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Civil War Harper's Weekly, March 30, 1861

The March 30, 1861 edition of Harper's Weekly featured a number of important Civil War news events.  We have posted the newspaper below.  Scroll down to see the complete page, or the Newspaper Thumbnails below will take you to the specific page of interest.


April Fool's Day 1861

April Fool's Day History

New Orleans

New Orleans

Jefferson Davis Veto of Slave Trade Act

Peter Cooper and the Cooper Institute

The Cooper Union

Vassar Female College

Vassar College

Founding of Vassar (Cont.)

Sam Houston

General Sam Houston

Biggest Gun

Biggest Gun in the World

Lincoln Cartoon

Abraham Lincoln Cartoon






[MARCH 30, 1861.


(Cont. from Vassar College Article)

devoted to this object, AS A SACRED TRUST"---that moment was a sublime one ! A thrill ran through the assembly such as it is the privilege of a man to feel but once in this mortal life.

Our artist has given an accurate and spirited sketch of THE PRESENTATION OF THE FUNDS FOR VASSAR COLLEGE. The munificent DONOR stands with one hand on the box containing the title-deeds, bonds and mortgages, stocks, and other securities ; the other hand offering the key, resting on the open palm. His lofty purpose spreads a glow of enthusiasm over his face; his eye kindles with generous emotion ; the lines of the mouth indicate the decision and energy with which he will prosecute the enterprise which he has inaugurated.

The College edifice will attract attention. It was designed by J. Renwick, Jun., of the firm of Renwick, Auchmuty, & Sands, from plans furnished by Professor Milo P. Jewett, now the President of the College. The building is to be of brick, four stories high, with capacity to accommodate 300 students, each having her own separate sleeping-room. It will contain a Chapel, Library, Art Gallery, Lecture and Recitation rooms, etc. It will be abundantly supplied with pure, soft water, lighted with gas, and heated by steam. It will be nearly fire-proof. The location is about a mile and a half east of the city of Poughkeepsie, on grounds embracing two hundred acres in extent.



IN the parish of Oxney Colne there are only two decent houses. The larger and better is the parsonage, in which lived the parson and his daughter ; and the smaller is the freehold residence of a certain Miss Le Smyrger. Miss Le Smyrger was an old maid, with a pedigree and blood of her own, a hundred and thirty acres of fee-simple land on the borders of Dartmoor, fifty years of age, a constitution of iron, and an opinion of her own on every subject under the sun.

And now for the parson and his daughter. The parson's name was Woolsworthy—or Woolathy as it was pronounced by all those who lived around him—the Rev. Saul Woolsworthy ; and his daughter was Patience Woolsworthy, or Miss Patty, as she was known to the Devonshire world of those parts. That name of Patience had not been well chosen for her, for she was a hot-tempered damsel, warm in her convictions, and inclined to express them freely. She had but two closely intimate friends in the world, and by both of them this freedom of expression had been fully permitted to her since she was a child. Miss Le Smyrger and her father were well accustomed to her ways, and on the whole well satisfied with them. The former was equally fees and equally warm-tempered as herself, and as Mr. Woolsworthy was allowed by his daughter to be quite paramount on his own subject—for he had a subject—he did not object to his daughter being paramount on all others. A pretty girl was Patience Woolswortlry at the time of which I am writing, and one who possessed much that was worthy of remark and admiration had she lived where beauty meets with admiration, or where force of character is remarked. But at Oxney Colne, on the borders of Dartmoor, there were few to appreciate her, and it seemed as though she herself had but little idea of carrying her talent further afield, so that it might not remain for-ever wrapped in a blanket.

She was a pretty girl, tall and slender, with dark eyes and black hair. Her eyes were perhaps too round for regular beauty, and her hair was perhaps too crisp; her mouth was large and expressive; her nose was finely formed, though a critic in female ferns might have declared it to be somewhat broad. But her countenance altogether was very attractive—if only it might be seen with-out that resolution for dominion which occasionally marred it, though sometimes it even added to her attractions.

I t must be confessed on behalf of Patience Wools-worthy that the circumstances of her life had peremptorily called upon her to exercise dominion. She lad lost her mother when she was sixteen, and had had neither brother nor sister. She had no neighbors near her fit either from education or rank to interfere in the conduct of her life, excepting always Miss Le Smyrger. Miss Le Smyrger would have clone any thing for her, including the whole management of her morals and of the parsonage household, had Patience been content with such an arrangement. But much as Patience had ever loved Miss Le Smyrger, she was not content with this, and therefore she had been called on to put forth a strong hand of her own. She bad put forth this strong hand early, and hence had come the character which I am attempting to describe. But I must say on behalf of this girl that it was not only over others that she thus exercised do-minion. In acquiring that power she had also acquired the much greater power of exercising rule over herself.

She had taken her outlook into life, weighing the things which she had and those which she had not, in a manner very unusual, and, as a rule, not always desirable for a young lady. The things Which she had not were very many. She had not society ; she had not a fortune ; she had not any assurance of future means of livelihood; she had not high hope of procuring for herself a position in life by marriage ; she had not that excitement and pleasure in life which she read of in such books as found their way down to Oxney Colne Parsonage. It would be easy to add to the list of the things which she had not; and this list against herself she made out with the utmost vigor. The things which she had, or those rather which she assured herself of having, were much more easily counted. She had the birth and education of a lady, the strength of a healthy woman, and a will of her own, Such was the list as she made it out for herself

and I protest that I assert no more than the truth in saying that she never added to it either beauty, wit, or talent.

Miss Le Smyrger was not given to extensive hospitality, and it was only to those who were bound to her, either by ties of blood or of very old friendship, that she delighted to open her doors. As her old friends were very few in number, as those few lived at a distance, and as her nearest relations were higher in the world than she was, and were said by herself to look down upon her, the visits made to Oxney Combe were few and far between.

But now, at the period of which I am writing, such a visit was about to be made. Miss Le Smyrger had a younger sister who had inherited a property in the parish of Oxney Colne equal to that of the lady who now lived there; but this younger sister had inherited beauty also, and she therefore, in early life, had found sundry lovers, one of whom became her husband. She had married a man even then well to do in the world, but now rich and almost mighty; a member of Parliament, a lord of this and that board, a man who had a house in Eaton Square, and a park in the north of En-gland ; and in this way her course of life had been very much divided from that of our Miss Le Smyrger. But the lord of the Government board had been blessed with various children, and perhaps it was now thought expedient to look after Aunt Penelope's Devonshire acres. Aunt Penelope was empowered to leave them to whom she pleased; and though it was thought in Eaton Square that she must, as a matter of course, leave them to one of the family, nevertheless a little cousinly inter-course might make the thing more certain. I will not say that this was the sole cause for such a visit, but in these days a visit was to be made by Captain Broughton to his aunt. Now Captain John Broughton was the second son of Alfonso Broughton, of Clapham Park and Eaton Square, Member of Parliament, and Lord of the aforesaid Government Board.

"And what do you mean to do with him ?" Patience Woolsworthy asked of Miss Le Smyrger when that lady walked over from the Combe to say that her nephew John was to arrive on ,the following morning.

" Do with him? Why, I shall bring him over here to talk to your father."

"He'll be too fashionable for that, and papa won't trouble his head about him if he finds that he doesn't care for Dartmoor."

"Then he may fall in love with you, my dear."

"Well, yes ; there's that resource at any rate, and for your sake I dare say I should be more civil to him than papa. But he'll soon get tired of making love to me, and what you'll do then I can not imagine."

Captain Broughton came to Oxney Combe, staid there a fortnight—the intended period for his projected visit having been fixed at three or four days —and then went his way. He went his way back to his London haunts, the time of the year then being the close of the Easter holidays; but as he did so he told his aunt that he should assuredly return to her in the autumn.

" And assuredly I shall be happy to see you, John—if you come with a certain purpose. If you have no such purpose you had better remain away."

"I shall assuredly come," the Captain had re-plied, and then he had gone on his journey.

The summer passed rapidly by, and very little was said between Miss Le Smyrger and Miss Wools-worthy about Captain Broughton. In many respects—nay, I may say, as to all ordinary matters —no two women could well be more intimate with each other than they were; and more than that, they had the courage each to talk to the other with absolute truth as to things concerning themselves —a courage in which dear friends often fail. But, nevertheless, very little was said between them about Captain John Broughton. All that was said may be here repeated.

"John says that he shall return here in August," Miss Le Smyrger said, as Patience was sitting with her in the parlor at Oxney Combe, on the morning after that gentleman's departure.

"He told me so himself," said Patience ; and as she spoke her round dark eyes assumed a look of more than ordinary self-will. If Miss Le Smyrger had intended to carry the conversation any further she changed her mind as she looked at her companion. Then, as I said, the summer ran by, and toward the close of the warm days of July, Miss Le Smyrger, sitting in the same chair in the same room, again took up the conversation.

"I got a letter from John this morning. He says that he shall be here on the third."

" Does he?"

" He is very punctual to the time he named." "Yes; I fancy that he is a punctual man," said Patience.

" I hope that you will be glad to see him," said Miss Le Smyrger.

"Very glad to see him," said Patience, with a bold, clear voice; and then the conversation was again dropped, and nothing further was said till after Captain Broughton's second arrival in the parish.

Four months had then passed since his departure, and during that time Miss Woolsworthy had performed all her usual daily duties in their accustomed course. No one could discover that she had been less careful in her household matters than had been her wont, less willing to go among her poor neighbors, or less assiduous in her attentions to her father. But not the less was there a feeling in the minds of those around her that some great change had come upon her. She would sit during the long summer evenings on a certain spot outside the parsonage orchard, at the top of a small sloping field in which their solitary cow was always pastured, with a book on her knees before her, but rarely reading. There she would sit, with the beautiful view down to the winding river below her, watching the setting sun, and thinking, thinking, thinking—thinking of something of which she had never spoken. Often would Miss Le Smyrger

come upon her there, and sometimes would pass by her even without a word; but never—never once did she dare to ask her of the matter of her thoughts. But she knew the matter well enough. No confession was necessary to inform her that Patience Woolsworthy was in love with John Broughton--ay, in love, to the full and entire loss of her whole heart.

On one evening she was so sitting till the July sun had fallen and hidden himself for the night, when her father came upon her as he returned from one of his rambles on the moor. "Patty," he said, " you are always sitting there now. Is it not late? Will you not be cold ?"

" No, papa," she said, " I shall not be cold."

" But won't you come to the house ? I miss you when you come in so late that there's no time to say a word before we go to bed."

She got up and followed him into the parsonage, and when they were in the sitting-room together, and the door was closed, she came up to him and kissed him. " Papa," she said, " would it make you very unhappy if I were to leave you ?"

" Leave me !" he said, startled by the serious and almost solemn tone of her voice. "Do you mean for always ?"

"If I were to marry, papa?"

" Oh, marry ! No ; that would not make me unhappy. It would make me very happy, Patty, to see you married to a man you would love—very, very happy though my days would be desolate without you."

" That is it, papa. What would you do if I went from you ?"

" What would it matter, Patty ? I should 1,e free, at any rate, from a load which often presses heavily on me now. What will you do when I shall leave you ? A few more years, and all will be over with me. But who is it, love? Has any body said any thing to you ?"

"It was only an idea, papa. I don't often think of such a thing; but I did think of it then." And so the subject was allowed to pass by. This had happened before the day of the second arrival had been absolutely fixed and made known to Miss Woolsworthy.

And then that second arrival took place. The reader may have understood from the words with which Miss Le Smyrger authorized her nephew to make his second visit to Oxney Combe that Miss Woolsworthy's passion was not altogether unauthorized. Captain Broughton had been told that he was not to come unless he came with a certain purpose ; and having been so told, he still persisted in coming. There can be no doubt but that he well understood the purport to which his aunt alluded. "I shall assuredly come," he had said. And true to his word, he was now there.

Patience knew exactly the hour at which he must arrive at the station at Newton Abbot, and the time also which it would take to travel over those twelve up-hill miles from the station to Oxney. It need hardly be said that she paid no visit to Miss Le Smyrger's house on that afternoon; but she might have known something of Captain Broughton's approach w it flout going thither. His road to the Combe passed by the parsonage-gate, and had Patience sat even at her bedroom window she must have seen him. But on such an evening she would not sit at her bedroom window—she would do nothing which would force her to accuse herself of a restless longing for her lover's coming. It was for him to seek her. If he chose to do so, he knew the way to the parsonage.

Miss Le Smyrger—good, dear, honest, hearty Miss Le Smyrger, was in a fever of anxiety on behalf of her friend.

"John," she said, as soon as the first greetings were over, " do you remember the last words that I said to you before you went away ?" Now, for myself, I much admire Miss Le Smyrger's heartiness, but I do not think much of her discretion. It would have been better, perhaps, had she al-lowed things to take their course.

" I can't say that I do,", said the Captain. At the same time the Captain did remember very well what those last words had been.

" I am so glad to see you, so delighted to see you, if—if—if—" and then she paused, for with all her courage she hardly dared to ask her nephew whether he had come there with the express purport of asking Miss Woolsworthy to marry hint.

To tell the truth—for there is no room for mystery within the limits of this short story—to tell, I say, at a word the plain and simple truth, Captain Broughton had already asked that question. On the day before he left Oxney Colne he had in set terms proposed to the parson's daughter, and, in-deed, the words, the hot and frequent words, which previously to that had fallen like sweetest honey into the ears of Patience Woolsworthy, had made it imperative on him to do so. When a man in such a place as that has talked to a girl of love day after day, must not he talk of it to some definite purpose on the day on which he leaves her? Or if he do not, must he not submit to be regarded as false, selfish, and almost fraudulent ? Captain Broughton, however, had asked the question honestly and truly. He had done so honestly and truly, but in words, or, perhaps, simply with a tone, that had hardly sufficed to satisfy the proud spirit of the girl he loved. She by that time had confessed to herself that she loved him with all her heart; but she had made no such confession to him. To him she had spoken no word, granted no favor, that any lover might rightfully regard as a token of love returned. She had listened to him as he spoke, and bade him keep such sayings for the drawing-rooms of his fashionable friends. Then he had spoken out and had asked for that hand—not, perhaps, as a suitor tremulous with hope—but as a rich man who knows that he can command that which he desires to purchase.

"You should think more of this," she had said to him at last. "If you would really have me for your wife, it will not be much to you to return here again when time for thinking of it shall have passed by." With these words she had dismissed him, and now he had again come back to Oxney

Colne. But still she would not place herself at the window to look for him, nor dress herself in other than her simple morning country dress, nor omit one item of her daily work. If he wished to take her at all, lie should wish to take her as she really was, in her plain country life, but he should take her also with full observance of all those privileges which maidens are allowed to claim from their lovers. He should curtail no ceremonious observeance because she was the daughter of a poor country parson who would come to hint without a shilling, whereas he stood high in the world's books. He had asked her to give him all that she had, and that all she was ready to give without stint. But the gift must lie valued before it could be given or received. He also was to give her as much, and she would accept it as being beyond all price. But she would not allow that that which was offered to her was in any degree the more precious because of hie outward worldly standing.

She would not pretend to herself that she thought he would come to her that afternoon, and therefore she busied herself in the kitchen, and about the house, giving directions to her two maids as though the day would pass as all other days did pass in that household. They usually dined at four, and she rarely, in these summer months, went far from the house before that hour. At four precisely she sat down with her father, and then said that she was going up as far as Helpholme after dinner. Helpholme was a solitary farm-house in another parish, on the border of the moor, end Mr. Woolsworthy asked her whether he should accompany her.

"Do, papa," she said, "if you are not too tired." And yet she had thought how probable it might be that she should meet John Broughton on her walk. And so it was arranged; but, just as dinner was over, Mr. Woolsworthy remembered himself.

"Gracious me," he said, " how my memory is going! Gribbles, from Ivybridge, and old John Poulter, from Bovey, are coming to meet here by, appointment. You can't put Helpholme off till tomorrow ?"

Patience, however, never put off any thing, and therefore at six o'clock, when her father had finished his slender modicum of toddy, she tied on her hat and went on her walk. She started forth with a quick step, and left no word to say by which route she would go. As she passed up along the little lane which led toward Oxney Combe she would not even look to see if he was coming toward her; and when she left the road, passing over a stone stile into a little path which ran first through the upland fields, and then across the moor ground toward Helpholme, she did not look back once, or listen for his coming step.

She paid her visit, remaining upward of an hour with the old bedridden mother of the farmer of Helpholme. " God bless you, my darling !" said the old lady as she left her; " and send you some one to make your own path bright and happy through the world." These words were still ringing in her ears with all their significance as she saw John Broughton waiting for her at the first stile which she had to pass after leaving the farmer's haggard,

"Patty," he said, as he took her hand, and held it close within both his own, " what a chase I have had after you !"

"And who asked you, Captain Broughton ?" she answered, smiling. "If the journey was too much for your poor London strength, could you not have waited till to-morrow morning, when you would have found me at the parsonage?" But she did not draw her hand away from him, or in any way pretend that he had not a right to accost her as a lover.

" No ; I could not wait. I am more eager to see those I love than you seem to be."

" How do you know whom I love, or how eager I might be to see them ? There is an old woman there whom I love, and I have thought nothing of this walk with the object of seeing her." And now, slowly drawing her hand away from him, she pointed to the farm-house which she had left.

"Patty," he said, after a minute's pause, during which she had looked full into his face with all the force of her bright eyes ; " I have come from London to day, straight down here to Oxney, and from my aunt's house close upon your footsteps after you, to ask you that one question. Do you love me?"

"What a Hercules !" she said, again laughing. "Do you really mean that you left London only this morning? Why, you must have been five hours in a railway carriage and two in a post-chaise, not to talk of the walk afterward. You ought to take more care of yourself, Captain Broughton !"

Ile would have been angry with her--for be did not like to be quizzed—had she not put her hand on his arm as she spoke, and the softness of her touch had redeemed the offense of her words.

"All that have I done," said he, " that I may hear one word from you."

"That any word of mine should have such potency! But let us walk on, or my father will take us for some of the standing stones of the' moor. How have you found your aunt? If you only knew the cares that have sat on her dear shoulders for the last week past, in order, that your high mightiness might have a sufficiency to eat in these desolate half-starved regions."

"She might have saved herself such anxiety. No one can care less for such things than I do."

"And yet I think I have heard you boast of the cook of your club." And then again there was silence for a minute or two.

"Patty," said he, stopping again in the path; "answer my question. I have a right to demand an answer. Do you love me?"

"And what if I do? What if I have been so silly as to allow your perfections to be too many for my weak heart ? What then, Captain Broughton ?"

"It can not be that you love me, or you would not joke now,"

"Perhaps not, indeed," she said. It seemed as



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