Democratic Sentinel, Volume 9, Number 23, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 July 1885 — Page 6

HOW CRICKETS AFFECT HER, Beptember'g listless moon is slowly drifting Athwart the eastern sky,Casting her silvery shafts o’er swaying treetops Whose trunks in shadows lie. The night-wind scatters perfume o’er the meadow Of tardy blossoms sweet. And softly rustles in the fading hedges That guard the quiet street. From somber field, from shadowy hedge and hollow I hear the crickets' call; It floats across the perfumed moonlit silence In ceaseless rise and fall. In spring time, when the birds with liquid warbliugs Across the meadows dart, I know not wherefore, but bright, tender leaflets Of hope burst in my heart. But as the crickets' patient, dreary chanting Floats o’er the meadows brown. Blasted and torn, without their full fruition. The dead leaves flutter down.

UNDER FIRE.

A True Border Story of the War. Some time before the war a Presbyterian clergyman from New Hampshire Went South with his family for the benefit of his health. He purchased a little farm in Virginia, about three miles from Washington, D. C., access to which was had by the way of Georgetown and the Aqueduct Bridge. He gradually failed in health, however, and died, leaving a widow—Mrs. Gayes—and two girls and two boys. At the breaking out of the war in 1861, Mrs. Gayes and her elder daughter, who was about 15 years of age, took a decided stand in favor of the Union cause. It required not a little moral courage to do this; but there was no element of fear in the make-up of any member of the family. At first their home was within the Confederate lines, and communication with Washington was very difficult and hazardous. Mrs. Gayes was ridiculed, and sometimes threatened, but it availed nothing. After the Confederate lines were driven back a few miles, in 1861, fortifications were constructed around Washington for the protection of the national capital. They consisted of a chain of forts arranged in nearly a circle. The line crossed the, Potomac near Chain Bridge, above Georgetown, extending thence down to Arlington Heights and some distance below, recrossing the river about half-way between Long Bridge and Alexandria, and so on around until the circle was complete. Within this line, and about a mile and a half from Fort Smith, situated on a little eminence, was Mrs. Gayes’ modest home, protected now from the enemy, but suffering more, perhaps, from her friends. Many regiments were encamped near by, and little by little her timber and fences and stock and crops disappeared, until there was scarcely anything left save the house and the land. Even the cook-stove was missing one morning. Very frequently at night she was aroused by the beating of “the long roll,” the shouting of Words of command, and the tramping of regiments as they swiftly formed in line of battle to meet the expected enemy. On such occasions all the members of the family would hastily dress, secure about their persons what valuables they had, and patiently wait. During all these trying years she and her daughter were devoted friends of the Union cause, and their willing hands were untiring in doing something for the soldiers. It was a midsummer morning in 1864. Out in the fields and over in the city it was scorching hot. But in Mite. Gayes’ house, protected as it was from the rays of the sun by the abundant foliage of the great oaks which surrounded it, the heat was not oppressive. Mrs. Gayes was in the sit-ting-room reading a paper. The elder daughter was in Washington. Charley the elder son—who was then near twelve years of age, was playing with the dog on the porch. It was a peaceful, quiet picture of Virginia country life. Suddenly there came a loud, whistling, screaming sound, followed by a terrific explosion directly over the house.

“Why!” ejaculated Mrs. Gayes, as she started from her seat, “what a heavy clap of ” thunder she was about to say, but the unmistakable humming, twanging sounds which followed close upon the explosion, with the falling of leaves and broken branches from the trees, told her it was a shell from some heavy gun.

“Is it possible the rebels are making an attack?” she said. The children now came running in from their play, and one of them cried out: “Oh, mamma! the lightning has struck the trees.” Mrs. Gayes went out on the porch and looked and listened, but nothing unusual could be seen or heard. “It was a shell,” said she. “I expect a gun at one of the forts went off accidentally. ”

“Well,” said Charley, “when they load their guns I wish they’d point them toward Richmond. They ought to be ashamed of themselves.” “I don’t think we shall be troubled any more,” said the mother, as she returned to the sitting-room, followed by the children. She had but just resumed her seat when another shell buried itself in the earth a few yards from the house and burst, throwing up clouds of ’ dust and dirt. “What can it mean?” said Mrs. Gayes. “I know what it means, mamma!” cried Charley. “That New York regiment which has just been sent over to Fort Smith has put up a target in our field, and the fellows are firing at it. I wish I was a General. I’d put every one of them in the guard-house!” The boy was right in his surmise, . and in a few moments another missile

thrown from one of the huge siege guns with which the fort was armed struck a quarter of a mile away, and came bounding or ricocheting toward the house, striking the ground at short intervals in its mad course, something as a stone when thrown violently upon the water skips along the surface. W ith a shriek like a demon it plunged through the garden, destroying everything in its path, filled the air with dust, gave two or three more skips and screeches, and finally burst over near the road. Mrs. Gayes turned pale. “Come down into the cellar with me, all of you, ” she said, and they obeyed with alacrity. After she had quieted Eliza, the negro servant, who was alternately praying to “de good Lord” and to “Missus Gayes” to save her, she said: “Charley, you must run up to Mr. Pierson’s just as fast as you can, and ask him to go around to the fort and have the firing stopped. And you remain at Mr. Piersbn’s until I send for you. Don’t come back. You are not afraid to go, are you ?” “No, mamma, I’m not afraid,” answered the brave little fellow as he clasped his mother’s hand a little tighter.

“I knew you would not be; and now as soon as the next shell comes I want you to go.” When it came she kissed him and said: “Now, my brave boy, run!”

She would gladly have gone herself, but she thought it better to remain that she might be with the other two children in case the house should be struck and burned. It cost her a struggle to send her son forth on such a perilous errand, and her face was very pale as she kissed him. Away sped Charley through the garden, glancing with wonder at the great furrows the shells had plowed, climbed the fence, and started to run with all his might toward Mr. Pierson’s house, which was half a mile* distant. He had scarcely left the garden fence, however, when another shell came tearing through the shrubbery he had just passed, and burst close to the house. The mother’s heart stood still for an instant—and there was cause for it. One of the flying fragments struck poor Charley, and he fell to the ground with a cry of “Oh, mamma!” Down in the cellar the mother heard the cry of her wounded boy, and in a moment she was kneeling by his side. It was a sad sight for a mother to look upon. The cruel piece of iron, with its ragged edges, had stripped a great piece of flesh from the back of his ankle upward, completely severing the cord and laying bare the bone. Ho was lying upon his face, and the blood was already staining the green grass where he had fallen. Speaking words of encouragement, she removed his shoe and the fragment of stocking, and hastily bound up the wound with strips from her clothing. In this way she stanched the flow of blood and quieted his fears, though she could not alleviate his pain.

“Now, Charley, I must go up to Mr. Pierson’s myself, or a shell may strike the house, and then Mary and Robby will be burned. I’ll put you behind the tree, and you will not be in much danger. ” “But you’ll run, mamma, won’t you?” And the tears trickled down Charley’s cheeks, though he tried very hard to keep them back. The tree was a large chestnut, and its generous trunk afforded a pretty ample protection against the shells, two of which had struck near by while Mrs. Gayes was binding up the wound. Arriving at Mr. Pierson’s, she dispatched him in great haste to the fort, white she, with swift feet, returned to Charley. Becky and Berty Pierson, aged 17 and 18, with true girlish heroism, returned with’her, notwithstanding the bursting shells. On the way they passed several negroes sheltered behind stumps and stones; and Mrs. Gayes vainly begged them to follow her and assist in the removal of the wounded boy. They found Charley behind the tree, and he said, “O mamma! I’m so glad you’ve come back.” He could not walk at all, and he was weak from pain and loss of blood. So his mother and the two girls carried him in their arms as best they could. Down the hill, half blinded by the smoke and stunned by the awful explosions, slowly moved the strange procession. They waded the little stream in the hollow, stopping a moment to bathe Charley’s face and hands, and carried their burden up the hill to Mr. Pierson’s house.

By this time Mr. Pierson had reached the fort, and the firing ceased. The other children were sent for, and in a few moments the regimental surgeon and hospital steward came galloping down to express their sorrow at what had happened and to render assistance. The surgeon’s proffered services were most gladly accepted. When he was ready to examine the wound, the another said: “Now, Charley, it will hurt you to have the wound dressed; but it must be done, and you must try and bear it. It will soon be over.”

“I’ll try,” said Charley, “if you’ll be sure, mamma, and not let my leg be cut off.” She pressed him to her heart, and assured him with loving words that there was no occasion for so serious an operation. “Sing to me, mamma! Sing to me!” “Why, Charley—l—l—don’t believe I can sing now, ” she faltered. “You must, mamma, you must! Please sing to me just the same as youalways do, and I’ll keep awful still.” And he reached up and put his arms pleadingly around her neck. There was a silence in the room as the little ’ sufferer persisted in his strange request Then the mother closed her eyes'and tried to sing. Her voice was ts emulous

at first, but by a mighty effort she expelled from her mind every thought save the remembrance of her love for her wounded child; and she was soon able to sing to him almost as sweetly and softly as if in her own quiet home. The boy’s arms gradually relaxed, and he lay back again quietly upon the blood-stained bed, with his head resting half upon his pillow and half upon his mother’s lap. His eyes were closed, and his pallid face had lost something of the roundness and fullness which marked it in the morning. The mother was bending over him with one of his hands in hers. On the other side of the bed sat Berty Pierson fanning Charley’s face. At the foot stood the surgeon and the steward. Clustered around the room were half a dozen neighbors looking on with awe-stricken faces.

When the mother began to sing the song she knew he loved, th re was a solemn hush in the room, and every eye was filled with tears. Even the rough old surgeon, as he cut away the bloody bandages, was seen to turn away his head and hastily draw his sleeve across his eyes a number of times; and the steward was hardly able to distinguish his instruments. Under the soothing effect of his mother’s voice, the boy allowed the wounds to be dressed and the cruel stitches to be taken. Later in the day he dropped asleep and awoke considerably refreshed. He was uncomplaining through it all, and the fortitude with which he bore his sufferings excited the admiration of every one. In the cool of the evening Charley was taken home in an ambulance sent for that purpose from the fort. The officers did everything in their power to atone for the suffering they had so carelessly but unintentionally caused. The surgeon and his assistants attended him tenderly and carefully until he was well. The surgeon offered to procure his mother a pension, but Mrs. Gayes declined, saying that she was too thankful that her boy was alive to think of asking aid from the Government. Charley was soon able to walk with the aid of crutches, but could not dispense with their use for many months. Mrs. Gayes, now an aged woman, loves to tell of those perilous times. One of her daughters, a lady of rare qualities, fills one of the highest positions allowed to her sex in the Government departments in Washington. She has in her little cabinet at home the very piece of shell which did its cruel work that day. It is rusty, and, when picked up, was blood-stained. Charley is a florist, and brings his flowers regularly to one of the Washington markets. He limps a little, and will always have cause to remember the summer morning when the New York regiment at Fort Smith bombarded his mother’s house.— New York Tribune.

The Cow and the Hen—A Rural Tale.

Patrick Doyle, of Middletown, Pa , has a cow on his dairy farm, near that ’ village, whose life is made miserable by a hen’s singular attachment for her. For over a year the hen has been an inseparable companion of the cow, and spends all of the time, when not on her nest, or joining the other chickens when they are fed, perched on the cow’s back. There she roosts at night, whether the cow may be in the barn, the barnyard, or the pasture. The cow does not approve of this close companionship, and is always trying to shake the hen off her back or whisk her off with her tail. The hen is always prepared for these attempts, and when the cow lowers her head and shakes her shoulders the hen trots along her back beyond the effects of the shaking. If this brings her within reach of a possible whisk of the cow’s tail, she wattes it closely, and at the first movement of that appendage she trots back again to a place of safety between the cow’s horns. At times the cow will suddenly start on a dead run around a field or the barnyard, lowering her head, lashing her tail, and bellowing, as if to terrify the hen into taking her departure. The hen will then scramble to and fro on the cow’s back to maintain her position, but the result of this maneuver on the part of the cow is, nine times out of ten, to force its unwelcome companion to fly off. The cow is no sooner at rest than the hen steals up and mounts again to her perch. This amusing scene is witnessed almost daily by people who go to the farm for the purpose.—Pittsburgh Times.

The Age of Tinsel.

Could our grandmothers but see the gilded roses and golden rosebuds which adorn the fashionable headgear they would, indeed, think things had changed. In their time gold, tinsel, and spangles were considered sacred to the stage, and it was thought the very acme of bad taste to wear such things in broad daylight. Nowadays spangles appear on on street dresses, glitter on the aigrettes with which bonnets are trimmed, and as for tinsel, only a very small proportion of the summer bonnets are without it.— Brooklyn Eagle

The love which every child brings with it is in itself the very strongest indication of the needs of the child. Love is like sunshine; without it there can be no harmonious growth or development. As well expect a fruit tree to bear delicious fruit in a cellar as to expect a child to grow up into - symmetrical manhood or womanhood without love. As invariably we appropriate the sunniest nook in * the garden to the nursery, so must the warmest and sunniest apartments of the heart be given to the little ones. Nurtured in an atmosphere of love, their various powers expand in unconscious but harmonious beauty.

Frugality provides an easy-chair for old age.

CLEVELAND’S FOREIGN POLICY.

Americans to Be Protected in Their Bights in All Quarters of the Globe. A writer in the Washington Herald represents*a member of the administration who will have much to do with carrying out the President’s policy as having expressed the foilowing opinions as to the possible complications upon the Isthmus: “Admiral Jouett’s last dispatches indicate that there will be trouble in Central America very soon unless something is done to prevent it. The matter has not come before the Executive for consideration, because there has been no occasion for it. But I can say this much: The principle enunciated by the President in his instructions to the Secretary of the Navy touching the occupation of Aspinwall and Panama will be strictly adhered to. The United States will not permit irresponsible persons in any country to endanger the lives, and property of our own citizens by revolutionary organizations against the local government. To put down Preston we made a great departure from the usages of the country in respoct to our diplomatic relations with other nations. If a similar condition occurs again the same authority will be used. * * * It is the unexpected that happens in our day. The American nation must maintain the dignity of its position. That is true Democratic doctrine. All the territory of any great value that has ever been added to our national domain was acquired under Democratic auspices. Louisiana, Texas, and California are the results of Democratic policy. There was a time nearly forty years ago when we were very nearly buying Cuba. Pierre Soule, of Louisiana, defeated the measure by his famous speech in the Senate wherein he boldly said that whenever we wanted Cuba we could go and take it, which was the only correct way for the acquirement of territory. The only thing I wish to state positively touching the policy of the Government in regard to its foreign relations is this: It proposes to exercise a proper influence in the affairs of other states —whenever that influence is required—that should be commensurate with our position among other nations. To do this will require a navy of great strength and consequence, as should pertain to .a great power. Circumstances will develop our foreign policy. It will be regulated by the necessities of the event, and will be guided and directed upon the highest humanitarian principles and in accordance with the needs of Anglo-Saxon civilization.”

The “Old Soldier” Business.

Gen. Logan is worrying himself because some “old soldiers” are being turned out of official position. He need not let this annoy him. The administration will take care of “old soldiers.” There is a good deal of Republican humbuggery stalking around in the clothes of “old soldiers,” and masquerading in both the blue and the gray. The country repudiated John A. Logan last fall, and he pretended to be something of an “old soldier” himself, but the exact point of transit where John ceased being a “copperhead” or a “butternut” and evoluted into an “old scldier” has never been satisfactorily located. These Republican crocodile tears over the old soldier business are played out. If any Republican “old soldiers” lose their positions there will be an abundance of Democratic “old soldiers” put in their places. When Hayes was defeated for the Presidency the burden of his lamentations took the shape of a bogus mourning for the poor negro, yet when he was fraudulently but safely located in Mr. Tilden’s seat in the White House he deserted the poor negro’s supposed friends, as they were represented in several Southern States, although they had reached official position by the very same bogus means that he had reached the Presidency. Hayes, of course, was a humbug, and so is John A. Logan. As Hayes poured out bogus lamentations over the “poor negro,” Logan pours them out over the “old soldier.” What does he care for the “old soldier,” as such? If the soldier votes the Democratic ticket Logan does not care a baubee whether he secures an office or not. Did he rejoice when Gen. Black was appointed Commissioner of Pensions? Did anybody ever hear of his shedding tears over the defeat of Gen. Hancock because he was an old soldier ? Hancock contributed largely to the Gettysburg victory. What difference did this make to Logan or any other Republican? Hancock was a Democrat, and this cut him off from Republican patronage and sympathy. There are to-day ten or fifteen of Logan’s relatives holding Federal positions. Are any of them “old soldiers ?” Let Logan suggest a vacating of these positions, and then the “old soldiers” that he is crocodiling over might be placed in them. Logan is a towering, monumental, political fraud —a genuine type of the humbuggery of bourbon Republicanism.—lndianapolis Sentinel.

The administration has begun the removal of the offensive partisans that have been doing the political dirty work of Mahone in Virginia for the past five or six years. Mahone was a Confederate Brigadier General, and as the Republican organs declare that the only necessary qualification for office-holding under the present administration, it would seem a little singular that he has not been left in the enjoyment of his patronage.

John A. Logan is said to declare that he must be the head of the ticket next time, or nothing. But if there is any man in the country who, if placed at the tail of it, could not wag the Logan ticket, he must be a midget in intellectual'devolopment. •

HUMOR.

“Jim Smith is a cottage built man.” “What.sort of a man is that?” “The man with only one story is called a cottage built man, and Jim has only got one.”— Texas Siftings. Mrs. Ingalls says “woman is a silent power in the land.” All that is necessary to become convinced of the truth of this assertion is to attend a woman’s rights convention or a charitable fair.— Exchange. Elopements are very romantic, but there would not be so many of them if young men could see the girls they were going to fly with trying to make a beefsteak pudding. Love flies before helpless inability.— Exchange. Johnnie’s epitaph. This is little Johnnie’s mound, Sa l are his loving mates; He entered heaven up-side down; Beware the roller skates. —Macon Messenger. “But, Tommy, you really must not eat so much; you’ll make yourself sick.” “No, I won’t, mamma.” “Yes, you will, you’ve already eaten so much I expect you feel uncomfortable.” “No, I don’t, mamma; I dis feel smooth.”— Chicago Ledger. An Irishman, recently over, entered a barber-shop in Main street, Danbury, for a shave. After the barber was through he asked the customary question: “Have bay rum, sir ?” “No, sor; the fact is, sor, I’ve just had a glass of beer, an’ don’t like mixin’ drinks.”— Hartford Times. A scientist estimates that there are one hundred and twenty-eight thousand hairs on a man’s head. We take it for granted the estimate is based on the supposition that the man is unmarried, though the paper doesn’t say so.— Chicago Ledger.

“We prefer poetry of a higher range of thought than this contains,” said the editor kindly, as he returned some rejected manuscript. “Higher range of thought?” repeated the discouraged poet. “I -wrote it on the top floor of a seven-story flat. Do you expect a man to sit out on the roof and write poetry ?” The Ingleside. Some of our local Jenkinses have adopted the style of writing “society news” as follows: “I dropped into Mrs. Astor’s reception, etc.” “I looked in at Mrs. Lorillard’s ball, etc.,” “and I happened in at Mrs. Goelet’s tea, and so forth.” “I” forsooth! If they “dropped,” “looked,” or “happened” in it was to deliver ice-cream or tell the servant Mrs. Jones’ carriage was ready. —Hotel Mail.

POPPING THE QUESTION. Alonzo, wooing Emeline, Resolving to be wed, Attempts no phrases airy, fine; Betrays no nervous dread. He makes no vows of constant love; Assumes no tragic air, Invoking witnesses above To vouch tor tender care. The theory he learned long since, By which a maid is won— Biough plainly put it makes them wince— In practice thus is done: “My dear," he says in steady voice, “I’ve wealth -admire your charms — Let’s wed.” She waits no further choice. But folds him in her arms. —Exchange. Food for reflection: Mr. Societe—“l have just learned of your sister’s engagement, and congratulate her. I really wonder, though, how Jack Simmons ever got up his courage to speak to your father.” Miss Unplucked Flower: “Why so, Mr. Societe?” Mr. S.: “Why, youi father has always seemed to me so distant—a man difficult to approach.” Miss U. F. (with animation) : “Oh, not at all, Mr. Societe. Get that idea out of your mind, I beg of you, as soon as possible.”—Exchange. Mrs. Winks—What queer things statistics bring out. I see that the figures gathered by the Paris authorities show that nine-tenths of the male victims of the cholera there were unmarried men. _Mr. Winks —I am not surprised. That proves that Koch’s theory is correct. “Indeed! What is his theory ?” “That cholera germs are easily destroyed by boiling.” “Why, what has that to do with the immunity of the married men, pray ?” “They are generally kept in hot water, you know. ” —Exchange. Mrs. Parvenu had been abroad, and when she returned she had much to tell. One day a lady was talking to her. “Ah, my dear Mrs. Parvenu, did you go into Italy?” “Oh, yes,” was the reply, “we weie all over it, and saw everything.” “Did you visit the Vatican?” “Yes, we were there; but it was erupting fearful that day, throwing up lava, and smoke, and stuff, and they concluded it would not be safe to go up to the top. It was a fine spectacle from the conservatory of the hotel, and I enjoyed it quite as much as if I had been right on the spot.”— Exchange.

BREAKING THE ICE. We were skating on the river, ’Neath the trees. She and I: And my heart was all a quiver. For at last I’d dared to give her Hand a squeeze. On the sly. Side by side we flew together, Swiftly gliding O’er the ice. What cared I for wintry weather?— Light her hand as any feather, So confiding, And so nice. Then I kissed—and do you wonder? Nothing loath, Her dimpled chin— With a crack like summer thunder, Burst the brittle ice asunder, And we both Tumbled in! —Somerville Journal. A young lady the other evening kissed in the dark a young man whom she mistook for her lover. Discovering her mistake, she said, “It’s not he, but it’s nice.” “I have noticed that ladies in society are more truthful than they used to be'” “Indeed!” “Yes; at parties th6y usually make a clean breast of it. ' ; *