'Tis nothing-a private or two, now and then,
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost-only one of the men—
Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle.

II.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming, As their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon, Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming.

A tremulous sigh of the gentle night wind

Through the forest-leaves slowly is creeping: While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes, Keep guard-for the army is sleeping.

III.

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two on the low trundle-bed,
Far away in the cot on the mountain :
His musket falls slack-his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,

As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep-
For their mother-may Heaven defend her!

IV.

The moon seems to shine as brightly as then,
That night when the love yet unspoken

Leaped up to his lips, and when low murmured vows
Were pledged, to be ever unbroken;

Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,

He dashes off tears that are welling,

And gathers his gun closely up to its place,
As if to keep down the heart-swelling.

He

passes

V.

the fountain, the blasted pine tree,

The footsteps are lagging and weary,

Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
Toward the shades of a wood dark and dreary.
Hark! Was it the night wind that rustled the leaves?
Was't the moonlight so wondrously flashing?

It looked like a rifle-" Ha!--Mary, good-bye!"
And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing.

VI.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,

No sound save the rush of the river;

While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead-
The picket off duty for ever!

On Ascension-day, 29th May, I went early, before 7 A.M., to the church of the Epiphany, when the Churchwarden, the venerable Judge Higgins, requested me to celebrate the Holy Communion for the Rector, the Rev. Dr. Hall, who was detained at Baltimore on the Church Convention. I administered to about 250 communicants, who received the blessed Sacrament with decent and earnest devotion; and fragrant and beautiful were the flowers which the ladies of the congregation had arranged in profusion on the altar and the font. No puritanical asceticism had here curbed the zeal of those daughters of the Church, emulating that which led to the outpouring of the odoriferous ointments on the body

of her Divine Founder. The magnolias were really

66

grandiflora," and their perfumes floated through the sanctuary. Alas! I have heard that this church is now turned into a hospital for sick and wounded soldiers.

On this day I was honoured by an interview with Mr. Stanton, Secretary of War. I was ushered into his open room, without any announcement, and was not aware that the gentleman who was standing at a high desk was the far-famed official till, in reply to my self-introduction and mention of my business, he said, "I cannot give you a pass, Mr. Malet, to go to South Carolina at present: I will give you one when Charleston is taken, and that will be very soon." In answer to my request that he would be so kind as to inform me when that event took place, he said, "You will see it in the papers." The office was full of gentlemen apparently connected with the military and contract departments, who were crowding round the desk; one of them appeared particularly anxious for an answer to his application, and the Secretary put on a hat, as if about to retire, when the importunate applicant said, "You have got my hat." The Secretary said, "I wish I had your head." The reply was: "I would not change places with you though." I record this merely to show the

utter absence of all formality in the American officials. Mr. Stanton is of short stature, strong made, with dark hair and beard, and of a determined expression of countenance-certainly a man that would not give in if he could help it: his fame as a lawyer is settled by his success in saving Sickles from the sword of justice. I found great civility in Mr. Potts, the head clerk; who the same day told me he thought Mr. Stanton would give me a pass to go by Port Royal—but this route had many objections. The letters forwarded from Mr. Seward's office had been mislaid.

After Divine service the next day, the Rev. Dr. Hall offered to go with me to Mr. Stanton, as he was a member of his congregation. Not a day was to be lost the hot season was at hand: I found "the benefit of clergy." We sat down all three together, Mr. Stanton smoking his cigar. I had obtained a letter from Mr. Seward's office, stating my letters from Mr. Adams and Lord Lyons had been forwarded to the War Office, and in a few minutes the farsounded name of "Edward Stanton, Secretary of War," was signed to the following:

"War Department, May 30th, 1862.

"Mr. Malet has permission to go to Fortress

Monroe, Newbern, or Port Royal; and, with consent of the Commanders of the respective departments, to pass through the lines."

President Lincoln and Mr. Secretary Seward were both in the next room, and at my request Mr. Stanton introduced me to them.

A slight sketch of the two men whose names are now so much before the world may here not be misplaced.

The President, who was neatly dressed in a suit of black, is full six feet two inches in height, of spare and upright figure; his hair is black; his eyes have a remarkably calm expression; his features are strongly marked; his complexion dark; his address and manner betokening perfect selfpossession; very ready to enter into conversation, and to set you at once at your ease.

A perfect contrast is Mr. Seward: a man of small stature; rather grey, with prominent nose and penetrating eyes; reserved in manner. When I first saw him in the corridor he wore a broadbrimmed Mexican hat, and was smoking his cigar.

Lord Lyons soon congratulated me on my success. Next day I paid my respects to the President at "the White House," and was most kindly received.