“It is a private telegram sent to me personally,” he explained, in the loud clear tones of one who had earned his office by years of stump speaking; “but it is intended for you all, I should presume.” The silent crowd pushed nearer, and listened with strained attention as this despatch was read: Headquarters Sanitary Commission, Harrison’s Landing, Va., Wednesday Morning. _To Postmaster Octavius, N. Y.:_ _No words can describe magnificent record soldiers of Dearborn County, especially Starbuck, made past week. I bless fate which identified my poor services with such superb heroism. After second sleepless night, Col. Starbuck now reposing peacefully; doctor says crisis past; he surely recover, though process be slow. You will learn with pride he been brevetted Brigadier, fact which it was my privilege to announce to him last evening. He feebly thanked me, murmuring, “Tell them at home.”_ _Julia Parmalee._ In the silence which ensued the postmaster held the paper up and scanned it narrowly by the waning light. “There is something else,” he said--“Oh, yes, I see; ‘Franked despatch Sanitary Commission.’ That’s all.” Another figure was seen suddenly clambering upon the chair, with an arm around the postmaster for support. It was the teller of the bank. He waved his free arm excitedly, as he faced the crowd, and cried: “Our women are as brave as our men! Three cheers for Miss Julia Parmalee! Hip-hip!” The loyal teller’s first “Hurrah!” fell upon the air quite by itself. Perhaps a dozen voices helped him half-heartedly with the second. The third died off again miserably, and he stepped down off the chair amid a general consciousness of failure. “Who the hell is Starbuck?” was to be heard in whispered interrogatory passed along through the throng. Hardly anybody could answer. Boyce we knew, and McIntyre, and many others, but Star-buck was a mystery. Then it was explained that it must be the son of old Alanson Starbuck, of Juno Mills, who had gone away to Philadelphia seven or eight years before. He had not enlisted with any Dearborn County regiment, but held a staff appointment of some kind, presumably in a Pennsylvania command. We were quite unable to work up any emotion over him. In fact, the more we thought it over, the more we were disposed to resent this planting of Starbuck upon us, in the very van of Dearborn County’s heroes. His father was a rich old curmudgeon, whom no one liked. The son was nothing to us whatever.