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An Independent Family Journal?Devoted to Politics, Literature and General Intelligence. VOL. 2. ANDERSON, S. 0., WEDNESDAY, MAT 1, 1867. NO. 46. ' ; BY 3 0 X' T W-? L'T E BS . - '' TE K MS: / W6 ? 3)0LLAI;S AND ;A HALF" PEE ? ANNtlK, IN UNITED STATES-- CtTflHENCT. RATES OP ADVERTISING. . Advertisements inserted at the rates of One Dol . lir per square 4f twelve lines -for.the first insertion "?-and Fifty Cents for each'subsequent insertion. Literal deductions made to those who advertise by i. the year. > ? . ; For announcing a-candidate, Pivi; Dollars '" in advance. .... 1 : ;^*M??-' KENDALL* Y - ^ihore' are some seasons'wh'en the grave ; -yttrilseems peculiarly .beautiful. When . "jlialihed-.twilight wings her noiseless way . from, heaven to" wrap the temples' of the -. . daiclin.her.softj transparent .drapery, or ; -the pleasant moon lights' up the mossed > 4rraves,.maliing;lamit?bus-the white scalp t?red;:marble, it is sweet to wander up the Shaded aisles of the slumbrous city, and muse upon the-holy memories of the de? parted.: : - - ?- . The stars burned with a lustre peculiar to summer skies. A clear, mild atmos . phero gave ;i. refreshing ^elasticity to my v-jspirits.- I wandered along I- scarcely knew; wheri, and found myself, after a " -leisure walk, near the old-fashioned burial "ground at Dallston Falls. I was a' happy ,.. "man,.for, having that day received a di " ;3)loma, I .wai> really-and professionally an ' 4l.D. ; - ' -^Vnat directed my steps to the rural ?burying ground, f cannot now tell; but '. 3?-. believed,-, at the time (I was romantic and enthusiastic then,) that some ?myste Ttous agency shaped- my course. As I. dr^w nearx the rustic gate was open. The . - walks gRtter3d".iti the strong yellowjight; ' ^heVshadows leaned down from the. trees, ?"and, frescoed the smooth gravel with V-^mUfljtft tracery ; tho buds and flowers, ? '^irouped'ini dark- masses upon the gently U'^u'rved mounds, (I knew they - were buds' . and flowers,- lor their fragrance betrayed 4bem,) seemed whispering in their- silent - language to-thc beautiful dead below. In " my youth, I -was fond of symbolizing. "".Every inanimate thing had its type in some ideal or oriental fancy. This' even :" ing, I felt particularly poetical: M.y i m ngination was as fertile?yes,.'L thought - ^a's fertile-as Milton's,, if my thoughts were ? not as grand, or my images sublime. I sauntered carelessly along the side ^vHyBerc a hawthorn hedge -twined its firm *'-"4ondrils together, dragging, my cane after .^;ime,;and musing in careless reverie. Sud? denly, I. paused. Judge L??'s beauti -ful lot was directly before mc, its tiny si 1 > ver. ^fountain bubbling up and break .T.lng.into white globules that glittered like ? hoar-frost-, .-.'jlere?. I leaned "by a huge, .-hoary elm, and closed my eyes,- as the ."magic ? breathing of a flute, skillfully touched, -floated -through my dreaming &J%fairi." As .I look back, it.'seems to .me . -. ^thati.was the most blessed hour of my ox istjeric'ej for, mingling 'with that plaintive :}m el od y. ca m e a ge n t le f a ee,' w i t h s pa rk 1 i n g ?T'eye.% serenebrow, and cheeks-- just erim .-?;*?5ned enough" to resemble tvyo pale:roso ?^haves flushing the purest snow. .. ^i?>^Oh,.l:o\v.I loved that sweet 3r.-iy Ken dail), ? Love ? Forgetting my God, I idolized her,-and, egotist that 1' was, fati ;>~c!ied .that m}* unspoken passion was re? turned- -But! wiJl not linger/ In those ^Xew. momctt'ts,. I was pouring my very ^iJioul's depth and ;l'erv.pr into the heart -. :;,that; J fondly imagined?as youth, will, s^^tnetimes?was,' iu ?. sort of spiritual, ?--presence,, ever beside me. : -. lily reyerie was broken .by the approach :^ of-'a stranger'; and a light, silvery laugh : ^jhut'-out the :musie of the.flute for it was ;; :1s?- like'' myl lovoJ&iy's^-so.ringing! so ?~ joyous.! S^j?Presen?y, as a fine, manly form- drew,. VHiiearer,T recognized the features ef one t^who had been my college mate two years li-'.&jg?'. I would have sprang forward' to f^teet.him. His name was trembling on iry lips, when a. sight arrested my. attcn tion that chilled my blood, and made my : -^tceth chatter with a sudden freezing fear. - The two-had come.almost beside mc, and jthere stopped, charmed with the sylvan - .;Epot. The lady held .her hat by the .V^triugs.; one arm was passed confidingly }-]Jth'rDUghtba^-of her companion; nnd when ^Bh'o"tuMted Ther beaming face around to -.-wards me, (I.was concealed by the shad owO I.recognized, in the full flood of the : moonlight?May Kendall \ . I do riot .like, even at this late day. to [ review the feelings that shook my frame when Iheard them murmur such words ; of tenderness to each other, in subdued .--and;.happy tones. . A deadly faintness came.over me as I gathered from their - own Hps" the knowledge that thoy were ' betrothed; and, when that passed away, . a Serce revenge sent the blood boiling -V through my veins. I could have leaped cpoa him, and demanded my May, my 2 love, without whom life would seem a ? ^curse, and tlie world a dread, dread.blank. But then by what'right could I ca'U her mine? True, she had been most kind to me, but never more than maidenly mod . esty might warrant towards the most in timate friend. Now 1 knew?God for - giv? me for the rajtc that tailed at m3* ? heart strings.as 1 thonghtof it I?v hy she bad talked of Frederick. Oh. fool ? that I-was ?oft to comprehend it before ! . She had smiled on me because 1 was his - .college mate?beeanse I had ever some comely virtue of his praise ; and, blinded by.my. own fondness, I fancied she lovod How I stood there, weak, passionate, '-. find panting with the violence of my emotions,"even till I learned the day when ". the wedding would, take place, I know not,-for every nerve in .my body seemed changed to an instrument of keen tor-, iure. Fortunately, they did not pass me, batrotraccd their steps;.and I, bending low with an'almost breaking heart, slow _ Jy. left the pleasant graveyard, now only a tall'ey pf dry boiies to me, and walked ' towards my boardIng hotiso, too wretched .to think deliberately, or fce| all the crush " ing w^jght of qiy disappointment. The ne?t day, before sunrise, I was on icy way tq a, neighboring cily. I was iu - a str?nge. tumuH, that 1 know not but might prove fatal to me. I was ready for i alciost any (Jesper^te deed, and had, more than once?I shudder, as I think of it?-' contemplatcrl self-destruction.. . But i ? c?lled-philasophy, nay, something' higherv polier, to my aid?religion -} and- in timQ : I became soothed, it not comforted; that is, after I knew May Was irrevocably Wedded. Two months passed. I deemed myself .sufficiently fortified with gor.d resolutions to return once more to my chosen place of residence. It was high noon when I drove .up the principal street. A carriage dashed by me, a light vehicle. In another moment, it had turned; and Frederick, ?May's husband, was abreast. I involun? tarily drew in my horse. My friend's face denoted anguish, intense.and concen? trated. For God's sake, Doctor Lane, my early friend, do not stop till you reach Mrs. Kendall's ! My May lies there? sick?'dying, he gasped., How ashy pale he was! My face blanched. I felt a sin | gular tremor. He dashed ahead, neither speaking, and in fifteen minutes 3 stood by the couch of the young bride. That was an awful hour. At its close, I press? ed her white eyelids over her dull, glazed eyes. Ah, Heaven ! thought I, kneeling with an aching heart, can such beauty be dead ? And still, for all, there wan tri? umph in Xho feeling?triumph until I be? held the awful grief of the bereaved hus baod:?saw the big drops bead like blood his pale, broad forehead?almost forced him from the inanimate body to which he hung with the grasp of despair, clasp? ing her to his bosom?kissing the white lips, the whiter cheeks, even the trold locks that lay dump and uncurled over her shoulders. And, when I left that house of mourn? ing,.'was it not strange?the calmness I felt settling over my spirits ! Could this thought, even iu faintest tracery, pass through my mind at such a time ? "Well, she is not .mine; and neither is she his. I am glad that, as she could not be mine only, none but death can claim her now." I fear, had conscience rightly applied her torch, she might have read those scathing words written on the crimson portal of my heart; The next day, I went over to be pre? sent at the funeral services; and still I felt that sorrowful happiness. Poor Frederick was at times raving, then stu? pid with his great grief. The mourners assembled; the beautiful dead lay robed in satin in her coffin ; already 'the large parlor.was filled with weeping friends.? t took my station by the head of the corpse. With unutterable tenderness yet without a tear, I gazed upon that heav? enly .countenance. It looked not like stern death, but soft,and smiling slumber. There were all her yoiing companions present, village maidens, rubed in white, whose'silvery voices ji/hed in a simple funeral song.. But oh how these voices wavered, trembled, until teai-s and sobs choked, out their music! and mournful, heart-rending wail sounded through ::he room. ' Af last, the honry-Jleaded man of Grod arose to.praj*. Never heard I a petition so mournfully tender, so simple, so. pow? erful. How gently, he spoke of her youth and, goodness I the circumstances under which God was pleased to call hei,just, as it were, standing on tho threshold of her happy life, and looking towards the rose colored future. . I still kept my place at the head of the coffin. My eyes, full of tears now, never once moved-from that holy place. What is fancy? 1 thought' the dear features grow dim. MjT sight was failing, or?I bent closer to the corpse; I drew back, wiped my eyes, looked again. God of mercy! God of compassion! what sent a wild shock through my frame, and struck my brain as.with a hand of fire /' I reeled. I, fell almost upon tho coffin.? There was moisture on the glass?mois? ture that, when I applied rny sleeve, ivould not come off?moisture upon the inside of the glass. As Was custoroary, every face was bowed towards the earth in prayer. What must I do ? There were fearful risks to run. My knees trembled and knocked together; my heart beat against my side till my body rocked like a pendu? lum. The voice of the pa stor whistled in my ear. Each moment was an hour; and 3*'et?the conflict?that horrible tempta? tion, wearing with my better nature, came again. It was awful!?awful I I kept my silence, she was still the bride of death, and as-much mine as another's; if I spoke, she was again the wife of my rival. I dare not recall some of my emotions now. I could not have btien myself when J that fiendish temptation beset mo, and I whispered me to. let the dark grave claim her, if I might not. The perspiration welled up from every j pore; but the agony was passed. I could havo throttled the old pastor, that he did not cease; yet I loured for the lite of tho poor husband, should he know the truth too suddenly. There was a tingling from my head to mj- fingers' ends. I shook like an aspen leaf "Amen!" Oh, how I thanked God for that sound ! I '. lung to the coffin, for one moment weak and helpless as an infant. The elite! mourners were called first, that they might be spared tho shock of beholding the dear one horuo ouf. before their eyes The poor husband tottered out, supported on each side. What were my feelings as he passed me ! Next went the sobbing mother. New was my timo "Quick ! friends ! neighbors!" I grasped ! "call tho soxton in ! Now, man, off with the coffin lid ! For God'esako, delay not! Sho .is not dead!" I rather shnokod than said tho last words. The ohango that came over that assem? bly! Many swoonbd away?a' crowd rushed to the ooffin^I pressed them haok ?-the hand of the undertaker trembled? screw after screw fell rattling to the floor ?my heart beat dull and heavy with the excitomoht of hope ahd fear. The -coffin top was thrown aside. In my arms I bore the fair creature ito a couch. As I returned for a moment, I ^ ?.?.. . -- - - . ^ saw her only sister, a girl of sixteen, standing as if riveted to the floor, her cheeks hollow and ghasttyjier eyes fixed and frightfully glaring. I seized her by the arm, but she stirred not; I shook her rudely, saying:?"Unless you help me, Marie, she will really die; quick! come cut off her grave-clothes I she must not see them?must never know of this." The girl, sighed, shivered, then with a wild, unnatural burst of laughter, roused herself from her stupor. Then as sud? denly, a flood of tears came to her relief. All was right now. She followed me into the next room, untied the white satin rib? bon that confined the delicate wrists, un? loosened the linen bands on her breast, so that by the time the young bride opened her eyes, she was lying as if she had eiought her bed for pleasant slumber. And now, the most terrible excitement over, I breathed freely.. And yet another iimportant task remained to be accom plisbed. By my orders the poor husband had been briefly informed that the cere? mony would be detained for a moment. He was so distracted with his grief that all news was alike to him. They led him where they liked. He sat in a little room just ucross the entry; so deadened were all hin senses, he had not heard the con? fusion. I went in. closed the door, aud stood beside him. He glanced up but onee, then buried his face in his hands with an unearthly moan that went to my soul. Oh, such jo}T, such pure, exquisite joy as flooded my whole being as I felt what a heaven I should soon awake him to! Only angels can tell how sweet it is to bring blessing to the wayworn, and hope to the desponding. "Frederick," said I, placing my arms around his neck, "my dear fellow." "Don't try to comfort me, doctor," his broken voice responded; "my heart is torn up by the roots." What should I say next? A thought occurred to me. "Do you remember what Christ said about tho little maid? "She is not dead, but sleepeth." My peculiar accent, my intonation, struck him instantly. He shook suddenly and raised his trembling hands, while a strange expression shot over his face.? There were tears in my eyes, but I smiled broadly, through them at the same time ; I tried to command my voice, as I stam? mered : "Did you?did you ever hear of people falling into trances? and?" He sprang to his feet, clenched my hands, breathed hard through his shut teeth. His eyes glittered. "What!" he cried, comprehending tho hopeful faces looking in upon us, "dead??in a trance! ?laid out ? ? hurried ?? alive ?alive !? Great God! Do you tell me she lives! my May ? who gasped in my arms ??lay cold on. this bosom??Oh, have mercy? don't mock me!" lie staggered against me, almost help loss. "Frederick," I cried, tears running down my cheeks, "she lives; your pre? cious Ma}' is saved." J( Another second, and I was in his arms, he dancing deliriously round with me. -God bless you ! God bless }-ou !" he cried. "Oh, it is too beautiful, too good! My dear God ! how I thank thee !" and he lifted his streaming eyes heavenward.? "Let me see her," he continued, locking my arm in his. "I will be calm?vciw calm." "And, doctor," ho exclaimed, if at any lime my life will buy you a precious boon, it is yours." He did not dream, poor fellow, that he had been my rival. The mother hung over her child?the hosband bent over his bride, fall?full! of thanksgiving. She, with her largo, blue eyes moving languidly but fondly from one to the other, whispered: "I am bet ter, stronger. I shall soon be well again.- I have been sick so long." Frederick kissed her "white brow in re? ply, and smothered his sobs in the pillow. And then I left them, a happier being, a better man. May and her husband still live, a fond, beautiful pair, even now. I am an old bachelor. Babies.?Some time ago there was a dancing party given up northwest; most of the ladies present had little babies, whose noisy perversity required too much attention to permit the mothers to enjoy the dance. A number of gallant young men volunteered to watch the young ones while the parents indulged in a "break down.,'' No sooner had the mothers left the babies in charge of the mischievous devils, than they stripped the infants, changed their clothes, giving the apparel of one to another. The dance over, it was time to go home, and the mothers hurried? ly took each a baby in the dress of her own, and started, some to their homes ten or fifteen miles off, and were far on their way before daylight. But the day follow? ing there was a tremendous row in the set? tlement ; mothers discovered that a single niight had changed the sex of babies?ob? servation disclosed the physical phenom? enon, and then commenced some of the tallest pedestrianism; living miles apart, it required two days to unmix the babies, and as many months to restore the women to their natural sweet dispositions. To this c'ay it is unsafe for the baby mixers to venture into the territory. -4? ? They have a patriarch in Taunton, Massachusetts, who says that he once raised a flock of wild ducks from a pond, when he took aim at them with his gun and fired. They flew away with much clamor, and surprised to find that none of them drop? ped, he examined the field of battle. He picked up four bushels of legs. There is a touch of pathos in the old man's voice as he adds ; "I fired too low," ? Who were tho first newspaper sub? scribers of whom we have any acco'ant ? Cain, who took A-BeWs life, and Joshua, who ordered the Sun to be stopped. \ Maj. Gen. P. R. Clelmrne. Patrick E. Cleburne deserves a promi? nent place among the great heroes who have illustrated Southern heroism and Southern history. His name brings a thrill of tho heart to every true son of the South, just as his presence brought success wherever be moved oa the field of battle. "Cleburne is bore!" meant that "all was well." Where he was, no masses of the enemy could break his lines, no matter how fearful the odds. When he lead a column, its onslaught was irresistible, and never failed to carry the opposing lines? save at on a point only, and there is the grave ofHhe Stonewall of the Western army, and his devoted division. It is not tho intention of the writer of this article to give a history of P. B. Cle burne's life previous to the beginning of the past war; for of that he is ignorant in the main ; nor of tho achievements of Maj. Gen. P. E. Cleburne during the war, for that is a part of the history of the short lived Southern Confederacy, written in the stricken hearts of all her mourning sons and daughters. But we propose to give to the world some few incidents in the life of this remarkable man, that might be otherwise consigned to unde? served oblivion, yet which give indica? tions of character, that may be considered of interest sufficient to merit a place among the chronicles of the Land We Love. Gen. Cleburne was rather above than under tl)3 medium height, perhaps five feet ten or eleven inches?sparely made, growing thinner as the war progressed, with the constant wear of mind and body unceasingly restless. He had a gray eye of very changeful expression, sometimes as cold and dead as that of a fish, yet | when excited, it flashed like a broadsword. His hair that was originally black became veiy gnvy before the close of the war, and being closely cropped, it stood above his forehead in bristly individuality. High cheek bones with thin lower visage, a rather sallow complexion, with but little beard, and remarkably large ears; with long limbs and heavy, emphatic steps in walking, he was not one who in appear? ance or manners would havo graced the boudoir or the ball-room. He could, have been but little over forty years old, at the time of his death. His accent would at any.time have betrayed: his nativity, but when giving emphatic orders on the field, the harsh rolling Of his R's was some? times startling. Not one of his soldiers but can recall the peculiar intonation giv? en to his command, Forward Mar-r-r-c-ii!" the first word, being sjMlabled with re? markable distinctness, while tho lattor was given with the broadest brogue im? aginable. Nor can we forget his truly Irish rendering (bar-r-r-'l) of the word "barrel" when lecturing hi? class of offi? cers on the rifle, its parts, uses, etc. The loss of two front teeth (carried away by a minnic ball at the battle of Eichmond, Kj'.j gave his voice a hissing sound, when speaking hurriedly or angrily, that was peculiarly unpleasant. Habitually thoughtful and grave, he was considered Gold and repellant in manner by those who onlj- met him in his official capacit}'; but to his intimate friends, he was genial and pleasant in conversation ; with, at times, a real sparkling of Irish wit and humor that would bring the hearty laugh from auditors responsive to his rather grim smile. The writer recalls a broad laugh of General Ca at a witticism of his always warm friend and admirer, Lieut. General W. J. Hardce. Owing to General C.'s methodical habits and military precision of movements, his division was always last of "Hardee's Corps" to arrive on tho drill-field, for which reason General Ilar dec gave him the sobriquet of "the late General Cleburne." ? Whilo General Jos. E. Johnston's arnrry lay at Dalton, Ga., and "Cleburne's Di? vision" occupied the advance at Tunnel Hill, the writer was on one occasion at "division headquarters," in familiar con? versation with Gen. C. and ono of his staff, when ho (Gen. C.) chanced to make some very apropos quotation from a well known poet. On an expression of sur? prise that he should be so familiar with what we supposed he considered a very useless branch of literature, he rather thoughtfully remarked : "All my knowl? edge of this character of reading was ac? quired during a six or oight months' con? finement to the largo hospital near Grave send, England." In reply to tho interrogation, rather ex? pressed in our faces than spoken, ho went on to say: "Like a. good many othei-s of my un? fortunate countrymen, after crossing the channel to better my fortune, I found that more difficult than I had imagined, so I was compelled to accept the usual dernier resort and join the British army, whon I was about twenty-two years old." Ho hern added a good deal of information relative to the English army, its drills, discipline, etc., that cannot be recalled to mind, but of himself he said: "I was at onetime promoted, for good conduct, to the rank of corporal. 1 was prouder of that corporal's commission than that of major general. But, disgraceful to tell, I was cashiered and reduced to tho ranks." Of course, we expressed tho utmost anxiety to know tho cause of his disgrace. With pretended reluctance, and with tho remark that his "experience might prove of bonefit to us," ho related the eircum staneo as follows: "My regiment had been ordered out for drill with knapsacks?(ho then euumor ated the various articles that the army regulations roquired to bo kept in the knapsack, from ovorcoat to blacking brusli.) As I had been un weil for several days, I disliked very much to carry through a fatiguing ?drill a knapsack ; weighing from twenty to twenty-five pounds, so I thought I would substitute my pillow for the usual contents, and went thus upon drill. What was my conster? nation while drilling to hear the command, "Inspection knapsacks !" There was no help for it; the pillow was found, and I was a corporal no longer." He afterwards went on to state cf his earlier army life, that, "from exposure during inclement weather, I was afflicted with severe rheumatism, which amounted to paralysis of one side; and it was while in this condition, having access to the large library attached i:o the hospital that I indulged a taste for the British poets, that I had hitherto no time to gratify. After remaining about three years in the army, through the exertions of influen? tial friends, I procured my discbarge, which was written on parchment, and on the lower margin, in the space left for statement of character, was written, "a good soldier.'1 This discharge I have care? fully kept from that day to this, and feel? ing proud of the endorsement of my offi? cers then," have tried to maintain the same character through the present war." We give the above conversation entire, and. as nearly in the words used as our memory will allow, since it presents au interesting episode in the earlier part of a life that has since become immortal. There was no man in the Southern army who labored so indefatigably for the bene? fit and improvement of the troops under his command. His regiment, (the 1st Ar? kansas, afterwards the 15th,) while under his command, was perhaps the best drilled in the army of Tennessee; so with his brig? ade, and afterwards his division. When? ever his command was positively not in motion, he required of his subordinate offi? cers to keep up a constant course of drill, discipline and study. Tie, himself, while the army lay at Wartrace, Chickamanga, Dalton, and elsewhere, had his daily reci? tations, at which each brigadier general and field officer in his division was com? pelled to attend. The writer has in his mind some vivid pictures of the school? boy-like group of scarred veterans collect? ing around the school-house near Dalton, (built by Gen. C's order, for this express purpose,) eagerly scanniug "Hardee," or the "III vol. Scott's Light Infantry Tac? tics" for the lesson announced the day pre? vious. What an "eloquent silence" when "General Pat" would request, "gentlemen, take your seats." His brigadier-generals nearest him?a quartette of lieutenants every way worthy their noble captain? Covan, mild-spoken and courteous, every inch a gentleman and soldier?the stately Granbur}% as large of heart as of frame, the most noble type of the Texas soldier? Polk, (the nephew of the Bishop) hand? some, dashing and brave, regardless alike of the lesson or the mild reproof of his chief?lastly, the parson soldier, Lowry, he who could pray with his men all night, and next day lead them where the fight was thickest. We have heard it intimated that "Cle burhe's division would have made the rep? utation of any man that commanded it;'* which remark perhaps had some truth in it, but it was also true that General Cle buvne made his division what it Avas. It was his constant education of it, in every department, of duty that mainly contribu? ted to its uniform success. He instituted, or originated the secret order (approxiniating the order of the "Cincinnati" of the old revolution) known as the order of the ''Comrades of the Southern Cross," which, though partially philanthropic,in its object, was intended mainly to bind together as one man the soldiers of the Southern army, obligating themselves to stand b"j?..eafcfr'other, and never to desert their comrades in distress, or the cause of their country in any adver? sity, while she maintained organized oppo? sition to threatened tyranny. General Clcburne attributed the Valor of his troops mainly to the effect of his organization. He at one time remarked to the writer: "Had this order been disseminated through? out the Southern army, i;hey could march to the Ohio river without a check." Such would be the effect of unity of purpose and "exalted oneness of actiou" among the oath-bound members of this order. In connection with the name of this or? der, it may be in place to state the fact, perhaps not generally known, that Cle burne's division never fought under the flag of the "Southern cross," but retained the original blue battle flag with white moon in the centre, adopted originally by Gen. Hardee, previous to the battle of Shiloh. The' union of the Confederate flag, the St. Andrew's cross, when adopted as the battle-flag of the Confederate ar? mies, was on more t.ian one occasion brought on parade to be presented to the different regiments of this division, but at the urgent solicitation of the majbr-gener al and Iiis entire command, they were al? lowed to retain their old bullet-ridden blu* flags, each of which had earned the signifi? cant device of the "crcsied cannon invert? ed,'' and the name of every battle in which they had been engaged. It was indeed a compliment to their chief and the gallantry of his command, that this division should have been the only one in Confederate service allowed to carry into battle other than the national colors. This azure flag became well known to friends and foes, always clearly defining Olcburue's position on the line. . m Thomrh a foreigner by birth, yet no son of our Southern land laid upon her altar a truer, braver heart. No purer fount of patriotism poured its red tide in unavail? ing flood to save a fallen cause. ? A woman who was enjoined to try the effect of kindness on her husband, and was told that it would heap coals of fire on his head, replied that she had "tried j bilin' water, and it didn't do a bit of good. ? Why are good husbands like dough ? ? Because women need them. J The Intelligencer Job Office. Having recently tcade considerable additions to this department, tve are prepared to execute In the neatest, style and on the m ost reasonable terms. Legal Blanks, Bill Heads, Posters, Cards, Handbills. Pamphlets, Labels, and in fact every style of work usually done in a country Printing Office. In all cases, the money will be required upon delivery of the work. Orders, accompanied | with the cash, will receive prompt attention. The Soldier's Haversack. From " The Land we Love," we select, from the department styled the "Haver? sack," the following laughable incidents connected with the late war: An expression was very common in the Arm}7 of Tennessee, without being able to explain how it started. A soldier sends us an explanation of it from War renton, Va.: When R.'s brigade of cavalry was first organized, it contained some rather exci? table individuals, who were accused by Forrcsr/s men of making more use of thcir spurs than of their swords. The brigade eventually, became distinguished ?for its gallantry; but at the time of which we speak, it was a laughing-stock, not merely to Forrest's veteran's, but to the Yankees themselves. One day on a train in Mississippi, the rear car was occupied by soldiers, cracking their jokes upon one another. When the fun was at its height, a very ungainly-looking "reb," with clanking epurs, long uncombed hair, and a general appearance of long disuse of a "bilcd" shirt, stalked to a window and thrust his carbine out of it. Then he stopped and looked around, as though ap? prehensive that he was doing something wrong, and inquired, "is there any ot R's men aboard of this shebang!" No an? swer. "I say, boys, does any of you be? long to R's cavnliy ?" At length, some one spoke up, "I belong to R's cavalry." "Axin yer pardon, stranger," said the uncouth individual, "my old gun is dirty, and I wanted to clean her out, I'm jist gwiue to pop a cap. Don't be skeered, honey!" From this started the taunt so often used to cowards, "lie down' I'm gwine to pop a cap."" ? There lived in the summer of 1862, on the Mechanicsville Turnpike, near Richmond, a generous, hospitable, whole-, souled Virginia gentleman, who, however, was very passionate, and excitable, and who, when flurried, was apt to mix up the reverential and the profane, the sub? lime and the ridiculous, in a very odd kind of way. He had given up all his crop, pasture and fields and everything he could spare to the C. S. Government. But he had reserved one ten acre lot for his own use, and this he guarded with un? ceasing vigilance. One dajv while on watch, he discovered a group of horsemen approaching, and instead of going round, his fence, they took the most direct way ? through.. His wrath was instantly aroused, ? and supposing that they belonged to that class of" individuals, whom a well known French officer in our service used to call "de damn cavelree," he rushed out iu groat rage. "How dare you go through my field ? damn you. I'll report you to Presi? dent Davis." "We are on urgent business and took the shortest cut," mildly replied the leading horseman, in a faded grey suit. Gentleman.?"Do you command this company?" Horseman.?"Yes, sir." Gentleman.?"I'll teach you not to ride through my field, damn you ; what's your name?" Horseman.?"My name is Jackson." Gentleman.?"What Jackson." Horseman.?"T. J. Jackson." Gentleman.?"What is your rank ?" Horsemttn.?'Tm a Major-General in the Provisional Army." Gentleman.?(Raising his fiat.) "Bless my soul, you ain't Stoneicall Jackson ?" Horseman.?"lam sometimes called by. that name." Gentleman.?(Rushing eagcly up to him and shaking his hand.) "God bless you, General Jackson, I am so glad to see you. Go hack and ride all over my field, damn you, ride all over nvy field. Get down and come into my house. I am so glad to see you. Hide all over my field, all over it, all over it. Bless your soul, 1 am so glad to see you." ? On otic occasion, after the battle of Shiloh, the hospitals of the towns and cities on the Ohio River were so crowded with wounded men, both Confederafeand Federal, that some of them were sent to Covington, Ky., and in the Southern Mother's Homo, under the care of that benevolent institution. On a bright and pleasant day, after some of the wounded had become convalescent, a Confederate soldier was out "sunning himself," when a Federal soldier of the Teutonic persua? sion also came out, and after walking round and eyeing our Confedera'e friend for some time, accosted him thus : "You pees von secesh ?" "How do you know >" said the Confed? erate. "You pees so tarn fat." "Explain yourself," said the Confede? rate. "Veil, I pees in te hospital myself. I sees some tings vot goes on. De ladies come in mit te packet on the arm, and she coomcn to me say 1 vat you be?' I say I pees Onion man, vounded at Shiloh. She say 'vat a pity for de heeples ven de varshtopt!' Den she goes to j-ou and 6ay, 'vat you been V You say, 'I pees a rebel soldier vounded mit Shiloh.' Den sho puts her lilly vile hand in de basket and takes out de cake and de vine, and give you ever vat you vant. After vile annoder lady coomes in. mit de pasket on her arm, and she goes to you fust, and ask you 'vat you been.' You say, 'I pees rebel soldier, vounded mit Shiloh.' She sav'vat a pity.' Den I tinks I goin to get sometin?;. Veil, she come to me and say, 'vat you been V I say. 'I pees On? ion man vounded mit Shiloh.' She sets down her pasket and puts in her lilly vite hand, and pulls out a Cot tarn Mettotist track! You tinks a man gel fat on do tarn Mettofist tracks ? Do Cot tarn seecsh. da gits de cake nnd vine, and i?ve$ yat da vant. :im! do On'roii aiatt ttSB - g$ to smell de bottle."