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GENERAL EARL VAN DORN.

For sixty days and upwards

A storm of shell and shot

Rained round as in a flaming shower,

But still we faltered not!

"If the noble city perish,"

Our grand young leader said,

"Let the only walls the foe shall scale
Be ramparts of the dead!"

For sixty days and upwards

The eye of heaven waxed dim,

And even throughout God's holy morn,
O'er Christian's prayer and hymn,
Arose a hissing tumult,

As if the fiends of air
Strove to engulf the voice of faith
In the shrieks of their despair.

There was wailing in the houses,

There was trembling on the marts,
While the tempest raged and thundered,
'Mid the silent thrill of hearts;
But the Lord, our shield, was with us,
And ere a month had sped,
Our very women walked the streets
With scarce one throb of dread.

And the little children gamboled-
Their faces purely raised,

Just for a wondering moment,

As the huge bombs whirled and blazed!
Then turning with silvery laughter

To the sports which children love,
Thrice mailed in the sweet, instinctive thought,
That the good God watched above.*

Yet the hailing bolts fell faster
From scores of flame-clad ships,
And above us denser, darker,

Grew the conflict's wild eclipse,
Till a solid cloud closed o'er us,
Like a type of doom and ire,
Whence shot a thousand quivering tongues
Of forked and vengeful fire.

But the unseen hands of angels
These death-shafts warned aside,
And the dove of heavenly mercy
Ruled o'er the battle tide;

In the houses ceased the wailing,

And through the war-scarred marts
The people strode with the step of hope
To the music in their hearts.

COLUMBIA, S. C., August 6, 1862.

"THE YANKEE DEVIL."

BY W. P. RIVERS.

The Nondescript, or "Yankee Devil," for clearing the harbor, was washed ashore on yesterday at Morris Island, and is now in our possession. It is described as an old scow-like vessel, painted red, with a long protruding beak, and jutting iron prongs, and claws, intended for the removal of torpedoes. It was attached to the Passaic, and managed by her during the engagement.-Charleston Courier.

The enemy are waiting for a new machine, ("Devil,") to remove the torpedoes in the harbor, and to have every thing in readiness before the attack.-Intelligencer.

Hurrah, hurrah, good news and true,
Our woes will soon be past;
To Charleston, boys, all praise be due,
The Devil's caught at last.

He's caught, he's dead, and met his fate
On Morris Island's sands,
His carcass lies in solemn state,
The spoil of rebel hands.

Hurrah, hurrah, let Dixie cheer!

What may not Charleston do!
The devil's caught at last, we hear;
A Yankee devil, too!

The blackest, bluest from below,

The prince of all is he,

Who leads the Yankees where they go,

On land, or on the sea.

It has been stated by one professing to have witnessed the fact, that some weeks after the beginning of this terrific bombardment, not only were ladies seen coolly walking the streets, but that in some parts of the town children were observed at play, only interrupting their sports to gaze and listen at the bursting shells.

The news is true, all doubt dispel,
All grief and fears be o'er!
The chiefest from perdition's well
Lies on a Southern shore.

On South-Carolina's beach he lies,
His majesty ashore !

Ah! well we know that devil dies Who enters at that door.

His name and hue, and shape and size, Identify the beast;

"Tis he the father of all lies,

Of devils not the least.

Scow-like, across the deep he came,

Blood-red his iron sides;

With beak, and claws, and fins of flame
To plough the vernal tides.

Like serpents which Minerva sent
To crush the Trojan sire,
So northern devils come to vent
On Charleston blood and fire.

But Neptune ne'er decreed the fate
Of Laocoon's dear sons,
To gratify the Yankees' hate

On Charleston's dearer ones.

They'll never bear one fatal hour,
The Northern serpent's coil,
Nor feel the Yankee devil's power
Who come to crush and spoil.

The "Nondescript," name chosen well;
The "Northern devil," aye!

A fiend, a ghoul, a spirit fell!
Who may describe it-say!

Foul, artful, bloody, false, insane,

This Northern ghote* of sin;

The heathen hells could ne'er contain
A darker power within.

But now, hurrah, the devil's dead!
High, dry upon the shore!
Rebellion still may rear its head,
The war will soon be o'er.

Hold, not so fast, abate your cheer,
The battle is not won;
Another devil comes, we hear,
Before the work is done.

Alas! when will this warfare end?
Not till all Yankee foes are dead;
For nondescript is each-or fiend-
His soul with murder red.
CAVE SPRING, GA., April 11, 1863.

-Atlanta Intelligencer, April 16.

GENERAL ROSECRANS indulges occasionally in a witticism. The Nashville Despatch says that a lady called upon him for the purpose of procuring a pass, which was declined very politely. Tears came to the lady's eyes as she remarked that her uncle was very ill, and might not recover. "Very sorry, indeed, madam," replied the General. "My uncle has been indisposed for some time. As soon as Uncle Sam recovers a little, you shall have a pass to go where you please."

Ghote an imaginary evil being among Eastern nations.

REBEL WRITERS IN LONDON.-The Mobile Register publishes a private letter from London which states that the editorial sanctum of The Index has become the focus and rendezvous of Southerners in London. It is a seminary of Southern intelligence, and a school of Southern writers, not for its own columns, but for the other London papers. J. B. Hopkins and Percy Gregg, both Englishmen, both writers for The Index, are mentioned as doing valuable service for the South. Gregg is also one of the principal leader writers for The Saturday Review, the leading London weekly, for which he writes Southern articles. He is also an editorial contributor to The Morning Herald, and Standard, both of which papers, says the writer, are in effect daily Southern organs. The financial writer for The Index is Mr. George McHenry, an ardent Southerner, though born in Philadelphia. This gentleman also does yeoman's service to the Southern cause in The Times.

LEAVING NEW-ENGLAND OUT.-The Chicago Times having proposed to enter upon the discussion of the question whether it would not be best to have a Union leaving New-England out, the Louisville Journal asks: "Wouldn't that question have been an interesting one in the revolutionary war? How would the proposition have sounded to exclude New-England privateers and New-England sailors and New-England soldiers from the last war with Great Britain ?"

A NOBLE WOMAN.-Morgan Barclay, son of Dr. J. B. Barclay, of Brownsville, Fayette County, a member of company G, Eighth regiment Pennsylvania Reserves, was killed by a ball through the heart, in one of the late series of battles before Richmond. On receiving the sad tidings of his death, and learning that he died as only die the gallant and the brave, fighting for his country, the noble mother exclaimed, "It is well, and I only regret that I have not another to send in his place". '—a sentiment worthy of the matron of the best days of Sparta and of Rome.

FEMALE PATRIOTISM.-The Montgomery (Ala.) Mail gives some interesting instances of female patriotism in the county of Butler, Alabama, which we know all our readers will receive with applause. The first is that of Miss A. Dunham, who, finding that she could not buy shoes, with her own hands tanned skins and made shoes for her mother, three brothers, decrepit father and herself. The other is that of Miss E. Fickling, a girl of nine years of age, who spun a most beautiful article of fine cotton sewing-thread, upon a common spinningwheel.-Charleston Mercury, November 4.

A NOVEL PUNISHMENT.-A somewhat amusing occurrence took place at Port Republic, Va. One of the men connected with Rigby's battery had stolen an old yellow dress, a scarf, and a small piece of new carpet.

The act coming to General Milroy's notice, he sent at once for the man, and having ascertained that there could be no mistake concerning his guilt, he at once concluded he would let him cultivate a still more familiar acquaintance with a female apparel, and accordingly ordered the old dress put on the offender, the scarf tied about his neck, and the carpeting carefully laid across his arm. Thus equipped and prepared for creating a sensation, he was ordered to be marched through the camp. The mortification of the man was complete. No more delaine dresses were stolen in his command, and the effect was most wholesome.

A SOLDIER in the field sends the following appeal to the boys to volunteer:

I've left my home and all my friends,
And crossed the mountains craggy,
To fight the foe and traitor bands;
And left my own dear Maggie.

But now old Jeff is doomed to fall,
The traitor dogs do yelp,
But why leave us to do it all,
Why don't you come and help?

ATLANTA, GA., October 30, 1862.-Our sanctum was honored yesterday with the presence of Colonel Durant da Ponte, the accomplished chief editor, in past days, of that able journal, the New-Orleans Delta, but who is now on the military staff of General Magruder, and en route for that General's command in Texas and NewMexico. When New-Orleans fell, Col. da Ponte abandoned the pen for the sword, and has done gallant service for the South with the latter, as he did with the former, when at the head of that popular journal.-Atlanta Intelligencer.

EXECUTIONS BY THE REBELS.-The Rebel Banner, of the twenty-seventh December, 1862, has the following in a letter from Murfreesboro :

"Yesterday the sentences of court-martial were executed upon several persons in the vicinity of this place. Gray, resident of this county, was hung as a spy in presence of an immense throng of soldiers and citizens. Proof of guilt was very comprehensive and conclusive. He had been for several months acting in concert with the enemy, and giving them aid and comfort. The gallows was erected near the railroad dépôt, whither at noon the condemned man was conveyed. He appeared quite unconcerned, and his forbidding features did not display any particular interest in the dread tragedy about to be enacted. Just after the noose had been adjusted about the prisoner's neck, and as Captain Peters was about reading the sentence, Gray leaped from the platform, thus launching himself into eternity. He struggled severely for several minutes, and then expired.

He

"At the same hour, amidst a drenching rain-storm, Asa Lewis, member of Captain Page's company, Sixth Kentucky regiment, was shot by a file of men. was executed upon a charge of desertion, which was fully proven against him. The scene was one of great impressiveness and solemnity. The several regiments A CURIOUS WILL.-John A. Tainter, who died in of Hanson's brigade were drawn up in a hollow Hartford, Ct., left all his property, about one million their staffs, were present to witness the execution. while Generals Breckinridge and Hanson, with dollars, to his wife and two daughters. In his will he The prisoner was conveyed from jail to the brigade forbids either of his daughters to marry a foreigner, or a native of a Southern or slaveholding State, under pen-file of ten men, commanded by Major Morse and Lieut. drill-ground on an open wagon, under the escort of a alty of forfeiting her interest in the property.-NewYork Tribune, January 8.

THE BOYS OF THE REBEL ARMY.-A remarkable instance of gallantry and endurance, on the part of a youth of fifteen years, has been brought to our notice, on the authority of his captain. His name is Francis Huger Rutledge Gould, a protégé of the Right Rev. Bishop Rutledge, of Florida, and a private in company B, Captain Latt. Phillips, Third Florida regiment. On the eighth ult., he fought barefooted through the battle of Perryville, and made himself conspicuous by his daring conduct, winning from his captain the highest encomiums for his gallantry. Charleston Courier, November 14.

AMONG the peculiarities of the secession rebellion is the fact that on the thirty-first of December, 1862, Lieutenant-Col. Garesche was killed at Murfreesboro, and on the twenty-ninth of December, 1862, Major Garesche was killed at Vicksburgh. Thus at different points, nearly a thousand miles apart, the two brothers have lost their lives within two days of each other, both having fallen in support of the Union.

square,

George B. Brumley. Lewis's hands were tied behind
him, a few words were said to him by Generals Breck-
inridge and Hanson, the word fire was given, and all
The unfortunate man conducted himself
was over.
with great coolness and composure. He was said to
have been a brave soldier, and distinguished himself
at the battle of Shiloh.

"A soldier of the Twenty-fourth Tennessee regi. ment, sentenced to death, was led to the execution ground; but just as the sentence was about being executed, a courier arrived, bringing a reprieve from General Bragg.

"In one of the Alabama regiments, a soldier was executed for desertion."

January 1, 1863.-At Port Royal there is a negro under Governor Saxton's tuition, one hundred and five years old, who has just learned his letters. He belonged at first to a Governor of South-Carolina, and was presented by him, when sixteen years old, to General Nathaniel Greene, of Revolution memory, and was his personal servant as long as he (the General) lived.

IN THE SEPULCHRE.

O Keeper of the Sacred Key,
And the Great Seal of Destiny!
Whose eye is the blue canopy,

Look down upon the world once more and tell us what

the end will be.

GENERAL LYON'S MEMORY.-A soldier of Gen. Herron's division, writes from Springfield, Mo., as follows: "General Lyon's memory is cherished by the soldiers here as something holy. The Union men think that no man ever lived like him. The Third division visited the battle-field of Wilson's Creek on Thanksgiving Day, and each man placed a stone on the spot where Lyon fell, so that there now stands a monument some ten feet high, built by eight thousand soldiers, to point out to the visitor of this classic ground the place where Is turned to verdure, and the land is now one mighty

the hero died.”—Maquoketa Excelsior, January 13.

Three cold, bright moons have filled and wheeled,
And the white cerement that concealed

The lifeless Figure on the shield,

battle-field.

And the twin brothers that we said

Had clashed above the fallen head,
Heedless of all on which they tread,

Thus saith the Keeper of the Key,
And the Great Seal of Destiny,
Whose eye is the blue canopy,

Now crimson with each other's blood the vernal dra- And casts the pall of his great darkness over all the

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land and sea.

-Louisville Journal,

SONG OF A SENTINEL.

And all, according to their might, unsheathe the sword Alas! there ne'er was time in human story,

and choose their side.

I see the champion sword-strokes flash,
I see them fall and hear them clash,
I hear the murderous engines crash,

I see a brother stoop to loose his foeman-brother's
bloody sash.

I hear the curses and the thanks,

I see the mad charge on the flanks

The rents-the gaps-the broken ranks―

And see the vanquished driven headlong down the river's bridgeless banks.

I see the death-gripe on the plain,

The grappling monsters on the main,

I see the thousands that are slain,

When fighting, killing, were not going on!
Conquest, plunder, mastery, and "glory,"
By these the race has ever been undone.
And Christian men, with age and learning hoary,
Have found a conscience even to smile upon
The "pride, pomp, and circumstance" of war—
(The Juggernaut, who rolls his crunching car !)

And history is mostly a disastrous tale

Of marches, battles, and that sort of thing; Sometimes upon a large, and then a smaller scale, As prosers tell us, or as poets sing.

It seems that mankind at no time can fail

Upon themselves war's miseries to bring.
Doubtless the rulers are to blame; but then,
What could the rulers do without the men?

And all the speechless suffering and agony of heart Suppose no soldier e'er could be enlisted,

and brain.

I see the torn and mangled corpse,

The dead and dying heaped in scores,

The heedless rider by his horse

From worthier motive-or to fight for hire?
Suppose all men were Christians, and existed
To do just what the Christian rules require?
Then our Constitution had not been resisted
By Northern State laws! Then no frantic ire
Had e'er inflamed the Southern men, to tear

The wounded captives bayoneted through and through From Sumter's walls our banner floating there.

without remorse.

I see the dark and bloody spots

The crowded rooms and crowded cots

The bleaching bones, the battle-blots

For what has brought our land to this condition-
So feeble now, and late so hale and hearty?
Not Christianity, but sinful superstition,
Inspiring a politico-religious party

And write on many a nameless grave a legend of for- Yelept Republican, but really Abolition!

get-me-nots.

I see the assassin crouch and fire

I see his victim fall-expire

I see the victor creeping nigher,

To strip the dead-he turns the head-the face !the son beholds his sire!

I hear the dying sufferer cry,

With his crushed face turned to the sky,
I see him crawl in agony

To the foul pool, and bow his head into its bloody
slime and die.

And in the low sun's blood-shot rays-
Portentous of the coming days-

I see the oceans blush and blaze,

When Garrison, its founder, took his start, he
Scarce could have hoped his English Yankee notion
So soon would end in war's insane commotion.

But he had chosen well his field of labor!
He knew the puritanic inclination
To regulate the doings of one's neighbor
By one's own bigotry, for his salvation!
And now for ferule they do wield the sabre,

Since schooled has been the later generation
To hate, to execrate, and to contemn
Their countrymen, who ne'er had injured them!

Yes-well he chose! And well the people there
Have been infused with heresy and hate;
Well taught and trained the sacred bond to tear
That ought to bind each, to each other, State;

And the emergent continent between them wrapt in Brought step by step the Union to declare

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They did all this; and sadly they defamed

Their country in the ears of all mankind "Barbarians" were their countrymen, who claimed The rights the Constitution had defined. Resistance to the statutes was proclaimed

The pious duty of a people so refined! And all this madness, tending or intended, To rend the Union-as we've seen it rended.

But-Davis, Yancey, Keitt, and Beauregard,

Slidell and Mason, Toombs and Benjamin, Et id genus omne !-what reward

Were match to your immeasurable sin Against your God and country? 'Twere as hard To measure your offences, as it's been To estimate the wretchedness abounding, Since Mars his brazen trumpet has been sounding.

What demon could possess you to abandon

The Union-and your rights as Union men? The Constitution was enough to stand on;

And on it were arrayed a host of men, Prepared to lay a strong, suppressing hand on The mad fanatics, who assailed you then. But you in frenzy gave us battle's thunder

A monstrous crime, and worse-a monstrous blunder!

'Twas Talleyrand, French Secretary, said

A blunder's worse than crime;-but never
Hath any one in earthly annals read

Of blunder like your efforts to dissever
Our glorious country! Lucifer once made
A similar but unprovoked endeavor!
But different his fate-perchance you know-
When he "seceded," they just let him go.

I know that Milton undertakes to prove,
(But probabilities a good deal straining,)
That Lucifer, on falling from above,

Enlisted armies, and had soldiers training,
And then in mad, rebellious fury drove

Against angelic hosts, in rude campaigning! So says the poet; and to human level, He thus brings down the conduct of the devil.

But sacred chronicle has nothing said

Of Lucifer behaving in this way. Some shabby tricks it seems that he had played, And so in Heaven could no longer stay. But war, I'm satisfied, he never made,

As Milton tells us. There was no display
Of spears and shields and other like "material,"
And loud explosions from the guns ethereal.

No! Milton's epic's very far from true-
(A stately story, but a sorry quiz,)
So, let the devil ever have his due,

And do not paint him blacker than he is.
For he to "set a squadron" never knew,
Nor ever heard a single bullet whiz.
No, he had failed to rule as he desired,
And (may be with compulsion) he retired.

It was in fact secession, and no less,

All quietly and peaceably out-acted. The devil, jealous, was in some distress, Because his plottings had been counteracted; The rule of others only would oppress,

He said; and so to rule, himself, exacted; But failing, took his leave, and sundry minionsDropping headlong into his own dominions.

And this was all. So Milton's solemn song
Belies the devil, (in angelic verse,)

For Lucifer is guiltless of the wrong

Of armed rebellion! This is something worse Than even he enacted, when on pinions strong

The gulf to Erebus he did traverse.

No, no-he's bad enough; but men defame him, When for the crime of rebel war they blame him!

But 'twas a losing business; and the devil
Often, doubtless, doth bemoan it well.
He gave up heaven; that wildly he might revel
In all the dread magnificence of hell;
Where he's sole ruler, rising to the level

Of "recognized" confederacy, as they tell.
But would it not have been more wise and winning
For him, if he had kept from any sinning?

And so with you and yours. Oh! had you stood
For right and justice-but not separation!
Then had you seen how every neighborhood
Had echoed your demand for reparation.
Or had you made the sacrifice you should,

By bringing your supplies from some far nation, And not from mad New-England, you'd have made Her bigotry surrender to the laws of trade.

She would have given up her abolition

For trade and profit. We have seen her scout The Southern statesmen's wisest proposition To bring in territories round about; But since she's profited by this condition In larger markets-they shall not go out! So even abolition she'd have scouted, On finding it to be a loss undoubted.

Some fifty years ago, New-England thought
The war with Britain was a grievous wrong.
It touched her pocket; and she said, "twas fraught
With evil only." Then in protest strong,
She threatened to secede, unless 'twere brought
To prompt conclusions! She could get along,
An independent, pious, moral nation,
Just by herself, and work her own salvation.

She boasts, New-England does, of her capacity
For making money; and we grant the claim.
She grasps the profits with a rare sagacity,
That puts poor Western hoosiers all to shame.
(And some do even use the term rapacity,

In close connection, when they speak her name,)
For even War her pockets now is filling,
While Western men heroic blood are spilling.

She makes the guns, the powder, clothing, shoes,
And other articles an army needs:
She makes professions wondrously profuse
Of patriotism, though she rarely bleeds.
She knoweth well her vaunted skill to use

In arms-preparing them for others' deeds. And so, while honest Western men are fighting, She's in the contract part of war delighting.

She loveth war, while to her mill is brought The profitable grist! Her pockets linedFor blood and misery she careth not,

So they to other people are confined. Let others suffer as they will, 'tis naught To her and hers. And so the public mind She poisons and embitters with infusion Of negro madness, to prolong confusion.

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