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knowledge I was more than forty-five years of age. The mustering officer was a very good-looking man, about thirty-five years old, but I guess I can run faster and jump higher than he; also take him down, whip him, endure more hardships, and kill three rebels to his one."-New-Hampshire Statesman.

the hospital tent on the ground where the fiercest contest had taken place, and where many of our men and those of the enemy had fallen. The hospital was exclusively for the wounded rebels, and they were laid thickly around. Many of them were Kentuckians, of Breckinridge's command. As I stepped into the tent, and spoke to some one, I was addressed by a voice, the childish tone of which arrested my attention: "That's General Rousseau! General, I knew your son Dickey. Where is Dick? I knew him very well." Turning to him, I saw stretched on the ground a handsome boy about sixteen years of age. His face was a bright one, but the hectic glow and flush on the cheeks, his restless manner, and his grasping and catching his breath as he spoke, alarmed me. I knelt by his side and pressed his fevered brow with my hand, and would have taken the child into my arms, if I could. "And who are you, my son?" said I. "Why, I am Eddy McFadden, from Louisville," was the reply. "I know you, General, and I know your son Dick. I've played with him. Where is Dick?" I thought of my own dear boy, of what might have befallen him; that he, too, deluded by villains, might, like this poor boy, have been mortally wounded, among strangers, and left to die. My heart bled for the poor child; for he was a child; my manhood gave way, and burning tears attested, in spite of me, my intense suffering. I asked him of his father; he had no father. Your mother? He had no mother. Brothers and sisters? "I have a brother," said he. "I never knew what soldiering was. I was but a boy, and they got me off down here." He was shot through the shoulder and lungs. I asked him what he needed. He said he was cold and the ground was hard. I had no tent nor blankets; our baggage was all in the rear at Savannah. But I sent the poor boy my saddle-blanket, and returned the next mornDISTURBING AN ORATOR.-The Corinth correspond-ing with lemons for him and the rest; but his brother,

Ar the battle of Hanover Court-House, Va., two sergeants met in the woods; each drew his knife, and the two bodies were found together, each with a knife buried in it to the hilt. Some men had a cool way of disposing of prisoners. One, an officer of the Massachusetts Ninth, well known in Boston as a professor of muscular Christianity, better known as "the child of the regiment," while rushing through the woods at the head of his company, came upon a rebel. Seizing the "grey buck" by the collar, he threw him over his shoulder, with "Pick him up, somebody." A little Yankee, marching down by the side of a fence which skirted the woods, came upon a strapping secesh, who attempted to seize and pull him over the rails, but the little one had too much science. A blow with the butt of a musket levelled secesh to the ground and made him a prisoner. There were many marvellous escapes. -Boston Transcript, June 14.

EPIGRAM.

WHILST Butler plays his silly pranks,
And closes up New-Orleans banks,
Our Stonewall Jackson, with more cunning,
Keeps Yankee Banks forever running.

-Charleston Mercury.

ent of the Cincinnati Gazette tells this story:

in the Second Kentucky regiment, had taken him over to his regiment to nurse him. I never saw the child again. He died in a day or two. Peace to his ashes. I never think of this incident that I do not fill up as if he were my own child.

When our lines advanced toward Corinth on the twenty-eighth, a battery was planted on an eminence commanding a considerable portion of the country, but completely shrouded from view by a dense thicket. Scouts were sent out to discover the exact position of the rebels, and were but a short distance in advance, to give a signal as to the direction to fire, if any were SKEDADDLE.-The American war has introduced a discovered. new and amusing word. A Northerner who retreats One of the rebel commanders, unaware of our pres-"retires upon his supports;" but a Southerner is said ence, called around him a brigade and commenced to "skedaddle." The Times remarked on the word, addressing them in something like the following and Lord Hill wrote a short note to prove that it was excellent Scotch. The Americans only misapply the word, which means, in Dumfries, "to spill "-milkmaids, for example, saying, you are "skedaduling" all that milk. The Times and Lord Hill are both wrong, for the word is neither new nor in any way misapplied. The word is very fair Greek, the root being that of "skedannumi," to disperse, to "retire tumultuously," and it was probably set afloat by some professor of Harvard.

strain :

"Sons of the South: We are here to defend our homes, our wives and daughters, against the horde of vandals who have come here to possess the first and violate the last Here upon this sacred soil, we have assembled to drive back the Northern invaders-drive them into the Tennessee. Will you follow me? If we cannot hold this place we can defend no spot of our Confederacy. Shall we drive the invaders back,

and strike to death the men who would desecrate our homes? Is there a man so base among those who hear me as to retreat from the contemptible foe before us? I will never blanch before their fire, nor

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At this interesting period the signal was given, and six shells fell in the vicinity of the gallant officer and his men, who suddenly forgot their fiery resolves, and fled in confusion to their breastworks.

GENERAL ROUSSEAU relates the following incident in a letter from Shiloh :

Two days after the battle of Shiloh I walked into

-London Spectator.

WHAT SHALL BE DONE FOR JEFF DAVIS?
Weave him a mantle of burning shame!
Stamp on his forehead that dreadful name
Which deeds like his inscribe in blood;
A Traitor to man! a Traitor to God!

Plait him a crown, of the flower that comes
In the ashes that lie o'er buried homes!
Let his sceptre be, the smoking brand
. Which his fiat sent throughout the land!

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We've tried to eat your beef, boys,
It was too tough and dry-

It matched your biscuits made of corn,
Your coffee made of rye.

What think you of Jeff Davis now-
Now wasn't he a fool

To stuff his ears with Cotton, boys,
And trust to Johnny Bull?

་་

You thought the French would help you,
But that, too, was no go;
"Nap" has other fish to fry,
Way down in Mexico.

Oh! when we meet again, my boys,
There'll be a pretty muss;

Don't cry, you've not seen the last

Of our green flag and us.

CHARLESTON, S. C. July 15.-On Wednesday last the pickets of the Eutaw Battalion entered Legare's, the enemy having to use their own expressive term -"skedaddled" the day previous. The first feature meeting the eyes of the advancing confederates was a number of mock sentinels stationed at intervals along the road. The dummies were neatly manufactured out of old clothes, and, with the addition of damaged gunstocks, looked quite the martial Yankee. They were doubtless posted on the road with the hope of frightening off the confederate pickets. Of course the countrymen of Barnum did not succeed with their little humThe Yankee newspapers captured are not of very bug. Our pickets found the deserted encampment late date, and it would be useless, therefore, to make covered with fragments of commissary stores; there extracts from them. They are redolent with magniwere thousands of empty bottles, boxes, tin cans, etc. ficent Federal victories, in every one of which there The rogues had undoubtedly been living luxuriously. What was more interesting, however, our are accounts of "splendid bayonet-charges" upon the men rebels. The Boston Herald of June second announces captured a large quantity of Yankee letters, docu- the capture of Vicksburgh and Little Rock, and the ments and newspapers. The walls of the houses at flight of the Governor of Arkansas into Mississippi. A Legare's were variously inscribed, most of the lan- graphic picture in Frank Leslie's represents Beaureguage being too indecent for repetition here. Ap-gard watering his horse in hell. It was engraved peals were frequently made to the victorious con federates thus, "Now, boys, don't give up the Old after one of the numerous Federal reports of the death Flag," or "Boys, we are not fighting about the nigger, but for the Old Flag and the Old Union." Some facetious rogue indulged in the following: We had our whisky on the Fourth of July; say, Secesh, how about your whisky on the Fourth?" Another undaunted individual gave vent to his feeling in this style:

"Chivalric Southerners-Dear Sirs: As the hot season is at hand, you do not appear to be resorting to the usual fashionable resorts of the summer, we, the army of liberty, have concluded to withdraw from your marshes, and leave you to enjoy, as best you can, until weather sets in next fall, when we shall return and spend the winter season in your noble city near Sumter."

The following lines of doggerel were scribbled on one of the walls. The runaway writer has some fun in him, and we can almost forgive the hasty manner in which he left our shores without visiting CharlesLon:

TWENTY-EIGHTH OF JUNE-GOOD-BYE.
AIR- Mary Blane.

Oh! farewell, Carolinians,

We are going far away;

Don't cry-we'll soon be back,

CHORUS-Oh! farewell! oh! farewell!

Another game to play.

Our parting's full of pain;

of our hero.

-Charleston Courier, July 15.

A WAY OF DISGRACING SOLDIERS.-The Nashville Union gives an account of a military procession which passed through the streets of Nashville, exciting the pity of some and the derision of others. Some fifty Federal soldiers, who had been captured and paroled by the guerrillas at various times, under circumstances not at all creditable to the prisoners, were collected by order of General Rosecrans, and adorned with night-caps, with red tassels in the centre, and in this outre uniform paraded through the streets, to the roll of the drum, "And the shrill squeaking of the wry-necked fife," before the gaze of admiring thou sands, who cheered them on their "winding way." No doubt a strict enforcement of military discipline would have condemned many of these soldiers to death for their pusillanimous behavior.

HOW TRAITORS ARE TREATED IN IOWA.-A very ludicrous scene took place last Saturday. It had been arranged that a lodge of the Golden Syrup order should be organized; a house was engaged and speakers from Marion and Otter Creek Townships provided to be on hand to give the faithful a good sermon on the beauties of the peculiar institution. The Marion speakers, however, failed to come to time, but Mr. James Thomas, of Otter Creek, was "thar," and found a

But do take care yourselves, my dears, much larger crowd than he expected to meet in such

We are coming back again.

Your swampy land's too hot for us.

We are going off to cool;

But never mind, our Monitor
Will put you all to school.

a strong Republican precinct, but not doubting they were all of the faithful, he proceeded to make the speech of the occasion. He abused Lincoln, pitched into Congress and the Cabinet, and showed such unmistakable sympathy with treason and rebellion that a cry of "hang him," "bring a rope," etc., was soon

raised. A rope was brought; Mr. Thomas was requested to say his last words. By good management, however, he got near the door, and ejaculating a prayer of "legs do your duty," he broke for the prairie, fifty or more excited men in pursuit. Down the ravine, over the knolls, through sloughs, toward the banks of the Cedar, but Thomas beat them all, and as his pursuers neared the river-banks they heard something go "ker chug" into the water with a grunt like a very large bull-frog when scared off a log. Thomas had escaped, and put the river between himself and danger. -Linn County Register, July 25.

AN ELEGY.-The following lines were written by a soldier in the hospital at New-Haven, who lost his leg

in the battle of Fair Oaks:

L-E-G ON MY LEG.

Good leg, thou wast a faithful friend,

And truly hast thy duty done;
I thank thee most that to the end
Thou didst not let this body run.

Strange paradox! that in the fight

Where I of thee was thus bereft,

I lost my left leg for "the Right,"

And yet the right's the one that's left!

But while the sturdy stump remains,
I may be able yet to patch it,

For even now I've taken pains

To make an L-E-G to match it.

GENERAL ROUSSEAU AND A REBEL CLERGYMAN. Rev. Frederick A. Ross had just been examined on a charge of treason, and convicted upon his own showing. Under charge of a guard he was about to leave the General's tent. Putting on a particularly sanctimonious expression of countenance, he took up his hat, turned to the General and said: "Well, General, we must each do as we think best, and I hope we will both meet in heaven." The General replied: "Your getting to heaven, sir, will depend altogether upon your future conduct; before we can reasonably hope to meet in that region, you and I must become better men." The effect of this brief rejoinder was irresistible.

A JOAN D'ARC.-A marauding band of rebels in Kentucky, on their way to Mount Sterling, stopped at the house of a Mr. Oldom, and, he being absent at the time, plundered him of all his horses, and among them a valuable one belonging to his daughter Cornelia. She resisted the outrage as long as she could, but finding all her efforts in vain, she sprang upon another horse and started post haste toward the town to give the alarm. Her first animal gave out, when she seized another, and meeting the messenger from Middleton, she sent him as fast as his horse could carry him to convey the necessary warning to Mount Sterling, where he arrived most opportunely. Miss Oldom then retraced her way toward home, taking with her a doublebarrelled shot-gun. She found a pair of saddle-bags on the road, belonging to a rebel officer, which contained a pair of revolvers, and soon she came up with the advancing marauders, and ordered them to halt. Perceiving that one of the thieves rode her horse, she ordered him to surrender her horse; this he refused, and finding that persuasion would not gain her ends,

she levelled the shot-gun at the rider, commanded him, as Damon did the traveller, "down from his horse," and threatened to fire if he did not comply. Her indomitable spirit at last prevailed, and the robbers, seeing something in her eye that spoke a terrible menace, surrendered her favorite steed. When she had regained his back, and patted him on the neck, he gave a neigh of mingled triumph and recognition, and she turned his head homeward and cantered off as leisurely as if she were taking her morning exercise.— New-York World, August 9.

documents left by the editors of the Memphis Appeal. A BELLIGERENT SECESSIONIST WOMAN.-Among the when they left the city, was the following epistle from a rebel woman, who had sent it to that paper for publication:

A CHALLENGE.

where as the wicked policy of the president-Making war upon the South for refusing to submit to wrong too palpable for Southerners to do. And where as it has become necessary for the young Men of our country, My Brother in the number To enlist to do the dirty work of Driving the Mercenarys from our sunny south, whose soil is too holy for such wretches to tramp And whose atmosphere is too pure for them to breathe

For such an indignity afford to Civilization I Merely Challenge any abolition or Black Republican lady of character if there can be such a one found among the negro equality tribe. To Meet me at Masons & dixon line: With a pair of Colt's repeaters or any other weapon they May Choose. That I may receive satisfaction for the insult. VICTORIA E. GOODWIN, Springdale Miss April 27, 1861.

A NEW BORDER-STATE SONG.
O KENTUCKY!
BY PAUL SIOGVOLK.

AIR-My Maryland.

The rebel's heel is on thy shore,

Kentucky! O Kentucky! His torch is at thy neighbor's door, Kentucky! O Kentucky! Avenge thou Massachusetts' gore, That stains the name of Baltimore, And be the Neutral State no more, Kentucky! O Kentucky!

Hark to thy blushing sons' appeal,
Kentucky! O Kentucky!
Proud mother State, to thee they kneel-
Kentucky! O Kentucky!
When foes disturb the common weal,
All slavish love of self conceal,
And gird thy limbs with Union steel,
Kentucky! O Kentucky!

Let all thy traitors bite the dust,
Kentucky! O Kentucky!
Let not thy sword in scabbard rust,
Kentucky! O Kentucky!
See Breckinridge's breach of trust;
Remember Morehead's skulking thrust,
And blow a wrathful thunder-gust,

Kentucky! O Kentucky!

Come! welcome Freedom's new-born day, Kentucky! O Kentucky!

Come! fling thy manacles away,

Kentucky! O Kentucky!

Call Wickliffe home to fast and pray, Stop Powell's mouth while yet you may, Invoke the shade of Henry Clay,

Kentucky! O Kentucky!

Thy fame is bright, thy limbs are strong,
Kentucky! O Kentucky!

Come for thy lagging does thee wrong,
Kentucky! O Kentucky!
Join heart and hand the martyr throng,
Whom love of country bears along,
And give new heroes to thy song,

Kentucky! O Kentucky!

Prepare to break the negro's chain,
Kentucky! O Kentucky!

Shall West-Virginia call in vain ?
Kentucky! O Kentucky!

Her eagles scream from hill to plain-
"LIBERTY" is the fierce refrain,
It baffles traitors back amain,

Kentucky! O Kentucky!

The Union's wounds shall heal again,
Kentucky! O Kentucky!

I see the blush upon thy cheek,

Kentucky! O Kentucky! Though thou wast never over-meek; Kentucky! O Kentucky!

Ah! hear there cometh forth a shriek, From hill to hill, from creek to creek, Missouri calls on thee to speak,

Kentucky! O Kentucky!

Proud Labor should not pay a toll,
Kentucky! O Kentucky!
No slave should crook to thy control,
Kentucky! O Kentucky!

Write LINCOLN's fame upon thy scroll,
Better emancipate the whole,
Than crucify one negro's soul!

Kentucky! O Kentucky!

Methinks I hear a distant hum,

Kentucky! Ah! Kentucky!
It is the Union fife and drum,

Kentucky! Ah! Kentucky!
She speaks herself, and treason's dumb,
Her brain and heart no longer numb,
She feels at last, and now she'll come !
Kentucky! Our Kentucky!
WASHINGTON CITY, D. C., January 1, 1863.

"THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE."

BY S. B. S., Co. F, ELEVENTH MICHIGAN INFANTRY. The following lines were suggested by a remark made by a little boy, whose parents reside near Bardstown, Ky., when our troops first made their appearance here. Discovering a beautiful rainbow suspended in the heavens, he ran to his mother, and exclaimed: "Mother, God is a Union man." His mother questioning him for his reason for thinking so, he replied that he had seen his flag, and it was "Red, White, and Blue."

The traitor Archangel dared first to rebel,

And drew around him his traitorous crew; But the flag of the "Union" was straightway unfurled, With its glorious old "red, white, and blue;"

When loyalty gathered from heaven's domain, And brightened their armor anew;

And the armies of heaven then marshalled their train
To fight for the "red, white, and blue."

The order went forth to the white-tented field,
To banish secession away;

And the fate of "Rebellion" was instantly sealed,
And "Union" again held the sway.
The arch-chief of traitors was sentenced to reign
O'er his minions-the misguided few-
And dwell amid darkness, where he never again
Could behold the "red, white, and blue."

The first great rebellion that history records,
Was crushed ere the dawn of its day;
And Satan, its leader, with all of his hordes,
Was banished from heaven away;

As we are assured, that "God speeds the right,"
As long as we're loyal and true

To the cause of our country, we'll never lose sight
Of our banner-"the red, white, and blue."

I herewith petition the "powers that be,"
To give Davis and his followers, all,

A deep grave reception-a home quite as free

As Satan had after his fall.

We're ready, all ready, so pilot us on,

We are wearied with "nothing to do;"
We are willing to fight till the last battle's won,
Or die by the "red, white, and blue."

-Louisville Journal.

ONE WORD.

Speak to us, to-day, O Father!
Our hearts are strangely stirred-
A Nation's life is hanging
On a yet unspoken word.
Long, by the hearthstone corner,
May the aged grandame sit,
And toil, with trembling fingers,
That another sock be knit-

Men may march and manoeuvre,
And camp on fields of death-
The iron saurians wheel and dart,
And thunder their fiery breath-
But one brave word is wanting-
The word whose tone should start
The pulses of men to flamelets
Thrilling through every heart!

O Father! trust your children!
If ever you found them fail,
'Twas but for lack of the one true word
That must to the end prevail.

Where funeral willows quiver
On the banks of the Mighty River,
'Twas seen what men may do-
Flame ahead, and flame to larboard!
(Aye, the Pit's Mouth burned blue!)
Not a craven thought was harbored-
'Twas hell to port and starboard,

But the Hearts of Oak went through!

They have shown what men may do,

They have proved how men may dieCount, who can, the fields they've pressed, Each face to the solemn sky!

Is it yet forgotten, of Shiloh

And the long outnumbered lines, How the blue frocks lay in winrows?

How they died at the Seven Pines?

How they sank in the Varuna,

(Seven foes in flame around!)? How they went down with the Cumberland, Firing, cheering as they drowned? Spirits, a hundred of thousands,

Eager, and bold, and true,

Gone to make good one brave, just word-
Father, they died for you!

Died, in tempest of battle,

Died, in the cot's dull pain

Let their ghosts be glad in heaven,
That they died—and not in vain!

Now, never fear lest the living

Should shrink at the sound, "Be Free!"They shall yet make up the million,

And another, if need there be !

But fail not, as thy trust is heaven,
To breathe the word shall wake
The soul and heart of a Nation-
Speak it, for Christ's dear sake!

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'Tis eve; one brightly beaming star
Shines from the eastern heaven afar,
To light the footsteps of the brave,
Slow marching to a comrade's grave.
The northern wind has sunk to sleep;
The sweet South breathes, as, low and deep,
The martial clang is heard, the tread
Of those who bear the silent dead.

And whose the form, all stark and cold,
Thus ready for the loosened mould,
And stretched upon so rude a bier?
Thine, soldier, thine! the Volunteer.
Poor Volunteer! the shot, the blow,
Or swift disease hath laid him low;
And few his early loss deplore-
His battle fought, his journey o'er.
Alas! no wife's fond arms caressed,
His cheek no tender mother pressed,
No pitying soul was by his side,
As lonely in his tent he died.

He died-the Volunteer-at noon;
At evening came the small platoon
That soon will leave him to his rest,
With sods upon his manly breast.

Hark to their fire! his only knell-
More solemn than the passing bell;
For, ah! it tells a spirit flown,
Unshriven, to the dark unknown.
His deeds and fate shall fade away,
Forgotten since his dying day,
And never on the roll of Fame
Shall be inscribed his humble name.

Alas! like him, how many more
Lie cold upon Potomac's shore !
How many green unnoted graves
Are bordered by those placid waves!
Sleep, soldier, sleep! from sorrow free,
And sin and strife. 'Tis well with thee.
'Tis well: though not a single tear
Laments the buried Volunteer!

-Evening Post.

THE PATRIOT'S SONG.

BY G. F. B.

Chieftains! lead us to the Rebel host,
Lead on to Richmond towers!
Who would not deem it a bliss to die
In such a cause as ours?
Lead on, for fearlessly we fight;
The UNION, 'tis a glorious cause of right.
Chieftains! our hearts beat high, in haste
To plunge the rebel heart!

Who could not glory in the deed

To drive them to death's mart? Come, let us for our country fight Because her glorious, heavenly cause is right.

Breathe on, ye souls of pride and strife,
'Tis death's immortal age!

To die, is but a change of life,
And heaven a starry stage.
Then with a bright and future hope,
The patriot shall in darkness never grope.

The trumpet shall from Malvern Hill
Proclaim in thunder tones!
How God-like heroes fought and died,
'Mid human blood and bones.
From Pittsburgh's bloody fields shall rise
Clouds of incense, to the admiring skies.

Bring forth the sweet Eolian harp,
From its Etrurian shades!
That it may chant the patriot's song,

In silver bowers and glades.
Yes! patriots' names shall live entwined-
In God's baptismal font, they live enshrined.
Yes! from Fair Oaks their names shall rise,
From Seven Pines they fly!

On many fields their corpses strewn,
Blessed patriots who'die.

Let bards the dirge of patriots sing,
Throughout the world, let fame their glory ring.

A MOTHER'S STORY. Amid the throng that gathers where The mail dispenses joy and care, I saw a woeful women stand, A letter falling from her hand:

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