"Then a sudden shame came o'er me, at his uniform

of light;

At my own so old and tattered, and at his so new and

bright;

'Ah!' said he, 'you have forgotten the New Uniform

to-night,

Hurry back, for you must be here at just twelve o'clock to-night!'

"And the next thing I remember, you were sitting there,

"Tell him his old father blessed him as he never did

"Till the Union " See! it opens! "Father! Father!

speak once more!"

"Bless you!"

gasped the old gray Sergeant, and he

lay and said no more!

FORCEYTHE WILLSON.

April 24, 1862.

THE RIVER FIGHT.

"

The Confederate batteries defending the lower Mississippi
mounted one hundred and twenty guns. Farragut
ran his squadron past them "under such a fire from
them," he wrote, as I imagine the world has never
seen."
Beyond the forts he met and destroyed a fleet
of twenty steamers, four iron-clad rams, and many
fire-rafts. Only one of his ships was sunk.

O you know of the dreary land,

D°

If land such region may seem,

Where 't is neither sea nor strand,

Ocean nor good dry land,

But the nightmare marsh of a dream
Where the Mighty River his death-road takes,
'Mid pools and windings that coil like snakes,
(A hundred leagues of bayous and lakes,)
To die in the great Gulf Stream ?

No coast-line clear and true,
(Granite and deep sea blue,)

On that dismal shore you pass Surf-worn boulder nor sandy beach,

But ooze-flats as far as the eye can reach,

With shallows of water-grass

Reedy savannas, vast and dun,

Lying dead in the dim March sun

Huge rotting trunks and roots that lie

Like the blackened bones of the Shapes gone by,

And miles of sunken morass.

But the cayman couched by his weedy spring,

And the pelican, bird unclean

Or the buzzard, flapping with heavy wing

Like an evil ghost, o'er the desolate scene.

Ah, many a weary day

With our Leader there we lay,

In the sultry haze and smoke, Tugging our ships o'er the bar Till the Spring was wasted far,

Till his brave heart almost broke

For the sullen River seemed

As if our intent he dreamed

All his shallow mouths did spew and choke.

But, ere April fully past,

All ground over at last,

And we knew the die was cast

Knew the day drew nigh

To dare to the end one stormy deed,

Might save the Land at her sorest need,

Or on the old deck to die!

Anchored we lay — and, a morn the more,
To his captains and all his men
Thus wrote our stout old Commodore
(He was n't Admiral then :)

GENERAL ORDERS.

"Send your to' gallant masts down,

Rig in each flying jib-boom!