The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa on March 25, 1891 · Page 7
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The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa · Page 7

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Wednesday, March 25, 1891
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A .i A VISION OP EASTER MORNINQ. HE soft red tints of Easter skies Mad blossomed in the East, ' Their matins all the golden birds Upon tho bceoh- spray coased; Ah iiiRtnnt'fi si- lonco fell—then rose A inystic fflory wide— And lo, upon tho threshold stood The Lord of Eastertide! II o smiled with — . _. tender sweetness down- He gnzod with loving look— And said: "My child, thou sorrowest; No Easter joy canst brook; Lo. I have seen thy grief, aud come To Kt-nnt thoo with tho dawn, A vision—rare—of paradlso, And thy beloved ones, gone." Then shone the fairest, sweetest land, That over thought conceived— Abloom with flowers and rich with song, With sweet harp-chords, relieved; And thoro llisij walked, my best beloved, And smiling, stretched to me, Dear hands of wolcomo, from across A misty wall of soa. The vision lifted;—once a^ain I saw the earth's soft skies, The ivied minster—and within Its portals with glad eyes, I passed, to sing my Easter song— And on the way I bent To kiss twin graves—all starred with flowers And then, rejoicing—went I —Helen Chase, In Good Housekeeping. AN EASTEE DAWN. It Came to a Motherless Child and a Childless Mother. T WAS eight o'clock Saturday evening, and cultured Boston in full force was assembled in Music hall listening with more or less attention to tho twelfth symphony concert of the sea- sour Outside the door, on the first landing, Anthony Kramer was listening also, and, though in his case the listening was of necessity somewhat interrupted, the crumbs which he did manage to pick up were more to him perhaps than the full banquet to many of those inside. He was only a small boy and a somewhat shabby one, but the heart of a musician was beating under his threadbare little coat, and the mere suggestion of the harmony which was flooding those halls within made his pulses thrill so rapturously that he lost even his sense of caution, and had almost flattened his ear against the door, when it was half opened by a big man who paused for a moment beside him. This man was in reality big in more senses of the word than one, since he was the soloist of the evening, and ^ tho mere expectation of listening to his wonderful voice was pleasantly exciting the vast audience within; but, in spite of his size, and, still more, despite the fact that he was already a little late, the furtive rapture in Anthony's small faqe arrested him, and, the fellow-feeling of the artist together with the sensibilities of the kindliest heart which ever beat in artist's breast being alike aroused, he determined to investigate. "Hullo, little chap," he said, "is this the way you take your symphony?" "It's all the way I can get it, sir," Anthony answered, apologetically, and was moving- meekly aside when a"pleasant-looking guardian of the peace came forward to supplement the apology. "He ain't an ordinary loafer, sir. His mother works in a shop on Winter street and he waits for her every Saturday evening. He seems to like the music." "Well, " said the big man, who, having opened his fur-lined greatcoat by this time, had taken from an inside pocket a couple of cards and was now looking kindly from the boy to his friend, "since you can answer for him, Johnson, suppose we let him listen inside this evening. I'll let him have my ticket, and, see here, little fellow, this is my address. Bring the ticket back to ray room on Monday morning." Now, our big tenor was always doing just such, things as this, and sometimes —in fact,' very often—he got badly taken in; but he had no expectations of it in this case, and was therefore not in the least surprised when on the Mon- '•And what did you like best?" The moment he had said it the tenor flaw absurdity in the question, but the hoy's face kindled with appreciation as he answered, promptly: "Oh, I liked it best where you sang that—" and then, not using the words, but simply the melody, he sang with utter unconsciousness of effect a couple of bars from one of the songs which had thrilled the music hall through and through the Saturday night before. "Oh, that was so fine!" In speechless amaze the tenor stared for a moment, then, drawing himself, as it were, together, ho said, shortly: "Sit down there, Anthony, and wait till I comeback." Then, opening the door, he disappeared in the passage, bringing with him when he returned another gentleman somewhat older than himself. "Whiting', I want you to hear this boy sing. What do you sing, Anthony?" Abashed, and yet wholly anxious to please this demigod who'had burst so suddenly upon his life, Anthony stood up. "I can sing a good many hymns and a few other things. Shall I sing 'Hark, what mean?'" "Rossini? Yes, give us that." The men sat down. The boy stood with his back against the door, twirling a shabby Tarn O'Shanter in a pair of nervous hands, and out of the little room floated a voice, pure, silvery, unfaltering—such a voice as neither of those two men had ever heard in that room before. Through all the delicious measures of that incomparable melody it rose and fell, and when at last it died out in wavy cadences, the tenor glanced toward his friend with something like very tears shining in his eyes, and the friend, jumping to his feet,' exclaimed in nervous haste: "I know he's your friend, Billy, but I must share him. I want him for my choir. Wouldn't you like to sing in a choir, boy?" "Yes, sir." Anthony's face became crimson with delight, and the poor old Tarn O'Shan- ter suffered more than ever at his hands. 'I go to the Advent every Sunday— I've picked up lots of things they sing there." "Only there? Have you had no other training?" "Oh, yes, a good deal from my father, but he died more than a year ago, just after we came to this ' country. There are only mother and me left, and I've been out of a job for over a week." "Well, Mr. Whiting here will soon give you a new one," the tenor said. "Will you put him among the reserves, Whiting?" "With that voice? No. He can jro I in almost at once. I have two vacan- The last was that little boy. He died on Satur- THE BCV STOOD WITH HIS HACK AGAINST THE BOOK. day morning appointed he found that boy and that ticket outside his doojr aw siting his coming. "Ah! here you are, little fellow! Well, how did you like the concert? What's your name, by the way?" "Anthony, sir. Oh, it was so grand!" Poor little Anthony, shivering with nervous delight over the mere recollection, found his vocabulary very insufficient just then; hut this new and wonderful benefactor seenie4 entirely satisfied, and, looking 45^ bald: WJW^W cies anyway Scott-Payne day." "What! Mrs. John Scott-Payne's boy? Why, he's all she had." "Yes; like this little chap. He was the only son of his mother, and she, a widow—but under mightily different circumstances." "Ah, well, well! All her ducats can't mend a broken heart, and she will have that, I know. He was such a noble, gentlemanly lad." ' 'Yes, and a fine voice. I have missed him badly, but I think with very little training this boy can take his place." And so it came to pass that before Johnnie Scott-Payne had been a month in his little grave at Mt. Aulurn, Anthony Kramer was singing in his stead at the Church of the Nativity; and while Johnnie's mother wandered through the desolate rooms of the costly house which she no longer called a home, finding comfort nowhere, Anthony's mother, selling small wares behind the counter of a little shop on Winter street, rejoiced unspeakably that her boy had so providentially found his vocation. She had no doubt whatever as to its being his rightful vocation, for, though she herself was quite as gently born as Mrs. Scott-Payne, and had lived in the purple till she had lost her heart to her young music master and fled with him from all the associations of her youth, the music master had come of a family who were all musicians, and, unprofitable as the profession had proved to her throughout her married life, she had never lost faith in it. Anthony had been named for the father whom she had deserted, but her father died without forgiving her and leaving all his wealth to distant relatives; so, having only his name as an heritage from his mother's side of the house, it seemed but fitting that the boy's living should come to him by means of the gift which had descended to him in such liberal proportions from his father and his father's people. As the winter wore on it became more and more apparent to the poor young thing that this gift would soon be the sole possession of a doubly orphaned life, for she had never been robust, and a New England climate made rapid inroads upon her feeble remnant of strength, and the coming of the foe who robs and desolates and rever restores seemed to be a mere question of time. For herself she had no dread of his coming, but her heart was sore at the thought of parting with her boy, and, however hard she tried to nerve herself for the effort, she lacked courage to warn him of the trial in store for him. In the old days he might have guessed it for hiinself; but he was so happy and busy now, basking in the' sunshine of hia benefactor's increasing approval, earning a steady income among the fraternity of which the kindly tenor was but one, and throwing himself with boyish fervor into his choir work, that he never noticed how the pretty, pale face of his mother was growing daily paler and thinner, or if he did notice it, he quited himself by thinking: "Even if she isn't quite as strong as she used to be, I'm growing stronger all the time, and by and by she needn't work at all." For a long while after his father had been taken from them, the world had seemed to the poor little fellow very full of death and sorrow, buifc now, re-! joicing as he did in the n#w Gpn4itM>ns ' of bis itfe. almost the only time tfes 9i4 : sadnens took possession of him Was when, sitting through an especially long service in Johnnie Scott-Payne's place, it occurred to him to wonder about Johnnie and Johnnie's mother. Of her his thoughts were especially wistful after he heard one of the other choir boys saying: "Oh, she never comes here now, she's so cut up about Johnnie. I guess, anyway, she couldn't bear to see Kramer in his place, for Mr. Whiting nnd everybody else thinks Kramer like enough to Johnnie to be his brother. Mr. Whiting says he didn't notice it until he got into his surplice, and then he could almost thin k it was Johnnie back again." "I'm afraid if she saw me she would hate me," Anthony said when telling his mother about it that night; but when at last Mrs. Scott-Payne did see him she was very far from hating him. She had heard of this little boy who was described as being so like her dead son, and had even had a half-fearful wish to see him; but above all the other associations of her life she most dreaded coming back to the church which had been so dear and familiar— the church where all the sacraments of her life had been partaken—from the time she had been brought as a baby to baptism down to that last dreadful day when her strong, tearless eyes beheld therein the flower-strewn coffin of her boy. All through the winter, each successive Sunday found her going any- "WILL YOU WATCH OVKR HIM WHEN I A3! GONE?" where and everywhere else; but on Good Friday some impulse which she could neither control nor explain conquered her former reluctance, and, to the surprise of the many who knew her, the shrinking figure in its heavy black draperies dropped once more into the seat which memory made at once so dear and dreadful. For several minutes she refrained from looking toward the choir, then nerving herself as for some terrible ordeal, she looked suddenly and directly at the place which was to know her brave, sunshiny little son no more, and looking, she met the direct, sympathetic gaze of eyes so like his that a strange, sweet comfort stole into her bereaved heart. A smaller natured woman might have resented poor little .Anthony altogether; btit in the gamut of Mrs. Scott- Payne's being there were few, if any, insignificant notes, and certainly not one of that problematical few happened to be struck on this solemn fast day which was to mark a new era in her life. Perhaps, indeed, leaving Anthony out of the question altogether, there is no service which does so wholly subdue egotism and littleness as that of Good Friday, and, as each one of our Saviour's last words was successively dwelt upon, this poor mourner felt herself creeping a little closer to the cross. She had never been either a hard or rebellious mourner at any time; but Johnnie had been the last great joy left to a life which had known much sorrow, and she had found it impossible to realize a greater angtiish than that of parting with him, until, in that solemn noonday quiet she looked on Calvary, and realized, as never before, what that other mother must have felt to see her stainless Firstborn stretched before her on the cross—realized as never before the infinite compassion of the Firstborn's entreaty: "Woman, behold thy son!" "Oh, if he would only say that to me," the sore heart murmured, "how thankfully I would obey him!" And then again she looked at Anthony and wondered inconsequently whether the beloved disciple had borne any outward resemblance to his master. After the service she still knelt on, until one by one the congregation became dispersed, and there were left in the church only herself, the organist and two of the choir boys. One of the t\v% she saw was her boy's successor, and with hungry intensity she watched the little cassocked figure flitting noiselessly about the chancel, then coming- down the nave, past the pew in which she sat, until with unwitting steps he reached the one great tragedy of his life—a tragedy which had for its herald a small boy, who, eager with importance, whispered hoarsely, yet distinctly enough to reach even Mrs. Scott- Payne's ears: "Tony, your mother's burst a blood vessel, or something. Anyway, the blood's pouring out of her mouth, and the doctor says she may die any minute." The path by which divine love leads us is often a misty one to our mortal eyes, but from that moment a wounded hand seemed to point the way from that childless mother to that almost motherless child, and by and by, when joy and peace had come as the fruition of obedience, it gave Helen Scott-Payne unspeakable comfort to remember how unfalteringly she had followed it from the first. "I will take him," she said, as the organist, the other choir boy and the messenger bent over the limp little figure which had fallen as though slain before that cruel message. "My carriage is waiting and I will take him home. Mr. Whiting has told me all about him. I know where he lives." Thus, as one chapter of Anthony Kramer's life was finished, another one began, and the poor young mother, waiting to feast hjjy dying $yes for the last time on her only same time the illumined face of her child's new mother, and, perhaps, because the eyes of the dying are so much sharper lhan ours, which still look earthward, she seemed to read, as if by intuition, the thought and purpose which illumined it. "Oh, mother, mother, yon cannot leave mo! I cannot let you go!" wailed poor little Anthony, throwing himself down beside her; but though the nerveless arm instantly encircled him, it was to this embodiment of a new hope the mother's failing voice first addressed itself. "Will you care for him?" she said. "Will you watch over him when I am gone? lie is a good boy now—lie has brought nothing but gladness to my heart. Will you help him to become a good man? I know who you are, but death makes me bold, and I do not believe you would come to me as you have if you meant to refuse me." The doctor standing at the foot of the bud shook his head fearfully. Her" request seemed so wild, and he was afraid of the issue; but down on her knees at the poor bedside, in the shabbiest room of the shabby west end boarding-house, fell Helen Scott-Payne, and without either fear or faltering made reply: "I did not come here of myself—I think our dear Lord has been leading me all through this day, and now He is saying to me, as He said to His own mother: 'Woman, behold thy son!' "Do you think I would even dare to disobey Him? I will do for your boy exactly what I would do for'my own, and oh, when you meet my boy in Paradise, I know he will be glad to hear that his mother is no longer desolate." "I will surely tell him," the poor weak voice whispered, and then, softly pressing the little tear-stained cheek beside her, the mother said: "And Anthony, you will be to her all that you would have been to me—more if possible. Death has lost its terror since J leave you in her care." All that day and throughout the next, Mrs. Scott-Payne watched that feeble spark of life with unremitting tenderness, and when, early on Easter morning, it went finally out, with hands as gentle and reverent as a sister's, she composed the tired body to "Lie with feet toward the dawn Till there breaks the last and brightest Easter morn." Then taking her boy—really hers now —into her loving, yearning arms, she hushed his sobs with her kisses, anc whispered over and over the blessec promises which were being said and sung in the little church from which they were both that day absent. I fear that just at first, in the terrible sharpness of a child's overwhelming grief, poor Anthony paid but small heed to any of them, but by and by some o: their peace and comfort stole into the sore young l.eart, and underlying the greater truths, which he could grasp but dimly, was the assurance thai where Johnny had gone his mother hac followed, and a lively hope that, wherever Johnny's mother might go in the future, he would always be with her. It is generally a child's way—often, alas! the way of those who are no longer children—to take comfort in the less, rather than the greater, but to the credit of this particular child's belief it must be said that, in the years which have gone by since that Easter morning, his loving faith in his adopted mother has never in the slightest degree been violated. Those who were the earliest friends of \vhorn I have told you are still devotedly his friends, and are given to stoutly asserting that before many years Anthony Kramer will liberally reward all those who have befriended him; but when Mrs, Scott- Payne overhears any such predictions, she only says: "Love has been its own reward to me-—I want no other."—Hester V. Brown, in Boston Sunday Herald. THE WORLD'S JUDGMENT. One Instance lu Whicli It Wi* Sadly at Fault. The sweet, motherly face of Mrs. B., who always wore decorous black, appeared on the promenade lately in a Rubens hat—black, to be sure—but, oh— "Twenty years too young for her," ejaculated one friend behind her back. To her face she said: "You dear thing! How becoming that hat is to you. Never wear a bonnet again?" "Did you see Mrs. B. at church today?" asked another lady of her husband. "Yes, she never misses morning service," he replied. • "And did you notice her hat?" "Why, no. I suppose it was the same one she always wears." "It was a round hat," announced the lady, in much the same tone she might have used if the headgear in question had been a washtub. "That woman will wear a crown some day," answered her husband. "I do not know her equal in good works." "I am talking about earthly millinery now," answered his wife, as she picked up the discussion again. Meanwhile Mrs. B. had returned home and taken off the offending hat, which she handed to her daughter. "Thank you, Ruby," she said. "I suppose my bonnet has come back." "Yes, dear," answered her daughter; "and Mrs. was so grateful because you lent it to her. She said she could not afford to buy mourning for her boy." "It was a small favor to do for one in trouble," answered the mother, gently. And the wagging tongues never reached her.—Detroit Free Press. AFTER DINNER. When Bridget strikes lor wages, And the waitress is about; When the baby has a tumble, And the heater tire goes out; Oh, never tell your husbanjj Of your troubles manifold, Until lie's bad his dinner— Then—hu's not us apt to scoli. When you see an Easter bonnet. . Th*t quite drives you to despair, With just the iriiumiug oa it That'll set off your eyes and hair; tton'tr say one word to husband Till his porter-house is down, Then I know you'll gain the treasure the happiest wife in town. WAR REMINISCENCES, A CANTEEN OF COFFEt. The r,nfn Maj. Innos Randolph and th« Yankee. The naino of the late Maj. Innis Randolph is well known in PaehmoncL His 'Tin a Good Old Hebel," "John Marshall, My U 0 ,y," anc i the "Grasshopper," which latter is sung with such vim by Mr. Hallo Watkins, are all popular. Maj. Randolph was chief editorial writer on the Baltimore American at the time of his death. The chief owner of the American is Gen. Felix Agnus, one of the most gallant soldiers in the federal army during- the war between the states. Gen. Agnus has had a remarkable career. lie came to this country from France just before the opening of the civil war, and was employed at Tiffany's as a sculptor, fie caught the war fever early, and enlisted in a regiment of New York zouaves with nine other Frenchmen from the same establishment, lie went in as a high private, and could not speak a word of English, and came out of the service with the rank of brigadier-general'. He had no social or political influence to push him ahead. Three of the nine Frenchmen who enlisted with Agnus were killed in their first battle, three more at the second, and two more at the third, so Agnus is the only survivor of the nine, and he only escaped by the skin of his teeth, as the scars of eleven bullet wounds on his body will show. At the third engagement, when his last two French comrades were killed, Gen. Agnus was himself desperately wounded in the breast. Lying on the ground in a semi-conscious condition he heard a fellow-sufferer groaning and calling for water. Agnus, with the blood gushing from his breast, managed to toss him a canteen containing coffee. This was eagerly received, and after draining a deep draught, the recipient raised himself up a little, and recognizing Agnus' uniform, tossed back the canteen, saying: "Yank, I thank you, you!" He proved to be Maj. Randolph, of Gen. Stonewall Jackson's staff. At the time this incident took place the battle was still raging around them, and neither one expected to see the light of another day. But both lived to participate in many more battles, and after the war closed became warm friends. Here is the sequel to the story. Maj. Randolph, who died a few years ago was a most accomplished man. He was a brilliant writer, sculptor and musician. He became editor of the Baltimore Gazette, and when that paper suspended, Agnus gave him the position of chief editorial writer on the American a position he held up to the time of his death. Randolph was several times offered double the salary he was receiving in Baltimore to go to New York,but he always refused to leave the man who gave him the canteen of coffee on the battle-field.—The Richmond State. SHERMAN AT SHILOH. Tlio General's Account of That Terrible Engagement. About a year ago Marshall P. Wilder sent to Gen. Shermen a copy of the New York Journalist containing a sketch of the battle of Shiloh as chiefly seen from the rear by a youthful drummer. The general sat down and wrote him the following very interesting letter: "No. 75 West Seventy-first street, New York, Januray 1, 1S90. My dear friend: I thank you for sending me the printed paper containing the observations and experiences of our friend about the battle of Shiloh, or Pittsburgh Landing, April C and 7, 1802. Having leisure this New Year's day I have read every word of It, and from his standpoint as a boy in the rear of where the hard fighting was done his account is literally true. His f a- ther(anoblegentlcman)and I were fighting for time—because our enemy for the moment outnumbered us, and we had a good reason to expect momentarily Lew Wallace's division, only six miles off, and Buell's whole army, only twenty miles away. By contesting every foot of ground the enemy was checked till night. Our re-inforcements came and on the 7th we swept on in front and pursued a retreating enemy ten miles, and afterward followed up to Corinth, Memphis, Vicksburg, etc., to the end. "That bloody battle was fought April 6 and 7, 1802. After we had actually driven our assailants back to Corinth, twenty-six miles, we received the St. Louis, Cincinnati and Louisville newspapers, from which we learned that we were "surprised," bayonetted in our beds (blankets on the ground), and disgracefully routed. These reports were heard at the river bank and from steamboats under high pressure to get well away, and such is history. "In the rear of all battles there is a mass of fugitives. We had at the time 33,000 men, of which say 5,000 or 6,000 were at the steamboat landing—but what of the others? A braver, finer set of men never existed on earth. The reporters dwell on the fugitives because they were of them, but who is t& stand up for the bra% r e men at the front? We had no reporters with us. Like sensible men they preferred a steamboat bound for Paducah and Cincinnati, whence they could describe the battle better than we who were without pen or ink. "This to me is straw already threshed, for we have fought this battle on paper several times, a much more agreeable task than to fight with bullets. When in England some years ago I was gratified to listen to veterans fighting Waterloo and Sebastopol over again. So I in- for our children will continue the fight of Shiloh long after we are dead and gone. Wishing you a happy New Year, I am, sincerely yours, W. T. SHEBMAN." —N. Y. World. GEN. JOBS W. KIMBAIX, of Fitch burg, Mass., has recently lost his pld war torse, "Prince," at the age of 88 years. £he animal was presented tQ Ge». KuabaJl by eitizeos of Fitchhurg o» »is election to the colonelcy of GRANT AND SHERMANr *h« Few .Token flint FnsAfld rtfltWftftH tfrf Two Old Army Friends, It is said that one of the* few .,„„ Grant, the silent maa, ever perpetrUt was in conversation with Sheriuttift •. The two generals were in Grant's tettt'" discussing-details of a campaign wheii, a third general, a brigadier, entered. He was a gallant soldier, but carelesg of his personal appearance and in no re* spect could he be likened to a carpet knig-ht. After he had transacted hid business and left the headquarters tent Grant pulled meditatively at his eigft* for fully five minutes. Then he said*' "Sherman, I wonder who in that man gets to wear his shirts the first week?" Although men of diametrically oppo« site characteristics, Sherman dashing' and impetuous, and Grant as unemotional as a block of granite, the friendship of the two was closer than that of brothers. It lasted through good and evil reports, and was unblemished by any of the petty jealousies, which in the civil war as now in the regular service existed between officers. An incident showing how firm their feeling for each other was, and that differences of opinion could not affect, it occurred at Vicksburg. Grant after careful study of the situation decided to move to a point below the town. All his generals made strenuous objection; Sherman expressed himself of the emphatic opinion that the movement would be fatal. Grant persisted in his intention, and ' when he started to carry it into effect ' Sherman drew up a protest, the contents of which he explained to Grant, and asked the latter if he had any objections to sending it to Hallack. "Certainly not," replied the man of few words. After the memorable capitulation of the city, when Grant had been almost deified, he said to Sherman: "You remember that protest you wished to have sent to the war department?" "Yes," returned Sherman. "Well, I put it in my pocket. I thought any time would do to forward it. I'll send it now, or you may have it, just as you wish." Sherman took it very naturally. Grant never referred to the circumstance again, and it was given publicity by Sherman himself.—Chicago Tribune. GEN. HOOKER'S CHAfiGER. The Queer Story of a Milk-TVklte Arabian Stallion. Gen. Banks' story about his war charger recalls to mind one Hooker rode in 1S03, and especially at the battle of Chancellorsville. Pew people know how Hooker came by that horse. I will tell you. When Sickles' corps was camped on Good Hope hill, just across the eastern branch and about a quarter of a mile above the residence of Fred Doug-lass, I happened one day, while out foraging for something to eat, to run across a milk-white Arabian stallion that had been hidden in the pines by his master. I took the horse into camp, and Gen. Sickles, who was a connoisseur of horseflesh, no sooner put his eyes on him than he recaptured him from me. I made no remonstrance, however, as the horse was of no use to me. A few days later the owner of the Arabian came into camp, identified his horse and claimed him. Sickles held that he was a confiscated horse and refused to give him up. Then the owner went to Secretary Stanton for relief and made affidavit that he was a loyal man and came back to camp with the order from Stanton to Sickles to deliver the horse. In the mean time the horse had disappeared. He turned up however, in New York city a few days later as the property of George Wilkes, but neither Stanton nor the horse's owner was aware of these facts. When the matter was quieted clown, one day a,n item appeared in the papers that George Wilkes had presented a thoroughbred Arabian war charger to Gen. Hooker. That was how tho horse came into Hooker's possession and how he came to ride him at the battle of Chancellorsville. He was one of the finest specimens of his race, and when seated on him Gen. Hooker was not only the best mounted officer in the Union army, but he was far and away the handsomest and the most imposing.—George J. Bond, in St. Louis Globe-Democrat. NOTES FOR VETERANS. JOHN F. HEWITT, of Los Angeles, aa old soldier, has shocked a certain class of sentiment by returning his pension certificate to the government. He says he can support himself. ELI AS HOWE, JB., who was worth $1,000,000, was the richest private who served in the war. He enlisted in Bridgeport, Ct., in 1863. At one time, when supplies were low, he paid the two months' pay of his entire company. SJIEBMAX was never a respecter of rank and at times spoke his mind free» ly in regard to the value of general of. fleers. On one occasion while covering Vicksburg he was short of transports* tion and made several requisitions. One day while he was looking for quartermaster's supplies, three brigadier-generals arrived in his camp. Sherman burst out: "J did not wanfc brigadier-generals. The president make them at the rate of one every minutes. What I want is mules, If they will send me the mules they can keep the brigadiers." I HAVE," says a Maine agent, "what I consider a funny pen^ sion case on hand. Several years (!#Q {\ ! secured a pension for a soldier of a. * tain regiment and company, 3^4 jfa ifter his death, I secured a pension. bis widow. Now she comes to* to help her secure another pension i the widow of another msm " " same regiment Yoii see t secured her first widow's p bad married a comrade in a first husband, and now that dea4, witfc a frugality ftiwM "«•? ft»A

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