The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa on February 18, 1891 · Page 7
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The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa · Page 7

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, February 18, 1891
Page 7
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THE REPUBLICAN. 8TA11R A ttAl,f.OCK, I*ttbltt1t«v*. .ALGONA, IOWA. TQNSORIAL DELIGHTS. I laj- in the harbor's cliair j "Shavol* I said. 'Round my neck the artist rare— (Count, high-bred), Tightly tucked a towel thin, Daubed some lather on my chin, • With his fingers rubbed tt in Till it spread. Then ho stropped his razor blado For awhile, And some squares of paper laid On a pile; Tnen ho took too by the nose, Scraped mo whore the whisker grovrfl, Chatting sweetly, I suppose, I To beguile. Then ho sponged my face and scraped It some more. And, when not a hair escaped, Bay rum o'er Mouth nnd ears and eyes he sopped, Fanned me till the moisture stopped, Then some baby powder slopped On galore. Then ho tapped me on the pato With his comb, Meaning mo to sit up straight As at home; •' Hair wants cutting, sir," ho said, Over me a gown ho spread, Then his scissors on my head 'Gan to roam. Said he, having clipped with speed, "A shampoo For your dandruff, sir, you need, Tonic, too." With more towels I was bound. Then in soapy suds was drowned, While his nimble fingers found Work to do. O! how nice that scratching seemed On my head; I just shut my eyes and dreamed, As IH bod. Soon, too soon, it stopped, and I, Blinded with the dripping lye, To a marble basin nigh Straight was led. Phew! came water hot and cold On my crown, While the artist, taking hold, Rubbed it down. Then returned I to the chair, Whore he oiled and brushed my hair So to hide the spot that's bare From the town. On his comb my mustache lone Then was laid, And ho waxed it till it shono AVith pomade; Then he, to my looks assist, Gave the ends a stylish twist, Which the ladios can't resist, I'm afraid, * Next!" he grandly called as I, Scented sweot, Faelins young again and spry, Left my seat. While my hat and coat were brushed In the glass I gazed and blushed— Then a dollar paid and rushed Down the street. —H. a Dodge, in Dstroit Free Press. HIS STRANGE BRIDE. How Max Rutherford Married, Lost and Found a Wife. It was a dingy, scantily furnished room in a second-class boarding-house, and as Max Rutherford glanced around a sense of disgust filled him. "Will it be like this, always?" he •ighed. "Will I ever reach the goal? Here I am head over heels in debt— •wish some good fellow would advance me a few pounds until I finish this brief. If I could only win this case I believe I could see my way clear. However, I'll hope for the best." And he lit a cigar and prepared to enjoy it. Max Rutherford was alone in this world, as far as near relatives were concerned, although he could count his friends by the score. He was educated for the bar, but before that education was completed his father died, bequeathing his little fortune, .a few thousands, to Max. As Max •was an uncommonly generous fellow, as his friends were fond of saying, and being somewhat extravagant in his tastes and mode of living, he did not find it at all difficult to spend those few thousands in a very short time. And so, at the age of twenty-five, we find him handsome, honest, good-hearted, and bravely striving to reach the pedestal of his ambition, but poor. "Now for the club-room. I don't want to stay here longer than necessary, "and he picked up his hat. The landlady met him at the door. "A lady to see you, sir. She is in the parlor." "A lady? All right; I will go down Immediate! j." At the parlor door, which was wide open, uc suddenly stopped. There, sitting beside a table, back to him, was the slight, black-robed form of a woman. Her head was bowed low and her hands were tightly clasped. She looked the very picture of grief and despair. As he crossed the threshold she arose, and with a quick, girlish grace moved toward him. Then Max saw that she was heavily vailed, arid she made no movement to throw the vail back. "You are Max Eutherford, not?" Max started as the low, musical tones fell on his ear. "I beg that you will pardon me for this intrusion, but truly," and the voice grew more earnest, "I felt obliged to come, my trouble is so great. Nay, I was driven to it, and no one but yourself can aid me. Will vou listen to my Story?" "Certainly. Pray be seated." "I am Helen Castleton, and an orphan, and, doubtless, a stranger to you." "You are? 1 have never had the pleasure of meeting you before," he answered. "For ton years I have lived with my uncle, my mother's brother. He is Immensely wealthy. I am supposed to be his heiress. But my life for the past three years has been most unhappy. I am not of age, and shall not be for a year to come, and my uncle is «Uiter- toined to persuade, me to marry a man oW enough to be my father. He, too, is worth his millions, and for that reajsoa lay uncle bids me marry him. ThAl *nan follows me wherever I go. oro* 1* * IP^v are you fessliig to love me, but those professions fill my BOU! -with disgust and fear. J hate himl I'll die before I consent to wed him!" and her voice trembled so that Max longed to snatch away that vail and gaze on the possessor of that pleading, tearful voice, "1 ran away from home two years ago, ' she continued, "bnt my uncle and the one who claims to be my lover found and brought me home. Hornet ah, heaven! what a home! All the home I have had since I was a child; yet it is little better than a prison. I have never had any girl acquaintances. He would not allow me to see any one excepting his own friends, and they were old money-seeking men. I disliked them all. "To-morrow morning my uncle says I must marry this man—that I shall be forced to do it. I can not! oh, I can not! Heaven let mo die first!" And with a piteous movement she held both hands out to Max. He clasped them in his, and as ho did so, a pitying yearning tenderness filled his heart for this vailed stranger. • "Tell me how I can help you," he murmured. "You can help me, and you only." "Max Rutherford, will you—marry me?" Then, as if deeply ashamed, she turnwl from him, clasping her hand over her eyes. A» for Max, if a bombshell had exploded at his feet he could not have felt more astonished or bewildered, but before lie could articulate a word she turned to him again. "Listen, please. I have seen you day after day, as you passed my uncle's house. You looked so honest and kind that somehow I felt that you could and would help me. Am I right or wrong? You are only a struggling lawyer." He smiled bitterly at that. _ "I have many thousands in my own right. My father willed it to me.' They can not touch that. I have drawn it all. Here it is," and she laid a roll of bank bills on the table beside him. "I ask you to accept it. It may help you. You wonder why I do not take it and flee. I do not because my uncle and that man would follow me, even to the end of the world, so it would be utterly useless. I have turned to the only refuge left me. I have crashed my pride and begged you to marry me. I was spurred on by my uncle's last threat. I realize what I have done only too well —realize that I have abased my womanhood by coming to you, a total stranger, but oh, be pitiful!" and then, completely exhausted, she turned to the table and bowed her head on it, and sobs, deep and bitter, convulsed her form. Max hesitated, but for only a moment, then laid his hand on her head. "I will do as you ask; but I can not accept your money. No, keep it. But why do you not allow me to see your face?" She lifted her head clasped his hand. ''You must accept the money," she said; "and I do not remove my vail, because it is best for you never to see my face. I was unwomanly, unkind enough to ask you to marry me, but I can not and will not ask you to link your life with mine, except in name. No, we will part at the church door; then if we should meet in the far future, you will not recognize the face of yoxir wife." "I shall never forget your voice!" he exclaimed half passionately. "Life will not be very much changed to you, unless—you love another. Tell me, do you? It is not too late. Better —far better that I should wed the other rather than tear you from your love." "No, I have no love," and his quick, frank answer reassured her. "I am perfectly free and my own master, and eagerly therefore I am yours, because you wish it." "Thank you," she said, simply but earnestly. "Then follow me now, for to-morrow will be too late." He did as she bade him. There was a closed carriage at the door, and as Max stepped inside he heard her order the driver to proceed to St. George's parsonage. "If you are willing," she said to Max in an humble tone, "we will have Rev. Janues marry us. You will ask him to follow us to the church." Then, as if it had suddenly dawned on her that she was asking this man to give up much for her sake, she clasped her hands appealingly. "Oh, how you must hate me!" she cried. "Truly, I am frightened now at the step I have taken! Shall we turn back—shall I marry the other?" "Never! You shall marry me. You wish it, and—yes—I wish it also." He could not see the glad light that flashed into her eyes. They soon reached the parsonage, and a few minutes later were on their way to the church, accompanied by the pastor—a kind, benevolent looking gentleman, who gazed in silent wonder at the vailed girl. It was over at last. Max took his mother's wedding ring off his own finger and placed it on Helen's, and thus the bonds were sealed. Helen Castleton and Max Rutherford were husband and wife. At the altar, as they were tuming to go down the aisle, Max bent low and whispering said: "My wife, will you not allow me to see your face? once—just once." Without a word, she tore the vail from her face, flung off the long, black cape that encircled her form, then, throwing back her head with a proud, graceful movement, she faced him. Max gave a faint cry of astonishment when he saw the glorious face that was revealed to him—a sorrowful face, as white as marble, large, dark, plaintive eyes that looked at him frankly yet pleadingly—eyes that thrilled him through and through. It was a face that Max Rutherford never oould forget. He made a movement as if to clasp her in his arms, but she started back, and, with a frightened ery,fsuatohed up her cape, then turned and fled down the long aisle. And before Max could realize it she was driven away. Nothing was left now for him to d,o but to return to his boarding place. hree years have passed and.M^* Rutherford has reached the goal at lost, He has made for himself a name and has attained a position to be proud of. He won not only that one case, but many more. His briefs were conciso yet eloquent, sharp yet truthful and powerful, and success crowned these fearless, untiring efforts. London society now' greets him with extended arms, yet ho turns away and shuns all such advances. He is not happy or even satisfied- there is something wanting. He yearna with all his soul to make one other plea —lontfs to win one other case, and then he will rest content. He has never seen or heard one word from his wife sinda that strange marriage occurred. His search for her has been untiring but fruitless. Not a penny of her money did he touch, but carefully treasured it, hoping to be able to restore it to her ere long. One day he was called to the bedside of a dying man, who wished to make his will. As Max entered the room the attendants were sent out. It was not an ill-looking face that Max gazed on, but it was aged by suffering and there was a haunted expression in the eyes painful to see. '^'Before the will is drawn tip," he said, "I wish to make a confeffeion. You have a good face, and I have heard of your merited success as a barrister. Perhaps you can help me." "I will endeavor to do so." "Three years ago my niece, Heleu Castleton, was living with me. She was a good girl and I did not appreciate her. I tried to persuade her to marry a man old enough to be hei father, but a man worth even more than I am, and I can count my wealth by the millions. She refused to marry him. At last I said she should be forced to it. I remember that she replied that she would sooner die. And that night she fled. We found her the next morn- i n ??> just outside of London. She proudly held up a folded certificate, saying that we were too late, that she was already married. Then I—wicked sinner that I was and am—I cursed her, adding that I never wished to see her ungrateful face again, and I never have. May Heaven forgive. I would give much now to see her once more—little Helen, my dead sister's child!" and his eyes glistened with tears. He continued more slowly: "I wish you to search for her. Find her, and I leave the sum of ten thousand dollars to you. The remainder is Helen's. If she be dead I bequeath it to her husband and her heirs. ' I wish to sign a will to that effect. Make haste! Send for the housekeeper to witness. Quick! I can not live much longer." And the dying man gasped for breath. The will was drawn and signed. "You will search for her?" he pleaded. "Yes, and Heaven helping me I will find her," and Max ttirned away struggling to master himself. As he did BO, the door opened, and a woman's form flew to the bedside. "Uncle!" she cried, "they told me you were dying. Uncle! uncle! do not die without taking back that terrible curse—for mother's sake bless your niece." _' 'Helen, thank God! I bless you—f 01- give your uncle. Pray—for—pardon!" aud with that last word his soul passed away. ^ For a moment longer she knelt in silent prayer, then pressing a kiss on the closed lips she arose, and turning noticed Max for the first time. He stood there with outstretched arms. "Helen, my wife, come to me!" With a pitiful cry she tottered towards him, and he folded her in his arms, pressing warm, passionate kisses on her face. "Letme.go, Max," she pleaded. "You shame me! Think what I did—I—" "I do. You asked me to marry you, my precious love, now I ask you to strive to love your husband. My wife, I love you! I have loved you from the moment you unvailed your face to me." "Max! You can not mean it! Don't, for you torture me!" and she strove in vain to free herself. "Listen," she said. "After I left you I traveled as companion to a lady. Lately I heard that my uncle was dying, and that curse troubled me so that I returned to London, jiist in time to receive his blessing. I was hoping that I would not meet you. Let me go and hide my face from your sight." "Never! L have mourned your loss more that you can know. Now that I have found you do you think I can give you up? No, my love shall hold you. Darling, try and love me." An incredulous joy shone in her fair face. "Is it true, Max—husband; do you mean it—do you want me—me?" and she flung her arms around his neck, and he saw the glad love-light beaming in her eyes. ° "Yes, I want you—my wife."--Lillian May Leslie, in Boston Globe. PITH AND POINT. —•Hope and despair never travel In company, though they sometimes touch •lbow.s.--Ram's Horn. . ~ If y°" «o a man a favor do not let Him know it, or the chances are that he Will come back for another lift.—Milwaukee Sentinel. —Not Even the Lottery of Love.—He (ardcnt]y)_»vViH you take me ns I. am, Miss Cash?" she (coldly)—"No, Mr. Batch, I don't believe in lotteries."— Yankee Made. „ ~ Cilllow] y (looking at his watch)— Why. F had no idea it was so Late! Your clock doesn't go, does it?" Ethel — 'No; I koop it that way to remind me of,you. "—Chicago News. —The longer a man is married the more ho appreciates the unselfishness of woman; the longer a woman is married the more she appreciates the selfishness of man.—Somcrville Journal. —Wife (at the circus)—"What are you thinking of dear?" Husband (pensively)—"; wug W i s hi nff i could ] ian dle a boot-jack as that Australian does his boomerang."—Binghamton Republican. —"Your name is Julia?" "Yes, your honor." "Tell me how old you are." "Twenty-five, your honor." "So! Well, now that you have given your age, wd will administer the oath,"—Flieo-enda Blatter. —Will Keep His Word.—"What did he Bay when you lent him the money?" "Said he never could repay me." "You'll find he'll keep his word." "And the money?" "0, he'll keep that too." •Yankee Blade. —A Wisconsin man who went to Kansas and fell in love with a girl, received the following note and fell out. "Dear 8ir —If you call on Mary again I will put a bullet into you on sight. Your obedient servant, X." —Always the Same.—Mrs. Hicks— 'People tell me, Mr. Hicks, that I am a very even-tempered woman." Hicks —"Yes, no doubt; you've shown the same degree of temper ever since I knew you."—Xunsey's Weekly. —"He is one of the best musical iritics in the city." "Nothing of the kind. lie hasn't got the very first requisite of a musical critic. Why, ha not only understands music, but he actually plays. "—Philadelphia Times. —"Deceitfulness, deah breddern, am one ob de sins mos' frequently met wif n dis yar world, an' besides it's de lardcst to detect, for de simple reason dat a bad trade dollar makes more racket dan. a good hundred dollar will we'en it's drapped into de collection box.—N. Y. Herald. —Merely Wanted Information.—Sis- ;er Gertie—"Roger, what do you mean >y r coming in here like that ?" Little loger (who has appeared all too suddenly)—"I heard ma say you'd been fishing for Mr. Waverly a long time, and I just wanted to ask if that was a fishing-smack I heard."—Puck. —"No," said the bachelor, thoughtfully, "it looks like a baby, and it's dressed like a baby, but it isn't a baby, sure." "And why not, I should like to know ?" the irate mother exclaimed. "Why," said the experienced bachelor, slowly, "I've been sitting here watching it for half an hour, and it hasn't cried once."—Somerville Journal. —Not a Man to be Trusted.— Laiid- lady—"Does the steak suit you?" Boarder—"Perfectly, madam." Landlady—"How is the coffee?" Boarder— "Delicious.-' Landlady—"How about the muffins?" Boarder—"They could not be better." Landlady—"Your references were unexceptionable, Mr. Coats, and you appear like a gentleman, but I shall have to ask you to find anew place to board. Such replies are highly suspicious.—N. Y. Sun." THEY HAD PAPERS, TOO. The Average Alan. One of the most galling tyrannies ot modern life is that of the average man. Did you ever see the average man? No. Are you acquainted with any one who ever did? No. Have you any reason to believe that the average man ever existed? No, again. The fact is he is a myth. He never did and never will exist. He is a philosophical abstraction, a stage property of the metaphysician, a straw man, set up to be worshiped or reviled, as the case may be. And yet we all bow down to him and talk in hushed whispers about his thoughts, deeds and desires. We are rejoiced when he is supposed to smile, and tremble when he frowns. Statisticians burn the midnight oil in order to do sums about him. Statesmen give up their lives in his service. Political economists look solemn as they take hia measure. Physicians tell us how he may keep well, and preachers adjust the messages of the Gospel to his comprehension. And yet, of all the myriad* of mev, who have ever lived, every one differs more or less from the supposed Average man. Who witt deliver the world from the tyrannical rule ol man?--J{. Y. TtihjjWe. An Amusing Episode of Street-Car Travel In tho Capital City. A AVashington gentleman relates the following street-car episode, witnessed recently: "I boarded a north-bound cable car down in the heart of the city about dusk, and as usual there were no seats left. I took a position near the rear door. At the next corner two young women got in. They were bright look°- ing, and one was particularly prepossessing: in appearance, but she seemed to be very tired—from having operated a type-writer all day long, perhaps. Every man seated in that car save two was safely ensconced behind his evening newspaper. The two without newspapers were each huddled up like a ball, almost, and had their hats pulled down over their eyes and pretended to be asleep. "A small newsboy squeezed himself through the crowd on the platform and cried out his evening papers with poor success. On his way out he was stopped by one of the young women—the prepossessing- one. Her face lightened up as by some bright idea. She whispered something hurriedly to her friend. " 'I'll dare you to do it,' replied the latter. " 'All right; I'm not afraid. Here, boy, give me two papers. Give me the largest, and never mind the change,' she said, eagerly. "Then in a perfectly self-possessed and matter-of-fact manner, she walked to the center of the car, where sat the two individuals with the slouch hats. She took the papers with her, and her movements were followed by the eyes of most every one in the car. " 'Here, gentlemen, please have a paper,' said she, thrusting one of the sheets toward each of these men. 'For it is too bad that of all this car-load you should be the only ones without any *.hing to engage your attention.' "And the two men, at finst not comprehending the situation, took the proffered papers; but the laugh of the others who hud witnessed the performance brought them* to their senses. They turned red, and soon found it convenient to ride the rest of the way on the front platform. A number of men, who had enjoyed the other fellows' discomfiture, and admiring the woman's nerve, tendered her and her friend seats. Both, however, Declined, with thanks, saying that under the ejjroumstauee, they were well satisftjHl |0 stand.—Washington. Po&t WAR REMINISCENCES. A MIDNIGHT BATTLE. Capture of the Water-Witch In Ooaabaw Sound, Georgia. There were many daring and desperate encounters between the Union and Confederate vessels along the coast and in the inland waters that got a mere mention in the papers of the day, while every little "bush fight" of the army WHS heralded as a great battle or important skirmish to bring- into prominence the name of a Colonel or General. One of the most daring and successful midnight attacks on our blockaRe vessels was the boarding and capture of the gunboat Water-Witch, in Ossabaw sound, Georgia, one of the several water ways leading up to Savannah. 'The Water-Witch was a small side-wheel steamer employed in the surveying of rivers, but was improvised at the beginning of the war into a blockading- vessel. She hud been doing good service on that station, being of liglit draft it could run in and catch the light crafts that were engaged in contraband trade. She had been so long on the station that her officers and men had become careless and relaxed their vigilance and did not take the precautions enjoined on them by the Admiral. On the morning- of June 3, '04, following what had been a "dirty night," which, in sailor parlance means a disagreeable night, the little ship was running lazily with the tide with her half asleep and drowsy crew stowed away in comfortable out of the way places. There was no ( t a sound to disturb the dreaming officer of the deck, who paced the deck with his monotonous tread while thinking perhaps of the hot cup of coffee he'd have when his watch was relieved. The night was so dark that it seemed oppressive, and was only relieved by the occasional flashes of lightning- that at intervals illuminated the density of the blackness for a short distance from the ship's side. It was during one of these flashes that the cathead caught sight of a launch not thirty yards away, filled with armed men.^ He challenged the rapidly advancing boat and was politely told to go to -—. and like the black cats in the boy's alley, the river seemed alive with them. Armed boats were seen at every turn. There were seven boats filled with picked men, well armed and disciplined. Not a word was spoken after the challenge, but they dashed on to board the Water-Witch. An acting master's mate was in charge of the deck. He sprung the rattle, calling all hands to quarters and ordered the watch to repel boarders; but too late; the boats' crews came on and up over her sides with a yell, boarding the ship on both sides. The officers of the Water-Witch came on deck in undress uniform, and several under "bare poles" with side arms hastily buckled on and barefooted. The crew seemed dazed, but soon rallied and began one of the most desperate hand to hand conflicts seen during the war, fighting like devils, and the enemy doing their level best with all the advantages of on their side. Each Captain a gun, left for jolly, good-na- a surprise man fought for himself. Pendegrast, while sighting was knocked senseless and dead. Master Ruck, a tured soul; cut right and" left, and the rebs courteously gave him cutlass room after several had been "decked" with his good right arm. Coast Pilot B. K. Murphy, a Southern-born but a Union pilot, and who took service under the old flag, was badly wounded and left as food for the gentle sharks. The conflict lasted for about twenty minutes, the Confederates gaining every moment, our boys doing their best; but fate was against them, the boarders carried the day and the prize was theirs, but at considerable cost. Lieutenant F. B. Petet, of the Confederate States navy, a bold, brave uud daring young officer, led the boarding party, and had eight of his men killed, two mortally and twenty badly wounded. The colored men of the Water-Witah fought savagely and put to shame Home of our white men who failed to casne to time. The surprise was a complete one, and the projector of'the scheme to capture the ship deserved credit for a most successful attack. The Water-Witch had inflicted much damage on them and now it was their turn. A contraband named Peter Mclntosh and two engineers were driven up out of the engine-room aud sent forward. Peter quietly dropped, overboard and swam a mile and a half till he reached Ossabaw Island, wher« he concealed himself until daylight, when he was discovered by the U. S. Ship Fernandina, which was passing at the time, by signal. A boat was sent and he was taken on board and reported to the astonished captain the capture of the Water-Witch. After the boarding party had secured the prisoners the Water-Witch was gotten under way and steamed up the Vernon river. A new difficulty now presented itself. Their colored pilot having been killed, Pilot Murphy, though badly wounded, under the persuasive eloquence of a cocked revolver under his starboard ear in the hands of a determined rebel was compelled to pilot the captured ship until she was under the guns of Battery Buelia. On her passage she ran on a sand pit and Murphy came near paying the penalty, and only his wounded condition saved him. The officers and crew of the prize ship were railroaded to Savannah, and there confined. Our boys reported good treatment, the Confederates sharing the same food as they themselves received, which was not of the best. The escape of the contraband, and his timely warning, savt/d the capture of several of our smaller vessels. The Water-Witch could have decoyed them from their stations, especially the sailing vessels and sunk them, they being unprepared for an attack from one of our own vessels in the hands of the enemy. Mclutotih was the only man who escaped from the captured ship. ^The V'ernimdma gave the alarm by signaling each btution as she passed on her \vuy to carry the news to Admin*! st Port lioyal. The Wisssr Of Sound got under way, Btcamed around?' to the station of the Water-Witch t* prevent her running out to sea and ftwait orders which came to make every effort to capture or destroy the captured Tessel, which we did, but without suc- «ess. The Water-Witch being of light draught was run inland so far that our guns would not reach, and being- guarded by Battery Thunderbolt and Battery Buelia we did not feel as though W6 wanted her.—American Tribune. KILLING MEN INMBATTLE. Unpleasant Sensations Experienced by fttt Army Officer. "When a man goes into n, battle it ia presumably with the intention of doing some killing 1 ," said an ex-army officer. "And yet I never knew a soldier yet who liked to feel that lie had himself with his own hands actually slain an individual foe. There is an intoxication in the mclce of conflict, but no man likes to feel that his own pistol shot or bayonet thrust has taken away the life of a fellow being. "Perhaps I should except from this general statement the typical sharpshooter, who cultivates an instinct of warfare that approaches the murderous. I have never been able to sec how a man could deliberately take up a station in a tree top or rifle pit and mark down for death, one after another, individuals whose lives were wholly at the mercy of his scientific aim. Of course war is always savagery, but there is an element of certainty in the sharpshoot- ap- ing business that, to my notion, proaches very near to murder. "I vividly recall to mind one experience of my own while with a skirmish party at the second battle of Bull Run. The fight had just begun and a rebel scout approached without knowing it very close to a clump of trees behind which my little detachment was concealed. Catching sight of us suddenly he wheeled his horse like a flash and was off. On the spur of the moment I fired my pistol right at him and a second later he wheeled in his saddle and fell out of it. The fight swept over in our direction and I saw no more for the time being of my victim; but, though I was in the thick of the fray for most of the time for the next few hours, I could' not get out of my mind the horror of the idea that I had killed that man. Not pnly had I taken away his life, but very likely had I made his wife a widow and ais children fatherless. That night when we went into camp I had this oppressive feeling still on my mind,when, to my great delight, I saw the man that I had killed, evidently a prisoner, sitting on the stump of a tree with his arm in a sling. 'My dear fellow,' I exclaimed with much cordiality, approaching him, 'I trust you are not seriously hurt.' " 'Naw,' replied the Confederate dryly, 'When you fired at me my horse shied and broke my arm against a tree. Your bullet didn't hit me at all.' I do assure you I never was more relieved in all my life. But the most painful experience that I met with during the war was at Chan- celorsville. I found one of our men, when the fire was pretty hot, skulking- behind a big log. This'll never do, man!' I shouted in his ear. 'Get up there and take your place in the line.' "I took him by the scruff of the neck —for he was seized with a panic—and shoved him forward. As I did so, with my hand on his coUar, a chance bullet struck him on the forehead and he fell dead without a cry. ' 'The shock that incident gave mel have never entirely recovered from. I f r>lt ;hat I had killed that man. The fact that Uvas in a position of equal danger with himself did not effect my moral impres- jsion as to the occurrence. It seemed as if I had deliberately forced him into the path of the bullet, and that I was responsible for his death. Such, in one sense, was true, and yet, of course, I was not in any just way responsible. But I shall never get over the haunting recollection."—Washington Star. A MEMORY OF THE WAR. The Way They Used to Stand When They J?lroci the Mortars. An officer of the American Navy, well known in Detroit, stood on a street corner the other day and went through a series of gymnastics that gave a looker on the idea that he was either practicing Eelsarte movements or had suddenly gone crazy. His arms hung limp at his side, his mouth was wide open and he stood on tip toe. "What is it?" asked afriend approach, ing him cautiously. "An old memory, part of my manual of arms when I was on a man-of-war facing Vicksburg," answered the veteran, as he resumed his normal condition. "I don't understand," said his friend. "No? Well that is the way we used to stand when we fired a mortar. It looked curious, too, to see forty or fifty men all standing on their toes, with their mouths wide open. But we wera instructed to do it, and, as it lessened the concussion caused by firing twenty- five pounds of gunpowder, we fell into it as into any other regulation and thought no more of it. It did not seem ridiculous then.f or it was a part of the art of war. It is a long time since I have thought of it," and the navy officer looked thoughtful as he walked away with his friend.—Detroit Free Press. SMALL SHOT. LYONS POST, No. 9, Marysville, Kas., has erected one of the finest soldiers' monuments in the West. It cost over 82,000, and has been placed in a beau* tjful spot in the city cemetery. GENEBAL N. P. BANKS is but a shadow of what he was fifteen years ago. Hi* face is thin, and though he still carries himself with some of his old-time erect* ness Ids manner is that of a man who lives in the past. His hair and moustache are snow white. JOHN MULLIGAN, of Saratoga, County, New York, is blind, and has become an object of charity. At the breaking out of the war he enlisted in the Onw Hundred aud Fifteenth NewYoris "^ tscrs and served until df

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