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IFLERCUR & MORROW, Attorneys 1A at Late, Towanda, Penn'a, The undersigned having associated themselves together in the practice of Law, offer their pro fessional services to the public. ULYSSES MERCUR, P. D. MORROW. March 9,1865. PATRICK & PECK, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. Offices : —ln Union Block, Towanda, Pa., formerly occupied by Hon. Wm. Elwell.and in Patrick's block, Athens, Pa. They may be consulted at either place, a. w. PATRICK, apll3 w. A. PECK. HB. MCKEAN, ATTORNEY & • COUNSELLOR AT LA IV, Towan da, Pa. Particular attention paid to business in the Orphans' Court. July 20. 1866. HENRY PEET, Attorney at Law, Towanla, Pa. jun27, 66. WH. CARNOCHAN, ATTOR • NEY AT LAW, Troy, Pa. Special attention given to collecting claims against the Government for Bounty, Back Pay and Pensions. Office with E. B. Parsons. Esq. June 12,1865. DR. H. WESTON, DENTIST Office in Patton's Block, over Gore's Drug and Chemical Stors. Ijan66 L" I I>WARD OVERTON Jr., Attor- JLhity at Laic, Towanda, Pa. 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Russell 4 C., a few doors north of the Ward House. Towanda, Pa., Jan, 14, 1867. JJ D. KN A PP, Watch Maker and Dealer in Gents and Ladies Watches Chains and Finger Rings.Clocks, Jew elry, Gold Pens, Spectacles, Silver ware, Plat ed ware. Hollow ware, Thimbles, Sewing Ma chines, and other goods belonging to a Jewel ry Store. Perticnlar attention paid to Repairing, at his old place near the Post Office, Waverly, N. Y. Dec. 3, 1866—tf. YyARD HOUSE, TOWANDA, PA. j On Main Street, near the Conrt Hoaae. C. T. SMITH, Proprietor. ; Oct. 8, IBSB. M ERIC AN HOTEL,- TOWANDA, PA., Having purchased this well known Hotel on j Bridge Street, I have refurnished and refitted j it with every convenience for the accommoda tion of all who may patronize me. No pains will ■ be spared to make all pleasant and agreeable. j May 3,'66.—tf. J. S. PATTERSON,Prop. SNYDER HOUSE, a four story brick edifice near the depot,with large airy rooms, i elegant parlor-, newly furnished, has a recess in ! new addition lor Ladies use, and is the most convenient and only first class hotel at Waverly. N. Y. It is the principal office tor stages sooth and express. Also for sale of Western Tickets, and in Canada, on Grund Trunk Rail-way. Fare to Detroit from Buffalo, $4, is cheaper than any other route. Apply for tickets as above to C. WARFORD. tr Stabling and t are o! Horzss at reasonable rates. Waverly. N. Y , Oct.Sfi, 18ti*b-3m. C. W. UMITHBORO HOTEL, SMITHBORO, N. Y . Having rented and Refitted this well known Hotel, I am ready to accommodate all who may tavor tne with a call. I have a large Hall at tached, suitable for lectures, dances. Ac. Pass engers carried to any point by applying at the Hotel. No pains will be spared to make every thing agreeable and comfortable for the t ravel ing public. J. B. VANWINKLE, Jan. 10, 1867. Proprietor. E W ARRAXG EME X T AT YBK NEWS ROOM AND BOOK STORE. The undersigned having purchased the BOOK STORE AND NEWS ROOM of J. J. Griffiths, respectfully invite the old patrons of the estab lishment and the public generally, to call and ex amine onr stock. ALVORD A BARBER. • w. itroßP r. t. stßssft E. O. GOODRICH, Publisher. VOLUME XXVII. THEY" SAY. They say—Ah! well, suppose they do, But can they prove the story true ? Suspicion may arise from naught But malice, envy, want of thought; Why count yourself among the "they" Who whisper what they dare not say ? They say—But why i he tale rehearse, And help to make the matter worse ? No good can possibly accrue From telling what may be untrue ; And is it not a nobler plan To speak of all the best yon can? They say—Well, if it should be so, Why need you tell the tale of woe ? Will it the bitter wrong redress, Or make one pang of sorrow less ? Will it the erring one restore, Henceforth to "go and sin no more?' ./They say—Oh I pause, and look within, See how thine heart inclines to sin ; Watch, lest in dark temptation's hour, Thou, too, shouhlst sink beneath its pow er ; Pity the frail, weep o'er their fall, But speak of good, or not at all. Sale. The Story of Bernard Bartlett, THE UNION SPY. If the field of romantic adventure iu our late war should not be fully il lustrated, it will not be the fault of the scores of novelists and sketch writers who are so promptly throw ing themselves into the " breach."— From the pretentious duodecimo down to the two-column story iu the week ly paper, we have the most ample opportunities to acquaint ourselves with hairbreadth escapes, chivalric enterprises, and melting episodes of the heart, principally "founded on facts which actually occurred during the Great Rebellion," or which the author doubtless thinks might easily have occurred, il they did not. Out of all this mass of war literature, un substantial fiction, for the most part, we may possibly have, at some re mote day, a novel which will deal truthfully with the great historical events of our four years' straggle, and weave from them a connecting web of romance which will be genu ine, because not extravagant aud sensational. The mantle of Fenni more Cooper may yet be found rest ing upon the shoulders of some pri vate soldier of shrewd intelligence, quick observation, possessed of the necessary literary power to grapple successfully with the subject, and thus give to the country that which, if the truth must be told, the coun try is remarkably barren of—an A merican romance upon a purely Amer ican subject. Certainly, the field is ample enough, aud we have reason to think that the work, if it is to be done at all, can be better performed while the war is, as it were, but a thing of yesterday, aud while its principal figures are still before us, and its scenes aud events still fresh in our minds. There never was, I verily believe, in the whole history of wars, such a field presented for the exercise of the pen of the true novelist as in any of the leading campaigns of our rebellion. The Peninsula, the Wilderness, aud the Valley, diveis iu their typography and population as in the varying for tunes of the strife which overran and desolated them, might he linked to gether by a chain of characters and event*, clustering around the milita ry operations of McClellan, Grant and Sheridan, which would truthful ly blend the historical with the ro mantic, and preserve for future gen erations something of the spirit of these momentous times. Very possi bly this work can only he performed by a soldier, writing from a stand point which will give him the advan tage of familiarity with his subject ; but the public will not be captious upon this point. If the article, when presented, shall bear the critical tests which will be mercilessly ap plied to it, and he found the pnre gold of romance, we will at once recog nize our Cooper of 1801-'65, and hon or him accordingly. But, until then, the cry of ecce homo will be vainly raised. But, aside from all gildiug of fic tion, there is sufficient in the story of the deeds actually performed during these years to absorb the interest of our millions of reading public. Our people looked on with breathless and painful attention from both North and South, and the movements and col lisions of our mighty armies on the chess board of war, and often as the story of this greatest of historical dramas shall be well told, it will not lack for auditors. And, aside from these, the acts in the play to which all minor happenings were incident, there were ten thousand personal ex periences which should be told as le gitimate parts of the story ; adven tures of subordinates and soldiers, men whose names have never ap peared in the reports of Generals in the field, or Congressional commit tees, but which embody much of the vigorous military life which the his torian can only fully portray, and which need no gilding of the roman cer to give them interest. I class among these the story ol Bernard Bartlett. During my schoolboy days, when the story of our wars was to me, as I believe it is to all boys, a bewitch ing study, and before the dream had ever entered my brain, that I, too, i should be a soldier at no remote day, and take part in great battles to be j lought on American soil, the tales of the spies and scouts of the Revolu tion, of the Hales, the Andres, and i the Champes, were loremost of all in their power to fascinate. I wonder- I ed then if these pictures were not overdrawn, and if men ever lived who could dare and suffer as much for any cause as did these three, aud many others. The experience of a few months of active campaign was a sufficient answer. I learned to look upon the men who were employ ed in the secret service of both ar mies, and who periled their lives al most daily in the discharge of their different duties, as something more than ordinary men, as they assuredly were. Many of them were as rougn and uncouth in their physique as D.miel Boone's hunters, unlettered and unlearned in the language of schools ; and they had a self reliance, a cool daring,"and a faculty of quick perception ot human nature which is never the offspring ot education.— They were in many cases borderers, natives of Tennessee, Kentucky, West Virginia and Ohio ; men who were equally acquainted with the pe culiarities of the soldiers of both Union aud Rebel armies, and who could assume either character at pleasure. To say that the business in which they engaged required nerve is merely to repeat the intuitive con viction of every reader who shud ders over the stories ot John Andre and Nathan Hale—stories which, to my knowledge, have had numerous counterparts in our late war. To the Generals of the contending armies these men were indispensable. . The knowledge of the position, numbers aud probable intentions of the ene my which they were able to obtain, entered largely iuto the plans which were devised at headquarters, and in more than one instance saved whole armies from defeat, and indicated cor rectly where aud when successful blows might be struck. It has often seemed to me as if such men must be thoroughly indoctrinated with the Mahometan's creed of fatalism, and must look death as something which no act of their own can hasteu or bring before its appointed time.— While in command of advanced pick ets in the enemy's country, upon more than one occasion, I have been called to a distant post to scrutinize a man who sought to pass outside. I re member upon one occasion, in West ern Louisiana, examinig a horseman, dressed in a suit of shabby citizen's clothing, and looking much like au inhabitant of the parish, who present ed himself at the picket line, with the pass of the Commanding Gener al. I knew the signature, and could not doubt the genuineness ; but wish ing to verify the person beyond all doubt, 1 searched his face narrowly, and demanded his business. A half smile came to the corners of his res olute mouth, aud his keen black eyes shot forth a glance of peculiar intel ligence as he bent down over the neck of his sorry-looking horse, and asked in a low tone, so that my men might not hear him : " Captain, have you ever heard of , the leader of Banks' scouts ?" " Very often." I think there was not a soldier of camp-follower in the whole Army of the Gulf, who had not heard some camp fire story of this audacious scout. " Well, lam he. I'm bound on a little trip up the country ; shall pro bably be at Dick Taylor's headquar ters before night. The General wants some information, aud I think I can get it." I wished him good luck, and a safe return, aud he went out into the dark ness on his shambling way. Before the twenty-four hours were completed 1 have no doubt that he was bemoan ing to the rebel General some ruth less capture of his pigs and chickens by the Yankees, and noting with eyes and ears everything that passed in the camp. Under the name of Bernard Bart lett, 1 wish to disguise the personali ty of a young man of not more than twenty-three years of age, formerly a private in one of the cavalry regi ments of Custar's command. Lest his extraordinary story should be thought one of the fictions to which I have alluded, I am prepared to say that from personal knowledge of my self and of the military situation in the Shenandoah Valley at the time of his adventure, I most unherwtatiugly believe it, and can lend it my lull en dorsement. It refers to one ol the most exciting and important episodes of the war—the surprise of Sheri dan's army near Cedar Creek, Vir ginia, on the morning of October 19th, 1864, and shows how complete ly a great military disaster (as our defeat that morning certainly was) may hinge upon one obscure soldier. With the wonderful spy system which Sheridan organized, and with the daring scouts which he had at his headquarters, it has always seem ed incomprehensible to me how our Generals could have remained in such utter ignorance of the designs and movements of the enemy as pre vailed among them upon that terri ble morning. The rebels were in pos session of important information as to our numbers and dispositions, and j they knew, or claimed to know, that' Sheridan was absent from his army : j but, the false security security in which we had enveloped ourselves will be remembered by the men of that command. In my brigade, as I distinctly remember, orders had been issued two days before to discontinue standing to arms before daylight ; when the rebel advance swooped down npon us from the Marsanuttan Mountains, in the fogs of that Octo ber morning, they found a foe asleep in his camps. Why was it, we re peatedly asked, after the fiual glori ous result of that day, that we could not have had some warning, some in timation of this fearful surprise ? The story of Bernard Bartlett was first related to me by himself & year since, nd in it I found a full answer to this question. 1 present it as an important contribution to the history of this, the last battle in the Sbenan- REGARDLESS Or DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., APRIL 4,1867. doah, and as a good illustration of the almost incredible risks which were constantly undertaken by the scouts and spies of the armies. Bernard was a farmer's boy before the war, and since its close he has , returned to his home in Niagara coun ty, New York, aud resumed his use ful labors as patiently and steadily as hundreds of thousauds of others, ! heroes in blue whose names will nev er be known, have also done. Ber nard is no beauty ; there have been thousands of sleek, shiny soldiers, with straps and without, who could play the part of military dandyism much better than could he. He has an ordinary common school educa tion ; trips occasionally in his gram mar, aud stumbles in his speech, and he has a thorough contempt for black ing and paper collars. But he has a : quiet, resolute way, which shows a close observer that he has much in reserve, a shrewd shy manner, and an eye which takes note of every thing within scope of its vision at a single sweep. He told me his story in his own direct way ; and I prefer Ito let him speak in the first person, preserving his language as nearly as possible. I don't kuow exactly what it was that gave (feneral Custar so much confidence in me. 1 have always thought the Colonel had something to do with it ; for he used to send me out every time skirmish ers, for some reason or other. The sergeant majoralwuys mentioned my name to the captain, until the boys repeated the words lor a joke, " Pri vate Bartlett and nine men from Com pany C." One day, shortly alter Sheridan took command in the Val ley, an order came down, detailing me for special ervice at Custar's head-quarters, i went and found 1 was to be a scoot for the cotnmapd, to go and come when I pleased, out side the picket or inside, visit the people of the country, aud pick up information when ever I could. It was exactly the life that suited me, and I went to work with a will.— Therejwas a kindjof.freedom in it that pleased me, after living three years in the ranks, and I don't think Gen eral Custar had any reason to com plain that I was not active enough. I was in the saddle pretty much all the time, scouting between the lines, aud had some escapes aud adven tures which I should like to tell to you of some other time. I was well mounted, armed with a carbine and two revolvers, and sometimes carried an old Confederate uniform rolled up in my blue overcoat, and strapped to my saddle. Sometimes I would ride out in the night, change my dress, palm myself off for a rebel at the houses of the farmers and learn whatever 1 could without exciting their suspicions. One night I fell in with two rebel cavalrymen at a house between the lines. The man of the house had plenty of apple jack, and 1 stayed with them half the night, worming out of them all they knew about Early's army, and pre tending to drink every time they did, until they both rolled under the ta ble ; and then I rode back to our line leading off both their horses, report ed to the General, and both the John nies were safe in the bauds of our Provost-Marshal before morning. But I think that adventure I had with the rebels on the morning of Cedar Creek fight, and for a week before it, about as curious as any of them. I think it was about the 12th ot Octo ber that I went out on a scout to wards Strasburg. Our army lay at that time, you remember, about three miles this side of the town, and the enemy somewhere near Woodstock, beyond Fisher's Hill. I went out in the night, and had two other men along with me ; something which I did not usually do, but which luckily happened so this time It was hard ly dusk vet when we rode into Stras burg, and as we rode down the street at a brisk gallop, I saw a boy run out in a hurry from a house, untie two horses, and lead them around to a shed back of the house. 1 under stood the thing, at once ; although I did not suppose that any of the rebel scouts would be fool-hardy enough to be caught so near our lines in that shape. But I knew that dozens of the girls in all the Valley towns had lovers in Early's army, and my expe rience showed me that they often ran great hazards to visit them ; so I con cluded at once that there were two of the Johnnies in the house. I sent one of my comrades round to look after the horses, left another in charge of ours at the door, and dismounted myself and walked in without knock ing. I suppose we made noise enough to alarm our victims, for as I walked across the hall I heard a shuffling and bustling about, and when I open ed the door of the first room, there were only two girls, and handsome ones, too, sitting quietly by the table, knitting stockings. They looked ' rather frightened, though. I took off my cap and made one of | uiy awkward bows. " Excuse me, ladies," I said, " but I I came to see your visitors." " What visitors ?" says one of theui I fighting shy, and trying to look inuo : cent. " The Johnny Grays, of course, ma'am, who ride these horses outside.' " We have n't any visitors," said the other, bridling up. " Those horses are ours ; my brother has just this minute saddled them for sister and I to ride to Woodstock." " Sorry to disbelieve you," I said, " but I've always noticed that the Virginia ladies never ride with two stirrups. You need n't make any noise : I know you've got two rebel soldiers here, and I mean they shall make General Custar's acquaintance. Don't disturb yourselves in the least; I'll go and find them." I took the candle from the table, and started for the door leading into an inner room, with a cocked revolv- er in my baud. They followed me, the older of the two insisting that her sick grandmother was in that room, and that no gentleman would think of searching it. " I would n't be sure I am a gen tleman," I said. " I'm only a private in the New York cavalry. However, that loom must be searched." I thr- w open the door and presented the pistol at the bed. " Come out of that now." I said, "or I'll spoil your bed clothes. There's two more of my kind out of doors, and you'll save time aud whole skins by moving quick." At that they threw off the covers and jumped out ; two good looking young fellows, dressed in blue, hut with not another Yankee look about them. They acted a little sheepish, but laughed and gave up their pis tols without any nonsense. I did n't want to be hard on them, so I gave them three minutes to Bay their fare wells, and stepped just outside the door, so as not to see their kissing performance. My ears were open, though, aud I must say I have beard pistol volleys that were not so loud. However, we mounted them on their own horses, aud t ok them back to Castar, leaving the poor girls sob bing at the door. 1 hope the fellows escaped all the dangers of the war ; and 1 think I should like an invite to their weddings. Well, I delivered the prisoners to Custar's Provost Marshal. He ex amined them thoroughly, hut they had no papers, except a ragged pass which one of them carried in his hoot. It had Jubal Early's name on the bot tom ot it, written in his own hand, and it read something like this : HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF THE VALLEY, / Near t'harlestown, Aug. 45, 'O4. J All Confederate guards and pickets allow private Drake Dewey, —th Alabama volun teers, to pass mounted at all hours. .TUBAL EARLY, General Commanding. The Provost tried to pump them ; hut they were shrewd euough to hold their tongues, and not a word could he get from them, except that they belonged to the Alabama volunteers, and to Early's army. Some of the staff gathered around while he was questioning them ; and I was stand ing quite near the man who carried the pass. The Provost Marshal look ed from one to the other of us, and suddenly slapped his leg, with a loud exclamation. "By thunder, here's something queer !" he said. " Evans, Newton, Roberts ! all of you, come here. — Now look at these two, aud tell me if you ever saw a more striking re semblance." They looked at us, and fairly shout ed with surprise. For five minutes they stood looking at us, comparing feature by feature, and each of them declaring that the resemblance was perfect. " Well, Johnny, this is queer," I said, speakiug to my double, as they all said he was. " Let us be acquain ted. My name is Bernard Bartlett. Is|yours really Drake Dewey ? I used to know some Deweys in Alabama, years ago." He said yes ; his name was correct ly given in the pass. That was all 1 wanted to know, and 1 chuckled some over the way I took to be certain of it. Most likely if I had put the question abruptly he would have re fused to tell. That night I lay in 103- tent, and planned a scheme which 1 had often wanted to execute, and which I now saw a good chance to cany out. Bold, and reckless al most, as I had been, 1 had never been inside the rebel army, although more than once within their pickets. I be lieve I was not foolhardy, and had made up my mind never to take a risk unless there was a good chance of making something b}- it. I'p to this time I had never seen a reasons ble prospect of ny going right into the lion's den, as 3-011 might sa3', without being hung for asp - within the first hour ; but now there was a chance of success which I grasped at once ; the rn<>re promptly', perhaps because 1 knew that our Generals had no reliable information about the reinforcements which it was supposed Earl 3' had obtained from Lee since the battle of Winchester. When I first saw the pass, with Early's name on it, something of the kind occurred to me ; but when afterward I dis covered the resemblance between the rebel and myself, I began to think there was something almost provi dential about it. To be sure, there were grave chances to be taken which could not be guarded against ; but after thinking it all over, and weighing everything that could be said for and against, I found 1113' mind made up to go. What I told the rebel scout about visiting Alabama was true ; I had been there, and knew something about the country and the people. This knowledge en-1 couraged me very little, for to offset I it was the risk of meeting some one | who might have known me there.--! But I thought a bold face and my ex- j perience would carry me through safe ; and they did, as you shall hear, j The next morning 1 submitted my j plan at headquarters, and it was ap j proved at once. Mr. Drake Dewey j was compelled to change clothes ! with me, much against his will, for he now began to understand me, and I mounted his horse, and with the pass and his arms, rode away on my adventure. I had tried to anticipate everything th .t might I) 3* any possi bility happen to me before I found myself within our liues agaiu, and to prepare myself for any emergency. It was a bright, clear morning, and I rode briskly southward, passing through Strusburg, where 1 noticed the two girls sitting by the window looking sad and lonesome. I rode straight down the pike, without see ing a single horseman from either side, until within three miles of Wood stock, as near as I could could calcu late. Then somebody called to me to me to halt, and I discovered half a dozen rebel cavalry under a shed. I rode toward them, hut was stopped again. " Halt ! Who are you ?" " Dewey," I answered, thinking it likely that an advanced party like this would know the name. " Yes—that's him 1" two or three cried out, and I joined them under the shed. They all seemed to recog nize me as Drake Dewey, and gath ered around, inquiring eagerly for Bascomb. I told them that he had fallen into the hands of the Yankees, and I had had a narrow escape ; anil showed them a hall-hole through the skirt of the jacket, which I had made before leaving camp. Then I told them I had important news, which must he carried to camp immediate ly, and iwo of them volunteered to go with me. So I found myself known as a rebel soldier, and riding to the rebel camp with rebel comrades. We were stopped several times on the way by rebel guards, when we had to show our passes, mine proving per fectly satisfactory in every instance. Twice I met soldiers who nodded to me with, " How are you Drake ?" aod the inquiries for Bascomb were re peated. I gathered enough along the way to satisfy me that Dewy and Bascomb were both expert scouts at tached to General Early's head quarters, and that both had left Woodstock the morning before, with the intention of getting inside the Union lines. " The headquarters are over there on the hill to the left," one ol in} companions said "Tuey were chang ed last night." They left me, and 1 rode straight up through the camp to the headquar ters tent, dismounted, and asked the orderly to admit me. " I am Drake Dewey," I said, "one of the scouts." He went inside and spoke to the General, and 1 was immediately ush ered into the presence of the "Bad Did Man," as they called him. He was sitting by a camp table, calcu lating with a pencil and paper. Look ing up, he fixed his keen eye on me and said : " Yon are one of the two that I saw last night? Yes ? Then tell me everything that has happened to you, and all you have discovered." I repeated over the story that I had pretty well prepared in my mind. It was that Bascomb and I had fall en iu with a federal cavalry patrol, just north of Strashurg, about dusk ; that he was taken prisoner, and that I had saved myself by a hard ride, the Yankees pursuing me to Fisher's ilill, and firing at me repeatedly. The General seemed disappointed that I could tell him no more, and wished to know if I had talked with the people of Starshurg. I said yes. Well, did they say anything about Sheridan? Had he gone to Wash ington ?—and did they think the Sixth corps was iu the Valley yet ? I told him that I had discovered noth ing whatever, and that the people knew, or pretended to know, nothing übuut the Yankee army. He seemed more disappointed by my reply, and after two or three more questions, dismissed me. If 1 had been driven hard, I suppose I should have in veu'ed something ; hut as it was, I got off without telling a word, truth or lies, about our army. You may better believe I felt much more com fortable after 1 found myself outside the tent. This was about a week before the lytb. I went to work carefully and cautiously, learned the names and faces of everybody around head quarters, found out what was gener alh- expected of me, and began to observe everything and remember wiiat 1 saw and heard. After three da 3's, 1 was satisfied that the impo sition was so perfect that I need have no fear for myself, and so com menced to ride around among the camps. It was not long before I saw that something unusual was afoot. 1 learned that two or three new divisions had just come up from Staunton, and I concluded from the looks of all the camps that there were not less than twenty thousand men present. One day a Union safe guard was brought in, who had been protecting some property near Stras burg. He was asked the same ques tion that I had been, and declared that Sheridan was absent, and that the Sixth corps had left for Graut's army the week before. He told just half the truth ; the Sixth were still with Sheridan, as I knew well. The man was most likel3 r one of those stupid younkers who uever preteud to know much. However, I believe that General Early had made up his mind before, that the Sixth corps had left, and that this man's report confirmed his belief. That I listened in a safe place outside his tent, and heard him and his Genefals arranging the plan of an .attack ou the Union position. They talked it over just as it happen ed afterward ; that the army should j cross the Shenandoah, leaving a res- j erve to bring the artillery down the j pike, at the right time, creep around | the Marsauutteu, cross the river in j rear ot our left, and attack before ! daylight. I wauted to laugh at the | whole plau at first, it seemed so ab surd and impossible : but as they continued to discuss it 1 began to think that it was one of those fool hardy exploits which our people would never suspect, and which might, perhaps. succeed where a less risky plan would be certain to fail. At all events, 1 grew alarmed, the more I heard of it, and resolved to leave for the Union lines as speedily as possible. It was now Monday ; the movements was to begin the 1 very night, and I had need to be stirring. But here 1 was foiled in every direction. Not a man was al lowed to leave camp ; the guards were doubled, the picketa strength ened. and every precaution taken to #3 pet* Annum, in Advance. guard against desertion. I felt sure that, even if I could elude the camp guard, the pickets would uot let me out on my pass, aud that I might ex pose myself to suspicion by trying at this time. So I kept perfectly still ; and you can imagine what anxiety I felt as the work of preparation went on all about me, aud 1 heard the at tack discussed every hour. Like myself, most of the soldiers thought it was foolhardy ; but 1 knew they would fight well euough, for all that. You were on the ground, and know something about the attack. Ker shaw's division had the advance, and they moved out a little after dark and crossed the river. I rode with a small detachment of scouts that were thrown ahead ; and a diilicult and tedious time we had of it. We passed some places that a horseman could not safely ride over, and then we had to dismount and lead the ani mal around ; and it was within two hours of daylight before we crossed the river agaiu. At some points we could hear the Union pickets talking together, and stamping their feet to keep warm. My heart sunk as I saw thousands upon thousands of the rebel infantry wading across the river, and silently forming in heav ing columns, with a whole brigade front. Here they were, exactly in rear of the Eighth corps, and our men sleeping in their camps as quiet ly as if nothiug unusual was to hap pen. Well—what did happen you know better than 1. By this time I had got desperate, and had almost de termined to break away at a gallop, when General Kershaw sent an or der for a dozen of the scouts to go forward and find whether there were aDy pickets right in front. If chal lenged, we were to answer, "Officer of the Day," and one of us ride for ward and show his blue coat. I was one of the dozen ; and as we spread out in advancing, I got over to the right, and slipped away in the dark ness. 1 rode straight for the pike, calculating that there was half an hour yet before daylight, and that something might be done if I could find General Wright. Perhaps it might have been better if I had rid den straight to Crook ; but every moment was precious now, and I thought of nothing but getting the whole army aroused. I dashed up to Wright's headquarters, and found them perfectly quiet, with nothing stirring but a single guard before the tents. A sleepy staff officer thrust his head out and asked, " What's up ?" I was so full of excitement that 1 could hardly speak, and very likely I acted a little wild. " The whole rebel army will at tack us in twenty minutes !" I re plied. "Let me see General Wright, and I'll tell him all about it." " You're drunk or crazy, man ; I don't clearly know which," the officer said. " Go to your regiment, or I'll hand you over to the ProVost-marshal." 1 protested that i was in my sober senses, and urged to be allowed to see General Wright so loudly, that the noise awoke him, and his head, too, was thrust out. " What's all this row about?" he said. i told him the whole story in less than half a minute, and assured him that the rebel advauce was all in or der of battle at that moment on Crook's left, waiting for daylight to begin the attack ; and he merely laughed at me. " You've probably been scared out of your senses by a guerrilla," he said "Go to your regimeDt." So there 1 was, left alone, with the full knowledge of what was going to happen in fifteen minutes, and no body would credit me ! I can't say now that I blame them ; I presume if I had been the guard before the tents, 1 should have doubted the sob erness of a man who would come in and make such a report. But it was true—fearfully true ; and 1 think they began to believe me before they had taken forty winks more 1 There was just oue more chance— one faint, desperate chance. Custar would believe me ; and remounting my horse, I plied whip and spur, and galloped over the rough, hilly ground toward the extreme right, where the cavalry was encamped. It was al most two miles from Wright's to Cus tar's headquarters, and I might have known there was no hope. I had not reached the right of the Sixth corps, and daylight had not come, when I heard that first terrible volley from Kershaw's leading brigade, fol lowed by the cheers of the rebels as they burst in on the silent camps of the Eighth corps and drove the men like sheep before them, making pris oners by the hundreds. I looked back once from the high ground, over beyond the pike, and saw the flash of their rifles through the fog, and heard their cheers aud yells as they swept down upon the Nineteenth corps, which was hurrying into line to meet their onset. 1 found General Custar as quickly as 1 could, and told him my story in a few words, lie dispatched a staff officer to (len eral Wright with the report; but the officer did not find hiui where 1 had left him. The General and his staff i had left in a hurry, and the enemy were in possession of the ground where we had our conversation. I did not begin to tell the story of that bloody battle, and don't mean to now. We were badly whipped, in the morning, and driven oil' from the pike, the hills, and clear back to the woods. The cavalry went with the rest, and made little show till the af ternoon. Then the tide turned with Sheridan's coming, and we went into them with new spirit, and changed the fortunes of the day. I fought with the cavalry all the afternoon, | and was one of the foremost in hunt ing down the flying rebels. And now, after yon have heard all this, you can judge for yourself whether we need have been so wretchedly whipped that morning if my story had been listened to a* you have lis toned to it. THE BEAUTY OF IRISH WOMEN Monsieur Felix Belly, one of the writers of the Constitutionelle,having made a tour through Ireland last sum mer, pronounces the following eulog ium upon the women of that coun try : "The most remarkable element, the richest, and certainly the most full of life, of this land, so life-full, is the population itself. No European race, that of the Caucasian excepted, can compete with it in beauty. The Irish blood is of a purity and distinction, especially among the females, which strikes all strangers with astonish ment. The transparent whiteness of the Bkiu, the absorbing attraction, which, in France, is but tbe tribute oi one womau in a thousand, is here the general type. The daughter of the poor man, as well as the fine lady, possesses an opal or milky tint, the arms of a statue, the foot aud hand of a duchess, aud the bearing of a queen. In Ireland there are as many physiognomies as individualities.— Rags, misery, and manual labor have no effect on those endowments. Even beneath the thatched cabin of the poor j.easant, in the midst of the potato fields, which yields the sole nourish ment, those traits, at times, develope themselves with unmistakable vivid ness. In the most wretched streets of the old quarters of Dublin, the most ideal tintings of the pencil would grow pale before the beauty of the children ; and, in tbe compact crowd which each day occupies the galleries of Merion Square, there is certainly the most magnificent collection of human beiDgs it is possible to meet. Blondes with black eyes, brunettes,with blue, are by no means rare. Tne race is strong as it is handsome ; as vigor ous as it is charming. The girls of Connemera, with their queenly shoul ders and eyes of fire, would put to shame, at this day, those daughters of the East from whom they are said to be descended. Ireland, in addition owes to the fervor of her religious faith, and, it must be said, to her mis fortunes and the persecutions which she has suffered, a domestic morality quite exceptionable. There are, without doubt, in tbe great cities of the country, as in all centuries of population,abodes of evil, physical aud moral ; their range is more circumscribed in Dublin than elsewhere. All those beauteous young girls, with eyes so pure, with fore heads of marble whiteness, of stature so commanding, know uot even the name of evil. One sees cleat ly that the blood which flows in their veins has never been vitiated by tbe mis deeds of preceediug generations. Add to this a temperate life—almost en tirely vegetable in tbe country part* —and we will comprehend all the vig or and native purity possessed by a people, in too many other respects so poorly endowed." NUMBER 44. MATRIMONIAL RETALIATION. Some years since, in the county of Penobscott, there lived a man by the name of H , whose greatest pleas ure was in tormenting others j his own family was generally the buttol his sport. One cold, blustering night he retir ed to bed at an eaily hour—his wile beiug absent. Some time after, slut returned, and finding the door closed, demanded admittance. "Who are you ?" cried H. "You know well enough who I am —let me in, it's very cold." "Begone, you strolling vagabond, 1 want nothing of you here." "But I must come in." "What's your name ?" "You know my name—it's Airs. II." ' Begone ! Mrs. H. is a likely wom an, and never keeps such hours as this." "If you don't let me in I'll drown myself in the well." "Do, if you please," he replied. She took up a log, plunged it into tlie well and returned to the side of the door. Mr. 11. hearing the noise rushed from the house to save, as he suppos ed, his drowniug wife. She at the same time, slipped into the house and closed the door after her. He,almost naked, in turn demanded admittance. "Who are you ?" she demanded. "You know who I am ; let me in, or I shall freeze." "Bagone ! you thievish rogue. 1 don't want you here." "But I must come in." "What is your name V "You know my name—it is Mr. H." "Mr. H. is a very likely man, he don't keep late hours." Suffice it to say, after keeping him in the cold until she was satisfied,she opened the door and let him in. AFTER THE BATTLE. —AH official re port of ti;e battle ot Gettysburg states that twenty-seven thousand five hundred and thirty-four guns were picked up on the field after the engagement, twenty-four thousand of which were loaded. Of this number one-half had two loads each remain ing uufired, one-quarter three loads, the remaiuiug six thousand had from two to ten loads a peiee. Many were found having from two to six bullets over one charge ; in others the pow der was placed above the ball. One gun had six cartridges with paper uu torn. In one Springfield rifle,twenty three separate and diatiuct charges were found, while one smooth bore musket contained twenty-two bullets and sixty buck-shot rammed in pro miscuously.—Star. UXKDUCATF.IT WOMES. —One of the most agreeable consequences of knowledge is the respect and import ance which it communicates to o.d age Men rise in character often as they increase in years ; they are ven erable for what they have acquired, and pleasing for what they can im part. If they outlive their faculties, the mere frame itself is respected for what it once contained ; but with un educated women, when youth is gone all is gone. Xo human creature gives its admiration for nothing—either its eye must be charmed or its under standing gratified. WHY are a country girl's cheeks like French calico ? Because they are " war ranted to wivffi fad retain their color."
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