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There," said he, "that is a Bible from my mother. And this-Washington's Farewell Address -is the gift of my father. And this,"-his voice failed.

The nurse looked down to see what it was, and there was the face of a beautiful maiden.

"Now," said the dying young soldier, "I want you to put all these under my pillow." She did as she was requested, and the poor young man laid him down on them to die, requesting that they should be sent to his parents when he was gone. Calm and joyful was he in dying. It was only going from night to endless day-from death to eternal glory. So the young soldier died.-Christian Inquirer, July 20.

A PATRIOTIC SPEECH.-Owing to alleged bad treatment by the State authorities, the Erie regiment, near Pittsburg, Pa.,began to display a rather ugly, mutinous spirit, whereupon their Colonel (McLane) addressed them in the following pithy and patriotic speech:

"Gentlemen, there is one thing I want you to understand, and that is, that I intend to command this regiment. I understand there are a number of you dissatisfied and uneasy because your payments have been stopped. There is no doubt but that we have been badly treated; and by the Eternal, the time shall come when we shall have our rights, and our wrongs shall be redressed. In the mean time, I advise you to act like soldiers and gentlemen. If the State refuses to do its duty towards us, let us do ours, and then they can have no fault to find with us. If there is any among you who wants to leave, he can do so, and I will give him a free pass home. I hope there is no one who will desert his post now, and who rates his patriotism at the paltry sum of $17 23. I have spent $1,000, and have not received a cent in return, but I am determined to do my duty; and if the State of Pennsylvania is too poor to repay me, I will make a free gift of my services to her."-Alton Democrat, July 20.

A CORRESPONDENT of the Nashville Christian Advocate gives the following account of a Sabbath in a camp of the rebels:

"We spent last Sabbath at Camp Trousdale, about forty miles from Nashville, and within two miles of the Nashville and Louisville Railroad. The former camp, immediately on the road, lacked water, and two weeks ago the troops were removed to their present location, where much water is, and of the very best kind. For shading trees, undulating ground, and cool springs, there could hardly be a more eligible encampment. It is within two miles of the Kentucky line, and has 5,600 soldiers. At half-past 9 the drumcall gathered our congregation in Col. Battle's regiment. Rev. J. A. Edmondson has lately been elected their chaplain from the ranks. We had a respectful hearing for the sermon, reverent attitude in prayer, and were assisted by some good voices in singing. About the same hour, Brother Armstrong, Chaplain of Col. Hatton's regiment, Brother Crisman, of Col. Newman's, Brother Tucker, of Col. Fulton's, Brother Poindexter, of Col. Savage's, were conducting Divine service. At 5 o'clock in the afternoon we conducted a brief religious service for Col. Palmer's regiment. This regiment held an election last Thursday, and has secured an excellent chaplain, Rev. J. H. Richie, of the Tennessee Conference. Brother Richie went through the Mexican campaign, in the ranks. After

dinner, in company with Brother Armstrong, we went through the hospitals located in this region. The sick list-measles-is pretty large in some of the regiments; but the sick are well cared for, and there never was a better time and place for soldiers to take their camp acclimation. The readers of the Adrocate will be pleased to learn that the Sabbath day is observed in camp. There is no drilling, which here is real hard work six days in the week. The univer sal good order was not only gratifying, but astonishing; the whole day's scene agreeably belied our conceptions of camp life. We saw no dram-drinking or card-playing; heard no profanity. Ladies might be seen visiting friends and relatives, and they can do so with perfect safety, for last week a soldier was put under guard for six days for kissing his hand at a lady unknown to him. The fact is, our volunteer armies are made up of gentlemen, and to an unprecedented degree of Christian gentlemen. If the Lincoln cabi net could visit our camps and witness the stuff our men are made of, and take one day's impression of their physical and moral stamina, we believe the last hope of subjugating such a people would die out of them. We learn with pleasure that a good state of religious feeling pervades the Southern army. In Col. Bates' regiment, now in Virginia, there are many Christians, among them Capt. Henry, a local preacher of the Methodist church from Summer County. Captain Henry has regular prayer meetings among the soldiers. When present, he leads; but when absent, some of the young men conduct the services. The interest, we understand, in these meetings is constantly increasing. Much good will be accomplished, and young men who have gone into the field bearing the name of Christ, will come back with their Christian armor bright. There is a Christian association in Camp Cheatham, Tennessee, who hold prayer meetings at stated times, and exercise an excellent infiuence. Rev. W. H. Browning, who spent last Sabbath at the camp, makes a very favorable report of its moral condition. At Sparta, Georgia, I heard Bishop Pierce make one of the most eloquent and thrilling addresses to a vast crowd of soldiers and people, on fast-day, after a sermon. He said: Did I know a man here who would refuse to subscribe cotton or money to carry on this war of defence while it lasts, I would never shake his hand, nor darken his doors with my presence.' The Bishop's only son, just married, an accomplished Christian, has volunteered as a private, and the Bishop himself subscribes one-half his crop to the Confederacy."

LOUISVILLE, KY., July 6.-If any good Union men (no others need apply) want a few first-class navy pistols at much less than the ordinary rates, we may make a suggestion for their benefit-if they come to us soon.-Louisville Journal.

THE WOUNDED AT BULL RUN.-"During the retreat I was surprised to note the few exclamations of distress from our wounded men. Now and then the mangled soldiers uttered piercing groans; sometimes, during the rough process of transfer from the ambulances, they gave vent to their agony in heart-rending shrieks; but generally their endurance was heroic. Dr. Magruder, soon after the firing on Col. Hunter's column began, took possession of the Sudley church, about half a mile from the field, and instantly the seats were removed, and blankets spread on the floor for the wounded. The little building was soon crowded, and its floor crimsoned with warm blood.

The altar table was used for the operations upon the men who were more severely injured. The surgeons of the New Hampshire and Rhode Island regiments, as well as those of the New York Eighth, Fourteenth, and Seventy-first regiments, and of the Fire Zouaves, were in attendance, and worked with great energy. "Within the hospital the victims were chiefly of the Rhode Island regiments. There were some, however, from the Seventy-first, the Fourteenth, and a number of the Zouaves.

"In front of the building, in a pleasant grove, the ambulances crowded until it was impossible to unload them with any degree of rapidity. Then a dwellinghouse near at hand, a barn, and a wagon shop, were successively occupied, but all proved insufficient, and the dead and mangled were laid on the grass in every direction. And what a scene it was! Here a poor fellow with shattered arm, imploring the early attention of the surgeons; there a pale youth, exposing his fractured head to the pity of his fellows; then a dying man bathing the green sod with his life's blood; and scores lying about in strange confusion, all more or less injured, and shocking spectacles to behold. It was a sight the memory of which no lapse of time ean remove, and such as language must ever fail to describe. It was not so mournful and impressive, however, as the field of battle, where were strewn in wild confusion the dead and the dying, and for a long distance every foot of the soil was drenched with human blood.

"Mr. Arnold and myself dismounted, and coöperated with the surgeons, as far as lay in our power, in alleviating the distress of the poor fellows; but many received no attention whatever, and died without an audible murmur. The shell-wounds and those caused by the rifled cannon shot were most frightful. Legs, arms, heads, and entire bodies were fearfully mangled. The musket-wounds were less repulsive; but in all the dreadful sight, there was nothing to disguise the untold horrors of war.-RICHARD MCCORMICK, in the N. Y. Evening Post.

REPUDIATION. The following official notice was published in the Savannah Republican :—

MAYOR'S OFFICE, CITY OF SAVANNAH,
June 8, 1861.

To all persons who may be interested:

Take notice, that from and after this date, during the continuance of the present war existing between the Confederate States and the United States of America, all coupons of the bonds of the city of Savannah, payable in the city of New York, will be paid only at the office of the Treasurer of the city of Savannah.

This notice is made public in pursuance of a resolution of Council, adopted on the 5th instant. CHARLES C. JONES, JR., Mayor.

Attest,

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wish I was in Dixie, I'se sure!" continued he. "None o' de niggers does; you may bet your soul o' dat!"

"Where is Dixie, Charles?"

"'S Norfolk-dat's whar 'tis," was the indignant reply. "Kills de niggers in Dixie, jist like sheep, a working in de batteries!"

The idea of our contest is fully appreciated by the colored people. The representations at the North, that the slaves do not understand the cause for which the Federal army are moving upon the South, are utterly false. I have seen here and in Hampton scores of the fugitives, and conversed with them, and I have never found one who did not perfectly understand the issue of the war, and hang with terrible anxiety upon its success or failure.

I was particularly struck with this at Hampton, when the battle of Great Bethel was progressing. They crowded together in little squads about the streets, listening to the reports of the cannon in the distance, or the accounts of those who came in from the field. Many of them were almost insane with anxiety, and expressed themselves extravagantly. "If the Unioners' get the fight," I said, "what will it do for you?"

"Den we'll be free!" answered all who stood near me, almost in one breath.

"But if they lose the battle?"

"Oh, den it be worser for us dan ebber," they said, shaking their heads mournfully, and in their simplicity believing that all the issue of the war hung upon the result of that day.-Letter from Fort Monroe, N. Y. World, July 3.

YANKEE DOODLE ON "THE CRISIS."

You may talk about your "Dixie's Land,"
And sing it like a noodle;
The good old tune for North and South,
Is famous Yankee Doodle !

Yankee Doodle made a name

On many a sea and shore, sirs; Secession won't eclipse his fameHe'll only do it more, sirs!

Now Dixie's Land is in ferment

With their Yancey and their Cobb, sirs; They're plunging in, on ruin bent, And raising the very hob, sirs.

Yankee Doodle hears the noise

The American eagle flutters; He says, "Now just be quiet, boysDeuce take the one that mutters."

Yankee Doodle is the boy

Will make 'em stop their treason, If they will only hold their jaw, And hear a little reason.

Have we forgot our country's flag,
And all her natal glory,
To palm it off for a dirty rag,
Unknown in song or story?

Your rattlesnakes and pelicans
Are not the kind of bunting
That Perry and Decatur bore,
When pirates they were hunting.

So tear your traitorous ensigns down, Run up the Stars and Stripes, sirs, Or Uncle Sam will feed you lead, Until you have the gripes, sirs!

The eagle is too wise a fowl

To fool with all your pranks, sirs; Fort Pickens you must leave alone, Or thin your rebel ranks, sirs!

SOUTHWARD, HO!

Southward, ho! 'Twas a stormy chorus
Thundering forth from the years of old,
As down from the crests of the Himalaya
Madly the Scythian war-tide rolled.
Wave on wave, in their strong pulsations,
Hurled from the Northland's bounding veins;
On they poured, like a tide of terror,
Over the teeming Indian plains-
Strewing their path with the fallen altars,
The dusky gold and the starry gems,

The pearl-wrought girdles of Hindoo princes,
And wealth of her priceless diadems.

O'er the shattered throne and the wrecked pagoda
Swelled that pæan of savage joy,

As ever onward the locust legions
Swept to desolate and destroy.

Yet a higher strength and greatness even
To India's twenty millions came,

From the bounding blood of the Northern nations,
Their nerves of steel and their souls of flame!

Southward, ho! 'Twas a grander anthem,
When, from their far-off, frozen home,
The sturdy sons of the Northern war-gods
Poured on the rotting wreck of Rome.
Gone was the might of the ancient empire;
Power and beauty had passed away;
All things foul, and vile, and hateful,
Hovered around her rank decay.
Gone was the grand, heroic daring,

Which had made her younger years sublime; The blood was chilly, and weak, and nerveless, That flowed through the shrunken veins of Time. So a stronger life and a mightier spirit

Forth from the stormy North were hurled, And filled, with the strength of a new creation, The withered limbs of the dead old world. And over the ashes of desolation

Those Vandals sowed in their gory way, The glowing light of the modern ages

Blazed and bloomed like a heavenly day!

Southward, ho! How the mighty chorus

Shook the depths of the Northern seas,
When the countless ships of the stern old Vikings
Spread their wings on the Boreal breeze.
Joyfully, from the barren mountains,

The frozen fiords and the glaciers cold,
They turned their prows to the sunnier oceans,
Which in the unknown Austral rolled.
Down on the lands where the Celt and Saxon
Reaped their fields on a peaceful shore,
They bore the name of the mighty Odin,

And the martial joy of the thunderer Thor.
And up from a thousand fields of battle,

From the Northern giants' glorious graves, Springs the power which has made Britannia Ocean-queen of the Western waves.

Southward, ho! How the grand old war-cry
Thunders over our land to-day;
Rolling down from the Eastern mountains,
Dying into the West away.

The South has fallen from her ancient glory,
Bowed in slavery, crime, and shame;
And forth from his storehouse God is sending
Another tempest of steel and flame!

Southward, ho! Bear on the watchword!
Onward march, as in ancient days,

Till over the traitor's fallen fortress

The Stripes shall stream and the Stars shall blaze! For the Northern arm is mailed with thunder, And the Northern heart beats high and warm; And a stronger life shall spring in glory

In the path of the Southward rushing storm; The ancient wrongs shall shrink and perish, The darkness fly from their radiant van; And a mightier empire rise in grandeur, For Freedom, Truth, and the Rights of Man. Ever thus, when, in future ages,

Manhood fails on the tropic plains,

Send, O God, thy Northern giants

To pour fresh blood through their feeble veins! -N. Y. Tribune, July 11.

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THE CAVALIER'S SONG.

I'm a dashing young Southerner, gallant and tall;
I am willing to fight, but unwiling to fall;
I am willing to fight, but I think I may say,
That I'm still more in favor of running away:
So forth from my quarters I fearlessly go,
With my feet to the field and my back to the foe!
The life of a trooper is pleasure and ease,
Just suited to sprigs of the old F. F. V.'s;
Should mar our fair skins, and get rust on our arms;
No horrible wounds, and no midnight alarms,
With our feet to the field and our backs to the foe!
Through the sweet sunny South we will tranquilly go,

I own twenty niggers, of various shades,
Who burnish my arms for our fancy parades;
My horse prances sideways, curvetting along,
And lovely eyes single me out from the throng
Of dashing young Southerners, all in a row,
With their feet to the field and their backs to the
foe!

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'Neath our feet on the field, with our backs to the foe!

Then bring me my horse! let me ride in the van,—
For the enemy hardly can hit me, I find,
A position I always secure, if I can ;
As over the ground like a whirlwind I go,
While running away with an army behind,
With my feet to the field and my back to the foe!

Sometimes I put Sambo, and Cuffee, and Clem.,
'Twixt me and the Yankees, who shoot into them;
But when at close quarters, with pistol and knife,
I find it much safer to run for my life;
So the dust from my horse-shoes I haughtily throw,
As I dash from the field with my back to the foe!

The Northmen, to catch me, will have to ride fast,
Though I have a misgiving they'll do it at last;
And it cannot be other than awkward, I fear,
To find a great knot underneath my left ear,
As up through the air like a rocket I go,
With a beam overhead and a scaffold below!
-Vanity Fair.

WATCHING AND WAITING.
BY "ALF."

Here, a watchman on the railroad,
Sit I in my palace great,
With my gun against my shoulder,
Learning here to watch and wait.

Watching for some daring rebel, 'Gainst the bridge to vent his spite; Waiting, with a studied patience,

For the coming of the night.

From the forest trees about me,

Come the dead leaves drifting down, While the streamlet bears them onward Floating clouds of golden brown.

So, through all the passing autumn,
All the long and lonesome day,
Watch I, while my spirit wanders
To another far away.

One, whose purpose high and noble,
Woke ambition in my breast,
For the good and right to struggle,
Till my soul should sink to rest.

Sure my palace is a shanty

Sure the cracks are gaping wide; And my hands are rough and rusty From the musket by my side.

But my soul is full of ardor

For the triumph of the Right, As I wait and watch here calmly For the coming of the night.

I am waiting for the battle

I must wage throughout my life;

I am waiting for the spirit

That shall guide me through its strife. Cincinnati Times, Oct. 30.

WHAT OF THE NIGHT?

Watchman, what of the night? Are there signs in the East that augur the day, Or still doth the blackness of darkness there lay? We list to the trumpings that herald the storm, To the roll of the drum, and the order to form!

Whither the eagle's flight?

Does she bear in her beak the Stripes and the Stars, The device which was won by a thousand scars? Then shout, as it floats through the cloud in the breeze!

'Tis the ægis of Hope on the land and the seas.

Blackness and night I see!

Ho, rally! ho, rally! our banner is rent,

And the hiss of the viper now sounds in our tent; Black Treason grows rampant, and vaunts that she drives

The flag-bearing Eagle away from her skies!

Freedom or Slavery,

Is the watchword that booms from Sumter's black walls;

And Freedom or Death, answer back Northern Halls!
To Freedom or Death! is the shout and the cry;
By the Banner of Freedom 'tis glory to die!

Blackness and night I see!

And the trumpings that break 'mid the cloud and the storm,

And the marshalling feet of the hosts as they form, Like a hurricane bred on the tempest's red track,

Now warn of the wreck and the woe in their track.

Foemen, beware! beware!

Of the storm that disturbs the bald eagle's high nest;
There mutters a wrath pent hot in her breast;
Her talons shall pounce on each reptile that crawls,
And batten her beak on the snake when he falls.

Form! form! infantry, form!

Close up! is the word, and prepare for the charge!
Close up! is the shout on the hill, by the marge;
Close up, where they fall, and forward again,
Where the lightnings shall flash, and descend the hot
rain.

Form! form! riflemen, form!

For the Eagle now swoops from the Northern crag,
Chafed hot that despised is our country's flag;
She screams from the rocks by the sea and the glen,
Oh, strike! for your shield, and to victory, men!”

-The Watchman.

THE GOOD FIGHT.

BY CHARLES A. BARRY.

Back to battle again !-shake the starry folds out! Strike for God and the country! Ho, soldiers,

about!

Look! the demon of bloodshed, in horrid array,
Stands grim and defiant against the broad day.

Oh, wild is the heart of the nation with pain!
America weeps o'or the couch of the slain !
For the blood of her suppliants beats like a sea
'Gainst the old and the young-'gainst the bond and
the free.

Hark, men of the North! can ye hear the loud wail Coming up from the South, as your chosen ones

fail?

Do ye feel the fierce throes of a land in decay?
'Tis the crime of the Universe passing away!

Your dead are uncovered in pestilent graves!
Your comrades are chained in that region of slaves!
See the hands that are stretching out Northward in
prayer!

Hear the cry that is drifting 'twixt hope and despair!

Blow the bugles of War! Shout, Redemption is nigh!

Fling your emblems of Liberty out to the sky!
Sing a song of Salvation, march manfully on-
For a victory waits you, and Peace can be won.

Away ! let the world feel the shock as you pass,
Like a hurricane onward, through glen and morass ;
Quick! fight the Good Fight,-help the Lord in his
wrath,

And plant the old Banner down deep in your path.

O dear Land of Freedom! O Hope of the Earth! The crucifix gleams, for Christ knoweth thy worth; Thou shalt rise from this agony cleansed in his sight, From a sin that will melt in the mazes of night.

Then, best of all lands will our cherished land be, The Pride of the World, and the Home of the Free! Then Time shall destroy both the spear and the sword,

And men shall acknowledge the strength of the Lord.

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