teeth of a itorm ever bite; and if so, Is lightning
the result?
If a good view Is to be had from the top of UK morning?
If the man who did not know what to do ever got a job ?
If a bald-headed man cau be said to be hair-brained ?
If one man Is not as good as any other man?
" A gent" tapped a echool-boy on the shoulder, and
asked him "What lie had got behind turn?" to which the
boy answered, " A fool /"
DEACON DAY.—There was a deacon of a church of the
name of Day, by trade a cooper. One Sabbath morning
he heard a number of boys who were playing in front of
his house, and he went out to check the Sabbath profana
tion. Assuming • grave countenance, he said to them,
" Boys, do you remember what day this Is r " Yes, Sir,"
replied one of the boys, " Deacon Day, the cooper."
To make lager-bier (he following new recipe is given:
Take a barrel and fill It with rain-water, put In one pair
of old boots, a head of last fall's cabbage, two abort slice,
a sprig of wormwood, and a little yeast. Keep it for a
year, and then " dish out."
Bachelors are a much-abused class of persons; but Quilp
eays it Is much better to be laughed at for not being mar.
lied than to be unable to laugh yourself because you are.
A gentleman was threatening to beat a dog for barking
intolerably. "Why," exclaimed an Irishman, "would
you beat the poor dumb animal for waking out f
DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE.
RKCONNOISSANCEB ON THK POTOMAC.
ON 16th October, at 6 A.M., General Humphreyi'e divi
sion crowed at Blackford'a ford and advanced on fheperdi-
town, supported by General Porter's division. About tb«
B»me time a portion of Sunnier-» corps, consisting of part
of General Rkhardwn'n and General Sedgewick's divisions,
under commaud of General Hancock, advanced from Boli
var Height? along the road to Charlestovn, and met th«
enemy's pickets In force, supported by a battery, near
Halltown, driving them with artillery In, and following
them up toward Charlestown. which place our troopi occu
pied at noon. On 17th. the object of the reconnoluancM
having been accomplished, the arralw returned. Tlie
party under General Humphreys was followed by rebel
cavalry «nd artillery to within a short distance of Sheperds-
town, and one of our men was killed mid elx wounded.
We captured « number of prisoners, and It Is understood
that the rebels had between forty and fifty men killed and
wounded while disputing our advance.
THK CAMPAIGN IN KENTUCKY.
— No more battles bave taken place in Kentucky. General
Bragg is retreating toward the Cumberland Monnrahv, and
General Buell is following him. The dlntanre between the
two armies le Mid to be IT mtlea. Bragg has passed
through Crab Orchard.
MORGAN AT LIEXIKGTON.
Morgan, with fifteen hundred guerrilla*, captured Isl
ington on 18th. after a sharp fight with a email force of
National cavalry stationed there. He did not etav long,
however, but took the \ eivailles turnpike, on which, be
tween Versailles and Frankfort, he ««• suddenly met by
about 2500 of General Dnuiont'e cnvalrv and routed after a
short fight—his forcer being rendered1. It ID euppofed that
hp will endeavor to unite his scattered forces with Hum
phrey Marshall.
AFFAIRS AT NA8HVILI.K.
The followlug correspondence l« publlslied:
THE DEMAND.
HBAD-QUAKTM* Foiicn Bxroaa NAIUTIUB,
LATEBONK, Titw., Btptfmbtr, 1669.
To Brigadier-General Aegley, Commanding Form at
Xruhville:
SIR,—Having Btrongly Invested your position, we de
mand an immediate unconditional surrender of the city.
By order of MAJOR-GENBKAI. 8. R. ANPKRBOT.
Coimmutflinff Forc*e Before NMbrlll*
JAMES A. PAUL, A. A. A. G.
GENERAL KEOLEY©S REPLY-
HKAD-QL-ABTBBB UNITED STATK* FoRCtf.
KABHTIUI, Sylanttr 98, 1868.
Snt,—General Nrgley ir prepared and determined to
hold his position. JAB. A. LAWBIE, Captain and A. A. G.
No attack was made by tbe rebels, and General Negley
finding them in some force at Lavergne, fifteen miles from
the city, attacked them there and defeated them.
THE OCTOBER EMOTIONS.
The latest returns of the Pennrrlvania election indicate
that fifteen Union Congmymen are elected. The State
ticket IB still in dnnbt, but the chances are In favor of the
Democrats. The Legislature will have a Democratic House
and a Republican Senate, with a Democratic majority on
Joint ballot. J *
The Democrats have carried Ohio, and probably In
diana. Iowa sends six Republicans to Congress. Among
the members "dropped" are Vallandlgham, Pettlt, G. A.
Gro» of Pennsylvania, Bingham of Ohio, Hickman of
Pennsylvania, etc.
»O DBAFT IX UKI.AWARE.
It appears by the following orddP from the War Depart
ment that little Delaware baa raised her quota of troopi:
WAB DBPABTNBBT,
WjutinaTon CITT, 1). C., Oa. 10, UN.
Ordered, That, whereas tbe full quota of the State of
Delaware of volunteers and militia, called for by the Presi
dent on the 2d day of July, 1862, has, under authority of
tola Department, been raited by volunteers, tbe order for
a draft of militia from the State of Delaware la revoked'and
annulled. By order of THI PRESIDENT.
EDWIN M. STAHTON, Secretary of War.
There will be no draft In Illinois. In New York a draft
will take place on 10th November.
GBNBBAL JKFFKRSOX C. DAVI8 UKLBASEL).
General Jefferson C Dayls, on 14th, received an ordir
from the War Department releasing him from the arrest
under which he lias hitherto been confined since killing
Nelson, and, in military phrase, "enlarging his limits."
There are good reasons for believing that General Davli
will be at the head of hie command in the field again be
fore lone. He appeared on the Btreets the same afternoon,
for the first time since Nelson'6 death. ,.
FOREIGN NEWS.
ENGLAND.
THE EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION.
FBIBIDBKT LINCOLN'S emancipation proclamation ha*
been received in England. The London Times conriden
the State paper to be a " political concession to the Abolition-
let wing of the Republican party." The writer says that
' when the Union existed" the Constitution did not confer
he right to abolish blavsry either on the President alone
or on the President and Congress. Emancipation, it la
said. Is "a thunder-bolt placed In President Lincoln'*
hand* to destroy the whole social organization of the South
at a blow." The London Times thinks that the President
has no power to enforce "his decree," as "the North must
conquer every aquare mile of the South before It CM make
he proclamation of more effect than mere waste paper."
TUB VOICE OF THE FBOFLB OF ENGLAND.
c A meeting of working men wan lately hal at Staley-
bndge, QigUnd, having for its object "the promotion of
he recognition of the Confederate States of North America
as an independent nationality." by petitioning the Queen
and Parliament of England. The mayor of the town nre-
Ided over the organization. Mr. Maaoo ha\lng been In
vited to offer his opinion on the subject, did so by letter.
After recapitulating the accession arguments, Mr. Mason de
clares that the "separation from the United State* b final
>nd forever," and that" In no possible contingency—even
xiuld tbe war be continued to their extermination—can
hey (the Southern States) ever be restored to tbe repudi
ated Union." The speakers endeavored to pus a rewlu-
lon declaring that the sufferings of the British operative!
were caused By the action of the Union Government In con
tinuing to make war on tb* rebels; but the tradesmen and
pinners present at ouce rejected the proposition, and rc-
olved that their misery wa.> produced "by the extitrac*
fa rebellion again* the American Constitution."

€69 ['5981 'l S69

[NOVEMBEB 1, 1862.
NOVEMBER 1, 1862.J HARPER'S WEEKLY.
694
CAMP DICK ROBINSON.
WE publish on this page a view of CAMP DICK
ROBINSON, Outrun! County, Kentucky, a very fa
mous place, which has just been vacated by the
rebel army under Bragg and reoccupied by Union
troops. Our picture is from a sketcli by Mr. W.
T. R. Brown, of Cincinnati.
Camp Dick Robinson i§ sllnate about midway
between Cincinnatland Cumberland Gap, 126 miles
from the former place, 27 miles from, Lexington, and
8 miles east of Dnnvllle, the residence of the Kev.
R. J. Breckinrldge. It is on the Barm of the fa
mous Captain Dick Robinson, an uncompromising
Union man, and a very popular citizen of Ken
tucky. The camp is well known as having been
the first rallying-plabe for the Kentucky Unionists
and the rsfugees from Tennessee. Hither were
sent the arms furnished by Government to the
Union Home Guards of Kentucky, which have
formed the nucleus of the Union army in that
State; its importance la a military depot during
the first year of the war was second to that of no
other spot in the State. The late Major-General
Nelson was one of its early commanders; he may
be said, in fact, to have founded It. He always
loved the place, and after he was shot he ex
pressed a wish to be buried on the spot which had
been the scene of his patriotic endeavors to pre
serve his State in the Union. The rebels, in their
recent invasion of Kentucky, took possession of
Camp Dick Robinson, and rechristened it Camp
Breckinridge. They found but little there, how
ever, to reward them for the capture. Quite re
cently they evacuated the place with precipitation,
and the loyal residents believe that no flag but the
old Stars and Stripes will ever again float over
Camp Dick Robinson.
Our picture is taken from the southwest. Cap
tain Robinson's house is seen just over the tents, a
little to the left of the centre of the picture. The
road in front of the house, passing to the right of
the pictnre, Is the tnrnpike to Cumberland Gap,
along which Eragg's army lately skedaddled and
Buell followed in pursnit.
HE HAS GONE, AND I HAVE
SENT HIM!
HE has gone, and I have sent him!
Think yon I wonld bid him stay,
Leaving, craveu-like, to others
All the burden of the day?
All the burden? nay, the triumph!
Is it hard to understand
All the joy that thrills the hero
Battling for his native land?
He has gone, and I have sent him!
Could I keep him at ray side
While the brave old ship that bears us
Plunges in the perilous tide?
Nay, I blush bnt at the qnestion,
What am I, that I should chill
All bis brave and generous promptings
Captive to a woman's will?
He has gone, and I have sent him!
I have buckled on his sword,
I have bidden him strike for Freedom,
For his conntry, for the Lord!
As I marked his lofty bearing,
And the flush upon his cheek,
I have caught my heart rebelling
That my woman's arm is weak.
He has gone, and I have sent him!
Not without n thought of pain,
For I know the war's dread chances,
And we may not meet again.
Life itself is but a lending,
He that gave perchance may take;
If it be so, I will bear it
Meekly for my country's sake.
He has gone, and I have sent him!
This henceforward be my pride,
I have given my cherished darling
Freely to the righteons side.
I, with all a mother's weakness,
Hold him now without a flaw;
Yet when he returns I'll hail him
Twice as noble as before.
BUKIED ALIVE.
THOMAS AVHITMEAD, Joseph Anscombe, and
Henry Aldham lived at Stratford, in the county
of Wiltshire, in England, and worked a chalk-pit
on Salisbury Plain for their joint benefit. This
so-called pit was in the form of a crescent, the ex
cavation having been begun at the foot of a large
mound, so that the entrance should be on R level
with the adjoining plain. After the excavation
had been carried on for some time, they cut out a
chamber in the chalk for the purpose of shelter in
storms, and for holding tools, whBel-barrows, and
other things. On the 16th of April a terrific storm
arose, the wind blowiug with peculiar violence on
this plain, owing to its great extent and the few ob
stacles which exist there to impede its progress.
The rain fell in torrents, and the flashes of light
ning succeeded each other so rapidly that the air
seemed all ablaze. The three men sat down in
their nook to wait till the storm had passed over.
Whitmead and Anscombe struck a light and be
gan smoking, but Aldham, who was a man of an
unusually serious turn of mind, and much given
to the study of religious subjects, sat down a little
within the entrance, just out of reach of the driv
ing rain, and began reading the Pilgrim's Progress,
the numbers of which were left at the pit by a book-
hawker who crossed tho plain at regular intervals
during the year. Being asked by his pnrtners to
read aloud, he commenced with the account of
Christian's journey through the Valley of the
Shadow of Death. The exciting character of the
narrative, combined with the awe inspired by the
raging storm, caused the other two to listen with
such breathless interest that their pipes were for
gotten and the light died out. Just as Aldham
was reading the passage—" The flames would be
reaching toward him; also, he heard doleful voices
and rustlings to and fro, so that sometimes hs
thought he should be torn in pieces, or trodden
down like mire in the streets. This frightful sight
was seen, and these dreadful noises were heard by
him for several miles together; and coming to a
place where he thought he heard a company of
fiends coming forward to meet him, he stopped and
began to mnse what he had best to do"—a more
furious blast came, the howling and roarirfg of
which drowned the reader's voice, and almost over
powered the sonnd of the falling of a large fir-tree,
several of which grew within a few paces of the
top of the cave. This tree fell over the entrance,
and its matted roots tore np a large portion of the
earth which formed the roof of the cavern, and to
this circumstance the two men were probably in
debted for their escape from instant suffocation from
the consequence of what followed almost immedi
ately afterward. They were still trembling from the
fright when the lightning descended upon the fallen
tree, tearing it into fragments, and from thence psss-
ed into the earth, rending it, and causing the chalk
to fall into the cavern where they had sheltered
themselves, and burying them therein. Anscombe
and Whitmead being at the bottom of the excava
tion happened to be nnder that part of the surface
from which the earth had been torn up by the roots
of the tree, and were able to breathe with toler
able facility, thongh unable to extricate themselves
from the mass of chalk which surrounded them;
their position being still further aggravated by the
rain which, continning to pour without slackening
for some time, trickled through the mass and
streamed down their faces and saturated them to
the skin. After a night passed in this position,
during which they conld hear the groans of their
unfortunate companion, they* were rescued by their
fellow-villagers without other injuries than a few
bruises of no importance. As for poor Aldham his
case was much worse. Having been seated near
the entrance of the cave, nnder the roof from which
no portion of the earth had been removed, he had
been completely buried in the chalk, the pressure
being to some extent increased by the body of the
tree. To the circumstance that chalk fractures in
pieces and not in powder it was owing that he was
dug out alive; had it been earth he must have hetn
stifled. Though, however, he was yet alive when
he was placed on a hurdle and carried to his cot
tage, he received such severe internal injuries that
the doctor, who had been sent for in anticipation,
after a very brief examination, pronounced his
case hopeless. Still he lingered on day after day,
with the shadow of the hand of death on his face
and the point of his dart pressing against his breast.
Meanwhile his partners had recovered their health
and strength and were able to work again.
I have'now to relate a very extraordinary oc
currence which forms part of this painful history.
The three men whose names t have mentioned,
with ten others, formed a club, which combined
for numerous beneficial purposes. Their meetings
were held on a certain evening every week in a
little house in a garden belonging to a maltster,
who was one of the members of the club. The en
trance to this garden was through his house, or
through a door opening into the fields, of which
each member had a key. On the fifth evening
after the accident they were assembled as usual.
Some of them were smoking, and had jugs of beer
before them, hut all were unusually grave and
silent, for Whitmead and Anscombe, who were
present, had called on their suffering partner on
their way down and found him speechless and at
the point of death. While they were sitting thus,
expecting every instant to hear the passing-bell
tell of his soul's departure, the figure of their
friend, with no clothing except a shirt upon him,
appeared in the room. It looked about for an in
stant, and then sat down in a vacant chair near the
door. Not doubting that it was the apparition of
their friend, and not a being of fiesh and blood, no
one dared to speak. The figure sat still for eome
minutes without speaking, quite regardless of every
thing around, then repeating in a low monotonous
tone, "He hath turned the shadow of death into the
morning," it rose, glided noiselessly from the room,
and disappeared through the door opening into the
fields. It is not known, nor is it possible to form
an idea with any certainty, how many miiyites
elapsed before any of those present had so far re
covered their self-possession as to open the door and
look out; but when the}- did, the figure was not
visible, though the}' could see for some distance
along the path leading in the direction of Aldham's
house. After exchanging a. few remarks, Whit
mead, Anscombe, and another, named Jennings,
agreed to go to their friend's house and ascertain
his condition; bnt before they returned the tol'ing
of the church bell informed those who remained be
hind that Aldham had ceased to exist. The in
formation which the three brought back, was, that
Aldham had diedat twenty minntes past six o'clock;
upon which one of the party averred that this was
the very time when tho figure entered the room, as
he had his watch in his hand at the moment for the
purpose of showing his neighbor the time—an asser
tion which his neighbor confirmed.
695
-v
The narrative of Jacob Hirzig, a Jew, who was
buried alive iu a poisoned well.
In the year 5108, which in the European cal
endar is 1348, a Jewish physician named Balavig-
nus, who dwelt at Thonou, near Chillon, not hav
ing the fear of the Most Hoi}- One before his eyes,
did, nnder the influence of torture, he having been
racked several times, and being, moreover, threat
ened with other and more grievons torments, con
fess that he had received from"Kabbi Jacob Hirzig,
through the hands of a Jewish boy, a packet of
poison, which he was directed to throw into the
principal wells of the town in which he lived,
which injunction he had obeyed. This pretended
confession, which he made in the madness caused
hy intense suffering, was afterward read over to
him, and ho was made to swear to its truth on the
Law. Subsequently, while still insane, he con
fessed, or was said to have confessed, that ho had
thrown a portion of the poison into » certain well,
and that he had concealed another portion tied np
iu a piece of rag beneath the stones on the brink.
Being taken to this well, and compelled to search
among the stones, he, in the presence of the magis
trate and other of the mnnicipal authorities, drew
out a piece of rag, which on being opened was
found to contain a red and black powder mingled
together. The mob of Christians then present did
thereupon seize a certain renegade Jew, who had
departed from the religion of his forefathers, and
forcing the magistrate to put a small quantity of
the powder into a vessel, they filled it with water
and compelled the Jew to swallow it, who was im
mediately smitten with death and died in great
agony within an hour—a most just punishment for
hi! former apostasy. As for Balavignus he was
taken back to prisorl, and subsequently put to
death with great cruelty.
On the day following the said discovery of the
poison, in the evening, being the eve of the Sab
bath, and my wife, Esther, having just kindled the
lights, according to the custom of our people, the
magistrate of the town of Chillon, attended by his
officers, rode up to the door of my dwelling, dis-
monnted, and entered therein. They first seized
roe, and then bound my arms together behind my
back with great cruelty, so that the blood forced
:ts way beneath my nails and dropped from ilic
ends of my fingers to the ground. They next
searched every corner of my honse, trying by blows
and threats to make my wife and daughter, Rebec
ca, reveal the secret hiding-place in which I kept
my poisons. My heart was rent ut the sight of the
sufferings and indignities they were made to un
dergo, bnt I was powerless to help them, and I
could only beseech them to bear patiently the trials
to which they were subjected. After searching
every part of my house, and finding nothing of what
they were in search, I was dragged away to prison.
The next day the magistrate and other officials
came to me in my cell, and read to me the confes
sion of Balavignus, concerning which they put to
me many qnestions. I denied that I had sent any
poison to him, or had ever thought of so doing, or
that I had ever heard any of our people even speak
of such a thing. Finding that I continued firm in
My denial, and that t was prepared to swear on
the Five Books of Moses that I knew nothing of
any plot for poisoning the wells, I was ordered to
be racked till I should be tortured into making
confession of a falsehood. Four times were my
limbs torn asunder hy that hellish invention, till I
conld feel no longer, after which I was left for
eleven days on the fioor of my dungeon undisturbed.
On the twelfth day I was taken from prison to the
place of execution, to witness the murder of my
countryman, Solomon Chomer, a man of wonderful
knowledge, and greatly learned in the philosophy
of the Egyptians aud Chaldeans. He, too, had
been sentenced to die for the same crime witli which
I was charged, and I was placed near him to be a
witness of his sufferings. Together we called on
the God of our forefathers fd» fortitudej andj ven-
lyj the patience with whic^i he bore the cruel tor
tures to which he was subjected could only have
been born of insensibility. He was stretched on a
wheel, and after his arms and legs had been broken
in sundry places by the bar of l,he executioner, he
was unbound and laid on the ground, his body
folded back on his legs so that his head rested on
his heels. He was again questioned touching the
crime with which he was charged, but he gave no
answer; whereupon he was laid on the wood which
had been prepared for the purpose, the fire was kin
dled, and his spirit rose with the smoke which as-
ceuded from the pile.
I was beitlg taken hack to prison, my heart
quaking with fear at the doom that was before me,
when one cried " Let ns not suffer this Jew to es
cape ns," and another, "Let us throw him in the
well he poisoned for us." Then there was a great
cry, and much tumult, and I was taken from the
officers and dragged to a well outside the town iu
which the poison had been found and hurled there
in—the body of the apostate Jew, which had lain
there unburied, being cast down upon me. The
water reached above my shoulders when I stood
•pon my feet, and Iwas forced to stand on the tips
my toes to keep my mouth above water. Stand-
gthus, with my fiesh torn, bruised, and bleeding,
. heard the planks laid across the top of the well,
and stones thrown on these, and then all was si-
' lent, and I was left to die an agonizing.death. After
a while I felt that my feet were sinking deeper in
the sand and gravel, and I had to cling to the sides
of the well to keep myself from instant death.
I had been in this position several hours when
I heard a noise above me as though one were re
moving the stones, then n voice, which was that
of my wife, Esther, calling my name. My heart
leaped within me at the sound of her voice, and I
answered joyfully, upon which she bade mo be of
gtiod cheer. Presently she called again, and told
me to tie the rope she was letting down about my
body. I had much difficulty in doing this, because
I was forced to loosen my hold and suffer myself
to sink below the water till it forced itself beneath
my eyelids. I succeeded at last in tying the cord
tightly beneath my armpits, and was then drawn
up to the well's month, and laid on the grass by
my beloved wife and daughter. While I was slow
ly recovering the use of my limbs, which had been
much weakened by the torments I had undergone,
they occupied themselves in restoring the planks
and stones to their places. When this had been
done, we left the spot while it was yet dark, and I
hid myself in a tree in a wood near my honse, to
which place Rebecca brought me food. Our es
cape to Poland was accomplished with great diffi
culty and much suffering.
WHO MOST NEED OUR PITY?
OH ! pity those whose lifeless hearts
Have never ^n~»-n .•>. patriot's thrill;
Who, though they hnve a mind and will,
Lack courage now to net their parts.
Yes, pity them! fcr where the power
To rouse those feelings that remain,
If Liberty has called in vain
In this their Country's needful honr?
They can not feel (who stand aloof)
That glow of noble, inborn pride
For which men barter all beside,
And give the world their loyal proof.
Yes, pity them! the thronged Broadway,
Where selfishness and fashion meet—
The very stones beneath their feet
Might boast of hearts as well as they-.
SOLDIERS' DEAD-LETTERS.
"WHY not Write Dead Soldier*' Letters at
once ?" says a voice at my elbow.
Only ont of respect to the old logical rule re
quiring the perfect definition of a class to embrace
all the individuals composing it. It is a sad truth
that too many of these missives that have been
wandering about in the mail-bags are the letters,
and the last letters—the last written expression
of thought or wish—of men who hove dared to die
for their country. Many of these rough-looking,
soiled, and torn envelopes now lying in the Dead-
letter Office, after a fruitless journey in search of
friends to read their contents, are filled with .strange
tales of blood nnd battle, or breathe sentiments
that should stir the very soul of patriotism, and
fire the heart and nerve the arm of every man who
perils his life in the cause of his country's honor.
Outside, it is a shapeless and uninviting mass of
worn and crumpled envelopes, soiled with the dust
and. smoke of every camp and battle-field on the
continent; within, are the thoughts, wishes, last
words, and (lying prayers of those who have offer
ed their own lives to save the life of the nation.
Up to the last of August soldiers' letters, writ
ten from camps or head-quarfera, and containing
no valuable inclosure", when returned from the lo
cal post-offices to the Dead-letter Office because
they were "not called for," have been destroyed,
because they could not, like ordinary letters, be
returned to the writers. Armies are always upon
the move, and the ten or twelve weeks that must
expire between the date of a soldier's letter in cam p
and its return to Washington as a " dead-letter"
render any attempt to place it again in the hands
of the writer as impossible as it is useless. The
Department having once sent the letter to its place
of destination, and advertised it there, has no legal
authority to incur further trouble or expsnse in
the matter. Hence the practice that obtained in
the opening-room of the Dead-letter Office, of throw
ing into the waste-basket all "dead-letters" con
taining no valuable inclosnre, which had been writ
ten by soldiers from camps or head-quarters. As
the war progressed and great battles were fought,
consecrating in history such names as Pea Ridge,
Fort Donelson, Shiloh, Fair Oaks, and Malvern
Hill, and marking the boundaries of each field of
bloody strife with the tumuli of buried heroes, it
came to be noticed that many* of the soldiers' let
ters, written upon the eve or at the close of these
fierce struggles for a nation's life, contained matter
of the gravest interest to the friends and relatives
at home. Some of these lost missives, containing
the words of father, brother, son, or husband, who
had gone'down in the storm of battle, or survived
to tell the fate of other martyrs in the holy cause,
and which had failed in the first effort to place
them in the hands of the persons addressed, were
rightly conceived to be of as much importance to
the soldiers' friends as the letter inclosing a part
of his pay to the wife and little ones at home.
The snbject having attracted the attention of
Mr. Zevely, the Third Assistant Postmaster-Gen
eral, who has charge of the Dead-letter Office,
and whose hand is as open as his heart is warm in
the canse of aiding the soldier in the field and his
family at home, he at once determined to have
this class of dead-letters examined by a competent
clerk, and all that were likely to be of interest or
importance again forwarded to the post-offices orig
inally addressed. As the law authorized no addi
tional expense for such an enterprise, one of the
clerks volunteered to perform the work ont ofoffice-
honrs; and so a second effort is being made to get
these soldiers' letters into the hands of their friends.
An interview with the clerk who spends his
evenings and mornings in this work bronght me
to a knowledge of the enterprise, and I write this
sketch with the purpose of bringing the matter to
public notice, and thus to aid in getting these lost
letters into the hands of those for whom they were
intended.
I learn from the gentleman who has charge of
the work that four or five hundred letters a day of
this class come into the Dead-letter Office. As
they are opened, all soldiers' letters containing no
valuable iuclosnre are placed in his hands, and
after office-hours he proceeds to examine them,
and select such as can be again sent to the local
post-offices with some prospect of reaching the par
ties addressed. Each letter thus re-sent is entered
upon a blank form addressed to the postmaster,
nnd charging him to use "all diligence to secure
its delivery." This form contains not only the
name of the person addressed on the envelope, but
the name of the writer and of the place where the
letter was dated. This schedule, or catalogue of
letters, is to be conspicuously posted for one month,
and any letters upon it that are not delivered in
that time are to be returned to the Dead-letter Of- 1
fice at Washington, to be destroyed. The whole
thing is a work of grace on the part of the Post-
master-Gener.il, there being no charge made for
the second transportation of the letters or their de
livery at the local post-officer. This being the
case, it is proper to f d, for the benefit of the De
partment, nml to s ve people from unnecessary
trouble, that it is c ite useless to address inquiries
to any one in Hi' General Post-oflice respecting
letters of this description. No record is kept of
them, and those not re-sent are immediately de
stroyed. Any one looking for such a letter, known
to have been advertised at a local post-office and
returned as " dead'' to Washington, should watrh
the posted catalogue of " Soldiers' letters," which,
for the smaller offices, is forwarded at the close of
each month, and once a week or fortnight to the
large city offices.
Witli a proper care not to violate the confidence
and privacy peculiarly strict in this office, I have
been allowed to notice the character of some of
these letters. Here is one written by T. F. H.,
Lieutenant-Colonel Fifth Ohio Ca\alry, and very
fully and carefully directed, yet it has failed to
reach its destination; and lest a second effort should
prove as fruitless as the first, 1 am permitted to
mnke an extract, in the hope that it may reach the
eyes of the bereaved parents. The letter is written
from Zanesville, Ohio, nnder date of May 27th, and
addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Elliott, Baley ville, near
Minneapolis, Minnesota, and reads thus:
the ci cuing of Monday, April 7, 1S62,
abont five o'clock, after my regiment had been halted in
its pursuit of the fleeing horded of rebels, I rode slowly
nround the field, meditating ou the result of that bloody
action [Shiloh], and observing the effect of the " bolts of
war" on tbe dead bodies which covered the ground. Va
rious we -e tbe attitude* and expressions of the fallen
heroes- yet ae I rode along one smooth-faced Lid, whose
fcatur . were lit up by a smile, BO attracted and riveted
my fi tention as to cause me to dismount and examine
him. lUs uniform wan neat as an old soldier's, bis brf •
tons polished, his person clean, his hair well combed, ly
Ing squarely on Ins back, blti fuce toward the enemy
his wounds in front, from which the last life-drops weru
slowly ebbing, his bunds cixwsed on his breast, and H
peaceful, heavenly smile renting on hie marble features.
I almost envied bin fat* as I thought,
" How rleep the brave who liuk to test,
D.V nil their country'! wn&ei Malt'
R.v fairy hands their knell iff rung,
By fornm uuw en their dlriga U ming;
lju! Honor ronw, a pilgrim gray.
To hleai the turf lhat wraiH their clav.
And Freedom shall a lyliifc repair
To dwell a weepinc hermit there 1"
I asked the by-etimderc who tlmt lad was. So one conld
tell. Hoping to find pome mark on bis clothing by which
I could distinguish him, T unbuttoned hut roundabout, and
in the breast pocket found a IliMe, on the fly-leif of whlrlt
was an inscription by hi* mother to "John Elllott." In
the same pocket was a letter from his mother, and one he
had written to his uncle, both dabbled with blood. Pleased
with getting these data from uhlrlt to trncc IIH family, I
determined to preserve th» Bible and letters nnd send them
to you. I hn\e since regretted that I did not examine nil
hli pockets and save whatcicr may have been In them:
but my time was ehort, and I felt that tbe Bible he had
ea faithfully carried would be trea«nre enoiiifh fur yon, nnd
in the buriy of the moment I did not think to look for nny
thing else. lib remains received decent sepnltnre thet
night, nnd he row sleeps in a soldier's grave.
And now, my dear friends, I would have written to you
weeks ngo, but was long sick iu camp, van sent to Ohio
low with fever, nnd am but just able to begin to sit up.
Yon hnve doubtless wept over your dead boy. No hu
man sympathy could assuage your grief. Yet He wbo
guides and governs the universe of man and matter, I
doubt not, hn-i thrown around you " everlasting arms,"
and enpported your faint, bereft, and bleeding hearts.
After a while, wheu time shall hnve healed the wounds
that war has inflicted, It will be a heritage of glory for you
to reflect that your boy died in the cause of human right*
nnd to save the life of a great uation; and you can with
righteous pride boa»t Hint he fell In the thicken of the
fight, irith dead rebels all around him, his face to the foe,
and in the "very forefront of the battle."
He died a young hero nnd mnrtyr in the holy cause of
freedom, and Fllj.ih riding up the heaiens in u chariot of
fire had not a prouder entrance to the Celestial City than
your boy. Let your heart! rejoice that there li one more
waiting to welcome you back to the "shining shore."
Here is a brief extract from the letter of a sur
geon on the Peninsula to a friend at home:
Almost the first one I came to was our poor little friend
Dick, tbe bright-eyed but pile-faced drummer boy, who
broke from the warm embrace of his mother and rushed
into the wild utorm of war nt the first cnll to arms. He
wns still alive, nnd able to speak in a low voice. I
raised his h>ad and gave him some Muter. He smiled his
thank", and paid, "Doctor, tell mother I wam't afraid to
die. Tell brother Jimmy he can hnve my pony; nnd Sis
can have nil my books; nnd they mustn't cry about, me,
for I think I have done right. And take the drum to
them; and bury this little flag u ith me—and that's all 1"
And that was all; and a moment afterward the spirit of
the youug hero went np to heaveu.
Here is a letter from a wife to her husband in
the Peninsular army. It arrived two late, and is
on its way back to the writer, with the simple in
dorsement on the envelope, by an officer of his reg
iment : " Was killed yesterday in the battle of
Malvern Hill."
These are a few examples of \vhat may be found
in the "Soldiers' Dead-letters;" and if local post
masters will manifest the same disposition exhib
ited in the action of the Department at Washing
ton, thousands of these lost epistles will find their
way to the rightful owners, and serve to comfort
and console many a bereaved and breaking heart
field, and along the right base the tortuous ro-:...
In fruit of the enemy's right there Is a narrow valley of
men dow-land, after descending which jou come iuto n.
skirt woods. Facing the enemy's centre there wu a corn
field, which extended, a little broken, for several hundred
yard back to the woods. Facing the stone fence Is a stretch
of mirte land, gently sloping parallel with the fence to the
woodf. Behind the fence there is heavy timber. The
rebels were commanded by their chosen and favorite gen
erals. Bragg was on the field in person, and assumed
general command. Btickner led the centre, Hardee the
right, and Polk the left wing. -General Cbeatham bad
the reserve, while General Brown and a host of other Brig-
nilien cheered and led on their commands. This General
Brown is the eame Colonel Brown who commanded the
Third Tennessee Regiment at Fort Donelsnn, and who,
«ith Jliiokner, surrendered, and served a t«rm at Fort
Warren. Since his exchange he has received a Brigadier-
General's commission. He Is, I believe, a nephew of Niel
S. Brown, of Tennessee. So much for tbe position of the
enemy. Now let us look at enr own.
The appi-oncli of Gilbert's Corps, with M-Cook, ROMMU,
and Mltchell, vea well knov n to tjie rebels. Our men had
made forced larches through heat and dust, over a rough
road, and 'Ji/ough a country utterly destitute of water.
Their arrlr.il in the morning was hailed by a shell from
the enemy'., battery. Notwithstanding the formidable
array b:1 re us, and notwithstanding the advaptages of
position the enemy had, our men prepared for action.
Harris' buttery «as planted on our left, Loomla's on the
right, -.ith Faraon's and Slmonton's between the two.
M*Cor1 w
THE BATTLE OF PERRYVILLE.
ON page 689 we give a picture of the little town
of PEBBYVII.LE, KENTUCKY, where M'Cook fought
the rebel army on 8th; and on page 700 n picture
of THE BATTLE ; both from sketches by our special
artist, Mr. H. Mosler. Ferry villc is n small place
of about oOO inhabitants. It is now entirely evac
uated by the residents, and several of the houses
have been destroyed by Ufe shells. Of the battle a
Times correspondent gives the following account:
When M'Couk and Rousseau appeared before the tonii
they found the immcne'u forces of the enemy most nA\ uu-
tageously posted to meet them. The rebels were posted
on a long range of hills, extending in a crescent form from
north to west, the termini of the crescent being almost
due north and due weet, with Its Inner centre precisely
northwest. Tills semicircular range of hills formed their
advance, and on these liilhi the rebel generals exhorted
their soldiers to dye tbeir colors deep in the blood of the
enemy rather than surrender them. There hills arc about
a mile and a half from Fcrryvllle. Behind this range of
hills, and between them and the Big Spring, there are two
other high hills, along the left base of Which la a corn- I thousand strong.
was chief In command on the field, and Rousseau
Beco1 -'. General Jackson, with bis brigade, wu posted on
tin .-ft, Ruineaii In the centre, while the right was led 1'v
G -ral Mitchell. We opened upon the rebels at I o'clock
• .•, on the Stli. The most »>nKuinary battle of the war
Wimenced. The ei|emy opened all their batteries upon
.'. Soon the whole rebel artillery let their gune loose upon
ig. Tlie hills shook to their base, as one livid sheet of
'lame poured across them. Shell would whiz through the
air, fall nt the point of their aim and burst, dealing death
all nronnd. Solid shot went screaming across the field,
cutting great gap.i through the ranks. Mingling with the
terrific roar of cannon, now the shrill hiss, of grape and
canister, thinning out tbe troops—literally mowing them
down, mid piling them in mangled swaths over the field
and across the hills. Next come the crasb of musketry,
quick, loud, and Incessant. The nolie of these guns blend
ed with that of the artillery In tumultuous roar. Never*
perhftpi?, was there a battle fought at BO short a range, and
never were fires so murderous and destructive. The battle
commenced at 1 o'clock and had reached its height at 3.
1'or an hour now it was a succession of advances and re
pulses, first one «lde advancing and tben falling back be
fore their infuriated pursuers. Ou the right a desperate
attempt was made to flank the reinforcing'columns of
M'Cook, which waB for R time partially mcceuful, acme
of the new regiments wavering and staggering under tbe
galling cixw-fire* poured upon them. The scene was ter-
riflc. Dense smoke rolled all over the field, while tbe hill*
were literally enveloped in sheets of fire. The thunder of
eannon and the crash ot musketry can bs compared to no
thing I have ever heard. The simultaneous falling and
splitting of a thousand forest trees might perhaps be srnne-
tliinj like it.
Hiirris'ri Battery which, as stated, was posted .on our
right, poured grape and canister into the rauks of the ad
vancing rebels, and literally paved the elope with their
dead bodies Yet, on and on come thess fierce rebels,
over hca|iOTr dead of their own, to within forty yarde of
that dcath-d? uling battery. Again and again would they
recoil irith decimated ranks from the terrible machines of
death. Hotel rained yet to take that battery, they charged
down the slope and through the hollow, diagonally across,
from toward the. centre, nnd there one of the regiments
fupportinc it fell into confusion. Still the battery main
tained its uround, right in the face of fearful odds; and
again the rebels were driven back with fearful slaughter.
Parson's. Hatter}', to the right of Harris's, in the mean
time had been dealing destruction in the ranks of the foe.
The enemy, in overwhelming numbers, and with determ
ined exasperation, closed in upon this battery and suc
ceeded in capturing it. They subsequently eplked the gnu
und cut. the wagon-wheels to pieces. In taking this bat
tery the rebels lost fearfully, our men fighting like heroes
against their superior advance. In the early part of the
action, Genernl James P. Jackson was killed. He wa*
coolly giving some order on the left. He and General
Itoussean bad been iu conversation. Rousseau turned to
ward the centre, nnd Jackson deliberately lighted a cigar;
just us he hud lighted it, n ball from the enemy struck
him, killing him almost instantly, fcckson was a mem
ber of the National Congress from the Second District of
Kentucky. He resigned his seat to draw his i
Constitutional liberty. The nfttlon monrna no I
trlot; the array uo braverjojdier. About this time, ajio,
Colonel Terrell, one of tHpravest and meat ikillful offi
cers of the service, fell mortally wounded, while engaged
in pointing a battery under fire of tbe enemy. The First
Wisconsin, Colonel Starkweather, had engaged tbe First
Tennessee rebel regiment on the left, and warm work was
going on. The ground was sharply and gallantly con
tented for houiF, with apparently no decisive results, the
fire of the Firrt AViscon^in thinning the ranks of the enemy
at eiery round.
The Twenty-third Indiana, toward the centre, covered
itself with honors. Their flag was planted near the centre
ot tin: field, und the regiment was raked by the crescent-
pimped batterie: and ciw-flres from tbe rebebt. Their
ammunition gave ont, and they heroically threw them
selves upon their faces, the balls of the enemy passing over
them in .1 perfect shower. This regiment suffered severe
ly, one-third of it- men being killed or disabled. Thair
flag wns riddled into strings and Phrcds, and Its staff
splintered by the enemy's bullets. Yi t they kept it war-
iug. and preserve its torn fragment* as a memorial of their
bravery upon that bloody day. M*Cook and Ronsseau both
pronounced this n much more hotly-contested fight, and
the fires much ecverer Hum they were at nny time at
Shilob. The Twenty-third Indiana was now happily re
lieved. Farther to the right the immortal Tenth Ohio, of
the Scienteenlh Bilgide, nnder Colonel Lytle, who wai
Acting Brigadier, stood tbelr ground firmly for hours In a
perfei-t ruin-storm of shot and shell. At length their lead
er, the high-ponied and heroic I*ytle, fell dangerously
Hounded. The Tenth Ohio was now withdrawn. Tbe
battcrv of CapUIn Loomts, which had all day piled the en
emy in heaps, was now threatened by the enemy, who were
throwing their dense columns forward with a view of sur
rounding and rapturing It. The battery was withdrawn
toward the wood, bnt continued to hurl its leaden death-
messages at the enemy. A p»rt of Gilbert's command
now came superbly into action on the left, driving the en
emy before them, though suffering heavily from the fire
poured upon them from the stone fence. General Webster
was in the mean time killed, us was also Colonel Jouett, of
the Fifteenth Kentucky. The first advantage gained by
the enemy in the centre was by one of those acts of perfidy
which thrj have nevet been slow to exhibit. A rebel
Colonel, with National tinVorm on, advanced along to the
centre, where the brave Indianhuu were exposed, and
shouted, " Hurrah for the old Header boys I" He was met
as n comrade, and by deception £he rebels were permitted
to advance to within a few yards of our men. A most
unexpected and murderous fire was poured upon us from
two aides, without our regiment even returning it. The
Indiana boys were of course stunned and thrown into tem
porary confusion. The battle having raged fiercely now
for five hours, and the men being exhausted with slaugh
ter, just M night began to conceal the field of death and
of blood, the combatants ceased their awful wot*. Our
troops, fell bock a ehort distance under cover of the woods,
worn and exhausted with tluir hot day's work. A port loft
of the rebels held possession of the larger part of the bat
tle-field. We had but twelve thousand troops on the field,
which contended with the combined rebel force?, fully forty

GD6 HARPER'S WEEKLY.
THE REBEL RAID INTO PENNSYLVANIA—STUART'S CAVALRY ON THEIR WAY TO THE POTOMAC.—SKETCHED NEAB POOUSSVILUS, MARYLAND, BY MK. A. R. WAUD.—[SEE PAGE C98.]
697

698 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 1, 1862.'
THE REBEL RAID IN MARY
LAND.
Ox pages 696 and 697 we uuodnce a sketch, by
Mr. A. R. Waud, representing STUART'S BFBEL
CAVALRY on the Poolesville Road, returning from
their recent raid. On page 693 we publish three
more pictures on the same anhject, from sketches
by Mr. Bavin. One of these shows tha quiet little
•town of CBAMBERSBCRO, -which surrendered to the
rebels on their approach. They spent the night
there, and finding a large quantity of soldiers'
clothing in one of the stores, helped themselves to it
freely. One of Mr. Davls's pictures shows us the
rebels casting off their tattered and filthy butter
nut attire, and equipping themselvea in the com
fortable costumes provided for our soldiers. In the
morning they fired the railway buildings and a
large store-honse containing a quantity of Govern
ment stores, including the ammunition lately cap-
tnred from Longstreet. This forms the subject of
Mr. Davis's third picture.
This rebel raid—during which some 2000 cavalry
completely " circumnavigated" the whole of the
army of the Fotomac, crossing the river above our
right, passing through Chamberaburg, making a
complete circuit behind M'Clellan, anil finally re
turning into Virginia below our left, without losing
a doien men in the operation—is one of the most
surprising feats of the war. The rebels begged
s large quantity of clothing, boots, and arms; they
likewise carried off some 500 horses. Some author
ities estimate the property destroyed and seized by
them at $800,000. The following account of the
marauders is published in the Washington Star :
A man who arrived hen this morning from near C'on-
nd'i Ferry steles, that he wan in the presence of General
Stuart a few minute* before he crossed the river with his
marauding force In retreat from Pennsylvania. Stuart In
formed him, In a sarcastic manner, be had fooled the whole
party, bnt regretted be had not accomplished what was In
tended when he started, aa he was expected to reach Fred
erick, Maryland, destroying the Government store* at that
point, then destroying the bridge over the Monocacy then
but that all things taken Into consideration, he had carried
out hia programme with much success. StuarVa men and
Dorses looked extremely exhausted, but the former were in
Ugh else, aud from the looks of the clothing on their bones,
and that which thay had on their persons, and that which
they bad tied on their extn stolen homes, which numbered
about 1000, a change would be very acceptable, especially
•hoes and boots, of which they had a large quantity. Gen
eral Stuart sent his complimente to a number of United
Stales offlcen with whom he was acquainted In old tunes.
The Herald correspondent at Frederick thus
speaks of their escape:
The termination of the rebel cavalry raid did not result
in their capture, or any considerable portion of them, as
bad been hoped.
The cavalry force under General Pleaaanton, which
paued through this city at daylight on Sunday moraine;,
reached the vicinity of Pcolesvillc a short time before the
main body of the rebels. Both men and horses had had a
very bard Jaunt, the men having been in the aaddle end
on the road almost constantly from the time the fact of the
rebels having crossed the river became known, conseauent-
ly neither of them were in condition to render as efficient
service as they otherwise might.
The rebels soon made their appearance, and posted one
gun on a bin, so placed as to cover their passage. Our
battery was placed in position, and an attempt made to
silence this gin. The firing was kept up at Intervals for
about three houn, without, as far as Is known, doing any
damage to either side.
It Is said that no attempt was made to fire upon the cav
alry while they were crossing the river, which might easi
ly have been done, neither was there any attempt made
to charge upon them by our cavalry and repulse them.
This can only be accounted for upon the supposition that
the horses were too much exhausted to warrant such an
attempt. Upon any other hypothesis the conduct of our
cavalry would seem to have been meet disgraceful to them
selves and the service.
Persons who were present and saw the affair, state that
the rebel gun was supported only by abont twenty cavalry
Dim.
Tae crossing occupied some three or four honn, and from
first to last met with no serious opposition. The rebels
went on their way with their plunder, no doubt surprised
as wall as rejoicing at having escaped so easily. There
was, in fact, nothing which could be called even a akirm-
bh, and but for the artillery practice obtained onr troops
might es well have been at Harper's Ferry.
THE WAYSIDE HOUSE.
THC traveler who passes along the H—— road
can hardly fall to remark a house of most melan
choly appearance on hia right. Nothing cheers
that dreary old house, sinking deeper year by year
into decay and desolation. The glass is gone from
every window, and there are boards nailed across
the openings. Where the stucco has not fallen
away it is stained with mould, or hidden *ivith a
growth of yellow lichen. Nature has tried to do
her gracious part, and made a few grasses spring
even on the highest window-sills, and a little ivy
creep abont the walls, bnt she has only enhanced
the general sadness.
Many, many years ago, In that bay window,
now almost hidden by the tangled boughs, a father
and daughter lingered over the breakfast-table.
It was late in the summer, and the shadow of thick
leaves made a shelter from the sun, while the air
wes heavy with perfume from the well-kept flower
beds. There was an air of comfort and even of
wealth abont every thing, from the chased silver
and exquisite china on the table to the rich dress
of the young lady. The dark silken folds fell like
the robes of a queen round her tall figure, and ac
corded well with the stately beauty of her face
and head. The dark hair smoothly braided, the
deeply-set eyes with their heavy fringes, the short
upper lip and well-developed chin, the finely-
moulded throat set off by the lace collar and knot
of rose-color, the rich glow that pervaded cheek
and lip, all combined to make Honoria Calvert a
beautiful woman. Her father certainly thought
her so as he watched her pouring out his tea with
a grace and dignity that might have beseemed an
empress.
"Did I tell you I met an old friend yeeterday,
Honoria ?" asked Mr. Calvert
"No, Sir; who was it?"
" I hardly know whether yon can recollect him,
it is so long ago; bnt he was a p npil of old Brown's
when we lived at Hnndon, and he bometim.es dined
with us on Sundays. You were bnt five or six
yean old, and he was a great lad of rixteen. Bis
name 10 Benham."
" Oh yes, I remember him," answered Honoria,
with a smile; "Archer Benham used to swing me
and let me ride on his shoulder. He was a merry,
good-natured hoy."
" Well, he seems a pleasant yonng man enough,"
said Mr. Calvert, " and I told him we should be
happy to see him here. If he should call this aft
ernoon, ask him to stay and dine. I will bring
Ellis back with me to make a fourth."
Honoria bowed assent—she was usually chary
of her words—but she looked pleased, for she had
an agreeable recollection of her old play-fellow, and
she liked society and amusement. After luncheon
she opened one of Beethoven's sonatas, and labored
vigorously at its complicated chords and chromat
ic runs, appreciating and enjoying the difficulty,
though she missed the beauty.
"Well done!" exclaimed a manly voice, when
at length .she paused for a little rest; and turning
round, she saw a gentleman, whom she easily guess
ed to be Mr. Benham.
"Pray forgive me," he said, "I am afraid I
startled you. I was duly announced, but your
grand music drowned my humble name."
She held out her hand and gave him v elcome.
" I think I should have known you," she said,
looking steadily into his face; " you are very little
altered, only older and taller."
He shook back his light brown hair and twirled
his mustache with an air of good-humored self-
complacency, and then said,
"I hardly think I should have known you."
"I was so much younger," Honoria replied,
turning away with n slight blush at the compli
ment his looks implied. He soon glided into a
subject less personal, and when Mr. Calvert re
turned, bringing his old friend Mr. Ellis, he found
the young pair strolling side by side in the shrub
bery, as amicably as they might have done in those
old days of which they had been spcakUlg, when
Honoria was six years old.
The evening passed away cheerfully. Mr. Ellis,
who held a confidential situation in the banking-
house in which Mr. Calvert was a partner, was
sensible and well-bred; and while be talked poli
tics with his employer the young people discussed
themes more interesting. There was music, too,
to beguile the time. Mr. Benham had a rich ten
or voice, and though Honoria could not sing, she
could accompany him brilliantly. She could talk
of poetry also, more eloquently, perhaps, than if
she had felt it more deeply. Certain it is that, as
Archer Benham rode slowly home, his thoughts
were busy with Honoria's image.
" She is a glorious creature to look at," he said,
half aloud, " and the father's a gentlemanly fellow
enongh. Now every body is out of town, it won't
be a had thing to ride this way occasionally. I
shouldn't like to offend her, but how splendid she
would look in a rage!"
Such were his reflections; hut with Honoria life
was a more serious matter. She had enjoyed that
evening's conversation; she had uttered more of
what was really in her heart than she was accus
tomed to do; her imagination had been warmed
and excited by her companion's descriptions of for
eign travel, and her ear charmed by the rich tone*
of his voice.
" That's a pleasing yonng man," remarked her
father; "you seemed to like him, Honoria, and I
hope he will come again. He sings well, doesn't
he? Tin no judge."
Honoria ignored the question, gave her father
his nightly kiss, and retired to her chamber. She
shut her door on the outer world, extinguished her
taper, and went to the open window, leaning out
to gaze over the quiet meadow-land sleeping in the
moonlight. There was a half-smile on her lips as
she murmured,
" Have I met my fate to-day ? I could almost
think so. Ail was yesterday so stagnant, so dull,
and now— Why is it all so changed ?"
Days, weeks, and months passed on, and Archer
Benham's frequent visits had become matters of
course. Very commonly Honoria rode toward
London in the afternoon to meet her father, and
she had learned now to be surprised when he was
alone. She was a noble figure on horseback, and
Archer had one day playfully given her the title
of "Empress," by which he now commonly ad
dressed her. Mr. Calvert observed all that passed,
and made no objection. The young man was a
clerk in the Foreign Office, with a small sslary;
but he was nephew and heir to Sir Archer Benham,
of Benham Hall, in Norfolk, and therefore a vary
eligible match, even for the stately Honoria. As
yst he never spoke of love; but his attentions
could be construed into only one meaning, aud Mr.
Calvert complacently awaited lie event, ready to
give his consent and blessing when the proper'mo
ment should arrive.
Meantime how was it with Honoria herself?
She was living in a dream of happiness, which she
would not pause to analyze. Enough to know,
when she rose in the morning, that she should see
him ere nightfall; or, if he came not, enough to
think of all he said in their last ride, or in the twi
light stroll in the shrubbery, or—as autumn waned
—at the fireside, or by the piano. Enough to think
out long trains of reasoning suggested by some
slight remark of his, and to look out over the broad
meadows, and know he would soon return. For
on that summer Jay when Archer lienham first
came to the old house Honoria had " met her fate,"
and now she smiled to feel that it was so.
Did he love her? She never asked herself the
question; but it sometimes occurred to Archer him
self, and received a doubtful sort of reply. He
liked her society—her conversation always so ani
mated with him; her beauty so brightened and
almost glorified by her present happiness. He
migh^, he thought, be drifting on toward matri
mony; u to, well and good. It did not much
matter; bnt, at all events, she was handsome
enough for an empress, and clever enough too, and
no doubt her father would give her a good portion;
eo, if she should take a fancy to him, why, all par
ties wonld be very well pleased.
So time passed on, and Christmas was coming
near. One evening Mr. Calvert had brought Arch
er in his carriage from London to make one of an
unusually large dinner-party. Honoria came down
with her father just before the other gnests arrived,
and Archer started from his seat to receive her.
She never dressed liko others of her age, but in a
picturesque style of her own, and on this occasion
she wore ruby-colored velvet, with a coronet of
chased gold beads on her head.
" You are glorious to-night, Empress!" exclaim
ed Archer; "allow me to tender my homage. I
can not greet yon as an ordinary mortal;" and he
knelt on one knee and kissed her hand. Her fa
ther smiled, and, turning her toward the light,
said, "Well, you are very handsome to-night, my
dear, though I say it."
"Thank you, papa; it is something to get a
compliment from you," said Honoria; and then, to
change the subject, she asked if he had read the
letter she had put in his room.
" Susie's letter do you mean ? Yes. Little dar
ling, how glad I shall be to see her at home again!"
" And who may Susie be ?" asked Archer.
" Susie is my sister," replied Honoria.
" Your sister! Do you mean to say you have
a sister ? You never told me so," he exclaimed.
" I wonder you never spoke of Susie in all your
talks," observed Mr. Calvert. " She is my only
other child, and she leaves school at Christmas, to
my great joy; for she is a sweet, loving little
creature, and the image of her poor mother."
A silence fell ou the three. The father's thoughts
were full of his little girl; Archer was wondering
how it was that Honoria had never spoken of her
sister—her young, only sister. It did not seem
amiable or kind. Honoria felt the cloud of doubt
that came over him. She might have told him it
was because he had never seen Susie; because her
own mind had been full of him and his interests,
that she had never mentioned her little sister: but
perhaps it ia always a part of the punishment of
idolatry such KB hers to be misunderstood by its
object.
The guests arrived; the momentary cloud dis
persed ; and Archer could not but admire the per
fect grace with which Honoria presided at the feast.
He noticed, however, that, though perfectly polite
to all, she seemed intimate with none of the ladies
present; and he remarked this to her when some
of them were playing and singing.
" Does it surprise you ?" she said, slightly shrug
ging her shoulders. " I am quite used to it. We
beauties have no frLnds. No woman ever loved
me except my mother, who is dead and gone, and
little Susie—if I may call that scrap of humanity a
woman."
Again Archer was a little startled. He did not
like a sarcastic woman. He began to be glad he
had never spoken of love to this hard beauty, who
had no friends.
She saw the shadow again; and with her most
winniug smile, said,
"I am tired of all this insipid music. Come
and sing your best, and I will play for you."
He did sing—in those full, rich tones that found
an echo in her heart. The music was one of Mo
zart's most touching melodies, and Honoria's proud
eyes Were filled with tears when she looked up to
thank him. It was the sweetest flattery, and
might have led him to commit himself by some
tender speech, but that Mr. Calvert drew near.
" That is really beautiful, Benham!" he said.
" We must have some duets when Susie comes."
" What! does Susie sing?" asked Archer.
"She always had A sweet little v"oice," replied
the father; "and now she has been taking lessons,
and they say she sings uncommonly well."
The idea of singing duets with a little girl fresh
from school was not very attractive to a musician
of Archer's pretensions; but he promised to try, if
Honoria would still play the accompaniments. He
was going to his uncle's for Christinas, but on his
return he would call and bring some music with
him to try Susie's voice.
In the second week in January he came. The
lamp was lighted, the crimson curtains drawn, and
the fire burning cheerily,.as he entered the draw
ing-room. Mr. Calvert was up stairs preparing
for dinner. Honoria, in a dress of some rich shawl
pattern, leaned back in an easy-chair; and on a
cushion at her feet nestled a little figure, almost a
child in size, with fair face and light hair, her little
hand laid lovingly on Honoriu's lap, her blue eyes
looking dreamily into Honoria's face. Both start
ed at Arr-her's approach.
"Welcome!" said Honoria, giving him her
hand. " I am very glad you are returned. This,"
she continued, turning to the little figure now shy
ly standing beside hor—"this is my sister Susie;
nud this, Susie, is our friend Mr. Benham."
Archer took the little childish hand, only half-
extended to him, and clasped it kindly as he looked
down with interest on the gentle, blushing girl.
Honoria watched him, and a fierce pang shot
through her heart. He had many a time looked
at herself with admiration, with amusement, even
with kindness; but that look of interest was an
expression she had never seen in his face before
What did it mean ?
Mr. Calvert soon joined them, and Archer dined
with the family. Susie was petted by her father,
and her shyness soon abated, so that she gave him
playful answers and joined sometimes in the gen
eral conversation. Honoria was unusually grave,
aud Archer saw Susie glance uneasily at her occa
sionally.
"What ails the Empress?" he said, at last;
"yonr majesty is silent to-doy. Are you wearied
with the festivities of the season?"
"No," Honoria said, with a faint smile; "we
have been very quiet."
" I thought very young ladies had parties at this
time of the year," he continued, with a sly glance
at Susie.
"Indeed, Mr. Benham," Susie said, laughing,
' I am not a very young lady now. It is very hard,
because one has an empress for a sister, that one is
to pass for a child when one is a young woman of
eighteen."
" I beg ten thousand pardons," said Archer. " I
had no idea I was offending the dignity of eighteen
years. I shall be more discreet for the future."
After dinner the piano was opened, and Susie
was coaxed to sing. Truly had her father spoken
when he said her voice was sweet. There was a
pathos in its tones that went straight to the hear
er's heart—a tender sadness that brought tears to
the eyes. When she sang alone, and the full,
pleading tones rose thrilling and clear, Archer list
ened with hushed breath. Not a note escaped him.
Honoria saw it, as she accompanied her sister, and
her heart sank with dreary apprehension. Then
came duet after duet, the two lovely voices blend
ing in exquisite harmony. Mr. Calvert was be
side himself with delight.
"Is it not beautiful, Honoria?" he said; "only
I thought you played those last chords a little too
loud. Of course, you know best; but it seems to
me they ought to die away with the voices."
•' I am tired," Honoria said, abruptly, pushing
back her chair; " my head aches, and I can play no
more. So, if yon want any more music, you must
play your own accompaniments, Susie.'1
Archer thought her rude and ill-humored. Alas!
from what bitter anguish of heart does a woman's
seeming ill-humor sometimes spring! Susie was
kinder.
" How good of you, dear, to play for us so long!
How selfish we htve been! Of course, we won't
sing any more. Sit here and let me bathe vour
head."
Her pretty carefulness was charming, and Archer
watched it with a smile, forgetting to express re
gret for the pains he was trying to soothe. It was
past bearing. Harshly forbidding Susie to follow,
Honoria said she would go to her room. She only
needed darkness and quiet. It was a very trifling
headache, and no one need be disturbed abont it.
Archer held the door open as she swept out, and
expressed a hope she wonld soon be better.
11 1 fear you are worse than yon will acknowl
edge," he whispered, as she passed him, and he
caught sight of her troubled face. She stopped,
called all her pride to her aid, and smiled.
" It is nothing, I assure yon. Good-night."
And she shook bauds.
Her fingers were cold as ice, and he could not
forget the expression of her countenance a moment
before; but his reflections were soon disturbed by
Mr. Calvert, who begged for one more* song, and
silenced all Susie's objections by the assurance that
Honoria could not hear it in her room.
Meantime Honoria had locked her door, thrown
aside the heavy curtains, and opened the window
at which she bad stood dreaming so happily a few
short months ago. It was a wild, stormy night.
The meadows were covered here and there with
patches'of snow; the wind wailed drearily, and
dark clouds were driving over the moon, which
shone out at intervals with keen brightness above
the saddened landscape. The bitter air was wel
come to Honoria's heated brow. She could have
slnieked an answer to the wild wind; her eyes
we a full of despair, as the moonlight fell upon
tb<

700
f
I
HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 1, 1862. WEEKLY. 701
f- STANLEY'S DIVISION COMING UP TO TlIE BY ME. A. SiMPLor.-[Sji£ PAGE

702 HARPER'S WEEKLY, [NOVEMBER 1, 18(>2.
[Entered according to Act of Congress, in tin Year 18*3,
by Harper & Druthers, In the clerk's Office cttlie Dis
trict Court for the Southern Dlntrlct of New York.]
NO NAME.
BY WILKIE COLLINS,
AUTHOR OF "THI WOMAN IN JTBTn," "DUD UCIUT,
rra.no.
ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN M'LENAN.
W Prlntvd from tlie MsuiuBcnpt mill
early froof- ailiMta puroliM«U by lh«
Pr«pri«tor> U only at J. EVERDELL8
Old EiUbllilimmt, got Broulwmy, cor.Ttnun Bt_ N. Y.
'-UblWl«l 1840k HTFor Bf»dm.ii by Mall, iud two stainps.
Every Man his own Printer.
Portable Printing-offices for the Army and Navy, Drug,
(into, and Business Men generally. Send for a circular.
ADAMS PRESS COMPANY,
81 Park ROT (under I-oveJoy'B Hotel), New York.
A MONTH I—We want Agents at
^f *-r -^ Sixty Dollars a month and all expenses paid,
to sell our new Cixmras WBINGF.ES, OBIKMTAL BUKMM,
and 12 other new articles. Address
SHAW & CLARK,
Biddefbrd, Maine.
BEAUTY.—Hunt's Bloom of Roses, a charming and
perfectly natural color for the cheek*, or lip;. Will not
wash off, but remains durable for years. Can only be re.
moved with vinegar, and warranted not to injure the skin.
lined by the celebrated Court Beauties of Europe exclu
sively. Mailed free from observation for one dollar.
HUNT & CO., Perfumers, 133 a Seventh St, Fhllad,
To all Wanting Farms.
Large and thriving settlement of rineland. Rich soil.
Good crops of Wheat, Corn, Patches, &c., to be seen only
SO miles from Philadelphia. Delightful climate W acre
tracts of from $16 to $20 per acre, payable within 4 yean.
Good schools and society. Hundreds are settling. Apply
to CHAS. K. LAXDIS, P.M., Vineland, Cumberland Co.,
New Jersey. Report of Solon Robinson and VInelnnd Ru
ral sent tree. From Report of Solon Robinaon, Ag. Ed.
Tribune.
« It is one of the mod extensive fertile tracts, in an al-
mo»t Iml position, and tuiiatHe condition far plecutmt
farming that we know of Oat Me of the Western Prairiet.
AGENTS.—Watches and Jewelry for Army, Navy,
and Country Trade, the most salable kinds at the lowest
Eastern prices. Circular of prices, &c., free.
HUBBARD BROS., New York.
ARTIFICIAL LEGS
AND ARMS. Selpho's Patent. 616 Broadway, N. Y.,
Opposite St Nicholas Hotel. Send for a Circular.
D O YOU WANT LUXURIANT
WHISKERS OR MUST ACHES f—My Onguent will
force them to grow heavily In six weeks (upon the amooth-
eit face) without stain or Injury to the skin. Price $1—
sent by mall, post free, to any address, on receipt of an or
der. R. G. GRAHAM, No. 109 Nassau Street, N. Y.
F. Derby & Company
Winter supply
LONDON TRADE GOODS,
FOR GENTLEMEN'S WEAR,
SELECTED BY ONE OF THE FIRM,
With ipeclal care in quality, styles, and variety, to which
we Invite the Inspection of gentlemen.
F. DERBY & COMPANY, Tailors and Importers, No.
67 Walker Street, New York.
PINE GOLD WATCHES, of all descriptions. Some
for ladles, In hunting causa, as low as $25 each. War
ranted correct timekeepers. For aale by GEO. C. ALLEN,
No. 415 Broadway, New York.
GENTLEMEN'S FINE GOLD SCARF PTNS.
New styles. For sale by GEO. C. ALLEN, No. 416 Broad
way, New York.
GOLD PENS AND PENCILS. For sale by G. C.
ALLEX, So. 415 Broadway, New York.
GOLD SPECTACLES AND EYE-GLASSES. For
•alt by GEO. C. A1LEN, No. 41B Broadway, N»w York.
J. H. Winslow & Co.
1OO7OOO
'Watches, Chains, Sets of Jewelry, Gold
Pens, Bracelets, Lockets, Rings, Oent'sj
Pins, Sleeve Buttons, Studs, &c., &c.
Worth $5OO,OOO,
To be told for GATE DOLLAR each, without regard
to value, ana not to be paid for until you know what you
are to get. Send for Circular containing full Hit and
particular!. Send 2B cent* for a Certificate.
Address J. H. WINSLOW & CO.
203 Broadway, New York.
"Pear Trees,"
Largest Stock in the Country. Also
Hardy Perpetual Rotes, in quantities.
GEO. W. WILSON,
Maiden, Mass.
MILITARY GOODS.
Swords for Presentation, Sashes, Belts,
and Epaulettes, Guns, Pistols,
and Revolvers.
Every article in the MUitay Line Wholesale and Retail.
W. J. SYMS & BRO.,
800 Broadway, New York.
J. W. MERSEREAU,
Metis Furnishing Goods
Golden Hill Shirts.
No. 2 Warren Street.
SECOND Doos ram BSOIDWAY, NEW TORE.
. Represented fry N. R MERSEREAU, L. N. WYANT.
The Railway Time-Keeper,
Especially adapted for Army sales. GOOD UIITATION
GOLD; will run and keep excellent time; have fancy col
ored hands and beautifully engraved dials, thi Utters
standing in relief. 2©hit if one of the mott taking novel-
tiei of the day, and should retail at prices FKOJI Twmi
TO FIFTY DOLLARS EACH. They are furnished by the case,
containing six of different designs, as follows:—Engraved,
per caw of half dozen, $83 00. Engraved and electro-
gilded, per case of half dozen, assorted, $36 00. Engraved,
superior, per case half dozen, assorted, $39 00. Engraved,
superior, and electro fin* gilded, having all the improve,
raents of the foregoing, per case of half doien, assorted,
$42 00. Engine-turned, same mater 1x1 cases, over which
good silver Is heavily plated, per case of half dozen. $36 00.
Samples of the foregoing, comprising two of the first and
one each of the others, making a case of half dozen, at the
regular wholesale rates, $36 50. TXBXB, CASH. Win be
sent to any part of the loyal states, with bill for collection
on delivery. Buyers in the Army -will Dave to send tea
pay IJ advance, as the Express Companies refuse making
collections south of the Fotomac. This It on* of the most
saleable articles of the times, and just the thing for those
inclined to make money among the soldiers. Send In
your orders early. Address
GAIUS WHEATON, SOLE IIVOSTEB,
Cor. John and Nassau Stt., Nzw Yoxx Cm.
P.O. Box4SB5.
The Prince of Holiday Gifts or Presents.
"THE CRAIG MICROSCOPE"
Magnifies small objects 10,000 times. So simple that a
child may use It. A most suitable present for any person.
Price by mall $8 £5; with six mounted objects $8. Ad
dress HENRY CRAIG, 182 Centre Street, New York.
A New Magazine with an Old Nome.
The Knickerbocker;
Or, New York Monthly Magazine of lat-
erature, Art, Politics, and Society.
New Seriet, A*o. 8, Vol. I, for Xbvtmber, is now ready,
The present number contains Important articles on the
vital topics of the day, and several stories by eminent au
thors; also, Literary, Art and Dramatic Gossip, Notes on
Current Events, Notices of New Publications, and a varl-
ety of original matter of striking interest_________
Gen. McClellaa uses Hunter's Army Night Com
pass. Every officer should have one. Price $1, $2, $8,
£6, and $10. Sent free-on receipt of price. Field and Ma
rine Glasses, Ac. H. W. IIUNTUt,169\VUliaraSt.,N. Y.
Just Tribute to Merit.
AT INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION, LONDON,
July llth, 1868,
Duryeas' Maizena
Was the only "preparation for food from Indian Com"
ihat received a medal and honorable mention from the
Royal Commlwlonen, the competition of all prominent
manufacturers of "Corn Starch" and "Prepared Corn
Maizena .
Floor" of this and'other countries notwithstanding.
The food and luxury of the age, without a single fault.
One trial will convince the most sceptical. Makes Pud
dings, Cakee, Custards, Blanc Mange, Ac., without isin
glass, with few or no eggs, at a cost astonishing the most
iconoxnlcaL A slight addition to ordinary Wheat Flour
;reatly Improves Bread and Cake. It Is alio excellent for
hlnhrnlng sw«et sauces, gravies for fish and meat, sun]* ,
Ac." For Ice Cream nothing can compare with It. A lit
tle boiled In milk will produce rich Cream for coffee, choc
olate, tea, Ac.
Pnt np In 1 pound packages, with directions.
A most delicious article of food for children and Invalid
of all sgea, For aale by Grocers and Druggists every
where.
Manufactured at Glen Cove, Long
Island.
Wholesale Depot, 166 Fulton Street
"HARPER'S^WEEKLY.
Single Copies Biz Cents.
TERMS.
On» Copy for One Year ....... $2 60
One Copy for Two Years ...... 400
Ten Copies for One Year ...... 2000
An Extra Copy will be allowed for ntry Club
HARPER & BROTHrns, PCBLtsnEBe,
SqCAXx, Niw You.
i

704 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 1, 1802.
JOHN BULL'S NEUTRALITY.—A DISTINCTION WITH A DIFFERENCE.
JOIM BULL (KVUTED StCESH. "Yes! oh, yet! Our feelinps, anil nil tlmt tort of thing, arc with you.
But. good gracious! haven't you got a Green Jiadc or two? How the d——1 am 1 goiug
to fill up again ^ith this trash!!!"
To Agents and Sutlers.
SOMrTIIIMi ENTIRELY KKW. WILL CREATE
A I1KCIHEII FfllDKlC IN TIIK. CAM!', finally useful
to the Civilian. Tim Great Ann Union Prite I'Mkaqtl
•ndS, retails for $1. Great Inducements
to Agent* and I »val rn. Send for circular.
_ «i. M. HA^KINS A CO., 30 Uoekroan Street, N. Y.
LANDS.—To all wanting Farms. Thriving Betlle-
mrnt. inch toll. HIM cllnmte, Doe aihertuwment of
Yliwlnml, on page 486.
WATCHES lilVKN A WAY MI
§Ke • ir.icbwlibwtrv cue hundred Puiloner? Packages!
(In aCflHY Of Tlir SF.W TAX LAW will, r.rl, H.el.,. I
!!,.» UIKT or JKUKIUY W1TU EACH PACKAGE I
(Inline Hundred \ilulilu Rtoilpu «lib neb rickag.1
ClveTviulj Otc Rmlfrulilvrr Detlmu wllb each rnvkagal
Itlve Is Hhccu fmurr BDI! IB KuTclnpn «llh cacti I ack»g« I
«i»c K:M!.HM'|| ». >nd rcDhoMrni .III, »ch Pukinl
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CONTENTS:
POLAND OVER-GROUND AND UNDER-CHOUND.
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iLLUBTRATtonb.—Kl.ick Hursc-Fly.—Parts of Ilnive-
Fly._CesB-l'o

11
706 HAEPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 8, 1862.
MAJOK-GENEU.YL UOSECRANS.
\\ K devote the preceding page to a portrait of
MA.III-GI-:NEIIAL \VII.I.IAM STAKKK ROSKCRAKS,
the new commander of the Army of the Ohio, and
the hero of the li.ittlo of Corinth.
General Rosecrans was born in Delaware County,
Ohio, on Oth November, 1819. His family were
nf Dutch descent, though of the Roman Catholic
f.utli. In the year 1837 lie was appointed a cadet
at West Point, and graduated among the five first
In 1811. Entering the corps of engineers, he was
successively employed in works of construction at
Fortress Mem roe; Newport, Rhode Island; New
liutlford, Massachusetts, etc., and served four years
as Assistant Professor of Engineering at the Acad
emy at West Point. In 1863 he left the army, and
opened an office ns civil engineer at Cincinnati. In
Ib55 he accepted the Presidency of the Cannel Coal
Company of Coal Uiver, Kanawha Court House,
Virginia; but a couple of j ears afterward resigned
the position to commence, at Cincinnati, the manu-
factnre of coal oil.
At tliu outbreak of the rebellion General Rose
crans was one of the first men whom General
MTlellan called to his aid. lie accepted Uie post
of aid to M'CIellan when the latter entered West-
mi Virginia, and was soon afterward appointed
Ilrigadi-r-Ueneral. In the short bat brilliant
campjl^n which cleared the rebels out of Western
Virginia Rusecrans took a leading part, and when
General M'CIellan -was called to Washington to
replace M'Uuwell ho WHS left in command. He
prosecuted the campaign with moderate success,
failing, however, in his great object, which was to
bug the " thief Floyd," through some mischance
of General Benhain's. For some time Subsequently
to this but little was heard of General Rosecraus.
lie turned up again at Corinth, and was in com
mand there when the place was attacked by the
rebels under Van t)orn on 8d and 4th October.
Ills victory has been thoroughly acknowledged by
the rebels.
Whin the escape of Bragg rendered it Incum
bent on the President to replace General Buell by
some more fortunate if not more energetic jcom-
nmnder, General Rosecrans was at once selected
for the command. The public have every hope
th.it he will vindicate the wisdom of the choice.
We published a sketch of General Rosecrans a.
little more than a year ago. The writer remarked
that among the papers which be examined in search
of materials for his biography, he discovered a tes
timonial to " Mr. Rosecrans's high abilities, Integ
rity, and energy," signed by Jefferson Davls, and
dated 18W.
HAllPER'S WEEKLY.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 1862.
THE FIFTH ACT OF THE DRAMA.
T UIE events of this war repeat themselves
with uniform regularity. We began the
war with a pretty general contempt for our ad
versary, and a complacent self-assurance of early
and easy triumph. That delusion was dispelled
on 21st July on the field of Bull Run, and there
the curtain fell on the first Act of ourgrentDraina.
From that ill-omened day till the close of the year
18G1 the hand of fate was against us. \Ve lost
battles, and we lost territory, nnd we lost hope.
Our armies lay idle, secmyigly through want
of energy on the part of their leaders. People
began to despond, nnd the great North, which
had been welded into an integral whole by the
attack on Fort Sumter, began to exhibit symp
toms of division into parties. The rebels could
boost of holding more territory than they had
ever expected to inclose within their Confed
eracy. They had blockaded the Potomne, be
leaguered Washington, menaced Cairo and Lou
isville. ' Our blockade of their ports had been
ron by oVcr throe hundred vessels. The pres
tige of victory was with them; and the official
organ of Jeff Davis's Government assured its
readers that the independence of the South had
been actually achieved, and that henceforth the
contest was merely for boundaries. This was
the condition of affairs nt New Year 1862; and
here we may say the second Act of the Drama
ended.
The third Act began with the fulfillment of
M'Clellan's famous promise that "when the
storm does begin, it will lighten along the
whole line." It began on the battle-field of
Somerset in Kentucky, where, on 19th January,
the first real victory won by the North was
achieved. The news had scarcely been received
in New York before the telegraph Bashed the
welcome intelligence of the bombardment and
capture of Fort Henry, on February Cth; and
from that day to the end of Juno the record
was one of uninterrupted Northern success. On
February 8, two days after the fall of Fort Henry,
Burnsido wrested the island of Itoanoke from the
rebels, and thus achieved the conquest of Albe-
marle and Pamlico Sounds, and of the whole
sea-board of North Carolina. On 16th, Gener
al Grant " moved npon the enemy's works" at
Fort Donelson and captured that strong-hold with
many thousands of prisoners. The fall of Forts
Henry and Donelson compelled the rebels to evac
uate their two strong-holds in the West, Colum
bus and Bowling Green. On 1st March the form
er was abandoned, and on 12th General Mitchell
commenced his glorious career by entering the
latter. Meanwhile, on 8th March, Cartis nnd
Sigcl had enrolled their names in the book of
fame, by defeating the enemy under ll'In-
tosh, Price, and Van Corn at Pen Ridge, in Ar
kansas. On llth, the Army of the Potomac
moved: Banks occupied Winchester, and M'CIel
lan obliged the rebels to cvacnatc Mnnnssas with-
ont firing n gun. The two last weeks of March
witnessed the capture of Ncwbcrn and Beaufort,
North Carolina, by Burnside; of Florence, Ala
bama, and luka, Mississippi, by Mitchell; and
of the whole const of Florida, by Commodore
Dupont. April began as brilliantly. On 7th,
Island No. 10 surrendered to General Pope; ou
8th, Commodore Farragut and General Bntler
took New Orleans—the most brilliant exploit of
the war. On the same day, General M'CIellan
commenced his parallels against Yorktown. On
the lame day the terrible battle of Shiloli, or
Pittsburg Landing, by far the most bloody of
Lfhc war, terminated in the victory of the North
ern forces, and destroyed the hope of Bcnurc-
Rard's army. On llth, General Mitchell took
Huntsville, Alabama—thus securing about 100
miles of the Memphis and Charleston Railroad;
and on the same day Fort Palaski, Georgia,
surrendered to General Gilmorc. .
The next event of importance was the evacua
tion of Yorktown, on May 4th; and the battle
of Williamsburg, in which a portioji of M'Clel
lan's army wou a victory on 5th. Then fol
lowed in qnick succession the battles of Hanover
Court House, West Point, and Fair Oaks—all
victories for the North; and on the 80th May
the evacuation of Corinth. This, together with
the naval victory of Commodore Foote, on 6th
June, compelled the snrrendcrof Memphis on 7th.
Ou 18th Jnne, General Morgan occupied Cum
berland Gap. This event appears to us to have
closed the third Act of the Drama. For five
months onr successes had been nnintcrruptcd
and substantial. Once more we were relapsing
into our old blind self-confidence, and falling into
the errors which this feeling naturally engen
ders. Enlistments were stopped and no means
of recruiting our decimated regiments even pro
posed. Politicians were .agaiu beginning to dis
count the future, which they deemed so certain,
and to quarrel over the distribution of the hon
ors which seemed so secnrcly won. There was
a general relaxation of the energy which had
enabled ns to win victories. Add to this that
the season precluded the operations of our gun
boats on the rivers o. the interior, and a part of
the succeeding events will seem less unintelligi
ble than they would otherwise appear.
The fourth Act of the Drama commenced
with the operations of Stonewall Jackson in the
Shcnandoah Valley, which, though depressing
to the Northern mind, were indecisive. The bat
tles of the seven days before Richmond, ending
July 1, were far more important. However high
ly wo may praise the skill of M'CIellan and the
bravery of his troops, it can no.t be denied that
the substantial fruits of victory on this occasion
were with the rebels. Our army was driven in
a shattered condition to the banks of the James
River, and the siege of Richmond was raised.
The success raised the hopes of the rebels once
more. Their conscript Act was enforced with
rigor, and their armies throughout the Confed
eracy strengthened. An aggressive policy was
adopted. Bragg moved northward from Chat
tanooga, Lee from Richmond, Hindmnn from
Little Rock, Arkansas, while Brcckinridge and
Van Dorn undertook successfully to prevent the
reopening of the Mississippi. We foiled to toko
Vicksburg, and were forced to evacuate Baton
Rouge. Pope, with a handful of men, strove
bravely, but of conrse ineffectually, to resist the
overwhelming advance of Lee upon Washington:
the last week of August was almostas disastrous
to us. as the last week of June. Bucll, choosing
rather to circumvent Bragg than to fight him,
operated so as to protect Nashville and Louis
ville, nnd succeeded; bnt he could not prevent
the fall of Murfreesboro', the abandonment of
Cumberland Gap, the capture of Frankfort and
Lexington, and the occupation by the rebels of
the whole Blue Grass Region of Kentucky. In
the far West Hindman actually threw ont skirm
ishers into Missouri. This Act naturally term
inates with the passage of the Potomac by Lee's
forces in the first week of September, and the
halt of Bragg's and Kirby Smith's armies before
Louisville and Cincinnati. At this moment the
rebels had driven us out of Virginia and follow
ed ns into Maryland; had rcoccupicd the best
part of Kentucky, and left ns only two small
corners of Tennessee; had rendered the naviga
tion of the Mississippi as dangerous as it ever
was. They were flushed with victory, we were
dispirited by defeat. Their papers reported, to
use their own words, " a snccession of triumphs
so monotonous as to pall npon the taste." Our
people had begun once more to lose faith in
themselves, in their cause, and especially in then
leaders, and traitors were again rearing their
heads at the North. .
The fifth, and, we hope, the last Act of the
Drama, commenced on September 14, when Gen
eral M'CIellan defeated the rebels at South
Mountain nndcr Lee. On 17th he fought them
again at Antietam, and drove them ont of Mary
land. On the same day Kirby Smith's army
began to fall back from Florence, Kentucky,
abandoning the enterprise against Cincinnati in
despair. On 25th, Quell arrived at Louisville,
and Bragg began to fall bock. On 4th October
General Rosecrans utterly defeated the rebels at
Corinth, as acknowledged at Richmond, par
alyzing the armies of Van Dorn and Brcckin
ridge. On the same day we took Galveston,
Texas. On 8th, the battle of Pcrryvillc was
fought, which, though perhaps not a Union vic
tory, still compelled Bragg to fly rapidly toward
the Cumberland mountains, losing the whole fruit
of his expedition. On 22d, the rebel army in
Arkansas was defeated and scattered at a second
battle of Pea Ridge. On 23d, General Mitchell
attacked the Savannah and Charleston Railroad.
On 2Cth, the Army of the Potomac crossed into
Virginia to renew the campaign. On the same
day the Army of the Ohio, under instructions
from its new commander, General Rosccrans,
marched southward toward Tennessee. Events
indicate that the tide of fortune has turned once
more, and that when the curtain falls on this
fifth Act the laws of art will be fulfilled by the
denouement of the drama. This hope is en-
conragcd by the fact that our armies arc far
stronger than they ever were, and are daily re
ceiving fresh accessions of strength; that they
are perfectly armed and equipped, and that their
officers have nt length learned how to handle
them; and that in the conrse of a few days
we shall hnve a fleet of Monitors afloat for the
reduction of Charleston, Savannah, and Mobile.
It is further confirmed by the fact that though,
during what we have termed the second and
fourth Acts of the Drama, success was with the
rebels, we lost no important strategic points
which we had previously won. Though they
seemed to win every battle, nnd we seemed to
hear of nothing but reverses, we continued to
hold Nashville, Memphis, New Orleans, Corinth,
Norfolk, Beaufort, Fort Pulaski, Pcnsacoln, San
Angustino, and to control the Mississippi River,'
with the exception of a few miles above and be
low Vicksburg. The difference batwcen them
and ns appears to be that their triumphs are
barren of practical results, while ours have al
most invariably secured for us substantial'ad
vantages in point of territory, strategic points,
or influential towns.
We have been so often disappointed that it
seems rash to risk any more predictions. But
if we gain as much in this fifth Act as we did in
the third, there will be very little left of the
Coufederacy by next spring.
A JOKER UPON THE WAR
MR. JOHN VAN BURF.N is an unseasonable jester.
The airy way in which he cries " Ho, for Fort La
fayette 1" shows simply bis consciousness of what
he deserves, and his equal consciousness that the
Government which be accuses of suppressing free
spsech does not mind his slanders enough to sup
press them. Mr. Van Buren's political opinions
have ceased to be important, except as indicating
the views and. policy of others. There was a time
when be was the most popular orator of the princi
ples against which the insurrection is directed.
Thete was a time when be woe the leader of the
party of the future. Tlmt future has arrived.
That party, with all men of all parties who are true
to the fundamental principle of the Government, is
vigorously fighting for the existence of the nation,
and its old champion stands by with folded arms,
leering aud laughing, jesting cheerfully, amidst
peals of applause which Jeff Davis bears and smiles,
over that excellent but tedious joke, the bloody de
struction of the Government of the United States
and the ruin of all hope of popular civil liberty
hereafter.
Mr. Seymour himself Is too sagacious to unroll
his programme. Bnt his friend, the jester, is !ess
wise. The whole story of the desperate effort of
the rump of the old Democratic part}1 to get upon
its legs is told in a few sentences by Mr. Van Bnren.
"Let us take Richmond," he says in substance.
" Then ask our erring brethren what they want; if
we can't agree, let ns say,' Wayward sisters, depart
in peace 1'"
"Here's richness!" cried Mr. Squeers, as be
sipped the sky-blue skim-milk. Here's states
manship! may we net all cry as we contemplate
this patent Sherman's lozenge warranted to cute
rebellion in one dose ? But why take Richmond ?
If Mr. Van Buren bad reall' enlisted for the war,
we could understand that he burned for the fray,
and could not bold until he had fieshed bis doughty
blade. But as he did not go, and the only war he
wages Is against the army .and the Government,
why should he send thousands and thousands of
citizens, quite as valuable to the country as he, to
be slaughtered, maimed, and mangled before Rich
mond, when by his own statement it is all to be in
vain? If the Government is to surrender to the
rebellion, why not surrender before another life is
lost? If Mr. Van Buren and the friends for whom
be speaks are so anxious to let "our Southern
brethren" do exactly what they choose when they
constitutionally administer the Government, and
when they constitutionally lose control of it, then
smother it and the country, and all the rights of
every man in blood, why wait until we take Rich
mond? What connection is there between all this
and Richmond ? The jester gets a little ghastly
here. For if he is willing to let them have all
they wish when Richmond is taken, be simply
gives Ills consent to the murder of all bis fellow-
citizens who may be slain in taking it. He may
have sons or brothers in the war for all we know;
but if be has not there is scarce a true-hearted fam
ily in the land but has eont its brave and cherished
there, and they may be pardoned if they prefer
that, if the wayward sister's are to deport in peace,
they may be allowed to start now, satisfied with
the misery they have already caused.
Here are our streets and the whole country filled
with wounded nnd maimed soldiers, heroic monu
ments of the national valor. Thousands sleep in
the foul soil of Virginia, slain in bat lie or deml of
sharp torture and lingering disease. But the lively
jester skips in and capers upon their graves, and
shaking his bells, cries "Pooh, pooh! if a man's
wife wants to leave him, she can make him miglitv
uncomfortable, nnd he bad better let her go. Lu
her go ? yes, nnd pack her trunk too."
This is the gay view of our tremendous sirup;!
for the perpetuity of civil order to whii-b Mr. V.
Buren invites the fathers and brothers and friend
of our soldiers in the field, when he asks iheiii .o
vote for Horatio Seymour. To lie sure a few tl on-
sands more, including your Son,' may lie killrd,
but as soon as they are safely dead we'll make it
all up! If that is what you wunt, don't fail to vote
for Seymour. If you think that at such nn hour
as this the people of the State of New Yo> k should
express a preference for a party whose chief orator
makes the war a joke, by all means vote for Sey
mour. But if you earnestly mean crushing the
Kbellion by war, then vote for Wadswortb, who
means it just as earnestly as you.
"OUR OWN."
THE New York correspondent of the London
Times is handled without gloves in'a rec/ nt num
ber of the London Daily News. The person who
writes these letters had declared, after the retreat
of Pope: "Brag, bold, brazen, unblushing, un
conquerable Brag is lord of the ascendant, and
strives to keep up the spirits of the people.... But
all this is, in one word, 'Bosh.'... It is not per
mitted to the newspapers of New York to promul
gate the fact, but it is known in almost every cir
cle, and all but the willfully blind can see, that
neverijkice the disruption of the Union were I he
fortum» of the North at a lower ebb than at this
moment."
The Daily Ifews quotes from New York papers
of about the same date as this letter, showing a
perfect appreciation of the position of affairs, vilh
no effort to disguise it, and then asks: " What do
our readers think of a gentleman who is capable of
sending home, to be read by tens of thousands of
his countrymen, reports which stand in such rel-i-
tions to the facts as we see here? What but th t
they ere sent home for a purpose very different
from that of enlightening the mind of England ?
And it is of such material that public opinion is
made.
" It is supposed to be for the advantage of the
public that the accredited correspondent of a nev s-
paper should be unnamed. The New York news
papers, however, lately contained a letter in which
Dr. Charles Mackay, late of London, announced
himself as the correspondent of our contemporary
in that capital. Some of our readers who remem
ber Dr. Mackay as the poet of ' The Good Time
Coming' may be surprised to find him working in
the interest of the slave-owner, especially as, in
his own touching words, 'The great cause of Hu
man Progress has required, at every period of the
world, the support of earnest and thinking men.'
Could it have been the rise of the Slave Power he
was thinking of when, sixteen years ago, he Bang,
joyously,
There's a fount about to stream,
There's a light about to beam.
There's a warmth about to glow.
There's a flower about to blow.
" No, for the word was then,
Onward while a wrong remains
To be conquered by the right;
While an error clouds the reason,
Or a jorrow gnaws the heart,
Or a elare awaits hia freedom,
Action is the wlae man's part.
" Then, too. it would have se' ned—so we gather
from the record—an nnworthy • ccupation to row the
seeds of hatred and strife between the nations, and
past errors of that kind were things to be repent
ed of.
Once we thought It right to foster
Local jealousy and pride;
Right to hate another nation
Farted from us by a tide:
Old opinions 1 rnga and tattsrnl
Get you gonel get you gone I
"Dr. Mackay has told us that in writing puch
poetry its this be was much encouraged by sym
pathy and approval from the other side of the*At-
lantic.* But sixteen years bring reflection an-1
experience. These verses were tlie inspirations
of sentiment. Since he wrote them, Dr Mackay
has been to the land of slavery, and having stood
face to face with the hideous monster—having seen
at New Orleans men with faces as white as his own
bought and sold as slaves—he lias become convert
ed to the cause of the South."
EIGHTS AKD GUARANTEES.
" If it is true," says Horatio Seymour, " that
slavery must be abolished to save this Union, then
the people of the South should be allowed to with
draw themselves from that Government which c,.n
not give them the protection guaranteed by its
terms."
But if the protection of slavery is guaranteed by
the terms of the Constitution, it is so in one case
only and that expressly mentioned, the return of
fugitives held to service under the laws of one
State escaping into another. Certainly neither
Mr. Seymour nor any other American advocate of
human slavery will contend that the protection of
a right claimed by any man to a slave is more, ex
pressly guaranteed than the protection of the right
of the same man to bis life. If, then, his rebclUor.
forfeits the constitutional protection of the one • iglit,
when it conflicts with the supremacy of th • O \-
ernment, it clearly forfeits the other in the ^.in
case, unless bis right to bis slave be more sacruit
than that to his life.
The utter absurdity of Mr. Seymour's sophism,
therefore, becomes at once evident, upon substitu-
H«aven forgive usl— Lounger.
NOVEMBER 8, 1862.] HAKPEKS WEEKLY. 707
ting the one right for the other. His propositioi
would then read thus: " If it is true that life musl
be taken to save this Union, then the people of th
South should be allowed to withdraw themselve;
from that Government which can not give them
the protection guaranteed by its terms."
BRETHREN.
THE meetings and speeches of the gentlemen
whom Mr. Daniel S. Dickiuson, a tolerable demo
cratic authority, declares to have been the mcncli.
cants, office-seekers, and camp-followers of the oil
Democratic party—crippled Democrats, who havi
been carried for life in the ambulances of the party
and attached to its commissariat—have been the
source of so much satisfaction to the rebels that
no honest man can doubt that every vote for Mr.
Seymour, the candidate of those meetings, will be
hailed with true delight by the same "erring breth
ren."
Mr. John Van Buren, as we have elsewhere said,
lias been the speaker of chief importance, because
he has spoken explicitly. Mr. Seymour has con
fined himself to generalities, some safe, some not
so safe, as he will find. Upon receipt of the speech
es the re'iel pnpers burst into a chorus of joy. The
letter of General Scott, which was read by Mr. Van
Buren, and was aimed in the orator's intention
against the fair patriotic fame of Scott, against the
Government and the war, in the opinion of the
Richmond Dispatch, "exalts General Scott from
the abyss into which he has been dragged by Sew-
ard." Mr. Van Buren meant to give the rebels
the aid nnd comfort of knowing that Scott, at the
time of the inauguration, wanted to let them go.
He has succeeded. He has delighted the enemies
of his country. They break into vehement

I,
708 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 8, 18n2.
NOVEMBER 8, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 709
FOREIGN MEN-OF-WAR IN OUR
HARBOR.
WE publish on page 708 a picture containing
portraits of several foreign men-of-war which lay
in our harbor lost week. Foremost in the group
is the old Maiaena, a French 90-gun ship, built to
sail, but afterward improved by the addition of a
screw. As our picture shows, she is a survivor of
a species which is rapidly becoming extinct. The
• raptuiii of one of our new ifonitori could ask no
hotter mark to fire at than the huge bulk of such a
monster. The Princeta

710 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBEB 8, 1862.
NOVEMBER'S, 18G2.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 711
JOIIX W. PACKHAM, THE YOUNGEST CORPORAL IN TIIE ARMY.
A YOUNG HERO.
Ox th'u page we publish the portrait of a young
hero, JOHN W. PACKHAM, TIIE YODXOEST Con-
P.'RAL IV TUB UxiTltD STATES AllMY. The fol
lowing letter will explain why we give his like
ness at this time:
"KAXAWIIA Rrrn, September 80, 1949.
" To the Editor ofllarptr©t Weekly:
" Herewith I s-nd yon a likeness of the little hero
of Company F, 3-lth Regiment Ohio First Zouaves,
ami youngest Corporal in the United States Army.
He deserves honorable mention for his bravery in
refusing to go over to the rebels when threatened
with death if he did not comply.
"The incident was as follows: John W. Pack-
ham, aged thirteen, regimental marker, and son
of Lieutenant Albany Packham, of the 34th Regi
ment Ohio First Zouaves, was sent on In the rear
of the ambulances, from
Fayetteville to Gauley
River; but upon turn
ing the hill, about fivi
hundred yards from
the camp, they came
upon two thousand reb
els in the woods. A
number came to the
opening, and one callec
to our little hero (he
being the only one
with the ombnlancei
in a Zouave uniform'
and said, 'Yon little
red'top devil, come
over here, or I'll Mi
yon.' He answered,
'No, I can't come I 1
Again and again they
called to him. One
finally stepped forwarc
a few paces, raised his
rifle to his shoulder,
and said, 'Yon little
fool, come over; we
won't hurt you; we
want to talk to you.'
The little hero sti'll re
fusing, the rebel fired,
the ball striking and
shattering his right
knse. The rebels then
opened a murderous
fire into our sick in
the ambulances, killing
and wounding thirty-
two -mho were lying
therein. That rebel
volley brought down
the Zouaves, and the
battle of Fayetteville
commenced. Your art
ist was near the breast
works, coolly sketching the combatants at that
point.
" The little hero is now in the hospital at Galli-
polls, doing well under the kind nursing of the la
dies, who bring him all the delicacies of the season.
" Yours respectfully, C——."
"UNION JACK,"
THE PET OF OUR RICHMOND PRISONERS.
THE poetic incidents of this war would fill many
an interesting volume could they be collected by
some able hand; and it would appear that it is not
man alone who is being roused to deeds of heroism,
but that even the brute creation are catching the
contagion.
The distinguished individual who forms the sub
ject of this brief memoir, and whose portrait graces
UNION JACK, THE PET OF OUR RICHMOND PRISONERS.
our present number, is the already-famous " UNION
JACK," or " JACK"—as he is more briefly and fa
miliarly called among his friends. We arc not
aware of Jock's entertaining any ambitious desire
of being promoted to the rank of a Brigadier-Gen
eral, nor have we heard of any intention, on his
part, to get up a grand bow-wowing demonstration
in anyof our crowded theatres; but this excessive
modesty should not induce us to hide his merits.
Although.walking upon four legs, he has exhibited
par more conrage, devotion, trust-worthiness, and
other noble human qualities—indeed done more
actual good to our army—than many a shoulder-
strapped and gold-bedizened animal now walking
upon two legs.
The -writer of this sketch first had the honor of
>ecoming acquainted with Jack at Fortress Mon-
roe, on the interesting occasion of the arrival there
of our liberated prisoners from Richmond—some
.60 officers—on the 19th of August last. lie seemed
o belong to nobody in particular, but followed these
officers every where about the Hygcia Hotel, re-
iciving such caresses and marks of deep affection
rom every officer that we were tempted to inquire
nto his history.
_ He is a young dog of the mastiff breed, of me-
ium size and jetty blackness, except a white
reast and a dash of white on each of his fonr
aws. His manners are very gentle and even
timid among his friends, but he is suspicious and
fierce as a lion when among his enemies. Although
born in Secessia, and breathing constantly the air
of treason, he is intensely loyal to the Union, and
betrays a hatred of any thing in the shape of a
rebel, which many of our "conservative" and
" neutral" loyalists in the North would do well to
imitate.
Jack originally belonged to a rebel jailer in
Front Royal, Virginia, when Company F and I of
the First Maryland regiment were there on provost
guard duty. When Jackson made ari advance upon
the place, these companies fell back to join their
regiment in repelling him, and, after a severe ac
tion, were surrounded by Jackson, taken prisoners,
and brought back to Front Royal. It was on this
occasion that Jack's great military, loyal, and so
cial qualities were first brought into conspicuous
display.
When Companies F and I left Front Royal to
take the field, Jack insisted upon accompanying
them, in spite of all his master's efforts to detain
him. He proceeded with them to the battle-field—
keeping company with the officers as he went along
—and his first exploit was trying hard to unearth
a cannon-ball which he had seen bury itself near
him. Presently the shells began to scream and
burst in the air all around him. When Jack saw
them coming, instead of running to hide himself—
as it is said many a blustering bully does—he ran
barking after the fragments and trying to catch
• them; thinking, no doubt, that it was some pyro
technic display got up for his especial amusement.
This settled the question of Jack's bravery, and
from this time forward he seemed to form an affec
tion for our officers, and they for him, which no
thing could alter, and he has accompanied them
through all their vicissitudes and changes of prison
to Richmond.
The stories told of this dog's sagacity and devo
tion would seem incredulous had they not come
from the most varied and reliable sources. On the
road, when our parched men were fainting from
thirst, he would always run forward, and when
ever he discovered^ pool of water wonld rush
back, barking loudly, to tell them of it. When
they were supplied with only jive crackers to each
manfurjire days with no meat—and onr poor fel
lows were literally dying from starvation, this no
ble animal has been known to go and catch chickens
for them and to bring them in hit mouth / or he would
waylay every rebel horse or wagon passing with
food, and bark imploringly for them to bring re
lief. On one occasion, when a sick and exhausted
Union soldier had been left behind, Jack staid with
him for several hours until a wagon took him up.
But one of the most remarkable features in his
character is his utter hatred of the rebels. His
actions, in this respect, really seemed to go beyond
brute instinct. No kindness, no attempt at caress
ing could get the " gray-coats" to win him over or
even induce him to take food from them; but he
growled and snapped at. them npon all occasions,
until many threatened to shoot him. When they
got to the Richmond prison, another large dog was
there being fondled by a secesh officer, and Jack
stood looking at both, apparently with the great
est hatred and disgust. When the officer left, the
secesh dog tried to scrape an acquaintance with
Jack, but the latter did not covet an}' such friend
ship. He rushed upon the canine rebel, gave him
a sound thrashing, and, although larger than him
self, fairly tossed him over his huad.
Jack is a great disciplinarian. When on duty,
he knows the various roll-calls so well that he pays
no attention to any of them but one—that of his
officers. As soon as he heard this, he used to run
about in the greatest excitement, as if to call his
friends together, and then, placing himself along
side of the drnnimer, would put up his nose and
commence a long howl—the boys used to say an
swering to his name. In traveling he seemed- to
take the whole responsibility npon himself. When
ever the cars stopped he was invariably the first
to jump off, and the whistle no sooner sounded than
he was the first to jump on again.
But no character is perfect, and we are sorry to
say there is a serious blemish in Jack's. He is an
aristocrat of the first water; one of the regular out-
and-out F.F.V.'s. From first to last—except to
help them when in distress—he never wonld asso
ciate with privates, but always stuck fast to where
the shoulder-straps were assembled. But, after all,
in this respect poor Jack is only following the ex
ample of many a human toady and tuft-hunter that
can be called to mind ; and before we blame this
young puppy for cringing to the rich and great,
let us remember that he is not the only puppy who
does so.
Upon the whole, Jack is an immense favorite
with all who know him, but especially the First
Maryland regiment, who claim him as their own,
and who were tickled at the idea of seeing him
handed down to immortality in the pages of Harper.
They expressed a determination of having, as soon
as they got to Baltimore, a splendid collar made
expres-ly for their favorite; and we shall be sur-
pri-ert if this luck}' dog does not become a great
lion in the monumental city.
INMANA «» AT DANVILLB, ^NTU^T, AFTER DRIVING OUT THE KEBE
•I" Mil Ilfl l,JlA \l
PAGE 715.]
LOIS.
LILY likeness! That is all the word in our
cool dictionary that will tell yon any thing of Lois
Hall; though, to be business-like, I should com
mence with the cottage, standing on a little brown
ish rise, with a faint flower-garden, and an inef
fectual vegetable patch, from which yon are to in
fer that the soil was stubborn, and likely to prove
too much for the little hired boy—sole scrap of
masculinity about the premises of Mrs. Hall; and
that the only neighbor was the sea, tumbling in
disorderly fashion on the desolate beach below
them.
Lois's room looked on it, out of one little vrhitc-
curtained window; the other kept itself informed
as to the state of the country, and the probabili
ties of visitors coming " across-lots." Between
them stood a bureau, whose drawers had been ri
fled by Tory marauders, troubled with an eruption
of brass knobs and handles, having a swinging
oval mirror, and a small infinity of little drawers,
where, doubtless, some belle of the Revolution be
stowed her powder and patches, her buckles and
ruffles. In a corner was the bed, modeled, as to
proportions, after that of the unlucky Canaanitish
king of old—one which made getting in peculiar
and getting out problematical, and offered you your
choice of locality, if you had any fancies about
your head and particular points of the compass;
grimly carved, and unrelenting, even over Lois,
asleep there, her brown hair falling all over the
pillow, and a little hand clutching painfully at the
coverlet. Lazy child 1 waking, half an hour after
the nsnal time, with a start and troubled eyes.
"Lead us not into temptation, bnt deliver us
from evil," murmured Lois, as she knelt down to
pray. '' Does the Father of Lies send such dreams ?"
I have said that "lily-likeness" was the only
word for Lois, yet I wish that I could better define
her peculiar charm. Other girls had hair as soft
and abundant, brighter color, for Lois was pale,
form as lithe; neither was there strength or lofty
purpose in the lines of her face: yet she took yon
always by surprise; she was just what yon had
not expected to see. Then, too, lived a peculiar
charm in Lois's touch; every thing that had been
sear her blabbed of its happiness: the little col
lar lying across the toilet cushion; the velvet bow
that John Gifford had taken from her hair and kiss
ed the night before he went to join his regiment.
She was thinking now of it and him. When he
came back she was to marry him; she had loved—
no, not that—she had liked him all her life, from
the time that he fought her battles at school till
now. He was the son of their nearest neighbor;
was taller, stronger, better-looking, kinder, braver,
than any one else. It was quite natural. She had
been more proud than grieved when he went away,
and always calmly certain that he would come back
safe, only her dream troubled her. It had been
of him, and all pain and confusion; and I doubt if
she quite recovered serenity till, on her way down,
she had looked ont on the piazza, and breathed in
the morning peace and freshness before entering
the "sitting-room," as it is styled in New England
nomenclature.
Her mother turned from the window with a face
brighter than the sun pouring in between the mus
lin curtains, leaving for Lois's view a tall figure
with a lieutenant's strap on his broad shoulders,
and a face that, however browned and altered by
the shading of a mustache and cutting short of
curling hair, was still John Gifford's.
• Lois stopped short in utter wonder. Her mother
quietly stepped from the room, closing the door be
hind her.
" Well, Apple-blossom I" cried John, " I am not
a ghost, you seel"
At sound of the voice Lois remembered herself,
and went quickly to him, holding out both hands.
" So it is really you 1 I am not half awake yet I
I thought yon were part of my dream. How you
have changed I"
'' Yon have not!" said the admiring John. Then
suddenly catching her close in his strong arms:
" Oh, Lois, Lois ! how can you ? Is this your
girl's nonsense, or does your still heart really know
nothing of what is going on in mine ? Child, I
have lived in the thought of you as we ought to
live to God. Why, I have stopped when the bat
tle was at the maddest to make sure that that bit
of ribbon of yours was safe, warming my heart; and
all the hateful time in the hospital I had but one
grayer,' O God, come what will, let me see my little
Lois again!'—while yon—yon are so coldly sweet."
Lois looked puzzled and distressed.
" Why I am very glad to see you, dear Jdhn,
ouly it is so sudden, and so strange. Did yon
come last night ? I heard nothing of it."
" We made noise enough," holding her fast, and
stroking her lovely brown hair.
"We? Who?"
" I have some one with me—Captain Dinwid-
die; he is a splendid fellow, got a bad hit in that
last affair of ours, and I brought him here for yon
and mother to nurse up. He hasn't a near relative
in the world, and these hotels are so deuced hard
on a poor fellow that is half sick and in a hurry to
get well."
Lois clouded at once.
" Yon know I don't like strangers, John."
But, my darling, this is my friend. He saved
my life. When we were ordered on our final rush
across that confounded slaughter trap of a field,
my leg met a ball, and in the thickest of the fight
down I went like a baby. Allan—that's the Cap
tain, you understand—saw me tumble, sung out to
some of the men, and came on, our fellows say, like,
a tiger, pitched into half a dozen rebels so they
thought the very devil was after them, picked me
up (he is not a stout man, but he took nearly all
my weight himself), fairly carried me off under the
very nuse of the battery blazing away at us like
Vesuvius or some of those fellows. Is that a stran
ger! We've stuck together like David and Jona
than. I don't believe there has been a skirmish, or
a ticklish reconnoissance, or a hard camping ont,
that we haven't shared together; and then, Lois,"
argues this impetuous John, calming a little, "if I
took him home you know what the girls are. They
couldn't nurse him or talk to him as you can, and
your mother is willing. What do you suppose she
said last night, bless her!—that she would take a
regiment in if they were friends of mine;" and John
burst into a somewhat forced laugh, by way of
contradicting his eyes.
"This Captain must be a hero. I should like to
see him," thought Lois; for John never could enter
in her imagination even as candidate for that dis
tinction. He was blundering about women's mat
ters, and not always kind to the queen's English—
things impossible to reconcile with heroship.
" Well, pnssy ?" asked John, a little anxiously.
Born to be hen-pecked was our John evidently,
but then so was the Duke of Marlborough.
" I was wrong. I am glad yon brought Cap
tain Dinwiddie here," answered Lois, quietly.
The door opened. " He is coming I" whispered
John, still trying to hold her fast, but the slipped
away from him like snow, and stood expectant.
The first look was a disappointment.
Captain Dinwiddie was thirty at least, probably
thirty-five, and looked to Lois's inexperienced eyes
slightly made. His features were irregular, his
only beauty a pair of fine eyes, normally gray, bnt
changing perpetually to blue and even intenscst
black, and almost feminine softness—owing doubt
less to the remarkable length of the lashes, yet in
terpenetrated every tone and look, that " charm"
as subtle and impossible to define when found in
man as in woman—and Lois, who had recoiled at
first, caught herself, before ten minutes were well
over, liking him very mnch. Came simultaneous
ly with this admission an oppressing sense of be
ing ill at ease, of every thing looking its wont, of
John's boorishness, of the mortifying plainness of
their housekeeping. Engaged in this profitable
thinking, she could hardly have told whether she
had eaten breakfast or not. John, however, at the
zenith of his happiness, read nothing of this in
Lois's downcast face. He was busy with his plans
for the day.
" He must make his peace at home," he said,
laughingly, " and Lois he dared say would enter
tain Captain Dinwiddie;" at which Lois held her
peace, but inwardly fell into consternation, for what
had she in common with this fine Captain? So
terrified was she at the thought, that she even came
out of her shell of coolness, and eagerly whispered
John to stay, holding his coat by one white finger
and blushing very much. John wouldn't have
given that timid touch for the diamonds of Sinbad;
yet there was the fact of mother and sisters nnvisit-
ed, stubborn as ever, leaving him nothing but to
ride away after all.
Lois sat down by her little work-basket with a
strip of muslin. Doubtless its hemming was of
vital importance, for if it had been the bond of
peace or the ties of affection she couldn't have
given it more undivided attention. Allan drew up
the lounge close by her. •
" May I lie down ? I have gotten used to self-
petting since this troublesome wound."
Lois looked up at him. She had not thought
how really pale and suffering he seemed. He
"certainly*' took a new inflection, for now that
she knew what to do with him and could pit}- him
he had lost at once all his terrors.
He lay a while quietly watching her—suddenly
broke out,
" It was good in John to bring me here. After
our stormy life, you and this little quiet home
are veritable Paradise. I think myself there."
Certainly he looked his thought; the hard lines
had gone from his face; he might have been ten
years younger, but he could never long be quiet.
He fidgeted, tnrned form side to side, drew pres
ently a book from his pocket.
"Lois—I beg pardon, Miss Hall—I am so used
to hear John speak of you by that pretty Puritan
name of yours."
" Every one calls me so, yon need not make the
exception."
"Well then, Lois," dwelling lovingly on the
word, " let me read to yon;" and without waiting
for assent, he began the story of Euid.
Lois listened pleased at first, but half way her
lips began to curl.
"Yon don't like it?" he asked, curiously.
"The telling, but not the story."
"Yon wouldn't so have ridden with the man
you loved ?"
Lois's eyes rather than her lips flashed ont
"Never!"
" Then yon have never—" He stopped short.
"Never what?"
" Nothing."
" What were yon about to say ?"
" I have thought better of it, I shall not tell
you."
" Please."
" Positively no," and he went on reading.
John came back late and looking anxious.
" Small benefit would he get from his furlough!
Mother was over heatt and ears in a lawsuit, and
every one was in trouble, and he must spend at
least three days in town, perhaps more, and try to
straighten out the tangled skein."
Lois looked grave on hearing this, bnt then that
was only natural.
John staid not three days bnt a week; wrote
then, postponing his return indefinitely. " If he
only had the lawyers in proper position before a
certain battery that he wot ef, he thought that he
could bring them to terms; as it was, submission
and patience were all that were left."
That morning Allan's wound had troubled him,
and he had spent it on the sofa while Lois sat near
with her sewing. When lunch time came she
would not permit him to stir, but brought up the
eld-fashioned stand, that spent most of its time in
being very much on one side in a corner, and look
ing like a target, laid thereon a fresh cloth that
scented of rose leaves, a silver basket piled with
roasted apples, and a pitcher of a quaint stumpi-
ness and solidity filled with cream. Just then
came John's letter. Allan watched her read, or
rather hurry over it impatiently.
"He says it may be another week before he
comes," was her comment, letting the letter slip
through her careless fingers to the floor.
Allan picked it np.
"I have no pocket," said Lois, "and it is too
mnch trouble to go up stairs."
" What shall I do with it?"
"What yon like."
"Yon mean that?"
"Yes; why not?"
Allan's eyes were at their inteneest, looking into
hers with a glance that she could not bear an in
stant. He rose deliberately, walked to the fire
place, held it over the coals an instant, and dropped
it in. At that Lois, who hatl been sitting like one
petrified, exclaimed,
"Oh, Allan!"
"Well?"
His tone was so sharp that she shrank a little.
"Nothing—there is no harm—I have read it;
but oh 1 John would never believe it!"
Allan groaned.
" I wish I were shriveled np, body and soul, like
that!" pointing to the black film quivering on the
coals.
" Oh no 1 not without me!" cried the girl who a
week before smiled her scorn of Euid's tame con
stancy.
Allan tnrned and came hastily toward her—
stopped half way—ground ont a bitter .exclama
tion, and left the room; and a little after Loisa
saw him galloping past the window on his way to
town. He came back late and went at once to his
room. The next day he frequented Jhe kitchen, to
Mrs. Hall's discomfiture, and stuck by that lady
as thongh she were his salvation, all the time plain
ly avoiding Lois. He was fighting Apollyon man
fully—fighting as a man will with remorse behind
and dishonor in front.
Lois, poor child! understood nothing of this.
She had sometimes a dim, painful sense of wrong
and danger, bnt it was forgotten now in the new
and overwhelming fear of having in some unimag
inable way offended him; and she wearied out
memory trying to recall the unhappy word or look
that had done this mischief. For the hundredth
time she was thinking this over as they were going
down to the beach in utter, dreary silence, be with
head bent down and lip compressed.
Suddenly the pain grew too intolerable.
"What have I done?" she exclaimed. "Are
yon angry with me ? What is it ? You make me
so miserable, Allan!"
Captain Dinwiddie shuddered from head to foot,
and looked desperately away; but there were the
soft, clinging fingers on his arm, and the burning,
pitiful face that he had seen with his first unguard
ed look, and the sudden tremble of tile sweet voice,
and, above all, the passionate love in his fierce
heart; and suddenly honor, conscience, Trill, what
ever chains had bonnd him, snapped short. Words
came like lava:
"Angry, and at yon, my darling! my own—"
He stopped sharply. They were close on the
beach. "Watch that wave," he said, hoarsely.
" If it break against this rock it is fate. If not-
well, we shall see."
Even as he spoke it was upon them, breaking
over the fragment on which they stood, wetting
Lois's dainty walking-boots.
" It is fate," he repeated.
"What?"
" I will tell you by-and-by. Let us go back."
The afternoon was a wild one; sun showing fit
fully among hurrying clonds, and the wind moan
ing and shrieking after them as they went up to
ward the house. Already it was almost dark in
the-cozy sitting-room, and the fire gleamed and
smouldered in twilight fashion. The house vat
deserted. Kitty had leave of absence; Mrs. Hall
had gone to a neighbor's. No better time for Al
lan Dinwiddie than now. He caught Lois's hand
and drew her down beside him.
" Lois," he said, " when, in place of the apple-
cheeked, black-eyed girl I had imagined, I first saw
yon, I said to myself, this poor, blundering* John
has stumbled on the pearl that I have been use
lessly looking for all my life. When you rebelled
against Enid I knew that yon had never loved. I
had guessed it from the first; you had all the calm
of a child. When I burned the letter I tried you ;
bnt your words called up John; I fancied him
amazed, reproachful, incredulous of my villainy.
I hated the thought of my perfidy. Child, what
evil spirit was it that sent you to me then, with
your pleading eyes—as if I could be angry with
you ? Tl.en, when I felt what a straw I was in
the vortex, I said, let chance decide: if the wave
strike the rock I will struggle no more; if not, I
will leave this place to-night. Yet, after all, Loi«,
it is you, not the wave, that must decide. Tell
me, dear, what is my verdict ? Do yon love me ?''
Lois hid her face, but Allan drew her hands
away and held them; and then, her head drooping
lower and lower,
" I thought that I loved John—I did, indeed,"
she said, pitifully. " I was so ignorant. I never
once guessed, though I might have known, why I
liked yon so. Oh ! I am a wicked, wicked girl!
I hope John will kill me!"
"Yon should have known John better," cried
some one coming out of the shadow, and showing
them John himself.
Lois was too utterly appalled to speak f move
she could not, for Allan held her fast.
" There were two men in one city," went ou the
solemn voice, "the one rich, and the other poor.
The rich man had exceeding many flocks and herds.
But the poor man had nothing, save one little ewe
lamb, which he had bought and nourished up—"
The steady tones faltered. Lois cried out,
" Let me go, Allan!—I will go 1 I tell yon this
will kill me!"
She writhed herself free, and going over to John
tried to kneel before him, but he held her out at
arms'-length.
" Kill me!" she said, faintly.
"For what?—to add crime to sorrow? Oh!
Lois, it is bitter enough now! I prayed God that
I might see yon again, come what would, and He
•heard me; and rather than have had such seeing
I would that my lips had stiffened in death while
I was praying."
" It is not worth it," said Lois, half proudly. " I
am only a silly girl. Some day yon will wonder
how you could have cared for me."
John took a little case from his pocket and tossed
it open on the table.
"See, Lois, these were for yon: yon were al
ways running in my head. I think your little
finger was more precious in my sight than all the
women I ever saw. Fool that I was! all the way
home I pleased myself thinking how I should clasp
them on your pretty wrists. I hid myself when
I saw yon coming, thinking to surprise you. I
never dreamed that yon didn't love me; yet I might
have known that yon were too young to look into
yonr own heart, or to bind yourself by such a sol
emn promise. Bnt you—oh Allan! my friend—
my brother!"
Allan raised his head.
" If it will be any satisfaction to nse me for a
target."
"No, no!" cried Lois, hurrying between them,
" the blame is mine—all mine."
John turned pale at that. To see her looking at
Allan with such love in the eyes that had been so
cold for him was more than he could bear.
" It is a sore temptation," he said, hurriedly. " I
had better go. If I stay here longer I shall have
as many devils as the man whose name was Le
gion."
He went away, avoiding Mrs. Hall, whom he satv
coming at a distance. Lois sobbed hysterically,
and Allan, who spite of remorse could not help feel
ing triumph also, set himself to comfort her—an
easier matter that than to explain to Mrs. Hall
who loved John almost as well as she did Lois.
Still the thing was done—conld not be undone.
Scandal would not help it, so she sighed in secret,
shielded and countenanced them outwardly, above
all hastened their marriage as fast as possible.
In her happiness Lois has almost forgotten John's
Bad, stern face, and the solemn words utterad in
the twilight; but will sin forget her?

HARPER'S WEEKLY.
NEGROES PRIVEN SOUTH BY THE REBEL OFFICERS.—[SEE PAGE 718.]
713

714 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 8, 18(52.
[Entered according to Act of Congress, In the Year 188!,
by Harper & Brothers, iu the Ucrk'n Office of the Dls-
trlct Court for the Southern District of New York.]
NO NAME.
BY WILKIE COLLINS,
•»cmnR or "THE WOMAN IN nun*,11 "DRAD nottr,"
•TO., mo.
ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN M'LENAN.
rriritp A from the MnunarHpt nncl
«m-ly 1'root'- ffheetM purolmwecl by tlie
FroprU»tori» of "Harppr'm \VeeUly."
CHAPTER II.
Mng. LECOITST mixed tlio snl volatile with
water, nncl administered it immcdiiitely. The
stimulant had its effect. In a lew minutes Noel
Yanitone was able to raise himself in the chair
without assistance: his color changed agnin for
tlio bettor, and his breath came and went more
freely.
" How do yon feel now, Sir ?" asked Mrs. Le-
connt. "Are yon warm again on your leftside?"
He paid no attention to thnt inquiry; his eyes,
wandering about the room, turned by chance to-
wnrd the table. To Mrs. Account's surprise, in
stead of answering her he bent forward in his
chair, and looked with staring eyes and pointing
hand at the second bottle which she had taken
from the cupboard, and which she had hastily
laid aside, withont paying attention to it. See
ing that some new alarm possessed him, she ad
vanced to the table, and looked where he looked.
The labeled side of the bottle wns full in view;
and there, in the plain handwriting of the chem
ist at A Id borough, was the one startling word,
confronting them both, "Poison."
Even Mrs. Lccount's self-possession was shaken
by thnt discovery. She was not prepared to see
h"--r own darkest forebodings—the unacknowl
edged offspring of her hatred for Magdalen—•
realised as she saw them realized now. The
suicide-despair in which the poison had been
procured, the suicide-pnrpose for which, in dis
trust of the future, the poison had been kept,
h.id brought with them their own retribution.
Tlierc the bottle lay, in Magdalen's absence, a
false witness of treason which had never entered
her mind—treason against her hnsband's life I
With his hand still mechanically pointing at
the tuble, Noel Vanstone raised his head and
looked np at Mrs. Lecount.
"I took it from the cupboard," she said, an
swering the look. " I took both bottles out to
gether, not knowing which might be the bottle
I wanted. I am as much shocked, as much
frightened, as yon ere."
"Poison! "he said to himself, slowly. "Pois
on locked up by my wife, in the cupboard in her
own room." lie stopped, and looked at Mrs.
Lecount once more. "For me.'" he asked, iu a
vacant, inquiring tone.
" We will not talk of it, Sir, nntil yonr mind
is more at ease," said Mrs. Lecount. "Let us
try to forget this dreadful discovery for the pres
ent—let ne go down stairs at once. All that I
have now to Bay to yon can be said in another
room."
She helped him to rise from the chair, and
took his arm in her own. "It is well for him,
it is well for me," she thonght, as they went down
stairs together, " that I came when I did."
On crossing the passage she stepped to the
front door, where the carriage was waiting which
had bronght her from Dumfries, and instructed
the coachman to pnt up his horses at the nearest
inn, and to call again for her in two hours' tima.
This done she accompanied Noel Vanetonc into
the sitting-room, stirred np the fire, and placed
him before it comfortably in an easy-chair. He
sat for a few minntes, warming his hands feebly
like an old man, and Blaring straight into the
flame. Then he spoke.
"When the woman came and threatened me
in* Vanxhall Walk," he began, still staring into
the fire, "yon camo back to the parlor, after she
was gone; and you told me— ?" He stopped,
shivered a little, and lost the thread of his recol
lections at that point.
"I told yon, Sir," said Mrs. Lecount, "that
the woman was, in my opinion, Miss Vanstone
herself. Don't start, Mr. Noel I Your wife is
away, nnd I am here to take care of you I Say
to yourself, if you feel frightened, ' Lecount is
here; Lecount will take care of me.' The truth
must be told, Sir, however hard to bear the truth
may be. Miss Magdalen Vanstone was the wo
man who came to you in disguise; and the wo
man who came to you in disguise is the woman
you have married. The conspiracy which she
threatened you with in London is the conspiracy
which has made her yonr wife. That it the
plain truth. You have seen the dress np stairs.
If that drcse had been no longer in existence, I
should still have had my proofs to convince you.
Thauks to my interview with Mrs. Bygravc, I
have discovered the house your wife lodged at in
London—it was opposite our house in Vanxhall
Walk. I have laid my hand on one of the land
lady's daughters, who watched your wife from
Kin inner room and saw her put on the disguise;
who can speak to her identity, and to the ideuti-
ty of her companion, Mrs. Bygrave; and who
has furnished me, at my own request, with a
written statement of facts, which she is ready to
nffirm on oath, if any person ventures to con
tradict her. You shall read the statement, Mr.
Noel, if you like, when you ore fitter to under
stand it. You shall also read a letter in tbo
handwriting of Miss Garth—who will repeat to
you personally, if you like, what she has written
to me—a letter formally denying that she was
ever in Vauxhall Walk, and formally asserting
that those moles on yonr wife's neck are marks
peculiar to Miss Mngdalen Vanstone, whom she
hns known from childhood. I say it with a just
pride—-you will find no weak place any where in
the evidence which I bring you. If Mr. Bygrave
had not stolen my letter, you would have had
your warning before I wns cruelly deceived into
going to Zurich; and the proofs which I now
bring you after your marriage I should then
have offered to yon before it. Don't hold me re
sponsible, Sir, for what has happened since I left
England. Blame your uncle's bnstard daugh
ter, and blamo that villain with the brown eye
and the green 1"
She spoke her last venomons words as slowly
and distinctly as she hnd spoken all the rest.
Noel Vanstone made no answer—he still sat
cowering over the fire. She looked round into
his face. He was crying silently. "I was so
fond of her!" seid the miserable little creature;
"and I thought she was so fond of Me!"
Mrs. Lecount turned her buck on him in dis
dainful silence. "Fond of her!" As she re
peated those words to herself her haggnrd face
became almost handsome ngain in the magnifi
cent intensity of its contempt.
.She walked to a book-case at the lower end of
the room and begnn examining the volumes in
it. Before she had been long engaged in this
way she was startled by the sound of his voice,
affrightedly culling her back. The tears were
gone from his face: it wns hlnnk again with
terror when ho now turned it toward her.
"Lecount!" he said, holding to her with both
hands. "Can an egg be poisoned? I hnd an
egg for breakfast this morning nnd a little tonst."
"Make your mind easy, Sir," said Mrs. Le-
connt. " The poison of your wife's deceit is the
only poison you have taken yet. If she had re
solved already on making you pay the price of
yonr folly v, ith your life, she would not be ab
sent from the house while you were left living in*
it. Dismiss the thonglit from your mind. It is
the middle of the day; you want refreshment.
I have more to say to you in the interests of your
own safety—I have something for you to do,
which must be done at onco. Recruit yonr
strength and you will do it. I will set you the
example of eating if you still distrust the food
in this house. Are you composed enough to
give the servant her orders if I ring the bell?
It is necessary to the object I have in view for
you, that nobody should think you ill in holly, or
troubled in mind. Try first with me before the
servant comes in. Let us see how you look and
speak when you say, "Bring up the lunch."
After two rehearsals, Mrs, Lecount considered
him fit to give the order without betraying him
self.
The bell was answered by Louisa—Louisa
looked hard at Mrs. Leconnt. The luncheon
wns brought np by the housemaid—the house
maid looked hard at Mrs. Leconnt. When lunch
eon was over, the table was cleared by the cook
—the cook looked hard at Mrs. Lecount. The
three servants were plainly anspicious that some
thing extraordinary was going on in the house.
It was hardly possible to doubt that they had
arranged to share among themselves the three
opportunities which the service of the table af
forded them of entering the room.
The curiosity of which she was the object did
not escape the penetration of Mrs. Lecount. " I
did well," she thought, " to arm myself in good
time with the means of reaching my end. If I
let the grass grow nnder my feet, one or other of
those women might get in my way." Roused
by this consideration, she produced her traveling-
bag from a corner, as soon as the last of the
servants had left the room, and seating herself at
the end of the table opposite Noel Vanstone,
looked at him for a moment with a steady in
vestigating attention. She had carefully regu
lated the qnantity of wine which he had taken
at luncheon — she had let him drink exactly
enough to fortify without confusing him—and
she now examined his face critically, like an
artist examining his picture, at the end of the
day's work. The result appeared to satisfy her;
and she opened the serious business of the* inter
view on Ae spot.
" Will you look at the written evidence I men
tioned to you, Mr. Noel, before I say any more ?"
she inqnired. " Or are you sufficiently persuaded
of the truth to proceed at once to the suggestion
which I hove now to make to you ?"
"Let me hear your suggestion," he said, sul
lenly resting his elbows on the table, and leaning
his head on his hands.
Mrs. Lecount took from her traveling-bag the
written evidence to which she had just alluded,
and carefully placed the papers ou one side of
him, within easy reach if he wished to refer to
them. Far from being daunted, she was visibly
encouraged by the ungraciousness of his nianuer.
Her experience of him informed her that the
sign was a promising one. On those rare occa
sions when the little resolution that he possessed
was roused in him, it invariably asserted itself—
like the resolution of most other weak men—
aggressively. At ench times in proportion as
he was outwardly sullen and discourteous to those
about him his resolution rose; and in proportion
as he was considerate and polite it fell. The
tone of the answer he had just given, and the
attitude, he assumed at the table, convinced Mrs.
Lecount thnt Spanish vino nnd Scotch mutton
had done their duty, and had rallied his sinking
courage.
" I w ill put the question to you for form's sake,
Sir, if you wish it," she proceeded. "But I am
already certain, withour any question at all, that
you have made your will ?"
lie nodded his head without looking at her.
"Yon have made it in your wife's favor?"
He nodded ngain.
" You have left her every thing you possess ?"
"No."
Mrs. Leconnt looked surprised.
"Did you exercise a reserve toward her, Mr.
Noel, of your o«n accord?" she inquired, "or
is it possible that your wife put her own limits to
her interest in your will ?"
He was uneasily silent—he was plainly ashamed
to answer the question. Mrs. Lecount repeated
it in a less direct form.
"How much have yon left your widow, Mr.
Noel, in the event of your death?"
" Eighty thousand pounds."
That reply answered the qnestion. Eighty
thonsnnd pounds was exactly the fortune which
Michael Vanstone hnd taken from his brother's
orphan children at his brother's death—exactly
the fortune of which Michael Vanstone's son had
kept possession, in his turn, ns pitilessly ns his
father before him. Noel Vanstone's silence wns
eloquent of the confession which he was ashnmed
to make. His doting weakness had, beyond all
doubt, placed his whole property at the feet of
his wife. And this girl, whose vindictive daring
had defied all restraints—this girl, who had not
shrunk from her desperate determination even
at the church door—had, in the very hour of her
triumph, tnken part only from the man who
would willingly have given all!—had rigorous
ly cxaatcd her father's fortune from him to the
last farthing, and hod then turned her bnck on
the hand that was tempting her with tens of
thousands morel For the moment Mrs. Le
count was fairly silenced by her own surprise;
Mngdnlcn hnd forced the astonishment from her
which IB akin to admiration, the astonishment
which her enmity would fuin have refused. She
hated Magdalen with a tenfold hatred from that
time.
" I have no doubt, Sir," she resumed, after a
momentary silence, "that Mrs. Noel gave you
excellent reasons why the provision for her at
your death should be no more, and no less, than
eighty thonsand pounds. "And, on the other
hand, I am equally sure that you, in your in
nocence of ay suspicion, found those reasons
conclusive at the time. That time has now gone
by. Your eyes are opened, Sir; nnd you will
not fail to remark (as I remark) that the Combe-
Raven property happens to reach the same sum
exactly as the legacy which your wife's own in
structions directed you to leave her. If you-are
still in any doubt of the motive for which she mar
ried you, look iu your own will, and there the
motive is!"
He raised his hend from his hands, and be
came closely attentive to what she wns saying to
him for the first time since they hod faced each
other at the table. The Combe-Raven property
had never been classed by itself in his estimation.
It had come to him merged in his father's other
possessions at his father's death. The discovery
which had now opened before him was one to
which his ordinary habits of thought, as well ns
his innocence of suspicion, hnd hitherto closed
his eyes. He said nothing, hut he looked Icsl
sullenly at Mrs. Lecount. His manner was more
iugratiating; the high tide of his courage was
already on the ebb.
" Your position, Sir, must be as plain by thitf
time to you as it is to me," said Mrs. Leconnt.
"There is only-one obstacle now left between
this woman and the'attainment of her end. That
obstacle is your life. After the discovery we have
made up stairs, I leave you to consider for your
self what your life is worth."
At those terrible words the ebbing resolution
in him ran out to the last drop. " Don't fright
en me!" he plended; "I have been frightened
enough already." He rose, and dragged his
elmir after him round the table to Mrs. Le-
count's side. He sat down, and caressingly
kissed her hand. "You good creature!" he
said, in a sinking voice. " You excellent Le
count ! Tell me whnt to do. I'm full of reso
lution—I'll do any thing to save my life 1"
" Have you got writing materials in the room,
Sir?" asked Mrs. Lecount. "Will you pnt
them on the table, if you please?"
While the writing materials were in process of
collection Mrs. Lecount made a new demaud on
the resources of her traveling-hog. She took
two papers from it, each indorsed in the same
neat commercial handwriting. One was de
scribed ns "Draft for proposed Will;" and the
other as " Draft for proposed Letter." When
she placed them before her on the tnblc her hnnd
shook a little; nnd she applied the smelling-
salts, which she had brought with her in Noel
Vanstone's interests, to her own nostrils.
"I had hoped, when I Came here, Mr. Noel,"
she proceeded, " to have given you more time for
consideration than it seems safe to give you now.
When you first told me of yonr wife's absence in
London I thought it probable that the object of
her jonrney wns to see her sister and Miss Garth.
Since the horrible discovery we have made up
stairs I am inclined to alter that opinion. Your
wife's determination not to tell you who the
friends are whom she has gone to see fills me
with alarm. She may have accomplices in Lon
don—accomplices, for any thing we know to the
contrary, in this house. All three of yonr serv
ants, Sir, have taken tbe opportunity in -turn
of coming into the room and looking at me. I
don't like their looks! Neither you nor I know
whnt may happen from day to day, or even from
hour to hour. If you take my advice you will
get the start at once of all possible accidents,
-and when the carriage comes back yon will leave
this house with me."
"Yes, yce!" he said, eagerly; " I'll leave the
house with you. 1 wouldn't stop here by my
self for any sum of money that could be offered
me. What do you want the pen and ink for ?
Are you to write, or am I ?"
"You are to write, Sir," said Mrs. Lecount.
" The means taken for promoting your own safe
ty are to be means set in motion, from begin
ning to end, .by yourself. I suggest, Mr. Noel
—and you decide. Recognize your own posi
tion, Sir. What is your first and foremost ne
cessity? It is plainly this. You must destroy
your wife's interest in your death by making an
other will."
He vehemently nodded his approval; his col
or rose, and his blinking eyes brightened in ma
licious triumph. " She sha'n't have a farthing,"
he said to himself, in a whisper—"she sha'n't
have a farthing 1"
"When your will is made, Sir," proceeded
Mrs. Lecount, "you mnst place it in the hands
of a trust-worthy person—not my hands, Mr.
MR& LECOUNT MOVEP WITH IMPENETRABLE DIGNITY FROM THE TABLE TO THE DOOR."
NOVEMBER 8, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. (
Noel; I am only yonr servant I Then, when
the will is safe, and when you are safe, write to
yonr wife at this house. Tell her her infamous
imposture is discovered—tell her you have made
a new will, which leaves her penniless at your
death—tell her, in your righteous indignation,
thnt she enters your doors no more. Place your
self in thnt strong position, and it is no longer
you who ore at your wife's Jjercy, but your wife
who is at yours. Assert your own power, Sir,
with the law to help you, and crush this woman
into submission to any terms for the future tnat
you please to impose."
lie eagerly took up the pen. "Yes," he said,
with a vindictive self-importance, "any terms I
please to impose." He suddenly checked him
self, and his face became dejected and perplexed.
"How can I do it now?" ho asked, throwing
down the pen us quickly as he had taken it np.
"Do what, Sir?" inquired Mrs. Lecount.
" How can I make my will, with Mr. Los-
combe nway in London and no lawyer here to
help me?"
Mrs. Leconnt gently tapped the papers before
her on the table with her forefinger.
"All the help you need, Sir, is waiting for
you here," she said. " I considered this matter
carefully before I came to you, nnd I provided
myself with the confidential assistance of a friend,
to guide me through those difficulties which I
could not penetrate for myself. The friend to
whom I refer is a gentlcmnn of Swiss extrac
tion, but born and bred in England. He is not
a lawyer by profession, but he has had his own
sufficient experience of the law, nevertheless;
nnd. he has supplied me, not only with a model
by which you may make your will, but with the
written sketch of n letter which it is as import-
nnt for us to hnve as the model of the will itself.
There is another necessity waiting for you, Mr.
Noel, which I have not mentioned yet, but which
is no less urgent, iu its way, than the necessity
of the will."
"What.is it?" he asked, with roused curi
osity.
"We will take it in its turn, Sir," answered
Mrs. Lecqunt. "Its turn has not come yet.
The will, if you please, first. I will dictate
from the model in my possession, and you will
write. Unless I greatly mistake your inten
tions, the document, when completed, will be
short enough and simple enough for a child to
understand it. But if any doubts remain on
your mind, by all means compose those doubts
by showing your will to a lawyer by profession.
In the mean time, let me not be considered in
trusive if I remind you that we are all mortal,
and that the lost opportunity can never be re
called. While your time is your own, Sir, and
while your enemies are nnsuspicions of you,
make yonr will!"
She opened a sheet of note-paper and smooth
ed it out before him; she dipped the pen in ink
and placed it in his hands. He took it from her
without speaking; he was, to all appearance,
Buffering under some temporary uneasiness of
mind. But the main point was gained. There
he sat, with the paper before him and the pen
in his hand, ready at last, in right earnest, to
make his will.
"The first question for you to decide, Sir,"
said Mrs. Leconnt, after a preliminary glauce
at her Draft, "is your choice of an executor.
I have no desire to influence yonr decision; but
I may, withont impropriety, remind you that a
wise choice means, in other words, the choice
of au old and tried friend whom you know that
you cnn trust."
"It means the admiral, I snppose?" said
Noel Vnnstone.
Mrs. Leeonnt bowed.
"Very well," he continued. "The admiral
let it be."
There was plainly some oppression still weigh
ing on his mind. Even nnder the trying cir
cumstances in which he was now placed it was
not iu his nature to take Mrs. Lecount's per
fectly sensible and disinterested advice without
a word of cavil, as he had taken it now.
"Are you ready, Sir?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Leconnt dictated the first paragraph
from the Draft as follows :
"This is the last Will nnd Testament of me,
Noel Vnnstone, now living at Baliol Cottage,
near Dumfries. I revoke, absolutely and in ev
ery particular, my former will, executed on the
thirtieth of September, eighteen hundred and
forty-seven; and I hereby appoint Rear-Admi-
rnl Arthur Everard Bnrtram, of St. Crux-in-
the-Marsh, Essex, sole executor of this my will."
"Hnve you written those words, Sir?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Lecount laid down the Draft; Noel Van-
stone laid down the pen. They neither of them
looked nt each other. There was n long silence.
"I nm waiting, Mr. Noel," said Mrs. Le
connt, at last, " to hear what your wishes are
in respect to the disposal of your fortune. Your
large fortune," she added, with merciless em-
phnsis.
He took up the pen again, and began picking
the feathers from the quill in dead silence.
" Perhaps yonr existing will may help you to
instruct me, Sir," pursued Mrs. Lecount. " May
I inquire to whom you left all your surplus mon-
' cy after leaving the eighty thousand pounds to
your wife ?"
If he had answered that qnestion plninly he
must have snid, " I have left the whole surplus
to my cousin, George Bartrnm," and the im
plied acknowledgment that Mrs. Leconnt's name
wns not mentioned iu the will must then hnve
followed in Mrs. Lecount's presence. A much
bolder man, in his situation, might have felt the
same oppression nnd the same embarrassment
which he wns feeling now. lie picked the last
morsel of feather from the quill, and, desperate
ly leaping the pitfall nnder his feet, advanced
to meet Mrs. Leconut's claims on him of his
own accord.
" I would rather not talk of any will but the
will I am making now,"hesaid, uneasily. "The
first thing, Lecount—" lie hesitated—put the
bare end of the quill into his month—gnawed at
it thoughtfully—and said no more.
"Yes, Sir?" persisted Mrs. Lecount.
"The first thing is—"
"Yes, Sir?"
"The first thing is, to—to make some provi
sion for You ?"
He spoke the lost words in a tone of plaintive
interrogation—as if all hope of being met by a
magnanimous refusal had not deserted him even
yet. Mrs. Lecount culightened his mind on this
point without a moment's loss of time.
"Thnnk you, Mr. Noel," she said, with the
tone and manner of a woman who was uot ac
knowledging a favor but receiving a right.
He took another bite at the quill. The per
spiration bcgnn to appear on his face.
"The difficulty is," he remarked, "to nay
how much."
""Your lamented father, Sir," rejoined Mrs.
Lecount, " met thnt difficulty (if you remember)
at the time of his last illness?'.'
"I don't remember," said Noel Vunstone,
doggedly.
"You were on one side of his bed, Sir, and I
was on the other. We were vainly trying to
lersuade him to make his will. After telling us
e wonld wait and make his will when he was
well again—he looked round at me and said
some kind and feeling words which my memory
will treasure to my dying day. Have you for
gotten those words, Mr. Noel ?"
"Yes," said Mr. Noel, without hesitation.
"In my present situation, Sir," retorted Mrs.
Lecount, " delicacy forbids me to improve your
memory."
She looked at her wntch and relapsed into
silence, lie clenched bis hands and writhed
from side to side of his chair in an agony of in
decision. Mrs. Leconnt passively refused to take
the slightest notice of him.
"Whnt should you say—?" he began, and
suddenly stopped again.
"Yes, Sir?"
"What should you say to — a thousand
ponnds ?"
Mrs. Lecount rose from her chair and looked
him full in the face with the majestic indigna
tion of an outraged woman.
"After the service I have rendered you to
day, Mr. Noel," she said, "I have at lenst
earned a claim on your respect—if I have earned
nothing more. I wish you good-morning.!'
"Two thousand!" cried Noel Vanstone, with
the courage of despair.
Mrs. Lecount folded up her papers and hung
her traveling-bag over her arm in contemptuous
silence.
"Three thonsand!"
Mrs. Leconnt moved with impenetrable dignity
from the table to the door.
" Fonr thousand!"
Mrs. Lecount gathered her shawl ronnd her
with a shudder and opened the door.
"Five thousand!"
He clasped his hands and wrung them at her
in a frenzy of rage nnd suspense. "Five thou
sand!" was the death-cry of his pecuniary snicidc.
Mrs. Lecount softly shut the door again and
came bock a step.
" Free of legacy dnty, Sir?" she inquired.
"No!"
Mrs. Leconnt turned on her heel and opened
the door again.
"Yes!"
Mrs. Leconnt came back and resnmcd her
place at the table as if nothing had happened.
" Five thousand pounds, free of legacy duty,
was the sum, Sir, which yonr father's grateful
regard promised me in his will," she said, qui
etly. " If you choose to exert yonr memory, as
you have not chosen to exert it yet, your mem
ory will tell you that I speak the truth. I ac
cept your filial performance of yonr father's
promise, Mr. Noel—and there I stop. I scorn
to take a mean advantage of my position toward
you; I scorn to grasp any thing from your fears.
You are protected by my respect for myself and
for the Illustrious Name I bear. You are wel
come to all that I have done and to all that I
have suffered in your service. The widow of
Professor Lecompte, Sir, takes what is justly
hers—and takes no more 1"
As she spoke these words the traces of sick
ness seemed for the moment to disappear from
her face; her eyes shone with a steady inner
light; all the woman warmed and brightened in
the radiance of her own trinmph—the triumph,
trebly won, of carrying her point, of vindicating
her integrity, and of matching Magdalen's incor
ruptible self-denial ou Magdalen's own grouud.
" When you are yonrself again, Sir, we will
proceed. Let us wait a little first."
She gave him time to compose himself; and
then, nfter first looking at her Draft, dictated the
second paragraph of the will, in these terms:
"I give and bequeath to Madamc Virginie
Lecompte (widow of Professor Lecompte, late of
Zurich) the sum of Five Thonsand Pounds, free
ofLegncy Duty. And, in making this bequest,
1 wish to place it on record that I am not only
expressing my own sense of Madamc Lecompte's
nttnchment and fidelity in the capacity of my
housekeeper, but that 1 also believe myself to be
executing the intentions of my deceased father,
who, but for the circumstance of his dying intes
tate, would have left Madame Lecompte, in his
will, the same token of grateful regard for her
services which I now leave her in mine."
'V
" Have you written the last words. Sir? 1'
"Yes."
Mrs. Leconnt leaned across the table and of
fered Noel Vanstone her hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Noel," she said. "The
five thousand pounds is the acknowledgment on
your father's side of what I have done for him.
The words in the will are the acknowledgment
on yours."
A faint smile flickered over his face for the
first time. It comforted him, on reflection, to
think that matters might have been worse.
There was halm for his wounded spirit in pay
ing the debt of gratitude by n sentence not ne
gotiable at his banker's. Whatever his father
might have done, he had got Leceunt a bargain
after all!
"A little more writing, Sir," resumed Mrs.
Lecount, "and yonr painful but necessary duty
will be performed. The trifling matter of my
legacy being settled, we may come to the import
ant question that is left. The future direction
of a large fortune is now waiting yonr word of
command. To whom is it to go ?"
He began to writhe again in his chair. Even
uuder the all-powerful fascination of hie wife the
parting with his money on paper hod not bijen
accomplished without a pang. He had endured
the pang; he had resigned himself to the sacri
fice. And now here was the dreaded ordeal
again awaiting him mercilessly for the second
time!
" Perhaps it may assist yonr decision, Sir, if I
repeat a question which I have put to yon al
ready," observed Mrs. Lecount. "In the will
that yon made nnder yonr wife's influence, to
whom did you leave the surplus money which
remained at your own disposal ?"
There was no harm in answering the question
now. He acknowledged that he had left the
money to his cousin George.
"Yon could have done nothing better, Mr.
Noel, and you can do nothing better now," said
Mrs. Lecount. " Mr. George and his two sis
ters are your only relations left. One of those
sisters is an incurable invalid, with more than
money enongh already for all the wants which
her affliction allows her to feel. The other is
the wife of a man even richer than yonrself. To
leave the money to these sisters is to waste it.
To leave the money to their brother George is
to give yonr cousin exactly the assistance which
he will want, when he one day inherits his uncle's
dilapidated house and his uncle's impoverished
estate. A will which names the admiral your
executor, and Mr. George yonr heir, is the right
will for yon to make. It does honor to the claims
of friendship, and it does justice to the claims of
blood."
She spoke warmly, for she spoke with a grate
ful remembrance of all that she herself owed to
the hospitality of St. Crux. Noel Vanstone took
up another pen and began to strip the second
quill of its feathers as he had stripped the first.
"Yes," he said, reluctantly; I suppose George
mnst have it—I suppose George has the princi
pal claim on me." He hesitated: he looked at
the door, he looked at the window, as if he longed
to make his escape by one way or the other.
"Oh, Leconnt," he cried, piteously, "it's such
a large fortune! Let me wait a little before I
leave it to any body!"
To his snrprise, Mrs. LecoBnt at once com
plied with this characteristic request.
"I wish you to wait, Sir," she replied. "I
have something important to say before you add
another line to your will. A little while since
I told you there was a second necessity connect
ed with your present situation, which had not
been provided for yet, but which must be* pro
vided for when the time come. The time has
come now. You have a serious difficulty to meet
and* conquer before you can leave your fortune
to yonr cousin George."
"What diffienlty?" he asked.
Mrs. Lecount rose from her chair withont an
swering, stole to the door, and snddenly threw
it open. No one was listening outside; the pas
sage was a solitndc from ons end to the other.
"I distrust all servants," she said, returning
to her place—"your servants particularly. Sit
closer, Mr. Noel. What I have now to say to
you mnst be heard by no living creature but our
selves."
A LETTER FEOM THE COUNTRY.
To the Edditer of Harper's Weekly:
DEAR MB. EDDITER—Sarah Blue is a woman,
and I bein' a persou ov the same seeks, yu see it's
nateral we shouldn't allways agree.
I call myself a thorrough administratrix—I go
fur the administrashun, thet IB, fur the present one.
None ov yure sham demockracys fur me!
Sarah says the same; but, between yu and me.
it ain't true. Sarah is a good administratrix jest
ae long as affares go on tu suit her, but jest the
eyedentical minit things go against the grain, she's
off ou the other side like a roket.
But I don't wunder at her idees bein' surrm-hat
fuddled ou pollytics, for her father was the grateet
turn-coat yu ever did see. He was brot up a
methodist—then turned dimmycrat, and was made
hog-reeve the same yeer, and evry one said that he
intered inter pollytical life for the Sake ov gittin'
that office. Bimeby he jined the odd fellus (he
was odd enuff then, in all konshunce!), and putty
soon arter that he gut married and dyed his whisk
ers, fur which Utter offeuse he was expelled frum
the melhodists, on the charge of pervurtin' the
Scripture, whicb says, thou canst not make one
hair white or black. Then he bort a small farm
(he was a blacksmith before), and settled daown
near us, nnd has voted reggerlarly on the dimray-
cratic ticket ever sense, but twise—once in Harri-
BOII'S time, and agin in Taylor'B; nnd ef aour State
elecshnn had come befour Fennsilvnny, so he'd a
known old Abe was baouud tu wiu, he'd have voted
for him.
Sense the war broke aout he's jincd the Quakers,
aud every time he hears ov n draft bein' spoken of
he quakes like a piece o' crab-apple jelly wlxn ; u
fust turn it ker Bla'p aout of the mold.
Naow there's one thing where Sarah IB ns lil.c
her father as two peas. She it fond ov poll t t irs.
She rceclB the New York Herald reggerlarly, s

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BALTIMORE AND OHIO RAILROAD STATION AT HANCOCK. PENALTY OF SELLING LIQUOR TO SOLDIERS-HANCOCK. PASSING UNDER THE CANAL TO THE FORD.
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HANCOCK, MARYLAND, FROM THE CAMP OF BALLIER'S "BULLY DUTCHMEN"—NINETY-EIGHTH PENNSYLVANIA VOLUNTEERS.—SKETCHED BY MK. THEODORE R. DAVIS.—[SEE PAGE 718.]
I*.

71R HARPEK'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 8, 18(J2.
K UNKING NEGROES SOUTH.
Ox pages 712 and 713 we publish an Illustration
of an event of very frequent occurrence nt tlic pres
ent time in Virginia: namely, the DKIVINO OF
KiionoHs SOUTH in order to escape tho approach
of our army. The poor creatures are collected in
gangs, handcuffed or chained together, and driven
off under the lash or at'the point of the bayonet.
One authority says:
A refugee from the vicinity of Loesburg states that a
rebel cavalry force appeared In that place on Monday lout
nnd forcibly carried South all the negroes who hod pre
viously been collected together there, and placed in con
finement, by order of General Lee.
The Times correspondent says:
While at Alrlle, on Thursday lint, two citizens, named
Moore and Ball, came within our lines and were detained
us prisoners. Tho first named la a son of the proprietor of
Moore1* flour milk, nt Aldie, on a branch of Goose Creek,
and the latter Is a large planter in tho same town. They
had "done nothing," so they said, and were neither bush
whackers nor soldiers, and were surprised at being detained
within our Unoa when so near their homes, from which
they had been absent some time. L'pon being questioned
closely, they admitted that thoy had just come from the
James River; and finally owned up that thoy had been
running off " niggers," having just token a large gang, be
longing to themselves and neighbors, southward in ehtmu,
to avuld losing them under the emancipation proclamation.
I understand, from various sources, that the owners of this
ppecles of property, throughout this section of the State,
are moving It off toward Rk-hniond an fast as it can be
spared from the plantation.-, and the slaveholders boast that
there n 111 not be a negro left in all this part of the Btate by
the I-t of January next
Another correspondent says:
The rebels In Sccnsla nrj busily engaged Just now in
running off to Richmond nnd beyond negroes and con
scripts. A I'ulon man, Just from below Culpcpper, Bays
that he saw droved of negroes nnd white men on the rond
at dlnVrent points—all stnuuslv guarded. He does not
exactly know which excited lib pity most, the white or
hlack uicii.
THE WAli IN UPPER MARY
LAND.
WE publish on page 71C a view of the DESTRUC
TION of THI-: UAi.Ti.iioitK AM> Onto RAILROAD by
the rebels, as seen from Fair View Mountain; and
on |Mgo 717 several pictures taken at HANCOCK.
All are froui sketched hy our special artist, Mr.
Theodore It. Davia. lie writes:
FAIII VIEW.
The rebels are completing as fast as possible the
destruction of the Baltimore and Ohio Kailroad by
burning the tics. This they do by placing fence-
rails upon the track and firing them; this destroys
not only the ties, but completely ruins the iron.
When I Hindu my sketch from tho signal-station on
Fair View Mountain the sight was beautiful. The
burning road showed a snake-like trail of smoke
fur miles, tho Potomac showing here and there
like lakes, and the thousands of little tents gave a
charming contrast to the changing forest. It is,
we are told, the intention of the rebels (o destroy
the road as far as it Is n ithin their reach. They
say th.it it " Yankeeized" the country through
which it ran—meaning that it civilized it.
HANCOCK.
Hancock, an exceedingly picturesqne town of
4000 iub.ahit.inl8, situated on this side of the Po-
toinae, is now the theatre of considerable military
activity, being occupied by a portion of the right
win,; of the Army of the Potomac. Lieutenant
Eg you must give me
the little horse; he is swift and sure; 1 have hunt
ed wolves before with him."
Af'er a slight hesitation about the man's safety,
which he thought in no peril of any sort, his plan
was a lopted. • The little horse was got out and
liven to Mattvic; Si undersoil mounted the dick
ey, un I on we went aheud. Our man, screaming
like a pig, r»ile back to invite the wolves to fnllow
him into Timofey's trap. Around 4'iiiiofe\ 's house
was a strong, high palisade; through this there
was only one entrance, by a door opening inward,
and hung by a pulley and heavy balance-weight, so
when a wolf pushed himself through this door it
closed, and shut him into the space between the
house and palisade. This space was again divided
off by strung cross-partitions round the premises,
in each of which was fixed a sliding panel or a drop
panel, that could be pulled up or let down from
within the house. By these means the inmates
could separate the wolves, and kill them with dogs,
guns, or hatchets, at their leisure. I had heard
f one man trapping in this manner as many as
f y wolves in a winter, besides other game, th<
:-kins of which were worth to him at least one hun
dred and fifty rubles.
As we approached the hnt we found it of large
dimensions than we had expected, and the palisade
seemed to take in a larger circumference than one
hut required. We shouted, but no o'ne answeVe'd;
all was as still and quiet as if the place were un-
abiXy*.. (Jn our entering the door through the
palisade it closed with a bang, and we fuund our
selves in a small iuclosurc with a gateway oppo
site, leading to the back premises; but it was made
Fast. After thundering at it for a minute or two
a small door in the gateway opened, and there
emerged, cautiously, the figure of a man rulTbing
his eyes and staring through his hair. lie re
minded me of the blind bear. His hair, like a
great mass of tangled tow, was matted o\cr his
head and face; he wore a coarse gray ragged over
coat over u gray cotton or sacking shirt and trow-
sers, and long felt boots completed his costume.
He made many excuses, and asked pardon many
ime.i for keeping us waiting, but seemed to be in
no hurry to admit us until we told him that a pack
of wolves might be expected, and that our horses
and conveyances must be put in a place of safety.
The information acted on him like a galvanic shock,
and he was off into the house with a spring, through
a side-door inside, the gateway. We followed, stoop
ing all the time, and were in the house. It was a
man-kennel, twenty or thirty feet square, a great
stove in the centre, dogs about a score lying on
he floor, and men snoring on the top of the pack.
The heat was suffocating, the stench was poisun-
lus. Timofey soon roused the sleepers, pulling
hem off their perch by the legs, pouring water
>ver their heads, culling the men and kicking the
dogs. " Wolves! wolves! yon pigs, and you all
sleeping! Be quiet, dogs. No barking. Evan,
,ake the barons' horses and dogs round by the back
entrance to the shed.' Quick! Andrea, stand by
the big gate, and be ready to shut it after Mattvic
_ets through. Put the dogs in the third division,
and get out the guns! Ah, thuuk God and these
barons for bringing us the wolves 1"
We had no intention of being cooped up in the
hut while the fray went on, and therefore took onr
station beside the man at the gateway, which now
itood wide open for the admission of Maltvic and
liis little horse. In a short time all was quiet, and
every necessary' preparation made. Then came
the howling of wolves and the screaming as of a
pig, the gallop of a horse over the hard crisp snow,
he rush of many small feet. The outer door in
.he palisade was dashed open, and Mattvic, fol
lowed in half a minute by the whole pack, rushed
n. That half-minute was just sufficient to enable
Mattvic to vanish through the outer door into the
trap. Then, as the last pressure on the door was
removed, it closed with a loud sharp sound, and
some five-and-twenty wolves were snared in a space
not larger than twelve feet by twenty. We did
not at first close the inner gateway, but, leveling
our pieces at the mass of wolves now huddling
themselves up in a corner, poured in two volleys
n rapid succession, then closed the gate, and re
loaded for another charge. The change from the
air of ferocious savage daring which the wolves
had displayed in pursuit of n single horseman, to
abject terror when they found themselves caught
in the narrow trap, was instantaneous. They were
like sheep in a pen, crushing up in a corner, riding
on the top of one another, lying down on their bel
lies, crouching and shivering with fear. It is not
necessary to describe the scene of mere slaughter.
Two staves were chopped out of the gateway that
we might fire through. 'Ihc drop panels were
opened, and two or three were admitted at a time
to the next division; there dogs were let in on
them through the adjoining (rap, or they were kill
ed by men with great bars of wood or axes, and at
length, when only six or seven remained, three of
the men went in among them, and with perfect
safety dispatched them. They say that a worm
will turn on the heel that treads on it, but wolves
caught in a trap like this, from which there is no
escape, have less courage than a worm. They
crouch, shiver, and die, as I saw, without one ef
fort at self-defense, or one snap of retaliation.
ADVERTISEMENTS.
A FORTUNE GAINED FOR TAVO DOL
LARS.—Fifteen thousand persons wonted to claim
property, who hnvc b en adt ertiscd for. Kxiict copies of
Advertisements from The Time-1, Post, Melbourne Argw,
Sydney Herald, and American pap rs for the last 76
years; names of all classes entitled to property left by de-
ceased persons, amounting to millions of dollars.
The book la worth its weight In gold. Sent, po;t free,
to any pnrt of the United Statjs for $2, by HICNRY HAYB,
No. C49 Broadway, N. Y., Next of Kin Office, eftabllshed
1S50. Coats of arms found, painted, and engraved.
$ SOMETHING NEW!-AGENTS
Wanted 1—To sell new articles of real merit jnst Intro
duced. Wanted Everywhere, and warranted to give sat-
irfaction. The best Inducements offered. Descriptive
Circulars sent on application. For terms, &c,, address,
with stamp, RICE & CO., 83 Nassau street, New York,
and Chicago, Illinois.
SIX HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE!!!
Our Gnat Portfolio Friz l j"c!.:ige still h:is the prefer
ence over till other.-*. We have :.dded an immense List of
uier Tlnvc llundr d New Article0, from which FIFTEEN
TO T\V1- XTY-FIVK DOLLARS A DAY C XN BK REAL-
IZLD. We want all who HAVE nnd nil who have NOT
rec-. ived our old Circular, to at nd immediately tencloBiny
siai. u) f»r the NICW CIKWLAR—it far surpasses any
thing cv r offered to AGKN 1'S, Sl'TLKRS, SOLDIERS,
I'1-TiLAIiS, nnil those out of employment. AGENTS AL
WAYS WANTUI>.
WlilR & CO., 34 SOUTH THIRD, PHILADELPHIA.
SILVER CARD CASES and PORTEMOXXAIES.
For anlc Ijy GEO. C. ALLEN, No. 415 Broadway, New York.
LADIES' FINE GOLD BELT BUCKLES. For tale
by GEO. C. ALLEX, No. 415 Broadway, New York.
CORAL NEC'ELA^ES and ARMLETS-for children,
For sale by GEO. C. A-V.EN, No.415 Broadway, New York,
REAL JET BE ACELETS, F.LEGANT STYLES. For
sale by GEO. C. ALLKN, N.O. 415 Hroadway, one door be
low Canal Street, formerly Xo. 11 Wall Street.
D O YOU WANT LUXURIANT
WHISKKHS OK MUST ACHES f—My Onguentwill
force them to grow heavily in six weeks (upon the smooth
est face) without stain or injury to the skin. Price $1—
cent by m»ll, post free, to any address, on receipt of nil or.
der. E. G. GRAHAM, No. 10S Nassau Street, N. Y.
J. H. Winslow & Go.
1OO,OOO
'Watches, Chains, Sets of Jewelry, Gold
Fens, Bracelets, Lockets, Rings, Gent's
Pius, Sleeve Buttons, Studs, &c., &c.
Worth $5OO,OOO,
To be told for OjVB DOLLAR each, without regard
to ml*?, and not to be paid for until you kwiv? uliat you
are to get. Send for Circular containing full litt and
particulars. Send £B rrnte for a Ccrtijicate.
Address J. H. WINSLOW & CO.
•208 headway. New York.
Attention Masons and Soldiers.
I will send (an simple), on the receipt of $1, a handcome
Gold Masonic Pin or King, or Hat. d Vest chain, or a fine
Gold Pen and Pencil, or Engraved Locket, or bracelet, or
Neck Chain, or a beautiful set of Jewelry, together with
my wholesale Circular. \V. A. IIAYWAKD, Mnnutoctu-
lug Jeweler, 208 Broadway, New York
AGENTS!!! AGENTS!!! AGENTS!!!
.LA. Agents if you want to make money, Bend a three
cent stHmp to A. RICHARDS & CO., New London, Conn.,
and get their Confidential Circular.
AGENTS.—New styles of Watches and Jewelry,
adapted to Army, Navy, and Country trade: the most
:aking novelties at the lowest prices. Send for Circular.
IIUBBAUD BROS., NEW YORK.
The Family Circle Glee Book, con
taining about '200 bongs. Glees, Choruses, &c,, includiug
many of the most Popular pieces of the Day. Arranged
and Harmonized for Four Voices, with full Accompani
ment for the Piano, Sersphlne and Melodeon, for the use
of Glee Clubs, Singing Classes, and the Home Circle. By
Ellas Howe. 2 Vols., each $1 25. Mailed, post-paid, on
receipt of price, by D1TSON & CO., Boston.
BROADWAY.
GOLD WINDOW SHADES,
DUFF HOLLAND WINDOW SHADES,
WHITE HOLLAND WINDOW SHADES,
GREEN HOLLAND WINDOW SHADES,
WIRE SHADES, at CO cents per foot
Retail prices not advanced. G. L. & J. B. KELTY.
L ACE CURTAINS.
NOTTINGHAM LACE CURTAINS,
MUSLIN CURTAINS,
DAMASK CURTAINS,
SATIN DELAINE CURTAINS,
BROCATELLE CURTAINS,
COKNICES, CORDS, TASSELS,
GIMP, &c.
Retail prices not advanced.
KKLTY'S, No. £69 BROADWAY.
SOMETHING NEW.-UNION CARDS.
Colonel for King, Goddess of Liberty for Queen, and
Mnjor for Jack. 52 enameled cards to the pack. Eagles,
Shields, Stars, and Flags are the suits, and you can play
all the usual games.
Four pscks mailed free on receipt of One Dollar. The
utual discount to the trade. Send for a Circular. Address
AMERICAN PUBLISHING AGENCY,
14 Chambers Street, New York.
MILITARY GOODS.
Swords for Presentation, Sashes, Belts,
and Epaulettes, Guns, Pistols,
and Revolvers.
Every article In the Military Line Wholesale and Retail.
W. J. Syms & Bro.,
300 Broadway, New York.
J. W. MERSEREAU,
Mens Furnishing Goods
GOLDEN HILL
SHIRTS.
No. 2 \N urrcn Suva.
——...__..__ OADWAY, NEW YORK.
Reprcacn©M ty S. R. MEKSEREAU, L. N. WYAXT.
SEOOND DOOB FEOM BBOA
The Prince of Holiday Gifts or Prefents.
"THE CRAIG MICROSCOPE"
Magnifies small objects 10,1X10 times. So simple that a
child m?iy une it. A rawt Uuitable present for any perron.
Pricj by mnil $2 26; vilh dx mount'd objects 9rS. Ad
dress HENRY CUAJG, 182 Centre Street, New York..
Jnst Tribute to Merit.
AT INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION, LONDON,
, isea,
Duryeas' Maizena
Was the only "preparation for food from Indian Corn'
that received a medal and honorable mention from the
Royal Commissioners, tho competition of all prominent
manufacturers of "Corn Starch" and ** Prepared Corn
Floor" of this and other countries notwithstanding.
Maizena *
The food and luxury of the oge, without a single fault
One trial will co ivlnce the most sceptical. M.ikw Pud
dingy Cakee, Cu-tarde, Blanc Mange, &r., without Isin
glass, M-ith few or no egg*, at a cost astonishing the most
economical. A flight addition to ordinary Wheat Flour
greatly improves Bread and Cake. It Id alro excellent for
thickening sweet sauce.9, gravies for fish and m at, simps,
&c. For' Ice Cream nothing can compare with it. A lit-
tl • boiled In milk will produce rich Cream for coffee, choc
olate, tea, &c. Pot up in 1 pound packages, with direction-*.
A moat delicious article of food forchildr. n and invalids
of all ages. For sale by Grocers and Dniggiets everywhere,
Manufactured at Glen Cove, Long
Island.
Wholesale Depot, 166 Fulton Street.
WM. DUKYEA, General Agent.
Every Man his own Printer.
Portable Printing-offices for the Army and Navy, Drug,
gilts, and Business Men generally. Send for a circular.
ADAMS PRESS COMPANY,
31 Pork Row (under Lovejoy's Hotel), New York.
WEDDING CARDS
lim^fA*Mt±l*^^lm^m^^m
I Celebrated Eufrmi Cirdi told crclyat J. EVERDELL'B
Old EiUUIiomeDt. 903 Bronjwiy, eoT.Ttuue SL, N. Y.
il»bluh«d IMi t3rro>BpeciiMulpy»l»U, mdtwoitwii.
Thomas Andrews & Co.
Offer for Kale
SALVER VTUS—" PARAGON," "GotnKv PUIZE," "Fx-
OELBIOB," "DOUULE UEPiMKu," ind "SODA," made at the
eraty City Cheimc.il Work*.
I'UKAM TAUTAU, perfectly pure, pulverUed In our
onn mills. Also iciu ra.ited, an}* r/or, and oilier qualities.
Bi Cli. SODA, of Newcastle make; uUo the "I'liuE'i
GoooK1' brand, packed to order as desired.
YEAS I" POWDER—Thos. Andrews' " rxcruron," the
acknuwlidgcd atxndurd "f excellence!. Sold every n her j.
Also SODA ASH lor Snap or Glass Jlaki rs, CAUSTIC
SOTIA, SAL SODA, the largest stock and assortment in N..-W
fork.
Wholesale Jobber* ind Manufacturers will find It their
interest to buy of us.
Established Fifte. n years.
136 and 133 Cedar Street, New York.
Gen. McCIellan nse« Hunter's Army Night Com-
uu. 1'v ry onicer xliould have one. Prire $1, $2, $3,
$5, and $10. Sent free on receipt of pric •. Field nnd-Ma.
rine Glasses, Ac. H. W. HUNTEK, 1«9 William St., N. Y.
"Pear Trees."
Largest Stock in tho Country. Abo
Hardy Perpetual lioses, in quantities.
GEO. W. WILSON,
Maiden. Mass.
A MONTH!—We want Agents at
Sixty Dollar* a month and all expenses paid,
to sell our new CLOTUES WUINGLBS, OKIEMTAI. BCKNKBB,
and 12 other new articles. Address
SHAW & CLARK,
Biddcford, Maine.
BEAUTY.—Hunt's Bloom of Roses, a charming and
perfectly natural color for the cheeks, or lip*. Mill not
wa?h off, but remains durable for yearn. Can only he re
moved with vinegar, and warranted not to Injure the skin.
Used by the celebrated Court Beauties of Knropc exclu
sively. Mailed free from observation for one dollar.
HUNT 4 CO., Perfumers, 133 S. Seventh St., I'hilad.
FRIENDS OF SOLDIERS!
All Articles for Soldier* at Baltimore, Washington, Ilil-
ton Head, Newbern, and all ulacc-s occupied by Union
troops, should be sent, at half rates, by HAKXDL.VS
EXPRESS, No. 74 Broadway. Sutlers charged low rstes.
F. Derby «St Company
Are receiving per steamers from Europe their Fall and
Winter supply of
LONDON TRADE GOODS,
FOR GFNTLEMCN©S WEAR,
SELECTI-'D BY ONE OF THE FIRM,
With npecial care in quality, styles, and variety, to which
we invite the Inspection of gentlemen.
F. DEKBY & COMPANY, Tailors and Importers, No.
67 Walker Street, New York.
To all Wanting Farms.
Large and tltrii ing tettlement of Vineland. Hich soil.
Good crops of Wheat, Corn, I©curhee, &c., to be seen ouly
30 miles from Philadelphia. Delightful climate "in acre
tracts of from $15 to $'-0 per acre, payable within 4 years.
Good schools and society. Huudn dx ore settling. Apply
to C1IAS. K. LAXDIS, P.M., Vineland, Cumberland Co.,
New Jersey. Repoi t of £olon Robinson and Vineland Ru
ral sent free. From Report of Solon Kobinson, Ag. Ed.
Tribune.
" It is one of the most extensive Jertile tractx, in an al
most level position, and suitable condition fur pleasant
f among tluit we Imoic of this adt of the Western Prairiet.
Lyon's Kathairon.
This dilightful article for preserving and besuilfying
the human hair ia again put up by t he original proprietor,
and is now made with ihe tame cure, skill, nnd atuntlon,
which fir.'t created its immense and unprecedented sales
of over one million bottles annually 1 It i- still rold at 29
cents in large buttles. Two million botiles can easily be
sold In a yoar when it Is iifnui. known that th.' Karfailiun
in not only the most delightful h.iir dressing in the norld,
but that it cleanses the scalp of scurf and dandruff, gives
the hair a lively, rich luxuriant growth, and prcvmts it
from turning gray. These nre consider tlons worth k iow-
ing. The Kathnlron has been te, 1800, and 1S61, of "HARPER'S \VTEKLY," hand-
tomely bound iu Cloth extra, Prico $3 CO each, are now
ready.
tr The Publishers employ no TEIVELINO Anr.Trrs.
Parties who desire to rnbjcribe to Un -/KI©." © n"" © or
Harpa©H WefUu hid b- t.r remit dl-ert to the PublMi-
ers, or pay their subscrip ' n to some Postmaster or Gen
eral Agent with whom the, are Acquainted, a;id of whoeo
respouEiblllty thoy are assu • 1.
HARPER & BROTHERS, PuuusaxBa,
FBAKKLIK SQUAO, NEW YOKK.

720 HARPER'S WEEKLY- [NOVEMBER 8, 18G2.
EXASPERATION
Jons (frothing at the Mouthy "He won't go to smash—he won't die—he wont give up restoring the Union, though I've told him, over and
over, that it is no nee. What Beasts those Yankees are! Ugh!"
THE DRAFT.
All other Methods of evading the Draft having failed, the above Disgraceful Scheme is to
be attempted on the 10th.
ADVERTISEMENTS.
ORNAMENTAL IRON
WORK, Wrought, Cast, and Wire
IRON RAILINGS, VERANDAHS, BALCONIES
O LARDS, and IKOK FURNITURE of every descrip
tion. Illustrated Catalogued mailed on receipt of four 3
cent (tamps. HUTCHINSON & WICKERSHAM,
_____ 8I» Canal Street, near Broadway, New York.
BOUNTIES, BACK PAT, FHIZE
rkTlacld NbyYfeO
N.B. Endow stamp for our book.
Agents Wanted.
SlKD FOE A CraCULAB.
Perrons in town or country who desire profitable em
ployment, should lend for our terms to local Agenta. A J-
Bres BENJ. W. HITCHCOCK, 14 Chamber! 8t, N. Y.
_________HD.D FOB A CISOOLAE._________
A FINE WATCH FREE.
To each person who buys our Mammoth Eureka Prize
Packages. $12 per day made. Send for circulars. W.
IT. CATCT.Y & Co., 40 Ann Street, Fowler's Buildings.
TO CONSUMPTIVES.—Yon will get the Recipe
for a inre cure for Coughs, Colds, Consumption, and all
lung complaints, by lending to D. Adee, 881 Pearl St., N.
Y. Heaendsltfree. Writ a (or It.—It has cured thousands.
To Agents and Sutlers.
SOMETHING ENTIRELY NEW. WILL CREATE
A DECIDED FURORE IN THE CAMP AND HOUSE
HOLD. Everybody will want one. The Great Kev> Union
Prize Package* and SOLDIERS' CAMP COMPANION
combined, contain, besides fine Paper and Envelopes
beautifully embeMthcd, til the important information a
Soldier needs, all bis Writing Materials, a magnificent like
ness of Gen. WcClellan, rich Jewelry, Ac., &c. This
Package IB first-class in every respect. We also present
every one who buys 100 of onr Packages with a SPLEN
DID WATCH, warranted as aperfeet time-keeper. ©Pack
ages cf all kinds and at all prices. $16 per day made
easy. Send for our New Circulars, containing extra In
ducements.
S. C. RICHARDS & CO., 102 Nassau St., New York,
largest and oldest Prize Package House in the World.
SIX HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE!II
Bee advertisement inside.
IGHLY IMPORTANT TO THE SOL
H DIERS OF THE UNION ARMY.
U AN OUNCE OF PREVENTION IS WORTB A
POUND OF CURE."
Nearly all the diseases incident to camp life originate
with derangement and irregularity of the bowels; they
being the weakest and most susceptible part of the human
system, first feel the effects of the exposure which all sol
diers have to submit to during their term of active service.
The best weapon of defense you can have against all
such diseases is
DR. DANIEL EVANS- PATENT
ABDOMINAL SUPPORTER AND MEDICAL
SAFEGUARD COMBINED.
The Surgeon General and the principal Physicians and
Surgeons, who have examined the formula of its medical
qualities, have recommended ita use by the Union soldiers.
Messrs. G. G. EVANS & CO. secured the right to sell
the SAFEGUARD in the United States, and they are now
being manufactured under the superintendence of an able
physician, and arrangementa have been made to place
them within the reach of every Union soldier. An Agen
cy has been established in Philadelphia, New York, and
Boston, where soldiers in this vicinity about to depart for
the war can b» supplied.
No more appropriate present can be made to a
SOLDIER THAN A
MEDICATED SAFEGUARD.
EVERY MAN SHOULD HAVE ONE.
The attention of Soldiers and friends of Soldiers Is re
spectfully solicited to this new invention.
THOUSANDS OF LIVES MAY BE SAVED BY
ITS TIMELY USE.
Price according to sice. No. 1, $1 BO: No. 2, $1 ;
No. 3, BO cents.
Sent by mail or express to any address on the receipt of
the price, including postage, if by mall. Postage on No.
1, 20 cents; No. 2,15 cents; No. 3,10 cents.
Liberal commissions allowed Agenta and persona form-
Ing clubs.
N.B.—None are genuine unless stamped DR.D. EVANS.
Descriptive Circulars sent free.
Send orders to
G. G. EVANS & CO.,
Agenta for the United States.
No. 439 CHESTNUT St., Philada.
No. 212 BROADWAY, New York.
No. 80 WASHINGTON St., Boston.
Also for sale by Dealers In Military Goods and Druggists,
Entered, according to an Act of Congress, in the year
1802, by George G. Evwa, in the Clerk's Office of the Dis
trict Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
fr~ Q. G. Evans & Co. continue, as heretofore, to fill
promptly all orders for books published in the United
States on the receipt of the advertised price.
Send all Book Orders to
G. G. EVANS & CO.,
439 Chestnut Street, Fhilad.
Pantoscopic Spectacles.
The Patent
Pantoscopic
Spectacles are
patronised by
the majority of
the public, in
cluding the medical faculty. They give extraordinary re
lief by day and night to weak, dim, and defective vision.
The adaptation of spectacles to imperfect vision by expe
rienced persons is, indeed, of vital importance. Person!
sending Glass last worn, stating age, can ba supplied, price
$4. Sent free. Catalogues sent free by enclosing stamp.
SEMMONS, Optician,
6691 Broadway, under Lafarge House.
AGENTS WANTID TO «LL (DotHll'S) PATZHT MAO-
10 NIKDLI CASE, and POCKET MATCH SAFK, and KEKOBKNE
BCBNKBB for FLDID LAMPS, &c. Send for Circular.
JOSEPH DO1JIN, No. 413 Broadway, N. Y.
GOLDEN HILL
SHIRTS.
t3r AT RETAIL _«
By the half dozen, for Cash,' at
Wholesale Prices,
Depot 8 Warren Street.____J. W. MERSEKEAU.
. VERY LARGE ASSORTMENT
A or
LADIES' AND
CLOAKS.
c KARR,
No. 361 BROADWAY.
LANDS.—To all wanting Farms. Thriving Settle
ment. Kich soil. Mild climate. See advertisement of
Vineland, on page 496.
Tni FBANEXIN SBWINO MAOHTNB Co. want Agents.
Terms liberal. Address (with stamp) HABBIB BBOS., Bos
ton, Mass.
A BEAUTIFUL MICROSCOPE
For 28 cts. (in silver),
Magnifying small objects 500 times. Five of different
powers for $1 00. Mailed free. Address F. C. BOWEN,
Box 220, Boston. Mass.
Ivory Sleeve and Bosom Stud*,
Marked Initial Letter*,
Colors, Block, Red, White, and Blue,
Mailed to any address upon receipt of the price, $1 BO
full set.
UNION ADAMS,
No. 637 Broadway, New York.
AGIC POCKET BOOKS, with elastic
M band, for the new Postage Currency, made and sold
at whdasale and retail by SNOW & HAPGOOD, Pathfind
er OfHcf, 22 Court Street, Boston. Agenta wanted. Sam
ple sent, post-paid, for 16 cents.
The American Parlor
Or Floor Skate,
Hard Rubber Rollers,
Anti-friction Axle*.
Observe, each Skate is labeled with the trade mark.
Also, 60,000 pair of Ladies' and Genta' Ice Skates, com
prising all the new and most improved patterns, made
from welded steel and iron hardened; Skato Straps and
Leather Goods of every description; Fogg's improved
Lever Skate Buckle. Sole Agent for Williams, Morse &
Co.'u celebrated Skates.
FREDERICK STEVENS,
215 PEARL STREET, NEW YOBK.
68 KILBY STREET, BOSTOK.
WARD'S
PERFECT FITTING
SHIRTS
Made to Measure at $18, $24, and $27
PER DOZEN.
Self-Measurement for Shirts.
p Printed directions for self-measurement, list of prices,
and drawings of different styles of shirts and collars sent
free everywhere.
French Flannel Army Shirts,
$18, $24. and $30 per Dozen.
S. W. H. WARD, from LONDON.
No. 387 BROADWAY._________
HARPER & BROTHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUABB, NEW YOKE,
Have Just Published;
ORLEY FARM. A Novel. By ANTHONY Taoitope, Au
thor of " North America," " Doctor Thorne," " Framley
Parsonage," "The Bertrams," "Castle Richmond,"
"The West Indies and the Spanish Main," "TheThree
Cleiks," &c., &c. Illnstratad by J. E. MILUIB, Svo,
Paper, $100; Cloth, $1 26.
ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF THE PANAMA RAIL
ROAD ; together with a Traveler's Guide and Business
Man's Hand Book for the Panama Railroad and its con
nections with Europe, the United States, the North and
South Atlantic and Pacific C vite, China, Australia,
and Japan, by Sail and Steam'. By F. N. OTIB. Sec
ond Edition, Revised and Enlarged. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00.
THACKERAY'S PHILIP. The Adventures of Pliillp on his
Way through the World; showing who robbed Him,
who helped Him, and who passed Him by. By W. M.
THACKERAY, Author o* ••-*--=*j- Fair," "The New-
comes," "The Virgimtad,- "Pendennls," "The En
glish Humorists of the Eighteenth Century," "The
Four Georges," &c., &e., &c. With Illustrations. 8vo,
Cloth, $1 60. ___
HISTORY OF FRIEDRICH II., CALLED-FREDERICK
THE GREAT. By TUOKAB CABLYLI. Vol. III., with
Portrait and Maps. 12mo, Cloth, $1 29.
»% Sent by Mail on receipt of the price.
HARPER'S
NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
Any Number will be sent by Mail, post-paid, for Twenty,
five Cents. Any Volume, comprising Six Numbers, neat.
]y bound in Cloth, will be sent by Mall, to any part of tlia
United States within 3000 miles of New York, post-paid, for
Two Dollars per Volume. Complete Seta will be sent by
Eipress, the freight at the charge of the purchaser, at a
Discount of Twenty-five per Cent from the above rate,
Twenty-Four Volumes, bound uniformly, extending from
June, I860, to May, 1863, are now ready.
TERMS.
One Copy for one Year ....... $S 00
.Two Copies for One Year ...... B 00
Three or more Copies for One Year (each). 2 00
And an Extra Copy, gratis, for every Clvb of EIGHT
HAxratf 8 MAOAZCTI and HAEMR'S WZXKLT, together,
one year, $4 00.
HARPER & BROTHERS, PomisirsBi!.
FBANKUN SQCABE, NBW
—— ————— ——— ———————————
No 3071 • NEW YORK, SATUBDAY, NOVEMBER^J.862.
1 1 .———— - ^ . C———— in theYe. 1S.V* U.^
r SINGLE COPIES SIX CENTS.
F- » «•
S THEIE REGIMENTS.-SKHTCHBD BY MB. A. OEETEL.-[SBE PAGE 733.]
CONVALESCENT SOLDIEES PASSING THEOUGH WASHINGTON TO JOIN

722 HAEPEE'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 15, 1862.
NOVEMBER 15, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 723
"WHAT DO I DREAM
BY VICTOR HUGO.
WUAT do I dream off Far from the low roof, .
Where now ye are, children I dreun of you;
Of you, young heads that are the hope and crown
Of my full tummer, ripening to Its, fall.
Branches whom shadow growl along my wall,
Bweet soula scarce open to the breath of day,
fitlll danled with the brightness of your dawn.
I dream of those two little ones at play, .
Mnklng the threshold vocal with their cries,
Half tears, half laughter, mingled sport and strife.
Like two flowers knocked together by the wind.
Or of the elder two—more anxious thought
Breasting already broader wavee of life,
A conscious Innocence on either bee,
My pensive daughter and my curious boy.
Thus do I dreun, while tht light sailors sing,
At evening moofd beneath some steepy shore,
While the waves opening all then- nostrils, breath*
A thousand lea-scents to the wandering wind.
And tb« whole air u full of wondrous sounds,
From sea to Und, from land to sea, given back-
Alone and tad, thns do I dream of you.
Children, and home, and home, the tables set,
The glowing hearth and all the pious can
Of tender mother, and of grandslre kind;
And while before me, covered with white sails,
The limpid ocean mirrors all the stars,
Aud while the pilot, from the infinite sen.
Looks with calm eye Into the Infinite heaven,
I, dreaming of you only, seek to scan
And fathom all my soul's deep lore for you—
Love sweet, and powerful, and everlasting—
And find that the great sea is email beside it.
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1862.
THE MONEY QUESTION.
rj^HE great argnment cf our enemies, at home
I and abroad, has been that the United States
eould not afford to pay the expenses of so great
a war as we nre waging, and that a day of com
promise was approaching simply through " the
inevitable collapse of the financial system of the
North." Let us test this question by figures,
without noticing the blunders or the misrepre
sentation of the enemy.
On 1st October last the total debt, of the
United States, including some $75,000,000 in
herited from the Buchanon Administration,
amounted, in round numbers, to $620,000,000.
Since then there is reason to believe that the
aggregate expenditures of Government have not
exceeded $1,200,000 a day. We are probably,
therefore, not far wrong when we say that at the
time this paper reaches its readers the public
debt will fall short of $670,000,000, at an an
nual charge for interest of something nnder
$25,000,000. As the great expenditures of
Government for arms and equipments have al
ready been incurred, we take for granted, with
out much fear of being mistaken, that $1,200,000
a day, or $86,000,000 a month, or $432,000,000
a year will enable us to carry on this war
for several years to come. Persons nnac-
quainted with finance, like Mr. Thoddeus Ste-
vens of Pennsylvania, have talked loosely on
the subject of the public expenditures, and en
couraged many vague notions on the subject.
The event will correct these idle estimates,
and will vindicate the calculations of Secretary
Chase. On 1st Jnly, 1863, supposing the war
to continue so long, and every dollar of our ex
penditures to be borrowed of the public, the ag
gregate national debt will fall considerably short
of nine hundred millions of dollars.
To meet the interest on this sum the Govern
ment hat the revenue from taxes and from cus
toms duties. It was the intention of Congress,
in passing the new tariff and internal revenue
measures, to secure an aggregate revenue of
$175,000,000—that is to say, enough to defray,
1st, the interest on the debt; 2dly, the civil ex
penditures of Government; and, 3dly, the an
nual charge for a sinking fund to extinguish the
principal of onr national debt within a given
time. Contrary o the expectation of almost
•very financial authority, the revenue from
taxes and customs proves larger than the most
sanguine estimate of the Committee of Ways
and Means. The tariff will probably yield
$80,000,000 instead of $60,000,000, and' should
there be a fair prospect of an -early termina
tion of the war even more: the Internal Rev
enue Act will yield very mnch more than the
$115,000,000, which it was calculated to pro
duce, how mnch more it is now difficult to say.
At the Treasury Department it Is understood
that $160,000,000 is becoming a favorite esti
mate: Mr. Commissioner Bontwell is said to
expect to receive $260,000,000; and there are
those who look for a revenue of 25,000,000 a
month or $300,000,000 a year. If the tax-law
yields $200,000,000 a year, while the Tariff
yields $75,000,000, it is clear that after paying
the civil expenses of Government, the interest
on the debt, and a contribution of 5 per cent, to
the Sinking Fund, Mr. Chase will have nearly
a hundred millions of dollars toward the eurrent
expenses of the w- r.
The distinctive feature of Mr. Chase's finan
cial policy is the emission of irredeemable but
convertible paper-money. That the issue of
irredeemable paper, or, in other words, the at
tempt to make that money by law which is
not money in fact, is bad, of course admits
of no debate. But even the most bitter oppo
nent* of Mr. Ch*M now admit that, in the cir
cumstances in which he was placed, he had no
alternative. It would have been utterly impos
sible to have borrowed in the past year at any
rate of interest whatsoever, or under any condi
tions whatsoever, either at home or abroad, five
hundred millions of dollars, which is the sum
we have expended. By the exercise of much
sagacity, and through the patriotism of the bank
ers of this and other cities, a sum of $250,000,000
or thereabouts has been borrowed at various rates
of interest. The balance has been obtained—
as alone it could have been obtained—by the is
sue of irredeemable paper. But this paper, un
like the old Continental money or the French
assignats, to which it has been ignorantly com
pared, derives an intrinsic value from its con
vertibility into funded stock of the United States
bearing interest at the rate of six per cent, per
annum, payable at the end of twenty years and
redeemable after five. This convertibility ef
fectually prevents the new United States cur
rency from declining to a nominal value or be
coming worthless, as the paper money of old
times so frequently did, unless, indeed, we are
to assume that the bonds of this great Govern
ment, with interest payable in gold, are likewise
to become worthless. Of this paper money Mr.
Chase has now issued about $276,000,000. He
has power to issue $26,000,000 more, besides
postal currency, of which some $2,500,000 have
been issued, and some $6,000,000 more will be
issued before New Year.
The question is often asked, how mnch paper
will Mr. Chase issne ? Where will the limit be?
The answer to these queries depends not on
financial but military events. If by the time
Congress meets the work of snppressing the re
bellion seems nearly complete, conversions will
proceed so rapidly that, with the aid of the reve
nue from taxes and customs, and the nse of cer
tificates of indebtedness, the expenses of the war
may be defrayed without further issues of paper.
If, on the contrary, the end of the war seems as
distant in December as it did some months ago,
Mr. Chase will probably apply to Congress for
power to issne say $250,000,000 more legal ten
der money; coupling the application with a
recommendation to Congress to provide for the
gradual withdrawal from circulation of all exist
ing bank-notes. Two hnndred and fifty mill
ions, with the Kceipts from taxes and customs,
would probably make Mr. Chase easy till De
cember, 1863; for, as currency became super
abundant, holders would at once convert it into
stock, thns in effect taking a United States 6 per
cent, loan at par. The convertible character
of the legal tender paper constitutes a check
against its being issued in excess. The moment
there is more currency afloat than business re
quires, United States stocks will advance, and
holders will convert their currency into the
" five-twenties." Thus far the universal com
plaint has been not of a superabundance but of
a scarcity of currency.
Thus far, the general working of Mr. Chase's
convertible paper money system, and the success
of the direct tax law, justify the belief that, if
it were necessary, this war might be carried on
for four or five years more without any danger
of " financial exhaustion."
CONSERVATISM.
Two weeks since we spoke of the amnsing igno
rance of the meaning of many words in the most
common use. Grave, respectable people consent
to be humbugged by a loud noise, and because a
certain policy is stigmatized as radical, believe
that they are conservative when they oppose it. A
conservative party is properly a party which aims
to secure tb* guarantees of permanent social order
upon which life and property depend. It is, of
course, divided into two parts—the sensible and the
foolish: the part which holds to the statu quo, with
out regard to the facts of human nature; and that
which accommodates itself to the eternally chang
ing circumstances of human affairs. The first con
dition of human society is movement. Its sole
hope Is in the conduct of that movement forward,
and not backward. As with a child who must and
will walk, the point is that he shall walk forward
without falling, instead of stepping backward and
merely tumbling over.
Conservatism is not stagnation. It is not fear
to walk lest we fall. It is the care to walk steadi
ly upright. It does not insist that the growing
man shall wear the .child's clothes, not only be
cause it is ridiculous that he should do so, but be
cause he will surely split them by a growth which
he can not control. Conservatism only takes care
that th« clothes shall neither be too large nor in
the extreme of the fashion.
Thus a course of conduct is not conservative
merely because it is the old way. " The ancient
landmarks1' are beacons that guide upon a journey;
they are not tent-poles around which an immova
ble camp is to be pitched. The old way is good in
the old times, but it is bad in the new times. In
'76 conservatism was revolution, because there was
no other way to secure the essential guarantees of
civil society but by fighting for them. Our chief
fighter is the chief conservative of our history. So
in these days conservatism is again war, because
by war only can the same guarantees, threatened
by bloody parricidal hands, be maintained. And
again at this day onr chief fighters are onr chief
conservatives; and the men who are known as
dsmagognss and radicals in the dangerous sense,
arc they who are endeavoring to betray ths fight-
•N.
The country is convulsed by terrible war. It
can end only in one of two ways; either by main
taining absolutely the authority of the Government,
or by surrendering and limiting that authority.
What is the true conservatism of the situation ? Is
it to have a momentary peace, at any price—even
that of dismemberment, humiliation, and disgrace,
with the endless wars and confusions sure to fol
low, in which there can be no security whatever
for life and property—or is it to vindicate the su
preme authority of that Government over every
one of its citizens and every inch of its domain ?
Is Mexico a conservative nation ? Is the principle
that when any party is discontented it may take
up arms to gain its ends and be sure to gain them
a conservative principle ? When the flag is fired
upon—the symbol of national unity, power, splen
dor, and honor—does conservatism hasten and cry to
the dishonorers and assassins, "Certainly, gentle
men-!" and leap the flag into two or twenty tatters
as the rebellion may dictate? No, no. In the
moment of mortal national peril conservatism is
the stoutest, stanchest, most heroic standard-
bearer. It grasps the mighty banner, unrolls it
to the sky; hails it as consecrated by the Past and
illuminated by the Future; and declares, with
dreadful earnestness, that whoever and whatever
would disgrace or rend it shall be utterly con
founded and destroyed. It is George Washington
who is the conservative, and not Benedict Arnold.
Viewed by the light of a truth so evident, who
are the conservatives in this country to-day?
With whom will men who really wish the salva
tion of all the fundamental guarantees of life, lib
erty, and property take their stand ? Will it be
with those who declare openly for yielding to arm
ed resistance of the laws? who say frankly that
the Government can not maintain itself? that the
effort to do so is a despotic effort ? that there can
be but one end of the war, and that is the humilia
tion of the Government, and the ruin of the country
by the dissolution of the Union ? Is it conservatism
to declare that you will not support the lawful au
thorities of the country, as Mr. Fernando Wood
nays now that he will not? The same Fernando
Wood who endeavored to resist the lawful author
ities of the State, and who bewailed his inability
to send Topmbs, of Georgia, rifles to shoot North
ern men. There are but two methods of conduct:
you must either support the Government or oppose
it. If you oppose it, is there any salvation fof us?
Do those who oppose it mean that there shall be
any salvation from national destruction ?
There is now, there always will be, a conserva
tive party in this country. And in a tempest like
this you can not split hairs. You must either act
with your whole soul one way or the other. To be
lukewarm is to help the enemy. .There is a con
servative party. Who are its representatives?
Let every man honestly answer. Are they the
President and the constituted authorities ? Are
they such men as Daniel S. Dickinson, Dennis
M'Carthy, Henry S. Eandall, Edward Everett,
Joseph Holt, Andrew Johnson, Parson Brownlow,
A. J. Hamilton, or are they such men as Fernando
Wood, Vallandigham, Isaiah Rynders, Jefferson
Davis, James Brooks, Robert Toombs, John Van
Buren, Wigfall, Spratt, Eeitt, and Rbett? All
these men are either for the United States Govern
ment unconditionally against all rebellion, or they
are not. If the}' are not, the shadowy differences
of their opposition to it are of no importance.
Whether they resist it by arms, or morally sup
port armed resistance, their enmity is the same.
They are the foss of the country, its government,
its unity, and its flag. And as that country is the
great hope of civil liberty and equal rights for all
mankind, these men are conservative of anarchy,
of rebellion, of social chaos.
Is that the conservative party to which any
patriot belongs?
WHICH 13 WHICH f
IT is a favorite saying with those who are more
anxious to save slavery than the Government that
the war is waged for black men. The harlequin
Train, one of the chief orators of the new party of
Slavery rather than the Union, says this. The
other harlequins repeat it. "We won't flght for
the nigger," says Mr. Cox, in substance. "We
hate the nigger," exclaims, substantially, the en
tire party that sympathizes with the rebellion and
wishes it well.
Now let this matter be plainly understood. Who
are these who prefer blacks to whites? Who are
these who constantly work and talk, and are at
last fighting to maintain the place of the black
man against the white ? The Southern leaders,
with their party allies at the North, insisted that
they would bring black men into the free States
and carry them into the Territories, and be pro
tected by the Government. Those black men,
both in the States and Territories, would of course
have been the direct rivals of the white laborers.
These saw the danger, and said at the polls: " No;
you may keep your black men in your own States,
hut you shall not bring them into ours, nor into
the common territory." The leaders answered:
" We will either do what we choose in this matter,
and we choose to carry our black men every where,
and be protected by the Government, or else we will
break it up by arms." The white laborers con
quered the owners of the black men at the polls,
and the owners turned around and are trying to
destroy the Government. Why? Because the
people, who are the Government, insist that they
shall not bring the black men into all the States
and Territories. Who, then, are to be justly call
ed the fighters for the rivalry of black labor with
white, if not those who, to secure and establish
that rivalry, have taken up arms against us ?
The people of this country, not moved by any
profound moral conviction but by a perception of
interest, were resolved to keep the Territories free
from black slave labor. The rebels were resolved
to take it there, and are now fighting because they
were lawfully preventsd. Which is fighting for
the black labor against the white? There is no
necessary conflict. But slavery creates an antag
onism, because it disgraces labor and degrades the
laborer. Which, then, is the party of the working
man, that which tries to keep away the competition
of slave labor, or that which tries to establish it ?
Let every working man answer.
BRITISH FATUITY.
IT is instructive to observe from time to time the
progress made by that apt scholar John Bull, in
sympathy with a rebellion that aims to show the
futility of a popular system and to establish the
superiority of a monarchy. When the war began
Lord John Russell informed us that it was a war
for empire upon the part of the United States Gov
ernment—a remark as sensible as to say, when a
man is hung in London for murder, after due con
viction, that the Government killed him in order to
show its authority. Mr. Gladstone lately informs
us that Jeff Davis has created an army and navy,
and has developed a nation. The words are sig
nificant from an English minister.
Meanwhile Mr. Stevenson, in his remarkable
little book, " Thirteen Months in the Rebel Army,"
tells us that the rebels declare that they have re
ceived three hundred thousand stand of arms from
abroad, chiefly from England and France. The
later arrivals from England, he says, exhibit tht
crown-mart* vneffaced. "I have seen Enfield
rifles of the manufacture of 1861 and 1862 with ths
stamp of the ' Tower" on the lock-plate." He adds
that " England's neutrality" is a joke among the
rebel officers. But it is a joke they enjoy with the
rest of the world.
The most amusing illustration of the resolute
idiocy of John Bull in the American question is a
late comment in some commercial paper npon the
present attitude of the rebels. It is arguing the
question of recognition, and the moral encourage
ment it would afford. Mr. A. H. Stephens, the
rebel Vice-President, in unfolding the principles
of the new Government, said, two years ago, that
there might be no misunderstanding what the re
bellion meant: "This our new Government is
the first in the history of the world based upon
this great physical, philosophical, and moral truth
(of Slaver}-)." But the paper is not appalled, and
exclaims, with virtuous approbation, that the citi
zens of the new nation "must already be aware
that, so far they have earned it, they already have
the moral encouragement of the sympathy cf everyfrte
people."
Not the least curious incident of the time is the
open renunciation by most of the leading English
organs of opinion of the position of Great Britain
as the traditional friend and defender of Liberty.
A NEW ORATOR.
THE popular lecture system, or Lyceum, is pe-
cnliar to us. There are courses of lectures in the
great European Universities, and single literary
and scientific discourses delivered before Mechanics'
Institutions and elsewhere in England; but the
regular winter series of popular lectures upon mis
cellaneous topics is strictly an American institu
tion. The tendency of the lecture with us is to the
discussion of abstract social or moral or political
principles; but the interest in famous persons is
imperishable, and the charm of such topics unde
niable. In fact, there are many who think such
subjects the only proper ones for miscellaneous
lectures, and they will be glad to hear of the ar
rival of a gentleman who, if half that the London
papers say of Mm be true, will make our most fa
vorite orators look to their laurels.
Mr. T. Mason Jones, late of Trinity College,
"Dublin, is by birth an Irishman, and—as all true
Irishmen ought to be—a fast friend of this country
and its Government, and not of the conspiracy to
ruin both. He has delivered in London " orations"
upon various literary topics which are praised in
the most lavish manner. His subjects are drawn
partly from Irish history and biography. Curran
and the wits of the Irish bar; Dean Swift and his
critics; Grattan and the Irish orators; Burke;
Sheridan ; John Milton; John Wesley and Meth
odism ; Daniel O'Counell and Irish agitation;
Byron; Goldsmith; Moore; Shelley; Garibaldi;
Macaulay; and the American Rebellion. Here,
surely, is a fascinating list. Of the orator's quali
fications the London* 7W» says: "He combines
all the careful elaboration of a practiced reader
with the ease and nature of a spontaneous speaker.
....He is a real orator." The Daily Newt says:
"The great thing which will strike the habitue of
London entertainments on first listening to Mr.
Jones is the spontaniety and ease of his discourse,
which, marked as it is by an impassioned earnest
ness and force never to be confounded with the
conversational assurance of our most distinguished
entertainers, yet flows rapidly onward, unchecked
by the slightest hesitation." All the papers testify
to his remarkable oratorical gifts.
Mr. Jones comes to this country well recom
mended. He has here a fresh arena—but he will
probably allow he has also distinguished rivals.
Room and fair play, then, for the new-comer! It
is a field in which a man cau maintain himself only
by his own power and effort. We understand Mr.
Jones to ask only the fair field, relying upon him
self to win the fullest favor.
A LITTLE COMMON-SENSE.
" But at any rate the black men will come North
when they are freed!" is a cry which is roared out
by everj- submissionist who is driven from every
other position. But why will they ?
Suppose, friend, you live upon an island. Sup
pose that by the law of the island you must work
hard all your life, and your children indefinitely
after you, without pay, for the most wretched food
and shelter, and all for the profit of a man who has
no more right to make you work for him than you
to make him work for yon. Suppose that he beats
you cruelly if you will not work; gives yon a wo
man to marry whom he chooses for you; sells your
children to pay his own debts; and chaws yon
with blood-hounds when you try to escape. What
are you likely to do? Why, you will go through
fire and water, through hunger and thirst, by blood
hounds and hell-hounds, to escape. You will sub
mit to being boxed up; to stifle in the holds of
ships; to endure every chance and all suffering to
leave that island. Though you were born there;
though the climate is sweet to you; though you
love the land where you have been imbruted, you
will still fly if you can, artfl every generous soul in
the world will exclaim, God help you !
But suppose that upon that island you have
plenty of well-paid work and ample wages secured
to you; suppose that you are your own master and
the father of a family, into which no stranger en
ters against your will; suppose that by industry
and thrift you may, if you will, become a proprie
tor, as you are the civil equal of every other man;
suppose that you love the island as your native
soil—its climate is congenial, your friends and as
sociations are there. Is that a place from which
you are always plotting to escape or hopelessly
pining in despair because you can not get away ?
Or is it a place to which all of your race and kin
dred instinctively turn to find their home and hap
piness ? Do you need blood-hounds and whipping
posts, manacles and the stake, to keep you there
and to repel your kind? No; you stay there,
Keif-respecting, industrious, and content.
The Proclamation works that miracle. Why
should the black men come here at the very mo
ment that all reason for coming is removed? They
come here to be free, not because they like the
North. Make them free at home, and they will
thank you with all their hearts and stay there.
Keep them slaves, and of course they will take ad
vantage of the war and run wherever they can.
IMPATIENCE.
WHILE there is a natural impatience at the de
lay of our final victory over the rebellion, and an
eager urging forward of the army all .along the
line, let us not forget the splendid service already
rendered by that army. The details of plans and
general mo vemeuts are so obscured, and the conflict
of responsibility so unsettled, that no one ought to
speak too decidedly of either. But the one para
mount, unquestioned fact is, that the men, fresh
from their pursuits of perfect peace, have fought
most bravely, and always better when they felt
that they were handled by an intelligent general.
Think of their last great movement. They fell
back nnder M'Clellan from the Peninsula and un
der Pope through Eastern Virginia. Nothing de
moralizes an army so surely and rapidly as a gen
eral retreat. But through all that confused and
con founding march they fought as well as men unr
der the circumstances could fight, and unquestion
ably had the advantage on the Friday before Pope's
final discomfiture.
Yet the retreat ended iu wild confusion, almost
dismay, before Washington. Military and polit
ical jealousy threatened the country even more
sorely than the rebellion. The army itself was
disheartened, not because it was not successful, but
because it could not understand what was the mat
ter or what it was about. But it moved promptly
into Maryland. It overtook the foe. It fought
the most gallant battle and won the most import
ant victory of Antietam, and all this after six
weeks of an experience that might have utterly
destroyed it, both from moral and material causes.
It may justly say to us that our impatience may
become unreasonable. It may justly say that we
ought to remember that the rebels may venture
much that would be folly in us. It may fairly re
mind us that Washington is defended at this" mo
ment in the Shenamlosh Valley; and, miserable
mud-hole as it is, it is still our necessary, central
point. An advance of the army, military success,
is beyond all question absolutely essential for our
cause. For if we go into winter-quarters along
the whole line, it is not probable that we shall
come out of them to the battle-field. But while an
advance is necessary, it must be the pursuit of some
policy of vigor. It must be in obedience to a plan
which will make success both probable and useful.
It must be of a character to show the country that
all the means it so profusely lavishes are well and
wisely used. It must be an advance that will in
vigorate the Northern, in the same degree that it
terrifies the Southern, heart.
It is not the soldiers who flag. It is not they
who are wanting. Let them feel in every order, in
every movement, in the whole scope and the least
detail of policy, a great, energetic, concentrated
purpose, and they will fast enough do the work for
which they have taken up arms.
"I'LL TRY, SIR."
THAT slavery is the chief support of the rebel
lion every body knows. For in a population of
eight or nine millions, if there are four millions
who are kept hard at work upon the supplies, the
five millions can send off all their fighting men to
-the field. That this is a practical truth is obvious
enough from general considerations. But the late
advices from the South show the case in the clear
est light. In Texas, and some parts of the Missis
sippi Valley, ft conscription, or forced levy of slaves,
is urged wherever their labor is necessary for the
army. And the Richmond Examiner beseeches
slaveholders to hire their slaves for army service,
saying: " Good wages are offered, and proper care
and attention will be given every negro hired for
the army, and tht slaveholder ought to remember that
for every negro he thus furnishes he putt a soldier in
the ranks."
Now a commander-in-chief of an army and
navy who knows that fact and does not try to turn
it to his own profit and the advantage of his cause
is either a fool or a knave. To say that he can't
do it, by telling the substitutes that if they will
come to his flag they shall be free, and if they re
fuse to "put a soldier in the ranks" he will protect
them as fast as he can, is to beg the question. He
can try. If he does not try, he Is incompetent.
Our commander-in-chief has undertaken to try.
If nothing follows, he has done his duty. If Napo
leon had said, " Pooh! I can't take an army and
cannon over the Alps," and had folded his arms,
there would have been no Marengo. If Captain
Miller, ordered to take a battery, had said—" Dear
me, Sir, I haven't the means!" we should have
heard of his answer only to laugh at it. But when
he replied, " I'll try, Sir," he spoke not only like a
soldier, but a man. There are those who insist
that the Proclamation, which is a mere military
order, is futile or worse. Very well. Possibly no
thing will come of it. But we will try, gentlemen,
we will try.
HUMORS OF THE DAY.
"ALWAYS buy your chestnuts tiled," said Mr. Snow to
Abimelech, who was about Investing a penny in that little
brown commodity, " 'cause the raw ones want looking alter,
and the wormy ones you have to throw away; but with
the tiled ones it don't make no difference—worms can't
hurt when they're biled." ____
" You want a flogging, that'* what you do," laid a parent
to hie unruly eon. " I know it, dad, but I'll try to get
along without it."
Who was Sclpto'B wifef Misiissippl-o, of course.
•'There'! nothing like leather 1" is an old saying and a
true one. It je the sole support of man.
It has been ascertained that the "man ivho held on to
the last" was a shoemaker.
X darkey's Instructions for putting on a
; right arm, den de lef, and den gib one
mi, "
de
shun"
co t were, "Fust
den gib one \- neral conwul-
NORAH'S REMONSTRANCE
Now, Terence, have done wid yer tasing.
Do be aisy, and let me alone;
It's the skin from me fingers ye1 re squazlng;
Sure ye tblnk they're as hard as yer own 1
I'm worried to death wid yer prating,
And frighten'd clane out of me life;
So pray don't be idly consatlng
You'll ever catch me for a wife.
What U It ye Bay T—that I'm joking f
That ye won't budge an inch from me sldeT
Indade, now, ye're mighty provoking,
And I don't know which way to decide.
I'm just like a bird that the fowler
Is coaxing down into bis snare;
Och, Terence! ye sly, echamiug prowler,
Ye're hurting me lips, I declare!
Lave off, Sirl How dare ye to do it 1
I suppose, as ye will have yer way.
I'd better (but, mind me, ye'il rue it I)
Plose yer whim by just naming the day.
Don't think it's for love I'm consenting—
Och, murtherl you're stopping me breath—
But only in hopes of preventing
Meaelf being bother'd to death I
Aa two gentlemen were discussing the merits of a popu
lar preacher, one of them remarked, " He always prays for
the widows and orphans, but never says any thing about
widowers." The other, an inveterate old bachelor, replied,
" Perhaps it would be more appropriate to retuin thanks
for them." ______ ______
An Irish guide told Dr. James Johnson, who wished for
a reason why Echo was always of the feminine gender,
that" maybe it was because she alwaye had the last word."
"When things get to the worst they generally take a
turn for the better." This proverb applies more particu
larly to a lady's silk drees—when she can not get a new
Some philosophers were disputing very learnedly on the
antiquity of the world. A man of wit, tired of their long
discussion, said, "Gentlemen, I believe the world acts like
some ladies, and does not choose to have her age discov
ered." __
Mrs. Gubbidge was recently thrown Into ecstasies on be
ing told that she resembled the wife of Socrates. She had
heard of him, and thought it highly complimentary to be
told that she resembled the wife of so great a man!
An eating-house keeper, whokepta u Re8t-your-Aunt,"
os the French call a cook-shop, and who prided himself on
his ability to get up the beat dinners to be had any where,
wishing to give the public the full benefit of his knowl
edge, perpetrated the following "sign:" " Try my dinners
—they can't be beat." In an evil hour, however, a wick
ed wag came along and dextrously painted over the initial
letter of the last word. The announcement then was—
"Try my dinners—they can't be eat."
Fontenslle lived to be nearly a hundred years old. A
lady, of nearly the same age, said to him one day in a
large company, " Monsieur, you and 1 stay here BO long
that I have a notion Death has forgotten ne." " Speak as
low if you can," said Fontf nella, " lest you should remind
him of ns I"
'Why, Jane," said a lady to her Hibernian assistant,
"don't pour that water on the tea; it haa not boiled yet."
"Och, yes, marm, it's biled. It failed like any thing this
mornin' before breakfast, an' I aaved the wather a purpose
for the tay this avenln'."
Tom Moore Is the author of the following gushing little
epigram, which has been credited to a dozen others;
"They Bay thine eyes, like sunny ekies,
The chief attraction form;
I Bee no sunshine in those eyes,
They take me all by storm."
"What do you propose to take for your coldf" Bald a
lady to a sneezing gentleman. " Oh, I'll sell it very cheap;
I won't higgle about the price at all"
An Irishman was brought np before a magistrate for the
East Riding on a charge of vagrancy, and was thus ques
tioned :
"What trade are yout"
" Sure, now, your Honor, I'm a sailor."
" You In the tea-faring line f I question whether you
have ever been to sea In your life."
" Sure, now, and does your Honor think I came over
from Ireland in a wagglnl"
Commit him—commit him."
A woman's tears are generally more effective than her
words. In such cases, wind is a leu powerful element than
water. ____________
That was a Btoutlsh woman, the widow of the tower-
keeper at Andernach, whom his successor In office was
obliged to marry, aa she wan too fat to be got out of the
building either by door or window.
When may a man be said to be " dressed In borrowed
plumes f"—When he's tarred and feathered.
"Can't change a dollar bill, ebf Well, I'm glad of
that. I've had thirty-six drinks on it lu three days, ana
It may stand a good dial of irur and Uar y«t I"
An INSINUATION.—A boarder was Been to pick some
thing out of a sausage he was eating. " What U it, Ben?"
asked a boarder. Hitting opposite. •' A little pi«e of bark,
I believe," replied Ben. " Well, old fellow, It's my opin
ion you'd better not hunt any longer, or you might find
a growl pretty Boon."
An advertising chandler at Liverpool modestly says,
that, "without intending any disparagement to the sun,
he may confidently assert that his octagonal spermaceti
are the best lights ever Invented."
"I am Bin-prised, my dear, that I have never seen you
blush." "The fact is, husband, I was bora to blush un-
A poor man once came to a miser and said, " I have a
favor to ask." "So have I," said the miser; "grant mine
first." "Agreed." " My request is," aald the miser, "that
you ask me for nothing."
" Caught in her own net," a> the man Bald when he eaw
one of the fair sex bitched in her crinoline.
"Although yon count yourself a brighter feilow than I
am, yet I can come round yon," as the earth said to the
sun.
Praise U the handmaid of virtue, but the maid Is much
oftener wooed than the mistress.
DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE.
OCR ARMY IN VIRGINIA.
THE Army of the Potomac continue! to advance into
Virginia. General Bumelde was last heard of at Purcell-
ville. At 11 A.M. on 31st General Fleasanton came np
with the enemy's cavalry and artillery at Philomont, aud
engaged them. The fight was conducted wholly by artil
lery, and lasted about five hours, when the rebels retreat
ed to Union, a small town three miles beyond. Our loss
in this affair was but one man killed and fourteen wound
ed. On the morning of Sd General Fleasanton renewed
his attack at Union, and being soon afterward reinforced
by a brigade of infantry, at one o'clock the rebeu again
fell back, and our forces occupied Union. Another por
tion of our army took possession of Snicker's Gap on 2d.
THE ADVANCE TO SNICKER'S GAP.
Official dispatches from General Marcy recount the re
sults of our advance to Snicker's Gap. When General Han
cock arrived at the Gap it was held by the enemy's caval
ry, who were driven out by a strong force of nearly sit
thousand of our infantry. The rebels made an effort to
retake this important position, but were again driven back
by the fire of our rifled guns, and at sue o'clock in the aft-
eruoon, on 3d, General Marcy Bays that General M'Clellan
was in full possession of the Gap. The rebel forces of Gen
erals Jackson and Hill are reported.to be in the opposite
valley.
Meantime General Pleasanton has been pushing hie
reconuotaaances forward with much effect. After the ar
tillery firing ceased between him and Stnart in front of
I'hilomont, on Sunday afternoon, the rebels came out Into
an apple orchard and fired from behind the trees. They
were finally repulsed—we loslug oue man killed and four
teen wounded. Immediately after the occupation of Philo
mont General Pleasanton sent a detachment of the Eighth
Pennsylvania cavalry, under Major Keenan, down the
road leading toward Bloomfisld. WJieu they approached
the woods, about a mile distant, artillery opened upon
them. Presently the enemy brought two guns out in a
field to the left of the rood and continued the fire. A sec
tion of IJeutenant Pennington's battery was brought up on
the hill near the town and returned the enemy's fire with
fine effect. Our cavalry engaged their skirmishers, and
after a fight of four hours the enemy were driven from
their position. General M'Clellan and his staff got a
llville.
SICKLK8 AT WARRENTON.
A dispatch dated Centrevllle, November 3, says: " Gen
eral Sickles, with Fatterson's Brigade, has driven the reb
els from Manassas and Bull Run, below Brlstow Station,
and will probably encamp near Warrenton Junction to
night. The railroad to Alexandria has been repaired, the
train rescued, and cars run now as usual to this point.'*
THOROUGHFARE OAP 8KIZKD.
Ou the evening of 3d our cavalry drove the rebels out
of Thoroughfare Gap, and General Schurz'a Division ad
vanced and took possession of it. The other divisions of
Sigel's force, under Stahl and Van Stelnwehr, were within
supporting distance, and our cavalry also held Budsland
Mills, Aldie, and the country between the latter point and
the front of General Sigel's advance. Our troops now hold
all the gaps up to Ashby'B.
NEW ORGANIZATION OF THE ARMY.
The correspondent of the Philadelphia Press writes from
Harper's Ferry, under date of October 30: "The Army of
the Potomac will lu future consist of three graud armies,
nine corps, thirty divisions, seventy brigades. The first
grand army will consist of the corps d'armee of Major-
Generau Reynolds (late Hooker), Fitz-John Porter, and
W. B. Frankliu, and will be commanded by the senior
Major-General, Joseph Hooker. The second army will
consist of the corps cCarmee of Major-Generals Couch
(late Sumner), O. G. Wiloox (late Burnside), Siocum (late
Banks), and will be commanded by senior MaJor-General
Ambrose Everett Bnroside. The third grand army will
consist of the corps ffarmie of Major-General Cox and
two others now organized, and to whom permanent com
manders have not yet been assigned by the President.
This army will be commanded by senior Major-General
Edwin V. Sumner."
THE REBEL AKMT.
The rebel army in Northern Vligliua Is composed of
two grand armies, under Lieutenant-1 Irnrrals Jackson and
Longstreet, consisting of four corps cTarmee, of twelve
brigaded each, with artillery. The rebel cavalry arm forma
a division, under command, of Major-General Stuart, who
makes any detail for, or executes any order from. General
Lee, and u entirely under the control of the Commanding
General, this cavalry being an Independent organization.
THK STATE ELECTION.
The State election was held in this State on Tuesday,
4th but. From the returns thns far received it appears
that Horatio Seymour (Democrat) has carried the State
by a email majority over James 8. \Vadsworth (Repub
lican). In this city Seymour has a majority of about
31,000 over Wadaworth. showing a Democratic gain, in
one year, equal to 48,000 votes. The Democrats have
elected all their Congressmen In thi» city and the river
counties. Amoug others, the following members have
been elected:
Kara,. Politic*.
District 1—Henry 8. Stebbinn.......... Democrat.
" 2-MartinKalbfllesch.......... Democrat.
" 8—Moses F. Odull............. Democrat
" 4—Benjamin Wood............ Democrat
11 G—Fernando Wood............Democrat.
" 6—EHJah Ward............... Democrat.
" 7—Johh W. Chanter........... Democrat.
" 8—James Brooks...............Democrat
" 9—Anson Hcrrick............. Democrat.
•• 10—W. Radford................Democrat.
" 11—CharlesH. Winfleld........Democrat
" 12—Homer A. Nelson........... Democrat
" 13—John B.Steele.............. Democrat
" 14—Erastus Coming............ Democrat
" IS—John A. Gritwold...........Democrat
" IT—Calvin T. Hurlburd......... Republican.
" 21—Francis Kernan............. Democrat.
" 26—Giles W. Hotchklss ......... Republican.
" 28—Freeman Clark.............Republican.
The returns from the Interior ^re, aa yet, Imperfect and
inconclusive. As far as yet heard from Seymour'! ma
jority foots up about 16,000, with a large number of Re
publican constituencies to hear from. The election pautd
eff vary Qulttly In till city and throughout tbi But*.
OTHER STATK RLKCTIOXS.
We have as yet no returns from Illinois. From Masaa.
chusetts we learn that Governor Andrew (Republican) u
elected by a large majority over Devens (People's Union).
In Jersey it is estimated that the Democrats have swept
the State, following the example of Ohio aud Indiana.
GENERAL ROSKCRANS'g COMMAND.
A new military department has been created, called the
Department of the Cumberland, In which General ROSP-
crans has been assigned the chief command. It comprises
the State of Tennessee, east of the Tennessee River, and
such parts of Northern Alabama and Georgia as may be
taken possession of by the United States troops. This com
mand constitutes the Fourteenth Army corps, and that
now under General U. 8. Curtis the Thirteenth.
THE PIRATR "ALABAMA."
The pirate Alabama, alias "260," is now close upon
our coast. From Intelligence received by the brig Baron
de Castine at Boston, on 2d, it appears that she captured
no less than seven vessels within a few weeks past, and
destroyed them all except two, which Captain Semmes
released upon the masters giving bonds, one of them, the
ship Tonawanda, In eighty thousand dollars, and the oth
er, the brig Baron de Castine, in six thousand, payable
to the President of the Confederate States after peace U
established. The last appearance of the Alabama was in
latitude 39° north, longitude 69° west, off the capes of the
Delaware, and directly in tbe track of the California steam
ers. This formidable craft has captured since she got to
sea no lees than twenty-two vessels, nineteen of which
were destroyed and the rest bonded and released.
AFTER THE " ALABAMA."
Orders have been received at the Brooklyn Navy-yard
to dispatch to eea at once three men-of-war, of which the
VandertriU U one. The others are the United* States
steamer Dacotah, one of the vessels of the regular navy,
and the ship /no, a craft pretty heavily armed.
DRATH OP GENERAL MITCHELL.
General Ormeby M'Kutght Mitchell, the great astrono
mer and gallant soldier, died at Port Royal, South Caro
lina, on 30th October, of yellow fever. The disease is said
to be very prevalent there.
ANGLO-REBEL CRAFT AT BERMUDA.
Notwithstanding the vigilance of our gun-boata. we find
that the British steamers Gladiator, tlinho, and Ovchita,
all laden with cotton from the South, had run out of port
at Bermuda for England. False signals were thrown out
from the shore In order to decoy the Union vessels from
their station just as the Minho sailed. They had the ef
fect desired by the English sympathizers and traders with
the rebel*
MOKE PRIZES TAKEN.
We learn from Port Royal that two Anglo-rebel steam
ers—the Anglia and Scotia—were captured on the 27th
ulL by our cruisers. The latter Is valued at $600,000, and
the former at $300,000. Both prizes were taken into Port
Royal The rebel steamer Hinnalu was chased and driv
en ashore at the same time. She was bound for Charles
ton with stores for the rebels.
.CAPTURR OF 8ABINE PASS.
In the New Orleans Delta of the 23d we find a brief ac
count of the expedition which captured Sabine Pass, of
which we have already received some intelligence from the
rebels. This affair was a most brilliant one throughout,
reflecting great credit upon all engaged In it—excepting
the rebels. The vessels engaged were the United steamer
Kensington, Acting-Master Crocker commanding; the
United States schooner packet Seaman, and the bomb-
cchooner JOIKU, Captain Pennington. The expedition,
within fifteen day?, captured one fort and two camps, and
burned thirty buildings used as barracks and store-houses,
containing a large amount of ammunition and provisions.
It also captured four schooners, two sloops, and one Ream
er, besides quite a number of eunken vessels, which were
burned.
ROW TO STOP GUERRILLAS ON THE MISSISSIPPI.
Rear-Admiral D. D. Porter has issued orders that "any
vessel that may be fired on by guerrillas, or other persons,
will do all damage In her power to the vicinity from which
she was attacked, !• order to repress the outrageous prac
tice of guerrilla warfare.
HIHDMAN IN PRISON.
The rebel General Hlndman, it appears, U in prison at
Little Rock, Arkansas, and U soon to be conveyed to Rich
mond for trial on a series of charges preferred by General
Albert Pike, of scalping notoriety. It IB charged that he
obtained a million of dollars from the banks of Memphis on
the assumed authority of Beauregard: that after getting
posMMlon of the money he issued some »'most extraordi
nary military orders," among others that the wells should
be poisoned throughout the country where the Union force*
of General Curtis were expected to pass.
NEGOTIATIONS IN NORTH CAROLINA.
On the 22d, Governor Stanly, the Union Governor of
North Carolina, by flag of truce, dispatched a communica
tion to the rebel Governor Vance, proposing an Interview,
without any ceremony or raising any questions of dignity
or rank between himself and Governor Vance. If the
above proposition should be declined, then that commis
sioners be appointed by Governor Vance for a conference
with Governor Stanly upon the present state of public af
fairs and the aspect of the war.
FOREIGN NEWS.
ENGLAND.
THE PALMERBTON CABINET ON RECOGNITION.
Tffit British Cabinet has given a very decided contradic
tion to Mr. Gladstone's Newcastle theory of Southern na
tionality; for Sir George C. Lewis, the Secretary of State
for War, has made a speech in which he denies the right
of the rebel States to European recognition, on the ground
that they " have not yet accomplished their Independence."
Lord Falmerston has delivered speeches, during a rural
tour, on a variety of subjects, home and foreign, but did
not allude to the American question.
TUB LIVERPOOL CHAMBER Or COMMERCE.
At a meeting of the council of the Liverpool Chamber
of Commerce the question of the recognition of the South
ern Confederacy came up for discussion. Mr. M'Fie, one
of the members, had given notice of a motion on the sub
ject, Intending that a special meeting of the Chamber
should have been called to consider the propriety of me
morializing Government in favor of the recognition. Aft
er some conversation Mr. M'Fie Intimated thit he wished
to recall his intention on the subject—a statement which
was received with general satisfaction, several members
present observing that the policy maintained by the Gov
ernment hitherto was the only correct policy to be pursued
under the circumstances.
FRANCE.
A CHANGE or MINISTRY.
M. Thouvenel, Minister of State of France, hu resigned
bis position In the Emperor's cabinet. M. Thouvenel was
regarded as a warm official friend of Mr. SUdell and the
Davis government M. Thouvenel has been succeeded In
the French cabinet by Baron Drouyn de 1'Huva, a friend
of tho cause of the United Statea.
PRUSSIA.
A CIRCULAR rROM MR. BEWARD.
A Berlin correspondent, writing on the loth of October,
gives the points of a very important circular from Secre
tary Seward, on the subject of Intervention, to our Minis
ters at the European court*. This paper, which is pub
lished in tbe Frankfort Gazette, states that Mr. Lincoln
had not at the period of its date received any offer of for
eign intervention; bnt that if such were tendered it would
meet with a "categorical refutal," as such interference
would only " envenom" the eontul and prolong the war.

724^ HARPEKS WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 15,1862.
NOVEMBER 15,1862.]
HARPER'S WEEKLY.

726 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 15, 1862.
VKAI COUEAGE.
L
" No, it is not at all remarkable, my dear. A
man of Alan's make is not easily contented to
etand idly by and watch others striving for fane
without his having a share in the race or in tlk>
spoils."
" Oh, do you think that his motive ?"
"Not altogether, perhaps; he has fine traits,
fine ability—Alan's well fitted to succeed. Pity he
married eo early, great pity: his wife was not of
the right stamp. Hand me the grapes, dear.
Where's Gracie?"
" In the library with Alan; he came to borrow a
book for his mother. I liis that devotion of his:
he thinks no woman in the world her equal."
" What all eons ought to believe faithfully."
" I wish Grace would keep some of her high-
flown ideas a little in check. I am sure she is
talking war with all her might to Alan, and he
has been excited enough ever since he came back.
Have you noticed how moody and absorbed he is?"
" That is because his mind is not fully decided.
Then, too, those three months unsettled his busi
ness arrangements."
"These grapes are very fine. Charles, do you
think Alan has any idea of asking us for Grade ?"
There was a slight shrug, a half anxious smile
on the paternal visage as Mr. Redwood responded,
"How can I tell, my love? Stranger things
have happened."
" Fancy Grace a step-mother t I should not like
it at all."
" Ah, it would come home to us!" said Mr. Bed-
wood, smiling. " No, I have no wish either to be
an antiquated grand-parent quite eo suddenly. Be
sides, Grade would grace a fortune which Alan
could not give her."
" Oh, as for that, if they loved each other—"
"The woman will out," interrupted Mr. Red
wood ; " all for love, without a thought of the need
ful lucre."
" Yes; I have not improved since my youthful
days," said the wife, demurely.
It was getting dusky in the luxurious parlor;
"shadows from the fitful fire-light" were already
dancing on the wall. With twilight comes that
dreamy lingering over the past; joya and Borrows
are seen through a mellow mist of indistinctness:
and eo sat Mr. Kedwood and his wife, quite forgetful
of the present, talking of old and happy days which
the wife's light allusion had recalled ; forgetful, too,
of the two younger people who, not far oft; were
quite as pleasantly employed.
The golden autumnal sunset deepening to crim
son was slanting in the library windows, which,
open to the ground, gave glimpses of garden paths
hrownly matted with fallen leaves. The faint
breath of astern, purple and pink, white and yel
low, came in with the freshening air. Far oft, the
hills now darkening, at mid-day glowed like a bou
quet.
At a door of the book-cases stood Grace, her
slight, small stature looking slighter and smaller
for the athelete beside her, whose brown face was
intent upon a book as he listened to her rapid,
forceful words. Her face was full of verve, life,
activity; even her delicate fingers were busy, and
the dark wool with its bright border was fast being
fashioned into something wearable.
" Ob, Alan," she was saying, " it makes me im
patient to hear people sighing over the times! I
think this a grand age, a noble era, when Good and
Evil have met, like knights of old, to test the prow-
eas of their followers. Who can doubt the final tri
umph ? Good must win: this we all believe."
Her companion assented silently, not caring to
check her flow of thought; and she went on, her
whole face lighting, her proudly curved lips enun
ciating every word with a clearness which was mu
sical, like the swift fall of nuts on a still day in the
woods.
" If our ancestors could have been gifted with
prescience, I really think they would have been glad
to know that this day was coming; not for the bit
ter strife, nor for the bloodshed, but fur the grand
eur of a people rising in their might to redeem
their country from treachery and error. My ances
tors, you know"—and the little pride of accent did
not mar the sweet umile which rose—"were of the
best blood; and as I look at Kufus, I often think my
brother a fit representative of a noble race. Dut
had he shirked his duty at this time, had he not
MA' 1 OF THE HARBOR OF GALVESTON, NOW IN OUR POSSESSION.
been so in \\ eager for the " ay with so earnest a
purpo.se, I could hardly have hidden my scorn."
• Alun glanced up quickly as if stung; uncon
sciously Grace netted on briskly, her eyes now on
her work. There was a little tinge of sarcasm in
Alan's tone as he replied,
"You then would be like the one, Grace, who,
when •"Home they brought her warrior dead,
81ie nor swoooed, nor uttered cry.*"
A shadow crept over Grace's brow, which in
animation had kept true time to her words.
" I don't know—it is a glorious death," she said,
very gently and slowly, Alan's face changing its
expression as she spoke. " I should not regret
that he had chosen it; but, Alan, you remember
that at last,
"'Like summer tempest came her tears." 1
" And even now I see a glistening drop. Dear
Grace, forgive me—I was cruel; but—I don't know
whether you meant it or not; yet your words seem
to reflect on my actions."
The glistening drop was swept instantly away.
" I know you better, Alan. I am sure you told
me that you wanted to go—that you would go."
" But—"
" There must be no but in the way, Alan. Don't
you know this is a recruiting station ? I have in
duced a number of enlistments."
For all her playfulness her companion still look
ed serious; he began too to stride slowly up and
down the room with the forgotten book in his
hands. Grace looked admiringly at his strong
manly frame; of all her preux chevaliers Alan was
her chosen one for dauntless courage and resolve.
She longed to see him still more lier hero.
"You told me, Alan, that it would be no very
difficult work for you to raise a regiment; and you
know with what elan men would fight under the
command of one so nobly fitted to lead them."
The praise was so gently offered, with such per
suasiveness, that Alan could not resist it. He
stopped in his walk, and faced th« winning demoi
selle.
" Grace, do you really think all duties sub
servient to this of fighting for one's country?"
" Certainly, Alan," answered the enthusiast.
"Can you imagine nothing which demands a
man's life and honor quite as much ?"
" Not at this time."
Alan again walked the floor, speaking as he did so.
" I am so nearly of your iniud, Grace, that I can
not conscientiously argue for the other side. Be
sides— Oh, I must go! I believe, as you say, that
I can have some little influence; and certainly I
owe my share of toil and hardship and danger. I
long for it; God knows it is not a craven spirit
which has made me hesitate."
He was roused from his moody quietude; but
Grace did not quail at the fire she had evoked.
More than ever she admired him. Suddenly he
turned and said,
"My motberlses children, Grace, who can I
leave them with ? My mother is too old to be bur
dened with the care of them, and if I die—"
Swiftly two hunds grasped his in their firm but
velvet touch, and an eager face looked up at him.
" Leave them with me, Alun."
"You, Grace, you?"
" Do you doulit my ability ?"
" Are you willing to be a step-mother, Grace ?"
" Oh, Alan!"—and the hands relaxed fheir hold
but did not fall, for now Alan had them fast and
close—" I did not mean that."
"Of course not, Grade; but that is vthnt it
amounts to. Do not struggle so; your fingers
have a way of restlessness that is not good for
them—they will be hurt. Now you must listen.
You have told me my duty, let mo tell you yours.
I want some one to bid me go forth and win fame
as well as light bravely. I want some one to be
thinking of me, and praying for me while I am gone.
Yes, I am just so selfish; and I want that person
to be one whom I love better than any one in this
world or any other."
" Hush, Alan! you forget you ever had a wife."
" Indeed not, Grace. I remember that four years
I was bound to one who loved me not so much as
the poodle she petted in her arms—one who, though
dead, I dare to say was not a true woman. Never
let her name again come between us, Grace. Si
lence only can heal such painful memories. Grace,
are you too proud to be a poor man's wife ?" Alan
asked, softly, as she stood with eyes cast down and
wrists still turning uneasily.
"No, Alan, nor—a step-mother, if in this way I
can aid the good cause," she answered, with a half
smile.
" Bnt, Grace, is your love to be the guerdon for
only my soldier career?"
" I shall be so proud, Alan, if it can be."
Only half satisfied, he drew her nearer, nearer.
Nor did she shrink away timidly. The spirit of
old romance and-days of chivalry shone in the
light of her clear eyes. His kisses fell softly on
her brow, "royal with the truth," and, as in a
dream, they stood silently watching the darkening
garden paths, not heeding the growing chilliness
of the air or the dead leaves which fluttered in at
their feet. •
IL
"Now, mother mine, you know all. How does
it please you ?" said Alan, drawing his chair close
to the one where sat in rather stately uprightness
an old lady, who for nobility of feature matched
the one beside her. But the older voice trembled,
the older eyes were dimmer, and looked farther
back than forward.
"Alan, dear, you know that I love Grace, and
that I long to see you happy with one so wall fitted
to render your home all that you wish; yet the
compact does not please me."
" What compact, mother ?"
" It is evident Grace wishes you to go to the
war."
" Certainly; she spurs me on to what I most
desire."
" Have you told her how you are situated ?"
A darkening shade gathered over Alan's face as
he replied, somewhat impetuously,
" Why should I ? She thinks as I do—that no
thing EO much demands a man's life and honor as
his country."
"Alan, 'they also ser*fc who only stand and
wait.'"
The storm had been brooding all the afternoon;
now it broke angrily; the words came like dash
ing, dliving rain.
"Not those of brawny muscle, and each nerve
strung for action—not men born to do and dare,
to lead and fight and conquer. Mother, why have
you so long combated me ? I have no right to •
refuse this second call. Had the women of the
Revolution your spirit where.would we have been
now? Did they not urge on their sons and hus
bands ? Look! I am a soldier, every inch of me.
Military science has been my passion for years.
I have influence. I can go into the ranks with
twice the power of ordinary men. My example
has some weight; and the cause could not be no
bler. Why do you persist in opposing me ?"
"Because, Alan" — and the fragile form grew
more erect, the dim eye calmer, steadier than ever
in its gaze upon her excited son—"because God's
hand points to a different path for you. My son,
listen patiently to me. Years ago you spurned my
advice, and rushed on recklessly to sorrow—rushed
on to that which now is hindering you at every
step. Listen. Alan, my son, God blessed you
with many gifts, with health, strength, and intel
lect. Life began for you very auspiciously, but
you remember, dear, how rashly, from one impru
dence to another, beginning with your loveless
marriage, from one extravagance to another, you
went blindly forward—not blindly either, but will
fully—until you were so involved that there was
but one course for you to pursue, if ever your er
rors were to be redeemed. Nobly you paused,
and determined to begin anew; unselfishly you
Uravd to your burden; and, my son, you have so
far retrieved the past as to convince all that your
honor is above reproach. But, Alan, all is not
yet accomplished; your debts are yet heavy; it
will take years of hard work for you to redeem
your obligations; and the penalty, though severe,
is just. Willful rashness and folly led you to as
sume them; willful determination to do your duty
must rid you of them. I know you will cry out at
me, but believe me, it is your duty to stay at home
and work. The principle is just as imperative as
the country's need, though less heroic in the world's
view."
" And what if all men and all mothers should
think as you ?" asked Alan, whose head was bowed
between bis hands.
" Each must decide for himself, Alan. The time
may come, the peril be so great that I should say1
even to you, Go! hut it has not yet; men and
treasure are pouring forth. Then, Alan, your chil
dren, God gave them to you. My life is not worth .
much; do they not need you to guide them, to sup
port and educate them?"
CHAET OS THE NOETH ATLANTIC, SHOWING THE COUBSK OF THE PIRATE "ALABAMA," AND HER STATION WHEN LAST HEARD FROM.
NOVEMBER 15, 1862.] HARPER'S "WEEKLY. 727
There was no answer, only a smothered groan.
The mother's heart overflowed, tears streamed
down ber aged cheeks as she rose and drew Alan's
head down on her shoulder.
" Alan, my boy, do not grieve; God's way is the
best way always. I honor your patriotism. Ishwe
it, darling! You have forgotten that I sent your
brother, who even now may be suffering or dead."
" Mother, I am a brute 1 I don't ask you to for
give me. I acknowledge that ambition has blind
ed me; my motive was not the purest patriotism."
" Hush, Alan! you do yourself injustice. I know
your brave, proud spirit; but, darling, you see
which way lies your path, do you not ? Even to
day a letter from your uncle speaks of a position
soon at your command, in which, with your youth
and energy, you may sooner than you think be un-
trammeled."
There was utter silence. The storm had quiet
ed. Alan's face was stern and pale; but as he rose
to leave the room he bent for a moment over the
chair which his mother had again resumed. The
look and gentle caress which accompanied it as
sured the victory.
III.
GRACE was skimming down stairs to the blithe
tripping notes of " Malbrook s'en va t-en guerre"
as Alan stalked in the hall the following morning;
but she stopped suddenly with a vivid blush as she
met his dark eyes and quiet salutation. She had
involuntarily expected a little more ardor from her
lover; but though they found the library unoccu
pied Alan still maintained his cool gravity, not so
much as offering to kiss her dainty little hand,
where gleamed his own seal ring, with its crest and
motto of "Au vrai courage rien impossible." Alan
broke silence, however, at once.
" Grace, I have come to release you from yester
day's promise, to ask your pardon for my rashness."
He seemed to think a quick plunge better than
any slower procedure. Grace looked steadily and
silently up at him, unprepared and incredulous,
waiting for a fuller meaning of his words." His
task was not easy; the very presence of the little
Joan d'Arc, as he had often called ber, made it hard
for him to quell the aim which for months had been
tightening its power.
"Reasons which have-restrained me this long
fled while in your persuasive presence yesterday,
Grace, and I told you that which I ought not to
have done—a share of the perils and glories of our
time is not for me, nor the guerdon which you prom
ised ; since I can not fight I must not claim the re
ward."
Slowly, rather bitterly he spoke, Slowly, rather
sadly she replied:
"Au vrai courage rien impossible," slipping off
the ring as she quoted its motto. The bauble fell
with a tinkle on the hearth. Alan stooped to pick
it up, his eyes flashing, the veins in his temples
swelling. Did she mean to taunt him, was it not
enough that he was enduring the sacrifice of his
great desire without this added pain ?
He was hurt, angry, and proud. Swiftly re
viewing the past, as his mother had done, in few
words to Grace he explained himself, she listening
with downcast eyes. Hurriedly he went on, not
defending himself, not arguing his case, merely
telling her what he thought site had the right to
know. Then he rose, and very gracefully, with
manly earnestness and feeling, thanked Grace for
her willingness to share his duties, relinquishing
at the same time the cherished hope which for a
few short hours had made him a happy man.
It was a dark, lowering day, and the wind was
rising. The library seemed to grow darker, the
air chillier. Grace shivered a little. In her eyes
was an absent, dreary, disappointed expression.
She was looking down still, and ber hands were
clasped listlessly before her. Again she murmur
ed, tlAu vrai courage rien impossible." Again
Alan's eyes flashed, but his voice was calm and
low. Though a conqueror, he was Wounded, but
nothing now could make him flinch from his de
termination.
" What is vrai courage, Grace ?"
She looked up at him. " I was thinking, Alan."
Her voice was so sweet and sad that the thought
of her taunting him seemed an ignoble suspicion.
Eager words were rising to his lips, but he paused
as he saw the absent, pained expression fading
from her eyes and a clearer light dawning under
the fringed lids. She was so beautiful, and he so
loved her, that for one moment he longed to say,
"Grace, honor, duty, life itself is at your disposal.
Command what you will, I obey;" but the man
in him was too strong, too vital for that.
"No," he thought, "I can give her up too. I
have done it; the struggle is over; cost what it
•may, duty shall win.
Grace stood still with clasped hands, but the
lithe fingers were no longer listless; her proud lit
tle head was poised dauntlessly as she spoke—
"Yes, Alan, I was thinking over that motto;
for once the man who bears it on his shield proves
it in his life."
Alan started. Had he heard aright? Was he
in his sane, sober senses ? *
Still, with the same verve in face and speech as
on the previous day, she went on—
"Courage to deny yourself fame and honor,
courage to choose the humbler duty, and courage
to give up what seemed to be dear to you"—blush
ing exquisitely and modestly as she spoke so of
herself—" that is vrai courage. I honor vou, Alan,
for possessing it as much as I do the soldier who
bleeds for our country."
Alan's voice for a moment could not find steady
utterance; his stern resolve and self-denial, with
the forlorn prospect of a loveless life before him,
had so fixed themselves in his mind that he looked
at Grace mentally as one does actually at strong
sunshine after being in the dark; but her earnest
admiration and glance of warm regard brought
him quickly to her side.
"What, Grace, is it true? Can you, then, love
me, though not your warrior hero ?"
For all answer she let his armi encircle her and
burled her face In hit botom,
HARPER
GULPEPPER
< \lSSd5tH-\TONJ\YYS-
&' ^mHoHWANXSj,'?
*»& \ ^(sL
r& AV-Vfe^v *iT>N*A(ITO.VAT V '
MAP OF THE BEAT OF WAR IK VIRGINIA.

728 HARPER'S WEEKLY. 729
TgE WAR FOR THE UNION—SURPRISE OF REBEL GUERRILLAS BIr A SQUADRON OF UNITED STATES CAVALRY.

730 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 15, 1862.
[Entered according to Act of Congreu, In the Yemr 1662
by lUrjwr & llrottwn. In the Uerk'i Office of tbe DU-
trlct Court for the Southern Dittricl of New York.]
NO NAME.
BY WILKIE COLLINS,
AUTOOB or "THI WOMAN ra tram," "DEAD uonr,
no., no.
ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN M'LENAN.
W Printed from the Manuscript and
e»irly Proof-aheeta purolia»*a by the
Proprietors of "Harper'» 'Weelily."
CHAPTER III.
THERE was a pause of a few minutes, while
Mrs. Leconnt opened the second of the two pa
pers which lay before her on the table, and re
freshed her memory by looking it rapidly through.
This done, she once more addressed herself to
Noel Vaustone, carefully lowering her voice, so
as to render it inaudible to any one who might
be listening in the passage outside.
" I mnst beg yonr permission, Sir," she began,
"to return to the subject of yonr wife. I do so
most unwillingly; and I promise you that what
I have now to say about her shall be said, for
your sake and for mine, in the fewest words.
What do we know of this woman, Mr. Noel—
judging her by her own confession when she came
to us in the character of Miss Garth, and by her
own acts afterward at Aldborongh? We know
that, if death had not snatched your father out
of her reach, she was ready with her plot to rob
him of the Combo-Raven money. We know that
when you inherited the money in your turn, she
was ready with her plot to rob you. We know
how she carried that plot through to the end;
and we know that nothing but your death is
wanted at this moment to crown her rapacity
and her deception with success. We arc sure
of these things. We are sure that she is yonng,
bold, and clever—that she has neither doubts,
scruples, nor pity—and that she possesses the
personal qualities which men in general (quite
incomprehensibly to mef) are weak enough to
admire. These are not fancies, Mr. Noel, but
facts—you know them as well as I do."
He made a sign in the affirmative, and Mrs.
Leconnt went on:
"Kecp_in your mind what I have said of the
past, Sir, 'and now look with me to the future.
I hope and trust you have a long life still before
you; hut let us, for the moment only/suppose
the case of your death—your death leaving this
will behind yon, which gives your fortune to your
cousin George. I am told there is an office in
London in which copies of all wills must be
kept. Any cnrions stranger who chooses to pay
a shilling for the privilege may enter that office,
and may read any will in the place at his or her
discretion. Do you see what I am coming to,
Mr. Noel? Your disinherited widow pays her
shilling, and reads your will. Yonr disinherited
widow sees that the Combe-Raven money, which
has gone from your father to you, goes I ext from
you to Mr. George Bertram. What is the cer
tain end of that discovery ? The end is that you
leave to yonr cousin and yonr friend the legacy
of this woman's vengeance and this woman's de
ceit—vengeance made more resolute, deceit made
more devilish than ever by her exasperation at
her own failure. What is your cousin George ?
He is a generous, unsuspicious man; incapable
of deceit himself, and fearing no deception in
others. Leave him at the mercy of your wife's
unscrupulous fascinations and your wife's un
fathomable deceit, and I see the end as certain
ly as I see you sitting there! She will blind his
eyes as she blinded yours; and, in spite of you,
in spite of me, she will have the money!"
She stopped, and left her last words time to
gain their hold on his mind. The circumstances
had been stated so clearly, the conclusion from
them had been so plainly drawn, that he seized
her meaning without an effort, and seized it at
once.
"I see!" he said, vindictively clenching his
hands. " I understand, Lecount! She sha'n't
have a farthing. Only tell me what to do—shall
I le»Y» it to th« admiral f" He panted, and con-
•kUrtd • littU, "No," h« returned! "there's
the same danger in leaving it to the admiral tha
there is In leaving it to George."
" There is no danger, Mr. Noel, if yon wil
take my advice."
" What is your advice ?"
"Follow your own idea, Sir. Take the per
in hand again, and leave the money to Admira
Bartram."
He mechanically dipped the pen in the ink,
and then hesitated.
"You shall know where I am leading yon
Sir," said Mrs. Leconnt, "before you sign your
will. In the mean time, let us gain every inc]
of ground we can as we go on. I want the wil
to be all written out before we advance a single
step beyond it. Begin your third paragraph,
Mr. Noel, nnder the lines which leave me m;
legacy of five thousand ponnds."
She dictated the last momentons sentence o!
the will (from the rough draft in her own posses
sion) in these words:
"The whole residue of my estate, after pay
ment of my burial expenses and my lawful debts,
I give aud bequeath to Rear-Admiral Arthur
Everard Bartram, my executor aforesaid; to be
by him applied to such uses as he may think fit.
"Signed, this third day of November, eighteen
hundred and forty-seven."
"Is that all?" asked No«l Vanstone, in aston
ishment.
" That is enongh, Sir, to bequeath your for
tune to the admiral; and, therefore, that is all.
Now let us go back to the case which we have
supposed already. Your widow pays her shil
ling, and sees this will. There is the Combe-
Raven money left to Admiral Bartram, with a
declaration in plain words that it is his, to use as
he likes. When she sees this, what does she do ?
She sets her trap for the admiral. He is a
bachelor, and he is an old man. Who is to pro
tect him against the arts of this desperate wo
man? Protect him yourself, Sir, with a few
more strokes of that pen which has done such
wonders already. You have left him this legacy
in your will—which your wife sees. Take the
legacy away again in a letter—which is a dead
secret between the admiral and yon. Put the
will and the letter nnder one cover, and place
them in the admiral's possession, with yonr writ
ten directions to him to break the seal on the
day of your death. Let the will say what it says
now; and let the letter (which is your secret
and his) tell him the truth. Say that in leaving
him your fortune, you leave it with the request
that he will take his legacy with one hand from
you, and give it with the other to his-nephew
George. Tell him that yonr trust in this matter
rests solely on yonr confidence in his honor, and
on yonr belief in his affectionate remembrance
of your father and yonrself. You have known
:he admiral since you were a boy. He has his
little whims and oddities—but he is a gentleman
from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot;
and he is utterly incapable of proving false to a
irust in his honor, reposed by his dead friend.
Meet the difficulty boldly, by such a stratagem
is this, and you save these two helpless men
'rom your wife's snares, one by means of the
otner. Here, on one side, is your will, which
gives the fortune to the admiral, and sets her
plotting accordingly. And there, on the other
side, is yonr Litter, which privately puts the
money into the nephew's hands!"
The malicious dexterity of this combination
was exactly the dexterity which Noel Vanstone
was most fit to appreciate. He tried to express
his approval and admiration in words. Mrs. Le-
:onnt held up her hand warningly, and closed
lis lips.
"Wait, Sir, before you express your opinion,"
ihe went on. " Half the difficulty is all that we
lave conquered yet. Let ns say, the admiral
ms made the use of your legacy which yon have
privately reqnested him to make of it. Sooner
or Inter, however well the secret may be kept,
four wife will discover the truth. What follows
•hat discovery? Sh« lays siege to Mr. George.
All you have done is to leave him the money by
a ronndabont way. There he is, after an inter
val of time, as much at her mercy as if'yon had
openly mentioned him in your will. What is the
remedy for this ? The remedy is to mislead her,
f we can, for the second time—to set up an ob-
tacle between her and the money, for the pro
tection of yonr cousin George. Can you guess
or yourself, Mr. Noel, what is the most promis-
ng obstacle we can put in her way ?"
He shook his head. Mrs.-Lecount smiled,
and startled him into close attention by laying
ler hand on his arm.
"Pnt a Woman in her way, Sir!" she whis-
icred, in her wiliest tones. "We don't believe
n that fascinating beanty of hers, whatever you
may do. Our lips don't burn to kiss those smooth
heeks. Our arms don't long to be round that
npple waist. We see through her smiles and
icr graces, and her stays and her padding—she
an't fascinate us I Put a woman in her way,
flr. Noel! Not a woman in my helpless situa-
ion, who is only a servant, but a woman with
he authority and the jealousy of a Wife. Make
t a condition, in your letter to the admiral, that
f Mr. George is a bachelor at the time of your
leath he shall marry within a certain time aft
erward, or he shall not have the legacy. Sup-
x»e he remains single, in spite of your condi-
ion, «bp is to have the money then? Pnt a
voman in your wife's way, Sir, once more, and
eave the fortune, in that case, to the married
ister of your cousin George."
She pansed. Noel Vanstone again attempted
o express his opinion, and again Mrs. Lecount's
>and extinguished him in silence.
"If you approve, Mr. Noel," she said, " I will
ake your approval for granted. If you object,
will meet your objection before it is out of
our mouth. Yon may say: Suppose this con
dition ii sufficient to aniwar the purpose, why
hide it in a private letter to the admiral ? Why
not openly write it down, with my cousin's name
attached to it, in the will ? Only for one reason,
Sir. Only because the secret way is the sure
way with such a woman as yonr wife. The more
secret you can keep your intentions the more
time you force her to waste in finding them out
for herself. That time which she loses is time
gained from her treachery by the admiral—time
gained by Mr. George (if he is still a bachelor)
for his undisturbed choice of a lady—time gain
ed, for her own security, by the object of his
choice, who might otherwise be the first object
of your wife's suspicion and your wife's hostility.
Rerr • ' i- the bottle we have discovered up
t ..n s, and keep this desperate woman ignorant,
and therefore harmless, as long as yon can.
There is my advice, Mr. Noel, in the fewest
and plain 3st words. What do yon say, Sir?
Am I almost as clever, in my way, as your friend
Mr. Bygrave? Can I, too, conspire a little,
when the object o. *ny conspiracy is to assist
your wishes and to pro 3t your friends ?"
Permitted the use of his tongue at last, Noel
Vanstone's admiration of Mrs. Lecount express
ed itself in terms precisely similar to those which
he had used on a former occasion in paying his
compliments to Captain Wragge. "What a
head yon have got!" were the grateful words
he had once spoken to Mrs. Lecount's bitterest
enemy. "What a head you have ROt!" were
the grateful words which he now spoke again to
Mrs. Lecount herself. So do extremes meet;
and snch is sometimes the all-embracing capaci
ty of the approval of a fool!
"Allow my head, Sir, to deserve the compli
ment which you have paid to it," said Mrs. Le
count. " The letter to the admiral is not written
yet. Your will there is a body without a soul—
an Adam without an Eve—until the letter is
completed and laid hy its side. A little more
dictation on my part, a little more writing on
yours, and our work is done. Pardon me. The
letter will be longer than the will; we must have
larger paper than the note-paper this time."
The writing-case was searched, and some let
ter-paper was found in it of the size-required.
Mrs. Leconnt resumed her dictation, ana Noel
Vanstone resumed hi* pen.
"BALIOL COTTAOB, DnHFsra, Km. B, 1847.
[PBITATl.]
'' DEAR ADMIRAL BARTRAM,—When you open
my Will (in which yon are named my sole ex
ecutor) yon will find that I have beqneathed
the whole residue of my estate—after payment
of one legacy of five thousand pounds—to your
self. It is the purpose of my letter to tell you
privately what the object is for which I have
left yon the fortune which ii^now placed in yonr
" I beg you to consider this large legacy as
intended, under certain conditions, to be given
by you to your nephew George. If your nephew
is married at the time of my death, and if his
wife is living, I request you to put him at once
in possession of your legacy; accompanying it
by the expression of my desire (which I am sure
he will consider a sacred and binding obligation
on him) that he will settle the money on his
wife and on his children, if he has any. If, on
the other hand, he is unmarried at the time of
my death, or if he is a widower—in either of those
cases, I make it a condition of his receiving the
legacy that he shall be married within the period
of—"
Mrs. Lecount laid down the Draft letter from
which she had been dictating thus far, and in
formed Noel Vanstone by a sign that his pen
might rest.
" We have come to the question of time, Sir,"
she observed. " How long will you give your
cousin to marry, if he is single or a widower at
the time of yonr death?"
"Shall I give him a year?" inquired Noel
Vanstone.
" If we had nothing to consider but the in
terests of Propriety," said Mrs. Lecount, "I
should say a year too, Sir—especially if Mr.
George should happen to be a widower. But
we have your wife to consider as well as the in
terests of Propriety. A year of delay between
your death an'd your cousin's marriage is a
dangerously long time to leave the disposal of
your fortune in suspense. Give a determined
woman a year to plot and contrive in and there
is no saying what she may not do."
"Six months?" snggested Noel Vanstone.
"Six months, Sir," rejoined Mrs. Lecount,
" runs a little too far, I think, into the opposite
extreme. Take off two or three months from
the time that is too long, and add two or three
months to the time that is too short. Stop! an
idea comes to me. Your wife may discover that
there is an interval allowed to Mr. George—but
she may not also discover the time over which
that interval extends. She may be obliged to
guess at it. Puzzle her even there, Mr. Noel,
if you possibly can! People easily gness a year;
people easily guess six months. Snppose you
say Eight t Eight months from the time of yonr
death is a time not easily guessed—eight months
is a strange, unlikeiy interval. It will baffle your
wife's penetration if she is driven to guess-work;
and it offers your cousin an interval to get mar
ried in which is a fair compromise between the
time that may be too short, and the time that is
certainly too long. Take it for those two rea
sons.—Yon look discomposed, Sir. What is
the matter ?"
" I wish yon wouldn't talk so much about my
death," he broke out, petnlantly. " I don't like
it! I hate the very sound of the word !"
Mrs. Lecount smiled resignedly and referred
to her Draft.
"I see the word 'Decease' written here," she
remarked. " Perhaps, Mr. Noel, you would pre
fer it?"
"Yes," he said; "I prefer 'Decease.' It
doesn't sound so dreadful as ' Death.'"
"Let us go on with the letter, Sir."
She resumed her dictation as follows:
".........in either of those cases I make it a
condition of his receiving the legacy that he
shall be married within the period of Eight
calendar months from the day of my decease;
that the woman he marries shall not be a widow;
and that his marriage shall be a marriage by
Bans, publicly celebrated in the parish church
of Ossory—where he has been known from his
childhood, and where the family and circum
stances of his future wife are likely to be the sub
ject of public interest and inquiry."
"This," said Mrs. Lecount, quietly looking
up from the Draft, "is to protect Mr. George,
Sir, in case the. same trap is set for him which
was successfully set for you. She will not find
her false character and her false name fit quite
so easily next time—no, not even with Mr. By-
grave to help her! Another dip of ink, Mr.
Noel; let us write the next paragraph. Are
you ready?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Lecount wentcn:
"If your nephew fails to comply with these
conditions—that is to say, if, being either a
bachelor or a widower at the time of my de
cease, he fails to marry in all respects as I have
here instructed him to marry, within Eight cal
endar months from that time—it is my desire
that he shall not receive the legacy or any part
of it. I request you, in the case here supposed, .
to pass him over altogether, and to give the for
tune left yon in my will to his married sister,
Mrs. Girdleslone.
"Having now put yon in possession of my
motives and intentions, I come to the next
question which it is necessary to consider. If,
"HE WAS DEAD1"
NOVEMBER 15, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 731
when you open this letter, your nephew is an
unmarried man, it is clearly indispensable that
he should know of the conditions here imposed
on him as soon, if possible, as yon know of them
yourself. Are you, under these circumstances,
freely to communicate to him what I have here
written to you? Or are you to leave him un
der the impression that no such private expres
sion of my wishes as this is in existence ; and
are you to state all the conditions relating to
his marriage as if they emanated entirely from
yourself?
"If you will adopt this latter alternative you
will add one more to the many obligations un
der which your friendship has placed me.
"I have serious reason to believe that the
possession of my money, and the discovery of
any peculiar arrangements relating to the dis
posal of it, will be objects (after my decease) of
the frand and conspiracy of an unscrupulous
person. I am therefore anxious—for your sake,
in the first ptace—that no suspicion of the ex
istence of this letter should be conveyed to the
mind of the person to whom I allude. And I
am equally desirous — for Mrs. Girdlcstone's
sake, in the second place—that this same per
son should be entirely ignorant that the legacy
will pass into Mrs. Girdlestone's possession if
your nephew is not married in the given time.
I know George's easy, pliable disposition; I
dread the attempts that will be made to practice
on it; and I feel sure that the prudent course
will be to abstain from trusting him with se
crets, the rash revelation of which might be fol
lowed by serious and even dangerous results.
" State the conditions, therefore, to your neph
ew as if they were your own. Let him think
they have been suggested to your mind by the
new responsibilities imposed on yon as a man
of property, by your position in my will, and by
your consequent anxiety to provide for the per
petuation of the family name. • If these reasons
are not sufficient to satisfy him there can be no
objection to your referring him, for any further
explanations which he may desire, to his wed
ding-day.
" I have done. My last wishes are now con
fided to you, in implicit reliance on your honor,
and on your tender regard for the memory of
yonr friend. Of the miserable circumstances
which compel me to write as I have written
here I say nothing. You will hear of them, if
my life is spared, from my own lips, for you will
be the first friend whom I shall consult in my
difficulty and distress, iteep this letter strictly
secret, and strictly in your own possession, until
my requests are complied with. Let no human
being but yonrself know where it is on any pre
tense whatever.
" Believe me, dear Admiral Bartram,
" Affectionately yours,
" NOEL VASBTONE."
"Have yon signed, Sir?" asked Mrs. Lecount.
"Let me look the letter over, if you please, be
fore we seal it up."
She read the letter carefully. In Noel Van-
stone's close, cramped handwriting it filled two
pages of letter-paper, and ended at the top of the
third page. Instead of using an envelope, Mrs.
Leconnt folded it neatly and securely in the old-
fashioned way. She lit the taper in the ink
stand, and returned the letter to the writer.
" Seal it, Mr. Noel," she said, " with your own
hand and your own seal." She extinguished the
taper, and handed him the pen again. "Ad
dress the letter, Sir," she proceeded, " to Admiral
Bartram, St. Crux-in-the-Marsh, Essex. Now
add these words, and sign them, above the ad
dress : To be kept in your own possession, and to
ve opened by yourself only, on the Jay of my death
or ' decease," if yon prefer it—Noel Vanstone.
Have you doncf Let me look at it again.
Quite right, in every particular. Accept my
congratulations, Sir. If your wife has not plot
ted her last plot for the Combe-Raven money it
is not your fault, Mr. Noel—and not mine!"
Finding his attention released by the comple
tion of the letter, Noel Vnnstone reverted at once
to purely personal considerations. "There is
my packing-up to be thought of now," he said.
"I can't go.away without my warm things."
"Excuse me. Sir," rejoined Mrs. Lecount,
" there is the Will to be signed first; and there
must be two persons found to witness your sig
nature." She looked out of the front window,
and saw the carriage waiting-at the door. " The
coachman will do for one of the witnesses," she
said. "He is in respectable service at Dum
fries, and he can be found if he happens to be
wanted. We must have one of your own serv
ants, I suppose, for the other witness. They are
all detestable women—but the cook is the "least
ill-looking of the three. Send for the cook, Sir,
while I go out and call the coachman. When we
have got our witnesses here you have only to
speak to them in these words: ' I have a docu
ment here to sign, and I wish yon to write your
names on it as witnesses of my signature.' No
thing more, Mr. Noel. Say those few words in
your usual manner; and when the signing is
over I will see myself to your packing-up and
your warm things."
She went to the front-door and summoned the
coachman to the parlor. On her return she
found the cook already in the room. The cook
looked mysteriously offended, and stared with-
ont intermission at Mrs. Lecount. In a minute
more the coachman—an elderly man—came in.
He was preceded by a relishing odor of whisky—
but his head was Scotch; and nothing but his
odor betrayed him.
"I have a document here to sign," said Noel
Vanstone, repeating his lesson; "and I wish
yon to write your names on it as witnesses of
my signature."
T "The coachman looked at the will. The cook
never removed her eyes from Mrs. Lecount.
" Ye'H no object, Sir," said the coachman, with
the national caution showing itself in every
wrinkle on his face—"ye'll no object, Sir, to tell
me first what the Doecument may be ?"
Mrs. Lecount interposed before Noel Van-
stone's indignation could express itself in words.
"There can be no objection, Sir, to yonr tell
ing the man that this is your Will," she said.
"When he witnesses your signature, he can see
as much for himself if he looks at the top of the
page."
"Ay, ay," said the coachman, looking at the
top of the page immediately. " His last Wull
and Testament. Hech, Sirs! there's a sair con
fronting of Death in a Doecument like yon I A'
fiesh is grass," continued the coachman, exhal
ing an additional puff of whisky, and looking up
devoutly at the ceiling. "Tak" those words in
connection with that other Screepture: Many
are ca'ad but few are chosen. Tak' that again
in connection with Rev'lations, Chapter the First,
verses One taFefteen. Lay the whole to heart,
and what's your Walth then? Dross, Sirs!
And your body? (Screeptnre again.) Clay for
the potter 1 And your life? (Screepture once
more.) The Breeth o' yonr Nostrils 1"
The cook listened as if the cook was at church;
but she never removed her eyes from Mrs. Le
count.
" You had better sign, Sir. This is apparent
ly some custom prevalent in Dumfries during
the transaction of business," said Mrs. Lecount,
resignedly. " The man means well, I dare say."
She added those last words in a soothing tone,
for she saw that Noel Vanstone's indignation
was fast merging into alarm. The coachman's
outburst of exhortation seemed to have inspired
him with fear as well as disgust.
He dipped the pen in the ink and signed the
Will without uttering a word. The coachman
(descending instantly from Theology to Busi
ness) watched the signature with the most scru
pulous attention; and signed his own name as
witness, with an implied commentary on the pro
ceeding in the form of another puff of whisky,
exhaled through the medium of a heavy sigh.
The cook looked away from Mrs. Lecount with
an effort—signed her name in a violent hurry,
and looked back again with a start, as if she ex
pected to see a loaded pistol (produced in the in
terval) in the housekeeper's hands. "Thank
you!" said Mrs. Lecount, in her friendliest man
ner. The cook shut up her lips aggressively,
and looked at her master. " You may go!" said
her master. The cook coughed contcmptnously
and went.
"We sha'n't keep you long," said Mrs. Le
count, dismissing the coachman. "In half an
hour, or less, we shall be ready for the jonrney
back."
The coachman's austere countenance relaxed
for the first time. He smiled mysteriously, and
approached Mrs. Lecount on tip-toe.
"Yc'll no forget one thing, my leddy," he
said, with the most ingratiating politeness. " Ye'll
no forget the witnessing, as weel as the driving,
when ye pay me for my day's wark!" He
laughed with guttural gravity; and, leaving his
atmosphere behind him, stalked out of the room.
"Lecount," said Noel Vanstone, as soon as
the coachman closed the door. "Did I hear
you tell that man we should be ready in half an
hour?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Are yon blind?"
He asked the question with an angry stamp of
his foot. Mrs. Leconnt looked at him in aston
ishment.
"Can't yon see the brute is drunk?" he went
on, more «nd more irritably. "Is my life no
thing? Am I to be left at the mercy of a
drunken coachman ? I won't trust that man to
drive me for any consideration under heaven 1
I'm surprised you could think of it, Lecount."
"The man has been drinking, Sir," said Mrs.
Lecount. "It is easy to see and to smell that.
But he is evidently used to drinking. If he is
sober enongh to walk quite straight, which he
certainly does, and to sign his name in an ex
cellent handwriting, which you may sec for your
self on the Will, 1 venture to think he is sober
enough to drive ns to Dumfries."
"Nothing of the sort! You're a foreigner,
Lecount; you don't understand these people.
They drink whisky from morning to night.
Whisky is the strongest spirit that's made;
whisky is notorious for its effect on the brain.
I tell you I won't run the risk. I never was
driven, and 1 never will be driven, by any body
but a sober man."
" Must I go back to Dumfries by myself, Sir ?"
"And leave me here? Leave me alone in
this house after what has happened ? How do
I know my wife may not come back to-night?
How do I know her journey is not a blind to mis
lead me? Have you no feeling, Lecount? Can
yon leave me, in my miserable situation—?"
He sank into a chair and burst out crying over
his own idea before he had completed the ex
pression of it in words. " Too bad!" he said,
with his handkerchief over his face—"too bad!"
It was impossible not to pity him. If ever
mortal was pitiable, he was the man. He had
broken down at last, under the conflict of violent
emotions which had been roused in him since
the morning. The effort to follow Mrs. Lecount
along the mazes of intricate combination through
which she had steadily led the way had upheld
him while that effort lasted; the moment it was
at an end he dropped. The coachman had hast
ened a result—of which the coachman was far
from being the cause.
" Yon surprise me, you distress me, Sir," said
Mrs. Lecount. " I entreat you to compose yonr
self. I will stay here, if you wish it, with pleas
ure—I wili stay here to-night for your sake.
Yon want rest and quiet after this dreadful day.
The coachman shall be instantly sent away, Mr.
Noel. I will give him a note to the landlord of
the hotel, and the carriage shall come back for
ns to-morrow morning with another man to drive
it."
The prospect which those words presented
cheered him. He wiped his eyes, and kissed Mrs.
Lecount's hand.
"Yes," he said, faintly; "send the coachman
away—and you stop here. You good creature 1
You excellent Lecount 1 Send the drunken
brute away and come back directly. We will be
comfortable by the fire, Lecount—and have a
nice little dinner—and try to make it like old
times." His weak voice faltered; he returned
to the fireside, and melted into tears again under
the pathetic influence of his own idea.
Mrs. Lecount left him for a minute to dismiss
the coachman. When she returned to the par
lor she found him with his hand on the bell.
" What do you want, Sir ?" she asked.
"I want to tell the servants to get your room
ready," he answered. " I wish to show you ev
ery attention, Lecount."
"You are all kindness, Mr. Noel; but wait
one moment. It may be well to have these pa
pers put out of the way before the servant comes
in again. If yon will place the Will and the
Sealed Letter together in one envelope—and if
you will direct it to the admiral—I will take care
that the inclosure so addressed is safely placed
in his own hands. Will you come to the table,
Mr. Noel, only for one moment more ?"
No! He was obstinate; he* refused to move
from the fire; he was sick :.nd tired of writing;
he wished he had never been born, and he loathed
the sight of pen and ink. All Mrs. Lecount's
patience, and all Mrs. Lecount's persuasion, were
required to induce him to write the admiral's
address for the second time. She only succeeded
by bringing the blank envelope to him upon the
paper-case, and putting it coaxingly on his lap.
He grumbled, he even swore, but tie directed the
envelope at last in these terms: "To Admiral
Bartram, St. Crux-in-the-Marsh. Favored by
Mrs. Lecount." With that final act of com
pliance his docility came to an end. He refused,
in the fiercest terms, to seal the envelope.
There was" no need to press this proceeding on
him. His seal lay ready on the table; and it
mattered nothing whether he used it or whether
a person in his confidence used it for him. Mrs.
Lecount sealed the envelope with its two import
ant inclosures placed safely inside.
She opened her traveling-bag for the last time,
and paused for a moment before she pnt the
sealed packet away, looked at it with a triumph
too deep for words. She smiled* as she dropped
it into the bag. Not the shadow of a suspicion
that the Wili might contain snperfiuous phrases
and expressions which no practical lawyer would
have used; not the vestige of a doubt whether
the Letter was quite as complete a document as
a practical lawyer might hare made it, troubled
her mind. In blind reliance—born of her hatred
for Magdalen and her hunger for revenge—in
blind reliance on her own abilities, and on her
friend's law, she trusted the future implicitly to
the promise of the morning's work.
As she locked her traveling-bag Noel Van-
stone rang the bell. On this occasion the sum
mons was answered by Louisa.
"Get the spare room ready," said her mas
ter ; " this lady wili sleep here to-night. And
air my warm things; this lady and I are going
away to-morrow morning."
The civil and submissive Louisa received her
orders in sullen silence, darted an angry look at
her master's impenetrable guest, and left the
room. The servants were evidently all attached
to their mistress's interests, and were all of one
opinion on the subject of Mrs. Lecount.
"That's done!" said Noel Vanstone, with a
sigh of infinite relief. " Come and sit down,
Lecount. Let's be comfortable—let's gossip
over the fire."
Mrs. Lecount accepted the invitation, and
drew an easy-chair to his side. He took her
hand with a confidential tenderness, and held it
in his, while the talk went on. A stranger look
ing in through the window would have taken
them for mother and son, and would have thought
to himself, "What a happy home!"
The gossip, led by Noel Vanstone, consisted,
as usual, of an endless string of questions, and
was devoted entirely to the subject of himself
and his future prospects. Where wonld Lecount
take him to when they went "away the next morn
ing ? Why to London ? Why should he be left
in London, while Lecount went on to St. Crux
to give the admiral the Letter and the Will?
Because his wife might follow him if he went to
the admiral's? Well, there was something in
that. And because he ought to be safely con
cealed from her in some comfortable lodging
near Mr. Loscombe ? Why near Mr. Loscombe?
Ah, yes, to be sure — to know what the law
wonld do to help him. Would the law set him
free from the Wretch who had deceived him?
How tiresome of Lecount not to know! Would
the law say he had gone and married himself a
second time because he had been living with the
Wretch like husband and wife in Scotland?
Any thing that publicly assumed to be a mar
riage teas a marriage (he had heard) in Scot
land ? How excessively tiresome of Lecount to
sit there and say she knew nothing about it!
Was he to stay long in London by himself, with
nobody but Mr. Loscombe to speak to ? Would
Lecount come back to him as soon as she had
put those important papers in the admiral's own
hands ? Would Lecount consider herself still in
his service? The good Lecount! the excellent
Lecount! And after all tha law business was
over, what then ? Why not leave this horrid
England and go abroad again ? Why not go to
France, to some cheap place near Paris ? Say
Versailles? say St. Gcrmain? In a nice little
French house — cheap? .With a nice French
bonne to-cook—who wouldn't waste his substance
in the grease-pot ? With a nice little garden—
, Where he could work himiel^ and get health,
and save the expense of keeping a gardener ?
It wasn't a bad idea? And it seemed to prom
ise well for the future—didn't it, Lecount ?
So he ran on—the poor, weak creature I the
abject, miserable little man!
As the darkness gathered at the close of the
short November day, he began to grow drowsy—
his ceaseless questions came to an end at last—
he fell asleep. The wind outside sang its mourn
ful winter-song; the tramp of passing footsteps,
the roll of passing wheels on the road, ceased in
dreary silence. He slept on quietly. The fire
light rose and fell on his wizen little face, and
his nerveless, drooping hands. Mrs. Lecount
had not pitied him yet. She began to pity him
now. Her point was gained ; her interest in his
will was secured; he had put his future Efe, of
his own accord, under her fostering care—the
fire was comfortable; the circumstances were
favorable to the growth of Christian feeling.
"Poor wretch!" said Mrs. Lecount, looking at
him with a grave compassion—"Poor wretch!"
The dinner hour roused him. He was cheer
ful at dinner; he reverted to 'the idea of the
cheap little house in France; he smirked and
simpered; and talked French to Mrs. Lecount,
while the housemaid and Louisa waited, turn
and turn about, under protest. When dinner
was over, he returned to his comfortable chair
before the fire, and Mrs. Lecount followed him.
He resumed the conversation—which meant, in
his case, repeating his questions. But he was
not so quick aud ready with them as he had
been earlier in the day. They began to flag—
they continued, at longer and longer intervals—
they ceased altogether. Toward nine o'clock
he fell asleep again. *
It was not a quiet sleep this time. He mat
tered, and ground his teeth, and rolled his head
from side to side of the chair. Mrs. Lecount
purposely made noise enongh to rouse him. He
woke with a vacant eye and a finshed cheek.
He walked about the room restlessly, with a new
idea in his mind—the idea of writing a terrible
letter; a letter of eternal farewell to his wife.
How was it to be written? n what language
should he express his feel'jgs? The powers of
Shakspeare himself would be unequal to the
emergency! He had been the -victim of an out
rage entirely without parallel. A wretch had
crept into his bosom! A viper had hidden her
self at his fireside! Where could words be found
to brand her with the infamy she deserved ? He
stopped with a snffocating sense in him of his
own impotent rage—he stopped and shook his fist
tremulously in the empty air.
Mrs. Leconnt interfered with an energy and a
resolution inspired by serious alarm. After the
heavy strain that had been laid on his weakness
already, snch an outbreak of passionate agitation
as was now bursting from liim might be the
destruction of his rest that night and of his
strength to travel the next day. With infinite
difficulty, with endless promises to return to the
subject, and to advise him about it in the morn-
ing, she prevailed on him at last to go up stairs
and compose himself for the night. She gave
him her arm to assist him. On the way np stairs
his attention, to her great relief, became sudden
ly absorbed by a new fancy. He remembered a
certain warm and comforting mixture of wine,
egg, sugar, and spices, which she had often been
accustomed to make for him in former times,
and which he thought he should relish exceed
ingly before he went to bed. Mrs. Lecount
helped him on with his dressing-gown, then
went down stairs again to make lib warm drink
for him at the parlor fire.
She rang the bell, and ordered the necessary
ingredients for the mixture in Noel Vanstone'a
name. The servants, with the small ingenious
malice of their race, brought up the materials
one by one, and kept her waiting for each of them
as long as possible. She had got the sance-pan,
and the spoon, and the tumbler, and the nutmeg-
grater, and the wine—but not the egg, the sugar,
or the spices—when she heard him above walk
ing backward and forward noisily in his room,
exciting himself on the old subject again beyond
all doubt.
She went up stairs once more; but he was too
qnick for her—he heard her ontside the door;
and when she opened it she found him in his
chair, with his back cunningly turned toward
her. Knowing him too well to attempt any re
monstrance, she merely announced the speedy
arrival of the warm drink, and turned to leave
the room. On her way out she noticed a table
in a corner, with an ink-stand and a paper-case
on it, and tried, without attracting his attention,
to take the writing materials away. He was too
quick for her again. He asked angrily if she
doubted his promise. She put the writing mate
rials back on the table, for fear of offending him,
and left the room.
In half an hour more the mixture was ready.
She Carried it up to him, foaming and fragrant,
in a large tnmbler. " He will sleep after this,"
she thought to herself as she opened the door;
"I have made it stronger'than usnal on pur
pose." .
He had changed his place. He was sitting at
the table in the corner—still with his back to her
—writing. This time his quick ears had not
served him. This time she had caught him in
the fact.
"Oh. Mr. Noel! Mr. Noel!" she said, re
proachfully, "what is your promise worth?"
Ke made no answer. He was sitting with his
left elbow on the table, and with his head resting
on his left hand. His right hand lay back on the
paper, with the pen lying loose in it. "Your
drink, Mr. Noel," she said, in a kinder tone,
feeling unwilling to offend him. lie took no
notice of her.
She went to the table to rouse him. Was ht
deep in thought ?
He was. dead!
TIIK KND Or THB FIFTH BCUMt.

732 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 15, 1862.
NOVEMBER 15, 1862.] HARRER'S WEEKLY. 733
SALT-WORKS IN
FLORIDA.
WE publish on page 732 a view
of_the DESTRUCTION OF A SALT
MANUFACTOHV ON THC COAST OF
FLORIDA bv the crew of the United
States bark Kingfisher. The affair
is described in the following letter
from an officer engaged:
"U. 3. BARK •KniorisnCT,' ST.
JOSEPH'S BAT, FLA., Sepf. 18,1862.
"I am glad to say that, after
waiting all this time, I have had a
chance to see active service. You
can imagine with what pleasure we
received the order to up anchor, as
we knew our destination was the
salt-works, at the head of the bay.
"About two weeks since we had
a lot of contrabands come off, who
informed us that there were extens
ive salt-works at the town of St.
Joseph, making from 100 to 150
bushels a day, and not yet com
pleted. We sent a flag of truce,
and politely informed them that
they must stop, or we should de
stroy them. They paid no atten
tion to us, but continued their fire
day and night.
" We got under way at daylight,
sailed up the baj- with a fair wind,
and came to anchor about a quar
ter of a mile from the works. As
wo came in sight we could perceive
an unusual excitement, and ob
served wagons driving inland at a
furious pace. We gave them two
hours to quit, and then fired a few
shells into the works, which had the
effect of bringing two contrabands
to the beach with a salt-bag, which
they waved moat furiously. We
sent a boat for them, and found out
that they had removed about two
hundred bags of salt and some pro
visions, but that every thing re
mained with this exception; and
also the intelligence that there were
about eighty guerrillas, mounted,
three miles hack in the country,
and would probably be down to
see what was going on. As soon
as we obtained this information
we manned all the boats, leaving
enough men on board to man the
battery. I had been ordered to take
command of the picket-guard, and
station them about a quarter of a
mile inland, surrounding the works.
You may imagine that was rather
skittish work with twenty men to
go into the woods out of sight of the
ship ; but we all drew up on the
beach, the pickets in front (in all
about fifty men), loaded muskets
and fixed bayonets—the whole un
der command of Mr. Hallet, ex
ecutive officer. We started, whis
tling Yankee Doodle. I advanced
my men in a straight line to the
other side of the works, when we
entered the woods and extended our
lines entirely around the place. The
main body then began their work
of destruction, and in less than two
hours the whole place was in flames,
and the machinery broken up.
"I send you a sketch. The
whole coast of Florida is lined with
these works of a smaller size. This
one, when finished, would have been
capable of making five hundred
bnshels a day, at $10 per bushel."
When the new military colony is
fairly under way these salt factories
will probably become of some na
tional importance.
SUMMIT STATION ON MARYLAND HEIGHTS.—LSKETCHED BY MR. A. R, WABD.]
THE ARMY OF THE
TOTOMAC.
WF, republish herewith a pictnre
by Mr. Waud, representing
SUMMIT STATICS ON MARYLAND
I1KIUIITS.
Maryland Heights is the highest
point occupied by the army. The
signal-station commands the whole
country for many miles around, and
is in constant communication with
other stations, conveying messages
to and from head-quarters. Ma/y-
land Heights is hy nature nearly
impregnable, and could easily be
held by fonr regiments against
50,000 men. From it Harper's Fer
ry, and Bolivar, and Louden Heights
are entirely commanded, as well as
Pleasant Valley, and the towns of
Sandy Hook and Knoxville.
The view from the summit is a
magnificent one. The Potomac and
Sbenandoah rivers, the Blue Ridge,
the Bull Run Mountains, the Kit-
toctan Mountains, North and South
Mountains, etc.—the towns of Win
chester, Charlestown, Martinsburg,
Hagerstown, Williamsport, Shep-
herdstown, and a number of others,
are all overlooked by these heights,
from which the lines of both ar
mies are also visible. At night,
through a powerful glass, the ene
my's pickets are visible. But per
haps the most interesting scene is
the view at sunrise, when the val
leys are filled with joy — looking
over the clouds tinged rosy-red by
the sun, it seems as if a violent sea
had been frozen into stillness at an
instant, the mountains rising like
islands from the heavy masses of
vapor.
CONVALESCENT SOL
DIERS.
WE publish on page 721 an illus
tration of CONVALESCENT SOLDIERS
ON THEIR WAY TO JOIN THEIU
REGIMENTS, from a sketch by Mr.
J. A. Oertel. He writes:
" The subject struck me when I
saw it as one of interest in the pres
ent period. Washington just now
is very dry and dnsty, as I have
indicated in the sketch. The sol
diers were under escort. This is
military fashion. They were on
their way to the railway station near
the capital, and belonged to differ
ent regiments, representing nearly
all the States, and were in every
variet}' of garb. .You will perceive
they are not in Broadway fashion.
The soldier who has seen service is
a different looking object from the
trim gent he was when he left
home."
The thinned regiments of the
Army of the Potomac which re
turned from the Peninsula in Sep
tember last have been considerably
recruited by the arrival of conva
lescent soldiers from hospital. At
one time there were 20,000 soldiers
sick and wounded in the great mil
itary hospitals at Newport News
and Fortress Monroe—at least so
said the newspaper correspondents.
Now these hospitals are compara
tively empty. Wonnds have been
healed, and the bracing air of Octo
ber has dispelled the fevers engen
dered by the Chickahominy mala
ria.
THE REBEL STEAMER "OVETO" RUNNING THE BLOCKADE OF MOBILE CHASED BY THE U. S. STEAM-SLOOP "ONEIDA."—[SKETCHED BT THE SCBOBOH OF TM "0»n>A."]

734 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 15, 1862. NOVEMBER 15, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 735
THE ESCAPE OF THE « OVETO.
WE publish herewith an illustration of tlie REBEL
STEAMER " OVETO" RUNNING INTO MOBILE under
the fire of the United States steam-sloop Oneida on
4th September nit. We mentioned the cirorra.
•tance at the time. It turned out that the rebo'
hud only thirteen men on board who were fit foi
duty at the time. Secretary Welles, deeming thai
Commander Treble, who was in command of our
squadron off Mobile, had been remiss in the execu
tion of his duty, dismissed liim from the navy in
consequence. From this appeal Commander Preble
ban appealed to the President in the following let:
tor:
« " CIIITJD STITH SLOor ' OHBIDA,'
on MUIILI, oa. 10,1881.
" To tkt PrtiMtnt oftht United States:
"Sat,—I do not believe you would do Intentional Injus
tice to any one; yet you have done me the most cruel in-
jnitlce, ar.d dismissed me from a nervice ID which I have
palled twenty-seven yean of my life, without trial, with
out n hearing, and on insufficient and Incomplete evidence.
u iou have assailed my honor, which is dearer to mo
than life, and you have caused to be proclaimed that I
failed to do my utmost to take and capture a veaael of the
enemy, and omitted to perform the moot ordinary duty of
an officer. This sentence and thli opinion you have di
rected to be read to the assembled creirn of every vessel In
the navy and entered upon the ships' logs.
"I can prove by every officer and man on board this
•hip, or who was present on the occasion referred to, that
I did do-my utmost to overtake, capture, or destroy the
Oveto at the time referred to, and that, omitting no duty,
I performed my whole, entire duty energetically and faith
fully, as I have ever done while In the service.
" I demand, therefore, a fair, and full, and Instant In
vestigation of all the clrcumsteuces before a Court of In
quiry, and, when acquitted, that my innocence shall be
proclnimed in the aame manner as the sentence of dismis
sal has besn promulgated, and that the record of my dis
grace shall, by official order, be expunged from the log
books of the navy.
'•As Coniraander-ln-Chlef of the Army and Navy, I ask
ef you this justice, which I am sure you will grant.
" Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
'! GZOROE HKNEV PRIBLX,
^ommaDdtr United flUlM Nary. 1
Toother with copy of this appeal, Commander
Preble has sent ns the following extracts from the
evidence of his officers.
Lieutenant Commander Sicard, executive offi
cer, says:
'•The ship wu prepared for action, ID season, and when
the character of the chase became apparent you did your
utmost to capture or destroy her. As far ai my observa
tion went yon displayed «eal, energy, and anxiety in pur-
inlt of the chaw... .1 can not suggest any precaution you
vnltted."
Lieutenant Brown says:
...."The crew were at»quarten and the ship cleared
for ncttoo in ample season; and when tlia character of the
chase was becoiue apparent you did. In my opinion, do
your utmost to overtake, capture, or destroy her. I know
of no duty committed to a commanding officer that you
omitted on that occasion. So far as I observed you did
exhibit energy, zeal, and anxiety In the pursuit to over
take and capture the chose... .1 can not suggest any pre
cautions that were omitted."
Chief Engineer Dade says:
"In my opinion you cleared yonr ship for action In th*
promptest manner, and exhibited the greatest energy,
seal, and anxiety In overtaking and capturing the chase,"
Acting-Master F. M. Green says:
••The awnings were furled, decks cleared, and craw
onlled to quarters in ample time for any emergency....
Dnt for Ills superior spend, which enabled him to draw
ahead of ns. nothing could have saved him... .Until the
Onto was close to us I felt sure she was one of the num
ber of English ateamers-«f-war which I have seen inspect
ing the blockade."
Paymaster Hassler says:
"The energy and ceal with which you began the ac
tion, and, so far as my observation extended, continued it,
will ba always remembered by me... -Of vigilance there
certainly was no neglect... .Thnt the ship was cleared for
•otlon I have stated above; and that you did not fall to
do your utmost to overtake, capture, or destroy the vessel
we were pursuing was evident to myself from your repeat
ed orders for quicker firing and cautions tocreater accu
racy of aim, as well as to the engineers. flrTl have care
fully read the Act approved July 11. 1862, articles 1 and
S, and paragrapbe B and 10 of article 3, which relate to
commanders of vessels, and I can not imagine auy duty
there enumerated which yon failed to perform on that oc
casion. I do not think more than four shots were fired
when, being in the ward-room, I heard you on deck give
th* order several tunes to go ahead fatter; and, on going
out Into the steerage country, inquired what was the mat
ter, when one of the engineers told me tho engines were
doing the best the steam would allow, owing to the recent
repairs on the toilers."
Surgeon Taylor says:
11 1 cheerfully bear witness, Blr, thet on this occasion, so
far as my knowledge extends of such matters, you did
your utmost to capture or destroy this vessel of the enemy
from the moment you recognized her as such, and that the
ship was cleared lor action in due tun*—neither did you,
in any nunner whatever, manifest a want of energy or
ceal In your official acts."
Acting-Master Thomas Edwards nays:
"In my opinion your ship was prepared and cleared for
action in the promptest manner, and, under the circum
stances, you left nothing undone that could have been
done, and I have every reason to believe you did yonr ut
most to take, capture, or destroy the vessel you were in
pursuit of. There is no duty that I could see at the time
you omitted; and you showed the greatest energy, ceal,
and anxiety to overtake and capture the chase."
Acting-Master Elijah Rosa says:
"I consider you did all that could have been done to
capture the steamer after discovering the was an enemy."
Captain's Clerk, J. T. Dalton, says:
"I was on the poop with you most of tha time, oeing
ssnt for by you to the engine-room several tiiuw to in
quire if we could not increase onr speed, each time receiv
ing from the engineer on watch the answer—they could do
no better.... When we had rounded to and abandoned the
cbase you called to the First Lieutenant and asked it there
was'no way in which we could get in and *get that fellow'
—exhibiting the utmost anxiety to capture r.nd destroy
him."
Assistant-Engineers Morrison, M'Mnrtrie, Fitch,
M'llvaine, and Brewer unite in laying:
u Your energy as displayed on that occasion could ear-
taiolynot have been questioned by those who were familiar
with the circumstances. Every thing was done that could
have besn done to defeat her Intentions, and no exertions
wen left untried to prevent his entering. The escape of
the Oveto could not, In our opinion, have been justly at
tributed to any dereliction of duty on your part vhiie ex
isting circumstances were so favorable to her."
Boatswain Herold, who was aloft, says:
"While they were loosing sails we fired Into her, and
kept up a continuous flre until she got out of our range.
Several ot our shot struck her, though she did not slacken
her speed for a moment... .She continued to gain on UB
rapidly, and, u we were now very close to the ruined
light-house on Sand Island, It being now dark, we wore
round and returned to th* anchorage."
Midshipman Wood says:
" Captain Preble gave orders to go ahead as fast as pos
sible—heard answer returned from engine-room that ' we
were doing our best*....In fifteen minutes we had In
creased onr elevation from 400 to 1000 yards."
A DEEAM.
"OhI for the touch of a vanished hand.
And the sound of a voice that is still!"
I DREAMED last night of an Isle of light
Far off in a waveless sea,
And never in Fancy's wildest flight
Came there such dreams to me.
I sailed in a boat like a pearl afloat,
With never, a sail nor oar—
A vision so bright ne'er crossed the sight
Of mortal man before.
And at times I thought that I faintly caught
The snatch of a murmured song,
And a strange deep sonnd encompassed me round
Like the tread of a mighty throng.
Then a land so bright broke on my sight •
That my dazzled eyes grew dim;
And the sound of ten thousand harps I heard,
And the tones of a wondrous hymn.
And oh! among the countless throng
That moved on the sinning shore
I saw the face of one whom I thought
Had vanished for evermore.
Then I called again that sacred name
That his not left my breath
Since I knelt by the side of an upturned face
In the frozen beauty of Death.
Then all was hushed, and my mad brain rushed
Back to this earth again,
And I woke with a lingering sound in my ears,
That pierced through the gloom of darkening years
And soothed my heart's wild pain.
But oh! when shall I see that waveless sea,
And stand on that shining shore,
And feel the touch of that vanished hand.
And look in those eyes once more?
HELEN CHRISTIAN.
•SHE must have hurried to have avoided them,
and the stubborn Scotch blood rebelled against
that, so Helen Christian kept her leisurely pace and
met them just by her own gate. Mary Joceleyn,
a girl in mourning, with the look that is called high
bred, and a general air of being unattainable in the
very droop of the black plume in her hat, and the
sparkle of the jet clasp at her slender waist, pass
ing with a quick, careless bend—her brother Paul,
captain in the army, evidently by the interpreta
tion of his sbonlder straps, bowing low and glanc
ing back over his shonlder, as they went down the
steep road to the river. Nothing very special in
such an encounter; yet as the young school-teacher
went up the little graveled path, she found that she
was trying hard to console something in her men
tal or moral economy had been hurt and was cry
ing ont vigorously. What was it ? She stopped to
think it over a little before going into the house.
A few rods further on the path stopped short, as
any prudent and thinking path would be apt to
do, when there was only a low, somewhat shaky
paling to keep it from running off into the ravine,
that between its steep hurry to reach the river, and
the getting entangled in a mass of trees and vines,
all pushing and shouldering their way out from
the stones and dark and damp to the free air, in
most disorderly fashion, looked not of the most in
viting. Here was an arbor and a chair (which I
suppose I may call rustic, as a barrel with the front
half cut away and covered with canvas certainly
dosen't smack of Roux's) in which Helen sat down.
There was the fair sweep of river, and the two
wooded promontories holding a quiet, fairy bqy in
heir little crescent, and so close on her left hand
hat she could almost have touched it—the hill,
against which her little home leaned, already warm
ing with purple and dusky shades as though nature
were trying her hand at coloring and foreshadow
ing to herself the autumn mosaic that was to come—
the hill that she loved, because it was lovingly
alive with growing, twining, trailing, rustling,
chirping, singing life, and amidst storm and mist,
and ont of morning flush and unutterable evening
splendors looked peacefully down on the solemn
convocation's of woods, and the lower hills surging
np toward it, and the bronzed fields, and the broad
roads, like a faithful witness for a truth; but she
could bear nothing of the tender hill voices now.
She was too busy looking across the sudden slope
of their own garden-patch, and the sunken road,
the rise on the opposite side, and the clump of ma
ples, to a building set on a hill so that it could not
be hid, thrown out against the evening sky large
and square and dark, that looked as if It could
never have relenting* over a little white birdsnest
of a cottage cowering under a hill, and was in fact
the characteristic residence of the aristocratic Joce-
leyns; looking with eyes that wonld not have dif
fered very widely in expression had they been
glaring at it from under a red cap and across a bar
ricade of paving stones.
Just then came ont, not from the bill-side or
floating on a spear of thistle-down, but unprosaio-
aily from the kitchen door, a fairy of that gentle
domestic sort that puts a little leaven of comfort in ,
every body's baking, and fills up the chinks of ev
ery one's shortcomings, -with as much bustle as
the air makes abont being breathed in; Alice, the
sickly elder mother-sister of the orphan Helen.
She laid a thin hand on her dreaming sister's
shoulder.
" Are you looking at the mountains, dear?"
" Doesn't it seem as if they were the very ram
parts of the unseen world, and as if that quivering,
burning mass of color was just the glory streaming
out from the heavenly gates opened wide ?"
" I suppose so—I was not thinking."
"Think now, then; it is so beautiful. I don't
believe any painter wonld dare to give as brown
and sUnna glMmi Ilk* thoia thick itnwn In that
bine water. See, Helen; it might be the sapphire
pavement that the Jewish elders saw under his
feet, and that color that lives and burns, and is
transparent though massed together, ' the body of
the heavens in his clearness.'1 "
Still Helen looked over at the stone pile that had
beaten back the straying sunbeams and dying
light, and taken unto itself the shadows, perhaps
because of its kind.
"You seem tired; were the children trouble
some ?" asked her sister after a pause.
"Yes; that is, not very."
"Who was that passing as yon came in?"
."Mary and Paul Jocelevn."
"They are fond of the river walk; it is pretty."
' Helen rose abruptly.
" It is very damp—come in."
" Yes, and you must hurry a little, for I prom
ised Mrs. Simms that you should come there this
evening. They have a lint party."
" I don't wish to go."
" Is that your best reason for staring at home?
It seems such a shabby one."
"Then it is in keeping with every thing here,"
burst out Helen. " I am sure we are shabby enough.
Just look at your dress and mine!"
" I do, my dear, frequently, and regard them as
monuments of art, feminine triumphs over such
trifles as time, and the general wear-out-abllity of
all things human. I assure you, my dear, as yon
walk abont, that dress has quite a distingue air;
and hath the merino a voice that it should cry
aloud, I am of the piece-day nnd belonged to great
Aunt Martha. My flounce is but a delusion and a
snare and a vanity altogether for the better hiding
of the piece on the bottom, and I am not a well-to-
do and prosperous dress, and don't belong to a per
son in good circumstances."
Thus chattered our good Helen, all unconscious
of the vision of drooping plume and sparkling clasp,
dainty-broidered handkerchief and trim boot, and
their meaning, that was haunting Helen, who in
her turn despised herself for paltriness of feeling,
and never dreamed that these were but the bubbles
on the surface telling of an unsuspected love, and
unacknowledged pride doing battle in the depths
of her heart.
Sudden glamour had robbed home of its grace—
that was all she knew, making every thing to her
coarse and mean, even herself. And here came in
the true reason of berdieinclination for Mrs. Simms
and her lint-party, lest she should meet Panl and
his sister, and, by comparison, be humbled in her
own eyes and his. But despite reluctance she
went, for mild Alice was a very Ahasuerus when
she thought dnty involved, though the face that
bent over her basket in the corner was as sober as
it was fair. She knew when the Joceleyns came—
she heard Paul's Voice-in the hall, and felt, even in
the little room where she sat apart, the flutter in
the parlor atmosphere, as Mary Joceleyn rose a
full moon on the horizon of Mrs. Simms and com-
pifny, and in the light of her approval dimpled and
glanced the ripples of every one's talk, save the
one little Jacobin in her lonely corner.
Amidst the buzzing and chattering Paul, how
ever, was restless—he missed something, and at
last slipped out to look for it, found it, as he had
half expected, sitting in a quiet that was good to
look at, after the parlor flouncing and giggling,
with a face cool and veiled in expression indeed,
but with wondrous possibilities of depths of light
and sweetness that might shine out from under
golden-brown lashes, or soften the curves of the
mobile mouth; no dimples or bright look* for him
just then, however, only a somewhat ungracious
sweep of the black skirt when she found that he
would sit close by her, and a crisp " Good-evening."
" You are retired in your tastes."
" I can work better. The tongue always wins
in a race with the fingers."
" Is that a hint to me ? Well, I will be good
and not talk, only give me something to do."
Helen coolly handed him a bit of linen and went
on without a word. Paul bit his lip, looked at the
square morsel, turned it round, glanced again at
the smileless face near him, pulled out a thread
spitefully and broke it, raged inwardly, finally
burst out in speech.
" What b sve I done now ?"
"Broken a groat many threads apparently."
" Helen, you are— Well, what is it ?"
The last half of the sentence being addressed to
his sister, who stood coolly scanning them from the
door with a look that emphatically denied any other
recognition of Helen than as a lint-pulling machine,
that was occupying valuable Joceleyn time.
" Paul" (with a slight tinge of impatience sound
ing sharply through the polite resignation of her
tone), "won't yonpleate come to the front-room?
You are wanted there."
1 1 really—"
' But, Panl—" beckoning him into the shadow of
the hall for a whispered conference. Scarcely was
he there when Helen, who was weary, head, fin
gers, and heart, went at once for hood told
Old Eitdlliihiii.ntJM Bn»dw.y. .
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VOL. VI.—No. 308.] NEW YORK, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1862. C
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1862, by Harper ft Brothers, in the Clerk's Office of the District Conn for the Southern District of New York.
JM«|| .-W!
=§s*:l ».: ^^ V
HON. HORATIO SEYMOUR, GOVERNOR-ELECT OF THE STATE Of KE\Y YORK.—PUOTOGRAWU.IJ BY UBADY.—[SEE jrexr PAGE.]
SINGLE COPIES SIX CENTS.
$2 SO PER TEAR IN ADVANCE.

738 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 22, 1862.
NOVEMBER 22, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY.
GOVERNOR SEYMOUR.
WE publish on the preceding page a portrait 0
Hon. HORATIO SEYMOUR, trovernor-elect of New
York. Governor Seymour is a uuui of some fifty
live years of age; he once filled the Gubenistoria
office before, and discharged itodutiea with fidelity
md success. He has now been elected by a_ma
tority of some 15,000 over General Wadsworth
Governor Seymour proclaimed his position in a
speech delivered at Brooklyn during the canvass
and we make the following extract:
"Now, when the men of the Booth made the bayonet
and the sword the arbiter (they elected, and not we): whe
they determined to nettle It by Wood (and not we)—th
sword, BO fur as the present h uacerued, mint be the art
ter; and In our strong right armi It slmll strike vlgorou
und true blows for the life of onr country, for its inetltu
tlons, and for tts flag. Now let me aay this to the hlghe
law men of the North, and to the higher law men of th
South, and to the whole world that looks on witnesses t
the mighty events transpiring in this country, that till
Union shall never be severed, no, never...... Whateve
other men may say, as for the conservative people of this
country and as for myself as an Individual—lot other me
nay and think what they please—as for the division of this
Union, and the breaking up of that great natural alliance
which Is made by nature and by nature's God, I never
•will consent to it, no( never, as long as I have a voice to
raise or a hand to fight for this our glorious land."
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
SATUKUAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1862.
THE RECENT ELECTIONS.
T HE elections in the great Northern State
have resulted uniformly in the defeat ol
the Administrnti m candidates. New York an
Pennsylvania, which supported Mr. Lincoln in
»8C1 and 1800 with majorities of 50,000 and
100,000, have gone decidedly in favor of tht
Democracy; the Democrats have carried tin
Republican States of Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois
and the dominant Republican party has snfferec
severe losses in Michigan, Wisconsin, and Iowa
It had previously lost ground in Connecticu
and Maine. In the Congress which will assem
ble for the transaction of busiiieas a year hence
the Democrats will have a decided majority.
Just two considerations are suggested by these
startting evidences of a change in public opinion
first, what caused the change ? next, what prac
tical eft'ect will it have on the prosecution of the
wnr?
A number of plausible reasons have been as
signed for the sudden increase of the Democratic
and decline of the Republican vote throughout
the North. Mr. Greeley thinks that the Repub
licans have gone to the war to fight, while the
Democrats have staid at home to vote. But
even the Tribune will not claim the men who
enlisted from this city, as, for instance, Sickles's
and Meaghcr's brigades as Republicans; and it
was the largo Democratic majority in this cit;
which carried the State for Seymour. Again
every one who has correspondents in the arm;
knows that the rank and file, at least in the
army of the Potomac, sympathized with the
Democracy, and cherished the ancient Demo
cratic prejudice against the negro to the utmos
extent. We are inclined to think that if the
army had voted—as did the soldiers of Iowa,
Missouri, and other States — the Democratic
majority in New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, lu-
diana, and Illinois, wonld rather have been i
creased than diminished. Another set of politi
cians, who sympathize more or less with the
rebels, construe the recent elections as a rebuke
to the men whom they call " Abolitionists, "anc
infer that the North is ready to meet the South
on the basis of some such compromise as that
to which Senator Crittenden, in an unguardei
moment, lent his previously-respected name.
These politicians are probably equally mistaken
with regard to the temper 6f both sections. The
South is unwilling to accept any compromise,
and if the successful Democracy attempt to make
one, they will fail as ignominionsly as they die
at Charleston. So far as the Northern Democ
racy are concerned, they are quite as far from be
ing prepared to admit that the Union is dissolved
as the most ardent supporters of the Adminis
tration. A member here and there, hailing
from this city or dk West, and in his heart a
partner in the guilt of the rebels, may attempt
to assist their schemes; but the great bulk of
the Northern Democracy are as loyal to the
Union as Mr. Lincoln himself. Whatever they
meant by their October and November votes, no
one who knows them will believe that they meant
to acquiesce in the severance of the Union.
So far as we can judge, the soundest explana
tion of the recent Democratic victories ascribes
them to a general dissatisfaction with the results
of the war. In some men this dissatisfaction
took the shape of a revolt against the radical
influences which have controlled the Adminis
tration from time to time. Others were dissat
isfied because the President retained Generals
M'Clellan and Buell in command. Others,
again, and these probably constituted the ma
jority, looked at the subject from no partisan
point of view, but merely desired to testify their
sense of disgust at the small results which have
been achieved by the enormous outlay of men,
money, spirit, and energy placed at the service
of the Government by the loyal citizens of the
United States. No nation in the world—not
even France in 1790—ever placed itself, its
sons, its means, its liberties, and its life so
wholly und unreservedly in the hands of its
Government as we did a year ago. The people
of the North asked each other—what has Mr.
Lincoln done with what we gave him? and vot
ed accordingly.
With regard to the effect of the recent elec
tions wo con not see that they are calculated to
lead to any important changes. A few traitors
elected here and there will try to serve the rebel
cause. But they will clearly prove powerless
against the overwhelming loyalty of the North
ern masses. From necessity the Democratic
victors will have to go for a more thorough
prosecution of the war. The people of the
North—by whatever political designation they
are known—are unanimous and resolute against
the division of the country. A few Democratic
leaders may be so blind as to dream of a com
promise, disgracefully ignominious to the North,
and practically fatal to the South. But these
schemers will soon find themselves disavowed
by both sections. In time of war, when the
people understand themselves, there is but one
party, and that is the party who goes for put
ting down the enemy. Whatever the inten
tions of the successful Democrats may have
been, when the responsibility comes to be laid
upou their shoulders they will find themselves
compelled to pursue the same policy as their
opponents, and to rely for success with the peo
ple upon excelling the Republicans in energy
and zeal for the cause.
' THE REMOVAL OF GENERAL
M'CLELLAN.
WE record in another column the removal of
GENERAL M'CLELLAN from the command of the
Army of the Fotomac, and the appointment of
GENERAL, AMBROSE E. BURNSIDE to the vacant
post. The President appears to have determ
ined upon the step in the last week of October;
but for reasons which can readily bo conceived
it was not carried into effect till the 8th inst.
A dispatch from General Halleck to the Secre
tary of War, bearing date October 28, explains
the reasons which led the President to act. Aft
er the Battle of Antietam General Halleck first
urged, then ordered General M'Clellan to move
across the Fotomac. He did not move for three
weeks, and, in General Hallcck's opinion, no
good excuse existed for his disobedience and dc-
lay. General M'Clellan's friends, who are legion,
will urge in his defense that a General in com
mand, of an army of 200,000 men, und responsi
ble not only for his own success but for their
lives, is the best judge of when and how he
should move, and can not be bound to obey the
orders of persons at a distance from the scene of
action, and without direct personal responsibili
ty in the matter. It will doubtless further be
urged that, however slow General M'Clellan
may have been during the first three weeks of
October, he was moving with remarkable celeri
ty when the order for his removal was handed to
him. Many other good arguments may be ad
vanced in vindication of the displaced General,
but they are not likely to be much heard of just
now. Both the people and the army are too
intent upon the great work of suppressing the
rebellion to trouble themselves about side issues.
After the war there will be time to inquire into
and pass judgment upon them, and then, if in
justice has been done to M'Clellan, he will prob
ably be elected President.
Meanwhile it is a source of unmixed satisfac
tion to know that the Army of the Potomac is
led by a man like Burnside, a soldier who to
the greatest military skill unites dash, energy,
and the prestige of success, and a man of the
most exalted character and the noblest heart.
The country unites in the cry, GOD SPEED
BCBMBIDE I
THE FACTS OF THE CASE.
REACKONS may change events, but they can
not alter principles. The Government of the Unit
ed States and the Union, of which it is the supreme
authority, are threatened by rebels in arms. That
authority must be maintained entirely, or "it is al
together overthrown. You may make never so
small a hole in the side of your ship, but it will
be large enough to admit the ocean, and yonr ship
will inevitably go down. You may make the
slightest concession of the threatened authority of
the Government, but in making it you relinquish
that authority utterly. If the city magistrates
and police and militia, after endeavoring for many
a day to disperse a riot, should at last say, "Very
well, what is it yon want ?" and allow the rioters to
destroy only one building or burn only one poor Irish
man, that city is conquered. Is there any security
for peace, for life any longer, except in the whim of
the mob ? It is precisely so with the war. Either
the Government must be maintained in every par
ticular of its authority, or it is dishonored entirely.
To change it, to allow the rebels to go, to declare
that such rebellions always end in compromise, is
to renounce the Government altogether, and to
proclaim the intention of surrender.
The Constitution of the United States clothes
the Government with authority to do what, under
any circumstances, it inevitably and instinctively
would do; namely, defend its own existence by
force. Whatever is necessary to this defense the
Government may lawfully do; and it is, of course,
itself the judge of the necessity. It may stop
mouths and pens; it may seize property and lib
erate slaves; it may cut off supplies, and by fam
ine and force and foar compel the refractory citizens
to obedience.
All this the Government may do. Common-
sense apprises us of it, even if it were not carefully
provided by the Constitution that in case of rebel
lion and invasion the writ of habeas corpus may be
suspended, and that the President, as commander-
in-chief of the army and navy, shall forcibly com
pel submission to the law. But the Government
is the people. If they disapprove what is done, it
will be undone or it will be fruitless. If they are
not in earnest, they will not justify earnest war.
If they are in.earnest, they will not tolerate trifling
and delay.
In our own case the truth remains true what
ever happens. If for any reason the .people shall
tire of the war, or the forcible compulsion of rebels
to obey the law: if they shall say that they are
willing to put down the insurrection if they can do
it with half a million of men and five hundred
millions of dollars, but not if the work requires
six hundred thousand men and a thousand million
of dollars: if they shall say that they are willing
to use field-pieces but not gun-boats: if they say
that they do not object to cutting off a supply train,
but do object to touching, or even trying to touch,
the source of the supplies: if they shall say that
they are willing to shoot rebels in the field, but
that they prefer to guard the slaves of rebels upon
the plantations: if they shall declare that every
body may say and do just what he pleases during
the war, short of actually taking up arms against
the Government: if they shall say that the rebel
lion was really caused by the men who are now
fighting against it, and not by the rebels them
selves : and, finally, if they shall say that the game
is not worth the candle, and that they will no lon
ger "imbrue their hands in fratricidal blood," th y
will compel the»authorities to make peace wi:l> u,e
rebels upon the best possible terms, wlit-iier of
separation or compromise.
Such a result is inevitable if the people are tired
of the war. That such a peace could be but a
truce breaking into worse wars tuay be true, but
that would not help the result. That such a peace
would be the total destruction of the Government,
the ruin of the popular system, and the betrayal of
the hope of civil liberty every where, is unques
tionably true; but what then ? If the people are
willing to betray themselves, to be forever dis
graced, and to become the scorn of history, it is in
vain that the authorities protest.
What then is the duty of every truly loyal man ?
Simply to show as plainly as he can that the wel
fare of each one of us depends upon the uncondition
al maintenance of the Government; that no civil
right is secure for a moment except in this Govern
ment ; and, therefore, that to maintain it the most
decisive and radical measures must be adopted by
the authorities and supported by the people. There
have always been, there will always be, but two
issues out of the war. One is absolute victory:
the other is entire submission. If we are truly in
earnest as the rebels are, we shall win the victory
cost what it may. If we are not in earnest, we
shall be conquered and disgraced.
GENERAL MITCHELL.
BY the death of General Mitchell the country
loses one of the fiery souls that compel victory.
The purity and fervor of his patriotism were of the
antique mould. From the first words he spoke at
the great Union Square meeting after Sumter,
through his gallant and brilliant service at the
West to the commencement of his Southern cam
paign, his life was an act of utter Keif-renunciation
and devotion.
Those who saw him just before he left for the
Department of the South were full}' aware of his
convictions as to the state of the country and the
prospects of the cause. He knew, as every body
else did, that to send him to Hilton Head, with the
handful of men there, was to send him into exile.
But he made no complaint. He said that he be
lieved he was a good soldier. " As for General
ship I do not judge," he said; " but I know that the
whole duty of a soldier is to obey orders, and I be
lieve that I can do that." He did it. He came
from Alabama when he was summoned to Wash
ington in the shortest possible time. He reported
for orders. He was told to wait. He waited and
waited week after week, aud was finally sent to
South Carolina, and went.
There were doubtlessdivided counsels about him
at Washington. He was a fighting General; a
dashing, ardent, popular leader. He believed that
the war must be fought out by every means. He
did not believe in waiting, nor in gently tapping
the enemy, nor in tampering with treason and
traitors; but in sweeping suddenly, and striking
stunning blows with overwhelming power. Gen
eral Mitcholl's theory of the war was, that it is a
mortal conflict between the spirit of despotism and
that of lawful Liberty; that there could be in the
nature of things no concession, no compromise;
that either the nation would conquer and estab
lish its government permanently as the defense
and gnarantee of Liberty, or be dismembered and
ruined. Born in Kentucky, he knew the section
with which we are fighting. By disposition con
servative, he doubted whether the people were
ready to rely upon the principle indicated by Mr.
Lincoln's election, and therefore apprehended with
misgiving the possible result of the war which that
election was sure to provoke. But when the war
came he sprang to the field with the battle-cry of
America and Liberty upon his lips, and they had
no other language until they were cold forever.
He had bitter enemies—but they were not among
the soldiers he commanded. It was said that he
covered a great deal of territory in the southwest,
and that if such work made & commander he was a
good one. It was »ne«r«d that hi* exploits re
sounded in the newspapers, but were of no actual
importance or military significance. It was cold
ly said that he was a better orator than soldier.
But if any General in this war has done what he
was sent to do, it is General Mitchell. His west
ern services, within his means, do not suffer by
comparison with those of any other officer who has
served in that department. His inauguration of
the Southern campaign was but partly successful
at Focotaligo; but not from want of skill in devis
ing or bravery in the men. The battle was a vic
tory as far as it went. Tbe enemy were success
ively driven from the three positions they chose.
Then our force withdrew, not being adequate to
pushing further. But the partial successes of Gen
erals who had every means have been hitherto, in
the war, hailed by ns, and reported by them, as
victories.
Like all men who feel profoundly, and who oc
cupy conspicuous positions in a civil war, General
Mitchell will receive no unqualified censure or
praise. There is not a man of military eminence
in this war, unless it be, at the present moment,
General Burnside, who is not, and who will not
be, the object of intense party-feeling. Fremont,
M'Clellan, Sigel, Halleck, Hunter, Buell are all
vehemently extolled and censured. It is not a
fate at which Mitohell repined. He had counted
the cost, and he held every thing light \Uien
weighed with the salvation of his countiy. A
soul of fire, he would willingly have sought by'
speech to kindle his fellow-citizens to the glow of
his own conviction if he had not ielt that his duty
was with the sword. Thnt duty is done now, and
done nobly. May God rust the brave soldier, and
inspire us all to spc;.k and strike for our country
with the same pu.iiy of purpose and fervor of con
viction I
SOME NEW BOOKS.
ASTHONY TBOLLOPE'S " Orley Farm" is admit
ted to be the best, as it is the most elaborate, of his
novels. He leaves his usual beat. He steps out
of Church into Court. He turns his back upon
cathedral closes, and the little quarrels and match
makings of clergymen and their wives, and paints
a picture of crime and its course at law which an
English authority says is much the finest picture
of the legal profession in English Literature. Mr.
Trollope's peculiar style, which has Thackeray's
intimacy with his reader without his racy elegance,
and which is often flippant rather than easy, is re
markably adapted to the story of familiar life he
is so fond of telling; while Millais's illustrations
are equally modern and characteristic. There is
a cheerful, chirping, John Bullish good sense in all
that Trollope writes—a comfortable and not disa
greeable depth of insight and observation—which
account for his great current popularity. The
friends of " Doctor Thorne" and " Framley Par
sonage" will find the same charm in " Orley
Farm."
The Memoirs of Dr. Nicholas Murray, by S.
Irentens Prime, are a brief account of the incidents
iu the life of a " self-made" man, as a certain class
of strong-willed, self-relying people are called.
Dr. Murray was a poor Irish boy who came to this
country, and who, after a little while, if this paper
had then been published, would have helped set
the type, for he was a workman in this office; who
was converted from the Romish to the Protestant
Church, became a noted clergyman, and at last
made his name widely known by a series of con
troversial letters to Bishop Hughes, under the sig
nature of " Kirwan." These letters are most tren
chant popular theological weapons. They had a
great sale, and were doubtless of great service to
the cause they advocated. Dr. Murray was evi
dently a hearty, vigorous man—of a generous na
ture, and a clear, positive mind. Mr. Prime's
Memoir judiciously leaves " Kirwan" to tell his
own story as far as practicable.
Mrs. Oliphant's Memoir of Edward Irving is the
story of a very different life and work from those
of Kirwan. He, too, was a clergyman, but it could
hardly be said that his mind was clear. He was a
noble man, and his life, in a certain way, was most
romantic. No one who is at all interested in the
religious history or romance of our times but will
read it with the greatest interest. To man}-, also,
the words of Thomas Carlyle, in speaking of Irving,
will awaken the strongest wish to know exactly
what he was. " But for Irving," says Carlyle," I
had never known what the communion of man with
man means. His was the freest, brotherliest, brav
est human soul mine ever came in contact with. I
call him, upon the whole, the best man I have ever,
after trial enough, found in this world or hope to
find."
A novel, " Abel Drake's Wife," by John Saun-
ders, is a story of a great deal of interest and pow
er. General attention is so riveted by the great
novelists that some word is essential to introduce
the new aspirants. In this story there seems to
us to be more real power than in such a tale as
Bulwer's " Strange Story." Indeed, .much of the
finest talent in our literature is found in the less
known novels—books like "The Collegians" or
" A Lost Love."
Besides these works, thcie are the " Thirteen
Months in the Rebel Army," an admirable interi
or view of the rebellion; and Mr. Beecher's " Eyes
and Ears," a volume of delightful characteristic
essays upon all kinds of subjects; and Mr. Marsh's
" Origin and History of the English Language," a
work of noble scholarship and great value.
If the war reduces the number of new books it
does not injure thsir qualify.
HOLDING DP THE HANDS.
THERE is a remarkable fact in our current his
tory. The President is praised on all sides, yet
nobody is satisfied with the conduct of the war.
The "Badicals" cry, God bless him! The " Con
servatives" talk of holding up his hands. Now
somebody does not mean what he says. " If we
all mean to stand by the President what are we
quarreling about ? If we all mean to stand by the
739
President provided he will do exactly what we
wish him to do—we mean only that we would
stand by Jeff Davis upon the same terms.
What the President means he has said.
" Oh 3'es," says the Conservative; " but he has
been latterly under Radical pressure. Let h'm
return to his former position.'.'
' "Thank you for nothing!" retorts the Radical;
" he was formerly under the border State pressure.
Let him hold fast to a vigorous policy."
" I go for a constitutional prosecution of the
war!" shouts the Conservative.
"Exactly my position," replies the Radical.
" But my interpretation of the Constitution is
the right one," says the Conservative.
" Not at all. Mine is the right one," answers
the Radical. " I am for the Union at every cost."
"You are a disorganizer," sneers the Conserva
tive.
• " Can't see it," smiles the Radical.
"You're a—"
" You're another."
Meanwhile the President has declared his policy.
It is to maintain the Government and the Union at
all hazards. And what do the people ask of him
and signify to him? Merely that they wish to
see constant proofs of activity and earnestness
in carrying out that policy. They believe that
they can suppress this insurrection, and thatAhey
can do it speedily. They will not quarrel with
any measure of vigor or of rigor, whatever the
politicians may asy or do. Disgust at hesita
tion, languor, and delay—discontent with the slow
course of military justice—fatigue with the press
ure of a war which sometimes seems waged against
their own patience as much as against the power
of the enemy, will often extort from them the sharp
est censure. Generals, Cabinets, parties, are no
thing. The country is all. The former may and
must be changed as events decree. The latter
must and shall be saved, whatever tries to resist.
To sustain the President, then, is to support his
policy. If you like his policy you mean what you
say in supporting him in its most earnest prosecu
tion. If you dislike it, you are forsworn in declar
ing that yon sustain him. He is the judge of his
constitutional power and duty. If he mistakes
and abuses his power he can be impeached. But it
is to be remarked that he is not sustained by those
who threaten him that if he does not follow the
advice of men who have always opposed him, his
principles, and his measures, the war shall be
stopped by any and every means. That is not
Support—it is attempted coercion.
Meanwhile, again, the President is a man of con
victions. He has certain profound persuasions and
a very clear purpose. He knows what the war
sprang from, and upon what ground a permanent
peace can be reared. He is cautious, cool, judicial.
But he knows that great revolutions do not go
backward; while he is aware that when certain
great steps in their prosecution are once taken
there will be loud outcries and apprehension. But
the ninth wave touches the point to which the
whole sea will presently rise, although the next
wave and the next should seem to show falling
water.
^"*^^~~"^
PORTRAIT OF A REBEL BY AN OLD MASTER.
ADDIBON, in the twelfth number of his Free
holder, a paper which he published in 1715-16, dur
ing the attempt of the Pretender upon the throne of
England, has one passsge which might have been
written among us to-day. Every word of it ap
plies to the causeless rebellion waged upon our
Government—a rebellion which airy jesters ex
cuse with a joke, and complacent demagogues pal
liate with falsehood.
"We may likewise consider rebellion as a great
er complication of wickedness than any other crime
we can commit. [Addison in the same paper justi
fies revolution by the very argument used by Jef
ferson in the Declaration of Independence.], It is
big with rapine, sacrilege, and murder. It is dread
ful rVHs mildest effects, as it impoverishes the pub
lic; ruins particular families; begets and perpetu
ates hatred among fellow-subjects, friends, and re
lations ; makes a country the seat of war and deso
lation, and exposes it to the attempts of its foreign
enemies. In short, as it is impossible for it to take
effect, or to make the smallest progress but through
a continued course of violence and bloodshed, a
robber or a murderer looks like an innocent man
when we compare him with a rebel."
A LITTLE SENSE.
IP a pirate were sailing in a dark night along
a dangerous channel, and yon wanted him to run
on the rocks and be wrecked, you would not earn-
out torches and show the rocks, and hallo, "Look
out, here's a bouncer I Don't ran into it!" would
you? If he escaped, and landed and ravaged and
ruined the country, you couldn't say, " I didn't
help him," could you?
These are the questions that must inevitably
occur to every man who sees the frankness with
which information, that should be most secret, is
printed in the papers. Within a week we have
had a careful statement of the condition and pros
pects, and probable time of readiness, of our new
iron-clad ships; and an announcement of the in
tended sailing of transports with troops into tuc
very course of the Alabama; and details of intend
ed movements of the army in Virginia; and of the
projects of General Banks. And we have always
done this, knowing that every paper is read in
Richmond within four days.
Of course we are told that it is not the papers
which c.-.rry the news. Yes; and it may he the
chart in his pocket that carries the pirate through.
But your torch helps wonderfully, my good friend.
And we are told that, if the Government allows it,
it's all right. Yes; but your paper in the same
issue accuses the Government of stupidity. And
we are told that if Tom and Dick don't print it
Harry will. Yes; but because Tom and Dick are
foolish, or indifferent, or worse, are you so? It
may be that the ship is so leaky that she must
sink. But shall we, therefore, not try to stop the
leak?
It is the duty of every loyal editor to take care
that nothing in his paper shall in any way give
information to the enemy, whether other papers do
or not, and whether the Government cares about
it or nut. Can not Patriotism do what Despotism
certainly would? Let the rebels find out if they
can. Don't let us assume that they will, and
therefore tell every thing we know.
HUMORS OF THE DAY.
FULL STOP.—The organ In Dr. 8——'s church did not
play lut Sunday, because, we learn, of Its having a new
stop put to it. It was added, we believe, by the deputy-
sheriff.
A single glass of liquor too much mar separate loven
more widely than the ocean ever did.
He mtist be a person of very insignificant standing who
Is always standing upon bis dignity.
ABAUIAN DAIBY.—The Arabs have an excellent portable
dairy, which preserves their milk a number of days In a
very hot climate. It Is called a dromedary.
The man who, in talking to a lady, lays his hand upon
her shoulder may be thought too touching in his remark*.
A farmer likes cold weather at the proper season, but
an early froet in autumn goes againat bin gram.
Why U the letter I, In the word military, like the notef
—Because it stands between too "ft."
Is there any perceptible Improvement in a caterpillar
when he turns over a new leaf f
Philosophers tell us that Nature never errs. They cer
tainly can not mean human nature.
WIDOWS.—A fellow hits oft* the following definition of
widow: "One who knows what's what, and is desirous of
further information on the subject."
An OLD WBTNKLX.—Who in the most industrious ot all
plowmen r—Time, for he turns the most furrows.
May our blonde beauties be looked OB as forming a por
tion of the pale of society?
The old lady who believes every calamity that happens
to herself a trial, and every one that happens to her friends
a Judgment, is not yet dead.
Can a man who has been fined by the magistrates again
and again be considered a refined manf
THE MTSTIEIKS OF TANNING.—"Father," said a hope
ful urchin to his paternal relative, " why don't our school
master send the editor of the newspaper an account of
the taimlnga he gives the boys?" "1 don't know," said
the fond parent; "but why do you ask such a questionf"
(i Why, that paper says that Mr. Brown has tanned three
thousand hides at hU establishment during the past year,
and I know that old Furney has tanned our hides more'n
twice as many times—the editor onght to know it"
RATHEB 1—The gentleman who did not trust to his mem
ory wrote In hU pocket-book, "I must be married when I
get to town." The possibility is that he recollected wheth
er he was married or not afterward.
A SAVOBT RCKABK.—Some one defines hamuthepoetrv
of bacon. ______ ______
How TO MAKI MIN BBAV*.—Sir Thomas Fitzgerald,
famous for flogging, had raised a regiment of pardoned
peasantry In the sister kingdom, which he called the
'• Ancient Irish." He and his corps were sent on foreign
service. On hU return he boasted frequently of their brav
ery, and that no other troops were so forward to face the
enemy. "No wonder," said Ned Lyaaght: "thanks to
yonr flogging, they were ashamed to show their backs."
••Papa, can't I go to the zoological to see the camomile
fight the ry-no-sir-ee-hosar" "Bartln my son, but don't
get your trowsers torn. Strange, my dear, what a taste
that boy has for nat'ral history 1 No longer ago than yes
terday he had eight torn cats hanging by their tails to the
clothes-line." ____________
At a court-martial lately the following dialogue is said
to have taken place between one of the witnesses and the
court: "Are you a Catholic f" "No, Sir." "Are you a
ProtesUntf "No,Slr.» "What are you then r" "Cap
tain of the fbretop."
A TkOl EVITAPU.—Here In a sharp and spicy epitaph
on an old cardinal, reminding us of Shakspeare: • • The evil
that men do," etc.:
Hera lies a cardinal, who wrought
lioth good and evil in this time;
The good he did was good for naught;
Not so the evil I—that was prune.
Which of the feathered tribe would be supr"
the heaviest weight r—The crane.
lift
A provincial contemporary says there are hundi. j of
people who become religious when danger is near, and
adds: " We know of a man who fell from a bridge acrou
a certain river, and just as he found he must go, and no
help for It, he bawled out at the top of his voice, 'Lord
have mercy on me—and be quick tool1 "
The Chinese have no word which will compare with our
English word, " Amen;" they say, instead, " Bin yenen
chlng sing"—"The heart wishes exactly so."
Why Is a patch of corn like a dunce T—Because it's al
ways liable to get its ears pulled.
Lm m DKATH.—Tom Hood speaks of a bird building
Its nest upon a ledge over the door of a doctor's office, as
an attempt to rear its young in the very jaws of death.
The men who deserve, If they do not find, the greatest
favor among women, are husband-men.
A contemporary boasts that he " can stand on his Intel
lectual capital." We suppose he means that he can stand
on his head.
A CLEAB TITLE.—ft. New Zealand chief maintained that
he had a good title to hU Und, became he had eaten the
former owner.
DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE.
REMOVAL OF GENKRAL M'CLKLLAN.
AN official order releasing General M'Clellan from the
command of the army was received at head-quarters on
8th, and was presented by Assistant Adjutant-General
Buckingham In person. General M'Clellan immediately
issued an address to his army, transferring the command
to General Burnslde, and taking a kind farewell of the
men who had fought and suffered with him so gallantly
through his long and arduous campaigns. General M'Clel
lan Is ordered to report at Trenton, New Jersey.
TUB KKA80N WHY.
A letter from General Halleck, dated October 28, has
been published, giving the reasons for M'Ulellan's removal.
He states:
Third—Soon after the battle of Antietam General M'Clel
lan was urged to give roe Information of hie intended move
ments, in order that, if he moved between the enemy and
Washington, reinforcements could be cent from this place.
On the let of October, finding that he purposed to operate
from Harper's Ferry, I urged him to cross the river at once
and give battle to the enemy, pouting out to him the dig-
advantages of delaying till the autumn rains had swollen
the Fotomac and Impaired the roads. On tho 6th of Oc
tober he was peremptorily ordered to "cross the Potomac
and give battle to the enemy, or drive him south. Your
army must move now while the roads are good." It will
be observed that three weeks have elapsed since this order
was given.
Fiiurth—In my opinion there has been no such want of]
supplies in the army under General M'Clellan as to pre
vent his compliance with the orders to advance agalust
the enemy. Had he moved to the south side of the Poto
mac he could have received his supplies almost as readily
as by remaining inactive on the north.
lie goes on to show that all General H'Clellan's requisi
tions have been compiled with.
BUltNSIDK TAKES COMMAND.
The following order was issued by General Burnslde on
taking command of the army:
In accordance with General Orders No. 182, issued by the
President of the United States, I hereby assume command
of the Army of the Potomac. Patriotism and the exercise
of my evenjr energy In the direction of this army, aided by
the full and hearty co-operation of Its officers and men,
will, I hope, under the blessing of God, Insure its success.
Having been a aharer of the privations and a witness of
the bravery of the old Army of the Potomac In the Mary
land campaign, and fully Identified with them in their
feeling of respect and esteem for General M'Clellan, enter
tained through a long and most friendly association with
him, I feel that it is not as a stranger I assume command.
To the Ninth Army Corps, so long and intimately asso
ciated with me, I need say nothing. Our histories are
identical.
With diffidence for mywlf, but with a proud confidence
In the unswerving loyalty and determination of the gal
lant army now intrusted to my care, I accept its control
with the steadfast assurance that the just cause must pre
vail. A. E. BDKNSIDE,
M aJor-GM«al CommHdlBt
SCENE AT THE EXHIBITION IN LONDON.
JAOT.—"Lawkal why tt'i hexact like, our Htm&url"
M'CL- i.AN'a FABEWKLL ADDRESS.
HBAD-4UABTBU, AKMV OF TUB PoTOMAC.
AUP >«»m RICTOUOW*, Viaawu, JVo». f, Usi.
Ojfletna SoMuntfthsArmyqftlufotomac:
An o- .of the President defblves upon Major-Oeneral
Burn*1 .' the command of this army.
Ir i.tlng from you I can not express the love and grati-
tudi oaar to you. As an army you have grown up under
my .are. In you I have never found doubt or coldness.
The battles you have fought under my command will
proudly live in our nation's history. The glory you have
achieved, our mutual perils and fatigues, the gravat of our
comrades fallen in battle and by disease, the broken forms
of those whom wounds and sickness have disabled—the
strongest associations which can exist among men_unite
us still by an Indissoluble tie. We shall ever be comrades
in supporting the Constitution of our country and the na
tionality of its people. Gs». a H'CLLELAK,
•Ujor-G«n«ral Cnlud Slate* Armj.
STAND BY BURNSIDE.
Major-General M'Clellan and personal staff left Warren-
ton at eleven o'clock on llth. On reaching Warrenton
Junction a salute was fired. The troops, which had bean
drawn up In line, afterward broke ranks, when the soldiers
crowded aronnd him, and many eagerly called for a few
parting words. He said. In nsponae, while on the plat
form of the railroad depot, " I with you to stand by ISurn-
Meatt/ouhcaxttoodbi/mf^andaUiciUbeuxU. Good-
by."
To this there was a spontaneous and enthusiastic re
sponse.
THE ARMY OF THE FOTOHAC.
All the dkpetches from Virginia agree In the statement
that the main rebel army had eluded General M'Clellan,
at Jeast so far as to avoid a battle in the Shenandoah Val
ley. Head-quarters of the army were established at War-
renton on 7th, which place was taken possession of by our
advance on the day previous. The rebel Gwcral A. P.
Hill's command was at Warrenton on (Hit, hte command
and Stuart's Cavalry forming the rear-guard of Lee's force.
Dispatches from Warrenton, on 9th, bring the important
information that General Pleasanton had a skirmish on 6th,
near Little Washington, with Stuart's Cavalry, in which
he captured three pieces of artillery, and that General
Bayard, on the same day, occupied and now holds the rail
road bridge across the Rappabanock—the structure being
unimpaired. The bridge across Broad Run had been de
stroyed by the rebels, but as that is further back, in the
vicinity of Manasaas Junction, and in a section of country
now completely within our control. It can be put in good
condition again In a very abort space of time.
It is said that Stonewall Jackson's whole column Is at
Front Royal, with the exception of about 8000 men and
six guns still remaining iu the Shenandoah valley.
The rebels, with a large force of cavalry, artillery, and
Infantry, made an attack, on the 10th, upon General
Pleasanton at Amosvllle. Reinforcements from General
WUcox'B command were at once pushed forward to sup
port Pleasanton, who had no infantry and was compelled
to fall back, and having joined him, drove the rebels back.
General Fenno at the same time advanced upon the town
of Jefferson and occupied it.
HOOKER IN THE FIELD.
General Hooker takes command of General FiU John
Porter's corps, the latter officer being ordered to Washing
ton to answer charges preferred (gainst him by General
Pope.
ABSENT OFFICERS TO JOIN THE ARMY.
Major-General Halleck has issued an order that all offi
cers, of whatever grade, belonging to the Army of the
Fotomac, shall proceed to join their respective commands
within twenty-four hours. The penalty for disobedience
of this order will be dismissal from Bwrvice.
KO8ECKAN8 AT NASHVILLE.
General Roeecrans and staff arrived at Nashville on 10th,
having left Bowling Green at six that morning on train to
Mitchellvllle, making the remainder of the trip, forty
miles, on horseback, without Interruption by guerrillas.
The forests are blazing along the greater portion of the
route, and many dwellings have been destroyed. The
country looks painfully desolate, inhabitants, forage, and
stock being nearly all gone.
THE HARPER'S FEBRY SURRENDER.
The Investigation of tha Harper's Ferry surrender has
been brought to a close, and a general order has been Is
sued upon it. The result Is the dismissal from the United
States service by the President of Colonel Thomas Ford,
of Ohio, who abandoned the batteries on Maryland Heights,
and of Major Balrd, of the One Hundred and Twenty-sixth
New York Volunteers. The conduct of General Julius
White receives the approbation of the Commission.
THE REBICL, AEMY.
Onr news from Richmond is dated up to the 6th inst,
General Lee had arrived there two weeks ago, and Is said
to be still there, acting as Commander-ln-Chlef and mili
tary adviser to the War Department. The active com.
mand of the enemy's forces In the field has devolved upon
General Joe Johnston, who has his head-quarter! at Cnl-
peppsr. The Merrbnac No. t% completed, and now lies
below Fort Darling ready for mischief at the mouth of the
James River.
ANOTHER SECRET EXPEDITION.
An expedition composed of 12,000 men and several gun
boats left Newbera, North Carolina, by land and water, on
the 88th ult., under command of General Foster. Where
it has gone to has not yet been made known.
FOREIGN NEWS.
ENGLAND.
MR. GLADSTONE EXPLAINS.
Tax following letter, signed by Mr. Gladstone's secre
tary, has been published:
He (Mr. Gladstone) holds himself fully responsible for
having declared his opinion at Lelth nine months ago, to
the effect that If the Southern States of America were in
earnest the struggle on the part of t he Northern States was
hopeless, and again at Newcastle, last week, to the effect
that the confederation which has. been formed under Mr.
Jefferson Davis has shown itself to be sufficiently supplied
with the elements which make a nation, and with the will
and power to defend Its Independent existence. He can not,
however, be responsible for the inferences which, from your
letter, yon appear to have drawn from his statements—the
more so, as they might, he thinks, have been checked by
attention to other portions of his declarations concerning
America on the same occasion, In which he referred to
steps that might, under conceivable circumstances, be
taken by the Powers of Europe. And gen srally, he desires
me to remark that to form opinions upon questions of
policy, to announce them to the world, and to take or be a
party to taking any of the steps necessary for giving them
effect, are matters which, though connected together, are
In themselves distinct, and which may be separated by in
tervals of time longer or shorter, according to the particu
lar circumstances of the case.
MORE REBEL. VESSELS BUILDING.
A London correspondent of the Boston Commercial Bul
letin writes: " It Is well you are just completing a fleet of
' Monitors.' You are likely to need them before long.
Workmen are engaged night and day on the Mersey, on
the Clyde, and elsewhere, In building some SO Iron-clad*,
whit1) are to see service In American waters. They are
iutended to convoy vessels Into Southern ports. This I
know to be a fact. My Information Is direct from those in
confidence with the promoters."
GREECE.
ABDICATION OF THE KING.
King Otho, of Greece, abdicated his throne on the 25th
of October in favor of his brother. This step was forced
on his Majesty by a revolution, which commenced In West
ern Greece and spread rapidly, tbe revolutionists organiz
ing a pro visional government in Fatral, of which the states
man MavnonuaU is FraiUant.

co
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GENERAL M'CLELLAN SURRENDERING THE COMMAND OF THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC TO GENERAL BURNSIDE—DRAws r.T MR. A. R. WATD.—[SEE PAGE 743.]
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742
THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC-GENERAL PLEASANTON'S CAVALhY
HARPEKS WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 22, 1SC2,
SD AS SKIRMISHERS. MR. A. R.
TUE AKMY OF THE POTOMAC-SCOUTING IN LODDOK VALLEY.-[SKTCBM> Br V A.B.W-'" ,.3
NOVEMBER 22, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 743
THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC.
MR. A. R. WACD sends ns two sketches of the
ADVANCE or THE AHMT or THE POTOMAC INTO
VIBGINIA, which we reproduce on pages 740 and
741.
TRE RIMOVAL OF M'CLRIXAN.
On 10th, after the receipt of the order removing
Gen. M'Clellan, the General and his Staff, accom
panied by General Burnside, bade farewell to the
army, visiting in succession several army corps.
As the General rode through the ranks, the torn
and tattered banners of the veteran regiments were
dipped to greet him, while the thousands of sol
diers gave vent in continuous rounds of cheers and
applause to their feelings.
At nine o'clock last evening all the officers be
longing to heaVl-quarters assembled at the Gener
al's tent to bid him farewell. The only toast giv
en was by General M'Clellan :
"The Army of the PotomacI"
SKIRMISH IN THE VALLEY.
At daybreak on the 80th the cavalry, econting
up the valley, succeeded in capturing several of
the enemy's men. It was foggy, and the advance
of our men was undiscovered till they were right
. on the rebels, who skedaddled with a loss of six or
seven men.
THE GALLOWS.
ON Monday, October 20, Catharine Wilson met
a doom as righteous as human law ever inflicted on
a criminal whose deeds quite equal the atrocities of
any malefactor on record. From the age of four
teen to that of forty-three her career was one of
undeviating yet complex vice. It sometimes hap
pens that great crimes are exhaustive and exclu
sive in their character, and that breaches of the
seventh commandment are not compatible with
sins against the sixth and eighth. Not so with
Catharine Wilson. She was as foul in life as bloody
in hand, and she seems not to have spared the pois
on draught even to the partners of her adultery
and sensuality. Hers was an undeviating career
of the foulest personal vices and the most cold
blooded and systematic murders, as well as delib
erate and treacherous robberies. We speak with
out hesitftion of her crimes as plural, because,
adopting the language of Mr. Justice Byles with
reference to the death of Mrs. Soames, we not only
" never heard of a case in which it was more clearly
proved that murder had been committed, and where
the excruciating pain and agony of the victim were
watched with so much deliberation by the murder
er," hntalso because the same high judicial author
ity, having access to the depositions in another
case, pronounced, in words of unexampled gravity
and significance, " that he had no more doubt hut
that Mrs. Atkinson was also murdered by Cath
arine Wilson than if he had seen the crime com
mitted with his own eyes." Nor did these two
murders comprise the catalogue of her crimes.
That she, who poisoned her paramour Mawer, again
poisoned a second lover, one Dixon, robbed- and
poisoned Mrs. Jackson, attempted the life of a third
paramour named Taylor, and administered sul
phuric Acid to a woman in whose house she was a
lodger, only in the present year—of all this there
seems to be no reasonable doubt, though these sev
eral cases have received no regular criminal in
quiry. Seven murders known, if not judicially
proved, do not after all, perhaps, complete Cath
arine Wilson's evil career. And if any thing were
wanted to add to the magnitude of these crimes it
would be found, not only in the artful and devilish
facility with which she slid herself into the confi
dence of the widow and the unprotected—not only
in the slow, gradual way in which she first sncked
out the substance of her victims before she admin
istered, with fiendish coolness, the successive cups
of death nnder the sacred character of friend and
nurse—but in the atrocious malignity by which she
sought to destroy the character and reputation of
the poor creatures, and to fix the ignominy of sui
cide on the objects of her own robbery and mnrder.
To do public opinion only simple justice, even
the fanatics of the Society for the Abolition of
Capital Punishment scarcely raised a whisper or a
murmur against this great criminal's execution.
It was felt to be too ridiculous to urge any immu
nity from the gallows on the score of the criminal's
sex. What has sex to do with the matter, except
that in this particular case a man could not have
committed the murders? It was only a woman,
with a woman's arts, a woman's insinuating craft,
a woman's admittance to sick rooms, and to the
sacred confidences of her sisters, a woman's wo
manliness, that could have perpetrated this string
of crimes. The nnhappy precedent which was
said to have been established in the case of Celes-
tina Somner was, with general assent, on this oc
casion, reversed; and the Old Bailey, which for
some fourteen years has not seen a woman hung
(for Mrs. Manning was executed at Horsemonger
Lane), once more witnessed a femalo execution.
As to Catharine Wilson, she died asfhe lived. A
ranting letter, full of the usual perversions of Scrip
ture language, lias been published in her name,
mid it is a fair imitation of the morbid literature
of the condemned cell; but while deficient in ex
ternal proofs of genuineness, there is the strongest
intcinal evidence against its authenticity. No
other sign of feeling on her part is forthcoming.
Bold, defiant, insolent, and hardened, she left the
world with a lie in her mouth, and the load of a
life- of guilt which, according to all moral laws,
h.id long since extinguished her conscience. Very
properly, as it seems to us, she was not manipulated
by the dextrous spiritual legerdemain of the chari-
tal le gentleman, Mr. Wriglit, " the prison-philan
thropist," who has a mission to condemned convicts.
The present Ordinary of Newgate seems to be a sens-
ililo person, and we have been spared the fictitious
euthanasia and ecstatic experiences of a wholesale
poisoner's morbid and unnatural penitence. She
was not a penitent, she made no confession, and It
was not to be expected that she shonld confess or
profess the least sorrow for her crimes. The only
thing recorded of her condemned cell is that, with
a coarse and mendacious stupidity, she affected not
to understand her sentence; and, without a friend
or visitor, deserted slike by God and man, she died
a felon's death, without even the sympathies of an
Old Bailey moh.
In one quarter alone has an attempt been made
to revive the vulgar platitudes against capital
punishment. The newspapers generally described
the scene of Monday morning, not always without
the usual talk which is talked by penny-a-liners,
hut with a commendable sense of propriety. The
Timet, as in such matters it generally does, took
the lead, in a report which was characterized by
good sense and right feeling; and the regulation
report, communicated generally to the other pa
pers, only sinned in the grandiloquence of its style
and the impenetrable obscurity and recondite dif
ficulty of its allusions. Fine writing, however, is
a venial sin when measured against indecent mis
representation of facts and a studied insult to com
mon sense. We can pardon the writer, paid by
the number of his sentences and the minuteness of
his report, who talked of female executions as re
sembling angels' visits, because they were few and
far between, in consideration of the information—
new, we own, to ourselves—that it was formerly
the custom, not only to preach condemned sermons,
but to place a halter in the felon's pew and a coffin
in the aisle of Newgate Chapel, during the service
of the Sunday preceding a hanging day. Nor are
we much disposed to quarrel with the same ingen
ious scribe's vivid description of the crowd before
the gallows, in which -we are informed that " the
few respectable people present were as waifs and
spars on the strong tide that rolled and surged
against the prison walls, the merejktsam and jet-
tarn of that vast sea of scoundrelism." Indeed, we
rather admire his discrimination which identified
all the boys present with those " miniature masses
of rags, dirt, vice, and iguorant cunning, who, to
the disgrace of onr police, imperil their own poor
lives by turning heels over head for the delectation
of boobies who fling them half-pence from tbe tops
of omnibuses;" and we appreciate that very fine
sentence which describes the " roar of the crowd,
and the shrill laughs and snatches of song which
broke now and then on the hoarse diapason of blas
phemous ribaldry." This is mere fine talk, writ
ten with an eye to the inch measure of the sub
editor. Nor are we much moved to criticise an
other fine writer's description of the war of the ele
ments, which, throughout the night before the ex
ecution, seemed to be in horrid harmony with the
approaching tragedy. The entrance of the gallows
—of course "the fatal machine"—is rendered, as
art-critics say, with a considerable subtlety, as, in
the darkness and grimriess of three o'clock on a
stormy morning, the " hideous apparatus of death,
well fitted to strike terror into the most savage
heart, is brought out with a horrid rumbling
sonnd." We accompany, with a dim sense of some
sort of meaning, the same famous hand, when he
describes "the death-bell and its low solemn ca
dences stealing over the crowd and the criminal
herself;" and just as Macaulay describes the bea
con-lights streaming from Eddystone to John of
Groat's, so with tolerable patience we endure to
be informed how " from Southwark and Lambeth
thousands came trooping over Blackfriars Bridge,
while Bermondsey sent its multitudes over London
Bridge, and Saffron Hill and the Seven Dials sent
their eager reinforcements, till, joining the stream
from Whitechapel, an impetuous and seemingly
endless torrent, through Barbican and Smithfield,
was absorbed in the great lake by which the gal
lows was encircled." But when we come to the
closer touches of the tragic artist we own that we
are lost. Mrs. Wilson, we are told, was dressed
" in a light morning gown." The scene is the
press-room, from which, we believe, the reporters
are very properly excluded. What, therefore, is
left hut an opportunity for meditation? "It was
an awful thought, while looking at her, that all
the minnte circumstances which impressed the
spectators in that sad chamber were, at the same
time, fixing their objects on the tablet of her mind
—so quickly to be shattered and cast into obliv
ion." The fact that circumstances were fixing
their objects on a mental tablet is certainly an aw
ful thought to a psychologist. But the reporter
in the Daily Telegraph, to whom we are indebted
for this meditation, has something." more to tell,
which may require possibly an effort of moral conr-
age." Here are his own words:
It IB, however, in all ite grotesque horror that we would
present this scene to our readers; nor can we think it pru
dent, or in any way desirable, that & single touch of its
character should be softened down. Our words, we know,
will cause a shudder through all England. Be it fo. En
gland hag sometimes need to ehudder and turn pale at
truths within the ken of her current history. V\ hen Cath-
'arine Wilson stood pinioned in her long, loose gown on
that ghastly stage—when the hangmau fastened a cord or
strap round the nldrt of her dress, a little below the knee,
BO as to keep the folds together and to prevent her strug
gling in the last agony—when he drew a long white cap
over her head, the mob at once saw, recognized., and laughed
at an image exactly resembling a figure with which the
walls and boardings of London are placarded. It was a
low, stifled langh, that ran through the brutal concourse;
and in the tone of ita deep cynicism there was, as we fan
cied, a rough, harsh kind of pity.
CEdipus help ns! What does this mean ? If it
means that when Catharine Wilson was standing,
strapped and pinioned, below the gallows, she looked
like that queer figure which is called " the Cure,"
we can only say that to inform us of this odd like
ness is a matter of very had taste, and shows to
what degradation sensation writers will stoop; but
it is not a piece of information which will " cause a
shudder throughout England." On the contrary,
just as the fact of Mrs. Manning being hnng in
black satin sent satin out of fashion from that day
to this, so let us hope that Mrs. Wilson's hanging
may discredit the absurd li Cure" popularity.
But all this is venial enough when contrasted
with an article, "Another Account," furnished to
the Morning Star. This is written by a very deep
thinker and philosopher indeed—ne ordinary p»n-
ny-a-Hner—but a "real man," as they say, an
" earnest man," who tries very hard to unite the
manner of Carlyle with the matter of Dickens.
He scoffs at the notion—whose notion is it?—that
the hangman is a great moral teacher, and he
classes among "the shams and nnveracities" the
view that capital punishment is a lesson to crime.
In more ways than one this public instructor in
the Morning Star is a curiosity. He it the only
man in England who thinks—only he does not
think, hut merely affects to think—that "the
grounds on which Catharine Wilson has been ele
vated to the position of a modern Brinvilliers are
questionable;" and he goes so far as to say that-
her brazen impudence in the prison and on the
scaffold "was the theme of general admiration."
Further, he calls ns to remember the case of Eliza
Penning, who certainly was executed an innocent
woman, and h« talks of " a poison panic." That
is to say, there is one writer who'has the insolence
to say, or rather to hint, that Catharine Wilson
was probably innocent, and has been sacrificed by
an unjust judge and a terrified jnry to a popular
panic on the subject of secret poisoning. His
argument is the old stale one of Mr. Charles Dick
ens. Capital punishments are wrong, because the}*
do not appear profitably to affect the moh present
at an execution; and by way of " The Moral," the
Morning Star appends to this narrative of Catha
rine Wilson's execution the Police Report which
announces that two persons were brought before
Alderman Mechi, charged with picking pockets at
the Old Bailey, at the very foot of the gallows. It
is almost as absurd to refute this argument as to
nrge it. As though, wherever there was a crowd,
there would not be pickpockets; and as though it
would not bs quite as reasonable to argue the duty
of prohibiting Confirmations at Church, a corona
tion, or one of Mr. Bright's Manchester meetings,
because they, too, were attended by pickpockets.
But, further, the argument is, that people who
witness an execution are not deterred from crime,
becense, while the drop is falling, they play all
sorts of tricks, and indulge in loose and drunken
demeanor. But where is the necessary connection
between the two things? Who knows whether
and when a coarse and brutal nature is or is not
serionsly affected ? A costermonger may joke at
the gallows; but it may affect him seriously, nev
ertheless. It does not follow that a man is not
frightened, because he grins and plays the fool.
An incipient murderer may, for anght Mr. Dickens
knows, be warned off a coming i-rirae, even though
he cuts lewd jukes at Calcraft and his moral lesson.
But all this is beside the real question. We do
not say that capital punishment is only didactic.
It may be, and it very often is, a deterring instru
ment ; and we do not deny that the gallows is a
warning and terror to evil-doers. We believe that
hanging does produce a serious effect, even on the
wretched crowds who witness it. But capital pun
ishment is more than a moral lesson, and more than
all this. It is an exhibition, on tbe largest and
most awful scale, of that div ine justice the admin
istration of which is intrusted to law.
THE PRINCE DE JOINVILLE ON
M'CLELLAN.
IN the current number of the Revue del Deux
Mondes there is an article on the campaign of the
Army of the Potomac, which is generally attrib
uted to the Prince de Jpinville, and bears abund
ant internal signs of its origin. The Prince de
Joinville writes with a clearness, a force, and a
moderation which have scarcely ever been brought
to bear on the description of American affairs. He
writes of military affairs with a professional knowl
edge and power of criticism, hut with a simplicity
and a lucidity for which civilians may be thankful.
The Prince is decidedly favorable to M'Clellan.
He tells us that M'Clellan at first intended to at
tack directly in front, and that he only waited for
the spring to advance. He knew quite well that
the wooden cannon, which he was so much langh-
ed at for not taking, were only made of wood, but
he considered it scarcely worth while to take even
wooden cannon unless he could advance beyond,
and the state of the roads would not permit him.
Before, however, the time came wheu an advance
was possible, he learned that the Confederates had
so completely destroyed the means of communica
tion that he would have had to spend weeks in the
1:1 ru construction of the road that was to take him
ti • 1 Richmond, and feed him on his way. He
the: ire determined to take his army round by
sea, and ascend the James River. He was begin
ning his preparations with the utmost secrecy,
when he was ordered to Washington to attend a
general conncil of war. The-other generals pres
ent made various proposals, all, of course, based on
the supposition that the army was to more by laud
southward. This forced M'Clellan to reveal that
he did not propose to go that way at all, bnt to
take his army round by sea. Immediately this
was known, although only confided in this way to
a few men of the highest position, a mysterious
feminine influence conveyed it to the Confederates,
and they had time.to make those preparations at
Yorktown and at various parts of the peninsula
which threw so much difficulty subsequently in
the way of the Federals. The Prince describes,
with much beauty of language and liveliness of
feeling, the incidents of the march, from the land
ing to the final position on the Chickahominy.
M'CIellan's plan was, he thinks, quite right, and,
according to all probability, the Federals ought to
have won and taken Richmond; but several cir
cumstances combined to baffle M'Clellan. We
have, perhaps, heard of them all before, but still
they liaVB a certain novelty when presented for
the first time by a competent and trust-worthy ob
server.
In tbe first place, there was the scandalous treach
ery in the Federal council-room, which revealed to
the Confederates exactly what M'Clellan was go
ing to do; and the consequence was that the Fed
eral army bad to for** it* way through a scries of
works and military lines, which although soon tak
en, yet cost, on the whole, a lamentable waste of
the precious spring weather. In the next place,
the summer was wet beyond all experience of Vir
ginian summers. The army lived in a perpetual
down-pour, and had to march through a vast flood.
It was with the utmost difficulty that artillery could
be moved on at all, and this made the approach all
the more slow, the facility of concentrating an op
posing Confederate force all the greater, and the
sickness all the more terrible. Thirdly, the Mer.
nmac, although kept from destroying the flset or
interfering with the landing of the troops by the
presence of the Monitor, yet paralyzed the Fed
eral gun-boats, and forced the army to march by
land without the assistance it expected by water.
Lastly, M'Clellan was not supported. He was left
to himself, and denied reinforcements in a way
which reflects the greatest disgrace on the Wash
ington authorities. When he took np his station
at the junction of the Chickahominy and the road
to West Point, he could with the greatest ease have
co-operated with M'Dowell, whose assistance would
have been invaluable to him, and who was doing
nothing where he was stationed, ahont thirty miles
to the north of Richmond. But M'Dowell received
exprese orders by telegraph from Washington not
to help M'Clellan. The Prince thinks that the
cause of this was a ridiculous fear that Washing
ton was not quite safe, and a feeling that there was
no knowing where the Confederates might turn up.
The consequence was, that in the series of battles
which followed M'Clellan was beaten by the su
periority of the numbers of the Confederates, who
gave up every thing in order to beat him. They
succeeded; and he made his way to Harrison's
Landing—the victim, according to the Prince, of
bad weather, and of the miserable, incompetent,
selfish, treacherous set who bad got hold of the
reins of power at Washington.
The Prince was, in some respects, highly pleased
with the American army. Here, of course, he can
not be over frank. He can not indulge in any very
plain criticisms on the officers with whom he has
lately been living, and who received him with
kindness and respect. But he makes some general
remarks. That the men fought on both sides with
the greatest pluck has long ago been made known
to the world by the frightful carnage which is the
one result even of battles that have no other. The
Prince was also greatly struck with the chearful-
ness, and ease, and skill, with which the men set
themselves to work at natural difficulties, the celer
ity with which they made clearings, the adroitness
with which they constructed temporary roads, and
moved heavy guns. Bnt he was also much struck
with a certain slowness and languor which they dis
played when acting in large bodies. This even
extended to the generals; and the Prince, though
scarcely saying so in plain terms, evidently thinks
that even M'Clellan was not quick enough, and lost
opportunities which a commander who could have
moved his troops more quickly might have seized.
This the Prince attributes to the general habits of
the people. They are accustomed to act for them
selves, but not to act with each other; and the
energy they show in pushing forward on their own
account disappears when they come to pushing for
ward in a body. Perhaps we may gather that he
does not consider the American army, as a whole,
equal to that of a great Continental power. He
was also much impressed with the odd coolness of
the people in many respects. He mentions the em-
balmers, who freely comforted the army with the
assurance that, for a very moderate price, a dead
man might be sent home pickled, so that death lost
half its sting. He also tells us that during the
whole of one of the hottest battles of the Chicka
hominy newspaper-sellers went up and down the
lines crying out the latest news from New York,
and found purchasers for the journals they had to
sell.
The Prince thinks that M'CIellan's expedition
was the tnrning-point of the war. The Washing
ton Government had it in their power to make the
expedition, according to all hnman probability,
completely successful. But they threw away theii
chance, and now the South stands on an equality
with the North.
BLUE LIGHTNING.
O, THE days when first I knew
The lightning blue
Of that bright eye!
It smote me, yet it did not kill,,
Bnt with a loftier life did fill,
A life that could not die—
As then I thought: O, rapture rare,
When I was fond, and she was fairl
O, the days when oft I knew
The honey dew
Of that bright lip!
My bee-like kisses deeply sought
The rosy petals—nectar-fraught—
Enchantment in each sip!
O, raptnre wild! O, raptnre rare!
When she was faithful, fond, and fair.
O, the fatal honr I knew
The lightning blue
Was fraught with death—
The ice-bolt clove rny heart in twain!
I think I ne'er can die again:
For though I still have breath,
My life is nanght since that cold gleam
Smuts the warm fount and froze the stream.
O, the fatal hour I knew
The pallid hue
Of lips once bright!
Love-laden lips of days gone by,
Bore poison now to bid jpc die,
As, with a tremor slight,
They dropp'd the deadly words!—I knew
That I wai wrongM and sh« untrue.

744
-HARPER'S WEEKLY.
£»*l§pSBir
', THE ARMY OF THE OIIIO ON TUB BY MR. II. MOSLEB.—[SEE PAGE 740.]
VtVcuvvwv* \\xt
745

(46 HAKPEKS WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 22, 1862.
THE ARMY OF THE OHIO.
WE devote pages 744 and 746 to Illustrations of
THE ARMY OF THE OHIO ON THE MABOH, from
sketches by Mr. Henry Holler. Of the centre pic
ture Mr. M. writes:
"On 26th October we started from Mount Vtr-
non toward Somerset on our way to Bowling Green.
It had snowed all the day before, and the mountain
road had become one mass of mud, In some places
knee-deep. The scene, however, was very imposing.
The foliage was still green; autnmn had not yet
tinged the leaves with its gaudy colors, and it con
trasted finely with the white sheet of snow which
covered the ground. The trees and branches, heav
ily snow-laded, drooped gracefully toward the earth,
and every now and then some great bough too
"•eavlly freighted fell with a resounding crash.
Afte.' a weary march of fifteen miles the troops en
camped for the night at Somerset, without tents.
You may fancy how they enjoyed the cold night,
in their chilled, wet condition, sleeping in the open
air. " WILD CAT Is a place where a battle was fought
on 21st October, 1861. In the fore-ground I repre
sent part of the earth-works thrown up at that time.
The hills on the right, which are very high, com
mand all the surrounding strong-holds. The scen
ery is picturesque, and in a military point of view
I think the height is impregnable.
" Another picture represents a MARCH IN THE
RAIN. This scene Is well impressed on my mem
ory, as I got a good ducking, my India rubber
being of no use whatever.
" CLEARING THE ROAD OF FELLED TREES was
a daily operation on our march. The rear of
Bragg's retreating army felled every tree which
stood near enough the road to fall across it, and
our advance column had to clear away the obstruc
tions. We were often so close In pursuit that we
could hear the crash of the falling trees.
"The other pictures explain themselves."
AN ARM FOR A HEART.
ONE of Mrs. Meredith's "evenings" was two-
thirds over. The lights shone gayly over fair wo
men. Eyes sparkled, jewels flasHed, silken raiment
glistened, filmy laces shook odors out upon the air.
The dance music sounded merrily; for it was only
the February of'61, aud people used to dance then
—before the nation had been turned into two classes
only, soldiers and mourners. Ethel Darricott was
tired. She had been on the floor all the evening.
She was glad now to obey her partner's lead, and
stop for a moment to rest upon a sofa, in the recess
formed by a bay-window. The little nook was de
serted just then, as it chanced, and it looked quiet
and inviting—a little withdrawn from the confu
sion, and yet in sight of all the light, and glitter,
and movement.
Miss Darricott had danced more than half the
evening with this same partner—Howard Revere.
He was a handsome, haughty, indolent man; young
still, scarcely twenty-five, indeed; but with an air
of command, careless yet absolute, that made you
think him much older. There was something in
scrutable, something which piqued yonr curiosity,
in the expression of his face—a look in his dark
eyes which might mean so many things that you
lost yourself in a mist of speculation. He was tall
and vigorous, with jnscles that would have set
the " strong man" • .azy with envy; and yet a lazy,
nonchalant air, as if he would like some one to
save him the trouble of lifting his own fingers.
Misa Darricott was happy sitting there by his
side, both of them silent, with the bright dresses
and fair faces circling mazily in front of them, and
the dance music so merry that it was sad with ite
own madness of mirth sounding In their ears.
They looked on for a while without speaking—
then Miss Darricott said, musingly:
"A great many pretty faces, aren't there?"
" I suppose so. I was just wondering why none
of them looked particularly pretty to me. I won
der Is it always so, Ethel—that when a man truly
loves one he sees some defect in all others because
they are not just like her?"
He had never called her Ethel before. It quick
ened her heart-beats a little, and she did not an
swer him because she did not know what to say.
He did not notice, at least he went on speaking
slowly, half involuntarily as it were, words which
would be said.
"I don't know why I tell yon now, Ethel. I
surely did not mean to when I made you sit down
here; bnt I love you. I want you to be mine, my
wife, by my side forever—to fill up a great void
there is in my life. What does "your heart say ?
Canyon come?"
Mise Darricott did not speak for a little while.
She was asking herself his question over again—it
was not whether she loved him, hut whether she
could shore his destiny, be his wife. She grew
pale a little before she answered, but her reply,
when it came, w*s firmly spoken—
"No!"
Howard Revere turned and looked at her a mo
ment—looked into her eyes and at her face, whose
language was firm as her tone had been. He did
not expostulate with her or entreat her. It would
not have been like him. He only bowed.
" Will you dance ?" he said, rising a moment
after, as a new set was forming. She put a cold
h.ind into his, and went again among the dancers'.
Miss Darricott had a cousin—a year older, a lit
tle less beautiful, but with a keen insight into men
anil things. She was an orphan, living with the
family of her Uncle Darricott almost as a daugh
ter. That night the two lingered over the fire in
die littiu dressing-room between their two rooms,
and talked together as girls do after halls. Only
Ethel was more silent than usual, and her cousin
Grace watched her anxiously but furtively.
" Have you not lost something?" Grace Inquired
at length, with a covert meaning in her tone.
" No, I believe not," glancing at rings and brace
lets.
"Lost was not a good word, perhaps. I mean
have you not thrown away something to-night
which you will want, and leek for vainly as the
years go on ?"
Ethel's 1 eye fell beneath the keen yet kindly
glance which searched her face. Her cheeks col
ored. Her answer was a question scarcely to the
point.
" How do yon know every thing, Grace ? How
did you guese this ?"
" I saw it all in pantomime. Words could not
have been so expressive as your face and his. I
was sorry, for I believe you love him."
" I fear I do. But he did not ask me that; he
only asked if I could be his wife."
" And you told him no ? I am sorry,- for I do
not think he will ever ask again. If you love him
why not marry him ?"
11 Because I feared I might stop loving him some
day. To live the listless, aimless life we women
do is bad enough. It offends both my taste and
my principles to see a man idling away life in this
world, where so many harvest fields are waiting."
Grace looked at her cousin with a changed ex
pression.
" I thought I understood you, Ethel, and yet I
should never have given you credit for such a rea
son. What you say is certainly right and true in
the main, only I do not think it applies to Mr.
Revere. There U a difference between an idle,
aimless life, and one of waiting till one's right work
comes."
" What makes you reckon Mr. Revere among the
waiters?"
" Because it is not in his nature to like idleness
or inaction. I can see that he is restive under it.
But lie is not fond of vain labor, of wasting strength.
Did you never Isarn that those who wait serve also ?
Howard Revere's time will come, and his life will
be one not to shame any woman that loved him.
But it's useless talking now. It would not be like
him ever to say over again what he said to-night."
Ethel Darricott tried to be light-hearted when
she was alone; but it was a miserable failure, and
she gave up at last to the tears that would come.
Her cousin's words disquieted her strangely. Had
she indeed thrown away the one pure pearl Fate
would proffer her in thra life, and would its white
glory never again gladden heart and eyes, though
she should seek a place of repentance even with
tears?
So it went on till the surrender of Suuiter, and
the call which summoned the loyal North to arms.
Among the first to voluntser his services was the
man she had thought so fond of ease and self, so
fearful of fatigue, so laggard in the race of life.
His name was enrolled as a private at first, but his
company chose him unanimously for captain, and
so Captain Revere led them on to the defense of
Washington.
Before he left he called to bid Ethel good-by;
but other gusete were in the drawing-room, and he
did not see her alone. Only when he was leaving
she stepped to the door with him, and hejield her
hand for a moment. Perhaps that touch conjured
his soul to his lips. At any rate he said what he
had not meant to say.
"You are not all to me that I once hoped you
would be, Ethel; but you are my friend, are you
not? Yon will think of me sometimes, and be
sorry for me a little if I fall?"
" You will not fall," Ethel said, resolutely, forc
ing back the tears that threatened to choke her.
" I shall think of you, and when you come back L
shall welcome you, and be proud of my friend."
" If I do not come back," he said, wringing her
hand as he turned away, " God bless you. I have
not changed in my estimation of you because your
heart would not let yon be altogether mine."
He went away with those words, and then Ethel
knew how she had loved him.
The next day came—the soldiers were gone, and
Ethel Darricott tried to take up cheerfully the rem
nant of life which was left to her. The best half
and the dearest, she felt, was gone with him; but
much remained to do, somewhat even to rejoice in.
She was not more exacting of others than she was
of herself. To have yielded idly to her grief would
have hsen to be false to her ideal. Even her own
father saw no change in her.
So the months passed on for more than a year,
even to the terrible six days of fighting before
Richmond. In all this time Captain Revere had
never been seriously wounded, and had never left
the post of duty. Other men took furloughs—some
on slight pretexts — and came home; he never.
Perhape he felt that he had no true home, and no
hope to lure him Northward, and so grew reckless
of life. Miss Darricott meanwhile watched the
papers anxiously. She saw his name often where
brave deeds were told, heroic valor praised; and
still he was unharmed. She began to believe that
the ball was not yet cast which should work him
woe; and sometimes, when she thought of the fu
ture, a sweet, scarcely recognized hope began to
flutter its wings tremblingly in her heart. Grace
might not have been right, after all. He might
come back yet, and say over again the words for
whose remembered music her soul thirsted.
But at last Fate and the Rebels were too strong
for him. In the hattle of Centreville he lost an
arm, and was severely wounded besides in the hip.
The hospitals were full; and as soon as he could
bear moving he was sent home. It was some weeks
before he could walk at all, and then he was told
that sea air would help to recruit his exhausted
energies, and sent off by his physician to Newport.
Perhaps he went the more willingly because he
knew that the Darricotts had a summer cottage
there, and in his secret heart he was conscious of a
longing to see Ethel again. And yet Grace had
been right when she divined that he would never
ask a second time the question he had asked on that
February night. To have been twice rejected by
the same woman would have been to him n moral
impossibility. He hardly kuew himself why he
wanted to see her, or what vague hope 1ft had.
He had been in Newport a week before he called
on her. He had trasUd to mating hir flrit by
some accident. But she was evidently very re-
tirsd. He concluded that fortune was not on bis
side; and as he really wanted to see her very much
gave over waiting for lucky chances, and went
there.
She was alone when his card was brought to
her. She knew of his wound—knew what changes
to expect in seeing him. She staid in her own
room long enough to fortify herself, and make sure
that she would betray no uncalled-for emotion.
With face and manner schooled to mere friendli
ness she went down. Her self-command almost
failed her as he came to meet her with halting
step, and she saw the empty coat-sleeve hanging
at his side. It was so pitiful to note the decay of
that fine, vigorous, manly strength—to think of
the good right arm that he would never use more.
"I am home for good now," he said, with an
evident effort to bear himself cheerfully. "It is
a great disappointment. I had so hoped to be able
to help on the good cause till it reached the tri
umphal end, which is sure to come."
" Then you have no doubts of the final result?"
Ethel asked, forcing herself to speak, and knowing
that she could not trust her voice on any subject
Ises general.
" Not a doubt! The great cause of human lib
erty is not to receive its death-blow in this land or
this day. The world

748 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 22, 1862.
NOVEMBER 22, 18G2.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 749
ACTING REAR-ADMIRAL D. D. PORTER.—[FnoM A FuoTOORArn DY AMTUOHY.]
ADMIRAL DAVID D. POUTER.
ACTING RKAK- ADMIRAL DAVIU P. POUTFH,
the Commander of the Mississippi Flotilla, is the
son of the famous Commodore David Porter of
the Kurx, and wns horn about the year 1814. In
1829 ho entered the navy ns midshipman on board
the Constel/ntian, and served six years on that ship
and the United Shifts. In 1835 he passed his ex
amination, and served six years as passed midship
man on the Coast Survey. In 1841 he was com
missioned .1 lieutenant, and served with that rank
on board I lie Congress for four years. After a brief
period of service at the Observatory at Washington,
he was placed on active duty under Commodore
Tattnall in the Gulf of Mexico, and took a leading
part in tbe naval operations of the Mexican war.
In 1849 he was allowed to take command of one of
the Pacific Mail Company's steamers, and remain
ed several yenrs in the service of that Company.
While he commanded one of the California steam
ships—the Crescent C'i/y—he performed an exploit
which attracted no little attention at tbe time. In
consequence of the Ulack Warrior affair the Span
ish Government had refused to permit uiiy United
States vessel to enter the port of Havana. Run
ning under tbe shotted guns of Moro Castle, he
was ordered to halt. He promptly replied that
he carried the United States flag and the United
States mails, and, by the Eternal, he would go in;
and he did, the Ilabaneros fearing to fire upon him.
He said afterward that he intended firing his six-
pounder at them once, in defiance, after which he
would haul down his flag.
At the beginning of the year 1861 he was under
orders to join the Coast Survey on the Pacific, but,
fortunately, had not left when the rebellion broke
out. His name at this time stood number six on
the list of lieutenants. The resignation of several
naval trailers left room for his advancement, and
the " Naval Register" for August 31,1861, places
him number seventy-seven on the list of command
ers, lie was placed in command of the steam
sloop of war Powhatan, a vessel of about twenty-five
hundred tons, and armed with eleven guns. Aft
er doing blockading duty for some time, he left
that .ship to take special charge of tbe mortar ex
pedition. The active part he tcok in the reduction
of the forts below New Orleans will make his name
ever memorable in connection with the mortar fleet,
UK1UAD1EK-GENERAL STANLEY, OF THE ARMY OF THE MISSl&SlPFL-ISMi FAGE 747 ]
BRIGADIER-GENERAL THOMAS^ OF TllE ARMY OF TllE OHIO.—[PuorooEAVuiJ) IIY liuADY.]
or " bummers," ns the sailors term them. After
the capture of New Orleans he, with his fleet, went
up the Mississippi River, and was engaged in sev
eral affairs on that river, including that of Vicks-
jurg. From that place lie was ordered to the
James River, and returned in the Octorara. When
off Charleston, on |fe way to Fortress Monroe, he
ell in with and capfured the Anglo-rebel steamer
Tulal Cain. He has now been appointed to the
supreme control of all the naval forces on the Mis
sissippi River, with the rank of Acting Rcar-Ad-
miral. The forces under his orders, in vessels,
guns, and men, will be larger than ever before un
der the command of any United States naval offi-
. His squadron will be distiuct in every way
from that of Admiral Farragut, who will still com
mand the Western Gulf Blockading Squadron. ,
Admiral Porter is a man of wiry, muscular frame,
handsome features, of medium height, and, a few
years ago, universally admitted to be the strongest
man in the navy. He is about forty-five years old,
and exhibits but few marks of age. He is married
to a sister of Captain C. P. Putterson, formerly of
San Francisco, by whom he has several children.
He is most truly " a worthy son of a worthy siro."
He belongs to a family of naval patriots; for, be
sides the subject of this sketch, there are in the
navy II. 13. Porter, acting midshipman, appointed
from New York, November 29, 1859; T. K. Porter,
master, appointed from Tennessee, May 20, 1852;
William C. B. S. Porter, lieutenant, appointed from
the District of Columbia, March 25,1849; nnd Wm.
D. Porter, commodore, appointed from Massachu
setts, January 1, 1823. The last-named command
ed the Essex gun-boat on the Tennessee River, nnd
fought the rebel ram Arkamax on the Mississippi
River. Major-General Fitz John Porter is a cousin
of the subject of our sketch, adding another hero to
the family.
GENERAL THOMAS.
WE present above the portrait of GEN. GEOROB
II. THOMAS, of Buell's army, who must not be
confounded with General Lorenzo Thomas, Adju
tant-General of the Army.
General Gcorpe II. Thomas was born in Virginia
about the year 1819. He was appointed from that
State to West Point in 1830, and graduated in the
COLONEL INQALLS, CHIEF QCARTEK-SIASTER OF THE AUMY OF THE FOTOMAC.-lSrE FAU: MT.]

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754 HAKPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 29, 1862. NOVEMBER 29, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY.
Porter. The eleventh corps, with such other troops
as may be hereafter attached to it, is to constitute
the reserve under General Sigel. This disposes of
all the twelve corps of the Army of the Potomac.
Dix, in Virginia, commands the seventh oorpa;
Schenck commands the eighth corps in Maryland;
Brannan, vice Mitchell, deceased, commands the
tenth, In South Carolina; and the twelfth, we pre
sume, will be left at Washington for the defense of
the Capital. There is a rumor that Heintzelman
yiKh this corps may be detached on some special
service. But of this the public will know nothing
until the work is done.
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
SATUUUAY, NOVEMBER 29, 1862.
itS" TUB severe illness of MR. WILKIK COLLINS
has prevented our receiving our sheets of "No
NAMB" In time for this week's paper, and we are
therefore compelled to suspend its publication for
one week. Our next number will contain the first
chapter of the Sixth Scene.
ON TO RICHMOND ONCE MORE!
B Y the* time this paper reaches its readers
every one will know that General Bum-
aide has once more set the Army of the Poto
mac in .motion toward Richmond. The first
movement toward Richmond, under M'Dowoll,
was by way of Bull Bun. The second, under
M'Clellan, was by way of the Peninsula. The
third, under Burnside, will be by way of Aquia
Creek and Fredericksburg.
The advantages of this road are so obvious
that non-military observers have not been able
to explain why it has never been at least at
tempted by our generals. In the first place, a
railroad runs all the way from Aquia Creek
to Richmond, a distance of sixty miles; and
though the rebels may, and, of course, will, tear
np the iron and burn the ties, they can not de
stroy the smooth, hard road-bed itself, and this
is what is wanted for the transportation of ar
tillery and stores. Next, there are very few
creeks of any consequence between the Rappa-
hannock and the James on the line of this road,
and only two rivers, the North and South Anna,
which will not prove serious obstacles to an
army as well provided as ours. The country
traversed by the Aqnia Creek Railway has not
been desolated by the war, and some Supplies
can be obtained by the army, especially forage
for the cattle. At this season of the year Spot-
sylvania, Caroline, and Hanover counties, in
which the campaigning will probably be done,
are healthy, possessing in this respect a remark
able advantage over the counties on the river
James.
When we advance on Richmond from Aquia
Creek, Fredericksburg will of course be the chief
depot of supplies for our army. This town is
some fifty-two miles from Richmond, and it is
clear at a glance that, as the main army ap
proaches the rebel capital, our supply-trains will
be exposed to cavalry raids. It is impossible
even for an army as large as Burnside's to pro
tect a line fifty miles long, and preserve at the
same time an adequate operating force in front.
Stuart will undoubtedly be able to ride round
the army of the Potomac again. But if Bum-
side moves as swiftly as Napoleon wonld have
moved, theze raids will be of no more import
ance than the burning of whalers by the Ala-
lama. While Stuart is burning supply-trains,
Bnrnside will be taking Richmond. It is only
an army encamped and motionless which fears
cavalry raids.
The indications are, moreover, that the main
attack on Richmond from the North will be as
sisted by demonstrations from another quarter.
We notice that the Richmond papers procure
Harper'* Weekly by some means or other, and
we are therefore unwilling to reveal any thing
which may as yet be a secret. But if Jeff Davis
throws the whole of his army to the north of
Richmond to oppose Burnside, he may find his
capital seized by a sndden coup de main from an
other quarter. Our enormous army is (•gin
ning to tell at last. Perhaps the auxiliary force
which will be intrusted with the duty of keeping
up a counter-irritation in the interest of Burn-
aide may not be numerically inferior to the
army which M'Clellan commanded at Harrison's
Landing.
In the mean time General Sigel remains at
the Blue Ridge watching Jackson. That Jack
son will distinguish himself by dashing move
ments and daring attempts, all who know the
history of that brilliant soldier will expect. But
he will find his match in the cool, wary, and
active officer whom the President haswet against
him. We have all, or nearly, the gaps in the
Blue Ridge: one or two perhaps may have been
purposely left unguarded hi order to tempt Jack
son throngh; but the probability is that he will
detect the trap, and will either try to cross the
Potomac into Maryland, or will fall back by way
of Staunton. In neither case is Sigel likely to
allow him to do more than give fresh proofs of
unavailing valor and dash.
Time presses. 'More than half of November
is gone. In a month we shall again 1 .:\ to
here our ears dinned with the sickening uld cry
of mud, mud, mud 1 Let ui hope and pray that
onr gallant Burnside will realize the vital urg
ency of the case, and will not lose a day or an
hour in pushing forward at any and all hazards.
Delays are now as fatal as defeats. If we do
not take Richmond before Christmas the Army
of the Potomac will lose more men from disease
in their winter-quarters than have perished in
the bloodiest battle of the war.
OUR FOREIGN RELATIONS.
INTESTINE broils are always accompanied by
foreign embarrassments. Nations, like corpora
tions, are soulless and selfish; they generally
take advantage of their rivals' troubles to assail
them. A couple of years ago no European na
tion cared to join issue with this country. Now
thnt we are in trouble France, Spain, and En
gland are all quarreling with us.
France claims from us the liberation of one
Charles Heidsieck, a Champagne maker by trade,
who, after the capture of New Orleans, volun
teered to act as bar-keeper on board the steamer
which was permitted by General Butler to run
to Mobile, and in that capacity served as a rebel
spy and mail carrier; for which crime he was
very properly sent to Fort Pickens by General
Butler. The French further claim indemnity
from the United States for punishment inflicted
by General Butler npon other Frenchmen resi
dent at New Orleans, notorious and offensive
sympathizers with the rebellion.
Spain claims indemnity for the burning in
Spanish waters of the Anglo-rebel steamer
Jllanche. In fact, the Blanche was fired by
her Anglo-rebel crew, aud the officers of the
Montgomery are as innocent as the Queen of
Spain herself. Bnt the Spanish Government
relies upon the story told by rebel sympathizers
in Havana, and demands smart damages for
this and other pretended outrages.
England has no grievance at the moment.
Bnt a member of the British Parliament—Laird
by name—is building war-vessels for the rebels
at Birkenhead; a member of the British Gov
ernment—Mr. Gladstone—seeing the progress
made by Mr. Laird, congratulates Jeff Davis on
his ha\ing " made a navy" as well as "a na
tion;" the leading organs of British opinion
rejoice over the destruction of American ship
ping by the British steamer Alabama; and the
Governors of the British colonies of the Bahamas
and Bermuda grant their official protection to
blockade-runners and rebel privateeM, and re
fuse coal and supplies to onr vessels. To all
representations of Mr. Adams the British Gov
ernment replies that it is without power to carry
out its own neutrality laws.
There is no use whining about the injustice in
volved in this state of our foreign relations. The
experience of the past year has proved that Europe
would be well pleased to have the powerful re
public of the United States divided into two
feeble, jarring, and jealous halves. And that
experience further shows that until we have sup
pressed the rebellion we shall be in no condition
to undertake a war even with the feeblest of
foreign powers. Whatever mischief these for
eign enemies of our country may contrive we
can only, as the boy«0ny, grin and bear it. We
are a young nation, and we can afford to wait.
If, therefore, France insists on reparation for
the eminently just and proper arrest of the spy
Heidsieck, and for the equally righteous penal
ties inflicted on other French rebel sympathizers
at New Orleans, we must grant it. If Spain will
not listen to reason, but demands that we shall
pay for the steamer which Anglo-rebels burned
in Spanish waters on the coast of Havana, wo
must pay. And though the blood of every Amer
ican boils at the scoundrelly conduct of the En
glishmen who are building pirate ships to prey
upon tiur commerce, and of those other English
men in high station who entourage and abet the
pirates in their infamy, yet still we have no choice
but to bear it all patiently. We can not fight Eu
rope and the rebels together. We must square
accounts with the latter first. Then we may have
leisure to deal with foreigners.
THE PUBLIC CREDIT.
ON 10th Mr. Chase asked the public to sub
scribe for flSjOOOjOOO of 7.80 notes. On 17th
the bids were opened at Washington; the total
amount of bids was about double the sum called
for, and the rate of premium offered by the suc
cessful bidders was over 3 per cent. We be
lieve this negotiation to be tho most successful
ever made by a nation plunged into a desperate
"war with " varying fortunes and seemingly un
certain result." When the wretched traitor
Cobb, in the last year of his employment as Sec
retary of the Treasury, called for a loau of ten
millions he 'could not £et it; and Mr. Chase
himself, when he first assumed the management
of the Department, could not negotiate a loan
without strenuous exertions by patriotic bank
ers. Now, when he asks for money, the public
offer him twice as much as he wants, and agree
to take his Treasury Notes at a premium. Thus
i* appears that, notwithstanding all that has
been said about mismanagement and the de
preciation of the public credit, people have some
faith yet both in the nation's solvency and the
Treasury Department.
Onr foreign friends will say, of course, that
the loan was taken eagerly simply because it was
paid for in the "depreciated currency," which
tho public wanted to get rid of. The best an
swer to this is the simple fact that in the three
cities of New York, Boston, and Philadelphia,
the bankers who advanced $12,000,000 on ac
count of this loan could not scrape together that
amount of tho " depreciated currency," and that
they had to send to almost every Northern city
to procure the requisite number of notes. The
currency may be depreciated, perhaps; but it is
certainly very scarce.
NATURAL PARTIES.
MEN are Instinctively partisans upon the right
or the wrong side of every question. We may say
instinctively, because all great parties are but im
posing manifestations of private convictions and
bent of nature. Thus a man ia by nature, so to
speak, Catholic or Protestant. It is not education
aud habit alone that make him so; but he natu
rally leans upon external positive authority, upon
precedents, and the result of experience; or he is
naturally independent of others, self-reliant, has
faith in enough salt in, men to save them, believes
in the future, aud goes hopefully to meet it. If he
is of the first kind he is a Catholic in Romish conn-
tries, vnd conservatively orthodox in Protestant.
If of the latter, he is always and every where Prot
estant. His hands and feet, even his mouth, may
conform under pressure. But his mind and heart
are stout dissenters, aud hospitably entertain ev
er}' thought, every movement, that promises bet
ter things for mankind.
In this way you can reason from a man's con
victions upon one subject to his opinions upon an
other. No grave, radical question can arise, pub
lic or private, but we all know how our friends
will range themselves upon it. We are naturally
Whigs and Tories, conservatives and reformers.
There is always a chance in change. Consequent
ly the the6ry of Conservatism, or the Establish
ment, always is, that you had better not take the
chance for fear of the consequences. The ground
of Reform is, that you had better take the risk for
hope of the result. It is not fair to judge either
tendency by individuals. Lord Mansfield was a
Conservative, and John Wilkes was" a Reformer.
If you look no further you will choose to rank with
Mansfield. But then Jeffries was a Tory, and Lord
Somers was a Whig. Will you be Whig or Tory ?
So in our own nomenclature to-day Feruando Wood
is a " Conservative," and Joseph Holt a " Radical."
Which companionship do you select ?
It is not fair to judge the merits of a cause from
its supporters, because men may espouse the best
causes, as they may wco the noblest women, for
the worst reasons. But it is still true that men
have a natural sympathy with one or the other side
of every question. If De Tocqueville were living
to-day there would be no doubt what opinion he
would hold of this rebellion. Certainly he was
neither a typical Whig nor Tory. He had too much
•perception aud too much imagination not to feel
the reason and enjoy the charm of the established
order. But he had too much faith and wisdom
not to desire its constant modification. He blended
the excellences of both dispositions, but he leaned
to Reform. Macaulay, on the other hand, was a
much more ardent liberal partisan than De Tocque
ville. But he had less conviction, less intrinsic
faith in men and justice, and he consequently
leaned to conservatism. If these two men could
express themselves upon our struggle, undoubted
ly Macaulay would stand with Gladstone and De
Tocqueville with John Stuart Mill.
This truth of natural affinity is constantly illus
trated in our own experience. There is always
one party in the country which is a kind of King
and Lazaroni party. We all know that the great
mass of the ignorant and base, of the rich and tim
id, of the cynical and indifferent, of the skeptical
and designing, will belong to it. There will al
ways be many and splendid exceptions. But,
meeting a man of either of these classes, you may
be very sure yon see a man who belongs to that
party. . There is always another party composed
mainly of neither extreme, but made up of the
great middle class of intelligent, industrious men,
who have much faith, much enthusiasm, much in
dependence, and who from their very qualities
must, in the long run, be the minority party of
the country. Thers will be plenty of corrupt men
acting with it for various reasons, but the princi
ples of the party will be jnst, elevating, and hu
mane. And whatever the name or present policy
of the parties which at any time divide the conn-
try may be, when they all dissolve npon any emerg
ency their particles unite with others strictly ac
cording to this law. The mean, the designing, the
ignorant, the base, the cynical, the timid, the skep
tical, will combine under new names for the same
old purpose, while the force of the moral character
of the country will be thrown against it.
Whatever, therefore, may be the personal char
acter of individuals of any party, H mnst and will
be judged historically by its tendency, by its con
duct, by the average character of those who sup
port it, by the principles it professes, and the ar
guments to which it appeals. In all history there
have been really but two parties—that of equal
rights and that of privilege—the party of the peo
ple or a true democracy, and that of classes and
races or a trne aristocracy. Thers were and are
no others in other countries; there have been and
are no others here.
RICHARD COBDEN.
IT is curious and interesting to observe how the
law of which we have just spoken operates in the
distribution of the sympathy of representative for
eigners in our rebellion. The latest illustration is
that of Richard Cobden. He Is a man who com
pels respect not only by his character and powers,
but by his practical knowledge. He is not hood
winked by any assumptions or sophistries^ He
puts people in mortal terror by his facts. He
clubbed Lord Palmerston in open Parliament with
the most tremendous statistics; and by actual fig
ures and extracts from French reports, showed in
a trenchant pamphlet, which charged in upon Lord
Palmerston's loose talk like a mailed knight npon
a flock of sheep, that he had for his own purposes
scared England by the fear of a French invasion
which was utterly groundless. There is one man
in England, at least, whom Lord Palmerston can
not bully nor Lord Russell cozen.
Mr. Cobden has lately made two speeches. The
first was a consideration of the present state of
maritime law, and of the imperial necessity to Great
Britain of some change. But the very force and
truth of his argument, based upon the dependence
of that Power upon others, will disincline those
others to accede to any radical change. In that
speech he incidentally mentions the appalling pov
erty into which Lancashire has already fallen, and
in which the poor population must sink still lower
by Christmas, at which time there will be a mill
ion paupers to be cared for, so that, iu his opinion,
Parliament will have to make special provision.
" Of course, then, aelf-defenae aud our horror at
a wicked fratricidal war waged for power against
a brave people, struggling for themselves and for
the rights of man against an intolerable tyranny
—a war which Mr. Commissioner Mason expressly
assures us is hopeless upon the part of that tyran
ny—will compel us to interfere!" shouts John
Bull, impatiently.
By no means, returns Mr. Cobden. It would
cost England more to interfere for six months than
to feed her starving workmen for ten years. And
besides that, it would not bring forward cotton.
Moreover, if you ask me, he says, what I think of
the war, I will answer that I don't pretend to see
into a millstone, as Lord Russell and Mr. Glad
stone Lave been gravely doing. But if I did, I
should not see what they do. If the war should end
soon, I don't believe it would result in separation.
And why, pray, are you so eager for disunion in
America while you cheer so lustily for union iu
Italy ? If it is all right to make a Union in Italy
agaiust the established Governments, why is it all
wrong for an established Union to maintain itself
in America ?
Mr. Cobden fully understands the fact that with
us Union is identical with nation. He has trav
eled in this country with his eyes and ears open,
and he knows the necessity of Union. He doubt
less perceives that that necessity is the paramount
and controlling consideration of the war. He
knows, as most thoughtful men here acknowledge,
that every thing will go sooner than the Union;
and that if there are many who hesitate about the
President's Proclamation, it is because the honest
among them are not yet convinced of its necessity.
They think that the Union can be saved without it.
But the mass of these meii*kiiow perfectly well
that slavery is not necessary to the Union, and
when they see that, on the contrary, it is threaten
ing its life with arms, they will cry as the Tyro-
lese cried when the full force of the Austrian and
French army was iu the narrow pass of the Inn,
with precipices upon each side—" In the name of the
Holy Trinity, cut all loose!"—and down came the
rocks, and trees, and avalanches of earth upon the
enemy, utterly consuming them.
Mr. Cobden probably saw that, despite the edu
cated hatred of the Southerners toward the rest of
the country, the cardinal necessity of any great na
tional existence here was the Union. That is an
insight gained by actual contact. The other En
glish orators, Palmerston, Russell, Gladstone, aud
the rest, speculate abstractly. They can not see
why it would not be just as well for us to cover
the continent with a happy family of seven by
nine empires—a boundless contiguity of San Mari
nes. Mr. Gladstone alone, apparently, believes
what was so strongly said by Mr. Seward, that
the strongest instinct of the American people is for
Union—stronger even than for Liberty.
AT NIBLO'S.
THB curtain falls npon the mnte and pathetic
parting of Jeannette aud Jeannot. The children
wish it were longer. The parents hum quietly the
plaintive melody of the finale and remember other
days. The great audience rustles and murmurs,
and the spectacle of a cheerful crowd, for which
Niblo's is jmmemorial-y famous, is once more re
newed. Meanwhile there is hammering and scold
ing and rushing and scraping behind the drop.
The huge curtain itself is bulged forward. There
are the Sense and sound of immense preparation,
and the complacent curiosity of the children be
comes intense and the waiting elders impatient.
At last the criminal delay of the orchestra is
atoned for by the beginning of the music. The
curtain runs up and discovers a group of workmen
with wooden horses of various heights, which they
begin to plant along the middle aisle of the par
quet and up the stage. They fit them carefully
together, lay long their elastic floorings between
them, and finally unroll enormous mattresses upon
them covering them with dark woolen cloth; so
that there is now a carpeted and mattressed plat
form from the balcony in front of the boxes to the
rear of the stage. Then for the first time you ob
serve a little ledge projecting from the balcony of
the second tier, upon which stands a stool.; and to
this a ladder is raised at the end of the long plat
form by a liveried attendant.
Every thing is ready. The music plays on.
The murmur of the audience subsides. The bright
little eyes are strained toward every point of the
stage; and then suddenly from the side, scene
emerges the stout form of Gabriel Ravel—himself
an institution of New York amusement—leading
by the hand a boy, ten years old, the adopted child
of the Ravels, John Haslon, called "Little Amer
ica." The figure of the child is that of a young
athlete, not Ganymede the cup-bearer, nor Oberon
the fairy king; but strong, round, muscularly firm,
compact, and energetic as a young Ajax. He
makes his conventional bow of obsequious sweet
ness to each side of the house, then touches Ga
briel's shoulder and alights upon the platform.
Advancing to the point over the edge of the stage
he bows again; then steps rapidly alonfc to the
ladder, mounts it, aud stands upon the stool in front
of the balcony of the second tier.
Do you observe, then, the trapezes hanging from
the high dim roof of the theatre, four of them, with
the cross-pieces; and can you, through your glass,
see the marvelous breadth of the child's hands?
There is a little natural apprehension, as you think,
of the height, and see the mattresses, suggestive of
falling, aud then look at the clear-eyed, handsome
boy. But here is Gabriel tryiug each trapeze to
be sure that it haugs firm and true, and now he
stands facing the boy aud swings toward him the
first one, which the boy catches, and, grasping stout
ly with both hands, faces Gabriel, who holds the
second ready. He nods; he draws it back; it
swings- far forward. Once, and the boy sees the
range. Twice, and holding his own trapeze, he
launches himself upon raid air, as smoothly, noise
lessly, and perfectly as a swan takes the flood
when she moves from shore. He catches the sec
ond, the third, and so with effortless grace swings
from end to end of the vast space, leaving upon
your mind the impression of a long reach of ex
quisitely swaying waves. From that moment the
blithe aerial game goes on. He turns back from
one to another, he hangs by his feet, he folds his
body over the thin bar of the trapeze; he turns a
somersault in the air and alights upon the swing
ing bar; he vaults backward and descends upon
I he platform, making hia conventional bow; he
climbs to his place again, and once more sweeps
forward into space and revolves and darts swiftly
amidst the steady swaying of the ropes. You fear
for him no more than for white doves tumbling and
eailing in the air. The whole scene is soft, and
smooth, and noiseless. It has the effect of.ex
quisite music. It is the utmost triumph of skill.
This wonderful young acrobat is a New Yorker
by birth, but from his tenderest years has been
trained by Gabriel Ravel. He is a bright, sweet,
well-mannered boy, whom you can not think of as
devoted to this career without sympathy and coui-
• passion, but whom you can not see without the ut
most admiration. For a performance so perfect
that it destroys all sense of peril, while it inspires
How wonder for the capacity of the human frame.
BURNSIDE REBUKING PARTY-SPIRIT.
WE all have our favorites in war as in politics.
We all believe that our own men are the best men,
and our own way the best way. But this is a
tendency which it is dangerous to indulge under
the circumstances in which we are now placed.
You may prefer one guide over the glaciers to the
summit of Mont Blanc and I another. But we can
not stop long to quarrel about them. We must do
our best to get the best, then trust what we have,
and push on. If you know the guide does not
know the way, or is not strong enough to stand
the work, you may give up the journey if you
choose. But to give it np and dismiss the guide
you have, because you had made a point of honor
to take the other, is never to reach the top of the
mountain and to stay a great fool iu the valley.
Vehement partisanship about Generals is dis
heartening and dangerous. Have the people of
this country taken up arms to exalt Buell or Fre-
mont or Halleck or M'Clellau, or are they in Vir
ginia and the West to save their government and
the civil liberty of which it is the guarantee ? Has
the feeling for any General superseded devotion to
the cause and the country ? Would any man break
his sword because Fremont was removed or M'Clel
lan is, relieved ? Then, In the name of Heaven, let
him break It. Let us discover how many are of a
like mind. And if there are many, and a majority,
let us confess the contemptible contest in which we
are engaged, and mourn over a people which pre
fers any man, however successful, however illus
trious, however masterly he may be, to the welfare
of the country and of all the citizens. And while
we mourn, let us not fail to despise that people if its
preference should be based not npon great and no
ble and conspicuous character and service, but upon
party-spirit.
The dignity and spirit of General Burnside in
dealing with an individual case of this kind is re
corded to his lasting honor. Upon the removal of
M'Clellan a young Rhode Island officer—and it is
the first blot npon the story of that noble State in
this war—said that "After this we may as well
give up and acknowledge the rebels." General
Bnrnside sent for him and charged him with the
remark. The officer confessed it, and urged that
he said more than he meant. " You have now an
opportunity to retract it," said Burnside; " bnt if
I were not personally acquainted with your ante
cedents and loyalty you would have been instant
ly dismissed. Neither you nor any other officer,
high or low, can utter such sentiments and remain
iu this army." The offender made on ample apol
ogy. The General showed that he perfectly un
derstands his position.
WITHIN THE REBEL LINES.
THB war has occasioned no more interesting
work than the one to which we have hitherto al
luded—" Thirteen Months in the Rebel Army." It
is a short and simple story of a New Yorker who
was impressed into the rebel service, and who
served with his eyes and mind open. If it could
be read by every man in the loyal part of the
country it would inspire such resolution in the de
fense of the Government that the world would see
what it has not yet seen—that this nation means
to save its own life by the annihilation of the con
spiracy against it.
There is one thing which the author mentions,
and of which we have often spoken. It is an evil
which increases every day, and which all faithful
citizens shonld do their best to withstand. This
evil is the furnishing information to the enemy un
der the guise of giving news. The papers of yes
terday and to-day, for instance, teem with import
ant intelligence for the enemy. If the Govern
ment can not remedy the difficulty, why does not
the loyalty of individual editors prevent it ?
Hear what the author, who has been thirteen
months within the rebel lines, asys:
" I may here state that the Confederate authorities have
complete control of the press, BO that nothing 1* ever al
lowed to appear ID print which can give information to the
North or dishearten their own men. In this it appears to
me that they have an unspeakable advantage over the
North, with its numberless papers and hundreda of corre
spondent* iu the loyal armies. Under such a> system it is
an absolute impossibility to conceal the movements of the
army. With what the correspondents tell and surmise,
and what the Confederates find out through iple» and In
formers of various kinds, they are able to see through
many of the plane of the Union forces before they are put
in execution. No more common remark did I hear than
this, aa officer! were reading the Northern papers: 'See
what fools these Yankees are I General A—— has left
B—— for C——. We will cut him off. Why the North
ern Generals or the Secretary of War tolerate this freedom
of news we can not imagine. 1 Every dally paper I have
read alnoe coming North has contained Information either
by direct statement or implication which the enemy can
profit by.....Sure am I that If a Southern paper would
publish flnch information of their movements as do the
Northern of theirs, the editor's neck would not be safe an
hour."
The testimony of this work to the desperate ha
tred of the rebellious section toward the country is
most valuable:
"The force of public opinion In Selma wax such that no
man able to fight could remain there. The unmarried
ladies were BO patriotic that every able-bodied young man
was constrained to enlist Some months previous to this
a gentleman was known to be engaged for an early mar
riage, and hence declined to volunteer. When hie be
trothed, a charming girl and a devoted lover, heard of his
refusal, she gent him, by the hand of a slave, a package
inclosing a note. The package contained a lady's skirt
and crinoline, and the note these torse words: 'Wear
these or volunteer.'1 He volunteered."
Contemplating this spirit, which is universal
and not exceptional, the author vehemently ex
claims ;
" When will the North wake up to a true and manly
patriotism in the defense of their national life, now threat
ened by the tiger graup of this atrocious rebellion f......
The North ia asleep, and it will become the aleep of death
—national death—if a new spirit be not speedily awaked."
HUMORS OF THE DAY.
SCENE AT THE SESSIONS.
REODKDBB (faynnmer). "How do you liver"
PBIBOMEB. "I ain't particular, as the oyster sold when
they asked whether he'd he roasted or fried."
HEOORDKB. "We don't want to hear what the oyster
said. What do you follow V
PBIOONXB. "Any thing that comes In my way, as the
locomotive said when he run over a man."
KEOOKDEB. "We care nothing about the locomotive.
What Is your business J"
PBIBONKH. " That's various, aa the cat said when she
stole the chicken."
RECORDER, "That comes nearer to the line. I suppose T"
PBISONKB. "Altogether In my line, aa the rope aald
when choking tlie pirate."
RECORDER, "If I hear any more absurd comparisons I
will give you twelve months."
PaisoNKB. "i'm done, as the beef-steak said to the
cook." ______ _____
"Can you tell me how the word salom Is spelt f" was
asked of a Cockney by Bl'luladelpklan. "Certainly," said
the Londoner, with a look of triumph; " there's a ness,
and a hay, and a hell, aud two hoes, and a hen.1*
A physician, in speaking of the frail constitution of the
women of the present day, remarked that we ought to take
great care of our grandmothers, for wo should never get'
any more.
you fond of hymn singing? Take a
note of a few. The first Is the hymn we beard at chapel
the Lut time—" Oh, take a pU, oh, take, oh, take a pil,
oh, take a pu-grim home I" The hymn Brown beard—
treble and soprano by the fairer portion of creation—" Oh,
for a man, oh, for a man, oh, for a mansion In the skies 1"
The one Plunkins heard the base singer at—"Oh, send
down Sal; oh, .enddown Sal; oh, send down Sal-vatloul"
"Pray, Madam, what make- you BO sedate r"—"Oh, I
have taken a sedative 1"
An attorney before a bench of magistrates, a short time
ago, told the bench, with great gravity, " that he had two
witnesses in behalf of his client, and they would be sure to
speak the truth, for he bad no opportunity to communicate
with them."
Three boa-constrictors were recently landed at the docks,
and one of the sailors of the ship which brought them from
Africa says, "They are the most anectknate creatures he
ever aaw—always ready to embrace any body? 1
A good-natured fellow, who was nearly eaten out of house
and home by the constant visits of hid friends, felt very
poor one day, and was complaining bitterly of his numer
ous visitors. " Shure, an' I'll tell ye how to get rid of
•em," said an Irishman. "Pray how?" "Llnd money
to the poor ones, and borrow money of the rich ones, and
nather sort will ever trouble you again."
DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE.
SABBATH OBSKUVANCK.
THB following General Order has been Issued respecting
the observance of the Sabbath day In the army and navy:
EXBCUTIVB HAH-ION, WABHIHOTOH, Jfof. 18, 1863.
The President, Commander-in-chief of the Army and
Navy, desires and enjoins the orderly observance of the
Sabbath by the officers aud men In the military and naval
service. The importance for man and beaut of the pre
scribed weekly rest: the sacred rlghte of Christian soldiers
and sailors; a becoming deference to the beat sentiments
of a Christian people, and a due regard for the Divine will,
demand that Sunday labor In the army and navy be re
duced to the measure of strict necessity. The discipline
and character of the national forces should not suffer, nor
the cause they defend be Imperiled by the profanation of
the day or the name of the Most High. At this tune of
public distress, adopting the words of Washington in 1776,
"Men may find enough to do In the service of God and
their country without abandoning themselves to vice and
immorality." The first General Order Issued by the Father
of his Country after the Declaration of Independence in
dicates the spirit In which our institutions w< re founded,
and should ever be defended: "The General hopes and
trusts that every officer and man will endeavor to live and
act as becomes a Christian foldier, defending the dearest
rights and privileges of his country."
ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
TIIK ARMY OV THE PorOMAC.
The Army of the Potomac Is moving from Its poaltton
near Warrenton toward Fredericksbuig, sixty miles from
Richmond. The line of march «raj taken up on 16th and
ICth. Warrentou was evacuated on ISth, and General
Burnside took up his nead-quartera at Catlett's Station.
The baae of supplies will be at Aquia Creek, which Is only
nine miles from Fredericksburg, and connected with It by
a railroad.
TIIK WAR IN Till! SOUTHWEST.
Our advices from the southwest Indicate the likelihood
that a battle will be fought soon between the national
forces under General Grant and the rebels lately at Holly
Springs, notwithstanding the retreat of the latter from
that position. A dispatch, dated the Uth, states that five
regiments of rebel cavalry advanced on the previous even-
Ing from Lampkin's Miliu to within two miles of Holly
Springs, and that skirmishing was continued for some
tune, during which the rebels lost six men killed and sev
en commissioned officers captured. The Cincinnati Ga
zette of the Uth says, " The fact that the rebels retreated
from Holly Springs without a battle may be regarded aa
evidence that their force Is not as large aa had been rep
resented. Advices of the 9th atated that Price had been
re-enforced by Pemberton from the south, but even then
they were not willing to make a stand. General Grant
has a formidable and excellant army, large enough, un
doubtedly, to drive the rebels. Whether he will gel them
»against the wall' Is a question; but he will certainly
sweep through the country, carrying out the plan of thin
particular campaign, which is an Important ooe, and will
bring forth fruits with which the country will be satisfied."
M'CLERNANU'S uxruomoN.
General M'Clernand Is now at Columbus, Kentucky,
organizing his expeditionary force. The following Indl-
ABOUT THANKSGIVING-TIME.
ME. GOBBLER.—"Ain't you going to eat any thing?"
MRS. GOBBLES,—"No, I ain't going to fatten myself up for other people's benefit?"
MR. GOBBLRB.—"Why, you fool, you're only injuring yourself; yon'll be sold for 12 cents a
ponnd, that's all. But I see what will be the end of you—you'll be eaten in a boarding-house,
that's what you'll come to."
ana regiments have either arrived at or are on '.heir ij_
to join General Mllernand'i) " Castor Oil Expedition" to
open the Mississippi: Eighty-third, Ninety-third. Ninety-
seventh, Ninety-ninth, and One Hundredth. The fifty-
fourth, Colonel Mansfield, and the Sixty-third, Colonel
Williams, will leave in a day or two for Colnmbus, and
will also form part of the same expeditionary force.
TUB UNION AttMY.
The Dnlon forces, consisting now of over seven hundred
thousand men, are distributed and commanded as follows :
General Bunxide, with the whole Army of the Potomac,
aided by Hentralmsn and Sigel, Is to take care of Rich
mond ; General Cox Is making a rapid march toward the
Virginia and Tennessee Railroad ; General Peck and GeL-
ernl Foster are to look after the Southern communications
of Richmond. General Banks and General Hunter are to
look in at some of the Southern port- now bald by the reb
els; General Roaecrans Is moving through Central Ten
nessee, General Granger throngh Kentucky, General
Grant Into Mississippi; General Schofield defends Mis
souri, and General Curtls IB below him on the West side
of the river ; and General M'Clernand will soon be on hi.
way down the Mississippi Kiver.
TUB BATTLB OF LABADIEVILUC.
We have details of the expedition nnder command .>f
General WeitzeL Our forces encountered the enemy l.i
considerable strength at a place called Labadlevllle, and
defeated them after a brisk fight aud a brilliant display
of generalship on the part of General Welt-el Upward
of two hundred of the emirny were killed, wounded, and
taken prisoners, and one piece of artillery was captured.
The rebels were pursued In the direction of Berwick's
Bay, where Governor Moore was supposed to be.
TIIK I'KXAN COAST IN OUU POSSESSION.
The officers of the gun-boat Connrcticut report that the
entire coast of Texas Id now In possession of the United
States force-. The effect of this occupation Is seen In the
recent capture of numerous vessels while attempting to
run the blockade. Contraband trada, through Texan
porK, Is now effectually choked off.
TUB HUW OOVEBKOU Of TBXA8.
Hon. A. J. Hamilton baa been appointed Military Oov-
emor of Texas.
AFFAIRS AT IIICHMOMD.
The Grenada Avpeal in Its Hichmond correspondence
says that General Lee Is about to go Into winter-quarters
within a few miles of Richmond. The condition of the
city Is represented as frightful. We are told that " garret-
ing, burglary, drunkenness, In spite* of the Provost Mar
shal, and all manner of vlllaluy are on the Increase most
alarmingly, am} provisions are constantly advancing ID
price. Flour Is $26 a barrtl hen. In sight of the largest
mills In the world, and butter Is difficult to obtain at $1 60
per pound; that Klchmond Is worse than Naples, worse
than Baltimore was when Winter Davis was the Wilkes of
the Plug Ugly swell mob of that lawless olty. No one
thinks of going into the Cimmerian streets after nightfall
without anus. A large and well-organized gang of cut
throats has ' token the town.' They lie In wait at almost
every corner, well provided with slung shots, billies, brass
knuckles, and all the other devilish Implements of mis
chief which the city highwayman uses to disable his vic
tims, and they attack every Body that walks alone, often
times gentlemen when attended by ladles."
OOVEHMOK VANCB A BEBKL.
Ths correspondence between Governor Vance (Rebel)
and Governor Stanly (Union), of North Carolina, relative
to a friendly conference, appears to have been brought to
an unfavorable termination. According to latest accounts
Governor Vance declines any meeting between himself and
Governor Stanly. He also declines a conference of Com
missioners. He writes, In a defiant tone, that North Caro
lina will fight to the last drop of blood, and refers Govern
or Stanly, If he has any propositions to make, to treat
directly with the Confederate authorities st Richmond.
Tills, of course, settles the question of any amicable ar
rangement with North Carolina, as far as Governor
Vance'i Influence bean weight
BIIAOO
General Bragg, In his official report to the Confederate
Government, says that but 1600 Kentucklans joined him
In his late raid Into that State; that the people hesitated
to take Confederate scrip; and that he was charged three
prices for supplies.
A SPKBCH VROif M'CLULLAN.
To a crowd who waited npon him at Trenton, on 13th,
General M'Clellan said:
" MY FRUMDS— for I feel that you are all my friends—
I stand before you, not as a maker of speeches, not as a
politician, but as a soldier. I came among you to seek
quiet and repose, and from the moment of my arrival I
have received nothing but kindness. Although I appear
before yon as a stranger, I am not I am not altogether
unacquainted with your history. Yonr gallant soldiers
were with me In every battle from the siege of Yorktown
ta the battle of Antietam, and here I bear witness to their
devotion to the cause for which we are fighting. [Hera
the uproar compelled the General to cease for a few mo
ment!.] I also have to speak of the ever faithful, ever
true Taylor; the dashing, intrepid Kearaey — men who
have given their lives for the maintenance of onr govern
ment. And before bidding you good-night I have thif
piece of advice to give you: While the army Is fighting,
you aa citizens see that the war Is prosecuted for the pres
ervation of the Union and the Constitution, for your na
tionality and your rights as citizens."
ARRK8T OP MBMBEU8 OV M'cLELLAH'S BTAFV.
Two members of General MtMlan'a Staff— Lieutenant-
Colonels A. P. Colbnru and J. C. Duane, of the Engineer
Corps — were, on ISth, sent to Washington, from Trenton,
under arrest. The Washington Star explains the arrett
by stating that they are not members of his personal staff,
and consequently had no right to leave their places IB tho
army to accompany General M'Clellan to Trenton.
FOREIGN NEWS.
ENGLAND.
RNOI.I8III.ICN IN TUB PIRATIC BUSINESS.
Tin London Timet of November 6 denies that any
blame can attach to the English Government relative to
the fitting out operations of the privateer A labama. En
gland, the Tim'* says, does not furnish ships of war, but
" hi r ship-yards are open to all,'* and aha sells the "com
ponent parts" of war vessels " to all comers."
A 8FUECII FROM MR. COBDEN.
Mr. Cobden, M.P., has addressed an important speech
to his constituents In Rochdale, in which he emphatically
condemns the Idea of English Intervention In the American
war. He said that such a movement on the part of the
Cabinet would do Injury Instead of good, and would not
bring out cotton; a war with the North was certain to en
sue, and this struggls would cost Great Britain more mon
ey In six months than would feed all the distressed Lanca
shire operatives for ten years.
OAMBRIDOK VOB TUB REBULSt
The famous debating club of Cambridge University (the
Dnlon) debated the American war eubject during two even
ings. The question was put thus t "That the Cause of the
North Is the Cause of Human Progress." The proposition
was rwgatived by a vote of one hundred and seventeen to
thirty-three—Earl BuueU'B eldest son speaking with the
majority against It.
ITALY.
GARIBALDI COMING BBRB.
Tho Indtpendanx Beige of the ISth October, writing
concerning Garibaldi, aays that he has full confidence In
tha successful results of his meilcsl treatment. He has
decided to go to England for a short time, and thence pro
ceed direct to America.
Several of Us offican hiTf already left for New York.

756 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 29, 1862.
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NOVEMBER 29,18C2.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 757
VIRGINIA.—SKKTCHKD BY ME. TUEODOBE K. DAVIS.—[SEE PAGE 759.]
M'CLELLAX'S ADIF.UX T« HIS OFFICERS AT WARRENTON, VI«CINIA.-rSKrreHED BY MR. THKODOBR R. D.vvis.-[SEii PAGE 759.]

758
HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 29, 1862.
THE "PASSAIC" TRYING HER LARGE GUN AT THE PALISADES, NOVEMBER 16. 1862.
IRON-CLADS.
WE publish herewith, by way of contrast, the
launch of the British IROX-CLAD "CALEDONIA,"
which took place at Woolwich Dock-yard on 24th
October last; and likewise a picture of the exper
iment made on Saturday, November 16, with the
great gun of ths " PASSAIC," in the Hudson River.
The Caledonia was commenced in the year 1859
as a 00-gnn wooden ship. After the battle of the
Merrimae and Cumberland the British Admiralty
abandoned the construction of wooden vessels, and
the Caledonia was altered to become an Iron-clad
34-gun vessel. She is 273 feet long, 69 feet beam,
20 feet hold, and 4125 tons. She is to carry two
110-pound Armstrong guns on the upper deck; on
the main deck eight 110-pound Armstrongs and
twenty-four 68-poundere. Her masts and bow
sprit are to be of iron; and the hull of the vcs-
sel above the water-line, and for a short distance
below it, is to be plated with 4i inch iron. It will
be seen that the only deviation from the old sys
tem adopted thus far by the British Admiralty
consists in the plating of their vessels. They are
still huge monsters, soaring high above the water,
and presenting a. target which the most inexperi
enced gunner could not miss; and which, at a
proper distance, a 400-pound ball would penetrate
as easily as card-board.
The recent trial trip of the Panaic was made to
ascertain whether the great 16-inch gun could be
fired without having the muzzle protrude from the
turret. The previous trip showed that without
Rome new contrivance the gun could not be fired
within the turret without endangering the lives of
the gunners by the explosion. To allow the muz-
NOVEMBER 29,1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 759
zle to protrude was to expose the gun to Injury,
and would have required so large a port-hole, that
a shell might easily have been thrown in by an ex
perienced gunner. To obviate these difficulties,
Mr. Ericsson invented a machine, of which, for ob
vious reasons, we give no description. The follow
ing account of the experiment from the Herald will
be read with interest:
On arriving at a point opposite Fort Washington the
Fuesair wai beaded in toward the western shore of the
river, under the towering cliffs of the Palisades, when, se
lecting an uninhabited spot, It was determined to nee the
effect against the rocky bulwarks of the noble Hudson:
The steamer was stopped, and tbe 15-inch gun was loaded
with twenty pounds of powder and a hollow shot After
the gun was run out to the side of the turret and all was
ready, it was fired, the ball ricnchettlng along the water a
few times, then striking the rocks, causing them to fly like
•o much chaff, followed by a terrible echo, which In its
force resembled the explosion of a powder-mill. The
noise outside of the turret was terrible, while Inside there
was no concussion of any account, and the noise certainly
did not exceed that which would have been produced by
the firing of an ordinary pistol.
Every one was surprised and unwilling at the first trial
to> say much; all were anxious to see the effect of a full
service charge of thirty-four pounds of powder. The gun
only recoiled seventeen inches.
Second firing.—The second time the gun was loaded
with thirty-five pounds of powder and a hollow shot It
was fired, recoiling three feet ten Inches, producing no un
pleasant concussion, and, as before, there was scarcely any
smoke in the turret. Several of tbe spectators who were
In tbe turret at the first firing were outside this time to see
the working of the shot, which had been spoken of by those
who were outside at the time; but the noise outside was
so unpleasant that they preferred to he inside the next
time the gun was fired, and accordingly they went in and
remained there through the remainder of tbe firing.
Third Firing.—The third time the gun was fired it was
charged with thirty-five pounds of powder and a hollow
shot. The recoil was only two feet eight inches. The
same results were obtained without trouble: in fact it was
much pleasanter inside than outside of the turret. No
noise was perceptible tending to discomfort either on the
berth-deck or in the engine-room.
fourth Firing,—The fourth and last time the gun was
fired it was charged with thirty-five pounds of powder and
a solid shot, the first one fired from a gun of this size with
a full service charge. The result was precisely the same,
the recoil being only two feet eight inches, and no smoke
or noise In the turret.
Thus ended the experiment with the gun, which in ev
ery respect was satisfactory. We refrain from giving our
foreign friends or the rebels the slightest clew as to how
this matter has been accomplished; but suffice it to say
that it in the plan of Captain Ericsson, and it now Is be
lieved to be as near perfect as any thing mortal man can
make.
We will, however, give some of the general points in
the workings of these new Monitors, showing their most
prominent features.
In tbe trst place, their speed will be sufficient for the
purposes for which they were designed. There is no doubt
that they will go at the very least nine knots. Secondly,
at no tune will the guns of the vessel he liable to any
damage from the projectiles of the enemy; for the muz-
xles will not protrude outside of their shield. Thirdly, the
number of men to Work one of these enormous guns Is less
than to work an ordinary 11-inch gun on a Marsilly car
riage. Three men will run out the 15-inch gun, weighing
42,000 pounds (nearly twenty-one tons), as easily as nine
teen men work an 11-Inch pivot. The English intended
to put a fourteen-ton gun in a cupola, but 8ir Howard
Douglass strenuously opposed such a step, as he believed
that they would not be able to get men enough inside to
work it. Therefore it never was attempted. One strong
person can run out the Ifi-jnch gun while he runs out the
11-inch one, with perfect ease.
In these new Monitor batteries we give not only protec
tion to the men, but to the guns, which, when the vessel
has but two, it is very desirable should be protected. The
appliance to carry off tbe concussion and smoke is simple
find ingenious, and tbe Government should take care not
to let this secret get out, so as to be'used by other Powers.
It is a success only second to the conception of the original
Monitor.
The Patsaic will be ready for sea within a week,
and five or six of the other iron-clad Monitors about
the same time. It may be taken for granted that
the Department will lose no time in putting their
merits to the test. Charleston, Savannah, and Mo
bile will probably hear of them before Christmas.
LAUNCH OF THE BRITISH IKON-CLAD SCREW FRIGATE "CALEDONIA," THIRTY-FOUR GUNS, AT WOOLWICH, OCTOBER 24, 1862.
M'CLELLAN'S PARTING FROM
HIS ARMY.
Ox pages 760 and 761 we publish a large picture
of M'CLELLAK'S PARTING FROM HIS ARMY. The
following, from the Herald correspondence, will
explain the scene:
This morning it was arranged that he should visit the
troops near by, and proceed to Washington by special train
in the evening. When just about to go he said, UI can
hardly bear to sse my soldiers again.** Then accompanied
by his officers and escort, a magnificent cavalcade, he rode
off to take a last farewell of his troops. The Infantry and
cavalry attached to his head-quarters were tastefully dis
posed on an adjacent MU. They presented a very soldier
ly appearance. M'Clellan rode along the lines, and as he
passed enthusiastic cheers spontaneously arose from the
ranks. The soldiers could not restrain their controlling ad
miration for their General. After he had passed along the
lines, and was returning toward the hill. General Patrick,
commanding the Provost guard at head-quarters, dashed
up the crest, and, with cap In hand, led the whole com.
mand in three additional tumultuous cheers for General
M'Clellan. The Sturgis Rifles, which have been with him
from the time of his first campaign In Western Virginia,
gave an extra complimentary cheer, and all the men turned
their heads around, and gave one long, last lingering look,
while he rode away to bid a similar adieu to other com.
mands.
He then passed through the oamps of the reserve artil
lery. The batteries were all arranged in convenient posi
tions, the cannoneers standing by their gun*. The men
presented sabres, while the music mingled with their cheers
as he passed. The magnificent artillery reserve of the
army of the Fotomac, which M'Clellan had organized with
so much care, he seemed reluctant to leave it now, when
there was an immediate prospect of its efficiency being fully
displayed on the field.
It was while riding from here that Bumside, accompa
nied by a brilliant staff, came dashing arrow the field and
joined him. They shook each other cordially by the hand,
and rode together during the remainder of the day.* When
we reached the turnpike, on either ride of which troops are
encamped, we witnessed one of the grandest and most ef
fective demonstrations it has ever been my fortune to be
hold. The troops in General Fitz John Porter's corps were
marshaled In magnificent army on the right of the road,
and those in General Conch's corps on the left. Butter-
field's, Sykes'e, and Humphreys divisions, in Porter's corps,
were disposed in order, the banners of each command ap
pearing in the centre, close on tbe road. Hancock's, How
ard's, and French's divisions, In Couch's corps, were ar
ranged in a somewhat similar manner, with the artillery
of both commands planted on prominent positions. As had
been done in the other instances, M'Clellan's farewell ad
dress to his soldiers was read to them Just before he passed
to personally bid them farewell. As he rode along the
turnpike, with head uncovered, between the lines of troops"
and followed by the glittering array of officers, fifty thou
sand of his devoted soldiers, with hearts and voices in per
fect unison, and all with one accord, burst forth into the
most tumultuous cheering. Along the lines he rode, amldat
the continued acclamations of the fifty thousand, while
from the distance we would occasionally catch, as though
It were an echo, the sound from the troops we had left be
hind, and who were cheering yet, long after the General
had gone away from the immediate vicinity of hi* head
quarters. The banners borne by the various regiments
were held near the road on either side, and their tattered
fragments were fully exposed to view when the General
and party passed through the lines of troops. Some of the
standards had little but the gold and silver trimmings and
the silken fringes left. A greater portion of many of the
flags had been shot away In battle under tbe gallant lead
ership of General M'Clellan. Those tattered banners, hav
ing inscribed upon them the names of the battles in which
the troops had fought victoriously heneathjheir silken
folds, were mute yet most eloqnent memorials or the mighty
struggles which M'Clellan's Boldlcrs have pamed through.
While he rode along the batteries fired ealntes, the bands
played, and the soldiers cheered; tne smoke from the artil
lery floated In among the perforated banners, and the ac
clamations of the troops mingled with the martial music
of the bands and guns. I can not recall from my experi
ence any occasion on which the enthusiasm manifested by
these BOldiera has been surpassed. *
Passing the end of Porter's and Omiftni lines, General
M'Clellan and party proceeded four or five miles further
to the place where Franklin's corps was encamped. On
the way soldiers followed and cheered him. He wai: soon
near Franklin's corpsT* His arrival was not expected quite
BO soon, and the troops were not formed to receive him.
But when the soldiers saw him approaching their encamp
ment the color-hearers of the various regiments grasped
the Stars and Stripes and the regimental standards, and
came dashing down the hills and across the fields, the
members of the regiments, without arms, dashing wild
ly after them. M'Clellan passed through this mass of sol
diers to General Franklin's head-quarters, where he, Burn-
Bide, and Franklin, while the latter*e troops were being
collected and disposed, had a protracted interview.
This ended, the company mounted their horses again,
and rode among tbe troops of Franklin's corps. Smith's
division, part formed In line of battle and part in column,
greeted M'Clellan with great enthusiasm. Brooks's divi
sion came rushing across the valley In one grand, solid
column, with flags floating in the breeze, to meet the re
tiring General. They flocked around him, discarding en
tirely every thing concerning the rules of military forma
tion, and, in the most feeling manner, bade him an affec
tionate farewell. The troops in Newton's division, formed
further on, were no less decided and enthusiastic in their
demonstrations. It was really wonderful to see how deep
was the expression of feeliug by the soldiers on this occa
sion.
Having passed through the lines of all the troops In the
vicinity. General M'Clellan turned his horse's head to go
back to bin head-quarters, whence he intended proceeding
to the train which was waiting to convey him to Wash
ington. Now we witnessed the most affecting scene of all.
Until tbi» moment it hardly seemed that their favorite
general could leave them. But now he was going from
among them—he had already gone. The moment that
they fully realized it, all those soldiers, animated by one
universal impulse, ran after him, Borne weeping aloud, and
shouted in the most touching and appealing manner,
" Fetch him back, fetch him backl" and " Oh, come back
to ue, come back to us, M'Clellan 1"
As he rode along the turnpike on his retnrn from Frank
lin's corps, troops under Couch and Porter, which he had
passed in regular formation a few hours before, now rush
ed out from their camp ground, and thronged the road
side anxious to take another last look at their beloved Gen
eral. Many of them were melted to tears, and after cheer
ing him again and again, joined in the universal supplica
tion, »Coiu» oack to nm come back to us, M'CleUanl"
THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC.
WE publish on page 756 a series of pictures, il
lustrating the recent march of the army of the Po-
tomac, from sketches by Mr. Theodore R. Davis.
The centre picture represents the famous THOR-
OTJOHFARB GAP in the Bull Run Mountains, which
has figured so largely in the recent campaign.
Many a regiment and brigade, loyal and rebel,
has tramped through that dark, gloomy cleft in
the mountains. .
On page 757 we give a picture of the little town
of WARRANTOR, VIRGINIA, now occupied by our
troops. Though, in the course of the present war,
Warrenton has frequently changed masters, the
little place has not suffered at the hands of either
conquerors, and presents many pretty points of
view. The LEAVK-TAKINO OF M'CMti-LAN on the
stoop of the Warren Green House at Warrenton
will naturally attract attention. The ex-Corn,
mander of the Army of the Potomac spent a few
moments here in shaking hands with some of his
officers, and addressed them kindlv words of fare
well.
Another picture on page 764, by Mr. A. R. AVaud,
illustrates one of those cavalry skirmishes which
are so often reported in the papers. Both the reb
els and ourselves constantly keep flying squadrons
of cavalry scouring the country, and every now
and then they meet, and then comes " the tng of
war." It is one of these scenes which Mr. Waud
has depicted.
THE SYMPATHETIC TEMPERA
MENT.
BY SIR E. BULWER LYTTON.
IT does not follow because a man relieves a mis
fortune that he sj-mpathizes with the sufferer.
The stoics, indeed, while they enjoined beneficence,
forbade sympathy: according to them, in putting
your hand into your pockets you must take care
not to disturb the folds of your heart. Rochefou
cauld—who certainly was not a stoic, and may
rather be considered the most brilliant of the mod
ern followers of Epicurus—appears in this respect
to be in agreement with Zeno. In the portrait of
himself which he has sketched with the clear broad
strokes of a master's hand, he says that "he is lit
tle sensible to pity;" that there is nothing he would
not do for a sufferer, even to the thorn of compassion,
for the wretched are such fools thst the very show
of compassion does them all the good in the world.
But," adds this polite philosopher, " I hold that
one should be contented to show, and guard one's
self carefully from feeling, pity: it is a passion good
for nothing in a well-constituted mind (au dedans
d'une one bienfaite), which only serves to weaken
the heart, and which one ought to leave to the com
mon people, who, doing nothing hy reason, have
need of passion to induce them to do any thing."
Certainly most of us have known in life persons
who are ever ready to perform a charitable action,
hut from whose lips there never falls the balm of a
sympathizing word. They do not even, like Roche
foucauld, simulate the pity which they do not feel.
Are you ill, and can not afford a doctor? they will
pay for him; are you pining for the anodyne of a
tender look? you shrink back more sick at heart
than before from the chill of their hard brows.
On the other hand, there are persons whose nerv
ous system is tremulously alive to the aspect of
pain; they will give you sigh for sigh, and groan
for groan; they sympathize with you sincerely for
the moment: as soon as you are out of sight they
forget that you exist. Put yourself in their way,
and rely upon their sympathy; when out of their
way never count upon their aid. Benevolence is
not always beneficence. To wish you may be bene
fited is one thing; to benefit you is another. A
man who is beneficent without sympathy, though
he may not be a pleasant acquaintance, must be a
good man. But a man who is sympathizing with
out beneficence may be a very bad mam For there
is a readiness of sympathy which comes from the
impressionability of the physical system—a vibra
tion of the nerves reacting on no chord of duty,
and awakening no response in a generous impulse
of the heart. And a man may not be the less pro
foundly wicked because he possesses an excitable
nervous temperament. •
Alexander Phereus, the most ruthless of tyrants,
so entered into the sorrows enacted on the stage,
that a tragedy moved him to tears. It is to him
that Pope alludes in his Prologue to Addison's
"Cato:"
"Tyrants no more their savage nature kept,
And foes to virtue wondered why they wept."
Unfortunately Alexander Phereus, in spite of his
weeping, kept his "nature," which was probably
not constitutionally " savage." A man of a tem
perament readily impressionable, if accompanied,
as it generally is, with a lively fancy, brings home
to himself the sorrows or tbe dangers which are
represented to his senses, and for the moment real
ized by his fancy. And thus it may be from fear
for himself that a tyrant may weep at the repre
sentation of sufferings which, on the stage, de
picts the power of Fate over even the crowned head
and the sceptred hand. Now the same nervous
temperament which is effeminately snsceptible to
this egotistical kind of sympathy may be very
subject to fear; and fear is akin to cruelty. For
fear is in the conviction of some weakness in him
who feels it compared with the power from which
he apprehends an injury; and no saying is more
true than that aphorism of Seneca—" Omnis enim
ex infrrmtateferitat ett"—" All cruelty springs from
weakness." I think we have a striking example
ortheee propositions in Nero, when his character
is metaphysically analyzed. His was the excitable,
impulsive, nervous organization—tremulously alive
to the effects of music, poetry, the drama, specta
cle—emotionally plastic to whatsoever influence ap
pealed for the moment to his senses. Thus, in
early youth, a cultivator of the softest arts, and no
cause of suspicion and terror yet maddening his
restless imagination, he was doubtless sincere when,
the sentence on a criminal being brought to him to
sign, he exclaimed, piteously, " Vellem netcire Kt-
erat .'"—" Would to Heaven that I had not learned
to writer' But the same susceptibility to imme
diate influences whichf when fresh from the con
templation of serene and harmless images, made
him-impulsively merciful, subjugated him first to
sensual-pleasures, rendered monstrous in propor
tion as his imagination, on brooding over them, be
came itself diseased: and, when the whole charac
ter was unmanned by the predominance of the
sensual and brutelike over the intellectual and
moral elements in man, all that was noblest in
manhood, in exciting the internal consciousness
of his own infirmity or weakness, excited his fear;
for in silently rebuking, they seemed silently to
threaten him—and thus the voluptuous trifier was
Beared into the relentless butcher. Yet, impres
sionable to immediate circumstance at the last as
at the first, all the compassionate softness he had
once known for the sentenced criminal, whose doom
he had shrunk from signing, returns to settle on
himself. When the doom which had shocked his
nerves to contemplate for another stands before
him as his own, he weeps over his own fate, his
hand trembles to inflict it. Just as in his youth
sympathy (being nothing more than the vividness
with which he could bring home to his fancy the
pain to be inflicted on another) made him forget
the crime that was to be punished in pity for the
criminal that was to be slain, so now he wholly lost
sight of his own crimes in the anguish of contem
plating his own death. And when, in forgetful-
ness of empire abused and remembrance of art cul
tivated, he exclaimed, " What an artist in me is
about to perish !"* he explained the enigma of his
own nature. Besides the tastes which his hostile
historians accord to him in painting and sculpture,
and a talent for poetry, which Suetonius is at some
pains to vindicate from the charge of plagiarism,
eighteen hundred laurel crowns had Athens be
stowed on him as a musician! If his career had
been a musician's and not an emperor's, he might
indeed have been a voluptuary': a musician not
unfreqnently is; but a soft-tempered, vain, praise-
seeking infant of art, studying harmony, and nerv
ously shocked by discord—as musicians generally
are. The great French Revolution abounds with ex-
amples_more familiar of the strange mixture of
sentimental tenderness with remorseless cruelty,
which may be found allied in that impressionable
nervous temperament as* susceptible to the rapport
of the present time as a hysterical somnambule is
to the will of an electro-biologist.
Man}' years ago I met with a Frenchman who had
been an active, if subordinate, ministrant in the
Reign of Terror. In Petitot's Collection of Papers
illustrative of that period, we find him warmly com
mended to Robespierre as a young patriot, r,eady to
• " Qualit artifex pcreo'J" Artifex means something
more than mnnkian, by which word It is rendered In our
current translations, and even something more than artist,
by which it i» rendered in the text. Artifex means an
artificer, a contriver; and I suspect that, in using the
word, Nero was thinking of the hydraulic musical contriv
ance which had occupied his mind amidst all the terrors
of the conspiracy which destroyed him—a contrivance that
really seems to have been a very ingenlons application of
science to art, which we might not have lost if Nero had
beon only an artificer, and not an emperor.
sacrifice on the altar of hil country as many heca •
tombs of fellow-countrymen as the Goddess of Rea
son might require. When I saw this ex-official
of the tribunal of blood, which was in a London
drawing-room, where his antecedents were not
generally known, he was a very polite, gray-haired
gentleman of the old school of manners, addicted,
like Cardinal Richelieu and Warren Hastings, to
the composition of harmless verses. I have sel-
domvmet with any one who more instantaneously
charmed a social circle by his rapid and instinct
ive sympathy with the humors of all around him
—gay with the gay, eerious with the serious, easy
with the young, caressingly respectful to the old.
Fascinated by the charm of his address, a fine lady
whispered to me, " This, indeed, is that exquisite
French manner of which we have heard so much
and seen so little. Nothing nowadays like the
polish of the old regime"
Marveling at the contrast between the actions
for which this amiable gentleman had been com-
nfended to Robespierre and the manners by which
he might have seduced the Furies, I could not re
frain, in the frankness of my temper at that earlier
period of my life, from insinuating the question
how a man of so delicate a refinement, and so hap
py a turn for.innocent poems in the style of " Gen-
til Bernard," could ever have been led away into
a participation of what I mildly termed " the ex
cesses of the Revolution."
"Ah," quoth this velvet-pawed tiger, "qua vou-
lez-vous ?—I always obey my heart 1 I sympathize
with whatever goes on before me. Am I to-day
with people who cry 'A hales aristocrates!' fa me
monte It tele! fa m'echmtjfe le sang! I cry out with
them, 'A bos lei aristocratei!' Am I to-morrow
with people who cry' A bat la guillotine!'—eh bien !
my eyes moisten; I embrace my enemies—I sob
out,'A bat la guillotine!' Sympathy is the law
of my nature. Ah, if you had known Monsieur
Robespierre!"
" Hem!" said I; " that is an honor I should not
have coveted if I had lived in his day. But I have
hitherto supposed that Monsieur Robespierre was
somewhat unsocial, reserved, frigid; was he, nev
ertheless, a man whose sins against his kind are to
be imputed to the liveliness of his sympathies ?"
"Sir, pardon me if I say that you would not
have asked that question if you had studied the
causes of his ascendency, or read with due atten
tion his speeches. How can you suppose that a
man not eloquent, as compared with his contempo
raries, could have mastered his audience except
by sympathizing with them? When they were
for blood, he sympathized with them; when they
began to desire the reign of blood to cease, h« sym
pathized also. In his desk were found David's
plans for academies for infancy snd asylums for
age. He was just about to inaugurate the Reign
of Love when the conspiracy against him swept
him down the closing abyss of the Reign of Ter
ror. He was only a day too late in expressing his
sympathy with the change in the public mind.
Can you suppose that he who, though ambitious,
threw np his profession rather than subscribe to
the punishment of death—he whose favorite author
was Jean Jacques, 'It plus atmant del homines'—
that he had any inherent propensity to cruelty?
No! Cruelty had become the spirit of the time,
with which the impressionability of his nervous
temperament compelled him to sympathize. And
if he were a sterner exterminator than others it
was not because he was more cruel than they, but
more exposed to danger. And as he identified
himself with his country, so self-preservation wu
in his mind the rigorous duty of a patriot. Wher
ever you had placed him, Monsieur Robespierre
would always have been the man of his day. If
he had been an Englishman, Sir, he would have
been at the head of all the philanthropical societies
—com«jn for a large constituency on philanthrop
ical principles—and been the most respectable, as
he was always the most incorruptible of public
men. ' Cf pauvre M. Robespierre ! comme tt ett ml-
connu!' If he had but lived a month or two lon
ger ha would have revived the age of gold!"
Certainly, during that excitable epoch, tender
ness of sentiment and atrocity of conduct were not
combined in "ce pauvre if. Jiobetpurre" alone.
The favorite amusement of one of the deadliest of
his fellow-murderers was the rearing of doves. He
said that the contemplation of their innocence made
the charm of his existence in consoling him For the
wickedness of men. Couthon, at the commence
ment of the Revolution, was looked npon as the
mildest creature to be found out of a pastoral. He
h.nd a fgure d'ange, heavenly with compassionate
tenderness. Even when he had attained to the
height of his homicidal celebrity he was carried to
the National Assembly or the Jacobite Club (I say
carried, for, though young, he had lost the use of
his limbs) fondling little lapdogs, which he nestled
in his bosom. An anecdote is told of one of his
confreres, who was as fatal to men and as loving
to dogs as himself, that when a distracted wife,
who had pleaded to him in vain for her husband's
life, in retiring from his presence, chanced to tread1
on his favorite spaniel's tale, he exclaimed, " Good
heavens, Madame! have you then no humanity ?"
In these instances of tenderness for brutes we
see the operation of that sympathy* which, being
diverted from men, still must have a vent, and
lavishes itself on the inferior races, to whom ita
sentimental possessor shows all kindness, because
from them he apprehends no mischief. We need
not, however, resort to the annals of the French
Revolution for examples of this warped direction
of pity or affection. Every day we see venerable
spinsters who delight in the moral murder of scan
dal, and guillotine a reputation between every cup
of tea, yet full of benignant charities to parrots,
or dogs, or cats, or monkeys. Those venerable
spinsters were, no doubt, once fond-hearted little
girls, and, while in their teens, were as much shock
ed at the idea of assassinating the character of pret
ty women and poisoning the honor of unsuspecting
hearths as they are now at the barbarity of pinch
ing Fidele's delicate paw or singeing Tabitha's in
offensive whiskers.

760 HARPER'S WEEKLY 7G1
GENERAL M'CLELLAN TAKING LEAVE CF HIS ARMY, NOVEMBER 10, 1862.-v-[SEE PAGE 759.]

762 HABPEB'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 29, 1862. NOVEMBER 29, 18G2.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 763
PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE.
THZ noon look'd down, and what did It see?
A deep TOW breathed betwixt you and me:
One, a girl In her fair spring-time;
One, a man In his earnest prime.
A TOW of friendship, and faith, and troth.
That should keep through yean the pledge of youth.
The moon looks down, and what don It nef
A broken TOW between yon and me.
Careless words and a whispering tongue
A Tell of doubt o'er the heart haTe flung;
Weakness In yon, and pride In me;
Two wTeral paths where one should be.
The moon will look down, and what will It nef
Two graves, two stones, for yon and me.
Bad that Immortal souls can play
With lore, as a toy to be east away I
Hard to get, and harder to keepl
This Is the sight that makes angels weep.
TAKEN BY STRATEGY.
A THANKSGIVING LOVE STORY.
THANKSGIVING DAT! -with a chill, gray sky,
and eudden fiurries of snow eddving through the
air like flights of white birds! Who would give a
flg for a sunshiny Thanksgiving Day ? Why, on*
might as well have Thanksgiving Day without a
turkey, as without its keen wind and fluttering
drifts of loarlet leaves making their moan among
the dimpled hollows of the lonely woods!
Deacon Jacob Marble fully appreciated the pos
session of both these necessary adjuncts to the day
of national gratitude; and therefore it was that his
brown, wrinkled face wore, such an aspect of con
tentment as he stood before the looking-glass tying
his checked silk neckerchief.
"We ain't rich people, Huldy," he slowly
enunciated; "but I don't see hut what we've as
much to keep Thanksgivin' for as most folks. The
harvests have been middlin' good, and things has
gone pretty prosperous, considerin*—"
The Deacon's little wife interrupted this leisure
ly tirade in wifelike fashion, by standing on tip
toe to jerk out the clumsy knot that her husband's
knobby brown fingers had constructed, and tying
it trimly anew.
"There!" she said, complacently eyiug her
work; " that's something like! You always take
hold of a cravat as though it were the handle of a
plow, Jacob 1"
The Deacon looked down upon the bright eyes
and plump cheeks of his helpmate with a brood
smile that was not unlike a sudden gieam of au
tumn sunehine on one of his own sere narvest fields,
as she stood there in the " go-to-meeting" costume
of sober New England—a drab satin bonnet, with
dark-blue bows inside, and a gray shawl wrapped
cozily around her shoulders.
" Maybe your right, Huldy," said the Deacon;
" but come—we shall be late to tneetin'."
"Well, I'm ready," responded Mrs. Marble,
briskly. " Bessy, be sure you watch the turkey,
and keep it well basted—and put in the pumpkin
pies when the brick oven is hot—and, Bessy, the
pudding—and the stewed apples, Bessy—"
" There, there!" interrupted the Deacon, tuck-
Ing his wife under his arm, and walking her off,
yet in the full tide of her directions, " Bess will do
well enough; she wouldn't be your daughter if sh«
wasn't smarter nor a steel trap."
"How yon da talk, Deacon!" ejaculated Mrs.
Marble, looking uneasily over her shoulder. " I
didn't remember to tell her about the chicken pies,
arter all. Shut the gate, Deacon, or Joe Crimea's
cows 11 be in eatin' the tops off every chrysanthe
mum I've got. I wonder if the minister '11 preach
any thing about the war; Deacon, don't you ?"
And thus, divided between thoughts temporal
and spiritual, the worthy matron went on her way
under the wing of the Deacon's butternut-colored
coat, toward the gray old church that nestled afar
off among the desolate hills, its spire already ob-
•cnred with a dizzy mist of snow-flakes.
Bessy Marble, thus left general-in-chief over the
well-marshaled forces of the larder, stood quietly
before the flre, tapping oms dainty foot on the pol
ished red-brick hearth, and thoughtfully playing
with the string of coral that encircled her round,
white throat. She was a dimpled, rosy little body,
with lips like the scsrlet geranium in the window,
and dark-blue eyes full of roguish sparkles—a
damsel, in short, whom you would have fancied
created for the special purpose of being kissed and
made much of. She knew it, too, the demure
fairy, for there was coquetry in every fold of the
crimson delaine drese she wore, and tspi'fglerie in
describable in the fluttering bows of ribbon that
fastened it! Right over tire mantle, an old look
ing-glass—Deacon Marble would have stared if you
had called it a mirror—reflected every dimple and
rose-tint on the peachy cheek, yet Bessy never
glanced at its flattering transcript. No—she looked
gravely into the blazing heart of the fire with an
unwonted dew before the blue eyes, and a pensive
shadow on her brow.
"I say, Bessy!"
She had not heard the door open, yet she did not
start when in the looking-glass she saw imaged
another form besides her own—that of a tall, stal
wart young man, in blue uniform, outlined with
curves of vivid scarlet. lie was a handsome fel
low too, dark-eyed and snn - embrowned, with
brown hair thrown carelessly back from his open
forehead.
"Chsrles, you here?" she asked, haK .-proach-
fully.
"Now don't scold, Bessy; there's ad 'ing! I
tried to keep away, upon my word I dM siut you
might as well expect a hungry bee to k> • i away
from a bunch of honey-suckles—I couldn't. tand it,
and so here I am!"
And he passed his arm abont her waist, and
looked, with a species of laughing defiance, down
into the blue deeps of hsr eyes.
" Don't, Charles!" she said, possibly allndlnf to
a kiss, which terminated his words in a manner
most satisfactory to himself. "When you knoto '
that ray father has forbidden you the house I"
"Know it? of course I know it, and that's the
reason I waited in the hazel copse until I saw the
good Deacon well on his way to church before I
walked in! But, Bessy," he added, in a graver
tone, " yon must own yourself that it is unjust for
your'father to dislike me simply for being poor.
He was a'poor boy himself when he married your
mother; I've heard him say so a dozen times 1
And as for Mark Vernon—"
" Hush, Charles 1" coaxed Bessy, placing her lit
tle hand over the young soldier's mouth. " Yon
know that I never would marry Mark Vernon were
he richer than Croesus himself!"
" Heaven bleu you for those words, love!" said
the young man, earnestly; " and yet I sometimes
fear—"
"Hush!" exclaimed Bessy, lifting her finger;
" I thought I heard the gate shut."
" Only your fancy, darling. And, as I was say-
Ing-"
Rat-tat-tat! rat-tat-tat-tat 1! thundered a pair
of vigorous knuckles on the door—click, click!
sounded the irresponsive latch, which Bessy had
secured after the departure of her parents.
"It is my father—I know his knock!" gasped
Bessy, in breathless trepidation. " If he should find
you here, Charles! What can bring him back?
Conceal yourself somewhere—the pantry, quick!"
" I can't! it's full of preserves and apple-bar
rels," said the fugitive, hurriedly surveying the
premises.
" The kitchen then. Oh, do make haste!"
"Hang it, I won't hide like a burglar!" ex
claimed the young soldier, half-laughing, half-de
fiant. " What have I done to be ashamed of?"
" For my sake, Charles!" pleaded the girl, as a
fresh shower of knocks descended oil the stout oaken
panels of the door, and the Deacon's voice was
heard clamoring for admittance. "Quick—he is
going round to the window I"
Charles Mellen looked around, in a sort of des
peration ; the clock-case was too small to get into
—the wood-box too narrow—the tea-kettle decided
ly impracticable—and, spurred by dire emergency,
the valiant son of Mars dropped on his knees, and
scrambled nimbly under the old-fashioned chintz-
covered lounge, or settee, that occupied the vacant
space between the windows. There he lay, shak
ing with suppressed laughter, behind the ample
valance of bloe-and-white chintz, a sort of extem
pore " masked battery," while Bessy hasted to un
bar the door.
" ThougTit yon was asleep !"growled the Deacon.
" I was just agoin' to try the winders I What on
airth made you so long a comin'?"
"I thought—I did not know—" stammered
Bessy, turning white and red alternately.
" Oh, you s'posed I was a robber!" said the Dea
con, breaking into a genial laugh. "Gals does
get the queerest notions into their heads sometimes.
I've come back arter my spectacles, for I don't
rightly fesl as if I tented what the parson said
without I could look him full in the face, and be
sides, I like to foller the psalm-singin'. Where do
you s'pose I could ha' left 'em ? Last I remember
havin' 'em I was settin' on that lounge, readin' the
paper."
" No, no, they are not there," faltered Bessy,
turning scarlet,' as the Deacon peered about the
chintz draperies. " Perhsps yon left them on the
clock shelf."
"Well, p'raps I did," said the old man, aban
doning his first idea, greatly to Bessy's relief.
" No I didn't, nuther. Good land! here they be,
in my gray waistcoat pocket. Well, I am glad.
I'll have to step spry though, if I calculate to over
take your mother before she gets to the meetin'-
house. Bessy," he added, as his foot was on the
threshold, " if you're really feared o" burglars, I'll
give up the Thanksgivin' sermon and stay 'long
with you."
" Oh no, father, indeed it is not necessary," said
Bessy, earnestly; " I am not at all afraid."
And she closed the door on the Deacon's broad
shoulders just as Charles Mellen emerged from the
sheltering folds of his retreat, with a face of comic
dismay.
" I was very nearly unearthed that time!" he
exclaimed, with a peal of merry laughter. " Sup
pose he had taken it into his head to prosecute
that search, aud hauled out a young man instead
of a pair of spectacles! Don't look so solemn,
Bessy."
"Leave me, Charles," pleaded the girl—"leave
me, you have no right here; and it would be far
wiser, far better for us both, were yon to go."
"But I haven't any idea of going," persisted the
young soldier—" at least not just yet. Listen to
me, Bessy darling—my own promised wife."
" I am listening," "she said, half turning away
her head, yet making no effort to withdraw the
hand which he had taken.
" Bessy, I have not yet told you why I am here
to-day. The fact is, that I have been away from
my regiment quite long enough. The trifling
wounds I received a few weeks since are entirely
healed, and I am going to try my luck once more
as a soldier of fortune. Bessy, my summons has
come, and I must march to-night."
"To-night?"
The fair head drooped upon his breast with a
low, bitter cry; the tears rained fast npon his sooth
ing hand.
"To-night!" he repeated. "I may never re
turn, Bessy, and I would fain have the right to
call you wife before I go. Dearest, it would be
such a strength, such a comfort to me! Will you
deny me this, the last request I may ever make?"
Still she sobbed on, her head pillowed on his
heart.
" I have loved you long and tenderly," lie re
sumed, "and I should_flght the better for knowing
that ray precious wife at home was praying for the
absent husband. Bessy, may I go to the battle
field with this buckler of strength abont my heart ?"
And when she lifted her tear-drenched eyes to
his he knew that the prize was wont
"But, Charles, when—"
"Now, dearest. Get your bonnet, and we'll
place it beyond the power of earthly hands to break
the bond between our two hearts. My own love,
if a life's devotion can reward you for this hour it
shall not be wanting 1"
The fitful snow-flurries of the morning had set
tled down into a good old-fashioned storm—drift
ing, drifting, in white blinding clouds around the
farm-house on the hill, folding the old stone fence
in ermine wreaths, and ridging tbe roof-trees with
alabaster. But within the pine-logs blazed cheeri
ly on the hearth; an(f the Deacon, sitting in their
genial glow, listened complacently to the hollow
moan of the wind among the forests. In the shad
ow beyond Bessy was musing, her cheeks softly
flushed and her eyes full of dreamy light.
"Bessy," quoth the Deacon, stooping to replace
a log which had just fallen apart in a shower of
bright sparks, " I've something to tell you, daugh
ter. Mark Vernon had a talk with me this mom-
in', arter meetin'."
"Well?" she said, quietly, a shade of pallor
creeping over her face.
" And he wants you to be his wife, Bessy—the
mistress of his store-houss and broad lands. What
do yon say, my child ?"
" I can not be his wife, father. I am married
already."
" Married!" repeated the Deacon, vaguely.
"To one, father, whom I have already given up
to his country. I became Charles Mellen's wife
while you were absent this morning; and he has
left his bride to do a man's behest—to die, if need
be, for the old flag, which he loves better than
wife, or home, or life itself! Father, say that you
forgive me; for I have onlv you and my mother
left to comfort me now!"
Poor little Bessy! her short-lived courage gave
way to a burst of tears; and when she lifted her
wet eyes from the old man's knee she knew that
she had not pleaded in vain.
"Bessy," said the Deacon, after a few moments'
pause, "you've done a rash thing; yet I can't,
somehow, find it in my heart to blame you, as per
haps I ought to do. I've always maintained that
the men who go forth to defend the Union deserve
to be rewarded with the richest treasures of our
hearts aJhd homes, and it's too late now tc%o back
from my word. Cheer up, my girl! When Charles
Mellen returns I shall not refuse to bestow my
brightest jewel upon him!"
And thus it was that the soldier wooed and won
his bride.
IN THE MOONLIGHT LONG AGO.
You love me well, I know, wife,
In spite of frown and toss;
In the moonlight long ago, wife,
Yon didn't look so cross;
In your little scarlet cloak, dear,
Yon tripp'd along the moss,
And all at once I spoke, dear,
Though sadly at a loss.
You hnng your pretty head, then,
And answer'd very low;
I scarce heard what you said, then,
But I knew it wasn't "No."
My joy I couldn't speak, love,
Bnt, a hundred times or so,
I kiss'd a velvet cheek, love,
In the moonlight long ago.
THE TENANT OF THE LUMBER-
ROOM.
I HAD made up my mind to take an old house at
Brocklehurst, if it suited me on inspection, and I
hired a boy to pilot me thither.
" There," he said, as we came out of a thick fir
plantation, and stood on the edge of a dreary broken
bit of common covered with goree and heath, "do
you see the red brick house yonder by the gravel-
pit?" I looked the way his finger pointed, and
through the gathering twilight just discerned a
long low building. 'Til tell you what, Sir," he
said, in a low tone, and coming closer to my side,
" there's not a lad in all the village would venture
round there after nightfall, for there was murder
done at that house not two years ago."
"Murder!" I exclaimed.
" Yes, and the crnelest murder it was too. An
old gentleman used to live there—not so very old
either, not'much past sixty, I've heard say; but
however that might be, he lived there quite alone,
except for one young servant-woman, who kept his
house. A pleasant-spoken lass Ann Forrest was,
and many's the kind word she's said to me when
she's been to mother's shop. She always seemed
to take great care of her old master, and no won
der, for he was the best old man that ever lived,
and a good master to her; bnt he had money laid
by, and that must have tempted her, for one morn
ing some labore/s going past found the front-door
open, the housa deserted, and the poor old gentle
man lying covered with blood, and

764 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBEH 29, 1862,
NOVEMBER 29, 18fi2.~) HARPER'S WEEKLY. 7G5
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7G6 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 29, 1862.
NOVEMBEII 29, i«G2.] HARPER'S WEEKLY.
REGINALD MAKSDEISPS ATONE
MENT.
ALICE GBAFTON, the gentle heroine of this brief
record of real life, had been committed to her aunt's
charge-when her father, Captain Grafton, and his
beloved wife sailed for India, where, after throe
years' residence, Mrs. Grafton fell a victim to anx
iety and an unhealthy climate. At the termination
of the Soinde war Major Grafton returned to En
gland sick and wounded. His native air, the ten
der assiduities of his maluen sister. Laura Grafton,
and his young daughter Alice, and the peace and
tranquillity of an English home, partially restored
liis health. To the unspeakable joy of Alice he
rallied for a time, and traveled with her and his
sister for three years in Switzerland and Germany;
but an old wound having opened afresh, from over-
exertion, he returned to England in a precarious
state. Feeling that probably he might not recov
er, he summoned to Atwood his did school-fel
low and meet intimate friend, Mr. Maraden, under
whose guardianship, conjointly with that of Miss
Grafton, he desired to place Alice. Mr. Marsden
was accompanied by his eldest son, Reginald. It
was during this visit that a» Incident occurred
which had a powerful influence upon the after-life
of the three persons concerned in the occurrence.
Reginald Marsden, at that time eighteen years of
age, had rescued Alice from drowning, and had also
saved the life of little Jessie Moore, a motherless
child, whom Alice, pitying her neglected state, had
made her little attendant and companion.
This Jessie Moore was one oT those bright little
beings whose faces sometimes beam upon us from
beneath the shadows of a rustic porch, or from out
of a frame of foliage clustering round a cottage
window. She had a fervent and enthusiastic na
ture, an intense love of the beautiful, and, alas I
perhaps an Innate distaste for the rough realities
of poverty. Two years after the handsome, dark-
eyed lady had saved her life, poor Jessie was taken
away from her gentie young mistress to accompany
a drunken, brutal father to London, where she was
apprenticed to a West-end milliner. Before the
first twelvemonth of this apprenticeship had elapsed
Jessie disappeared, leaving no trace by which she
could be followed. Alice Grafton had been cruelly
distressed at hearing this bad news of her favorite.
Too pure to impute evil, she attributed Jessie's dis
appearance to some ill-treatment or unkindness
from her mistress or her father. Miss Grafton
caused an advertisement to be inserted in the Tmtt
imploring the wanderer to return, and she consult
ed Reginald Marsden as to the propriety of search
ing further for the missing girl. But he had an
swered her letter coldly, telling hef that all that
could be done had been done, and that further in
terference in the business would be useless.
Shortly after this Major Grafton died, and nearly
five /oars elapsed before Alice and Reginald again
met During the interval Mr. Marsden had died,
and on Reginald now devolved the guardianship of
Alice. Previous to her coming of age, a few law
matters req airing arrangement, Mr. Reginald Mars
den had pi id a visit of some weeks at Atwood.
Alice and he had met with mutual pleasure.
Neither had forgotten the beloved playmate of
childhood. The delight they felt in each other's
society was soon perceptible to Miss Grafton, who
neither promoted nor discouraged the growing at
tachment, but allowed—how often the wisest plan!
•—things to take their own course.
The evening before he was to leave Atwood,
Reginald asked Alice to take a favorite walk and
view the sunset from a neighboring hill. Both
felt that it was their last walk for a long time to
gether, and both were sad and silent. As they
were gazing on a splendid auturnu sunset, " Alice,"
said Reginald abruptly, "asyonder sun sets below
the horizon, so will sink the sun of my happiness
when I leave Atwood. I am unworthy to claim
even a friend's place in yonr pure thoughts, yet I
must tell you what your influence over me has
effected. Do j'on remember, even in our child
hood, how your sweet pleading eyes could calin my
wildest passions? and through the years during
which we have been parted, never have I done
wrong but their mournful gaze wss upon me.
And now I feel that henceforth you are my guard
ian angel. If ever I shall achieve any thing great
or good it will be your work." Alice answered
not, but her hand trembled on his arm. " Alice,"
continued Reginald, after a pause, " if in future
years I become less unworthy of you may I—dare
I—hope ? Or if you withhold your love, will you
at least think of me as a friend ?" Alice held out
her hand. " I will be ever your friend, Reginald,"
she said; " more I dare not say. It was my dear
father's last wish, that before I promised more, a
paper, which he left in your father's care, should
be consulted." " That paper is in my hands now,"
said Reginald. "May I give it you to-night?
But, Alice, supposing your father sanctioned onr
—our union, what woujd your heart answer?".
Alice placed both her hands in his. Reginald cov-
ered them with kisses.
The paper that Reginald opened that evening
contained a wish that Alice's choice might rest on
one of the sons of his valued friend, Charles James
Marsden. Alice lay down to rest that night doubly
blessed in the thought that her father had sanc
tioned her love.
The engagement between Alice and Reginald
rendered a visit to London absolutely necessary,
and Miss Grafton wrote to her family physician
and intimate friend, Dr. King, requesting him to
engage apartments in the neighborhood of Russell
Square, where he himself lived. Alice felt a child
ish pleasure in this visit, and she determined to
seize the opportunity of endeavoring to gain tidings
of her lost protegee, Jessie Moore.
A happy month had passed away, almost like a
dream, so swiftly had the days flown by in quiet
visits to the picture-galleries, museum, and con
certs ; Alice always happy with Reginald by her
side to direct her judgment and improve her taste.
In the bright days of early summer they made fre
quent excursions to favorite spots within easy ac
cess of the metropolis. Charles Marsden now paid
a visit to his brother; and by his cheerful manners
and well-stored mind made a pleasant addition to
the party. Though less accomplished and fasci
nating than his brother, Miss Grafton preferred
Charles to Reginald, and wished that her niece's
choice had fallen on the younger brother.
But Alice loved Reginald with the unquestion
ing devotion of her earnest, enthusiastic nature,
with the perfect trust of an innocent heart. The
very essence of this trustful first-love is its faith in
the worthiness of the beloved. Shatter-that quiet
confidence, that perfect reliance, and you strike a
blow to the very root of love. Pity, regret, sym
pathy, affection, may remain; but the love that
has faith has perished.
Alice and her aunt sat one evening in their pleas
ant drawing-room, overlooking the Foundling Gar
dens, expecting Mr. Marsden, who came every
evening, from his chambers in the Temple, to drink
tea with Miss Grafton and her niece. Alice was
silent, but it was the silence of content. She had
spent the previous day with her aunt, Reginald,
and Charles at Windsor. The splendid old palace
and the noble park had claimed their admiration.
They had rambled found the lovely Vlrgimla wa
ters, and Icet themselves in the spreading forest,
with its bright oases of flowers. A bright June
sun had wrapped the young foliage in radiance,
and with sunshine in their hearts and around them,
they had all agreed tbat it had indeed been a most
happy day. Many years passed before one of them
could remember that day without a pang.
Alice Bat at the window listening for Reginald's
step, when a poorly clad, but respectable-looking
woman caught her attention. A double knock
sounded on ttx door below, but was not the famil
iar rat-tat, every stroke of which wss music to
Alice's ears. Mr. Charles Marsden was announced,
the servant adding that a poor woman was wait
ing below, who begged to see Miss Alice. Charles
brought his brother's excuses, whom earnest busi
ness detained at his chambers. Alice, with a sigh,
went to the woman. In less than ten minutes she
returned to the drawing-room. " Aunt, dear," she
said, " I want Charles to go with me a little way;
I think we may, perhaps, hear something of poor
Jessie. Charles, will you come?" Mr. Marsden
gladly assented.
" Charles," said Alice, as they left the house,
" I did not wish to alarm my aunt, but I fear some
thing terrible has happeued to poor Jessie. Look
here!" She handed him a slip of paper, blotted
with tears, containing these words:
" Dear Miss Alice, I am so very, very miserable
that, weak and guilty as I have been, I know you
will pity me. Last week I saw your sweet face as
you got out of a carriage, but I dared not speak to
you—you so good and pure, and J so fallen and
wretched. Oh, why did you not let me die six
long years ago ? When I saw you I resolved to
write and entreat your pity for my poor baby, but
it is useless now." The poor scrawl broke off ab
ruptly, and the last words were almost illegible,
so blotted were they with the tears that had fallen
upon them.
It was a mean, narrow street to which the wo
man had directed Alice. She was watching for
them at the door of a poor-looking house, and con
ducted them up a narrow, close staircase into a small
room, which was scantily furnished, but neat and
clean. In a cot lay a pretty child, about twelve
months old. A smile rested on the little thin face,
but the eyes were closed in death. Alice's tears
fell fast as she looked at it, and listened to the wo
man's sad story of its mother.
" She was quite a young thing, Miss, though so
pale and wan. She came here just before baby
was born, nigh a twelvemonth back. How she
did dote on it, to be sure! She was BO sad, and
never would speak to any one but me; and I think
she took to me because I noticed baby. It was a
nice little thing, with beautiful dark eyes; but it
never throve. It had been ill some days, and its
cries distracted its poor mother. Yesterday she
said to me, ' Baby must have a doctor. I want
you to go to such a house' (your house, Miss),' and
see Miss Alice, and tell her that little Jessie Moore,
that she was so kind to years ago, entreats her to
Bend a doctor to her little boy.' Then she told me,
Miss, how you tried once to save her from drown
ing, and how she wished you had let her die then,
that she might have been spared so much misery
and sin. This morning, quite early like, she
knocked at ny door; never shall I forget her look
as she said,' Baby is dead! I am going out.' She
was quite calm, and didn't shed a tear, but her
eyes looked wild like. I went up—I soon went up
to her room, and there lay the poor little thing
deed. I washed and dressed It, and laid it in its
little cot; all day I watched and waited for its
poor mother to come back, but she never came.
So I thought, Miss, I would make bold and come
to you, as mayhap you might have seen her. I
found the bit of paper with name on it, and there
is another letter or something on that table, if you
would please to look at it."
Almost mechanically Alice moved to the table,
followed by Charles. The letter of which the wo
man had spoken lay there open, as the wretched
girl had left it when she rushed from the house.
At the same moment their eyes rested on these
words: "Abandoned by you, I had still my child
to cling to: it is dead; I can bear life no longer!
May God have-mercy on us!—JESSIE."
"I think this is the address, Miss," said the wo
man ; " I U|gk a letter for her there once, soon after
baby was born. How she did long for an answer,
poor thing! but it never came." The woman held
toward Alice atom, crumpled envelope; the name
upon it was Reginald Marsden, Esq.
Alice took the crumpled paper from the woman's
hand, and gazed at it with a strange, half vacant
stare. Presently, rousing herself as from a trance,
sbe whispered, "What can we do? think for me,
Charles, for I can not."
Charles Marsden's first thought was to hurry
Alice away. As they left the house they met Dr.
King. " Dear Miss Alice," laid he, hurriedly," I
have just left your aunt; I called to tell you that
I think I have found your Jessie. It is a sad tale,
though. A poor young woman, picked up out of
the river, was brought to the hospital just as I was
leaving to-day. The house-surgeon asked me to
see her. It was a long time before they could get
life into her again, so I tried a remedy which I
once found succeed when other means had failed.
Gradually she came to, and was able to speak be
fore 1 left. As the nurses were chafing her hands
a ring fell off. I took it up, and inside were en
graved the words, Jessie M. Moore, I think you
told me was the name. This poor thing does not
look more than eighteen, so it is very likely your
Jessie. But if you do not mind coming with me
to-morrow, you can judge for yourself." The doc
tor soon left them.
" Charles," said Alice, " I can not go in just now,
let ua walk round the square."
They walked up and down the smooth gravel
path for some time in silence. Charles Marsden
looked, from time to time, at his companion's sweet
face. It w. s as white as death, but as calm as the
face of an an^el. No tears quivered upon the soft
dark lashes that drooped over the tender blue eyes;
the delicate mouth was now and then disturbed by
a faint, tremulous motion, painfully expressive of
the speechless grief which had fallen so heavily on
the untried heart. At last she murmured, rathor
to herself than Charles, " Oh, how dreadful the
thonght that he should have been guilty of such
cruelty—such dishonor! Jessie—the girl whose
life he saved, whom he know in our happy home!"
Charles attempted not to console her; he felt
too keenly that he could give no comfort here. No
mortal voice, no mortal pity, could console her in
such a grief as this. How mournfully they paced
those pleasant leafy inclosures which Alice had
looked upon so lately from her open window, listen
ing to the merry voices of the children, and taking
a pleased interest in their games! And now, in
the bitterness of unutterable sorrow, she looked
back at her past life, and wondered at its happi
ness. After a long silence she stopped at the gate
of the iuclosure and gave Charles her hand. "No
one must know this but him," she said; "I will
take oaro of Jessie. Charles, I trust to you."
When Alice re-entered the house she found her
aunt occupied with some friends, and, leaving them
together, she retired to her room—retired, not to
sleep, not to think, but to pray. A dreadful blank
had blotted out the bright picture of her life, yet
she thought not of that, she thought only of Regi
nald and Jessie; with her whole heart and strength
she pleaded for the guilty and the unhappy. She
thanked God, oh how fervently! that life had been
spared. A holy calm at length succeeded the agi
tation of her spirits; she rose from a sleepless couch
and opened her window. The cool air of early
morning fanned her heated cheek; the first bright
streak of dawn jjhone through the trees, and shed
a ray of hope on'her heart. It seemed like a bright
messenger from heaven sent to bid her not despair.
She lay down and slept.
With a calm demeanor but a beating heart
Alice accompanied Dr. King to the hospital. In
a small room off the accident-ward lay Jessie, a
blank image of despair. She raised her hot, heavy
eyelids as the doctor entered, but when she saw
Alice a burning flush suffused her features, and she
covered her face with her hands. Alice bent over
her in silence. At length a tear fell on the bowed
head, and a tender voice murmured, "My poor
Jessie!" The doctor left them together.
Tears now trickled through the thin fingers that
were clasped before Jessie's face. "Dear Miss
Alice," sobbed the wretched girl, "if you knew all,
you too would shun me; you would shrink from
me like the rest, and—"
" Hush, Jessie, not now," murmured Alice, in a
soothing tone; " when yon are bstter you shall
tell me all. God has been very merciful in saving
yyur life, and in bringing us together. In our
greatest trials He will not forsake us if we trust in
Him."
" Yes, you who are so good, bnt I—" A gentle
hand covered her mouth.
" I have not had your temptations, my poor
girl, but I too have suffered." The anguish of the
tone went to Jessie's heart. The hand was pressed
fervently to her lips. "Listen to me, dear Jessie,"
Alice continued more calmly. "You are very
weak now, quiet alone can restore you. Leave
every thing to me. I have seen youvlittle boy."
Another flood of tears came to Jessie's relief, and
Alice wept with her. With the quick perception
of affection Miss Grafton soon perceived that Alice
suffered from a deeper rooted grief than she could
naturally feel from poor sinning Jessie's misfor
tunes. She missed from her niece's finger the ring
that Reginald had given her, but she forbore to so
licit a confidence that was not freely given, and
with the tatt of true sympathy avoided all allusion
to Mr. Maraden. Poor Alice felt that hers was a
grief too sacred even for affection to share.
In the evening Charles Marsden called, and he
also shunned all reference to his brother, except
while Alice was out of the room, when he apolo
gized to Miss Grafton for Reginald's absence.
When he left, Alice followeoWiim into the hall, and
gave him a small packet for his brother. It con
tained the ring.
That evening Jessie Moore was seized with the
wild delirium of a brain fever, ft was an anxious
time for Alice and her aunt, who both spent many
hours by the sufferer's side; and when reason at
last returned tried every means in their power to
soothe and cheer her. When all danger was over,
Miss Grafton proposed to Alice that they should
leave .London, and go for a few weeks to the sea-side,
and at Alice's request took a lodging near them for
Jessie Moore, whose unaffected penitence had se
cured for her the pitying tenderness of the kind old
lady. Once Miss Grafton spoke to her niece of
Reginald Marsden: "I take it for granted, dear
Alice, that all is over between you and Mr. Mars
den. I seek not, darling, to know your secret, and
I have such confidence in your strong sense and
noble heart that I am sure that it is no girlish
pique, ro foolish misunderstanding, that has sep
arated you." " It is not, indeed, my dear aunt."
" And Mr. Marsden submits to your decision ?"
asked Miss Grafton. " He does ; because he feels
that I am right. The secret is of so painful a na
ture, dearest aunt, that if you would make me hap
py, pray never speak of it again."
Settled quietly at Eastbourne, It was a balm to
Alice's heart to watch the bloom of health gradu
ally return to poor Jessie's wasted cheek. The
sea-breezes invigorated her drooping frame, and
the sweet companionship of Alice elevated anil
strengthened her mind. Like most English wo
men, Alice was undemonstrative; her inind, like
her beauty, was less suited to dazzle the imagina
tion than to win the heart. She had loved deeply,
devotedly, yet she could judge justly for herself and
others. The calm strength of her character, her
firm trust in Divine love, gave her an unconscious
Influence over all who loved her.
Jessie, warm-hearted and impetuous, with more,
vehemence of character, and a far less regulated
mind, clung to her with childlike devotion. Alice
also rejoiced in the love she had inspired, and
strove, like a ministering angel, to pour balm into
the wounded heart, to awaken Jessie's mind to a
just sense of the duties and responsibilities of life,
and inspire her with that faith in the Divine love
which shed so bright a light over Alice's own path.
Jessie's story was listened to with gentle pity,
but never referred to afterward. Before she left
London Alice received one communication from
Reginald. He wrote thus: " Teach me what
atonement I can make to you and to her. I can
not love her, but I will marry her if you think it
right."
When Jessie opened her heart, Alice had said,
" Jessie, if he offered to marry you, not loving you,
but froui-a sense of duty, would you marry him ?"
Jessie murmured, in a broken voice, "If his child
had lived I might have answered Yes; but it is so
different now. Do not think me proud, dear Miss
Alice, but I can not accept his pity." Alice con
veyed Jessie's answer to Reginald, and only added
these words: "Jessie is my charge now."
Alice and her aunt now consulted seriously on
Jessie's future. They thought it best that she
should make a living for herself. She had a fine
soprano voice, which, if cultivated, might give her
independence. Alice's former singing-master was
willing to receive the penitent girl into his family,
and give her instruction in singing for three years,
at the end of which time she might be able to gain
her own living. Jessie parted with her noble young
protectress with tears of gratitude, and resolutely
and industriously began her new career. Mr. Les
lie was so well satisfied with the beauty and flexi
bility of her voice, and pleased with her aptitude
and gentleness, that he begged that, if he succeeded,
as he hoped, in preparing her for a flrst-rate concert-
singer, she would come out under his name.
Alice and her aunt went home to resume tbeir
old life at Atwood. Years passed on. Miss-Graf
ton and Alice often saw Mr. Reginald Marsden's
name in the newspapers as leading counsel in the
Northern Circuit. He had early gained some stand
ing in his profession. His ambition was gratified,
Alice thought, but was he happy ? Charles occa
sionally paid them a visit. He had for some years
left college and entered on the duties of a country
clergyman. An old friend of his father had given
him a small living in a pretty Somersetshire vil
lage. He confided to Alice his own plans and
prospects, but he dared not venture to speak of his
brother's.
A half-yearly visit to Atwood and a regular and
intimate correspondence only increased Jessie's de
votion to Alice, who was her guide, her counselor,
and friend. And when in her profession her great
beauty and brilliant voice laid her open to flattery
and temptation, the memory of the one blot on her
early life, and the love of the gentle being*who had
rescued her from ruin, preserved her from danger.
Mr. and Mrs. Leslie, who had no children of their
own, were as proud and almost as fond of her us
if she had been their daughter, and she still re
sided with them. Six years had passed when Al
ice received a letter, written in a hand whose well-
known characters she could not even now trace
without emotion. It contained these words:
"Forgive me if I dare to break the long silence
between us. For the pain which you suffered six
long years since I ask not forgiveness. I can not "
forgive myself. In the calm sufficiency of your
own pure life you can not realize the desolatenesa
of mine. The bright hopes that I once cherished
blasted through my own crimes, I shunned society
and wrapped myself in my profession. I gained
repute which brought no satisfaction, for I was
alone. An angel once blessed my path ; and
though my own guilty madness had forfeited the
blessing, still the memory of that pure love ren
dered all mercenary and unholy ties odious.
"You are, and have been for years, the loadstar
of a far nobler heart than mine. I would not have
it otherwise. Still there is one who once loved me
whose tenderness I feel I could repay with devotion
if she would only let me make reparation for the
dreadful past." *
This letter caused Alice much anxiety. There
could be so little sympathy now between the mis
anthropic barrister and the beautiful songstress,
whose short career in public had been one ovation
of applause. True, Jessie still wore the ring he
gave her, and Alice thought that, at all events,
they had better meet. She therefore begged her
aunt to invite the two brothers to meet them at
Christmas, which festive season Jessie was to spend
at Atwood. Miss Grafton, not a little surprised at
the request, acceded to it, and Bent an invitation to
both the brothers.
One evening Reginald Marsden sauntered into
Exeter Hall. It was unusual for him to visit any
place of amusement, as he shunned any chance of
meeting with his former friends. He was late,
and seated himself under the orchestra. A lady
was singing one of the beautiful airs of the MessicJi.
The earnest tones of the pure, clear voice seemed
like a breath of the past, wafted over his hard, joy-
767
less life, summoning him to a higher existence.
His heart was softened; he longed to live a differ
ent life. Engrossed with these thoughts, he left
the hall without even casting a glance at the singer.
It was a snowy afternoon when Charles one
Reginald Marsden arrived at Exeter, and proceeded
on the branch line to Atwood. The train, impedec
by the snow, which had only been partially cleared
from the line, moved slowly on. It hsd nearly
reached the Atwood station when the danger-
whistle sounded, and a red light gleamed in thj
distance. There was a sudden jerk—a crash. The
engine was off the lines. Shrill screams of terror
now arose on all sides. Lights and help were
quickly on the spot. The two carriages next to
the engine were shattered; several persons were
seriously injured. Charles Marsden was not hurt;
Reginald was taken up insensible.
An invitation to Atwood had been Alice's only
answer to Reginald Marsden's letter, but he under
stood her motives, and felt that she had yielded to
his wishes, and that he should meet Jessie Moore
at Atwood. It was with strange, conflicting emo
tions-thai he had looked forward to meeting Alice
and Jessie, and began the journey which had ended
so unhappily.
Alice and her aunt were momentarily expecting
the brothers. Their pretty drawing-room, gay
with winter foliage—for Miss Grafton loved old
Christmas customs—was lit up by a crackling log
fire, which gilded even the snow-covered shrubs
round the low bay-windows. A servant entered
hurriedly, and said, " James has just come back,
ma'am, and says there's been an accident on the
railway, and one of the Mr. Marsdens U hurt."
"Send James instantly with the carriage for
Dr. Wilmhurst."
In half an hour the carriage returned, and Al
ice, with a deathlike shudder, beheld Reginald,
still insensible, earned into the house. The doc
tor was with him, who said the internal injuries
were not dangerous; the brain was affected—slight
ly, he hoped. Great care and quiet were needed.
An hour elapsed before consciousness returned.
For a month Reginald was confined to his room.
Alice, with thoughtful kindness, had put off Jes
sie's visit, who happened to be with the Leslies,
in Edinburgh, and so did not bear even of the ac
cident, and Alice had given her no intimation of
whom she was likely to meet at Atwood.
Charles had been obliged to return to his parish
duties. It was with a sad, yet strangely-sweet
feeling, that Reginald had, through his illness, felt
himself the object of unceasing care from Miss
Grafton and Alice. It was pleasant to know him
self dependent on them alone.
Miss Grafton paid him daily visits; brought
him books of Alice's choosing—not the romantic
poetry that they had once read together, but Spen-
aer, Longfellow, and those wholesome fictions that
have strong plain truths in them. There was such
a home-like feeling, too, at Miss Graf ton's. Regin
ald thought with regret of going out into the world
again; his world of toil and money-getting, where
men's wits are sharpened and their hearts become
stone. He trusted there might one day be a link
between Alice and himself; not the one the break
ing of which had caused such agony to both, but
one of brotherly, sisterly affection. He had insist
ed, while his brother remained, that he should not
bear him company; he liked to think of Alice aud
Charles being together, and had once or twice from
his window watched them walking in the shrub
bery.
With a languid step Reginald, for the first time,
entered the sitting-room. Alice rose. She was
very pale, and held out her hand. They looked
into each other's face. What a change in both!
He with the lines of care and thought deeply graven
on his features, haggard with recent illness; she
with the trace of a deep sorrow on her sweet face.
She -wheeled a chair for him to the fire, and gently
expressed her pleasure at his recovery. For some
uinutes Ire could not speak; at last, wi'h a (hoked
eoice, he muttered, "Alice, your fo-giveness."
She gave him her hand. His hot tears fell on it,
as he bent over it and pressed it to his lips.
On the next evening Alice, her aunt, and Reg
inald were together in the quiet little drawing-
room, in the dusky winter twilight, when Miss
Leslie's arrival was announced. The young con
cert-singer, now an elegant-looking womun, greet
ed Alice and her aunt with the warmth of grati
tude and affection; then, seeing a stranger, paused.
Miss Graftou hurriedly introduced Reginald as a
friend who had met with an accident on the rail
way. Mr. Marsden and Jessie saluted each other
with the cold recognition of strangers. Alice drew
her friend away—they evidently did not remember
each other—she would tell her quietly next day.
How 4aintily Alice arranged poor Jessie's collar
and hair in the pretty little bedroom which had
been prepared for the expected visitor! Jessie
smiled at the trouble her friend took with her simple
toilet. Certainly the beautiful face and graceful
figure needed not the ornament of dress.
They returned to the drawing-room. The lamp
had not yet been lighted. Reginald Marsden was
seated in an easy-chair, between the fire-place and
the piano, which had been moved into a cozy cor
ner, close to the angle of the chimney-piece. The
red blaze of the fire rose and fell, sometimes vividly
illuminating the chamber with its cheerful light,
sometimes leaving all in shadowy obscurity. Jes
sie and Alice seated themselves near the window,
and at a considerable distance from the invalid.
Presently, however, in the course of an animated
conversation about mnsic, the young songstress al
luded to a duet which she wanted Alice to learn.
" I bave arranged your music on the piano,
dear," Alice said. " Will you fetch this wonder
ful duet ?"
Jessie glanced shyly at the fancied stranger; but
rising from her neat, crossed the room toward the
open piano.
Reginald watched the graceful figure* Broadway. eor/DuaiBt-N.Y.
—— ' -•--'— -" —*• — -
at J. EVKKDELL'B
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RAILWAYTIME KEEPERS
Especially adapted for Army salea. Good imitation
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others, making a half dozen, at regular wholesale rates,
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south of the Fotomac will have to send payment in ad
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Tab IB one of the most saleable articles of the times, and
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Address orders at once to
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FRIENDS OF SOLDIERS!
All Articles for Soldiers at Baltimore, Washington, Hil-
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SOMETHING NEW.
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Four packs mailed free on receipt of One Dollar. The
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fr A Kea Edition, read!/ Xov. 26, the
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G. E. M. I. V. B.
Mettam & Co.'s Galvano Electro Metallic Insoles aud
Voltaic Belts, Armlets,

1(11
7G8 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [NOVEMBER 29, 1862.
OLD MOTHER BUCHANAN AT WHEATLAND.
(Compare Richard III.)
0. coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me 1
The lights burn bine. It is now dead midnight:
Cold fearful drops gtnnd on my trembling flesh.
Is there a murderer here? No. Yes: I am.
Then fly—What! from myself. ....
I am a villain. Yet I lie, I nm not.
Fool, of tfiyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
ANOTHER DIPLOMATIC MESS.
JOHH CHINAMAN. "Me no 'Merikan Man — you no Draftee me—you Draftee me, me appeal
to my Government. My Government be Much Mad!"
ADVER/PHiRMENTS.
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And every tongue condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in tho highest degree,
Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree,
All several sins, all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar, cry'rag all—guilty! guilty!
I thrill despair. There is no creature loves me:
And if I die, no soul will pity me!
(Vide BDCHANAN'B Reply to GENERAL SCOTT.)
Patent Office Notice.
During the past Seventeen years M«nn. Munn & Co.,
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CHINA AND GLASS!
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770
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
[DECEMBEB 6,1862.
FOLLOWING THE DRUM.
" KIBB me good-by, my dear 1" he Raid;
"When I come b»ck we will be wed." -
Crying, sha kissed him, " Good-hy, Ned!"
And the soldier followed the drum,
The drum,
The echoing, echoing drum.
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Follow me, follow me, each true man;
Living or dying, strike wh'ie you cau!
And the soldiers followe 1 the drum,
The dram,
The echoing, echoing drum.
Proudly and firmly marched off the men,
Who had a sweet-heart thought of her then;
Tears were coming, hut brave lips smiled when
The soldiers followed the dram,
The drum,
The echoing, echoing drum.
One, with a woman's curl next to his heart,
He felt her last smile pierce like a dart;
She thought " death in life" comes when we part
From soldiers following the dram,
The drum,
The echoing, echoing dram.
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
SATUKUAY, DECEMBER 6, 1862.
THE FRENCH PROVOSAL TO
MEDIATE.
Nli
M ONSIEUR DROTJYN DE L'HUYS, the
new French Minister of State, appears to
have inaugurated his accession to power by a
proposal addressed to the British and Russian
Governments, to the effect that they should me
diate in our war. We are not yet in possession
of the precise terms of the proposal. But we
gather from Earl Ruseell's reply that the French
Government, anxions to avert further effusion
of blood, and further sufferings by the working-
classes in Europe, proposed to the British and
Russian Governments that they should jointly
tender their good offices as mediators to the
Government at Washington, and simultaneously
to the insurgents at Richmond, with a view to
ascertain whether some adjustment of the pend
ing strife could not be discovered. It does not
appear that the French offer went beyond this,
for Earl Russell in his reply observes that "a
refusal from Washington at the present time
•would prevent any speedy renewal of the offer
of the Government:" from which it may fairly
be inferred that it was not proposed to follow
up unsuccessful attempts to mediate by armed
intervention.
This proposal Great Britain declined to en
tertain, as appears by a dispatch from Earl Rus
sell dated November 13; for the reason that
"there is no ground at the present moment to
hope that the Federal Government would ac
cept the proposal suggested." Russia would
appear to have simultaneously declined to act
upon the French suggestions, though the Czar
seems to have promised to support any endeav
ors which may be made by England and France.
Upon these replies the Moniteur, the official
organ of the French Government, remarks that
they settle the question of mediation for the
present.
We have thns, in any event, a further breath
ing spell, during which, if we are alive to the
emergency, and true to ourselves, we may do
enough toward the suppression of the rebellion
to secure another and a final adjournment of
the mediation scheme.
For our part we have never regarded the for
eign intervention bugbear with much concern,
nor do we now. Diplomatic offers to mediate
will possess no more practical importance than
the speeches of Mr. John Van Buren to our
"wayward sisters." The only thing w« have
ever had to fear is actual armed intervention
with armies and fleets; and that, at the pres
ent time, would be at least as perilons to the
nations intervening as to ourselves. Our navy
is rapidly assuming proportions, both in regard
to the class and the number of the vessels com
posing it, which will enable us to cope with the
combined navies of Europe. Before any com
bined European military and naval expedition
could be got ready and sent across the Atlantic,
there is reason to believe that we shall be in
possession of every port where they aoold effect
a binding with a view to ulterior operations. We
are in a very different position now from what
we were when the Trent affair occurred. And
though European intervention would of course
protract the war, and render our task more severe
than it is, it would do at least as much injury to
the powers which intervened as to ns. If they
bombarded Portland, we might bombard Liver
pool. If they captnred onr ships, we should
capture theirs. They might try to send the
Warrior to "lie broadside to the streets of New
fork and Hoboken," and she might get there,
• or not, as the affair turned ont. But we know
that Farragnt could do in the Thames what he
did in the Mississippi, and steam np to London
Bridge with a fleet of impregnable iron-clads.
So of the French. They might do ns a vast
deal of mischief, no doubt. But if the war be
gan, we fancy that a good many French ports
would be demolished before it cudcj; the tubs
baptized La Gloire and La Normandie would
have gone to their last reckoning under the 15-
inch shot of our Monitors; and the brave little
French army in Mexico would never see la belle
France again. Would the game be worth the
candle in either case ? We think not, and there
fore we have never believed in foreign armed in
tervention. Both England and France know
too well what war costs to rush into it without a
well-defined and substantial object.
It has been a great misfortune for this coun
try that the Emperor of the French, who is a fair
man and naturally well disposed toward theUnit-
cd States, should have been represented here ever
since the war began by Monsieur Mercier—a
man heartily hostile to us and to our institutions,
and cordially friendly to the rebels and their in
stitutions. So little discretion has this French
man possessed that he has never made the least
secret of his sympathy with the rebels. He has
ponred into every ear to which he had access his
confident predictions of the success of the rebel
lion, and his joy at the prospect. He has been
the foremost of the rebel sympathizers at Wash
ington in deriding our troops, vilifying onr
Government, sneering at our generals, and cnlo-
gizing our enemies. Not even the knaves who
abuse us at so much a column in the London
Times have been more malevolent and more
basely unjust than this French emhassador.
Equally forgetful of the traditions of his own
country and of the respect he owed to ours, as a
foreign minister resident here, he has made him
self prominent for two. years as an apologist for
slavery, a foe to freedom, and an ally of the
worst enemies the French ever had. We have
reason to know—what can be readily believed—
that this man's dispatches to his Government
have uniformly accorded with his conversation
in society. If the Emperor hat relied npon
him for information about this country, he may
honestly believe that all hopes of the restora
tion of the Union are ended; that the North is on
the eve of exhaustion; that our armies will not
fight; that our generals do not know how to lead
them ; that the South is stronger than ever; that
theirs is the cause of justice and right, and ours
the cause of wrong and oppression. Some of
these representations may have been corrected
by Mr. Dayton. But there must still have re
mained a sufficient number unconnected to create
a bias in the Emperor's mind. We do not be
lieve that the Emperor will ever pursue any
policy which may have the effect of introducing
into the family of nations a state "based on the
corner-stone of human shivery." But we might
have enjoyed more active sympathy from our
old ally, France, had she not been represented
here, at this critical time, by a roan equally de
void of political wisdom and moral convictions,
and possessing neither the decency to refrain
from making his embasey a head-quarters for
rebel sympathizers, nor the self-respect to with
draw from a conrt where he is universally and
intensely hated and despised.
For us, this mediation scheme should teach
us one lesson, and one only—to hasten the work
of putting down the rebellion. There is not an
hour to be lost. Every day wasted by Burnside,
Rosecrans, Grant, M'Clernand, Banks, Porter,
Farragut, and Dupont increases the danger of
foreign troubles. If the winter passes without
very substantial gains by the Union arms, the
suffering poor of Europe, the hostile aristocrats
of England, and the rebel sympathizers in France
will revive the mediation scheme in the spring,
perhaps in a more menacing shape than it has
yet assumed. The present is ours: let ns nse
The future is in the hands of Fate.
tended to serve. Obscure editors and- noisy
talkers have been locked up, and the wrongs
tliay have endured have given an influence to
their disloyalty which it could never have other
wise acquired. Spurious patriots have been en
abled to enlist popular chivalry against the Gov
ernment by feigned fear of Fort Lafayette. In
some cases ignorance on the part of subordinate
officers of Government, in others malice have
inflicted unpardonable wrongs on innocent men.
On the whole, Mr. Lincoln can hardly fail to
realize that he would have been stronger, and the
rebellion would have been no better off, if no
one had ever been sent to Fort Lafayette hut
prisoners of war.
Difficulties, hardly defined as yet, are shadowed
in the future in connection with this matter of
arbitrary arrests. It is not easy to perceive
what may be the upshot of Mrs. Brinsmade's
case, of which the enemies of the Government
are making good use. But it is well understood
that Mr. Seymour, on assuming office as Govern
or of New York, will hasten to join issue with
the Administration on this subject, and an nn-
pleasant collision of authority may ensue. Ex-
Secretary Cameron has been once arrested, and
held for trial on charges of illegal imprisonment
brought against him by a person whom he had
sent to Fort Lafayette when Secretary of War;
more recently, on his retnrn from Russia, he
passed through this city with such circumstances
of mystery that it is reported he was fearful of
further molestation of a like character. In cir
cles likely to be tolerably well informed, it is
openly boasted that Mr. Stanton dare not come
to New York, and Mr. Seward himself has been
similarly threatened.
We know not how much there may be in
these innuendoes and threats, nor what may be
precisely the legal responsibility of the members
of the Cabinet for acts committed by them under
orders of the President. But there is enough
in the present aspect of the matter to create
grave uneasiness in the minds of those who real
ize how much comfort dissensions of ours would
impart to the enemy, and how much weakness
they would involve for ourselves. What is past
can not now be mended, however, and we must
make the best of it. But it may be hoped that
we have seen the last of the exhibitions of
fatal zeal which were developed in the arbitrary
arrests of the past eighteen months.
OVER THE SEA.
it.
THE ARBITRARY ARREST
BUSINESS.
THE Secretary of War has ordered the libera
tion of all parties at present confined in prison
on charges of discouraging enlistments and in
terfering with the draft. The order would have
carried more weight if Mr. Stanton had not
commenced his career by denouncing arbitrary
arrests, and then proceeded to arrest ten persons
for every one arrested by his predecessor. Such
as it is, however, it meets a very decided public
wish. Nothing has been more clearly proved in
the course of the recent canvas and election than
the deep-seated aversion of the people of the
North to the system of arbitrary arrests inau
gurated some eighteen months ago. When the
war broke out, and black-hearted traitors at the
North menaced us with divisions at home, and
transmitted intelligence, arms, supplies, and ev
ery kind of aid and comfort to rebels in arms,
loyal people vcre so overwhelmed by the dread
of an utter destruction of onr nationality that
they thought of nothing hnt the danger, and
were ready to acquiesce in any measures, how
ever arbitrary or illegal, which the imminence
of the crisis might seem to require. But expe
rience has proved in this, as in all other cases,
that it is unsafe to trust any man or set of men
with the power to override the law. Of the
arrests which have been made by order of the
Government within the past eighteen months a
few were probably wise and useful; but the great
bulk were foolish and injurious. Most of them
were well and loyally meant, no doubt; but
many were unjustifiable, and very few of them
really did good to the cause which they were in-
THAT nothing may be wanting to complete the
alienation of European sympathy from the cause
of civil order as maintained by this Government,
the London Times has established a Richmond corre
spondence, and has recently printed the first of a
series of letters designed to show the devotion and
gallantry of the rebels, the baseness and cowardice
of the loyal citizens of this country, and the utter
futility and hopelessness of the war. Except for
their gun-boats, says the correspondent, the Yan
kees would long since have been " whippsd out of
their boots" by a population infinitely inferior in
numbers, but overpowering in earnestness of pur
pose and unity of action. The army of the rebels,
he writes, is made up of the blue blood of the
Southern aristocracy, that of the North is but a
crowd of hired foreigners, who were hurled by the
strong hand of General Lee like a flock of "hud
dled sheep" upon Washington. Meanwhile perfect
security, perfect repose, perfect confidence reign in
Richmond and throughout the South, while deso
lation and rapine follow the movements of the
Northern barbarians, who regret their dead only
because of the longer delay in restoring the van
ished Union.
The letter is written with specious skill, and it is
an illustration of the greater sagacity with which
European sentiment has been manipulated hy the
rebels. For many years the foreign representa
tives of this country had been in political sym
pathy with the South. They were either slave
holders themselves or the apologists of slavery, or
they sealed their mouths. When the rebellion de
clared itself many of these men heartily hoped for
its success. John O'Sullivan, late minister te
Portugal, has published a work in London fully
justifying the rebellion. Jmroes Williams, late
Minister to Turkey, a man who glories in the fact
that he was always a disunionist, and that he al
ways voted the ticket that promised most for the
cause of disunion, and who, now that the actual
struggle has come, with .true " chivalric" instinct
gathers his goods and leaves the country forever,
has also shot a Parthian arrow, entitled " The South
Vindicated." Mr. Stiles, former Minister to Aus
tria, is a Colonel or General in the rebel army.
Mr. Ward, Minister to China, is an open rebel.
Mr. Faulkner, late Minister to France, is a Vir-
gininu ringleader of rebellion. These men and
many others had, of course, prepared the European
mind for an utterly perverted and false view of the
situation.
But besides this, the rebels bave taken care to
operate directly upon that mind since the rebellion
1 took the field. They have subsidized the foreign
press. They bave filled Europe with public and
private emissaries. In the clubs, in the salons,
they have placed accomplished agents, who have
faithfully doua their work; so that Mr. Mill is en
tirely correct in saying, in the last number of the
Westminster Review, in an article upon the mas
terly work of Professor Cairnes, that one chief rea
son of the English hatred of the American cause is
to be found in the total ignorance of the facts of
the cane.
I What h«ve we done to counteract this enormous
influence ? Mr. Motley, who resided in England
when the war began, published his admirable pam
phlet, and in the high society to which he had ac
cess, most manfully told the truth and maintained
the causa of his country and justice. But even he
could not delay for a day the issue of the British
proclamation of equal belligerence. In Paris the
American xtlont were in full sympathy with the
rebellion, and the position of Mr. Slidell has un
questionably entirely overborne in influence that
of Mr. Dayton. Mr. Marsh in Turin has been
most faithful, intrepid, and able; but he was for a
long time embarrassed by a secretary who was en
tirely false to the country, while Cavour, the great
Italian minister, who saw the whole scope of the
struggle, died just as it commenced.
One of the eminent hopes of the rebellion was
European sympathy. It was as. much our duty to
combat it as to fight in the field. Whenever and
however the enemy appeared and worked, it was
our duty to precede and overpower him. We
should have established the ablest and most inces
sant correspondence from America. We should
have subsidized the press. We should have filled
Europe with able and loyal men, fitted for the
special task of affecting opinion. In a word, we
should have clone, but more amply, exactly what
the rebels have done.
Of course, the reason of our remissness is the old
reason. We did not believe that there was to be a
great war. We did not anticipate the hostility of for
eign sentiment. We did not understand the despe
rate gravity and earnestness of our condition. A
dissolution of the Union seemed to us hardly less
than a renunciation of religion. It might be threat
ened, but it was impossible. The attempt, even If
nude, must be hopeless. Why guard against a
shadowy danger, and by the very gravity of our
preparation announce our conviction of serious
peril ? The Secretary of State wrote masterly dis
patches to our ministers, which they read to for
eign Governments. But they were necessarily
powerless to affect public opinion, for they were
not published until that opinion was-already set
tling in the wrong direction.
Henceforth our duty is simple enough. Vigor
and success in the field; a stem, radical policy In
the whole management of the war: these, and these
only, will subdue the rebellion and frustrate the
consequences of European hostility.
DISCIPLINE.
THE rebels claim, not without some show of
reason, that the fact that they dare to maintain the
strictest military discipline in their army is an
evidence of their superior earnestness. They argue
that no people accustomed to the habits of liberty
would submit to the necessary restraints and hard
ships of discipline except from the most profound
and vital conviction of the importance of their
cause. Thus rebel deserters have been shot. Rebel
stragglers from the ranks are disgraced and public
ly branded. The rebels are willing, in making
war, to make it according to the rules of war.
The want of discipline with us is felt not only in
the army, but in public sentiment. The national
mind comes very slowly to the perception that we
must beat or be beaten. The stupid and criminal
twaddle about "Wayward sisters" still confuses
many minds. Vance was elected "Union" Gov
ernor of North Carolina against a "Secession"
candidate, at least such a meaning was ascribed to
his nomination. But when Governor Stanly sends
some proposition of negotiation, Governor Vance
replies that "the last drop shall flow," etc. If
Governor Stanly did actually make any overtures
toward negotiation with rebels in arms, it is te be
earnestly desired that he may be recalled.
It is essential to our speedy success that we
should be thoroughly persuaded of the cardinal
truth that the way of peace is first subjugation
and then reconstruction. ' There is no use in con
tinually besotting our minds with phrases. The
great mass of the rebels have of late years always
hated the people they called " Yankees.'! The ex
perience of every observing man is conclusive upon
this point. They have not indeed insulted every
individual Northerner. But they have despised
and somewhat feared the mass of Northerners as
peddlers and tinkers; and they have cordially
hated the political principle and the social spirit of
Northern civilization. This feeling, which may be
denied, bnt which will be acknowledged by the
multitude of thoughtful observers in the country,
has been exasperated to the last degree by the war.
And it is clear that, unless there be treachery upon
our part, there will be no possibility of the restora
tion of any relations whatever with the rebels ex
cept after they are subdued hy force of arms—that
is to say, until they are coerced, conquered, subju
gated.
If we are not willing to see that and to say it,
then we are not willing to do our work. Our
great necessity is the discipline of the national
mind hy and to that conviction. Let us once thor
oughly comprehend that we do net deal strictly
with deserters because we do not fully appreciate
the deadly earnestnraj of the war, and either the
necessary vigor willw once appear or we shall pa-
I
DECEMBER 6, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 171
ll^uwl..,, --e —— .. —- —— ————— ~ff
tiently submit to disgrace and ruin.
TO MY NEIGHBOR ACROSS THE PASSAGE.
MY DEAR NEIGHBOR,—You and I were in the
same corridor at the hotel last night, and it is a
very narrow corridor and very quiet. You came
to bed just after twelve. You saw by the boots
at the doors of the neighboring rooms, and by the
dark windows over them, that the inmates had
gone to sleep. Why did you bang your door un
til the house shook? Why did you slam your
boots upon the floor as if you were trying to drive
a hole through it? Why not learn how to shut a
door? Why not place your boots quietly? Why
should you wake up those to whom sleep may be
peculiarly necessary hy a perfectly unnecessary
noise ? Have you ever asked yourself how an ill-
bred uian would behave if he were going to bed at
such an hour and in such a place? Have you
ever refleotod that a man is honorably upon his
good behavior always? Would it not suit you
just as -well to close your door instead of banging
it, and to lay your boots quietly at your door in
stead of dashing them down ?
It is at least worth thinking of. Believe me, it
is such little cares that make life smooth and easy.
Have you ever observed that if a man does a pure
ly generous and courteous action, and departs from
that great brazen rule of conduct, "Every man for
himself and the de'il for the hindmost," he has oft
en a half-ashamed air, as if he were " green" or
had been taken in ? What a pitiful comment it is
upon our daily intercourse! You and I are stran
gers. I never saw yo". sar you me; nor shajl we
ever know that the other was his neighbor last
sight. But I am addressing the lodger in the op
posite room. I think it was No. 48. If you are
he, this letter is meant for you. If you are he, let
me urge you not to make yourself a nuisance in
every hotel neighborhood into which you may ven
ture. It is easy to be courteous in manners if your
soul is courteous. I shall believe that yours is so,
but that you have unconsciously formed a bad hab
it. Conquer it. Respect your neighbors in the
hotel. Don't scold and swear like a northeaster.
Don't bang your door. Don't slam your boots.
Don't steal the sleep for which your neighbors
have paid, but be the gentleman you wish to be.
Good-morniug, neighbor.
Your faithful friend,
THE LOUNGER.
ENGLISH HATE.
THE young gentlemen at Cambridge University
in England have been lately debating in their club
the question whether the cause of the North is or
is not the cause of Human Progress. One hundred
and seventeen young gentlemen, including the old
est son of Lord Russell, voted agaiust thirty-three
that it was not.
If now the people of Scotland should secede from
the union with England in order to open the slave-
trade and extend the beneficent area of slave labor,
it would be the cause of human progress, and bud
ding young British statesmen would decide by
heavy votes in their Debating Clubs that the Brit
ish Government was tyrannical and the foe of hu
man welfare in resisting the effort. Or if not, why
not?-
Of course the Cambridge Debating Club has al
ready declared that the cause of Ireland in rebel
ling against Great Britain was that of human prog
ress. Or if not, why not ?
Naturally also the legislators of Cambridge saw
in the revolt of the Sepoys a vindication of the
rights of human nature against tyranny. Or if not,
why not ?
When Mr. Fagin helps himself to his neighbor's
handkerchief in the Strand and takes to his heels,
he illustrates the great cause of human progress.
And policeman X, who pursues him, is an over
bearing bully trying to show his greater strength
by knocking over the gallant and chivalric Fagin.
So votes the Cambridge conclave of young English
gentlemen. Or if not, why not ?
The enforcement of laws made by common con
sent is hopeless and wicked despotism:
The use of constitutional powers by the Presi
dent makes him rather worse than Boraba of Na
ples:
Stealing forts and arms, robbing the treasury,
and firing upon the flag of your country and your
fellow-citizens defending it, and all confessedly for
no other purpose than to secure immunity in steal
ing other people, and making them work without
wages and raise children for somebody else to sell,
are the acts of a heroic people, of a race of gentle
men, of natural lords of the soil:
These are some of the excellent doctrines affirmed
hy the Debating Society of young gentlemen at
Cambridge, England. At Oxford they cheer for
that great and good man, Jefferson Davis. The
other benefactors and heroes, Jonathan Wild, Will
iam Kidd, Benedict Arnold, and Richard Turpin,
are either in the gallery of English University he
roes, er in Madame Tussaud's Exhibition, we for
get which. Mr. and Mrs. Manning are also there.
Hatred of the United States is an epidemic which
rages with frightful violence all over England.
The nation is demented. It foams at the word
Union. It laughs at Liberty. It cheers a man
whose only distinction is that he tried to destroy
the bast of governments for the basest of purposes.
It extols a rebellion which has no solitary excuse
to urge for its atrocities. And the hatred is futile.
It is utterly impotent. England—always except
ing the truly generous and noble names that we all
know by heart—glares at us in a rage it can not
gratify, hoping that the ruin it can not inflict may
overwhelm us. We feed its spindles and its peo
ple. If we absolutely stopped both cotton and
grain England would wail and die. She is livid
with jealousy. The rot has struck even to her
heart, and young Englishmen, babbling a lesson
they have heard and do not understand, cheerfully
vote that the cause of human slavery is the cause
of human progress.
If a more ludicrous and pitiable spectacle was
ever seen at Cambridge University it is not re
corded. Oxford refused to make Mr. Edward Ev-
erett an LL.D. because he had been "a Unitarian
clergyman. But that was merely the dull, regu
lation bigotry of a British Institution. This is
disloyalty to man, and to the great cause whose
defense is the sole glory of England hitherto—the
cause of civil liberty under law.
A GREEK REVOLUTION.
THE King of Greece has retired from business,
hut not by his own choice. He and his Queen left
Athens for a short tour in the country. Some of
the provinces rose in revolt, not attacking him,
but abstractly protesting agaiust his Government.
The people of Athens immediately began to move.
The peasants of Attica crowded Into the city. The
soldiers wen put on guard at the palace, in which
a poor old duenna, or royal housekeeper, Madame
Pulsky, had been left in charge. The people ap
peared before it, and the soldiers joined them.
Poor old Madame Pulsky was taken to the house
of the British Minister. Tbe King and Queen ar
rived in a steamer at the Pireus, the port of Ath
ens, but did not land; and his royal Majesty, at
that safe distance, heroically declared that he would
not resign his crown—unless all the people want
ed him to do so. All the people did want it, and
King Otho abdicated, and sailed away from his
kingdom. The revolution was accomplished, and
not a life was lost.
A Provisional Government was formed, support
ed by the army and the people, for in Greece, as
elsewhere, they are two separate powers. The
formation of this Government was probably the
act of a clique of leaders, although the fact does
not appear. In such a commotion the names of
well-known citizens were doubtless suggested to
the crowd as fit members of a Government, and
rudely ratified by the popular assent. The mem
bers immediately published an address, in which
they say that they maintain the constitutional mo
narchical government—that Greece is eternally
grateful to the three Great Powers of Europe—
that they will enforce the laws and convoke the
National Assembly. A more peaceful revolution
was never wrought.
The next step is the agreement of'the three
dry-nurses of Greece upon a king. Otho was a son
of King Louis of Bavaria, Lola Montez's Louis.
There is some talk of offering the crown to an En
glish Prince; but Russia would hardly care to see
Greece erected into a British dependency. It is
easy to begin a revolution, but not so easy to make
it do exactly what you wish. You may guide the
streaaJXo your mill, but whether it will run smooth
ly in your race and turn the wheel for your grist,
or sweep wheel and race and mill itself to destruc
tion, is a profoundly interesting inquiry.
But what a commentary upon modern mo
narchical systems! What king seated by a revolu
tion in our time feels secure in his seat ? En
throned by a popular tumult, he is always-ac
countable to it. He may escape the reckoning
either by governing well or by enforcing acqui
escence by an army. But since the popular will
is the real source of his power, the part of wisdom
is to regulate the expression of that will by a fun
damental law. A king by popular election is con
ceivable. But a monarchy—or chance hereditary
succession of kings—by popular consent, is gradu
ally becoming impossible.
HUMORS OF THE DAY.
TUB landlord of a hotel at Brighton entered In angry
mood the Bleeping apartment of a boarder, and said, •' Row,
Sir, I wont you to pay your hill, and you must- I have
asked you often enough; and I'll tell you that you don't
leave my house till you pay It I" "Good," wild the lodger,
"just put that In writing—make a regular agreement of
it; Til stay with you u long as I live!"
"Do I believe in second lovef Humph I If a man buys
a pound of sugar, im't it sweet ? and when it's gone don't
he want another pound, and Isn't that sweet too? Troth,
Murphy, I believe In second love."
"Adelaide, you must spend your money more prudent
ly, because by-and-by, when you are grown up, you will
have need of It." "Perhaps I shall, but If I should die
young, aa a great many do, I should lose the good of the
money. I think I had much better spend it now, and make
use of It." ______ ______
WHAT TBE WIND'S LIKE.—Charles Bannister, the In
veterate punster, going Into a coffee-room oue stormy night,
ssld, " I never saw such a wind In my life." " Saw a
wind 1" says a friend. " I never heard of such a thing aa
seeing a wind: and, pray what li it like f" " Like!" an
swered Charley, " like to have blown my head off."
Why Is a dinner like spring T—Because a single swallow
never makes It
Siijurei.188 PAHODV.—Every one hat admired Partbe-
nia's definition of love to Ingomar:
"What love Is, If thou wouldst be taught.
Thy heart must teach alone—
Two souls with but a single thought.
Two hearts that beat as one."
Some profane cynic, having no fear of Cupid before his
eyes, perpetrates the followiug villainous parody:
"Love is a nightmare with one foot;
Two children with one bun;
Two turnips with a slugle root:
Two cabbage-heads as one."
A man of quality who had a very little nose joked a
soldier whose none was very large. " My body!" said the
soldier, "why are you so angry at my nose? Do you
" ' it was made at the expanse of yours J"
« Mr. Smith," said a little fellow, the other evening, to
his rider's henu, "I wish you wouldn't praise our Ann
Maria's eyes any more. You've made her so proud now
that she won't speak to cousin Laura, nor help mother the
least bit."
Mm. Partlngton, hearing that a young man had set up
for himself, '• Poor fellow!" said she, •• has he no friend
that will set up for him part of the tuner* And she
sighed to be young again.
General Howard's right arm was shattered by a bull
during the recent battles, aad was amputated above the
elbow. While being borne on a litter he met General
Kearney, who had lost hli left arm in Mexico. " I want
to make a bargain with you, General," said Howard, " that
hereafter we buy our gloves together.'*
It Is a bad sign to see a man with his hat off at midnight
explaining the theory and principles of true politeness to
his shoes. ______ ______
"Man," says Adam Pmith, "is an animal that makes
bargains. No other animal does thih—no dog exchanges
bones with another."
Many persons seem to be of Franklin's opinion, "that
time Is money:" they take so. much of it to pay their
debts.
DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE.
THK ARMV OP THE POTOMAC.
ON November 21 General .Sumner, commanding the
Right Grand Division of the Army of the Potomac, form
ally demanded the surrender of Frederickshurg. The de
mand was conveyed by General Patrick to the Mayor and
Council of the city under a flag of truce. General Sum-
ner's communication complained that the troops under his
command had been fired upon from the city; that the
mills and factories there were supplying aid to the rebels,
and the railroads running from the city were forwarding
provisions to the rebel army. He declared that this must
terminate, demanded the surrender of the city, and gave
sixteen hours—fiom five o'clock P.M. on Saturday — for
women and children and the sick to be removed. The
civic authorities, in their interview with General Patrick,
offered to remedy the evil, as far as firing upon our troops
and furnishing uuppliss to the rebel army was concerned;
hut they refused to surrender the city, and complained of
the short time nil wed to remove the sick and the women
and children.
After the interview with the civil authorities, General
Sumner informed them that If they had any farther com
munication to present, General Patrick would meet them
again the next morning. On 22d, accordingly, the Mayor
and Councils came over, accompanied by General Ker-
shaw. Colonel Bland, and Captain King, of Georgia. The
officers claimed that the civil authorities could make no
proposition, unless the same was approved by them. Gen
eral Patrick declined to receive these officers. Subse
quently, however, General Burnable assented to their re
ception, and the parties returned. The civil authorities
asked for an extension of the time allowed for the removal
of the women and children, alleging that the trains had
been frightened off by our artillery, and that it would be
impossible for a train to leave before night. The city be
ing absolutely destitute of other means of transportation
their request was compiled with, and the time extended
until eleven o'clock A. M. on 28d (SundayX No attack was
made on Sunday or Monday.
M'CLKRNAND'S- EXPEDITION.
General 11'demand's expedition down the Mississippi
River Is now being organized at Columbus, Kentucky. It
Is designed to opsn the whole river as far as New Orleans,
and will consist of a force of 40,000. The gun-boat fleet
of Commodore Porter will participate In the movement.
The fleet conslstu of ten gun-boats, carrying 121 guns.
Vickaburg will probably be the most important point of
attack; but with such a force, and Admiral Farragut, with
his fleet of gun-boats below that city to co-operate with
I
MORE OF ME. KENNEDY'S WORK.
FIRST CITIZEN. — "So they've been after suspending Habns Corpus, have they? An1 what
fur did they do that?"
SECOND CITIZEN.—"Oh just nothing, only he wus a poor man had no friends, I suppose."
Porter and M*Clemand, the defenses at Vlcksbnrg will not
present any very formidable obstacles.
THE BANKS' EXPEDITION.
In the Banks' expedition New York will certainly have
five regiments, Connecticut five regiments, Maine three
regiments, and Massachusetts eight regiments of Infantry,
one of cavalry, and three batteries of artillery.
SKIRMISH NEAR SUFFOLK.
Our pickets were driven In at Suffolk on 19th, but Gen
eral Peck immediately sent out a force which drove all the
rebels clear over the Black-water River. Tbe bridges across
the river and the adjoining creeks are being rapidly con
structed by our troops. At latest accounts every thing was
quiet in that direction.
U'CLELLAN'S STAFF.
The two officers of General M*CIeUan's staff who had
been recently arrested and sent to Washington—Lieuten
ant-Colonel Colbura and Captain Duane—have been re-
leaved from an arrest, which appears to have been merely
technical, and are ordered to report for duty; the latter
to General Brannan, In South Carolina, and the former.
Colonel Colhurn, takes charge of an Important bureau In
the Adjutant-General's office.
COST AND STATE OF OUR ABUT.
The estimates for the expenses of our army for the ensu
ing year are set down at four hundred and twenty-eight
millions of dollars. The requisitions npon the Paymaster's
Department still unpaid amount to forty-eight millions.
According to the reports In the Adjutant-General's office,
the number of soldiers on the sick list at this moment
amounts to nearly one-sixth of the entire army in the serv
ice of the United States—namely, one hundred and six
thousand men.
RKLKA8K OF POLITICAL PRISONERS.
An Important order was Issued by the War Department
ou 23d, which releases from, custody all those now held
upon charges of discouraging enlistments, opposing the
draft, etc. This order will empty Forts Lafaystte and
Warren, and the other military prisons of many of their
Inmates.
CHANGE IN THE REBEL CABINET.
A change has taken place In the rebel Cabinet. Gen
eral Randolph has been removed from, or has resigned,
the position of Secretary °f War; and James A. Seddon,
of Virginia, appointed in his place.
AFFAIRS IK LOUISIANA.
A series of orders have recently been issued by General
Butler, which serve an additional proof that no difficulty
can arise in his Department which he II not able to grasp.
The property within the District recently possessed by our
forces under General WelUel, to be known as the La-
fonrche District, Is declared sequestered, and all sales or
transfers of it are forbidden. This District comprises all
the Territory of Louisiana lying west of the Mississippi,
excepting the parishes of Flaquemlne and Jefferson. A
Commission Is appointed to take possession of the District,
and the sugar plantations are to be worked by them,
where they are not worked by their owners, and negro
or white labor may be employed at discretion. All prop
erty belonging to disloyal persons Is to he Inven
toried and sold for the benefit of the Government,
under the provisions of the Confiscation Act. An.
other order suppresses distilleries and other manufactories
of strong drink. Another one announces that any officer
found drinking Intoxicating liquors in any public drinklng-
place will be recommended to the President for dismissal
from the service. Another one suppresses the newspaper
known as the Rational Advocate for an improper publica
tion. Still another prohibits the arrest of any slave unless
the person arresting knows that such slave Is owned by a
loyal citizen. General Shepley, as Military Governor of
the State, has also issued two Important orders. One di
rects an election of two members of Congress from the First
and Second Congressional Districts of the State. The elec
tion Is appointed for the 8d of December, and Is to fill va
cancies in the Thirty-seventh Congress. The other ex-
empta household goods from seizure to the amount of $300.
A SOUTHERN PROTEST AGAINST INTERVENTION.
General Femberton, the successor of General Van Dora
In tha command of the rebel troops In the Southwest,
made a speech on assuming command In which he said:
In regard to the question of Interference by Europe, we
want no interference In our private quarrel. [Great ap
plause.] We must settle the question ourselves, or fall
entirely. .The moment England interferes, she will find
us a united people, and she will have ta meet with the
armies of the South as well as of'the North. [Cheers, and
cries of " Yes, yes, yes 1" from every quarter. " No Inter
ference." '•Let us settle It between us."] I am glad to
see yon thns united on this question; and with a reliance
on ourselves, and a firm trust In the God of Battles, In a
few days your General will again fling your banners to the
breeze and march forward to retrieve the recent disasters
we have suffered In this Department.
COTTON COMFNO FORWARD.
Cotton Is now coming Into Memphis freely, and In large
quantities, from points along the line of the Memphis and
Charleston Railroad, as far out as Corinth. The steamer
Platu Valley brought up a load of nine hundred bales of
cotton to Cairo a few days ago, which is the largest single
load that has arrived since the breaking out of the rebel
lion. This was all she could carry at the present stage of
water, and she was compelled to leave a large amount on,
the Memphis levee, awaiting shipment. The Impression
prevails at Memphis that cotton will now come In there ai
rapidly as steamers can be found to bring it away. West
Tennessee Is now about free both from the regular armies of
the rebels and guerrilla bands. The last vestige of the latter
were routed and driven In confusion across the Tennessee,
near Fort Henry, a few days ago, by General Ransom.
FOREIGN NEWS.
ENGLAND.
THE PI1OPO8ED MEDIATION SCHEME.
The London Gazette publishes Earl Russell's official rt-
ply, dated November 13.
It recapitulates the circular of Drouyn de 1'Hnys pro
posing mediation. It recognizes the humane views and
benevolent Intentions of the Emperor; observes that the
concurrence of Russia would be expressly desirable; but
that up to the present time thfRusslan Government had
not agreed to actively co-operate, although it may support
the endeavors of England and France. The question for
consideration was, " Whether the end proposed is attaina
ble at the present timer*
Earl Russell then commends the decision of her Mnjes-
ty"e Government as follows:
After weighing all information received from America,
the Government Is led to conclc*.; (hat there Is no ground
at the present moment to hope that the Federal Govern
ment would accept the proposal suggested, and a refusal
from Washington at the present time would prevent any
speedy renewal of the offer of the Government; therefore
he thinks it better to watch carefully the progress of opin
ion In America, and If—as then appears reason to hope—
it may be found to have undergone, or may undergo, any
change, this Government may then avail themselves of
such change to offer their friendly counsel with a greater
prospect than now exists of Its being accepted by the con
tending parties.
Her Majesty's Government will communicate to the
French Government any Intelligence they may receive
from Washington or Richmond bearing on this important
subject.
FRANCE.
THE IMPERIAL POLICY.
M, BI PBHSIONY, In a circular to the French prefects, de
clares that M. Thouvenel's dismissal, and M. Drouyn de
1'Huys1 appointment to the office of Minister of Foreign
Affairs, Indicate no change In Napoleon's Italian policy.
The Emperor has always Intended " neither to sacrifice
the Pope to Italy, nor Italy to the Pops."

IN
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INTERIOR OF THE TURRET OF THE " PASSAIC."-r5EE PAGI: 732^

774 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [BECEM13EU 6, 1862.
GEAND'THER BALDWIN.
A. THA-JSTKSGHVINO- BALLAD.
UKDiKtmATU protecting branches, from the highway Just
Stands the nouse of Grand'taer Baldwin, with ite gently-
doping roof.
Square of shape and wild-Umbered, It wa> standing, I
have heard.
In the days of Whig and Tory, under royal George the
Third.
Hany a time, I well remember, I have gazed wHh child
ish awe
At the bullet-hole remaining in the sturdy oaken door,
Turning round half-apprehenalve (recking not how Time
had fled)
Of the lurking savage foeman from whow musket It was
iped.
Not far off the barn, plethoric with the Autumn's har
vest spoils,
Hold* the farmer"! well-earned trophies—the guerdon of
hi, toll*,
Filled the lofts with hay, sweet-scented, ravished from
the meadowi green,
While beneath are suited the cattle, with their qnlet,
drowsy mien.
Deep and spacious an the grain-bine, brimming o'er
with Nature'1 gold;
Here are piles of yellow pumpkins on the barn floor
loosely rolled.
Just below. In deep reoeews, safe from wintry frost and
chill,
There an heaps of ruddy apples from the orchard on
the hill.
tfany « year has Orand'ther Baldwin In the old houM
dwelt In peace,
Ai his hah- each year grew whiter he has seen Us herds
Increase.
Sturdy sons and comely daughters growing up from
childish plays.
One by one have met life's duties, and gone forth their
several ways.
Hushed the voice of childish laughter, hushed Is child
hood's merry tone.
By the fireside Grand'tber Baldwin and hli Good-wife
lit alone.
Yet once within the twelvemonth, when the days are
short and drear.
And chill winds chant the requiem of the slowly-Jading
year,
When the Autumn work is over, and the harvest gath
ered In,
Once again the old house echoes to a now unwonted din.
Logs of hickory tdaze and crackle In the fire-place huge
and high.
Curling wreaths of smoke mount upward to the gray
November sky.
Ruddy lads and smiling 11 Bats, Just let loose from school-
dom's cares,
Fatter, patter, race and clatter up and down the great
hall stairs.
All the boys shall hold high revel, all the girls shall
have their way—
That's the law at Grand'ther Baldwin's upon each Thanks
giving Day.
From the parlor's sacred precincts, hark I a madder up
roar yet,
, Rog-ilsh Charlie's playing stage-coach, and tin ttagc-
eoaeh ha* upset I
Joe, black-eyed and laughtsr-loving, Gnnd'ther's specs
his nose across,
Gravely winks at brother Wlllle, who is gayly playing
horse.
Grandma's face is fairly radiant, Grand'ther knows not
how to frown.
Though the children In their frolic turn the old house
upside down.
For the boys may hold Ugh revel, and the girls must
have their way;
That's the law at Grand'ther Baldwin's upon each Thanks
giving Day.
But the dinner—ah! the dinner—words an feeble to
portray
What a culinary triumph Is achieved Thanksgiving Day.
Fairly groans the board with dainties, but the turkey
rules the roast,
Aldermanlc at the outset—at the last a fleshiest ghost
Then the richness of the pudding, and the flavor of the
plel
When you've dined at Grandma Baldwin's you will
know as well as I.
When at length the feast was ended Grand'ther Baldwin
bent his head.
And amid the solemn sHeace with a reverent voice he
said:
"Now unto God, the Gracious One, we thanks and hom-
«g* P*y,
Who guardeth us, and guideth us, and loveth us alway 1
" He scatters blessings In our paths, He giveth ns increase,
Be crowns us with his kindnesses, and granteth us His
peace.
" Unto Himself our wandering feet we pray that He may
draw,
And may we strive with faithful hearts to keep His
holy law I"
His simple words In silence died—a moment's hush, and
then
From all the listening hearts there rose a solemn-voiced
Amen I
THE BLEEDING DIAMOND.
IT was in the early part of the eighteenth cen
tury that the Grand Duchy of Schweinhundb.au-
sen,Ti territory situated to the northeastward of the
territory of Weissnichtwo, had for its Sovereign
Ludwig Adolf the Seventy-fourth, sumamed the
Terrible. He was an awful tyrant. The total
number of his subjects amounted to about ten
thousand, all of whom, from the baby in arms to
the alms old -woman of eighty, spinning at the
alms-house door, hated him with intense cordiality.
His family detested him with remarkable unanim
ity. His eldest son, Prince Ludwig, had been
driven into banishment many years before. Opin
ions were divided as to whether his exile was due
to his haying knocked down his father for kicking
his mother, or to his papa having been detected in
sprinkling some pretty white powder which glit
tered rery much over the Spartan ration of sauer
kraut, which formed the prince's daily and solitary
meal. At all events, he had been comfortably tried
for high treason in his absence, and executed in
effigy; while, to guard agaiust all contingencies,
the whipping-post in the market-place of Schwein-
hondhausen was garnished with a permanent an
nouncement from the grand-ducal and paternal
pen, offering a reward of one hundred florins to
whomsoever should capture the condemned trai
tor, Lndwig Ton Porkstein (the family name of
the princes of Schweinhundhansen), dead or alive.
Friedrich Adolf, the second son, and usually known
as Anne Fritz, or poor Fred, had merely been
turned out of doors at the age of sixteen, and was
supposed to be serving as a sergeant in the armies
of the Kaiser. Dorothea Adolfina, the eldest daugh
ter, rendered desperate by continual persecution,
had run away with Count Pntz von Putzenhurg,
the pennilees younger son of a sovereign count,
whose family had for centuries been bitter foes to
the house of Porkstein. Lndwig Adolf the Seventy-
fourth had the fugitive and disobedient princess
duly cursed in the court chapel by Ober-Hof-Pre-
diger Dr. Bonassns, and, having added his paternal
malison thereto, cut her picture to shreds with a
pen-knife, and forbidden her name to be mention
ed, under penalty of the pillory and the spinning-
house, by any grand-ducal subject, felt comfort
able. Of his large family, then, there only re
mained at the ResMenz of Schweinhundhausen two
young princesses, who were fed on saner-kraut,
kept in continual terror, and whipped every Mon
day morning by their governess, whether they de
served it or not; and a very small young.prince,
named Carl Adolph, whom, somehow, his cruel
father did not dare to ill-treat, for he had his mo
ther's eyes; and it was only a week before his
birth that the poor grand-duchess (who died en
cauchei of little Carl) had looked with those same
eyes (after a horrible scene in the dining-room of
the Residenz) upon Ludwig the Seventy-fourth,
and gasped out, "Yon are my murderer 1"
Lndwig Adolf was a prince who did as he-liked,
and nearly every thing he had a liking to was bad.
Whenever he put on his yellow stockings striped
with black it was a sign that he meant mischief,
and he put them on at least three times a week.
In his grand court-suit of yellow velvet, with, the
famous stockings to match, his Wood-colored ribbon
of the Grand-Ducal Order—pray observe the color
—of the Pig and Whistle, and a monstrous white
periwig surmounting his swollen and violet-stained
countenance, he indeed merited his sobriquet of
the Terrible, and looked like a gigantic wasp cross
ed with a Bengal tiger. He had an army of a hun
dred and fifty men, all clothed in flaming yellow
striped with black. He beat them unmercifully,
but was sometimes capriciously generous, and ca
roused with them until unholy hours in the dining-
hall of the Residenz. He was very fond of gam
bling; but woe be to the wretch who won money of
his Sovereign! He was given to deep drinking; but
he had no mercy upon the soldier whose eyes were
inflamed, or whose gait was unsteady on parade.
To the halberds, the picket, or the black hole with
him at once I He had invented a cat with thirteen
tails for the especial torture of his soldiers; but a
cane was his famous instrument of correction. He
caned his lackeys; he caned his children (always
excepting little Carl); he caned the page who, -with
his knees knocking together, presented his mid-day
beaker of Rhine wine to him; he caned the sentinel
at the palace gate, who always had the palsy when
he prevented arms to Lndwig the Terrible. He
would sally forth in the morning with a well-
caned aid-de-camp carrying horror and confusion
with him all over Schweinhundhausen. The mo
thers hid their children under the bed when his saf
fron-colored roquelaure was seen at the end of the
street; the girls locked themselves in their bed
rooms ; the baker felt his oven become icy; the
blacksmith shivered at his forge. He would kick
over the old women's spinning-wheele and apple-
stalls at the street corners. He would burst into
the taverns, declare the measures were short, and
cause all the beer to be flung into the gutter. He
would invade the tribunals, thrust the Staats Pro
curator from his seat, bully the Assessor, and re
verse the sentences, always on the side of severity.
A dreadful dumbness, accompanied by a sinking
of the heart into the shoes, and a quivering of the
lip took place when he entered the schools and
bade the Magister point out to him the worst-be
haved boys. Then he would go home to the Resi
denz and dine on spiced and fiery meats, oftentimes
flinging the plates and dishes at the heads of the
servants, or kicking his secretary and chamber
lain's shins nnder the table. He ate like a shark,
drank like a hippopotamus, bellowed like a bull,
swore like a trooper, and then, until it was time
to have a carouse with his yellow-clad warriors,
snored like a pig. In short, Ludwig Adolf the
Seventy-fourth was an absolute monarch, and there
were a great many monarchs as trumpery and as
tyrannical as he on these charming Rhine banks in
the early days of the eighteenth century.
When the far-seeing British Parliament resolved
upon calling the illustrious House of Brunswick
to the throne of Great Britain, France, and Ireland,
and when, on the death of Queen Anne, the illus
trious Kurfurst or Elector of Hanover became
George the First of England, mighty dreams of
ambition began to course through the heated brain
of Grand-Duke Ludwig. He was on friendly terms
with the Elector King. He had drank deep, and
played deeper still, with him. His majesty had
said all kinds of flattering thinge to him; why not,
through that august influence, now powerful in
Germania, should not lie exchange his duchy for
an electorate, for a kingdom; or rather, why should
he not create one by aggrandizing himself at the
expense of his neighbors—Putzenburg, and Weiss
nichtwo, and Kannnichtsagen ?
" It must be 1" cried Ludwig Adolf, twisting his
red mustaches—I forgot to tell you that a pair of
red eyebrows, one of red eyelashes, and one of red
mustaches, flamed beneath the white periwig—" I
have said it; I must send my brother of England
the Grand Cross of my order of the Pig and Whis
tle!"
" Indeed a sagacious, generous, and truly grand-
ducol thought," murmured Mr. High Chamberlain
Rappfeugel.
Ludwig Adolf could swallow any amount of flat
tery, yet he frowned at this compliment from the
chamberlain. " Grand-ducal, grand-ducal," he
grumbled between his teeth; "why not kingly,
warum nicht, oh Grand-Duke of Donkeys?"
Dr. Ober-Hof-Prediger Bonassus, who sat on
the other side, and who really liked his pipe, was
a better courtier. In a discreet under-tone he
characterized his sovereign's ideas as "truly impe
rial." He would have been safe for a bishopric had
there bsen any episcopate in Schweinhnndhansen.
Lndwig Adolf was appeased. "Yes," he con
tinued, " I shall send my master of the ceremonies
and introducer of ambassadors"—(no diplomatists
were ever accredited to the grand-duchy, but that
did not in the least matter)—"Von SchafTundkal-
ben, to London, with the gift to my brother Konig
George. But that you, oh chamberlain, are an
incorrigible ass and dunderhead I would confide
the mission to yon."
Mr. High Chamberlain bowed. " YonrMansn-
etude," he ventured to remark, "will doubtless
send the much-prized decoration in gold!"
"In gold!" thundered Lndwig the Terrible.
"Cow, idiot, blockhead! Thinkest thou I am a
pauper, a miser? I'shall send it in brilliants.
The centre shall be composed of the great Schwein-
fleisch diamond. Let Abimelech Ben Azi, the
court Jew, be sent for, to present himself here the
first thing on the morrow morning, or it will be
the worse for him."
At the mention of the great Schweinsfleisch dia
mond there was a buzz of amazement mingled
with terror among the courtiers. The poor grand-
duchess, deceased, had brought this celebrated
gem as part of her wedding-portion. She had been
a princess of Kaltbraten Schweinsfleisch, hence the
name of the jewel, which was supposed to be the
largest diamond not alone in Germany, but (as the
Schweinhnndhauseners fondly believed) in all En-
rope. The surprise, therefore, of the court when
they heard that this priceless heir-loom was to be
sent as a present to a foreign sovereign may be
easily imagined. Their terror may be accounted
for when it is mentioned that the great Schweins
fleisch diamond had ever been held as a jewel of
evil omen, bringing misfortune upon all who were
in any way concerned with it.
Although Schweinhnndhansen was a very small
town, it had, like most other Germanic capitals at
that epoch, its Jews' Street, or Judengasse. There
dwelt the few Israelites who contrived to shuffle
through existence without being skinned alive by
the exactions of Lndwig Adolf; and in the small
est, dirtiest house of the whole Judengasse lived
certainly, next to the grand-duke, the richest man
in Schweinhundhausen, Abimelech Ben Azi. He
dealt in old clothes, watches, money, china, tea
and coffee, snuff-boxes—any thing yon please; but
he was also a most expert and accomplished gold
smith and jeweler, and by virtue of the last-named
qualifications had been promoted to the rank of
Court Jew. Lndwig Adolf was., on the whole,
very gracious to Abimelech Ben Azi, condescend
ing to borrow a few thousand florins from him at
nominal interest from time to time—not because
he wanted the money, but in order to let the Court
Jew know that he was, in his normal condition, a
person to be squeezed.
On the morrow morning Abimelech, having
been duly summoned by the court page, made his
appearance, not without fear and trembling, at the
Residenz; for if there be one thing more disagree
able than being called upon by an absolute mon
arch, it is having to call upon him. He was re
ceived by the high chamberlain, who, as he was in
the habit of borrowing his quarter's salary in ad
vance—and Ludwig Adolf always kept his court
iers three quarters in arreor, and made it high
treason to ask for cash—from the Court Jew, was
tolerably civil to him. In due time he was ush
ered into the presence, and made the numerous and
lowly obeisances required by Schweinhnndhansen
etiquette. A cold chill, however, pervaded the
spinal marrow of Abimelech Ben Azi when he saw
peeping from beneath the dressing-gown of His
Mansuetude (flame - colored taffeta embroidered
with crimson) those direly renowned yellow stock-
inga which, whenever donned, were assumed to
mean mishief.
For a wonder, however, the terrible potentate
seemed unusually placable. Little Prince -Carl
was playing at his feet, quite unmoved by the
sight of the flaming legs, and ever and anon Lud
wig Adolf would bestow a grin of affection on his
youngest born, which would have been positively
touching, had it not too closely resembled the leer
of a hyena over some especially toothsome morsel
of a sbin-bone of beef.
"Mr. Court Jew," said His Mansuetude,
" what is the course of exchange ?"
Abimelech Ben Azi began to falter out some
thing about thalers, florius, and marks banco,
making up his mind that he had been bidden to
the Presence for the purpose of being squeezed,
when Ludwig Adolf stayed him with a gracious
movement of his hand. I say gracious, because
this prince seldom lifted his hand save to throw
something or to hit somebody.
" Mr. Court Jew," he pnrsned, " I have a task
for you to perform. That, if you fail in perform
ing it to my satisfaction, the skin will be removed
from the nape of your neck to the sole of your foot,
is, I flatter myself, a sufficient guarantee for your
zeal and industry. Dog 1 it is my desire that you
set the great Schweinsfleisch diamond forthwith as
centrs to the Grand Cross of the Order of the Pig
and Whistle."
To hear, in all matters of business with Ludwig
the Terrible, was to obey. Abimelech Ben Azi
took away the great diamond with him, not with
out some remonstrances from little Prince Carl,
who wanted to play with it; and hiding the pre
cious bauble beneath the lappet of his gaberdine,
returned to his house in the Judengasse. He had
been instructed to spare no expense as to the gold
for setting, and some minor gems to encircle the
great diamond. He was to make it a truly impe-
ri il gift. When he reached home it was dinner-
time, and his wife and seven children forthwith
abandoned their mess of millet and oil, and swarm
ed round l.!.a ti gone upon ttic woMrons ph"en
of the great Schweinsfleisch diamond. Jochabad
Spass, his long journeyman, saw the diamond too,
and grinned an evil grin.
Jochabad Spass had served his apprenticeship at
Swederbad, the capital of the principality of Man
gel- Wnrzelstein. Father or mother he had none.
He had an unlovely manner, a cruel eye, and an
evil grin; but he was a capital workman, and the
right-hand man of Abimelech Ben Azi.
"What a pity that such a beautiful diamond
should be sent to the beef-eating Englanderst"
said the long journeyman.
" Ah! 'tis a pity indeed," said the Court Jew.
" Not only a pity, but a cruel shame!" exclaim
ed Esther, his wife; an opinion re-echced by the
seven children, who had all loved diamonds from
their youth upward.
" What a pity, too," resumed Jochabad, "that
even while here it should lie hidden in the treas
ury of a cruel old tyrant, instead of making the
fortune of two honest merchants!"
" Hush, hush I" cried Abimelech; " yon are talk
ing treason, mein lieber." But still he lent a greedy
ear to what his journeyman said.
'JThe stone is worth two hundred thousand flor
ins," remarked Jochabad.
"So much?"
"And diamonds, the bigger the better, are to
easy to imitate by those to whom the real secret
has been revealed. Did I not learn it from old
Father Schink before I came hither, three years
since?"
"Ach! Himmel!" cried the Court Jew, in a
fright. "Do yon want to ruin ns, O Jochabad
Spass?" But he listened to the tall tempter nev
ertheless.
He listened and listened until the two agreed
together to commit a great crime. The secret of
counterfeiting diamonds by means of a fine vitre
ous paste was then very little known; indeed, it is
questionable whether ever artisan attained so great
a proficiency in the sophisticatory craft as Jocha
bad Spaes, the pupil of Father Schink. So well
did Spass consummate his fraud that, when he
showed the false diamond to his accomplice, the
Conrt Jew was himself for a moment deceived,
and thought that he was gazing on the veritable
gem. The Schweinsfleisch diamond itself was
placed in an iron casket and carefully concealed
beneath the flooring of the work-shop, the two
rogues agreeing to wait nntil Lndwig Adolf Sev
enty-four died or was assassinated, or until they *
could slip away from his dominions and sell the
jewel in some one of the great European capitals.
In due time the Grand Cross of the Pig and
Whistle, with a blazing imposture, glistening with
all the colors of the rainbow in its centre, was com
pleted, and taken by Abimelech Ben Azi, not with
out certain inward misgivings, to the Residenz.
But Ludwig Adolf suspected no foul play. It did
not enter into his serenely absolnte mind that any
mortal would dare to play any trick's with him.
He was, on the contrary, delighted with the dec*
oration, and was pleased to say that he never
thought the great Schweinsfleisch diamond could
have looked so well. Thenceforward was the
Court Jew in high favor, and was even given to
understand by the high chamberlain that, as a
mark of His Mansuetnde's gracious bounty, he
might be permitted, on Bis Monsnetude's next
birthday, to leave the Judengasse and purchase,
for twenty thousand florins, an old tumble-down
house in the Hof-Kirch-Platz, of which the grand-
duke happened to be proprietor.
On the twenty-fourth of August, 17—, Intro
ducer of the embassadors and master of the cere
monies Schaffundkalben was dispatched on his
mission. He was graciously permitted to pay his
own traveling expenses, but was promised the sec
ond class of the Pig and Whistle at his return. As
the subjects of the grand-duke had a curious habit
of not coming back when they once got clear of
the grand-ducal dominions, Lndwig Adolf took the
precaution, for fear of accidents, to place Von Schaf-
fundkalben's estates under temporary sequestra
tion, and furthermore to lock up his daughter
snugly and comfortably in a community of Lu
theran canonesses. However, impelled by loyalty
and fidelity, quickened, perhaps, by these little
material guarantees, the Introducer of embassa
dors made bis bow again at the Residenz within
four months of his departure. He brought the
warmest and most grateful acknowledgments from
King George the First of England, contained in a
letter couched in very bad French, and beginning,
"Monsieur men cousin," and wsa, besides, the
bearer of two exquisitely hideous Dutch pugs, an
assortment of choice china monsters, a chest of
tea, and a dozen of York hams, as a present from
the Majesty of England to the Mansnetnde of
Schweinhundhausen.
It is necessary, for a moment, that the scene of
my story should be transferred to the cold and
foggy, but highly respectable island I have just
named. About that time, in the Haymorket of
London, there was an Italian Opera House called
the King's Theatre. His Majesty, King George,
contributed a thonsand guineas every season in
order to encourage his nobility toward the patron
age of that splendid but exotic entertainment.
During the winter season of 17—, the principal
Italian singing-woman at the King's Theatre was
the famous Lusinghiera. Her real name was, I be
lieve, Bobbo; but she was Justly entitled to her
sobriquet of the Lnsinghiera, for none could flatter
the great or twist them round her little finger as
she could. I detest scandal, and it is therefore
sufficient to say that La Lusinghiera found favor
in tha eyes of King George, who, if yon remember,
had left his lawful wife in Hanover, and was not,
owing to that unfortunate Konigsmark affair, on
the best of terms with her. Now, La Lusing
hiera was exceedingly fond of money, likewise of
monkeys, and of macaroni; but for diamonds she
had a positive passion. I believe that hod she
tried her best she would have flattered King George
out of the crown jewels, although, constitutionally
speaking, they were not his to give away; but she-
chose to take into her capricious head a viclrrtj
DECEMBER 6, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 775
longing for that part of the Order of the Pig and
Whistle which consisted of the Great Schweins
fleisch diamond. The king often wore it in private
—although the gross Englanders laughed at it—
for beloved everything that reminded him of Ger
mania. The Lusinghiera plainly told him that
she would give him no more partridges and cab
bage—of which dish he was immoderately fond—
for supper, unless he made her a present of the
much-coveted decoration. He expostulated at first,
but the end of it was that the fatuous king satis-
fled her greed.
Partial as the Italian singing-woman was to
diamonds tor their natural beauty, she did not
also disdain them for their intrinsic value. Her
curiosity to know how much the great Schweins
fleisch diamond was worth in hard cash had speedi
ly an opportunity of being gratified. It chanced
that she wanted some ready money—say a couple
of thonsand guineas. As King Gsorge happened
to be at Hampton Conrt, and she had been tug
ging somewhat violently at the royal purse-strings
lately, La Lnsinghiera condescended to seek tempo
rary assistance from a financier who was always
ready to grant it on the slight condition of some
tangible security, worth at least three times the
amount, being deposited with him. In fine, she
stepped into her chariot, and was driven to Cran-
bourn Alley, to the shop of Mr. Tribulation Tribal!,
pawnbroker. There, producing the Order of the
Pig and Whistle from its grand morocco case,
whereon were emblazoned the united arms of En
gland and Schweinhnndhausen ("like the fellow's
impudence," Kiug George had muttered, when he
first opened his cousin's gift), she dwelt on the
beauty of the great Schweinsfleisch diamond, and
demanded the sum of which she stood in need.
Mr. Tribulation Triball was a discreet man, who
asked very few questions in business. He would
have lent money on the great seal of England, or
on the Lord Mayor's mace, had either of those
valuables been brought to him by ladies or gentle
men of his acquaintance. He examined the deco
ration Very carefully; pronounced the setting to
be very pretty; but,, with a low bow, regretted
his inability to advance more than fifty pounds on
the entire ornament.
"Fifty pounds!" screamed the Lnsinghiera in a
rage. "What do you mean, fellow ?"
"I mean, honored Madam," replied the pawn
broker, with another low bow, " that fifty pounds
is very nearly the actual value of the gold and the
small stones; and for fashion, as yon are well
aware, we allow nothing."
"Al Diavolo, your fashion 1" exclaimed La Ln
singhiera ; "I have Backs full of gold brooches and
small stones at home. 'Tie on the great diamond
that I want two thousand guineas."
" Which sum I should be both proud and happy
to lend," observed the pawnbroker, " but for the
unfortunate circumstance that the great centre
stone happens to be not worth sixpence. It is
false, Madam—false as a Brummagem tester."
"False!" yelled La Lusinghiera.
" False," repeated Mr. Triball. " A marvelous
good copy, I grant yon, but it will not deceive
such an old hand as I am. It must be one of the
famous paste imitations of Father Schink. How
ever, your ladyship must not go away empty-hand
ed. Let ns see whether we can not arrange a small
loan on a note of hand."
I don't know what sum La Lnsinghiera man
aged to borrow from Mr. Tribulation Triball; but it
is certain that she did not leave the great Schweins
fleisch diamond with him in pledge. She went
home in a rage, and as soon as his majesty came
back from Hampton Court, she had with him what
is termed in. modern parlance an " explication."
Let us now return to Schweinhundhauseu. It
was on the twenty-fourth of August, 17—, precise
ly twelve months from the day when the introducer
of embassadors, Von Schaffundkalben, had started
on his mission, that an English courier arrived at
the Residenz, and handed a packet to the high
chamberlain, who in turn handed it to His Man-
suetude. Ludwig Adolf received it with a smile,
anctordered the courier to be sumptuously enter
tained in the buttery. He came from his cousin
of England, and the grand-duke felt certain that
he must be the bearer of at least the British Order
of the Garter.
Ludwig the Terrible opened the packet, perused
a letter which it contained, and was soon after
ward Been to turn blue. Then he tore open the in
ner envelope of the packet and turned crimson.
Then he cast something upon the ground and
trampled it beneath his heel. Then he ordered
his yellow stockinge. Then he began to curse and
to kick his pages. Eventually he turned to the
high chamberlain, flung him the letter, and thun
dered forth, " Read that!"
The missive was not from the King of England,
but from his majesty's principal Secretary of State
for Foreign Affairs, who, in terms of contemptuous
frigidity, "begged leave to return the spurious
jewel sent to his Britannic Majesty, and hod the
honor to remain."
By this time Ludwig the Terrible was foaming
at the mouth. "Spurious," he gasped, "spurious!
I fse it all. Rascal, robber. Quick, twelve hal
berdiers, and let Abimelech Ben Azi, and the dog
who is his journeyman, be brought hither."
It was about twelve at noon that Jochabad Spass
was smoking his after-dinner pipe—they dined at
eleven in Schweinhundhausen—at the door of his
master's shop in the Judengasse. He looked up
the street and down the street, when suddenly
round the comer which gave on to the Hof-Kirche-
Platz, he saw two of the yellow and black halber
diers make their appearance. The Court Jew's
house was just at the other extremity of the street,
and as soon as Jochabad saw halberdiers one and
two succeeded by halberdiers three and four, than
Jochabad Spass, who, if he were indeed a dog, was
a very sly one, slipped round the corner of the op
posite extremity of the street.
"Good-by to Schweinhundhausen," he said, phil
osophically, running meanwhile as fast as his lege
would carry him. "There is a storm brewing.
It will be a bad day for the house-father. What a
pity I had not time to secure the casket!"
The twelve halberdiers arrived at Abimelech
Ben Azi's house, seized upon that unfortunate Is
raelite, and, notwithstanding the entreaties of bis
wife and children, bound hie hands tightly behind
his back, and playfully plodded him up the Juden
gasse, acrosB the Hof-Kirche-Platz, and so through
the avenue of linden-trees to the Residenz.
But he was not received in the Hall of Audience.
No; the Hall of Justice was the destination of the
wretched man. As a preliminary measure he was
taken into the guard-room and loaded with heavy
fetters, and then he was dragged down a couple of
flight of slimy stairs into this so much dreaded
Hall of Justice—a gloomy, underground apartment,
supported by massive stone pillars, and illumined
only by two grated windows on a level with the
pavement of the court-yard.
At the upper end of the hall sat Lndwig the Ter
rible in a great crimson arm-chair. Facing him, a
few paces distant, was another chair, empty, and
behind it stood, mute and grim, a swarthy man in
a blacksmith's apron, and with his sleeves rolled
np to the elbows, whom the unfortunate Ben Azi
knew well to be Hans Dummergeist, sworn sconrg-
er, headsman, and tormentor to the Grand Duke.
" Good-day, Mr. Court Jew," said Lndwig Adolf,
with affected courtesy, as the prisoner was brought
in totteriug between two halberdiers. " What is
the course of exchange, Mr. Court Jew ?"
The miserable man's lips moved convulsively,
but he could articulate nothing.
"What is the price of diamonds?" the Grand
Duke continued, his voice rising to a yell of deris
ion. " How stands the great Schweinsfleisch dia
mond quoted in the market?"
The Conrt Jew made a desperate effort: "The
great Schweinsfleisch diamond]," he faltered, " did
not your highness intrust it to me to set, and did
you not send it as centre-piece of the Grand Cross
of the Order of the Pig and Whistle to his Majesty
the King of England ?"
" Oh, inconceivably mangy and thievish dog,"
roared Ludwig Adolf, now losing all command of
himself, "behold and tremble 1" And he thrust
beneath the nose of the unhappy Court Jew an
open leathern case, in which he saw lying in con
fused fragments the decoration he had made, and
in its midst the spurious diamond.
" Court Jew," continued Ludwig Adolf, with a
growl like that of a hungry bear, " yon and I will
pass the afternoon together. But first, egregious
and impudent knave, where is the diamond—the
real diamond—the great Schweinsfleisch diamond
you have robbed me of?"
In vain did Abimelech Ben Azi protest that he
knew nothing about it; that he had set the real
stone as he had been ordered to do; that it must
have been taken out, and a false one substituted
for it in England; that he. was as innocent as the
babe unborn. He was, by the command of the
Grand Duke, bound down in the great arm-chair
facing that tyrant, and to extort confession the
dreadful infliction known as the Osnabnrg torture
was applied to him. For a long time he held out;
but after three applications of the torture—after
the boots had been applied to his legs and the
thumbscrews to his fingers, his fortitude gave way,
and in scarce audible accents he confessed his guilt,
and described the place beneath the flooring of his
work-shop, where, in its iron casket, the great
Schweinsfleisch diamond was to be found. The
fury of Ludwig Adolf was still further heightened,
when, commanding Jochabad Spass to be brought
before him in order that he too, as with grim face-
tiousness he expressed it, might make " a journey
to Osnabnrg," he was informed that the long jour
neyman had escaped. How he managed it was
never known, but from that day Jochabad Spass
was never seen in Schweinhundhausen.
Another detachment of halberdiers, accompanied
by the high chamberlain, was dispatched with
chisels and sledge-hammers to the Judengasse, and
during their absence restoratives were foroed down
the throat of Abimelech Ben Azi, who remained
still bound to the arm-chair, Ludwig Adolf glaring
upon him like a boa-constrictor upon a rabbit.
In half an hour's time the messengers returned
with an iron casket, which with their united
strength they had not been able to break open.
The deplorable Court Jew, however, made signs
that the key would be found hung round his neck.
Search being made, this proved to be the case, and
at leugth the long ravished gem was placed in the
hands of Ludwiftthe Terrible.
I have heard that the tyrant kissed it, and fon
dled it, and called it by endearing names; then
that taking the true diamond in one hand and the
false one in the other, he thrust each alternately
beneath the nose of his captive, crying, " Smell it,
Mr. Court Jew, smell it!" I have heard that all
the tortures the wretched creature had already un
dergone were repeated over and over again in sheer
wantonness; that the false diamond was heated in
a brazier, and, held between pincers, forced into
the prisoner's naked flesh. His screams were ap
palling. Two of the halberdiers fainted. Even
the sworn tormentor was heard to mutter "Es ist
genug." On being called upon for an explanation,
he replied that he did not consider the patient could
endure any more without nature giving way.
" It is enough then," Luwig Adolf the Seventy-
fourth acquiesced with a darkling Scowl. "Mr.
Sworn Headsman be good enough to fetch your
sword this way."
At the mention of the word sword Abimelech
Ben Azi, who had been in a semi-swoon, set np a
horrifying yell. In the most piteous terms he be
sought forgiveness. He essayed to drag himself
toward his persecutor, as though to embrace his
knees, when, in his frantic efforts, he lost his bal
ance, and the heavy chair fell over on the top of
him as he, still bound to it, groveled at the feet of
Ludwig the Terrible.
"Set him np again," thundered the merciless
prince; "and, headsman, dispatch. I'll teach him
to steal my diamonds!"
The lust dreadful deed was soon done. The
headsman brought his long sharp sword—a double-
handed one with a hollow blade filled with quick
silver, which, as the point was depressed, ran down
ward from the hilt, giving increased momentum to
the blow. The headsman was as expert as those
generally are who serve absolute monarchs. Grasp
ing the hilt of his weapon with both hands, and in
clining his body backward and laterally he swept
off with one semi-circular blow the head of Abime
lech Ben Azi. Again the body with its chair fell
forward at the feet of the tyrant—the head rolled
many paces away, and a cascade of blood sprinkled
the faces and diu^es of the terrified beholders.
It is said thaflfe blood-drop from this shower
fell upon the great Schweinsfleisch diamond, which
the grand-duke, as though loth to part with it, still
held in his hand. With a horrid laugh he licked
the gout from the surface of the stone, and spum
ing the body of the Conrt Jew with his foot, stalked
up stairs to carouse with his ruffians. When he
staggered into his bedchamber late that night, he
put his hand in his pocket to take forth the dia
mond. It felt wet and clammy, and when he
brought it to the light it was dabbled in blood.
On the twenty-fourth of August in every year,
every year that has elapsed since that frightful
scene in the Hall of Justice at Schweinhnndhansen
—from sunrise until sunset—a drop of blood stands
on that fatal diamond. It haw gone through
strange vicissitudes, passed through many hands,
been an heir-loom in many families; but that drop
of gore has never failed to make its appearance
on the great Schweinsfleisch diamond on the an
niversary of the murder of Abimelech Ben Azi,
the Court Jew, by Ludwig Adolf the Seventy-
fourth, of Schweinhundhansen, surnamed the Ter
rible.
JESSIE UNDERBILL'S THANKS
GIVING.
IT was the evening before Thanksgiving.
The great maples in the dockyard that had
blazed so long in russet and golden fire had show
ered the last withered leaves upon the path; the
creeping vine on the piazza columns glowed scar
let in the misty ratnmn air, and the woods in the
valley were stained with the bloody footsteps of
many a midnight frost. And yet Hezekiah Un
derbill, standing pensively polishing his spectacles
before the fire, was not satisfied with Nature's great
kaleidoscope of color.
" It don't seem just r ht!" soliloquized Heze
kiah, "not to have a g -nine snow-storm afore
ThanksgivinM"
" Take things as yon fii i 'em, father!" said Mrs.
Hezekiah, a stirring bod who never stood still
long enough to give a wri kle time to settle down
on her face, and whose co.iee-colored cap ribbons,
owing to "perpetual motion,"seemed exactly like
brown birds continually on the wing. "Elder
Jones says there's nothin' but what's for the best!"
" Well there's no harm in wishin', I s'pose," said
Hezekish, argumentatively.
" No," said Mrs. Underbill; " but if / was goitf
to wish, 'twouldn't be for such a little thing as a
fall o' snow. I know what I'd give a big apple
for."
"What ?" questioned Hezekiah, rather surprised
at his contented helpmate's expressing any nn-
gratified desire.
The little woman fluttered up close to him, and
there was a liquid glimmer in the eyes she raised
to his face.
"Think of the many, many empty seats there'll
be around the Thanksgivin' firesides to-morrow,
Hezekiah! Oh, if I could have my wish, I'd bring
'era all back from the graves upon the battle-field,
and from the weary hospitals. Think of our Jared,
keepin' guard along the Potomac; think of Hiram
Steele's brave boy wounded nnder the very flag he
fought for and dying in a strange land!"
" Do you think he will die, Aunt Mary ?"
A slight figure was clinging to Hezekiah's arm,
and a pale, pretty face, with banduf shining black
hair and wild startled eyes, was flnned upward in
breathless suspense.
"There now, I do say for't, I never meant the
should hear! I s'posed she was np stairs 1" ejacu
lated the flurried old lady. " No, dear, I hope he'll
get better; any way it's our duty to hope for the
best. That's what Elder Jones said only last Sab
bath day!"
"Uncle, tell me, do they think he will die?"
repeated the girl, turning to the old man, as if she
had neither heard nor heeded her aunt's words.
" Child, how should / know ? You've asked
me that self-same question forty times this last
week if you've asked it once," said Hezekiah, good-
humoredly. "S'posin' he don't get well, why
should you fret about it ? When he went away,
six months ago, yon was .a-flirtin' with Harry
Mossmore, and playin' with his feelins just exact
ly as our cat teases a mouse. Didn't I hear you
with my own ears tellin' Frank Steele he was no-
thin* more'n a friend to you, and you wondered at
his presumption in ever snpposin' he could be any
thing more ?"
"I never meant it, uncle!" sobbed the girl,
" never! It was that mad spirit of coquetry that
possessed me, I scarce know how. The words had
not passed my lips before I would have given worlds
to recall them. But oh! the punishment is great
er than I can bear. Tell me, uncle, do they be
lieve he will die ? Oh, if / couM die, too!"
" He is in God's hands, my child," said the old
man, solemnly, " and He who raised the widow's
son at Nain, and brought Lazarus back to life, will
not fail to do all things well. Trust in Him, Jes
sie, and pray to Him."
Jessie Underbill scarce heard the old man's
words; she had resumed her seat by the window,
and was gazing sadly out upon the gold and in
carnadine of the sunset as it flamed above the west
ern pine forests, likening it in her own mind to,
the flash of cannon and the dreadful stains of blood
upon the battle-field. And with the throbbings of
her heart lose .uid foil the treasured bit of paper
cut from the list of " Wounded" in the daily jour
nal, and containing but one line—" Francis Steele,
Private, Dangerously."
Hezekiah Underbill looked at his niece's droop
ing figure, while strange contortions passed over
his weather-beaten features. Once or twice he
opened his mouth and shut it again with a click
like the spring of a steel trap; once or twice he
made an involuntary step toward her, and then re
sumed his former posture as if by an effort.
" No, no!" he muttered between his teeth, fair
ly beating a retreat, and never pausing nntil he
was out nnder the tossing boughs of the old maples.
" She's daughter, and niece, and every thing else to
me; but I can't do it 1 It would spoil all I Poor
Jessie, poor little broken-hearted dovel"
Was Hezekiah Underbill demented that he
should break out into that strange smothered
chuckle, even while the tears were streaming down
his cheeks? Certain it was that he conducted
himself very strangely all that evening, reading
the newspaper with its columns upside down, de
positing the pitcher of cider in his wife's work-
basket, and finally bringing down on his devoted
head that lady's remonstrances by stirring the fire
with his snuff-box, and trying to put the poker in
his waistcoat pocket.
"Hezekiah, are yon crazy?" ejaculated Mrs.
Underbill.
" Well, no, not exactly," said Hezekiah, sheep
ishly ; " but I do feel kind o' elevated. Come np
to the fire, Jessie; don't sit 'way off in the cold.
That's right, puss—nestle down in your old chim
ney-corner seat.' That's the way yon and Frank
Steele used to sit together when yon were chil
dren."
"Father!" exclaimed Mrs. Underbill, reproach
fully, as Jessie burst out crying, with her face hid
den on her aunt's knee. ~
" I didn't mean to," apologized Hezekiali • *»nt
even then his face was in a glow with something
brighter than the genial shine of the fire-light.
It was evident that Hezekiah was glorying in
the mystery of some wonderful secret. And never
did any secret struggle so desperately for disclos-
nrs as Hezekiah's on that Thanksgiving eve. But
he kept it. For the honor of mankind let it be re
corded that Hezekiah Underbill kept hit secret.
Of course it's no use trying. Soyer himself,
even were he gifted with the descriptive powers
of the wizard of Waverley, never could have given
yon any idea of Mrs. Underbill's Thanksgiving
dinner. The brown, crackling turkey, unctuous
with stuffing and oleaginous with rivulet* of
gravy; the pyramids of crimson quivering jel
lies; the green crisp pickles; the battalion of
pumpkin-pies, nestling like amber lakelets in
shores of russet crust; the pudding, a triumphant
mystery of culinary art; the whole dictionary
would fall short in expressing the plenteous glo
ries of that feast of fatness.
Hezekiah disappeared goon after breakfast—
whither he had gone nobody knew, for all the ex
planation he vouchsafed to his wife was that hs
" was goin' to bring company home to dinner."
But punctual to the noon-mark on the kitchen-
floor he returned, and not alone.
Jessie was in her own room, thinking sorrowfully
and crying a little between whiles, when Mrs. Un
derbill came up with flushed cheek and a voiee
strangely tremulous.
" Darling, your uncle wants yon to come down
stairs 1"
" Indeed, annt, I had rather not;" and Jessie
shrank involuntarily into her chair.
" But he has brought home a friend, dear, and
would like—"
" Oh no, annt! Please let me stay here—I have
such a dread of strange faces just now."
"My dearest, but your uncle particularly wish
es it! Come, there's a good girl!—let me smooth
your hair and put on your pink-ribbon bows. Now
yon look sweetly!"
Mrs. Underbill's hand shook and her eyes over
flowed while she fastened the simple brooch in
Jessie's collar.
"Why, aunty, what's the matter?"
"Nothing, Jessie — nothing. Come, are you
ready?"
Hezekiah Underbill stood in the middle of the
room as they entered; and beside him Jessie's be
wildered vision took cognizance of yet another
figure.
She stopped with dilated eyes and pallid cheek;
her brain seemed in a whirl; hut when the mist
cleared from her sight she was clasped to Frank
Steele's breast—the noble breast that had borne
the brunt of bottle's fiercest tide—the breast that
should evermore be her shelter and her resting-
place !
"Jessie, will you take me, pale, and scarred,
and sickly ? Will yon be my wife ?"
" I will love yon all my life long I"
That was all they said—but it was enough.
" But, Frank, tell me how it all happened 1"
" It was your uncle's plot, love. I was lying in
the hospital—sick, wounded, dying, as I thought—
when his letter came, telling me of your remorse
at what yon fancied was your nnkjndness. It was
written without your knowledge; but, Jessie, it
was like a draught of immortality, an elixir of life
to me. I grew better under the very eyes of the
surgeon, who had told me I was a doomed man.
And here I am, on sick leave, to hear my happi
ness again from your own lips."
The sweet lips confirmed his hope—but it vas
not in words!
" I declare," said Hezekiah, rubbing his hands
gleefully, " it seems jest like a story in a printed
book 1 But there was one time I thought I should
have let the cat out of the bag—when yon sat cryaf
by the window last night, Jessie. But I'm glad I
didn't tell. Frank wanted to surprise yon, and I
guess he's done it!"
Frank Steele, sitting before the merry Thanks
giving blaze, with Jessie's hand in his, felt that the
great reward for all those midnight watchea and
perilous battles had come at last. May every gal
lant soldier in the land reap the same sweet harvest/

776 HARPER'S WEEKLY. 777
.— [S ee.

778 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [DECEMBER 6, It'62.
[Entered according to Act of Congreu, In the YMT 18(1,
by Harper A Brothers, In the Clerk'i Office of the Dif-
trict Court for the Southern District of New York.]
!l
.1',
NO NAME.
BY WILKIE COLLINS,
AUTHOR OT U THB WOMAN IK WHITE," U DUO> 8BGBXT "
ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN M'LENAN.
tf Printed from tbe M«tnn»oript and
early Proof-Blieet* purchased by the
Proprietor* of "Harper5* "Weekly."
THE SIXTH BCEffJS.
ST. JOHN'S WOOD.
CHAPTER I.
IT wanted little more than a fortnight to
Christmas; but the weather showed no signs yet
of the frost and snow, conventionally associated
with the coming season. The atmosphere was
unnaturally warm; and the old year was dying
feebly in sapping rain and enervating mist.
Toward the close of the December afternoon
Magdalen sat alone in the lodging which she had
occupied since her arrival in London. The flre
burned sluggishly in the narrow little grate; the
view of the wet houses and soaking gardens op
posite was darkening fast; and the bell of the
suburban muffin-boy tinkled in the distance
drearily. Sitting close over the fire, with a lit
tle money lying loose in her lap, Magdalen ab
sently shifted the coins to and fro on the smooth
surface of her dress; incessantly^ altering their
positions toward each other, as if they were
pieces of a child's " puzzle" which she was try
ing to put together. The dim firelight flaming
up on her faintly from time to time showed
changes which would have told their own tale
sadly to friends of former days. Her dress had
become loose through the wasting of her figure;
but she had not cared to alter it. The old rest
lessness in her movements, the old mobility in
her expression, appeared no more. Her face
passively maintained its haggard composure, its
changeless, unnatural calm. Mr. Peudril might
have softened his hard sentence on her if he had
seen her now; and Mrs. Lecount, in the pleni
tude of her triumph, might have pitied her fallen
enemy at last. •
Hardly fonr months had passed since the wed
ding-day at Aldborough; and the penalty for
that day was paid already—paid in unavailing
remorse, in hopeless isolation, in irremediable de
feat! Let this be said for her; let the troth
which has been told of the fault bo told of the
expiation as well. Let it be recorded of her that
she enjoyed no secret taumph on the day of her
success. The horror of herself with which her
own act had inspired her had risen to its clirirax
when the design of her marriage was achieved.
She had never suffered in secret as she suffered
when the Combe-Raven money was left to her in
her husband's will. She had never felt the means
taken to accomplish her end so unutterably de
grading to herself as she felt them on the day
when the end was reached. Out of that feeling
had grown the remorse which had hurried her to
seek pardon and consolation in her sister's love.
Never since it had first entered her heart, never
since she had first felt it sacred to her at her
father's grave, had the Purpose to which she had
vowed herself so nearly lost its hold on her as at
this time. Never might Norah's influence have
achieved such good as on the day when that iu-
flnence was lost—the day when the fatal words
were overheard at Miss Garth's—the day when
the fatal letter from Scotland told of Mrs. Le-
count's revenge.
The harm was done, the chance was gone,
'^ime and Hope alike had both passed her by.
-faintly and more faintly the inner voices now
i "••a led with her to pause on the downward way.
Th ; dhcovery which had poisoned her heart with
its first distrust of her sister; the tidings which
had followed it of her husband's death; the sting
of Mrs. Lecount's triumph, felt through all, had
done their work. The remorse which had em
bittered her married life was deadened now to a
dull despair. It was too late to make the atone
ment of confeuion—too late to lay bare to the
miserable husband the deeper secrets that had
once lurked in the heart of the miserable wife.
Innocent of all thought of the hideous treachery
which Mrs. Lecount had imputed to her, she
was guilty of knowing how his health was broken
when she married him; guilty of knowing, when
he left her the Combe-Raven money, that the
accident of a moment, harmless to other men,
might place his life in jeopardy, and effect her
release. His death had told her this, had told
her plainly what she had shrunk in his lifetime
from openly acknowledging to herself. From
the dull torment of that reproach; from the
dreary wretchedness of doubting every body,
even to Norah herself; from the bitter sense of
her defeated schemes; from the blank solitude of
her friendless life, what refuge was left? But
one refuge now. She turned to the relentless
Purpose which was hurrying her to her ruin, and
cried to it with the daring of her despair—Drive
me on I
For days and days together she had bent her
mind on the one object which occupied it since
she had received the lawyer's letter. For days
and days together she had toiled to meet the
first necessity of her position—to find a means
of discovering the Secret Trust. There was
no hope this time of .assistance from Captain
Wragge. Long practice had made the old mili
tiaman an adept in the art of vanishing. The
plow of the moral agriculturist left no furrows—
not a trace of him was to be found! Mr. Los-
combe was too cautious to commit himself to an
active course of any kind; he passively main- 1
tained his opinion, and left the rest to his client
—he desired to know nothing until the Trust
was placed in his bauds. Magdalen's interests
were now in Magdalen's own sole care. Risk or
no risk, what she did next she must do by her
self.
The prosp-ct had not daunted her. Alone
she had calculated the chances that might be
tried. Akme she was now determined to make
the attempt.
"The timt has come," she said to herself, as
she sat over the fire. "I must sound Louisa
first."
She collected the scattered coins in her lap,
and placed them in a little heap on the table—
then rose and rang the bell The landlady an
swered it.
"Is my servant down stairs?" inquired Mag
dalen.
" Yes, ma'am. She is having her tea."
"When she has done, say I want her up here.
Wait a moment. You will find your money on
the table—the money I owe you for last week.
Can you find it ? or would you like to have a
candle?"
" It's rather dark, ma'am."
Magdalen lit a candle. "What notice must
I give yon," she asked, as she put the candle on
the table, "before I leave?"
" A week is the usual notice, ma'am. I hope
yon have no objection to make to the honse?"
•' None whatever. I only ask the question be
cause I may be obliged to leave these lodgings
rather sooner than I had anticipated. Is the
money right?"
" Quite right, ma'am. Here is your receipt."
" Thank you. Don't forget to send Louisa to
me as BOOB as she has done her tea."
The landlady withdrew. As soon as she was
alone again Magdalen extinguished the candle,
and drew an empty chair close to her own chair
on the hearth. This done, she resumed her for
mer place, and waited until Louisa appeared.
There was doubt in her face as she sat looking
mechanically into the fire. " A poor chance,"
she thought to herself; "but, poor fls it is, a
chance that I must try."
"In ten minutes more Louisa's meek knock
was softly audible outside. She was surprised
on entering the room to find no other light in it
than the light of the fire.
"Will yon have the candles, ma'am?" she in
quired, respectfully.
"We will have the candles if yon wish for
them yourself," replied Magdalen; "not other
wise. I have something to say to yon. When
I have sajd it you shall decide whether we Bit to
gether in the dark or in the light."
Louisa waited near the door, and listened to
those strange words in silent astonishment.
" Come here," said Magdalen, pointing to the
empty chair; "come here and sit down."
Louisa advanced and timidly removed the
chair from its position at her mistress's side.
Magdalen instantly drew it back again. "No!"
she said. "Come closer—come close by me."
After a moment's nervous hesitation Louisa
obeyed.
" I ask yon to sit near me," pursued Magda
len, "because I wish to speak to you on equal
terms. Whatever distinctions there might once
have been between us are now at an end.
am a lonely woman thrown helpless on my own
resources, without rank or place in the world.
I may or may not keep you as my friend. As
mistress nnd maid the connection between us
must come to an eud."
"Oh, ma'am, don't, don't say that!"pleaded
Louisa, faintly.
Magdalen sorrowfully and steadily wort on.
" When you first came to me," she resumed,
"I thought I should not like you. I have
learned to like you—I have learned to be grate
ful to you. From first to last yon have been
faithful and good to me. The least I can do in
return is not to stand in the way of yonr future
prospects." x
" Don't send me away, ma'am!" said Louisa,
imploringly. "If you can only help me with a
little money now and then, I'll wait for my
wages—I will indeed."
Magdalen took her hand, and went on as sor
rowfully and as steadily as before.
" My future life is aU darkness, all uncertain
ty," she said. "The next step I take may lead
me to my prosperity or may lead me to my ruin.
Can I ask yon to share such a prospect as this?
If yonr future was as uncertain as mine is—if
you, too, were a friendless woman thrown on
the world—my conscience might be easy in let
ting yon cast your lot with mine. I might ac
cept your attachment, for I might feel I was not
wronging. you. How can I feel this in yonr
case? You have a future to look to. Yon are
an excellent servant; yon can get another place
—a far better place than mine. You can refer
to mo; and if the character I give is not con
sidered sufficient, you can refer to the mistress
yon served before me—*'
At the instant when that reference to the girl's
last mistress escaped Magdalen's lips' Louisa
snatched her hand away, and started up affright-
edly from her chair. There was a moment's
silence. Both mistress and maid were equally
taken by surprise. Magdalen was the first to
recover herself.
"Is it getting too dark?" she asked, signifi
cantly. "Are yon going to light the candles
after all?"
Lonisa drew back into the dimmest corner of
the room.
" You suspect me, ma'am!" she answered out
of the darkness in a breathless whisper. " Who
has told yon? How did you find out—?'
She stopped and burst into tears. "I deserve
your suspicion," she said, struggling to compose
herself. "I can't deny it to you. Yon have
treated mo so kindly; you have made me so fbn<
of yon! Forgive me, Mrs. Vanstone—I am a
wretch; I have deceived yon."
" Come here, and sit down by me again," said
Magdalen. "Come—or I will get up myself
and bring yon back."
Louisa slowly returned to her place. Dim as
the firelight VBJB, she seemed to fear it. She
leld her handkerchief over her face, aud shrank
rom her mistress as she seated herself again in
the chair.
" You are wrong in thinking that any one has
betrayed yon to me," said Magdalen. "All
;hat I know of you is what your own looks and
ways have told me. You have had some secret
trouble weighing on your mind ever since you
have been in my service. I confess I have
spoken with the wish to find out more of yon
and your past life than I have found out yet—
not because I am curious, but because I have my
secret troubles too. Are you an unhappy wo
man, like mo? If you are, I will take you into
my confidence. If you have nothing to tell me
—if you choose to keep your secret—I don't
blame you; I only say, Let us part. I won't
ask how you have deceived me. I will only re
member that you have been an honest, and faith
ful, and competent servant while I have em
ployed yon—and I will say as much in yonr
favor to any new mistress you like to send to
e."
She waited for the reply. For a moment,
and only for a moment, Louisa hesitated. The
girl's nature was weak, but not depraved. She
was honestly attached to her mistress; and she
spoke with a courage which Magdalen had not
expected from. her.
"If you send me away, ma'am," she said, "I
won't take my character from you till I have
told you the truth; I won't return your kindness
by deceiving yon a second time. Did my mas
ter ever tell yon how he engaged me?"
"No. I never asked him, and he never told
me."
" He engaged me, ma'am, with a written char
acter—"
"Yes?"
" The character was a false one."
Magdalen drew back in amazement. The
confession she heard was not the confession she
had anticipated.
"Did your mistress refuse to give yon a char
acter ?" she asked. " Why ?"
Louisa dropped on her knees and hid her face
in her mistress's lap. "Don't ask me!" she
said. "I'm a miserable, degraded creature;
I'm not fit to be in the same room with yon!" .
Magdalen bent over her, and whispered a ques
tion in her ear. Louisa whispered back the one
sad word of reply.
"Has he deserted yon?" asked Magdalen,
after waiting a moment, and thinking first.
"No."
"Do you love him?"
"Dearly."
The remembrance of her own loveless mar
riage stung Magdalen to the quick.
"For God's sake, don't kneel to me I" she
cried, passionately. "If there is a degraded
woman in this room I am the woman, not
you!"
She raised the girl by main force from her
knees, and put her back in the chair. They
both waited a little in silence. Keeping her
hand on Louisa's shoulder, Magdalen seated her
self again, and looked with an unutterable bit
terness of sorrow into the dying fire. " Oh,"
she thought, "what happy women there are in
the world! Wives who love their husbands!
Mothers who are not ashamed to own their chil
dren 1 Are you quieter ?" she asked, gently ad
dressing Louisa once more. "Can you answer
mo, if I ask you something else? Where is the
child?"
" The child is out at nurse."
"Does the father help to support it?"
" He does all he can, ma'am."
" What is he ? Is he in service ? Is he in a
trade?"
" His father is a master-carpenter—he works
in his father's yard."
" If he has got work, why has he not marriec
you?"
" It's his father's fault, ma'am—not his. Hi
father has no pity on us. He would be turnei
out of house and home if he married me."
"Can ha get no work elsewhere?"
"It's hard to get good work in London
ma'am. There are so many in London—the;
take the bread out of each other's mouths. If
we had only had the money to emigrate, he
would have married me long since."
"Would ha marry you if yon had the mone;
now?"
" I am sure he would, ma'am. He could ge
plenty of work in Australia, and double an<
treble the wages he gets here. He is trying
hard, and I am trying hard, to save a little to
ward it—I put by all I can spare from my child
But it is so little! If we live for years to come,
there seems no hope for us. I know I have done
wrong every way; I know I don't deserve to be
happy. But how could I let my child suffer?—
I was obliged to go to service. My mistress was
hard on me, and my health broke down in try
ing to live by my needle. I would never have
deceived any body by a false character if there
had been another chance for me. I was alone
and helpless, ma'am; and I can only ask you ti
forgive me."
"Ask better women than I am," said Mag
dalen, sadly. " I am only fit to feel for you
and I do feel for you with all my heart. I
your place I should have gone into service wit
a false character too. Say no more of the pas
—yon don't know how yon hurt me in speakini
of it. Talk of the future. I think I can hel
you, and do you no harm. I think yon cai
help me, and do me the greatest of all services in
return. Wait and you shall hear what I mean
iuppose yon were married, how much would it
ost for yon and your husband to emigrate?"
Lonisa mentioned the cost of a steerage pas-
age to Australia for a man and his wife. She
poke in low, hopeless tones. Moderate as the
um was, it looked like unattainable wealth in
ler eyes.
Magdalen started in her chair and took the
girl's hand once more.
"Louisa!" she said, earnestly, "if I gave
yon the money what would you do for me in
eturn?"
The proposal seemed to strike Louisa speech-
ess with astonishment. She trembled violently,
and said nothing. Magdalen repeated her words.
" Oh, ma'am, do you mean it!" said the girl.
'Do you really mean it?"
"Yes," replied Magdalen, "I really mean it.
iVhat would you do for me in return?"
" Do ?" repeated Louisa. " Oh, what is there
_ would not do!" She tried to kiss her mistress's
hand, but Magdalen would not permit it. She
resolutely, almost roughly, drew her hand away.
'I am laying you under no obligation," she
said. " We are serving each other—that is all.
Sit quiet and let me think."
For the next ten minutes there was silence in
the room. At the end of that time Magdalen
took out her watch and held it close to the
;rate. There was just firelight enough to show
ier the hour. It was close on six o'clock.
"Are you composed enough to go down stairs
and deliver a message ?" she asked, rising from
ier chair as she spoke to Louisa again. " It is
a very simple message—it is onlj to tell the boy
that I want a cab as soon as he cau get me one.
[ must go out immediately. Yon shall know
why later in the evening. I have much more
to say to you, but there is no time to say it now.
When I am gone bring your work up here and
wait for my return. I shall be back before bed
time."
Without another word of explanation she hvu>
riedly lit a candle and withdrew into the bed
room to put on her bonnet and shawl.
CHAPTER II.
BETWEEN nine and ten o'clock the same even
ing Louisa, waiting anxiou^y, heard the long-
expected knock at the house-door. She ran
down stairs at once and let her mistress in.
Magdalen's face was flushed. She showed
far more agitation on returning to the house
than she had shown on leaving it. " Keep your
place at the table," she said to Louisa, impa
tiently, "but lay aside your work. I want you
to attend carefully to what I am going to say."
Louisa obeyed. Magdalen seated herself at
the opposite side of the table and moved the
candles so as to obtain a clear and uninterrupt
ed view of her servant's face.
"Have yon noticed a respectable elderly wo
man," she began abruptly, "who has been here
once or twice in the last fortnight to pay me a
visit?" •
" Yes, ma'am ; I think I let her in the second
time she came. An elderly person named Mrs.
Attwood?"
"That is the person I mean. Mrs. Attwood
is Mr. Loscombe's housekeeper; not the house
keeper at his private residence, but the house
keeper at his offices in Lincoln's Inn. I prom
ised to go and drink tea with her some evening
this week, and I have been to-night. It is
strange of me, is it not, to be on these familiar
terms with a woman in Mrs. Attwood's situa
tion ?"
Lonisa made no answer in words. Her face
spoke for her: she could hardly avoid thinking
it strange.
" I had a motive for making friends with Mrs.
Attwood," Magdalen weut on. " She is a wid
ow with a large family of daughters. Her
daughters are all in service. One of them is an
under-housemaid, in the service of Admiral
Bartram, at St. Crux-in-the-Marsh. I fouud
that out from Mrs. Attwood's master; and as
soon as I arrived at the discovery I privately de
termined to make Mrs. Attwood's acquaintance.
Stranger still, is it not?"
Lonisa began to look a little uneasy. Her
mistress's manner was at variance with her mis
tress's words—it was plainly suggestive of some
thing startling to come.
"What attraction Mrs. Attwood finds in my
society," Magdalen continued, " I can not pre
sume to say. I can only tell you she has seen
better days; she is an educated person; and she
may like my society on that account. At any
rate she has readily met my advances toward
her. What attraction I find in- this good wo
man on my side is soon told. I have a great
curiosity—an unaccountable curiosity you will
think—about the present course of household af
fairs at St. Crux-in-the-Marsh. Mrs. Attwood's
daughter is a good girl, and constantly writes to
her mother. Her mother is proud of the letters
and proud of the girl, and is ready enough to
talk about her daughter and her daughter's
place. That is Mrs. Attwood's attraction to
me. You understand so far?"
Yes—Louisa understood. Magdalen went
on. "Thanks to Mrs. Attwood and Mrs. Alt-
wood's daughter," she said, "I know some curi
ous particulars already of the household at St.
Crux. Servants' tongues and servants' letters
—as I need not tell you—are oftener occupied
with their masters and mistresses than their mas
ters and mistresses suppose. The only mistress
at St. Crux is the housekeeper. But there is a
master—Admiral Bartram. He appears to be a
strange old man, whose whims and fancies amuse
his servants as well as his friends. One of his
fancies (the only one we need trouble ourselves
to notice) is, that he had men enough about him
when he was living at sea, and that now he is
living on shore he -will be waited on by women-
DECEMBER 6, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 779
servants alone. The one man in the honse is an
old sailor, who has been all his life with his mas
ter—he is a kind of pensioner at St. Crux, and
has little or nothing to do with the housework.
The other servants indoors are all women; and
instead of a footman to wait on him at dinner
the admiral has a parlor-maid. The parlor
maid now at St. Crux is engaged to be married,
and as soon as her master can snit himself she
is going away. These discoveries I made some
days since. But when I saw Mrs. Attwood to
night she had received another letter from her
daughter in the interval; and that letter has
helped me to find out something more. The
housekeeper is at her wit's end to find a new
servant. Her master insists on youth and good
looks—he leaves every thing else to his house
keeper—but he will have that. All the inqui
ries made in the neighborhood have failed to pro
duce the sort of parlor-maid whom the admiral
wants. If nothing can be done in the next fort
night or three weeks the housekeeper will adver
tise in the Times, and will come to London her
self to see the applicants, and to make strict per
sonal inquiry into their characters."
Louisa looked at her mistress more attentive
ly than ever. The expression of perplexity left
her face, and a shade of disappointment appeared
there in its stead.
"Bear in mind what I have said," pursued
Magdalen; " and wait a minute more while I
ask yon some questions. Don't think you under
stand me yet—I can assure you you don't under
stand me. Have you always lived in service as
lady's-maid?"
"No, ma'am."
" Have you ever lived as parlor-maid ?"
" Only in one place, ma'am—and not for long
there."
"I suppose yon lived long enough to learn
your duties?"
"Yefc, ma'am."
"What were your duties, besides waiting at
table?"
" I had to show visitors in."
"Yes—and what else?"
"I had the plate and the glass to look after,
and the table-linen was all under my care. I had
to answer all the bells except in the bedrooms.
There were other little odds and ends sometimes
to do—"
" But your regular duties were the duties you
have just mentioned ?"
"Yes, ma'am."
" How long ago is it since yon lived in service
as parlor-maid ?"
" A little better than two years, ma'am."
" I suppose you have not forgotten how to
wait at table, and clean plate, and the rest of it,
in that time ?"
At this question Louisa's attention, which had
been wandering more and more during the prog
ress of her mistress's inquiries, wandered away
altogether. Her gathering anxieties got the bet
ter of her discretion and even of her timidity.
Instead of answering her mistress, she suddenly
and confusedly ventured on a question of her
own.
" I beg your pardon, ma'am," she said. " Did
you mean me to offer for the parlor-maid's place
at St. Crux?"
" You ?" replied Magdalen. " Certainly not!
Have you forgotten what I said to you in this
room before I went out? I mean yon to be mar
ried, and to go to Australia with your husband
and your child. You have not waited as I told
you, to hear me explain myself. You have drawn
your own conclusions; and you have drawn them
wrong. I asked a question just now which you
have not answered—I asked if you had forgotten
your parlor-maid's duties ?_"
" Oh no, ma'am !" Louisa had replied rather
unwillingly, thus far. She answered readily and
confidently now.
" Could you teach the duties to another serv
ant?" asked Magdalen.
"Yes, ma'am—easily, if she ias quick and
attentive."
" Could you teach the duties to Me?"
Louisa started and changed color. "You,
ma'am!" she exclaimed, half in incredulity, half
in alarm.
" Yes," said Magdalen. " Could yon qualify
me to take the parlor-maid's place at St. Crux?"
Plain as those words were, the bewilderment
which they produced in Louisa's mind seemed
to render her incapable of comprehending her
mistress's proposal. "You, ma'am!" she re
peated, vacantly.
"I shall perhaps help you to understand this
extraordinary project of mine," said Magdalen,
" if I tell you what the object of it is. Do you
remember what I said to you about Mr. Van-
stone's will, when yon came here from Scotland
to join me?"
" Yes, ma'am. You told me you had been
left out of the will altogether. I'm sure my fel
low-servant would never have been one of the
witnesses if she had known—"
"Never mind that now. I don't blame your
fellow-servant—I blame nobody but Mrs. Lecount.
Let me go on with what I was saying. It is not
at all certain that Mrs. Lecount can do me the
mischief which Mrs. Leconnt intended. There
is a chance that my lawyer, Mr. Loscombe, may
be able to gain me what is fairly my dnc, in spite
of the will; The chance turns on my discover
ing a letter, which Mr. Loscombe believes, and
which I believe, to be kept privately in Admiral
Bartram's possession. I have not the least hope
of getting at that letter if I make the attempt
in my own person. Mrs. Leconnt has poisoned
the admiral's mind against me, and Mr. Van-
stone has given him a secret to keep from me.
If I vrrote'to him, he wonld not answer my let
ter. If I went to his house, the door would be
closed in my face. I must find my way into St.
Crux as a stranger—I must be in a position to
look about the house unsuspected—I must be
there with plenty of time on my hands. AU the
circumstances are in my favor if I am received
into the house as a servant; and as a servant I
mean to go."
"But you are a lady, ma'am," objected Louisa,
in the greatest perplexity. "The servants at St.
Crux wonld find you^mt."
"I am not at all afraid of their finding me
out," said Magdalen. "I know how to disguise
myself in other people's characters more cleverly"
than you suppose. Leave me to face the chances
of discovery—that is my risk. Let us talk of
nothing now but what concerns you. Don't de
cide yet whether you will, or will not, give me
the help I want. Wait and hear first what the
help is. You are quick and clever at your needle.
Can yon make me the sort of gown which it is
proper for a servant to wear—and can yon alter
one of my best silk dresses, so as to make it fit
yourself, in a week's time ?"
" I think I could get them done in a week,
ma'am. But why am I to wear— ?"
" Wait a little, and you will see. I shall give
the landlady her week's notice to-morrow. In
the interval, while you are making the dresses,
I can be learning the parlor-maid's duties. When
the house-servant hero has brought up the din
ner, and when yon and I nro alone in the room
—instead of your waiting on me, as usual, I will
wait on you. (I am quite serious ; don't inter
rupt me!) Whatever I can learn besides, with
out hindering you, I will practice carefully at
every opportunity. When the week is over, and
the dresses are done, we will leave this place,
and go into other lodgings—you as the mistress,
and I as the maid.
"I should be found out, ma'am," interposed
Louisa, trembling at the prospect before her.
" I am not a lady."
" And I am," said Magdalen, bitterly. " Shall
I tell you what a lady is? A lady is a woman
who wears a silk gown, and has a sense of her
own importance. I shall put the gown on yenr
back, and the sense in yonr head. You speak
good English—you are naturally quiet and self-
restrained—if you can only conquer your timid
ity I have not the least fear of you. There will
be time enough, in the new lodging, for yon tc
practice your character, and for me to practice
mine. There will be time enough to make some
more dresses—another gown for me, and youi
wedding-dress (which I mean to give you) for
yourself. I shall have the newspaper sent ever
day. When the advertisement appears I shal
answer it—in any name I can take, on the spur
of the moment; in yonr name if yon like to lenc
it to me. When the housekeeper asks me for
my character I shall refer her to you. She wil
see you in the position of mistress, and me in the
position of maid—no suspicion can possibly enter
her mind unless you put it there. If yon only
have the courage to follow my instructions, and
to say what I tell yon to say, the interview will
be over in ten minutes."
"You frighten me, ma'am," said Lonisa, still
trembling. "You take my breath away with
surprise. Courage! Where shall I find cour
age?"
"Where I keep it for yon,"said Magdalen—
•" in the passage-money to Australia. Look at
the new prospect which gives you a husband
and restores you to your child, and yon will
find your courage there."
Louisa's sad face brightened; Louisa's faint
heart beat quick. A spark of her mistress's
spirit flew up into her eyes as she thought of
the golden future.
" If you accept my proposal," pursued Mag
dalen, "you can be asked in church at once, if
you like. I promise yon the money on the day
when the advertisement appears in the newspa
per. The risk of the housekeeper's rejecting
me is my risk—not yours. My good looks are
sadly gone off, I know. But I think I can still
hold my place against the other servants—I
think I can still look the parlor-maid whom Ad
miral Bartram wants. There is nothing for
you to fear in this matter; I should not have
mentioued it if there had l>een. The only dan
ger is the danger of my being discovered at St.
Crux, and that falls entirely on me. By the
time I am in the admiral's house you will be
married, and the ship will be taking you to your
new life."
Louisa's face, now brightening with hope, now
clouding again with fear, showed plain signs of
the struggle which it cost her to decide. She
tried to gain time; she attempted confusedly to
speak a few words of gratitude; but her mis
tress silenced her.
"You owe me no thanks," said Magdalen.
" I tell you again we are only helping each oth
er. I have very little money, but it is enough
for your purpose, and I give it yon freely. I
have led a wretched life; I have made others
wretched about me. I can't even make you
happy, except by tempting you to a new deceit.
There! there! it's not yonr fault. Worse wo
men than yon are witl help mo if you refuse.
Decide as you like, but don't be afraid of taking
the money. If I succeed I shall not want it.
If I fail—"
She stopped, rose abruptly from her chair,
and hid her face from Louisa by walking away
to the fire-place.
" If I fail," she resumed, warming her foot
carelessly at the fender, "all the money in the
world will be of no use to me. Never mind
why—never mind Me — thmk of yourself. I
won't take advantage of the confession yon have
made to me; I won't influence you against your
will. Do as you yourself think best. But re
member one thing—my mind is made up: no
thing yon can say or do will change it."
Her sudden removal from the table, the al
tered tones of her voice as she spoke the last
words, appeared to renew Louisa's hesitation.
She clasped her hands together in her lap, and
wrnng them hard. "This has come on me
very suddenly, ma'am," said the*girl. " I am
sorely tempted to say Yes; und yet I'm almost
afraid—"
" Take the night to consider it," interposed
Magdalen, keeping her face persistently turned
toward the fire, "and tell me what you have
decided to do when yon come into ing room
to-morrow morning. I shall want no help to
night; I can undress myself. Yon are not so
strong as I am; you are tired, I dare say. Don't
sit up on my account. Good-night, Louisa, and
pleasant dreams!"
Her voice sank lower and lower as she spoke
'those kind words. She sighed heavily; and,
leaning her arm on the mantle-piece, laid her
head on it with a reckless weariness miserable
to see. Louisa had not left the room, as she
supposed; Louisa came softly to her side and
kissed her hand. Magdalen started; but she
made no attempt this time to draw her hand
away. The sense of her own horrible isolation
subdued her at the touch of the servant's lips.
Her proud heart melted; her eyes filled with
burning tears. "Don't distress me!" she said,
faintly. "The time for kindness has gone by;
it only overpowers me now. Good-night 1"
The morning came*; and the affirmative an
swer which Magdalen had anticipated was the
answer given. On that day the landlady re
ceived her week's notice to quit, and Louisa's
needle flew fast through the stitches of the par
lor-mud's dress.
THE PRINCE OF WALES AND
HIS INTENDED BEIDE.
WE publish on page 781 portraits of the PRINCB
OP WALKS and the Lady whom he is to marry,
the PRINCESS ALEXANDRA OP DENMARK. The
Prince is just twenty-one years of age. It will be
seen by our portrait that he looks rather older than
when he danced here at the famous Prince's ball.
He wears incipient whiskers; and the crafty en
graver has contrived a shade over the upper lip
which may perhaps pass for a mustache. He is
understood to have been kept busy since he left
here, in study and travel, and has no doubt a well-
stored mind.
The following account of the Princess Alexandra
of Denmark, the future Queen of England, will
doubtless be read with interest:
'' Princess Alexandra, who was born December 1,
1844, is the second child and eldest daughter of
Prince Christian of Schleswig-Holstein, heir-ex-
nectaut to the Danish throne, and of Princess Lon-
,sa of Hesse-Cassel. She is gifted, as will be seen
jy our portrait, with no inconsiderable share of
leauty, and is described as being very accomplish
ed, having received in her family, which is gener
ally esteemed as a model of all domestic virtues,
the most careful and complete education. Prin
cess Alexandra is a Sous-Lieutenant in the Danish
Army. Many journals in France and Belgium, in
commenting upon the account given of the Royal
amily of Denmark, stated that the Almanack d»
Go/fro had committed an amusing mistake in de-
cribing Princess Alexandra as a Sous-Lieutenant
n the Danish Army. It appears, however, that
here was no mistake at all in the matter; for,
lowever extraordinary it may appear to us, the
llustrious intended bride of the Prince of Wales
Iocs actually hold the commission described in the
Danish Army."
RICHMOND, VIRGINIA.
WB publish on page 780 a chart of THE CITY
or RICHMOND, VIBOIKIA, AND ITS ENVIRONS,
bowing the fortifications which have been erected
or its defense by the rebels. In the course of a
lay or two, Burnside, and perhaps some one else,
rom another side, will probably be thundering at
he walls of these forts. Only two of the forts are
lamed, the others are known by their numbers,
"he map may be regarded as accurate.
On this page we give a small view of AQCIA
'REEK, the present base of supplies for the Army
rf the Potomac, and the terminus of the old Rich
mond Railroad. It has become famous during the
present war.
AQUIA CKEEK, UK THE POIOMAC, NEW BASE OF SUPPLIES OF THE AliMV Of THE POTOMAC.

HAHPER-S WEEKLY.
MAP OF RICHMOND, VIRGINIA, AND ITS ENVIRONS, SHOWING THE REBEL FORTS, ETCJ7
[DECEMBElt 6, 18C2.
DECEMBER 6,1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 781

782
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
THANKSGIVING.
Ill
"WHAT have soldiers in hospital, writhing in
pain, or tossing in fever, to be thankful for? The
4»y is a humbug. Ke«p it ? No, I've not kept it."
A strong man shorn of his strength spoke, but it
fita no Delilah answering.
"Many a poor soldier weary with pain and
agony has found cause for thankfulness; some tri
lling deed of pity or word of sympathy has stirred
his heart to gratefuliess. Suffering generally hum
bles men to recogniz* and accept what they disdain
in the pride and glory of health."
11 Yes, you women get us In your power and then
crow."
"Victor, what malic* 1"
" It is true; then tell us to be thankful. For
what? for maimed, crippled bodies, for nseless
arms, for paralytic legs ?"
The pale face grew paler, and a scornful smile
gleamed out of restlass, eager eyes.
"Oh, Victor 1 Victor! the battle is but half
fought, the glory only half won when yon utter
these thoughts."
Victor partially raised himself, leaning on one
arm and speaking haughtily.
" If you think I implied regret at giving my mite
to this war yon are wholly mistaken, Margaret."
" No, no I I did not mean that, believe me; but
it is right for all to be thankful, and I meant you
had not gained one of the direct purposes of suffer
ing."
"Pray what is that?"
Margaret's head drooped as she answered,
" Gratitude for having shared in even the least
degree that which was endured for us all by our
Master."
Victor's voice had lowered before he replied,
" I am no Carmelite, Margaret, nor one of those
who believe that mere bodily pain can make us
like the Divine One."
" But it can halp—it can Indeed."
She was so afraid to speak of these things that
she dared not asy all she was thinking. She want
ed to assure him that a better appreciation of the
great sacrifice lay in his power than in hers, re
joicing as she was In health and vigor; but differ
ent leaven had been working in his mind, for he
suddenly resumed again in his cutting, ironical
tone:
" Ah, it is easy to preach of thankfulness in pur
ple and fine linen to the ragged, beggarly horde 1
You have heard the sermon to-day, you have given
thanks devoutly, and now—stand a little farther
off that I may look at yon—you are going to the
sumptuous dinner; but you do not care for the
viands, yonr esthetic palate is to be cajoled. I won
der who will whisper the most tasteful, delicate
flatteries; who will offer the most poetic draughts,
spiced carefully for such dainty lips I Let me see.
The sheen of yonr silk dazzles—I must shade my
weak vision—it is very beautiful; and the lace at
yonr throat, how soft and downy—yon call it a
ruche, I believe; the rose, too, in your hair is red,
rosier than your fair face, red as the blood I have
seen on battte-fields—"
" Madge! Madge I where are yon ? Come out of
this dungeon. We are waiting for you. What are
yon two crooning over ? Victor, you look as sour
as green grapes. Look at me; am I not bewitch
ing ? See, I am en muitairt."
The fairlast little being, robed In pink tarlatan,
danc*>d In and thrust her curly pate down on her
brother's arm, chattering all the while.
" Yon have kept Madge ever so long; isn't she a
darling?"
" What is that she wears on her nesklace, Jo-
•ey?"
"A cross, a pearl cross; Madge, let him see It!"
" Don't ask her, Josey. She is angry with me.
Is that the way yon women wear crosses made of
psarlj md hung on a golden chain? How heavy
they must be!"
" Stop, Victor, stop, yon are outrageous. Madge.
has gone, and I shall go too; but look at the bnt-
tons in my ears."
" Petite sanvage 1 why make holes in inch little
pink sea-shells of auriculas ?"
" I don't know what yon mean. I wear army
button ear-rings to match this army button brace
let, and they are lovely. But, Vie, I wish yon had
your dear old leg again so we could have a redowa
—and how splendidly yon nsed to lead the Ger
man 1 Oh, it is too bad I I shall just cry."
"And make your eyea red. Oh no, Josey; corns,
dance off with yourself. Who's to be there?"
"Everybody."
"Tell me who Margaret dances with."
" She won't dance in war times, she says. Isn't
she old fogy ? She came np to me the other night
and said the music ought to be funeral marches
Instead of giddy waltzes."
" Was that after I oame home ?"
"No, before; and you know how magnificently
she plays. Well, she wonld not touch the piano
except to give us the adagio of one of Beethoven's
symphonies, or something else so sad that we could
hardly keep from tears; but I must go, Vie. Good,
by; don't get blue here all alone. I suppose yon
would rather have a book than my delectable so
ciety?"
"Oh yes, chatter-box; adienl"
The light steps danced down the hall; other steps
and other voices echoed, died away; the carriage
wheels rolled off, and silence reigned.
Victor took np his book: the print was too fine:
BO he was obliged to relinquish it, wishing he
had some one to read aloud to him. Margaret
had so often read to him that the words began to
ben more clearness and power from her voice
* ..on any other, but he had provoked her now. It
was not a pleasant reverie in which he was in
dulging ; alone, crippled, feverish, restless; he who
had prided himself on his independence and manly
strength. But he did not regret having spoken as
he did to Margaret; it rather satisfied him to re
sent kindness and patience with cool sarcasm; it
was his masculine protest against forbearance and
gentleness. "Thankful, (fr.Tefiil—I have no need,
I wish to have no need for snch words. Has she
not left me all alone here to gnash nfv teeth at
fate, to ponder over my uselessness and miserable
good-for-nothingness, while she dances off to a din
ner—a Thanksgiving dinner? And why should
she not go? What does she owe me that she
should deny herself any pleasure ? Nothing. To
be sure I once told her—I was fool enough then—
that no other woman in the world had so great a
sway over my actions; confound it! She has
tightened the rein till the bit cuts at evep- pull;
but I am revenging myself. I hurt her nicely to
night She's a good little Christian, and doss not
like to be thought a Pharisee."
A little table stood near with convenient trifles.
A book of larger type caught his eye, Mrs. Brown
ing's " Last Posms." It opened of itself, as if it
knew the hand accustomed to hold it (not Victor's),
at the hundred and seventy-eighth page. Down tbe
tenth, eleventh, and twelfth verses was scored light
ly a pencil mark. For one vivid moment he knew
what one woman had suffered" in all the dreary
time of his silent imprisonment in Richmond, and
like an avenging weapon those verses cut in deep
ly. He tried to shake it off; he tried* to think
some other hand had opened thess pages so often
that the leaves fell apart at this *ne place. He
knew better; and knowing it, self-reproach added
to his dreariness. His bell rang so furiously that
the servant feared some accident and rushed breath
lessly in.
" Did the ladies say when they wonld return,
Joanna?"
"No, Sir,; but not until late I'm sure, Sir."
"Ask them when they come—no, you need not
either. Bring me a glass of water."
"Yes, Sir."
He was very restless and feverish, and lay with
closed eyes as quick stepe indicated Joanna's re
turn. But the step was lighter, and a cool hand
laid softly on his brow made him start.
A quiet figure In gray merino, with only a blue
bow knotted under the linen collar, stood near him
—thick, drooping, wavy curls hid her eyes.
" I thought you had gone!" was the half-impa
tient exclamation.
" I changed my mind at the last moment."
" To heap coals of fire on my head, I suppose."
"Victor, drink this water; yon have fever;
don't talk."
. "I must."
"Not now; let me read." She had opened a
book, and crouched down on a low ottoman, her
face shaded by her hand, began to read. The
voice was like a chime of low, sweet bells, but
they seemed to jangle in Victor's ears. He tossed
and turned, and finally put out his hand and grasp
ed the book.
" Pardon me, Margaret."
" Shall I go away, Victor?"
"Yes."
There was not a tinge of sentiment or sadness in
her words, bnt they were very calm and low.
"I only came because I saw yon were worse
and needed recreation," rising as she spoke.
" Do you call this recreation?"
" No, it is very evident I have done harm."
" More than you can repair, Margaret."
He was not now speaking satirically, and she
looked at him with amazement.
" You have made me break a resolution so strong
that it was nearly a vow."
"I.Victor?"
"Yes, you, with yonr calmness and womanly
gentleness, yonr terrible malignity."
She knew not what he meant; and though she
had determined not to be weak, tears would come;
just one passionate outburst, which she quelled
prondly the moment they were shed. But he saw
them, and drew her toward his conch.
"This is tUe way I have to sue for. pardon, ly
ing helpless, maimed for life. I had rather yon
had killed me, Margaret, than force me so to love
you that I can not longer hide it. Oh, Margaret,
Margaret, it was cruel! I, who shall never ask
any woman to be my wife."
Margaret put out her hand very coolly.
"Good-night, Victor."
" Must you go ? Then I am mistaken. I hoped
you cared for me, Margaret, in spite of my detest
able behavior."
"Yes, I mnstgo, Victor."
"It has been very tiresome for you here, Mar
garet, listening to my folly."
" No, I did not care to go out."
Her perfect Indifferenca at last enraged him, as
she knew it would.
" Yon seem to be in no way moved at Jay mis-
"A cripple, doomed to drag a footless stump
after him all his life, has no right to ask a young
and beautiful, no, nor an old and ugly, woman to
be his wife."
" Who has laid down that law ?"
" A true man's self-respect is the barrier."
Margaret glanced up, a very sunbeam of a smile
playing over her features.
" It is a dead-lock, Victor."
" It shall not be, Margaret, if you will jnst stoop
down here a momenV
"What for?"
" Now I have both your hands; tell me, do you,
dare you love me ?"
There was no answer, and her curls drooped over
her face. He repeated the question, but she wonld
not reply.
For a moment or two his pale face worked. It
was hard for him to make the attempt he had al
most sworn not to do—so hard, that for a moment
he faltered.
But the temptation was irresistible, and he saw
that nothing else would compel Margaret to an
swer, so he spoke:
" Margaret, will you be my wife ?"
"Yes, Victor," came the answer, clearly spoken.
" The wife of a cripple ?"
She crushed the words with a kiss.
For a long while there was stillness, Victor clasp
ing tightly Margaret's hands as if afraid she wonld
elude them, but in place of the pain and feverish
irritability on his features was a look of very ex
pressive content.
Margaret's tears were so nearly falling that it
was some time before she could ask Victor what he
was thinking of, so unusual was his silence.
" Keeping my Thanksgiving at last," was the
reply. L
A TRIBUTE.
How Bleep the brave? Oh I not u cowards sleep,
Whose hands no labor bore;
Over their graves no loving one shall wesp—
They shall be named no more.
No ringing voice above the tomb ihall break,
Proclaiming truth more boldly for their sake.
Not so they Blesp who for their country die—
On their name rests no blot;
Through the world's changes, u the yean roll by.
They never are forgot.
Earth's greatest soul may know no greater pride
Than to be called to die as they have died.
When Freedom'* sou assemble to relate
The deeds that they have done.
Each telling of Mme victory, made more great
Being K nobly won;
There RIOHABBBON and MITOHXLL shall be seen—
One bronzed and scarred, with a true soldier's mien;
The other, with his calm and steady eyea
Turned upward to the stare,
Seeking new inspiration from the skies,
'Neath the red planet Mars.
Upon the roll of fame their names are traced
In golden letters, ne'er to be effaced I
[DECEMBER 6,1862.
when the War Department began to withdraw his
troops. First a brigade, then a regiment, then a
wKoIe division were ordered to the defense of posts
whiclf were supposed to be in danger; so that at
last General Banks was left with only about 4000
men, while Jackson lay opposite him with 16,000.
The circumstance soon became known to the wily
rebel, and the attack on Front Royal followed.
Banks's retreat to the north side of the Potomac,
without the loss of a gun and with a very small
loss in men, is rightly accounted one of the most
brilliant military operations of the war. Jackson's
disappointment at the escape of the prey he already
deemed secured was severe. It was on the occasion
of-this retreat that the incident of the little slave
girl, whom Banks carried out of Virginia "on the
national cannon," took place: nothing in his career
has nade him more popular than this.
When M'Clellan commenced his retreat from the
Peninsula, Banks was ordered forward to the Rap.
pahannock under Pope. • He fought the battle of
Cedar Mountain with very inferior forces to the
enemy, and with Sigel's aid held him in check
until M'Clellan had retreated safely to Yorktown.
He did not take part in the battles of Centreville
or Bull Run the second: wonnded at the Rappa-
hannock, he was doing duty at Washington as
military commander.
General Banks has now been appointed to the
command of a Great Southern Expedition, part of
which has already sailed. That he will be heard
from in a manner which will rejoice the Northern
heart no one who knows his lucky star can donbt.
DECEMBER 6,1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 783
MAJOE-GENEEAL BANKS.
ery. I did not know yon were so cold and heart
less."
"What wonld you have me nay ?"
"Drop some delicious grains of pity; sweeten
the bitter pill with honeyed phrases."
" I am very sorry this has happened."
"But that is a cant expression. Yon are gener
ally original."
She was silent again, and moved toward the
door. He detained her, grasping her passive hand.
"Among all yonr thanks to-day can yon spare
a little forgiveness?"
"For what?"
" For my rudeness and harshness." His voice
was gentle again.
"There is more to forgive than that."
" I dare say; bnt I am In earnest. Don't go
yet. Do yon forgive me?"
"Not"—firmly, softly, bnt emphatically.
"And why not? Is my sin so heinous?"
" The man is not a brave one who tells a woman
he loves her bnt will not ask her to be his -wife."
" Margaret 1"
She went on as indifferently and coolly as if dis
cussing some novel.
" It is not brave, nor is it honest, for he may
have won her love in some strange way."
"But she should let him know," said Victor,
half amazed and half amused.
" A true woman's self-respect is a barrier to that."
Victor lit hit lip.
ON page 769 we give a portrait of NATHANIEL
P. BANKS, Major-General in the Army of the Unit
ed States, and commander of the Great Southern
Expedition which is now on ite way to its destina
tion. Our likeness is from a photograph by Brady.
General Banks was born at Waltham, Massa
chusetts, on 80th January, 1816. His parents were
poor operatives w.ho worked in the mills; young
Nathaniel went barefoot to the common school,
and there obtained all the edncation he ever en
joyed as a lad. He was soon called upon to take
his place in a factory to earn his living, and for
several years he worked regularly with the other
operatives. Simultaneously he assisted in the es
tablishment of a debating society, and contributed
to the columns of the local paper. He subsequent
ly became editor of this paper, and in 1842 was
brought forward as Democratic candidate for As
sembly from Waltham. He was defeated. He
ran again in 1843, and in each of the following
four years, with equal non-success. At length, in
1848, just as he was thinking of seeking fortune in
California, he was elected, and remained a member
of the Massachusetts Legislature until he was sent
to Congress, voting and acting with the Demo
cratic party. In' 1850 .he was chosen Speaker of
the House; and in 1852 was sent to Congress, and
became Speaker of that body too, after one of the
most memorable contests in onr Congressional his
tory. As Speaker of the Honse Mr. Banks won
high fame by his Parliamentary skill, firmness,
and fairness. It was well said of him, at the close
of his term, by a political opponent, that he " stood
so straight that he almost leaned over to the other
side."
At the close of Mr. Banks's term in Congress he
withdrew from public life, and after spending some
time in retirement at Waltham, accepted the post
of Superintendent of the Illinois Central Railway,
which had jnst been vacated by General M'Clellan.
He was discharging the duties of this post when
the rebellion broke out. It found him neither un
prepared nor astonished. He went to Washington
in February, 1861; foretold the secession of Vir
ginia and the outbreak of the civil war, and cre
ated quite a commotion In the ranks of those who
pinned their faith to Mr. Seward's honeyed phrases
and rose-color visions. When war actually broke
out, and troops were called for, Mr. Banks was
at once designated by the public voice for a mil
itary command, and he was accordingly appoint
ed Major-General by the President. With his
usual foresight he had been studying strategy
for some time, and when he took the field was
thoroughly competent to command. He was given
a division of the Army of the Potomac, and set to
watch the upper fords of the river. Many months
were spent in training his army. At length, early
In 1862, he crossed the river and advanced up the
Shenandoah Valley. He was driving Jackson be-
. fore him, and doing his work w«ll and faithfully,
THE "PASSAIC" AND HER
TURRET.
THE turret of the Passaic is unquestionably the
greatest engineering achievement of the time. The
successful operation of this structure with its mon
ster gnns marks an era in the history of naval war*
fare.
Our engraving on page 773 represents the tnrret
cut in two, through the vertical plane, the nearest
half supposed to be removed in order to afford a
full view of the interior. The enormous guns,
Dahlgren's 16-inch, each weighing 42,000 pounds,
are seen in perspective resting on light elegant car*
riages made of wronght iron. By means of very
simple mechanism within the carriages, the con
structor enablss three men of moderate strength to
handle these ponderous pieces with great facility.
To the left of the muzzle of the nearest gun will be
seen the port stopper, a bent block of wrought iron
supported by a pivot, on which it turns so readily
that one man can bring its broad face before the
port-hole in lese than five seconds, thereby effectu
ally shutting out the enemy's projectiles.
The enormous balls, of 425 pounds weight, will be
seen conveniently arranged within cnrved guides
round the base of the turret, a broad jointed ring
for handling these terrific projectiles being also rep
resented.
Our readers can form a good idea of the size of
the guns, 4 feet diameter, by comparison with the
gunners standing on the left. The tnrret, com
posed of plate iron, is 23 feet outside diameter, 9
feet high, 11 inches thick, the entire weight being
240 tons. It might be supposed that such a pon*
derous mass could only be turned round by being
placed on friction rollers; yet this expedient has
not been resorted to. The constructor, deeming
snch complication incompatible with the solidity
necessary to withstand the shocks of modern pro
jectiles, boldly places the turret with its smooth
lower edge on a broad ring in the deck, and trusts
to his powerful mechanism within to cause the
stupendous mass to rotate on its base. The gun
ner, placed behind the breech when the gnn is to
be aimed, simply raises or depresses a light handle
and the gun instantly moves in the direction he
wishes. The exact point being attained, a retro
grade half-movement of the handle at once arrests
the rotation of the turret and leaves the gun di
rected to the desired object.
Bnt the resnlt of Captain Ericsson's bold con
ception does not stop here. A still greater triumph
has attended his labors. Our readers will observe
on the engraving that the port-hole of the turret is
far less in width than the diameter of the muzzle
of the gun, and that, consequently, the gun must be
fired within the turret. The proposition to dis
charge the largest cannon afloat within the narrow
space of this cylindrical iron chamber without put
ting the muzzle through—not even into the port
hole—is so startling that nothing short of positive
practical demonstration could prove its soundness.
It is a flattering comment on the judgment of Ad
miral Gregory, and the other naval officers super
intending the construction of our iron-clads, ttiat
they did not oppose, but on the contrary warmly
seconded, Captain Ericsson's plan. The resnlt of
two careful trials, the second and final one made
on the Kith, has realized every expectation. The
smoke is effectually kept out, and the noise from
the discharge of the monster guns within the tur
ret is less than that of an ordinary field-piece.
Captain Ericsson, to whose genius the country
is Indebted for this master-piece, has heen so kind
as to inspect our artist's picture, and writes ns that
it is very accurate.
The engraving on page 772 represents the Pastaic
as she will appear at sea, and needs no description.
FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA.
WE devote pages 776 and 777 to Illustrations of
FREDERICKBBCRO, which is at present the centre
of interest in Virginia, Our pictures, with one
exception, are from sketches by Mr. H. Didiot, of
the Sixth Wisconsin Volunteers. The exception
is the picture of the Broken Bridge, which is from
a sketch by our old correspondent, Adjutant Cope.
The following description of the place was pub
lished in Harper** Weekly some time since:
Rappahannock Eiv«r, at the bead of tide-water. It is be
tween fifty and sixty miles from Richmond by railroad,
and sixty-five mil» fly the turnpike. In a northerly direc
tion. Turnpike roads connect It with Fahnouth and New
port—the farmer by a ferry aerois the Rappahanaook—
and another turnpike leads through a wildsrness t» Orange
Court UOUM, when a railroad connects it with Gordons-
ville. The town itself is pleasantly situated In a fcrtUi
valley, and has great advaatag«s for ownmeroa and man
ufactures. Tbe railroad from Washington, via Aqula
Creek, passed through it, and thereby a large traffic and
trada was done previous to the rebellion.- As the through
trains generally stopped at'Frtdericksbnrg Station for about
an hour on each trip, a not inconsiderable chance trade
was caus*d thereby in the immediate locality of the depot.
Ii is distant from Aquia Creek by railroad asout fifteen
miles, from which point part of the Fotomac River traffic
used to b« carried to Fredericksburg. A good canal had
also been constructed from the town to a point on the Rap-
pabannock River, abont forty miles above, by which large
quantities of wheat, fiour, and tobacco were received for
exportation. The river afforded ("tensive water power,
which, however, was not much umd. The hills in the
neighborhood, varying in height from forty to one hundred
feet, abound In fine granite and freestone. About thirty
years sine* the prospect of Fredericksburg being a rapidly
rising town was very great; bnt it suddenly stopped in its
prosperity, and after, as It were, Blinding still for abont
twenty years, it gradually retrograded in Its Importance.
In 1840 Its population numbered nearly four thousand
Boule; and in 1890, ten years after, it kad only Increased
eighty-eight persons—less than nine each year, and being
about two per cent, in a decade—a remarkably snail in
crease. Before the rebellion it contained five churches,
one orphan asylum, two seminaries, faur newspaper offices,
and two banks, ^a*
Fredericksburg has changed hands more than
once. While the Potomac blockade lasted it was
a chief depot for rebel supplies. When M'Clellan
advanced to Yorktown it was evacuated, and was
occupied by M'Dowell. After the battles of the
seven days before Richmond M'Dowell fell back,
and the rebels again seized it. Burnside coming
up the Potomac to the aid of Pope, in August, occu
pied it for a few days; when he marched to War-
renton it again fell back under the stars and bars.
The reader will find an account of its more recent
fortunes in the news column.
ADVERTISEMENTS.
Attention Maions and Soldiers.
I will send (aa sample), on the receipt of $1, a handsome
Oold Masonic Pin or King, or Plated Vest chain, or a fine
Oold Fen and Pencil, or Engraved Locket, or Bracelet, or
Neck Chain, or a beautiful set of Jewelry, together with
my wholesale Circular. W. A. HAYWARD, Manufactu
ring Jeweler, 208 Broadway, New York.
Thomas Andrews & Co.,
Offer for sale
8ALERATUS—"PARAGON," "GoLDBNPmzi," "Ex-
CELSIOB, "DOEBLK REFINED," and "SODA," made at the
Jersey City Chemical Works.
CREAM TARTAR, perfectly pure, pulverized In pur
own mills. Also warranted, superior, and other qualities.
BI CB. SODA, of Newcastle make; also the "FEIAE'B
GOOSE" brand, packed to order as desired.
YEAST POWDER—Thoa. Andrews' " EXOBLBIOB," the
acknowledged standard of excellence. Bold everywhere.
Also SODA ASH for Soap or Glass Makers, CAUSTIC
S*BA, SAL Son A, the largest stock and assortment in New
York.
Wholesale Jobbers and Manufacturers will find it their
Interest to »uy of us.
Established Fifteen years.
___136 and 188 Cedar Street, New York.
Just Tribute to Merit.
AT INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION, LONDON,
July Hth, 1S6S,
Duryeas' Maizena
Was the only "preparation for food from Indian Corn"
that received a medal and honorable mention from the
Royal Commissioners, the competition of all prominent
manufacturers of "Corn Starch" and "Prepared Cora
Flour" of this and other countries notwithstanding.
Maizena
The food and luxury of the age, without a single fault.
One trial will convince the most sceptical. Makes Pud
dings, Cakes, Custards, Blanc Mange, &c, without Isin
glass, with few or ne eggs, at a cost astonishing the most
economical. A slight addition to ordinary Wheat Flour
greatly improves Bread and Cake. It Is also excellent for
thickening sweet sauce?, gravies for fish and meat, soups,
&c. For Ice Cream nothing can compare with it. A lit
tle boiled in milk will produce rich Cream for coffee, choc
olate, tea, &c. Put up la 1 pound packages, with directions.
A most delicious article of food for children and Invalids
of all ages. For sale by Grocers and Druggists everywhere.
Manufactured at Glen Cove, Long
Island.
Wholesale Depot, 166 Fulton Street
WM. DURYEA, General Agent.
IttlLITARY GOODS.
Swords for Presentation, Sashes, Belts,
and Epaulettes, Guns, Pistols,
and Revolvers.
Every article la the Military Line Wholesale and Retail
W. J. Syms & Bro.,
800 Broadway, New York.
BE AUTT.—Hunt's Bloom of Roses, a charming and
perfectly natural color for the cheeks, or lips. Will not
wash off, but remains durable for years. Can only be re
moved with vinegar, and warranted not to Injure the skin.
Used by the celebrated Court Beauties of Europs exclu
sively. Mailed free from observation for one dollar.
HUNT & CO., Perfumers, 133 R Seventh St., Philad.
PENSIONS, BOUNTIES, BACK FAY, PRIZE
MONEY. &C, procured by SOMES & BROWN, 2 Park
Place, N. V.
N.B. Enclose stamp for cur book.
D O YOTJ •WANT LUXURIANT
WHISKERS OR MUSTACHES?—MyOnguentwill
force them to grow heavily in six weeks (upon the smooth
est face) without stain or Injury to the akin. Price $1—
sent by mail, post free, to any address, on receipt of an or-
n«r. R. G. GRAHAM, No. 108 Nassau Street, N. Y.
WORKS———————————————
VALUABLE TO THE SICK OR WELL.
Sent by mail
No pay expected until received, read, and approved.
1st. DR. S. S. FITCH'S SIX LECTURES on the Causes,
Prevention, and Cure of Consumption, Skin Diseases, Male
and Female Complaint*, Ac. On the Mode and Rules for
Preserving Health. 860 pages, 21 Engravings. Price BO c.
2d. DR. S. 9. FITCH'S NEW WORK onHeart Disease,
Apoplexy, Rheumatism, Dyspepsia, Ac., with many valua
ble Medical Prescriptions for these Diseases. 168 pages, 6
engravings. Price CO cts. tr Say which book you will
have, Riving Name, State, County, and Post-Office. Ad
dress DR. S. S. FITCH, No. 714 Broadway, New Yolk.
1O,OOO COPIES READY.-CAUTION!
Look out for the Catch-Fenny Edition, bound up In Green Paper Covers.
POOLEY & CO.'S
Edition is the cnly Authorized English Translation Published
in this Country
OP
LES MISERABLES.
Extract of Letter from VICTOR HUGO to MB. WEAXALL.
"From the moment when M. Esquiros is your friend, as be is mine, yon can not fail to produce an excellent
work, having for guide and counselor that great and noble mind. (Signed) VICTOR HUGO."
John Forster, the abler* critic in England—the Literary Editor of the Lsndon Examiner—in speaking of the
AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION, by Wraxall and Esquir**, s»ys:
" On the publication of this celebrated Novel, in its original form, we entered very minutely into the story. It
only now remains for us to uy that wx CAN oeNSoiBNrior/tLV BBOOMMBND IT TO THB PUBLIC AB A PEBRCTLY TAJTH-
rm. VERSION—retaining, as nearly as the characteristic difference between the languages admits of, all the spirit and
point of tbe original. IN rra FBKBINT FOEJC, * Lea Mlserables1 stands a very fair chwce of having as wide a sale as the
French edition."
The Authorized Edition,
Complete in One Volume, with Portraits and Biographical Sketch, Is published for Om DOLLAB, In Paper; or,
ONE DOLLAB AMD A HALF, In Muslin. NOW READY, and all orders filled from this day without delay.
W. I. POOLEY & Co.,
No. 881 Franklin Square (Harper's Building), New York.
HUEST & BLAOKET, London Publishers. FAGNBRRE UBRAIRE, Editeur, Paris
Sent by mail «n receipt of price. For sale by all Booksellers.
J. W. MERSEREAU,
Men's Furnishing Goods
GOLDEN HILL
SHIRTS.
JNo. 2 W urea bireet.
SECOND DOOE FBOX BBOADWAV, NEW TORE.
Reprewnted fy N. R. MERSEREAU, L. N. WYANT.
RAILWAY TIME KEEPERS
Especially adapted for Army sain.
For fuH particulars we last week's Harper's Weekly,
or send for circular. HUBBARD BROS., SOLB IMPOST-
EM, Cor. Jchn and Nassau Streets, New York.
FRIENDS OF SOLDIERS!
All Articles lor Soldiers at Baltimore, Washington, Hit-
ton Head, Newbern, and all places occupied by Union
troops should be pent, at half rates, by HARNDEN'S
EXPRESS, No. 74 Broadway. Sutlers charged low rates.
SOMETHING NEW.
NATIONAL AMERICAN AMUSEMENT CARDS.
Colonel for King, Goddess of Liberty for Queen, and Major
for Jack. 62 enameled cards to the pack. Eagles, Shields,
Stars, and Flags ore the suits, and you can play all the usual
games. Four packs mailed free on receipt of One Dollar.
The usual discount to the trade. Send for a Circular. Ad
dress AMERICAN PUBLISHING AGENCY,
U Chambers Street, New York.
FRENCH WINES AND BRANDIES.
From Paul de Coninck, Monod & Guiraud, Bordeaux,
France. Warranted strictly pure, For sale by
J. MARC MARTIN, Importer,
No. 203 Pearl Street, New York.
Facts about Brandreth's Fills.
NIWOABTLB, WB8TCHEBTB8 Co., N. Y., Oct. 23,1863.
MB. G. TXH ETCK SHELDON, Editor Sing Sing Republican:
Dear Sir—I would state that I was Induced to uae
BRANDRETH'S FILLS through the recommendation of
John R. Swift, of Croton, Westcbeater County, who was
entirely restored to health by their use. He was sick for
some two years, very costive and dyspeptic, and he tried
everything, but was not relieved. Finally, he took one
Brandreth'B Pill every day for a week, and • dose of six
Pills every day for three days, and then took one Pill ev
ery day, with occasional doses of six. In one month he
was able to go to work, and in three months was well,
gaining 40 pounds in weight.
Yours truly, EDWARD PURDY.
WESTOHESTBE COCHTY, ss.
Edward Purdy being duly sworn, says that he resides
in the town of Newcastle; that some years ago he was very
sick with a eore ou his leg, which had been running for
over five years; that he was also much distressed by a
pain in his chest, and besides was very costive and dys
peptic ; that after trying various remedies and manjaphy-
Bicians, lie commenced using Brandreth's Fills, six to eight
three times a week, and at the end of one month the sore
In his leg healed, and at the end of two months he was en
tirely cured of coetiveneu, dyspepsia, and pain, and baa
remained well ever since. EDWARD PURDY.
Sworn to before me, this 18th day of October, 1862.
S. MALCOLM BMIT1I, Justice of the Peace.
Sold at the Principal Office, No. 894 Canal Street, No. 4
Union Square, New York, and by all respectable dealers
in medicine throughout the world.

•H
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
OLD MB. SECESH, from liia Housetop in Richmond, Va., looking ont for the Sympathy promised by some tupporters o/ Gov. SETMOCR.
JOHN BULL AS PAINTED BY HIMSELF.
"England Bells. ... the component pnrts-of Ships-of-Wor (the Pirate Alabama) to all
comers.—"London Times-
ADVERTISEMENTS.
A Christmas Package.
' Just ont: the entirety neir and beautiful I loliday Prize
racknRr, containing all Hew Articlcr, varieties for the
Holidays, Mrrrii Chrittrnat Fireside Garnet, Fine Writ.
Ing Paper, Knvclopc», Parlor Amusements, n Child's Book,
Panorama of Fun, Sketch-Book of Humor, Christmas Pret.
ents, Jewelry, &r., &e. lietall Price only 25c. Agents
wanted every where. Country Stores and Newi Dupiits
supplied. Penrt orders Immediately. Send for circular.
P. C. RICKARDS & CO., 102 Nasmu Street, New York,
Largest and oldest Prize Package House in the world.
"A FINE WATCH FREE!
' To each perron who buys our Mammoth Eureka Prize
Packages. $12 per day made. Send for circular*. W.
H. CATM.T & Co., 40 Ann St., N. Y., Fowler's Bulldlngt.
Important to Army and Navy Officers.
FIELD GLASSES.
PKMMONS' BIMOCfLAU
LANDSCAPE GLASS. Invalunlil.i
to sportsmen, omccir,
traveller?, &c.; compact, port
able, pflirlunt: combining et-
rl VI I tr:iordlnnry denning power and
[ wide field of obtorvatlon. Cnt-
I alngiies gent free, by enclosing
rtiiiup.
SEMMONS, Optician,
______M9t liroadway, undtr Lufarge Howe, N. Y.
Dealer* «*ve 50 per cent, on nir STATION El !Y
PACKAGES. Send for drcnlar.'OPPOSITION I'lUZE
PACKAGE CO., I2S Nawau Street, New York.
Patent Office Notice.
During the past Seventeen years Meisn. Unnn & Co.,
Editors of the Scientific American, have acted as attorneys
for more than SEVXNTEIM TIIOEBAMI IMV«KTOHB. They
prepare Specifications, Drawings, Cavlsts, and all other
Patent Papers. They also furnish, free, a Pamphlet of
Advice, How to Obtain Letters 1-atent. Address
MUNN & CO..
No. ST Park How, New York.
The Great Money-Making
Business of the Age. $15 per day made easy by hund
reds of onr Apcntf. Mnre NEW and BEAUTIFUL, as well
as UKeful Prilc Packagrs, just out. The- GREAT NEW
UNION PRIZE AND STATIONERY PACKAGE, con
taining FINK ARTICLES worth ONE DOLLAR for OXLY
25C. R'cli Jewelry, Fancy Goods, Writing Materials,
CAMP COMPANION, LikcnesMB of Military Heroes, and
many useful articles. NEW PACKAGES of all kind.,
containing Goods of FINF. QUALITY, things wanted by
everyone. Profit'IMMENSE. Sales QUICK. We pre
sent FAC1I PERSON acting as Agent with a SUPKRB
WATCH, warranted as a perfect TIME-KEEPER. Send
for our NEW circular, containing EXTRA Inducements.
S. C. RICHARDS A CO., 102 Nasfau Street, New York,
largest and oldtst Prize Package House in the World.
W
•
OOLliN UNDERSHIRTS
AND DRAWERS",
CAKUlOMi JACKETS,
AND
A Great Variety of Hosiery and Gloves.
A. KAjjgSN & CO.,
No. 90 BowgBT,
And No. 1C5 Cth Avenue, Comer S24 Street.
ORNAMENTAL IRON O CQ
WORK, Wrought, Cast, and Wire. £t1J*J
IRON RAILINGS, VERANDAHS, BALCONIES
GUARDS, and IRON FURXITURE of every descrip
tion. Illustrated Catalogues mailed ou receipt of four 3
cent stamps. HUTCH1NSON & WICKERSHAM,
259 Canal Strut, near Broadway, New York.
BABTLETT & Co., Needle Manufacturers for the Sewing
Machines. Bartlctfs Burnished Hand Needle*, 150 for
26 cents. Free by mail. 421 Broadway, Neir York.
Elegant Colored
CARTES DE VISITE.
Newton's Prepared Colors for Albumen
Pictures.
This neir preparation for painting the Card Photograph
may be used by any person of taste, though not an Arllst,
with great expedition and remarkable effect.
The colon are fixed. In bottles, into a neat black-walnut
box, and the directions for nse nccompanv each box.
Pictures painted with them look as if done in the pro
cess of taking, the surface not being In the least affected,
as with the common water colors.
For the amateur, as well as the artist, they are Invalu
able : a few moments snfftcc to produce a most elegant and
finished picture.
Price per box $3 00, and with a large bottle of reducing
liquid $3 26.
tV The remarkable success attending these colon has
already induced some dishonest person to offer, in a simi
lar style and shape, a worthless imitation. See that the
name of the sole Agents for the United States, J. E. Til-
ton & Co., Boston, is affixed to the box.
Fifty Dollars will be paid for tho conviction of any per
son selling this worthless Imitation for "NEWTON'S
ALBUMEN COLORS."
Copies of beautiful Natural Flowers, Fancy Pictures,
Portraits of Distinguished Persons for coloring will bo sent
by mall for 25 cents each.
J. E. TILTON & CO., Boston.
Sleeve & Bosom Studs,
Made from fine ivory, colon white, black, red, purple,
and bluB, marked any initial in Old English, and molUd
free to any address upon receipt of the price, $1 50 full
let. Monograms male to order.
UNION ADAMS,
No. C3T Broadway, New York.
)EADS! HEADS!! BEADS!!!
AND FANCY GOODS. -
M. P. BKOWN, Importer, No. 186 Pearl St., N. Y.
LANDS.—To all wanting Farms. Thriving Settle
ment. Uich soil. Mild climate. See advertisement of
Yineland, on page 495.
Tomes, Son & Melvain,
6 Maiden Lane, New York.
Dealers in Arms and Military Goods of every
Description.
RICH PRESENTATION SWORDS.
Smith & Wesson's Brwcli-londinp Rifles and Pistols.
Bueon Manufacturing Co. Revolving 1'btols.
FURS.
C. G. GTJNTHER & SONS,
FUR WAREHOUSE.
46 Maiden Lane, New York,
Importers, Manufacturers, and Shippers
• yl Raw Furs and Skins,
Invite attention to their extensive Assortment of Ladles'
Furs now on hand.
TO CONSUHIPTIVES.-You will get the Recipe
for a sure euro fur Couphe, Colds, Consumption, and all
IUQP complalnta, by -cndiqR to D. Adee, 881 Feari St., N.
Y. He wads it free. Ayrtteforit.—Ithaicurcd thousands.
[DECEMBER 6, 1862.
HOLIDAY GOODS.
Schuyler, Hartley & Graham,
19 Maiden Lane AKU 22 John Street,
15 Rnc d'Enghcin, Paris.
47 Hampton St., Birmiagrham, Eng.
Are now receiving by every Steamer
New and desirable styles of
FRENCH AND ENGLISH FANCY GOODS,
Suitable for the Holiday trade.
Consisting In part of
BRONZES, MANTEL OKHAMKHTB, MABDLE CLOCKS,
CAM) RlCETVERB, PnOTOOBAFU AlJHTMB, POBTMONMAIKB,
ODECB CASES, FIELD AND CTEBA GLABBEB, WOBK BOXES,
DBKBBIHO CASEB, FABTT & BRIDAL FANB, LEATIIEB BAOB.
Also, a great variety of
FINE JET AND CORAL GOODS,
To which thev invite the attention of all parties pur-
chasing lu this line. A full Stock of
MLUTAJIT GOODB, Gnus, PISTOLS, CCTLERT, PLATID
AVAKE, WATCIIEB, DIAMOKPS, ETC.
Also FINE ENGLISH SKATES.
Entrance 10 Maiden Lnnc or 22 John Street.
OFFICERS OF OUR ARMY!
MILLIGAVS AJiMY MESS-KETTLES.
(PATEMT APPLIED FOB.)
IPS
II,' mo't coliijwct and complete arrangement for u m(wa
of four persons ever offered to the army. Weight fifteen
pounds. Occupies two-thirds the opuco of a cubic footl
Sold by all dealers iu Military goods. Price $12. Libern.
discount to the trade. Wholesale depot 4 Platt St., N. Y,
Send for circular. MILL1GAN BROTHERS.
CHINA AND GLASS!
We have now In store a very largo stock, and iuvite an
inspection. Prices arc low, most of tho stock having been
Imported before the nrw duty. We have riot removed,
and have NO BRANCH STORE, but continue our busi
ness at 4T9 Broadway, between Broomc anrt Grand Sts.
DAVIS COLLAMORE & Co.
GOLD FENS.
Retailed at wholesale prices. Goods warranted. Send
for a circular, Riviug Hat of prices and engravings of Pens.
Pens repointed on the receipt of 38 cents In P. O. Stamps.
E. S. JOHNSON, Manufactory and Office 15 Maiden
L«ne, New York City.
Union Prize Packages.
Dtmn A Co.'t Head-Quarters, 118 Nassau St.,N.Y., and
Chlcago,Ills. SendforcircularB

T
HARPEKS WEEKLY.
[DECEMBER 13, 18G2.
THANKSGIVING.
I THINK of you all, dear Mother,
Ned, and Emma, and Moll,
Dark-eyed Harry, and little Lou,
Jim, and Bessie, and all!
How often we're met together
For many a blight year past,
Till it seemed to rm as if every one
Was merrier than the last.
I jrreet you all, though so far away
That your faces I can not see;
I remember each with a sacred joy—•
Do yon also remember me?
Looking np to the dear old flag
With loyal hearts and true,
Do you smile to think for freedom's sake
I am absent to-day from you?
Yes, I know who name me every day
When they kneel to God in prayer—
I know who search every paper through
To see if my name be there.
And now in this good Thanksgiving time.
When the old honse rings with glee,
There will be one toast to " Our absent ones,"
And then you will think of me!
Yon always called me " wild," yon know,
Wondered what would be my fate—
" So giddy and mischievons, what will he do
When he reaches man's estate?"
Well, here I am, twenty-one last month,
And my holiday life is through:
I face death calmly day by day—
How strange it must seem to you!
As I sit in my tent by this moonlight
I hear your voices fall,
Like distant music, upon my ear,
And your names I softly call.
How long before we shall meet again
In the homestead far away?
No matter, we yet live—and God is good,
And this ia Thanksgiving dayl
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 13, 1862.
THE MESSAGE.
riHHERE are just four points of interest in the
JL Message: the allnsion to the war, the ref
erence to emancipation, the sketch of a financial
policy, and the review of onr foreign relations.
Outside of these, all is mere routine.
1. The War.—Persons who take np the Mes
sage in the hope of finding in it some retrospect
of the past operations of the war, and some in
timation of what is to happen hereafter, will
meet with disappointment. Were it not for one
short paragraph at the commencement of the
• Message, that document would contain no ref
erence whatever to the one thing vital in the
time! in which we live. And that one para
graph is characteristic. The President says:
•' While it has not pleased the Almighty to bless
us with the return of peace, we can Imt prett on,
guided by the best light He gives us, trusting
that, in His own good time and wise way, all
will be well." One can not help recalling the
old Middle-Age story of the mailed crnsader
who, in a fit of the spleen, fell to beating his
"people" with a stont qnarter-stafF. His wife,
touched by the groans of the snfierers and the
astonishing length of the punishment, called
from her window to ask her lord how long he
intended to tronnce those poor creatures?
"Ma miel" replied the devout Baron, " tant
qu'ilplatra a Die* I" (As long as God pleases,
my dear.)
2. Emancipation.—This subject is very fully
discussed in the Message. The President ad
heres to the principle previously enunciated by
him, viz. t thnt slavery was the cause of the
•war, and thnt the extirpation of slavery will end
it. Bnt he departs from the policy which he
recommended to Congress last session, inas
much as he now proposes an amendment to
the Constitution, tendering compensation to all
States which shall abolish slavery before the year
1900. The resolution which he laid before Cou
p-ess nearly a year ago, and which passed both
Houses by large majorities, tendered aid to States
abolishing slavery without specifying the time at
which abolition should take place. It was the
hope and expectation of tfee President and of
his friends in Congress that four States, Mary
land, Delaware, Kentucky, and Missouri, would
accept this offer and proceed to the abolition of
slavery at once. That hope has not been real
ized. It is doubtful whether the people of any
of these four States are any nearer voluntary
abolition than they were twelve months ago,
though their property in slaves has been so vast
ly diminished by the war. The President, how
ever, is not discouraged. He now proposes to
embody the offer of compensation in the Con
stitution, in order to render it more solemn and
binding, and to make it ft standing offer for the
next thirty-seven years. Whether this compro
mise measure, wise as it may prove eventually,
will at present satisfy either the partisans of
slavery -at the South or its opponents at the
North remains to be seen.
The President distinctly states that this
scheme of compensated emancipation is not in
tended to supersede the proclamation of Septem
ber 22d freeing the slaves in rebel States. By
that proclamation,- every slave dwelling in a
locality which has not elected members of Con
gress by a majority of legally constituted voters
shall be free on 1st January next, nnd shall be
entitled to claim that the United States shall
protect him in the enjoyment of his freedom.
If this proclamation stands unrecallcd, the slaves
now held in nine-tenths of Virginia, North Caro
lina, and Louisiana, nearly all of South Caro
lina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama. Mississippi,
Texas, and Arkansas, and three-fourths of Ten
nessee, will be freemen in law if no* in fnct, in
the course of a month from this time. So far
as they are concerned no amendment to the
Constitution will be required to improve their
political status; and the operation of the pro
posed amendment will consequently be confined
to the slaves in Maryland, Delaware, Missouri,
Kentucky, and such parts of Louisiana, Tennes
see, Virginia, and the other rebel States as are
now held by the armed forces of the United
States.
The President renews his favorite recom
mendation to Congress that provision be made
for the expatriation of emancipated slaves. With
that candor which is his most amiable charac
teristic, however, he admits that slight difficul
ties have been discovered in the way of the ac
complishment of this project. In the first place,
no State in America will receive our emanci
pated slaves as citizens. Hayti, in San Do
mingo, and Liberia, in Africa, alone tender to
them the right hand of fellowship. . And the
misfortnne about these places is that the negroes
won't go there. Indeed, the President admits
that, as a rule, the free negroes object to be
exiled at all. He has endeavored, by argument
and persuasion, to convince them that it is to
their best interest to go awny; and he has hopes
that they may come to see the matter in this
light by-and-by. Thus far, however, these per
sons with black skins are so unreasonable as to
entertain a fondness for their native country,
which bears n remarkable resemblance to a sen
timent commonly entertained by persons with
white skins, and called by poets " patriotism."
3. Tht Finances. — On this very important
subject the President gives us little information.
He is anxious to see onr finances restored to a
specie basis. He doubts whether it be wise to
issue as many legal tender notes as the country
can absorb. He alludes incidentally to loans,
as though they would necessarily be negotiated
by-and-by. And he concludes that, on the
whole, the best method of raining money for the
war is by the establishment of banks of issue,
whose issue shall be uniform in appearance and
based npon the deposit with the Treasury De
partment of United States Bonds. He snpplics
us with no information as to the number of
banks that will probably be established, or the
amount of bonds which they will take, or the
sum of money which they will yield to the
Treasury. We must wait for Mr. Chase's re
port to obtain light on these important points.
4. Our Foreign Relation*.— The President
diplomatically observes that our relations with
the foreign world, though less gratifying than
usual, are more satisfactory than might have
been expected by a nation distracted as we are.
Foreign nations have taken advantage of our
embarrassments to seek causes of quarrel with
ns, and onr blockade has natnrnlly given rise to
manyreclamations and disputes. Claims against
ns have been made by Great Britain, France.
Russia, and Spain: these the President has pro
posed to refer to a mixed Convention. The offer
has not yet been accepted, but the President
seems to expect that it will be. This condition
of things is obviously incidental to a state of
war, and it wonld be nnwise if it were just to
complain of it.
The tone of the Message is manly and truth
ful. Perhaps it might have been more hopeful;
but the people of the North need no encourage
ment in the task they have undertaken. They
know the magnitude of the business; and, with
out wasting time in words, are prepared to go
throngh with it to the bitter end.
A LETTER TO A HESITATING FRIEND.
MY DEAR JOHN,—Tou write that yon are by
nature and habit " Conservative," but that the old
faith has latterly acquired among ns a suspicious
face, and that somehow " Conservatism" suddenly
betrays a remarkable family likeness to Rebellion.
Since you ask my opinion you shall have it frank
ly ; and I will begin with the recent facts.
While onr army lately hesitated (your old radi
cal friend Hotspur says, backed and filled!) before
Fredericksburg, upon the rebel request to remove
the women and children, Jefferson Davis's letter
woi published, ordering the hanging of ten Union
officers who should be captured in battle, as a re
prisal for the lawful military punishment of ten
rebels at the West. This is another illustration of
the superior barbarism and deeper earnestness ol
the rebels. They have hung spies and deserters
and will now hang officers in reprisal. The latter
step is infamous, and the Government will not re
taliate, of conrse, until retaliation is necessary to
save loyal lives. But the whole management of
the war upon tiie rebel aide has forced anil thrus
upon us a lesson which wo have refused to learn ;
hat, as a civil war is the most deadly of all, it must
>e waged with the most resolute firmness or its
consequences will be incalculably more terrible.
Our leniency has been our Ions. Rebel women
iave crossed and recrossed onr lines at will. In
Washington they have openly insulted and defied
the Government. While the army was npon the
reninsula the wife of the rebel Lee was honorably
tept within our camp and then honorably guarded
out of it back to her husband, and Stuart immedi
ately rode around our army, and revealed the neces-
«ity"of moving from the Pamunky to the James.
The same shiftless half-heartedne'ss was equally
disastrous in the West. I received a letter in the
earlv autumn from an officer of mark who was soon
after killed at the battle of luka. It was written
rom Buell'scainp, and stated bitterly and despond-
ingly that the rebels in that region were sure of
better treatment nt head-quarters than Union men.
[t was inevitable that such conduct should bear
fruit, and it appeared in such speeches as John Van
Buron's, which nre printed with applause every
where in the South; while the elections are con
sidered by foreign Governments, as appears in the
correspondence upon mediation, to indicate the
growth of peace sentiment in the country.
No nation can seem to be in earnest which is not
so. And no nation can conquer a rebellion which
is not in deadly earnest. The relation of slavery
to the war is a test question of this earnestness,
and has always been so. Every hearty, thought
ful man at the North perceived this. Every rebel
knew it. Every foreigner said it. If we really
meant to save the country and the Union in the
most rapid and effective manner, it was clear that
slaver}' wonld no more be allowed to interfere with
that purpose than a bridge over a river. If it was
allowed to interfere, it was either because we did
not appreciate the immense work we had under
taken, or because we did not wish to do it. For
even granting that slavery had a constitutional ex
istence, which it has not, being a mere municipal
condition, how could men claim rights under a
constitution against whic> they were fighting?
Or, npon the other hand, what right had we to
concede to rebels in arms against the Constitution
the enjoyment of privileges under it (assuming that
they were so) which trebly strengthened their hands
to overthrow it? -
The case from the beginning has been as simple
as possible, although we have most sedulously so
phisticated our minds. To say that it was not
evident that emancipation would save us was to
beg the question; for it was not evident that an
army and navy would save ns. What was evi
dent was that even- means must be tried, and tried
with overwhelming unanimity. Had that been
our course onr Thanksgiving this year would have
been for peace restored nnd a country regenerated.
It has been equally clear from the beginning that
if the nation chose to save itself nothing was easier.
It had every resource, and needed only the resolu
tion. To a philosophic observer the question, after
the fall of Sumter, was merely, Is this nation so
demoralized that it will yield to the insurrection of
the despotic interest which has so long governed
it, or will it vindicate its Constitution and its prin
ciples? There is no other question now. If the
reaction which is called Conservatism—and which
is only the Northern face of the rebellion—can pre
vail, we shall have lost more than a hundred thou
sand lives, and spent hard upon a thousand mill
ion of dollars, for worse than nothing. The pop
ular system of government will be brought to
burning shame, and the hope of humanity every
where be betrayed. Why not ? A " Conservative"
Member of Congress elect entertains his friends,
and chief among the "Conservative" orators of
congratulation is one who frankly expressed his
satisfaction when Sumter was taken and the United
States flag dishonored by the rebels. How do Val-
landigham and John Van Buren seriously differ
from Jeff Davis ? The latter openly says that we
had better go through a form or two, and then
let the wayward sisters go. Is that your " Con
servatism ?" And yet where else can you stand
if you do not heartily support every war measure
of the Government in subduing the enemy ?
Do not think me despondent of the good ol adopted. Mr. Cox offered
a preamble and resolutions relating to arbitrary political
arrests, condemning them, and directing that they shall
not be herenfter made. They were laid on the table, by a
vote of 80 to 40. Mr. Richardson, of Illinois, offered a
resolution requesting the President to inform the House
what citizens of Illinois are now confined as political pris
oners, and what are the charges against them. A motion
to lay it on the table failed, and it was paused, 74 to 40.
Soon afterward the President's Message was received and
read. The document Is reviewed in the leader in another
column.
On Tuesday, December 2, In the Senate, Senator Pow-
ell, of Kentucky, offered a resolution calling on the Presi
dent for information In regard to arrests of citizens of
Kentucky by the military authorities'; also a preamble
and resolution declaring that many citizens of the United
States have been arrested and imprisoned without any
charges being preferred agalnrt them whatever, and that
all eucli arresls are unauthorized hy the Constitution and
laws of the United States, and are usurpations of the pow
er delegated by the people to the President; and that all
such arrests are hereby condemned and declared palpable
violations of the Constitution of the United States; and it
is hereby demanded that all such arrests shall cease here
after, and that all persons so arrested shall have a prompt
aud speedy trial, " according to the provisions of the Con
stitution," or be Immediately released. These resolutions
were laid over. .Senator Davis, of Kentucky, offered a
joint resolution declaring that it Is hereby recommended
that all Hie States choose delegates, to meet in convention
at Louisville, on the first Monday of April next, to take
into consideration tha present condition of the country
and the proper meiinn to be pursued for restoring the
Union, and that the Legislatures Sf the different i-tates
take such action as they may deem fit for this purpose at
the earliest possible date. This was also laid over, aud the
Senats adjourned.——In the House, a bill was paused pro
viding for the payment in gold and silver of all judgments
recovered by the United State*. The Military Committee
were instructed to Inquire Into the propriety of increasing
the pay of soldiers to fifteen dollars per month, and making
reductions In the pay of officers not actively engaged. The
Committee of Ways and Means were instructed to inquire
and report as to the propriety of admitting cottou brought
from foreign countries free of duty. A bill was Introduced
for the relief of the sufferers ty the Indian outbreak in
Minnesota; also to abrogate all treaties between the Gov
ernment and the Sioux Indians. A bill to reduce the tax
on whisky was brought forward, but objection was made to
its introduction, whereupon the House adjotirned.
THE REPORT OF TI1K WAR DEPARTMENT.
The Secretary of War In his Report states that that por
tion of the United States which is now, or has beeu during
the lust year the scene of military operations is confined
within ten military departments; that the armies operat
ing in those departments, according to recent official re
turns, constitute a force of seven hundred and serenty-five
thousand three hundred aud thirty-six officers aud privates,
fully armed aud equipped; that since the date of the re
turns this number has been Increased to over eight hun
dred thousand; that when the quotas are filled up it will
number a million of meu; and thnt the valor of our troops
has been displayed on many occasions, and the skill and
gallantry of their officen have been distinguished at Yolk-
town, Wllliamsburg, Fair Oaks, Guinea's Mill, Malvern
Hill, Cross Keys, C«dar Mountain, Chantilly, and other
places.
The Report Is accompanied by a report and documents
from General Halleck, Comnmnder-ln-Cluef.
THE NAVY RKPORT.
The Report ot Secretary Welles is very long. When he
assumed charge of the Navy Department In March, 1861,
there were but 42 vessels then in commission, and moat ol
them abroad. There were only 7600 seamen then In the
pay of the Government, and on the 10th of March only 207
In all the ports and receiving-ships of the Atlantic coast,
to man our ships and protect the Navy-ysrds aud depots,
aud aid in suppressing the rising insurrection. At the
present time, by purchase and by construction, the Gov.
cmroent has afloat, or progressing to completion, a naval
force of 427 vessels, and carrying 3268 guns. So suddeu
and so vast a naval armament lias not been witnessed In
modern times. Of the 427 vessels In »ervice 104 only are
sailing vessels, 328 are steam vessels, and 128 of these lat
ter have been added by construction. These new vessel*
of war are of no mean capacity and calibre, as the follow
ing description of them will ahow:
Dwejipuoa.
Second-clus screw sloope of war
Side-wheel gun-boat* .... . ...
Armored wooden vessels .......
Armored iron vessels. ..........
Total.................
No. of
V«M|>.
18
27
3!l
12
Si!
123
Ouu.
16
2%
74
oOT_
Tola.
16.896
14,033
:«S,3T7
VJO 893
ssjeoi
1»0,330
THK ARMV OF THK POTOMAC.
The rebels are actively engaged In erecting earth-works
around FredericksburR. General Burnside has not cross,
ed the Rappahannock; his army U si 111 at and around Fat*
mouth. The railroad from Falroontli to Aqula Creek U
in working order. A dash of Hie enemy's cavalry in lam
force was made across the Rappahannock on 28th nit. a
abort distance above the head-quartern of our army, and
nearly two companies of the Third Pennsylvania cavalry,
of General Averill's brigade, were captured.
BURNSIDE AT WASHINGTON.
General Burnside paid a hasty visit to Washing- fc
Friday night, and had an Interview with the President •
General Halleck.
THK ARMY OF TIIE WFRT IN MOTION.
The army, according to a dispatch from Cairo, is all In
motion. General Sherman, It Is sold, left MemphU on
26th, and General Grant commenced to move on 28th along
the road to Holly Sprinp.. The rebels, meantime, are
falling back toward Granada, tearing up the track as they
go. They carry off thn rails, bum the bridges, aud destroy
the ties as they retreat. It Is reported that thn rebels an
removing all their valuables from Jackson, Mississippi.
DKPARTURK Or GENERAL BANKfl.
A portion of General Ilanks'i expedition left this port
on 2d for " the South." The vessels consisted of the Unit
ed States transports AVw Urunnrick. Jllinoit, northern
Light, Xorth Star, J. S. Green, lltae, Salvor, and oth
ers, with troops and provisions. The flotilla will probably
rendezvous at Fortress Monroa.
THE NPGRORS IN THE FIELD.
An expedition of the colored regiment, South Carolina
Volunteers, under Lieutenant-Colonel Heard, made quite a
successful attack at Doboy Sound upon the enemy, in which
the negroes behaved very commendahly. It la rumored
that General Beauregard ha* pronounced Charleston inde
fensible, and that thx inhabitants are moving their prop*
erty from the city.
ATTACK ON NRWBRRN.
A party of 4000 rebels, under General Martin, made an
attack on Newbem, North Carolina, on 27th, but they
were driven back with heavy loss by our troops, com.
manded by ColonsI Kurtz, of the Massachusetts Twenty,
fourth. *
THE PIRATE "ALABAMA."
The Navy Department has information that the pirate
A Mama was expected in the vicinity of the Azores early
in November. Plie was to receive supplies, ammunition,
and seamen from the steamer Bahama. The Turkish
steamer Shasigfut was taking dispatches to that place for
Captain Semroes. Several United States vessels are In
that neighborhood. The I'andrrtrilt returned on SOth,
without having seen her.
RELEASE OF STATE PRISONERS.
The release of the Slata prisoners from Fort Warren, In
Boston Harbor, was unconditional, aa appears by the foi.
lowing order:
"CoL J. Dimtet, r. S. Armff, Fort Warren, Boston:
" The Secretary of War directs that you release all the
Maryland Bute prisoners; atao, any other State prisoners
that may be in your custody, aud report to this office.
" E. D. TowHSmm, Assistant Adjutant-General."
FAIR ARRANGEMENT.
ALDERMAN (just elected).—"Now, Sonny, you go and do the fighting, and me and the Judge
will look after the Government and the Contracts,"
FOREIGN NEWS.
FRANCE.
THE FRENCH OFFER TO MEDIATE.
Wit have the text of the dispatch of M. Drouyn da
1'Huys respecting mediation. He says:
" From the commencement of the war an armad fonae
was set on foot by the belligerents, which since then has
been almost constantly kept np. After so much blood,
shed they are now, In that respect, nearly Iu the same post.
tion, nothing authorizing the presumption that more de
cisive military operations will shortly occur, according U
the last news received in Europe. The two armies, on tha
contrary, were in a condition that would not allow either
party to hope within a brief delay for any decided advant
age to turn the balance and accelerate tha conclusion of •
peace. All these circumstances, taken together, point to
the opportunity of an armistice, to which, moreover, un.
der the present circumstances, no strategical objection can
be made. The favorable dispositions toward peace which
are beginning to manifest themselves In the North as well
as the South might, on the other band, second atept that
might be made to recommend the idea of truce. The Em.
peror has therefore thought that the occasion has pro.
aented Itself of offering to the belligerent! the support of
the good offices of the maritime Powers, and his Majesty-
has charged roe to make the proposition of this Government
to her Britannic Msjesty, as well as to the Court of Russia.
The three Cabinets would exert their influence at Wash,
ington, as well as with the Confederates, to obtain an arm.
istlce for six months, during which every act of war, di
rect or Indirect, should provisionally cease, on sea as well
as on land, and it might be. If Decenary, ulterior-ally pro.
longed.
"The overtures, I need not say. Sir, would not Imply,
on our part, any Judgment on the origin or issue of the
struggle, nor any pressure upon the negotiations which
might, it is to be hoped, ensue in favor of an armistice.
Our task would consist solely In smoothing down obstacle*,
and in interfering only in a fteosnre determined npon by
the two parties."
THE BRITISH REPLY.
Lord John Russell, in his reply, says: "After weighing
all the Information which has been received from Ameri.
ca, her Majesty'. Government an led to the conclusion
that there is no ground at the present moment to hope
that the Federal Government would accept the proposals
suggested, aud a refusal from Washington at the present
time would prevent any speedy renewal of the offer. Her
Majesty's Government think, therefore, that It would be
better to watch carefully the progress of opinion in Amer
ica, and If, as there appears reason to hope. It may be
found to have undergone, or may undergo hereafter, any
change, the three courU might then avail themwlvei of
such change to offer their friendly counsel with a greater
prospect than now exists of ita being accepted by the two
contending parties."
RUSSIA.
RUSSIA WILL NOT INTERFERE.
After recalling the constant efforts of Rnssla in favor of
conciliation. Prince Gortchakoff says that it i> requisite,
above all things, to avoid the appearance of any preuun
whatever capable of chilling public opinion in America, or
of exercising the susceptibility of that nation. We be
lieve that a combined measure of the three great Powen,
however conciliatory, If presented In an official or officious
character, would be the cause of arriving at a result op-
posed to pacification. If, however, France should persist
in her intention of mediation, and England should acquit
esce in her course, instructions shall be tent to Baron
Stoeckl, at Washington, to lend to both his colleagues
then (the French and English Minliten), U not official
aid, at leut moral support.

''
ll"' I.
ll
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
I
DECEMBER 13, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 789
w H
O
n
1
-s

790 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [DECEMBER 13, 1862.
j!
I
TREASURES.
A ctntL of dark brown hair,
Hid in a locket of gold;
A ring set round with pearls,
Of fashion quaint and old.
That locket nestles close
In my bosom, night and day;
That ring—since it left the finger
Of the dear one far away.
The ring I wear for hope,
The locket I wear for faith;
The heart that throbs beneath them
Will be true till my day of death.
Take them both to my lover,
When I am freed from strife:
There are many joined by death
~ might never be one in life.
OUTWITTED.
A LONELY little parlor neighboring only long
nndulating sweeps of hill-side and shadowed val
leys—a'room with small regard for rules and prece
dents, independently persisting in being aify and
cheerful spite of dark wood floor and wainscoting
and heavy curtains; decidedly progresista in its
chair and sofa principles, putting them where they
were likely to be wanted, and evidently as incapa
ble of buhl, biscotine, and all manner of etagere
abominations, as a fair field of growing purple vel
vet violets; particular, also, about its pictures, of
which it offered you but two.
Heads seen only in profile, and exactly similar
in hard inflexibility of outline; yet on the down
cast lids of one dwell perpetual hush and silence.
The rapt face was full of the mystery of sleep; the
far-seeing, solemn eyes might havo been looking
into those of Azrael. The other rushed through
space; by some subtle magic every curl blowing
back from the wide forehead was quivering and
instinct; the untried lips were parted and eager;
all the fresh splendor of morning dwelt in the
proud eyes; both without color, without symbol,
yet no need of flame or star to interpret night and
morning.
Below them, a monster flanked either side of
the fire-place; perverted Chinese imaginings of
vases, crowded with flowers, and in that way put
down, something as Truth does High Art, by the
inflexible little room, that coming round past the
piano to the view, went off in a bow-window, in
which sat Lute Howard. A little thing that a
man might crush in his hand, mocking a cursory
glance, defying all description, because her charm
was in the look of the deep gray eyes, the peculiar
tmbrt of her voice, the clinging touch'of he* little
fingers, the spirit of her whole manner, rather than
in coloring or outline. She had been making a
pretense of work. There was the sewing basket
l"n a gay tangle of silks and ribbons, and a bit of
braiding and a tiny thimble on the timorous out
skirts of her lap, in which Fidele had comfortably
settled himself; for Fidele was the gift of Paul
Ogere, and a privileged character—not to pet him
was quite out of the question; and then Vivia left
the lounge and her book, and going over to the
piano began to play. Now Vivia played marvel-
ously. It was as if ^ had been the story.whispered
among the pines on some solemn mountain top,
telling, in soft, half-breathed chords, of the still
glow quivering and quickening along the gray sky's
edge, swelling into hurry and tumult with the toss
ing of clouds in Hie valleys below, dashed with
scarlet and gold as the day grew stronger, hurry
ing, struggling to grasp and sound out in one
wild burst the glory of color and of the morning
rejoicing—fading, dying, leaving it all at last to
one sweet voice, coming out of the land of mist
and burning with the brook; this last imaged forth
in trickling, dropping notes, going on with blare of
fairy horns, and wild echoes tossed from mountain
to mountain, muttering darkly of rocky clefts and
awful gorges, growing, deepening, coming head
long down jagged descents with strong, reckless
bounds, spreading out into tranquil lakes, cutting
off little pine-shadowed islets, but above all the
gurgling, and whispering, and thundering, and out
of wailing and shuddering depths, in all and through
all, sounding the one sweet morning voice.
The little room was flooded, drenched with the
harmony. Lute listened, shivering and with eyes
filled with tears; while from the opposite window
Dale Hamilton watched her, thinking what superb
.yes she had, and how her white thrilled face looked
like a picture, and how odd it was that such a little
snow-drop should nestle so warmly in his heart, anil
what a stunner Vivia was!—admired the innsic,
too, in his way. Saw that the difficulties were pip-
digious, and that Vivia made light of them, and at
the end was incautious enough to cry " Brava!"
Lute turned on him like flame.
"Captain Hamilton, I think you would clap
Mont Blanc."
"Undoubtedly, if yon mean Miss Vivia, only she
seems to me something more tropical."
" And why tropical ?" asked Vivia, facing round
with a sudden whirl of the piano stool.
Dalo was at fault and shifted the responsibility.
" Atk your mirror."
Whi.cli Vivia answered by a shrug, and going
over t > Lute COUChed on the floor beside her, ns
she wi3 toad of doing, offering to that fair child
such s contract as pearls and carbuncles, purple
and sn fW, the opal light before dawn, and a stormy
sunset. She was far nbove the ordinary height of
womai;, her chest was fnli and broad, her arm mus
cular 1.8 well as handsome. Her face defied you.
An intensity of something (Dale never could de
termine what) burned in her look, sent the passion
ate bkod surging up to her lips, glowing scarlet iu
the clear brown cheek, lined itself sharply in every
irregular feature, and blazed in the dark eyes,
thoug] Jxper Wi&dcLl than Captain Hamilton's
could hardly have told what manner of spirit ii
was that looked out from their inscrutable depths.
Her dress flamed out in a barbaric magnificence.
Scarlet showed here and there against the soft blue
of her robe; an orange-colored knot fastened the
lace frill at her throat, tiny gold coins dangled from
the net that scarcely held the heavy coils of hair;
color and sparkle was in every thing, even to the
gay border of her handkerchief, and the steel fringe
on her slipper; altogether such a face and figure
as might have been looked for behind a gilded
screen in Vathek's palace, or leaning over a marble
sill, to peer down into the dark and secret waters
bearing black curtained gondolas up to the very
carved door-way; any where but in that quiet lit
tle parlor. Decidedly there was a mystery. Under
all the careless talk and jesting of the past two
weeks reserve was on one side, suspicion on the
other.
If ever the domestic barometer stood at Panic
it was on the morning-that Dale, leaving his hand
ful of cavalry in the little village below, galloped
up to see Lute, whom he had sworn should not re
sist him always. If ever there was an incompre
hensible story it was Lute's account of this Vivia,
a friend of whom Dale (who had grown up with
her) had never heard. If ever there was unaccount
able daring, it was that of this girl who had chosen
to traverse a distracted country with no other
protection than that of an infirm old uncle, at a
time when Federalists and Confederates occupied
M—— in such quick succession that often while
one end of the street was clattering with retreating
cavalry the other resounded with the quick ad
vancing tramp and triumphal roll of drums. If
ever there was an old man whose hand looked as
if it might forget its trembling, whose eyes gnve
the lie direct to wrinkles and white hair, whose
baft seemed as if its manifest destiny was to
straighten, and whose totter came often perilously
near a stride, it was this uncle of Vivia's, this Mr.
Borden, taking snuff and being deaf near the
hearth, in an afflicting way, as if from a stern
sense of duty.
Hard for Dale Hamilton, twirling his mustache
and watching keenly from under his eyelashes,
not to think that a decrepitude so lightly worn
might be thrown aside, even though the days of
miracles were past, and show him—who knew ?—
Lieutenant Ogere perhaps; for Dale, who must
have had a league with the birds cf the air, chanced
to know that his old rival was absent from the
camp on secret duty.
Dale was better soldier than musical critic.
His keen senses had caught the something unusual
in the moral atmosphere, and he was on the track
with the persistence of a sleuth-hound. Meanwhile
silence had taken possession of them all. Doubtful
Mr. Borden was in a doze. Vivia still couched
near Lute, resting her cheek on Lute's little hand.
Lute herself sat flushing uneasily, and with down
cast lids.
"The angel is long in making his rounds," said
Dole, at last. " I am sure his wings have never
once neared my lips, for. I have been trying usclcs---
ly all this while to think of something to say."
" Why try at all ? Hnve you given bonds never
to keep the peace ?" quoth Vivia, the sarcastic.
" It is plain that you have done so, oh mine
enemy!"
" Well, was it your profession ?"
" Civilized warfare, hut not such guerrilla skirm
ishing as yours. I can't so much as show my head
but, whiz! one of you sends a bullet after me. I
begin to think myself no match for such sharp
shooters."
" Samson in the hands of two DelHahs. Be sure
we don't send you back shorn."
A cold, cruel gleam shone in Bale's eyes.
" I have done so, Miss Vivia."
"You have done what?"
" Pardon me, but we don't go over the plan of
our campaign with our enemies."
" As you like; but you know what that eminent
authority ' Somebody' says—that man never yet
climbed with painful effort up any height that he
did not find a woman comfortabh- seated on the
top. I give you warning. Keep 3>our keys care
fully; for do what you will you will have reason to
chant 'laudamus,' if in the end I don't turn the
guns of your own citadel upon you. Well, Mrs.
Hall, what is it?"—(to the housekeeper who stood
hesitsting in the door-way.)
" If Miss Lute will please come here a moment
and tell me what rooms I am to give Captain Ham
ilton's men—"
" Captain Hamilton's men!"
" Don't be alarmed. It is not the whole South
ern army, as Mrs. Hall would have you think, only
seven or eight of my fellows, whom I ordered here,
thinking it would be better to have a guard about
the house, as Federal troops are reported in tlie
vicinity," explained Dale, leaning back, and scan
ning the little group with a keen-edged glance,
that, resting last on Lute, said plainly,
"I have done with waiting and*forbearance.
Know me at last as the man whose iron purpose
?ou have never shaken one liair's-breadth"—and
raiding her in a sort of fascinated attention till the
angry flush and sparkle had dimmed away into a
ghastly pallor—then,
" I think there will be no trouble," snid Dale,
gently.
Vivia gave Lute's hand a quick warning press-
e.
" I am very hungry, Lute. Do you propose that
Captain Hamilton's men shall be served up for
supper, or wilf you give Mrs. Hall a hint what to
do with them, and get them out of the way of the
coffee ?"
Lute started, got up mechanically and'went out,
and Vivia seated herself beside Dale. Her wide
lowing skirts half buried him, her sleeve touched
his, her every breath set free some vague sweet
cent like the spirit of perfume. An incautious
movement had tangled the heavily-wrought fringe
on her bracelet with the lace of her sleeve, and she
teld out to him an arm and wrist not of the most
delicate mould, but glancing white as snow in the
dim light. Separating them proved no easy task.
The lace was d'Alen9on—impossible that it shouli
be torn! the twilight was hard upon them, and
Dale must sit very close to see. He cared not a
whit for this mighty beauty—in his heart he had
christened her Nirarod—but the soft curls swept his
forehead, and the bright cheek was perilously close
to his, and so Captain Hamilton was in no hurry.
Meantime Mr. Borden roused from his doze anc
shuffled out unnoticed, and Lute somewhere thawec
out her benumbed faculties and came back looking
very much as usual. Mrs. Hall brought in can
dles, and shut out the discontented wind and the
eager darkness, and Lute brewed nectar, known as
Mocha, in an arrangement that looked irresistibly
like u lecture on chemistry; and the three sat cozily
about the fire together, and fortunately there was
no revealer of secrets to write out the thoughts of
their hearts in letters of flame, and send them re
coiling to opposite comers of the room in consterna
tion like Belshazzar's.
So the time slipped lazily along with them, till
at last they came to bedtime, and Lute could take
her great anxiety to her own room and have it to
herself.
It was then half past ten. She laid her watch
on the toilet cushion, replaced her rustling skirts
and heeled boots by a merino wrapper and sound
less slippers, and sat down as if waiting. The
hands traveled slowly on. The house settled down
into such silence that Lute was half afraid to trust
the air with her breathing lest it should sound out
too noisily. Eleven o'clock—half past—a quarter
to twelve—then her numbed heart began to beat to
suffocation—ten minutes—five—three—she opened
wide her door, put out the candle, and stole down
the broad stairs. The gloom was profound, the
stillness could be felt; but Lute thought that all
the air vibrated to her passing, and that dumb
matter itself would ring in the ears of the sleepers
above. There is something stirring. The library-
door was just ajar, the shadow denser there Jf pos
sible, and, a little lighter than the surrounding
blackness, but motionless as if a part of it—some
thing stood directly before her.
She stretched out a timid little hand.
"Is it Paul?"
By way of answer the waif was seized in a firm,
warm clasp and covered with kisses; and a pale
point of light, gleaming faintly through the open
fretwork of a vase shot up in a clear flame, striking
on a gilt shoulder-strap and a sword-hilt, and show
ing the earnest, sparkling face of a man of twenty-
seven or eight.
" Tardy little thing! behind the hour as usual,"
he whispered. -" I have been waiting here an age!"
" Oh, hush! you are too loud."
"Too loud! for what? The mice will never
tell of us. Sit here. I want to look at you. Such
a sby child as you have been all these tantalizing
two weeks, always at my finger ends, and always
eluding me! Believe me, I have kept a record of
all you have made me suffer, and have sworn to
exact a righteous revenge."
All the while he was eagcrh- trying to look into
the downcast face, but could see only the dark
lashes resting on the ashy cheek, and a little
rounded bit of chin.
" What am I to understand ?" he asked, at last.
" Have I displeased you ?"
"No."
" Are you afraid of me ?"
"Oh no!"
" Don't you love me ?"
" Oh, Paul, how can you ask ? But yon know,
you must feel 3-ourseIf, how strange, how dreadful
it is to meet like this!"
" I have been risking my life for the last two
weeks to see you," he answered, gravely. " I sup
pose that is dreadful too; though it is worse than
ill, to my thinking, that you have neither word nor
look for me at what is perhaps our last meeting."
" I think my presence here should be proof that
I love you; but you do not know what terrors are
distracting me. You are in immediate, pressing
danger. I am sure Dale suspects."
" Are you no further in your conclusions ? Then
[ have news for yon.' I am sure that Captain
Hamilton has read our riddle, and—not suspects,
Dut knows. You heard him this afternoon: now
come to the window, close. Do you hear that?
Steps are they not? pacing up and down with a
regular measured tramp, and a slight click just
now ? He is setting his musket down to rest."
" He! what! You do not mean there is a eentinel
without?"
"Exactly: and if you should go to the further
door, as I have done, you would hear one there;
and if you should venture into the bow-window, you
would find one there; and another on the side of
the dining-room, and one guarding the kitchen-
way. The house is surrounded. You see Captain
Hamilton plays to win."
"And you—"
" I have: hark!"—for in the air was that vague
;hrill and stir, not the echo of a step, not the sound-
ng of a breath, yet surely some one coming. The
'aint flame quivered, leaped up and died out into
ilackness. Paul held Lute a moment close against
iis heart, and was gone into the darkness. Cold
damp bathed her from head to foot, her knees hent,
deathlike faintness assailed her, her heart stopped
almost as she went dizzily toward the door. But
she had not time to reach it. Outstretched fingers
met her groping hand and closed uj,on it. She
slipped, spirit-like, from the firm grasp, but it fol
lowed her close, caught her by the she ilder, touch
ed her hair, her cheek, her icy hands.
"Lute! I thought so," said a VOA». It was
Dale. Dragging her after him, he lighted the
amp -swinging low over the reading-table. His
first glance WHS at her deathlike face, bis second
about the room: it was vacant, and Lute could
not suppress a sigh of relief.
Dale caught the sigh, guessed its meaning, and
lushed darkly. Thrusting her into a chair, "Sit
there till I come back," he said, half savagely.
Common enough in romance, such swift terror,
such crushing anguish conies in reality " v ~7ct."
to one lifetime out of fifty; and Lute sat stunned
beneath it, not even capable of shaping into words
her prayer for help. Looking scarce alive, Dale
found her on his return; and as he stood looking
down on her his dark face softened in spite of him
self, she was such a fragile, nestling little creat
ure, and looked so utterly woeful. And she was
the woman he had loved all his life, and he longed
beyond measure to gather her up in his arms and
to his heart. For the moment he forgot that she
loved Paul Ogere.
" Oh, Lute, if you would but love me!" he burst
out on the sudden. But she shrank with only too
palpable aversion from his kindling glance, his ex
tended arms.
He grew white to the very lips.
" I will buy Lieutenant Ogere's charm of him
for his life," he said, with smothered passion,
" though I will not prove so exacting. I will not
require midnight meetings. I will only ask civil
ity."
The sneering tone, the stinging sarcasm, mode
Lute's torpor white heat.
"The life of Paul Ogere is not yet in your gin,"
she answered, with spirit," and our midnight meet
ing rests on your assertion. But be it so. You
have no right to taunt me. I love him, and I am
his affianced wife."
" You love him! Yon dare tell me that!"
" Yes, a hundred times over, with whatever force
there is in my nature—so well that every thing be-
siJps Mm is tame, mean, and joyless, so that I can
think of nothing pleasant without him—with all my
heart and soul!"
"It is well," Dale answered, bitterly. "We
were old schoolmates. I am not anxious to see
him shot."
" What do you mean ?"
" Simply this. I know perfectly that Paul Ogere
is in this house. Long ago I penetrated his dis
guise. He wears old age too lightly to baffle Dale
Hamilton. There is at this moment a guard be
fore his door; there is one below his window; there
are sentinels at every corner of the house. He is
a Federal spy. My duty as a Confederate dfflcer
is clear enough, and should be paramount: but
fortunately', perhaps, for him, I have in this cafe
a love dearer than that 01 country—my love for
you."
" Love!" echoed Lute, scornfully.
" Call it will, then, if you Iike-*-an intense de
sire—a firm intention—what you choose. I have
seen scores of women prettier and wittier than you,
but you please me; you are precisely what I should
like and mean -to find in my home. I like your
deft touch, your soft voice, your clear look. Oth
ers may choose to wear such rainbow glories as
that Vivia. I prefer the subtle flame burning in
the lily vase. Never yet in my whole life have I
wished uselessly; I shall not now."
Lute looked up with sudden flame in her eye,
but Dale gave her no chance to speak.
" Hear me out. I have borne patiently your •
little slipper on my neck, because I waited for my
hour. It is here now; and, believe me, I mean to
use it. Know how determined I am when I tell
you what I am about to sacrifice: my honor—the
honor of a Hamilton! To use the advantage I
have gained against one so helpless is base, and
ret I mean to do it; to listen to any other prompt-
ng than that of duty deserves hanging, and I mean
to do it. I am going to betray my country and
myself; to sell you the life of the spy caught and
imprisoned up stairs for your hand!"
Lute was silent.
"Your answer!" demanded Dale.
She was shivering, she was faint, trembling; but
her will looked out at him, from the soft brown
syes, unshaken, indomitable.
" I will not commit a crime," she answered,
slowly, " not to save Paul's life, were it in your
power, as you say. A hundred times no!"
" I see. You do not believe," returned Dale,
quietly. " Good. Perhaps to-morrow I shall find
means to convince you. To-morrow evening I will
hear your final answer. Now good-night!"
Lute made no answer, but went wearily up the
stairs. Passing the door of Mr. Borden's room she
saw the guard of which Dale had spoken pacing up
and down before it, and smiled, meaningly.
Morning, that was not so far off when Lute
ind Captain Hamilton parted, came soon enough.
L'ame also, though a little later than usual—as a
consequence of the quiet little house's astonishment
n finding itself a prisoner—breakfast. Dale made
his appearance promptly. Lute came also, toler
ably serene, though looking pale and heavy-eyed.
But Mr. Borden, when called, responded not;
ind, on being searched for, was not to be found.
Neither door nor window had been opened in his
own ; hiding-place there was none; and yet he
was gone. Dale then remembered that he had
not seen him since so blissfully engaged over
rtvia's bracelet: but there was the meeting in the
ibrary. Dale was positive that he had heard
voices there. How Borden conld have escaped the
entinels passed comprehension. How he himself
could have trusted so blindly to the mere fact of
he guards he found hard to explain in the cool
morning light. He had wished to spare Lute a
cene; he had been so sure that he had Paul tc-
urely trapped. However, it helped very little to
curse his folly now. Vivia also was turn e>t. She
had gone quietly to the stables perhaps a quarter
of an hour before, possibly while the guard sta-
ioned at the kitchen-way was doing justice to the
excellent coffee to which old Nanny had called
his attention. Certainly so simple an occurrence
needed not Dale's strained interpretation of the
connivance of the cook in a plan of escape. " No
thing could well be more natural," as Lute coldly
observed; the man was worn-out with his night's
duty—the cook thoughtful. It was hard that mere
acts of civility to Captain Hamilton's soldiers
should be so harshly construed; and given this
reprehensible sentinel busy over his coffee, it was
still paying a poor compliment to Confederate valor
not to suppose six of its champions a compet i;t
guard for :tn "Id mnn anil
DECEMBER 13, 1862.] IIAHPER'S WEEKLY. 79,
One man had seen Vivia dash past, he said,
" like lightning, and had pointed his gun at her,
but of course he didn't fire on a lady. He thought
there oould be no great mischief in a girl's having
a scamper before breakfast, specially an out-and-
outer like this one, that had been dashing over all
the country ever Bince she had been there."
One faint gleam only showed on Dale's horizon
as he swore inwardly over the stupidity of his sub
ordinates. Vivia had taken what was familiarly
known as the Old Road; while the men scoured
the country for Borden he could take a short cut
leading down on the Old Road, and even fifteen
minutes' start was not hopeless with such a horse
as Goliffe.
So he thought, dashing recklessly across the
country, looking keenly for a flowing skirt and a
cap and plume set daintily over short, crisp cnrls;
tear them presently, just before him, going at a
steady, swinging pace.
" Vivii!" he called—" Vivia!"
She could hardly have heard him—it must have
been insl' :ict that made her turn—but she reined up
in the ii (ant, waiting for him with the old baf
fling, mocking smile.
"Yon ride early and fast, Captain Hamilton."
" I have need," said Dale, sternly; " ycur uncle
(an emphasis on the noun) has escaped."
"Escaped what! the ills that flesh is heir to?"
she asked, with perfect coolness.
"No; though he may have an excellent oppor
tunity, if I can but catch him."
" Meantime yon have not caught him."
"This is folly, Miss Vivia; you must ride back
•with me," returned Dale, with increasing irrita
tion.
"Must! What is that? It is a word never used
with me. Will you speak English that a lady can
understand.?"
"I will supply you with a dictionary and a
grammar on reaching home, and you may study
them at leisure; but I can not alter the form of my
speech. To he plain, you are a suspected person.
You must return with me."
" Hands off!" exclaimed Vivia, with a danger
ous sparkle of the eyes, as he attempted to take her
reins. "If you have a 'must,' I have a will. I
will ride where I choose, and I warn you not to
cross me."
' 'Idle and unbecoming bravado," returned Dale,
scornfully drawing closer.
" Once more I warn yon."
" I insist—"
" You will have it, then;" and the butt end of a
pistol came crashing down en his head with a force
that felled him senseless. Vivia looked down at
him ruefully.
"'Hard-head Hamilton,' that was his sobri
quet at school, and he has not altered," she mut
tered, springing from her saddle. " Let me see if
•the devil take this toggery!" as she tripped over
hiT long skirt—" how do women ever get about in
it ?" And then the birds, if birds there were, must
have opened eyes of astonishment; for with one
pull, skirt, basque, corset, and padding went to
tlie winds; and cap, curls, and mossy coils of hair
following, disclosed broad shoulders bearing the
straps of a United States lieutenant, a closely
shaved head, and an eagle-eyed sparkling face,
that, spite of paint and penciling, looked sufficient
ly unfeminine—Paul Ogere, in short.
Meantime Lute was praying by her little snow-
white bed: " Lord, it is nothing with thee to help,
whether with many or with them that have no
power. Help us, O Lord our God, for we rest on
thee I"
And Borden the venerable, otherwise Jack Bor
den, Paul's lieutenant, having prudently departed
before the posting of the sentinels, had fallen in
with a detachment of the Twelfth Illinois. And is
not the rest written in the chronicle of the dailies—
how Voss had possession of M——, totally routing
the rebel troops, and mentioning the most daring
reconnoissance of Lieutenant Ogere, and the cap
ture of Captain Hamilton, omitting only the sweet
est prisoner of all, one Lute, who, as she had prom
ised long before, yielded herself prisoner, rescue or
no rescue, and is at this present writing Mrs. Paul
Ogere? =====_===
THE TRICK OF THE TRAPEZE.
WHEN I practiced as a boy on the gymnastic
" swinging-bar," nobody ever heard of a trapeze;
but under that fine name the old swinging-bar has
now come into glory. Well it might, if there were
truth in picture posters. Surely, methought, I have
much yet to learn. Never had I been taught to
stiffen myself horizontally, with arms stretched to
their utmost, fingers extended, and one leg straight,
•with the other assuming that air of "kicking grace
fulness" so much deprecated in painting, but so gen
erally introduced into wood-cuts. Neither, when I
throw a somersault, am I in the habit of projecting
my chin, forcing my occiput bstween my shoulder-
blades, and thrusting my arms forward as if about
to take the first stroke in swimming. Yet, if artists
really drnw from life, as certain accessories would
suggest they did, these are the attitudes assumed
by Leotard and his followers, and all my teachings
are radically false. Of course I went to see for
myself, and had the satisfaction of finding that
old-fashioned gymnastics were not superseded aft
er all, and that the strange attitudes of the per
former are perhaps owing to the inability of the
non-gymnastic artist to resolve the rapid and ever-
varying movements of the trapezist. It is simply
impossible for a man to project himself horizontal
ly through the air as if he had been shot out of a
catapult. If any one will take the trouble to watch
a performer while passing along the series of tra
pezes, he will find that the position is almost en-
'tirely perpendicular, and that when he is sweeping
through the air between the trapezes the body ii
as upright as when he stands ou the dull earth
Neither is the gymnast foolish enough to stretch
out his arms after the fashion of engravings. He
keeps his arms bent, with hands close to the chest,
ready to dart them out and grasp at the approach-
ng trapeze. For it is always easier to fling the
arm forward than to draw it back; and whereas
oo short a stroke will merely cause the performer
to come to the ground, a casnalty for which he is
always prepared, an overshot stroke will assured-
y break one arm if not both, and hurl the unfor-
unate gymnast on his head or flat on his back.
There is this remarkable feature in muscular, as
ndeed in literary and all other gymnastics, that
he inexperienced public invariably mistakes the
mportant points, fails to appreciate the really dif-
Icult part of the performance, and preserves all
ts applause for the simplest and easiest, hut the
most showy feats. As a muscular gymnast, I
speak feelingly; for I have often exhibited before
select assemblies, and have invariably found that
really difficult achievements have been silently
lassed over, while easy but dashing feate, snch as
browing a somersault over a horse, or dropping
'com a trapeze and catching by the feet, are re
warded with loud cheers. So it is with the per-
brmances of the many trapezists who have fol-
owed in the track of Leotard, the great master of
lis art. It is no very difficult matter to pass from
one trapeze to another. It requires a certain dash
and courage, but not more than a thorough course
of gymnastics can impart to any ordinary pupil,
he difficulty being, of course, in exact proportion
o the distance between the trapezes. The real
skill lies in the absolute exactness of balance, in
he seizing of the bar at the precise moment when
the weight of the body is brought to bear in the
iroper direction, and in the perfect line in which
the body is "delivered" between the ropes.
It is not enough merely to catch the bar. Any
one can do that who dares. The firet great point
8 to catch it so as to preserve the original impe
tus, and to be able to. add fresh force when re
quired, as is always the case before the trapezist
ias come to the end of his swing. The necessity
'or such a power b evident from the fact that if a
eaden mass of the same weight as the performer
were fastened to the rope and launched from the
elevated perch, it would not return to the point
whence it started, owing to the resistance of the
air (which feels to the performer like being whirl
ed along on the outside of an express train) and
the friction of the swivels whereon the ropes are
suspended. The performer must therefore have a
perfect command over the instrument, and be able
:o give to the return swing an additional force
which will serve to compensate for the loss of pow
er through resistance of the air. No one who has
not personally experienced this resistance can form
the least idea of its intensity, of the fierce rush of
air as of a tornado, and the entire deprivation of
nreath which it occasions to the neophyte.
In the somewhat severe school where I learned
my lessons the arrangements were so exactly bal
anced that the loss of a pound's weight of force or
he slightest deviation from the precise line would
produce inevitable and ignominious failure. Aft
er we had practiced on the trapeze for some time,
and were tolerably proficient upon it, we were shift
ed to the single rope, without a bar for the hands,
or even a knot as a resting-place. This rope hung
'rorn the centre of the building, and waslongenough
to reach within twenty inches of the ground. We
ascended a perpendicular ladder at one end of the
building, had the rope thrown to us, and were just
able to catch the extremity and to hold it, with arms
stretched to their utmost. The feat was to launch
ourselves from the ladder, swing to the opposite
end of the building, turn in the air, swing back
again, and reassume our perch on the ladder. It is
hardly possible to exaggerate the difficulty of this
feat. The reader will observe that, owing to the
length of the rope, and the very limited space
which iutervened between its extremity and the
ground, it was necessary to gather up the body by
the mere force of the arms, exactly in the spot
where the strain is most terrible, to allow the body
to elongate gradually as it passed the centre of the
swing, to turn round in the air when at the end of
the sway, there to " put on" force enough to return,
and lastly to pass back to the ladder, the process
of gathering up and elongating the body having to
be again gone through. The force of the strain de
pends upon the position of the performer. When
he has come to either end of the swing, there is a
moment when he is suspended motionless in air,
the body being balanced between the two forces.
It is just that moment which is chosen for shifting
from one side of the trapeze to the other, for turn
ing in the air, or performing similar feats. Should
the performer loosen his hold at that instant he
would fall to the ground like a stone. As the body
swings toward the centre, the strain is gradually
increased until it reaches the climax, just under
the spot where the ropes are suspended, appearing
to a novice as if it would tear his arms out of their
sockets. - It may be imagined, therefore, what
must have been the difficulty with the single rope,
with which there was never more than an inch to
spare, and where the relaxation of that single inch
was sure to produce disastrous results. I have
seen aspiring novices, whose ambition has over
leaped their prudence, attempt the single rope be
fore they had subjected the muscles of the arms
and loins to sufficient training, and so make of
themselves a most pitiable example as a warning
to the thoughtless. It is a very pleasant thing to
perform the feat, to feel the fierce luxury of the
sweep through the air, and the inward satisfaction
of difficulties cvercome. But it is not pleasant to
give w?,y Just in the centre of the swing, to be
ground ignonr'niously along the earth for severs]
yards in a seriss of spiral evolutions, impossible to
b8 checked, bit causing an excruciating rasp to
tb.9 «1Hn, and grinding to bits that portion of the
dress which Lr ppens to be lowest. Neither is the
slow painful valk homeward agreeable, nor is it
very pleasant to be debarred at all times, and in
all companies, the natural use of a chair, and to be
forced to rest in strange and ungainly attitudes
until the superficial but very painful injuries are
healed.
A Second iriportant element in the proper man-
-* :' *• < trapeze is, that the weight shall be
thrown precisely on the centre. If the hands
should grasp the bar on one side, or if the weight
of the body should be thrown to the right or left,
even by a single pound, the result is to force the
trapeze out of the due line, and to put an imme
diate stop to the performance. A side weight on a
trapeze is every whit as powerful as a siding on a
billiard-ball, and it is quite possible for a master
of the art to swing round an obstacle placed direct
ly in his path, or even to steer his way between
two objects that are only just sufficiently apart to
permit the bar to pass between them.
The third element of success is the exact timing
of the swing, so that the bar shall be caught just
as it poises itself for the return. Of course, if the
performer should be too late, he is forced either to
wait for another swing, or to throw a somersault,
come to the ground, and start afresh. But should
he be too hasty and meet the bar as it swings to
ward him, the two opposing forces neutralize each
other, a sharp stunning jerk ensues, and the per
former either loses his hold and fulls to the ground,
or finds himself checked in mid-career, all out of
time, and his anus strained as if they had been
subjected to severe treatment on the rack.
There is not the least difficulty in passing from
the first trapeze to the second; the real difficulty
lies in the passage from the second to the third,
and from the third to the fourth, because in order
to achieve that feat it is needful that the timing
should be accurate as that of a chronometer, and
the weight thrown precisely in the proper place.
I know few disappointments which sting so sharp
ly at the time as " missing the tip" at this exercise.
You are in full sway, feeling every thing go like
clock-work, your trapezes are swinging to perfec
tion, yon get careless of your stroke, yon catch
your bar just a trifle on one side, and away yon go
out of the line in a horridly ignominious manner,
having suffered a defeat that can not by any dex
terity be metamorphosed into a victory. You can
not conceal your misfortune by throwing a somer
sault and looking as if yon meant it, because you
are swinging diagonally, and a diagonal somer
sault is apt to produce very unpleasant sensations
about the hips, besides the great probability of
flinging the unhappy performer on his back. You
can not make a dash at the next trapeze, because
•our little circuit has lost the time, and you would
je too late. So there yon swing between heaven
and earth, a misery to yourself, and an object of
derision to the spectators. We have certainly
seen Leotard commit this error, and force himself
again into the line before reaching the next tra-
Mze, but the skill and ft length required to do so
ire of such a nature that none bnt a consummate
master of the art would d..ie to attempt so hazard
ous a feat. It will be s-en that the error only
tends to perpetuate itself. Just as a rifle-hall that
misses a target by a few inches at a distance of a
lundred yards will miss it by many yards at fen
times that distance, so an error of a foot at the first
trapeze wili increase to a yard at the second.
The effect of the second mistake, namely, an
error in point of time, is equally disagreeable. Yon
meet the second trapeze too soon, and the fault in
stantly makes itself felt by the blow of the bar
against the hands, and the succeeding jerk, which
seems to dislocate half the joints in the body. Your
peet get in advance of your hands; you make a
Frantic effort to recover the lost force; you catch
the next bar; yon teach the little perch from which
you started, and you flatter yourself that you have
just managed to smooth over the difficulty. Vain
hope I No sooner have your feet touched the perch,
and you give th% little sway that brings jou up
right, than you gently tip over forward, and away
you go again on a palpably bootless errand. There
is no help for it, and the only plan is then to accept
the position like a man, come to the ground, re
mount the perch, and start afresh.
It is a glorious exercise this trapeze. There is
nothing like it in gymnastics for fascination or use
fulness. The mystery seizes its votaries heart and
soul and enlists them forever in its service, from
which no deserters ever abscond, against which no
traitors ever turn. I know of few sensations more
soul-stirring than the exultant feeling of freedom
which pulses through the frame as one sweeps
through the air and hears the wind rush by. Then,
to hurl one's self through space, to feel perfectly safe
whether suspended by the hands or legs, whether
swinging at full length or gathered up into an un-
distinguishable bundle of arms and legs, is a sensa
tion that is worth feeling. Accomplished swim
mers partake of a similar feeling of elation when
tossing upon the lofty waves, lying coolly as the
rolling billows raise their recumbent bodies aloft or
lower them gently into the watery valleys, where
nothing is to be seen but water around and sky
above, and yet enjoying the sense that they are in
perfect safety, and that they are masters of the ele
ment.
I have tried almost every gymnastic apparatus,
including the slock and ti^ht ropes, now euphuiatio
ally called by French titles, and am of opinion that
the trapeze is superior to them all for the mauy
merits which it combines. It develops exactly the
very muscles in which we, as a nation, are deficient,
namely, those of the chest and loins, and imparts a
strength that can be obtained in no other manner.
Let a man, no matter how powerful his muscular
system, be put on a trapeze for the first time, and
set off swinging, er even allowed to hang motion
less, and then told to bring his feet over the bar,
he will flud the apparently simple task as practical
ly impossible as jumping over the moon. He will
kick and plunge about like a drowning man, will
get very red in the face, and make himself an al
together ridiculous object: every plunge will only
serve to exhaust his failing powers, and in a very
short time he will be forced to loosen his hold.
Now there are continually cases where the sim
ple ability to raise the feet to the level of the hands,
or to hang by the finger-tips, will save a man's
life, and possibly through him the lives of many
others. In modern houses the staircases are mere
fire-trsps, and are built as if for the express pur
pose of leading the flames t liruiigli tlie house in the
quickest way, and effectually debarring the in
mates from their ordinary mode of escape. Most
men, on finding their egress by the stairs cut off
by a body of rushing flame, would either leap out
of window and fracture their limbs, or perish mis
erably in the smoke. But a gymnast will instinct
ively put his head out of window, and with a
glance take in the surrounding conditions. Should
there be time, he will quietly lower himself by a
rope extemporized from sheets and blankets; should
there be a water-spent within reach, he will descend
as easily as down a ladder; or should there be a
parapet above, he will seize it with his hands, draw
bis feet over, and escape to another house, or at all
events to the side of the house which is yet free
from the flames. Or he can pass along a ledge
only an inch in depth, by shifting his hands, and
so transfer himself to a friendly spout, or traverse
the wall until he finds a suitable place on which to
drop. Failing even such slight advantages as these
he can suspend himself by hb hands for an almost
unlimited period; for the power of grasp that en
ables him to cling to the swift-moving trapeze
through its wide swing renders the suspension of
the body a very simple feat; and if at the same
time he can find a resting-place for a foot, his posi-
;ion will be quite easy, even though his feet should
be higher than his head. A trapezist b perfectly
indifferent as to the relative position of his head
and feet, having been accustomed to swing by his
legs, insteps, or even by a single leg hitched over
the bar. He never becomes giddy at a height, or
at a sudden reversal of attitude, and is happily ig
norant of the inconvenience caused by.the blood
rushing to the head.
For instruction the trapeze is unrivaled, as it
forces the pupil to apply his powers in a proper di
rection. If, for example, he is being taught to de
velop his chest by grasping the bar and lifting him
self until his chin is above his hands, he can not
effect the feat by a jerk or a swing, as on a fixed
bar, for unless the force be exactly perpendicular
the trapeze swings away and balks the irregular
attempt. If, again, the loins and abdominal mus
cles are to be strengthened, the pupil can n t in
jure himself by vain plunges with his legs, for no
sooner does he push his feet forward than he sets
the trapeze off into a circular kind of swing, and
down come his feet to the ground.
When once the course of instruction has been
completed, and the gymnast feels himself fairly at
home on his bar, he may be assured that he has at
tained a skill for which he will ever feel grateful,
and the benefit of which be will never lose. Even
after long disuse, and in spite of the natural stiff
ness brought on by increasing years and a sedentary
life, the power remains, though its exercise is not
so easy as in the olden times, and a swing on the
bar produces unpleasant stiffness the next morning.
I, who write, have learned this fact from practical
experience. For the space of fourteen yean I was
debarred from gymnastic exercises, and never evan
saw a trapeze, except at a circus. Yet, npon re
turning into country life, I hung an extemporizad
trapeze on the branch of a tree, and was surprised
to find that I could twbt about the bar as in the
days of yore, though with a little more expenditure
of labor, and could.swing by a single leg with per
fect confidence, and fling myself to the ground by a
backward somersault with ease and certainty. Of
course I must not be understood to imply that or
dinary pupils should be taught to perform the dar
ing and difficult feats which are achieved by pro
fessional acrobats, whose whole lives are devoted
to muscular development. But a good steady
working mind requires a healthy body for its lodg
ment, and the intellect is not only more enduring,
but is keener and brighter when the body is in
thorough health: a blessing which now seldom
falb to the lot of those whose work is of the brain
unduly more than of the hinds. The present writer
owes all his health to the course of gymnastics
through which he passed.
GENERAL BANKS'S EXPEDI
TION.
ON page 788 we give a fine illustration of the
camp on the Union Course, Long Island, where a
large portion of the forces which are to sail under
General Banks have been encamped. Many regi
ments have been or are still there; at one time
there were something like 10,000 men in camp.
At first the accommodations for so large a body
of men were rather defective. Several regiments,
fresh from comfortable quarters at home, were
compelled to camp out on the ground withont shel
ter, tents, or protection of any kind against the
rain and cold. But we have not heard that the
exposure has produced any great increase of sick
ness among the men. Fresh air is a very whole
some thing after all. By the time these lines are
read the camp on the Union Course may be va
cated, and the troops on the way to the scene of
action. General Banks is working with untiring
energy to complete his preparations and get into
the field.
PETERSBURG, VIRGINIA.
WE publish on page 789 a view of tie city of
PETEESBUHG, Virginia, of which our readers may
hear something before long. Petersburg is a city
of some 17,000 people, situated on the Appomattox
River, some twelve miles cboveitseatianrie into the
James. It is twenty-throe miles from B tchmond,
and in the event ef a southern attack CO the rebel
capital would become in some degree ti a key to
the movement. Vessels uf 100 tons can run up as
far as Petersburg, and carry off large quantities of
flour and tobacco. Befor* the war Petetl burg was
quite a thriving place, contained several manufac
tures, and did a good deal of business. Like the
other cities of Virginia, it has been nm»d by tha
atrocious folly of the leaden of the nbilHon | if
present indications be reliable, it ttXp f et see a
darker day than if has hi' 'STto tUUMMi>

to
ffl
S
CO

794 HABPEB'S WEEKLY. [DECEMBER 13, 1862. DECEMBER 13, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 795
THE AEMT OF THE POTOMAC.
WE devote pages 792 and 798 to illustrations of
the Army of the Potom»c, from sketches by our
special artist, Mr. A. R. Wand. Mr. Wand thus
describes his pictures:
BCENXS ON THE MARCH FROM WARRENTON TO
FRKDKRICKBBDKO.
The first sketch Is a little street scene fa the
town of Warrenton, garnished with wagons, forage,
soldiers, etc., the inhabitants remaining mostly out
of sight.
From Warrenton the army moved toward Cat-
lett's Station, near which place they encamped for
the night. The iron wheels and other indestructi
ble portions of railroad can, as well as the charred
remains of various things burned up by the rebels,
show traces of Stuart's visitation while Pope was
falling back upon Washington.
A short distance from Catlett's is Cedar Run,
tver which the railroad passes on a trestle bridge,
which appears to temporarily occupy the place of a
once better structure destroyed at a previous period.
Not much farther on is the junction of the Warren,
ton branch with the mam line of railroad. This
was quite a busy spot while the army lay to the
west of it, and when the sketch was made was oc
cupied by the Eleventh Massachusetts and other
regiments, part of General Sickles's division.
After leaving Catlett'a and Weaverville, a short
distance from the former place, the troops crossed
Cedar Run, and marched on toward Aquia and
Falmonth. Bnrnside's head-quarters were expect
ed to proceed to a locality called the Spotted Tav
ern ; whether they ever got there, which I believe
they did not, or even if such a place is in exist
ence—seriously doubted by many—is uncertain.
One thing, however, i*certain: about half the
officers got lost (in spite of much careful study de
voted to the maps of the period), bringing up at
all sorts of places in search of quarters till return
ing day should enable them to renew the search
for the lost camp of head-quarters.
It is rather comical to notice the rapidity with
which neighboring rail-fences are demolished when
a halt is ordered. The men directly organize a
rail brigade—a kind of rail-ery not at all relished
by the unfortunate natives whose fences make such
desirable fuel, being cut and dried for the purpose.
From Falmouth we got the first view of Freder-
icksburg, which I presume has been often described
before. It is a deserted-looking place; the church
clock, however, sounds the hour regularly — a
ttrangt, familiar ~sonnd. The rebel pickets line
one bank of the river, ours the other. In the streets
of the city they can be seen lounging about, al
though they do not seem to have that curiosity
about us which we manifest toward them. On
one of the houses an English flag (the cross of St.
George) is fiyiug, and in the country beyond the
smoke of the camps shows that a large force is
there. - •
UHIOH AND REBEL SOLDIERS ON OPPOSITE SIDES
OF THE BORNKD RAILWAY BRIDGE.
This is a favorite spot for the soldiers of either
army to meet within speaking distance and ex
change remarks, frequently of an uncompliment
ary character. Proposals for all sorts of exchanges
(impossible of accomplishment) are made—such as
offers to barter coffee or tea for whisky or tobacco,
gray coats for blue ones—the rebels walking about
in the clothes they have taken from Uncle Sam's
meu prompting the proposal. The seceshers show
a laudable anxiety to get New York papers for
Richmond publications; a number of them have
asked after their Commissary and Quarter-master
(meaning Pope and M'Dowell), and they generally
express a belief that they " will whack the Union
army now JfClellan is gone." To their inquiry
of our men, " How do you like Bull Run ?" they
receive for answer, " What do you think of South
Mountain?" Some witty remarks are made on
both sides, but it usually ends in a general black
guarding. One of them told a Zouave that they
should shortly come over to look after us. " Yes,"
he answered; " so yon will, under a guard."
BURNSIDE AND HIS
MARSHALS.
WE publish on page 785 a portrait of GEN
ERAL Bi-ieisiDE, the Commander-in-Chief of the
Army of the Potomac, of the Commanders of the
three Grand Divisions, GENERALS HOOKEB, Sm-
NER, and FBA5SUN; and of the Chief of the Re
serve, GESBBAL SIOEL. All are from portraits
by Brady.
Of Major-General BurnslOe we published a very
full biographical sketch only two weeks ago. We
•esd only append here the following anecdote which
We find in the Earning Port:
TEE SECRETARY AND THE SOLDIERS.
It is about twenty yean since one of the members of the
present Cabinet was a member of Congress from a distant
western State. He had the usual right of designating a
tingle candidate for admission to the Wat Point Military
Academy. The applications made to him for a vacancy
which then existed wen not many, tmt among them was a
fetter from a boy of sixteen or seventeen yean of age, who,
without any accompanying recommendations or references,
a*ked the appointment for blmselt The member dismissed
the appeal from Ilia inlud, with perhaps a passing thought
of the forwardness and Impudence of the stripling who
could aspire to such a place on no other grounds than his
own dartre to get a. good education at the public expense.
Hut happening a short time afterward to be In the little
village whence the letter was mailed, tho Incident was re
called to his memory, and he thought be would beguile
the few honn of leisure that he had by looking up the
ambitious yonth. He made his way, by dint of much In
quiry, to a small tailor's shop on the outskirts of the town,
and when he was admitted at the dooi ha found a lad sit
ting cross-legged upon the tailor's bench, mending a rent
In an old pair of pantaloons. But this lad had another
occupation besides his manual toll. Near by, on a small
block of wood, rested a book of abstruse science, to which
he turned his eyes whenever they cm 1 be transferred
from the work In hl« hnnds. The mentor accosted him
the Congressman. "Because,"answered the tailor yonth,
"I feel that I was bora for something better than mend-
Ing old clothes." The member tulkud fiu-ilu.r with him,
and was so pleased with Us frankness, his spirit, and the
rare Intelligence he evinced that he procured him the ap
pointment.
The member Is now Secretary Smith, of Indiana, and
the youth General Bnnulde, Commander-ln-Chief of the
Army of the Potomac. We should not be surprised If that
boy—an excellent specimen of our Northern mud-rills—
were destined to hoist the American flag to Its old place on
the Capitol at Richmond.
The following sketches will introduce the other
Generals to the reader:
GENERAL HOOKEE.
' Major-General Joseph Hooker wu born In Massachu
setts about the year 1817, and is consequently about forty-
five yean of age. He entered West Point In 1833, and
graduated In 1837, standing No. 28 In a class which in-
he accompanied Brigadier-General Hamer as Aid-de-camp,
and was brevetted Captain for gallant conduct In several
conflicts at Monterey. In March, 1847, he was appointed
Assistant Adjutant-General, with the rank of Captain. At
the National Bridge he distinguished himself, and was
brevetted Major; and at Chapultspeo he again attracted
attention by his gallant and meritorious conduct, and was
brevetted Lieutenant-Colonel.
At the close of the war with Mexico he withdrew from
the service, and soon afterward emigrated to California.
The outbreak of the rebellion found him there, and he was
one of the first of the old West Pointers who offered his
services to the Government. He was one of the first batch
of Brigadier-Generals of Volunteers appointed by President
Lincoln on 17th May, 1881; and was, on his arrival, placed
In command of a brigade of the army of the Potomac, and
subsequently of a division. From July, 1861, to February,
1882, he was stationed In Southern Maryland, on the north
shore of tho Potomac, his doty being to prevent the rebels
crossing the river, and to amuse them with their river
blockade while M'Clellan was getting Us army into trim.
This difficult duty he performed edmlrably.
When tha army of the Potomac moved to tha Peninsula,
Hooker accompanied them in charge of a division. In the
contest at Willlamsburg his division bravely stood the
brunt of the battle, the men of the Excelsior Brigade act
ually being mowed down as they stood np In line. At
Fair Oaks tha men again showed their valor, and the
General his fighting qualities. In the various minor con
tests Hooker took his part and bravely went through with
his share, of the seven days' fights. When M'Clellan's
army was placed under the command of General Pope, we
find the names of " Fighting Joe Hooker" and the late
General Eearney mentioned together in the thickest of the
struggle; and at South Mountain and Sharpsburg he senna
to have been second to no one. At the latter fight he was
shot through the foot and obliged to leave the field; but
for this accident, he thinks ha would have driven the rebels
into the Potomac. On bis recovery he was appointed to
the command of the Centre Grand Division of the army of
the Fotomac, and he is now In that command.
OENERAL SUMNER.
General Edwin V. Sumnrr, commanding the Right Grand
IHvisiofrof the army of the Potomac, wan born In Massa
chusetts, about the year 1797. and was appointed to West
Point, from New York, In 1815. He served in the Infantry
for eighteen years; In 1833 he was appointed Ceptain of
Dragoons, and Major in 1846. He served In the Mexican
war. and was brevetted Lieutenant-Colonel for gallant and
meritorious conduct at Cerro Gordo; and Colonel for the
same behavior at Molino dei Key. In 1848 he was ap
pointed Lieutenant-Colonel of the First Dragoons. When
the troubles broke out In Kansas a force of cavalry was
sent to preserve the peace, and Colonel Sumner was placed
In command. He discharged the delicate duties of his
office with skill and suceeM. On the election of Mr. Lin
coln he was one of the four officers (Generals Pope and Hun
ter being two of the remainder) who were appointed by the
War Department to escort the President-elect to Washing
ton. The famous night-journey through Baltimore, which
was undertaken in order to frustrate a plot for the assas
sination of the President, was resolved upon, against his
counsels and in spite of nTs entreaties. After the inaugu
ration of Mr. Lincoln Colonel Sumner was appointed to
supersede General Albert S. Johnson (who turned rebel) in
command of our force on the Pacific, He speedily set mat-
ten straight in that section of tha country, and returned
home, signalizing his return by the arrest of the traitor
Gwin, of California, on the way. The authorities of New
Granada attempted to prevent the passage of Gwln as a
prisoner through their territory; but Sumner took the re
sponsibility, and inarched Um across the Isthmus with a
battalion of United States troops. On his arrival at Wash
ington General Sumner was appointed to the command,
first of a division and next of a corps in General M'Clel
lan's army. His conduct at WUltsmsburg has been the
subject of much criticism, hnt at Fair Oaks he certainly
vindicated his reputation tot good soldiership and gal
lantry.
He has lately been appointed to the command of the
Right Grand Division of the army of the Fotomac, and led
the edvance on the march toward Frederlckshurg.
OENEKAL FRANKLIN.
William Benjamin Franklin was born in Pennsylvania
about the year 1821, and entered West Point In 1830. He
graduated at the head of his class in 1843; being a class
mate of Ulysses S. Grant, Reynolds, Augur, etc. On the
1st of July, 1843, he was appointed a Brevet Second Lieu
tenant of Topographical Engineers, and on the 21st of Sep
tember, 1846, received his tnll commission. He served in
Mexico, and was brevetted First Lieutenant for gallant
and meritorious conduct at Buena Vista, dating from
February 23, 1847. This brevet was awarded in May,
1848. From July 1848 to 1850 he was Acting Assistant
Professor of Natural and Experimental Philosophy at the
Military Academy at West Point. • He was next placed on
light-house duty, to which he was appointed in January,
1853. He received his full commission of First Lieutenant
In March, 1853. and Captain on the 1st of July, 1857. In
the Army Register for 1800 he was the junior captain hut
one in the corps, and in that of 1860 last bnt two. In the
register for 1861 his name stands two degrees higher on
the roll, there being four captains his junior. On the 14th
of May, 1861, he was appointed to the colonelcy of the
Twelfth United States Infantry, one of the new regular
regiments organized at the commencement of the rebel
lion. With this rank he had charge of the first brigade
of the third division Of General M'DowelTs army at Bull
Run.
He was appointed a Brigadier-General in July, and, on
the reorganization of the army, was given the command of
u division consisting of the brigades of Slocum, Kearney,
and Newton, which afterward became the first division of
the first army corps commanded by M bDowelL When
M 'Dowell was directed to remain at Frederieksbnrg, Frank-
lin was detached and sent to M

796 HABPEB'S WEEKLY. [DECEMBER 13,1862.
TUB KEBEL ENCAMPMENT AT DEUIIY'S BLUFF, JAMES EIVEE.—SKETCHED BY Mn. VIZKTEI LY.—[SEE PACK 795.]
THE EEBEL FORT DAELING, ON DRURY'S BLUFF, JAMES RIVER.—SKETCHED BY MR. VIZETELLY.—[SEE PAOR 795.J
SLIDELL'S HOUSE IN LOUISIANA.—SKETCHED BT A NAVAL OFFICES-[SEK PAOE 795.]
DECEMBER 13, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 797
KliV. MOKGAX L. D1A, KLC FOK OF '1UINITY CIIUKCH, NEW YORK.
[PllOTOGBAPUED BY BEADV.J
THE KE\V RECTOR OF TRINITY.
WE publish herewith a portrait of EEVKKEXD
MORGAN- L. Dix, the new Rector of Trinity Church,
New York. Mr. L)ix is a son of Major-General
John A. Dix. Ho was born in New York about
the year 1830, was educated at Columbia Col
lege, and entered the ministry on the completion
of his studies. He was elected some years ago
Assistant-Rector of Trinity, and was recommended
by the Inte Dr. Beirian as the best man to succeed
him. Mr. Dix is widely known as a faithful and
laborious servant of Christ. He devotes his time
and his means to the relief of the poor and afflict
ed, and among this class enjoys a popularity not.
surpassed by that of any other clergyman in the
metropolis. His elevation to the rectorship of
Trinity at his age foreshadows a great future for
him in the Episcopal Church. Mr. Dix is an un
married man.
[Entered nccordliiB to Act of Congress, iu the Year 1802,
by Hnrper & Hrotliers, in the Clerk's Office of the Dia-
triet Court for the Soutlieru District of New York.]
NO NAME.
Bv WILKIE COLLINS,
ACTUOB Ot "T11K WOHAN IN WHITE," "DEAD SKOBIT,"
ETC., ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN M'LENAN.
13T Printed, from tlie UVtcintiscript aild
early l>roof-sheets purchased, by tlie
froprietoru of "Harper's "Weekly."
BETWEEN THE SCENES,
i.
FROM HISS GAItTII TO MR. PENDRIL.
" WKSTMOBLANU HOCBX, Jan. 3,1843.
DEAR MB. PENDRIL,—I write, as you kindly
requested, to report how Norah is going on, and
to tell you what changes I see for the better iu
the state of her mind on the subject of her sister.
" I can not say that she is becoming resigned
to Magdalen's continued silence—I know her
fnithfnl nature too well to say it. I can only tell
you that she is beginning to find relief from the
heavy pressure of sorrow and suspense in new
thoughts and new hopes. I dotibt if she has yet
realized this in her own mind; but I sec tire re
sult, although she is not conscious of it herself.
I sec her heart opening to the consolation of nn-
othcr interest imd another love. She has not
said a word to me on the subject, nor have I
said a word to her. But as certainly as I know
that Mr. George Bartram's visits have lately
grown more and more frequent to the family at
Portland Place, so certainly I can assure you
that Norah is finding a relief nndcr her suspense
•which is not of my bringing, and a hope iu the
future which I have not taught her to feel.
"It is needless for me to say that I tell yon
this in the strictest confidence. God knows
whether the happy prospect which seems to me
to ba just dawning will grow brighter or not as
time goes on. The oftcner I sec Mr. Georpc
Bartram—and he has called on me more than
once—the stronger my liking for him prows.
To my poor judgment lie seems to be n gentle
man, in the highest and truest sense of the word.
If I could live to see Norah his wife, I should
almost feel that I had lived long enough. But
who can discern the future? We have suffered
so much that I am afraid to hope.
" Have you heard any thing of Magdalen ? I
don't know why or how it is but since I have
knowu of her hiisliahd's death my old tcudcr-
ncss for her seems to
cling to me more ob
stinately than ever.—
Always yours truly,
"HAIUUET GAKTU."
II.
FROM Mn. TENDRIL
TO MISS GARTH.
"SrEi-EST., Jan. 4,1848.
"MY DEAR Miss
GARTH, — Of Mrs.
Noel Vanstouc herself
I have heard nothing.
But I have learne'd
since I saw you that
the report of the po
sition in which she is
left by the death of
her husband may lie
depended on as the
truth. No legacy of
any kind is bequeath
ed to her. Her name
is not once mentioned
in her husband's will.
" Knowing what wo
know, it is not to be>
concealed that this
circumstance threat
ens us with more em
barrassment, and per
haps with more dis
tress. Mrs. Noel Van-
stone is not the wo
man to submit without
a dcsiieratc resistance
to the total overthrow
of all her schemes
and all her hopes.—
The mere fact that
nothing whatever has
bocu heard of her
since her husband's
death is suggestive to
my mind of serious
mischief to come. In
her situation and with her temper the quieter
she is now the more invetcrately I, for one,
distrust her in the future. It is impossible to
say to what violent measures her present ex
tremity may not drive her. It is impossible
to feel sure that she may not be the cause of
some public scandal this time which may affect
her innocent sister as well as herself.
"I know you will not misinterpret the motive
which has led me to write these lines; I know
you will not think that I am inconsiderate enough
to cause you unnecessary alarm. My sincere
anxiety to see that happy prospect realized to
which yonr letter alludes has caused me to write
far less reservedly than I might otherwise haro
written. I strongly urge you to use your in-
fiuence, on every occasion when you can fairly
exert it, to strengthen that growing attachment,
and to place it beyond the reach of any coming
disasters, while you have the opportunity of do
ing so. When I tell you that the fortune of
which Mrs. Noel Vanstone has been deprived is
entirely bequeathed to Admiral Bartram—and
when I add that Mr. George Bartram is gener
ally understood to be his uncle's heir—you will,
I think, acknowledge that I am not warning
you without a cause.
" Yours most truly,
"WILLIAM TENDRIL."
III.
FROM ADMIRAL BARTRAM TO MRS. DnAKE
(HOUSEKEEPER AT si. CRUX).
"ST. CEDX, Jan. 10, 1348.
" MRS. DRAKE,—I have received your letter
from London, stating that you have found me a
new parlor-maid at last, and that the girl is
ready to return with you to St. Crux, when your
other errands in town allow you to come hack.
"This arrangement must be altered imme
diately, for a reason which I am heartily sorry
to have to write.
" The illness of my niece, Mrs. Girdlesronc—
which appeared to be so slight as to alarm none
of us, doctors included—has ended fatally. I
received this morning the shocking news of her
death. Her husband is said to be quite frantic
with grief. Mr. George has already gone to his
brother-in-law's to superintend the last melan
choly, duties, and I must follow him before the
funeral takes place. We propose to take Mr.
Girdlestone away afterward, and to try the ef
fect on him of change of place and new scenes.
Under these sad circumstances I may be absent
from St. Crux a month or six weeks at least—
the house will be shut up—and the new servant
will not be wanted until my return.
" You will therefore tell the girl, on receiving
this letter, that a death in the family has caused
a temporary change in our arrangements. If
she is willing to wait you may safely engage her
to come here in six weeks' time—I shall be back
then if Mr. George is not. If she refuses, pay
her what compensation is right, and so have doue
with her.
"Yours,
"ARTHUR. BARTRAM."
IV.
FROM MRS. DRAKE TO ADMIRAL BARTRAM.
" Jan. 11.
" HONORED SIR,—I hope to get my errands
done, and to return to St. Crux to-morrow, but
write to save you anxiety in case of delay.
"The young woman whom I have engaged
(Louisa by name) is willing to wait your time;
and her present mistress, taking an interest in
her welfare, will provide for her during the in
terval. She Understands that she is to enter on
her new service in six weeks from the present
date—namely, on the 20th of February next.
'• Begging you will accept my respectful sym
pathy under the sad bereavement which has be-
fnlleu the family,
"I remain, Honored Si",
" Yonr hunil le servant,
" SOPHIA DRAKE.''
THE SEVENTH SCEXE.
ST. CRUX-IX-THE-MARSH.
CHAPTER I.
"Tnis is where you are to sleep. Put your
self tidy, and then come down again to my room.
The admiral has returned, and you will have to
begin by waiting on him at dinner to-day."
AVith those words Mrs. Drake the housekeep
er closed the door; and the new parlor-maid was
left alone in her bedchamber at St. Crux.
That day was the eventful 25th of Febru
ary. In barely four months from the time when
Mrs. Lcconnt had placed her master's private
Instructions in his Executor's hands, the one
combination of circumstances against which it
had been her first and foremost object to pro
vide was exactly the combination which had
now taken place. Mr. Noel Vnnstonc's widow
and Admiral Bartram's Secret Trust were to
gether in the same house.
Thus far events had declared themselves, with
out an exception, in Magdalen's favor. Thus
far the path which had led her to St. Crux had
been a path without an obstacle. Louisa—whose
name she had now taken—had sailed three days
since for Australia with her husband and her
child: she was the only living creature whom
Mn;*d:il-ii had trusted with her secret, and plic
wns by this lime out of sight of the English hind.
The girl had been careful, reliable, and faith
fully devoted to her mistress's interests to the
last. She had passed the ordeal of her inter
view with the housekeeper, and had forgotten
none of the instructions by which she had been
prepared to meet it. She had herself proposed
to turn the six weeks' delay, caused by the death
in the admiral's family, to good account by con
tinuing the nil-important practice of those do
mestic lessons, on the perfect acquirement .of
which her mistress's daring stratagem depended
for its success. Thanks to the time thus gained,
when Louisa's marriage was over and the dav
of parting had come, Magdalen had learned anil
mastered, in the nicest detail, every thing that
her former servant could teach her. On the
day when she passed the doors of St. Crux she
entered on her desperate venture, strong in the
ready presence of mind under emergencies which
her later life had taught her—stronger still in
the trained capacity that she possessed for the
assumption of a character not her own—stron
gest of all in her two months' daily familiarity
with the practical duties of the position which
she had undertaken to fill.
As soon as Mrs. Drake's departure had left
her alone she unpacked her box and dressed
herself for the evening.
She put on a lavender-colored stuff gown—
half mourning for Mrs. Girdlestone; ordered
for all the servants under the admiral's instruc
tions—a white muslin apron, and a neat white
cap and collar with ribbons to match the gown.
In this servant's costume—in the plain gown
fastening high round her neck, in the neat little
white cap at the back of her head—in this sim
ple dress, to the eyes of all men, not lincn-
drnpcrs, at once the most modest and the most
alluring that a woman can wear, the sad changes
which mental suffering had wrought in her beau
ty almost disappeared from view. In the even
ing costume of a lady, with her bosom uncovered,
with her figure armed, rather than dressed, in
nnpliablo silk—the admiral might have passed
her by without notice iu his own drnwiug-room.
"WEST AND BY ^ATHE, YOUB HONOR."
imtTCB AND OABS1UB.
In the evening costume of a servant no admirer
of beauty could have looked at her once nnd not
lia.\c turned again to look at her for the second
time.
Descending the stairs, on her way to the
housekeeper's room, she passed by the entrances
to two long stone corridors, with rows of doors
opening on them; one corridor situated on the
second and one on the first floor of the house.
"Many rooms!"' she thought, as she looked at
the doors. "Weary work, searching here for
what I have come to find!"
On reachinp the ground-floor she was met by
a weather-beaten old man, who stopped and
stared at her with an appearance of great inter
est. He was the same old man whom Captain
Wraggc had seen in the buck-yard at St. Crux
at work on the model of a ship. All round the
neighborhood he was known, far and wide, as
"the admiral's coxswain." His name was Ma
zey. Sixty years had written their story of bnrd
work at sea and hard drinking on shore on the
veteran's grim and wrinkled face. Sixty years
had proved his fidelity, and hud brought his bat
tered old carcass, at the end of the voyage, into
port in his master's house.
Seeing no one else of whom she could inquire,
Magdalen requested the old man to show her
the way that led to the housekeeper's room.
"I'll show you, my dear," said old Mazey,
speaking in the high and hollow voice peculiar
to the deaf. "You're the new maid—eh? And
a fine-grown girl, too! IIis honor the admiral
likes a parlor-maid with a clean run fore and
aft. You'll do, my dear—you'll do."
"You must not mind what Mr. Mazey says
to you," remarked the housekeeper, opening her
door, as the old sailor expressed his approval of
Magdalen in these terms. " He is privileged to
talk as he pleases; and he is very tiresome and
slovenly in his habits—but he means no harm."
With that apology for the veteran Mrs. Drake
led Magdalen first to the pantry, and next to the
linen-room, installing her with all due formality
in her own domestic dominions. This ceremony
completed the RCW parlor-maid was taken uj

798 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [DECEMBER 13, 1862.
stairs, and was shown the dining-room, which
opened out of the corridor on the first floor.
Here she was directed to lay the cloth, and to
prepare the table for one person only, Mr. George
Bnrtram not having returned with his uncle to
St. Crux. Mrs. Drake's sharp eyes watched
Magdalen attentively as she performed this in
troductory duty, and Mrs. Drake's private con
victions, when the tahle was spread, forced her
to acknowledge, so far, that the new servant
thoroughly understood her work.
An hour later the soup-tureen was placed on
the table, and Magdalen stood alone behind the
admiral's empty chair, waiting her master's first
inspection of her when he entered the dining-
room.
A large bell rang in the lower regions—quick,
shambling footsteps pattered on the stone corri
dor outside—the door opened suddenly—and a
tall, lean, yellow old mnn, sharp as to his ejes,
shrewd as to his lips, fussily restless as to nil his
movements, entered the room, with two huge
Labrador dogs at his heels, and took his seat nt
the table in a violent hurry. The dogs follow
ed him, and placed themselves, with the ntmost
gravity and composure, one on each side of his
chair. This was Admiral Bartram—and these
were the companions of his solitary meal.
"Ay! ay! ay! here's the new parlor-maid,to
be sure I" he began, looking sharply, but not at nil
unkindly, at Magdalen. " What's your ntime, my
good girl? Louisa, is it? I shall cnll you Lucy,
if you don't mind. Take off the cover, my dear—
I'm a minute or two late to-dny. Don't be un-
pnnctual to-morrow on that account; I am as
regular as clock-work generally. How arc yon
after your journey? Did my spring-cart bump
you about much in bringing you from the sta
tion ? Capital soup, this—hot as fire—reminds
me of the soup we used to have in the West
Indies in the year Three. Have yon got your
half-mourning on ? Stand there and let me sec.
Ah, yes, very neat, and nice, and tidy. Poor
Mrs. Girdlestone! Oh, dear, dear, dear, poor
Mrs. Girdlestone! You're not afraid of dogs,
are you, Lucy? Eh? What? You like dogs?
That's right 1 Always be kind to dumb animals.
These two dogs dine with me every day, except
when there's company. The dog with the blnck
nose is Brntus, and the dog with the white nose
is Cassias. Did yon ever hear who Brutus and
Cassias were ? Ancient Romans ? That's right
——good girl. Mind your book and your needle,
and we'll get yon a good husband one of these
days. Take away the soup, my dear, take away
the soup."
This was the man whose secret it was now the
one interest of Magdalen's life to surprise I This
was the mnn whose name had supplanted hers
in Noel Vanstone's will 1
The fish and the roast meat followed; and the
admiral's talk rambled on—now in soliloquy,
now addressed to the parlor-maid, and now di
rected to the dogs—as familiarly and as discon
nectedly as ever. Magdalen observed, with some
surprise, that the companions of the admiral's
dinner had, thus far, received no scraps from
their master's plate. The two magnificent brutes
eat squatted on their haunches, with their great
heads over the table, watching the progress of
the meal with the profoundest attention, hut ap
parently expecting no share in it. The roast
meat was removed, the admiral's plate was
changed, and Magdalen took the silver covers
off the two made-dishes on either side of the
table. As she handed the first of the savory
dishes to her master the dogs suddenly exhib
ited a breathless personal interest in the pro
ceedings. Brutus gluttonously watered at the
month; and the tongue of Cassins, protruding
in unutterable expectation, smoked again be
tween his enormous jaws.
The admiral helped himself liberally from the
dish, sent Magdalen to the side-table to get him
some bread, and, when he thought her eye was
off him, furtively tumbled the whole contents of
_ hi-) plate into Brutns's month. Cassins whined
" faintly as his fortunate comrade swallowed the
savory mess at a gulp. "Hush! you fool,"
whispered the admiral. " Your turn next!"
Magdalen presented the second dish. Once
more the old gentleman helped himself largely
—once more he sent her away to the side-table
—once more he tumbled the entire contents of
the plate down the dog's throat, selecting Cas-
x sias this time, as became a considerate master
and an impartial man. When the next course
followed—consisting of a plain pudding and an
unwholesome "cream"—Magdalen's suspicion
of the function of the dogs at the dinner-table
was confirmed. While the master took the
simple pudding the dogs swallowed the elabo
rate cream. The admiral was plainly afraid of
offending his cook on the one hand, and of of
fending his digestion on the other, and Bmtns
and Cassias were the two trained accomplices
who regularly helped him every day off the
horns of his dilemma. "Very good! very
good!" said the old gentleman, with the most
transparent duplicity. " Tell the cook, my dear,
a capital cream!"
Having placed the wine and dessert on the
table, Magdalen was about to withdraw. Be
fore she could leave the room her master called
her back.
" Stop, stop 1" said the admiral. " You don't
know the ways of the house yet, Lncy. Pnt an
other wine-glass here, at my right hand—the
largest you can find, my dear. I've got a third
dog, who comes in at dessert—a drunken old
sea-dog who has followed my fortunes afloat and
ashore for fifty years and more. Yes, yes;
that's the sort of glass We want. You're a good
girl—you're a neat, handy girl. Steady, my
dear I there's nothing to be frightened at!"
A sudden thump on the outside of the door,
followed by one mighty bark from each of the
dogs, had made Magdalen start. "Come in!"
shouted the admiral The door opened; the
tails of Brntus and Cassins cheerfully thumped
the floor; and old Mazey marched straight up
to the right-hand side of his master's chair.
The veteran stood there, with his legs wide apart
and his balance carefully adjusted—as if the
dining-room had been a cabin, and the house a
ship, pitching in a sea-way.
The admiral filled the large glnsg with port,
filled his own glass with claret, and raised it to
his lips.
" God bless the Queen, Mazey!" said the ad
miral.
" God bless the Queen, your honor," said old
Mazey, swallowing his port, as the dogs swal
lowed the made dishes, at a gnlp.
'How's the wind, Mazey?'*
'West and by Noathe, your honor."
' Any report to night, Mazey ?"
'No report, your honor."
'Good-evening, Mazey."
' Good-evening, yonr honor."
The after-dinner ceremony thus completed, old
Mazey made his bow, and walked out of the room
again. Brutus and Cassias stretched themselves
on the rug to digest mushrooms and mado gravies
in the lubricating heat of the fire. "For what
we have received, the Lord moke us truly thank
ful," said the admiral. "Go down stairs, my
good girl, and get your supper. A light meal,
Lucy, if you take my advice—a light meal or
yon will have the nightmare. Early to bed, my
dear, and early to rise, makes a parlor-maid
healthy and wealthy and wise. That's the wis
dom of your ancestors—YOU mustn't laugh at it.
Good-night." In those words Magdalen was dis
missed ; and so her first day's experience of Ad
miral Bartram came to an end.
After breakfast, the next morning, the admi
ral's directions to the new parlor-maid included
among them one particular order which, in Mag
dalen's situation, it was especially her interest to
receive. In the old gentleman's absence from
home that day, on local business which took him
to Ossory, she was directed to make herself ac
quainted with the whole inhabited quarter of the
house, and to learn the positions of the various
rooms, so as to know where the bells called her
when the bells rang. Mrs. Drake was charged
with the duty of superintending the voyage of
domestic discovery, unless she happened to be
otherwise engaged—in which cose any one of
the inferior servants would be equally competent
to act as Magdalen's guide.
At noon the admiral left for Ossory, and Mag
dalen presented herself in Mrs. Drake's room to
be shown over the house. Mrs. Drake happened
to be otherwise engaged, and referred her to the
head housemaid. The head housemaid hap
pened on that particular morning to be in the
same condition as Mrs. Drake, and referred her
to the tinder-housemaids. The under-honsc-
maids declared that they were all behindhand,
and had not a minute to spare—they suggested,
not too civilly, that old Mazey had nothing on
earth to do, und that he knew the honse as well
or better than he knew his ABC. Magdalen
took the hint with a secret indignation and con
tempt which it cost her a hard struggle to con
ceal. She had suspected, on the previous night,
and she was certain now, that the women-serv
ants all incomprehensibly resented her presence
among them, with the game sullen unanimity of
distrust. Mrs. Drake, as she had seen for her
self, was really engaged that morning over her
accounts. But of all the servants under her who
had made their excuses, not one had even af
fected to be more occupied than usual. Their
looks said plainly, "We don't like you, and we
won't show yon over the honse."
She found her way to old Mazey, not by the
scanty directions given her, but bv the sound of
the veteran's cracked and quavering voice, sing
ing, in some distant seclusion, a verse of the im
mortal sea-song—"Tom Bowling." Just as she
stopped among the rambling stone passages on
the basement story of the house, uncertain which
way to turn next, she heard the tuneless old voice
in the distance singing these lines:
11 lib form was of the manliest beau-u-n-uty,
Ilia heart was kl-l-lnd and loft;
FHlthfnl belovr Tom did hi* duty,
But now he's gone alo-o-o-o-oft—
But now he*B go-o-o-one aloft 1"
Magdalen followed in the direction of the
quavering voice, and found herself in a little
room looking out on the back-yard. There sat
old Mazey, with his spectacles low on his nose,
and his knotty old hands blundering over the
rigging of his model ship. There were Brutus
and Cassius digesting before the fire again, and
snoring as if they thoroughly enjoyed it. There
was Lord Nelson on one wall, in flaming water-
colors; and there on the other was a portrait
of Admiral Bartram's last flag-ship in full sail
on a sea of slate, with a salmon-colored sky to
complete the illusion.
" What! they won't show you over the honse,
won't they?" said old Mazey. "1 will, then.
That head housemaid's a sour one, my dear, if
ever there was a sonr one yet. You're too young
and good-looking to please 'em—that's what you
are." He rose, took off his spectacles, and feebly
mended the fire. " She's as straight as a pop
lar," said old Mazey, considering Magdalen's fig
ure in drowsy soliloquy. " I say she's as straight
as a poplar; and his honor the admiral says so
too! Come along, my dear," he proceeded, ad
dressing himself to Magdalen again. " I'll teach
yon yonr Pints of the Compass first. When yon
know your Pints, blow high, blow low, you'll find
it plain sailing all over the house."
He led the way to the door, stopped, and sud
denly bethinking himself of his miniature ship,
went bock to pnt his model away in an empty
cupboard—led the way to the door again—
stopped once more—remembered that some of
the rooms were chilly—and pottered about,
swearing and grumbling, and looking for his
hat. Magdalen sat down patiently to wait for
him. She gratefully contrasted his treatment
of her with the treatment she had received from
the women. Resist it as firmly, despise it as
proudly as we may, all studied unkindness—no
matter how contemptible it may be—has a sting
ing power in it which reaches to the quick.
Magdalen only knew how she had flit the small
malice of the female servants by the effect which
the rough kindness of the old sailor produced
on her afterward. The dumb welcome of the
doge, when the movements in the room had
roused them from their sleep, touched her more
acutely still. Brutus pushed his mighty muzzle
companionably into her hand, and Cassius laid
his friendly fore-paw on her lap. Her heart
yearned over the two creatures as she patted
and caressed them. It seemed only yesterday
since she and the dogs at Combe-Raven had
roamed the garden together, and had idled
away the summer mornings luxuriously on the
shady lawn.
Old Mazey found his hat nt last, and they
started on their exploring expedition, with the
dogs after them.
Leaving the basement story of the house,
which was entirely devoted to the servants' of
fices, they ascended to the first floor, and en
tered the long corridor, with which Magdalen's
last night's experience had already made her
acquainted. "Put your back agin this wall,"
said old Mazey, pointing to the long wall—
pierced at irregular intervals with windows look
ing out over a court-yard and fish-pond—which
formed the right-hand side of the corridor, as
Magdalen now stood. "Put yonr back here,"
said the veteran, " and look straight afore you.
What do you see?" "The opposite wall of the
passage," said Magdalen. "Ay? ay? what
else?" "The doors leading into the rooms."
"What else?" "Ijsee nothing else." Old
Mazey chuckled, winked, and shook his knotty
fore-finger at Magdalen impressively. "Yon
see one of the Pints of the Compass, my dear.
When you've got your back agin this wall, and
when you look straight afore you, you look
Noathe. If yon ever get lost hereaway, pnt
your back agin the wall, l&ok out straight afore
you, and say to yourself,' I look Noathe!' You
do that like a good girl, and you won't lose your
bearings."
After administering this preliminary dose of
instruction, old Mazey opened the first of the
doors on the left-hand side of the passage. It
led into the dining-room, with which Magdalen
was already familiar. The second room was
fitted up as a library, and the third as a morn
ing-room. The fourth and fifth doors—both
belonging to dismantled and uninhabited rooms,
and both locked—brought them to the end of
the North wing of the honse, and to the opening
of a second and shorter passage, placed at a right
angle to the first. Here old Mazey, who had
divided his time pretty equally, during the in
vestigation of the rooms, in talking of " his hon
or the admiral," and whistling to the dogs, re
turned with all possible expedition to the points
of the compass, and gravely directed Magdalen
to repeat the ceremony of putting her back against
the wall. She attempted to shorten the proceed
ings by declaring (quite correctly) that in her
present position she knew she was looking
East. "Don't you talk about the East, my
dear," said old Mazey, proceeding unmoved with
his own system of instruction, " till yon know
the East first. Pnt your back agin "this wall,
and look straight afore yon. What do you see ?"
The remainder of the catechism proceeded as
before. When the end was reached, Magda
len's instructor was satisfied. He chuckled and
winked at her ouce more. " Now yon may talk
about the East, my dear," said the veteran, " for
now you know it."
The East passage, after leading them on for a
few yards only, terminated in a vestibule, with a
high door in it which faced them as they ad
vanced. The door admitted them to a large and
lofty drawing-room, decorated like all the other
apartments, with valuable old-fashioned furni
ture. Leading the way across this room, Mag
dalen's conductor pushed back a heavy eliding
door, opposite the door of entrance. " Put yonr
apron over yonr head," said old Mazey. "We
are coming to the Banketing Hall now. The
floor's mortal cold, and the damp sticks to the
place like cockroaches to a collier. His honor
the admiral calls it the Arctic Passage. I've
got mv name for it too. I call it Freeze-vour-
Bones"."
Magdalen passed through the door-way, and
found herself in the ancient banqueting hall of
St. Crux.
On her left hand she saw a row of lofty win
dows, set deep in embrasnres, and extending
over a frontage of more than a hundred feet in
length. On her right hand, ranged in one long
row from end to end of the opposite wall, hung
a dismal collection of black begrimed old pic
tures, rotting from their frames, and represent
ing battle-scenes by sea and land. Below the
pictures, midway down the length of the wall,
yawned a huge cavern of a fire-plnce, surmount
ed by a towering mantle-piece of black marble.
The one object of furniture (if furniture it might
be called) visible far or near in the vast empti
ness of the place, was a gaunt ancient tripod of
curiously-chased metal, standing lonely in the
middle ot the ball, and supporting a wide circn-
lar pan filled deep with ashes from an extinct
charcoal fire. The high ceiling, once finely carved
and gilt, was foul with dirt and cobwebs; the
naked walls at either end of the room were
stained with damp; and the cold of the marble
floor struck through the narrow strip of matting
laid down, parallel with the windows, as a foot
path for passengers across the wilderness of the
room. No better name for it could have been
devised than the name.which old Mazey had
found. "Freeze • your - Bones" accurately de
scribed, in three words, the Banqueting Hall at
St. Crux.
"Do you never light a fire in this dismal
place ?" asked Magdalen.
" It nil depends on which side of Freeze-your-
Bones his honor the admiral lives," said old
Mazey. " His honor likes to shift his quarters,
sometimes to one side of the honse, sometimes
to the other. If he lives Noathe of Freeze-yonr-
Bones—which is where you've just come from—
we don't waste our coals here. If he lives South
of Frecze-yonr-Bones—which is where we are
going to next—wo light the fire in the grate
and the charcoal in the pan. Every night when
we do that the damp gets the better of us: ev
ery morning we turn to again and get the better
of the damp."
With this remarkable explanation old Mazey
led the way to the lower end of the Hall, opened
more doors, and showed Magdalen through an
other suit of rooms, fonr in number, all of mod
erate size, and all furnished in much the same
manner as the rooms in the northern wing.
She looked out of the windows, and saw the
neglected gardens of St. Crux overgrown with
brambles and weeds. Here and there, at no
great distance in the grounds, the smoothly-
curving line of one of the Ijdul streams peculiar
to the locality wound its wny, gleaming in the
sunlight, through gaps in the brambles and trees.
The more distant view ranged over the fiat east
ward country beyond, speckled with its scat
tered little villages; crossed nnd recrossed by
its net-work of " back-waters;" and terminated
abruptly by the long straight line of sea-wall
"which protects the defenseless coast of Essex
from invasion by the sea.
"Have we more rooms still to see?" asked
Magdalen, turning from the view of the garden,
and looking about her for another door.
"No more, my dear—we've run aground here,
and we may as well wear round and put back
again," said old Mazey. "There's another side
to the honse—due south of you as yon stand now
—which is all tumbling about our ears. You
must go out into the garden if you want to see
it; it's built off from us by a brick bulk-head,
t'other side of this wall here. The monks lived
due south of us, my dear, hundreds of years afore
his honor the admiral was born or thought of;
and a fine time of it they had, as I've heard.
They sang in the church all the morning, and
drank grog in the orchard all the afternoon.
They slept off their grog on the best of feather-
beds ; and they fattened on the neighborhood
all the year round. Lucky beggars! lucky beg
gars !"
Apostrophizing the monks in these terms, and
evidently regretting that he had not lived him
self in those good old times, the veteran led the
.way back through the rooms. On the return
passage across " Frecze-yonr-Bones" Magdalen
preceded him. "She's as straight as a poplar,"
mumbled old Mazey to himself, hobbling along
after his youthful companion, and wagging his
venerable head in cordial approval. " I never
was particular what nation they belonged to;
but I always did like 'em straight and fine-
grown, and I always sJtall like 'em straight and
fine-grown to my dying day."
"Are there more rooms to see up stairs, on
the second floor?" asked Magdalen, when they
had returned to the point from which they had
started.
The naturally clear, distinct tones of her voice
had hitherto reached the old sailor's imperfect
sense of hearing easily enough. Rather to her
surprise he became stone-deaf, on a sudden, to
her last question.
" Are you sure of yonr Pints of the Compass ?"
he inquired. " If you're not sure, pnt your back
agin the wall, and we'll go all over "cm again,
my dear, beginning with the Noathe."
Magdalen assured him that she felt quite
familiar by this time with all the points, the
"Noathe" included; and then repeated her
question in louder tones. The veteran obsti
nately matched her, by becoming deafer than
ever.
" Yes, my dear," he said; " you're right; it is
chilly in these passages; and unless I go back
to my fire my fire'll go ont—won't it ? If you
don't feel sure of your Pints of the Compass
come in to me and I'll pnt yon right again."
He winked benevolently, whistled to the dops,
and hobbled off. Magdalen heard him chuckle
over his own success in balking her curiosity on
the subject of the second floor. "I know how
to deal with 'em!" said old Mazey to himself, in
high triumph. "Tall and short, native and for
eign, sweet-hearts and wives—1 know how to
deal with 'em!"
Left by herself, Magdalen exemplified the ex
cellence of the old sailor's method of treatment,
in her particular rr.^e, by ascending the stairs
immediately, to make her own observations on
the second floor. The stone passage here was
exactly similar—except that more doors opened
out of it—to the passage on the first floor. She
opened the two nearest doors, one after another,
at a venture, and discovered that both rooms
were bedchambers. The fear of being discovered
by one of the women-servants in a part of the
honse with which she had no concern, warned
her not to push her investigations on the bed
room floor too far at starting. She hurriedly
walked down the passage to see where it ended;
discovered that it came to its termination in a
lumber-room, answering to the position of the
vestibule down stairs; and retraced her steps
immediately.
On her way back she noticed an object which
had previously escaped her attention. It was a
low truckle-bed, placed parallel with the wall,
and close to one of the doors on the bedroom
side. In spite of its strange and comfortless Bit-
nation, the bed was apparently occupied at night
by a sleeper: the sheets were on it, and the end
of a thick red fisherman's cap peeped out from
DECEMBER 13, 1862.] HARPEKS WEEKLY. 799
under the pillow. She ventured on opening the
door near which the bed was placed, and found
herself, as she conjectured from certain signs
and tokens, in the admiral's .sleeping-chamber.
A woman's observation of the room was all she
dared risk, and softly closing the door again she
returned to the kitchen regions.
The truckle-bed, and the strange position in
which it was placed, dwelt on her mind all
through the afternoon. Who could possibly
sleep in it? The remembrance of the red fish
erman's cap, and the knowledge she had already
gained of Mazey's dog-like fidelity to his master,
helped her to guess that the old sailor might be
the occupant of the truckle-bed. But why, with
bedrooms enough and to spare, should he occu
py that cold and comfortless situation at night ?
Why should he sleep on guard outside his mas
ter's door ? Was there some nocturnal danger
in the honse of which the admiral was afraid?
The question seemed absurd—and yet the posi
tion of the bed forced it irresistibly on her mind.
Stimulated by her own ungovernable curiosity
on this subject, Magdalen ventured to question
the housekeeper. She acknowledged having
walked from end to end of the passage on the
second floor, to see if it was as long as the pas
sage on the first; and she mentioned having
noticed with astonishment the position of the
truckle-bed. Mrs. Drake answered her implied
inquiry shortly and sharply. "I don't blame a
young girl like you," said the old lady, " for be
ing a little curious when she first comes into
snch a strange honse as this. But remember,
for the future, that your business does not lie in
the bedroom story. Mr. Mazey sleeps on that
bed you noticed. It is his habit at night to sleep
outside his master's door." With that meagre
explanation Mrs. Drake's lips closed, and opened
no more.
Later in the day Magdalen found an oppor
tunity of applying to old Mazey himself. She
discovered the veteran in high good-humor,
smoking his pipe and warming a tin mug of ale
at his own snug fire.
"Mr. Mazey," she asked boldly, "why do
you put your bed in that cold passage ?"
"What! you have been upstairs, you young
jade, have you?" said old Mazey, looking up
from his mug with a leer.
Magdalen smiled and nodded. " Come !
come! tell me," she said, coaxingly. "Wuy
do you sleep outside the admiral's door ?"
"Why do you part your hair in the middle,
my dear ?" asked old Mazey, with another leer.
"I suppose because I am accustomed to do
it," answered Magdalen.
"Ay? ay?" said the veteran. "That's why,
is it ? Well, my dear, the reason why you part
your hair in the middle is the reason why I sleep
outside the admiral's door. I know how to deal
with 'em!" chnckled old Mazey, lapsing into
soliloquy, and stirring up his ale in high tri
umph, "Tall and short, native and foreign,
sweet-hearts and wives—I know how to deal
with 'em!"
Magdalen's third and last attempt at solving
fte mystery of the truckle-bed was made while
she was waiting on the admiral at dinner. The
old gentleman's questions gave her an oppor
tunity of referring to the subject without any
appearance of presumption or disrespect; but
he proved to be quite as impenetrable, in his
way, as old Mazey and Mrs. Drake had been in
theirs. " It doesn't concern you, my dear," said
the admiral, bluntly. " Don't be curious. Look
in your Old Testament when you go down stairs,
and see what happened in the Garden of Eden
through curiosity. Be a good girl, and don't
imitate yonr mother Eve."
As Magdali- passed the end of the second-
floor passage, l e at night, proceeding alone on
her wny up to her own room, she stopped and
listened. A screen was placed at the entrance
of the corridor, so as to hide it from the view of
persons passing on the stairs. The snoring she
heard on the other side of the screen encouraged
her to slip round it and to advance a few steps.
Shading the light of her candle with her hand,
she ventured close to the admiral's door, and
saw to her surprise that the bed had been moved
since she had seen it in the day time, so as to
stand exactly across the door, and to bar the way
entirely to any one who might attempt to enter
the admiral's room. After this discovery, old
Mazey himself snoring lustily, with the red fish
erman's cap pulled down to his eyebrows, and
the blankets drawn up to his nose, became nn
object of secondary importance only by compar-
isou with his bed. That the veteran did actu
ally sleep on guard before his master's door,
and that he and the admiral and the housekeep
er were in the secret of this unaccountable pro
ceeding, was now beyond all doubt.
"A strange end"—thought Magdalen, pon
dering over her discovery as she stole up stairs
to her own sleeping-room—"a strange end to a
strange day!"
ADVERTISEMENTS.
Holiday Present.
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1O.OOO COPIES READY.-CAUTION!
Look out for the Catch-Fenny Edition, bound up in Green Paper Covers.
FOOLEY & CO.'S
Edition* is the only Authorized English Translation Published
in this Country
OF
LES MISERABLES.
Extract of Letter from VICTOR HUGO to MR. WRAXALL.
u From the moment when M. Esquiros is your friend, as he is mine, you can not fail to prodnce an excellent
work, having for guide and counselor that great and noble mind. (Signed) VICTOR HUGO."
John Forster, the ablest critic in England—the Literary Editor of the London Examiner—in speaking of the
AUTHORIZED TRANRLATiON, by Wraxall and Esquiros, says:
"On the publication of this celebrated Novel, in its original form, we entered very minutely into the story. It
only now remains for us to say that WE GAM oONBoiEirnoirsLY RECOMMEND IT TO TUB PUBLIC AB A FEBFECTLY FAITU-
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French edition."
The Authorized Edition,
Complete in One Volume, with Portraits and Biographical Sketch, Is published for Omt DOLUB, in Paper; or,
ONE DOLLAK AND A HALT, in Muslin. NOW READY, and all orders filled from this day without delay.
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Sent by mail on receipt of price. For sale by all Booksellers.
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Address J. H. WINSLOW & CO.
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Taxes for 1862
Are now due In IOWA and NEBRASKA. To secure
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They go to every County in Iowa during the Tax-pay
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A Book of Thrilling Interest.
Thirteen Months in the
REBEL ARMY.
By an Impressed New Yorker.
Price 50 Cente.
See what the "Harper's Weekly says of this exciting
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A. S. BARNES & BURK, 61 and 63 John St., N. Y.
E YE.—Dr. M. MARGULIES, Physician to his High
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It Is admitted by all physicians that the grand Becret
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In medicine.
Rheumatism—Who has it?
It has been confessedly acknowledged by thousands who
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gists and shoe dealers generally. Price $1; sent by mail
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Bend for a circular. METTAM & CO., 429 Broadway.
Secured by English and American Patents.
To all Wanting Farms.
Large and thriving settlement of Vineland. Rich son.
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The Prince of Holiday Gifts or Presents.
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Magnifies small objects 10,000 times. So simple that a
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Price by mall $2 26; with six mounted objects $3. Ad-
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Pantoscopic Spectacles.
The Patent
Pantoscopic
Spectacles are
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cluding the medical faculty. They give extraordinary re
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Persons sending Glass last worn, stating age, can be sup
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closing stamp. SEMMONS, Optician,
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" THE HUMAN FACE DIVINE." Eyes, Ears, Lips, Mouth,
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THE PHRENOLOGICAL JOURNAL
AND LIFE ILLUSTRATED FOR 1863, devoted to PHRE-
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AT INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION, LONDON,
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Duryeas' Maizena
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Maizena
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WM. Dl KYEA, General Agent.
RAILWAY TIME KEEPERS
Especially adapted for Army sale*. Good imUMuin
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This is one of the most saleable articles of the timer, and
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Address orders at once to
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BEAUTY.—Hunt's Bloom of Roses, a charming and
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O YOU WANT LUXURIANT
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pi HAPPED HANDS, FACE, LIPS, SUNBURN, &c.—
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A CAPITAL BOOK. — How to
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Attention IVIasong and Soldiers.
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Swords for Presentation, Cashes, Belts,
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IDENTIFICATION OF INDIAN MUKD^BERS IN MINNESOTA BY A BOT SURVIVOR OF THE MASSACKE.-[Sen PAOB 807.]

302 HARPEKS WEEKLY. [DECEMBER 20, 1862.
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
SATUKDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1862.
THE COST OF THE WAR.
i f1HE Report of the Secretary of the Treasury
Jl. at length places us in possession of the war
bills which we have to pay. During the fiscal
year ending on 30th June last,'the war cost
\ 487,042,976, or about $1,200,000 a day. Dur-
ir f the fiscal year ending on 30th June next, it
ic estimated that the war will cost $829,687,338,
i about 2i millions a day. During the fiscal
yt -r ending on 80th June, 1864, it is estimated
that the war will cost $807,086,401—a trifle less
ilirn the cost during the previous year. But as
i\e increased cost of the war during the current
tinea! .year includes the outfit of a million of
firmed men and the construction of a fleet of
Iron-clad vessels—expenses which it is to be
hoped will not be repeated—there is reason to
believe that the war bill in 1863-4—if the war
lasts 10 long—will fall short of the Secretary's
liberal estimate by a very large sum of money.
Should we succeed in suppressing the rebellion
,>y 1st July, 1863, (he war will have cost the
North in round figures $1,800,000,000, or about
$60 per head of our total population. Should
It last another year, the total cost may be in
creased to $100 a head. The debt of Great
Britain amounts to about $164 per head of the
i iritish people: that of France to abont $48 per
ead. We, in this country, are probably better
ble to pay $100 than the British $5Q or the
French $30.
To pay this war bill the nation has a revenue
tvnich Mr. Chase estimates at $228,000,000 for
lie year 1868-4; that is to say, as soon as the
.iternal revenue Act goes fairly into operation.
i here are those who believe that the Secretary
has underestimated the receipts from internal
duties, and that they alone will amount to
^225,000,000, swelling the aggregate income to
'.. 300,000,000. Assuming the official figures,
however, to be accurate, they would give an annu-
rl tax of about $101^fty per head of our popula
tion—counting out the rebels and the slaves.
The revenue of Great Britain ranges from
$300,000,000 to $360,000,000, and will proba-
Lly average $12^fc per head of the British
people. The revenue of France may be set
."own at $360,000,000, and thus averages abont
410 per head of the population. The reve
nue of Spain, which has a debt of less than
$800,000,000, is abont $60,000,000, say $4-ftfc
of the population. It thus appears that in pro
portion to our debt our national revenue is
larger than that of any of the other great na-
ions, and consequently onr credit and the price
of onr national securities should stand higher
I'•an theirs. It likewise appears that the bur-
i/3ns which will be laid upon our people by
i.iis war will be lighter than those which are
1 orne by the people of England, who have no
•virgin soil and unoccupied land, and whose ma
terial prosperity hallways been much less than
«. 'irs.
On 1st December, 18.62, the total debt of the
United States—exclusive of bills unaudited and
troops unpaid—amounted to $636,848,000, of
.vhich $222,932,000 consisted of legal tender
.totes, $79,789,000 of deposits on call, and
; ,87,868,000 of certificates of indebtedness ma-
v tiring in one year from date. The totaj amonnt
uf funded debt was only $143,760,000. It was
VIr. Chase's hope, when he began to issue legal
tender notes, that they would soon be funded into
IMS 6.20 bonds. But the very convertibility of
these bonds has checked their free circulation,
and prevented their being funded. People have
hoarded them, knowing that they could fund
them at any time; and they have become scarce,
Mist like the convertible treasury notes which
were issued in the year 1814. It is evident that
•whatever amount of these convertible issues be
'ioated people will not be in any hurry to fund
them, and though the evil* incident to such a
policy—in the advance of prices and the disturb
ance of values—are inevitable, its benefits may
i^ever be realized.
The net deficit for the current year 1862-8 is
•et down in theTreasury Report at $200,000,000:
the precise sum is $276,0^)0,000, less $60,000,000
to be derived from bank issues, and $26,000,000
from temporary deposits.. To raise this sum two
plans are suggested. One, which emanates from
Mr. Chase, proposes the sale in open markefof
$7.80 notes, convertible into long bonds. The
other, which is proposed by Mr. Stevens, Chair
man of the Committee of Ways and Moans, con
templates the issue of $200,000,000 more treas
ury notes, coupled with the compulsory with
draws! from circulation of all bank-notes in ex
cess of one half of the capital of the bank whicl
Issues them. When this issue of $200,000,000
Is exhausted Mr. Stevens proposes to authorize
Mr. Chase to sell long bonds bearing twenty
years' interest, In the open market, at whateve
he can get fer them. It is not very likely tha
the project for "driving in" the redundant circu
lation of the banks will meet with much favo
in Congress. Of all interests the bank interes
is the most powerful, and it is pretty sure to
command a party in Congress strong enough to
defeat a meuun which is aimed at its very ex
stence. ' On the other hand, the speculative in
terest, which is likewise influential, and which
las its adherents in Congress, is bent on obtain-
ng further issues of paper at any cost to the na-
ion at large. Between the two, the people at
large, who are already suffering from the high
trices caused by the issues of irredeemable paper,
md whose interest is in favor of a return to le-
;itimate financial methods, may not obtain a fair
tearing. Mr. Chase may succeed in carrying
us point against the speculators. But he will
evidently have a close fight of it.
THE WAR IN THE SOUTHWEST.
WE have reason to believe that th^ highest
military authorities at Washington are of opin-
on that within ninety days the valley of the
Mississippi and the bulk of the cotton-growing
regions of the Sonth will be under the control
of the forces of the United States. We know
hat General Hovey is at Grenada, and Generals
3rant and Shennan not far behind him; that
jeneral M'Clernand with a very powerful mili
tary column, supported by a fleet of iron-clad
pin-boats, is slowly descending the Mississippi
o operate against Vicksburg, while the re
mainder of the loyal army of the Southwest is
moving upon Jackson ; and there is now no fur-
ther use in concealing the probability that Gen
eral Banks has gone to Mobile, where Farra-
fut*s fieet already awaits his arrival. These
lomhined armies will constitute a force of fnlly
;76,000 men, considerably more than can be op-
>osed to them, and amply sufficient, in the opin-
on of competent military judges, to take and
to hold the entire Mississippi Valley, including
Mobile, Jackson, Little Rock, and both shores
of the river from New Orleans to Cairo.
General Beauregard, in an intercepted dis-
latch which has been published in the papers,
leclared that the loss of the Mississippi Valley
would be the ruin of the Confederacy. And
was right. The recovery of that tract of
country, in the first place, bisects the Confeder
acy and cripples it as the ligature of the main
artary would eripple an individual. It isolates
Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas from the At
lantic States, deprives the former of arms and
munitions of war, and the latter of beef and sup
plies. It gives us possession of cotton enough
to revolutionize the manufacturing trade through
out the world, aud stop the months of foreign
enemies of the blockade. And, more important
ian all, it enables the Northwest to ponr down
the great river abundant supplies of food to the
starring denizens of the lower Mississippi Val
ley, who are now kept in a state of unparalleled
misery by the military despotism of Jeff Davis's
lieutenants.
If omr Generals succeed, by 1st March next,
in reconquering the Mississippi Valley and hold
ing it, the insurrection will then be confined to
parts of Virginia and North Carolina, the up
lands of Sonth Carolina, Georgia, and Alabama,
aud the mountain districts of Tennessee. If
Burnside and Rosecrans fulfill the expectations
which people entertain respecting diem, the
rebels may not hold as much territory as this.
But even if nothing substantial be achieved by
the armies of the Fotomac and the Ohio, the
rebellion will still have shrunk, on 1st March,
into such narrow proportions that it will baffle
the ingenuity of even such pro-slavery partisans
as Mr. Gladstone and Lord John Russell to find
an excuse for its recognition.
What may be the condition of the slaves in
the South on 1st March next no one can yet
tell. Events are progressing very rapidly, and
facts, incredible a year ago, are now undoubted.
General Butler has a reliable brigade of black
troops. General Brannan has several regiments
of escaped slaves, who have fought valiantly in
Sonth Carolina. General Sherman—who com
menced his career by offering to maintain slavery
in Sonth Carolina—now notifies his officers at
Memphis that they must receive all fugitive
slaves, feed, and Bet them to work on wages.
General Butler compels the pUhters in the La-
foitfche district in Louisiana to pay their slaves
regular wages. On New-Year's Day every slave
in Secessia becomes entitled to claim that the
United States protect him or her in the enjoy
ment of freedom. Whatever happens, it is pretty
clear that the sun of the 1st March next will
shine on a very different condition of society in
the rebel States from that which existed on 1st
March, 1862.
have the physical force, not only that physical force
resides with the governed, but that resistance to
tvrants is obedience to God!" Loud. cheersXrom
Captain Bynders and Company.
This is " Conservative" speech-making, as at
present practiced in the city of New York. This
is the expression of a "sound public sentiment"
and "returning reason." The Democratic party,
it appears, as represented by Vallandigham, and
not by Dickinson, Holt, Andy Johnson, and oth
ers -somewhat known to fame, is the natural ruler
of the country. But it has no national force what
ever except as a bob to the tail of Slavery. Con
sequently, the Slave Interest is the natural su
preme power of the land. By'some abenrd mis
take it fell out of its place two years ago, but will
not take it again by force unless the present hold
ers of power violate the Constitution. That inter
est will determine what the Constitution is, and
what is a violation of it: and when it happens to
think that it is violated it will turn things upside
down, and reorganise them by physical force.
Conservatism of the wayward sister school as
thus expounded is in its own terms this: The Dem
ocratic party, when Fernando Wood tells it that the
Constitution is violated, is justified in rising against
the Government.
Sister V. B. is so extremely wayward as to be
generally thought a jester; but his words mean
exactly that, if they mean any thing at all. Now
he and all the rest of his school ought to under
stand that as that kind of" physical force," blus
ter and general plantation rhetoric, utterly broke
down in Congress, and did not captivate the coun
try, even when reinforced by the "physical force"
of Brooks's bludgeon, so it breaks down contempti
bly in the face of a civil war produced by its spir
it. The " physical force" of the New York mob
may be at tha beck of Sister Wood or Sister Van
Buren, or any other of the wayward family; but
that of the country at large obeys the command
of its Government.
The very core and pith of the war is the settle
ment of the question whether the Slave masters,
with their obedient sisters at the North, are the
natural supreme power of the country. We are'
fighting to determine whether our Government
shall be administered to protect Slavery or to de
fend Liberty; whether Slavery may upset the Gov
ernment by " physical force" to suit its own pur
pose, or whether it shall take its constitutional
chances. All the vapors of all the wayward sis
ters in the land will not for a single moment con
fute the national perception of this point.
Meanwhile let Sistar V. B. continue in his own
wayward manner to shake his valiant fist at the
Government, and caJJ upon the "physical force" to
spurn and resist the blind aud reckless despotism
of the bleated old tyrant who dares to defile the
honse consecrated by the exalted memories of Bu-
chanan. It is a pity, but the " physical force"
does not hear. It is engaged in finishing another
despot whose destruction will release a clever but
wuyward sister like Mr. Van Buren from the po
litical necessity of talking such melancholy stuff
as his recent speeches.
knows that the talk about political preaching pro
ceeds from people whose party discipline requires
the support of slavery, and who therefore insist
that because politics have touched the subject it
has ceased to be a moral question. Do they ob
ject to hear preaching against swearing, or lying,
or thieving, or profaning the Sabbath day by read
ing novels ? Oh no; that is legitimate preaching.
But if old Bum Puncheon hears a clergyman de
nounce drunkenness and the makers of drunkards
he rises, and thumps down the aisle, and bang*
out at the dcor, and wishes that the parson wouldn't
preach those d—d political sermons.
It is remarked that horses always spring if you
touch them on the raw.
"WAYWABD" TALKING.
ODE wayward sisters, the rebela at the Sonth,
and their bottle-holders at the North, keep up a
lively game.. Here, for instance, is the .wayward
sister whose trump card is, "Let 'em go;" he has
been kindly patting the Government upon the back,
and saying," There, you poor, miserable thing, you
shall try to totter on a little longer, so you shall!"
Sister Tan Buren says: "So long as the Govern
ment goes on in strict conformity to the Constitu
tion and the laws they will be^allowed to linger
out a sickly existence until the'close of their offi
cial term; but the moment they overstep the Con
stitution, the moment they dspsxt from well-ascer
tained principles of right, they resolve society into
its original elements. Thty glv« notice to w, who
POLITICAL PREACHING.
WILL the Lounger, asks a friend, give us a short
sermon upon Political Preaching ? It seems that a
worthy clergyman was urged t& make some recog
nition of the fact that the country was rent with a
fearful war for the most atrocious of objects, and
he declined upon the ground that be would have no
political preaching in his pulpit. There are a good
many shallow-pates who, without the clergyman's
real worth, will think that he made an exceeding
ly clever reply. Why, they ask, can't we have
religion preached in church? The basest news
papers aud the most dishonest politicians In the
land clamor incessantly to have, as the eminent
conservative Vallandigham says, Christ and not
the nigger preached. The zeal of people who hold
that Christianity is a vast religious justification of
injustice, to have pure Christianity preached, is
most edifyiug. The interest that Bynders and
other conservative saints take in a pure, gospel is
touching and amazing. Let us see then what po
litical preaching is.
A sermon is the application of the divine law to
the condition and wants of a particular parish.
The law is general; the object of preaching is to
make it special. For instance, the law is to love
our neighbor as ourselves. The preacher takes
that text to apply to us, his congregation. How
can he do it but by showing us who our neighbor
is, what it is to love him, and how we can prove
our love ? To reiterate the text indefinitely is not
to preach. To say that of covrse we ought tosjove
our brethren, and that if we don't love them we are
very naughty, aud the bad place will get us in the
end, is not preaching. But to jay that as God
made all men of one blood, and as Christ loved all
equally, therefore every man of every country and
race and condition is our brother, and is to be treated
as we would be treated, that is evidently preach
ing. Or to repeat the law of love, and then to in
sist that love requires us to seize the weaker broth,
er aud shut him up and lash him freely and wear
him out in seven years by making sugar, that also
is preaching, for that is a practical application of
the divine law.
But what is there political in all this? Be
cause, in the first case, we have supposed a preach
er advocates equal justice as the proof of neigh
borly love, and it happens that a political party is
trying to do injustice by law, is It a political ser
mon ? If a minister urged that the tariff on for
eign books ought to be nine instead of ten per
cent, upon their value, there would be some sense
in complaining that he preached politics. But if
he says that lying is a sin, and that we as a na
tion, aud his hearers as part of it, have lied to the
Indians and ought to be ashamed of themselves,
aud, if they don't repent and mend their ways,
will be punished, he is doing exactly what he was
ordained to do.
The frisnd who requested this sermon probably
GENERAL BUTLER.
AMONG the men who have deserved well of the
country during the last two years no one is more
eminent than General Butler. One of tbe first
citizens to march at the call of the Government,
he was not rebuffed by delays, but carried his regi
ment to the nearest practicable point to Washing
ton. While other generals and conflicting councils
higgled aud delayed about investing Baltimore, or
reducing Baltimore, or parleying with Baltimore,
General Butler quietly moved with two regiments
and took Baltimore, so that we have held it fast
ever since. Sent to Fort Monroe, he was, as chief
in command, popularly held responsible for the
disaster of Great Bethel; but that he was truly
accountable for it has not yet clearly appeared.
Later, in company with Stringham, he was heard
of nt Hatteras.
There followed a few mouths in whicb, under a
kind of roving commission, he was engaged in col
lecting a great force. There were loug and loud
debates. The Governor of Massachusetts and the
General differed. There were infinite delays. But
at last his expedition sailed. It did not take with
it unquestioning public confidence. The public
was anxious to hear rather than sanguine. But
when it did hear it heard the most striking and
splendid news of the war—the capture of New Or
leans by Farragut and Porter, and its occupation in
concert by Butler.
From that moment he has held New Orleans
like a nut in his hand. He has played no foolish
and wicked game of olive branches and swords. He
knew that he had his foot in the den of the most
malignant enemies. There might be friends also;
but his duty was by saving himself to save them.
And he has ruled the city with a rod of iron. Any
staff less stern would have snapped in his hand,
and struck back fatally upon the ceuntry. He has
been hated and abused by the enemy with a feroci
ty that showed how firm and faithful his hold upon
them was. England and Europe have shrieked at
his "inhumanity"—as old women squall when a
policeman seizes a thief. He found an ordinance
of the city which sent to the calaboose all loose
women actively soliciting upon the street, and he
put it in force against all women who could not
contain their angry passions sufficiently to forbear
from insulting and reviling loyal soldiers. Every
other measure of his administration has shown the
same comprehension, sagacity, and resolution. Nei
ther consuls, nor foreigners, nor bankers, nor rich
semi-traitors who wished to be " neutral," have for
a moment confused his perception or delayed his
action. His hand and his head have worked to
gether promptly, vigorously, incisively. If every
General who is equally loyal had been equally per
ceptive, rapid, and resolute, there would have been
fewer dismal passages in our history. Had his
system and spirit in managing New Orleans been
those of the nation in dealing with the rebellion,
its military importance would already have disap
peared.
Theodore Winthrop was General Butler's aid
and Military Secretary at Fort Monroe at the time
he fell. Just before leaving upon the sad expedi
tion to Great Bethel, he had been writing a paper
upon the life there. In that he says: " When I
arrived Fort Monroe and tbe neighborhood were
occupied by two armies. 1st, General Butler's;
2d, About six thousand men here and at Newport
News—making together more than twelve thou
sand men. Of the first army, consisting of the
General, I wili not speak. let his past supreme
services speak for him, as I doubt not the Future
will."
The Future has spoken.
POPULAR AMUSEMENT.
How long the system of courses of miscellaneous
Lyceum lectures would continue without change
has always been a speculation among those who
are interested in it. The number of additions to
the corps of lecturers in the country is so alight,
being usually made up of the last successful au
thor, who is taken upon trial to determine if he
sounds as well as he reads, that it was evident
how strong was the tap-root of the system which
fed upon much the same nourishment from year to
year. . _ .
There are lately symptoms of some modifica
tion. The tendency is to combine the charm of
dramatic with literary attraction, which is not es
sentially a new thing, but is newly developed
here. Charles Matthews and Albert Smith were
the extreme representatives of this style in London;
and Edinond Yates and Harold Power, the latter
the son of Tyrone Power, and the former, we be
lieve, of the Edmund Yates who incensed Thack
eray, are following Albert Smith with sketches of
life in Australia. Mr. Glaisher, also, the aeronaut,
is telling his story of balloon ascents "in a popu
lar form." To the same general range, although
of course, very different in itself, belongs Dickens'3
reading of his own works. This author takes his
little book after dinner; puts it in bis pocket; puts
on his hat; walks a little way to the hall; emerges
upon the platform before a most crowded and brill
iant audience; reads to their rapturous delight for
a couple of hours; rises and makes his bow; as he
passes out is handed a little sum of seven or eight
hundred, or a thousand dollars; walks home, takts
DECEMBER 20,1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 803
off his hat; puts on his slippers, and sits before his
fire, his duty for that day and that evening happi
ly accomplished.
In this country the earnestness of our feeling
about the war does not affect this kind of enter
tainment. The lecture must be more than a lec
ture. The most popular of all our lecturers is Mr.
Gough, whose discourses are dramatic monologues,
but with the advantage of a special moral, which
always pleases the American mind. The dramatic
readings of Mr. Vandenhoff and of several ladies
are received in lecture courses with the utmost
favor; while Mr. De Cordova has established a
series of winter evening entertainments which are
really humorous lectures: "Mrs. Smith's Surprise
Party," or "A Summer's Day at Long Brancb," and
with such success tbat his increasing audience has
driven him from Clinton Hall to Niblo's Saloon.
In all these successes, however, two exceptional
gifts are essential, dranfetic power and popular hu
mor. It seems easy enough for an author to read his
own books 'aloud; hut not to say that Mrs. Brown
ing declares that true poets never read " their own
verses to their worth," it is very clear that it is not
the mere fact of Dickens the author reading Dick
ens the work which continues to attract and de
light, but Dickens with incomparable dramatic
power, giving body and color and wonderfully en
hanced raciness to the printed outlines of his imag
inative and humorous creations. Thackeray's sto
ries read by Thackeray, unless from the manu
script, would be hardly better than our own private
reading. Bulwer's would probably be a great
deal worse: for to hear an ancient coxcomb sigh-
ing*out slipslop sentimentality could not be very,
edifying.
Therefore all the writers of stories must not at
once suppose that by putting on their hats and*
crossing the street with tbe little book under their
arms they would necessarily find either the bril
liant crowd in the hall or the pile of dollars at tbe
door. It would be a good rule to remember, tbat
when they can write like Dickens they can read
like him. But every man who has the necessary
gifts of dramatic humor and literary skill may be
very sure that success bwaits tbe proper applica
tion of his powers. The Lyceum is only another
of the many avenues wbich are opened to ability
of every kind. Like the Church, it is Catholic.
It embraces cardinals in gold aud beggare in rags.
It welcomes actors and orators and readers, and
why not singers ? Why should not the Lyceum iu
every minor town (if there are any such in tbe
country) make itself the alma mater of every thing
that is excellent in this way ?
A DEMOCRATIC COLONEL SPEAKING TO THE
QUESTION.
THE Union Meeting in New Orleans is one of
the most interesting events of the last few weeks,
because, although it may be said that it is not dif
ficult for a General to hold a meeting of any kind
under the guns of his anny; yet the remarks of the
speakers have a peculiar significance coming from
men who stand in a hostile region and witb their
lives in their hands. The orators in New Orleans
were not in the least mealy-mouthed. * They did
not complain of tile suppression of free speech be
cause a man is not permitted to say that the war
was caused by those upon whom war was made,
and that the makers were in the right. They did
not demand that every privilege shall be allowed
in war which is a matter of course in peace. They
did not say that they were willing to see the coun
try ruined, and the government destroyed, and the
hope of equal and progressive civil liberty smoth
ered if the wayward sisters wanted it. On the
contrary, the speakers were also soldiers who were
there for the express purpose of preventing the
wayward sisters from doiug what they chose, and
compelling them to submit to law.
What they did net say is the staple of all speech
es at secession meetings in the. North. But the
secession orators at the North are not soldiers, ex
cept on condition that they may go as major-gen
erals and leave when they wish—they are merely
politicians struggling to revive a party by embar
rassing the Government and helping rebellion.
And as slavery is the strength of the insurrection,
they are forever bawling that black men are infe
rior to white man—that the war is a conspiracy to
bring black men to the North to take the bread
out of white men's mouths; and they echo it, and
re-echo it, for the purpose of securing slavery in
tact. " Would you like to marry your daughter
to a negro ?" demand these noble fellows. " Prob
ably not," is doubtless the reply of the perceptive
audience—" nor to you; nor to any mean, drunk
en, ignorant, degraded man of any nation or of any
color. There is a choice in husbands."
But while this is tbe lofty and patriotic dis
course of disunion orators here, the strain of Union
orators in Dixie, who belonged lately to the-same
party organization, is significantly different. Col
onel Deming, for instance, was late Democratic
Mayor of Hartford in Connecticut. He is now the
chief of a volunteer regiment from that State. He
is noted as an orator, and he spoke at the New Ov-
leans Union Meeting. Let us in tbe intervals of
hearing the question whether we think black people
as good as we are, and whether we are anxious for
black sons-in-law, listen to what the Colonel is say
ing, in that brilliant house, to that enthusiastic
crowd, and in the presence of General JButler,
" Breckinridge democrat" of two years ago.
"The rebellion has not secured an augmented
domain or everlasting prosperity to the institution
of Slavery. On the contrary, as the only eecurity
for the existence of such a monstrous anomaly to
the civilization of the age was in the compromises
of tbe Constitution, so the only way in which the
monster conld be seriously imperiled was by their
overthrow, There it scarcely a prominent man in
the New England division here but hot spent the vigor
of hii manhood and sacrificed all hit hopes of political
advancement by vindicating the constitutional rights
of the South upon this very Slavery question; but
W&m l/ou tri&drtu ths thing tvi hated morally but
defended politically, from beneath the itinys of Consti
tutional compromise, and immediately placed it outride
the Constitution, it absolved me and every other North
ern Democrat from being any longer its apologist or
defender."
Here are manliness, frankness, and common
sense. And while the Administration may count
upon such Democrats as Deming, Andy Johnson,
Butler, and Holt, it will hardly be troubled by
such as Vallandigham, Schnabel, aud Saulsbury.
RETALIATION.
IN a letter to a hesitating friend last week we
spoke of the execution of the ten rebels by M'Neil
as if it were a justifiable severity. But the illus
tration was not well chosen, for the whole affair was
between banditti. There are two bands, apparently
like the Skinners and Cowbovs in the Revolution,
who are really lawless marauders in Missouri, and
M'Neil is not a military officer of the United States.
The ratal Porter, who is the head of the opposing
hand, but whether with a formal commission from
the rebel chiefs at* Richmond does not appear.
Porter was believed to have caused the disappear
ance of Allsman, a Union man. Some of his ban
ditti, who wers concerned in the affair, fell into
M'Neil's bands. He demanded Allsman of Porter,
under the threat that if he were not presently given
up ten of Porter's band should be shot. The man
was not surrendered, and M'Neil kapt his word.
For this proceeding Davis orders that the first
ten officers who fall into tha hands of the rebel
commander in that region shall be put to death.
It is a retaliation upon the Government for an un
authorized act of an irresponsible partisan leader.
Should it be effected it will not make an easier
reckoning for the rebels. Tbat it will be effected,
we have no right to doubt; for the rebels are cer
tainly in earnest, and are not afraid of making war
inhumanly.
. HUMOKS OF THE DAY.
SUBS to HAKBOW UP THE SOUL—Peg-ends Inside one's
boot*.
To be called a fool 'la bad enough; but a stutterer makes
the thing worse by calling you a fw-foe-fooL ^
Every rose has its thorn. We never helped to shawl the
Rose of a ball-room without being convinced, by painful
evidence, that ahe had a pin about her.
The poet whose eoul waf il wrapped in gloom" had the
wrapper taken off lately. He la doing ai well u could be
expected. __ • __ __
A man has got BO deep in debt that not one of hie credit,
ors lias been able to we him for month*.
What it the beat kind of shooting U winter?—To lave
coala ahot into your cellar.
A remarkable case of conscience wai lately developed In
a proceeding before a French court. A man was before
the court on a charge of stealing aome candles, and the
prosecutor was examining witnesses who had bought from
him. One of them Bald, "Though he suspected the can
dles had been stolen, he bought a sou's worth, but that, In
order not to encourage robbery, be had paid for them with
bad sou."
Nearly every evil ha> its compensation. If a man Las
but one foot he never treads on his own toes.
The world doesn't know a fool's infirmities half w well
as a wise man knows his own.
' One might have heard a pin fall," ii a proverbial ex
pression of silence; but it has been eclipsed by the Wench
phrase, " You might have heard the unfolding of a lady'e
pocket handkerchief."
GROUND RENTS.—The chasms left by an earthquake.
When prosperity wai well mounted she le^o the bridle,
and soon aame tumbling out of the saddle., W •
It is a paradox that^oose hablli generally stick tighter
to a man than any other kind.
A patient Is undoubtedly la a had way when hii disease
is acute and hii doctor isn't.
It is easy to say grace, but not half BO easy to possess it.
A CKYlsa Eva..—The Sunday news-boy.
Why is a field of grass like a person older than younelft
—Because it iipaet-ur-agc..
DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE.
CONGRESS.
ON Wednesday, December 8, In the Senate, tbe stand
ing committee were appointed. An inquiry wu ordered
[nto the expediency of indemnifying citizens of Minnesota
Tor losses by the Indian outbreak. On motion of Senator
Sunnier, a call was made on the Secretary of War for in
formation relative to the seizure and sale of free blacks by
the rebels, aud what steps have been taken In the matter.
Senator Hale gave notice of a bill repealing the act passed
in July last, establishing and equalizing the grades of
naval officers. The Senate then.weut into executive ses
sion, and afterward adjourned.——In the House, a motion
was adopted directing a pretty thorough overhauling of -
the accounts of the Agricultural Department.
On Thursday, • th, in the Senate, Senator Clark offered a
joint resolution, which wai laid over, approving of the
policy of the President's emancipation proclamation. A
Mil repealing tbe act establishing and equalizing the grade
of-naval officers 1 was.introduced and appropriately re
ferred.——la the House, Mr. Stevens offered resolutions
declaring tbat the Union must be and remain one and indi
visible forever, and denouncing a> guilty of high crime any
executive or legislative department that shall propose or
advise any acceptance rr peace on any other basis than
the Integrity and entire unity of tbe United States as they
existed at the time the rebellion commenced. The 16th
was, on motion of Mr. Stevens,- assigned for tbe consider
ation of this subject Mr. Wlckliffe, of Kentucky, offered
a resolution directing inquiry respecting the Military Gov
ernor of the District of Columbia—under what law he de
rives his power, his compensation, the expenses of his of
fice, and whether he has obstructed the civil tribunals in
the administration of justice. A motion to lay the subject
on the table was adopted by a vote of eighty-five against
forty-nix. A resolution abolishing the West Point Military
Aca(1 luy and aiding in the establishment of military
schools in the States wai rejected by a decisive vote.
On Friday, 5th, In the Senate, the House bill requiring
payments In gold and silver for all judgments recovered
by the United States was referred to the Finance Com
mittee. The resolution calling for all documents relating
to the operations of tbe Army of ths Potomac and the Bur-
render of Harper's Ferry wu adopted. Senator PoweU'a
resolution respecting the illegal arrest of citizens of Ken
tucky wu adopted. A bill repealing the provision of law
limiting the number of major-genarali wu reported and
referred, u wu also a bill concerning appointments In the
navy. A resolution calling on the President for all the
information In his poaseuion touching the Indian outbreak
In Minnesota was agreed to. An executive session wu
held, and afterward the Senate adjourned.__In the House,
Mr. Stevena Introduced a bill Indemnifying and protecting
the President and other public officers from arrest, im
prisonment, and other consequences growing out of the
suspension of the writ of habeas corpus. Owing to a slight
Informality Mr. Stevens withdrew the bill for tbe protect.
Mr. Morrill offered a resolution declaring "that at no
time «lnc« tbe existence of the rebellion have the foroei
and material In the handi of the Executive of the Govern
ment been so ample to and abundant for th« spendy term
ination of the war u at the present moment; and that it
is the duty of all loyal American citizens, regardless of
minor differences of opinion, and especially is It the duty
of every officer and soldier, and of those In -every branch
of the Government, Including the legislative, cordially to
strike the assassin at once who have conspired to destroy
our existence, prosperity, and freedom, of which we are
justly proud at home and abroad, and which we stand
pledged to perpetuate forever." This wuadoptod, but on*
member voting uatho negative. An Inquiry into the causes
of the Indian outbreak In the Northwest wu ordered, and
a call was made for all correspondence on the preaent con
dition of Mexican affairs. Mr. Alien, of Illinois, ulced,
but filled to obtain leave, to offer a resolution Instructing
the Committee on the Judiciary to Inquire Into the al
leged right of the Federal Government to set at defiance
th« Constitution, laws, and sentiments of the people of
Illinois, in importing negroes Into that State, and to con
sider what action is necessary to bring about tbe deporta
tion of said negroes. Both Houses adjourned till Monday.
On Monday, 8th, In the Senate, tha Bankrupt bill wu
taken up and made the special order for Thursday, the
18th Inst. The House bill requiring payment In gold and
allver for satisfaction of judgments in certain eulta brought
by the United States wu passed. A bill providing for the
development of the mineral resources of the public domain
wu Introduced by Senator Latham, and referred. Kee-
olutuhs calling on tbe Secretary of War for the number
of Major and Brigadier Generals In the service, and where
and how they are employed, also the number and rank of
alds-de-camp, were adopted. Senator Saulsbury called up
the resolution relating to arrests In Delaware, but objec
tion wu made to its ^njideration, and after tome con
version the subject wu dropped. Senator Davis intro.
duced a joint resolution proposing amendments to the
Constitution in reference to the mode of electing the Pres
ident and Vice-Preaident.—«-In the House, the Chairman
of the Committee on Ways and Means Introduced a new
financial plan for the Government. It provides for the
redemption and cancelatlon of the 6.20 and 7.SO bonds,
tbe redemption of the temporary deposit-, and an Issue
of $1,000,000,000 bonds and $600,000,000 legal tender
notes. It alao assesses a heavy tax on bank circulation.
The Bankrupt bill wu made the special order for the 18th
InBt. The Standing Committees were announced. Mr.
Stevens Introduced a bill to Indemnify the President and
other persona for suspending the privilege of the writ of
habmt corpus and for all acts done in pursuance thereof,
and after some manoeuvring the previous question wu
ordered, and th« bill passed by a vote of 90 against 45.
Mr. Van Wyck Introduced a bUl to provid* for the imme
diate payment of clothing lest In service by soldiers of the
Unlud Statas army; also a bill inoraaslng the pay of pri
vates, non-commlaeionad officers, azd musicians. B«tu
Billi were referred to the Committee on Military Affairs.
Mr. Wiokliffe latrednced a bill for the protection and re
lief of persona In loyal States whose property hu been
Belied or stolen by United States office. It wu referred
to the Judiciary Committee. On motion of Mr. M'Knight
the Committee of Ways and Means wu Instructed to in
quire Into the expediency of modifying the Tax law M u
U dispense with the tax on advertisements.
On Tuesday, 9th, In the Senate, a communication wu
received from the Secretary of War. In answer to a reso
lution calling for information In relation to the alleged
sale of free negroes captured by the rebels, in which he
atatea tbat the War Department has no information In
regard to the subject in its possession. The resolutions
calling for information relative to the arbitrary arrest of
citizens of Delaware were taken up and discussed at con
siderable length; but the Senate adjourned without taking
final action on the subject.——In the House, the morning
hour was devoted to the consideration of the Senate bill
for tbe admission of Western Virginia in."> the Union u a
State. The special order, a bill authorizing collectors aud
aawssors of taxes to administer oaths, wu taken up aud
passed. The debate on the question of the admission of
Western Virginia into the Union wu then returned, and
continued until the adjournment.
WINCHESTER KEOCCCPIBD.
General Geary marched upon Winchester on-the Sd Inst.
and demanded Its surrender, which wu complied with,
the people exhibiting many signs of joy at his arrival. His
command consisted of 8300 chosen infantry from all the
regiments In his division, two eectiona of artillery from
Knapp's battery, two from M'Ollery's battery, and two
from Hampton's hattsry," making altogether twelve guns,
and fifty tavilrj of the First Maryland:
OKHERAL GRANT AT ABBBVILLK.
General Grant telegraphs from Abbevllle, Mississippi,
to General Halleck that his troops are In possession of that
place. The rebels abandoned their fortifications there on
the 2d inst., destroying ail tbe stores they could not carry.
The Btreams were ao high that only a portion of our caval
ry could cross by ewlmming: but the enemy wu pursued
to Oxford, where, after a skirmish of two hours, sixty of
their number were captured. General Grant aays that the
roads are too bad to get supplies for a long chase.
THE PURSUIT.
Dispatches from Cairo state that the main body of the
rebel army passed through Oxford, Mississippi, forty thou
sand strong, going South, on 3d, under command of Gen
eral Jackson (of the West). His rear-guard had a skirm
ish next morning with a portion of the Union forces near
Oxford, the result of which is not Btated. Another dis
patch from Chicago Bays that Intelligence wu received
From Oxford, dated the 7th, to the effect that a two hours'
fight had taken place on 5th, near Coffeevllle, between the
Union cavalry under Colonel Diclny, and a rebel force of
Bve thousand infantry, cavalry, and artillery. Our troops
loat five killed, fifjy wounded, and Blxty nuasing. Tbe
rebel*, It is wld, lo»t three hundred killed and wounded.
GENERAL UOVKY XT HELENA.
General Hovel's expedition, twenty thousand strong,
which left Helena, Arkansas, aome days ago, landed at
Friar's Point, fifteen or twenty miles below, marched to
Grenada, Mississippi, and took possession of that place on
1st. A large number of the citizens fled on the approach
of our troops. The proprietor of the Appeal had to make
another skedaddle, lie has now fled to Marietta, Georgia,
with hii paper.
DISASTER IN TKHNK8SEK.
At Hsxtaville, Tennessee, on December 6, tbe rebel
guerrilla Morgan made an attack upon the brigade com
manded by General Moore at that place, which consisted
of the 104th Illinois, Colonel Moore commanding brigade;
106th Ohio, Colonel Lafel; 108th Ohjp, Colonel Llmberg;
Nlcklen'e battery, and a small detachment of tbe ad Indi
ana cavalry. After fighting an hour and a quarter our
brcee surrendered, and the enemy burned our camp, cap.
luring nearly all the brigade, train, and teams, and burn;
ug what they could not carry away. Two guns of Nick.
en's battery were also captured. Our loss was. between.
kO and 60 killed and wounded, who were left on the field.
Tbe rebel loss is not reported. Morgan's force consisted
of three regiments of cavalry and two of Infantry. It wu
said thet Morgan made another attack upon General Fry's
position at Gallatin the aame afternoon, but met with a
serious repulse. General Fry wu speedily reinforced, and
pursued the enemy. It would appear that in the attack
at Hartsville «ome of our troops behaved badly, while oth
ers fought gallantly to the last
DE8PEEATR BATTLE IK ARKANSAS.
A desperate fight and a brilliant victory for the Union
forces occurred In Arkansas on 7th. While General Her.
ron, with a force of about seven thousand men wu hasten,
ug to ralnfbros Genual Blunt, at Cane Hill, the enemy.
twenty-four thousand strong, In four divisions, under
Generals Parsons, Marmaduke, Fron, and Rains, all com
manded by General Hlndman, having flanked General
Blunfa position, made a deeperate attack on General Her.
ron, at Crawford's Prairie, to prevent his Junction with
Blunt. Herron fought them gallantly with hlf Illinois,
Iowa, Wisconsin, and Indiana troops, from ten o'clock In
the morning until dark^eeping them at bay and driving
Qiem from two etrong podtlona with bia artillery during
the day. The SOth Wisconsin captured a rebel battery I but
were forced, by the fire of the enemy, to abandon iL The
19th Iowa took the aame battery, but were also obliged
to surrender it. Affairs wen going hard with our troops.
At four o'clock In the afternoon, however. General Blunt
arrived In the enemy's rear, with five thousand men, and
fell upon them. The fight then became one of desperation.
Though superior In numbers, and maintaining their ground
throughout the day, the rebela, now between two hostile
forces, made fierce effort* to capture the batteries which
General Blunt brought to bear upon them, but without
aucoess. They could nut extricate themselves from the
difficulty, and wen repulsed with great daughter. At
nine o'clock, when darkness (ell upon the scene of battle,
they were flying over the Boston mountaina in confusion,
and our victorious army htld the whcle field. Our lose
wu six hundred killed and wounded. The rebels admit
the loss of fifteen hmndred, Including several field officers.
THE TREASURY RRPORT.
The following are the estimates of the Secretary of the
Treunry;
Ytar enftng June BO, 1801.
MCXTPTS.
From Balance In Treasury ........... $2,267,068 80
From Customs, Lands, and Miscellane
ous Sources ....................... 60.141,888 03
From Direct Tax. ................... 1,795,331 7»
From Loans. (The entire amount of
Loans of aUkladswu$5S», 692,460 CO;
from this should be deducted $96,096-
938 09, devoted to the repayment of .
temporary kana, and the redemption
of Treasury Notes, etc.) This aum
properly forming no part of Receipts
or Expenditures, tbe total BecelpU
from Loans were. . ........ ......... 433.698,838 71
Total Beoeipti.. ............... *iS7,788,S24 V7
XZPZND1TD1UE8.
Fer Civil List, etc. .... $21,408,491 16
For Pensions and In
dians .............. 8,102,98960
For Interest on Public
Dabt.. ............. 13,190,82446
For War Department. . 894,868,407 90
For Navy Department. 42.674,66° 69
Total Expenditures ............ $474,744,773 16
Leaving Balance U Treasury ___ _ _ ___
July 1,1862................. $18,043,646 81
Year enatnaJvnc SO, 1863, (IU Receipts for ths last
Thrst Qwrten being Estimated.
BBaturri.
From£alance In Treasury ........... 913,045,846 81
From Customs, Lands, etc. ........... 70,374,777 07
From Direct Tax . ................... 11,«2I,717 99
From Internal Duties...... .......... 86,456,303 78
Total Receipts... .............. $180,495,84560
$6wS.u6S,43J
For Civil List, etc. .... $32,811,648 23
ForlnterlorDapartment 5,982,906 43
For War Department. . 747,350,823 98
For Navy Department. 82,177,610 77
For Interest on Public
Debt............... 26,014,63207
Total, besides Public ________
Debt............... $8*8,846,32148
Deduct Bum eetlmated
to be undrawn. ..... 800,000,000 00
Total expense for Gov- _ ________
eminent and the War $698,846,821 48
Add payments of Pub
lic Debt which will
become due. ........ 9.\?1".456 14
Total Expenditures for the year. $788,658,777 62
Excess of Expenditure) ever di
rect Income............
From Loans have been
received np to Nov.
80, and applied to the
expense! of the Year. $200,189.717 01
The estimated addi
tional Beceipti from *'
sources under exist-
inglawsan........ 131.021,197 8B
Total estimated Receipts from all
sources..................... $83«fl 60.914 86
Showing a total Deficiency of . . $876,912,517 «
Year Ending June SO, 1864 lEstimaUit.
BECXTfTS.
From Customs.......... ............ $70,000,00000
From Lands ........................ 26,000 00
From MlfceUaneous Sources .......... 8,000,000 00
From Internal Dutiea. ............... 160,000,000 00
Aggregate .................... $223,020,000 00
BXPXNDITDUS,
Balance of former appropriations esti
mated to be unexpended July 1, 1863 $200,000,000 00
ForClvil Service, etc... .............. 26,091,610 08
For Interior Department ............. 10,346,677 01
For the War Department ............ 738,629,146 80
For the Navy Department............ 68,257,-.05 01
For Interest on Public Dabt .......... 88,613,890 60
Principal on Public Debt............. 19384.804 16
Total.. ....................... $1,0*0,413,183 06
Of this amount of $1,065,418,188 66 It
is estimated that there will remain
undrawn on the 80th of June. 1864,
the sum of. ....................... 850,000,000 00
Aggregate for the year. ........ $845,418,188 66
The estimated Receipts, u before stated,
for that year are placed at.. ........ .838,026,00000
Leaving to be provided for try Loans the _____
sumof.. .......................... $612,888,183 66
Mr. Chue recommends that the deficiency for the. cur
rent year be raised by loans, and that no more legal
tender notes be Issued.
A COTTON CUERRNCT.
General W. T. Bherman, who U the military commander
at Memphis, recommends that, instead of ehlnpUaten —
which the Common Council of that city proposes to Issue
—five, ten, twenty-five, and fifty cent packages of raw
cotton be done np and passed u currency— the cotton to
be of the standard value of half a dollar a pound,
KOEPOLK TO ELECT A ICUUEB OT CONOUE8S.
From Fortress Monroe we learn that General Vlele has
issued a proclamation u Military Governor of Norfolk and
a writ of election for another member of Congress from
Southeastern Virginia, comprising in the district the dty
of Norfolk, together with the counties of Prlncaw Anne,
Nansemond, lela of Wight, and the dty of Portsmouth.
It is supposed that the people will eagerly accede to the
proclamation, and elect a member, for the Bake of pre
serving their clave property from the elfoets of the eman
cipation proclamation of the President, u the Hon. Mr.
Segar, who waa previously elected for another district, is
believed to have secured his constituents from the opera
tions of that proclamation.
ARUE8T OF A UNITED 8TATFH MARSHAL.
The Grand Jury of Hunterdon county. New Jersey,
have Indicted a Deputy United States Marshal and other
parties, for the arrest, withont process of law, of Messrs.
iVright tt Kugler on a charge of Interfering with enlist-
meets. The Marshal hu accordingly been arrested. It
s laid that the Uniud Statea District Attorney author
ized. the arruta of thw* gsntltmen.

t) 00
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DAVIS MILLS, ON THE MISSISSIPPI AND OHIO RAILROAD.—DRAWS BY MB. A. SIMPJ.OT.—[SUE PAGE 807.]
SEMINAKY AT LA GRANGE, TENNESSEE, NOW USED AS A PKISON-DRAWS BY Ma. A. SIMFLOT.-[SEE PAGE 807.)
F^f •
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OO
O5
GRAND JUNCTION (TENNESSEE) OF THE MEMPHIS AND CHARLESTON AND MISSISSIPPI AND OHIO RAILROADS.-FFOM A SKETCH BY*MK. A. SIMI-LOT.-[SBK PAGE 807.1
L':08 aovj aagj— 'BiAva ' 3H1 KO 3TI3S
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806 HARPEKS WEEKLY. [DECEMBER 20,1862.
DECEMBEE.
THX mow, thick fallen In the lUent night,
Hath laden every branch, and every leaf
Droops with Iti dazxllng weight. The fragile birch,
Iti thready branches thickened with Iti load,
Strangely contrute with yonder aucnba,
That benda beneath the agglomerated mau
Betting upon 1U leavei. The towering plane,
IU -whitened taneb hanging In the aky,
Burmounto the wondront scene. Each ahrub and tree
Stands out In alrangert individuality
Beneath IU snowy palL White blotchy lumps
Hark the broad evergreens illm thready lines
The broom and celer. Beauteouily grotesque
Looks the gaunt cedar, • long enowy layer
Glittering on every horizontal bough.
Like a coloaial feather, cut In (tone •
By some bold master-hand. The gUitenlog lawn
Is scarcely marked by footprint of a bird.
The hidden garden path hath not a stain;
Each flow'ret hath Us coronet of enow,
And not ft thing so vulgar or BO mean
But dons an ermlned robe. Tree, shrub, and flower
Stand In white livery out upon the eye,
Like some bright dream. That old familiar chime
A narrower circle seems to fill; the scene
Seems cabined and collapsed, and nearer drawn
The once far-off horizon, that doth hold,
As with a spell, a strangely silent world.
[Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1802,
by Harper A Brothers, In the Clerk's Office of the DU-
trlot Court for the Southern District of New York.]
NO NAME.
BY WILKIE COLLINS,
OF "THB WOMAX IN WHITZ,"
no., no.
'DUD raoaxr,'
ILLUSTRATED BY^JOHN M'LENAN.
W Printed from the Manuscript and
•arty Fi-oof-alieets pnroliaaed by tlie
Proprietor* of "Harper'a Weekly."
t CHAPTER II.
THE first week passed, the second week pass
ed, and Magdalen was, to all appearance, no
nearer to the diicovery of the Secret Trust than
on the day when she first entered on her service
at St. Crux.
But the fortnight, uneventful though it was,
had not been a fortnight lost. Experience had
already satisfied her on one important point—
experience had shown that she conld set the
rooted distrust of the other servants safely at
defiance. Time had accustomed the women to
her presence in the house, without shaking the
vague conviction, which possessed them all alike,
that the new-comer was not one of themselves.
All that Magdalen could do in her own defense
•was to keep the instinctive female suspicion of
her confined within those purely negative limits
which it had occupied from the first, and this
she accomplished. Day after day the women
watched her with the untiring vigilance of mal
ice and distrust, and day after day not the ves
tige of a discovery rewarded them for their pains.
Silently, intelligently, and industriously, with an
ever-present remembrance of herself and her
place, the new parlor-maid did her work. Her
only intervals of rest and relaxation were the in
tervals passed occasionally, in the day, with old
Mazey and tho dogs, and the precious interval
of the night, during which she was secure from
observation in the solitude of her room. Thanks
to the superfluity of bedchambers at St. Crux,
each one of the servants had the- choice, if she
pleased, of slesping in a room of her own. Alope
in the night, Magdalen might dare to be herself
again—might dream of the past, and wake from
the dream, encountering no curions eyes to no
tice that she was in tears—might ponder over
the fntnre, and be roused by no whispering in
corners, which tainted her with the suspicion of
"having something on her mind."
. Satisfied, thns far, of the perfect security of
her position in the house, she profited next by a
second chance1 in her favor, which—before the
fortnight was at an end—relieved her mind of
all doubt on the formidable snbject of Mrs. Le-
count.
Partly from the accidental gossip of the wo
men at the table in the servants' hall—partly
from a marked paragraph in a Swiss newspa
per which she had fonnd one morning lying open
on the admiral's easy-chair—she gained the wel
come assurance that no danger was to be dread
ed this time from the housekeeper's presence on
the scene. Mrs. Lecount had, as it appared,
passed a week or more at St. Crux after the date
of her master's death, and had then left En
gland to live on the interest of her legacy, in
honorable and prosperous retirement, in her na
tive place. The paragraph in the Swiss news
paper described the fulfillment of this laudable
project. Mrs. Lecount had not only established
herself at Zurich, bnt (widely mindful of the un
certainty of life) had also settled the charitable
uses to which her fortune was to be applied after
her death. One half of it was to go to the found
ing of a "Lecompte Scholarship" for poor stu
dents in the University of Geneva. The other
half was to be employed by the municipal au
thorities of Zurich in the maintenance and'edu
cation of a certain number of orphan girls, na
tives of the city, who were to be trained for do
mestic service in later life. The Swiss journal
ist adverted to these philanthropic bequests in
terms of extravagant enlogy. Zurich was con
gratulated on the possession of a Paragon of pub
lic virtue; and William Tell, in the character
of benefactor to Switzerland, was compared dis-
advantageously with Mrs. Leconnt.
The third week began, and Magdalen was
BOW at liberty to take her first step forward on
the way to the diicovery of the Secret Trust.
She ascertained from old Mazey that it was
his master's custom, during the winter and
spring months, to occnpy the rooms ia the north
wing; and during the summer and antnmn to
cross the Arctic passage of "Freeze-your-
Bones," and live in the eastward apartments
which looked out on the garden. While the
Banqueting Hall r .nained—owing to the admi
ral's inadequate p. mniaryresonrces—in its damp
and dismantled state, and while the interior of
St. Crux was thus comfortlessly divided into
two separate residences, no more convenient ar
rangement than this could well have been de
vised. Now and then (as Magdalen understood
from her informant) there were days both in
winter and summer when the admiral became
anxious abont the condition of the rooms which
he was not occupying at the time, and when he
insisted on investigating the state of the furni
ture, the pictures, and the books with his own
eyes. On these occasions—in summer as in
winter—a blazing fire was kindled for some days
previously in the large grate, and tho charcoal
was lit in the tripod-pan, to keep the Banquet
ing Hall as warm as circumstances would admit.
As soon as the old gentleman's anxieties were
set at rest the rooms were shut op again; and
" Freeze-yonr-Bones" was once more abandoned
for weeks and weeks together to damp, desola
tion, and decay. The last of these temporary
migrations had taken place only a few days
since; the admiral had satisfied himself that the
rooms in the eijt wing were none the worse for
the absence of their master—and he might now
be safely reckoned on as settled 'in the north
wing for weeks, and perhaps, if the season was
cold, for months to come.
Trifling as they might be in-themselves, these
particulars were of serions importance to Mag
dalen, for they helpe'l her to fix the limits of
the field of search. -Assuming that the admiral
was likely to keep all his important documents
within easy reach of his own hand, she might
now feel certain that the Secret Trust was se
cured in one or other of the rooms in the north
wing.
In which*room? That question was not easy
to answer.
Of the four inhabitable rooms which were all
at the admiral's disposal during the day—that
is to say, of the dining-room, the library, the
morning-room, and the drawing-room opening
out of the vestibule—the library appeared to be
the apartment in which, if he had a preference,
be passed the greater part of his time. There
was a table in this room with drawers that
locked; there was a magnificent Italian cabinet,
with doors that locked; there were five cupboards
under the book-cases, everyone of which rocked.
There were receptacles similarly secured in the
other rooms, in all or any of which papers might
le kept. She had answered the bell, and had
seen him locking and unlocking, now in one
room, now in another—but oftenest in the libra
ry. She had noticed occasionally that his ex-
jression was fretful and impatient when he
ooked round at her from an open cabinet or
cupboard and gave his orders; and she inferred
that something in connection with his papers
and possessions—it might or might not be the
Secret Trust—irritated and annoyed him from
time to time. She had heard him, more than
once, lock something up in one of the rooms—
come ont and go into another room—wait there
a few minutes—then return to the first room,
irith his keys in his hand—and sharply tnrn the
ocks, and turn them agnin. This fidgety anxi
ety about his keys and his cnpboards might be
the result of the inbred restlessness of his dispo
sition, aggravated in a naturally active man by
the aimless iudolence of a life in retirement—
a life drifting backward and forward among
trifles, with no regular employment to steady it
it any given hour of tie day. On the other
land, it was just as probable that these comings
and goings, these lockings and nnlockings, might
>e attributable to the existence of some private
responsibility, which had unexpectedly intruded
tself into the old man's easy existence, and
which tormented him with a sense of oppres
sion new to the experience of his later years.
Either one of these interpretations might explain
lis conduct as reasonably and as probably as the
other. Which was the right interpretation of
he two, it was, in Magdalen's position, impossi-
>le to say.
The one certain discovery at which she ar
rived was made in her first day's observation
of him. The admiral was a rigidly careful man
with his keys.
All the smaller keys he kept on a ring in the
jreast-pocket of his coat. The larger he lock
ed up together, generally, but not always, in one
>f the drawers of the library table. Sometimes
le left them secured in this way at night; some-
imes he took them up.to the bedroom with him
n a little basket. He,had no regular times for
caving them or for taking them away with him;
le had no discoverable reason for now securing
;hem in the library-table drawer, and now again
ocking them np in some other place. The in
veterate willfulness and caprice of his proceed-
ngs in these particulars defied every effort to
reduce them to a system, and baffled All at
tempts at calculating on them beforehand.
The hope of gaining positive information to
act on, by laying artful snares for him which he
might fall into in his talk, proved, from the ont-
set, to be ntterly futile. In Magdalen's situa
tion all experiments of this sort wonld have been
in the last degree difficult and dangerous with
any man. With the admiral they were simply
impossible. His tendency to veer about from
one subject to another; his habit of keeping his
tongue perpetually going, so long as there was
any body, no matter whom, within reach of the
sound of his voice; his comical want of all dig
nity and reserve with his servants promised, in
appearance, much, and performed, in reality,
nothing. No matter how diffidently or how re
spectfully Magdalen might presume on her mas-
. ter's example, and on her master's evident liking
for her, the old man instantly discovered the ad
vance she was making from her proper position,
and instantly pot her back in it again, with a
quaint good-humor which iuflieted no pain, but
with a blunt straightforwardness of purpose
which permitted no escape. Contradictory as
it may sound, Admiral Bartram was too famil
iar to be approached ; he kept the distance be
tween himself and his servant more effectually
than if he had been the proudest man in En
gland. The systematic reserve of a superior to
ward an inferior may be occasionally overcome
—the systematic familiarity, never. «
Slowly the time dragged on. The fourth
week came, and Magdalen had made no new
discoveries. The prospect was depressing in
the last degree. Even in the apparently hope
less event of her devising a means of getting at
the admiral's keys, she could not connt on re
taining possession of them unsuspected for more
than a few hours—hours which might be utter
ly wasted through her not knowing in what di
rection to begin the search. The Trust might
be locked up in anyone of some twenty recepta
cles for papers, situated in four different rooms;
and which room was the likeliest to look in,
which receptacle was the most promising to be
gin with, which position, among other heaps of
papers, the one paper needful might be expect
ed to occupy, was more than she conld say.
Hemmed in by immeasurable uncertainties on
every side—condemned, as it were, to wander
blindfold on the very brink of success—she wait
ed for the chance that never came, for the event
that never happened, with a patience which was
sinking already into the patience of despair.
Night after night she looked back over the
vanished days, and not an event rose on her
memory to distinguish them one from the other.
The only interruptions to the weary uniformity
of the life at St. Crux were caused by the char
acteristic delinquencies of old Mazey and the
dogs.
At certain intervals the original wildness broke
ont in the natures of Brutns and Cassius. The
modest comforts of home, the savory charms of
made-dishes, the decorous joy of digestions ac
complished on hearth-rugs, lost all their attrac
tions, and the dogs ungratefully left the house
to seek dissipation and adventure in the outer
world. On these occasions the established aft
er-dinner formula of question and answer be
tween old Mazey and his master varied a little
in one particular. "God bless fhe Queen,
Mazey," and "How's the wind, Mazey?" were
followed by a new inquiry: "Where are the
dogs, Mazey ?" " Out on the loose, your hon
or, and be damned to 'em," was the veteran's
unvarying answer. The admiral always sighed
and shook his head gravely at the news, as if
Brutns and Cassius had been sons of his own,
who treated him with a want of proper filial re
spect. In two or three days' time the dogs al
ways returned, lean, dirty, and heartily ashamed
of themselves. For the whole of the next day
they were invariably tied up in disgrace. On
the day after they were scrubbed clean and
were formally readmitted to the dining-room.
There Civilization, acting through the medium
of made-dishes, recovered its hold on them, and
the admiral's two prodigal sons watered at the
mouth as copiously as ever.
Old Mazey, in his way, proved to be just as
disreputably inclined on certain occasions as the
dogs. At intervals, the original wildness in his
nature broke 6nt: he, too, lost all relish for the
comforts of home, and ungratefully left the house.
He usually disappeared iu the afternoon, and re
turned at night as drunk as liquor could make
him. Ho was by many degrees too seasoned a
vessel to meet with any disasters on these occa
sions. His wicked old legs might take round
about methods of progression, but they never
failed him; his wicked old eyes might see double,
but they always showed him the way home. Try
as hard as they might tho servants could never
succeed in persuading him that he was drunk:
he always scorned the imputation. He even de
clined to admit the idea privately into his mind
until he had first tested his condition by a crite
rion of his own.
It was his habit in these cases of Bacchanalian
emergency to stagger,obstinately into his room
on the ground-floor—to take the model ship out
of the cupboard—and to try if he pould proceed
with the never-to-be-completed employment of
setting up the rigging. When he had smashed
the tiny spars and snapped asunder the delicate
rope*—then, and not till then, the veteran ad
mitted facts as they were, on the authority of
practical evidence. " Ay 1 ay!" he nsed to say
confidentially to himself, " The women are right.
Drunk again, Mazey—drunk again!" Having
reached this discovery, it was his habit to wait
cunningly in the lower regions until the admiral
was safe in his room, and then to ascend, in
discreet list slippers, to his post. Too wary to
attempt getting into the trnckle-bed (which
would have been only inviting the catastrophe
of a fall against his master's door), he always
walked himself sober np and down the passage.
More than once Magdalen had peeped ronnd
the screen, and had seen the old sailor unstead
ily keeping his watch, and fancying himself once
more at his duty on board ship. " This is an
uncommonly lively vessel in a sea-way," he nsed
to mutter under his breath, when his legs took
him down the passage in zigzag directions, or
left him for the moment, studying tho "Pints
of the Compass," on his own system, with his
back against the wall. " A nasty night, mind
you," he would mannderon, taking another turn.
"As dark AS yonr pocket, and, the wind heading
ns again from the pld quarter." On the next
day, old Mazey, like the dogs, was kept down
stairs in disgrace. On the day after, like the
dogs again, he was reinstated in his privileges,
and another change was introduced in the after-
dinner formula. On entering the room the old
sailor stopped short and made his excuses, with
his back against the .door. " Please your honor,
I'm ashamed of myself." In that brief yet com
prehensive form of words the apology began and
ended. "This mustn't happen again, Mazey,"
the admiral used to answer. "It sha'n't happen
again, your honor." " Very good. God bless
the Queen, Mazey." The veteran tossed off his
port, and the dialogue ended as usual.
So the days passed, with no incidents more
important than these to relieve their monotony,
nntil the end of the fonrth week was at hand.
On the last day an event happened, and the long-
deferred promise of the fntnre began to dawn.
While Magdalen was spreading the cloth in the
diniug-room as usual, Mrs. Drake looked in and
instructed her on this occasion, for the first time,
to lay the table for two persons. The admiral
had written to his nephew, and had received an
answer by the next post. Early that evening
Mr. George Bartram was expected to return to
St. Crux.
DECEMBEE 20, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 807
CHAPTER IU.
AFTER placing the second cover Magdalen
awaited the ringing of the dinner-bell with an
interest and impatience which she found it no
easy task to conceal. The return of Mr. Bar-
tram would, in all probability, produce •> change
in the life of the honse, and from change of any
kind, no matter how trifling, something might
be hoped. The nephew might be accessible to
influences which had failed to reach the uncle.
In any case the two would talk of their affairs
over their dinner, and through that talk—pro
ceeding day after day in her presence-^-the way
Jo discovery, now absolutely invisible, might,
sooner or later, show itself.
At last the bell rang, the door opened, and
the two gentlemen entered the room together.
Magdalen was struck, as her sister had been
struck, by George Bertram's resemblance to her
father—judging by the portrait at Combe-Raven,
which presented the likeness of Andrew Van-
stone in his younger days. The light hair and
florid complexion, the bright blue ey*s and hardy
upright figme, familiar to her in-the picture,
were all recalled to her memory as the nephew
followed the uncle across the room and took his
place at table. She was not prepared for this
sudden revival of the lost associations of home.
Her attention wandered as she tried to conceal
its effect on her; and she made a blunder in
waiting at table, for the''first time since she had
entered the house.
A quaint reprimand from the admiral, half in
jest, half in earnest, gave her time to recover
herself. She ventured another look at George
Bartram. The impression which he produced
on her this time roused her curiosity immediate
ly. His face and manner plainly expressed anx
iety and preoccupation of mind. He looked oft-
ener at his plate than at his uncle; and at Mag
dalen herself—except one passing inspection of
the new parlor-maid when the admiral spoke to
^icr—he never looked at all. Some uncertainty
ivas evidently troubling his thoughts; some op
pression was weighing on his natural freedom of
manner. What uncertainty ? what oppression ?
Would any personal revelations come out, little
by little, in the course of conversation at the
dinner-table ?
No. One set of dishes followed another set
of dishes, and nothing in the shape of a personal .
revelation took place. The conversation halted
on irregularly, between pnblic affairs on one side"
and trifling private topics on the other. Politics,
home and foreign, took their turn with the small
household history of St. Crux—and the leaders
of the revolution which expelled Louis Philippe
from the throne of France marched side by side
in the dinner-table review with old Mazey and
the dogs. The dessert was put on the table; the
old'sailor came in—drank his loyal toast—paid
his respects to "Master George"—and went out
again. Magdalen followed him, on her way back
to the servants' offices, having heard nothing in
the conversation of the slightest importance to
the furtherance of her own design from the first
word of it to the last. She struggled hard not
to lose heart and hope on the first day. They
could hardly talk again to-morrow, they could
hardly talk again the next day, of the French
Revolution and the dogs. • Time might do won
ders yet; and Time was all her own.
Left together over their wine, the uncle and
nephew drew their easy-chairs on either fide of
the fire, filled their glasses, and, in Magdalen's
absence, began the very conversation which'it
was Magdalen's interest to hear. .
"Claret, George?" said the admiral, pushing
the bottle across the table. "You look ont of
spirits."
"I am a little anxions, Sir," replied George,
leaving 'his glass empty, and looking straight
into the fire.
" I am glad to hear it," rejoined the admiral."
"I am more than a little anxious myself, I can
tell yon. Here we are at the last days of March
—and nothing done! Your time comes to an
end on the third of May, and there you sit as if
you had years still before you to turn round in."
George smiled, and resignedly helped himself
to some wine.
"Am I really to understand, Sir," he asked,
" that you are serions in what you said to me •
last November? Are yon actually resolved to
bind me to that incomprehensible condition ?"
"I don't call it incomprehensible," said, the
admiral, irritably.
'' Don't yon, Sir ? I am to inherit yonr estate,
unconditionally, as you have -generously settled
it from the first". But I am not to touch a far
thing of the fortune poor Noel left yon unless I
am married within a certain time. The honse
and lands are to be mine under any circum
stances. But the money with which I might
improve them both is to be arbitrarily taken
away from me if I am not a married man on the
third of May. I am sadly wanting in intelli
gence I dare say, but a more incomprehensible
proceeding I never heard of!"
"No snapping and snarling, George! Say
your say out. We don't understand sneering
in Her Majesty's Navy!".
"I mean no offense, Sir. But I think it's a
little hard to astonish me by a change of pro
ceeding on your part, entirely foreign to my ex
perience of your character, and then, when I
naturally ask for an explanation, to turn round
coolly and leave me in the dark. If yon and
Noel came to some private arrangement to
gether before he made his will, why not tell me ?
Why set up a mystery between us where no mys
tery need be?"
" I won't have it, George!" cried the admiral,
angrily dramming on the table with the nut
crackers. "Yon are trying to draw me like a
badger, bnt I won't be drawn! I'll make any
conditions I please; and I'll be accountable to
nobody for them unless I like. It's quite bad
enough to have worries and responsibilities laid
on my unlucky shoulders that I never bargained
for—never mind what worries: they're not yours,
they're mine — without being questioned and
cr jss-questioned as if I was a witness in a box.
Here's a pretty fellow!" continued the admiral,
apostrophizing his nephew in red-hot irritation,
and addressing himself to the dogs on the hearth
rug for want of a better audience. "Here's a
pretty fellow! He is asked to help himself to
two uncommonly comfortable things in their way
—a fortune and a wife—he is allowed six months
to get the wife in (we should have got her in the
Navy, bag and baggage, in six days)—he has a
round dozen of nice girls, to my certain knowl
edge, in one part of the country and another,
all at his disposal to choose from—and what
does he do? He sits month after month with
his lazy legs'crossed before him; he leaves the
girls to pine on the stem; and he bothers his
nncle to know the reason why! I pity the poor
unfortunate women! Men were made of flesh
and blood—and plenty of it too—in my time.
They're made of machinery now."
"I can only repeat, Sir, I am sorry to have
offended you," said George.
"Pooh! pooh! you needn't look at me in
that languishing way if you are," retorted the
admiral. " Stick to your wine, and I'll forgive
you. Your good health, George. I'm glad to
see you again at St. Orux. Look at that plate
ful of sponge-cakes! The cook has sent them
up in honor of your return. We can't hurt her
feelings, and we can't spoil our wine. Here 1"
—The admiral tossed four sponge-cakes in quick
succession down the accommodating throats of
the dogs. " Tm sorry, George," the old gentle
man gravely proceeded; "I'm really sorry you
haven't got yonr eye on one of those nice girls.
You don't know what a loss you're inflicting on
yourself—you don't know what trouble and mor
tification yon're causing me—by this shilly-shally
conduct of yonrs."
" If yon would only allow me to explain my
self, Sir, you would view my conduct in a total
ly different light. I am ready .to marry to-mor
row, if the lady will have me."
" The devil yon are I So you have got a lady
in your eye after all? Why in Heaven's name
couldn't yon tell me so before? Never mind—
I'll forgive you every thing now I know you
have laid your hand on a wife. Fill your glass
again. Here's her health in a bumper. By-
the-by, who is she ?"
"I'll tell yon directly, admiral. When we
began this conversation, I mentioned that I was
a little anxious—"
" She's not one of my round dozen of nice
girls—aha, Master George, I see that in your
face already! Why are yon anxious ?"
" I am afraid yen will disapprove of my choice,
Sir."
"Don'tbeat abont the hush! How the dence
can I say whetMer I disapprove or not if yon
won't tell me wno she is?"
"She is the eldest daughter of Andrew Van-
stone of Combe-Raven."
"Who!!!"
"MissVanstone, Sir."
The admiral put down his glass of wine un-
tasted. ,
"You're right, George," he said. "I do dis
approve of your choice—strongly disapprove
of it."
"Is it the misfortune of her birth, Sir, that
you object to?"
" God forbid! the misfortune of her birth is
not her fault, poor tiling. You know as well as
I do, George, what I object to."
"You object to her sister?"
— "Certainly! The most liberal man alive
might object to her sister, I think."
"It's hard, Sir, to moke MissVanstone snfier
for her sister's faults."
"Faults, do you call them? You have a
mighty convenient memory, George, where your
own interests are concerned."
"Call them crimes, if you like, Sir—I say
again, it's hard on Miss Vanstone. Miss Van-
stone's life is pure of all reproach. From first
to last she has borne her hard lot with snch pa
tience, and sweetness, and courage as not one
woman in a thousand would have shown in her
place. Ask Miss Garth, who has known her
from childhood. Ask Mrs. Tyrrel, Who blesses
the day when she came into the honse—"
*" Ask a-fiddlestick's end! I beg your pardon,
George—but you are enough to try the patience
of a saint. My good fellow, I don't deny Miss
Vanstone's virtues; I'll admit, if you like, she's
the best woman that ever put on a petticoat.
That is not the question—"
" Excuse me, admiral—it t* the question, if
she is to be my wife."
"Hear me out, George; look at it from my
point of view as well as yonr own. What did
your cousin Noel do? Yonr cousin Noel fell a
victim, poor fellow, to one of the vilest conspira
cies I ever heard of—and the prime mover of
that conspiracy was Miss Vanstone's damnable
sister. She deceived him in the most infamous
manner; and as soon as she was down for a
handsome legacy in his will she had the poison
ready to take his life. That is the truth—we
know it from Mrs. Lecount, who fonnd the bot
tle locked up in her own room. If yon marry
Miss Vanstone, yon make this wretch yonr sis
ter-in-law. She becomes a member of «ur fam
ily. All the disgrace of what she has done; all
the disgraces of what she may do—and the Devil
who possesses her, only knows what lengths she
may go to next—becomes our disgrace. Good
Heavens, George, consider what a position that
is! Consider what pitch yon tonch if yon make
this woman your sister-in-law."
"You have put your side of the question, ad
miral," said George, resolutely; " now let me
put mine. A certain impression is produced on
me by a young lady, whom I meet with nndar
very interesting circumstances. I don't act head
long on that impression, as I might have done if
I had been some years younger—I wait and pnt
it to the trial. Every time I see this young lady
the impression strengthens—her beauty grows
on me, her character grows on me; when I am
away from her I am restlass and dissatisfied,
when I am with her I am the happiest man
alive. All I hear of her conduct from those who
know her best more than confirms the high opin
ion I have formed of her. The one drawback I
can discover is caused by a misfortune for which
she is not responsible—the misfortune of having
a sister who is utterly unworthy of her. Does
this discovery—an unpleasant discovery, I grant
you—destroy all those good qualities in Miss
Vanstone for which I love and admire her? No
thing of the sort—it only makes her good quali
ties all the more precious to me by contrast. If
I am to have a drawback to contend with—and
who expects any thing else in this world?—I
would infinitely rather have the drawback at
tached to my wife's sister than to my wife. My
wife's sister is not essential to my happiness, but
my wife is. In my opiuion, Sir, Mrs. Noel Van-
stone has done mischief enough already—I won't
let her do more mischief by depriving me of a
good wife. Right or wrong, that is my point of
view. I don't wish to tronble yon with any ques
tions of sentiment. All I wish to say is, that I
am old enough by this time to know my own
mind—and that my mind is made up. If my
marriage is essential to the execution of yonr
generous intentions on my behalf, there is only
one woman in the world whom I con marry—
and that woman is Miss Vanstone."
There was no resisting this plain declaration.
Admiral Bartram rose from his chair without
making any reply, and walked perturhedly np
and down the room.
The situation was emphatically a serious one.
Mrs. Girdlestone's death had already produced
the failure of one of the two objects contemplated
by the Secret Trust. If the third of May arrived
and found George a single man, the second (and
last) of the objects wonld then have failed in its
turn. In little more than a fortnight at the very
latest the Bans mnst be published in Ossory
church—or the time would fail for compliance
with one of the stipulations insisted on in the
Trust. Obstinate as the admiral was by nature,
strongly as he felt the objections which attached
to his nephew's contemplated alliance, he recoil
ed, in spite of himself, as he paced the room, and
saw the facts, on either side, immovably staring
him in the face.
"Are yon engaged to Miss Vanstone?" he
asked, suddenly.
"No, Sir," replied George. "I thought it
due to your uniform kindnejn to me to speak to
you on the snbject first."
"Much obliged, I'm sure. And you have pnt
it off to the last moment, just as you put off ev
ery thing else. Do you think Miss Vanstone
will say Yes when you ask her ?"
George hesitated.
"The devil take your modesty!" shouted the ad
miral. " This is not a time for modesty—this is
a time for speaking out. Will she or won't she ?"
"I think she will, Sir."
The admiral laughed sardonically, and took
another turn in the room. He suddenly stopped,
put his hands in his pockets, and stood still in a
corner deep in thought. After an interval of a
few minutes his face cleared a little: it bright
ened with the dawning of a new idea. He walk
ed round briskly to George's side of the fire, and
laid his hand kindly on his nephew's shoulder.'
"You're wrong, George," he said; "but it
is too late now to set you right. On the six
teenth of next month the Bans must be put up
in Ossory church, or you will lose the money.
Have you told Miss Vanstone the position yon
stand in ? Or have you put that off to the elev
enth hour, like every thing else ?"
"The position is so extraordinary, Sir, and it
might lead to so ranch misapprehension of my
motives, that I have felt nnwilling to allnde to it.
I hardly know how I can tall ker of it at all."
"Try the experiment of telling her friends.
Let them know it's a question of money, and
they will overcome her scruples, if you can't.
But that is not what I had to say to you. How
long do you propose stopping here this time ?"
" I thought of staying a few days, and then—"
"And then of going back to London and mak
ing your offer, I suppose? Will a week give
you time enongh to pick your opportunity with
Miss Vanstone—a week out of the fortnight you
have to spare?"
" I will stay here a week, admiral, with pleas
ure, if you wish it."
" I don't wish it. I want you to pack np yonr
traps and be off to-morrow."
George looked at his uncle in silent astonish
ment.
"Yon found some letters waiting for you when
yon got here," proceeded the admiral. "Was
one of those letters from my old friend, Sir
Franklin Brock?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Was it an invitation to yon to go and stay
at the Grange?"
"Yes, Sir."
"To go at once?"
"At once, if I could manage it."
"Very good. I want yon to manage it. I
want yon to start for the Grange to-morrow."
George looked back at the fire, and sighed
impatiently.
"I understand you now, admiral," he said.
" Yon are entirely mistaken in me. My attach
ment to Miss Vanstone is not to be shaken in
that manner."
Admiral Bartram took his quarter-deck walk
again up and down the room.
"One good turn deserves another, George,"
said the old gentleman. " If I am willing to
make concessions on my side, the least you can
do is to meet me half-way, and make conces
sions on yours."
"I don't deny it, Sir."
"Very well. Now listen to my proposal.
Give me a fair hearing, George—a fair hearing
is every man's privilege. I will be perfectly just
to begin with. I won't attempt to deny that you
honestly believe Miss Vanstone is the only wo
man in the world who can make yon happy. I
don't question that. What I do question is,
whether yon really know your own mind in this
matter quite sb well as you think you know it
yourself. You can't deny, George, that you have
been in love with a good many women in your
time ? Among the rest of them, you have been
in love with Miss-Brock. No longer ago than
this time last year there was a sneaking kind
ness between yon and that young lady, to say
the least of it. And quite right, too! Miss
Brock is one of that round dozen of darlings I
meutioned over our first glass of wine."
"You are confusing an idle flirtation, Sir,
with a serions attachment," said George. "You
are altogether mistaken—yon are indeed."
"Likely enough; I don't pretend to be infal
lible—I leave that to my juuiors. But I happen
to have known yon, George, since you were the
height of my old telescope, and I want to have
this serious attachment of yonrs pnt to the test.
If you can satisfy me that your whole heart and
soul are as strongly set on MissVanstone as you
suppose them to be, I must knock under to ne
cessity, and keep my objections to myself. But
I must be satisfied first. Go to the Grange to
morrow, and stay there a week in Miss Brock's
society. Give that charming girl a fair chance
of lighting up the old flame again if she can,
and then come back to St. Crux, and let me hear
the resnlt. If you tell me, as an honest man,
that your attachment to Miss Vanstone still re
mains unshaken, you will have heard the last
of my objections from that moment. Whatever
misgivings I may feel in my own mind, I will
say nothing and do nothing adverse to your
wishes. There is my proposal. I dare say it
looks like an old man's folly in your eyes. But
the old man won't trouble you much longer,
George—and it may be a pleasant reflection,
when you have got sons of your own, to remem
ber that you hnmored him in his last days."
He came back to the fire-place as he said those
words, and laid his hand once more on his
nephew's shoulder. George took the hand and
pressed it affectionately. In the tenderest and
best sense of the word his uncle had been s fa
ther to him.
" I will do what you ask me, Sir," he replied,
•' if you really wish it. But it is only right to
tell yon that the experiment will be utterly use
less. However, if you prefer my passing the
week at the Grange to my passing it here, to the
Grange I will go."
"Thank you, George," said the admiral,
bluntly. "I expected as much from you, and
you have not disappointed me. If Miss Brock
doeen't get us out of this mess," thought the
wily old gentleman as he resumed his place at
the table, " my nephew's weathercock of a head
has turned steady with a vengeance! We'll con
sider the question settled for to-night, George,"
he continued, aloud, " and call auother subject.
These family anxieties don't improve the flavor
of my old claret. The bottle stands with yon.
What are they doing at the theatres in London ?
We always patronized the theatres in my time
ih the Navy. We used to like a good tragedy
to begin with, and a hornpipe to cheer ua up at
the end of the entertainment."
For the rest of the evening the talk flowed in
(he ordinary channels. Admiral Bartram only
returned to the forbidden subject when he and
his nephew parted for the night.
"You won't forget to-morrow, George?"
"Certainly not, Sir. I'll take the dog-cart
and drive myself over after breakfast."
•
Before noon the next day Mr. George Bartram
had left the houue, and the last chalice in Mag-
daleu's favor had left it with him.
THE INDIAN MUBDEEEES IN
MINNESOTA,
WE publish on page 801 a very striking picture
of the identification of an INDIAN MURDERER (one
of the leaders of the late ludian foray into Minne
sota) by a boy survivor who witnessed the massa
cre. The gentleman who made the sketch from
which our picture is taken kindly sends us the fol
lowing account:
"After fighting two severe battles, the troops
under the command of Brigadier-General Sible-
succeeded in capturing the greater portion of U< j
bands who committed the recent murders. Tho
victims amounted in number to over one thousand,
and many no doubt are still lying in the woods,
where they fled for shelter and were itruck down.
There is no record of a massacre so thorough in d >
tail iu the history of our country, fruitful as it ;3
ef Indian outbreaks. A short time since I was r i
South Bend, on the Minnesota River, and saw tha
captives. They are confined in strong log prisor.,
and closely guarded, not so much to prevent the; :
escape as to secure them from the vengeance of thj
outraged settlers. They are the most hideous
wretches that I have ever seen. I have been iu
the prisons of Singapore where the Malay pirates
are confined—the Dyacks, who are the most fer< •
cious and blood-thirsty of their kind—but they am
mild and humane in appearance compared to thead
Sioux warriors.
" Quite an incident occurred while I was there.
A boy who had escaped after seeing the ranrder
and outrage of his mother and sisters was brougl. -.
in to look at the prisoners, and, if possible, identic,'
them. One of the friendly Indians, who had dJ .-
tingnished himself by his bravery and humanity,
accompanied the party to act as interpreter. Whe.i
we entered the log-house that served for a prisp.i.
the captives- were mostly crouched on the floor,
but one of them arose and confronted us with a de
fiant scowl. Another, supporting himself on hid
arm, surveyed the party with a look like a tiger
about to spring. The boy advanced boldly, and
pointed him out without hesitancy. Subsequent
investigation showed that this wretch had nicr-
dered eleven persons. The boy's eyes flashed as bo
told the sickening tale of bis mother's murder, aud
the spectators could scarce refrain from killing tliu
wretch on the spot. He never relaxed his lulleii
glare, and seemed perfectly indifferent when told
of his identification by the interpreter.
" The entire country steams with slaughter, and
there is scarce a family in the large district that
was the scene of the outbreak that has not lost J,
member; and many are entirely cut off, and nc •
thing left to indicate their fate hut their devastated
homes and the chance admissions of the prisoners.
" It will be long before the frontiers of Minneaotr.
will recover from this tragedy, and many of thj
sufferers will seek justice with their ready rifle*,
and will range the vast plains west to the Missouri,
until they have hunted every Indian into the
mountains."
THE AEMY OF THE SOUTH
WEST.
OUR artist, Mr. Simplot, has sent ns several
sketcbu, which we reproduce on page 804. Grand
Junction, Tennessee, has long been one of the me.;
important stations in the Southwest, and has bee \
held by our army ever since the rebel evacuation
of Corinth. It is from thence that Grant mover*
forward to compel the retreat of the insurgent J
from Holly Springs. Davis Mills is a position on
the left wing of our army under Grant, and was
lately occupied by General Hamilton's Division
It is a well-known spot to the army of the South
west.
BELLE PLAINS.
WB publish on page 805 a view ef BELL."-
PLAINS, the principal depot of supplies for the
army of the Potomac. It is near Aquia Creek.
Here hundreds of thousands of bales, boxes, bai-
rels, and cases of supplies are being accumulate*!
as fast as they can be landed from transports and
hauled through the mud by overworked mule .
The acene is characteristic, and the picture explain j
itself. It is from a sketch by Mr. Theo. B. DavU.
WINTER
WHEN winter rains begin,
And trees are yellow and thin,
And every garden bed
Is a couch for the dying cr dead;
When woods are mouldy and dank;
When the sodden river bank
Is gusty, and misty, and chill,
And birds are dull and itill;
Then may you chance to see
What has no right to be—
A primrose breaking its (heath
In this time of sorrow and death, x
A 'violet under a leaf
In this season of sickness and grief,
AH alone, with the spring, in their eyes and bn&U>.
Or you may hear, perchance,
Across the brown wood's trance,
A sudden mid-May note,
Trilled out of a blackbird'a throat;
As if he had joy to spare,
Which brightened the lifeleas air;
As if be had pleasure laid by,
Which iweetened the loveless sky.
Ohl sad are these relics which last
To tell of the bright days past!
Nay, but dear are these signs which are born
To hint of the coming morn.
Is it saddest cr sweetest to feel
A breath from our childhood steal,
A gleam from the daya of our youth,
Of teuderness, trust, and truth,
Of sweet emotions lost
Glide over our age's frost,
When the deadest time is near,
The dark hour which must be croas'd,
Aud beyond are the flowers of the vernal ye

808 HAMPER'S WEEKLY. 809
FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA.—[FEOJI A DEAWING BY ME. A, K.

810 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [DECEMBER 20, i862.
Didkentfs New Christmas Story.
SOMEBODY'S~LUGGAGE.
HIS LEAVING IT TILL CALLED FOR.
THE writer of these humble lines being a Wait
er, and having come of a family of Waiters, and
owning at the present time five brothers who are
all Waiters, and likewise an only sister who is a
Waitress, would wish to offer a few words respect
ing his calling; first having the pleasure of hereby
in a friendly manner offering the Dedication of the
same unto JOSEPH, much-respected Head-Waiter
at the Slamjam Coffee-house, London, E. C., than
which a individual more eminently deserving of
the name of man, or a more amenable honor to his
own head and heart, whether considered in the
light of a Waiter, or regarded as a human being,
do not exist.
In case confusion should arise in the public mind
(which it Is open to confusion on many subjects)
respecting what is meant or implied by the term
Waiter, the present humble lines would wish to
offer an explanation. It may not be generally
known that the person as goes out to wait is not a
Waiter. It may not be generally known that the
band as is called in extra, at the Freemasons' Tav
ern, or the London, or the Albion, or otherwise,- is
not a Waiter. Such hands may be took on for Pub
lic Dinners by the bushel (and you may know them
by their breathing with difficulty when in attend
ance, and taking away the bottle ere yet it is half
out), but such are not Waiters. For yon can not
lay down the tailoring, or the shoemaking, or the
brokeringj or the green-grocering, 'or tbe pictorial
periodicaling, or the second-hand wardrobe, or the
small fancy, businesses—you can not lay down
those lines of life at your will and pleasure by the
half day or evening, and take np Waitering. Yon
may suppose yon can, but you can not; or you may
go 10 far as to say yon do, but you do not. Nor yet
can yon lay down the gentleman's-aervice when
stimulated by prolonged incompatibility on the
pan of Cooks (and here it may he remarked that
Cooking and Incompatibility will be mostly found
united), and take up Waitering. It has been as
certained that what a gentleman will sit meek un
der at home he will not bear out of doors, at the
Sfamjam, or any similar establishment. Then,
what is the inference to be drawn respecting true
Waiterinx ? Yon mast be bred to it. You must be
born to it.
Wonld you know how born to it. Fair Reader—
if of the aderable female sex ? Then learn from
the biographical experience of one that is a Waiter
in the sixty-first year of his age.
Yon were conveyed, ere yet your dawning pow
ers were otherwise developed than to harbor va
cancy in your inside—yon were conveyed, by sur
reptitious means, into a pantry adjoining the Ad
miral Nelson, Civic and General Dining Rooms,
there to receive by stealth that healthful sustenance
which is the pride and boast of the British female
constitution. Your mother was married to your
father (himself a distant Waiter) in the profound-
est secrecy; fer a Waitress known to be married
would ruin the best of businesses—it is the same
as on the stage. Hence your being smuggled into
the pantry, and that—to add to the infliction—by
an unwilling grandmother. Under the combined
influence of tne smells of roast and boiled, and
soup, and gas, and malt liquors, you partcok of
your earliest nourishment; your unwilling grand
mother sitting prepared to eatch you when your
mother was called and dropped you; your grand
mother's shawl ever read}- to stifle your natural
conplainiiun: your innocent mind surrounded by
uncongenial cruets, dirty plates, dish-covers, and
cold gravy; your mother calling down the pipe
for veals and porks, instead of soothing yon with
•nrsery rhymes. Under these untoward circum
stances you were early weaned. Yonr unwilling
grandmother—ever growing more unwilling as
yonr food assimilated less—then contracted habits
of shaking yon till your system curdled, and your
food would not assimilate at all. At length she
was no longer spared, and could have been thank
fully epared much sooner. When your brother*
began to appear in succession, your mother re
tired, left off her smart dressing (she had pre
viously been a (.mart dresser), and her dark ring
lets (which had previously been flowing), and
hannted your father late of nights, lying in wait
for him through all weathers, up the shabby court
which led to the back-door of the Royal Old Dust-
Binn (said to have been so named by George the
Fourth), where your father was Head. But the
Dnst-Binn was going down then, and yonr father
took but little—excepting from a liquid point of
view. Your mother's object in those visits was of
a housekeeping character, and yon was set on to
whistle your father ont. Sometimes he came out,
but generally not. Come or not come, however,
all that part of his existence which was uncon
nected with epen Waitering was kept a close se
cret, and-waa acknowledged by your mother to be
a close secret, and yon and yonr mother flitted
about tie' court, close secrets both of you, nnd
would scarcely have confessed under tenure that
yon knew your father, or that your father had any
name than Dick (which wasn t his name, though
he was never known by any othej), or that he nad
kith or kin or chick or child. Perhaps the attrac
tion of this mystery, combined with your father's
having a damp compartment to himself, behind a
Isaky cistern, at the Dust-Binn—a sort of a cellar
compartment, with a sink in it, and a smell, and a
plate-rack, and a bottle-rack, and three windows
that didn't mateh each other or any thing else, uud
•o daylight—caused your young mind to feel con
vinced that yon must grow np to be a Waiter too;
but you did feel convinced of it, and so did all yonr
brothers, down to your sister. Every one of yon
felt convinced that yon was born to the Waitering.
At this stage of your career, what was yonr feel
ings one day when your father came home to your
mother in open broad daylight—of itself an act of
Madness on the part of a Waiter—and took to his
bed (leastwise, your mother and family's bed),
with the statement that his eyes were deviled kid
neys. Physicians being in vain, your father ex
pired, after repeating at intervals "for a day and a
night, when dreams of reason and old business
fitfully illuminated his being, "Two and two is
five. 'And three is sixpence." Interred in the
parochial department of the neighboring* church
yard, and accompanied to the grave by as many
Waiters of long standing as could spare the morn
ing time from their (oiled glasses (namely, one),
your bereaved form was attired in a whiteneck-
ankechcr, and yon was took on from motives of
benevolence at The George and Gridiron, theatrical
and snpper. Here, supporting nature on what you
found in the plates (which was as it happened, and
but too often thoughtlessly immersed in mustard).
and on what yon found in the glasses (which rare
ly went beyond dribblets and lemon), by night you
dropped asleep standing till you was cuffed awake,
and by day was set to polishing every individual
article in tne coffee-room. Your couch being saw
dust; your' counterpane being ashes of cigars.
Here, frequently hiding a heavy heart under the
smart tie of your whiteneckankecher (or correctly
speaking lower down and more to the left), yon
picked up the rudiments of knowledge from an ex
tra, bv the name of Bishops, and by calling plate-
washer, and gradually elevating your mind with
chalk on the back of the comer-box partition, until
such time as you used the ink-stand when it was
ont of hand, attained to manhood and to be the
Waiter that you find yourself.
I could wish here to offer a few respectful words
on behalf of the calling 10 long the calling of my
self and family, and the public interest in which is
but too often very limited. We are not generally
understood. No, we are not. Allowance enough
is not made for us. For, Bay that we ever show a
little drooping listlessness of spirits, or what might
be termed indifference or apathy. Put it to yourself
what would, your own state of mind be if yon was
one of an enormous family every member of which
except yon was always greedy and in a hurry.
Put it to yourself that yon was regularly replete
with animal food at the slack hours of one in the
day and again at nine P.M., and that the repleter
you was the more voracious all your fellow-creat
ures came in. Put it to yourself that it was your
business, when your digestion was well on, to take
a personal interest and sympathy in a hundred
gentlemen fresh and fresh (say, for the sake of ar
gument, only a hundred), whose imaginations was
given np to grease and fat and gravy and melted
butter, and abandoned to questioning yon about
cuts of this, and dishes of that—each of 'em going
on as if him and yon and the bjll-of-fare was alone
in the world. Then Icok what yon are expected to
know. You are never out, but they seem to think
you regularly attend every where. " What's this,
Christopher, that I hear about the smashed Excur
sion Train ?'' " How are they doing at the Italian
Opera, Christopher?" "Christopher, what are
the real particulars of -this business at the York
shire Bank ?" Similarly a ministry gives me more
trouble than it gives the Queen. As to Lord Pal-
merston, the constant and wearing connection into
which I have been brought with his lordship dur
ing the last few years is deserving of a pension.
Then look at the Hypocrites we are made, and the
lies (white, I hope) that are forced npon us! Why
must a sedentary-pursnited Waiter be considered
to be a judge of horse-flesh, and to have a most
tremenjous interest in horse-training and racing?
Yet it would be half our little incomes ont of pur
pockets if we didn't take on to have those sporting
tastes. It is the same (inconceivable why!) with
Farming. Shooting, equally so. I am sure that
so regular as the months of August, September,
and October come rouad, I am ashamed ft myself
in my o

812 HAKPER'S WEEKLY. [DECEMBER 20, 1861
there that same afternoon. To be snre there were
some wonderful things in it (from the Englishman's
point of view), and of a certainty in all Britain you
would have found nothing like it. Not to mention
the fanciful flourishes of hearts and crosses, in wood
and iron, that were planted all over the place, mak
ing It look very like a Firework-ground where a
moat splendid pyrotechnic display might be ex-
' To my brother,""" To my sister," "To my friend,
i and those many wreaths were in so many stages of
' elaboration and decay, from the wreath of yester
day all fresh color and bright beads, to the wreath1
of last year, a poor mouldering wisp of straw 1
There were so many little gardens and grottoes
made upon graves, in so many tastes, with plants
and shells and plaster figures and porcelain pitch
ers, and so many odds and ends 1 There were so
many tributes of remembrance hanging up, not to
• be discriminated by the closest inspection from
little round waiters, whereon were depicted in
glowing hues either a lady or a gentleman with a
white pocket-handkerchief out of all proportion,
leaning, in a state of the most faultless mourning
and most profound affliction, on the most architect
ural and gorgeous urn! There were so many sur
viving wives who had put their names on the tombs
of their deceased husbands witb a blank for the
date of their own departure from this wear}* world;
and there were so many surviving husbands who
had rendered the name homage to their deceased
wives; and out of the number there musk have
been so many who had long ago married again I
In fine, there was so much in the place that would
have seemed mere frippery to a stranger, save for
the consideration that the lightest paper-fiower
that lay upon the poorest heap of earth was never
touchedby a rude hand, but perished there, a sacred
thing.
"Nothing of the solemnity of Death heie," Mr.
The Englishman had been going to say; whan this
last consideration touched him with a* mild appeal,
and on the whole he walked out without saying It.
" But these people ure," he insisted, by way of
compensation when he was well outside the gate,
" they are so," Participled, "sentimental 1"
His way back lay by the military gymnaslum-
ground. And there he passed the Corporal glibly
Instructing young soldiers how to swing them
selves over rapid and deep water-courses on their
way to Glory by means of a rope, and himself deft
ly plunging off a platform and flying n hundred
feet or two as an oncouragement to them to begin.
And there he also passed, perched on a crown-
Ing eminence (probably by the Corporal's careful
hands), the small Bebelle, with her round eyes
wide open, surveying the proceeding like a won
dering sort of blue and white bird.
" If that child was to die"—this was his reflec
tion as he turned his back and went his way—
" and it would almost serve the fellow right for
making such a fool of himself—I suppose we
should have Aim sticking up a wreath and a wait
er in that fantastic burying-ground."'
Nevertheless, after another early morning or
two of looking out of window, he strolled down
into the Place, when the Corporal and Behelle
were walking there, and touching his hat to the
Corporal (an immense achievement) wished him
Good-Day.
" Goprf-day, Monsieur."
"This is a rather pretty child you have here,"
said Mr. The Englishman, taking her chin in lu>
hand, and looking down into her astonished blue
eyes.
"Monsieur, she is a very pretty child," return
ed the Corporal, with a str'oss on his polite correc
tion of the phrase.
"And good?" said The Englishman.
" And very good. 1'oor little thing!"
"Hahl" The Englishman'stooped down and
' patted her cheek, not without awkwardness, as if
he were going too far in his conciliation. " And
what la this medal round your neck, my little
one?" • } '
BebelU haying no other reply on her lips than
her chubby right fisf, the Corporal offered his serv
ices as interpreter.
"Mon-ieur demands, what is this, Bebelle?"
" It is the Holy Virgin,"-said Bobelle.
"And who gave it you?" asked The English
man.
"Theophile."
"And who is Theophile?"
Bebelle broke into a laugh, laughed merrily and
heartily, clapped her chubby hands, and heat her
little feet on the stone pavement of the Place.
" He doesn't know Theophile! Why he doesn't
know any onel Ho doesn't know any thing!"
Then, sensible of a small solecism in her manners,
Bebelle twistsd her right hand in a leg of the Cor
poral's Bloomer trowsera, and laying her cheek
against the place, kissed it.
"Monsieur Theophile, I believe?" said The En
glishman to the Corporal.
" It is I, Monsieur."
"Permit me." . Mr. The Englishman shook him
heartily by the hand and turned away. But he
took it mighty ill that old Monsieur Mutuel, in his
patch of sunlight, upon whom he came as he turn
ed, should pull off his cap to him with a look of
pleased approval. And he muttered, in his own
tongue, as lie returned the salutation, " Well, wal
nut-shell ! And what business is it of yours t"
Mr. The Englishman went on for many weeks
passing but disturbed evenings and worse nights
and constantly experiencing that those aforesaid
windows in the houses of Memory and Mercy rat
tled after dark, and that ho had very imperfectly
nailed them up. Likewise, he went"on for many
weeks daily improving the acquaintance of the
Corporal and Behelle. That is to say, he took
Bebelle by the chin and the Corporal by the hand,
and offered Bebelle sous and the Corporal cigars,
and even got the length of changing pipes with
the Corporal and kissing Bebelle. But lie did it
all in a shamefaced way, and always took it ex-
tremelr ill that Monsieur Mutuel in his patch of
sunlight should note what he did. Whenever that
seemed to be the case he always growled, in his
own tongue, "There you are again, walnut-shell!
What business is it of yours t"
In a word, it had become the occupation of Mr.
The Englishman's life to look after the Corporal
and little Bebelle, and to resent old Monsieur Mu-
tuel's looking after him. An occupation only va
ried by a fire in the town one windy night, and
much passing of water-buckets from hand to hand
(in which the Englishman rendered good service),
and much beating of drums, when all of a sudden
the Corporal disappeared.
Next, all of a sudden, Behelle diaappsared.
She had been visible a few days later than the
Corporal—sadly deteriorated as to washing and
bruihine—but she had not spoken when addressed
1 y Mr. The Englishman, and had looked Beared
and had run away. And now it would seem that
she had run away for good. And there lay the
Great Place under the windows, bare and barren.
In his shamefaced and constrained way Mr. The
Englishman asked no question of any ene, but
watched from his front windows, and watched
from his back windows, and lingered about the
Place, and peeped in at the Barber's shop, and did
all this and much more with a whistling and tune-
humming pretense of not missing any thing, until
one afternoon, when Monsieur Mutuel's patch of
sunlight was in shadow, and when, according to
all rule and precedent, he had no right whatever
to bring his red ribbon out of doors, behold here
he was, advancing, with his cap already in his
hand, twelve paces off!
Mr. The Englishman had got as far into his
usual objurgation as "What bu—si—" when he
checked himself.
"Ah, it is sad, it i* sad I Helas, it is nnhaDpy,
it is sad!" Thus old Monsieur Mutuel, shaking
his gray head. .
"What husin—at least, I would ssy, what do
you mean, Monsieur Mutuel ?"
" Our Corporal. Ilelas, our dear Corporal I"
" What has happened to him ?"
"You have not heard?"
"No."
' "At the fire. But he was so brave, so ready.
Ah, too brave top ready I"
".May the devil carry you away I" the English
man broke in, impatiently j " I beg your pardon—
I mean me—I am not accustomed to speak French
—go on, will you ?"
" And a falling beam—"
" Good God!" exclaimed The Englishman. " It
was a private soldier who was killed ?"
" No. A Corporal, the same Corporal, our dear
Corporal. Beloved by all his comrades. The fu
neral ceremony was touching—penetrating. Mon
sieur The Englishman, your eyes fill with tears."
"Whathu^si—"
"MonsieurThe Englishman, I honor those emo
tions. I salute you with profound respect. I will
not obtrude myself upon your noble heart."
Monsieur Mutuel, a gentleman in every thread
of his cloudy linen, under whose wrinkled hand
every grain in the quarter of an ounce of poqr
snuff in his poor little tin box became a gentle
man's property—Monsieur Mutuel passed on with
his cap in his iiand.
" I little thought," said The.'Englis'hman, after
walking for several minutes, and more than once
blowing his nose, "when I was looking round
that Cemetery—I'll go there!"
Straight he went there; and when he oame with
in the gate he paused, considering whether he
should ask at the lodge for some direction to the
grave. But he was less than ever in a mood for
asking questions, and he thought, "I shall see
something on it to know it hy."
In search of the Corporal's grave, he went softly
on, up this walk and down that, peering in among
the crosAs, and hearts, and columns, and obelisks,
and tombstones for a recently disturbed spot. It
troubled him now to think how many dead there
were in the cemetery—be had not thought them a
tenth part so numerous before—and after he had
walked and sought for some time he said to him
self, as he struck down a new vista of tombs. " I
"ght suppose that every one wju dead but I.
Not even' one. A live child was lying on the
ground asleep. Truly he had found something on
the Corporal s grave to know it by, and the Mmc-
thinfj was Bebelle.
With such a loving will had the dead soldier's
comrades worked at his restrng-place that it was
already a neat garden. On the green turf of the
garden Bebelle lay sleeping, with her cheek touch
ing it. A plain unpainted little wooden Cross wtos
planted in the turf, and her short arm embraced
this little Cross, as it had many a time embraced
the Corporal's neck. They had put a tiny fiag
(the flag of France) at his bead, and a laurel gar
land. •
Mr. The Englishman took off his hat, and stood
for a while silent. Then covering his head again,
he bent down on one knee, and softly roused the
child.
"Bebelle! My little one!"
Opening her eyes, on which the tears were still
wet, Bebelle was at first frightened; but seeing
who it was, she Buffered him to take her in his
arms, looking steadfastly at him.
" You must not lie here, my little one. You
must come with me."
"No, no. I can't leave Theophile. I want the
good dear The'ophilc."
" We will go and seek him, Bebelle. We will
go and look for him in England. We will go and
look for him at my daughter's, Bebelle."
" Shall we find him there ?"
" We shall find the best part of him there. Come
with me, poor forlorn little one. Heaven is my
witness, said the Englishman, in a low'voice, as,
before he rose, he touched the turf above the gen
tle Corporal's breast, "that I thankfully accept
this trust!"
It was a long way for the child to have come
unaided. She was soon asleep again, with her
embrace-transferred to the Englishman's neck.
He looked at her worn shoes, and her galled feet,
and her tired face, and believed that she had come
ther* even- day.
He was leaving the grave with the slumbering
Bebelle in his arms, when he stopped, looked wist
fully down at it, and looked wistfully at the other
graves around. " It is the innocent custom of the
people," said Mr. The Englishman, with hesita
tion ; " I think I bhould like to do it. No one
es.
Careful not to wake Bebelle as he went, he re
paired to the lodga where such little tokens of re
membrance were sold, and bought two wreaths.
One, blue and white and glistening silver, "To
my friend;" one of a soberer red and black and
yellow, " To my friend." With these he went back
to the grave, and so down on one knee again.
Touching the child's lips with the brighter wreath,
he guided her hand to hang it on the Cross, then
hung his own wreath there. After all, the wreaths
were not far out of keeping with the little garden.
To my friend. To my frierul.
Mr'. The Englishman took it very ill when he
looked round a street-corner into the Great Place,
earning Bebelle in his arms, that eld Mutuel
should be there airing his red ribbon. He took a
world of pains to dodge the worthy Mutuel, and
devoted a surprising amount of time and trouble
to skulking into his own lodging like a man pur
sued bv Justice. Safely arrived there at last, he
made Bebclle's toilet with as accurate a remem
brance as he could bring to bear upon that work
of ^e way in which he had often seen the poor
Corporal make it, and, having given her to eat
and drink, laid her down on his own bed. Then
he slipped out into the Barber's shop, and after a
brief luterview with the barber's wife and a brief
recourse to his purse and card-case, came back-
again, with the whole of Bebelle's personal prop
erty in such a very little bundle that it was quite
lost under his arm.
As it was irreconcilable with his whole course
and character that he should carry Bebelle off in
state, or receive any compliments or congratula
tions on that feat, he devoted the next day to get
ting his two portmanteaus out of the house by art
fulness and stealth, and to comporting himself in
every particular as if he were going to run away
—except, indeed, that he paid hu few debt* in the
town, and prepared a letter to leave for Madame
Bouclet, inclosing a sufficient sum of money in
lieu of notice. A railway train would come through
at midnight, and by that train he would take away
Bebelle to look for Theophile in England and at
hia forgiven daughter's.
At midnight on a moonlight night, Mr. The En
glishman came creeping forth like a harmless as
sassin, with Bebelle on his breast instead of a dag
ger. Quiet the Great Place, and quiet the never-
stirring streets; closed the cafes; huddled togeth
er motionless their billiard-balls; drowsy the guard
or sentinel on duty here and there; lulled for the
time, by sleep, even the insatiate appetite of the
Office of Town-dues.
Mr. The Englishman left the Place behind and
left the streets behind, and left the civilian-inhab
ited town behind, and descended down among the
military works of Vauban, hemming all in. As
the shadow of the first heavy arch and postern fell
upon him and was left behind, as the shadow of the
second heavy arch and postern fell upon him and
was left behind, as his hollow tramp over the first
draw-bridge was succeeded by a gentler sound, as
his hollow tramp over the second draw-bridge was
succeeded by a gentler sound, as he overcame the
stagnant ditches one by one, and passed out where
the flowing waters were and where the moonlight,
so the dark shades and the hollow sounds and the un-
wholesomely-locked currents of his soul, were van
quished and set free. See to it, Vaubans, of your
own hearts, who gird them in with triple walls and
ditches, and with bolt and chain and bar and lift
ed bridge—raze those fortifications and lay them
level with the all-absorbing dust, before the night
cometh when no hand can work!
All went prosperously, and he got into an empty
carriage in the train, where he could lay Babelle
on the seat over against him, as on a couch, and
cover her from head to foot with bis mantle. He
had just drawn-himself up from perfecting this ar
rangement, and had just leaned back in his own
seat contemplating it with great satisfaction, when
be batftme aware of a cunous appearance at the
open carriage-window — a ghostly little tin box
floating up in the moonlight, and hovering there.
He leaned forward ana put out his head. Down
among the rails and wheels and ashes, Monsieur
Mutuel, red ribbon and all 1
" Excuse me, Monsieur The Englishman," said
Monsieur Mutuel, holding up his box at arm's-
length; the carriage being so high and he so low;
" but I shall reverence the little box forever, if
your so generous hand will take a pinch from it at
parting."
Mr. The Englishman reached out of the window
before complying, and—without asking the old fel
low what business it was of his—shook hands and
said, " Adieu! God bless you I"
"And, Mr. The Englishman, God bless you I"
cried Madame Bouclet, who was also there among
the rails and wheels and ashes. " And God will
bless you in the happiness of the protected child
now with you. And God will bless you in your
own child at home. And God will bless you in
your own remembrances. And this from me !**
He had barely time to catch a bouquet from her
hand when the train was flying through the night.
Round the paper that enfolded it was bravely
written (doubtless by the nephew who held the
pen of an Angel), "Homage to the friend of the
friendless."
"Not had people, Bebelle!" said Mr. The En
glishman, softly drawing the mantle a little from
her sleeping face, that he might kiss it, "though
thej- are so—"
Too " sentimental" himself at the moment to be
able to get out that word, he added nothing but a
sob, and traveled for some miles, through the moon
light, with his hand before his eyes..
HIS UMBRELLA.
IT was not in the spirit of officious gallantry that
I put my best foot forward, in order to overtake
the lady who was walking a few yards before me,
across the large field which adjoins the pretty vil
lage of Ivyton. About the attractive qualities of
her face and figure I did not care a straw, bnt she
carried one potent charm about her which had for
me a fascination wholly irresistible—she carried
an umbrella. That the potency of this charm may
be fully appreciated, I ought to state that the rain
was fulling in torrents, and that, although it was
early in tha year, I was not only without an um
brella, but was also destitute of an overcoat: hav
ing carelessly left one of those useful habiliments in
the railway carriage. The shades of evening were
just deepening into night, and I need not explain
that the sensation of being drenched through by a
rain which one can scarcely see, is infinitely more
disagreeable than the attack of a shower in broad
daylight. To the eye_ the appearance of rapidly
fulling rain is rather lively than otherwise, and to
some extent counteracts the annoyance of a wet
ting. But in being made aware of the presence of
moisture by the sense of feeling alone there is Some
thing incalculably dismal and desolate.
There was hope in that umbrella (a gingham
umbrella). Surely, under the circumstances, I
could solicit a share in it without being deemed
extremely rude and impertinent. I slushed my
way through the interminable field, and gained
upon the figure. Its outline I could plainly distin
guish. It was certainly a female, the dress was
of a light color, and—most important particular—
the wearer of the dress carried, as I nave said, a
very large umbrella—a gingham umbrella. More
I could not uncertain, save that the object of my
pursuit was endowed with a less amount of curios
ity than is usually ascribed to the fair sex. As
my feet often glided from the slippery path, and
splashed into the small puddles by which in many
places it was burdened, the noise I made must have
been considerable; and most people are anxious to
know what sort of a person is walking behind them,
when they are in a field about nightfall. Such,
however, was not the case with the lady before
me. Armed with her umbrella against the in
clemencies of the weather, she seemed regardless
of every thing else.
As I have said, I gained upon the lady; but
even when I was at her side, with my head under
her umbrella (I believe I have already described it
as a gingham umbrella), she made no effort to see
me or to avoid me. Apparently looking straight
before her, she went pn as at first; and it is wor
thy of remark, that wheress I made a little splash
at almost every step, she seemed to pick her way
without difficulty. The few courteous words I
uttered did not seem to reach her ear. Perhaps
she was deaf? On this supposition, I gently took
the gingham umbrella by the handle, politely in
tending to carry it in such a way as to confer uporp
her the largest share of its benefits. She made no
resistance, but let it go at once, and, what was
very strange, no sooner was it safely in my grasp
than I found myself alone! Yes, no one was be
side me; there I stood, whole and sole master of a
gingham umbrella. Dressed as she was in light
raiment, the lady, however rapidly she might have
run away, ought to have been visible in some
direction; but she was not visible in any direc
tion.
How wrong it is to form hasty judgments. Five
minjites before, I had settled in my own mind that
the umbrella was the engrossing object of the lady's
thoughts. Now, I could clearly see that she did not
, value it to the extent of a single clutch. If she
had merely wanted to be freed from me, she might
have gone with the umbrella in her hand, for I aid
not hold it so yen- tight. Perhaps the umbrella
was more objectionable than myself, and she was
glad to get rid of it ? The rain that rattled on the
silk seemed anxious to demonstrate the utter fallacy,
of this hypothesis.
I felt comfortable enough in the parlor of the
Jolly Navigators, sipping my glass of hot brandy-
and-water as a preventive against the ill efi'ects
of the wetting, smoking my cigar, and idly watch
ing my—let me rather say the—umhrella,"asit lay
open before the fire. The inn was close to tbe
station, and I by no means regretted that at least
half an hoar would elapse before the arrival of the
train that was to convey me back to town. Lit
erally doing nothing, I was ready to take an in
terest in any thing, and was not displeased when
I could hear through the open door the few re
marks made hy the landlord and the customers ut
the bar.
" Well, this is leap-year," said a gruff voice.
"Yes, and more than that," said another voice,
exceedingly shrill, and evidently belonging-to an
old woman, " this is the 29th of February. I won
der if she was in the field this evening?
" Gammon," said the landlord,
" Oh yes, it's all very fine for you nTen," urged
the shrill voice, "you'll believe nothing but what
you can eat and drink and put into your pockets;
but I tell you she's sure to be in the field about
nightfall, on the 29th of February."
" Go along," said the gruff voice. "Why, I've
been through Swampv Field over and over again,
and I never seed nothing."
" Of course not," assented the landlord.
"Ay, ay," pursued the shrill voice; "but did
you ever go through the field at nightfall, on the
29th of February? Were you there this even
ing ?"
" Well, no; I can't say I .was," replied the gruff
voice.
"No; exactly," persisted the shrill old dame.
" And are you quite sure you were there at night
fall this day four year—or the flay four vcur before
that?"
" Well, I don't want to say what ain't right and
straight," replied the gruff voice, in a somewhat
discomfited tone.
"And that's the wisest thing you've said yet,"
replied the shrill voice, reproachfully, "llettcr
people than you or I have seen ghosts and been
ghosts before this, to say nothing of poor Miss
Crackenbridge."
Now my moral position, as I listened to the
above conversation, with my eyes fixed on the
umbrella, was far from elevated. I felt at once
that the "she" of whom the old woman, spoke
could be no other than the mysterious female from
whom I had received the gingham article that lay
open before me, steaming away its moisture. I
therefore knew that the sneers of the gruff gentle
man and of the landlord were unjust, and yet I
dared not openly enlist myself on the side of truth.
My evidence was all that the old woman required
to save her from derision, and I was base enough
not to give it. The more I think of my conduct oil
that occasion the more does my self-respect di
minish. If I had been in some primitive hamlet,
where the existence of ghosts is admitted as a mat
ter of conrse, there is no doubt I should have come
out boldly with my narrative, and should have
done my best to brow-beat any unlucky skeptic.
My conduct, I am convinced, would have been
analogous had I been at a party of fashionable
spiritualists. But here I was in a village, too
closely in connection with London to admit of a
primitive credulity, save among the oldest inhab
itants, while the aocial status of the speakers was
not high enough to render them pervious to aristo
cratic spiritualism. For fear of incurring the sneer
of a vulgar landlord and his more vulgar customer,
I allowed truth to be assailed without uttering a
word in its defense, though I could scarcely help
fancying that the umbrella was conscious of my
pusillanimity, and was observing me with silent
contempt.
What A great man must a martyr be, who will
undergo popular execration, death, and torture,
rather than keep his lips close, when they can be
opened for the assertion of a truth! What an im
measurable difference there must be between my
constitution and that of—say St. Lawrence.
But while mv moral courage was at the lowest
ebb it was high-water with my curiosity. Such
was my utter depravity, that the circumstances
which depressed the nobler quality allowed the
lower one to flourish with full vigor. I sneaked
out of the parlor to the bar, endeavored to ingrati
ate myself by asking for something cheap which I
did not want (a biscuit. I think it was), and then
with the grossest affectation or vagueness, pro
pounded the following question:
" Excuse the liberty, bnt did not 1 overhear—
unintentionally, of course—something about some
person who walked in some field in some remark
able manner?"
"That's right, master,"replied a man in a shag
gy great-coat.
""Oh yes, quite correct," said the landlord, "hut
for further particulars you had better address your
self to this good lady here. You know there's some
sort of knowledge that thrives best in the heads of
elderly ladies," he added, with a wink. /
I am overwhelmed with shame and cenfusion
when I.write down tha humiliating fact that I act
ually winked in return. If I were a member of
parliament I wonder whether.I should ever, by
the remotest chance, find myself voting with the
minority!
"Oh, the gentleman is quite welcome to hear
the story if he likes," said the eld lady: a most
respectable, inoffensive-looking person. " 1 don't
are for a laugh or two."
DECEMBER 20, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 813
How unworthy wan I to walk on the game soil
with that heroic old woman!
I shall not repeat the words of her narrative, for
it was somewhat prolix, and abounded in details
that did not bear directly on the main subject. It
will be sufficient to state that according to the ex
cellent lady's belief, one Miss Catherine Cracken-
hridge had", on the 29th of February, many years
before, gone out to meet a clandestine lover, and
had been seen to cross Swampy Field. Since that
time nothing had been heard of her. Some sup-
•posed that she was entrapped and murdered hy a
designing villain; some that she met with a fatal
accident; some that she cctnmitted suicide. This
much was certain: that even' 29th of February
her figure might lip seen—in fact, must be seen—
to cross Swamp}' Field about nightfall hy any per
son who happened to be on the spot.
After exchanging a look of bland superiority
with tlie landlord—despicable being that I was!—
1 asked if the ghost were in the habit of carrying
an umbrella.
"Ho-ho-ho!" roared the landlord. "Why, of,
course it would if it went out on a wet evening
like this. Well, that's a good 'un. The gentle
man has given it her there, and no mistake; hasn't
he, Jim ?"
The man in the shaggy great-coat grunted his
assent, with a low chuckle. And there was I—
wretch that I was—allowing myself to he applaud
ed for inflicting a stupid sarcasm on a defenseless
female, when I fjrmly believed even' word of her
statement, and was merely endeavoring to satisfy
my curiosity with reference to my strangely-ac
quired treasure. I even joined in the laugh, and
allowed them all, the old woman included, to be
lieve that I regarded myself as an exceedingly
witty and facetious person. The old woman mere
ly observed that she knew nothing about umbrellas,
and left the house in a state of irascibility that was
not only justifiable, but highly laudable. As for
me, I swaggered back into the parlor with the air
of a conqueror by whom a worthy adversary has
hern valiantly demolished.
Mr surprise was not small when I perceived that
the umbrella had changed its position during the'
conversation at the bar. I had left it with the coit-
vcx side toward (he fire, and consequently the
handle in the opposite direction. Now the handle
'was toward the fire, and the convex surface of
gingham toward the door. As no one had entered
the room this movement was perfectly astounding,
yet I did not utter a single ejaculation. I snatched
up the umbrella, boldly tucked it under my arm,
anrl stalked through the bar, bidding a hasty fare
well to the landlord, and making the utterly friv
olous remark Hint .1 did not think t should miss
the train. If all the ghosts of all the Hamlets had
stood in visible shape before me, I would rather
hive walked through them than have committed
myself to n word, look, or gesture that could have
compromised me in the eves of the landlord and
his gruff acquaintance. As it was, the initial let
ters 0. C. carved on the handle confirmed my be
lief that the umbrella had been the property of the
ill-starred Catherine Crackenbridge.
The umbrella, 1 may observe, though of ging
ham—was of no common order. Its ivory handle
was extremely massive, and richly adorned with
that elaborate tracer}' which seems to betnken an
Oriental origin. The initial letters to which I
have referred had not been scratched on with the
first sharp instrument that came to hand, but had
been elegantly carved.
llenre it was no wonder that when I called on
my old friend Jack Slingsby, to whose residence I
proceeded as soon as I qmtted the train, he ex
claimed, in his usual elegant style:
"Why, old boy, that's a stunning gingham
you've got there! "Well, that it an ont-and-outer!"
" Yes, it is rather a good one," I answered, with
despicable indill'fronce; and I put it in the corner
near the door and hung my hat upon it, in con
formity \\ith an old habit of mine. Being of a
careless disposition, I lost many af umbrella in
early youth. To prevent the recurrence of such ac
cidents 1 now adopt the expedient of using my Um
brella as a hat-peg whenever I make a visit. I
can not easily forget my hat, nor can I take my
hat without handling my umbrella.
"Well, butj'ou don't mean to tell me," pursued
Jack, "that you bought that article with your
own money ? A purchase of that kind is not like
my old friend Yorick Zachnry Yorke."
"" No; I did not purchase it—it—it came from
TndiH," I replied, devoutly hoping, with the little
«.»n«oience that was left me, that I had not told an
nli.iolute falsehood; for, indeed, it might have
come from India in the first instance for any thing
I knew to the, contrary.
The intelligence I had to communicate was of a
pleasant kind, and Jack proved its exhilarating
effect by ordering O3'stcrs for two, and a liberal
supply

814
(I
HAEPEE'S WEEKLY. [DECEMBER 20, 1862.
MYBKLF (to myself). How she hates him; (tcserv-
vant, protruding curry over 4eft shoulder) No.—
GCNKKAL ACCOMFANIMKNT. Muffled clash, re
spectful clatter, buzzing, and subdued laughter.—<
MASTKR or FOXHUDNDB (to me). Shall you be
in England for the hunting season?—MYSKLK.
Don't intend to hunt next season.—M. F. H.
What's become of that chestnut of yours? —
MYBKI.F. Sold her.—LADV SALTKITH (to me).
Mils Crawconr is not so pretty as she was last
year.—MYSELF (observing Miss Crawcour to be
listening). I can't agree with you there, Lady
Salteith; (to myself) I've never seen her before,
—by-the-by; (to servant, protruding mutton over
left shoulder) Yes.—BUTLBB (over nxht shoulder).
Champagne or sparkling 'ock, Sir?—MYSELF.
Neither.—LOBD SNKYD (to Miss Crawcour). Did
you hear Lady Salteith just now (his lordship was
devouring curry when Lady Salteith spoke, and is
only now ready to talk) ?—Miss CBAWCOCR. Yes.
—LORD SNKYD. Does Hat make yon angry?—
Miss CKAWCOOR. No. Lady Salteith is quite right.
—GKNKBAL AOCOMPANIMKNT. Muffled clash, re
spectful clatter, and subdued laughter.—M. S. H.
I know a man who would have given you any thing
for that chestnut.—MYSELF. Yes? Well, it's too
late now. I sold him very well.—BUTLKB (over
right shoulder). Sherry, Sir?—MYSELF. Thanks.
—LADY SALTKITH (to me). Not a good com-
plexiou has she?—MYSKLP (shouting). I can't
agree with you, Lady Salteith.—LADY SALTMTH.
^es. as you say, wants color.—MYSKI.F (to-my-
eelf). It's no use; (to servant, protruding erouse
over left ehoulder) If you please.—LORD SNKYD
(to Miss Crawcour). What are you going
to-morrow morning, Miss Crawcour? Will
try that air from uie Prophete with me again ?—4
Misa CRAWCOUR. In the morning I am going out
riding. Lord Sneyd.—LORD SHUYD. Dear me.
Yon are always nding. I hate riding, it shakes
one so. WelL in the afternoon, then, after lunch
eon?—Miss CBAWCODK (icily). After luncheon
I shall be quite ready.—MYBKLF (to myself, being
inclined for meditation). That girl speaks with the
air of a martyr. If I had been Lord Sneyd—(to
servant, protruding Charlotte-Russe over left shoul
der) No—(to myself) I would have made an effort
to accompany myself in that air from the Prophete,
or have sought a* more willing coadjutor: (to serv
ant, protruding jell}' over left shoulder) No, thank
you.—GKNKHAL AccoMPAHiMitNT. Muffled clash,
respectful clatter, bnzziog, and subdued laugbrer.
—M. F. H. (to a neighbor). We've begun the cub-
hunting now regularly. My huntsman tells me
there are a good many foxes this year.—NKIOHBOR
(another fux-hunter, indistinctly reported by the
instrument). Glad—hear it—good f. country—
plenty—cover.—LADY SALTRITH (to me). Do
you ever see my nephew now ?—MYBHLF. What,
Harry Rushout ? Oh yes, sometimes.—LADY SU L-
TKITH (to her neighbor on the other side). My
nephew is the wildest young man about town. The
other day he got brought up before the magistrate
and— LORD SNKYD (to Miss Crawcour). Lady
Salteith Is not always so fortunate as she might be
in the subjects she chooses for conversation.—Miss
CRAWCOUR. Poor thing. She belongs to a differ
ent time. But she's very good, really.—LORD
SNKYD. I wonder she comes out, so deaf as she Is.
She ought to stop at home.—Miss CHAWCOOR. I
like Lady Salteith exceedingly, and am always
clad to be staying in the house with her.—MYBKLF.
That's right.—GKNKKAL ACCOMPANIMENT. Clash
—clatter.
Enough! Down goes the slide. The instrument
is shut up. There is the result of the operation.
When that long " banquet scene" was at an end,
and the ladies left the room, I found myself, by
the retirement of old Lady Salteith, next my heartv
straightforward manly friend Jack Fortescue, with
whom I had already exchanged a cod behind the
old lady's back. I was very glad to see him. We
talked about all sorts of things; and presently got
upon the subject which had been occupying me so
much during dinner. I was rather anxious, I must
own, to lead to it, having heard a rumor some
where or other that my friend Jack himself was
smitten with Miss Crawcour. I don't know when
I had heard it, or where. Tlftse things seem in
same societies to circulate in the air.
To my surprise I found Fortescue very uncom
municative about this matter, and stiil more, to my
wonder, I observed a tendency in him rather favor
able to this match. He even Bought to defend
Lord Sneyd against my attacks.
" Oh, he's not such a bad fellow." he said, " when
you come to know him. He's affected, you know,
and pretends to be wonderfully refined, and to be
a petit-maitre, and all that, but he has his good
points. We fellows who are always shooting, or
fishing, or riding over stone dykes, are apt to un-
derWlue a man of quieter tastes, and more seden
tary pursuits. Sneyd goes in, you know, for being
a sort of artist. By-the-by—talking of artists—did
you see that portrait of the ducbtss in the Academy
this year—wasn't it good ?"
I saw that my friend wanted to get away from
the subject, so of course I did not attempt to pur-
sne it- I was Dot enlightened by any thing that
occurred in the drawing-room after dinner. Miss
Crawconr and Fortescue hardly exchanged a dozen
words, and Lord Sneyd was in attendance upon the
young lady throughout the evening. In the smok
ing-room afterward Lord Sneyd refused cigars, and
smoked some infernal perfumed composition out of
a Hookah. Heaven knows what it was. Opium,
perhaps? Nothing wholesome I'll warrant.
n.
It was on the day succeeding that of my arrival
at Creel that I sought the billiard-room, the usual
refuge of the unemployed. I had remained at home
that morning, having some lettere to write and
other things to do in my own room. These fin
ished, I had still half an hour or more on my hands
before luncheon, so I thought I would wend my
way to the billiard-room. If I found any one to
play with so much the better. If not, I would
practice difficult cannons for half an hour or so,
and in that way get through the time.
Two people were in the room. A gentleman and
a lady. Jack Fortescue and Miss Crawcour. They
were standing together st the further end of the
table. Both had cnes in their hands, and the balls
were on the board, but at the moment of my en
trance they were certainly Dot playing. Miss
Crawcour's hack was to the light, but a glance
showed me beyond a shadow of doubt that she had
been crying—was crying even when I entered the
room.
What was I to do? Fortescue was my friend.
The room was public to every body in the castle.
If*I retired it would be a marked act, showing that
I felt I had interrupted some scene which did not
require witnesses.
"Are you having a game, or only practicing?"
I said to Eortwoui, m«r»ly to break the awkward
—Uraoa,
" Oh, it's a game," he answered, making a great
effort, but not speaking then in his proper voice.
" And it's my stroke. Look," he said to me, quick
ly, "is that cannon possible?" and he made it al
most as he spoke. Two or three more followed.
Then a hazard. At last a bad shot, and it was
time for Miss Cruwcour.
She came to her place at the table, and made a
violent effort to collect herself.' I did not look at
her, but pretended to be absorbed in marking Fon-
tescue's score. I heard her cue strike the ball in
an uncertain way. There was no subsequent sound
indicating the contact of her ball with one of the
others. It was a miss. The moment she had made
it (he placed her cue against the wall, and saying
something indistinctly about not being able to play,
and about my finishing- the game instead of her,
left the billiard-room, dosing the door after her.
As soon as she was gone Fortescue came up to
where I stood. i
" After what you've seen," he said, " it's no use
my attempting to make a secret of what has been
going on between Miss Crawcour and mvself."
"My dear Fortescue, I have no wish to ferce
myself on your confidence. What I have seen can
be forever as if I had not seen it, if you wish it.
You know that"
" No, no, I don't wish it," he answered, quickly.
"But come outside with me for half a mimfte.
We can't talk here." •
Out in the open air, the rooks cawing about the
tree-tops as their nests waved to and fro in the
wind, he spoke again, as we lay on the grass.
" I dare say you have heard my nsme and Miss
Crawcour's spoken of together? You have. I
don't know what right any one has bad to talk
about either of us. However, that can't be helped."
He paused, and did not seem able to go on.
" I bate speaking of things of this sort," he con
tinued, after a moment, and in an impatient tone;
" one's words sound like words in a valentine or a
trashj; novel. Well, it can't be helped. I love
this girl, Mary Crawcour. I would dg any thing
for her."
"And yet you could speak yesterday ahont her
marrying that man Sneyd."
" You wen not then in my confidence. To the
world I must seem to favor that marriage. I am
pledged to do so."
"Pledged! To whom?"
" To the duchess."
"My dear Forte>cue, how, in Heaven's name,
could you enter into so rash an engagement?"
" How ? How could I do otherwise, you mean ?
You know my position. I have two hundred a
year and my pay. Can I marrpthat girl, accus
tomed to the life she u accustomed to, on that?
Have I a right to fetter ier with a long engage
ment, on the remote possibility of my becoming
possessed of property between which and myself
there are half a dozen lives ? Have I a right to
stand in the way of such a marriage as that with
Sneyd. What could I say when the dnchess put
these questions to me ?"
"Do you believe that Miss Crawcour would be
happy in such a marriage?"
'• I don't know,"answered Fortescne, almost des
perately. " I have seen such misery come from
poverty in married life."
" Depend on it," I answered, " it is not the worst
evil by many, many degre.es. Fortescue," I con
tinued, after a moment's pause, "does Miss Craw
cour love you ?"
" I think so," he said, speaking in a low voice.
" Then depend on it you are doing wrong. You
are acting as you think rightly, and with a great
and noble self-denial. But you are mistaken, cru
elly, terribly mistaken, if you have pledged your
self to favor this match with Sneyd, and to give up
your own hold on that y»ung lady's love."
" I am pledged," Fortescue answered.
"Towhat?'?
"To do nothing that is calculated to hinder the
marriage with Sneyd, and not to piass my own
suit by word or deed for a period of five years—by
which time, of course, all chance will be over."
" And this was what you were telling Miss Craw-
conrjust now?"
" Something of it. She followed me to the bill
iard-room. She seems desperate, reckless. She
swears she will not have hint. I entreated her to
leave me—you saw the rest."
I said, after a moment's pause, "The conduct
of the duchess surprises me in this thing, I own.
She has snch good points, I know. She is kind-
hearted, hospitable—"
" Yes, she Is all that," said Fortescue, interrupt
ing me. " bnt she is touched by the world like ev
er)' body else. Why. you don't know what the
notions of these people are. The things that are
necessaries of life to them—real necessaries of life
—require a fortune to provide them. To a woman
like the duchess the existence which snch means
as mine imply seems what the work-house or ab
solute starvation appears to you. When the duch
ess puts the case so to me, I tell you, I am speech
less."
" Fortescue," I said, after a long silence, " these
things being so, and this most rash and miserable
pledge being given, what do yon do here?"
" rgo to-morrow."
"Have you told Miss Crawcour that?"
"No, I have told no one. I mean to tell no one.
When the party goes out riding tomorrow mom-
ing I shall excuse myself, and—and leave this
place, most likely forever. There Is a row in In
dia, I hear; perhaps I shall get rid of my life there.
It's at any body's service."
Again there was a pause. I knew what that
careless tone meant, and for a time I could not
speak.
"Fortescue," I said at 'ast, "I bat j one more
thing to ask. Has Sneyd spoken yet ?"
"No," anowered my friend, rising to lead the
way to the house; "but he is certain to do so to
day—or to-morrow."
m.
That afternoon a party; ot which Fortescne and
I formed two, went out cover-snooting in the neigh
borhood. I never saw my friend shoot so ill. In
deed the poor fellow seemed entirely bewildered,
and unfit for any thing. I think he only joined the
party to get away from the house.
Miss Crawcour did not appear at dinner. She
was suffering from a headache, the duchess said,
and preferred remaining in her room. Lord Sneyd
professed as much interest as would comport with
his languid manner. I could see in Fortescue's
face, carefully as he had drilled it, how much he
suffered additionally at not spending this, his last
evening, in Miss Crawcour's society.
The next day came, and I was again prevented,
by certain literary labors to which f was obliged to
devote myself, from going out in the early part of
the day. I spent the morning in my room, which
waj situated in one of the round towers which
flanked the entrance of tb*tastle, one on each side.
About half past eleven I heard the voices of
some of the men who were staying In the castle,
as they lounged about the door, i;o»sipmg and talk
ing. Soon after I heard the clatter of horses' hoofs
in the distance, and soon the same sound accompa
nied by the scattering of gravel, and the " Wo,
mare! and "Steady horse T" of the grooms.
I looked out from behind my curtains; I am al
ways very easily diverted from my work. The
riding party was all assembled. Three er four
men—among them, for a wonder, Lord Sneyd.
He had his own horse, a nasty long-tailed white
brute, that cost, I dare say, a mint of money, and
that no man worth two-pence would get across. The
duchess and Miss Crawcour were the ladies of the
party. The duke came to the door to see them off.
He was net going with them, having all sorts of
things to arrange with that important Minister the
gamekeeper.
" Where's Fortescue ?" said some one.
"Oh, he's not going this morning." the duke an
swered. " He is writing letters." He was helping
Miss Crawcour into the saddle as he spoke. It
may have been the exertion of mounting, or it may
not, but I could see that she blushed deeply.
I did not like the look of the animal on which
Miss Crawcour was mounted. As far as beauty
went, certainly there was nothing to complain of.
A handsomer mare I never saw. But the, move
ments of the ears were too incessant and violent,
and there was more wh^te to the eye shown than I
like to see in connection with a riding-habit. The
mare had been difficult to hold while Miss Craw
conr was being lifted on, and now that the young
lady was fairly on the brute's back it became ex
ceedingly restive,•most unmanageable.
" Are you afraid of her at all, Mary ?" the duke
asked, as he stood at the door; "she seems unusu
ally frisky this morning."
"No, not in the least. She's always like this
at starting."
This was Miss Crawcour's answer, but I thought
she looked pale. Perhaps it was the reaction after
that blush I had noticed. The duke spoke again.
This time to the head-grOom.
" Has that mare been exercised this morning,
Roberts?"
The man hesitated just half a moment, and
looked at the mare. '
"Yes, your grace," he said, touching hie hat.
" You're sure, Mary," the duchess said, " that
you're not afraid ? Do.let them take her back and
bring you another mount."
"res, yes, much better,'* added the duke.
" Roberts, send that mare back, and saddle Robin
Hood for Miss Crawcour."
"Begyour perdon, your grace, but the horse is
in physic: he's not been very well fora day or two."
'' Well, then, the brown mare, or Bullfinch, or—"
. "No, no, no, no!" Miss Crawcour called from
the saddle. " I like this mare best of all. Let her
go," she said to the groom who was holding the
cursed brute's head. And off she cantered, the
mare plunging and kicking.
" Really " said Lord Sneyd. with his foot in the
stirrup, "Miss Crawcour ought not to be allowed
To ride that ferocious animal. Can nobody stop
her ?''
" You ride after her, Sneyd," said the duke,
smiling, "and try if you can't bring her back."
Lord Sneyd was in the saddle by this time, and
cantered off at a regular rocking-horse pace. His
groom behind him on a thorough-bred.
That was the last I saw of the cavalcade. The
duke retired immediately to the gun-room, and I
went back to my writing-table, but I could not
help feeling a certain sense of uneasiness, the look
of that mare not being at all to my liking, and the
manner of the groom having left an impression on
my mind that the animal had not really been out
before that morning.
All the events of that day are very fresh in my
memory. The next room to mine was a boudoir.
There was a piano in it. and some one of the ladies
of the party was playing on it. I don't know what
she was playing, though I should recognize the air
now in a moment if I heard it- It was what is
called a "piece," and had a wonderful plaintive
beauty about it. As the performer played it many
times over, I suppose she was learning it.
I went on writing, and what I wrote seemed in a
sort of way to be mixed up with this tune. Pres
ently I heard the sound of wheels, and some light
vehicle drove up to the door. I went again to the
window. It was a dog-cart, driven by one of the
duke's grooms, and it drove up before the door.
Some servants brought out a portmanteau, some
gun-cases, and other luggage, and placed them in
the vehicle. Almost at the same moment my door
opened, and Fortescue entered the room. I never
saw any thing more dreadful than the suppressed
agony in his face.
" Good-by, old fellow " he said, with a miserable
ghastly smile. " I'm off, you see. Will you take
charge of this note for the duchess ? I've explained
to Greta that I find my letters this morning require
my presence in London. Good-by 1 I've only just
time to catch the train."
" Stay," I said; " where can I write toyou ?"
"London, to-morrow. After that, Chatham.
Good-by again, dear old fellow, good-by!"
He was gone. In i minute more I saw the duke
come with Turn to the floor, and after shaking him
warmly by the hand and pressing him to return
whenever lie possibly conld, they perted, and the
dog-cart disappeared rapidly, behind that angle of
the castle round which I had seen Miss Crawcour
pass so short a time before.
Poor fellow 1 what a departure. What an episode
in the gay story of the life at Creel.
I went back to my desk. And still from the next
room came that same plaintive air, and still it
seemed to belong to what I wrote, and to be an in
separable part of the day and its events.
Once more I was disturbed, and by the clatter of
hoofs. It was a single horse this time, and going
evidently at a tremendous pace. I looked out and
saw young Balham, who had been one of the party
of equestrians, dashing along the road at full gal
lop. He turned off in the direction of the stables
and I saw no more of him. I remained where I
was, but with a dim foreboding that something had
gone wrong, and by-and-by a low open carriage
empty, was driven out of the stable-yard at a great
pace. Lord Balham rode rapidly on in front of it,
both he and the carriage going back by the way he
had come.
I still kept where I was, and in a few moments
the door of the house was opened, and some of the
'servants came out. They looked out in the direc
tion by which the carriage had disappeared. One
or two ladies-maids stood on the steps, one of them
the duchess's, and there was another who was cry
ing, but quite quietly, the servants in such houses
being drilled into the greatest undemonstrative-
ness. I heard one of the men-servants say to an
other. "Roberts is gone off to Inverkeed for Dr.
Maclntyre, and James has gone into Crsel for Mr,
Cameron. They'll both be here quickly." " Is his
grace in the house ?" " No. He's up at the planta
tions. But he's been sent for."
The conversation among the men stopped sud
denly. The carriage, driving now very slowly, had
come in eight. It was followed by some horsemen.
Presently I made out that two grooms behind were
leading each a lady's horse; then I saw that the
dnchess was sitting in the carriage bending over
and supporting something— somebody—lying at
length on the cushions. A gentleman, one of those
on horseback, detached himself from the group, and
rode swiftly up to the door.
" Is Miss Crawcour's maid here ?" he asked. -
The girl came forward, sobbing. The duchess's ,
womau, older, with iqore bead, more self-controlled,
and more useful now, came out too.
Not a werd more was spoken. The carriage drew
up to the door, and I saw at a glance that it was
Miss Crawcour over whom the duchess was bend
ing; that the poor girl's habit was all torn end
dirty; and tLat a handkerchief, deeply stained, was
laid over her face.
There was no word spoken still. The duchess, in
tears, descended from the carriage and went into
the house to see that all was ready, while the gen
tlemen of the party lifted the poor maimed form df
Miss Crawcour from the cushions. I noticed that
Lord Sneyd did not assist in this, but hovered about
the group in a helpless way. Bobody seemed t»
want him, or to notice him.
I remained still where 1 was. .1 knew I could be
of no use, should only be in the way below. I could
not help looking. I wish I had not. As they lifted
Miss Crawcour from the carriage, the handkerchief
that was over her face became displaced, and I
sasr—
One whole side of her face seemed to have been
crushed and beaten in. That beautiful face!
It was covered again, in a moment, but I had
seen it—and so had some one else. When Lord
Sneyd looked upon that mutilated face he turned
even palei than ne had been before, and went into
the house.
The door closed over the sad group, with Mary
Crawcour's helpless figure carried in the midst of
it, the carriage drove away to the stables, and all
was quiet again.
" And he did it, think of that," said Balham. " It
was that disgusting white brute of his to whem this
terrible mishap is owing."
" What do yon mean ?" I asked, as we were talk
ing some time afterward about what has been part-
Iv described above. " How did the thing happen ?
You saw it all."
" It is told in two words," said Balham. " You
know that mare that poor Miss Crawcour used to
ride. Well, she was always an unsafe, ill-condi
tioned mare, in my opinion, but on this occasion
she was particularly bad. All the time we were out
she was fidgeting and starting at every thing, and
more than one of us wanted Miss Crawcour to let
the groom put her saddle on one of the other horses,
and let some man with a stronger hand ride the
•mare. However, it was no use, and so at last—I
never saw a worse thing—the mare *ook fright at
some barrow, or something by the side of the
hedge, and bolted straight across the road at a
bound. Miss Crawcour was thrown, but fell clean,
luckily without becoming entangled with the stir
rup, and might have escaped serious mischief, when
up comes that intolerable ass Sneyd, on his infernal
ambling Astley's-looking beast, and rides clean
over her, the brute of a horse—ssh—I can't bear to
think of it—sending one of his hoofs straight into
her face as he passed."
" And her arm is broken too, is it not?"
"Yes, I believe so. That may, however, have
happened when she fell; but the other thing—that
fearful mutilation of the poor young lady's face—•
was done by a kick from that horse of Sneyd'e,
and by nothing else in the world. I saw it with
my own eyes.
THR BEST OF THIS MANUSCRIPT HE HAD PUT
IN TO
HIS WRITING-DESK.
SOMK years after these things had happened I
stood on the summit of one of those mighty mount
ains which form a boundary line, such as few coun
tries can boast of, between Switzerland and Italy.
It was evening, and I was gazing with all my
eyes into that strange receptacle for the dead which
the monks of St. Bernard have placed at the door
of their convent, and where the bodies of those un
fortunates who have perished in the snow are pre
served. They are embalmed by the highly rare
fied air of that height, and do not decay. The
Egyptian mummies are not more perfectly kept.
I was so absorbed in these strange figures that I
scarcely noticed there was any one standing be
side me, until I suddenly heard my own name pro*
nonnced by a voice familiar to me. I turned and
found myself face to face with Jack Fortescue.
" Well," he said, almost before we* had ex
changed greetings, "this it the most extraordi
nary thing, the most marvelons combination of
coincidences that ever took place since the crea
tion of the world! Who do you think Is in there ?"
pointing to the convent.
"Who?" lasked. "In Heaven's name, who?"
" In the strangers' parlor there, yon will find,
at this moment, your old acquaintance Lord Sneyd
—and, what is more, a new acquaintance, if you
choose to make it, in the shape of that nobleman's
illustrious consort."
"What, the Irish-Italian singer, who, as I saw hv
Galionani, had managed to become Lady Sneyd f'
"The same." . } •>
" And your wife—where is she ?"
" Mary « with me. Is it not extraordinary, in
credible almost, that we should all be under the
same roof again? Do you remember the last
time?"
" Remember it? Shall I ever forget it?"
" Of course," Fortescue went on, " I can't let
her come in contact with those people, so she keeps
her room.or rather her cell. It is awfully cold,
but any thing is better than snch a meeting."
" But yon will let me see her?"
"FOB? Why, of course," Fortescue answered.
" How can you ask ?"
" I will ask something else,'then," I continned.
" I will ask you to tell me some of the particulars
of what took place after I left Creel and went
abroad. My letters from England and the papers
told me, to my great delight, of your marriage
with Miss Crawtiour, and also of Lord Sneyd's won
derful match. Bnt I want to know more than these
bare facts:" -
" There is really not much to tell," said Fortes-
cue. "When I got your letter telling me of that
terrible disaster at Creel I was at Chatham, and
was, in fact, just negotiating foran exchange into
a regiment that was going abroad at one*. Your
DECEMBER 20, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 815
letter altered all my plans. Do what I would the
thought of that poor maimed figure haunted me;
the love which I resisted when she was in the full
pride aud glory of her beauty became, now that
pity was mixed up with it, now that this fearful
trouble had come upon her, a thing that I could no
longer hold out against. I felt that I mat go back
to Creel. And I went.
" When I got there I found that that infernal
brute and scoundrel, Sneyd, had left the place.
Very soon after the accident—you know that he
had never actually spoken to the duke about Mary,
or said any thing definite to her—well, very soon
after the accident he discovered that it was actu
ally necessary that he should pay a visit to some
estates of his in Ireland. -He left the castle to
come back there no more. He went first of all to
Ireland, and then was absent oil the Continent for
a considerable length of time. There was an end
of him. At Naples he became entangled in the
snares of a regular designing adventuress, and out
of those snares he has never escaped. I wish him
joy.
*' Well. I staid on and on at Creel. It was a
quiet, delightful time. After the accident every
body left, but Greta—he and I, you know, were
always great friends—the duke pressed me to stay
that he might have somebody to shoot With, ami
I staid on and on.
" At that time, too, I saw more of the duchess
than I had ever done before, and one day we be
gan talking about the accident and about Sneyd's
behavior, and I ventured to say that I thought
that if Mary had broken every bone in her skin
sue would still have had reason to congratulate
herself on being thereby delivered from a marriage
with the wretched creature that he had proved him
self to be. The duchess did not differ from me,
and somehow from that day a strange kind of hope
and happiness seemed to take possession of me—a
curious indefinite delight such as I had never felt
before.
" At length a day came when I was allowed to
see her. And when I went into the room"—at this
point Fortescue's voice faltered a little—"when I
saw her poor arm bound up, and half her sweet
face covered with bandages, I knelt down by the
side of the sofa, and, in short, I made a fool of my
self. The duchess was, present, but she was fairly
beat, and— Well, very soon I was discussing ways
and means with the duke.
"There never was any thing like that man's
kindness. Besides making Mary a very handsome
present indeed, which he declared he cad always
intended to do, he set himself to work to get me
such an appointment as should make it possible
for me to marry. Between him and the duchess
(whose interest is not small) this has been effected,
so I waited till I got my company—I am Captain
Fortescue now, if you please—aud -then sola my
commission, and with my own small means, and
my place in the Shot and Shell Department, we
manage to get on in a very inexplicable but de
lightful way."
"And the privations which were to make your
wife BO wretched ?" I asked, as I shook him warm
ly by the hand.
"Looked much worse at a distance than they do
close," said my friend. " I do think, sincerely,"
he continued, "that an imprudent marriage ought
to be made every now and then, if it is only to
bring ont the immense amount of real kindness.
that there is in the world. I am perfectly sure
that if two marrisd people, however poor they may
be, will only put a good face upon it, and neither
sink down into gloomy despair on the one hand,
nor shut themselves up in a haughty reserve on
the other—I am perfectly sure, I say, that there is
so much real goodness in the world that they need
never know that the}' are poorer than other people,
or puffer any of those humiliations, the dread of
which has kept many true and loving hearts asun
der. But come," said Fortescue, "I am getting
poetical. Let us go inside, and see how Lord and
Lady Sneyd are getting on. He'll take no notice
of either of us, you'll see."
_ Fortescne left me for a time to go and see after
bis wife, and I went up into the strangers' room.
There was a good large company assembled, waiting
for the supper hour, English tourists, German stu
dents, and some French officers—among them, sure
enough, sitting next to a very showy and over
dressed lady with jewelry all over her, with a very
strong soupcon of paint upon her countenance, with
a long curl brought over her left shoulder—there
was Lord Sneyd.
A changed man already. Feeble and effeminate
he was still, but he had ceased to be the insolent
languid petit-maitre and coxcomb he was when I
had last seen him. He was lowered in tone. His
whole faculties seemed to be entirely absorbed in
attention on his better-half, off whom he never took
his eyes.
" I hear," said Fortescne to me, as he took his
place by my side at the supper-table, " that he is
intensely jealous of her, and leads, in consequence,
the most miserable life imaginable. Look now he
is watching, now that that French officer is speak
ing to her. The man is only offering her some po
tatoes, hut Sneyd looks as if he would like—if he
had courage enough—to pnt his knife into him."
It was true. A more pitiable and contemptible
eight I never witnessed than this man's jealous}'.
It extended Itself to the French officers opposite,
to the young English undergraduate who sat next
to the lady, and even to the good-looking young
monk who—a perfect man of the world, aud a very
agreeable fellow—took the head of the supper-table.
I must say that Lady Sneyd's appearance was not
calculated to quiet her lord and master's discom
fort. A more liberal use of a pair of fine rolling
black eyes I never saw made. Not long after sup
per this worthy pair retired, not the slightest at
tempt at recognition of either Fortescne or myself
being made on the part of this distinguished noble
man. Perhaps he was of opinion that our fascina
tions would be dangerous with his amiable consort.
Perhaps he felt a little ashamed of himself.
As-soon as those two were gone, or at least after
a reasonable interval, Fortescue addressed himself
to the young monk who played the part of host,
and remarked that he would go up stairs, and, if
his wife were somewhat recovered from her fatigues,
would persuade her to come down and get thorough
ly warmed at the fire before retiring for the night.
Our host, with that interest in other people's af
fairs which foreigners either feel to so delightful
an extent, or assume so admirably, expressed his
earnest hope that "Madame would be able to de
scend," and Fortescue left the apartment.
I own that at this moment I felt somewhat
nervous.
In a short time the door opened, and Fortescue
appeared with his wife on his arm. She came up
to me at once, and we shook hands cordially, while
I spoke such words of congratulation as I had
ready which were, in truth, not very many. At
one glance I saw that at all events the txprtiiion
of her face was safe. A gre£t matter that, at any
rate. ,
The injury which she had sustained being from a
kick, and Hot from a fall or dragging along on the
ground, was confined entirely to one portion (the
left side) of her face. That that injury had been a
terrible one it was impossible not to see even now.
The, brow immediately over the eye was scarred,
and the eyebrow something interrupted in its even
sweep; the cheek was scarred and indented, aud
there was a slight soar, on the nostril, all on this
same left side; but the eye, sheltered in its some
what sunken reoess, had escaped; the mouth was
unhurt, and, above all, there was the expression,
the general look, of which the attractiveness had
been so great.. That fearful injury which I had
looked down on from the turret-window at Creel
had left much less damage behind than one could
even have hoped.
We talked pleasantly, all three together—the
rest of the company having retired, and our host
too—for nearly an hour. We talked of our trav
els, of the places to which they were bound and
from which I was returning, and of a hundred oth
er things, until the hour admonished us that it was
time to part for the night.
As we rose to say "Good-night"—my friend and
his wife standing up together—I thought I had
never seen a happier or a better-matched couple.
Suddenly a thought seemed to strike her. She
touched her wounded cheek slightly with her hand.
"Would you have known me?" she asked,
smiling*
" No one can tell," said Fortescue, interrupting
my ready answer," how 1 love that precious scar"
—he leaned down and touched it with his lips.
"But for that we might not be together now.
But for that your life, Mary, might have been one
of misery unutterable, and mine—if not sacrificed
on the plains of India—might have been as utter a
blank asi that of any one of those unknown men
who have entertained us here to-night."
[TO BI OONOLVDZD IN CUE KXXT MDKBIB.]
ADVERTISEMENTS.
India-Robber Gloveitcure Ctupped Hindi, Bait
Rheum, &c., and render tbem soft, emootb, and mow?
whits; are impervious to water either hot or cold, and are
an excellent protection in all kinds of bouee-work. Tor
•ale by the trade generally. Bent by mall on receipt of
price >nd S stamps to pay postage. Ladles' sizet To c.a
pair; Genti sizei, $100. •
GOODYI^H'S I. R. GLOVE M-FG CO.,
. SOS Broadway, N. Y,
Dealers in every description of Rubber Good*, Whole
sale and ReUiL
E van*' Portable Army Stovem «re indispensa-
ble for Soldiers in the field. Cooking Stove with every con
venience for men of four officers, with seven feet of pipe,
packs in mess cheit twenty by twenty-four inches, and
twelve Inches deep, price complete, $15. Tent Heater,
will beat any tent In the service, packs with six feet of
pipe in box ten by ten inches, and eight Inches deep, price
$S. Send for circular. J. W. EVANS, SI Jehu St.
$5 Watches. $5
A go»d serviceable Watch, warranted for one year, for
FIVE COLUXS. Send for Circular.
J. L. FERGUSON, 208 Broadway, N. Y.
Holiday Present.
THE BIRD WORK-HOLDER for the lap, In band
sewing, and* NAPKIN-HOLDER at the table. Small,
neat, and ornamentdl. Free by mall on receipt of price.
Heavily plated. In Gold, 60 cents.
>• " In Silver, 28 cents.
Address ALLYN A PHELPS,
Inventors and Manufacturers' Depot,
429 Broadway, New York.
Important to Army and Navy Officers.
FIELD GLASSES,
SEMMONS1 BINOCULAR
LANDSCAPE GLASS. Inval
uable to sportsmen, officers,
travellers, &c.; compact, port
able, efficient; combining ex
traordinary denning power and
' wide .field of observation. Cat-
^ alogues sent free, by enclosing
stamp.
SEMMONS, Optician,
669* Broadway, under Lafaige House, N. Y.
CATARHH.'-Dr.Oroodale'mCATABBn
penetrates to the very seat of this terrible disease, and
exterminates It, root and branch. Price $1 00. Send a
stamp for a pamphlet Depot 618 Broadway.
To Leaden and Members of Choirs,
Teachers of Singing Schools,
and Conventions!
Have you seen the New Music Book,
"THE VOICE OF ftlAISE."
BY EDWAED HAMILTON.
THE BEST BOOK YOU CAN OBTAIN.
Specimen pages tent free. The book sent post-piid for
$1. Look at it before purchasing your supply. Price $8
per doz. to Choirs. OLIVER DITSON & CO., PubUih-
ers, Boston.
SOMETHING NEW.
NATIONAL AMERICAN AMUSEMENT CARDS.
Colonel for King, Goddess of Liberty for Queen, and Major
for Jack. 62 enameled cards to (he pack. Eagles, Shields.
Stars, and Flags (re the suits, and you can play all the usual
games. Four packs mailed free on receipt of One Dollar.
The usual discount to the trade. Send for a Circular. Ad
dress AMERICAN PUBLISHING AGENCY,
14 Chambers Street, New York.
Attention lUamns and Soldier*.
I will send (u sample), on the receipt of $1, a handsome
Gold Masonic Fin or Ring, or Plated Vest chain, or a fine
Gold Fen and Pencil, or EngraVed Locket, or Bracelet, or
Neck Chain, or a beautiful set of Jewelry, together with
my wholesale Circular. B. T. HAYVVARD, Manufactu
ring Jeweler, 208 Broadway, New York.
Rheumatism—Who has it?
It hmi been confessedly acknowledged by thousands who
have used them, that the Galvano Electro Metallic In
sole: are the only preventive and enre. Sold by all drug-'
gists and shoe dealers generally. Price $1; sent by mail
for $185.
Send for a circular. METTAM A CO., 429 Broadway.
Secured by English and American Patents.
D O YOU WANT LUXURIANT
WHISKERS OR MUSTACHES f—My Onguent will
force tbem to grow heavily in six weeks (upon the smooth
est face) without sUln or injury to the >Un. Price $1—
sent by mall, put free, to any addrea, on receipt of an or
der/ R.G.GKAlUiCJfc.lWNa.auStnit.N.a'.
HOLIDAY PRESENTS.
100.000 WATCHES, CHAINS, «Vc., tun.
• SCOO.OOO.
To tt told for One Dollar each, mtjwut regard to value,
and not to be paid for till you know uhat you art to yet.
* SPLENDID LIST!!
OF ARTIGLBS TO BU BOLD FOK ONE DOLtAR EACH.
100 Cold Hunting Cased Watches. ...... $100 00 each.
100 Gold Watches ..................... 60 00 each.
SOOLadtas'Gold WatojMS. ............. 88 00 each.
000 Ladies1 and Gent'B Silver Watches .. U 00 each.
8000 Vest and Neck Chains......... 6 00 to 10 00 each.
8000 Gold Band Bracelets .......... 6 00 to 10 00 each.
8000 " " » .......... SOOto 6 00 each.
8000 Cameo Brooches .............. 4 00 to 6 00 each.
8000 Mosaic and Jet Broochas ....... 4 00 to 600c*ch.
8000 Lava and Florentine Broochw.. 4 00 to 6 00 each.
8000 Coral, Opal, and Km. Brooches . 4 00 to « 00 each.
8000 Cameo Ear Drops. ............ 4 00 to SOOeach.
8000 Mosaic and Jet Ear Drops ..... 4 00 to 6 00 each.
8000 Lava and Florentine Ear Drops. 4 00 to 6 00 each.
8000 Coral, Em., and Opal Ear Drops 4 00 to 8 00 eaeb.
6100 Gent's Breast Pins ............ SCO to 8 00 each.
8000 Watch Keys.. ................ »00t» 6 00 each.
6000 Fob and Ribbon Slides ........ 9 00 to 6 00 each,
COOO&9U of Bosom Studs........... S60t» 6 00 each.
6000Sta«ve Buttons... ............. S&Oto GOOeuh.
0000 Plain Rings. . ....... .......... S&Oto COOeuh.
6000 Stone Set Kings. . ............. 260to COO each.
6000 Lockets.. ...................:. 2 60 to 10 W each.
6000 Sets Ladles' Jewelry. .......... 6 00 1* 10 00 each.
10000 fold Pens, with Silver Mounted
Holders................... 400t» COOeach.
10000 Guld Pens, with Silver Extension
Cases and Pencils.......... 4 00 to 6 00 each.
All Gold Pens 14 Carats and Warranted.
All of the above list of Goods will be sold for one dollar
each. Certificates of all tlu various artiales, stating what
each one can hav*, are first put into envelopes, aealed up,
and mixed; and whan ordered, are taken out without re
gard to choice, and Mnt by mall, thus giving all a fair
change. On receipt of the Certificate, yon will tee- what
you can have, and then it is at your option to Bend one
dollar and take tbe article or not
In all transactions by mall, we shall charge for forward-
Ing tbe Certificates, paying postage, and doing tbe busi
ness, 25 cents each, which must be inclosed when the Cer
tificate Is sent for. Fire Certificates will be sent for $1 ;
eleven for $2; thirty for $6; sixty-five for $10; and a
hundred for $16.
AOKNTS. — Those acting as Agents will be allowed ten
cents on every Certificate ordered by them, provided their
remittanoa amounts to on< dollar. Agents will collect 25
cents for every Certificate, and remit ID cents to us, either
in cash or postage stamps. Great cantlon ehould be used
by our correspondents in regard to giving their correct ad-
dreM, Town, County, and State. Address
J. H. WINSLOW & CO.,
208J}roadw«4 New York.
J. W. MERSEREAU,
Men's Furnishing Goods
GOLDEN HILL
SHIRTS.
Au. 2 W arreu suwi.
SECOND Dooa FBOM BBOAKWAY, NEW TORE.
Reprttentei ty N. R. MERSEREAU, L. N. WYANT.
FRIENDS OF SOLDIERS!
All Articles for Soldiers at Baltimore, Washington, Hil-
ton Head, Newbern, and all places occupied by Union
tram, should be suit, at half rates, by HARNDEN'F
EXPRESS, Mo. 74 Broadway. Sutlers charged low rate..
FRENCH WINES AND BRANDIES,
From Paul de Canlnck, Menod & Guiraud, Bordeaux,
Franca. Warranted strictly pure, For sale by
J. MARC MARTIN, Importer,
• No. 208 Pearl Street, New York.
MILITARY GOODS.
Sworda for Presentation, Sashes, Belts,
and Epaulettes, Guns, Pistols,
• and Revolvers. '
Every article in the Military Line Wnoleiale and Retail.
W. J. Syms & Bro.,
SOO Broadway, New York.
To all Wanting Farms.
Large and thriving settlement of Vintland. Rich soil.
Good craps of Wheat, Corn, Peachee, &c.,to be seen—only
SO miles from Philadelphia. Delightful climate—20 acre
tracts of from $15 to $20 per acre, payable within 4 yean.
Good schools and society. Hundreds are settling. Apply
to CHAS. K. LANDIS, P.M., Vineland, Cumberland Co.,
New Jersey. Report of Solon Robinson and Vlnelud Ru
ral sent free. From Report ot Solon Robinson, Ag. Ed.
Tribune.
* «It it one of the mat exteniite fertile tracts, in an al-
moit level position, and nitabli condition for pleasant
farming that mknowcSUiittideof the WettemPrairiet.
The Prince of Holiday Glfte or Presents.
"THE CRAIG MICROSCOPE"
Magnifies small objects 10,000 times. So simple that a
child may use it. A most suitable present for any person.
Price by mall $9 SB; with six mounted objects $3. Ad
dress HENRY CRAIG, 182 Centre Street, New
." Eyes, Ears, Lips, Mouth,
Head, Hair, Neck, Hands, Feet, Skin, with "Stairs OT
" and how to read them, given in
THE PHRENOLOGICAL JOUKNAL
AND LIFE ILLUSTRATED FOR 186$, devoted to Panx-
NOLOQT, PHYSIOLOGY, PoruoaHOinr, PSYCHOLOGY, and to
all that relates to the Intellectual, Social, Moral, and
Spiritual Nature of Man. Amply illustrated, and adapted
tothecompTthenslooofaU. New volume. Subscribe now.
Only $100 a year. Samples, 10 centt. Address,
FOWLER AND WELLS, 808 Broadway, New York.
Taxes for 1862
Are now due in IOWA and NEBRASKA. To secure
correctness, prompt attention, and law charoei, send to
MILLS BROS.. Tax Agents, Dss MOTNXS, IOWA.
They go to every Couuty In Iowa during the Tax-pay
ing season. Pamphlet containing Iowa Laws in regard to
Taxes sent free to any address.
A CAPITAL BOOK. — How to
Write, How to Talk, How to Behave. How to do Busineu,
i— *——1_ i——j t_ _i» ,—> _-;^ j,y nail, $1 CO; in
,808 Broad way, N.Y.
vvnte, now to xaut, now v
handsomely hound In gilt,
paper, $185. FOWLER &
WEDDING CARDS
M« t
itwotuatft.
A Useful Present to the
OFFICERS OF OUR ARMY!
MLLLIUAVti AUMY MKSS-KEl'TL.Ld.
(PAXX24T APFLLXD rOB.)
Til j most compact and complete arrangement for u me*
of four persons ever offered to the army. Weight fifteen*
pounds. Occupies two-thirds the space of a cubic footl
Sold by all dealers in Military goods. Price $12. Libera.
discount to tbe bade. Wholesale depot 4 Platt St., N. Y.
Bead for circular. MILLdGAN BBQTHERS.
MAGIC TIME OBSERVERS
TJU Pxarxorioic or MECHANISM.
TJKING A HoNTmo AND OPEH FACZ, OR LADY'S) ox
-D" GBNXUMAK'S WATCH COMBINED.
One of tto prettiest, most convenient, and decidedly the
best and cheapest timepiece for general and reliable use
ever offered. It has within it and connected with its mi-
chinery its own winding attachment, rendering a key en
tirely unnecessary. The oases of this Watcn are com
posed of two metals, the outer one being fine 16 carat gold.
It has the Improved ruby action lever movement, and is
warranted an accurate timepiece. Price, superbly en
graved, psr case of a half dozen, $204 00. Sampls Watch
es, in neat morocco boxes, for those proponing to buy at
wholesale, $35, sent by express, with bill payable on de
livery. Soldiers must remit payment Jn advance, u we
can not collect from those in the Army. Address .
liUBBARD BROS., Sou IMFOKTIUU,
Cor. John and Nassau Streets, New York.
Just Tribute to Merit.
AT INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION, LONDON,
July lltli. 1802,
Duryeas' Maizena
Was the only "preparation for food from Indian Corn**
that received a medal and honorable mention from the
Royal Commissioner!, the competition of all prominent
manufacturers of "Corn Starch" and "Prepared Corn
Flour" of Luis *»^ other countries notwithstanding.
Maizena
The food and luxury of the age, without a single fault
One trial will convince the most sceptical. Makes Pud
dings, Cakes, Custards, Blanc Mange, &C., without isln-
«la*s, with few or no eggs, at a cost astonishing tbe most
economical. A slight addition to ordinary Wheat Flour
greatly improves Bread and Cake. It is also excellent for
thickening sweet aauces, gravies for fish and meat, eunps,
&c. >'or Ice Cream nothing can compare with It. A iit-
tle boiled in milk will produce rich Cream for coffee, choc
olate, tea, Ac. Put up in 1 pound packages, with directions.
A most delicious article of food for children and invalids
ofallSges. For aale by Grocers and Druggists everywhere.
Manufactured at Glen Cove, Long
Island.
Wholesale Depot, 166 Fulton Street.
WM. DUIiYEA, General Agent
BE AUTT.—Hunt's Bloom of Roses, a charming aud
perfectly natural color for tbe cheeks, or Upa. Will not
wash off, but remains durable for years. Cm only be re
moved with vinegar, andwarranted not to injure the akin.
Used by the celebrated Court Beauties of Europe exclu
sively. Mailed free from observation for one dollar.
HUNT & CO., Perfumers, US 8. Seventh St, Fhilad.
/CHAPPED HANDS, FACE, LIPS, SUNBURN, &C.—
V_v Certain and Immediate Cure.
HEGEMAN A Co.'» CAMPHOR ICE with GLYCER
INE, if used according to the directions, will keep the
bands soft in the coldest weather. Price 26 cents. Bold by
Druggists. Sent by mall on receipt of 30 cents.
HEGEMAN & Co., Chemists and Druggists, New York.
HARPER 4 BROTHERS,
FBAKXLIN SO.CABX, HIT? YOBH,
Eavejutt Publithed:
BUTTERFIELD'S OCTPOST DUTY. Camp and Out.
post Duty for lo&ntry. With Standing Orders, Ex.
tracts from the Revised Regulations for the Army,
Rule* for Health, Maxims for Soldiers, and D«Ues of
Officers. By DANHJL BurmnxLD, Brig.-Gen. Vela.,
U.S.A. Umo, Flexible Cloth, 03 centa,
THE STUDENT'S HISTORY OF FRANCE. A History
of France from the Earliest Times to the Establishment
of the Second Empire in 1852. Illustrated by Engrav.
ings on Wood. Large 12mo (Uniform with "The Stu
dent's Home," "The Student's Gibbon," "Students
Greece," "Llddell's Rome," &cj, Cloth, $1S6.
MISTRESS AND MAID. A HOUSEHOLD STORY. By
DINAH MABIA MDLOOK, Author of " John Halifax, Gen
tleman," "OUve," "The Ogflvies," "The Head of the
Family," "Agatha's Husband," "A Life for a Lift,''
&C., Ac. 8vo, Paper", CO centa.
Commencement of the Twenty-Sixth
Volume.
HARPER'S
NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE
For December, 1862.
TERMS.
One Copy for one Year ...... .$300
Two Copies for One Year ...... COO
An Extra Copy, gratit, for every Club o/Trx So*
•ouiios, at 92 CO each, or 11 Copies for $86 On.
Hum's MAQAILSB and HAIFA'S WEEKLY, together,
one year, $o 00.
HARPER & BROTHERS, Pro
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
Single Copiesi Six Cent*.
_" ' •
TERMS, •
One Copy for One Year ....... $3 00
One Copy for Two Yean ...... BOO
And an Kttra Copy v>0t be eUmni for tttry Club of
TXH SUBSOBIBIXS, at $8 CO each, or 11 Copies for $26.
HABPXE'S MAOAznx and HABPIS'S WIXKLI, together,
one year, $500.
Huron's WnzLT Is dectrotypsd, and Bock livmben
can be had at any time.
Vols. I., IL, III., IV., and V., for the Years 18BT, 1888,
1859, I860, and 1861, of "HARPER'S WEEKLY,- hand-
somely bound in Cloth extra, Price $4 87 each, an now
ready.
OT The Publishers employ no TBAVBJHS Awns.
Parties who desire to subscribe to Barper'm Magazine or
Harper't WrMy had better remit direct to the Publish,
en, or pay their subscription to some Postmaster or Gen
eral Agent with whom they are acqinlnted. and of whose
responsibility they are assured.
wtppirn {, BROTHERS, Prausom,
Fluioani SWAM, Knr fats.

81G HARPER'S WEEKLY. [DECEMUEK 20, 18G2.
Sensation among "Our Colored Brethren" on ascertaining that the Grand Performance to which they had been invited on New Year's Day, was unavoidably postponed to the year 1900!
65 Maiden Lane, cor. William St.
New Toys and Holiday Presents.
We offer the largest assortment
OF NEW AND DESIRABLE GOODS
AT THE MOST REASONABLE PRICES.
Wo are tare of your patronage If you will give us a call.
8TRASBURGKR & NUIIN, Importers,
No. 66 Maiden Lane, Corner of \Vi)linm St., New York.
GREAT
TRIUMPH.
BTEINWAY & SONS, Nos. Si" and 84 Walker Street,
N. Y., were awarded a flritt prize mrdnl at the late Great
International Kxhlbltlon, London. There wen two hund
red and sixty-nine pianos from all parts of the world en
tered for competition.
The special correspondent of the New York Times says:
"Messrs. Stetnways' endorsement by tho Jurom Is em-
phatir, and ttronper and more to the point than that of
any European mnker."
GOLDEN HILL
SHIRTS.
RETAILING
At Wholesale frices. ^
Depot 2 Warren 8tr«t. J. W. MEBSKREAU
Patent Office Notice.
During the post Seventeen yqars Messrs. Mnnn & Co.,
Fdltors of the Scientific American, havr acted as attorneys
for more than prrtfm TIIOCBAM) INVRNTORB. They
prrpare PpiTlilcQUon?, Drawings, Cavlats, and all other
Patent Papers. Ttiey also furnish, free, a Pamphlet of
Advice, How to Obtain Letters Patent Address
MUNN & CO..
No. 37 I »rk Rav, New York.
IMPORTANT TO AGENTS! ! — We have reduced
the wholesale price of our GREAT STATIONERY PORTFOLIO
PArKAOK. We also give better Watches to our Agenta
than any other firm. Send stamp for new circular.
WKIR & CO., 34 South Third Street, Philadelphia.
WARD'S
PERFECt FITTING
SHIRTS
Made to Mcaiurc at $18, $24 and $27
PER DOZEN.
' Self-Measurement for Shirts.
Printed directions for eelf-mea?urrment, ll«t of price*,
and dmwlngs of different styles of shirts and collars fccnt
free everywhere.
FRENCH FLAMKZI. AJUR EHIBTS, $24, $27, $30 and $33
per dozen.
8. W. II. WARD, from London, No. BS7 Broadway.
GOLD PENS. ~
Retailed at wholesale prices. Goods warranted. Send
for a circular, alvlng list of prlow and cnrnvlngi of Peru*.
Pens Tepolntcd on the receipt of 30 woto woto In n 1*. 1*. O, O, flBtflm. flBtfl
r, a JtXINSiiN,
Mid Ofllc, 1C Wuld
LHU>I h'uw York City,
1O,OOO COPIES READY.-CAUTION!
Look out for the Catch-Penny Edition, bound up in Green Paper Covers.
POOLEY & CO.'S
Edition is the only Authorized English Translation Published
in this Country
OF
JJES MISEKABLES.
Extract of Letter from VICTOR Htroo to MB. WHAXAI.T,.
" From the moment when M. Rsqutros is your friend, fin he is mine, you can not fail to produce an excellent
work, having for guide and counselor that great and noble niind. (Signed) VICTOR 111'UO."
John Fnrelrr, thu ablest critic In Knglund—the Literary Editor of the London Examiner—In speaking of tho
ADTnonizKuTRANSLATION, by VTraxs.ll and KMrulroe, says:
"On the publication of this celebrated Novel, In its original form, we entered very minutely Into the story. It
only now remains for us to say that w« OAK CONBCIENTIOUHLY BKOOMMEND IT TO THE rtjm.in AB A PERFECTLY FAITH.
rut. VERKIOK—retaining, as nearly as the characteristic difference between the languages admits of, all the npiritand
point of .the original. IN ITS rBESKNTTORM,' Les Miserables' stands a very fair chance of having as wide a. s»le as tho
French edition."
The Authorized Edition,
Complete In One Volnme, with Portraits and Biographical Sketch, is published for ONE UOI.T.AH, in Paper; or,
ONB DOLLAR AMD A UALF, In Miulln. NOW READY, and all orders filled from this day without delay.
W. I. POOLEY & Co.,
No. 331 Frunklin Square (Hurpefa Building), New York.
HURST & BLAOKET, London Publishers. 1. PAGNERRE LIBHAIKE, Editcur, Paris
Bent by moil on receipt of price. For wile by all Booksellers.
AGENTS WANTED.
$15 PICK DAY MADE EASY, and more if you per-
•evere selling our Great Hew Union Prize and Stationrr'i
Package*, largest and best of all, containing over $1 ivorth
of Fine Articles, Writing Materials, Gifts, &c. Jnst the
thing for tho COMIXO HOLIDAYS. ThujRS for Soldiers
and everybody eUe. Each ptrmn who orders Iflo Pack
ages will receive as a free present a SPLENDID WATCH,
warranted as a timf-ktfper. Packages in endless variety
and at nil prices. Agent, wanted In every camp and ev
ery town. This Is a CHANC'K FOR SOLDI KR3 in camp
or discharged to make money. Profits Immense. Sales
quick. Send for our SEW Circulars, with UXTRV in
ducements to Afrent!*.
S. C. RICHARDS 4 CO., 102 Nassau Street, New York,
Largest and oldest Prize Package House In the world._
Sleeve & Bosom Studs,
Made from fine ivory, colors white, black, red, purple,
and blue, marked any Initial in Old English, and mnlled
free to, any address upon receipt of the price, $1 50 full
eel. Monograms made to order.
UNION ADAMS,
No. 637 Broadway, New York.
Tomes, Son & Melvain,
6 Maiden Lane, New York.
Dealers in Arm» and Military Goods of every
Description.
RICH PRESENTATION SWORDS.
Smith & WriwonV Breech-loading Rifles and Pistol*.
Itaeun Manufacturing Co. ItcvoKIng Ffa-toU.______
LANDS, -to •» wanting fuva. Thriving soltJc.
ItrcMoll,
HOLIDAY GOODS.
Schuyier, Hartley & Graham,
19 Maiden Lano AMI 22 John Street,
15 Rue d'Enghcin, PariH
47 Hampton St., Birmingham. Eng.
Aro now receiving by every Steamer
New and desirable styles of
FRENCH AND ENGLISH FANCY GOODS,
Suitable for the Holiday trade,
Conalsting in part of
BnnKXEB, MANTEL ORNAMRNTB, MAnnr.n REOF.IVERR, PiiorooRAi'it ALUVMB^ PotTOioxNAiEB,
Oi>Emi CARFS, FIELII AND OPERA GLABSFB, WORK BOXES,
DRESSING CASES, PAETY & BRIUAL FANS, LKATUER BAGS.
Also, a great variety of
FINE JET AND CORAL GOODS,
To which they Invite the attention of all parties pur
chasing in this line. A full Sto^c of
MIUTACY Onono, GITNB, PISTOLS, CUTLERY, PLATED
WARB, WATCUBB, DIAMONDS, ETC.
Alto FINE ENGLISH SKATES.
Entrance 19 Maiden Lane or 29 John Street. .
FURS.
C. O. GUNTHER & SONS,
FUR WAREHOUSE.
46 Maiden Lane, New York,
Importers, Manufacturers, and Shippers
of Raw Furs and Skins,
Invite attention to their rxtcmlvc Assortment of Ladies'
Furs now on hand.
Union Prize Packages.
DWIOT A: Co.'8 Head-Quartere, US Nnssau St.,N.Y., and
Chtcago,Bls. Send for circulars (largcn house In the U.S.).
A FINS WATCH FREE. , _
ToWrti prrjoit who hnys out Mammoth Etiroka Prise
Htctowjo. ftB t>WOK»ni«a». Rwd for drwkn.. W.
U VA»«.V i W,

818 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [DECEMBER 27,1862.
HARPER'S WEEKLY.
II
III
DECEMBER 27, 1862.
t3T~ THE present Number of HAEPIE'S WKKKLT completes
Volume VI. A TiiU-Page and Table of Content* can
oe had gratuitously from the principal News-Dealers.
THE REVERSE AT FREDERICKS
BURG.
1*7"E have agaiu to report a disastrous re-
V Y verse to our arms. Defeated with great
slaughter in the battle of 13th, General Burnside
has now withdrawn the army of the Potomac
to the north side of the Kappahannock, where the
people congratulate themselves that it is at least
in safety. And now, who is responsible for this
terrible rcpuleuT .
General Burnside was appointed to the com
mand of the army of the Potomac on 9th No
vember, and began at once to prepare to shift
the base and line of march of his army toward
Fredericksbnrg. In view of such a movement
General M'Clellan had, before his removal,
suggested the propriety of rebuilding and occu
pying the railroad from Aquia Creek to Fal-
mouth; but, for some reason not apparent, the
War Department had not acted upon the sug
gestion. About 12th November General Burn-
side notified the Department that he would ar
rive at Fredericksburg in about a week, aud that
pontoons must be there by that time, in order
to enable him to cross and occupy the hills on
the south side of the river. Un the 21st Gen
eral Sumner arrived at Fredericksburg, and
found that there -was not a pontoon there, and
the railroad between Aquia Creek and Falmouth
being out of order, there was no means of get
ting any, and no means of procuring supplies. It
was absolutely impossible to cross the river, and
the cnuuiy were already arriving on the south
side :ind throwing up earth-works.
General Burnside, on discovering this state
of things, repaired instantly to Washington to
ascertain why ho was being sacrificed. What
satisfaction he obtained no one knows. But a
gcueral officer, one of the most distinguished
in the service, not in the army of the Potomac,
as early as 23d November, made no secret of
his opinion that the movement via Fredericks-
Imrg "was a Jliilure," because Burnside had
been uuablu to occupy the south bauk of the
Kappahannock in time.
In the course of two weeks pontoons were
furnished to tlie army, the railroad was repair
ed, and supplies were forthcoming. But, on the
other hand, Lee, witli ICO,000 men, was strong
ly intrenched ou the opposite side of the river,
an two ranges of hills which command the slope
at the foot of which the Ruppahaunock runs
and Frederu-ksburg lies. The question was,
what was to be done ? A council of war was
held on the night of llth. At that council it
is understood that Generals Snmner, Franklin,
Hooker, and all the corps commanders who
had been invited were decidedly opposed to a
movement across the river and up the slope. IT
IB RUMORED THAT BuRNBIDtt THEN SAID THAT HE
WAS ORDERED TO CROSS THE XIVER AND ATTACK
THE BATTERIES IN FRONT, AND THAT HE WOULD
1W> IT, NO MATTEB WHAT THE COST. This of COUrsO
closed the discussion, and the Generals made their
preparations accordingly. On 12th the river was
crossed without serious resistance. On 13th the
rebel batteries were attacked in front by the bulk
of Burnslde's army, and our troops were repulsed
with a loss which is now variously estimated at
from twelve to seventeen thousand men. The
rebel loss is not known, but they can not have
lost many score of men. On the night of 15-
IGth, General Bumside withdrew his army to the
north side of the river.
We ore indulging in no hyperbole when we
say that these events are rapidly filling the heart
of the loyal North with sickuess, disgust, and
despair. Party lines are becoming effaced by
such unequivocal evidences of administrative
imbecility; it is the men who hare given and
trusted the most, who now feel most keenly that
the Government is nnfit for its office, and that
the most gallant efforts ever made by a cruelly
tried pe«ple ore being neutralized by the obsti
nacy and incapacity of their leaders. Where
this will all end no one can see. But it must
end soon. The people have shown a patience,
during the post year, quite unexampled in his
tory. They have borne, silently and grimly,
imbecility, treachery, failure, privation, loss of
friends and means, almost every Buffering which
can afflict a brave people. But they can not
be expected to suffer that such massacres as this
at Fredericksburg shall be repeated. Matters
are rapidly ripening for a military dictatorship.
THE BRITISH PIRATES " ORETO"
AND "ALABAMA."
THE publication of the official correspondent
between the State Department and our forcigC
ministers at length places us in possession of thej
facts tccarding the construction and outfit of r
the tipnous pirates Oreto and Alabama. Public
report long age classed these pirates as British.
But many persons, unwilling to believe that a
friendly nation would wantonly take advantage
of a civil war in this country to engage in the
business of piracy, have regarded the designa
tion as unjustified and injurious. The facts
now leave no further room for doubt.
On February 18, 1862, Mr. Adams, United
States Minister to England, laid the case of the
Oreto before the British Government. She was
then building at Liverpool, for the parties who
had already dispatched the Bermuda to the
Southern States, and the evidence of her des
tination and her character was submitted to Earl
Russell. The latter referred the case to the Brit
ish Commissioners of Customs, who reported,
under date of'February 22, that their collector
had "every reason to believe she was for the
Italian Government," and that thongh she wag
pierced for guns, she had none on board, and the
opinion appeared to be that" she was not going
to receive any in England." This answer was
perfectly r-otiofactory to Earl Russell, who sent it
to Mr. Adams; though every body in Liverpool
knew perfectly well that she was a Confederate
privateer. On 22d March the Oreto moved out
into the Mersey, and was handed over by her
builders to Captain Bullock, "Confederate States
Navy," Lieutenants Maffitt, Young, etc., who
had come from the South to command her in
the steamer Annie Childs, which had rnn the
blockade. On running np the river the Annie
CluUk dipped her colors (the " Stars and Bars")
to the Oreto, and the officers of the former ves
sel were entertained at dinuer the same evening
on board the Oreto. A flat-boat was simnlta-
neonsly sent alongside the Oreto with her arma
ment. These facts, which were quite notorious
in Liverpool, were communicated by the United
States Consul to Mr. Adams, and by him to
Earl Russell. The latter, as before, referred to
the Commissioners of Customs, who reported,
on April 6, that the Oreto sailed on 22d March
—the day the United States Consul's report was
forwarded to Londonj that there was no reason
for supposing she was not going to Palermo, for
which port she cleared; aud that she had 178
tons of arms on board. As a vessel clearing for
Palermo would not require 178 tons of arms,
and as every body knew she was going not to
Sicily but to Nassau, one is surprised to find that
the British Commissioners of Customs, who
lied BO glibly on other points, did not lie about
the arms likewise. The Oreto fairly at sea,
Earl Russell gave " a polite expression of his
regret" to Mr. Adams on April 15. Late in
May she turned up in the British colony of Nas
sau, where the famous pirate, Captain Semmes,
of the Stimter, and now of the Alabama, was
waiting to take command of her. A farce was
performed there hy the British officials, highly
to the diversion of the citizens of that dirty little
place—Nassau: the Oreto was seized by the
authorities, and formally released on 8th June.
She forthwith completed her armament and
coaled np; whereupon, our gun-boats being ex
cluded from Nassau by the order of the Gov
ernor forbidding them to take a pound of coal
on board in that harbor, she sailed at the right
time, and, through the negligence of Command
er Freble, succeeded, under the British flag, in
getting fairly into the harbor of Mobile.
Here is one pirate, built in a British port,
manned by British seamen, eent to sea under
the auspices of British officials in defiance of
the clearest evidence of her character, received
und protected in a British colonial port, aimed
with British guus, and at last reaching a rebel
port under cover of the British flag. If it be
unfair to call the Oreto a British pirate it would
be difficult to conceive a vessel which should de
serve that designation.
Let us tnrn to the Alabama, or " 290." She
was built in the early months of 1861, at the
ship-yard of Messrs. Laird & Co., at Birkeu-
head, opposite Liverpool, England. On 23d
June last Mr. Adams acquainted the British Gov
ernment with the facts. Earl Russell referred
the matter to the Commissioners of Customs;
and they, uuder date of July 1, reported that,
thongh she was evidently built for a man-of-war
in the service of "some foreign government,"
and was being prepared for the reception of guns
and warlike stores, there was " no good ground
for detaining or interfering with" her. Every
one in Liverpool, including the Commissioners
and Earl Russell himself, knew perfectly well
for what "government" she was being built.
Yet the British Secretary entirely concurred in
the view that there was " no ground for inter
ference," and asked for fresh evidence. This
was furnished within a week, but Earl Russell
objected to its "legal form," and it was sent
back to the Consul to be properly authenticated.
Meanwhile the " 200" uas being made ready as
rapidly as possible. On 16th July Mr. Adams,
fearing fresh quibbles, took legal advice. Mr.
Collyer, Qu^gn's Counsel, one of the highest
legal authorities in Englaud, gave a written
opinion that the vessel was being fitted out as a
rebel privateer, and ought to be seized under the
British Neutrality Act. On 22d July this opin
ion, together with depositions, showing the des
tination of the vessel, were laid before Earl Rus
sell. On 23d Mr. Collyer, whe was again con
sulted, replied: "It appears difficult to make
out a stronger case of infringement of the foreign
1 enlistment act, which, if not enforced on this
occasion, is little better than a dead letter."
This opinion was likewise forthwith transmitted
to Earl Russell. Nothing, however, was done;
the excuse which was afterward given by Earl
Russell being, that the Queen's Advocate, Sir
John D. Harding, was ill. Under the press
ure of Mr. Adams's efforts, other counsel was
taken, and their opinion was obtained on the
morning of 29th July. It was forthwith sent
into the Circumlocution Office to be copied, and
orders, through the same channel, were dis
patched to Liverpool to detain the vessel. We
need hardly add that the tenor of these opinions
and orders were known at Liverpool long before
the official documents arrived, and that tho
"290," or Alabama, sailed to sea on the same
day—29tfi July—receiving her armament off
Point Lynas. She made for the Azores, where
she met a Liverpool vessel laden with coal and
stores, and at once commenced the career of
devastation which has made her infamous.
Here io a vcaacl built in a British dock-yard,
by a member of the British Parliament—Mr.
Laird; armed with British guns, manned with
British sailors; fitted out under the auspices of
British officials, in defiance alike of the remon
strances of our Minister and of the Foreign En
listment Act; going to sea under British pro
tection, and commencing at once her career by
the destruction of ten helpless and defenseless
whalers. If this craft be not a British pirate,
what would constitute one?
There are many things in Mr. Seward's dis
patches which must be regretted. The Sec
retary is altogether too sanguine and too
wordy. He is always indulging in predictions
which remain unfulfilled, and writing a page
where a sentence would answer the purpose
better. But the criticism which he provokes
soon gives way, on a perusal of these State-
Papers, to a much stronger emotion, which is
aroused by the uniform tenor of the dispatches
of the British Government. There is not a fliu-
gle dispatch from Earl Russell which does not
breathe covert hostility to the United States,
and an obvious though unexpressed desire for
their permanent disruption. The ruin of this
country has evidently been the one object near
est the heart of the British Government. It was
to secure this object that pirates were fitted out
with impunity, iu defiance of the laws of En
gland, in British ports; that the legitimate ex
ercise of authority by our blockading squadron
was jealously denounced; that the highly proper
restrictions laid upon contraband trade between
New York and Nassau were made the subject
of a formal remonstrance; that every possible
opportunity of harassing aud menacing us was
eagerly grasped. Mr. Dayton's correspondence
from Paris shows that the Emperor has all along
been friendly to us, and would probably have re
scinded his proclamation granting belligerent
rights to the rebels but for his pledges to the
British Government. Dispatches from almost
every court in Europe tell the same story: at
first, the cause of the Union was generally popu
lar, hut the aspersions ef the British press, sup
ported as they were by the official and unofficial
expressions of members of tho British Govern
ment, gradually created a sentiment hostile to
us and our aims. But for England there would
have been no rebel privateers, no peaceful mer
chant vessels would have been burned, and pub
lic sentiment throughout Europe would have
remained—as it was at first—on the side of law,
order, established government, and freedom.
England has been sowing, during this past
year, a harvest which will some day be reaped
at a frightful cost.
OBITUABT.
KILLED, before Fredericbburg, on December 13, Lixu-
TKNANI-COLONIL JOSEPH B. CuBTis, of the Fourth Rhode
Island Volunteers. TheFrovldeace/ournalthusrecounts
hit death:
"He fell at the head of hi* regiment, while bravely
leading U on. The fatal shot could hive (truck down no
nobler or more promising young officer. Though lie had
attained to go conspicuous a position, and by regular pro
motions fairly earned by hard and faithful service, he wae
only twentr-alx yean of age. He was the eon of the late
George Cnrtia, Esq., President of the Continental Bank
of New York, and formerly of this city, and waa the grand-
eon of Hon. Samuel W. Brldghun, tho flrnt Mayor of this
city. He wa« educated at the Lawrence Scientific School,
Cambridge, for the profession of civil engineer. When
the war broke out he held a place In the Engineer Corps
of the Central Park, New York. He promptly tendered
hta services to hit country."
WHERE WE ARE.
IN the constant criticism upon the delays and
blunders of the war we ought, in justice to our
selves, to reflect that the management of every
war is furiously censured, and that the comparison
between ourselves and the methods of despotic
governments is necessarily unfair. In every great
war hitherto, since the organization of standing
armies, the army has been the controlling elemejit -,
and it was always the body-guard of the existing
government—instituted, iudeed, for that purpose.
But here there was no great army, and the major
ity of the officers of what small force we hsd were
either traitorous or doubtful. And from this came
one of the chief difficulties of our situation.
Any other great government in the world which
should be threatened by a rebellion would find it
self intrenched in the regular tradition of tbe coun
try, in all the complexity of governmentsl officea
and interests, and most strongly in a large, per
fectly-armed, and well-disciplined army. This
force would at once show a front infinitely more
formidable than that of the enemy. At the first
intimation it -would strike heavily and every when-. '
It would believe the worst, nnd lose no moment in
parleying or hesitating. We have but to see bow*
Austria, the dullest and most brutal of civilized
governments, repressed Italy, a distant and utterly
foreign country, for more than thirty-five yrnrs,
and we can calculate the value of this permanent
organized military force constantly animated by
suspicion.
Now, to go no further, our Governmeut>had no
military force and no suspicion, even while the en
emy was fully resolved and rapidly organizing.
Wheu the explosion came there was but one soli
tary emotion to appeal to, and that was patriot
ism. But wheu this emotion cordially responded,
and sent as mauy men as were asked, and would
have doubled the number in a week, that was but
the beginning. There were men, but they were
not soldiers. There were no sufficient arms, or
transportation, or equipment. Every thing must
be made from tbe beginning. Contracts were in
evitable, and the consequences equally so. A tre
mendous gale had struck the ship with every inch
of canvas spread. There were no sailors, and the
passengers were summoned to shorten sail. They
might ring out most lustily, " Ay, ay, Sir." They
might spring into tbe rigging, snd wish to do ev
ery thing in a moment. But tbe chance was that
ship and company would be swamped before they
could learn how to do what they were most anx
ious to effect.
Take the first necessity—the military prepara
tion. Here were thousands of willing men—some,
drilled militia, but the mass utterly raw. They
must be put into some shape. Who should do it ?
To whom did common reuse instinctively turn?
Of course to the existing militsry loaders. Grant
that the chief of them was too old. Grant that his
superior military genius had never been proved.
Yet he was the man to whom the nation confided
its fate. There might be a greater soldier smong
the people. The village Hampden, the unknown
Hannibal, Julius Caesar, Napoleon, might be only
awaiting the summons. Shall we advertise for
him? Shall we issue proposals for a Don John,
for a Marshal Turenne? Clearly we aonld onlj
try what was at hand. As when there is a sudden
necessity for a doctor or a lawyer or a shoemaker,
we do the best we can.
We take this aspect only in illustration of all.
It is easy enough now to say that the regular lead
er was too old; that he did not understand the
war nor the exigency; that he did not wish to
hurt, but only to frighten; that he was not in earn-
eet; that he was Blow, dim, incapable. Yes; but
that was the very thing we were to learn, and we
could learn it ouly by experience. We had to try
and try aud try, and each trial that failed of course
cost us most heavily. If, indeed, after proved in
capacity, the incapable were retained, tha offense
was most heinous, and this was too often the fact.
But a thousand complications of otherwise perfect
ly simple courses will readily suggest themselves
to aay student of our politics, and circumstances,
and character.
To say, then, that the rebellion might have been
defeated in three months is to say that if the scope
of tbe war had been appreciated; if the army had
been large, and drilled, and ready, and the nary
likewise; if the leaders had been eminent and skill
ed ; and if, consequently, the policy of the war had
been an immediate, severe, and overwhelming inva
sion of the rebel section, aud a war regime through
out the country, then the three months wonld have
sufficed. Yes; but why not begin by supposing
that there had been no rebellion?
The picture upon the first page of our last paper
but one was itself a sign of the progress of educa
tion by experience which the nation is undergoing.
It was a portrait of Burnside surrounded by those
of his Geuerals, Sumner, Hooker, Sigel, and Frank
lin. Twenty months have shown that these are
earnest, hearty, able, fighting generals. The Mes
sage and the Proclamation are similar signs of an
other kind. The essential contest is recognized.
Emancipation is recommended In detail, and tbe
immediate and unconditional freedom of slaves in
States still in rebellion is proclaimed for the 1st
January.
There is no doubt that we have disbslieved, and
delayed, and blundered. But much of all was in
evitable, and the dslay has shown us that tbe con
test is in its nature radical. The war began with
three parties in tbe country. It will end with
two: that which holds to a government whose cor-
uer-stone is Slavery, aud that which builds ou
Liberty.
TO MY COUSIN JOHN.
[OOWVIDBHTIAL.]
Mr DEAE JOHN BULL,—You have one nsme,
but there are really two persons under your hat.
One is generouB, faithful, liberty-loving, and the
other is a mean, exclusive, narrow, and jealous
'fellow, who thinks that the world was made for
England and England for him. It is this last
whom you always allow to talk and act for you
with other nations. You give him place, money,
titles, homage, and servility of every kind, and he
permits you to have starvation wages. The man
whom he hates most heartily is the one who takes
the part of all Englishmen agaiust a few, and who
insists that governments should exiet by the con
sent of the mass of the governed.
It is this fellow, your alter ego, who hastened to
declare that the rebels in this country were equal
belligerents with the Government; who inspires
most of your papers to tell the most ludicrous lies
about ne; ivho secretly Belle arms and ammunition
to the rebels; who fits out ships to run the block-
sde; who builds pirates to prey upon our com
merce ; who, with a hopeless iguorance of the fects
and amuring confusion of mind, Justifies the rebel
lion by our revolution, gravely asserting the right
of secession, and loftily sneering at what he does
not understand.
That the rebellion not only strikes at the very
loots of all civil order and the possibility of perma-
DECEMBER 27, 1862.] HABPEKS WEEKLY. 819
Dent government; that its avowed object is to
open the slave-trade and extend the area and con
firm the condition of human slavery—an object
which would disgrace Dahomey or a Polynesian
Prince—an object, also, which is totally repugnant
to the spirit and the history of your own country,
is all of no avail, against—what ? Why, my dear
John, against an organic hatred of our system and
principle. For, look at it. The vindication of this
Government by the suppression of the rebellion
will be the proof of the superior force of a popular
to any form of aristocratic Government. It is the
justification of John Bright against all Toryism:
of the Newt against the Timet: of John Stuart
Mill and Cairnes against Blackmood: of the people
of England against the aristocracy. Do you think
the governing class can think of such a result with
patience ?
But more than that, our success leaves us with
a vast and powerful fleet built in the light of the
most advanced science. We emerge from the war
not only a commercial hut a naval nation, and
with a navy of iron. How do you think old Wood
en-Walls likes that ? Still again, we emerge with
a national hatred of the governing influence of Great
Britain, but with a vast army and great navy and
the habit of war. Nor that only; but this warlike
nation, hating England, emerges with the knowl
edge that it holds fast one hand of England by its
cotton, and the other by its grain. Do you sup
pose that is an inspiring thought for the surly aris
tocrat, who walks under your hat and calls himself
by your name ?
But look here, John Bull. Do not for a mo
ment suppose that I confound the generous part of
you with the mean. The mean part, although the
most cultivated, the richest, the most intelligent,
has not hesitated at inventing and uttering the
most infamous falsehoods about me. It has called
me sordid, cowardly, stupid, mad, ferocious, grasp
ing, unjust. It has declared that I was destroying
all guarantees of liberty, and trying to throttle a
noble, chivalric, and deserving brother. But it
has consoled itself by the thought that financial
ruin, starvation, and at last utter anarchy and riot,
would compel me to yield to destruction. It has
asserted that by waging an infamous war I kept
the cotton from yonr looms and the bread from
your mouth. But you have been wiser, though
you were the sufferer. You know that a wanton
effort to destroy me is making by the growers of
cotton, who hope that your -want of it will compel
you to help them. They have not persuaded you,
but they have found the heart of your alter ego al
ready theirs.
And now, John, I want yon to understand that
I know this and honor you. Your cause is mine;
for we are both children of the people. I am, to
be sure, engaged in a hard fight, but I was never
more prosperous. My fields during the year have
grown me wheat for the world. My work-shops are
active. My cities and towns were never more quiet.
Bad men, who are the friends of your enemies here,
try to annoy me. . I have been forced to learn how
to fight while I was fighting, and the delay has
caused you to suffer sorely. But here are ships
full of food for you, and here are hearts full of sym
pathy and gratitude. I am overflowing and you
are empty; and I am glad enough to have the
chance of seuding to you a proof of my steady ap
preciation and friendship. Remember in all time
to come that the cause of an aristocracy can never
be the caijse of the people. I have learned that.
It is the aristocracy which is now seeking my life.
If it kill me, your hopes are slain. If I conquer it,
you may look at me to see your future. Good-by,
John. Your Cousin,
JONATHAN.
THE CONVALESCENTS.
THERE is one military arrangement which should
certainly be corrected; and that is the mingling of
convalescent and discharged soldiers and deserters
in the same camp. There is a great camp, a kind
of military settlement at Alexandria, where this is
done; and the treatment of the convalescents in
particular demands a mnch more charitable con
sideration than it has yet secured. The Sanitary
Commission is uot unmindful of them, but its spe
cial function is with the really sick and suffering;
and a separate bureau or department might wisely
be instituted for this purpose. We hear of one
parish that has sent within a few months two hun
dred dozens of backgammou boards, heaps of foot
balls, and games of every kind for the amusement
of the soldiers who are getting well. Of course
any geuerous hand may stuff the boards with tracts
of the most earnest and persuasive kind. But in
sending them, don't forget the games and balls.
Sick people must play. They can't read tracts all
the time. When they have read they must have
exercise; and they can not comfortably play check
ers with "the Dairyman's Daughter," nor kick
"The Midnight Bell" as high as the sky.
And let it be remembered that* the longer the
war lasts the more stringent is the demand for ev
ery kind of supply that has been hitherto furnished
to the Commission. The most skeptical now see
and confess its great service {o the life and health
of the army. Its operations, although in con
formity to the military departments, are yet car
ried on Independently. Its supplies reached the
needy at Antietam forty-eight hours before those
of the regular Government authorities; and its
traveling hospital and pharmacy and sick com
missariat moves in the van of the army. Mean
while its faithful and devoted agents neither tire
.nor flinch. The Sanitary Commission is an illns-
• tration of the results attainable l>y the direct ap
plication of common sense to the emergency. It is,
of course, exactly what the Sanitary Department
of the army ought to be. Bnt it was the depart
ment which outsiders could equally well organize
and conduct. If ever}' department had been man
aged with a similar sole regard to the accomplish
ment of its intention, why then—why then, things
wculd have been different.
For the convalescents, also, reading cf a pleasant,
not professedly pious, kind is also most desirable.
Magazines, light books, newspapers, are always
welcome. The current illustrated newspapers are
especially interesting to them. A shower of such
as ours falling into the camp every week would he
most refreshing and fertilizing. The veterans like
to see the faces of their heroes, and the places
where they have fought. But whatever you may
choose to send bear them in mind, the brave boys
who are recovering from wounds and sickness,
fallen to them in serving us with their health and
lives. __________
FEELING THE PUBLIC PULSE.
WHETHER Dr. Barney and Mr. J. Wesley Green
are men of straw or not the object of the reports
about them is clear enough. They are put forth
as feelers of the public pulse. The men who mean
that the Government shall be destroyed by sur
render to the rebellion eadeavor, by spreading the
stories that propositions of peace have been offered
by the rebels, to ascertain whether the nation is
yet ready to end the war with any thing less than
actual victory.
The organs of the reaction do not hesitate to
throw off the thin veil of loyalty, and to declare
that the war can end in one way only; that is, by
a convention and negotiation. Now the object of
all of us should be to deal with facts. How then
can there be a convention or negotiation except by
the virtual admission of the Government that it-
can not maintain its full authority ? For if the Gov
ernment is to be maintained without change there
is clearly no need of a convention. If it is to be
changed, then the rebellion is successful. Certain
citizens have risen in arms against the Govern
ment, not because they have been oppressed, but
because they think that they may be, and because
they do not like a Government which they can not
control. If now that Government asks them " Upon
what terms will you return to your obedience ?" it
confesses that it is not strong enough to compel
their obedience. But if that be so, the Govern
ment will be always at the mercy of any faction
which chooses to take up arms. It will be the old
story. It will be Mexico.
If the rebels, for instance, should return to their
loyalty as citizens because the nation agreed that
they should reopen the slave-trade and carry their
slaves, without question, into the Territories, we
should merely have invited them to demand any
other privilege at the point of the bayonet, and we
should have justified the rebellion of any other
section that chose to believe itself aggrieved. Then
suppose that some of the Free States should take
np arms and demand that the representation of
slaves should cease—would there be another con
vention, and would they be tempted back by the
concession of their demands ?
It is true that a really powerful Government has
sometimes granted demands irregularly made; and
it has been wisely done. But those were grants
by conscious power. If the Government had re
fused and denied those demands through a desper
ate war of two years, aud then granted them, it
would be only because it was conquered and could
not help' itself. We speak of an armistice; hut
what is it? It is a temporary truce. In this case
it would be a truce to give time for negotiation.
But negotiation for what? The Government ex
ists, and the rebels make war upon it. Therefore
a negotiation can only he an arrangement of terms
upon which they will submit. Thus it comes pre
cisely to the same point. If we do not accept their
terms, they will take up arms again. If we do ac
cept them, they are the masters of the situation.
They may or may not have made propositions.
But as the "Conservative party"—Heaven save
the mark 1—desire the submission of the Govern
ment to rebellion, wider the name of negotiation
and convention, and, for the sake of obtaining po
litical power, would unquestionably give any guar
antee for the protection and extension of slavery
that might be required, we propose to hold o»r own
eyes open, and to help others, that every thing may
he clearly seen and understood.
WAR-CLAIMS FOR SOLDIERS AND SAILORS.
SOME mouths since an admirable Society was
formed in Chicago, called the Protective War-
Claim Association, the object of which is to secure
to soldiers or sailors aud their families auy claims
for pay or pensions, etc., at the least cost to the
claimants.
The field for such a benevolence is evident at
once to any one who thinks of the condition of the
great mass of the soldiers and sailors, ignorant of
legal processes and compelled to rely upon the serv
ices of claim-agents, who can do very muck as
they please, even to buying up the claims at -a
small fractiou of their real value. The sharpers—
for, sad to say! even the legal profession is not
without such—are and have long been already at
their work. Many a faithful fellow from the army
or the navy has been copiously swindled. The
evil drew the attention of thoughtful men, and by
a very simple plan they seek to avoid it.
The first essential is, that the movers and man
agers shall be men entirely above suspicion of self-
interest in the matter; and the second is, that their
characters shall be a sufficient guarantee of their
active supervision of the operations. A third e%
sential is, that the soldiers and sailors shall know
both of the existence of the Association and of the
fact that it is managed in good faith, like the San
itary Commission, for their benefit. Let them un
derstand, therefore, that the precise objects are—
1st, To secure their claims at the least cost; 2d, To
protect them and their families from imposture and
fraud; 3d, To prevent false claims from being
made against the Government; 4th, To give gratu
itous advice and information to soldiers and sailors
and their families.
The members of the Association have coutributed
a sufficient sum to establish it; and the necessary
expenses will be met hy the per-centagc allowed
upon the collection of claims. For the present
these are: one dollar for sums of fifty dollars or
less; two and a half dollars for every one hundred
dollars more than fifty; and upon claims for pen
sions the smallest possible legal charge. Thus the
working of the Association will be the Board of
Directors and the claim-agents whom they shall
employ.
The great necessity of such a society and its
practical benefits are obvious enough. There
should be in every State-affiliated associations.
Chicago begins and New England answers. The
head-quarters of the Nev England Association are
in Boston. The Chief Justice of Massachusetts is
its President, and honorable and conspicuous citi
zens of all parties and faiths are among its Direct
ors. We beg every soldier and Bailor who may
chance to read these lines to remember the friend
ly hands and hearts that are opened to him, and
to tell his neighbor. And how soon will New York
move ? While our brave soldiers and sailors are
delivering us from the bauds of rebels let us hast
en to save them from those of sharpers.
HUMORS OF THE DAY.
An Irishman lost bin hat In a well, «nd was let down in
a bucket to recover it i the veil being deep, and extreme
ly dark withal, his courage failed him before he reached
the water. In vain did he call to those above him to pull
him np; they lent a deaf ear to all he said—till at last,
quite in despair, he bellowed out: "Be St. Patrick, if ye
don't draw me np, sure I'll cut the rope!"
A little fellow weeping plteonely wag suddenly inter
rupted by Rome amusing occurrence. He hushed his crlen
for a moment—the train of thought was broken. " Ma,"
eaid he, renewing big snuffle, end wishing to have big cry
out—"Ma, nghl nghl whet was I crying about just now t"
The Irish Parliament, in 1784. gent a bill limiting the
privilege of franking to England for the royal approbation.
One clause enacted, "That phould a member be unable to
write, be might authorize another person to frank for him,
provided that on the back of. the letter so franked the
member gives a certificate, under his hand, of his inabili
ty to write."
A man at Newcastle, who served four days on a Jury,
says he is so full of law that it is hard work for him to
keep from cheating somebody.
A person speaking to a very deaf man, and getting an*
gry at his not catching his meaning, Baid, "Why, it Is u
plain as A B C." " That may be. Sir," replied the poor
man; "butlamDEF."
"How well he plays forone go young," Bald Mrs. Parting-
ton, as the organ-boy performed with the monkey near
the door; " and bow much his little brother looks like him
to be sure!"
DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE.
CONGRESS.
On 'Wednesday, December 10, In the Senate, a resolu
tion directing the Military Committee to Inquire into the
expediency of reporting a bill forfeiting the pay and emol
uments of omcffF of the army during the time they i-re
absent, except when upon sick leave, was adopted. The
bill for the relief of the owners of the French nhip Julet et
Marie was taken np and passed. The House bill providing
for the discharge of State prisoners, and authorizing Judges
of the United States Courts to take bail and recognizances
to secure their trial, was taken up end ordered to be print,
ed, and postponed until to-dav- Senator Henderson, of
Missouri, gave notice thet he should introduce a hill to aid
the State of Missouri in effecting the emancipation of the
slaves of that State.——In the House, the Senate bill pro
viding for the admission of the State of Western Virginia
into the Union was passed by a vote of 98 against 60. A
resolution was adopted calling on the Secretary of War for
a statement of the number and grade of every officer ab
sent from their commands; the number of major and brig
adier generals not assigned to actual commands, and the
names and grade of their Btatb; the number of aids-de
camp that may be dispensed with, etc. The Committee
of Ways and Means were instructed to bring in a bill
amending the eleventh section of the Excise and Tax law,
in order to confer upon assistant assessors the same au
thority that Is possessed by the principal assessors.
On Thursday, llth, In the Senate, a resolution was adopt
ed instructing the Committee on Finance to inquire into
the expediency of allowing Surat cotton to be imported
into the United States upon the payment of the flame du
ties as for cotton imported from beyond the Cape of Good
Hope. The President sent in a Message recommending a
vote of thanks to Lieutenant George W. Morris and Lieu
tenant John L Worden, the commaRdera respectively of
the Bloop of war Cumberland and iron battery Monitor, for
gallant conduct in the action with the rebel steamer Mart-
mac; referred. The resolution relative to the arbitrary
arrests of certain citizens of Delaware was then taken up
and discussed till the adjournment.——In the House, a
resolution providing armed vessels to convoy skips laden
with provisions for the starving operatives of England was
introduced, But objection was made to its consideration.
The bill appropriating $0600 indemnity for damages re
ceived by the French ship JuU» et Marie by collision with
the United States steamer San Jadnto was pissed. A
message from the President, recommending that Jchn L.
Worden receive the thanks of Congress by resolution for
his gallant conduct on the Monitor in combat with the
Merrimac, such thanks being necessary under the law to
advance him one grade in the naval list of officers of the
navy, was referred to the Naval Committee. Mr. Eoecoc
Conkiing asked leave to report a bill to establish a uniform
system of bankruptcy, with an amendment, in the nature
of a substitute, and desired that a day should be assigned
for tts consideration. Resolutions were offered declaring
the President's emancipation not warranted by the Consti
tution: that the policy of emancipation, as predicated in
the proclamation, Is not calculated to hasten the restora
tion of peace, is not well chosen as a war measure, and Is
an assumption of power dangeroui to the rights of citizens
and the perpetuity of a free government On motion of
Mr LoveiOT the resolutions were laid on the table by a
vote of ninety-four agalnrt forty-five. The House then
went into Committee of the Whole and discussed the Presi
dent's plan of negro emancipation.
On Friday, 12th, in the Senate, a resolution was offered
directing the Military Committee to Inquire into the ex
pediency of allowing to enlisted men now in the service of
the United States, entitled to a bounty of one hundred dol
lars before the passage of ttie act of 1862, the same ad
vance bounty as was allowed to enlisted men by that act;
and also whet legislation is necessary to secure more prompt
and speedy payment of the troops in the field and hospitals.
The Senate then adjourned till Monday.——The House
was not in session.
tncky, offered'a resolution, which was laid on the table,
declaring that after it bad become manifest that an insur
rection against the United States was about to brenk out
in several Southern States, James Buchanan, then Presi
dent, from sympathy with the conspirators and their trea-
nonable projects, failed to take the neoesnary and proper
measures to prevent it; wherefore he should receive the
censure and condemnation of the Senate and of the Amer
ican people. A resolution requesting the President, if not
inconsistent with the public interests, to Uoii nut to the
Senate the report and accompanying documents nf lion.
Reverdy Johnson as Commissioner of the United Statee
during last summer at New Orleans, was adopted. Sena
tor Wright, of Indiana, offered a resolution, which was also
adopted, that the Committee on the Jndidary be instructed
• • '-• *i~ «««O,I;H«MT f.r **tv.Tj4fQg by act of Con-
" ' ~ who has
adopted, tnal luo xxjuiuiiwse uu uiu t/uuiueu j L*» luc
to inquire into the expediency of providing by act
grew that any loyal citizen of the United States, i
SHrtainod damag° from the frops of th« «t«tw engaged In
the present rebellion, may net off such damages against
• any claim or demand against him In any action at law by
any such rebellious State*, or the agents or trustees of Buoh
States, or in any caw where such claim or demand Is for
the use or benefit of such State*. A resolution Instructing
the Committee on Foreign Relations to inquire whether
some method can uot be devised to manifest MM sympath-
of Congress with the Buffering Lancashire opanavw wi
ordered to be printed. The resolution calling tor informs,
tion relative to arbitrary arrests in Delaware wu taken
up, and Senator Davls made a speech, arguing that the
President had no authority, under th» Constitution, to
make euch arrests.——In the House, a resolution, declar
ing that in the judgment of the House than should be na
legislation changing the existing laws providing for the
payment of interest on the public debt in com, was adopted
by a vote of eighty-one agalnat twenty-four, and a joint
resolution, that the Secretary of the Treasury of the United
States be and is hereby authorized and empowered to pay
in coin any portion of the bonded public debt maturing
and falling due previous to the first day of January, 1864,
was referred to the Committee of Ways and Means. Mr.
Colfax Introduced a bill to reduce the duties on paper from
thirty-five down to ten per centum. It was rgfened to the
Committee on Ways and Meuu. Mr. Noell. of Missouri
introduced a bill, which wax referred, to procure the aba.
ishment of slavery In Missouri and provide eompeuutiotk
to loyal owners. A resolution was adopted in»tructdng the
Committee on Ways and Means to inquire into the expe
diency of revising the tariff, increasing the duty on foreign
goods not of prime necessity, so that the importation cf for
eign goods shall not exceed the amount exported of Amer
ican growth and manufacture, exclusive of spede. A
resolution Indorsing the President's emancipation procla
mation was adopted by a vote of seventy-eight against
fifty-one. The Army Appropriation bill was reported and
made the special order for Thursday. The first proposi
tion for peace was introduced by Mr. Conway, of g«miM,-
who offered a resolution in effect dissolving the Union, an*
acknowledging the independence of the Confederate States.
It was laid on the table—Mr. Conway being the only oca
who voted In the negative. In Committee of the Whole,
Mr. Cox, of Ohio, delivered a speech on the topics of the
President's Message and the removal of General M'Clellan,
and at the conclusion of his remarks the House adjourned.
On Tuesday, 16th, in the Senate, the resolution censur
ing ex-President Bnchenan for his course respecting the
rebellion was laid on the table. The consideration of the
subject of arbitrary arrests of citizens was postponed till
next day. The death of Representative Luther Hanchett,
of Wisconsin, was then announced, the customary resolu
tions of respect and condolence adopted, and the Senate
adjourned.——In the House, on motion of Mr. Cox, of
Ohio, it was resolved that the Secretary of the Treasury
be directed to furnish to the House a statement of the
amount of the United States loan created in 1841, and
extended by act of April 16,1842, which falls due dur
ing the present year, and also the names of those who
are registered as the owners thereof, and such informa
tion as \he Department may possess as to the actual
ownership thereof; and that he communicate to this
House a copy or copies of any memorial or memorials
addressed to him or to the Treasury Department,»pro-
posing or soliciting a special medium of payment to
the owners or holders of said loan, and whether he pro
poses to pay Bald loan in coin. The consideration of Mr.
Stevens'a resolution, declaring that the Union must be and
remain one and indivisible forever, and that it would be a
high crime to advise or accept peace propositions on any
other terms, was postponed for three weeks. The West
Point Academy appropriation bill was passed. A bill for
the removal of the Sioux Indians, and the Bale of their
lands, was referred. The decease of Mr. Hanchett, of Wis
consin, was announced, the usual resolutions were adopted,
and the House adjourned.
THE ABMT OF THE POTOMAO.
We publish on page 830 an account of the bombardment
of Fredericksburg, and the successful crossing of the river.
On the following day, Saturday, 13th, the fight was re
newed. It is stated thet 40,000 men of our army were
engaged against a large force of the rebels. Franklin, on
the left, gained some ground. Sumner, on the right and
centre, attacked the first line of the rebel defenses, but
was repulsed. The loss of life was very great. On Sun
day, 14th, the battle was not renewed. There wu come
artillery firing in the morning, but it ceased about noon.
THE RKTREAT.
During the storm and darkness of Monday night Gen
eral Bumside succeeded in making good his retreat across
the Rappahannock without attracting the attention of I ha
enemy. The artillery was first moved over, the inlantiy
bringing up the rear, and reaching the north bank safely
a short time after daylight The pontoon bridges were
then removed, and the communication between toB two
shores was effectually cut off.
•AFFAiaS IN THE SOUTHWEST.
From Cairo we learn that General Hovey's expedition
on the Mississippi has returned to Helena, Arkansas. The
results of the expedition are one hundred and sixty rebels
killed, wounded, and captured, and our loss thirty-four
killed, wounded, and missing. The army of Genera]
Sherman has returned to Memphis. The rebel army of
Mississippi is Bald to be between Jackson and Canton.
General Grant is still at Oxford witE his forces.
MOVEMENT IN NORTH CAROLINA.
Twelve regiments left Newbera on nth, probably to>
make an attack on Weldon and Petersburg. On 7th two
transports and five gnn-boats ascended the Chowan Biver»
and a land force of ten thousand were Been in motion front
Suffolk, indicating a movement on Weldon.
KOBE OF THE "ALABAMA."
According to the news brought by the schooner Alk^
which arrived at this port last week from Point Petie,
Gaudalonpe, the Alabama ran into port at Martinique,
after robbing and destroying by fire the ships Ltvi Star.,
truck of New Bedford, and the T. B. Walet of Boston. The
United States steamer SanJacinto, Commander Roncken-
dorff, being off the port went In pursuit, and found her
there. During the ensuing night, however, with the aid .
of the French authorities, she made her escape. She is
Bald to have since returned to Martinique: the Son Jo-
cinfo is watching her.
WHY M'CLELLAN DIDN'T TAKE RICHMOND.
General M'Clellan was examined last week on the trltf
of General M'DoweU, and his testimony was of intense la
terest, detailing, as it did, the plans of the campaign ov,
the peninsula. Among other things he said: "I have no
doubt, for it has ever been my opinion, that the Army of
the Potomac would have taken Richmond had not Utteorp*
of General M'Dowell been separated from It. It Is also my
opinion that had the command of General M'DoweU jollied
the Army of the Potomac in the month of May, by way ol
Hanover Court House from Fredericksburg, we would have
had Richmond in a week after the junction."
AFFAIRS IN WEST BECRSSIA.
General Bragg has gone to Tlcksburg, Mississippi, ant
Joe Johnaton now commands the rebel army ot East Ten.
newee. The citizens of that section are in a state of in
surrection against Jeff Davis's conacriptlaw. Large num
bers of them are up in arms in Charlotte.
ELECTION OF MEMBERS OF CONGRESS FROM
LOUISIANA.
The elections for Members of Congress for the First and
Second Districts in Louisiana, held on ttie 3d instant, have
resulted in the choice of two unconditional Union men,
Messrs. B. F. Flandt^s and Michael Hahn. Mr. Jacob
Barker, whom the New Orleans Delta calls "the negro-
worshiping and rebel candidate," wu defeated, at which,
the Delia rejoices.
RLKCTION IN TENNESSEE.
Governor Johnson lias isnied a proclamation providing
for an election of representative! for the Ninth and Tenth
Congressional Districts of Tennessee. He says it Is be
lieved that a large majority of the voters in these dis
tricts have given evidence cf loyalty and allegiance to
the Constitution and laws; but no disloyal person is to b»
permitted to vote.

820 . HARPER'S WEEKLY. [DECEMBER 27, 1862. DECEMBER 27,1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 821
tv^^^ V ^^^^^^a^rf.darn^^S^f^^f^^^^.^ -f^=~~l~m^'-
Z* xS^«s^i=f ^? -y . T-• il^KT l.V
to *Jllchm

822 HARPER'S WEEKLY.
f
[DECEMBER 27, 1862.
MY LITTLE PICTURE.
I HAVE sent you a little picture
Of a face yon used to know,
And I ask yon to guard and keep it *
For the sake of years ago.
As a token of Peace and Friendship',
I have sent it across the sea,
To ask if, as I have forgiven,
Yon too have forgiven me.
Not to call up the love that is gone,
Or to bring back the sad dead past;
Or the blossoms of hope that faded
In the biting wintry blast.
Not to recall the tight grasp of hands
That told what lips could not speak;
Or the long last kiss that gave " Farewell,"
And branded it on the cheek.
Nor to tell of a weary, wasting pain,
The wish for a wefi-loved face,
\he useless longing to fill once more
The heajft cold vacant place.
The sobs o'er the love that passed away,
The cry of woe's keen smart,
That echoed, unanswer'd and unheard,
Through the chambers of the heart
But to tell of by-gones forgotten,
And bid*thee pardon the past,
And take from the hand I offer
Peace and friendship at the last.
It will look at yon gently and kindly,
And bid yon be happy again,
And tell you to bury the wretched years
Of our passion and our pain.
It will tell that though life may be weary,
There are bright days for «a (till,
If we live with • true and honest heart,
And • firm and upright will.
And through the dim coming future,
As the great years roll along,
It will whisper some sweet words of comfort,
And sing you a cheering song.
It will ask you to look far onward,
To the land where spirits meet,
To the calm for the weary heartache,
And the rest for weary feet.
Thep take care of my little picture,
And do not cast it away;
"Tis the face that you used to look at
And love in a by-gone day.
[Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1882,
by Harper & Brothen, in the Clerk's Office of the Dis
trict Court forthe Southern District of New York.]
NO NAME.
BY WILKIE COLLINS,
ATJTBOB OF "THK WOMAN nc WRITX," "DUD BBTOIT,"
ETOL, XTO.
ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN M'LENAN.
WFrinted from the Manuscript and
early Froof- sheets purchased toy the
Proprietors of "Harper's \Veelily."
CHAPTER IV.
WHEN the servants' dinner-bell at St. Crux
rang as usual on the day of George Bertram's
departure, it was remarked that the new parlor
maid's place at table remained empty. One of
the inferior servants was sent to her room to
make inquiries, and returned with the informa
tion that " Louisa" felt a little faint, and begged
that her attendance at table might be excused
for that day. Upon this the superior authority
of the housekeeper was invoked, and Mrs. Drake
went up stairs immediately to ascertain the truth
for herself. Her first look of inquiry satisfied
her that the parlor-maid's indisposition, what
ever the cause of it might be, was certainly not
assumed to serve any idle or snllcn purpose of
her own. She respectfully declined taking any
of the remedies which the housekeeper offered,
and merely reqnested permission to try the effi
cacy of a walk in the fresh air.
" I have been accustomed to more exercise,
ma'am, than I take here," she said. "Might
I go into the garden and try what the air will
do for me?"
" Certainly. Can you Walk by yourself? or
shall I send some one with you ?"
"I will go by myself, if you please, ma'am."
"Very well. Pnt on your bonnet and shawl
—and when yon get out keep in the east pardon.
The admiral sometimes walks in the north gar
den, and he might feel surprised at seeing you
* there. Come to my room when you have had
air and exercise enough, and let me see how
yon are."
In a few minutes more Magdalen was out hi
the east garden. The sky was clear and sunny,
but the cold shadow of the house rested on tlic
garden walk and chilled the mid-day air. She
walked toward the ruins of the old monastery,
situated on the south- side of the more modern
range of buildings. Here there were lonely
open spaces to breathe in freely; here "the pale
March sunshine stole through the gaps of deso
lation and decay, and met her invitingly with
the genial promise of spring.
She ascended three or four riven stone steps,
and seated herself on some ruined fragments be
yond them, full in the sunshine. The place she
bad chosen had once been the entrance to the
church. In centuries long gone by the stream
of hnman sin and hnman suffering had flowed,
day after day, to the confessional over the place
where she now sat. Of all the miserable women
Vho had trodden those old stones in the by-gone
time, no more miserable creature had touched
them than the woman whose foct rested on them
now.
Her hands trembled as she placed them on
either side of her to support herself on the stone
seat. She laid them on her lap—they trembled
there. She held them out, and looked at them
wonderingly — they trembled as she looked.
"Like an old woman!" she said, faintly, and
let them drop again at her side.
For the first time that morning the cruel dis
covery had forced itself on her mind—the dis
covery that her strength was failing her at the
time when she had most confidently trusted to
it, at the time when she wanted it most. She
had felt the surprise of Mr. Bertram's unex
pected departure as if it had been the shock of
the severest calamity that could have befallen
her. That one check to her hopes—a check
which, at other times, would only have roused
the resisting-power in her to new efforts—had
strnck her with as suffocating a terror, had pros
trated her with as all-mastering a despair, as if
she had been overwhelmed by the crowning dis
aster of expnlsion from St. Crux. But one warn
ing could be read in such a change as this. Into
the space of little more than a year she had
crowded the wearing and wasting emotions of a
life. The bountiful gifts of health and strength,
so prodigally heaped on her by Nature, so long
abused with impnnity, were failing her at last.
She looked up at the far faint blue of the sky.
She heard the joyons singing of birds among the
ivy that clothed the ruins. Oh the cold distance
of the heavens! Oh the pitiless happiness of the
birds 1 Oh the lonely horror of sitting there,
and feeling old and weak and worn in the hey
day of her youth! She rose with a last effort of
resolution, and tried to keep back the hysterical
passion swelling at her heart by moving and
looking about her. Rapidly and more rapidly
she walked to and fro in the sunshine. The
exercise helped her through the very fatigue
that she felt from it. She forced the rising tears
desperately back to their sources—she fought
with the clinging pain, and wrenched it from its
hold. Little by little her mind began to clear
again: the despairing fear of herself grew less
vividly present to her thoughts. There were
reserves of youth and strength in her still to be
wasted—there was a spirit, sorely wounded, but
not yet subdued.
She gradually extended the limits of her walk;
she gradually recovered the exercise of her ob
servation.
At the western extremity the remains of the
monastery were in a less ruinous condition than
at the eastern. In certain places, where the
stout old walls still stood, repairs had been made
at some former time. Roofs of red tile had been
laid roughly over four of the ancient cells;
wooden doors had been added; and the old
monastic chambers had been nsed as sheds to
hold the multifarious lumber of St. Crux. No
padlocks guarded any of the doors. Magdalen
had only to push them to let the daylight in on
the litter inside.. She resolved to investigate
the sheds one after the other—not from curios
ity, not with the idea of making discoveries of
any sort. Her only object was to fill up the va
cant time, and to keep the thoughts that un
nerved her from returning to her mind.
The first shed she opened contained die gar
dener's utensils, large and small. The second
was littered with fragments of broken furniture,
empty picture-frames of worm-eaten wood, shat
tered vases, boxes without covers, and books
torn from their bindings. As Magdalen turned
to leave the shed, after one careless glance round
her at the lumber that it contained, her foot
strnck something on the ground which tinkled
against a fragment of china lying near it. She
stooped and discovered that the tinkling sub
stance was a rusty key.
She picked up the key and looked at it. She
walked out into the air and considered a little.
More old forgotten keys were probably lying
about among the Inmber in the sheds. What if
she collected all she conld find, nnd tried them,
one after another, in the locks ef the cabinets
and cupboards now closed against her? Was
there chance enough that any one of them might
tit to justify her in venturing on the experiment?
If the locks at St. Crux were as old-fashioned as
the furniture—if there were no protective nice
ties of modern invention to contend against—
there was chance enough beyond all question.
Who could say whether the very key in her hand
might not be the lost duplicate of one of the keys
on the admiral's bunch? In the dearth of all
other means of finding the way to her end the
risk was worth running. A flash of the old
spirit sparkled in her weary eyes as she turned
and re-entered the shed.
Half an hour moro brought her to the limits
of the time which she could venture to allow
herself in the open air. In that interVal she
had searched the sheds from first to last, and •
had found five more keys. "Five more chances!"
she thought to herself, as she hid the keys, and
hastily returned to the honsc.
After first reporting herself in the housekeep
er's room, she went up stairs to remove her bon
net and shawl, taking that opportunity to hide
the keys in her bedchamber until night came.
They were crusted thick with rust and dirt; but
she dared not attempt to clean them until bed
time secluded her from the prying eyes of the
servants in the solitnde of her room.
When the dinner hour brought her, as usual,
into personal contact with the admiral, she was
at ones struck by a change in him. For the first
time in her experience the old gentleman was
silent and depressed. He ate less than nsual,
and he hardly said five words to her from the
beginning of the meal to the end. Some unwel
come subject of reflection had evidently fixed it
self on his mind, and remained there persistent
ly in spite of his efforts to shake it off. At in
tervals through the evening she wondered with
an evergrowing perplexity v.-hat the subject coulc
be. At last the lagging hours reached their end,
and bedtime came. Before she slept that nigh
Magdalen had cleaned the keys from all im
purities, and had oiled the wards to help them
smoothly into the locks. The last difficulty that
remained was the difficulty of choosing the time
when the experiment might be tried with the
least risk of interruption and discovery. After
carefully considering the question overnight,
Magdalen conld only resolve to wait and be
guided by the events of the next day. The
morning came; and, for the first time at St.
Crux, events justified the trust she had placed
in them. The morning came, and the one re
maining difficulty that perplexed her was unex
pectedly smoothed away by no less a person than
the admiral himself! To the surprise of every
one in the house, he announced at breakfast that
he had arranged to start for London in an hour;
that he should pass the night in town; and that
he might be expected to return to St. Crux in
time for dinner on the next day. He volunteered
no further explanations to the housekeeper or to
any one else; bnt it was easy to see that his er
rand to London was of no ordinary importance
in his own estimation. He swallowed his break
fast in a violent hurry; nnd he was impatiently
ready for the carriage before it came to the door.
Experience had taught Magdalen to be cau
tious. She waited a little after Admiral Bar-
tram's departure before she ventured on trying
her experiment with the keys. It was well she
did so. Mrs. Drake took advantage of the ad
miral's absence to review the condition of the
apartments on the first floor. The results of the
investigation by no means satisfied her; brooms
and dusters were set to work, and the house
maids were in and out of the rooms perpetually
as long as the daylight lasted.
The evening passed, and still the safe oppor
tunity for which Magdalen was on the watch
never presented itself. Bedtime came again, and
found her placed between the two alternatives
of trusting to the doubtful chances of the next
morning or of trying the keys boldly in the dead
of night. In former times she would have made
her choice without hesitation. She hesitated
now; but the wreck of her old courage still sus
tained her, and she determined to make the ven
ture at night.
They kept early hours at St. Crux. If she
waited in her room until half past eleven she
would wait long enough. At that time she stole
out on to the staircase with the keys in her pock
et and the candle in her hand.
On passing the entrance to the corridor on
the bedroom floor she stopped and listened. No
sound of snoring, no shuffling of infirm footsteps,
was to be heard on the other side of the screen.
She looked round it distrustfully. The stone
passage was a solitnde, and the truckle-bed was
empty. Her own eyes had shown her old Mazey
on his way to the npper regions more than an
hour since with a candle in his hand. Had he
taken advantage of his master's absence to enjoy
the unaccustomed luxury of sleeping in a room ?
As the thonght occurred to her a sound from
the farther end of the corridor jnst caught her
ear. She softly advanced toward it, and heard
throngh the door of the last and remotest of the
spare bedchambers the veteran's lusty snoring
in the room inside. The discovery was startling
in more senses than one. It deepened the im
penetrable mystery of the truckle-bed, for it
showed plainly that old Maze}' had no barbarous
preference of his own for passing his nights in
the corridor—he occupied that strange and com
fortless sleeping-place purely and entirely on his
master's account.
It was no time for dwelling on the reflections
which this conclusion might suggest. Magdalen
retraced her steps along the passage, and de
scended to the first floor. Passing the doors near
est to her she tried the library first. Oil the stair
case and in the corridors she had felt her heart
throbbing fast with an nnutterable fear—but a
sense of security returned to her when she found
herself within the four walls of the room, and
when she had closed the door on the ghostly
quiet outside.
The first lock she tried was the lock of the
table-drawer. None of the keys fitted it. Her
next experiment was made on the cabinet.
Would the second attempt fail like the first?
No! One of the keys fitted; one of the keys,
with a little patient management, turned the
lock. She looked in eagerly. There were open
shelves above, and one long drawer under them.
The shelves were devoted to specimens of curi
ous minerals, neatly labeled and arranged. The
drawer was divided into compartments. Two
of the compartments contained papers. In the
first she discovered nothiug but a collection of
receipted bills. In the second she found a heap
of business-documents—but the writing, yellow
with age, was enough of itself to warn her that
the Trust was not there. She shnt the doors of
the cabinet; and, after locking them again with
some little difficulty, proceeded to try the keys
in the book-case cnpboards next, before she con
tinued her investigations in the other rooms.
The book-case cnpboards were unassailable;
the drawers and cnpboards in all the other rooms
were unassailable. One after another she tried
them patiently in regular succession. It was
useless. The chance which the cabinet in the
library had offered in her favor was the first
chance and the last.
She went back to her room, seeing nothing
but her ewn gliding shadow, hearing nothing
bnt her own stealthy footfall in the midnight
stillness of the house. After mechanically put
ting the keys away in their former hiding-place
she looked toward her bed—and turned away
from it shuddering. The warning remembrance
of what she had suffered that morning in the
garden was vividly present to her mind. " An
other chance tried," she thought to herself, " and
another chance lost! I shall break down again
if I think of it—and I shall think of it if I lie
awake in the dark." She had brought a work-
box with her to St. Crux, as one of the many
little things which in her character of a servant
it was desirable to possess; and she now opened
the box, and applied herself resolutely to work.
Her want of dexterity with her needle assisted
th^ohject she had in view: it obliged her to pay
the closest attention to her employment; it forced
her thoughts away from the two subjects of all
others which she now dreaded most—herself and
the future!
The next day, as he had arranged, the admiral
returned. His visit to London had not improved
his spirits. The shadow of some unconquerable
doubt still clouded his face, and his restless
tongue was strangely quiet while Magdalen
waited on him at his solitary meal. That night
the snoring resonnded once more on the inner
side of the screen, and old Mazey was back again
in the comfortless truckle-bed.
Three more days passed—April came. On the
second of the month—returning as unexpectedly
as he had departed a week before—Mr. George
Bat-tram reappeared at St. Crux.
He came back early in the afternoon, and had
an interview with his uncle in the library. The
interview over he left the house again, and was
driven to the railway by the groom, in time to
catch the last train to London that night. The
groom noticed, on the road, that "Mr. George
seemed to be rather pleased than otherwise at
leaving St. Crux." He also remarked, on his
return, that the admiral swore at him for over
driving the horses—an indication of ill-temper
on the part of his master which he described as
being entirely without precedent in all his former
experience. Magdalen, in her department of serv -
ice, had suffered in like manner under the old
man's irritable humor: he had been dissatisfied
with every thing she did in the dining-room;
and he had found fault with all the dishes, one
after another, from the mutton broth to the toast
ed cheese.
The next two days passed as usual. On the
third day an event happened. In appearance, it
was nothing more important than a ring at the
drawing-room bell. In reality, it was the fore
runner of approaching catastrophe—the formi
dable tcrald of the end.
It was Magdalen's business to answer the be,U
On reaching the drawing-room door she knocked
as nsnal. There was no reply. After again
knocking, and again receiving no answer, she
ventured into the room, and was instantly met
by a cnrreiit of cold air flowing full on her face.
The heavy sliding "door in the opposite wall
was pushed bask, and the Arctic atmosphere of
Freeze-your-Bones was pouring unhindered into
the empty room.
She waited near the door, doubtful what to
do next; it was certainly the drawing-room bell
that had rung, and no other. She waited, look
ing through the open door-way opposite, down
the wilderness of the dismantled Hall.
A litde consideration satisfied her that it wonld
t>e best to go down stairs again, and wait there
for a second summons from the belL On turn
ing to leave the room she happened to look back
once more, and exactly at that moment she saw
;he doer open at the opposite extremity of the
Banqueting Hall—the door leading into the first
of the apartments in the east wing. A tall man
came out, wearing his great-coat and his hat,
and rapidly approached the drawing-room. His
;ait betrayed him* while he was still too far off
:or his features to be seen. Before he was half
way across the Hall Magdalen had recognized—
Admiral Bartram.
The admiral looked, not irritated only, but
surprised as well, at finding his parlor-maid
waiting for him in the drawing-room. He in
quired, sharply and suspiciously, what she want
ed there ? Magdalen replied that she had come
:here to answer the bell. His face cleared a
little when he heard the explanation. "Yes,
pes; to be sure," he said. " I did ring, and then
[ forgot it." He pulled the sliding-door back
into its place as he spoke. " Coals," he resumed,
impatiently, pointing to the empty scuttle. " I
rang for coals."
Magdalen went back to the kitchen regions.
After communicating the admiral's order to the
servant whose special duty it was to attend to
the fires she returned to the pantry, and, gently
closing the door, sat down alone to think.
It had been her impression in the drawing-
•oom—and it was her impression still—that she
had accidentally surprised Admiral Bartram on
a visit to the cast rooms, which, for some urgent
reason of his own, he wished to keep a secret.
[Taunted day and night by the ono dominant
idea that now possessed her, she leaped all logical
difficulties at a bound, and at once associated
the suspicion of a secret proceeding on the ad
miral's part with the kindred suspicion which
x>inted to him as the depositary of the Secret
Trnst. Up to this time it had been her settled
jelief that he kept all his important documents
n one or other of the suit of rooms which he
Happened to be occupying for the time being.
Why—she now asked herself, with a sudden dis
trust of the conclusion which had hitherto satis-
Red her mind—why might he not lock some of
them up in the other rooms as well? The re
membrance of the keys still concealed in their
liding-place in her room sharpened her sense
of the reasonableness of this new view. With
one nnimportant exception, those keys ^iad all
failed when, she tried them in the rooms on the
north side of the house. Might they not succeed
with the cabinets and cupboards in the east
rooms, on which she had never tried or thonght
of trying them yet? If there was a chance,
however small, of turning them to better account
than she had tnrned them thus far, it was a
chance to be tried. If there was a possibility,,
DECEMBER 27,1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 823
however remote, that the Trust mi"1:' be hidden
in any one of the locked repositories in the East
wing, it was a possibility to bo put to the test.
When ? Her own experience answered the ques
tion. At the time when no prying eyes were
open, and no accidents were to be feared—when
the house was quiet—in the dead of night.
She knew enongh of her changed self to dread
the enervating influence of delay. She determ
ined to run the risk, headlong, that night.
More blunders escaped her when diuner-time
came; the admiral's criticisms on her waiting at
table were sharper than ever. His hardest words
inflicted no pain on her 5 she scarcely heard him
—her mind was dull to every sense but the sense
of the coming trial. The evening, which had
passed sloVly. to her on the- night of her first
experiment with the keys, passed quickly now.
When bedtime came, bedtime took her by sur
prise.
She waited longer on this occasion than she
had waited before. The admiral was at home;
he might alter his mind and go down stairs again,
after he had gone up to his room; he might have
forgotten something in the library, and might
return to fetch it. Midnight struck from the
clock in the servants' hall before she ventured
out of her room, with the keys again in her
pocket, with' the candle again in her hand.
At the first of the stairs on which she set her
foot to descend, an all-mastering hesitation, an
unintelligible shrinking from some peril un
known, seized her on a sudden. She waited and
reasoned with herself. She had recoiled from no
sacrifices, she had yielded to no fears, in carry
ing out the stratagem by which she had gained
admission to St. Crnx; and now, when the long
array of difficulties at the outset had been pa
tiently conquered—now, when by sheer force of
resolution the starting-point was gained, she
hesitated to advance. " I shrank from nothing
to get here," she said to herself. "What mad
ness possesses me that I shrink now ?"
Every pulse in her quickened at the thought,
with an animating shame that nerved her to go
on. She descended the stairs, from the third
floor to the second, from the second to the first,
without trusting herself to pause again within
ea«y reach of her own room. In another min
ute she had reached the end of the corridor, had
crossed the vestibule, and had entered the drawing-
room. It was only when her grasp was on the
heavy brass handle of the sliding door—it was
only nt the moment before she pnshed the door
bnck—that she waited to take breath. The Ban
queting Hall was close on the other side of the
wooden partition against which she stood: her
excited imagination felt the death-like chill of it
flowing over her already.
She pnshed back the aliding-door a few inches,
and stopped in momentary alarm. When the
admiral nad closed it in her presence that day
she had heard no noise. When old Mazey had
opened it to show herthe rooms in the East wing
she had heard no noise. Now, in the night si
lence, she noticed for the first time that the door
made a sound—a dull, rushing sound, like the
wind.
She roused herself and pnshed it further back
—poshed it half way into the hollow chamber
in the wall constructed to receive it. She ad
vanced boldly into the gap, and met the night-
view of the Banqueting Hall face to face. _
The moon was rounding the southern side of
the house. Her puling beams streamed through
the nearer windows, and lay in long strips of
slanting light on the marble pavement of the Hall.
The black shadows of the pediments between
each window, alternating with the strips of light,
heightened the wan glare of the moonshine on
the stone floor. Toward its lower end the Hall
melted mysteriously into darkness; the ceiling
was lost to view; the yawning fire-place, the
overhanging mnntle-piece, the long row of bat
tle-pictures above, were all swallowed up in
night. But one visible object was discernible
besides the gleaming windows and the moon-
etriped floor. Midway in the last and farthest
of the strips of light the tripod rose erect on its
gaunt black legs, like a monster called to life by
the moon—a monster rising through .the light,
and melting invisibly into the upper shadows of
the Hall. Far and near all sound lay dead,
drowned in the stagnant cold. The soothing
hnsh of night was awful here. The deep abysses
of darkness hid. abysses of silence more immeas
urable still.
She stood motionless in the door-way, with
straining eyes, with straining ears. She looked
for some moving thing, she listened for some
rising sound—and looked and listened in vain.
A quick ceaseless shivering ran through her from
head to foot. The shivering of fear? or the
shivering of cold ? The bare doubt roused her
resolute will. "Now," she thought, advancing
a step through the door-way—" or never! I'll
count the strips of moonlight three times over,
and cross the Hall."
" Ouc, two, three, four, five. One, two, three,
four, five. One, two, three, four, five."
As the final number passed her lips, at the
third time of counting, she crossed the Hall.
Looking for nothing, listening for nothing—one
hand holding the candle, the other mechanically
grasping the folds of her dress—she sped ghost
like down the length of the ghostly place. She
reached the door of the first of the eastern rooms,
opened it, and ran in. The sudden relief of
reaching a refuge, the sudden entrance into a
new atmosphere, overpowered her for the mo
ment. She had just time to put the candle
safely on a table before she dropped giddy anc
breathless into the nearest chair.
Little by little, she felt the rrst quieting her.
In a few minutes she became; conscious ef the
triumph of having won her way to the east rooms
In a few minutes she was strong enough to rise
f*>m the chair, to take the keys from her pock
ety and to look round her.
A YEAR IN THE SERVICE.
I LOVE excitement. It was mainly to gratify
this passion that I joined the army.
"The army! Just the place for a young man
of spirit! What a field for adventure is the army!
[t is the straight road to glory and a woman's
heart! Venus and Mars! Helen and Paris!
Clsopatra and Antony! Love and war! Fame
And patriotism!"
It was such ideas buz:-ing through my brat»
that prevented me from making out correctly a
rather mixed-up account: and, in a mercurial
reak, I dashed down the pen, seized my hat, and
skedaddled from the counting-room. When I
reached the side-walk it flashed across my brain
that an old school chum was recruiting a compa
ny, and I at once struck a bee line for his rendez
vous, and enrolled myself as one of the defenders
of the Constitution and the Union.
When this became known I received sundry
congratulations from sundry friends, all profess
edly otrong Union men, to the effect—"You've
ruined yourself" — " Thrown yourself away" —
•' Gone as a private"—" Too bad," etc., etc. " But
[ "didn't see the point" on any Unionism in the
remarks of these heroic lip-defenders of the nation
—one of whom was self-sacrificing enough to hold
an office under the Federal Government—and I re-
urned their greeting as follows:
" Gone as a private! Yes. Am proud of it.
greater the sacrifice greater the patriotism. Go
tbou and do likewise!"
Then I wheeled to the right about and was off at
double-quick, leaving them alone in their glory to
speculate upon the rise of molasses, the fall of soap,
or whether whisky was steady, and to manifest
heir patriotism by shouting at Union meetings,
'or.the purpose of encouraging enlistments. I was
now a soldier of the nation, agfl did not care a
straw about the opinion of the world, bis wife, or
any other man concerning the step I bad taken.
Softly—there was just one person whom I was
6ori\ewhat interested to know how the news of my
enlistment wonld be received.
Jennie Tracy was a handsome, spunky, coquet-
tishly-inclined piece of humanity, and with whom
[ was deeply smitten; but I didh't intend that she
should know it until I was well assured that Jen
nie was " willin'." With all the knowledge I had
lattered myself that I possessed of the thousand-
md-one meandering paths to a pretty woman's
leart, I had been unable to bit upon the right on%
;o reach hers. However, I resolved to let my love
ie concealed In the bud until such time as it would
lave a fair chance to bloom without being nipped
by a coquette's laugh.
It was on the eve of our regiment's departure
that I called, in full regimentals, to say farewell
to the Tracy family. Jennie received me in a
manner altogether different than usual heretofore;
ler countenance wore a more sober cast, and I
.hongbt that I could read something of feeling in
ler full hazel eyes. At least I was conceited
enough to believe that I was an object of interest
:o her; and this feeling was more fully confirmed
as I detected something glisten in the corner of
aer eyes as I took her extended hand and said
farewell, and especially as I perceived a sort of
duskiness in her voice as she re-echoed the words.
I returned to camp with increased elasticity. I
ielt that I had at last made an impression on Jen
nie, and I was happy; my spirits were as buoyant
as a newly-made life-boat. I was about to take
the field, and I would carve out a niche in the tem
ple of glory for her sake.
I was attached to the cavalry branch of the
service, and being a prime horseman, and quick at
picking np the drill, I soon attracted attention;
and it was not long before I received a warrant in
appreciation of my services.
For the first few months I considered that there
wa» more reality than poetry in a soldier's life;
but gradually I became used to it, and liked it bet
ter as I grew older and saw a fair chance for pro
motion. The sacred soil of Virginia was hospita
ble to us if the people were not, for it often took
us in, both man and beast, to a considerable depth,
and it was frequently the ca'te of at least one of
the Ten Commandments betlg broken while we
were endeavoring to break the back-bone of the
rebellion.
It was not until I reached that region which
has become famous for its Stonewall, the Sbenan-
doah Valley, that I had my senses thoroughly
awakened so that I could sse the foundation upon
which the superstructure of the rebellion has been
raised in its true light, without the aid of a Con
gressional dissertation or a leader in the organ of
the party.
A portion of our regiment had been detached for
scouting purposes-^a service just suited to my na
ture, full of excitement, hair-breadth escapes, ad
infnitom; and while thus engaged I witnessed
many scenes that caused the blood to tingle in my
veins, and which entirely changed my views in
regard to a question that has long disturbed the
peace of my country.
It was toward sundown of a pleasant day that a
detachment under my command halted at a farm
house to procure refreshments, if possible, for our
selves and horses. On entering the kitchen my
attention was attracted toward two young girls,
who appeared to shrink away in one corner as if in
terror that somebody was about to tear them from
each other. They were apparently about fifteen
or sixteen years of age, neatly clad in dark dress
es, and their countenance bore fresh evidence of
grief, and I at once concluded that they were
mourning the death of some near relative who
had lost bis life in this unholy rebellion. But
whea it was announced that "we were Union sol
diers I observed their features momentarily light
up as if with joy, and I was at once impressed that
they, at least, were not " Secesh." The striking
resemblance between them, and the manner in
which they seemed 4o cling to one another, re
minded me so forcibly of the twins in " The Wan
dering Jew," that I instantly christened them, i:i
ray mind, as Rose and Blanche. An old negress,
perceiving how intently I was watching them, ap
proached, and with a countenance beaming with
motherly love as she looked up into my face, in a
low tone said: ,
'• Dey am gwine to tuk 'em 'way down South
Tor specumlashun, an' to keep de Linkcum sogers
from stealin' em, massa; an' dey don't want to go,
poor dear, bressed little souls. Poor tings! Dere
ole massa only jest dead."
I started, clutched my hands, while a peculiar
tremor crept through my veins as I heard these
words; while the old negress, casting a mournful
look toward the objects of her sympathy, shook
ler bead as expressive of her sorrow, and I invol
untarily ejaculated:
" Great God! is it possible! Are they slaves ?"
The old negress, with a significant look, nodded
ler head in the affirmative, and then hustled away.
The fair beings before me slaves! Such things
[ bad never drenmed of in my political philosophy.
A slave hud always been associated in my mind
with a coarse creature with a black skin, an un
couth countenance, a woolly bead, and a chain at
tached to the leg; and the beings before me were
'air enough to l>e my sisters, with finely-shaped
features, and a luxuriant bead of hair that might
cause the envy of any Caucasian belle, while a re
ined sensitiveness was evident in their every ac
tion ; and it was some moments before I could
jring my mind to realize the truth of what I bad
just heard.
When I hjid somewhat recovered from my as
tonishment I called the old negress one side, being
anxious to learn more concerning the two beings
in whom I now began to feel a deep interest. She
informed me that they, until recently, were igno
rant of the stain attached to their birth; that they
bad been educated and brought up "as white
folks;" that their master, whose children " some
folks reckoned dey wliar," had lately died, and
"dat he didn't leah no freedom papers for dem,"
and that they were seized upon as part of the es
tate, and were about being taken to Richmond for
safety; that they were to leave that nii;bt, in com
pany with some other slaves, under an escort from
Ashby's rangers.
Here was a dilemma! What was I to do?
Take the girls away with me? If so, I would be
charged with nepro-stealing, and denounced as
false to the Constitution and the Union. Allow
them to be taken to Richmond ? If so, I would be
false to my manhood. I thought of Jennie, and
could not do it. No, they must not go to Rich
mond. They must escape from the life that there
awaited them, even at the expense of my commis
sion, which I had but a few days before receivedi
My companions in arms were men of intelligence,
and I resolved to lay the matter before them. This
I proceeded to do. When I bad finished my story
they to a man swore that it was my duty to pre
vent the girls from going to Richmond. If I did
not do so I would be giving aid and comfort to the
rebels. This was partly my own view of the case.
My plans were soon decided upon; and when
our horses were refreshed we left the bouse with
out even communicating our intentions to the sis
ters, for fear they might be whispered to others
and thereby reach the enemy. Taking a circui
tous route so as to deceive those at the house, we
came to a narrow part of the road, admirably suit
ed for an ambush, and along which the rangers
would pass, and there posting my little force as ad
vantageously as possible, we quietly awaited their
approach. The evening was clear, enabling us to
see a considerable distance and pick off the rangers
with our carbines without endangering those under
their guard.
We awaited in this spot nearly three hours be
fore the word was passed around that the foe were
approaching. On they came, totally unconscious
of their danger, and were token completely by sur
prise. Several of their number were slain, three
taken prisoners, and three or four succeeded in
effecting their escape. The slaves, among whom
were some intelligent men, were uninjured, and
were rejoiced at their deliverance. But what to
do with them was a question. We could not en
cumber our future movements with them, that was
certain, and it would not do to leave them where
they migM fall an easy prey to the rebels. It was
finally decided that all we could do was to point
out the direction of car fines and bid them make
their best speed toward freedom. This we did.
After this event I began to feel that I, as a mem
ber of the human family, had a greater interest in
this war than I bad hitherto supposed. My whole
demeanor changed; my buoyant spirits gave way
to a terrible earnestness of character as I began to
realize the under-strata of this rebellion. I now fer
vently prayed God that in this upheaving of po
litical bodies the wkole social sys-uin of the South
might be swept away and the Union reconstructed
on a basis that would be perpetual—one that would
never cause a blush to mantle the cheek of an Amer
ican citizen. This change of character was noted
not only by-my company but by the regiment, and
it was generally attributed to disappointment in
love.
I had been nearly a year in the service, and dur
ing that time had not heard from Jennie. But
though we did not correspond she wns not absent
from my thoughts. It was just on the eve of au
important battle that I learned from an ofliosr who
had returned to the regiment after several weeks'
absence, who I knew was somewhat acquainted
with the Tracy family, that Jennie was to be mar
ried. This information I obtained in course of
casual conversation. He gave it as a piece of gos
sip among bis female friends. He further re
marked that sha had made particular inquiries of
him concerning a Mr. —— (mentioning iny re.il
name—I had enKsted under my m'.ddle name only),
and that be was unable to give her any satisfaction
That night I dreamed of Jennie. I siw her the
bride of another, and the torment I endured I ran
not describe. The next da)' fouml me in the mitlst
of battle, careless of life, dashing on where danger
seemed greatest and death more certain. Night
found me on the battle-field severely wonnded.
Great God, what a night was that! The storm
raged furiously; but far above its ragingl could
bear the moans, shrieks, and crias of wounSed and
dying comrades. As I lay there I thought that
the hour for my departure from earth was fast ap
proaching. My mind wandered back to my boy
hood's days. Then my whole life seemed to pass
panoramically before me. There was Jennie, Rose,
and Blanche. I beheld Jennie as the wife of an
ugly, vicious-looking man, and Rose and Blanche
in a slave-pen. Then the picture passed on, and I
beheld Jennie, Rose, and Blanche together in one
group surrounded by smiling faces, and I made an
effort to rise and join them; bnt the effort was too
much for my strength, and I fell back exhausted
and saw no more.
When I awoke to consciousness I found myself
in a hospital. Here I passed three long and dreary
weeks, at the end of which time I received a com
mission as Captain, with the intelligence of " pro
moted for gallantry on the field of battle." It bore
date of just one year from the time of my entering
the service. The surgeon assuring me that it
would be some time before I would be able to re-*
sume active duty, I obtained a furlough, resolved
:o return and ascertain something definite about
Jennie.
Just as I reached the city I met an old friend,
who insisted so strenuously npon my making one
of a party at his bouse that evening that I con
sented.
" Do not fail to come, for they will be there," he
said, as we parted.
Who were Ouy t He laid great stress npon the
word. Could it be Jennie and her husband ? Yes
—it was them. But I would go: as well meet
her there as at any other place. It would be bet
ter than calling at her residence, for it would ap
pear as if it were accidental.
That evening found me true to my appointment.
When I entered the room I saw a number of ladies
and gentlemen grouped in a circle, apparently so
intent upon listening to a conversation that my an
nouncement was scarcely noticed. In a moment
afterward I beard—
" And yon never learned the officer's name ?"
This was followed by a sudden shriek—a confu
sion—and the next instant Rose and Blanche were
clinging to my well arm, and as I gazed about I
beheld Jennie a short distance off looking the pic
ture of amazement.
Explanations soon followed. Rose and Blanche
had just finished a narrative of their escape as I
entered. They, with the other slaves, had suc
ceeded in reaching our lines, and attracting atten
tion soon reached the city, and -nere under the
patronage of the church to w hich my friend as well
as the Tracy family belonged. Jennic*had taken
an especial interest in their welfare, and they were
the objects of much attention—the lions of the
hour.
That evening was a hu|iuy ono to me—not only
in seeing Rose and Blanch- in safety and surround
ed by friends, but in hearing that Jennie was still
unmarried and that I occupied a warm place in her
heart.
I am soon to rejoin my regiment, not ns a single
man but as the husband of Jennie, and write this
to encourage young men who arc in love that be
fore they despair they should join the army. That
is the true road to glory and a won-an's heart. Do
not wait for a commission; go ns a private; for if
you do your duty a year in the service will make a
great change.
A BATTLE AS SEEN BY THE
RESERVE.
WE publish on pages 824 and 825 a pnture of a
battle drawn from the station occupied by the re- •
serve. As a general rule, battle pictures represent
the shock of the actual conflict; the scenes in the
back-ground are often quite as striking and worthy
of being preserved. Our artist thus describes bis
picture:
"The droving represents a general view of the
battle-field as seen l>y the reserve, the line of bat
tle off in the distance, next the artillery and sec
ond line of infantry. To the right there is a bat
ter}' planted on a little hill. Across the road fresh
troops are seen rapidly marching into the woods
toward the front to reinforce our worn-out soldiers.
Near the centre are generals, • with their staffs,
watching the fate of the day. The road is blocked
up with cavalry, infantry, artillery, and ambu
lances, going to and fro, carrying their burden of
wounded to the rear. On the bouse seen near the
centre are stationed officers with signal flags. To
the left is a bouse used as a hospital, snd still fur
ther are a batch of prisoners taken off by a file of
our men.
"All this and more is seen by the reserve, pn-
tiently waiting until their turn snail come to take
part in the struggle of the day. The wounded are
brought past them, carrit d so that Iheii injuries are
terribly aupjrent to tho>e who are forced to stand
still and coolly view their sufferings, not knowing
how soon the same fate may be theirs. The air
resounds with shrieks i f atpuj, and the ground
near the surgeon's !aMe is itrewed with amuuiated
limbi. Such sight" .is hc-e make some hearts
sicken nnd pink despairingly; while in otbere it
makes the de'ire to le avenged burn only th«
more fiercely, especially when ever and nnon passes
by the familiar form of a lale comrade in arms,
fearfully mutilated or crippled for life, or perhaps
dying. One poor soldier is borne along, who, in
spite ft his piin, renders hi« Wt tribute of respect
to his mminaiulcr and rheers him as he passes.
"Out of thii Hiiilml.imv and supply-wagon, near
est the hospital, the wounded are lifted one after
another, and laid side liy side to wail wearily until
the surfecou cau attciid to them. Oue loyal soldier,
who has charge «>f th» prisoners, has captured a
rebel flag, and is significantly trailing ft m the
dnst as be walks along."

824 WEEKLY. 826
A BATTLE AS SEEN BY THE RESERVE.—[SEE PAGE 823.]
'= ^€ '^.v -**•*
^*fe&&J

626 HARPER'S WEEKLY. 27, 18 OS.
Dickens's New Christmas Story.
SOMEBODY'S~LUGGAGE.
[OOHOLtTDED FROM OtTB TJUVT NUXUER.]
I
HIS DRESSING-CASE.
THB passengers on board tbe good ship Golden
Dream^ homeward bound from Melbourne, were
beginning to get rather weary and tired of their
trip. We were only in the fourth week of the
voyage: hut the month was July, the dayi were
short, gloomy, and stormy; and "the sea was cov
ered with those mountainous waves which are to
be seen in perfection jff Cape Horn. The stout
ship went sintering along within six points of a
fierce tortheastcrly gale, quivering like a living
creature as the remorseless waves struck her blow
after blow. On tbe log being hove we found that
we were making barely two knots an hour; and,
to add to our perplexity, a sudden chill in the air,
and a peculiar white glare in the horizon, informed
ui that we were surrounded with icebergs. Before
nightfall the violence of the gale bad somewhat
abated, and the passengers hurried on deck to look
at the first iceberg, which was within half a mile
of us. It was a sight worth seeing. We beheld
nn enormous mass of rock-like ice, with a perpen
dicular wall facing us fully three hundred feet
high, against the steep sides of which the waves
dashed incessantly. The color of the iceberg was
a brilliant pellucid white, except in tbe deep fis
sures and interstices, where the hue was changed
to cobalt, or on tbe summits of the piecipices,
which glowed in the rays of the setting sun with
all the prismatic tints of the rainbow.
" Eh I man!" exclaimed an enthusiastic Scotch
man. " 'Tis loost Edinburgh Cwtle to the life!"
"What a fortune a fellow could make among
the Melbourne confectioners if he conld only tow
it into Port Philip during the hot weather!" re-
ma/ked a prosaic colonist.
" Well, it's a pretty sight," said an old lady, "a
very pretty sight! But I wish they'd all sink to
the bottom at night and come up again in the
morning."
" It would be very convenient, indeed, ma'am,"
answered the third mate. " It would save our eyes
to-night considerably, for we shall have to keep a
brirfit look-ont."
We passed a very gloomy evening. Tbe wind
bad almost fallen to a calm, while the sea contin
ued to run extremely high, causing the ship to roll
terrib{y. Every thing that was not securely fix
ed was flying about the cabin; tbe destruction of
crockery was appalling; and tbe steward passed
the interval between supper and bedtime in a
state of despair, chasing cups, saucers, and bottles.
Even the four passengers who clung to whist every
evening with a devotion befitting the renowned
Sarah Battle, were forced to give up their game.
Even chess, though played on a board provided
witb spring fastenings, was found impracticable.
The chess-board sprang np bodily, pieces and all,
made a somersault in the air, darted into the cabin
of a married couple who were putting their baby
ID bed, extinguished their candle-lamp, and fright
ened their coukatoo into hysterics.
For myself, I went on deck, and there, sheltered
*by tbe pent-house w hicb overhung the main-deck
at the extremity of the poop, endeavored to solace
myself whh a pipe. I was very glad to hear a
voice out of the pitchy darkness saying,
" Nasty thick night, Sir."
It was Ton White, an able seaman, and one ot
the greatest growlers on board.
"What do you think of the weather, Tom?" I
asked him ?
" 'Bout as bad as it can be. If it bad kept on to
blow it might have took us through all this here
ice; but now it's fallen calm tbe bergs will gather
round the ship, just as tbe bits of stick in a pond
get round a dead cat. Ah! Once let me set foot
ashore, and you'll never catch-me round the Horn
again!"
Poor Tom! I dare say he bad uttered this dec
laration five hundred times before, and had always
forgotten it when signing articles at the shipping-
office.
"I hope they're keeping a bright look-out for
ward, Tom ?"
" A bright look-ent! How can they? Why, the
night's as thick as a tub of Dutch butter. Then it
ain't these big lumps as I'm afeard of. If the look
outs ain't asleep, or yarning, they might chance to
see them. What I funk is the nasty little sneaking
bits of ground-ice, about tbe size of a ship's long
boat."
" Surely they would not injure a stout ship like
this, Tom?"
"Stout ship? Ha, ha! Why, this is a soft
wood ship—a regular New Brunswicker. She'd
have no more chance again the ice than a chancy
cup again a soup-and-bully tin; and then, with all
this here copper ore in her inside, down she'd go—
and you along with her."
" And you too, Tom."
" Well, I don't know about that. Sailors ain't
like passengers. There's the boats to cut adrift.
Besides, I'm on deek, and you'd be below, smoth
ered like a rat in his hole."
With a series of parting growls Tom White dis
appeared in the darkness, leaving me in a very un
comfortable frame of mind. I was half inclined
at first to stey on deck all night, but eventually
determined to go below, and seek oblivion from
danger in sleep.
I envied my cabin companion, the fat German,
Scblafenwohl. He lay in profound slumber, while
his nose trumpeted defiance to the creakingof the
timbers and the dashing of the waves. Taking
advantage of a favorable lurch, I clambered up to
my berth, which was over the German's head. I
tned to think of every thing I could recall to my
memory, unconnected with ship-life, but the hom-
ble snoring of my companion and the lurches of
the ship destroyed all prospect of repose. I re
peated verses from the most soporific posts I could
remember. I counted numbers, and got np as far
as six hundred and fifty-four, when suddenly the
ship rolled more frightfully than she had done yet.
I felt that she was heeling completely over, and
that the main-yard must be dipping in the waves.
A fearful crashing of plates and dishes was suc
ceeded by the cCUTmoxe terrible sound of rushing
water. I «pon€t my eves, which I had until now
kept u^>ti«ate\y closed. To my horror I discov
ered tfcat the port-bole, instead of being at my side,
was flirectly above my head. I unscrewed the
port and thrust my head out. I was appalled by
wht* I beheld. The ship was on her beam-ends,
and her maeta were disappearing beneath the an
gry sea. There was no time to be lost. Fortn-
nuie^f I had turned in In my day clothes, hoots
•xcepteU, so I climbed through the port-hole, which
barely permitted the passage of my body, and lay
clinging to tbe wet, slippery side of tbe vessel. A
thought struck me. Shall I waken Schlafenwohl ?
No; I might lose my own life in endeavoring to
save bis. His ample figure conld never pass the
narrow port-bole. It is astonishing how selfish
men are apt to become at such times. I murmur
ed, "Requiescut in pace," and gazed around me
once more.
The vessel was sinking rapidly. Her masts
were now entirely under water, and only a few
feet of her weather yard-arm were visible. I heard
a horrible grinding noise. Peering through the
darkness 1 beheld an immense iceberg crashing
against the ship's side. I summoned all my ener
gies, took a tremendous leap, and fell into a small
cavity filled with freshly-fallen snow. As soon as
I recovered my feet I looked once more around.
The Golden Dream had disappeared, and nothing
was visible save a few dark objects floating on the
surface of the water.
I determined to secure one of these objects.
"Possibly," I thought," the harness-casks on deck
have broken adrift. They are filled with beef and
pork, and the contents of one of them would sup
port life for months." I descended cautiously
through the thick darkness to a ledge which abut
ted directly on the water. The spray of the break
ers was dashing in my face, and I trembled lest
the frail piece of ice on which I stood should give
way beneath my feet and precipitate mo into the
briny abyss. I stretched out my hand—it was in
stantly grasped by another baud! I drew hack in
horror, and the force of my retrograde movement
was such that I pulled the person who had clutched
my hand completely out of the water.
As soon as I bad deposited the unknown individ
ual in a place of comparative safety I demanded
his name. Tbe figure drew a long breath, and re
plied, " Julius Schlafenwobl."
I staggered back in astonishment, and exclaimed,
" Why, good Heaven, how came you here ?"
" Very easily, my friend. You see I am a good
diver and schvimmer, and I took my time about it."
" Why, you've got a long rope tied round your
body!"
"Pull hart upon it and see vat you will bring op."
I hauled as he bade me, and presently landed on
the iceberg a largo case.
" You see," continued the German, " I am never
in a hurry. Yen de sheep turned over, I tnrned
out of my bairt myself, and den I tink to myself,
Julius, you vill vant etwas essen, so I filled die box
with prog and schvam qvietly up the cabin stabs."
" My dear Schlafenwobl!" I exclaimed, embrac
ing him, "bow delighted I am to have been the
means of saving your life!"
"Veil, I don't know about dat," responded the
stolid German, dryly; " I could have saved my
self. You see, my friend, the prog is just enough
for vun—no more."
"My noble fellow!" I replied, "do not harbor
such selfish thoughts. Remember we are brothers
in adversity, and should help each other."
" Vot can you help me to ? ' asked ScblafenwoLI,
witb a toncb of sarcasm.
I stammered," I—I've nothing, but—yes! I have
a pound of tobacco! I.bcugtit it of the steward to
day, and here it is safe in the pocket where 1 put it."
'• Ju—vivallera!" shouted the German, enthusi
astically, "dat is jnstvot I have not got. Yes, my
friend, we will swear brothership, and share our
goods together."
"Agreed," I replied.
Schlafenwohl laid himself down with a pillow of
snow for his head, und was presently snoring as
tranquilly as if in his own beloved fatherland, with
a federbett of tbe finest down to cover him. The
peril of my position prevented me from sleeping.
I sat down on a corner of icy rock, and took the
liberty of resting my semi-frozen feet on Sclilafen-
wohllj expansive body. I soon began to feel more
comfortable. I lighted a pipe (my matches were
fortunately in a water-proof case), and anxiously
awaited the coming of daylight.
As I sat tkus, I began to reflect on my hardness
of heart. I had not bestowed a thought on the rest
of the passengers, or on the crew, and yet they bad
probably all perishedi But they had met with a
sudden and speedy death, whereas I was doomed
to a slow and lingering torture. Even supposing
that we had a sufficiency of provisions, what pros
pect of rescue would remain wben the last frag
ment of the iceberg should crumble away under
the ceaseless action of the waves ? Another and
far greater probability was still more appalling.
The durability of the iceberg would probably far
outlast our store of food. I strove to realize the
dreadful situation. Two human beings floating at
the caprice of the wind and waves on a frail decept
ive mass of crystallized water, glaring at one an
other with famine-stricken eyes. At length it
would become necessary to cast lots and decide
which should slay the other. Horrible thought!
I withdrew my feet hastily from the German's body
and sat, with my bead bowed upon my knees,
brooding. Exhausted nature yielded, and I fell
asleep.
When I awoke it was broad daylight. At first I
gazed around me witb astonishment, as one usually
does after sleeping in a strange place, and then
proceeded to examine the iceberg. We had been
reposing in a small valley, surrounded ou every
side but the one from which I bad entered by steep
rooks of slippery ice from sixty to eighty feet in
height. We were thus completely sheltered from
the piercing wind, while even the dash of the break
ers was barely distinguishable. I advanced a few
pacei along the path of ingress for the purpose of
viewing the ocean, and there found ScUiafenwohl
ensconced in a corner industriously combing out
his flaxen beard by the aid of a pocket-mirror stuck
in a crevice of the icy rocks. He was singing
Kennst du das Land, and saluted me with cheerful
calmness.
We breakfasted on a couple of sardines and half
a biscuit, slaking our thirst at one of the numerous
rills whivh trickled down the slowly melting rocks.
There wai Boroething alarming in the idea of thus
making a beverage of tbe bouse we lived in. Every
gallon of water that welted away represented some
six cubic inches of our fragile Habitation. If this
liquefaction took place in those high southern lati
tudes, witb the temperature scarcely over forty de
grees, how rapidly would onr floating ark dissolve
as we approached the line! If, on the other hand,
we drifted antarctically, we ran tbe risk of being
hopelessly frozen up in regions far beyond the
haunts of any human creature. These terrible re
flections passed through my mind while I was
manufacturing, with the assistance of a pocket-
knife and the lid of a deal box, a pair of sandals to
protect my feet from the chilling surface of the ice.
Thin task completed, I proposed to Schlafenwobl
that we should ascend the rocks for the purpose of
further ascertaining the extent of the iceberg. He
ted, and, after two hours' hard work, princi-
spent in cutthig steps for our feet with our
we gained the summit.
The panorama was grand in the extreme. We
were full three hundred fest above the surface of
the sea, which extended in every direction around
us, studded at intervals with icebergs of every im
aginable shape and size. Our own island was about
a mile in circumferencq, and presented a aeries of
ridges and valleys at irregular distances. We
stood, ai it were, in the centre of a gigantic star*
fish, whose seven rays were represented by seven
rocky back-bones, between each of which lay a deep
and sheltered valley. The wind blew with great vio
lence at the exposed point where we stood, and, as I
have not a remarkable steady head, I did not care
to venture too near the edge of any one of the sev
en abysses below. But the German insisted on it.
"Air. Monkhouse," said he, "I vish you vould
look over into our valley."
"Why?"
" I tink somebody, in our absence, may be plon-
dering onr prog-box."
" Nonsense!" I answered. " You talk as if yon
were on the top of the Righi."
" Veil, my friend, you vill oblige me by doing it.
I am too stout to venture."
I crawled on my bands and knees until my face
hnng immediately over a perpendicular descent of
three hundred feet. To my astonishment I beheld
two human figures actively engaged in examining
the contents of our invaluable chest.
I reported progress to Schlafenwohl, who became
frightfully agitated. He gave vent to sundry Teu
tonic imprecations, and descended the face of the
cliff in the most reckless manner, reaching the bot
tom some seconds before myself.
When I arrived I heard voices engaged in loud
altercation.
** Vy, you Tom Vite, you are no better dan a tief.
Dat is my box."
- "That ain't your private bread," replied Tom,
holding up a biscuit. " That's ship's bread. Ain't
it, Bill Atkins?"
" Ay " said Atkins. " Besides, you'd never go
for to keep all this tucker to your own cheek.
Why, there's a parcel of women and children in the
next hollow to this as has bad no breakfast yet."
" What! More people saved ?" I exclaimed.
" Of course there is, said Tom; " when the ice
berg drifted alongside, me and Bill here stood on
the Bulwarks as the ship heeled over, and passed
the passengers in as nicely as if we was off Black-
wnll Pier. There may be a lot more for aught I
know in the t'other walleys. I've been busy navi
gating the ship."
"Navigating de sheep!" cried Schlafenwobl,
" vot do you mean ?"
" Why, I've got a pocket-compass here, and I've
been heaving the log," said Tom. " We're steer
ing nor'-east-and-ny-nortli, and going thirteen
knots. If this breeze lasts four-and-twenty hours
we shall go smack into the Falkland Islands."
" What has become of the skipper, Tom," I asked,
" and of the other officers ?"
" I don't know," answered Tom; " they may be
aboard the l/erg, and they mayn't. Anyway, I'm
the only able seaman in her that I know of, so I've
took the command.".
The adventures of tbe last few hours had altered
Tom White considerably for the better. From a
grumbling sulking discontented fellow, he had been
transformed into a smart active energetic com
mander. . I verily believe be looked upon the ice
berg as an actual ship, and no—barring masts, sails,
ana rudder—she was.
"Now, Mr. Monkhouse,"continued Tom, "you'll
please take your orders from me. I can see you're
a sharp chap by tbe way you've made them ice-
shoes and cut them steps in the rock-face. Go up
to the mast-head, and see what you can make of tbe
other valleys. The next one to this 1 know all
about; that's my head-quarters."
" Ay, ay, Sir,' I replied, in true nautical style,
and once more clambered the rocks. I invited
Schlafenwobl to accompany me, bnt he declined.
On reaching " the mast-head," as Tom styled it, I
selected a valley to which the descent was sloping
and easy, the sides being deeply covered witb snow.
Down tile surface of this I glided quite comforta
bly, and in a few seconds reached the bottom.
At first no human being was visible, but on turn
ing an angle of tbe cliff I beheld a singular sight.
Mrs. Robinson, the old lady who on the previous
evening had wished that the icebergs would all
sink to the bottom in tbe night-time and only come
up by daylight, was seated crouching on the ground
in a state of the utmost terror, holding a large green
umbrella over her head. Close beside her reposed
an enormous walrus, at least twelve feet long,
blinking sleepily «t the frightened dame, and
looking as little inclined for mischief as a domestic
cat on a hearth-ruu. Laying my finger on my lips
to enjoin silence, I fastened a rope (which I had
brought with me) round Mrs. Robinson's waist,
and then proceeded to toil up the slope. I should
never have reached the top witb her dead weight
behind me hut for the umbrella, which I used as
an alpenstock. On gaining the summit, Mrs. Rob
inson vowed that she could never go down " them
slippery steps;" so, aided by Bill Atkins, to whom
I made signals for assistance, we lowered her safe
ly by a long cable into the women and children's
valley.
"Mr. Monkhouse," said Bill, "we must have
that walrus. Even if we can't eat his flesh, we
can make a roaring bonfire of bis blubber, and the
poor women and children are perishing with cold."
"Ay, ay, Sir."
So up three or four of us climbed again, armed
with knives and cask-staves. We reached the sum
mit and descended into the valley safely. Tbe
walrus was seated as placidly as before. He seem
ed to be makings I onrney north ward to visit some
of bis Falkland Island acquaintance, and to look
upon the iceberg as an admirable species of public
conveyance—cheap, swift, and comfortable. He
was, however, apparently fonder of the society of
ladies than of gentlemen. As soon as be saw us
approach, flourishing our weapons, he turned over
on bia side, and quietly rolled into the sea. Our
party, chagrined at the cool manner in which he
had given us the slip, returned slowly and discon
solately, communicating tbe result of our proceed
ings to Tom White.
" Never mind the walrus, boys," said that ener
getic commander, who was in high spirits. " She's
going fifteen knots, if she's going an inch. Mr.
Monkhouse," he continued, in a whisper, "you
ain't seen tbe skipper ?"
" No, there are no signs of him."
"Well, if he was aboard I'd gmarantee to bring
him in safe. And he couldn't do better nor what
I'm doing now."
What Tom White was doing to assist our prog-
rets it would be hard to say; though he huDseff
firmly believed that ever}- thing depended on his
exertions.
Evening was coming on. "Mr. Monkhonse,"
said Tom, "you're the best band I've got aboard
the ship. How do you feel about the legs ?"
" Rather stiff."
"Bill Atkins," said Tom, "serve out a tot of
grog to Mr. Monkbouse. It's very precious liquor,
for we've only one bottle aboard; but be deserves
a drop."
I swallowed the proffered refreshment, when
Tom Eajd:
"Now I want yon to go aloft again, to look out
for land."
" Ay, ay. Sir," I replied, cheerfully, and clam-
hersd up like a chamois.
"Land ho!" I called. My distance from Tom
was upward of three hundred'feet; but ice must be
an excellent conductor of sound, for I could hear
Tom's answer quite distinctly above the whistling
of the wind aad the roaring of the waves.
" Where away ?"
" On the weather bow, Sir."
"All right. Stop aloft, and say what it looks
like as we get nearer."
A furious gale was now blowing from sou'-soti'-
weet, and I was obliged to crouch on my bands
and knees to avoid being burled into one of tbe
chasms beneath. Our gallant iceberg churned
through the dark water at railroad speed, leaving
a long white track of foam miles astern. My fear
now was that, at the rate we were going—which
could he little short of twenty miles an hour—we
should be dashed on the rocks. To my great joy,
as we neared the land, I perceived an extensive
opening in the cliffs. I described it as accurately
an I could to tbe watchful commander below. He
presently co*e aloft and stood at my side.
"Port Stephens!" he exclaimed, f'by all that's
merciful! It lies in the sou'-west corner of tbe
main island. Now comes the ticklish time. If
we touch the rocks on either side we shall be
knocked to splinters."
The excitement on board the iceberg was intense.
I will not attempt to describe it. Just as night fell
wo entered the harbor. Had our gallant craft been
steered by tbe most skillful helmsman in tbe Brit
ish Navy she conld not have kept a better course.
Tom White rubbed his hands with delight, and ap
propriated aJl the honor and glory to himself. As
soon as we were fairly inside the harbor, and under
the shelter of the cliffs, the force of the wind
abated. Fortunately, too, there was a strong cur
rent setting out of the harbor, right in the teeth
of the wind. We hove the log, and found she was
going five knots; we hove it again, a few minutes
later, and she was barely making two knots; in a
quarter of an hour from that time a low grinding
noise was heard, and we grounded on an extensive
sand-bank in the centre of the harbor. We were
obliged to remain there patiently during the night,
as we had uo means of communicating, bv signal
or otherwise, with the shore. We had matches, but
the whole of our available fuel amounted to a deal
board or two, and so small a fire would, probably,
have attracted no observation. We passed a nerv
ous, miserable night, and the poor women and
children especially. As the iceberg grated back
ward and forward on the top of the bank we feared
she was going to pieces; but her timbers (to speak
metaphorically) were well put together, and she
held out bravely until morning.
Never in my life did I feel so glad to see the day
dawn. We were unspeakably delighted at about
sunrise to observe several boats putting out from
the settlement. The people in them hnd put off (it
seemed when thev came alongside) from motives
of curiosity to visit the iceberg, but were perfectly
astonieheoTat finding her freighted with pa?sengers.
The official in charge of the boats said, " We
must observe gome discipline in getting tie people
on board, or we shall have the boats swamped.
Where is the captein ?"
" I am the captain," quoth Tom White, boldly.
" Then, Sir, perhaps you will have the kindness
to arrange your people in detachments."
Tom bustled about with grest pomp, looking
fully two inches teller after having been called
" Sir," and having been addressed so politely by
tbe government officer.
By this time more boats had arrived from shore,
and the scanty population of the port were to be
seen running to and fro like ants whose nest had
been disturbed.
" Are these all your crew and passengers, cap
tain?" asked the governor of the island, as he
stepped aboard the iceberg.
" Hall, your worship," answered Tom, apparent
ly with some indistinct impressions of veneration,
derived from the Thames Police Court; "the oth
ers," he continued, solemnly, "has met a watery
grave."
" Beg your pardon, Sir," said a boatman, touch
ing his cap to Tom White, " hut there's a lot more
people t'other side the berg."
A rush of boats immediately gave way with a
will to the spot indicated, and presently returned,
bringing off the captain, chief mate, second mate,
third mate, boatswain, doctor, steersman, and mid
shipmen. Being in the after-part of the ship when
the catastrophe occurred'they had all leaped on
board the ieeberg together. And it seemed that we
had searched six valleys, but had omitted to ex
amine tbe seventh.
Poor Tom White! I believe be was a kind-
hearted fellow, and well-pleased to find that not a
single life bad been sacrificed on board the Golden
Dream; and yet I am sure he was sorry to see the
captain again. He spoke not a word on his way
to the shore, but bung down his head and looked
mnch depressed, In the evening, however, under
the influence of a liberal libation of grog from His
Excellency the Governor, be recovered his spirits,
and described his manner of navigating the iceberg
into port in terms which I think no Falkland Isl
ander will ever forget. As for the icebejg, I un
derstand that she remained for many months
grounded on the sand-bank; at length, under the
influence of numerous storms of rain, the ceaseless
dashing of tbe waters, and the warmth of the chilly
southern summer, she crumbled to pieces and dis
appeared.
We were all placed on board a Californian trader
bound for New York. Here I parted from Schlaf
enwohl, who had determined to settle in the United
States. There was some slight coolness between
us. I had positively declined to share the same
cabin with him on account of his snoring, and the
worthy German was offended. Consequently I
proceeded to Liverpool by the Cunard steamer
from Boston alone. On reaching London I at once
forwarded a written statement ofour extraordinary
escape to the Committee at Lloyd's. It was au
thenticated by Tom White's mark; as he, lika
many other great men, was unable to read or
write. A few days afterward I received a requisi
tion to attend before tbe Committee of Lloyd's,
which I at once obeyed, when the following conver
sation ensued between myself and the Chairman:
" Pray, Mr. Monkbouse, is your family of Ger-
mau origin ?"
" No, Sir; we have been settled for centuries in
East Kent."
DECEMBER 27, 1862.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 897
" Cb, I beg your pardon; I thought the name of
Moncbouse might have been a corruption of the
nameof a certain Baron whose extraordinary ad
ventures have long been known to the public."
HIS BBOWN-PAPER PARCEL.
MT works are well known. I am a young man
in the Art line. You have seen my works many a
time, though it's fifty thousand to one if you hava
seen me. You say you don't want to see me ? You
gay your interest is in my works, and not ID me ?
Don't he too sure about that. Stop a bit.
Let us have it down in black and white at the
first go off, so that there may bo no unpleasant
ness or wrangling afterward. And this is looked
over by a friend of mine, a ticket-write*; that is up
to literature. I am a young man in/co Art line—
in the Fine Art line. You have/een my works
over and over again, and youJnve been curious
about me, and you think youWve seen me. Now,
as a safe rule, you never bave seen me, and you
never do see me, and vpo never will see me. I
think that's plainly py^-and it's what knocks me
over. jf
If there's a bligkted public character going, I am
the party. s
It has been-remarked by a certain (or an uncer
tain) philosopher, that the world knows nothing of
its greatest men. He might have put it plainer if
he had thrown his eye in my direction. He might
have put it, that while the world knows some
thing of them that apparently go In and win, it
knows nothing of them that really go in and don't
win. There it is again in another form—and that's
what knocks me over.
Not that it's only myself that suffers from in
justice, but that I am more alive to my own inju
ries than to any other man's. Being, as I have
mentioned, in the Fine Art line, and not the Phi
lanthropic line, I openly admit it. As to company
in injury, I have company enough. Who are you
passing every day at your Competitive Excrucia
tions ? The fortunate candidates whose beads and
livers you have turned upside-down for life ? Not
you. You are really passing the Crammers and
Coaches. If your principle is right, why don't you
turn out to-morrow morning with the keys of your
cities on velvet cushions, yonr musicians playing
and yonr flags flying, and read addresses to the
Crammers and Coaches on your bended knees, be
seeching them to come out and govern you? Then,
again, as to your public business of all sorts, your
Financial statements, and yonr Budgets; the Pub
lic knows mnch, truly, about the real doers of all
that! Your Nobles and Right Honorables are first-
rate men ? Yes, and so is a goose a first-rate bird.
But I'll tell you this about the goose—you'll find
his natural flavor disappointing without stuffing.
Perhaps I am soured by not being popular?
But suppose I AM popular. Suppose my works
never fail to attract. Suppose that whether they
are exhibited by natural light or by artificial, they
invariably draw the public. Then no donbt they
are preserved in some Collection? No they are
not; they are not preserved in any Collection.
Copyright ? No, nor yet copyright. Any how they
must be somewhere? Wrong again, for they are
often nowhere.
Says you, "At all events you are in a moody
state of mind, my friend." My answer is, I have
described myself as a public character with a blight
upon him—which fully accounts for the curdling
of the milk in that cocoa-nut.
Those that are acquainted with London are aware
of a locality on the Surrey aide of the river Thames
called the Obelisk, or more generally, the Obstacle.
Those that ara not acquainted with London will
also be aware of it, now that I have named it.
My lodging is not far from that locality. I am a
young man of that easy disposition that I lie abed
till it's absolutely necessary to get up and earn
something, and then I lie abed again till I have
spent it.
It was on an occasion when I had had to turn to
with a view to victuals that I found myself walking
along the Waterloo Road, one evening after dork,
accompanied by an acquaintance and fellow-lodger
in the gas-fitting way of life. He is very good com
pany, having worked at the theatres, and indeed
he has a theatrical turn himself and wishes to
be brought out in the character of Othello; but
whether on account of his regular work always
blacking his face and hands more or less I can
not say.
"Tom," he says, "what a mystery hangs over
you!"
" Yes, Mr. Click"—the rest of the house gener
ally give him his name, as being first, front, car
peted all over, his own furniture, and if not mahog
any, an out-and-out imitation—"Yes, Mr. Click,
a mystery does hang over me."
"Makes you low, yon see, don't it?" savs he,
eying me sideways.
" Why yes, Mr. Click, there are circumstances
connected with it that have," I yielded to a sigh,
" a lowering effect."
" Gives you a touch of the misanthrope too, don't
it ?" says ho. " Well, 111 tell you what. If I was
you I'd shake it off."
"If I was you I would, Mr. Click; but if you
wns me you wouldn't."
" Ah !'' says he, " there's something in that."
When we had walked a little further he took it
up again by touching me on the chest.
" You see, Tom, it seems to me as if, in the words
of the poet who -wrote the domestic drama of the
Strantrer, who had a silent sorrow there."
" 1 have, Mr. Click."
" I hope_, Tom," lowering his voice in a friendly
way, "it isn't coining, or smashing?"
" No, Mr. CHck. Don't he uneasv."
" Nor yet forg—» Mr. Click checked himself,
and added, "counterfeiting any thing, for in
stance?"
" No, Mr. Click. I am lawfully in the Art line
—Fine Art line—but I can say no more."
"Ah! Under a species of star? A kind of a
malignant spell ? A sort of a gloomy destiny ? A
canker-worm pegging away at your vitels in secret,
as well as I make it out?" said Mr. Click eying
me with some admiration. '
I told Mr. Click that was about it, if we came to
particulars; and I thought he appeared rather prond
of me.
Cur conversation had brought us to a crowd of
people, tie greater part struggling for a front place
from which to see nemething on the pavement,
jiyhieh priced to be various designs executed in col
ored chalks on the pavement-stonei, lighted by two
candles stuck iu mud sconces. The subjects con
sisted of a fine fresh salmon's head and shoulders
f«BjioBed to have been tecenrly sent home from the
fishmongtr'e", a moontjfit night at sea (in a cir
cle) : dead game.;.scroTl-work; the head of a hoary
hermit-engage* ftitlevoHt contemplation; the head
of a pointer smoking a pipe; and a cherubim, his
flesh creased as tn Infancy, aning on a horizontal
errand against the wind. J% then subjects ap
peared to me to be exquisitely done.
On his knees on one side of this gallery, a shab
by person of modest appearance who shivered dread
fully (though it wasn't at all cold), was engaged in
blowing the chalk dust off the moon, toning the out
line of the back of the hermit's head with a bit of
leather, and fattening the down-stroke of a letter
or two in the writing. I have forgotten to mention
that writing formed a part of the composition, and
that It also—as it appeared to me—was exquisite
ly done. It ren as follows, in fine round characters:
" An honest man is the noblest work of God. 123
4567890. £. s. d. Employment in an office is
humbly requested. Honor the Queen. Hunger is
a0987654321 sharp thorn. Chip ebon, cher
ry chop, fol de rol de ri do. Astronomy ana math
ematics. I do this to support my family."
Murmurs of admiration at the exceeding beauty
of this performance went about among the crowd.
The artist haviug finished bis touching (and having
spoiled those places), took his seat on the pavement
with bis knees crouched up very nigh his chin; and
half-pence began to rattle in.
" A pity to sec a man of that talent brought so
low: ain't it ?" said one of the crowd to me.
" What he might have done in the coach-paint
ing, or house-decorating!" said another man, who
took up the first speaker becanse I did not.
"Why he writes—alone—like the Lord Chan
cellor I" said another man.
" Better," said another. " I know ha writing.
.He couldn't support his family this way."
Then a woman noticed the natural fluffiness of
the hermit's hair, and another woman, her friend,
mentioned of the salmon's gills that you could al
most see him gasp. Then an elderly country gen
tleman stepped forward and asked the modest man
how he executed his work ? And the modest man
took some scraps of brown paper with colors in
'em out of his pockets and snowed then* Then a
fair-complexioned donkey with sandy nair and
spectacles, asked If the hermit was a portrait? To
which the modest man, casting a sorrowful glance
upon it, replied that it was, to a certain extent, a
recollection of his father. This caused a boy to
yelp out, " Is the Pinter a smoking the pipe your
mother ?" who was immediately shoved out of view
by a sympathetic carpenter with his basket of tools
at his back.
At every fresh question or remark the crowd
leaned forward more eagerly, and dropped the half
pence more freely, and the modest man gathered
them up more meekly. At last another elderly
gentleman came to the front and gave the artist
his card, to come to his office to-morrow and get
some copying to do. The card was accompanied
by sixpence, and the artist was profoundly grate
ful, and, before be put the card in his hat, read it
several times by the light of his candles to fix the
address well in his mind, in case he should lose it.
The crowd was deeply interested by this last inci
dent, and a nan in the second row with a gruff
voice growled to the artist, " YonVe got a chance
in life now, ain't you ?" The artist answered (sniff
ing in a very low-spirited way, however), ' I'm
thankful to hope so." Upon which there was a gen
eral chorus of "You are all right," and the half
pence slackened very decidedly.
I felt myself pulled away by the arm, and Mr.
Click and I stood alone at the corner of the next
crossing.
" Why, Tom," said Mr. Click, " what a horrid ex
pression efface you've got!"
"Havel?" says I.
"Have you?" says Mr. Click. "Why you looked
as if you would have his blood."
"Whose blood?"
"The artist's."
"The artist's!" I repeated. And I laughed fran
tically, wildly, gloomily, incoherently, disagreea
bly. I am sensible that I did. I know I did.
Mr. Click staved at me in a scared sort of a way,
but said nothing until we had walked a street's
length. He then stopped short, and said, with ex
citement on the part of his fore-finger:
" Thomas, I find it necessary to be plain with
you. I don t like the envious man. I have identi
fied the canker-worm that's pegging away at your
vitals, and it's envy, Thomas."
"Isit?" says I.
"Yes, it is." says he. "Thomas, beware of
envy. It is the green-eyed monster which never
did and never will improve each shining hour, but
quite the reverse. I dread the envious man, Thom
as. I confess that I am afraid of the envious man,
when he is so envious as you are. While you con
templated the works of a gifted rival, and while
you heard that rival's praises, and especially while
you met his humble glance as he put that card
away, your countenance was so malevolent as to
be terrific. Thomas, I have heard of the envy of
them that follows the Fine Art line, but I never
believed it conld be what yonrs is. I wish vou
well, but I take my leave of you. And if you
should ever get into trouble through knifeing—or
say, garroting—a brother artist, as I believe you
11, don't call me to character, Thomas, of I shall
be forced to injure your case."
Mr. Click parted from me with those words, and
we broke off our acquaintance.
I became enamored. Her name was Hcnerietta.
Contending with my easy disposition, I frequently
not up to go after her. She also dwelt in the neigh
borhood of the Obstacle, and I did fondly hope that
no other would interpose in the war of our union.
To say that Hcnerietta was volatile, is but to say
that she was woman. To say that she was in the
bonnet-trimming, is feebly to express the taste
which reigned predominant in her own.
She consented to walk with me. Let me do her
the justice to say that she did BO upon trial. " I
am not," said Heneriette, " as yet prepared to re
gard you, Thomas, in any other light than as a
Friend; but as a friend I am willing to walk with
you, on the understanding that sorter sentiments
may flow."
We walked.
Under the influence of Henerietta's beguilements
[ now got out of bed daily. I pursued my calling
with an industry before unknown, and it can not
Tail to have been observed at that period, by those
most familiar with the streets of London, that there
was a larger supply— Bnt hold 1 The time is not
yet come f
One evening in October I was walking with
Henerietta, enjoying the cool breezes wafted over
Vauxhall Bridge. After several slow turns Hen
erietta gaped frequently (so inseparable from wo
man is the love of excitement), and said, " Let's
go home by Grpsvenor Place, Piccadilly, and Wa
terloo"—localities, I may state for the information
of the stranger and the foreigner, well known in
London, and the last a Bridge.
" No. Not by Pfccadillv, Henerietta," eaifl I.
" And whj- not Piccadilly, for goodness' sake ?"
said EenerieCta.
Could I tell her ? Could I confess to thegloomr
presentiment that overshadowed me? Could 1
make myself intelligible to her ? No.
" I don't like Piccadilly, Henerietta."
" Bnt I do," said she. " It's dark now, and the
long rows of lamps in Piccadilly after dark are
beautiful. I will go to Piccadilly!"
Of course we went. It was a pleasant night, and
there were numbers of people in the streets. It was
a brisk night, bnt not too cold, and not damp. Let
me darkly observe, it was the best of all nights—
FOR THIC 1MJKPOBK.
As we passed the garden-wall of the Royal Palace,
going up Grosvenor Place, Henerietta murmured,
"I wish I was a Queen!"
"Why so, Hcnerietta?"
" I would make you Something," said she, and
crossed her two hands on my arm, and tnrned away
her head.
Judging from this that the softer sentiments al
luded to above bad begun to flow, I adapted my
conduct to that belief. Thus happily we pat.,td
on into the detested thoroughfare of Piccedillv.
On the right of that thoroughfare is a row of tru*,
the railing of the Green Fork, and a Cue bioad
eligible piece of pavement.
" O my I" cried Henerietta, presently. " Thole's
been an accident!"
I looked to the left, and said, "Where, Hcue-
rietta?"
"Not there, stupid," said she. "Over by the
Park railings. Where tbe crowd is! O no, it'e
not an accident, it's something else to look at!
What's them lights ?"
She referred to two lights twinkling low among
the legs of the assemblage: two caudles on the
pavement.
"O do come along!" cried Henerietta, skipping
across the road with me; I bung back, but in vain.
"Do let's look I"
Again, designs upon tbe pavement. Centre com
partment. Mount Vesuvius going it (in a circle),
supported by four oval compartments, severally
representing a ship in heavy weather, a shoulder
of mutton attended by two cucumbers, a goldeu
harvest with distant cottage of proprietor, und a.
knife and fork after nature; above tie ecu tie com
partment a bunch of grapes, and over the whole a
rainbow. The whole, as it appeared to me, ex
quisitely done.
The person in attendance on these works of art
was in all respects, sbabbiuess cxcepted, unlike the
former person. His whole appearance and man
ner denoted briskness. Though threadbare, he ex
pressed to the crowd that poverty had not subdued
hiB spirit or tinged with any sense of sbame thin
honest effort to turn his talents to some recount.
The writing which formed a part of his composi
tion was conceived in a similarly cheerful tone.
It breathed the following sentiments: " The writer
is poor but not despondent. To a British 12345
C 7 8 9 0 Public he £ s. d. appeals. Honor to our
brave Army! And also0987654321 to our
gallant Nuvy. BKII-UMH SI-KIKK the A B C D E F
G writer in common chalks would he ijrotrful for
any suitable employment H'>MK! Hmiu.fii!" The
wh'ole of this writing appeared to me to Ufe exqui
sitely done. "
But this man, in one respect like the last, though
seemingly hard at it with a great show of browu
paper and rubbers, was only really fattening the
down-stroke of a letter here and there. 01 Mowing
the loose chalk off the rainbow, or toning the out
side edge of the shoulder of mutton. "Sough he
did this with the greatest confidence, he did it (as it
struck me) iu so ignorant a manm r, uuJ so spoiled
every thing he touched, that vt hen he licg.ni upon
the purple smoke from the chimney of tuc distant
cottage of the proprietor of the golden harvest
(which smoke was beautifully soft) I found my
self saying aloud, without considering of it:
" Let that alone, will you?"
" Halloa!" said the man next mr in tbe crowd,
jerkingme roughly from him with his ell-ow. " whv
didn't you sendn telegram ? If we had known you
was coming, we'd have provided something better
for you. You understand the man's work better
than lir does himself, don't yon ? Have you made
your will ? You're too clever to live long."
" Don't be bard upon the gentleman. Sir," said
the person in attendance on tlie works of art, with
a twinkle in his eye as he looked at me, " be may
chance to lie an artist himself. If so, Sir, he will
have a fellow-feeling with me, Sir, when I"—he
adapted his action to his words as he went on, and
gave a smart slap of bis hands between each touch,
working himself all the time about and about the
composition—"when I lighten the bloom of my
grapes—shade off the orange in my rainbow—dot
the i of my Britons—throw a yellow light into my
cow-cum-oer—insinuate another morsel of fat into
my shoulder of mutton—dart another zigzag flush
of lightning at my ship in distress!"
He seemed to do this so neatly, and was so nim
ble about it, that the half-pence came flying in.
" Thanks, generous public, thanks!" said tbe pro
fessor. "You will stimulate me to further exer
tions. My name will be found in tbe list of British
Painters yet. I shall do better than this, with en
couragement. I shall indeed."
"You never can do_ better than that bunch of
grapes," said Henerietta. "O Thomas, them
grapes!"
" Not bettor than that, lady ? I hope for the time
when I shall paint any thing but your own bright
eyes and lips, equal to life."
"(Thomas, did you ever?) But it must take a
longtime, Sir,"said Hcnerietta,blushing, "topaint
equal to that.
" I was prenticed to it, Miss," said the young
man, smartly touching up the composition, "pron-
ticed to it in the caves of'Spain and Portingalc,
ever so long and two year over."
There was a laugh from the crowd: and a new
man who bad worked himself in next me, said,
" He's a smart chap, too; ain't be ?"
"And what a eye!" exclaimed Henerietta, soft
ly. "Ah 1 He need have a eye," said the man.
" Ah! He just need," was murmured among the
crowd.
" He couldn't come that "ere burning mountain
without a eye," said the man. He bad got himself
accepted as an authority somehow, and every body
looked at his flnger as it pointed out Vesuvius.
"To come that effect in a general illumination
would require a eye; hut to come it with two dips
—why it's enough to blind him 1"
That impostor, pretending not to bave beard what
was said, now winked to any extent with both eyes
at ones, as if the strain upon his sigh* was too much,
and threw back bis long hair—it was very long—
s if to cool his fevered brow. I was watching him
doing" it, when Heneriette suddenly whispered,
" O Thomas, how horrid > ou look! and pulled
me ont by the arm.
Remembering Mr. Click's words, I was confused
when I retorted, "What do you mean by horrid?"
" Oh gracious ! Why, yon looked,* said Hene
rietta, "as if yon would have his blood."
I was going to answer, " So I would, for two
pence—from his nose," when I checked myself and
remained silent.
We returned home in silence. Every step of the
way the softer sentiments that had flowed ebbed
twenty mile an hour. Adapting my conduct to
the ebbing as I had done to the flowing, I let my
arm drop limn, BO as she could scarcely keep hold
of it, and I wished her such a cold good-night at
parting that I keep within the bounds of truth when
I characterize it as a Rasper.
In the course of the next day I received the fol
lowing document :
"Henerietta inform* Thomaa that my oyes are open to
you. I must ever wish you well, but walking and us is
separated by an uofarmable abyss. One to malignant to
i uporiortty — Oh that look at him! — can never, never con
duct HunuxCTA
"P.S.— To the altnr."
Yielding to the easiness of my disposition, I went
to bed for a week after receiving this letter. Dur
ing C)o whole of such time London was bereft of
rh" u~ual fruits of my labor. When. I resumed it
I found that Henerietta was married to the artist
Did I SHV to the artist ? What fell words were
those, expressive of what a gulling hollowness, of
what a bitter mockery! I — I — T — am tbe artist.
I was the real artist of Piccadilly, I was the real
artist of the Waterloo-road, I am the only artist of
nil those pavement-subjects which daily and night
ly arouse your admiration. I do "em and I let^m
out. The man you behold with the papers of chalks
und the rubber", touching up the down-strokes of
the .writing and shading off the salmon, the man
you give the credit to, the man you give the mon
ey to, hires — ye? ! ard I live to tell it!— hires those
works of art of me, and brings nothing to 'em but
the CP- 'lee.
Sue! is genius in a commercial country. I am
not up to the shivering, I am not up to the liveli-
neas, I am not up to tbe-wanting-employnnent-in-
mi-nmrc move ; T am only up to originating and
executing the work. In consequence ef which you
never see me : you think you see me when you see
somebody el;c , . nd that .-omcbody else is a were
Commercial character. Tlw one seen by self and
Mr. Click in the W aterluo Itoad can ouly write a
single word, and that I tanglit him, and it's MULTI-
ri.icATiua — which you muv sec liim execute up
side down, because be can't* do it the natural way.
The one_ peen by self and Hene rietta by the Green
Park railings can just smear into existence the twe
ends of a rainbow witb his cuff and a rubber — if
very hard put upon makiug a show — but he could
no more come tie arch of the Yainbow, to save his
life, than he could come the moonlight, fish, vol
cano, shipwreck, mutton, hermit, or any of my
most celebrated effects.
To conclude as 1 began : if there's a blighted
public character going, I am tbe part}'. And oft
en as you have s«en, do see, and will see, my
Works, it's fifty thousand to one if you'll ever see
me, unless, when the candles are burned down and
the Commercial character is gone, you should hap
pen to notice a neglected young man persevering-
ly rubbing out the last traces of the pictures, so
that nobody can renew the same. That's me.
HIS PORTMANTEAU.
I.
MR. BLORAOK walked up and down bis dining-
room on the 31st of December, 1851, with the ,.ir
and step of a man at peace with the world and
pleased with himself. As he turned to and fro
there was a little swing of exultation in his gait,
which no friend (had there been any friend pres
ent to witness it) would have recognized as a trait
peculiar to Mr. Blorage. On the contrary, he pass
ed among his neighbors and acquaintance as a man
of a modest and sedate temperament, and of an
extreme good nature: so that those same friends
and neighbors, full of tbe impudence of the world,
often laughed at the former, and let no opportunity
slip of taking advantage of the latter. But he was
accustomed to be imposed upon. In fact, it was
bis business, his vocation, to which he had been
apprenticed from his earliest childhood.
It is recorded by his nurse and mother that so
amiable, so complacent a baby never was born.
A faint whimper was the only complaint be made,
after lying for hours in his cradle wide awake,
wi" nothing but a damaged tassel to amnse him,
as t swung to and fro from the hood of the cradle
in the draught—which draught reddened his baby
no. c, and brought the water into his little weak
eyes. As he grew up it became an established fact
that Master Dirk was to be washed first or last,
tekcn out or left behind, given sugar-plums or for
gotten, as it happened to suit the peculiar fancy of
every other person rather than Master Dick himself,
because he was so sweet-tempered. Thus he weath
ered babyhood, encountered childhood, and rushed
up into boyhood, in a pleasing and satisfactory ~
manner to all parties, himself included. He never
worried his mother by catching infectious diseases
at wrong times; he went through the necessary
ailments of childhood—such as measles, whooping-
cough, and scarlatina—with the least possible de
gree of trouble to all parties concerned; and caused
no anxiety by having relapses or taking colds. If
be cut his finger to the bone, no one knew of it un
less any onr chanced to notice the scar. If he fell
into the river, he scrambled out, and dried his own
clothes by the convenient process of airing them
on his own body. If lie fell off a tree, down a well,
over a wall, he picked himself up and bore his bur
den of bruises with silent composure. In addition
to these accomplishments, he bore any amount of
other people's work, and seemed rather to enjoy be
ing " put upon." He was glad to be obliging, and
" gave up" with quite as much zest as other nulures
about him delighted to " take all." Once, and once
ouly, did u plight attack ofill-tcmper and discon
tent assail him. His father, without any previous
notico, without the shadow of a consultation as to
any faint bias on Dick's part, bnt just because "he
was Dick, and would be sure to do it, whether he
liked it or not," placed him, at the age of sixteen
years, as the junior of all the junior clerks, in a
Bank.
Now Dick was a country bov, born and brought
up in truly rural fashiny. His father having a
small estate, farmed the greater part of it himself,
and, being a practical man, did nothing by halve*.
His children participated in all that he did, as mnch
For then* own benefit as for bn. The hoys were
active young farmers from the time they were
sreeched; and the girls reared chickens, and un
derstood the immaculate cleanliness of a d..try be
fore they could' spell their own mames So Dick's
Habits, and what little idiosyncrasy be had of I4>
own, belonged wholly to I be country.
He was up with die lark, roaming over his fa-

828 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [t)ECEMBER 27, 1862,
thert premises, and lighting upon all sorts of char
itable things to do. A brood of young ducks, al-
W«T* erratic, obstinate, and greedy, had squeezed
their mucilaginous little bodies through nothing,
and were out on the loose, their vigilant foster-
mother, "in a fine frenzy, clacking within the
•hut-up poultry-house. it was Dick's business to
open the door and give her lost ones to her cher
ishing wings ; and all the acknowledgment he got
was an unmistakable indication on the part of the
irritated mother that he alone had been the cause
of the separation. He delighted to stagger under
a load of fodder, taking, as high and invaluable
wages, the glad neigh of the expectant horse, or
the gentle soft low of the cow. He rushed into
the matutinal quarrel of the bantam-cock and the
great bnbbley-iock ; he coaxed with crumbs of
bread the shy little pullets, and covertly threw
handfnls of grain to the ostracized cockerels, who
dared not so much as look upon a crumb within
sight of the proud monarch of the poultry-yard.
Having meddled and messed in every thing that
tras going on, to the high delight of himself, if of
nothing else, Dick would return to the house, brush
and clean himself with scrupulous exactness, and
place himself ready to receive his mother's morn
ing kiss on his cool, rosy, soap-shining cheeks.
After that he began the real business of the day ;
he nursed the baby, made the toa, cut the bread-
and-butter, administered it. adjusted quarrels, ran
the messages, and took what breakfast he could
between whiles. When he had a few moments he
could call his own he roamed about, saving young
birds from remorseless kidnappers, rescuing p
pies and kittens from untimely fates, helping li _
maidens over high stiles, and assisting old women
to carry fagots of sticks, assuredly stolen from his
father's hedge-rows.
Dick poesessed one harmless propensity — never
to see a hill without paying it the compliment of
running to the top of it in so many minutes, and
speeding down to the bottom again in so many
minutes less. He considered it a duty he owed to
society at large, to be able to say in how short a
time society could approach so much nearer to
heaven.
For these reasons, and a thousand more such,
Dick's dismay may be comprehended when be was
suddenly required to exchange breezy hill-tops and
flowery plains for the high stool, matching the
higher desk, in a dusty cloudy cobwebby back
Bank-office, in a close d,ull unsavory street.
Dick began a remonstrance. For the first time
In his life there rose to his lips the murmur of a
complaint. The person upon whose ear the un
wonted sound fell was his younger brother : called
William by his godfathers and godmothers, Bill by
those who had no particular regard for him, or he
for them, and Billy by the fortunate possessors of
•what affections he Dad. Generally obtuse to every
thing that did not concern himself, he was visibly
startled by the unwonted moan, and kindly said,
under the shock of surprise :
' ' Come, come, old fellow I None of that."
" But I don't like the Bank, Billy. I am unhap
py ; I think I am dreadfully unhappy ; the smell
of the place makes me sick ; I get the cramp in
my legs from sitting on that high stool ; I am as
nervoui — " .
" Hold hard, Dick ; I won't have you say anoth
er word. How dare yon talk like that to me?"
" My dear Billy— ''
" Don't dear Billy me. When you know as well
as I do, that if you don't stay at the Bank / shall
have to go there !"
" Oh dear !" ejaculated Dick.
" Oh dear!" mimicked the fast younger brother.
" I wonder you have the heart to hint an objection,
Dick — especially knowing, as you do, how you hate
the Bank. Endangering your own brother I And
ou setting up for being a good-natured fellow,
oo!"
yo
to
\\
Dick said no more, but manfully bore up against
smells, cramps, nerves, and headaches, with the
mental comfort and consolation, " How lucky poor
dear Billy is saved all this I"
Time worked its own cure, and he experienced
In his own person the truth of that well-established
maxim, " Habit becomes second nature." He ex
ercised his peculiar vocation by doing a great deal
of other people's work besides his own ; by cherish
ing solitary and forlorn-looking spiders ; assisting
flies out or a persistent search into ink-bottles ; and
being generally kind-hearted to every thing and
every body.
He was universally liked, though vastly imposed
upon ; still, upon his gradual elevation, in course
of time, from junior of the juniors to head of all,
there was no voice but his own that hazarded a
doubt on the fitness of the election. He was a lit
tle uncomfortable himself lest he should have tak
en a place one of the others might have coveted or
better deserved.
At last assured that his abilities and position
•warranted the choice, Dick resigned himself to be
ing entirely happy, and — as a fall essential to a
state of bliss— fell in lore.
That his choice should light on one profoundly
Unlike himself was perfectly natural ; a young lady
of much beauty and many wants being exactly the
|>eing to appear angelic in Dick's eyes. Had she
been possessed of brains, or of sufficient capacity
to see into the depths of Dick's most honest heart.
she might have ruled there, queen and wife, and
her domestic kingdom would have ennobled her in
all eyes ; but, like a playful kitten, incipient cru
elty lurked in her prettiest ways. Her character
may be inferred from the answer she gave Dick
when he tendered her his all.
" Indeed, Mr. Richard, you are very good I How
yon.have surprised me I And do you really think
so well of me ? I never thought you really cared
a hit for me. I laughed and chatted with you be.
ceuse, as we all said, Mr. Kichard Blorage was so
good-natured."
"Good-natured to you, Ellen! Oh Heaven!
could yon read nothing more in my devotion?
Not the deepest, strongest, most enduring' love ?"
"You quite amaze me, Mr. Richard I Where
have you kept these feelings BO long?"
" Oh, Ellen ! Do not trifle with me 1"
"No! Not for worlds, Mr. Blorage! I am no
flirt. I am a frank creature, and always will be."
" I thought— I hoped— oh, Ellen I I would not
have dared to opeak thus, and lay bare my heart
before you, had you not encouraged — "
"Now, Mr. Richard, d^n't say that, I beg! I
am sure I am ebove that. Besides, mamma wishes
me to marry rather high. She wishes me to set
my younger uittrs a good example : and indeed
papa has said to me more than once that he would
never Buffer me to marry a banker's clerk."
" I am to be a partner in two years."
" Two years I I may be married long before
that. Come, Mr. Richard, don't be coat down.
We can always be the best of friends."
"And my wife, Ellon?"
I J' Ob d*w no I I real)} vender you. could ever
think of such a thing—so good-natured, as yon are.
Pray don't tease me any more."
Poor Dick's tender heart swelled and throbbed
with many tender emotions; but he really was too
good-natured to let any angry or bitter thoughts
divide it. He rallied his fluttering and bewildered
senses, looked round for his hat (an article that
always seems of great comfort to Englishmen in
difficulties), looked into it, and not finding a single
word in it to help him out, went away speechless
with a single bow. It was a bow worthy of Sir
Charles Grandison, and it was a far more natural
bow than Sir Charles Grandison ever made. There
was a quiet dignity in it, expressive of BO much
integrity and worth, that it even smote the little
silly substitute for a heart which had so mocked
him with a stab of misgiving.
Time, that never-failing plaster which heals so
many wounds, came to Dick's aid. He derived a
melancholy satisfaction from working twice as
hard as be had ever done before. He was at that
once odious office before the doors were opened,
and sat on his high stool for hours at a stretch, re
gardless of cramp. From always being* compas
sionate and good-natured fellow he became mor
bidly so: appearing to regard the whole of his ac
quaintance as victims to unrequited love, upon
whom it was essential he should expend a vigilant
care of the most forbearing and affectionate nature.
Not even the fast, worldly-wise opinion of Will
iam, Bill, or Billy could make him think he was an
ill-used man.
" She's a flirt, and no mistake. / saw through
her long ago, Dick. I always said she would jilt
you."
" You wrong her, William—you deeply wrong
her. She was right in her decision. She deserved
a better fate than to be the wife of a banker's
clerk."
"Pooh, pooh! Ha, ha! Why, yon have a share
in the firm already, and may call yourself banker
at once, and I hope to the Lord you will soon get
rich. It will be devilish comfortable, Dick, al
ways to be able to turn to you when one wants five
or ten pounds."
"Do 3Fou want a little money now, Billy? I
have no occasion to hoard money."
" The very thing I do want, my dear fellow. I
never was so hard up. I say! It's a great com
fort to me, Dick, that you didn't marry that sim
pleton of a girl."
" Hush, Bill."
"Well, it's a very good thing for yourself, then.
I'll swear she was a screw."
" Forbear, Bill."
" Well, it was an uncommon good thing for her,
then."
"That is my only consolation," sighed the good
Dick, as he handed his brother a bundle of notes,
which, true to business habits, he carefully count
ed over twice.
" Twenty-five pounds; thank ye, Dick."
H.
Bless us! Mr. Blorage has been a long time
walking up and down that dining-room of his.
Had the volatile Ellen at last relented that he
walked up and down with that elastic step ? No,
no. She had married within six months of blight
ing Dick—had married an Honorable by name, if
not by nature; but the title being of much more
consequence than the fact there is no need to in
quire further. If Dick's prayers could make her
happy she was supremely Meet.
No. Mr. Blorage was excited, because he was
dining in his own new, substantially built, elegant
ly furnished, luxuriously ornamented, house—a
house that had been pronounced perfect—a gem of
a house—a house that only wanted one more thing
to be absolute perfection. He was dining in it for
the first time, and he had (though naturally a so
ber man), under the pressure of such an extreme
circumstance, drank success to it, and health to
himself, j ust about once too often. Hence thought
was running riot in his brain like an express en
gine gone mad. Here was he, at the good and
pleasant age of thirty-five, an independent gentle
man, with fifteen hundred a year, honestly made,
and safelv deposited in the only bank that never
breaks—her Majesty's Consols. Besides, he still
held a lucrative and independent position in the
very Bank once so disagreeable to him. He was
not a responsible partner, he was only the trusted
confidential manager. " For, as to partnerships,"
thought Dick, " it would never do for me to lose
my money through the speculations of others. I
could not help Billy, or send little Maude to that
first-rate London school. As to my dear mother,
Old Grobus's legacy (1 wonder why he left it to
me ?) just fell in, in time to make her comforta
ble. 1'
Dick had grown rich( nobody quite knew how.
As he was always helping every one, perhaps he
realized the promise, "Cast thy bread upon the
waters, and it shall return unto thee a hundred
fold." He had made one or two fortunate specu
lations. He had been left a legacy by old Grobus,
a morose brother clerk, who had never given him
a civil word when alive, but had bequeathed him
all he died worth, remarking in his will that" Rich
ard Blorage, his heir, would be sure to spend it
better than he could." And Richard Blorage, first
ascertaining that there were no real heirs, had forth
with purchased one or two waste bits of land, be
cause the owners wanted to sell them, and because
no one but a good-natured fool would bur them.
No sooner, however, did they become Dick's than
they were discovered to be invaluable. The rail
way ran straight through them; the land wag the
very thing for building purposes; and, what was
pleasanter than all, no one envied Dick. Every
one said, " Serve Dick, Blorage right; he's a good
fellow, and it's his due."
And when he decided to build himself a new
house on this improved and flourishing estate, ev
ery one, far and near, entered into the scheme.
The plans were shown about, aa if the plans were
for a building of public property. The architect
Was received everywhere as a friend, the work
men were looked upon as part of the community.
The house grew, stone by stone, under the eyes
and minute inspection of all the neighbors. The
laying of the foundation-stone was a popular jubi
lee ; the roofing-in was nearly followed by a roof-
ing-out, so deafening were the cheers from the as
sembled multitude. The final completion of the
structure was so rapturously hailed by all Dick's
friends that it might have been supposed Mr. Blor
age had privately intimated to the whole of them;
individually and separately, that he intended to
make each a present of the achieved piece of archi
tecture.
Of course there was to be a house-warming—a
dinner and a dance; and it was thinking of this
identical fete, to come off the very next day, that
had set Mr. Blorage's thoughts off at express pace.
Not because his dinner wag to be so well appointed,
not because his wines (he knew that a little too
well this evening!) were unexceptionable, not be
cause the music provided was the best that money
could hire, not because his rooms were beautifully
decorated, his chintzes of the sweetest patterns, his
carpets Axminster and Brussels; but because two
out of the sixty invitations he had issued had been
accepted. Why two? And what two? Ilk the
present excited state of Mr. Blorage's brain he
could only have answered, " Upon those two hang*,
my fate—the fate of my house."
He threw himself into one of those delightful,
spring-seated sloping-backed softly-cushioned arm
chairs, in which our unlucky ancestors never had
the good fortune to repose. He took another glass
of wine, oblivious of having drank success to his
house already rather often.
" So, they both come! Lovely craatnres I Bill
doesn't like Fanny; he says she is like Ellen. Ah,
poor Ellen. I don't know which is the prettier of
those two cousins. Billy seems rather full of Flor
ence. I must find that ont; I must observe him;
it would never do to ruin poor Bill's happiness: I
know what unrequited love is. I am not in love
with either of the cousins at present. I was madly
in love with Ellen, but, you see, I got over it.'
(Who was there to see, Mr. Blorage ? Ah, that last
glass I) " It certainly is time I married. But I
shouldn't like to be served that way again—as Ellen
served me, I mean. Bill will have it she's unhap
py ; I hope not. Bill says I am a great fool if I
ever—if I submit—if, in s'hort, I am taken in again.
Did Ellen take me in ? I don't know. I don't un
derstand women at all. I believe every word they
say; I adore their sweet smiles and winning ways,
and I would not—nay, I could not—tbink ill of
them for the world". I suppose I am a fool, as Bill
says I ami. What a thing it would be for me if
some kind-hearted honest genius or fairy would
bestow upon the wallsof my house the gift of making
people appear just as they are, speak just what they
think, and be altogether as God and Nature made
them! When I was young, surely I read of a palace
of truth belonging to some fellow—king, I beg his
pardon—called Phanor. To be sure they got into
a world of difficulties, and were all more or less
miserable. But they were French people; whereas
a good honest Briton likes the truth, and WILL
speak it whether he's miserable or not."
Mr. Blorage spoke the last sentence aloud, with
great emphasis on the auxiliary verb; moreover,
giving force to his words by an energetic thump
on the arm of his chair.
" My dear Sir take care 1" said a voice in his ear.
The sound was like the tinkle of a little silver bell,
clear as a note of music.
Looking toward the sound the good Dick per
ceived, perched on the arm of the chair, a little
lady: who steadied herself, after his hard thump
on the cushion, by holding valiantly on to an elab
orately crocheted anti-macassar.
" I—I beg your pardon," stammered Mr. Blorage.
"Granted." said the lady. "Now open your
hand and hold it steady."
Always ready to oblige, Mr. Blorage did as he
was asked, and was wonderfully surprised that he
was not surprised when she took a flying leap into
the middle of his palm.
" Thank you, Dick," said she, arranging her
little crinoline, and putting on an air. " So you
want your house to be gifted with the power of
making people speak the truth, eh ?"
" I should like it," he answered, in some con
fusion.
The little lady shook her head.
" You won't like it. You will find it very an
noying. Neither your servants, nor your friends,
nor your relations will seem the better for it, Dick."
" I should like to try it for a little while—just
for one day," he stammered, in answer to the wise
forebodings of the little lady.
" I understand. Merely to enable you to select
a wife ? You fear to be made a fool of again, Dick."
" Yes, yes," he answered, eagerly. " Marriage
is such an awful thing. One does not mind being
made a fool of for a short time—but for life!" Dick
shuddered, and the little lady wag nearly upset by
the shock.
In the endeavor to save herself from falling she
unfolded a pair of beautiful wings, whose trans
parent lustre of prismatic colors formed a sort of
Glory round her head.
" How prett3' you are," said Dick.
" I only show my beauty to those who appreciate
me. My name is Verita.
" God bless the name," said Dick. " I don't
care about the enchantment of my house if you
will always be at hand to advise me."
" I mean to live with you, Dick; but as for ad
vice, why did God give you an intelligence to
guide you through every difficulty ? Why ask a
little odd spirit for advice when you have hut to
knock at the door of your conscience for unerring
guidance ?"
"True," murmured Dick; "but still—"
" I see you hold to 3'our own way, Dick, and as
I wish you to have a good wife I will grant your
request. But inasmuch as -enchanting the whole
house would be extremely inconvenient to you in
more ways than one, I will confine the spell to this
chair. But there are conditions to be observed—
two conditions—before I enchant the chair."
"Name them."
" The first is, that no one but yourself is to be
apprised of the power the chair possesses."
" Dear me," exclaimed Mr. Blorage, dubiously,
"would that be quite fair?"
" Simpleton I Who could you get to sit in your
chair if its power were known, Dick ?"
" Wouldn't people like it ? I shouldn't mind."
" I dare say you would not. But assent to the
condition, or the chair is not enchanted."
" I consent. You said, dear madam, there was
another condition ?"
"The second condition is, that whoever enters
within your doors must sit in the chair, and must
answer three questions before leaving the chair."
"But suppose people will do neither the one nor
the other?'1
" Compliance with the first condition I will take
upon my self to insure; the second depends on you,
as it is you who must put the three questions."
" What sort of questions ?"
" Pooh, pooh, Dick, don't give me more than my
shore of work. If you don't know the sort of ques
tions to put, in order to obtain the good for which
you have required me to enchant the chair, yon
ore undeserving of the favor." ' '.>
Dick would nave protested, but he was so fear
ful of disturbing the equilibrium of the delicate
little creature by over-earnest utterance that he
'only opened and shut his mouth.
Don't blow me away! I must be gone, though.
The night is rather chilly, I think." She took out
of an almost invisible pocket a shadowing sort of
cobwebby thing, meant, he presumed, for her hand
kerchief. Gracefully throwing it over her head,
and tying it nnder her little atom of a chin, sho
t continued: " Good-night, Dick. And good fortune
to this house! And may it soon possess the only
charm it Wants—a pretty wife for yon, and a good
mistress for itself!''
Before Mr. Blorage had time to answer, the palm
of his hand was empty, and the fair little creature
had disappeared.
ra.
Mr. Richard Blorage was never quite clear dur
ing how long a time after the spirit's disappear-
*-Tce he sat thinking or dozing. But the duiing-
om door having opened and shut several times
dnrinkthis period of Intense thought or doze, he
at length became conscious that it was not likely
to have toened and shut of its own accord, and
that it haoXprobably done so under the hand of
Penge, his bihler, his new butler, the most respect
ful and obsMjuious of butlers, who had come into
his service wiih a character so very unexceptiona
ble that he had almost felt inclined to thank the
spotless Penge for being BO good as to take him for
a master.
Mr. Blorage rose hastily and rang the bell.
Penge answered it so immediately as to justify the
supposition that when it rang he had once again
had his hand on the door-handle.
Mr. Blorage was about to speaV to the excellent
Penge, when he was arrested by seeing that mod'
est butler seat himself with much humility in the
chair his master had just vacated—the enchanted
chair. He was no sooner seated than hu appear-
ance instantly changed. His countenance as
sumed an air of much self-complacency; he drew
out from the depths of a mysterious pocket a snuff'
box, and he took a large pinch of snuff in a calm
and deliberate manner.
" It is my only vice, Sir," he remarkad; " I trust
it is not disagreeable? Will you take a pinch?
No ceremony.'
Villains, ruffians, rogues, and fast men, are
above being surprised; or, if they do feel any
slight attack of that weakness, they take care not
to show it. But plain, honest, natural creatures are
constantly surprised, and as constantly show it
Mr. Blorage gazed at his butler, open-mouthed
and open-eyed, and in the greatest surprise, until
he was suddenly recalled to a perception of the
case by seeing the face of the little spirit peeping
out behind the chair.
The Lady Verita had performed her part of the
contract, and had seated the butler in it by some
marvelous power. Mr. Blorage must now perform
his part of the contract.
As he rubbed his eyes, ran his fingers through
Ms hair, and blew his nose, perfectly unable to de
cide what questions he should put to Penge, the
confident air of the man, shining through an obse
quious mock humility, moved Mr. Blorage to a
hearty and irresistible fit of laughter. Though he
was sorry for Penge, though he felt that he alone
was to blame for Pence's peculiar situation, re
strain himself from laughter he could not.
"Veil, Blorage," says Penge, with great self-
possession, " you 'ave a right to amuse yourself at
3'our pleasure: but you're drunk!"
"Penge?"
" Blorage! I ain't to be put out of the truth by
you. You're drunk."
"Drunk or sober, I think I am a gentleman,
Penge?"
" You may think so," returned the model butler,
with great contempt; " but / don't. My ideas off
a real gent ain't by no manner o' means the same
as yours, Blorage."
"And what are your ideas?" asked Dick, in a
hurry, glad to catch hold of so safe a question.
"My ideas," replied the model butler, rising with
the occasion. " are racers—out-and-outers—sport—•
life. Them s my ideas of a real gentleman, not
your slow games. Blorage, you're a muff I"
Dick blushed,a little, in mortification: but it
was clearly his duty to get this, his first victim,
out of the Chair of Truth as speedily as possible.
"At all events, I hope you are comfortable,
Penge? I hope that at least you like my serv
ice ?"
"t?o, I don't, Blorage. I am formed for enjy-
ment; and how can I know enjyment under a
mean-spirited screw that keeps the keys of his own
"But you-agreed with me, Penge, when I en
gaged you, that it was the most satisfactory ar
rangement for all parties. Penge, you said yon
preferred it."
"Blorage, I considered as it looked well so to
say; and laving heerd as you was soft and easy,
what I said to myself was, 'Penge I you stick that
into him, and you'll have the key before your first
year is out.' Which is what I expect, Blorage, or
you and me parts."
Burning to release the prisoner, Mr. Blorage
was racking his brain for the last question, when
a furious peal of the dopr-bell suggested a very
safe one.
"Who can that be, Penge?"
" That awful young scamp your brother."
Then, instantly rising, Mr. Penge said, in his
most unexceptionable manner, " I ask your par
don. Sir. I felt so very giddy just now, Sir, that
if I had not took the liberty to take a seat I must
have fainted."
"Never mind. Make no excuses, Penge."
" Thank you. Sir. I believe that is Mr. William's
ring, Sir. He is such a cheerful young gentleman.
Sir, that I know the liveliness of his ring." And
Penge disappeared with alacrity.
The good l)ick rushed to the chair, intending to
occupy it himself during his brother's visit. But
his brother was took quick for him.
"Halloa. Dick! What do you want with the
best chair in the room ? It is very unlike such a
good-natured chap as you to appropriate the most
comfortable seat."
He was in the chair! Dick sat down on the
edge of another chair and wiped his forehead.
William, Billy, or Bill, safely ensconced in the
magic chair, assumed a very rakish used-up indif
ferent sort of appearance; and the brothers were
silent. Probably William was uncomfortable in
his strange and novel position. Dick was racking
his brsin for three questions—three simple, harm
less questions, that should not commit the sitter.
The weather? Nothing better. Bill could never
compromise himself about the weather.
"Is it a fine night, Billy?"
" Rather too fine for me. I want to skulk off to
Barnes's without being seen, and I came here on
my way, partly to. bund mother, and partly to
twist a fi'-pun' note out of you." (Barnes's was a
DECEMBER 27, 18(52.] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 829
disreputable gaming-place.)
"How is our mother?" i]
violent hurry,
" I thought Florence—" interrupted Dick, hasti
ly. "Florence be hanged! Do yon suppose I don't
see that yon are spooney npon Florence? But
lookee here, Dick; you want to marry; now, I
don't intend to let you marry. I'm not going to
stand your being thrown away upon any other
than your own relations."
" Come out of that chair, Bill !"
" I won't. It's a comfortable chair. I'm bent
on telling you my mind. My mind has been full
of you, Dick, ever since you began to build this
house. That's a suspicions gallery, shut off by a
green baize door. I said when I saw it, that means
mischief. He means that part of the house for a
Nur— "
" Come out of that chair, Bill !"
"I tell you I won't. As to your
ried, I'm not afraid of Fanny;
never stand a month's courtshi
ting mar
temper will
e'll show her
ed this matter
teeth in a fortnight. When
over in my mind, I said to/rfyself, ' Dick is safe
from her. But Florence.VP'said, ' may be danger
ous; therefore 171 pretprfd to be a little affected
that way myself.' "
" Here, Bill ! Take five pounds — take ten pounds
— but come ont of that chair I"
"I would htrve done it for less than that, Dick,
but as you are so flush and free of money, 1 11 take
the ten. Good-evening, Dick ; I promised mother
to be back to tea."
With this sudden change Mr. William took him
self out of the chair, and took his leave. Mr. Rich
ard — too well pleased to have got him out of the
chair to care for any thing more, and knowing that
his nerves were incapable of bearing further strain
— rushed up stairs and dived into bed. And, as if
fearing that the chair would pursue him even there,
and entice people to commit themselves, he pulled
the-bed-clothes over his head, and was fortunate in
being unconscious during the rest of the night.
interrupted Dick, in
" Precious cross. Bothering as much about my
goings on as if I was cutting my teeth."
"Are—are—are you in love. Bill?"
" Yes; with myself. What's the good of loving
any thing else ? I don't find any one so deuced
fond of me as to forget himself or herself."
THE BKBT OF THIS MANUSCRIPT HE HAD PUT IN
HIS HAT-BOX
IV.
WHP.N Mr. Blorage awoke in the morning he
was reminded by a slight headache that something
unusual had occurred; but he came out of his cold
bath as lively and fresh and full of spirits as if he
were the combined essence of two or three dozen
Mr. Storages. He pranced down stairs—his own
newly-built and Brussels carpeted stairs—like a
young colt philandering in a clover meadow.
This was the great day of the house-warming, to
be followed by events that were perfectly bewil
dering from the ecstasy of their anticipation. He
was brought back to a state of common human
bliss by a strong smell of burned wood or varnish,
and found that in making the tea (he had lost him
self in thinking how soon some fair hand might be
mskine tea for him) he was endeavoring to stuff
his little hot kettle (which phizzed and sputtered
a remonstrance) into his new tea -poy, while the
caddy appertaining thereto was catching fire on
the hob.
Remedying these mistakes with the utmost ex
pedition, in turning round he suddenly encoun
tered the chair, and suddenly remembered its fatal
property.
What was be to do ? How get rid of the chair ?
Should ho send it away ? Should he lock it up ?
Should he destroy it ? burn it? annihilate it? bury
As he seized hold of it, with the intention of per
forming one or other of these acts, he was conscious
of a shock; his arms fell powerless to his sides;
and a little fluttering noise made him look up.
There, on the head of a chair, was the Lady Verita,
her wings expanded, her tiny foot just poised on
the carved shining top of the chair.
" It is of no use, Dick," she said, her little voice
tinkling like silver music. "This chair was not
enchanted merely for your whim. Sit down and
listen to me."
Dick obeyed, and held out his palm. His heart
leaped with joy as the little lady sprang lightly on
"Lend me your watch, Dick, to sit upon."
Dick complied, and placed his watch with infi
nite care and gentleness for her use.
She seated herself gracefully, having folded her
wings. Once more drawing out her fleecy atom
of a handkerchief, she used it after the manner of
mortals; though Dick hardly supposed that any
thing BO infinitely delicate as her nose could stand
the test.
" Now, Dick, how naughty you are! You do not
use my gift as j-ou ought. Why were 3*ou think
ing of burning my chair? Simply because it had
done its duty in enabling you to see people as 0163-
really are, and know their thoughts ?"
"But I do not wish to know them."
" My dear Dick, infinite Wisdom has riven you
susceptibility, intelligence, and reason. You only
use the first. You are commanded to love your
neighbor, but your susceptibility should not lead
you into confounding all moral distinctions among
vour neighbors. Reason should step in, and ena
ble you to make a practical use of susceptibilitv
and intelligence. Do I make myself understood?
I have had to read up for it."
" Lovely and beloved little creature, I know I
am a fool, but let me reap the fruits of my want
of wisdom. I would rather be foolish for life than
entrap others into sitting in this chair."
" Dick, 3'ou require a lesson. Use it well, be
patient, be submissive, and all will end well, both
for you and for me. I hear your door-bell ringing.
Adieu, Dick. Be wise and prudent."
The radiant wings expanded, the little handker
chief was tied under the tiny chin, and as Penge
opened the door to usher in a visitor the little lady
vanished.
. "Be wise and prudent." The words kept tink
ling a little silver sound in the ears of Mr. Blorage
as ne rose and welcomed the visitor shown in bjr
Penge. His first essay at being wise and prudent
made him hand her (for it was a female) at once
into the post of honor—the Chair of Truth.
He was glad to perceive that his visitor was a
pleasant little mild girl whom he had met once or
twice at Dr. Evans's, the medical man of the neigh
borhood. He had a general idea that she was Sie
daughter of an invalid widow, and that she was
the eldest of a flock of brown healthy-looking chil
dren, to whom she acted as foster-mother, owing
to the inability of their real mother to do any thine
but lie on the sofa, and sigh for ease from pain and
poverty. F
He had so far noticed little Gatty Bland (who
Itf-tne-way, was twenty-three years old, perhaps
more) as to admire her eyes, soft and brown, the
exact color of her hair. As she now sat in the en
chanted chain he was surprised at himself for nev
er having notfcMI thai She was really pretty. Her
•WMt Hinocent face had a bewitching air about it
that peculiarly pleased him. And really, her tiny
hands and her .graceful movements strongly re
minded him of the ways of the little Lady Verita.
"Mamma lias sent me here this morning, Mr.
Blorage, to beg your acceptance of the loan of a
beautiful china bowl. There is not another like it
in England, and she fancied it would be just the
thing to hold a Trifle to-night."
" I thank her very much; but how did she know
that I was going to have a Trifle to-night ?"
"Oh, we know it very well. Yon give a ball
to-night, and from our house we can see the lights,
and faintly hear the music. Jenny and Albert are
to sit up to-night a little longer than usual that
they may watch the carriages."
'•Then if I accept the loan of the beautiful china
bowl, I must ask a favor in return."
" I will promise to perform it, Mr. Blorage, for I
feel sure you will not ask any thing that I may not
promise to perform."
" I ara proud of being so trusted. I should wish
to beg the favor of your company to-night, to see
how well the Trifle looks in the beautiful china
bowl."
"Ah, how I wish we could come! But we are
very poor, and mamma is too great an invalid to
take us out. We shall find ranch pleasure, though
in watching your gaj-ety from our window, and
we shall be delighted to think that our china bowl
has helped to ornament your supper-table. Mamma
was sure you would not consider the offer of it an
impertinence."
No. indeed! Dick was an adept in the happy
art of accepting a kindness in the spirit in which it
was offered.
"Mamma has had great pleasure in watching
the building of your house, Mr. Blorage. She said,
a good man is going to inhabit it. and a good man
always benefits a neighborhood."
11 Your mamma is very kind," murmured Dick,
a little confused, and beginning to blush. He was
admiring Gatty Bland so much that he had for
gotten she was a prisoner, and unconscious of the
frankness of her words.
" Mamma is very good, Mr. Blorage, as we, her
children, know. And I ought to return to her. I
promised not to be absent more than half an hour,
and it must be that now."
But though she looked distressed and anxious,
poor Gatty could no more move until Mr. Blorage
released her than the house could move.
lie wiped his brow, ran his fingers through his
hair, and prepared for action.
" And so your mamma is glad to have a near
neighbor?"
"She is clad that you ara our neighbor. When
it pleases Heaven to release her from trouble and
pain, and to begin our lonelier life of struggle, she
thinks that the sunshine of a good man's heart
may sometimes fall on her poor children in the
shade."
" So it shall, my dear, please God 1 But, Gatty,
you must marry.—Would you like to marry?"
" I don't know, Mr. Blorage; but I fear few will
care to marry a little plain girl, with a turn-up
nose, and a heart full of her own people, and who
wants a nomination for—"
" Have you ever seen any one you would like to
marry ?" interrupted Dick, pleased with his wealth
of questions.
'' Only one, and that is you, Mr. Blorage! Good-
by. I must run all the way home."
Finding herself released, Gatty sprang up, and
ran out of the room: leaving Mr. Blorage turning
from his natural color to white, from white to pink,
frompink to crimson, from crimson to purple.
"Poor little dear thing, that I could have been
so base and dishonorable as to ask her such a deli
cate question, when I hadso many safe questions
to ask—her age, her brothers' and sisters' names
and ages, her godfathers and godmothers—if she
liked new milk, cheese, eggs. Gracious Heaven!
that I should have dared to put BO preposterous a
question, and receive such a—such a—such a—"
Dick could not bring himself to name the quality
of the auswer. " But it's very pleasant to be so
undeservedly appreciated—to be liked and loved
for one's own sake. She is a nice little thing; she
is a pretty little thing. Her nose certainly turns
up; but I believe there never was a silly person
known with a turned-up nose. She is very grace
ful. She flitted out of the room like a bird out of
a rose-bush. I wonder what nomination she want
ed!"
For the first time since it was enchanted Mr.
Blorage looked complacently at the chair; but his
meditations were interrupted by a respectful inti
mation from Penge that his master would oblige
every body by getting out of the way, because the
market-gardener had arrived with his flowers and
decorations, the carpenter was waiting with his
nails and ruler, and the Mr. Gunter of those parts
was frantic to begin setting up his lights. So Mr.
Blorage got out of the way for the rest of the day,
and reappeared at dinner-time in due course, and
afterward became the observed of all obeervers, as
he led out the (in those parts) highly renowned and
celebrated Lady Fitzcluck to open his ball with an
old-fashioned country-dance.
Every thing had eone off well, up to the proud
moment when Mr. Blorage drew on his new kid
gloves for the (in those parts) eminently aristo
cratic Lady Fitzcluck. She was bulky, but she
was light in hand, and she and Mr. Blorage danced
with a spirit wortl^- of the occasion. Half way
down thirty couples, Mr. Blorage became conscious
of a circumstance. A stately old dowager was
seated, in the centre of a circle of chairs, in the
Chair of Truth. Howsoever it had got there, by
whatsoever mysterious agency it had been brought
there, there it was, with the'dowager in it. She
was encircled by a crowd, to whom she was hold
ing forth, and evidently in no complimentary
strain. Mr. Blorage rushed out of the country-
dance at the instant when he ought to have
paraded the (in those parts) highly fashionable
Lady Fitzcluck down the middle; he rushed back
again, and danced vehemently; he grasped the
hand confidingly held across to him in the execu
tion of the figure hands across, as if it were the
throat of a burglar: iu all the hurry, worry, and
confusion he must think (and could not think) of
three appropriate and respectful questions to put
to that terrible and otherwise immovable old dow
ager. With his responsibility staring him in the
face, he had hurled Lady Fitzcluck through a
narrow gorge of dancers, when an unfortunate but
ton of his coat entangled itself in the lace of a
lady's dress, and in the perturbation of his feelings
he went down the middle and up again, carrying
a long and tattered shred, that lengthened as he
went. Fanny's was the dress—Fanny was the
sufferer. But she looked 'up into his face so for
givingly, and her soft blue eyes so smilingly met
his, and her rosy lips spoke his pardon in such
sweet tones, that he mentally said, "Dear, lovely
Fanny, what an angel! What bflss fo be lOvefl by
Fanny!" But whefi Florence stepped forward from
among the dancers, with eager concern, her bright
cheek flushed, her dark eyes sparkling, and her
voice attuned to the gentlest tones of commisera
tion for the damage done to "dear Fanny's dear
love of a pretty dress"—when she gracefully begged
her partner to excuse her, " that she might pin up
the dear love's tatters"—then Mr. Blorage felt
very much inclined to repeat the above sentence
over again, substituting the name of Florence for
Fanny. Meantime all eres were attracted to the
horrible dowager in the Chair of Truth. Had any
Painter been present he would have gone on his
knees to beseech that dowager to sit to him for the
personification of a Gorgon. Mr. Blorage felt, aft
er all, that he could no more dare to ask her a
question than if she had been his Black Majesty
from below, arrayed in gorgeous female attire.
There she must sit until kind Fate steppe'd in with
three questions and released her. As he looked
hopelessly toward the door, he saw the little pi-
qnante nose of Gatty Bland showing itself in good
relief against a black coat near her. She had a
little laced handkerchief tied under her chin; she
went toward the dowager, changing the little laced
kerchief into her hand; in her plain white dress
she conveyed the dowager, all purple and gold,
down the room, ont at the door, and into the tea
room. He blessed Gatty Bland mentslly, and fin
ished his dance with high credit to himself, and
perfect satisfaction to the (in those parts) rather-
difficult-to-please Lady Fitzcluck. As soon as he
was free he flew to seek a partner, either in Fanny
the Fair or Florence the Beautiful.
They were together, and almost alone. They
were together—-horror I—in the Chair of Truth;
Fanny on the cushioned seat; Florence on the
stuffed arm. Florence was still employed in pin-
ningup the tatters of the torn dress of Fanny.
" What a beautiful picture; what a lovely con
trast 1" thought Dick, as he approadled.
" There, Dear 1" said Florence, with a remark
ably emphatic stress npon the last word; I have
pinned you up, and done the best I could for you.
Dear. But I am glad to see, notwithstanding, that
you are a monstrous figure, and not fit to look at,
Dear."
"Thank you. Florence, Dear!"
"Ah, you false thingf / see through your
meekness and your affectation, as if you did not
care about your dress. It is a pity Mr. Blorage
can't see you at home."
" It's a pity Mr. Blorage cam't sec you at home.
Aunt longs for the day when she can rid herself of
you: indolent, selfish, and useless creature that
3rou are."
" But Aunt comforts herself with the reflection
that she has not such a fire-brand in her house as
you are. Aunt can well afford to put up with a
little indolence where there is so much good tem
per."
" It is better to be a little passionate than sulky,
" Is it, Lore ? Mr. Blorage is the best judge of
that. We have all our tempers, and you don't ex
pect a perfect wife, do you, Mr. Blorage?"
"I am very imperfect nyself," murmured the
unfortunate Dick.
" Oh no, Mr. Blorage," cried Fanny and Flor
ence together: " Yon are every thing that is nice
and good-tempered. And this is such a love of a
house that no one could be unhappy here."
Here the duet ceased, and solos began.
" You would always be cross and fractious, Fan
ny," said Florence.
"And you would always be rude and boisterous,
Florence," said Fanny.
" For you are a virago, and you know you are,"
said Florence.
" For you are a hoyden, and you know you are,"
said Fanny.
" I am ashamed of yon, my darling," said Flor
ence.
"I am disgusted with j'ou, my precious,"said
Fanny.
" Ladies, ladies!" expostulated Dick.
"She has the vilest temper, Mr. Blorage!" cries
Florence.
" She cant speak a word of truth, Mr. Blorage,"
cries Fanny.
As Mr. Blorage turned hurriedly and appealing-
ly from the one to the other, each now exclaiming,
" Throw your handkerchief to me, Mr. Blorage!"
he lost his balance, rolled over, and rolled the
chair over. Picking himself up with'nil possible
dispatch, and turning to apologize, be found that
Florence, Fanny, music, lights, flowers, dancers,
Lady Fitzcluck, and dowager, had all disappeared.
There was nothing near him but the chair—over
turned—and an empty wine-bottle.
V.
"Thank Heaven!" were the first spoken words
of Mr. Blorage. His first act was to look for his
handkerchief, which he hoped he had not thrown
to either of the ladies. It was safe in his pocket.
" It must have been a dream," he next remarked,
ej-ing the chair dubiously. "Yes, of course a
dream," as he gathered courage from its motion
less state. " But a very bad dream," as he felt
encouraged to touch it, raise it, and examine it.
As harmless a chair as ever upholsterer stuffed or
gentleman bought! Gently he restored it to its
proper place.
A knock at the door. Immediately followed by
the appearance of the model Penge. It seemed an
agreeable and satisfactory circumstance to the re
spectful Penge that his master was on his legs and
awake. •
'' Shall I remove the things, Sir ? It's dose upon
nine."
" Do so, Penge. And I think I will have a cup
of coffee—rather strong, Penge."
"Yes, Sir."
What a relief it was not to see Penge sit down
in the chair I
"It's a delicious cup of coffee, Penge," said Mr.
Blorage, when it was brought, "and it so perfect
ly agrees with me that I think 111 take a run over
to Dr. Evans's and play a game of chess with him."
The sharp night air smote him with a sudden
giddiness, and every twinkling star appeared to be
closely embracing a twin star that twinkled with
still greater vigor; but he soon got over these de
lusions, and before he reached Dr. Evans's door
was quite himself. On the way, however, he took
himself seriously to task:
" How good of the night to be so fresh and fine,
how kind of the pure stars to beam down on me
so brightly, when I am a man full of evil and
weak thoughts. I harbored a design against my
fellow-creatures of the basest sort; and, to add to
my crime, it was directed against one whom I
meant for a wife! True, I know nothing of Miss
: Fanny or Miss Florence but the beauty of those
two cousins, and a general sort of amia'bility that
seems to belong to oil girls. I'll make it my bus
iness fo ffce more of bpttL and I'll try to be Raided
to a right choice at last?
Mr. Blorage was warmly welcomed by Dr. JEv-
ans, who opened the door to him.
" Now this is friendly. I have had a very anx
ious case, which has caused me much worry these
three days. It is happily past the crisis now, and
I was just saying to my wife how I should enjoy
your stepping in.
"I am heartily glad I came."
" Of course you are. You are always kind and
seasonable. When were you ever otherwise ?"
The good Dick followed the Doctor (who was a
voluble and hearty doctor) up the stairs into the
presence of Mrs. Doctor. But Dick was unable to
acknowledge Mrs. Doctor's cordial greeting by so
much as a single word; for there before his eyes,
seated on a little chair by Mrs. Evans's side, was
Miss Gatty Bland, her innocent little face peeping
ont of a handkerchief tied over her head and un
der her chin.
"You know dear little Gatty, of course?" re
marked the Doctor. "She is waiting for her mo
ther's medicine.—I hope you have given Gatty a
cup of tea, my dear ?"
Mrs. Doctor's face expressed a profound con
tempt for Mr. Doctor's unnecessary reminder.
Meantime Dick sat down. He awaited with the
calm composure of a victim of Fate for Miss Bland
to offer him the use of her mother's beautiful china
bowl.
She did nothing of the sort. In the ensuing
half hour she made no allusion whatever either to
cbina or to bowls, though the conversation turned
upon no other subject than his approaching house-
warming.
Dick was half sorry. He felt as if it would be
so agreeable to thank such a charming little girl.
If her mother had lent him her china bowl (he felt
sure she possessed a china bowl) he must have
called to thank her, and he felt a desire to become
intimate with the famils-. He might, perhaps, be
of service to them; was there any tiling—or no
thing— in that nomination he so nearly heard
about? He invited Gatty to the house-warming,
and anticipated her request for Jenny and Albert;
he was not at all surprised to find that she had a
sister Jenny and a brother Albert. But it did
surprise him to see how pretty she became when
joy_ flushed her cheeks and brightened her 63-08,
while several little dimples in the nicest corners
of her face discovered themselves as sue smiled
her thanks.
The very thing!" said Mrs. Evans; " a little
expect all four, ______.. ___________...
'' Only four! I expect eight at least."
"But, Mrs. Evans," whispered Gatty, "one of
us must Slav with mamma; that will be I, yon
know."
" My dear, / will see to that. I will step down
in the morning, Gatty, and settle it all with mam
ma."
"And toll mamma from me." said the Doctor,
" that I shall spend a couple of hours with her to
morrow evening. I want to study her case, and
I shall like a little rest between your dances, Blor
age."
"That is," said Catty, smiling delightedly,
" that you two are most kindly coinc to represent
me for that time."
"Just so, my dear. What! Are you off, Gat
ty? Stay. Well send our man Mike with you;
the railway has brought a lot of ill-looking people
about."
" Let me take yon home, Miss Bland/* said Dick.
" Oh! Thank 3-ou very much, Mr. Blorage. I
own some of the people frighten me, though I think
they mean no harm."
' We will have a game of chess when yon come
back, Blorage," says the Doctor.
What passed between little Gatty and her escort.
and whether any thing passed on the subject of
china bowls, nobody knows. The walk did not
last longer than ten minutes. My private opinion
ie, that Dick treated Gatty all the way with the
respect and deference due to a young princess ac
cidentally committed to his care. When he re
turned to his game of chess, what with the remain
ing fumes of that bottle of wine, the extraordinary
dream, and this odd approach to an interpretation
of it, it is certain that he was in a romantic mood.
He willingly listened to a long history of the
Elands, during which Mr. and Mrs. Doctor main
tained a laudatory duet very different indeed from
the imaginary duet between Fanny and Florence.
" I only wish," cried the Doctor, at last, " that I
had a son of thiity or thirty-five, with a good house,
a good income, and a good heart. I would recom
mend him Gatty Bland for a wife with all my heart
and soul, and he would thank me every year of his
life ever afterward, even though he had to marry
her whole family along with her I"
"Miss Bland," said Mr. Blorage, "spoke of a
nomination—no, by-the-by, she didn't—it was a
china bowl—dear me, what do I mean?—I think
I hardly know what I do mean I"
" You look rather wild, Dick; of course I can't
help you out. / don't know what you discoursed
upon in your walk; but there appears to me no
affinity between a nomination for the Blue-coat
School and a china bowl."
" Oh! that's what sbe -wants, is it ? Blue-coat
School! God bless my soul! Really a nomina
tion, eh? Blue coat! Ah!—Check to your queen!"
Notwithstanding that check Dick lost the game.
But he went home in a felicitous state of mind
that made him feel as if he had won the game. He
continued to repeat the word "Blue" to himself,
as if he were under an obligation never to forget
it. He went up to his bedroom chuckling "Blue;"
be undressed chuckling " Blue;" he sat up in bed,
after lying down, with a vehement " Blue;" and
his last recollection was a struggle to say " Blue-
nomicoatation."
VI.
Mr. Blorage arose in a contented and happy
frame of mind. The great day was the greatest
of successes; nothing marred the triumph of the
dinner, nothing marred the beauty of the ball.
Tbe hard-faced dowager sat in the chair, but she
was just as forcible and disagreeable as usual; no
more and no less. Mr. Blorage danced with Lady
Fitzcluck, and bespoke Fanny, and Florence, and
Gatty: for Gatty was there, demurely happy.
Trust Mr. and Mrs. Doctor for Gatty's being there I
Florence looked most beautiful. She was charm
ingly dressed in white tarlatan—three skirts—pink
ed—each skirt looped up with a mixture of white
roses and pomegranate blossoms. A wreath of the
same for her hair. Fanny was dressed in floating
robes of blue—less blue than her eyes. Her fair
curls were twined with silver leaves: she looked
like a nymph; Florence like a queen. Not tin
greatest gossip in the room could say which was
the favorite. Neither could the greatest or the
least gossip in th« room (Ji
moment the flftt Of both dei
age's horizon.

'r
830 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [DECEMBER 27,18C2.
But he has confided to Bomebody, who confided
it to me, wno now confide H to you, that Miss Flor
ence ceaied to be beautiful hi his eves when she
sneered at tbe plainness of the Miss Blands' mue-
Eu dresses. " And it is real ivy in their hair, Mr.
Blorage, so they can't have gone to any great ex
pense to do honor to your ball." And Miss Flor
ence glanced down at her own dress.
"I like them all the better for it," stonily an
swered Dick.
As to Miss Fanny, she was so astonished at the
impertinence of such people as the Blands thrust
ing themselves into society so much above them!
And her star descended at the instant when she
was thus overcome.
Mr. Blorage accomplished his dances with Fnnny
and with Florence, but did not accomplish his dance
with Gatty Bland. For on the instant that he
claimed her hand Dr. Evans (eent off by hid wife
presently after dinner) returned from taking care
of Mrs. Bland.
"Oh! Mr. Blorage, I must go—thank you so
much for the happiest evening 1 ever spent, and
the prettiest sight I ever saw I"
"No no no, yon must not go; a quadrille takes
only twenty minutes to dance."
"But mamma is alone now, and I should he
quite unhappy all that twenty minutes, even
though dancing with you. But there is Jenny,
she dances so well, ana she loves it so much, ana
—don't think me conceited, Mr. Bleruj/e—she is so
pretty."
" She is the prettiest girl in the room—but one,"
says Mr. Blorage in a whisper. And ot> lie assists
Gatty to put on her cloak he -••ee licr, with un
speakable admiration, tie her little laced handker
chief over her head and under her chin, anil look
so indescribably like the dear darling little creat
ure of his vision that he longs—infamous as is (of
course) the thought—to clasp her, then and there,
to his heart I But instead of doing M> lie flit.- l< ck
to the ball-room and engages Jenny out of hand.
Thus Gatty, when she went home, wa* nlJe to nil
her mother that she took a last peep nt the beauti
ful scene, and saw kind Mr. Bloiuge asking Jenny
to danoe, and Jenny looking as pretty us vvun those
two lovely cousins Florence and Fanny. "They
say Mr. Blorage is to marry one of them, mamma,
but I hope not."
"Oh, my Gatty!"
" Well, mamma, you Know I see a good deal of
them here and there, and I am sure they are ouly
bretty girls. The}' do not appreciate his great no-
Lie generous heart. But now, mamma, to bed yon
must go. No more excitement for you to-night."
Happily the excitement in the little family last
ed a good many days, and afforded food fur con
versation morning, noon, and night. Indeed it
was yet as fresh as ever when, one morning, the
post Drought a piece of news that fairly surpassed
the house-wanning—a nomination to the Blue-coat
School in favor of no less a personage than Master
Albert Bland. The commotion in that cottage—
Well! It's a blessed thing to want something, for
then you can duly appreciate the favor of ha\ ing
it. And it Is a blessed thing to be rich, and literal
withal, for then you can bestow the favor so appre
ciated. Meantime Mr. Blorage divided his time
pretty equally between his little office at the Bank,
Dr. Evans's, the house belonging to the father of
Florence, and the abode within which dwelt the
lovely Fanny's aunt. And all these visits, com
bined with the still existing effects of his dream,
ended in consequences.
The first consequence occurred to the self-satis
fied William. His slow brother Dick acquired the
ridiculous habit of demanding what Bill did with
those sums of money he was forever borrowing t
And—unkindest thing of all—Mr. Richard insinu
ated, nay, he more than insinuated, he plainly told
Mr. William Blorage tbat he expected such sums
to be repaid in future. And to show that this was
no idle threat, he produced a ledger, wherein a
debtor and creditor account was drawn up between
Mr. Richard Blorage and Mr. William Blorage:
which account disjilayed a state of •account so
alarming to Mr. William that he reformed rather.
Imagine Mr. Dick's pleasure when'William, Billy,
or Bill applied in sober seriousness for that post
of junior of all the junior clerks, whilom so de
spised by him I
Second important consequence. Mr. Richard
Blorage committed a piece ef extravagance. He
caused te be executed for himself a statuette in
white marble. Any orderers of statues, or other
things to be made after a fashion of their own, may
calculate what an enormous sum Mr. Blorage paid
for his statue. It. must be ethereal-looking (he
said), it must have extended wings, it must be
lightly poised on one foot; but, above all, it must
have a slightly turned-up nose, and a little lace
hankerchief tied under the chin!
• ••••••
These consequences came to pass ten years ago.
On the nlfjht of the thirty-first of December, one
thousand eight hundred and sixty-two, let us take
a peep into Mr. Blorage's house. Lot us take a
peep, at Mr. Blorage in his dining-room. Dinner
is over, wine and dessert are on table. The Chair
is at the upper end of the room; above the chair is
a lovely statuette on a carved oaken bracket.
said some one else: while the matcher to that small
hand of the same some one else turns the leaves of
the paper, so that Dick feels he has no want of an
other hand. If the owner of the small hand gets to
the bottom oT the page first—which she invariably
does, being a womau—she lays her head confiding
ly on Dick's shoulder, and seems very well content
to let it stay there as long as Dick chooses.
" But, hark 1 There is a noise overhead; a baize
door closes with a muffled sound; there is a pat
tering of little feet, and there is a joyful chorus of
little voices. Dick puts down the paper; his com
panion, flying to the door, opens it; in rush half a
dozen small rosy boys and girls. (Most of these
little children have noses of a slightly astronomic
al turn.)
Mamma prepares their dessert. There is a chair
wanting at the table. In default of the missing
chair, mamma wheels forward tA« Chair, and sits
down in it.
"Papa, papal Mamma is in the Chair of Truth,"
cries a child.
Clearly Mr. Blorage must have told his dream
in the family circle.
" Then let us question her," says papa. " Mam
ma, are you happy?"
'' Happy, as angels are said to be."
" Do you love ns ?" »
"As (under God) my chief good, _thy life."
" Have you ever repented marrying Dick Blor
age?"
This time tke question Is only answered by the
uncharged eyes; expressive aud loving eyes are
often more ready to overflow from perfect happi
ness than from distress or pain.
HIS WONDERFUL END.
IT will have been, 'ere now, perceived that I sold
the foregoing writings. From the fact of their
being printed in these pages, the inference will,
"ere now, have been drawn by the render (may I
add the gentle reader?) that I sold them to One
who never yet—*
Ha\ing parted with the writings on most satis
factory terms—for in opening negotiations with
tliejireseut Journal was I not placing myself in the
h mils of One of whom it muy ne said, in the words
of Another—f I resumed my usual functions.
But I too soon discovered that peace of mind had
ti"d from a brow which, up to that time, Time had
merely took the hair off, leaving an uururHed ex
panse within.
It w..ru superfluous to veil it—the brow to which
I allude in my own.
Yea, over that trow uneasiness gathered like
the ra'de wing of the fiblcd bird, as—as no douM
v.ill be easily identified by all right-minded indi-
vidu -1*. If not. I nm unable, on the spur of the
monif nt, to enter into particulars of him. The re-
tieetiuu that the writings must now inevitably get
into print, a.i.l that lie might yet live and meet
with them, tut like il'f llujj; of Night upon my
j ;rl il form. The cluuticity of my spirits deported.
Fruitless was the Bottle, whetherWine or Med
icine. I had recour«o to both, and the effect of
both upon my system.was witheringly lowering.
In lliis state of depression, into which I sutiaiiK-1
wlieii I first begun lo revolve what could lever .-.._\
if He—the unknown—wuj to appear in the Cofi'ee
Room and demand repantion. I one forenoon in
this last No^Aayiiuer received a turn th'at appeared
to be given in- lij the finger of Fitfi ana Cou-
scieucu, hand in ha'i.d. I u 11 i.lone iu the Coifee
Room and had just jinked . I l:re into n blaze, and
was standing with my back to it, trying whether
heat vouM jiei'.rrrate with soothing influence to
the Voice within, when a young m«n in a cap, of
an intelligent countenance though requiring his
huir cut, ."tooil In-fore me.
'• Mr. Christopher, the Head Waiter."
" 1'he same."
The \ouny man shook his hair out of his vis
ion—which it impeded—took a packet from his
bro .st, and handing it over to me, said, with his
eye (or did I dream ?) fixed with a lambent mean
ing nn me, "Till! PHOOPS."
Although I smelt my coat-tails singeing at the
fire, I had not the power to withdraw them. The
young man put the (nickel in my faltering grusp,
and repeated—let me do him the justice to add,
with civility:
" TH E PROOFS. A. Y. H."
With these words he departed.
A. Y. R. ? And You Remember. Was that his
meaning? At Your Risk. Were the letters short
for that reminder ? • Anticipate Your Retribution.
Did the}' stand for that warning? Outdavious
Youth Repent ? But nu; for that, a 0 was happi
ly wanting, and the vowel here was a A.
I opened the packet nnd found that its contents
were the foregoing writings printed, just ns the
reader (may I add the discerning reader?) peruses
tnem. In vain wss the reassuring whipper —
A. Y. R., All the Year Ronnd—it could not cancel
the Proofs. Too appropriate name. The Proofs
of my haviug sold the Writings.
My wretchedness daily increased. I hud not
thought of the risk I ran, and the defying publicity
I put my head into, until all v. as done, and all was
in print. Give up the money to IIP off the bnreain,
and prevent the publicstion, I could not. My fam
ily wan down in the world, Christmas was coming
on, a brother in the hospital and a sister in the
rheumatics could not be entirely neglected. And
it was uot only ins in the family thut had told on
the resources of one unnided Waitcring; cuts were
not wanting. A brother out of a situation, and an
other brother out of money to meet an acceptance,
and another brother out of his mind, and another
brother out at New York (not the same, though it
might appear so), lutd really and truly brought me
to a stand till 1 could turn myself round. 1 got
worse and worse in my meditations, constantly re
fecting "The Proofs," and reflecting that when
Christmas drew nearer, and the Proofs were pub
lished, there could be no safety from hour to hour
but that He might confront me in the Coffee Room,
and in the face of day and his country demand his
rights.
The impressive and unlooked-for catastrophe
toward which I dimly pointed the reader (shall I
add, the highly intellectual reader ?) in my first
remarks, now rapidly approaches.
It was November still, bnt the last echoes ot the
Guy-Foxes had long ceased to reverberate. We
was slack—several joints under our average murk,
and wine of course proportionate. 80 slack had
we become at last, that beds Nos. 2(j, 27. 28, aud
81 having took their six o'clock dinners aud dozed
over their respective pints, had drove away in their
respective H-insoin.' for their respective Nijht
Mail-Trains, and loft n« empty.
I had took, the evening paper to No. C talilr—
which is warm and most to be preferred—and lost
iu the all-absorbiug topics of the day, had dropped
into a slum! cr. i vrai recalled to consciousness
by the well-known intimation, " Waiter"' uud re
plying "Sir!" found a gentleman btuuding at No.
4 table. The reader (shall I add, the observant
reader?) will please to notice the locality of the
gentleman—at Ao. 4 table.
He had one of the new-fangled nncollapftable
bags iu his hand (which I am ugainst, for I don't
see why you shouldn't collapse, when you are about
it, as your futhors collapsed before you), and he
said:
" I want to dine, waiter. I shall sleep here to
night."
Yl Very good, Sir. What will you take for din
ner, Sir?"
"Soup, bit of codfish, oyster sauce, and the
joint."
"Thaukyou, Sir."
I rang the chamber-maid's beD, and Mrs. Pratch-
ett marched in, according to custom, demurely car
rying a lighted flat candle before her, as if she was
one of a long public procession, all the other mem
bers of which was invisible.
In the mean while the gentleman had gone up
to the mantle-piece, right in front of the firs, aud
laid his forehead against the mantle-piece (which it
is a low one, nnd brought him into the attitude of
leap-frog), and had heaved a tremcnions sigh. His
hair was longfjuid lightish; and when be laid his
• The remainder of thia complimentary sentence edito
rially struck out.
t The remainder of this complimentary parenthesis ed
itorially struck oat.
forehead against the mantle-piece his hair all fell
in a dusty fluff together over his eyes : and when he
now turned round and lifted np his head again, it-
all fell in a dusty fluff together over his ears. This
give him a wild appearance, similar to a blasted
heath.
"Oh! The chamber-maid. Ahl" He was turn
ing something in his mind. "To be sure. Yes.
I won't go up stairs now, if yon will take my hag.
ber. — Can you give me 24 B?"
(O Conscience, what a Adder art thon !)
Mrs. Pratchett allotted him the room, and took
bis bag to it. He then went back before the fire,
and fell a biting his nails.
"Waiter!" biting between the words, "eive
me," bite, "pen and paper; and in five minutes,"
bite, "let me have, if yon please," bite, "a," bite,
" Messenger."
Unmindful of his waning soup, he wrote and sent
off six notes before he touched his dinner. Three
were City: three West-End. The City letters were
to Coruhill, Ludgute-hill, and Faningdon Street.
The West-End letters were to Great Marlborough
Street, New Burlington Street, and Piccadilly.
Every body was systematically denied at every
one of the six places, snd there was not a vestige
of any answer. ' Our light porter whispered to me
when' he came back with that report, 'All Book
sellers."
But lufore then he had cleared off his dinner
nnd hi- In'-l. c.f wine. He now — mark the con-
inrr ;.-. vitii I he document formerly given in full !
— I; :i»..-Uc-d :t plate of biscuits off tbe table with his
ngiinted clber (but without breakage), and de
manded boiling iirandy-and-water.
Nnw fully convinced that it was Himself, I per-
spiicd with the utmost freedom. When he become
flushed with the heated stimulant referred to, he
again demanded pen and paper, and passed the
succeeding two hours in producing a manuscript,
which he put in the fire when completed. He then
went up to l*d, attended by Mrs. Pratchett. Mrs.
Pratchett (who was aware of my emotions) told me
on coming down that she had uoticed his eye roll
ing into every coruor of the passages and staircase,
BO if in search of his Luggage, and that, looking
back as she shut the door of 24 B, she perceivea
him with his coat already thrown off immersing
himself bodily under the bedstesd, like a chimley-
sweep before the application of machinery.
The next Any — I forbear the horrors of that night
— was u very foggy day in our part of London, in-
Bomuch that it was necessary to light the Coffee
Room gas. We was still alone, and no feverish
words of mine can do justice to the fitfnlness of his
appearance as he sat at No. 4 table, increased by
there being something wrong with the meter.
Having again ordered his dinner he went out,
and was out for the best part of two hours. In
quiring on his return whether any of the answers
had arrived, and receiving an unqualified negative,
his instant call was for mulligatawny, the cayenne
pepper, and orange brandy.
Feolin^ that the mortal struggle was now at
hand, 1 also full that I must be equal to him, and
with that view resolved that whatever he took I
would take. Behind my partition, but keeping my
eye on him over the curtain, I therefore operated
on Mulligatawny, Cayenne Pepper, and Orange
Bruudv. Aud at a later period of the day, when
he again raid •' Orange Brand}'," I said so too, in a
lower tone, to George, my Second Lieutenant (my
First was absent on leave), who acts between me
aud the bar.
Throughout that awful day he walked about the
Coffee Room continually. Often he came close up
to my partition, and then his eye rolled within, too
evidently in search of any signs of his Luggage.
Hulf past six came, arm I laid his cloth. He or
dered a bottle of old Brown. I likewise ordered a
bottle of old Browu. He drank his, I drank mine
(as nearly as my duties would permit), glass for
glass against his. He topped with coffee and a
sm.ill (Bass. I topped with coffee and a small
glass. He dozed. I dozed. At last, " Waiter !"
— and he ordered his bill. The moment was now
at haud when we two must be locked in the deadly
grapple. •
Swift as the arrow from the bow I had formed
my resolution : in other words, I had hammered it
out between nine and nine. It was, that I would
be the first to open up tbe Subject with a full ac
knowledgment, and would offer any gradual settle
ment within my power. He paid his bill (doing
what was right by attendance) with his eye rolling
about b'im to the last, for any tokens of his Lug
gage. One only time onr gaze then met, with the
lustrous fixedness (I believe I am correct in imput-
iiii; that character to it ?) of the well-known Basi
lisk. The decisive moment had arrived.
With a tolerable steady hand, though with hu
mility, I laid The Proofs Before him.
"Gracious Heavens!" he cries out, leaping up
and caiching hold of his hair. "What's this I
Print!"
"Sir," I replied, in a calming Voice, and bend
ing forward, " I humbly acknowledge to being the
unfortunate cause of it. Bnt I hope, Sir, that when
you have heard the circumstances explained, and
the innocence of my intentions — "
To my amazement I was stopped short by his
catching me in both his arms, and pressing me to
his breast-bone ; where I must confess to my face
(and particular nose) having undergone some tem
porary vexation from his wearing^ his coat but
toned high up, and hie buttons being uncommon
hard.
" Ha, ha, ha !" he cries, releasingjne with a wild
laugh, and grasping my hand. " What is your
name, my Benefactor?"
" My name, Sir" (I was crumpled, and puzzled
to make him out), "is Christopher: and I hope,
Sir, that as such when you've heard my ex — "
" In print!" he exclaims again, dashing the proofs
over and over as if he was bathing in them. " In
print!! Oh, Christopher! Philanthropist! No
thing can recompense yon — but what sum of money
would be acceptable to you?"
I had drawn a step back from him, or I should
have Buffered from his buttons again.
" Sir, I assure yon I have been already well paid,
and — "
"No, no, Christopher! Don't talk like that!
What sum of money would be acceptable to you,
Christopher? Would yon find twenty pounds ac
ceptable, Christopher?"
However great my surprise, I naturally found
words to say, " Sir, I am not aware that the man
was ever yet born without more than the average
amount of water on the brain, as would not find
twenty pound acceptable. But— -extremely obliged
to you, Sir, I'm sure;" for he had tumbled it out
of his purse and crammed it in my hand in two
bank-notes ; " hut I could wish to know, Sir, if not
intruding, how I have merited this liberality?"
"Know then, my Christopher," he says, "that
from boy hood's hour I have unremittingly and un-
availingly endeavored to
Christopher, that all the Booksellers alive—uuu
several dead—have refused to put me into print.
Know, Christopher, that I have written unprinted
Reams. But they shall be read to you, my friend
and brother. Yon sometimes have a holiday?"
Seeing the great danger I was in. I had the pres
ence of mind to answer, " Never!" To make it
more final, I added, " Never;! Not from the cradle
to the grave."
" Well," says he. thinking no more about that,
: chuckling at his proofs again. " But I am in
pribtl The first flight of ambition emanating from
lowly cot is realized at length I The
l!"—he was getting on—"struck by
magih hand, has emitted a complete aud per
fect sound N When did this happen, my Christo
pher?"
"Which happen, Sir?"
"This," he held it out at arm's-length to admire
it, "thisPer-rint."
When I tad given him my detailed account of
it, he grasped me by the hand again, and saioU
" Dear Christopher, it ahouloV be gratifying to
you to know that yon are an instrument in the
hands of Destiny. Because y

HHI
I I!.
882 HAEPER'S WEEKLY. [DECEMBER 27, 1862.
37WELVH MONTHS AFTER MARRIAGE!.
"BOBBT ought to love bis Fet for taking such care of bis beautiful Whiskers."
TWENTY YEARS Ai I'SiR MARRIAGE!.
"My dear BOBBT, you must let me pull it off your Nose; it looks so horrid."
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Chicago,Ills. Send for circulars (largest house in the U. S.).
Holiday Presents.
Wheeler & Wilson's Sewing Machines.
Highest Premium
International Exhibition, London, 1862.
Office 605 Broadway, New York.
\ A MONTH and EXPENSES.—WANTED—Book
_" Canvassers throughout the United States and
jaimda at the above wages. Send for a Circular. Address
S. F. FRENCH & CO., No. 121 Nassau Street, N. Y.
Buy your Skate Straps •with )
Fogg's Lever Buckle,
Manufactured by F. STEVENS,
215 PEARL STREET, NEW YORK,
68 KILBY STREET, BOSTON.
The American Parlor
Or Floor Skato,
Hard Rubber Rollers,
Anti-friction Axles.
Observe, each Skate la labeled with the trade mark.
Also, 50,000 pair of Ladies' and Gents' Ice Skates, com-
prMne all the new and most improved patterns, made
fr.m welded steel and iron hardened; Skate Straps and
Leather Goods of every description; Fogg's improved
Lever Skate Buckle. Sole Agent for Williams, Morse ft
Co.'B celebrated Skates.
FREDERICK STEVENS,
215 PEARL STREET, NnwYoBK.
68 KILBY STREET, BOSTON.
Patent Office Notice.
During the past Seventeen years Messrs. Munn & Co.,
Editors of the Scientific American, have acted as attorneys
for more than SEVKNTEEN THOUSAND IHVKMTOKS. They
prepare Specifications, Drawing!, Cavlate, and all other
Patent Papers. They also furnish, free, a Pamphlet of
Advice, How to Obtain Letters Patent Address
& CO..
No. 37 Park Row, New York.
U
GOLDEN HILL
SHIRTS.
RETAILING
At Wholesale Prices.
Depot 2 Warren Street J. W. MERSEREAU.
1 1 assortment of skates and skate filings
will be found at the
CENTRAL PARK SKATE EMPORIUM
Skatee SS cents to 25 dollars. Everything in the skating
line (except pouds) to suit all ages, sexes, tastes and purses.
CONOVER & WALKER, 474 Broadway, N. Y.
CHINA AOTD GLASS!
We have now In store a very large stock, and invite an
Inspection. Prices are low, most of the stock having been
imported before the new duty. We have not removed,
and have NO BRANCH STOKE, but continue our busi
ness at 479 Broadway, between Brornno and Grand Sts.
DA VIS COLLAMORE & Co.
OOLEN UNDERSHIRTS
W AND DKAWERS,
CARDIGAN JACKETS,
Am>
A Great Variety of Hosiery and Gloves.
A. RANKIN ft CO.,
No. 96 HOWEIIT,
And No. 105 5th Avenne, Corner 22d Street.
GOLD FENS.
Retailed at wholesale prices. Goods warranted. Send
for a circular, giving list of prices and engravings of Pens.
Pens repointrd on the receipt of 86 cents in P. O. Stamps.
E. S. JOHNSON, Manufactory and Office IB Maiden
Line, New Yorlt City. -
Robes, Scarfs, Ties,
Hosiery, and Gloves.
New Goods at Old Prices.
UNION ADAMS,
• N Wo. 637 Broadwayy New York City.
Sleeve & Bosom Studs,
Made from fine ivory, colors white, black, red, purple,
and blue, marked any initial in Old English, and mailed
free to any address upon receipt of the price, $1 60 ftrtl
let. Monograma made to order.
UNION ADAMS,
Sfo. 637 Broadway, New York. '
Tomes, Son & Melvain,
6 Maiden Lane, New York.
Dealers in Arms and Military Go«ds of every
Description.
RICH PRESENTATION SWORDS.
Smith & Wesson's Breech-loading Rifles and Pistols.
Bacon Manufacturing Co. Revolving Pistols.
LANDS.—To all wanting Perms. Thriving Settle
ment. Kich soil. Mild climate. See advertisement *f
Vineland, on page 495.
HOLIDAY GIFTS.
Agents and Dealers should get a supply of our PRIZE
STATIONERY PACKAGES, containing Pine Stationery
and n Gift of Fine Jewelry wanted in every Family and
by every Soldier. Also, onr ARMY PORTFOLIO, suited
for the Soldier, as it contains Paper, Envelopes, Pens, Pen
cil, Ink, Thread, Needles, Buttons, &c. G. S. IIASKINS
& CO., 36 Beekman Street.
FISH'S
KEROSENE LAMP,
HEATING ATTACHMENTS.
Also arranged for
GAS, viz.:
f Kurterti, or Night Lamps;
TEA AND COFFEE BOILEBS;
- HOSPITAL BOILXBB. &c.
Light and Heat Combined. <
Send for a Circular.
A gents wanted.
W. L. FISH & CO.,
639 Broadway, N. Y.
A BEAUTIFUL MICROSCOPE!
MAGNIFYING 5OO TIMES, FOR 28c. ^OIN PRE
FERRED. Five of different powers, $1. Mailed free.
Address F. C. BOWEN, Bo* 220, Boston, Mass.
IMPORTANT TO AGENTS!!—We have reduced
the wholesale price of our GBXAT FTATIONEBY FOBTFOLIO
1'jiOKAOB. We also give better Watches to our Agents
than any other firm. Send stamp for new circular.
WEIR & CO., 34 South Third Street, Philadelphia.
WARD'S
PERFECT FITTING
SH1RTS.
Blade to Mearare at $18, $24 and $27
PER DOZEN.
Self-Measurement for Shirts.
Printed directions for self-measurement, list of prices,
and drawings of different styles of shirts and collars cent
free everywhere.
FRENCH FLANNEL ABHY SHIRTS, $24, $27, $30 and $33
per dozen.
S. W. U. WARD, from London, No. 88T Broadway.
HEIMSTREET'S
Inimitable Hair Restorative.
IT IS NOT A DYE,
But restores gray hair to ite original color, by supplying
the capillary tubes with natural sustenance, impaired by
age or disease. All instantaneous dyes are composed of
lunar caustic, destroying the vitality and beauty of the
hair, and afford of themselves no dressing. Heimstreet't
Inimitable Coloring not only restores hair to its natural
color by an easy process, but gives the hair a
Luxuriant Beauty,
promotes Its growth, prevents Its falling off, eradicate!
dandruff and imparts health and pleasantness to the head,
It has stood the test of time, being the original Hair Col.
oring, and Is constantly increasing in favor. Used by botlj
gentlemen and ladies. It la sold by all respectable deal,
ers, or can be procured by them of the commercial epent,
D. S. Barnes, M Broadway, N. Y. Two sizes, 50 c. and $1.
HARPER A BROTHERS,
FHANKLIM SQUABI, NEW YOEK,
Have just Published:
BUTTEnFIELD'S OUTPOST DUTY. Camp and Out.
post Duty for Infantry. With Standing Orders, Ex.
tracts from the Revised Regulations fur tho Army,
Rules for Health, Maxims for foldicrs, and Duties of
Officers. By DANIEL BDTTXQFIEU), Brig.-Gen. Vols.,
U.S.A. 18mo, Flexible Cloth, 63 cents.
THE STUDENT'S HISTORY OF FIUN'CE. A History
of France from the Earliest Times to the Establishment
of the Second Empire in 1852. Illustrnted by Kngrav-
ings on Wood. Large 12mo (Uniform with " The Stu
dent's Ilume," "The Student's GiLlron," "Student's
Greece," "Liddell's Rome," &c.), Cloth, $1 25.
MISTRESS AND MAID. A HOUSEHOLD STORY. By
DINAH M\RIA MCI.OCK, Author of "John Halifax, Gen
tleman," "Olive," "The Ogilvies," "The Head of the
Family," "Agatha's Husband," "A Life for a Lifs,"
&c., &c. 8vo, Paper, BO cents.
Any of theabove books sent by Mall, postage free, on
receipt of life price.