VOL. 41.
The Huntingdon Journal.
J. R. DURBORROW, -
PUBLISHER, (SI) PROPRIETORS,
Office in new JOURNAL building, Fifth Street,
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Professional Cards
71 CALDWELL, Attorney-at-Law, No. 111, 3rd street.
If. 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
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T S. GELSSINGSR, Attorney-at-Law• and Notary Public,
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T") A. ORBISON, Attorney-at-Law. Patents Obtained.
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E. FLEMING, Attorney-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa.,
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and careful attention given to all legal bil.in o .B.
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W 1 L d L o I n A.M r
LL A A.
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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,
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Nth A Sl'.
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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.