Corv allis Weekly Gazette.
GAZETTE PUBLISHING HOUSE, Pubs.
COBVALLIS,
OREGON-
WAY TO SING.
Who wisely sings
Milwaukee has increased its popula
:ion during the last few years to the
ixtent of 50,000 and now feels that
she is on the high road to metropolitan
reatness.
That the supply of children in this
country exceeds the demand is eviden
ced by the fact that, in almost every
locality, there are not school houses
enough to accommodate the would be
pupils. This demand is more pressing
in cities than in the country, owing to
the tendency of population in that
direction.
A fifty-four ton breech-loading rifle
Sun, twelve-inch bore, was cast for the
United States government at the
South Boston iron works recently in
the presence of a large number of army
and naval officers. The cast was suc
cessful, so far as outward appearan
ces are concerned, but this cannot be
definitely determined until the gun is
tested. This is one of the largest guns
cast in this country.
The civil service principle is making
headway in the matter of elective ju
dicial offices. The papers report nu
merous instances of nominations
made without regard to party con
siderations. Nominations for judges
by political opponents have become
so common that they are not men
tioned as anything unusual. Some
credit is due to the lawyers, but more
to the people at large, who are quick
to understand and appreciate the ad
vantages of securing the best legal tal
ent for the bench, without regard to
political affiliations.
In his argument in the Hoyt will
case at New York, General Butler made
these characteristic remarks: "Any
will made in general restraint of mar
riage is void. The law wants every
body to get married, and anything is
against law that prevents it. No man
has a right to say that his child male
or female shall not be married. Jesse
Hoyt was a grocer's clerk himself. He
made his money from what his brother-in-law
gave him to start with. Still
it would not be thought now that a
grocer's clerk is fit for a rich man's
daughter. I believe they don't hold
anybody but coachmen fit."
The birds must know.
Will sine as thev.
The common air has generous wings;
Songs make their way.
No messenger to run belore,
Devising plan;
No mention of the place, or hour,
To any man.
No waiting till some sound betrays,
A listening ear;
No different voice no new delays
If steps draw near.
"What bird is that? The song is good."
And eager eyes
Go peering through the dusky wood
In glad surprise.
Then, late at night, when by his fire
The traveler sits.
Watching the fire go brighter, higher,
The sweet song flits
By snatches through his weary brain,
To help him rest.
When next he goes that road again,
An empty nest
On leafless bow will make him sigh:
"Ah me! last spring,
Just here I heard, in passing by,
That rare bird sing."
But while he sighs, remembering
How sweet the song.
The little bird, on tireless wing,
Is borne along
In other air; and other men,
With weary feet,
On other roads, the simple strain
Are finding sweet.
The birds must know. Who wisely sings
Will sing as they;
The common air has generous wings;
Songs make their way.
Helen Hunt Jackson.
ACROSS THE MERIDIAN.
An intimate friend of the Grant fam
ily makes the following statement:
Grant had $200,000 worth of first
class railroad mortgage bonds, which
were the result of several operations
with prominent and wealthy friends
in New York. These securities he kept
in a box, which 'for safe keeping he
placed in vaults where Ward's papers
and valuables were. When he came
down to the office to get his box
the day after the failure, it was gone,
and the securities have never been
heard from. That day, Ward, in the
only interview he had with Grant af
ter the failure, acknowledged that he
had taken the securities, sold them,
and made way with the money. This
is the reason Why Grant was so com
pletely bankrupted.
A return to the war department of
the names of officers on the active list j
who served in the war gives a striking !
proof of the extent to which our army J
,s now officered by men old enough for , reached and suddenlv turning
active service over twenty years ago. 1 on him, her face until then concealed
Kortlandt drew his horse to a halt
as he breasted the brow of the hill, and
lifted the cap from his head that he
might enjoy to the full the soft, deli
cious breeze. Perhaps only one who like
himself had newly come from the
crowded amphitheater of the lecture
room of a medical college, and from
daily witness of mental and physical
sufferings by the bed-sides of its hos
pital wards, could have felt, as he did,
intensified by powerful contrast, the
stillness, beauty and peace af what he
looked on.
It was the field cf one of the great
battles of the late war, ground made
holy by heroic blood heroic, whether
the hearts which throbbed forth were
bursting with triumph or breaking with
defeat.
So thought the young physician as
his eyes wandered over the scene, dis
covering few marks to indicate that
once this valley had seethed with fire
and smoke and struggling human
forms, and the whole air had been a
shriek of agony and strife. Twenty
years had done their work, and na
ture, which permits no desolation,
had sown the furrowed land with grass
and blooming flowers, which swayed
and swung in the spring air as if in uni
son with the humming bees above
them. But as he dismounted and led
his horse down the hill he discovered
traces of the battle which had escaped
his eyes from above. Now and then
his horse's hoof struck the rusty met
al of a dismantled gun, buried beneath
its brambles, and further on he found
himself in a wilderness of little
mounds, marked here and there with
a wooden slab, its inscription effaced
by the rains of years.
As Kortlandt rose from a vain en
deavor to decipher one of these, a fig
ure appeared from the woods near by,
and after a momentary pause of the
first surprise of seeing him, continued
steadily to advance along the path
which led within a few yards of his
side. The figure was that of a woman,
poorly clad, but tall and graceful, and
moving with peculiar strength and
freedom of motion. Kortlandt wait
ed until she was near him and then
said:
"I beg your pardon, but can you in
form me what graves are these?"
The woman stopped abruptly as
the tones ot the clear northern
Of the total authorized force of 2,177
officers, 1,082 served in the army be- j
ore June 1, 1865. There is not a man I
above and including the rank of lieu
tenant colonel who did not, and 213 j
majors out of 235, 475 captains out
of 617 and 194 outof 656 lieutenants, j
Practically, if a war broke out now
and the army were expanded to a
force three or four times Its size, it i9 j
safe to say that every colonel and up-1
wards would be above forty years old i
and would soon have to be replaced I
by younger soldiers.
The long-continued arbitrary policy
of King Christian, in refusing to dis
miss an obnoxious cabinet, in com
pliance with a vote of parliament, anc1
levying alleged unconstitutional taxes
because parliament refused to votethi
budget, has led to a number of serious
riots and imposing demonstrations in
Copenhagen. The people seem deter
mined that their representatives in
parliament shall have some voice in
the affairs of the government, and
have become so threatening in their de
mands that the king has ordered the
garrison at Copenhagen to be largely
increased. These popular demonstra
tions are not confined to Copenhagen
alone but are general throughout Den
mark. It is expected that a st ate sieg
jrill be declared, and it is feared that a
. evolution will ensue if the king per
sists in refusing the concessions asked
by parliament. A number of politica
arrests have been made, tending to
further incite the people, and blood
shed is anticipated.
beneath the brim of the coarse straw
hat which she wore. It was that of a
girl, brunette and brilliant, illuminat
ed with a pair of glowing eyes, which
now fixed themselves Upon him.
"You must have come from very far
away not to know whose are the
graves that you are standing on," she
said, in a voice which did not owe its
peculiar intonation to' the southern
dialect in which she spoke.
"You are right," he replied, sur
prised at her beauty and manner;
"my home is as far away asthesnows
of winter from these southern flow
ers." A look of intense bitterness entered
the girl's face. "You are from the
North," she said. Her eyes flashed.
"I will tell y m whose are the graves
upon which you are treading. They
are those of the 'rebels' whom you de
feated," proudly; "they are those of
the martyrs, the heroes, who starved
and froze, who gave up home, family,
wealth and life in protection of their
rights and freedom, and whom you of
the North in your overpowering
strength of wealth and number; con
quered and killed. Yonder upon the
hill are those of my father and moth
erhe killed by your bullets and she
by the agony of his death. And all
these are mine, mine since I own the
sacred earth in which they rest. Oh!
that I possessed the power to protect
their resting place from the insult of a
Yankee's presence."
Kortlandt looked into the girl's
flushed and flushing face in a very
maze of astonishment. But her con
cluding words aroused his anger, and
he drew himself up with the color
mounting to his brows. Controlling
himself with an effort he lifted his cap,
and, bowing, said with cold courtesy,
in singular contrast to her fire: "That
being the case, mademoiselle, I shall
not linger to bid adieu. But permit
me to reassure yon; you possess power
to protect your heroes' restingplace
in a two-edged sword," and with an
other oow and a straight look into
her angry eyes, he drew his horse's
bridle over his arm and led him back
to the road.
As he mounted and rode on he found
to nis surprise that his hand was
shaking with excitement. He was very
angry, lie had never before been in
suited by a woman and the feeling of
Helplessness with which it affected him
was irritating in the extreme. He felt
this to be a weakness and endeavored
to throw it off. But that evening at
supper he could not resist giving
crisp little description of his late en
counter on the old battle-field to his
neighbor at the table, ending with an
inquiry if such violence of feeling and
expression were usual.
"Hardly, now," wasthereply. "But
this girl's is a peculiar case. Her name
is Ellen Everestt. Before the war her
father was the richest planter in the
state. He put every dollar he could
command into the cause, and finally
was killed on the held over there hght
ing for it. They carried him to his
house, which stood on the hill above
where his wife, who had remained
there despite everything that could be
deplored or commanded, received his
body and tended it. While she was
doing so the house was fired by
shell and burned to the ground. She
had her husband's body carried to the
quarters, and there that night her
baby was born and she died. Before
she died she gave the child to the old
house steward, having made him sol
emniy swear never to desert it.
"Did he do so?"
"No; he stuck to it through every
thing, and when the other negroes left
the plantation he and his old mammy
staid and took care of it down in the
quarters."
"Did none of the relatives claim the
child?"
"There was none who could. Unlike
most southerners,Everestthadno con
nections, and his wife few. Those were
so impoverished that they were glad t o
escape the burden of supporting it
"How did the negro do so?"
"Oh! by cultivating as much of the
most fertile land on the place as he and
his mammy could manage. But here
comes the most interesting part of the
story to you as a physician. Three
years ago the old man, who is over 70,
became so crippled with rheumatism
that he could not work, and what does
Nell Everestt do but turn to and work
the place herself."
"Do you mean with her own hands?"
"Yes, bv Jove; and handsome ones
they are, too, though they are hard
and brown as nuts.
"Why don't she teach." .
"She has no education."
"Or sew?"
"She might have done that, but she
is proud as Lucifer, and said that she
was willing to work for herself and her
mammy and Uncle Jake whom she
adores, but would not consent to be a
servant to any one."
This account of the girl's history
affected Kortlandt powerfully. He no
longer wondered at the intensity of
the hatred with which she regarded
all those of northern, blood. How
could it be otherwise when every day
of her life she had read afresh this
story in those hillside graves, those
unplanted fields, and the charred
ruins among the ceder trees? The
anger which had moved him passed
away in wondering admiration when
he pictured to himself that strong,
oeautuul young figure, which had con
fronted him so defiantly, taking upon
itself and performing, in its pride of
independence, the labors of a field
hand on the land where her forefathers
had commanded in absolute suprem
acy the labor of hundreds.
The weeks passed by and Kortlandt
found his health, which had been
somewhat impaired by his professional
labors, and which he had come to the
South to recuperate, entirely restored.
Yet he was in no haste to return to
the work he had been so loth to leave.
Indeed the heat of the summer
was upon him in its utmost
intensity, and yet he could
not break the spell which held
him in the south. What was the
spell? Was it the occasional glimpses
he caught, as he rode by, of a girl's
figure at work in a strip of cotton or
corn down in the rich bottom land!
Or the glances he had two or three
times received from a pair.of defiant
eyes under the brim of a broad straw
hat as he encountered their owner in
the road?
At- any raie, he said to himself one
night as he entered his room: "You
are a fool; this has got to end; you
start north to-morrow."
He had passed the old Everestt
plantation returning from his evening
ride; the night was brilliantly moon
light; he had left his horse in theshad
ow of some trees and walked up the
long cedar shaded drive which former
ly led to the house. A shorter shaded
Eath led tc) the quarters and this he
ad followed till he came to where he
could see the door of one of the cab
ins, and before it in the light of the
moon a young girl seated at the feet
of a white-haired old negro, against
whose knee she leaned her head while
they sang together she in a fresh con
tralto, he in the quivering tones of
age an old plantation ditty simple
and plaintive.
He had stolen away unnoticed, and
had ridden slowly home, with a feel
ing in his heart that was something
like despair. It had elicited his sudden
exclamation and resolve.
It was daybreak when a knock at
his door aroused him and a frightened
prayer took him to the bedside of one
of the servants of the house. It was yel
low fever.
That settled the question of his de
parture for him. He remained where
he was and in the terrible days which
followed no help that he could give was
withheld. So faithful and efficient
was he that soon the "Yankee doc
tor" was a name on the lips of every
one, and never uttered without a word
of commendation and gratitude.
Alone for the old physician who
had long held the practice of the little
place in monopoly had early suc
cumbed to the fever he fought the
terrible disease, battling with a cour
age which inspired others and kept
them from despair through all.
One rainy night after the epidemic
had passed its crisis, Kortlandt, after
returning from a visit at a distance,
and dismounting from his weary
horse at his door, found a woman's
figure standing bv his side, which
he knew even in that dim light. The
voice which addressed him was so
stifled as to be almost inaudible. ' 'For
give me," it said: "I was insane I
did not know; you are noble and good.
They have the feverUncle Jake and
Mammy. Oh! for God's sake, come."
Kortlandt 's heart throbbed so violent
ly that it was a moment before he
dared to trust his voice to speak. Then
hesaid quietly. "I will go at once,"
and remounting he rode away with as
much speed as he could get from his
jaded beast.
But she was at the cabin almost as
soon as he, eagerly and efficiently help
ful despite the agony of sorrow and
helplessness which possessed her as she
saw how little science and love could
prevail against the relentless death
that was fighting for possession of the
poor old black bodies shelovedso well.
For it was in vain that he expended
all his knowledge, and she all her ten
der care; the second morning with a
last faithful, loving look from his dim
eyes and a last gentle murmur of
"Good-by, little Missy; do'n you go to
cry for me," Uncle Jake had fallen
asleep, and a few hours later old Mam
my too, had passed away."
That evening Ellen Everestt stood
before the four graves, two of them
freshly made; for she had laid the
bodies of the blacks here, "beside her
other parents," as she said. In the
utter stillness which falls with the set
ting of the sun she could hear, far
down the road, the departing foot
steps and voices of the men who had
borne her only friends to their resting
place at her feet. She listened to
them, until they had faded away, and
then stood listening still for one
more sound. No; they were gone, and
she was alone, alone, alone forever.
So she cried wildly, but hands stron
ger than her own took them and held
them in a close, steady grasp, and
in a frightened glance she saw the
strong sympathy in the manly face
which she had learned to trust and
and turn to in the last few days.
naturally and thankfully as a child
she accepted it, and laying her face
upon his arm wept out the first bit
terness of her grief there. It was not
long before she had wept herself quiet,
but did not raise her head for some
time, and when she did so perceived
that the night had almost fallen.
Gently disengaging her hands from
his she rose to her feet, then again ex
tending them to him as he stood by
her side, "Good-night," she said.
"You cannot know how I thank and
bless you. Good-night."
'Oh! child, he cried, restraining her
as she would have turned away, "I
cannot let you go back to that lonely
cabin alone."
I must," she said sadly; "I have
nowhere else that I can go."
"flea, he said eagerly, it you will
have it so you need never return there
you and I need never part, if you will
be my wife, Nell."
nhe uttered a low cry, and drawing
her hands away buried her face in them
and turned from him. "Oh!" she
cried bitterly, "you say that because
you pity me. You would never have
said it else."
I say it because I love you. I
would never have said it else."
"But you are so wise, and good, and
great."
"And vou are so brave, and beauti
ful, and true. You asked me the other
night to forgive you. How can I, if
you trample on my heart and make
it such a wreck of weeds and desolat ion
as the northern soldiers never madeol
that neid there.' now can 1, u you
refuse the prayer that a man's heart
never but once makes to a woman a
prayer tor the complement to hisbeina
which her love alone can give? Nell,
there is but one chance of happiness in
this world for me, and it is that which
I am asking of you."
He saw her face in the clear light of
the rising moon as she turned it toward
him, and it gave him all the answer that
any man's heart could have required.
But he waited for the words.
"There is nothing of which my life has
been deprived," she said slowly, "ol
which it is possible to read in those
wasted helds or in these graves before
us, that your words have not repaid
to me a hundred fold. And I I give
you all I have to give: I love you."
EDITH'S SACRIFICE.
"It's going to be just . magnificent,
, mamma dear," cried pretty Jennie
j Maxwell, bounding into the sitting-
room where her mother was reading,
: and flinging down her bundle of books
! on the lounge. "There's going to be
the nicest swings, and croquet and
; tennis, and a platform all trimmed in
flowers for us to stand on, while we
; sing and recite ourpieces."
"Yes it is, for Harold Preston told
j us about it at noon," joined in her
twin sister, Louise, "and I for one am
i thankful school is over, then we can
go to the seaside." Louise tossed back
her long blue-black braids of hair, and
i flung herself into an easy chair with a
contented sigh.
Edith made no remark as she en-
tered the room. Her sweet face wore
; a thoughtful look and the mother saw
j that she had something on her mind.
"Yes, I have no doubt but what it
will be nice," remarked Mrs. Maxwell,
; "and you deserve it, for you have
j studied hard this term. Mrs. Knott
brought home your dresses this after
noon. They are in my bed room, if
you wish to see them." Jennie and
Louise gave a scream of delight, and
immediately left the room. When
they had gone, Edith rose up from her
j chair and coming over to her mother's
side, said: "Mamma, need I go tomor
row unless I wish?"
"No, dear, but you surely would not
desire to stay at home, when every one
else is going?"
"No, I wouldn't stay at home I
well mamma, you know Margery
White, who is so sickly all the time,
and she was in my class, too."
"Well, dear, what is it?" questioned
the mother, caressing the golden head
lovingly.
"You know she hasn't many pleas
ures, and Mrs. White has to work so
hard, and Ithought that asldidn't
care to go to the picnic, I would go
and spend the day with her, take a
a a i basket of dainties and some flowers
-iB i -, n , .
aiong and we n nave a nice time to
gether." "As you like, Edith," was Mrs. Max
well's response. "I visited Mrs. White
yesterday, and she said Margery felt
bad because she could not attend the
picnic. She looks very pale and ill,
but I've no doubt she would be glad
to see you. Now run, dear, and see
your new dress."
The dress had no attraction for
Edith, but she went into the room
where the girls were promenading be
fore the long mirror, admiring the ef
fect of their new dresses. "How do
they look Ede?" inquired Jennie,
spreading out the folds of her pretty
white mull. "Aren't they too sweet
and simple for picnic dresses?" "Very,"
was Edith's brief reply as she flung her
white dress over her arm and went
upstairs to her little chamber. She
did not pause to try it on, hung it up
in the wardrobe and closed the door
with a snap, thus shutting the dress
and all her happy expectations of the
picnic from sight.
Then she drew up a chair to the open
window and sat down to think. The
Greenville academy closed that even
ing, and on the morrow was to give a
grand picnic. Great preparations had
been made for the occasion, and every
boy and girl looked forward to the ay
with delight.
Edith had also, but she was a girl
who wished far mbre to give pleasure
to a person than receive it. She was
not one of your-too-gbod-for-the-world
girls, but she always tried to do right
and generally succeeded. Of Judge
Maxwell's three daughters, Edith was
his and the whole household's favorite.
She was ever ready to offer her services
to those who needed them, and it grew
to be a very natural thing for the girls
to say when any work was to be done:
"Oh let Edith do it. I have to prac
tice my music," or "I haven't finished
this painting yet."
And Edith cherfully did it.
Thepicnic day came. The weather
was perfect, not a cloud to be seen
and a gentle breeze rustled the trees
and stirred the floweis in the Maxwell
garden, wafting their sweet perfumes
in through the open doors and win
dows of the mansion. At 9 Mrs. Max
well, Jennie and Louise got in the
phaeton and rode away to the picnic
grounds, leaving Edith to go when
she chose to Margery's.
When the girls learned of Edith's
sudden resolve, they merely said, "It's
just like her."
Laden with a basket of the most de
licious edibles the pantry afforded,
Theories About Eating.
An interesting paper, formely read
by Dr. E. M. Hodges before the Bos
ton Society for Medical Improvement,
thus referred to a question upon which 1 several late magazines and a charrn
much disagreement exists among doc
tors:
"It is a common impression that to
take food immediately before going to
bed and to sleep is unwise, buch a
ing boquet ot roses, nenotrope and
smilax, Edith set out. She passed
down the broad avenue, then entered
a quiet, secluded street, and soon
stopped at the gate of a low, unpaint-
suggestion is answered by a reminder ed house, with a bit of yard in front,
that the instinct of animals prompts
them to sleep as soon as they have
eaten; and in summer an after-dinner j
nap, especially when that meal is tak- j
en at mid-day, is a luxury indulged in '
bv monv Tf fhp rrrl mflrv hffltr of tbp :
... " . , , l.'. : U 1 nnAnforl
evening meal is six or seven o ciock, lliJiu"" w ""
and of the first morning meal seven or ; its furniture consisting of only a rough
eight o'clock, an interval of twelve I table, t wo battered chairs, a bed and
hours, or more, elapses without food, one rocker, in which Margery sat
and a fine apple tree leaning over the
little board fence.
A woman, sad and weary looking,
opened the door and asked Edith in
with such a kind smile that made her
homelv features really beautiful. The
and for persons whose nutrition is at
fault this is altogether too long a
period of fasting. That such aninter-
i -, i i r 3 ' : . j , l :
vai without ioou. is periniLLeu explains
many a restless night, and mucn oi
the head and backache, and the lan
guid, half-rested condition on rising,
which is accompanied by no appetite
for breakfast. This meal itself often
dissipates these sensations. It is,
therefore, desirable, if not essential,
when nutriment is to becrowded, that
the last thing before going to bed
should be the taking of food. Sleep
lessness is often caused by starvation,
and a tumbler of milk if drunk in the
middle of the night will often put peo
ple to sleep when hypnotics would fail
or their purpose, u ood oeiore rising
is equally important and expedient.
It supplies strength for bathing and
dressing, laborious and wearisome
tasks for the underfed, and is a better
morning 'pick-me-up' than any 'ton
ic' "
Kemmerer, Lamb & Co.'s elevator at In
dependence, Iowa, burns, at a loss o f $12.
00"
She
was a pale, emaciated girl, with dark
circles around her large, darK eyes,
which lighted up when she saw Edith.
"How glad I am that you have
come," she said, holding the bouquet
to her face to inhale their fragrance;
"and isn't it a perfect day? Why
didn't you go to the picnic, Edith?"
"Oh, because I would much rather
spend the day with you, Margie."
"How good you are!" Margery ex
claimed, with a grateful smile; "and
the magazines are just what I want,
I haven't had anything to read for a
week or more, have I, mother?"
"No," replied her mother, who was
bending over the wash-tub; "I'am as
glad as Margie is that you've come
Miss Edith. Seems as though Margery
would pine right away if it wasn't for
the sight of your sweet face."
"I would have been down before,"
said Edith, "but we've been having
examination at school, and I couldn't
leave."
Out in Mrs. White's yard, under the
great, spreading apple tree, Edith and
Margery spent the whole of that day,
talking and lancrhinp. till Manrerv for
got about her troubles and was aa
much of a girl as ever. At noon they
spread a feast from the basket Edith
had brought, and Mrs.' White came
out and lunched with them.
In the afternoon Edith produced
her checkers, and that helped the day
to pass quickly. When she left in the
evening, Mrs. White accompanied her
to the gate, and said, while grateful
tears filled her eyes:
"Oh, Miss Edith, you don't know
how glad I am that you came to-day.
Margery just seemed her old self again,
and looks ever so much better. But
you denied yourself to come here."
"Oh no.Mrs. White," returned Edith.
"I am thankful if I was the means ol
making her feel better, and now, since
school is out, I can come often. Good
night!" They parted, and Edith walked rap
idly toward home. On the way she saw
her father's stately carriage, drawn by
two prancing bays, approaching, and
signaledforhimto stop for her. When
cozily seated by his side, and the horses
were once more on the trot , Judge Max
well asked:
"Were you not at the picnic, Edith?"
"No, father; I didn't care to go. I
spent the day with Margery White,
and we had a nice time. And, father
we have plenty of room at our seaside
cottage; why couldn't we take Margery
out with us? Iam sureit would do her
good."
"I see no objection, daughter," re
turned the judge, as they drew up be
fore their home.
The picknickers had returned, but
no one was to be seen save Mrs. Max
well. Jennie had the headache and
was in bed, and Louise, who had not
enjoyed herself, for some reason, the
whole day, went to bed also, vexed
with herself and the world. So Edith
had the happiest day.
That was not the last of Margery
White. She accompanied them to the
seaside, where she recovered her health
wonderfully, growing stronger and bet
ter every day. The roses came back
to the pale cheeks, and she was totally
changed in appearance and dispose
tion. When she returned to her moth
er so bright and healthy, Mrs. hite
was overjoyed and sank down on her
knees to thank God for having restor
ed her child to health and strength
through the agency of one little girl.
Toledo Weekly Blade.
Jeff. Davis on His Own Capture.
The story of the capture of Jefferson
Davis, ex-president of the Southern
Confederacy, has been many times
told, and the following series of denials
of certain statements made at the re
cent reunion of the veterans of the
Fourth Indiana Cavalry, at Indian
apolis, by Lieutenant Isgrigg, derive
their chief interest from the fact that
they are written by Jefferson Davis
himself. Lieutenant Isgrigg's state
ments are sufficiently indicated by the
denials. Mr. Davis's letter is in the
New York Herald:
It is not true, as stated, that I was
turned over to the custody of one
Lieutenant Isgriggtwo anda half miles
(or any other distance) from Macon.
The troops by whom I was captured
remained my guard to Macon, and a
detachment of them accompanied me
to Fortress Monroe in charge of their
own officers.
Equally untrue it is that I rode
with the said Isgrigg and my secretary
(or with anyone else) in "an old farm
wagon." My private secretary, Bur
ton N. Harrison, Esq., now a mem
ber of the Bar of New York, was
captured with me, and rode on horse
back to Macon. I had for several
days occupied an ambulance with my
wife and children, and rode into
Macon in it.
There was no such cowardly tat
tsmpt to offer insult to me as would
have been shown by hanging over my
head the articles of clothing which Is
grigg falsely avers I had worn at the
time of my capture. Nor did my
captors obtain at the time of my
capture the hoopskirt, etc., which Is
grigg describes, unless they were found
among the apparel taken when the
trunks of my wife and her female
servant were pillaged.
On our arrival at the hotel at Ma
con a small body of troops in front
of the entrance were at open ranks,
facing inward. When I got out of the
ambulance to enter the hotel they
presented arms while I passed through ,
and I received the salute as an ex
pression of the feeling brave men show
to a fallen foe.
The story of "Captain Thompson,
of the Fourth Indiana cavalry," at
tempted to shoot me as I entered the
Macon hotel is wholly fictitious, and
I leave it to that regiment itself to re
pel the imputation that one of its of
ficers would have been guilty of so das
tardly an assault on a prisoner.
Upon that falsehood the narrator
hangs another, that I met him at the
Louisville Hotel, in 1872, recognized
him and renewed thanks to him "for
saving my life," and that I had pre
viously written a letter of thanks to
him. I have not been in the Louis
ville Hotel since the war; I do not
remember ever to have seen or heard
of this Lieutenant Isgrigg at any time
or place, and it is not true that, as he
alleges, I was eight days in his custo
dy, or that I have ever written to him
a letter of thanks. I remained in Ma
con but a few hours, and was sent for
ward to Fortress Monroe the evening
of the day of my arrival there.
The St. Louis Globe-Democrat cheer
fully comes along with the following
snake and toad story: At West Union,
Mo., the other day, after a heavy
blast had been fired in a vein of hard
blue limestone, the workmen found a
live toad and a petrified snake in a
little hole in the solid stone. The
snake, which was eighteen inches long,
was sticking to one of the toad's hind
legs. Appearances indicate that at a
remote age, his snakeship had caught
the toad by the leg and swallowed it,
and about that time some convulsion
of nature had buried both deep in a
stratum of mud, since hardened into
stone.