The Potter journal. [volume] (Coudersport, Pa.) 1857-1872, 1863-07-15

of her conquest; and got to looking tor
the dreamy eyes and black moustache with
little hutter at the heart and a gush Of
crimson bushes over dorny cheeks and
milk-white neck. But, then, he was a
secessiouist, they said and she staunch
! Union damie'-she would never marry a
secessionist-never! She said as much
one day in Nick's hearing, but he only
smiled and remarked that she wouldn't
either-if I could"
And so the summer was slipping by,
and Ciclly's visit drawing to close--only
one day of it remained.
Nick had gone to Boston with prom
ise to return in time to say goodbye
and something else which he wished to
tell her before they should part. All !!
she we'll knew what it was
Tea on the table, Cicily sat looking out
of the open window at the honey-suckles
and sweet briars. Lizzie as usual, was
bustling around in perfect whirlpool of
business and stiff muslin. Old Mrs. Hop
kins was slowly rolling up her knitting,
while the Deacon who had just received
his newspaper from the post Office, was
dimly spelling out the headings to the
columns.
What pretty little scream from fright
ened, blushing Cicily, while Lizzie burst
into laughter, and old Mrs. II. dropped
her knitting in astonishmen:; for there
stood Nick Dudley himself, an observed
spectator of the scene, looking handsomer
than ever in his Colonel's uniform.
What passed between Nick and Cicily
that night, in the long walk they took
together under the NAPLES, l know not !;
only when the Colonel returned home
towards midnight, he went strolling along
the lonely road, trolling out snatches of
Spanish ballads and old love ditties, while
Cicily went softly up to her chamber,
richer, by happy heart and ring upon
her finger which had never glittered there
before.
A attle.feld-bIack masses of smoke
drifting overhead below, black masses Of
men here and there-here motionless,
there Observation-Disclosures
red flashes Of fire dashlng angrily out at
sudden ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS lying stark
and dead, clothing the fields, the wood
lands, and the roads-batteries with their
powder-itained pieces, and the haggard
artillery-me fitting wildly around them,
an occasional cheer coming hoarsely up in
the distance, as some regiment goes swing
ing on at a double quick, the men bare
headed, with their tongues lolling from
their mouths, eager-eyed, ust-begrimmed
and breathless Skirmishers outlying in
every thieket, creeping up hills and thro
woods, in long, snaky lines-bare armed
surgeons, sweaty With hacking and man
Cling, towards the rear--pale officers in
groups, discussing, giving hurried orders,
and peering anxiously through field glas-
ses aids darting off into the smoke and
never returning-blood- stained orderlies
darting up out of the smoke with mystic
rious dispatches, and instantly disappear
ing again like phantom messengers-the
roar of the great guns heard miles aud
miles away, rattling the glass in the win
dows of peaceful homesteads, where they
think it is some distant thunder storm
over the mountains.
Look at the regiment charging the
rebel battery on the hill, yonder-that
formidable battery, which, hidden by fall
len trees, and stone walls, and brush bar
ricades, has been playing all day with such
deadly effect upon our poor fellows.
Down they 90 into the little valley at
half run, canteens jingling, muskets at
slope, WASTED officers already begin
ming to pant little; men loosing their
knapseck straps, ready to throw them Of
when they begin the real work. Now
they cross the little brooklet in the hol-
low-dozens of them STOPPING to catch a
draught of muddy water-and now and
then they check their speed for an in
slant to dress before they face the un.
seen battery, whose position is indicated
only by the thunder of the discharges
which at every instant shake the ground
Nick Dudley is at their head, as where
else should their Colonel be? And, see,
see what dlmy Are CLEANS in those
dreamy eyes as he turns his flushed face
up towards the threatening heights
"Now, boys!'
A hcarse cheer from their thousand
parched throats, and on they 90, sweep
ing up the hill like sea wave. A deeper
roar from the rebel guns, depressed so
low that the cruel grape goes tearing right
in the face of the advancing ranks. An
iustans's pause,and out of the smoke come
pouring hundreds of rebel horsemen, bar
barrie fellows, the cleaners who follow the
harvest of the grape shot, riding down
the reeling oolumns-yelliIg Ig-slashing
like devils.
Where ia the Colonel now2 Why