« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
That we will have nothing to do with young men who refuse to go to the war, and that "Home Guards" must keep their distance.
That the young man who has not pluck enough to fight for his country has not the manliness to make a good husband.
That we will not marry a man who has not been a soldier.
That we will not marry till after the war is over, and then "Home Guards!" No! never!
or the smiles of the young ladies of our native State, I and had fallen on the road, where he was discovered and that none but ladies of doubtful age will smile by a Louisianian. He was suffering the most intense on such men. pain, his face and body distorted by his agonized sufferings. He begged for water, which was promptly given him. His head and shoulders were raised to make him comfortable, and his face and forehead bathed in water. He urged the Louisianian to pray for him, who was forced to acknowledge his inability to pray. At that moment one of the Mecklenburg troopers came up, and the poor fellow urged his request again, with great earnestness. The Virginian knelt at his side, and asked the wounded man if he was a Christian, and believed in the promise of Christ to save repentant sinners. He answered, yes. The trooper then commenced a prayer, fervent, pathetic, and eloquent. The soldier's face lost all the traces of his recent suffering, and became placid and benignant, and, in his new-born love for his enemy, attempted to encircle his neck with his arms, but only reached the shoulder, where it rested, and, with his gaze riveted on the face of the prayerful trooper, he appeared to drink in the words of hope and consolation, the promises of Christ's mercy and salvation, which flowed from his lips, "as the parched earth drinketh up the rain ;" and, as the solemn Amen died on the lips of the Christian soldier, the dead man's hand relaxed its hold and fell to the ground, and his spirit took its flight to unknown realms. The scene was solemn and impressive, and the group were all in tears. The dying never weep, 'tis said. Having no implements with which to dig his grave, and ex
MARRIED. On Tuesday morning, the 24th of.September, at St. Paul's Church, in Lynchburg, Va., by the Rev. W. H. Herckle, General E. Kirby Smith, of the Confederate States army, to Cassie, daughter of Samuel M. Selden, deceased.
General Smith, the gallant Kirby, has surrendered. The brave Blucher of Manassas, who marched boldly and unshrinkingly to the cannon's mouth, has at last thrown down his arms at the sting of an arrow. He was married in our city this morning to Miss Cassic Selden, daughter of Samuel Selden, deceased; and who that knows the sweet young bride can wonder at her conquest? Modest, retiring, gentle-in a word, womanly in the truest sense of the term-I know no one better qualified to win and wear the heart of a brave, good man. Long live the wedded pair, and may ruthless time ever preserve, in primeval freshness, both the orange wreath and the laurel!-pecting the return of the enemy in large force, they Lynchburg Republican.
SOUTHERN MAIL COMMUNICATION WITH EUROPE.We learn from L'Abeille, of New Orleans, that M. Antonia Costa, of that city, has undertaken the establishment of regular monthly mail communication between that city and Europe, for which he has the approbation of the postmaster of New Orleans. The mails go by way of Mexico, and are transported in the regular English steamers, which carry the mails of Mexico and the West Indies. The first post left New Orleans on Thursday week, and contained one thousand three hundred and eighty-three letters; the next leaves on the 10th of November. As soon as the necessary arrangements can be completed, it will leave every two weeks-on the 10th and 25th of each month. Letters of half an ounce and under will be charged as follows: To Mexico, fifty cents; to Cuba, seventy-five cents; to Europe, one dollar. Letters for this mail must be enclosed, with the amount of postage, in an envelope, directed "Costa's foreign mail, care of Postmaster, New Orleans," and the postage paid to New Orleans.-Memphis Appeal, Oct. 19.
THE first of the new Confederate States postal stamps were issued on the 18th of October, and were eagerly bought up. The new stamp is green, with a lithographic likeness of President Davis within double oval border, surmounted with the inscription "Confederate States of America." Outside of the circle, and at the head of the stamp, is the word "postage,' and at the lower edge its denomination, "five cents." -Richmond Examiner, Oct. 19.
PRAYER FOR A DYING ENEMY.—A correspondent of the New Orleans Crescent says: A most touching scene took place in the affair of Major Hood's, already alluded to. Among those mortally wounded was a Northern man; he was shot through both hips,
left him not, however, without arranging his dress, straightening his limbs, and crossing his hands on his chest, leaving evidences to the dead man's companions that his last moments had been ministered to by humane and Christian men.
We regret that the Louisianian could not pray.Richmond Dispatch.
THE HOLLINS TURTLE.-The following is a description of the Turtle with which Greytown Hollins attempted to destroy the Federal fleet:
The Turtle is a vessel of great power of engine. She has a bow nine feet long, of oak planks, secured all around by timbers six feet in thickness, also covered in the same manner, and made perfectly tight and solid, beside being shielded with iron plates two inches in thickness. The hull rises only two and a quarter feet above the water level. She is destined to run into the Brooklyn, which lies down on the Balize, and to sink her. She is provided with a steam-borer or auger, about the size of a man's arm above the elbow, intended to make a hole in the vessel. Twenty-five hose are kept to throw boiling water over the Brooklyn to keep her hands from defending her. Already several trials have been made with her, which, the rebels say, have given complete satisfaction. Cannon balls have rebounded when fired upon her, producing no injurious effect, and, in fact, it is very difficult to hit her, so small a portion of her being above water.-N. Y. Tribune, Oct 26.
"THE WOOD-CHOPPERS."-The Sixth Maine regiment has earned the sobriquet of the "Wood-choppers," by felling acres and acres of woodland across the Potomac, to deprive the rebels of skulking places for sharpshooters. They cut the trees about three feet from the ground, felling them all one way, thus forming abatis through which neither horse nor man can pass.
Military roads have also been cut from the bridges and ferry, which rival the famous pathways of the Roman legions, traces of which are still to be seen in the countries which they conquered. One of these roads, leading from Fort Ethan Allen, at the Chain Bridge, to Falls Church, will long remain a monument to the industry of the Vermonters who constructed it. Washington Star, Oct. 19.
HUMORS OF THE CAMPAIGN.-A rollicking army correspondent of a New York paper perpetrates the following:
La Mountain has been up in his balloon, and went so high that he could see all the way to the Gulf of Mexico, and observe what they had for dinner at Fort Pickens. He made discoveries of an important character, my boy, and says that the rebels have concentrated several troops at Manassas. A reporter of the Tribune asked him if he could see any negro insurrections, and he said that he did see some black spots moving around near South Carolina, but found out afterward that they were some ants which had got into his telescope.
The Prince de Joinville's two sons, my boy, are admirable additions to Gen. McClellan's staff, and speak English so well that I can almost understand what they say. Two Arabs are expected here to-morrow to take command of Irish brigades, and Gen. Blencker will probably have two Aztecs to assist him in his German division.-Cincinnati Gazette, Oct. 22.
AN AMAZONIAN LEADER.-One of the features of the First Tennessee regiment is in the person of a brave and accomplished young lady of but eighteen summers, and of prepossessing appearance, named Sarah Taylor, of East Tennessee, who is the stepdaughter of Captain Dowden, of the First Tennessee regiment.
Miss Taylor is an exile from her home, having joined the fortunes of her step-father and her wandering companions, accompanying them in their perilous and dreary flight from their homes and estates. Miss Taylor has formed a determination to share with her late companions the dangers and fatigues of a military campaign. She has donned a neat blue chapeau, beneath which her long hair is fantastically arranged, bearing at her side a highly-finished regulation sword, and silver-mounted pistols in her belt, all of which gives her a very neat and martial appear
BY MISS SOPHIA H. OLIVER.
"We cross this ford," he exclaimed, "never to retreat again to this side. We are to march forward. There is to be no backward movement. It is victory or death."
ance. She is quite the idol of the Tennessee boys. GEN. ROUSSEAU CROSSING ROLLING FORK. They look upon her as a second Joan of Arc, believing that victory and glory will perch upon the standards borne in the ranks favored by her presence. Miss Captain T. is all courage and skill. Having become an adept in the sword exercise, and a sure shot with the pistol, she is determined to lead in the van of the march, bearing her exiled and oppressed countrymen back to their homes, or, if failing, to offer up her own life's blood in the sacrifice.-Baltimore American, Oct. 23.
THE WHOLE STORY TOLD IN RHYME.
BY W. J. S.
John Bull he met our Jonathan, "Ah! Jonathan," said he, sir,
"Pray tell me, now, what's all this row I hear across the sea, sir?
The command was about to be given and repeated through the lines, when Gen. Rousseau, in the van, rising in the saddle, exclaimed: "Men, follow me! I expect and, springing from his horse, he stepped briskly into the none of you to do what I am not willing to do myself," stream, and crossed the breast-high ford on foot. His men, cheering wildly, followed their General, crying they would "follow wherever he dared to lead."-Correspond ence Louisville Journal.
Upon a river's verdant banks
Our troops advanced at dawn of day;
To present cat-hood from a kitten,
Oft had he dozed and watched her knitting;
The seed, which once so sprightly tinkled,
And water, too, the floor bespattered
From out the bird-cage, smashed and battered
'Mid broken flower-pot and geranium,
Now Tom, a lawyer of his kind,
A moment more, his thoughts to rally by,
Th' exordium framed to turn attention,
Our cat, declaiming like Lord Chatham,
WHOSE WORDS COME FORTH WITH SUCH A MOUTHFUL.'
"BULLY," "CRAPEAU," AND THE "BEAR.”
Mr. Bull, with a face like a brick,
One evening, just after his dinner, Says, now my poor cousin is sick,
"Hi'll maul 'im has Hi ham a sinner. His vessels 'ave plenty to do,
His soldiers 'ave more, and can't do it;
By Jingo! hi'll soon put 'im through it."
Take care of your chances and work 'em,
But Patrick was sitting close by,
His face it flushed up like a daisy-
Take care of your chances and work 'em,
But John never minded bould Pat,
(He was too busy counting his money,) Says he, I won't lend him a rap!
He don't need un, cries Patrick, my honey; He's got plenty of money at home,
'Mongst the Jarmans and ould residenters.
We'll sind, if we need it, to Rome,
Or the Presbytayrian Dissenters.
Your grandson is ailing, but la!
You're not the ould fellow to burk him, Stay at home, you're fast failin', 'ould da,' You've not the material to work 'em.
But here, John, is Mr. Crapeau,
Look how he comes, smirking and bowing in, "Gude mornin', sare, how du day do?
"Purty well, ye ould chap, are yees 'going in?'
Ye're two purty villyans well met;
But Jonathan will not be caught by yees;
I'll lay a respictable bet
Uncle Sam don't require to be taught by yees.
The Divil's benathe that swate face of his;
While he whistles his exquisite symphonies.
Arrah! look at ould John wid his arm
If he trusts his Impayryal Majesty;
Ye don't drame, now, of what he's connivin' at.
Some morning, before yees know what to do.
But, suddenly, came a fierce growl
And a rustle beneath the old table
Oh! Ill have a hand in the pie,
For Jonathan is an old friend of mine
You are flying a little too high,
On His bones you never need hope to dine.