rw fwwEKs eomcrio
‘The Howard nurse is only mentioned in
the papers as ’one of twenty-five' arriving on
such a date, or ‘one of twenty’ who are dead.
His name nobody knows. If he falls, his
friends only leatn of it because he fails to re
turn. In the future there is to be no roll-call
of a victorious army, with the proud answering
to his name, ‘Dead upon the field of honor.’
He gives his life for some plague-stricken
wretch, where there is none but God to know.’
New Yoke Tribune.
“Dead upon the field of honor—”
sweetandclear the legend rin
Through the music of the ages,
And the song the poet sings,
Tel 1 ig of the mighty heroes,
Fallen in the strife of kings.
Loud the trumpet wails its sorrow
O'er the ashes of the slain,
And the thunder ofthe cannon,
And the hoarse drum's hollow strain,
Voice a nation's saddened tiiumph
(Jn the battle’s fateful piaiu;
And upon the lofty column,
I'teru defiant ofthe Years,
And their tude wings ruthless beating,
-Yud the laurel wreath around it,
Loyal hearts bedew with tears.
Bui who mourneth for the heroes
Who, at duty's sacred call,
God-commissioned, calm, undaunted
Leave the hovel and the hall,
To confront the yellow cohorts
Of the Angel of the Fall.
Where for thixe the golden glamour
Art and.'song, and story shed?
Pomp and peans—proud orations ?
Solemn lequium forthedead?
Or the storied column, cloudward
Soaring from the narrow bed ?’
When, at last, the Spartan phalanx
In the dread, unequal fray
With Azraei s biack-winged legions—
Onward rushing, night and day—
Like the grain beneath the sickle
Fall, and sink iu death away;
On the altar of high duty.
Angel-guarded, laying down
Life and hope, anti every jewel
Of their being's robe and crown;
Dying with the dying wretches
Ah : they need no storied columns,
Such as tell the pride of kings;
Pomp and peaus, proud orations,
Are for these but idle tilings—
Deeds of such divinest splendor
Seraph harp more fitly sings !
How they died, and dying conquered
Death and Time, none may disclose;
In the Day of Judgment, angels
Will tin- mystery disclose;
‘‘Dust to dust’’—and if no tablet
Marks the place of their repose,
Write above them all—“God knows.’ •
Chables W. Hubner,
Atlanta, Ga., Sept 17th, lt>7«.
' ■ "AV - >,
. - *-i r :_Y
■5*r&g%S& r ' j ~ |i
COMPLETE IN ONE MEMBER.
BY J. D. BEZEL.
Theresa Lane was an orphan, dependent on
the charity of a rich uncle. Poor, and withal
very plain in the face, she was neglected by the
gay fashionables who frequented her uncle's
house and paid obsequious attention to her fair
Lut Theresa had a heart—a warm, true, wo
manly heart it was, but all its outgushing af
fection was thrown back upon itself. There was
within her a wild yearning to be loved, cher
ished and appreciated. However, as it was,
she had but little chance of being treated with
even common politeness when her beautiful
cousin was near.
Gertrude Arden was beautiful, and to do her
justice, she was naturally good-hearted; but
flattery and fashion had conspired to make her
vain . nd frivolous. Accustomed always to be
first in all circles where the stronger sex pay
homage to the weaker, she thought not of yield
ing to her humble cousin those little attentions
which make a woman’s life an earthly paradise.
Gerirude was never unkind, but thoughtless
Among the visiters to Mr. Arden’s splendid
mansion, none were nobler, handsomer or wor
thier than Eustace Clinton, the only child of a
deceased millionaire. Every one prophesied
that many moons would not wax and wane ere
Eustace and Gertrude would call each other by
a tenderer name than that of friend, and indeed
circumstances seemed to justify the assertion;
for Clinton and Miss Arden were constantly to
gether, at the social party, the promenade and
Theresa saw much of Clinton necessarily, and
she thought him the noblest of all her cousin's
admirers. Her enthusiastic soul saw in him
one whom the earthly had left uncontaminaied
—one nearly allied to the heavenly. She felt
happy in his presence; she was glad when he
came; she sighed when he went away.
Gradually in her lone, young heart, there had
grown a regard for Eustace Clinton, and that
regard had deepened into an earnest, self-sacri
ficing love. It was a strong love, pent up close
within her own bosom; it throve upon the re
membrance of a tone, u look, a smile. But The
resa would not have confessed as much to her
self; she guarded well her heart, and put a seal
upon her lips.
The all-memorable day sacred to St. Yalen -
tine was at hand.
Gertrude was wondering what would be de*
creed to her on that important day, and in her
joyous anticipation she hinted to Theresa that
it might be the betrothal ring from Eustace
ed for its
met the A
Gen. D. is
the North j
Eagle of FI
Street Costumes for October. (From Demorest’s Magazine for October.
i Theresa felt a sharp pain at her heart, as her
! cousin said this, but hers was a face that told
Painfully that night did the poor orphan feel
her utter loneliness, when the gay, gilded mis-
i sives, filled with earnest protestations for her
fair cousin, were brought in. Of course there
was none for Theresa. Who wouid notice a
poor dependent like her?
Tears came up in Theresa’s eye3. Not that
she had expected any remembrance, not that
i she cared for those simple little trifles called
valentines; but if there had been but one for
her it would have shown that some one in the
wide world thought of her and wished to make
her happy on that festal day.
Gertrude tossed the shining tokens into a
heap, declaring petulantly that it was too bad
for Clinton to disappoint her so, when she had
expected something exquisite from him.
| Theresa sighed softly—'twas a habit she had
when she did not choose to reply to a remark.
Presently the door bell rang. Gertrude sprang
‘It is Clinton’s valentine forme, I know,’ she
said triumphantly. ‘I thought it very strange
that he should have forgotten me,’ and she met
the servant who had replied to the summons, in
the middle of the hail. ‘Letters tor me, John ?’
and she held out her hand.
‘Miss Theresa Lane,’ said John, reading from
‘For Theresa?’ ejaculated Gertrude, in sur-
I prise. ‘Let me Lave it—quick, quick, John !
who could have been sending a valentine to our
Theresa had risen at the sound of her name,
, and stood, crimson with emotion, just within
; the parlor door.
‘Give it to me Gertrude,’she said eagerly ap
proaching her cousin. ‘Give it to me, if it is
‘Nay, my flattered little cousin,’ said the
beauty langhin.’iy, ‘wait until I have inspected
it,’ will you ? Ah ! that is no lover's writing—
it is a lady’s chirography, evidently; some of
1 your delightful rustic acquaintances, Theresa,
i so you need not blush about it,’ and she threw
' the letter contemptuously towards her.
5 Theresa picked it up and hastened*to her
chamber. It was a delicately-enameled envel-
j ope, bore the postmark of a neighboring town,
and was directed to ‘Miss Theresa Lane’ in a
! fair hand.
Theresa broke the pretty piok seal. There
; was a sheet of delicate cream-colored lace paper,
j with the words, ‘I love thee,’ in gilt letters on a
I pale satin scroil. That was all. Theresa turn-
| ed it round and round in search of some letter
j or word which might reveal to her its origin;
l but all was pure and stainless.
She sat down and thought. Who could have
sent it to her ? Who remembered her ? Was it
true that someone loved her? Did valentines
always speak truly? And poor little Theresa
was as happy as any titled countess of the old
Laugh if you will, rosy-cheeked, brigbt-eved
lassies, who annually receive bushels of St Val
entine’s mystic tokens, but when you have been,
like Theresa, alone in the world, beloved, ca
ressed, smiled on by nobody, you will rejoice
even in the imagination that one cares for you.
Theresa’s sleep that night was sweet and full
of pleasant dreams. Of course we would not
pretend to sav for certain, but we presume that
Eustace Clinton figured conspicuously in the
Gertrude laughed at Theresa’s valentine, de
claring, with a pitying toss of her pretty head,
that somebody did it to impose on poor Theresa’s
credulity and forthwith the remembrance of the
valentine went out of every aeart but one.
Mr. Clinton came, as usual, quite often, taking
Gertrude out for rides and to concerts.
The next week after the memorable fourteenth
of February, the public was thrown into a state
of eager excitement by the announcuient that the
world-renowned nightingale, the fair Jenny Lind
was coming to visit and sing to them.
The admission fees were enormous, and only
the ‘upper tendom’ could afford to gratify their
sense of hearing by lightening so perceptibly
their money receptacles.
Two davs before the night fixed on for the
concert, Mr. Clinton called to solicit the pleas
ure of Gertrude’s company on the occasion of
the concert. Gertrude gladly consented and
cast a look of triumph at poor Theresa, who was
sewing at a window. Clinton looked that way also.
‘Have you a taste for music, Miss Lane? said
he kindly, passing to her side as he spoke.
She raised her dark, melancholy eyes to his
face and said, half sadly:
‘Oh, yes, I love music very much.’
A pleased expression passed over Clinton’s
fine face as he said:
‘Will you not favor us with your society to
morrow evening? It will increase my conse
quence,’he added, laughing, ‘to have two ladies
under my care, and Miss Arden will undoubt
edly enjoy the music better if her cousin listens
Theresa tried to answer negatively but Mr.
Clinton overruled her objections, and it was ar
ranged that Theresa was to go with Mr. Clinton
and her cousin.
Theresa was enraptured with the singing,and
Clinton was very happy in seeing the happiness
he had wrought.
The next morning after the concert, Mr. Clin
ton called at Mr. Arden’s. Gertrude was out on
a shopping expedition; but it was just as well,
for Mr. Clinton asked for Miss Lane, so the ser
vant showed him into the parlor where Theresa
Theresa informed him of Gertrude’s absence,
adding that she regretted it much, but that her
cousin would soon return. Mr. Clinton arose
and took the vacant seat by her on the sofa.
‘I do not regret her absence,’ he said, earnest
ly. ‘It’s you I came to see—only 5011, Theresa,’
and he smiled upon her from his dark, thought
ful eyes. ‘Theresa,’ he said again, taking her
hand in his, ‘I have loved you for a long time
—the valentine told you so, didn’t it? Theresa,
I have been getting deeper and deeper in love
with your quiet goodness every day of my life.
To me you are ell ihat is beautiful and lovable
in woman. You fill a void in my heart which
has been a void ever since the days of my earli
Then he wound his arms around her and drew
h6r very gently to his bosom, and Theresa,
weary, lonely little Theresa, felt a great load cf
sorrow raised from her soul.
Very tenderly he kissed her, and smoothed
back her dark hair carressingly, and Theresa
closed her eyes in deep thankfulness.
And so it catna about that Eustace Clinton
sent the unpretending little valentine, and The
resa Lane rejoiced in the true, earnest love of
one noble and good.
Gertrude knew it all, after awhile, and she
pouted and wept albr the manner of a spoiled
beauty. But the arrival of a lover in the form
of a rich gentleman, did much towards soothing
her woe, and she even congratulated her cousin
on her brilliant prospects.
When the autumn wind began to burl the
sere leaves relentlessly on its wings, Enstace
took Therasa to his spmndid home—his wife.
And she lives, loving and beloved, the idol of
her husband’s heart, and the cherished one of
his household—good and true, if not beautiful.
A Way Passenger. — ‘He was a cull’ed tramp,’
and approached Captain Jase Phillips as the
train hauled up at Pewee. ‘Is you de captin ob
do kears?’ ‘Yes,’ replied Jase. ‘Don’t want
fo’ ter to hire any deck bands doz ye, ?’ ‘No !
I’m not running a steamboat.’ ‘Z„c'iy ! Mout
I ride straddle ob de cow-snatcher to de nix’
landin’—Tsebusted an’ a long ways from home?’
•Get on. Ail aboard ! ’ and the negro strad
dled the ‘cow-snatcher.’ Ed Giigan pulled out
the throttle wide open, and the train had not
gone more than half a mile before the engine
m Hided with a cow, thro wing it over a fence into
a corn-field, and the negro after the cow. Next
day coming down, the negro limped up to
Jase. at the same depot, and said: ‘Boss, I
didn’t ride far wid you on dat cow-snatcher.
Ease you see de cow wanted to ride dar, too, an'
dar want room fo’ bofe of ns so wo got off toged-
der up here in a c’on-tield fo’ to rest. De next
time I rides wid you I’ll freez3 to de tail-gate ob
de waggon—hit’s safer.’
Tallahassee, the capital oity, is very pictures
que ly built on a cluster of hills. It has about
2500 inhabitants and is a pretty and attractive
place, with its grand oid trees, well-kept walks
and tasteful flower-gardens. Within the city
limits are several groves of venerable trees whose
giant limbs fling to the breeze long tassels of the
graceful gray moss that is found in 3uch profu
sion in Florida.
The capital building is painted a dark brick-
red color and is rather an ordinary looking piece
of architecture, though the grounds are grace
fully laid out and planted with rare flowers.
While in Tallahassee, we attended an enter
tainment given by the Musical Club, and the
proficiency displayed both in instrumental and
vocal music btspoko talent and culture in the
The Dramatic Association played the Lady of
Lyons, also, during onrstay in a very creditable
"tty of the capital city is distingnish-
refinement and cordiality. Hera we
jut: nt General cf the state,Gen. Dick-
his very beautiful and lovely wife,
quite a hero of the late war between
Uid South. His gray clad and half
'Powers denominated him the War
rids, a title he still retains among
We also met Mr. Columbus Drew, poet and
now State Comptioller; a very pleasant gentle
man; scholarly in his address, but with great
suavity of manner. He allowed us a peep into
his scrap bock, which contains many poems
from his own pen. His ‘Battle of Life’ is grand
and strengthful, but nothing he ha3 written is
so pathetically touching as his poem, ‘All is Qui
et On Oiustee Tc-nighr,’ in imitation of All is
Quiet Along the Pctomac.
Ex-Gov. Walker, Ex-Governor Bioxham. Judge
e vV: hoi»u in l -& . .ghttui city oi .nuv
Taking a carriage at Tallahassee wo rode six
teen miles into the country aloDg a smooth, white
sandy road, through the breezy and softly sigh
ing pine woods, to the far tamed Wakulla Spring.
Tradition has it that this is really the Fountain
of Youth, and surely its waters are bright and
beautiful enough to pos3es-> a potent charm.
The spring is three hundred yarns across and
one hundred and eighty feet deep. It boils up
and flows off boldly, forming the Wakulla river,
which empties into the St. Mark’s lower down,
and flows on until it mingles with the bine wa
ters of the gulf. This spring is wonderfully
beautiful, rendered peculiarly so'by the crystal
clearness of its water, which must act as a mag
nifier, for every tiny shell, sprig of moss and
pebble can bo seen distinctly resting on the bot
tom. As the sunlight falls on the white sand
and bright objects that compose the bottom,
where not covered with rushes and moss, they
flash back every tint of the rain-bow, and one
could easily imagine they gazed upon a bit of
fairy land, sparkling with diamonds, emeralds
and pearb. Surely upon earth there is nothing
else more peacefully beautiful than Wakulla
THE CHEROKEE FOUNTAIN.
One mile from Wakulla Spring is the Chero
kee Fountain—a lime sink at which we spent a
very pleasant day. It is about one hundred
yards in diameter and eighty feet in depth. The
water a very peculiar bluish-green color and
not at all palatable, is what is called the rotten
limej-tcne water. This sink has an abundance
of fish and so indeed has every stream, lake or
spring in Florida.
A Curious Story.
A romantic case is just now interesting the
residents of a certain street not a thousand miles
from the ‘gilded dome.’ A gay and strong-mind
ed widow married a rich widower a few years
ago, and in process of time a girl baby appear
ed in the family. The story was that through
a carelessly left open door a foundling had been
left on the lady's bed, with a letter properly
made out in which this new-born infant had
been presented to the lady as her very own, to
hold and to keep as her individual property.
This story was, of course, accepted by the
friends of the family, though most noticed a re
markable resemblance between the child and
the lady and her husband. After a time disa
greements came to the married pair; a divorce
was agreed upon, but the custody of the child
is now the bone of contention, both claiming it.
The lady claims it was given to her personally :
says that in court she will produce the verita
ble mother, who gave the child to her and de
sires her to keep it. The gentleman, on the
ether hand, says he can produce the most re
liable evidence that the child was born in his
house, and that his wife is the real mother; that
she deceived even him for a time; that her mo
tive was to fix things so that, if she should get
tired of living with him, the law could not take
away the child from hbr. Ho says he has abun
dant proof that many strong-minded women
make these plans to evade the laws, and notices
several suspicious instances arnoDg the set with
whom his wife associates. The lady, meanwhile
remains cool, and one of her friends, a man of
good judgement, says he has personally inier-
viewed the woman who claims to be the mother,
and is perfectly satisfied that thi3 woman did
leave a child of hers in the manner described
on the lady's bed, and, whatever the truth may
be, she believes herself the mother of the child
in dispute. But again ho has also good reason
to think that the lady did herself give birth to
an infant about that time; and, if there were
two, where is the other? he asks. And so the
plot deepens, and one can but repeat the trite
sayings : ‘Truth is stranger than fiction, and
‘The ways of women are past finding out,