-to know what has become of it. Think of the distress of a like nature in Southern families, and let us forgive as we hope to be forgiven.

All that we have been able to learn is, that Col. C. was carried to a farm-house, near the scene of battle. He had letters in his pocket declaring his name and station. He was rather a large man, with sandy hair, somewhat gray, dressed in gray clothes. Have mercy on the bowed spirit that laments for the beloved lost-that would be comforted to know he had received decent burial. Notwithstanding the war, we are all brothers. "God prosper the righteous cause." In pity, have inquiries made, for the love a sister bears a brother, and may God show you mercy in time of trouble.

Should your noble spirit grant my request, and if by inquiry you can receive any information, please have a letter addressed to Mrs. Sarah Z. Evans, No. 553 Capitol Hill, Washington city, care of Adams Express Company.

Very respectfully, your well-wisher,

SARAH Z. EVANS.

HEAD-QUARTERS FIRST CORPS, ARMY OF THE
POTOMAC, MANASSAS, Aug. 5, 1861.

MADAM:-Your letter of the 26th ultimo has been received, making some inquiries relative to the body of your late brother, Colonel Cameron, United States Army, killed at Manassas on the 21st ultimo. In answer, I will state, that upon inquiry, I find he was interred with several other bodies in a grave about 200 yards from the house of a Mrs. Dogan, on the battle-field, who attended herself to this sad duty-forgetting in her goodness of heart that these very foes had brought destruction and destitution upon her home and fireside-and that they had crossed into her country for the purpose of subverting its institutions, and the form of government it had chosen, as a free people, to establish for itself. Indeed, I fully agree with you. May all the distress of this unholy war be visited upon the heads of those who are responsible for it, and may the Almighty Ruler of the Universe, in His infinite goodness and wisdom, (continue to) prosper the righteous cause!

A gentleman of this State, Mr. Kinlaw Fauntleroy, private in Col. Stuart's cavalry brigade, has in his possession a miniature portrait of Col. Cameron and wife, which he intends to return to their friends after the war; for at present no intercourse of the kind is admissible between the two contending parties.

With much respect, I remain your most obedient servant, G. T. BEAUREGARD, Gen'l Com'g. Mrs. S. Z. EVANS, No. 553 Capitol Hill, Washington, D. C.-Richmond Whig.

MESSRS. ARNOLD HARRIS, M'GRAW, AND ELY. We learn that several members of Congress and other influential and prominent gentlemen are in favor of the release of these individuals. Certain correspondence of Mr. Harris', written in the month of April, to friends in New Orleans, proving him to be a friend to the South, has been laid before the authorities. It has never been pretended that Harris did any thing more than commit an indiscretion and place himself in an equivocal attitude by approaching our lines without a flag of truce, seeking indirectly for the body of Secretary Cameron's brother. His letter to Gen. Beauregard was couched in terms ill-calculated to forward him in the business upon which he had come, and his " "neutral

position therein claimed was not easily admitted, seeing he came from the enemy's country on the errand he did. But an example having been set, and the dignity of this government vindicated, we may let Mr. Harris go.-Richmond Dispatch.

FEMALE SPIES.-When we consider what a scan

dalous mission that of secession is, we may well feel surprised to see it approved by "dear woman." What its attractions are to them, I am not magician enough to devise. I accept the fact as it is, without furnishing motives or investigating causes. Some of these fair sympathizers are distinguished in their way. Miss Mary Windle, who was captured a few days ago, and who is now held as a prisoner, has been a violent advocate of the traitors. She is a maiden of uncertain years and autumnal appearfirst-rate other poetry-addicted to newspaper and ance-a writer of bad original, and an adopter of hotel society-a sort of virgin Jenkins, a kind of Mrs. Joe Gargery, always out on a sort of "rampage on various pretences. "Mary" supposed that as her talents had been rejected here, she might find a better market for them elsewhere, and so she ordered them to Davis in the capacity of a clandestine correspondent and eaves-dropper. She boasts of her arrest, and seems desirous of the notoriety she has acquired.

Mrs. Greenhow is another of these lady friends of treason-in person of far more ability than the masculine Miss Fribble above referred to. She has been one of the queens of our F. F. V.'s, and delighted in being one of the leaders of fashion and society hereaways. A long time engaged in this business, she has undoubtedly been of great service to the public enemy. Like Miss Windle, she glories in her martyrdom, and will doubtless look forward to being duly commissioned as one of the saints in the rebel calendar. I hear that others of these sweet daughters of Eve are to follow this twain. I hear the wife of one of our leading merchants discussed as a candidate for the attentions of the provost-marshal.

Is it offending the sanctities to write of these things? Is our regard for woman to prevent us from exposing and checking them when they be come the emissaries of a great and unparalleled tyranny? When their husbands, and fathers, and brothers run off to enlist in the traitors' army, they leave behind these tender partners of their former homes; and if these latter become agents of discord and mediums of treachery, the law must take its course.-Phila. Press.

WAR SONNET.

OH, GOD of Nations! whose august decree,
Thundering through revolutions, fire, and smoke,
Raised from our sainted sires a foreign yoke,
And lifted up our land sublimely free;
God of the Nations! once again to Thee,
War-clad, we come, Thy vengeance to invoke,
To save Thy country, stricken with a stroke
More dire than any foreign foe can be,
Because more shameless in its infamy.

Oh, Thou! who through the patriots' heart of oak
The fetters of a far-off slavery broke,

Break now this home-forged, linked iniquity,

And all these traitors' hands and hearts uncloakAye, though with blood yon "sacred soil" we soak.

ACMEL

"The Country is in danger!"

But swift the answer comes ! With the hum of many voices,

And the distant beat of drums. Ere the proclamation's echo

Has died along her shore, The Bay State men are ready To march to Baltimore.

They come with steady faces,
With hearts both warm and stern,
Wherein the old patriot fires

Have never ceased to burn:
And the women said, "God speed you!
"We give you up this day!"-
Then wiped the bitter tear-drops,

And remained at home to pray.

See the plough left in the furrow,
As by Putnam, long ago!
And the hammer on the anvil

Deals out no ringing blow;
And the mountain streamlets murmur
To many an idle mill,

And the women all are praying,
In the valley; on the hill!

Not theirs the only voices

That seek the heavenly ear, Nor theirs alone the bosoms

That are torn with hope and fear: From the bondsman's Southern cabin, From the Northern freeman's door, The colored man is watching,

As we march to Baltimore.

To Baltimore! false city!

They that founded her were true;
But this perjured generation
Found other work to do.
The blood of Massachusetts
Hath dignified the street,
Which should else bear down in story
But the marks of traitors' feet!

And now, oh! lift them gently,
And tenderly bear home,
Till within the loved old Bay State
Her martyred sons have come.
Ye Boston men uncover,

As the conquerors pass by!
Grand and silent is their triumph,
Who for liberty can die.

"The Country is in danger! O God, we look to Thee! It is only by Thy power

That a people can be free. To Thee be hearts uplifted,

While our firm hands grasp the sword, And over all our armies

Be the banner of the Lord.

Now out with all the bunting,
The red and white and blue,
And show the eyes of nations
What freedom's wind can do:
Show the strength of a Republic
Before the pride of kings;
And in this stormy weather
Let the Eagle try her wings.

BY T. HULBERT UNDERWOOD.

A "marvel of the earth," indeed!

Our Country, from its greatness thrownThrown dust-ward, like a blasted reed—

Its pride laid low-its green leaves strown. The traitor's arm has laid her low— In vain the hopeful answer, "No!"

A stigma rests upon her fame

Though still she's cherished in our heartThe traitor's blight, a sullied name!

Yet cling we to her as yet a part
Of that which was the "glorious," great,
The favored land, the model State.

Stern Truth-of those who gave this land
The prestige of its former name-
Will say, "Its erring statesmen stand
Convicted of the present shame."
Could they the present sequence know,
They'd seek the deepest shades below.

Because they left undone the task

Which God assigned them then and thereTo "tear" from slavery its mask,

And drive it from its cherished lairTheir judgment or their will was wrong, Who left this dragon to grow strong.

They bandied honeyed words with Crime, And made expediency of sin;

They left a curse to after-time

A curse that worketh Now within The councils of this cheated land! Their boasted "ties" are ropes of sand.

Our "marts" are dead; our "iron ways" Are bending with their freight of war! Our "woods and waters" stand amaze, While rattle down the crimson car. Potomac's waves ensanguined flow; Missouri's sands are red below.

Our "winds" are vocal with the boom
Of fate; and blood, like water, flows!
Atlantic hears the threatened doom,

And answers with his wail of woes;
And from the Mississippi's flood
There's no response, save that of "blood!"

We stand aghast! "the hour is nigh,"

When "Eld's" grim goblins, grinning, sit Close by the Nation's fane, and cry:

"Doomed country, welcome to the pit, Dug deep for all who thus begin The record of their work with sin!"

Is there an arm stretched down to save ? "There is no God!" the fool replies; "No King but COTTON!" and we wave The lie beneath insulted skies; Give Slavery fair Freedom's place, And flaunt the fraud in Heaven's face.

The fire of civil war to-day

Has charred upon the Nation's brow A brand no tears can wash away! No compromise will answer NOW! There is a God, and Now He rules, And whips us with a race of fools!

-Sunday Mercury.

For 'tis only nine miles to the Junction."
They gave us hot coffee, a grasp of the hand,
Which cheered and refreshed our exhaustion,
We reached in six hours the long-promised land,
For 'twas "only nine miles to the Junction."
CHORUS.-Only nine miles, &c.

And now as we meet them on Washington's streets,
They always do hail us with unction,

And still the old cry some one surely repeats,
""Twas only nine miles to the Junction."
Three cheers for the warm-hearted Rhode Island boys,
May each one be true to his function,

And whene'er we meet, let us each other greet
With "Only nine miles to the Junction."
CHORUS.-Only nine miles, &c.

Nine cheers for the flag under which we will fight,
If the traitors should dare to assail it;
One cheer for each mile we made on that night
When 'twas" only nine miles to the Junction."
With hearts thus united, our breasts to the foe,
Once again with delight we will hail it;
If duty should call us, still onward we'll go,
If even "nine miles to the Junction."

CHORUS.-Only nine miles, &c.

STEP TO THE FRONT, SONS OF THE HEATHER.

RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO THE HIGHLAND GUARD, 79TH REGIMENT.

Step to the front, bonnet and feather,

Linked with the dreams of your own Highland vale; Step to the front, sons of the heather,

Show the bold Southrons the face of the Gael.

The lords of the South have unkennelled their beagles,

The legions of tyranny sweep from afar;
We welcome you, lads, to the feast of the eagles,
The van of the battle-the honors of war.

Step to the front, bonnet and feather, &c.

Flowers of the vale they have crushed down before them;

All to the will of the despots must bow; But manhood has met them, and death hovers o'er them

The strong-bearded thistle is waiting them now.

Step to the front, bonnet and feather, &c.

Down on them, Highlanders, swoop from your eyry,
Ruffle the tartans, and give the claymore;
Read them a lesson to pause and to fear ye,
When gathered the rights of the free to restore.
Step to the front, bonnet and feather, &c.
-Buffalo Daily Courier, May 30.

STEAM-FRIGATE PAWNEE PASSING MOUNT VERNON.

BY ISAAC M'Lellan.

"In passing down the Potomac River, and arriving opposite Mount Vernon, a beautiful and graceful tribute was paid to the sacred remains that lie entombed in that halfowed spot. All hands were called, officers in swords and epaulets, sailors in their neat uniforms, the fine guard of the Pawnee drawn up, with belt and musket. At a given signal the large American ensign fell at half-mast; the ship's bell tolled out its muffled tones, the melancholy drums rolled their funereal salute, while the presented arms and uncovered heads of officers and men paid a sad tribute of respect to him who was first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen; and so the Pawnee passed on, silent and mourning; for he by whose grave she glided was the Father of his Country." -Morning paper.

Fast down the bay the frigate pass'd,
With swelling sail and bending mast,
For the blue ocean bound.
From slender gaff and topmost spar,
The ensign of the "stripe and star"
Flung its emblazoned folds afar-

The brave flag, world-renowned!

The hundred seamen, stout and bold,
Were gathered 'neath that azure fold,
To guard it evermore;

While life should last, while heart should beat,
In Arctic ice, in Tropic heat,

That flag should be their winding-sheet,
The rugged seamen swore.

Though foemen might their hurricane
Of shot and shell around them rain,

From bastion and from wall;

Though red with gore their decks should flow,
Though mast and spar were level'd low,

Ah! never, never from their foe

Would they for mercy call!

On as they swept, Mount Vernon's shade
Its soaring cenotaph display'd—
Its monumental tomb;

Then with reverential tread,
With folded arms, uncover'd head,
The warriors from those batteries dread
Gaz'd forth with looks of gloom.

Their ensign at the half-mast fell,
The ship-bell toll'd its solemn knell,
Sad music wail'd its strains;
With downcast, sadden'd, mournful face,
Each gaz'd upon that holy place,
That held in sorrowful embrace

Their Father's great remains!

No whisper breath'd that sailing crew,
As fast the laboring vessel flew
Fast by that sacred shore;
Each mus'd on that Great Heart that led
The armies in the years long fled,
And for the North-and-South realm bled-
United now no more!

They mus'd on him, and his stern ranks,
Whose swords blazed o'er the battle-flanks
In many a stormy year;
Whose flags along the Atlantic coast
O'er many a battle-field were lost,
Till, triumphant, the mighty host

Ceas'd from their great career!
Methinks, in Fancy's mystic haze,
As forth in dreaming mood they gaze,
They might the Dead discern;
Might see, thro' salt-fogs of the deep,
Pale phantoms, such as haunt our sleep,
In spectral, vast procession sweep
O'er that memorial urn!

Might see, in each dim, moody glade,
Arm'd cohorts, in long cavalcade,

Close round that lonely tomb;
While He, the august Father, stands,
Sad musing 'mid his war-worn bands,
Lamenting that his country's lands

Are darkening now in gloom!
Lamenting that red hands are thrust
To rend above his very dust

The starry banner low !
To drag the noble standard down
By leaguer'd fort, embattled town,
Where batteries relentless frown,
As 'gainst some foreign foe.

*

On, on the noble vessel glides,
By dangerous reef, o'er raging tides,
Fleet as an eagle's sweep;
God grant no red fraternal speck
Of carnage stain her spotless deck;
Nor 'mid the battle's crashing wreck
She founder in the deep!

THE MEETING ON THE BORDER.

The civil war had just begun,

And caused much consternation, While O. P. Morton governed one Great State of this great nation,

So it did.

And Morton, with some trusty chaps,
Went up to see "Meguffin;

At 6 A. M. they took their traps,
And off they went a-puffin',
So they did.

Magoffin 4 A. M. did fix,

By post and by the wire;
But when the hour had come-why nix
Comehraus was he-Beriah,
So he was.

And then, could you have heard them swear!
Them chaps along with Perry:
They cussed, and stamped, and pulled their
hair,

For they were angry-very,

So they were.

And when they found that they were sold,
And saw no chance for fighting,
They took a train that they controlled,
And home they went a-kiting,
So they did.

At 2 A. M. the scamp did come,
But didn't let them know it;
And so, at three, they started home,
And when they start, they "go it,"
So they do.

No matter what they find to do,
'Tis done with all their power;
What other men will do in two,
They'll do in just one hour,

So they will.
And now, if they could mix his "todd,"
They'd put some pizen stuff in,
And serve their country and their God,
By killing off "Meguffin,"
So they would.

And serve the devil, too, as well,
By sending him, a traitor,

To roast eternally in hell,
As Pat would roast a tater,

So they would.