ONE DOLLAR PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
TOWANDA :
Thursday Morning, February 27, 1862
©rigiual
(For the Reporter.)
UNDER THE LEAF.
A word of sympathy, how sweet, ,
Yet oft 'twill cause a tear ;
Tbe heart may bleed at every beat,
When sympathy is near.
Why not? a load of grief is there.
True cause of uiauy a sigh
A coil twines round that heart to tear,
Which grief cannot untie.
The aching breast heaves but in vain,
To free it of its weight ;
Earth's brightest pleasures seem but pain,
The sorrow is so great.
But now true sympathy is found—•
A Iriecd—true friend iudeed ;
That heart which was by sorrow bound,
Huw soon Irom pain is freed.
Though tear by tear may gush und fall,
While sympathy is given—
In truth, yet alter all,
'Tis like a balm of Heaven.
And they who sympathy can give,
Long may they bless, long may they live.
HI is reliant a us.
Our Old Grandmother.
I find the marks of my shortest steps beside
tliuse of my beloved mother, which were meas
ured by my own, says Alexander Dumas, und
10 conjures up one of the sweetest images in
tbe world. lie was revisiting the home of his
infancy ; he WHS retracing the little paths
around it in which he hud onee walked ; and
strange flowers could not efface, and rank grass
could not conceal, and cruel ploughs could not
obliterate, his " shortest footsteps,'' and his
mother's beside them, measured by his own.
And who needs to be told whose footsteps
they were that thus kept time with the feeble
pattering of childhood's little feet ! It was no
mother behind whom Ascanius walked " with
equal steps'" in Virgil's line, but a strong, stern
man, who could have borne him and not been
burdened ; folded him in his arms from a'l
ikn<l'T and not been wearied ; everything, in
deed, he could have done for him, but just
nlat be Deeded most—could not sympathize
with bin —be could not be a child again. Ah,
a rare art is that—for indeed, it is an crt, to
<.el hick the great old clock of time and be a
boy once more ! Man's imagination can easily
see the child a man, but how hard it is for it
to see the man a child ; and he who had learn
ed to glide back iuto that rosy time when he
did not know that thorns were under roses, or
that clouds would ever return after the rain ;
when he thought a fear could stain a cheek no
more than a drop of rain a flower ; when he
fancied that life had 110 disguise, and hope no
blight at all—has come as near as anybody
c&a to discovering the northwest passage to
Paradise.
And it is, perhaps, for this reason that ic is
so much easier fur a mother to enter the king
dom of Ileaveu than it is for the rest of the
v-orld. She fancies she is leading the children,
when, afier all, the children are leading her,
and they keep her indeed where the river is
narrowest and the air is clearest ; and the
beckoning of the radiant hand is so plainly
seen from the other side that it is uo wonder
s-hesooiten lets eo her clasp upon the little
finger she is holding and goes over to the neigh
bor-, and the children follow like lambs to the
fold, for we think it ought somewhere to be
written : " Where the mother is, there will
the children be also."
But it was not of the mother we began to
tiiiuk, but of the dear old-fashioned grand
mother, whose thread of love "by hand" on
life's little wheel was longer and stronger than
they tnake it now, was wound around and
about the children she saw playing in the chil
dren's arms, in a true iuve knot that nothing
but the shears of Atropos could sever ; for do
we not recognize the lambs sometimes, when
summer days are over and autumn winds rfTe
blowing, as they come bleating from the yel
low fields, by the -crimson thread we wound
tboot their necks in April or May, aodso undo
t'fie gate and let the wanderers iu ?
Blessed be the children who have an old
•isbioned grandmother. As they hope for
•ength of days let them love and honor her, for
can tell them they will never find another.
There is a large old kitchen somewhere in
ttapast, and an old fashioned fire-place there
w.*wkits smooth old jambs of stoues—smooth
with many knives that had been sharpened
tuere—-mooth with many little fingers that
hare clung the re. There are andirons, too—
andirons, with rings in the top, where
>n many temples of flame have been builded,
spires and turrets of crimson. There is
w broad worn hearth, worn by feet that have
ken torn and bleeding by the way, or been
Bade •• beautiful," and walked upon floors of
lated gold. There are tongs in the corner,
* er ewith we grasped a coal, and "blowing
' " a little life," lighted our first candle ; there
* & shovel, w herewith* were drawn forth the
Powing embers in which we saw our first fan
and dreamed our first dreams—the slovel
*"* which we stirred the sleepy logs till the
-parks rashed up the chimney as if a forge
,er e in blast below, and wished we had so
°any iambs, so many marbles, or so many
aethings that we coveted ; and so it was
wished our first wishes.
There is a chair—a low,rush-bottomed chair;
" re is a little wheel iu the corner, a big
i in the garret, a loom in the chamber.—
're are chests full of linen aud yarn, aud
I l ' s of rare pattern, aud samplers in frames.
* ; K ' ever y w bere and always the dear old
a" 0 ,, face of ber whose firm, elastic step
(j p t ' Je ee ble saunter of her children's chil
/-a—the old fashioned grandmother of twen
: &f?o ' Ter J Providence of
°'i homestead— s he who loved us all, aud
said she wished there were more of as to love,
and took all the school in the Hollow for
grandchildren beside. A great expansive heart
was hers, beneath that woolen gown, or that
more stately bombazine, or that sole bairloom
of silken texture.
We can see her to day, those mild blue eyes,
with more of beauty in them than time could
touch or death do more than hide—those eyes
that held both smiles and tears within the
faintest call of every one of us, and soft re
proof, that seemed no passion but regret. A
white tress has escaped from beneath her
snowy cap ; she has just restored a wandering
lamb to its mother ; she lengthened the tether
of a vine that was straying over the window, as
she came : i, and plucked a four-leaved clover
for Ellen. She sits down by the little wheel
—a tress is running through her fingers from
the distaff's dishreveipd head, when a small
voice "Grandma" from the old red cradle, and
" Grandma !" Tommy shouts from the top of
the stairs Gently she lets go the thread, for
her patience is aimost as beautiful as her char
ity, and she touches the little red bark in a
moment, till the young voyager is in a dream
again, and then directs Tommy's unavailing
attempts to harness the cat. The tick of the
clock runs faint and low, and she opens the
mysterious door, and proceeds to wind it up.
We are all on tip toe, and we beg in a breath
to be lifted up one bv one, and look in the
bundreth time upon the tin cases of the weights,
and the poor lonely pendulum, which goes to
and fro by its little dim window, and never
comes out in the world, and our petitions are
all granted, and we are lifted up, and we all
touch with a finger the wonderful weights, and
the music of the little wheel is resumed.
was M ary to be married, or Jane to be
wrapped in a shroud ? So meekly did she fold
the white hands of the one upon her still bos
om, that thire seemed to be a prayer in them
there ; and so sweetly did she wreathe the
white rose in the hair of the other, that one
would not have wondered had more roses bud
ded for company.
llow she stood between us aud an appre
hended harm ; how the rudest of us sof.ened
beneath the gentle pressure of her faded and
trern lons hand ! From her capacious pocket
that hand wus ever withdrawn closed, only to
be opened in our own, with the nuts she bad
gathered, the cherries she had plucked, the
little egg she had found, the " turn over"' she
had baked, the trinket she had purchased for
ns as the product of her spinning, the blessing
she had stored for us—the offspring of her
heart.
What treasure of story fell from those old
lips ; of good faries and evil, of the old time
when she was a girl ; and we wondered if ever
—but then she couldn't be handsomer or dear
er— but that she ever was "little." Aud then,
when we begged her to sing ! "Sing us one
uf the old songs you used to sing mother,
grandma."
" Children, I can't sing," she always said ;
and mother used to lay her knitting softly
down, and the kitten stopped playing with the
yarn upon the floor, and clock ticked lower in
the corner, and the tire died down to a glow,
like au old heart that is neither chilled nor
dead, and grandmother. To be sure it wouldn't
do for the parlor and the concert room nowa
days ; but theu it was the old kitchen and the
old fnshioned grandmother, and the old ballad,
in the dear old times, and we cau hardly see
to write for the memory of them, though it is
a hand's breadth to the sunset.
Well, she sang. Her voice was feeble and
wavering, like a fountain just ready to fall,
but then how sweet-loned it was ; and it
became deeper and stronger ; but it couldn't
grow sweeter. What "joy of grief" it was to
sit there around the fire, all of us,except Jane,
that clasped a prayer to her bosom, and her
thoughts we saw, when the hall-door opened a
moment by tho wind ; but then we were not
afraid, for wasn't it her old smile she wore?—
to sit there around the fire, and weep over the
woes of the " Babes in the Wood," who lay
down side by side in the great solemn shadows;
and how strangely glad we felt when the
robin re Ibreast covered them with leaves, and
last of all when the angels took them out of
the night into day everlasting.
We may think what we will of it new, but
the song and the story heard around the kitch
en fire have colored the thoughts and lives of
most of us ; have given us the germs of what
ever memory blooms in onr yesterdays At
tribute whatever we may to the school and the
schoolmaster, the rays which make that little
day we call life, radiate from the God swept
circle of the hearthstone.
Then she sings an old lullaby she sang to
mother— htr mother song to her ; bnt she
does not sing it through, and falters ere 'tis
done. She rests her head upon her hands,
and it is silent in the old kitchen. Something
glitters down between her fingers and the fire
light, and it looks like rain in the soft sun
shine. The old grandmother is thinking when
she first heard the song, and of the voice that
sang it ; when a light haired and light-hearted
girl she hung around that mother's chair, nor
saw ihe shadows of the years that were to
come. O ! the days that are no more ! What
spell can we weave to hring them back again ?
What words can we unsay, what deeds undo,
to set back, just this once, the ancient clock of
time ?
So all our little hands were forever clioging
to her garments, and stayiug here as if from
dying, for long ago she had done living for
herself, and lived alone in us. But the old
kitchen wants a presence to-day, and the rush
bottomed chair is tonautle6S.
How she used to welcome us when we were
grown, and came back on colore to the home
stead.
We thought we were men and women, but
were children there. The old-fashioned grand
mother was blind in the eyes, but she saw with
her heart, as she always did. We threw our
long shadows throngh the open door, and she
felt them as they fell over her form, and she
looked dimly up and saw tall shapes iu the
door-w ay, aud she says, " Kdward I know, and
Lucy's voice I can hear, but whose is that
other. It must be Jane's "—for she has almost
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. 0. GOODRICH.
forgotten the folded bands. " Oh, no, not
Jane, for she—let me see— she is waiting for
me isn't she ?" aDd the old graudmother won
dered and weDt.
" It is another daughter, grandmother, that
Edward has brought," says some one, " for
your blessiug "
" Has she blue eyes, my son ? Put her hand
in mine, for she is my latest bom, the child of
my old age. Shall I sing you a song, chil
dren ?" Her hand i 3 in her pocket as of old;
sire is idly fumbling for a toy, a welcomejgift
to the children that have come aguin.
One of us, men a3 we thought we were, is
weeping ; she hears the half suppressed sob ;
she says, as she extends her feeble hand,
" Here, my poor child, rest upon grandmoth
er's shoulder ; she will protect you from all
harm. Come, children, sit around the fire
again. Shall I sing you a song or tell you a
story ? Stir the fire, for it is cold ; the uights
are crowing colder."
The clock in the corner struck nine, the bed
time of those old days. The song of life was
iudeed sung, the story told, it was bedtime at
last. Good night to thee, grandmother. The
old-fashioned grandmother was no more, and
we miss her forever. But we will set to a
tablet in the midst of the memory, in the midst
of the heart, and write on it ouly this,
SACRED TO TriE MEMORY
of the
OLD FASHIONED GRANDMOTHER.
GOD BLESS HER FOREVER.
Here are some facts about tobacco,
j which those who nse it will read aud forget :
I Rees' Cyclopedia says a drop or two of the
oil, placed on the tongue of a cat, produces
couvulsions aud death iu the space of a min
ute.
A college of physicians has said that not
less than twenty thousand in oar laud, annual
ly die by the use of this poison.
I)r. Shaw names some eighty diseases, and
says they may be attributed to tobacco.
Gov. Sullivan says :" My broth-r, Gener
al Sullivan, used snuff, and bis snuff lodged
him prematurely iu the grave."
lioearme, of lieigium, was murdered in two
minutes and a half by a little uicotine, or al
kiii of tobacco.
Dr. Twitchell believed that sudden deaths
and tobacco, among men, were usually found
together, and he sustained this opinion by an
array of facts al ogether conclusive.
Three young men formed a smoking club,
they all died within two years of the time they
formed it. The doctor was asked what they
died of. He said they were smoked to death.
A youth of sixteen fell dead with a cigar in
his mouth, in a dram shop. What caused his
death ? Tbo coroner's inquest said : " It was
mysterious act of GOD " The minister at the
funeral consoled the friends by saying much
the same thing. Physicians said it was ' heart
disease.' A sensible woman, knowing the boy's
habits, said, "Tobacco killed him" It de
ranged the action of the heart ; it ceaed to
beat, and the victim fell !
As* INCIDENT.—A released prisoner, who
gives his experiences in Secessia to the Roch
ester Express, relates this anecdote :
Of the six or seven cars which started for
Manassas, there were but two remaining when
we reached the rebel Capitol (Richmond.)
We arrived there about 9 o'clock in the even
ing. After the cars had halted, I head a low
voice at my window, which was partly rais
ed. It was quite d >rk, and I could not dis
tinguish the speaker, who was an Irish
woman.
" Whisht, whisht J" said she, " are ye huu
gry ?"
I replied that I was not, but that some of
the boys probably were.
" Wait till I go to the house," she contin
ued ; and a moment afterward I head her
again at the window. She handed me a loaf
of bread, some meat' and about a dozen ba
ker's cakes, saying, " that was all I had in
the honse, but I had a shillin', and I bought
the cakes wid it ; and if I had more yon should
have it and welcome ! Take it, and GOB bless
ye 1"
I thanked her, and said, " you are very
kind to enemies "
" Whisht," said she, " and ain't. I from
New-York meself ?"
This was the first " Union demonstration"
that I wituessedjo Old Virginia. I thanked
GOD for the consolation which the reflection
afforded me, as lor the third night Ilayslcep
lessly in the cars, my clothing still saturated
and my body thoroughly chilled from the ef
fects of the deluge at Manassas. I could have
desired no sweeter morsel than the good wo
man's homely loaf ; and proud of the loyal
giver, I rejoiced that " I was from New York
myself 1"
THE HEALTHY MAN*. —Of all the know noth
things it) the world, commend us to the man
who has never known a day's illness. He is a
moral dunce, ODe who has lost the greates les
sons in life, who has skipped the finest lecture
in that great school of human nature —the sick
chamber. Let him be versed in metaphysics,
a doctor of divinity, yet he is one of those
gentlemen whose education has been neglect
ed. For all this college acquirements, how in
ferior in knowledge to a mortal who has but
a quarter's or a half year's ague, how infinite
ly below the fellow creature who has been
soundly taught his tic douloureux, thorouzbly
grounded in the rheumatics, and deeply red in
sea rlet fever. And yet what is more common
than to hear a big hulking, florid fellow,
bragging of an ignorance, that he shares in
common with the pig and bullock, the gener
ality of whom die, probably,without ever hav
ing experienced a days indisposition.— Hood,
BSif* " Henrietta," said a landlord to his
new girl, " when there's bad news from Wash
ington, or any bad news, particularly private
afflictions, always let the boarders know it before
dinner. It may seem strange, Heoriette v but
sncb little things make a great difference in
eatiDg in the course of a year "
" REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANT QUARTER."
1776—The Altar of Liberty.
Hick sprang and had the table oat in a trice
with an abundant clatter, and put up the
leaves with quite an air. His mother, with
the sileut and gliding motion characteristic of
her, quietly took out the tablecloth and spread
it, and began to set the cups and saucers iu
order and to put on the plates and kuivc?,
while Aunt Hitty bustled the tea.
' I'll be glad when the war is over for one
reason,' she said. ' I'm pretty much tired of
drinking sage tea.'
' Well, Aunt Hitty, who yoa scolded that
peddler last week that brought the real tea.'
'To be sure 1 did. Suppose I'd take any
of his old tea bought of the British. Fling
every tea-cup iu his face first.'
' Well, mother,' said Dick, 1 I never exactly
nnderstooa what it was about the tea and why
the Boston folks threw it overboard.'
' Because there was an unlawful tax laid
upon it that the Government had no right to
lay. It wasn't much iu itself, but it was a part
of a whole system of oppressive measures de
signed to take away our rights and make us
slaves of a foreign power.'
' Slaves,' said Dick, straightening himself
proudly. ' Father a slave.'
' But they would not be slaves. They saw
clearly where it would all eud, and they would
uot begiu to submit to it in ever so little,' said
the mother.
' Aud I wouldu't either if I was they,' said
Dick.
' Besides,' said his mother drawing him to
wards her, 'it wasn't for themselves alone they
did it. This is a great country, and it will bo
greater and greater, and its very important
that it should have free and equal laws, be
cause it will by and by become so great. This
country, if it is a free one, will be a light of
the world—a city set on a hill that cannot be
hid, aud all the oppressed and distressed from
other countries shall come here and enjoy
their rights aud freedom. This, dear boy, is
why your father aud uncle have gone to fight,
thought God knows what they suffer,' and the
large blue eyes of the mother were full of tears
yet a strong, bright beam of exultation shone
through those tears.
' Well, well, Roxy, you can always talk, ev
erybody knows,' said Aunt Hitty, who had not
been the least attentive listener of this little
harangue, ' but you see the tea is getting cold,
aud yonder 1 see the sleigh is at the door and
John has some, so let us set up the chairs for
supper.'
The chairs were soon set up, when John,
the eldest son, a lad of about fifteen, entered
with a letter. There was oue geueral excla
mation and stretching out of hands towards it.
John threw it into his mother's lap ; the tea
table was forgotten and the tea-kettle sang
unnoticed by the fire as all hands crowded
about the mother's chair to hear the news.—
It was from Captain Ward, then iu the Amer
ican Array at Valley Forge.
Mrs. Ward ran it over hastily and then read
it aloud. A few words we may extract:
4 There is stiil much suffering. I have given
away every pair of stockings you sent me, re
serving to myself only one ; for I will not be
one whit better thau the poorest soldier who
fights for his conutry. Poor fellows !it makes
my heartache tometimes to go round among
them and see them with worn clothes and torn
shoes and ofteu bleeding feet, and yet eheeiful
and hopeful and every one willing to do his
best. Often the spirit of discouragement comes
over them, particularly at night, when wearv,
cold and hungry, they turn in their comfortless
huts on the snowy grouud. Then sometimes
there is a thought of home and warm fires, and
some speak of giving up. Put next morning
out comes Washington's genera! orders—little
short uote, but it's wonderful the good it does
—and they all resolve to hold on come what
may. There are commissioners goiDg all
through the country to pick up supplies. If
they come to you I need not tell you what to
do. I know all that will be in your hearts.'
' There, children, see what your father suf
fers and what it costs these poor soldiers to
gain our liberty,' said the mother.
1 Ephraim Scrautou told me that the com
missioners had cocje as far as the Three Miles
Tavern, and he rather expected they'd be along
here to night,' said John, as he was helpiDg
round the baked beans to the silent company
at the tea-table.
'To night ? Do tell now !' said Annt Hitty
i ' Then it's time we were awake aud stirring.
Let's see what can be got.'
' I'll send my new overcoat for one,' said
John. ' That old one isu't cut up yet, is it
Aunt Hitty ?'
•No,' said Aunt Hitty; 'I was laying it out
!to cut over next Wednesday when Desire
Smith could be here to do the tailoring.'
4 There's the south room,' said Aunt Hitty,
musing ; ' that bed has the two old Aunt Ward
blankets on it and the great bine quilt and two
comforters. Then mother's and my room, two
pair—four comforters—two quilts—the best
chamber has got——'
' Oh, Aunt Hitty, send all that's in the best
chamber ! If any company comes we can make
it up from off our beds,' said John. 4 I can
send a blanket or two from off my bed, I
know ; can't but just turn over in it, there is
so rnauy clothes on now.'
' Aunt Hitty, take a blanket off from our
bed,' said Grace and Dick at oncc.
' Well, well, we'll see,' said Annt nitty
bustling np.
Up rose grandmamma with great earnest
ness uow, and, going to the next room, opened
a large cedar wood chest, returned bearing in
her arms two large, snow white blankets,which
she deposited flat on the table jnst as Aunt
Hitty was whisking off the table cloth.
4 Mortal 1 Mother, what are yon going to
do ?' said Aunt Ilitty,
4 There,' she said, 4 I spun them—every
thread of 'em, when ray name was Mary
Evans. Those were my wedding blankets—
made of real nice wool, and worked with roses
in all the corners. I've got them to give,' and
the old lady stroked and smoothed the blank
ets and patted tbe down with great pride and
tenderness, <
It was evident she was giving something
Umt lay very near her heart, but she never
faltered.
1 La ! Mother, there's no need of that,' said
Aunt Hitty. ' Use them on your bed, and
send the blankets off from that ; thev are just
as good for soldiers.'
' No, I shan't,' said the old lady, waxing
| warm ; "tisn't a bit too good for 'em. I'll
send the very best I've got before they shall
[ suffer. Send 'em the bast !' aud the old lady
| gestured oratorically.
They were interrupted by a rap at the door
and two men entered and announced themselves
as being commissioned by Congress to search
out supplies for the army. The plot thickens
—Aunt Hitty flew in every direction—through
entry passage, meal-room, milk-room, down
cellar, up chamber—her cap border on with
patriotic zeal—and followed by John, Dick,
and Grace, who eagerly bore to the kitchen
the supplies she turned out, while Mrs. Ward
busied herself in quietly sorting and arrangiug
in the best traveling order the various contri
butions that were precipitately launched on
the kitcbeu floor.
| Auut Hitty soon appeared in the kitchen
with an armful of stockings, which kneeling on
I the floor, she began counting aud laying
i out.
" There," said she,laying down a large bun
dle on some blankets, " that leaves just two
pair a piece all around."
I " La," said John, " what's the use of sav
-1 ing two pair for me ? I can do with one pair
I as well as father."
" Sure enough," said his mother ; "Besides
I can knit you a pair in a day."
" And I can do with one pair," said Dick.
" Yours will be too small, young master, I
gue93," said one of the commissioners.
' No,' said Dick, ' I have got a pretty
good foot of my own, and Auut Ililty will al
ways knit my stockings an inch too long,'cause
she says I grow so. See here—these will do,'
and the boy shook his head triumphantly.
' And mine, too,' said Grace,nothing doubt
ing, having been busy all the time ia pulling
off her little stockings.
' Here,' she said to the man who was pack
ing the things into a wide mouthed sack, —
' here's mine !' and her large blue eyes looked
earnestly through her tears.
Aunt Hitty flew at her.
' Good gracious ! The child's crazy. Don't
think the men could wear your stockings—
take 'em right away.'
Grace looked around with an air of utter
desolation and began to cry.
' I waDt to give something,' said she. I'd
rather go barefooted on the snow all day
than not send them anything.'
' Give ine thy stocking, ray child,' said the
old soldier. ' There I'll tak 'em and show 'em
to the soldiers and tell 'cm what the little girl
said that sent them. And it will do them as
much good as if they could wear them. They
have got little girls at home, too.
Grace fell on her mother's bosom complete
ly happy, and Aunt Hitty only muttered :
' Everybody does spile that child, and
no wonder neither.'
Soou the old sleigh drove off from the brown
house, tightly packed aud Ijeavily loaded.—
Aud Grace and Dick were creeping up to
their little beds.
* There's been something put upon the Al
tar of Liberty to-night, hasu't there, Dick ?*
' Yes, indeed,' said Dick ; and, looking up
i lohi3 mother, he said, ' Cut, mother, what did
1 you give ?'
' I ?' said the mother, musingly.
4 Yes, you. mother : what did you give to
the country ?'
4 All that I have dears,' she said, layiug her
hands gently on their heads—' my husband
and children.'
RUSSIAN DISCIPLINE.— Having found a Ger
man friend in the head physician of the mili
tary Hospital at Rign, I accompanied Jbim one
morning on bis visit thither. On the way he
! told me how difficult it was to elicit from the
meij the real seat of their complaints, as every
ailing in the upper part of the body, whether
: in the head, back or, stumach, they call pain
in the heart ; and those in the lower part of
the body, pain in the leg.
Having arrived at the hospital, all the pa
tients that were able to do so, arranged them
selves in a row, dumb and stiff, as if on mili
tary parade. " How do 'you feel to-day, old
man ?" asked the doGtor of the first. "My
heart pains," was the expected timid reply.—
" Tongue out," said the doctor, aud out it
was. Turning to the next, the same question,
same answer, and same tongno operation.—
More thau thirty in a row underwent the same,
medical inquiries and process.
I was about leaving, when my friend told
me to look around. To my ntter astonish
ment I saw the whole lot still standing in mil
itary attitude, with their tongues, wide out.—
We looked on for a while, when the doctor
loudly gave the woid, " tongues in," and all
the articulating organs vanished in an in
stant.
My risible facnlties were so excited by the
ludicrous scene that it was 60rae moments af
ter we were in the open street, ere I could,
rather reproachfully, ask my friends how be
conld play such a trick on the poor fellows.—
" You must not judge," said he, " by excep
tions. I merely wanted to show jon to what
extent the bliud spirit of dicipline prevails
among the Russian troops. Nor are the fel
lows," added he. " the worse for the joke ; on
the contrary, they believe that the cure is
greatly promoted by keeping the tongue out
in the presence of the doctor the longer the
better."— Once a Wuk.
ftST What is the association between a
ladder and a father ? Yotr get up on one—
the other brings you np.
A general of high command says that
the provisions wasted by the army of the IV
tomac would subsist a Treuuh army of equal
number,
VOL. XXII. —ICO. 39.
The Insane Soldier.
A SAD STORT.
The following toucliiog revelation i extraei
ed from a private letter of Lieutenant Co
lonel Joseph R. Hawley,7th Connecticot, dat
ed Tybee Island, December 20th :
Poor Dolph! Do you know the Dolph's that
live near yon ? Well, their eon, who belongs
to Co D, got news that his wife, two children
and sister has all died of diptheria. How be
cried. Poor fellow 1 We comforted him all
we could. I spoke pleasautly to him when
we met and hoped he was getting along well,
I believe he heard the other day that his moth
er was sick, too. Somebody came to the sup
per table last night and called for the doctor
to sec a crazy man, and soou after a man said
that Dolph wanted to see me. I went to his
tent. Tbere was a half a dozen of his com
rades there. One dim caudle, stack in a bot
tle, showed me the rifles stacked around the
ceutre pole, the cartridge boxes, bayouets and
knapsacks. The ground was covered with
the splendid long moss they had pulled from
the live oaks. Dolph sat squat up*" u the ground,
his face and hands very dirty, his Augers con
stantly picking something, his body moving,
his head turning wildly from one side to an
other, his eyes dreadfully swelled with weap
ing. " Hallo, Dolpb, how are you ?" And ho
peered up toward my face. " Colonel Haw
ley," said somebody. " Yes," said he, " that
is Colonel Hawley," and he took my hand
with a tight grip. " Colonel Hawley, look at
my baby, my poor, sick baby." He had a
a iittie pile of moss, and on it lay his cartridge
t box, dferefully covered, all but one edge, with
' his blanket. That wan his baby ! And he
turned the blanket down as tenderly as if the
cartridge box was a delicate little baby. He
j s'poke brokenly and at intervals, and with a
quick and mournful voice—" poor baby—very
! sick. Give baby some water," and he leaned
on one elbow and affectionately held a leaf up
to the catridge box, as if baby would drink. —
lie seemed to consider himself in his own
home, and the family sick but living, but then
he would say : "Won't let me go home—no
—no —ao—(wailing a few seconds) no—no—
won't fet me g© home his hands constant
ly fidgeting over something. Then he con
sidered them all dead and he by their graves.
" Sister," and he laid his hand down on ono
side. " Baby," hands down again to mark
each grave ; " baby—wife— molhtr. Oh, ye 9
mother is dead—won't let me go home. I
kept his hand ten miDutes and sat dowu by
him, and put my hand on his shoulder, and
tried to compel liim to listen. I told him his
babies were happy and his mother not dead,
—(is she ?)and if he would be a good boy and
sleep, and get well, he should go home.—
" Mother's here and she says she didn't get
the money." You didn't send it to her. "0,
yes, I did Dolph ; here's the receipt of the
Express compauy —She's got it uow, You
told me to send it to your wife light there at
Col F , you know. She has got it be
fore this time." " Well—poor baby,"—and
he put " trees" over their graves, etc. 1 had
to work some time to gel him to take some
medicine—an opiate—but it had little effect.
" I've built six forts," said he, " and mount
ed six cannou. I'm going to take that fort
down to morrow—that oue over there—Pulas
ki, I meuu." Four men were going to watch
with him—(the tears came into all our eyes,
sometimes, I think,) and I told tbem to move
out the rifles and bayonets, lie caught tbem
at it, and shouted, " Let my rifles alone ?
Give me my rifle?" And 1 let him take it,
I seeing it was not loaded, and he went furious
ly to wo:k cleaning it. Finally he passed it
to me to/' inspect" it, and I slipped it away.
I think it the most affecting case of insani
ty I ever saw. I couldn't make him believe
that we should send him home, but we shall.
I don't know whether to have yoa tell his
folks or not. The men take es good care <?{
him as they caD. He has slep but an hour
out of tweuty-fonr, and is as ceaselessly active
as a canary bird hopping about inghis cage.—
lie sent for me, again to day, but he coold
not confine his attention to anything. "Poor
baby," is his principle rcmark.and be still tends
his cartridge box. " A soldier's life is always
gay," the song says. A sad story, isn't it ?
Call again on Doiph's mother. Tell her he
will be well treated. We hope this insanity
is caused partly by fever, and if we can get
him quietly sick with that, perhaps be will
come a I right. If not,l'll see he goes straight
to the Insane Iletieat, at Hartford, and with
him money enough no keep him awhile.
It wa bis comrades and friends who con
tributed the thirty two dollars he sent to bis
mother to pay the funeral erpensts of hu a: holt
family.
A GOOD WIFE.—A gOod wife is Heaven's
last, best gift to raau an angel of mercy :
minister of graces innumerable ; bis gem of
jewels ; her voice, his sweetest music ; her
smiles, his brightest day ; her kiss, the guar
dian of innocence ; her arm 9, the pale of his
safety, the bairn of his health, the balsam of
his life ; her industry, his surest wealth ; her
economy, his safest steward; her lips, his faith
ful connelor; h>r bosotn, the softest pillow
of his carts ; and her prayers, the ablest ad
vocates of Heaven's blessing on his head.—
Jermy Taylor.
Au old bachelor is a traveler npou
life's railroad who has entirely failed to make
the proper connections.
W&" Modesty promotes worth, but conceals
it, just as leaves aid the growth of fruit, and
hide it from view.
Imitation is the homage that dulness
pays to genius. Such homage is paid con
stantly at the throne of the great.
Crimes sometimes shock os too much ;
vices almost always too little.
W Hi who breaks his last loaf with you,
but never bis faith, is a trae fricud.