A. J. Smith, to Fort Mitchell, where my duty as officer of the fatigue forces called me that day, I was hailed by a well-known voice and asked to stop and give the amateur upholders of Adam's profession something to cheer and inspirit them before resuming their labors of the afternoon. "A speech! a speech!" was the cry.

But I had no confidence in my ability to address an assemblage (in which I recognized some of our leading statesmen, judges, and lawyers) in a speech upon so

momentous an occasion.

I simply remarked to them that it was a pleasant sight to see the citizens of a great republic ignoring the conventional lines which mark the intercourse of a large city, and working together, heart and hand, to resist the attack of a common enemy.

Why not, then, my friends, throw down the old walls of partition which divide you politically, and, until this unnatural strife is ended, present one bold unflinching front to all foes of the Government and our national existence, whoever they may be and from whatever quarter they may come? Why not unite, and stand fearlessly by the Government as long as it is assailed, and thus manfully assert your determination to uphold it and preserve it, and thereby prove your love for the country, the whole country, and the glorious old flag?"

I then proceeded to recite Drake's poetic address to the American flag. At the close of the recitation, cheer upon cheer went up, that, in the language of Shakspeare,

"made the welkin ring,

And mock'd the deep-mouthed thunder."

Had the enemy attacked us at that moment, I firmly believe that band of citizens would, in the absence of muskets (for they were not armed), have hurled themselves down the

hillside and manfully dealt upon the foe with their picks and spades.

A sturdy old Irishman stepped out from the crowd and tendered me his hand. "Faith, "said he, "I don't know your name, sir, but that's not the matter: 'tisn't to your name I have any thing to say, but 'tis to your speech! Arrah, my jewel, they brought us out here yesterday, and meself and some of the others were not as well pleased as we might have been at a wake or a wedding. But for meself, I will venture to say, had I heard you make that speech on the other side of the river, the son of Molly Dougherty would have come over without a jaw or a grumble; and, faith, I believe I would have been after having a good musket wid me, instead of the pickaxe and spade.

"Long life to you, sir, and to your speech about the Stars and the Stripes; for if any thing can make them better and brighter than they are, it's just the like of such talk as yourself makes over 'em. Sure, sir, we'll all work the longer and the easier because of such music as that.'

The American Flag.

BY JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.

WHEN Freedom, from her mountain height,
Unfurl'd her standard to the air,

She tore the azure robe of night,

And set the stars of glory there!
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure celestial white
With streakings of the morning light,
Then, from his mansion in the sun,
She call'd her eagle bearer down,

And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land!

Majestic monarch of the cloud,
Who rear'st aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud,
And see the lightning lances driven,

When strive the warriors of the storm,
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven,-
Child of the Sun! to thee 'tis given
To guard the banner of the free,
To hover in the sulphur smoke,
To ward away the battle-stroke,
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
The harbingers of victory!

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high!
When speaks the signal-trumpet tone,
And the long line comes gleaming on,
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet,
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn
To where thy sky-born glories burn,
And as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance.
And when the cannon-mouthings loud
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud,
And gory sabres rise and fall

Like shoots of flame on midnight pall,
Then shall thy meteor glances glow,.
And cowering foes shall shrink beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below
That lovely messenger of death.

Flag of the seas! on ocean wave
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave;

When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frighted waves rush wildly back
Before the broadside's reeling rack,
Each dying wanderer of the sea
Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendors fly
In triumph o'er his closing eye.

Flag of the free heart's hope and home,
By angel-hands to valor given,
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,

And all thy hues were born in heaven.
Forever float that standard sheet,

Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us!

Mr. Lincoln at Home in Springfield, and Mr. Lincoln at the White House in Washington.

(EXTRACT FROM MR. MURDOCH'S LECTURES.)

WHILE in Springfield, Illinois, on professional business, I met Mr. Lincoln in the studio of my friend Thomas Jones, the sculptor, who was modelling Mr. Lincoln's bust at the time; and I had quite a lengthened conversation with the future President. This was before Mr. Lincoln had been inaugurated. Telegrams were received in town that morning, stating that Charleston had been burned down by shells thrown into it by Major Anderson. The Legislature of Illinois had not yet been organized, although the members were all present. This was a political trick, intended

to make capital for the Democratic party. The consequences were that great excitement prevailed in the city. Mr. Lincoln remarked, in reply to my question of what he thought of the aspect of things, and of our future :

"Sir, it appears to me we are in the midst of a great national crisis, and under the control of circumstances evidently fashioned by the hand of Providence to produce a mighty revolution in the affairs of the American people, and perhaps of the entire world. But I have no fear of the result. If we can only keep the people on the track, and prevent scares and panics, we shall come through all right. Our people, sir, are a very excitable body, apt to switch off on side-tracks and at way-stations, sometimes, for the mere novelty of the change, rather than for any determinate object, merely because the lead is taken, and the cry is up.' Now, sir, I do not think this is the sober second thought of the people, but an impulse arising out of excitability. Their political rulers know this, and they often raise the cry of Elephant!' and, you know, the popular wish to see that animal is very great. Consequently, the public mind is fired (as our neighbors have been firing the Southern heart); and, you know, when the pulse is quick, the muscle is active, and matter is moved, while the judgment is very apt, for the time-being, 'to go out wisiting,' as your friend Mr. Weller says. [I had been reading Pickwick the evening before.] Now, sir, I hold in my hands,” he continued (crumpling up several telegrams), "some of the most mischievous matters this nation has to contend with, things gotten up and flashed over the country to create fogs and mists, in order that designing men may mislead their more honest neighbors. But, sir, there is a sun whose beams scatter and dispel all

such foul vapors,—the

sun of truth; and if we will only await its coming forth,—