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Civil War Harper's Weekly, May 9, 1863

Welcome to our online collection of original Civil War Harper's Weekly newspapers. This archive serves as a valuable tool for researchers and students of the Civil War. The papers contain unique content which is simply not available anywhere else.

(Scroll Down to See Entire Page, or Newspaper Thumbnails below will take you to the page of interest)

 

Louisiana Swamp

Louisiana Swamp

England Warning

Warning to England

Anglo Saxon

Loss of the Steamer "Anglo-Saxon"

Brashear City

Brashear City

New Jersey Cavalry

New Jersey Cavalry

Monitor Poem

Monitor Poem

Hospital Ship

Hospital Ship

Escort

The Steamer "Escort"

Runaway Slaves

Runaway Slaves

General Hooker's Staff

General Hooker's Staff

Patent Medicine

Patent Medicine Advertisements

Jeff Davis

Jeff Davis Cartoon

 

 

 

 

HARPER'S WEEKLY.

[MAY 9, 1863.

302

"Are you distressed at the sympathy and interest I have felt for poor, dead Walter's Gertrude? Is it so, Edith? is it so?"

He awaited her reply anxiously. It came at last with a snap of fretfulness.

"You can go out there and comfort Miss Fitz Hugh as often as you choose. It won't make one bit of difference to any one in this house. Harry Lane will take me to parties and the Opera."

Bethel put her away from him, but not hastily.

"You are not a baby, Edith, to be coaxed back to smiles."

It has been nothing but Gertrude, Gertrude, for the last two months," she pouted.

Mr. Stuart put a strong restraint upon himself before he again trusted his voice.

"God grant I have not been deceived in you, my precious Edith! But understand me once for all. I shall not cast off Miss Fitz Hugh for this unwarrantable whim of yours. She has no friends, and I promised my friend Walter Steyn, when he lay dying upon the battle-field, that I would befriend her."

He paused to wipe the large drops of perspiration from his forehead.

"Choose between us," cried Edith, bitterly.

"Take care, take care, Edith," said Mr. Stuart, sternly: "you are rash—"

"I mean it," she replied, with a light, mocking laugh. "I will never retract what I have said."

"Be it so, then." Mr. Stuart's brow and lips grew white. His voice sounded strangely to his own ears. "You have no pity on yourself. Farewell!"

Edith Barclay drew herself up haughtily, and bowed with the stately grace of a duchess. But when the door closed upon Bethel Stuart, she flung herself upon the sofa, and, hiding her face among the cushions, sobbed as though her heart would break.

Half an hour later, hearing her father's step in the hall, she started up hastily, pushing back the heavy braids from her wet cheeks.

"Papa," she said, going to meet him, laying her little hand upon his arm, "don't ring for coffee yet. I want to tell you something."

"Tears, Edith? tears? Why, where is Bethel? I don't see him here."

"That is the trouble, papa. I suppose I have treated him rather badly, and he has gone off."

Mr. Barclay whistled, his eyes turned up to the ceiling.

"And when is he coming back, my dear?" he asked, laying his forefinger against the side of his nose, glancing slyly at his daughter.

"Now, papa, don't—don't make fun of me," she said, throwing her arms around her father's neck, drawing him down to a chair, and seating herself upon his knee. "I know you think it is nothing but a silly quarrel; but indeed—"

Edith burst into tears.

"Well, well, my pet! I am not laughing at you: only thinking over my own young days, you know. Come, come, Edith! Why, don't cry so, my dear."

He raised her hot face and laid her cheek to his. "But, papa—"

"Well, my love?"

"You think Bethel will come back to me? Don't you, papa—don't you?"

"What took him off in such a hurry?"

"Because—because I didn't want him to care so much for Miss Fitz Hugh."

"Who is she?"

"The young lady Walter Steyn would have married if he had not been killed in battle."

"What has Bethel to do with her?"

"She is an orphan, papa; and Bethel promised Mr. Steyn he would be her friend, and—"

"And what, Edith?"

"I felt badly about it."

"About what, my daughter?"

"Why, his going to see Gertrude, and talking so much about her."

"Didn't Bethel want you to go and see her too?"

"Yes; but I can't now."

"Why not?"

"I went off into a fit of heroics while Bethel was here this evening, and told him to choose between us. Afterward I wouldn't retract what I had said."

"And Bethel?"

"He went off, papa, and I let him."

"My daughter"—Mr. Barclay paused a moment—"Bethel Stuart is a very proud man. He respects himself."

"Yes, papa; go on."

"And he won't come back—mark my words, Edith!—he won't come back unless you send for him."

"Then he may stay away," was upon Edith's lips; but something in her father's face checked such a light reply.

"Tell your mamma I want her—stay, I will go up to her dressing-room, and have coffee there."

He kissed her tenderly and let her go.

June came with her fragrant buds and vines. On every way-side bough the little birds held protracted meetings.

Surely, silently, under the influence of the sweet summer sunshine, the clouds of pride overshadowing Edith Barclay's heart dispersed.

"Papa," she said, one day, following her father from the dining-room into the hall, shyly putting a little note into his hand, "would you send that —to—to—Mr. Stuart?"

Mr. Barclay rapidly ran his eye over his daughter's delicate handwriting.

"Yes, my dear," he said, sadly.

"What is the matter, papa?" Edith asked, glancing uneasily at him.

"Nothing now. I was thinking, my love, that if you were too late—you understand me—why that there is nothing contained in this little note to cause you any after-feeling of embarrassment."

"But I don't understand," said Edith, simply.

"Never mind, love, I hope I may be mistaken in some of my ideas."

Mr. Barclay sighed, and hastily tucked his umbrella under his arm.

"Better send it by Thomas this afternoon before he brings the carriage round. Good-day, my dear."

That evening several of Edith's friends came in. Mr. Barclay watched his daughter narrowly. There was a flush upon her cheek, and a light within her eye which he did not like.

Their young guests dispersed, he drew her toward him, folding her to his heart.

"You are anxious and nervous, darling."

"No, papa, not now," she said, in a clear, calm voice. "See, I have his answer already." She drew a little crumpled note from underneath her belt, quietly replacing it.

"I partly forfeited his respect that evening, I fancy—my long silence has done the rest. Papa, do you remember the day you brought me home those beautiful fuschias, and told me to give up pouting or I would be too tardy? But I was very willful then, was I not, papa?" She gazed up into her father's face with a sad, wistful expression, then quietly bowed her forehead upon his arm.

"Edith, I shall take you to Europe. You sha'n't stay here," said Mr. Barclay, in a husky voice.

"Does mamma know?" he asked, presently.

She shook her head.

"Will you tell her, papa? I did not dare; it will bring on one of those distressing sick headaches."

The pearl which Bethel Stuart had carried so long within his bosom—hidden, as he profoundly thought, from human ken—which he had day by day cherished more and more: waiting, waiting never so patiently for the day when he might discover it to the fond, shy eyes of Edith Barclay—what then? "Too late, too late:" she had come seeking for that which was not; and the June showers wept Amen upon the trees.

Time sheathed his remorseless summer scythe, sweet clover tops no longer swayed bashfully to the. south wind, golden rods flashing gloriously in the sunlight—tender blades of grasses—buds, lilies, blossoms: where were they garnered?

Scarlet leaves were falling upon their graves.

A little while, and Father Time, with touch more delicate than a woman's, spread a white mantle over the ruin he had wrought.

And the young days of the new year flew by, and April came, coaxing with many tears the crocuses into bloom.

Gertrude Fitz Hugh bent eagerly over them in Aunt Milly's garden, and, gathering a bunch, held them up delightedly to Mr. Stuart.

He imprisoned her slender wrist in a gentle grasp, brushing his cheek against the pretty flowers. Gertrude's eyes fell beneath his gaze.

"Gertrude, the last words of Walter Steyn have never passed my lips. Will you listen to me?"

Gertrude Fitz Hugh started violently. A tremulous sigh fluttered to her lips. She did not speak, but waited patiently.

There was a strange thrill in Mr. Stuart's voice as he continued:

"Walter died ignorant of the engagement then existing between Miss Barclay and myself. Gertrude, besides claiming my friendship for you, he said to me, 'Bethel, perhaps you and she will love each other some day —my darling Gertrude!' Your name, Miss Fitz Hugh, came with his last gasp."

Gertrude was sobbing.

Mr. Stuart raised her wet face to the sunshine. "Will you be my Gertrude now?" he asked, tenderly.

A hot flush shot across her brow, a deadly paleness succeeded. The crocus flowers slid from her weak grasp. Locking her hands convulsively together, she said, in a hard, strained voice,

"You do not know your own heart. You love Edith Barclay, Mr. Stuart. I never heard why you parted. But you love her passionately even now. And—she—I saw her white face with its fitful flushings one day in the city, while Aunt Milly and I were shopping. Afterward I compared your two faces and thought you were to blame."

"And you do not love me, Gertrude?" he asked, stooping to pick up her flowers.

For an instant her lips quivered too rapidly for words, then she said, distinctly and resolutely, with a touch of pride,

"I think you have no right to offer me your love, Mr. Stuart."

He turned abruptly and left her.

Gertrude watched him until he disappeared behind the lilac boughs at the end of the long garden, then gathering up her wilted blossoms, went to her room to think.

How many of us have sought the seclusion of our chambers to think—think how we may best put away the remnants of a bright dream, and patiently take up again the threads of daily human life, and weave, weave monotonously, to the flow of our stealthy tears.

Did he love Edith Barclay, passionately even, as Miss Fitz Hugh had confidently asserted?

Bethel Stuart's heart responded Yes. His mind reverted to the note which he had received from Edith in the early part of the last summer, and how nettled he had felt because she had not written sooner. From that day forth he had steeled his heart against her.

Now a woman's hand had dared to turn aside the keen points of pride, bristling at the port-holes of his heart, and lo! there was his pearl not lost, only hidden.

Again he stood in Mrs. Barclay's softly lighted parlors and heard Edith's light step upon the stair. Not rapid as of yore, when springing to welcome hint, but slowly, almost reluctantly, he fancied.

His heart throbbed painfully as she came into the room, a slight blush mantling her cheek, and spreading in crimson tides to neck and brow.

Bethel Stuart quietly placed a chair for her.

"I must beg you to bear with me patiently for a few moments." He paused, his emotion broke through all barriers.

"Edith! Edith! can you forgive?" he cried.

She raised her eyes to his face with a shy, surprised look. A soft, half-dreamy light stole into them.

"Edith! Edith!" he repeated, pleadingly holding out his arms to her.

She came to him, and with the movement of a weary child laid her head upon his breast. "We are both of us wiser and better now, are we not?" he whispered, softly.

CAMPAIGNING IN LOUISIANA.

THE picture on page 289, illustrating PICKET DUTY IN THE SWAMPS OF LOUISIANA, shows what our brave soldiers have to encounter in their campaign under General Banks. Alligators and rattlesnakes abound on the bayous and in the swamps, and all manner of unpleasant creeping, flying, and walking creatures swarm under the luxuriant tropical vegetation, Campaigning in such a region has its charm; but it has its drawbacks too.

ADVERTISEMENTS.

CHLOASMA, OR MOTH PATCHES.

Blemishes on the face, called Moth, are very annoying, particularly to ladies of light complexion, as the discolored spots on the skin show more strongly on blondes than on brunettes, but they contribute greatly in marring the beauty on either; and any thing that will remove moth patches without injuring the skin in texture or color, would no doubt be considered a great achievement in medical science. Dr. B. C. PERRY, having devoted his whole time and attention to Diseases of the Skin, will guarantee to remove Moth Patches, Freckles, and other discolorations from the face without injury to either texture or color of the skin. His success in this, as in other branches of his speciality—DISEASES OF THE SCALP and LOSS OF HAIR—will warrant him in guaranteeing a CURE IN EVERY CASE. For full particulars, address, enclosing stamp for a circular, DR. B. C. PERRY, No. 49 Bond Street, New York. All Consultations Free.

Parisian Fashion for the Ladies.—LE BONTON "JOURNAL DE MODES," given in French and English, is the cheapest fashion-book in this country. Its styles of Dress, Cloaks, and Bonnets for this month are lovely. Price one year (monthly), Five Dollars. Single copy, with two full-sized patterns, Fifty Cents. Address   S. T. TAYLOR, 407 Broadway, N. Y.

359. Old Prices. 359.

LACE CURTAINS,

Nottingham Curtains,

Muslin Curtains,

Brocatelle Curtains,

Satin Delaine Curtains

WHITE HOLLAND SHADES,

Gold Window Shades,

Buff Holland Window Shades,

Green Holland Window Shades.

THE BEST UPHOLSTERERS EMPLOYED.

G. L. & J. B. KELTY,

359 BROADWAY,

New York.

Agents Wanted.

Send stamp for circulars. Rice & Co., 37 Park Row, N.Y.

SOMETHING NEW.

NATIONAL AMERICAN AMUSEMENT CARDS.

Colonel for King, Goddess of Liberty for Queen, and Major forJack. 52 enameled cards to the pack. Eagles, Shields, Stars, and Flags are the suits, and you can play all the usual games. Three packs mailed free on receipt of One Dollar. The usual discount to the trade. Send for a Circular. Address AMERICAN PUBLISHING AGENCY, 14 Chambers Street, New York.

$75 A MONTH guaranteed. Address ISAAC HALE JR. & CO., Newburyport, Mass.

The Curative will soon soften the Corn by its peculiar qualities, and it becomes detached from the natural flesh and easily removed, leaving the feet free from any disagreeable sensation. The boot or shoe can be worn at all times after the application with ease. Send for circular.

Sold by Druggists, and sent by mail at 50 cents, $1, and $2 OFFICE 212 BROADWAY, N. Y.

Corns, Bunions, Calosities, Club, and Inverted Nails, Vascular Excrescences, Enlarged and Diseased Joints, Frosted and Blistered Feet, Chilblains, and all kindred ailments of the Feet, skillfully and successfully treated by Dr. J. R. Briggs, Surgeon Chiropodist, 212 Broadway, N.Y.

These Celebrated Engraved Cards sold only at J. EVERDELL'S Old Establishment, 302 Broadway, cor. Duane St., N.Y. Established 1840. For Specimen by Mail, send two stamps.

SMALL POX

CURED IN 12 HOURS. Maj. J. T. Lane's Remedy for Small Pox is the most startling discovery in the history of medicine. It cures the fearful disease in 12 hours. Leases no scar, and is a sure preventive, thus doing away with Vaccination. Send a stamp for a pamphlet. Depot 88 Cedar Street, N. Y.

MANTILLAS.

BRODIE'S

GRAND OPENING

FOR

Spring Mantillas
Took place this Week at

300 Canal Street.

Never before has he made a better

DISPLAY,

And claims still to be

"The Leader of Fashions."

  Union League Badge.

Sponsalia

Millinery Rooms,

12 Waverley Place.

Madame Benedict, of Rue de la Paix, Paris, has just received, at her new Branch Rooms, 12 Waverley Place, several cases of freshly imported Bonnets and Head-dresses.

A DISTINCT Department for

Mourning Millinery.

Soldiers, see to your own Health, do not trust to the Army supplies; Cholera, Fever, and Bowel Complaint will follow your slightest indiscretion. HOLLOWAY'S PILLS AND OINTMENT should be in every man's knapsack. The British and French troops use no other medicines. Only 25 cents per box or pot.

DO YOU WANT LUXURIANT WHISKERS OR MUSTACHES?— My Onguent will force them to grow heavily in six weeks (upon the smoothest face) without stain or injury to the skin. Price $1—sent by mail, post free, to any address, on receipt of an order.   R. G. GRAHAM, No. 109 Nassau Street, N. Y.

HOSTETTER'S

CELEBRATED

STOMACH BITTERS.

Ladies of Delicate Constitution and uncertain health are strenuously auvised to throw aside the nauseous and useless preparations with which they are accustomed to drug themselves, and test the hygeian, body-and-mind-strengthening virtues of HOSTETTER'S CELEBRATED STOMACH BITTERS. In all the complaints and disabilities arising from sexual causes, they will find this cheering, refreshing, and invigorating preparation of extraordinary efficacy. Its regulating properties are wonderful; and as a remedy for the languor, nausea, tremors, convulsions, hysteria, &c., which often accompany the development of womanhood, it has no equal either among the prescriptions of the faculty or advertised medicines. For the many distressing feelings which usher in and often follow the period of maternity, and also for the painful and dangerous symptoms which sometimes accompany "change of life," HOSTETTER'S BITTERS are earnestly recommended. No other restorative seems to suit so well the constitutions and the organization of the feebler sex. In all cases of female debility, where there is a want of brisk vital action, the BITTERS produce a most important change—relieving local weakness, and re-establishing the general health.

Hostetter's Stomach Bitters,

PREPARED AND SOLD BY

HOSTETTER & SMITH, PITTSBURGH, PA.

DEPOT FOR NEW YORK, 428 BROADWAY.

HARPER & BROTHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE, NEW YORK,
Have Just Published:

HARPER'S PICTORIAL HISTORY OF' THE REBELLION IN THE UNITED STATES. Four Numbers now ready. Price 25 cents a Number.

THE INVASION OF THE CRIMEA: Its Origin, and an Account of its Progress down to the Death of Lord Raglan. By ALEXANDER WILLIAM KINGLAKE. With Maps and Plans. 2 vols. 12mo, Cloth. (Vol. I., Price $1.50, just ready.)

A FIRST FRIENDSHIP. A Novel. 8vo, Paper, 25 cts. AFRICAN HUNTING FROM NATAL TO THE ZAMBESI, including Lake Ngami, the Kalahari Desert, &c., from 1852 to 1860. By WILLIAN CHARLES BALDWIN, F.R.G.S. With Map, Fifty Illustrations by Wolf and Zwecker, and a Portrait of the Great Sportsman. Small 8vo, Cloth, $1.50.

A DARK NIGHT'S WORK. A Novel. By MRS. GASKELL, Author of "Sylvia's Lovers," "Mary Barton," "North and South," "Cranford," &c. 8vo, Paper, 25 cents.

SYLVIA'S LOVERS. A Novel. By Mrs. GASKELL, Author of "Mary Barton," "Cranford," "My Lady Ludlow," "North and South," "The Moorland Cottage," "Right at Last," &c. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents.

Dr. Brigg's Curative
Picture
Union League Badge
Hostetter's Stomach Bitters

 

 

 

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