And this brave old man was one of them. Residing for a number of years on a farm with his son, he had long been excused, on account of the infirmities of age, from active service on the farm, and even from the numerous little tasks about the house and barn involved in the care of the family and the stock. His son was drafted, and now, 'who shall look after things about the place?' 'Go,' said the brave old hero, 'and serve your country, and I'll attend to matters here.' He set about the work in good heart, and seemed likely to succeed admirably; but one day, while pushing some hay over the edge of the mow, he lost his balance, plunged forward, falling a distance of some ten or twelve feet, and, striking his head on the hard threshing floor, was so stunned as to become entirely insensible. A member of the household soon after entered the barn and found him bleeding and helpless. Medical aid was immediately summoned, but he survived his injuries only a couple of hours, and died without speaking a word. When this dreadful war shall have ended, and tall white columns shall spring up like an alabaster forest all over the land, to commemorate the glories of the departed brave, let one, at least, of the noble shafts, without legend or inscription, stand as the representative of those who have fallen in obscurity, like the soldiers cut off in the forest, unnoticed and unknown. * * * * * A Buckeye correspondent sends us the following, which is too good to keep: THE DEACON AND HIS SON. Some years agone, old Deacon S---- kept a corner grocery in the village of B----. Deacon S---- had a son, who officiated in said grocery. Deacon S---- professed to be very pious--so did Deacon S.'s son. Whether the Deacon and his son were what they professed to be, I will leave the reader to judge from the following conversation, which took place between them, one Saturday night, just before closing the store: 'Jacob!' 'Sir?' 'Dit you charge Mr. T---- mit te ham?' 'Yes, father.' 'Vell, so dit I.' A pause. 'Jacob!' 'Sir?' 'You had petter charge him again, so you won't forget him.' 'Yes, father. Another pause. 'Jacob!' 'Sir?' 'Now you can water te vinegar, sand te sugar, and close te store, un den we vill haf family worship, un go ter ped!' 'Yes, father.' * * * * * 'Law is,' to use the frequent phrase of a Gothamite contemporary, 'a cu'ros thing;' and not the least curious phase which it presents is the difference between what people say before juries and what they _think_; as is fully illustrated in the following, by FRANK HACKETT: