only two sorts: 1. The karaoy, a black tent, that is, the tent which has grown brown or black

THE SUN-DIAL.

IS an old dial, dark with many a stain;

one covered in the interior with felt of snowy whiteness it is erected for newly-married couples, or for guests to whom they wish to pay particular honor. The tent made a very pleasant impression on the mind of our traveler, being cool in summer and genially warm in winter.

Even in their marriage ceremonial there are strong traces of their rude, boisterous life. The young maiden, attired in bridal costume, mounts a high-bred courser, taking on her lap the carcass of a lamb or goat, and, setting off at full gallop, is followed by the bridegroom and other young men of the party, also on horseback; but she is always to strive, by adroit turns, etc., to avoid her pursuers, that no one of them approach near enough to snatch from her the burden on her lap. This game, called Kökbüri (green wolf), is in use among all the nomads of Central Asia. Sometimes two, sometimes four days after the nuptials, the newly-married couple are separated, and the permanent union does not begin until after the expiration of an entire year.

Another singular custom has reference to the mourning for the decease of a beloved member of the family. It is the practice, in the tent of the departed one, each day for a whole year, without exception, at the same hour that he drew his last breath, for female mourners to chant the customary dirges, in which the members of the family present are expected to join. In doing so, the latter proceed with their ordinary daily employments and occupations; and "it is quite ridiculous to see how the Turkoman polishes his arms and smokes his pipe, or devours his meal, to the accompaniment of these frightful yells of sorrow." A similar thing occars with the women, who, seated in the smaller circumference of the tent itself, are wont to join in the chant, to cry and weep in the most plaintive manner, while they are at the same time cleaning wool, spinning, or performing some other duty of household industry. The friends and acquaintances of the deceased are also expected to pay a visit of lamentation, and that even when the first intelligence of the misfortune does not reach them until after months have elapsed. The visitor seats himself before the tent, often at night, and, by a thrilling yell of fifteen minutes' duration, gives notice that he has thus performed his last duty toward the defunct. When a chief of distinction, one who has really well earned the title of bator (valiant), perishes, it is the practice to throw up over his grave a joszka (large mound); to this every good Turkoman is bound to contribute at least seven shovelfuls of earth, so that these elevations often have a circumference of sixty feet, and a height of from twenty to thirty feet. In the great plains these mounds are very conspicuous objects; the Turkoman knows them all, and calls them by their names-that is to say, by the names of those that rest below.

Tricked in the autumn with the yellow rain,
And white in winter like a marble tomb;
And round about its gray, time-eaten brow
Lean letters speak-a worn and shattered row:
"I am a Shade: a Shadowe too arte thou:
I marke the Time: saye, Gossip, dost thou soe?"
The tardy shade slid forward to the noon;
Smelling a flower, humming a quiet tune,
There came a dainty lady to the place,

Smoothing the willful waving of her lace:
O'er her blue dress an endless blossom strayed;
About her tendril-curls the sunlight shone ;
And round her train the tiger-lilies swayed,
Like courtiers bowing till the queen be gone.
She leaned upon the slab a little space,
Then drew a jeweled pencil from her zone,
Scribbled a something with a frolic face,

Folded, inscribed, and niched it in the stone. The shade slipped on, no swifter than the snail; There came a second lady to the place, Dove-eyed, dove-robed, and something wan and pale, An inner beauty shining from her face, All the mute loveliness of lonely love:

She, straying in the alleys with her book, Herrick or Herbert, watched the circling dove, And spied the tiny letter in the nook. Then, like to one who confirmation finds

Of some dread secret half accounted true, Who knows what hands and hearts the letter binds,

And argues loving commerce 'twixt the two, She bent her fair young forehead on the stone; The dark shade gloomed an instant on her head; And 'twixt her taper fingers pearled and shone

The single tear that tear-worn eyes will shed. The shade slipped onward to the falling gloom; There came a soldier gallant in her stead, Swinging a beaver with a swaling plume, A ribboned love-lock rippling from his head; Blue-eyed, frank-faced, with clear and open brow, Scar-seamed a little, as the women love; So kindly fronted that you marveled how

The frequent sword-hilt had so frayed his glove; Who switched at Psyche plunging in the sun; Uncrowned three lilies with a backward sweep; And standing somewhat widely, like to one Boot and Saddle" than to creep

As

More used to

courtiers do, yet gentleman withal,

Took out the note, held it as one who feared

The

fragile thing he held would slip and fall;

Read and re-read, pulling his tawny beard;

Kissed it, I think, and hid it in his vest;

Laughed softly in a flattered happy way, Shifted the broidered baldrick on his breast,

And sauntered past, singing a roundelay..... The shade crept forward through the dying glow; There came no more nor dame nor cavalier; But for a little time the brass will show A small gray spot-the record of a tear.

defiantly upon Jackson, Longstreet, and Hill, as they prepared to descend from the opposite hills and enter the swamp in pursuit.

The danger was now imminent of a flank movement, by which the army might be cut into two portions, and the helpless rear surrounded and destroyed. The roads were intricate. We knew them but imperfectly, while to the rebels they were familiar routes. When we look back upon the position of our army at this crisis its final escape appears providential, and almost miraculous. The road to Turkey Bend or Malvern Hill, called Quaker Road, is the great highway from Savage's Station to James River, and is intersected repeatedly by the roads running from Richmond to the East. Over this road our troops must pass. By any of these Richmond roads a force might be suddenly thrown across our lines of retreat, hampered and choked by artillery and baggage-trains.

In the centre General Sumner still held the perilous rear. General Franklin was with him. General Slocum was on his left, and General Heintzelman on the right, to guard, so far as was possible, against the anticipated attempt to flank and divide our forces. Generals Hooker, Kearney, Sedgwick, and M'Call, were all there in the most exposed posts of peril, with the wearied remnants of their divisions, ready for the sixth day and the sixth battle.

The early summer day of July 1 broke with parching heat on the already smoking field. Our troops had been drawn up in a line of battle three or four miles long, taking advantage of the cleared farm lands to the right and left of the road. They placed, wherever it was possible, an open field in their front across which the enemy must advance to attack them. With the first light a rebel battery was discovered, which during the night had been moved very nearly up to our lines. Our rifled cannon were at once brought to bear upon it, and in a short time five of the guns were dismounted. Still the rebels, with desperate bravery, held their post and continued their fire.

Until 10 o'clock the cannonading was incessant on both sides. Then, from the woods in front of General M'Call's division, poured out a vast body of rebels for an overwhelming charge. General M'Call's division was posted across the New Market Road, and consisted of Pennsylvania regiments; regiments that did such gallant service at Gettysburg a year later, and that had suffered terribly in Gainsville and Mechanicsville three days before. It has been said that these reserves broke into inextricable confusion early in the day. But the incontrovertible proof of their brave fighting was to be seen the next morning in the number of their dead lying upon the ground where they fell, and in the wounded being borne away to the hospitals.

The imputations, so cruel and undeserved, which have been cast on the bravery and endurance of these troops can not easily be explained. Even the Commander-in-Chief lent his assistance to the unmerited stigma, which was a hard

return for a division which maintained the position at the Cross Roads from morning till night, leaving it strewn with their dead, and held as reserves at Malvern Hill, on the next day plunged boldly in, at the critical moment of the last charge, from which they came out reduced one half in number. Justice, however, is eternal, though slow of speech, and brave men are not called cowards for long. The written testimony of Fitz John Porter and General Meade, among others, will remain as a record of the bravery of M'Call's division.

"Had not M'Call," writes Fitz John Porter, Major-General Commanding the Fifth Corps, "held his place on New Market Road, June 30, that line of march would have been cut by the enemy."

"It was only the stubborn resistance," writes General Meade, "offered by one division-the Pennsylvania Reserves-prolonging the contest till after dark, and checking, till that time, the advance of the enemy, that enabled the concentration during the night of the whole army on the James River which saved it."

The whole force which attacked M'Call's troops consisted of the divisions of Hill, Longstreet, Anderson, Cobb, and Whitticomb; and they fought with bloody will. Twice they captured M'Call's batteries of sixteen guns. Twice our men, rallying under the sting of their loss, retook them, and the last time held them, to do deadly work the next day at Malvern Hill. Through the sultry hours of the long summer's day the fortunes of the fight rose and fell. Now the sweeping fire of our rifled cannon bore the masses of the rebels back in hopeless terror, and as they receded our men sprang forward, and with the old cry, "On to Richmond!" pressed so hard that only superhuman exertions on the part of the rebel officers prevented the entire giving way and rout of their army.

Then, rallying under some powerful leader, they would stem and reverse the torrent, and we, in our turn, would yield. Rarely has there been seen more desperate fighting. One of the thrill. ing incidents of the day has been thus eloquently described by the Rev. J. J. Marks. brigade of the rebels had made a desperate charge upon one of our divisions, coming on steadily, under a raking fire, with their guns trailed:

A single

"They were led by a man of vast muscular strength and prowess. Cheering and shouting to his men he ran on the gunners. The reserve infantry rushed forward to the rescue; and around the cannon, between them and over the bodies of fallen horses and comrades, commenced a contest of the most furions character. Scarcely a single shot was fired. Bayonet crossed bayonet; and frequently after a death-struggle for two or three minutes, the foes stood breathless, with guns locked, foot to foot and face to face, each afraid to move, lest that would give his enemy the advantage; and in that awful moment, when the whole being was fired by a frenzy that seemed supernatural, the counte