Rouge and march to Port Hudson. The regiment (the First) broke out in cheers for General Butler and Colonel Stafford, and marched off singing the song, "John Brown."

The correspondent of the Times has told how these colored soldiers fought on the twenty seventh, and I need not repeat the story here. The unflinching courage shown on that day has been exhibited nearly every day since, for they have had frequent skirmishes with the rebels, and in every instance the latter have been driven back with loss. Only last week one company of the First regiment charged upon a ridge where there was a company of rebels in a rifle-pit who had annoyed our soldiers very much. The rebels were put to flight and driven into their works, with a loss of two killed, and two or three wounded; our loss was the same. The rebels left behind them their supper, canteens, blankets, etc. Our boys were much joyed with their success; and it may be added that they have been constantly advancing on the rebel works, and have never given up an inch of ground that they have once gained. All honor to our brave colored soldiers!

General Banks has spoken in the highest terms of the fighting qualities of the negro soldiers, and it is probable that they will no longer be kept in the background for want of his confidence.

The unflinching courage of the black soldier, as displayed at Port Hudson, shows that we may depend upon him to do his part in the present contest.

The siege is progressing favorably, and will soon end in success to our arms. J. T. PAINE, Surgeon-in-charge First and Third Infantry, U. S. Volunteers, Corps d'Afrique.

A LETTER FROM PRESIDENT LINCOLN.

At the commencement of the rebellion Melancthon Smith was postmaster of the town of Rockford, Illinois, and his wife was acting as deputy-postmaster. Feeling it his duty to participate in the struggle, Mr. Smith raised a regiment, of which he was appointed Colonel, and entered service under General Grant, leaving Mrs. Smith to attend to the duties of the post-office. Colonel Smith distinguished himself on several occasions, and at the recent storming of the first redoubt at Vicksburgh, led the forlorn hope, and was shot through the head and killed. Application was then made for the appointment as postmaster of a gentleman who, under ordinary circumstances, would have been a proper person to fill the office. Counter applications to retain the widow were also sent in. The matter was brought before the President; he indorsed the application for the widow, and afterward sent a letter to the Postmaster-General, of which the following is a copy:

EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON, July 24, 1863. Hon. Postmaster-General:

SIR: Yesterday little indorsements of mine went to you in two cases of postmasterships sought for widows whose husbands have fallen in the battles of this war. These cases occurring on the same day, brought me to reflect more attentively than I had before done as to what is fairly due from us here in the dispensing of patronage toward the men who, by fighting our battles, bear the chief burden of saving our country. My conclusion is, that other claims and qualifications being equal, they have the better right, and this is especially applicable to the disabled soldier and the deceased soldier's family. Your obedient servant, A. LINCOLN.

CAPTAIN WALTER S. NEWHALL, of Philadelphia, Acting Adju tant-General upon the staff of General Gregg, was lately drowned in a tributary of the Rappahanock. He was one of the earliest volunteers in the war, leaving all to serve his country. First distinguished in the famous charge of Zagonyi at Springand dangerous service; and, always a hero, he never disappointfield in Missouri, he was afterward engaged in the most active ed the fond faith of the hearts that loved him. He leaves two brothers in the service; and at the time of Lee's invasion last tive military duty. The following lines, by a mother whose son summer we believe that his parents had five or six sons on achad been in Captain Newhall's company, have a truly lyrical fervor. Not 'mid the cannon's roar, Not 'mid red fields of gore, When the fierce fight was o'er,

His young life parted;
But low beneath the wave,
No hand outstretched to save,
As in a hallowed grave

Slept the true-hearted.

All seamed with noble scars
Won in his country's wars,
Battling 'neath Stripes and Stars
For his land's glory.
One of a dauntless race,
Who each in foremost place
Still strive the foe to face,

Here ends his story.

Stern was the strife and brief-
Death came with quick relief-
While watched each glorious chief
Who went before him.
The waiting angel stood
Calm by the turbid flood,
And to that brotherhood
Gently he bore him.

Once, in Rome's elder day (So her old legends say,) Across the Sacred Way,

Wrath's fearful token, Earth opened wide her breast; Nor might the land find rest Till of her wealth the best

There should lie broken.

Vainly poured gold and gem,
Rich robe with broidered hem,
Sceptre and diadem-

Wealth's hoards uncoffered.
Wide yawned the gulf apart,
Till one brave Roman heart
Plunged in with shield and dart-
Life freely offered.

Lord, in our hour of woe,
In our land's breach we throw
Riches whose treasures flow

In streams unfailing: Widows' and orphans' tears, Sad days and nightly fears, Long-garnered hopes of yearsAll unavailing.

Yes, purer offerings stillMeek faith and chastened will, All that, through good and ill, Thy mercy gave us :

And when they gain the crested ridge,
The clouds beneath them lie,
And down afar it seems a war

Of demons in the sky.

Round them rolls the sulph'rous smoke
That follows ball and bomb,
While thunders boom, as if the doom
Of all the earth had come.

They reach the very last redoubt,

Hell yawns at every fire;

Midst sword and lead, o'er piles of dead,
The rebel hordes retire;
And routed, scattered, and dismayed,
Får flee these lords of slaves,
While flashing bright, on every height,
The flag of freedom waves!

All honor, then, to all our men,
To leaders and to guard,
Who bared their life in mortal strife,
Or who kept watch and ward;
And praises to the Lord of Hosts,
Whom nations must obey,
That he did bide, all by our side,
-On Chattanooga's day!

Let holy tears bedew the graves
Of those who fell in fight;
Let marble stones, above their bones,
Salute the morning light;

Let history write in golden books;

Let bards with song enshrine;

Let women chant the name of Grant,
And the glory of the Line!

WEST-CHESTER, PA.

THE DOVE OF THE REGIMENT.

AN INCIDENT OF THE BATTLE OF CHICKAMAUGA, "And the dove came into him in the evening, and lo! in her mouth was an olive leaf!"-BIBLE.

It will be remembered that, during the battle of Chickamauga, stragglers from our army spread extravagant reports of disaster and defeat, and that the enemy, supposing the destruction of our army complete, exultingly announced that the road was clear to Nashville.

After the retreat, while placing Chattanooga in a state of defence, General Rosecrans ordered groves levelled and houses burned, when so situated as to afford shelter to the enemy, or interfere with the range of the artillery. A dove escaped from

a burning building, and took shelter in the tent of an offi

cer of the Forty-first Ohio regiment. It remained with its protector during the siege, which terminated in the rout of Bragg's army at Lookout Mountain and Mission Ridge. When the regiment marched with Granger's corps to the relief of the beleaguered army,at Knoxville, it accompanied it, and when the Fortyfirst reënlisted, this "dove of the regiment" came with it to Cleveland.

The Sabbath day-toward Welden bridge slow stoops the autumn sun;

As when by prophet's mandate stayed, he paused on Gideon.

Above the crest of Mission Ridge the shifting cloud

Here, on the soil long consecrate to Indian hardi

hood,

We have met the rude invader, and spilled his richest blood.

While nations celebrate their birth, or venerate their slain,

Shall live the heights of Mission Ridge and Chickamauga's plain.

Now let the hated Yankee seek again his native sod, And feel, in this last fearful stroke, the hand of Israel's God;

Let him tame his flowing rivers, let him quell the restless lake,

Whose billows on his northland in sullen' grandeur

break,

But never let him think to bind, and fetter at his will, The Southern mind, while Southern hands can wield the sabre still."

So spake a haughty Southern lord, with stern and flashing eye,

Gazing upon a recent throng that slowly straggled by. Cease, babbling fool, your soul to soothe with this delusive strain;

Though straggler's flee the field of death, the soldiers yet remain.

When storms assail the rugged oak, its giant form may rock,

But withered leaves and worthless boughs alone yield to the shock.

The fight is done, and from the field, the rebels on their track,

A weary host, our scattered bands come marching slowly back.

"Now fire the dwellings, fell the groves, these sylvan 'bowers lay low,

That o'er the plain our guns may speak a welcome to

the foe!

Though driven from the bloody field we almost won, and lost,

Back from this mountain citadel we'll hurl the rebel host;

As, after Cannæ's fatal day, the Roman armies bore Their standards from Tiber's banks to Afric's hated shore;

As when the northern bear waned weak, in Borodino's fight,

Napoleon's host recoiled before the vengeful Muscovite; So

The

yet from Chattanooga's walls we'll spring, the foe

to meet

army of the Cumberland shall never know defeat !"

As from doomed Sodom's sin-cursed town to Zoar Lot trembling crossed,

So from the tumult flees a dove, and cowers amid our host;

A message to that war-worn band it bears upon its wing,

Though not the olive-leaf of Peace, Hope's grateful offering.

"Be firm," its language seems to be, "though right may yield to wrong,

Hope's brightest omens cheer the souls that suffer and are strong."

Responsive to the Tennessee its songs no longer break,

But mingled with the hoarser roar of Erie's sleepless

lake. HAYFIELD, O., April 7, 1864.

TO ROBERT GOULD SHAW.

A toast I'll give, to finish, it will please you all, I know,

negroes.

That, so his grave eternally unknown,

No mortal on the Scourge of God might tread.
Thou, nobler hero, nobler grave hast won,

In Wagner's trench, beneath brave freemen hid,
By Vandals on thee piled-a pyramid,
That to all coming time shall make thee known.
In death, as life, round thee their guard they keep;
And, when next time they hear the trumpet's sound,
Will they, with thee, on heaven's parapet leap:
The four-and-twenty elders on the ground
Their crowns before thy lowly comrades lay,

to our foe.

MUSTERED OUT.

BY REV. WILLIAM E. MILLER.

Let me lie down,

Just there in the shade of this cannon-torn tree,
Here, low on the trampled grass, where I may see
The surge of the combat; and where I may hear
The glad cry of victory, cheer upon cheer!
Let me lie down!

Oh! it was grand!

say.

THE MERCEDITA.

L. HOLBROOK,

AIR-The Battle of Bull Run.

Come all you loyal seamen, a song I'll sing to you,
It's of a gallant steamer, now on the ocean's blue;
Her name's the Mercedita, rigged as a barquentine,
A bully ship and a bully crew as ever yet was seen.
Stellwagen is our captain, his knowledge none can
doubt,

The prizes we have taken have shown that he's about;
And there's Lieutenant Abbot, beloved by us all,
Then Wilder, Gover, Baldwin, we hope they ne'er
will fall.

The next is Mr. Dwyer, no braver man can be;
And then comes Doctor Mason, no kinder man he;
Then Steine and Rogers, they come next, both good
men and brave;

A better group of officers ne'er crossed the ocean

wave.

The engineers are all the same, just what we seamen like;

There's Doig, Martin, and Munger, who always keep us right.

Another name I'll give you now, none bolder or more sound,

It's Rockefeller puts us through when we are homeward bound.

The gallant Mercedita, with all her gallant crew, She hoists her flag up to her mast-the red, the white, the blue

And when the rebel ram struck her, and split her boiler through,

"How are you, Mercedita, and all your noble crew ?"

Now here's to the "blue jackets," the Mercedita's crew,

A nobler lot of sailors ne'er crossed the ocean blue, And if we meet the enemy, with any chance to win, We'll go down like the Cumberland, and let our colors swim.

Now to conclude this ditty, and not to detain you long,

We'll all fight for our country, our country right or wrong;

On, on, o'er intrenchments, o'er living and dead, With the foe under foot and our flag overhead; Oh! it was grand !

GENERAL JOE HOOKER.

Supposed to be sung by one of his Division, on the summit of

Look-Out Mountain, subsequent to its capture, November, 1863.
THE camp fire burns bright and the cider is sound:
Come, comrades, attention, let us gather around:
In the gloom of my tent when we'd taken Look-Out,
With heart fired with vict'ry, foot-sore from a scout,
I just jingled these rhymes and I'll sing them to you;
They're of one whom true soldiers acknowledge True

Blue,

The old proverb it runs, "Every dog has his day," But some dogs have two chances when dog's work's to play,

And the people at home, when the truth comes to light,

Will accord second chance to the dog who can fight:
And, whatever backbiters and stay-at-homes say,
If Joe's last at the feast he's e'er first at the fray.
And while some love champagne, toothsome sweets,
and good mutton,

It is only for fighting that Hooker's a glutton;
And with him, at no hardship should private repine,
For though tempting the meats and enticing the wine,
He'll not see his men suffer and sit down to dine.
Rat-ta-tat, Tra-la-la, fill we out a full can,
We'll both drink to the Hero, and drink to the Man,
And the General too, who 'mong bold ones will stand,
Who dared put into practice what head-work had
planned.

Listen, comrades, we Yankees are most reading men,
And something of history and generals ken.

Which commanders are those that a soldier will mention,

Who's studied his books with delight and attention? Why, Gustavus, and Fred'rick, Charles, Blücher, and Saxe,

And the like, who trod ably in Hannibal's tracks, 'Mong our own, Greene, "Mad Anthony," Schuyler, and Lamb,

And Montgomery, dead near the field of Montcalm That field where Wolfe died, all content as victoriousLeaving names that are watchwords--whole nation's themes glorious.

Well who most in this war showed a spirit like

theirs?

Grant and Farragut truly have done their full shares;
But the two, who at outset, the foremost will show
Were Phil Kearny in coffin; alive, "Fighting Joe."
Do you know why true soldiers will talk "Fighting
Joe,"

Because he's a game-cock will fight well as crow,
And like Taylor no responsibility shirk

If the country would win though he lost by the work.
"As well hang for a sheep as a lamb," so he said,
When the orders to back out from Richmond were
read;

And at Look-Out, when counted all out of the fight, "Twas Hooker who triumphed, 'twas Joe stormed the height.

"If a man's got fight in him, laughed 'ruddy-faced Joe,' When a fight's to come off he'll in stirrup get toe:" Then three cheers and a tiger for him who will plan And then try to accomplish his thoughts like a man.

Some generals' sole thought is a well-secured base; The great forte then of others intrenchments to trace; I've e'en heard of commanders "skedaddled" outright,

And 'mong these, once, great Fred'ric, if read I aright;
Some, like Oliver Twist, are e'er calling for "more"
By the way, that's not only the case in this war;
Even Nap used to say, Never leave back a corps,
But to "Field of Decision" bring up every man,
For exactly what's needed who calculate can?
Some generals, in practice, worth not even a "red,"
Dream of catching Naps napping, get "gobbled" in-
stead;

Or, at newspaper clamor, send thousands to die,
"On to Richmond" speech-makers, who, deep in the
Without caring a "hard-tack" for you boys or I!

mire

INCIDENTS OF THE OCCUPATION OF HAGERSTOWN.

July 7.-During the stay of the confederates in town, the boys ranging from twelve to sixteen reaped quite a harvest by confiscating all the revolvers that were left in the holsters upon the backs of officers' horses, which they (the boys) were holding. Our informant was shown some sixty revolvers thus captured, and the Union boys are making good use of them.

Business has been suspended for nearly three weeks at Hagerstown, and the streets are continually crowded

with men, women, and children. The Union men con

gregate in front of the Hagerstown Bank-at times numbering hundreds-all bearing a cheerful look and hand, the secesh make their headquarters at the Washdiscussing the prospects of the war. On the other ington House, immediately opposite the Bank, where they can be heard vowing vengeance upon the loyal portion of the community.

A pleasing incident occurred during Ewell's stay in town. The Fourth North-Carolina, Colonel Grimes, was encamped in the public square, doing provost duty. Attached to this regiment was an excellent brass band, and on the first evening of their arrival they enlivened the town by playing rebel airs. At last they struck up "Dixie;" immediately some twenty young ladies, headed by Miss McCameron and Miss Emma Wantz, joined in singing the "Star-Spangled Banner," which soon drowned the rebel horns. This created intense feeling, and the Union boys sent up shout after shout.

Another incident, worthy of note, occurred after a I portion of the rebel army had passed into Pennsylva