The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa on July 8, 1891 · Page 9
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The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa · Page 9

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Algona, Iowa
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Wednesday, July 8, 1891
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THE REPUBLICAN. ATA HIT A IIA-T.t.OCK., ftttoltrter*. At.GOXA. IOWA, FARMER MORRISON'S WIPE. Down at the farmhouse below the hill, fThe blinds were closed, wad the wheel WM still. If he swirl of the stream and the blue fly's drone Troubled the preacher's voice alone, Where, hy the open door, he stood, And talked to the gathering neighborhood, Of earth and Heaven, and the grave between, The visible world and the world unseen- Glancing aside, with solemn air, To the dead who lay in her coffin there. Every breath of the soft May breozo Shook the blossoming hlao trees, And sent a quiver of light and bloom Into the hushed and darkened room. It touched with a gleam the shadowed wall, Jt-flickered over the funeral pall, And circled about the tremulous head Of the nearest mourner beside the dead— '.Farmer Morrison, old and gray, jjent and helpless for many a day. •Up and down, with a dull surprise, Restlessly wandered his sunken eyes, peeking, it seemed, in that crowded place, -The one familiar missing face— 'The t aee that, stony and set, lay hid Just out of sight 'neath the coffin-lid. .Never a day, till the day she died, .Had the wife been gone from her husband's side; •Thus were the twain asunder reft, 'The helpful taken, the helpless loft. ,And the preacher spoke to the people there •Of the "Will divine, in his simple prayer; -The Lord, who giveth and takcth away— jPraised be the name of the Lord for ayel •JNow, when cne last amen was said, And the mourners rose to follow the dead, '.Farmer Morrison, gaunt and tall, :Stood up straight in the sight of all, .Suddenly steady of eye and limb, While the people gazed aghast at him. •He laid his hand on the coffin-lid, 'He stooped to kiss the face it hid, •Then, spent with that one strong, sudden breath, Life's latest flicker went out in death. Thus were the twain again made ono— Trial over and trouble done. And the preacher said, In his solemn speech: '*• The way of the Lord man may not reach. •" Lo! He hath given and taken again 1 ' Praised be the name of the Lord 1 Amen 1" -—Kate Putnam Osgood, in New England Maga zine. OVER-THE-WAY. -What Brought Two Sad But Loving Hearts Together. Over-the-Way — queer name for a •woman, isn't it? It was big Jim Gray —he's a telegraph operator on a morn- ,lng newspaper—who gave her the jiame. Of course we found out her .real name afterward, but none of us at .Mrs. Smith's ever spoke of her except :as Over-the-Way. It was at the break•fast table—we were all night workers ,and the breakfast hour at Mrs. Smith's is noon—and Jim sits where he can look out of the window. Miss Elliott —she "does society" on another morning paper and is quite vivacious—no- •ticed that Jim was neglecting his plate of buckwheat cakes and staring- with $11 his eyes across the street. Now, Jim is a master-hand at buckwheat cakes, and Miss Elliott, having a reputation for vivacity to sustain, was perfectly justified in remark- jpg that Mr. Gray did not seem quite himself. We laughed, as in politeness bound, and that brought Jim back. He efo't up and made a flourish with his napkin and said: "Ladies and Gentlemen: It now gives in«i great pleasure to present to you the neighbor we have long been expecting—Over-the-Way." We were so interested that we got right up from the breakfast table and crowded to the windows. Even that reserved and sarcastic Elizabeth Hawkins—she's a telephone girl, and I suppose she's justified in having a poor opinion of mankind and trying to get even out of office hours—forgot her dignity for once and was as interested as anybody. You see, the workmen had been busy on a little cottage right across the street for two months or more. We did not pay any particular attention to it until they began to put in a second-story bay window that was almost as big as the rest of the cottage. After that bay window had done duty as a family joke for two or three weeks we fell to wondering what sort of people had built it and who would occxipy such a funny little house. Handsome Harry Roberts— he's a window dresser in a big State street dry goods store and a great hand with the girls—said he knew some woman was responsible for that window and hoped aha would be good looking; it would be a pity to spoil such a fine window. Whereupon dear old Miss Brooks— she's nice looking even if she is forty and has come down from better days to proof reading—reminded him in her precise, genteel way that young men who had no eyes for anything but a pretty woman sometimes came to grief, The graceless Harry responded that a homely woman was a real grief and a pretty one a joy forever, Here the scamp looked uard at Elizabeth Hawkins. Elizabeth Hawkins looked back at Harry, and I thought she was going to say: "B.usyj what's your number?" And John Berry—he's some £ort of an editor and doesn't say much, being as reserved a§ Elizabeth Hawkins and peculiar like—saw Harry and ecowlad, Well, as I was saying, we had many a discussion over that little cottage, and finally came to feel a sense of proprietorship iix what we, called "Over- the-Way," So yon see & ^r«s a great day for us when appeared. we did £et to the high with househdid,t»*i<*ff!ngl, drivers, an old fi6g*6 womftfl with a gOrgeous turban, and a dear little Worn- an in & smart Jacket and a wide- brimmed hat. Harry Roberts declared he was simply perishing for exercise and fresh air and put on his overcoat and strolled past the cottage. Hei came back and reported that the little woman was a beauty; in fact, he grew quite eloquent over her charms. And then, of course, we had to talk it all over—whether she was married, and if she was, where was her husband, and if she wasn't, was she going to live all alone with the old colored aunty, and so on. Over-the-Way was evidently a capable little body, for she had the furniture in and the house to rights in no time. And the way old Aunt Amanda —that's the name we gave to the colored woman and her turban—rnado things fly moved Mrs. Smith to wish with tears in her voice that the days of slavery were back again. But though the nest was ready no male bird appeared. After a week had gone by we women began to hate "him," as we called the man Over-the- Way was waiting for. We knew there •was a "him" .by the way she flew to meet the postman and fairly hugged the letter when she got ono, and kind o' drooped when she didn't. And there were mighty few days when she drooped, too. But his absence didn't seem to bother Over-the-Way a bit. She was biisy morning and night fixing np the cottage for him. The big bay- window was evidently the pride of her life. Every afternoon she'd put on a pretty housedress, snuggle down in a big armchair right in the middle of it, and read over her letters. Harry Roberts thought it was all for his benefit until he found, after repeated trials, that she had no eyes for him except to find his glances and attitudes a subject for mirth. And then one day we found out why it was she had no eyes for Harry or any other man—except one. It was the second Sunday, just before dinner time—her dinner time^and she was in the window as usual. But she had on a new dress, and to save her she couldn't sit still in her chair more than thirty seconds at a time. All of a sudden she clapped her hands and gave a little jump, and kissed her hand to somebody we couldn't see, and ran from the window. And then a manly young fellow went striding across the street and ran up the steps. The front door blew open with a bang, and Over- the-Way had him by the arm and was dragging him inside in a second. Then she let go of him in a hurry and ran in quicker than she came out. If she hadn't she'd have been kissed right there on the front por ch in plain sight of everybody. We knew they'd show up in the big bay window sooner or later. And sure enough, just after dinner, they came in sight. She was clinging to his arm and just dancing on her toes, she was so happy. And just as she was right in the middle of telling him how fine it was she discovered us at the windows. We could almost see her blush clear across the street, and her young husband straightened up and looked daggers. But John Berry rose to the occasion nobly. He had his overcoat and hat on—he was just going out—and he took off his hat and made a bow, respectful and friendly-like, as much as to say: "We're glad to see you, sir." And we women clapped our hands and smiled, as much as to say: "We're glad he's come at last." And then Over-the- Way and her husband saw it was all right and they smiled and bowed. Over-the J Way patted him on the arm, as much as to say: "Here ho is; isn't he nice?" And the young husband put his arm around Over-the-Way and gave her a little hug right before our eyes, as much as to say: "It's all right now; I'll make up for lost time." And then we came away from the windows. Young Mr. Over-the-W#y—we found out afterward that in public life he was a traveling salesman for a big drug firm—staid three days. Then ke went away. And Over-the-Way went up into her bay window and bravely kissed her hand to him till be turned the corner. Then she dropped down into her big armchair and turned its broad back to us. He was gone two weeks, and they were long weeks for Over-the-Way. But everything human has an end and he came back at last. Well, it was the same thing over again; only he staid but one day. Then he was gone ten days. Next time it was a week, and after that it was every Sunday when we sat down to breakfast we found them together in the big bay window. But Sundays are invariably followed by Mondays, and poor Over-the-Way had hard work enough to, lay in happiness enough in one day to last her six. Still, from Monday morning to Wednesday night she lived on remembrance, and from Thursday morning to Saturday night on anticipation; so she got along pretty well- But one day, after six or seven months of this alternate sunshine and shadow, the clouds settled down in earnest over the little cottage. He came home in the middle pf the week and Over-the-Way met him at the door with a scared face. The next morning he left with a big trunk. He had his hat down over his eyes and never looked back at the bay window, He knew Over-the-Way wasn't there to kiss her hand to him. We didn't see her at »U that day, for by and by Aunt Amanda came and pulled down the shades. Over-the-Way came back to her boudoir after awhile, but she didn't seem to be quite the same old Over?the- Way. She got tetters, but they didj»'t come every day now. Sometimes we fairly hated the postman—just as if it was his fault! But when she did get one—why, w« could tell a block off when the postman had a letter by the way he walked. By and by Over-the-Way had a broad, lounge put in hip window the-Way wasn't going to grieve herself into a decline. I* 8h« didn't shirk tip pretty soon he believed l*<e'd get he* husband'e address and Write to htm to throw up his job and come home. And Harry Roberts said that maybe Over- the-Way wasn't so much better than every other woman after all and liked ' to He around in a loose gown and read novels just like the rest of them. Nobody said a word and the next day Harry Roberts told Mrs. Smith that he guessed he'd leave lit the end of the week, and he did. But Jim Gray didn't write, for Over- the-Way did chirk up right away. She got an industrious streak all of a sudden and sat in her big armchair and cut and basted and sewed until Jim said he was afraid she was getting vain and thinking too much of her clothing for such a sensible young woman. Then he suggested that most likely she was getting ready to join her husband in South America. We women all began to talk about spring bonnets and Mrs. Smith left the room. She suddenly remembered that she had left something in the oven. Jim grew reconciled to the sewing, but he found other things to worry him. He elected himself a bulletin commit* tee of one and made frequent reports, When there were no facts he gave us the benefit of his speculations. Omi day he announced that he guessed Over- the-Way would begin to pack up before long; she had pretty much fiuished.her sewing. A few mornings after that there was news. We women all knew.it long before breakfast time and John Berry and tha other men were told by Mrs. Smith when they came down. The bulletin committee was a little lata and we were all at breakfast when ho appeared. The moment he entered the room he said he was sure that Over-the- Way was ill; when he got home every thing was ablaze with light and there was a doctor's phaeton in front of the house. We could see for ourselves that the bay window shades were down. "Umph!" said Mrs. Smith. "Is tha all you have to tell us?" "Why, what's happened?" "Over-the-Way has a visitor;" "So he's back at last, is he? Well, it's time." "I wish her husband was here; it's dear little girl." "Good Lord!" said Jim. Nobody laughed right then, but minute later, when Miss Elliott mad one of her vivacious remarks, everybody roarcd'^-except Jim. Even John Berry and Elizabeth Hawkins, who were looking powerfully glum, had to laugh. Things get out so in a boarding house. We all knew that he had proposed and she had said no. Just as we were getting through breakfast John Berry gave a groan at the window and turned to us with his face working and his lips trembling. He couldn't speak; just pointed across the street. Old Aunt Amanda was tying a long streamer of white crepe to the door bell. . "Over-the-Way's dead," said some one in a strained whisper. "White's for little children,", said Mrs. Smith. "It's Over-the-Way's lit- 'tie baby. 0 dear! 0 dear!" And the good woman burst out sobbing. None of us were much better off, for that matter. So it happened that when we made our first call across the street, John Berry and Mrs. Smith went. Mrs. Smith went in, but John paced up and down in front of the house. Elizabeth Hawkins never took her eyes off him. She was as pale as a ghost and yet she didn't look exactly unhappy either. By and by they came back. As soon as they came in John took out a roll of money and dropped a bill in his hat. "Flowers!" said he, and looked around as much as to ask if anybody wanted to follow suit. We all put in something. Elizabeth Hawkins put in a dollar. I knew she had saved it to buy some Sunday gloves. After John had gone out Mrs. Smith told us how she had talked with the poor young mother in the darkened room and how the little baby was to be buried the next day and how John was to see to everything and go to the cemetery, and how the little coffin was to be put in the vault and kept till the father got home. By and by John came back with a great box. It was full to the brim with lilies of the valley—not another flower. Well, John's services were not needed after all; for that very night the young husband came home from South America. And the next day when the carriage drove away from the little cottage with a little white casket on the front seat heaped high with lilies of the valley the poor young husband looked over to us in the windows and made a sort of ji bow and put his hand on his heart. That evening when it was time to go to work John Berry came down with a satchel in his hand and began to say good-by to us, saying he was going to leave. When he came to the last one- Elizabeth Hawkins—he hesitated, then held out his hand just as he had to the rest of us. She just barely touched it, and both of them looked white and trembling, Just as he was going out of the door she called to him: "John!" It wasn't a bit like Elizabeth Hawkins' voice, and we all stared. John came back, but didn't say a word—just stood waiting, And now they both were red. "Are you going because—because—" John nodded I don't believe he could have said & word to save him. "Well—well—I—John, don't go!" r ong before she fiaished John had her in his arms and right ~..ef ore us alL "I said 'no,' John, because I was afraid you were hard and unfeeling— till to-day. Sow % know better." "God bless you, my children!" said motherly Mrs. Smith. The stereotyped pld phrase was a relief, and we all laughed in a teary sort at way. then added: "When trouble cpm.es and. you 9W FMTH AND POINT'.. —Preferred Creditors—The man Whtf ^ was tired of having everyone his debtor. •-Puck. —Waiter—"Very fine chicken that, Sir." Guest—"Yes. I wonder how it scaped being killed for such a long ime."—Harper'w Bazar. , —"Alas! It is an age of doubt," righcd the philosopher. "What?'' asked iis companion. "The age of woman," ie answered.—Harvard Lampoon. —She—"Why was it that the Creator ttiade woman after man?" He—"Possibly because he wanted to finish the job before the critic arrived."—N. Y. Herald. —Prematurely, in Some Cases.—Visitor—"I suppose your college has turned out a great many graduates?" Professor—"Yes, and a good many who were not graduates." — Saturday Evening Herald. —It's Often So.— At first sight we loved madly; At second came a pall; At tlilrd we wondered sadly How we loved at all. —Harper's Bazar. —Fogg—"Ah, Fendersonl You're coming to the club to-night?" Fenderson—"I was coming, but I have changed' my mind." Fogg — "Gracious, man! that is all the more reason for your coming."—Boston Transcript. —First Student— 'How it blows! And listen, hear how the telegraph wires hum \vp above there!" Second Student —"I hoar! Let me tell you, that's the answer from my pater familias. I telegraphed him to send me some money." —Mudgc— "I know I am right. I'll bet the drinks that I am." Timmins—, "I would take you up, but I do not drink." Mudge—"Oh, don't let that stop you. I'll agree to drink both drinks my self, win or lose."—Indianapolis Journal. —Mrs. Brown—"I declare! Justhear that canary sing! It's always so; every time anybody begins to play on the piano that bird begins to chatter." Mrs. White—"Yes; one would almost think the bird to be human."—Boston Transci'ipt. Folly—"I should think that Jones would have more sense than to wear that flaming red cravat. It makes him terribly conspicuous. He's got such an awful red nose, you know." "That's the reason. He wears that tic to divert attention from his nose."—N. Y. Herald. —Clevevton—"Have you any idea how much that dress cost that Miss Swans- down had on last night?" Dashaway— "Yes, one hundred and twenty-five dollars." Cleverton—"How did you come bo know?" JJashaway (sorrowfully)— "Her father took pains to tell me the other clay."—Cloak Review. —Out of Sight.—Maria (pointing to a trery tali and expensive piano lamp)— "Josiah, ain't that jest too lovely?" Josiah—"Yes, 'tis; what be that?" Maria—"That? Why that be a pianny lamp." Josiah—"A pianny lamp? Say, Maria don't you think that's most too high to put on top a pianny?" —Laura (in January)—"Just see the lovely gift from my dear papa—a delicious spider in silver, with garnet eyes." The same (in June)—"Yes, I'm sick. Such a shock as I had at the pic- aic yesterday! A great, horrid beast of i spider fell right into my plate! No wonder I fainted dead away."—Pittsburg Bulletin. —Ambiquous.—Miss Passee—"I hardly know it is, but I must follow the [ads. Now, everyone is wearing birth- flay rings and—" Sillyboy—"And are 7011 wearing them, too?" Miss Passee —"Yes, I have bought one for each vear." ' Sillyboy—"You could almost open a jewelry store, couldn't you."— Jewelers' Circular. • —Scribbler—"Oh, here's my article! Tell me what you think of it." Franklin—"Well, to tell the truth, it seems to be rank plagiarism." Scribbler—"Not at all. I found it in an old paper, and it embraced my ideas exactly. So I put my name to it, and sent it to the magazine. The fact that another fel- ow wrote it out in the first place amounts to nothing."—Boston Transcript. —Awkward Enough. — Brobson— "You look all broken up, old man. What's the matter?" Craik—"I called on Miss Pruyn last night, and no sooner lad I entered the parlor than her mother appeared and demanded to know my intentions." Brobson—"That must have been rather embarrassing?" Craik—"Yes, but that was not the worst. Just as the old lady finished speaking Miss Pruyn shouted down the stairs: 'Mamma, mamma, he isn't the onel'"—N. Y. Sun. WHY IT COSTS TO MOVE. WAR REMINISCENCES. readme or took- <9 AM. **TA I_ ,3 -1ML— JSrhat ,A»d A RELIC. / On tho wall above the T.I.U f el • Vtitftl'it sift onoiont weapon Ininff, .- Tiu'ilt iflrtd, itonty, old unit runty, Hprinfffl.:ld pattern, alxty-onn; And Ihe spiders, itll unconscious Of Its power, upon it crawl, And have webbed It, breach nnd muttle, Where it hangs upon the wall. Could it spenk 'twould tell a story That would startle young and old, Tales of long and weary marches Could that wo;ipon true unfold, Tales of bat.tlc, talon of earnagn TUat would liiancli the bravest cheek, From Bulls Run to Appomatox, Could that unclont weapon speak. • Dear Indeed is that old musket, It hnd suro voiuo long ago, Wot a friend no tiua und trusty On the field to m-i»t the foe. Thisn It. spoki; and tr> a purpose, Fiery wits the title it told. Lcailen was the fuarful message From that weapon grim and old. And I lovo It—who can blame meT It and I were closnst chums, Old and rusty, tried and trusty, Best of nil your miike of guns. _, Comrades dead and comrades living, It reminds we of you all; Elbows louch whene'er I view It As It hangs upon the wall. Brlnjrs again your kindly faces from Unit distant long ago, When we faced the storm of battle On the field to moot the foe. On the wall above Win mantel There's an undent weapon hung, • Tarnish"d, dusty, worn and rusty, Springfield pattern, sixty-one. —J. VV. Konyon, in Detroit Free Preo. TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE. One Has to Fay for the Patriotic Picture* an the Vans I discovered the other day one of the probable reasons why there was less moving on about May 1. Everybody knows that double rates are charged at that time by the owners of vans. I accompanied a friend to the office of a man in the business to bargain for a van to move his office furniture. The furniture would make one small load for one of the large vehicles, and the distance to be traversed was three blocks, "I'll do it for eight dollars," said the van man"Eight dollars!" echoed my astounded friend. '"Why, there are only a few desk? and tables, a stove, some books, no looki»g-glass and nothing liable to break." "Can't help that. We have to charge at this time of the year. Just look at that ran (pointing to a huge wagon is frost of the door). I've just had it deo>- orated and that oil painting put on, and I wttl ¥»ve to recoup myself somehow." There it was. The painting on the sides of the van costs the mover the money. This van had a picture pf Washington crossing the Delaware 9J» one fid» and Abraham Lincoln blessing f lot ^l jtokaninnies on the other. Poo- Jj« wfe* want to move -have to pn-y f«r thoaa nicturea. "!WW^"U «'*V*Y*^*^ to have The Enlivening Elect of Clearing Weather Upon Now Soldlerg. During the winter of 1862-63 the Eleventh Michigan infantry, a regiment which was amqng the first to go into commission from the wolverine state and which became badly cut to pieces in the service, was being re-organized by Col. P. H. Keepan. It was some time in February that the complement of men was made up and the regiment was sent south. New soldiers were, in those days, called "fresh fish," and the new material sent down to stop southern bullets was about as fresh a lot of suckers as ever enlisted. Chattanooga was the point to which the recruits were sent, there to join the old fragments of, "Stoughton's Fighting Eleventh." We knew the "fresh fish" were coming, and of course we were anxious to see what they were like, and we wanted to greet them and make them feel at home. They were expected on a certain Saturday, but the day went by and night came, but no "fresh fish." What did come, was, however, nothing nearly so pleasant. It was a old, dreary, latter-part of February storm; howling 1 wind and driving rain, and we were only too glad to crawl into our little dog tents and find such shel- ;er as they afforded. Along about midnight, though, there was a commotion and we became aware that the boys had come, but it was still pouring rain and with very few exceptions the old veterans were not hospitable enough to turn out and say "howdy." "We had only been there a day or two ourselves, and were not greatly taken with the site selected for our encampment. It was a side hill of clay, nasty, blue, sticky clay. There was not a tree to be seen, and even had it been mid-summer it would not have been possible for a spear of grass to grow on such soil; a drearier sight never met mortal eye. No, that is wrong; a drearier sight did meet mortal eye; it was the morning following the arrival of the "fresh fish." At the foot of the sido hill, upon which we were encamped, was a valley separating us from Lookout mountain, which loomed up darkly and frowning in the south. To the west was a solid, granite wall, and on a ledge, some thirty feet wide, lay the railroad track, which curved around into the town of Chattanooga. For two hundred feet down below this ledge there was the ragged, irregular face of the rock until it was hidden by the swiftly flowing waters of the Tennessee river. Above the ledge for hundreds of feet arose the same solid wall of stone, as rough and jagged as that below. The dawn of the morning displayed a scene that was enought to make angels weep for pity; while even tough old vets, scarred with wounds and hardened with rough campaigning, could hardly help groaning in despair; such a picture of desolation can scarcely be imagined. The new soldiers had had no experience in pitching tents, and even if they had, th« stoim of the night before would put it to a severe test Of all the four hundred little white dog tents which the boys had set up as best they could in the darkness and with their ignorance how to do it, not a half dozen remained. The rest lay flat in the mud stretched out down toward the valley, as they had been washed by the flood, and were only saved from being carried away completely by the ropes and pins driven in the ground. All down the muddy incline were scattered parts and portions of the soldiers outfit, while in the muddy lake which bad formed in the valley below were more of the same traps, caps and canteens being the most conspicuous, floating about on the 1 dirty water. This was desolate enough, to be sure, but the dreary picture was made more dreary by the appearance of the poor fellows who were getting so early in their military career a taste of unusual hardship. One by one they began to crawl to their feet. For many this was a difficult thing to do. They had lain for hours in a bed of soggy mud, wallowing like so many pigs, and their bones were chilled and their flesh was numb. Some with energy and the will to fight hard fate were tramping up and down a muddy beach to keep up a circulation of blood; others were trying to collect their scattered effects in the hope that they could build a pile on which to sit and keep out of the water; others still there were who, ovej?- come by the scene of desolation and the hopelessness of relief from distress, had flung themselves dpwa again upp» «nd gav*. gloomy frcjnt, while granite wall abdve the /ndlfoad wassis colil dreary and)forbidding 1 anything could be. Thn'mpr and the discomfort of the poor, soldiers waa r.ather fecit:i* increased than lessened. At a fciv minutes pait six o'clock a change 6atiie. A partjf stood looking at the gray pile of stOntf watching a freight tram puffing slowly "II along the ledge. As they looked, ths clouds suddenly broke, and th.6 sttn» brilliant and glorious, shone forth, Alt its raya struck ution that granite wall it was reflected back by the myriad jets of water which spurted from it* sides. It made a scene simply #lorloua< in its effect simply dazzling; it was a9 if a million electric sparks had suddenly" burst into life or that a million dia* monds had caught the rays of the SUU and sent them back to that band of comfortless and disheartened men. The \ sight was one to cheer, and distressed as every one felt, they could not help it, they gave one loud and long hurrah for the glorious sunlight.—Jack Fuller, itt Arkansaw Traveler. "OLD BILL." How Gen. Sherman Koile His Wa* Ho*M In a Parade. When Gen. Sherman returned to Washington after the war he-participated in the grand review as a leading figure, and one fact that was particularly impressed upon his mind was the fractiousness of some of the horses ridden by the officers. The war horses had been discarded and the animals used on. that occasion were not accustomed to the surroundings, the crowds of men with shining guns, the noise ol the bands and the general tumult. And it was no wonder that they plunged and. reared as if they had been possessed by an evil spirit. The first day was occupied in the parade of the army of tha Potomac. The second day there was to be the review of the army of th« Tennessee. Gen. Sherman's body servant asked him what horse he intended to ride. " 'Old Bill,' of course,", answered the general. "Why," replied the servant, " 'Old Bill' is too sheepish .fora grand review. He has no life in him and will look half asleep amid so brilliant a display." "I don't care for that," rejoined Gen. Sherman. "That's the reason I intend to ride 'Old Bill.' I can not ride comfortably on a strange horse and in an affair of this kind. ,1 propose to study my own comfort, and besides I am greatly attached to the animal. Thera •is no foolishness about 'Old Bill.' He will act with dignity and I shall be at ease. Not even the roar of a dozen guns would disturb that horse." So '/Old Bill" was groomed and made ready and went through that review with the utmost equanimity, never showing 1 the least appreciation of what was going on about him. Gen. Sherman rode his horse to tha grand stand and a little beyond it. Then he dismounted and gave the horse into the care of another person and the animal was led away. Gen. Sherman never saw "Old Bill" again, nor could he learn what had become of him. But to his dying day he never forgot the' horse that he had ridden so many times, and it was often a source of real sorrow that he did not keep his war horse with him as long as he could.—Chicago Post. The Chaplain Gave Back the Oardl. ' 'I had rather a remarkable experience while I was chaplain of the army," remarked one of the ministers at a pastor's union. "What was it?" "I had been working and talking to the boys about gambling-, and they finally turned all the cards in the camp over to me. The next day they were paid off. The following day I was passing out and saw a blanket spread out with two lumps of sugar on the , corner, and about half the money in tha camp spread out." "What were they doing?" "They were betting on which lump of sugar a fly would first light, and all the money on the blanket changed • hands on the result." "What did you say to the boys?" "I said: 'Here, boys, come get you* cards."—Columbus Dispatch. STRAY SHOTS. AT the head of a G. A. B. post in, Brooklyn's Memoi-ial day parade was a, small, dirty and well worn flag. It floated at the masthead of the revenue* ' cutter Harriet Lane in 1861, and was the flag that was endangered when the. • cutter's commander, telegraphing Sec-, retary Dix, of New York, received this' ' famous answer: "If any one at-, tempts to haul down the American flag, shoot him on the spot." The flag is owned by the Dix family. AN authentic incident in the career of .' Gen. Eobert E. Lee is told as an ev£ dence of his sweetness of disposition and natural kindliness. One day he was inspecting the batteries over the ' lines below the city of Richmond, and ' the soldiers had gathered in a group to welcome him. This action drew upon * them the fire of the union guns. TJj<j general faced about and advised tha ' men to go under shelter. But he dJ4, not do this himself, Walking OB, although in apparent danger, he pi$k*4, up and replaced an unfledged sparrow which had fallen from its, nest »«w Twi^. The act was instfective, but * indicate^ a really higher endowing than ability to conduct notable paigns.~Youth'B Companion. JVDOB Gwswn W. 6eoFJ*w> i personal friend of Abraham A Warren county private, knocked down his captain, convicted and sentenced fe> Tortugaa, $i» friends to have him released, so ' the president and toldtMa fl ing attentively, Lincoln w, you, judge, you go right ' ' gst <»»JE«»8 f rain, *»**

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