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While with battle's cloud of sulphur mingled densely And the patriot poor shall wonder, in their simple mist and rain, hearts to know

Till the ascending squadrons vanished from the gazers In the land above the thunder their embattled chamon the plain.

From the boats upon the river, from the tents upon

the shore,

From the roofs of yonder city anxious eyes the clouds explore:

But no rift amid the darkness shows them father, brother, sons,

While they trace the viewless struggle by the echo of the guns.

Upward! charge for God and country! up! Aha! they rush, they rise,

Till the faithful meet the faithless in the never-clouded skies,

And the battle field is bloody where a dew-drop never falls,

For a voice of tearless justice to a tearless vengeance calls.

And the heaven is wild with shouting; fiery shot and bayonet keen

Gleam and glance where freedom's angels battle in the

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pions go.

T. B.

ATTACK ON THE IRONSIDES: CHARLESTON COUrier ACCOUNT.-One of the most daring and gallant naval exploits of the war, distinguished by the greatest coolness, presence of mind, and intrepidity of the brave men associated in the enterprise, was performed Monday night. This was no less than an attempt to blow up the United States steamer New Ironsides, lying off Morris Island. Though not fully meeting the expectations of those who conceived the plan, and those who carried it into execution, it has called forth the unbounded admiration of our citizens for the brilliant heroism of the actors in their dangerous but patriotic and self-sacrificing undertaking. A general feeling of deep anxiety prevails to learn the fate of two of the gallant spirits who went out with the expedition. There is every reason to believe, however, that these gallant men, with the means of safety about their persons, endeavored to reach shore, and have been picked up by some of the enemy's launches. gather the following particulars from other participants in the affair:

We

The torpedo steamer David, with a crew of four volunteers, consisting of Lieutenant Wm. T. Glassell, J. H. Toombs, chief engineer, and James Sullivan, fireman of the gunboat Chicora, with J. W. Cannon, assistant pilot of the gunboat Palmetto State, left South Atlantic wharf between six and seven o'clock on Monday evening, for the purpose of running out to the Ironsides, exploding a torpedo under that vessel near amidships, and if possible blow her up.

The weather being dark and hazy, favored the enterprise. The boat, with its gallant little crew, proceeded down the harbor, skirting along the shoals on the inside of the channel until nearly abreast of their formidable antagonist, the New Ironsides.

They remained in this position for a short time, circling around on the large shoal near the anchorage of the object of their visit. Lieutenant Glassell, with a double-barrelled gun, sat in front of Pilot Cannon, who had charge of the helm. Chief Engineer Toombs was at the engine, with the brave and undaunted Sullivan, the volunteer fireman, when something like the following conversation ensued:

Lieutenant Glassell-" It is now nine o'clock. Shall we strike her?"

Pilot Cannon-" That is what we came for. I am ready."

Engineer Toombs-" Let us go at her then, and do our best."

Sullivan, fireman-"I am with you all, and waiting. Go ahead."

The boat was now put bow on, and aimed directly for the Ironsides. As the little steamer darted forward, the lookout on the Ironsides hailed them with: "Take care there, you will run into us. What steamer is that?" Lieutenant Glassell replied by discharging one barrel at the Yankee sentinel, and tendering the gun to Pilot Cannon, told him there was another Yankee, pointing to one with his body half over the bulwarks, and asked Cannon to take care of him with the other barrel.

The next moment they had struck the Ironsides and exploded the torpedo about fifteen feet from the keel, on the starboard side. An immense volume of water

was thrown up, covering our little boat, and going through the smoke-stack, entered the furnace, completely extinguishing the fires.

In addition to this, pieces of the ballast had fallen in the works of the engine, rendering it unmanageable at that time. Volley after volley of musketry from the crew of the Ironsides and from the launches began to pour in upon them. Lieutenant Glassell gave the order to back, but it was found impossible. In this condition, with no shelter, and no hope of escape, they thought it best to surrender, and hailed the enemy to that effect. The Yankees, however, paid no attention to the call, but barbarously continued the fire. It was then proposed to put on their life-preservers, jump overboard, and endeavor to swim to the shore. All but Pilot Cannon consented. The latter, being unable to swim, said he would stay and take his chances in the boat. Lieutenant Glassell, Engineer Toombs, and Sullivan the fireman, left the boat. The first two having on life-preservers, and the latter supporting himself on one of the hatches thrown to him by the pilot. Engineer Toombs becoming embarrassed with his clothing in the water, got back to the boat, and was assisted in by Cannon.

The boat was then rapidly drifting from the Ironsides. He now fortunately found a match, and lighting a torch, crept back to the engine, discovered and removed the cause of its not working, and soon got it in order. Engineers Toombs and Cannon reached their wharf in the city about midnight, fatigued, and presenting a worn-out appearance, but rejoicing at their fortunate and narrow escape.

With regard to the damage of the Ironsides nothing positive is known. At the moment of striking there was great consternation on board. It was reported that the crew in gangs were hard at work at the pumps all day yesterday. Small boats were seen constantly passing between the Ironsides and the MoniAt nightfall, however, she remained at her old anchorage.

tors.

adult population of a city of fifty thousand souls, and in what city of that size do you find complete freedom from crime? And so far as quiet stealing goes, the soldier gets alarmingly skilful. "Strategy, my boy," becomes an element of his larcenies. It is a fact, I believe, that a party of the Fifth Kansas once stole a grave. How? you ask. In this way: Some members of the Second Wisconsin had to bury a comrade, and dug a grave for the solemn purpose. Some members of the Fifth Kansas, having the same melancholy office to perform for one of their deceased companions, watched a chance, and while the detail of the Second Wisconsin had gone for the Wisconsin corpse, took possession of the grave, and buried their own inanimate jayhawker therein. I call that the gravest offence, in its way, on record.

Mr. Brown, who had a lumber-yard in Natchez, and a beautiful residence under the hill, was a good deal astonished the other day by the rigors of war. The Federal Quartermaster sent down a detail with wagons to draw away some of this lumber. Mr. Brown fancied they came as purchasers.

"Some of this, Captain, is worth thirty dollars a thousand, some fifty dollars."

"Well," said the officer, "I guess I'll take some of the fifty-dollar sort. Load on, boys."

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"But," said Brown, "it should be measured first."

And at this instant it dawned upon the mind of the man of boards that perhaps Uncle Sam, the offended one, was seizing the lumber!

Just im

ANOTHER SNAKE STORY.-Between the point of Lookout Mountain and Bridgeport, down the Valley of the Tennessee, lie twenty-five miles of dead mules, in one continuous string, the head of the first carcass lying on the "quarter-deck" of the one beyond him, and so on throughout the entire distance. agine a convulsion of nature of sufficient magnitude to bury these remains as they now lie, and phancy the pheelinx of a future Agassiz, who, in his geologINCIDENTS AT NATCHEZ.-Sitting at General Ran-ical researches, strikes either of the termini, and atsom's headquarters the other day, I saw a gray-haired tempts to exhume the entire "snake." Won't it man, bent with age, coming feebly up to the porch. knock the socks off the saurians of the diluvian peHe asked if he might come in. riod? Twenty-five miles of vertebra, with two pedal arrangements every three feet! What a bully sideshow for a future circus! It will probably be called "the old he-Copperhead of the Rebellion period admission ten cents-Peace Democrats half-price.Chattanooga Gazette.

64

Certainly, sir, if you have any business here."

He came tottering in, and stated his business to an aid. He wished to enlist in the United States army!

"But you are too old." "I am only sixty."

"But you are too feeble."

"I think I could drive a team or cook. I have come thirty-three miles on a straight line to see you, and I wish to live and die with you. These Secession devils out yonder have just worried my life out of me -bothered me, cursed me, stole me poor, tried to force me into the rebel service; swear they will force me in yet. That's a pretty flag over the porch. I haven't seen that flag in many a weary day. I saw it in Jackson's time in the war of 1812."

The old man was assured of protection without enlistment, and went on his way.

Our troops here are under very strict orders in regard to marauding, and I have as yet heard of no great injury being done to private property. Now and then a peach-tree suffers, or a watermelon "perishes everlastingly," but on the whole the discipline of the soldiers in this respect is good. Those who complain that an army is not perfectly virtuous, must remember that ten thousand men represent the male

THE FEMALE LIEUTENANT.-The public will remember the numerous paragraphs published concerning one "Lieutenant Harry Buford," née Mrs. Williams, with a history romantic in war as that of Joan of Arc. Last summer the Lieutenant got into Castle Thunder, her sex not corresponding with the dashing uniform she wore. She was released, and went from Richmond to Chattanooga, where she joined General Bragg's army, got upon the staff of General A. P. Stewart, and for a time was employed in the secret service, effecting important arrests of spies, and doing some very daring things.

The other day she visited Richmond again, not as the gay Lieutenant, but in the garments more becoming her sex, and bearing the name of Mrs. Jeruth De Caulp, she having, in the interval, married an officer of the confederate States provisional army of that name, first obtaining a divorce from her first husband, Williams, who is in the army of General Grant.

In consideration of her services, the confederate government has commissioned Mrs. De Caulp with the rank of captain, and since her arrival in Richmond, she has drawn one thousand six hundred dollars back pay. She is now at the Ballard House, en route for Georgia, and the home of her new husband.

The heroine of this sketch is a native of Mississippi, and a devoted Southern woman.-Richmond Examiner, September 15, 1863.

ARE NEW-ZEALANDERS BELLIGERENTS ?-The London Daily News published the following communication:

"SIR: We are at war with the New-Zealanders we for empire, they for independence! What if President Lincoln recognize their belligerent rights? and what if New-York capitalists take a New-Zealand loan-and if an American Laird furnish a New-Zealand Alabama, to be commissioned by a Maori lieutenant, and manned by British seamen from the naval reserve, and so on? Why not? and what then?

"I am, sir, etc.,

NEMESIS."

A REBEL PREACHER.-Mr. William Keen, a highly respectable citizen of Cumberland County, Ky., is an honored member of the Methodist Church. The Rev. T. J. Moore, of Franklin, Simpson County, a wellknown Methodist preacher, was a chaplain in Morgan's band. It is difficult to understand what Morgan's band wanted of a chaplain, but very easy to understand that, if they did want one, Moore was exactly their man.

Thus Keen and Moore belong to the same church. Morgan's band, upon the occasion of their late advent into Kentucky, took possession of Keen's house, south of Cumberland River. Before retiring at night, Keen, courteously and in a Christian-like manner, asked Moore to pray. Moore consented, and offered up a fervent prayer, Keen occasionally responding "Amen." Near the close of the prayer, the rebel parson prayed for the success of the rebel cause, and, in a loud voice, asked God that, if necessary to the success of the rebellion, he would "strike dead every man, woman, and child in the United States." Keen, unable to stand so much, exclaimed in a voice to which God and all his angels might listen, "No, Lord, don't do that--the prayer is unchristian;" and he repeated the exclamation several times. It created an excitement among the rebel officers present; but, to their honor be it said, they rebuked, not Keen, but their own chaplain.

This, as we have said, was on the south bank of Cumberland River. At a house on the north side, Moore said to a gentleman in the presence of his family, that he wished the last Union man was in hell, and added that he himself had a right to take a portion of the property of every Union man in the land. That pseudo reverend scoundrel is now at Camp Chase. He has full possession of a nook or corner of that Federal establishment, and we guess it is the last Federal property that he is likely ever to " hold, occupy, and possess." Probably the best men in the world are preachers and the worst.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

BY W. H. VENABLE.

No adulation shall the poet bring,

Nor o'erwrought picture of thy excellence; But, taught by Truthfulness, shall simply sing The passing worth of cheerful common-sense;

Shall call thy honesty a priceless gem,

Thy patience beautiful, thy faith sublime; Thy gentle nature let the harsh condemn, Just heaven's reward is in the hand of time. Work on, amidst the nation's wild turmoil,

The day of triumph brightens up the sky; The tree of peace springs up from roots of toil, Its leaves shall sweetly crown thee by and by. Smile on, amidst thy care, O Freedom's friend! The People's heart is with thee to the end.

IN THE HOSPITAL.

In the ranks of the sick and dying, in the chamber where death-dews fall,

Where the sleeper wakes from his trances to leap to the bugle-call,

Is there hope for the wounded soldier? Ah! no, for his heart-blood flows,

And the flickering flame of life must wane, to fail at the evening's close.

O thou who goest, like a sunbeam, to lighten the darkness and gloom!

Make way for his path of glory, through the dim and shadowy room;

Go speak to him words of comfort and teach him the way to die,

With his eyes upraised from the starry flag to the blessed cross on high.

And tell him brave hearts are beating, with pulses as noble as thine;

That we count them at home by the thousandsthou sweetest sister of mine

That they fail not and flinch not from duty, while the vials of wrath are outpoured,

And tell him to call it not grievous, but joyous to fall by the sword.

When the hosts of the foe are outnumbered, and the day of the Lord is at hand,

Shall we halt in the heat of the battle, and fail at the word of command?

Oh! no; through the trouble and anguish, by the terrible pathway of blood,

We must bear up the flag of our freedom, on-on through the perilous flood!

And if one should be brought faint and bleeding, though wounded, yet not unto death,

Oh! plead with the soft airs of heaven, to favor his languishing breath,

Be faithful to heal and to save him, assuaging the fever and pains,

Till the pulse in his strong arm be strengthened, and the blood courses free in his veins.

Then take the good sword from its scabbard, and front his pale face to the foe,

And bid him march onward, unconquered, though, stricken again, he lie low;

He shall see in the dream of his slumber, he shall know in his soul's swift release,

That the heralds afar on the mountains come bearing the lilies of peace.

When the blood of the Old Dominion shall lie trod in its pride to the dust,

When her swords and her traitorous banners are consumed by the moth and the rust,

When the gold and the purple lie tarnished, and the light is gone out in her halls,

And she sees the last slave, freed from fetters, walk out by her pitiful walls;

Though late comes the signal of promise, when the horse and the rider shall reel,

And slow with the hope of the ages, comes the roll of God's chariot-wheel;

Yet sure as God's heaven above us, on the glittering scroll shall be read,

"The days of thy kingdom are numbered," and our last armed foe shall be dead.

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I am monarch of all I survey,

My right there is none to dispute; Naked walls, a stone floor, a tin tray,

Iron spoon, checkered pants and clean suit.

I am out of Jeff Davis's reach,

I must finish my journey in stone, Never hear a big secession speech-I start at the sound of my own.

O solitude! strange are the fancies

Of those who see charms in thy face; Better dwell in the midst of the Yankees,

Than reign in this horrible place.

Ye steeds that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate cell
Some cordial, endearing report

Of the thefts I have practised so well.
Horse-stealing, bridge-burning, and fight,
Divinely bestowed upon man;
Oh! had I the wings of a kite,

How soon would I taste you again!

My sorrows I then might assuage

In the work of destruction and raiding; Might laugh at the wisdom of age,

Nor feel the least pang of upbraiding.

Rebellion! what music untold

Resides in that heavenly word!

It helps me to silver and gold,

And all that the earth can afford.

But the sweet sound of burning and plunder
These prison-walls never yet heard,
Never echoed the chivalry's thunder,

Nor mocked at the Union's grand bird.

How fleet is a glance of the mind

Compared with the speed of my flight; But Shackelford came up behind,

So I found 'twas no use to fight.

The Buckeyes that gave me a race,
My form with indifference see;
They are so light of foot on the chase,
Their coolness is shocking to me.
When I think of my dear native land,
I confess that I wish I was there;
Confound these hard stone walls at hand,
And my bald pate, all shaven of hair.

My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
Like Burbeck, that quick-coming friend?
For a friend in need truly was he.

But the sea-fowl is gone to her rest,
The beast is laid down in his lair;
Yet not like John Morgan unblest,
As I to my straw bed repair.

GRANT.

BY GEORGE H. BOKER.

As Moses stood upon the flaming hill,
With all the people gathered at his feet,
Waiting in Sinai's valley, there to meet
The awful bearer of Jehovah's will;

So, Grant, thou stand'st, amidst the trumpets shrill,
And the wild fiery storms that flash and beat
In iron thunder and in leaden sleet,
Topmost of all, and most exposed to ill.
Oh! stand thou firm, great leader of our race,
Hope of our future, till the time grows bland,
And into ashes drops war's dying brand!
Then let us see thee, with benignant grace,
Descend thy height, God's glory on thy face,
And the law's tables safe within thy hand.

CHARGE OF THE MULE BRIGADE.

On the night of October twenty-eighth, 1863, when General Geary's division of the Twelfth Corps repulsed the attacking forces of Longstreet at Wauhatchie, Tenn., a number of mules, affrighted by the noise of battle, dashed into the ranks of Hampton's Legion, causing much dismay among the rebels, and compelling many of them to fall back under a supposed charge of cavalry.

Captain Thomas H. Elliott, of General Geary's staff, gives the following rendition of the incident, which he gleaned from an interior contemporary. Its authorship is not known:

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Who, closing up breaches,
Still kept on their way,
Till guns, downward pointed,
Faced "Co. K."

Like cameras awful,

Stood cannon aloof, Till the signal was given, To strike off a proof Of the soul of the soldier, To send up to Him, (Pray God, that he know it, Though bloody and dim.) Who faltered, or shivered? Who shunned battle-stroke? Whose fire was uncertain? Whose battle-line broke? Go, ask it of History,

Years from to-day,

And the record shall tell you,
Not "Co. K."

Though my darling is sleeping
To-day with the dead,
And daisies and clover
Bloom over his head,

I smile through my tears
As I lay it away—
That battle worn cap,
Lettered "Co. K."

THE SHARPSHOOTER'S LAMENT ON THE BANKS OF THE POTOMAC.

"The sun-light is yellow and pleasant,

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What darkens your spirit, Jein True?
'Ay, Sergeant, it's bright for the present,
And I know it looks mean to be blue,
Squattin' here, like a draggle-tailed pheasant-
But what's a poor fellow to do?

'Nary shot since I left the 'peraries,'
And 'listed in sarch o' big game-
It's a rule that must work by contraries,
That inveigled me on till I came
To this ground, without even canaries
Or chippies to warrant an aim.

"Misfortin' comes crowdin' misfortin',

And between 'em old Jem is nigh beat, For here comes the news of the sportin'

As has come to them chaps on the fleetAnd bless yer, they're greenies for courtin' The shrews of grim death as they'll meet.

"Why, there isn't one cove in a dozen,
For all they're stout as you'll see,
As distinguishes well 'twixt the buzzin'
Of a bullet and that of a bee,

And among 'em there's Billy, my cousin,
He shakes on a rest' like a flea.

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"And Toby, though brave as a lion,

His intentions his in'ards confound,
When to jerkin' the trigger he's nigh on,
The vartigo bobs him around,
And that bully old sinner, O'Ryan,

He's cross-eyed and shoots at the ground. "While here's the old boy as can jingle Any button as shines on a breast,

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