MOBILE, October 3.-Brute Butler has issued an order (No. 76) requiring all persons in New-Orleans, male or female, eighteen years of age or upwards, who sympathize with the Southern Confederacy, to report themselves by first October, with descriptive lists of their property, real and personal. If they renew their allegiance to the United States Government, they are to be recommended for pardon; if not, they will be fined and imprisoned, and their property confiscated. The policemen of the city are charged with the duty of seeing that every householder enrols his property in the respective districts.—Richmond Inquirer, October 6. A BRILLIANT EXPLOIT.-One of the coolest and most extraordinary exploits of the war is thus described in a letter by Brig.-Gen. Brown, dated Springfield, Mo. After a preliminary description of an engagement with the rebels, eighteen miles from Newtonia, Gen. Brown proceeds: "The General (Schofield) sent Lieutenant Blodgett, attended by an orderly, with orders to Colonel Hall, Fourth Missouri cavalry, to move to the left and attack in that direction. The route of the Lieutenant was across a point of woods, in which, while passing, he suddenly found himself facing about forty rebels drawn up in irregular line. Without a moment's hesitation, he and the orderly drew their pistols and charged. At the same time, tempering bravery with mercy, and not feeling any desire to shed blood needlessly, he drew out his handkerchief and waved it in token of his willingness to surround and capture the whole rebel force rather than shoot them down. "The cool impudence of the act nonplused the foe, and perhaps thinking there was a large force in the rear, eight of them threw down their arms and surrendered, and the balance 'skedaddled.' It is difficult to say which I admired most in the Lieutenant, his bravery in making the charge against such odds, when to have hesitated a moment was certain death, or his presence of mind and coolness in offering them their lives. The orderly, too, deserves more than a passing notice. His name is Peter Basnett, and he was at one time Sheriff of Brown County, Wis. The Lieutenant and orderly were well matched-both quiet and determined BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. The flags of war like storm-birds fly, No earthquake strives below. And, calm and patient, Nature keeps Though o'er her bloom and greenness sweeps And still she walks in golden hours And still she wears her fruit and flowers What means the gladness of the plain, Ah! eyes may well be full of tears, She meets with smiles our bitter grief, Still, in the cannon's pause, we hear Her sweet thanksgiving-psalm; Too near to God for doubt or fear, She shares the eternal calm. She knows the seed lies safe below The fires that blast and burn; From all the tears of blood we sow, She waits the rich return. She sees with clearer eye than ours Oh! give to us, in times like these, Oh! give to us her finer ear! Above the stormy din, We, too, would hear the bells of cheer Ring peace and freedom in! A RECRUITING RALLY. Men of Maine! men of Maine! Our country calls her sons to the field: For Dirigo's emblazed on Maine's shield. Hold not back, hold not back, What they built we renew, Freedom's pure flame, of liberty's fires. As our pine, as our pine, Make us stand to the fight, Not relax while the battle doth last. Sons of Maine! Sons of Maine! PORTLAND. A SONG WITHOUT A TITLE. COMPOSED BY J. FERGUSON, CO. A, TWENTY-FIRST REGIMENT TUNE-Happy Land of Canaan. The rebels are enraged, To think we are engaged In trying to put down this cursed rebellion; Turn out to a single man, To drive them to the happy Land of Canaan. And we'll blow you to the happy land of Canaan The rebels soon will find That the Yankees are the kind Of men to put down this rebellion; But 'twill not be very long, Until we send them to the happy land of Canaan. But we'll make you rebels run, Oh! oh! oh! Ye rebels, don't you know We will make you face about, And march you to the happy land of Canaan. The happy time has come, And the rebels are undone, Their conscription no longer will sustain them; Since they started from the happy Land of Canaan And put you all to flight, En route for the happy land of Canaan. AN APPEAL. BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. Listen, young heroes! your country is calling! Leave not your children a birthright of shame! Stay not for questions while Freedom stands gasping! Break from the arms that would fondly caress you! Never or now! cries the blood of a nation, Now is the day and the hour of salvation- Never or now! roars the hoarse-throated cannon Or we'll blow you to the happy land of Canaan. Never or now! flaps the shell-blasted pennon O'er the deep ooze where the Cumberland lies! From the hot plains where they perish outnumbered, DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER. BY GEORGE H. BOKER. Close his eyes; his work is done! Hand of man, or kiss of woman? Lay him low, lay him low, As man may, he fought his fight, Lay him low, lay him low, In the clover or the snow! Fold him in his country's stars, Roll the drum and fire the volley! What cares he? he cannot know: Leave him to God's watching eye, Trust him to the hand that made him. Mortal love weeps idly by: God alone has power to aid him. Lay him low, lay him low, In the clover or the snow! Antistrophe: The sound of mourning! dear homes ruthlessly Laid waste! for Death and Hell walk hand in hand! Sackcloth and Ashes! Bend the stubborn kneeWoe is thy heritage, thou goodly land. EPODE. O bleeding land! there is, that bringeth cheer; O mourning heart, be still! The gloomy night, Come, quickly come, light of the glorious day! Arise, and gird your loins, ye men of might! Earth trembling, hope, heaven, bide the end; hear ye! Go forth, great-hearts! Do battle for the right! Go forth, and faint not: "God and Liberty!" "Thine is the fight, O God." For liberty To worship thee in peace, we draw the sword; Thy cause shall fail not, save ordained by thee; Even as the sparrow falls but by thy word. Grant thou, All-Merciful! thy mercy to us, EDMUNDUS SCOTUS, Ninth Illinois Cavalry. CHICAGO, November 27, 1862. FREDERICKSBURGH. BY W. F. W. Eighteen hundred and sixty-two That is the number of wounded men Who, if the telegraph's tale be true, Reached Washington City but yester e'en And it is but a handful, the telegrams add, Covered-but only in front-with scars. Some are wounded by Minié shot, Others are torn by the hissing shell, Shall I tell what they did to meet this fate? Sudden flashed on them a sheet of flame Fifteen thousand in wounded and killed, At least, is "our loss," the newspapers say. This loss to our army must surely be filled Against another great battle-day. "Our loss!" Whose loss? Let demagogues say That the Cabinet, President, all are in wrong. What do the orphans and widows pray? What is the burden of their sad song? 'Tis their loss! But the tears in their weeping eyes They cannot discriminate men or means They only demand that this blundering cease. Is thy face from thy people turned, O God? Is thy arm for the Nation no longer strong? We cry from our homes-the dead cry from the sod- THE EAGLE OF CORINTH.* Did you hear of the fight at Corinth, That wouldn't wake on the morn. Our staff was bare of a flag, In those brave marching days- And an eye of awful gaze! The grape it rattled like hail, The wads were blowing like chaff, 'Twould have made you cheer and laugh, "The finest thing I ever saw was a live American eagle, carried by the Eighth Iowa, in the place of a flag. It would fly off over the enemy during the hottest of the fight, then would return and seat himself upon his pole, clap his pinions, shake his head and start again. Many and hearty were the cheers that arose from our lines as the old fellow would sail around, first to the right, then to the left, and always return to his post, regardless of the storm of leaden hail that was around him. Something seemed to tell us that that battle was to result in our favor, and when the order was given to charge, every man went at them with fixed bayonets, and the enemy scattered in all directions, leaving us in possession of the battle-field."-Letter from Chester D. Howe, Co. E, Twelfth Illinois Volunteers. To see, through that iron gale, And perched on his standard-staff. All that day, I tell you true, They had pressed us, steady and fair, They reckon they've got us now! For the next half-hour twill be warmAy, ay, look yonder !-I vow, If they weren't secesh, how I'd love them! To take Robinette by storm! (You may guess that we held our breath,) By the Lord, 'tis a splendid sight! A column two thousand strong Marching square to the death! On they came, in solid column, Our batteries pounded away! But a grim wake settled behind 'em- (Where our dead and dying lay Up to Robinette, all the way The dreadful swath kept growing! Now for it, at Robinette! Not a lisp for quarter or favor)- And waved their bit of a flag What could be finer or braver! But our cross-fire stunned them in flank, They melted, rank after rank(O'er them, with terrible poise, Our Bird did circle and wheel !) Their whole line began to waverNow for the bayonet, boys! On them with the cold steel! Ah! well-you know how it endedWe did for them, there and then, But their pluck, throughout, was splendid. (As I said before, I could love them!) They stood, to the last, like menOnly a handful of them Found the way back again. Red as blood, o'er the town, He sat, o'erlooking the slain ! Next morning, you'd have wondered How we had to drive the spade! There, in great trenches and holes, (Ah! God rest their poor souls!) We piled some fifteen hundred, Where that last charge was made! Sad enough, I must say. No mother to mourn and search, Without a rite of the church- Stood solemn and still on his perch. 'Tis many a stormy day Since, out of the cold, bleak North, O'er charge and storm hath he wheeled- Tramp, and volley, and rattle!- (A thousand fields of battle! He shall soar to his eyrie-home- A NATIONAL HYMN. BY PARK BENJAMIN. H. H. B. Great God! to whom our nation's woes, We pray thee mitigate this strife, Such wounds and anguish, groans and tears, Oh! darkly now the tempest rolls, We trust to thy protecting power O God of battles! let thy might Till, guided by thy glorious hand, And North and South alike shall raiso "I FIGHTS MIT SIGEL !" BY GRANT P. ROBINSON. I met him again, he was trudging along, From some secessionist's dwelling. "What regiment's yours? and under whose flag Do you fight?" said I, touching his shoulder; The next time I saw him his knapsack was gone, How are you, my friend, and where have you been, And once more I saw him and knelt by his side, I whispered of home, wife, children and friends, The bright land to which he was going; And have you no word for the dear ones at home, The "wee one," the father or mother? "Yaw! yaw!" said he, "tell them! oh! tell them I fights" Poor fellow he thought of no other "I fights mit Sigel !" TROPHIES OF THE FIELD OF ANTIETAM. MESSRS. EDITORS: During a visit to the headquarters of the army of the Potomac at Sharpsburgh, a few days after the great battle of Antietam, in company with several gentlemen from Philadelphia, I was favored with a personal interview with Gen. McClellan, during which our attention, while in his tent, was drawn to a large number of colors taken from the rebels in the battles of South-Mountain, Antietam, and Shepherdstown Bluffs. As they possessed great interest to our party, Gen. McClellan very kindly gave us a great deal of information in regard to them, and by his permission I made the list and descriptions of them herewith appended. As will be seen by a reference to the General's official report of the battles, this list comprises less than one half of the colors captured, the whole number being thirty-nine. The list embraces all, however, which at the time of our visit had been received at the headquarters, and though only partial, may, nevertheless, possess an interest for your readers. |