And the twin brothers that we said

Had clashed above the fallen head, Heedless of all on which they tread,

Thus saith the Keeper of the Key, And the Great Seal of Destiny, Whose eye is the blue canopy,

pery of the dead.

land and sea.

-Louisville Journal.

And all their children, far and wide,

That are so greatly multiplied,

SONG OF A SENTINEL.

Rise up in frenzy and divide,

and choose their side.

I see the champion sword-strokes flash,
I see them fall and hear them clash,
I hear the murderous engines crash,

I see a brother stoop to loose his foeman-brother's bloody sash.

I hear the curses and the thanks,

I see the mad charge on the flanks-
The rents-the gaps-the broken ranks-

And see the vanquished driven headlong down the river's bridgeless banks.

I see the death-gripe on the plain,

The grappling monsters on the main,

I see the thousands that are slain,

When fighting, killing, were not going on! Conquest, plunder, mastery, and "glory,"

By these the race has ever been undone. And Christian men, with age and learning hoary, Have found a conscience even to smile upon The "pride, pomp, and circumstance" of war(The Juggernaut, who rolls his crunching car !)

And history is mostly a disastrous tale

Of marches, battles, and that sort of thing; Sometimes upon a large, and then a smaller scale, As prosers tell us, or as poets sing.

It seems that mankind at no time can fail

Upon themselves war's miseries to bring. Doubtless the rulers are to blame; but then, What could the rulers do without the men?

and brain.

I see the torn and mangled corpse,

The dead and dying heaped in scores,

The heedless rider by his horse

From worthier motive-or to fight for hire? Suppose all men were Christians, and existed To do just what the Christian rules require? Then our Constitution had not been resisted By Northern State laws! Then no frantic ire Had e'er inflamed the Southern men, to tear

without remorse.

I see the dark and bloody spots

The crowded rooms and crowded cots

The bleaching bones, the battle-blots

And in the low sun's blood-shot raysPortentous of the coming days—

I see the oceans blush and blaze,

When Garrison, its founder, took his start, he Scarce could have hoped his English Yankee notion So soon would end in war's insane commotion.

But he had chosen well his field of labor!
He knew the puritanic inclination
To regulate the doings of one's neighbor
By one's own bigotry, for his salvation!
And now for ferule they do wield the sabre,

Since schooled has been the later generation
To hate, to execrate, and to contemn
Their countrymen, who ne'er had injured them!

Yes-well he chose! And well the people there
Have been infused with heresy and hate;
Well taught and trained the sacred bond to tear
That ought to bind each, to each other, State;

They did all this; and sadly they defamed
Their country in the ears of all mankind
"Barbarians" were their countrymen, who claimed
The rights the Constitution had defined.
Resistance to the statutes was proclaimed
The pious duty of a people so refined!
And all this madness, tending or intended,
To rend the Union-as we've seen it rended.

But-Davis, Yancey, Keitt, and Beauregard,
Slidell and Mason, Toombs and Benjamin,
Et id genus omne !-what reward

Were match to your immeasurable sin
Against your God and country? 'Twere as hard
To measure your offences, as it's been
To estimate the wretchedness abounding,
Since Mars his brazen trumpet has been sounding.

What demon could possess you to abandon

The Union-and your rights as Union men?
The Constitution was enough to stand on;
And on it were arrayed a host of men,
Prepared to lay a strong, suppressing hand on
The mad fanatics, who assailed you then.
But you in frenzy gave us battle's thunder-

A monstrous crime, and worse-a monstrous blunder!

'Twas Talleyrand, French Secretary, said

A blunder's worse than crime;-but never
Hath any one in earthly annals read

Of blunder like your efforts to dissever
Our glorious country! Lucifer once made
A similar but unprovoked endeavor!
But different his fate-perchance you know-
When he seceded," they just let him go.

I know that Milton undertakes to prove,
(But probabilities a good deal straining,)
That Lucifer, on falling from above,

Enlisted armies, and had soldiers training,
And then in mad, rebellious fury drove

Against angelic hosts, in rude campaigning! So says the poet; and to human level,

He thus brings down the conduct of the devil.

But sacred chronicle has nothing said

Of Lucifer behaving in this way. Some shabby tricks it seems that he had played, And so in Heaven could no longer stay. But war, I'm satisfied, he never made,

As Milton tells us. There was no display Of spears and shields and other like "material," And loud explosions from the guns ethereal.

No! Milton's epic's very far from true-
(A stately story, but a sorry quiz,)
So, let the devil ever have his due,

And do not paint him blacker than he is.
For he to "set a squadron" never knew,
Nor ever heard a single bullet whiz.
No, he had failed to rule as he desired,
And (may be with compulsion) he retired.

It was in fact secession, and no less,

All quietly and peaceably out-acted. The devil, jealous, was in some distress, Because his plottings had been counteracted; The rule of others only would oppress,

He said; and so to rule, himself, exacted; But failing, took his leave, and sundry minionsDropping headlong into his own dominions.

And this was all. So Milton's solemn song
Belies the devil, (in angelic verse,)

For Lucifer is guiltless of the wrong

Of armed rebellion! This is something worse Than even he enacted, when on pinions strong

The gulf to Erebus he did traverse.

No, no-he's bad enough; but men defame him, When for the crime of rebel war they blame him!

But 'twas a losing business; and the devil
Often, doubtless, doth bemoan it well.
He gave up heaven; that wildly he might revel
In all the dread magnificence of hell;
Where he's sole ruler, rising to the level

Of "recognized" confederacy, as they tell.
But would it not have been more wise and winning
For him, if he had kept from any sinning?

And so with you and yours. Oh! had you stood
For right and justice-but not separation!
Then had you seen how every neighborhood
Had echoed your demand for reparation.
Or had you made the sacrifice you should,

By bringing your supplies from some far nation, And not from mad New-England, you'd have made Her bigotry surrender to the laws of trade.

She would have given up her abolition

For trade and profit. We have seen her scout
The Southern statesmen's wisest proposition
To bring in territories round about;
But since she's profited by this condition

In larger markets-they shall not go out!
So even abolition she'd have scouted,
On finding it to be a loss undoubted.

Some fifty years ago, New-England thought
The war with Britain was a grievous wrong.
It touched her pocket; and she said, "twas fraught
With evil only." Then in protest strong,
She threatened to secede, unless 'twere brought
To prompt conclusions! She could get along,
An independent, pious, moral nation,
Just by herself, and work her own salvation.

She boasts, New-England does, of her capacity
For making money; and we grant the claim.
She grasps the profits with a rare sagacity,
That puts poor Western hoosiers all to shame.
(And some do even use the term rapacity,

In close connection, when they speak her name,)
For even War her pockets now is filling,
While Western men heroic blood are spilling.

She makes the guns, the powder, clothing, shoes,
And other articles an army needs:
She makes professions wondrously profuse
Of patriotism, though she rarely bleeds.
She knoweth well her vaunted skill to use

In arms-preparing them for others' deeds. And so, while honest Western men are fighting, She's in the contract part of war delighting.

She loveth war, while to her mill is brought The profitable grist! Her pockets linedFor blood and misery she careth not,

So they to other people are confined. Let others suffer as they will, 'tis naught To her and hers. And so the public mind She poisons and embitters with infusion Of negro madness, to prolong confusion.

For war, they say, is better than "aggression"
Of "slavery" upon the Northern rights!
And Pharisees in pulpit, make profession

Of Christian gifts-applauding deadly fights!
O'er battle-fields they gloat! the sad procession

Of killed and mangled are refreshing sights!
For vacant hearth-stones, ruin, desolation,
They say, are tokens of the land's salvation!

But what aggression ever yet was made
Upon a single Northern law or right?
Did Southern people ever yet invade

The soil of any State, for spoil or fight?
Did any John Brown, at his felon's trade,

A single Northern heart e'er wound or blight? (I mean of course, before we had secessionThe remedy, ill chosen, for the North's aggression.)

"Oh! yes!" we're told, "they labored to expand The country's bounds! They years ago did vex us With Louisiana, (which turned out a grand

Affair enough;) then Florida, then Texas
Were taken in; enlarging thus the land

Against the Northern protest; did perplex us
With California, and some other slices
Of Mexico, against our sage advices."

Thus we have briefly told "what was the matter;"
Thus the "aggression" of the South we see!
But more than this, they even sought to scatter
Themselves o'er these new lands, as well as we;
And equal rights they claimed, while we did flatter
Ourselves we were superiors to be!

And this was all; no right they e'er denied us,
Except, that when we threatened, they defied us.

They did what born Americans must do,

When wronged; they swore to seek redress! They to the Union had been firm and trueMade for their safety and their happiness; They clung to rights by Constitution due

To free white men, who only them possess. But they did err in choice of modes for righting All wrongs; they chose secession, and then fighting! But view the case reversed. Suppose the North Denied the rights, essential to existence; Suppose her people styled "barbarians," and so forth; Their "chattels" stolen, with insane persistence ? Suppose the Constitution of so little worth,

That plain provisions met with mad resistance?
Suppose the South a "higher law" thus claiming,
To wound the North, and all her sons defaming?

How long would Yankees bear such imposition?
O shades of Otis, Adams, Warren! Ye
Have left but craven sons, if such condition

Could e'er be theirs, and borne all patiently!
No! in their self-defence they'd take position,
Stand on their rights! and swear fidelity
To their own section; and defend it ever,
Even if the strife the Union should dissever!

For have not Yankees struggled for their right?
Ask Concord, Lexington, Ticonderoga!
Ask Bunker Hill, and many a lesser fight!
Ask old Burgoyne, him "bagged" at Saratoga!
Or ask the Indian files at night

In Boston Bay, when "tea" was all in vogue-eh? Oh! these are names on history's gilt-edged paper! Which men will read while Time can hold his taper!

But they, whose sires for right could thus contend, Have caught their spirit somewhere in extreme; And not content their own rights to defend,

To quelch the rights of others is their dream! All-all-to them must basely bow and bend, Howe'er degrading such submission seem. The South to madness goaded, now they'd take The little profit that the West can make !

The tariff-fixed precisely as they want it,
The markets to secure, sans competition-
May drain our pockets; but they only vaunt it
A happy trick, and laugh at our position.
Though poverty the Western home may haunt, it
May not invade the home of Abolition!
The land in other parts howe'er distrest-

New-England yet will "feather her own nest."
But they did err in choice of modes for righting
All wrongs; they chose secession and then fighting!

But Shakspeare, prince of poets, hap'ly says "Vaulting ambition doth o'erleap itsel'," And even New-England may see other days, When ruined hopes another tale will tell. "Curses come home to roost"-and wicked ways Have retribution, when deserved so well,

She's gloating now o'er distant desolation,
But yet may sadly mourn a ruined nation.

She madly fanned the fires that glow in war,
She "bravoed" when a negro used his legs;
But blind in bigotry-the South to mar,

She kills the hen that laid her golden eggs! For when the cotton fields in ruin are,

Where then her trade? If Western labor begs All vainly, freedom from unequal tax, Will we still kiss the rod that smarts our backs?

Like boy on bladder, sporting on a river,

She's floating now, all buoyant on the stream; But war's fat contracts cannot last forever,

And when they're over, ended is her dream! Her bladders all collapsed-how can she ever Her prestige and prosperity redeem?

Domestic trade let down-then foreign trade a-courting,

She'll find that paper prices don't permit exporting!

Of honesty she'll then give some example-
In honest hearty curses on herself,
And those who led her on the laws to trample-
Laying her Sumners quiet on the shelf!
For vain regrets her time will then be ample,
Her idle spindles gathering no pelf.
Inevitable fate! and then, when non est
Her profit, she'll in wrath, at least, be honest.

Pompeii sported-eating, drinking, making love, in
House, hall, or chamber, to the latest hour;
The baker, jocund, putting in his oven

The neatest little loaves of four ace flour;
And not a soul suspecting that above, in

Laden darkness came volcanic shower!
And yet it came! Vesuvius, 'midst the flashes
Of lurid gloom, sent up a world of ashes!

And so the world (except of ashes) ended

For proud old Pompeii and all her people.
They would no doubt have gallantly defended
Themselves, if possible; but 'neath a heap, all
Ash and cinders, they in vain contended

With fate-when ashes buried even the steeple.
Sad lot, Pompeii! was for you selected,
And came, besides, so very unexpected.

All hail, New-England! We have heard your cry
For Pompey, till the matter's rather stale;
And now 'tis time you'd think of Pompeii
And her distressing and suggestive tale.

A grand eruption may come, by and by,
Of Western passion, and it may not fail
To 'whelm your interests. So, do think again
Of Pompeii, or of the "cities of the plain."
Those "cities of the plain" went down in sorrow,
Because of sin and shame-perhaps you know;
But from their sorry fate can you not borrow

A hint to mend your ways, and better grow?
Suppose that you, like Sodom and Gomorrah,
Were brought to judgment. Could you show
A record clear of malice, avarice, and pride,
Bigotry, intolerance, and grievous things beside?
-Missouri Republican.

THE HOUR AND THE MAN.

From the deep hear of all this land is sounding, Like the weird v.ce of Fate, the tramp of men;

And now, where serried ranks are fast emerging,
Mountain gap, and glen,

And slope, and field, and plain, and stream, are glistening

With points of steel and banners flaunting high; And the awed world stands looking on and listening! 'Midst it all, a cry

Steals up! in the beginning like a murmur
From a high mountain or the distant sea,
But swelling to a blast: "O human brothers!
Help up! We would be men; we would be free!"

On the broad page that bears the varied record
Of every man's experience, this is found;
That great accomplishments or sure successes,
Never yet have crowned
Him who has faltered in his own convictions;
Until, 'mid multitudinous convictions
By varying and opposing counsels tossed;

Truth and right were lost.

But cool, calm, cautious, and determined action, When comes the passing hour that's big with fate, Fixes its impress on the individual,

Exalts, expands, and magnifies the state.

From out the dusk of far receding centuries,

One clear, prophetic voice of warning calls'Tis this: that in the hour of trust and trial, He who falters falls!

Oh! hearken to it, thou to-day, who holdest
In thy hand a nation's wavering fate;
And be thou truest of the true, and boldest
Of the bold! We wait-

We wait, thy people, patient but expectant;
And the far nations, tip-toe, stand agape,
Whilst thou dost solve the problem of the present,
And giv'st the future certainty and shape!
KENTUCKY, December 27, 1862.
W. D. G.

OUR HEROES.

Ah! no, they have not passed away,
The glorious men of old,

Of lofty deeds, whose souls were cast
In virtue's sternest mould.

O patriot names! Brighter for such
Shines forth the storied past;

O loyal lives! in days of gloom
A beacon to the last.

Hear ye their call? Up! Save this Land!
Fulfil your mission high;

It stirs each true heroic heart,

That thrilling battle-cry.

They come they come! O waiting souls!
They gather in their might;

Their hearts are leal, their swords are true,
They battle for the right.

Thank God, my country, for the brave,
The wise, the eloquent;

Their noblest thoughts are given to thee,
And on thy future bent.

They fight and bleed and die

On hill-side, plain, and sea,

That the old flag cleansed from every stain
May yet float fair and free!

BRUNSWICK, ME., January 10, 1868.

S. R. C.

LARRY'S RETURN FROM THE WAR.

BY WILL S. HAYS.

The black clouds were angrily chasing each other;
The cold winter winds howling carelessly by
The cottage where sat Kitty Gray and her mother-
Poor Kitty looked sad, with a tear in her eye.
She thought of her lover, with whom she had parted-
Who had gone to the wars-it was Larry O'More.
Oh! hark! she heard footsteps, and suddenly started-
Then smiled, as she leaped, like a fawn, to the door.
And, lo! there stood Larry, as fresh and as cosy

As when he left Kitty's bewitching young charms; Whose eyes were so bright, and whose cheeks were so

rosy

"Arrah! Kitty," said Larry, "love, come to me arms." "O Larry! you're safe!" Yes, thrue for ye, darlin';

I've been in the battles, whin the balance wor kilt, An' the ribils, like haythens, come fightin' an' snarlin' Arrah! Kitty, no knowin' the blood that was spilt." "Come, Larry, sit down;" "Faith, I will, an' close near you

For lonesome I've been, for many months past; I often have wished-d'ye mind?" "Yes, I hear you." "That ivery big fight that we had was the last." "And have you been wounded?" "Ah! no; I wor lucky.

The boys fought like divils, an' died in a hape; An' since our last march, as we wint through Kintucky, How many brave fellows have laid down to slape!

"No longer a sojer, dear Kitty, I'll tarry—

Faith, while I wor one, to the cause I wor thrue; An' now I've come home, love, a swate girl to marry." "Pray, Larry, who is she?" "Arrah! Kitty, 'tis you! I've got me discharge, an' through life's wintry weather We'll make the path aisy, as aisy can be. "Me heart's in me hand." "I'll take them together." "Presint arms, then, darlint!" "I will, love," says she.

"Ah! Larry, I'm glad-are you tired of fightin' ?"
And sweet Kitty smiled-looked him full in the eyes.
"Oh! no, Kitty, dear, for I took a delight in
Performin' me dooty, wherever it lies;
May me hand lave me body, whin I pull the thrigger
In battle again." "Why, Larry ?" "Because
The goddess of Liberty's turned to a nigger,
An' ould Father Abram's forgotten the laws!"
HERMITAGE, January 8, 1863.
-Louisville Sunday Democrat.

A SUBSTITUTE FOR LEATHER.-There are two modes of preparing skins for use- one is by tanning, and the other by tawing. The first of these requires months or years; the last only a few weeks. The first produces thick leather, the latter thin. In tawing, the skin is soaked and scraped to get rid of the hair and putrescible parts, then treated with alum and salt; then stretched, and scraped, and rubbed to make it flexible, and in some cases saturated with animal fat. It is not only by custom and convenience that we are confined to leather in the making of our shoes. Any substance which will exclude water and which will endure the rubs and thumps given by the foot will do for shoes. A hatter can make an excellent shoe out of the same felt and by the same process which he uses in making hats; using one other mould, and

some waterproof mixture in the sole to keep out the

wet.

A farmer may make a very pleasant shoe out of an old wool hat by providing a suitable sole; and he may provide a suitable sole by combining several thicknesses of felt with a little wax and rosin, or wax and Indiarubber, or tallow, rubber, and rosin inserted between the leaves to keep out moisture. Osnaburgs, boiled in linseed oil, and wax, and then blackened, will do very well for the uppers, only it will require a lining of osnaburgs again to make it sufficiently strong, and to keep the blackened fabric from defiling the foot. The skins of a pair of squirrels tanned would make a pretty and pleasant pair of shoes for a lady. Soles of shoes for men (beside the substitute already mentioned) may be made of old saddle-skirts, leather gin-bands, gutta-percha bands, several thicknesses of tough cloth of any sort sewed together and saturated with the waterproof; or they may be compounded of several things-the outer of leather or hardened felt, the inner of cloth or doubled osnaburgs or duck, and between the two a broad and flexible split of white oak, hickory, palmetto-stalk, or birch-bark.-Savannah Republican.

AMONG the novelties which this extraordinary war has produced are the instances which have repeatedly occurred of late of cavalry capturing gunboats. A friend suggests that our horses should be fitted out with sails and rudders, in order to facilitate their amphibious operations. The gunboats, it must be admitted, have fallen amazingly from their original prestige. At one time they had nearly scared the South from its propriety; but they are now manifest humbugs, which even a few troopers can explode. The gallant cities of Vicksburgh and Richmond deserve the credit of having first shorn the gunboats of their terrors. From the hour when Drury's Bluff demolished their iron-clads, they have been gradually sinking to their proper level.-Richmond Dispatch, Jan. 27.

DELAWARE.-No State in the Union has been more conspicuous for its gallantry and loyalty, during the present struggle, than the little Border State of Delaware. When every other Slave State either wavered or broke out into rebellion, she stood firm-"faithful among the faithless." When, after the attack upon Fort Sumter, a call was made for troops, she promptly sent a regiment of militia to Washington to guard the National capital, and with equal alacrity responded to the demand of the President for volunteers to put down the rebellion.

The regiment designated upon the Army Register as the "Second Delaware," but more familiarly known among the veterans of the Potomac as "the Crazy Delawares," was the first regiment raised in the State for three years or during the war. It has been prominent in every general engagement of the grand army