iltetti ratty.
TII.E.kOTHERS OF 1883
They call for "able•bodled men."
Now there's our Roger, strong and stout;
lle'd beat his comrades out and out
,fin feats of strength and skill—what than t
What than ?—why only this; you see
He's made of just that sort of stuff
They want on battle-fields; enough!
What choke was loft for him and mo
Bn, when he asked mo yesterwoek,
" Your blossifig, mother I"—did I hoed
The gr ,at sob at my heart, or need
Another word ;hat ho should speak 1
Should I sit down and mope and croon,
• And hug my selflelinces, and cry
Not mu, my first .horn I"—no, not I I
Thank heaven, x pipe a nobler tune.
And yet, I love him like my lifp,
This stalwart, handsome lad of mine I
I warrant me, he'll take the shine ,„
qff half who follow drum and fife I
New God forgive me, how I pratol
. Ah,,but the siOrlitat will loop out
Whatever folds we wrap about'
Oar foolish hearts, or soon or late.
No doubt weakness—mothcr•llp
Extolling its 11WIl flesh and blood;
A trick of weakly Womanhood
That,tro should seourgo with thong and whip
No dunbt—and yet I should not dare
Lny nn unloved, cheap offering •
Upon my country's phrine, nor bring
Aught bUt was noble, sweet and fair.
And so I bring my boy L-too glad
That ho is worthy, and that I,
Who bore bins once In agony,
Such glorious recompense have had
Talcs him, my country! ho is true,
And b r ave, nod good; his deeds shall tell
More than my foolish words—'tin well F
God's love be with the lad and you.
God's love and care—and when be comet
Back from the War, and through the street
The crazy people flock to meet
Sly time, with great shout l, and drums. _
And silver trumpets'britying loud,
And silken banners ) starry gay
"ruin be to ine no prouder day
Than this; nay, nay, nor half so proud
- Xi • . 4 •
And if--Ciod help me—if, instead,
They flash this word from some red field:
❑is brave, sweet soul, that would not yield;
Lettpolf.upward, and they wrote him,' DYAD"'
I'll turn my white face to the ... l , mM,,
Ilear niii7h.. as best I may
• Fur Rogor's sake, and only say,
"Ile knoweth best who knoweth all."
And when the' neighbors come to weep,
Eitylng " alas, thii bitter blow )"
answer, nay, dear friends, not so,
Better my Roger's hero—s:eep
And nobler far such lot, than his
Who dare not strike with heart and hand
For Freedom and dear Fatherland
Where death's dark missiles crash and whia
END
And Roger's mother has no tear
EM bitter as her tears notild be
If, from tho battles of the Free,
her son shrank back irlth craven fear
pimitautong.
ARNOLD AND I
I thought the earth 1104 no...happier
woman than I. The desire of my heart
had been accomplished. It was the first
thing I had ever wanted ,which I had
not found ready at my grasp. Perhaps
it was the inure dearly prized for the dif
ficulty I had experienced in obtaining it;
but I did not then think so.
In fact, 1 be.ieve I had scarcely th ugh t
at all, except that I was happy, and I
satig and danced through the wide halls
and spacious chambers of my ancestral
home as joyous as a bird the livelong
day. Everything seemed beautiful to
me, even the diin west of those dim rooms,
and the quaint formalities of the ancient
gardens with their borders of box and
coarse flaunting flowers. Ah 1 well, I
suppose most of us have, at some period,
lived a brief space surrounded by that
roseate halo with which love clothes us,
and through which the earth seems vivid
with light and beauty. Ah 1 if the en
chanted time could but last forever, what
a long joy and - gladness li:e would be I
Arnold looked upon me as I yielded to
the wild enthusiasm of my happiness—
half in wonder, , htilf in amusement. His
was one of those Om deep natures that
seldom make external demonstration of
emotion of any kind. Ile would smile
gravely, sometimes almost sadly, as he
turned away from my mad frolils to shut
himself into the library where he spent
so many quiet hours with those silent
friends—the books of which I was almost
jealous. I would pout when he did this,
then, child-like, creep to him to be com
forted, and nestling by his side, learn
from the caressing touch of his hand
upon my hair, as niy head rested upon
his knee, how deeply and truly he loved
me.
Words were not needed, then, to tell
me that I was beloved and cherished ;
would that I might have kept that faith
pure and warm all the days of my lite I
Once I believed that nothing could shake
it.
I had bean married half a year when
Aunt Cornelia came to pay me her first
visit. It was with this aunt, Mrs. Bushe
that I had lived previous to my marriage.
My mother died when I was so young
that I scarcely remember her, and Aunt
Cornelia had supplied her place to me as
well as it was possible for one of her na
ture to do. She was a very worldly wo
man, fond of display and proud of all the
adventitious circumstances that enohan
ced her . personal Value in society. The
gliardianship of a young niece, who was
a wealthy heiress, was one of these. It
made her important in the eyes of the
world, and as I' was not more trouble
some than other children, spite of the in
dulgence I received, I think she enjoyed
it thoroughly. She certainly was kind
to me, and 1 loved her truly; though I
never confidedin her entirely as I think
I might have done in my own dear moth
er bad she lived.
She was decidedly and , warmly opposed
to my marriage with Arnold. She had,
in truth, exerted all her powers of per-
VOL. 63.
A. K. RHEEM, Editor & Proprietor
suasion and authority to prevent the ac
quaintance. Arnold was a lion that win
ter—my second winter in society,—and
I, in common with nearly every person I
knew, was desirous of becoming acquaint
ed with him. Aunt Cornelia resisted this
desire as long as possible. She would
not permit him to be presented to her,
and it had been her will, understood by
all her acquaintances, that no one should
be introduced to me whom she had not
at first approved. But despite all these
precautions, accident at last brought about
the desired acquaintance.
It did not progress rapidly, however.
Aunt Cornelia knew how to repulse all
advances, to discountenance all'attempts
at intimacy, though in truth, Arnold did
not make any. Courted and flattered as
he was, it -was strange that her haughty
manner did not render Lim entirely neg
lectful of us, who certainly had few claims
to his notice. But he still called upon
us at rare intervals ; still made a point
of greeting us at all the houses where we
-met him ; and often overtook us when
we were abroad. But the grave calm of
manner would, I think, have dispelled
all fears from the mind of any but the
chaperon of an heiress.
Arnold had made himself famous, but
lie had not made himself rich ; he had
illustrated his name, but it was a name of
humble origin and antecedents. That
was the secret of Aunt Cornelia's aver
sion to him. But, as for me, I cared
nothing for wealth nor a flourishing fam
ily tree. I had been attracted to Arnold
by the popular enthusiasm that heralded
and surrounded him. I had persisted in
seeking his acquaintance as much from
perversity as aught else ; but had
learned to love him for himself. When,
most unexpectedly, he offered, me his
hand, I accepted it at once, not awaiting
my aunt's consent though of course;[ re
ferred him to her for her sanction of the
engagement. I was just past my twenty
first birthday, and, somewhat elate with
my new freedom. But here commenced
the struggle. Iti,lasted through months.
Aunt Cornelia's manner was such, the
opiniOns she expressed to A - rnold's sen
sitive honor, that lie withdrew his suit,
and for a time we were both plunged into
despair. I ,cannot, even now, refer with
out a pang to those months of sorrow and.
grieving.. Even the perfect joy that fl
lows could not blot out their dark memory
My story would be too long were I to
narrate all the causes that led to Arnold's
recall. It is sufficient to say • that on my
twenty-second birth-day we were mar
ried, and went at once to reside at the
stately hall whe - rei had been born, and
which had been the habitation of my an
cestors through several generations.
paid little heed to the business lirepara
tions for this event., being utterly ab
sorbed in my new happiness, and did not
then know that Arnold had firmly insist
od that - iny entire wealiTi FTioiild be yet
tied upon myself, putting it out of his
power to control even the smallest por
tion of the income. Though he had al
lowed his heart to triumph by renewing
his offer, he could not forget that suspi
cion had once been cast upon his motives.
This fact my aunt did not see fit to
mention to me. I thought, if I could be
said to have considered the matter at all,
that in giving myself to Arnold I had en
dowed him with all my worldly gdods.—
I consulted him, always, in the disposal
of my income and the arrangement of my
affairs; indeed, I tried to induce him to
relieve me of all care and responsibility
in regard to the latter. But I contin
ually observed in him a strange reticence
which I attributed to his scholarly hab•
its. lie was ever ready with counsel and
advice, but held himself' aloof from actu
al participation in the cares which the
possession= of so large a property entailed
upon me.
Aunt Cornelia found me harrassed
with some of these when she came to me
Amid them much of the light joyousness
of my early wedded days had disappeared.
My aunt averred that I had positively
grown old ; that I was greatly changed,
and fur the worse. And Arnold looked
unhappy, and examined me with his
tender searching glance that always
seemed to penetrate my secret thoughts.
But, strangely enough, as I thought, he
did not attempt to lighten my burdens.
He was as kind as before ; but held him
self apart from me in this respect. For
the first tine, under Aunt Cornelia's pity
ing glances, I fancied this a wrong to
me. I never dreamed that my husband
was all the time longing to relieve me of
my cares, but was withheld from inter
ference by those delicate scruples of hon
or, which I could so well save under
stood, had their cause been apparent to
Aunt Cornelia—she is dead now—and
I would not too severely asperse her memo
ry—fanned the little.flarng of disaffection
she had kindled. In her quiet, musing
manner, in half completed sentences, she
"wonlered" at the selfishness of men,
and once or twice commenced some anec
dote of unhappiness in married life, aris
ing from a fortune hunting husband's
neglect of and indifference to the woman
with whose hand he had obtained all the
advantages of wealth, without any of its
burdens and, responsibilities. She would
break off in •confusion and turn to other
topics with a deprecating manner that
pointed the sting her previous words had
inflicted. I try to believe that she - was
herself deceived—but aft.r all I have
suffered—we have suffered—it is not easy
to forgive and to feel that there wore no
malice in-her words.
And so the breach was made—small at .
first,
,but widening rapidly. Arnold with •
drew ever More and more to the solitude
of his chosen pursuits. And I went
about with • a fierce scorn and anger
smouldering in my bosom, ready to burst
1
~ ..''. '. ' - ' , 410 , -,-,, ~,,_ ~__.:.:.,..:;., ~.._,..
v . ilx oil 1 , t, ,, 1.0
.v
out into the hot flame of passionate re
proaches against him , whenever. I. was
unusually tired or overburdened.
I do not acquit Arnold of all blame.—
There should have been perfect confidence
between us. Impetuous as 1 was, I was
not insensible to reason, and there my
hshuand fell into the very error which
causes nine-tenths of the silent misery of
the married' He did not explain the
motives of the conduct.which he saw was
puzzling me. He did not act upon the
supposition that I might yield to, even if
I did not approve, his reasons for assum
ing none of the burdens of my life. Ile
believed that I knew that he had shut
himself out of all partici l er tion in my for
tune. To him that fact, arid the other
that.he had been accused of seeking my
fortune rather than my heart, were suffi
cient reasons for his reticence. He was
utterly mistaken in this, for lie had bound
himself sacredly to share with rue, and
care for me, by his marriage vows. Had
lie explained, all still might have been
happy.
But he did not. lie grew daily grave,
stern, silent, and I cherished ever in my
heart the hateful fires of anger, burning
upon the very altar where the flame of
love had been kindled. And so the sad
and painful alienation increased. Two
years only from our marriage had passed
when we were living as strangers beneath
the same roof, meeting when compelled
to meet with repressed aversion, parting
to our several avneations with no pretence
of regret. Such at least were my feel
ings.
A few months of this silent wretched
ness passed, and then, in some sudden
outburst of scorn and wrath, I uttered
words that my loshand could not forgive.
I told hint that 1 had long been convin
ced that his sole object in marrying me
was to obtain a luxurious home ; where,
at my expense, he could live in the idle
ness he craved. Ile looked at me sternly
for . a in iii are, Ace e - d aliou Oro speak; tlieii
a softer expression crossed his features,
and he turned from rue in silence and left
the room. We did not meet again. Ile
went out an hour or two after. The next
morning his• servant brought me a note;
dated at a neighboring hotel, which 'in
formed me that he had left my house for
ever.
" I have long feltit a humiliation al
most beyond endurance to dwell there,"
he wrote . "I have remained, Marian, on
ly because, in spite of an alienation, you
were my wife, and as such I was bound
to protect you from the animadVersions
and harsh judgments of the world. Your
words yesterday have however, render
ed a longer stay impossible You are
aware, I suppose, that Mrs. Bushe express
ed similar suspicious when I first sought
you as my wife. Iler words touched my
honor itr so sensitive a point that 1 at once
withdrew my suit. Under what eireum
anees if waSielieWed'T - ten you
But, before 1-became your husband, 1 ex
ecuted papers which expressly shut me
out from any participation in your wealth,
even from the disposal of any portion of
your queenly income. I have lived in
your house, but my personal expenditures
have been drawn from my own private
resources. lam indebte to you fur the
food 1 have eaten, fur the shelter of your
roof--nothing more. Even- that obliga
tion to one who had ceased to love me,
has long been humiliating Most gladly
would I have relieved you of all care, and
acted as a Stewart of all your property,
but having been subjected to the suspicion
of seeking to enrich myself by means of
my marriage, I could not bring myself in
to any contact with your business affairs
without seeming to give grounds for that
suspicion. Of this however, I doubt not
you have all along been fully aware, and
I will not dwell upon it.
" Marian, I sought you because I loved
you. How I love you—how well and
truly—you will never know. That sweet,
brief dream of love and bliss is past. How
I wished that you bad been poor as my
self; then, perhaps, we might have been
happy. Marian, my chief regret, I think
even now, is that you have been made
miserable. I so wanted to wake you
happy, to walk beside you in secret se-
Curity, catching the reflection of your
smiles, wiping away the tears that must
sometimes hill, for grief I could not pre
vent; butalways peaceful in sunshine or
storm. But that.hope is dead. Forget
me, Marian, if you can. Forgive me for
the sorrow I:have caused you. Let me be
as if I were not. I will trouble you no
more.
•' And now farewell! 11av you be
happy, joyous ; free, as before - I
crossed
your path!"
" ARNOLD."
They said that I fell ill. I know not
how the day passed. I have no memory
of the time that intervened between the
brilliant summer morning on which I read
this letter, -iirthez solitude of my room,
amid a whirl of contending feelings, and
the d rear, gray N ovember afternoon when
I seemed to wake from a long dream of
anguish and struggle to a life"as harsh
and cold as void of all grace and beauty.
Long ere that Arnold had quietly de
parted. While I lay in the swoon that
followed the reading of that letter, his
servant had removed all his person - al ef
fects' from the house. That very after
noon, ho, Arnold accompanied only by
his man, set off upon those foreign travels
which extended over several years. I
came book- to health to find myself utter
ly alone. I had spurned the joy arid
.blessing of life, All its brightness had
departed—henceforth I must,dwell in the
dark shadow.
Aa .usual, the world—that sapient
judge—was wrong. - It blamed Arnold;
it pronounced me, a long suffering martyr,
him a false, tyrannical husband. It whis
pered of wealth •squandered in vile plea-
CARLISLE, PA., FRIDAY, AUGUST 8, 1863.
sures, of confidence abused, of a wife's
angelic patience scorned and tried to the
utmost, and 'more hinted of a com
panion in that sudden flight
This was part of my punishment, a
bitter part. Never had I appreciated
the lofty excellences of Arnold's character
as now, when he was, as I believed, lost
to me forever. I resolved to make myself
worthy ofri,lim— to become such a woman
as, with his high standard of goodness,
lie might have approved. And to this
endeavor I bent all my energies.
Aunt Cornelia offered me her society,
but I refused to receive her as an inmate;
I felt that to her 1 owed much,of my
misery. I could forgive, but her pres
ence would have been too painful to me.
Nevertheless, when she lay upon her
death-bed, a few years later, I went to
her, and in loving ser. ice remained by
her side till the close t I can at least say
honestly that I thinkrher intentions to
ward me were not unkind. She was mor-_
tified by her defeat, and felt disposed to
revenge herself upon Arnold, little dream
ing of the misery she was bringing upon
me.
"I never saw a braver man. Nothing
disturbs his imperturbable calm. He is
grand, serene, and still in the midst of the
rush and carnage of battle, as well as in
ordinary concerns of life. Ile seems like
a man who has said to Fate, 'Send what
thou wilt, already I have suffered the
worst (hat can befall me.' remember
Will at--"
May I ask whom you are speaking of?"
said another officer, joining the groupe
that stood near inc on the deck of the
ferry boat.
"Certainly. Of Captain Arnold Ifar
dingo, of the Twenty-first Pennsylvania.
I am told he entered the ranks, and in
three weeks he was at the head of his
company. Ile ought not to stop there"
"1 know him well," replied the ques.
Goner. "Ile has been promoted, but not
to an - e'arthly command. t camn - froid•
Washington yesterday, and, while I wait
ed for my dispatches at the War office,
word came of skirmish hack of Williams
burg, in which lie was killed. It was a
glorious affair, and he did wonders—Good
Heavens, madam ! are you ill ? Let me
take you to a seat."
A mist had come over the brightness
of the day. I should have fallen had not
that kind-faced officer supported me.
,Presently I could look up and see him
striving to keep back the cruwd that would
have pressed round- we
"Is it true ?" I asked, almost in a
whisper, as lie bent to lisren. "Is Arnold
dead?, lie was toy husilnd."
"Too true, I fear," he answered.—
"You must have heard of it soon ; but can
you forgive inc i 4 this sudden shock?
lle died gloriously. 1, who knew him
well—l am in die same regiment grieve
for him deeply, but find consolation in that
fiw t. d'iM - I\ITS'. rariltirgC -- dati - P be'
of any service to you ? Ilere is my card—
Lieutenant Elliot, Twenty-first Pennsyl
vania Volunteers. May I call upon and
receive any directions you will like to send?
I return to the regiment to . morrow."
"I will go myself," I said, hastily, "if
you will kindly direct the upon the jour
ney."
An uncontrollable yearning to seek him,
to bring him hack, even in death, to the
home that should have been his'all these
years, seized use. I determined to go,
and was ready to accompany Lieutenant
Elliot when he came for we in the IDOln
ing.
1 need not dwell upon the events of
that sad journey. Owing to various cir
cumstances, almost a week elapsed before
we reached the camp of the Twenty•lirst,
and found ourselves at the enteranee of
the temporary hospitals of the brigade.
"I will take you to the surgeon at once,
said Lieutenant Elliot. There will be
men in the hospital who were with Hard'
inge, and can tell you all about him—
how he died, and if he were buried on
the field."
"Captain Hardinge?" said the surgeon.
Oh, I'm sure he was not buried upon
the field—quite sure ; indeed I think he
has not been buried yet. Captain step
this way a moment, if you please," he
cried door beside him. "Per
haps ytM can tell this lady something a
bout Capt. Ilardinge."
There was a twinkle in the good man's
eye, and I turned in surprise toward the
tall figure slowly entering. Ah ? too well
I knew that pale face, that bent and fee
ble form, strangely altered as they were.
Years and suffering, and wounds, and
hardships had done their worst, but it
was Arnold himself who stood before me,
the grave calm all gone out of the deep
eyes and the noble features. With glad
cry I sprang up, rushed to his outstretch
ed arniqithen, before they could clasp me,
retreated in an agony of shame and hu•
miliation I)l1 are not welcome him—l who
had driven Lim from his home, who had
been no true wife.
But presently the deep sweet tones of
that voice I had loved so well, fell upon
my ear. I looked up to find myself alone
with-ArnoldtO be clasped, with all his
feeble power, to the heart that still beat
for one. To hear mingled vows of love
and pardon and thanksgiving; to know
that the sad past was forgotten and aton
ed for, and that the days-of my heart's
widowhoidd were , ended.
I brought him home, a wreck, indeed,
of his former self. But, oh t how sweet
the task to nurse him into new life and .
strength I
that
blessed my reward in
knowing that 1 , was once more trusted
and beloved! My night of sorrow was
past—and joy came with the morning !
oar Pat Doolan, an Inkerman, bowed
his head to a cannon ball which whizzed
,pact him, six inahes °above his bearskin
'Faith,' says Pat, "ono never loses any
thing by politeness.". •
IMEME
.. , - ..
C I . I .
. • .
. .
.. 5
111 , 6
tj 4
0
N .
a,,,...00
=
TERMS :--$1,50 in Advance, or .3 . 2 within the year.
PAY AS YOU GO
" Owe no man anything," ,was the in
junction of a certain apostle, but we pre
fer the motto of John Randolph, " pay
as you go." We must owe men all the
courteSies and kindnesses which belong
to and grace humanity; it is an obliga ,
tion of our nature; therefore the apostle
was notsufficiently definite, but Randolph
hit the nail on the head, when he con
fined his maxim to pecuniary debts,
which men, under the present order of
things, are liable to incur. He touched
with a true philosophy one of the com
monest and greatest of society evils. We
take it for granted, that as a general rule,
pecuniary debts are contracted to be paid
sooner or later. As a general rule their
burthen is least the sooner they are paid.
Interest, usury, dependence, lawsuits, and
costs of all kinds that hang over standing
and legitimate debts, add, if we could
but get at their total for a single year iri
this country, millions of dollars to the
original obligations. Friendships are bro
ken over debts, forgeries and murders
are committed on their account, and how
ever considered, they are a source of an
noyance, and evil and that continually.
They break in everywhere upon the har
monious relations of individuals and of
society; they blunt sensitiveness tb per
sonal independence, and in no respect do
they advance the general well being. As
debts are incurred to be paid, and as the
saving all lies on the side of the earlier
payment, why- not manage to pay as we
go and thus avoid all debts, ,duris, broken
friendships, writs, constable's and court
costs ? We buy this or that, and we
propose to pay in a week, a month, three
months, and some the common rule of
credit riot running beyond six months,
for which credit wo have to pay advance
prices and interests, and why should we
not, even at sonic sacrifice, continue to
get so far the start of custom, as to. pass
by this perpetual credit system, and from
that point, beginning the world anew arid
even, keep even by paying as we go ?
It would be infinitely cheaper, better,
and more independent for us all. If we
can. ever pay, why not pay at once— ,
now ? It will be no easier when interest
is added to principal. The rich have no
excuse for not paying as they go, though
to, their shame, they are oftenest the
ones to decree misery and ruin by the
credit they use, or rather abuse, in their
intercourse with the world. They, by
withholding the honest dues of the labor
er, the mechanic, the Merchant and the
professional man, who are all poor com
paratively, force these glasses into indebt,
edness until communities become a tang.
led net, whose threads of affiliation are
standing accounts, 'notes bonds and mort
gages, suits at law, judgments and exe
cutions. If those who are able to pay as
they go, would be just and pay thus, the
credit system, which now makes one half
soeiety dependent. 4 arid - illtves, would'
be mainly swept away. The middle man
and the poor man are driven to the wall
by the system ; they can be punished
under obligation, with impunity; but the
man of means, the rich man, who dares
to remind him of debt ? Ile will pay
when lie gets ready.—Albet4 Knicker
bocker.
TILE BREAKING OF AN Eoo.—A
young couple had passed the first few
weeks of their marriage at the house of
a friend. Having at length occupied
their new home, they were taking their
first breakfast, when the following scene
took place:
The young husband was innocently
opening a boiled egg in an egg cup. The
bride observed'that he was breaking the
shell at what she thought the wrong end.
" How strange it looks" said she, "to see
you break your egg at the small end, my
dear ! No one else does so; it looks so
odd."
" Oh, I think it is quite as _good, in
fact, better than breaking it at the large
ond, my love; for when you break the
large end the egg runs over the top," re
plied the husband.
" But it looks very odd when no ono
else does so," rejoined the wife.
" Well, now, I really do think Rls .
not a nice way you have got of eating
an egg. That dipping strips of bread
and butter into an egg certainly is not
tidy. But Ido not object to your doing
as you please, if you will let me break my
egg at the small end," retorted the hus
band.
" I am sure my way is not so bad as
eating fruit•pie with a knife, as you do,
instead of using a fork, and you always
eat the syrup as if you were not accus
tomed to have such things. You really
do not see how very bad it looks, or I am
sure you would not do so," added the
wife.
" The syrup is made to be eaten with
the pie; and why should I send it away
on the plate ?" asked the husband.
"No well bred persons..ever clear their
plates as if they were starved," said the
bride, With a contemptuous oast of her
head.
" Well, then, I am not a well-bred
person," replied the husband, angrily.
" But you must be, if we are to live
comfortably together," was the sharp an
swer of the fastidious lady.
"We11,..1 must break My egg at - the
small end; so it does not signify ; and I
must also oat the syrup."
"Then I will not have either fruit-pie
or eggs at the table."
".But,l will have them," petulantly
exclaimed tho' husband.
"Then I wish I had not married you,"
oried the young with, bursting into tears.
" Arid so do I," added the now incensed
husband, as ho rose.and walked out of•
the "room.
This domestic quarrel was followed by
others equally trifling in their origin, and
==2
disgrticeful in their character, until the
silly couplesmade themselves so disagreea
ble, that they separated.
•
SIAMESE FEMALE SOLDIERS
The following description of the King
of Siam's femae military body guard,
though not entirely new, is interesting
from its minuteness. It appears in the
Moniteur de l' Armee :
"A. battalion of the King's Guard
consists of four hundred women, chosen
among the handsomest and most robust
girls in the country. They received ex
cellent pay and their discipline is perfect.
They are admitted to serve at the age of
thirteen, and are placed in the army of
reserve at twenty five. From that period
they no longer serve about the King's
person, but are employed to guard the
Royal palaces and Crown lands. On en
tering the army they make a vow of chas
tity, frcm which there is no exemption
unless any of them should attract the
King's attention and be admitted among
his legitimate wives. The King's choice
seldom falls on the most beautiful, but
on the most skilled in military exercis
es.
" The hope of such reward animates
them with extraordinary zeal for military
instruction, and Europeans are astonished
at the martial appearance of that battal
ion, as well as its skill in mateuvering,
and its excellent discipline. The cos
tape the women were is very rich.—
Their full dress is composed' of a white
woollen robe, embroidered with gold.—
The cloth is extremely fine, and descends
as far as the knee; it is covered with a
light coat of mail and a gilt cuirass.—
The arms are free, and the head is cov
ered with a gilt casque. When wearing
this dress on state occasions their only
weapen is a lance, which they handle
with wonderful dexterity With their
undress they aro armed with a musket.
batia lion posed of four
companies, and each company of one hun
dred women commanded by a captain of
their sex. Should the captain die, the
company is drilled for three days by the
King, who appoints one of the most com
petent to succeed to the command.
" The battalion has been commanded
for the last five years by a wornan who
saved the king's life at a tiger hunt, by
her courage and skill. She possesses
great influence at court, and' is much re, , )
speeted by those under her command.—
She has the same establishment as a
mettber of the royal family, and - ten ele
phants aro placed at her service. The
king never undertakes an expedition
without being accompanied by his female
guard, nor does he ever hunt, or even
ride out, without an escort of the same
guard, who are devotedly attached to his
person. Each individual has five ne
greshes attached to her service, and hav
ing thllaAlo -domestic. occupation,
devote herself exclusively to the duties of
her profession. There is a parade ground
near the city where one company is sta
tioned for two days every week to exercise
themselves in the use of the lance, the
pistol, the musket and the rifle.
" The king attends once a month, at
those:exercises, accompanied by his broth
er, who shares in some degree the sover
ign power, and distributes' prizes to the
most deserving. These rewards consist
of bracelets and other valuable jewelry,
to which the girls and their families at
tach great importance. Those so hon
ored fill the offices of sergeant and corpo
ral. Punishment is very rare in this
corps, and when it is inflicted it consists
of a suspension from service for a period
not exceeding three months. But duels
are much more frequent. They must be
sanctioned, however, by the female cap
tain, and be fought with swords in the
presence of the entire company. When
the death of one of the parties ensues, the
deceased receives a' 'magnificent funeral,
and the high priest pronounces a pane
gyric aoclaring that the deceased by her
valor has merited eternal rest in the abode
of the blest. The survivor receives the
congratulations of her corripanions ; but
as a measure of discipline, she is sen
tenced to pass two months away from her
company in fasting and prayer. The
military organization of this battalion is
so perfect that the entire army endeavors
to imitate it."
Birds in Battle.
The baffle of Murfreesboro was in a
wooden, thinly, settled country. The
wild animals of the forest were frightened
by the storm of shot and the roar of the
great guns. The men were lying behind
a crest waiting. A brace of frantic wild
turkeys, so paralized with:fright that they
were incapable of flying, ran between the
lines and endeayorcd to hide among the
men.
But the phrensy among the turkeys
was not so touching as the exquisite
tright,of the birds and rabbits. When
the rear of the battle rushed through the
cedar thickets, flocks of little birds flat•
tered and circled above the'field in a state
of utter bewilderment, and scores of rab
bits fled for protection to our men lying
dawn in line'on the left, nestling under
their coats and creeping under their legs
in a state of utter distraction. They
hopped over the field liko . toads, and as
perfectly, tamed by fright as, household
pets. Many officers witnessed it, re
marking it as one of the most eprious
spectacles ever witnessed upon tho battle
field.
lam. Hans, who is judge of morals as
well as money, says that being tender to
another man's wife is not a legal tender.'
We accept his opinion—though we have
no interest in the question.
Envy is unquestionably a high compli
ment, but a most ungracious one.
airefELFAr 4.lses.
fClleivink - faetap ; deri*cd - iretn car
, sot sources ofinfornlation, are inipertatit
in the considerately of , the•Ocgtiory how
to get rid of the worms: ,
A pair of 'blackbirds destroy in a sin
gle day about GOO worms, and over 1000
insects have been found in the ()raw of
some birds.
„~. ~
, Baron Von Tschudi, the well-known
' , Swiss Naturalist, says, " without birds,
successful ,agriculture is impossible."—
They annihilate in a few months a great ,
er number of destructive insects than htt
man hands can accomplish in the saran
number of years. Among the most use
ful birds for this_purpose may be classed
the Swallovr, Vren, Robin Redbreast,
Titmouse, Sparrow, Finch.
Tschudi tested Titmouse upon 'rose
bushes of his neighbor, and rid qze same
in a few hours of innumerable rice. A
Robin Redbreast
,killed in, the neighbor
hood of 8000 flies in an hour. A pair
of Night Swallows destroyed in fifteen
minutes an immense swarm of gnats. A
pair of Wrens flew thirty-six times in an
hour with insects in their bills to their
nest—certainly good compensation for
the few cherries which they pluck from
the trees. The generality of small birds
carry to their young ones during the
feeding period nothing but insects,
worms, snails, .spiders, &c. Sufficient
interest should be manifested by all to
prevent the discharge of fire-arms in the
vicinity of orchards, vineyards and flower
gardens, as thereby the useful birds be-
COllle, frightened.
NO. 31,,
A Sad Exemplification:
[From the lialtimpre American, :Irma 20.]
Our citizens had yesterday a sad exempli
fication on our streets of the significance of
that term—" poor white trash "—as applied
to the privates in the ranks of the rebellion,
a body of some sixteen hundred captured by
General Grant having arrivA !vire to he em
barked for some other point. Let it be noted„
that the term "poor white trash" oriyinakir
in Dixie ONO" and is therefore as much a
coinage to be accredited to the cotton lords
of the Itammood and Rhea school as is that
other of term, "mudsills f " which they
also have the credit of having set afloat.
But who that glanced along the ranks of
this woefully ragged and pineLd assortment
of rebel troops—this characteristic represen
tation of the "chivalry" come to grief—and
did not feel and know that they were no more
accountable or responsible for the origin and
continuance of a godless rebellion than were
the horses they may have bestrode whilst in
the military service of the magnates at Rich
mond. Countenances utterly vacant ;'eyes
lighted by no intelligence no education
no anything that stamps men as thinking, re
sponsible human beings in a crisis such as
that gotten up by the Southern politicians,
they_were..,seento_be,
.at a_ glance s as only
those tools in the hands of designing men to
pull down a government depending on the
intelligence of the people, for the purpose of
erecting a military ;despotism, such as now
holds them in its iron grasp, upon the ruins.
Incapable of reading or writing even, as the
bulk of them in this case—being from M.ssis
sippi—were, they were of that class mention
ed by Gregg., of South Carolina, as measura
bly a nuisance to the planters anti their ne
groes—a class of which South Carolina could
boast the possession of about one hundred
and fifty thousand before the war commenc
ed, out of a white population of about three
hundred thousand.
Looking upon this woe begone and miser
able procession of the captured, the idea was
more than ever strongly impressed upon the
t oughtful mind that the South 'Rust be' res
cued from itself, These men were tirevictims
of their leaders, the tools of politicians p and
the class to which they belong in the' South
will never know freedom more until the pow
er of their tyrants is effectually broken. Let
it nerve anew every arm to deal effective
blows in their behalf, in behalf of that sys
..feM of Free governmefit th - ey are mado - ttliW
sail. Only when the Slave Oligarchy is
overthrown will these men cease to be its
victims.
The Politics of Major General Grant
It is alike unpatriotic and ungracious to
be higgling as to what may have been the
polities of any of our brave generals in the
field, who have been nobly fighting for the re
public. With truly loyal and patriotic men
it makes no difference as to what party a
soldier may have belonged to before the re
bellion. Rushing to the defence of his Gov
ernment and his country, risking his life on
the battle field, he challenges the respect and,
the gratitude of the good citizens. Yet we
find that certain Copperhead newspapers,
that preach peace and denounce the war, have
the unparalleled audacity to claim certain
successful generals as "Democrats," using
the term in their own sense. Some papers
sympathizing with the Rebels, having claim
ed our fellow-citizen, Major Gem Grant, as a
•'Demo r.it," it may be proper for us to say
a word touching his politics, speaking by the
best authority. Being in the army up to
within a few years before the war broke out,
and being a military man, he never cast a
vote in his life-
In 1860 he was friendly to the success of
the late Judge Douglas, though he often ex
pressed himself as having great confidence,
in the honesty and patriotism of Mr. Lincoln.
His father, the venerable Jesse R. Grant,
now residing in Covingtm, Kentucky, is a
staunch Republican, and voted for Lincoln
and Hamlin. His brother, Mr. 0. B. Grant
now in charge of the business house in this
city in which the General was engaged - be
fore entering the servtce, is one of our most
active and efficient Republicans and Union
men. The General himself is now a thor
ough and devoted supporter of the Adminis
tration and its whole policy, without qualifi
cation or evasion. In 1862 he was one of
the signers to the call on Mr. Washburne to
again- become the Republican and Union
candidate for Congress for-this Congression
al District. He looks with horror upon the
"peace party" of the north, which is iostitu•
tins a "fire in the rear" of gste gallant army
which he has led to victory and glory.
All his friend and supporters in this city
are Republicans or war Democrats, while
the Copperheads are cordially hostile to him.
In the late splendid celebration here, got up
in his honor, as the hero of the Mississippi
and the capturer of Vicksburg, the 'leading
".Democriits" utterly refused to - participate
in it; and while the dwellings of our loyal
people blazed in magnificent. illumination,
the houses of the others mentioned were
closed in darkness and were as black as.
midnight. To those interested we may
therefore hay, that the present political status
of General-Gi'ant is not a matter of doubt.
" Well, how do you like the looks of
the varmint?" said. a Southwest to a
Downeastern, who was gazing witli found
eyed wonder, and evidntly for the first
time, at aluge alligator,-with whie , opened
jaws, on the muddy banks of the Missis
sippi. "Wal," replied the Yankee, "he
ain't wat yeou may call a hansiim critter,
but he's got a great deal of openness
whe'he smiles
~ If men will amuse tho tho world,
it will forgive them for cheating it.
[From the Galena Daily Advertiser.]
II