The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa on August 26, 1891 · Page 3
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The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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Wednesday, August 26, 1891
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REPUBLICAN. .»«S. W. HAYS, .JLLGONA, IOWA GRANDPA'S BEST HAT, jfiearoh for It Brought to Light Other Lost Articles. U nave decided to e ° to pa?" "I sha'n't go, Katydid, unless I can find my best hat — I've told you so over and over." "Then I shall not be married;" and the tall, graceful young girl nodded her small head decidedly, shutting h e r *osy lips so closely that the dimples in 'her plump checks showed themselves :ln a way very tempting to the hand•.some young man who had followed in the wake of her blue gown from the .other house, across the narrow grass,plot, and in at the side door of the old- fashioned country long kitchen. "Shall not be married! and your wed«ding things all ready!" said grandma, from her straight-backed rocker by the •«ast window. "And the weddin' cake made—four kinds ef it"—said Aunt Abigail, who Was that very minute beating frosting. "Don't you want to see it, ••George? Its like was never in this town ''before." ______ "And the company invited, and Auut Anabel here, a'ready," put in grandpa. "And the church trimmed fit for •Christmas, and the whole village on tiptoe! I caught a flavor of the en- •thusiasm myself as I passed through," •interposed Aunt Anabel, laughingly. "I can't help it," said Kate. "I shall :not be married unless grandpa goes -to the wedding," and she turned about ; and smiled down upon the stately old man who sat in one corner of the 'broad fireplace, punching the forestick with a long-handled slice. "How can I go without a hat?" "Go bareheaded.. Wear your red •flannel night-cap, or the long white wig that your grandfather-wore when he -dined with Gen. Washington. I don't inind what you wear, but go *n the -church with me you must, or I shall not be married." "Of course you know I've got head- .coverings enough. What I'm talking :about 's a hat befitting the occasion," si?id the old man, waving his hand emphatically. "You can have a new hat," said .daughter Anabel. "I will drive, my- •eelf, this afternoon to Windsor town •and buy you one." "No, indeed," decided grandpa, "I've .e good hat of my own. I've had it these twenty years. It would be a shameful waste to buy another." "Borrow one. I think there are a .dozen ancient, high hats in the garet at home." suggested the young man called •George, speaking for the first time. "Go to my only granddaughter's wed•ding in a borrowed hat!" and grandpa waxed indignant. "Well," said the young man, "this is • growing into a matter of momentous importance to me, and I move that that hat be found." "I second the motion," said Aunt Anabel, springing up from her low «eat at her mother's elbow. "When .did you wear the hat last, father?" "I wore it to freeman's ineetin', and when I got home Abigail remarked, with that vexatious laugh of hers, that the town hall had been honored with ,one more visit fro-n the old bellcrown, and I took the hav off and looked at it and said that whe^i I bought it of Lieut. Nevers he said it would last me for my best hat as long as I lived. He nade it himself. A hatmakerby trade *he old lieutenant was, and that hat was made upon honor more than ^twenty years ago; and because he said it would last me as long as I lived, I iftean that it shall, for I always main- that he was a man of his word that he was took up for I went bail for him and J 4BOVT A HAT THB OCCASION." testified in his behalf: and I bought up ?tbe piece of land that the trouble was .abput, am? pa^J for it, and there it lies, with the timber growing on it, to 4hib d&y , because I never dared cut it, not •hsriag a clear title. The lieutenant was my friend aud I've testified to my in bin) up to this day, by wear* tfcat bat As for it's being bell- crowned, I explains^ to Abigail, bell •crowns we»t into sjjyle and out, out of •style and in, but my bell crown went «u, year after year, doing its duty on ; 6uudays—and at fuaerals and wed- din'sandsoon as regular aj the bell |n the cbuich steeple. Tb#n J took bandlcereher, J ' could tai where it went to, il pleased "1 couldn't." sniveled the daughter, "i wen t into the back pantry while he was lauding old Nevfersup to the skies and stayed there a spell, and then I slipped out and went over to the other house, for fear 1 should say something impertinent about that old rascal Nevers, and I have never seen the old hat from that time until this, although its loss has been laid to my charge every da.y since." "Perhaps mother hid it to put a stop to the contention between me'n' Nab." "Nonsense, father!" said the placid old lady, threading her needle anew, and deftly sewing a loop on the holder she was making for Katie. "You knew very well I never meddle between you and Nabby." "Let's find it," cried the expectant jroom. "It must be on the premises. Of course it is not in the parlor?" "I should think not," asserted Abigail. "The minister's set in there every time he's called, and I'm in there every da.y. You might as well ask if it is in the meal chest or pork barrel." "We'll go up garret first," said Aunt Anabel, taking a lighted candle, and the two young people followed her up the narrow stairs. They hunted behind the loom, moved the spinning wheel and the "little" wheel, the foot wheel and the reel. They opened the brass warming pan and the foot stove, as well as a score or more of ancient chests and drawers, and other possible and impossible receptacles. When they emerged into the kitchen with their garments festooned with cobwebs, grandpa said: "Glad of it! Abigail thinks she is awful neat. She takes charge of the house now. The garret was as slick and clean aa the parlor in mother's day.'' Next they went to the barn and the shop, the toolhouse and the sheep- shed. "I haven't been over the premises so thoroughly since I was a child," said Aunt Anabel. They looked in the well and then went down the open bulkhead into the cellar and peered into the ash-hole, looked on top of the cider barrels, in the apple and vegetable bins and the butter closet. "There's one place we haven't looked," whispered Kate, at length, "and that is into Aunt Abigail's closet under the front stairs. I've nO doubt she knows where that hat is—she never could bear old Mr. Nevers, I've heard mother say, because grandpa made himself unpopular in town befriending him, and I presume she was so vexed that day that she put the old hat out of sight. I don't know how we are going to manage to get into that closet." "We can go up the back stairs," whispered Aunt Anabel, as ready as a girl for the frolic, "and squeeze through the narrow passage between the old ell part and the new upright part of the house, go down the front stairs and into the closet without Nabby mistrusting a thing." Away ti.ey went on tiptoe, and as they were making their way through the narrow closet, George, who was six feet tall, exclaimed: "Hold on a minute. I've hit my head against something crowded up between the rafters and 'the partition. It feels like a high hat—and it is a hat!" "Oh, take it down please." "Oh, this can't be the one?" "That is Lieut. Never's old hat," said Aunt Anabel. "I've seen him with it on a thousand times when I was a child. I feel as if I had seen a ghost." "How came it here?" asked George. "I do not know," said Kate, "but grandpa told me once as a secret that his old friend the day before his death whispered to him that he had discovered the papers giving him a clear title of the land and had sent them to him by a Crusty messenger, but that Abigail, when he got home, gave him a bundle of papers that were of no use whatever." "Here is the lieutenant's old red bandanna handkerchief," said Aunt Anabei, "and I believe there are papers between the outside and the lining, Let.us go down into the parlor and look them over." "We shall freeze in here," whispered Aunt Anabel, as they tiptoed into the large, northwest square room, where everything stood at right angles. "Let us light the fire that is already laid on the andirons." "Do you dare?" asked Kate. "The kindling has been arranged in that way for years, but 1 never saw it lighted. Aunt Nabby always says she don't want the Utter of it." "I will taHe the responsibility," said Aunt Anabei, striking a match and touching the responsive blaze to the dry shavings. "I have some rights in the old home yet. I am astonished to see the way sister Abigail tyrannizes over father and mother. Do you find anything in the old hat?" "Yes," whispered Kate, beneath her breath, "and I believe it is the very paper needed to straighten Out those old titles." "It is, indeed,"'said George, after a hasty examination of the pld tinje-yel- lowed document "I have no, doubt of it." r "But how came that old hat siowed away in such a place?" "It must have been Abigail's doing," said Aunt Anabel, "She was probably afraid that father would wear the hat. •yhe old man sent it by her—she was at the hou.se every day during his illness -^they were our neighbors, you know. Of course Abigail put the hat where she ] portunity to receive the kiss her lover 1 *,vas stooping to give her, Kate slipped ' from his arms with a little shriek and darted to tho furthest corner of the large room. "Oh. look, look, in this black haircloth rocker in this corner. It is grandpa's best hat—it is, it is!" "Don't touch it," said Aunt Anabel. "Let them all come in and see it for themselves." and speeding through the long Imll she marshaled the trio, grandpa, grandma and Aunt Abigail, into the shut up parlor, known in the family aa "Abigail's paradise." "Yes, there it is," said grandma, with a long breath of relief. "There* it is in the cushion of that black-cov ered chair, and it's been there these six weeks, and such a time as there's been over it. It speaks well for Nabby's sweeping and dusting and airing up. Such things were done once a week when I took charge." "Such works!" sighed Aunt Abigail, holding up both hands. "A fire on the hearth and the parlor all stirred up—" "And my best hat found by the means,"-cried grandpa, joyfully. "I remember all about it now. I was a ketle elevated, as you may say, and Nab's sass warmed me up so that I said to myself: 'This is my house after all, and hereafter that hat shall stay in the best room and on the best chair,' and I brought it in and put it there myself. Y6u can smell the rose-scented snuff'in it yet." "And will you go to the wedding, grandpa?" "Sarten, sarten, child. I wouldnt miss it; but I was bound to stick to my point, because I believed that Nab had hid the hat so as to force me into buying a new one." "It is always so," sniveled Abigail. "I'm always the one to blame." "How about this hat?" asked George, picking up the one he had discovered PITH AMD POlNf. WAR REMINISCENCES. she thou.irht no one would ever flnd it." "I will astonish her with it," ipvl^d Kate, "grandpa shall wear it fa puy wedding to-morrow." "So you intend to be married, after all?" <?rie<J her lover rapturously, catching her in bis arms and whirling her about the room. Aunt Ajnabel discreetly took up » fallen brand of dry pine wood and piaced ft carefully between the ancjtooas. Jt caught <jvu<jkly and the flames went racing up li&e chiwvey, sending d,anfl» * into "OH, LOOK! LOOK! IT is GRANDPA'S HAT.'I in the closet. "Who had a hand in hiding this?" The discomfited maiden gave a scream and began to sob: "Murder will out. I ought to have burned up the old-thing long ago." "Bless my old eyes," ejaculated grandpa, "if that isn't the lieutenant's hat! It was always a beautiful hat and ha used to say he. would leave it to me, but it was never known what had become of it." "Look inside, sir," said George. The old man took out the time- stained paper with his trembling hand and fairly sobbed: "This clears up my old friend's character. Praise the Lord." "And it substantiates your title to the property, doesn't it. father?" "Oh, yes, yes, without a doubt, and I'll give it all to Katydid for a wedding present She's a chip of the old block. If she hadn't been so obstinate about finding my best hat we never should have discovered this paper." "And if Nabby hadn't been so proud it never would have been lost," said grandma, who, under the culminating events of the day, was regaining some of her old-time assurance. "1 never supposed there was any thing more in it," sighed Abigail, dropping into a chair. "I gave father all the papers that I found at the time of it. What if I had burned the old thing! I have been tempted to a thousand times. The very thought of it now makes me just as weak as water."—Annie A. Preston, in Springfield (Mass.) Republican. _____^_ NOT THE BRIDE'S FAULT. Nobody Sent for Her to Go to Her Wedding, and So She Waited. A curious incident happened at a church wedding in this city the other evening. It was a society affair, and at eight o'clock, the hour appointed for the ceremony, the church was crowded with guests. The minister who was to officiate was there, also the groom, ushers and bridesmaids, but tha bride was not. Ten minutes after eight — twenty* minutes after eight, still no bride appeared. The people in the church were growing impatient Half-past eight, still no bride! The groom was very inxions. Had her courage failed her at the last moment? Had she ceased to love him and eloped with another man? Had her house burned and she perished in the flames? Had the carriage broken down and injured her? These were some of -the. questions that ran through bis mind> leaving their impress on his face. Eight thirty- five! The bridesmaids bit their lips, tugged nervously at their ribbons, and unconsciously despoiled their bouquets. Was she not coming? Vague rumors ran through the audience, and the minister himself, used to all sorts of curious things at weddings, begau to wonder. A council of war was held, and it was decided to send another carriage after her post l»*te. Another! Wheu the facts became known no carriage at all had been, sent for her. During all this time the driver supposed that the ceremony had been in progress. In the excitement the principal factor had been forgotten. It -'is needless to say that no time wajt lost in transporting the bride to the 4H$£t $n4 at 8:45, three* uarters of $$ Imjyp late., $te nuptial —"What course did yon take in college?" "Oh, the regular three-mil* course."—Detroit Free Press. - -Clo.verton— "Was Miss Griggson bored by my talk last night?" Dash- away—"i couldn't get her to say."— Truth. — "College education? Pshaw! What good did it ever do young Cutter?" "Lots of good! Why, every ball team in the country is after him!"— Boston News. —If you Want to see the difference between a man and a woman let, them marry, and after a time there may be a new difference every day.—Boston Transcript. —"Humor is the most powerful force in the world," remarked Cumso. "How do you make that out?" naked Fnngle. "It overcomes the law of gravity."— Harper's Bazar. —Mr. Asker— "They tell me that the book-keeper of your firm is behind in his iiccounts; is that so?" Mr. Tasker —"Far from it, he came out ahead. It's the company that's behini."—Saturday Evening Herald. —His Chief Attraction. — Harry— "Why did you shave oft your mustache?" Will—"I found my best girl was getting too expensive, and have taken this method of- having her give me the shake."—Brooklyn Eagle. —Boy (who has lost his way)—"I say, mister, how far is it to Camptown Creek?" Man (surlily)—"Find out. 1 am no city directory!" Boy (with acute emphasis)—"No, you ain't; you're a wolume on good manners, you are!" —Gaining Strength. — Customer— "What kind of fish is this?" Waiter— "Weakfish, sir; same as you had last Friday, sir." "Well, it may have been weak fisln last Friday, but it is decidedly strong fish now."—Yonkers Statesman. —A man imagines that he has lots of fun in telling how difficult it is for even a woman to find her way into her own the night, pocket, but all the varnish comes off the laiugh when he begins to remember how easily she gets into his pockets.—Philadelphia Times. —"Look here," said the wrathful young lawyer; "I thought you swore to give a verdict in accordance with the facts?" "Wai," answered the juryman, thoughtfully pulling his beard, "the facts didn't turn out as I expected 'em to."—Indianapolis Journal. —After all, in view of the fact th^t pretty nearly half of the matter printed in the New York dailies relates to sporting, I arn not so sure but a college education is the very thing a young man needs to fit him for metropolitan journalism.—Detroit Free Press. —Promised His Mother He Wouldn' t— "I nover uso tobacco. No) "I've never toxiched It yet!" And then lie took a match and lit HU nasty cigarette. —Chicago Tribune. —Sarcastic in the Extreme.—Emma— "What do you suppose Aunty Quate would do if a robber were to demand her engagement ring or her life. Julia —"There 1 d be little difference which he took. If she lost either she d never get another."—Jeweler's Weekly. —A hardworking woman was asked: "Madame, areyoua woman suffragist?" "No, sir," was the answer, "I haven't time to be." "Haven't time? Well, if yon bad the privilege of voting, whom. UNCLE BILLY'S BUMMERS, cordially, sayings "Good ttlghfc. ! How Oon. Sherman's Men Got th* «e«t of Him nt Foraging. The Army of the Tennessee was "in light marching order" — that is, the general commanding carried only a "biled shirt' 1 and an extra pair of socks in his saddle valise — no tents, no camp impedimenta of any sort; and, of course, we soldiers carried only our blankets and a few tin cooking utensils. We had just accomplished one of a great many of the "good day's marches" (some forty- two miles), which we were accustomed to make in those days, and the column having halted, we had gone into bivouac in the woods alongside of the road, and through which we had been passing all the latter part of our day's march. Col. L -- -, owing to his seniority of rank, had been for a long time commanding our brigade. He was one of the bravest soldiers and most accomplished officers in our army, but, when he did not like his superior officer, was a little inclined to be in a measure insubordinate, or rather a great stickler for "regulation etiquette." i Our division commander was Col. Ewing (a brother-in-law of Oon. Sherman), and that night, it so happened, j Col. Ewing had forgotten to issue the ; usual orders for foraging, since, having swung loose from our base of supplies, we were forced to live off the country through which by borrowing from friends. For a quarter of we were passing our dear "Seceoh" an L— hour Col. waited impatiently for the usual order to arrive. None came, n He then sent a lieutenant along the road ahead of us to find Gen. Ewing, present Col. L—'s compliments, and ask for foraging orders. It so happened that. Uncle Billy had halted at Gen. Ewing's bivouac fire for and just as the lieutenant came up he was seated on a log, with the top of an old cracker box across his knees for a table, and, holding in his left hand one of those old sputtering candles, was busily engaged in writing one of his voluminous dispatches. After giving the salute the lieutenant commenced delivering his communication to Gen. Ewing, when Uncle Billy, lifting up one corner of his eye toward him, bluntly interrupted him with the inquiry: "Eh, young man, what's that? Where are you from?" "From Col. L 's brigade, sir," returned the soldier. x "Col. L ? CoL John L ? And he don't know how to forage, hey? Weil, now. I think that's a mighty strange story! You just go right back and tell Col. L I said so. A man that's been in the service as long as he has, and don't know how to forage! Well! well! Do you know who I am, young man? Well, then you go right -,..,.,.,, back to Col. L and deliver my mes- was fearless and faithful, sage!" commanded Uncle Billy, not giv- powerful, tender and true, goodnight Get as much sleep ftS _ can, as we make an fittrly start td-nio1*»',) row morning." • \ Just as he was turning awfty atl ««* ceedingly savory smell greeted his Hd*» l trils and the boys called out after hlh?{ Hold on, colonel. Won't you pleosd > come up to the fire, and we'll give ydii a bully supper?" ' "No, I thank you," replied the colonel. "But, bless my soul! where did ? you get that ham?" as the soldiers pro* ' ceeded to spread forth the supper t* which he had been invited. ,• "We drew this ham from the tiara- ' missary, colonel," replied the soldier* with a hearty laugh, in which all th* rest joined. "Well, boys," said the colonel, indignantly, as he thought of the brave old. general deprived thus of his supper, "if you ever draw another ham in thai way, I'll see that you are every one pun-- ished severely." "Why, colonel," cried the astonished soldiers, "we have just learned how to forage!"—Charles A. Nazro, in N. Y. Sun. A FRIGHTENED NEGRO. Ilia Uglitnlngr lint rent at the Battle of Pen Kid Re. "The worst frightened man I ever saw," said Judge Fitzgerald, of San- Francisco, "was at Pea Ridge, when we were attacked by the federal troops. For a body servant I had a strapping big negro boy, whose duty it was ttf look after my blankets and rations, and negro-like he was forever crawling' away into some out-of-the-way place ta sleep. Just as we were expecting the advance the federals opened fire on us at rather close range. We were on the skirmish line, and in a moment our men were deployed in battle array. Just as the fire began to grow heavy I heard a piercing yell and saw my negro- boy flying along between the lines. Every step would have measured fif* teen feet, and every time his foot struck the ground he would yell 'O Lord!' loud enough to be heard in both camps. With him he had my blankets and rations, and at every jump he would leave a portion of one or the other in his wake. As far as I could see him he was going like a frightened deer, and long after he was out of sight I could hear him yell. He had been sleeping exactly midway between the lines when the battle opened, and it is not surprising that he was scared. Two weeks elapsed before he returned to camp, but he never could be induced to talk of his Pea Ridge experience."—San Francisco Call. would you support?" "The same man I VO11 9» ing Gen. Ewing a chance to say a word or explain matters in any way. The next day, as the column was trudging along the road, Gen. Sherman, with his usual accompaniment of one or two aids, passed along by our brigade and spying Col. L he called out cheerily: "Good morning, colonel. How are I have supported for the past ten years." "And who is that?" "My husband."— Nebraska Journal. MISPLACED INSTINCTS. Fable of the Hen That Hatched Oat Ducks. A certain Hen al advancing Years had been accustomed all her life to hatch out Geese eggs. From watching Brood after Brood take to the water with a skill born of Heredity, she grew to plume herself on her talent as a teacher of the art Natatorial, and standing on the edge of the Pool would cackle instructions to the Goslings, and cluck with a becoming sense of Superiority when her sister Hens scuttled around in Hori or at such actions on the part of young Fowls. It so happened that one spring she hatched out a Brood of Chickens. Down to the Pool she marched with the flock and said: "Now, my Dears, I will teach yon to Swim." But the youngsters hugged the dry Land, and seemed to fear the water. Then said the Hen: "Do you doubt my Wisdom? Swim as did your Brothers before you. Law sakes what Geese you are!" Then she pushed them into the Water, where: they sank like Plummets, nor did they come to the Surface again. "Madam," said an old Rooster. "J hope you have Tumbled to the fact that the Youngsters ware not such Geese as you thought them-" Moral.—This Fable, kind reader, teaches us that a Hen's instincts are apt to be Misplaced.—Charles Battell Loomis, in Puck. To Keep Out Thieves. One of the most simple devices that has been applied to the ordinary door? loek to prevent tbe turning of the key by anyone outside is constructed of a single piece of beat wire. It is applied through the eye formed in the short end of tbe fastener- A pivoted connection allows it to be turned aside when tbfl device is not innse. The long arm o! the device is bent substantially at a right angle, iovming a finger, whisk projects into the key hole alongside the war4 ef the key effectually preventing its being turnwi or removed. Tbe r* lease of the key is effected by the pull- lug 1 ejjt of the finger, which immediate* ly flies out of the way autwwatw»lly.«~ Chicago Tribune. E*j>l»Jned. Cumso—An anti-kidnaping leagu* has been formed. Mrs- Cumso—Then that accounts fox it. ftly baby is *vmong the membership, I thQught it was merely insomnia, b«| I *f$ aw what it is.—Jury. Au Kiceptloa. a mistake," «a& Mr*, • guests b*d goa*; "ft is a, mi* that misery ' The colonel, who was in a bad humor, brought up his sword to a formal salute, simply saying, "General." "I say, L , that was a mighty queer message you sent me last night!" continued Uncle Billy. "I had not the honor of sending you any message, general," replied the colonel, with studied politeness. "The general of the division had omitted to issue orders for foraging, and I was obliged to address him upon the subject" "Oh! that was it was it?" chuckled Uncle Billy. Well, well! it's all right now. I hope the boys get enough to eat?"' "Oh! yes, general We know how to forage!" "Oh! you do, hey? Well, that's good!" and Uncle Billy started off at his usual headlong pace, crying after him: "Goodby, colonel Take care of yourself, old boy!" and he was gone. Some days after this we had again halted for the night when word was brought to Col. Ewing that Gen. Sherman wanted to see him at headquarters. The colonel proceeded at once to obey the message, and walked down the road to the general bivouac fire, where he found Uncle Billy walking up and down in the light of its blazing fagots, evidently somewhat disturbed, and very tactiturn and reserved in his manner. lie listened to the general's instructions quietty, made tbe interview as brief as possible, bade the general goodnight, and started back at oaco to return to his command. He had gone only a few paces when Uncle Billy's voice arrested him"Oh, colonel!" he called, "will you please come back here a moment? I must ask your pardon for speaking to you in such an abrupt and seemingly harsh way; but the fact is I'm all out oj sorts! You know we started this morning before sun up, and I only had for breakfast some cold bacon, hard tapk and coffee, and I haven't had a mouthful since. Back there in the woods this afternoon I bought a fine ham, and I meant to have a good supper, but do you know some of those confounded boys have actually stolen my haui!" The colonel offered to send bin) tbe best supper he could get up, But, no; Uncle Billy would not bear to this. "Ju,st forget my rudeness to-nigh t," he said: "I had no right to talk to you that way, however hungry and eross I might have been. I'll just eat some more bacon aud bard tack, and then we must all roll up iu ouj; blankets a»4 get what sleep we can, for you know we start on our march at early 4$$?% morrow. 1 will not detain you" therefore, colonel, «$ bid yojj "Jeb" Stuart's Monument. Seven miles from Richmond stands a lonely monument. It is on the old telegraph road, and broad fields surround it. Upon the granite shaft this is written: "Stuart. Upon this field Maj.-Gen. J. E. B. Stuart, commanding confederate cavalry, A. N. Va., received his mortal wound, May 11, 1864. He pure and; He saved Richmond, but he gave his life. Born February 6, 1833, died May 12, 1864. This stone is erected by some of hisr comrades to commemorate his virtues." Among the bravest and. most daring 1 of the southerners was "Jeb" Stuart. He was trying to hold Sheridan in check, and was shot by a dismounted man who was returning after charging past Stuart's position. As Stuart was beinff taken from the field he saw that his v men had become disorganized and were\ retreating. "Go back! go.back and do your duty as I have done mine, and our country will be safe. Go back! go- back! I had rather die than be whipped." These were his last words upon the field of battle.—Chicago Inter Ocean. SCATTERING SCRAPS. DR. C. F. RAND, of Washington, pos- . sesses a curious relic of the war. It is a piece of "hard tack" that formed a part of one of the doctor's rations just thirty years ago. GKN. G. T. BEAUREGARD is the sole survivor of those who held the highest rank, that of full general, in the confederate army. It is also said that out of the 498 men who bore the title of general in that army, but 18-t are living 1 . In another decade but few who fought on either side will be left to tell the- v story of carnage and hardships endured during the civil war. < "THIRTY years ago to-day," said a veteran soldier, who is also a newspa-*" per man, "I was wounded and captured at Bull Run. It happened that I was. p taken to a hut in the woods and was, not reported for several days. Missing * and supposed to be dead, my obituaiy was written in half a dozen newspapers, and I had the satisfaction of reading several that were sent to me $$ Libby Prison. It is not e^ery wan.', who survives his obituarie^: by thirty years." DUBING the war a man great in his own eyes was, by some influence, ap* pointed a brigadier-general His sense of his own importance was greatly b}- creased. He could hardly speak of any * thing else but his new dignity. jf eet* ing a "homespun" Yankee one day, h?" accosted Wnj thus: "Well, Jim, J WMtef.' pose you know I have been appoint a brigadier-general?" "Yes," said " "I heerd so," "Well, what- do say about it?" **They don't say *V," replied James, "they just Uuig&^jiN —Troy Times. ''-•'• p, M. P48J, of Calooan, (Ja,, wj to obtain the address of a, union whom he assisted to escape dersonville prison- Pass was a tbe prison in 1864, and he .says |h^ men were under puard one nigbt,* be was on duty- Q»9 wan sentence to be shot, toe other io?; trifling offense- Both men' "* to ajlow the condemned maa an4 be complied and ajtai pass outand comm three i«»sl«** *MH&& JMLM for thirty days jEp* the —"^---- w«H •w 1

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