It is growing dark. A candle is lighted making darkness visible. We have many skilful singers, who every evening "discourse most excellent music." They sing Just before the battle, mother; Do they miss me at home? We shall meet, but we shall miss him (a song composed on the death of one of my Worcester pupils by Hon. Charles Washburn); Nearer, My God, to thee, etc. From the sweet strains of affection or devotion, which suffuse the eyes as we begin to lie down for the night, the music passes to the Star-spangled Banner, Rally round the flag, John Brown's body lies a'mouldering in the grave, and the like. Often the "concert" concludes with a comic Dutch song by Captain Cafferty, Co. D, 1st N. Y. Cav.
Sleep begins to seal many eyelids, when someone with a loud voice heard through the whole room starts a series of sharp critical questions, amusing or censorious, thus:
"Who don't skirmish?" This is answered loudly from another quarter.
"Slim Jim." The catechism proceeds, sometimes with two or three distinct responses.
"Who cheats the graveyard?"
"Colonel Sprague."
"Who sketched Fort Darling?"
"Captain Tripp." (He was caught sketching long before, and was refused exchange.)
"Lieutenant Screw-my-upper-jaw-off." (His was an unpronounceable foreign name.)