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or the smiles of the young ladies of our native State, | and had fallen on the road, where he was discovered and that none but ladies of doubtful age will smile on such men.

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.

by a Louisianian. He was suffering the most intense 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

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 troopers came up, and the poor fellow urged his resoldier. quest again, with great earnestness. The Virginian

That we will not marry till after the war is over, knelt at his side, and asked the wounded man if he and then "Home Guards!" No! never! 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 General Smith, the gallant Kirby, has surrendered. reached the shoulder, where it rested, and, with his The brave Blucher of Manassas, who marched boldly gaze riveted on the face of the prayerful trooper, he and unshrinkingly to the cannon's mouth, has at last appeared to drink in the words of hope and consolathrown down his arms at the sting of an arrow. He tion, the promises of Christ's mercy and salvation, was married in our city this morning to Miss Cassic which flowed from his lips, "as the parched earth Selden, daughter of Samuel Selden, deceased; and drinketh up the rain;" and, as the solemn Amen died who that knows the sweet young bride can wonder at on the lips of the Christian soldier, the dead man's her conquest? Modest, retiring, gentle-in a word, hand relaxed its hold and fell to the ground, and his womanly in the truest sense of the term-I know no spirit took its flight to unknown realms. The scene one better qualified to win and wear the heart of a was solemn and impressive, and the group were all brave, good man. Long live the wedded pair, and in tears. The dying never weep, 'tis said. Having may ruthless time ever preserve, in primeval fresh- no implements with which to dig his grave, and exness, both the orange wreath and the laurel!—pecting the return of the enemy in large force, they Lynchburg Republican. 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.

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.

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.

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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.


You're kicking up a pretty fuss,

Pray tell me what it's for, sir;
Let me advise: just compromise-
A horrid thing is war, sir.

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?

"I shall want cotton, Jonathan,
Likewise Virginia's weed, sir;
And, really now, I can't allow

This quarrel to proceed, sir."
"Du tell," said Brother Jonathan,
"Now, don't you get excited;
At hum Í rule-so just keep cool
You'll see this thing all righted.

"My Southern boys for years have held
The Presidential reins, sir-
Until to-day they've held a sway
They never can regain, sir.
And when they cannot rule, they kick
And hate with all their might, sir,
For love of Union's second to

Their fondness for State rights, sir.

"They say we mean to free their slaves

And take them from their hands, sir,
And rob them of their property,

Their daughters, and their lands, sir.
We've told them that we meant not sich,
But this they have not heeded;
So, feeling sore, they've took to war
And wilfully seceded.

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 appearance. 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.

"We only ask them to obey

The same laws that we do, sir,
Their fathers helped our own to make-
They were good men, and true, sir;
We ask no more, we'll take no less,
Though every tarnal drop, sir,
Of Northern blood the land shall flood
Till then it cannot stop, sir.

"I want but justice, bully John,
Respect, and all my dues sir,
And when I have them, Johnny Bull,
You shall have cotton too, sir.
But not till then, that's sartin, sure,
So take the matter easy;
And when the war is over, John,
I'll do my best to please ye."


"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."

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;
Their pathway to the invading ranks
Across the bridgeless river lay.

ere their watery track they take,
Lo! thus their gallant leader spake:

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We smoothed the bed, and softly laid him there, We turned back from his brow his curly chestnut hair;


A member of the First New Jersey regiment, at Alexandria, Va., was buried near the hospital, having died the night previous. A correspondent of the Newark Daily says: "Who he was I could not learn, but the scene was a sorrowfully impressive one-the dying boy, in his delirium, frequently lisping, in the agonies of his dissolution, the name of the loved ones at home."




The candle dimly burned, the room was small,
The shadows flickered on the floor and wall,
The raging wind outside went roaring past,
While leafless trees bent, groaning, to the blast!
Upon a bed of anguish and of pain,
For four long weeks that noble boy had lain
Without a friend, save his own comrades, near,
Thus murmured he-the dying volunteer:

"God bless you, comrades! lay me down to sleep;
No mother dear or sisters here to weep.
I'm dying, slowly, comrades; by my side
Oh! lay my trusty musket-once my pride.
My hands are feeble, too, I am not strong;
I shall not trouble you now, comrades, long;
So hear my childish talk, my nervous fear,
I'm dying, comrades," said the volunteer.

And while the wind outside went raging past,
While leafless trees bent, groaning, to the blast,
We laid his trusty musket by his side-
to his heart-AND DIED!
He grasped it, held
-Cincinnati Times, Nov. 18.

We cooled his tongue, and bathed his feverish face, Yet in his eye the gloss of death could trace;

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To present cat-hood from a kitten,
Oft had he dozed and watched her knitting;
And Jemima's faith, howe'er ill-founded,
In him, her favorite, was unbounded.
She loved but one thing more than tabby-
Not having husband or a baby-
It hung in palace light and airy,
Her own, her darling, sweet canary.
But once came home from tea, Jemima
Horror on horrors piled! to see
The seed, which once so sprightly tinkled,
Upon the carpet all besprinkled;

And water, too, the floor bespattered
From out the bird-cage, smashed and battered-
'Mid broken flower-pot and geranium,
There lay, in death, with fractured cranium,
All specked with red his breast of yellow,
Silent and stark, the little fellow !
Fancy the maiden's dumb surprise,
What notes and queries in her eyes!
With tears of anguish and vexation,
She looked to Tom for explanation.

Now Tom, a lawyer of his kind,
A ready answer soon could find;
A moment more, his thoughts to rally by,
He'd clear himself on proof of alibi;
But, taken rather by surprise,

He opened wide his opal eyes;
Th' exordium framed to turn attention,
Of former mousings he made mention,
A modest statement of his merit,
Slightly disparaged dog and ferret.
The case went on with that acumen
Oft seen in practice purely human;
For he described the lost one singing,
There by the window gently swinging—
None could replace his dear, dead brother,
E'en should his mistress buy another!
Tom spake of music, and its power
To soothe the saddest, heaviest hour-
A perfume for the soul to drink of-
And every fine thing he could think of.
Whether 'twas change from the pathetic,
Or tickling, acting like emetic,

Our cat, declaiming like Lord Chatham,
Was choked with feathers and out spat 'em.
About to resume-""Tis quite enough, sir,
Your protestation is all stuff, sir;

Nor can I think that cat is truthful
-Baltimore American, Nov. 21.

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But Patrick was sitting close by,

His face it flushed up like a daisy-
"Arrah! what did the ould rascal say?
Be jabers, Old Bully' is crazy.
Shure, here is myself dhat wud crack
His ugly ould pate in a minute; "
And he made a grimace at his back
Saying, "I hope that ye'll put yer fut in it."
Singing: Give it him, Bull, tra la,


Take care of your chances and work 'em, If your "dear friends are ailing, tra la, Don't lose any time till yees burk '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.
Singing Trust him not, Bull, tra la,

The Divil's benathe that swate face of his;
He's making yees dance, tra la,

While he whistles his exquisite symphonies.

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But, suddenly, came a fierce growl

And a rustle beneath the old table
Where Louis and John, cheek by jowl,

Sat plotting fast as they were able.
'Twas the bear from the North had broke loose,
Having heard of their wicked designings,
Says he, Boys, don't crow now so crouse,
I'll spoil all your secret combinings.
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.

With a "sacre," 99.66 mon Dieu," and a fling,

The Frenchman leaped back with affright, While John's face, like a "shoat" in spring,

From crimson became a bad white. "Pardonnez moi," Crapeau did cry;


'Oh, the devil!" cries John in a huff;

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