A PATRIOTIC FAMILY.-At Camp Kenton, near Maysville, Ky., there are seven volunteers of the same immediate family, five of them brothers. Their names are respectively Lafayette Kidder, Charles Kidder, Orange Kidder, William Kidder, John Kidder, Alonzo Kidder, Henry Kidder. In this connection the Maysville Eagle says, that, though laggard at first, Mason county will soon have as large a proportion of her sons in the field as any other county in the State not exposed to immediate danger.-Louisville Journal, Nov. 21.

A REBEL FUNERAL.-The Washington Star says that on Monday afternoon a funeral procession, consisting of a hearse and attendants, attempted to pass the sentinels on Long Bridge, on the Anne Arundel shore of the Patapsco, and had gone by the first sentry, when the next took it upon himself to make an examination, finding, instead of a corpse, a coffin full of muskets and ammunition. The hearse and horses were captured, but the attendants escaped.Rhode Island Journal, Sept. 20.

The Centerville, Va., correspondent of the Charleston Mercury of October 30th says of the famous shotproof ironsides at Norfolk: "I regret to learn that the iron sheeting for the Merrimac has proved, under trials made recently at Jamestown Island with columbiads, to be almost worthless."

MUNCHAUSENIANA.

RICHMOND, Nov. 4.-It is here currently reported that considerable commotion exists in Washington and in the free States from the rumored resignations of Generals Scott and McClellan, and of Secretaries Seward and Cameron, and of other prominent Federal officials. A general Kilkenny cat fight scems impending throughout Lincolndom.

A special despatch to the Richmond Dispatch, dated Manassas to-day, announces that "reliable" information from Washington says there are but fifteen regiments of infantry, one light battery of six guns, and one thousand servants on board the Lincoln fleet.

The Yankees have fallen back to their intrenchments.

Southern merchants in Alexandria are forced to close their stores. There are said to be no more than eighty thousand men in and around Washington. A gentleman just arrived from Manassas says that the Baltimore Sun of Saturday reports the resignation of Seward, Blair, Cameron, Scott, and McClellan. The probable difficulty grew out of the attempt to force McClellan to attack the Confederate forces.Charleston Mercury, Nov. 5.

A note from J. L. Shumate, of New Madrid, Mo., says that after the evacuation of Fredericktown by Jeff. Thompson, the Northern Goths and Vandals burned a portion of the town, pillaged the Catholic Church, arrested some of the ladies of the place, forcibly tore their ear-bobs from their ears and rings from their fingers, and offered them other indignities too hateful to mention.-Quotation from a Southern paper in the Cincinnati Times, Nov. 20.

A GALLANT FEAT.-A day or so since, a small squad of privates got leave of absence to see their

Camp General Smith. Their names are James Henderson, C. D. Gray, E. T. Manard, J. W. Parker, Henry Henderson, and T. B. Scully.

They went out home, near the Tennessee line. When it was rumored they were in the neighborhood, Capt. Bourland, who had made up a regular cavalry company, and had been sworn into the Confederate service, with nine of his men, started to capture Col. Williams' men; but these brave boys being on the alert, awaited until they arrived at Henderson's house, when they surrounded the rebels and captured the whole squad, nine, the Captain included, but the Captain afterwards made his escape in the bushes. The names of those men are Capt. J. N. Bourland, James Albrittain, John Linn, Josiah Ballance, J. R. McKnight, Wm. M. Duncan, J. M. Taylor, Gilbert Hart and, Arch. Bogard. All honor to these brave boys. The rebels from this part of the State had better stand from under, for Col. Williams is getting a formidable force of as brave boys as ever shouldered a musket, and being well acquainted with the geography of the country, and all the roads, neighborhoods, &c., will render incalculable service.

The richness of the joke, however, consists in nine men, with double barrel guns, making 18 shots, being captured by six men, with only single barrel guns, and only 6 shots.-Louisville Journal, Nov. 19.

THE BLACK FLAG AT CHARLESTON.-A Richmond correspondent of the Petersburg Express says: The spring of hope must now, with the Yankees, die upon the winter winds. Already has the black flag been hoisted upon the soil of South Carolina, and war to the knife, the knife to the hilt, and thence to the shoulder, been proclaimed by her noble sons as the only booty which Yankee hireling invaders shall receive at their hands. This is right-it is the only way to conquer a peace with a people so lost and degraded as those which compose the grand army of the Rump Government.

We look anxiously for news from the sunny South; hopefully, prayerfully; with no misgivings. Now that the rallying cry is "no quarter to the invaders of our soil," may we not believe that the course inaugurated by South Carolina will be followed up by our whole army, and thus end this war? "So mote it be."

MARYLAND, O MARYLAND!

land, my Maryland":
The following song was written as a substitute for "Mary.

The traitor's foot is on thy shore,
Maryland, O Maryland!
He whispers treason at thy door,
Maryland, O Maryland!

His minions crowd old Baltimore;
Her streets are stained with patriot gore;
Her Union banner waves no more,

Maryland, O Maryland!

Hast thou no noble hearts to feel?
Maryland, O Maryland!
No hands to wield the avenging steel?
Maryland, O Maryland!
Dost thou desert thy country's weal,
While rebel foes their plots reveal,
And bruise thee with the traitor's heel?
Maryland, O Maryland !

Spurn from thy soul the shameful wrong,
Maryland, O Maryland!

Once more for liberty be strong,
Maryland, O Maryland!

Let thy old glorious banner-song,
Its spirit-stirring strains prolong,
While thousands to its standard throng,
Maryland, O Maryland!

Virginia has forged her chain,

Maryland, O Maryland!

Hark, how it clanks o'er hill and plain,
Maryland, O Maryland!

Is that indeed "the proud refrain,"
"Sic semper," to be heard again,
Mingled with many a cherished strain,
Maryland, O Maryland!

Well may the crimson stain thy cheek,
Maryland, O Maryland!
That thou shouldst be so basely meek,
Maryland, O Maryland!

When wounded Freedom sends a shriek,
From plain to plain, from peak to peak,
And all her clarion voices speak,

Maryland, O Maryland!

Wake thee, and from the dust arise,
Maryland, O Maryland!

Look up! look up, with eager eyes,
Maryland, O Maryland!

Where the "star-spangled banner" flies,
Across the azure of the skies,
And, ere thy day of doom, be wise,
Maryland, O Maryland!

Gird on thy armor for the fight,
Maryland, O Maryland!

On for the Union and the right,
Maryland, O Maryland!

Be no more dead, or deaf, or dumb;
Rouse to the bugle and the drum ;

"Huzza! she breathes! she burns! she'll

come ! "

Maryland, our Maryland!

THE PICKET GUARD.

"All quiet along the Potomac," they say, "Except now and then a stray picket Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro, By a rifleman in the thicket.

'Tis nothing-a private or two, now and then, Will not count in the news of the battle; Not an officer lost-only one of the men, Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle."

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn moon, Or the light of the watch-fires are gleaming.

A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night wind Through the forest leaves softly is creeping; While stars up above, with their glittering eyes, Keep guard-for the army is sleeping.

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed,
Far away in the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack-his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep-
For their mother-may Heaven defend her!

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then,
That night, when the love yet unspoken
Leaped up to his lips-when low, murmured vows,
Were pledged to be ever unbroken.
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun closer up to its place,
As if to keep down the heart-swelling.

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree-
The footstep is lagging and weary;
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
Toward the shades of the forest so dreary.
Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves?
Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?

It looked like a rifle-" Ha! MARY, good-by!"
And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night

No sound save the rush of the river;

While soft falls the dew on the face of the deadThe picket's off duty forever.

AT PORT ROYAL-1861."

BY J. G. WHITTIER.

The tent-lights glimmer on the land,

The ship-lights on the sea;

The night-wind smooths with drifting sand Our track on lone Tybee.

At last our grating keels outslide,

Our good boats forward swing;

And while we ride the land-locked tide, Our negroes row and sing.

For dear the bondman holds his gifts
Of music and of song:
The gold that kindly Nature sifts
Among his sands of wrong;

The power to make his toiling days And poor home-comforts please; The quaint relief of mirth that plays With sorrow's minor keys.

Another glow than sunset's fire

Has filled the West with light, Where field and garner, barn and byre, Are blazing through the night.

The land is wild with fear and hate,
The rout runs mad and fast;
From hand to hand, from gate to gate,
The flaming brand is passed.

The lurid glow falls strong across

Dark faces broad with smiles; Not theirs the terror, hate, and loss, That fire yon blazing piles.

With oar-strokes timing to their song,
They weave in simple lays
The pathos of remembered wrong,
The hope of better days-

The triumph-note that Miriam sung, The joy of uncaged birds; Softening with Afric's mellow tongue Their broken Saxon words.

[SONG OF THE NEGRO BOATMEN.] Oh, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come To set de people free;

An' massa tink it day ob doom,
An' we ob jubilee.

De Lord, dat heap de Red Sea waves,
He jus’ as ’trong as den ;

He say de word-we las' night slaves,
To-day de Lord's freemen.

De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn;

Oh, nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!

Ole massa on he trabbles gone;

He leab de land behind;

De Lord's breff blow him furder on,
Like corn-shuck in de wind.

We own de hoe, we own de plow,
We own de hands dat hold;
We sell de pig, we sell de cow,
But nebber chile be sold.

De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn;

Oh, nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!

We pray de Lord; he gib us signs
Dat some day we be free;
De Norf-wind tell it to de pines,
De wild duck to de sea;

We tink it when de church-bell ring,
We dream it in de dream;
De rice-bird mean it when he sing,
De eagle when he scream.

De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn;

Oh, nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!

We know de promise nebber fail,

An' nebber lie de word;

So, like de 'postles in de jail,
We waited for de Lord;
An' now He open ebery door,
An' throw away de key;
He tink we lub Him so before,
We lub Him better free.

De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
He'll gib de rice an' corn;
So, nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!

So sing our dusky gondoliers;
And with a secret pain,

And smiles that seem akin to tears,
We hear the wild refrain.

We dare not share the negro's trust,
Nor yet his hopes deny;

We only know that God is just,
And every wrong shall die.

Rude seems the song; each swarthy face,
Flame-lighted, ruder still:

We start, to think that hapless race
Must shape our good or ill;

That laws of changeless justice bind Oppressor with oppressed;

And close as sin and suffering joined, We march to fate abreast.

Sing on, poor hearts! your chants shall be Our sign of blight or bloom

The Vala-song of Liberty,

Or death-rune of our doom!

-Atlantic Monthly.

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.

Good people all, of every sort,

Give ear unto my song;

And if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long.

In Washington there was a man," Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran Whene'er he went to pay.t

A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; The naked every day he clad— When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog § was found-
As many dogs there be-

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends,
But when a pique began,

The dog, to gain his private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.

*This man is our dear old Uncle Sam, a good old fellow in the main.

t Variation-"Would always work and pay."

1 Variation-" With cotton underclothes."

It is not known what dog is meant here; many think that President Buchanan is without doubt alluded to, but they forget the claim of Floyd. The question at this late day will have to be left in doubt. Had the author said old hound, no doubt would exist-" curs of low degree," however, would include all secession.

The dog crept up and sneakingly bit Uncle Sam deep.