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SVee
An Independent Democratic Journal.
CARTERSVILLE, - GEORGIA.
The Work of A'aralrjmen.
Colonel A. G. Brackett, Third Cav
alry, read a paper before the Military
Service Institute on “Onr Cavalry: Its
Duties, Hardships and Necessities at
Our Frontier Posts. ” “This arm of the
service,” he said, “had grown apace of
late years, and though it is very costly,
may be safely said to have paid for itself
over and over again in the safety it has
furnished to the frontier settlers and the
immense benefit it has been to the
nation in opening the highways and by
ways of the interior of the North Ameri
can continent. The duties are some
what changed of late, in that the trooper
is called upon to shield the red men
from the cupidity of the border settlers,
instead of crowding him, as formerly,
to the wall; and it is, after all, only a
question of time when the wave of civil
ization will swell over the boundary lines
and occupy the lands which the red men
now call their own. Asa general thing
our soldiers wear their fatigue uniform
and work at almost anything except sol
diering. They build houses, make
roads, cut wood, burn brush, clear up
land, and, in fact, do pretty much every
thing except attend to the duties they
are supposed to have enlisted to perform.
The trooper often steals food for his
horse, and in many cases shares his
scant ration of bread with him.
“There are very few cavalry men who
have served any considerable length of
time on the frontier who have not been
turned out by an alarm of Indians.
Usually some farmer comes riding in on
horseback in his shirt sleeves, laboring
under the greatest excitement, hallooing
‘lndians! Indians!’ and, after he has
become sufficiently cooled down to tell
his story, unfolds a sickening tale of the
manner in which some of his relatives
have been butchered in cold blood by
the savages, or his horses and cows
killed so as to leave him completely im.
poverished. Then there is hur*ying to
and fro in the little fort—rations have to
be drawn and put up in bundles, the
pack mules saddled and loaded, and then
the cavalry horses themselves have to
be saddled and made ready for the field.
Just at nightfall, perhaps, the motley
cavalcade moves out over hill and dale
in search of the trail of the savages.
After scouting from seven to ten days
no enemy is seen, no trail discovered
and the Indians themselves have van
ished like the veriest phantoms of the
mountains. Not one scouting party in
twenty finds Indians, the greater num
ber of scouts rendering unsatisfactory
results.
“There is an ever increasing desire on
the part of young officers to carry the
luxuries of the age to the frontier pest,
and this gives rise to many so-called
hardships. We see the most incongru
ous things at times, and many a young
bride has been taken to a frontier fort
who pines for the beautiful things she
left in her father’s home in the East.
Still she holds on to some things, and a
Turkish rug frequently covers a dirt
floor and a grand piano becomes soiled
by the mud of sun-dried bricks, I pre
sume most old officers have seen a man
put on a good many airs because lie was
the fortunate possessor of a cabbage or a
mess of potatoes, while others had none
of these toothsome comestibles. . It
does not take much to make an aristo
crat.”
Fancy the Bride’s Feelings.
At the Church of St. John Nepomnk
there was an occurrence of singular, and,
to most people, awful solemnity, says the
St Louis Republican. At eight o’clock
there was a high mass celebrated, at
whioh were married a young couple.
When the ceremony was nearing its
close, the bride and groom, with their
attending bridesmaids and groomsmen
kneeling on the steps of the altar, and
the churoh crowded with friends and
relatives, the ohurch bell pealed forth,
not the merry marriage chime, but the
slow and dolorous toll for the dead. To
the door of the ohurch there oame a
hearse, and into the middle aisle, down
whioh the newly-wedded ones were
compelled to pass, there was brought
the long bier with all its somber display.
When they had received the blessing
of the priest, the bride and groom
turned, and in moving to the door of the
church, had to separate and pass one on
either side of death’s pedestal. In the
choir the organ trembled with the joy
ous strains of the “Wedding March;” in
the belfry the iron throats belched forth
the monody of death; at the door, in
place of the ooaoh whioh was to convey
those who had just been made one to
the festive joys of a wedding breakfast,
there stood the vehicle which conveys
all that is left of man after dissolution
to the dark and narrow house.
The New Time.
In order to give its readers an idea of
the proposed system of reckoning time
by enumerating the hours from 1 to 24
without regard to a. m. and p. m., the
Detroit Evening Journal printed it' is
sue of November 17th, throughout as if
that system had been actually adopted.
Accordingly the readers of that journal
were somewhat startled at the headlines,
“14 o'clock edition,” “15 o’clock edi
tion,” and “17 o’clock edition,” and to
observe that matinees at theatres would
begin at 14 o’clock, that the musical en
tertainment on the preceding day be
ginning at 20:30 was a delightful affair,
that a furious fire broke out in South
Chicago that dav at 15 o’clock, etc
A Musuoojr voung man has married
his aunt. Now let some paragraphs be
gin calling the man uncle to himself,
brother-in-law to his own mother, and
•on-in-law to his own grandmother.
A SCHOOL-DAY.
•‘Now, John,” the district teacher lays,
With frown that scarce can hide
The dimpling smiles around her month,
Where Cupid’s hosts abide,
"What have you done to Mary Ann,
That she is crying so ?
Don’t say ’twas ‘nothing’—don’t, I say,
For, John, that can’t be so;
"For Mary Ann would never <' r y
At nothing, I am sure;
And if you’ve wounded justice, John,
You know the only cure
Is punishment! So, come, stand up;
Transgression must abide
The pain attendant on the scheme
That makes it justified.”
So John steps forth, with sun-burnt face,
And hair all in a tumble,
His laughing eyes a contrast to
His drooping mouth so humble.
"Now, Mary, you must tell me all—
I see that John will not,
And if lie’s been unkind or rude,
I’ll whip him on the spot.”
"W—we were p—playin’ p—pris’ner’e b—
base.
An’ h—he is s—such a t—tease,
An’ w—when I w—wasn’t I—lookin',1 —lookin', m—
ma'am,
H —he k — kissed me —if you please !”
Upon the teacher’s face the smiles
Have triumphed o’er the frown,
A pleasant thought runs through her mind,
The stick comes harmless down.
But outraged law must be avenged !
Begone, ye smiles, begone!
Away, j e little dreams of love,
Come on, ye frowns, come onj!
"I think I’ll have to whip you, John,
Such conduct breaks the rule;
No boy, except a naughty one,
Would kiss a girl—at school.”
'Again the teacher’s rod is raised,
A Nemesis she stands—
A premium were put on sin,
If punished by such hands !
As when the bee explores the rose
We see the petals tremble,
So trembled Mary’s rose-bud lips—
• Her heart would not dissemble.
"I wouldn’t whip him very hard”—
Tlio stick stops in its fall—
"It wasn’t right to do it, but—
It didn't hurt at all!”
"What made you cry, then, Mary Ann?”—
The school’s noise makes a pause.
And out upon the listening air,
From Mary comes—" Because !”
Will F. McSparran, in Our Continent.
FIELD, FORT AND FLEET.
THE MISSION OF FIELD ARTILLERY,
Some Blrikinsr Examples of “Grape and
Canister.”
"Bring up the guns !”
Let the order be heard by a regiment
of infantry crowding to the rear in a
panic and it will halt the men in their
tracks and make fighters of them again.
There is something in the companion
ship of a field battery that makes a foot
soldier braver than when his regiment
fights alone. The guns may be wasting
ammunition as they roar and crash, bat
it seems to the regiments on flank or in
rear that every discharge is driving
great gaps through the enemy’s lines.
So long as the battery remains the sup
ports will remain. Even when the order
is given to double-shot the guns and the
infantry can see that half the horses
have been shot down he still carries the
feeling that grape and canister will win
the victory. The loss of horses, wagons
and small arms is lightly mentioned in
official reports and the losers feel no
degradation, but let a brigade lose a
single gun from one of its batteries,
and every soldier feels the shame. It
is next to losing the flag presented to
a regiment as it marohed from home.
AT MECHANICSVTLLE.
When McClellan, in his change of
base, took position at Mechanicsville,
his left rested near Ellison’s mill. For
three hundred yards in front the ground
was open, a part of it being a plowed
field. Two hundred feet in front of the
Federal lines ran the mill-race, which
then had perpendicular banks and con
tained four feet of water. Thirty feet
back from the race the Federals had
made an abattis of rails, tree-tops, limbs
and sharpened stakes. Then came more
than thirty field-pieces in line, and be
hind them on the slopes were infantry
supports three lines deep.
Pender’s brigade, of D. H. Hill’s com
mand, advanced alone to assault this
position, intending it as a flank move
ment to turn the Federal left. They
had no sooner moved out into the open
ground than the artillery had a fall
sweep at them. Grape, canister and
short-fused shell were hurled at them
almost by the ton, and in five minutes
the four regiments which had left cover
in beautiful order were little better than
a mob. However, instead of retreating
in a panic, the men dropped to the
ground, tmd began a sharp musketry
fire. This was answered by volleys
from beyond the mill-race, which liter
ally plowed tbe ground.
Pender hung until the assault became
a butchery, and then the order was given
to retire. Pender’s brigade numbered
less than 3,000 men, and yet in twenty
five minutes its loss was nearly one-sixth
of its strength. It was an exception to find
a man who could not show, bullet holes
through his clothing, and some of the
wounded were hit three and four times.
Those who buried the dead said that of
tho 200 or more killed by tbe artillery
file at least 175 were so torn and muti
lated as to be little better than a bloody
mass.
As Pender was driven back he met
Ripley’s brigade, of the same command
coming to his support. Lee knew the
position, but he must carry it to turn
the Federal left. This second brigade
had less than two thonsand four hun
dred men, and, united with Pender, the
total strength was not over five thou
sand. Four times that number could
not have made an impression npon that
position.
When Pender had rallied his men, the
two brigades advanced in column of as
sault, breaking cover with a cheer and
on the double quick. The Federal guns
were worked with terrible energy, but
under cover of the smoke, and by crawl
ing npon hands and knees, the Oonfed
ates reached the mill-race. Indeed,
several hundred of them crossed it,
Then, for forty minutes, there was a ter
tifio struggle. So fierce was the Federal
infantry fire over aod through the
abattis that it was gradually whittled
away. Limbs as large as a man’s arm
were barked, chipped and splintered as
if lightning had played over them, and
the surface of the mill-race was covered
with splinters, twigs and leaves.
Pender and Ripley could not advance
beyond the canal in force. They could
not long maintain their lines where they
were. The fire from the Federals
searched every foot of ground, and
every minute their lines were melting
away. When the order was given to
fall back, the artillery raked them again
as they crossed the open ground, and
when the men •finally reached oover, the
loss of each regiment had beoome amaz
ing. For instance, the Forty-fourth
Georgia, whioh numbered only about
700 men, lost 338 officers and men.
Every field officer was killed, and of the
ten captains and twenty lieutenants,
only twelve remained. It was the same
with the Third North Carolina and other
regiments.
AT FRAZIER’S FARM.
At Frazier’s Farm, during this same
eventful week, Randall’s battery of six
pieces was on McClellan’s right, and
supported by the Fourth Pennsylvania.
The front was an old field, devoid of
shelter, and the battery was playing into
the woods half a mile beyond. This
battery so annoyed the Confederates
that a brigade was ordered to charge it.
The Eleventh Alabama had the lead,
and was to be closely supported by the
other tliree regiments. Through some
blunder the Alabamians, numbering
about seven hundred and fifty, were per
mitted to advance alone.
They were seen as soon as they broke
cover, and more than one hundred of
them were killed by the artillery as they
advanced across the field. The men
were thrown into disorder one moment
to be rallied the next, and, finally, with
muskets at a trail and caps swinging in
the air, they made a rush straight upon
the guns. As they came near the Penn
sylvanians rose up and delivered two
or three volleys right into them. These
were returned, and then the final rush
was made. In a minute a wild mob was
swirling ’round and ’round the guns—
bayonets drinking blood—clubbed mus
kets felling men—the wounded stagger
ing up to clutch an enemy and pull him
down.
The guns were won. The Fourth was
pushed slowly back, but as the cheers
of the Alabamians drowned the noise
of the battle to the right and left, the
Seventh Pennsylvania came to the sup
port of the Fourth. The fight which
now took place was witnessed by at
least two generals and half a dozen
colonels, outside of the hundreds in
the ranks. It was two regiments to one,
but the Alabamians had won the guns
and were determined to hold them.
Not a single company formed in line—
not an officer had a command. Two
thousand mad and infuriated men
rushed at each other with murder in
their hearts. No one asked for quarter
—no one gave it.
At the end of twenty minutes the
Pennsylvanians gave way, not overpow
ered by numbers but pressed back by
such dare devil fighting as nobody had
ever witnessed 'ore. The guns had
been taken, but tnere were no horses to
draw them away. The captors were
making arrangements to draw them
away when there was a rally on the part
of the Federals. The smallness of the
Confederate force suddenly became
plain as the smoke lifted, and before a
gun could be moved hot fire was opened
from a whole brigade, followed by a
charge. The Alabamians were picked
up and hurled back in a broken mass,
and the last of them had not reached
the woods before the guns were again
playing upon them. The loss of the
Confederate regiment was over 150 men,
100 of whom, including eight company
commanders, died aronnd the battery.
THE REPULSE AT KENNESAW.
The day after the repulse of the Fif
teenth Corps at Kennesaw Mountain
the Fortieth and Fifty-seventh Indiana,
Ninety-seventh and Twenty-sixth Ohio,
Twenty-eigth Kentucky, and One
hundreth Illinois regiments, each num
bering about 800 men, were seleoted to
make an assault on a ridge 300 yards in
their front. The lines were formed in
regimental divisions, and while the
front was only the width of two com
panies the depth was thirty lines of men
in open order. It was in fact a giant
wedge of flesh and blood and steel
which was to drive itself through the
Confederate lines.
As the men stood in line their officers
explained to them in low and earnest
tones what was planned and what was
hoped for. It was a forlorn hope indeed.
Every man must have realized that there
would be a terrible loss of life even be
fore the salient was reached, but each
one seemed to nerve himself for what
was to come. During the twenty min
utes’ interval between forming and the
order to advance there was almost dead
silence in the ianks. The men leaned
npon tbeir muskets and peered through
the forest in their front which hid the
Confederate position, and the supports
on the flanks moved up and into position
as if fearing that their footsteps would
disturb tbe dead of the day before.
It was not positively known to the
Federals that the salient was defended
by cannon. The hope that it was not
gave the men more spirit, as the lay of
the ground—forest, thicket and ridge—
furnished fair shelter from musketry
fire.
Soon after 8 o’olock a single iow
spoken order brought every man to a
front face. The moment had corns.
As the column had formed under cover
it was hoped to take the defenders of
the salient by surprise. The lines were
dressed, and in a moment more were
moving through the woods. From the
valleys at the base of the Kennesaw,
Lost or Pine Mountains to their crests
there is scarcely a level spot. The
sides are covered with forest*} and
thicket, and the gronnd is almost a suc
cession of rocky terraces. Over this
difficult gronnd the great bine wedge
forced its way at a rapid pace, but no
cheer was heard —no shouts were given.
“Crack! crack ! crack !”
It is the alarm from the Confederate
skirmishers, who have crept, down id
most to the base of the mountain. They
are posted behind great rooks and hid
den behind ledges. They cannot retreat;
they must surrender or fight it out
They choose the latter course. Nine
out of every ten hold their positions un
til the point of the blue wedge reaches
them aud brings a savage death with it
All along the sides of the grim moun
tain the skirmishers bar the way, seek
ing to detain the wedge and alarm the
defenders of the salient. Here and
there a Federal throws up his hands and
falls back, but the column makes no
halt. Up, up, up, and now an officer in
front waves his sword as the slopes of
the parapet come into sight. Here the
cover suddenly ends. From the bushes
to the salient, a disTanoe of 200 feet, the
ground has been swept bare of tree and
bush, and rocks have been rolled aside.
At the foot of tne parapet is a palisade
—outside of that an abattis. Behind the
works are a thousand muskets—a thou
sand Confederates with fingers on trig
gers. At regular intervals along this
line —250 feet front—are six field pieces,
each one loaded with grape and canister.
The men within are waiting, Not an
order is given nor a head appears in
sight until the first line of blue is out of
cover.
Now, as if one finger had pressed the
thousand triggers, a great sheet of flame
leaps forth and scorches and blisters
and shrivels the advance. The second
line crowds up over the dead and dying,
the third and fourth cheer as they come.
Now, with a crash as if a volcano was
breaking through the crest of the moun
tain, the six guns belch their contents
into that mass of men sixty deep.
The effect was horrible. What were
men a moment ago are now bloody
shreds blown against the rocks and scat
tered far over the gronnd. Some of the
gory fragments fall upon tlie lines yet
half-way up the slope.
The advance halts in confusion—the
rear lines crowd up. There is another
bloody feast ready as soon as the cannon
can be charged. Then comes the order
to break lines and divide to the right and
left to get out of range of the artillery.
The men rush forward to tlie abattis—
some lie flat down—others take cover
behind rocks.
For fifteen minutes heroic carnage
holds them before the salient. The Con
federates have them at their mercy. Men
take deliberate aim and send a bullet
through the heads of the living targets.
When the burial party comes to do its
work it will find that seven out of every
ten Federals lying before that abattis
has been killed stone dead by a single
bullet.
The fire of musketry might have
checked the assault, but aided by artil
lery the check became a butchery.
Grape and canister Searched out spots
secure from bullets, and men in the
very rear ranks, who did not even catch
sight of the abattis were struck down by
the iron missiles. No assault could
have brought out more nerve and hero
ism, but it was the wave dashing against
a rocky cliff.
When the men had fallen back to their
original positions the roll of dead and
wounded was a shock to those who had
escaped. No one had blimdered. John
ston’s lines were there, and they must
be carried by assault. Sherman was
looking for a weak spot to drive a wedge
into. That salient was one of the
strongest points on the Confederate line.
M. Quad.
The Father’s Search,
No sadder story was ever told in the
pages of romance than that of the cruel
abduction of little Charlie Ross and the
wanderings of the unhappy father, who
has been dragging his sorrows aboul
from place to place for nine weary years
in a vain search for his lost child. Every
new clue, while it brings with it hope,
tears open the wounds of the parent’s
heart and they bleed afresh. Every new
disappointment i*eca!ls the anguish of
the first wretched hours of bereavement.
Now the search leads to the far West,
where a brother of Mosher, the supposed
abductor of the child, was recently
lynched for murder. Before he died he
dropped hints prompting the belief that
Charlie had been carried out to Wyom
ing Territory, and the father hastens to
Cheyenne to investigate the story. We
fear the search is destined to end as so
many others have done before it.
If the child could be found and re
stored to his parent all the world would
rejoice. Every heart would breathe a
silent prayer of thankfulness and joy.
But even then there would be a touch of
sadness mingled with the bliss of re
union. Poor Charlie when stolen from
his parents was a little four-year-old
prattler, with bright eyes and golden
hair and merry laugh. The father will
never again take the lost child to his
heart as he was in those days. To wholly
heal the wounds he has received it would
be necessary to set back the hand of
time to enable him to fondle with the
golden locks —to hear the childish voice
lisp its joy—to kiss the fresh young lips
as they used to be kissed in the happy
days before the terrible sorrow fell upon
the family circle. This can never be.
Little Charlie is gone forever. The
child if found will be a lad of thirteen
or fourteen years, tried by adversity,
probably without a memory of his past
history—of those who have suffered such
anguish for his loss. No; there can be
no thorough healing of the parent’s sor
row in this sad case. But every heart
vriii send up a sincere wish that he may
Groover his son and that his weary
search may at last be succeeded by such
happiness as he can yet enjoy. —New
York World,
Innocent. — A doctor oharged with
malpraotioa has committed suicide in
England. What renders the matter
peculiarly melancholy is that the evi
dence seems to point to his innocence, i
THE HUMOROUS PAPERS.
WHAT WE FIND IN THEM TO LAUGH
OVER.
THAT DANGEROUS DIMPLE.
But oh, that dimple in your chin !
I'm sure my heart lies buried there.
In such a pit ’twere sooth no sin
To fall. Your eyes were beacons fair;
I drank the fragrance of your hair;
You digged the pit, I tumbled in,
And then you did not seem to care.
But oh, that dimple in your chin !
I’m sure ray heart lies buried there;
Nor prince, nor peer, nor paladin
Had e’er a tomb so rosy rare—
So white without, so pink within—
To kiss that sepulchre I dare ?
But oh, that dimple in your chin !
—Puck.
AU FAIT IN EVERYTHING.
“What kind of a man is he ?” asked a
gentleman about a youDg society man.
“Oh, he’s mighty popular with the
women. ”
“Is he intelligent?”
“No, not particularly. You see,
there’s not much demand for intelligence
in society.”
“Does be dance?”
“Of course.”
“Knows what’s going on in theatricals,
music, etc. ?”
“Of course.”
“Au fait in everything, I presume ?”
“Well, I don’t know whether he owes
Fay or not, but I know ho owes about
every man of my acquaintance. "Who
is Fay? I’ll look him up and see if he
doesn’t owe him too. I’ll bet he does.”
—Merchant Traveler.
GLADYS M 'NULTY S LAMENT.
“God pity me 1”
Gladys McNulty, usually so proud and
composed, and who moved about in the
little world of those who knew her with
the stately grace of a New York Post
editorial, sank on a fauteuil as she ut
tered these words, and sobbed as if her
shoestrings would break.
In the lindens that lined the entrance
lo Brierton Villa the robin redbreasts
were thrilling their merriest lays, while
over by the woodshed the haggard out
line of an abandoned hoopskirt through
which the daisies were peeping showed
that spring, the most pulmonary and
beautiful season of the year, had ar
rived. In the broad fields that stretched
away to the westward the farmers were
preparing the ground for the seed which,
nourished in the bosom of Mother Earth
and warmed by the genial rays of the
sun, would soon become the ripened
grain, yielding to its owner a bounteous
harvest, and enabling him to play against
the bunco when he visits Chicago in the
fall. A ruddy-faced boy, picking seed
burrs from between his toes, flecks the
horizon and lends an added beauty tc
the enchantment of the scene.
And yet, lying there on the fauteuil,
whose velvety surface is not more soft
than her cheek, Gladys McNulty is sob
bing away the hours of this beautiful
June morning, and ever and anon there
oomes from between her white lips a
low, despairing moan that is pitiful iu
its sad intensity. But Anally the con
vulsive sobs that are racking her dress
waist grow fainter, and in a little while
she sits up, the pink suffusion of a blush
telling all too plainly which side she had
been lying on.
And as she sits there gazing listlessly
into the middle of next week her mother,
a pleasant-faced woman without corsets,
entered the room.
“Why are you weeping, Gladys ?” she
asks.
The girl does not answer, and strive
as she may to keep down the sobs that
are welling up from her heart the eftcrt
is in vain, and again the pretty face is
bedewed with tears. But an instant
later she has conquered her emotions
and looks bravely up at her mother.
“I will tell you, mamma,” she says,
“the cause of my sorrow. I was crying
to think that you cannot go to the mat
inee to-morrow.”
“And why may I not go?”
“Because,” answers Gladys, in a voice
that is hoarse with agony, “I have con
cluded to take it in myself.”
AT THK STAMP WINDOW.
‘Has postage been reduced to two
cents?” “Yes’m.”
‘ ‘For letter ?” “Yes’m. ”
“Then a two cent stamp will actually
carry a letter ?” “It will.”
“And there’s no need of putting on
three cents ?” “Not a bit. ”
“Do you know Mrs. Blank?”
“No’m.”
“She says it’s two cents in the city.”
“It is two cents anywhere in the coun
try.”
“She says she sent a letter to her hus
band in Chicago with a two cent stamp
on it and he never got it.” “I can’t
help that, ma’am.”
“Then two cents is enough?”
“Plenty.”
“And her husband probably got the
letter and didn’t answer it?” “Prob
ably.”
“Well, I’ll take a two-cent stamp, but
if there is any doubt about the matter,
I’d as soon pay more. It will go, will
it?”
“Yes’m.”
“Go right out to-day?”
“Yes’m.”
“Well, I hope so, for it’s a very im
portant letter. You know Mrs. D ,
who lives on street ?”
“No’m.”
“Well, it s for her. She lives in Buf
falo now. She asked me for tho best
way to pickle mixed .” The woman
had to stand aside for two or three min
utes, but as soon as the window was
clear she returned to say: “I’ve got the
stamp on.”
“Yes’m.”
“Two cents.”
“I see ”
X BCO.
“And it’ll go?”
“It will.”
“If it don’t 1”
And she probably didn’t sleep a wink
fast night. — Detroit Free Press.
As they who, for every slight infirm
ity, take physic to repair their health,
do rather impair it; so they, who for
every trifle, are eager to vindicate thcri
character, do rather weaken it
A QUEER MARRIED COUPLE
THE STORY OF TWO WOMEN WHO
PRETENDED TO BE MAN AND WIFE.
One a Once Fnmonn lluntrrM of the Nfw
York and Pfnn*y!? n ntn Woods and the
Other a fJmdnate of a Boston School-
Their Wandertnas and A4retarei.
The singular case reported from Wau
pun, Wis., of the marriage of one woman
to another, has a parallel in a case which
was discovered in Stroudsburg, Pa.,
some years ago. A local correspondent
writes to the Sun as follows:
In the spring of 1869 there appeared in
the town of Barrett, in the western part
of Monroe county, a couple calling them
selves the Rev. Joseph Israel Lobdell
and wife. The man was of medium
height, dressed in tattered hunting garb,
and carried a long single-barrel rifle. He
wore no hat, and his head was covered
with thick black curly hair, streaked
with gray. The woman was taller than
the man, and was meanly clad. She
was fine looking, wore spectacles, and
her conversation showed that she was
educated and intelligent. For two years
the strange couple roamed about the
township, living most of the time in the
woods, but frequently making their ap
pearance in the village, where the man
would deliver wild and incoherent
harangues on religion, and both would
beg for food and shelter. In 1871 they
had become such a nuisance to the in
habitants that they were arrested on a
charge of vagrancy, and committed to
jail in Stroudsburg. While in prison
the discovery was made that they were
both women. Soon afterward it was
lenrned that they had together left the
almshouse of Delaware county, N. Y., a
short time before their appearance in
this county. The poorhouse authorities
of Barrett thereupon took them back to
Delhi, where the following straight his
tory of th© pair was learned:
In 1854, Lucy Ann Lobdell, the 17-
year-old daughter of an old lumberman
living at Long Eddy, on the Delaware
river, was married to George Slater.
She was known far and wide as an ex
pert shot with the rifle, not only at the
target, but in bunting the wild game
for which that part of the valley was
then famous. A fter a year of married
life, Slater deserted his wife, leaving her
iu destitute circumstances, with an in
fant two months old. Her parents were
very poor, and unable to give her a
home. They were willing to relieve her
(f the care of her child, however, and
she finally placed it in their charge. She
then dressed herself in male attire and
disappeared.
Soon afterward, a young man of pre
possessing appearance opened a singing
school in the village of Bethany, Wayne
county, Pa. He gave his name as
Joseph Lobdell, and became a great
favorite among the young women of the
village, nearly all of wdiom joined his
singing class. He was a good singer
and violinist, and had a fair knowledge
of music. Before the term of his school
was over he became engaged to one of kis
pupils, the daughter of a leading citizen
of Bethany. The day was set for the
wedding. News of the presence of the
young singing master in Bethany reached
Long Eddy, pid suspicion was aroused
there that he was the missing Lucy Ann
Slater, whose musical accomplishments
were well known in her native place. In
vestigation proved that the suspicion
was correct. The information was ob
tained by a young man of Bethany,
who had been a rival of the music
teacher for the hand of the young lady.
He told the secret to a few companions,
aud they planned to capture the teacher
on a certain night and tar and feather
tier. This became known in some way
to the girl Lobdell was to marry, and,
notwithstanding her mortification, she
wanted the teacher of her danger so
, nut she escaped from tne town by
ight and returned to Long Eddy,
where she assumed female attire for a
short time.
Early in 1556 she again put on male
attire, and for eight years lived the life
>f a hunter, roaming the forest of Sulli
van, Delaware, Wajne, and Pike coun
ties. She rarely came into the settle
wiits, and then to exchange game and
furs for ammunition and necessary sup
plies. According to her subsequent
statements, her wild life was one of
thrilling adventure and privation. Her
narrow escapes in contests with wild an
imals and her sufferings from cold,
hunger, and sickness during her career
in the woods she recorded in a book en
titled “The Life and Adventures of Lucy
Ann Lobdell, the Female Hunter of
Long Eddy. ” She returned to Long
Eddy in 1864, broken in mind and body.
Her child had been placed in the poor
house at Delhi. She once more as
sumed the habiliments of her sex, and,
after wandering about the valley for a
year or two, an object of pity and char
ity, she also sought the shelter of the
almshouse. 0
In the summer of 1868 a young
woman giving the name of Marie
Louise Perry, became an inmate of the
poorhouse at Delhi. She was in poor
nealth, a stranger in the county, and
evidently well educated. She declined
to give any account of herself, but it
was learned a few months afterward that
=<he was the daughter of well-to-do pa
rents in a Massachusetts village, and
was a graduate of a school in Bee ton,
It was rumored that she had run away
from home, married a man to whom her
parents objected, and been deserted by
him. This rumor she neither denied nor
admitted to be true.
An intimacy grew np between Miss
Perry and Lucy Ann Lobdell. They
became strongly attached to one another,
although their habits, character, and
antecedents were so widely different.
Learning that the almshouse authorities
had informed heir parents of her where
abouts. the girl resolved to leave the in
stitution, and Lucy Ann Lobdell ac
companied her. They were not heard
of again in Delaware connty until they
wero discovered in the Strawsbury jail,
masquerading m man and ife* and
were returned to the Delhi poorhouse
They remained there but a short tin*,
and then left the place again, and re
sumed their roaming life in the woods
insisting on every occasion that they
were man and wife.
A marriage oeremony between them
had been performed in ]B€9 by a Wayne
county Justice of the Peace, he being
ignorant of the fact that the parties
were both women. In 1876 they ap
peared in Honesdale, Wayne county
The “husband,” it was then seen, was
violently insane, but the “wife” clung to
him with an affection that was remark
able. For the good of both, the luna
tic was placed in jail. The grief of the
other 8t the separation was pitiful, and
she begged to be allowed to share'her
“husband’s” cell.
There is now on the court records of
Wayne county a document which was
drawn by the unfortunate companion
of Lucy Ann Lobdell at this time.
It was a petition for the release of her
“husband, Joseph I. Lobdell,” from
jail, on account of his failing health. It
was written with a split stick for a pen,
with ink made from the juice of poke
berries. It reviewed the case of the
“Female Hunter” from a psychological
standpoint. The language used was
clear, correct and logical, showing that
the writer, though a voluntary outcast,
was a person of superior education.
“Joseph I. Lobdell” was finally re
leased from jail, and tbe couple then
took up their residence on a small farm
m Damascus townsmp, Wayne county,
where they lived peaceably until 1880,
w'hen the “husband” wandered awav,
and finally became an inmate of the
Delhi poorhouse again. She is now in
the Willard Asylum for the Insaue.
The “wife” still lives on the Damascus
iarm, and insists that her name is Mrs.
Joseph I. Lobdell.
Modern Courtship Scene.
“ And yon really love me dearly?” Ha
asked as he coiled his arm about her
wasp-like system. “And you’ll always
love me so ?”
“ Always, Frederick; ever so,”
“ And you pledge me to sew but—”
“Sir!”
“ You pledge me to so beautify my
life that it will always be as happy as
now ?”
“ With my last breath, Frederick. *
“And, darling, you will mend my
stock—”
“ Your what, sir?”
“ You will mend my stock of knowl
edge and draw me upward and onward
to a better existence ?”
“It will be the pride of my life so to
ilo, Frederick. I wili sacrifice all for
your complete happiness.”
“ I know that, sweetheart. But sup
pose in the fullness of time some acci
dents should happen to— to —say the
Iron—”
“ You forget yourself, sir. To the
what ?’*
“To the trousseau; would it defer the
>our that makes you mine ?”
“Never, Frederick. lam yours, mina
oid heart, and naught can separate us.”
“And you will care for me ever, my
•r.nl, and I fr you ; for though I may
... vtr Lave a shir ”
“Enough 1 Leave me forever.”
“But listen. Though I may never
have a shirking disposition, I shall some
times, perhaps, iu the struggle of life,
>rget the plain duty ”
And so on. That’s modern courtship.
Lois of abstract swash, but a manifest
lisinclinatiou to contemplate such con
veniences as buttons, socks, browsers
r.d shirts.— Chicago Tribune.
a siren’s song.
“Do you love me truly, Harold ?”
Lurline Neversink was even more
beautiful than usual as she stood in the
soft, mellow light that streamed from
the ohandelier overhead and looked
down fondly upon her George W. Simp
son. Bending tenderly over the girl,
he kisses her in a chaste, New Haven,
Conn., manner, but does not trust him
self to answer in words the fateful ques
tion she has asked. And then they pass
into the music room, which is separated
from the hall by a 'portiere of navy blue
velvet. The windows of the room are
shaded by curtains of the same rich
color, and the wall* between them are
covered with paintings. Statues of
Mozart, Beethoven and Guido filled
niches, while over the low mantel hung
a full- length portrait of Maud S. No
word was spoken until Lurline had
seated herself at the piano.
Lurline began to sing. Carried away
by the inspiration of the moment, she
sang on and on, until at last she paused
from sheer exhaustion. And then, see
ing that George was not at her side, she
turned to the fauteuil at her left. There
he lay—dead—in all the proud grandeur
of his glorious manhood. The mellow
light from the chandelier stole into the
hushed chamber of death and wandered
over his stately form, that lay powerless
and stricken, over his noble, handsome
face, telling, even in death, of the death
less love he bore her.
He had forgotten to plug up his ears,
—Chicago Tribune.
THE WRONG PARTY.
“You know Blank, don’t you ?’ quer
ied a citizen as he entered a Griswold
street office yesterday.
“Yes.”
“Have you any influence with him
“Well; I may have.”
‘‘Then you are the man to go to him.
He has a son about sixteen years old !”
“Yes.”
“That boy is on the road to ruin be
cause his father is tbc good-natured and
too much wrapped up in business.
Seems to me it is your duty to go to that
man and tell him in a friendly way that
he must exercise more government or his
boy will be lost.”
“I don’t think I’m the man,” replied
the other as he chewed at a blotting-pad
and gazed out of the window.
“But why ?”
‘ Well, I’ve got a boy about the same
age, and I’m just goiDg up to the Police
Court to pay a fine of S2O for him smash
ing up saloon furniture ! Try the ne*t.”
—Detrgit Free Frees,