Newspaper Page Text
The Dear, Dead Face.
An Inddfiit of War.
a--Jo J
The war 1 Tefl*r to was not one of
those which we have lately had upon
our own hynda, but that a low
years ago raged so long, sofiereely.'be
tweon the Nortlwro and ‘the Southern
States of America. It was my fortune
to serve on the medical stutf with a
portion of the Northern army during
most of that terrible struggle*, and* it
is needless to say that many personul
incidents came under my notice, which
will never leave tny memory. Notone
of them, however, made so painful an
impression u[>on me as that which I am
about to describe.
• Toward noon on the day after one of
the fiercest lights of all the war, a
young soldier was brought in frem the
battle-field, where, b}- some mischance,
he had beei/overlooked and abandoned,
while comrades of his, far less griev
ously wounded than lie, had lieen shel
tered and tend?d Ueforf flight full. The
poor fellow had lain all night, and dur
ing the long, scorching hours of the
morning, amid heaps of dead, both men
and froii the km of
au arm, arid other wouuAs. Au army
surgeon is not, as a rule, a man prone
to undue sentiment or to soft
ness at the sight of physical suffering;
and I am not conscious of any weak
ness that makes me an exception in
this particular. There was, however,
in this youth’s expression of cbnnten
anee something which struck me irre
sistibly, and with the strong glance of
his large, bright eye fixed my attention
and awakened my eager interest. lie
was a slender youth, tall, yet graceful*
ly made, with a head which, as the nov
elists phrase it, would bring ecstacy to
the soul of the sculptor, and every fea
ture molded to the true type of manly
beauty. A single glance gave me this
summary outline of my patient before
I had time to ascertain the nature or
extent of his injuries. Avery brief
examination soon told me that the life
which for hours had been ebbing so
painfully away was well-nigh spent;
and lie must have read the awful truth
in my face, for he whispered to me,
faintly and sadlv, as I- rose :
“ Is there, then, no hope ?”
Alas ! there was no hope ; but I had
not speech to tell him so, for something
was rising into my throat and choking
me, and a moisture in my eyes was
blinding me ; and the only reply I could
give him was a shake of my head.
The brave spirit which had nerved him
through the fight had kept him up till
now ; but now, when the dismal truth
had broken upon him, there passed
over his pallid face a look of mingled
disappointment and resignation which
it was painful beyond expression to
witness. I lost no time in giving him
such surgical aid as his desperate con
dition called for and his waning
strength could bear. I had hardly done
so when an unexpected voice address
ed him :
“My own dear boy ! my brave, he
roic boy !”
The tone vyas of cheery encourage
ment, yet. feebly disguising the woe of
a breaking heart; for it was his mo
ther’s voice that spoke, and her lips
that kissed his fevered brow. Gently
she turned back his disordered and
blood-stained locks, dissembling with
evident effort the mother’s anguish, lest
she should add another sorrow to the
pangs of his dying hour.
"My mother !” he cried, with almost
frantic delight. “Is it you, mother ?
How came you here ? Is it you, or am
I dreaming ?” and as he spoke he
threw his only remaining arm around
jher neck and kissed her with all the
rapture Oi *i child. ‘‘ Thank God . he
continued in snatches, as his failing
(strength allowed him; “thank God for
this blessed joy—that I see your face
once more, my mother. All last night,
.ns I lay amid the dreadful sights arouud
me, I prayed one prayer in all my pain,
and only one. I prayed that I might
£ook once nv>r<* upon your face, my
sweetest mother—once more hear j our
voice, f seemed to pray in v/vin, yet
still I prayed/'
“My poor, poor boy,” shs said ; f ‘ a
curse, upon the hand that has brought
you to this !” and her tears at leijgth
broke from her control.
To the amazement of all, there ap
peared to be something in this exclam
ation pf his mother that stimulated the
dyjftg youth to’a final tffVjrt of speech
and motion, H° half raised himself
from his bed, and with that unaccount
able energy which sometimes marks
the closing moments of life, he said :
“ No, no; don't saj T that! Don’t
say accursed. Yog kn n T pot tjje words
The Hartwell Bun.
Bv BENSON & McGILL.
VOL. IV—NO. 33.
you are speaking. Oh !” he cried, af-
I ter a moment’s pause, •• how shall I tell
her the horrible tale ? How can I smite
her down with suob a blow, at such an
hour ?” and lie fell back exhausted upon
his pillow. The effect and been too
much for him, ami for some moments
we doubted If the spirit had not fled.
It was only a passing weakness, how
ever, and before long he rallied again.
Again he spoke, but with a kind of
dreamy half consciousness—at oue mo
ment gazing into his mother's eyes, at
seemingly forgetful of her pres
ence.
Truly it was a bloody fight,” he
said. “ I had been in several hard
ibngbt fights before, but they were all
Children’s pastime compared with that*
of yesterday. No sooner had we come
in sight of the enemy than the ringing
voice of the general was'heard :
“ ‘At them, my boys, and do your
duty !’
*• What happened after that, I know
not. Know not, do I say? Oh, would
it were true that I know not! Begrim
ed with dust, each man was confronted
with his own individual foe, and if
there be fighting among fiends, tlien
surely did our fighting resemble theirs.
I was myself wounded whcti a fair
haired man bore down upon me from
the opposing line—if line it could then
be called—and L received his lieadiong
onset with a terrific bayonet thrust, and
as befell I thought of Cain, and of the
deed which has made the name of Cain
a’malediction Torcver. I know not why,
but I felt myself compelled to halt in
thg midst of the pielee to kneel beside
that fair-haired mail and look at him.
i turned him over and looked upon his
face—his dear, dead face. Ah ! mother,
it was—it was—it was my brother's
face, and my own arm had sluin' him !”
The scene at that moment it would
not be easj' to describe. In an instafit
the weeping mother's tears were dry,
and her face became passionless as
marble. My own emotion, which I have
already acknowledged, I took no pains
to conceal. Rough, hard-favored sol
diers stan ling by listened with bated
breath to this more than tragic narra.
tive, while big tear-drops welled from
their eyes unchecked and undisguised.
“ Yes,” he continued, soliloquizing,
“my own arm had slain him. Dear,
darling brother Fred ! I laid niy face
upon his, and it was cold—that face in
our boyhood seemed but the mirror of
my own ; ever near me—at home, at
school, at meat, at play—which laughed
when I was glad and wept when I was
sorrowful. Oh, would we both had
died in thpse fresh, bright days of in
nocence ! I kissed bis pallid lips; I
looked into liis eyes ; but in them was
no responsive glance. He was dead.
I had slain him ! The very thought
was a burning madness in my brain.
1 heeded not the carnage around me.
I thought not of my own wound. I
even knew not when’my arm was gone.
Oh, the arm that had done such a deed
deserved to perish! Forgive me, O
my brother ! How gladlj r would I give
my life to bring back thine again!
Staj’, friends; do not shut out the
blessed light. Let in thediglit. I can
not see mj r mother. Fred, sweet bro
ther, put up your sword, and let us
plav with flowers once more upon this
pleasant grass.”
And so he passed away—to join his
brother, let us hope, in a land where
blooms the flowers that never fade,
where strifes and wars arc unknown,
and where the mysteries and misunder- *
standings of our present state are dis
pelled by the light that never dies.
Reverence for the childless mother’s j
grief, as well as the manv-voiced call of
duty, prevented my making at that mo
ment the inquiries which thronged my
mind, both as to the history of this
strangely aorrow.smitten family and
the oceans by which the poor mother
had come to know her son’s condition
and whereabouts. } have often since
tried to trace her, but the search has
always been fruitless. They certainly
belonged to the better class of society,
and I think it likewise oertatn that they
were Southerners. The younger bro
ther—which I took him to be—whose
sad narrative is here given, had proba
bly resided for some tfme in the North,
and, becoming imbued with the eenti-
ITARTWEU: ML, WEDNESDAY. APRIL 28, 1880.
mint and fepiniaus wliirh chiuyed
atmosphere around him, found himself
eventually in the-ranks. In a word, 1
look upon the whole episode us one of
thpse awful coincidences of fact which
are gdnarally thonghßtm take phiro only
in the pages of romance! but which a
wide expedience link taught mo to be
lieve arc by no means unfrequent among
the*unrecorded realities of life.
Predespernation.
Little Jhiek (.1 rkantae) tlcurtte.
An old time Baptist preacher in -this
K city, who has retired from active "gospel
work, but who still keeps his eye on the
faith, has just had a little experience
with a colored man that causes him to
think very sfrkiuslyi
Meeting the colored man, the preach
er said : “ Dave, if you don’t bring
that saddle home I’ll have you put in
jail.”
“ What saddle is you furren ter?”
“ The one you stole from me.”
“ Parson, fore de Lord, I nebber stole
ver saddle.”
| “ Yes you did. I saw you when you
took it of!' the yard fence. I believe
I’Jl have yon arrested, anyway.”
i “ Look lu-ah, parson, you’se a old
Baptist, isn’t for? ’
“ Yes, and I’ll have you put iu the
1 penitentiary.”
“ Well, so is I, an’ now catch de pints
ez I gin em ter ver. Dar is jes’ so
many saddles iu dis worl’ what is ter be
stole, an’ dar’s jes’ so many men wlmt is
ter sp-al disc saddles. DU U predesptr
nation. Now, if yer saddle happens to
be one ob de predesposed saddles an’ I
happen to be one ob de predisposed men
kin 1 hyp it? i)ar was .Judas, for in
stance. He couldn’t hep "trayin de
Savior, kase de Savior sail!, ‘ Judas, sop
iu dis dish an’ go an’ ’tray me.’ Hit
wasn’t Judas’ fault, kase Le was one ob
de predisposed, so ’tended from de foun
dation ob de worl’.”
“I don’t want a religious discussion,
Dave. It isn’t the saddle 1 now care
so much about; it is that you told me
a lie in saying that you did not steal it.”
“ Well, den parson, ’spose I takes
back dc lie an’ keeps de saddle?”
“A lie once told always stands. You
have lied to me, you scoundrel, and I
believe it is my duty to have you arrest
ed.”
“Parson, dar’s jes a certain amount
ob lies ter be tole in dis worl’ an ef I is
one ob de men what is predisposed to
tell one ob desc lies, hit’s not my fault,
an’ I can’t help hit.”
“ Yog go on now and get that saddle
or I'll swear out a warrant for your ar
rest.”
“ I’ll do de bes’ I kin, parson, but
dar's jes’ a certain amount ob stole sad
dles to be returned in dis worl’. Ef Ize
one ob de predisposed men, an’ I b'lieves
I is, you’ll find yer saddle hangin’ on de
yard fence ’bout sundown tis ebeniu'.”
——
A Converted Jew in the Pulpit.
The Rev. A. J. Levy preached at the
First Presbyterian church last night on
the treatment of the Jews by Chris
tians. Mr. Levy is a converted Jew,
and it is stated that there are in the
United States one thousand converted
Jews, ninety-five of whom are now
laboring as missionaries of their race,
by preaching the gospel, and laboring
with the Jews. Mr. Levy stated that
he had been in this work about thirty
years. lie was very much in earnest
in his address, but his broken English
made a large part of his remarks unin
telligible to the audience. His plea for
the Jews was based on what is well
known to be true, that is, Jews are
good citizens in nearly' every casp, and
they were entitled to the confidence'
and respect of the communit}\ Jews
do not get drunk. They are never
found in our poor houses ; none of them i
are ever tramps; their children are not
sent to orphan asylums, because they
care for themselves ; Jews do not com
mit murder. During the past one hun
dred years in the United States only ;
tnree Jews had taken human life. No
estimate of the amount of murders for
one hundred years could be made, but
during last year 1,100 murders had
been committed in the United States—
not one by a Jew. Jews are rarely, if
ever, seen in our prisons or peniten
! tiaries. In short, as a class they are
exceptional citizens. —Atlanta Pont.
* •?
Devoted to Hart County.
.. ■ i
•W. *V'Beautiful Story.
Coleridge relates a story to this
eiroct: Alexaadcr, during his march
into AJrk'a, cainu tw * po|4flwdbug
in peaceful liuLA, VhQ khew neither war
nor conquest. J UC SO J‘I3(T
Y IJ | f rw •
it, saving his sole object Was to learn
the manners amj customs of the inhahi
fanVr.
t “blay 'witk ua,” said the chief, "us
lona as it pleaaeth time."
Inuring this interview with the Afri
ciuiphief, t*vo offois stfltfedts brought a
case before him for judgment. The
dispute was this:
The one had bought a piece or
■ground, which, after thu purchase, was
found to cJntninf treasure, for which lie
felt himself boftnd tri pay. ‘Whet
refufed to revive anything, stating
that?? he Sold tlie ground with what it
might he found to contain, apparent or
concealed.
Said the chief, looking at the one,
“Yop have a ? son and to the other,
‘•You have a daughter; let them be
mntried, and tin' treasure .be given
them as a dowry.”
Alexander was astonished.
“And what,” said the chief, “would
have been the decision in your coun
try?”
We should have dismissed the par-
ties and seized the treasure for the
king’s w * - - l
“And dot's the sun shine in your
country; does the rain fall there ; are
there cattle which feed upon the herbs
and green grASa?” asked the chief.
“Certainly,” said Alexander.
“Ah,” said the chief, “it is for the
sake of those innocent cattle that the
Great Being periu itthe sun tq jjhinc,
the rain to fall and the green grass to
grow in your country.”
Dying Together.
'At touching incident occurred in the
death of two aged people, Mr. and Mrs.
Dickson, at Osknioose, lowa, recently.
For convenience in attendance during
their illness, they were placed in sepa
rate bed-rooms. The heads of the beds
were placed against a thin partition,
which, having an open door, permitted
the old people to converse, though uot
able to see each other. The night be
fore the husband died his wife heard
him groauing, and was very anxious to
be with him, but was unable to arise.
She soon was informed that he was dy
ing. and in order to be near him, the
beds were moved so as to bring them
parallel with the partition, the beds op
posite the door. Tins done, the fond
wife reached out, grasj>e(i her husband
by the hand, and held it during his last
moments. Thus death found them as
nearly or quite fifty-one years before the
marriage ceremony had left them, hand
in band.
“Cast thj r bread upon the waters;
for thou shalt find it after many days.”
The historical editor of the Philadel
phia Ledger has unearthed a striking
illustration of the old text. In the
year 1676 the condition of New Eng
land was one of fearful desolation.
One in eleven of the New England
towns had been destroyed by the In
dians, and the same proportion of men
capable of bearing arms had fallen by
massacre, or in open encounter with
the Indians. The fields had to be
abandoned and bread was at famine
scarcity. During a period of the most
acute distress in 1676 the Rev. Nathan
iel Mather, resident in Dublin, proba
bly upon advices received from the
Rev. Increase Mather, residing in Bos
ton, suggested the relief of the colo
nists. Citizens of Dublin freighted
the “good ship Catherine” with pro
visions, which were duly received,
thankfully acknowledged and equit
ably distributed. The governor and
the local magistrates superintended
the distribution. In Boston 402 per
sons were relieved, and in other towns
tho recipients made up the total to
2,851. That Dublin food cast ui>on
the waters in 1676 is once more return
ing after many' years. One vast drift
of it went back in 1846-7 and another
goes now in 1880.
“Is the doctor in?” asked an anxious
looking young man. “ No, sir,” replied
the person addressed: “ but you can
$1.50 Per Annum.
leave an order on the slate. Is it a very
urgent ease?" “ Well, yet,*’ the young
niau kuid, “ rather urgeut, I think.
Justus 1 started away from homo my
.youngwt brother was falling out of a
ifour-tory window.””
A HOBBESHOE FOR GOOD LUCK.
-***i *'•*-(■•*• Brli.-v.O *• AllflS lb*
tinillng of
Hentbn Herat,l
The horseshoe, now all the rage as an
ornament, and affected by men and wo
men alike, has long been considered u
token of good luck, especially by sail
or*. Few sailors would start on a voy
age iu.a ship on which the [agency of
the horseshoe was trot acknowledged.
It must he kept some conspicuous
place as a sigu of good Juck. On West
ern steamboats uot a deckhand could be
induced to engage himself on a steamer
that did ntt have a partly-worn horse
shoe nailed over the companion way of
thy how. Very often they are placed
near the figure-head, at the stem of the
bow. How long -rim superstition has
prevailed it would he impossible to tell.
It is by no means of recent origin.
Horseshoes and conjurers have long been
allies. To find a whole horseoluMi iu the
road, that has hern cast from the ani
mal and still retains five of the nail* in
it, is considered a remarkable token of
good luck. Ijat should anyone fiud a
horseshoe with all tho nails in it,
may consider himself wtidowed with won
derful powerful magic. This conceit,
no doubt, had its origin 111 the faqt that
it is almost impossible for a horse to cant,
a shoe while all the uuils are iataot.
Then lived a man iu Bhenumioah coun
ty, Va., whoelaimed to have found such
a horseshoe. Ills name was Conrad
Oerst: He was a German with little
education, but was considerable of a
knave. He professed to be able to work
wonders, and was believed by many |>eo
ple to posses* certain powerful conjtrrmg
powers. Gerst was a shoemaker, and
very poor, for he was too lazy to work,
and had a large family yf children. He
could heal the sick, recover stolen arti
cles, cure diseased cattle, find under
ground streams of running water, make
the butter come for the dairy woman,
and drive oil'witches. A woman churn
ed all day over a churning of cream,
but the butter would not come. She
sent for Gerst. He told her to get an
old horseshoe, heat it red hot uml cast
it into the churn. Then, utter cleans
ing the churn with boiling water, he
guaranteed that the butter would come
at the next effort And more, if she
Would enquire carefully among her
neighbors site would discover that some
one of them (an enemy) would have a
severe burn on some part of her body,
there were plenty of people who believ
ed in this. Another case” A widow
lady, living two miles from Gerst, had a
mini of money stolon from lier. in
stead of giving the matter into the
hands of the authorities, she wait for
Gerst. He inquired into the Affair, and
after performing a number of incanta
tions with a' stick that he carried, and
placing his horseshoe in the fire and
cooling it in the sptiug, lie announced
confidently that on the morning of the
second day thereafter the money would
be found at a certain place, with some
other valuables that had been lost.
This conclusion of the conjurer wus
widely circulated, and on the morning
indicated quite a number of people as
sembled at the widow’s house to see the
prediction verified. The money was
found at the place indicated. The solu
tion, was that the thief, whoever he was,
believed in Gerst’s pretended power,
and returned the money out ot fear.
The superstition that imputes such vir
tues to the horseshoe gave birth to the
prevailing idea that makes it an emblem
of good luck.
A Western man, having lost his
wife, was accosted by a sympathizing
friend, who remarked upon his woe-be
gone appearance. ‘‘Well, I guess you
would look thin, too,” was the melan
choly rejoinder, “if you had to get up
before daylight, make the fires, draw
water, split wood, and feed the cattle,
all before breakfast. I just tell you
what it is, if I don’t get somebody to
fill poor, dear, sainted Maria’s place, I
will be resting by her side before many
weeks are past.”
WHOLE NO. 191.
A TOUGH FOX YARN.
(hating .i<l Killing it Mi Wfton* l*#l(
Kinjttnn IV 1
J mm* Finu. a vtlenul tot hunter* t)*>
years obt, residing hi MarfelHN>wn.‘lnA
killed this wjqtyr JqUfteyii y§d foxes,
'01143 cross-bar and oue gray for. He u
probably the last fits, hunter in th
county. He has two dogs, and hunts
over long stretches of country, ranging
all over the hills of Marhletitwn, across
.the country to High Fulls, and tip
ShuwaugUnk Mountain us lar as Luko
Miuuewaaki; iu fact he shot the cross
i intv fox near Plats Point, on that moun
tain. Mr. Pina lias hunted tor forty
years, n portion of the time hi Greene
county, and for twenty-three seasons he
bus hunted iu this county., The first
year lie cuuac up ty Filter cuuuty hu
killed forty-three fixer., though at that
time, of course, this kind of annual was
more nnmmms that nt'plwnt. Last
New Year’s Day he killed three fbxes.
Mr. Pine hunts for plqapi^idni recrea
tion, iu he owns a uice little fu/41 in
Mai hit-town, but be sylU his lox skins,
j and in that way pays lor his powder aud
j and shot. Pine snvs, ami he adirins
with both hands that it i* true, that one
diiy while be was out hunting ho shot a
liuo fox, atitl as he supposed the annual
dropped dead. Ho went to him ami
taking out his jack-knife commenced
to take oil' the pelt, so he wouldn’t have
to carry tho carcass Lome with Idm.
lie skinned it down ami then pulled it
over and gave it a yank iu ordbr to free
it from tho body, when the skill eaiue
off, and to the groat and inexpressible
astonishment of the hunter, the fox
jumped up and rati off at full speed, the
hunter being unable in his surprise to
to raise his gun iu tilpe to shoot him.
Thu dogs, however, w'eru alter him in
yiffy, and the remarkable sight of u fox
•without its pelt; scooting ulmig over the
crust with three hounds yelping on his
traekj was then seen. The fox being in
light marching yrdcr soon distanced the
dugsutnl imp u minutes was out of right.
A lew days after the mau was out huut
iug again for foxn*. The hounds rau
pretty sharply and he passed through a
ravine, and it being a peculiarity of the
fox that when lie goes through a ravine
he will come buck to it again, 110 matter
how wide the circuit maybe, the hunter
posted himself at [date and waited
until he heard the bay of the hound*
following the truck up to near where he
stood. He was ou the qui vivo and
got a glimpse of au animal run
ning with great speed that hud all the
resemblance of a fox, only its coat seem
ed a glossy white. The hunter never
thought of the skinned fox that ran
awuy the day before, but supposed tli
white fur would be a great rarity in the
market, so he fired, killing the animal,
and with great expectations hurried up
to where he lay, and there, lo! and be
hold, found instead of a white furred fox
the one that he had ski rifled the day be
fore, the white flesh looking like white
fur in the sunlight. Seemingly the fox
had not minded the lack of his skin very
much, and the flesh had become by ex
posure in the air almost of the con si s
tuncy of leather.
Two loys, surrounded by five or six
others sit on the grass and played
cards. A citizen, who knows that card
playing leads into the broad road to
wickedness, halted and said to'one of
the (flayers : “Ah! my boy, don’t you
know that you are in a fair way to be
ruined?" “I am, eh!” replied the
youngster as he,, held up his hand of
cards and showed four trumps and
an noo; “ You just hold on here a min
ute, and if I don’t show you that the
other boy is all, wrenched to pieces and
ruined to death I’ll eat the jack of
spades and cut my throat with the jack
of clubs!” He was taking every trick
Ss the citizen passed on.
If an editor omits anything lie is lazy,
if he speaks of anything as it is, peo
ple are mad. If he smooths down the
rough points, lie is bribed. If he calls
tilings by their proper names, he is un
fit for the position of an editor. If he
does not furnish liis readers with jokes,
he is a mullet. If he does, he is a rat
tle-head—lacking stability. If he con-'
demns the wrong, he is a good fellow,
but lacks discretion. If he lets wrongs
and injuries go unmentiOned, he is a
coward. If he indulges in personali
ties, ho is a blackguard ; if he does not,
his paper is dull and insipid.
Youth: “ ifes, it is curious I have no
beard ; I can't think who I take after—
mv grandfather had a splendid one.”
Hair-cutter: “Oh! perhaps you take'
after your grandmother.” He took
after the barber with little knife.
A half crop of plums is the prospect-.