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he had now to show his pass every day to one of his old negroes, who was on guard at his plantation. He took that much to heart, that the negroes, who formerly got their pass from him, had the same power over him now, that he then had over them.

On one plantation below, where the negroes had refused to work in a body without pay, at the end of the month the overseer told them he could not get the money, and they must wait till the end of the following month for it. This was on Saturday night, and they were all evidently dissatisfied. Monday morning, at daylight, they had erected a quite respectable gallows, with rope and drop complete, in the main passage-way of the negro-quarters; and they commenced tolling the bell, and collected around the master's house. The overseer came to quiet them, and have them go to work.

months ago. He afterwards engaged on the ill-fated steamer Star, but left her on the trip just before she was captured and burnt by the guerrillas. He was well liked by his associates on the river, and was a man who would not shrink from personal danger when his duty required him to brave it.

MUSIC OF THE PORT ROYAL NEGROES.-The editor of Dwight's Journal of Music publishes a letter from Miss Lucy McKim, of Philadelphia, accompanying a specimen of the songs in vogue among the negroes about Port Royal. Miss McKim acccompanied her father thither on a recent visit, and writes as follows:

It is difficult to express the entire character of these negro ballads by mere musical notes and signs. The odd turns made in the throat, and the curious rhythmic

The negroes absolutely refused, and gave the mas-effect produced by single voices chiming in at different ter notice they would hang him before night, if he did not pay up. He had no money, and was going, as he told them, to start for the city to get it. They refused to let him go till he paid up, and they kept him till the overseer went and returned with the money. They were then paid off, and went to their work at once, singing the Old John Brown song, "Marching On." This song is universal here and westward among the negroes, and is sung here at their churches in New-Orleans, on Sunday, at service.

irregular intervals, seem almost as impossible to place on score as the singing of birds or the tones of an Eolian harp. The airs, however, can be reached. They are too decided not to be easily understood, and their striking originality would catch the ear of any musician. Besides this, they are valuable as an expression of the character and life of the race which is playing such a conspicuous part in our history. The wild, sad strains tell, as the sufferers themselves never could, of crushed hopes, keen sorrow, and a dull daily misery which covered them as hopelessly as the fog from the rice-swamps. On the other hand, the words breathe a trusting faith in rest in the future-in "Ca

REV. DR. WATTS, in his Hymns, Book I., hymn 99, naan's fair and happy land," to which their eyes seem

says:

Vain are the hopes that rebels place
Upon their birth and blood,
Descended from a pious race,
Their fathers now with God.

He from the caves of earth and hell
Can take the hardest stones,
And fill the house of Abraham well
With new-created sons.

A BRAVE MAN'S ADVENTURES. The New-Orleans Delta says of Charles McGill, Assistant-Engineer of the steamer Empire Parish, who was killed by the Louisiana rebels in the attack upon that steamer:

constantly turned.

A complaint might be made against these songs on the score of monotony. It is true there is a great deal of repetition of the music, but that is to accommodate the leader, who, if he be a good one, is always an improvisator. For instant, on one occasion, the name of each of our party who was present was dexterously introduced.

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As the same songs are sung at every sort of work, of course the tempo is not always alike. On the water the oars dip "Poor Rosy" to an even andante; a stout boy and girl at the hominy-mill will make the same Poor Rosy" fly, to keep up with the whirling stone; and in the evening, after the day's work is done, "Heab'n shall a be my home" peals up slowly and mournfully from the distant quarters. One woman-a respectable house-servant, who had lost all but one of her twenty-two children-said to me: "Pshaw! don't har to dese yar chil'en, misses. Dey just rattles it off; dey don't know how for sing it. I likes 'Poor Rosy' better dan all de songs, but it can't be sung widout a full heart and a troubled sperrit !"

All the songs make good barcaroles. Whittier "builded better than he knew" when he wrote his 'Song of the Negro Boatman." It seemed wonderfully applicable as we were being rowed across Hilton Head Harbor among United States gunboats - the Wabash and the Vermont towering on either side. I thought the crew must strike up:

The history of this brave man, during the past few months, has been one of strange adventures and escapes. He was on one of the rebel gunboats in the battle above the forts, on the twenty-fourth of April last, where he was disabled by a ball that had been loosened by a shot. He was lying down in an insens ible state, when some one struck his foot against his head. This revived him, and he discovered that the vessel had been abandoned and was on fire. Making a great effort, he threw himself into the river, and.. swam ashore, where he took refuge in the swamp. Danger followed him even here, for, as one of the vessels blew up, a piece of iron, weighing some two or three hundred pounds, struck within two or three feet of him, having been hurled that distance by the force of the explosion. He was soon found and cared for, brought to this city, and sent to report to the rebel naval officer at Jackson, Mississippi. From there he was ordered to Memphis, and was in the gunboat fight before that city, where his boat was again blown up. From Memphis he came to this city, and has been engaged on the steamers running to and from the coast. He was on the Empire Parish when she was before attacked by guerrillas, some three or four

"And massa tink it day ob doom
And we ob jubilee."

Perhaps the grandest singing we heard was at the Baptist Church on St. Helena Island, when a congregation of three hundred men and women joined in a hymn:

"Roll, Jordan, roll, Jordan!
Roll, Jordan, roll!"

It swelled forth like a triumphal anthe:n. That

DAY OF THE CAPTURE.

same hymn was sung by thousands of negroes on the CAPTURE OF NEW-ORLEANS - WHAT JUDITH SAW THE Fourth of July last, when they marched in procession under the Stars and Stripes, cheering them for the first time as the "flag of our country." A friend writing from there says that the chorus was indescribably grand-"that the whole woods and world seemed joining in that rolling sound."

There is much more in this new and curious music of which it is a temptation to write, but I must remember that it can speak for itself better than any one for it. Very respectfully, LUCY MCKIM.

INCIDENT OF GAINES'S MILLS.-There is a little incident connected with the fierce fight in which McCall's division bore so conspicuous a part, namely, that of Gaines's Mills, which seems not to have found its way into print, although well known throughout the division. After the sun had gone down and left the contending parties both on the field, with Gen. French's reenforcing brigade drawn up in line of battle, on one side, with our broken columns of Pennsylvania Reserves, rallied for a last and desperate stand, and drawn up behind the brigade of General French-the firing ceased, and a strange quiet fell upon the scene. After a brief consultation among the Generals on the field, arrangements for the night were made, and all sought convenient spots for repose.

Gen. McCall decided to seek the house which had been Gen. Porter's headquarters in the early part of the day, and, attended by an officer of his staff, Major Lewis, of the Pennsylvania artillery, started out in pursuit of it. It appears that they mistook the road in the darkness, and after riding nearly a mile, they came to a house which proved to be a hospital. They were met at the door by a young Assistant-Surgeon, who informed them that he had sixty wounded men there; that he belonged to the regular United States army, and that the rebel pickets were on three sides of him. He said that as it was neutral ground, they had not attempted to molest him, but seriously advised the General and Major to get back to their lines as soon as might be. This advice they proceeded to avail themselves of, and turned the corner of the hospital to return, but they had not gone ten yards before they were greeted with the short, sharp "halt" of the sentry. An orderly who had attended them, advanced at the command, "Advance, friend, and give the countersign," and responded, "Escort with the General." "What is your name?" cried the guard. "Give him my name," said the General. "General McCall," answered the orderly. "General what?" said the sentry. "General McCall," said the orderly, and the picket, not seeming to recognize or understand the name, the General rode forward and repeated, "General McCall." "Of what army ?" asked the sentinel. "The army of the Potomac," replied the General. "Yes, yes," said the guard, "but on what side?" "The command of Major-Gen. McClellan," said the General. "The h-l you do!" yelled the sentry, and he raised his piece, two others doing the same who had remained quiet. The Major, who it seems had previously "smelled a rat," having detected the Southern ascent in the queries, had quietly wheeled his horse, and as they fired sank his spurs into his horse and plunged forward, taking the General's horse by the rein. They dashed off, and, although fired at more than twenty times by the now aroused enemy, succeeded in getting back safely to camp, having suffered no injury, except to their horses, all of which were hit, and one killed. N. P. D.

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MR. EDITOR: Allow me to describe to you how I spent the day, at the time of the first arrival of the Federal fleet at this city. The first day that the fleet arrived I and my sister, and a great many others, were wending our way to the levee. On our way we met a gentleman acquaintance of ours, who asked us if we were going to get some sugar. I felt quite indignant; but as I was in an amiable mood then, I forgave him with all my heart, as I had no wish to be angry only with those hateful secessionists, who were destroying all the sugar and cotton, and burning the ships and steamboats that had been left standing. If I had had the power over those who proposed it, I would have taken them all, women and men, and placed them in the burning ships, and there let them remain until secession and secessionists were consumed by the flames. I would have shown them no mercy. Be merciful unto him that showeth mercy." The next persons we met were a lady and gentleman - the lady appearing to be quite delighted at the sight of the cotton and ships burning. There were a great many others who had come to see the fleet-some with joyful hearts, once again to behold that time-honored flag, as it was unfurled to the breeze; others came for curiosity, and others with feelings of hate burning in their hearts, because they knew they were conquered, or would be in a short time. They foolishly depended upon some traitors to drive out the enemy when they came; but the cowards made good their escape when they heard that the fleet had arrived, leaving their dupes to take care of themselves the best way they could, telling them how vain is the help of man in an unjust cause. We were often stopped in our progress by the burning of the wharves and piles of cotton. We had gone a good distance, when right before us lay piles of cotton burning. We had our choice, either to return back the way we came, or jump across the cotton-piles. At last we came to the conclusion that we would do the jumping; so we selected a pile that we thought had been well burnt out, and my sister made the first leap, and as soon as she was over she exclaimed, "O my! but that was hot!" and told me that I had better find some other place to jump; but I wanted to have some experience in jumping cotton-piles, so over I went. When I was over I exclaimed with my sis ter -"O my! but that was hot!" and looking round to see what could have caused such heat, we saw the piles of cotton that we had jumped across burning. What appeared to have been all ashes to us, we found out by experience was a little too hot to be only ashes. We shook our dresses well, so as to make sure that there were no sparks on them, and went on our way rejoicing; but we made up our minds that the next time we jumped cotton-piles, we would look before we leaped.

In looking at the ship burning, there was a young lady standing before us, who seemed quite unconscious about her dress burning, until told by us. Then there was another old lady, who was so absorbed in looking at the fleet, that she did not take notice of where she stood; and, being at the edge of the wharf, where it had been burnt, the plank gave way, and she was precipitated into the river. Fortunately, she caught hold of another portion of the wharf, and two men assisted her out. No harm was done, but she was pretty much scared. Nothing of importance happened to us, until we noticed that one of the gunboats was coming towards our side of the river, (for the fleet was in the

middle of the river.) I and my sister ran to see where it would land, so that we could get a good view. It landed near the St. Mary's Market; so we took our position before the gunboat. As we were running along, three women who were behind us made some remarks, one of which I overheard: she said that all persons who seemed glad to see the Yankees ought to be punished. I turned round and told them if they did not like it, why did they not remain at home. They looked at me, as much as to say I was not worth answering, and we passed on. While we were standing before the gunboat, we waved our handkerchiefs towards the men on the boat, when one of the officers lifted his cap and bowed. This attracted the attention of the three women, who had come up to us, when the eldest of them touched my sister on the shoulder, and said, "Do you mean to say that you are waving your handkerchief at them ?" pointing to the men on the gunboat. My sister said it was none of her business, and I said: "Certainly." Then she said: "You had better go to them." I said I would if the boat came near enough, so that I could get in. The two younger ones called us rebels, and giving us a disdainful look, passed out of sight. You may be assured I was quite surprised on being addressed so unexpectedly; but, for all that, we were ready to answer them or any other person. While the gunboat was leaving the wharf, we still continued waving our pocket handkerchief and bidding them good-by. A man said to my sister: "Give me the handkerchief and I will wave it for you." My sister thanked him, and said she could wave it herself. She knew it was his intention to throw it into

ver.

As we came further on, we noticed two girls, one of them waving a small confederate nd calling out to them"Go back, you dirty e devils; go back where you came from." I "Where are the dirty (not Yankee, but) secesevils?" and echo answered, there; and looking 1 I saw that it was those two young girls, the one olding the flag and calling them names, and the one assisting her. At last we left them, and re1 home about six in the evening. We passed zh Annunciation Square, which but a short while id been filled with tents and traitors, but now t. Only here and there could be seen some poor n picking up some wood and bottles that were y the brave defenders of the Confederacy, in their to escape from the conquerors. From thence ssed up home.

JUDITH. -New-Orleans Delta.

COLUMBIA'S INVOCATION!

BY CHARLES A. BARRY.

Columbia, washing out with tears,

And hero-blood, her only shame-
Turns to her flag of eighty years,

Immortal in its stars and flame:
O beauteous gift of God! she cries,
Gleam out on every hill and plain!
Wave o'er my people as they rise

To win me back my fame again.

Her Eagle from his loftiest peak

The pride of all his nature showsScreams wildly-with a clashing beakDefiance to her gathering foes. Aloft, he swoops on tireless wings,

Not him can cannon-crash appall! Through fire and smoke his anger rings Accordant to her clarion call.

Then rouse, ye freemen, sound a blast From all your trumpets, loud and long! Let not th' avenging time go past,

Be swift, and terrible, and strong! Uplift the flag; let not a star

Be sundered from its field of blue! With fond lips kiss each sacred bar

That runs our deathless emblem through!

And God be with you! Hasten on!
With martial pæans rend the sky!
Let bayonets glisten in the sun,

And all your battle-banners fly!
And smite to kill! See! Freedom bleeds!
She calls you with her stifled breath!
Rebellion to her temple speeds-
March on, to Victory or Death!

MORGAN'S RAID IN KENTUCKY.

What's the matter? what's the matter?
Over yonder in Kentuck?
Lots of people, lots of people,

Seem with consternation struck!
Hush! hush! hush!
There they are!

Morgan's many, mighty men!
All cavorting

On the steeds they've been assorting-
Hear them snorting!

Well-nigh naked, boots and breeches-
Half-starved-chickens all they steal;
Then they publish proclamation:

We take for the common weal!
Hush! hush! hush! etc.

Morgan's at her! Morgan's at her!
Every woman who's secesh:
Don't you see her, don't you see her
Circling him with tender flesh?

Hush! hush! hush! etc.

What a clatter! what a clatter!
Wakes the fair Queen of the West!
"Morgan coming? Morgan coming?
Must I be by him caressed?"
Hush! hush! hush!

Mr. Mayor! Mr. Mayor!

Send the police, steam fire-engines! They may cool his fiery ardor:

At him! at him! with a vengeance!
Hush! hush! hush! etc.

How they ride, and how they spatter!
Morgan's many, merry men!

Cries the Queen: "They're coming nigher,
Oh! the flurry I am in!"

Hush! hush! hush! etc.

Fierce they ride, and all they scatter!
Morgan's many, merry men
Take the Queen's stout fire-horses,
Send her thanks and praises them!
Hush! hush! hush! etc.

What's the matter? what's the matter? Back to Dixie now they go

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America, America!
Time's youngest, brightest birth,
The hope of suffering nations,
The glory of the earth!

For thee we raise
To God our praise,
Whose goodness faileth never;
His grace divine
Above thee shine,
And keep thee great forever!

America, America!
Thy cause is Freedom's own,
They foe is each oppressor,
Thy king is God alone.

For this we raise

To him our praise,

Whose goodness faileth never;
His grace divine
Upon thee shine,
And keep thee free forever!

America, America!
'Twas justice nerved our sires,
And noble patriot feeling,
And pure devotion's fires;

For this we raise
To God our praise,

Whose goodness faileth never;
His grace divine
Upon thee shine,

And keep thee true forever.

America, America!

Our fathers left thee ONE;
The holy tie that binds us
Was knit by Washington.
For this we raise
To God our praise,

Whose goodness faileth never;
His grace divine
Upon thee shine,
And keep thee ONE forever.

America, America!

No traitor's hand shall mar
The glory of thy standard,
Or blot a single star;

And we who raise
To God our praise,
Whose goodness faileth never,
Pledge heart and hand
To keep our land
Great, free, true, one forever!
DORCHESTER, Mass., July, 1862.

"MARYLAND."

BY W. H. HAYWARD.

AIR-" Maryland, my Maryland.”
Oh! how I wish that strife would cease
In Maryland, my Maryland!

That we could live once more in peace,

In Maryland, my Maryland!

That Church and State could once more be
From politics and party free,
And to the Union all agree,

In Maryland, my Maryland!

That ministers would the Gospel preach! In Maryland, my Maryland!

The Bible truths and beauties teach,

In Maryland, my Maryland!
That men divine would watch and pray,
For our dear land both night and day,
And put secession far away,

From Maryland, my Maryland!

Let all sectarians and creeds-
In Maryland, my Maryland!
Be known and honored by good deeds
In Maryland, my Maryland!
Churches are bound by holy writ
To live in Union-not to split,
For them secession is not fit
In Maryland, my Maryland!

May woman dear-best gift to man,
In Maryland, my Maryland!
No more rebel with secesh clan
In Maryland, my Maryland !
Let love and virtue be her guide,
Kindly politeness, without pride
Pure modesty with her abide

In Maryland, my Maryland!

May they all be loyal-true,

In Maryland, my Maryland! Domestic duties still pursue,

In Maryland, my Maryland! Sweet home demands their time and aid, Base politics is not their trade, Oh! why should they thus retrograde, In Maryland, my Maryland!

Soldiers called to Washington

Through Maryland, my Maryland! True ladies would not spit upon,

In Maryland, my Maryland!

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Nor turn up nose as they pass by,
Nor "Northern scum or "mud-sills" cry,
Nor "Lincoln's tools," too mean to die
In Maryland, my Maryland!

True soldiers will the fair protect,
In Maryland, my Maryland!
Then treat them kindly with respect,
In Maryland, my Maryland!
By soldiers was our country won-
A soldier was our Washington;
Whose flag now waves o'er every one,
In Maryland, my Maryland!
Oh! why should woman toss her head,
In Maryland, my Maryland!
And wish Abe Lincoln hung quite dead!
In Maryland, my Maryland!

That Beauregard at once would come,
Make Baltimore his future home,
Drive Union men abroad to roam,

From Maryland, my Maryland!

Now, ladies, these things cannot be-
In Maryland, my Maryland!
Jeff's head alive you ne'er will see-
In Maryland, my Maryland!
Bradford's our ruler, good and true,
The Stars and Stripes he'll keep in view
And Maryland in the Union too,

My Maryland, my Maryland!

Our fathers' flag, it waves once more,
In Maryland, my Maryland!
Secession's dead in Baltimore,

Through Maryland, my Maryland!
Let ladies fair-nice young men too,
Each their walk in life pursue-
Our Union love-be patriots true,
In Maryland, my Maryland!

The rebel F. F. V,s may rave,

In Maryland, my Maryland!

Their secesh rag can never wave,

In Maryland, my Maryland! The bone and sinew of our land, Their interest and safety understand; Severed they fall-united stand,

In Maryland, my Maryland!

THE EMPTY SLEEVE.

[Inscribed to Gen. Howard, of Maine, who lost his right arm in defence of his Country.]

BY DAVID BARKER.

By the moon's pale light to a gazing throng,
Let me tell one tale, let me sing one song!
'Tis a tale devoid of an aim or plan,
'Tis a simple song of a one-arm man.
Till this very hour I could ne'er believe
What a tell-tale thing is an empty sleeve-
What a weird, queer thing is an empty sleeve.

It tells in a silent tone to all,

Of a country's need and a country's call,
Of a kiss and a tear for a child and wife,
And a hurried march for a nation's life:
Till this very hour who could e'er believe
What a tell-tale thing is an empty sleeve-
What a weird, queer thing is an empty sleeve?
It tells of a battle-field of gore-

Of the sabre's clash-of the cannon's roar-
Of the deadly charge-of the bugle's note-
Of a gurgling sound in a foeman's throat-
Of the whizzing grape-of the fiery shell-
Of a scene which mimics the scenes of hell:
Till this very hour would you e'er believe
What a tell-tale thing is an empty sleeve-
What a weird, queer thing is an empty sleeve?
Though it points to a myriad wounds and scars,
Yet it tells that a flag with the Stripes and Stars,
In God's own chosen time will take

Each place of the rag with the rattle-snake,
And it points to a time when that flag shall wave
O'er a land where there breathes no cowering slave.
To the top of the skies let us all then heave
One proud huzza for the empty sleeve-
For the one-arm man with the empty sleeve.

SONG FOR OUR SOLDIERS.

BY ALICE CARY.

Oh! for the Union, boys!
Ho! for the Union, boys,
Go for the Union, boys,
Heart, hand and gun.
Shoulder to shoulder, boys,
Younger and older, boys,
Bolder and bolder, boys,
Every mother's son!

Where you find the white men,
Union-hating white men,
Ribald rabble white men,

Let your cannon play.
Where you find the black men,
Union-loving black men,
True and loyal black men,
Let 'em run away!
Break off their chains, boys!
Strike off their chains, boys!
Knock off their chains, boys,

And let 'em run away.

Oh! for the Union, boys!
Ho! for the Union, boys,
Go for the Union, boys,

Heart, hand and sword. Shoulder to shoulder, boys, Bolder and bolder, boys, Younger and older, boys, Trusting in the Lord.

Where you find the white men, Union-hating white men, Ribald rabble white men,

Let your cannon play!

Where you find the black men,
Union-loving black men,
True and loyal black men,

Let 'em run away.
Break off their chains, boys!
Strike off their chains, boys!
Knock off their chains, boys,
And let 'em run away!

CALL FOR TRUE MEN.

BY ROBERT LOWELL.

Up to battle! Up to battle!

All we love is saved or lost! Workshop's hum and streetside's tattle,

Off! These things the life may cost! Come, for your country! For all dear things,

come!

Come to the roll of the rallying drum!

You have seen the spring-swollen river
Hurling torrent, ice and wreck !
You have felt the strong pier quiver
Like a tempest-shaken deck!
Many a stout heart, quick hand and eye
Broke the water's mad strength, and it went by.

Look on this mad threatening torrent,
Tumbling on with blood and death!
Will we see our bulwarks war-rent?
Never! Draw a stronger breath!

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