St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 15, Number 10, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 31 August 1889 — Page 1

VOLUME XV.

Ipm SMEDLEY. — —— — ♦- —— A Romance of the Civil • • War. ' ■ BY MAJ. JAMES F. FITTS. CHAPTER ll—Continued. “Gammon! You want us to believe that you don’t know what brings us here after you?” i “I do not know.” “Well, you shall. By mighty, we won’t leave anything in the dark about that, though I reckon you know as well as we do. We believe you're a rebel spy, sent up here to iind out all about us Union , people, and take Ihe news to old Harris or some of his cut-throats. Maybe, if we hadn't come in here to-night, you’d be off to-morrow, and next we’d see of you you’d be guiding the rebel horse up here to kill and burn. That’s the charge, stranger, that you've got to answer; and’less you | car. answer it better’n I think you can, you’ll swing from one of those tall trees down I elow here 'foie the moon is an hour higher. ” A low, tierce murmur of assent ran through the room. Confronted at last with the fearful peril that menaced him, the prisoner never lost his outward composure, though his heart sank at the prospect. “You have no right to dispose of me in I this way,” he said, with a show of calmness. “Take me to headquarters; bring ■ me before the Union General and I’ll answer to him on this charge. ” A scornful laugh from the crowd greeted his words “Union General!” repeated Baird. “We haint seen any; you’d have to go a good ways outside of East Tennessee to find one, I reckon. As for Union headquari ters—they’re anywhere, everywhere, in these mountains. They’re right here in this cabin, at this minule! They’re in every hut up and down the Clinch Mountains where there’s a man, woman or child that's learned to love the land that our fathers fought for, and to hate the cursed aristocrats that want to split it to pieces. Union headquarters, do you say'? Here they are.” And the speaker smote his breast. “Here, and in the heart of each loyal East Tennesseean who skulks and hides from Harris’ minions, and prays for the day that will bring the Union soldiers up this way and give him freedom!” Even the prisoner himself was thrilled by this outburst of rude eloquence; but the speaker’s companions were simply carried away by it. The narrow cabin rang with their shouts; cheers for Lincoln and the Union, and groans for Governor Harris made for a few moments a Babel of noise. “I hope you’re answered, stranger.” said Baird, when the clamor had ceased. “You’re in the hands of the men who are go ng to try you; and if they find yon guilty of being a rebel spy, they’ll hang you, and there won't be any delay about that part of it, neither. How is it, boys—will you be the jury and I the Judge?” The answer was one loud “Aye.” “All right, boys. I haven’t much lamin’, but I reckon I can manage this. I was a Justice of the Peace down below here, ’fore everything was broke up by this war, and I know something about trials. I’ve got the witnesses right here to prove ye guilty, and I’ll call ’em on. | First ” “Wait,” inter;upted the prisoner. “I don’t believe for a moment that you want to kill me to satisfy some of your hatred ; toward the rebels/ I believe you to be ■ just men, if you are rough in your ways, i I think I can satisfy you that I am not at i all what you take me for. Will you give j me a fair trial? Will you judge me fairly?” “Just as fairly as it’s in us to do. But I •! warn ye—there’s a strong case agin you. ” The prisoner looked calmly at his judge • and jury, and there was little of hope i within him as he did so. Wallace Baird sat rigidly before him; the others stood and leaned on their rifles, except the two \ who held him by the arms. He knew that I they had come there, not to try him, but [ to hang him; he saw their verdict made i up in their stern faces. Yet, as one will ■ always cling to hope, he resolved to try | to move them by simple and direct ap- ; peals at the right moment. i “Since I have nothing to conceal, ’’he [ said, “I do not think you will want any [ witnesses. I will tell you the exact truth, I either in answer to your questions or in t the form of a narrative. Go on; what do Jou want to know?” Wallace Baird began to question him. CHArTF.It 111. AT THE GALLOWS TREE. I Baird held up the envelope again. “What do you say about this?” “That letter was received by me in I Vicksburg, through the Postoffice, last i May. The person who wrote it lives in the same city. My name is Charles SmedI ley. I was once a Captain in the army.” I “Ain’t you in the rebel service now?” I “No; and I never have been. ” i “Well, the letter squints that way—- ■ that’s all. 11l read it out.” ■ Smedley started at the proposition; but [he quickly realized that his protest would Ibe of no avail, and would tell against [him. With outward composure, but with [ something like inward madness, he heard ihis rough judge with some hesitation and stumbling read the following: Vicksburg, May 7, 1861. I Captain Smedley: Your note of yesterlday is received. You complain in it that I [treat you distantly when we meet on the [street; you say that you have called reI eently at my lather's house, and that the I girl at the door said I was not at home, when pou suspected that I was at home. You ask pne for an appointment, when you may see me and explain yourself. Sir!—there shut one explanation you can [make that will be acceptable to me. The time for plain speaking has come, and there [can he no other kind between us. The [South needs every one of her sons; your [State calls you to the field. I am a true [daughter of Mississippi, and will not smile [on one who, born on her soil, hesitates to [draw the sword for her and her sister States [Which have set up a new government. Sim [has a right to demand more of you than o. most others; for you have experience, [you have already achieved a name in war, [you are qualified to be a leader of men. [ My father says that you may be Colonel tiie infantry regiment now raising here. P you will but ask it. Toil him to-morrow morning that you wish it: and in the evening you will not be turned away from our door. I Otherwise it will be useless for you to pome. Isabel Montfobd. I ell?” asked Baird. L “I have not seen the writer of that letter since its date,” Smedley responded [Heft Vicksburg on the Bth of May and yith much difficulty got through the lines. ” • “What does the letter mean where it Bays you have experience in war'?'’ [ “It means that 1 fought with the Mislissippi Volunteers in the Mexican war.” 1 I “You?” 1

COUNTy St Inftepentant

“Come, now, Mr. Smedly—if that’s your name—don’t try to gammon us in that way. We re not fools, if we be ignorant. You don't look more’n thirty now.” “Thirty-one,” said Smedley. "The Mexican war was over thirteen years ago, at least. You wasn’t old enough to be there. ” | “I enlisted when I was sixteen. I fought in some of its severest battles. I won a Captain's commission for bravery at Monterey, where I was desperately wounded. I have fought hard and often for this country; I never raised my hand against her yet. ” I lie s mple statement, the tone in which it was uttered, made a certain impression on his captors. But the Judge went on with his questions. “You won’t deny that you was writing this here?” and he held up the unfinished letter. “I was writing it when you came.” “And it reads well, too! Listen to it:” In the Clinch Mountains, 1 East Tennessee. Aug. 15, 1861. f Miss Montford: Your cruel letter is always with me. I read it daily with such heaviness of heart as you will never know. The day after receiving it 1 left Vicksburg; it was needless to tell you whj' I must depart; an I yet I often regret that I'came away. But what was I to do? I never could accept you hard condition: to live near you and not to see you, not to speak to you. would .be impossible. I have not drawn my sword | against the South: how can I, with you I against me? I hear of Union reverses; | everything is doubtful; I know not what to do. O, Isabel “How d'ye send such letters as this down t© Vicksburg?” “I do not send them. I never have sent one.” “What d'ye write ’em for, then?” “To occupy my idle moments; to relieve my distraction.” “What d’ye do with ’em?” “I burn them up. ” Baird looked round with a kind of triumph. From the expression of the faces about him, it was plain that this part of Smedley’s story received no credence. “What brought you up hero, anyway?” pursued Baird. “Can’t you understand it?” The prisoner spoke with impatience and irritation. “If you are not blocks of wood you will know what those letters mean. I wanted to get away from men and women; to try to get away from myself. That is why I camo to this lonely region. There was no other reason.” “O, wasn’t there? What did ye make all these pictures of the mountains and the passes for—if not to send ’em to the rebels?” “I swear I had no such intention. It was only to amuse myself and occupy my mind.” “What did ye goto Knoxville for, a week ago? And what did Harris’ soldiers let ye come back for?” “I did not go there.” “You didn’t?” “No. I started, intending to go there and get the news and some supplies that I could not procure up here. I got within six miles of the pl see and was warned by a friendly Union woman not to go on. She found out what my sentiments were by talking v h me, and she told me that I would surely be conscripted into the rebel army if I got to Knoxville. I made out to buy a very small store of provisions on the way and I started back here. I was at Knoxville a month ago and learned to be careful.” “Here’s three small books, called ‘Hardee’s Tactics.’ What be they?” “'They' relate to the study of war. They tell how to drill and manage infantry.” “What be you doing with them?” “I was a soldier in Mexico, I told you. I have always since taken an interest in studying the movements of troops.” “Hardee!” exclaimed Burt Hankins. “I've heard that name before. I saw it in a paper. He’s a rebel General.” Smedley was tempted to smile, but the lowering faces about him warned him that this item of proof was thought to be serious. “The book was written years before this war, ”he explained. “The author was then an officer in the United States army.” “Humph! Lots of ’em was, I hear, who is secesh now’. How did you get that paper if you didn’t go to Knoxville?” “I got it of the woman I spoke of.” “You don’t deny that you was born in Mississippi?” “No; nor that I fled from there when I became afraid that I would have to join the rebel army if I stayed. I tell you, I have suffered for the Union—peril ps more than you have. If I have not fought for it in this war, I have not fought against it. ” A brief silence followed his words. “Do you want to say anything more?” Wallace Baird asked. “Nothing. If I have not convinced you that I am not a rebel spy, then I can not convince you. I have told you the truth. If I die for it, I can tell no other story. I am as good a Union man as the best of ’ you. ” He looked straight into Baird’s eyes, and knew’ that this man. at least, believed him guilty of the charge. Looking round upon the other faces, he saw little encouragement. “Sanders, Bullis,” said the Judge, “take him outside. We will consult a little.” He went out with his guards. They stood in dull silence near him, gun in hand, while the confused murmur of voices came from the cabin. Smedley looked around him and off along the misty mountains, over which the moon wag shining, leaving the steep slopes half shade, half light. But an hour ago life had seemed to him an intolerable burden, a dull, dreary pain; now’, when it was threatened to be taken from him, the thought of leaving it gave him a pang. He w’ondered w here, he should be on the following night; if Isabel would really be sorry when she heard of his cruel fate; if she would shed a single tear when The men in the cabin all came out together and gathered about him. He read his doom in their faces. “Smedley,” said the Judge, “we have voted you guilty. Parts of your story are reasonable ecough; but it don’t hang well together. Sanders and Bullis, what do you say?” “He’s a spy,” was the answer of both. “Come along,” was Baird’s brief and terrible order. All walked about ten rods to the scattering timl er. The Judge paused under an oak that had a stout branch twelve feet up. “This will do,” he said. “Get ready.” Smedley’s arms were bound behind him, his ankles were tied, and his handkerchief was fastened over his eyes. The noose was placed round his neck, the rope was passed over the branch, and the end was in the hands of three men. The victim swiftly commended his soul to his Maker. “Anything to say?” asked Baird. “This is a murder!” was the firm reply. “You will learn the truth too late. May God forgive you! I am a soldier and do not fear death, but I ought not to die thus.” Wallace Baird raised his hand. SmedI ley felt the rope tighten about his neck; ।he was lifted from his feet. Fl ashes of I fire Were before his eyes. Followed by darkness, the loud, roaring of something

WALKERTON, ST. JOSEPH COUNTY, INDIANA, SATURDAY, AUGUST 31,1889.

like the rush of many waters, and ha knew no more. i CIIAFTER IV. AT THE LAST MOMENT. For several hours before these occur- 1 rences a man mounted on a strong black ! horse had been ascending the precipitous । side of these mountains, toiling through the defiles, and penetrating the gullies. The road was winding and often obscure; often it ceased to be of the character of a highway, and became a mere path. This traveler was no stranger in this region, but there were places where the way became unusually steep and rocky, and the direction was doubtful, at which he would dismount and carefully examine the surroundings, and then mount again and resume his way. Though sometimes embarrassed he never failed in the end to spell out the right path. He was at this time about twenty-five years of age, and appeared, ns he easily sat on his horse, to be of medium height, broad-shouldered and muscular. His large, well-shaped head was covered with brown hair which showed from under his wide hat, his face was fresh and rosy, a curly brown beard and long mustache gave it a manly look; and while the mouth was thus concealed, there was a straight, shapely nose above, and there were two such large and deep blue eyes as are not often given to a man. His face, as lie rode slowly along, was a mirror of thought. Anxiety would be pictured there, then resolution would flash from his eyes, and then sorrow or ; apprehension of evil would take its I place. The saddle that he bestrode was | furnished with holsters, and once he took out the pistols that they contained and carefully examined them. At sunset of this day he Frew rein on one of the levels of these heights, and looked away to the south. The whole region was flooded with light, and all its picturesque features were spread before him as on a map. He could see the towering ridges that seemed lost in the horizon, the valleys that sheltered unseen villages, and even thread-like glimpses of the French Broad, winding down toward distant Knoxville. Long and earnestly he looked, and a sigh burst from his breast. “And this region, too, must be given over to the flames and horrors of civil war! Great God! to think of the misery that is in store for this innocent people! How have we merited it? What have we ever done that it should come upon us? Why can they not leave us in peace and fight out their bitter feuds elsewhere?" He asked the questions, rind answered them in his own mind as soon as asked. He was n student, a reader and a thinker. He knew the causes of the terrible conflict of arms that had been launched upon the land, and he was able to foresee what all could not—its long, bloody and devastating course. He turned and rode on. His face grew stern and moody, and, although the path was growing steeper and more difficult, he urged bis horse to a faster gait. Twilight passed, the moon rose as he went on. He had no eyes now for the imposing grandeur of the scene; his soliloquy had turned his thoughts upon his mission up here, upon those he had left behind the previous day with tearful farewells, and upon the doubtful and troubled future. A great fragment of rock fell from a cliff near the road into a deep chasm, a catamount screeched from a tree near by, and the combined noises echoed and reverberated among the mountains; but the rider hardly noticed them. It was, perhaps, two hours after moonrise that he turned off through a narrow defile which led to a small level almost covered with trees. There was a small house, hardly more than a hut, and a shed behind it. "This is the place,” he said. He rode up to. the door and gave a loud “Hnlloa!” A very small panel was shoved aside, and the rider was conscious of being inspected from within. “Who is it?” was demanded. “ Brandon from Knoxville,” was the reply. The door was unbolted and flung open, and a middle-aged woman, clad in a coarse cotton gown, with three or four somewhat ragged children at her heels, rushed out. The horseman had seen her before, and had before observed the lingering traces of feminine beauty in her face, almost obliterated now by care and sorrow and the hard life of these mountains. She came straight up to the saddle and offered her hand. Her faded eyes shone with gratification. “Why! Mr. Brandon, is it really you?” । “I thought I knew you when I looked । through the peep-hole; but it’s so long ! since you’ve been up this way—not since the war began, have you?—that I feared we'd never see you again. We’ve heard ! -from you once in a while, though, and aboout all we know of what’s going on at Knoxville and beyond is the views you've managed to send us. But come—get off, and come in. Dan, take the horse and put him in the shed. Wally won’t be back till morning, but he’ll be glad enough to see you then.” [TO BE CONTINUED.] Reflections of a Cat. The nicest bed is a pan of rising bread. The old maid is the cat’s good Samaritan. If it wasn’t for the rat I would be an outcast. I think I have a pretty nose when it ain’t scratched. The oven was about the hottest place I was ever in. I am blamed for a great many things the girl breaks. In all my experience I never saw a ’ cat hit with a bootjack. Every cat that gets on our back fence doesn’t come to see me. When people go to sit down they ! never see I am asleep in the chair. When I can’t get the ribbon off my j neck I try to drag it in the dirt. If I hadn’t the talons the small boy i would find no fun in pulling my tail. What Is In a Trade. A trade makes you Hidependent. A strong crutch upon which to lean. It is a passport to all countries and climes. A demand note which passes current everywhere. Something which can be carried in I our heads and hands. The only property which can not be ! mortgaged or sold. It is a calling which can be declined i or taken up at pleasure. The one tiling that can not be learned ' iu an academy or college. A tiring about, which neither friends । nor kindred can quarrel. A man may lie for office and pelf. And gain his designs in the end, But if a man is true to himself lie’ll never;go Lack on ajfrien<i

OLD SOLDI EHS IN CAMP. REUNION (IF THE VETERANS AT MILWAUKEE. I Tlie Annual Encampment of (lie Grand Army of tlie Republic Attended by Thousands of the Country’s Defenders— Eighteen Thotisand in tlie Great Parade —Gen. Algor Elected Commander. It was 10 o’clock Monday morning when the special train carryinz Com mander-in-Chief Warner and staff pulled into the union depot. There were thousands there to greet him, both citziens and visitors from afar. The maren, with the Blair post of St.. Louis in the lead, with a drum corps and band, was made to the Plankinton house, where the commander has his quarters. He was ac"O'"'’ ' W COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF RFSSFLL A. ALGEK. companied by his staff, as follows: JudgeAdvocate General J. B. Johnson, Assistant Adjutant-General E. G. Granville, Aids-de-Camp Brant, Rogers, Eraland, Smith, Axtell, Kidwell, Greenain. Y’eaton, Gaston, and Jenks. A. J. McCoy, past commander department of Wisconsin, and several others from St. Louis and Chicago posts were in the party.

/ \ THE VETERANS IN CAMP.

• 4 Gen. Sherman arrived in the midst of a blare of trumpets and the beating of drums. His welcome was a cordial one, and the grizzled old warrior got a reception which made his heart glad. With his innate modesty he had sought to get into the city unobserved at an unseemly hour in the night, but his “bummers” captured him an carried him off. “Uncle Billy” was surprised for once, and the veterans enjoyed his discomfiture. It was not long, however, before the entente cordials was established and the old hero submitted to the blandishments of those who had marched to the sea with him. A shower ' of bouquets covered Gen. Sherman as he alighted from his carriage at the Plankini ton house, and one of them the General ; gracefully presented to the daughter of I nT i (I fed/ Jb JO » Bi JkL THE EIGHTH WISCONSIN IN THE PROCESSION. Major Warner, the commander-in-chief. Ransom post of St. Louis, to which Gen. Sherman belonged, bad an ovation during the evening. There was genuine pathos in the piarade of the Grand Army of the Republic Tuesday. In that long line which swept down the broad thoroughfare —so appropriately called Grand avenue —there were presented many pictures which recalled the most stirring days in the history of this great republic. The parade was smaller than it was at either St. Louis or Columbus, and the crowds that watched it pass were larger. There were in the parade about eighteen thousand men; but along the line of march were almost as many more men who wore the Grand Army button, but who did not feel equal to the task of trudging two miles and a half under the broiling hot sun. And in the procession were men who had no more business to be there th -n they had to be swimming in Lake Michigan in March or playing leap-frog. It all who took part in the parade had been compelled to secure a permit from a conscientious physician before they started there wouldn’t have been 5,000 men in lino. But they were soldiers —gamey old boys—and the same grit that made them cover twenty-five miles on a forced march a quarter of a century ago made them turn out to stay the route through. And those who started for the most part, were in at the finish. All in all it was a grand parade and the lessons that it taught were manifest. The tattered battle flags, the empty sleeves, the martial airs played by the

bands, and withal the sturdy manhood represented—all taught their lesson of patriotism. Tuesday morning the cities and towns of the State seemed to have emptied their ] populations into Milwaukee. Before 10 o’clock 2,000 people from Waukesha alone had arrived, and it is not an exaggeration to say that by noon fully 50,000 Wisconsin citizens were in town. There was a little disorder in finding quarters, but most of the arrivals managed to get into place in time to move with the column. On every vacant spot in the streets post commanders could be seen drilling their little squads of men. It was 10:15 o’clock when the head of the column started from Camp Badger, and it was half an hour later when it reached the reviewing stand between Eleventh and Twelfth streets. First came the LightHorse squadron to clear the s rest, the troopers all dressed in full uniform and well mounted, Capt. C. P. Huntington in command. Next came the escort to Corn-mander-tn-Chief Warner. At the head marchod Frank P. Blair Post of St. Louis, 121 strong, with platoon fronts, as finely dressed as regulars and all in uniform. Behind the post came the commander-in-chief, mounted upon a gray charger and receiving generous applause from the crowds that were closely packed around the reviewing stand. Major Warner was attended by his numerous staff, all in uniform and richly mounted, and followed by carriages containing distinguished guests. In the rear seat of the first carriage sat Gen, W. T. Sherman | and Gen. John C. Robinson of New York, | while facing them wire Secretary Rusk ' and Gov. Hoard. As the familiar features of the greatest living general of the world were seen cheer after cheer went up. A halt was made at the grand stand, the commander-in-chief dismounted and took his position, being vociferously cheered as he did so; the carriages were turned, and, assisted by Col. Charles King, Gen, Sherman alighted and made his way to the stand, followed by the other occupants of ! the carriage. The column resumed the i march as soon as Commander-in-Chief Warner and Gen. Sherman were in their positions Hassendeubel post, of St. I Louis, 140 strong, and Ransom post, of St. Louis, (the post of which Gen. Sher- । man is a member) 100 strong—the remaining post of the escort of the commander- ’ i in-chief—marched past with the precision and bearing of well-drilled troops. After the Missouri boys came the men । from Illinois, who were really at the head

i of the procession proper, Major Warner : having put the Missouri contingent under the head of “escort to the commander-in- ■ chief.” The Illinois division was the > largest in line, Wisconsin excepted. The > men in ranks were howling themselves • hoarse as thej r recognized Mrs. Gen. I Logan seared on one of the upper tiers of the stand. Not half of the 650 ! veterans from Illinois had passed. The reviewing officers, recognizing i the honors due and so spontaneously paid > her, called Mrs. Logan to a seat at their I side. Then the applause from the specta- ■ tors was deafening. Handkerchiefs and > hats went into the air. and from the long terraces of both sides of the avenue there was a monster salute. From that moment for three hours the favorite of the Grand \rmy boys was kept busy waving her handkerchief in response to round after round of cheers from the passing army. Her costume of black sent a peculiar thrill through the column of white-haired marchers, and hats were doffed with a marked air of reverence and many a sturdy fellow showed emotion. It is no disrespect to say that momentarily “the boys” neglected to pay full homage to the commander-in chief, it being unwritten law that he alone is to be honored when the review takes place. Major Warner, however, did not take any slight. On the contrary, he encouraged the attention to his distinguished companion. Next came the department of Pennsylvania led by an armed platoon of fourteen files front, keeping an almost perfect alignment, and followed by a miniature battery of two steel fieldpieces manned by small boys. The only posts of this department were from Pittsburg and Allegheny City and numbered about two hundred. They carried guidons with corps badges, and several of the torn and tattered battle flags of the Keystone State volunteer regiments appeared in the ranks. Ohio followed with a fine turnout, and then came New York, which made up in style what it lacked in numbers. Corporal Tanner rode in a carriage in the New I • fir Kh THEY FOUGHT IN THE SAME WAB. York section of the parade, and he wore a iawn tennis coat and a straw hat. Connecticut had the honor of having at her head a man whose fine soldierly bearing was remarked by every one, and he was frequently cheered along the line ot march. His name was Col. Pierrp nt. His left leg was missing below the knee, and from his left arm, in which he held

the bridle reins, dangled a pair of crutches. The horse he r. de was a me tlesome beast, but he maintained such a steady seat in the saddle and such an admirable poise of his I head that he was an ideal soldier. Virginia’s gallant little handful of men were cheered. California at racted attention with a large red flag, on which was worked in gold the figure of a bear. lowa had a large contingent in line, but not what was expected. The post to make the largest showing in this division was J that from Lime Springs. Michigan made a good show, with about two hundred and fifty men in line and Gen. Alger made something of a hit by tramping along with “the boys.” Minnesota did well and had about two hundred men in line, while her young sister, Dakota, appeared with a fine contingent. The gallant little squads from Louisiana, '/Wk. GENERAL SHERMAN. Mississippi, Florida and Georgia were warmly cheered. The Wise nsin division was the finest portion, of the parade, there being fully nine thousand men in line. Commander Weissert road at the head, followed by 1 his staff. There were at least seven thousand men in the division. C. C. Wash--1 burn post, of Madison, the oldest one in 1 the country, 150 strong, headed by Fast I Commander-in -Chief Fairchild was first in line. The eighth division consisted of stragglers ami belated detachments, and the procession finished with the division of Sons of Veterans. It was in all respects a fine parade, and it took two hours and a half for it to pass the reviewing stand, the men marching in clo e order and eight abreast for the most part. There was a noticeable absence of the frolicking, so prominent during former parades, and there was a certain grimness about the way the men marched that betokened many felt it was their last parede. When the last man in the parade had passed a crowd surrounded Gen. Sherman I and wanted to shake hands with him. “Get out,” said the veteran bluntly. “This is no place to shake hands. Come down to the hotel. Umph! I’ll hire a man to shake hands for me.” Then he jammed his hands down into bis pockets and smoked till the air was blue. A reception to Mrs. Logar, at the court house Tuesday night was attended by posts, battalions and squads of veterans and by citizens of the Sucker State generally who are in Milwaukee. It was an ovati n without preparation, and the number of person- who shook hands with her was astonishing. The national officers came in for a good share of attention during the evening. Major Warner was presented with an elegant commander’s badge studded with diamonds and the senior vice-commander received a gold watch. It was a season of good will and favors down the line, the other officers being the recipients of testimonials. The National Encampment proper, or , convention of delegates of the Grand Army of the Republic, -was called to order at 10:15 o’clock Wednesday in the West Side Turner Hall. The sessions were secret and none but delegates were admitted. Nearly the ivhole time of the morning session was taken up with the reading of the annual report of Comman-der-in-chief arner. Reports were also made from tne other officers and all were accepted. At the afternoon session Boston was selected as the place for holding the next encampment. A large number of resolutions were submitted and referred to ihe Committee on Resolutions and a fe-w of them were read. The sensation wan sprung by General Lucius Fairchild, and the fact that he introduced the resolution which he did was what caused the sensation. He offered a resolution ~S:-aS— Mt—_ AT THE SOLDIER'S HOME. asking that Congi oss appropriate money enough to erect monuments at Gettysburg over the “graves of the brave men against whom the Union soldiers fought, ” and urged that such action be taken as soon as possible. The resolution was greeted with applause and was referred to the committee along wi ll the others. At the evening session Russell A. Alger was elected Commander-in-chief of°the Grand Army of the Republic. The meeting was a secret oue, and it lasted from 8:30 o’clock until nearly midnight. Gen. Alger was put in nomma- I tion by Postmaster Sexton, of Chicago. Fully twenty speeches were made by men ■ who favored the man who was disappointed at Chicago last year. ! came from all sections of ^the i country, among them being Gen. I Hurst,‘of Ohio; T. A. Bean, of Pennsylvania; Gen. Ginty, of Wisconsin; and Corporal Tanner, of New York. Gen. ; Veazey, of Vermont, was placed in nom- ; ination, and so was Consigny, of lowa, j More speeches were made for Gen. j Alger, and it soon became apparent that the Michigan man had a walk-away. j Gen. Veazey then withdrew, as did Con- : signy. Gen. Alger was then elected by acclamation. He was brought into the ( hall and received with rousing cheers. He spoke; so did Corporal Tanner. ■ E. G. Weissert, Commander of the Wis- ’ cousin Department, was elected Senior Vice Commander by acclamation, no other candidates appearing. John F. Lovett of New Jersey was elected Junior Vice Commander, after an exciting con- i test with James E. Tainter of Connecti- ; cut. IM*——-.

NUMBEKIIO.

THE SUNDAY SCUOOL. AN INTERESTING AND INSTRUCTIVE LESSON CONSIDERED. I Reflections of an Elevating Character — Wholesome Food for Thought — Studying the Scriptural Lessons Intelligently and Profitably. j The lesson for Sunday, Sept. 1, may be I found in 1 Sam. 17: 32-51. INTRODUCTORY. i We come to the storj' of one of the most 1 notable personal encounters of all history. I Homer, in his generous periods descriptive I of the meeting of heroes and demi-gods in I the Trojan battle-plain, never touched the i high mark of e.th. r literary or moral subI limit? to which this narrative carries us. j Thore was real dignity in this contest. We i execrate the French duel, we abominate ! and abhor the English prize-ring, because i of either the total absence of adequate pur- ! pose, or else the utter falseness of the ap- । plication. But where, as here, great issues are at stake, and a great cause is to be served, the matching of strength with strength, and the acceptance of a sort of vicarious test and ordeal has something in it near akm to divinity. The Homan youth who for Romo’s weal leaped into the yawning chasm, John Maynard who, to save the passengers of his burning vessel, clung in self-immolation to his pilot’s box, awakens in us an admiration little short of reverence. It becomes wholly reverence, at last and alone, when on a tree outside the Malls a Kingly Head drops, and he who was wounded for our transgressions—the just for the unjust—meets and conquers the giant Death. WHAT THE LESSON SAYS. And David said. David had come on merely a civilian errand to the battle-field (v. 17). which was at a point on the troublous borders of the land not far east of Bethlehem. Hbs bold words about the insolent Goliath ,v. 26) had been reported to Saul, who, at his wits’ ends to break the dead-lock, now forty days in duration, sent at once tp him.-— Fail because of him. The Douay version says, “Be discouraged in him.” (See Margin.) We prefer, however, the King Jarnos’ translation as nearer the original (over him) This Philistine. He ma- have been a mercenary of the , Philistine's, and one of the relics of the j old Anekim, so frightful always to i Israel (Deut. 9: 2). He was about ’ ten feethigh, and belonged to a family of j gigantic men, all of whom were slain by • David and his servants (2 Sam. 21: 22). Saul said to David. Saul had already met . David, but knew him up to this time only as a poet and musician (17: 17). How strange, then, this new development! So strange, indeed, that ho does not seem to ’ reoognize him in his new character, or if he 1 dees, the startling events of the day make a revision of his conception of the young > man necessary (see vs. 55-58), It must be , remembered that several years had prob- - ably passed since David was for a season in the royal court. But a youth. The word, 1 according to the lexicon, could be applied • to a bearded young man of twentv. We : know from 1 Sam 16; 18, tnat David had. beS fore this, shown himself to be a remarkai bly strong and well-developed young man. > WHAT THE LESSON TEACHES. I Thy servant will go and tight with this ( Philistine. The voice of the champion o< [ tho truth. The church is waiting for such proffer. Every age has its insolent Goliath of Philistinism; shall it not have also its courageous Davil, full of trust in God? 1 Tetzel was the Goliath of work righteousness. and Luther, with his “The just shall live by faith,” was the David who smote > him to the earth and put the whole of Phili istia to consternation. Bunyan and Wesley and Knox and Edwards were young Davids in their day. May me mention in their later spheres of action, Phillips, Gough, ’ Lincoln, Judson, Moody, Drummond? The Davidic spirit is needed ever; contempt of t Satan, hope iu God. God keep it large ■ and strong iu the church and for the 5 church! But I come to thee in the name of the Lord of hosts. That was holy boldness. It defied the sword because a greater sword was held; “the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” It despised the spear bes cause around about were the invisible yet i invincible spearsmen of the Almighty. It j laughed at shield and javelin, for of the . omnipotent God it might say: “He is our } help and shield,” “His truth shall be my . shield and buckler.” To those who go forth in the name of God there is safety and 1 strength. "There"—that is, to those dwells ing in the Zion of full faith—"there brake he the aarows of the bow, the shield, and the • sword and the battle." It is the secret of [ Hudson Taylor’s success in China and of Bishop Taylor’s success in Africa. It is the power that worketh in every true child of ( faith. Trust God. For the battle, is the Lord’s. Net man’s, but God’s, and hence we can call in all the ’ enginery of heaven. The servant of God ! should not trouble himself about the weakness of his own human arrangemeat. He i can rightly plead the promises of God in i his truth’s behalf and call down all the might of the skies. 0 for the devout in- , trepidity of an Elijah on Carmel! O for ’ faith to believe that the battle is the I.ord’B and to call upon the divine resources! Once in awhile a pious courage startles us with 1 its appeal and wakes us to the magnitude • of tho conflict and of the forces enlisted in it. It was such a spirit that arrested the j attention of David Hume when George Whitefield was closing one of his matchless proclamations of the gospel. Pausing 1 a moment tho great preacher stamped with his foot, lifted up his eyes and hands to heaven with the cry that thrilled the vast audience as scarcely anything else could: “Stop, Gabriel! stop, Gabriel! stop ere you enter the sacred portals, and yet carry with you the news of one sinner converted to Five smooth stones. First, they were right at hand: i. e., available; second, they were easily carried and portable; third, they were designed to fly at tlie maik. definite, incisive; fourth, they were meant to bring down the object at which they were aimed—effective; filth and last, every one of them was enough lor all this if rightly east: they were charged, as it were, with divine energy. Let us pick up live such stones out. of tho heavenly brook which seemed to inn at David’s feet, stones winch Dai id need to light a greater Goliah m later years, and which are smooth and round for our own use a-ainst the giants that challenge us There’are many of them and we need not, err in taking the first we crossing of the brook. (1) Lne^Lora knowethi the way of the righ te( ^D ce-, I lestial intercourse. Psalm L And here j j because of him. (3) ,f ra iq ' o f t en . b™. »> •°® (5) "But thou, Lord, will bless the runt onus- with favor wilt thou compass him as . wffh’a shield 'Lnwle dependence on the “ThnTnrd savetn not w n smooth stone. I «»“ * j Sam. 20: 1-1& ( lean Them Out. “If everybody.thought as I did, sir, about prohibition, there wouldn t boa saloon open a month hence. -If I had my way they d all be closed by Saturday I” “How is that ?” “To stock up!” Any attempt to raise hogs snri potatoes in the same field at the sam.ru time will be useless. Y'oti must ng.t 'iry to do too many things at once.