&Q) 
Warren ton, wliere they all arrived in a slate 
of great confusion, and tarried for another 
reorganization. Only those who have cam¬ 
paigned it can realize the consternation and 
chaos resulting from the sudden irruption 
into a village of 130,000 men. Every inch 
of shelter was occupied, and though the 
weather was becoming cold, hundreds of the 
soldiers slept on the sidewalk with no cov- 
lind proved a faith lid friend in more than 
one tight place—aimed it at Ihc fellow’s head 
and told him to halt or I would shoot him 
dead. 
Still he advanced. Again I threatened to 
shoot, but lie moved another step forward, 
along the edge of Uio bed. 
My finger wasciosc pressed on the trigger. 
Why I did not pull I have never been 
erin> r but their blankets. 1 was glad enough I able to understand to this day. In those 
to secure the sky parlor of the Werrenton times when life was so cheap no one thought 
House then kept by a nephew of Stone- of hesitating about taking it in an emergency. 
will Jackson. My funds were running The man must have fascinated or mes- 
low, our sudden departure from Maryland mcrized me by his apparent fool-lnirdmess 
having prevented my replenishing them, and bravodo. 
Three companions were similarly .situated. Again, for the third time, I exclaimed If 
... , . P , v „ c .wi.i you don't stop vou are a dead man. ot ill 
Aiter a brief council of war, it was iiecit.1- •' 1 .. 
ed that Ishould proceed to Washington and no heed to my tinea . 
obtain a fresh supply of greenback*: The mail s head was hen less ban three 
Hiding to Gaiiisvillc, 1 left my horse in ^et from the mouth ot my mx shoo er. 1 
cl, ir-'e of a negro and made the Remainder >»«* spoken Use last tune, and was just upon 
f) f firing, when tlwstranger gave a heavy groan, 
of the lournev in it cattle car, at. tue taie oi , . 
' , ., , Thu situation was clcaretl up in a moment, 
three or four miles an hour. it. was a most J ", , 1 .. ., 
. . . , ,, „ .. 1 laid t own my revolver, sprang from the 
dismal night; there was no lire on the tiam, *■ , ,, , . 
„ 1 1 ,.,.,1 ... bed, caught him by the shoulder and pio- 
aml as fast as one mile was made we luiu to " , , , ,, „. 
wail l,„ 11 , s iTp.il .if mjomioilcrlur |»rt!e» a*M>o v.^.ionsly dmU Uio 
ambuscade. We all agreed that this was atv.ireu 11111 . 
r 11 11 . n .... linir nn 1 could see by Ihc light, of the moon, large 
far more disagreeable than ptocceumg on * ,,, , . . , , 
f„„t over the ;»r»t ..I' roods. 0 "■»'"* ,,ff froi " '" 8 
ItoU.roine Iron, lUc Capitol t.. a.iiiisville, . On ... -< cscupc—Uml 
two ili.ys later, I limml my Lora, ami rode m a secoml or two ...me.ho tvm.M lmvc ton 
back to Warroiilon tvitl. several hundred a dea.1 n.nn lhe tvor ,1 hc.ng left lo st ,,,^ 
dollars m my ,«ekel. I was glad enough to >'■'* he had heel, shot ivh.le ,„g to 
enter the hotel, about midnight, after a lit- cnmm.l a robtery-hewep l.lte anh.ld.n, d 
ti..„i„g ride through ll.eeneuiv’s country. SiUd hu coul ,' 1 sufflctenlly thank me for 
... , not having fired. 
1 was not a little st.u u, io\\e\oi, on Then throwing a quill around him, he sat 
ascending tom) room, to mi i ■ occupiu on u, c edge of the bed, and proceeded to re- 
by another man, a second bed having made ^ ^ ^ ’ 1 
its appearance duiing in) .ib*eiiu. j[ c |,. u i i, C cn the sutler of a Vermont 
It was no lime to aslv qu<...lon.s ot o re j} r jgade, During the disgraceful scenes 
maud explanations. Instead ot being q a- uUc||< j i||g U|C ScC0U(1 Battle of Bull Rim, 
ulous, that I eon i no l,l ' c n " u ° ’ |,e and t he oilier camp followers and attend- 
uiyselt, 1 sUouh leti.nivu >■' t.ou i mpg were suddenly pounced upon by n troop 
share one though it might bo will, a dozen ^ Call(c(lcrates . i Ie l!i( i a ll lie 
persons! Over a liumlm i lonsim so » ids coU | d l0 jmnypig i wo drivers on toward 
were sleeping around me on ‘'^Bnow-eov; Alexau(Jr|ft _ 
ered ground ; with no covering ■ ' ' s But it was no use. All three were enp- 
°r t ' eu t' i! , , , r lured and taken to Richmond. This was in 
So I doffed my satchel and seating myself ^ . l)ficding AllgU8t> D„ r j n g tlio interval 
at the foot ol the bed and began to souly h(j )|;ul b(Jfln cun(il)ed in Libby Prison. He 
the physiognomy iff my room mate. Il{U , hoW ever, contrived a few days lie fore 
His hair was long and shaggy, and his to m(lke h[a ftm , ]uul rcuc hcd the 
face had apparently been a si ranger lo the ^ Ujaf vcry uight 
razor for many months. He had the bronze por thQ ,. ist , mur he had bcen i(1 ;l h()Vr u\ 
complexion of a soldier, and yet there \vaa nigIlUnnre going through the Bull Run 
somethiti /r about, his luCO that dill not null- j . , . . ■* i • 
bomeunu 0 hhwih. scones u^aiu, and Iiurryiug lonvaru Ins 
cate the man ot wui. drivers with their sutler wagons. This ac- 
He breathed heav. y but he may be f llte wttlkln g about the room. 
feigning Sleep, I though to my elf! 1 Wfl rotircd ilftcr reciu ,l of his slo- 
iug to ry, hut neither slept. In the morning he 
the foot ol l ie ,L( fcin ' ‘‘ : , said to mo that that was the last time he 
worn am o'o.u aie, am a so should ever he quartered in a room with a 
tween the Union blue and Confederate giey. , . 1 4 , . , „ 
,r- t . i-i ,t,„ stranger, “ being that he was given to som- 
llis boots were likewise very much the ° " ° 
natnbulistn. 
A ' c ! I r su ul '. U ' U ' It was certainly the last time that I have 
Mv convictions were now strengthened as , , , ... , 
, ? . , r .,,. 1 ,.,,.. consented to he disposed of m such a iiiuuuei. 
to Ins not being a soldier, lie must belong __‘ _ 
to one of the roving bauds who lioqtieulcd _ TT<-\TT-nfci r , TJAT | 
that region of country 1 A MALI -HU UK o bJIAl, 
Perhaps ho was one of Mosiiv’s guerillas fiy B B 
—we had had a skirmish with some of them _1_' 
on the march between Union and l’liila- lx was a great surprise to me. lie intend* 
mount! ed it should be. mid therefore sent up no 
He migliibc Mosby himself! card. I was very busy, and a little impa- 
Tliat dashing partisan had been known to Bent at being interrupted. However, 1 gave 
enter our lines in a similar manner before, ni y ba j r a pule brush, and my necktie a 
and, having obtained valuable information, straightening twitch, and descended to the 
lo escape w ilhoul injury. parlor, I knew him in an instant, and yet 
These and similar thoughts rapidly rc- pe was so changed. When wc walked home 
volved through my mind. I seized my school together, years and years ago, 
revolver, cocked it., and spoke to the man. |,j s waa delicate and smooth—almost 
lie made no response. effeminate. Now his shoulders were broad, 
Again I addressed him, but received no a „ ( | pisface brown and heavily bearded. lie 
reply. A third effort to elicit an answer )no dlo 0 ] dj frank, ingenuous way. 
was no more successful. Surely ho was the same. Wo were capital 
I then concluded that the stranger was friends in those past days. We were of the 
surely asleep; but still feeling a little un* same age, yet 1 seemed much older, because 
easy, I grouped my way down three flights I wfts far stronger than ho. lie always came 
of stairs, over the soldiers sleeping in the w j lb 8lJC p perfect naivete and reposed his 
hallways, to the bar-room, to inquire ol ihc confidence in uie. It amused me greatly— 
host Who the new-comer was mid why lie sometimes deeply touched my heart, lie 
lied not informed me, on my coming home, p a d , m t a masterly mind, by any means, yet 
of his presence. But no one could be found. I never despised him; Hiked him well. He 
I accordingly went back, and decided logo was ;l person with whom one could talk, 
to bed without disturbing the individual. which is more than can he said of every one. 
I still, however, had that nervous, uneasy Many changes had come into both of our 
feeling which one experiences when lie is in lives. I looked closely in his face to see 
a suspicious looking place with a consider- into what his character Had resolved itself. 
able sum of money on his person. I was, When I knew him before, it was in the 
therefore, very careful to fold my pantaloons formative state, mid so was mine. Evi- 
coutaining the roll of hills, under my pillow, denlly lie had been perfectly temperate. His 
and to place my revolver where I could face u as clear and bright, his voice pleasant 
readily seize It in case of emergency. Phys- and gentle. He was ready of perception 
ical weariness overcome my fears, and I was and a successful business man, I knew. He 
soon dreaming of the scenes we had left in was the same lavishly generous being. He 
Pleasant Valley. looked prosperous and well fed. Altogether 
I had been asleep, as near as I could judge, I saw he hud fallen into a very respectable rut 
about two hours, when I awoke with a start of conduct. 1 was glad—so glad—of that 1 
and a foreboding that something terrible was Yet intellectually lie had not advanced one 
going to happen to me. My worst fears step. Ilis ppecch w as careless, his brain uiul 
were realized! There was the stranger at soul had not done heavy duty all these 
the foot of the bed, advancing towards me! years; yet not so many years, for lie was 
The moon was shilling brightly through the yet young—quite young, Strange we do not 
uncurtained window, and the snow on the realize how, day by day, we are crystallizing! 
ground made it still lighter. The swarthy Every thought, every act, every emotion, 
six-footer was a bushwhacker; and no mis- whether good or bud, lending to the one 
takel He was after my money, and would point.—crystallization of character! 
not hesitate to murder me! We talked merrily, a long time, of the 
I quiekly grasped my seven shooter which past. How strange we had not met! How 
both had changed 1 Of the old, old rides, I 
and walks, aiul talks. And then wo dis¬ 
coursed of life. I of life as I had observed 
it; hoof life as lie Had experienced it. At 
last lie spoke of his wife, for he had married. 
Lie spoke discontentedly of her. I was 
Startled —shocked a little. It seemed loo 
delicate a tiling for an honorable person lo 
mention to any one. 1 think lie wanted 
something—perhaps help. He began by 
saying: 
“If I had my life to live over I would not 
marry a city girl.” 
“ Why?” 
“Because they know so little of practical 
life. They understand society, but they can 
not make a loaf of bread.” 
“ Oh, you men think so much of your com¬ 
fort,” said I. 
“ No; you misunderstand me. For instance 
my wife did’nt know the A, B, C’s of domes¬ 
tic life, and tilings went to the deuce gene¬ 
rally, for a while. At length 1 advised her 
to go home and complete her education, So 
she went to her mother and came back alter 
a while tolerably proficient in house-keep- 
ing.” 
“But. I hope you would not require house¬ 
keeping us the chief accomplishment in the 
wife of your choice ? 1 think that is quite 
secondary, though essential.” 
“ You know that competent management 
is necessary to the happiness of a family.” 
“ That is true ; but men have no concep¬ 
tion of the complex character of good house¬ 
keeping. There are so many distractions 
and perplexities. 1 think it. requires much 
brain and great patience. But it is a noble 
avocation when well performed. You may 
say it can ul! he systematized, True, it can 
be to a certain extent; but in this work there 
is so much of t he miscellaneous. Not one 
day of a woman's life but numberless un¬ 
looked-for claims are made upon her lime 
and thought. You think these are trifling. 
They are not. Then in the regular routine, 
it is not a little labor to keep a house in per¬ 
fect neatness. There is dust, dust., dust, for¬ 
ever to war against; and where it comes 
from 1 know not. It always was, and al¬ 
ways will be a mystery to me. There is the 
table to provide. It. is no small matter to 
think out. the programme of a day’s meals, 
and see they are purchased, well cooked, and 
well served. There is the clothing. This 
takes brain-work to manage. We do not 
wish to discard shabby or un fashionable 
garments; so brain must plan them into 
something else. Then the plan must he ex¬ 
ecuted, by proxy or otherwise; and ibis 
“otherwise” is sometimes a weary work. ( 
Then there is never-ending repairing, never- 
ending replenishing. And there is never- 
ending dressing. How many articles of 
clothing do you suppose a well-dressed 
woman must put on?” 
“A dozen, perhaps.” 
“That is rich! Well, for a neat, plain, 
ordinary home ullii c,she puts on forty-eight 
articles of clothing!" 
“ That can not be 1” 
“ Never mind, I can prove it.” 
“ Surely, if is her own fault if she makes 
a simpleton of herself.” 
“ Custom demands it. I dare say her owm 
vanity demands much of it. It is all w rong 
of course. Our mode of life is t®o complex. 
When the happy time of simplicity will 
come, I cannot conjecture.” 
lln bent his eyes upon tHe carpet -with a 
bewildered look, while I continued :—“ Add 
to ibis the necessity of economy, which 
must often be." 
“But I never limit Mauy; I give her all 
the money she wants.” 
“ I sometimes tlii k money does not fill 
one’s wants. A lime.y suggestion, and a 
word of sympathy ure often of great value 
to one.” 
“ But housekeeping was not our only 
trouble. I was in the army three years; it 
was n life of great excitement; and I am of 
the temperament lo enjoy it. I came home 
and married ; and we settled down to a 
domestic life. This was very pleasant as 
long us the novelty lusted ; but, by-and-by, 
it. grew dreadfully dull. I felt as if I should 
die of stagnation. True, 1 worked hard all 
day; hut the evenings were so heavy ! 
Now’, I never went wrong at all; please be¬ 
lieve me. But I fell into ihc way of going 
down to the office, to have a talk with the 
fellows, —and a cigar every evening, to 
break the monotony. One day Maby came 
out upon me, and hinted that I neglected 
her, and various other things. I was sorry, 
and tried my best to be devoted, if ever a 
fellow did. I staid in after dinner, read the 
paper, and tried to talk. But when I asked 
a question, she would answer me, and then 
■ slop, making not the least effort to con¬ 
verse." 
i “ Did you tell her the current news, and 
i talk of the events of the day ? You know 
. some unwise women neglect to read, or 
! have no lime for it.” 
“No, not often, she was so uninteresting 
and still.” 
“ Did yon try to draw’ her out?” 
“ The trouble is, there is nothing to draw 
out!" 
“ Why, my dear friend, to what place 
have you drilled? You liked her in the 
first place ?” 
“ Of course I did.” . 
“Did she talk those days?” 
“Not much” 
“ Why did you like her?” 
“ Oil, she was so pretty; and she looked 
so pleased when wc met, and did a great 
many little kind things for me. What she I 
did say was a great deal to me, were it ever ! 
so trilling.” 
“ Do you know love draws out the best 
that is in one? A critical, censorious per¬ 
son shuls up sonic sensitive natures as 1 light, 
ns a drum ? ’ Whereas let love shine in upon 
them, and they will expand like a flower in 
the sun. You say she has ‘ nothing to draw 
out;’ love is a great educator. Possibly you 
have looked with admiration upon superior 
women (whose faults you know nothing 
about), and then have turned critic upon 
your wile, and criticism lias shut her up 
from you.” 
“1 never say a harsh word lo her.” 
“It does not take words to show' either our 
impatience or our affection. True men edu¬ 
cate Uieir .wives; true women educate their 
husbands.” 
“ You think me all in fault, which is un¬ 
just. I like the society of oilier women. So, 
after much leasing, when 1 get Mary to go 
with me ton party, 1 place her among agree¬ 
able people, and llieu I seek those most 
agreeable to me. When I go home 1 get a 
lecture for neglecting her. 1 Ihjiik it had 
taste to devote one’s self to one’s wife in 
society.” 
“ Doubtless she is wrong in a measure. It 
is bad taste for any member of a family lo 
clique off by themselves, Freedom of com¬ 
munion between men and women I most 
earnestly approve—whether married or sin¬ 
gle. It seems to me the purpose of society. 
It. certainly is profitable and beautiful. If 
mail and wife are loyal to each other, they 
can afford to ho unselfish. But if they arc 
not true at heart-it makes me shudder to 
think of it. Two beings united by vows, 
yet really dead to each other! Yet this 
death need not be if both are true to the 
wonderfully solemn vows of marriage. 
Truth and justice should cut their way 
through, irrespective of selfish gratification.” 
The man’s pride was touched. Now it 
was not «/u:, it was wc. 
“.Mercy! how sternly you speak! lie 
have not come to (hat; we think a great deal 
of each other after all the little differences." 
“Bui it is the little differences—the diver¬ 
sity of tastes, disagreeable habits, thought¬ 
lessness, latk of charity and forbearance, 
imperceptibly, fatally affect married j 
life. People forget they marry for better, 
for worse." 
“ 1 take il, a mother has a difficult place 
lo fill; hut sustained by her husband, she 
should be equal to anything.” 
“ Oh, Henry ! Of all people in the world 
I pity the woman who lias somehow drifted 
(whether her fault or his) from the love of 
her husband. 1 cannot conceive a condition 
more miserable. A woman, has only her 
husband and children ; a man has the whole 
outside world and his absorbing business 
cares." 
Then we turned the conversation into a 
lighter vein, for I had a vague suspicion 
that 1 had been preaching a little. Presently 
he arose, saying he was bound for a drive iu 
the Park, and so left, me with a package of 
vexing problems in my brain. 1 sealed 
myself once more at my work, and—lifted 
not a linger; but looked out on the sky, 
with ils wist tranquility and beauty. My 
brain was not tranquil. It was burdened 
with that budget of problems. 1 thought 
of the smallness and selfishness of human 
nature—both male and female—and of fts 
greatness and goodness. I thought of those 
who, by llieir discordance, cause us to shrink 
with apprehension from married life; and 1 
thought of those others who teach us by 
their wedded lives Ihu sweetest, sweetest 
gospel. The solemn words came lo my mind : 
“ Yc are living Epistles, known and read 
of all men.” 
-<-->♦- 
THE JEWS IN JERUSALEM, 
In Jerusalem, us in Rome and elsewhere, 
the Jews are shut up in a. separate quarter, 
and that ilie meanest, darkest, filthiest. One 
twilight I came unexpectedly into their set¬ 
tlement. It was a mud hum, lined with 
hovels, through which a funeral procession 
was slowly moving, the body borne on men’s 
shoulders iu the dress of life, a perfect tat¬ 
terdemalion Clew w ailing as they followed. 
Coming to the Land of Promise to die, many 
of them are robbed <>a the way, and all ure 
preyed upon after they arrive ; so that, 1 ap¬ 
prehend, nothing is more real about them 
than their wretchedness. They have no con¬ 
suls to interfere when a tax is exacted the 
second time in the same year. If injured, 
they must sutler in silence; if plundered by 
Arabs, they can have no hope of recovery. 
Only conversion would make them outward¬ 
ly comfortable, and that they hale ns perdi¬ 
tion. Generous help is constantly sent t hem 
from abroad, but none too much, "though the 
am using story is told of Sir Moses Monte- 
fiore having spent all his money in aims at 
Jerusalem, and being obliged to borrow at 
usurious interest from one of ihe beggars he 
had relieved, that, lie might get back to Lon¬ 
don. — F. IP. Holland, in LippincotC& Magazine. 
jfabbatb (’.raffing, 
TRUST. 
I know not if or dnrk or bright 
Shall be my lot; 
If that wherein my hopes delight 
Be best or not. 
It may be mine to drag for years 
Toll’s heavy chain: 
Or, day and night, my meat be tears 
On bed of pain. 
Dear faces may surround my hearth 
With smiles and glee: 
Or I may dwell alone, and mirth 
Be strange to me. 
My bark is wafted from tire strand 
By breath divine. 
And on the helm there rests a hand 
Oilier than mino. 
One who lias known In storms to sail, 
I lia ve on board : 
Above the raging of the gale 
1 have my Lord. 
lie holds me when the billows smite; 
I sluill not full. 
If sharp, ’tis short; if long, ’tis light; 
Ho tempers all. 
Safe to the land !—safe to the land ! 
The end Is this. 
And then with Him go huud in hand 
Far into bliss. 
L Dr on Alfuret. 
THROUGH LIFE. 
We slight the gifts that every season bears. 
Ami lot them fall unheeded from onr grasp. 
In our great eagerness to reach and olnsf 
The promised treasure of the coming ytuMV 
Or else we mourn some great good passed away. 
And, in the shadow of our grief shut In, 
Refuse tiro lo-tscrgood wo vel might win. 
The offered peace and gludncis ot to-day. 
So through tho chambers of onr life wo pass. 
And leave them one by one, and never slay, 
Not knowing how much pleasantness there was 
In each, until the closing of tho door 
Has sounded through the house, and died away, 
And In our hearts we sigh, “ For evermore.'’ 
-- 
EVERY DAY. 
We are so apt to take, in tbobroail lines of 
Christianity—to look at Us grand contour— 
to reflect on the mighty faith that trusts, 
and Ihe Omnipotent that controls ; to dwell 
ou Ihc loveliness of the character that is 
(’hrist-llke and testhelical; lo wonder at the 
fearful blackness of a sudden grief, and the 
strong submission that bows before il; Wc"" 
look at the broad lines and forget the shades 
—the infinite gradations of shade that fill up 
the picture. 
We are very fine Christians, in the main ! 
In Uio minute we forget, to act! To-morrow 
L have a great plan to develop; but to-day I 
have only my household duties. To-day I 
have only my pupils to leech. To-day 1 
have, only my office duties. To-day 1 have 
only a little disappointment to hear. To-daj 
1 have only a visit to make. Yet to-day is u 
fraction of the w hole. It is one stone iu the 
mosaic; one stitch in the knitted garment ; 
one step up the stairway; one stroke on the 
statue ; one lint iu the picture. 
Let ns not, iu looking at the broad features 
of Christianity, forget its parts. Let us be 
both broad and minute; remembering the 
mighty work of the Mighty Hand; forget¬ 
ting not the humble work ofahumsm hand. 
6o let ns go forth every morning with a 
prayer upoil the lip ami a strong purpose iu 
the heart, and disseminate good through the 
small affairs of life—if, indeed, anything he 
small. Are not small affairs now and then 
freighted with ■wonderful import? We do 
not, perhaps, sec it at tl|o moment; we see it 
afterward, either to our regret or to our sat¬ 
isfaction. 
I would have engraved upon every Chris¬ 
tian’s memory the simple words of an emi¬ 
nent Christian woman:—“ I see the need of 
doing the duty of every day in its dag." 
Emma Burt. 
--- 
SILENT INFLUENCE, 
We are touching our fellow-beings on all 
sides. They are affected for good or for 
evil by what we are, by w hat we say and 
do, even by what we think and feel. May¬ 
flowers in the parlor breathe their fragrance 
through the atmosphere. We are each of 
us as silently saturating the atmosphere 
about us with tiie subtle aroma of our char¬ 
acter. In the family circle, besides and be¬ 
yond all the teaching, the daily life of each 
parent and child mysteriously modifies the 
life of every person iu the household. The 
same process ou a wider scale is going oil 
through the community. No man livctli to 
himself aud no man tlietli to himself. Olli¬ 
ers are built up nint straightened by our 
unconscious deeds; and others may be 
wrenched out of their plucca and thrown 
down by onr unconscious influence.— The 
Con gregatio n ulist. 
--- 
A SELFISU LIFE. 
’Tis a vile life that, like a xurden pool. 
Lies stagnant in the round of personal loves ; 
Thst lius no ear save for tlio tinkling lute 
Set to small measures : deaf to all that beats 
Of that large music rolling o’er the world. 
A miserable, petty, low-roofed life, 
That knows the mighty orbit of the skies 
Though naught save light and dark in it* own cabin. 
