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My Castle.
BY YKISCIB HE BAER JANVI KB.
“ The rain descended, and the flood* came, and the
winds blew, and beat upon that house ; audit fed, and
great wan the fall of it. I ’—Matthew, vii., 27.
I built & castle, where the sunny sea
Tossed its bnght billows in the summer air;
A noble cast'c— fashioned regally.
With lofty towers, and portals wide and lair.
The rarest marble* paved its spacious halls ,
Grand arch* s spanned each ceiling’s stately height;
With rich mosaics glowed it* panneled walls;
And through stained windows poured prismatic
light.
I tilled it with the choicest works of art
That taste, and skili, and labor, could supply ;
With treasures gleaned trorn every famous mart;
With'all the luxury that wealth could buy.
And there, unmindful of the perished pa-t,
Or what in the dim future mlfht betide—
Within the present, beautiftft and vast.
I bade my heart he happy—and abide—
But, suddenly, the sky was tilled with gloom ;
A fierce convulsion shook the thickening air ;
And thunder-tones pronoun ed.dread words of doom,
Traced, ori the darkness, In the lightning's glare 1
The raging ocean, wiih a fearful swelL
Swept, through the tern nest, deluging the land ;
And, reeling from its base, my castle fell—
For I had founded it upon the sand I
The storm wa> spent—and, with a sullen moan,
Back, from the ruin, rolled the waves once more
And, sorrow stricken, I went forth, alone—
A hopeless outcast, on a Urea*y shore !
W* 1 hixotoji, D. C.
A Summer Longing.
1 must away to wooded hills and vales,
Where broad, slow streams flow cool ami silently;
And idle barges flap their listless sails....
For roe the Summer sunset glows aud pales,
And green fields wait for me.
I long for shadowy forests, where the birds
Twitter and chirp at noon from every tree.
T long for blossome 1 leaves and lowing herds:
And Nature’s voices say, in mystic words,
“ The green fields wait for thee.”
I dream of uplands, whe-e the primrose shines,
And waves her yellow lamps above the lea ;
Os tangled copses, swung with trailing vines;
Os open vistas, skirted with tall pines,
Where green fields wait for me.
1 think of long, sweet afternoons, when I
May lie and listen to the distant sea,
Or hear the breezes in the reeds that sigh,
Or insect-voices chirping shrill and dry,
J u fields that wait for me.
These dreams of Summer come to hid me find
The forest's shade, the wild bird’s melody,
While Summer’s rosy wreaths for me are twined,
While Summer’s fragrance lingers on the wind,
And green fields wait for rue.
\ George Arncld.
Stanzas. - |
Thou would’st any guardian angel lie?
Al.ih 1 thou know’st not what the task
The angel that shall guardian me
Must suffer more than I can ask.
1 would not have one pang of mine
I’uss from this bosom into thine.
How caii’st thou know the angry mood
That grows in strife' with fellow-men,
The resti ss and unholy brood
• £ of passions that assault me then ?
istay, pitying, in thy gentler sphere,
And pray for me who struggle here.
Yet still thou woold’et the danger share,
And ward the blows in store for me,
And turn all stormy skies to fair?
Sweet angel, that can never be,
For mine from thy way runs apart,
And I alone must nerve ray heart.
Still, though thy heart may never guide
Me through my dark an 1 doubtful way,
I bless tiie love, whate’er betide,
That made the? wish to be my stay :
And though I elasp thee not, O spread
'Thy gentle hands above my bead.
f (found Table.
Slavery not Extinct.— “ Mack,” of the
Cincinnati Commercial, writes from Florida
that slavery still exists there, notwithstanding
Mr. Lincoln’s proclamation and the Constitu
tional Ameudiuent. The Seminole Indians,
who inhabit the lower portion ot the Siato-jOr
the Everglades—have always held a number of
negro slaves, and still hold them. Not long
since a surveying party from Northern Florida
went down among these Indiana, and while
there a number of negroes were offered for
sale to them. The whites told the^ Indians that
slavery had becu abolished in the United States,
but the lndiaus replied that it hadn’t been abol
ished among them and couldn’t be, by any act
of Congress. I have tried to ascertain about
how many slaves these Seminoles have, but.
have not been successful. They have enough,
however, to cultivate their farms and do much
of the hard manual labor among them. The
number is being increased by kidnapping.—
The late rebels, I am told, frequently kidnap
negroes and take them to the Indians, to whom
they sell them for a trifle in skins or game.
The Evergladis are occupied exclusively by
the Seminoles and are seldom visited by the
whites.
Gen. Baker, who was at thoTicad of the de
tective branch of the War Department during
the war, has been publishing his memoirs, in
the course, of which he says that Mrs. Surratt
confessed to him “ her complicity with the con
spirators, so far as the intended abduction was
concerned, but affirmed that she reluctantly
yielded to the urging of Booth in aiding the
plot of assassination.” Why did not Baker tes
tify to this fact on the trial of Mrs. Surratt ?
He could scarcely have coucealed it from the
prosecuting officers of the Government, aud it
was certainly quite as important for the pur
poses *>f that trial as it is for Gen. Baker’s me
moirs, or for the purposes of the Judiciary
Committee of Congress, before which he says it
has been given. It is more direct in its bear
ing on the question of Mrs. Surratt’s guilt than
any of the testimony upon which she was con
victed aud hung.— X. F. Times.
Another Murder.— ln Crawford comity,
adjoining the Warrior District of Bibb, on
Friday, the 24fti iust., a Mr. Reeves and a Mr.
Walton were engaged in farming. A dispute
arose between them, and several blows were
passed. Our informant states that Mr..Walton
struck Mr. Reeves a fatal blow with his hoe.
He is now under arrest.
The full particulars will be giren so soon as
authentically reported. Both parties are well
known to many of the citizens of the Warrior
District. — Macon Journal and Messenger.
A merchant of Newburyport, Mass., recently
received a telegram from Calcutta, which had
been but two days and five hours on its pas
sage. The dispatch cost SSOO, and had traveled
over 13,000 miles.
Native Opinion , a Bombay weekly journal
has coined two words, which may or may not
take root in the language. They are “diglot”
(and why not diglot as well as pollyglot ?) and
“jointstockeries.”
MY SISTERS.
I might ns well entitle this story “My Pa
rents,” if I intended the interest of it to tarn
upon the elements of fh<* unknown. As ranch
! strangeness and bewilderment came to rae from
] that source as from thCothcr.
When I returned home at the age of seven -
; teen, from the house of an aunt, where I had
i been brought up, I found my sisters tall, beua
j tiful girls. *
Maria, the eldest, was polished, gracelul, in»
j tellectual; but there was something about bet
| that I could not fathom. She went into society,
I dressed, danced, smiled at admiration like other
! girls, but with a kind of indifference through
'it all, a coldness not betokened by the
j warm black eyes and full red lips. Once, at
I some apparently trivial occasion, I saw her eyes
suddenly kindle, and flash upon my inothej a
look of boiling rage. Then she bit her lips Aril
they were white, her face snatched back her re
pose, and I saw that my beautiful sister pos
sessed a power of self-control which I had not
dreamed of.
Adele, the younger one, also bad a faculty of
secretivencss. Her mask was a gay, whimsical,
careless one ; better, perhaps, than the otiier —
for it not only did not attract, but warded off
suspicion.
My mother was a Frenchwoman, of* consum
mate tact, ruling her own house as far as her
sceptre could reach ; and ipy sisters submitted
willingly to her dictation in their plans and
pleasure, in all matters regarding society and
etiquette ; but there was no confidence between
them. My father was a gentleman of the old
school, small in stature, of measured tones and
ways, dry, and matter-of-fact. Here one would
have said, no passion could ever be —had ever
been.
We lived in a large, handsome h*use in a
; pleasant neighborhood, furnished with old-sash
ioned elegance, surrounded by a garden whose
elms had been planted by iny father’s* great
grandfather. I was initiated, immediately on
ray arrival, into a gay, hospitable circle.
One evening my mother gave a large party.
All the appointments were elegant. The spa
cious hall echoed to the strains of a band of
mnsic. The stately dra wing-rooms were decked
with beautiful flowers. The gardens were lit
with colored lamps. I have seldom seen a more
beautiful sight than my two sisters doing the
honors of the scene, Marie in her usual impas
sive way. i watched them closely, to see if I
could detect any signs of preference for any of
the numerous admirers who thronged around
them ; for, as 1 knew this to be a general party,
including all the best families of the country, 1
thought that I might here find a clue te the mys
tery that enveloped Marie and Adele.
As Marie was bidding adieu to a Mr. Eccle
ston, a gentleman with whom she had neither
danced nor conversed more than with others,
she said to him, “ I hope you have passed a
pleasant evening, Mr. Eccleston ?”
“ Thank you, Miss Jessop,” he replied; “I
have-not!”
The last word was inaudible to all, save to
Marie and rae, who had eagerly turned. It was
over in a moment, the look that passed. Then
Marie grew as white as the camille ou her
bosom. *
1 alterward learnt that, one or two nights in
every week, Marie would wrap herself in a cloak
and leave the room, remaining away an hour or
more. A night or two after the party my moth
er discoved her absence: When Marie returned
she found my father up and ready for her. The
scene that ensued in the adjoining room, which
was my mother’s dressing room, would form,
in truth a scene for a tragedy. Marie, crouching
ia a heap on the floor by the couch, enveloped
in her immense cloak —my mother, in her white j
night dress, her black hair streaming almost to j
her feet, her eyes glowing, a red spot of anger j
in each cheek, her magnificent arm extended j
toward her poor shrinking daughter, as she :
stood opposite my father, urging him on. He i
needed no urging, however. Never had I im
agined such depth and concentration of passion,
such venom in words and tones. What a fear
fully violent temper—what an imperious will
lay bidden underneath that methodical exterior !
I did.not wonder that Marie cowered; and 1
perceived something of one influence under
which the family lived that had hitherto been
unknown to me.
He seemed to be taunting Marie with some
thing. Suddenly she sprang to her feet and
cried, “ It is not true, it is not true ; I have not
seen him ! I never went out to meet him. I
have not exchanged words with him, except in
your presence. He has kept his promise, and
I have obeyed you.”
“ What sent yon out at night, then ?” hissed
between his teeth.
“ I went,” answered Marie, “ to see
the house whf re he lives—to walk around it —
to see the liglif in his window. I could uot help
it.” ' *v\. .
• *ft Si j/
“Sp !” said Trv «*hor; and if ever human
accent anddfeiturcs* expressed contempt, utter
eontemnffTiis did,* *JW! A love-sick ramble!
You could not help itlXj*
Mane dropped on the p%>r again. My father
turned to his wife. *
“ So, Madam, this is you bring up
your children !’’
It was mv .mother’s turn tt> tremble. She
tried to keep "her eves steady and her bearing
erect, but in vain.. My fatbevearue close to her
ail'd added iome words, fn i\ low time, of which
I only caught, sufficient to Juiow.that they re
fered to his eafly life—ttrair earjy life. They
had, then, a past heart*'sirring And eventful
enough to be ilf! j q a moment such as
this. How I mb then I
speculated : “ Had he fMRd she
ever loved him ?” a - \ . . •
Tne household.styjyftaq.silence again. Marie
crept to her bed, VeftJsed .ncW" day to answer ray
inquiries, refused my sympathy; met her fath
er's ceremonious courtesy at the breakfast table
with her usual dignified, lady-like demeanor. —
When all other eyes were east down, Adele
looked at me and smiled. *
Mr. Eccleston called that week to pay his re
spects after the party, and also to,pay Ins adieux
preparatory to going to America.
“ And when do you intend to sail ?” inquired
my mother. .1C
“ The week after next, in the Persia,” he re
plied. “I am weary of this life.” •.
“ On Saturday ?” continued my mother.
“The Persia’s day of sailing is - "«D
Marie, but Mr. Eccleston interrupted he!* with
some remark.
“ Do you go alone?” asked my mother.
“ I do not yet know,” he answered; “but I
trust not,” with a fixed look at Marie.
Soon Mr. Eccleston rose to go.
“I will not say good-bye,” lie continued.—
“ I shall pass the garden gate, the morning of
my departure, on my way to the train, and I
may run in lor a few moments. Till then—
and be shook hands with all the ladies.
Not a look of triumph, of comprehension,
did my mother permit herself; and yet she had
understood the whole. “ I go iu the Persia,
week after next—l hope and trust not to go
alone—l shall he at the gardeu gate, in the
morning, in time to take the tram—l ean stop
but a few moments—till then Iu her
very house, ay, in conversation with herself,
had' he dared to arrange the scheme—thus not
breaking his promise of holding no eommuni
cqtion with Marie, except iu her parenus' pre
sence.
“ Marie,” said my mother, as the former was
leaving the room, “ take care!’’
Mane turned, aud the}' faced each other for
a few moments, apparently forgetting they
were mother and daughter, meeting on equal
ground.
My mother let the days pass on with the as
surance of one who holds the cards in her own
hand. The following Wednesday, Marie asked
me to take a walk in the village with her.
i “ Let ue go by the back gate,” she said.
SfGfofA, GA., WEDNESDAY MOENING, JUNE 5, 1867.
j As we approached this gate, which was shaded
| W some thick elm trees, the latch turned and
| Mr.-Eccleston appeared.
Jr “Marie!”
nenry!”
Not a word more was said, but she laid her
| hand in his with an expression of melancholy
j confidence. He bowed gravely over it, holding
] it firmly. . .
Marie turned to me, saying: • '
“ Tell my mother, Amelia, that the Persia’s
! day of sailing is Wednesday, not Saturday, as
she might have found by looking at the papers.
’ Her arrangementa-were, undoubtedly, made for
Saturday. I shall not be here then. Good bye !
Heaven bless you !” - * .
And before I could half understand what she
was about* she passed through the garden-door.
Mr. Eccleston had lifted her into his phaeton,
and they were gone.
Oh ! but my father’s rage was terrible ! My
mother, overwhelmed with mortification and
anger at her oversight, bore it in silence, with
Adele and myself.
At last he turned so Adele. “ Never shall
another daughter of mine disgrace herself so !
Adele, have you been flirting with any one?
If you have —by heaven, you shall marry him,
and that at once? Did I not hear something
onoe about the music master ?
Adele colored crimson.
“Ah !” said my father. “ How far has it
gone ? Does he profess to love yoy ? Answer
my question.”
“ Yes,” falterec] Adele.
“ And you love him —enough to flirt with
him ?” said he. “ Very well, you shall marrv
him !”
“ Mr. Jessop,” pleaded my mother, “I beg of
you to stop and think. Do not way to
passion.”
* “Passion !” returned my fither. “Madam, I
never was cooler and more determined in my
life. When does the young man come here
again ?”
“To-day,” admitted Adele.
It so happened that, within half an hour, he
rang the bell. My father walked into the
library.
“So, sir, you have been making love to my
daughter, have you?”
Mr. Bayard and stammered.
“I am not going to quarrel with you about it
now,” continued my father. “I only wish to
know if you want to marry her ? If so, you
must do it immediately. I’ll give her to you
with five thousand pounds in three weeks from
this day. Do yon want time to make up your
mind? Here, Adele!” he called out; “come
here to me!”
Adele came in.
“Your lover wants time to decide.”
“You mistake, Mr. Jessop,” said young Mr.
Bayard. “All this is so sudden, so strange ! I
did not know whether MUs Adele herself was
willing.”
“ Willing ? Faith! I haven’t asked her. I
asked you if you were willing to take her,”
answered my father. “ I am a practical man,
Mr. Bayard,” he continued, regaining his ordi
nary measured tones ; " and I’ll have no more
nonsense in my house. My eldest daughter
has just put the crowning touch to a most un
happy entanglement by running away to get
married. 1 intend my second daughter shall
finish her flirtation by getting married under my
own eyes.”
So it was arranged. My mother tried in vain
to change ray father’s determination by every
representation and art. As for Adele, she ap
peared to be very happy. *
“ Have you made fitting preparations ?” my
father, asked of my mother when the day
came.
“ I did not suppose that any were neces
sary beyond sending notice to the clergyman,
which I believe you have done,” was the
answer.
'“No preparations necessary ?” said he. “Cer
tainly they are necessary. My daughter must
be married in a becoming way, in the house of
her father. It is due to myself—to ray name.
The hour for the ceremony was ten, I believe.
Let it be delayed for one hour. . That, I think,
should afford you time to order a proper colla
tion, and all things accordingly.”
At the appointed hour, my father came Walk- !
ing slowly down stairs, drawing on his white j
kid gloves, dressed with the utmost precision. j
There had been a little confusion in the house, j
owing to the absence of the bridegroom. A !
note had been sent, warning him of the change
of hour ; but as he did not present himself at
eleven o’clock, it had been followed by a mes
sage to ascertain if it had been delivered. The
second messenger returned, saying that Mr.
Bayard had been stricken with the cholera.
“Well, girl, will you go and nurse him?”
said my father to Adele. “No, not a ease of
cholera? Well, I believe you are right. He’s
not worth risking your life for, and you’re not
married to him yet.”
My father took off his white kids. Poor
Adele went to her room. We ate some of the
collation for our dinner.
Mr. Bayard was very ill; aud, in spite of all
care and skill, he died that day.
Did Adele’s heart break ? No. She was
quite a belle in Brighton last winter.
A Man-Wolf. —Rev. Dr. Butler, the well
known missionary in India, recently returned to
this couutry. He makes the following statement
of a remarkable case:
In 1859 a British soldier, while bearing a dis
patch from one magistrate to another in the
Kingdom of Oude, passed an unfrequented ra
vine, where he saw a pack of wolves, and with
them a human being evidently one of their com
pany. Immediately turning back he reported
the circumstance to the magistrate for whom he
was traveling. The latter forthwith mustered
a number of Coolies and went to the place.
The pack of wolves fled a short distance and
sought refuge iu a sort of cave or den. Begin
ning to dig,’ the party soon discovered the leet
ol the wild man and drawing him forth, succeed
ed in binding and carrying him to the town.
Dr. Butler has seen him often since, and says
he is evidently a man, and at the time of his
capture apparently about twentv-four years of
age.
The captured creature at first violently resist
ed the attempt to put clothing upon him, but
after a while ceased to tear the garment. He is
now kept by a gentleman in the city of Thabje-
Vampore, some eight hnudred miles west of Cal
cutta. W hen first taken he was willing to eat any
thing but raw meat, and has uever been able to
speak or maxc auy approximation to a knowl
edge of the alphabet. If any one looks earn
estly or sharply at him, he expresses his annoy
ance by a half uttered grunt immediately turn
lug away aud settling upon his haunches in a cor
ner of the room, or lies down. He eats his food
off the ground: aud although evidentlv a human
being is in habits a wolf, with the instincts of
that beast.
This is certainly au anomalous fact in natural
history, although it is said that four similar
cases are known to have occurred in India, pre
senting thesame general facts. Wolves abound
in India, where the inhabitants live whollv in the
cities and villages ; and at the approach of night
all persons employed in-the open country retire
o thesb clusters of houses or hut, and these
Ufr»fn£n?L OCioaß anhnals find free range.
It frequently happens that a wolt steals into a
house and carries off a child. So frequently is
C *'fh tiat - m . t . he schedules furnished*for
recording the mortality iu each place, ohe col
.mu is headed, “Carried off by wolves.”
Dr. Butler s theory of this strange ease is
h« e ' W ° lf P - r °r bably carried off this person
when he was an infant, but that before she de-
IStSfiS P £ y ’- th - Child * nst ' nct *vely search
ed for food. Beginning to draw its nourishment,
lidTn W °Vi the ™? tern! »l instinct which
led to the preservation of its life, and thus the
boy lived and grew.
The First Battle of Manassas—What Did
L* SJtonewaU Jackson Think ?
% -J
T)JJ. fDiBSEY AND GENERAL JOHNSTON.
Some weeks ago, says the Richmond En
qvirer, we published a letter of General Joseph
I E.-Johnston in review of some of the state
ments in Dr. Dabney’s life of General Jackson,
(.and particularly his narrative of the first battle
| of Manassas, and the subsequent inaction.—
General Johnston, while assuming the respon
sibility for that inaction, maintained that it was
palpably unavoidable, and that General Jackson
could not have expressed a contrary opinion as
alleged.
• Dr. Dabney, as might be expected, does not
allow himself to be driveu from the field. He
publishes a letter of nearly seven columns in
| the Selma Messenger , in which he defends his
statements by citations of authorities, which
1 would seem quite conclusive, if not of the cor-
I rec-tuess of the facts alleged,, at least of good
i reason for believing them correct. We copy
; the portion which refers to Jackson’s opinion
: of the propriety of pursuit after the firsUMa
! nassas:
5. The next, and doubtless the main point
! with General Johnston, is the opinion advanced
! by Gen. Jackson, and defended by in?, that the
pursuit should have been pressed and Washing
ton threatened. General Johnston justifies bis
rhavalry for not pursuing further, because, says
he, “ it was driven back by the solid resistance
of the United States infantry.” In the same
: paragraph he says : “ The infantry was not re
quired to continue the pursuit, because it would
| have been harrassing it to no purpose. It is
I well known that infantry unencumbered by
| baggage trains can easily escape pursuing in
| fantry.” Thus we tire told in the same breath
! that the Yankee infantry was running /to fast
that it was useless for .the conquering Confede
rate infantry to fatigue itself by trying to catch
it; and that the ‘Yapkee infantry was at the
same time standing so staunchly as to beat oft
Radford’s regiment of cavalry, and to make at
tack by all the Confederate cavalry (J. E B.
Stewart’s regiment, &e.) improper. If the Yan-'
kees were making so bold a stand, was not
that a place for the conquering infantry to
strikt|?
But further ; the Yankee resistance, by which
Colonel Radford’s onset was momentarily ar
rested (he being temporarily unsupported,) was
not solid, and should not have put an end to
pursuit. The evidenced a letter lrom Colonel
Delaware Kemper, of the artillery, now under
my eye, which states that “ immediately after
the repulse of the enemy’s final attack, he ac
companied Colonel Kershaw, (who then was
follo wed by his own and Cash’s South Carolina
regiments,) in the pursuit of the enemy along
the turnpike. About dark, we arrived within
three or four hundred yards of the suspension
bridge over Cub RuO, and found the fugitives
along the turnpike crowding across the bridge,
mingled with the Yankee troops who were re
treating by the Sudley road, which intersects
the turnpike just west of this bridge, i opened
fire on these masses, and elicited no reply ; but
in a few minutes, not a Yankee was within
ranall having fled towards Centreville,
leaving in our hands fifteeu or sixteen pieces
of artillery, many wagons, etc.” Thus Captain
Kemper pursued beyond the point at which our
cavalry was temporarily checked, showing that
it should have gone on.
With reference to the recalling of infantry
from the pursuit t< meet au imaginary advance
of Yankees on our extreme right, Genera]
Johnston simply flouts the whole statement,
and says : “No troops were recalled from the
chase, and sent seven or eight miles, by night
or day, to meet an imaginary enemy.” When
the reader considers the following testimony,
his breath will probably be as nearly taken
away by thus, as mine was. I have under my
eye a letter from Colonel* Robert E. Withers,
commanding the 18th Virginia regiment, from
which I extract the following words :
“The 18th Virginia was the first regiment
which crossed Bull Run in pursuit; Kershaw’s
2d South Carolina "and Cash’s Bth South Caro
lina following almost immediately. The offi
cers of these three regiments had a rapid con
sultation, and agreed upon the mode of ad
vance, and speedily put the men in motion,
moving by columns of companies on each side
of the pike. Before proceeding very far, how
ever, I received through an officer of General
Beauregard’s staff an order of recall, directing
me to march my regiment back to the Stone
Bridge. About the time we reached the bridge
another officer rode up, and inquired as to the
condition of ray regiment and its capacity for
further service. My reply was that the men j
were wearied and hungry, but- that the loss of
the regiment in the battle had uot exceeded
forty or fifty, and that we were ready to per
form any duty which might be deemed neces
sary. He then told me that ‘the General had
just received information that a heavy column
of the enemy was advancing in the direction of
Union Mills, threatening an attack on Manas
sas Junction, and that as all the troops had
been withdrawn from that place, it was in
great danger. This was just before sunset.
W T e immediately started for Manassas, and
poshed forward as rapidly as the exhausted
condition of the men would permit. When we
reached the ‘McLean House,’ near Manassas,
we were met by orders directing us to go to
Camp Walker, on Bull Run, a short distance
above Union Mills, which place we reached
about midnight. The next morning we were
ordered back to Manassas, and thence to our
former position near Ball’s Ford, on Bull Run.
where we bivouacked in the rain, and remain
ed until Tuesday evening or Wednesday morn
ing. * * * * 1 presume that
several other regiments received similar or
ders, as they also were marched back to Ma
nassas, aud one or two of them to Camp
Walker.”
So far Col. Withers. Col. H. A. Carrington,
then of the 18th Virginia, says:
“ We after sunset marehed seven miles in the
direction of our lines on the right, when the
rumored advance proved to be unfounded, and
the regiment was permitted to vest for the night.
The next day, in a drenching rain, we were
inarched back to the battlefield, and camped on
the banks of Bull Run, within a quarter of a
mile of the scene of conflict.”
The best solution of this discrepancy which I
can suggest is, that I was not so far wrong as j
Gen. J?represents, in speaking of “Command
ing Generals ” in the plural.
With reference to the question of pursuit and
of threatening Washington Citj*, let us first con
sider how far my position extends. On page
236 this is very’distinctly defined, in the fol
lowing words : “They (the generals).arcmot to ;
be condemned by history because they did not
take Washington, but because they did not try.”
Even this qualified opinion I should never have
presumed to advance before the public on my f
own judgment, or on that of the amateur sol
diers and newspaper critics, whom Gen. John- j
ston so justly despises. It was only when I was j
confirmed in it by the great authority of Gen.
Jackson, that I ventured to advance it, and my
motive was only to defend his credit after stat- ]
ing, as the truth of history compelled me to •
do, the fact of his expressing such opinions. It
was in May or June, 1862, that, being alone with
General Jackson in his quarters, I ventured to
mention the general expectation and desire of
our troops at Manassas to endeavor at once to
improve our victory, and to ask him whether
that desire was ignorant and foolish. His brow
immediately knit, and striking his little writing
table with his hand, he replied : “The neglect of
the attempt was a deplorable binuder. Did you
know that on the morning after the battle 10,000
fresh troops reached Manassas, expecting noth
ing but tq be led against the enemy?” I re-
I plied: “ 1 myself saw large arrivals, for I had
gone with our wounded from the battle field to
the Junction, aud witnessed the coming in of
Dearly a mile of cars, clustered with soldiers
like swarming bees, all cheering aud shouting ;
but I did not know how many of them there
were. ’ General Jackson said: “ Yes sir, there
are ten thousand of them.” He then proceeded
briefly, but emphatically, to state the leading
ideas on which I grounded* the discussion in
my book. As my word may go for nothing in
this matter, I may here say, in passing, that if
any one doubts whether I represent Geueral
Jackson’s opinion aright herein, he can satisfy
himself by resortiug to the Hon. Alexander
Boteler, to whom General Jackson expressed
substantialially the same view in July, 1863, at
Harrison’s Landing. General Johnston thinks
that, had Jackson estimated the policy at Ma
nassas as I represent him, he could not have
refrained from expostulating. All I ean say is,
that I heard him say what I have above stated.
Four days after the battle (he being then under
General Johnston’s orders,) I heard -some one
ask him the question, why the enemy were not
pressed ; when he replied, with a quiet smile,
amfa caution which suppressed even the laint
est intimation of his private opinion on his
countenance : “ You will have to ask that of
Geueral Johnston.” But in 1862, I heard Gen
eral Jackson, when no longer under his orders,
express the strong dissent stated above. I sup
pose the explanation is to be found iu his well
known subordination, silence and modesty,
towards superiors. And if I have been in error
as to the number of the fresh troops, the mis
take was General Jackson’s, and not mine.
The same fact may account, in part, for the
statement on page 239, that the Confederate
forces had grown In autumn to an aggregate of
sixty thousand. Has General Johnston, alter
all, denied this ?
Some JJiases of Journalism.
Young writers for the press, many of them,
at least, who have been compelled by force of
circumstances to temporarily don the editorial
harness, will readily recognize and as readily
laugh heartily over the folio wing, from the ex
periences of “Alfred Trample,” * (Geo. Alfred
Townsend.) He says:
“ I remember a journalist, whose face was a
sealed book ol Confucius, and who talked to
rae patronizingly, now and then, like the Del
phic Oracle. His name was Watch, and he
wore a prodigious pearl in his shirt-bosom. He
crept up to the editorial room at nine
o’clock every night, and dashed off an hour’s
worth ol glittering generalities, at .the end of
which time two or three gentlemen, blooming
at the nose, and with a map
drawn in red ink, sounded the pipe below
stairs, and Mr. Watch said :
“ Mr. Trample, I look to yon to be on hand
to-night; I am called away by the \Vater Gas ;
Company.”
Then, with enthusiasm up to blood-heat,
aroused by this mark of confidence, I used to
set to, aud write till three, o’clock, while Mr.
Watch talked water-gas over brandy and water,
and drew his thirty dollars punctually on Satur
days.
So it happened that my news paragraphs, some
times pointedly turned into a reflection, crept
into the editorial columns when water gas was j
lively. Venturing more and more, the clipper j
finally indited a leader ; and Mr. Watch, whose j
nose water-gas was reddening,- applauded me, '
and told me in his sublime way, that, as a
special favor, I might write all the leaders the
next night.
Mr. Watch was seeu no more in the sanctum 1
for a week, and my three dollars carried ou the
concern.
When lie returned, he generously gave me a |
dollar, and said that he had spoken of me to the j
Water-Gas Company as a capital secretary. ;
Then- he" wrote me a pass for the Arch Street j
Theatre, and told me, benevolently, to go off ;
and rest that night.
For a month of more the responsibility of the j
“ Chameleon”-devolved almost entirely upon j
rqe. Child that I was, knowing no world but
my own vanity, and pleased with those who fed j
Its sensitive love of approbation rather than !
with the and reticent, I habored no distrust j
till one day when Ipecac visited the office, and j
I was drawing my three dollars from the treasu- \
rer, I heard Mr. Watch exclaim, within the ]
publisher’s room :
“ Did you read my article on the Homestead
Bill ?”
“ Yes” answered Ipecac, “it was quite clever;
your leaders are more alive and epigrammatic
than they were.”
I could stand it no more. I boljcd into the
office and cried:
“ The article on the Homestead Bill is mine,
so is every other article in to day’ > paper. Mr.
Watch does not tell the truth ; he is ungener
ous.”
“ -Vhat’s this, Watch ?” said Ipecac.
“ Indeed,” exclaimed Mr. Watch, majestically,
“ Mr. Trample adopts my suggestions very read
ily, and I recommend that his salary be ad
vanced to six dollars a week.”
Radical Meanness.— The New York Jour
nal of Commerce is dwelling upon the meanness
of allowing Radical demagogues from Mas
sachusetts, like Senator Wilson, to make
speeches at the South, while such men as Gov
ernor Jenkins, of Georgia, when he addresses
the people on the other side of the same ques
tion, is met with a military obstacle —in fact
warned off by the military governor.
“ This” (says the Journal ) “is not exactly
free speech. On the contrary, it is a very un-
American sort of proceeding. What can be
more ridiculous than to style this state of
things “freedom” in any sense of the word. —
It is not even probable that Northern politicians
holding views counter to those of Senator
Wilson could go down to the South aud ad
dress the people. They would undoubtedly be
suppressed with summary proceedings. The
consequence is plain. The Southern country is,
by military power, made free to only one class
of politicians, and the first great result of the
Military Reconstruction bill is to.launeh on the j
poor Southerners a flood of men advocating one
set of views, while their opponents are excluded
by the military commauders. The South is re
constructed into a form of government ojicc j
detested by the good sense of every American,
and the sad spectacle is offered to the world of
a “free people” using military power lor the
propagandist™ of one shade of principle while
it uses the same power to suppress the advo
cacy of any other shade
“ It would have been iu better taste for Lite
Wilsons, aud men of that sort, when they heard
that Governor Jenkins was forbidden to address
the people on bis side of the question, to with- j
draw from their crusade and decline to appear
as advocates of liberty which was confined to
themselves only. It shou’d be mortifying to
such men to tiud themselves placed in such a
ridiculous position—a position for which no
one ean have any respect.”
New Hamshire’s prohibitory law is as harm
less to prevent the sale and use of liquor as
Massachusetts’, and in many parts of the Btate
no attempt is made to enforce it at all. Many
temperance men favor a license law instead.
A negro- horse thief was sentenced by the
Circuit Court of Albemarle, Va., last Friday, i
to 18 years imprisonment. For two other
crimes of the same nature, but of lesser grade,
be was sentenced to 6 yearsjmore, making his
entire term 24 years. j
V01.25* NO. 23
News Items.
The nett profit 'SltlllOrial Bazaar at
Richmond were
Zoe, the “ Cuban sylph,” has left the stage
temporarily on account of bad health. Just so.
The two discoverers of gold in California arc
now in destitute circumstances. Public bene
factors arerseldom treated as beneficiaries.
A Boston man has a beuery at Barnstable,
Massachusetts, which covers about ten acres of
ground.
They have a “baby” in Chesterfield, Va., five
years, which weighs two hundred and seventy
pounds.
It is said that the Paris Exposition is three
times more extensive, cheerful and wonderful
than that of London, in 1862.
\ ermqiat has $3,880,749 invested iu horses,
$5,610,456 in cattle, $8,991,911 in milch cows
$5,066,705 In sheep, and $580,815 in hogs.
The ordinance of baptism- was adminis
tered at Ashland,* Massachusetts, lasi week to
John Williams, aged 78, by Rev. David Pease,
83 years of age.
The Claremont, New Hampshire, hotels closed
their doors against the public on Thursday, be
cause they were denied the privileges of sell
ing liquor.
Philip Reardon imbibed alcohol from a barrel
through a straw, on one of the Boston wharves,
Saturday, until he became so drunk that he died.
He was a self-de-stroyer. .
In the heart of a white oak log at Salisbury,
N. H., was found the other day a full-grown
owl; well preserved, and deeply imbedded in
the wood. .
•
Dispensaries have been located in different
districts iu Richmond, where medicine is pre
pared for the poor without charge. This is
a most humane and generous movement.
While a number of school children of Alexan
dria were spending the day on Friday, at Four
Mile Run, one of them, named Arthur Carlin,
about 14 years old, was drowned in the canal. •
The Northern capitalists who have been pros
pecting in Virginia with a view to investment,
left a check for SSOO in Lynchburg, on Satur
day, for the benefit of the poor of that city.
A daughter of a gentleman of Fredericks
burg, Va., named Ford, had her eyes seriously
injured on Monday last, by watching too in
tently the vivid flashes of lightning.
John Glum, of Hanover, Pa., djed in Balti
more last Saturday of hydrophobia. Rabid
dogs seem to be more numerous all over the
country at present than during the real “dog
days.”
The Lynchburg Republican says Du Chaill
the great African explorer, it is said, is going
to Richmond to examine Judge Underwood, to
ascertain to what genus of African monsters lie
belongs.
Fragments of a hnge human skeleton were
dug up Friday in Richmond, Va. From calcu
lations the skeleton entire must have measured
seven feet, and belonged, perhaps, to some
famous Indian brave.
A “tin” wedding was observed after an un
! usual manner in Vermont tbe other day. The
wife eloped with a young fellow, taking with
i her all the “ tin” her husband had saved in ten
! years. The discovery of hei-absence of course
i closed the festival.
A lady in Port land, Me., applied at the police
j office recently in search of a lost eat. She said
she would give SI,QOO to have t,hc feline rctflrn
\ ed to her, as it was one she brought from Eng
-1 land, ami set a great deal by it. The eat had a
I gold necklace ou tiiat was worth S4O.
Dan Rice was exhibiting his circus at Wasli
| ington, Pa., the otiier day, when some drunken
i bullies interrupted the proceedings. There
; were no policemen to be had, so Dan and his
: company went for the rowdies and cleared
j them out in short order. Knives and pistols
were drawn, but no ohe was seriously injured.
Liquor selling was never carried on to so
| great an extent at Boston as now, despite pro
■ hibitary laws and State constables. Besides
1 the regular bars at hotels and saloons, which
j arc in full blast, fashionable club-houses are
! plenty as blackberries, and people from the
I surrounding towns, where the law is more rig
idly enforced, flock into Boston by hundreds
to procure their supplies.
Two Massachusetts teachers of colored
schools, in Macon, Ga., have recently written
to their friends at home in relation to the dis
tress in tlr-'.t section of the South, giving sad
accounts. One letter says: “In many eases
j the poor negroes are partly fed by Govern
ment ; they trap birds, catch an occasional fish,
dig for roots, and are waiting impatiently for
1 the berries to ripen.”
A Straw. —The New York Freeman's Jour
| nal, of last week, says : -“Let ns prepare to re
pudiate the Lincoln war debt! When we do
that, labor will once more make a good living
for the laborers.”
“Look here, boy,” said a nervous gentleman
to an urchin who was munching candy at a lec
ture, “you are annoying me very much.” “No
! I ain’t, neither,” said the urchin. “I’m a gnaw
ing this ’ere candy.”
Significant.— The Board of Health of New
! Orleans have declared the port of Vera Cruz
| and all ports in Nicaragua infected, aud alt
j vessels arriving from them are subject to quar-
L antine. .
Sudden Death.— Young Blackston, living
; near Berzelia, carha to his death very suddenly
a few days since. It seems that his father was
: killed during the war, and perhaps some of his
j brothers, leaving him as the only support of his
mother. They were endeavoring to carry on a
farm, but for want of money to bny corn, &£*,
he went out to get work. He engaged to work
I where a lever power was to be used—a pole
passing up and down. Jt appears that he slip
ped, and his head was thrown back, and the
poie came •suddenly down upon his neck,
breaking it, aud causing death almost instantly.
Sttl-l Another.— We learn from entirely re
liable parties, that a gentleman residing in
Glasscock county, hv the name of Chaulker,
died very suddenly cn Sunday last, under the
so lowing circumstances : lie had been com
plaining of partial sickness for several days,
and afterwards remarked that he wonld die on
Sunday next. Sunday came, and he and his
family attended church, and while on his way
home he was seized with severe pains, and be
fore medical assistance could be died.
This is a most singular instance of presenti
ment of death.— Thomson Advertiser.
It is now said that Gen* Butler has a “last
card” in reserve for the impeachment business,
which is expected to take all the tricks. It is
“supposed” (this is the usual formula with
which impoitmt revelations of this kind are
usually introduced) that this refers to a diary
kept by John T. Ford, the proprietor ol the
theatre in which President Lincoln was murder
ed, while he was confined in the Old Capitol
Prison with ten or fifteen others, ou suspicion
of having been concerned iu the assassination
conspiracy. In this diary he is said to have re
corded conversations of these prisoners; and
these are now in the hands of Gen. Butler.
Wh.«t precise use he is expected to make of them
we are not as yet informed. But are not tl e
people getting" a little disgusted with this *® crt 1
bunt after material for impeaching the Pre I
dent?