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Office I mmerly occupied by Messrs. Woods Ac Wil liamson. [ap12,71 nR. A. B. BRUMBATJOIT, offers his professional services If to the cornmonity. Office, N 0.523 Washington street, one door east of the Catholic Parsonage. [jan4,'7l 7fil C. STOCKTON, Surgeon Dentiot. Office in Leleter'e building, in the room formerly occupied by Dr. E. J. Greene, Huntingdon, Pa. [apl2S, '76. GRO. D. ORLADY, Attorney-at-Law, 405 Penn Street. Huntingdon, Pa. [n0v17,'75 G.L. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T. Brown's new building, No. b2U, Penn Street, Huntingdon, Pa. [ap12.71 U W. BUCHANAN, Burgeon Dentist, No. 228, Penn H Street, Huntingdon, Pa. [mc1217,'75 C. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law. Office, No. —, Penn • Street, Huntingdon, Pa. [apl9,'7l 1 FRANKLIN SCHOCH, Attorney-at-Law, Hunting e/ • don, Pa. Prompt attention given to all legal busi ness. Office, 229 Perin Street, corner of Court House Square. [dec4,'72 T SYLVANUS BLAIR, Attorney-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Office, Penn Street, throe doors west of 3rd Street. [jan4,l"l T W. SIATTERN, Attorney-at-Law and General Claim . Agent, lluntingdon, Pa. Soldiery' claims against the Government for hack-pay, bounty,' widows' and invalid pensions attended to with great care and promptness. Of fice on Penn Street. [jam4,'7l T R. DURBORROW, Attorney -at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., e/ . will practice in the several Courts of Huntingdon county. Particular attention given to the settlement of estates of decedents. Office In the JOURNAL building. T S. GELSSINGSR, Attorney-at-Law• and Notary Public, IL Huntingdon, Pa. Office, No. 730 Penn Street, oppo site Court House. Debs,'77, T") A. ORBISON, Attorney-at-Law. Patents Obtained. It. Office, 321 Penn Street, lluntingdon, Pa. [my3l,'7l E. FLEMING, Attorney-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., offico , in Monitor building, Penn Street. Prompt and careful attention given to all legal bil.in o .B. [augs,'74-limos W 1 L d L o I n A.M r LL A A. s P i Lk2ll. l lN a T t:,. A ti tto on rh g e i 3 v - - e a n t-La to cn w,i i i i e u c n t l and all other legal business attended to with care awl promptness. OM., No. 229, Penn Street. [ap19,71 School and Miscellaneous Books GOOD BOOKS FOR VIE FARM, GARDEN AND HOUSEHOLD. The following is a list of Valuable Books, which will be surpli,l from the Office of the lluntingdon Joussni.. Auy one or more of tile*: books will be sent post-paid to any of oat leaders on receipt of the regular price, which L named against each book. Allen's (K. L. A L. F.) New American Farm Book n 50 Allen's (L. F.) American Cattle.* 2 ho Allen's (B. L.) American Farm Book 1 51) (1, Allen's F.i Rural Architecture Allen's (ft. L.) Diseases of Domestic Animals, American Bird Fancier American Gentleman's Stable Guide* 1 00 American Rose tailturist . American Weeds and Useful Plants Atwood's Country and Suburban Houses I 50 Atwood's Modern American Homesteads* 3 5 , 0 Daker'n Piactical and Scientific Fruit Culture 2 50 Barber's (back Shot* 1 75 Barry's Fruit Garden Belie Carpentry Made Easy* 5 IN) Bement's Rabbit Fancier :ill Bid:nail's Village Builder and Supplement. 1 Vol*.. 12 00 Bicknell's Supplement to Village Builder* 6 00 Bogardus' Field Cover, and Trap Shootings 2 ( 41 Bommer's Method of Making Manures 25 Bouseingault's Rural Economy 1 60 Brackett's Farm Talk-* paper, 50cte.; c10th.... 75 Breck's New Book of Flowers 1 75 Brilra Faria-Ciardeming and Seed-Growing 1 100 Broem-Corn and Brooms paper, bUcts.; cloth 75 B ~ w it's Taxidermist's Manuals ............ ... ...... ........ 1 00 Bruckner's American Manures* 1 50 Buchanan'. Culture of the Crape and Wine making* 75 Duel's Cider-Maker's Manuals Buist's Flower-Garden Directoty .... .. . 1 50 Buist's Family Kitchen Gardener 1 00 Burger' American Kernel and Sporting Field* 4 00 Burnham'e The China Fowl* 1 00 Bnru's Architectural Drawing Book* Burns' Illustrated Drawing Books 1 00 Barns' Ornamental Drawing Book* .. 1 00 Burr's Vegetables of America* 3 00 Caldwell's Agricultural Chemical Analysis ...... Canary Birds. Paper 50 cts Cloth 75 Chorltou's Grape-Grower's Guide 75 Cleveland's Landscape Achitec'ure* 1 50 Clok's Diseases of Sheep* 1 25 Cobbett's Americe...l Gardener 75 Cole's American Fruit Book 75 Cole's American Voterinaria Cooked and Cooking Food for Domestic Animals.— 20 Otaoper's Game Fowls* 5 00 Corbett's Poultry Yard and Market*pa.socts. cloth 75 Croff's Progressive American Architocture*... , ... Cummings' Architectural Details lO 010 Cummings .1; Miller's Architecture* lO 00 Cupper's Universal Stair-Builder 3 50 Dadd'e Modern Horse Doctor, 12 Eno 1 50 Da ' , i'.s American Cattle Doctor, 12 mo 1 5U Dadd's American Cattle Doctor, Bvo, cloth* 2 50 Dacld's American Ref,.med Horse Book, 8 vo, cloth* 2 50 Dada's Muck Manual Darwin's Variations of Animals & Plants. 2 vole* [new ed.] 5 01) Dead Shot; or, Sportsman's Complete Guide* 1 75 Detail Cottage and Constructive Architecture* lO 00 De Voe's Market Assistant* 2 50 Pinks, Mayhew, and Hutchison, on the Dog* Downing's Landscape Gardening 6 50 Dwyer'. Horse Book* ........... 200 Eastwood on Cranberry ....... . ... 75 Eggleston's Circuit Rider* 1 75 Eggleston's End of the W0r1d...._ 1 50 Eggleston's Hoosier School-Master 1 25 Eggleston's Mystery of Metropolisville 1 50 Eggleaton'e (Geo. C.) A Man of Honor 125 Elliott's Hand Book for Fruit Growers* Pa., 60c. ; elo 1 00 Elliott's Hand-Book of Practical Landscape Gar dening* e Elliott'. Lawn and Shade Trees* 1 50 E liott's Western Fruit-Grower's Guide 1 50 Eveleth'e School House Architecture* 6 00 Every Horse Owner's Cyclopiedia*......... ..... Field's Pear Culture... ........ ......... ...... .. ........ .. Flax Culture. [Seven Prize Essays by practical grow- Flint (Charles L.) on Grasses* 2 50 Flint's Mitch Cows and Dairy Farming* 2 50 Frank Forester's American Game in its Season* 3 00 Frank Forester's Field Sports, 8 vo ' 2 vole* ...... Frank Forester's Fish and Fishing,Bvo., 100 Engle 3 50 Frank Forester's Horse of America, 8 vo., 2 vole* lO 00 Frank Forester's Manual for Yonug Sportamen. B vo 3 00 French's Farm Drainage Fuller's Forest-Tree Culturiet 1 50 Fuller's Grape Culturist.. 1 60 Fuller's Illustrated Strawberry Culturist 2O Fuller's Small Fruit Culturist 1 51 Fulton's Peach Culture Gardner's Carriage Painters' Manual * 1 00 Gardner's How to Paint* Geyelin's Poultry-Breeding 125 Gonld's American Stair-Builder's* _ . 400 Gould's Carpenter's and Builder's Assistant........*.. 3 0 (I Gregory on Cabbages* paper.. 30 Gregory on Onion Raising* .-..— paper- 30 C, ,gory on Squashes .paper.. 30 Guenon on Mitch Cows 75 Ouillaume's Interior Architecture* 3 00 Gun, Rod, and Saddles 1 00 Hallett'e Builders' Specifications* 1 75 Hallett's Builders' Contracts* ....... Harney's Barns, Out-Buildings. and Fences.... ..... Harris's Insects Injurious to Vegetation... Plain 14 ; Colored Engravings f, 50 Harris on the Pig 1 50 Hedges' on Bergh() or the Northern Sugar Plant*„ 1 51) Helnaley's Hardy Trans, Shrubs, and l'lants* ...... Henderson's Gardening for Pleasure. ........... Henderson Gardening for Profit 1 500 THE JOURNAL STORE IS the place to buy all kinds of { ci $ h 13504 AT HARD PAN PRICES J. R. DURBORROW, - - - J. A. NASH. The Huntingdon Journal, J. A. NISH, EVERY FRIDAY MORNING, THE NEW JOURNAL DUILDING, No. 212, FIFTH STREET, HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA $2.00 per annum, in advance; $2.50 within six months, and $3.00 if not paid within the year. 00000000 0 REPUBLICAN PAPER. 0 0 0 00000000 SUBSCRIBE. 00000000 ggg§gggg TO ADVERTISERS I Circulation 1800. I ADVEICTISINO MEDIUM The JOURNAL is one of the best printed papers in the,Juniata Valley, and is read by the best citizens in the county. It finds its way into 1800 homes weekly, acd is read by at least 5000 persons, thus making it the BEST advertising medium is Central Pennsyl- vania. Those who patronize its columns are sure of getting a rich return for their investment. Advertisements, both local and foreign, solicited, and inserted at reasonable rates. Give us an order. mggg; JOB DEPARTMENT P. , -; • E: c. = ,-.4 - COL, PRINT: ifOr All business letters should be ad dressed to J. R. 1)17RBORROW & CO., Huntingdon, Pa ' . • 2 ...1 -4 - ' . _ .., . ~ • .. ij: 7.t.. 13 . i4t t.: • 0%. y t., , fi • ;`. A 31 t Ai: , . .)„,..:, e tit , I . • ~.. 7 ... .. .. . . .. . . ... ~. :.•.,' 1 .r it • ' _1:1_ . —..a.t_ ~. i,..i... ``‘..)/ 1_ 1 • Printing PUBLISHED -IN TERMS : 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 00000000 Prtocngsstvg 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 FIRST-CLASS 5000 RENDERS WEEKLY, cr. ..4 0 cr Cr .-.. • rig wi t: d O O R" rL ra . , Y. - :CIAl.' Nth A Sl'. Ilingsf Mother Gray's Farewell. EY W. E. WILLIAMS. 11:.! min, as it crept through the tree : tops that shaded nuaint little nest, Paused 7. - csr.arday evening to listen, before it died out in the West— °a ohi Mother Gray, soft repeating a tender fare well to her buy, In hopes, it may be, that the kisses might garn ish her tear drops with joy. "(Lied bye, an' God bless you forever," she prayed as she clasped her thin hands. "..I.l' don't let. :he great world quite make you for g where the old cottage stands, An' when Winter fades into Summer, or Summer into Autumn has grown, 11.;:tucz.ber the inot]ier you're ieavin' behind you tearful and tone. •`Don't ,nuff on the candle of conscience, whose waver7n', treteblin' rays ,Shine hack in the past written pages, that tell of your glad childhood days; Their-lie:lms never dazzle the eyesight, an' ever as onward yon pled, They'll ROA up a pathway whose ending is close by the right hand of God. "I'll set the rude, little old cradle, whose arms have enfolded toy boy, Side by side with the tokens of childhood, an' each little babyish toy, To 'mind me of wanderin' Jamie—an' oh, let them over remain Still pure, in their quaint homely beauty, unmarred by the shade of a stain. "Out there ' in the pathway before you, I see, by just shadin' my eyes, The half hidden rocks of t^:nptation that ever still higher arise, An' somehow, I'm thinkin' that maybe, the gla mour that hides the rough part, Will beckon you on to destruction, an' harden my poor Jamie's heart. "But, heaven forbid that it be so, an' oft as the clay turns to night, I'll think of the boy who is wanderin' still further away from my sight— An' kneelin' alone at my bedside, I'll try, in my poor, feeble way, To ask God to strengthen your footsteps ; an' often an' fryer I'll pray : "Oh God, when to-night you aro lookin' A-down on the world,fast asleep— Ail bathed in the silvery gloaming Of the stars that their night vigils keep; If you should see, somewhere, my Jamie, All footsore and ready to fall, In paths that lead to perdition, An' deaf to my piteous call-- Oh. God, send an angel to help him, Au' whisper my name in his ear, Au' trace to his deadenin' senses The form of this old cottage dear, Or else, God, I pray you to take him, An' hold him till I come, an' then— The voice of a heait hroken mother, Shall give you the glory—Amen !" A faint sob, and last kiss at parting, and old Mother Gray was alone, With only the whistling night birds, to list to her low plaintive moan, And the last feeble fast fading sun rays which shows for a moment again Her Jamie, now lost in the shadows, way down at the foot of the lane. Annab of tke Mar. 3N THE FIELD OF FREDERICKSBURG. BY DON. D. WATSON ROWE Every one remembers the slaughter and failure at Fredericksburg; the grief of it, the momentary pang of despair. Burn side was the man of the 13th of December; than he. no more gallant soldier in all the army, no more patriotic citizen in all the republic. But he attempted there the impossible, and as repulse grew toward disaster lost that equal mind which is necessary in arduous affairs. Let us re member, however, and at once, that it is easy to be wise after the event. The army of the Potomac felt, at the end of this calamitous day, that hope itself was killed —hope, whale presence was never before wanting to that array of the unconquerable will, and steadfast purpose, and courage to persevere; the secret of its final triumph. I have undertaken to describe certain night.seenes on that field famous for blood shed. The battle is terrible; but the se quel of it is horrible. The battle, the charging column, is grand, sublime. The field after the action and the re action is the spectacle which harrows up the soul. MAItYE'S HILL Marye's Ilill was the focus of the strife. It rises in the rear of Fredericksburg, a stone's throw beyond the canal, which runs along the western border of the city. The ascent is not very abrupt. A brick house stands on the hillside, whence you may overlook Fredericksburg, and all the cir eumjacent country. The Orange plank road ascends the hill on the right band side of the house, the telegraph road on the left. A sharp rise of ground at the foot of the heights afforded a cover for the formation of troops. Above Marye's Hill is an elevated plateau which commands it. The hill is part of a long, bold ridge on which the declivity leans, stretching from Falmouth to Massoponax creek, six miles. Its summit was shaggy and rough, with the earthworks of the Confederates, and was crowned with their artillery. The stone wall on Marye's Height was their "coigne of vantage," held by the brigades of Cobb and Kershaw, of McLaws' Divi sion. On the semi-circular crest above, and stretching far on either hand was Longstreet's Corps, forming the left of the Confederate line. His advance position was the stone wall and rifle trenches along the telegraph road above the house.— The guns of the enemy commanded and swept the streets which led oat to the heights. Sometimes you might see a reg iment marching down those streets in sin gle file, keeping close to the houses, one file one the right-hand side, another on the left. Between the canal and the foot of the ridge was a level plat of flat, even ground, a few hundred yards in width.— This restricted space afforded what oppor tunity there was to form in order of battle. A division massed on this narrow plain was a target for Lee's artillery, which cut tearful swaths in the dense and compact ranks. Below and to the right of the house were fences which impeded the ad vance of the charging lines. Whatever division was assigned the task of carrying Marye's Hill, debouched from the town, crossed the canal, traversed the narrow level, formed under cover of the rise of ground below the house. At the word. suddenly ascending this bank, they pressed forward 11D the hill for the stone wall and the crest beyond. DITRNSIDE'S DESPERATE EFFORT. From noon to dark Burnside continued to hurl one division after andther against that volcano like eminence, belching forth fire and smoke and iron hail. French's Division was the first to rush to the as sault. When it emerged from cover and burst out o 2 the open, in full view of the enemy, it was greeted with a frightful fiery reception from all his batteries on the circling summit. The ridge concen trated upon it the convergent fire of all its engincry of war. You might see for a mile the lanes made by the cannon balls in the ranks. You might see a bursting shell throw up into the air a cloud of earth and dust, mingled with the limbs of men. HUNTINGDON, PA , FRIDAY, AUGUST 31, 1877 The batteries in front of the devoted di vision thundered against it. To the right. to the left, cannons were answering to each other in a tremendous deafening battle chorus, the burden of which was— Welcome to these, madmen about to die The advancing column was the focus, the point of concentration, of an are— almost a semi-circle—of destruction. It Was a centce of attraction of all deadly missiles. At that moment that single di vision was going up alone in battle against the Southern Confederacy, and was being pounded to pieces. It continued to go up, nevertheless, towards the stone wall, to ward the crest above. With lips more firmly pressed together, the men closed up their ranks and pushed forward. The storm of battle increased its fury upon them; the crash of musketry mingled with the roar of ordinance from the peaks. The stone wall and the rifle pits added ther terrible treble to the deep base of the bel lowing ridge. The rapid discharge of small arms poured a continuous rain of bullets in their faces ; thcy fell down by tens, by hundreds. When they had gained a large portion of' the distance, the storm developed into a hurricane of rain. The division was blown back, as if by the breath of hell's door suddenly opened, shattered, disordered, pell-mell, down the declivities, amid theshouts and yells of the enemy, which made the horrid din de moniac. Until then the division seemed to be contending with the wrath of brute and material forces bent on its annihilation. This shout recalled the human agency in all the turbulence and fury of the scene. The division of French fell back—that is to say, one half of it. It suffered a loss of near half its members. Hancock immediately charged with five thousand men, veteran regiments, led by tried commanders. They saw what had happened; they knew what would befall them. They advanced up the hill ; the bravest were found dead within twenty five paces of the stone wall; it was slaughter, havoc, carnage. In fifteen minutes they were thrown back with a loss of two thous and—unpncedented severity of loss. Han cock and French, repulsed from the stone wall, would not quit the hill altogether. Their divisions, lying down on the earth. literally clung to th, - ground they had won. These valiant men, who could not go forward, would not go back. All the time tke batteries on the heights raged and stormed at them. Howard's division came to their aid. Two divisions of the Ninth Corps on their left attacked repeat edly in their support. AN IMPOSSIBLE TASK It was then that Burnside rode down from the Phillips House, on the northern side of the Rappahannock, and standing on the bluff at the river, staring at those formidable heights, exclaimed, "That crest must be carried to-night." Hooker re monstrated, begged, obeyed. In the army to hear is to cbey. He prepared to charge with Humphrey's Division ; he brought up every available battery in the city. "I proceeded," lie said, "against their barriers as I would against a fortification, and en deavored to breach a hole sufficiently large for a forlorn 'hope to enter." He con tinued the cannonading on the selected spot until sunset. He made no impres sion upon the works, "no more than you could make upon the side of a mountain of rock." Humphrey's Division formed under shelter of the rise, in column for assault. They were directed to Wake the attack with empty muskets; there was no time then to load and fire. The officers were put iu front to lead. At the com mand they moved forward with great im petuosity ; they charged at a run, hurrah. ing. The foremost of them advanced to within fifteen or twenty yards of the stone wall. Hooker afterward said : "No cam- • paign in the world ever saw a more gallant advance than Humphrey's men made there. But they were to do a work no man could do." In a moment they were hurled back with enormous loss. It was now just dark; the attack was suspended. Three times from noon to dark the cannon on the crest, the musketry at the stone wall, had prostrated division after division on Marye's Hill. And now the sun had set ; twilight had stolen out of the west and spread her veil of dusk; the town, the flat, the hill, the ridge, lay under the "circling canopy of night's extended shade." Darkness and gloom had settled down upon the Phillips House, over on the Stafford Heights, where Burnside would after a while hold his council of war. AMONG THE WOUNDED. The shattered regiments of Tyler's Bri gade of Humphrey's Division were asseni- HO under cover of the bank where they had formed for the charge. A colonel rode about through the crowd with the colors of his regiment in his hand, waving them, inciting the soldiers by his words to re-form for repelling a sortie. But there was really little need for that. Long street was content to lie behind his earth works and stone walls, and with a few men and the covering fire of numerous guns was able to fling back with derision and scorn all the columns of assault that mad ness might throw against his impregnable position. The brick house on the hill was full of wounded men. In front of it lay the commander of a regiment, with shat tered leg, white, still, with closed eyes.— His riderless horse had already been mounted by the general of the division ; about him in rows, the wounded, the dying, and a few of the dead, of his own and other commands. The fatal stone wall was in easy musket range ; in a moment with one rush, the enemy might surround the build ing. Beyond the house, and around it, and on the slope below it, the ground was covered with corpses. A little distance below the house, a general officer sat on his horse—the horse of the wounded colonel lying above. It was the third steed ho had mounted that evening. The other two lay dead. He was all alone ; no staff, not even an orderly. His face was toward the house and the ridge. He pointed to the stone wall. "One minute more," he said, "and we would have been over it." He did not reflect that that would have been but the beginning of the work given him to do. He praised and blamed, besought and even swore ; to ne so near the goal, and then not reach it.— When he saw a party of three or four de scending the hill, he ordered them to stop, in order to renew the attack. After a little they did what was right, quietly proceeded to the foot of the bill and joined their regiments. All the while stretcher bearers were passing up and down. De scending they bore pitiable burdens. A wounded man upheld by one or two com rades, haltingly made his way to the hos pital, followed by another and another.— The colonel was conveyed by four men to the town, in agony, on a portion of a panel of fence torn down in the progress of the charge. The stretcher-bearers, not dis tinguishing between persons, had taken whatsoever c 39 they first•savr that needed as.iistanee; moreover• there no titre fbr seliTtion. The next 111;: WWI fi I ae wounded on the hillside miglit be in the hands of . the Confederates. DA.11.1( rh:re was the darkness which belongs to night. The regiments had re-formed around L.heir respective standards. They pleented a short (iont compared with the. lines that had gone up the steep, hurrahing. The Southerners were quiet close behind Lheir w.)rk.,. It seemed tlacy would not sail); forth. Then urn each regiment a lieutenant with a s , niali party went up the ascent, and sought is the dal kocss what fate had befallen the missing, and brought succor to the wounded. They went from man to man, as they lay on the ground. In the obscurity it was hard to distinguish the features of the Odin. They felt for the letters and num bers on their caps. The letters indicated the company, the numbers denoted the regiment. Whatsoever nia-n of their regi mont they discovered, him they bore off it' wounded; if dead, they took the val uables found on his person, fur his friends, and left him to lie on the earth where he had fallen, composing his limbs, turning his face to the sky. They found such ail the way up; some not far from the stone wall, a great number near the corners of the house, where the rain of bullets had been thickest. At 9 o'clock at night the command was withdrawn from the front, and rested on their arms in the streets of the town. Some sat on the curbstones, meditating, looking gloomily at the ground ; others lay on the pavement, trying to forget the events of the day in sleep. There was little said ; deep dejection burdened the spirits of all. The incidents of the battle were not re• hearsed, except now and then. Always when any one spoke, it was of a slain com rade—a his virtues or of the manner of his death ; or of one missing, with many conjectures respecting him. Some of them it was said, had premonitions, and went into battle not expecting to survive the day. Thus they lay or sat. The conver sation was with bowed heads, and in a low manner, °tined in a sigh. The thoughts of all were in the homes of the killed, see ing there the scenes and sorrow which a day or two afterward occurred. Then they reverted to the comrade of the morning, the tent-sharer, lying stark and dead up on Marye's Hill or at its base. A brave lieutenant lay on the plank road, just where the brigade crossed for the purpose of formin g .. for the charge. A sharpshoot er of the dikiny had made that spot his lase bed. It was December and cold. There was no camp-fire, and there was neither blanket nor overcoat. They had been stored in a warehouse preparatory to moving oat to the attack. But no one mentioned the cold ; it was not noticed. Steadily the wounded were carried by to the Leepitel near the ricer. Some one now etel then ;_e.oeght word of the condition al a ileeri. The haLTitala were a harrowing siek ; full, crowded; neverlhelea patients were Oreughl. in eJusteutly. Down stair., np stairs,. eveLy room :ail. Surgeons with their coats off and their sleeves rolled up above the elbows, sawed off litebe, admin iiteeed anaesthetics. They took off a leg or an aria in a twinkling, after brief cell eulihtien. IL seemed to be, in ease of (leebt—uff with his limb. A colonel lay ii the middle of the main room oa the first floe, white, unconscious. When the sur• geun was asked what hope he turned his hand down, then up, as much an to say it may chance to fall either way. But the eights in a field hospital after a battle are not to be minthely described. Nine thous and wan.the tale of the wounded—nine thousand and not ail told. A GHASTLY PICKET LINE, After midnight, perhaps it was 2 o'clock in the morning, the brigade was again marched out of the town and, filing in from the road, took up a position a short dis tance below the brick house. It was the ground over which the successive charges had been made. The fog, however, obscu red everything; not a star twinkled above them ; nothing could be discerned a few feet away. The brick house could not be seen, though they were close to it. Look ing back toward the town lying on the river, over the narrow plain which lay be low, one could not persuade one's self it was not a sheet of water, unruffled in the dim landscape. Few lights, doubtless, were burning at that hour in the town. None could be seen. You would not have supposed there was a town there. A pro found stillness prevailed, broken by no other sound than by the cries of the wound ed. On ali the eminence above, where Longstreet's forces lay, there was the si lence of death. With night, which bad brought conviction of failure, the brazen throats of Burnside's guns had ceased to roar. It was as if furious lions had gone with darkness to their lairs. Now and then an ambulance crept along below, without seeming to make any noise. The stretcher bearers walked silently toward whatever spot a cry or groan of pain indi catf>d an object of their search. It may not have been so quiet as it seemed. Per haps it was contrast with the thunder of cannons, and shriek of shell, and rattle of musketry, and all the thousand voices of battle. When, on the return to Marye's Heights, the command first filed in from the road, there appeared to be a thin line of soldiers sleeping on the ground to be occupied. They seemed to make a sort of row or rank. It was as if a line of skirmishers had halted and lain down ; they were perfectly motionless ; their sleep was profound. Not one of them awoke and got up. They were not relieved, either, when the others came. They seemed to have no command er—at least none awoke. Had the fatigues of the day completely overpowered all of them, officers and privates alike ? They were nearest the enemy, within call of him. They were the advance line of the Union army. Was it thus they kept their watch, on which the safety of the whole army de pended, pent up between the ridge and the river ? The enemy might conic within ten steps of them without being seen. The fog was a veil. No one knew what lay or moved or crept a little distance off. The regiments were allowed to lie down. In doing so, the men made a denser rank with those there before them. Still those oth ers did not waken. If you looked closely at the face of any one of them, in the mist and dimness, it was pallid, the eyes closed, the mouth open, the hair was disheveled ; besides the attitude was often painful. There were blood-marks, also. These men were all dead. Nevertheless ; the new corners laid down among them and rested. The pall of night concealed the foe now. The sombre uncertainty; of fate enveloped the morrow. One was sa ved from the peril of the charge, but he found himself again on Marye's Hill, near the enemy, face to face with the dead, sharing their couch, almost in their em brace, the mist and the December night. Why not accept them as bed-fellows' The bullet that laid low this one, if it had started diverging by ever so small an angle, would have found the heart's blood of that other who gazed upon them. It was chance or Providence, which to morrow might be less kind. So they lay down with the dead, all in line, and were lulled asleep by the monotony of the cries of the wounded scattered everywhere. . A WATCH WITH THE PYINO. At this time three officers rode out from the ranks, down the bill, toward the town. They sought to acquire a better knowledge of the locality. They were feeling about in the fog for the foot of the hill, and the roads. After they had gone a little dis• tance, one of them was stationed as a guide mark, while the two others went further, reconnoitering or exploring. lie who was thus left alone found himself amid strange and melancholy surroundings. Meditation sat upon his brow, but to fall into com plete revery was impossible. The hour and the scene would intrude themselves upon his thoughts of what had befallen. The dead would not remain unnoticed. The dying cried out into the darkness, and demanded succor of the world. Was there nothing in the universe to save? Tens of thousand within ear-shot, and no footstep of friend or foe drew near during all the hours. Sometimes they drew near and passed by, which was an aggravation of the agony. The subdued sound of wheels rolling slowly along and ever and anon stopping, the murmur of' voices and cry of pain, told of the ambulance on its mission. It went off in another direction. The cries were borne through the haze to the officer as he sat solitary, waiting. Now a single lament, again voices intermingled and as if in chorus; from every direction, in front, behind, to right, to left, some near, some distant and faint. Some doubtless were faint that were not distant, the departing breath of one about to ex pire. They expressed every degree and shade of suffering, of pain, of agony ; sigh, a groan, a piteous appeal, a shriek, a succession of shrieks, a call of despair 5 a prayer to God, a demand for water, for the ambulance, a death rattle, a horrid scream, a voice as of the body when the soul tore itself away, and abandoned it to the enemy, to the night, and to dissolution. The voices were various. This, the tongue of a German ; that wail in the Celtic brogue of a poor Irishman. The accent of New England was distinguishable in the thin cry of that boy. From a different quarter came utterances in the dialect of a far off Western State. The appeals of the Irish were the most pathetic. They put them into every form—denunciation, re ruoustrance, a pitiful prayer, a peremptory demand. The German was more patient. less demonstrative, withdrawing into him self'. One man raised his body on ILs left arm, and extending his right hand upward, cried cut to the heavens and fell back. Most of them lay moaning, with the fitful movement (;1' unrest and pain. ROBBING THE DEAD, At this hour of the night, over at the Philips House, Burnside, overruling his counsel of war, had decided, in desperation, to hurl the Ninth Corps next day, himself at its head, against that self same emi nence. The officer sat on his horse look ing, out in the spectre making mist and darkness. Nothing stirred ; not the sound of a gun was heard; a dread silence, which one momentarily expected to be broken by the rattle of fire arms. All at once he looked down. He saw something white, not far off, that moved and seemed to be a man. It was, in fact, a thing in human form. In the obscurity °tie could not discern what the man was doing The officer observed him attentively. He stoped and rose again; then stooped and handled an object on the ground. He moved away, and again beat down. Pres ently he returned, and began once more his manipulations of the formt..r object. The chills crept over one. The darkness and the gloom and the contrasted stillness from the loud and frightful uproar of the day except for the intermi`tent cries of the wounded and dying, groans intermingled with fearful shrieks and cries for water, and this thing, man or fiend, flitting about the field, now up, now down, intent on his purpose, seeing nothing else, hearing noth ing, seemingly fearing nothing, loving nothing, the hill all overstrewn with dead and the debris of artillery and :mutilated horses—it was a ghostly, weirC, wicked scene, sending a shudder through the frame. "Who goes there ?" aL length the officer said, and rod" forward. "A private," the man replied, and gave his regiment. and cowpany. "What are you doing here at this hour I" and so questioning he saw that the man was engaged in putting on the clothes of a dead soldier at his feet. "I need clothes and shoes," he said, "and am taking .hem from this lead man ; he won't need them any more." "You there ! you are rifling the dead; robi)ing them of their watches and money. Begone !" And the man disappeared into the night like an evil bird that had flown away. _ _ Where he had stood lay the dead man, who had fallen in the charge, stripped of his upper clothing ; robbed of his life by the enemy, robbed of his garments by a comrade, alone on the hillside, in the dark ness waited for in some ftr-off Northern home. THE WITHDRAWAL, The three officers returned Lo their posts. Toward morning the general cummand;.ng the brigade (mime out, and withdrawing his troops a little distance to the rear, took up a new position, less exposed than the former line. The captains weie cautioned not to leave any of their men unwarned of the movement. Nevertheless a few of them were not distinguished from the dead, and were left where they lay. An orderly sergeant, waking from the sound sleep in duced by the fatigues of the day, opened his eyes and looked about him on all sides, with surprise and wonder. His company and regiment were gone. The advance line, of which they had formed a Fart, had disappeared. He saw no liv;ng or moving thing. He started up and stood at gaze. What to do now ? Which way to go ? He concluded that the regiment had mo ved farther forward, and going first to the left and then up along a piece of fence he saw the hostile line a short distance before him. Falling down he crept on hands and knees, descending the hill again until he reached the road. An officer ; anxious when the withdrawal was ordered that no one should remain behind for want of no tice, waited until the regiments had mo ved away, then passed along the line just abandoned. He saw a man lying on his side, reposing on his elbow, his head sup ported on his band, and his left leg drawn up. You would have been certain ho doz. ed or meditated, so mAurai and restful his posture. Elm he somewhat rudely touch ed, and than accosted : "Get up and join your company. We have moved to the rear." The reclining, figure moved not, made no response. The officer bent over him and looked closely—he was a corpse. At length the dawn appeared—the mist was dispelled. With the corning or morn ing, the command was again taken into the town.—Pitiladelphia Weekly Times. thct ,)cf,tiann. "Oath" in the Cincinnati Enquirer.] Grant and h;s C?reor, SOME CURIOUS REPLECIIONS BY GEORGE A. TOWNSEND-THE PATHWAY FROM GALENA TO FADE, Grant's lifh, is the very nubility of dem ocratic society. lie never was so great, as we see him in retrospect, as when he walk ed up to the platform in Galena to preside over the first war meeting, and his clothes would hardly stick to him for age and shabbiness. Then to see this lost man, this bankrupt life, this unknown and un successful husband and father walk forth from the ruins of himself and rebuild his ,character, and never despise his poor asso ciations, nor turn away a poor supplicant because a kinsman, nor affect acquirements he did not possess, touches the universal heart of mankind. We say : "Here is greatness that tool's can not wake, but of which many a book can be made I" The attention received by General Grant is ri diculously set down by our disgruntled publications to the credit of the General, not the President. Smalley, of London, befitting his name, particularly hints at this, while advertising himself and his breakfast through Grant's condescention. It is the Chief Magistrate which is honor ed, not the General. Sherman was also a great General, but not thus honored. Grant dines with the royal family because he ru led. He is applauded by the world because he was the President of the United States. And the feeling is general that he was a great President.. He was twice fairly elect ed. At least one of those terms must have been acceptable to deserve the other. His conduct at the close of the second term was magnificent, and the fact that he sat in the seat of power up to the 4tif of March kept us out of civil war. It was his weight, decision, impsrtiality and towering character that made men like General Joe Shelby, laho is a: brava as a lion, speak aloud, and :-ay: "I shell do what Grant wants." Yea cantle:: criticise influence like tl;is; it is above cavil; it will degrade anything that attacks it. Ile made his power felt by animals as well as men; but the animal in Grant was the obedient mas tiff, not the sullen bent , .e. He was one of our greatest men, awl we have many, es society like oars, whore nothinar retards ability, will always peoduce. }gig people. There Ices n.; pelitiehte anywhere to help hint along; his pond wife went, a ' usual, when hard times lame, to her papa's. One repel shot would dose that reor o'er mated fellow's time ont and afford young women the long desired opportunity to say: "Julie Dent's poor seedy captain has gone, at last, and let a!! these children and net one cent." But he disappeared into the smahe oc:' the battle. hell opened its traps, and from the combustion was only seen ambulances come forth and heard the news boy crying, "Glory" and "Victory," and so forth. Bet now they say, "The hero is eonii-i!e. Where ? Who ? Which is it ?" "That's the man. There are a million bay onets around hi; head. That's Grant." Then one tall, gray old fellow, with spec tacles and a hard expression, looks up from the crowd and says : "My son, Ulys ses. I Dever thought you'd come to much, though it was always in you. 1 guess you wasn't fit for the leather busi ness. But give me the Covington post office and we'll call your expenses square." Now you may put all o ' the learneA• and accomplished men you please into the Presidency, hut none of them will touch the feelings and admiration of all ranks and ages like that. Nor will it be :ergot; ten as long as Grant lives. He will always I ' be formidable, ever illustrious ; the stand ard man of a democratic age, the type of America at the close of its first century. He and Lincoln and their volunteer sol diers represent the West as it arose at the 1 . close of that century, the imperial power to preserve the republic from the indiffer ence and skepticism of tile East, the folly of the South. Slang. Siang is little else than metaphor, and comparison of a homely sort drawn from the farm, the shop.the mine, the forecastle, the camp, the street, or from any matter of common observation. A few random instances will be enough to make this plain : "To blow a cloud," "to flare up," "to play second fiddle," "a chip of the old block," are expressions that need no explanation. Others, while similes,clearly, are not exact ly understood, like "go to pot," which refers, it is said, to the melting-pot for the refuse metal. Others gather vim, if we St pto think whence they come. No doubt a teamster cracking his whip over his four or six horses was the first to de scribe something weak or shabby as a "one- Urse concern," just as, conversely, his enthusiasm for a fellow always ready to pay for the drinks, found vent in dubbing hi:n a "whole team and a little dog under the wagon." New phrases are continually reinforcing or superseding the old, but both new and old are of one nature. The gambler's lingo is used when a dead man is said to have "passed in his checks," and the gold seeker's when a speculation is said "to pan out" well. Persons whose preten sions to refinement forbid their use of slang and of expression which they think belong to the vulgar, have their own set of metaphors. To them the clouds are "fleecy," and the sunset "golden," home is "sweet," to part with a friend is "bit ter," and so on through a list which the reader shall be spared. Their speech is garnished with scraps from all the poets and from Holy Writ, instead of with proverbs. A glance at Mr. I3artlett's Familiar Quotations, grown in the last edition to a stout volume, will give an idea of.the great number of fragments of prose and verse that pass from mouth to mouth like the pipe around an Indian council fire. Children too, as well as their elders, in dulge in a liking for figurative talk, par ticularly for slang, a taste they often keep 'until well on in years.—The Galaxy. THE people who live in Massaehusett valleys are getting so now that when a man comes into the neighborhood and builds a dam they sell out and move to the top of the hill and nail cleats up along the trunks of the highest trees. Vital Force. Let us consider a few of the many ways which we waste the stuff that life is made or. It has been well said that "the habit. of looking on the bright side of things is worth far more than a thousand pounds a year; and certainly it is a habit that must add many years to the lives of those who acquire it. Really every fit of despondency and every rage takes so much out of us that auy one who indulges in either with out a great struggle to prevent himself do iug se should he characterized as little less than—to use an American expression "a fearful fool How silly it seems even to ourselves, after cooling, to have acquir ed a nervous heedache and to have be come I! enerally done lip; stamping around the room, and showing other signs of fool ish anger, hecause the dinner was five minutes hite, or because some one's respect fir us did not quite rise to the high stea died theesured by 'air egotism ! As if it wee not far mare important. that we should save our vital energy, and net get into a rage, than that the dinner should be sec ved exactly to the moment. One day a friend of Lord Palmerston. asked him when he considered a man to be in the prime of life ; his immediate re ply was "seventy-nine. But," he added with a playful smile, "as I have just en tered my eightieth year, perhaps I am my self a little past it I"' How is it that such men work on vigorously to the end ? Be cause they treasure their ever diminishing vital force. They studiedly refrain from making a pull on the constitution. Retch ing the borders of seventy years of age, they as good as say to themselves: "We must now take eare what we are *bent." Of course, they make sacrifices, avoid a number of treacherous gaieties, and living simply, they perhaps give some eause of offence, for the world does net approve cr singularity. But let those laugh who win. They hold the censorious observations of crictics in derision, and maintain the even tenor of their way. In other words, they conserve their vital tbree, and try to keep above ground as long as possible. Blustering natures, forgetful of the great truth that "power itself bath not one half the might of gentleness," miss the ends for which they strive just because the force that is in them is not properly econ omized. Then as regards temper : any man who allows that to master him wastes as mach energy as would enable him to remove the cause of anger or overcome an opponent. The little boy of eightyears old who in the country is often seen dri ving a team of four immense dray horses, is one of the innumerable instances of tho power of reason over mere brute force, which should induce violent tempers to berome calm from policy, if from no high er anotsve. —Chambers' Journal. Influence of Forests. Popular Science Monthly.] Forests produce rain. Under the in fluence of vertical sun rays trees exhale the aqueous vapors which their leaves have _ _ absorbed from the atmosphere, and in con tact with the eight air or any stray cur rent of lower temperature, these vappre discharge rain showers even in midsummer, and of a great distance from the sea. By moistening the air woodlands also . moderate the extremes of heat and cold. It is seen on the sea shore how beneicient ly humidity operates in allaying the sever ity of Winter, and in Summer the evapo tion of dew and rain gives us cool breezes when they are must needed. By the extirpation of forests the climate of the entire Orbis Ronumus had been changed from the Summer temperature of West Virginia to the furnace heat of New Mea• ico and Arizona. Besiies tl.is, the forest by soade in Stith mer and fuel in Winter protects us direct ly against the vicissitudes of temperature, and at the foot or high mountains inter poses a mechanical barrier between the valleys and avalanches in the North, an I floods in the South. The water-torrents which not only flood and damage the low lands, but carry their fertile soil away, are ivibibed or detained by extensive forests. Joseph 11. of Austria was right to attach heavy peralties to the destruction of the "lannwalr'er," the woods on the A'pine slopes, that protect the valleys from ava lanches, and to propose that in wars, even a l'outnance, the trees oc the country should be spared by international agree ment. Our woods are also the home and shelter of those best friends of man, the inaeotiv orous birds. A country destitute of trees is avoided by birds, and left to the ravages of locusts and other insects, which, as we• say on our own continent, always attack the barren and naked districts. Oar locust swarms devasted the "Great West," i. e., the treeless expanse between the Missis sippi sad the Rocky Mountains, but spared the woodlands of the Alleghenies and the timber legions of the Pacific slope. The Luxury of Cold Water. The plague of winter is cold, and the plague of summer is heat, but we can do a great deal to lesson the miseries of both seasons. Now that we are approaching the dog days, it may be well to point out that by means of a liberal use of water one may pass through the summer furnace, without safferingiany serious discomfort. Water is good for other things besides the allaying of thirst. It has a permanent de termination to evaporate, and as it cannot evaporate without heat, it consequently diminishes in the process the heat of our rooms. Pans of water, the 000ler the bet ter, stationed about a bed room will posi tively reduce not only the sensation or heat, but the heat itself. Should any one doubt this, let him have a tab, with ita shallow depth and wide surface, filled with spring water, or water with a good block of ice in it, and place it in the bed-room, and mark in half an hour how many de grees the thermometer has fallen. It ought to be six degrees, at least, and will be eight if he is not stingy with his ice, and this improvement in the temperature will last for hours. If the heat still re mains too great, throw up the bedroom windows, fasten a blanket or traveling rag across the space, and drench that well with water. In five minutes the air in the room will be reduced to that water's temperature. Never mind the breeze. A PAIR of devoted lovers out in the country had a separation last Sunday night. She had previously presented him with her photograph, which he, on his beaded knees, swore he would always wear next to his heart. Last Sunday night he pulled out his handkerchief from his back panty pocket, when lo ! the photograph felt to his lady's feet. She says he is either a liar or else his heart is not in the right place. NO. 34.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers