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she would enlist in their army. She had no home and no relatives; but she said she preferred to fight as a private soldier for the Stars and Stripes, rather than be honored with a commission from the rebs. About two weeks ago she was exchanged. The insurgents tried to extort from her a promise that she would go home, and not enter the service again. "Go home!" she said; "my only brother was killed at Pittsburgh Landing, and I have no home—no friends!"
Dr. Walker describes Frank as of about medium height, with dark hazel eyes, dark brown hair, rounded features, and feminine voice and appearance. Dr. W. is well versed in human nature, as well as anatomy, and she believes that justice to the young woman in question requires that she should be commissioned .a lieutenant in the army. The Doctor also argues that Congress should assign women to duty in the army, with compensation, as well as colored men, averring that patriotism has no sex. Whether the President will commission Miss Hook as a lieutenant, or Congress will draft Mrs. Walker's countrywomen into the service, we know not; but we are certain that the "Doctor" is thoroughly in earnest, and that the story of her new protegee is an Interesting one.— Washington Republican.
Abram Lincoln knows the ropes!
Centre now about the brave and true j
Honest for the country through and through.
Others good, perhaps, as he
Have we tried them in the war-time's flame?
Seeking for the Right in Heaven's name?
Let the Nation ask him, then,
To hold the rudder in this stormy sea;
Ushers in a morning for the Free.
Let us not forget our rude
But lend our servant the poor crown we may t
Knowing God shall crown him in His day I
THE ARMY TO THE PEOPLE.
Mra of the North! ye are true, ye are strong 1
"Freedom," for all that are weak and oppressed
* Fatherland, God and the Right I" For the rest,
Leave that to us 1 With a watchword so true,
Men of the North! ye are firm, ye are leal—
THE LAST STAR.
A BKMIffiacENCI OP MINE RCX.
BT I. J. ADAMS.
[" Here, Sergeant, take this star. It is the last of thirty-four from our old flag; the remainder are shot awnv In the eleven battle* through which I have borne It—Malvern Hill Clmntllly, SouthMountain, Antletarn, first and second Frederlcksburgh, Oettj-sburgh. Falling Waters, Brlstoiv Station, Rappahannock Station, and Mine Run. And If I am not permitted to take It to the ladle* who gave It perform the duty for me, and tell them it never left tho field disgraced !"—Color-Sergeant JirriBsos FuaTU, of the Fifty-ninth New-York volunteers, to Orderly O. S. Amu of the Sixth New-York artillery.]
All quiet now the battle clash;
No more the cannon's sound
Or shakes the corpse-strewn ground;
O'er this sad scene of woe,
A sight they dare not know.
i From dawn of day till eve set in,
The fearful contest waged;
But brooded where the " tug" had raged.
The separate armies lay
Early to start the strife next day.
Beneath a charred and shattered oak
A color-sergeant lay,
Told of his work that day.
Was this youthful warrior left,
Of humanity bereft.
"Squad, halt! and see who this man is."
"Here, sergeant," said the bleeding man, "This star is all I've got That yet remains of that old flag, I've borne through battles hot.
If I Bhould die of this slight wound—
Carry it back to those who gave,
"Just there we met the ' Catamounts '•
From Alabama's wild,
As if she were a child.
Who worked with might and will,
It was not in our drill 1
"My poor old flag was torn to shreds,
But still I held it high,
Should run as soon as I.
Upon the recking ground,
This, alas! is all I found.
"I crawled away to this old tree,
To lay me down and die,
But did not think you nigh.
Before I go away,
In the endless realms of day!
"Tell them I held—" his head bowed down,
As if nature claimed her own,
Thinking life had flown.
From wounds—a sad array—
To fight another day.
Wntmim, April 13, 1864.
THE AMERICAN WAR.
Hark to the sound of the war-charger prancing
Where kinsmen and brothers to death are advancing,
Their trumpets are sounding slave emancipation 1
Or charmed it to slumber in vile degradation,
Ye sons of Columbia, your rigor surrender,
Your grandsires, who bled for your freedom and splen-
Your maidens are sighing amidst their devotion,
Hearts that responded each tender emotion
The daisies may wave where the pale lips were parted,
• The Fourth reslraent of Alabama Infantry style themselves the " Catamounts;" and many other chivalry reciments have as»umed corresponding "hlghfalutln" names such as "Tigers," "Squirrels," "Dare-Devus," etc— Weekly Herald.
And spirits unfettered their prison deserted,
Be still, little baby, your mother is weeping—
Your father, so young and so noble, is sleeping—
Oh! when shall Columbia her freedom inherit, ^4nd peace, like an angel, descend with a smile;
Or fate send a hero, with Washington's merit, To stay the red surge that o'crwhelms the soil? —Irom QUugoa (.Scotland) Petmy Pott.
BT Vf. A. KKNOALL.
"You've donned the peerless uniform
Of good old Uncle Sam "—
With tears her fond eyes swam.
"You're dearer to me than I tnought—
"Prouder am I to see you thus—
•Than were you crowned perchance a king,
"Your stature seems to gain in height
"Go, save our country I she is first—
Stand guard until you fall;
I will delay recall.
"Go, where along the lurid front
"As I would ask, so you have done—
"These tears attest the grief I feel-
For every one speed thou a shot;
When quietus the foe has got,
So spoke my own brave girl, and fled,
Fearing her heart's dread pain Would traitor prove unto her will, And rising with rebellious thrill, Persuade me to remain.
To die for her were sweeter fcr
Than loved by less to live;
0 woman! how much patriot fire Thy breath has woke to flame! How many heroes were not such But for thy consecrating touch, None less than God can name! Bui Faucuco, April 1,1SGI.
Ah ! just as long as history owns a record,
That writ, in blood and flame, the fiendish motto,
Not. for the wounded, and the sick and dying!
Not for brave prisoners craft but forced to yield! Nor women and young children! then, 0 Southron!
Go, blazon Chivalry upon your shield!
Is this the foe whose wounded we have tended?
Is this the foe whose prisoned we have fed? Whose women and whose children we have succored,
When their own soldiers robbed them of their bread?
0 the brave hearts they riddled with their bulltts!
0 the sick forms they mangled where they lay! Their murdered blood cries up to God, Avenge us 1
Cries out to you, 0 brothers! night and day.
Then grasp your muskets and belt on your sabres,
But go not forth to murder and to pillage,
Brave hearts ne'er yet were cruel to the vanquished;
Ye will not stain the dear old flag yo bear With crimes that would disgrace the martial manhood,
That took that flag from fingers young and fair.
Let none at home prate peace and compromising,
Nay, rally, freemen, in one grand uprising,
0 bearded faces, brown but kind and tender!
Through weary marches, our prayers march with you, And sweet lips cry from home: Dear braves, remember, As you to country, we to you arc true.
Lizzie P. Sidxet, Ohio, April 36.
THE HERO OF SUGAR PINE.
"Oh! tell me, Sergeant of Battery B,
"Some skilful move when the fearful game
"Ah! stranger, here at my gun all day,
"So I trained my gun on a rebel piece;
"Enough! 0 Sergeant of Battery B,
LOUISVILLE JOURNAL ADDRESS.
NEW TEAR, 1664.
Beside my quiet hearth to-night
"0 Stranger I tell me whence thy flight,
He answers not, but turns to go,
"0 weary Pilgrim! go not forth,
"Maiden, most kind, I may not see
His very tones, so soft and low,
He reads the wooing of the Spring,
"Oh! sweet as Love, but dearer far,"
But now he reads a darker page—
With records stained of hate and rage—
Of hosts drawn up in brave array
To fight each other's lives away!
Of clash of sword and noise of gun—
Of corpses stiffening in the sun—
Of hissing shot and booming shell,
Confusion like to that of hell!
Of men, whom mothers once wept o'er,
To devils turned—like men no more!
Of the dread silence afterward,
That steals along the trodden sward,
And settles down o'er faces white,
That never more shall greet the light;
Of passions maddened to excess—
Of blood that flowed in plenteousness—
Of all the hopes and treasures lost,
To crown the dreadful holocaust!
"0 shrine of Death!" the old man cries,
Again he reads—of lofty rooms
"What matters it," the old man sighs,
Another page he turneth o'er,.
And reads, more sadly than before—
Within the shadows floating wide
From yon high palaces of pride,
Are lowly eots, all bare and black,
Gaping with many a wide-mouthed crack;
Where Poverty, Bo gaunt and worn,
Sits ever waiting and forlorn;
Where no strange perfumes fill the gloom;
Where no buds tremble into bloom;
Where no songs ring, but tears and sighs;
And little children's hungry cries
Make terrible the echoes there,
Already burdened with despair;
Where mothers, mad with woes like these,
Watch their young children starve and freeze,
And pray that Death would bear them far
To realms beyond the morning star;
Where, in the heavenly courts above,
Their voices, loud in songs of love,
By grief and woe no more controlled,
Will say no longer, "lam cold 1"
"0 wonder strange!" the old man cries,
The old man's words are faint and low—
What ho, without! bring in your shroud and pall,
And cover up the glare of these dead eyes! Fold closely o'er the breast the meek, still hands,
And scatter incense where the pale corpse lies; And as you carry out your precious dead,
Soft let the censer o'er him swing and wave, And lay him where the flowers will soonest bloom
In fragrant beauty, o'er the Old Year's grave.
With joyful penis of melody and song,
The blessed chimes ring out, with sudden start; Alike on high and low their music falls,
And some sweet promise bear to every heart; Some precious hope they breathe of wrongs redressed,
Of sunbeams that shall lighten sorrow's glooms; Of violets that yet may blush and grow,
In modest fragrance, o'er some barren tomb.
0 New Year! radiant One!
That open to the Sun,
Scatter the seeds of light and truth 1 •
Oil! let thy coming prove
The altars of our love,
With offerings manifold.
Oh! glide on, snowy ships,
That the long-mourned eclipse
Ne'er to resume its sway.
A.nd as (foreshadowed fate!)
To man regenerate;
Within our troubled skies I
0 happy New Year! go From lands of shade to lands of sun; And count thy victory duly won
If tears have ceased to flow, And mourners shout from bloody graves that yawned:
"A better day hath dawned!"
AFTER THE FIGHT.
One of the boys lies dead in his tent,
All alone. Soldier, go in, go in, And smooth back his hair, And close the dead eyes, So dreamily blue, That are staring straight through The night, toward the skies,
Where his soul has gone!
Ay, and we made a desperate charge
Through the smoke,
When those cannons spoke.
Scorching hot, from their grinning jaws,
With a shout, Came the whirling shot And tho bursting shell, And the air grew gray
With the drifting smoke, That quivered and broke And heaved and fell,
When the roar burst out.
And Death rode over the battle-field,
Through the storm,
When the rifles flashed
And the knife struck home.